ã€ŠThe Last Sentinelã€‹


 Prologue

    ¡°Only the man who has known freedom

    can define his prison.¡±

    ¨D Catherine Fisher, Incarceron

    Point of Documentation: ????, Phoenix 11, Wing C

    Fire wreathed the front of the cockpit just as pain wracked the front of his head. His foot kicked out to the dark glass once¡­ twice¡­ over and over again as the glass cracked across its entirety in a vain attempt at freedom. He kicked out dozens of times as his senses slowly started to come back to him. The pains in his legs and hands were the first thing he came to understand. The second was that the fire was starting to creep up his resistant clothing from his seat. A fire that was the only thing providing light now in his darkened pod. That as well as the dying display before him that held one or two motes of light in the darkness.

    Panic set in to him once more and the kicking started in a more frenzied manner. The glass was something that was meant to survive the void of space and was both pressurized and secured against the internal pressure of air against the void. If the fire was starting in here and the air had not been eaten up by the greedy heat then it was safe to assume that the pressurization was no longer in effect and the hull had a hole.

    His eyes wandered around the cockpit for the hole. It landed, however, on possibly his saving grace: his pistol. Of course, his reserve pistol! He took it from the holster on the right of his seat just as the bottom of it caught aflame. The heat in the cockpit reached unbearable levels as the flames started to work up the controls on the front, reminding him of his goal to get out even as the blood on his brow attempted to distract him.

    The gun raised up to fire at the glass. The moment the barrel leveled with the glass; the entire craft rocked back and forth with a vicious lurch. The gun fell from his hands into the flames below him and slipped below his seat. A curse left his mouth as the craft went sideways; the safety belts were the only thing keeping him in his seat against this sudden force. An inhuman scream echoed from outside the craft¡¯s shattered and opaque shielding. A shielding that, as the ship went sideways, popped off and let the glass on the inside of it spill out into the sand below it.

    The boy paused as the shielding popped off and sand spilled into the edge of the cockpit. The sounds of skittering outside in the ashy-sand surroundings are not the only thing filling his ears now. Yells and panicked voices came through from an unknown distance outside¡­ and the sound of alloy sliding across alloy. The gun! The boy ripped off the half burnt holster from his seat, unbuckled himself, and fell from his seat onto the ground below. A hefty ten foot drop that left him nearly breathless¡­ and the light of the day even more so blinding. His gloved hand came out for the gun. He felt the heat through his glove as his hand touched the gun but for a moment. A wince of pain clearing his mind. The panic came again soon after. A cold, sweaty panic.

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    Another pilot ran past a few dozen yards away with their pilot¡¯s reserve pistol drawn. The crashed and broken wreckages around blocking most sight to the area they were in. Their helmet was on, so it wasn¡¯t clear which of his wingmen it was. A rough number ¡®4¡¯ painted on the side of their helmet gave a clue, but the boy¡¯s swimming head could not ascertain what that number meant or who wore it. The pilot turned in their panicked running to show a patch of a phoenix clearly on their left shoulder¡­ what was remaining of it. A large chunk had been cleanly hewn off and the ball joint was showing. Even with the evident pain, they seemed to be more concerned with fleeing from something.

    The answer came in a horrific sight that caused the boy to grab the heated gun regardless of the pain that it caused. A dark, shifting limb came from behind his blocked view from the fighter. It reached out and swiped the pilot at the ankle and caused them to fall hard on their back. The rest of the shape drug itself out from the unknown angles behind the craft. It was a Spawnling, a writhing, wiggling shape of biomass that wasn¡¯t sure if it was a dog or horse, taloned or pawed, spiked or locked. The shape pulsed as it was shot multiple times with the reserve pistol. Pain cried out from the form and it let go to cover where it was shot. The pilot scooted back and emptied their pistol into the thing, seeming to cause it to stumble and back up.

    A second set of limbs came from the other side of the pilot and, rather than grabbing for them, stomped with both frontal limbs on the pilot¡¯s upper body. With the fire stopping from the pistol, the first Spawnling resumed its approach¡­ and they tore the pilot apart. Limbs flew as they brutalized the pilot and consumed the now pile of meat in a rapid manner.

    The boy quickly snatched the pistol, ignoring the pain as he did, and scooted back as quietly as he could away from the crash site of the multiple fighters and away from this horrible sight as it unfolded. Pure fear fueled his need for silence and speed, sacrificing the second to preserve the first at times. Once he was sure he was out of immediate danger of being spotted by the things; the boy shakily stood into a crouch and rounded a dune¡¯s top. As he came to the top, his head turned to look behind him. The sight behind him made him sprint and abandon all hopes of being silent.

    Behind him was the hive towering out of the ashen-sand dunes a mile off that they had planned to destroy. It belched out more and more Voidlings from its maw even now. Hundreds¡­ thousands. The boy ran in the opposite direction, hoping to reach safety. Hoping to reach humanity. Hoping to reach the wall that separated this devastated land¡­ and the rest of Humanity¡¯s last struggling stronghold on Earth.

 Chapter 1

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMW Betty

    A metal beast lugged its way across the sanding savannah of Suburbia. The Badlands was a torrented place bracketed by radioactive rain storms and heat that fed into one another. The cycle is only broken by the occasional dry seasons brought on by unnatural causes. Some of those being the monstrosities that lurk below the buildings and dunes of the destroyed cities that dot the Badlands. Monstrosities that, even now, peek out from destroyed mall entrances and stores long lost to time.

    The metal beast on stilted legs lugged through the wind that cut with sandy fury. A road leading through a main street of a once blossoming city was its path, no longer dotted by lines nor rimmed by lights or cars. The legs that supported this thing were 7 meters high and possessed a basic rotary knee to allow movement. Deployable ladders hung off the side of the beast as well as a small amount of winches and gears for pulleys and other machinations. The six feet that walked along the roads walked at such a breadth that it easily trod on the edge of the two-lane road of the past. If there were cars present, there was no doubt that the cars would be crushed under foot of this thing.

    The core of the machine seemed to be wide. If it was meant to be animal-like, then it had lost those semblances over time. It held only a tinted window on the front and two eye-like spotlights that pivoted back and forth as it walked. A couple guns sprouted from the thing¡¯s back, and one under the belly near the rear. They seemed no more threatening than machine guns or small cannons. Threatening, that is, to the things that lurked behind the shadows as it passed by.

    It lumbered on till it came to what appeared to be some kind of a square. A wreckage of stone and metal dotted the area surrounded by multi-story buildings. While thorned and mutant flowers sprung up at the base of some of these low walls, others wrapped their ways around destroyed and resting statues to taste the sunlight above. A large and now unfunctional fountain lay at the center. A small amount of water trickled out and on to the stones and hard dirt around it.

    Slowing to a crawl, the metal beast came to a sloth-like stop but a few meters from the edge of the fountain. Its metal casings groaned under the ceasing of movement; steam being let off through a piston in one of the legs. When it finally came to a halt of all momentum, however, a new noise was heard. Rustling. Somewhere deep within it came movement that sounded like termites moving under a floorboard or a squirrel within the veins of a tree.

    A hissing noise was heard once more as a seal on a round door at the top of the machine was broken. A masked and hidden form broke the surface of the metal beast¡¯s back. No, two forms. Each helped the other up and out of the hole and resealed it behind them. The two forms seemed to be in some kind of hazard suits. A small box sat at one of the form¡¯s sides as they turned to the fountain.

    They each differed in builds in telling ways. One was lithe, a more dexterous build that relayed exceptional balance under the suit¡¯s form. Smaller and slimmer than the other one. The second was of a larger build, obvious muscles rested below the suit that allowed the person to heave themselves over the behemoth below them and land on the ground below. They must have something to prevent the fall from harming them, as the drop of multiple feet was uneventful in the ways of damage to the being and the box at their side barely swayed in their grip.

    ¡°Cadence, keep an overwatch of the area and let me know if anything is around,¡± came a gruff voice from the speaker in the larger suit¡¯s face. It was so intensely loud in the silent square to hear the man speak. The form above, apparently known as Cadence, just nodded to the man as he made his approach. He took some more steps towards the fountain, closing the short distance in no time, and set the box upon the edge of the once-flooded and now drying pool.

    Whilst the man had spoken through the face¡¯s speaker, a different mode of communication happened this time. From inside of the man¡¯s suit, a woman¡¯s voice floated through. ¡°Roberts, we have multiple targets at the electronic goods store to the North. No aggressive movement so far,¡± came the calm voice of Cadence. Roberts gave a nod as he began unbuckling the case¡¯s security fastenings.

    There was a sense of hurry in his movements, but not of panic. Panic causes sloppiness, and sloppiness causes mistakes. He removed, piece by piece, the contents of the case and began to assemble them next to the fountain. Soon he had standing before him some kind of machine that sat upon three wheeled legs like a teepee and stood nearly as tall as him. He pressed a button on the machine and it whirred to life. In a moment it started moving around the fountain until it stopped a little ways away from the man.

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    The burst of rock as it shot a rod down into the ground causes a shower of debris to litter the area around it. The man unholstered his pistol and stood there. There was nothing to do past watch for the monstrosities in the dark while the machine did its job. Cadence also seemed to just be crouched on the top of the six-legged behemoth they rode in on, staring down at the storefront she had spotted previously.

    The radio crackled to life with Cadence¡¯s voice. ¡°I swear, these water jobs are the worst. Sitting around like ducks on a pond is a good way to get ourselves picked off. What will we do if a Vulture-Class is around? Die?¡± Cadence¡¯s complaint is not without a shred of legitimacy. There was always danger outside in the Badlands, and as night grew closer the danger would only increase.

    ¡°Can it for now, Cadence. Roberts, word on the Water Seeker?¡± This voice was different. Not gruff or stern, but more free of worldly troubles. It came through the speaker in the suits just as talking with one another did.

    Roberts huffed and checked the device¡¯s remote once again. ¡°Negative Captain, it¡¯s still¨C Ah, fucking thing. Yeah, it just updated as I looked at it. It¡¯s getting back bad water, as usual.¡± The news wasn¡¯t great, but it wasn¡¯t unexpected.

    ¡°Well that makes 2 blue, 5 red then. Not a great score, Roberts. Get back in you two and we¡¯ll¨C¡±

    A shuddering growling came from the storefront down the block that Cadence was watching. She let out a curse in the comms and said ¡°I think one of them just caught our scent. We need to go. Pile in Betty, now.¡±

    Roberts recalled the machine back over to the box it came from, quickly packing the thing away without a single thought of accuracy this time. They needed to go. That was only punctuated as a shot rang out from atop the machine named Betty. She had a silencer on the rifle that she had produced, but silencers only muffled some of the noise it made. In this empty courtyard: any noise was a dinner bell to those listening.

    And so they did listen. The buildings around them started to crawl with waking life that heralded the setting of the sun over one of the rooftops. The shop fronts of this once busy area began to squirm and jostle with movement that pushed through the broken windows at their front. Formless shapes, monstrosities that mimicked regular shapes in blinking frequency and soon shifted to another, rolled out from the shop fronts with a sense of pure, unadulterated hunger.

    A second shot rang out as it was sent into one of the leading shapes. The ammo they fired was rated as a low-yield on the anti-voidling scale, but fuck it worked. The shape, the size of a greyhound and jostling, folded in with the impact of the round. It folded inwards and ruptured out the back with a hissing like a balloon being punctured by a needle. The sound and body, however, was quickly overrun and covered up by the mass of similar sized monstrosities that stampeded over it.

    Another curse slithered from Cadence as Roberts spun on his heels and bolted for the machine¡¯s ladder access. He made the distance in little time, a hand already on the first rung when the monsters had made it halfway across the plaza to them. To Roberts¡¯s eyes, the monsters seemed to only be attacked from one direction, and a couple store fronts at that. As if a small nest was forming, Roberts thought.

    To Cadence¡¯s eyes, however, she saw that these were only a few of those waiting. She looked back to the mass and shot another round for good measure into one and then began clamoring back into the beast from above.

    ¡°Gwen, pivot to bearing 2-6-8. Cleared for 2.¡± Came the relaxed tone of the Captain over the comms. He was always the calm and collected type, and it pissed both Cadence and Roberts off equally when times such as these presented themselves and the Captain never seemed as alarmed as they were.

    The gun on the belly of the beast swiveled to the bearing listed, which was the center of the approaching horde. ¡°Rifle!¡± came the excited call of a woman as a shell flew from the gun¡¯s barrel. It impacted in the center of them and detonated with force, throwing a good number of those in front backwards. That was not all that happened, as a rain of fire came down from the explosion and covered a large swath of them in napalm.

    Some shrieked whilst others quickly dropped limp; the amount of destruction unequal across the line. As the ones in the back began to pile over the dead and only the toes lit aflame, Gwen spoke again. ¡°Rifle.¡± A second shell left the barrel and repeated the crime against flesh, less so a crime against monster. The detonation sent a good number flying and doused more of the bodies with unquenchable fire.

    Cadence gave one last look before she piled into the machine. It began lumbering out of the square as some of the other monsters came from their hiding places. Their aim not on the ones fleeing, but their dying brethren. A feast had arrived, even if it was of the flesh of the fallen, and those monsters would not let this pass up.

 Chapter 2

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMW Betty

    ¡°I can¡¯t get it out of my head that they must have been waiting for us.¡± came the surly words from Roberts. Cadence had just finished storing her rifle in the locker next to her bunk when the man had started his theory crafting. He always did this after a botched mission, even if it was a success at the end. To Roberts, this was just another way the world was fucking him over. And frankly? Cadence couldn¡¯t care less if the man was a man cursed to always be ambushed. As long as it didn¡¯t harm her, she didn¡¯t care.

    Cadence was a Roman-born woman who had fair skin and gentle curves. She was mostly muscle, but was generally underweight for her height. She blamed it on her father, a timid man, but was thankful for the light weight when it came to cramped spaces. Roberts on the other hand was an absolute unit of a man. He said his heritage was ¡®Danish¡¯, whatever that meant, and claimed he came from the Northern Steppes above the old Empire. Whilst he was odd in his ways and sometimes very backwards, he was reliable. Which made Cadence all the more annoyed at his fascinations of superstitions.

    She closed her locker¡¯s door and climbed once more unto her bunk. Cadence was so ready for this to be the end of the day and a moment of rest. ¡°Roberts, seriously, do you ever stop your solo-conspiration? I doubt they were waiting for ¡®us¡¯ specifically. They were probably making a nice home in that GameGo, right before we stepped on their doorstep and started drilling.¡± She ran her hand over the side of the top bunk that she rested in, one of seven in this room and one of three that were used. ¡°Besides, we got the job done and nothing happened to us or Betty. So win-win?¡±

    Roberts gave a solemn stare as she spoke. She figured he had some rough remark cooking, but instead said ¡°You know, that¡¯s as good as calling bad luck on us, right?¡± He tapped a wooden lining on the side of the bed three times. Cadence had known the man to be a spiritualist of some kind, but really balked at the idea of religion as a whole. After all, this whole scenario was born from some fucked up version of that getting out of control.

    The intercom sparked to life as the Captain¡¯s voice followed it. ¡°As much as I know you two want some shut eye after a day of work, we¡¯ve got a live one. Come up to the Head.¡±

    The two of them looked at each other in confusion, but gathered themselves up regardless and made their way towards the Head. Betty itself was a walker that had multiple sections in itself. It was like a train car, but rounder and wider in the sections. It stretched back some length from a Head, which served as its command point where the driver moved the vehicle. It all operated on an Artificial Intelligence from the old world, so it was more so plotting points and the walker routing to that point on its own.

    Behind the head was the armory that had a gunner station in the center of it. The armory was more so for their possessions that were more situated towards killing things. These were locked behind some lockers that had combinations they knew keeping out unwanted assailants. Further behind that section was the living quarters, with the beds for the crew and a latrine set in the corner behind a door. To the rear of the beast was the storage and rear hatch. That hatch could be opened to let in loads as well, allowing heavier objects to be loaded in without the need to carry it up a ladder.

    They made their way through the interior and the armory to the Head, coming through the door to a room filled with displays, two chairs at the front, and a terminal on the side with a headset hanging from it. The captain was sitting in one of the chairs at the front of the room. He was facing the terminal in front of himself as they entered, pressing some display options to bring up images on the main display at the front of the room. He turned towards the two of them, the chair swiveling around with him.

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    ¡°We¡¯ve got some kind of contact still following us, but it¡¯s small. Very small. Human sized, at that. It started following us as we left the last remains of a town.¡± He lazily gestured to the screen with the images of behind the mech, the smoke from his spliff swirling around his hand as he does. ¡°I¡¯m going to slow down the mech; but I need someone on the gun covering and someone to go out and make contact. Who wants to do what?¡±

    Cadence gave a sigh to the scene playing out. They were being tracked by someone? Shouldn¡¯t they have tried to hit them with something if they were hidden in the town? Or were they not some kind of raider? The likelihood of non-raider activity out here is so laughably low that coming across another soul not trying to gut you for a quick scrap run was rare. Even passing scrap or water excavators would hail long before they even came within firing distance of one another, and the known towns were still miles off towards the Wall.

    ¡°I¡¯ll walk out and meet the person. Roberts over here is too jumpy to step a foot outside Betty anyways. He¡¯s talking about jinxes and spirits again.¡± She said, pointing a thumb to Roberts.

    Roberts stood a little straighter and guffawed at her remark. ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll take the gun then. I¡¯ll have a good view of you getting gutted by a lone raider.¡± The sarcasm in his voice still held concern, Cadence noticed, but was still meant in a jesting tone.

    The Captain gave a nod to this. ¡°Alright, get on it then. Gwen, slow Betty to a stop. I want the spotlights trained around us in a sweeping pattern. Alert us if anything comes from around us.¡±

    Cadence ducked from the room as she heard Gwen¡¯s reply from the speakers. She went for the lockers again to get her EVA suit. Going outside in an unprotected suit was a wonderful way to get radiation poisoning or roughed up from the patches of Wilt that sometimes stuck out of the ground. It was basically mandatory for any step outside to have one of these suits on, and she was all too thankful they had backups whilst the main ones were being decontaminated. She slipped on the suit and then produced a pistol from the locker. It was no rifle, but having it on her hip would give her some assurance at the very least. After equipping the firearm she made way for the hatch between the armory and living quarters.

    Roberts passed as she started to leave and called to her. She looked up only to have a water canteen shoved in her face. Confusion must have been obvious even through the completely sealed suit, as Roberts laughed at her. ¡°Come now Cadence, you¡¯re meeting someone stuck in the Badlands, and you aren¡¯t even going to offer them water?¡± Before she could reply, Roberts closed the hatch behind her with a wave and left her outside on the gangway to the ladder. Of course she wasn¡¯t going to give some stranger their valuable water! Roberts must have been out of his mind to harbor the thought¡­ but it was in her hands now.

    She made her way across the gangway to the ladders as Betty slowed to a stop. The ladder extended, and so too did she descend to the ground. Her feet hit the dusty earth with a thud and caused some of the more loose dirt to kick up in a plume around her. She waited for it to settle a bit before stepping forwards. It seemed that they had been walking along what was once a wide road, as the asphalt below her footprints showed an occasional white contrast to the darkening terrain around them.

    The path along which they had come was not empty. A lone form rode what was a rusty and disheveled bicycle with shredded treads on the wheels. It screamed a metallic screech as it came to a slow stop some yards behind Betty. They raised a hand up and over their head to shield their eyes from the spotlight on them. The person seemed to have a masculine form below some strange armor that covered most of their body.

    A shaky step off the bike and towards the walker prompted Cadence to call out to the man. ¡°Halt! State your business and your affiliation!¡± She yelled this at the man alongside drawing her pistol. She didn¡¯t point it at him, but held it at the ready. She doubted he could see her anyways past the light.

    The man called out weakly, so weakly that Cadence couldn¡¯t hear him properly the first time. She inched closer, closing the distance to a dozen yards from the man. His words were then audible, if but muted from the helm. ¡°Phoenix¡­ Crash¡­ Help¡­¡± He collapsed after this into a heap on the road.

 Chapter 3

    Point of Documentation: Marshall Locke, Phoenix 11

    It was something out of a nightmare after his crash landing on Terra. Miles upon miles of unending black desert and ruined cities dotted the landscape around his ill-fated mission. There was not a single safe harbor in sight as he had run from that monstrous hive. It seemed as if some of the creatures had caught his trail from the crash site, yet none of them had seemed to follow him far.

    He had come to a high-rise still standing in the buffeting winds and storms that now plague this land. It had seemed to be safe in theory, but his lack of knowledge of the area had shone through in his judgment. He hadn¡¯t recognized the scratches and corpses left at the entrance to denote the lair of Vultures. These were more fed, more evolved versions of the Spawnlings that he had seen out at the crash site.

    They had come from the nooks and crannies of the building as the sun fell. Though they held the name ¡®Vulture¡¯, Voidlings had no real knack for flying. At least, none they knew of. That made them no less terrifying as Marshall was forced to hide in a closet during that night while those things stalked the building and surrounding area for traces of a meal.

    When the sun had risen the Vultures had gone back to roost and seemed to go farther up into the building. He used this chance to escape and travel onwards at once. He collected some non-perishables at a local store before moving on that had not completely collapsed under the stress of decades of storms and the Cleansing.

    He had to make camp twelve times, twelve long nights, before he had come upon something that had seemed like civilization. Using his helmet¡¯s ocular zoom function meant to be used in his fighter: Marshall observed this group of people from afar. They had claimed a good couple blocks of a city as their own and fortified it with walls and towers. The center seemed to be some high-rise that had the top broken off of it ten floors up.

    Marshall knew relatively quickly who these people were: Wastlelanders. Basically bandits that held some form of society together by enacting feudalism on any and all surviving remnants out here. The strong commanded the weak, and the weak typically died on water and food runs out into the Cleansed Deserts beyond.

    A quick detour was the best option to continue traveling. He¡¯d sooner die than fall into the hands of slavers, bandits, and marauders. He¡¯d probably BE dead if he wound up in their hands anyways.

    He had found a bicycle on the edge of the town he was leaving. It was in terrible condition, but seemed to be workable at the least. The tires were unrecoverable, but not completely destroyed. He piled onto the thing and rode off down the road. Even with flats, it sped him along faster than he could feasibly walk. A great improvement, he would say!

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    That night he had camped in another high-rise a few towns over and into the Badlands. This one lacked the tell-tale signs of an infestation at least. He made camp on the fifth floor with plenty of sight-lines out into the town that this once was. The sand was less in this area, but his contamination meter was still crawling upwards at a steady rate out here. Less so higher up, but still.

    Taking stock was another worry for him, as he had run out of water days ago. Headaches were suffusing through his head at a regular rate for dehydration. Tomorrow, after he was rested, he would search the town for a water supply.

    He was preparing for an early camp when he noticed lights beaming through the storm that was picking up. Marshall gripped his sidearm with vigor as he stared down at the lights. Were they bandits? If so, why were they so far into the Badlands? It couldn¡¯t be more than a few more days to the Wall, and yet something was moving down there.

    He observed for a while longer until some of the dust that was being kicked up from the storm cleared enough for him to get a better view. It wasn¡¯t a bandit! His heart felt lighter than it had been for weeks now at the sight of not openly hostile people.

    Dashing from the vantage point he was at, he gathered his items up and made for the stairs. That was when the first shot went off. It cut through the air like a large detonation that shook some silt from the crevices of the stairwell. Fearing the building would collapse, he made his way to the bottom. A second detonation went off shortly after he got to the bottom. Screams of Voidlings filled the air, most seeming to be in pain.

    Anxiety replaced hopefulness as the sounds filled the streets. Marshall jumped on to the bike with his items on his back and pedaled like hell towards where the vehicle was but moments ago. A square in the center of town. He rounded the corner to see a gathering of Voidlings feasting on a pile of yet more Voidlings. Marshall rode his bike a street over and went around the square towards the sound of a large metallic vehicle walking.

    Soon he was within sight of this behemoth and its spotlights sweeping around it. It slowed to a stop as he neared, and a tight feeling started to flood his chest. Had he made the wrong choice? He didn¡¯t have time to properly think about it as the vehicle¡¯s spotlights swiveled and shone directly on him.

    He raised an arm and began to get off the bike. A sudden surge of nausea flowed over him as his feet touched the ground. He tried to speak, a croak coming from him as he did. He hadn¡¯t spoken to a human in so long that he had nearly lost use of his throat. A call came from behind the light on the ground, but the call seemed so oddly far away. He called once more, trying to say who he was and that he needed help. It came out once more oddly disjointed.

    Marshall felt confusion as his vision began to sway. Oh right, he hadn¡¯t drank any water in a while, and had just exerted himself. That must be it. His thoughts were as light as his body when he felt the hard hit to the front of his head. The lights went out almost instantly: the first moment of real sleep he would be rewarded after weeks of panic and fleeing.

 Chapter 4

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMW Betty

    Dragging the man on to the walker was no small feat. The risk of exposure was far too great out there to take any of the armor off that he had on, so Roberts had to come out and help her haul the unconscious male up the ladder. Getting him a cot in the storage area was almost a no-brainer since it was the only section with a quarantine room in it. More of a med-bay, but right now both were apt.

    Only after they had hosed the male down in decontamination sprays and put him on a bed did they ask the question: who the hell is this guy and what nation did he come from? He obviously wasn¡¯t Wastelander trash, and he didn¡¯t seem like one of the Badland Nomads either. His armor looked way too high tech to be any of them anyways.

    Once the male was decontaminated, Roberts had pushed everyone out of the room to do a medical check-up on the unconscious male. Roberts had claimed that it was ¡®patient-doctor privacy¡¯ or something. Cadence knew the man was a medical doctor as well as a chemist, but some days she wondered if that doctoring was also based on his strange proclivities.

    Cadence sat with the Captain in the living quarters in a pair of seats across from the latrine. There was a small table and a pair of chairs set up there for if someone wanted to eat while sitting down. It was mostly unused¡­ up until now. She tore down her pistol in a methodical manner as the Captain leaned back in his seat and smoked. Cadence looked up at the Captain, wondering what he thought of all this.

    As if on cue, the Captain spoke. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen one in a long time, but that kinda looked like an Outlander,¡± Confusion must have shown on Cadence¡¯s face, as the Captain continued. ¡°Outlanders are those that aren¡¯t from Earth. We had stations in orbit before the Rifts opened around Earth and the Great Cleansing began. There were also stories about great arks trying to escape from Earth in the beginning days. Those were mostly true, but the stories were a bit more light hearted. Most didn¡¯t make it. Most doesn¡¯t mean all, though.¡±

    The Captain did something strange then: he removed his Captain¡¯s cap. Pointed ears rested under the cap. An understanding flooded Cadence as she saw this. ¡°Fucking Elf, you lived to see it, didn¡¯t you? I knew there was a reason you were so damn reclusive.¡± Her words were sharper than her tone relayed, but his visage hardened slightly at that regardless.

    ¡°No, my grand-father was the one there. Us Changed have some oddities about us, but the Elves are not immortal. Just a longer lifespan than most. I¡¯m only 38, by the way. I¡¯m not ancient.¡± He waved a hand and his face settled back into that neutral look. ¡°Outlanders are an odd bunch. To see one out here in the Badlands¡­ I can only imagine something went terribly wrong. They haven¡¯t come to Earth in decades, I¡¯d heard¡­¡±

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    His words fell away as the door to the storage area opened up to reveal Roberts. ¡°Hey you two, ¡®Phoenix¡¯ is awake. He¡¯s not too injured, just some minor bruising and a concussion he¡¯s been nursing. Just be slow with him, he might be confused.¡± Roberts then stepped back into the storage area as Cadence and the Captain shared a look.

    Both of them got up and went to the decontamination room after Roberts. Inside, sitting on the makeshift cot, was the male. He looked young, no older than mid twenties. Cadence looked him over closely, trying to see if he had any alien qualities about him. The Captain ribbed her, causing her to divert her attention to the Captain. He had a look on his face that basically screamed ¡®do not be weird¡¯.

    A huff escaped her lips as she took a step back. It wasn¡¯t every day that you got to see an alien! Or¡­ well, an Outlander.

    The Captain cleared his throat and spoke. ¡°I assume your name is Phoenix, as that was what you had said to my crewmate here?¡±

    The male shook his head slightly, wincing in pain. Roberts offered him a sip of water from the canteen she had carried out earlier. With a moment of apparent relief, the male answered. ¡°N-No sir. Marshall Locke, 11th Phoenix, Wing C of the Firebrand. Phoenix is just the name of the flight I¡¯m in.¡± He paused for a moment, a look of loss seeming to come over him. His eyes darted up to the Captain. ¡°Are we inside the Wall?¡±

    With a shake of his head, the Captain took a step towards the man with an outstretched hand. ¡°No, we¡¯re still in the Badlands, but a little farther in after your arrival. You¡¯re aboard the HMW Betty, and I am its Captain. This is Cadence and Roberts, my crewmates. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Marshall.¡±

    The man, Marshall, slowly reached out a hand towards the Captain to return the shake. Cadence¡¯s eyes were on the hand as it moved, keeping an eye out for the intruder to make some kind of move towards the Captain. And yet, it never came. The hands met and they shook weakly, more so on Marshall¡¯s side.

    ¡°Well, since we¡¯re all acquainted now, you¡¯re gonna give us some details on what you were doing out in the Badlands all by yourself. The ride isn¡¯t a free one, and our rations are not either.¡± The Captain¡¯s cool, laid back tone hid his striking points like a viper in the sands. The Captain wanted something from this man, and Cadence didn¡¯t necessarily disagree. Free loaders were only a drain on them.

    The man seemed nervous at first. His eyes went between each of the crew as a vigor slowly returned to him. A vigor he must have been building before this conversation. Cadence knew the look in those eyes. It was determination in the face of new horizons, the same look she had seen in the mirror before coming out to these Badlands with the Captain.

    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll tell you what you¡¯d like to know. I need to get beyond that wall, no matter the price.¡± His words came out quickly, but not falling over themselves. Like a strong-willed stampede marching to a fate beyond their knowledge.

    Cadence¡­ thought this man would fit in fine with this rag-tag group of crew members.

 Chapter 5

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMW Betty

    Cadence could feel the machine shambling onwards beneath her seat in the storage section. They had moved some seats from the other sections to this one in preparation for the talk. Apparently this Marshall person was going to tell them something pretty important, and demanded that they all be seated before they heard him.

    Each of them had found seats in the storage. A couple chairs for the Captain and Roberts. Cadence had chosen to lean against the wall. She was far too energized to sit still in a seat! There was a living, breathing outworlder in their mech, and they were going to hear from him first hand! Though him thinking that they were all too weak willed or primitive or something to hear what he had to say without falling over was somewhat insulting.

    Marshall seemed uneasy about the whole thing, but started off nonetheless. ¡°I¡¯m a member of the 11th Phoenix, Wing C of the Firebrand, as I said before. The Firebrand is a cruiser that I was registered to. That cruiser was in a holding pattern last I saw, which basically means waiting for results from the ones sent out. We had a mission to drop down to Terra¡¯s level and investigate a disturbance in the Wasteland outside the Walls. Something was causing a massive flux in reality on the surface, and they thought a Hive was opening up again.¡±

    As he spoke Cadence¡¯s brows slowly started to raise themselves on her forehead. The idea of a Hive being active again was hair raising, especially one that would draw the attention of the Outlanders like this. Hives would sometimes draw out dozens or hundreds of Voidlings over their lifespan, then collapse in on themselves when done belching out their fill. Something about the fabric of reality being torn for too long and it trying to stitch itself back together. Cadence couldn¡¯t remember the lectures she had gotten from Oslo back in their mockery of University.

    Continuing, Marshall looked as if he was telling some frightful ghost story. ¡°We tried to sweep high, hoping to stay out of the range of any quilled attacks from Vultures or catching the attention of any of the higher life forms. We didn¡¯t see much in the way of evidence of a Hive, so we dipped lower to the ground. Sixteen of us went lower while seven more hung high. A typical pattern for a sweep, where some would stay on station to report back or dive in if something went wrong. That was when we came under fire from an evolved Vulture. The thing had tried to consume an anti-air gun of some kind, and it used it to open up on us along with its quills. We didn¡¯t see it coming. None of us did. We were taken out in short order and crashed to the ground. I was one of the only survivors from the crash¡­ and the only one I saw make it out after the Spawnlings descended on the mess.¡±

    The Captain held up his hand in a stopping motion as Marshall spoke. Marshall paused, giving the Captain a curious stare. ¡°Tell me, Marshall, why would they care about a simple hive birthing a few hundred Spawnlings and maybe a Vulture? No offense, but the Outlanders like you haven¡¯t cared about helping anyone with any of the other infestations near the Wall in decades.¡±

    A bitten lip showed Marshall¡¯s nervousness well enough before he spoke again. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a few hundred¡­ more like a few thousand with a confirmed Vulture presence being birthed actively. That and¡­ they detected a trace of one of the Legion classes being birthed.¡±

    The room got very quiet after that. A quiet that Cadence did not want to break. She herself was reeling with that revelation and barely holding on to her composure. One of the Legion was a threat not just to a Nomad-class mech like Betty, or even a convoy of them, but a threat to a whole town or possibly a part of the Wall! An icy fear rolled down her back as she thought of this.

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    ¡°Ok, so¡­¡± Came her muted voice from her ears ringing in anxiety. ¡°... Say we believe you. What exactly are we supposed to do with this information? Captain? What the fuck are we supposed to do with this!?¡± She could hear her words coming out in a hurry, but the frantic nature of them betrayed her attempt at hiding her slowly forming panic attack.

    Her eyes went to the Captain, who seemed to be maintaining his composure just fine. The bleeding, prideful bastard didn¡¯t even let his neutral expression drop once. Her anxiety colored itself with a hint of rage at viewing the Captain unworried, so unlike what she was feeling now. Yet her loyalty as a crewmate on the HMW Betty kept her tongue and fist as immobile as this man¡¯s eyebrows.

    The Captain let out a sigh that seemed to finally cause the man to actually look anything other than neutral. His mouth turned into a frown and his brow furrowed. Cadence would have to rethink her standards for rigidity when comparing her loyalty now.

    ¡°Simple: nothing.¡± the Captain said plainly. ¡°All we can really do is take this news back and pass it along to someone that can do something about it. And we need to do that in a hurry as well. By the sounds of it, since Marshall said earlier that these things were on his heels, they might be closing in. I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯ve noticed, Marshall, but we¡¯re not a military troop. So please, continue with haste so that we can make our way out before they get here.¡±

    Marshall gave a nod to this and continued his tale in a quickened tone. He laid out what he had had to do to get here, even calling out a Wastelander compound some towns over. Roberts frowned at this and asked him to point out where they were. Yeah, knowing where those bastards were at would make avoiding them easier.

    Cadence disconnected from the conversation when the story finished up and they began discussing the best way back in a hurry. She stood and walked back through Betty to the front of the mech. The door to the head opened to the empty command deck with its lights flashing around the different consoles. Cadence moved over to the chair at the communications desk and took a seat. ¡°So what do you think of this, Gwen?¡± she said aloud to the air in the room.

    A reply came back from the speakers at the communications desk. ¡°Well, it seems like the Outlander, Marshall, is truthful in his words. My guess is that he¡¯s shell-shocked and is just trying to get home. The Hive is worrying, but the Captain has a point: it¡¯s not our problem. He¡¯s already sent me over a plotted route to take Betty in, which will take us a few days to get to at least. That is if storms or other phenomena don¡¯t happen on the way¡­ again.¡±

    Cadence nodded to this absentmindedly. ¡°Right¡­ but, doesn¡¯t it seem odd? Outlanders have always come for their fallen. It¡¯s one of the ways that they¡¯ve denied technology to us for decades. At least, that¡¯s what the stories say. So why is he not¡­ you know¡­¡±

    ¡°Dead or rescued?¡± came the quick reply. Cadence nodded to it, which caused a sigh to come through the terminal. ¡°I don¡¯t know, this is all new. Even the data sheets I¡¯m getting from data terminals back home don¡¯t really list an occasion like this.¡±

    Cadence bit the inside of her lip in thought. If even Gwen had no idea, and the Captain was taking a no-care stance on it, then she would have to find out this oddity on her own. A prospect that made her more nervous than she should have been.

    The door to the head opened up as the Captain stepped through. His eyes fell on Cadence, which caused her to stand up and give him a salute in response. He waved a hand for her to ¡®cut it out¡¯ and continued to his usual chair. It had a blanket draped across it and a small pillow at its base that he moved and fluffed as he covered himself with the blanket.

    Sitting back in her seat, Cadence stared at the Captain and waited till he was fully seated. She then spoke ¡°Captain. Where are we heading at this point?¡±

    The Captain looked over his shoulder to her, a small frown still on his face from before. ¡°We¡¯re changing course. We¡¯ll head back to New Minsk, Belarus.¡±

    This caused some surprise from Cadence, but she didn¡¯t dare question the Captain in this. If he was willing to go back to New Minsk, then he was taking this more seriously than she was willing to give credit to earlier.

 Chapter 6

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    The Captain of the vessel left some time after all the talking was done; and it was a lot of talking as well. He had to recount everything that he had gone through in the past few days in vivid detail to the Captain so that he would understand how dire this all was. He needed them to believe him and take him back to somewhere with an orbital telecommunication hub so he could contact home. Yet, these people seemed less concerned with the threat and more so the logistics of it. It¡­ rubbed him wrong. He understood they had their own interests, but the interests at large were more important.

    Besides that; he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was off about the Captain. Something was just slightly off about all of the crew of this mech, HMW Betty as they call it. It seemed as if the Captain had some kind of chip on his shoulder when they talked, constantly checking his words as if they could be wrong or incorrect. Marshall knew that all the information he had was correct, even if these backwards planet-living people couldn¡¯t understand that. That and the Captain seemed to keep tugging down on the hat he wore during their conversation.

    There was also the mechanic: Cadence. She was a spitfire of anger right out of the gate. She seemed to be watching him like a hawk from the moment he regained consciousness under those lights. It was annoying, but he understood her trepidation. Marshall was an outsider, a new face, and from a place more advanced than them. If it was him, Marshall would be holding a rifle in a corner while his commanding officer sat at an interrogation desk. Thankfully this place was too small for something like that, and missing most of the facilities for it.

    The Doctor, Roberts he recalled, had been the most normal out of the two. He seemed to be some tribal-like man thrown into technology. His grasp on medical knowledge was astounding, especially for such a Terra bound society. Whilst the talk was going on, Roberts had just been sitting in the corner writing down things onto a holo-pad. The thing seemed like archeotech but operated well enough for a typewriter Marshall guessed.

    They had left each minus the large Roberts. He had stood in the room while going over statistic after statistic of Marshall¡¯s health. It was getting grading after the third question of ¡®have you touched any of the strange flowers¡¯ mixed with another location he had no idea of. After nearly half an hour of this, Roberts finally put down the pad on the table. Marshall¡¯s eyes looked to it to gleam anything off it if he could. However, Roberts had turned it off upon setting it down.

    ¡°Marshall, I do need to go over some of the items I did find in your check. Not this one,¡± he said, gesturing to the pad, ¡°but the one that I ran on you to make sure you were clean and not a biohazard to us.¡± Robert¡¯s face tightened at the end of this.

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    Marshall, seeing bad news from a kilometer off, adopted a frown on his face almost subconsciously. ¡°Uh¡­ those words aren¡¯t usually good to follow with one another. What did you find? Did I have trace amounts of radiation or something? A super disease from traipsing across this dirty planet?¡± There was humor being strained out from his words, but it was so forced that it just came off as words of mockery. Marshall knew this but he needed to hold out a hope that these primates just saw that he was late on a vaccine from seven centuries ago or somet¨C

    ¡°I¡¯ve detected trace amounts of Void-Scourge in your bloodstream. Your blood is tainted by the Voidling plague, probably from coming too close to the Hive without proper PPE.¡± Robert''s words were flat as he spoke this news.

    Marshall¡¯s ears immediately began to ring with panic. Roberts said more words, but the only thing that Marshall could hear was that terrible ringing. He knew barely anything about the Scourge, but he did know that anyone afflicted with it were as good as dead.

    A hand came down and gripped Marshall¡¯s shoulder. His attention went to its owner: Robert. ¡°Calm down kid, take a few deep breaths. We don¡¯t need you panicking right now, ok? Calm breaths.¡±

    He focused on his breathing. Yes, breathing. Was he having a panic attack? He must be. He gripped the edges of the bed with such strength that it made his hands hurt. At least, that was what he thought. Looking down, he was barely even crumpling up the sheet over the makeshift bed. His hands just hurt, and so did his head and the rest of his body as the stress flowed through him. ¡°O-ok. I think I¡¯m good enough.¡± He said through his breathing. ¡°Please¡­ repeat what you said after. I¡­ didn¡¯t really hear it.¡±

    Robert looked the boy over with a concerned glance before reaching over and picking up his holo-pad. ¡°I know you¡¯re an Outland¨C er, a resident from off-world. So I¡¯m going to go over the basics of the self-quarantine you need to do. But first, please put on this scrubber.¡± Roberts flicked through the holo-pad for a second, then removed a mask-like apparatus from one of the drawers. Marshall slid this over his mouth and began cycling it. It wasn¡¯t too different from the ones they used in basic training for getting used to the full-apparatus of the pilot¡¯s chair. ¡°Now I want you to wear that anytime you plan to be around anyone. Only take it off to clean it in an environment you know you can sterilize after.¡±

    Marshall nodded to this, fitting it to his face as he did this. He spoke out, though the words were a little muffled from this. ¡°What else? I¡¯m already in this deep in the bad news.¡± The dry sarcasm colored his current mood perfectly now.

    Roberts gave a shake to his head and began digging in another drawer. If Marshall wasn¡¯t clear of head, he would say the man just laughed at him. Roberts removed a collection of needles from the drawer and the smile on his face immediately made Marshall recoil. ¡°Oh, nothing much. Just the starting batch of nearly three centuries of vaccines for pathogens you space-born people haven¡¯t interacted with.¡±

    Marshall¡¯s heart rose in his throat at this. Was it too late to tell the man he had trypophobia?

 Chapter 7

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMW Betty

    The desk that Cadence found herself at was a status terminal with multiple displays and meters. Things such as the ambient radiation, Void-interference, ambient heat, wind, humidity, and more were displayed on the left monitor. This tracked environmental disturbances and allowed them to know what kind of area they were walking into. This also allowed them a minor amount of weather tracking, but Cadence was an engineer, not a meteorologist. Maybe she should ask the space-boy if he can read the weather since he lived up there in the clouds?

    The second display was on the right. This was an active tracking with visual aid outside of Betty. She could use the sensors from the left display¡¯s readings to change the type of display that she can see from on the right as well. This allowed her to switch from the visible spectrum to something like heat tracking or a more rudimentary magnetic or radiation display and point it in a specific direction.

    Her hand swiveled the active display from the right to the left, sweeping over the destroyed and ravaged landscape around them. Her view came to rest off to their left on a destroyed town in the distance. She checked the active map display in front of the Captain¡¯s seat. Through the smoke that often followed the man; she spotted the location they were passing near on the old map they used: Smolensk. This was probably a bustling town centuries ago, but now was more or less a wreck that could hold Voidlings in hiding or raiders in ambush. They stayed away from cities like that for that exact reason.

    Moving the camera back to the front of the mech, Cadence looked ahead with the camera system. While Robert was back with the newcomer assessing his status and making him comfortable and Captain was actually piloting and navigating the mech, Cadence was keeping a lookout and monitoring the systems of Betty. This big hunk of metal had more things wrong with her than some of them had. For instance: the middle-left leg¡¯s rotor that kept the thing stable with it stepped and rotated with its movements was starting to rust over with the constant abuse over these past few weeks. The sensors were going crazy and reporting a full failure on the leg due to it. Cadence knew that this wasn¡¯t the case, but it still bugged her to see the red messages come up occasionally and spook her.

    While she was a little lost in her own head, a small chime came out of her machine. Cadence pressed a button and a ¡®plip¡¯ noise came before a familiar voice followed. ¡°Would you like me to take over for a while, Cadence? I¡¯m sure the guns I¡¯m keeping warm can stand to cool for a little while you get some sleep.¡± Gwen¡¯s voice came through a little more metallic due to the low quality of the speakers on this terminal. It wasn¡¯t the communication terminal on the other side of the cockpit and lacked the need for better speakers.

    ¡°No Gwen, I¡¯m fine. I¡¯ll clock out when we get past this urban area. Even then, it won¡¯t take more than a week from what the Captain said. I¡¯ll be fine for a couple more hours.¡± Cadence¡¯s voice was low as she didn¡¯t want to bother the Captain mere twenty paces from her. ¡°Can you do me a favor though?¡±

    A pause was felt before Gwen answered. ¡°Yes, Cadence? I can attempt to help as long as it¡¯s within my capabilities.¡±

    Cadence gave a sigh and moved the camera to the front of the mech and switched it to radiation scanning, as the display on the left was reading a radiation spike. ¡°Right, within your capabilities. You¡¯re getting better with your speech, but I suggest practicing a bit more with Robert.¡± She gave a shake to her head as she said this. ¡°But yes¡­ can you send a message to Roberts and ask him to clean and prep an away-suit? We¡¯re getting close and I¡¯m going to ask the Captain for a quick stop.¡±

    Another pause, then a small chime came as Gwen responded. ¡°Sent. He has replied with a checkmark on his pad, so I¡¯m guessing that¡¯s a yes. He seems to be very busy with something.¡± A small laugh came from the speaker, sounding more like a wind chime through these shoddy speakers. ¡°I have a feeling this new passenger is going to be a very interesting one indeed.¡±

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    Cadence gave a snort to stifle a response. Instead, she switched the scanner to the EM mode. Her eyes fell upon some kind of disk that was emitting a small, electro-magnetic voltage in the road some three-hundred meters ahead of them. As Betty lumbered forwards, Cadence enhanced the screen to look at the object. It had a small assortment of threads coming from it that seemed to pulse as she studied it. The hair on the back of her neck rose as a thought clicked in her head. She switched to thermal, then to visual spectrum in quick succession and breathed in sharply.

    ¡°Captain, possible anti-mech mine ahead. Detecting a magnetic cap to it, so it¡¯s made to take down high models like our Mule, Betty.¡± Cadence¡¯s words were fast and sharp. They were now only a hundred meters from it while Cadence was making sure what it was.

    The Captain pressed a few command buttons and Betty came to a slow stop. He swiped on his display and brought up what Cadence was looking at on his screen. A shared breath was taken by him as well as he looked at it. ¡°Gwen, keep the guns hot and scan the surrounding terrain for any ambushers. Cadence, hop off the sensors and hand them over for Gwen to use. Get a suit on and take someone with you. Get that mine out of the way. We¡¯re burning daylight and we can¡¯t wait around to deal with bandits too.¡±

    Cadence nodded and jumped off the sensor station. She headed out of the cockpit and through the rest of the mech to the rear of it where the other two were at. She opened the door to the makeshift quarantine room they set aside and¨C

    The sight she was greeted with was something that took her a moment to process. Robert had the newcomer pressed down against the table, a needle in his hand and a look of annoyance plastered across his face. Marshall was being pressed down against the table with a look of fear in his eyes. He was babbling something about not needing all of them, and that ten was plenty. Robert seemed to be absolutely against this and was trying to get the needle into him.

    Cadence just dumbly stood there for a moment before she shouted for them to shut up. Both of their gazes turned to Cadence as she yelled, and a hushed silence fell across both of them. Robert opened his mouth and formed the words ¡°He wasn¡¯t letting me¨C¡± before Cadence waved her hand.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you all were doing. I know you¡¯re all about healthy environments, but don¡¯t kill the guy before we can use him.¡± Cadence¡¯s tone was close to that of someone on the line of confusion and annoyance, and she wasn¡¯t sure which she was leaning more into right now. ¡°I need the guy suited up and ready to go in less than a minute. We have trouble out front, and I need you, Robert, to stay in the ship and be a backup for Gwen. The Captain needs to get Betty through and needs to focus on that.¡±

    Robert¡¯s eyes lit up with a small bit of fire that Cadence was used. She had barely closed her mouth before Roberts blurted out ¡°I was right! They WERE waiting for us¨C¡±

    Cadence groaned and started to close the door. ¡°Less than a minute, Robert. Give back Marshall his firearm that he came here with. He¡¯s going to need it.¡± She shut the door without another word and went to the armory in the center of the mech.

    Her locker was the one closest to the door and sported the most dents in it. She opened it and snagged the rifle from it. A late-war model that she had scavenged before joining the crew. This thing was called a ¡®marksman rifle¡¯, which basically meant it could be used as a normal rifle or a longer range one if needed. It was semi-automatic, but was so responsive that it may as well be automatic if her finger was fast enough. Whatever they thought when making this, it had a surprisingly satisfactory shoulder rest and sight on it. If only she found a magazine that was larger than ten rounds she¡¯d be set.

    She also took her sidearm from the locker, a small Czechoslovakian-made gun that packed a nice punch. Along with that she took out a kit of her tools and a small deployable survival shield. Could never be too cautious, right?

    Robert soon came out with her suit and helmet as well as Marshall tailing behind him. It seemed as if Marshall had already had the suit slid on him and even had a heavy duty rebreather on him. Odd, but she said nothing about it. She took the suit and started to get prep.

    A shudder ran through the ship as the defense system came to life. All three of them stood stock still for a moment, taking in what just happened. Gwen had just fired at something¡­ and that made shit a whole lot more complicated.

 Chapter 8

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    Their methods may be slightly abrasive, but Marshall didn¡¯t draw too many similarities to his prior training camp brutality. It was a simple walk out into the outside of the ¡®Mule¡¯, as they called it, to defuse this mine that had been spotted. Someone had set up some kind of explosive device ahead and was planning on taking out anything that came across it. From the sounds of the conversation between Cadence and the Captain of Betty from the communication device: this was possibly placed for their specific model of Mule.

    Cadence had just finished slipping on her suit when the entire Mule rocked with some kind of explosive. Marshall immediately started to panic with the thought that they had just taken a hit from something. He grabbed onto a hold nearby and braced himself for the crash he was very much expecting by now. He received some confused looks by both Robert and Cadence, who shared a look between each of them.

    ¡°Hey uh¡­ Marshall? You good? You already getting the combat jitters just hearing a cannon go off?¡± Cadence said incredulously.

    It was Marshall¡¯s turn to be confused. He looked at both of them before replying. ¡°Wait, that was us? Do you all still use explosive-based propellants in your firearms and cannons??¡± The question came out a bit more surprised than he was intending. He released his grip on the bar and stood back up fully.

    A confused look shot across Robert¡¯s face, but a more knowing and irritated look went across Cadence¡¯s face. She responded with ¡°Of course we do, you Outlander. Er¨C Marshall. We don¡¯t all have the funds for gauss or, fates forbid, laser technology.¡±

    Marshall¡¯s hand drifted down to his service pistol on his side. His hand stopped before it landed on the thing and instead rested on his hip. The firearm suddenly felt very, very heavy now. ¡°Right. Then let¡¯s get along with what we need to do then?¡± His words lacked any kind of conviction. Mostly because he had fuck all in ideas of how to go about defusing a bomb.

    Cadence gave a node and turned to Roberts. ¡°We need you on the guns to help Gwen. Keep an eye out and let her do the heavy lifting.¡± Roberts nodded to her words and left without another moment wasted. These people seemed to have rehearsed these moments at least a few times now.

    Both Marshall and Cadence moved towards the exit hatch after that. Cadence looked over her now suited shoulder, her mask blocking any facial hints to emotion. She seemed to look at him for a moment, then turn back and continue out the hatch. It cracked open with a hiss and revealed the outside world as it was. A still barren, but not as desolate view as he had scrambled through a week ago. There were tufts of grass poking out from the cracks in the pavement and the remnants of roads that had been laid down. While a small hill of terrain ran along the side of the road they faced and blocked the rest of the view, Marshall could tell from the sparse tops of trees poking up over the hill¡¯s top that this place wasn¡¯t as dead as the Wastelands was.

    The first thing Marshall noticed that was out of place, long before they ever got to the ladder that Cadence was attempting to use, was the now-smoldering crater in one part of the hill. A man laid beside that crater, unmoving, with a strange object in their hand. It was hard to tell at this distance. They were basically only a hundred feet from the mine they had to defuse.

    That wasn¡¯t a bad sign. No, not at all.

    Marshall gave a shake to this head, as if to clear the bad thought from it. No, this would be fine. His hand rested on the grip of his firearm like a comfort. If any crazy shit happened, he could rely on his old, trustworthy pistol.

    Cadence turned once again and gave a tap on the right side of her neck. ¡°Press here and turn on your radio. Robert says he¡¯s been trying to reach you.¡± Her voice was mechanical through the suit, a sound that reminded him a lot of the chatter you¡¯d hear over the flight-radio when they were out of effective range of the devices.

    His finger went up to his neck, feeling for the button he needed to press down on. He found it and, as the radio cracked to life in his suit¡¯s enclosed helmet, Robert¡¯s voice came through like a static snowfall.

    ¡°-id? Kid, come in.¡±

    A sigh heaved from his chest once more. Robert scared him, admittedly. The brutish man was like a gorilla in strength and an ox in a porcelain shop with his subtlety. Whatever he had to say to him better not be related to his shots or¡­ the illness. Right, the illness. He had nearly forgotten about that already in all this craziness. Was there any real reason for him to wear this suit outside now? He had already gotten infected with the thing that they were so afraid of, right? ¡°I hear you Robert. What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Robert let out a curse in response. Marshall¡¯s eyebrow raised slightly in confusion, but the confusion would be dissipated quickly after. ¡°Another one. Track that Gwen. Right, Marshall, I need you to listen carefully. We¡¯ve tracked two heat sources already on the knolls around us. They vanished soon after, so we think they are using Lizard Suits. We call them that, but they¡¯re like tactical gear that the old-world used to use in their special forces. Heat dissipating armor that makes you match the environment around you. We¡¯re gonna need to rely on you a little bit more here to keep Cadence safe. I know you only have a pistol, but I need you to at least call out or fire at where you see baddies. Anyone out here wouldn¡¯t be our friends, as Wastelanders like us usually announce ourselves if we spot each other pretty obviously.¡±

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    Marshall was a little overwhelmed by the information being fed to him, but he understood the gist of it. ¡°I got it, Robert. Where were the two sources spotted?¡± He unfastened the gun¡¯s holster-guard and drew the weapon. The weight of it wasn¡¯t too much, but it weighed more than a standard pistol did. Standard to them, most likely.

    There was a pause that Marshall didn¡¯t like from Roberts. He resisted calling back instantly in his haste as he followed a little closer behind Cadence. The reply did soon come through as Robert said ¡°It seems like the first one was to your 2 o¡¯clock, and the second was to your 11 o¡¯clock.¡± His voice was uncertain as he said this. Marshall did not like that.

    ¡°So they¡¯re on both sides. Thanks.¡±

    He jogged up next to Cadence and started to tell her what Robert had said before she held up a hand. She then spoke and said ¡°The comms are shared. I heard everything, I just didn¡¯t say anything.¡±

    Marshall¡¯s face flushed for a moment in embarrassment before he regained his composure and nodded. ¡°Right. So what does this mine look like?¡± Marshall had looked around as they walked forwards and had yet to spot anything that screamed ¡®mine¡¯.

    Cadence stopped and pointed a dozen feet ahead at the ground. Marshall¡¯s eyes followed it to see a hub-cap of an old Terran-style motor transport laying face-up on the ground. ¡°See that? It¡¯s under there. So cover me while I get this defused.¡±

    The pistol in his hand was switched off safe as he nodded. He took a few steps back and knelt down as she did the same over the mine. She set down her kit she had with her and started to get to work on the explosive device. His eyes went over the terrain around them as she worked. This place¡­ it looked close to what he had seen in his classes about normal life on Terra. Raiders, Wastelanders, the small Nation-States that had developed after Terra fell. Yet, they said that they were heading to the wall, a place that was supposed to be where civilization properly started. So why did this place appear in so many classes of ¡®Terra Civilizations¡¯ he had to take? That just did not line up with what he understood.

    Cadence pulled on something on the mine and a wire came up from the ground. Her helmet pivoted to look at it, then seemed to follow a path from it to the knoll. A curse came from her microphone as she spoke. ¡°This thing has a detonator somewhere. Luckily I was able to¨C¡±

    Marshall¡¯s attention was instantly snapped up from her words when a glint came from the knoll to his right. Down the road, some few hundred feet, was someone laying on the ground with foliage laid over them. The rifle was poking out, glinting in the afternoon sun. Marshall raised his pistol as he yelled out the man¡¯s position to Robert. He saw the shot long before he heard it. The flash of the muzzle and the spray of blood from Cadence as her suit ruptured. It was followed by a much louder, and much more violent detonation behind Marshall as the cannon on Betty opened up on the man.

    A few splashes turned that man¡¯s hiding spot into more of a moon-like crater of barren life and explosion burns. Marshall didn¡¯t wait over-long to stare at the sight of the man¡¯s remains. No, he rushed to Cadence as fast as this constrictive suit would let him. He slid next to her, looking over the damage that had been done. She had taken a shot in the upper arm on her left arm. While not in the direct body, Marshall knew there was a vein in the arms and legs that could mean you¡¯d bleed out in minutes if untreated.

    Cadence was nothing but vulgarities as she attempted to stand back up. Marshall was having none of it and hefted her over his shoulders. Training, he had to use his training. He had been trained for ship combat, not fucking fire-fighting in the middle of a decrepit and ancient highway!

    A hissing filled the air as a rocket soared from over the hill¡¯s edge. It came short and detonated ahead of Betty, but showed what kind of heat that the raiders were packing. All guns on Betty began to fire indiscriminately at any open surface on those hills as Marshall ran Cadence back towards Betty. Getting up the ladder was the hardest part of the journey, but it wasn¡¯t the only one. A ricochet slammed off the metal next to Marshall as a round nearly missed his head. He looked back at the top of the ladder to see nearly a dozen men and women armed in small arms and rockets poking up over the hills on each side of the pathway.

    He barreled down the walkway on the side of the mech to the hatch. With a quick tug, he yanked it open and both him and Cadence spilled down into the armory¡¯s floor. He made it, and the pallor color that Cadence¡¯s face was taking on told him it was none too soon. Robert burst into the room from the cockpit and pointed to it. ¡°Get in there and help Gwen and the Captain. I¡¯ll deal with Cadence.¡±

    Without another word, Marshall picked himself up and entered into the cockpit to this mech. It was larger than he was expecting, but was filled with monitors, displays, and stations on each wall. He didn¡¯t have time to marvel at how advanced the primitive Terrans could get and yet still be primitives. The Captain gestured to the seat next to him and told him to sit. ¡°Take the guns, I¡¯m going to try to get us the hell out of here.¡±

    Marshall slid in next to the Captain, only now realizing how much blood was on his shoulder, arm, and hands. He hoped that Cadence would make it even as he grabbed the controls for the guns.

    The monitor showed the same figures on the hill, now four less than before with either a crater or blood stain marking where they once were. Something else alarming had shown up, however. Another Mule, one torn to hell, retrofitted with a large barrel on its back, and multiple banners of gears hung off its side. And spikes. Fucking spikes.

    The barrel on its back began to warm up, and the monitors warned that that wasn¡¯t the only thing to worry about. An emplaced gun rolled onto the hill as well where the men were at. Marshall felt a shiver down his spine as he saw this on the monitors. How were they supposed to make it past all this with three guns and a slow Mule?

 Chapter 9

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    The sudden rush of seeing all the resistance that had seemed to have appeared far too quickly made Marshall¡¯s head spin slightly. There were a lot of targets ahead of him, and even more dangers on the sides. It seemed as if these raiders were specifically geared towards raiding and looting people like the ones he had become acquainted with over the past couple days. Even if he had only really seen the inside of the quarantine room for the majority of those two days. He could only imagine what would happen if some of those armaments actually hit the Mule, Betty.

    Captain, as he had only been called up to this point, shifted some controls over to Marshall as he beheld what was ahead of them. Marshall saw the gun controls come onto his screen. It wasn¡¯t much; a 37mm that seems to be a Swedish design was slung under the mule, a 14.7mm heavy machine gun on the back that seemed to be an old Russian design that fired a bit more above its weight class than others of the same variety, and the front facing gun seemed to be showing as just ¡®mortar¡¯. While all of that was very nice and well descriptive, Marshall had fuck-all in the way of knowing what they would be effective against in this setting. There was no ammo count, no ammo description, no effective range, and no¨C

    A small smiley face appeared on the top right of the display he was looking at. A voice floated from the speakers attached to the center-most screen. ¡°Hello Marshall. My name is Gwen. We can have pleasantries later. I¡¯ll work on getting the video feed to display a form of ¡®HUD¡¯ for you to use for firing the guns.¡± A small trill of notes came, and the screen flickered and came back to life. Suddenly, there were dozens of new numbers and trackable items on the screen now that had not been there before. ¡°... and done. Let her rip, fly-boy.¡±

    The Captain pointed up at his display as his other hand was seeming to be typing items into his keypad. ¡°Focus on the little ones and the emplacement first. The larger one needs to get closer first. That is a Rail-Lance on its back. They don¡¯t have the energy needed to launch the thing far on these Mules.¡± His attention went back to his screen as he finished saying this. A plot map was on it with items being created. Triangles and squares of red dotted it. It seemed he was making a battle plan and a movement plot out of an initial sighting alone.

    Marshall¡¯s attention went back to the screen as another explosion rocked Betty, causing some dust to come from the ceiling above and flake the monitor. Gwen¡¯s voice came from the speakers again. ¡°We just took a hit to the back right leg. The emplaced gun seems to be firing explosive capped. If that hits us, we¡¯re dead. Suggested first target.¡±

    His hand swiveled the display to face the emplaced gun on the hill. Marshall never really paid too much attention to old Terran history farther back than a hundred years before the end of greater civilization on it. So this gun looked almost archaic to him. Old history or not, the danger of this thing was very, very real. The gun that had the best shot on it was the mortar, so he aimed at that first. With Gwen¡¯s help, he was able to range it in pretty much instantly and sent a shell from the barrel. It had some travel time before it landed, seeming to be a very heavy shell at that. When it hit a second later it caused a detonation like what he had seen when out in the field just earlier. A crater formed where the emplacement used to be, shrapnel flying in the air mixed with limbs and dirt. Four killed, and more still to go.

    Gwen flagged on his display movement from the thermals and visual displays combined, showing where more individuals were even outside of the field of view from the monitor. She labeled seven as carrying anti-armor weapons and told Marshall to prioritize them. He did just that, using the HMG on the back of Betty to pick them off one and two at a time. As Marshall finished with the more immediate threats, he would notice something odd with the displays that he was seeing. While he hadn¡¯t noticed since the visuals were enough to go by and his vision was tunneled; the markers and displays were seemingly a second or two off from where the individual actually was. Were the sensors out of date enough that the monitors were having issues keeping up? Or was that another issue entirely?

    The Captain began moving Betty forwards towards the other Mule. The sparking barrel on its back now seemed to glow slightly red from the heat it was generating. Whatever it was charging before was now ready to fire. Marshall acted with his instincts, those honed in the years he trained and operated a fighter before screaming for him to act. His hand moved the aiming stick and, in turn, the 37mm to focus on the legs. The aiming reticle focused on the joints where the legs rotated for movement and settled on a small section of armor that seemed to be broken and malformed. It wasn¡¯t on the front legs, but the back ones instead. The lazy bastards must have thought that no one would fire at the rear legs since it would always be charging AT something instead of away.

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    A thud vibrated Betty again as the 37mm spat out a round at the back left joint. The first shot ricocheted off the armor slightly left from where he aimed, causing it to redirect and land in the dirt behind it. Marshall cursed and aimed it again and fired after a couple second¡¯s delay for the reload. This one struck true, causing the joint to jam and break apart. Before it had time to react, or as Marshall saw it as waking up, he swiveled and fired off another one into the other back leg¡¯s joint.

    Marshall felt hair stand up on the back of his neck as the round impacted directly but did nothing more than scratch the paint on it. A direct hit, but the armor must not have been as weak as the other leg. He scanned the other four legs and found no other such weakness present on them either. He had only knocked out one leg, which was not enough to destabilize it or make it topple. So now he had to figure out where to hit this up-armored Mule to knock it out.

    Gwen began suggesting things in a panic to the Captain, who seemed far too relaxed given the situation they all were in. Marshall wondered if the sweet aroma was coming from an inhibitor that made him that way.

    Wait¡­ that was it. Inhibitors! They didn¡¯t need to stop it from firing, all they had to do was throw it off and inhibit its ability to aim properly! Marshall quickly aimed the mortar towards the Mule and centered on its left cheek. As Gwen panicky yelled at the Captain to do something or think of something, the Captain instead looked to Marshall. He said not a word, but instead looked at Marshall''s display and gave a nod. ¡°Yes¡­ I like it.¡± were the only words he spoke before grabbing Betty¡¯s controls. He spoke into the intercom in a calm voice ¡°All hands, brace for impact.¡±

    The weapon on the enemy Mule seemed to come to life as a charge came from the back of it and started traveling up it. Marshall squeezed the trigger as they barreled at the thing, a shell leaving the mortar and soaring towards the Mule. It impacted on the face of it, doing little to no damage. That wasn¡¯t the important part, however. The shockwave caused the Mule to lurch back and, without two stabilizing feet to stop it, lurched too far back and to the left. The shot came from its barrel and arc up and wide of Betty. The control panels all began flickering, and an alarm rang out somewhere inside of Betty as the ball of plasma grazed past them. Marshall could see on his display that the Mortar had been hit by it enough that it was very much out of commission. Betty, however, had survived the blast.

    The Captain gunned it forwards and dipped the head, the cockpit, down slightly and then brought it back up swiftly. There was a loud clang as metal hit metal, then a thunderous shuddering as the enemy Mule toppled over from the impact. The Captain looked to Marshall and gave another nod. ¡°May as well make sure it¡¯s dead.¡±

    The words had an implication to them that Marshall was not all too unfamiliar with. A sour taste was left in his mouth as he turned the surviving 37mm to face down at the toppled Mule. A faded ¡®HMW Ambridge¡¯ was on its side, just like Betty was on their Mule. But this one instead had a large name painted next to the faded one. ¡®Cain¡¯. Marshall fired a shot into each of the sections of the Mule, detonating inside of it and, most likely, killing any occupants in it. After that was done, Marshall swiveled the gun backwards and shot the mine that they had defused some ways back. May as well not let them have that, either.

    The Captain continued on, moving past the defeated Mule to the area beyond it. As they came past the blocking hills to more flat land, the Captain turned and faced Marshall, leaving the autopilot to keep going on their course. ¡°We do what we must to make sure that they could not hurt us or our kin. Even that of crews we do not know. If that Mule survived, then it could have hurt others.¡± He paused, looking Marshall over. ¡°Though you look more accustomed to this sort of thing. I won¡¯t bother explaining further. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve had to do the same in other places.¡±

    Marshall thought on his words as they went. Had he done the same before? The more he thought, the more he realized why he was able to do it so coldly. Yes, he had done that before. Whilst man struggled on Terra, so too did man struggle in the stars.

    Marshall got up and decided that his humanity would be better spent checking on Robert and Cadence.

 Chapter 10

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    Betty had a lot going for her when it came to the fluidity of her movements. Marshall noted how well he was staying in place as he held onto the remains of the main communication antenna. His grip was less for stabilization and more so just to give his hands something to do as he waited. The other hand was around a pair of binoculars, which he had been given by Robert when he came out here. He used this to scan the area around them like some old-time pirate on a ship water-bound to Terra. Just like in the stories of the old world, he thought.

    He was roused from his thoughts by a curse from Cadence. She was a few feet from him, working on a box that held many valuable pieces that made the communications antenna work. It was beyond Marshall, a pilot who had not taken the time to learn how to maintain his vehicle outside deployment hours let alone other vehicles. To him, these machines had their own language and their own biologies that he had zero idea how to treat if sick. That¡¯s why Marshall always had some respect for mechanics who could retrofit, fix, and improve his craft and others between deployments. Cadence was no exception to that.

    Besides the fact that the woman took a shot to the shoulder that should have put her on her ass for a week at least, she was up and moving days after her injury. Robert had explained to him that Marshall had brought her back in just enough time that the blood loss wasn¡¯t life threatening. He had gone on about some artery that existed in the arm and how vital it was, but Marshall just absently nodded to what the man had said. Marshall understood the importance of what severing that artery meant, but Robert could genuinely talk blue in the face about simple things and make them complicated. Marshall did not envy the rest of the crew, who had been working with this man for an indeterminate amount of time.

    The crux of it was this: she had survived and was kicking. And kicking she was. The first thing she had exclaimed when she came to was if Betty was ok. Marshall was a little hurt that her first worry wasn¡¯t him, the one who had brought her in, or herself who had actually taken the bullet. To her credit, this vehicle was probably like a baby to her, or a precious object. He felt the same about his own fighter. The one currently rotting out in the Wastelands. Alone.

    Marshall shook his head to clear the thought. Cadence must have seen, as she immediately yelled at him to stop acting high and mighty and get her a wrench. Marshall clambered down from the communication mast and fished in her toolpak for what she was looking for. After a minute he handed her a wrench and she dived back into the box.

    Her voice floated up, muffled, from the box she was leaning into. ¡°This damn thing¨C ugh¨C it took a direct hit from whatever the hell it was that you guys were boxing. The Captain said it was a Lance. Those things give off EMPs when they hit or pass close to something. Basically a ¡®fuck you¡¯ to anything that has to use circuits and electricity to live.¡± Cadence¡¯s head came back up with smudges all over her suit¡¯s visor. ¡°The long and short of it is that the mast is basically dead now. All the wires are melted together, the relay is fried, and the entire damn motherboard looks like¨C Are you listening?¡±

    Marshall admittedly had started to space out as she was talking, but nodded regardless. He had understood most of it, but her nagging was starting to make him lose interest. Her and his drill sergeant could have a sibling resemblance if it came down to that fact alone.

    ¡°Well good, because you¡¯re the one who¡¯s going to explain to the Captain that we have no way to communicate long-range anymore. That and, by the looks of it, we¡¯re down to the belly cannon. All the electronics fried on both mounts up here as well.¡± She gave a sigh and sat back. ¡°We¡¯re lucky that the protectors stopped it from spreading to the rest of the vehicle. Betty is effectively paralyzed from the forehead up now.¡±

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    Marshall¡¯s head cocked to the side a little in confusion. It was that damaging and the Captain was so calm about it? Even going so far as to say that he wasn¡¯t worried about it first? He cast aside those thoughts and instead asked something else. ¡°Alright¡­ but it¡¯s still able to get us to the Wall, yes?¡±

    Cadence sighed and stood to gather her things. ¡°Yes, we can still get to the Wall. You¡¯re almost as excited to get there as a child is to see it for the first time. Trust me Outlander, that place is no saving grace.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean? Isn¡¯t the Wall the place where Humanity holds the line against the Voidlings and keeps back the corruption? Because if it is, then that¡¯s enough to give me some hope that I can send a message back home when I get there.¡± He bristled at her words and was a bit confused. Why would she be apprehensive against those that man the Wall?

    Cadence shook her head and started back inside. Marshall followed as she spoke. ¡°You¡¯ll see when you get there. It¡¯s not as simple as you make it out to be, and more complicated than I can explain. I¡¯m just a mechanic. Ask the Captain if you want a glimpse.¡±

    They arrived back in the main body of Betty in short order and the two of them started to decontaminate. It mainly involved them being sprayed down at the hatch with some kind of particulate as they stood there. There wasn¡¯t much room, so they had to enter and exit the hatch¡¯s chamber one at a time. Marshall couldn¡¯t even comprehend properly how inefficient this was compared to just making everyone go through a chamber at one point instead and making it larger.

    Stepping back in, Cadence removed her suit to show her outfit below. Marshall, however, did not. He continued through to the back of Betty which had been his chambers for the time he was here. He did not make it back there as Robert had stood in his way with a smile on his face. Marshall looked at the large man, having to actually crane his neck up slightly, and expressed confusion. The answer to his pleas was a blanket thrown at his face. ¡°Congratulations Marshall, you get to sleep in an actual cot. No more sick bed for you.¡± Marshall¡¯s face must have been plain to see, even through the visor, as Robert laughed at him. ¡°The Captain has deemed you cultured enough to be able to bed in the living quarters. Your bunk is above mine, so get settled in and get comfortable.¡±

    Robert gave him a last pat on the shoulder before walking past him to the armory. He gave Cadence a welcome hello only to get a boot thrown at him. Marshall turned before it got more violent and continued to what was to be his bunk. It was a bland thing with no real decoration. He ran his hand across the flat, barely person-size mattress and found no dust and a clean, folded sheet was the only thing under his fingers.

    Marshall nodded his head, setting his new binoculars and his pistol on the bed¡¯s item holder. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was large enough for this. He moved the pillow a little up and moved the sheets down to prepare for him to climb in¨C

    He felt a hand on his shoulder and words behind him. ¡°Hey Marsh, you going to bed already? We¡¯ve got the yard to ourselves this time.¡±

    Marshall spun on his heels to see¡­ nothing. He still felt the heat of the hand that laid upon his shoulder, which was impossible through the suit that he wore. It took him a moment, but something finally clicked that he had been suppressing since¡­ since when? Since he had gotten here? Since he had seen the inside of the mech? Since he had been welcomed readily by the miss-matched crew? This place had felt similar and yet wholly foreign to him all at once. The bed must have set it in. This¡­ this felt like he was back in his training bunk. Back with Phoenix and his squadron. His friends.

    His hand tightened in what he could only pretend was resolve. He climbed into the bunk, attempting to get comfy for the sleep that would not find him easily, nor unprepared.

    They still had a few days to go, and Marshall could feel each of those days drag by longer and longer.

 Chapter 11

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    The next few days creeped by in a slow drawl that had Marshall in and out of doing odd jobs, things that the Captain could trust him with, and getting checked up by Robert. Today was one such day. He sat in the quarantine room that they had been forced to set up in the storage area, kicking his legs back and forth on the makeshift medical bed. Marshall was growing more and more bored as the time went by for Robert to get back into the room. The man had told him not to move a muscle, that he would be back in ¡®three shakes of a lamb¡¯s leg¡¯... whatever the hell that meant. Yet the man had been gone for well over half an hour now.

    As if summoning the man, Robert stepped in the room and closed the door behind him. He held a device that looked sort of like a defibrillator with a large tube coming out of the top of it. Marshall cocked his head and asked the obvious question: ¡°What¡­ is that thing?¡±

    Robert heaved it over to a counter and laid it on there. It must have been heavy as the man was no lightweight. ¡°It is a device that helps to measure the contamination of an infected individual and tells us how far along you are. The display is archaic, as these things were mass produced in the years after the Rifts opened, but it works well enough even a couple hundred years later.¡± Robert flicked a couple switches on the thing and it started up with a whirr.

    While Marshall was really only fearful of needles, he also had the innate fear of something loud, foreign, and possibly defunct from age. He held up a hand and said ¡°Now hold on, why do we need that thing? Isn¡¯t the suit sufficient to keep me from getting worse?¡±

    Robert raised an eyebrow before sighing. ¡°I thought you said you understood how the Void-Scourge worked? It was the whole reason I only handed you the scrubber without going over all the related health issues and otherwise.¡± Robert seemed to be in a huff over this, of which Marshall almost instinctively threw up both hands in a ¡®hold on¡¯ gesture. Robert sat the device¡¯s paddles down on the machine again and produced his holo-pad.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go over this from the top then, so nothing is misunderstood. The Void-Scourge is a plague that is contracted from not having proper PPE, or Personal Protection Equipment, near the Nests of Voidlings. The important thing is the radiation-like aura that emanates from the Nests and its foundation; however the air around it is also directly infectious as well. The scrubber I gave you was so that you don¡¯t pick up trace amounts and make the infection worse by introducing more doses to yourself.¡± Robert flipped through some things on his pad before continuing. ¡°Most humans, or Terrans as I¡¯ve heard you call us, have a natural resistance to it at very low doses over a short time. You don¡¯t have that, now. Once you¡¯re infected, anything more is dangerous to you.¡±

    Robert turned the holo-pad towards Marshall at this point and showed him what was on it. Marshall instantly recoiled at the image on screen. It was some kind of desiccated man who had sections of his skin boiled over and what seems like a Voidling¡¯s limb sprouting from his neck. Robert flicked the image and showed another, of a man in a cell. The text next to it said ¡®Doppelganger¡¯ and an image list of thirty some photos. He didn¡¯t scroll through these, but left it at that and turned the device back around.

    ¡°There are four results of infection: mutation, replacement, aberrations, and fully immunities. The first option is the best: either you or your offspring get some kind of mutation in your genes. This sometimes is seen in powers, abilities, or full shifts in appearance and genetic makeup at more extreme ends. The last one is typically the more hereditary one too. Replacement is a bit more esoteric¡­ The more infection you develop, the more of a beacon you become for nearby Voidlings. They will be able to hunt you much more effectively, and you feed them more than a normal human does. Some Voidlings are more human-like, and will attempt to replace you in society by taking your form after killing you. Those we call ¡®Doppelgangers¡¯. They¡¯re nasty, so hope you don¡¯t attract their ire. The third is what you saw: you literally become the monster. You¡¯ll start getting growths on you until you either die or become a freak and try to kill people. The last is the most mundane of them: you become highly resistant and nearly immune to all Void-borne particles and the infection as a whole. Some have even said that you grow scent-blind to Voidlings, but I¡¯d pay a month¡¯s salary for you to find someone brave enough to throw themselves out in front of a Voidling to test a theory like that.¡±

    Marshall listened intently to all of this. It was wildly different to what he had heard in his basics. As if to prove what he had heard had grounds, Marshall spoke back to this. ¡°What we had been told was: if your suit or cockpit was breached and the Void-Scourge came in, you had a short time to live without proper medical treatment before you died a painful death. I was going off the thought that I needed to get home to be treated¡­ but you¡¯re saying there are actually some benefits to this?¡± Hope blossomed in Marshall¡¯s chest as he said this, but the doubt was always present at the back of his head.

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    Robert¡¯s next words all but confirmed it. ¡°Kid, the bad results are highly likely, and the good ones are low. It¡¯s something like a seventy-thirty split of bad to good chance, and most of it is based on your genes and exposure prior to it. Not sure on your genes, as I don¡¯t have a lab here, but your exposure sounds pretty damn low to me. Just keep your rebreather on and let me use my machine, alright?¡±

    Marshall solemnly nodded as Robert took up the machine and sat his paddles against the chest. Robert watched the display beside him, frowning slightly as he waited for the response. Robert lifted the pads and pressed them down again, a beep coming this time. ¡°There we go. Let¡¯s see here¡­¡± He read something on the display and arched another eyebrow. Marshall swore those things traveled more than he did sometimes. ¡°Odd. I¡¯m detecting almost a fully doubling of Void-Scourge in your system. I¡¯ll start you on some medication tomorrow for it, once I run these numbers. Do you feel weak? Ill? Anything off?¡±

    A shake of Marshall¡¯s head and a solid no made Robert frown again. Marshall guessed this was unusual from how he was acting, but Robert just patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Keep the scrubber on and don the suit for now. I¡¯ll talk with the Captain about this and see what he has to say. For now, no shots, and go talk with Cadence. I think she has a job for you.¡±

    Marshall nodded slowly, confused at what this might entail, and did just what Robert ordered. He donned the suit as Robert stepped out with his holo-pad. He felt the need to snoop around in the room for things, and as such looked at the device that Robert had left on the counter. It had some words on the display that didn¡¯t make much sense to him, but some numbers and images did land solid with him. It read an 11% infection rate on prior log, and a 25% infection on current log. Lots of numbers popped up when he tried clicking on the percentages, but he got the gist of it from the percentages alone. Something was happening to him, and it was not good. He finished donning the rest of the suit that complimented his scrubber and left the room.

    <hr>

    Marshall met up with Cadence in the armory, her personal rifle under her arm and a large backpack slung over her shoulder. He approached her and asked her what she was doing and what she needed him for. Cadence turned and, without a word, tossed him a backpack as well. It wasn¡¯t heavy or burdensome at all landing in his hands. He actually thought it was completely empty upon hefting it over his shoulder. It was then that Cadence spoke. ¡°Take the alice-pack and keep it handy. The Captain will be stopping Betty soon to do some checks and let her rest for a bit. Our job is to go to a nearby equipment hub for supplies. Friendlier faces than raiders for sure, but still keep yourself modest.¡±

    Cadence slid the rifle onto her shoulder and packed what seemed to be three magazines for the things into her pack. ¡°Uh¡­ friendlier, huh?¡± Marshall commented as he saw this.

    She gave a shrug and said ¡°Yeah, I said friendlier, not peaceful. Shit happens.¡± She then began to load what seemed to be old and decrepit equipment into her pack. Her eyes looked over and saw his own looking down at the equipment. A sigh escaped her mouth and she spoke again. ¡°Do you know how trade and bartering works, Outlander?¡± Marshall nodded to this, but said nothing. ¡°Wonderful. There is no currency in the Badlands, only trade and useful scrap. So we gather up things we don¡¯t need anymore or items from towns we pass through that haven¡¯t been looted yet on our water-finding trips and trade them for other useful items. Money only really exists on the other side of the Wall anyways, so it won¡¯t be of much use to us here.¡±

    Marshall noted how annoyed she was at him, but said nothing. He was not part of the crew, so questioning their stand-off nature towards him seemed a little too out of line for now. For now, that was. He planned to eventually question her on it. But for now, he just nodded again. ¡°Well¡­ that makes sense. So what are we getting with all of this?¡±

    A large gyro slipped into her pack as she spoke. ¡°Well, the radio mast is fried. That means anything long-range is pretty much borked. That and I need to replace a lot of parts in both guns. The radio, however, is the most important thing. Without that, we aren¡¯t getting near the Wall, let alone in it.¡±

    Marshall¡¯s head tilted slightly at this and he asked ¡°Why? We don¡¯t look like Voidlings, and we¡¯re in a Mule. Isn¡¯t that normal for Badlanders?¡±

    Cadence gave a shake to her head and spoke again. ¡°Mules are not as common as you think, even if the raiders had one too. The Wall dwellers aren¡¯t really people you can put a blanket statement over when generalizing. Some are nice, some are not. The ones we¡¯re going towards aren¡¯t our home base, but it¡¯s the closest ones to get you on the other side of the Wall. That and now we actually need a repair bay for Betty. If we don¡¯t identify ourselves, however, they¡¯ll take us for a raider group that wandered too close and send us straight to the great beyond ass-first.¡±

    A hissing sound occurred from somewhere outside and echoed through the ship with a reverberation. Marshall guessed that was the Mule coming to a stop, and Cadence standing up pretty much confirmed it. Marshall stood up too and felt for the pistol on his hip. It was in its holster, but even knowing it was there was such a reassurance.

    She waved her hand as she went for the hatch. ¡°Come on fly-boy, let¡¯s show you what civilization looks like.¡±

 Chapter 12

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    The path to this nearby town was something akin to a goat trail. Cadence had explained it was next to impossible to establish well-traveled roads and paths like they were used to for locations out in the Badlands. Most of the larger paths were pre-Fall and dated back to before things fell apart. These lead to city and village ruins that now harbored either Voidlings, Raiders, or mutated people in hiding. Sometimes all of the above, each of them scraping out a section of the ruins for themselves. The paths themselves were sometimes even the homes of raiders, which just made far too much sense to Marshall. The best place to attack a convoy or traveler was on the way, not the destination.

    Years prior to this was a memory of a patrol he had to go out on. The ship he served on at the time, the Judicator¡¯s Triumph, was nothing more than a frigate with some supporting scout fighters that they piloted. There was a crew of close to thirty pilots that manned the scouts in turns; the dual-seated scout fighters only numbering ten. Spare pilots were typically brought on rather than spare fighters for some reason or another. Marshall couldn¡¯t remember as he reminisced about his training days, but instead was reminded of his time in the cockpit with another. Her blue-dyed hair with a black strip at the back she always seemed to miss.

    His mind must have wandered too far, as he tripped over a piece of broken concrete from the broken back-road they were walking on. Cadence turned, seeming to be mid-stride of crossing over a pothole that shared the same genes with a lake, and looked him over. Her gaze was judgmental, but not overly hostile. It was obvious to Marshall that Cadence cared for him very little, but for the life of him, he could not figure out why. That was the reason he felt so surprised when she spoke to him again with a question.

    ¡°So, Outlander -Marshall, was it?-, what was it like flying in one of those sky-coffins?¡± Her words came out in the same tone as she always carried, no extra malice added from her gaze prior. Marshall raised an eyebrow at this, to which Cadence shrugged and turned back to the walk while saying ¡°I was just curious is all. You don¡¯t see them much outside the United Coalition or the rare Roman Bombard coming to level a city.¡±

    Ah, so it was simple curiosity was it? Her wording put a question in his mind, but he snuffed it down. ¡°It was¡­ fun. Exhilarating, even. I¡¯d never felt as free as I did the day I was finally accepted into the Academy. They started me out on the scout planes, and eventually I went up to a striker-class fighter. I was preparing for a promotion in the next year to a gunboat-class fighter, but¡­¡± His words trailed off and a heavy feeling hung in the air as the unspoken fact loomed.

    Cadence made an odd noise with her mouth that sounded like a click before she spoke. ¡°Sounds neat. Going from the smallest up to the biggest. Sounds like what happens down here too.¡± She gave a shrug and started to mantle over a tree that lay across the road. It didn¡¯t seem to have been down long, and even had a red ribbon wrapped around one of the branches. Marshall hadn¡¯t paid too much mind, but he noted that the farther they got from towns and cities, the more lively the area felt. They could have also been traveling closer to the wall, but it was hard to tell through the geography that he barely knew.

    ¡°Uh¡­ kinda. Scout-class fighters were actually pretty large for what they were. You had a pilot and the co-pilot. One would work the scanners and navigation for the day, and the other would fly. It was double the size of an interceptor, but only boasted a single laser mount that required the sensors to be turned off before it could be fired. The batteries on those things were¡­ well, underwhelming.¡± A small sigh escaped his lips as he thought of it. ¡°The interceptor-class was a one-seated fighter, however. It could defend itself pretty well, but was mainly built to hit first and blow things up. My striker-class was a two-seater, but the second seat was in the rear of the fighter. I had a partner¡­ but they didn¡¯t end up making it down to Terra with me.¡±

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    Cadence made no move to comfort him, but just looked back at him. Not a judgmental look, but one that seemed to be more studying than anything. It didn¡¯t make Marshall feel better; even if Marshall wasn¡¯t looking for pity. Cadence just seemed more curious than caring.

    Marshall looked around at the scenery as they continued along the road. It was becoming less and less like the flat-ish, desolate scene that he was used to and more of a forested area that still held some green in the browning leaves. The road curved up ahead and blocked some sight of what was around the corner. He wondered how much longer of a walk they really had to do at this point, as it had already been an hour¡¯s hike on this destroyed road into the hills.

    His thoughts were broken when Cadence spoke again, her back to him as they walked. ¡°I started my career in the mills, and eventually got a spot on a Skid. Think a scrap-gather rover built from a pre-Fall military vehicle. Thing was used to gather materials and haul them back from just outside the Wall. We had a crew of ten that ran with us, and my brother and sister were in that mix. By the time I changed professions, the crew was five. I moved to making fire-arms and repairing vehicles for the city attached to the Wall where I¡¯m from. When my brother died, I met the Captain.¡± She stopped and Marshall could see her shake her head and heard a chuckle. ¡°I know what it¡¯s like to lose people, even if you cushy Outlanders claim we¡¯re unfeeling savages down here.¡±

    Marshall was slightly stunned at her words. Only slightly, that is. He had thought the same thing when he first came here. He would make contact with the savage Terra-bound humans and get off the planet as fast as possible. It had been told to him as an undisputed fact that the Terrans were all stuck in the past and fighting a lonely fight to stay alive. So much so that they didn¡¯t even want the help of the Castle¡¯s own. And yet¡­ here he was: redefining what he had thought each minute of the day since he had been here. Even with that¡­ it still stung to know that the Terrans knew how much those above looked down on those below.

    He was about to speak and reply to her when Cadence held up a hand to stop. They were nearing the bend in the road when they came to a stop, nearly fifty feet from it. Cadence seemed to go rigid, but Marshall couldn¡¯t see what she was so worried about.

    That soon faded as Marshall took a slow, painful step up to her and looked where her head was aimed.

    A horse lay on its side in a divot a few feet past the road, not moving or breathing. Beside it lay the lower portion of a person with some kind of satchel about their waist where it once hung off them from a strap. The upper portion, however, was not present with the lower. Instead, it was currently in the mouth of a monstrosity the size of a pony and the shape of a dog with its mouth extending half way down its throat. The black, swirling skin rippled as it chewed on the man''s shoulders, the head already seeming to have been consumed. The Voidling seemed to revel in the kill, thrashing the body around as it broke apart the shoulders and ribs for easier consumption.

    Cadence looked to Marshall, who could see the fear palpable in her eyes. He must have looked the same, for he felt a pit in his stomach starting to form. Marshall looked to the bend and tried to go through what they could do. The village was supposed to be not more than a mile up the road, and yet this thing was here? Could they go around, possibly through the woods? Maybe even¨C

    A hand came from Cadence and motioned to go back. Marshall hesitated for a moment before backing up a couple slow, agonizing steps. When he had taken two steps back, Cadence began to back up as well. They took a shared two more steps before the worst thing happened: the wind changed directions.

    The still air that lightly stirred around them from down the hill shifted and began blowing up the hill instead. The Voilding stopped its action and turned towards where they stood, causing both Marshall and Cadence to freeze for a moment. A silence hung in the air that stretched for several seconds as the two groups looked at each other. As if it was waiting to see who would take the first move.

    Whether it was out of fear or lack of training: Cadence grabbed for her rifle. That was enough to cause the Voidling to drop its kill and howl an ungodly howl. It leveled its head and began to charge on them.

    Marshall fucking hated these unnatural Hell-spawn.

 Chapter 13

    Point of Documentation: Arnold Shevchenko

    Arnold was a simple man. A bread-and-potatoes kind of man that didn¡¯t mind things being boring and plain around his life. Quiet was more important than interesting, and he lived this way for a long time. His mother and father both pushed him into being a guard, and he had accepted if only to get them to leave his simple, quiet life alone. No conflict meant that he would keep things normal, no noise, and no fighting.

    Yet, Arnold had not expected things to get so busy once he was in training to be a Guard for the settlement. It was a town that rested just outside the boundary of the old city of Bogushevsk, nestled in the nearby hills away from the prying eyes of anyone scouting the city below. Traders knew the city, knew its routes and connections, and spread that to those that they passed. It was because of them that eventually trouble would leak into the town and disturb Arnold¡¯s simple life.

    Five years after he took his place in the guard, a raid had happened. They hadn¡¯t properly reinforced the patrols and the raiders from the Wasteland had viewed his town as an easy mark. It was the first time that Arnold had spilled the blood of man, and the first time he had discovered his knack for healing. No, not knack, but power for it. Arnold had been gifted in a way that most people would shun him and claim him an outcast. To save his quiet life, Arnold told not a soul. Not his family, friends, or any compatriots. He came close some times, but was never pushed enough to break his golden rule.

    Even through how much he valued his quiet life, however, sometimes it would be under attack by things completely out of his control. Such as today: a day that had started normal with a cup of insta-caf and freshly made eggs. He had just sat down at his table to eat when a knock had come upon the door. Answering it found the captain of the guard standing there with a winded look on his face and breath beginning to grow heavier.

    Arnold had not liked this man, this man who would change up his schedule and cause him undue pain and trouble in multiple ways. Yet here this man was at his doorstep. A small envelope in his hand made Arnold sweat in a way that only anxiety and trepidation could. That was not the kind of thing someone simply visiting or stopping over would bring with them: that was a hefty order document.

    True to the thoughts; the Captain had asked to come in and, after his unwelcomed entrance, had handed the envelope to Arnold and wished him a good day. Reassignment to a new patrol today, but this time by way of full role reassignment. The man had just been put on a mechanized patrol for the afternoon! Arnold stared at the contents far after the Captain had left in pure disbelief. He didn¡¯t even know how to drive one of those armored vehicles!

    Hours later Arnold walked himself into the vehicle shop near the entrance of the Southern gate. The purpose of his reassignment was evident as he stepped past the large metal garage doors. The crew he was to add to was down a gunner after a small skirmish with a local raider cult near the town¡¯s land border. Arnold was a decent shot, but the venerated grenade machine gun and flamethrower combination weapon was something that he had never touched before. Leagues above his own simple SMG, this was something that you typically needed heavy weapons training for. Training that, for one reason or another, had been on hiatus for a year. Go figure.

    And so we come to now. Arnold sat in the gun of the Wotan, an armored personnel carrier that had been fitted with sensors, extra ammo, and aid supplies where the old troop compartment would have been. It was a vehicle that would remind someone of a breadbox on eight wheels with whiskers coming out of the top of it at random spots. It had two gunners: the main gunner and the commander who used a remote control machine gun from inside the vehicle. It sported all kinds of fangled optics that Arnold had little to no idea how to use. He was trained enough to know how to pull a trigger on his gun and how to activate and deactivate the ¡®thrower attached below it. The latter of the two only because he knew how to fiddle with things and not blow himself up in the process. A unique skill he swore most people lacked from birth.

    He was explained to by the commander that their mission would be quite simple today: a patrol on their usual route and to meet up with a more veteran patrol APC who opted to take their shift this morning till a replacement was found for the lost gunner. ¡®Simple enough¡¯, Arnold thought to himself. Simple was good.

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    They left the sturdy Southern gatehouse behind and started on their patrol as the sun was reaching its highest point. The best time for scouting things, and the best time to enjoy the warmth of the sun after it rose from behind the sand-clouds from the East. Their path would take them down the mountain first, as their patrol was a perimeter check around the outlying vegetation area that the settlement had been maintaining and protecting. Any monster that had gotten near the edge needed to be killed, and any raiders lurking around needed to either be threatened off or shot at. Arnold had never personally seen a ¡®Voidling¡¯, and by the sounds of it the commander of this vehicle had never had to either. It was such a rare occurrence a backup patrol would ever have to face one since the more venerable guards would be sent out to deal with them.

    The Wotan rolled down the beaten road at a leisurely pace towards their meeting point. The driver and loader talked below about something or other, the noise lost as Arnold relaxed himself against the rim of the opened cupola. That was until the loader shouted up at him, her words now audible as she faced towards the open hatch. ¡°Hey new guy, keep your eyes out for the patrol. The Commander is trying to radio the other patrol and is having trouble. Call it out if you see it.¡±

    Arnold stared down for a moment before a feeling of dread washed over him. This is not going to be a quiet ride, is it? The thought lingered on him as he stood a bit more at attention and scanned the wooded area around him and the road farther down. Arnold didn¡¯t have a telescopic view like the commander, but now the commander was a bit busy with the radio and couldn¡¯t necessarily search on two fronts at once.

    Ten minutes passed as they more deliberately scanned the area at a slowed pace. The meeting place for the patrols came up around a small hill and was completely empty. No mark of human life was here past old tracks from days prior. The Wotan came to a halt at the crest and the lack of wind and roaring engine allowed Arnold to better hear the conversation below.

    ¡°... and yet, where are they if you¡¯re so sure Brigit?¡± came the cutting words of the driver. Her tone was anything but friendly.

    ¡°Come on, an entire patrol just vanishing? There would have to be scorch marks from the weapons, tire marks, or battle remains of some kind. Even a radio message should have gotten out if they weren¡¯t instantly taken out.¡± The loader, Brigit, said surely. While being the more built of the two, it was obvious the loader was a thinker as well.

    ¡°Alright, cut the chatter. Nad'', bring us down the hill. Brig, mount the pintol and watch the front. Arnold, keep a general lookout. I¡¯ll keep trying to raise someone over the radio. Chatter from the gatehouse is already sounding like they can¡¯t raise them either. It¡¯s not impossible that they might be blocked by the hills, but just be ready regardless.¡± The commander¡¯s tone was leveled, but a hint of worry was creeping in as they spoke. A hint Arnold didn¡¯t like one bit.

    With that seemingly settled: the Wotan lurched forwards as they crested and now descended the hill down one of the paths back into the forest. The wheels carried it along down the potted and fractured asphalt at a steady pace until they came to a long stretch of roadway. Arnold spotted the blackened mass at the bottom of the road¡¯s stretch and pounded on the top of the vehicle with a ¡°STOP¡±!

    The Wotan came to a grinding halt as everyone had seemed to spot what Arnold had seen. They also spotted something else that sent a shiver down Arnold¡¯s spine. Something that harkened a very, very bad fate before them.

    The broken frame of another Wotan, more decorated then their¡¯s, lay smashed against a tree. The fabrics of uniforms lay tattered around the top of the vehicle, the gun atop it ripped off and tossed to the side. It was a hollowed out wreck with not a single stain of blood upon its corpse.

    The commander pivoted the machine-gun to the right of Arnold forwards and told everyone else weapon-capable to do the same. ¡°Hold fire until it either moves or I say. I need to let the ¡®post know about this¨C¡±

    It stepped up and over the side of the road at the end of the bend in a fury, charging something out of view down the road. The driver wasted no time and floored it on the accelerator. The battery whined as it roared down the road at it. Gunfire started soon after, but not by them. This was about to be a shit-show, and Arnold only prayed this would lead to a week off at least after all this was said and done.

 Chapter 14

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    To say that they weren¡¯t prepared for a sudden rush from a Voidling was an understatement. Cadence was still wounded and could barely shoulder her rifle, and Marshall was not at his top shape yet due to the weakness he felt from the disease he was battling. Marshall was ready to box with raiders, humans, or even animals that were hunting them. He had it in his mind that he could defend himself from those if need be. Not a living embodiment of change and consumption.

    It was time to either choose to run, or to box this thing on its own ground. Marshall didn¡¯t have high hopes for either of those options as it charged towards them. Mostly because the person with the large, actually-dangerous-caliber rifle had a busted shoulder and couldn¡¯t seem to get her rifle off the sling around her arm. She struggled with it, trying to bring it up to bear, but it kept getting stuck on something on her pack and her arm couldn¡¯t seem to move high enough to get around it.

    Faced with this: Marshall decided to take the initiative. He raised his pistol and flipped a switch on the side of it. A cycling noise came from the barrel of the large, bulky pistol and caused the thing to start emitting a greenish light from below the main barrel. He had hoped not to need to use this, but his hopes had a lot of holes in them from the start, so why be mad about this one falling through too? A belch of green, screaming plasma soared out of the bottom of the pistol and slammed head on with the Voidling. It rocked backwards as the plasma burned into this thing¡¯s face and melted it.

    Cadence looked up and let out a gasp at what had just happened. Then Marshall followed as the Voidling, the mere Spawnling, rocked back forwards. The plasma had eaten most of what could be considered a head on this ever-changing monster. Yet it seemed to be healing it back together and repairing itself as the plasma burned out. Marshall raised the gun once more and the Spawnling backed up. Marshall was confused at this. Spawnlings weren¡¯t supposed to have enough cognitive function to understand things like ¡®danger¡¯ and ¡®fear¡¯. He had only known them to understand hunger and hate. Yet this thing was backing away from them?

    Marshall understood what was happening far too late as the thing kept backing up to the bend that it was at first. The man and the horse. Marshall raised his gun again and tried to cycle another shot. The gun flashed an ¡®overheat¡¯ warning on the side of the display and refused the cycle. It must have been damaged in the crash and could only fire once on the anti-Voidling mode before needing to discharge its heat. He cursed and switched to his standard ammo and fired off a few shots. They hit the Spawnling harmlessly on its skin, making ripples and seeming to not slow it.

    The Spawnling bit down onto the man¡¯s remains and consumed them in seconds. Then it turned and started on the horse in its infinite greed. As it did this, something began to change in it. Its insides began to pulse a dull purple and it began to gain mass and weight. ¡°Wait¡­¡± came Marshall''s voice in confusion before his eyes widened in alarm. ¡°Drop the bags, NOW! Get your gun up!¡±

    Cadence let out a frustrated growl of anger as she dropped the pack and shattered some of the more fragile items in it. Her gun whipped up at the moment that it happened. The frame of the Spawnling shuddered as it suddenly gained size, weight, and now what seemed to be spikes on its shoulders. Plates also grew along its newly formed face and frontal legs. Marshall let out another explicit as he realized what it had just done.

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    ¡°Aim for the joints and spikes, it just adapted to where I shot it and evolved into a Vulture with that meal.¡± Marshall said this with a strained calm as he acted out what he told Cadence.

    ¡°Yeah, I got that Outlander. I¡¯ve seen these shits before.¡± Cadence returned with a snarky remark laden with stress and what Marshall guessed was fear. She shouldered her rifle and knelt down to a downed tree on the road a couple paces forwards. She aimed and, with a practiced precision, fired.

    Marshall took cover behind some upturned pavement as the shot rang out. He looked up to see the spine that jutted from its left shoulder explode in a hail of shrapnel. It screamed and faced towards her. An almost human face now adorned its head. The face of the man it had just consumed. It snarled in rage and the spine on its right shoulder fired off at rapid speed. The spine hit the tree, shattering it a foot away from Cadence¡¯s head. The splinters flew, and she ducked down the other way in response.

    The Vulture let out a roar of anger, of rage, of hunger. It took a step forwards and Marshall put a couple shots into its new and uglier face. He aimed down his pistol and kept firing until the magazine was dry. It seemed to wait until he was done, just standing there and not moving. When Marshall¡¯s magazine emptied and the receiver clicked back, the Vulture manifested a tongue from its swirling innards and licked its lips. A shudder ran down Marshall¡¯s back as he saw this. As if it was saying ¡®thank you for the meal¡¯.

    It took another step forwards and stopped again. Was it just going to mess with them until it killed them? Marshall hadn''t the answer as he reloaded and Cadence swung up and aimed as well. The Vulture seemed to grow back the two spikes on its shoulders with a ¡®shunk¡¯ as it turned up the road.

    Now that he thought of it, it sounded like something was coming down the road at them. And it was coming fast and heavy. Marshall and Cadence both opened up on it as it turned and roared again at whatever was coming down the road at it.

    Marshall, at this point, had no idea what to expect. But what came down that road was even less than that. Not just unexpected, but unbelievable. A retrofitted, plated-up, customized, degraded, rust-bucket-looking Imperial Armored Personnel Carrier, a Wotan-class APC, rocketed around the corner at high speeds and rammed into the Voidling. Its machine-gun atop its frame barked non-stop as it hit, but something else was new to it. They had added a flamethrower to this thing. It belched fire onto the Voidling and caused it to emit a high-pitched scream in pain. That was, it screamed in the seconds before the armored vehicle hit it so hard that it separated in the middle and flung in two different directions. Both of them were still on fire.

    The crew-mounted GMG and flamethrower swiveled and hosed down both split parts with explosive fury and followed up with just burning the spot they were in after they were pummeled down. When they had finished, Marshall could see the newly added gunner was wiping his forehead as he let off the trigger on the flamethrower. That wasn¡¯t who he was mainly concerned about. It was the remotely controlled machine-gun that rested next to and slightly behind the gunner. It turned and faced towards them.

    Cadence sucked in a breath across from him. She spoke as the gun rested on the both of them. ¡°Don¡¯t make any sudden moves. Those are the guys we need to befriend if we want to get in. That looks like a patrol car of the town we need to be in.¡±

    Marshall raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He simply stood up with his gun rolled around his finger and facing down and away from him and his hands up. ¡°Out of the frying pan and into the fire is a good way to put this¡­¡± he mumbled to himself as the hatch on the armored vehicle opened.

 Chatper 15

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    Marshall was no stranger to the oddities that could come from man. In his tour of service, of which is technically not over but he was probably on a indefinite vacation from, he had met some of the ground forces that could be deployed from the Castle. They always were such an odd bunch that treated the vehicles that they rode or drove in as a command structure more important than the greater structure at large. Even to the point that if the commander of the vehicle didn¡¯t agree on a plan presented by the person above him, the crew would typically follow his order and not the one he was given. That type of trust and camaraderie was strong and intrinsically stubborn. Yet, this was a point that Marshall and Cadence could prod at to turn an entire crew to what they needed.

    The thought lingered on Marshall as he watched the commander step out of the vehicle through his hatch. He was a bearded man that looked more like a ship captain than an armored vehicle commander. Marshall wondered to himself if the man often got his beard caught in the machinery of his charge. The fact that he was the commander was almost plain as day from the fact that he was the only crewman with a hat on. Why this signaled anything to Marshall to denote command status was unknown. It was soon reinforced as he began telling the other crew to stay in the vehicle and keep an eye out.

    The man crossed a third of the distance and stood there. So too did Cadence, mimicking his stopping point of a few dozen meters away. Once she had come to a stop, the commander spoke. ¡°I¡¯m Lieutenant Fielding, the third recon commander of Bogushevsk, a settlement near here. What is your business on our claimed soil?¡± The man was to the point, not minced words, and seemed to carry himself with authority. Marshall had no doubt that the authority was anything but gifted.

    Cadence spoke up after clearing her throat. ¡°I¡¯m Cadence, an Engineer of the Mule-class armored mech. We were on a contract mission and were coming to trade items for items.¡± She paused, but added in ¡°We had nothing to do with the Voidling here, sir. We came upon a man being eaten and didn¡¯t have the means to fight it off.¡±

    The commander, Fielding, nodded at this. His visage seemed to scrunch up as she spoke the last part, as if he had the question on the tip of his tongue and was beaten to it. However, a relaxed look took over his face as she mentioned not being involved. ¡°Good. I hope you don¡¯t mind then if we report you to the settlement? They will need to hear my report of this incident.¡±

    ¡°No sir, not at all.¡± Came the immediate reply from Cadence. Marshall wondered where this polite and curt version of Cadence was hiding as she continued forwards with her words. ¡°But I do need to request, sir, if you¡¯d be able to give us a ride to the settlement. We have no means of transportation, and we could end up ambushed like the traveler over there by a Voidling wandering the area.¡±

    This made the commander pause and look her over. His eyes then shifted to Marshall. The look in them made Marshall reflexively stiffen up in an attentive pose as if he was being scrutinized by a commanding officer. Well, he technically was, but not his commanding officer. Something seemed to click for the man as he looked to Marshall and gave a gesture towards him. ¡°What about that one? He doesn¡¯t look like a trader or contract worker. Those are fine and well made fatigues, and that pistol on his hip looks like more than a simple pistol.¡±

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    If Marshall could get even more at attention, he would have at this point. He was told to let her do all the talking, but was she able to come up with a good enough bluff for this? Cadence, from the corner of his vision, gave a small and jagged smile. Oh, Marshall did not like that look.

    ¡°Yes sir, that is not the same kind of contract worker that we are. He¡¯s hired help for added protection. That¡¯s one of the Knights Templar from the Wall-City of Kyiv. So secretive are they that I didn¡¯t even know he had a plasma pistol on him. You know, one of their identifiable weapons.¡± The venom in her voice when she mentioned not knowing something was so palpable that Marshall was sure the commander would have even noticed it. ¡°So he¡¯s more or less a decoration piece. Please ignore him.¡±

    The commander raised an eye-brow in obvious appraisal of Marshall instead of direct suspicion. ¡°He stands like one too.¡± came the off-comment by the man. He took a few steps forwards towards Marshall until he was within striking distance. Instead of any aggressive movement, Fielding simply stopped. ¡°Name?¡±

    Marshall gave out a low and unsure ¡°Marshall, sir?¡±

    The man¡¯s face split into a grin from under his beard and he stuck out a hand. Marshall took it and they shook. ¡°Good to meet one of the infamous Knights Templar. Welcome aboard my vehicle.¡±

    Marshall blinked a few times, then finally realized what the man had meant. Just like that, they were on board the cramp vehicle and hauling back towards civilization.

    <hr>

    They rolled up to the gates in under ten minutes from leaving. After calling in the body and reporting what had happened, whoever was on the other end basically demanded their return for a full debrief. Fielding looked a bit miffed at this, but came back anyway.

    One the trip Marshall had learned that the crew was all accustomed to the vehicle minus the gunner. They seemed less friendly than the captain towards Marshall and Cadence, but never were openly against heading back or them being there. A thanking of the fates was in order, as what Marshall had guessed was right: sway the commander, silence the crew.

    After being waved through, Marshall and Cadence departed into what could only be described as a ramshackle city of small size. The walls were twice the height of a man, but made of sheet metal and held up by wooden stakes. The most formidable part of the walls around this place were the sentries and their guns, not the walls themselves. Well, the vehicles coming and going helped that. Also the tank parked at the entrance to the town behind some earthen works and Hesco-barriers.

    After entering into the town itself, Cadence started dragging Marshall towards one of the alleys a block from the entrance. Marshall protested at this for a moment, but just went along with the crazy engineer. She drug him down one alley, then another. She seemed to know where she was going but this look that rested on her face made Marshall worry.

    It was only after he was dragged across a street by her and down another alley did he see what the look of annoyance was on her face: they were being tailed. A man of large height and heavy build with a bearded woman of small, stocky height trailed after them. They had guns on them, but the large meat hook that hung off the larger man¡¯s belt worried him so much more.

 Chapter 16

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    The two behind them seemed to not close the distance even when Marshall and Cadence ended up stuck waiting for a truck to roll past one of the alleyways that they had been attempting to cross. This confused Marshall, as he had seen Cadence take off at a light run the moment she had spotted these individuals. Yet they never came closer than a few dozen feet at best. Marshall risked a look over his shoulder at them to see both of them just glaring at him. It was¡­ awkward.

    Marshall turned back towards Cadence and cleared his throat. ¡°So uh¡­ about the people behind us. Who are they? And why exactly did we go from fleeing from them to them just being¡­ there?¡±

    Cadence gave a grunt, a very low thing that spoke that she didn¡¯t want to talk about it. Well, that was helpful. Marshall waited for a full minute of them walking before he decided to speak again. ¡°So when do we get to the merchant district? I figured it was next to the gate for ease of delivery and export, but we¡¯re¨C¡±

    He was cut off by Cadence speaking. ¡°Oh, it is. Those people behind us are the reason we¡¯re looping around. Also why we took Valentine¡¯s territory over staying in Petrov¡¯s. They¡¯re¡­ well, it¡¯s a long story. All I can say is: when we get under the archway up ahead, we¡¯ll be on the other side of the district. Stay behind me and ignore the big ogre of a man with a scar on his nose.¡±

    Thoroughly confused; Marshall just nodded and followed after her. He had no clue what was going on at this point, but decided that it would be better to follow the crazy engineer than to wander off and possibly get mugged or stabbed in this backwater¨C

    No, he had to stop thinking this way. If he kept thinking of these people as backwater or less advanced, they could get the drop on him. The Castle and its people had their strengths, but the people down here have proven through these places existing as they are that they are formidable too.

    The two of them came under an archway into an alley. At the end of it was a stand with many colors on it that half-blocked the way out. As soon as they passed under the arch-way, the men behind began to pick up speed and gunned it for them. Cadence also broke into a run and hauled ass at the end of the alleyway. Marshall was doing his best to both keep up with Cadence and not be caught by the ones behind them. It went from a calm 0 to a full-tilt 100 on the panic-scale in seconds.

    As they jumped over a small box that was lying in the alley, a searing pain arced from Marshall¡¯s hip and a wet feeling doused his pants. He didn¡¯t have time to look down, and just did his best to keep up. That chore was now damn-near impossible as movement suddenly began to feel that much harder. He reached down and, against what any medic he knew would have told him, ripped out the dagger that had buried itself into his thigh. The throwing dagger he then tossed haphazardly back at the men behind them. All it earned him was a few curses in a language he did not know.

    Cadence made it out of the alley first and came to a stop on the other side. She yelled something to someone at the stall next to the alleyway. The men behind them were almost upon him, so Marshall just focused on the task at hand. With that mentality, he nearly missed the shout of ¡°duck!¡± yelled at him by Cadence.

    Marshall ducked down a split second before a large piece of wood swung through the space his head had been. He hadn¡¯t even realized just how close the people behind him had come to catching him until the wooden plank shattered on the orc-like man¡¯s face. It took that one out, but the shorter, bulkier woman dashed under the shattering wood and reached for Marshall¡¯s¡­ gun? Cadence¡¯s boot came up quickly and caught the woman on the chin. This made her stumble back a couple steps. It did not, however, dissuade her from taking out a small pistol and aiming it at them.

    A shadow fell over the woman as a large, imposing man stepped up behind her. The dwarf-like woman turned, a look of apprehension on her face as she turned to see who the person behind her was.

    ¡°Brutus does not like fighting near his stall.¡±

    The words were like a falling rockslide more than simple words. They were heavy, threatening, and damn well effective at making this woman wish she wore her brown pants that day. Her complexion turned ashen and, in her panic to distance herself from this mountain of a man, fled back into the alleyway quicker than she came out of it.

    Cadence gave the man, apparently named Brutus, a friendly slap on his shoulder and thanked him for stepping in. Though upon looking at Marshall and his thigh wound, that tone changed. ¡°We¡¯re here to see Valentine and get some wares sold. Petrov is causing issues again I see, so we might need help crossing the market. Can you help?¡±

    Brutus gave a nod and slipped behind his stall. He stuffed some items into a locked box and sat a flowery sign on the front of the stall that claimed he¡¯d gone to lunch. Wait¨C did this mountain of a man run a flower shop of all things??

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    Cadence, now accompanied by Brutus, led the way forwards after that. Brutus asked to help Marshall multiple times so that he wouldn¡¯t hurt, but Marshall didn¡¯t want to arrive at a ware dealing being carried like some child and so kindly declined. The pain was more viable than pride-damage. Cadence seemed to dislike the idea of being slowed down, but didn¡¯t say much past a sigh.

    They arrived a couple minutes later at a small shop off to the side of the large, moderately filled market square. It claimed to be a scrap and salvage trade hub, but the door was closed and a sign claimed they were on vacation for the day. Cadence¡¯s hand came up and gave a couple knocks on it. Marshall nearly opened his mouth to ask what they would do if the person wasn¡¯t here before the oddest thing happened: the door blinked.

    Ok, it was more like an unseen design on the metal door shifted down and back up again, but it looked like the damn thing blinked! But after that, a small extension from the center of the door with an ending of a glass, false eye poked out a few inches and pivoted to each of them. It then slithered back into the door as it gave a popping noise and opened.

    Cadence thanked Brutus for coming with them and promised him a drink when she came back around again. Brutus seemed to take this as fair trade and wished them both safer travels. Then Cadence stepped in and Marshall followed. Marshall¡¯s brow rose in unimpressed and equally amazed at the sight before him. This shop looked like a hoarder¡¯s paradise and filled to the brim with mountains of useless garbage. Except, that wasn¡¯t all he saw. In small corners of the mess he spotted things that you¡¯d only be able to get from high-end scrap wrecks: servos for mechs, biomechanical limbs, Marshall swore he even saw a Navy-Issue S&A-class rifle poking out of one of the mountains.

    A hand waved from the back of the store, some counter that was half buried. A man with long ears and tanned skin sat behind the counter. He had dark hair that came down to his shoulders and a single monocle on one eye. But that was not the shocking part for Marshall. No; this man didn¡¯t just have two eyes. He had three. And the monocle sat upon the third one just below his left eye, held up by a strap.

    ¡°Valentine!¡± came the call from Cadence as she approached the man. Her arm outstretched as if to give the man a handshake.

    Valentine, for his part, brought out a bottle of liquid and misted her hand in it before shaking it. ¡°Ah, Cadence. What a pleasure to see you back in town. Hopefully not on the scrap runs again, hmmm? Oh, and you brought a friend.¡± His eyes went to Marshall and he could feel something seem to wash over him. Even through the protection suits they wore and the mask that Marshall had, there was a tingle across his entire body that started where the man looked.

    Cadence knocked on the counter with a heavy fist. ¡°I told you not to use that mutation of yours for scanning people. Just ask them their name or something?¡± She seemed oddly irritated at the man¡¯s action, even though Marshall had not a clue what had just gone on. Could the man scan people as if he was a high-end personal scanner or something?

    Valentine seemed to relent, but not before looking over Marshall curiously. Marshall did not get a good feeling from that, and even felt it confirmed when Valentine spoke. ¡°I see¡­ Alright. Before names are exchanged, let me call in a healer. You seem quite wounded. Do you happen to have a mutation that allows you to heal?¡±

    A shake of Marshall¡¯s head made Valentine tsk in response. The man leaned in and said something quietly to Cadence. This caused her to look a little shocked as the man exited out a door in the back of the shop.

    The two stood there in silence for a moment: Marshall not wanting to be too nosy, and Cadence seeming to have something on her mind. Soon it was broken by Cadence as she asked ¡°I think stepping outside is better than being in this dusty shop, don¡¯t you think?¡± Marshall didn¡¯t really get it as it was just a little more compact than the inside of the Mule. He nodded, however, as it seemed Cadence was starting to fidget. Whatever was getting into her needed some fresh air.

    A fresh breeze blew through the market as they stepped out into the light. It seemed a storm was making its way along the horizon towards them. Marshall and Cadence stood just outside the shop¡¯s front and leaned against it. Something was on Cadence¡¯s mind, just as she had seemed back when they were on the Mule. At this point, Marshall was starting to get worried that it was something to do with him. So like all absolutely aware and not at all awkward people would do: Marshall asked ¡°So¡­ what¡¯s on your mind?¡±

    A sigh escaped Cadence¡¯s lips again as she turned and looked into the square. There were some people wandering around, but it seemed as if people weren¡¯t looking to get caught in the storm that might be approaching soon. Marshall followed her gaze and saw that she was looking at the gate down the street.

    Cadence turned back and spoke. ¡°I told you I used to do scrapping. This was one of the towns that we used to sell at and trade with. That part was true enough. But¡­ I lied about my brother. I was on the last trip we went out with him. That was also the trip¡­ he died on.¡±

    Marshall looked at Cadence. He looked with a searching gaze, trying to figure out where this might be going. Why had she been so pensive about talking about a dead family member when it seemed like death was so common in this world now?

    Almost seeming to sense his question, Cadence continued. ¡°His death was not normal. Do you know what lies out there in the wastes? It¡¯s more than just monsters. It¡¯s more than just people. It¡¯s even more than simple mutants. A terrifying sight is those that have succumbed to the Void-borne illnesses and are taken by their other side. We call them doppelgangers. My brother¡­ Well, he came back to us. But it wasn¡¯t really him anymore. He attracted a doppelganger by how infected he was and hid it from all of us.¡± Her gaze pierced through him as she continued in rhythm. ¡°Since people infected with it can call more to us than simple bad luck.¡±

    Sweat ran down Marshall¡¯s face from inside the protective suit as Cadence turned and entered back into the shop. She knew, she had to have. And yet¡­ why did that warning sound more sad than angry?

 Chapter 17

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMS Betty

    Life had not always been kind to the Denver household. In days gone, the Denvers were once successful scrappers that would haul in tons per day that would gross thousands of credits per haul. Their family and some trusted hands had managed the skiff that was their scrap hauler. It was an honest job with honest pay that neither hurt anyone nor was too dangerous. You could take the dangerous jobs, but you didn''t have to. Those would be for the more militarized contractors who had an armored vehicle or two to throw around.

    Through some strife at the beginning, the Denver household would go on to earn enough money to allow the father of the siblings to retire behind the Wall for good. It was a great day that was filled with cake, parties, and people at the home that was bought on a small hill overlooking the farmlands below. It was an amazing time that Cadence wished she could go back to even now. A simpler time. A time where everyone was still alive and well.

    This town, the damnable town that they were in, was the last place things were right. She had come in on her last job before giving up the trade for good. It was supposed to be a simple one in a newly unearthed factory in the ruins of the city nearby. They were to go in and dig out what they could. Yet it went so wrong. Everything went wrong. From the arrival, to the job itself, to the escape. All she wanted to do was forget this place and the memories tied to it. And yet here she was again, in this town, in this shop.

    Now she was here for another reason. She needed the parts for Betty so they could get moving again towards the Wall without fear of friendly-ish fire. They had entered this shop without issue, but Valentine had seen something in Marshall that had worried him. And now, it worried Cadence as well. Especially since her brother and Marshall now have something in common.

    Cadence entered after speaking with Marshall out front. A feeling of hotness in her face growing, then dissipating as she entered. She needed to concentrate when it came to Valentine. The man was not kind when it came to his proclivities and his needs. At least, that was what she thought when she walked up to the counter and laid eyes on Valentine dusting off the counter. Now that was new.

    ¡°We need parts. I have a list of them, and I brought items I can trade for it. Things we found that haven¡¯t been tagged and processed yet.¡± Cadence said this as she lifted the bag with scrap in it onto the counter.

    Valentine¡¯s eyes shot to the bag, but came back after the rest on Cadence. She knew his enjoyment for scrap, baubles, and other useless junk that can be made useful. After all, his shop was a graveyard and monument to that fact. ¡°Let me take a look at that list¡­¡± Came the drawn out words as Cadence handed over the list to Valentine. ¡°Ah, it looks like you need communication hardware and some weapons systems. I have that here, but for what price I wonder.¡±

    Cadence¡¯s neck tingled as he said this. That was the same phrase¡­ no, calm down Cadence. ¡°The price is what I have in the bag. Please procure the items and¨C¡±

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    Her words were cut off by Valentine holding up a hand to her. ¡°Communication tech is becoming very, very rare right now. Lots of high-end buyers are showing up from out of town and buying up everything they can get their hands on. So it¡¯s worth a little more than what¡¯s in that bag¡­ probably.¡± His smile never wavered as he said this.

    Cadence pushed the bag towards him and simply said ¡°Oh yeah? Check it out yourself.¡± A smile spread across her face in a mock return-to-send smugness.

    Valentine halted and laid his hands on the bag. He opened it and gazed in, riffling around in it some before pulling out an object. It shined in the off-color light and smelled of ozone. ¡°Ah, a pre-Rapture Gelp-Drive! These things are worth their weight a thousand-fold, since they were used in the old Cradle ships that left Earth. Where on Earth did you find one of these?¡± The glimmer in his eye was turned on Cadence in such a quick motion that it seemed as if the star would be lost.

    Setting her hand down on the counter, Cadence responded with ¡°Ah-ah, a girl don¡¯t kiss and tell. Otherwise you¡¯d send goons to clear places out. Let¡¯s just say there was a display piece still present on our most recent job.¡± She flashed him a mischievous smile and lifted her hand off the counter. ¡°So, do we have a deal?¡±

    The man held up the part for a long moment before setting it back down again. ¡°I¡¯ll look for the pieces, but do know that Petrov has all but strangled the item sales in the market. It might take me a few hours at least.¡± He seemed upset at this, but this was not something that Cadence needed to be involved in nor even wanted to be.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll leave you to it then. And take the rest of the bag as a payment for making sure no one knows we¡¯re here. I don¡¯t want the other scrappers and gangs to know I¡¯m back in town. Especially not with someone I¡¯m claiming is a Templar.¡± Cadence gives a thumb back towards the door as she says this.

    Valentine¡¯s eyes narrow at this and he gives a nod. ¡°I can tell the boy isn¡¯t one of those crazies, but why a Templar? They¡¯re pretty telling from their weapons and armor.¡±

    Cadence pauses a moment before giving a shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t know, it was a spur of the moment. You know?¡± She was absolutely not going to tell him that Marshall had a plasma-throwing gun that she didn¡¯t know about. The not knowing part was what made her the angriest, but hey, not everyone wants to share the shiny items she guessed.

    The man nodded and swept the bag behind the counter before turning back to her. ¡°Listen, about the last time you were here¡­ Bad blood is toxic to work relationships. I don¡¯t need to use my power to see that you still blame me for what happened to your brother. While I do this job, don¡¯t let that bleed into this request.¡±

    A cold feeling came over the room as Valentine said this. Or rather, it felt that was to Cadence. Her mind went to what he was speaking of. Back to that time. She gave a shake of her head to clear the thought from her and responded in kind with ¡°Trust me, I know. Keep it professional. Don¡¯t bring it up again.¡± Those curt words and she turned and exited the shop in a brisk manner.

    Once she was outside, she looked to where her charge was and¡­ Where the hell was he? There was just an empty spot where the man had been standing when she had entered in to make the deal. She looked around and there was not a single sign of the man anywhere.

    Why can¡¯t this man just stay where he¡¯s told?

 Chapter 18 - Turning Point

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    Why couldn¡¯t Marshall just stay where he was told? Why was something always messing with him or making his life that much worse? The questions flooded his head as he started to come back into consciousness. What had even happened to him?

    Marshall had been standing there, taking in the words that Cadence had said to him like words of a sage¡­ In a way. He knew she had her reasons; they all do. Marshall needed to get home to get back to his life, his family and friends. Cadence sounded as if her life was gone, in a sense, and that she was trying to sink into this new one. Marshall rubbed his chin as he thought of this. Well, as close to his chin as he could get in this damned suit.

    After thinking for a few minutes, he had turned to go back into the shop when something behind him rushed him. Marshall tried turning to face the attacker, but got as far as pivoting half the distance before a sharp pain arced his neck. Marshall swung out with his left arm at the attacker, seeing only a man in a very rough and torn outfit looking at him.

    ¡°Sorry mister, the money¡¯s worth more than your peace of mind.¡± came the dry words of the homeless man with the syringe in his hand. A¡­ syringe?

    Marshall grabbed at the shop¡¯s wall as he slid down it. His eyes had gone to the people around at the stalls, and the fact that most of them just simply looked away from him. He remembered two people approaching him, not even sure if they were people through the blur, and dragging him off someplace. Anything past a few feet from the scene was a blur of motion and cut memory.

    Now Marshall sat in a room with dirty-white walls and a smell of rotting wood. There existed a couple chairs before him that looked like they were pulled straight from a school as well as a wooden table against the far wall near the door. A vent was positioned above him with the sole light placed behind it. Odd placement, but Marshall guessed it was some kind of scare tactic to have the only light in the room ebb and surge with the passing of the large fan¡¯s blades below it.

    After a while, a woman entered the room followed by two men. One was a man of taller stature and a broken nose. He looked familiar, but Marshall couldn¡¯t place him in his addled state. The other was a man who looked like a walking bean sprout with how skinny he was. Fair skin and pointed ears as well. Marshall guessed one was an orc, and the other an elf. He was never going to get used to actual fantasy races being real on Earth, and yet again he was assaulted with their presence in dim and dingy places.

    The last of the trio, the first to enter into the room, was a woman who was so unremarkable that Marshall had a hard time placing defining features. She was neither tall nor short, neither dark nor light skin. Her face looked just the same as most would see a female template would be represented as and her hair was a plain brown with a bun pulled back. The most defining part of her was that her eyes were two separate colors: one pure white and one green. Neither of those were natural colors, so Marshall guessed even those were something added to this woman to make her more detailed.

    All of them wore some kind of long coat and fine shirt underneath. If Marshall wasn¡¯t sure this place was still in the Badlands, then he would have guessed he slipped into a shitty pre-war movie about gangsters and mafia bosses from the dress alone. The guns slung across the backs of the two behind didn¡¯t help that case. They wore matching ones that seemed to be in some different states of disrepair or corrosion.

    The gun had some kind of rounded magazine and shape that looked like an Enforcer-SMG but¡­ wrong. An Enforcer-SMG was a bullpup gun that was the child of the Thompson and it¡¯s children. It moved the magazine¡¯s feed back to the rear of the gun and almost forced the user to tilt it slightly so the magazine didn¡¯t collide with their arm. A terrible design that had been more or less shelved after The Fall and gave way to the modern SMG. It didn¡¯t help that the Enforcer was a pseudo-civilian gun used by Police that barely saw any action, and so barely had any real usage in combat.

    Yet as Marshall looked, he could see the wrongness of the weapon and how it had been changed to benefit a post-world scenario. The gun had its magazine feed tilted slightly, shifting the entire barrel and mechanism slightly to the left. The entire gun now looked like it had a crooked body and sight with a degraded trigger system. Neither of the two guns looks the same, as each had their own paints and additions to them that spoke to these being non-conforming armaments.

    Marshall saw all this and took it in quickly. The lack of maintenance, the odd adjustments, the way they had them slung across their back with a band that was meant for a full rifle and not an SMG, and the fact that the guns seemed to have been salvaged. All of this spoke to Marshall that these people had no real supply of weapons and had to take from others and scavenge. They were raiders in some sense, but allowed inside of a town?

    His thoughts were ripped from him as the woman took one of the chairs and spun it so the back was facing him. She sat in it and¡­ Marshall noticed something else. All the sounds in the room were more muted than he expected. It also didn¡¯t smell as bad in here as he thought it would. Upon waking, the general background noise was also not present.

    ¡°Good morning, Princess,¡± came her words from a sharp and inhuman mouth. It wasn¡¯t really her teeth, but just the angle of how her mouth moved made it seem¡­ sharp, in a way. ¡°Sorry we had to remove your dress, it was very much in the way of our observations.¡±

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    Her words once again made Marshall pause and attempt to gather something else. She had said ¡®remove dress¡¯. So did that mean¡­

    Looking down made some things clear, and others so much more confusing. His suit was gone, but the apparatus on his mouth was still present. The clothes he wore under the suit were also still there. So sound and such should be louder¡­ but the exact opposite was true. Was it panic setting in that dulled his senses, or was it the drug that the homeless man had hit him with?

    ¡°Ah ah!¡± The woman leaned forwards and tilted his head back up. ¡°No getting lost in thought over a simple undressing. We have so, so much more to discuss. Like your name: Marshall Locke. What is a ¡®Phoenix-11¡¯?¡±

    Marshall stiffened at this, but said nothing. Giving this woman an angle was the last thing that he wanted to do. He gritted his teeth and wished he could spit on her, but this damn mask was stopping him.

    A moment of silence stretched for what could have been a few seconds or a minute before she spoke again, this time with a tone of exhaustion. ¡°Mr. Locke, I¡¯ll have you know that I am not known for my patience. I ask you a question, and you answer. We already know some things from looking over your body while you were out, but that just raised more questions¡­¡±

    A look in her eyes caused Marshall to shiver. It was a look of glee, as if an idea passed across her, and it did not fit on a face such as her¡¯s. ¡°Oh! My apologies, I seem to have asked something without first introducing myself. I¡¯m doctor Sinclair, which you may call me simply: Sinclair. Regardless of whether that¡¯s my first or last name is irrelevant. You¡¯re in my home, my lab, and I do hope you¡¯ll be cooperative. Especially since we know you¡¯re not one of the Templars your friend announced you were.¡±

    The feeling of panic hit him again at the mention of Cadence. A deep pit settled in his stomach at the thought of those goons harming her. ¡°What the hell did you do with her?¡± Came the clenched reply from Marshall. His jaw barely had enough give to move. Something felt¡­ off about that.

    ¡°Oh goodness, nothing! We would not harm a friend of a business rival! Well, not without a reason of course. We are so good at finding reasons, so please do not make us come up with reasons. Cooperate. What is ¡®Phoenix 11¡¯?¡± Her mouth twisted into a grin as she said this. An obvious amount of glee in her voice.

    Marshall was not trained for things like this. Torture? Threats? He wasn¡¯t trained to resist things like this, he was trained in how to fly and how to listen to his betters. Hell, he knew more about repair on his own craft and crafts like his than surviving a situation like this. If only he had been one of the Shock Division members, the Cataphracts, then he¡¯d have some kind of knowledge of how to handle this. Should he resist and hope that she¡¯s bluffing? And what if she isn¡¯t and Cadence would be in danger from him not speaking? There were too many variables, something that Marshall absolutely fucking hated.

    The woman leaned towards him as he debated on his answer. The expression on her face slowly losing its malignant joy as she waited. Yet, as she was preparing to threaten him more, the man actually spoke. ¡°Phoenix 11 is my callsign. Phoenix Squadron being my wing I was a part of. I was a fighter pilot that was on a mission to wipe out Voidlings. Something that should be beneficial for all humans, right? So we¡¯re doing you all a favor, so we¡¯re all on the same si¨C¡±

    His words were cut off by the woman snickering to herself. Sinclair seemed to find amusement in what he said somehow. What¡­

    ¡°I knew he wasn¡¯t a Templar from the moment I saw him, but they really do play into the mold don¡¯t they?¡± She said this over her shoulder to the orc-like man that was looking more and more familiar as time went on. Wait, wasn¡¯t that the one from the alley? Sinclair turned her head back to Marshall. ¡°Those that live higher than us even have a higher sense of importance too. Thinking that, just because you save us from a couple nests, we should bask at your presence and be thankful? That the lessers should be thankful that a couple holes were plugged while we drown in the fucking mess down here?¡± Her words were gaining an edge as she spoke. A pure emotion in them. ¡°I used to believe this shitty view you all share. I just didn¡¯t expect you to immediately hinge off that view just to get some pity points.¡±

    Marshall was¡­ confused. He thought that they¡¯d be ecstatic to know that he was part of the forces above and want to work with him like the others had. After all, the goals of the Castle are the goals of Humanity. Right?

    The look of confusion on his face must have been seen, as Sinclair sneered at him. ¡°Too stupid to see your own hubris, Outlander? Why do you think that¡¯s used as a slur, and not a note of endearment?¡± She paused for just a half second, then continued. ¡°I¡¯m going to get the information out of you about where the rest of the people are from your ¡®wing¡¯. Dead or alive, the bodies will be useful for organs and pure samples of genomes for my research. But I want some ¡®personal¡¯ time with you first. Just me, you, and my tools. It wasn¡¯t enough to give you a look over, I want to see what¡¯s really different between us.¡±

    She stood up at this, leaving Marshall in a state of pure fear. ¡°Everyone out,¡± she said, gesturing to the two guards. ¡°Let¡¯s let him stew. And let the Mayor know the Outlander won¡¯t endanger his city anymore.¡± They all three went to leave before the woman paused and turned. She stepped back over to Marshall and, with a swift motion, hammered a fist into his cheek. The force sent the mask off his head and made him see stars for a moment. ¡°You won¡¯t be needing that anymore. Our air isn¡¯t too good for you.¡±

    With that, they left and closed the door of his cell. A brand new fear welled up in Marshall as he realized what had just happened. The ambient corruption of the land past The Wall was now coming in unfiltered to him. The very thing that was now going to slowly kill him. He screamed, trying to get anyone to listen. Anyone to come and put the mask back on. He yelled for what felt like hours, the slit of the door only opening once to a man who spit into the room in disdain and closed it. No one came to help.

    No one, that was, that he would call human.

    ¡°Well isn¡¯t this a surprise.¡± came the calm and grating voice from behind him. Marshall glanced over his shoulder as best he could, but couldn¡¯t see anything in the room with him. The voice, however, now sounded ahead of him. ¡°Over here¡­¡± Marshall¡¯s head turned and looked to nothing. ¡°Or maybe over here?¡± The voice shifted, and so too did Marshall¡¯s focus.

    ¡°No. Here.¡± Marshall¡¯s ear burned as if fire was touching it, making him whip around in pain. There, at his side, was a blue-winged butterfly. One that thrummed with some kind of energy that made Marshall¡¯s head hurt looking at it. ¡°It looks like you need a little help¡­ and I come with a deal that I advise you to consider. Do you know what an ¡®Angel¡¯ is?¡±

 Chapter 19

    Point of Documentation: Arnold Shevchenko

    Arnold did not get that time off. In fact, he suddenly found himself back on shift as usual and was released from patrol duty outside the walls of the settlement. Instead they activated the more veteran guards on duty and sent them out to make sure another attack wouldn¡¯t happen. Oh yeah, and that attack. That fucking Voidling and all the paperwork that came from it. The Captain of the Guard and Mayor himself interviewed each of them separately about what happened. While the Captain was much more concerned about why the other patrol was not saved and how things went down, the Mayor just seemed more worried about the gear being left out there and what state it was in.

    After being questioned for hours, a thing Arnold just saw as a boring chore and tedious, they finally let him go. He had been at his home for four, no, THREE hours excluding the walk, before he got a knock at his front door. Arnold sighed and sat in his chair. His comfy, leather chair that sat in front of his small fireplace. It wasn¡¯t anything amazing, just something small that ran off of a void-touched stone of the fire aspect. It provided heat, light, and a reprieve from the outside.

    The knock came again, this time more forceful. A voice also floated through the door, accompanying the annoying sound like an ill-welcomed friend. ¡°Mr. Shevchenko! I have an urgent matter for you!¡± That sounded like the voice of the APC Commander, Fielding, that he had served with once. Once! Only once and the man had the gull to show up at his home, uninvited, with an urgent matter no less!

    Arnold rose from his seat and placed the null-cap on the rock to stop its reactions. When it ran out of ambient energy, it¡¯d probably start actually catching on fire or something, so it¡¯s best to put it out in case they need him to do something as well. The Fates forbid¡­

    He placed a hand on the door¡¯s knob and opened it, revealing the Captain¡­ and two others. One a woman with a mess of blood on her face, and the other an elf. He could tell instantly that the Elf was one of the Void-Touched, one of the ¡®Powered¡¯ individuals. Sucks that he was also one of those ¡®muties as well. Makes them a lot more dangerous than just being changed in one way. He could tell the man was ¡®Powered¡¯ from this odd feeling he got when he looked at the man. It was like his brain itched when he looked at people infected or with diseases, so much more so when also Void-Touched. But this was¡­ different.

    The woman was the one that the patrol had picked up. Why was she bloodied? It didn¡¯t look as if she was hurt enough to warrant the amount of blood, but that was still a lot of blood for someone to just be covered in it.

    Arnold stared at the group for a moment, not saying a single thing as he sized them all up. Fielding opened his mouth and started talking. It was like he was underwater as Arnold just tried to come up with something to back out of this situation he suddenly opened his door to. Without a single word or response to what they were saying: Arnold all but shut the door on them.

    Fielding put his foot in the way and just leaned around the door. ¡°Arnold, please don¡¯t close the door on me. I¡¯m trying to get your help here.¡± Fielding seemed overly upset about this, but Arnold just kinda looked dumbly at him.

    ¡°Uh¡­ sorry about that. Kneejerk reaction to someone bloodied wanting in my house.¡± Arnold smiled with this as if he just explained the entire situation with that sentence.

    The other two looked at each other, sharing a whispered word between each other. He could see that the woman had mouthed a ¡®what the fuck¡¯ to the Elf, but Arnold didn¡¯t really get how that didn¡¯t click with them. Oh well. Arnold opened the door again and gestured into his house. ¡°May as well come in. Don¡¯t want anyone to get the wrong idea.¡±

    The three made their way into his home, Fielding being the only one that actually sat down at the table in his kitchen. Arnold closed the door after them, making sure the bolt was secured. He had a bad feeling about this. That bad feeling was multiplied when Fielding sat down his cap on the bare table. Arnold snuffed out a scream that was crawling up his throat and instead said ¡°Sir¡­ can you please use the cloth on the table as it''s intended and place your cap on it?¡±

    Fielding seemed to be stunned by this and looked down at his cap. The thoughts going through this frazzled lieutenant¡¯s mind was close to three monkeys bare-knuckle fighting in an arena on fire. And this man was worried about his fucking doilies? ¡°Uh¡­ sure, Arnold. Whatever you say.¡± He moved the hat onto the cloth on the table, noting immediately that his cap actually left a sweat mark on the table. He looked up to Arnold after this and could visibly see the man laser-homing on this fact.

    Arnold, for all his credit, did end up moving past this after a few tangible seconds and looked at the woman. She was mostly fine, but seemed to be extremely anxious about something. And impatient as well as she spoke up. ¡°Ok, enough of this.¡± She spoke quickly, as if the words needed to hurry up as well. ¡°I¡¯ve been told you can help us. The person you rescued this morning with me has been kidnapped by some bad people. They were willing to shoot me, so what they might be doing to him could be worse. We need a doctor that isn¡¯t tied directly to the garrison. Fielding recommended you.¡±

    The implications she flung at him were¡­ well, this was not what he was expecting. It was worse. He had to actually leave his house for this one. Arnold looked to Fielding, who shrugged in response. ¡°Hey, don¡¯t look at me. You have a pretty nasty reputation for being a shut-in and lazy as all hell. The higher ups constantly bitch about you never filling out reports and just doing whatever you want and nothing at the same time.¡±

    Skirting by the other claims, Arnold latched on to one thing in particular: ¡°They¡¯re talking about me? The bastards¡­ I¡¯m never healing the Captain¡¯s ¡®Extra Curricular Activities Disease¡¯ he gets after a night out again. He can suffer with that and tell his husband where he got it¡­¡± The words came out in an angry murmur as Arnold started half-mindedly pulling out a sheet and placing it over a chair.

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    The others sat where they were, half taking in what Arnold said by the looks on their faces. All of them except Fielding who just stared in confusion and disbelief. ¡°Ok, yeah, not touching that one. Jokes aside, I hope, are you willing to help them?¡±

    Arnold stopped mid setting the chair down after laying down the mat and looked at the man. ¡°No, I¡¯m doing this for my own health. Yes, I¡¯ll help them. But I expect to be paid for this. This isn¡¯t a charity.¡± Arnold finished setting the chair up and gestured for the woman to walk over. She did so in a quick fashion and slid onto the covering that Arnold had placed. ¡°Wonderful. Let me take a look at this.¡±

    The woman uncovered her wound on her upper arm, the one that he had spotted pretty early on, and let Arnold take a good look at it. This wound was caused by a bladed weapon of some kind and was actually pretty shallow. Arnold gave a look over the woman and, just as he predicted, most of the blood she had on her was not directly from a wound on her body by the looks of it. Taking his left hand, he raised it up and hovered it over the spot that the woman was wounded at. He concentrated on that feeling he had used hundreds of times now, trying to will it forth. The same feeling he got when he scraped his knees as a kid. The same feeling that he got when he tried to stop the bleeding of a terrible wound. The same feeling he got when staving off cancer or other diseases for a few more days for those that asked for it.

    Small motes of purplish light began to float in the air like a shower of sparks in slow reverse. With his will, Arnold mentally demanded the motes to coalesce on the wound. They floated up at a relaxed pace, almost seemingly playful in their meandering, and landed upon the woman¡¯s wound. Each touch of the motes caused some of the skin to grow back and over the wound seamlessly. It was as if each mote irritated the natural healing factor of the skin and caused it to heal in the way Arnold demanded.

    After the wound began to close up and seemed to be mostly sealed up, Arnold released his concentration on the motes. He reached over to a bookcase as the feeling started to creep up on him. The feedback. He slid the earmuffs on his head and instantly was thankful that he invested months of cash into these archaic, sound dampening devices. Every sound in the room was suddenly amplified a hundred times over and the sounds of even fabric moving would have instantly overstimulated the man¡¯s senses. But these headphones mostly nullified that.

    The woman felt her shoulder and said something to the elf. The elf had been watching Arnold like a hawk the entire time, only breaking his staring to answer the woman¡¯s questions. Afterwards, he looked back to Arnold and just seemed to study him. Yeah, that elf was fucking creepy. The words were barely audible, but Arnold thought he heard them discussing his ability. After a moment, the ringing in his ears slowly went away and was replaced with a soreness. Arnold removed the headphones and sat them back on the shelf.

    ¡°What¡¯s with the headphones?¡± The woman asked, looking over to him as he set them down.

    ¡°What? These things?¡± Arnold said with a gesture. ¡°They¡¯re nothing special. Just noise-canceling headphones. I need them after every use of my talent. Makes everyone and everything really, really annoying for a moment. Well, more annoying that is.¡± He stepped forwards again and stood in the middle of the room. ¡°Now¡­ would you mind explaining in detail? I¡¯d prefer to get this done and over with so I can recline in my nice chair.¡±

    The forwards seemed to rouse the woman from her questions and focus her. ¡°Right. I haven¡¯t introduced myself. My name is Cadence, and this is my business partner: Valentine. He runs an oddities and parts shop across town. I¡¯m a to-hire mechanic serving on a Mule-mech. I know we haven¡¯t gotten a chance to introduce ourselves with how quickly we moved on after the rescue, so I wanted to correct that. The man we were hoping to rescue was a man named Marshall. He¡¯s been taken by one of the gangs in this area.¡±

    Arnold focused on the elf as she mentioned his name. So this was one of the leaders of the back alleys? Of the Valentine Gang? This skinny elf who looks like they never held a gun in their life? Yet¡­ those piercing eyes made Arnold uncomfortable. As if they were evaluating his entire being by just looking at him and laying his soul bare.

    Arnold knew this feeling, and instantly reacted. With a smug look, the man flared his talent again and caused some of the motes to become visible around him. It was his own little jammer for things such as this. It disrupted the path a power like that needed to see into the souls of the ones that it was observing. Since it didn¡¯t take nearly as much effort as actually healing someone, Arnold had no fear of it¨C

    The field he made shattered, causing a visible shower of dust-like matter in the air around him. Arnold¡¯s eyes went wide as the man was able to easily punch through the barrier he had put up and even went so far as to put pressure on his soul. Arnold drew his sidearm in an instant, pointing it at the elf. To Valentine¡¯s credit: the elf immediately stopped and put his hands up. ¡°Sorry about that, soon-to-be-friend. You issued me a challenge, and I¡¯m simply taking you up on that.¡±

    The elf looked anything but apologetic, but Arnold could tell the man simply wanted to prove something here. Something that grinded Arnold¡¯s gears heavily. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re trying to prove you have something over me.¡± He said to Valentine. ¡°That you can see if I¡¯m lying regardless. Right?¡± Valentine looked surprised by this, and just nodded. Arnold sighed in response and continued. ¡°I have no reason to lie to people like you two. I will help. But I will not do it if you keep actively using your powers on me. In fact, you¡¯ll find casting ¡®gun¡¯ to be a lot more effective than looking at me really, really hard.¡±

    Fielding cleared his throat across the room and attracted the attention of those present. ¡°As much as I would love to watch a powered-dick-measuring contest, understand that we¡¯re on limited time here. Probably. Let the woman continue.¡± He gestured to Cadence.

    Arnold holstered his firearm and nodded. ¡°Right. I¡¯d hate to have to clean up anyways. Blood is a nasty thing to clean. Please, Cadence, continue. Tell me what I¡¯m getting into.¡±

    Cadence nodded to this and continued, seeming undisturbed from the scene that just happened. ¡°He was kidnapped outside the shop Valentine owns. I spotted one of the men that were part of Pertov¡¯s gang and attempted to stalk them to see if they kidnapped Marshall. Turns out I was right, and even stalked them back to their place of operation. Some kind of defunct hospital that absolutely is not in use anymore. I looked around for a few hours until one of them got the jump on me.¡± She gestured towards her now-healed wound. ¡°He stabbed deep, but bullets went deeper. I fled and found an old acquaintance, the vehicle commander of the people who saved us.¡±

    They looked to Fielding, who nodded in kind. ¡°I knew her brother, so¡­ small world, I guess?¡± He gave a shrug. ¡°I¡¯m all for rescuing the friend as well, but I need a plan. Same as I¡¯m sure Arnold will ask. Blindly going in will get us killed.¡±

    Cadence seemed to get some steam from this and stood straighter. ¡°I have a plan, and have reached out to the crew of mine waiting outside the forest.¡± She motioned towards the table, of which they all gathered around. Arnold wiping off that mark he saw as best he could. We¡¯ll call that focusing.

    ¡°Alright, so we have a couple ways in, and need to figure out¡­¡±

    <hr>

    Outside of the home of Arnold was a woman, sitting down and smoking something from her lips. She breathed out a smoke plume and smiled. The words drifted out from inside the house, barely audible to the human ear. But that was never a problem for her. Without a word she rose from her sitting position and moved towards the end of the alley. A tune on her lips that floated out in a haunting melody.

 Chapter 20

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    The room felt as if it had gotten noticeably colder as the butterfly was revealed. It asked Marshall a question, but it frankly took him a full three seconds to even react to the things. It didn¡¯t help that the insect hurt his head when he looked at it, but the concept of this thing being in here and talking to him of all things was just¡­ a lot.

    His face must have betrayed the reason for the hesitation for the butterfly flapped its wings and, like a wind across his face, the numbing aura was gone. The energy instead was replaced with that cold feeling. A presence. Yet again he was reminded that this thing was not meant to be here. Something that came from the Void, or was at least heavily submerged in it before coming here.

    ¡°I see that, once again, a mortal cannot handle the presence of one such as myself. A shame. Yet another limitation of what makes you human. Inferior. Fret not, however! I am here to liberate you from that failing shell of yours. A saving Angel, if you will.¡± Its words came out almost distorted, as if it was speaking underwater or through a covering.

    The thing flashed slightly, but not in light. It was like it caused a flash of something that mentally blinded him to the existence of it in the air in front of him. Then, as soon as it happened, it subsided. What resided there now was something that looked akin to a goblin with light blue skin. It wore a robe that made it appear as if it was a religious type, the hood being currently lowered and the pointed ears showing. But that wasn¡¯t the most incredible part of this. No, it was the eyes. Deep pools of a cosmos that Marshall had never, and would never see floated in them like a vast ocean trillions of ages wide and even deeper than that. The presence he felt earlier seemed to almost leak from those eyes. A central star that burned brighter than them all, eclipsing the rest of the stars in this midnight monsoon of galactic proportions, turned towards Marshall. That must be the equivalent of its pupil.

    ¡°My name is Tethel, a Cleric of a Greater Being. We need not talk about the greater one, but instead about you. You, oh so interesting human, are about to die. Not in a normal way either. You¡¯ve been affected by the nurturing wind of our dimension and are being slowly eroded away as your pitiful soul cannot possibly comprehend the majesty of the Void.¡±

    The being was all snark, and it pissed Marshall off to hear of. Yeah, geez, thanks for pointing out he was going to die. What gave it that idea? The fact he was bound in a room, the shoddy state of it, the creeping cancer-like Scourge that was ravaging him, or maybe he just looked like shit. Marshall opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly interrupted. Again.

    ¡°I, in all my gifted grace, have been told by the higher ups to scout you lowly mortal. And scout I shall.¡± The goblin-like-thing stepped towards the Marshall and held out some kind of metal rod. It was no bigger than a foot in length, but seemed to almost draw in the gravity around it as it just existed in this space. Some papers on the nearby table drifted off as it was pulled towards the direction of the imp.

    Marshall felt something in his chest vibrate as the rod was pointed in his direction. It felt like a beehive was active in his body and it was trying to force itself out from every single pore in his body all at once. The pain washed through him from this, but it happened so quickly that it didn¡¯t keep him awake through the pain and he passed out once again in the chair.

    At least, he would have passed out if he was able to. His consciousness dipped and his eyes slowly closed before the little bastard hit him on the head with the rod. A jolt of energy went through his body and ripped him back into full consciousness in an instant. A scream ripped from his mouth from the pain and¡­ was quiet. As if his voice was stolen from him for that instant. No, was it that instant, or had he not had his voice the entire time this thing had been here? He hadn¡¯t spoken after all. This thought was the only thing Marshall was anchored to to stave off the pain from once again taking his focus from him.

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    Marshall turned his head to face the Goblin once again, Tethel was it? Tethel seemed to be smiling with glee as it watched Marshall. It seemed to almost watch with bated breath as Marshall struggled and suffered. When he was able to stabilize himself again and looked at the thing, it seemed to come out of whatever stupor it was in. ¡°Oh¡­ oh what a lovely sight. You Humans have such an interesting sense of pain and ways to combat it. But not sleeping now, ok? We need to talk about things. Especially that nice little organ growing in you now.¡± Tethel pointed to Marshall¡¯s chest, then raised to his mouth. ¡°Oh yes, and you can speak now. I¡¯ll remove that lock on your soul.¡±

    As if a weight had been taken off of Marshall, he leaned forwards and groaned a bit in pain. Yeah, that wasn¡¯t getting dealt with by using some pain meds. This was a weekend-on-the-third-ring kind of pain. He managed to squeeze out some words to the goblin as he did this, though. ¡°What¡­ what do you want with me?¡±

    ¡°Ah! Yes, I like those that get right down to business! Makes thing much more smooth than ¡®oh please, don¡¯t¡¯ and ¡®but I have a family¡¯. Those ones are the worst, I tell you. They never shut the fuck up.¡± Tethel stepped towards Marshall, still bound as he was in the chair, and knelt down before him and looked Marshall over. ¡°I scout potential infected humans to see if they are worth a blessing by a supreme Void being. If they are, the Scourge, as you call it, stops eating you alive and is instead absorbed into that organ of yours. Some very interesting things happen with it and sometimes even provide direct entertainment to those above!¡± Tethal took his finger and pointed it towards Marshall¡¯s chest. ¡°I was told yours would be a bit different because you came from the Holiday¡¯s territory, but I never expected a 2nd-grade organ from such a weak being without even being blessed.¡±

    Tethel seemed to be in thought as Marshall was able to finally shake off the pain he had experienced before. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± he managed to say through gritted teeth. ¡°What the hell is a grade? Blessing? Greater Being? You¡¯re saying a lot of things that don¡¯t make much sen¨C¡±

    A hand came up and gripped Marshall around the mouth and stopped his talking. Tethel looked up at him and grinned. ¡°Oh no no, that¡¯s far too many questions. And far too conceited to think I will answer anything you ask me. I¡¯m here to scout, not give you knowledge¡­ but I will humor some of that. To keep you alive and all.¡± Tethel released his grip on Marshall¡¯s face and once more just squatted there.

    ¡°Grades are how the organs of enlightened beings, such as yourself, use the Void. Enlightened meaning simply non-Void beings that can now use the Void. You exude a pressure that other Enlightened can see and detect in their own ways. 2nd-grade is actually quite good for someone who just grew their organ over the last few weeks. Most people like you have a 1st- or nth-grade organ that can barely hold any Void in it or pass through it. I¡¯ve only known a few that innately start at 2nd¡­ but most of those were people who were already able to sense and lightly manipulate Void through what they call ¡®magic¡¯.¡± Tethel made a rather crude noise with his mouth akin to a raspberry. ¡°They¡¯d call anything they don¡¯t understand magic it seems.¡±

    Tethel stood up and walked around Marshall, causing Marshall to turn his head to try to follow the small, blue-skinned being. ¡°Greater Beings are above you, so you can think of them as God-like. Angels, in all the senses. There are also Demon Greater Beings, but those are detestable things that are no more than animals compared to us, of course. A blessing by a Greater Being allows that organ to start working. After all, simple humans like you cannot possibly start something so profound alone. Ah, on that note¡­ I have a couple more things to scan on you. Please don¡¯t squirm too much, I need to see into that organ of yours for typing.¡±

    The rod once more came out and Tethel moved it and caused yet another gravity anomaly to occur. As he did, Marshall felt that pain again rush through his body. It was like a swarm of bees in his skin, but something felt familiar about it. Something recognizable. Something that he knew would gnaw at him at the first chance it got. Animalistic in nature and hungry.

    Marshall¡¯s senses dulled as he started to lose consciousness again. The goblin didn¡¯t bang him on the head again, but instead let him fade. As things started getting black around him; figures stood in the room around him. Familiar figures that reminded him of times past. A gentle hand came and caressed his chin in a soothing motion. He looked up to eyes that he never thought he¡¯d see again, eyes so soft that you could lay in clouds looking at them.

    His mind blanked and Marshall fell forward¡­ into something far too overdue: The Past.

 Chapter 21 - The Driving Force

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    Marshall¡¯s eyes opened to a hand around his chin. It held it up firmly as the fellow pilot looked him in the eyes. A flashlight was then shone and blinded Marshall, who justly let out a string of curses at the woman. ¡°Oh come the fuck off Luz. It was just a bump.¡± He swiped a hand up to try to get the light to stop.

    The woman, Luz, did not relent and held on tighter. ¡°Marsh, don¡¯t be a baby about it. You slammed your head right into the shielding on the craft and got knocked so loose that they had to pry you from between the seat and the side of the cockpit. Upside down. If you don¡¯t have a concussion, then I¡¯m going to recommend you to be a living test dummy for testing out new crafts.¡± She shone the light into the other eye and sighed. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m definitely recommending you now. No signs of a concussion.¡± The hand left his chin, but Marshall almost felt the need to keep fighting to keep the hand on.

    He relented, however, and simply leaned back on the medical cot. He had ended up here after a spat with the local insurgents from one of the orbiting Outposts above the archaic North American continent. They still used the old terms, even though more modern maps just labeled it as Angel Controlled, Demon Controlled, or Contested for anything other than human lands. The only reason they even got into that spat to begin with was because the Outpost had sent out a party to raid the training grounds of Phoenix. Scalpers, coming to get materials from destroyed craft and satellites. Pirates and Brigands.

    Marshall huffed and stood up off the cot. ¡°If you recommend me, I¡¯m telling Flight-Command that you¡¯ve been sneaking extra rations and storing them in your cockpit.¡± he fired back at Luz, getting a smile on his face.

    Luz looked offended at him and slapped him on the back of the head. ¡°How do you know about that? Was it Gregory? I told that lard to keep his mouth shut!¡± She said this in jest, but her slaps still hurt like hell.

    ¡°No, no, I saw you sneaking some in the other day. But now I know Gregory knows and I¡¯m absolutely going to tell him and get some dirt.¡± Marshall¡¯s smile never wavered, and soon Luz smiled at him too.

    ¡°Ugh, you¡¯re unbearable. You¡¯re lucky your sister works on the bridge, otherwise I¡¯d totally shunt you out of an airlock so you can trouble the Ints and make them crash instead of us. Besides, how the hell did you end up colliding sideways with three of them and NOT end up a milkshake?¡±

    They both stepped out of the medical ward of the ship as they spoke, drawing the attention of the five people waiting in the hallway. They each stood there in the hallway, seemingly waiting on them to exit.

    There was a taller man with a bit of a stomach on him. He didn¡¯t lose out on any muscle mass with the weight, and instead seemed to embody strength itself. Gregory, Phoenix 7, a hot headed-brute who people wondered why he ever signed up for the Navy, and a fighter pilot at that. He was much more suited to be in a bomber¡¯s crew or a gunship. Marshall even claimed the man could be used in boarding actions to just scare the shit out of those on the other side and make them give up.

    On his shoulder was a smaller framed person who looked like the most kid-ish, androgynous person you had ever met. Standing at no more than 5¡¯5¡±, they were one of the best pilots when it came to recon missions in their entire flight. Felix, Phoenix 15, the youngest of the crew and the spitfire of their little group. The fact that they liked riding on the nearly seven foot tall giant of a man that was Gregory was never a mentioned fact. Maybe they just liked to be tall?

    Standing next to them with a sour look on her face was a scarlet haired woman who seemed to be arguing with Felix for some reason. She was the most ¡®physically pronounced¡¯ of the group, supposedly joining off of connections more than anything else to their flight. Her and Felix butted heads like no one else in the flight, and sure as hell the most in their wing and little group. Samantha, Phoenix 21, and the latest number of the Phoenix group. She wasn¡¯t all for show, however, and was actually a tactical nutcase who could sniff out a dangerous situation for miles. It didn¡¯t help that her family had a special lineage that supposedly were psychics or something and were used on ships such as the cruiser they were on.

    Standing away from the three were two more just sitting and chatting between each other. A man by the name of Stephen who was roughly ten years the senior of the oldest one here seemed to be chatting with Vivian, a woman who had been in the medical ward for a while longer than Marshall for some corrective surgery. Stephen, Phoenix 2, and Vivian, Phoenix 4, were some of the longest retained members of the wing and held seniority over them. Rank-wise, Stephen was effectively the second in command of the wing and handled a lot of the personal relations between the members of the wing. Vivian was just an extremely lucky pilot that had not only survived for years in the wing, but even had earned some metals herself for her acts.

    On that note: Luz herself was wearing the Phoenix 3 designation on her shirt. She was effectively one of the more core members of the wing and was directly related to the Wing-Leader herself. To say that she was multi-talented wouldn¡¯t do her justice. She was the most medically inclined of the group, a comms officer from bootcamp who decided to change to pilot school, and had multiple years of college under her belt. To say she was overqualified to be here was an understatement.

    The conversations and arguing stopped as Marshall and Luz made their way out of the medical ward. Felix immediately jumped off Gregory¡¯s shoulder and ran up to Marshall. ¡°Hey, is your skull ok? I can¡¯t collect it after you die if it¡¯s in, like, a million pieces.¡±

    Luz covered her mouth to hide a smile as Marshall just stared down at Felix in mock horror. ¡°Wait, you want my skull? What happens if I want to come back to life? Do I have to barter for it back?¡±

    Felix nodded happily as Samantha made a frustrated noise behind them. Marshall looked up and gave her a smile. ¡°It¡¯s ok Samantha, I know what I¡¯m getting into with this. Besides, who cares if I lose my head? Apparently Luz here thinks I¡¯d be more use as a demo-dummy than a pilot anyways.¡±

    Luz, in turn, nodded her head. ¡°Oh yeah, especially with your weirdly shaped skull. A shape that apparently lessens the shock of crashes.¡± Marshall made a mock offended face and turned back to Samantha, who just looked absolutely lost. Good. She¡¯s gonna get hazed one way or another if she wants to hang out with their group in this wing.

    Stephen cleared his throat and cut into this debacle. ¡°As much as I¡¯d love to hear you all torture the new pilot for another while, we¡¯ve got another scramble order for later this week. Apparently a nest leveling is needed. Something about a Legion spawning from this one and possibly another one coming soon. So we¡¯ve been told to run a few drills with all active members and scramble at full force.¡± He gestured to Vivian. ¡°And with me saying that, I¡¯ve warned all of you and expect you to be there at 0200 hours. In the meantime, we need to get Vivian¡¯s new nametag. New names and identifiers need clearance by a higher up in a wing after registering, after all.¡± Vivian nodded to this with fervor.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    ¡°Well shit, congrats Vivian.¡± Marshall said, stepped over and giving her a pat on the shoulder. ¡°So we¡¯re gonna have a party over this, right? Beer and snack, yeah?¡± He raised an eyebrow to the ¡®higher up¡¯ as he declared himself.

    Stephen sighed and nodded. ¡°Yes, we¡¯ll have a celebration two days before scrambling. Get your duties in order and prepare for the worst. I heard the Wing-Lead already has a banger planned. Something about sneaking booze on the cruiser¡­¡± Obvious distaste was on Stephen¡¯s face and in his voice as he said this. What a dry man.

    The rest of them seemed more than happy about this. In fact, Gregory uncharacteristically smiled and pumped a fist in the air. ¡°We train, then drink!¡± The unspoken giant declared this, and the rest of them cheered as Stephen and Vivian departed.

    Each of them eventually wandered off towards the hanger on the cruiser to start training and getting their things in order. Marshall and Luz went together down to the hanger. Whilst their designations may be a good bit from one another, they were actually assigned as ¡®buddies¡¯ for the wing¡¯s dynamic. They flew close to one another in combat, but were apart when pre-combat in the wing¡¯s formation. When they weren¡¯t in their fighters or being called on, however, they also shared another thing: a room.

    When they got to the room, some tomfoolery occurred, which later ended up in both of them changing clothes for a training session in the hangar. Luz left first, noting that he had gotten a message from his mother on his holopad while he was in the medical ward. Marshall thanked her, letting her walk out before he read it.

    He moved over to the bunk-bed living section of the room, sitting down and having to move his rebreather off the bed and onto the stand next to it. The thing still smelled of Roberts and the medical waste he had sitting around. Marshall scrunched up his nose at it and decided to put it across the room on the desk.

    Upon doing that, he sat back down on the old, brown covered bunk bed and opened the message on his holopad. His eyes looked at it¡­ and saw nothing. There was no message there waiting for him there. Just a blank screen. Maybe Luz had made a mist¨C

    ¡°Hello Marshall. Enjoying ourselves again, are we?¡±

    Marshall reacted to the holopad suddenly writing to him in the inbound message section by widening his eyes and opening his mouth in surprise. What the¡­ had he actually hit his head too hard? Was he imagining things?

    ¡°As much as we enjoy watching us pretend as if we could wind back time, we have a duty here. The talent we have must be found and capitalized on. Time is not infinite. Tragedy is inevitable.¡±

    Confusion covered his face for a moment before he started to remember. Right, he wasn¡¯t here. He was in some shitty room with a little goblin who loved to use that rod and cause him to be in pain. He just needed to know why he was here.

    The answer came quickly as the holopad continued writing to him. ¡°Continue with the memory. Something is hidden here that will help us. What set us apart from our other crew members?¡±

    What set us apart? Marshall thought on this for a moment before he got up and wandered to the door. He opened the door to the hanger, not the hallway it should be. He was shocked for a moment, but rationalized it as dreams skipping around when needed. Yeah, that had to be it.

    Marshall walked around the hangar a little, watching all his former wing members going about and getting ready for the mission that killed all of the scrambled Phoenix Wing members. Eventually he reached his craft, a banged up fighter that had to be sent into the repair bay just to fly again. They had just finished repairing it when the mission had started. It let him fly in his trusty fighter that had always been with him ever since the end of bootcamp. The motto of his wing was stamped across it: ¡°Phoenix¡¯s don¡¯t die, we return stronger¡±.

    The fighter seemed to pull his attention in towards it, almost wanting him to look at it. A chime from the holopad caused him to look down at it. The dust and grime that had built on it made the words a little harder to read, but it said a simple phrase: ¡°Reach out and feel it.¡±

    Confusion pained Marshall¡¯s face once again as he read the message. But, without another word, Marshall did exactly as the holopad wanted. He reached out and set his hand on the fighter in question. A feeling of pure emotion suddenly rushed out from the fighter like a tidal wave trying to drag him down. Marshall fought it, hand firmly glued to the craft¡¯s side. It was a mental battle that felt as if he was swimming upstream in a torrential downpour, but Marshall swam with all his heart. Survival being the only objective. When he met the head of the downpour he grasped it and¨C

    Marshall focused on his fist closed around something small and metal. He opened his hand to look at it, finding something both perplexing and so simple in it. A small car sat in his hand. It was dirty and obviously was just fished out of the sandbox from playing. Yet it radiated so much love and passion. This was HIS toy car from when he was a child. He didn''t understand what the importance of this was at all.

    Arms then wrapped around his neck from behind, a hot breath in his ear. ¡°You should have died so many times, and yet you willed it to not happen. The machines respond. Driven by your will, they almost become sentient and do things they should not be able to.¡± The voice of Luz in his ear made his heart so heavy, yet so light at the same time. A well of emotions sprang from him, but were ignored as she spoke more. ¡°When you crashed into those rebels, your fighter should have been crumpled. Yet it protected you. When you were traveling with your new companions and took control of the guns, you did it without training and knowledge. Yet it responded to your anger and hostility towards those men. Even something as simple as a completely destroyed bicycle carrying for miles before giving out when not needed. You have affected those things with your will and emotions for years without realizing it.¡±

    The hand of Luz came up, the arm being barely there and transparent. It closed around Marshall¡¯s hand and closed his fingers around the little car. ¡°You have the power to enact change, and the metal responds to your will. So will it, and ignite what sits in your chest.¡± Marshall turned his head to look over his shoulder. He was terrified to see what she looked like, but only found the woman he had known for so long. She wasn¡¯t the only one there either. His group and wing lay beyond her, some even waving as he finally noticed them. Luz smiled, speaking again. ¡°I won¡¯t be a freeloader, and neither will any of us. Let¡¯s get that second heart pumping.¡±

    Marshall raised his hand with the car up to his chest and, instinctually, pushed it into himself. A searing pain ran through him as something started fighting inside of himself. His very soul shuddered at the pressure, but didn¡¯t buckle. No, it only resisted even more as the pressure built and built. Soon it felt like Marshall was going to rip in half as the pressure rose to a bursting level. And yet¡­ he didn¡¯t.

    With a heavy step, he turned and faced them all. Each and every person he lost before this story of his even started here on Terra. They seemed to be waiting for him, but Marshall wasn¡¯t sure for what. Looking to Luz, she motioned for him to take her hand. ¡°Marsh¡­ let¡¯s go. You aren¡¯t going to die here. We want to go home too.¡±

    Marshall knew now what he had to do. He didn¡¯t just know it, he felt it. Every inch of his body swelled with his intent, his willpower, his now bursting soul.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, everyone. We¡¯re Phoenixes, remember? We don¡¯t die here, and return even stronger.¡±

    <hr>

    Tethel waved his wand at the human a few times, getting a data reading from it. 2nd-Grade, will-based, karmic, and it looked like¨C

    Suddenly the rod shattered in his hand, causing pieces to fling themselves all over the room. His eyes went wide and he had to shield himself with a skill of his and cause a bubble to appear around his body. The hand wasn¡¯t salvageable, but the rest of him luckily was. He then teleported backwards a few steps quickly to put some distance between him and the human.

    What was that¡­ feeling he just had? The human passed out, and then this overwhelming presence came over him and shattered the rod in his hand. It had nearly forced the Cleric to shape into something smaller to get away from the pure intent behind it. Tethel looked at the human¡­ and immediately noticed what the change was.

    Tethel whipped out a small recording device and started it. ¡°Log 82C-4A, Tethel recording. I¡¯ve just located a unique human, a self-igniting Void-Heart. No contract signed, and no assistance given. Danger has now risen. Will now enact damage control.¡±

    He put the device away as the human started to come to life again. Tethel swallowed hard at the task now ahead of him. This lowly human¡­ just became something more.

 Chapter 22 - Consequences of Man

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    Soreness filled Marshall¡¯s body as he started to come into consciousness. It was like his entire body had been hit over and over with a pipe in dozens of places, especially around his chest. He had a fuzzy memory of his dream, some things fading in and out for what had occurred within. It dealt with his time back in the cruiser he served on for a small stint¡­ ¡°Ugh¡­¡± came the groan from his mouth as he looked around.

    The first thing he noticed upon waking was the scattered remains of some metallic object that had exploded around the room. It was peppered everywhere and looked like a whirlwind had come through the room and scattered it for the fun of it. The thought that accompanied this discovery was how the hell had the guards outside hadn¡¯t heard this. Whatever happened when he passed out must have been loud, right?

    Movement in the corner of the room drew Marshall¡¯s attention as he turned his head around to look. The blue-skinned goblin was there with a look of surprise on his face. He was talking into some object in his hand, and seemed to quickly dismiss it upon noticing Marshall¡¯s gaze. What was this thing¡¯s name again? Tethel, he thought. Yeah, that had to be it. Why was his mind so scattered right now that he couldn¡¯t even remember a name?

    ¡°Human, how are you feeling?¡± came the less-than-concerned response from the little imp-like being. He seemed to rub his hands together rhythmically as he stared at Marshall. Was Tethel¡­ nervous? What the hell happened while he was out?

    Marshall took a moment to respond, and it actually seemed like Tethal was willing to give him that minute. ¡°I feel awful.¡± There wasn¡¯t much use to hold back, and Marshall just blurted it out in a tired tone. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what happened, but you did a number to me. Can we please not do whatever that was again?¡± It was less of a question, but more of a statement disguised as one.

    Tethal seemed to pick up on this and waved a hand. ¡°Oh no, no, we absolutely will not be using that device anymore. After all: it¡¯s scattered over most of this room. I¡¯d have to return for another scanner to use it.¡±

    So it had been the rod that had detonated? The reason why was unclear, so Marshall asked. ¡°Tethel. What do you mean it detonated? I¡¯m a little lost here on what just happened.¡±

    Tethel, for his part, seemed a little taken back at this. ¡°You did it unconsciously?¡± This phrase seemed to alarm him more than the rod being destroyed did. His words seemed to catch in his throat for a moment before he coughed and continued. ¡°You, uh, ignited your core during my scanning. It caused a large power-flux of Void energy that shifted in the room violently for a moment and gave large feedback through the device.¡±

    Void core? The organ that Tethel was talking about before? Marshall looked down at his chest, an unchanged shirt on his body now visible without his hazmat suit on. Yeah, nothing seemed different than before except that burning feeling under his skin. ¡°Sorry about your scanner-thing, I guess? Not sure what I¡¯m supposed to feel when a magical blue goblin-thing tells me I just ¡®activated¡¯ a new organ in my body that can do super powers. Do I get a newsletter in the mail once a week that explains my benefit plans?¡±

    They stared at each other for a few seconds before Tethel just frowned. ¡°You¡¯re not taking this seriously, are you?¡±

    Marshall seemed to really think about that for a second before firing back his own response. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ I¡¯ve been stranded on Terra, chased by Voidlings, shot at, chased, and captured by people, tortured, assaulted by a random butterfly-goblin with a stick, and now I have super powers? I blame the trauma response on the horrible food quality they fed me in the cafeteria.¡±

    Truly Marshall had been stretched thin on his sanity at this point. So many weird, dangerous, and downright ridiculous things had happened to him in such a short time on this planet that he was starting to get the fallout of all the whiplash he had endured. He thought about it all and came to the conclusion that he was seriously starting to get numb to these things just happening to him at this point. Over the course of, what, a half a month? Maybe not even that long?

    ¡°Sorry, that was a lot more venomous than I meant. Even if you did straight up cause me internal trauma from all that wand-business. I¡¯m taking you seriously, but I¡¯m not sure how to even process this right now. I¡¯m not even sure how to test or see what you¡¯re talking about.¡± Even as Marshall was finishing his sentence, a small purple mote floated past his vision mere inches from his face. It caused Marshall to flinch back slightly, causing the mote to react and float in the absence of solid material towards his face more. It landed on his flesh and caused a small amount of coldness where it landed akin to a snowflake landing on his skin. ¡°What... what was that?¡±

    Tethel smiled and answered. ¡°That is a coalesced mote of Void Essence that is clumped up and more potent than simple ambient essence.¡± He pointed up to the vent above Marshall. ¡°They planned to poison you and let the Void Scourge take you, and if you survived, use you. What a terrible fate, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Above the two was the fan in question as well as the dingy ceiling that Marshall had looked at before. Now as he looked at it, Marshall noticed the motes drifting out from the slow moving fan like dust from an old vent. It also collected along the edge of the fan¡¯s housing and the ceiling around it like a dust sheet on old, unused furniture. This amount was apparently completely harmless to the normal person, but to someone with the Scourge¡­

    ¡°Wait, if all of this was always here and in the room, how were those three not dying with me? That is a lot, right?¡± Marshall¡¯s eyes drifted down to Tethel, who had materialized a toothpick out of thin air.

    With a mock-wiseman¡¯s expression, Tethel answered him. ¡°No, the amount needed to poison a human is more than that. It needs to be at least your body mass in a Terran-hour¡¯s time. Then you get the Scourge. This is nothing compared to that, but very toxic to someone like you. Rather, like someone you were.¡± He took the toothpick and flicked it, causing it to seemingly disintegrate into those purplish motes that hazed and hit Marshall directly. He immediately felt the cold rush over him as Tethel continued talking. ¡°You¡¯ll need to come to understand that power of yours more, and I won¡¯t be much help with that. You broke my scanner.¡± Tethel pointed to the ground with the shards still on it.

    ¡°Right¡­ sorry about that.¡± Marshall said in a more apologetic tone. ¡°But you¡¯re a scouter, right? You said so yourself. Someone that scouts out potential people and their powers for some higher being?¡±

    Tethel held up a finger. ¡°Greater Being; and yes, I do in fact scout for them. What¡¯s your point?¡±

    Marshall nodded, his ropes starting to rub a sore in his neck with all this head movements, and continued. ¡°If you ask them, they should be able to tell you, right? Or even better: you know powers and how people use them, right? Don¡¯t you have any guesses or anything?¡±

    To say that Tethel looked apprehensive at this would be an understatement. He looked downright appalled at the idea. ¡°I am NOT a life coach for some human, even for a special case. However¡­ I do plan on telling them about what happened here. So I can get their input and come back and advise.¡±

    Marshall had a bad feeling as Tethel said this. ¡°And¡­ how long would that be, exactly?¡±

    Tethel smiled and said ¡°Oh, a year or two in your time. It takes a long time to travel there and back. And I must say, there are some wonderful festivals happening in Averaan this year. I might need to stop there and make a small appearance!¡±

    There it was. Marshall groaned and lowered his head. Of course, the little blue shit wouldn¡¯t want to help a being he viewed as lower. He needed some way to get this being to either actually help him or get leverage¨C

    A strange feeling came over him as he felt something mentally reach out to him. Yes, mentally. He didn¡¯t know how he knew this, but it was like knowledge was just dropped in his mind from something else. He looked up at Tethel, a look of determination on Marshall¡¯s face. ¡°What if I told you there¡¯s a Voidling down below this facility that they have restrained?¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Tethel¡¯s face went from a shit-eating grin and mockery to one of disbelief. ¡°Please, if you wanted to catch my attention, I need something more believable than that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I can do you more than make it more ¡®believable¡¯. The machine that is keeping it held has been soaked so much in that Void Essence stuff that it was able to communicate its misery and pain to me. Somehow. I don¡¯t know how, but I know that the thought didn¡¯t creep in from some imaginary friend or something.¡± Marshall looked at Tethel with intent. ¡°And I think I know how to get there.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Tethel was more curious than anything now, leaning forwards from where he was. ¡°So what is this grand, master plan of yours, Human? Have you figured out what your method of Void Essence tapping is?¡±

    Marshall gave a shake of his head. ¡°No idea¡­ but I do have a plan. They may have taken my firearm and gear, but they left me plenty of things to work with.¡±

    <hr>

    A day passed before the woman and her two henchmen came back. When Sinclair did return, she returned with a map and a wheelchair. One of the henchmen wheeled it in behind her and she scooted the other chair in the room over to the man. She spun it and sat in it once again. The room barely changed at all, yet something felt inherently¡­ colder?

    ¡°Mr. Locke, I know I said I¡¯d love to get the details after our little date? That needs to be moved up. I want an answer now, and then we can have our little fun.¡±

    She looked at the man who hung his head low, seemingly depressed. Sleep had not taken him, as she could see his eyes barely open. The guard had told her that he was screaming and pleading for hours yesterday. Maybe he had broken?

    The thought was interrupted as he actually spoke up. ¡°You know, I¡¯m very new to this whole ¡®Void¡¯ stuff down here. So I never thought to ask. You seem much more talented than most of the riff raff around here. Do you have a power?¡± His words were soft, and seemed to be from a tired and weary man.

    Sinclair was aware of the man¡¯s sudden switch from spiteful before to something much more subdued. It was far too sudden¡­ but maybe the words from yesterday really did affect him that much? ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure you must be overwhelmed with actually acknowledging that we can hold such power. I, an intellectual, do in fact have a way to manifest a power. A complex thing that allows me to understand whatever I take apart to a staggering amount. Which is why I need you, Mr. Locke, to work with us quietly. I only need to tear you apart a little, and I can get what I need from you. But if you struggle, I¡¯ll need to keep going.¡± A sadistic smile crossed her face from the joy she felt at imagining it.

    The man shook his head and mumbled something. He seemed to say something with a tear flowing down his cheek. Yes, this was what she wanted: abject hopelessness to her scalpel. A feeling of standing on a man¡¯s neck without even moving a finger. She leaned in closer to hear him. ¡°Speak up, Mr. Locke. I can¡¯t afford too much¨C¡±

    A pain blossomed in her neck as she heard him speak. ¡°I can¡¯t fucking believe I got caught by a biology dropout.¡±

    <hr>

    Marshall had worked all day on getting the knife hidden in his pilot suit¡¯s arm sleeve to come out. It then took a few hours to even cut some of the ropes on the back of the chair. They didn¡¯t skimp on the hemp, these ropes were thick. He was lucky they hadn¡¯t used something more metallic or otherwise, as the knife he had wouldn¡¯t have been able to stand up to something stronger. It was a simple hidden blade after all, and something that was really only used to cut his cockpit¡¯s harness in emergencies.

    Around the time he started, he told Tethel to clean up the shard of the rod and hide. Through hours of grumbles of Tethel bitching about having to do what a ¡®lowly human told him¡¯, Tethel eventually caved under the pure curiosity of whether it would work or not. After cleaning up the pieces, Tethel became his butterfly form again and fluttered up into the vent again.

    Then it was simply a matter of waiting. He cut just enough of the rope that he was confident he could bust them with strength alone. He waited, and he thought. Marshall didn¡¯t want to do anything on Terra that would leave any rippling effects. A single death could have massive repercussions that would have not existed without his presence, and he wanted to avoid that as much as possible. The bandits were an unfortunate situation that he wished he could have avoided. It was also the reason he had just simply rode along with the crew of Betty instead of separating and acting alone. If he stuck with them, less people would be affected by his actions alone.

    Coming to this town was probably his worst mistake. He had put himself front and center on the stage of the travel and his actions would be paramount to things that happen. That thought was more than accurate as Cadence propped him up as some ¡®Templar¡¯ group member and made him the center of attention with her attempts to ground him to Terra and not as an outsider. One of the main actions that got him into this situation as is. He didn¡¯t blame her, but he also couldn¡¯t ignore what had lead here.

    Marshall had steeled himself now. He was no longer allowed to be passive, this Void Scourge that he hoped to just ride out until he got back to the Castle to be cured was now something much, much worse. Better in some ways, but worse in others. He hadn¡¯t thought about home or how things would be handled there much, but this Scourge business would make him an outsider even there now. If he was to be outside the normal, then his actions needed to reflect that and wrest fate back into his hands.

    Marshall had only really shown his strength back when Cadence was in trouble and under fire or when he moved from what was the Urals to Eastern Europe. He was a member of the Castle¡¯s Navy, and had to go through training to be where he was now. Pilots weren¡¯t just simply fly-boys there, but survival experts when their crafts land on enemy stations. Not as talented as some of the other branches, but they needed to be prepared.

    When she had entered in, his resolve was once more restored. Possibly even fortified compared to days ago. Some of that dream even slowly coming back to him in the idle moments minutes before Sinclair entered. Willpower. He needed more of it.

    He noticed it as she entered the room: Sinclair had a certain feeling to her presence that spoke that she had something¡­ ¡®more¡¯ to her. Something different on a fundamental level. It was like Tethel said: he could feel that she was also one of those ¡®Ascended¡¯ or ¡®Powered¡¯ or whatever the fuck it was called.

    She had placed herself over him and gloated at him being there, at Marshall¡¯s position and unfortunate situation. At him being her plaything. He just had to know. He asked her what her power was¡­ and was so disappointed at the response. Her power was to observe? Sure, it would be useful in a lab environment, but she was a torturer not a lab coat wearing professor! A tear of pure frustration rolled down his cheek, a result of his acting more than actual despair.

    When she leaned down to her his wordless mumble he struck out. The knife flashing quickly, the woman was taken by surprise as it embedded itself into her neck. A deep and possibly fatal wound, but not instant death. With his bonds now broken and the rope laying on the ground: Marshall grabbed Sinclair as the two goons raised their guns. The orc-looking one seemed to have a gleam in his eye. Revenge from the alley, no doubt. This was what he was waiting for: to kill Marshall. Marshall had seen that look before. So Marshall purposefully used Sinclair¡¯s body as a blocker between them specifically, half-blocking from the other one.

    ¡°We can do this the easy way if you want. Let me go and get her medically when I let go of her on the steps of this place.¡± Marshall saw the orc raise the gun and aimed it center-mass to the woman. The small motes around the room floated near the orc, almost imperceptibly so. Whatever it was doing, it couldn¡¯t be good.

    ¡°Right, so hard way then.¡± Marshall ripped the knife from Sinclair, spelling her fate. He pushed hard, praying that the gun wouldn¡¯t make it through the woman¡¯s body with its hail of fire. The second person aimed slower, less intent in their movements. Marshall didn¡¯t have the luxury to not act on this opening and went for it. He tossed the knife in a gamble that it would stumble them long enough for Marshall to act.

    The knife landed true and hit their bracing shoulder right before the gun came up to it. It caused them pain and made them pause in raising the gun up to it. Marshall dashed forwards and used his left hand to grab the barrel of the gun and rip it aside. With his other hand he smashed into the elf¡¯s face with all his force he could muster. It shattered the man¡¯s nose, causing a spout of blood to come from it. Marshall didn¡¯t wait to see if the man would recover and ripped the knife from his shoulder. He then used it to the same effect as with Sinclair, downing the elf.

    Marshall¡¯s attention turned to the Orc as he saw him toss Sinclair away from him. The gun now free, it turned to Marshall. A feeling of pure disdain and fury welled within Marshall as he faced down death at the hand of this no-named orc with a firearm. As Marshall saw this scene in almost pre-death slow motion, he noticed the motes had surrounded the firearm in an almost cast.

    The orc grinned as he pulled the trigger directly at Marshall¡­ only for the firearm to jam and the case to crack through the receiver¡¯s housing and misfire into the barrel. The shot still came, scoring a hit into Marshall¡¯s own shoulder. The confusion on the orc¡¯s face was the only thing Marshall paid attention to as he rushed the man. Forget the pain, fight through it. He focused, and soon the orc was laid back with the knife replacing one of their eyes.

    Marshall sat up from the orc¡¯s body and heaved a massive sigh. Tethel floated down and turned into his more goblin-like body. A look of confusion and glee in equal amounts was on his face as he looked over Marshall. ¡°Well, that at least gives us a start to this ability of yours. Shall you get going before they check what the fire was fro¨C¡±

    A large explosion rocked the foundation of the building, causing dust to come down from the ceiling. Actual dust this time. Marshall just looked up and groaned. ¡°What now?¡±

 Chapter 23 - Breaking and Sundering

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMW Betty

    They left the strange guard¡¯s house a few hours later, their plan laid out between them. Each of them had their parts they had to follow through with, and sticking together would just cost more time in the end. Valentine volunteered to scout out the areas with his thugs, which he wanted her to call ¡®less skilled business associates¡¯, and search for the place they were holding Marshall. Fielding left to get a couple of his subordinates together who had an issue with Petrov and his gang. That and apparently he hadn¡¯t gotten an all-green for this little outing from his own boss and had to work out why they were getting involved. Arnold¡­ Well, he said something about needing to ¡®get more equipment for a mess this big¡¯. Whatever that meant.

    For Cadence¡¯s part in all this: she was heading her way over to a place she had visited in the past in this town. Whilst the towns each had their own way to stave off Voidlings from getting closer, some being things like Scrubbers, Disruption Towers, or even carefully cultivated patrols and soldiers, this town had an unknown way to do it that had made it a popular stop for those going out into the lands beyond. Because of this: her father had set up a safe-house in this town where they could lay over for a little while. Mostly because of the distance they had to travel, but scrap can sometimes draw in some nasty attention depending on what it is.

    Since they had been so quick to enter into the city and rush to Valentine¡¯s shop, she hadn¡¯t taken a moment to take in the layout of the town since the last time she was here. The place where they had entered was the merchant district. That place held all kinds of stalls in a large square that was surrounded by streets and alleys of shops and wares. The ones they had darted through were some of the more abandoned ones, but most held vendors on them that would spin you a tale of why their wares were better than the man just across from them.

    The merchant district was surrounded on all the non-walled sides by three other districts: the residential, the bureaucratic, and the reclamation districts. The first one was easy to explain: residential was a place where people lived. Most of the populace that didn¡¯t live in their shops or businesses lived in apartment buildings here or houses that shared walls. A smaller section of the district held more influential residents with their own homes and even yards around them. They were closer to the center of the town than the rest and even had their own personal, well maintained road that ran between the most important sections of the town.

    The bureaucratic district was the center of the town, and rightly so. The mayor, their advisors, and lots of business regulations were based in that district and exerted their influence from it. It held a small standing police force that was based there as well in the case that it was needed for internal affairs and riots. There was also an embassy there that was actually from the remnants of a luxury, old world hotel, but it barely saw any real use.

    The reclamation district was its own monster to describe. Scrappers, building guilds, and a slew of more adventurous groups based themselves there. The district was built on an old mine that was rumored to be one of the original foundation points for The Wall before it got more farther inwards. It was carved down and had its own exit out into the wilds of the Badlands, but was harder to get to from where they entered down south. It fed out almost directly north-east, and required special permission to enter from.

    Past each of these sections, and farther north than the bureaucratic section, was the militarized zone. The town¡¯s power came from there, and was the only place an active military presence was located. This was where Fielding went to after their departure, and it was not a place that accepted those not approved of by the Mayor or the Guard Commander. So not a place Cadence wanted to be at all.

    There were also some places outside the walls of the town that existed, but it was mostly used by the more seedy types. Which was prime real estate for a holding place for a friend of hers. These were mostly remnants of living places before the Voidlings overran things or business based on lumbering or mining.

    Cadence made her way half a kilometer down the merchant district towards the reclamation district. The roads eventually tapered off into less pavement and more gravel and broken stones, and showed how heavy vehicles had moved across this area in the past. Judging by the fact that entering the district immediately greeted her with two large omni-haulers with beds filled with parts and pieces of archaic vehicles? Yeah, that would be some of the on-the-nose culprits right there.

    She approached a building that looked like a small warehouse. It was taller than it was long and looked like it hadn¡¯t been visited by anyone in some years. It was right on the border between the two districts, but the building itself sat firmly in the reclamation district. The yard around it was a mess with equipment that had rusted away and rotted without a caretaker or operator. The building itself was also quite dilapidated with holes in the roof and a large dent on the front door warding off use or entrance by anyone that values their safety.

    Cadence didn¡¯t mind that; instead going through a dilapidated side door that gave way after a few pushes. Inside was an office space that held within it a half dozen desks with the work that was on them dusty and rotted. She didn¡¯t care too much about that, but rather cared about the array of devices against the far wall. She approached them and blew off the dust that coated the displays on it. A couple pressed buttons hidden under grime and buildup and the machine started to whirr to life. Its resurrection shook the office like a monster ramming against it. This thing was ancient, even in terms of when they found it back in the day. She was just a young girl at the time, but her father swore that an array such as this was an artifact of previous value to those that lived before The Fall.

    The machine barked out a few piles of dust from its vents and started its operations in earnest. The displays all lit up with blank screens or screens spitting out garbage that meant nothing short of ¡®I¡¯m alive¡¯. However, the display she stood before gave her exactly what she needed.

    ¡°Please Input Transmission Frequency | __ ¡°

    She nodded at this. Yes, it¡¯s at least well enough to still detect the connections. She input her short-range frequency onto the machine and waited as it calibrated. The dish that was hidden atop of the warehouse should be moving about¨C

    ¡°Frequency aligned¡­ Message awaiting decoding¡­ Decode? | __ ¡°

    Surprise colored her face as she typed in a confirmation. First for the decoding and,  after a minute, to play it. It was a short text-based message from the Captain.

    ¡°We haven¡¯t heard from you in a while. We¡¯ll be heading in your direction come morning. I know you¡¯ll be listening to this shoddy thing you built. Please respond.¡±

    Visible relief washed over her and Cadence confirmed that the machine she wired up on Betty actually did its job. It was never tested, and never needed to be, until this very moment. After patting herself on the back, both metaphorically and literally, she typed a response.

    ¡°Captain, situation is dire. Marshall has been captured and need assistance. Status on Betty?¡±

    After sending the message, it took nearly half an hour before it chimed again. In that time, she had started rummaging through the desks and papers left on them. Reports of scrap and artifact deposits she knew were either picked clean or marked off by now. Yet she dug for anything that could be of use to her. When the chime rang out, she rushed over to view what had been communicated back.

    ¡°Betty is bitchy, but Betty. Most sections still functioning. Hate your wiring job. What do you need?¡±

    Whilst Cadence hated the idea of Captain digging into the bowls of Betty without her, the fact that the beast was still running well was a testament to both Betty and the Captain. To be without a mechanic for this long in the Badlands was not a good situation. Yet Betty would be crucial to her plan as a whole.

    She typed a lengthy reply back, sending it when it nearly hit the character limit. She waited for a much shorter time this time around. Within a couple minutes the Captain sent back a reply.

    ¡°Understood. It will take us a few hours to get close enough. Edge of forest. You¡¯ll be fronting the cost for the mail.¡±

    The smile on Cadence¡¯s face twitched, slowly falling. Yeah, that was gonna cost a bit. She replied with a confirmation, powering down the chugging machine. Even the powering down process was rough as the engine that kept it running had to cycle-down and move rods into place. She hated how slow the thing was, but having a high-powered communication machine was invaluable at times.

    She worked on getting one of the scavenging skiffs in the warehouse running afterwards. That ended up being a job in and of itself as the things were one of the casualties of time. It barely functioned as a machine, but the major issue was the fact that the floor of the open-air skiff had holes in it from the weather dripping through the roof. That and the gravity-propulsion drives on it were now uncalibrated and more or less was set to something akin to the Moon¡¯s gravity. The thing drug across the ground the first time she turned it on and nearly broke the stabilization fins on the back of it.

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    As she was working on getting the skiff running she heard a noise at the door to the garage. It was like a banging or loud, rhythmic crashing that kept hitting against the metal in a pattern that sounded like¡­ wait, why did that sound like someone knocking to the beat of a song she knew?

    <hr>

    At the heart of trade in the Reclamation district was a family of scrappers known as the Durans. A Spanish-leaning lineage of tanner skinned individuals who had a penchant for brutality and over-the-top results. They held onto shipping with an iron fist in most parts of the Reclamation district, but their influence was so subtle that most newcomers would have to actually look to see their presence. It was no wonder then, as Martinez was wading through the sellers and buy-back vendors on the main thoroughfare of the district, that no one called out to the individual in question or really noted their importance.

    On their way to deliver a package; Martinez found themselves having to push through the throng of early morning. There were a couple wrecks and a battle found just outside the territory of the village, and the loot coming in from that was quite impressive. An entire Mule-variant transport vehicle was recovered as well as a few buried vehicles that were uncovered from the battle. That alone caused the entire Reclamation district to mobilize and send out scuttlers and skiffs in the droves.

    Yet, even as Martinez pushed through the crowd, there seemed to be some other sentiment hovering above people¡¯s heads. Martinez pushed their way up to their destination: a little shop with a massive warehouse attached to its back. Military vehicles seemed to almost fall out of the back of the shop, barrels and ammunition poking and spilling out respectfully.

    The door swung open and what looked like the ugliest elf stepped out of it. Ugliest being a gradient, as even the most mundane elf held a lithe beauty above the normal human. This elf looked more like they had purposefully spread grease and oil over themselves just to look that much more commonly. Martinez raised their hand in a greeting wave. ¡°Heimdall! Package for you.¡± Their voice was somewhere between masculine and feminine. It radiated over the throng of movement and seemed to catch the ear of the elf.

    Heimdall gave a wave back and motioned them over; Martinez rushing through the people and landing their feet on the doorstep of the shop. ¡°Martinez. A pleasure. How is the family?¡± A Russian drawl came from the elf, a violently stark contrast to how the man looked and sounded not seeming to faze the Spaniard.

    ¡°The family is good. Sales are up and trouble is down. Nothing troubling there.¡± Came the reply. ¡°I have the package you needed. Mother included a little extra on top for your good work. The gauss-cannon on the skiff you retrofitted was able to stave off attacks better than the more expensive cannon-mount the Redraffs offered. She wanted me to also pass on that she welcomes not having to buy special ammo from you.¡±

    The elf nodded, looking the package over before taking it. ¡°Tell your mother that our deal stays. Hoarding sales drives away customers. Slugs are cheap and easily made. Quality is our motto, not quantity.¡± He opened the box¡¯s top, giving an approving nod. ¡°Good. Payment is acceptable.¡±

    With the package delivered, Martinez took the response message and left. Their feet lead them from the shop in a direction that would take them to neither home nor the job-board at the guild¡¯s office. Instead, it would take Martinez along one of the lesser used paths back towards the merchant district. A fancy had taken him to possibly check out some of the baked goods that would be on sale at the shop at the corner of the district. It was a nice place with a comfy vibe that allowed one a respite from the outside pressure and people.

    They were making their way there as they came across some kind of commotion at the front of a warehouse. It was set a little back into the lot that it was in, but that lot hadn¡¯t been in use for some years and hadn¡¯t been touched by any since the owner bought the place. Yet there was a group of people standing at the front of the warehouse with nasty looks on their faces and weapons in their hands. Mostly bladed and blunted weapons like knives and bats, but weapons alone spoke of trouble happening on that lot. They seemed to be preparing to do something, huddle up like football players at the entrance they so noisily broke down.

    Martinez Duran was not a head of any part of the family, and in fact could be counted amongst the lower and less influential members of their family. He couldn¡¯t throw any weight around to get them to bugger off that way, and so saw conflict as really the only solution. Even as he thought that, though, he wondered why he even should. He wasn¡¯t part of the enforcers that wandered around this district, and he sure was no friend of them. Maybe he should just¡­

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, there¡¯s only one girl in there. We grab her, rough her up a little, and then deliver her to that mad doctor. We had to wait for her to leave Valentine¡¯s claim for this, so we might as well get some fun in in the meantime.¡± The voice was from a male that seemed to be the leader of the group from the way that the others just seemed to nod and go along with his words.

    A woman in the group of seven did speak up, her voice a bit unsure. ¡°But boss, if you rough her up, won¡¯t Sinclair be mad at her state?¡± A couple of the others nodded, prompting the bigger man to huff in annoyance.

    ¡°She just wanted her back alive. The state didn¡¯t matter. She needed her to get info out of that Templar.¡± The man shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m getting my full pay out of this one way or another. You all can stand there if need be, or fuck off. Petrov pays my bills, not Sinclair.¡±

    Footsteps heralded someone approaching as the brute turned his head towards the one approaching. Martinez had made their way up to the gate that separated the warehouse¡¯s compound from the rest of the plots around. The brute stared for a moment before calling out. ¡°Oi, fuckface. This is private property. Why don¡¯t you¨C¡±

    His words were cut off as Martinez raised their hand up and their sleeve fluttered violently. From the sleeve came a small metal rope-like material at high speeds towards the man. The single claw-tipped metal rope snapped to the man¡¯s face with a forceful grip. The brute swung at it, missing the clamp before it landed, before swinging even more trying to remove the claw. An arc of electricity traveled along the metal to the man and began electrocuting him.

    The others began raising their weapons with one of them trying to help the brute get the claw from his face. That man was flung back slightly from the volts going through the metal. At the same time he was flung back, the claw released, letting the brute fall to the ground as his limbs unlocked from the jolt.

    The others looked to Martinez with a mixed bag of fear, rage, and confusion. The moment of locked-action was broken as Martinez spoke. ¡°I¡¯m not sure who you all are, but I will let those who want to leave the option to do just that. All others will get their asses handed to them.¡±

    Around ten minutes later, a pile of people lay at the side of the main warehouse door like a pile of old clothes. Two had opted out, one being the woman who spoke before, and a man who had thrown his hands up immediately. Both of them had taken off as the fighting started and left their companions to fight in their stead. The brute had started to stir at the end of the fight, causing Martinez to finish a bit quicker and messier than they liked.

    Once things were done Martinez reached down towards the brute. As their hand made contact with the man, his eyes opened wide and glowed slightly. ¡°Gotcha, tramp.¡± The man spoke through gritted teeth as Void Essence coalesced around the hand touching his head.

    Martinez staggered back as the entire world around them rocked back and forth. It was some kind of power that allowed them to mess with Martinez¡¯s senses. Something really dangerous in this situation with a larger man now able to move without care of reprise. That fear was realized as Martinez felt a fist slam hard into their stomach. It launched them backwards towards the warehouse and skidded them along the dirt to the large door.

    It seemed as if the only sense he didn¡¯t mess with was hearing, unfortunately, as the man started to brag. ¡°A little thing like you was not something I was told about¡­ but I can make use of you. People pay a lot for a body like yours.¡± Martinez lifted themselves up enough to be in a sitting position. With that, they moved backwards on their rear till their back hit the cold wall next to the main door. ¡°Running won¡¯t do you any good, tramp. I¡¯ve got your number now. And that number is about to be called.¡±

    Martinez swung their head back and then forth again, seeming to try to get a grasp on something. Then they stopped and looked forwards. ¡°Why¡­ were you waiting for me?¡±

    This caused the man to fully stop in place. ¡°For you? Tramp, I don¡¯t even know your name. Though I¡¯m sure that won¡¯t matter soon anyways. We¡¯re after some mechanic girl who¡¯s inside. She caused us a lot of trouble¡­ kind of like you. So just come quietly and¨C¡±

    Martinez picked up the wrench they had blearily spotted next to them that one of the goons dropped. They held up one hand as if to fire the claw again towards the man and tapped the wrench with the other hand loudly against the main door. They did it in a rhythmic manner, yelling at the end ¡°Skiff!¡±

    The man looked confused, then worried, and finally furious as he stepped to the side of the aim of the one on the ground. He went to get closer and¨C

    Yet again his attempts were cut off as the main door slammed up in a quick manner and a half-dead skiff rocketed out at high speeds. The sparks of it scraping along the ground and the fins disintegrating in its wake. The metal, grav-assisted platform slammed directly into the man and sent him with it into a building just off the compound¡¯s property. Martinez winced at the crashing noise, their senses starting to come back to them.

    They heard boots on dirt as someone else stepped over them. Martinez held their breath as the person loomed over them for an extended period of time. Did they make the wrong choice and it wasn¡¯t them?

    ¡°Martin, why the fuck did you chop your hair so short? It makes you look like a punk, not a dumbass. And where are the earrings I got you? Did you sell them you walking-tsunami?¡± The words came out like a mother scolding their children who had gotten their hands caught in the cookie jar at 1am.

    A smile spread across Martinez¡¯s face as they looked up and the blurry shape of the woman he thought stood there. ¡°Nice to see you again as well, Cad. What trouble have you gotten into this time?¡±

    Her image was starting to sharpen, the details on her face becoming more and more evident. She seemed much older than the last time they had met. It had been some years, but she looked even older than those years should credit. Her sigh she released showed how her shoulders had broadened more since their last meeting as well.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t brought anything, it just won¡¯t stop following me when I¡¯m in this dump. Petrov¡¯s gang, by the looks. They must have been following my friends and I. Which doesn¡¯t bode well for any of the plans.¡± She said this last part as an ever-dropping mumble that trailed off. ¡°Is the reason why your eyes are pale and regaining color because of the fuck that I hit?¡±

    Martinez nodded, then followed her finger as she pointed. The skiff slowly scooted out of the building it crashed into. It removed itself at the behest of the massive pair of arms pushing it from its new and shapely housing. ¡°Yeah¡­ that guy is one of the bad muscles. Void-Scourge survivor by the looks of it. A powered. Not high in power, but not a pushover either. Something about messing with senses and being a powerhouse of strength.¡±

    As they said this, the skiff was lifted up into the air with great strain by the man. When he had it fully in the air he tossed it back into the compound with a heave. It landed on its side, flipped due to the grav-assisted engines, and tumbled into one of the scrap piles outside the warehouse. ¡°If you¡¯ve about finished talking, Tramps, then come quietly. Or don¡¯t. I don¡¯t mind when they fight back.¡±

    The two normal people looked between each other and the powerhouse of a man now just outside the gate. Without more pause: Martinez got up and loosened his arms while Cadence pulled her rifle out from behind the large door. The smile on the man¡¯s face fell to a line as he scowled. ¡°Tramps never play fair.¡±

 Chapter 24 - Powers and People

    Point of Documentation: Cadence, Crew of HMW Betty

    Cadence raised her rifle up and shouldered it, aiming it to the man just past the gate. ¡°You can leave, you know. You can wander off, peacefully, and we can act like you weren¡¯t about to jump me.¡± The tone in her voice was flat and uninterested. She didn¡¯t want him to go away, but giving him the option was just courteous.

    The man spit on the ground just past the fence. It was as if he was making the proclamation of ¡®within spitting distance¡¯ a literal thing. He opened his mouth, stopped, then tried again more hesitantly this time. ¡°It¡¯s no wonder Petrov told us to watch out for Sinclair and her ideas. That they¡¯d run away with her. You lot seem a bit more than you look. And I don¡¯t like that. You¡¯re dangerous. That alone is enough for me to snuff you out before you cause Petrov a headache as well.¡± The man tapped his knuckles together and, in the small distortion caused between his knuckles, two knuckle dusters appeared on his fingers. They seemed malformed and¡­

    ¡°Oh fucking hell, you¡¯re nothing but a sadist, aren¡¯t you?¡± The words escaped Martinez¡¯s lips as they seemed taken aback by the look of the weapons. They were twisted metal of some black variety. It looked as if the things were more made for tearing them punching, as the tops of them were jagged and nearly looked like the teeth of a chainsaw wrapped around the metal finger-rings of brass knuckles.

    The man just smiled, taking a step into the gated yard. At just under a hundred feet away, Cadence¡¯s rifle was so accurate that she¡¯d be able to hit a flea off a dog. Though the round would probably shred the head of the dog in the process as it passed over. Yet, as she pulled the trigger and felt the pressure of it going down, her vision began to swim. She felt the rifle go off, but the aim seemed to drift to the side of the man. The round shot past him, slamming into the skiff¡¯s hole it left in the building across the street. The round caused wind to kick up and blow dirt around, and that seemed to be enough to confuse her as she watched the man cross the distance between them rapidly.

    Her vision cleared slightly as Martinez acted, the sound of their odd, electric weapons sounding like a stuttered rending of air. The sound hit a staccato as the attack seemed to hit the man and he yelped in pain. Cadence hadn¡¯t been affected overly long, and her vision seemed to clear up that much faster because of it. She could see that Martinez had gotten their weapon to wrap around the man¡¯s arm and shocked him. ¡°Again? Fine. I¡¯m getting tired of this dance anyways.¡± spoke the man. As Martinez held him by the arm with the whip-like metal weapon, the man seemed to overcome the shock and ripped his arm inwards. The force of the movement was enough to send Martinez flying forwards and within punching distance. Which the man was all too happy to take advantage of.

    With a single punch, Martinez was sent flying across the lot a couple dozen feet. Blood fountained out of their side as the weapons ripped and tore into their flesh with an ease that was unnatural. Of course Void-powered weapons themselves were unnatural, but it seemed as if the weapons were meant to tear through flesh like this.

    Cadence once again leveled her gun to the man, now easily a dozen feet from her, and fired. Her shot hit true, the large caliber rifle slamming into the man¡¯s shoulder. What she expected to see was the shoulder turning into mush and vaporizing what didn¡¯t. What she actually saw was the bullet impacting the shoulder, burying itself halfway, and ripping the man to the side from the force of it. Cadence let out a curse and snapped back the bolt of the receiver to load another round.

    The man closed the distance between them rapidly. He used his foot as leverage to kick off the ground and propel himself towards her with such strength and speed that it nearly caught her off guard that someone could move that fast on their own. His power had to be strength based¡­ and yet he also had some kind of jarring, confusion power. The thought rocketed through her mind as the man in question did that same towards her. Her hands were just fast enough to slide another round into the chamber, and held down the trigger as the rigged-up slam fire function she had in the gun set the round to flight.

    The bullet did not strike true, instead flying past the man as his fist connected with her chest. She felt all the air leave her as she was flung back into the wall of the warehouse. Her back immediately screamed out in pain and caused her limbs to feel numb. Her head throbbed as the man slowly walked towards her. Cadence¡¯s vision was not swimming this time, and she noticed how his gait was slightly uneven. His right leg, the leg that he tilted towards the skidd¡¯s hull as it impacted him, was limping.

    A smile passed across her face as she looked at the man. ¡°I¡¯ll at least leave you with something to remember me by for a while.¡± She coughed, the air in her lungs a syrup she had to force in and out. It didn¡¯t feel like her lungs were filling up but instead felt like they were being squeezed and she had to force them to open. The wound letting blood run down her chest wasn¡¯t helping.

    The man gave a malevolent grin in response. ¡°It¡¯ll last a while, but you¡¯re just a passing tramp. Don¡¯t take too much pride as you die.¡± His steps carried him closer, almost within reach, as his face fell. He stopped and started to turn his head in a motion over his shoulder as a slight scraping noise behind him caused all attention to leave the man.

    A hand suddenly found itself around the man¡¯s head. It was gloved, white, and seemed to vibrate with purplish energy. The arm it belonged to was wearing an equally white uniform that fit perfectly to the man¡¯s arm. It was spotless and seemed to almost shine in the light of the sun. The man it was attached to also seemed to be spotless and clean. Almost unnaturally so. There seemed to be a calmness as the well-dressed man pushed on the thug¡¯s head and forced him to the ground. A calmness that did not match anything else as the force of forcing the thug¡¯s head towards the ground caused the ground to almost ripple and cracks to form dozens of feet around where the man¡¯s head collided.

    The newly arrived man leaned back up, seemed to brush off dust from his gloved hand, and straightened his uniform. After doing this, he looked down at Cadence and offered out a hand. ¡°Do you require a hand up, miss?¡±

    Cadence¡¯s eyes were like dinner plates as she stared at the man. This was one of the three captains of the town, Captain Albatross. She swallowed a nervous scream and lifted her hand up. ¡°I¨C Yes, yes I do.¡± She took his hand in her¡¯s.

    The man pulled her up with nearly no effort on his part. She felt like a piece of paper being lifted from a table and held up. Then he let go as she was standing and looked towards Martinez. Cadences followed his gaze and saw Martinez was being helped by an equally stark-white clad dwarven woman with a backpack nearly as large as her.

    The sound of a vehicle approaching alerted Cadence to the arrival of the Guard, the Garrison as some called them. Her adrenaline was still pumping, but a part of her vision was starting to blur as the exhaustion of trying to fight a Void-touched human was finally catching up to her. When was the last time she had a good sleep? When was the last time she rested? She felt so... cold. She stumbled forwards and felt hands wrap around her shoulders as sleep overtook her.

    <hr>

    Cadence awoke with a start in a room that smelled so strongly of spices that it nearly made her gag. She covered her nose and looked around at her surroundings. It was some kind of bedroom that had all manners of knick-knacks and figurines on shelves, assorted hobbies and instruments all along one wall, and a bench with some machine-working equipment against another. Barely enough room for a dresser and mirror, the room was stuffed. The door sat directly across from the foot of the bed and had a small chair next to it. In it seemed to be a sleeping Martinez.

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    Cadence looked at Martinez and seemed to take in what they looked like. A wrap had been put around their head with some blood still on it, some kind of bandaging also wrapped from the left shoulder down into the baggy shirt they wore. They looked tired and bruised, but from the sound of their breathing, they didn¡¯t seem to have much respiratory damage.

    A feeling of guilt rushed over her as she looked at her old friend. When she came here as a younger girl, she had known Martinez as the local braggart. They¡¯d come to her in the market and try to sell themselves as the strongest girl in the market and challenged her to arm wrestling and rock throwing. That was how they met, and it only came out later that Martinez had no idea how to introduce themselves to people normally. Having a family that did all that for you stunted you at a young age.

    Feeling a kin-ship in that regard, Cadence had really warmed up to the girl and they became fast friends. She even brought home mementos from places she visited on the scrapping-skidd to show and give to Martinez when they passed through or traded here. If it wasn¡¯t for what happened to her family, Cadence wouldn¡¯t doubt that they¡¯d still be as thick as thieves. Sometimes in a literal sense.

    This, however, was not the same person Cadence remembered. They had changed their body, their outfits, their face into something new. It still looked like Martinez, but¡­ not. She wasn¡¯t certain how to approach that, nor even if she should. Maybe just easing into it?

    Cadence coughed, trying to wake up Martinez. When that didn¡¯t work she tried yawning loudly. The absolute brick of a person just sat there, sleeping away in the wooden chair. She opened her mouth and started to say their name when the door swung open with force and bashed them in the face. It woke them up with a yell and nearly knocked them out of the seat as a woman came bursting into the room.

    The string of words were so hard to following that Cadence just stared at the woman for a moment. Martinez¡¯s mother scowled at her and repeated the question slower. ¡°Are you alright? Hungry? Hurting? Have you drank your water yet?¡± Cadence¡¯s gaze slowly shifted to the water glass she hadn¡¯t noticed on the stand next to her. Martinez¡¯s mother seemed to follow her gaze knowingly and huffed. ¡°You need to eat and drink, or you¡¯ll end up too skinny and sickly.¡± She even punctuated this with a wagging finger.

    A voice behind the door from Martinez floated out. ¡°Mom, let her rest!¡± They pushed the door closed slightly and looked past it. ¡°She¡¯s probably just¨C¡±

    The door slammed again and actually knocked Martinez off their chair with the force. A man stepped in, around the same age as Martinez was, and beamed. ¡°Cadie decided to wake up? I¡¯ll go tell pa.¡± And like a whirlwind the man turned and left again.

    Cadence just stared at all this, seeing for herself that this family hadn¡¯t changed a day. They were still the same chaotic mess they were when she met them all those years ago. ¡°Wait, what happened? Where did that man go? And what happened to¨C¡±

    Martinez¡¯s mother held up a finger and shushed her from where she stood. ¡°Food first. Martinez said you needed help. We help after.¡± Her words were still as staggered as they¡¯ve always been. She hadn¡¯t spoken the ¡®universal¡¯ English when Cadence had met her at first, but she slowly learned it. And by the sounds of it, she had gotten nearly as good as a native speaker.

    Martinez had to dislodge themselves from the corner they were flung into, but their mother helped them up and they, in turn, helped Cadence downstairs. The house was a flurry of activity as it usually was when company was over. She hadn¡¯t remembered the armed men that stood near each entrance the last time she was here though. Even looking at them made Cadence a little nervous.

    Dinner was large and boisterous as it had always been. Martinez¡¯s mother and father were there, as well as three uncles and an aunt, several cousins from Cadence¡¯s age to toddlers, Martinez¡¯s four siblings including the man that had come up earlier, and some associates that had stopped over. Cadence was frankly overwhelmed at all the presences and fast movements of life in this house after being on the road for so long with two people that barely got out of bed in ten minutes time.

    With the help of these people¡­ maybe she could also solve the issue of actually getting enough muscle to help with her side of the plan. As dinner was wrapping up, she turned to Martinez and asked ¡°Hey, Martinez, I have a request or two¡­ and I was hoping you could help me with something.¡±

    Martinez, who for their part was trying to contain a child that was being far too energetic after eating, looked up. Their face took on a more serious note. ¡°If it has to do with the brutes earlier, I¡¯m not the only one that seems to have a chip on their shoulder for them. The White-Coat said to meet him at his office in the Center.¡±

    This caused Cadence¡¯s eyebrows to rise slightly. ¡°Uh¡­ Well that¡¯s not good. Ok, I guess I¡¯ll¨C¡±

    Martinez waved a hand. ¡°¡®We¡¯. We¡¯ll go see him. I haven¡¯t seen you in years, and you end up in trouble on my doorstep? Those brutes are lucky dad wasn¡¯t the one walking around and it was just me. We defend our family, even non-blood ones.¡±

    Cadence¡¯s eyes drifted to the man still sitting at the table, watching his bloodline running around the table and cleaning up from dinner. The man was¡­ cold. He was the exact opposite of what the family was and showed to those close to them in many ways. While the Durans were welcoming to their guests, the father of the family was the one who did most of the heavy-handed business behind closed doors. He was a Void-Touched, a survivor of the Void-Scourge that ravages people who get poisoned from too much exposure. The process that Marshall was going through right now. He was one of the few that came out with powers at the end and not just death or mutations. His power was never spoken of much from when she was a kid, but the fact that the man¡¯s right eye was covered and small veins of black came from it spoke to it taking a large toll on the man. Whatever his power was, Cadence didn¡¯t want to see what it was.

    Mr. Duran looked up to Cadence staring at him for that brief moment and gave her a smile that seemed too warm for his face. He nodded and looked back to his grand-nieces playing with one of the chairs.

    ¡°...Ok, so we¡¯ll talk as we walk then.¡± Cadence said as she stood, a pain shooting through her ribs. She winced and held a hand to her abdomen.

    Martinez must have seen, as they swept an arm under her shoulder. ¡°Right, ¡®walk¡¯. I¡¯ll walk, and you hobble like a sore loser.¡± A note of humor colored their voice.

    Cadence grimaced. ¡°Not all of us get brought back by a healer of the White-Coats. Odd that I¡¯m still hurting, though. What did they say about me?¡±

    As they opened the door, Martinez gave a smile that never reached their eyes. ¡°The dwarf said you died, Cadence. Internal bleeding. She had to restart your heart, and that took nearly half an hour of trying. Took you two days to come to.¡±

    Cadence moved to the porch with Martinez¡¯s help. She leaned against the wall on the porch and looked out to the well maintained yard of the three-story house. She died. The difference between Powered and normal people was vast even at low grades like that. The question must have been on her face as Martinez responded to her. ¡°The man said he was a 3rd-Grade.¡± A bitter smile on their face as they spoke. ¡°We didn¡¯t have much of a chance in that one, sadly. Luckily Dad is a 4th-Grade, so he could¡¯ve dealt with him if they crossed paths. Instead, that white dressed man showed up and took care of it.¡±

    At this point, Cadence just nodded. She was surprised, but not by that much. They barely did shit to him, and that would have explained a lot if he was a higher grade like that. Martinez is right, they never stood a chance. But the fact that they held out that long against someone like him was enough to be proud about.

    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get going. Apparently we have a meeting with a pretty powerful man.¡± Cadence said, looping her arm around Martinez again.

 Chapter 25 - Moderate Recourse

    Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

    Marshall crashed through the ajar door as the entire building shook with the thunderous reverberations of something slamming into the floors above. He had to be underground as the walls didn¡¯t moan or complain about the added stress of force. Instead, small bits of dust and ceiling material rained down on his head as Marshall moved into the hall. The hall beyond contained dozens of doors that lined each wall. Some of them were more spaced out then others, but nothing major was different between the doors from a first, cursory look.

    A man rested against the wall across from the door. He seemed to have lost his footing between the shaking and not catching himself when the door slammed into his back. Marshall drew the pistol he looted from the bodies inside and aimed it at the man. ¡°Move and I shoot. I want to know how to get¨C¡± His words ended abruptly when the man started to go for his rifle. A squeezed trigger and the conversation was now rendered far from possible. This caused Marshall to make a ¡®tss¡¯ sound and lower the pistol.

    The imp-turned-insect floated out of the door and rested on Marshall¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Odd how the weakest members of a species gather around even weaker members who have louder voices.¡± The words didn¡¯t sound malevolent, just matter-of-fact. Like it was reading off a script or old lecture it knew of. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan now, oddity? Going to kill everyone and flee?¡± Now that sentence had some snide to it that Marshall didn¡¯t quite care for.

    ¡°No, I have something calling out to me I need to find. That and my damn gun and suit. I have a suspicion they¡¯re all in the same place, but how to get down further¡­¡± His eyes wandered the length of the hall until he noticed a small sign hanging above one of the farther doors at the end of the hall. A stairway sign? Well that makes things a bit easier. Marshall moved down towards the door, giving passing looks into the doors along the hallway as he passed.

    It looked as if some of the rooms had their small windows closed up. The rest were open, and Marshall wished that they had at least closed them to let whoever was still resting inside to enjoy a peaceful death. Because there was no way in hell whatever was in those rooms were still alive. How did something like this exist in a civilized town? The sheer brutality shown by some of these people were so animalistic that it baffled Marshall on a base level of intelligence. He would have many questions about this when he got out, and he planned on directing all of them to whoever the hell was in charge here.

    As Marshall got to the stairwell, he heard a groan from the door across from the stair¡¯s own exit. His head turned and his eyes fell upon a door with a closed slat. Stepping up to the door, he laid his ear against it. A low moan escaped the room, then a gruff, pleading ¡°.. help..¡± followed. Marshall leaned back and moved the slat to the side. He almost choked on the breath he took in as he looked in the room.

    A torture room had been set up with a man in a leaned-back operating chair in the center. The man was pale of complexion, a small beard that had gone scraggly days ago by the looks of it, and so many incisions across his arms that it looked like someone had turned him into what a cheesegrater should look like rather than the result of using one. Another thing to note was that the man was blindfolded; a gag having also fallen down to his neck letting him speak once more. The most damning thing that made Marshall stop and be frozen in place was that the man was wearing, almost down to the smallest details, the same uniform as him.

    Marshall tried the door only to find it locked. He stepped back and kicked it a couple of times right next to the lock¡¯s housing. Not budging; Marshall raised his pistol up and shot the lock a couple of times until he heard the click to indicate it was now empty. That wouldn¡¯t unlock it, but it would weaken the lock enough to break it off with a good kick. Two more kicks later and he was in.

    With barely any pause Marshall rushed into the room. The man raised his head towards where the door was and croaked. It was like the words were impossible to form the way he was right now. Unfortunately, Marshall had absolutely nothing to help the man in that regard. The man looked like a member of his wing, but one that he thought had died weeks ago in that ill-fated mission that had annihilated his wing and stranded him here. With a lump in his throat, Marshall spoke. ¡°Delton?¡± came the hesitant word from his lips.

    The man ¡®looked¡¯ over. Well, it was hard to say that he looked, and more so that he moved his head slightly to the side as if to side-eye him. ¡°... rescue? Or, disposal?¡± The man croaked out the words like they were his last. It made Marshall nearly panic, thinking the man was on the way out. No, he WAS on the way out. This amount of damage, bleeding¡­ it was more than a couple dressings could help. Unless he got a proper doctor¡­

    ¡°Rescue. Kind of. It¡¯s Marshall, do you remember your designation?¡± He said this hurriedly while unstrapping him from the nightmare-fuel dentist chair. He knew this had to be Delton, but making everything crystal clear would be the most efficient first step.

    Delton seemed to pick up on this and spoke. ¡°Phoenix 12. Interception duty. Covering your ass, if you remember¡­ Marshall?¡± The last part was asked more as a question, as if he wasn¡¯t all too sure that it was true.

    ¡°Bullseye. Marshall, Phoenix 11. How in the Great Expanse did you survive that slaughter and get here of all places?¡± The last of the straps fell away as he spoke this and the man started to get up off the chair. He nearly had it, but fell as he put weight on his left leg and Marshall had to catch him.

    Letting out a small curse that sounded more like angry hissing, Delton leaned on Marshall as if he couldn¡¯t even support his own weight. ¡°Hit early¡­¡± The man coughed, some blood coming up as a clotted mess of old coagulation. ¡°Hit early on in the fight. I drifted off course towards the Wall. Some bandit picked me up and sold me to some woman who was looking for Outlanders. I¡¯m sorry Marshall¡­ I told her everything. The crash, the details of our Wing, who I was. I just didn¡¯t know where the final fight happened and where those wrecks were at.¡± His voice became more choked, as if he was about to cry. ¡°They planned to keep me around if you didn¡¯t talk. Called me a ¡®potential pressure point¡¯ for you. So they took my eyes and arm muscles so I couldn¡¯t hold a weapon again or see to fight. They were working on my legs next¡­ but the woman, Sinclair, came and had them leave for something.¡±

    Marshall hauled him out of the room as Delton spoke. A unique feeling of tightness rose in his chest that he didn¡¯t quite recognize. It was a burning feeling that made his hands clench and mouth go dry. They had tortured another of his number, and he had been dozens of feet away and knew nothing. Nothing! Now one of his squadmates was barely alive in his arms, blind, and couldn''t defend himself even if he wanted to.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    On that note: Marshall seemed to somehow be able to nearly haul Delton along with nearly no input or pressure on Delton¡¯s part. Like he was carrying the man with one arm. It felt so strange to Marshall, and must have tipped off the insect that still rested on his other shoulder. It spoke to him in his mind once more, seeming to want a private chat. Marshall felt thankful for that fact.

    ¡°Stop staring at your side like it¡¯s something not belonging to you.¡± A chide voice came across from Tethel and made Marshall blush slightly. Yeah, he had absolutely been looking at his arm like it was an alien growth with far more strength than it should have. ¡°If you¡¯re wondering why you¡¯re stronger, you can blame that ¡®Awakening¡¯ you did days ago. Honestly, it would have been so much easier if you would have just let me do all this and gotten blessed by a Greater Being.¡± Marshall could feel the vocal head-shake that Tethel did at this.

    ¡°An nth-grade is a normal human, with all the variation that comes with that. Both babies and adults are nth-grade, just different degrees and such. When a human becomes a 1st-grade awakened, they gain some more strength in their bodies and become a bit more durable. The amount is based on the original being in nth-grade. A peak-human would gain roughly 25% more strength and durability from their previous grade. This is additive and can compound later, but you aren¡¯t to that yet. Just know that you¡¯re clocking in at about 50% more strength than you had before. Which isn¡¯t massive, but noticeable. It¡¯s even more extreme if your awakening is in the areas of strength or durability instead of some kind of exterior Void manipulation like fire-casting or summoning or whatever.¡±

    The long explanation continued as Marshall hauled Delton into the hallway, retrieved the dead guard¡¯s cloak, and ripped it to pieces as makeshift bandages. He was in the middle of wrapping some of the worst wounds when he smiled and responded mentally. ¡°So what was that about ¡®I¡¯m not a guide¡¯ talk from before?¡± Tethel responded with a mental sigh before Marshall continued. ¡°So I¡¯m not a walking tank now, but I can take a lot more punches than before?¡±

    ¡°Not quite.¡± Came the hesitant response from Tethel. ¡°It¡¯s more like¡­ you can take a harder hit, but not ¡®more¡¯ hits. You can still get knocked out from the right hit, still die if your heart is hit, and can still bleed out if someone hits a vital artery. However, the force needed to do this is increased by a certain amount. It¡¯s all based on how much the Void-energy has altered your body¡¯s chemistry, and what it was like before it was altered.¡± He went quiet for a moment, then mumbled ¡°At least, that¡¯s true up till a certain point. 10th-Grades are downright impressive for humans.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm..¡± Marshall sounded before he realized he said that aloud. Delton turned and cocked his head at him. Marshall grimaced as he grounded himself in what he was doing again. ¡°Sorry, the wounds are just¡­ bad. We need to get you to a doctor quic¨C¡±

    The words were cut off as another shake reverberated through the building. This one being much closer than the last. Marshall cursed and looked to the stairwell. ¡°Yeah, we need to go.¡± With a huff, Marshall helped Delton to his feet and they walked through the door to the stairwell.

    A large ¡®B2¡¯ hung on the wall at their landing of stairs. Marshall looked to the stairs down and grimaced. ¡°Yeah, sorry Delton, we need to go down first.¡±

    Delton gave a nod in response. ¡°I have very little want to go towards the surface if it¡¯s a firefight or something.¡±

    Well, at least they were both on the same page with this. Marshall started dragging Delton towards the way down and they descended the stairs. Slowly at first, then picking up speed as the rhythm settled in. In between going down each step with someone that couldn¡¯t move one of their legs at all, Marshall started talking quietly. ¡°As the wing¡¯s tech, what did you make of the tech level of the ones that captured you?¡±

    Delton gave out a grunt and shook his head. ¡°Reactionary at worst, post-industrial at best. They make a habit of scrounging together anything they can get ahold of and trying to force it to work. They have someone who knows their shit higher up, but these scientists they have in here are stumbling over themselves to make heads or tails of what they find.¡± He gave a sigh and continued. ¡°Looks like some of our classes back when we were younger were true: the technological level of Humans on Terra has degraded with each generation that knows how it works passing away. Their children take up the torch and slowly forget how to do things here and there until it just stops functioning.¡±

    A moment of silence fell over them as they reached B4, painted boldly across the last landing of the stairs and lowest level. Marshall leaned Delton against the wall and let him slide to a sitting position. ¡°I don¡¯t really get it. They have the means, and they have the materials¡­ So why are they doing things like this?¡± Delton didn¡¯t respond, and they rested there in silence for a moment. Then Marshall spoke again. ¡°There¡¯s something down here I need to get to. My gear outstanding; there¡¯s something else deeper in that they¡¯re playing with. These people seem really, really bad to give anything that can be used to hurt other people.¡±

    Delton nodded to this and gritted his teeth. ¡°I would just slow you down, I think. You got a gun?¡±

    Marshall shook his head, but stopped himself in a moment of embarrassment and said ¡°No, I used the last shots of the pistol I had on the door. I didn¡¯t even think to loot the bodies for more ammo.¡± Marshall cursed at his haste to leave. He left so much loot upstairs that he could put to use now.

    With a wave, Delton dismissed his words. ¡°It¡¯s fine, I guess I can¡¯t hold a firearm anyways. Just get in there and try not to take too long.¡±

    Marshall gave a nod and stepped towards the door. He turned the handle and it opened with a small ¡®pop¡¯, like the pressure on the inside of the door was different than out here. This made Marshall pause, but nothing flying out at him reinforced his will and pushed him to move forwards. Stepping through the doorway was like pushing himself through cold syrup and felt like it too. He shivered, looking around at the empty hall that stretched before him. Again, nothing popped out to him and nothing jumped him. It was just him, the door that he came through, and the door at the end of the twenty-foot hallway. He continued forwards to the next door and gripped that door handle as well.

    This time, it wasn¡¯t just a feeling. He actually saw small purple motes that were around his body extinguish and vanish this time. ¡°What the¡­¡± He let go of the knob and the motes didn¡¯t come back. Well that wasn¡¯t at all worrying. Not even in the slightest. He gripped the knob again and, baring no new issues, pushed it open.

    He stepped into a circular room that had an arch in the center, half a dozen raised platforms around the room, and a large space between the center arch and the raised platforms. About ten people were in this room, nine of which were scientist-looking people in white coats that were on the platforms. The last was an armed man standing at the door who looked surprised at Marshall¡¯s entrance. The main viewing piece in the room, however, was the Vulture that was chained and bound in the center of the room under the arch that thrummed with Void Essence. However, it seemed contained to the arch and wasn¡¯t moving past it.

    The guard tried to raise his weapon, but Marshall grabbed the end of the gun and held the man in a stalemate, neither raising nor going down. Marshall was not that strong before his Awakening, so his increase now put him on par with these brutish grunts with guns. A part of him wanted the man to shoot him so he could see the endurance changes himself. However, that was a small, small part that was very aggressively overshadowed with the need to not be shot by a goon with a rifle. The man puffed with a red face and let go with his left hand to go for his pistol. Marshall was slightly faster and rammed his thumb into the man¡¯s eye.

    The scream and squirt of blood caused the man to stop his struggle and to reflexively grab his face. Marshall took this chance to grab the pistol on the man¡¯s side and shoot him twice.

    When the man fell, Marshall noticed that he had attracted all the attention in the room to him. Well, that was a way to enter the room. He raised up the pistol and.. Didn¡¯t shoot it. Yeah, he would need that ammo pretty soon he figured.

    ¡°Alright everyone, what the actual fuck is gong on here? Explain it quickly¡­ and please don¡¯t talk to me in nerd-talk. Simple and straight-forward explanation of the Voidling, the room, and why I shouldn¡¯t just shoot you all.¡±

    Yeah, the negotiator. The Marine Pilot. The Marine, with a gun. Even Tethel groaned on his shoulder.

 Chapter 26 - Cracks in a Foundation

    Point of Documentation - Dr. Frieda Vintaile

    Dr. Frieda Vintaile was a level headed woman who enjoyed the simple things in life. Contrary to her job, education, and proclivities at work: she was never a person to overcomplicate things. She woke up at the crack of dawn and would start a nice cup of coffee brewing in the larger-style of brewer that was a simple fill-up of water and grounds and a button press to brew. Sure, it needed cleaning every once in a while, but it was a simple thing to take out the brewing mechanism and wash it down. The thought crossed her mind that maybe having one of the more complicated machines would allow her to set a timer and not even worry about her morning.

    The thought was dashed aside when she looked from the kitchen¡¯s counter where the machine sat to the table that held her holo-pad. A sophisticated electronic that was rare in any condition, and even rarer in good condition. But the machine itself wasn¡¯t the point of interest that arrested her mind. Instead; it was the contents on the pad. A firearm that had been liberated from a brutish man they had brought in was on the screen, the parts of it laid out in electronic format and torn apart on her screen. She strode over to it, coffee in hand, and sat at the table to look closer once again.

    When she and her colleagues had been studying the beast on the lower levels, she had been presented some equipment from a captured man who had assaulted some of her employer¡¯s goons. Yeah, she was fine calling them goons, as they were nothing but brains with flat features and muscles that suffocated the nervous system. Their engagement with this man had robbed him of his gear and his freedoms in one fell swoop. Her team had gained the gear, and Sinclair¡¯s team had gained the man himself.

    The man had been regarded as an oddity and Frieda had no provocations to agree. He just seemed like a normal man sick with the Scourge. However, after looking over some of his gear and what he had been doing with it, Frieda had started to come around to the notion of the man being unique and special. His firearm, the item of conscientious, meticulous observation, was a plasma caster built into a large-caliber pistol. The fact that the plasma caster could just generate fuel for itself by moving through the air was one thing, but the fact that the firearm didn¡¯t melt and destroy itself was another.

    Then there was the suit. They stripped him to his undergarments, unremarkable as they were, and ended up with a suit for their troubles. It had markings all over it and pieces of technology that they hadn¡¯t seen in anything not of military design in the old relic-sites. Atmosphere stabilizers, gyroscopic and gravity naturalizers, mini-spaces that seem to be slightly larger than they should be, and so much more. The man had a suit like this, and had just been taken out by a homeless man with a needle? Frieda shook her head and darkened the holo-pad.

    She set down her now empty mug and exited her apartment. The underground access tunnel wasn¡¯t the most luxurious of designs. An old hospital that had a fallout shelter in the basement that stretched five stories under, it was the perfect base of operation for Petrov and his men. Frieda was one of the researchers that worked for him, though one of the better paid and more looked after ones. She wasn¡¯t a ¡®head¡¯ per say, but she was working her way to staking out her claim to be in charge. Approvals went through her, and her coworkers looked up to her like a boss would have her employees do.

    Yet, even with that goal and levity, she still had to stay in this underground area for ¡®safety¡¯. Her eyes wandered to a crack in the wall and scoffed. ¡°Safety my ass¡­¡± she mumbled to herself.

    A mumble that was answered by another voice behind her. ¡°Problems with the decor, Dr. Vintaile?¡±

    Frieda spun around on her heels to see who had snuck up on her so thoroughly and laid eyes upon her guard. The man¡¯s form was brutish, but she knew why the voice was so nasally and impish. After all, she had saved this man¡¯s life years prior from a terrible infection. ¡°Mick! Oh, you bastard. I need to strap a bell around your neck one of these days!¡± Her mock outrage was followed as she looked the man over. ¡°How the hell do you move so quietly with all that gear on anyways?¡±

    The guard, Mick, shrugged. ¡°Cloth, spacing the equipment, and not having a lot on me. I also walk on the balls of my feet. But that¡¯s dodging the question: nervous about the decor again?¡±

    Frieda sighed and gestured for him to follow. One of the other researchers exiting their apartment down the hall made Frieda want to continue her movement and remain out of earshot. ¡°As always. This place makes me nervous. Whilst not being completely run down, the fact that this place sits under a half-destroyed hospital tells how decrepit this place is. The walls and foundation are cracked from weathering, and the place feels like it could collapse at any moment. Petrov claims that supports were added to the building, but I¡¯m not sure how much I buy that it¡¯s going to make a difference.¡± She sighed as she neared the stairs.

    ¡°Dr. Vintaile, I would not appreciate this being your routine every morning. Especially if I¡¯m being sent to more urban environments next month and someone else will be taking my position. You know how the boss feels about your complaints.¡± Mick chided, but not in a confrontational way. More of a friend trying to convince another not to take yet another shot at the bar.

    With these words said, they started to climb the stairs, the echoes of their voices carrying up the flights. Frieda took a moment, but then replied. ¡°I know. And I¡¯m really not happy you actually accepted that position.¡±

    The man scoffed and seemed to glower at that. ¡°As if I had a choice.¡± he mumbled under his own breath.

    Frieda furrowed her brow and continued. ¡°Just because you survived the infection, and just because it was brought on by a Scourge outbreak¡­ that shouldn¡¯t mean you have to be brought to Bogushevsk. I get that there¡¯s some value in that now, but you¡¯re next to guaranteed to run into one of the town¡¯s Guards. Then boom, there goes my effort of healing you and a life is lost. Again.¡± Her hands came up in a gesture as if to throw an invisible table. A gesture of disgust.

    Mick sighed behind her and nodded his head. ¡°I plan on laying as low as I can and hoping to be assigned to one of the bruisers that Petrov loves using. Being cleared of the Scourge makes me valuable when working with contaminated areas, after all.¡±

    The two of them fell silent with that hope as they came to the top of the stairs. For some reason, this place separated levels 1-3 and 3-5 with their main research room¡¯s hall. She had a feeling that the areas below were supposed to be guarded by someone and roped off, but with Mick here his job was to just guard the only room on this level and not the way down or up. She rounded the corner and pushed open the door to the research dome.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Inside were a couple of scientists already up on their platforms, looking over notes or studying the readings coming back. In the center of the room was a Vulture; a Voidling that had reached the second stage of its evolution cycle. It was contained by a gate that it was under, but not by pressure or force. There was plenty of space for it to move and leave the object, but it seemed to be rooted there by some unknown force. A good thing too, as it had in times prior swung at researchers that got too close. One had even lost their life to it, only to be snatched up and eaten in such a quick motion that nearly no reaction was garnered from Mick. Though a pistol wouldn¡¯t do much to a Voidling like this, his presence was more so for more human-like problems that arose. To assure that something like that wouldn¡¯t happen again, they had attached chains to the beast. Though, after reviewing logs on it, Frieda was convinced that those chains were more decorations than bindings.

    Frieda parted with Mick, leaving him at the door and his usual spot. She mounted the stairs to one of the platforms and came up to the display on it. Another woman was there, Dr. Angla. A doctor like her, but being more specialized in engineering than Frieda¡¯s field of zoology. They traded nods, and Frieda approached the display. ¡°So what¡¯s new on the docket?¡±

    The woman just gestured with a look of disgust to the picture Frieda had been looking at but an hour ago. ¡°A lot of nothing.¡± The woman¡¯s thick Russian accent was hard to hear through, but Frieda managed. With the standardization of languages back before The Fall, it was a god-send for people like Frieda who barely spoke a lick of anything other than Standard. Which Standard itself was a bastardized version of English that came from it vampiring every other language it encountered. That did not, however, exclude people from using languages other than it. This was proven as Dr. Angla proceeded to fill the air with vitriol in a language Frieda was happy she didn¡¯t speak.

    Clearing her throat, Frieda tried wrestling her coworker¡¯s terrible mood from her. ¡°Even if it¡¯s nothing, a whole lot of nothing is still a lot of something. Do you happen to have a report?¡±

    The woman nodded her head to the display across from her at an open report document. Frieda slid over to it and started reading. Angla had been busy, that was for certain. She had torn apart a diagram of the suit as well and had been looking through the inner workings of it. It was definitely an Outlander¡¯s equipment. The latticework on the suit was closer to Kevlar, but was so thin that it seemed unusable. And yet simulated tests showed that it could stop small arms fire from even point-blank distances. It even boasted some form of shock absorption at a lower level that would eat the force of the shot up to a certain point. If they could replicate this design, they wouldn¡¯t need to barter with the factions behind The Wall. They could manufacture these things themselves, if they had the materials!

    Frieda looked up to ask a question when she felt something. No, the entire room felt something. The room shook and caused dust to flake off from the ceiling and rain down on them. Something just caused the entire complex to shake.

    A chill ran down her spine as Mick opened the door to look out into the T-junction hallway. He yelled something and ran out moments later. Frieda felt fear lock up her mind and joints as she watched him go, a second rumble running through the building. It took Angla slapping her to bring her back to reality. She was now in front of Frieda, yelling something at her. When had she gotten in front of Frieda?

    ¡°Wake up, Frieda. Mick needs your call.¡± She yelled at her before pushing her down the platform.

    Mick needed her call? What did that even mean? Confusion and fear clouded her mind as the realization of why she was so terrified finally came to her. She had heard a sound on that first rumble that she had been dreading since day one of being in here.

    Frieda ran into the hall to find Mick at the entrance to the T-junction. Well, what was a T-junction before. Now it was rubble that blocked the hallway leading further down. He knelt next to the rubble, his hands on a man who had his torso trapped under the collapsed hallway. He was screaming for help, but Mick¡¯s tugging only seemed to make the man scream more. Mick looked over to the approaching Frieda and a look of panic showed on the man¡¯s face. ¡°I need to know if I can cut him out. You study people and animals, right? You should know!¡±

    Her mind raced as she knelt next to the man. She knew this man, but his name wasn¡¯t surfacing in her mind. She pushed that thought down as she looked him over. Mick could technically use his combat knife and cut the man¡¯s legs at the hip, but every single artery that was in his legs would kill him quickly. But what choice did they have? She pointed to the man¡¯s legs. ¡°Wedge your knife against the rocks and start cutting. Work as close to the base of the pelvis as you can get. We don¡¯t want to rip out anything from the body when pulling him out.¡±

    Mick nodded and grabbed his knife. He reached over and stabbed into the man¡¯s legs, causing him to howl again before passing out from the pain. Mick cut one of the legs over and over, blood flowing freely from the open wound. It took nearly a minute before the one leg was cut before he started on the second one. However, Frieda could see the writing on the wall. This man was gone, no matter what they tried to do. Her eyes went down the hallway as the sound of something cracking filled the air. She looked up in time to see some more debris starting to come loose from the ceiling. A quick grab to Mick¡¯s uniform and she hauled with all her might to drag him back. The knife forgotten in the flesh, both of them fell back as more rubble filled the hallway. The man buried underneath it.

    Mick heaved shaky breaths as he helped them stand up. It almost looked like it wasn¡¯t even a T-junction anymore. The rubble completely obscured the entrance to the other hallway, and now the body of the man. They stood there for a moment, just staring, before they both turned and headed back to the research dome silently.

    They came in to the researchers cowering on their platforms behind the monitors. As if that would provide some protection to someone entering in. Mick rested next to the door and placed a hand on his chest. It was obvious the man had nearly had a heart attack from the shock of all of that. Frieda placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke. ¡°I¡¯m going to use the terminal on the main platform to call for help. Petrov needs to know something¡¯s happening.¡± Her calmness frightened her. She didn¡¯t feel like she was calm, she felt like she was in an absolute panic that threatened to overwhelm her very existence. This was even furthered by the concerned and shocked look in Mick¡¯s eyes before he nodded.

    She approached the terminal near the front of the chamber, the one she had climbed before, and mounted the stairs to it. She had just reached the terminal on the platform and started looking for the app to let her send a distress signal when the door burst open.

    A man entered, covered in blood around his chest, face, and arms, and seemed to look around the room. Mick was still winded from the ordeal and wasn¡¯t prepared to actually defend the room like he needed to. He scrambled for his rifle and tried to lift it, only to be stopped by the man. It was like he effortlessly held the gun in place and stopped it from rising. The strain on Mick¡¯s face was plain as he tried to raise the gun to meet the man¡¯s body and effectively neutralize him. It was plain to everyone that it was a losing battle, and Mick seemed to realize this too as he went for his pistol instead and let the man have the rifle.

    The movement was swift, but not faster than they could follow. The man jabbed out and rammed his thumbs into Mick¡¯s eyes, causing Mick to stumble and cover his face in a panic. That was all the man needed for an opening to grab Mick¡¯s pistol, which he then used to lay shots into Mick and put him to the ground.

    Frieda recognized the man the moment the shots went off, terror donning her face like a mask for a drama. That was the man who¡¯s gun they were studying, the one who was imprisoned above. He had come for his items, probably, and she doubted he really needed her and her colleagues to get them back.

    Her thoughts were interrupted by the man saying, in a very nonchalant voice ¡°Alright everyone, what the actual fuck is gong on here? Explain it quickly¡­ and please don¡¯t talk to me in nerd-talk. Simple and straight-forward explanation of the Voidling, the room, and why I shouldn¡¯t just shoot you all.¡±

    She shared a look with Angla that showed she was terrified as well. Whatever was going to happen with this man, neither of them thought they¡¯d be getting out of this alive. Frieda¡¯s hand slowly started to move towards the ¡®Send¡¯ on his panic message.

 Chapter 27 - Thundering Skies

    Point of Documentation: Unknown

    The soft dirt made a wonderful bed for all forms of life, be that bugs, animals, or people. The tree cover above the dirt cast a warm gaze in an otherwise chilly morning and bathed said dirt and weeds in its nurture. The light was interrupted, a premature shadow cast across the ground as a body moved over it in slow, rhythmic patterns. The worms and beetles that made their home amongst the foliage fled back underground in annoyance at being disturbed so early in the morning. A simple rabbit, brown of fur and beady of eyes, watched from a nearby bush as the body carried itself slowly forwards. The tanned form moved so slowly that it nearly seemed that of a dead body more than a person scooting along the ground.

    The man, as was evident from the shape and how they carried themselves, drug their own body along the ground some meters forwards before coming to a stop at a break in the greenery. A small cliff sloped down before him and made for a rapturous view of the forest below. The forest that was a spot of green in this grey and dying land that was Earth. A sigh escaped his lips as he thought back to what it looked like before. Whilst the urbanization of the world was nothing short of expected, swathes of green still existed in plenty of places. One of those was near here, but now was nothing more than a graveyard to remind those that come after of what they can never have again. Well, at least in that area.

    Fishing in his cloak, the man brought out a pair of oddly shaped binoculars and raised them up to look through. His eyes fell on what seemed to be the entrance to a compound of some kind. The distance they were in the wooded grove meant that this had to be the place of the bandits. It wasn¡¯t far from the town he received the job from, which raised all kinds of concerns within him.

    The job was a simple one: spot the place and record how many and where the forces were. If able, he was to sabotage anything that might be defenses and record anything out of place. The gate of a compound definitely fell under ¡®out of place¡¯ here. The man raised the binoculars up and followed the apparent path through the forest that the gate guarded.

    Where normal binoculars and his pair differed was not so fundamental. His pair was a ¡®Spotting Binocular¡¯. All binoculars are spotting by nature, but these ones come with some built in niceties. One of which he used as the man ran his eyes over the trail and it was marked on like a display on his device. It recorded the winding nature of the trail and plotted the most likely course and recorded it to the device as well. With this he was able to easily follow the path up to a decaying and destroyed building hidden behind some trees in the distance. Whatever compound this was at one point, it was one-hundred and eighty meters of road just to get to the building itself. The red cross above what seemed to be a main entrance said that it must have been a medical building of some kind. A hospital, maybe?

    An armored vehicle lay at the entrance of the building. It seemed to be some kind of open-top vehicle with an HMG, a real nasty machine-gun that hits far above its weight class. While infantry would obviously be worried over any gun, an HMG can also punch holes through lightly armored vehicles and armored cars. The vehicle it was mounted on what looked like a pretty standard armored car that the Ural Federation used before The Fall: open top, light, and meant to haul people and supplies.

    His eyes once more drifted up to the building itself. Barely held together with wooden band-aides applied by the residents; the building was crumbling down and nearly falling apart at the seams. He spotted some patrols on the upper and lower levels as well as some bandits out and about in the compound¡¯s area. A mix of people of different weapons, styles, and armor. Yeah, this was definitely a ¡®come as you are¡¯ kind of outfit. They probably looted or stole half the gear that they wear.

    The earpiece the man had in crackled to life as a voice came over it. ¡°Mr. A, it¡¯s time to check in. What¡¯s the situation, over?¡± The voice was smooth, warm, and felt like an embrace every time he heard it. If only the voice matched the personality.

    He heaved a sigh as the supposed ¡®Mr. A¡¯ raised a hand up to his ear and pressed on the comms button. ¡°Mr. C, this is Mr. A here. I¡¯ve found the bandit¡¯s lair. Same spot they thought it was in, minus some deviation. Sizeable force, more than the local enforcers can deal with. Guards, were they? Roughly thirty-plus hostiles, one hard target, and a dilapidated strong point. Distance from checkpoint to gate is five-hundred meters, from gate to building is roughly one-hundred and eighty meters.¡±

    A sizeable silence came over Mr. A as he waited for the reply. In the meantime, he started looking over some of the windows in the building to see if he could spot anything unusual in them. With a flick of his index finger, the man switched over his device to a piercing view that showed heat behind walls. A thermal view that used predictive analysis to construct people even behind objects. The man gave a low whistle under his breath as he marveled at how far this technology had come over the years.

    Mr. A¡¯s jaw set as he looked through the device. Mr. C¡¯s voice came back through and spoke once more. ¡°The White-Coats here have elected to continue their movements regardless. They stated that normal weapons won¡¯t have much affect on their shock-troops. Have you spotted anything else?¡±

    The lack of reply from Mr. A as he stared made Mr. C start to ask his question again. However, it was cut off as Mr. A spoke. ¡°Artillery it first. Use what the scavenger offered and hit them before we go in.¡±

    ¡°What? I thought it was only¨C¡± Started Mr. C before he was cut off again.

    ¡°I¡¯m seeing close to fifty-plus hostiles now, and a heavy dark spot on the second floor. Either that means we have nine 1st-Grades clumped together, three 2nd-Grades¨C¡±

    ¡°Or a 3rd-Grade Void-User in the building.¡± Finished Mr. C. ¡°I¡¯ll let them know and maybe they¡¯ll change their minds. Anything else unexpected?¡±

    The man looked over the building a few more times before sighing again. ¡°Looks like a 1st-Grade Void-Scourged near the bottom in what I think is an office. I saw some signatures go down a stairwell next to that room, so I¡¯m guessing there¡¯s an underground too. No sign of anyone in the building bound like they were looking for.¡±

    ¡°Must be downstairs then.¡± Came the reply. ¡°Keep a lookout for a little bit longer, then head back if you don¡¯t see anything. Cadence is already telling those white-cloaked bastards where to shove their ¡®caution¡¯, and Valentine is having a hell of a time convincing them to not kick them all out. I have a feeling they will either move soon, or the artillery promise will be revoked.¡±

    Mr. A grunted at this. The woman had convinced the white-cloaked men to put out a mission on her behalf, and had even rallied some of the Garrison and even some of the locals to her side. She wasn¡¯t a very convincing person, but that Valentine with her sure was. He was the one that had convinced Mr. A to take on the job after all. If only the White-Cloaks hadn¡¯t tacked on their information about Mr. J to the end of the deal.

    ¡°Right, right. When I¡¯m done here, we¡¯re getting our pay and moving on, yeah?¡± Mr. A muttered before raising the device again.

    Mr. C sighed on the other end and replied. ¡°Hopefully. This is the third town we¡¯ve tried, and I¡¯m starting to think desperation is a poison to all common decency. Over and out.¡±

    Point of Documentation Shift: Cadence

    Cadence had answered the call to the Mayor¡¯s own district. By the time they had gotten there, night had fallen, and it was a pain to get them in. That was until Valentine had come out to get them. Not only had Valentine come, but so had Arnold. This had resulted in a group of Martinez, Cadence, Valentine, and Arnold all standing at the gate, two of which were on the opposite side, attracting a small crowd of guards to investigate. The White-Coats had come some time after to let them in and clear up the confusion with the guards. So much of it was a rush of events that Cadence barely realized that she had crossed the threshold of the White-Coat¡¯s, the ¡°Mayoral Guard¡± as they tried to be called, main place of business.

    The group of them were ushered into a main lobby that had more security than the main gate did. Metal detectors, snipers on the balcony outside, armed guards with heavy armor colored white, and security doors just to name a few. The place was like some kind of fortress within the city as it paraded as nothing more than a building for offices and business.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Valentine looked around at everything they passed with an eye that seemed to be taking in everything in extensive detail. Whether he was looking for something they wouldn¡¯t miss or an easy way out was hard to tell. The look on his face, however, was not missed by the trio of guards leading them along.

    ¡°Oui, quit your rubber-necking. Trash like you should be honored to be in such a building as this.¡± The lead guard was a woman of some kind, hidden away behind the outfit, armor, and helmet. She was, however, apparently a massive grouch.

    Valentine grimaced at the reprimanding. ¡°Now now,¡± he said, putting an inflection of apology in his voice, ¡°there¡¯s no reason to get all upset. I¡¯m a man of many talents, and one of those is simply being more observant than the common man. I¡¯m admiring your works of art.¡±

    It was not lost on Cadence that the room they were currently in lacked furnishings, let alone much art on the wall. She winced as the lead guard stopped their procession and turned towards him. ¡°You¡¯re here under the request of Chief Albatross. I, however, can rescind that invitation at my own leisure if you¡¯re deemed a malignant individual. So please, mind yourself. Or else. I will not ask for a second day in a row.¡±

    Valentine put up his hands in surrender and said nothing more. Arnold gave a roll to his eyes, but nothing more was added to the confrontation. It seemed as if Valentine had been here since they split up, Cadence noted. How long had Arnold been here?

    The group made their way to an elevator and rose up to near the top, the eighth floor, before exiting. The building had ten floors, but she doubted the top floors were open to people not in the organization at least. They exited to a hall that they proceeded to go all the way down. Dozens of doors went past, each of them having no markings or designations on them to differentiate them from the last. Yeah, that wasn¡¯t concerning at all.

    They stopped at one of the doors, still no marking on it, and opened the door for them. Valentine groaned in annoyance. ¡°Please tell me there¡¯s at least furniture this time¨C¡± His words were cut off as the guide gave a hard shove to Valentine to get him in there. Arnold just continued after, and Martinez luckily helped Cadence into the room on her unsteady feet.

    There were a pair of couches in the room around a tea table. A chair sat at the head of the table facing away from the door, a table that was laden with sweets and drinks. The room itself was furnished in nothing but monochrome colorings and d¨¦cor that made the room almost seem liminal in nature. In the chair sat Chief Albatross with a folder in hand and a bored look on his face. He gazed up and gestured to the couches. ¡°No need to stand this time, please take a seat. Accommodations were made.¡±

    The quartet of miscreants, as they felt, sat themselves down on the couches, Martinez helping Cadence to the one on the right. As they sat, Albatross set the folder down and sighed. ¡°I asked you all to come here for different reasons. I held a mockery of an interrogation when it came to the two of you,¡± he gestured at Valentine and Arnold, ¡°but you two came to my attention soon after.¡± He said the last part as he looked to Cadence. ¡°I hear you¡¯re all trying to raid a local crime family. One that¡¯s been causing us trouble in no small amounts.¡±

    A spark of hope ignited in Cadence¡¯s heart as she heard this, but then died as the man shook his head. ¡°Illegal activities carried out by the non-security populace for a good cause is still illegal by a wide margin. There¡¯s a fine line between making a citizen¡¯s arrest and lobbing grenades into a building.¡± He stopped and frowned before continuing. ¡°Well, I guess not that fine of a line. The point is, I have gotten enough out of Valentine and Arnold here, under duress that is, to have all of you thrown out of the city and your assets seized.¡±

    Valentine leaned up and put his hands on the table. ¡°Now hold on¨C¡± Martinez also started to shout at the man, but their words never came out. At the same time Valentine was about to continue his sentence, the sound in the room stopped traveling as it should. Albatross¡¯s features became sharper, and it seemed as if the man was more of a wild animal than a man. But as soon as it came, the feeling vanished. Valentine and Martinez both sat back in a small haze, Valentine the better off.

    Albatross leaned forwards and scowled. ¡°I will not hold. As it stands, your actions since you¡¯ve entered the city, Miss Cadence, have been malicious at best and terroristic at worst. We¡¯ve been tracking you since a ¡®Templar¡¯ entered the city, and have gathered what you have done so far as evidence if we need it. Valentine here was a suspected criminal already, and the other two were model citizens. All three are now in a meeting room with me, and that is because of you and this man, yes?¡±

    It was less of a question and more of a statement. One that made Cadence¡¯s forehead clammy with sweat. This man easily outclassed Valentine in power, and the rest of them were just normal people comparatively. She had no chance to walk away from what she thought would be a friendly check-in. She swallowed and spoke, a raspy tone in her voice. ¡°That¡­ would be right.¡±

    ¡°And where is this man now?¡± His stern expression was not wavering.

    Cadence gave a shake of her head and answered nervously. ¡°He¡¯s what we were going after. He had been kidnapped by Petrov¡¯s men and¡­ we don¡¯t know where he is or what they might be doing with him.¡±

    Valentine shook his head and chimed in. ¡°No, not true.¡± All eyes fell on him and he continued. ¡°I found out through my contacts that they have a base of operations outside the city in the old town¡¯s center.¡±

    Cadence looked mortified that Valentine would talk openly like this, but Albatross just sighed to his words and looked back towards Cadence and Martinez. ¡°I¡¯m currently willing to waive everything and those charges to speak to the man that came in with you. This Outlander that you came in with and tried to pass off as a Templar. Since he¡¯s currently not reachable, as Valentine has stated, I¡¯m willing to extend a helping hand. But I won¡¯t budge without a favor from you.¡±

    Cadence stared for a moment before she clued in that he was talking to her. Her?? ¡°What could I possibly offer that you would need?¡± She was not only drawing a blank, but couldn¡¯t even drum up the ghost of a thought for what the man could even need of her.

    Chief Albatross sighed, leaning back and relaxing for the first time since they had entered this room. ¡°You¡¯ll understand at a later date. We can talk about it then. However, Petrov and his men are some of the scummiest the city has to offer for thugs and day-light robbers. If they have your man, we need to move. Quickly at that.¡±

    The 180 that this mood shifted by still had Cadence at a slack-jawed look as the man who was threatening to put them under turned around and offered to front help. She nodded, Martinez nearly shaking her as she needed roused from her stupor, and answered. ¡°Alright, we can discuss that later. What can you offer us in the meantime?¡±

    Albatross fingered a button on his chair¡¯s arm and spoke. ¡°Send in Mr. A and Mr. C. I have a new contract for them.¡±

    <hr>

    A day passed after that, Cadence being offered residence in the meantime from Martinez. They had each gone back to their own business while the White-Coats worked on finding and scoping out the place of residence for Petrov¡¯s gang. By the mid of the second day, however, they were all brought back to the White-Coats headquarters and let into the upper levels.

    A man by the name of Mr. C was in the room with a team of operatives that ran this nerve-center. They were relaying back and forth with some kind of device that was in his ear, and communications were not being passed between that nerve-center everyone stood in. The pale man was tall for a human, built like a foreman instead of a scout as he was introduced as. He also had an aura around him that seemed to soothe Cadence when she stepped too close to him. That was alarming by itself, but Valentine refused to go anywhere near the man. Something about the man being ¡®worse than Albatross in the worst way¡¯.

    She stood in there for some time before Mr. C started confirming that the place they had suspected was crawling with people. When the report came over, Albatross had immediately called for a detachment of troops from the Guard by sent and to flush them out. Cadence, seeing the writing on the wall, argued against immediate action. Marshall was just a normal man. Lost, sure; but normal. If he was caught in the firefight he would die.

    Mr. A was asked to stay on station and Albatross turned his attention to Cadence. ¡°Miss Cadence, I must ask: what would you suggest other than breaking down the door on these thugs? I doubt they¡¯d put up much of a fight, and we have a half a dozen Void-Scourged on the payroll we can mobilize.¡±

    Half a dozen made Cadence¡¯s eyes go wide. To see even three in a town was a lot. To know that one group had at least seven to their number? That was unheard of this far out in a remote town like this. She cleared her head and answered quickly. ¡°I have a team outside the town that has artillery. They can shell the top of the building and the yard, causing chaos and allowing you all to slip in to extract him. You can do that, right?¡±

    It was less of an accusation, and more wonder on Cadence¡¯s part. This was all far too new to her, and she was hanging on words she half-knew. When Albatross paused and actually thought about it, it surprised Cadence. Valentine cut in here and tried to assure that Cadence meant the best by the comment. He was trying, she¡¯d give him that. However, it didn¡¯t look like Albatross needed much pushing in the matter.

    ¡°Alright.¡± came the reply to two shocked faces.

    ¡°What?¡± Valentine replied in a surprised tone, looking to Cadence as he spoke again. ¡°We can defer to your judgement, as you¡¯re the tactical¨C¡±

    Albatross gave a wave and faced towards the screens showing the map of the area. ¡°No, we¡¯ll use your artillery. My men can be in position in thirty minutes. How long will it take you to contact your team?¡±

    With a quick movement, Cadence stepped up next to him. ¡°As soon as I can get back to my warehouse. I have a line right to them. But how will I¨C¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll go on the first shell,¡± came the curt reply. He leaned over and spoke to one of his number, eventually turning back to Cadence with a piece of paper. ¡°This is the coordinates. Give them thundering skies, and we¡¯ll get your man out.¡±