>  I  <


    Plash! Plish! Plack!


    Water sprang up in little irregular crowns around her ankles, prodding her shins with its tiny, frigid fingertips. The roar of rain and wind dragged over her ears. Plash! Plash! Her bare feet shattered the rippling surface of another puddle, scattering dozens of glittering pearls over the pavement. Dull pain climbed up the bones in her legs as her heels struck ragged concrete again and again. The thin paper bag in her arms rattled in the breeze of her flight. Plish! Plash! Plack! Her lungs pressed into her aching ribs in a demand for more space than their boney cage would allow. Her mouth and throat were dry—the air clung to them as it poured down in heavy gulps. Raindrops slashed over her cheeks and the wind tugged at the hem of her dirty gown. She leapt over another puddle.


    A hitch in the road caught her toes—it drove pain through her foot like a hot iron rod. She yelped and staggered into a headlong pitch towards the pavement. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her arms flew up to shield her face. Time-ravaged concrete bit into her arms and shins; the ragged teeth of friction peeled flesh away as she skidded to a stop.


    She laid there for a moment, shuddering and swallowing air. Water soaked into the last few dry patches of her clothes. Burning pain seeped into her shredded skin. Her fingers curled into a fist and she grit her teeth. Warm tears slipped between her tight eyelids. The girl opened her eyes and pulled herself to her knees. She winced as she lifted a few tangles of wet, tar-black hair from her face. The skin on her arms and knees was peeled back to reveal smooth, pale blue light underneath. Tiny flower petals of transparent sapphire floated from the wounds and vanished in the air. Water crawled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.


    >>>  ||| <<<


    Hot water leaks down the sides of Natalie’s head, pooling at her chin and falling away in a dense stream. Water strikes the floor tiles and gives percussion to the shower head’s hiss. She cranks the faucet handle and leans against the icy steel wall. The stream of searing water shifts from her scalp to her back—she tenses and flinches away, then commits to the position. Her eyes slip open and she draws a long breath. The humid air is rich with the chemical perfume of shampoo.


    That memory…again…


    She reaches out through the recesses of her mind—into every darkened corner and dim crevice—to draw more of the vague scene out into the light. It shrinks away from her touch like smoke, warping and vanishing through her fingers.


    I was late…late for…what? She shuts her eyes again and shakes her head—her hair whips about her head and flings water in every direction. Perhaps it’s time for a long-overdue checkup with medical… She twists the shower faucet in the opposite direction and, with a pitched squeal, the steaming downpour from above halts. Tap! Tap-tap! Tatap! Tap! She lingers for a moment longer, water falling from her body and striking the ground without rhythm. Tap! Tatap! Tap! Tap! Tap-Tap! The shower door squeaks and grinds as it slides open. The air of the cramped bathroom is thick with steam—it clings to the bare metal walls and swirls around her as she steps out of the tiny shower cubicle.


    Natalie tugs a navy-blue towel from a hook on the wall. The coarse fabric claws at her skin as she dries herself off. She lifts her hair and bundles the towel around it, before stepping over to the stainless steel sink mounted to the wall. She leans against it with one hand while using the other to wipe condensation from the small mirror hanging above. Through the slice of clarity carved from the foggy surface, a pair of glazed, bloodshot emerald eyes lock with her own. They’re underlined by lead-colored half-rings that pull her upper eyelids down. Her fingers find the handle of the sink faucet—the nozzle comes to life with a shrill hiss, and Natalie lifts leaky handfuls of water to her face. The frigid puddles shatter against her skin and stream down her neck, stirring chills across her body. She stands with cold hands against her cheeks, and stares into the eyes of her reflection.


    A bright chirp from the bedroom makes her jolt. The nest of towel and hair comes loose, falling to her shoulders in a soggy heap. Her lungs ache with held breath—she sighs.


    The bathroom door rattles as she slides it open. Steam pours from the top of the doorway and eddies on the ceiling in ghostly, vanishing currents.


    The bedroom is small and undecorated. She smiles and runs her hand over the plain, barren wall as she walks across the room. Pale light filters through the gray blinds of a wide window in the far wall. It spills over the piles of thin blankets and starchy sheets on the bed below. Crammed between the foot of the bed and the wall is a short, sparse metal desk and a tattered, black bean bag.


    The star pad on the desk chirps again. She wanders past a shallow closet with no doors and lifts the thin tablet. The screen lights up, displaying a navy background and a spinning, holographic, white logo—a hexagon with a sword piercing down the center, lined at the bottom with narrow wings and the letters P.U.S. She swipes her finger across the screen; the logo is swept away and replaced with a large yellow banner that displays a flashing red message:


    URGENT BRIEF - P.U.S HEADQUARTERS - 1 HOUR


    Her heart flutters like a flame on a wick. She slides the tablet back onto the desk and smiles. About time…though you could’ve at least given me time to dry my hair first…


    >>>  ||| <<<


    The girl lifted the thin paper bag from the wet concrete and checked the contents. It crinkled as she pressed it against her chest. She stood and limped forward—a hot pain tightened around the bones of her legs. The wind shifted. It pulled her soaked gown tighter against her skin and drove the rain into her back. She shivered. Another step forward. The concrete gnawed the bottoms of her feet.


    Almost there…almost…there…almost there...almost…home…


    Home. She lifted her gaze. Windowless factories and concrete warehouses lined the street. Thick metal rails and bridges raced a wide latticework across the sky, feeding through massive, numbered towers that rose into the steel-colored clouds. Smoke stacks choked the atmosphere with unending streams of black smog. Ramshackle huts crawled up support beams and the sides of buildings; they spilled into the roads and clogged alleyways. The higher ones were either tethered to the ground by staircases of trash and scrap, or tied to one another by networks of slack wooden bridges. Makeshift windows, cut from sheet metal or particleboard, flickered from within with golden lamp-light. The air rumbled as a train roared overhead. The huddled shapes of people wrapped in rags dotted the sidewalks—they moaned and muttered to one another in slurred strings. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance; metal crashed in the opposite direction. A small, orange cat leapt into the road, lingering for a moment to stare at the girl, before darting behind a trash can in pursuit of some rodent. Graffiti covered every exposed wall—vibrant, ghoulish faces; glittering cities and open fields; gang tags and cartoons; vulgar words and scrawled messages that tried to shift the blame for the state of the world around her. She turned down an alley, next to a wall branded with the phrase “WeLCoME tO THe SEwErS” in thick, green and orange letters. A shack clogged the entryway. A man yelled from within, the walls muting his words. A woman shouted back over a baby’s cries.


    She squeezed past, keeping an eye on the ground as she navigated her bare feet between glittering piles of broken glass. Bam! She whirled. Behind her, the makeshift door dropped from its misshapen frame, and a mound of rags spilled into the narrow street. It clutched a bottle in one hand and muttered obscenities as it stumbled around the corner. A thin woman with pale skin and tangled, brown hair stepped out, cradling a small whimpering bundle. She cried after the mound, but it was gone. She sank to her knees, sobbing, and buried her face against the baby in her arms.


    The girl glanced down at the bag in her own arms, then back up at the disheveled woman. Something tightened around her chest and pulled her forward. As she took her first step, the figure of a new man came running around the corner. He fell to the woman’s side and threw his arms around her and her child. The girl backed away.


    I…hope you’ll be alright… She slipped away, careful not to disturb any loose trash as hot liquid began to pool in the corners of her eyes. In just a few more steps, the man, the woman, and the child had vanished from sight and mind.


    She exited the alley. Out here, more shacks spilled off the street corners—some were stacked on each other, forming precarious towers that rose higher than the industrial buildings they hijacked for support. Thick, rusting pipes rose from the centers of most of these towers—they bent and twisted through the air in geometric webs that slipped into large steel tanks and concrete vats. Hot steam spewed from bulging seams in the pipes with a choir of soft, high-pitched whistles.


    The road curved ahead, and as she rounded the bend, blazing orange hands of warmth reached out through the rain to cup her chin. Fire rose from a large, rust-eaten chemical barrel. It rested against the rusted out husk of what used to be a car. Rag-swaddled silhouettes huddled around the roaring bonfire—they pulled their coverings tighter and spoke to one another in hushed, indecipherable mutters. Another freight hauler roared across the rails overhead; it shook the ground beneath her feet and rocked her bones.


    CRAAAA-ACK! The girl flinched and whirled.


    On the corner behind her, one of the shack-towers gave up the last of its strength in the violent passage of the train. It leaned forward with a groan, peeling away from the side of a factory before folding on itself. As it met the ground, it exploded under its own weight with a deafening crash. Debris and refuse sprayed everywhere. When the commotion settled, faces emerged from doorways and windows. A few people came running out into the street. They dove into the wreckage, calling out names. The girl turned and pressed on.


    Black garbage bags spilled from an alley just ahead. The overwhelming scent of rotting food and human waste stung her nose. Some of the bags were torn open, spilling their contents and stench into the air. She froze. A thin man paced in front of the heap. His bones pressed into his tight skin and his hands covered his face. He twitched and jerked, mumbling and crying out. Sections of him were disintegrating—patches of his shoulders, arms, legs, and other parts of his body bore a jagged sapphire edge that leaked glowing petals. Blue strands of light twisted from his head like fluid lightning.


    Tang! Metal clattered in a decrepit warehouse behind the girl. Her heart punched her chest and she suppressed a gasp. The man didn’t move, now silent. One of the girl’s hands flew over her mouth. She held her breath.


    The man whirled in her direction and let out a grating, metallic screech. He was low on all fours, his back arched like a stalking predator. His thin muscles were stiff and wound tight. His face was black and featureless, like a dead screen that bore a bright, flickering V-shaped symbol. His head turned, scanning the world with eyes he didn’t have. He spoke—his voice was thin and hoarse; more digital than human.


    “Melinda? Is…is that…you?” he said.


    More metal clattered behind the girl. She jerked and pressed her hand tighter over her mouth. The man’s head snapped in her direction. Her heart hammered beneath her ears.


    “Melinda…? M-Melinda…?” His voice broke and looped on itself. “MELINDAAAA!!” The man leapt forward. The girl screamed and tumbled backwards, but the man sailed past her, trailing digital dust in his wake. He tore into the darkness of the warehouse. Metal crashed and the man’s broken shrieks poured out from shadows. “Melinda! Melinda don’t leave me! W-where…where are you-you?”


    The girl rose to her feet. She tested each step as she backed away, not daring to take her eyes off the warehouse door. Junk and scrap flew out into the street as the man continued to scream and growl. When the fog of rain had swallowed the warehouse, she turned and broke into a run.


    The man’s cries faded. She kept running—around another bend, between piles of shacks and garbage, past huddled figures who cried and twitched and mumbled. Before long, she stumbled to a halt, doubled over and gasping. She stood at the foot of a long, makeshift staircase that spiraled up a tower of huts. It curved over and around piled rooftops, lit by strings of decorative lights that coiled around its railing of rusty, bent pipe. Black snarls of wires and extension cords hung off the structure like thin strands of hair. She started climbing. Splinters and jagged bits of plastic bit her bruised heels. The rain fell harder. Halfway up, where the tower thinned to just one shack per layer, she crawled under the handrail and walked across a corrugated sheet-metal roof until she came to a tarp-covered doorway. The plastic crinkled as she brushed it aside.


    Heat rushed to swaddle her, pushing the burden of cold air off her shoulders. It radiated from an exposed pipe that dominated the curved, far-left corner of the room from floor to ceiling. The cramped, barren space was bathed in the dim yellow light of a naked lightbulb, dangling in the center of the room. Walls of filthy plastic and rotting metal were bolted to a bare skeleton of soggy wood beams. Two beat-up beanbags rested at the foot of the pipe—one black, the other a filthy white. Tick! Tick! Tap! A leaking spigot jutted from the floor in the opposite corner, poised over a rusty metal tub. Between these two corners, pillows and blankets were piled over and under broken chairs and discarded table-legs, forming a shoddy pillow-fort that leaned against the back wall. The girl stepped further into the space, looking around. She opened her mouth and drew in a short breath.


    “...Kayce?” she said. Her voice soaked into the walls.


    “Nattie!!” She was jolted by a small body colliding with hers from behind. Thin arms wrapped around her waist and a face buried itself into the small of her back. The child rocked with laughter. Warmth crept through her skin—it relaxed her muscles and pooled in her chest. Her mouth stirred into a smile. She dropped the bundle in her arms and spun around, seizing the little boy under his shoulders.


    “Gotcha!!” She hoisted him into the air with a mock roar. He screamed and laughed and flailed. “How many times do I have to tell you how to say my name, huh?” She lowered him back to the ground and knelt in front of him. “It’s Na-ta-lie! Natalie!” She ruffled his short, white hair as she said this. He squirmed and giggled through a grin, gazing at her through wide, sparkling, ruby-red eyes.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “Nat-tie!” He chirped. “Nattie!” Natalie straightened his oversized, ragged wolf-print t-shirt, before wiping away some of the soot and grime on his glowing, pale face.


    “You should be in bed, Kayce…”


    Kacye shook his head. “I wanna wait for you!!”


    “Well, I’m home now, and I’m glad you did…” Natalie turned and lifted the paper bag from the floor. “I got you something.” In a flash of movement, Kayce had darted past her, snatched the bag and pitched himself onto the white beanbag. Swish! The plush mound billowed and folded around him. He peered into the dirty bag. His eyes widened and he drew in a short, sharp breath. He tipped the bag—a small, stuffed wolf toy and a little loaf of sweet bread came tumbling out into his lap. The plush’s gray fur was a little ragged and wet, and the sweet bun was soggy along the bottom edge.


    “Happy birthday, Kayce.” Natalie smiled. Kayce leapt from the beanbag, a gift in each hand, and hurled himself against her once more. She caught him this time.


    “Thank you!” He said. He started hopping in place. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”


    She tightened her embrace around him. Anything for you… “Have as much as you want, okay? Then it’s time for bed.” Kayce nodded and skipped back over to the beanbag. Natalie stood and walked to the tub in the corner. The stiff handle of the water spigot shrieked. A ragged jet of water shot out of the faucet and crashed into the bottom of the tub. She cupped her hands and lifted some up to her chin. She sipped some—the sour taste of iron and rust bit her tongue—and swept the rest across her face. She checked her arms and legs—the wounds there had sealed, but the pain still lurked beneath her skin. She drew a couple handfuls of water over each limb then shut the faucet off. I’ll empty the tub in the morning…


    She pulled a small, dirty mirror from behind the tub—it was cracked and chipped. She turned her head at her reflection, studying her green eyes and black hair. Reaching behind the tub again, she put the mirror back and her fingers closed around the angular shape of a small, folding knife. She retrieved it and turned it over in her palm. The handle was carved with the simple, crude shapes of a wolf and its pup. She flicked the short blade open and pressed it to one of the nearby wooden beams. The wood was scored along one corner—five notches in total. She dug a sixth and flipped the blade shut, dropping the knife back behind the tub. She ran her fingers over the notches. I won’t forget…I promise I won’t forget…


    Kayce sputtered something out through a mouthful of sweet bread. She turned to find him holding a portion of the treat out to her, his new wolf toy tucked under his arm. She smiled.


    “Thank you, Kayce.” She took the portion and patted his head. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, though, okay? It’s rude.”


    He said something else indecipherable through the wad of food between his teeth, then skipped back over to his plush throne and began trying to feed portions of sweet bread to the wolf plush. Natalie took a small bite of the bread—the fragrance of sugar and earthy grain washed over her tongue and clung to her cheeks. She shut her eyes, drawing in a long breath through her nose. She allowed the flavor to linger in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. Then, she wandered over and flopped down onto the black beanbag next to her brother. Kayce pressed in close, snuggling up under her arm and using her stomach as a pillow. She leaned into him. They ate in silence, staring up at the ceiling of the shack and counting the leaks. Before long, Kayce’s chewing turned to slow, even breathing. Natalie glanced down. His eyes were closed, soft features settled into the calm, detached expression of sleep. His new wolf toy was snug beneath his chin. She brushed a few strands of hair from his face. He shifted a little, then resettled.


    Sleep well, little brother…


    >>>  ||| <<<


    Shishh!! The silver door slides open, spilling the faint fragrance of green-tea into the sterile hallway. Natalie steps into the office. The door hisses shut behind her and silences the clutter of hushed conversation and shoes striking laminate. The office is a long, narrow room with a vaulted ceiling. The walls to either side are lined with tall bookshelves, each packed with a peculiar care that suggests that their contents have never been touched. An intimidating rectangular desk dominates the center of the space. The body of the desk is metal—the front face is stamped with the hexagonal logo of the P.U.S—while the top is some kind of glossy, pale marble. Natalie shivers—the air is cold in here. Books and boxes are piled throughout the office. A potted plant wilts in the far left corner of the room, beside a massive window that radiates harsh light throughout the room.


    Through the parted curtains, the Elmond District glitters in the light of the midday sun. Thin clouds drift overhead like splotches of white watercolor paint on a bright blue canvas. Highrises eject holographic ribbons of advertisements into the atmosphere. Komos Tower stands above it all—a white pillar that flourishes into an anchor’s curve at the top. A thin stream of light jets from its blooming peak, piercing the sky.


    “Natalie! Welcome!” The smooth voice washes over her like the currents of a warm river in summer. She jerks back to awareness and peels her eyes from the window. A young man is seated behind the desk, imprisoned by the messy towers of paper on either side of him. Loose white hair falls over his eyes. He wears a rumpled ocean-blue dress shirt beneath a white vest, and a pastel-blue tie hangs loose from his neck. He doesn’t look up from the stack of forms in front of him, tracing each line with his finger. He gestures to one of the two ornate chairs positioned in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”


    “Thank you, Captain…” Natalie says. The man raises a gloved hand.


    “I told you, ‘Nobunaga’ is fine. I have more than enough formality in my life already.”


    “Apologies.”


    “No need. Get comfortable, we’ll start the briefing soon. We’re just waiting on—”


    Shishh!! “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Captain!” A younger girl floods in through the door, dragging a large, orange gym bag behind her. The contents of the bag clank and rattle as she heaves it into the room.


    “—Kokona…” Nobunaga finishes his sentence, restacking a collection of papers that the newcomer had disturbed in her frantic arrival.


    Without waiting for any kind of invitation, Kokona plops down into the chair next to Natalie. She slouches with a sigh, draping her head over the back of the chair while she props her feet onto Nobunaga’s desk. Her long, messy hair plummets to the floor like a tangled waterfall. It’s more gray than brown, and Natalie still can’t decide if she dyes it that way or if ash is just its natural color. She wears a pair of mismatched bunny slippers, blue gym shorts, a white tank-top, and a cream-colored hoodie. Two hair clips—one orange, the other blue—battle to keep her hair from falling into her face. She rubs her eyes and groans.


    “Ya really gotta stop sendin’ out these urgent notices so late, Nobunaga, I was in the middle of a new project,” she says with a stretch. “Fastest shower I’ve ever had to take in my life…” Her honey-colored eyes drift over to Natalie and her face brightens. She grins, throwing a wink and a small, three-finger wave in her direction. Natalie puts on a thin smile and offers back a small wave of her own.


    Nobunaga looks up from his papers. For a moment, his cold lapis eyes cast frost over Kokona’s slippered feet, before he closes them and sighs. “I apologize for any inconvenience, Kokona…” With a swift stroke, he sweeps her feet off the desk. Kokona half-stifles a cry as she falls from her chair. She sits up, moaning and rubbing the back of her head. Nobunaga smiles a little. “The situation at hand called for it.”


    “Whatever ya say, Captain,” Kokona says, climbing back into her chair and crossing her legs this time. “What’s the mission?”


    “Right…” Nobunaga stands and turns, pulling thick violet curtains over the windows. The fabric suffocates the light, dimming the room. He retrieves a thin white puck from the drawer of his desk and slides it over the granite top. The puck whines and bursts into light, casting a holographic projection of a smooth, three-dimensional map. Natalie’s heart seizes at the sight of narrow streets and 3D rendered shantytowns. “This…is District 43. Though the locals of Preton have labeled it—”


    “The ‘Sewer District’...” Natalie says.


    “A place you are quite familiar with,” Nobunaga says. Natalie nods. “For those in the room who do need a refresher, District 43 is a small slice of one of Preton’s many industrial sectors, pushed as far to the Southwestern border as they can manage. It clocks the highest poverty and homelessness rates of any of Strinova’s dimensional cities.” The map zooms out to display all of Preton and highlights District 43. “Due to its small size and…less-than-ideal position within Preton, the location holds no tactical value. Outside of the occasional charity outreach and shelter program, it’s usually overlooked by High Command.”


    Kokona leans in to study the map. The carefree smile has drifted from her face. “So why the sudden interest now?”


    “We’ve received an anonymous tip,” Nobunaga says. The map zooms in and a number of streets and alleys are highlighted red, forming a thick crimson wire that snakes between buildings. “The intel we received suggests that the Scissors will be transporting a large shipment of Bablo crystals along this route. We’ve been hearing whispers of them making plans to move something big for some time now, we just didn’t know where or what.”


    “Fay says there’s an 83.6% chance that it’s a trap.”


    Natalie jumps in her seat. She twists to see a young girl step out from the shadows by the door. A gray stuffed bear rests in her arms. She wears a layered white and navy skirt, with an attached hood pulled halfway over her head. A pair of little ears crown the lip of the hood—they wiggle as she looks to the floor and kicks at nothing with her boot. Smooth, chocolate hair cascades out from beneath the hood, falling over her shoulders. Natalie angles her head to get a better view of the girl’s small face. She can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen.


    “We…we should collect more data first…” The girl’s voice drifts into the air again, thin and weak.


    “I agree with Yvette,” Kokona says. “This feels too easy…the terrain definitely favors them—lots of places to hide, lots of escape routes—but”—she gestures to several of the sections of the map where the shacks press into the street—“choke points like these would make moving any kind of shipment slow, creating plenty of opportunity for attack. Even the Scissors must know this. Besides, if the tip is correct…don’t you think that moving that many crystals at once is reckless, even for them?” She shakes her head. “Something’s off, here. The terrain, the shipment…it doesn’t add up.”


    Nobunaga sits on the corner of the desk and studies the wall. “I hear your concerns and I understand the hesitancy, but this is out of my hands. Command says this is an opportunity we can’t miss. It’s a chance to not only seize a large amount of crystals for our own research, but to deliver a devastating blow to their supply as well. I’m inclined to agree with them on this: the potential benefits outweigh the potential risks.”


    Kokona sighs. “It’s head-first into the dragon’s den, then, and hoping we find gold. That new girl would love this.”


    “She would, but unfortunately, Michele is away on a different assignment. So are most of the rest of our squad. I’d go with you, but the higher-ups have my hands tied with”—he gestures to the mess of papers on the desk—“all of this. Cases of Collapse Syndrome are spreading faster than we can keep up, the Scissors keep growing in number and getting bolder every day, and on top of that, there’s whispers that they’re developing a new weapon…” He drags his hand over his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re stretched too thin.”


    For a moment, the only sound in the room is the gentle hum of the hologram projector. The loose folds of Kokona’s hoodie whisper as she hops to her feet. She leans against the desk and rests a hand on Nobunaga’s shoulder.


    “It’s alright, Captain. We can handle this. What’s the plan?”


    At first, Nobunaga doesn’t move. Then, he breaks from his own trance with a heavy breath and straightens up. He turns back to the hologram and points to a spot along the route, marking it with a flashing yellow flag.


    “We set an ambush here,” he says. “The three of you will be joined by two Enforcer squads, and will split into three teams. Kokona will set up overwatch on this building here. Yvette, you will take the first Enforcer squad and run ground interference here. Natalie, you’ll take the second squad and will guard the flank here.” He points to an alley about a block and a half away from the ambush point. The words punch Natalie in the chest, sparking a small fire around her heart. She leaps from her chair.


    “What?! Sir, I can help—” The P.U.S Captain silences her with a raised hand and a frigid gaze.


    “Natalie, please take a seat.”


    Natalie lowers herself back into her chair. Her brow is pitched into a glare and she fidgets in place. “All due respect, Captain, but I’m perfectly capable of supporting the main force. I know the area—probably better than anyone in this room! I don’t need to be…benched like this! This is—”


    “Natalie, no one here is doubting your skill set. We’ve all seen the records of your previous missions,” Nobunaga says. “But you’re the newcomer to this squad. We do things differently here—take on more dangerous missions than what you’re accustomed to. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have you undertaking a mission like this so soon, but we don’t have any other options.” He gestures to the map. “A flank from this position, no matter how unlikely you think it is, could dismantle our formation within seconds. We can’t afford a loss here.” He pauses and stares at the desk. “P.U.S has had too many casualties lately…lost too many good people…” His gaze falls back on her and his eyes harden. “I will not lose anyone from this squad. Am I clear on that?”


    The flame in her heart flickers out, leaving a vacant pit. Natalie glares at the floor. “Yes sir…”


    “Good.” His face softens again, and he steps over to her and places his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, Natalie, I promise. Just not today.” He paces back behind the desk and faces the three of them once more. “One last thing you should know…” He taps the puck. It chirps and the map shrinks away, replaced by a blurry still from a security camera. A cloaked figure stands in the frame. Their tattered hood casts a veil of darkness over their features, but from that shadow blazes a snarling set of glowing, crimson fangs and glittering, blood-red eyes. Something inside of Natalie withers and curls away as those eyes pierce her own.


    “Creepy,” Kokona says.


    “The last of our intel says that the Scissors have recently employed this assassin,” Nobunaga says. “The timing implies that he’ll be aiding in the transport of this shipment.”


    “Never seen ‘em before. What do we know?”


    Nobunaga shakes his head. “Nothing. Guy’s a ghost. The only thing I could get out of our contact in Urbino is that he goes by ‘Feng’. We couldn’t find anyone with that name in our records, so we have no idea who he actually is. Other than that, all we were able to dig up on our own was that Urbino hires him out for some of their most dangerous contracts—and not for cheap, either. Whoever he is, he’s one of their most precious assets, and they’ve gone to great lengths to protect him. If he’s there, do not engage him directly. We don’t know what he’s capable of, and I’m not interested in finding out today. Are there any further questions?” No one speaks. The hologram projector chirps one final time and the image dissolves, plunging the room back into darkness. “Good.” Nobunaga yanks the shades back. Light crashes back in and slams into Natalie’s open eyes, driving deep roots of black pain into her skull. She winces. “Gear up. You ship out in forty-five.”