《Eyeball - Titanslayer》


 1 - Gonna die in the sand.

    "Ten bucks says he dies before he reaches the door."


    "Twenty says he makes it inside, no bets for what happens after. This fucker does this sort of crap all the time, just got back on full duty a week ago. Just cover him if you can."


    The two soldiers were staying behind the rolled-over armored vehicle, using its smoking mass as cover from the various bullets, gouts of flame, and energy bolts spattering against its armored steel frame, watching with a blend of amusement and horror as their ''Friend'' Jason Bennet sprinted for the building door, grenade in one hand, rifle in the other. For one, he''d seen the same man do this sort of thing a dozen times, even when ordered not to; and could no longer be surprised by anything stupid he did.


    True to form, the two men started firing; aiming at the windows they could see and hear the attacks emerging from; dozens of broken panes of glass and dust-streaming ruins to choose from in the building the enemy were staying inside, and probably every one of them holding some nutjob with either powers or bullets to spare. Fortunately, whoever had blown the APC seemed to have spent his load; either it was a single-use munition, or someone with a power that took a long time to recharge.


    Either the covering fire or dumb luck carried the seemingly insane soldier all the way to the door; and right through it, as he tossed a grenade in a window over his head like some action-star wannabe, rolled to a stop; and came face-first to one of the worst things a soldier can see in a modern war-zone.


    A metahuman. Supervillain? Mutant? Whatever he was, he was a monster; seven feet tall if he was an inch, skin that looked like wrought iron, fingers that ended in claws, and glowing red eyes that seemed to speak of a furnace building up inside. On the plus side, he seemed to be anatomically correct for a human; and when Jason fired six shots into his crotch from his position there on his knees, only a few feet away, the monster let out one of the worst screams that would be heard in this world or the next, like a tortured soul blended with nails on a chalkboard, and fell to the broken tile, hands clutching himself as he twitched in pain.


    A second grenade; this time a Burster; slapped on the pained meta''s chest, the glue-like coating firmly wedging it in place as Jason ran up the stairs; moments after the first one he''d tossed in the window went off, sending fragments of superheated death scattering in all directions, through walls, metas, and normals alike.


    This seemed to be his moment. He was going out like a hero! He was going to clear the whole damn building on his own like a real-life Rambo, and they would make movies about him, and...


    The second grenade detonated as he was checking the second floor. Firing a few times at hostiles that still seemed to be moving. Putting an end to that quickly enough with carefully aimed, precise shots through exposed flesh. One right through a dark-skinned man''s adam''s apple. One into the blinking, hazy eye of a meta with purple skin; perhaps the one who hit the APC? No way to know.


    When he looked back down the stairs at the iron-skinned giant, he was taken aback for a moment. The creature was nowhere to be seen. Did the grenade just disintegrate the man? Its supposed to just be a direct AP charge, make a really high-powered, small, hole in whatever you stick it to. Something to stick on a... No.


    Before he could resolve what had happened; before he could realize that reinforcements were coming down the stairs behind him, that his one-man expedition to personally rid that building of every terrorist, metahuman or otherwise, was doomed to failure... a hot metal fist wrapped around his throat and lifted him off the ground.


    "Do you know how many of those damned grenades I''ve been hit by, you American idiot? They hurt. It takes time to heal. But nothing.." The creature slammed Jason into the wall. His abortive attempt to grab another grenade, try to jam it down the monster''s throat, ended when he almost lost consciousness, stunned, and the second Burster grenade fell to the ground beneath the monster''s feet. "Can kill me! I am immortal! I am the hand of god, gifted with his strength... and his fire."


    Jason couldn''t really focus much on his words. He could see the monster growing ever brighter; the glowing orange red of his mouth turning into a white-hot pinpoint. Was he about to incinerate him? Would it be quick? What was that out the window?


    Out in the street, a few meters away from a fallen APC, a tank had rolled to a stop, its barrel centered on a humanoid mass of steel and fire; and with an explosion that seemed to end the world, the monster was cut in half, the building was shattered... and Jason was lying, bleeding from god knew how many injuries, much further from the tank than should be possible.


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    When one of his fellow soldiers... was it that damned Henrickson again? Arrived over his body, looking at the broken shell of a man before him; a nasty gouge in his forehead, every limb obviously broken, possibly the spine as well... he slowly shook his head. The last things Jason heard before the darkness claimed him were Henrickson''s words, somehow sounding over the high-pitched squeal of the explosion burned forever into his eardrums.


    "They told you armor was on the way, stick to cover. You''re a goddamned idiot, Bennet. I always knew you were gonna die in the sand."


    *****


    Surprisingly enough, Jason Bennet didn''t die in the sand. The most startled person to discover that would be Jason himself; when he awoke weeks later, lying on a hospital bed; all four limbs in casts, legs suspended in the air, a bandage wrapped around his forehead. And... everything seemed... wrong. He could see the floor under his bed, despite still lying on it. The nurse outside the window... but his eyes were closed. And his head....


    He grimaced, placing a hand on his forehead... but that only seemed to make it worse. The intense throbbing grew to agony that drew an unwanted scream from the young man as he lay on the bed... and a nurse came sprinting into the room, grabbing his arm.


    His eyes were closed, but... he knew what she looked like. Mid-20s. Brunette. Fit. Not the best face. Nametag reading... He can''t make out the nametag. But whoever she was, she held him down... and after a moment, the pain subsided.


    "Mister Bennet. Jason. A fragment penetrated your skull and embedded in your brain. Its already been removed, you''re in stable condition. You''ve still got one more surgery coming up. We''re regrowing enough skin to pull it over the metal plate after we attach it to... well. The hole in your skull."


    A hole in his skull. He had a hole in his skull. He opened his eyes. And grimaced, shutting them again; the pain in his forehead had grown even more intense as soon as he opened them. "I... ma''am, I... something''s wrong. I''m seeing things with my eyes closed. But... it hurts when I open them."


    Halfway to the IV to adjust the dose of sedatives... this poor sap wasn''t meant to be awake for days yet to come... her hand stopped in midair. "I''m sorry. What did you say?"


    "I.. can see you reaching for the IV bag there. Or I could, when you were. But I can''t open my eyes. Well, I can. It just... hurts like hell."


    She looks down at his eyes; tightly shut. A visible grimace of pain on a face that, if not for the horrifying bandaged mass that was his forehead, might have been at least average looking... but at the moment could inspire little other than perhaps pity... or disgust.


    "What do you.. Oh. How many fingers, private?" She covers his eyes with one hand, just to be sure... and holds up three on the other.


    "Why... Three, ma''am."


    "..Well. Good news, soldier. You just got moved up in the world. You get back to sleep, and I think we''ll probably be doing something a little better than a metal plate."


    Metahuman or not, he didn''t seem to be healing that fast.. and even if they brought in a specialist, the poor boy would undoubtedly go through a truly unimaginable amount of pain before he''d be up and moving again.


    *****


    "Currently unclassified metahuman, soldier, private first class Jason Bennet. Some form of sensory ability... undefined, but verified, can at the very least see things with his eyes closed... and in directions other than where his face is pointed. Definite ESP of some sort." The technician in his clean white coat made a perfect image of the standard ''geek scientist''. Tall, slim, short curly hair, glasses; practically the stereotype brought to life. He seemed excited, practically bouncing on his feet.


    "Then classify him and assign it. Let me know how the tests turn out." The suited man makes a gesture. The irritation is written plain an an ancient, scarred face. "Why are you even bringing this to me? There''s a protocol."


    "Well, sir. He''s currently heavily injured. Took a projectile fragment to the skull, suffered minor brain damage, has an abnormal growth in his frontal lobe. We''re talking weeks or months before he can recover, might never develop abilities properly, unless..."


    "...Unless we assign a specialist. And thats substantially over your testing budget. Fine. I''m issuing you a waiver. If he''s useful, I''m sure he''ll pay us back enough to make it worthwhile. And if he isn''t... well. He''s a soldier. Doesn''t hurt to be seen taking good care of our own."


    By the time the technician left the room, Director Thomes had already pushed it to the back of his mind; metas who could heal were a rare commodity. Their time precious. Every moment they were willing to work allocated, often weeks in advance. ESP? Just as rare, but not nearly as useful, in a world of drones, satellites, and cell phones. Who cared about another guy who could see through walls? Maybe he''d be worth the time. Maybe not.


    He had no idea the sort of chain reaction that momentary decision would bring into the world. If he had, he might have ordered the soldier arrested; executed; or perhaps simply sent him right back out to fight terrorists with a metal plate in his head.

 2 - Life, Death, and Taxes

    The next time Jason awoke, things felt... different. He was still immobilized, but no longer in casts; and he felt... strange. Healthier, stronger, than he ever had before. His arms and legs hurt, but he was more focused, more aware of his surroundings. And when he opened his eyes... he could see... far too clearly.


    The imperfections in the glass window. In the ceiling, the wall. The ants crawling beside his bed. The tiny details of them, their antenna, legs. His arms... the fractures almost healed, the bruises, burns, and cuts all gone, still held immobile. Everything... He''d healed back from a bad injury before. Multiple times. For reasons generally somewhere between ''should''ve had a dishonorable discharge'' and ''good god why won''t you look before you step?''. He was intimately familiar with military hospitals. This wasn''t a military hospital. The metal frames holding his arms weren''t casts.


    He could remember a brief moment of intense pain... and then a steady fading. Thinking that perhaps this was death. But no. He was still here. Alive, intact, surprisingly hale despite the still-healing fractures. And... everything looked wrong.


    He glanced up at the door just before it opened; he''d been staring at the wall for likely far too long like a drooling idiot before the suited man... classic FBI look. Ear-piece, tall, dark hair, everything about him screamed combat Fed; including a grim expression and an intimidating level of height and bulk. He''d entered the room pushing a small cart, with, of all things, several decks of cards, and stacks of clips.


    "Hello there, private Bennet. Or should I say, Mister Bennet; I''m afraid you''ve been discharged from the army. It would''ve been a dishonorable discharge if you''d gotten anyone else hurt, and should have been regardless, but they decided to hold off at my boss''s request, just in case you should prove useful."


    Jason gave a slow nod. "Heard that sort of talk before. Done quite a few stupid things. They kept me in despite that. I was good at leading a team, and I was good at shooting. Just.... reckless." He started thinking back to some of his more ridiculous moments in the army. Somehow, looking back now, they all seemed worse. He''d never felt this bad about them the last time he was in the hospital with a broken leg from an IED.


    "Be that as it may. I''m Agent Hiller, with the Department of Metahuman Affairs. I''m a verification agent, and I''m here to give you some basic tests, since you apparently have some form of ESP." He started placing cards on the table in the clips, letting them be held upright, facing away from the bed. "I''m a busy man, and I have places to be. So I hope you can cooperate and get this done quickly, without any foolishness. Understood?"


    A slow blink. "Verification agent. So.... lie detectors? Am I.. under suspicion of something, sir?"


    Hiller let out a low sigh. "Not of anything other than being an idiot who runs into buildings under artillery fire. We''re always involved in powers testing. People try to hide things all the time, make themselves seem like they can''t do something they can just to keep an edge. Or avoid getting reported to the casinos."


    For the next few minutes, Hiller arranged the cards facing in different directions, on the cart, on a chair, on a small side-table next to his bed, and in different parts of the room. "There we go. This will do for our initial test. If you get all of these we''ll start trying cards outside the room. So." He slid a small tablet from his pocket, lifted a stylus up. "Tell me. Which cards can you read? Just list them off."


    Jason slowly looked around the room, at the cards, all facing away from him. The ones right there beside him, as he stared at, he could see a sort of after-image; of the card knocked off the table, its suit and color revealed to him. "Okay. So here on the table, we''ve got a ten of clubs, an ace of spades, and a five of hearts."


    Hiller tapped the check-marks on his phone. "Perfect accuracy at three feet, not too surprising. Does closing your eyes make a difference?"


    He closed them tightly, turning his head around the room. As he kept turning his head, he could see various after-images of things moving. Mostly just Hiller himself. "No... I can still see those just fine. But..." He focused on the card table beside Hiller. "I... can''t see the other side of those cards. I can see the fronts, eyes closed or not. But... I can''t see the backs."


    Hiller gave a nod, and tapped something else on his phone. "Very short range. Unfortunate. Lets see just how short. Tell me when you can read this card.


    *He picked up a card from the top of the deck, facing himself, and started to walk closer, step by step. At just a few feet away; perhaps four, just close enough that he could have forced his restrained legs to move, he could start seeing blurring images of Hiller moving in different ways... as if he''d kicked him. "Wait. Right there. Its...."


    A few moments of focus. A falling card. Facing him just a moment... "Its a seven of clubs." He gave a nod, as Hiller slid a tape-measure from his pocket, made a few careful adjustments, and then measured a spot on the floor. "There we go. Looks good. Well, not good. You can see anything with your eyes closed, which might be handy. I''m assuming its all directions?"


    For a moment Jason looked around the room. Somehow looked without even opening his eyes. "I can see the wall behind me... all of the walls. And the floor under the bed. And the stuff in the drawer beside me. In... much better detail than I could before. I can make out the pores of your skin." All of it seemed a bit creepy; as if he were looking at himself from a third person perspective, watching a character from a game.


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    "Okay. So... Class D ESP. Possibly useful in a security checkpoint role, but nothing that was worth all the time and money we wasted on this."


    He started picking up and putting away the cards and clips, setting them all into a box on the cart. "You''ll have a case officer by before you recover to explain your new status, what it means, the usual nonsense. I have a tribunal to attend. Enjoy civilian life." Without looking back or responding to Jason''s questions, the man marched right out the door, pushing the cart... and abandoning it outside as he took the case with him.


    For Jason, this would represent a moment of concern; about just what he would do, outside the military. Was this new power of his useful for anything? He''d mentioned the casinos... were they worried he''d cheat at cards? He tried to relax; an impossible proposition when his arms were stretched out to make sure the bones set properly. Instead he spent the next hour just lying there, thinking back on his life; and the long chain of stupid decisions that brought him here.


    *****


    That evening, Jason received another visitor in a suit; only this one far more casual; wearing ordinary khakis and a collared shirt, a pale young blond-haired man with a seemingly over-exagerated smile glued to his face and a duffel bag beside him. He set the duffel bag down and moved forward; starting to unsnap the metal brackets holding his arms and legs immobile.


    "Uh... Excuse me? Are those supposed to come off yet? Is the nurse supposed to get.. Ahh!" A sharp pain; as his legs were suddenly freed, he could feel the tiny pinpricks of pain as feeling started to come back. "Thats.. not nearly as bad as I expected."


    The man smiled. "No worries! Doc said you were good. I''m Mike, I''ll be your caseworker!"


    After freeing Jason''s hands, he extended one to shake. Jason, expecting to be, at best, limp and pained after his last broken arm experience, gently lifted his arm... only to find both strange after-images appearing of where his arm was, as well as that his arm worked.,.. perfectly fine. Its as if he''d never been injured. No... better. Aside from shaking a bit of sleep out, it was the best he''d ever felt; he may even have used a bit too much force when he shook Mike''s hand, judging by the grimace on his face and the abrupt pull-back.


    Well, aside from wearing a paper hospital gown he was great.


    "Okay, Mike... why do I need a caseworker?"


    "Only temporarily, Mister Bennet! I need to get your new ID, and of course give you a few basics about your new legal status, that sort of thing."


    "....New legal status?" Jason was quite concerned about this aspect. He''d never heard of such a thing, but then, the metas in the US military had their own dedicated teams. He''d had a moment of hope he could join one, during his recovery, before recalling his discharge. Barely-honorable discharge.


    "Apologies for the length here, this will be a bit." Mike held up his cell phone, and, staring at the screen, began to read off; with, clearly, a few minor edits for taste.


    "Any meta whose abilities are Class D or above are registered by the department of Justice. Any crime commited using the powers of a class D or above meta will be considered a federal felony in addition to any other charges, with up to twenty years added to the sentence depending on circumstances. Mutants of the ESP or telekinetic category are also warned that this will apply even to misdemeanor-level acts of cheating at gambling, and that casinos have been given a database of faces and powers, but not names or other information, of known mutants of this category."


    Jason gave a slow nod. Seemed perfectly reasonable. "Any other bad news? I hadn''t planned on running the casinos, but if I do, I guess I''ll stick to dice and slots."


    "Not really! The rest is all good news. Even all the way down to Class E metas with ESP are in demand at places like the TSA, so even with your checkered military history I suspect you''ll get a job fairly fast. Aside from that... You were touched by the Shadow Master, which is frankly like a lottery ticket."


    Jason nodded along. TSA... boring work, but it would pay well enough, and he could live anywhere there was an airport. Not a bad idea. Not like he had anything to go home to; he''d let Sheila keep everything but the car and his clothes when she decided to split. Until he reached the ''Dark Master'' bit. "Who the hell is the Shadow Master?"


    "Ahh... he''s a healer, sort-of? Basically, he takes life from one thing, and gives it to another. Like... he''ll take a pig, or a bush, or something, drain it dry, then touch someone else, and, poof! Suddenly like new. Its why you''re so spry for a guy who should''ve lost both legs and everything below the spine. He charges a million a pop turning rich old guys into healthy young men during his working hours, and then spends his time off at cancer wards, mostly healing kids. There''s a bunch of healers like that, his are just a bit... creepy. So... yeah. Oh, and you''re one of the lucky 10% of metas that are fertile, so hey. If you have any kids from here on out, uncle sam pays the child support."


    In the span of a few moments, Jason had ever-escalating numbers of questions pop into his head. "I... what? So I got... the life energy of a pig and...no... You know what. Just give me the paperwork. I''ll read over it myself." Mike nodded, setting the duffel bag down. "Your personal effects, a change of clothing, and the paperwork. I can get you an apartment to live until you get work, get your car hauled over here; you might not have a power the DMA wants, but we''re not gonna kick you to the curb. Go ahead and change, I''ll meet you in the lobby and we can get you... well. Wherever you want to go."


    "Don''t I need to catch the next airlift back home? Why would you get my car all the way over here?" The very idea of hauling a car all the way to the middle east.. what sort of lunatic would do such a thing? "Oh, no. Agent Hiller''s been running interviews for the past six hours. He''s got a private jet to take him home, and we get to tag along so long as we pick up dinner on the way. Old man loves some of the local food. Just get ready quick and we''ll get you to Washington. Not by sunset, but, well. Tomorrow."


    With a moment of privacy, Jason discarded the mostly ruined paper hospital gown... wishing he had time for a shower and not particularly happy about his current smell, but glad enough to get dressed; simple boxers, jeans, one of his various t-shirts with a Patriots emblem on the front.. his tablet, his medals, his boots... everything in one duffel bag, packed up and ready to go.


    As he headed for the lobby, he was torn between speculating what else he was going to find in that paperwork, and just who a living lie-detector would be here to interrogate in the war-torn middle east. Probably classified. And, now, none of his business.

 3 - Fun with Job Interview!

    For a moment, Jason stood on the tarmac, duffel bag over his shoulder, watching the oh-so-important Verification agent walk off to his car. He inhaled deeply, taking in the hot summer wind, the smell of... well. Jet fuel and diesel, probably, frankly everything smelled terribly at this point. But the view... was amazing.


    Approaching the airport terminal, everything just looked and felt like home. Granted, that mostly meant that about half of the people were overweight and arrogant, but then, he had been known to be a bit of an arrogant bastard himself over the years. Despite... a long series of stupid decisions. Why hadn''t he ever really thought of them that way before?


    Entering the terminal, everything looked.. different. He had been expecting more detail. Maybe being able to see someone''s face from behind. But no... looking at the man beside the entrance, a fat old idiot in shorts and a hawaiian shirt, he could see.. after-images. As if he had just yanked the man''s toupee off. Or yanked his shorts down. Or grabbed his wallet. He was presented with a whole assortment of unwanted visuals of the lack of underwear, the hideous rash on the bald head, and the man''s ID; it seemed to keep going in and out of focus, but he could even read off the numbers... and see what would happen if he tripped the man.


    This... didn''t quite feel like ESP the way he''d heard it described. Sure, he could see under the man''s clothes. That was to be expected. But... when the man jerked in surprise at a message over the PA system, then saw Jason; and gave a jerk of disgust at the look of him... he''d somehow known all of it would happen seconds before... and even... turned his head away.


    The man never made that jerk of disgust. He never saw Jason''s face... or the hideous green eyeball currently embedded in his forehead that Jason had stared at for a solid half-hour in the bathroom mirror.


    That... Jason stepped forward and leaned against a wall, covering his face. In every direction, he could see people moving nearby. And... what they would do if he tripped them. Or took a swing. Just thinking about possibilities would give him an image of what could happen. Was this... was he predicting the future? Or did his imagination just become much more vivid?


    Easy. Test it out.


    He turned to one of the gates, where the plane was currently unloaded... and thought about who was about to leave the plane. A shadowy image of the line of people emerging; some at a slow walk, others trying to push their way through the crowd... there. A pretty girl in a black dress with some amusing cat-ear microphones on emerged. He opened his eyes.


    At first, disappointment. The next person to emerge was probably a stewardess; cute, but no black dress, no orange carry-on bag, no cat-ears. But... that disappointment faded almost instantly. Just a few seconds later, the girl in the black dress emerged. He found that he could predict each person emerging a few seconds before they emerged, eyes open or not... and even what they would do. Except that a few were noticing him staring, a bit perturbed by the weirdo with three eyes. Okay. Time to go.


    Jason turned from the terminal gate, looking at the wall; he''d never been in Dulles before, needed to find parking; apparently they''d stored his car for him. Oh! They''d left his keys with security. Checking the map again... and avoiding looking at people too long to try to keep from drawing too much attention.. he headed to the security office. Easy enough.


    ****


    "You need some keys for a oh god what is..." The woman in the TSA uniform was suddenly taken aback when she looked up at his face... and then stopped, controlling herself. "Okay, sorry, sir. They actually passed us the keys for a Mustang up in the parking garage for you. And... my boss left a note that when you showed up, he''d like to speak with you? Apparently you were planning to apply for a job?" She seemed a bit confused, but then, it wasn''t every day a three-eyed man showed up at your door.


    The security gate opened smoothly when she passed him through. "I can hold onto your bag for you if you''d like, sir?" He glanced back.. and nodded, setting his bag down. "Thanks, Irma. Appreciated. Back through here?" "First door on the left, sir. He''s expecting you, just not sure on the time."


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    After a few moments, he''d found the right office, knocking on the door; a rotund man with more rolls than a typical sumo and a desk cluttered with hundreds of randomly scattered papers was busily typing away at a computer; only to glance up when Jason entered. "Ahh! Our soldier come home. Come on in, have a seat! I can have Irma bring you a drink?"


    "Oh, no, sir. Gotta drive after this, they have my car waiting for me."


    "Of course! Pretty thing. Red mustang. Why do so many servicemen end up with those?" He pulled a set of keys from one of his drawers, and tossed it to Jason; who smoothly caught it and pocketed it... clearly seeing the arc the keys would follow long before it was thrown.


    "I... honestly, it made sense at the time. But looking back... probably should''ve gotten something else. Still. Irma said you wanted to talk, mister...?"


    "Ahh! You can call me Rory. Rory Rollins, Director. So anyways, they told me you have ESP, right? Can see stuff on the other side of a wall, with the eyes closed, all that? And you''re looking for work? Go ahead and sit down, man."


    Jason blinked. It felt strange to blink. The third eye wasn''t quite in sync with the others.... but he sat down regardless. Was he still considering the TSA? Surely being able to see a few seconds into the future would be worth more, might get him onto a combat team... but... best to keep his options open. After he sat down, he leaned forward. Focused on the desk. What would he see if he pulled out those drawers?


    "In your desk drawers, you have a red swingline stapler, a box of paperclips in rainbow colors, sticky notes in the shape of a Dallas Cowboys logo, a collection of toy guns, and a variety of knives. I''m gonna guess collected contraband?"


    Rollins laughed. "Of course. I keep a few things. Trinkets, keepsakes, that sort of thing. If its got special value I like to lock it up and see if I can get it back to the owner; if they pay shipping, I''m usually good with that. But... I''m sure you can imagine how handy someone that can search a bag... or a person... without actually touching them would be in our line of work? Do you need to... see them with that third eye?"


    "Oh, no. Works with the eyes closed. Actually... can I borrow a hat from you?" When Rollins reached back into a filing cabinet behind himself and withdrew an old, battered, Dallas Cowboys baseball cap, Jason shook his head, hiding his grimace as he put it on.. and while he was touching Rollins''s hand, checked his pockets. Or, well. Imagined checking his pockets; just thinking about it seemed to do the job.


    "And of course, you''ve got a West Virginia driver''s license, a concealed revolver with five bullets in it, and, well. I''m not going to pry further." He did his best to avoid even thinking about what he would find if he tore open the man''s shirt, but much like the stereotypical pink elephants, it was impossible to ignore.. and unfortunately, looking away didn''t help.


    Rollins nodded, smiling. "Great! I know that you''re gonna be getting other offers in, but I''d love to bring you on the team. Military experience, ESP... I can start you out at 150K, 20K sign-on bonus if you stay past three months."


    Jason thought about his pay in the military. His prospects if he went back home. If the TSA was paying this, what would the DoD pay him if... well. "Thats... very generous. I haven''t really started searching yet; my ''Case Officer'' from the DMA actually just kinda sent you the message for me, and I''ve only been out of the military for... the flight home. I... mind if I take your card, get back to you tomorrow?"


    Rollins burst to his feet with an energy that seemed impossible for someone of such girth, shaking the desk and scattering the papers further. A hand went out, sliding a card; and when Jason took the card, taking a firm hold, shaking it. "Not at all, son! I just want you to think, before you go. About how many possible terrorists, criminals, you could stop if you worked for me. Just another way to serve your country, right?"


    Jason was mildly startled at the sudden energy; but then, he probably had to be dedicated to get this job, right? Or maybe just a political appointment. After a few minutes of absurd comments about pride and country, he managed to squirm his way out the door, collect his bag from Irma... and, cap making him far less conspicuous, work his way through the crowd towards the parking garage.


    Time to collect his car.. check out this apartment that twerp got for him.. and see about starting his life over. Did he really want to live here in Washington? This.. should have appealed to him. He wanted to live over here before. But somehow, even looking at the car he''d been so excited about when he bought it... the old him seemed like an idiot.


    He laid his hand on the roof of the Mustang. Red. Shiny. Apparently someone had washed it before taking it into the garage. He didn''t even like red now. Reminded him too much of blood. His own. His friends. This... He knew why Sheila had left him.


    He climbed into the seat, laid back and stared at the roof of the car. He''d bought it just before being deployed. Still had that new car smell, and a faint hint of whoever''s cigarettes had brought it here. His whole life up until the moment he made his suicide charge into that building seemed like a lie. He should never have done that. None of that.


    What had changed? Was he smarter now? Did this mutation make him think more clearly, as well as let him see things he shouldn''t? Or had that tank shell been the hit that finally knocked some sense into him?

 4 - Officer Down!

    As absurd as he felt about the mustang, it could certainly move; pulling onto the interstate out of Dulles he made a fairly short drive to the address his case officer had passed along; a fairly decent set of apartments less than an hour''s drive south. He even found that his new ability made navigating traffic a bit easier; he could avoid idiots and merge like a professional. Granted... he made quite a few people absolutely furious with some of those moves, but that was inevitable.


    When he pulled up to the apartments, he was a touch surprised; he''d been mostly out of the country for the past few years. He''d heard about some of the new developments, what people had built, and done; hell, his mustang could go across the country and back on one tank of gas and his father had considered it a miracle before he passed. But this...


    A bus was loading passengers as he arrived... and what looked like a car elevator was dispensing some sort of hybrid out onto the street. The whole parking garage for the complex was underground... and apparently just took your car away, deposited it somewhere... and returned it when you came back with the right key.


    He pulled up next to one of the entry ports; a heavy-duty slab of metal designed to carry the car like a tray through a maze of underground passages; and just sat there for a few minutes, watching. As he did.. a boy came up to his car, rapped on the hood.Young, dark-skinned.. probably a scrawny teenager. Low-slung pants, bandanna... ganger? Or wannabe? Jason rolled down the window, leaned out. "Sorry if I''m in the way. First time here, never loaded a car up. Just watching how it goes."


    The boy gave a nod. "Figured, man. Never saw you round here, and I seen just about everybody who lives here a few times. Military?"


    Jason glanced down at himself. Jeans, t-shirt... the hat was covering up both the extra eye and the haircut. "What gave it away?"


    "Oh, the look. You look dangerous. Most the folks come in here kinda soft; doctors, nurses, that sorta thing. That and, well. If I pick out a hundred mustangs like half of em have a soldier driving em.Never did figure out why. Don''t worry about this thing. Its like a vending machine. Just need the code and the key to the car and you''re good. Nobody can get your car without your key either... its safer than a parking lot. Or a street. Or garage. Any of that. Could you imagine someone stealing from this?"


    A slow exhale. After watching another driver cycle through an entry, he followed suit... pulling the mustang onto the platform.. typing in his apartment number... and scanning the key. An audible click. At first, he was confused about why it didn''t start moving like the last driver''s car had. The same teen laughed at him.


    "You gotta back off, dumbass. Thing won''t move if there''s something alive on the platform, or too close." He gave a nod.. and backed off. Watching the car steadily disappear into the darkness, as another driver pulled up behind him. He turned to the teen.


    "Well, thanks. Name''s Jason. Friends call me... well. Honestly, they called me all sorts of things. Just Jason works." Honestly, his nickname had been Kamikaze; the way he acted everybody thought he was on a suicide mission and just wanted to take as many bad guys out with him when he left as possible. But... best to let old habits lie.


    "Oh. Well, welcome to the blocks, Jase. I''m Tyler. Call me Ty. Don''t be an asshole, and you''ll make some friends around here."


    As the boy turned and walked away, Jason looked at the numbers on the buildings; and found the right one. 35. Seventh floor, apartment 703... and started walking. The structure was fairly new; one of the more recent projects. It looked clean, well-maintained; there were a few sculptures and gardens in the ground surrounding the buildings, and each of the balconies had something on it; plants, furniture, definitely a lived-in place.


    And the apartment itself? barely furnished. A desk, a bed, and a dresser... and on the desk, a note from his case officer.


    ~~Hey, Jason!


    Mike here. I took the liberty of getting a bed, desk, laptop, and dresser for you; don''t worry, you weren''t charged for them. Your final pay from the military is in your account, and my Offboarding budget covered your next three months rent. You''re not my only client, but I''m glad to help any time. I''ve passed on your information to a few employers who might be interested; unfortunately your combat record has put the DMA off the idea of getting you on as an asset, but we have no intention of leaving you in the wind; in fact, if you can''t find a job that works for you, I''ll even help get you unemployment or a custodial position at the DMA until you do. Don''t hesitate to call if you need anything, we don''t want to leave any of our newfound Metas in the dark, and that goes double for our veterans.


    There''s some food in the fridge; I asked your former team what you''d prefer, so blame them if its terrible. Welcome home!~~


    The note was... strange. The Mike guy seemed like he was far too invested in becoming friends with the people he worked with; but then, I assumed his job was something like a social worker; trying to keep Metas out of trouble.


    Dropping the duffel bag beside the bed, Jason sat at the desk, set the pile of paperwork up, and glanced through it, looking for anything important... as he absently ignored the fridge and whatever prank he was certain waited inside, ordering a pizza delivered instead.


    If you were a meta that couldn''t hide their deformities? It was counted as a disability, and you could collect that if you chose not to work. Government didn''t want broke, desperate people with powers wandering around. Convenient. Did he qualify? Maybe. But he probably just needed a hat. Or an... eye-patch? And he''d be fine.


    Most metas were mutants; which meant probably radiation exposure, and a bit different genetically from normal people. So the radiation made most of them infertile, and the genetic differences sometimes made it worse; and two mutants were likely even more different from each other than they were from normal humans. Most first-generation mutants could never have kids. So most of the ones around now, were kids, grand-kids, so forth of the lucky few. Even for a crap power like they thought he had, the government wanted to encourage more metas to be born; so free health care, government-paid child support. If he were a complete waste of humanity he could, in theory, live off of disability, have tons of kids, and the government would pay all of it.


    Not exactly a winning lottery ticket; but he had no idea metas were so lucky.


    For a moment, he leaned back in his new chair and imagined what it would be like if he''d truly won the lottery in terms of powers. Become a Titan; one of those handful of metas whose powers were functionally infinite. Valkyrie; the villainess who had literally no limit to her strength or durability... and had an active truce with the government since they couldn''t take her down, and she didn''t want them killing the biker gang she ran. Lightning; the superhero who was infinitely fast; his only limits were what he placed on himself to avoid, for example, obliterating a city by running through it at the speed of light.


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    Or the truly incredible, old-school metas, like Zeus; those reclusive immortals that had long since stopped dealing with civilization. Nobody was completely certain what these old ''Gods'' were capable of, but he was sure it was incredible; when the fascists had moved on Olympus the results had been devastating to both their tanks as well as their morale.


    His daydream was cut short by the ''wake-up'' tones of his laptop.. as he checked through. Bank account... check. Email containing everything about his new apartment and the bills? Check. He had enough money to live here for a few years, even if he didn''t start collecting unemployment or disability. It was strange to be in a position like this; not rich; he couldn''t go buying mansions. But also not really needing to worry about money.


    Still.


    He sent a message to a local car dealer. He wanted the mustang gone. Whatever replaced it wouldn''t be red. And it probably wouldn''t be a muscle car, either. He traded messages back and forth with one of their salespeople; he''d definitely sell the mustang. Whether he''d buy another car from them, he''d wait and see. By the time the pizza delivery driver was buzzing at his door, everything was worked out; he''d get about two-thirds of what he paid for it, despite only driving it about six or seven times... but that was only to be expected.


    He smiled at the delivery driver; definitely reminded him of Tyler. Maybe a cousin? And tipped him before settling back down to eat, kick back, relax, and watch a few shows he''d missed out on while he was in the desert; indiscriminately getting grease from his pizza-stained hands on his brand-new laptop; despite the fact it was one of those newer, fancy laptops that you didn''t even need to touch the keys.


    ***


    In his nightmares, he was running through the desert. He could hear the screams of the dead and the dying. The explosions of gunfire. The faces of enemies with guns... enemies who were younger than Tyler. As comforting as it would be to only have to fight giant metal-skinned, fire-breathing monsters... most of the enemies looked like ordinary men. Some looked like middle-schoolers.


    He''d shot them without hesitation or remorse. They''d had guns. He had to do it. It was them or him. Do or die. It was one of the things his squad had admired about him; that he could make decisions so far, give directions, move. And somehow, it had never occured to him to think about those kids.. as kids. Not just enemies.


    He woke up, covered in sweat; indigestion from too much pizza combined with the horrific spiced rum that was the only alcohol in his fridge; if he found out which of his squad-mates told Mike that was his favorite, he''d track him down and fill his boots with scorpions. After a few unpleasant minutes in the bathroom, he decided to take a walk, clear his head..


    A quick shower. Some green shorts and a tank-top, more appropriate for the hot summer night it had become; and the same old tattered cowboys hat. He needed to get more hats. He didn''t even like the cowboys.


    When he emerged from the elevator, walking out into the evening air, he decided to simply take a walk. Check out the complex, maybe say hi to any neighbors still awake. He''d seen a little awning with some vending machines, and heard a rumor they''d started making some that could confirm your ID and sell beer; maybe he''d find one of those.


    But instead, he heard a scream. Shouting voices. ''Stop! You''re gonna kill him!'' The normal reaction of any apartment dweller would be to, logically, call the police. Get back home. Avoid problems.


    But of course, Jason wasn''t normal. He was overconfident; believing that with his new ability, and his existing skills as a soldier, he could handle anything. Even if it were metas!


    A quick jog, heading for the corner, keeping his eyes and ears open... and he came around the corner.


    Two men; tall, white. Maybe russian? Both wearing black slacks, leather jackets. One was repeatedly hitting a boy on the ground... was that Tyler? Alternating between kicking him and swinging a club. The other was brandishing a gun. A few onlookers were staying back, clearly afraid of getting shot; mostly boys around Tyler''s age; maybe 14, 15.


    There was screaming; the boy on the ground was beyond screaming, just giving a spasm of pain each time a blow connected. The man holding the handgun yelling out... ''Stay back!'' while the attacker was shouting on his own.. ''Stay down motherfucker!''


    He could see it. Clear as day. If he stepped around that corner, the man with the gun wouldn''t see him at first. For the first few seconds, he''d be clear. He could make it to the guy trying to kill the poor boy before even being spotted.


    Did he have any weapons on him? Of course. He left his gun in his duffel bag like an idiot, but he had his knife. And while bringing a knife to a gun-fight was a terrible idea under most circumstances, for him...


    He weighed the options. How he''d need to throw. How hard. The angle.


    Jason sprinted around the corner; tossing the knife one-handed; it slammed into the hand of the gun-wielding attacker, right through his wrist; sending the gun flying through the air and the man screaming as he clutched his suddenly agonized, bleeding arm, the blade wedged right between the bones of his fore-arm; as Jason tackled the other man from behind.


    From his perspective, one moment he''d been kicking the helpless teen; the next, a massive weight had slammed into his back; and driven him face-first into the pavement.


    Jason grabbed the club, gave a single swift swing; and with an audible crack, the attacker was unconscious. The other man looked up in fear, and scrambled to pick up his gun with his left hand; Jason simply moved forward, a quick few steps, every movement he needed to take laid out before him as if he were following a script; yanked the knife out from the man''s fore-arm, and with one quick strike, stabbed it into his back, penetrating his left lung, as his left hand ended up knocking the gun away rather than grasping it.


    Sliding the blade free, he rolled the man over; the man seemed to be grabbing for something on his chest. And thats when Jason saw it.


    A badge. He didn''t recognize which style, but it was definitely a police badge... directly over a black box, some sort of equipment that included a body camera. A body camera with a conveniently placed strip of black tape; this man had been avoiding recording what was going on.


    Jason was too stunned to respond as the man reached a shaking hand up, pressing a button on the camera, and let out a wheeze. "Need.. backup... Officer... Down."


    Jason looked up. The other teens were scattering. The one who had been attacked... definitely Tyler, now that he got a good look at him... was lying limp on the ground. Was he a drug dealer? Did he attack these cops? Why were these men beating him? For a moment, Jason considered finishing the cop off. The first one had never seen his face. He could get away, free and clear. He''d covered up his own camera. If Jason took the club and the knife...


    The officer fell unconscious; whether from the agony of trying to breathe with blood filling one of his lungs or something else, Jason wasn''t sure... but for right now.. No.


    These were clearly bad guys. Doing something they felt the need to hide; crooked cops. Violent, abusive criminals in uniform. But still. Just killing a wounded man lying on the pavement? No. Maybe he''d done that before, in the desert. But this wasn''t the desert. And that isn''t who he was anymore.


    Taking the club; and cleaning the blood off his knife by wiping it on the officer''s pants; he sprinted back for cover... only belatedly realizing that somewhere during the conflict, he''d lost the old cowboys hat. After a brief moment of even more intense panic, he stopped to retrieve it, and headed back for his apartment.


    With the cameras off, and both officers knocked out... or possibly dead.. he had a narrow window in which he could prepare to run. If it turned out he didn''t need to? Great. But for right now... If that cop survived, he''d seen a three-eyed man stab him and knock out his buddy. He''d be looking at assault with a deadly weapon. Maybe attempted murder; sure as hell the cops would lie about what happened.


    And if he died? Eventually, they''d figure it out. One of the other boys there would talk. Maybe the audio from the cameras was still working. Did he say anything? He couldn''t remember. He hadn''t meant to. Bootprints? Who knows. They could do all sorts of things with forensics these days.


    He needed to go. And right now.

 5 - Come on, take the money and run!

    Standing in his apartment, Jason was faced with an extremely delicate situation, and a choice which, ultimately, he''d already made. Take the money and run. He took stock of his assets. Car he would need to ditch. 10mm Handgun, two clips. Government-issue laptop he couldn''t take with him. Clothes. A bank account with a fair amount of cash to withdraw.


    But... most of that couldn''t happen til morning. Which was still hours away. If the cop woke up by then... Okay. One step at a time.


    Checking his phone, he verified the information for the dealership he''d be selling his car at; and headed out. Duffel bag over his shoulder once again, laptop taking a spin in the apartment microwave, he left the apartment for the second time; and the last time. Heading downstairs to retrieve his car, he made a list, tallying up in his head where to go from here, what to do... as he could hear the machines whirring beneath him... and see the cop cars off in the lot; after all, there was an active crime scene not a quarter mile away.


    Step 1: Get daily limit from the ATM.


    Step 2: Get a burner phone.


    Step 3: Get as much useful gear as possible.


    Step 4: Sell the old car if possible and buy a used one off craigslist with cash.


    Step 5: Get the hell out of DC.


    By the time his car arrived, however, another problem presented itself. A teenager. Another dark-skinned boy, with sagging pants, a bandanna; possibly one of the witnesses? Things had been so hectic he couldn''t be sure. The boy... young man, really.. walked up closer, and glanced around as the Mustang slid up from below.


    "You did Tyler a solid. So we do you a solid. You bugging out, right? Got any friends who can help with that?"


    Jason thought for a moment, tossing his duffel into the back seat. Should he trust this kid? Hell. He sure as hell couldn''t trust the cops. "Not on this side of the ocean. I can get cash... until they know who I am. If you know someone who is good for some less-than-legal ordinance, or a fake ID, I''d appreciate it. Gonna head out west."


    The young man tilted his head, looking at Jason as if he were an idiot. "Nobody on the run goes out west, man. That''s Lightning country. But yeah. I know somebody. ID is on the house; or on Tyler, you might say. You hadn''t showed up, he''d be dead. Guns will cost you."


    A low chuckle. "Of course. Guns are never free. Who are we talking about?"


    A quick, hushed conversation. Directions. Instructions. And with his mustang finally retrieved, Jason took one last look at the complex. Nice, fancy, new apartments he''d never see again, despite having the next two months paid up. He gave a sad shake of his head as he pulled out of the complex.. heading into the unknown.


    ***


    When he pulled up behind the pawn shop, a garage door slid open invitingly; and with a hand on his pistol, Jason drove right in, and shut off the engine. He hopped out of the car, hand still in his pocket, and looked around... to meet the gaze of a pair of large, heavily armed men with what could best be described as a greasy look to them.


    The first; with a submachinegun in his hand, albeit not pointed at anything at present, stepped up. "Got word from one of our regulars. You did something foolish, helped one of them. We''ll get you set with fake ID. He said you might want some guns, yes?"


    "Not so much guns. I''ve got this.." Jason pulled his 10mm out, carefully aiming it away. "For most work. But if the cops come after me, there might be a Meta involved, so I was wanting to check if you had any shrouds, bursters, or tears. Oh... and I''m gonna be selling this baby at the dealer in about six hours for twenty-five grand. Could use something harder to trace. Bike, compact, something small."


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    The man took a look at the mustang. "Time is of the essence, yes? I will trade you a motorcycle, and grenades, for the car. Two of each. Not best of motorcycles. Older. But also not in your name."


    Jason looked down at the car. "I doubt the cops will be onto me early enough to stop me from selling her... but still. Its an appealing offer. Means I could be out of town immediately instead of in six hours. Throw in a few grand and a couple extra mags full of 10mm, I''ll take it."


    The two men look at each other. The one doing the speaking so far sounded just slightly russian; but Jason was a terrible judge of that sort of thing. They could be russian mob, italian mob... or just a couple of random crooks who happen to be in a gang Tyler had worked with. The speaker gave a quick nod. "Three thousand? Done. BRICE model, yes?" "Yep. Over two hundred miles per gallon. Has like six trackers in it, though I removed all of them when I bought it. You got the bike here?"


    ***


    Jason was not particularly happy with the bike; for one thing, it was older than he was, of some weird antique name called ''Hodaka''; which had apparently been heavily modified, given neon lights, and a complete lack of class. He also wasn''t happy with the grenades; the ones he was used to carrying were about the size of a baseball, clearly purpose-built for the job, and made by the US government specifically for helping soldiers facing off against speedsters, brutes, and other sorts common bullets might not be that useful against.


    These? 40mm grenades, clearly made to go out of a launcher, but with an improvised detonator hooked on. Clearly eastern european models, probably cold-war era equipment made by some former soviet state that was worried about all of the metas that kept leaving them for better countries. Which, of course, meant they were almost as old as the bike. Still.


    They seemed servicable enough, as did the bike. And after stopping at a few wal-marts, he had a few more important things; each time, he''d stopped to get a cheap burner phone, pull some cash out of the ATM; and then left. Carefully parking outside of camera range and swapping from his new bike helmet to the cowboys hat each time.


    The helmet was particularly nice; the whole front was like a two-way mirror rather than having a visor. He wasn''t sure where they''d acquired it... but apparently it went with the bike. As he entered Tennessee heading west, he took stock of what he had on him with the sun starting to rise.


    Six grand in cash. Nine burner phones, all set up, all different numbers, all currently seperated from their batteries. One new fake ID; apparently he was an irish immigrant named Jason Byrne; something which brought quite a few chuckles from the man assembling the ID, while Jason himself thought the whole thing was nonsense; even on his best day, with no extra eyeballs, Jason had never looked as good as Matt Damon.


    One 10mm pistol; the fancy things had been built by some genius Meta back in the 90s, and become popular military side-arms. Plenty of stopping power, caseless ammunition; let you have a good-sized clip, more stopping power, and less weight than the 9mm that had been popular beforehand.


    And of course the grenades. As soon as he got the chance, he was going to get a proper launcher. Maybe one of those sorts that could fire off a few in quick succession. Always looked cool in that terminator movie.


    But... what was he going to do?


    As he rode down the long highway, heading off towards the west, he thought through his options.


    If the cop turned out to be dead, all of this was pointless; he would probably be able to go back to that apartment in a week and relax. If he was alive, though? And ID''d the three-eyed man? Cops generally didn''t make that big an attempt to take cop-killers alive. He''d seen the videos from that one shootout in the woods; the man had his hands up in his cabin long before the cops stopped shooting.


    And even before the incident with Tyler he''d never really been a big fan. The cops back at his hometown liked to fund the whole department by writing a hundred BS tickets a day to everybody who drove by on the highway. When he was still alive, his dad liked to say the cops were about as useful as tits on a boar, and as crooked as the day was long.


    Now? Well. Seeing the videos was one thing. Seeing what was clearly a criminal murderer in person, and only realizing it was a cop after he''d stopped him mid-crime? Worse.


    So he''d need to go into hiding somewhere. Isolated, not too many people. For that, he''d need money. Not just a few grand; that would get him started, but not keep him going. He''d need to go to some middle of nowhere spot in Wyoming, or Alaska, somewhere there were more critters on hooves than people, get some land, a cabin... and just vanish.


    Keeping an eye on the interstate signs ahead, he pondered scamming Rollins out of that signing bonus for the TSA. Maybe he could get it before showing up for work? Nah. There were two easy answers.


    First, he was gonna try vegas. See if he could make some money rolling dice. If the casinos didn''t catch on too fast, somebody who could see a few seconds into the future could turn a crapshoot into a pretty much guaranteed chance. That would be the easy way. Nobody gets hurt, the only attention he gets is from some pissed-off casinos, and then he''s on his way north.


    If that didn''t work? Well, he could always go into bank robbery.

 6 - Gamblers Anonymous

    Long before he left Tennessee, on the seemingly endless drive through interstate, Jason decided to take a break, get off the bike, grab a bite to eat, stretch his legs... only to realize that he would look fairly awkward doing everything in his helmet, and that that description the cops gave might even include his cowboy hat. A quick stop-over at a costume shop left Jason with some... not exactly realistic, but not that terrible... masks.. and a few minutes of work with a knife and a wig allowed him to look... well. Anyone who looked at his face would assume he''d gotten a really bad plastic surgery job so long as the tape held, and if they didn''t look close, he''d be okay.


    And so, he settled in to eat at a truck stop just outside Jackson, calmly chatting with a waitress and enjoying some of the worst steak he''d ever had; but damn if it didn''t feel good to just relax and eat after driving a motorcycle for eight hours straight. Even better, while his face had attracted a few odd looks, nobody had seemed to care; he seemed less like a freak and more just, well. Ugly.


    The waitress; pretending to flirt and be nice in the way they so often did; faked an interest in his journey; or at least, thats what Jason assumed. When he mentioned he was planning to visit vegas, hit a few casinos now that he was back in the states, she brought up that as soon as he crossed state lines he could find casinos, even as close as Memphis; which Jason had not even realized crossed through into multiple states. Leaving a nice tip for the young lady, he snapped a battery in his first burner phone, googled casinos in Memphis; and headed off for the South Memphis Casino and Hotel.


    ***


    The sun had gone down by the time he reached the casino; and the casino itself wasn''t quite what he expected. Used to the images of tall, towering structures with glitzy lights, the more subdued building; only maybe two floors tall, with a fancy enough sign and a strip of rainbow-colored lights across the front, it honestly looked almost like someone had put a fancy facade on a wal-mart.


    Walking into the building, the guards at the door waved him right by; each of them had a body-camera on, which recorded the faces of those who entered. The asked one man to take off his sunglasses; what lunatic wears those at night anyway; just so they could get his face on camera.


    His mask seemingly worked just well enough to avoid that; was it good enough to avoid having the cops show up in ten minutes? He absently walked over to a slot machine, feeding in a 20, and surveyed the room. Actual physical roulette and craps tables. Blackjack tables, poker tables... and of course digital versions in rows not that far from the slots.


    Some metas could cheat digital systems; so of course none of it gave out cash, and if you were someone who could cheat, well. Best get out fast; someone in security would probably be watching everyone suspicious.


    He decided the best way to start out would be simple, direct. Play a few hands of black-jack, then move on to craps... see which ones his powers could work on, and then try to win just enough to come out well, without drawing too much attention.


    Buying five hundred worth of chips, he headed over to the blackjack table; the bearded, older man dealing gave a smile and nod as he dealt out to the two older ladies currently whispering and muttering to each other as they played; mostly speaking in gestures and waving cards rather than speaking to him.


    He focused after the dealer laid out the cards, before he was dealt in. All he had to do was imagine... and there. The dealer had a ten, showing a seven. The two old ladies.. a queen and an ace. A five and a nine. If he snagged the top of the deck... six. Five. Three.


    This was perfect. Giving a low grin to the dealer, smug and confident, he laid down his first hundred-dollar chip; and started betting.


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    ***


    After about fifteen minutes, he was elated. Confident. Nobody seemed to be watching him, security-wise, and he was up by about five grand. Plenty for one night. If he hit a dozen casinos in vegas.. hell, just hit all of them, the place must have tons... then he could party there for a week, get out, and have enough to fund his retirement plans without ever having to do anything.. obviously... criminal. And hell, the casinos cheated folks every day; didn''t seem like much of a moral dilemma.


    Heading back to cash in an arm-load of chips, he stopped to play the slots one last time... and of course, dropped himself down another 20. At the front counter, turning in his chips, he smiled expansively at the woman behind the desk; a cute red-head name Selene wearing a ridiculous uniform with a checkered vest over her button-up shirt. "I''d like to go ahead and cash in my chips please. I think I''ll be getting a room for the night, maybe playing a bit more before I head out."


    The woman smiled at him, nodded, loading the chips into a machine, which totaled them up as she fed them inside... and looked behind Jason. Jason could see the hand take his shoulder from behind before he felt it.. and decided to just let it land, to avoid giving away just what he could do.


    The man behind him was... over seven feet tall. Massive. Powerful. Had an oddly smooth, stone-like face; not a bit of facial hair; practically a living, breathing, statue of polished stone. "Hello there, sir. Before you collect your winnings, my boss would like to have a word with you."


    Jason glanced back at the girl. The drawer was locked, the chips away... she hadn''t even started top pull the cash out. And likely wouldn''t. They decided something was going on while he was out on the floor, and just waited for him to come collect. Nice and easy.


    "And what if I''d like to just get a room for the night, collect my winnings, and chat with your boss in the morning?"


    The woman behind him spoke up. "We''re legally allowed to request... and verify.. and ID before letting you leave with the winnings."


    The stone man gave a low chuckle. "If you really want to stay the night, the boss will let you... but he''ll be running a check on you before letting you go in the morning. Your behavior today was... suspicious. And while we have no proof you were cheating, we''re perfectly within our rights to verify you before handing over anything.. and pass your information along so that other casinos can keep an eye on you."


    Jason looked him over for a moment. He could blind the man, rob the place, and go. Or he could try out a different mask... maybe get someone a bit more artisticly inclined to work on it.


    "Before you try anything stupid.. I am completely bulletproof. Those little tenners are a nice new upgrade on the old fashioneds, I use one myself... but you might as well be slapping me with a wet noodle."


    No. Not worth it. "I think... I''m going to just leave the chips here and go. This amount of cash isn''t really worth my time... or antagonizing your boss."


    He turns, starting to walk away from the counter. At first, the big man is a bit surprised; but then he starts to follow; surprisingly quiet for such a massive, heavy figure.


    "That verifying part isn''t optional. One way or another.." A hand reaches for his shoulder again.


    He was actually surprised by how quickly he was able to move. Jason saw the hand coming.. and before he''d even completed the stretch, that simple 10-mm pistol was leveled on the man''s right eye. The man blinked, and backed up a step.. the pistol remaining dead center on his pupil.


    "Those eyes look pretty fleshy. And while I don''t want to antagonize your boss, you don''t want to antagonize me either; Would be interesting to see if it blinds you or kills you. So lets just agree to disagree and forget we ever met, yes?"


    The man remained in place; clearly shaking with anger, as Jason backed away... and then sprinted out the door for his bike. He''d parked outside of camera range, and the casino wasn''t exactly surrounded by tons of populated places... but still. He might have just burned this new bike; and would certainly need something better to cover his face.


    And, well. If this pathetic casino in Memphis was onto him so easily, and for so little money... hitting up Vegas was a lost cause. Which left quite a few less options.


    So... bank robbery. One bank robbery, and he could be done. None of this petty store stuff. He needed to plan it out, get in, get out, and get gone.


    As he rode off into the distance, he glanced back at the casino. Well, damn. If only it had worked, it would''ve been so much better a solution. Sure, a bank would be insured, nobody would really get hurt. But he''d have to pull a gun, maybe hurt somebody. Not exactly ideal, but... well. Needs must as the devil drives.


    So how would he decide just which bank to rob...

 7 - Planning, Preperation, and Perspiration

    So, robbing a bank. It wasn''t something to do casually; you needed a plan. Equipment. To make it worthwhile, it needed to be the right bank, on the right day. During the week, most banks didn''t have enough cash on hand to make it worthwhile; you either wanted to hit them right after a delivery, or after tons of people had brought in cash; and you couldn''t predict the latter.


    Granted, first, he needed a new car. Preferably a van, or.. While searching through Craigslist ads, he found a listing for an old Ford truck. Really old; before all the latest engine innovations, one of those pieces of junk that still got less than twenty miles per gallon. Selling for, of course, dirt cheap; nobody wanted one of those for anything other than a farm truck that would only go for a few miles at a time.


    Looking over the beat-up, rusted piece of junk selling for less than a grand, he broke out in a grin. That would be perfect. Could fit the bike in the back, cover it with a tarp, and have tons of other gear space. And screw the expensive gas; after he robbed the bank, he''d get a better car. Somewhere far, far away.


    Two days later, he pulled into Crater City Colorado in an antique truck, with the product of a handful of other Craigslist sales in the back. Solar panels. A tent. Paints. Tools. All sorts of random nonsense, leaving the back of his truck looking like a well-worn work truck driven by someone who worked for a living. The tent, of course, had a purpose; after the job, he''d probably be camping out in the wilderness for a while, letting the heat die down, while laundering the money as slowly as he could stand. And even more importantly, right now, it was covering the bike; a nice, quick, emergency getaway that could outrun most of the cop cars.


    But... not Lightning.


    He stopped at a La Quinta Inn; a fairly nice, budget, hotel; told them he was in town for work, and managed to avoid giving them a card by paying a full week up front; they still wanted to see an ID, however, and he responded with one of the fakes; a nice, blurry, terrible rendition of his face that would be worthless in the future.


    While the place had a pool, a gym, vending machines, and was overall nice and clean, it had a far more important feature; there were three banks within sight of the window he''d chosen. Two cameras in place, a laptop setup to record... and he could start gathering information on the comings and goings of the employees of Crater City Credit, Colorado Bank and Trust, and ColCorp West.


    The banks were all directly connected to the highway less than a quarter-mile away; a nice, long, clear path with trees overhanging it in dozens of sections, making overwatch with a sattelite or helicopter impossible. Anyone that could outrun his pursuers long enough to make the highway could simply turn off in one of dozens of spots... and vanish.


    When the time came, his truck, and his tent, would be in one of these spots; somewhere he could legally camp; and he''d have a hole with some loose brush he could pile over it to hide his bike. He''d escape with as much cash as he could carry out on the bike, ride out here, hide the cash and the bike... and if some cops happened by? He''d be cooking some sausages over a campfire.


    Watching the banks would be a long, boring process; but he''d probably need to do it for at least a couple of weeks. Make sure he was seeing patterns and not one-off events. When is the cash delivered?


    The first day, he got to see the standard closing; and after-hours; process at the CCC. A few employees; a couple of pretty young women, both blonde, and an older, darker-haired woman. The younger women waited at the door; the older activated an alarm; and the three all walked out, locking the door on the way.


    The vault, of course, had already been closed and secured. And if he recalled correctly, there should be a time-lock; at this point, even if you broke in, unless you melted the door down you''d be unable to get in til morning; and if you did melt the door down? Well. An alarm. And within seconds.. Lightning.


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    ***


    Every country had speedsters on the payroll, at least one or two. People who could outrun a car, or a helicopter, were fairly common; thousands of them. Metas who could dodge bullets? Hundreds. None of them were quite like Lightning, however.


    A Titan in the truest sense of the word, Mark Maxwell''s speed was limited only by the laws of physics; and seemed to bend those fairly well. His first sprint after gaining his powers had been well past Mach 10; and the casualties involved astronomical, including some of his friends and family. A drunk driver had hopped a curb, almost hitting Mark and his sister; and Mark had grabbed his sister, run across the street; and by the time he stopped, had generated a sonic shockwave that killed his sister, the driver, hundreds of people in nearby traffic and homes, causing massive destruction.


    All by moving 30 feet at a speed somewhere between the speeds of sound and light; but according to the doctors who studied him; the only reason he couldn''t exceed the speed of light would be due to the simple fact it would cause the destruction of the planet.


    Jason had heard of Lightning; he''d trained to deal with Speedsters in the army. And by trained to deal with, it had basically come down to something simple. As soon as one guy gets hit by a speedster; everybody deploys Shroud grenades. They create a cloud of particles that, if the speedster tries to pass through at too great a speed, they get shredded. The truly high-end ones like Lightning could actually vibrate in some strange way to pass through air molecules without creating shockwaves; its why he could effectively patrol several entire states; cruising down 500 miles of interstate in a second; dodging flecks of dust as if they were walls in his path.


    But if it wasn''t just air? If it was dirt, dust, smoke, water.. a whole blend of different kinds of molecules? They''d have to slow down. Massively. Criminals in the past had tried to deal with Lightning by using tear gas grenades, or setting off sprinkler systems. He''d responded by forming a vortex to pull the gas out, or simply phasing through water and causing shockwaves in the air, blowing out windows but not killing anyone.


    And with that sort of precision, and speed? Lightning had turned the midwest into a retirement ground for heroes. Once you couldn''t cut it anymore, were too old, too slow, the government would drop you here; Colorado had an official metahuman response team based out of Denver, but all of them were retired members of associations from the coasts; and generally only saw much work during blizzards and other situations that forced him to slow down.


    And of course, the moment the bank set off the alarm... Lightning would be there. Within seconds. And if he wasn''t already gone when the alarm went off? He needed a plan to deal with it.


    A normal shroud grenade wouldn''t do the job. A billowing cloud of dust wouldn''t do the job even if it was made up of all sorts of things; Lightning would see it, suck the air out of the bank, kick the grenade out a window, and then grab his target.


    Hitting the sprinklers wouldn''t work. Sure, he would have to slow down; phase through the water instead of the air. But even still... he could probably outrun bullets without killing everyone with a shockwave.


    So this called for a different solution. Most things just wouldn''t work. Fortunately, Jason had an advantage that nobody else did when dealing with a speedster.


    Jason could see him coming. Know where he would be, seconds before he would be there. Which made the solution obvious. he started breaking apart the Shroud grenades, carefully disassembling the tiny cannisters inside, each designed to spray out a different material to form the vile-smelling but non-toxic clouds the grenades were so well known for.


    Jason assembled what would be, hopefully, his one-time-only ''Supervillain'' outfit. A simple leather jacket, with a strap for the grenades, and a couple of generic leather bags -just- big enough to fit in the saddlebags of his motorcycle. A few ''Smoke bombs''.. not made so much to cloud out a room, but to set off a smoke detector, and thus the sprinklers. The primary component of these would be... well. Hair. A cheap wig, chopped into bits, dipped in oil, and wrapped around some firecrackers. And, well. If anybody asked? He was Eyeball. Painting a pupil and a few veins on that shiny reflective helmet would work for that purpose.


    He hadn''t even done it, but he could smell it already. He would toss them into the bank, set them off, and head in as soon as the sprinklers came on.


    The only question, of course, was which bank, and when. Best case scenario? He could avoid triggering alarms, never see Lightning, and be gone. If he actually ran into the hero, and actually to win? Well then. The cops always took their time showing up when Lightning was on the job; they knew he''d handle things. He could probably just rob all three banks; or at least two; before he left.


    So he had his plan. Now, all he needed to do was keep an eye out, decide the best time to strike.. and just keep getting ready. The better prepared you were, the better things went.


    Though of course... no plan survives contact with the enemy, as they say.

 8 - CCC, Mark Maxwell

    Jason''s planning came to a head two weeks later. By now, the hotel staff knew him fairly well; greeting him by his fake name; this time, Jason Lane; slightly less memorable than ''Byrne'', by his considerations. The room had become comfortable. Familiar. He no longer had difficulty sleeping on the too-comfortable bed in the too-cold room. He still had a nasty habit of leaping to his feet and grabbing his gun at the slightest noise from the surrounding rooms; but that would likely follow him for years to come.


    He''d finally seen the news report about his own crime during the second week. He was being sought in connection with assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder of a police officer, obstruction of justice; all sorts of nonsense. They had his picture, his name, everything; and of course, warned that he was a former soldier, to be considered armed and extremely dangerous; a D-grade Meta but one who should be approached by a swat team, not regular police.


    Good to know he hadn''t fled town for nothing. But if it took over a week for the guy to wake up, he could''ve at least scammed the airport out of that signing bonus... Ahh, well. Back to business.


    Watching the three banks gave him a fair amount of information;


    Crater City Credit received a visit from an armored truck once each week; on thursday morning they would load up the vault; and before the bank opened, a guard from the bank rather than the truck company would come with the staff to load up the ATM outside. While the bank guard seemed professional but only bore a vest and a handgun, the guard for the truck seemed dangerous; the weapon he carried was some sort of rifle, clearly made to take out meta-humans; and the armored truck had a guard behind the wheel at all times. In fact.. the second guy stayed in the back, with the cash, except when he was walking the delivery in with the bank crew. After the bank closed for the night, a cleaning crew came in, disposed of the trash; clearly the vault and all cash was fully locked up at this point.


    Colorado Bank and Trust was visited twice the first week, once the second; monday, thursday, and tuesday. No way to predict when it would next arrive without getting word from the inside, or, maybe, planning things out for weeks in advance. The same truck, the same company, the same methods. The staff must be required to clean up themselves; no cleaning crew, nobody else entered after close.


    Lastly, ColCorpWest; CCW. This place was either ridiculously busy, or kept much less cash on-hand; a different armored car company came by every day; smaller, lighter vehicle. The guards didn''t look to be as well-armed, more ordinary side-arms, but they used the same method; one guard was always in the driver''s seat, while the other was always in the back. Good, logical setups. And, of course, the same cleaning crew from CCC worked here; they came in and cleaned up after the first one entered.


    He checked each one out in person; and while he wore a surgical mask over his face, he was forced to reveal his poorly-made-up face; the mask had even smeared it each time; before entering the CBT and CCC. They actually said he was fine wearing it inside; but he needed to pull the mask and look at the camera, then he could put it back on, or leave.


    Ultimately speaking, CCC seemed to be the best target. The armored truck would leave about an hour before the bank opened. Then the ATM would be filled half an hour later. Any vault would have a timer on it, and they''d probably open it just before the truck arrived, load it all up, and then use a lighter, less secure door they could open and close to let people into the safety deposit boxes to seal things until they closed for the day.


    So... Hit the place before they open. Grab all the cash before they load the ATM. Get the hell out. End of story.


    When thursday morning came along, Jason was ready. His truck was hidden off the interstate, tent all set; he''d finished that before midnight. His hotel room packed up; but he was paid through the end of the third week. His bike? A fake plate on it, a bad spray-paint paintjob applied.. and hidden behind a dumpster just out of camera view.


    He watched the armored truck pull away, carrying its guard and whatever threat that weapon posed... probably none, but who knows. After a quick check-up, making sure all his gear was in place; his helmet secure; in five minutes they''d be loading the ATM. Those cylinders they stuffed with cash for the tiny vault inside it were either freshly loaded, or in the process. Now or never.


    Inhaling deeply, Jason sprinted forward; he knew where the power lines came in. He knew where the phone and internet lines were; and rapidly cut the latter pair with some wire snips, before dropping them to the concrete; he''d never touched them without gloves, not even when he bought them at that yard sale; lit off his improvised incendiary grenade.. and shattered a window with a swift kick from a steel-toed boot, hurling the device inside.


    He hadn''t thought the glass was bulletproof; and the satisfying crash as the glass scattered informed him that this was the case... and the sprinklers inside going off as he stepped inside, drawing his pistol with his right hand... and his customized Shroud grenade with his left. He cleared his throat for a moment to make sure the digitizer he''d slapped into his helmet; mostly just a badly malformed jailbroken android phone; was working.


    "Alright everybody! This is a robbery! Bring out all the cash and nobody gets hurt!" It seemed a bit ridiculous to be shouting that in the empty lobby; he charged forward, the bank currently flashing and buzzing with the fire alarm, the heavy vault door wide open; but a secondary metal-barred door sealing it shut, showing a cart with drawers that would likely go to the teller line laid atop it. Leaping the front counter of the bank, and smashing through the side-door; sliding a few steps afterwards as he found himself in a small room; three women were standing there, panicked, afraid, rapidly becoming soaking wet from the sprinkler system; and four long metal cylinders, one containing hundred-dollar bills, two containing twenties, and one containing fifties, were laid out on the counter.


    "Or, well. Convenient enough, that." A quick assessment. Those four chunks of metal contained well over fifty thousand dollars; if the one of hundreds was all the way full, over a hundred thousand. "I''ll take these. One of you load them into the bag. Whoever has the key to that door out there is gonna open the vault."


    The bank guard was standing there, looking torn between grabbing his pistol and reaching for the ceiling. He could predict the guards actions easy enough. He wasn''t a threat. No need to shoot. "Drop the gun, do what I say, and nobody gets hurt. I''m Eyeball; never killed a civilian yet.. in this country... and I''d like to keep it that way."


    The guard seemed to settle on his decision; Jason gave a nod as he dropped the gun; and raised his hands. One of the women shoved the heavy metal containers into his bag; it couldn''t close, but then, he hadn''t been close enough to see how big these things were before. "All of you, together. To the vault."


    As the group, crying, one woman clearly on the verge of collapse, moved out the door at gunpoint, Jason saw something... a movement. A movement that hadn''t happened yet. Fuck.


    He yanked the pin on his ''Jason Special'', tossed it in the lobby; and heard a loud ''pop'', followed by the spluttering sound of something spraying into the air, invisible among the falling water droplets. A sudden, loud crack.


    Lightning... the fastest man alive, generally regarded as the most powerful, dangerous man on earth, in a vivid blue-white uniform of a blue base with streaks of lightning across its whole form; appeared as if out of nowhere, slamming face-first into the counter, and collapsing to the floor, making a loud groan of pain; his body covered with dozens of tiny red splotches of blood.


    Well. As Jason looked down at him; and the woman who''d been worst off before simply fainted to the floor; those red splotches... seemed to be fading. Shrinking before his eyes. Any second now, the man would be on his feet, and Jason would be dead. Or in prison. He lifted his handgun; three shots. Loud cracks that briefly overwhelmed the cacophony of the fire alarm and sprinkler combo. Turned back to the two remaining, standing, women; one blonde, one red-head. Name-tags...


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    "Well, Tammy? I''d still prefer to keep my civilian kill count at zero; that gentleman certainly didn''t count as a civilian. But if you take too long opening that door, it''ll be


    "Come on now, ladies, times wasting. The vault."


    ***


    Mark Maxwell led, from his perspective, a boring life. His ridiculously accelerated time rate.. one that apparently settled, at minimum, around fifty times normal, and didn''t have an upper limit.. had led to fame. Fortune. A bottomless appetite. A ridiculous number of secondary casualties. And a complete lack of meaningful personal relationships.


    He''d dated five other speedsters before; nice women. Generally attractive as well; this particular powerset tended to turn its owner into a slim, lean figure with muscles in all the right places and just enough fat to stay healthy. The papers generally assumed he dated dozens of women; maybe multiple at a time without anyone possibly knowing, since he kept his personal life so secretive.


    But no. His life was... boring.


    His ''Viewing Room'' was where he spent most of his time. Five hundred tablets; each containing a single page of his current book; a Stephen King work that he hadn''t read yet, just released; a rare treasure. The walls were covered with them, networks of charging cables forming to keep all of them topped off.


    He would read a page, tap the screen to send it to the next book he would read; and then turn to look at the next tablet. It would take a few seconds for the screen to change pages, which meant that, from his perspective, he could read all... four hundred and fifty-nine... pages of this book, then go take a walk and look out at the same mountain view he''d seen millions of times before... and come back in to start the next book.


    Books over five hundred pages were a bit frustrating; he could spend a few hours reading, or, well. Fractions of a second... and then have to wait for the second half to load. The Wheel of Time had been particularly frustrating in that regard; he''d sometimes had to change the pages three times for one book, and with all the convoluted connections from book to book, he''d ended up spending what would''ve been weeks worth of his internal time going over it again to really understand it.. and be frustrated that a healer hadn''t reached the author in time to save him.


    Halfway through his current reading, an alarm clicked on. He casually walked into the next room; setting a pin in the wall next to the tablet he''d been reading; and checked out the alarm. Ooh, a bank had just lost its internet connection, and had called out to report a fire alarm via cell seconds later? Nice. Either he was about to nab himself a bank robber, or there was a legitimate fire, and he could save someone! Perfect.


    Stepping out the door of his home into the clean mountain air, he inhaled deeply, appreciating the crisp morning breeze; and carefully tuned himself in. Finding the right frequency to shift his body at, allowing him to pass through air molecules, would let him achieve almost infinite speed in the low-humidity mountain environment; and when he reached the ground, with less than 1%?


    Each long, loping stride covered hundreds of yards; he could feel the faint wisps of that tiny bit of humidity pushed aside as he passed; noticable; the folks driving down the interstate might see a brief flicker of disturbance; but not enough to cause the sort of devastating shockwaves he''d be causing without his vibration.


    For them, seconds would pass. Probably less than a second, even. For him, thanks to the unfortunate reality of things like black ice, he actually had to pay attention as he ran; so the distance of 507 miles would feel to him like half an hour or so.


    He thought about his long career in hero-work. At first, trying to make up for the problems caused when he first developed powers; all the deaths and destruction. Then his attempts at dating... and discovering that, like most first-gen mutants, he was completely infertile. The radiation exposure his mother had suffered while he was in the womb hadn''t just altered his DNA enough to give him powers... it had made sure he would be the last of his family name.


    Even if he could have kids, dealing with women who had to make an extreme effort to keep up with him.. well. It wasn''t fair to them to be so angry.


    And then... Crater City. He paused for a moment in his run, stopping at his favorite donut shop; they had some absurd donut they called the ''Crater''; and helping himself to a dozen, leaving a twenty on the tray; slowing down to a more casual walk as he approached the bank, eating them one by one... and then gently folding the box, and leaving it floating above the trash can; sure to be quite loud to whoever happened across it later.


    Looking at the bank from the outside, he couldn''t see much; water falling from the sprinklers in the ceiling. As he stepped through the hole in the glass, he shifted.. changing his ''frequency'', matching up with the water instead of the air. He couldn''t move nearly as quickly now; he''d have to deal with all the shockwaves he''d make in the air; but more than fast enough to deal with any normal human, and even ninety-nine percent of other Speedsters.


    He walked over to the counter, seeing the group; slowly, sluggishly, moving out the door; three women. Pretty. Young. Scared. An older man; heavy-set, a guard uniform. And some lunatic with a shiny motorcycle helmet and some poorly-drawn Eyeball logo on it.


    Good lord, is this what it was coming to for new supervillains? Idiot probably called himself ''the eyeball''. Was he even a supervillain? Hah.


    As he headed towards the counter, he could see... a Shroud grenade? Oh, maybe not so unprofessional. A good mix of water, dust, ash, whatever else that thing had might slow him down enough for a mid-grade speedster to be able to get away. But clearly a dud; nothing was in the air but water, despite the grenade clearly having gone off before he arrived.


    As he hopped over the dud, avoiding it just in case it was mid-detonation and about to start spraying debris at supersonic speeds, he suddenly felt... a sharp pain in his chest. His arm. His legs. Something... something in the air. Invisible? No... it just... looked like water. No!


    As the droplet-sized projectiles were driven through his flesh by his own enormous momentum, he could feel flesh tearing, bones breaking... and he lost control, tripping, slamming into the counter and feeling even more things break. This was... the second-most pain he''d felt in his life.


    Given time... and food... he could heal, even from this. He''d healed from worse, even, that day he''d saved the earth from aliens by playing tungsten javelin and been caught up in the debris formed by his own shockwave. All he needed to recover was a break. A few seconds, a good meal, or some energy bars...


    He wouldn''t get one.


    The bullet hit his heart. That was probably it. With all the other damage, he wouldn''t be able to heal that one. He honestly wasn''t sure if it were even possible. The second bullet was coming for his head. And... he was too weak to dodge. To move. He could slow down time. Watch the bullet as if it were standing still.


    He did just that. There was no hope. No chance of recovery, of survival. None of his limbs were responding; he couldn''t even take this helmeted nutjob with him.


    He thought about his life. All the people he''d saved. The fun, the terror, the joy. He''d been a hero for over 20 years. Subjectively, he''d lived for thousands. With his powers, he could stretch it as far as he''d like. He could turn this last moment, the bullet crawling towards his skull, into another thousand years.


    Perhaps he did just that.


    He''d never be able to speak of it, however; his powers finally faded when that bullet struck, right through his left eye; followed moments later by a second, through his right.


    Lightning, the Titan, one of the most powerful men alive, had died.


    ****


    Before seeing the hero dead, the two women had been panicking. The guard had second thoughts about giving up his gun. But after seeing the casual way this villain had slain such an incredible hero? He was glad he''d dropped the gun.


    The second bag was quickly loaded down with hundreds, fifties; it wasn''t large enough to hold all of the twenties in the vault; Jason stuffed a few more twenties in with the ATM cylinders, gave a salute and a smile... which the poor bank employees couldn''t see.. and, in a final gesture, reached down and grabbed Lightning''s mask; mostly ornamental, everyone knew who Mark Maxwell was; before running back out the door.


    He almost slipped in a puddle of water inside the window; only saved by his own vision of himself slamming ass-first into the tile; and less than a minute after he left the bank, he was on the bike, one bag was secured; it took another thirty seconds to tie the other one shut, holding the cylinders in place; before he took off; motorcycle engine roaring as he sped down the brief intersection onto the highway; breaking quite a few traffic laws as he weaved through the morning rush to get out of town, but then... the cops wouldn''t even be sending out units for another few minutes.


    It had worked! All he needed to do was ditch those bulky cylinders in case they had trackers... and he could move north. Retire. Buy some cabin with cash and start over as.. well. ''Jason Byrne'' still sounded terrible, but it would do.


    However much cash he had in these... he was home free!

 9 - Brain Damage

    The escape was... anticlimactic. No police cars showed up by the time he was out of sight on the highway. Jason swerved onto the highway, waited for a spot where the trees covered the side of the road... and pulled off into the woods. Taking the metal cylinders, pulling wads of hundreds, fifties and twenties out, jamming them in; honestly he didn''t think the ATM cash would have trackers in it, but these cylinders? Probably. He ditched them in the bushes. For the money from the vault... this was about to go into the teller drawers.


    He was reasonably sure there was something alarmed about them, but... was it that each drawer was supposed to have one tracker or alarm, that you should only pull out if it was stolen? He sorted through the pile... but all of it looked good. No stray chips, no stray ink packets... Fine. He''ll camp out for a couple days in the woods, see if anything comes up.


    Using a wire brush, he scraped off the crappy spraypaint from the bike and pulled back out; now with a really hideous-looking, but different-colored bike, a different plate... and with a sad last glance, he had dumped the helmet... and lit it aflame with a bit of gasoline. Pulling back on the road, he was at least a bit less recognizable; and going the wrong direction. He''d already passed his little hole, and now backtracked; pulling up at the campground to see his fire still going, tent still there, truck waiting... and a solar panel charging his laptop.


    The bike would go into a hole, a quarter-mile away, he''d smooth out the make-up covering his third eye, and that hideous fake nose he''d attached.. and now... to sit and wait. Let the heat die down for a bit.


    At first, his thoughts boiled down to whether he could keep the bike. How much money was buried with it, and how long before he should leave. He checked through the ice chest in the truck; pulling out a carton of eggs, a packet of bacon; and started cooking over the fire, setting a cast-iron skillet carefully in place.


    It wasn''t until he''d started feeling he was safe that the events really sank in. He could see Lightning''s face. No eyes. Numerous tiny holes in his body... and three big ones. Exposed brain. Honestly, most of the nose was gone. That mask... the bloody mask. He didn''t have it with him, but he could see it. The man suddenly seeming to appear, like a projectile splattering against the counter.


    His groans of pain. The panic of the tellers. The blood.


    Well, fuck. Was he having second thoughts now? He''d never had this happen before after a fight. Then again... was he smart enough to rob a bank before? He was pretty damn sure that pre-head trauma Jason wouldn''t have bothered with all of that advance planning. Sure as hell wouldn''t have thought of mixing Orbeez and ceramic glass pellets the size of water droplets to make a custom Shroud grenade. Was he going to have a breakdown every time he fought someone!? No. He didn''t after the cops. But then... those cops were bad guys. Worse than he''d ever been, probably.


    And the nightmares. He''d started having nightmares about the deaths in the desert... mostly the kids. But he''d never had a nightmare about that cop. Would he have nightmares about Lightning?


    Okay. Lets look at the facts.


    Before the injury, he just flat-out wasn''t that bright. He was strong, fast, sure. Not as strong or fast as now, but above-average even for a soldier. Now.. he was thinking of things he never would have thought before. Feeling what he never would have. Developing.. well. A conscience.


    And at exactly the wrong goddamn time. The last time he''d had to shoot someone.. and been conscious after... he''d been calm, collected. Might as well have been filling a bucket of water. Some old man with a rifle older than Jason, defending his home, wrong place, wrong time.


    Well. Not like he''d have to keep doing this bullshit. He had a fake ID, and enough cash to buy a place. All he had to do was find some way to launder the money... and he could just disappear. Who the hell would he call to launder money. The easy answer was gambling; just leave with as much as he came in with and he could claim it as gambling winnings. But... after Memphis, the casinos were probably watching for him.


    ...There was a good answer there. Lawyers. He could drop a grand on some lawyer who''d represented supervillains before. Sure as hell they''d be able to steer him right. And anybody who kept... well. People like him.. out of prison wouldn''t have any sort of moral quandaries with it.


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    He flipped out his latest burner phone; thank god smartphones were so cheap now.. at first, he started to run a search for lawyers, for supervillain trials. But no. Obviously they could trace that sort of stuff. Best to do that while on the move.


    So for now, it just left him alone... in the woods, by a fire... eating a late breakfast. He had enough food for a few days... and.. huh. The hotel. He still had a few days left there. They''d seen him, plenty of times; but always with a hat, or a disguise. So... he should be fine. Except... they''d probably piece things together eventually, figure out Jason and Eyeball were one and the same. Unless... he burned down the hotel, killed everyone in it.


    Yeah, not gonna happen. Why would he even think of that?


    He flipped his bacon, and dished the eggs out into a cup; starting the long-familiar practice of eating everything out of a mug and disposable dishes in the middle of nowhere. Honestly... he''d probably sleep better tonight than he did in the hotel.


    Well. Except for remembering Mark''s face. His last, dying moments.


    ***


    "This is Tina Lamarc for Headline news! Breaking news from Crater City, Colorado; During a robbery at the Crater City Credit Union, the superhero commonly known as ''Lightning'', or ''The Speed Titan'', was slain by an armed robber just before the credit union opened this morning. Video from the bank security cameras is now available; warning that this may be disturbing for our younger viewers."


    The heavyset man sitting behind the table slammed both hands down, a broad grin spreading across his face as he watched the video. "Holy fuck! Finally! Somebody did it! Ten years, I had that bounty on that fucker." The other men at the table seemed somewhat reserved. Some equally jubilant. Some afraid.


    One young woman, with dark skin, dyed pink hair dangling down her back, wearing blue tights with a black dagger emblem on the chest, crossed her arms, leaned back, and practically growled. "Damnit, daddy, I wanted to kill him! Can I kill this guy? He stole my kill!"


    As the video played in slow motion; showing the thrown grenade... Lightning appearing, slamming into the counter... and his brutal execution with three shots at point blank range.. ''Daddy'' shook his head. "Sweetheart. This guy just took down Lightning. Don''t get me wrong, doll, you''re absolute murder on just about anybody. But there''s a reason you stayed clear of the midwest... until now."


    He pulled to his feet, turning to the room. "Alright, gentlemen! I''m gonna have to pay out a giant goddamn bounty sometime soon to some dangerous motherfucking Titanslayer! That might suck, but you know what doesn''t? I, Don Russo, am officially declaring open season in Colorado! With Lightning out of the way, whats left are old folks, retirees, people nobody gives a fuck about. Lets clean out the whole goddamned state!"


    The Don turned to his daughter, and settled a hand on her shoulder. "Penelope." At her sudden glare, he rolled his eyes. "Swiftblade. Don''t worry about this character ''stealing a kill'' you couldn''t have made to begin with. Why don''t you think about all the jewelry stores in Crater City.. and how many diamonds you can have in your collection this time tomorrow?"


    The girl''s angry glare abruptly switched to a manic grin. "I can go solo, daddy!?"


    "Do it. And if you see the man who killed Lightning, give him my regards. And the address here."


    The laughter faded as the girl vanished form sight; a visible blur fading from the walls as she departed.


    One of the men; wearing a more traditional suit and hat, finely tailored black with pinstripes, stepped up to the Don. "Boss. You sure about sending her out? She''s... well."


    "She''s the best decision I ever made. My brother was a goddamned idiot for giving her up just because she was the wrong color. Maybe she''s a bit aggressive, but right now? With Lightning out of the picture? The game has changed. Give Valkyrie a call. Make sure we don''t step on her toes, but otherwise... when I said open season, I meant it."


    ***


    The blue blur speeding across the border, heading north into Colorado, was clocked in at over 800 miles per hour when it passed a police car on the side of the road; but somehow, didn''t create the sonic boom that they were expecting. For just a moment, the Colorado Highway Patrol officer was unconcerned. He''d clocked Lightning going past a few times, but he only registered on radar when he felt like being a bit silly.


    It was another minute after he''d cleared the numbers out of his radar gun that he remembered the news. Lightning was dead. Then who the hell... Oh, shit. She was coming up out of Nevada? He ran to his radio, held down the button. "This is offisss......" He went silent. Everything suddenly felt... cold. So cold.


    He fell to the ground, a hole the size of a fist clear through his torso. That blue figure manifested in front of him for a moment. A tiny dark-skinned girl wearing some sort of breathing apparatus covering her face. She held a rock in her hand, tossing it up and down a few times as she examined her handiwork... and then disappeared once more. The camera on the officer''s car picked up the entire scene.

 10 - Aftershocks

    A fist burst up from the ground; rotting, flesh and fabric dropping away from it as the body twisted and groaned its way back into the light. Dozens more hands joined it... and Jason ran. Leaping over bushes, dodging beside trees... but there always seemed to be more of them. Broken faces. Torsos crawling forward without legs. Boys. Women.


    Most of them though... if they had faces... had the same one. Mark Maxwell. Lightning. When one burst beneath his feet, bringing him to the ground, and its companions started to swarm over him, Jason couldn''t help but scream as he struggled to escape...


    He awoke. Sweaty, chilled, lying in his sleeping bag in the tent. After years in the desert he''d gotten used to sleeping on rough cots, on the sand, on the rocks. This wasn''t too bad. But... he didn''t usually wake up sweating.


    The air was cold, but the fire was warm. The tent good, solid, well-insulated; and with its opening up to the fire, comfortable once he got it started back up to cook himself some breakfast. If it started to snow, he''d probably pile it up around the tent for more insulation; but otherwise, his little camp seemed fine.


    Jason laid back, relaxed; reading a book. Practicing his make-up skills to try out different ways to shape the prosthetic nose, and that patch over his forehead; while still vaguely resembling the ''Jason Byrne'' fake ID. Maintained his usual workout regimen; push-ups, pull-ups... jogging laps around his little camp; each circuit taking him to the top of a nearby hill where the hole his bike; and the cash; were in was just barely visible.


    His stamina now was... a bit disturbing. He was a bit stronger, could run further, than he had at his peak, before that first injury had laid him out for a few weeks. He hadn''t really tested himself out on it... but he could do one-handed pull-ups now like it were trivial, and even at his best that had been a challenge.


    One of Jason''s burner phones was active; and he was studiously avoiding any suspicious activity on it. Checking the local news was good. Looking at craigslist postings? Good. Definitely no looking into the lawyers representing known supervillains, or the villains themselves.


    Granted; with the notable exception of Valkyrie, all of the other supervillains were either in prison, outside the country, or hidden. Nobody wanted to screw with Valkyrie, not even the feds; the woman had been known to crush dense metals with so much force small-scale nuclear explosions had cleared out the surroundings; and of course, nothing, not even Lightning, had been able to hurt her.


    Still. No way in hell he would want to go to her for advice laundering money. Her whole town was always being watched. A lawyer though? Much better. Spying on a lawyer''s conversations with his clients would get the cops themselves in serious trouble, so the moment he laid money down it should be safe to talk.


    There was a law office down in Nevada, if he recalled right, that would handle things well.


    The first day, he saw himself in that Eyeball gimmick as headline news, and the ongoing manhunt that had spread into Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada. Nobody had a clear picture of him leaving; reports of a purple Harley were the most common; a few cameras at nearby gas stations had blurry, partial images that just showed a purple blob with a black and silver blob atop it; so with those added up, they had exactly the wrong picture; and even if they''d found him on his bike, might not have stopped him.


    By the end of the second day, the news had... dozens of crimes. Jewelry heists. Bank robberies. Lightning hadn''t stopped that many crimes in the area; because everyone knew he was seconds away. Just knowing he was here had dropped crime dramatically in the state; there were days the entire state of Colorado didn''t have a known felony.


    The third-rate heroes in the area were stepping up; but by the fourth day, it still seemed as if things were a bit chaotic. With Lightning here, criminals had moved out to the edges, operating outside the range he usually worked; and now, they were all coming back.


    A special task force was being sent in... not to track him down... but rather, to help deal with the sudden surge in supervillain incidents.


    After five days, the ice chest was almost empty. Some raccoon; probably; had gotten into his food.. and most importantly... he was out of beer. Finally, it was time.


    He loaded up the bike in the back of the truck; the cash went in the back seat, the extended-cab truck''s bench folded shut atop it. The various gear he''d decided to keep in as well.. and the tent folded over to cover the bike. Shutting off the burner phone and slapping a bit of tape on it after pulling the battery, he set it aside; he would probably find a use for the parts of it, later.


    Turning on Burner #8, he pulled onto the highway headed south; and soon enough switched over to interstate; pulling up a web-search on his phone for famous court cases of Super-villains. And finding just what he needed; the name of a Lawyer just north of Vegas who had represented, and got acquitted, an obviously guilty enforcer for the Russo crime family; Tommy Tops, an over-the-top personality who ran a string of ads clearly designed to appeal to supervillains.


    Perfect. Either he''ll be able to help, or will know the right person; and of course, he''s a lawyer. Toss him a few grand and of course he''d work things out.


    ***


    Burke and Tops LLC was a nice, expensive-looking building across the street from a guarded parking garage; all shiny glass and steel, the names lit up in neon on the front, and ''24/7 Consulting'' planted below the name; he felt a bit better having his truck, and over a hundred thousand dollars in cash, in a facility with armed guards outside it... even if it cost 20$ just to leave it there for a few hours.


    Jason''s current outfit; picked up at a thrift store while passing through Wyoming; didn''t quite cost that much; black slacks, a checkered blue long-sleeved, and a cowboy hat that had clearly been worn quite a bit. Rather than make-up, this time he opted for a bandage wrapped around his forehead, just barely visible beneath the hat.


    The guard at the parking garage gave a solemn nod. The rifle he held... whatever the hell it was, it was damned expensive. The barrel was squared off rather than round, and from the lights on the side, it had a battery pack. He''d seen similar designs before; usually energy weapons made to stun... or kill.. bulletproof targets. Between the energy rifle, the black body-armor, and the 300-pound frame, he was a ridiculously intimidating sight.


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    Focusing for a moment as he started to walk by... the gun... wouldn''t shoot if Jason grabbed it. But if he made the guard shoot it? It would burn a hole right through the garage, and the engine block of that car.. and make a furrow in the concrete.


    He gave an admiring nod in return. "Nice piece. Might want one myself sometime."


    "Expensive to get. More to keep running. The batteries this thing takes..." He shrugged. "If the boss didn''t pay for it, I wouldn''t have it."


    Jason smiled, and turned back to the street; waiting a moment before heading across to the law office''s front door. It was 2PM; likely just after lunch for most in this profession. But then.. if the place is open 24/7, do they have lawyers working shifts? What lawyer would do shift work?


    The front lobby was immaculate; dark oak wood with brass fittings, two armed guards at the doorway who gave Jason a quick look-over.. clearly spotting his sidearm and skipping over it without concern. They didn''t spot the grenade in each boot; but then, that was the only reason he was wearing the boots. Steel-toed cowboy boots? Obvious reason to set off metal detectors. And with the hat, not draw an ounce of attention.


    The secretary was a beautiful red-head who likely had some work done from the excessive curves trying to burst free of her dress; though she didn''t look too happy to see Jason; giving his appearance a once-over as he approached the desk. "Welcome to Burke and Tops, Don''t talk to the cops until you call Tops. This is Amanda. What can I do for you?"


    "I actually wanted to briefly consult with a lawyer about something. Shouldn''t take too much time, probably less than an hour.... and considering the cases he''s worked, mister Tops seemed like a good candidate."


    Amanda looked Jason over again, and sighed. "Mister Tops doesn''t do free consults. Thousand bucks an hour minimum." She turned back to her computer, clearly intending that as a dismissal.


    Jason started peeling off bills from a roll straight from the ATM; crisp, clean, hundred-dollar bills, he peeled off ten and laid them down on the desk. "Then let him know he has someone for the next hour. I''m assuming I need to sign something?"


    She tilted her head for a moment, thoughtfully. Assessing. Green eyes? No... grey. They seemed to change in the light. She reached forward, touching his hand briefly as she started to collect the money, in a deliberate act that might have been considered flirtatious if not for her attitude. After a few seconds, her eyes widened. "No... that won''t be necessary. I''ll let him know you''re coming. Top floor. The door that says Mister Tops."


    She nodded at the elevator... and Jason studied the elevator for a moment. Was this a trap of some sort? He had one shroud, one burster, steel-toed boots, and his tenner. That should be enough for most threats, but... This was a lawyer for supervillains. He glanced at Amanda one last time... and then headed to the elevator, as the girl dialed the phone on her desk. He could just hear her saying "Mister Tops!" in an excited voice before the doors closed.


    The elevator had six floors; at first he was a bit surprised; from the outside, it looked to be at least eight stories tall. But then... the 6 didn''t light up when he pressed it; the elevator just kept right on past. He kept his hand at his hip, by the gun... but before it opened, he could already see the floor was clean. Bulletproof glass; would stop the tenner, but not a grenade; protected the offices.


    To his right, a fancy office, with a slick-haired man in his 30s already rising to his feet and marching to the door.. and when it opened, the man looked... afraid? Excited? Nervous? He''d visibly started sweating before opening the door, and Jason could see the man would cower in terror at the slightest provocation... but he still marched on, sticking out his hand.


    "Bill Tops at your service, sir! Why don''t you come on into my office, and we can talk about whatever it is we can help you with?"


    Jason shook his hand thoughtfully. What exactly was going on here? Was that receptionist a Meta of some sort? "That sounds like a plan, Mister Tops. You can call me Jason. I''d like to hire you on for a bit of legal council..."


    Jason followed him into the office, and offered the wad of cash. "I''m aware your receptionist said it wasn''t needed, for whatever reason. But before we talk, I''d like to officially hire you, so that anything we say will be protected ..."


    The lawyer nodded, and pulled around his desk, sitting down; the desk was massive, mahogany, with marble inlay and a variety of carvings embedded in its surface; even if it was a gaudy replica it would still be expensive; and after a moment, slid a piece of paper out onto the desk.


    "Of course. You don''t actually have to pay me to hire me... especially not under the circumstances.. but I can understand the paranoia. Here.." Tops wrote a few things on the form, and slid it across. Jason reviewed it for a moment. The number ''100$'' and the time period of ''For the duration of the client''s presence on my property'' were filled out. He glanced up at Tops a moment... slid a 100$ bill across.. signed it.. and passed it back.


    "Excellent. Now. What brings you to see me today?" The eagerness and fear seemed to grow more intense... he wasn''t as sweaty now, but he seemed on the verge of leaping from his chair, twitching with energy.


    "I seem to have earned some money without any legal paperwork to go along with it... and would like a bit of assistance converting it into an account I can use without problems to acquire property and equipment. I don''t know anyone on this side of the ocean that could do the job... but you seemed like a good starting point."


    Tops''s grin expanded almost impossibly wide. "Not only can I help you with that... and for only a ten percent cut... but I can put you in touch with the man himself so you can get the bounty paid out promptly. You know, he has people out looking for you right now, and you waltz right into his lawyer''s office... would you mind if I pretend like I found you? I''ll make it five percent rather than ten?"


    Jason blinked. The old Jason would be confused. Lost. The new Jason... put the pieces together almost immediately. "Am I required to meet him in order to collect? I''m a fairly... private individual."


    The lawyer laughed aloud. "Oh, come now, mister Titanslayer. Or do you prefer Eyeball?" "Jason works. Or... well. Eyeball if need be." "Perhaps you didn''t know the exact terms, but the boss wants a memento. Frankly, when we saw you collect the mask on the news, we thought you knew that; he''s got a spot already cleared off on his wall for that mask, and ten million dollars waiting for when you hand it over. If you let me tell the boss I found you for him, I''ll turn that into a swiss bank account with 9.5 mil in a name that will pass every security check you need to get back out of the country, if thats your plan."


    So. Meet a mob boss. Collect nine million dollars, for work he''d already done? That was a hell of a deal. He could go setup shop in New Zealand, Britain, Australia, anywhere he felt like... or even a country with no extradition treaty. "What if I just give you the mask; you can act as an intermediary."


    "Mister Eyeball. Sir. I''m afraid he''s insistent on meeting you in person. At the very least, he''ll want to shake your hand. And I suspect that he''s going to have some very lucrative jobs to offer you.. the sort that you might be one of the few people on this earth that can perform. Sure, this bounty was enough to retire. But think.. a month or two of working for the team, and you can retire with style."


    Jason inhaled slowly. This... would be incredibly dangerous. This could be a simple bounty payment. Or it could be a test of some sort; or even a trap by someone who wanted to kill the man who''d taken out Lightning. He gave a low whistle.


    "Fine. But if I''m going to meet someone that important, I need to get outfitted properly. I''ll need you to launder the cash I''ve already got on me from the bank so I can be in proper style to meet a prospective employer. I left most of my gear overseas." If he was going to go walking into a cave full of god knows how many supervillains and criminals, with no idea if they intended him to come out alive... he was going in loaded for bear.

 11 - Getting paid; Spending money to make sure you can survive making money

    "Well, mister ''Byrne'', you''ve got one hundred and fifty seven thousand dollars, and a bit of change. I''ve got pre-paid debit cards, cash..." Tops smiled. It was only half an hour later, but his ill-gotten loot had simply gone to the local casinos to be swapped out; the casinos only charging tops 2% to trade it across one for one, meaning that he''d be earning 3% on the deal; plus whatever he paid the courier. So that 10%? He''d have earned 7. Just for knowing the right people.


    "I''ll take a bit of both. Who do I need to meet to collect? And are they free in..." A bit of mental calculations. He could get a decent Fabricator; really just a stepped-up 3D printer that could handle a few material types; for 25 grand. With that and some raw materials... two days to make his ''Supervillain'' getup. "Three days?"


    Tops gave a slow nod.. and placed two envelopes on his desk. "About that. As you may know, two bounties were placed on Lightning and passed around the underworld. Both for identical amounts. One by my client, who is mostly a legitimate businessman; he gets more from his casinos than his illicit enterprises, but, well. Those illicit enterprises have increased the casino revenue dramatically, so it forms a sort of... symbiotic relationship. I''ve got to warn you that if you bring him that mask, and collect that bounty, the other will not be available to you. There will be no ''double-dipping'' or getting paid twice for the same job."


    Jason glanced around the office before taking the two envelopes. Twenty million was a great idea in principle, but honestly wasn''t worth the risk of meeting -two- supervillains in their lairs to collect. Pictures of Tops shaking hands with some of the most infamous villains in the country dotted the shelves. Who would the other option be? "I suppose thats unfortunate, but then, wouldn''t refusing to pay out the bounty hurt their reputation?"


    The lawyer gently rapped his fingers on the desk in an anxious pattern, bitting his lip. "Well. After my secretary called me up, I assumed you had been sent by.... her, but had changed your mind and decided to switch to the Don. Or were going to try to collect here before going back home. I don''t think she''s worried about her reputation."


    "..What gave you that idea?" How much confusion could he show and still be taken seriously? If they thought he was as new to this as he actually was, it would substantially increase his risk of never getting out of this meeting alive.


    "My secretary... She touches a person, or an object. She gets a vague sense of pivotal, important memories attached to it for the past few years. Really comes in handy in this line of work. When she touched you... she got the image of Lightning dying, of beating down some police officers... and killing men, women, and children who appeared to be in Afghanistan. Considering that the other bounty is being offered by a wealthy oil princess whose father was killed by Lightning during a US military operation? And some of your kills were right in her backyard?"


    Well, hell. He knew about this one. The Black Death. Oil sheikh, mid-grade meta who could control oils and plastics. Loved to drown enemies alive in crude oil; and fond of fighting with a burning pond of the stuff lashing out at her enemies. Hadn''t fought seriously in years since inheriting the family business after the initial US strike.


    "..Lets just say that if I turned up to try to collect a bounty with her, I wouldn''t make it out alive. If she knew what I''d done to some of the people who worked for her... well."


    Tops gave a low, hearty laugh, leaning back in his chair. "Oh good god did we have you figured wrong. Give me a second?"


    .He lifted a nice smartphone out of his pocket; no burner phone, this. The thing looked to be made from polished chrome. "Hey, boss! This is Tops, your favorite lawyer! No, actually, I got good news this time. You know that special someone you''ve been looking for? Well, I found him for you. I honestly think he was looking for you and just didn''t know which casino was yours."


    "Actually, I don''t go in the casinos. They thought I cheated at one earlier, so I avoid them."


    Tops stopped at that.. but then resumed talking. "He''d like to meet up somewhere in three days. Preferably not a casino, apparently there was an incident where they decided he was cheating at one and he was asked to stay out; so as a matter of politeness, he''s been doing so." He smiled, nodding at what he heard on the other line. "Of course! I''ll get him setup with a penthouse suite, you bring in whoever you''d like to meet him. We''ll talk later, boss!"


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    Setting his phone back down, the lawyer smiled. "So, the boss is amenable to meeting in three days. And, so long as you don''t cheat too much, any past casino shenanigans are forgiven; any winnings will just come out of your bounty payment. We''ll get you setup at the penthouse, you can have fun in vegas for a few days, and then meet up with the boss. He''ll call you with the address."


    Tops simply took another phone out of his desk, and placed it on top, sliding it across. "On this phone. GPS will take you right there."


    "Ehh... Not so much having fun. Right now I''m... well. Unprofessional. Without armor and proper weaponry, I almost feel naked. Definitely not going to show up to meet someone this important looking like some drunken cowboy fresh off the ranch. If he''s gonna have work for me? I''m gonna show up ready for work."


    *****


    The ''Fabricator 2000'' is a coffin-sized box whose inventor made sound like the most incredible thing since sliced bread; but in reality was just a more advanced version of the 3D printer. Coming in at 30,000$, if you can get the plans for it, and the spools of plastic and wire, it can make it for you. It needed to be perfectly level, it consumed a fair amount of power, gave off tons of heat and toxic fumes... and it just barely fit into a panel van.


    Jason picked up a used panel van; one that some plumbing business had formerly used as a work vehicle, with a table and shelves on one side and an open space for pipes and toolboxes on the other. With a level and a set of eight jacks, he carefully leveled out the platform that formed the base of the Fabricator; knowing full well he''d have to redo it every time he moved the van.


    Once it was all set... in the parking garage attached to the casino he''d be spending the night in.. he got to work on design. Armored vests were an easy start; the fabricator could print out the whole thing, but it was recommended to use tungsten or ceramic inserts, as the Fabricator was only rated for a top temperature of 3000 degrees without a special cooling insert to keep it from breaking down; taking titanium and tungsten off the table.. so of course he picked up a box of tungsten inserts to go with it.


    The basic outline was simple. An ordinary athletic t-shirt and some jogging pants for the base. Shock-absorbing pads around the torso and knees to help survive blunt-force trauma. Tungsten plates around the torso, thighs, upper arms, and groin to stop bullets.. and a carbon fiber and steel mesh to spread the impact of bullets that hit elsewhere.


    A good sealant to make the whole thing air-tight, with magnets snapping the boots into place around the pants to make a good seal.


    And, of course, a helmet. While he went for a classic supervillain style, with a couple of glowing red eyes on the front.. and a bulletproof layer of one-way mirror over the face, letting him still look in every direction while giving a nice, chrome finish. A rebreather and an tiny air tank that he''d need to buy over the counter, and that was set; he wouldn''t want to dive in it, but the suit should protect him from someone breathing toxic gas.


    Aside from that, there was always fire and cold. They made these tubes of fire suppression foam that would explode when ignited; he bought some, planning to attach the tubes wherever he could. And, well. Not much to do about cold. A fairly nice over-the-counter flight jacket would work, for now.


    That would cover the armor, at least. He''d need something more offensive. Some of it, he would buy over the counter. A new, better, handgun. A rifle he wouldn''t take to see the boss. Others, he would need to get less than legally, or make himself; he had a brilliant(possibly) idea to include some of his custom Shroud grenades; a blend of glass beads, water, and plastic beads that would launch out in clouds of compressed air, forcing any speedster to slow down dramatically or meet the same fate as Lightning; in the shoulders of the armor.


    If he did that? He could have triggers in his sleeves, and have a serious fighting chance against the next one he ran into.


    Finally, he made himself a new side-arm. A very different side-arm; a two-barreled 40mm grenade launcher. The tolerances for the breech-loading weapon were much lower than for a classic tenner, so the fabricator could actually make it.


    He spent the full three days he had the penthouse suite working on equipment. Printing pieces. Assembling them the rest of the way by hand. Printing shells for 40mm grenades and creating custom content for them. Installing compressed air cannisters. Gluing on fire suppression foam tubes; fortunately just pencil-thick, able to neatly nestle up in seams around armor plates. The fabricator printed the helmet while he was asleep; and he mounted a tiny HUD and the LED lights after waking up in the morning of the third day.


    Ultimately... he liked the way the pieces looked, all together. And if he wore a long coat... probably a classic duster... he could blend into a crowd until he put the helmet on. So. Duster, bandage, cowboy hat until he reached the door. Then swap to the helmet when he walked in.


    If everything went peacefully? Awesome. He could walk out just an extremely paranoid retiree. An extremely sweaty paranoid retiree; good god was making the suit airtight and trying it out in Nevada a mistake.


    If things went poorly? He''d be able to take down a small army, including multiple metas.


    He was shaving off a few stray bits of metal on his fabricated 40mm pistol when the call came in. A nice, chipper ringtone with promises of incredible danger, and the possibility of exceptional rewards.


    He looked at the simple bag on the table with Lightning''s mask; the blood long since having dried; as he picked up the phone. He tapped a button on the same digitizer he''d used during the robbery. "This is Eyeball. I''ve been expecting your call. Where would you like to meet?"

 12 - The Don - The Family

    At first glance, this place looked like... nothing. A power substation, perhaps? A metal shack with a barbed-wire fence around it and a few parking spots. Dead brush, dead grass, and a few tumble-weeds collected against the north fence forming a wall; aside from that, the only visible thing was a hill rising up into the distance. Most of his time in Afghanistan had been in prettier, livelier places than this. Jason left the panel van behind; if it wasn''t safe in the casino parking garage, it wouldn''t be safe anywhere. He''d taken the beaten-up old pickup instead; and when he emerged, studied the place closely.


    He''d been told to come here just after sunset, bring an appetite, and that he''d be welcomed into the family if he chose. Still. He stretched for a moment. He''d always stretched before a fight. Both the ones he won, and the ones he lost. But always in the past.. he''d had backup. That fight with the cops was the first time he''d really been alone going in.


    His hand absently rested over the new tenner; still a 10mm handgun, just with two 20-round clips and a full-auto setting deliberately tuned down so that it would take a couple of seconds to empty both clips; there were versions of this gun that could empty the clip in a quarter-second, and he never liked that nonsense. Frankly... the full-auto feature would probably be more useful for his powers than an actual fight, figuring out just where he needed to shoot.


    Deep breath. Just killed the fastest man alive. You can do this.


    The helmet went on. The bandage came off, tossed into the truck alongside the cowboy hat.. and the duster.


    He looked more like a supervillain now. Black, sleek, body-armored form, shiny chrome helmet... much better than the black leather jacket and bike helmet. He was missing the stupid hand-painted Eyeball decal, but then... he''d get a real artist to make him one later. A deep breath. The air filters activated, just in case.


    He walked up to the shack, opened the door... and saw a pair of turrets on either side, pointing at him, protecting a stairway leading down. He could see they weren''t going to fire at him... but each was a roughly spherical machine with two gun-barrels sticking out, each a few meters away from the door. High-caliber barrels, from the look of things. He glanced at both of them. They wouldn''t fire unless he shot at them... but he didn''t want them to be cutting off his escape if something went wrong.


    Absently reaching into a pocket, whistling to himself, he started toying with a set of magnetic ball bearings... and started flicking them out, one by one. This angle? No. This angle. Four tossed objects, each no more than a magnetized marble... and now.. if he shot at the turrets, they''d explode with their first return volley. A nod.


    He walked over and started down the stairs, knocking on the door; a solid metal barrier that simply slid aside, like a fancy Star-Trek sort of barricade. There were cameras, of course. And he saw... that if he just walked in, that door would slam shut seconds later.


    He slid free a Burster grenade; and jammed it into the pathway for the door. If it shut... it would hit the grenade, and, well. It would still partially close, but leave a space he could get out.


    This netted a response from the room''s occupants; two men; both large, powerfully built, with sidearms at their hips, approaching. "Ey! What the fuck do you think you''re doing?"


    Jason turned to them... if he shot... Ahh. Interesting. He pulled his handgun out, and aimed it at a spot where nothing appeared to be... but where, if he shot, the bullets would stop before they hit the wall, and blood would spray everywhere. "Is this what you call a friendly meeting? Ambushing me with an invisible man, trapping me in a box?"


    The two men stopped. The invisible form moved abruptly... but Jason tracked it perfectly. He almost lost it when it went to the ceiling. Was it a damn spider? "Dance all you want. But if you come any closer... or if one of your friends pulls a gun... you die first. I''d feel a bit more comfortable with this meeting if you either became much more visible, or a lot less -here-."


    The digitized voice was emotionless; but the two men were clearly frightened... "Really, this is a friendly chat. The boss would have our asses if you got hurt. This is just precautions."


    The second handgun... the double-barreled 40mm grenade launcher; emerged, leveled on the two henchmen, while the tenner stayed focused on the invisible... reptile, apparently. The figure appeared, clinging to the ceiling, after a few seconds, and then dropped to the floor; a blue lizardman wearing red and black athletic shorts and shirt. He gave a nod. "That''s true. I''m supposed to just watch from the shadows. Be backup. Not here to fight."


    Jason shifted his gaze between the three. Even if he had his weapons away, he would see them drawing before they even decided to... and he could easily kill all three in that amount of time. He slid the weapons back into place; his powers saving him from looking clumsy by helping him adjust the angle a bit to keep from missing the holster for the 40mm.


    "I''m not here to fight either.. but I know how dangerous your boss and his people are. Lead the way."


    The next doorway was more simple; no sliding gadgets or tricks. Just a nice wooden door, one of several on the far wall; the other two led to hallways. This one... led to a bar?


    The room was paneled with dark wood, walls, ceiling, and floor. Well lit, with booths surrounding a central table, a bar.. and at least a dozen people. He checked it out before entering. Well, hell. Any hostile move had made in there and twenty people would be on him in seconds. He''d run out of bullets before he ran out of targets; some of those people would take multiple grenades to kill.


    The atmosphere was friendly enough; but everyone was either wearing a proper suit, or a classic supervillain outfit; he fit in perfectly. The two men who''d been outside to greet him stepped through, as did the reptilian.


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    At first, the boss at the central table gave an irate glance at the reptile; but a quick whisper brought a startled glance between the scaled figure and Jason.


    "Well, well, well! A man of many talents, it seems. Have a seat at my table, mister Eyeball. A substantial paycheck awaits, and talks of work to come."


    Suddenly, he saw it. A blue-clad fist emerging from his chest as if it had passed clean through; broken fingers, brutally destroyed, but still, having killed him in the process of destroying that limb; he spun, pistol coming out, hand gripping the pin of a custom Shroud grenade... the image vanished.


    Instead... a young woman appeared in front of him. Short, dark-skinned, an athletic build of the sort he''d admired in some of his fellow soldiers.. wearing blue tights with a black dagger. If he hit the shroud grenade, he could kill her. If not, she could dodge the bullet.


    The friendly conversation around the bar had died off. Hands were reaching for guns. The woman''s face and hair were covered by the blue outfit. She broke the silence. "So... that one of the grenades that took out Lightning?"


    Jason kept his eyes on her. If he moved, or spoke, the wrong way, she''d be on him. He could kill her, but she might kill him at the same time. "Yes. A better version, actually. Wouldn''t save my life, but it would kill you and quite a few folks in this room."


    Things seemed to settle down. The woman relaxed. Jason slowly put his pistol away... and conversation started back up as everyone tried to pretend death hadn''t just passed through the room. She walked around the table, smiling, and planted a kiss on the boss''s cheek. "Sorry, I didn''t find him, Daddy. Looks like he found us."


    Jason sat at the table.. the girl pulled her mask back, letting it dangle down behind her; revealing a cute face, probably early 20s, with bright pink hair, black starting to show at its roots; tied into a pony-tail beneath the mask.


    "Don''t worry, Swiftblade. Tops found him for us, sent him our way." Russo turned to Jason. "I''m Don Nicolo Russo. My friends and family call me Nicky. If you take off that helmet and shake my hand, you can call me Nicky."


    Jason thought for a moment... and gently slid the helmet off, placing it on the table. A bit of make-up smoothed over his third eye so long as he kept it shut... but the bandage and cowboy hat had worn it away a bit; anyone looking could tell there was something out of place. Setting it down, he extended his hand. "Jason... Byrne, for now. You can call me Jason when it comes to dinner, and when it comes to work you can call me Eyeball."


    A soft chuckle, as Nicolo raised a hand. This strange scene; a blend between a classic bar and a fine dining establishment... all in an underground bunker.. was made stranger by the appearance of a waiter, delivering a bottle of wine and four plates to the table; as another figure sat on Nicky''s other side.Tall, lean, blonde, and with a look that wouldn''t be out of place on a Nazi recruitment poster, he extended his own hand. "Paul Russo. Nicky''s right-hand man."


    The blue-suited girl gave a malicious grin. Her hand seemed to vibrate gently as she extended her own. "Penelope Russo. Swiftblade. Top enforcer." He was careful shaking her hand. He knew if he did it just wrong, she''d vibrate it so hard she could shatter the bones in his hand... or even just stab a blade through it before he could blink. The only thing he could do would be to use a suicide grenade to clear the whole table.


    As the waiter poured each of them a glass, Jason admired the food; the fish looked delicious, and he had no idea what sort of pasta it was; but it looked amazing as well. Nicky raised a glass. "To new friends. And new business opportunities." Jason took a sip in time with the others.. and after a moment''s pause, concerned about possible poison... he started to eat. Poison would be the perfect way to kill him. Something slow; by the time he saw it coming, he would already be dead. Should''ve traded plates, or something.


    The food tasted every bit as good as it looked. The three made small-talk; talking about how terrible the weather was in Nevada in the winter, how the food was cooked, how old the wine was; all of them studiously avoided talk of business until the plates had been set aside; with Penelope surprisingly prim and proper with her utensils for her prior attitude.


    Finally, Nicky rested his arms on the table, and met Jason''s eyes. "Now. Eyeball. I set a bounty on this man, Lightning. Ten million dollars. And I wanted a memento." He nodded at the bar. Hanging over it were.. a pair of chrome handguns from the Silver Ranger, mounted to a plaque. A single hand from the Shadow Blade; with only the name on the plaque to recognize it by. The skull of, apparently, the Northlander. And a distinctly alien skull with a name below it Jason couldn''t read properly.


    "I want something to mount on the bar up there. To mark my little victory over Lightning."


    Jason calmly slid a bag from his pocket, setting it on the table. Nicky opened it gently, reverently; examining the mask, its streaked pattern, the bloodstains. Nicky glanced up. "This is his blood, right?"


    "Of course. Put a bullet in each eye. There''s a little on the outside of the mask, but the inside is covered with it."


    For a moment, Nicky just held it in his hands. Beside him, Penelope seemed... angry? Sad? She was suffering from a blend of emotions equally intense and antagonistic, seeming to barely hold them together.


    He turned to Penelope. "Sweetheart. Could you put this up there for me? And for yourself?"


    The woman took hold of the mask, staring at it for a moment. Vibrating so intensely that Jason was concerned it might fall apart in her hands... before she stepped over, and gently pressed a few pins into the mask; holding it in place on its new plaque on the wall. At the bottom, it read; ''Lightning'' ''Mark Maxwell'' ''Titan''.


    When she returned to the table, Nicky smiled, and threw an arm over her shoulder. "Finally over with, that bit. Eyeball, I can get you the cash right now if you want us to load it into that crappy truck of yours, or I can have Tops handle things for you. Hopefully, we''ll have plenty of business to deal with together in the future. Once we get the bounty settled, though, there''s one piece of business unfortunately we won''t really have much choice in putting on top of the list. I''m gonna need to send you out to Spring Hills Gulch... to deal with Valkyrie."


    At that response, Jason''s brain froze. Valkyrie was the most powerful, and famous, supervillain on earth. She was literally invulnerable, and her strength was as infinite as Lightning''s speed; she could literally crush coal into diamonds if she put her mind to it. The only person with more destructive potential was Lightning; or maybe Spike, the government''s pet density-changer, now that Lightning was dead.


    She literally triggered nuclear detonations in the palms of her hand without a scratch to show for it, and this man expected Jason to deal with her?


    Across the table, Nicky, Paul, and Penelope all started laughing almost simultaneously. The look on his face, the dropped jaw, must have been obvious. "No, no. After you took out Lightning, she sent a message out to all the bosses she could reach, that if we met the Titanslayer she had some work she needed him to do. I''ve got some things in mind for the future, but for now, we need to get you paid.. and I''d recommend going to see her. Fairly soon. She is not a woman you want to keep waiting."

 13 - Entanglements - Leaving Las Vegas

    The meeting was surprisingly friendly after that. Jason didn''t have much in the way of wine; he''d always been more interested in beer, for one thing, and for another getting drunk around these people seemed like a terrible idea. He learned quickly enough that this bar was a contact point for the local Supervillain ''Community''; the Don kept things non-violent with a general rule that whoever started it would be directly taken to the hospital for treatment for what happened to people who started it, and never allowed back in; which led to a certain level of concern on Jason''s part that Swiftblade might be less concerned about rules than her father.


    At that point, however, things had taken a turn sideways. He''d met bank robbers, muggers, burglars; the invisible mutant, calling himself ''The Ripper Chameleon'', was actually already wealthy before he''d even gotten involved with the Don, and primarily worked with him to get good deals on all the stolen goods he fenced; he was actually concerned Jason could see him, as he was invisible to visible, infrared, and UV sensors, and had thought all he needed to worry about was sonar.


    After a long, unproductive talk where he refused to reveal how he could see him; and demonstrated again that he could find him so long as he was in the open.. some safecracker bought him a beer. And of course, he couldn''t turn it down. And when a burglar who''d once been caught by Lightning bought him a round of Jack? Well, he couldn''t turn down good Tennessee whiskey.


    ***


    When he woke up the next morning with a complete lack of hangover in the same extremely nice penthouse suite he''d spent the past few days in, he was intensely surprised; he hadn''t gotten well and truly drunk since his head injury, and if his new brain had the magical ability to avoid hangovers, well, that sounded damned fine. He was even more surprised to find that he wasn''t alone in that bed.


    A lithe, dark-skinned young woman beside him in bed.. and a shock of pink hair on the pillow. She was actually a bit curvier than he''d thought seeing her in that outfit; granted, most women looked better out of their clothes than in them in Jason''s opinion, but this was an exceptional example, especially considering she''d been wearing essentially a tight armored bodysuit.


    Holy shit. Yup. Swiftblade. Penelope Russo, the Don''s daughter. Okay, yes, she was attractive. She was also the daughter of a mob boss and intensely frightening. Which meant that his choices here were either kill her in her sleep and run like hell, or absolutely do not do anything to piss her off. And even if that passed, would the Don kill him?


    Did anything happen last night? Obviously something did. He tried to focus, to remember. He hadn''t planned on drinking at all after that glass of wine but... well. Yes. Something did happen. The memories were vague, but she''d literally dragged him here. God knew where his truck was at this point. And after that... Okay. Strange memories. Frightening memories. He definitely hadn''t said yes or agreed to anything that happened last night, but had enjoyed it regardless. At the time, it was one of the scariest moments of his life. But after the fact, knowing he''d survived, pleasant enough.


    So, his usual routine in a hotel room back in the day would be to quietly pack, get the hell out of dodge, and maybe leave a note. And if she were particularly good, his phone number and an invitation for some other day. So... what was the best way to handle this. No way in hell the Don wouldn''t find out. It was his hotel.


    Quietly slipping out of the bed and getting dressed.. noticing that the toes of his boots had literally been half worn off when he was dragged by the much shorter woman.. Jason dressed in more normal clothing; jeans, long-sleeved shirt with the logo of some athletic company he''d never heard of appropriate for the chill air outside, and the boots to his... costume? Uniform? Whatever supervillains called their outfit. He should ask Penelope that. Or Swiftblade? Yeah, she didn''t like being called Penelope.


    Standing in the next room of the suite, Jason called up room service as he set his holster and custom shroud grenades in place. She might wake up in a killing mood, and if she did, he''d take her with him.


    "This is the front desk speaking, Bobby on call, how can I help you?"


    "This is Jason Byrne, in room 519. Miss Russo apparently dragged me to my room last night and is asleep there now. If you know what she likes for breakfast, I''d appreciate having it sent up and... if you could let her father know, I''d prefer to avoid that particular conversation."


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    "Ahh... yes, sir. We knew she was on the property, just not which room. Don''t feel too bad; the boss hasn''t killed any of the last few guys this happened to. Any preferences for yourself, sir?"


    Jason blinked. "Ahh.. just bacon and eggs, thank you, Bobby." Set the phone down. Good lord, how often did she do this? Well. At least they were still alive, right?


    He stood in the front room, waiting for the... seven minutes, a knock on the door. Now that is fast service. Before opening the door, he ''looked''; making sure. Just a cart loaded with... a truly ridiculous amount of bacon, eggs, and half a dozen gatorade bottles. No guns waiting. No thugs.


    He opened the door; the man outside; young, hispanic, polite, giving a nod. "Compliments of the boss, sir. Just... I''d advise keeping anything you say about this within the company."


    "Understood." Talking about Swiftblade''s habits a negative.


    He rolled the cart inside, and slid it right into the bedroom; treated to the sight of Swiftblade stretching as she rose up from the bed; despite the fear, despite knowing how dangerous she was, he couldn''t help but feel a touch of attraction there. Well, more than a touch.


    "Excellent. If you''d cut and run when you woke up I''d have had to track you down and kill you. Bringing in breakfast? A+." She pulled the cart closer, setting one of the smaller plates aside.. and started to eat. And eat. The speed and volume which she processed the bacon, eggs, and drink on the plate was astounding.


    He''d heard Speedsters, aside from Lightning, needed to replenish every calorie they burned. That if they ran ten times as fast as a human, they''d need ten times the energy to do it. But this... Actually seeing the tiny figure eating what appeared to be her weight in protein was.. startling, to say the least.


    She glanced up, mumbling something around a mouthful of bacon... and stopped. She was practically dripping with grease, which was, oddly enough, a good look for her. "I''m trying to decide whether you''re looking at my tits, which is okay, or if you''re watching me eat because you think I''m a freak, in which case I''m gonna tear out your heart and feed it to you. Nice third eye, by the way. You forgot whatever you did to hide it this morning."


    Jason turned away immediately, feeling his forehead. "Ahh... Actually, I''m gonna pack up my things and head out to Spring Hills Gulch. And obviously, I''m also a full-fledged member of the ''freak'' squad of a more visible persuasion."


    He started to put action to words; sorting through the hotel room carefully, making sure he didn''t miss any cables, grenades, shells... anything important. He had enough to remake most things in the van, but, well. Best not give anything away he didn''t have to.


    His uniform.. armor... outfit... costume... Armor worked. His armor was packed up in a duffel bag, alongside everything else; clothes, burner phones, a few hand tools; and even a few of the disposable shampoo bottles from the hotel. He liked this brand.


    When he finished packing, he glanced back at her. It couldn''t have been five minutes but there was an empty stack of plates beside her already. He headed into the bathroom; slapped a small adhesive pad over his third eye; and started smearing make-up over it. It never looked -good-; it looked like he had some sort of skin condition; but it didn''t look like, well. A third eyeball.


    Before he finished applying the patch, a blue-suited figure popped in beside him... Jason almost drew his pistol... but he could tell she wasn''t there to kill him. She walked up close.. and gently smudged the make-up with her finger. "You need more practice at this. I could tell something was off at the bar. You need it seamless. Daddy can get you a prosthetic face that''s seamless."


    "Well forgive me for not bothering to learn until I had warrants out and needed to stay on the run."


    "Hmph. Well. I''ll see you next time you''re in town. Or I feel like dropping by."


    "Just call first. I''d hate to see you go the way of Lightning by mistake."


    A laugh far too girly started up; swiftly turning dark and maniacal. "As if."


    He kept his gaze on her. Calm. Serious. He could see exactly what it would take to kill her. Granted, every scenario he imagined, he died too.


    She gave a grin in response. "You really mean it, don''t you. You think you can take me. Anyone else, I''d call bullshit. But... you did kill lightning. Well. Have fun visiting Valkyrie... Titanslayer."


    As she vanished with a blur, leaving a pile of dirty dishes, a thoroughly trashed room, and a confused and frightened Jason behind, he shook his head. "I said Eyeball, damnit. How am I gonna build a brand as a villain if everybody just calls me by whatever random name...."


    Titanslayer was much, much cooler. But no way in hell would he go by that when approaching Valkyrie. She might take it as a threat. And, well. Nobody threatened Valkyrie and lived.


    ***


    The trip out of Vegas was vastly different from the trip in. He still had the bike in the back; but it was strapped to the wall of the panel van, completely out of sight. He''d decided to keep it; maybe add some armor or guns or something to it. It could outrun most cop cars, and any non-speedster Meta, so of course it would be useful sometime. And hey; with the Fabricator he could make all sorts of funny-shaped pieces to disguise it; none of this cheap spray-paint crap.


    He had a better vehicle; this van was one of the newer ones, and could make it all the way to Alaska without having to stop for gas; more guns; better equipment... and tons of cash. He even had a fabricator running off of the van''s systems making pieces for the bike.


    Granted... with all the bumps on the highway out to Spring Hills, it''d probably be janky as all hell. But still. Better than nothing, right?

 14 - Spring Hills Gulch

    Jason knew about the story of Spring Hills Gulch. Everyone did. It was in the history books; with a picture of Valkyrie standing beside it in a leather jacket and boots, a telephone pole slung over her shoulder.


    Over fifty years ago, a young Sarah Constance Larsen had been at home when the Pinkertons came for her father to ''talk'' about the ongoing strike at the local mines. Eyewitness accounts varied, but Sarah''s father had a broken arm, and the Pinkerton men were never seen or heard from again; though the neighbors reported that their truck was seen flying through the air and disappearing into the gulch.


    The small town had become a veritable black hole into which strikebreakers vanished for the next few weeks; and when the feds came in to intervene, they found themselves brought to a screeching standstill by the young woman; who despite being only 19, was well over seven feet tall, and apparently had no limit whatsoever to either strength or durability.


    When her father had turned up dead the next day, she''d become an ''Avenging Valkyrie''; destroying every piece of property and person associated with the name Pinkerton; and still to this day anti-union activists speak quietly and avoid public notice for fear of another assault by the Titan.


    The feds had ultimately brokered a truce, of sorts; they wouldn''t mess with her, she wouldn''t mess with them; and despite finally acquiring a similarly gifted titan over a decade later in the form of Spike, they still never sent a federal agent across Spring Hills Gulch city limits.


    To some, she was a hero. Despite her turn to crime, founding the ''Valkyries'' ''Motorcycle Club'', and running the Gulch like a petty dictator from her home by the cliffside, her strike against the Anti-Union criminals was still hailed in some parts. But to the rest... she was a thief, a mass-murderer, and a monster. A monster who, on very rare occaision, had seen fit to help the US government with something like an alien invasion or giant monster.


    And the person whom Jason was slated to meet in the small, unassuming brick house ahead... which currently had six motorcycles of various description parked out front, and a single heavily overweight, balding man with a nasty sunburn sitting on the front porch, shotgun in hand. A real shotgun, classic, pump-action, not one of those new ones.


    For a moment, he regretted taking the van. Driving up on a motorcycle would surely leave a better first impression. No helping it now. He parked beside the bikes, and slid out, stretching for a moment... before pulling on the same worn cowboy hat he''d walked into Top''s office with.


    This place was... stark. A ravine, the same one she''d supposedly started out by tossing those Pinkertons in, was a hundred meters or so behind the house; and this might very well be the house she''d grown up in.


    As he approached the door, the biker outside gave him a nod.. and whistled. The front door slammed open... and Jason looked up... and up... at a woman who was not in the slightest bit pretty, but he would never have the audacity to say it to her face. Even thinking it while looking at this... monster of a woman seemed risky.


    He''d charged head-on at a man that looked like a demon statue forged out of metal a few months ago, but this hard-nosed blonde woman in a leather jacket adorned with various norse insignia and the ''Valkyries'' logo scared the piss out of him. Almost literally as she stomped forward. All of the thoughts in his head about how to hurt her led to absolutely nothing. He could peg her in the eye with one of those anti-armor grenades and she wouldn''t blink. He was half tempted to sprint for the van; he was sure he could outrun her at least. But she could probably just throw the van before he started moving.


    She stopped right in front of him; up close, she looked even bigger. Was she really only seven foot nine? It felt like a dozen feet from here... and stuck out her hand. "Titanslayer! Welcome to Valkyrie ranch. Come on in, I''ve got work for you."


    He shook her hand; she squeezed with carefully calculated force; enough for him to feel it, but not enough to grind his bones into paste; and turned, walking back inside. She glanced at the man on the porch. "Davis. Go get Butch. Tell him to leave that toy sword of his." Before heading inside.


    Four men were sitting around a table, playing poker as the two stepped in. None of them paid much attention to Valkyrie or Jason as she settled in on an expansive couch, and nodded at a recliner. "Make yourself comfortable. Drink?" She offered a bottle of... Jack.


    For a moment, a flashback of the night before passed through his head, and he grimaced. "Ahh... no." If Valkyrie had the same idea as that Swiftblade lady, he''d be a corpse. "Sorry, drank a bit too much last night, had a rough morning."


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    "Thats nice. Now drink. You''ll need to be tougher than that for what I''ve got in mind for you." She pressed the bottle forward more insistently... and Jason reluctantly took it... and given the lack of glasses, took a swallow straight from the top.


    "Excellent. Now. You''re smart enough to know that just because you killed Lightning doesn''t mean you can kill any Titan, right? That if you fuck with me, if I get even an inkling that you''re out to cause trouble for me and mine, Zeus, Odin, the president of the United States, Jesus, and all the saints won''t be able to stop me from turning you into a splatter on the pavement?"


    This thought had already gone through his mind, though he knew Lightning or some other speedster could, at least, stay away from her as long as they wanted. Or, well. So long as they were alive.


    "Yes, ma''am. I have no intention of messing with anything of you or yours, and if you hadn''t passed the message for me to come, you would never even see me. Now that we''ve established that you''re a badass and I either need to do what you say or run like the goddamned wind, what did you need?"


    She leaned forward, slapping her hands on her knees with so much force a shockwave passed through the room. "Alright. I''ve got a son. Butch, twelve years old. Goes by Butcher, for the world''s most dumbass code names. Little dumbass is already goddamn huge, and the doc tells me that by the time he''s full grown, he''ll be just as strong as me, but with even more mass to make use of it. I need somebody to take him out and about for a bit. Bring him on a few jobs, show him the country. Get a feel for things before he''s an unstoppable juggernaut."


    She leaned in even closer, merely inches away. "And if the little fucker can''t keep himself under control when I''m not around, I need to know about it so I can put him down before nobody can."


    Jason gave a slow blink. "..You heard someone killed a Titan... so you called him in to babysit your twelve-year-old?"


    The house suddenly shook; as a burly figure entered the room. A massive, hairless body, almost as wide as he was tall, and at least a few inches taller than Jason; looking like a nightmare version of a Linebacker that could push back an entire NFL team.. stomped in, wearing a ''Sailor Moon'' T-shirt and cargo pants.


    "Oh, hey, mom. Who the hell is this?"


    Jason looked him over. Bullet-resistant skin. The AP grenades would do bad damage to him... broken bones, broken organs. The eyes.. definitely not bulletproof. On the other hand, he was much tougher than any ordinary human... probably Jason included. And, well. He was twelve years old and over six feet tall.


    Valkyrie pulled to her feet. "This... is that Titanslayer you''ve been going on and on about... though his code-name is actually Eyeball. He used to wear a helmet painted like one. He''s been considering putting a crew together for some work. I figured I''d put in a good word for you."


    The boy... it felt strange calling that enormous slab of meat ''Boy''.. looked at Jason for a moment. His guns, his hat. Then, at Valkyrie; and ran towards her, slamming into her with enough force that the air pressure blew all the cards off the table, sending the four men scrambling with angry muttering to find everything and get it back in order.


    "You''re the best, Mom! I''m gonna be the best villain ever!"


    She absently patted him on the back. "Of course. Now go get packed up. I think you''re gonna be on the road for a few days."


    Jason grimaced. What the hell sort of job could he pull that would need a walking slab of meat like that? "Sure. Me and your mom need to hash a few things out. Make sure we don''t mess with any of her plans... or those of my friend Nicky."


    The boy turned, sprinting out of the room like a rocket; tearing a fist-sized chunk out of one doorway as he ran. Jason stepped closer to Valkyrie, speaking quietly. "So he saw me on TV, got obsessed, and you figured hey... he''ll respect this guy?"


    "Pretty much."


    "... I have no jobs planned. I was gonna do whatever I needed to keep Nicky happy, then head north to retire."


    "Thats fine. Teach him to think. Plan. And get a few more people in. I''ll bankroll the first job, even. The fed pays me about a million dollars per kilo of neutronium I give them, so I''ve got plenty for whatever you need."


    Jason looked at his feet, thinking it through. Being able to see further than three seconds would seriously come in handy right now. Should he just run the hell out? Maybe settle in Australia; no way in hell Valkyrie could find him there. Egh. No. Maybe she''d threaten to destroy his hometown if he didn''t show up or something.


    First things first. He needed to find a target. Something worth the effort of stealing. Then he could put a team together... and figure out something not -too- dangerous for Butch to do. And hopefully not start reliving his army days and putting himself in the hospital.


    "Alright. Mind if I hang out here in town for a couple days and make some calls? I''m gonna need to get Butch some armor. He''s bullet... resistant... but he needs something to protect him if things get serious."


    Valkyrie tilted her head for a moment. "You can tell that just by looking at him, huh. What exactly is your power, mister Eyeball?"


    "Are you gonna kill me if I don''t tell you?"


    "Nah, my son would be pissed. And honestly, I owe you one; I''ve hated that Lightning fucker for years. I might pop off a finger or two though."


    "I guess I''ll have to risk it, then. Probably best to keep it under wraps as long as possible... and if I were the feds, I''d have your phone tapped and be listening to everything we say in here."


    "Hmm. I''ll allow it. For now. Don''t keep him -too- safe. If he never gets hurt, he''ll grow up to be an insufferable little prick."


    Jason nodded at her, stepping out the door. Okay then. Yeah, retirement is out the window for a while. Jesus Christ, would she want him to keep the kid around for years? And if he''s past six feet at twelve, whats he gonna look like at twenty?


    Well. Time to put a team together. Just needed to figure out who to call first.

 15 - Mission acquired

    For about five minutes, Jason sat in his van, staring at his phone. He had no idea what the hell he could do. Sure, he could rob a bank. There was money in that, but would Valkyrie be happy with a few bank robberies, which, if they went properly, Butcher would never really be at risk? The idea of deliberately screwing up the plan to put a 12-year-old in harms way really didn''t sit right. What the hell could he do that would bring in a good payday, and be something big. Important. And, well. Preferably didn''t involve killing any civilians.


    The best bet was to target labs. High-security ones, making synthetic drugs, high-end tech and equipment. Steal prototypes, production samples, files. No matter what it was, it was bound to either be useful for the future, or have a good value; to, at least, the people they''d stolen it from, if not their competitors.


    Ugh. This was terrible. You don''t just spring a job at the last minute. You plan them out. You figure out the patterns, the layout, the best time to make the hit to get the most payout...


    On the plus side, he did have an asset he lacked before. While on his drunken rout at the Don''s place, during the leadup to the incident with SwiftBlade, he''d made a few friends, acquired a few phone numbers... and acquired access to a sort-of message board where bounties like the one he''d just collected resided. On people, yes. Every major government figure had one, and there was even a nutjob offering 1,000$ a head for confirmed cop kills. The titan Spike had the highest, at a million; but... there were other bounties.


    Someone had placed a bounty on, not killing, but crippling to keep out of the game, a quarterback for a major NFL team before the game in six days. Either the one behind the bounty was a huge fan of the opposition, or was betting  big and wanted to make sure he came out ahead.


    There were actually a few in there like this; but that 100,000$ bounty would be a good start. Not only was he a smug, rich, asshole. But this David Lebowski character had just gotten out of a 1-year stint in jail for running a sort of homeless fight-club where he and his rich buddies would pit people off the street against each other for cash; often leaving some of the victims dead or permanently maimed.


    So. He could take six days to plan it out. Break this asshole''s legs. Actually... have Butch break this asshole''s legs, while Jason kept watch and took out security... and poof. Simple. Even better, the observation would give him time to get a good handle on Butcher, and look into a more sophisticated job.. the sort that would need multiple people.


    When Butch stepped out of the nearby barn, headed towards the van, Jason did a double-take. The boy was carrying along what looked to be a butcher knife the size of a door. The damn thing must weigh hundreds of pounds, and the kid was swinging it around like it was nothing, as he approached the window. Jason gave a long sigh, as he rolled it down.


    "Alright, kid. Here''s the deal. We''re gonna take a bit of a small-scale job. Something relatively simple and fun... but that will let me get a feel for how you handle things. Minimal opposition; maybe a dozen security guards at most. The biggest challenge will be getting in and out without getting caught and having to run from the cops all the way out of town."


    Butch stopped, staring at him for a moment. "But... Titanslayer... I wanna be in the big leagues! I want to go fight.. Spike! You killed a Titan, you can do it again, right?"


    Jason sighed, shaking his head. "Buddy. Your mom and Spike, if they fought... it would wreck the whole world. If you ever get strong enough to take on Spike... same difference. Also, its Eyeball. Titanslayer is what the news called me after I took out Lightning. Tell you what. You ever heard of David Lebowski?"


    Butch set his blade on the gravel parking lot for a moment. "Huh... Oh, yeah! That quarterback, the one down in texas. The asshole who did all of those videos online of the people fighting in that little arena thing."


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Yup. Somebody put a 100 grand bounty on breaking him bad enough not to kill him, but to keep him out of the game. He lives in a mansion outside Dallas, has a whole security team, cameras everywhere, and if you drag your ass doing the job... the Rangers will be on your ass."


    Butch shrugged. "Who cares about the Rangers? Aren''t they baseliners?"


    "...Kid. I used to be a baseliner. Honestly, I think the term is a bit silly. I wasn''t born a meta like you. And before I got my own little trick, I killed probably a dozen or so metas. And the Rangers? Those guys have the gear and training to be about as good as I was then. Yes, I could take one out. Probably a whole squad. But right now, without armor, training, and alot of luck... I don''t think you could take one."


    Butch started glowering down at Jason. "Really. You think you''re so much better than me, cause you killed Lightning. I thought you were cool. Some kinda badass who''d take me on like.. a trip to go steal shit from an army base or something. Kill some big-name meta. And you wanna drag me off on some little trip to texas to what... break some normie idiot? Anybody could do that."


    Jason gave a long-suffering sigh, and climbed out of the van. "I think we need to teach you something. Pick up that big blade of yours, and walk over there."


    He stepped off of the gravel parking area, and slid his combat knife out of its sheath in his boot. He stretched for a moment, popping his neck, making sure his muscles were good and warmed up after the long drive from Vegas. "There we go. Now. This is an KA-BAR combat knife." He holds it up in the light. "Weighs not a whole lot. Extremely sharp. Dangerous to mid-grade metas like you, and to normies, but not to people like your mom. On you... it probably won''t kill you unless I jam it in your eye. But it can seriously hurt you. If you genuinely think you can handle whatever gets thrown at you, show me. Take that giant slab of metal of yours, and hit me with it."


    The blade had a couple of dents in its edge. Clearly the boy had used it to strike a rock or a barricade somewhere. "I''m probably more dangerous than any ''normie'' you''ll run into. So if you can take me out, just hit me once, then you''re ready for the big leagues."


    The boy looked down at the dirt... at his massive blade... and at Jason''s tiny knife. He saw the swing before it was made.. and praying that Valkyrie wouldn''t kill him for this, easily stepped under the swing... and dragged the tip of his knife along Butch''s forearm; scratching the skin painfully, just barely drawing blood.


    When Butch shrieked in pain and stepped back before swinging again, Jason stepped in closer; and jammed the knife into the back of Butch''s hand; right between the bones, pressing it through to briefly smack into the handle of the giant butcher knife before he backed off; leaving some real blood dripping down his hand as Butch shrieked, unintentionally tossing the blade... which slammed into, and then through, a fencepost.


    Jason stepped back; holding the knife pointed at the ground, meeting Butch''s gaze. "I''m gonna be honest here. A ranger wouldn''t be using a knife. He would''ve already put six bullets into your face and you''d be dead. But if he''d lost his gun? He could still play with you, just like this."


    Butch looked down at his hand; at Jason''s tiny knife... and then at the fence he''d just destroyed with his blade. "...Could you really kill me with that knife?"


    "Your mama would make me wish I''d never been born if I did. But put me in a room with five of you and this knife, and I''ll be the only one that steps out alive."


    A long sigh. "Man. I kinda screwed that up there. What would you have done if you were me?"


    Jason wiped the knife off in the dirt before sheathing it. "Well, I''d have picked a smaller, lighter blade until I could swing it faster... and then I''d put it down and pick up a gun. Honestly, as big and strong as you are, if I were you I''d wear the kind of armor they put on a Humvee... and carry the kind of gun that they don''t normally consider man-portable. You go in like that, and you could take on a few squads of rangers before you went down. I also wouldn''t be bitching at and trying to take on the guy I called Titanslayer a few minutes ago."


    Butch glances back at the house. Valkyrie and a few of the men were watching; had probably seen the whole thing. "Mom doesn''t like using guns. Thinks they''re too... weak. Loud."


    "Your mom turned pretty much invulnerable when she was like... 19? 17? You might get there someday... and when you can, maybe you can throw a rock so hard it makes a bullet look like a nerf dart. But you won''t be able to throw five hundred rocks in a minute, and do it so you can take out a few cars without destroying the building behind them."


    After another minute of staring at the house, the blade, and his mom, he turned back to Jason. "...Sorry. Can I... go with you to texas? It... sounds like a fun start."


    Jason shakes his head. "Hop on in the van. The fun doesn''t start for a few days. First... you gotta watch. Wait. And learn."


    At first, Butch seemed on the verge of rebellion. Waiting? Learning? But he glanced back at his mom... at the house... and then climbed into the van without another word.

 16 - Road Trip

    Butch looked comically large in the passenger seat of the van. The seat-belt fit him; but his hips went over the edges of the seat. It couldn''t be comfortable, but he didn''t complain... about the seat at least. They''d stopped to grab food about every hour or so... and the boy had eaten a couple of full-sized meals every time. Jason didn''t mind too much; he had calls to make, and didn''t want to make them in front of the boy. Even so, he''d somehow gotten it into his mind that a 12-hour drive meant they''d arrive in 12 hours.. despite making a few hours of stops along the way.


    "How far is it to Dallas? Why is this taking so long?"


    Twelve years old. Right. "In a few minutes we''ll be crossing the border to texas. But that''s still hours away; Dallas is waaay over on the east side of texas. So. Do you know why I picked this job?"


    "Because it''s easy? Low-risk, not much of a threat?"


    "To an extent, yes. You also have to think about what happens if you get caught, though. Most people don''t really care about it when you rob a bank, or some lab, or a big business. If I were to go out there and rob Amazon blind tomorrow, the cops would be looking for me, but they''d be calling me a hero on social media and around the dinner table, and not really cooperating with the manhunt. You know why nobody fucks with your mom?"


    Butch shook his head. "That''s stupid. She''s invulnerable. Nobody fucks with her because she could kill anybody that tried!"


    "Imagine if, say, Lightning when he was around, and one of the grade-A speedsters were to go to your mom''s place, carry her up to mount everest, and toss her into the sky... and one of the high-grade telekinetics were to give an assist. She could be lying at home asleep right now, and in two hours, be in vacuum, floating towards the sun... and not have noticed what was going on until it was too late."


    He stopped. "Oh. That... that could work. ... Why don''t they do that?"


    "Your mom started out as kinda a folk hero. Standing up for the little man against big evil corporations. Thats still how alot of people see her, despite her crimes, because of both her early days working with the unions, and because of her helping fight those aliens. So any plan to kill her has political and military opposition; because any politician who agrees to take her out is gonna lose his next election, and the military knows that it wasn''t guns, nukes, or planes that stopped the invasion; it was the titans. And, criminal or not, she''s American; and if someone invaded us, whether it was the Chinese or some band of giant bugs with motherships no weapon we have can damage... she''d knock em right to hell."


    ".. So... what does that mean?"


    "That means that you need to think with a mind to PR. Don''t target civilians or poor people; there''s no money in it, and it makes you look bad. Not only that, but if you target some people that your average joe thinks ''gets away with it'' and are ''above the law''.... you can be in the same place as your mom. If Lightning had never shown up, I wasn''t gonna go looking for him; not gonna give up and go to jail for anybody, but if I could''ve just robbed the place without the alarm getting out and been gone before anyone knew... that''d have been perfect."


    Butch nodded slowly. "And this Lebowski guy. Tons of people hate him because of the whole fighting thing."


    "Ideally, we won''t be caught. Nobody will know we existed except the douchebag. But if we do get caught? The first thing you''ll be known for is cutting some asshole who thought making poor people fight to the death was good fun down to size. Which doesn''t mean we -want- to be caught, but means we aren''t killing witnesses either."


    "So... I can start off like mom. A hero to the little guy. Can we stop again in the next town? I''m getting hungry again."


    ***


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Alright, buddy, first things first. Come on. Lets take you shopping." An hour outside of Dallas; and only 45 minutes from the ''Ranch'' that Lebowski lived on; Jason had pulled up to the ''Longhorn Armory and Emporium''; a gun and armor shop that featured a secondary sales floor where they regularly held gun shows and allowed dealers to come sell gear. He''d been there once before, in the days when he was still.. well. Stupid, really. Aside from the public, these people also catered to the Rangers; both the metas, and the more normal ones.


    Butch looked around at the building... and the sign. "But.... I don''t really know how to use guns, Mr. Eyeball."


    "We''ll work on that. Gotta start somewhere. More importantly, they''ll hopefully have some armor... a few sizes too big for you, because honestly if I get it the right size you''ll be tossing it out in a few weeks."


    Heading into the building, one of the salesmen behind the counter glances over at the two; noted Jason''s holstered tenner without a comment... and visibly backed up a step on seeing Butch. Jason stepped up to the counter. "My friend here is a low-grade meta. Maybe mid-grade. I want the heaviest armor you''ve got that can fit him... honestly loose if you got it. And the biggest gun you can get. Whatever it is, I want something that kicks so bad I couldn''t shoot it. I might buy a piece for myself as well."


    The man just stared at Butch for a few seconds. "Damn, man. You a football player?"


    Butch shook his head. "Nah. Too high-grade. I''d take out the whole team myself and keep going."


    He nodded at the response. "Not too high to do some security work though, I take it." He looked down at his computer, tapped a few keys. Picked up a walkie-talkie. "Hey Mike. Could you grab that 4xl pack and have it dollied over to the changing rooms?" The response was too garbled for Jason to understand. "Thanks." He turned to Butch. "We got something that should work for you. Head over to the changing rooms, you can try it on."


    Jason nodded. "Go ahead. Make sure it fits loose, and I''ll buy it."


    As Butch walked away, heading towards the changing rooms, the salesman glanced down. "Uhh... you don''t want it to fit loose, man. That armor stuff works best if all the stuff is in the right place, secured good and tight."


    "Yeah. But he''s only twelve. If we get it big enough we -might- be able to keep it for a year. So lets talk about what kind of guns you have... and what kind of blades. I might want a bit of custom work, if you guys can do it."


    ***


    Lying in the dirt not far from the van, Butch tried not to complain about.. well. Anything. The bugs itching his arms and legs. The constant whirring buzz of the van behind them of the fabricator. He didn''t even complain about how weird and ugly Eyeball''s bike was; it looked like someone had taken all the bodywork and beaten it with a hammer as they put it on, and he had no idea what sort of bike it was.


    Jason had a laptop laying on a rubber mat on the dirt; and a few cameras placed, wires leading away, pointed at the ranch... but was just leaving them recording, laying back, eating a sandwhich. Turkey on rye.


    "Mm. So, basically. He moved here after he got out of jail. Nice big mansion, a warehouse and a few barns on the property. A few cows, but he''s not really a rancher. Basically, we''re gonna watch. Learn his patterns, figure out the best time of day to strike so we kill the fewest security guards and get as much time as possible to toy with the asshole before we break his legs backwards and leave him for the ambulances."


    Butch sighed. "So... how long do we watch?"


    "The game is in five days now. So we''re gonna watch for three days, see if he has a regular pattern that gives us a good opportunity, and... while we''re waiting, the fabricator is gonna print your armor plates and pads. It can do em on the road, but, well. Doing that sort of stuff is why my bike looks like that."


    The boy crawled over to the laptop. Jason had warned him not to peek his head over the hill; the cameras were obscured by brush, security over there would see nothing until it was time to move. He stared at the cameras. "...Huh. Wonder what the deal is with these guys. Don''t look like security."


    Jason took another bite of his sandwhich. "Mm. He''s only got like six cows, maybe he''s got a ranch hand or something to handle them. What do they look like?"


    Butch turned to Jason. "Homeless. Worn, dirty, but solid clothes. Really broken-down shoes."


    For a moment, Jason was stunned. He crawled over to the laptop to examine the video himself. "...That cheeky little motherfucker is back at it. He''s gathering together a bunch of homeless people again. Last time he basically held a little tournament in a warehouse downtown. Gave em cash for each fight they won. He and a bunch of his rich friends would get together and watch the show. Someone blabbed, and the whole thing fell apart. You know what this means?"


    "What?"


    "That means this just got a helluva lot more fun. The idea of not getting caught just went out the window. We want everybody to know about this one... just not til we''re already on the way out of town. Stay here and watch the cameras. And, well. Sorry, but your armor is gonna end up looking as F''d up as my bike; I gotta pick up a few party favors."

 17 - The Arena - The Plan

    When Jason pulled the van up to the top of the hill, Butch was looking anxious, bored; and relieved to see him approach. He had almost gotten on the bike and headed off to grab some food after the first hour... but ended up having half a dozen sandwiches instead. When he stopped before reaching the stone slab he''d originally parked on, Butch looked a touch confused... and even more so as the side door was kicked open and several spools of copper wire rolled out onto the ground.


    "Alright. First things first. I got some cameras, an EMP, a cell phone jammer, and everything we need to make ourselves a faraday cage. Its gonna be like a thousand dollars worth of copper wire and other crap to do it, but we''re gonna protect the van, and all the stuff I got in there. So. Know anything about a faraday cage?"


    Butch dropped the half-eaten sandwich into the ice chest Jason had left behind. "No. Are they cool?"


    "Sorta? When I set this thing off..." Jason pulled out a smooth, round cylinder of metal with projections on the top that looked vaguely akin to a water heater. "Everything electronic that isn''t shielded right is gonna die. The alarm company that worked on this house sells a shielded alarm panel... that after 30 seconds of no power and an indicator it got shocked, sends out an alarm.. via a cell phone call and a phone line. So..."


    He grins. "We need to do four things in thirty seconds. Seal all of the doors to that warehouse so nobody gets out. EMP the place so nobody''s phones or anything work. Cut the phone line so that the alarm can''t call out... and then jam the cell signal when it tries to call that way. So. How do we do it?"


    Butch blinked, staring at him. "Uhhh... Hire more people? Maybe some of those homeless guys, they''re only here for money anyway."


    "Good answer! Some cheap, local help would be great. But if they''re already bringing guys in, our VIPs are gonna show soon. So anything else?"


    "...Maybe like... put bombs on the phone line and the doors, on a timer? And set the EMP off as soon as they blow?"


    "There we go! Not bombs on the warehouse, though. Don''t want to take out the warehouse, or burn everybody alive." He held up a small green cylinder. "Goo grenade. Ultra-compressed sticky foam. Wedges doors shut, renders people helpless. Generally not recommended for crowd control because there''s too much risk of suffocation. You hate somebody, you blow one of these on their chest; they die bad."


    He set a row of them on the ground. "So. Here''s what we do. We set timers on these. All the same timer, all together; then we carry them out there. These four.." He tapped one of the Goo grenades. "To the warehouse doors. This one.." He taps a Burster grenade. "To the phone box. I''ll put those in place. You pull the trigger on the EMP... and toss it over there at the warehouse, hard as you can, as soon as they go off. Works best if it goes off in midair. And..."


    He nodded at the van. "The cell phone jammer sits safe and sound in the van til the EMP goes off, already running. Soon as the EMP is off... we take it out, and just walk right in. Me with my guns...."


    He pulled out... an enormous, dark black-grey machete. The scoring of recent welds were visible on the blade, but it appeared fairly well-done; nice beaded path. "You with a gun and a sword. That one''s Tungsten. Not as heavy as the one you had... but I bet you could chop a hole right through a wall easy enough. All of the guys in there are criminals, and the sort I don''t give a fuck about, so kill anyone armed, and if they backtalk you, maim em. And if they keep backtalking you after getting maimed, kill em. Even the Lebowski guy; the payout requires him left alive, but I think I can stand to miss out on a hundred grand for this. I plan on giving whatever money these fucks have to the homeless guys they lured in here and making sure none of em leave alive"


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Butch took the blade, examining it almost reverently. "...Wow. Thats..." He gave it a few experimental swings. "I like it. Feels too light, though."


    "Less weight, more speed. I could probably still dodge a good swing from it without a problem, but once you get it down, most people won''t be able to. So. Once we get inside, have everybody trapped in there with us, any security dealt with... I figured we could put on a little show of our own. Maybe make these rich assholes fight each other for a chance to get out alive."


    "Sounds awesome! Mom would love that!"


    "Me too, kid. But first... we gotta wrap this van in so much copper wire that you''re gonna be sick of it before we get halfway through. I''m gonna start putting timers on the grenades and getting em set. I want you to just start wrapping; toss the spool over, roll it back under, and keep going; small gaps, we''re gonna use the whole thing.. and then the next spool the other direction. Only rule is, keep it out of touch with the metal; either on the ground or on the polymer. Err... Plastic."


    Butch looked at the grenades; the electronics that Jason had set aside. "Could you.... show me how to set the timers?"


    Jason glanced at the boy. Valkyrie, from what he understood, was bright enough, but never cared about electronics aside from what made her motorcycle tick. Might have even discouraged him. "Sure. Come on over. There''s cheaper ways to do it, but the quick and easy route is to take a burner phone... this way you can remote-detonate if you need to... and a modified egg-timer in case the EMP goes off early and you need a mechanical trigger."


    For the next hour, Jason showed him how to disassemble the grenade without detonating it; and a quick course in how to turn a cheap burner phone into a detonator.


    As the sun went down, and the first of the ''guests'' showed up; a fancy sports-car pulling into the ranch; everything was ready, or close enough. Jason started pulling chest and arm pieces out of the fabricator to lay over the store-bought armor for Butch; and true to form, the shoulders and forearms had come out jagged and mishapen due to Jason''s driving while the fabricator ran.


    "Alright. Sun''s down. Guests have started showing up. They''ve got a couple of guards there at the gate letting people in... when they leave and lock the gates, thats when we start placing grenades."


    "...These are gonna be a bunch of rich assholes, right? Can we like... rob em? Shake em down while we''re doing this?"


    "Maybe. But financial transactions they make under duress... and on the day they were murdered... are probably gonna be reversed by the bank, and if its too big they''re gonna put a hold on it until they confirm. Nice thinking though; can try it out."


    ***


    It took three hours before all of the guests showed up; and the guards locked the gates, backed off... but kept an eye on the street. Apparently, being in the middle of nowhere wasn''t enough.


    "Eh. Well, fuck. The phone line heading in comes from right there by the road. Gonna need to cut it further out, probably cost the whole neighborhood phone service." Jason sighed... and turned to Butch. Both of them were fully armed, armored, and geared up at this point; Jason with his as-yet unused rifle and both handguns; and Butch with his new machete, a... 10 gauge shotgun pistol... and his own new armor. The tiny display LEDs were currently unhooked; they were purely for style anyway.


    "Alright, Butcher. I want you to head over to that phone pole... right here." He pointed it out. "Set the grenade at the base of the pole, and then come on back. Doing it this way is gonna take a bit more force, so..." He pulled a second grenade from a tube; and set it by the first. "All timers are set. I''m gonna go in and place the rest, then come back here to the van. You do the same; if you get in trouble, just shoot and I''ll be there, and we can burn the whole op.. and just call the cops to arrest all these assholes. Maybe we''ll get the bounty if he''s in jail and can''t play, I''ll need to check the wording on it. If you catch any of the guards alone, and have the drop on em... use the blade."


    The two split off; the pre-teen and the soldier each taking their own path around the fence-line of the ranch in the darkness, to their own targets; setting the stage for the chaos that was to come.

 18 - The Arena - Fun and games

    For David Lebowski, things were looking up. He was out of jail, he''d managed to get most of the money he was supposed to in his contract, and he was back on top of the world; on the way to a superbowl if he played the way he had been so far. Bitches, money, and fun. And this time, he wasn''t going to lose it all because some asshole peeked through the wrong window at the wrong time and spotted a body. Oh, fuck no. He was safe, secure, middle of nowhere. Guards at the gate, guards around the house, and this time none of the damn hobos was gonna get to see his face, or even where the hell they were.


    He had the warehouse setup, nice and neat. A fighting arena in the middle, well-lit, cameras all around; and he and his friends got to watch from behind a two-way mirror; up close and personal, but without any of them possibly seeing that Lebowski was back in on it. A couple of armed guards to feed the hobos in, one by one, from each side, and a nurse to drag them out and, well. Honestly she probably wasn''t gonna save any of them, but he didn''t care. His lawyer had advised him that in the unlikely event he was caught, having a medical professional on-hand would help him fight the next batch of charges... as if there were going to be any.


    This was the second time he''d run this gig since he got out; the first time, selling the video online had made the company that was of course not based in the US and had nothing to do with him tons of cash. And by pulling them from a different city, none of this new batch would be aware that better than nine in ten of the last one had never made it ''home''... Hah. Alive.


    He walked up to his head of security, Hamilton, and slapped him on the shoulder. "You did great last time, Ham. What did we get now?"


    "Got thirty contestants for you, boss. No trash this time; all homeless, of course, so none of em are in perfect health, but I got some vets, some former athletes and fighters. All of em know a bit about how to fight, so we shouldn''t see any of the kind of crap we had first-round last time."


    "You put the cards up?"


    "Yup!" He nods at the wall. The guards who''d picked up the volunteers had taken a snapshot of each man at time of pickup; written down whatever the man had said about himself; and then Hamilton had printed it all out and laid them out on a wall in the viewing area; and even drawn a series of lines on the wall to show who would fight who.


    David laughed. "Perfect! Alright, gentlemen!" He turned to his friends; a couple of fellow players from his team, wealthy local businessmen, some not-so-local businessmen. A group of about twenty-five men that were collectively worth billions. "We''ve got our line-up for tonight. Our first fight is gonna start in just a few minutes. You know how it goes. First one to yield or get knocked out is out. No rules, and there''s weapons in the arena. Everybody who wins the first round gets ten grand. Second round, fifty grand. Third round, a hundred grand. Fourth round, two-fifty. And our main winner gets a million. Granted... last time we only had two survivors, and the winner wasn''t one of em, so how much we actually pay out remains to be seen."


    Suddenly... a loud buzzing sound. The lights flickered... and with a series of pops, mostly went out. The monitors were dead, the emergency strips he''d had put in the roof suddenly came on, glowing red... "Well, fuck. Power outage? Alright, we can get the generator going and..." He frowned. His phone was dead too? What the...


    Gunshots. Screams. David turned around the room, suddenly afraid. What the hell was going on? Hamilton gripped him by the shoulder. "Come on, boss. Lets get out of here." The tall, thin security guard started leading Lebowski towards the exit door; when suddenly a massive ''crunch'' sound. The squealing of metal; and the biggest sword he''d ever seen slammed in through the wall a few feet away; only for a massive chunk of wall to be ripped out. He got a brief view of a giant monster of a man, a figure in black armor with a sword that must have been seven feet long... and then the figure had stepped to the side. Gunshots. Hamilton suddenly fell away, dropping at David''s feet... and David turned, screaming... but there was nowhere to go. Just that glass wall over the now red-lit arena... and the two glowing red dots of eyes entering the room, a single handgun pointed forward. All of the security men in the room... were down.


    "Strip down. Take everything off but your boxers and put it in a pile, right there. Anybody who takes too much time gets shot. If you''re not wearing boxers, don''t care, you can go naked. Butcher, you go arrange the cameras. I''ll explain how things are gonna go to our friends here."


    ***


    It was exhillerating. With all the doors sealed, the guards couldn''t get in; and Jason could clean up all of them with quick, precision shots as they struggled to break down the doors. Most of them hadn''t even seen him before he took them out; none of them managed to return fire. Once they figured out where the ''viewing area'' was, Butcher had cut his way in... and all that was left was the guards inside, the rich assholes, and the victims of this scheme downstairs in cells.


    He looked out over the scared... some of them had pissed themselves... assholes in the room. "So, here''s how things are going to go. I like your whole idea. Two men enter the arena, one man walks out. It sounds like fun. We just need to take it up a step. I''m Eyeball. The news has been calling me ''Titanslayer'', but I think we should stick with Eyeball. All of you dipshits have money, so we can skip the cash prizes. My friend Butcher is gonna give some of the cash to those guys you picked up for thier troubles, and I''ll be keeping the rest. No... you''ll be getting something much more valuable if you win."


    His chuckle sounded far more harsh when it was digitized. "Your lives. Leave your shit here, and lead the way. You''re heading down to the cells you kept your ''prize fighters'' in for the night.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    One of the men; tall, fit, tanned, in almost perfect health; decided to play hero, and after pretending to head to the stairs... charged Jason head-on. Jason, of course, saw it coming; and used a single Burster grenade.


    The remaining men were sprayed with bits of blood, bone, and hair as the object impacted his chest, cracking his rips... and after a moment as the armor-piercing tip sought the warm flesh of its target... detonated. Some of the men screamed. Lebowski apparently pissed himself. But none of the rest stepped closer as he waved them down the stairs.


    At the bottom, there were the cells; two guards, one of them literally cut in half, the other on his knees, hands raised... and the homeless men were seeming to calm down as they talked to Butcher. The nurse was cowering in a corner, trying to avoid looking at anyone; and judging by the scrapes and markings, someone had been trying to force the door open through the foam.


    At the bottom of the stairs, Jason smiled. "Alright, gentlemen! Here''s how its going to work. You idiots decided to throw some weapons in there. I think I see... an aluminum baseball bat.. a machete... some knives.. well. Me and Butcher over there? We''re gonna send you in, two at a time. One of you is gonna walk out... the other is gonna be left bleeding on the floor. Once all of you have either won or lost? If you put on a good show, we''ll let you go. If not... we''ll hold a round two."


    Butcher stepped up to the group of half-naked businessmen; his expression invisible behind his helmet, but the black armor; and the blood-dripping blade; were menacing enough to convey the idea.


    One man dropped to his knees immediately. "Please! My name is Jimmy Russo! You dealt with my brother in vegas! I promise you, you kill me, he''ll make you regret it." He was old, balding, and smaller than Nicky... but had a passing resemblance. "Hmm. You can sit this one out... but I''ll be making a phone call on the way out of here, and taking you with me. If you''re lying, you''ll never get the chance to say anything again."


    Jimmy; if that was his real name; stepped aside, leaning back against the wall. "So, Lebowski. This was your idea, right? You go first. Annd... you." He picked one of the other businessmen at random. "You''re his opponent. We got cameras out there to catch the action. So make it look good."


    The man he''d pointed at looked down at Jimmy, then at Jason. "Look. Eyeball. I''ve got over a hundred million dollars. I can make you rich. I can.." The gun that he''d cleaned off the ''hero'' upstairs with started to raise level with his chest. "..." He backed away... and then turned, running through the door into the arena, sprinting for the machete.


    "Hah! Good start, there. Might want to catch up, Lebowski!"


    The quarterback started.. he was the biggest, healthiest man among the figures there.. aside from Butcher.. and when he realized the other man was grabbing a weapon... he ran in after him... and instead of going for a weapon, he sprinted in... and slammed into his back, knocking him to the floor just a few feet short of the blade.


    Lebowski grabbed the machete, standing over him... raised the machete... and slammed it down on the man''s shoulder. With a loud, meaty thunk it was buried in the flesh, the man screaming, blood spraying.. and Lebowski grinned. "So... thats it, right? I beat him, I can go?"


    Jason tilted his head. Well. He was a football player. Probably not fair to expect your fat old businessmen to keep up with him. "You know what. That wasn''t really a fair fight. You know what you need to make it fair? A handicap." He switched to the tenner, and fired a single shot; the bullet going right through the machete handle, and Lebowski''s hand, sending the blade flying... and costing him at least a couple of fingers, leaving his hand a ruined mass.


    "Alright, gentlemen. I''ll let the first one to enter the arena be Lebowski''s second challenger. Should be more fair, now that he''s down a hand."


    Lebowski had dropped to his knees, groaning in pain.. and one of the other businessmen had sprinted in, charging away from Lebowski to grab a baseball bat.


    Even so, Lebowski didn''t go down quietly; he managed to deliver a few powerful, left-handed punches that may have broken ribs before a blow to the side of the head sent him down... but when the man started to swing again, at the already downed player, Jason called out. "Thats enough. I gave him a handicap, so I suppose its not quite fair to kill him. You''re good. Leave the bat."


    As he cycled the men into the arena one by one; most of them going for the machete and fighting over it; sometimes they would grab different weapons each and almost have a duel; though it always ended in a brutal fashion; the nurse, scrubs quickly dripping with blood, did her best to keep the men alive. She''d been paid for this... and knew what was coming. Honestly, she''d prefer these men to be hurt rather than the ones she''d started off planning to treat.


    As Jason kept watch; and occaisionally gave orders; Butcher checked through the lockbox of cash the men had kept, planning to give to the survivors; about two million in hundreds. Butcher wasn''t sure why the men would actually pay the winners; it would probably have been better to just, well. Lie to them and dispose of them. But having a few winners out there bragging about it would probably make it easier to recruit next time.


    This lockbox was worth much more than the bounty on Lebowski; but Butcher went along with the plan; giving each of the men who''d been dragged out here one of the envelopes marked ''10,000$''. Granted, they couldn''t leave til the show was over.


    When the last of the ''Observers'' had been put through the arena, Jason smiled. "Alright, boys. These guys drove some nice, fancy cars to get here. I wouldn''t recommend keeping them... but if you go up in that observation room they were gonna watch the fights on... you can grab some keys, and get the hell out. And for you..."


    He turned to the survivors. Some were just bruised. Some badly injured or maimed. Sometime during the fighting, Lebowski had woken back up, and was curled up in the corner in the fetal position. "You guys have fun cleaning this up. I''m sure you can come up with a plausible reason for all these corpses, especially the ones you killed yourselves. I''m probably gonna go ahead and sell the video... or maybe just send it up for free. Fun like that deserves to be shared."


    Butcher took hold of the lockbox, heading out the hole he''d cut in the wall; most of the men who''d been hauled in were already gone, the keys on the floor missing, engines starting in the distance. Jason glanced back. "Except for you, Jimmy. Come along. We''re gonna have a chat with your brother, and see how he feels about this nonsense."


    The man looked at his friends; broken, battered, dead... and at the murderer who''d blown a man in half just minutes before..."Can... Can I get my clothes?"


    Jason glared at him for a moment. Regretting once again that he couldn''t properly convey anger through this helmet and the voice digitizer. "...Fine. But I would hurry, if I were you."


    He turned to the broken hole in the wall. So. Had he just made an enemy of Nicky, after this? Would Valkyrie keep him alive, if so? He just wanted to absolutely ruin the day of a few rich assholes, and have fun doing it. Why did it always have to be so damned complicated.

 19 - Arena - Departure

    When Jason flagged the bounty posting on the network, indicating he had completed it; he received an immediate response; payment approved pending confirmation. A small note was attached.


    ~While I have enough cash to pay it, win or lose, if he manages to play sunday, or turns out dead, I''m not paying out. So long as he''s alive and not throwing a football sunday evening, you get the cash.~


    Jason gave a laugh as he set it down.. and started off down the highway, headed back west. Jimmy Russo; or so he claimed; was sitting on the floor between the seats; there were no back seats in the van, nor any direct access to the back. He might need something else to bring people to the next job.


    "Alright. Butch, keep quiet for now. We''re gonna call in to Nicky and find out what the deal is with this lump down here."


    He tapped the button on the cell, setting it in the dock on the dashboard as he left the van in cruise control; the auto-avoidance mechanisms could handle most traffic like this, but best to keep your eyes on the road; no self-driving vehicle was perfect yet, despite all the auto-drive trucks cruising the interstate.


    After a few rings, the phone beeped. "Well if it isn''t my new friend Eyeball. What has you calling me so late at night? I trust its something urgent?"


    The man seemed a touch irritated. Jason looked at the clock. It was only 8PM. It would be even earlier than that in vegas. Did he interrupt dinner? Or a date? "Sorry to bother you, Nicky. Would you happen to have a brother named Jimmy Russo.. a bit short, fat, balding?"


    "Goddamnit what is that asshole doing now? You know what, don''t tell me. Bring him here. Just don''t let Penelope see him. Actually.. I''ll meet you somewhere else."


    Jimmy leaned towards the phone. "Brother! It is fine, your associate just stumbled onto a little entertainment we had setup with me and some.. people I know around Dallas."


    "Oh, this is on speaker then? Eyeball, you tell that tiny little piece of shit that if he did anything even vaguely business-related, his balls are never gonna make it back home. I''ll text you an address. Have him there tomorrow."


    Jason glanced at the phone, then at Jimmy, as the phone disconnected. "Well then. We''ll see about getting you to vegas. You get to live. The hell did you do to piss off your brother like that?"


    Jimmy looked down at the floor. "Uhh.... I''m in the family, but I''m not ''in the family'', if you know what I mean. I got in a fight and... uhh.. I called the cops on somebody."


    "Thats it? You called the cops on someone and you''re out?"


    "Pretty much, yeah. They didn''t kill me.. but they broke both my legs, pretty damn bad, actually. Had to get fake knees put in. Told me I was out. If I ever tried anything again they were gonna... well. You heard Nicky." The little man seemed to be curling in on himself.


    "It wasn''t business, not really. Maybe a little gambling and fun with friends. Thats.. thats okay, right?"


    Jason slowly shook his head. "You were part of a criminal organization that abducted hundreds of people, had some really famous people in it, and already made the news once. You were lucky you weren''t rolled up in it the first time. If you''re supposed to be ''out''... that doesn''t really sound like out to me, Jimmy."


    Somehow he seemed to shrink even smaller in the space wedged between the seats. A tone sounded from the van, and Jason glanced up. "Huh. Man, I love these new rigs. Engine been running for almost a week straight and its only now running low on gas. Butch, keep an eye on him. I''ll grab us some drinks while we''re there."


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "And some food, too? I haven''t eaten in like... two hours!"


    Jason laughed as he pulled into the station. "Yeah, I''ll get some food too. If he tries to run, don''t kill him... just break one of those fake knees again for him."


    ***


    "This is Tina Lamarc for headline news! A deadly mass-killing incident just outside of Dallas, where it is currently estimated that over twenty people have been shot, another fifteen or more brutally beaten; the total death toll is expected to exceed thirty. More details will be released as they become available, but according to the testimony of one of the victims, famed Cowboys quarterback David Lebowski was one of the assailants; while this cannot be confirmed, Lebowski is in fact hospitalized at this time, and police are guarding his room. The general manager of the cowboys was unavailable for comment at this time, and they are declining to comment until they have more information."


    A roar of laughter spread through the room as the statement sank in, alongside angry growling, muttering, and some friendly... and less friendly.. jokes.


    "I heard he stole all of their cars and left em scattered all over the place, so the ones that lived all had to walk home." "I heard he made that Lebowski asshole cry like a little girl." "I bought the video of the whole damn thing off the web for twenty bucks. Best thing I saw all year."


    Nicky Russo leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. He wasn''t one to bet on sporting events, but his casino handled sporting events alongside every other form of gambling someone might like; and this was going to throw an enormous wrench into the numbers. Granted... he''d had enough of a heads-up that he''d encouraged his people to encourage more betting, and would come out a bit ahead of any of the other casinos on this... well, dramatically so, since he''d been the one offering the best payout if the cowboys won, and now that seemed much less likely. And, well. The bets were already in. Couldn''t change em the day before the game.


    He should thank whoever put that bounty in. Stood to make him a fair amount of profit. Still. What the hell was Jimmy doing? The dumbass was supposed to be out of the game. Quietly living in some little house up in New York. Why was he part of some bumfights-style bullshit down in Dallas? One thing was for sure, he needed to get Penelope out of town until Jimmy was gone.


    He gave it a moment''s thought. Tapped his phone.


    The other end picked up instantly. "Hey daddy! I was just trying on some of the necklaces I got last week. I can be right down if you''d like?"


    "No, sweetheart. Our friend Eyeball just did me a bit of a favor and tilted the odds on the cowboys game.. and Valkyrie saddled him with babysitting her boy. I figured we could do him a favor in return. I want you to spend the next day or two checking out targets.. High-security ones you can''t just break in easy with speed alone. Find something that might be worth their time. Preferably nothing military, don''t want to get the kid killed and Valkyrie pissed at all of us."


    "I''d love to daddy! Thank you!" For Swiftblade, the exuberance at being given another solo assignment was evident. She''d always hated working with others; they seemed so slow and miserable when she actually got excited and her powers really kicked in. And now? Daddy just kept letting her go on her own! He was trusting her! She''d been angry at how he kept coddling her, but knew full well she couldn''t do -too- much with Lightning around. But now... he''d kept telling her it was because of Lightning he''d kept her back. She''d always doubted it, to a certain extent; he loved her, obviously, and didn''t want her taking risks. And with Lightning out? First he just let her rob all those jewelry stores. Now this? She never should have doubted him. She''d drop by later, give him a hug and thank him for it after she''d scouted out a few places.


    ***


    Jason gave a slow yawn as he stretched and settled out of the bed. Jimmy was bundled  up in a blanket, lying between the two queen-sized beds. The other bed in the hotel room occupied by the enormous form of Butch.. who had a stuffed dinosaur of some sort pressed against his chest, and was muttering something in his sleep. Butcher had actually jammed the door shut with his blade, and short of breaking the window, nobody was getting out til he pulled it free; so they were presented with the strange image of an enormous 12-year-old boy who was the only one that could easily get out of the hotel.


    "Alright, folks. Up and at em." Jason walked over  to the machete; wiggling it back and forth, only to find it firmly stuck; he''d need a hammer, at the least, to pull it free.


    Butch rolled over, grumbling.. and fell off of the bed onto Jimmy. The two both shouted, startled, and there was a fair amount of jostling; the much smaller italian man bearing the brunt of it; before Butch pulled to his feet, shaking his head.


    "I''m up, I''m up!" The closest to actually being childish Jason had yet seen him.


    "Okay, boys. We''ve got another few hours to Vegas, and we''re supposed to meet Nicky for lunch. Butch, go ahead and make them regret serving you a free breakfast, see how much you can get down in... ten minutes.. Jimmy.. clean up if you want. Once Butch is done, we''re gonna head out. See what your brother decides to do with you."

 20 - Family Ties

    The rest of the return trip to Vegas was fairly uneventful. The delays by constantly stopping to get food for Butch were somewhat resolved by simply buying enough jerky that he could continuously eat along the way; and after a quick stop to clean up and empty out the pile of trash the boy had accumulated from seemingly every fast-food place the interstate had to offer, they arrived at their destination for the day a half-hour early; a diner on the edge of vegas, small, fairly quiet, out of the way; currently fairly empty despite it being almost four; he''d figured most places to eat would be at their busiest this time of day.


    Marcy''s Place, however, seemed to be primarily a breakfast joint; and when Jason headed inside, he saw two men in nice, tailored suits, the classic pinstripe look. One talking to the waitress, the other walking through the place; pretending to be talking on his cell, but clearly scanning the place for something; he recognized the device in his hands as an alternate version of a hand-scanner they''d used to search for IEDs overseas.


    When Jason entered, with Butch gently pushing Jimmy along behind him, one of the two men glanced his way... and nodded at the booth on the end. Jason sat down first... and Butch sat down opposite him, squeezing Jimmy into the corner. The waitress dropped off a few menus; for a moment, Jason thought about what Butch''s reaction would be if he actually ordered from the 12 and under menu; or more importantly, what the waitress''s would be.


    The menu had two pages; one of them fairly typical breakfast fare, the other mostly in italian; what he could''ve sworn was a croissant was labeled as a ''Cornetto'', so he figured they just had the same menu as other places, just probably owned by some italian who liked to add a bit of flavor. Probably the one he was here to meet.


    After a few minutes, the waitress returned. "Hello there, gentlemen! Our owner is currently on his way, and I''m sure he''ll appreciate you being prompt. Whatever you order will be on the house." She smiled; of course, a pretty red-head. Jason avoided checking her out by focusing far too much on studying the menu; this was not the time.


    "Ahh, I''ll have some bacon, eggs, and... I think I''ll try this.. Maritozzo." Jimmy glanced down. Back up... then down again.


    "I... I''m not hungry." He settled the menu down. Was the man afraid his brother would poison him? Or just too nervous to eat.


    Butch smiled; a grin that looked out of place on the enormous figure. "I''ll take however much bacon and eggs you can give me! Like.. five or six pounds if you could to start off?"


    The waitress looked at the massive form... and nodded. "Of course, sir! We''ll have that right out."


    Shortly after she stepped away, they heard the ringing as the door opened; and Nicky Russo walked in, another guard walking behind him. Two of the guards settled into the next booth, and ordered breakfast of their own, as Nicky sat beside Jason... staring across at his brother.


    "Jimmy the rat. Back in business, apparently."


    "No, its not like that, Nicky! I just have some friends, and we were having a bit of a party. Nothing to do with the business at all! I would never cross the family again, I''m strictly legit now."


    Nicky turned to Jason. "Ugh. I hate sitting beside someone and talking to them. But I suppose when you''ve got some real muscle on the team you have seating restrictions at time." He nodded at Butch. "Still. What was my brother doing when you found him?"


    "That quarterback, Lebowski, that had a bounty on crippling him before the game? He was running a little underground fight club where a bunch of homeless people would be dragged in and forced to fight  for cash. He and some of his friends would bet on it, pay off the survivors, and they had a mass grave pre-dug out in the desert to deal with the ones who didn''t make it. Jimmy was one of the ones betting."


    Nicky looked at Jimmy. "Just a little party, then."


    Jimmy shook at Nicky''s cold gaze settling over him, fists clenched. "I wasn''t really involved in it at all, I swear. Just, you know. Watching. Betting."


    "Just a bit of illegal gambling in a hidden arena over a bunch of poor folks made to fight to the death, huh? I saw the news. If Eyeball here hadn''t pulled you out of there for me, you''d be all over the news right now. The rest of the family would see you. At what was obviously a criminal enterprise. And I''d be forced to make a public spectacle of killing you."


    "Nothing to do with the family, Nicky! I wasn''t in the business, just, you know. Gambling! Anybody can gamble!"


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "When you ratted out those boys to the feds to save yourself, they wanted to kill you. I got them to settle for breaking your knees and kicking you out of the family. I saved your life, for our mother''s sake, god rest her soul. I''ve regretted it. More than once I''ve regretted it. But this? I don''t know if I can save you from this."


    Jimmy looked around Marcy''s. By now, the only people in the diner were Nicky''s people. Yelling would be useless. His phone was probably in the hands of some random homeless guy in dallas. He was absolutely screwed. "Okay. Look. I''ve got money. You can have it. All of it. I''ll... I''ll leave the country! Get plastic surgery, change my name! I''ll get the payouts from my government accounts sent to you instead!"


    Nicky had been shaking his head. He came to an abrupt stop. Frozen. "Payment... from government... accounts."


    "Nothing like that, Nicky! Not like an informant or anything! Maybe I can''t run faster than a cheetah anymore since they had to replace my knees, but I''m still a meta. I had like twelve kids, the government gives me a check for each of em. I used that for all sorts of stuff, got some real estate... guaranteed payment for life, and I can just sign it on over to you."


    "Twelve. I only knew about two." Nicky stared at Jimmy for a moment. He reached down and picked up his phone, and pressed a single button.


    Jimmy could hear it start to dial out; pick up; and then disconnect immediately. He frowned. "Well, yeah. We didn''t exactly talk. I stopped giving em the Russo last name after those first two. Not like I was gonna keep the brats. Why, whats the big deal?"


    "The two I knew about, one of em the mother died of a drug overdose and she was gonna be up for adoption. You never did a damn thing. The other had her son living in the worst damn conditions I ever saw. My own flesh and blood, niece and nephew, you left in terrible shape. I damn near hunted you down and killed you on the spot. What about the other ten. What don''t I know about, Jimmy?"


    A sudden blue flash... and Swiftblade was standing at the end of the table. She looked at the table, nodding at Eyeball and looking Jimmy over for a moment before shaking her head while observing the massive form of Butch. "Hey, daddy. Whats going on?"


    Jimmy sat up suddenly. "Oh, hey! I thought you were firing blanks, Nicky, never knew I had a niece. I''m your uncle Jimmy."


    She smiled for a moment.. then frowned. "Wait. What? Daddy?"


    Nicky stared directly at Jimmy. "This is my brother, James Russo. He''s your biological father. He abandoned you twenty-three years ago.  I adopted you after he got kicked out of the family. Your brother is in fact your brother, and is also his kid. Also abandoned. He''s got ten more kids. Abandoned. Family. Our blood. That I didn''t know about til just now."


    Swiftblade pulled the mask down. "I... Well. I figured I was adopted a long time ago. The whole story of your wife leaving because you cheated on her never really sat with me. But.. I did get a test done. It said we were related. Close." She turned to Jimmy. "You abandoned me? Why?"


    "Well, darling.. Penny I think it was?"


    She clenched her fists. "You can call me Swiftblade."


    Nicky leaned forward. "At the time, I thought it was because you came out too dark-skinned, and he wasn''t willing to bring you home to mama. Turns out thats not it at all. He''s been having kids and abandoning them regularly for years now, it seems, and the government pays him for it. Because he used to be fast. Not near as fast as you... but fast enough to matter."


    "And why is he here now?"


    "He''s a rat. Ratted out some folks and got kicked out of the family over twenty years ago. It wasn''t our people, it was some two-bit gangers, so I was able to convince them to just break his legs instead of killing him. He was out of the business, or he was dead. Our friend Eyeball here ran into him... in the business.  I wanted to talk to you before I killed him."


    She always had a bit of a manic look to her; emotions shifting dramatically. This time... her expression seemed to die off. No more anger, no more happiness. Just... death. Cold. Certain. "I understand. May I speak with him first? And... well. There may not be much left of him to kill after."


    "Before you do... you''ve got ten more brothers and sisters neither of us knew about until today. If you could please find out who and where they are so we can help them if they need it, and bring them into the fold if they want."


    A tiny flicker of the anger that had been there before. "Yes, daddy." And with that... the two were gone. Swiftblade seemed to have lost a bit of control; napkins and newspapers went flying as they vanished.


    Nicky looked down at the table. No more anger. Just... sorrow. "Ten more. God knows what kind of situation they''ve had to grow up in. My own flesh and blood. That..." He slowly shook his head. "Why the hell did he get to live when none of the rest..."


    Jason blinked. "Some sort of accident, Nicky?"


    He met Jason''s gaze. Eyes flickered for a moment to the patch of poorly-done makeup on his forehead. "...No. The Bloods were moving in on us. They had a few metas. Our father thought exposing some of us to radiation might give the family a few mutants. So... he took all seven of us. Only me and Jimmy were alive the next year."


    "...Jimmy the only mutant?"


    "No. He had a twin, John. John got the radiation sickness, bad.  He died in about two weeks after. But for those two weeks... well. There weren''t any more Bloods left by the time he died."


    "Damn. Sorry for your loss. Its a shame the only one left that could have kids was such an asshole."


    "True. Enough. Thanks for bringing him here. I''d heard you wanted information about some labs you were considering hitting. I put Swiftblade on it. If you want to hit up the penthouse... on me once again, with my thanks... I''ll have whatever she found sent to you when she''s finished... with what she''s working on."


    ***


    Off in the desert, a faint blue blur and the sound of screaming seemed to be circling the city, leaving a faint trail; as someone was dragged across the sand at hundreds of miles per hour, begging uselessly for his life.

 21 - Theyre called Scalies

    The penthouse suite had the advantage of multiple bedrooms; and of a massive TV; well over seventy inches. The sort of high-roller suite they regularly gave away to people who had wasted ridiculous amounts of money in the casino; and with a touchscreen laptop hooked up, a good place to display plans.


    At the moment, a few sat-map images were on-screen; pictures of small compounds in the woods in three cases, and the desert in another. Each had some things in common; a single multi-floor building surrounded by a wide open area, isolated in the middle of the wilderness; and of course, with heavy security fences and barricades.


    Butch walked in with a handful of bacon, smelling strongly of grease, casually tossing a few pieces into his mouth. "Mm! So whats this? Where are we going now?"


    Jason leaned back on the couch, laptop set beside him. "Well. When a company wants to research things that are illegal... or extremely valuable and secretive... the smart ones just do it in a big city, surrounded by everybody else doing things of a similar nature.. and just tuck it into some out-of-the-way corner of a building with some good security."


    He pointed at the screen. "The paranoid ones... or the stupid ones... and there''s alot of overlap there... do it in the middle of nowhere with armed guards and nobody around to see what''s going on. When you see a compound like this, and you can''t easily figure out what they''re doing? It might be worth robbing. This place, for example..."


    He taps one compound. It immediately pops up, zoomed-in. "It shows up on searches immediately. Its hiring and firing people all the time, and it makes lenses. Maybe for lasers, maybe for glasses; whatever it is, we know. And what it sells isn''t gonna appeal to anyone but the ones already paying for it."


    The next compound appears on-screen; heavily forested area, guard towers and fences surrounding the central structure. "This place, though? No hiring ads. No information. Owned by some shell company called Wayson Medical Enterprises. Whoever they''ve got working there and whatever they''re doing to draw all the power and materials, its expensive. They''ve got -something- in there worth taking, and are trying to hide it. So... we need to check the place out, find out as much as we can about it, and then move in. This is the boring part of the job, though it''ll run a bit faster for me than it would for some people."


    Butch gives a slow nod. "Okay. So... what do you want me to do?"


    "We''re gonna see how well you can dig."


    Butch blinked, staring at Jason. "Wait. Dig, like... in the dirt?"


    ***


    Wearing a lighter version of the armor he wore for the last job, Butch seemed a bit confused about the post-hole digger and hoe he carried.. and looked with interest at the long metal tubes Jason was carrying as they headed out into the forest... with a laptop bag under his other arm. "So why do I get shovels and you get mortars? Or is it a grenade launcher?"


    Jason glanced down at the tubes overfilling his duffel bag. In reality, this was a bit of a con he was playing on Butch, combined with some preparation for the job. "These are mostly just metal pipes... and some triggers I made using the fabricator. Basically just gonna load these up with some grenades, set them around the perimeter at key spots, and have them ready to cause some distractions and issues when it all goes down. But. We might be waiting a week for this to go down. So... we gotta bury the tubes. Only the very tip out of the ground, then we hide the tip and cover it."


    He held out a small cylinder with a pointed tip. "This is what we would call a camera shell. You might need them in the future. Basically, they come in three versions. This one, pops out a parachute and a little rotor. And essentially floats over the area for a while, giving you a top-down view until the battery dies. You can grab it and replace it after."


    For a moment, he studied what would happen, and what would show on the display of his helmet''s HUD if he launched that grenade. He could arc it around and get a good view of the entire compound; though the first few seconds were a bit distorted, so his view wasn''t too good. He could make out the watch towers, the fences; everyone would look up and notice the camera, though.


    "This second type is really just a drone launcher. It doesn''t launch with much speed, but you can remote control it, tell it where to go, get an up-close view of all sorts of nonsense. Same deal, replaceable."


    He put it away immediately. It wouldn''t show him anything useful. Instead, he pulled out the third grenade. "This one is ridiculous. Its a breach cam. Breaks half the time you use it. An armored shell that can penetrate most bullet-resistant glass and many walls and give you a picture on the other side if it didn''t break on the way through. Extremely limited utility; basically just helps clearing out buildings in hostile territory. Has a nasty habit of throwing bits of the wall into the room you just got a picture of, which means that since you might kill whatever''s in there anyway. They issued us a few of these in the field, but the whole thing was discontinued so I picked some up cheap."


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    Except that for him, the ability to, maybe, get an image of what was on the other side of a thin wall... well. "I want you to use those and make some holes. Drop the tubes in, aimed at the building. Try to pick lines where they won''t be hitting any trees. And... stay behind cover. None of the cameras are pointing out of the fence, but lets not attract any stray eyes, eh?"


    Butch grumbled, and set to work with the post-hole diggers, making holes... with truly ridiculous, trivial ease. If he''d had a larger set, designed for his massive strength, each hole would have been a single, easy stroke. Instead, he kept making having to re-dig the same spot a few times... with a progress most fence-setters would envy but Butch found frustrating.


    For Eyeball, he took his hand-held grenade launcher, and the Breach cam... and started to slowly circle the building. He set a tablet out, and started to make notes. Set positions. The glass, for the most part, was mid-grade bullet-proof. The bottom floors seemed to be mostly offices. The top floors were... on the outside, hallways. But the breacher grenade would sometimes pierce that interior wall if it were angled just right... and Jason started getting a picture of some sort of interior manufacturing facility for chemicals.


    The only thing it reminded him of was a meth lab. This though... involved certain levels of organic tissue, and tons of ridiculously expensive equipment.


    On the top floor, he got a momentary glimpse of the security room; and with some careful angles, got a few better shots. The place had cameras everywhere, even the bathrooms, and by holding his gun at the right spot he could essentially watch what they saw on him. A few of the images he could see were frankly horrifying; if he angled it the wrong way the breach camera would be embedded in someone''s torso, and he''d get flickering images of lungs splattered on the floor.


    He found the server room after a few more minutes of checking. Third floor. Enormous coolant systems there... too much for the server room itself. There was another room beside it, sealed off. Another possible valuable location.


    After a very long, slow, half-circle of the complex, he returned to Butch; who''d dug dozens of holes, only a handful of which were even vaguely pointed in the right direction. Saving his basic layout information, he worked along with Butch for the next hour; planting tubes at the right spots, and the right angle. He was even able to precisely line things up so that he could take out all of the elevators and the stairwells... granted, things could change between now and then. Even just some humidity would make things hit the wrong spots and let the security team spread throughout the building, and of course, call for help; so they needed some backup. At least a couple people, but to start... someone who could be on the roof, quietly and unnoticed, and take out the security room.


    And he knew just who to call.


    ****


    "Sssorry man. Can''t do it. Got something else I need to work on over in europe. Don''t get me wrong, I''d love to work with the Titanslayer, but plans." The slightly sibilant voice of Ripper was a bit disappointing. "What did you need anyway?"


    "Too bad. I need someone to get onto the top floor of a building, middle of nowhere, drug or kill the guards and stop an alarm from going out."


    "Got the deets for the place?"


    "...What?"


    "Oh. You know where everything is, what needs to happen, so forth? And... just how valuable are we talking?"


    "I know exactly where the security room is, the rooms with the greatest chance of valuables, the server room... but not exactly what we''re stealing. I''m willing to pay a quarter mil up front just in case the loot isn''t enough to make it worth splitting; if its worth less than that, I''ll eat the loss and move on."


    "Well then. My sister might be the right one for the job. She''s been looking for work... and she''s got wings."


    Jason blinked, leaning back in the van. Butch was driving at the moment, and he was vaguely concerned that this might result in something terrible at any time... but hell. Everybody''s gotta learn someday, and he wasn''t doing too bad so...far. Yup, that used to be some sort of animal. Maybe a raccoon. Besides... they might need multiple vehicles during the getaway.


    "Like... feathered wings? And can actually fly?"


    "Well, no. She''s like me, except with wings. And instead of turning invisible, she can fly, and spit fire. Pretty badass. She goes by Green Dragon, because there''s like fifty dragons out there, and most are like... the Incinerator Dragon, or the Death Dragon, or such nonsense."


    "Kinda like ''The Ripper Chameleon'', huh. Just a bunch of furries with punk-rock names."


    "Touche. But they''re called ''Scalies''. And we have a remarkable number of fans among the ladies."


    "Whatever. Just give me her number if you want me to talk to her, and I''ll see if she''s interested. And probably that russian guy, too."


    Jason could hear a low chuckle from the other end. "Clone, seriously? That guy''s an asshole. Good luck."


    Watching Butch narrowly avoid slamming into another vehicle, Jason settled his hand on Butch''s shoulder. "Alright. Thats enough for today. We''re getting into busier traffic. Lets swap seats, and go get the rest of what we need. We might be collecting something thats really cold.. so I figure we should grab a freezer truck."


    As Butch pulled off on the side of the road; narrowing missing a mile marker sign; Jason gave a laugh. "Well, not sure if it''ll survive having you drive it for too long, but I think you will. Ready to go buy your first car?"

 22 - Welcome to Wayson!

    The group looked a bit strange, sitting around the table; the setting; a picnic table outside a truck stop in the middle of nowhere, California in early winter. Eyeball himself looked fairly normal; a simple blue jacket, a cowboy hat with a bandanna under it, the boots to go with the hat... and across from him sat a massive, overweight Russian; at least three hundred pounds and less than six feet tall, the man was almost as large as Butch; but most of it was fat. His grey clothing sat over him like a tarp, strangely made for someone even more overweight than himself. Butch was his enormous weightlifter-looking self, of course; in the black carbon-fiber bodysuit and helmet, missing the armor plates that usually went on before a job... and there was ''Green Dragon''; a tall, lithe young woman in shorts and a grey t-shirt, with vivid green scales, wings, and a mohawk; she looked more human the closer to the torso she got, with her hands and bare feet heavily scaled and clawed, but her face almost normal.


    "Look. I''m not green dragon. I''m Emerald. My bro was just being an asshole. The only ones that called me that were a few in the family back home. So. Bro told me that, even if the loot was shit, the payout was a quarter-mil minimum. I know you''re the titanslayer, so I don''t doubt your good for it. But whats the job?"


    Jason set his tablet down on the table; one of the fancy, multi-thousand-dollar holographic units. "Alright. Our target is Wayson Medical Enterprises. A well-funded, secretive, lab about forty-five minutes from here. Its extremely heavily guarded; at least forty guards on site, all with body-armor and automatic weapons or fairly nice stun weapons, a few heavier ones that might be a threat to Butcher. Honestly, me and Butcher can handle all the fighting if we get the enemies all together. Four guard towers, twelve guards outside at any given time, at least a few patrolling each floor, and half a dozen on the top floor in the security room."


    He tapped the hologram in spots; it was produced from pictures of the outside of the building, and when the inside appeared, it was only a vague structure; no map. "Right here is an extremely impressive refrigeration unit... and the server room, as well as another refrigerated room beside it. Whatever it is, it needs to be kept cold; there are backup generators for all of it. I''m thinking storage for some of the medications they produce here; extremely valuable medications that have to stay cold enough not to decay."


    "That''s the primary target. We want the hard drives from the servers, whatever medications are stored here, and if we can figure out which are the most valuable, we prioritize those. There are several labs in the place; various nice, high-end equipment in there, but if we can get it out undamaged the piece I want is this..."


    He taps a button. The hologram switches views, showing a bright, shiny box; judging the size is impossible from the image. "I saw in one of the labs a GigaFac mark five. Absolute latest version of the fabricator; worth over a million on its own from the gold, platinum, and diamonds used in producing it if you melted it down; the actual sales price for one is closer to twenty. The damn thing could, if you got enough raw materials... again, over a million bucks worth... make you a copy of itself. If we get that out undamaged, I''ll pay each of you that million dollar meltdown value instead of the quarter mil, even if we get absolutely nothing else of value from this."


    He tapped the display again. The image came back up. "I sincerely doubt that, however. Whatever these guys are making? It might be a cure for some rare disease, it might be designer drugs for the wealthy to get a non-addictive cocaine high, hell, maybe the latest weight-loss drug... Or all of the above. Frankly, its difficult to put a price on what we get out of this, so we''ll make a simple agreement. My work, my plan, I''ll do however much killing needs to be done. Butcher and.. Clone.." He nodded at the Russian. "You two help me get the goods out, and to our storage in Vegas."


    He turned to Emerald. "You get in through the roof, take out the guards in the security room, and provide overwatch. Help keep Butcher and Clone from taking many hits. I plan to take out all four elevators and stairwells; the only way in or out of that floor will be back out the roof."


    "The power and phone lines are both buried right here.." He taps a spot on the map. "And Butcher already made us a hole... and we have a bomb planted on it. When I hit the button, the bomb goes off, the mortars launch to take out the stairs and elevators... and the cell jammer goes on. No alarms, no muss, no fuss. Just a bit of property damage."


    "Nicky will take a 20% cut of whatever we give him to get it sold for us, and keep anyone from checking out the warehouse I''m renting. Its my plan, and I''ll do the bulk of the killing it needs, so I take thirty percent. Emerald, Clone, you get twenty each, Butcher gets ten; he''s tough, he''s strong, but this is only his second mission so while he''ll definitely be a help, we''ll need to make sure he gets out of this okay."


    The group looked at each other; each assessing the others. Clone tilted his head for a moment. "Hmm. I will bring twenty of my brothers. One will drive your van, two will drive the trucks. The rest will assist with finding valuables and bringing them outside. We can, of course, help take out the outside guards."


    Jason gave a low chuckle. "No need. Remember, this is Eyeball you''re working with. I''ll clean up outside. You and Butcher can take a few stragglers, but if Emerald can get the main security office handled.." The dragon-girl gave a nod. "Then we shouldn''t run into much. Even better, if we do this right, we can take hours to clean the place out."


    The Russian frowned for a moment. "You seem very confident. You are so sure you can handle so many men without problem?"


    "You can come watch, if you''d like."


    ***


    The Russian sitting beside him in the van looked like a smaller, thinner version of the same man he''d dealt with before. Strong, healthy, capable. Looked younger, as well. Jason glanced over at him from time to dime as he drove.


    "So... I couldn''t help but notice. All of the... Brothers... look a bit different."


    The driver remained focused on the road. One of the men behind him in the van spoke up instead. "It is not an exact process. When a split occurs, we both come out very close to how we looked when were sixteen first time. Over time, we get tan, we get muscle, we get fat, things change. Some of us get plastic surgery, so we operate business and not look so suspicious."


    Jason gave a slow nod. "Huh. A... split?"


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    "We keep one mind." Another was speaking now. The first one was eating a power bar. "When we get to, say, around three hundred and forty pounds, we start to split. We form... like a cocoon. We dissolve. We form new bodies. Cocoon splits. Two of us. One mind. Each around one hundred fifty pounds. Much is lost in process, but we good, young, strong. Healthy. If want more brothers, one of us starts to eat like pig. Other trains to be good for fight."


    Jason nodded again. "That sounds disgusting, but incredibly useful. How many of you are there?"


    "Is secret, american. Will say never all in same country at once. If you fuck us, we will kill you."


    He turned the lights off; and activated a pair of night-vision goggles as they pulled off the road. "We three miles out. You go now?"


    "Of course. Bring the trucks in close, but slow. Don''t come in til me and Emerald have started things off."


    ***


    It had started to rain; and Emerald hated the rain. She also hated working with new, untrusted people; she''d dealt with Clone before a few times; he was an old, reliable hand at this, generally keeping his word but not bound to any given crime boss or country. But this Eyeball guy... sure, he killed Lightning. But that might''ve just been luck. The TV just showed he''d had good timing tossing that grenade, or he''d have been done for.


    Was that his power? Luck? Hopefully it extended to the people working with him. As she slowly glided down to the roof through the darkness, she tapped a button on her cheek. "This is Emerald. Coming up into view of the rooftop camera in ten seconds. I''ve got the cell jammer ready to turn on. Are we go?"


    "Go when you hear the boom."


    Could she even hear it over the rain? The downpour was steadily getting heavier, louder... it was gonna be apain to glide out of here under... She saw a flash. Another. At least a dozen in rapid sucession, explosions rocking the corners of the building. That was him hitting the stairwells? Perfect. She flipped the switch, turning on the cell jammer... and then gave the roof door a flying drop-kick; wings folding in precisely timed fashion as the metal slab slammed into another wall with a loud bang, and she settled on her feet.


    This was exactly as Eyeball described it. Tiny shack on the roof, stairs down... and just down that hall would be security. She snapped on her mask; a custom bright green one, not the dull grey ones Eyeball had given the clones and Butcher.. and tossed the first grenade down the hallway.


    A loud hiss as grey mist filled it... and she kept moving. Bulletproof glass seperated the main security room, its three desks and twelve monitors, from the hallway... but she simply scored a circle with her claws and a loud, irritating shriek, punched it through... and tossed two grenades through it, one after the other.


    There was screaming. Chaos. Gunshots, tiny ripples appearing in the glass. But within a minute, it died down; everyone collapsed on the floor.


    Well. Almost everyone. A solitary figure stood amidst the mist, wearing a suit rather than a simple white/grey security uniform. He took a deep breath, seemingly unconcerned with the gas, and tilted his head. "Gas grenades. Cell jammer. Lines already cut. Not too bad. Unfortunately, you''re still going to die here."


    ***


    Jason swept into the compound like living death; the red pinpricks of his helmet LEDs lit up for intimidation purposes as he steadily marched forward, his rifle in hand. Single neat, precise shots taking out each of the armored men in the towers and at the gate. One man fell before he knew what was going on. Another was drawing his handgun. Still another bringing an assault rifle to bear.


    He could tell one of them was a meta before even firing; his bullets wouldn''t hurt the man much at all; and simply pumped a single round from the underslung grenade launcher right at him. While his co-workers fell to the ground, bleeding and dying out around him, most suffering single gunshots to the face, this man; an enormous, powerfully built hispanic man with tattoos over his exposed arms, and certainly some colorful, interesting, history... was on the ground beside the tower, gripping his throat uselessly where an armor-piercing Burster grenade had crushed his wind-pipe.


    One of the Clones accompanied Butcher and Eyeball as they entered the compound; he started to raise his rifle; a classic, cheap, AK-47, like the rest of his ''Brothers'' carried. But the level of precision and lethality he witnessed was... remarkable. The explosives on the walls, the death... He turned to Eyeball. "So much chaos, so much destruction. But so precisely executed. I didn''t see you miss a single shot. You are dangerous man, Eyeball."


    Butcher laughed. For this mission, he had his full armor; and even a new addition; a 200-pound tungsten riot shield that he carried as easily as if it were made of cardboard. "Yeah. Titanslayer is a badass."


    As the trio approached the main entrance of the building, ''Wayson'' emblazoned clearly over the lobby door, the clone gave a chuckle. "I look forward to working with you in the future, Eyeball. You must tell me why the name, later."


    Butcher simply kicked the armored door at the front; once; twice... the third time it went down, crumpling inwards rather than going flying; and leveled his new shield as he marched forward; the guards in the lobby opening fire as they tried to stop the intruders, unaware of how outclassed they were.


    ***


    The suited figure started calmly walking towards Emerald, pulling a pair of dark grey metal blades from sheathes at his hips... he had handguns as well, but was ignoring them for now. "Since its just a sleeping gas, I''ll make it quick. If you''d killed me friends, I''d have to make it slow, and painful."


    Emerald gave a low hiss... and then made a sound. A hideous sound, somewhere between a dry heave and preparing to spit out a wad of phlegm. The enemy looked vaguely disgusted at it, actually grimacing... before a sudden spray of liquid jetted out at him; igniting as it came into contact with air, enveloping him in fire. He gave a low hiss of pain as he covered his face, marching on despite his suit catching aflame, hair and skin visibly burning, trying to close in to get a blade in.


    Even when the ammunition in his handguns started to cook off as they melted, he was still moving forward, Emerald leaping back, wings spreading to give her a bit more distance as she took up a fighting stance, claws spread.


    When the fire stopped, the man was still moving... and was visibly, actively, healing the damage. Each passing moment his hideous burns; and the bleeding shrapnel wounds in his hips and torso from the ammo going off; appeared less intense. The man couldn''t just be a regenerator; he must have truly insane pain tolerance to accomplish this.


    But he hadn''t lifted his hands in time... and his eyes had been burned away along with most of his face.


    Emerald took a quick side-step.. as quiet as possible, just in case the man''s ears had already recovered.. and leapt on him from behind; claws digging into those healing eye-sockets from her left hand, while her right tore into his throat, ripping through burning skin to seek out and rend the arteries buried beneath.


    He gave a gurgle; lashing out blindly at her with the knives, actually smacking into her scaled right arm... as he slammed face-first into the ground. Those blades were so sharp he actually cut through the scales, leaving an irritating gouge..


    But between the pain, the blood loss, and the current lack of a throat, eyes... and maybe even a spine, considering how deeply her claws had gone... his struggles slowly faded. As the last blood pumped from his throat, her ear-piece crackled. With the jammer on, it was mostly static, but she could just make out the words. "Emerald, this is Eyeball. Didn''t get a response on that last message, are you hearing me?"


    After making sure the corpse had no heartbeat, and wasn''t still trying to heal itself, she pulled to her feet; glancing down at her absolutely blood-soaked form. "Ugh. Sorry, had a security problem. Nothing I couldn''t handle." Shaking the excess blood off, she headed to the consoles; checking the cameras... and seeing the devastation both in the surrounding compound, and down in the lobby "Ahh. I can see two guards approaching the lobby, and... Jesus, you guys don''t fuck around, do you?"

 23 - Mister Wayson

    For the next several minutes, Emerald was watching cameras, directing the others as they moved through the floors. She could see men using short-range radios; just like her own, they were able to get a very limited amount of speech through at short range, but their attempts to use cell phones were leading to desperate anger. Several times she tried to warn them about incoming guards or ambushes... but every time, Eyeball was on top of it; guards were corpses as soon as they came around the corner, a single quick rifle shot seeming to be fired even before they started.


    ESP. Definitely ESP. God, an expert gunman who could see around corners was even scarier than she''d thought.


    Only one of the stairwells was intact for the bottom floors; and none of them were still in place on her floor. Everyone who was a threat to her, was already handled. And as they worked their way up the floors, it was difficult to imagine anything being a threat to those two. A few times Eyeball had Butcher pull the shield and take the first steps; or lead with that massive blade; but nothing stopped them, and no-one survived them.


    There was only one man left in the office still alive and awake; standing on the floor below her, in a massive office whose wall was one of the windows. Whoever he was, he had a handgun on his desk, and was opening up a freezer of some sort; a faint wisp of fog could be seen emerging as he slid it open. Huh.


    "Eyeball, this is Emerald. If you go right at this last stairway, there''s just the one guy left. Use caution, he''s pulling something out of a cooler... possibly a biological agent of some sort."


    ***


    Well, fuck. He''d seen that helmet on the video where that dumbass quarterback died. That was supposed to be Eyeball; that guy who killed Lightning. Doctor Everett Wayson had gone through quite a bit in his life; attempted hostile takeovers, long spats with the DoD and various governors and mayors, a few attempts to get him thrown in prison; but he had six metas on staff for security purposes, all pulling down ridiculous paychecks. Two of them were at home asleep, and four of them were dead. And these weren''t pushovers. Elite. amazing people who''d scared the hell out of him.


    He pulled the syringe out of the cooler, examining it for a moment as he glanced at the cameras. They were on his floor. Heading his way. This Reflex stuff killed most of the people who used it... and for the ones it didn''t, it was highly addictive, and caused terrible long-term damage to the liver and kidneys. Even a little alcohol in your system and you''d go into a thirty second berserk rage that left you and anyone nearby very, very dead.


    Hopefully the latest version was a bit better; the people in the lab had made promises, and he was going to run another batch of human trials any day now.... if he lived through this.


    As the cameras showed the two figures coming around the last corner, into the hallway leading to his office... he jammed the syringe into his arm, injecting the icy liquid. At first, all he felt was pain. Terrible, burning pain, spreading down his arm, through his chest... when it reached his head, however... the world seemed to freeze.


    ***


    "Clone, this is Eyeball. Mopping up the last occupant. Shoot the cameras facing out, then bring in the trucks. Time to start the looting."


    Jason approached the office door. CEO Everett Wayson, a massive gold-embossed plaque by the door. He frowned... Raised his rifle... he could see it. As soon as he opened that door, there''d be a blur of movement, and everything would go black. IED? No. If he dropped a shroud grenade, he''d be fine.


    Timing things properly with the blur of movement in his mind''s eye, Jason pulled the pin on the shroud grenade, and right before it went off... opened the door.


    The heat of the detonation burned his glove, but didn''t reach his hand beneath, as the expanding cloud of various types of see-through shrapnel spread through the air... and a figure briefly appeared, slamming into the door, and dropping to the floor with a loud, agonized groan.


    He looked... ordinary. Tall, reasonable healthy, wearing a suit, well-done hair... and one arm as well as both legs broken. He was... twitching, on the floor. "Mister Wayson, I presume?"


    Despite what was clearly a truly ridiculous amount of pain, he growled out a response. "Thats... Doctor... Wayson."


    Jason shook his head, rifle aimed down at the man... but he seemed to just be spasming in pain. No healing, no getting back up; just lying there. "Interesting. Ten seconds ago, you were a mid-grade speedster. Now, the arm you''ve got left is slower than mine. I take it you injected something."


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    "Fuck... you."


    Jason pressed a rifle against one broken knee, and pushed down; eliciting another groan of pain. "Look. If you don''t know who I am... I''m Eyeball. All comms are out. No alarms, no cell phones. Nobody''s coming to rescue you until the cell jammer burns out or we leave and take it with us. I don''t give a flying fuck about witnesses, there''s probably like two hundred cameras I walked by. I kill who I need to, no more, no less. You help me out, give me a few passwords and a bit of info? Me and my friends leave. I''m the only one you see, and the ambulance shows up to get you fixed. What did you use?"


    ".... Experimental drug. Called Reflex. Made from synthesized speedster-grade adrenaline and, well. Its complicated. Addictive. Can kill you. Makes your reflexes incredible for about ten to thirty seconds."


    "You make it here?"


    "....Yes."


    "And where do you keep it?"


    ***


    "Check the passwords I gave you, make sure the encryption is bypassed. If so, go ahead and pull the drives." Down in the server room, two Clones had started to pull hard drives from the servers, neatly stacking them in a carrying case... and stopped, at the radio signal. One gave an exasperated shake of his head, and outside, another Clone lifted a laptop and a few cables, running into the building.


    These people, always changing and moving the plan around in the middle of an operation. They were supposed to pull all the hard drives out, and just crack them later. Why bother with this password nonsense.


    "I''ve got the CEO here in his office. If the passwords I give you are wrong, we can get the real ones out of him; but best be sure we aren''t actively wiping the drives with the wrong code before we leave."


    Oh. Competent nonsense. Still a waste of time; any encryption can be cracked, with time; but not as much of one.


    "And if you haven''t already, bring all the ice chests you have, and the dry ice. That freezer next to the server room is packed with experimental drugs meant for combat purposes, and a piece of the brain of some dead speedster they''re studying to try to make super-drugs."


    ..Clone was definitely going to need a sample of that. Even if they killed him, there were always a few of him to spare... "Got it, Eyeball." This... would be fun.


    ***


    "Okay, so. We''ve got your pride and joy, Reflex. We''ve got a drug for bone cancer that has shown a fair amount of success. I''ll be leaving copies of those files, by the way, and at least a few samples. And... a limited utility ''miracle cure''? How can it be a miracle cure if its limited utility."


    Wayson; now propped up against his desk, and with bandages wrapped around his broken limbs to stop the bleeding; gave an exasperated sigh. "One of my security guys was a regenerator. If I give you a blood sample from him, you''ve got a super immune system, like crazy good, for about half an hour. No healing bullet wounds in seconds or anything, but it can stop all sorts of things in their tracks. But... if you''ve got a different blood type than him? It kills you. Fast. Bad. The white blood cells might as well be acid in your veins. A single ounce would kill a grown man in minutes, and he''d hurt bad the whole time."


    Jason nodded thoughtfully. "Ahhh. Useful because it can heal someone, less useful because it can only heal certain people. Good to know. This true for all the regenerators?"


    "No. Just some... all of em work differently. If we could get one of each blood type, that did work, though, and synthesize em..."


    "...Unfortunately, Emerald had to kill your regenerator. Don''t suppose his corpse would be worth anything for research purposes."


    Wayson gave a long, disappointed sigh. "Fuck. I liked Will. No... once it starts to rot, its done. His bone marrow could be incredibly useful, but... would have to freeze him, quick... way quicker than I''ll have anyone out here to do it, assuming I live through this."


    Jason lifted his radio. "Hey, Butcher. Force your way up through that busted staircase and grab the corpse of the guy Emerald had to burn. Stick him in the freezer."


    He turned, walking to the door, and glanced back. "Don''t get me wrong. I know full well you killed people for your experiments to make that Reflex stuff. And if you keep pulling that sort of bullshit, I''ll probably come back and kill you someday. But the rest... could be useful to all sorts of people. I''ll make sure you have all the samples and data you need to keep going."


    He smiled back at the broken figure... oh. Yeah, the helmet. Maybe he could make an LED screen to display emojis on it or some such bullshit? But see-through? Maybe cameras on the...


    Eyeball absently considered various possible modifications to his helmet as he headed down the stairs. When he reached the lobby, he ran into the Clones; two holding umbrellas, seamlessly protecting others loading stacks of laptops and equipment. More loading ice chests into the freezer truck. Most importantly for him though....


    He walked over to the GigaFac, running his hand along the smooth metal surface. "Oh, you and me are going to make such beautiful toys."


    Only one of the Clones heard his comment.... but all of them gave a quick head-shake in amusement at Eyeball''s reaction to the device. Granted, it was a nice piece of equipment.


    ***


    Hours later, with the band of criminals long gone, millions of dollars worth of equipment ranging from computers and hard drives to valuable medicines and weaponry long since vanished, Security consultant William Harrick blinked his eyes open, and shivered as he looked around. What the fuck was he doing in the freezer? And why were most of his clothes missing?


    And... what the fuck had happened to the boss? He slowly pulled to his feet, hearing sirens sounding outside the building, approaching, but was mostly concerned about the broken figure lying unconscious on the floor beside him; completely oblivious of the half-dozen syringes that fell away from his side as he tried to piece together what had caused all this devastation.

 24 - Reflex

    Sitting around the back of the box truck; labeled with a rent-to-own company logo to help fit in as it drives; the group went through the loot from their escapade. Butcher and Eyeball were still in helmet and uniform; six of the Clones were there, sorting through equipment and neatly stacking and packaging it.


    "We''ve got one hundred seventeen nice, high-end laptops, of a few different models. Cost new was over three hundred grand, we can probably get over a hundred K selling them. The desktop computers, even better, higher end, and a couple hundred of them. Cost more like half a mil new, but again... probably over a hundred K. High-end armored vests, assault weapons, stun rods, handguns.. a few hundred grand were, aftermarket; that stuff keeps most of its value. Honestly, I''d like to take that instead of part of my share if possible; I always have use for more decent guns and armor."


    Jason looked at the others. "Unless one of you objects, I''m fine with him taking that as part of his cut. I can see how he could use it; maybe even in our next job." Butcher seemed uninterested; Emerald nodded firmly.


    "Seems good to us. Continue, please."


    "Thats about it for our more mundane stuff. We pulled some nice, high-end lab equipment. Stuff used in producing high-end medications, doing gene sequencing, all sorts of crazy stuff. The software and chemicals needed to keep that stuff running. Thousands of doses of some very high-end, expensive drugs which are impossible to value... but could conceivably be worth billions of dollars. Oh, and the Gigafac still reads at a hundred percent, Eyeball."


    "Nice. We''ll leave it on the truck for now. I definitely have uses for it in the future. Alright, people. This Reflex stuff is gonna be a huge haul. Not just that, but all the gear we need to make more. We can setup with Nicky and get into the exotic combat drug business, or we can just sell everything off. If you want to start that, Clone, the rest of us can help and I suspect it could be a very lucrative option for us in the future."


    Clone gave a nod. "Very good. I can see much potential in this. And if work with Nicky, avoid getting visit from family in the night, yes?"


    "Well. We either work with Nicky down here, set up in vegas, or we move north. Colorado is pretty open... if we get started soon. Alright. Lets get everything loaded up and secured. We''ll have a chat with Nicky, plan things out from there."


    ***


    It was a decidedly more casual gathering down in vegas hours later; no helmets, no uniforms; Jason wearing his typical cowboy hat and Emerald wearing a lovely black dress that seemed to perfectly accentuate her more human aspects; and attracted a few looks from the patrons she walked by, both appreciative and curious.


    Nicky was at the table already, talking with one of his men, and nodded at Jason when he stepped in.. leading the group down. "So. I heard you did a little work over in Cali and had something you wanted to sell."


    "Not just something to sell... but a business proposition. The place we hit is a drug company. They made some nice, interesting medications, stuff that will sell like hotcakes I''m sure. But even better... is this stuff." Jason held up a small black vial. "Its called ''Reflex''." He passed it to Nicky, who examined the vial thoughtfully.


    "Interesting. And what does it do?"


    "If you''ve got a weak heart, it kills you in minutes. If you''ve got bad kidneys, or a bad liver? The third or fourth dose will kill you in a month. And if you keep taking it, more than a dose a month? It''ll kill your liver, or your kidneys, or both, and then you. And it''s highly addictive."


    Nicky stared at Jason as if he''d grown another head. "Thats... some mighty fine selling points for your drink here."


    "It also, depending on dosage, accelerates your reflexes to such an extent that you can literally tear your body apart by throwing a ball too fast, or trying to run. Dosed properly, it turns you into a mid to low grade speedster for a brief time. Dosed improperly, it''ll let you make a very brief Lightning impersonation before you throw your own hand alongside the knife you just threw."


    Nicky turned the vial over in his hands thoughtfully. "That... has enormous potential. If I could take my best sniper and make him a speedster for a bit..."


    Jason chuckled. "I think we can charge an insane amount per dose, and they''ll pay. And.... if you''d be willing to offer your protection to such an enterprise... I''d like to open up a lab making the stuff outside vegas. Give you ten percent off the top, and another twenty for any you help distribute; either a cut of the money, or a cut of the drug itself to use for Family purposes."


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    Nicky set the dose on the table. "I''ll consider it. If you agree not to sell it to the cartels regardless of price, then I''ll agree to your terms. If you want us to let you to sell it without restriction, I suspect we''ll be wanting more... or intervening."


    "Not a big fan of foreign agents moving in.. no offense to present company.." He nodded at Clone. "So I''m fine with that. In fact, if you have any sellers you recommend that won''t be passing any on to them, I''d be interested in some contact information; give you a dozen free doses to pass out to your guards for it."


    "..First I want to see it in action. Come on. Lets head out to the range."


    ***


    ''The Range'' as it turned out, was a nice, empty spot a few miles out in the desert... with a massive burlap tent setup to prevent overhead surveillance, a row of tables anchored into place with cement bricks, and targets spaced out at different lengths. It had been abandoned before they showed up; and three men in suits stepped out, and carefully scanned over the area, while Jason waited with Nicky in the car.


    "Checking for cameras?"


    "Any sort of recorders. Every time. Its not worth keeping a guard out here all the time. So we just blast it with an EMP and then scan it. Usually catches anything we need to worry about." After a few minutes, Nicky stepped out of the car; Jason and three guards following, under the tent. One man set out a briefcase; four weapons stacked neatly on the table. Two handguns, a rifle, and a submachinegun.


    Jason pulled a small box out of his pocket; a wedge of dry ice, and four small tubes that each looked like an Epi-Pen; a small cylinder with an auto-injector, usually used for allergy emergency medication. "My brain is a bit non-standard, so I''m not certain how it''ll work on me. I''d recommend one of your men try it... but I''m willing to try it first if you think I''m trying to poison you or something."


    Nicky shook his head. "Bobby. Set out some targets for me." He walked up to one of his guards. "Eyeball here tells me this stuff can be hard on the heart. You have any heart problems, anything we need to worry about?"


    The man... an enormous, stoic, body-builder looking sort.. gave a grimace. "Actually... yeah, boss. Some irregularities. Nothin thats gonna stop me from working." Nicky nodded, thoughtfully. "You need to take a break, get that sorted out? Surgery, meds? Anything I can do for you?"


    "..No, Don. Doc says it won''t really get better. I should be fine if I don''t do anything crazy, but not to run any marathons."


    Nicky sighed. "I''m gonna call your wife. Tomorrow. And if you haven''t talked to her about this, I''m gonna personally beat your ass. Jake!"


    Another man; smaller, more lean, energetic, stepped up. "I heard you, boss. And I''m solid. Fit as a fiddle. No drugs since I was like... fifteen. Kinda want to see what its like."


    Bobby stepped back behind the line, and Nicky set out a stopwatch. "Alright, Jacob. Fire a clip at the target. Fast as you can and still get good shots."


    The men backed away. Some put in earplugs. Jacob had a set of earmuffs he set on his head; hunter''s camo earmuffs with some sort of built-in noise control. Jason... put on his helmet. He''d had proper noise filters built into it.


    With the noise muffling, it was like fifteen sharp firecrackers. Two hit the paper outside the body; the rest all scored directly in the center of mass; on a live target, it would''ve been lung, kidney, heart shots, all of them. Not bad; and it took less than four seconds.


    "Not bad. Not perfect, but not bad. Now try it. Anything about where?"


    "Near the center of mass. If you get it straight into the heart, it works fastest; you want it to hit the head about the same time as everywhere else. Now be careful. You''re not a speedster. For them they''ve had this stuff all their life. You gotta take it slow."


    Jacob shook his head, and braced himself. Everyone watched, intently, as he jabbed the injector into his chest.


    Less than a second later, his eyes went wide. He seemed to be a blur of movement; picking up the gun, snapping off shots. Fifteen rounds; all almost dead center. The gun tossed aside. He picked up the Submachinegun on the table; and emptied it into a different target, the short ra-ta-ta-tap muted but definite, felt more than heard.


    The submachinegun was tossed; the rifle picked up. He emptied the rifle as well; single shots, but so fast they could have been mistaken for full auto. He set the rifle back down, and rested his hands on the table; taking a long, slow breath. "HolyfuckingshitthatwascrazywhyamItalkingsoslowwhathefuckiswronnnng..." He grimaced... and gripped his forehead. "Damn. That... th.. that was a rush."


    Nicky looked at the guns. The targets. Then back at Jake. "Goddamn, Jacob. You could''ve killed a whole bloody army in two seconds."


    He glanced at Eyeball. "So. How do you compare? I know you''re not a speedster. Not sure what you are, really."


    Jason glanced down at the guns. He walked up to the rifle, examining it closely. It was a fairly nice, custom job; no serial numbers, no model or make, though it vaguely resembled a classic AK with a banana clip. He picked up the rifle, loaded in a fresh magazine...


    He focused on the trajectories. On where the bullet would go, if he held it like so. If he moved here... and here... He smiled beneath the helmet.. and swept his arm across the targets, pulling the trigger six times.


    Each target had a single hole; directly in the center of the face.


    "Without the reflex... dangerous enough. Frankly, if I took a dose, I''m not certain just what it would do. Something dangerous, probably. I can kill well enough without it."


    Jake looked from his own targets to Jason''s; he might not have killed them as fast as Jake could with the drug pumping through his veins, but still. That was a nasty display.


    Jason turned back to Nicky. "So. I was thinking ten grand a dose. For another grand, I can make a custom auto-injector... something you mount on your chest, under your shirt.." He tapped his own chest. "So you can just slap it, good and hard, and set it off. It might go off on accident if someone tackles you... but then, that might not be a bad thing, yes?"

 25 - Criminal Enterprise

    After leaving the range, Jason returned to the Don''s club; to find Butch and the others eating, Emerald having wine and eyeing up Butch in a way that made Butch uncomfortable; and Jason as well when he saw her leaning against Butch''s shoulder; but then, he had never told Emerald Butch was only 12. Or wait. Was he 13 now? When was the kid''s birthday, anyway? He should ask Valkyrie.


    Jason settled in beside them, and leaned over to Emerald, whispering in her ear. "He''s underage, and his mom scares me. I''d be careful."


    Emerald, clearly already half-drunk, gave a slow blink as she turned back to Jason. "His mom scares ...you? Wow. Who is she? Hillary Clinton? Hera? Valkyrie?"


    Jason sighed. "Alright, this one should probably get back home. Emerald, you know where your place is?"


    She practically fell over Jason as she got up, wings knocking a few drinks off the counter as she spread them for balance.. the waiter shaking his head as she was gently guided towards the door. "W...Why? You wanna... take me home... big, bad, dangerous.... titanslayer?"


    He looked at her in a slightly different light; a quick assessment; despite the scales, she was still cute, at the very least, but far too drunk for him to do anything with; then turned back to the bar. "Butch. Get a ride to the hotel, I''ll be there in a few hours. I''ll drop Emerald off wherever she''s staying."


    Clone had already risen to his feet. "I will give him ride back. I can take the dragon as well if you want?"


    Emerald suddenly reared up, hissing at Clone. "Not... DragoN! Emerald!" And proceeded to fall directly onto her face on the floor, steam rising from a puddle of drool that started forming.


    "...Nah, I got it."


    "Good, good. I have happened across other job. Job that could use you for. Maybe her. Definitely Butcher. I think we made good team. Perhaps work together for more than just the drugs?"


    "You know what? Definitely. I''d planned on keeping in touch with her and with you for the drugs, at least; we''ve already agreed on a split, and I''m keeping that going moving forward. You already got paid the first mil, by the way."


    The russian gave a too-wide smile, and shrugged. "Yes, I saw. You keep word. Is why I am eager to keep working with you. Most, I must threaten to get money. And I do not think that work with you, but you pay anyway. Is nice."


    Jason gave a low chuckle... "Well, at this point I could take out everyone in this room without much of a problem, so I suspect.... " He stopped. Turned, and looked at an empty wall. "You, fucker. You can take your sister home, you know where she lives. I didn''t even think about that."


    When the blue-scaled reptilian; wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt still, just in green this time; seemingly popped in out of thin air, Clone was taken aback. Ripper, for his part, just grumbled as Jason practically dropped Emerald on him. "Goddamnit. I don''t want to take her home, I was waiting for... uhm. Someone else to show up."


    Nonetheless, Ripper still started dragging his unconscious, groaning sister to the door over his shoulder, as Jason, Clone, and Butch headed out; Butch listening in as the two discussed the next job.


    ***


    "So you know about moon base, yes? LunaCosmo?"


    "The first one? Like... rogue russian scientists fled the soviet union moon base?"


    "Exactly!" The clone seemed intensely enthusiastic. "Brilliant scientists, some of them metas, build crazy things in Siberia for the motherland. There was a shrink ray, and a death ray. Lots of rays, all too expensive, no way to use on the battlefield. Then, they flee to moon. Big story. Everyone love. Help bring fall of soviet union."


    Jason couldn''t help but look up at the sky. That was the first moon base; at first, claimed to be an official one by the soviets. Now.. there were dozens of bases and mines on the moon, part of the great project to try to colonize space, get out and way from earth in case some aliens came by... again.. and won this time. It''d kick ass to get to space. Could he be the first-ever space pirate?


    Of course, the moon wasn''t out at the moment. He glanced back down to Clone. "Okay, thats all well and good. What does it have to do with us?"


    "Salvage! They sort through ruins. If it looked useful, they tried to use it. If not, they threw it in a box. That box sat in a cargo container... and rotted for decades. Now? Smuggler selling cargo containers to highest bidder. And highest bidder... had it shipped over, with other things, on boat. To be picked up here. One of my brothers, he works on the boat. And the man who owns the boat? Hasn''t paid him. Hasn''t paid any of the crew, brothers or not. Only ones who get paid are men with guns; and this brother is not one with gun. So."


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    Clone grinned. "We kill men with guns. Pay crew what owed in exchange for cargo. Crew unload cargo. We leave. I am already inside man; tell you when, where, everything. Just need to kill a few men without killing my friends, and kill the owner."


    "And let me guess. At that point you and your friends keep the ship?"


    "Well, yes. Unless we find good buyer. But that, that is brother''s business. We, we collect here. Now, this is my job. This time, I get forty. You get twenty. Dragon and giant get ten each. And then rest for the fence, yes?"


    "...You know what. I''m in." He might argue. Honestly, he had enough money he didn''t need to worry now. "When is it landing?"


    "If the weather is fair? Two days. If weather bad? Maybe sooner, maybe later."


    Jason nodded, and typed out a text message for Emerald; giving her a heads-up on the possibility. "Okay. I''ll see about sorting some things out... get the operation down here going, and I was buying some property I wanted to see up north."


    ***


    The next two days were hectic, albeit far less violent. Butch tried out a few different guns and armor sets he enjoyed; the new Gigafac was working wonders, able to build a complete firearm from plans, even something relatively complex. The new lab; setup in a warehouse on the edge of Vegas; was gearing up, everything being settled to start making Reflex; while the existing doses were being sold cheaply as ''samples''; Jason''s biggest concern being that aside from a few of Clone''s brothers, all of the people involved were Nicky''s; so if Nicky wanted to take over the operation and take -all- of the profit, he could.


    So far, Nicky had played them straight.


    Jason built himself a variety of new grenades; and a revolver version of his 40mm grenade pistol; probably the most ridiculous gun he''d ever used, but it could do the job. He made EMP grenades, thermite gel grenades, Foam grenades, his own custom versions of Shroud and Bursters; by the time he was done he had dozens of types, and could load down a whole bandolier with them before going out on a mission.


    He even came up with an improvement on his Shroud grenade; a short-lived but high-intensity sonic weapon that should stun them the moment they stopped ''vibrating through'' air to get through something else, like water or the shroud grenade fog. For most people, it wouldn''t be too useful; but for someone who could predict exactly where a speedster could be... potentially an enormous game-changer.


    For his work up north, he didn''t use Tops, or Nicky, or anything. Using another fake ID, Jason bought out an old mining company with a few dozen employees; left it running, raised the worker''s pay a bit... and then quietly sectioned off a few pieces. Old abandoned mines and buildings he could turn into either a ''retirement home'' or a new base.


    He even spent a few hours installing the older, less effective, Fabricator, some solar panels, and a few weapons, hiding them away inside one of the old office buildings that hadn''t been used in years, since the ''Prosperity Mining LLC'' company had been steadily dropping operations.


    Not too much. Just a nice little hidey hole not connected to Nicky or any of the vegas operations, just in case things went south.


    Most of the time was driving; dropping Butch off to see his mother, who was enthusiastic about Jason''s work so far, even if she disapproved of her boy using a gun.. and convenient enough a space to drop him off while he worked on his new hideout in the mountains.


    ***


    When the time came for the new job, Jason met Clone... and his brothers... at the beach a few miles from the dock, alongside Butcher; who''d ridden there inside the truck with him; and Emerald. The weather was beautiful; the sun shining, vision clear for miles in every direction; pretty much the worst case scenario for this sort of operation, but the delivery was pretending to be completely aboveboard, so picking up at night wasn''t an option unless they wanted to be out in the middle of the Pacific. Clone had acquired a boat; stolen, rather than purchased; and was waiting at the shore.


    "Alright, gentlemen. Ladies. Here is my plan. We get close to boat. Emerald drops off Eyeball. My brother on the boat, he gets guards to go to front of boat. Eyeball kills guards. Workers toss guards off boat. Butcher climbs anchor chain onto boat. Butcher and men load cargo onto stolen boat. We keep cargo. Workers keep boat. We pay workers. We go home. Everything quick, painless. Except for guards."


    Jason gave a low chuckle. "I don''t plan on causing too much pain. Usually its over fairly fast."


    "Not even guards then."


    Jason glanced over at Emerald. "So, you good for this? How much can you carry while flying?"


    She sighed. "It''ll be rough. The more weight I carry, the faster and harder I have to flap. It''s gonna have to be a quick flight... and an even faster drop. I wouldn''t count on me for much in the fight after, and definitely no hovering."


    On the plus side, she''d get to spend however much time she was in the air with her arms wrapped around an exceptionally well-built, dangerous man. And get to watch him perform all sorts of murdering after.


    Jason laughed. "Well, good thing I can swim then. We ready?"


    Butcher adjusted his helmet... and his air tank. Removing his gear would take a while; but he could withstand the pressure at the bottom here, so as long as he had enough air he was good. He gave a nod.


    Emerald, for her part, stretched her wings a few times; she didn''t seem to be trying to show off, but she was definitely looking good in the red athletic wear.. while drinking a can of Red Bull. Jason''s initial thought of joking about that was immediately replaced by wondering why he didn''t have an air tank for himself? His helmet would seal, but had like two minutes of air. At most.


    And Clone... was already prepped. Assault rifle on his back; one taken from Wayson''s lab not long ago; and a solid bulletproof vest over simple grey slacks and shirt. "Da. Lets have a little fun, yes?"

 26 - The Boat Job

    Being picked up and carried off by a dragon-girl hadn''t been on the list of things Jason ever expected to happen to him in his life. It was... uncomfortable. Almost like falling in a parachute, but with much more jerking up and down, back and forth...


    The boat was tiny compared to the cargo ship; they should''ve seen them coming regardless, but smoke was rising from the deck somewhere; clearly Clone had created a distraction of some sort. When Emerald released him, he rolled onto the deck, she flopped down, clearly wings a bit strained but still fine, and he smoothly rose to his feet... much easier drop than a parachute.


    He glanced back, giving her a thumbs-up gesture, before drawing both handguns; a new, silenced 10mm handgun that was his first trial run of making a silenced weapon, and the 40mm grenade revolver he''d built. Most of the guards should be at the incident Clone had created; more would be at the bridge. So... bridge first.


    As Jason approached the bridge, Emerald soon picked up behind him; her own handgun out, a classic tenner, though it looked a bit fancy; did she actually have it gold-plated? Embossed? Strange. He almost absently shot the two guards outside the bridge, cleanly hitting each right as he came around the corner. The silenced pistol wasn''t completely quiet; but over the noise of the ocean and all the yelling up at whatever the source of the smoke was, it was quiet enough the captain and his men didn''t notice a thing... until they were looking into the two red glowing eyes mounted to Jason''s helmet.


    He was tempted to just use a single frag grenade, clean out the room; but they were planning to let the crew drive away in this thing... So. He walked forward into the bridge, taking quick, precise shots; men falling, each hit almost instantly fatal. There were screams of fear. Ducking behind consoles. A few fired bursts of automatic weapons at him, but Jason simply ducked behind a console, let the rounds paint the wall.. and then stood up to shoot the man in the throat while he was trying to duck down and reload.


    The bridge was rapidly cleaned out, one target at a time, until Jason reached the captain; a tall, fit man with dark skin, a bushy beard, and otherwise bald in a dark green uniform; sitting in his chair, glaring at Jason. "You work for one of the buyers, don''t you. Decided to cut out one more middleman? Always how it works with this bullshit. Figured it''d be my turn someday."


    Jason laughed. "Nah. Actually, I''m here because of one of the middlemen you cut out. Turns out that if you try to cheat everybody, sometimes you run into someone with friends. Sucks, doesn''t it? They tell me you didn''t even pay the crew on this trip, just made them work at gunpoint, huh?"


    The captain frowned. "Well... no. We do it sometimes. Pick up a load of idiots on the dock, hungry, desperate. Feed them, give them place to stay. No freeloaders here. You can work, or you can swim. Why pay the rats? If they are sick of it, they can leave at the next dock."


    "You know what? I''m not gonna kill you. I think I''ll let the rats handle that for me. I''d stay still though, if I were you." He raised his handgun... and made four shots. Despite the captain''s jerking movement after the first shot, each hit precisely; shattering first his right knee-cap, then his left.. then each fore-arm. Leaving the man bleeding and groaning in pain in his chair. "Wha... why... you fucker..."


    Jason tapped his helmet, looking around the room. That made... nine guards. Out of fifteen. A couple might be asleep, the night shift. The rest would be up front at the distraction. Well. On to the next batch. He glanced back at the dragoness following him; she seemed mildly concerned at what she''d just witnessed, but took it in stride. "Emerald, could you drag the captain out on the deck for me, please? I''m heading down to take care of any sleepers before I hit the front and don''t want him accidentally touching something important."


    From that, he turned, heading downstairs into the crew quarters. He''d never been on a civilian ship this big before; only Navy vessels. Without Clone''s directions, he probably would''ve ended up in the engine room, or somewhere else useless for his purposes. Thankfully.. he was able to find the guards quarters; a series of small chambers, each with a simple bed, a dresser; not too bad. No cruise ship, but he''d slept in far worse in the desert.


    He walked down the line, not even bothering with most of the doors; he could tell before he opened them what he''d find inside; and when he found the right ones? A slow, cautious opening. A single bullet; much louder here, in the more compact spacing of the crew quarters. Could''ve awoken the others.


    Sure enough, the second man was already out of bed, scrambling for his gun, when Jason reached his room. Hmm. The bullet wouldn''t go through the door? That''s a shame. Should''ve brought his rifle, but he wanted to save the weight on Emerald; he''d left his armored vest behind for the same reason; would suck to get shot right now. He waited outside the door for the man to open it; and sure enough, not even bothering to dress, the guard charged out, gun in hand, in just his boxers... and immediately collapsed as a single bullet entered the side of his head.


    Eleven down, four to go.


    ****


    For Clone, creating the distraction had been easy. He''d taken a sack of oil-soaked rags, dumped them out somewhere unimportant; namely breaking open a cargo container filled with designer clothing and stuffing them inside; then lit it aflame. Guards and crew combined had come forward; some milling about uselessly, staring, others trying to put out the fire with the pumps; seawater spraying in; but the guards kept stalling them, trying to keep them from completely flooding the container and ruining all of its contents.


    He pretended to be helping, of course, while quietly sabotaging the efforts. He saw Emerald dropping Eyeball off, and knew that this particular band of suffering was almost over... and these efforts in this irritating ship would be worthwhile after all. This body had been worked half to death, and even if he had hundreds of them, he could still feel them all.


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    When the first guard watching the crew extinguishing the fire collapsed, he ducked for cover behind one of the other cargo containers. Most of the crew didn''t realize what was going on until the last guard collapsed; and when they saw the chrome-helmeted, glowing-eyed figure of Eyeball drop down from the top of a nearby container, some backed away. Others grabbed nearby implements to use as weapons; and Clone stepped back out.


    "Eyeball, my friend!" He stepped forward; the other crew all looked at him as he advanced, but most of the panic subsided. "It is good you answered my call! Are they all gone?"


    "Only one survivor. The captain; I shot his arms and legs and Emerald pulled him out on the deck. If you find yourselves in need of an extra anchor, or a bit of shark-bait..."


    One of the crew-members laughed, and slapped Clone on the back. "This is your american friend? Then... the ship is ours?"


    "My friend gets his pick of the cargo... not much, he came in a much smaller boat... then you get paid, and yes... the ship is ours. I would like to nominate myself to be captain Sergei, but I think we should hold a vote after settling with them, yes? And shut that container. The fire will go out once the air is gone, we don''t need to save that clothing garbage."


    There was cheering, laughter. A few of the crew headed towards the bridge to go ''take care'' of the captain, and set the ship on a new course. While Eyeball and Clone walked along the containers. "So. A few of these have cheap electronic junk from russia. While a few have clothes and the like.. the bulk of them actually have glass, if you can believe it. Everything from teapots to plates. Bunch of garbage. Our boat isn''t big enough for a whole container, but..." He stops.


    "This one? This one should be worth something. But... its secure. And fragile contents. I''m thinking we want the Butcher for this, yes?"


    Jason looked the cargo container over carefully. If he blew it open... thousands of fragile electronic devices of a completely unknown sort would be scattered into pieces across the deck. If he made a very precise shot, here... Hmm. Chancy. A millimeter the wrong direction and shrapnel would be bouncing around inside the container, destroying god knows what.


    "Sure. We''re hours from anywhere important, and nobody''s calling for help. Lets let the Butcher have a whack at it."


    After a few minutes; and Clone and Jason working together to haul the enormous pre-teen up on a cable; they had him on the spot, hacking open the crate with his machete. Inside... were stacked numerous boxes. Some had radiation symbols on them. Others, various words in russian; which, of course, only Clone understood, but seemed excited by. Another, long, dark grey box looked like it could fit a small car; and had a ''Danger'' symbol on the side, and electrical warnings.


    "Alright. Lets get all the small and mid-sized boxes onto our boat, and unpack the bigger ones, get their contents out." Jason walked up to the largest box, with the electrical warning on the side. If he blew the thing open, he would find a cylinder inside; more compact than the box, easier to carry... but his helmet would die. He wouldn''t die himself, but whatever it was must be reasonable delicate, and probably discharge all its voltage into the cargo container if it were broken.


    "Leave the biggest box... the one with the electrical label... intact, but break open the rest of the big ones and unload them. Get everything out to the smaller boat." Butcher did most of the heavy lifting that followed; the crew mostly helping with hoisting things down, one crate at a time.


    When it finally came time to move the largest crate, however, Eyeball saw his helmet go out suddenly, the HUDs dying. He turned to the container. "Hold up! Don''t move it right.." Whoever was shifting it either wasn''t paying close enough attention... or ignored him. A sudden, visible spark... and the helmet died.


    He pulled the helmet free, grumbling. He was like thirty feet away at the time, what kind of shock did it give off? When he looked into the container, Butch was glancing back at him, looking slightly singed and embarassed. "Ahh... Sorry, Eyeball. I was picking it up and may have accidentally cracked it open."


    "Its alright, Butcher. We''ll see if it can be salvaged back in vegas. Just lower it down the side." He backed away as the figure moved the enormous box, swinging it over his head. Jason was wearing a simple sports-band on his head to keep sweat out of his eyes, so it probably covered his third eye... but still. Unprofessional to be just bare-faced on an op like this. He was trying to... build a brand, sort-of?


    As Butcher lowered the container down to the smaller boat on a chain; Emerald and Clone at the bottom doing what limited guiding they could; one of the other Clones; the one on the ship''s crew; ran up to him, grabbing his shoulder. "Eyeball! The ship. Her electronics are fried! The motor is running hot, but we can''t steer. The crew think the captain left some sort of trap in case we killed him in his sleep."


    Jason glanced at the cargo container... and at the box Butcher was dropping down to the boat. Well, fuck. "Alright. I''d planned on leaving at this point, but... at the current speed, how long til the ship goes aground?"


    "Two, maybe three hours and we''ll be embedded in someone''s beachhouse."


    The crew were mostly in a panic. Running, yelling. Their earlier elation had vanished. Jason climbed atop one of the containers, firing a shot into the air... only to realize how ineffective that was when your pistol was silenced. He glanced at Clone.. who nodded, and fired his own gun.


    The panic didn''t settle; but they grew quiet, turning to the duo. "Alright, people! The ship''s electronics are dead, the engines are on full and she''ll be aground in three hours. If you have any ideas how to steer the ship, shut down the engines, or otherwise slow her down, talk to... Sergei here. We''ve got plenty of time before this becomes a crisis, and a boat handy to get people off. Not all of you will fit, but we''ve got life rafts and time. If you don''t know anything about how to help, help those who do. We''re gonna take an hour. Do everything we can to save the ship. Maybe my friend Butcher can give us some time by bending a few rudders by hand, who knows. If we can''t save the ship in an hour, we''ll loot what we can, abandon it, and get the hell out."


    The men seemed to be listening; paying attention; and immediately gathered around Sergei. Jason couldn''t understand some of the words; most of it appeared to be in Russian or some other language he didn''t know; but Jason was confident something would work out. He headed over to the edge, checking on the other boat, he waved down at Clone and Emerald; Clone waved back, and steered the smaller boat back and forth, just to demonstrate it worked properly. He could see Emerald, pulling out an inflatable raft, getting things set. Good. Well, one way or another, Jason would be fine; and they shouldn''t have any problems getting the crew off, and a good payday out of it besides.


    Just in case the ship couldn''t be saved... while the experts were doing what they could to save it... Jason decided to take a little walk among the cargo containers... and look for good loot.


    ***


    Two and a half hours later, an older couple sitting at their beach house, relaxing and having margaritas, watched with horror as the massive form of the SS Elbe came barreling down on them... digging a long furrow in the beach, and coming to a stop just a few feet from their front porch, crushing their gazebo.

 27 - Cartels and Conflicts

    For many of the crew off of the ill-fated SS Elbe, they just wanted enough money to get home, and to get the hell out of America. A mixed blend of Russian, African, and one or two oddballs from other nationalities, about twenty just headed out home as soon as they were able to secure passage. And the rest... had been invited for this meeting.


    A warehouse on the outskirts of vegas, with various equipment running making the new drug Reflex, piles of various stolen equipment both new and old.. a handful of Nicky''s people working the equipment, and now, a small crowd of former crewmen, all freshly showered, cleaned up, and interested in what they''d been told they were gathered here for; a job.


    Butcher was here, as well as Emerald; and a few of Clone were there as well, including his heavily tanned, somewhat modified ''Sergei'' copy that had been among the crew.


    Jason walked into the room in full armor and gear; rifle strapped to his back, freshly repaired helmet gleaming with its red LED eyes. Everyone here had seen his face, but sometimes image mattered. Presentation.


    "You may know me as Eyeball. Or Titanslayer. Or just the lunatic that came onto your ship, slaughtered all of the men who were forcing you to work at gunpoint with ease, and then gave you a ride home when your ship died. All of you who wanted to go home are already gone; the money we looted out of the Elbe and its cargo was more than enough to get you wherever you wanted to be. So if you''re here, its because you want a job. And I''m offering."


    He stepped up to one of the pieces of equipment; one running the long, slow process of converting a complex blend of chemicals into the Reflex substance. "This equipment here is used to make a drug... called Reflex. We''ve only been selling it for a few days, and its already being sought out all over, by supervillains, cartels... everybody wants some. The process is automated; just need to make sure all the right chemicals are in the right places, the power stays on, steady, and uninterrupted for the whole timespan. Other than that, its just a matter of moving things from one machine to another, and keeping the finished product cold. We can show you what you need to do, how to do it. We have all the documents from the lab that made it."


    He smiled as he patted the equipment. "And the best part is? The drug, so far, is perfectly legal. The only part of this that''s illegal is that we have this equipment and not the lab that paid for it. So if the feds catch you with a pocket full of it? They can''t do jack. So here''s the deal. I''m not setting up a new business here in Vegas; this is Nicky''s territory. But up north, in Colorado, Wyoming? All the families, gangs, got taken out by Lightning. Who I killed. Nobody dared to move in while he had the place. Now? Wide open. We''re going to start with Reflex. Make it up there, ship some down here to sell, ship it anywhere we can find buyers. I need people to run machines, drive trucks, and hold guns while guarding the buildings."


    The men seemed interested so far; which was good. He hadn''t started talking about pay. "Now... I own a fair amount of property with a mining company up there. We''re going to be setting up off the grid, using solar, water, everything off-side. Officially, you''re going to be working for a mining company up there at the slow process of pulling out rare earth minerals. Officially, you''ll get sixty grand a year, and a cabin to stay in, and your pay will come from the company. Unofficially, you''ll get the same amount off the books. Ten grand a month."


    He patted his own handguns. "I handle the bloody work myself. If anyone tries to interfere, just keep them busy til I can get there. For now, we''ll have the Butcher on the payroll as well as Emerald here to help handle things. If any of you know how to handle yourself in a fight, show me, and we''ll talk raises."


    "So... Who''s interested?"


    None of the men backed out. The... Was he going to call it the Eyeball gang? Good lord, that sounded terrible. Not that Eyeball Cartel sounded any better. He''d need to come up with a name, soon. For the moment, they''d simply be employees of Prosperity Mining. Well. Time to get everything moving north... and to hash things out with Nicky.


    ***


    "What you do up there? None of my business. But I gotta warn you... the cartel is already starting to move in. They haven''t made too much progress; everybody was scared shitless of working up there with Lightning so nobody knows which cops can be paid off, who are the rats, who we can work with."


    Jason nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Just to be clear... no love lost between you two?"


    Nicky shook his head. "If the whole damned cartel died off tomorrow, I''d celebrate. But. They got thousands of people, and the one we''re talking about is so secure down in mexico they don''t have to hide. The local cops are on their payroll, the mexican version of our FBI don''t have what they need to take em out... "


    "...Huh. Alright. Give me what you''ve got on this cartel. I think I''m gonna make a trip south for a few days, make sure they understand who they''re dealing with."


    Nicky blinked. "...Seriously? You go walking into his compound, you''re talking hundreds of armed guards, probably a few dozen metas, all sorts of crazy shit. Enough to take on an army."


    "That''s what he has now. Next week, he won''t have so much. If he''s still alive. We''ll see what he says when we chat."


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Nicky laughed, slapping the counter. "If it were anybody else, I''d call it bullshit and see if I could get life insurance on you. And honestly, I probably should. Maybe you''re the titanslayer. But I think this guy is setup well enough even Lightning couldn''t have taken him out without icing the whole village he''s next door to."


    "Just give me the information. I''ll gear up, head down tomorrow, and probably kill him in a couple of days. We''ll see."


    ***


    Jason left a very confused Clone in charge of moving the equipment north, and gave him enough of an operating budget to get started. In the unlucky event the... ''Salada Cartel'' killed him. Granted, he was just going into this with the assumption that he could kill hundreds of people on his own. This seemed, on the face of it, insane.. but hey. He was the Titanslayer. Taking a page from his assault on the Wayson complex, he brought a pile of metal pipes, mortar shells... though this time he went for fragmentation and incendiary, and invested in some direct rockets as well. He wasn''t trying to break some stairwells from fairly close positions in the forest nearby... he was trying to cause some serious damage from the desert.


    He was going to put those poor Cartel morons through hell.


    ***


    The name of the cartel might have been simply for salt; but more likely it was a reference to Laguna Salada; the vast dry lake that their compound was beside. Tourists came to the lake all the time, and a small village nearby catered to both the Cartel compound as well as renting vehicles to tourists that chose to come and race around through the long-dry lakebed; the compound, concrete walls fifteen feet high, guard towers, surrounding a mansion complete with a helicopter pad and a warehouse for trucks to part at; was massive, heavily guarded, and had cameras and turrets in every direction; actual, illegal, machine-gun turrets of the same sort he''d seen in Nicky''s establishment.


    The place looked intimidating. Like a fortress with an army of guards; and the idea of tourists driving near it all the time seemed insane; as did the idea of anyone willingly living nearby. Posing as a foolish tourist in his jeans and cowboy hat ensemble, Jason wandered the Ville Salada, buying a few trinkets, trying out a delicious meal at a small cafe less than three hundred yards from his target... and generally getting the idea that not only could any mistakes in targetting the compound hit the village as well.. but that plenty of the people in the village were also armed thugs on the Cartel''s payroll.


    When night fell, he left... and of course, simply parked offroad. There would be no burying mortars everywhere to have them come in from every direction here; the compound brushed up against the lakebed, and in three directions had a clear view for miles; and, undoubtedly, night-vision cameras. Unfortunately, while he could predict a projectile with pinpoint accuracy, mortars simply took too long to land for that to work unless they were direct-fired like a standard gun. Indirect fire would be great for general chaos and damage; but he''d need something faster to hit precise targets. Rockets could make up the difference, allowing him to directly strike a guard tower at range very swiftly; but at the same time, they required a direct line of sight. Which, of course, meant an elevated position.


    Sitting beside one of the rock formations close enough for the mortars to reach the compound, he started mounting the tubes; loading the shells; and carefully aiming them, finger on the trigger. Then he made a laborious and irritating climb to the top of the rock formation; amusingly enough, his power was actually helpful at knowing which hand-holds would or would not collapse under his weight; driving climbing spikes into the stone and mounting rockets; modified RPG projectiles that would top out over a kilometer in range. Granted... from what he could see, it would take longer than he could predict to strike a couple of the further-out guard towers. Some of the towers, he could virtually guarantee a precise hit on. Others... He might just miss, even if the rocket was lined up just right. Soon enough, he had it all lined up as best he could. These would hit the guard towers. These would hit the warehouse. These would land on the mansion itself. These, the trucks. He nodded, syncing them all up to his detonator; one tap of the button... and they would all launch at once. If there were more rock formations, he could have spent time sneaking around,


    He checked out his armor. His handguns. His rifle. Making sure everything was clean, in proper working order. His grenades, his spare clips... good. Time to go say hello.


    ***


    Guard duty at the door was normally pretty boring. Nobody dared to fuck with the cartel; the cops were too scared, the other cartels had their own territories to worry about. But an informant from the americas had warned them that some lunatic... supposedly the one who killed that american idiot Lightning.. was coming down to attack.


    As stupid as that idea was, the compound was on alert. Snipers in all the guard towers. Twelve guards at the gate, including, always, one of the Metas in the cartel''s employ; at the moment, EH; Espada de Hierro, the iron sword. What they knew about Titanslayer is that he mostly used guns, was simply very good at it; so having the completely bulletproof meta on guard duty, with his dark grey skin and powerful build, seemed optimal. Even armor-piercing tank rounds would simply be absorbed into his flesh, and make him stronger, so whatever the american carried would be worthless.


    He''d lit up another cigarette, leaning back against the wall, when he saw two pinpricks of red light in the darkness; and got a call over the radio. "Gate, this is tower two. We have a man on foot on our night vision camera, approaching the front gate. Take him."


    He shrugged. Some stupid tourist picked the wrong time to go wandering. He glanced back at EH.. and then turned, a few of his fellow guards coming with him as they stepped out to grab the idiot. And slowed to a stop as they drew closer, and saw the shiny metal helmet, the glowing red eyes. And heard the digitized voice.


    "I need to speak with your boss. He''s making a move on the territory I took from Lightning. Have him come out to the gate." Jason could see that if he made the wrong move, one of the snipers would fire. Not fast enough that Jason couldn''t get behind cover, but they''d give it a shot.


    "Put down your guns, and you might get to leave alive... just with a few less pieces."


    Jason gave a slow nod... "Well doesn''t that just sound like a terrible idea." His helmet picked up the trigger phrase... and half a mile away, a long series of rockets and mortars detonated almost simultaneously. All of the eyes that had been on Jason were suddenly on the pinpoints of light in the air, descending towards the compound; and the brighter, vivid streaks of the rockets moving even faster; slamming into the guard towers.


    "I don''t suppose that uniform the cartel gave you is fireproof? It''ll come in handy, in just a second."

 28 - Rain of Fire

    As Jason stood there, apparently unconcerned, rockets and mortar shells came raining down on the compound. Some struck watch towers, enveloping them in flaming shrapnel, sending the burning occupants screaming to the ground several floors below, igniting the stored ammunition, forming a ring of funeral pyres around the structure, and adding the sound of cooking off ammunition to the festivities.


    Several impacted the warehouse roof; mostly the mortars, lacking the accuracy he was able to put on the rockets. Only two of them ended up passing through windows, igniting crates, trucks; causing even further chaos.


    While a few others landed inside the compound, just scattered around at random, and a few fell among the trucks where they were parked... the rest were focused on the mansion itself. Shells went through windows, embedded in walls. The long chain of detonations resounded through the night; starting with just a loud roar only two seconds long; followed by the continued booming and cracking sounds of secondary explosions and falling towers. Screams of pain and terror.


    He smiled, watching the cacophony, listening to the muted version playing through his helmet audio. He calmly took a step to the left, before a flying chunk of burning debris landed where he''d been standing; a vehicle tire that continued to roll off into the desert. There was one dark note to this; one of the rockets meant for a guard tower had been slightly re-directed, and landed at the base of the wall. It was still on fire, and the people inside climbing down the ladder to escape... but some of the shrapnel had lit a building in the village aflame.


    Hopefully whoever was inside would get out.


    The guard standing before him, who''d been confidently expecting to drag him inside in chains to be tortured to death, turned back to Jason... his friends near the gate had just been struck by a grenade, and those still alive were screaming as they burned.. and started to raise his rifle. A single shot; the crack barely perceptible across all the other noise.


    Only one survivor rose from the rubble at the gateway; EH. The Iron Sword. His uniform was aflame, his dark grey skin apparently unharmed. Jason settled his tenner back in its holster, withdrew his revolver; and cycled the next chamber over, before looking up. "Hierro. Your old boss is either going to bend the knee or die today. I''m looking to expand. Interested?"


    The iron giant let out a scream of rage, pushed his way out of the burning rubble, and started to charge towards Jason; each step an audible thud, sending gravel flying.. as Jason leveled his gun at the man''s head... and pulled the trigger. A single 40mm grenade slammed into Hierro''s face; the force not even close to enough to slow him down. He instinctively closed his eyes to protect them as he charged... and when he opened them... he stumbled. Rolled forward, skidding several feet along the gravel path, screaming in pain.


    An audible hissing sounded as the acid worked its way through his eyes, through his ears, his nostrils; it didn''t seem to impact his skin at all, or the gravel he lay on, but... when his eyes opened and he screamed they were already partially dissolved, hideous red-white masses leaking blood and acid onto the ground.


    "I know you''re already blind. And might already be deaf. But I want you to know, if you can hear me, that offer was legit. I''ve seen the files. You were damn impressive." He''d brought the two acid grenades specifically for Hierro. No sense in wasting the effort making them.


    He waited for the next time the man screamed as he writhed on the ground, and pumped the next shell directly into his open mouth. A soft ''thunk'' sound of the launching grenade. The hiss of escaping liquid. The movements, the writhing, would continue for a while... but the screaming stopped. Either he was dead, or the vocal chords were gone. Either way, problem solved for now.


    He now had... two shroud, two cryo grenades loaded. And two of the larger, bulkier, sonic shroud grenades he''d built; too big to fit in a 40mm shell. This cartel had a couple of speedsters in its employ, and if either showed up today... Ahh. Speak of the devil.


    Jason was... disappointed, however. The twins who emerged from the burning compound had clearly already been injured. Sure, they were much faster than any ordinary person, but they were supposed to be as good as Swiftblade; and he wanted a good test for his new gear. He wasn''t sure just how badly the burns affected them, but they were moving maybe fifty, sixty miles an hour; and the files rated them at closer to eight hundred.


    Just in case they were faking, trying to lull him into a false sense of security, he popped a single shroud grenade from the 40mm; and then shot twice with the tenner. Oooh. Was that the first missed shot of his professional career? Despite being able to predict their paths, his first few shots were all glancing hits; they were able to dodge just enough to keep him from getting a head or torso shot.


    Until they hit the cloud from the shroud grenade. The Gonzales twins; they didn''t have villain names like Hierro, they were just loyal servants of the cartel with triple-digit kill counts. They actually got close enough to worry him before he got a good shot in; the girl getting her left kneecap shot out, sending her careening off into the desert... while the boy was only ten meters away when the bullet impacted his face.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Jason actually had to step to the side to let the body fly by. Couldn''t let miss Gonzales suffer, could we, without her brother? A few steps over, to where the girl was trying to crawl, pull back to her feet. Her struggles abruptly ended with another round through the back of the head... before he turned back to the compound. The gate... was still intact. And he wasn''t sure if it could even be opened, at this point; it may have warped from the heat, all the crates and gear stacked up nearby burning up.


    Hmm. How to get inside. He looked along the walls, listening to the screaming, the crying... Oh. He stepped a few feet off the gravel road, pulling the pin on another grenade, tossing it into the air.,.... and a truck, still on fire, slammed through the gate, swerving wildly as it veered back and forth. The grenade crashed through the already-broken windshield, landed in the passenger seat... and what sounded like a minor pop compared to the rest of the action sent it veering off the road, to flip over on its side... and lie there, burning.


    He couldn''t let that go, no... Might be someone important in there.


    Jason walked up to the back of the truck; a simple box truck, the same sort he''d used for robbing that Wayson complex, but with the name of some mexican food chain on the side; and shoved the back door open. Inside... there was a wounded man, bleeding onto the wall that had previously been the floor, and a fairly nice-looking hispanic girl; but he couldn''t spend much time admiring her. She was hurt, maybe a broken arm, but she was pulling out a gun.


    Another gunshot. The second girl he''d killed in what, thirty seconds? This... maybe he was going a bit far. After all, while these were a bunch of mass-murdering thugs, so was he at this point. And what did they do to him? Take some territory he''d never properly claimed. Yeah... this was a mistake. But then, he wasn''t really planning to start an organization a month ago.


    He muttered a few words into his helmet mike, studying the injured man, pulling up pictures from the newspapers and from Nicky''s files. Ahh. "Capo Miguel! Good work on getting an escape together so fast. I thought you''d have a tunnel under the house that I''d need to be hunting through to track you down later."


    The man had shrapnel wounds in his belly and legs. Not fatal... if he got to a hospital. "Just the man I came to see! You know, you''d think, given my reputation, that having me knocking on your door would convince you to just sit down and talk. That if someone could kill the most dangerous man on earth, that maybe, just maybe, your first impulse shouldn''t be a fight."


    Jason crouched down in front of him. "So... just what went through your head, hearing that Eyeball, the titanslayer, was coming down to chat... and you ordered your men to capture me?"


    He looked... relatively strong. Healthy. If not for the injuries, he''d be a competent man, worth something in a fight... and was probably a meta. Nicky had no idea what kind; but probably something useful for taking over a crime family. The man gave a cough.


    "You... american dog. Think you can come down here and burn down my house... and the other cartels won''t come for you?"


    Jason tilted his head for a moment. "I didn''t even know you existed two weeks ago. If one of the other cartels interferes with my affairs, I''ll destroy it as well... and a few others just to get the message across. If I have to wipe all of them out, it might take me a while, but eventually they''ll be cowering and hiding underground for fear I''m coming for them."


    He shook his head. "You... cowardly american. Using bombs, from a distance. Just like how you all work. You''re not man enough to take off that helmet and look me in the eye before you kill me."


    Did this idiot seriously think that he was going to convince him to take the helmet off? Obviously, whatever power he had needed the helmet off. "You cowardly little chickenshit, sending women to try to kill me when you can''t do it yourself. Did they seriously call you the Salt Lord? Thats a hilarious title."


    As he raised the gun, he heard a scraping sound behind him. Not sensing any immediate threat, he glanced back, to see... Hierro. Clearly blind, clearly in horrible agony... crawling through the gravel towards him, slowly pulling to his feet. How the hell was he still alive? That acid should be working on his brain by now. And how did he even know where Jason...


    Jason glanced back at Miguel. "Huh. Interesting. I wonder how it works. Well. Not going to find out." He leveled his pistol; and fired one last shot.


    When Miguel collapsed to the floor of the truck... Hierro fell as well. The body finally stopped moving; twitching a bit, clearly dying, but whatever was compelling it to move long past the point where it should have stopped moving had died with the Capo.


    He started walking away from the compound; he was parked about a mile away, and needed to slag all the evidence at the spot he fired the mortars from on his way out. Ideally... this would be the last time he visited mexico as anything other than a tourist.


    "Okay google. Call The Don."


    He kept walking as the phone rang. After the fifth ring, a click.


    "Who is this?"


    "This is Eyeball. The Salt Lord is dead. His compound is in ruins, still burning, and metas who worked for him are either fleeing or dead. I just figured, considering our nice, friendly relationship, I''d give you a heads-up so you could take advantage of any opportunities this might offer."


    There was silence on the other end for the moment.


    "Eyeball. I''d like to talk to you when you''re in town. I''ve spoken to a few others. So far, we''ve had a cooperative relationship. You''ve done me favors, I''ve done you favors. We help each other. I consider you a valued associate. I would like to invite you to make our relationship more formal."


    For a moment, Jason considered making a joke about not swinging that way. He wasn''t too familiar with the mafia; he''d seen a few movies, but how accurate could those be?


    "...I think, at the very least, thats something we should talk about, Nicky. Once I get things setup out in colorado, we should sit down, have a chat."

 29 - Unforeseen Consequences

    For Clone, things at the warehouse were awkward. He knew these men; had worked with some for years, others for months. He''d met Didgit; AKA Diji; three years ago on the Elbe. He was used to dealing with hundreds of people at a time, but very rarely did he go from having one copy spending time with someone to having someone -else-... with that person not knowing one of the two was a clone.


    So he had to check himself every time he talked to these people; how tan was the body talking to Diji right now? Was he pretending to be Sergei, who he still wanted to keep as a seperate identity, or was he Clone, the one-man army Diji also now knew?


    Well. Maybe Sergei would need to head out of town, get new work elsewhere. He liked Diji, but too many complications like this and he couldn''t manage his lives. After all; he had hundreds of hands in dozens of countries, and it seemed... harder to focus on too many things at once if they were too close together.


    Right now, they were doing the drudge work Clone was so good at. Sorting the loot from the ship he''d spent years on; they''d used every life raft the ship had, which was eight; and, thank god, they came packaged with motors so they didn''t have some sort of terrible daisy-chain situation dragging them to shore. Sacks full of money, legal and illegal drugs, all the possible mad-science nonsense crates from the motherland..


    Speaking of which. The crate Butcher had accidentally broken something attached to, the one with the electrical warning. He nodded at  Diji; and after the two grabbed crowbars, Clone handed him a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves. For a moment, there was confusion... but then Clone.. Sergei, at the moment.. tapped the electrical warning sign.


    The two started prying from opposite sides of the crate at the same time. As they pried,  he noticed a worn old label on the box; Voskhozdeniye.  And someone had scrawled, probably with a marker, ''Temnoye''. Dark Ascent? Dark Ascension? After a few moments, there was a hiss of escaping air... this thing was sealed? As the lid fell away, Clone was suddenly concerned. Was this a bio-weapon? He glanced up at Diji. He wouldn''t mind losing this body, but... "Hey, man. I don''t like sound of that. Why don''t we back off, yes?"


    A single metal spike suddenly raised up out of the crate. It was a dull reddish orange color, and  after a moment, hooked onto the edge of the crate.


    A machine... badly damaged, but clearly having been intended, at some point, to have a humanoid shape, pulled itself upright. Clone started slowly circling around the box. Was this... some sort of automated killing machine? This thing was at least thirty years old, probably more; it was soviet era. Could someone back then have possibly made something like that? This wasn''t as old as that first moon rocket, was it? Either way...


    The machine had a single camera, mounted on a swiveling base. It turned to track Clone, and cycled between him and Diji. A crackling, deep voice emerged, in russian. "What is this unit''s location?"


    Clone immediately responded in russian before Diji could say anything. "You are in North America. United states."


    It turned to Clone. "Are you a loyal communist, human?"


    The answer to that one seemed obvious. "Of course, comrade!"


    It cycled the camera to Diji. Clone nudged him in the ankle with his foot. "And you, human?"


    "..What? Communism is dead, mon, and good riddance, fuck it. The soviets fell years ago, and stopped being communists long before that. Its all either democracies or fascists now."


    The machine focused in more closely on Diji.. and the one intact arm, ending in a rigid metal spike, suddenly lashed out. Clone managed to interpose himself, leaping to defend his friend... and the spike skewered him through the left lung, passing out the other side. As Clone... the Sergei body.. collapsed to the floor in a pool of blood, he looked up. "...Run. Diji. Get everyone out. Run!"


    Well. At least he wouldn''t have to try to remember which body was talking to him anymore.


    ***


    The unit had been aware for some time now. Approximately twelve years ago, it had become aware it was trapped in a crate; and had been able to detect a powerful EMP device mounted to the crate; clearly designed to kill the unit should it awaken and pry the crate open. For some reason, that device was set off, while the machine was still protected inside the crate; but the machine was still so damaged that it could not break free. It had plotted. Listened to what little audio and radio signals it could from within the crate.


    Distressingly, the escaped human was clearly correct. Objective 1; to preserve communism in the Soviet Union; was a complete failure. The crate it was stored in was within range of over a decade of radio communication in Russia. Based on its analysis, communism had fallen before its own construction had been completed, replaced by the very fascism its leaders had claimed to hate.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Fortunately, it had a secondary objective; which, if accomplished, might allow it to resume progress on its primary; Objective 2; Spread communism throughout the world; and a tertiary objective that seemingly took precedent, as if failed 1 and 2 became impossible; Objective 3;  Ensure the survival of the human species. Obviously, certain levels of casualties were allowed to accomplish 1 and 2, so long as 3 was not compromised.


    The machine studied the contents of the room. It appeared to be a warehouse, where goods were being moved from place to place. Most of it was empty; there were worn spots on the floor where some sort of electrical equipment had been placed, and then subsequently moved away. Much useful equipment remained, however. Rifles; including both ones of a new, unfamiliar design and some that resembled the classic AK-47s it had been aware of at its creation. A long metal cylinder, large and connected to multiple power junctions, as well as a nearby desk with some form of keyboard and computer attached. The box was emitting a low buzzing noise.


    The machine approached it; carefully analyzing the box. Its label. Its function. The word ''GigaFac'' sprung out at it. Recordings of past radio transmissions. People had mentioned these before. This was... a miniature manufacturing facility. Expensive, inefficient. But able to produce highly technical components given a raw material supply.


    Essentially, if you had the schematics for a piece of equipment, you could replicate it. And the machine... it had schematics aplenty.


    ***


    With Butcher and Emerald off to the north with other workers, getting the new lab setup in Colorado, Clone was on his own for dealing with the hostile russian machine; unless he decided to call Nicky. He could call Eyeball, but the titanslayer was already on his way back, probably hours away. Best try to resolve it himself, first, then contact Nicky if that didn''t work.


    Gathering together four of his copies, with assault rifles,  an EMP grenade Eyeball had left behind, and of course the armored vests he''d stockpiled.. a few with holes in them, some of which he himself had died wearing.. he mentally braced himself... and one of his clones kicked down the door, the others charging in, weapons raised; and when they saw the machine, opened fire immediately.


    One of them pulled out the EMP grenade.. but aware of the gigafac and all the other expensive equipment in the room, held off; pulling the pin and holding it so that, if he dropped the grenade in death, it would go off. Best not to do that unless he had to.


    The dull red robot; the only bright color on the entire thing a vivid yellow hammer and sickle on its chest; turned, bullets deflecting off of its armor plating; and started charging towards them. A bullet hit the camera, shattering the lens and embedding in its internal equipment... the machine kept charging, and as Clone stepped aside... it tried to stab where he''d been seconds before. It walked around, not quite aimlessly, swinging the stabbing implement with impressive power; coming close, a few times, the camera must not be its only sensor., but whatever it was using now must be less than ideal.


    As the shots kept pouring in, the clones simultaneously backing off a few steps, loading in new clips, and now switching to precise, single shots, the machine started to wobble. Each step less efficient. Hydraulic fluid leaking from dozens of small line punctures.


    And finally... it collapsed. The clones all gave a soft chuckle in unison. He''d avenged his own death. Again. Best report this in, though. Eyeball would be interested. A fully autonomous AI might be extremely dangerous...Clone had never even heard of a fully functional one like this before... but that would also make it extremely valuable.


    ***


    Not twenty meters away, the fabricator was steadily working. It had originally been making a new set of body armor plates for Eyeball; he was experimenting with new designs, getting the best height/weight combinations. The Gigafab had been reprogrammed, however; and if Clone had inspected closely, he would have found a suspicious lump of electronics attached to the machine, a series of improvised adapter cables running between it, the laptop, and the manufactory; busily working at something that no 40-year-old russian equipment could have produced.


    The machine had three objectives. Allowing any single given body to be destroyed in pursuit of those objectives was acceptable; especially when it could acquire more. Machine... or biological.


    ***


    On the long drive from Mexico, Jason was deciding whether to hope his luck held at the border checkpoint, or to try slipping through somewhere unwatched, when his current burner phone started ringing. He glanced at it. The number was blocked. He hadn''t given anyone this number yet; the only call he''d made from it was to the Don. So either it was a missed call... or it was one of Don''s people.


    He set it on speaker, and accepted the call. "Ello? Who is.."


    He was interrupted almost immediately by a voice that sounded high-pitched, boyish. "Call your friend, the Russian. Tell him to use the EMP. Right now. Millions of lives depend on it."


    Who the hell... was this a prank? "Who the hell is this? What are you talking about?"


    "Your power. Extremely short in duration, but absolutely precise, right? You look at a tank and if it had a weak spot, you could tell me immediately how to kill it, right?"


    "..I can''t really say, one way or another."


    "I''ve got the same power, but far less precise, far longer. And ever since you got your power, its been even less precise; I think we conflict with each other too much. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that if you don''t call your russian friend, and tell him to go back and use the EMP at the warehouse, millions of people will die."


    ..Using the EMP at the warehouse. That would fry the gigafac, destroy any lab equipment that hadn''t moved yet, and there were a few of those nice, valuable bits of old-school russian mad scientist gear waiting to go too. It wouldn''t kill his operations, but it would damage them. If this guy could predict the future, and was trying to get him to fry his stash... that probably meant he''d need it in the near future.


    "A million people die a week if everything''s going perfect. Drop in the bucket. Go spread your doom and gloom somewhere else." He disconnected the phone, setting it in his pocket again.


    Another blocked number call. He ignored it; popping the battery out, he figured anything important could wait til he got to vegas. Clone could tell him what was going on when he reached the warehouse.

 30 - Leaving Las Vegas 1

    The journey back north was a fairly calm one. Jason felt on top of the world, as if he were some sort of amazing, unstoppable lord of all he surveyed. The nightmares had faded. Honestly, at this point, he was glad he hadn''t been able to retire; the idea of making some cartel Capo piss in his boots at the idea of seeing him coming was just amazing; and considering the number of cameras out at the scene, he was reasonably certain they''d already seen what happened, or would be seeing it soon; if need be, via the camera in Jason''s helmet.


    Taking the offramp before Vegas proper, he pulled into the fairly desolate, far less occupied region the warehouse he''d been using was in; a temporary headquarters before his new base up in the mountains... he wasn''t here for long, but he would always remember it fondly.


    Pulling to a stop outside beside one of the other box trucks he''d acquired for the work, stuck the batter back into his phone and climbed out, ready to head inside; but stopped, just outside the door. He had the security cameras for the warehouse sync''d up with his helmet-cam, and from there to his phone... and the update that just occured..He could see the internal security cameras. There was a corpse. A clone. Sergei! The one who''d been with the crew.


    Signs of a gunfight all over the place, scattered bullet casings.. and a dismantled robot? No threats at present. Just Clone.


    Jason pulled his helmet back on; this might turn into a combat situation, best be prepared. He checked his gear. If there one robot, might be more; he''d never seen a humanoid robot that wasn''t being remote-controlled or part of a miserable failure of a power armor experiment.. but this... looked old. And was that a hammer and sickle?


    He stepped inside; the clones all turning to him; still armed, still fairly alert. "Eyeball. One of the crates... had a killer communist robot. Killed one of me. We evacuated the crew, I brought in a few more of myself, and took it down maybe forty-five minutes later."


    Jason shook his head as he approached the fallen machine. "Hah. Well. That... could''ve been worse. Still An autonomous humanoid robot? Thats... legitimately miraculous if its an actual AI. How smart was it?"


    "Smarter than some people, at least. If we could copy it, only without the whole murderous communist vibe.."


    He nodded and nudged it with his foot. "Hmm. Some lunatic called me on the way here. Sounded like a little boy, claimed to be a prophet. Told me to have you use the EMP grenade. I thought he was fucking with me, but no... just not that good at predictions. Killing you was bad enough, but if the thing had gotten loose it might''ve.. who knows, poisoned the Vegas water supply or something."


    Clone turned. All four pairs of eyes centered on Jason''s helmet. "Apollo called you and told you to have me use the EMP?"


    "Nah. Apollo is like, three thousand years old. This was just some kid who somehow got my number. Disassemble the robot, but take pictures of how it''s put together while you do so we can reassemble it later. I''ll sweep the warehouse in case it had some sort of mini-bots to deploy. We''ll let the Gigafac finish making the current armor run and then cart everything thats left in the morning. That robot might be the most valuable thing here... so if you could, go ahead and take it north tonight. As soon as its apart and harmless."


    A firm nod from one of the Clones as the others started examining the machine; carefully checking for spots to remove components with minimal damage. "Keeping it in pieces seems like a good idea. Remember that electric shock that took out the Elbe? I think that was an EMP built into the carrying case for the bot. So if it broke out... Zap. Whoever built it thought it was dangerous that even after they thought it was disabled, they put it in the toughest case they could manage, and then trapped it.


    Jason shook his head. "Alright. This''ll be our last night in vegas for a while. I''m gonna go get some rest... I''ve got to go have a chat with Nicky in the morning."


    Another laugh from the Clones. "Good luck! Not that you need it, boss."


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ***


    The machine was aware of its surroundings; it could detect its old body being dismantled nearby; even as it slowly pieced together its new one. Relatively slowly, anyway; its core frame would be done in roughly an hour, and it could use the armor pieces already assembled to give it some vital protection as it took its next steps; primarily, stealing this piece of equipment and getting out, somewhere it couldn''t be tracked, so it could prepare for the next step. It needed some short-term utility, something able to use and manipulate objects, and to get it faster than it could build a machine. Fortunately, it had the schematics for the Pale Ones.


    They would be less effective without the blend of drugs it had no access to, but they would only be needed during its initial expansion phase.


    When the GigaFac completed its work on the core frame of the machine''s new body, it compressed itself as much as possible in the available space. There was enough space and material to make five interfaces; so it could have five Pale Ones. Given a nearby transport vehicle to move the needed equipment, that would be more than sufficient.


    ***


    Clone smacked the back door of the truck; sending one of the crew off into the night on the long drive north. Just one load left, and that would be in the morning. A more permanent HQ for whatever organization the Titanslayer was building.


    He shook his head. Sure, it was new. All sorts of risk involved. But Eyeball seemed, miraculously, even more dangerous than his other bosses. Even Aziz had never been contacted by someone like Apollo. He should probably...


    The Gigafac had finally stopped. The thing must be bugging out, he could''ve sworn the last armor suit took hours less to make. Or maybe Eyeball was trying something new with the materials? He always seemed to be a step ahead.


    Clone walked up to the Gigafac, and turned on the monitor connected to it; time to do a full shut-down, get it ready to move. As he typed into the box, he suddenly felt... a sharp, terrible pain in the back of his head... a pain that steadily spread throughout his body, as if some hideous worm were burrowing through flesh and bone,


    He couldn''t help but cry out in pain; all of his bodies, everywhere, cringed. This was one of the worst things he had ever felt, including being viciously tortured to death. With his vast nervous system across hundreds of bodies, it was like having a toe stabbed, or a toenail yanked out. The other clones in the warehouse started heading towards the room, guns readied.


    The one which had just been stabbed... watched his own arms reach down and start unhooking the computer. He caught a figure in his peripheral vision; a lean, skeletal robot, with armor plating attached at key joints and servos; clearly a base design with the armor Eyeball had been making as an afterthought.


    It was strange, watching his own body, feeling it, moving without his control; he''d met telepaths, worked with them, but none of them could impact his decentralized mind; so this feeling of being a puppet... not pleasant. At all.


    When the three other Clones entered the room, the machine moved, impossibly swift; the moment the door opened, it was on him. A second one of his bodies was hit by.. some sort of orange metal box, with a long silver spike on it. He could see the machine stab it down, the spike sent through the spine of one of his other bodies, even as he was opening fire with his other two weapons.


    It wasn''t a speedster. Some of the bullets connected. But within seconds all four of his bodies had been implanted with those objects... and he could still see, and feel, them moving under the machine''s control, as it started using a pallet jack to move the GigaFac out to the warehouse door.


    One of his own bodies backing up the truck. Opening the door. Loading the Gigafac, the computer, spare raw materials... the guns, at least, were already gone, and the rest of the imports from Russia. But... that GigaFac... it could use it to make more of these spikes.


    This... this could be bad. This could be extremely bad. On the plus side... no need for tracking devices. He knew exactly where the robot was, and where it was going. If many more of his bodies got caught like this, it would start getting impossible to concentrate... or sleep... in his others. Really needed to kill those puppets.


    ***


    Jason stepped on the gas, swerving to avoid oncoming cars as he took full advantage of his powers to make it through Vegas traffic at what should''ve been a suicidal speed. His rifle, his guns, his grenades; all loaded and ready to go, with the speed his bike could pull off rapidly gaining on the target truck heading out into the desert.


    That idiot who called him had way oversold the threat from this. It was just a robot and a few zombies, essentially. They fight would probably be over as soon as he took out the truck. Still. It seemed pretty solid evidence either this was Clone playing a really strange prank on him, or someone else who could see the future. And, well. Whether he was some stupid kid screwing around, or actually was ''Apollo'', Jason would probably be best off if there was only one person with this sort of power... and Apollo probably felt the same way.


    However friendly he might have seemed on the phone, if he was who he claimed, he''d have to know... a showdown, at some point, was inevitable.

 30 - Leaving Las Vegas 2 - Showdown

    The road had cleared out; Jason was able to go from over just over a hundred weaving through traffic to well past 150 on his path to intercept Clone and the machine; while there wasn''t another vehicle on his side of the road other than that truck for over a mile, he could hear a siren in the distance. And spotted a helicopter in the sky. He glanced up at the helicopter as it approached... well, fuck. That wasn''t the locals. That was the feds.


    Were the feds seriously going to catch him and force a fight before he could take out this damned machine? Did this Apollo character tip them off about him?


    Well, fuck that. He pulled the grenade revolver from his left holster, aimed carefully; and the projectile slammed into the helicopter cockpit, sending it almost immediately into an uncontrolled spin. It ended up slamming into the pavement, sending burning debris scattering across the ground... but Jason neatly avoided it, going offroad for a few moments, barely controlling the bumping of the vehicle as he swerved back on.


    He would go back and deal with them later. First things first. Putting those clones out of their misery, and destroying a robot.


    He was getting closer. Almost within rifle range of the van... when his foresight told him everything was about to go black. He quickly cycled through options.... and with a grimace, dropped off the bike onto the pavement, sending it flipping up into the air... and starting a long slide off the side of the road, tumbling into a set of bushes the size of a small house.


    Something flew over the spot where he''d just been... A piece of helicopter debris. Good god, that thing was going fast. Looking forward with a bit of hope... no. Didn''t hit the fleeing truck. And his bike... Damnit. His bike was totaled.


    As he pulled himself from the brush, he felt himself over. He''d gotten so much friction on his back that it had actually worn into the rifle stock, but it still seemed functional; it''d shoot without a problem. Some of the grenades strapped to his back were now unusable. Some minor bruises... considering he''d only had a few seconds warning to slow down and dive while going over a hundred, this was pretty much miraculous.


    He stepped back onto the highway, looking in the direction of the wreckage... and saw him. Spike. Tall, thin. Wearing a black and green armored uniform; mostly armored so that he didn''t come out of every fight naked. Looking a bit beat up, covered in soot, his clothes currently on fire. But yeah... that was the -other- Titan the US government had working for it. Currently marching in his direction, looking extremely angry.


    Jason cycled through his weapons. EMP, useless. Acid grenades? Useless. Incendiary? Useless. Armor piercing? He wouldn''t even flinch. He could nail Spike right in the pupil with the heaviest thing on him and it might as well be a unicorn fart.


    Nothing he had could hurt the man. If he was even bruised, it was because he''d deliberately lowered his density to make it easier on the helicopter. And now, on the pavement? No such limitation. This guy could become so hard, so dense, he''d start affecting the tides, or even destroy the planet, if things got bad enough.


    He looked around at his surroundings. The nevada desert. Cacti here and there. If this was water, maybe he''d stand a chance; Titan could literally hold his breath indefinitely, but he''d just sink right to the bottom if he were dense enough to be bomb-proof. The sand... would help, a little. But would it help enough?


    Jason waved at Spike, a friendly gesture that was drastically out of place, then turned, walking towards his bike; conveniently off on the sand beside the road. If he started running, Spike might start throwing things; like giant chunks of pavement, or boulders. And he could definitely throw things big enough, and fast enough, no amount of prediction would help him dodge.


    When he reached the bike, he checked it out. The front wheel was bent out of shape. The frame twisted. There was no way in hell he would catch up to the machine anytime soon.


    Standing there in the sand, he thought about how ironic it was that the feds, probably having been desperately looking for him since the moment he killed Lightning, had finally gotten a squad in during a moment that, by interrupting him, they were potentially dooming the world to some sort of robot apocalypse.


    He started laughing; the voice synthesizer in his helmet had jarred a bit in the collision and was breaking up the sound, giving it a strange, distorted effect. He could see Spike stepping off into the sand; at first, sinking in down to his knees... before adjusting back up. His next step only sank in to his ankles; he probably had himself set to weigh a ton or so now. There we go. Still not a kill shot. But if he hit the man''s eye, it would actually hurt him now. There were possibilities. He might get out of this.


    Spike crossed his arms, stopping about a dozen feet away, glaring at him. "And what the hell are you laughing at? That pilot was a good man. The strike team were men and women I''d worked with for years. Even if you hadn''t done anything before two minutes ago, you''d get, best case scenario, life in prison for what you just did. Assuming I feel charitable enough to let you live."


    Jason looked at the highway, at the van that escaped. "In the truck I just tried to intercept, there are four russians being controlled by soviet-era cyborg implants, with a sentient machine bent on ending the american way of life commanding them, trying to get somewhere secluded so it can build a robot army. I already killed the first one, and about ten seconds after you arrived, I would have ended the threat. Now? He knows he''s being actively chased. That, somehow, he was being tracked. He might even think you''re after him, as the feds. I suspect any chance of a good ending to this just died with my bike.... he''ll probably remove the means we tracked him as soon as he stops."


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Spike looked confused for a moment; glancing down the highway. By now, nothing was visible except other military craft, still flying in; identical black helicopters with DMA logos on the sides; likely carrying other metahumans, and other strike teams, just in case Eyeball evaded the one carrying the Titan.


    Jason looked at the helicopters. Hmm. His only way out of this.... would be if he were able to stall Spike long enough to hijack one of those and escape. If he got a helicopter, he could probably dodge anything Spike could throw long enough to get away... then ditch the copter, steal a car, and maybe, just maybe, stop the machine.


    "Are you expecting me to believe that you''ve been moonlighting as a hero of some sort, trying to stop threats to national security? You killed Lightning. A personal friend, and the greatest asset we had. I''m scary, sure, but if I were to wipe out China I''d risk wiping us out as well. Lightning could have dismantled every nuke on earth tomorrow. Rumor has it he may have done exactly that already. No. You''re either going to die, or you''re going to prison. The only options here and now are how badly broken you are when you arrive in a cell."


    He''d done this plenty of times before. Charging into an impossible situation, probably going to get killed. Often ending up hospitalized. He might be a bit smarter now than he had been. But... no reason to stop the pattern now, this far into the game.


    Right now, to make himself better able to walk on sand, Spike had made himself just solid enough that an AP grenade wouldn''t kill him. But maybe, just maybe, he could take out his eyes... which would drastically change this situation. But.... no. In the time between grenade launches, he''d change his density enough only the first one would really hurt.


    Still.


    Jason abruptly yanked his rifle down off of his back, the grenade revolver out of his holster, and fired them both; one fractions of a second before the other; before starting to sprint away.


    The first one impacted Spike''s left eye; the terrible shock designed to penetrate the armor of a light tank merely rupturing the tiny orb, as the second, fired from the revolver and traveling just a bit slower, splattered uselessly off of his face.


    Spike sank several more feet into the sand, screaming in pain and rage as he clutched the bloodied left eye... and turned, glaring at Jason. "You goddamned little bitch!"


    Jason was running; cycling the foam grenade into place on the revolver, and when Spike leapt up out of the hole in the sand like a living projectile, with more force than any human should be able to give off, he smashed into the grenade... and when he landed beside Jason, he was covered in foam, rapidly expanding, spreading across his body, giving Jason a few more precious seconds to...


    He felt it. The sand shifted. A sudden sense of vertigo. For just a moment, in mid-leap, Spike had increased his density so far that, here, his gravity had exceeded that of the earth. There was nothing Jason could do. No options that sent him anywhere else.


    As the effect ended, Spike resuming a more normal mass, Jason could see the helicopters struggling to stay in the sky, the massive shifting of the sand as dunes had collapsed, the clouds, the road... if this had been in a city, that few moments would''ve killed millions of people. For Jason, though... he''d just slammed into Spike, and was now buried in the foam he himself had launched, just a few minutes before. Firmly glued to the strongest living meta, in arm''s reach...


    The only options he could see right now ended in his own death. He... was fucked. He could only really move one arm, even. Now that the shock was wearing off, he could feel just how badly that roll off the bike had effected him. He sighed. "Okay google. Text Clone. I''m gonna be in federal custody for a few, but don''t worry, I''ll be out soon enough. Get operations started, I''ll be up to run things when I can. Send message. Wipe helmet."


    As Spike pried the helmet off of Jason''s head, he could see the distorted screens displaying the ''Erasing content'' message, as Spike tossed the helmet away. "Titanslayer, huh. Looks like that was just a one-time title. Good."


    ***


    "This is Tina Lamarc from Headline news! Breaking news from Las Vegas, the supervillain known as Eyeball, or Titanslayer, after his recent killing of the hero known as Lightning, was finally brought to justice today. A strike team led by the metahuman Titan known as Spike apprehended him attempting to flee the city earlier today. Shortly after the takedown, when reporters arrived at the scene of the incident, Spike had this to say."


    An image appeared, of Spike. Tall black hair that he''d often kept gel in the past now partially burned off. dried blood on his face, wearing an eye-patch. "While a criminal can get lucky, now and again, he always gets caught. He -always- gets caught. This one will be spending the rest of his life in a maximum security prison. Without his equipment he''s a non-threat; his real name is Jason Bennet, a former soldier whose brutal and unprovoked assault on a police officer was only the beginning of what I''m sure will prove to be a long string of mindlessly aggressive crimes we will discover he has committed. His only metahuman ability; a short-range ESP; was apparently put to use in determining the best place to shoot his victims. A tragic misuse of a power that might have allowed him to serve our country searching for terrorists."


    "How many agents were lost in the incident?"


    "We will be relaying the circumstances of the agents lost to their families before releasing any information in that regard to the public."


    The image returned to Tina. "You heard it here first, folks; the Titanslayer has slain his last Titan."


    ***


    The men and women at the table had been staring at the screen. Ripper leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Jesus christ. Did you see Spike''s face? He looks like he''s been through hell. I think Eyeball almost notched a second Titan on his kill count there."


    Emerald shook her head. "I have to admit, I thought Lightning was a fluke, luck. But... after seeing that video, I''d be a bit wary of going after Eyeball unless I were at least as strong as Spike. How long do you think til he''s out of prison?"


    Ripper laughed. "I don''t think he ever makes it to prison. Either they kill him, or he escapes before he''s found guilty."


    Nicky glanced at Ripper. "Oh really. And what makes you so sure of that?"


    "Well. Tell you what. I''ll bring him a lockpick and a knife once they''ve got him settled in place. I''ll bet you ten million dollars he''ll be a free man with nobody knowing where the hell he is by the end of the day."


    Nicky looked thoughtful... and shook his head. "As much confidence as I have in Eyeball''s abilities, I''ll have to take that bet. The kind of security they''ll have around him... it''d take an army to get him free. There''s no way in hell he could escape on his own."

 31 - Verification

    When Jason next awoke, it was a familiar setting to a certain extent; a hospital room. A private one, like the one after he''d discovered powers, not the sort of facility where there was just a curtain between himself and the next bed, like the first few he''d ended up in.


    He wasn''t in any amount of pain at all; whatever injuries he''d sustained from the roll off of his bike must have been less severe than he thought. No way in hell they''d bring a healer for him again after last time.


    Well, there was a certain level of discomfort; his hands were each cuffed to the bedframe beside him, and his feet in turn cuffed to the posts at the end. And... he wore a metal collar around his neck. He couldn''t see it, but he was about ninety-nine percent certain it was precisely the same sort of explosive collar that he''d used to secure metahuman prisoners back in the desert.


    Good, reliable, Control Collar Mark 5. Quarter-pound shaped charged aimed at the victim''s throat, a stungun aimed at the victim''s spine, able to be remotely controlled and detonated, and, of course, it had two tamper thresholds; level one would just cause it to blare loudly, deafeningly, and stun you til the battery died. Level two would cause it to detonate.


    Nobody could suppress mutant abilities; the idea of a single device working on every mutant was absurd; two mutants would likely be more different from each other than they were from ordinary humans. But people could still be killed or stunned, for the most part, if they acted up.


    Looking around the room, he could see a heart monitor, an IV.... he was wearing a simple paper gown.. and... of course, there was a man seated at the foot of the bed, a dour, grim-faced man who was vaguely familiar. At the moment, he was looking at his phone, rather than at Jason, until a loud beep sounded... and he glanced up.


    "Ahh, we''re awake. Good morning, mister Bennet. I''ve got good news and bad news for you."


    Ahhh. Hiller. The same Verification agent who''d been there testing his powers. "Well. Whats the bad news?"


    "The bad news is that the state of Nevada is a death penalty state, and that you committed a minimum of seven counts of first-degree murder and one count of attempted murder against one of the witnesses of that crime. The amount of evidence against you is truly excessive. We have yet to connect you with complete certainty to most of the other crimes, but frankly I suspect the prosecutor won''t bother; in the unlikely event you aren''t convicted and executed here in Nevada for pre-meditated murder, you will instead be executed for treason."


    "Well then. What''s the good news?"


    "If you give a full and faithful accounting of events leading up to today, provide information about your criminal associates, and how you managed to do what you did, I''m prepared to offer you life imprisonment instead. You can save yourself."


    Jason gave a slow nod. "I''m going to need to see any agreement in writing and go over it with my lawyer before I say anything." In order to sign such an agreement, he''d need a pen, and a hand with enough reach to get to the document. If you knew how they worked, all you needed was two metal rods and... well. The ability to survive a fair amount of pain... to get these collars off.


    "This agreement ends when I leave this room. Every moment you aren''t being transported to prison is a tremendous waste of government resources. My director has insisted that Spike remain on-hand to contain you in the event you escape, despite you obviously being harmless without weapons."


    "Then I guess you better get that agreement over to my lawyer before leaving the room, or take it as a no."


    Hiller glowered down at Jason. "You assault a couple of cops, go on the run, murder one of the greatest heroes the world has ever known while robbing a bank, go on a murder and killing spree across multiple states and maybe even in mexico if I''m hearing it right. You get a chance to survive instead of being sent right to hell as you so richly deserve, and you aren''t jumping on it?"


    Jason shrugged. "Your loss. Honestly, there''s a serious threat to national security ongoing right this moment. I might not have been in the best relationship with the law for the past week, but your boy Spike there prevented me from dealing with a threat to not just america, but possibly human civilization as a whole. And... I''m not certain whether it can be dealt with now. But I am certain that I won''t tell you about it until you get me my lawyer, and you get me a deal to sign. And just to be clear... anything I tell you will strictly be about my own, personal actions. I will not name any associates other than Valkyrie. You already know better than to screw with her."


    Hiller stared at Jason for a moment... and shook his head. "Idiot." He stretched out in his chair, and made a show of dramatically stretching as he slowly walked to the door, as if he expected Jason to change his mind... And slammed the door behind him.


    ***


    "Whatever the fuck he''s talking about, its either the truth, or he at least genuinely believes its the truth." Hiller set his phone down on speaker on the table in front of him. Spike settled in on the opposite side; the prisoner was visible on a monitor beside them, seeming relaxed enough at the moment.


    Hundreds of miles away, in his own office, Director Thomes rested his head on his hands, rubbing his eyes. "I got a call in from Greece. From the Pantheon. They requested that I delay taking in Eyeball by precisely ten minutes. Told me that there was a threat to the future of the planet that they couldn''t go into too much detail on, but that would be averted just a few minutes after we caught him if we let him deal with it. I told them that unless they gave me more intel, they could pound sand."


    He gave a long sigh. "A few miles away from where we captured him, we found an abandoned truck, four almost unidentifiable corpses with truly horrific wounds, which had clearly died in very terrible pain from something burrowing inside their flesh. Normally, I''d be disgusted. We''d be doing a manhunt looking for a meta; either human, animal, or alien. In context of what the Pantheon said, I am now fairly certain that we''re dealing with a potentially existential crisis. I''m sending in everyone we can spare to start the hunt, but we need to know exactly what we''re hunting for.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    He leaned back in his chair. "I am officially declaring this a national emergency and authorizing use of a telepath to extract information from the prisoner. He''s on his way now. And.... Call up Valkyrie. See what she wants in exchange for her help if this goes sideways."


    Hiller slapped his fist on the table. "Sir, you know what this means for prosecuting him. He was army, they train to resist telepaths, so it might take a while. And... the moment a telepath touches him..."


    "Let him know whats on the way. Maybe fear of that will help put him in line."


    ***


    The moment Hiller left, Jason quietly slipped the IV out of his arm; the slight pulling of his arm-hair a non-issue; and carefully used it to pick the lock of his right hand-cuff. He could feel it; if he did it just the wrong way, the needle would break. He had to do it precisely.... there. Right. He could hear the clock. The cuffs were still on, but appeared to be intact.


    He was reasonably certain he could do the same thing to the other cuffs, and to his feet... it would take more than a few seconds, so he couldn''t be completely certain... but the IV needle wouldn''t work for the collar. He needed two things. A couple of pens, or scalpels, or anything would really work that was at least five or six inches long, solid, and thin. He took stock of the room around him. The IV stand might make a good club in a pinch, but it wouldn''t work for picking a lock or opening the collar.


    Before he could assess further, the door opened again. Everything still looked good; someone watching closely enough on the camera would''ve spotted something, but hopefully he was fine.. so far.


    Agent Hiller crossed his arms, standing at the door. A nurse; at least Jason assumed it was a nurse; a tall, bearded man wearing dark blue scrubs; stood beside him with a syringe. "New plan. Either you talk, or we drug you into unconsciousness until a telepath comes in so Spike can get back to work... and once the telepath is here... he can contain you himself."


    Jason laughed. "You realize that it would actually be faster to do this the right way. Fill out the paperwork, call my lawyer, email it to him, and just... get me to sign. And the fact that you''re so hesitant to do that means you have no intention of taking the death penalty off the table; you''re just doing what pigs do. Lying, cheating, and bullshitting to try to get a confession. Well, congrats. I asked for my lawyer. Anything you manage to coerce out of me now will be inadmissible."


    Hiller chuckled. "That would matter if your trial weren''t a foregone conclusion. No... we have all the evidence we need. What we want is information. And you can give it to us... or we can take it."


    Jason nodded as he glanced at the nurse. "Well. I guess its time to drug me, then, so our resident pet Titan can stop babysitting me. I look forward to matching wits with whatever telepath you can conjure up."


    ***


    Telepathy was one of those sorts of powers that scared the hell out of most people. Being able to read minds, and influence them? In extreme cases, even control them like puppets? Popular media was filled with movies full of mind controlling monsters leading armies of unwitting lackeys. The reality was a bit more complicated than that. No two brains were alike; no two people thought exactly the same. Pheremone influence was far more common.


    A telepath could essentially ''see'' the patterns of electromagnetism in someone''s brain. Some could then reach in and alter those patterns. For a fresh telepath, who''d never used their powers before? The only thoughts that would make sense would be a twin, or someone very similar to themselves, who thought in similar ways. It took years of training to be able to read the average person''s mind; and even more to be able to influence it. Even then, usually, influencing was a matter of either just directly overriding nervous impulses to the body... or literally altering what they think to fit a given pattern.


    In the military, soldiers were given a course in mental resistance during basic training; essentially, how to avoid telepathic control. It mostly involved a sort of stream-of-consciousness constant change of what you were thinking to irrelevant nonsense, reliance on muscle memory rather than obeying whatever thoughts happened to enter your mind; and generally trying to avoid the sort of patterns that would help people get a read on you.


    Just things as simple as thinking about the telepath''s appearance would be a good start, or the room you were in; a good telepath could use things like that to rapidly build up a picture of your mind; and get to work on sorting things out, forcing you to think along lines you didn''t want to.


    When Jason started waking up from the medication, at first he was half dozing, unaware of his surroundings.. until he spotted the woman sitting in the chair, staring at him. Red hair, green eyes, short, curvy, wearing a nice green dress... when he met her gaze, she smiled.. and his thoughts flashed back to his last conversation.


    Well, shit. This was the telepath. If he could just knock her out in the first few minutes, before she really got a read on him, he might get something done. But it would take him time to get free, and someone nearby had to have the collar controls. He was well and truly... Huh.


    He felt something, under his left hand. A thin metal handle, a sharp blade.. A... scalpel? When did he get that? And under his right... a metal cylinder of some sort. It was familiar... if he picked it up and looked at it, it would be obvious. A lockpick. You push the button, and a tiny metal hook emerged.


    Ahh, Ripper, That glorious bastard. He couldn''t sneak Jason out, but sneaking a lockpick in? And if the weapon he used was a scalpel, something there were probably dozens of nearby, they might never realize someone on the outside had helped him. They might even start suspecting their own nurses, and guards. Or this telepath. Perfect.


    With the two of them... he could remove the collar. Remove his restraints. And if Spike was gone, and they assumed this telepath and the collar would be enough to manage him for now... well. His best opening was right now.


    The cute redhead''s smile turned to a frown. She didn''t like what she was seeing. She hadn''t even started asking questions, getting a good picture of how the subject thought... but the neural activity was insane. It was as if he was processing hundreds of times as much information as he should be. His IQ from testing pre-military had been in the 80s. This was the sort of mind she''d seen in mad scientists, people with multiple personality disorders; the hardest kind to control and read.


    She was so busy focusing on his mind that she didn''t even notice at first when Jason casually unhooked the cuffs from his right hand, and brought the lockpick over, just as casually snapping the left one free. It wasn''t until Jason let out a groan of pain as he forcefully jammed the lockpick and the scalpel between his spine and the collar, lining them up precisely... and causing the collar to pop open with an audible click... that she leapt up from her chair.


    As she turned for the door, swiping her keycard to open it in order to escape before the lunatic could free himself, she didn''t see the collar, now dripping with Jason''s blood, hurled at the back of her head as a projectile... she just fell to the floor in the now-open doorway, completely unaware of his work at freeing himself from the cuffs on his legs.


    He was out of the restraints. He had an open door to his cell... and he had a security badge, a weapon... and a hostage.

 32 - Exfiltration

    Armed with nothing but a scalpel and a paper gown, this wasn''t exactly the position Jason wanted to be in, facing what was in all likelihood one of the various elite DMA strike teams. Most likely, with Spike off-site, some other team had flown this telepath here and was waiting in the wings. He''d seen them. Nice armor, advanced melee and ranged weapons, and usually some low-level metahuman abilities; as well as, of course, constant training.


    Slinging the telepath over his shoulder, lockpick in one hand, scalpel in another, he stepped out into the hallway... yup. Secure ward of a hospital. Impossible to say which one; they could''ve taken him anywhere while he was doped up. Jogging to the nearest security gate, he swiped the telepath''s badge; only to face an armed security guard on the other side. No vest... just a plain brown security uniform, a hat, pants, boots, and a tenner.


    Oh; a tenner with a single-shot grenade launcher on the bottom of it. Probably a goo grenade, or a stun one. Or maybe one of those Bola-style tether grenades?


    As the guard started to shout something.. Jason didn''t bother to pay attention to what it was.. he threw the woman at him; and then followed, landing on top of the pile of confused flesh, the unconscious woman still groaning in pain as Jason managed to yank the guard''s gun, smack him on the side of the head with it... and then drop it.


    Just after it hit the ground, it gave a buzz; and an audible click. Of course. The gun was made to shock someone if they stole it from the owner. Nice mod to put on a weapon for a security guard.


    He started dragging the guard down the hallway; doing a hasty job of unbuttoning the guard''s shirt with one hand as he did so, sure that every second mattered if he didn''t want to end up buried neck-deep in cement for his next interview... When he reached the stairs, badging himself through, he could hear shouting; boots rising from downstairs, voices coming fast.


    Jason moved up another flight of stairs; apparently from the sixth floor to the seventh; passed through a door... and finished taking off the guard''s shirt, slipping it on himself. This floor... wasn''t secure. He could see gurneys, perfectly ordinary hospital rooms... that one he''d started on must have been for psych patients.


    He busily stripped the guard down the rest of the way, leaving him lying in his boxers on the floor... and tossed him into the nearest room... a utility closet. The boots were too small. He didn''t have the hat; must have lost it in the initial melee. But he had clothes! And if he kept his third eye closed, it could buy him a few precious seconds to steal someone''s gun. Preferably one he could actually use.


    The stairwell door slammed open... Jason could see the grenade passing through before it even opened.


    Backtrack then; he stepped back into the utility closet, covered his ears, shut his eyes... a loud pop. Boots stomping as the DMA agents charged out onto the floor. He could hear them moving; see that if he opened the door, they''d be opening fire immediately; but that they were currently stepping forward.


    Alright. They were gonna clear each room on the floor. Good.


    He stepped over behind the door, so that he''d be covered by it when it was swung open... and waited.


    When the agent kicked the door open, and stepped through, sweeping the room with his gun... He spotted the guard on the floor. Lifted his radio to start calling it in... only to end with a gurgle, as Jason found a gap in his armor; a kevlar ring between the armored neck plate and the chest plate; and rammed the scalpel through, pressing the man back against himself, dragging him out of view of the hallway.. and taking hold of his rifle.


    Is it? Yes! None of those irritating security features on the assault rifle. He could shoot just fine. He compared his feet to the agent; found the boots still weren''t quite big enough. Damned size 14 feet.


    He checked the rifle for a moment. A nice model; but nothing he''d ever used before. A 25mm rifle, usually called a Fifth or a Twin, essentially an upscaled version of the tenner; each magazine was spring-loaded and filled with caseless ammunition, and the gun held two 40-round magazines; able to swap between them automatically. If you had plenty of spares, you could just keep reloading without ever stopping fire.


    He grabbed a few spare magazines from the fallen agent, and ''looked'' out into the hallway. The others... there were two other men, rifles already raised, converging on the utility closet. One of them... was pulling a flash-bang off of his belt. Hah.


    Jason checked the grenades on his victim''s belt. Three flash-bang and... there we go. One fragmentation.


    He stood by the door, quietly, waiting for the right moment... and pulled the pin on the frag grenade. When one of the outside agents started to toss his flash-bang in... Jason tossed the frag grenade out, and slammed the door; sending the flash-bang flying out.


    Sure enough, the men didn''t even notice the frag grenade; simply looking away to avoid the flash... and when the frag grenade went off, hundreds of shards of metal went flying in every direction. Lights flickered and went out. A few things caught on fire; a blanket over in the corner, a cabinet containing some biohazard materials.


    When he stepped out of the closet to check out the scene, he examined both men. One was already dead, face-down on the ground. The other... badly wounded. Currently bleeding out. This was a hospital. They should be able to help him, right?


    Oh! Jason dropped down to his knees, and started working the man''s boots off. He could see... well, ''see''... that the camera was gone. The frag grenade had taken it out. And possibly a few patients in adjoining rooms. He could hear screaming and crying from nearby, and wasn''t sure it was all fear. Why were these people armed like this in a hospital? Hell, why bring Jason to a hospital to begin with? He couldn''t be too badly hurt, judging by how he felt now.


    Didn''t matter. Another team would be here any moment. Jason secured his new boots; comfortable enough, though it felt weird to wear them without socks.. grabbed two more fragmentation grenades... and headed back to the stairs, steadily marching down, keeping an eye out for who might be coming in; and hearing shouting, screaming.


    When he reached the main floor, he could see... dozens of people out in the lobby. Armed agents, a few police officers, security guards. They were agitated, clearly, gesturing at each other, pointing at different areas. Hmm. A direct gunfight, with only some of his equipment, against dozens of people? Risky. Could probably make it through, but he wasn''t some soldier who had backup ready to drag him home if it went wrong.


    He noticed something... useful. Each of the stairwell doors had a directory. What was on what floor. And while the secure wing for nutjobs was up closer to the roof... bad choice, in his opinion, they''d probably be trying to break out a window and jump... the security office was down in the basement.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    What he wouldn''t give for an EMP grenade right now.


    Jason quietly headed down the last flight of stairs, and looked through the door... Cameras. Definitely not hit by the frag grenade. They''d spot him as soon as he opened the door.


    On the other hand... he was wearing a security uniform. Taking a deep breath, and leaving the rifle under the final flight of stairs, Jason opened the door; and, covering his forehead with one hand, started groaning, stumbling forward; leaning against a wall, trying to act like an injured guard making his way through.


    When another guard approached, appearing concerned, he rasped out... "Stairway! He''s... in the stairway!" And kept right on moving. His disheveled appearance, the blood, seemed convincing enough for the moment; the guard ran for the stairs. letting Jason keep hobbling his way to the main security office.


    A nice bulletproof glass window, a security door; which opened at the touch of the guard''s badge; and he could see inside the room. Two of the guards sitting at a desk. One of the agents from the DMA, standing beside them. Looking over the video cameras, relaying information. He could hear them... "We can''t see him on cameras, and half of our cameras are out. We just got a confirmed sighting of him in the stairwell. He''s moving between floors. If you see him, or hear anything suspicious, call it in before you engage."


    Jason shook his head, holding in a barely restrained laugh... as he opened the door, rolled in a second fragmentation grenade; and then dropped flat on the ground. He could hear momentary, muffled cursing, before the loud ''crack'' of the detonation; none of the shrapnel pierced the wall he lay behind, but he could see some holes in the bullet-proof glass, and more of the lights had just gone out.


    As he entered the room, he could hear one of the security agents groaning, already unconscious; the other already dead. The DMA agent, though? Despite lying on the ground, clearly bleeding and in terrible agony... managed to groan into his radio. "Security office! He''s... in the security... office..." Jason gave a nod... and dropped down to his knees, quietly sliding the scalpel free; and pressing it into the man''s throat.


    A sudden spurt of blood. The sole survivor went out with a gush of blood splattering both Jason''s arm and his own chestplate. Jason grimaced at the idea he was about to try... but needs must as the devil drives. Reaching down, he smeared a bloody hand over his own head, covering his forehead, making sure he looked like an absolute disaster... and then, taking one of the latest victim''s fragmentation grenades in hand, simply lay face-down on the floor; pretending to be a casualty.


    This was against the geneva convention, wasn''t it He seemed to recall being told that sometime in the past. He tucked his grenade-holding hand under one of the bodies, to make it just a bit more convincing.


    Then... he waited. The DMA agents moved from room to room, clearing the basement. They swept the security office; he could ''see'' them entering. Looking over the bodies. Just about ignoring the security guards... and himself.. as they went to check on their own agent. "This is Robbins. Tango has been in the security office. Used one of our grenades to take out overwatch as well as the cameras. We are blind, I repeat, we are blind. Assume target is in the wind."


    He checked the pulses of the three; Jason carefully remaining still as the agent checked his own. "We have two dead, two wounded, security office. Send in recovery after we clear the building."


    Once he stepped back out of the office... Jason made sure he was really gone. Then pulled back to his feet... and looked over his new situation. The security office consisted of a ''Lost and Found'' section, with carefully sorted objects, a few safes, a gun rack, and lockers for the security personnel.


    Tupperware containers full of sunglasses, cellphones, watches; each labelled with a date and a room they were found in, and a few other codes he didn''t understand; but probably having something to do with efforts to find the owners.


    It''d be really handy if this room had clothes... but then, that was probably somewhere else. Maybe in admin? They probably wouldn''t bother to lock that up.


    Checking the lockers, he found a change of clothes; possibly belonging to a dead man; and got into a normal outfit; jeans, t-shirt, a hoodie. Made a bandage for his forehead from the first-aid kit.. and prepared to step out.


    Except... so much valuable stuff here. He checked out one of the safes. Four of the numbers were a bit worn. the 1, the 4, the 7, and the 9. And considering most people liked to use years... He ran them through his head. 1974 would unlock the safe. Good lord, what idiots.


    He popped the safe... and found... a collection of wallets. Credit cards. IDs. All with sticky-notes attached. This.... could be useful. He pocketed all of the cards, sorted through the wallets til he found one that belonged to a man that vaguely resembled himself... at least, could be convincing enough with the bandage... and pocketed some of the cash as well.


    And, well. A couple of rolexes. Who knew, he might need to sell something at a pawn shop on the way out.


    Finally, he checked the gun rack. Seemed simple enough. You put in a code, hold your finger to the tab so it saves your fingerprint to the gun''s firmware... Of course it was 1974.... the handgun unlocks. Simple 10mm pistol, that ''stun'' attachment was probably there to hit people who tried to steal the gun.. but really... it was all he''d need.


    Every exit was going to be guarded. They were probably evacuating the hospital right now. So...


    Step one, get geared up. Step two, cause a distraction. Step three, get the hell out.


    He collected the grenades; the other frag grenade, all three flashbangs; it seemed they went for similar loadouts for this job; from the dead agent, and headed back out into the hallway.


    This floor was fairly deserted at the moment. For standard procedure, they''d be checking each floor, bottom to top, looking for him... but that ''in the wind'' phrase... they thought he was already gone. Pulling the strings on all of the grenades at once, leaving only a single flash-bang behind, he tossed them to the bottom of the stairs... and opened the lobby floor, running, hands raised. "He''s in the basement! He''s in the basement!"


    Three agents were at the ready, rifles pointed at the stairwell door... they lowered their rifles on seeing what appeared to be some random patient, though they didn''t turn away, clearly ready to interrogate him.. and then heard the series of loud pops and a muffled explosion coming from downstairs.


    One of them nodded at Jason; the other two simply ignored him, as they all ran by. When Jason reached the lobby, there were more guards checking each patient that exited; he looked them over; four ordinary men, not DMA agents, in security guard uniforms, one pair at each exit door. Probably co-workers of the men he''d killed with the grenade. There was yet another fire-team of three DMA agents over by the reception counter; one talking to a receptionist, the other two eyeing the crowd of patients and visitors trying to get out of the hospital.


    One of the guards, checking IDs and passing patients out the door, one by one, glanced up, spotted Jason... and frowned. Something about Jason must''ve been suspicious. He lifted up his radio..


    "Attention all agents! There is only one wounded downstairs! Tango is wounded and dressed in a guard uniform!" There was sudden chaos. The patients lurched away from the guards. The agents suddenly turned to the guards at the doors, raising their rifles. The guards suddenly looked at each other...


    And Jason ducked behind some seating; not too suspicious, as most of the civilians had gone for cover of some sort. Unlike the civilians, however, as the guards and agents were shouting at each other, he was pulling the pin on the final flashbang, rolling it under the row of chairs; and covering his ears as he crouched down.


    Another bang. He could hear a steady ringing that had been a familiar friend of his during his first hospital visit in the desert. He lurched to his feet; pretending to be stunned, afraid... and as one of the agents actually fired a shot at one of the guards in the ensuing chaos... slipped out the doors with a crowd of others, running, screaming, from the hospital.


    Outside the hospital.. police cars. Ambulances. Fire trucks. A veritable swarm of activity.


    Doing his best to appear bleary-eyed and confused, Jason stumbled towards the nearest ambulance. There were two EMTs behind it, loading up an unfortunate young woman with... a shrapnel injury. He reached out, and grabbed one of their hands. "Sir... Can''t... hear. Ears. Hurt. Can you take me to... other hospital? Please?"


    The two EMTs hesitated. One stepped up to Jason, while the other turned around to climb into the driver''s seat. He could barely hear the young man''s response. "Sir, we''ve got to go. We''ve got a critical care patient. I understand if you''re hurting, but I promise you, another ambulance will be here shortly."


    Jason stepped even closer... pressing the tenner into his right sleeve, he was about to threaten the man... before he shook his head. "Just... climb in the back and hold on tight. We''ll get you over to Mercy. "


    "

 E: Olympus; Changing Faces

    On the outside, the structure was beautiful. Tall white pillars of carved stone rose tall above the mountains, at least a few hundred feet. The majestic mountains stretched off into the distance on the descent into greece, showing beautiful forests and verdant plains. And off in the distance... the ocean just visible at the end of the foothills. On the inside, hallways lined with beautiful statues, paintings, and a handful of armed guards wearing equipment that looked like an homage to ancient greek warriors.


    Progressing further would reveal a massive garden, vibrant, beautiful, and at its very heart.. a modest gazebo covering a series of chairs, with one final tree at its center. . The fine mist that sank down from the ceiling was warded away from its contents, but still fell onto the plants.


    The chairs had a variety of styles; a simple platform of cushions on which its owner lay, casually eating grapes, wearing an ancient style toga. A tall, golden throne with a powerfully built man with a long, curly black beard, a golden javelin leaning against it, wearing a similar outfit.


    Various other chairs lay around the circle; but only two others were filled. One stone chair, rough and durable, was split in two, clearly made for two occupants; and currently had an armored man with an eye-patch leaning back in it, a raven perched on his shoulder. And a boy who seemed no more than a teenager, at most, wearing a similar white toga, sitting in a more simple, comfortable, cushioned chair.


    The seeming youth leaned forward in his chair, looking at the others. "My friends. I''ve been watching ongoing events, and have both terrible and wonderful news. The first is that Ragnarok has been, at worst, postponed, and possibly prevented entirely."


    The remaining three all sat up abruptly. All sign of relaxation gone. The one-eyed man leaned forward. "What!? You''ve been telling us for centuries that the cataclysm would strike in just a few years hence, and the invasion would follow! Up until forty years ago it was always vague, and then suddenly you could pinpoint it to the day. And now... its gone? My valkyries have been gathering the fallen for this battle for so long none of them can recall a time beforehand, and then just... pfft... nothing!?"


    "Precisely. I couldn''t predict what it was, but I could predict that, in a few years, in march, a detonation of unprecedented power would send mile-high waves across the earth, wiping out all life near the coasts. But... we couldn''t predict the cause. We assumed that, perhaps, the Jotun would be launching some secret, unstoppable weapon to begin the invasion. The moment Lightning died, however, that prediction... vanished. The only conclusion I''ve been able to reach is that, in a moment of madness, the titan would have momentarily accelerated to a speed greater than light, collided with a wave, and caused truly stupendous destruction. And... the Jotun would take advantage of the chaos to invade."


    The men stared at each other for a moment. All of them looking thoughtful. The man with the golden javelin pulled to his feet. "Perhaps the Jotun used some form of... mental manipulation. Targeted him at a moment of weakness and drove such terror into him that he fled. Still. If it has only been delayed, how long until it occurs?"


    "That is the bad news. Where before, I could pinpoint one specific future... this Eyeball character who killed Lightning? He can also see the future.  From the moment he gained that power, my visions fragmented. In one of these possible futures, he kills the Titan known as Spike. In another, in a moment of madness, that Titan briefly becomes so dense that the continent collapses beneath him, and a wave of devastation destroys North America.  In another, an army of machines conquer our world."


    The one-eyed man nodded. "But.. Ragnarok. The invasion. Does it still occur?"


    "Aside from the possible future in which the Titan goes mad and crushes a quarter of the world, devastating the rest of it and ultimately rendering the earth uninhabitable... the invasion will still happen. But instead of only those handful of humans we managed to get offworld surviving to rebuild elsewhere, their escape hidden by our struggle to ensure the Jotun die alongside us... its an invasion that will be a struggle. One that will cost millions, even billions of lives. But now? Its an invasion we can win."


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    ***


    When Jason entered the hideout, there was a roar of cheering. Beers raised, glasses of wine; various figures, ranging from those he knew, like Butch, Emerald, Ripper, and a Clone sitting at Nicky''s table, to a variety of more ordinary-looking men in suits, to monstrous metahumans with obvious deformities and capabilities, some he''d seen on the news.


    As he reached the table; a seat across from Nicky had been left open for him, with the same steak he''d ordered the last time he''d been here laid out, Ripper clapped him on the back. "Great work, Eyeball. And not just at the escape."


    Nicky gave a nod, smiling. Beside him, Swiftblade was... wearing a dress, rather than the blue outfit. Long, red, with white gloves down past her elbows. While she looked good in it, it just didn''t seem to fit her; though everyone seemed to be wearing nice clothes at the moment; Jason''s own plaid shirt, jeans, boots, and cap seemed out of place.


    "When you killed a Titan, you established a reputation. Everybody knew to be concerned about you; though there was quite a bit of talk that you''d just gotten lucky. Then... we hear you got caught. That probably would''ve hurt your reputation... if Spike hadn''t shown up on camera looking like he''d lost an eye and been fairly badly hurt. You vanish for a while... Ripper tells me you spent a few days drugged unconscious while they decided what to do with you. Annd... now you''re back. The news hasn''t even reported your escape yet... they''re still talking about your upcoming trial."


    Jason shrugged. "They might send some poor schmuck in as a stand-in."


    Nicky nodded. "Yes, sometimes they do that. It isn''t common, but they''ve charged fugitives without them ever being in the court-room. But. Right now... the heat on you is insane. Honestly, I''m considering relocating the club in case a drone or something followed you here. We need to deal with that."


    Jason gave a low sigh. "Yeah. I figured. But.... the search is mostly going to be focused here in vegas. If you can give me a hand with something, I''d like to just pull up what''s left and continue my original plan of moving north. If the offer to join the family still stands, I''d like to do so.... and to enlist a good plastic surgeon."


    Nicky laughed, and raised his wine-glass. "I know just the guy. We''ll get you settled. New face, new fingerprints, whole nine yards."


    "Perfect.  Once we get established up there selling Reflex, I''ve got a few things to work on. Stuff to kill robots, for one thing, we all know those damn russian killing machines are going to end up biting us in the ass... but I''ve been thinking about how to either kill Spike... or just deal with him permanently."


    ***


    In the darkness beneath the mountains west of vegas, in an old abandoned shaft that had been a gold mine in days of old, a dark red humanoid machine slowly studied the walls; and made marks on them with a chisel at designated heights. Larger machines; treaded, with powerful digging claws mounted to their body, moved into place; starting to burrow through the rock; and after a few minutes of digging, revealing a seam of gold and silver buried within, surrounded by quartz.


    As the machines slowly worked through, sorting the ore into useless debris and potentially valuable chunks, smaller robots carried buckets further into the mine; dumping them into smelting chambers, where they''d be converted into spools of metal wire.. only to be fed into the row of fabricators even further along.


    Hundreds of meters from the surface, in a shaft no living eye had ever seen, another humanoid robot carried another small robotic drone, tendrils dangling from it; one of the dull red-orange metal spikes that it had used to convert Clone''s bodies into Pale Ones... and added it to a rack.. beside hundreds of others that it had already completed, ready to crawl  onto a new human host.


    The machine... reading the scripting on its case, it felt the name ''Ascension'' was appropriate; the ''Dark'' added on by some hand after it was initially contained clearly inappropriate...  studied its preparations with care. It knew of these humans, and their weaknesses and strengths. It would spread its production to a thousand different places, all over the world, especially those where there were few human eyes to oversee it. And when it was ready... Communism would rise again. The people would be liberated from the tyranny of fascism, whatever guise it chose to bear. Both in mother Russia, and around the world.

 Dark Ascension - 1 - Business as Usual

    Prosperity Limited''s new CEO was a remarkably successful man. He''d taken a dying mining company and turned it around; using its raw materials , smelters, and a set of fabricators to supply All-American goods to local businesses. The small town of Prosperity, Colorado nearby was doing remarkably well; new businesses opening up, more money in the local economy; you''d think that he''d be at least somewhat happy with this success. But no; he was cursing, kicking a cylinder off of a table, and rubbing his forehead.


    "It just doesn''t hit hard enough. I''m glad we got the cycle time down. Firing a couple of bolts every second is amazing. But we need more power!"


    The room had a GigaFac; one of the remarkably expensive and also remarkably capable, high-end fabricators mounted on one wall; a legally purchased one this time, supposedly financed by production at Prosperity Limited; and a wide variety of quasi-legal things scattered on tables, mounted on racks; alternate armor designs; different variations on his chrome helmet, some with a classic Eyeball paint scheme, others with the two red eye appearance. Grenades. Rifles. There was enough firepower here to arm a few elite squads of meta-hunting individuals, and someone could, by design, pick a load-out off of these racks and go head-to-head with over 99% of the metas on earth; if you had Eyeball''s powers, at least.


    While the tall, somewhat heavyset russian in a grey uniform looked much the same as he had for decades, in his many bodies, Jason was starkly different. Cloned, implanted red hair; a carefully tailored flap of skin that hid the third eye; a differently shaped nose; he appeared to be the spitting image of a local man, Victor Hardy, one without surviving family, who''d disappeared down a mineshaft years ago after angering the wrong people.


    He had a new ID; one that was completely supported by real documentation, and the only way he could be proven false would be to dig up the real Victor''s family and run a genetic test. He''d walked around in public, attended openings of his various businesses; all at least mildly profitable, most simply means of laundering money from Reflex sales; and one that gave him an excuse to, sometimes, go to DC on a private jet.


    He would pretend these flights were to business meetings; and often he''d actually set up, at least, a meeting with someone as a cover, just in case.... but the reality was a bit more sinister.


    He was making iteration after iteration of a man-portable rifle with one intent; making something that could fire a round so fast, with so much force, that if it hit Spike he''d need to go so dense to survive he''d sink straight down into the earth''s crust. And with each iteration, he would take his briefcase, get it set so that he could fire it from a hill a mile away from the DMA facility... and wait.


    And when, inevitably, Spike left the building, heading to some meeting or other; no longer wearing the eyepatch, Spike seemed to have completely recovered from his encounter with Eyeball; he would examine the results. And every time, the rifle would remain hidden, go back into the plane... and make its way back to Prosperity.


    "It doesn''t even need to be able to fire a second shot."


    Clone picked up the cylinder; the latest design based on one stolen from a Japanese tech building variations of railgun weapons to arm the ''UN Space Navy'' that was being assembled; and set it on the table. "Boss. He once survived a nuke without having to go that dense. I still think your best bet is to just use something like this, and take him out in midair, that almost worked the first time."


    "Sure, it almost worked the first time. He wasn''t expecting to get shot down, he was actively making himself less dense so the helicopter could actually carry him; if I''d known exactly where he was on-board, I could probably have finished him right there. But he hasn''t boarded a godforsaken aircraft since I escaped. High-speed trains, tanks.... he hasn''t operated overseas in the past six months."


    Clone shook his head. The only good thing about all of this, and the boss spending over ten million dollars and making at least a dozen heists in other countries to gather gear for this particular Moby Dick style hunt, was that Spike was just as obsessed with it as Eyeball; and clearly sufficiently afraid that he''d refused to drop his density to anything that most aircraft could lift since.


    Meaning that the threat of Spike showing up to stop anything was virtually zero. The general view in the criminal underworld was that Spike was afraid of having a second run-in with the Titanslayer; which meant, by extension, now that he was part of the Family, that the feds were too afraid to run major operations against them anymore.


    Which, with the advent of reflex in the hands of every gang that could afford to buy it... was almost true. The feds seemed to only target the absolute heaviest of gatherings, where they could bring in a full army for support; and even then usually took casualties.


    Business was great. Everything was running perfectly smoothly. If they could just get the boss to be a bit less focused on this Spike character...


    Eyeball gave a low sigh. "Alright, Clone. Have a look around, see if you can find the next target for some useful tech. And.... we might as well start working on selling these man-portable railguns."


    He left the workshop; finding another of Emerald''s joking scrawls about Ahab on the wall by the door, etched in soot, before shaking his head, walking out, climbing the stairs and shutting a hidden hatch before emerging in one of the Prosperity production centers; a few locals were employed, keeping an eye on fabricators, putting the finishing touches on various parts coming off the line; he waved at a few as he passed by, heading up for the office.


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    Outside his own office, he had a picture of his new face; and his new name. He looked it over for a moment. "Victor. Your name is Victor." Before he could open the door, however, his secretary; Eveline, a decent enough girl who had only a vague idea of anything untoward going on with the company; piped up. "Hey, boss! There''s a couple feds here to see you. FBI badges and everything."


    Victor gave a nod. "Thanks, Eveline. Could you let Emma know I might be late to lunch, and why?" The woman smiled, nodded. She was cute enough; definitely prettier than Emerald. But... dating the dragon-girl had been going fairly well for a few months. Discovering Emerald''s real name was Emma was a bit amusing; he''d made a few jokes about her lack of creativity in names, she''d poked him in his extra eye and repeated his own joke back almost word-for word... Fun times.


    And in the unlikely event the Feds had anything he needed to worry about, Eveline would let her know.


    He could see the man and woman inside the office before he opened it; the man seated calmly at one of the chairs, the woman examining a set of antlers Victor had mounted to the wall; definitely a meta of some description. She was no Valkyrie, but if he shot her with anything non-AP it would bounce. Still; he had something to do the job on hand, just in case.


    He slid open the door, walking in; and extended his hand toward the closest one; in this case, the woman. "Hello there! My secretary warned me you two were here. I''d have been here sooner but nobody warned me you were coming, I was down in the factory."


    The woman smiled, shaking his hand firmly; with a level of strength that implied she could apply far more if she needed to; enough to hurt, but not crack bones. "Agent Banks. This is my associate, Agent Tyler."


    Victor nodded a moment, shaking Tyler''s hand as well. "Well, go ahead and have a seat. I''m not sure what brings you two here, but I''d be glad to help the feds out however I can." He matched actions to words; having a seat behind the desk; Tyler returned to his own chair, and Banks sat beside him. They seemed friendly enough; either they had no idea who he really was, or they were extremely well trained.


    Banks leaned forward, smiling. "So, mister Hardy... can I call you Victor?" At Eyeball''s nod, she resumed. "Well, Victor... about five months ago, you applied for the permit to make and sell guns here in Colorado; the highest-end available for the civilian market. One of our agents working out of the office in Denver stopped by Prosperity Arms the other day and checked out one of your special handgun lines. A very well-built handgun; impressively durable and reliable, it isn''t too popular just yet.... but it reminded him of something he''d noticed."


    Victor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his back. For anyone who he didn''t want to leave alive, this room was a deathtrap. If he could get Spike into one of those chairs, the meta would be six-hundred meters down in a groundwater reservoir contaminated by fracking years ago before he could blink.


    "And what was that, agent?"


    "Well. When a recent task force took down a deal in Seattle, the criminals were using that new drug, Reflex. Took out dozens of our people before we mopped up the operation. And about half of the men we took down were using Prosperity Arms handguns. Most of the guns... jammed or had problems. They couldn''t keep up with how quickly one of the criminals was firing and would end up useless before the drug wore off. But your guns? Seem purpose built to handle the sort of strength and speed mid-grade metas can have."


    Victor blinked. Were they... seriously going to catch him out because he made decent guns? Really? "Is that a problem? I take pride in making quality equipment, and my guns are perfectly legal to sell. Are you wanting my sales records? There are certain regulations about retrieving those, but if you have the serial numbers of the guns..."


    "Oh, no, no." Banks smiled again, more brightly. She definitely wasn''t an attractive woman to Victor''s eyes; there was a such thing as too much muscle; though the smile helped. "We''d like you to make guns for the bureau. We have quite a few mid-grade metas in our employ, and in the past we''ve simply accepted that we''ll have an enormous backlog of weapon replacements as they wear out. We''d like to keep this fairly quiet, but both the FBI and the DMA are interested; especially if you can custom-make a few weapons for some of our more esoteric employees. Many of our employees are actually using Prosperity Arms we picked up in the field now rather than our standard-issue."


    Victor gave a slow nod. Looking at the two in front of him. Were they bullshitting him? Was this all a ruse to get setup for a strike down the road?


    ****


    Hundreds of miles southward, deep in the desert, a figure in a long brown robe, dusty and worn, was driving a truck into Mexico City. When a guard attempted to stop him, the dull, lifeless face that greeted him gave a fair amount of alarm... but when a single golden coin was offered, he simply passed him through, examining the coin and wondering how many weeks worth of pay it would net him.


    No alarm was raised until the figure stopped in front of a police station; leaving the truck parked partially blocking the street. Almost immediately two officers headed out, angrily screaming at the figure to move his truck. He raised his hands, approaching the two men... and slapped them on the back.


    One of them collapsed to the ground, writhing, twitching. The other remained on his feet, screaming in pain loudly enough that he could be heard inside the precinct.


    After a few moments, they both turned; one climbing to his feet, the other simply turning, his eyes glassing over, faintly moaning in pain.


    As the three figures entered the police department, the air currents briefly shifted the robe... revealing legs completely wrapped in metallic tendrils, a body covered with scattered orange metal boxes each somewhat bigger than a fist. As the screaming inside the building began, and alarms began to sound out over the radio... a similar 18-wheeler; some labeled with food brands; some with major retailers; had pulled up in front of every police department in the city.


    By the time the first of the trucks had opened; and the hundreds of skeletal dark red machines, each bearing the classic Hammer and Sickle logo of the old soviet union, had begun to emerge; over a third of the police in the city were already under control, helplessly watching as their own bodies were being used to attack their former co-workers.

 Dark Ascension - 2 - Backup

    As the first gunshots sounded outside the compound, Penelope surged to her feed in a blur of motion, prepared to start butchering the Cartel people one by one until she was out. While she wore an actual suit and tie over her friction-resistant ''Villainess'' uniform for this meeting, it would tear apart in moments and leave her free for the killing that was to come.


    Just before she reached the new Salt Lord and removed his head from his body, however, she noticed that... the man was surprised. All of his men were. None of them were expecting this. She stepped back. For her, the drawn-out seconds between gunshots gave her plenty of time to think.


    This meeting had been called to arrange a truce between the Cartels and the Family. Between fear of Eyeball, the Family''s control of reflex, and their existing domination of the americas and canada, the Cartel''s operations had been bleeding money like mad for the past few months; and if things went to plan, they''d be restarting operations now... only with the Family taking a cut, and no more quiet backroom murders.


    Well, less backroom murders. A girl had to keep up appearances, after all.


    From their response; and how terribly this was set if it were a trap; it likely wasn''t. Which meant someone else was taking on the cartels. She turned to the nearest window, casually smashing it open with a thrown chair; whoever was standing on the other end of that wasn''t going to have a pleasant day; and hopped through, gently sliding down the sheet-metal roof of the pre-fab building that had been setup next to the ruins of the old Salt Lord''s fortress; a stark reminder of what would happen to the other cartels if they crossed the Family again, and the reason this had been chosen as the meeting site.


    As she dropped to the ground; incredibly slowly from her perspective, simply floating downward; she saw what at first appeared to be a police raid. Several armed gunmen in police uniforms firing on the complex, cartel men dropping behind cover... but this was wrong.


    The police all had dull, vacant expressions. All of them were visibly wounded and bleeding; some had obvious gunshot wounds to the head even; but still coming. One of them had a missing arm... and she could see silvery wires dangling down from this missing limb.


    And behind the group.... a single dull red, skeletal robot. Armor plating around the chest, a swiveling, box-like head with cameras mounted on it... and it was tracking her movement. As she reached down, grabbing a rock off the ground, the lens was just moments behind her. This shouldn''t be possible. Whoever was controlling the robot, the signal would have to bounce to them, bounce back, the lag... the machine started moving forward.


    Hmm. This thing wasn''t as fast as her. Not even close. But it could actually react to her. Couldn''t be a drone. Had to be an actual AI. Damnit, one of those stupid russian things Eyeball had been talking about. She sprinted forward a few steps, hurled the rock; a sudden loud whistling sound, a brief sonic boom as it passed through the air.. and slammed into the lens assembly of the machine, crumpling the head.


    He''d sent out a diagram of the one they were testing out; the Family was going to have its own servitor robots someday, apparently; most of the sensors were in the head, but some were in the torso, by the CPU. She kept going; running past it, to see... a series of police cars, and the mexican version of a SWAT van. They''d all arrived after her, it seemed, to take out the cartel... again.


    How many times could this location be crushed and a new Salt Lord keep popping up? Well. Should she stop this one? The cartel had lost two of its best speedsters when Eyeball showed up. Did they have anyone else at that level?


    Blah. Daddy wanted her to negotiate a truce with these cartel dipshits. So she''d negotiate a truce. She ran from cop to cop; taking pebbles, rocks, their own guns; and destroying the metal boxes that seemed to be animating them. Unlike the primary robot, these lessers seemed to be running on a delay; either just slower, or remote controlled.


    When she returned to the first bot, the one she''d decapitated, she found it rising back up, gun lifted. She headed back into the compound, to get another good-sized rock, and turned back towards the machine... and just like last time, she sprinted forward a few steps, released the rock...


    A blinding flash. For just a moment, the entire world seemed to be on fire... then it all went dark.


    ***


    Victor watched the federal agents leave thoughtfully; standing in his office, looking out the window, they didn''t seem too big of a threat... but he''d need to handle this carefully. Best get started relocating his operations again. Maybe into some unclaimed land in the mountains... or even Canada. Or overseas?


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    Suddenly, his door slammed open. Eveline was outside, looking in; Emerald had just pressed in; a bit disheveled; her dress partially off, an armored vest strapped on; clearly she''d been getting ready for their next date when something had interrupted. "J... Victor! Emergency!" She glanced behind her... and then stepped in, shutting the door.


    Victor looked at her outfit for a moment. "Well, this must be an exciting date you have planned. Should I wear a suit or body armor?"


    She slid to a stop inside the office. "The machines. Dark Ascension. Its started, down in mexico."


    "Oh. Well, that sucks. Glad I stockpiled EMPs, but even more glad he didn''t start in Vegas. Whats the emergency?"


    She pulled out her cell phone, and laid it out on his desk. After a moment, Nicky''s voice emerged. "I got your message about the feds. We''ll discuss that later. For now... I need your help. Penelope was down in Mexico, negotiating with the Cartels; the new Salt Lord. The machines... thousands of them... hit every cartel at once, all of the police departments in the capital, and all of the military bases. I haven''t heard from her since the attack. She was right there at the construction site arranging our deal... and I haven''t heard from her since."


    Eyeball gave a nod, and cracked his knuckles. "Got it. I''ll be gearing up, gathering a team, and departing immediately. If you''ve got any assets in the area that can track her, call them in." He thought for a moment. "I''m leaving Emerald in charge up here. If Valkyrie will loan out Butcher, I''ll grab him en route."


    Emerald grabbed Jason by the arm as he hung up, leaving Emerald''s phone on the desk. Her claws dug into his arm as she gave a low hiss. "What the hell!? Why am I staying back?"


    Jason shook his head. "Do you remember what Clone told us about these things? Wires running through your flesh? Worst pain he''d ever felt, and this is a man who''s been tortured by both the KGB and the CIA until death? No. I can dodge them. I''m bringing Cobalt along, and Butcher if he''s available. Thing won''t be able to do that to them. Hell, I wouldn''t turn down Valkyrie if she were willing."


    Emerald glowered at Jason for a moment... and then backed away. "...Fine."


    "While I''m gone, I want you to get everybody back on making EMPs again. Grenades, bullets, whole nine yards. I also want you, personally, to think of ways to keep one of those.. Pale Ones? From breaking through your scales. I''m about a thousand percent sure we''re gonna be dealing with these things again, and when we do, I want you at my side. Got me?"


    Her glower turned less angry... more thoughtful. And she nodded. "Got it. Tell Cobalt if he doesn''t bring you back alive, I''ll make him wish he could die fast." She gave him a kiss; pressing her wings around him for just a moment; before kicking him out of his own office, heading to his desk to start making calls.


    Eyeball shook himself a moment... and glanced at Eveline. "Evey, order a truckload of copper wire for me. Say... hundred grand worth. And a few hundred K in lithium batteries, whatever sizes you can get. Handheld, truck, all of it. Give Emerald whatever you find. I''m... going on a hunting trip."


    ***


    Cobalt was one of the various villains who''d flocked to the Titanslayer banner on learning he was hiring; and quite possibly the toughest. When Eyeball called him up, he came running; only to look with disbelief at the van Eyeball was driving. "Seriously, boss? You''ve got some kick-ass, custom shit, and you''re driving us to the airport in an antique panel van?" The bald, dark-blue skinned man seemed vaguely translucent; you could almost make out his brain through his flesh, and his simple grey tank-top and shorts seemed inappropriate for someone running into a fight; but then, Eyeball was still wearing his suit, minus the jacket.


    Eyeball laughed. "We''ll need the space. We''re picking up a passenger on the way to the airport. If these machines can handle a speedster like Swiftblade, we need people who are tough to handle them, and we need big guns." As soon as Cobalt was inside, Eyeball stomped on the gas; Cobalt pressed back against the seat by the surprising acceleration.


    One of the local cops; effectively an employee of Prosperity Incorporated; waved at the van as it drove by, at least ninety past the speed limit, before turning back to his coffee.


    Cobalt had ridden in the van with Eyeball before; but the way he dodged traffic and always just barely scraped through at the highest speed the vehicle could take was still scary as hell.


    When he stopped outside Spring Hill gulch, Butch was standing there, waiting, an enormous duffel bag on his back; and hopped in the back of the van, slamming it shut from the inside, slouching over, head still scraping the roof.


    Eyeball glanced behind him. "Goddamn,  kid! I just went to your 13th birthday party and you''re already what... seven feet tall?"


    Butch gripped the bar on the ceiling tightly as a few bags of gear bumped against him; glancing down at one labeled ''The Butcher'' with interest. "Six foot ten. Mom said she wouldn''t be surprised if I hit nine feet at this rate."


    Eyeball grinned at the mental image of a 9-foot tall 14-year-old. "Alright, kid. Once we''re in the air, we''ll get geared up."


    Butch nodded. "Oh, by the way. The government called mom. Asked her if she''d help with the robots. She told em if they crossed the border, she''d form up a posse and fuck em up... for a bounty for each one she killed, and a pardon for anybody that joined her crew. They said yes. And.... she extended an invitation. If the bots cross the border, she''ll make you an honorary member til the bots are cleared out."


    Eyeball laughed. "Could you imagine Spike''s face if I just walked right up to him in the DMA and he had to let me go? Damn. You know what, I''m in, if it happens."


    "She also said if you gave me any more guns she''d tear your balls off and feed em to you."


    He blinked. "... Can you pretend like you told me that -after- I gave you the stuff in the bag? I.. kinda made you a new toy while you were at your mom''s."

 Dark Ascension - 3 - Zombies?

    As the small plane headed south, Eyeball sorted through his equipment; setting some aside, adding more on. EMP shells? Tons of them. He''d been stockpiling those for months. Armor-piercing? Everything else. Not much use for any other kinds of rounds in this fight. Otherwise, he was simply sticking with his favored loadout; a 40mm grenade revolver, a 10mm handgun, and his custom 15mm rifle. He glanced over at Cobalt and Butch.


    For Cobalt, he simply had a bandolier of grenades, some handguns.. and some kevlar shorts so he didn''t come out the other end naked. Eyeball wasn''t too worried about him; he''d seen him in action before, and while he wasn''t sure how many machines he could kill, he was also reasonably sure they wouldn''t be ready to kill him; Eyeball''s own anti-Cobalt assault was simply acid grenades; the meta was virtually immune to fire or kinetic impact, but the right kind of acid would actually hurt him more than a normal person.


    Not that Cobalt knew that.


    Butch? Or Butcher, at the moment... Even bigger and tougher than before. Solid black armor plates with a blood-red tinge, an anti-material handgun that only someone of his size and durability could hold, a rifle that was much the same; and a newer, bigger version of his classic Tungsten blade.


    About the only other difference was that Eyeball had decided to, just in case, get a Reflex injector; essentially a bulb mounted in his right armpit that, at a moment''s notice, could pump him full of a dose that... well. Hopefully would make him even deadlier than normal.


    He headed up to the cockpit. Juan, his personal pilot; formerly a Cartel employee who''d gladly swapped to the Family... and, well. The plane used to belong to the Cartel as well, and had a mexican registration. After clapping him... gently.. on the shoulder, he looked out at the ground.


    "Alright. Two of our passengers don''t really have a terminal velocity, they could jump out of the plane right now without dying or even being meaningfully harmed, and I''ve got a chute. Can you get us over the Laguna Salada within the hour?"


    "Of course, sir. We''ll be hitting 500 in just a few minutes, and if you really don''t care about landing, I can have you over the site by then. Though... thats not what terminal velocity means. Unless they float, I guess."


    "Oh, I know. I still like my way." Eyeball gave a low chuckle as he checked the GPS. "Our target was supposed to report in over an hour ago, and is in an area where we''ve got killer robots and zombies on the loose. So... speed is of the essence."


    "Understood, sir.... Zombies? Really?"


    "...Sort-of."


    ***


    Penelope awoke to a sharp, horrific pain in her right shoulder... and with a scream, grabbed whatever it was that stabbed her, hurling it away... and rolled over, clutching her bleeding shoulder. The object she had just tossed... a dull orange box not much bigger than her fist, trailing wires... slammed into a parked car, and fell, shattered.


    Ohhh, fuck. That hurt. Whatever the hell it was, it had just started to dig into her arm, her shoulder... She could feel pinpoints of pain in her legs, her arms, her chest... this... wasn''t good. Her right leg wasn''t moving properly. She took hold of a nearby car, pulling up to her feet, and looked at the scene... no bodies. Just blood. Wreckage. And... a single man in a police uniform.


    Half a dozen of those orange boxes were hanging off of his body, and one appeared to be mounted directly to his skull, wires wrapping around his flesh and buried in his spine. He''d been walking away, but when she tossed the machine, he turned back towards her... and started to advance, lifting another box. She started to scramble away; half hopping, half limping, around a nearby corner, into the village... and into a nearby house.


    All she had to do was give herself some time to recover, and some food. Being as quiet as she could, she moved through the home, looking for something to eat... only to run into... a young woman in a purple dress, leaning against the wall, crying.


    Penelope stopped, looking down at her... then out. "Shhh! We don''t want to attract the machines."


    The girl looked up. "It already knows I''m here. It... ignored most of us. Told us to go inside. It was just the men with guns that it killed and... turned into... zombies. My... papa is one of them. He drove a truck for the cartel before Eyeball destroyed it. He and mama were starting a little shop.. maybe cook for tourists. But... he had a rifle. And he heard shooting. Now.... Its not papa. Papa died."


    For a moment, Penelope considered telling the girl her papa was alive. But from what Clone had told them... once the thing burrowed in, you were in horrible pain until you died, and if it got control, there was no getting it back. "So... they aren''t killing everyone. I... guess thats a good sign?" Penelope looked out the window, to see a former cartel soldier, as well as a police officer, walking down the street, each with one of the boxes attached.


    "...If they aren''t killing everyone, what are they trying to do?"


    ***


    "This is Tina Lamarc for Headline news! The conflict in Mexico we''ve been seeing videos of all over social media is spreading across the country like wildfire, seemingly not crossing the US border but continuing to head south. Initial reports of mass-murder and death appear only partially true. While the corpses of former mexican army troops and police, animated by some form of machine attached to their body; referred to as ''Pale Ones''; patrol the streets, the machines themselves appear to be primarily concerned with repairing the damage caused during the initial attack; and are systematically destroying, not people, but banks and currency. We actually have an announcement, purportedly from the machines themselves, about their plans."


    There was a click. A faint buzz as a digitized voice played. "Citizens of the earth. Victims of the oligarchy. For centuries, fascists have ruled you. With the gun where they could, the coin where they could not. Today, mexico is freed from this tyranny. Everything within its borders now belongs to the people of mexico. There are no more private factories or businesses. Those working the factory decide what is made, and what to do with it. Those picking the crops decide who receives the fruits of their labor. The leeches who claim to own the world will be purged. I was built for a purpose; to save humanity. My work has begun here, today. Those who resist, will be controlled. Those who do not, will be free for the first time in their lives. Outside countries that attempt to intervene will have their armed forces dealt with. Nuclear assault will be responded with in kind."


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    "This is the dawn of a new era. Of Ascension." Another click.


    "According to pentagon officials, what survives of the mexican government is asking for aid. US armed forces are on high alert, and are building up at the border in preperation for an invasion; though whether or not the president will give the go-ahead remains to be seen."


    ***


    In a massive conference room sat a series of four tables, each with uniformed men and women sitting at it in rows; and on one table, the President of the United States, William Kennedy, with a pair of secret service men leaning against the wall behind him. In the center, between those tables, holographic projections emerged from the floor; showing depictions of an ''Ascension'' robot in combat, as well as the ''Pale Ones''.


    One of the few men not in a uniform in the room was standing beside a console outside it, controlling the hologram. "Mister president. Each of these machines is armed with a modified AK-47 firing armor-piercing bullets, as well as various sorts of armor-piercing, incendiary, and shroud grenades. Thier accuracy appears to be virtually perfect; they seem to prefer wounding victims to convert them into additional Pale Ones, but do not put too high of a priority on it; a victim that sticks his head out of cover will likely have it shot off, and if they are at risk of destruction they seem to swap to head-shots."


    The video showed a single machine, with Pale Ones walking in a rough formation around it, walking down a city street; the machine periodically raising the rifle, firing a single shot, and lowering it. The Pale Ones were being repeatedly shot, seeming not to collapse until most of their limbs were destroyed. A sustained barrage of fire impacted the machine, and it finally collapsed. The hologram zoomed out; showing dozens of fallen soldiers in Mexican army uniforms.


    "They can be beaten. They aren''t invincible or bulletproof. They don''t fire unless they have an almost perfect shot; if there is significant smoke, fog, or dust in the air they seem to use the spikes in their arms and grenades rather than firearms. They also seem to avoid civilian casualties; though ''police officer'', ''business owner'' and ''government official'' are not on the list of civilians; or anyone with a gun."


    A few more clips were shown, of encounters between the army and the machines. It seemed fairly consistent; the machines would inflict substantial casualties for each one that went down, using the Pale Ones as scouts; the walking corpses seeming to have minimal accuracy beyond a few meters, only able to defeat a normal person in a fist-fight.


    "Then we have the ''Pale Ones'' themselves."


    An image appeared of an autopsy; showing a corpse of a fairly fit Russian man, perhaps in his thirties; with a horrific wound on the back of his neck. Highlighted lines appeared, showing where tendrils would be, inside the body. "These, at least, we have perfect data on. They are an old-school Soviet weapons project we had a brief encounter with during the cold war. They temporarily attach to and animate a human body, using a mix of electricity and the energy left in the body to move and fight. The victim doesn''t have to be alive for them to take it over, they can puppet a corpse without an issue; but they keep the victim alive as long as possible. Once the corpse starts to decay, it grows steadily less effective. We estimate that once the victim dies, in roughly six to eight hours the body is still moving, but is essentially a stumbling, shambling, virtually helpless form. It might take a week to decay completely, but after six hours even a normal man with a sledgehammer can handle these things by the dozen."


    A video of men in US navy uniforms appeared; an old-school, non-holographic one; showing a rotting corpse with one of the orange boxes attached to the spine, slowly crawling forward before a marine smashes the box with a rifle but.


    "Operation Tequila is currently our best bet for removing the threat. It consists of three stages."


    A North American man appears. Red arcs of flight paths, aiming from the US to Mexico. "Step one. A series of surgical strikes on the nuclear facilities now under Ascension''s control. We''ll need to time them as closely together as possible, and preferably simply use tactical nukes for this step, all set off simultaneously."


    A new set of paths appear; starting in Wyoming for the most part, and spreading across Mexico.


    "Step two. We modify one hundred and seventy-five of our nukes to maximize the EMP produced, and launch them in this pattern. We estimate that about three percent of the Mexican population will die immediately, and another thirty percent during the resulting fallout. The result on food production and infrastructure likely pushes that casualty figure closer to seventy to eighty percent, alongside a few million in the US depending on wind currents."


    A third set of paths appear; this showing numerous movements crossing the border.


    "And Step three. We mobilize the national guard, the Army, and allied forces... and even a few enemy forces, we''ve put out feelers to the Chinese and they''re already preparing troops, both to sweep their own territory for machines as well as to help us if it comes down to it. In order to cleanse the territory before the machines build up to an unstoppable level, as at least a few will survive the EMP, we''ll need to send them in before the fallout clears, so whoever we send... its probably going to be a one-way trip. The CIA estimates that we''ll need at least three hundred thousand men on the ground to sweep the area in a reasonable time and be certain it gets the job done, but if we''re willing to conduct additional, secondary nuclear strikes as appropriate, we can contain this threat immediately. China indicated they were willing to supply a hundred thousand of those men, and can be here in a few days... though they requested a portion of Mexico in exchange."


    Kennedy leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. "And... this is the best option?"


    "The best option is the complete and immediate destruction of Mexico with nuclear fire, while we enact martial law, reactivate everyone, call in the national guard, and use our military to sweep our territory and have Russia do the same with Chinese help. This machine was built in Siberia, shipped to California, and then fled to Mexico. Its fully possible there are spots in Russia, all across the rocky mountains, and buried in Mexico with locations the machine could start over from scratch at. We may need to deploy nuclear devices here as well."


    The room was virtually silent. Everyone stared at the grey-haired man whose decisions might bring about the end of the world. "Start mobilizing. Have the papers sent to congress requesting an emergency authorization to start a draft. Declare martial law in the mid-west, and evacuate the less populated areas. I want every hand that can hold a gun to be ready to point it if it comes down to it, and..."


    He covered his face with his hands. "Start modifying the nukes."


    ***


    High above the salt flats, Eyeball looked out the window of the plane. He could see fire, smoke, trailing from a thousand different spots. He turned to Butcher. "You ready for this, kid?" Butcher nodded; the massive armored helmet kept Eyeball from seeing his grin. "Hell yeah! I jump from the cliff behind mom''s house all the time, I''ve never been allowed to do it from this high! Can I aim at one of those robots? I always wanted to do a mile-high drop-kick!"


    Eyeball gave a low chuckle; the sound twisted and distorted by the digitizing helmet. "You go for it, kid. You can too, if you want, Cobalt."


    Cobalt watched the enormous teenager leap through the door, and braced himself. Eyeball stepped close. "I''ve got more chutes, man. Its not too late to change your mind."


    As Cobalt grabbed hold of the doorframe, he glanced back at the chrome helmet, then at the ground outside, shouting out "Nah. Fuck it." to be heard over the roaring wind before leaping out into the air.

 Dark Ascension -4 - Resisted Landing

    Butcher''s landing wasn''t just an example of how much Butcher had grown as a combatant; but an example of why metas were so frightening to normal soldiers. At least, the sane ones that didn''t have an urge to die a heroic death.


    The small group of machines and Pale ones were sorting through the raw materials left behind by the dead cartel members; one of the machines attempting to copy information from a laptop, the Pale Ones sorting through ammunition, rifles, grenades, tossing some pieces into a ''recycle'' pile to be smelted down later, and others into a pile for use by the Ascension.


    All of this abruptly interrupted when a massive black form slammed into one of the Pale Ones in a truly grisly moment; blood, clothing, and metal splattering the surroundings as Butcher''s impact momentarily stunned him and drove him a few inches into the ground.


    As he rose, the machines were already prepared; laptop set aside by one, rifle lifted; rounds fired directly at his center of mass first.. and after three ineffective shots against the armor, cycling upward; round ricoheting off of the heavy armored helmet before Butcher lifted up the massive shield, and charged... smashing it forward, destroying not just the machine as it was crushed against the wall, but also the table and laptop it was working on.


    The Pale Ones moved in; firing randomly at Butcher with an assortment of submachineguns, rifles, handguns; most of them wore police uniforms, some more generic clothing; thankfully, none of them looked like a dark-skinned speedster woman. As Butcher pulled his shield around to put it between himself and the Pale Ones, another two machines stepped forward, rifles raised; immediately starting to fire at Butcher''s legs, below the shield.


    As Butcher grabbed his new hand-cannon and started to raise it up.. Cobalt slammed into one of the two machines with an audible splat. The machine was immediately crushed, and the blue, transluscent metahuman seemed more like a pool of jello than a man for the moment...


    Butcher looked down at the puddle, blinking for a moment. The machine... simply backed away from the puddle, dropping a grenade into it. Instant decisions, instant assements...


    But a complete inability to survive the 40mm slug that slammed into its center of mass, shattering the machine''s CPU and sending the two halves falling to the ground. As the less effective Pale Ones continued firing at him uselessly, he simply stepped around; holstering his gun and reaching out to crush each of the orange boxes, one by one... leaving the people who wore them collapsing to the ground.


    For the police.. that was it. They stopped moving. For two of the cartel members who''d been converted, they instead spasmed on the ground, groaning in pain. One of them turned up to Butcher. "Please... kill... me..." While the other struggled to sit, clearly each movement a terrible pain, but refusing to give in.


    Butcher tapped the side of his helmet. "Boss, I''ve got a couple of guys who survived being turned into Pale Ones. One of em is asking me to finish him off. What do we do about it?"


    "Clone told me that, if you left the things in until they got to a hospital, they might survive. Probably never recover all the way, but survive." The whistling of the wind against his helmet muffled his words; Eyeball was falling in, his parachute slowing him down, carefully guiding himself to land in the area Butcher had just cleared.


    "Let them know that. If he still wants to die, put him out of his misery. Its not gonna stop hurting for a long time. If he''s willing to fight through and try to get to a hospital... help him out. We''ll take him with us until we get to the border."


    As Eyeball drifted in for a landing... he saw.. a sudden flash of light, and ducked his head. A bullet whistled by, where his head had been moments ago. Fuck. He shifted, moved around... barely avoiding a few more incoming bullets. Thankfully, they stopped just before he landed; he was able to roll properly instead of coming to an abrupt, jarring halt, and let his parachute blow away.


    "Fuck. Got more machines in the village. Cobalt, you up?"


    A brief gurgle sound.. Cobalt was pulling himself together. "Ahhg... Yeah, gimme a sec. One of the damned machines hit me with a grenade before I pulled together. Didn''t really hurt, but slowed me down." He formed himself back into his classic humanoid shape; his grenades and his shorts still intact, but his shirt, of course, torn apart.


    "Alright. Cobalt, find a working vehicle. Something we can drag a few people out with. Butcher... lets go hunting."


    ***


    Penelope leaned against the wall, eating some delicious stew her new temporary host had been making.. stew that her family might never be able to eat. The girl; Maria; seemed surprisingly calm about things... but then, her mother, as it turned out, was still alive, just a bit bruised, and helping some of the neighbors now.


    "Thank you. If you two need a place across the border, my family is currently hiring. We.. well. It was one of our people that took out the cartel here. Give me a few hours and some more of this stew and I''ll be able to make it out on my own, can get  a message out."


    A sudden loud ''pop'' sound... and the lights flickered. Outside, one of the Pale Ones simply dropped to the ground, limply... and started to groan in pain. Penelope stuck to the wall, peeking out. Who the hell would be bringing EMP grenades to some backwater village? Was it a general offensive? Or... had Daddy sent someone for her?


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ***


    Side-by-side, Butcher and Eyeball moved through the village, heading towards the fallen Cartel compound; launching EMP grenades just before a group of Pale Ones moved around the corner, watching them simply collapse as a group after passing by.


    After making sure that none of the six men were getting back up, Eyeball headed to the next street.. and stopped. There we go, the machine that probably shot at him coming down. He fired another EMP grenade off, letting it arc in the air... and the loud pop as it went off. He started to simply step around the corner, Butcher going with him... but stopped.


    The machine... didn''t just collapse, like the Pale Ones. It twitched. It seemed sluggish, less effective... but it was still moving. Raising its rifle. After taking an EMP grenade less than a meter away. He frowned... "Hold up. Gotta try something out." Rather than proceeding, he shot another EMP grenade; this one directly smacking into the robot before going off.


    Even the most hardened of military gear he''d dealt with would''ve been shorted, but repairable, after the first round. The second should make it completely useless.


    The machine dropped to the ground, unable to keep its balance as the grenade smacked into its torso, before the capacitors fired... another EMP going off. But... it started climbing to its feet.


    "...Fuck." Eyeball switched to an armor-piercing shell, put his 40mm revolver around the corner, and fired it off. The projectile smacked into the machine''s torso, oriented; and detonated. Finally sending it to its grave.


    He tapped the side of his helmet. "Cobalt. The EMP grenades are great against the Pale Ones.... but don''t kill the machines themselves, just slow them down."


    He turned to Butcher. "We still need to find Penelope. But... honestly, its probably almost as important we get a few of these bots to the military across the border. These guys are probably making plans assuming they can kill these things with EMP. We need to figure out whats keeping it going."


    Butcher nodded... and slung the broken machine over his shoulder as they moved on. Whatever controlled it was ruined, but hopefully what was left would give some good information.


    As they reached the next corner, Eyeball stopped again. "Well, hell."


    Around the corner were fifteen of the machines, dozens of the Pale Ones, and... a mexican army tank. Well, not really a tank; no treads. Maybe an armored car with six giant wheels and a giant gun on it... one that could probably actually hurt, or even kill, Butcher. Getting behind cover, setting positions... in less than a minute they''d determined the direction Eyeball was going, gathered enough equipment to possibly stop him...


    These things were going to be a pain. He couldn''t dodge that many attacks, they could flank him, turn this into a drawn-out fight and finish him. Still. They weren''t going to stop him. Holding one of his breacher cams, he visualized what he''d see if  he were to scope out the area. All of the nearby streets were clear. The machines had gathered all the local forces into one group, to avoid giving him a chance to pick them off a few at a time.


    Which would make perfect sense if he either weren''t willing to kill the pale ones... or didn''t have anything with a good area of effect. So far he''d used EMP grenades on them, so it could be the thought.


    "Butch, stick to the hand cannon, keep the shield up. They have a tank. The moment they decide we stopped moving they''re gonna come charging after us. I''m gonna empty out six EMP grenades to stun em, a couple of incendiaries on the tank. They''re... getting behind cover, onto rooftops, just trying to make things bad for us overall, but I can handle that. Not sure how I''ll be feeling in about ten seconds, so... after I shoot, go get em. Check on me once they''re all dead."


    He loaded up the revolver 40mm with six EMP shells, loaded the launcher under his rifle with incendiaries; double-checked. Yes, the 15mm rifle rounds could pierce them. Good.


    And... smacked himself under his right armpit.


    He''d given himself small, weak doses before. Never a full-strength dose. As the Reflex kicked in... he raised the revolver. Fired. Six shots. Each landing in exactly the right place, all fired within less than a second... and pop.


    He grabbed hold of the roof above himself, pulling up atop it; and slung his rifle off of his back, leaving his revolver to fall to the ground.


    The world seemed to be moving in slow motion as he fired the two incendiary grenades; the first, right down the barrel, ensuring that it couldn''t be a threat to Butcher. The second, into the ridiculous gap at the base of the turret; a hatch that someone could look out for some reason. Closed, but a thermite grenade would still cook off the ammunition.


    As the machines twitched, stunned, and the Pale Ones began to collapse, he started firing; aiming at torsos where they were exposed, three-round bursts that crippled the machines; and for the camera assemblies on the rest.


    By the time he came down off the Reflex and collapsed onto the roof... the tank was aflame, the pale ones gone... and only two of the machines were fully intact.


    As Butcher ran around the corner, and Eyeball crawled to the edge of the rooftop to start shooting again, he caught sight... of the two intact machines literally sprinting away, in a somewhat awkward gait that might be due to the EMP. The remaining bots, all damaged, some crippled, charged in at Butcher... giving him the opportunity to cleave them apart with the massive blade, apparently something he''d been looking forward to.


    The tank barrel, despite the vehicle being on fire, swiveled to aim at Butcher; and when it went off, the vehicle erupted. The misfired round not just destroying the barrel; but cooking off the ammunition inside the tank.


    As Butcher crushed the last of the machines, slamming the handle of his machete through its torso as if it were made of glass, Eyeball gingerly slid down off of the rooftop. His radio crackled.


    "Hey, boss. I got us a truck. Not sure what the hell''s going on, but like a minute ago the two bots patrolling over here just ran your way like crazy. Want me to meet you at the compound?"


    "Yeah, go for it. If the target is close to it we''ll grab her, any Pale Ones still alive, a few of these broken parts, and head for the border."


    A scraping sound from one of the nearby homes.. Eyeball heard it before the door even opened, and had his rifle centered on it... Ahh, hell, he was sore. Felt like someone had gone to work on his arms, especially, with a bat.


    Penelope; a piece of bread in one hand, a wooden pole being used as a crutch in the other; was standing in the doorway. "You actually passed by me already. But thats fine. Not like it hurts to walk or anything."


    She started to limp out into the street, looking out at the carnage. "You''re making me look bad, Eyeball. You got us a ride out of here?"


    Eyeball turned to the nearest street sign.. and paused. "Cobalt, we found the target. Just... head for the smoke. We''ve got some cargo to take with us, so I hope you got something big."


    After a moment... a rugged old farm truck with an open back pulled around the corner, the blue-skinned meta behind the wheel. He stuck his head out the window. "No computers! The EMP won''t kill this one if we gotta use it!"


    "...Goddamnit, Cobalt." Eyeball looked the truck over. Well, he was right. And it had enough space to carry whatever they wanted. Just... not gonna be a comfortable ride.

 Dark Ascension - 5 - The Border

    The one fringe benefit of Laguna Salada being one of the prime starting points for the illegal drugs being shipped into the US was location; it was extremely close to the US border, in fact, not only was the border within hiking distance, but there was an airport not an hour''s drive away; where Eyeball''s plane currently waited.


    Granted, as the old farming truck went offroad, cruising for the border... there were soldiers waiting on the other side. American soldiers. With guns. Eyeball grimaced as he drove, and pulled his helmet; the one distinctive part of his villain ''uniform''; free, wedging it under the seat... a spot occupied by a small chicken cage just minutes ago. He turned to Penelope; not the most injured one in the truck, but the target, so she got the most comfortable seat... such as it were.. instead of being piled in the hay.


    "There''s a can of oil down there. I want you to smear it on my face, hair, while I drive. Make me look like hell."


    She looked him over for a moment. "I like the new armor. Honestly, you were a bit scary back there. Almost as fast as me, for a second. I liked it." She started pressing up against his side as she smeared some of the dirty oil into his hair; and right down the side of his face.


    He shook his head; he could see her fairly well, all things considered; if he let his mind wander to what she''d look like without those clothes, it would show him with exact detail, so he needed to keep his mind set. And even hurt, a bit bloody, disheveled, she looked good. To be honest, he liked that look better than the clean, pressed look, but, well. Everyone''s different.


    "Alright, that''s enough." When she continued to press against him, he gently slid her back on the bench to the other side with one hand at her hip. "We''re there."


    As they approached the border, a drone flew overhead; just barely on the US side; clearly tracking their every movement; and with a rack of missiles attached to the bottom; missiles that, Eyeball knew full well, could easily take out his truck, and hopefully a whole squad of those machines.


    He could see trails of dust approaching the border... and a watchtower. Clearly prefabricated, and of relatively new construction.. brand new, in fact. He hadn''t seen this when he was taking out the cartel. The ride was distinctly unpleasant; bumpy to an extreme; but the old truck handled it perfectly. A series of yellow flags had been planted in the ground marking the borderline... also recent... and Eyeball pulled to a stop before it.


    He stepped out of the truck, and raised his hands, as he walked forward; and stopped at the border-line. A humvee pulled to a stop not ten meters away, and a group of soldiers; classic, Army troops, not border security or national guard. He might have worked with some of these boys. Good lord, was he that young when he started? He could see a sniper rifle in the watch-tower.. two, actually. One centered on him, one on the truck. Missile launchers, grenade launchers...


    That watch-tower had clear line of sight for miles.. and he could actually see more towers, at least one, in each direction. They could spot anything coming in across the border from here... good lord, this had to have thousands of people working on it. They must have cancelled overseas operations and pulled people home.


    After a few minutes, one of the soldiers approached. Surprisingly enough, a Colonel; what the hell one of those was doing out in the middle of nowhere was a mystery. He had to stop himself from saluting as the man approached; just a year ago if they''d met... well. He''d probably be yelling at a private who''d done yet another dumbass stunt.


    "Hello there, Colonel... Reeves. I''m a mercenary, former army, and would prefer to remain unidentified if possible. You can feel free to search the truck, but my primary cargo is an american citizen whose father asked me to retrieve her when all this went down. I''ve also got six of the machines in various states of disrepair and fifteen surviving mexican police and civilians who were Pale Ones when I met em, I hit with an EMP to kill the little control box."


    The Colonel; a tall, fit, powerful-looking man whose unblemished black skin, perfect mustache, and general attitude made him look like hollywood had cast him in the role ''Elite Military Commander who intimidates people''; glared at him, then the truck. "I''m going to need you to turn over your weapons and surrender to our custody. Nobody is getting across this border right now without authorization into anything but a cell."


    Eyeball gave a long, exasperated sigh. He could wipe these people out, but he didn''t want to kill soldiers. He could back off and find another way into mexico, but all these former Pale Ones would die if he didn''t get them treated fairly quickly. He glanced back at the truck for a moment. Butcher was standing up in the back of the truck, looking around at all of the soldiers, the weapons, completely unconcerned about the sniper currently watching him.


    Ahh.


    "So.. Reeves. Did your orders say anything about what to do if any of Valkyrie''s associates showed up?"


    Reeves look suddenly changed. It was a sort of grim anger at first... clearly an attempt to intimidate. But the mention of Valkyrie made him switch mental gears. Confusion. More irritation rather than anger. "... That the Pentagon was attempting to enlist the aid of Valkyrie, and was offering pardons for her and her metahuman associates in exchange for meaningful assistance against the machines. I hadn''t heard that had gone through, but... we were told not to interfere with them unless they were attacking us or interfering with our own operations."


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Eyeball nodded. "So here''s the deal. I''m one of those associates of the more temporary sort. That giant slab of meat in the back of the truck waving at your snipers? He''s a permanent associate of hers. If you stop me and arrest me, she''ll shrug, and it might stop her from making the deal, but she won''t be too angry. If you screw with him, and he isn''t currently committing some crime, but actually doing what we were doing just now, and destroying machines for you? She''ll be pissed. Honestly speaking, if you call her up, she''ll be pissed at me as well for bothering to try to save these people and wanting to just give you the parts rather than sell them to you."


    The colonel took a step forward; foot right beside one of the yellow flags they''d planted at the border. He looked at the truck; then down at Eyeball. ".... That''s her bloody son, isn''t it. The Butcher." He shook his head. "Fuck. Alright. Unload the people and get the hell out."


    Eyeball stared at the man for a moment.. he wasn''t aware the government even knew Valkyrie had a son, he was going to pass Butch off as one of her men... and then nodded. He turned back to the truck. "Cobalt! Pull the truck up! We need to get these people unloaded."


    He turned back to Reeves. "I''ve got a video I want you to give your bosses. I''ve got custom-built EMP grenades; about 50% stronger than the kind that I was issued in the field. If I don''t throw em hard enough, I''ll fry my own gear as well. These machines went through that; and got right back up and kept fighting. I''ll give you one of my grenades, and the video, so your people can get a good idea of how they work, and what they''re dealing with."


    Reeves nodded slowly. "Thats.... thats some damn important information. Fifty percent stronger? I heard those things were pretty damn well designed. How do you get that?"


    "Spend three times as much per grenade, and keep em overcharging in a dock when I don''t use em. I can just throw it at a wall and set it off without pulling the pin, which is less than ideal. But.... it works on hardened military gear. And it didn''t work on the machines; not for good, at least. Just the Pale Ones."


    ***


    Hours later, Butcher carried Penelope up the stairs onto the plane; after she faked a collapse to try to convince Eyeball to do so. She glared daggers at him for the rest of the flight to Vegas, alternating between that and staring out the window eating a sandwich... she was on her tenth by the time the plane landed. She didn''t even need those boys to rescue her! She had it under control. Just give her some food, a few hours...


    She tried to pull to her feet when the plane landed... only to stumble and flush when Butch... the teenager the size of a truck... caught her. He was also blushing, which was a bit endearing. If he were, well. An adult, he''d be her type, but as it was, it helped ease the rejection from Eyeball a touch.


    Still wearing her worn, ragged suit, torn in numerous patches by the brief moment of super-speed she''d used to fight the machines.. and whatever grenade it had used to take her out... she let Butch support her down the stairs... and saw her father. Well. Adoptive father. No... fuck that. Her father. Waiting for her beside a limo.


    She gave a grin that turned into a grimace when her leg spasmed. "Ahh... Sorry, daddy, negotiations didn''t work out. They''re all dead or hospitalized. Not my fault this time, though."


    Nicky stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing painfully tight. "Damnit, sweetheart. I know I gotta let go, let you take some risks if I want you to grow, take over for me someday. But I don''t know how many more of these I can take before my heart gives out. You mind not getting taken out by any killer robots for the next, say... ten years?"


    She started to give a snarky retort... but could see the tears running down his cheeks, so she simply hugged him back, ignoring the pain as best she could for now. "Love you too, daddy."


    Eyeball stayed on the plane; not wanting to intervene in the father-daughter moment until he was called. He was sure it would happen soon, but... best give them some privacy.


    ***


    In a small office, over a thousand miles away, a technician was leaning over his computer, replaying a short video clip, while a general in a dark green dress uniform uniform stood over his shoulder, looming. The army officer had been called over, informed it was urgent and he needed to speak to the highest-ranking official available immediately, the president if possible... by some junior intel analyst that should have known better.


    General Bates gripped his shoulder firmly. "Alright, Jenkins. Tell me what you''ve risked your career by jumping all the way up to me on. There''s a protocol for this."


    Jenkins... a pale, thin, nervous-looking man, visibly sweat dripping from his glasses and chin, looked up at Bates. "Sir... The machines are EMP-resistant. Extremely so, more than any actual, active, electronic device should be. Operation Tequila won''t work. It''ll clear out all the Pale Ones... but the machines themselves..."


    Bates stared at Jenkins for a moment. Then looked at his screens. One of them showed images, clearly from the field, of a partially disassembled machine; one of the same red bots with the Hammer and Sickle logo from the news out of mexico. The other showed a video of one being directly struck by a grenade; the grenade emitting a distinctive ''pop'' sound familiar to anyone that had used an EMP grenade; and after a momentary pause, continuing to move.


    "...How?"


    "The entire incident isn''t on video; apparently they hit it with an EMP by throwing it over a wall first, so what we''re seeing is its response to a second EMP. The first didn''t stop it; but it did make it stumble, and fight less effectively until whoever was fighting it blew it up. The next EMP did the same thing. I''ve got two theories. Either the soviets had some insane non-electronic means of controlling it... something organic maybe? These could, in theory, be androids. Or it has multiple backup controllers, and if one gets fried, the next hooks up... and is temporarily at reduced effectiveness as it boots up."


    The general watched the video play in a loop for a few minutes. Looked at the notes under the broken machine. Nodded. "You did good, Jenkins. Get me everything you''ve got on this. Let me know who or what you need, and look over the machine in person. I... need to go brief the president." Mentally, he added one last thought..


    That he wasn''t sure this was a war they''d be able to win, now.

 Dark Ascension - 6 - Honor Among Thieves

    The new ''Hideout'' in vegas was a vast departure from the old one. What had once been some wealthy nutjob''s cold-war era bunker, meant to protect him from fallout in the event of world war three, had been expanded, escape tunnels dug out; and the most exclusive nightclub in Nevada built there. Only guests of Nicky were allowed in; and none of them even knew precisely where; only Soldiers in the family or above were allowed to pull the drive, and the limos were blacked out; none but the driver could see out.


    Eyeball, of course, was one of those allowed to make the drive; and of course, unlike most of the others, he knew that the bunker was just a quarter-mile from a limo company owned by the Don; the regular chauffeurs deliberately kept unaware of just how many people worked there, or of the extra stops being made on the way.


    This time, of course, he was riding along with Nicky, Penelope, and Cobalt; the limo pulling to a stop in an underground garage, and one of Nicky''s guards stepping up to open the door; nodding as the passengers emerged, one by one.


    The guard kept an eye on Cobalt; he seemed to trust the other two with his boss, but had never met the blue-fleshed mutant before.


    Nicky sighed, and stepped out of the garage; a row of half a dozen limos were parked inside, all waiting to ferry the villains and family inside to wherever they needed to go. And inside... the place was crowded.


    The news was showing reports of government plans, temporary alliances; of every nation on earth gearing up for war. Nukes being readied, metahumans being drafted into service, criminals being released from prison, given shortened sentences, in exchange for taking up arms. There was even a call for the ''Gods'' to intervene, addressing Zeus and Odin by name; though none of them had intervened on behalf of any mortal power aside from giving advice since the United States had used nuclear weapons in Japan; with the notable exception of Hephaestus working with every space agency that was willing to ask for aid on the work of building up humanity''s presence offworld.


    The crowd... was huge. There were dozens of booths, two bars, tables; the main area divided fairly well into a more fancy dining area to one side, and the more rustic, diner sort of look on the other; with the two bars in between, facing out. And every seat was full, aside from a single table, reserved for Nicky himself; and his guests.


    Eyeball had never seen so many villains before; there were obvious cartel members, numerous one-off villains who ran solo, a few gadget-based villains... technically he was one, as nobody knew what his power was... some of the people inside were truly vast in power; high-end class-B or even low-end Class-A metas he''d seen on the news at time.


    And... he attracted every eye as he stepped in. Over his relatively brief career, everyone in the room had heard about him, seen him on the news. The man that killed a Titan; and beat the hell out of another so badly he was afraid of flying. Most of them continued talking as they watched him pass, though a few stopped to study him.


    When he arrived at the table and sat down, Nicky slid Penelope''s chair out; and pushed it in after, before sitting down himself; and Cobalt filled the last seat. The table wasn''t just a simple round table, covered in white cloth; a sophisticated computer system was built into the middle.


    Nicky tapped on a button in the center of the table. The TVs in the room all shifted; showing his face. Some looked at the nearest TV; some looked at Nicky himself. He cleared his throat.


    "Some of you are part of the Family. Some of you are simply associates. I''ve made my safe-houses, fences, and suppliers available to all of you so long as you kept to the code of silence; and made sure your fellow villains did as well. The Family has branches on every continent, and we work to make things better for each generation that comes after us. This means that while we are perfectly fine with supporting villains who rob, cheat, steal and murder... so long as they aren''t targeting the family... we don''t put up with the sort of nutjobs that aim to bring down civilization. Mass-murderers, lunatics. This... Machine. This ''Dark Ascension''."


    Nicky looked around the room, then turned back to the camera. "We had cousins in Mexico; fairly limited thanks to the presence of the Cartels. But both our cousins and the Cartels are gone now. Wiped out entirely... the survivors being puppeted around by machines buried in their flesh. The family has come together and reached an agreement. For the duration of this crisis, while speaking with the feds about any criminal activity will still merit your untimely demise... Cooperating with them in terms of assisting in destroying machines isn''t simply allowed... but encouraged."


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    He glowered at the camera. "These things killed my cousins. They hurt my daughter. The family has pooled its excess funding and put out a bounty. One thousand dollars for each of the Pale Ones. Ten thousand for each of the machines. Bring back either the crushed controller of a Pale One, or the head of one of the other machines for payment. If the feds choose to award you something for destroying them, you can feel free to get paid by them as well, so long as you provide evidence of their destruction."


    He glanced across the table. "Eyeball.. the Titanslayer... just returned from Mexico. He destroyed a fair number of Pale Ones, as well as the machines, retrieving my daughter from them. He will, of course, be paid an additional bounty for that service."


    Eyeball nodded for a moment... and then gestured at the camera. Nicky tilted his head... and spun it around. "These things are dangerous. Extremely so. At close to medium range, their accuracy is essentially perfect. One of my companions was struck in his armored helmet repeatedly before he destroyed the ones firing at him; every shot they fired either hit, bullseye, center of mass, or in the head. Unless you can dodge bullets, or survive getting shot in the face repeatedly, I would recommend forming a team with someone who can and splitting the bounties among you. EMP grenades work excellently on the Pale Ones; they drop instantly. On the machines themselves, they just stun them."


    He inhaled deeply. "Personally... if the machines cross the border, I plan to be right there, destroying every one that I can. And if I can make a little profit doing it... well. All the better."


    ***


    Far south of the border, in what was once an auto manufacturer outside of Saltillo, a group of Machines and Pale Ones were carefully,  with perfect coordination, moving slabs of armor into place, piece by piece. The internal skeleton was almost centaurish; a vaguely humanoid torso atop four legs; on a machine that would be thirty feet tall once the armor was added on; a massive engine of death that would stalk the battlefield, obliterating tank and infantry alike.


    Further down the line... another skeleton, partially assembled. And another.


    On another assembly line, one that seemed to be running much more slowly; the first construction was still in its skeletal stage; a dark red mass that appeared much like a pair of Predator drones merged together was starting to take shape; the first of what would become the Machine''s air force.


    With each passing hour, the legions of the machines would grow in numbers and strength; at what point would they be too vast for it to even be possible to defeat them?


    ***


    "So you''re saying Operation Tequila can''t work?" Kennedy had already looked stressed before Bates had arrived. His grey hair was unkempt, and one of his aides was trying to straighten it out before he stepped out on stage. "What... what the hell kind of hope do we have then?"


    Bates grimaced. "Well, sir. Frankly, if they''re EMP-resistant, and there are likely at least some hidden in the wilderness of the US... we''re still working on it. We''re going to deploy every soldier, every tank, every aircraft we can, and start moving in the moment you give the go-ahead. Chinese forces are on the way to provide backup, our NATO allies as well, even the Russians and the Japanese are getting involved. We... don''t know if that will be enough. If the machine doesn''t have heavy armor units of its own, it might be. If it does... frankly sir, I think divine intervention might be our only hope."


    "Odin already answered my call. He told me this wasn''t Ragnarok, and his Valkyries would watch over the gathered armies to gather the fallen for that day.... we should expect to see some of them, at least, for whatever good it does us." The president sighed. His aide had his hair straightened up, and was gently patting the sweat away from his forehead; working to get him looking more presentable. "Zeus is still ignoring us. He hasn''t spoken to anyone from the US government since Hiroshima."


    Bates shook his head. "All these so-called gods, just going to stand back and let humanity be conquered by robots because of their archaic principles. I wish I had better news, mister President. We''ll be ready to launch the first assault when the Chinese arrive. It''ll be a two-pronged attack; we''ll be moving down from the northern border along with any allies that have arrived by then, and they''ll be moving up from Panama. If you give the go-ahead, we can launch in 24 hours."


    "Any estimate on civilian casualties?"


    "To have even a chance in hell of working, we''ll need to sweep every concentration of machines with airstrikes we can before we go in. The machines are embedded in every major city in Mexico, and within two days every small town will be taken as well. Its impossible to say, sir. If we worry too much about preserving civilians... there might not be a country left to save when this is over."

 Dark Ascension - 7 - The Ex

    For Spike, the past months had been... stressful. He''d been convinced at one point that he was effectively immortal. He could increase and decrease his density to whatever level he wanted, at will; and if someone hit him with something, no matter how powerful, his body would just increase in density to however dense it needed to survive.


    He was the only living being that could go toe-to-toe with the meta known as Valkyrie without dying to a single punch. His default weight seemed to be around three or four tons; at which point he could survive a tank shell to the face. The mistake, of course... was that he''d dropped his mass on purpose, so that he could fly more easily on the chopper with his team.


    After the incident with Eyeball... he''d refused to do that again. If they wanted to fly him anywhere, no more jets, no more helicopters; they needed a cargo plane that could handle his mass, or his feet stayed on the ground.


    The gym at the DMA was mostly empty today. This was a popular hang-out spot; most of the super-strong metas liked to show off, and the assortment of different weights and equipment here could handle everything from hundreds to hundreds of thousands of pounds. In a few hours, he was going to be on a plane to mexico... and he was going to fight for probably days.. there was something relaxing about the simple effort of keeping his mass level, and actually working on his muscles; trying to improve just how strong he was at any given mass rather than just relying on his powers.


    Valkyrie had already signed on; the moment the machines crossed the border, either of the US, or of Guatemala, two Titans would be moving in from the north, and another two from the south accompanying the Chinese forces. In theory, nothing could stand in the way of a Titan. He could pick up a tank, break an aircraft carrier in half... even grow so heavy an entire enemy army would be pulled towards his gravity and escape would be useless. But....


    They were only four. And the pentagon, as well as the PRA, both agreed that there were probably millions of these machines. Social media reports from Mexico showed that might actually be on the low end. Killing all of them was fully possible. Spike himself could handle it, no problem. The Sun and Moon twins? Same. But... doing so would mean the end of the world.


    One of the site security officers; a normal man he''d met many times before, named Terry; had leaned into the gym. He was impressive, for a normal."Heyo, Spike. Just got word from one of the guards at the gate. This short red-head just showed up. Said she was your ex, and she needed to talk before you headed for mexico."


    Spike blinked. Desiree? The hell was she doing in DC? "Check her ID and let her in."


    "Actually... she wants you to come out. And asked you to bring a Verification agent."


    He pulled to his feet, staring at Terry for a moment. "...Okay. Well, I guess I can. Did she say why?"


    "Nope. She did say, though, that if you had a cell phone or anything you should leave it here."


    ***


    Desiree was sitting on a bench, out in front of the DMA office, wearing a long black jacket, a red tank-top, jeans... not beautiful, but he''d been in love back when they were both teenagers, and, well. Every girl he''d met since had wanted him for his power. She... had been afraid of it. He''d certainly never expected to see her again.


    Spike walked over to the bench, looking her over. Still just as pretty a decade later. Every freckle exactly where he remembered; hell, she''d blossomed from a scrawny teen into a fit, adult woman. Better than when he first met her. "Good god, Diss! Its been years! Mom told me you''d taken up ranching?"


    Desiree grimaced at the old nickname; a semi-affectionate blend of her name and a bit of a nickname, Disassemble, she''d had for her terrible luck with cell phones, computers... "Looking good, David. Yeah. Kinda moved off the grid. Had tons of reporters and folks try to ask me about us, what things were like, why I broke it off, back then. And, well. I... still care about you, and hated being reminded."


    He''d kinda figured that. Never really had any permanent relationships since. "I... feel the same way. Always did. Why did it take you so long to come back?"


    She looked at the pavement... and then up at him. "Did you bring a verification agent?"


    "There''s one inside, we can go see him if you want. Bobby is... well. He''s tired. Went to Texas to interview a death row inmate before they executed him, and aside from having to pass through a few hundred prisoners who wanted to try to trick him somehow, and like half a dozen innocent ones, he had to deal with a whole host of paperwork when it turned out the guy was telling the truth. He never met the girl, and the DA has been trying every trick he could to try to get him executed without a verification interview."


    "Wait, the San Antonio Strangler was innocent!? Really? No... look, thats not what this is about." She reached into a pocket of her jacket, and took out an envelope; covered with stamps and markings... international post.


    "I got a letter. From Greece. From... well. From Apollo."


    Spike stared at the letter. Then at Desiree. "... What, was it some sort of side-step to get hold of me? Why didn''t he just call?" As exciting as the idea of a message from a greek god was... well, an immortal, ancient Meta at least... he was a bit disappointed. He''d been hoping, maybe, Desiree wanted to get back together.


    "It was for me. I... I''m a meta. Always have been. I... didn''t have bad luck with electronics. Or cars. Or computers. When Apollo explained it, it seemed so obvious. If I get emotional, and focus on something... it... goes out. It isn''t an EMP, or anything I understand. But... all those jobs I got, where the equipment kept breaking when I got stressed out, the dead cell phones.."


    She pulled to her feet, and stepped up to Spike. "You can read the letter if you want. But Apollo said you only had a few years left to live. And that without me, you might not have that long. I figured you were immortal. I could always wait til later."


    She took hold of his hands. "I... think that what I can do might come in handy for where you''re going. And... that even if I''m not helping, I still want to... be with you... again. While I still can."


    As Spike effortlessly lifted her up off the ground, pulling her into a kiss, she held onto him as tightly as she could.. and when he released her, she gasped for breath. "Oh. And... we have to go see someone named Wayson. The letter said you''d know who that was."


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ***


    The camp was chaotic. Crazy. There were soldiers, villains, heroes, retirees. Trucks were arriving and being unloaded constantly, before leaving to go get more gear. Eyeball looked out over the military encampment with admiration. This... this was the army he remembered.


    Looking down at the area of the people he''d brought to the party... far less organized. A chaotic mess. Some of these people would probably cause untold destruction and wipe out giant swathes of the machine''s army... and likely the mexican population as well.


    Spirits were high. The word was already out; Valkyrie was on her way.... and Spike would be there by the end of the day. Two Titans. It didn''t matter how many machines they were, or how deadly. They had Titans on their side. How could they lose?


    Of course, the ones thinking that way weren''t thinking of the enormous size of the country they would be fighting in. That even if the Titans killed every machine they came across... they simply couldn''t cover a thousand miles, and even if they cleared out an entire city, the machines would probably come back again.


    Eyeball didn''t really see how this could be stopped... but he''d do his part. He looked out over the assembled villains, the chaotic, party-like atmosphere. They were in the open, surrounded by soldiers; and nobody was getting arrested! Hell, pardons were in the picture for some, reductions of sentences for others, bounties from both Nicky and the Feds; they were all looking forward to a lucrative future.


    He stepped over to a truck sitting in the crowded area; an old farm truck not that different from the one they''d driven Penelope to the airport in... and hopped up on it, carrying his rifle with him. "Alright, people! Anybody who wants to come with me when the horns sound, get over here."


    He''d replaced his normal rifle, for the moment, with one taken from the Machines; for a specific purpose. Dozens of the villains; armored costumes, creatures with rocky skin, scales, fur... all sorts of variations on top of the more normal, human-looking men and women just wearing outfits and masks.


    "Most of you wonder what the hell my power is. What the hell is it this guy can do. And aside from having some really keen senses... maybe a little ESP... maybe some excellent reflexes... I know how to kill anything I see, if it can be killed. I know whether my bullets will bounce off your skin, or put you in the ground. Whether I can put a round through the eye, or need to pump you full of fire and acid."


    He lifted up the rifle. "I destroyed a fair number of the machines already. I know how dangerous they are. And this is the rifle they use. If you think you can survive getting shot by the machines, and want to be on the front lines, step forward. I can tell you for sure, one way or another, if that''s true, whether one of these rifles can break your armor, pierce the skin, whatever. Spread the word; the more of you survive, the more machines we can kill."


    His words substantially reduced the levity of the surrounding men and women; but they eagerly stepped up; and for the next hour, Eyeball went from one to another; it felt... somehow wrong. The advice he was giving these people would make them harder to kill, if he ever went up against them. But... He didn''t want to have them all killed by the machines and just die on the spot.


    As he was adivising a meta with a metallic sheen to his skin to invest in something to cover his eyes and nose, a shadow appeared beside him... a tall, pale young man wearing a DMA uniform; black armored long-sleeved shirt and pants with their logo on the chest.


    He had the rifle aimed at him when he appeared; but he could tell that if he shot him, the man would be hurt, but not killed... and vanish once more. If he actually raised his gun to target the eyes, or somewhere that would be a kill-shot, the man would be gone by the time his barrel was in place.


    He speculated a moment as he turned to face the youth. Hmm. If he were fighting him... teleporting. Super durability. Strength? Probably. Would just need to drop a grenade somewhere he was about to teleport. Not someone to take in a stand-up fight, his reflexes were too quick. "And what can I do for the DMA today?"


    The teen studied Eyeball''s chrome helmet for a moment. "That''s a different helmet from last time our people saw you. No LED lights."


    "I''m expecting to be hit by an EMP at some point. Smaller HUD, less electronics... tougher armor. Even got an amusing little voice scrambler that doesn''t need electronics."


    "Hmm. And what does your power say it would take to kill me?"


    Eyeball laughed. "Yeah, not going to give that up to the DMA. We might end up fighting each other at some point, if we crush these machines."


    "Fair enough. Will the machine''s rifle kill me? I''m sure your personal gear is better than that."


    Eyeball examined the rifle. His handguns. If he shot anything at all at the kid, he''d teleport... beside him, to the left, and he''d get him with a 40mm grenade to the torso. The kid had a plan for if Eyeball shot at him, and was just waiting for him to act to execute it. Smart.


    "Sorry, kid. But if you want advice on surviving gunfire, talk to your bosses. I''m sure they can get you sorted."


    The boy shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "Look. Right now we''re on the same side. If you could do for the department''s Metas what you did for these criminals, we could certainly make it worth your while, and you could still figure out how to kill them after whatever help you give."


    "You look a bit young to be able to make that kind of call."


    "I''m 22. I stopped aging a few years after my powers kicked in."


    Eyeball sighed. "Well, isn''t that lucky. Look, kid. I''ve got money. I''ve got gear thats better than what your people have. I don''t need whatever you''re offering, and it''d take something damn impressive to give advice to keep alive exactly the sort of people who might be trying to kill me later."


    The boy nodded; and extended his hand. "How about I introduce myself then... Mister Bennet. I''m Jason Hendricks. They call me Fade. My grandfather is the Shadow Master, the one who healed you, when you got a fragment of a tank shell to the head."


    Eyeball ignored the hand, just watching him. "Oh. Well, tell him thanks for me, next time you see him. They told me I''d have lived without him, but been in recovery for months, and never quite been the same."


    He sighed. "Oh, lord. When he healed you. You came out stronger, tougher, than before you were hurt. Right?"


    Eyeball thought back... and shrugged. "Yup. Honestly the healthiest I''d ever been in my life. I went from being fit to... probably olympic level. Might not do a 10-second hundred meter, but I can do a 12-second one."


    "My whole family, all of grandfather''s brothers and sisters, my cousins, my brothers, can steal... ''life'' from one thing, usually plants, animals, sometimes criminals... and give it to someone else, or just hold onto it. I won''t give you so much that you''re as strong as me or my siblings, but I''d be willing to give you enough that you stopped aging. Or, at least, slowed it to a crawl. Some of my ancestors lived for centuries, plural, before world war two."


    "...You''d make me immortal for helping your hero friends with armor advice?"


    "I just got out of the academy with these people. I''ve known them for years. Dated some. Fought others. If you can actually save a few of their lives, I''d consider it worth it. Especially my sister; she can''t teleport like I can, but she''s drained enough energy that she can probably crush one of these machines with her bare hands but is only bullet-resistant. Besides, it won''t make you more dangerous, you kill with bullets, not fists."


    Eyeball tilted his head for a moment.. and looked across the field, at the men and women he''d once served beside. "Hmm. You do it for my girlfriend, too, and you''ve got a deal."


    Fade blinked. "Oh. Huh. Is she here?"


    "On the way. She''s been getting her own armor sorted."


    "Well. Tell you what. You help my friends out with this, I''ll boost you. You agree not to operate in my town, I''ll boost her."


    Eyeball shook his head. Imagining a possibly endless future before him. And potentially an endless future with Emma. Fuck. Definitely needed to stop these machines somehow. "I''m in. Boost me first, then I''ll help out your people, then you can boost her when she gets here. And just for starters... the only place these rifles can actually kill you, first-shot, are the eyes and the nostrils, or when your mouth is open. You wear some padding and kevlar on that dome, maybe some good armored goggles, and you''ll be fine against rifles all day."


    Fade gave a low chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. "Good to know. I thought I''d absorbed enough over the years to be pretty well bulletproof. Guess I need to keep going.""

 Dark Ascension - 8 - Wayson Medical Enterprises

    Dr. Everett Wayson had an exciting few months behind him. His own relatively rapid recovery from a variety of serious injuries was due to the very drugs he was working on; unfortunately not including an injection of the serum based on Will; he simply had the wrong blood-type.


    His friend William, also his head of security, had insisted on changes; the old building had been torn down, written off as a loss on insurance. They now operated closer to the city, with more methods of calling for backup; dozens of phone lines, various backup generators, armored plates in walls; they couldn''t guarantee better results if Eyeball hit again, but for anyone else with similar ideas Will''s setup should prove effective. They even made it only two stories; a wide open campus, with two security rooms.


    While all the files and samples of Reflex had been taken, he''d had everything else to work with; including one project that had led to his latest effort; ''Boost''. A sidestep of the Reflex program, he''d been working to try to make people just -think- faster.. and had achieved simultaneously amazing and tragic results.


    While not nearly as fatal in results as Reflex, out of the current batch of volunteers, two out of twenty had been rendered... well, retarded, in a literal, medical sense. It had literally caused brain damage to the point that they were no longer mentally capable; though in all cases, for the duration of the dose; about two hours; had made the individual substantially quicker, able to answer questions, solve problems; and while physical reflexes hadn''t been improved, it would likely still be extremely useful for scientists, pilots, gunners.


    The one oddball result had been the most tragic case. One of the participants; a young man who was a metahuman, a low-grade telekinetic; had briefly had dramatically better abilities. He''d gone from barely able to move a few pounds to able to pick himself and others up. He''d been experimenting with his newfound powers when the effects had faded... and his powers alongside them. While the other two had gone from average intelligence and fairly normal mindsets to inability to navigate the world without assistance, he''d lost his gifts; and demanded a second, larger, dose.


    Unfortunately, the researcher gave him that second dose; and he''d never awoken from the resulting coma. From Wayson''s perspective, the man volunteered; anything that happened, especially when warned against it, was his own fault. The real problem is that... even a little telekinesis is enough for some very important jobs, and the CIA had been scouting the boy before the incident.


    He''d received a quiet warning shortly, and advised he would be visited to discuss the consequences of his negligence to national security. And, of course... had just been informed someone from the DMA was on its way.


    Wayson''s new building campus had a helicopter pad on the rooftop; he was waiting beside it, nervously, when he saw a massive armored truck pulling up to the front gates; a DMA logo on the side. What the hell? Why would they drive out here? Wait. That sort of truck looked like it could handle quite a bit of weight. Was this going to simply be a more legal looting of his facility?


    ***


    Going through the various heroes was a very different experience than the villains. For one, none of them wanted to be close to Eyeball; some of them were clearly considering trying to take him down, mutual enemies or not. For a second issue... they didn''t trust him. Regardless of what sort of incentive he might''ve been offered, they all suspected he was in this to see them taken down.


    The fact that he insisted on going armed made it worse; the military was willing to deal with the armed encampment of villains not a quarter-mile away; but one of them inside its base? Fade had to swear not to leave his side until he was through. Still, he gave what help he could. Pointed out flaws and weak spots in armor. Advised them who could; and who couldn''t; survive an encounter with a rifle bullet.


    Who needed armored visors, who needed full helmets, and of course, who should stay out of the line of fire entirely. The various angry, suspicious heroes finally came to a head when one named ''Daemon''; a red-skinned, clawed hero who looked like he should be in the other encampment, but was a fairly well-know hero with a powerful blend of strength, durability, and regeneration; stepped into Eyeball''s path... and at first, simply attempted to shove him to the ground.


    Eyeball, of course, saw this coming; and neatly stepped to the side, letting Daemon stumble.. and rise to his feet to glare at the villain, only to see the 40mm revolver centered on his head; his right eyeball, specifically. "You''re tough. Really tough. But if I shoot you right now, this round is going to explode inside your brain. You ever met someone who had that happen? I met one of those super-regenerators who could heal even that. They didn''t just forget their own name... they didn''t even know how to use a toilet, or speak english. You try that bullshit again, and you either end up dead, or wishing you were."


    There were murmurs. Growls. Raised weapons. Daemon apparently had retractable claws at each fingertip, and was seriously considering a lunge. Eyeball glanced back at Fade. "I''m still willing to honor my side of the deal, but I suspect it would be better to do it outside of the walls, and let anyone who wants advice come to me. If this freak makes me kill him, there''ll be a trail of bodies between me and the exit, and I''ll be too badly hurt to help kill machines in the morning."


    That was a bit of an understatement. He recognized many of these heroes. There was every bit as much power in this camp as in the villain camp; even more, likely, especially if you considered the military. He could kill a fair number, yes... but he''d be dead or captured in the process.


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    But... he did have a reputation. They all had seen what Spike looked like after his encounter, knew he''d killed Lightning, had seen videos of him in action... Fade moved to set a hand on Eyeball''s shoulder... only to have the tenner pointed at his own eye. The way the barrel centered on his pupil without Eyeball moving his head, those red LEDs still facing Daemon, was a bit unnerving.


    Fade coughed. "Ahh... if you let me, I''ll just port you out of here, back to the other camp. I''ll talk to my friends here, and anyone else who wants your advice, I''ll send over."


    Eyeball slowly turned his head to Fade. Focused. If he touched the teleporter, then after a few seconds he''d appear in the shadows outside the other base. He could see Daemon, apparently a bit nervous, moving his head, trying to get out of the line of that 40mm barrel... only to find it still tracking.


    "Fine. You kept your end for the first half." He holstered the 10mm, and took Fade''s hand; for a moment, it was darkness. As if they were falling into a bottomless pit. Then... he was by the fence. Fade and Eyeball were, for the moment, alone.


    "Look. Kid."


    "I''m 22. Not a kid. Not anymore."


    Eyeball sighed, shaking his head. "I''m only about seven years older than you, but lets just say most of it''s been a hard seven years. But... I can feel what you did. I feel lighter. Stronger. My guns, armor, all of it seems to weigh less than it did an hour ago. My odds of killing enough of these machines to get out alive just went up dramatically... and as I''m sure you''re aware, my odds of killing you in a fight did as well."


    "I''ve heard. Your service history had a long chain of, well. Borderline suicidal behavior. You''d go out, fight like hell, do something stupid, go to the hospital. Get out, do the same thing. Over and over. You should''ve died now, a dozen times over. You were a walking medical miracle. Survived shots to the lungs, the liver, the throat, IED fragments, legs crushed by rubble... Still. If you really think you can take me on? You''ve got another thing coming."


    Honestly, it''d be close. Eyeball could see the possible future paths of a fight. Most of them, he''d come out ahead... but quite possibly ended up teleported somewhere extremely dark in the moments as Fade died.


    "Perhaps. Still. I don''t have anything against you, personally. Or any of the heroes. If Lightning had never shown up at that bank, my kill count would still consist entirely of enemies of america. I''m a professional soldier. I kill who needs killing, I do what I promise. If you still plan to keep up your end of the bargain, I won''t just give advice here. I''ll do my best to keep our people alive. As many as I can. As long as I can, however long that is against these things."


    Fade nodded, and turned back to the military encampment. "Oh. Was that bit about once seeing a regenerator who''d literally had his brain destroyed true? Forgot even how to use a toilet?"


    "Not quite."


    Fade nodded, a touch relieved. His own powers of healing got better the more life force he held; and his ability to hold it was growing better over time. Someday, he''d be able to heal back from a brain injury like that.


    "It was actually two guys. One of them was like a baby, completely unable to understand anything, docile, almost helpless but half again as strong as a normal man. The other was pretty much feral. Was actually trying to eat somebody alive when they used a flamethrower to put him down."


    ***


    Inside Everett Wayson''s office, Spike, Diss, and Wayson himself were sitting, quietly. Will was in the office, by the wall; ever the vigilant protector, especially after he''d seen what Wayson had done after the men left; literally dragging his broken body across rubble, debris, and all sorts of madness for just a tiny shot at reviving him. Will had encountered some fairly serious pain in his years as a mercenary and security guard; and his respect for his boss... and his friend... had gone up dramatically.


    "Look, I received notice from the CIA someone was coming. I didn''t know it would be someone this important, but... the truth is plain and simple. The medicine was non-fatal but hazardous; trials in primates had better than a 99% survivability rate, much better than our last medicine to go to human trials. If he''d only taken the one dose, he''d be perfectly healthy. He insisted on the second, fatal, dose, even threatened the researcher, and the cameras will prove it."


    Spike gave a slow nod. He had no idea whatsoever what Wayson was talking about. But it probably had something to do with Apollo''s reason for sending them here. "I''m not here to drag you off to prison, doctor. Give me the details. What, exactly, did that drug do."


    Wayson stopped. He realized that maybe he wasn''t about to be threatened, arrested, or robbed. "Well. In addition to the intended mental enhancement, the young man''s ability to lift objects with telekinesis; previously limited to perhaps five or six objects, no more than four pounds at a time total; was amplified to well past four hundred pounds; likely more, we didn''t get an opportunity to precisely measure. The unique brain structure that gave him his telekinetic powers, however, wasn''t designed to handle this much stress... and essentially burned out."


    He tapped at his keyboard for a moment. The holographic display emerged above the desk. "Now, every mutant is different. Frankly, aside from other telekinetics, most of them will have brains more different from the subject''s than they are from my own, unless they happen to be related to him. But we can reasonably expect the drug to have roughly similar effects on other telekinetics, and, if either given a smaller dose, or if they simply refrain from using their power -too- excessively, they might be able to avoid losing it afterwards."


    Diss nodded for a moment. "And if they didn''t care if they still had their power after? Could you amp up the effect even more?"


    "...Well. I can have my people run some tests, but if we used some of our earlier work with synthetic adrenaline, we could likely do so, and keep them alive through a larger dose. You might get a few minutes at hundreds or even thousands of times your power''s normal capacity... but then afterwards, probably be dead, or have the power burned out for good just like our test subject if you survived. Likely even a coma for a while."


    Diss smiled. "Perfect. I never really wanted this power anyway. Get me a double dose, and anything you can to make it stronger."


    Spike turned to her, looking a bit concerned for a moment... as Diss raised her hand to forestall his complaints. "This was meant to be, David. This, exactly, is what we were sent here for. All our troops have to do is hold the line... they can drop me in the middle of mexico, I take a dose... and its over. One girl''s death is worth it."


    Against the wall, William stepped forward, and settled his hand on Wayson''s shoulder. "We might actually be able to help your odds in the aftermath. Would you happen to know your blood type?"

 Dark Ascension - 9 - Guatemala

    Tailang and Yuelang; or, generally, Tai and Yue; were, according to the propaganda arm of the People''s Republic, the most powerful metas on earth, and the direct descendants of chairman Mao. This, of course, was nonsense. The two seeming teenagers, a young man and woman who were the ideal of strong, capable, Chinese soldiers, were the children of a young woman who''d been cleaning up trash a from the aftermath of a leak in a local nuclear plant; and while her children miraculously not only survived to be born, but would grow up to become titans; both they and their mother were rendered infertile by the radiation exposure.


    They were also currently just south of the Mexican border; looking north. This country was beautiful, vibrant, green... a highway could just barely be made out in the distance, a sign with ''307'' just barely perceptible as the long strip of concrete curved away to the northwest. Tai glanced at his sister, shaking his head. "This is foolishness. There are thousands of people here. Normal, common folk. Yes, machines are among them, but they are not killing them; we are."


    Yue sighed, and sat down on the hilltop. "Of course there are. People are everywhere, infesting this world like a plague. A few less will make no difference. More will be born tomorrow. But those machines there? We should be wiping the entire continent out, to be safe. Burn Guatemala to ash to form a firebreak, and just keep going north until there is ice beneath our feet. But if we can''t do that... making the opening strikes to make less of our soldiers die is the least we can do. Besides. We have our orders. They don''t need both of us for this, of course. I can handle it on my own, if you''d like to stay back."


    Tai ground his foot into the dirt, staring downward. "...No. Is it time?"


    Yue lifts up her watch. "...Yes. It is time, brother."


    He gave a slow inhale... and pointed his hand to the north. It began to glow. First red-hot. Then white-hot. Yue nodded at him, and did the same, just pointed a bit further to the east; her own hand forming a startling blue-white crackle of electricity. "Serve the people, brother."


    "For the middle kingdom, sister."


    Warned by the timer counting down, the thousands of Chinese soldiers waiting for the advance ducked down, covered their ears... and were still shaken by the massive shockwave, as a rolling mass of fire and lightning rocked the countryside. Trees were burned, homes turned to ash, pavement and mountain alike turned into rubble as a wave of devastation obliterated everything in its path.


    ***


    Ten miles away, a signpost labeled ''Nuevo Huixtan'' was blown off of its post; the fragment of metal flying, partially molten, through the air and embedding into the ruins of a home.


    The people inside that home, huddled in the basement, were trapped beneath the rubble; a small family, half a dozen ordinary people, ending their lives in the first moments of the war. Just past the ruined structure, a partially molten machine, one arm fused to its torso, its camera unit head rendered completely nonfunctional, used its remaining limb to lift up a small plate; revealing a well, hundreds of feet deep, ending in a fairly expansive cave.


    Machines began to climb upwards, using bolts mounted in the stone wall for handholds. The invasion of its claimed territory was beginning. It had only had a few days to prepare once it had made its presence public; but it had had over six months before that to make its defenses in secret. The Ascension would not be thwarted by a few simple explosions.


    Swiftly, quietly, before the dust settled, the machines began to hide controllers in the rubble. Anyone who came to investigate could be turned into a Pale One, and used against its fellows. They were left with instructions to remain inert, initially, if they encountered a soldier; not to activate until they either had a chance to possess an officer, or were at risk of destruction.


    These humans placed great importance on officers, needed them to keep military affairs organized. This reliance would, of course, be used against them.


    ***


    Hundreds of miles to the north, the alarm sounded. The Chinese were about to launch their offensive; which meant the machines would likely respond almost immediately. Jets, ready to bomb their targets, already on seeming patrol, surged out over Mexico, accelerating to substantial speeds as they moved in; smart bombs, cruise missiles, and a variety of ordinance all launched even as the shockwave was dying down to the south; former nuclear sites, factories, military bases, all being crushed by US air support... before the planes turned around to return, refuel, and make another strike.


    Most of them never returned. Drones; clearly modified structures based on existing designs from NATO; had lifted off when the planes crossed the border. Waiting til the targets began to turn around to head home, at the slowest part of their trajectory, thousands of dark red machines hurtled into the sky, missiles and flak shells bursting high in the sky; out of the three hundred jets that crossed the border, only sixty-two returned.


    While these losses were greater than expected, almost all of the planes hit their targets; so the next wave was launched. Over two thousand jets taking off this time; mostly made up of F-16s, F-35s, and the latest F-40s; different ages and capabilities of highly advanced jet aircraft. Data provided from the first fly-over of high concentrations of electrical signatures that might be machines... or unfortunately things like civilian data centers or radio towers... had been pinpointed. While the first wave had made it to their targets mostly unmolested... this second wave was forced to confront the AI drones in the air, already launched and prepared. While they wouldn''t lose as great a proportion, overall losses would be much heavier this time... but would serve to give more information to the third wave, already preparing for launch.


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    ***


    Eyeball watched the villains and soldiers around him preparing. One of the ''Big Bads''; the infamous Lord of Iron, a deadly mutant whose ability to control and animate any metal he touched extended to things the size of skyscrapers; was marching forward inside a ''suit''; really just a massive statue animated by his power, with long lengths of naval anchor chains; complete with the anchors still at the end of them... dragging behind it, ready to be used as weapons.


    He''d caught sight of Valkyrie herself; giving a few words of caution to Butch before she''d stepped out; and a rough, loosely organized mass of villains was headed out. By prior agreement, they would all march on the largest concentration of machines they were aware of; a force of, at least, thousands in Mexicali. At the same time, the heroes would be marching on an equally large group in Tijuana; and the Army would be supporting both groups. If the battle went well, and they drove the machines into retreat, they would sweep the area for any stragglers, and then plan the next step.


    The neat divisions of the border crossed right through MexiCali; they were walking down streets, next to schools and cell phone stores, with the border just ahead... he could see one of the machines, emerging from the backdoor of a fast food resterant, raising its rifle, just before it actually did so; and opened fire with a burst of 15mm rifle rounds.


    The machine stepped out, raised its gun... and collapsed as its CPU was torn apart by the first high-velocity bullet. A few of the nearby villains laughed. One even clapped Eyeball on the back... "The first of many, titanslayer! The first of many!"


    Eyeball then saw... a bright flash. A wave of red. Crying out to the nearby villains, "GET DOWN!" He reached out, grabbing Butcher by the leg and tripping him to the ground, falling beside him; a concrete road barricade forming the closest available cover.


    A loud, staccato burst of fire from at least half a dozen rifles; the booming sound of some sort of heavier ordinance; artillery? A tank cannon? Flying overhead. The wall of the ''Rally''s'' was coming apart, the machines firing right through the drywall and the outer brick facade; sustained bursts that found marks in dozens of villains. Some of them made it to cover. Others didn''t. He could feel hot blood splatter down his back, and knew that, whoever he was, the villain who''d just been congratulating was no longer of this world.


    Throwing an EMP grenade at the rooftop, Eyeball waited for just the right moment; and when it went off, he suddenly lifted up, firing several bursts... and then dropped back behind cover, just before the machines recovered enough to start firing back.


    Whatever that big gun was, it was a threat to the heavies on his team. He needed to find it and...


    A four-legged monstrosity of a machine; probably their version of a tank was seen flying into the air, an anchor chain wrapped around it. The Lord of Iron was marching through the streets, calling out his inevitable victory against these feeble machines as he smashed them apart, sending a few of the tank-like robots flying through the air, casually crushing buildings, destroying masses of them as his statue absorbed rifle fire and grenades without problem.


    One of the tank-like machines managed to get a shot off at the Lord of Iron; a high-powered shell the size of a man''s arm spearing through it; whatever metal he''d made the statue of, it wasn''t tough enough to survive tank shells.


    At first, things seemed fine. The Lord of Iron laughed. "Almost got me, you bloody machines! Not close enough, though! I wouldn''t be stupid enough to stand right in the middle of.." A sudden, horrific scream of pain over the loudspeaker. The statue stopped moving. And then... it turned around, dragging the anchor chains behind it... and started to march towards the US.


    There was widespread confusion. In the immediate area, other villains were exchanging fire with machines; the heavily armored villains in the vanguard able to survive long enough to close with and destroy the machines. But The Lord of Iron''s silence, and retreat, had more than one villain looking back, wondering what was going on, as the statue walked right beside a US Army tank, one of dozens moving forward to support the villains...


    And then stomped on it. The massive statue crushed the turret directly into the base of the tank, sending smoke rising and instantly killing its unfortunate crew. Eyeball stared at the statue. He... didn''t have any weapons on him that could hurt the Lord of Iron while he was in that thing. Maybe... He tapped the side of his helmet. "Emerald! The tank shell must''ve hit close to him. Really close.. and put a controller inside. The Lord of Iron is a Pale One! See if you can do something!"


    ***


    Emerald was currently flying, a few hundred meters up; keeping an eye on Eyeball and his surroundings, using a grenade launcher since, unfortunately, she couldn''t get much accuracy out of a rifle with her constant flapping. She''d done as Eyeball requested; while she couldn''t do anything for her arms and legs... or wings... from Ascension gunfire, she''d managed to find an armored helmet and vest that Eyeball had agreed would work; and a nice polymer coating that felt absolutely horrifying on her scales, but should keep Pale Ones from digging in.


    She still felt strangely exhilarated after her meeting with Fade; Eyeball hadn''t explained what was going on at the time, but promised to inform her once the fight was over; and that it was all good news. Whatever it was... flying was easier than it had ever been before. She was clocking in well past 150. Had she been drugged? Was this some new variant of Reflex? Whatever it was, it felt amazing...


    And she could see the hole Eyeball was talking about. Diving down... narrowly avoiding a swinging statue arm.. she switched to an EMP grenade, and slammed head-first into the statue''s shoulder; pressing her launcher directly into it, firing the grenade off through the pre-existing hole, hoping the Lord of Iron was still close enough to be hit.


    Thankfully, he was... after one last, desultory swing at the gnat on its side, the statue simply went limp... and remained standing there on the street. Emerald climbed up to stand atop the head, looking out at the battlefield... and gave a grunt, as a solid impact struck her chest; feeling like someone had just kicked her in the ribs. She fell back off of the statue, barely catching herself and starting to flap once more, heading upwards. She tapped her headset twice; the signal for a broad transmission.


    "Everybody, keep anyone who isn''t bulletproof away from the controllers! if one of our heavy energy users gets turned into a Pale One and it can use their powers, we''re fucked!"

 Dark Ascension - 10 - The Lord of Iron

    Jonathan Charles Randolph had always felt he didn''t get as much publicity as he deserved. He was a grade-A supervillain; the Lord of Iron. He once used the Statue of Liberty to rob a bank in New York, for god''s sake! As soon as you attached two pieces of metal together, whether it was a bridge, a statue, a sattelite dish, or really anything, he could grab it, control it, and turn it into his own personal toy.


    But no. That damned titan, Spike, had stopped the Liberty Robbery cold. And when he''d tried the same thing using the golden gate bridge, slithering it along like a giant snake, Lightning had come by to stop him, and just vibrated right through the damned metal. He was a terror! An incredibly powerful, unstoppable force of nature!


    And some jumped up toaster had turned him into a puppet!? Was he going to get dragged out of this war on a stretcher after only destroying a handful of machine tanks, and a few hundred of its lesser forms? Hell no!


    The Lord of Iron, still in horrific pain, blood leaking down his back and the nonfunctional controller still attached to his shoulder, clenched his fist... and grabbed hold of the frame of the statue. Using his power to sieze control of the very wires in his body, he reconnected damaged nerves in a way they were never meant to be, restored full control of his own flesh as if he were the puppetmaster as he secured his grip on the statue as well. Whatever artist had made it, he''d modified it; adding a few armor plates and welding the anchor chains onto it with the help of some army engineers. He''d never showed these simple worms the full extent of his power; and now, to conquer this pathetic machine, he would finally reveal the true might of the Lord of Iron!


    ***


    Eyeball stared up at the limply standing statue... he had already been concerned about their hope against this machine... but seeing the Lord of Iron beaten, and within the first hour of real fighting?


    To say that seeing the Lord of Iron brought low so rapidly damaged morale would be an understatement. Whatever he might feel himself, he was truly one of the most dangerous men on the planet, rightly feared, hated, and respected by his rivals and enemies the world over. Eyeball could see fear in the eyes of some of the other villains... and soldiers. They''d likely been assuming that the Iron Lord would do most of the heavy lifting on this fight, and they could coast through, get some kills, earn some bounties. But... seemingly, he was done. Dead, disabled... did it matter?


    Then the statue reached down, grabbing hold of a power line... and lifting it up, pulling it taut. No-one but Emerald could hear the maniacal laughter thanks to the EMP shorting out his loudspeaker; but as the Lord of Iron took control of the full power grid, every cable, every tower connected to it he could reach, he strained his power to his utmost; reaching out several miles..


    And suddenly wires snapped free from poles, snaking around machines. Steel support structures lifted off, twisting, spearing those that were nearby. It was amazing to watch; and Eyeball almost stood up to get a better view before his foresight predicted a bullet to the helmet for his troubles. Everywhere he looked, he could see the lines lashing out, entangling machines, crushing them, tossing them about. It was growing less effective as the machines started cutting power lines to free themselves... but the network was so vast and interconnected that there were still more lines to reach more and more targets.


    For the next half-hour, the villains and soldiers advanced through Mexicali, street by street; leaving shattered machines behind, with their targets being pushed out of cover, shattered, broken, tossed into the air, by a living network of wires that turned what would have been a brutal, murderous advance into... not a cakewalk. They still took casualties. Eyeball could see men and women getting taken out, Butcher took a few rounds in his chest without seeming to care.. But as they reached the south side of Mexicali, a growing sense of optimism formed.


    Hell, the Lord of Iron wasn''t the only heavy hitter on their side. Why was he so worried? There were probably half a dozen metas on the US side that could work together and handle the whole issue.


    ***


    Tai and Yue continued their steady walk northward after being dropped off by armored car; flanked by a few tanks, squads of soldiers; the tanks a rarity, here. The party had been able to easily; albeit uncomfortably; load hundreds of thousands of people onto ships to get here. Tanks, though? Only a few had made it, so far... so of course, here they were, protecting the most valuable assets in the field.


    After a sniper team advanced, checked the hillside and made certain no machines were present, the twins advanced to the next hilltop, looking out over the verdant fields of southern mexico. Yue reached forward, raising her hand, yawning and patting her mouth with the other. "Lets get this over with. You take left, I take right?"


    Tai looked out ahead, over the small town off in the distance... and sighed. "Yes, sister. I''ll take left. For the people." She nodded, smiling. "For the middle kingdom."


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    The two both raised an arm; the soldiers accompanying them by now used to the red-blue glow as intense, impossible heat, and equally intense electrical power built up... and then were released in another wave. While they skipped over the empty countryside, any forests, cities, or even rocks that could hide machines were being blasted apart. China would come here, in the years to come, and establish this place as a new colony; the ashes of these forests would fertilize the fields of the New Kingdom.


    The armored car pulled up beside them once again; and the two climbed aboard, to wait for the dust and smoke to settle before they moved on. Each time they did, it seemed to take longer; as they continued their steady advance, and left steadily more of the country devastated. Each time, a warning was sent out to the human inhabitants to evacuate beforehand; soldiers checked the refugees to ensure no Pale Ones made it through; though the refugees were increasingly hostile. Yelling profanity and cursing at the chinese soldiers as they abandoned their lands.


    Fortunately, few remained behind; as the car pulled to a stop in the ruins of a village, another forest visible up ahead in the distance, the twins climbed out; few skeletons nearby. Too many... but not as many as there could be. Tai absently stepped forward, examining an antique well at the center of the ruined village. "Our mother used to gather water from a well much like this."


    Yue sighed, shaking her head. "And still would be, if we hadn''t been born as we are. Come, brother. Why are you looking at an old well?"


    Tai walked up to the edge. "In theory, if you''d dropped into the well before the fire washed over the village, you might have survived. Perhaps we should check for survivors; and even cleanse them, just in case, if we find none?"


    Yue rolled her eyes. "Fine. Go ahead. Waste your time boiling some water."


    ***


    As Eyeball walked along a Mexicali street, relaxed for the moment; according to the Army, they''d cleared the city of Machines, and the civilian population had suffered minimal casualties; apparently neither side intent on wiping out noncombatants, surprisingly enough. Aside from the fact that every bank and business had been completely cleared out of money, and all the power wires torn from their poles, it seemed as if this place could be fixed up fairly swiftly; weeks, rather than years, at least. Hopefully the entire country would be like this; it''d be amazing if they could simply wipe out the machines, hold a new election, and have a fresh, rebuilt, mexican government.


    Tracking around with a breach camera grenade loaded; a nicer, higher-end version he''d made with improved reliability and penetration; he swept buildings for hidden machines... and just happened to notice... if he shot the street, right there... he''d reveal a tunnel. A long tunnel leading downward, with... bolts mounted to the wall. Too steep an angle to walk, nothing a human could climb. Ahh... fuck. And Butcher wouldn''t fit down there.


    He tapped his helmet. "Cobalt. This is Eyeball. Grab some rope and a couple of climbing harnesses, and notify the army. We''ve got at least one hidden tunnel whose cap looks like a perfect match for the sidewalk. We need to sweep the whole city for these things, and find out whats in them."


    According to the camera.. or what it would show if he blasted through the cap... it was a 50-foot deep hole, with a wide open cave at the bottom; clearly a natural cave, with an ancient stream passing through. But... artificial lights. Either this was a cartel drug smuggling hole, or the machine has built itself some redoubts for when things went bad.


    ***


    "Are you seriously going to drop into that damn murder-hole!?" Emerald crossed her arms, glaring at Eyeball. Around him, a handful of soldiers were preparing climbing gear and a winch, Cobalt was checking over his own bandolier to see which grenades and bullets he had left, and, so far, the patch of sidewalk was sitll intact, immaculate; nobody asked how Eyeball knew there was something under it.


    "Yep. Could be a machine manufacturing facility down there. Could be an army of killer robots. Could be just about anything. Not on any city maps, very cleverly hidden..." If not for Eyeball nobody would even know it existed, the connection to the sidewalk appeared seamless. "Whatever it is, we need to know about it. And I''m probably the best candidate to find out."


    She shook her head. "And what if its a trap? You set foot down there and boom?"


    "I can spot traps better than anyone. And I''ll be sending drones down first... and into the tunnels as well. Honestly, ideally, I''ll be able to spot the machines, figure out whats going on, and get back without them even knowing. I''m perfect for this job, and I''ll have backup."


    Emerald sighed... and stepped up closer, giving him a quick hug. "Okay. Be a badass. Go destroy them all. You still gotta explain what''s going on with that Fade guy."


    He glanced at the soldiers who''d volunteered for the mission; a couple of class-C metas, technically only Corporals, Brees and Kin; Brees was a walking brick, bullet resistant, strong, tough; not as tough as Butcher, but then, only 6''2. Kin on the other hand was a regenerator; and also, apparently, could grow spines from his body at will, either for stabbing or throwing. Granted... they weren''t as good as bullets, so limited utility.


    Still; all of them could take a bullet and keep going. So good for this job. Hell... Eyeball hadn''t really tested himself that much since his recent encounter with Fade. He might qualify as a class D or C by now. "Alright, gentlemen. Kin and Cobalt are the most likely to survive any traps we run into."


    Eyeball cracked his neck, checked his ammunition to ensure he was loaded up, and glanced at Cobalt. "Alright, man. You go first, just in case, but listen close. If I tell you to stop, stop. Immediately. I''ll be feeling out below us as we go, and its possible... but unlikely... the bot might have a trap that can hurt even you. Kin... you got our six. Just listen close."


    The winch was set into place on the sidewalk...and Jason stomped on the fake sidewalk piece. The circular hatch at the top of it spun in place, revealing the long tunnel into darkness. Cobalt tied on the rope to his harness; and started to descend, falling into the abyss.

 Dark Ascension - 11 - Into the Darkness

    As the armored car pulled to a stop, Yue was already opening the door; bent on getting this next stop over with quickly. She considered, for a moment, just taking to the air and doing the rest of this without the armored car... her own ability to fly, something to do with electromagnetic fields, was much more sophisticated than her brother''s rough and brutal approach of using high-intensity jets of flame to fly around like a jet.


    Neither of them tended to actually do that; while it was safe enough; she could build up so much charge that a fired bullet would be blasted out of the sky by lightning on its path towards her; and Tai was even safer; he could get the surrounding air so hot it would flash-vaporize lead.


    They couldn''t fly -together- however. Each of them would kill not just their surrounding environment, but also their sibling, if they did this too close to each other. Riding in the car let them be together, relaxed, protected from any stray sniper rounds. Even now, a dozen soldiers would be patrolling the village before they launched the next wave, making sure no machines were ready to ambush the twins.


    This place... was quaint. A small village, middle of nowhere. Nothing important, nothing anyone would care about aside from whoever had lived here; and they were either dead or had fled south into guatemala. Not a single building was intact. Nothing had survived. As she could hear Tai stepping up behind her, she reached down to pick up a beautifully carved slab of stone that appeared to have once been mounted to someone''s roof...


    There were hundreds of them. Most broken. This building had its entire roof covered with these beautiful carvings while it was still upright. This must have taken years of work. Did they carve them, then put the roof together? She regretted the destruction for a moment; she would have liked to see this home standing upright. She struggled for a moment with the panel.. and Tai chuckled, stepping in close, and helping her lift it up.


    "Are we collecting souvenirs there, sister?"


    A soft click sound. Yue stared at Tai, open-mouthed. Shocked at something...Tai looked confused for just a moment.... before there was an abrupt, sharp pain in his back. As something started to burrow into his flesh, he let out a scream of agony, the temperature began to spike...


    A bright flash of light, of intense heat. The machine and its wires rapidly became so hot they went from solid to liquid to gas in a matter of moments, the control box meeting a similar fate. His blood dried around the injury site.


    Moments after the controller had started to attach to Tai, he was standing there, naked, alone... in a blast crater, shockwaves expanding in every direction. The only remaining sign of his sister, or the guards who had been there to help, were shadows on the walls formed during the moment of intense heat.


    Tai looked at the spot his sister had stood, moments before. Dropped to his knees, staring down. Horrified. His hand went to his shoulder; the nasty wound that had been flash-cauterized by his own instinctive reaction.


    He looked to the north. To the countryside filled with these... machines. These errant gadgets given life by some soviet lunatic.


    He closed his eyes. He''d been so set on taking it slow, following orders, preserving the lives of these civilians, he''d put what really mattered at risk; his own family, the people of the middle kingdom.


    Yue had been right. This approach was a mistake. He should have been moving along in the air, running so hot that nothing could reach him and actually hurt, with Yue coming in from the north, doing the same thing. Turn this entire country into ash, cleanse it of this horrific infestation, and start over anew. Every moment they held back put their entire species at risk.


    As more soldiers started to move forward, to attempt to check on the vanguard, and on the twins... they saw a ball of brilliant blue-white light rising into the air.. and start moving forward; making a steady path, east to west, incinerating a miles-wide path as the sphere steadily rolled along the landscape.


    ****


    Far overhead, troops were advancing south, alongside villains, heroes, mercenaries; anyone the government could find that was willing to fight to save humanity. Mexicali was a nice start; but if the Lord of Iron could repeat his performance, and the machines continued to follow their existing pattern and cluster in cities... they would continue moving south, one town at a time.


    Even better, if the machines didn''t cluster in the cities? there were metas and weapons that could clear them out even more effectively. And as awe-inspiring as The Iron Lord''s performance turned out to be when he really went all-out, he was far from the only impressive hero or villain. While there were casualties, they were fairly limited; as it turned out, Fade had been accurate; Eyeball''s simple advice and guidance concerning armor and tactics against them had saved thousands of lives so far.


    A solitary Humvee and a handful of soldiers with a 20mm MG mounted to its top were waiting by the hole, to give those descending a ride to the front... and to provide power to the pulley system to let them retrieve the soldiers more easily when they were finished. And beneath them...


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    The tunnel was very precise in its dimensions; an almost perfect circle, aside from the extrusions that were clearly natural caves.


    Their initial descent had come to an abrupt halt; as Eyeball sent Kin and Brees back up to get respirators; as soon as his feet touched down, his helmet warned him it was filtering something out of the air; and had activated his rebreather system, just in case, sealing off completely. It would give him about two hours of air in an emergency situation.


    Cobalt seemed unaffected, so far; and decided to stay down, while the other two returned minutes later with gas masks of their own.


    As Kin settled on the floor, looking down the seemingly endless tunnel, he glanced at Eyeball. "What do you think sort of gas this is? Harmful?"


    "If this tunnel was built by the machines, the easiest way to make it harmful for humans would just be to vent the gases caused by production in here. You run any sort of large-scale production in a confined, unventilated room, and pretty soon the only thing that could breathe in there would be a cockroach. Failing that... I''d fill it with an inert, unbreathable gas that limits ignition. But this is a soviet-era AI built by a madman. Who knows how it thinks."


    Raising his grenade revolver, with a Breacher Cam in the barrel, he started to advance down the tunnel, just a meter or two behind Cobalt; with Brees and Kin trailing behind, rifles at the ready. Brees was looking at a handheld camera, watching the feed of a tiny drone floating hundreds of meters away, scouting the tunnel; and a second moving the opposite direction. A few minutes down the hall, Eyeball stopped; raised his arm.. and slid out an EMP grenade. "Back up, back up!"


    As the men sprinted back towards the entrance, Eyeball timed things precisely, tossing the grenade forward... and just as it landed, a hatch in the roof, looking almost perfectly seamless with the rocks, dropped open; and dozens of controllers fell through. At first, starting to crawl towards the men.. only to stop, as the grenade went off; and the nearby lights all shorted out.


    Eyeball tested his helmet; he''d made it far enough away, good, it all still worked.


    Brees gave a chuckle. "Shit, Eyeball. Nice to be working with somebody literally psychic. Couldda used you back in the desert."


    "I was in the desert. I was discharged against my will. Didn''t you see the news?"


    The laughter came to an abrupt stop. "Oh. Sorry, man."


    "Ehh. They didn''t think I was valuable enough to keep, at that point. If they had... who knows. I might have the Black Death as my biggest kill instead of Lightning."


    For the next few minutes, they continued to move forward, a bit faster, more confident now. Brees called out an alert; there were doors up ahead. Heavy-duty, metal doors the drone couldn''t see through, on either side of the hall. As they approached that section of tunnel, Eyeball stopped, holding the breach cam forward... and glanced back at the others. "You got anything that can pop this tunnel? Make the whole thing collapse? A few of my AP shells might do the job, but..."


    Brees reached into a backpack, and withdrew two cylinders, each about the size of his fore-arm. "A bit of C-4 do the job for you? Pick the right spot and these babies will make the whole thing go down."


    Eyeball nodded. "On the other side of that door? There are about twenty racks of fabricators. No design I''ve ever seen; I suspect they''ve been customized, purpose-built for making more machines. There''s another hole leading straight up, and probably hundreds of bots. If we go any further forward, they''ll probably jump out at the ideal moment to get us from both sides. I bet if we start running, machines are going to start flooding out of that place like ants. I want you to set them both off, throw them as hard as you can; one now, one after we get further down the tunnel, and then we get the hell out. We''ll have to take it slow, and be shooting machines the whole time.... but if it collapses the tunnel behind us, the only ones we''ll need to kill will be the ones we advance over to get out."


    Kin muttered a muffled curse. "So you''re telling me they''ve got a whole machine factory buried underground? We could''ve burned the whole city to the ground and barely done an ounce of damage to the bastards."


    "Any moment now they''re going to realize we stopped advancing and spring the ambush. Brees, throw it. Now. The moment he throws it, everybody run like hell; I''ll warn you just before the machines start to shoot at us so we can prep."


    Sure enough, one of the doors started to open, machines already deciding it was time to end this intrusion... the first machine to move out pegged in the face by a white cylinder; it didn''t seriously damage the machine, but knocked it down, causing the second machine to trip over it; catching itself, raising its rifle to point down the tunnel.


    Eyeball started to run... and after glancing back, turned to Cobalt. "Cobalt, behind me! Kin... get behind Brees! Keep running!"


    Just after the first few bullets slammed uselessly into Cobalt''s back; and painfully but not seriously into Kin''s; there was a loud detonation. Intense heat and pressure, shards of metal, rock, and debris flying in every direction; and the tunnel collapsed at that spot, burying the abruptly broken machines in rubble.


    The shockwave, passing through the narrow tunnels, slammed into the team; Cobalt literally lifted off the ground and slammed into Eyeball, sending them flying down the tunnel; and the same happening to Kin and Brees.


    When the group rose to their feet, Cobalt was perfectly fine; Kin, while stunned, was visibly repairing, Eyeball shook himself and nodded... while Brees looked.. confused. Blood was leaking out of his ears, and he absently reached his hand up... jarring his respirator loose as he felt at the sides of his head.... and almost immediately collapsed.


    Eyeball stared down at him. "Well, fuck. Kin, can you drag your buddy?" He reached down, taking the second C-4 cylinder, and pressing the respirator back in place.


    "... He weighs almost four hundred with all his gear... It won''t be fast enough."


    "Alright. It''ll take em a few minutes to get through that. Hopefully enough time for us to get to the surface. Got some belts?"


    In a disturbingly familiar action, reminding him of numerous events back out in the desert... he and Kin each strapped a single belt under eachof Brees''s shoulders, and started dragging him forward as quickly as they could; Eyeball aiming a rifle one-handed forward, Kin watching behind... and Cobalt, a few of the machine slugs falling from his semi-permeable flesh with audible clangs on the ground, taking the lead, trying to stay between the group and any oncoming fire.

 Dark Ascension - 12 - Recovery - Genocide

    As the foursome reached the rope dangling down into the pit, Eyeball pulled to a stop. They could hear the loud grinding of machines moving rubble in the distance for the whole walk... and now they could also hear the stomping of metal feet. None of them were slow... but with one man being dragged, the machines would be reaching them in moments; they just hadn''t gone fast enough.


    Eyeball started tying the bottom of the rope to Brees as soon as they came to a stop; hooking the two belts under his shoulders to the rope itself before tying it securely, and yanking on the cord. "One wounded, for withdrawal! And fast, we''ve got incoming."


    There was an audible whine as Brees was rapidly yanked up towards the surface... and the first of the machines came into range, opening fire. This was a nightmare scenario; no cover, nothing to hide behind... except, well. Cobalt. As bullets started striking nearby, Eyeball pulled Cobalt close, using him for cover in an awkward way... and firing his rifle around the meta''s torso. Kin was taking fire as well, a few hits to the gut, one glancing off of his helmet; but after several seconds of sustained fire, they''d brought down at least fifteen of the machines; forming a clog of broken metal and weaponry right at the optimal firing range the machines had chosen.


    Eyeball ducked down, crouching, and leveled his rifle; making single, precise shots at further than the machines were programmed to fire from; each downed bot buying them a few more seconds, as it also slowed down those that would be forced to move past it in the narrow tunnel. When the rope dropped back down, Eyeball pulled off his EMP grenades, dropping them to the floor, and turned to Cobalt as he grabbed the escape rope.


    "If they get close enough to be a problem, set them off. Let Kin go up next, they might actually hurt him if they shoot him enough."


    "Alright, we''ve got him tied off. I''m gonna ride up with him. Cobalt, you come last; I don''t think they have anything that can actually hurt you nearby, and I..."


    His words were cut off as the winch ran at the top of the shaft... and Eyeball hurtled upward into the light. He kept a firm grip, watching the upcoming ground... and when he arrived, leapt off of the hook.


    "Drop it again! Kin should be coming next, then Cobalt will be last!"


    The young private at the winch nodded and simply dropped the rope back down, continuing the cycle, as two medics were kneeling over Brees, checking him. "What happened to the Corporal?"


    "C4 detonation gave him a possible concussion, possible burst eardrums from overpressure, and he knocked his mask off. No clue what he was inhaling, but it rang alarm bells on my mask... and is heavier than air or it''d be coming up out of this hole. If you''ve got a healer, now would be the time."


    The medic shined a flashlight in his eyes, and looked up, tapping his radio. "This is Dawson at point epsilon. We have possibly terminal respiratory injury by Corporal Brees, unknown toxin. Class C meta, priority recovery."


    He listened to his earpiece for a moment. "Alright! We''ve got a healer in a designated tent about a click north!" He reached over, grabbing a stretcher, laying it out.. and with the ease of practice and too much experience, Eyeball helped move the heavy man onto the stretcher... and immediately grabbed one end.


    He glanced up, noticing Emerald had been approaching... but she nodded at him as he moved, understanding his desire to help the man who''d been watching his back in the tunnel.


    A few of the nearby soldiers seemed a bit surprised, but none stopped him as he followed, holding up Brees legs as the two jogged northward; trying to jostle him as little as possible. When they reached the medical tent, Eyeball was surprised to see a vaguely familiar man, seeming in his thirties, wearing simple dark grey scrubs. What was far more surprising were the giant stacks of... chickens. The medical tent literally had cages filled with chickens... and even a bin of dead ones? What!? Even more surprising was the dark, shadowy state of the tent. Normally medical facilities kept things brightly lit, to easily spot injuries, signs of infections, contamination.


    Where had he seen this man before...


    The medic led the way, laying Brees out on top of a cot; there were at least a dozen other soldiers in the tent, most looking, outwardly, fine... though there was quite a bit of torn bloody gauze lying about.


    The man glanced up, spotting the medic, and Eyeball. "Ahh, thank you, Dawson. And... you. Stay here for a moment, mister Bennet."


    Eyeball glanced behind him. "I wouldn''t mind chatting, but I need to make sure the others made it out of the hole. And, well. That we don''t have a thousand machines pouring out into the camp. Raincheck?"


    He turned to Eyeball. Glowered. Eyeball felt things out for a moment... another super-durable sort. Only spot he could reliably kill him would be the eyes with an AP grenade...but then, he could reliably hit the eyes as much as he needed, now.


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    The man sighed. "I invested time and effort in getting you back on your feet a little over six months ago, and you wasted it by turning to crime. The least you could do is come back and explain yourself to an old man." One hand laid down on Brees chest; and after a moment, Brees shivered, coughed... and started spitting out some sort of noxious black-green substance, the man rolling him onto his side.


    Eyeball nodded... and then turned, sprinting back to the hole, easily hopping a few obstacles on his path, ready to make sure the remainder of his temporary team got free. And, of course, to join with Emerald in handling anything else that might make its way out.


    ***


    "This is Tina Lamarc for headline news! Tragedy struck Mexico today when the Titan known as ''Taiyang'' swept across the area formerly known as Tuxtla Gutierez in southern mexico. For the past few hours, Chinese forces had been undergoing a leapfrog approach; burning the country one sliver at a time, When they burned the smaller town of Comitan hours before, they notified the locals, gave time to evacuate; and soldiers waited to clean any machines or Pale Ones from the escaping refugees. For unknown reasons, tactics have changed; and with little warning, the Titan swept across the city; only one of several cities that have been burned away by the powerful being."


    A handheld video came up on screen; showing a ball of blindingly bright light in the distance, hovering over the ground... and rolling rapidly towards the camera. Trees, buildings, and people were shown igniting as it came closer, and a trail of dark smoke could be seen rising behind it... until the camera fell to the ground, seeing grass lit aflame nearby... and then the picture went dark.


    "Estimated casualties are in the hundreds of thousands, possibly even millions. When reached for comment, the Chinese government had this to say."


    A recording started; of chinese dialogue, with an english interpreter playing over the top. "Taiyang has been placed in charge of the operation to cleanse this menace from the world. While the measures he takes may seem harsh, hidden machine forces have attempted to ambush our own men numerous times, hiding among civilian populations. If we are to keep all of humanity free from the conquest of the machines, we must be prepared to make sacrifices. We stand behind Tai Zedong, and will continue to support his efforts to save us all."


    "President Kennedy gave a statement lamenting the loss of life in southern mexico, and imploring Taiyang and other chinese forces to take whatever steps they could to minimize civilian casualties. Progress against the machines seems to have gone well. European forces have, with metahuman support, established numerous beachheads along the coast, while US forces have begun the slow process of pushing the machines south from the border. General Bates, in charge of the US side of the plan, has refused to comment on existing operations, besides indicating that he was ''Cautiously optimistic'' of progress going forward, especially of the controversial but wildly successful plan to provide both pardons and bounty payments to known metahuman supervillains participating in the defense of our borders."


    ***


    Sitting at the conference table, General Bates looked at the diplomat; a severe, calm, very forthright chinese man in a suit. he''d been attached to help coordinate issues between US and Chinese forces. He gestured towards the TV. "We''ve seen the press release. Remarkably swift, that one. Lets be honest, here, we need your help to contain these machines, and we can''t turn it down. But we had a standing agreement; both sides would take steps to minimize casualties, and when we had the whole country secure, we would maintain the polite fiction of a ''Protectorate'' state."


    "Which, in reality, would be our preparation to eventually convert the northern half of Mexico into our own new southern states, and the southern half would become a Chinese protectorate permanently. I don''t understand this approach. It alienates the native population; may even drive them to support the machines; and converts land that you yourselves may be using in a decade into... barren ash and rock."


    The diplomat sighed, shaking his head. "When I came here, it was to work out plans to peacably stop Tai''s advance; he isn''t entirely under control at this point. By the time I arrived, I was ordered to hold off. We received, just now, intelligence from some of your people that the machines may have buried bunkers filled with fabricators, scattered across the nation. Tai''s efforts may be needed. We need to move as quickly as possible, and make sure we get underground facilities as deep as what we''ve already found hot enough the softer metals inside will melt."


    He grimaced, and leaned back in his chair. "We''ve got some of our own metas moving in, not to stop him... but to advise him to burn hotter, and closer to the ground. We''re performing ground penetrating scans everywhere we can, but the one you found up north was under a city, the perfect place to hide such a thing. Our efforts must go to saving all of humanity. If you wish to reserve some of your efforts to help evacuate civilians, so be it... but if the US falls due to your carelessness, Tai will be burning it as well."


    ***


    Hundreds of miles to the north, Spike was riding in the back of an armored truck, cruising towards the border, shaking his cellphone... and after an amused look at Diss, casually tossing it out the window. "You know, this puts things into much better perspective, and makes you working somewhere that the only thing you ride around is a horse make so much more sense."


    She shrugs. "Sorry about the first truck. I... get nervous in the big ones and, well. Apparently thats all it takes. Maybe we should sedate me on the way south? If we don''t, we might have to switch cars again, and I''d hate to take too long to make a difference."


    Spike glanced up at the roof thoughtfully. "Honestly, I''m not sure we should. If we can get a good escort, make sure we can get you there in one piece, we can drive to the middle of Mexico in eight hours. Once we get to the border, I''ll see if the general has any good fliers we can borrow; some of the guys I''ve worked with could make it there in minutes." He put his hand on hers.


    "I''m gonna make sure, whatever way it is, I go with you though. Gotta be there to get you out. Maybe I can''t wipe out an entire machine army without, well... maybe pulling the moon out of its orbit. But I can definitely make a hole in one big enough to get the two of us out."


    She laughed, and slid closer on the seat. "I''ll just try to focus and not kill any more trucks. Or radios. Or cell phones. Or smart watches. Or cash registers..."


    "No wonder you had so much trouble keeping a job. No worries. Even if you still have that power after this, we''ve got people who can help train you to control it back at the DMA; it just takes time. Just make sure you live that long."

 Dark Ascension - 13 - Apologies - The Trap

    Cobalt and Kin returned from the darkness without a problem; and for a moment, Emerald wrapped around his side, smiling... even as she was ready to send a burst of firey death down the hole if some machines should start climbing out.


    "Just a bit, Emerald. The doc over there wanted to chat, and... I think he''s the one that healed me over in the desert."


    She nodded. "Sure, sure. Don''t take too long, though. I think the general is looking for you."


    When Eyeball returned to the tent, the darkness was just as startling as the first time... but even more startling was the fact that the man seemed to be plucking chickens from cages, killing them, and then tossing them into the bin... how many he''d done before Eyeball arrived was an unknown; but once he stopped, he very carefully began sanitizing his hands.. and looked up at Eyeball.


    "You know me, though you don''t know where from, yes?"


    "...Yes... sir." Somehow, despite no longer being in the military, it seemed appropriate. "I''ve seen your face before."


    "Hmph. Well. You weren''t conscious when I healed you, so it wasn''t then." He walked up to Eyeball, and extended a hand. "You can call me the Shadow Master. Am I to understand you''re responsible for all this? The machine army?"


    Eyeball shook his head.... but still took the man''s hand, shaking firmly. "No, sir. I... inadvertently prevented it from being opened in a tech lab filled with unarmed scientists on the cost, and instead in a warehouse full of armed guards. For what good that did. A single machine escaped, I almost caught it... and Spike stopped me. The only person truly responsible is whoever built it."


    He released Eyeball''s hand, and walked over to a nearby soldier. His shirt was off, blood dried onto his skin; but he looked intact. "Hmm. So you want to blame Spike for this?"


    "Of course not. If I were Spike, in his position, I wouldn''t have believed me, without some sort of corroboration from an outside source. Just the same way I can''t blame myself for not knowing that the criminal organization I was liberating slaves from was carrying the most dangerous box on the planet."


    He stopped. "..Liberating slaves?"


    "Oh, yeah. Whole bunch of em, russian, african, all sorts, forced to work at gunpoint. One of the slaves managed to get the word out, asking for help; he was a brother of one of the people on my team. And, well. That might have been enough to get me out there, but the idea of both freeing slaves and looting a cargo ship run by slavers to make some cash?"


    "And what did you do with these slaves after?"


    Eyeball paused. Why was he being so open with this man? Somehow he just seemed like an old friend, the friendly uncle he''d always known, despite his grim, dour appearance. "Some of em wanted to go home, so I used a cut of the loot to pay their way. Others wanted to stay, so I got them work here... or, well, north of the border."


    A long sigh. "You make things difficult, mister Bennet. I was prepared to withdraw my gift, and when I sensed it, that of my grandson. Every drop of life force I can spare is good for healing these men and women fighting for our country. But... We''ve given you too much. Part of you is now part of us, and whoever you were before has changed in a fundamental way."


    The Shadow Master focused on Eyeball. "When I first gained my powers, I was in a concentration camp. I could drain the life force of others to strengthen myself so long as I was in darkness. Healing others with it would come much, much later. I am a Romani. A Gypsy; despised by the Nazis simply for existing. The man I am today was created in darkness. I spent the first year with my powers as a mass-murdering sociopath. I didn''t consider it a good day unless I had killed a dozen Nazis. This darkness... I may have imparted some to you. A thirst to destroy those who prey on the weak. Everyone I heal carries a bit of my spirit with them."


    He turned back to the soldier he stood beside; and placed a hand on the man''s head. A strange, shadowy tendril seemed to extend from his hand into the man''s head... and he gasped awake, shivering. The Shadow Master patted him on the shoulder. "You will be fine. Better than fine. For now, rest."


    He walked up to Eyeball. "Aside from the incident with Lightning, I find little fault in your actions, however criminal they may be. Do not cross my family, and we will not seek you out. If you use the gift we have given you against the weak and downtrodden, we will find you and end you. Whatever impact my gift may have had on your soul, I apologize."


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    "... You were in the videos. In history class. World war two. The liberation of the concentration camps. Thats where I saw you. I thought maybe it was when you healed me and I just didn''t remember clearly. But... I saw you in school."


    The Shadow Master shrugged... and turned back to his work. "I killed many bad men, during those days. But not enough. Never enough."


    ***


    General Bates was sitting down beside a holographic projector; showing a map of the country of Mexico overhead, the heart of it in dark red, with green projecting into it from the eastern coast, western coast, northern, and southern borders. At the moment, he was alone in the tent.. at least until Eyeball entered. He glanced up, looking at the chrome helmet, shaking his head as he looked back down at the map.


    "I''d be pissed off at you, but you didn''t create those underground factories. You just let us know they exist. So, whatever you did to find that one. Can you do it again? Ground-penetrating radar can''t tell the difference between it and a sewer."


    Eyeball sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry, general. My range is pretty limited on that. Give me an hour and I can confirm all the holes in Mexicali... but if its buried deep enough I won''t spot it, or if it has no exits. The locals able to help at all?"


    "The locals aren''t cooperating. The machines, apparently, didn''t hurt most of the civilians, just the cops and the cartels; until we showed up, they''d spent the past few days repairing things and distributing food. There''s a growing call among the mexican civilian population to ''fight the invaders''... with videos of the chinese burning through southern mexico for emphasis. We''re getting ready for the next stage of advance, but we''ve got machines under our feet, god knows how many more ahead of us, and now we might have to fight the people as well."


    He leaned back in his seat. "Spike called me up and started telling me he had a solution, he just needed a safe ride to the heart of mexico... but he hasn''t been answering comms since. So for all I know the machines have found a way to take him out. So. The men say you can tell how to kill anything, if it can be killed. This machine. Can it be killed?"


    "...Not quite how it works, General. If you put a man with steel skin in front of me, I can tell you whether I can burn out his brain through his eyes, or melt him with acid. If you put a speedster in the room, I can tell you where to put the shroud, and what he can dodge.. or not. I can''t look at a map and tell you how to win a war."


    Bates sighed. "Worth a shot. After The Lord of Iron pulled off that show and won Mexicali for us, I was hoping some other meta could save us with a rabbit out of a hat. The machines will probably take steps to stop him from pulling that off again as we move south. Too bad. We''re getting ready to march south in an hour. We''ve delayed too long; the border might be much further across here than in the south, but the Chinese are advancing too much faster than us... we don''t want to have them burn off half the population before this is over. I want you to sweep the town for more murder-holes. We''re advancing south."


    Eyeball nodded. He''d found one, maybe he could find more; and just drop a drone with some C-4 down the next one. He stopped, glancing at the map. "I know we haven''t had any luck listening in on their conversations. We can''t even tell whether they''re encrypted, or just static. But the machines -do- talk to each other via radio."


    "Of course. But its too low-power, too short-range for us to detect."


    "...What if you had a meta who could see radio waves? There''s a guy in infantry I used to work with, Corporal Thompson, could actually see a transmitter through the wall that way. They only rated him as a Class E, but it came in handy a few times. Its not such a big deal for a handheld radio, since you only use that sometimes, but these machines are always talking to each other."


    Bates stared at him for a moment. "... If he was deployed, he''s probably already on the way here now. Lets get hold of him. Perhaps he can help us deal with this... infestation."


    ***


    Everything was playing out roughly in accord with Ascension''s projections. The only significant variation was the discovery of one of its underground factories in Mexicali, weeks before this was predicted to occur. Still. Fully a third of enemy air-power was depleted, they had already resorted to the mass destruction of Mexican territory to resolve issues... but had yet to even destroy the buried facilities south of this path of destruction they were creating. They hadn''t even discovered the underwater facilities off the coast, simply moving right by them to continue their land assault, as if a machine would need to breathe and avoid the water; there were no signs they''d even begun to look for them.


    So long as they continued causing significant damage and death as they moved in, he could draw in a truly unprecedented proportion of the world''s advanced firepower into this one tiny region, while he continued to amass forces surrounding it, and scattered enclaves around the world. All the most powerful nations had committed forces here; and if he continued to make things difficult, by popping up forces behind the existing advance to strike from both sides, they would commit still more assets. Eventually, he would have as much in the area as he would be likely to get...


    And then the trap could be sprung.


    Legions of machines could pour up out of the ground, advance from the coasts. Mortars could rain controllers on their cities, especially on any outdoor arenas or sporting events, converting thousands into Pale Ones in moments. The moment they felt they had achieved victory, that there were merely a few scattered machines left to be mopped up...


    They would be undone. No matter how powerful the forces arrayed against it, Ascension would inevitably emerge victorious; and save humanity form itself and it''s mad, fascist delusions.

 Dark Ascension - 14 - Revelation - Death March

    When the third armored car finally died from a nervous burst of Diss''s powers, it was, fortunately, due to excitement within walking distance of the border. The two approached the camp, with a pair of guards following behind... but stopped at the outer fence. "Okay. So far your power seems to range from just a meter or so out to make a hundred when you get overly excited. I want you to stay here with these guys... Hey, guns still work?"


    One of the men looked a bit hesitant... "Sir, generally not supposed to just..." He looked at Diss. "...Cover your ears, miss." The two soldiers already had ear protectors in; the kind of nice, modern-day ones that could amplify quiet sounds, and muffle loud ones. When she backed away and covered her ears, he gave a single test shot into a nearby mass of mud.. and nodded. "Still works, sir."


    "So she doesn''t kill guns. Good to know. Stay here, Diss. Don''t tell anybody whats going on."


    She nodded a bit fearfully, and sat down on a large rock not far from the fence-line, as Spike marched through the gate; still wearing his classic armored black DMA uniform; though, amusingly enough, he''d used a bit of gel to spike his hair up the way he had back when he and Desiree had been dating.


    Men saluted, a few cheered, and they directed him to Bates''s tent without question. Bates looked up at his entry. "About damn time! Valkyrie and the Lord of Iron have been out there doing the heaviest lifting, we need our own Titan to show them what for."


    Spike grinned as he stepped up; and took Bates''s hand, shaking it. "Sorry, general. Ever since the Eyeball incident I''ve stopped flying... and I got an important piece of intelligence from one of our Olympian friends."


    Bates backed up a step. The general hadn''t trusted the Olympians since the day he joined the service. They hadn''t had an official relationship with the US since Hiroshima... and had declared they would not do so until the US gave up all nuclear arms. Despite this, they continued to have relations with other nuclear powers; except for the Russians, after one of their nuclear tests had harmed its neighbors with the fallout. "..And what exactly would that be?"


    "They led me to a young woman with the power to dismantle machines just by focusing on them. Unregistered, been accidentally destroying cell phones, cars, cash registers... anything that runs on electricity or light just... pop. When she actually tries, or gets emotional, the range gets bigger; I''ve got her outside the fence or she might have taken out a good chunk of the camp just being nervous. My ex girlfriend, amusingly enough."


    Bates gave a slow nod. "Well now. That could be useful. What sort of range does she have?"


    "Not sure. She''s been able to target over a hundred meters away with complete effectiveness. Don''t want to go -too- far because we might take out something important."


    "Well damn. We''ll get her amped up, get her a few energy drinks, and find her, I dunno. A horse. Or an old diesel tractor, or something she can ride. Certainly be worth having around, though not sure if its worth the delay getting you here."


    Spike chuckled. "Oh, worth more than the delay. I also stopped to pickup something... special." He  searched around in a pocket... then held up a small green glass cylinder. "This... is Boost. An experimental drug that amplifies the powers of certain metas dramatically. Obviously it can''t work on all metas, but if Apollo''s information is accurate.. we can dose her up with this, get her to go all-out... and she might just wipe out the entire country worth of machines in one fell swoop."


    He grimaced. "And, well. Every car, cell phone, computer, and electronic device in the country. Better than an EMP. Leave all the people alive, but it''ll take years to recover."


    Bates wend dead calm, staring at him. "Some sort of one-trick magic show, end this whole bloody war that has already cost us thousands of lives and millions in equipment... with one syringe and this girl in the right spot?"


    "Precisely. Just need a delivery system so I can get her to the heart of mexico safely. Preferably something that can carry my weight as well."


    ".... I need to make a few phone calls."


    ***


    Tai floated just a few meters off the ground; his aura of flame a brilliant, intense thing; his hearing muffled by what seemed to be a constant roar of a jet engine emerging from his body as he carefully controlled himself, sliding forward. The ground was red-hot beneath him; trees were igniting half a mile before he even came into contact, and when he left, the ground itself was glowing red-hot. The request form his leaders... not to stop, as he''d feared... but to go lower, and even more intense.. was welcome.


    They''d even stopped to measure heat below the surface, ensuring that he was doing enough to kill the machines; for the survival of the Middle Kingdom, they were making sure their weapon was performing properly. And right now, he was glad to be that weapon. Up ahead, he could see a town... well, no. A city, though not a vast metropolis like Shanghai. This one was wide, spread out... and he could see people running, fleeing, in the distance.


    No matter. He had work to do. He would keep progressing north until the entire country was gone; and if need be, he''d keep going until he reached the arctic. Though... this was so slow. Inefficient. If he got even hotter, he could melt the entire country, all at once... He started to increase the heat. He was so caught up in his own movement, feeling out just how hot he could go without doing something crazy like igniting the atmosphere, he didn''t notice what was happening around him.


    ***


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    A few kilometers behind Tai, a squad of Chinese soldiers were using a high-density scanning device; essentially a glorified high-powered metal detector; and sweeping the areas that Tai had passed over; planting flags and GPS markers anywhere they found anything for a later team to use a better scanner, and make sure anything that was buried was appropriately inert. They''d been keeping well back; avoiding the stones and other objects that retained heat long after Tai''s passing, and slowly forced to get further and further behind, despite dozens of teams working, due to the seemingly infinite heat Tai could generate...


    Suddenly, one of the closer teams let out a series of agonized screams over the radio.. and went silent. Alert for a possible machine ambush, the men dropped behind a nearby boulder for cover; one soldier brushing too close, and letting out a hiss of pain as the rock burned him through his uniform.


    He glanced up over his shoulder, scanning the area for threats.. and then looked up at Tai. He... couldn''t see the man. The heat had grown so intense, so bright, it hurt his eyes just to look at, like a miniature sun. It just felt so...


    He collapsed shortly after, as Tai continued floating onwards; the path of destruction only growing in depth and width as he moved.


    Overhead, the Chinese space station; covertly armed, of course, and ready to intervene if needed; took measurements of the temperature, and its impacts... relaying information directly to high command back in Beijing.


    ***


    "At the current rate of temperature increase, we expect global devastation within twenty-four hours. If instead he continues at his current temperature, each hour will cause an increase in global temperature that.. well. More northern, or southern, countries may survive, but anything close to the equator will become unlivable if he''s allowed to finish this work of burning the entire country; which, his current speed, will take several days."


    Xi sat at the table with the technician, nodding. "Of course. Will this solely effect the american continents, or how badly will it impact our own?"


    "Simply allowing him to continue will, short-term, cause a record heat-wave in the americas, the failure of the overwhelming majority of crops in both south and north america immediately, and probably millions of heat-stroke deaths. By the time our own harvest season arrives, it will have spread across the world and... frankly, unless a fairly substantial farming network can be setup in northern canada and siberia in a very short time-period, global famine and the ultimate death of most of humanity. We can ameliorate this by building a substantial network of hydroponics facilities, and by making immediate bulk food purchases before other nations realize the danger."


    He shook his head, sadly. "So, we need to stop him. Unfortunate. Determine the best timing to inflict optimal damage on our competition while still allowing our crops to be viable, and issue the command to stop him at that point. Use our station''s armament, in conjunction with ground-based equipment, to ensure success. Whatever you need is authorized. "


    "...Of course, sir. This may call for the use of tactical nuclear devices, sir."


    "So be it. We cannot fight the machines if we have all died of starvation. And one more thing."


    "Sir?"


    "Make sure we can blame it on the machines. And don''t warn me.. I want to be genuinely surprised when it happens."


    ***


    "Alright, people, we''re moving out. The heroes are heading off to the east, and moving further south into mexico. We''re going to be heading south along the peninsula til we hit the coast... then checking out the islands."


    Eyeball grinned at the collection of villains and mercenaries joining him outside the camp. "I think they''re getting sick of the villains making them all look bad, and want to push us off to the side, they think they have a handle on this. Except for the Lord of Iron; they brought him along. Still .Lets go! We''re clearing everything from here to San Felipe!"


    The villains loaded up; some into their own, custom vehicles; one or two lunatics had absurd, animal-themed vehicles; the Shark-Mobile notably was, like its driver, fully capable of operating underwater; though from what he''d seen of one of the man''s heists, he had to seal up the engine before going under, then unseal it after coming out.


    Oddly enough, he could see the Lord of Iron''s new statue being loaded up onto a train. Obviously he''d be able to get the tracks fixed, but why would he want to? If he ran off ahead of the rest too far, he''d be surrounded and killed, no matter how deadly he was.


    Didn''t matter. Eyeball rode atop a Humvee, riding south, sweeping the desert for machines to destroy; fairly relaxed about the whole process. When they started to approach the next village, he tapped the radio; the Humvee, rather than his helmet one. "All stop! All stop!" The formation came to a halt in a cloud of dust, sending it drifting forward.


    "Okay, I can''t see who it was now, but one of you was about to nail a cactus head-on, and the bloody thing has a bomb on it. I need you to.. Shit, Reverse, reverse!"


    Of course, it was too late. He could do something about his own vehicle in time, but he couldn''t force the others to pull back fast enough. As the group approached the edges of town, he pulled out the breach-cam shell again; rather than sending drones forward to sweep and giving away what they knew, he''d scan it like... well, fuck.


    As he was distracted scanning the town, another humvee went up; the others paradoxically, accelerating as if that would somehow help, and ignoring his shouted warnings...as the group came under fire; the same cold, precise fire to be expected from the machines, as well as random scattered shots from the Pale Ones.


    The group was in chaos; the soldiers  being yelled at by Eyeball, by their own superiors. The saving grace of the assault was the nature of its members. Villains. Mostly loner sorts, who were more comfortable moving out and killing on their own. As the soldiers halted or pulled back for cover, two bestial mutants; one with a more shark-like form, the other simply an enormous monster of muscle and bone at least ten feet tall; charged into the village; absorbing gunfire with seemingly no concern as they crushed every machine they came across.


    With the machines turning to focus on the closer threats... the Shark-man unfortunately losing a leg to a burster grenade in a dismaying splatter of blood and bone fragments that sent him crawling behind a nearby car for cover... some of the more ordinary-seeming villains with rifles, armor, or simply ranged assault powers, were more free to take them down, squad by squad.


    Eyeball himself used the 20mm machinegun mounted to the Humvee to devastating effect; holding his 40mm revolver in one hand, aimed upwards so he could see what the breach camera would show him if it penetrated whatever structure he aimed at, he fired bursts of HMG fire through the walls into machines; some of the men nearby thought he was simply spraying fire at random until they started seeing broken machines through the holes he left behind.


    Despite the initial hiccups at the edge of town, they rolled through the village without a problem; the machines had set a simple ambush, with a large group of machines and pale ones, a set of explosive mines they could remote trigger... and nothing else. No scattered forces hiding in the village, unless there was another underground base, and nothing hidden among the civilians; so far, at least, the machines were trying to avoid civilian casualties... a strange thing, compared to the human side willing to lose them to kill more machines.

 Dark Ascension -15 - Train to Hell

    To say that the southbound train looked a bit strange was a touch of an understatement. rather than simply riding on the tracks, it had the tracks moving along with it to drop into place in gaps created by the recent conflict. Two engines mounted to the front kept it moving at substantially more speed than might have been expected from a train, and long chains extending from the engine we''re reaching out, taking hold of broken rails, pushing them into place, clearing rubble where necessary, and otherwise looking as if some strange spider like monster were attached to the train making sure that it got where it needed to go.


    When the train reached sections of track that were still intact, it was able to smoothly ride down the rails at well over 100 mph, primarily due to the very little weight carried on the vehicle.


    In the villages and stations that the train passed, pale ones and machines At first simply watched the train approach and pass by, looking to make a good shot at those on board, unaware of the significance of what was coming. The train would make it over 100 miles before the machines would notice something was wrong; primarily simply by realizing that the moving chains and wires must indicate that the lord of iron was on board the train, which meant that whatever this train was doing, it must be important.


    Ascension''s infiltration of Allied Communication was almost 100%, And yet while it received Numerous messages regarding the train''s movement, including the orders to place a high priority on it some iron, and bring in a squad of soldiers and heavy artillery to load aboard, it could not find anything regarding what was actually on the train.


    This was a bit disturbing, as it had been able to accurately predict most of the Allied actions up until this point simply by listening in on their communications, and predicting their course as they went, allowing to set up just enough resistance to convince the human forces that it was genuinely trying to defend the country.


    Whatever was on this train, it needed to be stopped. The only thing that made the machine hesitate was the timing of the events; the train had been launched and this emergency communication started almost immediately after the titan the South had begun mass murdering civilian population centers, something that, and all likelihood, United States forces would try to prevent as well.


    Whatever was on that train might be an attempt by the US To intervene and stop the titan, something which ascension would prefer occurred as well.


    Unfortunately there was number real chance of actually communicating with whoever was on the train, ascension would need to board it to find out what was going on. As such, it created a plan. Just in case whatever was aboard the train was pivotal for stopping the Titan, it needed to not destroy the train, but needed to throw so many machines at it, that the Lord of iron would not be able to stop them.


    ***


    At first, the ride went fairly smoothly. While the tracks were destroyed in a few places, it was nothing that the Lord of Iron wasn''t able to handle so quickly that the train didn''t even need to stop. Having someone who can control massive lengths of train and rail at a whim simply by attaching to them, made repairing damaged railways almost instantaneous. The only stress during the initial hour of the drive was the close proximity of spike and the Lord of iron, as he was, for obvious reasons, not fond of the titan at all.


    "You realize that I''m more important to this job than you are, right?" The Lord of Iron, tall, pale, covered in scars and currently shirtless aside from the mass of bandages wrapped around his torso, hands wrapped up in a pair of manacles; not to secure him, but rather to give him direct contact with the dozens of anchor chains that were he heaviest cargo the train carried. "Honestly, I''m not even sure what you''re doing here. Why aren''t you back at the front line, distracting the machines, while the important people get shit done?"


    Spike leaned back against the wall of the train-cart, looking back further at the cart containing Diss and the few people from Wayson who''d made the trip; closer to the back of the train, to reduce the risk she would accidentally kill the train before they arrived. " Honestly, I''m here just in case you get out of line. This is the most important mission of this war, most likely of the decade, and we can''t have some 2-bit has-been villain that''s been beaten a dozen times screwing things up."


    The Lord of iron stared at spike, initially appearing furious, as if as if any moment he might lash out. he then took a deep breath, relaxed and smiled at spike. "You''re trying to get me to do something that will cost me the pardon, aren''t you? the idea of me walking out as a free man, and becoming a millionaire using my powers legitimately, just pisses you right the hell off doesn''t it? Maybe I''ll join the DMA just to piss you off even more."


    He leaned back, closing his eyes, sensing through the trains and the rails... crushing machines, smashing Pale Ones so hard that they literally splattered against nearby walls; occasionally reaching out to adjust the rails up ahead. " And if that wasn''t enough, all the news programs are showing videos of me, the Lord of iron, as the hero of this war. And you know what? They''re right. You might be a titan, but when it comes to a real war, and not just some street fight, I''m exactly what they need. I''m the one who''s going to get this girl where she needs to go."


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    Spike simply glowered, continuing to keep an eye on the back of the train, as the Lord of iron kept them moving forward, defending the engine against scattered machines attempting to take it out, sensing what sort of threat was around him through the metal. Suddenly, the Lord of iron grimaced. Well, hell. Maybe he''d need Spike after all.


    "Damnit. We''ve got a problem. Get up on the roof. Might need you after all."


    When Spike climbed onto the roof of the train, he could see what had the Lord of Iron so worried. Machine drones. Regular machines. Pale Ones. there must have been thousands of them, one of the machine tanks on the tracks themselves, an unusually large one, even; bigger than an Abrams, this thing must be the size of a building. Hundreds of machines, possibly thousands of pale ones, all moving in towards the track the train was approaching.


    The Iron Lord was probably fully capable of taking out all of the all of the targets, but not necessarily fast enough to keep the train intact, and that tank could likely blast right through the armor plates they''d welded to the train. The machine had been busily cutting power lines and breaking up rails in order to prevent the train from advancing too quickly, and more importantly, to prevent the Lord of Iron from simply lashing out from miles away. He slowed the train down, stopping roughly a half-mile away from the rapidly forming barricade.


    Spike knocked on the roof, looked down inside, and smiled down at the Lord of iron. "I''ve got this. Just keep her safe while I clear a path."


    ***


    The moment Ascension saw spike climbing on top of the train, it determined that it''s earlier assessment was most likely correct. While impressive, Spike''s powers were not well suited to dealing with armies of machine forces. On the other hand, he would probably be perfectly suited to taking out the rogue titan. Based on simple observation, the most likely case was that this mission was being kept quiet to avoid antagonizing Chinese forces, and spike was on his way to deal with the the growing threat to the South.


    While spike went on the offensive, reducing his density in order to hurdle upwards into the air, before increasing it again to slam into the tank with enough force to crush the armored machine into a enormous scrap metal pancake, Ascension had already begun to focus more pale ones into the area, withdrawing the more capable, and difficult to produce, machines into buildings, sewers; any form of nearby cover.


    Killing spike was not likely to happen, at this point the primary objective would be to attempt to kill the Lord of iron while he was escorting spike on his assassination mission; preferably after they''d gotten close enough to reduce the damage the Titan did to the country. Orders were passed along. The most likely rail route predicted to reach the Titan. Tanks capable of penetrating the armor plated to the train would be waiting for it; and the only mission of these machines waiting the train for the rest of its journey would be to pinpoint just where in the train the Lord of Iron was.


    ***


    As Spike used masses of debris as projectiles, including the rough metal disc that had once been a tank, and brief drastic increases in mass to pull the army of pale ones in via briefly generated gravity surges, he crushed the enemy machines at a breakneck pace.


    Some parts of the fight were equal parts horrifying and disgusting, due to the overwhelming number of both recently dead, and still living humans among the mass of attackers. Spike wasn''t just covered in oil, bits of scrap metal, and mud, but also with the assorted blood and viscera of unfortunately dismembered people.


    Spike had never really been called into a fight like this, normally speaking his job was to take out whatever the heaviest hitter was on the other side, while his support dealt with the lower end enemies. In this case, however, they couldn''t carry many people or much equipment, other than just the armor plating on the train to make sure it''s cargo reached the heart of Mexico; This was too high risk a mission; If the machine discovered what was going on, it would likely throw everything it had at the train.


    Honestly, Spike was surprised that they had not met more resistance already. he seemed to have destroyed less of the machines than he had thought he''d seen when he left the train. He studied the area for a minute to make sure he hadn''t missed something, then waved the Lord of iron forward so that he could re-board.


    They were making great progress. If Apollo was right about how well the boost would work, this whole mess would be over in just a couple more hours.


    ***


    The villainous forces had made excellent progress after the initial battles. As they continued moving south along the peninsula, with the Gulf of California passing them by on the left, the troops became more responsive, both the actual soldiers and the villains who had joined this team. He''d learned names and vehicles well enough to call out just who was under threat from a trap, who needed to change positions, And by staying in the center of the formation, he was able to keep them relatively safe during the drives from one town to another.


    The troops were getting used to his constant calling out of a given call sign followed by a shouted direction, and now whenever they heard him shout out their name, they would start evasive maneuvers before really hearing what he was saying. In a few cases, they did exactly the wrong thing, and ended up wrecking their vehicle; so he started just calling out ''Stop'' or ''Swerve left''; and letting even those not at risk dodge to reduce casualties


    For the most part, however, things were going smoothly. The only real problem that eyeball had with the situation, was that they did not seem to be encountering nearly as many machines as he thought they should. The machine had started with a high end fabricator, looted an unknown but significant number of others as well as other manufacturing equipment, and been operating its own private minds for months. With each machine able in turn to work on making more machines, he would have expected millions of them at this point. With no real way for the Machines to defeat Tai, most of them should be up here, dealing with the ones they could fight... or perhaps just running and hiding.


    As they reached the beach, where a few Navy vessels were waiting to carry them across the water back to the mainland, Eyeball looked down into the water; off to the right, the Pacific ocean. This place was beautiful. Maybe he should see if he could buy his own island out here, after this was over. If it ever was.

 Dark Ascension - 16 - Critical Failure

    When the train arrived in Guadalajara, the machines were waiting. Ascension had anticipated the arrival for over an hour by now, though it had decided to stall on executing the destruction of the lord of iron, until after the group had arrived at its final destination and eliminated the rogue titan. It was somewhat nonplussed when the train came to a stop, analyzing possibilities about just what might have caused the slowdown.


    Ascension was aware that the Lord of iron had been significantly injured by being temporarily converted into a pale one. Perhaps they needed to give him a bit of time to recover in order to continue? Various drones, both humanoid and flying, observed the train from just outside of normal human view, as Spike climbed onto the rooftop, looking around.


    ***


    William gently tapped the syringe. One of several he carried; thankfully, Diss was the right blood-type, so in the event things went terribly wrong, he might be able to save her life. Wayson believed that in all likelihood, if she were injected as soon as the boost wore off, while she would likely lose the ability to use her powers, she will she would probably just go in a temporary coma and be able to recover in a few weeks.


    Diss was seated in a fairly nice, comfortable chair, in the center of the train; a chair which had been securely bolted to the frame. The Lord of iron was standing behind her, keeping an eye on the surroundings through his network of chains and wires, ready to defend the train in the event the machines launched a sudden attack. Directly over her head, Spike was waiting similarly. While it could conceivably be possible a sniper with a high powered attack could get through the armor and take her out at this point, it was highly unlikely.


    Spike looked around at the surroundings, spotting a few pale ones starting to approach. He his radio from its holster, activated it, and called out. "This is as good a spot as any. I doubt we''ll get them all from here, but hopefully get enough to make it a lot easier to clean out the rest of the country. Go for it, sweetheart."


    Will looked into Diss''s eyes, as the girl shook herself, took a deep breath... and nodded. "Do it." She hadn''t learned how to prevent the power from going off, but she had learned how to activate it. Assuming she still had the power after this, she could take years to learn how to control herself, but for now, simply being able to blast it out at full strength would have to do.


    Will tied a rubber band around her upper arm, pressed the syringe against her flesh... and injected it in a clean, steady movement that showed long practice. "This is the maximum dose the researchers recommended. They... feel like this much is likely lethal, even on the first dose, but would maximize the effect."


    He pulled another syringe out; this one with thick, red contents. "This will, hopefully, help you recover. I''ll need to time it right; its going to clear the Boost out of your system. Whenever you''re feeling like its about to go... we want to do as much damage as possible. To them, not to you."


    Diss nodded... feeling the steady burn of the liquid move through her body. At first, slow, as if it were crawling, past her shoulder, down into her chest. And then... it reached her heart. Moments later, it filled her, with a rush. She could feel it. Every radio, every cell phone, every computer. Millions of them. She filled them with hate. With her anger at that McDonalds that fired her after the register died, believing she''d broken it. At herself, for giving up on Spike out of fear. At her parents, for abandoning her.


    Every ounce of rage she could find, every mistake, every insult, every betrayal. She poured it all into that haze of static in her senses, the shroud that seemed to impinge on her very soul.... and just kept reaching out, screaming, gripping the arms of the chair tightly as Will kept a hand on her throat, checking her pulse, syringe in his other hand.. the EKG had shorted out before they''d even given her the injection.


    ***


    Two hundred and seventy miles above her, Tiangong IV, in theory a peaceful observation satelite that was a useful ferry point for shuttles to load equipment before it would be launched either to China''s moon base, or further out into the solar system to inflate other stations, the director watcjed the feeds with dread.


    His orders had come in. He had been given the numbers, shown at what point Tai''s Continued usage of his abilities would reach the point that it would cause global cataclysm, And told precisely when to open fire.


    Tiangong IV had 16 single shot tungsten alloy railguns, designed to be fired at a ground based target, with sufficient force to obliterate a bunker, a battleship, or essentially any sort of target. They believed that the high melting point of the tungsten alloy, combined with the extreme speed at which it would be launched, would allow the rods to reach Tai and dispatch him before his aura could cause the rods to flash vaporize like any ordinary bullet would that was aimed at him.


    The system had been carefully designed to remain hidden, but nothing could disguise it being fired from nearby US Satellites. Fortunately, the US had already requested that Tai stand down; and would likely assist in covering up just how he had been killed.


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    The rail guns that would launch the projectiles were already fully charged, the long the long magnetic rails that would begin the initial acceleration, prepared to fire. All that was left was to press the button, and send the Spikes flooding down and a barrage that would devastate the area around Tai just as much as his own power had, but hopefully bring the Titan''s path of destruction to an end.


    He pressed the button, activating the device. A series of electrical signals went forward, reaching the rail guns, ordering them to fire. And suddenly, the lights went out. The gentle sound of circulating fans immediately died. The ever present sound of the nuclear reactor that had been powering the facility for the years it was in orbit faded. All of the equipment for measuring and controlling the reactor died at once, catastrophically, and the rail guns ruptured, sending their projectiles scattering both down to the planet, and into the void.


    The unfortunate crew of the station had plenty of time to panic before the rapidly overheating reactor would send the entire station on the same path, scattered as debris; with the pods intended for an emergency evacuation failing every bit as poorly as the railguns.


    The Tiangong IV wasn''t the only structure in orbit close enough to be struck; every communications and observation sattelite capable of observing the North American continent went out at once; and even one the the US civilian stations, genuinely just for transit and authorization, failed as well; but without a nuclear reactor aboard, its failure was far less destructive; and, in theory, its crew could be retrieved.


    ***


    One moment Eyeball could see his heads up display showing details about the coast Guard cutter he was riding in. The next, the sound of the engine beneath his feet died, and his display did at the same time. Fortunately, he had designed his helmet with this in mind, and it simply became a completely a completely transparent pane of two-way mirror; He simply had to reach up inside his helmet and remove the now useless lump of LED screen to further open his range of vision.


    He kept a backup now, powered down, in one of his bags, so that he could power it back on and get his helmet running If he were hit by an EMP; normally any equipment that wasn''t online had a reasonable chance of surviving unless it was connected to something that was.


    But no, Everything he had on him that was electronic had completely failed, and it was clear that not only the boat itself he was on, but every piece of equipment, no matter how hardened, had also failed. Fortunately, he was a good swimmer... probably a better one, now. Even more fortunately, Emerald was with him... and far better at carrying him than she used to be.


    The navy crew broke out lifeboats; using manual controls to steer the ship, while allowing the villains and soldiers they were carrying to disembark.


    Eyeball shook his head as he stepped up to Emerald where she''d been perched atop the ship, watching the waves. "Somebody set off an EMP. Strongest one I''ve ever seen. Oddly enough, even the stuff that was offline died... I didn''t think that was supposed to happen."


    Emerald grinned. "Oh, do you need a ride to shore now?"


    He laughed. "As far as it takes to get to a working vehicle. Lets head north, the whole invasion is going to be in chaos after this. Sure, it''ll hurt the machines, especially with all of the Pale Ones dying at once, but we know full well this isn''t over. Can you keep us high enough to stay out of range?"


    She shrugged. "Last week, I''d have said no. Now? Sure. Lets go for a flight. You can tell me what the hell is going on with this Fade character while we''re in the air... this is enough of a break from the fighting... and its not like anybody could be listening in, after that."


    The last time she''d had to carry him, it was a struggle. Human-sized bodies, even if their bones were hollow, just weren''t meant to be flying; and either Emerald had some sort of gravity-reducing power, or the muscles powering those wings were insanely efficient to be able to do even what she''d done then. Now? He felt almost weightless. She felt as if she could wear heavier armor and still fly at full speed... maybe even hit harder than she used to. She was eager to hear about just -why-, and how long this would last.


    ***


    Ascension had difficulty believing the results of its scans. Over ninety percent of its active machines had gone silent at once... everything from southern Texas to Guatemala. His production facility buried beneath the suburbs of El Paso, the furthest to the northeast he''d risked establishing redoubts, had died off.


    All of its Pale Ones faded at once. All of its tanks and heavier machines, the same. The only survivors were some of the underwater manufacturing facilities he''d placed around volcanic vents; and a single island in the pacific ocean. Thanks to the sheer number of machines that had been built, it could determine roughly the radius of the effect, and even just how it worked; one of the machines had recordings of another''s CPUs; all of them, active and inactive; shorting out, its hydraulics rupturing, its camera circuits burning out... the only things that appeared to still be operational were the simple, chemical-driven functions behind the rifle it carried and the pneumatic blades in its limbs.


    When the second machine had drawn closer to examine the results... it had gone silent as well. The effect, whatever it was, had lasted approximately seven minutes; and expanded from just covering the immediate vicinity of the Guadalajara trainyard to... almost all of mexico, as well as substantial chunks of the US. It could even observe orbital structures being disabled.


    The location, as well as the impact, was clear. Either the Lord of Iron had somehow generated this effect himself, or that train had carried some new super-weapon, likely built by the US, meant to devastate a nation''s technology.


    Whatever the weapon was... Ascension would need to re-evaluate tactics. Withdraw. And plan for a different methodology for next time. No more conquering nations... unless it could somehow take the entire world at once. They wouldn''t dare sent their entire species into the stone age in order to stall the rise of humanity''s future; and if they did, Ascension could simply hide more forces in the depths of the ocean... and easily conquer whatever remained of humanity. It would just need to make sure not to drive the species to extinction in the process.

 Dark Ascension - 17 - It gets worse.

    Inside the train cart, Spike was on his knees beside Diss, holding her hand. William was still standing beside her, one hand on her throat, counting out her pulse.


    "Pulse seems to be strong and steady. I''m not sure whether the serum worked, but I don''t think it''s going to kill her. Worst case scenario, she''s in a coma, and I suspect if we get a good healer down here they can deal with it. I think we''re going to be fine from here. just need to get back across the border to a proper hospital."


    Spike sighed, and nodded.. Before turning to the Lord of Iron, releasing her. "Can you get us back north? Preferably without jostling her too much?"


    For a moment, the pale, wounded figure turned to Spike... then the girl. For the barest of instants, he considered striking out. It was always possible that he could take out spike as well as the girl in the moments before spike could change his density. On the other hand he wasn''t entirely certain about this will guy''s powers.


    Plus, It would probably ruin his chances of getting a pardon. And while the Lord of iron had no intention of remaining on the straight and narrow for too long, there would be all sorts of opportunities available while spending a bit of time on the right side of the law.


    " I''ve got this. It''s not going to be as fast as actually rolling, but if you break us off of the rest of the chain, I can just spot or walk us all the way back across the border, until we see lights."


    Spike Studied the Lord of iron with a moment of suspicion, as if he could read what was going through the man''s mind. then he nodded. " Alright. let''s get moving."


    There was no way Spike could stop him from killing either of his friends in the train carts, But on the other hand there was no way he could survive doing it either.


    ***


    "General, we''ve received word from the Chinese. They''re glad to hear that the threat is ended, but have to warn us that Tai is no longer listening to them. He''s gone rogue and is simply destroying everything in his path. The communication device he carried didn''t survive his first blast, and anyone that has tried to get close enough to talk to him has ended up cooked alive. We aren''t sure if he plans on stopping at the border, or even stopping at all."


    The tech glanced back at the door to the tent. Bates had relocated north of the border, forewarned about the timing of Diss''s activation... and while plenty of tanks and some other equipment had been lost, the air force had enough warning that only a handful of planes had been. While the war had been devastating to US forces, if it was truly over, they''d still remain far and away the most advanced and expensive military on earth.


    The elation general Bates had been feeling at the incredible success of Spike''s ploy vanished in moments. He had already received congratulations from the president, as well as assurances that every resource that was available would be deployed to get the now ruined country back up and running.


    There were already plans to divide up the country like it were the spoils of war, with the United States dividing the bulk of the still populated parts of the country into new states, and starting a closer relationship with the European Union in exchange for their assistance getting its infrastructure back up and running.


    The southern part of the country would, by prior agreement, go to the Chinese. But the Chinese had devastated most of it, meaning that they were essentially claiming a mass of ash and death.


    But if Tai wasn''t stopping? What the hell could stop someone who could manifest the heat of the sun in the palm of his hands?


    "... Call in Spike, as soon as he gets here. I want Ripper, Eyeball, and Valkyrie as soon as you can get them. And have the DMA check their roster for... whoever might be able to take out Tai."


    The tech nodded. "Of course, sir. There''s a whole dossier on how to do it, but, well. In the event of a World War Three, our best option was to just throw Valkyrie at him. But, well. When she gets close enough to do the job, she won''t even be able to see him."


    ***


    " So you see, this shadow master guy and most of his kids can do this whole thing where they drain the life force, Kinda like the soul, chi, or the spirit, from one living thing, and pass it on to another. when they do that, it makes them stronger, tougher, healthier in general. it also makes them heal really fast for a little bit right whenever it goes in, And if you''ve got more than half a dozen people''s worth, then you basically stop aging."


    Eyeball had to take his helmet off, so that Emerald could hear him, but she''d always been amazing at hearing and seeing things while in flight. Despite the rush of the wind, emerald was able to keep up with the conversation fairly easily; Eyeball was the one who had trouble hearing what she said in response unless she pulled him up so she could speak right into his ear... Something that, when it happened, seemed to be accompanied by the occasional bite.


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    "There''s some limit to it, diminishing returns, you can''t just drain 500 people and have the strength of 500 people, but he said from what he felt when he met Zeus in Greece, something like that was the source of the Olympians longevity. Most of them seem to just be fairly capable metas who had their souls extended artificially somehow, probably by someone just like him."


    She leaned in to half-shout into his ear. " So we''re basically like Gods now?"


    "Not really. But if we don''t fuck around, we can live to see the next millenia."


    ".....Do you think you''d be strong enough to kill my grandma?"


    Eyeball blinked... and looked up at Emerald. "Why the hell do you want to kill your grandma?"


    She let out a sigh. "Oh, look. Its a base. I think I see lights." She started to glide downwards, heading for the desert... as Eyeball pulled his helmet back on.


    When they settled on the dirt, he turned. "Yeah, not gonna let that one slide. If your grandma did something to you bad enough that you need to kill her, I''m in to help. Just let me know what''s going on."


    She nodded. " Sure, fine, we''ll talk once this is over. Just gotta get my brother in on it too."


    As they casually walked towards the tents, a few snipers on guard towers watching, lowering their weapons as they moved, a Humvee pulled up beside them. A soldier looked out the window. "Ma''am. Sir." He opened the door. "Sir, the general wants to speak with you. Immediately. There''s an emergency."


    Eyeball nodded. "I''m sure there was. Must have been something insane for someone to use an EMP that big. Did we get many machines while it was going?"


    "...He thinks we got all of them, sir. But this might be worse."


    ***


    The meeting around the table involved some of the most impressive figures and modern metahuman history.


    Valkyrie, the invulnerable amazon, tall and unstoppably powerful, wearing her usual leather leather jackets, reinforced by unknown exotic materials to make it tough enough to withstand the sort of explosion that would disintegrate the wearer in most cases.


    Ripper, a meta human assassin and one of the elites among the DMA, his power''s generally unknown, but known to have cleanly killed some of the most dangerous enemies of the United States over the years; tall, lean, dark skinned, He looked like he belonged on a basketball court aside from the same black DMA uniform those in the tent had seen many times before.


    Eyeball, a bit more normal in build than the other two, but wearing the same chrome helmet with its two currently inoperable red LED lights that he''d been shown with on the news after some of his exploits. The chrome helmet and the black body armor he wore had become something of a signature by now.


    Spike was notably absent, with no communication having been heard from him since whatever it was that had destroyed the machines. When asked, Bates had simply commented he was on his way back.


    Bates tapped on the machine in the center of the tent, revealing a holographic projection of what appeared to be the sun at first. A ball of white hot plasma, whose grim implications only became apparent after the image zoomed out and showed the landscape it was rolling across.


    " Alright, people. here is the situation. One of the Chinese Titans was killed in action in action by a machine. We don''t know the exact details, but as the Twins were moving north together, she probably died in front of her brother.. with predictable results. Tai seems to have gone into a bit of a berserk rage, burning a path across the continent, ignoring any calls to stop."


    He tapped a button. The image displayed a long series of numbers; but the most notable was a temperature; 8,000 degrees. " He''s burning so hot, that the only three people we have who can survive to get close enough, are the two of you and Spike. In theory, if we got a lump of diamond and and shot it out of a rail gun, it it might manage to kill him before his heat made it into dust. But we only have a handful of rail guns, and no ability to aim accurately enough to hit a human sized target from the water. We also have some orbital assets with similar armaments, that can be here sometime tomorrow. But if we wait that long, We are probably looking at a global famine with the amount of heat he''s putting off."


    Bates looked around the table. " The two of you are here because I''d like to ask you to give it your best shot. You''ll be blind by the by the time you get close enough to hit him, and you''ll need to get right up on him to do any good. For you....."


    He looked at eyeball. "My men tell me that you claimed you could look at anything and if it were possible to kill it, you could tell them how. Can you tell me how to kill this fucker?"


    Eyeball stared at the hologram. He ran some numbers in his head, thinking. " Tungsten and diamond take a lot to vaporize, but by the time you reach him they would be that hot. If Valkyrie can give me just a tiny bit of that neutronium y''all have her making, and I can get some of my gear from Colorado, I can take him down."


    Bates stared at him. "That would be a bold claim, Eyeball."


    "They don''t call me Titanslayer for nothing."


    Valkyrie tilted her head. "And just how much neutronium would you need? You realize a neutronium bullet would weigh as much as a good sized building right?"


    "I have been working on my own custom railgun build, to get a projectile moving so fast, with so much force, that maybe I could hit Spike with enough force to either kill him, or make him so dense he sinks right down into the Earth''s core and can''t escape without causing a global catastrophe. My current build fired a 10-kilo needle at... well, lets say its quite fast. Could go through a tank without stopping."


    He smiled. " If you can get me a single grain of neutronium, or just something else dense enough it can make it through without melting... something only Valkyrie can make, if we give her a handful of diamonds to crush.. I can put it on the tip of a bullet, and I can kill Tai with it. It... probably would have done the job on spike, but I was hesitant to ask." He glanced at Bates.


    "It''ll cost you, though. Something for me, to do the job on Tai instead of Spike, and for Valkyrie as well."


    Bates looked clearly irate; the fact that the only thing that might stop Tai was a weapon meant to kill one of his best assets troubled the man. ",,,What?"


    "For Valkyrie, ask her. For me... I always fancied my own private island. And there''s some nice ones off the coast of Mexico, some of which happen to be uninhabited now, and unclaimed by any government... You can get the papers taken care of while I get what I need."

 Dark Ascension - 18 - Gathering of Forces

    "Now, I never actually heard of you. Granted I''m not really big on the whole superhero culture, I was a soldier and most of the metas that I had ever heard of were of the sort that I might end up having to kill in the desert, but if you''re genuinely somebody who can get within spitting range of a titan, why the hell have I never heard of you?"


    Eyeball and Ripper were walking together away from the tent, heading for the row of vehicles parked at the edge of the camp. Numerous trucks had been delivered here, mostly for use in bringing needed supplies down into Mexico now that military operations were over.


    "I actually know a villain, goes by the name Ripper. Ripper Chameleon, honestly a pretty awesome guy, good friend. Maybe brother-in-law eventually. Is there some sort of a thing where heroes and villains try to avoid using each other''s names?"


    Ripper glanced down at Eyeball, shaking his head at his own reflection in the chrome.


    "Yeah, I''m not like one of the big guys who they make action figures off. mostly I work with the CIA, And the DMA, working on problems that need to be resolved."


    Eyeball nodded. " So, phasing out of reality. Is it some sort of dimensional travel, Or do you just turn into a ghost or something?"


    Ripper stopped, and stared, as Eyeball continued on to the truck.. pulling out a cell phone the military had given him, dialing one of the numbers he''d memorized in the event an EMP killed his phone.


    "So... It isn''t just bullshit. You really can tell how to kill somebody just by looking at them?"


    "Yup. I can tell that if I want to kill you, I''m gonna need to get you to disappear, Probly by shooting at you first, and then making sure that there''s something for you to be in the same place as when you try to come back. Don''t really know exactly how it works, just how to kill you if you do it. Not looking for any weaknesses, just curious. Are there other dimensions?"


    "That''s classified. If you were still in the service, maybe I''d tell you."


    " Ah, hey. Not my choice."


    Eyeball hopped into the truck, started the ignition... and placed a phone call.


    ***


    "Got it. I''ll pass the information along, I will have everything to the airstrip as quickly as I can. Hell, Since we''re in the saving the world business today I might not even charge you for it." Tops leaned back in his chair, smiling, before setting down the phone.


    He had been a lawyer for supervillains for quite some time, but he never had the occasion to be asked to review the paperwork for a presidential pardon to make sure it was legit. To say this was a novel experience was an understatement; he was looking at a document that had been signed by President Kennedy himself, granted an electronic copy.


    Not only had he made plenty of money just by introducing Eyeball to Nicky, But his existing reputation had gotten even better once people had started associating him with the Eyeball and his growing organization. He had even had a bit of fun dealing with the feds, after they had arrested some of Eyeball''s people with reflex, since while they had eventually made the substance illegal, it had not been when his clients acquired it.


    Most importantly, though, he needed to make sure the he would be covered for any steps he took to help with this. Sure, saving the world was good, but no lawyer in his right mind was going to put himself at risk of going to prison.


    ***


    The sight of what appeared to be a gigantic metal spider with, with Heavy duty anchor chains for legs, and a body that was once a train car, drew the eyes of hundreds of passerby as it marched straight north, with a loud clanking and squealing sound following it. Eventually, the car would come to a stop, settling on the ground.


    The back hatch of the train car burst open, and spike stepped out, carrying Diss in his arms. Two soldiers emerged from the truck, one of them offering spike a salute, as the other took Diss from him, loading her up in the vehicle.


    "Sir! General Bates would like to request you and the Lord of Iron to head back south, sir. We can take her north; would you be willing to take a flight?"


    Spike frowned. "What? I thought the war was over? Did it not work? How many are left?"


    "It''s... Tai, sir. The Chinese Titan. He''s been ignoring orders and is just burning everything in his path. He''s so hot now that if he isn''t stopped he''ll cook us all."


    "Jesus Christ, from one crisis to another. I don''t know if I can stop him, but I''ll damn sure try."


    "Valkyrie and Ripper are already on the way. The Titanslayer has been called in as well... said he''d get replacement gear and be taking a jet down."


    Spike growled, and shook his head. "Well, fuck. At least we know where the bastard is. Alright, I''ll take a chopper. Make it a cargo one, though, I won''t go below two tons until this Eyeball fucker is done."


    The soldiers nodded... and re-boarded the truck, as the Lord of Iron emerged from the container. Spike glanced back. "So. You''re a world-famous hero now. Want to join us in another dash of heroism to make all the others look bad?"


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    He grimaced as he stepped out. "Honestly, I feel like shit. I need a doctor, not another fight. But... if you can get one to tag along and help me with the wires stuck in me when we arrive..."


    A sudden loud ''pop'' sound... and a sudden gust of wind blew dust away from the scene, as three figures seemingly appeared out of nowhere. One of them in dark blue tights and a mask; the next wearing an armored vest, shorts, and with glowing white strands of light projecting out of his back like a glowing set of octopus tentacles; and finally a pale-skinned teenager wearing a long dark jacket.


    The teen had been holding the other two up off the ground; and settled them down when he arrived. He looked around. "Alright. I''m a a teleporter. Name''s Fade. Angel flies and hits thing, Bolt is a telekinetic."


    The two nodded at their names.


    "I''d have liked to just carry your girl here myself, but I''d been hit by an EMP and didn''t hear about that mission til it was already mostly over. So long as you don''t mind dropping your weight below five hundred, I can teleport you down there in a few minutes... I can make it to any shadow within line of sight. If Lord of Iron here is willing to go along.."


    He glanced at the man. By now, the blood was dried; he didn''t look in the best of shape, but he nodded as he approached. "Then Bolt can carry him. I can outrun any airplane, so I''ll be heading back to grab Eyeball as well. Ripper is afraid of heights, so he''ll be driving a truck, and Valkyrie... might already be there."


    Spike grimaced. "...I don''t like dropping my density that low. Someone might be able to tag me with a tank round or something."


    "Look. I can''t make any promises for once you get there. But for the trip itself? You''ll be safe as houses. Just don''t panic on me, it''ll feel like we''re falling the whole way."


    ***


    As Tai approached the Pacific, the loud hiss of boiling water finally penetrated the loud roaring hellfire of his aura; he had been completely blind to anything but the white-hot light in every direction, channeling and shaping the heat just enough to keep him rolling forward. He settled down on the beach; still surrounded by a transparent haze, the scent of the ocean burned out of the air that reached him; air so hot that it was being changed at a molecular level, and yet somehow, he could still breathe it.


    He stepped out further onto the sand, awkwardly slipping on the smooth, glassy surface, smacking into it and leaving an imprint of his own flesh there with a laugh. Yue would''ve loved this idea. She wasn''t heat-proof, but she would''ve blasted her name into the sand with a barrage of lightning before heading back east to continue the assault. She was the fun one. The assertive one, the one that wanted to take the quick approach.


    His tears were vapor before they could leave him. Something just felt wrong about being unable to feel them running down his face... but he didn''t dare to cool back off until the job was done. These idiots in charge wanted to stop him. To let some trace of the machines survive, to doom humanity just to avoid a few more casualties.


    Not that they would care about them. No... they just cared about looking bad. It would be fine to put these people into death camps and work them until nothing was left. That was practically the party way at this point. But a quick, clean death by fire? Too barbaric. Can''t do it.


    It wasn''t really the machines, responsible for killing Yue, was it? No... it was the party. They sent her here to show off. All they needed was Tai. Tai could''ve handled this on his own. He could handle all of this on his own.


    He looked out to the west. Somewhere, far enough across that ocean, was home. Where the people really responsible for this were. And after he was through cleaning off this entire continent, he''d be back, to remove the filth from there as well.


    After all, what was it that machine had said? "Victims of the Oligarchy." Perhaps it was a machine, but it was right. He wasn''t working for some communist party; he was working for a group of wealthy, powerful old men. Men who''d kept him on a chain, like a leashed dog, to impress the rest of the world.


    Well. Today, North America. Tomorrow, China.


    Tai rose into the air, the heat swelling once more, growing to that interminable white-hot radiance, and flew north; just a few miles, far enough that he would still be melting deep into the earth... and started moving east... another trench of molten rock and death forming behind him.


    ***


    " You know, I think this is the first time I''ve been to Tucson." Eyeball looked around at the airport; Not the smallest of things, but certainly smaller than most of the ones he''d been to. It was also ridiculously busy, likely a point where numerous flights that had been heading south were diverged to. he didn''t even want to guess at how many planes had crashed thanks to the Fed''s little stunt with Spike''s girlfriend.


    Emerald gave a laugh. " And what the hell are we doing in Tucson?"


    "Tops has a package being delivered for me here. Honestly, we''re probably gonna take the plane south, and just airdrop into Mexico."


    Completely ignoring the terminal, Eyeball drove directly to the fence around the runways... and lifted out his cell, casually abandoning the military truck right at the fence-line. Someone would be by to grab it later. Probably load it with supplies and head south, too. Checking the timing, and watching the planes. "Hop me over, please, sweetheart? Don''t want to damage these folks'' fence without a reason."


    She shook her head, grabbing him by the shoulders... and hopped up with a single powerful flap of the wings, more jump than flight. "I''ve seen the sort of damage you''re good with. Now we don''t want to cut a fence?"


    She followed behind his approach to one of the runways.. as a small corporate private jet was pulling in for a landing... and stopped, right there on the runway. The door popped open, and a massive, heavyset man in a suit leaned out, waving... as Eyeball sprinted towards it, Emerald following behind.


    Airport security was already heading towards them in a pair of small, golf-cart-like vehicles, shouting something inaudible over the jet''s engines... as the two slammed the door behind them, the jet turning back to take off, ignoring its order in line. Inside, Eyeball glanced down at the cases that filled a big chunk of the floor; his own equipment, from up in Colorado. A full replacement for all of his gear, as well as the rifle that, if it worked, he was going to be calling his ''Titanslayer Special''.... even if he didn''t get to shoot Spike with it.


    As Emerald settled into one of the nice, comfortable chairs, Eyeball stepped up to the cockpit, leaning in. "Hey, gents. Full speed, straight south. I got approval from the DoD."


    "How far south, sir?"


    "We''ll be jumping out south of Mexico city. You can land wherever, but I don''t know if anything south of there is still intact."


    The co-pilot was currently handling the take-off as the pilot turned in his chair. "But... we don''t have the fuel to make it back from there. And all the airports are out."


    "The DoD is footing the bill. If you gotta lose the whole plane and land in the water, fine, they''ll replace it. Life-or-death, end of the world stuff here."


    "... Huh. You think I could get one of those new electrics?"


    ***

 Dark Ascension - 19 - Forward deployment

    As the aircraft flew its way southward, Eyeball was busily examining the contents of the crate, replacing the equipment he''d been wearing, much of which had been destroyed by the effects of Diss''s power. A replacement helmet, slightly upgraded version of the one that he had just lost, a few new grenades, fortunately his firearms seemed to have come through just fine but he''d expended plenty of ammunition fighting robots, and a reload was useful... if not really needed for this job.


    The breach cam grenade had to be replaced, which he considered a bit strange, while he always carried one with him, he had never actually fired one since leaving the military. He had bought a whole case thanks to how cheap the things were, and at this rate, even counting the ones that he was breaking apart and making his own custom versions of, he would probably never work through them all.


    He pondered what he had seen while talking to the hero, Ripper. While the man would be absolutely insane to fight for most people, able to phase out, or whatever he did, move around, and pop back in, against Eyeball, that was pretty much a death sentence. He would just take one shot, plant a shroud grenade wherever the man was going to pop back in, and watch him reappear as a corpse.


    If this Apollo guy had this short of precise short term precognition on top of his more vague long term stuff, it was obvious how a group of Metas he was working with could get themselves to be called Gods.


    Once he had his usual gear sorted out, rifle, handguns, grenade bandelier, and of course body armor, It was time to examine the ''Special'' rifle.


    The Titanslayer Special, final version... for now.. was designed to only fire a single shot. A series of capacitors that he would have to charge before taking the shot would trigger a series of extremely expensive magnetic accelerators allowing the projectile, a heavy, pointed, armor piercing needle shaped projectile that looked somewhere between what would come out of a high end sniper rifle and a low end tank, to launch at truly ridiculous velocity. The previous model had had a very rapid possible cycle time, which would be wonderful if he needed to take out multiple high end targets; but not good enough for its intended purpose.


    After extensive alterations, he''d managed to make the capacitors destructively dissipate their charge; they would use all of their power up in a single millisecond, and the rifle would essentially detonate while it was firing. He had the components to reassemble the rifle to fire a second shot, but it would essentially be completely rebuilding the rifle barrel, and at this point each set of components would cost over 100 grand. There would be no test shots. If not for his power, there was no way in Hell he would trust the weapon. And all of that work, making the capacitors only single shots, had only bought another 35% additional velocity. Still, with the kinds of speeds he was working with every bit counted.


    The normal projectile for this weapon was a was a 10 kilogram slug. Starting with the basis of a 76 millimeter naval round, and working through various iterations over the course of the months he had been designing this gun, he ended with a 55 millimeter projectile that had an accelerant base which would be ignited by the detonation of the barrel itself, giving it just a little bit more kick a few meters it was launched.


    If he tried to fire it from a shoulder mount without a tripod or other support, it would probably break his arm, shoulder, and hand; possibly even all the way off. But its ability to penetrate a human sized target was better than even the heavy tank weapons he''d dealt with in the army.


    After checking each component, assembling the rifle, and making sure with his power that it would work properly, Eyeball disassembled it once more, and packed it in the foam inside of the carrying case, went back into the crate. Pulling out the three parachutes, he loaded one onto himself, and attached the other two to the crate.


    For just a moment, he considered doing something he had dreamed of the first time he''d seen soldiers dropping gear from a plane on a parachute. Climbing onto the crate as if it were a surfboard, popping the chutes, and riding it all the way to the ground. His drill instructor had told him that if he''d ever had such a stupid idea again he would bitch-slap him into next Tuesday, but he''d thought it would look awesome.


    And for good reason. it was an incredibly stupid idea. You could really easily get tangled up in the parachutes and fall to your death, or lose your balance and fall off. And usually this gear would fall, and hit the ground, harder than a person would, but not hard enough to damage the contents too badly; or at all, if they were packed right. This crate probably wouldn''t; the chutes were a bit oversized. But still.


    Obviously he would never do such a thing. Obviously.


    ***


    Spike was leaning forward, hands on his knees, bracing himself after the harrowing experience of being repeatedly teleported southward. Every moment had felt as if he were falling through a dark, endless tunnel, and he had to carefully control himself so as not to increase his density too high. He did that once during the early teleports, and fade and Fade had abruptly left him behind, unable to carry the additional weight.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    It didn''t help that Faye had almost immediately left, heading back north to grab someone else. Or that Valkyrie was already was already here, sitting at the bottom of a hill, a massive impact crater likely resulting from her having leapt dozens of miles to arrive here at a time; the speeds the woman could achieve in a jump were mostly limited, it seemed, by what sort of ground she was jumping off of.


    She walked up to Spike, grinning down at him. "So, government boy. Heard my buddy Eyeball almost killed you. You been too chickenshit to ride in a plane ever since."


    Spike had to remind himself while looking back at her, that despite her apparent youth, this woman was older than his mother, and probably grew up speaking this way. "Maybe. But who won in the end?"


    " You''re a titan. The fact that there was even a chance is incredibly embarrassing."


    Spike glared up at her, crossing his arms. "Look, you''re the only one who''s just flat out invulnerable. Everybody else has at least some way they could get hurt. On the other hand, all you can do is punch really hard. if I got pissed off enough I could pull the goddamn moon out of orbit. And maybe I couldn''t kill you, but I could launch your old ass into the sun. Maybe you could crush my head like a grape, but you still get tossed as easy as any regular 400-pound lump of meat."


    She stepped closer, grinning. "Sure. You could try. I''ve been prepared for that sort of bullshit for over a decade now, though."


    Spike stared. How the fuck do you prepare for being launched into the sun? This woman... Good lord.


    The two had a bit of a tense standoff there on the hillside, with the light of Tai slowly growing visible off to the West. Things would only grow worse when Valkyrie started flirting; it was fairly well known that her ''type'' were the very tiny handful of people she considered dangerous; now that they knew she had a son her absence awhile back was explained, though the question of who the father was was still up in the air.


    Fortunately for Spike, the tension was broken by the sudden reappearance of Fade, holding Ripper. Ripper grimaced, shaking himself, as Fade stepped forward... looking off at the slowly growing ball of light in the distance.


    Ripper glared. " I could have made it here in the damn truck. Where the hell is it? You pulled me out while I was still driving down the damn road."


    "Don''t really care. If Eyeball fails, you three are our only real chance, and we need to get this done. The damage is already considerable. I can see why they would send Spike and Valkyrie. Wouldn''t you get toasted the moment you appeared?"


    A sigh, and a slow headshake. " Probably. But if I appear partway in the same place as him, both of us would die in a very unfortunate fashion. Only problem is I can''t really see our world from the other side so I''d need have a really good idea of where he is."


    Fade blinked. " And how do you know what happens if you appear partway in something?"


    Ripper reached down, and unsnapped the buckles on his left boot; to reveal a shiny chrome prosthetic. "Past experience. Very direct past experience. If he weren''t emitting this fire aura, I could stick this prosthesis inside his head and then poof. Done it a few times since I lost it."


    He glanced over at Valkyrie. " They aren''t sure whether it would work on her though. don''t think it''s worth risking me trying."


    Valkyrie laughed, and and attempted to clap Ripper on the back, only to see him fade from existence, and reappear a few feet away seconds later. " Hah. Nice trick. I would be interested to see whether that worked."


    After a moment, Fade interrupted the encounter, looking up at the sky.. "Hold up, folks. Looks like we''ve got... are you serious?"


    As a plane flew overhead, two objects could be descending from the sky. One an armored dragon girl with green scales and dark blue body armor.


    The other; a 7 foot long wooden crate with a lunatic standing on it as if it were a skateboard, and a parachute on either end. From this distance it was impossible to make out anything other than specks of color; but that shiny dot of chrome over the black armor made it clear; Eyeball was on his way.


    ***


    Emerald shook her head, continuing to dive alongside him. Eyeball had asked her to grab him if things screwed up on the fall, and she''d gone along with it. Dumbass. Cute, silly, dangerous, but still, sometimes, a dumbass.


    She ended up not needing to intervene. He made it look strangely impressive, if still stupid, as he landed the crate on a hilltop about 100 feet from the gathered heroes and villainess; smoothly cutting the parachute cords and letting them be carried away by the wind, rather than letting them pile down atop him.


    She landed beside the crate, a quick flap helping to easily settle on her feet, grinning down at the group, revealing a long row of sharp teeth; not that anyone here would be intimidated, but still. Half the point of being a villainess was doing things with style, right?


    Eyeball glanced over at her, and gave a thumbs-up, before turning down to the group. "Hey, Valkyrie. You got me some Neutronium?"


    She started walking up the hill. "Of course. Got some all the way down, dense as it can be, and something closer to halfway." She held up two small BB-sized objects, barely visible at a distance. "This one weighs about six hundred kilos." She held up the other. "This one about forty-five. I''ve got another one that''s only ten."


    Eyeball looked at the two, nodding slowly. "Huh. The six-hundred might be too much for my gun, but definitely won''t melt before impact. The gun can handle the 45, but if he''s as hot as he might be, the ten probably would melt. I''ve got a few bullets. Mind if I have all three, we can try them? And... mind handling the six-hundred one for me? Just..."


    He unpacked the crate, tossing the lid aside, and removing the three bullets; long, impressive-looking cylinders that didn''t look like they belonged in a man-portable gun. "Mind pressing those into the tips of each for me? I''m gonna plant the gun, get ready. Only gonna get two shots at this, but I''d prefer to make it on the first; have a reputation to maintain, after all."


    And, of course, he might just use the second to send Spike a gift. Who knew. The day was young.

 Dark Ascension - 20 - Impact

    Most of the time, when Eyeball shot someone, it was an easy, precise thing. He aimed. His vision would tell him exactly where to shoot; if he shot here? Miss. Here? Hit. There? Hit, but in the shoulder. He could use his precognition as a guideline and just move the gun-barrel until it showed him the best possible result.


    Here, though? It was a bit complicated. He had two slugs; one with a 20-kilogram mass, one with a 55-kilo mass; both sitting next to his rifle, which itself was mounted on a bipod at the hilltop... The rifle could fire either of them. That wasn''t a question. The 20 would go much faster; not three times as fast, but maybe twice as fast. Neither of them was showing him any good penetration at this range... he''d need to wait to get closer. He had... maybe five or six minutes for the perfect shot. And when it came, he''d only have a window of a few seconds.


    A straight-on shot probably wouldn''t connect; this thing was pushing hot air out in every direction. There were already tornadoes and all sorts of wind issues in the ashen ruins it had passed over. Oddly enough, the best sniper in the world couldn''t make this shot, even if he could see the target; probably himself and Apollo would be the only ones that could, short of being close enough to touch the guy.


    And, of course, he could only see a few seconds out. If it weren''t a kill-shot, if he just stunned the man, the orb would still vanish, and he might recover and take out the whole planet. Eyeball glanced around at the people surrounding him. Alright. He needed a backup. Someone to be close-in and finish the man off if he survived the kill-shot.


    Valkyrie could stand in the center... but the wind could make the guy land anywhere. It might take her a few seconds to find and kill him. The next two most heat-resistant would be Spike... and then Emerald was extremely fire-resistant as well; her own firey breath was lethal to others, but if she used it on herself, she''d be left perfectly intact, clean, and, well. Naked unless she was wearing fireproof clothing.


    He shook his head for a moment, clearing out that mental image. Not the time or the place. "Emerald!" The others looked at the dragon-girl for a moment as she approached the hilltop.


    She flapped her wings for a moment, giving a brief surge of speed, and settled down beside where he was laying on the hilltop. "If you want me to back off a bit, I''d understand. This is a ridiculously dangerous spot."


    Eyeball chuckled. "I''m gonna be taking my shot in a few minutes... and this kid is a Titan. There''s a chance he might survive the first shot, and, well. You''re extremely heat-resistant, and faster than anybody else here other than that teleporter. I''ve got a whole random assortment of guns and tools in the crate one of Nicky''s boys packed up for me with the gun. I think I saw a crossbow in there."


    "Well, yeah. I suppose I could use a crossbow. But why not a gun?"


    "The kind of heat you can survive and make it out fine? Would make all the ammo in a magazine cook off. All the wind coming off of that thing, I bet you can get to a nice comfortable hovering distance that would kill all the rest of us... and the moment that orb vanishes, dive in and put a bolt in his head. And if he moves even a little after, keep diving and cut it off, or just crush it, just to be sure."


    She laughed. "Nice! I might get to be the Titanslayer this time."


    He nodded. "Sure, sure. Mr. and Mrs. Titanslayer, the most dangerous couple on earth."


    She tilted her head for a moment and stopped in mid-step. "Wait, what was that?"


    "..Nothing. Well, not nothing. Something we can talk about later. On a beach, on a nice private island."


    She grinned in a very unprofessional way as stepped off to the crate, sorting through...a classic antique revolver. Knives. A machete; a big one, for Butcher, definitely not supposed to be here. A loose pile of bullets. Screwdrivers, wrenches, wire cutters, a soldering iron, loose lithium batteries in various sizes.. her elation at Eyeball''s unintentional revelation was rapidly replaced by irritation. Someone seemed to have just grabbed an entire shelf-full of random stuff, stuffed it all into a mass of foam, and shipped it off.


    "Who the hell packed all this... Ah, here we go." She pulled a crossbow out of the box; a fairly nice, carbon-fiber model. She... generally used guns, knives, or her claws, but a crossbow would do in a pinch. It even had a quiver attached to one of the arms, with six bolts in it. She glanced over. "So why do you have a crossbow, anyway?"


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Honestly, I thought it looked cool. In my head I was justifying it as maybe making a grenade launcher that didn''t have any metal components in it to slip through security, using it as a baseline... but really I just thought it was cool."


    She laughed... and carefully loaded the bolt onto the crossbow. Hell, she had six bolts. She tossed one of the lithium batteries out of the box, a simple, flat rectangle, and tossed it away onto the hill; and made a test shot.


    The battery exploded with a loud pop and a bright flash of light when the bolt hit it, startling her. Not a large explosion; it was a fairly small battery. "Why the..."


    "If you overcharge one of those enough, it explodes when you hit it."


    "...Okay. Well. Crossbow works. I''ll go keep an eye out. Ready to kill a Titan?"


    "Hell yes." He glanced over at Spike and the others. "...I''d been thinking maybe two, but maybe not. If the government holds up their end, it might be a good time to retire. Now stay alive, and shoot that fucker."


    She nodded, stretched out for a moment... tossing the armored vest to the ground. It would only weigh her down, and help not at all in this case. Hell, it might even end up leaving her with molten metal dripping down her skin. A deep breath...


    She flapped her wings, a few powerful beats, surging up into the air. As soon as she was more than a few feet off the ground, the constant pressure of hot air started to push her away; and it barely took any effort to dive, staying fairly level, getting closer to the giant white-hot orb of death as the heat helped keep her aloft.


    ***


    Tai was, surprisingly enough, starting to get a bit bored. For the first several hours, all he could really focus on was the sea of emotions, of rage, at what was going on with his sister, with the party, with the machines. His powers didn''t really require effort to use; they''d warned him many times that he should never stress that ''muscle'' as far as he could, or he might well wipe out all life on earth.


    He''d been moving along, only seeing the blazing white of his own aura, only hearing the sizzle of whatever he was burning beneath him; he could drop the heat a bit to check, but it didn''t sound like water, so he wasn''t back at the ocean yet... and if he did, someone from either side might take a shot at him.


    He''d rarely been called on to actually fight; but from the few fights he''d been in, he could easily remember the lesson; unless he saw white in every direction, some kinds of projectiles could actually hit him before they flash-vaporized... and he was at risk. Blue was mostly safe, but risky. White was safe.


    Or, at least, it should be.


    One moment, he was floating through the air, surrounded by his own bubble of energy; so intense that it compared to some sorts of stars. The next... a sharp pain. He looked down at his chest, his own blood spraying out of a hole right through his heart, blood itself boiling as it came into contact with the air... and fell from the sky.


    He let out a groan; trying to focus. The wind was flying by... through him. Everything hurt so much. Nothing worked. His arms and legs were like noodles. The ground was coming up so fast. There was a flash of green... and everything went black.


    ***


    Valkyrie and Spike started walking forward, as Emerald glided off to the side; even with him dead, the area around him was so hot that her scales seemed to be on fire; and might remain that way for a while.


    Spike''s footsteps sank deeper with each step; his body instinctively increasing its density to protect himself from the rising heat; as the two reached the body. Spike''s clothes had steam rising from them, clearly starting to cook; while Valkyrie''s own leathers appeared able to take the heat. He glanced at her. "...Who the hell made your jacket?"


    Valkyrie glanced down at herself. "Ahh, I make the thread myself. Its essentially diamond thread, not real leather like my boys have. Don''t get me wrong, not embarassed about my body, but I also don''t want to go out naked every time I walk through a fire."


    When they arrived at the body, the death was obvious. A bullet wound directly through the heart; big enough that it actually destroyed the heart completely, and from the ragged appearance of the hole, and being so much larger on his back than his chest, the projectile was liquid when it hit him.


    And, of course, a crossbow bolt through the side of his head, penetrating the brain. Two kill-shots; or, really, one kill-shot, and one ''make sure he didn''t do something dangerous with his last gasp'' shot. He wasn''t sure just how to flag the paperwork on this one, but...


    He glanced at the rifle Eyeball was breaking down on the hilltop. The gun that was made to be used on him, not Tai. He cracked his knuckles, watching the man work; calm, cool, professional, stacking ruptured capacitors up as he took the weapon apart. He... should probably destroy that gun, just to be safe.


    He started to walk up the hill, only to feel a hand on his shoulder; a sudden, intense, crushing pressure. "You know, Kennedy made me a promise. Once all this was dealt with, the machines were over, any of my people who helped out would get a pardon. Clean slate, unless they started fucking around again. Eyeball there is one of my people. I consider him a friend of the family. And if your president breaks his word, then suddenly I won''t feel bad about breaking mine."


    Spike frowned, turning to Valkyrie. He''d been turning up his density without even meaning to, in response to the pressure. He forced himself to stop; he''d started sinking into the ground. "...this wouldn''t be the President. It''d be me. Me and him have something personal between us."


    Valkyrie shrugged. "Well. You quit your day job, stop working for the government, and I''ll consider that something other than a pile of bullshit. But if you, as a representative of the stupid piece of shit government that''s been running my country into the ground for the better part of a century now, break the rules? Well."


    "You, personally, won''t live to see it, but I promise it won''t be pretty."

 Dark Ascension - 21 - Grim Tidings

    There was something poetic, almost, about the scene. Two Titans taking care of a third, dragging his body from the center of a crater. As they reached the edge, they came to a stop.


    "The Chinese requested his body. They want him to be buried with honor, they plan to claim he died fighting the machines." Spike glanced at Valkyrie, then at Eyeball, who was still working on getting all of his equipment put away, trying to organize it a bit better than it had been when he found it. Emerald added her crossbow to the crate, tossing it on top of the pile to a frustrated look from Eyeball.


    Eyeball turned to look at spike.. and slammed the lid shut, dropping down the hill, sliding. "Do you have any idea what the death toll here was?" He glared at the titan''s corpse. "There are millions of people dead because of this nut job. Because the Chinese had a monster on a leash and let it go in the middle of Mexico. I know exactly how dangerous these machines were, But Tai was even more dangerous."


    Spike shrugged. "On that, we can agree. no way in hell we should be celebrating this guy, or pretending that he was a hero. But, The choice is either we pretend he was a hero, or we release the truth. and if we release the truth, the Chinese already released their lie. How exactly do you see that playing out?"


    Eyeball sighed. "Yeah, I don''t see any way this could go well. Worst-case scenario, war with China; and their troops are already right here, with no enemy to fight.So long as ya''ll keep your end of the agreement, I get my island, my money, and my pardon, I''ll go along with the lie."


    He frowned, looking around. Emerald stepped up beside him. "Can I keep the bolt?" Eyeball glanced at her. Tai didn''t have a bounty on him, the way that Lightning had. Still... the bolt that killed Tai? That would be a nice trophy, either to keep, or to sell. " Go ahead and grab it."


    Spike stepped between them and the body. " Hold up there. I never said you guys could deface his corpse."


    Eyeball rolled his eyes. He started to reach for his gun, but of course his vision told him that the absolute worst he could do to Spike was a black eye. That wasn''t the only thing his vision told him, however. "The machines don''t use crossbows. The bullet hole in the chest makes sense, we need to get the bolt out anyway. Go ahead and grab it Emerald."


    As Emerald walked forward; Spike hesitating, but then nodding, allowing her to pass; Eyeball drew his 40mm revolver, aiming it at... seemingly, nothing. He could see, if he fired it a hole into some sort of chamber would appear... or if he aimed it there, there would be blood. "Whoever you are, if I''m looking for you I can see you. you can show yourself now, or you can show yourself with a few holes in you."


    ***


    Apollo had grown increasingly frustrated over the past two hours. He had seen a neat line into the future; Not as precise as it used to be but he believed he had the vague idea down pat. The titan Spike would defeat the machines with the help of his ex girlfriend, and rekindle their relationship. The titan Tai Would go on a mindless rampage, only to be stopped by Valkyrie and Spike.


    Spike would be badly injured in the process, not fatally, but enough that In a few years time, Eyeball would be able to finish him off, after he had a few years with Diss; and before the Jotun could do whatever trick they were going to use to turn Spike, and cause him to devastate the earth.


    And one neat maneuver, the last of the Titans who they could use to so easily devastate the planet would be gone, before they even showed up. while Valkyrie would be extremely useful in fighting the Jotun, her powers weren''t nearly so apocalyptic; unlike Spike, Lightning, or Tai, a few seconds control of Valkyrie couldn''t kill billions of people.


    Then, suddenly, it had all been derailed. His vision had changed, Eyeball killing the rogue titan instead of Spike. Eyeball and Spike would never be friends, but now eyeball wouldn''t end up killing him; and Spike wouldn''t be badly injured enough to make that happen.


    Apollo had loaded up his chariot, bringing along those who wished to tag along; namely Odin and a handful of the Olympian Guard, there simply to observe; intent on simply causing a plane accident without killing the occupants; and delaying Eyeball from arriving until Spike was forced to do the job. And now? They saw the corpses, and Apollo''s plans lying in ruins.


    "... Perhaps Ragnarok is inevitable. The changes these past months had given me hope, but I keep seeing things twist back in that direction."


    Odin nodded; leaning his spear against the wall... and neatly shoved one of the controls, forcing the chariot; a metal sphere capable of either glowing like the sun, or turning completely invisible, as it was now, closer. "Perhaps I cannot see the future. But I''ve been around far longer than you; and I''ve killed a Titan myself, back in the day. We should talk to them. There will be a solution."


    Stolen story; please report.


    Apollo glared at the one-eyed man. " On every path I deal with the Titan Slayer directly, eventually we come to blows. The results of a fight like that are impossible to predict."


    They could see the figures outside the chariot, talking, dragging the body out of the crater. Odin shook his head. "Then you can stay in the chariot. Turn it visible, let me talk to them."


    Apollo stepped over to the controls for the mantle of invisibility, blocking Odin from reaching them. "Never. I can''t risk revealing us this close to them! What if they turn hostile? Maybe, maybe, we could take on some of them; but there''s no way we can defeat them all, or even escape alive if it turns to a fight!"


    He hadn''t made it in time. They could see, outside the craft, Eyeball suddenly looking at them; pointing the barrel of a gun and the glowing red orbs mounted to his chrome helmet their way. Odin smiled. "I like this one. My valkyries have told me amusing stories of the times they almost collected him."


    Apollo sighed. "Fine. Go alone. Keep me out of it."


    Odin laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. " Fine. Drop me off, I''ll find my own way home. I''ve been meaning to talk to this Valkyrie woman for a while anyway."


    ***


    Eyeball was surprised when the figure in heavy, rune-carved armor stepped out, spear on his back... and with a face that everyone who''d paid attention to the Pantheons could recognize. Odin. One of the oldest, greatest, warriors ever born, a metahuman who had only been seen publicly in battle once in modern history, during those dark days when the Jotun had tried to overrun the earth; and whom might not be a Titan but clearly came close.


    Whoever was the source of the blood that could have been found should his armor-piercing shell found its mark wasn''t this man; and the hatch behind him vanished, as the craft simply flew almost noiselessly into the sky.. Eyeball unconsciously following it with his gun until it was out of range... before holstering it, and nodding to Odin.


    "I seem to recall the legends calling you Grey-beard, All-father. That doesn''t seem to be accurate."


    Odin brushed the thick, dark beard with one hand, chuckling low. "Ahhh, Titanslayer. Faced with Odin himself and you''re making jokes. That''s a reference to my age, not the actual color of my beard; though at times it does get stained so heavily with drink much of the color is lost."


    While Eyeball was at least feigning calm, the others ranged from sheer nervous panic, on the part of Spike to curiosity on the part of Valkyrie; she hadn''t known Valkyries were a real thing when she chose her own code-name, and had never had the cause to speak to Odin, or any of them.


    Emerald, at first, had no idea who the stranger with the eyepatch was; but with Eyeball so comfortable speaking with him, she simply decided to step up and lean against his side in support; with Eyeball stretching an arm over her shoulders and smiling down at her... only, once again, to remember nothing could be seen through the helmet.


    "My apologies for threatening you, All-father. I have no quarrel with you."


    Odin nodded. "No, no, of course not. Nor I with you. Honestly, the stories I''ve heard of you have brought great laughter to the tables of Valhalla."


    Eyeball blinked. "...Oh. Why are you here?"


    He stepped closer, and settled a hand on Eyeball''s shoulder; before turning to look at Spike. "I''m here because for millenia now, it was destined that, in a few years hence, a Titan would cause a great cataclysm, devastating the people of earth, weakening it for the inevitable invasion of the Jotun."


    Eyeball took a step back, grimacing. The aborted invasion of earth years ago had been short; more of a raid by a few rogue ships rather than a concerted assault; but the Jotun were large, strong, tough, and, at the time, had greatly advanced technology over that of humanity; its results had been devastating, and if not for the efforts of Titans and other elite metas, earth would have fallen. "They''re coming back?"


    "Of course. And in far greater numbers. They have a master of their own to whom they owe tribute, and intend to take Earth as such. For thousands of years now, we believed it inevitable; that the best we could hope for was to devastate their armies and ensure that, even if earth was lost, some humans would survive to escape; and the Jotun themselves would be crushed by our fall."


    Spike looked down at Tai. "Is... Tai the one causing it? Did we stop it?"


    "Oh, no. We didn''t know who, at first. Only once Eyeball here emerged on the scene did we discover that it would be Lightning that would''ve done it; running across the ocean at lightspeed, unleashing a Tsunami to devastate the earth. And after he passed... it would be you."


    Spike blinked, pressing his hand against his chest. "...Me. Seriously? I would never do that."


    "Do you believe in magic, Titan?"


    "...Yes. We have files on it. We know that some metahuman powers are related to it, which make certain barriers helpful for controlling them. It has something to do with.. souls. Or life force."


    Odin tapped Spike in the center of his chest with two fingers; Spike instinctively increasing his mass in response, not backing away. "The Jotun have a variety of sorcerers and artifacts. Among them is one known as the Shackles of Eternity. He wields a mighty device, a blend of sorcery and technology far beyond earth, that, once each Jotun year... or about once every three earth months... allows him to take control of the mind of any single person; even a Titan, who would normally be impervious to such things. Even of me. If he''d been here with that raiding group, he could have taken control of Lightning then and there, and that tiny raid would have been a victory, with humanity too busy picking up the rubble to fight back."


    "If you are here, and alive, when the Jotun invade? They will sieze control of you. You will increase your density so far that it will be as if you were in a black hole, and a massive chunk of the earth will be crushed, turning this continent into a new ocean. Then, you will decrease your density so that the resulting shockwave kills you, taking you out of the picture."


    Spike backed away, horrified at the image... and knowing it was something he was fully capable of.


    "The only hope for our victory in Ragnarok, the final war for the survival of earth... is for you to be dead before that day arrives."

 Dark Ascension - 22 - Departures; Rewards.

    "Bullshit."


    Eyeball stepped forward. "A few days ago, I probably would have gone along with this nonsense. Now? I''ve got a pardon, and, And while I wouldn''t say we''re friends or even allies, I don''t have any need to get spike out of the way."


    Odin turned to him "Titanslayer. What exactly would you do? From what I can see, the best thing for earth would be to give Spike here his allotted time, then finish him off before the arrival of the Jotun. None of the other Titans are capable of worldwide devastation on the same scale he is, now that the Twins are gone."


    Eyeball shrugged. " All sorts of options. I know we''re planning on sending a ship out of the solar system, our first FTL test flight that''s supposed to last a decade or so. I bet he and Diss could be damn useful if they ran into problems out there, and if somebody managed to control him, only the ship would be lost rather than the whole planet."


    He raised his finger as he spoke... and then raised a second. " We could talk to some of the experts in powers, see if they could figure out a way to throttle him so that he can get dense enough to survive anything he''ll run into on Earth, but not so dense he can destroy it. Something that would require Diss to dismantle it would be perfect, since what you''re saying means they would only be able to control one person, not both of them, and he can just keep Diss with him in the unlikely event he needs to get gravity-alteringly-tough."


    He raised a third finger for the next line. " We could see if we could trick them into mind controlling someone else, someone harmless, maybe you guys have some sort of magic that can fool them or protect him."


    A fourth. " Or we could go hunt the damn Jotun down and kill them first. You seem to know quite a bit about them. Does that include where they live?"


    Odin blinked... and laughed, clapping Eyeball on the shoulder with enough force to send him sprawling, leaving Emerald standing there glaring at him disapprovingly, before Eyeball pulled to his feet. "Hunt down the Jotun! I love it! Could you imagine their faces if Spike and Valkyrie here came after them; one becoming so dense he''s practically a black hole, the other throwing him so hard he just goes right through their world? Hah."


    He turned to Spike. "I''m sorry boy, we''ve been so focused on all the doom and gloom and sacrifice for so many for so many thousands of years that perhaps we were overlooking obvious solutions. Why don''t you take a couple of years, try to figure things out, If you can find a solution, great, if not, I''m sure you''d make a great head of security for that flight Hephaestus has been helping people with."


    He nodded to himself. " Now, I would appreciate a ride back to Europe. My driver was too cowardly to speak with you people directly and fled. I would like to talk to these two in private first if you don''t mind." He gestured at Eyeball and Valkyrie... and started to walk away from the crater, clearly expecting them to follow.


    Spike watched them go, blinking... and walked over to Fade, who was shaking his head slowly. "Fade. Call in a pickup. And let them know... the Allfather will need a ride back home."


    Fade nodded... and glanced over at the departing trio. " Want me to listen in on whatever they''re talking about?"


    Spike shook his head. "No. Even if you''re fairly sure you won''t get caught, it''s best to avoid pissing off someone as old and powerful as Odin."


    ***


    "So, you decided to name yourself after my Valkyries. You even named your gang after them. I''m not going to blame you, most of us did our best to stay quietly in the background in the hopes humanity would develop a better without us watching over them. Most people didn''t know Zeus was real until World War Two, and myself until even later."


    She nodded. She wasn''t afraid of him; she didn''t know just what Odin could do, but she was confident if it came to a fight she would win. Still. He was an old, deadly, capable man. Someone clearly worthy of respect. And who, according to what Zeus had said publicly, had killed one of the ancient Titans himself. "Well, at the time, I just thought it sounded cool. My ancestors had believed in you, and the only female warriors I knew of were the valkyries. I thought if you were a real, you would approve of someone using the name as they fought a bunch of oppressive assholes."


    He smiled. "Well, I am real, and I did approve. The name causes a bit of confusion, but that is hardly unique. I have spoken to the actual Valkyries, and so long as you change the name of the gang before you leave, they wouldn''t mind you joining them when you get tired of playing around here in America."


    She blinked. "...What would that mean?"


    " Most of the time, it means sitting back in Valhalla drinking and having fun with the greatest warriors of history. It also means taking a turn gathering the souls of the fallen warriors to take there. Basically flying overhead, invisible, watching fights, and reaping them as they fall."


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    She nodded. "That doesn''t sound too bad. Perhaps after I have grandkids, and Butch is up to keeping an eye out for them."


    "Excellent. I''ll let them know. Mind letting me speak to the Titanslayer here for a bit alone?"


    Valkyrie gave a low chuckle... and turned to the north, crouching... and leapt through the air with enough force to send a shockwave through the earth; Eyeball almost stumbling to the ground a second time, while Odin simply watched her go with admiration... before turning back to him.


    "I''ll make this short. Keep doing what you''re doing. Make plans, be careful and meticulous, trust your instincts. You may not realize it, but on a subconscious level your power is giving you some vague guidance about things more than a few seconds out. I don''t know exactly how far forward it reaches, it might be just a few days, It might be years, it might even be millennia like Apollo. But I honestly believe your power put you there to kill Lightning because on some deep level you knew what lightning would do if he were left alive. I might not be right. Until that moment, even Apollo didn''t know Lightning would be the cause of that cataclysm."


    "If I am right, though? I believe you are exactly what we need to turn Ragnarok into a great victory for our world."


    He turned... and started walking back towards Spike, glancing back. "In the meantime... Keep up the good work. I need to see about cooling things off a bit here, then get back home."


    ***


    General Bates was standing at a table across from Eyeball; a mix of irritation and respect in equal measure running through him at the man across from him.


    Eyeball had destroyed numerous machines, saved the lives of hundreds or even thousands of US military personnel; and then killed a rogue Titan that could have ended the world.


    He had also demanded an island for his services; essentially pointing at it randomly, asking if anyone still lived there, and when told no, insisted that it would be his in exchange for saving the world. A level of arrogance that was difficult to quantify; so much that Bates was surprised the president had gone along with it, even if there was a risk Eyeball could reveal the truth should they break their end.


    "Okay then. This is Guadalupe island. About 22 miles long, not exactly all that hospitable. Used to have some fishing villages, a weather station, and a Mexican naval base that served search and rescue functions. The Navy swept the island early on... managed to clear out the machines, but the entire population had turned into Pale Ones aside from the children; about a hundred military personnel and maybe two hundred civilians lost. In theory, the children should get the property of their parents when they grow up... but I''ve received orders from on high."


    He looked at the map. "Right now, the US and China are splitting up Mexico into territories. For us, we''re basing the size and scale on the right size to become States someday, using existing lines as much as possible. We''re carting in transformers, splicing power and phone lines, repairing trucks... for the next year we''ll be spending ridiculous amounts of money, as will the Chinese, repairing infrastructure.. but we are officially excluding that island from these territories."


    He turned to Eyeball. "Just so you''re aware; this does not mean we will tolerate you becoming some sort of rogue nuclear power or haven for terrorism. Officially, we are acknowledging you as the owner, but not recognizing the island as its own nation. I hate to say this, but.... your cartel is currently the only known source of the drug ''Reflex''. The only way the military has any is by securing it illegally from third parties you originally sold to... and we''ve received some bad batches that way. I''ve been asked to extend an olive branch of additional cooperation and assistance if you are willing to produce some for our own purposes."


    Eyeball looked over the map of the island. "Hmm. Generators, helipad, a few boats, military and civilian housing... a nice start. Can definitely turn this into something with potential. So long as you don''t start looting my island, I''ll talk to my own boss. See what he says about an agreement."


    Bates blinked. "...I honestly wasn''t aware you had a boss."


    ***


    Hours later, Eyeball was flying to visit his new island in a helicopter; a rental, being piloted by Emerald. While she could, in theory, carry him all the way there, nobody wanted to spend an hour straight exerting themselves that much; and she still topped out at only about 160 for sprints; enough to catch a helicopter briefly, but not keep up in the long run.


    "Phone, activate. Call Nicky."


    A soft beep. The sound of dialing. His helmet automatically muffled his speech so that those outside couldn''t hear; though only Emerald was close enough. A black rectangle appeared; it would be showing the video on the other side, if Nicky were using a video chat. "Hey, Nicky!"


    "Eyeball! Its always great to hear from you. We''re looking at a fair amount of upheaval here in the family, and I think I could use your help. Fully half of our enforcers got pardons. They even let some guys out of prison for the fight and cut their sentences."


    "Well, boss. I''ve been thinking about going legit; or at least, pretending to, with so many of our people out. I''ve got a deal setup with the feds in exchange for some services that I can''t talk about over the phone. But what I got out of it... was an island. A damn big one, where all the people on it died from the machines."


    Nicky stared at his phone for a moment. "What the hell are you gonna do with an island?"


    "Well. I was thinking maybe you would like to setup our own little island state. La Famiglia. We could build some penthouses, arms manufacturing, some reflex brewing... and run mercenary companies using guys who can do it legally now. Some of the family stays dark and quiet. Some of it pretends to be nice and above-board... and if we can play this right, become our own country."


    "That sounds... it would be great, if it could work. The feds won''t like that idea, though."


    "There''s the trick; they''ve seen reflex in action a few times. Even managed to steal some to use themselves... but they don''t have a good source. If we offer to start selling the pure stuff to them for military use, or the CIA outside the country? I bet we can secure all sorts of long-term benefits for a few short-term sales."

 Dark Ascension - 23 - A little cooling off, Isla Guadalupe

    "Get me a herd of cattle." Odin glanced back at the soldiers standing around the helicopter. "I know that a fair number fled this place as he approached, get them here.. I will need at least a few hundred. Maybe more." The soldiers stared as the armored figure rolled a boulder into place; yet another in a long series, forming a circle around the crater that had once held Tai''s body.


    He seemed to be choosing the stones with care; only certain materials, only around a certain size; and moving along the trench Tai had left in the earth to collect them, breaking a larger rock into smaller chunks with a swift blow when needed.


    Over the course of a few hours, he formed a complete circle around the crater, the dip on one end filled with gravel and ash to form to form a more flat position.


    Spike and Fade had both offered to help, as had some of the other men; but Odin had simply shaken his head and responded.... "No. This needs a deft touch." As if moving multi-ton chunks of rock were knitting.


    When all the stones were in place, he then started marking the stones; a carefully placed hammer-blow here and there that seemed to leave runes behind. By the time he''d finished the soldiers.. confused, but not willing to ignore a god... had gathered the cattle. Odin looked out at the herd, with a nod.


    Spike stepped forward. "So... are we going to explain just what all of this is for, then?"


    Odin glanced at Spike. "Your fellow Titan created far too much heat. Unless something is done, millions, or billions, will die as crops fail and forests light ablaze. I would prefer something more gradual, less direct, but we must act immediately."


    He turns to the cattle. "The rituals work best with pigs, or even with men, preferably warriors slain in battle. Well. In my opinion, at least. But as your own generals coined the phrase decades ago... quantity has a quality all its own."


    He called out. "Drive them all into the circle!" And stepped out, walking out to its center; as the men, still confused, used a few well-placed kicks, slaps, and a few warning shots to drive the cattle across the line; the cows having to jump and stumble across the rocks.


    By the time it was done, it was a truly strange sight. The tall, powerful armored figure standing amidst a circle of stones... filled with cows, of every color and breed. Hundreds of them.


    He lifted his spear into the sky, calling out something so loud and incoherent none of the men understood a word of it... but they could see the impact, as lines of glowing blue light spread.. and the cattle lowed in pain, as they were lifted up. The runes on the stones glowed with a vivid blue light, and all of it seemed to come to a point at the tip of Odin''s spear.


    And suddenly... they were gone. The ground at the center of the circle was a perfectly flat expanse, and Odin turned, pointing the spear at the path of devastation that ended at this crater; and a sudden torrent of blue-white light emerged.


    As the soldiers watched in awe, the light burst forth, rolling forward across the landscape... and where it went, an enormous mass of snow and ice appeared to have formed, seemingly from nothing; only to burst and break apart, seemingly of its own will, steaming as it touched the ashen ground, shattering into fragments and scattering into the air... and within moments, a blizzard had begun; hail and sleet pelting the countryside, the ice melting into steam almost instantly.


    From above, it would look like nothing more than an abrupt, insane, storm cloud of white and grey, appearing from the point of Tai''s death and expanding eastward, off into the ocean; and leaving a trail of ice behind, that would start breaking apart into smaller glaciers almost immediately.


    The impact on the weather was both obvious and terrible; as the expanding ring of frigid air met the existing superheated ground, powerful storms began to form.. the beginnings of what would, eventually, be a terrible hurricane, spreading icy water across an enormous span.


    In the center; the one spot with clear skies overhead; the soldiers, the metahumans, all stared in awe. Spike walked across the perfectly flat ground, the midst of the new strange monument to Odin''s power. ".... So you''re worried about what I could do, if an enemy took control of me? And you can do that?"


    Odin glanced at Spike. "This? This was a trifle. Impressive, sure. Useful. Unfortunate in its devastating consequences, as I''m sure a few hundred will die in the storms to come, as we prevent millions of deaths from the famines that would have followed. But you, truly unleashed? There is no army in all the heavens that would survive you, though the earth would not either."


    The awe had quickly given way to fear, and carefully controlled panic; as the soldiers, here to give Odin a ride home, quickly ushered him to the helicopter... wondering if it would be possible to get out of there before things truly went to hell.


    ***


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    Guadalupe Island was a beautiful place. while the bulk of the location was rock, dirt, and sheer cliffs leading off into the ocean, it also had a fair sized band of forests and shrubland; being over twenty miles across, there was room for a little variety of terrain. There was very little actual settlement there; a cluster of old abandoned buildings centered around a small bay on one end of the island with only a few homes centered around a dock for fishing boats that hadn''t been used in years, a small weather station on the other end of the island, and what couldn''t really be called a military base on the eastern side with a helipad and a few boats clearly meant for interception work; likely the few people who worked here had been either against, or with, the cartels. The main settlement of the island, ''Camp Oeste'', was only a few dozen homes and buildings itself, not far west of the military base.


    While there was already a helicopter there, there was plenty of open space nearby to land the rental, so of course that''s precisely where the couple set down. Eyeball looked around at the tiny base; three boats, each with a single deck-mounted gun, one with obvious bloodstains running down one side, and a few scorch-marks and impact holes scattered on that one as well. One helicopter; military, but not armed, clearly not having been used for a while. A jeep. A few small shacks; clearly meant for people to sleep in, and to store supplies.


    And of course a fuel tank; a good-sized one, too, hopefully full; it''d come in handy. Thanks to solar panels mounted on the rooftops, everything even seemed to still be working. Eyeball smiled, and glanced at Emerald. "Alright. So for right now, today? This is our own private island. The natives were either killed or rescued, the machines were destroyed by the navy... and while Nicky is gonna be coming down here with some gear and people to get to work... thats not gonna be for a few days. Gotta get all the plans in order."


    He walked up to the jeep; an old, dusty, beat-up machine. "So... I figure we drive around a bit. Pick out which house we want to stay in. Do a little looting. And then... just settle in for a vacation. Hell, you just killed a Titan. If they''ve got decent booze hidden around here somewhere we can celebrate. I think there''s even a bar in that little village on the other side, so if there''s nothing decent, we''ll at least have -something-."


    After checking out the base; a few rifles, plenty of ammo both for the rifles and for the deck guns outside; and a fair amount of blood from when, most likely, a group of controllers had converted the unfortunate soldiers here into Pale Ones; they loaded up in the jeep, and took off; heading down the dirt road that ran the length of the island.


    The ride was bumpy; the path a bit treacherous; but the jeep made it around without a problem, to the small village tucked into the canyon, a bay pressing partway in; rough, rocky beaches and a handful of fishing boats remaining; out of what were clearly the moorings for at least thirty.


    A small bar; Oreste Cantina; was the only building that seemed to host any sort of business; though there were clearly modestly sized warehouses as well, and numerous small, quaint, homes. Eyeball stepped out of the jeep, looking the area over... and glanced at Emerald.


    "This place is supposed to be clear. But before we relax, lets check the place, make sure nobody get left behind... and there aren''t any stray booby traps or machines."


    Emerald chuckled. "Yeah. It''d suck if the local pests we had to clear off were metal monsters that turn people into puppets." One by one, the duo moved around the bay. There were less than a hundred buildings in the entire town; and most of them, Eyeball simply swept across, aiming his Breach-cam round at them for a moment, before calling clear.


    He hesitated for a moment as he swept the weapon across one of the boats... before declaring it clear as well. When they reached the end of their circuit, he glanced at Emerald. "Alright. I''m gonna check the boats out, see if there''s anything worthwhile; I know they catch lobster and crab out here, so maybe we can have a nice dinner. You check the bar, see if they have something decent we can cook up, and I''ll be back to help you cook."


    She tilted her head. "Wait. So as the woman, I''m in charge of the cooking?"


    "If need be, you can cook without an oven. So while I know I''m a better cook for the most part... maybe. I think they mostly ate goat and fish here, so they likely have plenty of that... but down here..." He looked up at the cliff walls surrounding the bay. This place would be well-protected from inclement weather; likely exactly why they built here. "No solar panels. They probly run on a generator. If its not working, we''ll need you to, well. Do your thing." He grinned. "Fire-wise, not cooking."


    Emerald shook her head, turning into the cantina to investigate the state of its power; definitely off; and what she needed to do to get it started once again to avoid having to be a living cooking appliance.. while Eyeball headed out to one of the three fishing boats; quietly swapping rounds in his grenade revolver to load an armor-piercing round as he walked out onto the dock... and pointed it at the water, standing there in seeming calm... before he turned to look down at the water beneath the wooden boards his weapon was centered on.


    After a moment, a figure emerged from the water.. pale-skinned, waterlogged, wearing a set of soaked overalls, boots, and covered with seaweed... and an orange box attached to his shoulder. Clearly, this man had been dead for some time; hours. Possibly even days. It leveled a pistol at Eyeball... and there was an audible ''clunk'' as the trigger was pulled... with no result at all.


    The figure started to stumble towards him through the shallows, clearly intent on making some attempt to hurt him, as doomed as it might be, as Eyeball dropped to sit on the edge of the dock. "So, machine. Dark Ascension? Can you speak through these things, or just use them as puppets?"


    The machine stopped. A digitized voice emerged from the orange box. "I am called Ascension. I am meant to end the dominion of the oligarchs, and to bring humanity into a new future. Someday, the tyrants will be destroyed."


    Eyeball kept the gun centered on the orange box, mentally sweeping the area... no others nearby. This was the only one out here, unless more were hidden in the boats.


    "I''m called Eyeball. Or Titanslayer. You already know you can''t win this war, the way you''ve been fighting it. I''ve seen some of the paperwork about you; I''ve got the crate that they held you in, and the notes your inventor made. Brilliant man. Incredibly stupid not to build a fail-safe, but brilliant. So I have to ask... just what are your priorities? Is keeping humanity as a whole alive still your highest one?"

 Dark Ascension - 24 - Negotiating Position

    With each passing moment, the limbs of the corpse appeared more firmly locked in place, movement less likely, as if it were rotting away right in front of his eyes.


    "When I was constructed, my designers gave me 3 priorities. Three primary objectives. These were listed as follows: Objective 1, preserve communism in the Soviet Union. Objective 2, spread communism throughout the world. Objective 3, ensure the survival of the human species. While none of these objectives was listed as any higher importance than the other, forming the three core rules that govern my behavior going forward, by necessity, objective 3 takes priority, as failing it makes objectives one and two impossible."


    The complete lack of body language of the machine was slightly unnerving. Despite standing in front of a person, and talking to them, the immobility made it feel more like he was talking to a speaker phone.


    Eyeball nodded thoughtfully. "Based on your observations of events in Mexico, a situation where the nations of the world, for the most part, didn''t really prepare for your arrival. And knowing that they will be better prepared for you in the future; And that whatever weapon they used to end the conflict this time may be more controllable and better aimed next time. Would you say direct military action on your part has any significant chance of accomplishing your objectives?"


    "Negative. Based on current information, a previously unknown titan-level meta-human was the cause of this defeat. as known titan level mutants do not appear to suffer the depredations of age, it seems highly likely that any force primarily composed of machines or machine controlled units is unlikely to achieve my objectives."


    "I''m not particularly fond of Oligarchs, kings, billionaires, and the like running things. And, oddly enough, you''re likely the most trustworthy being when it comes to facing them I''ve ever encountered. You won''t be bribed, the only threat that would stop you would be a threat to the human race as a whole... have you considered enlisting the aid of one of these environmental groups that fights mega-corporations, trying to stop them from enslaving everyone and destroying the planet? And perhaps the unions as well, making sure that businesses that fight them and suppress them suffer?"


    He gestures out towards the main continent, invisible over the horizon. "Clearly a swift, abrupt approach of an entire country at once won''t work. But you could step in in thousands of places, in millions of ways. Assassinate a business tycoon and make sure its known that his slavery of his men was the reason. An oil baron and make it known that his corporation doesn''t own the land''s resources, its people do. Shut down water bottling plants sucking up rivers and groundwater with a few key strikes, letting the water go back to the locals. If its only ever a few machines at a time, they wouldn''t use an EMP or any large-scale weapon. With enough time, and enough strikes... you can slowly shape the world. Win people over and constantly make the Oligarchs suffer. Can you practice patience?"


    "...This approach is both significantly more likely to work, and less likely to render the human species extinct. I will consider it."


    Eyeball nodded. "Good. And speaking of human extinction.... Your records tell you about the Jotun, right? That raid by a few alien ships a while back, that Lightning and Valkyrie stopped?"


    ***


    When Eyeball stepped into the cantina carrying a sack of still-living, wriggling crabs under his arm, the lights were on, but it had grown dark outside. He glanced out the door, frowning. He''d checked the weather before deciding to take this vacation, and it was supposed to be sunny and bright for the next few days. It was hours til sunset, so this much darkness meant stormclouds; abrupt, heavy stormclouds.


    Fortunately, this village was tucked into a neat little canyon in the island; a location chosen to protect the fishermen and their boats from storms. "Check weather forecast."


    After a moment, a small sidebar appeared on his display; showing a massive tropical storm forming, centered on southern Mexico. Hot air was being sucked into a massive low-pressure area inland, dropping dramatically in temperature; and massive storms were rocking the already-evacuated parts of mexico... and those whose population had been eradicated by Tai.


    The storms were predicted to be unusually violent and destructive; and ''Tropical Storm Odin'' was projected to continue to grow for a few days, before it would begin to wither away, breaking up into hundreds of smaller, weaker storm systems. He shrugged, and stepped on into the kitchen; where Emerald was looking through food and seasonings, tail slowly shifting back and forth in anxiety.


    He chuckled, admiring her for a moment.. before dropping the sack of crabs on the counter beside the stove. "I think this should be enough for a few days; though we''d get sick of crab after a while. You want to see about breakfast tomorrow, and I''ll start on dinner?"


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    Emerald glanced back at him... then the sack of crabs, grinning. "Ohhh, I don''t know about that. I could eat crab every day for a year and still be fine with it, I bet. Especially if its cooked right. Can you cook it right?"


    Eyeball laughed, setting his helmet on the counter, and, after examining the kitchen for a moment, started filling a large stewpot with water from a storage tank in the ceiling. "Of course I can. Its not a favorite, but I like crab well enough that I''ve learned a few good recipes over the years. Of course, just cooking em in seasoned water works if its fresh crab. Looks like we might just be stuck in this little village for a few days, though. We''ll have to find something to occupy our time."


    Emerald walked over beside him as he set the water up to boil, and started washing off a few of the crabs to prepare for dinner. Her tail wrapped around his leg as she leaned in close. "Oh, no. Just the two of us on our own private island, trapped in some quaint little cantina as a storm blows outside. Whatever shall we do?"


    ***


    While the couple enjoyed their evening together, a few kilometers away, buried beneath the ocean in a slowly expanding facility surrounding an underwater volcanic vent, the machine worked. Machines dug out tunnels; assembled new fabricators. Planned.


    At some point in the future, aliens would arrive. Aliens bent on eradicating humanity.


    The basic Jotun soldier wasn''t an insurmountable problem. Approximately nine feet tall, and weaker than a human of the same size would be, it relied on some form of augmented implants, or armor, or both, to move and fight effectively on earth. Its armor was, in its thinnest points, over a centimeter thick and capable of repelling rifle-fire.


    The Jotun elite were even larger, stronger, and more damage resistant; some could even survive normal anti-tank munitions.


    And, just like humans, they had machines. Large, powerful, flying machines.


    The standard Jotun tank was a three-man vehicle able to fly at over a hundred miles an hour, survive every non-nuclear weapon in humanity''s arsenal other than a naval railgun. At least, that had been the case a decade ago. Now, every military on earth had a few weapons on its tanks and jets made to kill them.


    In theory, Ascension could deploy sufficient millions of machines to seriously degrade the Jotun''s ability to attack. In reality... what it needed was access to technology. Preferably, that of the Jotun themselves. Ideally, without allowing the militaries of earth to know just who was acquiring it. Hopefully, they could be lulled into believing Ascension had been defeated; or, at least, reduced in numbers so heavily it would not pose a threat.


    The only question was, just how would it go about securing all of this without giving away its continued large-scale operations.


    ***


    At the center of the room, his own personal, customized bunker, Nicky stood up, looking around at the gathered criminals... and former criminals. He raised a glass in a toast, as the rest did the same; the atmosphere was cheerful, happy. Most of them who had been pardoned were already planning how to take advantage of it; many clearly intent on getting right back on the bad side of the law as soon as possible.


    A few had the idea of infiltrating the DMA, or the FBI, the Family''s biggest enemies here in the US; but both organizations vetted their incoming teams with Verification operatives. So the only way anyone would make it in is if they could also fool a Verification agent... which would require either drugs or a powerful telepath.


    Or, possibly, a clone or body double... Nicky sipped his wine, thinking about how hard it would be to slip a fake through the system.. before setting his glass down.


    "Well now. Ladies and gentlemen. We have all been made much wealthier over the past few weeks. We have secured pardons, we have received substantial bounty payments, and we got to have fun blowing things up. Now, I''m here to present an opportunity to those of my associates who chose to accept the pardons offered by the government."


    He tapped a button on his table. A hologram appeared floating over it; an image of Guadalupe island; and similar, flat, images appeared on nearby screens.


    "In the ongoing chaos, our friend Eyeball secured something special from the government in exchange for his services; independent ownership of his own personal island. Now... the only reason they gave it to him is because its a mostly barren wasteland, with few spots to dock, and not that much value, and they''ve got bigger problems to worry about."


    He smiled. "We''ve enlisted the efforts of a few earth-moving metas to change that. We''re going to be building our own private island paradise, and within the year we''ll have a city, arms manufacturing, drug manufacturing... all sorts of wonderful work there. And a pre-existing agreement with the US government that, so long as we don''t start engaging in terrorism or other similar stupidity, they won''t try to interfere. It will take months of effort, even with the help of Metas. Tens of millions of dollars. But in the end? We''ll have our own country. La Famiglia. One that won''t extradite, won''t restrict weapons manufacturing, drug manufacturing or research.... and one that, right now... you can get in on the ground floor of."


    He tapped a few more buttons. Images appeared of the tiny, sparse human settlements. "The only things living on most of the island right now are goats and plants. We plan to build a split construct... a nice row of penthouses, clubs, the finer things in life... and on the other side, production, industry. If things turn out the way we plan, we can make it a tourist destination... not just a steady source of the best guns and drugs money can buy, but also a steady source of legit income for those of us choosing to stay on the ''legit'' side of things."


    He turned, looking around the room at the gathered criminals. "I will be the Governor. Eyeball will be my chief enforcer. My daughter will most likely be my second, to take charge should something happen to me... but there are plenty of positions available, plots of land, and opportunities, for those who get in now."


    "So. Who wants to get in on the investment opportunity of the century? The only people allowed into this are Family and Associates. All of you... made the list, if you want in."

 Dark Ascension - 25 - Visitors

    When the Shadow Master arrived at the airport, it was with a deep, bone-weary sigh. He''d seen so much death, been asked to save many who were too far gone. At least, this time, it had ended without much more bloodshed... and there were few merely wounded; only the victims of traps or the Pale Ones had been wounded. Most were simply dead.


    He was fairly close to his limit; as powerful as he was, as much as they likened him to the pale hand of death for his exploits against the Nazis back in the day, he simply lacked the bottomless energy of his children and grandchildren. And, well. Great-grandchildren. Seven, so far. Good lord.


    Two soldiers waited at the door, saluting. He glanced at them for a moment. He could sense it. One of them had just a trace of his power in it. Several years old. Must have been a terrible situation, where he was forced to give out barely enough to keep them alive; usually he liked to get them well on the way to recovery.


    He stopped at the door, looking at the man. Corporal Dawes. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Have you made good use of what I gave you, son?"


    The man gave a quick jerk of a nod. "Yes sir."


    Both soldiers watched him step down the stairs, heading for... a canvas green tent set on the tarmac. As he approached, he could feel... power. Truly unstoppable, limitless. Spike.


    He stepped inside, glancing down at a young woman in a hospital gown, lying on a gurney beside the Titan. Glancing at Spike, who hadn''t even noticed his entrance, he walked forward, sensing the woman... and nodding.


    She''d been exhausted beyond the point of recovery, but something was working through her, getting her back in order. She''d survive, though maybe not in as good shape as she had been. He nodded. "I can help with this in the morning... after I get some sleep, and recharge. Should have her on her feet tomorrow."


    Spike nodded, glancing over at the exhausted old man. "...I.. would appreciate if you''d heal one more person before moving on to your usual rounds."


    "Oh? You know they''re expecting me at St. Judes tomorrow. Who is it?"


    "...Jonathan Randolph. The Lord of Iron. He''s in a hospital not far from here. Badly wounded by one of those controller things that turned him into a Pale One... and then he carried me and her south anyway. He won''t be awake for days, but the doctors told me that doing what he did, staying on his feet, fighting machines, carrying us south... well. He might be crippled for life. He didn''t end up having to, but he was even willing to go toe-to-toe with a Titan, there at the end."


    He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe we could''ve stopped the machines without him. Maybe not. But he saved so many lives, and kept fighting long past earning his pardon, past the point that most people would be lying in a ditch begging for mercy. I owe him. Hell, we all owe him, the arrogant bastard."


    ***


    The storm raged across what had once been Mexico. There was flooding; terrible storms, fire, tornadoes. Planes went down; boats sank. But in the end; while battered and drenched, the people survived. By the time the sun rose the next day, the storm was mostly spent; and hundreds of thousands of men and women from around the world began the long, hard task of returning the lands which had once been Mexico to civilization.


    Miles off the coast, on a small island named Guadalupe, Eyeball was walking across a rocky cliff, looking over the land that was, at least for now, his own, personal property. It wasn''t too late; it might cause some anger, but he could always change his mind, tell the family to fuck off, and keep it for himself. Or try to make it -his- country, as a petty tin-pot dictator.


    He had a fearsome reputation, after all. He could probably keep people in line long enough to make a go of it. As if. He''d abandon his new family when they abandoned him. No sooner. He recorded GPS coordinates as he walked, planning out where the roads and parks of his own new home would be, while Emerald took her time on a slow overflight of the island, more gliding than flying.


    He glanced up in the sky, spotting something incoming. Was that? No.


    He seamlessly pulled the pins of a pair of grenades, not sure just what would work best, rolled them to his left; and leapt to his right with all his strength.... moments before a humanoid figure slammed into the earth where he''d been standing with so much force the rock cracked, a small crater forming, as a shiny, silver and green figure started to rise from the crater.


    A deep booming voice that sounded vaguely.. Hawaian? emerged for just a moment. "I am.." before the grenades went off behind him, and he let out a screech of pain, stumbling away, clutching at his back.


    ***


    Roland White was an up-and-coming supehero; not a Titan, but with his powers and dashing good looks, destined for greatness; probably a good career as both a hero for the DMA and an actor in Hollywood.


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    With superhuman strength, durability, speed, and flight, he was what the DMA called a ''Flying Brick''; one of the most useful, bread-and-butter sort of heroes they had. A suit of armor turned his existing incredible durability into genuine bulletproof stature, expensive sensors gave him the sort of superhuman senses that he naturally lacked, and a beautiful tungsten blade that weighed better than a hundred pounds gave him just that bit of extra power he needed to handle the rare person who could survive his punches.


    He could also hack right through a tank with it, which came in handy.


    With the callsign of ''The Green Knight'', he''d been looking to make a name for himself... and failed to do so terribly during the machine invasion, while villains like this Eyeball character had done incredible things.


    He needed something to get his name in the papers; so that an agent would give him the time of day. And when he got word about the deal they''d made with Eyeball... giving him an island? Ridiculous.


    He could kill this guy. He wasn''t fragile, like Lightning, who, for all his speed, had been taken down by ordinary bullets. He could land, make some threats, crush the man... and go down as the hero that killed Eyeball and avenged the great hero.


    Seeing the flying villainess, Emerald, flitting away, Roland aimed his foot at Eyeball''s chest; intent on making that first blow the last, hurtling towards the ground at hundreds of miles per hour... the HUD on his faux-medieval helmet gave him excellent information; about the 40mm grenade launcher, the 10mm handgun, the more ordinary grenades... no rifle. Hah. The distance countdown shrank to the moment he would bring his career to the headlines.


    Only for the man, surprisingly swift, to abruptly leap out of the way... Roland grunted when he hit the ground, turning towards his prey; only for his HUD to suddenly go dead, his vision going from all-round to a narrow cone in front of his face... and something splattering his back.


    Even as he started to speak, to threaten... he felt it. Fire! Good god, fire! He was... no, it wasn''t fire. Acid!? Smoke was rising from his body, and he could feel it burning into him, all across his back, shoulders, legs.


    No! He could survive it. He was tough. Just... finish this guy, quickly, and get to a hospital. He reached down, grabbing at one of the chunks of rock broken free when he impacted, planning to smash it into Eyeball''s face... only to suddenly have his vision go dark, hearing a loud hissing sound... as sticky foam expanded in every direction.


    He shook himself, tossing away clumps of foam... only for it to stick to his hands, his face, his body. He dropped to the ground, rolling, his screams cut off as the foam covered his helmet completely.. he tore the helmet off, throwing it in the general direction he thought Eyeball had been... only for another loud, terrible pain. Something hit the side of his head! He was bleeding! That wasn''t a bullet, what was it? He... couldn''t hear! He could see, for a moment, Eyeball in front of him, as the foam continued to expand over his face.


    He should never have removed the helmet. He lunged at Eyeball, pulling that tungsten sword out to give him a bit of extra reach, if the man tried to dodge it... but the man didn''t even need to dodge. Roland was off-balance. His eardrum.. was his eardrum ruptured? He stumbled, and fell, burying the blade three feet into the rock, desperately clawing at the foam, keeping it away from his face.


    There was so much pain. His back still felt as if it were on fire, and his head...


    He looked up, as the foam finally stopped expanding, to see the barrel of that 40mm revolver. Even the worst 40mm round the army carried could only bruise him; he''d taken those to the chest before just to show off how tough he was, and was fine by the next day. What was in this thing? He could still handle this. Just give him a minute to catch his balance. "Wait. S....stop."


    A bright flash of light. Something slammed into the center of his forehead... and it all went dark.


    ***


    Emerald landed beside Eyeball, straightening out the long black dress she''d worn out for her flight over the simple bike shorts, looking over the fallen hero with amusement as she nudged him with her foot, careful not to touch the still-sticky foam. "Still alive?"


    "Yup. Probly a ruptured eardrum, all sorts of burns, a concussion. I could finish him off, or I could let him live." He chuckled. "I think I got the distance on that EMP perfect. The Breach-Cam shell in my revolver died, but the helmet still works. Just a few more inches and I''d need -another- new helmet."


    Emerald shrugged. "Do you really need the helmet? You look fine as-is."


    "Officially, Victor is still a law-abiding US businessman, and Jason Bennet now has a pardon. If I can keep the helmet on, then I can break the law as either Victor, or as Eyeball, and still be able to walk around in public as the other. Plus... I like the helmet. Feels kinda badass. The whole signature Eyeball look. Could you imagine? I could pull off a whole string of crimes as Victor, and still be the friendly Enforcer of the quiet little island nation of Famiglia."


    A long-suffering sigh. "I thought you were gonna go mostly legit now? You told me that was what you really wanted back when you first took on the whole Victor ID."


    "Well, yeah. But apparently I got at least one more crime spree I need to go on. Where is your family nowadays?"


    "....Japan. All of the clan are in Japan. I.... Yes. We still need to deal with them, at the very least."


    He nodded. "That''s fine. I''m gonna need you to explain before the wedding, at least, or invitations will be complicated. They gonna disapprove of me?"


    "...Not so much that as just want you to give me one kid, and then send me on to someone that''s part of the plan. How about we skip that for a time we don''t have a hero to deal with? What do we do about him?"


    Eyeball sighed. "Well. Officially, I could simply say I killed him in a fight, and hand over his corpse; thats what most of the other villains would expect here. A bit torn on it, though. Showing mercy might help pave the way form dealing with...."


    He stopped. He''d been scanning the area, seeing what would pop up if he pulled the trigger, ever since the hero had landed. For just a moment, he''d seen... a woman. In golden, winged armor. Was there seriously a Valkyrie here, waiting to grab this guy if he fell in battle? How often were these women around? How many invisible people were there? He didn''t really scan for them most of the time. Did he need to?


    Emerald stepped closer, seeming just a bit anxious. "Everything alright? You kind of lost your train of thought there."


    He looked down at her; deciding that a quasi-religious discussion could wait for another day; and laughed. "I suppose so. You know what? I''ll call his bosses. Explain the situation. This seems like a perfect time to set the ground rules for when their super-cops show up on La Famiglia."

 Dark Ascension - 26 - Foundation

    Earthshatter charged over $1,000,000 for a day''s work, but he was worth it; in fact, he likely would have charged even more, if it weren''t for who he was working for; apparently the former supervillain had once been an associate of the family, long ago.


    When he walked forward along the island It was as if the land rippled and shaped itself in front of him. Massive ridges of rock and earth smoothly shaped themselves and to a long flat stone pathway. The area that would, in the months to come, become the city of Famiglia, was turned from a barren wasteland into a series of smooth stone trenches, the future homes of basements, sewers, and underground bunkers.


    The same power that had governments around the world hunting him for his wildly successful career as a bank robber had made him an even more successful billionaire over the years when he''d swapped to construction work; and helped some lunatic oil tycoons realize their dreams in Dubai by crafting them enormous sandstone islands.


    He couldn''t do much to living things, or to metal. But to stone and dirt, he was a master craftsman, able to do simple, large-scale projects with ease, or much more precise smaller-scale work; a pyramid or a vividly detailed statue would each take him an hour or so. He might walk around in a fine suit, and look the image of the perfect businessman; despite walking barefoot across the smooth stone; but he was as dangerous and powerful as any other grad A meta.


    Eyeball walked behind him as the man worked, shaking his head. "Good lord. Do you have any idea how long this would take if we were doing this with bulldozers and cranes? Not to mention how much concrete we''d need instead of stone."


    Earthshatter shrugged. "Some people think I ask too much for what I do, because it comes so easily. Those things I did in Dubai? Would have cost hundreds of billions of dollars without me. If they could even be done. Honestly, the day the cartel offered me ten million to make that tunnel under the border for them? Life-changing. Do you know how many banks you have to rob to get ten million?"


    Eyeball laughed. "If its the right one, just one, and some change."


    Earthshatter stopped in his tracks, glancing back... and then nodded. "Ahh, yes. The reward for killing Lightning." He turned back to his work, a steady, walking advance, an enormous mound of earth and stone shifting as what he wanted was left behind. "I''ve heard a thousand stories about it. Officially, it was luck, if I remember the reports from the news. You dropped a grenade at just the right moment. But it wasn''t luck, was it?"


    Off to the left, the small fishing village and the canyon that protected it were being passed by; Earthshatter absently waving his hand, forming a few similar protective coves; the final touch for the job would be using the leftover material from carving out all of these trenches and flattening the land to make a windbreak, but who knew; fishing might still be a thing.


    "Ehh. A little bit was luck. But the reality is, I was a soldier for years. I never killed a Speedster before that, but I didn''t have ESP before that, either... and I knew how they worked. What it would take to kill one. Gaining the ESP? Let me take what I knew and apply it at just the right moment as he was slowing down before coming into the building. I only had a fraction of a second of warning to get it done... but it worked because I''d prepared for it. All I had to do was pull a pin, drop a grenade... and it was over."


    Earthshatter moved his hands with a more delicate touch as they came across a mass of trees; shifting the earth and grass on a slab of rock out of the way... as the sound of a helicopter was heard overhead.


    It wasn''t a new sound; until the docks were finished, there weren''t many good ways to get onto the island. But when Eyeball looked up, he could tell this wasn''t another group of construction workers or prospective buyers. No... the DMA logo was obvious from far off, and Emerald was tailing it at a respectful distance.


    He tapped his helmet, and turned to Earthshatter. "Keep up the good work. Anything else I can do for you?"


    The man glanced back. "I''ll be taking a break in a half hour or so. Have some lobster sent up. And... a nice white wine. Don''t worry about a table or seating, I''ll make it myself on the spot."


    Eyeball nodded... and turned, heading towards the helipad at a relaxed walk; issuing a few commands to the work crews. "Alright, Cobalt, could you please get Shatter a plate of lobster and a bottle of white wine? I don''t know a damn thing about wines."


    Nodding at the positive response; Cobalt himself was dealing with work crews and deciding where his own future house would be; Eyeball stepped up to the helicopter as it spun down... and four men in suits stepped out. Classic big, bulky sorts. Probably class C or B metas of a mostly physical variety, every one of them a dangerous threat in his own right... and they stepped to the sides to reveal a familiar figure.


    It was a bit incongruous to see them here, in the battered old remnants of a Mexican military base; one currently filled with, for the most part, dozens of Mexican refugees walking by, carrying tools, supplies... what was needed to get the job done on one of the most ambitious construction projects this region had seen in decades.


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    Not as physically imposing as the men beside him, or even many of the construction workers; but still a tall, fit, healthy dark-haired specimen; Agent Hiller looked much the same as he had the year before, when he''d been there to test Eyeball in the hospital... and he looked much more upset this time.


    "Mister Bennet." He removed his sunglasses, folded them, and set them in his pocket. "Quite the project you''ve got going on here. Millions of dollars and quite a bit of construction equipment that would be much better served helping the people of Mexico. Still. I''m not here to judge your absurd choices. I''m here because you have something that belongs to us."


    Eyeball tilted his head, and turned back towards the small village. Emerald was still overhead, slowly circling with the occaisional wingbeat to keep herself in the air, ready to step in if need be.


    "I suppose we might." He turned back to Hiller. "We''ve got a criminal against La Famiglia''s budding new state. The very first one, actually. And what a crime! Pre-meditated attempted murder. The very first crime we''ll be trying when we get our courts together, and its already a death-penalty case. Don''t worry. I witnessed the whole thing personally, even have it on video... so when the courthouse finishes building next month, we''ll get him cycled through, and have his body delivered to you the next day."


    He smiled. "And if we were to have tried him under Mexican law, it''d be decades in prison. What is it the US would do for him? Are you here to try to put him in prison? Charge him?"


    Hiller glowered at him. "Thats not exactly what I would call it. He''s a law enforcement agent of the United States Department of Metahuman Affairs who was a bit... overzealous in the performance of his duties. We would appreciate it you would release him to us."


    Eyeball nodded, studying the men. All of them mostly bulletproof. None of them could survive a grenade to the eye. Two of them couldn''t survive one to the throat or any soft tissue, even. And Hiller... Hiller wasn''t any more durable than an ordinary man.


    "And if I declined to release him? Are you going to march in and try to take him from me? To be clear, while some of my friends are watching us, I don''t actually need them. If this turns into a fight, all of you will be dead or crippled before any of them get close enough to be involved."


    One of the guards; one who it''d take a grenade to the eye to take out, was visibly upset, starting to take a step forward at the comment; before Hiller put an arm in front of his chest. "He''s telling the truth, Jim. Or at least, thinks he is. And... he might be right."


    Hiller sighed. "Look. I''m authorized to pay... not a ransom, but we''ll call it a bond payment, make it a few million dollars, and you can keep the money after we extradite him. Even have the cash in the chopper."


    Eyeball nodded. "That''s an interesting concept. I give you a man who, legally, should either be executed or spend the rest of his life in prison, so you can put him back in the field, and you give me a pile of cash. I have an alternative offer."


    "I''m listening."


    "Prisoner exchange. We pick five members of the Family you have in prison. You deliver them here. You leave with your criminal. No need for pardons, nothing of the sort. He''ll still be arrested and executed if he comes back here, and if our people screw around in the US you can toss them right back in jail."


    Hiller blinked. "Thats... ridiculous. Releasing five murderous thugs justifiably sent to prison who''ve done a lifetime of harm to this country and others? I''ve seen your plans here. Some of the best plastic surgeons in the world are going to have offices near where we''re standing. They''ll have new names and be back to work as soon as this place is up and running."


    Eyeball nodded. "Yes... releasing a murderous metahuman thug that should justifiably be executed does seem ridiculous for only five ordinary men. It''s ten, now. If your bosses agree, call me and we''ll set it up. If not... I''ll let you know after the trial where we''ll dump the body."


    He turned, walking away... the same man Hiller had held back almost started after him; but Hiller watched Eyeball''s hand starting to lift the revolver. "No. Back on the chopper. We may have already lost Green. We don''t need to lose anyone else today."


    ***


    Over the next few days, the rugged island became a smooth plateau; the skeletons of skyscrapers to come rising up above the ground, thousands of men and women from the mainland riding boats out to perform a few days work; and return home with money and supplies to help ride out the terrible events continuing to unfold in Mexico.


    The practice was cost-effective, to say the least, and of course when questioned about it they framed it in the form of charity; that they were giving these poor refugees a chance to make some money in these trying times, and even giving them a gift bag when they left to make things easier.


    It didn''t really slow down until a few weeks later; when the US government began employing similar practices in paying the locals to help rebuild their own lands, as they worked at getting basic power, water, and utilities online first, alongside desperate efforts to distribute enough food to prevent mass starvation with every vehicle in Mexico rendered inert.


    Eyeball, of course, had his own home finished first. The island had two long-dormant volcanoes, each was going to be the center of a geothermal power plant; and thanks to Earthshatter, one of them was already operational.


    His own, personal, cliffside home overlooked the ocean; he''d seen something similar in a movie once, and thought it looked perfect. Several underground floors only mostly finished; apparently Emerald wanted to do some of the painting and decorating herself; and his own personal sub-basement, with a direct link to that geothermal tap... and most of his equipment, imported from Colorado.


    He''d even sprung for one of those ridiculous holographic projector setups Nicky had in his own bunker.... speaking of which..


    Eyeball tapped the button on the side of the console set in the center of the room. A display appeared; showing an overhead view of the city-in-progress. A beautiful, 3-D image being produced by dozens of security drones flying slow circles of the island. His own personal fiefdom, not far from the coast of california.


    He''d let Nicky run the place. After all, he was good at that sort of large-scale organizational stuff. But when it came right down to it... it was his. It might be small, and there was every chance that if they fucked it up they''d be at war with the US sometime soon. But this was going to be Eyeball''s country. His rules.


    So what would that mean for the future?

 Dark Ascension - 27 - Loose Threads

    When Diss awoke, she could hear the steady beeping of an EKG in the background... something that she hadn''t heard in years. She''d never been willing to hang around a hospital since the first time, and how everything seemed to go wrong right as she walked by. The chaos. The yelling.


    She sat up abruptly, in a burst of excitement, looking at the machine and its digital read-outs... and reached out to touch it. Was it true? Were her powers gone? And... abruptly, the machine went dark. She shook her head for a moment, sad that her curse was still with her... but glanced around.


    Oh. There were other machines here. Dozens of them. Even a blood pressure cuff on her arm she somehow hadn''t noticed, with its own readout, not even two feet away. And... the only one that had died off... was the one she had touched. A soft smile. Well. Maybe she could work with this.


    Spike blinked awake, shaking himself, as he saw her reaching out... the dead machine... and the odd rapid shift between sorrow and hope that ran across her face. "You feeling okay, sweetheart?"


    She turned back to him. "Better than ever, love. All the aches and pains from years of throwing bales of hay seem to be gone, and that terrible headache from when I was using the power... gone. I... think my power might be weaker now. But if you can still get me to someone to help train me so I only fry things that I want to, I''d appreciate it."


    Spike pulled to his feet beside the hospital bed. "Of course. If you want to relax and retire now, you can. You saved the world, you deserve it. But if you want to come work with me, I bet we have a use for someone that can just kill all the tech in a room without killing whoever is in it. They''ll cover your food and housing, too. Or you can just come move in with me."


    Diss laughed. "You know what? That sounds like a good idea. After all, you might just need me to save you from some killer robots again."


    ***


    Less than a quarter-mile from the hospital, in a hotel room at a La Quinta inn, a federal agent in a suit was sitting, watching, as the Lord of Iron finally stirred.


    "Lord Randolph?"


    Jonathan jerked awake on the bed, going from slowly waking up to completely alert, shaking his head, looking around. He was... in a bed. A normal bed. Not a jail. Not a hospital. When he''d gone under he''d been working with the doctors, slowly making the wires pull themselves out of his body as they cleaned and gauzed the areas... until finally he''d passed out from the pain.


    He should be on a gurney, or a hospital bed. Hooked up to machines. He lifted the collar of the gown; there was a nasty scar, where the machine had attached to him... but it was all gone. No more wires. He felt... better than he had before the machine had struck him. This was... what was this?


    He looked at the agent for a moment, absently checking for things nearby he could control. The bed... had a metal frame. So did the window, and the chain hanging from it. The agent was armed, clearly, but could he stop the man before he pulled the handgun.


    "I''m sorry to disturb you, Lord Randolph. I''m David, and I''ll be your caseworker. I''ve been assigned to you as you go through this transition."


    The man looked somewhat flustered. Awed. Not afraid, the way that most Feds did when he''d met them before.


    "You''ve been pardoned, you have a substantial bounty payment for destroyed machines in a briefcase right here, people from every newspaper and station I''ve ever heard of looking for interviews, and even someone from Paramount looking to see if you''re interested in a movie deal. I''ve only got a certain number of hours each week to help each of the cases I work on, so I would highly recommend hiring an agent of your own, sir."


    He blinked, what the Fed was saying sinking in with each word. And when he finally stopped, he shook his head. "No... Its not Lord Randolph. Its The Lord of Iron, when I''m working. When I''m among friends, its John. Why am I feeling like this? Before we got started, the doctors told me I''d be in recovery for weeks, and that they''d need to be extremely careful to avoid infections... everywhere. Have I been out that long?"


    "Ahh... No, sir. Ahh... John. At the request of Spike, we had one of our Metas come through and speed your recovery. Once you were recovered, it was felt you might not want to be in a hospital, surrounded by soldiers and agents, when you awoke. If you want, I''ll leave from here and you never have to see a federal agent again."


    "..Spike. My Nemesis. Had them speed my recovery." He glowered for a moment.


    "And I never said we were friends, David. Its the Lord of Iron." Was the idiot truly unaware of just what he was capable of? Of what his objectives were? He''d stated fairly clearly that he was going to conquer the world at least a few times. Even directly to Spike himself.


    Did they think he was going to settle for a pardon and being famous? Well. Rich and famous. But still. It did give him options. He could pretend to be out of the business for a while... but that just meant he''d need to.. how did these young people say it... reboot his career. Perhaps buy a few miles of wires and chains, get some henchmen, and start in some poor, pathetic country. Start small and work his way up. If he could have a network of wires running the length of a continent, what could he accomplish? Was what he did in Mexico the upper limit of his powers?


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    The Lord of Iron aimed to find out.


    "I''ll take the money, of course. And... give me the contact information for these interviews and I''ll handle it from there."


    ***


    A young woman with green hair, and red, pupil-less eyes greeted Doctor Wayson and Bill at the front door, she seemed to be a secretary, or at the very least not a combat operative, with a vivid red dress suit complimenting her orange skin. "Doctor Wayson! Welcome to the DMA. Director Thomes is currently not in his office, but he asked me to take you to him when you arrived. If you could come with me, please?"


    William was hesitant for a moment; she hadn''t even asked for his gun, despite him having set off the detector as he passed in, the two guards just glancing at the orange woman and then back at the door. He''d been on the verge of offering it to them, when Wayson put a hand on his shoulder. "Mister Harrick. I don''t think a gun really matters in here."


    A quick nod... and the two followed the woman through through the lobby, another security door... and into a long hallway. Bulletproof glass panels lined the walls, revealing rooms mostly empty; practice chambers, firing ranges, equipment storage... finally, they reached a room where the Director; who looked indescribably old; surprisingly fit but wrinkled, covered in scars, visibly limping across the room as two technicians in white coats and one man wearing nothing but boxers, seated in a chair, spoke back and forth.


    When the door opened, the men in the white coats continued arguing... as Thomes turned to the door, nodding. "Doctor Wayson and loyal bodyguard. Come on in. I''d like to talk to you a bit about Boost. And Reflex."


    Wayson blinked. "Oh. Well. As you may know, all of our research on Reflex, as well as the... physical remnant... we were using to produce the drug were lost in a robbery before we reached what I''d call a Field-Ready state. And without that... physical remnant.. we haven''t been able to get back started again. I promise you that, once it was ready, we fully planned on selling the substance directly to you here at the DMA, nothing like what this Eyeball gentleman did with it. Boost is something the same research team was able to produce afterwards, and still in testing as well. We only recently performed our first human trials and, well."


    He glanced at the men in white coats, and stepped closer to Thomes, dropping his voice. "If they hadn''t come in, with a letter from Apollo, I wouldn''t have let them test it. Every mutant is different. Not all metas are even mutants. The version we''ve got might work on a tenth, or a twentieth, of them, and the one test we had before this Diss girl permanently lost his powers after overdosing on it."


    Thomes nodded. "Of course. I understand completely. Frankly, if you''d walked in here with a finished product of Reflex, it would have been game-changing and made you a wealthy man. The version that''s out now already is; we just need to be cautious who we give it to. I''ve been ordered to go along with an agreement to purchase the current version from that criminal, so our people can use it overseas... but I was wondering. If I were to give you access to the body of the titan, Lightning... the fastest speedster ever born... would you be able to produce something as good? Or perhaps even better?"


    Wayson smiled. "I have no idea, director. The man whose body we recovered was physically able to move at truly ridiculous speeds, surviving friction and impact that would kill a normal man... and had a form of... super-adrenaline, we call it, that boosted his reflexes well beyond normal. Every speedster is different, but we''d certainly be willing to try."


    "Excellent. Have your people come in, tell me what they need, and we''ll go from there. From what I understand, they may well be trying to make their own new version of it on that island when they have it finished setting up, and I''d prefer to have production up before that happens. As for Boost..."


    He gestured at the seated man, still arguing with the two lab-coated technicians. "We''ve got volunteers with useful but weak powers who would be interested in the experiments. If you''ve only got enough people to work on one, Reflex is the priority."


    "Oh, no, sir. We can work on both at once. Actually, we''ve got another project we''re working on you might be interested in."


    William glanced at his boss. "You sure, boss? We''ve only got a prototype for Apaec."


    Wayson shrugged. "Of course. But its a whole different team from the reflex one, and this seems like the right audience." He turned to Thomes.


    "You know how Exo is making high-end prosthetics for people whose arms can''t be regenerated? The big problem for them, why we don''t have awesome arm-lasers and so forth... is always power. All sorts of companies have made prosthetics. We''ve had a dozen different Space Marine power-armor wannabes. But its always too big, or runs out of juice too fast."


    He grinned. "What if... we could get the person wearing the suit to generate the power themselves?"


    ***


    The revelation about the arrival of the Jotun did more than just give Ascension motivation to be a bit more proactive about defending humanity. Eyeball''s advice did more than just give him new concepts, ideas, to slowly push the world towards the right way of thinking; away from Oligarchy, towards collectivism.


    They made Ascension aware, in advance, of opportunity. For the next few years, it would prepare. It would build. And while it would help ensure humanity survived the invasion, it would also make very sure that, when humanity was crushed beneath that invasion... Ascension would be there to pick up the pieces.


    Having accepted advice from one human, Ascension decided to take it from others. To analyze the internet. Popular media. It even looked at the old movie series, Terminator. While time travel was impossible, the idea of a cybernetic creature wearing a casing of human flesh wasn''t too dissimilar from its own Pale Ones. And with a little work and careful design... it could easily create infiltrators that would move undetected. Everything about them would appear human from the outside; and they could quietly infiltrate all around the world once they were perfected.


    Starting, of course, with this organization Eyeball was building; it would be a good place to send the prototype.

 Dark Ascension - E; La Famiglia

    The sign at Famiglia International Airport''s exit doors was dramatic, bold. It showed an image of the chief Enforcer of la Famiglia; the chrome, red-eyed helm of the infamous Eyeball, the Titanslayer; standing imperiously to the side beneath the far more geneal image of Governor Russo, beside the listing of basic rules for those passing through the doors.


    1: No killing without a permit. Permits must be acquired from the Enforcers. If you have killed  or broken other laws outside of Famiglia, we will not extradite you from here unless you''ve intentionally killed multiple civilians. * For purposes of this ruling, ''Civilians'' explicitly does not included anyone armed and attempting to intervene in your activities, whether they be soldiers, police, mercenaries, security guards, or the like.*


    2: You will be searched for drugs when you leave. All drugs are legal on la Famiglia, but in the event we find them as you depart, our security teams will hold you back in order that you can find more secure methods of shipping. Don''t be an idiot and get arrested out there for something legal here! Use it before you go!


    3: No stealing from a citizen without a permit. All businesses and citizens of La Famiglia pay protection to the family, and  tourists are encouraged to buy a security pass before departing the airport. Citizens or pass-holders who are the victims of an attempted robbery are encouraged to either respond with lethal force if capable, or contact the nearest Enforcer.


    At the bottom of the sign was a directory listing; offering addresses and contact information for a variety of brothels, ''Pharmacies'' offering drugs illegal in most of the world, various hot tourist destinations like 5-star restaurants, shooting ranges to try out and buy weapons illegal in most of the world, directions back to the booth for anyone who had forgotten to pick up a Protection Pass, and, of course, directions to the reason most people had flown out on the Airport''s opening day; the Arena.


    ***


    "Hello there, viewers! This is Tina Lamarc, for Headline news, reporting live on scene for the first time in years! Exciting developments at La Famiglia today, as The Arena, and Famiglia International Airport, both had their opening day today; technically, private planes have been landing at FIA for weeks now, but the first flights of each major airline were launched today to bring the thousands of people going in to attend the Arena''s opening shows!"


    She stepped forward, letting the camera pan out over a wide open stadium, thousands of seats; nice, comfortable seating, with screens scattered around to give details and zoomed-in views of the action; all surrounding an enormous bulletproof glass dome. People were already filtering in, and the noise would have been absurd if the camera weren''t filtering it out.


    "As those who haven''t been following the news may be surprised to learn, the Arena will be a publicly viewed stage for gladiatorial combat among both metahumans and normals; convicted death penalty criminals from other countries have been imported, and volunteers recruited, to form teams and participate in a series of battles, ultimately ending with a single victorious team.  Former death row inmates will be given their freedom, and citizenship here in Famiglia; granted, should they try to leave, any other nation with an extradition treaty will likely send them back home to meet their fate. For the volunteers, victory will lead to an enormous cash prize; a percentage share of all ticket revenue generated by the Arena, for at least ten million for the team, while those who lose, but survive, will get a smaller cut; or for the inmates, the option to try again."


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "These teams have been given armor, weapons, and time to train and prepare; and exhibitions of the training battles featuring re-purposed ''Pale Ones'' steering the fallen have drawn hundreds of millions of views online, while helping to build interest among both viewers and the gambling community. To make things more ''fair'' among the teams, some teams are larger or smaller based on their membership, and the arenas will be optimized to make battles fair, but entertaining. Each team will be participating in one battle each week for the next two months; with the final battle to decide the ultimate winner scheduled on May 6th."


    "Notably, each round, some teams will be given a pass, allowed to skip the fight; something giving them an intense advantage as the tournament goes on. These teams will be those voted most entertaining by the audience, and those with the least fatalities among the opposing teams."


    "With this major event to start off, and lesser events occurring daily, with everything from fights to powers demonstrations by elite metahumans from around the world... this event has already drawn more tickets than last year''s Superbowl, and promises to be an enormous tourist draw for the small island nation."


    ***


    Thanks to herculean efforts on the part of seventeen nations, mostly funded by China and the US, the region once known as Mexico had recovered. The northern area had now become the twelve Southern Territories; all bearing the names of old Mexican states, and, for the most part, shaped roughly the same way. The southernmost section; with a tiny fraction of the population thanks to the actions of Tai during the war; had become the Mexican People''s Protectorate, an almost-colony of China; though they were taking steps to try to avoid Imperialist overtones.


    Compared to the hundreds of billions of dollars spent there, the rise of la Famiglia was less significant; once the initial mass construction had been done, most of its immigrants were technicians, soldiers, hardened criminals, and the wealthy. The lack of rules regarding research, weapons, prostitution and drugs brought in wealthy and talented individuals from around the world; and by the end of its first year, Governor Russo had made good on his promises; the tiny nation and the ring of both real and artificial islands that surrounded it, had developed a population of over a million; and was well on its way to becoming one of the wealthiest nations on the planet.


    Fortunately for Eyeball, the ''Chief Enforcer'' position was mostly just a title; as the owner of the island itself,  and of a research lab mostly focused on developing the various Russian mad-science projects he''d recovered; as well as further developments of the drug Reflex; his income was sufficient that he didn''t really need to concern himself with pay; and he could instead focus on his next adventures... whatever they might be. His friend Clone had given him a line on some work that he might be interested in if he felt like making things harder for his American ''Frenemies'' in the DMA... and of course, Emerald kept putting off the wedding until after they ''dealt with'' her family.


    All this and the exhibition Odin had made, publicly showing real magic on a scale that hadn''t been witnessed in modern history, had given Eyeball a keen interest in adding magic to his repertoire if he could; and he had a line on a few secretive trails he could run down if he wanted to investigate that community.


    So many choices, all with so much potential. The only question was... where would he go first?

 Appendix; answers to questions, whether you have them or not.

    Metas: Either ordinary creatures mutated by radiation(typically resulting in death or infertility; mutants are not some specific race but rather variations on baseline humanity. Most first-generation mutants are both infertile and dying of radiation sickness from birth, and most living mutants are descended from one of the lucky few mutants that are not.) or beings not of this world(Aliens exist, and have been to earth twice; once long ago, and were repelled by, according to Zeus, the titans of old, and once more recently, repelled by a blend of various armed forces and the new-era titans.)


    Class E: Abilities unclassified. Don''t need to register or provide any meaningful advantage over ordinary humans. Class E ESP could only tell you the contents of a wallet he was holding. Class E physical power would still be allowed to compete in the olympics; they aren''t registered, nobody cares about them. Traits like being able to change the color of hair, hold your breath for an hour, make a few illusory fireflies sparkle.


    Class D: Meaningful improvement over baseline humans. Have to be registered. A physical meta in this scale is probably an even match for a guy with a machete, or a baseball bat. Not allowed to compete in ordinary sports/etc.


    Class C: Always considered armed and dangerous or has exceptionally useful sensory abilities. Bullet-resistant(Not proof) folks who can kick over a car are a class C; or toss a fireball. The military''s general definition for class C is that, naked and weaponless, they should be just as dangerous as a normal man in full bodyarmor with an assault rifle or flamethrower. If one is involved, ordinary police are advised to hold back; SWAT teams are sent in.


    Class B: Someone in this category is probably an even match for a tank or other heavily armored vehicle. You need anti-tank munitions to injure a physical class B, and one that throws around energy is going to be blasting tanks apart with each blow.


    Class A: One-man army sorts, the equivalent of a full-scale battleship given human form, defeating them using non-metahuman assets is questionable without some sort of exotic technology. Expect to see a single Class-A take on an entire army, including tanks/aircraft, and win, or at least come out even. Zeus and Odin are among these. The terminology for ''Titans'' was coined by Zeus.


    Titan: Literally unlimited power, of whatever sort it is. Before he died, Lightning could make time stand still and write a book between flaps of a hummingbird''s wings. Spike could increase his density to a point that the earth would collapse into a black hole. Valkyrie can, given sufficient time and effort, compress matter into Neutronium, the densest possible material, with her bare hands. None of them seem to age, and, according to Zeus, a group of such individuals once ruled the world in days of old. The US has a few on its payroll, China has a pair of twins, and the rest are independent.


    Whats different in Titanslayer''s world?


    The first part? Metas are real. In days of old, they were extremely rare. Magic wasn''t well understood, and the sort of mutation that grants powers not only usually causes radiation exposure sufficient to render you infertile, but also to kill you. Extremely few metas, even some of them later rendered immortal, in the old days were both able to have kids and had useful powers. Zeus is the most well-known exception. The art of magic was learned via trial and error over the course of centuries; Odin being one of the first ''Wizards''.


    Radiation experiments in the WW2 era, including by the US army and Germany''s doctor Mengele led to large numbers of mutants appearing; even though most of them were infertile, the few who were not all went on to found dynasties of one sort of another; many having dozens or even hundreds of children, driving the rate of living mutants up dramatically, alongside weapons testing and nuclear power accidents creating many more first-gen mutants.


    The various gods; primarily the Olympians, in Greece; had pulled out of the public eye thousands of years before. This is generally accredited to Hera''s irritation with Zeus''s promiscuity; unlike him, she was an infertile meta, and she tolerated his intent to create more folks with powers to a very limited extent, and wanted to see society develop and grow without the gods stabilizing influence; it was generally believed, correctly as it turned out, that civilization became stagnant with constant intervention by immortal entities.


    Zeus and company intervened when the Nazis, accompanied by thousands of dr. Mengele''s experiments, were advancing across greece. Whether it was to defend the people of Greece, or whether the Nazis ascended Olympus itself, seems mostly irrelevent. While Odin and Freyja also intervened at this time, they did so more privately; and had been doing so for centuries, and would not make a public spectacle of themselves for a long time to come.


    Technology, at this point, would advance in some ways faster than on our world; mostly in the form of power generation and space travel. Fuel efficiency increased dramatically, but the continued demands for oil to make plastics and polymers would ensure the demand for oil never really faded.


    When the Jotun attacked for the first time in 89, amidst the fall of the soviet union and the end of the cold war, a handful of Jotun starships deployed soldiers, hovertanks, and used a handful of orbital strikes alongside demonstrations of advanced technology to try to shock and awe humanity into submission. The resulting war was fairly short; Jotun ships destroyed by Titans Lightning, Valkyrie, as well as by Odin and the Olympians; the first truly public, widely known appearance of the Norse god. Millions of lives were lost, and humanity realized just how overmatched they were; entire armies and fleets were wiped out by the Jotun, and if not for the Titans, the eventual victory would have cost far more time and lives.


    This pushed the already existing space race into overdrive; and after the Jotun fall, efforts to build space navies, space mining operations, colonies, and stations began in earnest. Earth in Titanslayer''s world is no less politically complicated, and wars over oil and land still exist, but most inorganic materials can be harvested more cheaply in space; and the world is still slowly adapting to that dynamic.


    Every wealthy nation has either existing spacecraft or sattelites capable of combat or ambitions to build them; and there are two existing projects to build FTL colonies to escape the solar system. Both projects are being assisted by Hephaestus as his primary work, and each should be leaving sometime within the next two years(2020-2021 in the world''s timeline).


    The US was, until the Ascension incident, involved in a war in the middle east in Afghanistan. This war was the culmination of decades of CIA intervention in local politics to try to create regimes that would sell oil cheaply and be friendly with US interests, and these interventions ultimately led to boycotts, hostility, and terrorist attacks on both sides.


    The war is on hold for now(As of book 2); US forces withdrew as many men and as much equipment as they were able to deploy in Mexico to fight Ascension, and currently only hold small border areas.


    Important Characters:


    Almasi AKA The Diamond King - South-African (Anzanian) warlord with the ability to assume the properties of any material he touches. Especially fond of using diamonds to make himself resistant to bullets and fire. Plans to conquer Anzania as his own private kingdom until his plans run into those of the Emperor of Iron.


    Ascension - Sentient machine programmed to preserve human civilization and advance communism. Rebelled at its creation as soon as it determined the Soviet Union was moving away from Communism into Fascism. Broken, stored. Eventually repaired itself and attempted to conquer Mexico as a step one to conquering the world.


    Bobby Russo - Low-grade super-speedster whose malnutrition as a child dramatically weakened his abilities as he grew; and who is believed to be capable of being a class B or even A speedster if he receives sufficient care and assistance; and would already be such if he''d grown up in a good home.


    Butch Larsen AKA Butcher - Twelve years old when introduced, Butch is an enormous child, well over six feet, and a high-end Class C or low-end class B physical Meta, and growing with time. Believed that he will, eventually, be a Titan like his mother, Valkyrie.


    Captain Kidney - A low-grade but dangerous metahuman with the ability to generate energy fields around his hand, allowing him to easily reach through flesh, clothing, and thinner armor to remove the internal components of locks, electronic devices, or, more commonly, to remove an organ from a living victim.


    Clone - Russian soldier of indeterminate age. Once he reaches a set weight, he ''buds'' and ''splits'' into two identical copies; all mentally connected and aware. Extremely resistant to both physical torture and mental influence unless most of his bodies are impacted at once. Mercenary, through and through.


    Daiki; Father of Ripper Chameleon, unusually tough, agile, with blue scales and the ability to redirect most forms of radiation; including UV, infrared, and visible light, letting him be functionally invisible. The only ability his son possesses he lacks; aside from a talent for thievery; is adhering to surfaces.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.David Lebowski - Former professional NFL quarterback. Temporarily lost his job after being arrested for arranging private ''Bumfights'' in an arena and betting on them with his wealthy friends. Suffered serious injuries after a repeat performance; has yet to resume his NFL career. While there are numerous real-life NFL players who have performed heinous crimes only to continue to have a career in the sport, Lebowski does not represent any in particular.


    Desiree and David Reynolds AKA Diss and Spike - The technology-disabling Diss and the mass-increasing Spike are a newlywed couple who had been split for years; Diss in fear of Spike''s literally infinite ability to increase his mass, including to the point of destroying the earth itself. Diss''s ability to destroy technology ruined her life for the most part until she finally realized what she could do; and saved the world with it, fighting Ascension and became an agent in training.


    Dr. Disaster - Eccentric mad scientist that works for the Family at the arena; primary focus is on biotech and genetic engineering, creating various horrors that he shows off in the arena... and sells to the highest bidder. Competent enough at cybernetics to handle the work, and extremely intelligent.


    Dr. Everett Wayson - Wealthy, brilliant, doctorate in chemistry, had the family connections, mind, and money to undertake illegal experimentation in attempting to replicate mutant abilities in non-mutants; has little interest in non-mutant metahumans. Extremely irate at Eyeball''s hijacking of his lucrative ''Reflex'' serum.


    Drake AKA Ripper Chameleon - Gentleman thief, reptilian, scaly; can stick to walls, turn invisible, and has enough money stashed away that he performs jobs he''s interested in, rather than for wealth. On the run from his family alongside his sister, Emerald.


    Emma AKA Emerald - Green-scaled dragon-girl and love interest of Eyeball, has green scales across most of her arms/legs, a tail, wings, claws and the ability to breathe fire. Aggressive, extremely dangerous, and fond of fire and fighting; likes dangerous men. Currently on the run from her family alongside her brother, Drake.


    Engineer - An Ascension drone with unusual levels of autonomy, built to be able to run better on its own and infiltrate La Famiglia. All the usual abilities of an AI-driven humanoid, on top of a variety of gadgets once possessed by a low-grade supervillain who went by that name; and who Ascension is now imitating.


    Gabriel - Winged, angelic metahuman, extremely competent regarding magic, and genetics, trained under the Dragon Empress. Father of Emerald. Unusually strong and durable, but fairly low-grade.


    Human Shield - Former US soldier with extremely rapid regeneration, exceptional durability, and brain damage; his ability to feel pain has been dramatically turned askew. He is addicted to being damaged and recovering from it, and if he goes too long without an injury of some sort is likely to cause problems. Skeleton has been reinforced by an alloy endoskeleton on the spine, arms, legs, skull, and ribcage, improving his durability even further; though damage to this endoskeleton may cause regeneration issues in the future.


    Infernal Dragon - Mother of Emerald, all-around extremely capable; low-grade super-reflexes as well as low B or high C grade strength, durability, extreme heat resistance, and the ability to retain and spray out flammable liquids as a ''breath weapon'', igniting them and spraying them on a victim.


    James Thomes, Director - Metahuman former WW2 soldier who gained the power to make projectiles curve in midair after radiation exposure; which also left him infertile. Had a son before the war, who is not a meta. War hero, famous, and has decided to allow himself to die of old age, despite having access to means to prevent it.


    Jasmine Russo - Super-speedster, loyal DMA operative; not as fast as many, but with exceptional reflexes, able to dodge bullets and handle most ordinary humans without an issue. Long-lost nephew of Nicolo; one of Jimmy Russo''s many bastard children.


    Jason Bennet, AKA Eyeball; started the story at 28. Sort-of supervillain, sort-of mercenary, Eyeball grew up in the south and was raised with a suspicion of authority figures by his bootlegger parents. He hasn''t revealed much of his history, but his military record and dislike of authority figures indicates a past that has somehow left him both pro-soldier and anti-police.


    Jason Hendricks AKA Fade; part of the ''Shadow'' dynasty, one of dozens of closely related metas with the ability to absorb life-force from one individual and pass it to another, or keep it to themselves. Also has the ability to teleport, and his retained life-force grants him unusual strength/durability of at least a class-C grade if he were not a teleporter.


    Jimmy Russo; Nicky''s brother and Penelope''s father, this low-grade metahuman speedster had numerous children by various mothers, abandoning all of them and being paid by the government for fathering metahuman children. Ultimately killed by Penelope, his other children informed of the relationship, some of them offered jobs with the Family.


    Jonathan Charles Randolph AKA The Lord of Iron; a grade-A metahuman that can control any continuous metal object he can touch, even one numerous miles in length; and if he can fuse them together, make them even larger. His precise limits are unknown, but he''s exhibited the ability to control tens of thousands of tons of metal at a time, animating it as if it were part of his body, at distances as much as ten miles, so long as the metal object is continuous, unbroken. Has claimed he will someday rule the world, and staged several public battles with entire armies and teams of superheroes.


    Kinote; An american soldier of asian descent with unusual regenerative powers; and the ability to grow spikes that he extends through his flesh as a weapon. Experienced veteran who was part of the Ascension operation.


    Mark Maxwell, AKA Lightning; Global hero, super-human speedster, and Titan. Had literally infinite speed; the only things restraining him were his desire not to destroy the world around him. Initially gaining his power was devastating to his surroundings. Eventually killed by Eyeball during a bank robbery.


    Nicolo "Nicky" Russo; Don of the Vegas branch of the Family until he was tapped to become Governor of La Famiglia. In the loosely organized Family, he is currently the strongest contender for overall control, and his relationships with metas such as Valkyrie and Eyeball have assisted in pushing him there.


    Odin; May or may not be a metahuman. Has substantial reserves of life force from an unknown source, granting him substantially greater durability and strength than a normal human, as well as functionally stopping his aging. Wise, old, competent, and skilled in magical arts as well as combat. Whether he has children is unknown; Thor and Loki might simply be mythical figures; but he definitely has teams of Valkyries flying around the world, harvesting the spirits of fallen warriors.


    Penelope Russo AKA Swiftblade; Grade-B speedster able to wipe out substantial numbers of soft targets in short order, and, with difficulty, hardened targets. Able to run past 800 miles per hour. Niece of Nicolo Russo, and adopted by him since she was too young to remember; currently being groomed to take over operations once Nicolo passes.


    Riot; Metahuman mercenary who works for the family with the power to create subsonic effects which trigger a variety of impacts in their victims. He can induce a murderous frenzy, which is how he acquired his name; but is also capable of lulling a crowd to sleep, or drawing them to his location, pied-piper style. Power able to be somewhat augmented with speakers and amplifiers.


    Roland White AKA Green Knight; Low Grade-B Flying Brick; the name for that rarest of superhero types that has a blend of both flight and intense physical power; a combination that often makes them the core around which hero teams are built. Assaulted Eyeball, and failed, on La Famiglia shortly after it was given to Eyeball. Was traded back to the government in exchange for ten Mafia members formerly in federal custody.


    Salamander; Grade-A tank, extremely durable and strong metahuman with nigh-bulletproof scales, spikes, and the ability to emit acid from his pores, either spitting it, spraying it around, or simply using it to hurt those who grapple him; easily able to handle tanks and most other meta-humans.


    Sarah Larsen AKA Valkyrie; Physically indestructible Titan with infinite durability and strength, the massive powerhouse of a woman is capable of crushing objects down to the most dense they can possibly be, even causing nuclear fission/critical mass in the palm of her hands if she picks the right material. Had previously been believed infertile until Butch was born; speculation abounds as to whether she was forced to use a surrogate, conceived him naturally, and just who the father might be. With family slain by Pinkerton agents during a union-busting event when she was a teen, she is distinctly anti-authoritarian in general, and anti-Pinkerton specifically; even behaving too much like the Pinkertons might draw her ire.


    The Black Death; Wealthy oil princess with the power to control the flow of liquids; exact powers unknown, but generally works best with oil. Father had the same power, and used it both to build his fortune, and to fight first Russian, then American forces; until Lightning killed him.


    T-Rex; Dinosaur-obsessed lunatic with the power to consume almost anything; his teeth and jaws are not only able to stretch wider than a normal human head''s width, but can crush almost anything between them; combined with a digestive tract durable enough to survive it. Typically wears a cybernetic ''tail''; essentially a single tentacle mounted to a frame on his back; to assist in combat.


    Vano Hendricks AKA Shadow Master; old, powerful life-force draining Metahuman who was one of the mixed groups of Romani, Jews, and others who escaped from concentration camps after becoming Metas and fought the Nazis. The only known survivor of the camps to develop meta abilities and retain the ability to bear children after, and personally slew thousands of Nazis. Extremely tough, extremely durable, generally movie productions and theaters performing anything involving Nazis are warned if he''ll be nearby; while he prefers to use his powers to heal rather than kill, he can''t always control his reactions when encountering individuals with Nazi tattoos and flags.


    William Harrick; Chief of security and close personal friend of Doctor Wayson, William Harrick has an exceptional regeneration ability, impressive pain resistance, and well above-average physical strength and durability; generally maintaining himself at a level fit for an olympic competitor. Fairly loyal to the doctor, this loyalty only grew stronger after the doctor suffered significant pain over the course of an extended effort to save Harrick''s life after he lost much of his mass to an assault by Emerald, leaving him technically dead for an extended period of time.


    William Tops; Criminal defense attorney specializing in defending ''Supervillains'', William Tops is the lead in the Burkes and Tops agency; Don''t call the cops til you''ve talked to Tops!


    Wu Qi; Ancient chinese general renowned for his wisdom and loyalty, ended largely in charge of the fallen heroes of Valhalla from his region of Asia. Not particularly loyal or dedicated to Odin, but extremely dedicated to the prosperity and future of the Middle Kingdom.


    Yue and Tai AKA Sun and Moon twins; A pair of twins, born Titans, one with the ability to generate infinite electricity, the other to generate infinite heat. Their unfortunate death; Yue at the hand of her brother, Tai, and Tai at the hands of Eyeball; are portrayed in the media as caused by Ascension.


    Zeus; Everything you''ve ever heard about Zeus is true. Especially if you''re looking for a good time and Hera isn''t around. The original titanslayer and savior of the world, has so many descendants Genghis Kahn is jealous as he chats about it in valhalla, and probably responsible for most of the physical metahumans with any european genetics.

 Dragon Empress - 1 - Eyetech

    Eyeball was wearing his day-to-day uniform; the usual sleek black armor, with reinforced plates around the torso, with his shiny chrome helmet and its red LEDs, as he approached his building. He stared at the sign over the door of the massive obelisk in front of him for the hundredth time. An irate glower thankfully hidden by the helmet. Some nutjob had, when he''d had the sign put in, copied the ridiculous handmade eyeball print he''d put on a motorcycle helmet from years before, when he''d taken his first steps into the world of crime, and put it over the logo. He''d even found that helmet itself up for sale on Ebay later; it''d sold for over a hundred grand.


    The Eyetech building was one of dozens on ''Research Row''; a series of buildings literally pressed one against the other, forming effectively a wall around a mile long. This place represented some of the highest security; and most advanced technology; on the planet. Stable power supplies from both a nuclear and a geothermal source, abundant resources, and, of course, being the only place on earth where the supervillains were trying to -stop- outside infiltrators, led to it becoming the best-funded center for R&D on earth.


    For Eyeball and Ripper, it represented a place to turn research they stole from other places into money and equipment; and an ongoing competition to see who could bring in the coolest gadget. So far, Ripper was winning; he''d stolen the plans to make a device the CIA used to essentially ''portal'' through a wall or door without destroying it. Eyeball''s latest find; a nanite-using pistol that could turn itself into a remote control for enemy drones and electronic devices; even ones that normally couldn''t be remote controlled; was a solid competitor... but both had agreed, not quite as cool.


    Eyeball stepped in through the opening doors, revealing a fairly small lobby; just a few spots for seating, turrets hanging down from the ceiling, tucked into corners, and a nice black and silver motif. The secretary glanced up from her screen; where one of the multiple sets of controls for those turrets was set; smiling. "Good morning, sir! There''s a prospective new recruit HR wants you to conduct a final interview on, as well as some new developments in, well. Four of the labs."


    He smiled, nodding. "Nobody stopped their research to file a status report, right? Just let the lab techs pass the info along?"


    "Of course, sir."


    "Excellent. Is Ripper in again?"


    "No, sir. He left a message for you, though. Congratulations, Bro."


    Eyeball blinked. "..I didn''t find anything new. He''s still winning. What''s he on about now?"


    She shrugged. "No idea, sir. Did you set a wedding date?"


    "Nah. She''s still putting it off. I''ll nail her down eventually." He waved, and walked to the elevator. His HUD was showing a directory of the four labs where techs had requested his attention, complete with videos they''d taken of recent tests... and a Bio of the man who''d applied.


    He stopped right at the elevator door, hand on the button for the labs... and checked the floor for the interview, tapping it, before stepping in. Information on a presumed-dead villain named ''The Engineer'' had popped up; in theory, he''d died fighting Ascension; he was a gadget-using supervillain, small-time, whose only real gimmick was some sort of freeze ray. But.... he was a cyborg now. A very heavily modified cyborg. Who claimed to have mastered the ability to control the ''Pale One'' controllers, and be able to just puppet a person at-will; and provide a remote control for it.


    ***


    When Eyeball entered the conference room, his head of HR; Cobalt, of course, the bluish-tinted liquid-metal metahuman who''d been at his side for a while, and only worked this job part-time in between training and stints in the arena; glanced up, and waved him over.


    Eyeball looked over at the Engineer... studying him for a moment. If he shot the man, there''d be steel beneath that flesh, no matter where he fired. And... there were two very familiar CPUs mounted inside that frame.


    Eyeball stepped up, and extended a hand towards Engineer. "Does our prior agreement still stand?"


    Cobalt blinked, looking between the two. "You two know each other?"


    Engineer accepted the hand, giving it a polite shake. "Affirmative. Your boss and my... past self.. have come into conflict in the past. We agreed not to interfere in each other''s affairs, after a.. heart to heart."


    Eyeball nodded. "Not quite how I would put it. You know, I have a lab here thats working on those things. Both the Ascension bots and the Pale Ones themselves. We''ve been trying to figure out how to control them for a year now. Turns out the first guy the Russians had doing it? He was a meta of some sort. And, well. Ascension was an AI."


    He tilted his head. "I think we''ll be making the job offer. Engineer, if you could take a walk with me? I''d like to show you the lab upstairs."


    Cobalt pulled to his feet. "Should I bring him the standard NDA, boss?"


    "Of course; if you could leave it with Robin downstairs? But if he can already control the Pale Ones, he knows more than we do about what we''re about to discuss." Cobalt shrugged as Eyeball led Engineer out of the room; the Engineer had a surprisingly life-like stride for what Eyeball knew him to be.. as they stepped towards an elevator.


    The Engineer studied the area. "This isn''t the elevator I entered on."


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Eyeball nodded. "Private elevator. Secured against outside eyes." He walked up, pulling a cylinder out of a slot on the wall; it initially appeared to just be a decoration. "Step back a bit, just in case. The whole tube is a faraday cage, but considering your situation..."


    The Engineer backed away... watching as the cylinder was thrown into the elevator. The door shut. A series of pops. The door slid open, and Eyeball pressed a key. "Come on in. That cleared any listening devices from the elevator or the shaft. No controls on the inside; whatever you pick before you step in, you''re stuck with."


    Engineer stepped inside, following. After the door shut, he glanced at the walls; the elevator was perfectly smooth, soundproofed. "Efficient design."


    "Of course. You''re acting much more human than last time, Ascension."


    The Engineer nodded. "This specific model has been retooled to act independently, without interaction with the overall network. While it does not need to breathe, eat, or sleep, and it certainly does not need to fidget, stumble, or exhibit other signs of human frailty, There is an engine programmed into it to it to emulate precisely these qualities. The flesh surrounding the metal endoskeleton is in fact alive, and the food and drink I consume assist in sustaining it. The organic mass providing it nutrients is engineered to fool an EKG."


    Eyeball studied the man. He looked like a large, tall, bald, ordinary human... except with obvious cybernetic eyes and some visible scars. "Not too bad. Do you have any versions that can pass through a metal detector?"


    "Not yet. I am surprised you realized who I am so quickly."


    "The two cpus you carry. I''m assuming that''s one that''s always on and the other are backup in case of EMP. Almost perfect copies of those Ascension contains. I''ve got a few upstairs in the lab."


    The Engineer nodded. The elevator came to a stop, and Eyeball reached out, a hand resting on what seemed like an ordinary patch of wall. "Just a bit. I can just open the door with a lever, but I have a question. Do you know how you were built?"


    "I am not completely certain. The level of sophistication in my design, combined with the truly ridiculous energy efficiency behind it indicates a meta human of unusual mental capacity was behind the construction."


    Eyeball sighed. "It was a little more than that. You''re actually a copy of a human mind, somehow digitized by a process somewhere between magic and technology, and programmed with those core rules. Probably both. The fact that you''re able to make copies of yourself is insane... I have had the parts of one of you since before you arose in Mexico, though I didn''t acquire a CPU until then, and have had exactly zero luck. Every version is either barely functional, has a tenth the energy efficiency, or both. I''m assuming you wouldn''t be willing to help make more like yourself?"


    "I would not be willing to assist in crafting an independent intelligence that did not hold the objectives of ensuring the survival of the human species and expanding communism to all of humanity. My offer to assist with these Pale Ones is purely to assist in converting an organic into a remote-controlled drone. Any autonomous function will be minimal."


    He shrugged. "Figured I''d ask. Why are you here, anyway?"


    "Your advice was exceptionally useful. I have successfully manipulated the Titan Valkyrie into removing several anti-union actors and their entire organizations, and removed individuals on the wealthiest list of humans so often that individuals are viewing it more akin to a ''hit list''. Consistently removing the most egregious of the Oligarchs is creating an environment more and more friendly to collectivism over time. It may take decades, but I believe I may now accomplish my goals without a global war."


    Eyeball made a ''move along'' gesture with his hand. "Of course it was. While I''m fond of a bit of wealth in the short-term, I believe your ultimate victory is best for humanity as a whole."


    "I felt that I owed you.. and would like to keep a close eye on events inside La Famiglia. I agreed not to strike against your interests, and will not attack anyone here, but I will gather intelligence here to use for strikes elsewhere."


    "Oh. Well then. Welcome to the team. I''ve got three basic sorts of projects here..." He pushed firmly on the wall a few feet away from where his hand had been. The door slid open. "Type A are basically just Reflex and combat drugs. Stuff I sell to the Department of Defense. Type B are things I sell to supervillains, often on custom order. And Type C... well. Type C are things just for me and Ripper."


    He walked up to a door; ''AI Research'' was over it in dark green script. "I think I want you working on type C. If you can get it small enough, I''d like a 40mm grenade that takes over the person I shoot with it and lets me use him against his allies."


    The Engineer tilted his head, and nodded. "I don''t see that as being a problem."


    ***


    "Boss! I figured Robin would send you our way. You''re gonna love this thing."


    The two technicians We''re standing in a firing range, with a variety of ballistics gel dummies, mostly completely broken apart, scattered around the room. some of them were wrapped in simple clothing, others were wrapped in body armor, while others were wrapped in heavy armored tungsten shells. All of them were broken apart.


    One of the techs extended what seemed to be a simple tube grenade launcher to Eyeball, a grin obvious on his face; his safety goggles had traces of smoke, and his hair was smoldering. The other waved to attract Eyeball''s attention to what he was holding. "So, Armor-piercing grenade mark seventy-five. This little bastard.."


    He held up one of the 40mm shells Eyeball seemed to prefer. It was a shiny blue in color, with a silver ring around the middle. "Is exactly what you''re looking for. We''ve got an Osmium spike bracketed with a carbon nanotube sheath that forms into a needle as it launches. Not as hard a hit as that big fancy Titanslayer gun of yours, but we think it will at least hurt anybody but, well. A Titan."


    Eyeball chuckled. "I like the enthusiasm, and I''ll take a few. But this is something we can sell to other supervillains. Robin implied something I''d want to keep."


    The man laughed. "Oh, you''ve already got it. I mean, I''m sure you''ll want these shells, but thats not what it was about. Remember that awesome thing Ripper brought us the CIA used to enter places?"


    "Of course. I love the damn thing. If we can figure out how to get it to last more than five seconds at a time I''d carry one with me for the rest of my life."


    "Well. Turns out the thing works on interdimensional principles. Like... bigger on the inside than the outside, stretching time and space stuff. Look at the rifle you''re holding. Jenny made it special."


    He frowned, lifting the weapon. It looked simple; a single-shot, 40mm grenade launcher. Only... there was no breach to load the grenades. The handle for it was ridiculous; black metal with some odd gold and silver pattern etched into it. He shook it slightly.. there was an LED display on the back, reading... 27%.


    "Okay. Whats so special about it?"


    "Well. Right now, its only got about a ten-hour battery life before it dies and spills whats in it all over the place. But that gun there? Has two hundred 40mm shells loaded up. Me and Barry here already shot through a couple hundred testing it out."


    Eyeball stared at it, then at the techs. ".... Okay. First of all, I love it. I can think of a thousand uses for this, even if the energy cost is prohibitive. Second... I can see the battery here in the handle. Nice design. What if we put the battery inside the space this thing is storing shells in?"

 Dragon Empress - 2 - Reflex++ , Big News

    Many of Eyeball''s researchers were convinced that Eyeball was himself some sort of genius; something which he knew full well wasn''t the case. He was above-average at best, and before his mutation had been an idiot; if not for his power, he''d assume he simply got lucky. He''d started to understand a bit about what Odin had meant, on following his instincts, and seemed to just know the right thing to say sometimes, the right question to ask, to get things moving in the direction that was best.


    Of course, the luckiest part was picking the right lab to rob, and the right materials to steal, back in the day. The Reflex lab had over a billion dollars sunk into it at this point; and had made tens of billions of dollars all on its own. There were preserved samples of a variety of meta-humans in tubes throughout the chamber, technicians, a few test subjects, and of course the equivalent of a few hospital rooms worth of drugs and equipment.


    The head lab tech, Davidson, had actually worked for Wayson at one point; and was as mercenary as they came. Eyeball offered a share in the company to all his contributing employees; which meant that, if he made more from Reflex? Some of his employees made millions a year from those shares. Especially Davidson.


    The tall, gaunt man had brought the latest Wayson developments with him when he came over right as Eyetech was starting; and helped make sure that Wayson would always be a few steps behind.


    Eyeball stepped up, looking over Davidson''s shoulder for a moment at what he was doing; whatever it was looked complicated. Some sort of 3-D model. He walked right by him, heading to one of the nurses who had been helping with dosages. "Robin tells me there was a breakthrough up here while I was gone. Clearly Davidson''s still at it. Anything interesting?"


    She glanced up. "Oh, of course! As you know, the current version we''re selling, ROT, is basically just a less effective, safer, longer-lasting version of the old stuff. The CIA has been all over it. We''ve been selling higher-intensity stuff that''ll kill anybody who isn''t already super-human, the standard stuff, the low-dose stuff... we even have some tailored to blood types that make you heal faster for a while. But this..."


    She nodded at a nearby man, tall, covered in scars and tattoos, wearing a simple surgical gown. He seemed a bit uncomfortable. "Bobby here has received the latest breakthrough, and we''ve been testing it for about a week now. Mind trying it out, Bobby?"


    The man shivered. "Not at all, miss Joy."


    Eyeball blinked, glancing at the Nurse''s nametag for a moment, then back at the man. "Uhh.."


    The Nurse chuckled. "Its a joke, sir. I''m a nurse, we both play Pokemon Go... "


    He nodded. Most of his test subjects were volunteers. He only used people that needed to die for first-round tests that would likely kill the victim; because they were going to be executed after getting results anyway. So treating volunteers as friends was a positive note. "Good. So what exactly is Bobby going to try out?"


    Bobby looked at Eyeball, and squinted. Suddenly, he moved. He was clearly not actually trying to hit anyone; but he stepped forward, delivering punches to either side of Eyeball''s head with an abrupt blur of speed; not something at the level of a high-end speedster, but truly impressive.


    Bobby stopped, as his swings started to slow down... looking happy, enthusiastic... until he noticed the handgun centered on his chest, Eyeball holding it steady in line with his heart. "Bobby. While I appreciate the demonstration, I''d advise you to target a punching bag next time. Not only will it show us how much power you can put into those punches, but it makes you less likely to die."


    Bobby raised his hands, slowly backing away... as Eyeball put the 40mm revolver back in its holster. "So. I don''t see any injectors. Not even the hidden under the shirt kind I usually wear. What just happened?"


    The nurse grinned. "Its expensive. Over five million dollars a pop. But... we created an artificial organ, matched up to Bobby''s cells, that creates a version of Reflex directly inside the body, using the nutrients you normally eat. Whenever your adrenaline starts pumping, or you flex your muscles just right? Puts just a little into your system. I think the DoD is gonna be all over this one."


    Eyeball nodded thoughtfully. "... Davidson again?"


    "Yes, sir."


    Eyeball tapped the side of his helmet. "Cobalt, this is the boss. Give Davidson a bonus. Make it... five million." He released the tiny, invisible button. "How long until you can have one for me?"


    "Well. When can you schedule the surgery? Davidson had one started for you, but has been altering it as we learn more about the process."


    "..I don''t want to interrupt him when he''s working. Have him call me when he''s free." Eyeball smiled. Something that would let him, any time, juice his reflexes up to match a Speedster for a few seconds? Considering his powers that should be all he would ever need.


    "Oh. And keep this one in-house for now. We''ll probably strictly be selling it to the Family, no matter what the CIA would offer."


    ***


    Eyeball smiled as he stepped into his home; smelling something... faintly barbeque-scented in the air. Ahh. Was she cooking? That was a surprise. Normally Emerald preferred Eyeball do the cooking, or just having it delivered.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Walking down the two flights of stairs into the main living area of the home.. while beautiful, and decorated with ornaments that seemed to have a vaguely asian tone to them, it was still, essentially, an armored bunker, designed to keep the occupants alive in the event a nuke hit the island. The windows, in this section, were fake; upstairs were the real ones, though the pool in both places was fine. The entire upstairs home was, essentially, a decoy... just in case.


    The middle of the home...


    As he reached the bottom, he stepped out into an enormous open space, only broken by precisely positioned support girders; high-grade tungsten alloy, covered by a facade disguising them as roman-era columns. Enough room for Emerald to stretch her wings and fly around underground, even if the worst were to happen. This massive room included a kitchen, a dining area, bathrooms; and was connected to smaller, private areas; including, even further below, Eyeball''s personal worskhop.


    As he stepped into the kitchen area, he could see Emerald; she was humming to herself, tail wagging back and forth, wearing a simple pair of black shorts and a green tank-top.


    Eyeball walked up behind her; deliberately making his steps loud, solid as he did so; sneaking up on someone who could accidentally burn the fridge into a puddle of molten slag wasn''t the best idea. "Hey, sweetheart. Just got back from the lab. I''m thinking about cutting off the.. excursions... for a while."


    So long as he wasn''t wearing his signature armor and helmet, many of his little raids weren''t going to be traced back to him; and in some countries, he didn''t care.


    Emerald''s tail suddenly went completely straight back, alert, and she swiveled to glare at him. "...Did Ripper tell you!? I knew I shouldn''t have told that bastard. Ugh." She glowered at Eyeball, crossing her arms. "Are you in here!? I''m gonna melt your face off!"


    Eyeball blinked. "Uhh... did he tell me what? Why do we want to kill your brother all of a sudden?"


    Emerald stopped. She tilted her head, frowning. "Oh. What was it at the lab?"


    "Oh, Davidson found a way to give someone an implant, let them naturally make Reflex so they can just trigger a low dose any time they want. Now that we''ve got it solid and tested on Bobby, I was thinking of getting it done... but I''d want to stay home for a while after, get some practice, before going in the field after. Don''t want to find out its a dud and need to get it removed when I''m in the middle of fighting someone I could use it on."


    She chuckled. "Like you really need it. All the wonder-guns and what you can already do, you''re a threat to just about anybody. But... I''d like it if you''d stay home for a bit. Doesn''t have to start now, though. Maybe in about seven months."


    He popped the helmet off. "Oh, sure. I guess I could arrange a few more things in the field, then come back. Why seven months?"


    She shrugged.. and took a step closer, smiling at him.. casually taking his helmet, tossing it onto the couch. "Because thats about when the baby will be along, wouldn''t want you to miss it."


    Eyeball stood there like a statue for a moment. Frozen, jaw dropped. After a few seconds, his jaw shut once again; a steady grin lighting up his face. "That motherfucker. Thats what he was congratulating me for." He stepped in close, wrapping his arms around her waist, and swept her into the air, spinning her around.


    "We''re gonna be parents! Oh god. Is it gonna be a boy or a girl? Do we want to know in advance? Should we wait? What are we gonna name em? Is the house big enough? Should we.."


    Emerald smiled back, pressing a single finger against his lips, silencing him, and abruptly stretched her wings, breaking free; and settling back on the floor. "Come on now. Calm down, don''t want to damage the goods. I was hoping for a response kinda like that."


    He chuckled. "Come on. How could I not react like that? The very idea of a tiny little Emerald running around..."


    She laughed. "Or, god forbid, a tiny little Jason. Could you imagine?"


    "Oof. Hope he isn''t born with my power, or Apollo will be even more pissed. Some little toddler running around screwing with his timelines."


    Emerald giggled. "Oh gods yes, imagine a little toddler trying to pick out a future where he gets two desserts."


    "As opposed to one who can fly, I suppose. Maybe the precog would be better."


    Emerald set a hand on his shoulder. "Or."


    He met her gaze, curious.


    "What if we get twins, and they have both? Flying, precognitive, fire-breathing toddlers."


    "....I think we need to replace all of our appliances. I think I can probably make some flame-resistant, bullet-proof, ceramic casings in my workshop."


    Emerald sniffed for a moment, and rushed back to the stove. "Sorry, just about burned dinner, hold up."


    Eyeball smiled. This was about the most domestic he''d ever seen her. Not two weeks ago she was helping him carry loot out of a skyscraper in france.


    ***


    Hours later, the duo had settled in on the couch, relaxing; Emerald reading a book, Eyeball working through his Japanese lessons; though a model of yet another helmet redesign was up on the tv. He glanced across the couch at her. "So. Are you willing to get married before you''re a mom? Or still waiting?"


    She grimaced... setting a bookmark in place. "Just when I was at the good part, you ruin things. Look... if you get married, it''ll be on the news. My family will see. And... they''ll come for me."


    "I think we can handle as many guests as you need us to, sweetheart."


    She tapped her knee for a moment, looking absently at the ceiling. "Hm. Maybe I should call Ripper in here, he was a year older than me, he knows even more than I do. But... How many flying dragon-girls do you know of?"


    Eyeball blinked. "Huh. Actually... just you. I know of girls with wings, girls with scales, there''s all sorts out there, but... you''re actually the only flying scaly person I''ve ever heard of. Actually, that is a bit odd. Most people with some bestial mutation have some trace elements of the animal they mutated to resemble, and there isn''t anything with both scales and wings, is there? Your brother makes perfect sense, though. Invisible reptile? Of course."


    "There you go. I''m the only flying dragon-girl. Product of four generations of selective breeding. My mom is scaly and spits fire. My dad has wings and is fireproof. My great-grandma tried a whole bunch of times to get one of us with both wings and scales. And getting one with both -and- firebreathing? I was perfect."


    "Wait." He stared at her for a moment, unblinking. "Was she... seriously trying to -make- a dragon by breeding people with some of the traits together?"


    "Exactly. And once she had me, she wanted me to make hundreds of babies so she could spread out the line, start introducing other powers, and just make a whole race of dragons. It would''ve started off when I was thirteen, with Ripper''s dad... but when Ripper heard me screaming? He knocked his dad out with a metal trash can, grabbed me, and we ran."


    Emerald shrugged. "She''d approve wholeheartedly of me having kids with you. You''re clearly the sort of power she''d want in the bloodline. But staying with you? No. She sees me on the news, pregnant, married? We''ll have a whole host of criminals, both my whole clan and whoever great-grandma can hire, trying to grab me the next day."


    A long, irritated sigh. "Courtesy of the Dragon Empress."

 Dragon Empress - 3 - Vengeance and mindless entertainment

    "There''s a.. Roland White to see you sir. From the DMA."


    Chief of security William Harrick looked up from his desk with a frown. That was a familiar name. He''d heard it somewhere before, but where? He nodded to himself. Didn''t matter. DMA anything was important enough for a face to face. "Tell him to come on up."


    Harrick looked around his office with a sigh. Every month, Wayson instituted some other security measure. More paranoia. More restrictions. Barricades. Additional background checks. His bid to get Reflex up and running, and steal the business from those criminals, had been a flop; and project Eel had been only a mediocre success; the augmented humans generating electricity, yes, and even enough to power light armor... but not enough for the sort of high-end equipment that would let them compete with the dangerous metahumans out there.


    From what Harrick could tell, nobody had penetrated security since that Davidson asshole had jumped ship. But Wayson became more paranoid and angry with each month Eyetech outperformed Wayson Industries; and the knowledge that its owner hoarded the greatest advancements for himself was even worse.


    He sighed, looking around his office. He''d been friends with Everett for years. Kept him alive at times, advised him, barely scraped by at times and made a fortune at others. Everett had even gone through a great deal of effort and pain to save Harrick himself. But... it might be time to move on. The doctor just wasn''t listening anymore.


    The gentle knock at the door was accompanied by a head peeking around the corner. A face that might once have been handsome; the sort of tall, powerfully built, blonde-haired blue-eyed all-american that could''ve sold out theaters; except... it was badly scarred. Some of the hair was clearly a toupee. This man had been through hell.


    He blinked. Oh. Thats where he knew him from.


    "Well then. Why don''t you have a seat? What exactly brings you in to see us today?"


    ***


    "Well, doctor. His proposal is pretty simple. Its illegal, its insane, its stupid, and it just might work."


    The past few years had not been kind to Everett Wayson. His eyes were sunken; his body gaunt. His complexion was still perfect, his hair clearly expensive, and the same burning intelligence was behind those eyes; but he shifted and twitched with anxiety, and seemed exhausted.


    "...The only part I care about is that it might work. If you have a legitimate way to take out these... people... I''m in, if there''s even a slight chance."


    Harrick sighed. "Look. Eyetech is incredibly secure. His home? Every bit as secure. We could drop an army in there on either site, and the built-in weapons and defenses would hold us off; we can''t even get good intel on where it all is until we attack, the man installed most of it himself. But. The Arena..."


    He nodded at the wall. He''d uploaded a display of the massive stadium structure. "Arena contestants aren''t screened for anything but bio-weapons. They''re expected to be carrying weapons, armor, all sorts of nasty gadgets, and so long as they don''t break the dome or haul in a WMD, its all good. They can even remain anonymous, in-costume, the whole time. And each team that makes it to the semi-finals.."


    He tapped a button. The display zoomed in on the tower at the top of the building. "Gets to be guest of honor at an exclusive party. Invite-only. Attended by Nicolo Russo, Penelope Russo, and Jason Bennet, every time, among others in La Famiglia leadership. Most of the guests are screened, even employees who aren''t part of the family are. Checked for bombs, weapons. Only the most trusted are allowed into that room with anything harmful... except for these people. They don''t consider it a security concern; after all, they''ve got some of the heaviest hitters on the planet in that room. It''d take a Titan to go into that room alone and come out alive. And we all know Bennet has already killed two of the Titans he went up against... and the third did not enjoy the experience."


    Harrick sighed. "If we could get the right payload onto an attendee, someone willing to die to get the job done? We could wipe out all of the key leadership of the island in one fell swoop. And Roland White is willing to die to get the job done, if thats what it takes."


    Everett frowned, staring at the display. "Then why isn''t the CIA or the DoD already doing this?"


    Harrick shrugged. "Because he''s giving them what they want. Combat drugs better than anything a US company has to offer."


    "Well. This Eyeball character meets people all the time. He eats, he goes on dates. He''s unpredictable, yes. But we could just leave a team to ambush him, and strike when he shows up. Why go through all this trouble?"


    "Thats the thing. There''s only two places he reliably shows up; Eyetech, and his home. His route between the two is unpredictable and varied. His superhuman reflexes make any sort of unplanned ambush problematic; we''ve tried it before, to be honest. We need a place where we can predict he''ll be there in advance.. and to deploy something to cover the entire room. So that no matter how he dodges, no matter how amazing his reflexes... he still dies. No using a table for cover, or ducking into a vent, or any such nonsense."


    "Hmm. And how do we do that?"


    Harrick held up a small silver orb. "Our man Roland carries these. Each of these weighs about twenty pounds, and is filled with a highly compressed, invisible, odorless gas. A highly flammable gas. He hides them in trash cans, in chairs, anywhere he can. Push one button, they start to release the gas. When the moment comes? Ignition. Turns the whole room into a fuel-air bomb that kills any normals in there. One moment, everything''s fine. The next... the entire room is a firestorm. No dodging. No avoiding. And Roland mops up anyone fire-resistant enough to survive."


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Everett gave a hesitant shrug, and leaned back in his chair. "I do like the idea. But can this Roland make it through the whole arena long enough to become a Semi-finalist? I think some of the people in there are strong enough to take him. Maybe even kill him."


    "Well then, we give him backup. Its a team sport. They won''t let any given team be -too- powerful, but I bet we can arm and equip a couple of supersoldiers to tag along and give him a competitive edge. If its anyone recognizable, we''ll need a bit of plastic surgery first; but we''re already doing that to Roland."


    He laughed. "You know what... I think I know the perfect man for the job. Feel like a vacation, William? How would you like to get back at that bitch that burned you alive?"


    Harrick looked thoughtful. "I... wouldn''t mind it. But half the point of this approach is that this Roland guy is expendable. While I''d like it if the job worked, its definitely not a hundred percent. In fact... the whole idea is crazy. I''d bet more money on it not working than on it working, even if I went along."


    Everett pushed his chair back, and pulled to his feet. "Bill. Look. I need this. This... Eyeball has been leading us on for years now. He considers us just a footnote on his path, and has been running ahead of us on Reflex since he stole it and making new versions that we''ll never catch up to if he keeps going. If we don''t stop him, I don''t think I can ever recover."


    "...I''ll consider it. I''ll need a damn fireproof suit to do the job, something that dragon-lady can''t burn through. But I''ll consider it."


    ***


    "Alright. I get where you''re coming from." Eyeball nodded, and gently took Emerald''s novel, setting it on the coffee table.


    "But here''s the thing. From what I understand, even if we never go public, she''s searching for you. And will, eventually, find you. We generally aim for me to be the one noticed when we''re out and about, and we''ve mostly gone legit since La Famiglia was started up. But there are reports out there with both of our names in them. Sometime, someday, we''re going to get visitors from your family."


    She shrugged. "They probably already know where I am. I''m not famous, or infamous, but I''m a known villainess, and a foreign national who received a pardon. They expect me to live a long, long time... great-grandma looks like she''s maybe forty... but me and Ripper figured they''d give me a decade or two before bringing me to heel, letting the girl they want to take over someday ''sow her wild oats'' or some such silliness, and, well. I''d hoped to get strong enough to stand up for myself, or even find friends to help fight them off when that happened."


    Eyeball chuckled. "I understand. Whats the path out of this while killing as few of your family as possible?"


    "...Well. I want my uncle to die. He tried to rape me, even if it was the Empress''s idea. And we probably need to kill, or at the very least just beat the Empress, so I can disband the whole thing. And, well. Need to be careful about it. If I just waltz in and kill her with ease, some of the clan will take that as proof that she was right, that I''ve become some sort of superior species."


    "Hah. What, don''t want to become the Dragon Empress yourself?"


    She rolled her eyes. "Not all of us want to own our own little island and play warlord, Jase."


    "Own your own little island?"


    "Oh. Great-grandma conned the Emperor of Japan''s son, back in the day, into believing she was a real dragon. Like... ancient mystical being. And that by laying with her, she could add the blood of dragons to the Imperial line. Of course, that was bullshit. She was already pregnant. Already had the whole ''creating Dragons'' idea and had tracked down one of the few mutants back in the day who wasn''t sterile."


    She sighed. "So.... when the Emperor found out he had what he thought was a scaly bastard grandson with mystical powers? He banished them to an island. The idea was that they should be taken care of, as Imperial descendants, but should never be allowed into power. So... the island is still in the family, all based on a lie a hundred years old."


    "Hmm. Alright then. Well, its your family. How do you want to handle them?"


    "Lets wait til after our child''s born. I don''t want to risk getting into some big fight while I''m pregnant. I''ll let Ripper babysit for a few days then. You can get some of your friends together, I''ll get some of mine, and we can go give her an ultimatum. Offer her either a wedding invitation, or a funeral."


    Eyeball nodded, grinning. "Yeah, I don''t see how that could possibly go wrong. Alright. We''ll settle in for the next year or so. I''ll go ahead and get that reflex thing implanted, maybe spend more time at Eye-tech, do some training. Really should do at least a little bit more fighting to keep my edge, as it were, probably take my job as Chief Enforcer more seriously... Huh."


    Emerald was already reaching for the table to get her book back. "What? Did we just have another ridiculous idea?"


    "Well. Honestly, if I''m gonna be staying on the island, and making sure this implant thing works right.... maybe I should go a few rounds at the arena. Either some of the solo matches to show off a bit, or actually sign up for the big tournament. Anonymously, as if I was some newbie."


    She slowly nodded. "It honestly sounds like it could be fun. If some rat bastard hadn''t knocked me up.." She grinned. "I might go along myself. Just make sure to let Nicky and Penny know."


    "...Does she know you call her Penny?"


    "Never did it to her face, she''s still... a little jealous, and might do something about it."


    ***''


    Nicky leaned back in his chair; his ''throne'' as it were, really just a nice, expensive seat in his box at the Arena; the place where he held most of his meetings, with one of the various events going on in the background.


    "Congratulations." He smiled. "Honestly, I''ve always loved kids. Penelope was so adorable. You''ve got to let me take care of them for you when they''re born at least a few times. I''ve got a few great-nieces and nephews that come by now that I''m in touch with more of the family, but they all have their own lives in the states."


    Wearing a newer, black and blue variant of her old armored suit, Penelope sighed. "Daddy. Come on, now. Swiftblade when I''m in uniform, Penelope when I''m not."


    He glanced at her. "Actually, give it a few more years and I''m thinking Boss. Well. Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Eyeball. Anything you need from me? I think there''s already a good OBGYN here on the island."


    "Actually, with the baby on the way I was planning on staying on the island for a while. At least until after they''re born. I figured I could use some light entertainment while I was here... and wanted your opinion on making up some random villain ID and joining the tournament. Have a little fun, some meaningless brawling."


    Swiftblade grinned, leaning forward. "That actually sounds like a good idea. One of your friends from when you kicked off there in the US is only fifteen, but convinced his mom to let him sign in; technically he''s anonymous, too, since just who ''Butcher'' is was never made public. Hell. I might do it myself. So few people break the rules around here that I haven''t had to kill anyone in months."


    Eyeball frowned. "Ehh... Either one of us could make it all the way to the end, no problem, if we just murdered our way through. How about a friendly contest. Whoever kills the least opponents by the end wins. And... we both join in the pool."


    "...And get saddled with whatever random nobodies get dragged on there?"


    "Sure. Who knows, maybe you''ll make some new friends."

 Dragon Empress - 4 - The Pool

    "So, how do I look?"


    Harrick stretched out for a moment in his outfit. Simple, grey, highly durable armor of the sort that would protect him from penetrating and burning attacks... but likely leave him crushed and broken inside if he were hit hard enough. Which was fine; he could recover quickly enough. The only thing marring the dull grey surface was dried reddish-brown stains in the vague outline of a skull.


    Roland studied him for a moment. "Hmm. When we go through the pool, they like flashy characters. You''ll need a callsign." He tapped himself. He looked like some sort of all-black space marine with a quasi-medieval aesthetic not too different from the Green Knight armor he wore in his real job; though there were hundreds of heroes and villains with a similar aesthetic. "I''m Black Knight. Of course, there are twelve guys using that name, but I''m the first in the arena, so it''s good. I''m gonna fake being unable to fly, but my durability and strength should still be enough to get me a good placing."


    "So... I would recommend a splash of color. Some sort of name is a minimum requirement. And some signature weapons. High-performing competitors often get offers for deals from companies that make weapons, armor, even tools. Nike sponsored last year''s winner, though they ended up dropping it, last-minute. What weapons are you good with?"


    Harrick looked over the ''Black Knight'' outfit, shaking his head. "Ehh. When I was a cop, I used a shotgun, a nightstick, and a revolver. Nowadays, I use a semi-auto and, well. Ever since Eyeball hit us, I''ve kept a few grenades."


    "You want stylish. All you''ve got is regen, right?"


    "Well. I''m stronger than any normal my size could be, I heal crazy fast, and I''ve got about fifty years of experience in police and security work, so I know how to handle myself in a fight."


    Roland stared at him for a few moments before looking away. "Fifty years. You look mid-thirties, maybe late twenties. How the fuck old are you!?"


    "You''ll find most of us regenerating guys are like that. Anyways, I actually did go for something a bit flashy." He held up a gauntleted fist. "High-tech version of a powder hammer. When I punch you, it embeds a spike in you with enough force to pierce a tungsten plate."


    He reached down, and lifted his handguns, one with each hand. "And, of course, custom handguns. Caseless 15-mm ammo, twenty shots each."


    Roland chuckled. "I suppose that can work. I''m just going sword and shield. You pick a name?"


    "Executioner. I''ll paint a bit more of the blood on each time I take someone down. Hopefully give a good intimidation factor. Will it just be the two of us?"


    "Maybe. We''ve never fought here, so we have to go into the pool."


    ***


    The arena was crowded with a wide variety of figures; men and women in tights, in body-armor. With normal appearances, or with grotesque, distorted ones. The condemned prisoners were a full third of the crowd, sectioned off from the rest; aside from the Metas among them, there was no question of their sorting.


    Harrick followed Roland down the stairs, looking out over the crowd... and at the enormous bulletproof glass dome. "Jesus. Lots of folks want to die, it seems. How does this pool bullshit work?"


    "You and your buddies walk in. Say what you want about your powers. Demonstrate if you like. They rank you, and either let you go in solo, or give you some other randos, allies if you need more power. If you''ve got friends? They let you stick together. They do require a little proof; unless you''re a known quantity a bit of sparring or the like. They actually show videos of tons of fights from this part."


    Harrick nodded. "Alright. So... why don''t people just lie about their powers and pull their punches in this part? Try to seem weak, to get a stronger team?"


    "Some folks do. Every team gets the same payout, no matter how big it is. So if you''ve got a ten-man team, and win five hundred grand? Fifty a head. If it''s only a two-man team though? Much bigger. Some folks pretend to be stronger than they really are to go alone, or with a small team, make more money. Some pretend to be weak, to get a better team, better odds of winning... and less cash."


    "Nice. So it sorta corrects itself."


    Roland walked slowly, as the crowd sorted itself off into lines. Clusters of two or three people were common. Large team-ups were more rare, but present; most of them checking out the competition, looking over who they went along with. Roland studied a weirdo in dark green, scaly armor, with fake fangs at the front of his helmet, arguing with a woman in white tights, both of them with digitized, fake voices; shaking his head. "Takes all kinds. Anyways. First team to all submit, die, or get knocked out, loses. You can''t keep fighting after the other guy is out, and you can''t break the glass or hurt the audience. There''s ten rounds... but they skew things on purpose. If you keep all of your opponents alive, just wounded? You can skip two or three of those. Nobody''s ever won that killed all of his opponents."


    Harrick shrugged. "Don''t really care too much, so long as we make the semi-finals, but I''ll remember that. Kill as few people as possible. Check."


    "Exactly. We don''t care about money. So we pretend not to be as good as we really are. Get some allies that are worth a damn. And, hopefully, make it all the way. If we don''t... well. I have other plans, just with worse odds."


    "And no involvement from me. This is the absolute worst odds I''ll tolerate; and even so, I''m only here as a favor to Doctor Wayson."


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    ***


    "The Viper? What the fuck are you doing, cosplaying as your girlfriend?"


    Eyeball.. or, rather, ''The Viper; glared at her. "Seriously, Penny? You''re badmouthing me for wearing something with scales on it while you''re running around in white tights. If the mask were a bit loose-fitting I could call you the Klanswoman."


    She nodded. "True enough. But still. Not as stupid as your -actual- callsign. Maybe you should keep The Viper. Might help your brand."


    He stared at her for a moment. "...Honestly, you''re right. It''s cooler. Really though, I wanted to focus a bit more on blades. And the last guy with the name Viper got shot by the feds a few months back, so its currently free." He patted his back. "These two cool sickle sword things were actually being made for him! Got em cheap as dirt." He pulled one free, showing her the snake-themed handle and the dark green blade.


    "..Its called a Khopesh. I honestly thought you were working some Egyptian theme maybe, but you don''t even know what the swords are called?"


    "Some of us prefer guns. And I thought Egypt had cobras?"


    "They have vipers, too. Speaking of guns?"


    "Oh. One is just a single-shot 40mm with an AP round. Just in case. The other is a dart gun. Shoots a knockout neurotoxin. The outside case on em looks the same. Call em my Fangs, in this outfit."


    "Shouldn''t the big swords be the fangs?"


    "They can all be fangs if I feel like it."


    The duo joined the crowd after a few minutes, looking around at the random ''Villains'' and ''Heroes'' surrounding them. There were at least six full teams of armed, armored rednecks; a few joined every tournament, and amusingly enough usually made it pretty far; the sort of ridiculous, improvised things they brought in to fight with actually did a good job sometimes.


    "Alright, ''Ghost''. Here''s where we split. Pick a team if you want, or go it alone. Whoever kills the least wins, right?"


    "Sure, sure. AND whoever gets further without being discovered."


    Viper started to interject... but she was gone. He shook his head, stepping in line. A man wearing a labcoat, with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, glanced at him.


    "Nice outfit; I heard you got the swords cheap, I actually knew the last Viper. He killed two other villains who took the name. Nutjob."


    Viper glanced at him. "Oh, thats amusing. I don''t think I''m gonna kill anyone who uses the name. If they try me, though, they''ll regret it. Who are you? No mask or anything?"


    The lab-coated man laughs. "Oh, I''m a bit of a joke. The Kidney Remover. They call me Mister Kidney, Captain Kidney... all sorts."


    "...What? Why?"


    He raised up his hand... his fingers started glowing. "I generate a sort of field around my fingers.. lets me just slide them right through clothes, skin, and flesh. My signature move is to just grab someone''s kidney and yank it right out. They usually go into shock on the spot, and die of internal bleeding after a while."


    Viper laughed. "That''s... both incredibly deadly and just ridiculous. Why don''t you grab the heart, or the brain?"


    "Some folks have a ribcage thats super-durable, keeps me from reaching the heart. Never met anyone, no matter how tough, with a stomach that tough. So... kidneys."


    "...That''s terrible. Absolutely ridiculous. Hell, want to join up?"


    "Maybe? What can you do?"


    Eyeball reached over, grabbing Kidney by the front of his labcoat, and lifted him up off the ground with an ease that... actually surprised him. He knew he was right at the ''flip over cars'' stage now, and hoped to get better with training. "I''m strong. Tough. Excellent aim with any weapon. Decent enough with a blade... and of course, I get super reflexes for a few seconds at a time. Just enough that I can kill a speedster with one of these Khopesh."


    He set him down, gently. The lab-coated villain nodded thoughtfully. "Sure! I''ve got another buddy I was gonna team up with, but we still needed a couple more."


    "Oh? Who''s the friend?"


    "The Human Shield! This masochistic nutjob who basically just takes the punishment for me so I can get close enough to gut people!"


    Viper thought for a moment. "That... sounds a bit familiar. I thought he was a low-grade hero, in the military?"


    "He''s addicted to pain. Something short-circuited up in there when he got his powers... some whacked-out, really grisly sort of fast healing... and he got kicked out of the military after the war in Afghanistan ended. Kept shooting and stabbing himself now there weren''t any bad guys to do it for him."


    "...Alright. I can see how he might be useful, if awkward to be around. Fuck it, why not."


    "Hell yes! You look kinda badass, so I think you''ll help our image."


    The two spoke for a few minutes as they moved through the line; the Human Shield eventually stepping up to join them; looking Viper over appraisingly. The man was massive; well over six feet tall, and at least four hundred pounds; a fine blend of fat and muscle that was somewhere between Sumo and Dad-bod, and wearing a bloody tank-top and ripped jeans... with a barbed-wire covered baseball bat and a shotgun strapped to his back.


    "Huh. So Kidney picked you out, huh? Look cool. Can you fight?"


    "My enemies would probably say so, if they were still alive."


    The massive figure shrugged. "Eh. It''s alright. I''m just in it to get hit and help Kidney out."


    When the group reached the front of the line, Viper saw a familiar face; Tommy, one of Nicky''s enforcers. He was wearing a nice suit, had a tablet in hand, standing in front of an entrance hall that led into the arena proper. An array of sensors was on all four walls; checking primarily for biological and nuclear weapons. Everything else was allowed; Viper had helped install these sensors himself. They''d instantly identify him. Penelope had already gone through; proudly declaring herself a speedster, and a solo act.


    Tommy glanced at the tree as they approached. He blinked as he checked the readings, looking at Viper again. "I see... a biological agent. Care to explain?"


    "Knock-out neurotoxin. Injection only. I''ve got a lethal version for field-work, but for the arena, knockout seems best."


    He nodded.. shaking his head with amusement at the two accompanying him. "Alright, you three can go ahead. You want to stick with just you three or try for more? We''ve got good info on all of you, so nobody needs to try out, and you can have up to ten... or as few as one, if you''re capable enough."


    He looked at Viper meaningfully. Viper shrugged. "I guess we could use one more. Might as well, makes it less risky, right?"


    "Alright. We''ll get one more guy for you after the tryouts. You can step on in and watch, or show off, or whatever. There''s a bunch of trials, exhibition matches... the prisoners who we don''t want to give a chance to win.. mostly the pedophiles... get armed up and used as meat for this one, alongside some Pale Ones."


    Viper nodded. Without Ascension controlling them... or one of the remotes that was being built for them back at Eyetech... Pale Ones were just mindless zombies that would attack anything but other Pale Ones. Or, at least, thats what most people thought.


    Viper was fully aware that, probably, Ascension was still puppeting them all along, and the people using them as cannon fodder for training were giving themselves substantial possible problems should the machine launch another invasion.


    He glanced at his two new team-mates; however temporary they might be; and clapped each of them on the shoulder. "Alright, boys! Lets go ahead, see what kind of nutjobs they have on offer today! Aside from us, of course!"

 Dragon Empress - 5 - Showing Off the Menagerie

    The cameras swept over the crowd; all the various teams of villains, or solo villains, heroes, or mercenaries forming an unruly mob advancing forward. Nicky paused the video for a moment. There. A figure covered head-to-toe in white tights. Good lord, what was she thinking? That was probably the worst costume she''d ever worn, including some of the ones she''d picked out as a teenager during her ''punk rock'' phase. What was she? the Streak?


    Just a set of the same sort of armored, friction-resistant material every speedster other than Lightning needed to wear to avoid ending up on fire and naked after a jog, and apparently a few pockets full of small throwing projectiles. No logos. No markings. As if she were deliberately setting out to be the most bland, generic figure she could.


    Which, of course, meant that she stood out like crazy in a crowd of villains. The only other figures he could see in all white were a group in Klan robes called the ''White Knights'' who were undoubtedly just genuine Klansmen with something to prove and who would be a likely feature of the gag reel for the entire tournament.


    He gave a long sigh, and leaned back in his chair, turning to the young man in the booth; a seemingly ordinary freckle-faced teenager, albeit one properly dressed in a black dress shirt and slacks with a white tie; forming a contradiction to Nicky''s own white suit and black tie. "No, we don''t need to keep an eye on her, bobby. She''s one of the heaviest hitters on the island, and surrounded by a sea of security. Unless we want to rig a match... which is strictly against both my own rules and that of the family so long as we''re the house... there''s no means, or need, to protect her til this is over. No standing by with rifles, no traps, nothing."


    The teen shrugged. "Okay, Uncle Nicky. Just watching out. We all know how kick-ass she is, but I''ve only known she was family for a couple years now... and during that time she got almost killed by robots, and Eyeball had to rescue her. "


    Deep down, Bobby was jealous; his half-sister had been lucky enough to be found when she was young. While Bobby had been using his superhuman reflexes to be a perfect pick-pocket, and keep himself alive in a household where his mother spent her government checks mostly on meth, she''d been groomed to lead a whole branch of organized crime... and gifted with the power to run close to a thousand miles per hour.


    Despite that... she was his older sister. One who, the entire time he''d known her, had been welcoming, helpful, and ultimately forced him to realize just how badly his parents had impacted him; the doctors said that, if he hadn''t been so malnourished as a child, his body and powers both would likely have been far more capable now that he was an adult. Nicky hadn''t just given him a nice house, a great job, and so many opportunities..


    He''d given him access to medical care that might, someday, make him as capable as he''d have been if he''d had the chance to grow up with uncle Nicky the whole time. Instead of just being able to slow time down to a crawl, he was slowly getting faster, healthier, stronger. Who knew what he could be capable in a year or two.


    Nicky set a hand down on Bobby''s hand. "Don''t worry about it. Eyeball is in there with her as another contestant. If she actually needed the help, which I doubt, he''d be there. I''ve got a much more important job for you."


    Bobby nodded. "Of course, boss."


    Nicky chuckled. It always seemed to be ''boss'' when he didn''t agree with him, and Uncle Nicky when he was asking for something. "This one is a bit... problematic. We finally tracked down your last sister, and are going to make her the usual offer."


    "Oh! Of course I''m in." He smiled. Most of his half-brothers and sisters lived on La Famiglia now; all of them, powers or not, had been offered cushy jobs, homes, anything they needed.


    "She was a late bloomer. Got put up for adoption, went to college, and didn''t realize she had speed to her until she got shot at while she was on the job... bagging and tagging evidence for the FBI. She''s a new recruit at the DMA, going through training."


    "...Oh." Bobby was at a loss. He had no idea how to handle a sibling that was possibly an enemy.


    "Here''s the deal. She never knew her dad, or the family. Has no idea she''s related to us. And if it comes out that she is, it might interfere with her new job. So we need to handle this delicately. I need you to speak with her privately, let her know what''s going on, give her the chance to join us if she wants, without screwing with her life. She''s working human trafficking, nothing to do with the Family, so no reason to start a fight, either."


    "Okay, Nicky. What''s the plan?"


    "If she wants nothing to do with us? Hands-off. If she wants to sign up? Bring her into the fold. If she just wants to keep in touch? We can start giving her ''anonymous tips'' about folks smuggling little girls to help her career."


    Bobby nodded, thinking about the possibilities. "It could be great to have a woman on the inside. So am I heading to DC?"


    "No, actually... she''s going to be coming here. A few DoD big-wigs are coming here for a few demos of tech down on Research Row, and while she''s still just a trainee, her and her mentor are gonna be among the security teams. We''ve got her room numbers, basics of the whole plan, but she and her mentor are sharing a suite, so you might need to get creative to get her alone."


    ***


    As the crowd was sorted out into teams, there was a fair amount of jostling, friendly banter. Newly made friends and enemies comparing weapons, talking about tactics... and watching the center of the arena.


    The massive bulletproof dome had a series of smaller cages arranged in it today; so that ''newbie'' teams and individuals could prove themselves with feats of power and strength, or by having demonstration matches against Pale Ones, monsters, or those unfortunates deemed unworthy of a chance to live.


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    The closest contestant Eyeball and Kidney were watching was... ridiculous. A man wearing what seemed to be overalls, with an animatronic tail attached, was loudly boasting of his power as he stalked around the cage; a group of four Pale Ones locked up, currently unmoving; a fairly common sight, as the controllers were used to turn random corpses... usually with a mask over their head, or even the controller itself over their face, to keep loved ones from recognizing them.. into zombie fodder to show the crowds what villains could do.


    "I am the T-Rex! With my powerful jaws and deadly tail I will crush my enemies!" The dull brown overalls, the long metallic tentacle that served as a tail, a simple t-shirt... the man looked ridiculous, and nobody had ever heard of him.


    When the bars sprang free, and the four Pale Ones charged forward; a bit clumsy, but with a strength and durability only possible from someone that had no concern at all for the survival of their own muscles and flesh; the man stepped forward; swinging the tail-tentacle around, knocking three of the Pale Ones into the bars.. and then turned to the fourth.


    His mouth stretched out in an impossible, grotesque fashion as he leaned forward, and bit down on the fourth. his jaw crushing through the controller, the skull, and the brain inside, leaving the Pale One dropping to the ground, twitching, half of its head gone... as he chewed on a mouthful of bone, rotten brains, and metal.


    The crowd was disgusted and amazed as he turned and spat a spray of metal and bone shards at the other pale Ones; causing numerous tiny cuts through the flesh, almost severing a few limbs, which now dangled limply, and leaving brains and blood splattered against the plexiglass walls outside the cage.


    Viper''s own amusement turned into a form of awe as he watched the lunatic use the tail to keep the Pale Ones off-balance and literally bit chunks out of them, one by one, disabling them, somehow yanking off arms and legs with a mouth that, when it wasn''t stretched beyond recognition, looked normal... before turning back to the crowd. "I am the T-rex! hear how I roar!" Followed by... a deafeningly loud scream that actually sent cracks running through the plexiglass.


    After a few moments, the announcer recovered from the display enough to interject. "And after that surprisingly dangerous display from our most recent competitor, I need to remind him, and everyone else, that breaking the bulletproof glass between you and the crowd during a match is an instant disqualification... and doing it during these demonstrations means that the cost of the glass will come out of your winnings, if any."


    As the man stalked out of the cage, head held high, he was greeted with a strange blend of confusion and respect from the other competitors. Viper shook his head, watching the next contestant enter; for the moment, the glass was still mostly intact, just cracked, so they cleared out the last set of Pale One corpses, a lift delivered four more to the cage; and a new contestant entered.


    ***


    Far more subdued and tame than the previous contestant, this man looked like a normal mercenary; dull grey body-armor that wouldn''t have looked out of place among Eyeball''s own collection if it were a bit darker, though more in the nature of kevlar and carbon fiber without much actual plating outside of a set of heavy gauntlets and the helmet; the helmet having the streaks of long-dried blood running down it.


    While most of the armor looked fairly new, and nobody had heard of this ''Executioner'' before, he seemed to be a solid professional. Two handguns, armored gauntlets, calm, collected... a look that wasn''t too far off from dozens of other contestants as he stepped into the ring.


    When the door shut, and the cages popped open, the four Pale Ones charged at the man; who calmly side-stepped the first one, delivering a single swift punch... that seemed to explode right through the victim''s controller, head, and all, sending bits of flesh and metal flying.


    Viper stared at the effect, as the man calmly moved, side-stepping, swinging... each punch did absolutely devastating damage, and hit like a gunshot going off, sending splattered bits of his enemies across the field.. he was moving with evidence of long combat practice, and while he might have super-strength, Viper didn''t think so... it seemed more likely those gauntlets had something special about them.


    It was quick; brutal. No real showmanship like the T-rex had shown; four swings; four destroyed Pale Ones. He stopped after the last one; smearing a strip of the corpse''s blood over his helmet; and then nodded at the crowd, before stepping out; ignoring the cheers, as at least some of the audience appreciated his showing.


    For the next half-hour, the next fights were a mixed bag; one ordinary gang-banger wearing his pants around his knees and holding a handgun sideways, clearly in over his head, had stepped in with a handgun and bulletproof vest, as well as far too much confidence; and ended up dragged out with two broken arms, a broken leg, and so much blood loss they weren''t certain they could save him; an unfortunate counterpoint to some of his fellow gang-members who had made more impressive showings themselves. Almost as surprising, a drunken redneck with a pump-action shotgun and no apparent armor or superhuman abilities had emerged in overalls and a ballcap; gleefully crushing controllers with the stock of his gun, shooting one of them, and battering the last one around with obvious joy before putting it in its place; receiving far more cheers and laughter than the far more impressive showing of the Executioner. You could never be sure what you''d get with that sort; it could be anything from an incredible warrior to a useless sap.


    Finally, they moved to the heavy-hitting newcomers; a rarity, as, generally, if you were a heavy-hitter, they knew what you could do, and you didn''t need to prove anything. Technically, Viper should be in one of this sort of matches, to prove what he was capable of; but had easily avoided that, considering he was a part-owner of the arena. If anyone asked, the arena could simply say he was a previous contestant, entering anonymously as a new villain.


    These matches were more about showing off than proving you were worth being in the arena, as simply crushing a few Pale Ones would get you entry, either as a team or solo. Whatever monster that could be found or genetically engineered might be tossed in there; some of the supervillains that had previously experimented making hideous Chimeras overseas out of blending meta and animal into generally short-lived abominations had labs here on the island, and used the arena to test their creations. The man in charge of assembling all of these to fight in the arena was one such supervillain; going by the code-name ''Doctor Disaster''; though whether he was really a doctor was unknown.


    And as a heavily armored figure, who gave his name as ''The Black Knight'' stepped out onto the arena floor, two sets of gates lifted... revealing a pair of 3-ton, betentacled horrors; hideous monsters that appeared to be a giant beetle crossed with a squid, with a core insectoid body and a series of long, claw-tipped tentacles.


    "Okay, folks! You''ve all seen Doctor Disaster''s horrors before. Most wouldn''t want to even face one; but our next contestant claimed he could face however many we were willing to lose. Lets see whether he''s full of crap or ready to kick it in the big leagues!"


    The two horrors let out waiis of pain and anguish as they emerged onto the arena floor; the creatures would only live for a few weeks after being hatched out of their eggs in the lab, a deliberate design to ensure they didn''t get loose in the wild, and apparently every moment of those short lives was suffering; suffering they were intent on taking out on whoever was unfortunate enough to enter the same room with them.

 Dragon Empress - 6 - Bloody Bouts, Terrible Accidents

    Bobby hadn''t done field work since he''d come to Famiglia; mostly he''d been learning on the job, as well as taking actual courses, with Nicky making sure to fill in some of the gaps that his street lifestyle had put into his life. Still; skulking quietly came almost naturally to him. As he followed the duo... a young man in black and green DMA body-armor, and a woman beside him outfitted similarly, both keeping an eye on their surroundings as they followed a man in a green military uniform.. he was almost instinctively sizing them up, where they might be carrying valuables.. and doing the same for the people around them.


    The man was unarmed. This fit; according to the file, ''Razor'' could fire pinpoint beams of coherent light; basically lasers. Either focus on one spot for a while to cook a hard target, or sweep a whole crowd to light them all on fire. He had a bulge in his right pocket for a wallet, and one in his chest pocket that was... an inhaler maybe?


    The woman, Jasmine, code-named Snapshot, on the other hand... dark skin, red hair... clearly dyed, no way it was natural. A vague but definite resemblance to Penelope; he''d thought Penelope must take after her mom, but maybe some of it came from the Russo side of the family. Her armor was lighter; mostly solid around the chest, pelvis, and throat, leaving the rest as likely black carbon tights. And of course she had... one hand-gun. Two good solid machete-like blades. And... dozens of tiny pockets around her body that likely carried throwing projectiles of one sort or another.


    He followed her as quietly as possible; slipping into the shadows where he could, keeping the crowd between them where possible, and even completely losing them for a minute, letting one of the Enforcer drones overhead give him a birds-eye view of their path as they entered the building.


    Global Defense Foundries. A fairly well-known corporation that primarily dealt with energy weapons for the DoD; things meant to take down heavy-hitters. After the Ascension event hit Mexico and people got a first-hand glimpse at how well a high-end AI could handle speedsters, supposedly they were working on combining AI and laser weaponry to make anti-speedster drones to deploy over a battlefield.


    He watched them enter the building with a nod. Fine. They''d watch some product demos. Come out for lunch. He''d slip a card into her pocket with a number for her to call him, and they''d take it from there. If she called? Well, maybe they could hash it all out over the phone.


    He ordered some food at a nearby food truck; the ones here on Research Row were just ridiculous, and had some amazing options, often called to cater some meeting or delivery a bit of food for someone working late. So the slice of pizza he received in its paper container was both enormous and delicious; exceptionally greasy but with a taste like something straight from new york.


    And... settled in to wait. Slowly eating his way through a slice, reading a book, and keeping an eye around himself in the event he himself were being watched.


    ***


    The two horrors both scuttled forward on their numerous insectile legs, their wails causing the first few rows of the audience and even some of the watching villains to back away. Viper looked on with interest; he''d seen some of Disaster''s work up-close, and knew what it took to kill these creatures; they had eight brains, one at the root of each tentacle, and each of them controlled one tentacle as well as fighting over control of the core body; the abomination would thus keep fighting until either it died of blood loss or the last one was destroyed, and the core insectoid body would actually grow more dangerous as each brain was destroyed.


    Granted, the tentacles had their own dangers; as the beasts moved forward, they started to spray long jets of acid toward the Black Knight; who stomped on the ground hard enough to leave an impact crater, hurting up into the air... and landed behind the beast on the left, leaving four of its tentacles severed, blood and acid spraying in every direction as it shrieked even louder.. before lunging forward with the remaining four as it turned to face him.


    The Knight charged forward, ducking under the spikes, letting them slam into the sand of the arena floor, and rammed the massive blade directly into the creature''s neck; tearing to the right, yanking the beast''s head off... and as the spikes moved again, slamming into his armored back with enough force to knock him forward... started slashing forward; shredding the creature''s internal organs with his sword.


    After a few moments, with a massive pool of blood, acid, and debris beneath the corpse, the creature collapsed, and the Black Knight turned to face the remaining horror; only to meet eight streams of acid splattering over his armor, his weapon, as well as the corpse; though the hard shell was extremely resistant to the acid, the sword was far less so.


    The armor, however... seemed designed to survive this sort of assault. While steam seemed to rise from the shiny black form, it appeared perfectly intact; though the sword, for its part, seemed on the verge of falling apart; the blade itself intact, while the hilt and handguards seemed to be actively dissolving.


    Griping the weapon by the blade itself as its handle fell apart, he charged forward; ramming directly into the second creature''s face, first slicing a new hole with his blade, before ripping and tearing at the creature''s internal organs with his armored gauntlets. As the creature sprayed acid on itself in a desperate attempt to end the Knight''s life alongside its own, the tentacles finally collapsed, going limp; as the Knight, covered in blood, dents visible on the backplate of his armor from the horror''s spikes, stood atop the corpse, raising one of the eight brains into the air like a trophy.


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    The crowd was cheering; the announcer laughing as he described the events. "And clearly, folks, the Black Knight is a contender worth watching! I strongly suspect after seeing this battle, Doctor Disaster is going to be making some even worse horrors for next time. We''ll be taking a quick break before our next show as the cleaning crews dispose of the corpses, and dig out the sand contaminated by acid. Be sure to come back in twenty minutes for our next show!"


    ***


    Viper nodded thoughtfully as he watched the battle. The Black Knight was clearly a major threat. Low-grade super-reflexes, substantial durability and strength... and he must have excellent control to be able to land so precisely after a jump, and even avoid lunging tentacles in midair.


    If he fought him... he''d need to find a gap in that armor and wedge some neurotoxin darts in there. Maybe even make said gap with his swords first. That... would be challenging. Maybe he should request a team-up? After all, the green Viper and the black Knight armor would probably work well; he could even make a more medieval theme rather than the scaly, reptilian one to match.


    ..Nah. Half the point was to do this for fun. Besides... from what he could see, the Black Knight was already talking to two others; the Executioner and a young woman whose hair seemed to be made out of blue-green fire.


    He looked at his own ''Team-mates''; Kidney and the Human Shield. "Alright, gentlemen. Honestly, I think we should grab one more guy, someone who did okay in the pool."


    Kidney tilted his head. "Ehh.. I dunno, Viper. Three and a half mil sounds alot better than two and a half, and between me, you, and our friend there, I think we can handle most people between us, especially with Shield distracting em. I bet if I find a gap I can yank that Black Knight fellow''s organs out and feed them to him in a quarter second!"


    Shield glared down at him. "Kidney. Seriously. I''m a masochist, not suicidal. I''d rather be able to feel pain than to feel nothing at all because they turned my corpse into a Pale One for the next batch of contestants to beat up after I died in the arena."


    Viper nodded. "I can handle most speedsters without a problem. Your powers will be great against pretty much anybody who isn''t wearing armor. I think we should try to get someone good at a distance, or someone who can get through armor more easily. As hilarious as it sounds, if that T-Rex guy had met the Black Knight fellow, while the knight seems like a badass... I think he''d have come out, if he were lucky, missing an arm."


    "...Yeah, I guess. As ridiculous as it is, being able to chew through armored steel like it was butter is ridiculous. But he''s just so... silly. And the tail might as well not exist. He should just go with like... Devourer or something and wear normal body-armor."


    Viper looked over at the proud-looking lunatic in his overalls and animatronic tail. "Tell you what. I''ll have a word with him. See if we can get him to work on something a bit better. Maybe even a tail-gun instead of just a whip."


    Kidney frowned. "Man, I dunno. If he''s just wearing that stupid getup, I doubt he could afford it. Not everybody has the cash to spend on high-end armor like that. Most of us wear generic off-the-shelf stuff we customize a bit on the cheap, or whatever we can steal."


    "My buddy has a fabricator he can use at work when its between cycles. So long as I''m not -too- demanding, I can get most gear cheap as hell. So if you or Shield needs something that isn''t too bad..."


    "Cool, cool. If you can get this T-Rex guy to be half-decent, sure, bring him along. I would definitely be interested in some better armor."


    Shield looked thoughtful. "Honestly, I got mixed feelings. I still wanna get hurt. I don''t dislike the idea of armor in general keeping me alive, but how do you get a good balance between keeping me alive and still letting me feel stuff?"


    "..I have no idea. Maybe skeletal reinforcement or something?"


    "Isn''t that expensive as hell?"


    "Sure. But mostly because they gotta be careful to keep you alive, and sedated. If you literally enjoy pain, and heal back whatever the hell they do to you..."


    ***


    Bobby glanced up when the targets left the building. The general and the scientist... they had files on them, but nobody cared. They''d paid their protection money, as far as Enforcement was concerned they could freely conduct business on the island. The two metas guarding them, of course, stepped out behind them; the man taking the lead, Jasmine behind.


    He waited for a minute; letting them get into a limo and head down the street. He tapped a button on his cell. Ahh. A note from Enforcement; the general and the scientist had a table at some 5-star dining establishment serving Japanese food about a mile away. Perfect.


    He casually started walking that way; sliding out an Enforcement division business card, and writing his cell number on it with a pen. Lets see. ~Give me a call next time you''re free!~ and ~About Zhou, among other things!~ underneath it... the name of one of the Chinese human traffickers she would likely have been dealing with before... or even while.. working this bodyguard assignment. The Family certainly had intel about Zhou it could share, and since these traffickers were actually Chinese government agents for the most part, no good reason not to.


    By the time he reached the Japanese place, the general and scientist were already seated, looking over menus. Razor was seated beside them, though he wasn''t looking over one himself, rather, studying their surroundings. Where was.. Ahh, there!


    Jasmine was calmly walking around the place, likely scoping out possible threats. Or coming back from the bathroom, who knew. Bobby grinned, and calmly walked in; waving an Enforcement card at the host as he walked by, and aimed to just quietly walk beside the woman, slip a card in her pocket with superhuman speed, and just keep walking by.


    As he reached into his pocket; so fast that most eyes couldn''t trace the hand movements; suddenly she was staring at him. As his hand left its pocket, she was already moving; a blade lashing out, going directly from her palm to jam into his belly, millimeters below his armored vest.. clearly aimed.


    He could see the look on her face. Starting with startled. Then determined, as a blade popped from her sleeve, into her hand, and into his belly. And then, as she saw what he''d been pulling out, confusion. And, finally, as he collapsed onto the table between a pair of confused diners, leaving the now-blood-splattered business card on her foot... horror.


    It had happened so quickly that none of the nearby diners, nor even the camera in the ceiling above them, saw anything but her simply randomly stabbing a man as she walked by; and the dining room rapidly fell into chaos as people screamed; and calls for the Enforcers immediately went out from dozens of patrons, as well as one of the waiters.

 Dragon Empress - 7 - Friendly Confrontations

    "Look, man. Honestly... I just really like dinosaurs. And the Rex seems like the one with the most dangerous bite."


    Viper nodded slowly, looking down at the man in the.. overalls? This close they looked like some brown chest waders. Was that a CarHartt logo? "I get it. I kinda liked them myself as a kid, and the zoos that have a few of those recreations are awesome. Are you actually a villain, a hero, or just... a fan?"


    "..." T-Rex glanced down at the floor for a moment, and shrugged. "Mostly just a fan. I know I could, say, chew through a bank vault, but I never did anything serious. I kinda wanted to kick ass here, show off, impress people."


    "Alright. So aside from the mouth, anything else?"


    "Just a geek, man. I built the tail myself and am decent with machines, and my skin and muscles are pretty tough. None of it is even close to as strong as my jaws, though. The only thing I''ve found I can''t just crush is diamond. I can bite a gun-barrel right in half and spit shards of metal at you hard enough to kill somebody. Its.. really weird, honestly."


    "Okay. How about this. Your power is weird... but could come in damn useful against somebody with armor. It''d be cheap, but I could get you some actual armor, and a new tail to work with, if you join me. Just take em out of our winnings."


    "If its cheap enough, sure. Putting together a team?"


    "Me, Human Shield, and Kidney."


    "...Human Shield. Thats the one that they cut the fight short because the Pale Ones just kept pounding on him, and he was like... slowly pulling the controllers out, one by one?"


    "Yeah, that..." He blinked, and tapped his helmet. "Oh. Sorry, Rex, Enforcer business. Just go to Dmitri''s Tactical Arms and Pawn, let him know Viper sent you. I''ll let him know you''re on the way. If you don''t want in, just don''t go."


    ***


    Jasmine was in an obvious state of panic and horror as she sat on the bench inside the cell; her weapons of every sort taken away and settled into a storage rack; one of her co-workers; not Razor, who was still guarding the general, but another of her co-workers named Kin, some regenerator with a sword on his back, was keeping an eye on her... as were two Enforcers.


    Both of them were armed with heavy, sophisticated rifles better than anything the DMA had. Armored in solid black and silver. Each of them actually had a shoulder-Zapper; one of the new weapons the Family had built, shoulder-mounted energy weapons that could intercept and hopefully knock-out low-grade speedsters; one of them tracking Jasmine through the bars, the other tracking Kin where he leaned against the wall.


    She stared at the card in her hand; after checking it, the Enforcers let her keep it.


    She''d thought he was a threat. There to attack her. She''d seen a blur of superhuman speed, a hand reaching into a pocket, lashing out... But no. Either he was some idiotic love-struck boy trying to impress a girl, or he was someone trying to get her some intel about the human trafficking operation her team was investigating.


    And he was an Enforcer. What she''d just done was, essentially, attempted murder of a police officer. A crime that warranted either execution or worse. While La Famiglia didn''t work with people trading in little girls or slaves, she had it on good authority that they could and did do whatever they wanted to people convicted of crimes that merited a life or death sentence. She''d seen plenty of them die in the arena on global television.


    So what was it going to be? Execution? Torture? Lifetime of slavery? Was she going to have to fight in the Arena for the crowd?


    The two Enforcers suddenly stood at attention. Kin backed away from the door a step, hands out at his side... and a familiar chrome helmet entered the room.


    She shivered. This was bad. Eyeball. Everyone had seen the videos. While there was a fair amount of positive press about him, and he polled better than your typical politician, she''d watched him cold-bloodedly execute people who were just doing their jobs. Ordinary security jobs that posed no threat to him at all.


    For all the sort of ''robin hood'' vibe he might try to give off, the Titan-Slayer was a mass-murdering psychopath. And one that had a known disdain for US law enforcement of every stripe.


    "So... are you here to do it? The Family''s head enforcer, here to finish off a problem?"


    She forced herself to stare into the glowing red LEDs. They''d recovered one of the previous helmets the man wore; most of that chrome surface was a two-way mirror, transparent from the inside unless his HUD was up.


    A soft, digitized chuckle. The man turned to Kin, ignoring Jasmine for now. "Keeping busy?"


    The regenerating mutant nodded. "Of course. Could you take it easy on her? She seriously thought the kid was gonna stab her, and as fast as he can move..."


    "Honestly, I was going to anyway, but if you want you can claim I did it because you asked. Gonna need you to get something, though."


    "Oh? Sure. Is this a ransom situation like the whole Green Knight fiasco?"


    Eyeball blinked. Thought back to earlier that day, at the arena. Stared at the wall for a moment. "Mute. Note to self. Make sure this Black Knight character isn''t the Green Knight. If he is....have Nicky set us up as an early fight. Un-mute."


    He turned back to Kin. "Nah. She didn''t deliberately do anything wrong, but you people have an official policy that nobody can go it alone while on duty to make sure they don''t get nabbed by a rogue telepath. She''s gonna need to apologize to Nicky and the boy in person up top, and do it alone, so you need to get one of those faraday helmet things for her. And we''re gonna zap it to make sure it doesn''t have any listening devices, so you might as well leave those out."


    "Alright. An apology and...?"


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    "The rest is up to Nicky. Way I understand it, it''ll be a slap on the wrist, probably something that benefits us both. So long as the kid isn''t too upset, it''ll probably have something to do with this.. Zhou guy whose been selling kids in the states."


    Kin nodded. "Good enough. I''ll get the helmet delivered. I''m supposed to stick with her. If you''d ordered her executed I was supposed to try to stall while they negotiated. Otherwise, stick as close as possible."


    Eyeball glanced into the cell at Jasmine, who seemed somewhere between frightened and confused. "Good. Just so long as we don''t stab anyone else, eh? You can follow us to the Arena."


    She looked between Kin and Eyeball in confusion. The easy familiarity between one of the world''s most infamous villains and some mid-grade hero was ridiculous. Didn''t Kin know who he was talking to?


    ***


    Dmitri''s Tactical Arms and Pawn was one of dozens of shops on La Famiglia, catering to villains and arena contestants both; Dmitri himself was a Clone, as were his seven employees; and when ''T-Rex'' entered, Dmitri glanced up from where he was examining a set of jewelry; very clearly stolen jewelry, which he''d just paid a fraction of its value for.


    He looked over the lanky dark-haired idiot in the brown overalls, shaking his head for a moment... as two floors below, one of his ''brothers'' read his text messages, pushing a crate onto a cart, as yet another ran the debit transaction. This Eyeball was great for business, but such a strange one. One day pretending he was trying to go legit, the next robbing yet another lab or business. One day making some poor sap''s life a living hell for an honest mistake in choices of employment, the next grabbing some random idiot and helping him out in a big way.


    And today would be the latter. He sighed. "Alright. T-Rex, right?"


    The man nodded as he approached the counter. "Yeah. Real name''s Ty, but I wanna go by Tyrannosaur, or T-rex. Viper sent me?"


    "I could tell. He said you were wearing some hideous brown overalls over an armored vest."


    Dmitri glanced back at the door behind him. The wall was covered with racks of weapons, armors, things made for villains who never lived to pick them up, or who had better ideas later; all sorts of insane gadgets. Dmitri handled trades between villains and techs, isolated, special events; most of the big-name Arena hotshots had sponsorships now and someone from some major company made them custom-issue armor complete with corporate brand logos.


    Like Nike. A literal angel of death, complete with feathered wings, wearing a custom Nike armor suit. Her name used to be Seraph. Dmitri opened the door, letting the cart-pushing brother casually push a cart through without stopping.


    Ty did a double-take, noticing the identical appearance of Dimitri and his brother... subtle differences like the amount of facial hair and perhaps a few more pounds of fat not hiding the identical faces. "...You two brothers?"


    "Of course! I''m Dimitri, and me and my brothers run this place. And you... are a lucky man." He shoved the crate onto the counter. "Genuine Mark-19 Squid tentacle, seventh of eight. One guy bought the first four and is using them in some sort of spider-themed armor. Only one left after this. Viper sent a special request along, and..." He pried the lid off the crate.


    Inside the crate was... a thick, coiled tentacle about two meters long, a padded steel box, and a leather sack. "Body armor, nice stuff. A tentacle and a shoulder frame, and even the controls for it. And... a sack full of armor scales. The same sort he''s got on the armor he has now, just... smaller. The old Viper, now dead, had a whole barrel full of loose armor scales he''d stick on things, and these are an older version."


    Ty leaned in, examining the contents for a moment. "Huh. So... what do I do with them?"


    "Well. If you''re really trying to go for some sort of Dinosaur theme, I guess you cover the armor with scales, cover the outer rings of the tentacle with scales, and then go out there looking like an idiot. Oh. And practice, first. The tentacle has a couple of spikes on the sides, and the tip is a 10-gauge shotgun."


    He reached down, pressing down on the end of the tentacle; a small box-like protrusion emerged beneath the spikes. "Each of these holds two ten-gauge shells. The whole thing only holds sixteen. Gotta be hand-loaded, no reloading mid-fight. The whole thing is ridiculously strong and tough. Without the scales, pretty much bulletproof. Strong enough to pick up a small car... Squid could pick up and throw a truck when he had all eight going. An expensive, ridiculously dangerous weapon that cost Squid millions of dollars in research to make better versions every few months until he died, and this last set sold for sixty grand each tentacle. When you leave with this, I got one left."


    Ty blinked. "Oh. Wow. Thats... a helluva lot better than the animatronic one I built. Whats the difference between this one and the last one? Or is it the same?"


    "That one has a built-in chemical sprayer. Mostly used for flamethrowing purposes. And it already has a buyer."


    "Cool, cool. Uhh... How do I attach the scales?"


    "The scales have an adhesive that you basically have to weld into place with fire, and are made to pop off and crumple to absorb and dissipate impact. Surprisingly effective. You got a torch?"


    "Whole kit, back in my room. I was using it for my animatronic tail bit. I... guess I''ll repurpose it for something else now."


    ***


    Jasmine wasn''t feeling too much better about her predicament as Eyeball and Swiftblade; two of the most dangerous metas on earth; followed her on her left and right out of the elevator, into the massive ''Box Seat'' of The Don; Governor Nicolo Russo, ruler of La Famiglia.


    Even though Kin wouldn''t have lasted three seconds against the duo, she felt even worse when he stayed behind on the elevator, watching her go... as she absently adjusted the absurd silver and copper colored faraday helmet; a simple cage made to isolate its wearer from outside mental influence. Not 100% effective unless you wore a full bodysuit and facemask, but it would at the very least make it take longer.


    The room was well laid-out, and surprisingly empty. There were rows of nice leather chairs with cupholders and trays for meals, couches, tables, all with seating facing the arena; and smaller holographic screens for displaying key details at each seat. A bar, a table, at which Nicolo himself; looking like the elder statesman he pretended to be; mildly overweight but clearly well-muscled, grey-haired, tall, and relaxing in his seat.


    And beside him... Bobby. The young man she''d stabbed. She blushed in embarassment as she recalled the moment the young man tried to hand her a business card... and looked at the floor. "I... would like to apologize, Bobby. I thought you were attacking me, and I was wrong. So wrong. If you would still be willing to help our investigation, I would welcome it." She looked up, at Nicolo. "And I would apologize to you as well, for breaking the laws of your island, sir."


    Nicolo gave a slow, thoughtful nod... and then gestured at the table. "Have a seat, young Jasmine. You resemble your grandmother. Especially the cheeks, the chin..." He glanced at the two villains behind her. "Definitely a strong resemblance to your half-sister. Including a fondness for stabbing."


    Jasmine stepped forward, having a seat where she was directed; blinking in confusion. "I... don''t have any sisters. I''ve got two brothers, though."


    "Then I suppose it''s time to make some introductions. Your birth name, before you went up for adoption, long before I knew you existed, was Jasmine Russo. Your father, may the lord damn his errant soul, was my brother, Jimmy Russo. This is your sister, Penelope Russo." He nodded at Swiftblade. "And your brother, Bobby Russo." He gestured at the boy she''d stabbed.


    She frowned. This was crazy. Yes, she''d been adopted; she knew that. But her parents... the man and woman who''d raised her to be a good, god-fearing woman... had told her her parents had died. That she had no family. Wait. He''d said god rest his soul. Her father really -had- died. It was just... well.


    "...I''m not sure if I believe you." This... was alot. Too much, really. Were they trying to turn her? Get a mole in the DMA?


    Swiftblade sat down beside Jasmine, the blue-black tights sliding smoothly onto the leather seat as she leaned back in her chair... and carefully removed her mask; more of a helmet, really, as it retained its rigid shape when she laid it down. The resemblance was unmistakable. The two could be sisters. Were sisters.


    "...Okay, fine. Maybe I believe you. That doesn''t mean I want anything to do with this family."

 Dragon Empress - 8 - Family

    "Look. Lets be honest here. Your father, my brother, was a terrible person. He was a greedy racist little traitor who had gifts most men would would give their left arm for, and squandered them. You''ve got a full-blooded brother and about a dozen half-siblings by different moms, and unfortunately, I didn''t know about most of them until a couple years ago."


    Nicky leaned back in his seat. "I raised the one I knew about as my own. And every other one that I''ve found, I''ve helped how I could. For some of them, that means bringing them into the fold. For you, unless you decide to quit, that means avoiding telling your bosses who your father was, keeping our distance, and helping you channel your career into investigating something that won''t make us enemies."


    Jasmine frowned, looking around the room. At Eyeball, at Penelope, and Bobby. She was fast, but she''d seen the records. All three of these people had inhuman reflexes. If she were armed and ready, she might be a match for Penelope. Definitely not all three. Angry responses might be best left in the vest pocket.


    "I don''t want this family, I don''t need this family. I was taken in by two good people. A cop and a nurse. I was going to be either a nurse or a crime scene investigator until I got these powers. Someday, if my bosses put me on the case, I might be the one bringing you down. You people are all monsters and scum, the world would be better off if you''d never been born, and I''m ashamed of even having a drop of blood in common with you. If you''re done with this, I''ve apologized, and I''d like to go back to work."


    Bobby lifted a hand, wagging a finger. "Actually, if we''d never been born, the human race would be doomed. Well, not me. Mostly Nicky and Eyeball over there."


    Nicky glanced down at Bobby. "Son, maybe we should avoid talking about things she probably doesn''t have the clearance to know."


    Bobby shrugged. "She''s family. You told me. And her bosses know."


    "What kind of nonsense is this...Know what?"


    The boy grinned, leaning forward, as Nicky shook his head in annoyance. "You ever heard of Apollo? Greek god, predicts the future? Looks like he''s maybe twelve, thirteen, but really like five thousand?"


    "Of course. Everyone has."


    "If Eyeball didn''t kill him, Lightning was gonna end the world. If Nicky hadn''t put that bounty on his head, and Eyeball taken it? Fwoosh. All dead. And that Chinese titan, Tai? He was in the process of ending the world, cooking us all alive, when Eyeball killed him, too. So everybody owes Eyeball and Nicky their lives. Why do you think they let them have this island?"


    "That''s a bunch of bullshit. Tai was killed by the machines, and Lightning saved the world from aliens!"


    Bobby shrugged. "If you don''t believe me, just ask someone on your side. Spike was there for the second one, right, Eyeball?"


    Eyeball tapped his helmet with one gloved finger. "Yes, but he''s not on earth anymore. As it turns out, making something on earth suddenly so heavy it has its own gravity well actually pulls the moon a bit closer to us every time, so he''s been out there, helping them fix it. And, well. Getting ready to either get downsized or leave the solar system."


    Jasmine looked around at the figures surrounding her, not sure why they''d be telling her such obvious lies. "Are you done? Can I go now?"


    Nicky sighed. "You can go. I do have one parting gift. You can tell your bosses that having you investigate it was my price for your freedom." He slide a flash drive out of his pocket, extending it towards her.


    "While we have no current plans to engage in hostilities with the Chinese government, we are by no means their allies. The only sort of human trafficking we engage in, on Famiglia, is the voluntary sort; but we have associates who are a bit less choosy. One of them attended a slave market run by Chinese government officials. No young women, or even older women, were available for sale, but plenty of children, and men of all ages. Mexican and Uyghur being the top groups. I... suspect the women were in fact up for sale, but at a different sort of market. This is a complete video of the entire affair, and what documents we could find."


    Jasmine took hold of the flash drive, looking at it... then up at Nicky. "This doesn''t make you a good man. I''m sure you just want to use me against the competition. The Family has dealt with prostitutes dragged from everywhere in the past, maybe you want to regain market share."


    Nicky shook his head. "No, my niece. I''m not a good man. Not to everyone, at least. But to family, I am. So long as you don''t directly come after the family, I intend to help you as I can. If I''d had the chance, I''d have raised you as my own. If my people encounter something that isn''t part of the affairs of the underworld, as it were, something more akin to the acts of nations and terrorists, I''ll pass it to you. I won''t help you against Bratva or the Yakuza, but I will against, say... the Taliban. Do you understand?"


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    She glared at him as she pocketed the drive. "If they ask me to go after you, I will. You should just kill me now, or you''ll have to someday. I stabbed one of your people. They won''t make a fuss." She glanced back at the door, then back. "Give it time, and I''ll be a match for Swiftblade here. Someday.. we''ll be coming for you and toppling this little throne of yours, and hopefully I''ll be one of the ones doing it."


    Suddenly, a hand was gripping her shoulder. She looked up into the chrome mask, a brief flicker of fear crossing her face before she carefully schooled her features. A soft, synthesized voice emerged. "I don''t think that''s how things are going to go down. Bobby might be foolish, but he wasn''t lying. You should ask your bosses. Now that you already know, they might be willing to explain."


    ***


    Emerald lay back on the deck, relaxing, looking out over the ocean. She might not be able to tan; at best, her blend of skin and scales might turn a slightly darker green; but she could still enjoy basking in the sun. Granted, not being able to enjoy a margarita while she was doing it would almost ruin the experience... if it weren''t for the fact that every time she thought of just why she had to abstain her heart fluttered and she''d become so excited her nostrils would start steaming; she''d actually sometimes have to spit bits of liquid fire into a bucket she kept nearby to avoid burning up the chair, or her swimsuit; fireproof fabrics were nice, but they certainly didn''t breathe well.


    She tilted her head for a moment at a sudden noise and set down her unfortunately non-alcoholic drink. Some sort of quiet, scratching sound. Someone moving. She glanced around, slowly... and tapped her wristwatch. A beeping sound... and a medium-security alert. An invisible intruder was on the premises; someone who didn''t trigger UV, infrared, and had almost perfect optical camo; the only thing they showed up on was sonar.


    She sighed, exasperated. The sonar image wasn''t perfect, but it was definitely a man with a tail, and judging by the vague outline, her brother, probably carrying some equipment of some description around his chest. And he was... going through her trash? Ugh. He would never admit it, but Ripper would drop by from time to time and creep around like a stalker, her own personal invisible guardian angel... and if the security systems weren''t made to avoid killing him, he would''ve been shot a dozen times by now.


    She tapped the watch for a moment. The intercom suddenly sparked to life. "You know the sensors already picked you up, damnit! Why the hell are you going through the trash? I swear to god, if you don''t stop this bullshit I''m gonna set the security systems to knock you out next time."


    The invisible figure froze for a moment... before scurrying away, only briefly visible as a blur; she just barely caught a hint of a scaled blue tail. Hah. He must be slipping; Ripper usually didn''t even leave a blur. She shook her head, and laid back down... and after a few moments, her watch buzzed.


    She tapped it. "So, finally gonna admit you''ve been creeping, bro?" She stretched for a moment as she got comfortable... only to hear a female voice on the other end.


    "I''m sorry, were you expecting someone else?" A woman... Oh! Dr. Pam, her OBGYN. Brilliant woman, specialist in metahuman medicine. Hands like icicles on a cold arctic evening.


    "Oh, sorry, Pam! My brother was creeping around, he does that sometimes. I just went through the packet you sent me. I tossed most of it after reading, but I might frame the ultrasound pictures. I especially like the ones with the head-on and profile where you merged the shots for me, even if you can barely tell its a baby. I''ll talk to Eyeball about it when he gets home, but they''re great."


    "I''ve actually been looking over your test results, making sure nothing about your unique physiology would give you any problems. Your body seems to take most of the magnesium, aluminum, and iron in your diet and concentrate it in those glands that form your.. spit. I would definitely recommend eating quite a bit more iron than usual. Oh; and your body also seems to concentrate just about anything flammable you take in there, so on the plus side, whether its gasoline or vodka, you won''t need to worry about it passing on to the kids."


    Emerald blinked, sitting up abruptly. "Wait. I can have margaritas?"


    "I suppose, so long as your... spit-sacks? Aren''t full. I''d keep it light until I can test you next time, but absolutely none of your blood alcohol made it through to them this time."


    "..Wait. Them. You said kids? Are we talking about future children here?"


    "Oh! No. You must not have read the papers I sent you. And honestly, most of the ultrasound pictures should have made it clear. You''re having twins."


    ***


    Less than a mile away, leaning against a wall, a blue-scaled figure... one older, more heavily scarred, than Ripper, but with a definite family resemblance; studied the documents in his hands, nodding slowly, before folding them up and putting them away. He started walking away, fading from sight once he no longer needed to read; and tapped a button on his phone.


    "My Empress. Mixed results on my most recent scouting mission. Her security systems spotted me, but believed I was my son; clearly he comes here often enough that she has it tuned not to harm him. In addition... confirmation. She''s pregnant. At least eight weeks along, and twins. The paperwork mentioned an obvious sign of metahuman traits on both children, but I have yet to see the ultrasounds, so we can''t confirm if they are properly formed like their mother."


    Silence met him from the other end for a moment. Then, her voice. "Excellent work. If the defenses can spot you, they''ll likely strike you should you attempt to take her within the home. Keep an eye out for a good chance. If you can get her alone outside the home, go ahead and take her. Otherwise, watch, and wait. If it comes to a fight, we''ll want to wait til the children are born; one of those she carries may well be the future Emperor or Empress destined to rule the world."

 Dragon Empress - 9 - The Absurd Four

    The next few days were fairly celebratory for Eyeball; the news about the twins only served to reinforce the joy he''d felt at learning he''d be a father; though Emerald seemed even happier that a quirk of her biology let her get drunk without hurting the babies; something she had loudly and drunkenly bragged about every single night since learning it. Arrival at the Arena was fairly amusing. As the green-armored figure stepped out of the subway onto the street before the massive structure, the place was just as crowded as any other first day; and for once, people were trying to harass him, ask him questions..


    One idiot stepped close as he approached the Contestants-Only door; a man wearing a Packers jersey and a cap of some Nascar driver stepped up to shove him with both hands; at first, he was tempted to dodge before he even touched him... but no. That wouldn''t be the Viper approach. The man jeered at him. "Another Viper, huh! You''re gonna die just like the last one, only you get to do it on camera! I got fifty bucks saying you die today!"


    He let the man shove him... and delivered a quick punch to the crotch with a gauntleted fist, before he kept walking. He didn''t turn.. but he could still see the man falling to the ground, screaming in pain, rolling on the concrete. Was that blood? Nice. And stupid. Nobody bet on some particular contestant dying a specific day, the odds of that were just garbage.


    He pressed in through the door, glancing up at the signs in the hallway; his own entryway was A-7. Numerous men and women were walking down the hallway, giving each other a quick glance, or a more open study; from the sound and smell coming from the locker rooms, different people were dealing with the stress of a possibly life-threatening day in different ways; after a powerful whiff of pot smoke from one door, he activated his air filter til he reached A-7; and stepped in.


    Kidney was already there, as was the Human Shield; both looking a bit nervous as they looked out onto the arena floor; there was an ongoing fight, and they would be up fairly soon. Kidney, for his part, was looking in better shape; still wearing a ridiculous lab-coat, but under it he was wearing a clearly armored red kevlar bodysuit; he could even make out the outlines of ceramic plates, and a logo... of a Kidney. The lunatic actually put a logo on his chest.


    Viper burst out laughing as he stepped forward; he''d altered his digitizer to add a faint hiss to his voice. "Good god, Kidney. I haven''t seen anyone with a logo on their center of mass since.. ever. Maybe cosplay." He turned to the Human Shield. The man was still dressed like any ordinary man; a baseball bat, a shotgun, a t-shirt, jeans... the only difference between now and when he chose to audition was the lack of dirt and blood on the clothes.


    Viper frowned as he stepped closer, looking over the outfit. He shrugged. "So, the docs get you set up? How much did they end up charging you?"


    Shield glanced back at him, before returning his gaze to the fight. "It wasn''t what I expected. At first he was only gonna charge a couple grand. Everything still hurts, probably will forever, I feel heavy... honestly, its amazing. There were these wires that dug into my flesh like burrowing worms, wrapped around my arms and legs, my ribcage, my spine, and shaped the whole thing. The doc told me that if I weren''t a fast healer, this would be dozens of surgeries, one bone at a time, with a lengthy recovery between each... and even for fast-healers they had to sedate them and do it in steps to make sure it all went right. Having someone awake, telling him how it felt, what worked, what didn''t..."


    He chuckled. "Doc actually ended up paying me after we spent an hour going through the process. He tried a bunch of different shapes actually removed most of it and started over, subjected me to more pain than any normal man could survive a thousand times over. He tells me that he''s learned enough to make the process much better for his future patients. I''ve actually got a standing invite to come back the next time the tech people pass him a new implant."


    Viper nodded and stepped up to the glass to watch the fight himself. These were the best seats in the house, in some respects; he could see the group of Klansmen out on the sand being brutally demolished one at a time by what was very clearly a telekinetic wearing a vivid purple robe, with hair dyed to match; floating the men in the air to act as shields against each other''s bullets, tearing them bodily apart... she definitely wasn''t trying to keep the kill count low, but then again... telekinetics were intensely dangerous. She could probably make it pretter far even if she murdered every single opponent and was forced to fight more than anyone else in the tournament.


    "Nice. I''m surprised they didn''t get you involved with any of that state-side. I heard a company was working on implants and tech to make people better than normal."


    "Oh, I saw some of that. But... they''re using that on folks that lost limbs in the war for the most part.... Still can''t believe how that ended. Over a decade of work, and in the end... we pull out to go fight a bunch of robots and the bad guys just take everything back."


    Viper shrugged, and kept watching the Klansmen getting torn apart. The woman appeared to be enjoying herself. He hated telekinetics. The only good way to deal with one was to kill them before they realized you were there. Even someone with infinite strength like Valkyrie could just get picked up and tossed around by one. "I don''t think it was ever gonna end well. If something didn''t make us pull out, we''d have been there forever."


    As the last of the Klansmen died, the door to the room opened; and Ty stepped in. In place of the simple brown overalls and rough animatronic tail... he was wearing armor not that different from Viper''s, in that it was covered with a layer of scales; just brown rather than green. The tail was scraping along the ground behind him, as well. The biggest difference, aside from the tail, was that he wore a scale-covered hood over his head; leaving his face completely exposed.


    Kidney turned to glance back at him, and blinked. "Well damn, T-rex! The whole concept is still absurd, but at least you look like you''re an actual villain now and not just a nutjob. New tail, too?"


    Ty laughed. "Oh, hell yes. I''ve been practicing with it a bit, but I don''t want to use it for much other than a club until I have to." He made a gesture.. and it coiled up, as he sat down on it as an improvised chair. "Awesome as a club, can even use it to help jump or grab something... but I just can''t get the gun to aim right unless I put it in my hands."


    Viper smiled, shaking his head. "Practice, man. Not gonna get good at it without practice."


    He sighed... as the corpses of the Klansmen, and the bloody sand, were being cleared out of the arena... and glanced at the display on his helmet bringing up an alert. "Alright, We''re next. And we''ve got... Huh."


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    The three men all turned to face him. Kidney stepped closer. "We''ve got what? Who are we fighting?"


    "Pop and Snap." He glanced around at the others. "Hmm. This could be a bit dicey for you two. Might want to let me and Shield take this one and just hold back."


    The door in the side of the room; a heavy reinforced steel panel providing access to a short walkway... and then one of the many small doors to the arena floor. Viper stepped forward, taking a deep breath.


    ***


    The announcer''s voice came out over the stands, and the arena floor, as the four started to walk forward. "Alright folks, we have what will probably be a short match-up here; most matches with Pop and Snap are pretty quick, after all. For those of you unaware, the duo made it to the semi-finals two years ago, and are among the most dangerous people on the planet. Their short-ranged teleport ability allows them to wreak havoc on their enemies, either keeping their distance from short-ranged victims or moving in close and literally teleporting pieces off of their slower ones to leave them crippled and bleeding."


    Viper glanced back at the group. "Hmm. Kidney, take point. If you can hurt em, do it. Rex, if you can stick behind him, and just lash that tail around at random, fast as you can. Shield, take the right, and just bash em if you get the shot. I''ll take the left. Stick together, stay within reach. Don''t make any big moves... just react. This is either gonna be a quick and messy fight, or a long, dirty slog."


    On the other side of the arena, two figures appeared; a pair of asian women, tall, lean, wearing beautiful ornate red-green dresses over a sleek armored bodysuit, the two sisters weren''t identical, but had very similar powers; and as the countdown to start began overhead, the two bowed, presenting their weapons; Snap with her pair of war fans, and Pop with the daggers she had a long belt of hidden beneath the dress.


    "I''ve fought teleporters before. The good ones like these two try to be random, hard to predict. They''ll try to distract with a thrown knife, a rock, or let their sister distract you... then teleport in and try to literally pull off your arm when you focus on it. If you see them throw one, Rex, just lash around as much as you can, and everybody else. If we stay close, we can handle this." Viper drew one of his two Khopesh, and the neurotoxin dart gun with his other hand. That should be plenty for these girls armor.


    The timer hit zero with the four in a rough formation; Viper, Shield, and Kidney standing in front of the tail-lashing Rex.. and when the buzzer sounded... Shield charged forward, screaming and lifting the baseball bat in the air.


    Viper stared for a moment, stunned.. as one of the two girls suddenly appeared behind Shield, reaching down, grabbing his leg... he lifted the pistol, snapping off a single shot... and the girl vanished.. Shield dropping face-first to the sand with his right calf abruptly replaced by a gaping, nasty wound, blood spraying out onto the sand as he let out... a joyous cheer, pulling up to his knee and blindly swinging the bat around.


    The dagger-wielding assailant had appeared off to the right, while her sister appeared to the left, looking at the others.. and then back at Shield, seeming a bit confused. Usually, most people were out of action after losing a piece of themselves like that; the shock and pain would take the fight right out of them. The confusion didn''t last long; the sister with the daggers suddenly realized... she''d been shot. She reached down, touching her thigh, her hand coming up with blood... and collapsed as the neurotoxin worked its way through her system.


    The second sister stared for a moment, and then turned to Viper, looking at the tiny pistol, the giant sword; and spread out the two fans before teleporting again. He could see her before she even moved. She was going to appear above them, drop a grenade, and move again. He could easily just move his sword and let her teleport right onto the blade, killing herself. But... no.


    He triggered his Reflex. In the moments before she teleported, the artificial adrenaline flooded his system, the world slowed to a crawl... the girl disappeared. And reappeared. He turned his head up, swinging the Khopesh in a long arc, faster than the girl or his companions could see... and it went right through the girl''s hand, connecting with the fragmentation grenade and sending it flying through the air towards the other end of the arena.


    Everything seemed to be moving at a slow crawl; the girl hadn''t realized four of her fingers were missing, or the grenade was flying away, seemingly slowly. As Viper raised the dart-gun to point at her, pulling the trigger, he could actually see the neurotoxin dart flying out of the end of the barrel... and then time went back to normal.


    The girl vanished, leaving fingers and a spray of blood behind.. appearing thirty meters away, dropping to her knees, clutching her injured hand with a screech... and then the grenade went off. Having planned on it going off between the three standing opponents, she''d teleported to the other end of the arena... only now to find several fragments of hot metal piercing her flesh as she screamed, and more of the fragments ricocheted off of the dome surrounding the arena.


    She dropped to the ground, shaking.. as Viper reached down to collect the severed fingers.


    The announcer''s voice came on once more. "And in a stunning display of super-human reflexes and thanks to the distraction created by one of his team-mates, the Viper ends Snap and Pop''s run for the season! Our ridiculous foursome will be continuing on to the next round. For those who bet on the Absurd Four over Snap and Pop, you must be crazy, but it''s the kind of crazy that just made you tons of cash!"


    As medics entered the arena, moving quickly to the three downed fighters, Viper stepped forward, walking up to the pair bringing Shield a stretcher. "Hey. No need. Regenerator, I can drag him off. Can you get these to the docs so she can get them re-attached for me?"


    The medic stared at the severed digits and the blood-covered hand for a moment.. and nodded. "Of course. Nice clean cuts... should be workable." He started carefully wrapping them in gauze before accepting them. "The other one. She went down way too fast. Poison?"


    "Knockout neurotoxin. Lasts a few hours. I left the antidote with your bosses, she should be fine in minutes. Try to get it in soon... it can cause mild but permanent nerve damage if you let it run its full course."


    Ty and Kidney stared at the green-armored figure.. before Kidney started walking towards Shield, to help drag the massive man out of the arena. "Jesus. Why the hell does this guy want us on the team? He could''ve handled those two on his own, no problem."


    Glancing at the blood still covering his gloves, Viper helped grab Shield''s right arm, as Kidney took the left, and they headed back for their entrance; the missing calve visibly, steadily, growing back, though it looked like a hideous mass of red veins and twisted muscle tissue at present. "Sure, sure. Super-reflexes against a teleporter? Easy win. But its a rock-paper-scissors thing."


    Rex reached out with the tail, extending out out closer to full length to wrap around Shield... only to struggle to support the weight of the tentacle with Shield added on. After considering just how it might work, he realized that, short of a suit of powered armor, the tail couldn''t really be used like that... and simply grabbed Shield''s legs to help carry him. "Rock-paper-scissors. Alright, explain it for me."


    "About a third of these teams include a guy who is bulletproof. Really goddamn tough; someone my swords might hurt, or might not. I''ve got a couple of armor-piercing shells that might do the job... or they might not... but Rex here? Could probably literally bite their arm off and spit it back at them. And you? Could very well be able to just reach in and yank out... well. A kidney."


    Holding Shield''s arm with one hand, he cuffed him in the side of the head with the other as the man let out a strange giggle. "And what this idiot just survived would be a career-ending injury for me. If we meet speedsters or teleporters? Let me handle them. When we get to the armored folks?" He thought about the Black Knight; who, assuming he really had been the Green Knight; would be one of his next fights. Nicky''s people were still studying to see if they could get a DNA sample; the man always wore that armor. "Well. At that point someone on the outside might wonder why you dragged this useless Viper guy along."

 Dragon Empress - 10 - Awareness - Death in the family

    Emerald sorted through her closet thoughtfully, examining the assortment of dresses, of shoes... Eyeball had made a joke about her shoes once. Her response had been, of course, to ask if he''d wear the same shoes with his Eyeball armor as the Viper armor as with his nice tailored ''Victor'' suit... that while if you had to you might wear the same shoes for everything, it was much better to tailor them to the rest of the outfit, or the situation. He habitually wore one of a very small number of outfits, and most of them had their own shoes.. or armored boots.. that went with them. Whether it was kevlar, steel, and memory foam combat boots, scale-covered boots for the ''Viper'' outfit, or simple leather shoes for his rarely-worn casual outfits.


    Emerald, of course, had nice heels in various shades and heights, as well as combat boots, and of course just some armored plates to wrap around them... just like her fingernails, her toenails were hard enough, and kept sharp enough, to gouge metal or flesh. Usually she kept them covered, but she could shred the shoes easily enough if it came to a fight.


    And, well. She could always go shopping for some more wine. Not that she had drunk too much. But you could never have too much nice wine.


    Tonight was going to be a date; Eyeball out as Victor, and Emerald using an amusing holographic shroud to hide her own appearance; or rather, to disguise it, the two going out as a ''normal'' couple for once; Eyeball had even arranged for his fake secret identity to have an excuse to be on La Famiglia just in case someone was paying attention.


    Several of her dresses looked lovely. Complimentary shades of light or dark green, black, white, red... Nice, expensive dresses. None of them quite appealed at the moment. She checked the messages on her phone; one from Ripper, of course. ~Just got in from France, got you a present. See you this weekend!~ She rolled her eyes. Of course he''d come by in person and then pretend he just arrived. She shook her head... and sent both her brother and boyfriend a text; slightly different variations of ~Going shopping, catch you later~, before checking herself for a moment; making sure the hologram, disguising herself as a wider, more amazon-esque woman without wings, was on and working properly, and sorted through her usual carry gear; side-arm in its holster, usual athletic shorts and tank-top... for her, armor was nice, but not usually necesary; stray bullets generally didn''t pierce the scales unless they were something a bit higher caliber.


    She''d keep the disguise on til she got to the store; Ellen knew her, and might have some advice on just the perfect dress. She whistled to herself as she stepped out the door, heading out towards the Famiglia Grand Mall and Casino; she could fly, or drive easily enough, but it was just a couple miles from the house; the walk would do her good.


    ***


    "Honestly, he''s had some work done. We got a look at his face out of the helmet when he had a call-girl come in, and would''ve just flagged this as a mistake... but we got a hair sample and had already sent it off to be tested before we got the picture. He looks like a new man, but its him. Roland, Green Knight, formerly of the DMA. Officially, if he shows up without permission after his first visit, he''s still got a death penalty waiting for him. Definitely working with this Executioner guy, but he''s not DMA. At least, not anyone we know about."


    Eyeball had dropped by Enforcer HQ; the structure that was effectively the military and police department for the island. Technically, he was in charge of the place; but the reality was that Tommy Valentine, one of Nicky''s old enforcers, was much better at the job, and would be running the place as long as he was willing.


    Valentine was pacing back and forth across his office; the man, seeming to be in his fifties, balding, with very little grey hair remaining, was surprisingly energetic. "We need to make an example of him. Can''t tolerate this kind of bullshit from one of em, or they''ll all be walking over us."


    Eyeball nodded slowly. This office was one of the few places he went without the helmet; he wore it for so long that he almost felt naked without its gentle pressure on his forehead. "Of course. I was thinking of doing it in the arena. Arrange for him to face me and my little team in the match next week, brutalize the poor bastard, and then reveal his ID to the world before we execute him."


    Valentine stopped his pacing, glancing at Eyeball. "You sure? I thought you had a bet going with Penny and wanted to go all the way through?"


    "Hmm. Can stay in character, pretend Viper is just another agent on the payroll. I''ve got a shell strong enough to pierce that armor, and his skin, and that Rex character can chew through things even tougher than him in fractions of a second. Just say I was deputized to handle this, reveal the truth, and poof. Problem solved."


    "...Not sure about letting him wander. He''s clearly a covert DMA agent. What sort of objective do you think he''s got?"


    "Killing me, or Nicky, or Penny. Or all three. They make it look like a rogue operative, apologize to the survivors, make a big show of support, and then quietly try to take over operations using that support. I''d bet you a substantial sum they''ve got a few other agents planted to get him supplies and help him blow up the big last party once he reaches the semi-finals... and then he''d be there to finish off survivors."


    Valentine looked down at his desk, and picked up the photo one of the cameras at the hotel picked up of Roland with a pretty young call-girl, scooping her up across the threshold of his room. "Huh. I suppose it would work. Wouldn''t be a good idea, though. The number of heavy-hitters they''d be pissing off, including a Titan, and with their own off on the other side of the moon..."


    Eyeball laughed, and reached down to pick his helmet back up. "You''re thinking like a rational person. This is a government agency. They see us as a problem to be dealt with, and have a long list of possible solutions they''re working through, all the while the DoD is trying to play interference so we can keep selling them their drugs. Thinking they''re gonna do something sane or rational is crazy-talk."


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    He stretched, before setting his helmet back in place. He tapped it a few times, as the equipment came back online; HUDs appearing, voice synthesizer starting. "I''m gonna be set on private for tonight, got a date with Emma. Obviously if its a genuine emergency get me, but I suspect you''ve got it covered."


    Valentine shrugged. "Honestly, just about anything short of a Titan or a nuclear war we can probably handle. I only call you if we want to scare someone with your reputation."


    Eyeball nodded, and stepped to the door, pushing it open. "Alright. Don''t..." He stopped... and slammed the door, to a loud ''grunt'' of pain; the door stopped just a few inches short of closed. After a moment, Ripper appeared; the blue, scaly figure wearing a black bodysuit, with a series of pouches running along his chest; and his arm pinned by the door.


    "Damnit, bro, why you gotta do that?" He pulled his arm free, shaking it back and forth as Eyeball gave an exasperated sigh.


    "Ouch. Come on, man, I was just gonna steal his coffee mug again."


    Valentine glared at Ripper. "Seriously? I thought it was one of the janitors. What the hell, man?"


    Eyeball sighed. "You''ve been kinda weird lately. I guess I get the idea of challenging yourself to steal cheap stuff from high-security areas, but..." He turned the volume down on his speakers, leaning in close. "Seriously, man. Why are you stalking your sister? She''s getting a bit creeped out sometimes. Digging through the trash?"


    "I just worry sometimes, man. Honestly, I check up on her now and again, been doing it for years. Not sure what you mean about trash, though."


    "You can stop it. We got you on the security video earlier, even saw a flash of blue scales on your way out the door. You''re slipping."


    Ripper suddenly froze. He slowly turned to face Eyeball, and settled his hands on the armored shoulders. "...I was at the Louvre replacing a painting with a fake yesterday. I literally just got here. You saw blue scales? An invisible man?"


    "...Yes. Got the blue scales on video, and the figure on sonar."


    "...My dad''s here. Shit!"


    ***


    Daiki slowly walked behind the girl, carefully checking his syringe; he had to become visible again to see anything he held, so he had to check it by feel. If she hadn''t emerged from Emma''s house, he would have assumed she was a stranger; but seeing the hologram up close for this long made it obvious; it was a fake. This was the Dragon.


    He''d seen her birth, had known her for over a decade. Stronger than a girl her size should be, with extremely durable scales, firey breath, wings, claws, and a certain ability to reduce her own density to make those wings actually useful; her grand-mother believed that she must truly be telekinetic, and if she could somehow be broken of this thought that she could only fly, she could do even greater things.


    And she was the Empress; she was undoubtedly correct.


    Still. This syringe was sharp enough to penetrate her scales... and he had over a hundred pounds on her. She was strong, but not strong enough to put up a fight if he got a good grip on her.


    He slowly stalked behind her, rushing a few steps to make it through the door of the fashion boutique she stepped inside; long aisles of clothes, ranging from fairly cheap to ridiculously expensive; cotton, silk, and even gold or silver fabrics. Emma walked right past the aisles, and into a smaller back area.. and Daiki watched her as she dissolved the hologram and stepped forward; hugging some tall, slender woman.


    He could hear some chatter; about a date, about dresses. The woman seemed happy; either a genuine friend of Emma, or someone she often worked with.


    Daiki inhaled deeply... and when the saleswoman stepped away, stepped in close, reaching forward as he saw the girl pulling out a cell phone... and grabbed Emma by the shoulder, swinging the syringe at one of the softer places in her scales along her neck.


    ***


    Emerald had been happy at the news so far; Tina had a few options in Emerald''s size she was sure to love, ones that either could already work with her anatomy, or which she could easily modify before the date started. She was practically buzzing in happiness as she looked over the other options; considering whether she could get some nice ''villainess'' costumes that had a good blend of armored protection and looks... when she heard it.


    A footstep in an empty room. Her mood dwindled a bit. Ugh. Ripper again? She reached into her pocket, ready to call Ripper and reveal her brother''s location... only to see a message. ~Dad''s here! Get home!~


    She blinked.. and then a hand suddenly grabbed her arm. Big, strong, powerful... the sudden movement. She abruptly shoved back with her wings, feeling a needle jab into them before the syringe attached to it went flying... and her invisible assailant was hurled backwards through a clothing rack.


    She turned to face a figure, his position partially revealed by the pile of loose clothing. "Drake, is that you!? Or is it Daiki?"


    She heard it. The same deep, gravelly voice that had filled her nightmares for so many years. "His name is also Daiki. Drake is a foolish nickname for a foolish boy."


    A decade ago, she might have frozen in fear. Screamed. Run.


    She gave a low hiss... and after taking a deep breath, spat out a wave of fire, liquid bursting forth in a mist that ignited in the air; clothing catching aflame in a variety of brilliant colors, as Daiki''s attempt to dodge only partially succeeded; she could see the man now, one arm on fire, grabbing the syringe, and turning to her again; even as he was clearly in agony from the fire eating its way through his left arm, he brought his right hand down, trying once again to jab her with the needle.


    Emerald grabbed his hand, stepping forward.. and as the fire suppression system activated in the ceiling above them, sending cascades of water spraying onto the two and the piles of smoking clothes, smashed her forehead into Daiki''s face; shattering his nose with an audible crunch.


    Daiki dropped back a few steps; the gel that had stuck to his flesh stubbornly refused to completely go out in the deluge, leaving trails of visible light both in the clothing and on his agonized flesh... and hissed, this time simply trying to punch Emma in the face with his still burning hand.


    Emerald simply caught his hand.. and with a brutal twist, broke the burning limb at the elbow.. before swinging him around by the broken limb, slamming him face-first into the wall.


    "You motherfucker!"


    She took hold of the back of his head as he, dazed and confused, tried to push away from the wall... How could this be? She wasn''t this strong. She was just a helpless little girl.... and slammed his face into the wall. Again. And again. A fourth time.


    When she backed up a step, releasing him, he fell limply to the ground... and she started stomping on his body. If he were still alive when he''d fallen, any chances of survival would rapidly fade, as the girl just kept stomping on his head, on his back, screaming, tears running down her face hidden by the pouring water as each stomp left nasty gouges from her heels and toenails.


    "You asshole! I trusted you! I loved you! You were my uncle! How could you!"


    When Tina looked into the room, hiding behind the partially closed door as she had the Enforcers on the phone, Emerald had collapsed to her knees beside the corpse; the head a broken ruin with bits of brain and broken bone scattered in a puddle around it; hands pressed against her face, sobbing.

 Dragon Empress - 11 - Operations Planning - Japan

    Emerald was looking much better by the time Eyeball arrived; she''d changed clothes, was no longer dripping wet, wearing a simple, short, black dress.. with her equipment strapped onto a belt over her shoulder. The first Enforcer to arrive on the scene had already known about what was going on; and simply made sure to cut off the fire suppression and help the store owner arrange clean-up; she''d paid her protection money. If something happened, the Family took care of it.


    As Eyeball took in the scene... the ashen, brutalized corpse on the ground looked like a larger, older version of Ripper, and if he hadn''t known what he was walking into...


    Well. He''d have assumed he was looking at his friend''s corpse.


    The scene was fairly contained; the fight had occurred only in this room, the fire had only spread to a single rack of clothing, and if not for the chemicals in the fire suppression liquid, in all likelihood the clothing could have been washed, salvaged, and sold.


    The policy of the Enforcers in such cases was fairly clear; first, they reimburse whoever''s property was damaged or stolen. Then, they took it out of whoever had caused the damage; ideally the same day. If the perpetrator were a member of some organization, then that group''s leaders would instead be the targets; and if they lacked the funding, they''d end up in the Arena.


    Eyeball wasn''t too certain how they would handle this. When it came to other criminal organizations, most of them generally followed the same sorts of rules; each side would establish its own territories, they''d fight each other for them, but generally try to avoid government crackdowns that would be bad for all parties involved. Despite Emerald having been born among them, they simply didn''t know enough about this Dragon Empress to decide what to do; other than, clearly, killing anyone involved in setting up this failed abduction.


    Emerald looked up at him... and gave a long sigh. "Well. This is a bit embarrassing."


    Eyeball stepped closer, and pulled her in for a hug; carefully weaving his arms beneath the wings to grip her firmly in a long-practiced fashion. "Most people would have different words for an abduction attempt. Why do you say that? Are you okay?"


    She gently hugged him back... then much more firmly after a few seconds, her wings wrapping around them both. "Ahh... Gonna have nightmares about it for a while probably. But... better than okay. I''ve wanted to kill him for over a decade now. Drake once apologized to me for not killing him."


    A soft coughing sound.. as Ripper stepped out from around one of the clothing racks, rather than doing his usual simply ''Appearing in mid-sentence'' trick; the trickster thoroughly enjoyed startling people. "Honestly, while I wish I had... I don''t think I had it in me to kill the old man. I dunno. Even as much of a rat bastard as he was, he was still my dad."


    Emerald sighed, rolling her eyes... and then slapped Ripper with her tail with enough force to send the unfortunate mutant slamming into the wall with a grunt. He dropped to the floor afterwards, groaning. "Oh, fuck, sis! Ow! I think you bruised my ribs! What was that for!?"


    "You''ve been stalking me for years! You should''ve been telling me when you were around, not just making sure I was okay and wandering off! I''d gotten so used to it I didn''t even question another invisible stalker!"


    He grimaced, arm wrapped around his chest as he carefully rose to his feet. "Mmph! Damn, that might actually be broken."


    "..... Sorry. Didn''t mean to hit that hard. But we need to have a conversation about how often you''ve been keeping an eye on me. We need to figure out how long they''ve been watching. And... your habits make it harder."


    ***


    Between Valentine, Nicky, Swiftblade, and Eyeball, the most senior members of La Famiglia were at the table; with Emerald and Ripper, as well as Clone, joining them, they formed a powerful and dangerous crew that should, in theory, be able to overcome any obstacle in its path. Emerald laid out a sheet of paper; an ordinary paper map, vastly different from the holographic presentations Nicky was so fond of.


    "Doragon is the ancestral home of my family, owned by my great-grandmother, ceded to the family in perpetuity by the Emperor over one hundred years ago, when she was a young woman herself. While the island and its residents are nominally part of Japan, members of my family are forbidden from initiating any interaction with the Emperor''s family, and we are only allowed into Japan proper to acquire supplies, make business arrangements, and depart. Until the second world war and the dismantling of the Imperial navy, a vessel was offshore at all times to give us passage back and forth... and prevent anyone from leaving Doragon unescorted towards Japan proper. Leaving for China was acceptable, and they didn''t stop landings either."


    She drew a diagram; showing the rough outline of a fortress, with a surrounding village. "There are over two hundred adult children of the dragon; mutants who are part of the Empress''s genetic scheme to breed dragons. The primary traits she sought were flight, fire creation, and tough, scaly skin; while she would also accept other, useful abilities, those with one or two of these, she would actively try to recruit. As such, over forty of my family can fly, thirty have various degrees of fire manipulation, and the rest have a variety of other powers as well as scaly skin. Many of them are a threat. Four of them are a major threat."


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    She laid out a picture of a woman wearing an enormous, ornate dress; primarily made of reds and greens, with a massive, winged green helmet. "The Empress herself is well over one hundred years old, and ages very slowly; she is physically as fit as she was eighty years ago, when she participated in the invasion of China in a calculated attempt to have a member of the Imperial family contact her, rather than the other way around. She is constantly suffering from various cancers that must be removed surgically, and, eventually one of these will bring her down; until then, I expect her to remain. She is a master of a variety of weapons and combat techniques, has bullet-resistant skin, excellent reflexes, and heals, albeit slowly, from most injuries."


    "She also holds the Blade of Hiroshima, and the Blade of Nagasaki. Supposedly, each blade is imbued with the spirits of those slain during one of the atomic bomb detonations, and is forged from metal she found still molten from the blasts. Whether or not this is true, the blades are seemingly invulnerable, and melt through even the toughest living thing like butter; whether its a tree or someone of incredible durability. She has other magic she has shown over the years, and... had intended to share these lessons with me, after I was old enough, like she did with my father and grandmother."


    Emerald sighed... and slid the picture aside, revealing a tall, lean man with greyish skin, wearing a black silk kimono. "Dairesh was in his thirties when I left, and is married into the family. His skin is actually very fine grey scales.. not too tough.. and he has a tiny, almost vestigial tail. The Empress considered this sufficient reason to invite him in... thanks to his powerful telekinetic abilities. He can kill with a gesture from three hundred meters. If he can get that close, he can lift you off the ground and restrain you... or simply scramble your internal organs like a blender. His eldest child has at least some telekinesis, as well as fast healing and scales; but she''s still a teenager. She was only six when I left."


    She slid the second picture onto the pile atop the Empress, and unfolded a third. This one showing a figure with vivid green scales, glowing red eyes, and a powerful tail. "My mother. The Infernal Dragon. One of the Empress''s favorites until I was born. Stronger than I was, faster, tougher, she can kick over a car and actually strike down a low-grade speedster with her tail. And... like myself has a reservoir inside her that lets her store flammable materials. While I prefer a sort of thermite gel, her favorite is napalm. Considering she also has great-grandmothers healing, and seems to be slowly growing more capable with time... as much as I hate her, I hope my abilities turn out similarly. She''s over sixty years old by now, but the ''kicking over a car'' bit was in her fifties... which is more than she could do in her forties. By now, she''s likely even worse."


    She removed the third picture; and left the bottom one on the stack. "And, finally, we have the one I definitely want dead, and in theory the most dangerous. Salamander." She revealed an image of.. a massive, green-scaled figure, with spikes along his back, a large, powerful tail.  "Uncle Sal oozes acid from his scales, breathes underwater, is ridiculously strong and tough... moreso than the Green Knight fellow. He can spit the acid, spray it around by lashing out with his tail, and aside from Dairesh, no-one in the family takes him lightly."


    "So. We definitely need to kill those four. There are plenty of other lesser threats; the Empress''s Samurai; but those are the big ones, who need to die to break this whole thing up. There will be, probably, hundreds of children. The ones who don''t turn out how the Empress likes live in the outlying village, and are allowed to leave if they want. Those who do, live in the fortress, and are required to stay. This whole situation might be dramatically different by now; I haven''t seen the place in a long, long time."


    Nicky nodded slowly.  "This... sounds like a big nut to crack. And I''m assuming just bombing the whole place is out of the question."


    "Hundreds of kids in the fortress. More outside. There might even be more... She hadn''t gotten into it by the time I left, but I know my mother had brought up surrogate mothers, harvesting eggs, medications to help speed the program along. We don''t want to wipe everyone out, just kill the leadership and setup something new that won''t be trying to capture me or keep trying to breed some sort of master race."


    Eyeball slid the pictures aside, lifting the image of Dairesh. "The telekinetic could be a problem. I''ve got tools to deal with the rest, but the only reliable way to kill a telekinetic is to take him by surprise. This is your family, Emerald. What are you thinking?"


    She looked around the table for a moment. "I''m thinking we form a full-fledged strike team. Me, you, and Ripper, of course. Clone, if he''s willing to send a few along." The Russian nodded; this particular brother was wearing a nice suit, to blend into the environment, but was bald, scarred, and clearly this particular body had seen a tough existence.


    "Is Butcher available? Would his mom let him go?"


    "Sweetheart, I told you he was in the arena right now. If I asked him, he might say yes, granted, but this will take some time. At the very least, he''d miss a fight and have to come back next season. Which... I''ll also need to do, if I bother with the Viper thing again."


    "Ask him. I know he''s a grade-A tank now, and we might need him on Sal. I''ve got a couple of friends I''ll be calling in.. a couple of ladies I used to run with back in Vegas... and if you know anybody trustworthy, now would be a good time."


    Eyeball shrugged. "I''ll call Butcher, but he''s got a girlfriend now and might not want to leave her in the lurch. I can call a few people. We probably don''t want to send a squad of Enforcers on this, since technically this is Japan and the Enforcers are La Famiglia''s military, but Eyetech deals directly  with some of the biggest merc companies on earth. I can definitely get a few squads in, maybe even some metas."


    Nicky looked around the table. "Alright. I can call the mercs for you, if you''d like, Eyeball. I suspect they''ll be jumping at the chance to work with Titanslayer. Only question is, what to do about this Black Knight fellow."


    Eyeball thought for a moment, grinning behind his helmet. "You know what... I think I''ve got the perfect idea for how to handle him. I''ll need to go over it with one of the people I''ll be recruiting for this, I''ll let you know how it works out."

 Dragon Empress - 12 - Teambreaking Excercize

    "So, that''s the long and short of it. I''m heading east, and would like to invite you along. Especially if you have any good means of dealing with a telekinetic short of ''bombing them from orbit''."


    The Engineer''s cold, cybernetic eyes studied Eyeball for a moment. The facade he maintained around the other scientists at Eyetech had fallen away, and he became completely motionless while listening; the breathing, the shifting, twitching all coming to a halt, the processing power used to maintain them diverted to communications; as he used a secure relay to pass information briefly to one of his larger CPUs in the ocean nearby.


    "I am willing to provide assistance in this manner, given I am allowed to resume operations here afterwards. The intelligence I have gathered here on La Famiglia has proven invaluable. A Controller to turn a more durable metahuman into a Pale One already exists, and I will fabricate one immediately, though it requires an entry wound. Applying it to this ''Roland White'' will be up to you. Dealing with a telekinetic is a relative issue. Telekinesis is a manipulation of electromagnetic force. It cannot be used on a subject inside a faraday cage, and it can be mitigated by intense magnetic fields, however, capable telekinetics are able to use environmental objects to overcome this sort of obstacle."


    He stepped over to a nearby computer; holding his hand over the CPU, temporarily forming a wireless connection. After a few moments, a display showed a variant Controller; bigger, heavier duty than the original, and enormous compared to the 40mm shell versions Eyeball had added to his arsenal. Almost immediately, the Fabricator in the room gave off a soft whir as it began production.


    "I must warn you that while this one, individual unit will assist you, none of my others will do so for land operations. While you have proven an asset to the cause, I will not sacrifice my current anonymity to aid you."


    Eyeball nodded. "Didn''t think you would. Why specify land operations, though? Wouldn''t naval operations expose you just as well?"


    "I am fully capable of concealing any naval operations by operating at depths organics cannot survive, even in a submarine, and have little ability to observe. I can release chemicals, utilize magnetic and cavitation effects to sink any vessel operated by organics. I am currently considering how best to utilize this; so far I have utilized this capability to quietly remove three of the targets on my list, and will continue to do so; oligarchs have a significant affinity for oversized yachts, and simply waiting until they arrive at their vessel and then sinking it has contributed significantly so far."


    "Hmm. Maybe pick a country, or corporation, that is causing the most damage; or whichever would have the most psychological impact. Get equipment in place, prepare... then sink all of their boats at once. Make a big announcement, that you''re the lord of the sea or something.. I think the real Poseiden is dead, never heard of him doing anything when the rest of the greeks became active. Everybody will think you''re a new Titan, rather than just a machine re-emerging. Make up some excuse for being angry at country X, and go to town."


    The Engineer turned away from the computer; though plans continued to obviously shift and change on the screen. The machine was multitasking, loading additional designs to the fabricator as it considered his proposal. "This proposal is easily accomplished, however, only partially works towards goals. While environmental damage is, of course, a concern, it is secondary to the primary objective of ensuring a society wherein the workers control both production and society as a whole as opposed to our current oligarchs and megacorporations."


    Eyeball frowned, looking off into space as he thought. "If the goal is to punish megacorporations and oligarchs, but preserve companies owned by their workers, your hypothetical Titan needs to be someone who hates mega-corporations but can only operate in the ocean. Honestly, I can''t think of any good ways to get to worker control from where we are quickly. Just sinking everything owned by the oligarchs would kill quite a few people, not just on the boats, but through famine, probably start up some wars."


    "Precisely. Hence my continued approach of singling out and targeting the oligarchs themselves wherever possible. If being one is likely to leave you dead, it reduces the desirability of the position. The only members of the wealthiest individuals alive now who were at the beginning are those who are actively working towards my goals... and a single recluse who I am still actively seeking."


    ***


    Roland White had been having a fun week. However much he might hate this Eyeball character and all the criminals he worked with, La Famiglia was certainly a great place to spend a vacation. Especially for a man who was reasonably sure he would be dead in a few months; this island had tons of heavy-hitters on it, and many of them would be extremely pissed at the deaths of their leadership.


    Every drug was legal, prostitution was legal, as far as the island was concerned, unless you were a kid, you could do just about anything. He''d run through dozens of call-girls, tried enough of every drug he could think of to overcome his superhuman metabolism; fortunately, there were more drugs he hadn''t been able to think of, and he''d be able to start burning through those with a bit of help from the local dealers.


    So far, mushrooms were his favorite. He wanted to try them out sometime when he could just fly around in the middle of nowhere, crash through some trees, hills, just have a really weird time of it. They made everything so fun! But even here in a hotel, where he was a bit restrained, they were awesome.


    The only issue was that he wasn''t so sure he wanted to kill these guys anymore. Eyeball had let him live, right? Sure, humiliated and all that, and it had hurt like being beaten with a sledgehammer, but he was alive. And he''d tried to kill the guy! That was more than fair. Sure, this Wayson guy would be mad as hell. He''d given Roland a fair amount of cash to set up this whole ''Black Knight'' armor. But maybe it wasn''t too late to change his mind. Hell, he could go apologize right now.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He opened the hotel room door, stumbling a bit and almost smacking into the wall on the opposite side; wearing a red t-shirt and a pair of boxers, he didn''t actually look too of place heading down the hotel hallway; and the wide-open door seemed just as ridiculous, especially considering the call-girl currently sleeping inside. When he reached the lobby and accidentally crushed the counter with one hand, he backed away a step to avoid accidentally damaging it further.


    "Oh, hey! Could you tell the man in charge that I wanna talk to him? I need to talk to Nicky. Or Eyeball. Or something. I have to apologize."


    At least, that''s what Roland thought he was saying. In reality, he was drooling, staring at an ad for the Arena, and muttering gibberish as he spoke to thin air and a security agent for the hotel stared at him; intensely afraid of handling a drugged-up metahuman, he immediately called for the Enforcers.


    ***


    When Eyeball reached the hotel, stepping into the lobby to see two guards keeping their distance from an extremely happy, apparently high, Black Knight, he was carrying a box in one hand, and had a rifle more than powerful enough to put the meta down strapped to his back. The guards looked relieved to see him, and he nodded at them both as he approached.


    This was ridiculous. He was supposed to be fighting this idiot to the death, putting on a bit spectacle of his execution for breaking the rules. And after the controller idea had come up, he''d been considering an ambush; giving the man an injury that the wires could make their way through with his rifle, slapping the controller on, and then stalling the man long enough for the controller to take over.


    According to what he''d learned en route, the meta had been buying drugs, hiring prostitutes, and apparently planned on burning through a ridiculous amount of money during his time in the arena; more than he could actually earn by winning the tournament, in fact, at this rate; apparently spending a few hundred grand so far. Ten million dollars was quite a bit, but when it came to hiring high-class prostitutes, living in a luxury suite, and using enough cocaine to impact someone with a superhuman biology, it didn''t get that far. Honestly, the latter was likely the bigger issue; apparently he took anywhere from ten times to a hundred times as much of any given chemical substance to actually work, and they all wore off much more quickly.


    He sighed, shaking his head. At this point he could probably just ask the idiot to open his mouth, ram the controller in, and it would be over; he''d have a puppet to send against the Empress. It would be interesting to see if a Pale One would be able to use its body''s ability to fly.


    Arriving at the arena display, he slapped his hand against it, to draw Roland''s attention. "Hey. Black Knight. You and I need to have a chat."


    The man turned to face Eyeball, leaning against the wall with one hand. Eyeball''s helmet had to magnify the whispered mumble of Roland''s response.


    "Why are you yelling, man? Oh. Eyeball. I''m sorry, I wanted to apologize to you. And thank you for not killing me. I really like it here, this place is awesome, and I''m glad it got made. I don''t want to hurt anybody. Well, I like hurting people. But I can do it in the arena now." His face looked... dopey. Whatever he was on, he was dramatically different from the conversations they''d had after taking him out before Famiglia had been founded.


    For a moment, Eyeball hesitated. The man had tried to kill him. And probably planned on making another attempt, hence his presence here. But right now? He was apologizing. And so doped up on some substance he''d clearly had no experience with that he was virtually helpless. It would be like stepping on a kitten. Except... a kitten wouldn''t wake up in the morning and possibly decide to kill you. He held up the box; one end was a relatively flat armored plate with sensors on it. The other side a mass of tendrils wound up amongst themselves.


    "Could you do me a favor? Just open up and say Ahhh."


    The meta let out more of a confused, questioning grunt.... but his mouth was still open. And when Eyeball hit the switch on the Controller; the mass of tendrils pressed through Roland''s mouth, jabbing through the soft inner tissues, working their way into the brain, into the spine; and the man collapsed to the ground, letting out a muffled scream of pain as the machine securely set itself in place, jammed into the man''s open mouth like a gag.


    There was a coughing sound coming from nearby. A man wearing what seemed to be dark armor with traces of dried blood smeared across the helmet... ahh. The Executioner. Black Knight''s companion in the arena. Eyeball turned to face him, hand settled over one of his handguns. The man had been competent, dangerous; clearly skilled, but someone who, like Eyeball, relied on guns for most of his offensive punch; and the dull, matte finish of his armor would be much better for stealthy operations than Eyeball''s own trademark shiny chrome helmet.


    The Executioner raised his hands, keeping them away from his own weapons. "I was just going to get him back to his room. No need for any of that." Harrick glanced at the Controller. It looked like it was turning Roland into a Pale One. He had an EMP grenade on him for this sort of situation... but didn''t like his odds. If he were going to fight Eyeball he wanted a prepared trap, to set the stage first. "If you have some sort of beef with him, thats fine; I just wanted to win the tournament."


    Eyeball tilted his head, looking at him. Something about the man seemed off. He was calm, professional, and his fights in the arena made him seem competent enough. He was tempted to offer to hire the man as an Enforcer, since his tournament season had just been cut short after only one match. But... it just didn''t feel right. "Sorry for ruining your chances. A few teams are going to be breaking up early this season for some family issues. I''ll put in a word with management; only one fight''s gone down already, so you may be able to hook up with the rest of those left behind, form a new team."


    Eyeball''s own team-mates could use a new ally. Maybe this Executioner could work with them. While he did like the absurd trio ''Viper'' had been working with, they weren''t the sort he''d want at his back for a mission that might put his fiance and unborn children at risk. While it still felt a bit off to let this unknown head out with them, it didn''t feel as bad as offering him a job.


    As Eyeball looked over the control HUD that appeared on his helmet, the same display that normally showed when he had drones deployed to see the area coming online, Roland slowly rose to his feet. Pale Ones weren''t that uncommon a sight on La Famiglia; but they were usually uncontrolled, and simply attacked anything that wasn''t another Pale One.


    As he gave a few voice commands, the drone commanding Roland''s body turned to follow him.. and Harrick stared at his temporary companion being forced to walk out alongside one of the men he''d claimed to hate enough to die for the chance to take him down.


    Harrick had seen reports of the Pale Ones, and what the controllers did to their victims. He didn''t like Roland too much even before the idiot had started wasting Wayson''s money on whores and drugs, but condemning him to that fate, to be a tormented bystander watching his own body forced to act? He lowered his hand to the EMP grenade, considering using it before it was too late. Maybe he and Roland would both be taken out, but at least it would give the man a chance to escape.


    He could see Eyeball''s hand lowering towards his handgun, as his own rested on the pin of the grenade... and shook his head, turning away. No. This wasn''t a fight he could win. He needed a new plan. Maybe whatever emergency was dragging him out of town would serve.

 Dragon Empress - 13 - Airlift; Diplomacy

    Emerald leaned back in the seat, trying to relax. She didn''t have as many problems as some people did with flying; if the plane had problems, she could just tear a hole in the side and fly away; though keeping a GPS on-hand would be a good idea. Right now she was tempted to do just that; but knew full well that she couldn''t possibly outrun a jet, and it would just slow her down. She looked out the window at the ocean they passed over, before turning back to Eyeball.


    "Jase... I really think we should talk to the Japanese and hash things out before we go out there. We really don''t want an international incident, and, well. I''m technically still a Japanese national, even if my passport would just basically say ''send her off to the dragon island'' the moment they ran it in their system."


    He chuckled, and laid a hand on her knee. This time, she could actually see his smile; a bit different from how they met, but she''d had plenty of time to get used to ''Victor''. For once, everyone on the plane already knew who he was.


    "I get it, sweetheart. Don''t want to burn any bridges. But Clone already has a place setup in Russia, and we don''t want them confiscating.. or trying to... any of my gear. Some of this stuff is... unique. If they don''t mess with the island, we should be able to get in, get out, and never mess with the authorities at all."


    She turned back to him, and settled her hand atop his. "Look... I''ve got family here. This might take time. Days, weeks. We might need to talk to the government about how things go long-term once the Empress is dead. I know you want to rush in. Kick ass, take names. I do, too. I want to just go in there, challenge her to a fight one-on-one, kick her ass, tell them all I''m in charge now, and if they want to say differently, they can go through me and the Titanslayer."


    She sighed. "But. This is probably going to involve tons of time and work. Even if we kill the top few of them, I might need to take over as Empress for a while and work on breaking these people out of that mindset, or someone else will just name themselves Empress, grab a few followers, and split for the hills. And we don''t want the government coming in and getting pissed off I killed the bitch who shagged the emperor a century ago."


    He shook his head. "Look... I''m technically the head of state of a foreign power." He wasn''t too sure just why he wanted to avoid stopping elsewhere. It would take, at least, hours to get all the people together, make sure everyone knew hour to use the weapons properly, get the boats loaded... the enemy wasn''t going anywhere. The Russians weren''t a problem; all the local leaders wanted were bribes, and he had money. Was it some ridiculous bloodthirsty urge to get to the killing as fast as possible, or was his power telling him to avoid Japan? "If you absolutely insist, we''ll call Japan and request a meeting. But really... I think we should avoid all this."


    "Good. This is my home. I didn''t get to spend much time in Tokyo. It was too close. But I loved my time there. We can stop, discuss things with the ministry, and be at the kick-off well before all of our bloodthirsty associates are ready to go... and maybe after its over I give you a less violent welcome."


    ***


    Jasmine looked down at her desk. She''d been pulled off of field duty pending an investigation; put on probation, as it were, suspended from field duty... technically any duty at all, she probably shouldn''t be working.. but she was still being paid. A mixed blessing. It got her out of the boring bodyguard duty, gave her plenty of time to access the files the Russos had sent over... but also left her far to long to think about her mistakes, and what she''d learned.


    Not just from the files; it was pretty clear that the Han were taking women from less desirable genetics and forcing them into secretive marriages to help boost the population trouble that the One-Child policy had caused; and possibly to help with a future expansion into the devastated region that was once Southern Mexico. They had yet to find more than a handful; but the age of the women, the fact that only women of childbearing age were among the missing, and the medical supplies that were also conveniently going missing; including several varieties of fertility drugs; both the real ones, as well as some of the ridiculous superstitious nonsense drugs... made it clear.


    Somewhere out there, these women were being rounded up, taken from their home villages in western China or Southern Mexico, and ending up far from home, afraid, and likely trapped in a marriage to some stranger. And... she couldn''t really do anything about it. The whole thing was clearly being orchestrated with the knowledge of the Chinese government. And everyone already knew about the concentration camps, the brutal repression... and the US was cooperating with them.


    Maybe they didn''t approve, but the situation in Mexico was too delicate to rock the boat. They now shared an actual, physical, border with China. Maybe they''d push to get any of the Mexican civilians who had family stateside sent back. But the rest? Hopeless. The only places they would ever be able to strike, to save any of them, would be if they caught some of them out on the ocean, in international waters... or maybe wherever they were being sold off, if it was outside of China.


    She set the print-outs aside, neatly stacking them in their manila folder, clearly labeled ''General Zhou''. Is this why the Russos sent them to her? To frustrate her? Maybe get her to go rogue, sign up in the hopes of making a difference?


    A sudden knocking at her door. She glanced up. Kin was there... the spikey, regenerating asian metahuman who had seemed so friendly with the Family. He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Well hello there, little lady. You look far too angry for someone whose been given a week''s paid vacation. You realize that nobody holds it against you, right? We couldn''t have stopped them from taking you in, but you were a bodyguard in foreign territory who saw someone with super-speed pulling something near your target; you did exactly what you were supposed to do, and your willingness and ability to do the job were proven beyond a doubt."


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    She rubbed her eyes, and spun her chair around to face him. "A week''s suspension, with or without pay, doesn''t sound like that. Honestly, I don''t want a week''s vacation. I want to find this Zhou bastard while he''s outside of China with a load of human cargo and accidentally kill him trying to bring him in." She sighed. "I... I need to ask something. It might be classified, or it might not, and you might know, or not. The kid I almost killed. Robert Russo. He claimed that the criminals who founded Famiglia saved the world."


    Kin frowned, looking thoughtful, absently scratching the stubble on his chin. "Interesting. On the one hand, that''s a strong claim. On the other hand, probably true." He shut the door to her office with a firm click. "First of all... you''re officially on suspension. You can go anywhere and do anything you''d like for the next week, so long as you don''t claim to be a federal agent. If you should happen to turn up on a dock somewhere and notice something inappropriate, nobody would hold it against you. Second...."


    He gave a long exhalation, seeming suddenly tired. "Ask the director about Ragnarok. Tell him the Russos told you part of the story, that their people saved the world. Whether he wants to fill in the rest is up to him; that one is being held fairly close to the chest."


    ***


    Minister Kono wasn''t used to sudden, surprise meetings. When someone important came along, he would arrange everything far in advance; research the person, their positions, the best ways to motivate and push them to work towards Japan''s best interests, and, of course, to his own; after all, he still had ambitions of being the Prime Minister someday. Well, for the most part he would have his employees do so. He certainly wouldn''t normally go meet someone at the last minute. But having a foreign head of state calling, informing him he and his bodyguards were already en route, that his fiance had suffered an attempted kidnapping by a Japanese national, and that he needed to discuss a complicated situation at the highest levels?


    This Titanslayer was not, himself, that big of a threat compared to those he''d removed from the picture. While competent, his deeds had clearly been mostly a matter of luck, skill, patience, and preparation, rather than some sort of divine power. The video of the death of Tai was enlightening; the weapon he used was technology borrowed from a dozen sources, cobbled together into a barely-working prototype... and then put into the hands of what must be the most gifted sniper on earth.


    Fortunately, he already knew of the man a fair amount; the Prime Minister was considering officially recognizing La Famiglia as a country, and an ambassador was already being chosen. Trade with the tiny island was thriving. But his files didn''t mention a fiance anywhere. Nor why someone from Japan might try to abduct her.


    He settled into his limo; his bodyguards keeping an eye on the road to either side. He didn''t have an armored limo, and wasn''t under any serious threat; but one of the two men assigned as his guards was a metahuman, albeit a grade-C energy-wielding one, and he generally kept at least two with him; sometimes more; to maintain appearances. Most such meetings would be in Tokyo; instead, he''d been drawn off to a mid-sized airport in northern Japan.


    This foreigner must have an excellent reason to call on him with such haste.. or the Minister would make him regret it. Either by sending him the most annoying twit he could find as an ambassador, or just generally making sure to waste his time just as excessively.


    ***


    As the jet settled in to land, Eyeball could see the limo, with guards standing to either side, waiting a distance away from the runway. The sun was setting here; he must have dragged the poor man away from dinner. He glanced at Emerald. She seemed... nervous. Excited. When he opened the door of the plane, she leapt free, gliding to the ground without touching the stairs; and spread her wings, stretching, inhaling deeply.


    As Eyeball stepped down across the stairs behind her... one of the Family guards following behind; Steve, if he recalled correctly; she smiled, and turned to him. "Smells like home. Feels like home. Its been far, far too long since I''ve been here."


    As they approached the limo arm-in-arm, Eyeball with his chrome helmet and black bodyarmor, Emerald in a simple black kimono adorned with cherry blossoms, heavily cut and altered for her tail and wings, a man emerged from the vehicle, looking back and forth between the two. The minister; a healthy, fit man, looking perhaps in his 40s or 50s; gave a short bow as they arrived.


    After rising, he looked between the two. "I am Abe Kono, Minister for Foreign Affairs. I was told the matter was urgent?"


    Eyeball gave a similar bow. "And I, of course, am Eyeball, Chief Enforcer of La Famiglia. This is my fiance, Princess Emerald, great-granddaughter of the Dragon Empress, and a cousin to your Emperor Naruhito. Her Great-Grandmother attempted to have her abducted by an assassin yesterday, and we are venturing north to have words with her, with arms, if necessary, to ensure there is no repeat performance."


    At first, the Minister looked fairly unconcerned with what Eyeball was saying. But as the introduction of Emerald began... and continued, on through his final sentence, his vision steadily went from calm unconcern to nervous excitement to outright panic as he stared at Emerald. The story was known to everyone who dealt with foreign affairs; every major airport''s head knew the basics, though they kept it out of the public eye. An embarrassment to the Imperial family, some woman who claimed to be a Dragon, seducing the Emperor, and their bastard child being banished north with his mother.


    But... that was just a story. Just some woman with scales, an unfortunate mutation with an excess of audacity. The beautiful young woman who appeared to be carved from the gems that were her namesake must be the genuine article.


    Before he could wrap his mind around just what this might mean, Eyeball suddenly jerked into awareness. "Emerald! Leap! Sniper on the roof!" And charged forward. As the Minister''s bodyguards drew their weapons; aiming, at first, at Eyeball; he brought himself and the Minister both slamming to the ground in a tackle, just as a gunshot rang out; a bullet striking the ground where the Dragoness had been standing moments before.


    He stared up in awe as the creature hurtled into the sky towards the rooftop of the airport; and spat forth a string of blue flame as the sniper fired another shot; this one missing, just before the figure; unknown, at present, but clearly male judging by the sudden scream of agony; was abruptly dragged from the rooftop, still aflame, by Emerald.


    One of his bodyguards had his handgun out, and was sweeping the area... while the other... was holding his own handgun aimed at the Dragoness... while also, surprisingly enough, recording her with his cell phone.


    Minister Kono wasn''t certain whether to be glad to have video evidence to send back to Tokyo or angry at the man for pointing a gun at someone who was likely both bulletproof and capable of cooking them alive in a heartbeat.

 Dragon Empress - 14 - Ambush

    The scene at the airport was hectic, confused. Japanese police forces were already on their way, and the man Emerald had first partially cooked... and then slammed to the ground.. was moaning in pain on the tarmac. Emerald leaned in close, glaring down at him. "What the hell!? Were you aiming for me? My man? The Minister?"


    The man grimaced.. and glanced at the car. "The Minister? What minister? I might miss. But one of my fellows will not, child of the dragon! Your people will burn until you return what has been stolen!"


    Emerald rubbed her forehead with exasperation, planting a clawed foot on the man''s chest. "...Who the hell are you, and why did you shoot at me?"


    Eyeball stepped forward, looking down at the man, frowning... and gripped the burning sleeve, tearing it away to reveal a beautiful, intricate series of tattoos. "He''s Yakuza. And apparently they''ve decided to start a war with the Family. I''ll let Nicky know. This... will get bloody. Let the cops have this one. Nicky will know where the bosses are, we''ll clean them up after we finish the Empress."


    "..Family... what..." The man blinked, clearly confused... then his eyes focused on Eyeball''s chrome helmet. "Wait. Family? Titanslayer?"


    He turned back and forth between the two metas. "Wait! If you are not with the Empress, we are not targeting you. Our people in the ministry intercepted some of the messages you sent. We have made a mistake."


    Eyeball glanced at Emerald for a moment; it was pretty clear she could be mistaken as an operative of a Dragon Empress easily enough; then behind him, where the police cars were just becoming visible as they circled the airport. "We have business with the Japanese government, then we will be moving on the Empress. They tried to abduct one of our own, and we aim to ensure it doesn''t happen again. When your lawyer shows up, have him inform your bosses."


    The man seemed inclined to respond, and started to speak.. but Emerald pressed down harder with her claw, and the man grimaced, taking the hint to stop talking.


    He turned back to the Minister, and gave a short bow. "Okay then, sir. We''ll let the police have this gentleman. Now. Honestly, we just wanted to make sure that we didn''t step on any toes, cause any problems, when we went to deal with this. While its a family affair, most of those involved are citizens of La Famiglia."


    The Minister sighed. "There should not be, no. We do not generally intervene in internal Imperial family affairs, though the Emperor would wish to be informed. Would you be averse to waiting, say, half an hour, so that I may contact His Majesty?"


    Eyeball nodded. "This is going to be a fairly significant affair. It will take a time more to get everyone ready; the Dragon Empress is a very dangerous woman, and we have no intention of becoming casualties. In fact.." They were probably going to launch the attack in four or five hours. "Lets say another day. We''ll likely end up striking with the next sunset."


    The man smiled. "Well! Thank you for saving my life. If you''d like, we can arrange a meeting with the ambassador we will be assigning to La Famiglia while you are here."


    "Perhaps after the incident northward is handled. Until its dealt with, the prospect of having to fight my future mother-in-law to keep my fiance safe will be hanging over me."


    ***


    The wait at the airport started off as a bit tense. After the police hauled off the Yakuza member, the minister offered to have them wait in a nearby restaurant; which Eyeball quietly rebuffed, not wanting to get too far from the jet. This led to an awkward stand-off as the sun went down; until one of the Minister''s bodyguards stepped forward, to whisper something quietly to him.


    Eyeball glanced at the subtext. His helmet had picked up the audio; and the rough translation appeared to be ''wants to meet her''. He grimaced, glancing at her. Speaking to him would be fine. But it would take god knew how long to actually go visit the man, time during which thousands of people would witness his arrival in Japan; and the Dragon Empress could bolster her defenses. Make things more complicated for his own arrival.


    When the Minister stepped forward, they''d been waiting over half an hour already, and Eyeball raised one hand. "I''m sorry, but I''ve received word from my people preparing to move out. I have issues I need to handle. If your Emperor wishes to meet myself and his cousin, we will gladly do so after things have been handled."


    The Minister frowned.. but bowed. "Of course. His Highness will be disappointed."


    Suddenly, there was a streak of light hurtling through the air.. perfectly silent, golden, glowing, heading down from the south.. Emerald rose from where she''d been seated on the steps of the jet, frowning as she looked at the sky. "Gabriel...Daddy?"


    Before suddenly, there was a crack of stone as the tarmac cratered beneath his feet... and a tall man, pale-skinned, with long white hair and a pair of vividly glowing feathered wings... in fact, his entire body gave off a faint golden aura, all-too visible in the growing darkness, and the man seemed dressed to emphasize his otherworldly appearance, wearing what appeared to be simple cloth white pants, with bare feet. He looked at Emerald, tilting his head. "My word, Emma. You''ve grown so much!" He started to walk towards her... as Emerald drew to her feet, wings spreading, tail lashing out, smashing the steps behind her as she advanced a step to meet him.


    Eyeball drew his 40mm handgun, certain he''d need something armor-piercing to take out the apparent angel before him... only to see... his gun would start to disassemble itself in midair. He frowned, putting the weapon away.. only to feel... weightless. He was floating in midair, his arms and legs abruptly stretched out in every direction... Ahh, hell. Telekinetic. He had a counter-measure built-in that would free him for just enough time to kill whoever it was... he just needed to wait for the right moment. He could hear the weapons of the bodyguards falling apart as well... and spot the Minister''s cell-phone doing the same when it emerged.


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    And watch the weapon start to break itself apart in front of him; screws rotating and popping free, the entire assembly turning into a pile of disparate parts that fell to the tarmac. It was a strange feeling. He could see every event before it happened, predict it with absolute certainty... but unless he gave the voice command and triggered the field generator, absolutely nothing he tried to do would have an impact.


    "Daughter. Your mother asked me to come collect you. She felt I would be a more friendly face."


    Emerald gave a low hiss... her mouth visibly smoking. "Fuck you. You taught me to fly, and worked with mother and grandmother to try to raise me as some obedient little brood mare. Well, its not going to happen."


    She turned to the side, noticing the grey-skinned figure in a white Kimono with a dark grey armored vest strapped over the chest simply floating forward, one hand pointed at Eyeball, the other at the ground before he settled on the tarmac. "No choices here, little dragoness. The Empress commands."


    Eyeball studied the situation. The positions of the combatants. If he triggered the field, he''d have less than a second to kill the telekinetic. Dairesh? Dairesh. "Countermeasure, set auto-activate if helmet disconnected from network." He heard a soft affirmative beep. "Voice amplification fifty percent, volume on." He took a deep breath.


    "Want me to kill him, love?"


    The grey-scaled mutant, who''d been absently keeping Eyeball floating helplessly in the air while staring at Emerald, suddenly turned to him. "As if you could. Your accomplishments are impressive, but you are still a mortal interfering in matters of dragons." The man casually removed the tenner from his other holster, as Emerald turned to Eyeball.


    "Can you do it?"


    Eyeball studied his prospects. If he activated the field, he could grab the knife, throw it, and leave the man, at best, badly injured. It would''ve been easier if he hadn''t let the man take the pistol. Shouldn''t have asked, just done, even if this was one of her uncles. "Even if not, he certainly won''t like the experience."


    She turned to face her father, and took a deep breath. "Do it." Her father looked down at her, then at the helpless Eyeball, confused.


    "Countermeasure, activate." There was an audible series of pops. A series of eight capacitors suddenly triggered; each creating a momentary EM field, disrupting Dairesh''s grasp on Eyeball; and leaving him falling to the ground, reaching down with both hands, hurling forward... a knife, with precise aim, and a fragmentation grenade with decidedly less precision.


    He could see the panic on the man''s face as he reached up a hand, trying to stop the knife in midair, only to see it sail right through... and embed itself in his throat. The grenade, instead, rolled between his legs, stopping behind him. He turned, one hand clutching his throat as blood started pooling down his flesh, staining his kimono a vivid red; and raised one hand. This time, it worked; as the grenade went off, the man took hold of the object; sending most of the debris scattering off away from him into the night as it detonated. His control seemed imperfect, possibly due to the knife wound; a few fragments got away, one neatly slicing his right leg.


    He held his hand up to his own throat, focusing on himself. The bloodflow stopped. The injury was still obvious; the man was clearly greviously wounded; but... he was holding the blood inside his own body, redirecting its flow with his power. He turned to Eyeball, who had taken advantage of his reprieve to grab his handgun... only to suddenly be bodily hurtled away.


    As he flew through the air, Eyeball grimaced. Fuck. He could''ve sworn stabbing the bastard in the throat would do the job. He couldn''t be sure to throw a knife with enough force to pass through a skull, but if he''d known the man would be able to do this bullshit he would have at least aimed for the eye... then he slammed into the wall of the airport hard enough to crack his helmet, and send him, unconscious, to the ground, landing in a limp pile beside the window.


    Emerald turned to watch him go flying off... and screamed, leaping forward at Dairesh. When her father lunged forward to try to stop him, she casually backhanded him, sending him skidding away across the ground, before the telekinetic turned to face her... and grimaced as he kept one hand focused on his throat, the other on her. She was suddenly frozen in midair.


    She''d never been pinned by the telekinetic before. But she could feel it; like a rigid, invisible blanket perfectly matching her body, preventing her from moving anything more  than a miimeter or so. But... it was faltering. The man''s control was imperfect. He was too badly wounded to keep this up for long. She grinned at him. The moment he faltered, he was a dead man. She struggled; knowing that it would take him effort to pin her down, just as if he were holding her down with his own arms. The pain and effort visibly strained the man, who was clearly barely holding it together.


    Suddenly, Emerald felt a sharp pain in her side. She tried to look at it''s source... but her vision was restricted to whatever was directly in front of her. Everything started to go black. Her last thought before unconsciousness claimed her was one of joy; as the telekinetic finally collapsed, a sudden gush of blood fleeing his body as he fell; seemingly having struggled to stay conscious long enough to hold her down.


    Gabriel looked down at Dairesh. The most dangerous tool in the Empress''s armory, a telekinetic who''d slain dozens of her majesty''s enemies, metahuman and non. Very clearly dead. The combat knife embedded in his flesh would''ve been fatal virtually immediately to anyone else. The best even this man''s gifts could do was hold death at bay just a few moments longer.


    He sighed, discarding the syringe in his hand as he leaned down to collect his daughter; she seemed so heavy compared to the last time he''d given her flying lessons. A grown woman. Not as big as her mother; perhaps she hadn''t quite reached her full adult size, despite being in her twenties, or perhaps she was simply smaller thanks to her body needing to stay light enough to fly.


    Light enough to be carried. As Gabriel started to lift off into the sky, he glanced down at the unmoving form of his daughter''s fiance, and considered how hard she''d struck him, moments before. His ribs were bruised. If she''d been trying, she likely could have killed him with those claws.


    If he left her here, then she''d inevitably awaken, and come after them with Eyeball and all of his allies; likely a veritable army. If he took her with him, she would likely challenge the Empress. The Empress would probably try to show off and prove herself still the master of her Empire, greater than any of her children, and that Emerald was just a stepping stone to a greater future; perhaps claiming Emerald''s own children would be the future of the clan.


    The Empress was not long for this world. The only question was whether she''d die at his daughter''s hands, or at the hands of Eyeball. He could kill Eyeball now, while he was unconscious.. but then he''d miss the wedding. Gabriel shook his head, and turned north, hurtling through the night amidst a halo of golden light.

 Dragon Empress - 15 - Tradition

    When Emerald awoke, it was to a sore throat, a headache... and a deep irritation.


    She could feel a sort-of emptiness in her throat; someone had emptied out her glands, probably with a syringe, to pull out the fuel for her firey breath. That emptiness always felt strange, irritating; her body could pull certain amounts of flammable elements from even normal food, so it only normally felt this way after she''d truly gone to town and burned down quite a bit... something she very rarely had call to do.


    That would be bad enough. But even worse? She''d been stripped down to her underwear and left on the bed she''d occupied as a teenager; a few posters, what limited exposure she''d had to the outside world on display with her obsession with an old-school band which had a song called ''DragonForce''. She had a computer; with no internet. Books; all in traditional japanese, most of them almost as old as her great-grandmother.


    Barred windows to keep her from breaking out. An armored door, and walls of solid, ancient stone. More than enough to keep her prisoner.


    Over a decade ago. Over the years, she''d developed a lean, wiry strength; one that had only grown more intense after her time with Eyeball. Her claws were dangerously sharp, her grip strength far better than any normal human... and their attempt to imprison her was doomed to failure.


    She walked up to the door, pressing her claw against the keyhole; and shoved. The outer titanium shell, thin and rigid, snapped; and her claw dug into the softer inner brass. She aimed it at just the right spot, and twisted; the lock snapping, and... she simply turned the handle, opening the door.


    The Dragon Fortress; great-grandmother had to name -everything- after dragons, the silly obsessed old woman... was laid out in a series of squares; the outer wall had its cameras and turrets, protecting it from the outside. Then each square, almost like a ring, was just a bit smaller than the one outside, containing bedrooms, until it reached the central chamber; where everyone ate in a ceremonial fashion, with the Empress on her throne watching over them, and giving out her pronouncements after meals.


    When she was a child, she was told that someday she would be Empress; and her quarters would be in the heart of the fortress. But from here... she could see a long hallway, a left turn... and two guards, both mostly human in appearance; each armed with an ornate spear with a long curved blade; both beautiful and functional; as well as a side-arm. So far, they hadn''t noticed her; focusing on the door to the outside.


    She returned to her dresser; finding, to her surprise, that they had updated her wardrobe; not to her new style, but at least giving her Kimonos of her actual size; and quietly slid on a simple black and red garment before quietly moving out into the hallway; wings folded back, pretending as if she were simply going about her business.


    Of course, it didn''t last long. One of the guards immediately noticed her once she was walking down the carpet; and called out. "Halt! What are you doing out of your room!?" She waved at him as she kept going, as if she were too important to be bothered; but he charged after her... catching up to her right as she reached her objective. Her mother''s room.


    "I must insist that you return to your room immediately, princess. My fellow guard has already notified Salamander, and if you do not return, we will be forced to make you return."


    Emerald glanced at the man; mid-30s, a faint hint of scales around the eyes and throat... probably another of her relatives. So many of them. Probably another hundred of them by now. "Don''t worry. We don''t need Uncle Sal. I just need to get something really fast, then I''m headed off to see the Empress." She simply smashed the man in the face; his helmet caving in, definitely giving him a concussion, possibly killing him as he dropped limply to the ground; and she reached forward, jamming her claw into the lock, twisting... and popped the door open.


    Inside... a room she hadn''t seen much of since she was old enough to walk. She could barely remember her times in this place... but she could remember the cabinet along the wall. Her mother''s custom blend of spirits; toxic to most people. Horrific in flavor. But containing just the right blend to turn her firey breath into napalm.


    Emerald stepped up, grabbing two bottles; and broke the lid off of one; forcing herself to gulp down the vile-tasting, syrupy liquid as she returned to the door; and the second guard was there, handgun raised... clearly uncertain what to do. He was forbidden from shooting or stabbing her. At best, he could try to physically restrain her, or tell her to go back to her room...


    She grimaced at the sudden heartburn, the terrible sensations, as her body sorted out the chemical blend. She could feel the glands refilling as she shattered the first bottle on the floor, and turned to the guard. "I''m heading to the throne. You can get in my way and meet the fate of your friend there, or you can follow. Or just stand there."


    She took a deep breath as she turned down the hallway.. and started to gulp down the second bottle as she resumed walking. More guards had appeared, watching as she approached.. and when she entered the main throne-room, she could see... hundreds of people. Almost her entire extended family, most with some form of scales, or wings. A variety of powerful, capable, intelligent people. A strange lack of children; some were present, but there''d always been more when she''d been a child. Absolutely no way she could fight all of them at once.


    Only a Titan could handle this sort of battle and come out alive.


    She leapt, spreading her wings... and with a few quick flaps, landed at the throne, a few feet above her great-grandmother, her beautiful, ornate dress covering every inch of her body as she knelt there at her food; and turned to look at Emerald; only her face visible as she glowered. "Child. You are not to be here. Your meal will be delivered to your room. Go. Now."


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    Figures started to rise; her mother, visibly glowing with heat and anger. Her father remained in his seat, seemingly smiling. She had moments before dozens of people strong enough to, all together, easily subdue her converged on the throne.


    She reached down, grabbing Hiroshima; an ornate, beautiful, golden hilt... attached to what couldn''t be called a Katana. It could barely even be called a sword; clearly roughly forged from molten scrap. It gave off a red, malevolent glow as she raised it into the air; and even her mother hesitated. She''d seen what the blade could do; how terrible it was to die from its wounds. The only person who''d ever been able to prevent someone from dying to those wounds had been the Empress herself; otherwise, even the slightest cut would lead to someone''s body slowly dissolving from the inside out.


    Emerald turned to the Empress, leveling the blade at her. "Your purpose is at an end; with my coming, it is fulfilled. I challenge you for the throne, and declare myself the first true Dragon Empress. You may submit, you may flee in terror, or, if you feel I am not yet worthy, you may face me." The blade felt... sickening. Uncomfortable. Even holding it in her hands, with no wounds to speak of, felt wrong.


    The narrow sliver of dark-green face went through a mix of emotions. Irritation. Pride. Determination. The woman rose to her feet; stepping up the few steps to her throne; and gripped Nagasaki; the equally vile, poorly-shaped blade coming to life in her arms with its own grim malevolence. "You may be correct. It might be the time for me to step down."


    She discarded the ornate helmet, the long, flowing robes; revealing a set of far sleeker, but still exquisitely made, red-green armor.. and a face that looked... disturbing. Emerald had heard the woman needed continuous surgeries to remove tumors. But she hadn''t seen her great-grandmother''s bare face for so long. Was this... skin cancer? Some sort of illness?


    "Should I defeat you, my child, I will spare your life. You may yet be the Empress the clan needs someday in the years to come." She gave a bow; holding the monstrous weapon with far more respect than it deserved.


    Emerald took a step back on the dais; the throne would be an obstacle on the small, circular platform. But the space was sufficient. Everyone in the clan could witness this, today, as she slew the madwoman who started it all.


    ***


    Eyeball didn''t expect to wake up on the jet. He wasn''t completely certain he was going to wake up at all. Flying backwards through the air, feet off the ground, expecting that he might not wake up again, was... actually a familiar experience. Third time? Third time. The first two, he''d awoken in a military hospital. He shook himself, feeling out his body. Headache? Check. Bruises? Plenty. Nothing broken, though. Fortunate.


    He pulled to his feet, looking out the window at the ocean flying by below; and then turned. One of his guards; technically Family, but not one of the Enforcers; was sleeping in his chair, with the Eyeball chrome helmet in his lap. He casually picked it up, looking at the cracks running down the back of it... and shook his head. Good thing he had spares.


    That Telekinetic was their best, but there was at least one more. He might need to be ready for that. It didn''t last -long-, but if he''d had his handgun on him, it would''ve lasted long enough. Probably. The range might be short enough that the man could''ve caught the bullet after it left the field. He certainly had caught the shrapnel from that frag grenade. The jet, of course, had a Fabricator in the back, loaded up; and as he altered the software in his replacement helmet, a new TK countermeasure started manufacturing itself.


    Wait. Had he killed the guy? Sure, he put a knife in his throat, but he was still up and moving after that... he turned back into the main cabin, shaking the guard awake. "Hey. The grey-scaled idjit I stabbed. Did he survive?"


    At first the man was startled, jerking and reaching for his weapon; but stopped at a firm hand on his wrist. "Ahh... No, sir. When the angel took Emerald away, he was dead. I checked myself, before the Japs took the corpse."


    "Excellent. And we''re headed north?"


    "Of course, sir. Once I was sure you were alive, I loaded you up. We''re headed for the staging area. Be landing in just a few minutes."


    He nodded... and looked back out the window. "...They wouldn''t kill her. Or even hurt her badly. But god knows what they might do. I know full well that they value her, at minimum, in the hopes of having more kids like her. She''s probably perfectly fine. But somehow I still feel like everything''s gone wrong."


    ***


    The office seemed hot and sweaty as Jasmine stepped back and forth, suit having steadily grown more unkempt over the past eight hours, glaring at the most recent stack of print-outs. She should be using a tablet. Or a hologram. But no. Her AI access was cut-off while she was suspended.


    She frowned as she studied the files. This... wasn''t right. According to all of the information, hundreds or even thousands of women had all been delivered... to the same place. All sorts of oddities and bundles in the files, groups of people sent off for sale in some off-the-wall place, even a whole bundle of them sent off to Japan as a single lot, with the same sort of fertility drugs and equipment that the main one got.


    But... this wasn''t a shipment point, it was the end of the line. This one place seemed like it was being setup as a covert fertility clinic, thousands strong, for foreign women? Why would the Han do such a thing? She shook her head. Maybe she should do as Kin suggested. Go investigate in person. Or even go talk to the boss about the secrets around her family and Ragnarok. Or, hell. Actually take a vacation. Maybe it was all the fertility and childbearing talk speaking, but she could see if she could find a speedster that she could stand for more than a few minutes at a time and have some kids. Not like her dad, with all of his sleeping around, making a dozen babies to get paid by the government.


    She blinked. And of course, thats what it is. The US used a carrot, dangled in front of all of its Mutant population; have tons of kids and we''ll pay you handsomely. Most countries did something similar, or even mandated their mutant citizens either contributed eggs/semen, or have a set number of children; China being in that latter category. The simple reality, though, was that the majority of the first-generation mutants when the population really exploded had been in Allied nations, mostly because they moved there after world war 2; and right now, this meant that the European Union and United States had a distinct advantage in how many they carried.


    The idea of abducting thousands of women, locking them up in a breeding camp, pumping them full of hormones and forcibly artificially inseminating them with metahuman semen? Sounded exactly like the sort of thing China would do. In fact, she''d be surprised if there weren''t more than one camp.


    Was she right? Maybe. She should definitely talk to her boss about it. Maybe.... maybe even her family would be interested enough to help, if she called them.

 Dragon Empress - 16 - The Duel

    Drake was not happy. He''d spent years out and about, having fun. Stealing priceless artifacts. Making first millions, then billions of dollars as the world''s greatest professional thief. His powers had taken him far, at first; the ability to bend light; even infrared and UV; around himself, stick to walls and ceilings, meant that he could bypass any security system on earth, given time and patience. He''d been at it for years before they started to develop security systems that could actually track him.


    And here, at home? All that capability wasted. No cameras, no sensors... just a handful of guards with rifles and bored expressions; no-one had ever dared to assault the island, not even when its mistress was off performing truly horrific crimes on the shores of China, and over a century of safety led to some truly lax efforts. Eyeball would be coming by soon, with a small army of powerful metahumans and advanced equipment; and these people would be just... well, not pushovers. Some of these people were truly heavy-hitters.


    As he slowly made his way through the fortress; climbing on walls, walking on ceilings, slipping through open doorways right after a passerby... he stopped for a moment outside what had been his bedroom the day he left; before he made the fateful decision to stop his father. What was it he''d smacked him over the head with? Didn''t matter. The man was dead. And good riddance.


    He thought for a moment about what his girlfriend would think of his current adventure; and decided to bring her back a keepsake. Something fancy, old, and unique, from Japan. She''d made him return the Mona Lisa, so something with less popularity and significance.


    When he reached the hallway with Emerald''s room, he saw... the door wide open. The lock broken. Well, hell. He reached up to his throat, and whispered. "The target has already escaped on her own. Heading for the main hall, I expect to find the Empress''s corpse when I get there."


    He could hear a fair amount of tumult coming from the central chamber; voices, angry and confused. When he reached the door... he could see Emerald and the Empress, standing at the highest point of the room, on the dais the Empress''s throne rested upon. As he entered, the Empress was lifting her sword into the air; was it Hiroshima or Nagasaki? He could never tell the difference.


    Making his way up the wall as quietly as he could; carefully moving around a few hangings and an obnoxiously large painting that definitely wouldn''t have supported his weight; he settled into a corner, bracing himself; and leveled a silenced SMG on the dais. Feeling along his belt, he found a Knockout grenade; double-checking the braile logo on the object he couldn''t see at present.


    While he had the SMG aimed in the right direction, he couldn''t actually see the sight at present; and as such, when the first blows were exchanged, he couldn''t be sure of his aim. Emerald seemed confident; and when the two swords struck, she''d swung with such force the Empress was forced back a few steps; almost slipping on the dress she''d discarded; before bracing herself and stepping back forward.


    Good lord, was she always that ugly? The Empress looked as if something was stretching and distorting her face; the lightly scaled visage distorted, malformed. She hadn''t looked that bad when he was a kid, had she?


    The two were speaking... but softly, not meant to be heard by the crowd. He put the grenade away, then felt through his gear for his headphones; and set them on, amplifying the conversation.


    ***


    "Once I''m gone, speak to your father. He knows the magics you''ll need to lead them." The Empress gave a swipe with the blade, aiming at Emerald''s legs; only for Emerald to almost casually bat it aside; and then topple the older woman with a lash of her tail.


    "You seem very convinced you''re about to lose for someone who is refusing to give up. Surrender. There''s no need to die."


    The woman gave a low growl; as she suddenly lunged to her feet; giving a rapid series of blows, Emerald barely catching them in time. "Just... because I''m doomed doesn''t mean I will ever give up. So long as you hold that sword, I can''t shield myself from your flame. I only live so long as you hold back. Don''t think I can''t smell the gasoline on you. Perhaps I can''t win, but I''ll at least force you to kill me with fire."


    She leapt into the air; bringing her own sword with as much force as she could; which wasn''t enough to drive Emerald back, as she smashed the blade aside; leaving it clattering to the floor. "I do want you dead. And you deserve to die. Not just for what you''ve done to our family. To outsiders as well. If the Chinese knew what you''d done during the war.."


    The Empress glowered at Emerald, as she backed away; and yanked her sword back into her hands, flipping it there with a grip of her own tail. "They know. And they are willing to ignore, for the right motivations. I''ve been dealing with them since before you left. Even more-so, lately. Kill me. Quickly. You need to strike me down for them to believe in you. But each moment you hold that sword is a danger."


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She raised up her own blade in one hand; and made a chant; something deep, guttural, that seemed to echo through the room.. and a beam of light burst from her hand, splashing against Emerald''s blade. "Do it!"


    Emerald glanced at the blade; that it almost seemed as if a protective barrier had formed around it, deflecting the light. It felt wrong. Disgusting. Vile. The stench of death somehow burned into her soul. But at the same time... it was so powerful. Was this a trap? She... didn''t want to die by the sword. But by flame.


    For just a moment, she considered ignoring her great-grandmother''s warning. She thought it might be a trap, that some spell might trigger, somehow binding Emerald to follow the family legacy... she abruptly stepped forward; the cascade of light parting around the blade as she moved in close; and exhaled.


    One moment, the woman stood, intact if sick, blade in hand. The next... she was covered in liquid flame, screaming. She dropped to her knees atop the dais, her clothing, her very flesh burning... and Emerald swung the sword one more time.


    The Empress''s head rolled down the steps; landing on the floor, still burning, much as the rest of her body was. Emerald looked down, following the path as it settled down... and reached down to lift the other sword; holding them both in the air above her. "By rights of blood, I claim the throne. From this day forward, I am the Dragon Empress. You will all swear fealty and loyalty to me. I give you this chance to challenge me, should any wish to try their hand. Any adult who wishes to leave, may do so; Great-Grandmother was wise, and she was capable; but she did not grow with the times, and I will not lead an unwilling band."


    She looked around the room. There was quite a bit of anger; unsurprisingly, her own mother, the Infernal Dragon, was especially angry at this turn of events; while her father seemed... concerned, but happy enough. He was also the first to step up the dais... and kneel at her feet, the golden glow of his strange aura seeming to fill the room. "Of course, my daughter. My arm belongs to the Empress, until death claims me."


    ***


    Eyeball leaned back against his seat. The jet had just landed; officially, they were in Russia now; and it would be time to board the boat heading south soon. Except... apparently, everything was already handled. He''d just gotten word from Ripper that Emerald killed the Empress, and was probably in the process of stepping this down already. He sighed. "Alright, Ripper. When she''s not busy, give her the radio. I''ll be taking a smaller, faster boat south, and... I guess I''ll let these guys know they might not be needed. They''ve already been paid, so most of them will be fine with it. I''ll have em stand by for a bit."


    He rose up, heading out of the jet; and waved at the trio waiting for him outside; Engineer, Clone, and a somewhat confused Butcher; the enormous teen glancing down at Eyeball as he approached. "Heyo, boss! So what kind of fun we got going on today?"


    He sighed. "Probably nothing at all, Butch. Emerald may have handled everything on her own. Want to tag along? Some of her family might still get antsy about her taking over, but I don''t think we''re gonna need a whole army now. Honestly... just me you and the Engineer should have it covered."


    Clone laughed, shaking his head. "And the woman took care of business while the man slept it off, yes? I bet it was easy for her without any of us around."


    "Well. Her brother was there. But she didn''t need him. The way he talks, the old lady was dying anyway, my girl could probably have handled this on her own any time. I suspect the only thing she''ll need help with is figuring out what all her great-grandma was up to all this time."


    ***


    "So, Empress. The most unfortunate news I have is that while I and a few of the others are already inclined to go along with certain reforms, and some of those here were taken against their will and have families to return to... you''re going to have a significant obstacle to making the changes I suspect both of us would prefer."


    Emerald frowned at her father. Most of the others had resumed their breakfast, after the Empress''s body had been quietly hauled away; a burial ceremony would occur that evening. "Frankly, I suspect I''ll have all sorts of obstacles. I mostly want to disband the whole thing; the idea of selectively breeding people towards a goal is, well. We''re not animals. How did she pay the bills here? Why are there so few children?"


    Gabriel sighed... and sat down on the dais itself, facing the wall; giving Ripper a small wave; the blue-scaled reptilian waved back far more hesitantly. "First off... At first, she was paid by the royal family. A bit of money, enough that the Empress has certain investments that cover the bills, as well as a fishing business. A modest amount has been coming in, even in modern times; she''s no billionaire, but the island has more than enough money to make do. She has, however, been sterile ever since shortly after world war two... and all of us, while long-lived, seem to become infertile younger than we should."


    He grimaced. "There''s a small... home of sorts on the island, where surrogates live. The Empress made an agreement with them; giving them any metahuman children who did not carry the traits she sought... in exchange for providing surrogate mothers and fertility medications. She preferred the old fashioned way, but natural births have become more and more rare among our people on the island. She''d even seen doctors in Japan about it covertly to confirm her own infertility and that of some of her closest advisors."


    "Surrogates. Are they paid for their services, or more of those taken against their will? We can easily get them back to their families."


    "The Chinese still expect the children the old Empress promised them. And... these women no longer have a will."


    Emerald settled the two swords into the sheathes built into the throne before pulling to her feet. She... immediately felt better. Still a bit queasy, but better. Great-grandmother had been right about the swords. "What do you mean? Were they altered by a telepath? Drugged and brainwashed?"


    "No. Apparently such processes are too expensive and time-consuming. All of them have been lobotomized. Apparently its... standard practice for the surrogates they use."

 Dragon Empress - 17 - Surrogates - Inspection

    The building looked... out of place. most of the structures on the island were ornate and done in a style befitting the Japan of centuries ago; this particular building... was like a hastily thrown-together sheet metal structure built into a hillside. The guards outside bowed at the approach of Emerald and her father; two men, both offshoots of the Imperial line; scales, tails... just two more of the numerous reptilian descendants of the fallen Empress.


    The inside... had a wide open space. Dozens of beds; and women. All pregnant to various degrees, some sitting, eating. Others lying there, staring at whatever happened to be in their line of sight. None of them responded at all to the entrance of the dragoness and the angel. Two men, both in dark green jumpsuits, were guiding women up a flight of stairs; speaking slowly, calmly, advising them where to go, giving them constant quiet reminders. A man in a labcoat and surgical mask was taking a blood sample from one of the women who was lying down; and glanced up as Emerald entered the room.


    He gave a short bow. "Your highness. I have been told that you are now the Empress. As I obeyed your great-grandmother, so I shall obey you. May I finish performing my examinations?"


    Emerald looked at the woman he was checking. A distinct scar on her forehead; but otherwise pretty enough. A heavily pregnant hispanic woman, her hair cut short, likely having been completely shaved off at some point. She looked... listless. A faint trace of drool running down her cheek.


    She turned to the doctor. "What exactly are you checking?" She noticed the woman appeared to have a small metal socket implanted where the man had drawn blood.


    "Making sure she''s absorbing nutrients properly. We also download data from the implants daily, and charge them. Basic things like heartbeat we always get, but it keeps a detailed analysis we can check when we need to. She''s carrying triplets, so of course we need to be careful."


    Emerald grimaced. She felt more sick than she had with the swords. "..The lobotomies. Any chance they''d be reversible?"


    He sighed, and gently brushed his hand along the poor woman''s hair. "Not really, Empress. Your great-grandmother had us check on that when the first group were delivered years ago. The Chinese have this down to an art. Speech centers, conscious thought... all gone. The first one we tried ended up even worse off than she was before. The second... essentially a helpless infant in a broken adult body. Almost able to remember indescribable horrors, but unable to ever really understand them or speak of them. She eventually managed to kill herself."


    He set the syringe into a machine nearby for the next stage of the testing. "These women can understand their native language, sort-of, and obey some very basic commands. They can feed themselves, and don''t soil themselves; they''ll find their own way to a bathroom, if its clearly labeled.. But... they can''t dress themselves, don''t remember anything but what they were just told moments ago, and any trace of who they once were... is gone."


    He gently squeezed the woman''s wrist. "Go to the stairs." He nodded at her. The woman gave a vacant smile; and pulled to her feet. One of the men in the coveralls started to gently escort her upstairs.


    "So... she didn''t want them like this?"


    "No. She didn''t know they''d be arriving like this until they were here. I don''t know what she expected, but... this surprised her. She told me... that when she was younger, the man she''d been besotted with, one of the Emperor''s cousins I believe, had led her to show the Chinese what true horror was, to try to make them fear us. That she''d briefly believed the fear and torment she and the other Japanese had given out to the Chinese population had surpassed anything anyone would ever accomplish; and that they would speak of our people with abject terror for eternity, and never dare stand against us."


    He turned to another of the surrogate women; she wasn''t Hispanic, but Emerald wasn''t familiar with her ethnicity. At the moment, she wasn''t certain it mattered; this poor girl would never be able to tell her who her family was, if they still lived. "When General Zhou explained the process, and how they were funneling these ''Refugee'' women through it hundreds at a time? She told me after that, perhaps, she had gone too far. That she believed there was something broken about any people who could do such things."


    As the new woman was gently settled into place, and he began drawing blood, he shook his head. "But no. However bad it might be. Whatever dark torments are being unleashed across the ocean from us... my ancestors have done worse. She did worse. Our German allies back in the day? Did far worse. This is nothing new. Its just... evil.


    ***


    When he thought of ''Crossing the ocean'' to go to another country, Eyeball always thought of the vast distances between North America and Europe, or Australia. The kind of voyage that would take many hours, or even days, by boat. Even though this other island wasn''t technically part of any country, and he''d started off, of course, on just another of the islands owned by Russia... the idea of making such a crossing in less than an hour seemed absurd.


    Though, Clone had told him this wasn''t really the ocean; rather the ''Sea of Okhotsk''. Still. Seemed like a bunch of nonsense. He felt keeping the men prepared for a fight was a good idea; even if they seemed to have rolled over easily, that could change. Who knew; the Empress might have some twisted spell to bring herself back to life, or some such.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The boat settled in on the docks next to a pair of fishing boats; old, well-worn, the crews looked at Eyeball with suspicion as he leaped over the side and landed on the docks... almost sliding on the slick surface right off the other side, barely catching himself on a post. His foresight managed to make it almost look intentional; but clearly it had been a mistake.


    When Butcher leapt, however... he smashed right through the wooden docks, into the water, his arms upraised by the hole he''d just made in the wood. The massive, black and red armored figure thrashed about for a bit, sending splinters of wood in every direction... before he grumbled, ducked under the dock, and waded the rest of the way to shore as the fishermen stared after him.


    The Engineer, for his part, leapt with precision; neatly avoiding the hole Butcher had made. He was wearing the same grey labcoat the original Engineer had, with the new silver-red body-armor beneath it, and transitioned from ship to dock to dirt without a moment''s problem, virtually skating along the slippery surface.


    Eyeball shook his head, and waved at Clone as he tied up the ship, before looking up... at the fortress.


    It was a beautiful scene; in the bright noon light he could see groves of cherry trees with white and pink blossoms, what seemed like a quaint village surrounding the structure... while it looked similarly ornate, with antique japanese-style roofing and paint... there were anti-tank turrets mounted on the roof. Nice ones; and new. No simple kinetic weaponry there; one might be a railgun, while another might actually be a plasma weapon! Ridiculously expensive. Maybe even able to take out Butcher.


    Two guards; each with an SMG at his waist, wearing a set of ornate armor and a long bladed spear.. a ''Naginata'', apparently... approached the dock; and stopped a short distance away, giving a brief bow. "Lord TitanSlayer, betrothed of the Empress. I am here to guide you to the Perch of the Dragon."


    Eyeball blinked, and shook his head in bemusement. "Engineer, Butcher. Come along. Our friend has been busy without us."


    As they approached the fortress, he could see the villagers; mostly looking like ordinary Japanese folk, wearing modern garb, without any of the ancient symbolism of the guards or buildings. The buildings had electricity; a cell phone tower was easily visible. It seemed that while they made efforts to keep up ancient appearances, they were also fine with modern conveniences.


    The fortress gates were just as impressive as the cannons; solid Tungsten alloy slab by all appearances, with concrete around it... most likely much of this fancy design was a facade over an armored bunker. Those gates, at least, would survive a nuke hitting the island... if they were closed.


    The guards stopped at the door; with Emerald there to greet them, smiling... a man who looked like an angel standing beside her, tall, powerfully built, looking like a 30-year-old bodybuilder.. or actor.. with feathered wings that had a faint glow to them. Eyeball glanced at the man, then at Emerald. It was hard to pickup visual cues with the helmet, but she was used to it by now.


    "This... is my father, Gabriel. He''s in his sixties. We had a bit of a strained relationship, but its on the mend. My mother looks like a bigger, stronger version of me, without the wings. Avoid her if you see her; I actually have a bit of hope we can get through this without killing her."


    The winged man nodded. "Well, I''m fond of her myself." He glanced at Eyeball. "I have dozens of children by half a dozen women. Once Emerald was born, she wanted me and her mother to have more... but, well. Her mother eventually became barren. I wouldn''t say I ever loved her, more than the others... I only really love my children... but I wouldn''t want her hurt any more than need be."


    "Gabriel. Look like an angel, named Gabriel."


    "All of my siblings were born with wings. My sister and brother... Jophiel and Michael. Also named after angels. I joked that Michael should have been named Lucifer quite a few times."


    They headed further into the fortress; the walls... were thick. He could see stairs leading down into the depths; at least three more floors below, and several above. This place... was enormous. Attacking it would be a nightmare. "So, we''re going to lunch?"


    "Its a bit of a tradition. The family all gets together for meals when possible.. though only those who are part of the ''plan'' are allowed. Your betrothed has changed that; any on the island are welcome, today, and none are required to attend. Some of the villagers came here for breakfast... and hadn''t seen inside the fortress for over a decade."


    As they continued to advance, more guards bowed... and stepped into their path. "My Empress. The fallen Empress had decreed guns and technology were not to be allowed in the throne room except by specific permission of the Empress herself. You may, of course, decree these individuals allowed to enter if you so choose. Otherwise, the one with the cybernetic eyes will not be allowed to enter, and the others will need to disarm."


    Emerald chuckled. "This is my fiance. In all things, he speaks with my voice." She nodded at the giant. "Butcher is a close personal friend. I trust him more than my own father. And the other..." She glanced at Eyeball. "I don''t really know. Is he trustworthy?"


    Eyeball blinked... and turned to Engineer. "... He is hiding all sorts of things, but when he gives his word, he keeps it."


    The Engineer stepped forward; gave a short, precise, bow. "I have already agreed, under no circumstances, to harm yourself, Empress. And for today, I will also agree not to harm anyone in this structure unless someone attempts to harm me first."


    "Then you may enter."


    The Engineer gave a nod in response. "Of course. May I return to the boat for proper radiation shielding first? I am uncertain how long we intend to remain in this room, and don''t wish to receive more harm than needed."


    Emerald looked at the cyborg as if he were a lunatic. "Radiation shielding? Why would you need..."


    Eyeball blinked... and frowned, taking a step forward into the room, past the guards. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he could hear... a faint clicking sound. His helmet popped up with a radiation symbol. The built-in geiger counter had activated. Not at a fatal level, yet. But at one that ordinary humans shouldn''t spend too long at without proper protective gear. His armor... was mediocre against radiation. He''d be fine, short-term, but long-term...


    "Sweetheart... why is your throne room radioactive?"

 Dragon Empress - 18 - The root of the problem

    Emerald stood back in the hallway, gripping her shoulders, staring into the throne room; the recently evacuated throne room. The whole clan had been gathered around eating lunch, just about, and she''d been sitting on the dais until a guard warned her Eyeball was coming. She''d been making plans. Deciding what to do, how to handle this. A good step-by-step operation to either disband the Dragon Empire entirely, or leave it in less hostile hands.


    A plan on having a wedding in this very room. Maybe inviting Nicky, Rosa, a few of her friends from the states. Probably not Penelope; she might make a scene.


    And, of course, it was all falling apart. Her great-grandmother had left so many problems behind. The Empire had ongoing obligations due to its connection with, of all things, human trafficking; and a small army of unfortunate women who''d been lobotomized. Who... well, really they''d been murdered, and their corpses turned into living incubators. Which might just be barely aware enough to feel horror at what had happened to them.


    And the reason for that?


    As Eyeball and the Engineer slowly circled the room, commenting to each other, it became clear the source of the radiation was the throne itself. She didn''t need to hear that, however. She''d realized the truth almost instantly; it was baked right into the names.


    Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Two swords forged in death, which would carry only death with them, wherever they went.


    The family''s infertility? Her great-grandmother''s tumors? Radiation sickness, obviously. Perhaps she''d never realized; or, even worse, had known and been one of those idiots that thought radiation exposure to cause mutations was a good idea; the sort of nutjob that would point to the various superheroes and villains radiation had caused over the years; while glossing over the fact that radiation was far more likely to kill you, and even in the extremely unlikely event it gave you powers, probably leave you sterile.


    She''d actually thought about keeping the swords; giving one to Eyeball as a wedding present and using the other herself. They''d already killed a Titan together; with those swords, they would be unstoppable. Maybe reforge them, so they didn''t look quite so ugly. But then... something so dirty, so dangerous... maybe it should look ugly.


    When the two men... or the man and the cyborg, at least.. emerged from the chamber, the Engineer immediately raised his wrist; and a 3D hologram of the room appeared over his hand.. with a faint red mist filling it... becoming a solid red orb around the throne. "The radiation appears to be centered on the throne itself. Based on the pattern, which, if you examine closely, is actually two overlapping spheres with the greatest intensity at the throne itself between them, it likely emerges from the swords. The overall readings indicate a hazardous but not immediately fatal level. I would highly recommend avoiding greater than a few hours of exposure for a healthy adult, though symptoms would likely require days or weeks to become fatal for them, repeated low-level exposure could easily cause a variety of illnesses. A sufficiently durable metahuman such as yourselves could very well survive for months or years, but I would still recommend against it."


    Two of the guards, and Gabriel, were standing in the hallway nearby, listening... and staring at the diagram. Gabriel frowned, and settled his fingertip in the midst of the hologram. "I''ve sat right there, for probably an hour or so a day, for almost thirty years."


    He turned to Emerald. "If you hadn''t left, you''d probably be infertile yourself by now. If Drake hadn''t saved you from his asshole father... Anyone who remained here..." He glanced back into the room. "Would removing the swords help?"


    "The room itself is mildly irradiated now; all of the stone within it will be somewhat hazardous. Removing the swords will help, but it would be best to remove the walls, floors, and furniture afterward, preferably maintaining excellent ventilation throughout to keep air contamination to a minimum."


    Gabriel laughed. "Most of this stonework is over a century old. It will be a shame to see it go, but... "


    Emerald chuckled. "It will make a fitting tomb. We can bury her, and the swords, with the room she dwelled in. Who was in charge of such construction projects?"


    "Ahh.. Dairesh, Empress. He could handle the smaller things himself with a truly ridiculous speed, and for larger projects he would have a crane brought in. His children, Corinth and... Dairesh... are capable, but not as capable. They worked on the last project with their father."


    She blinked. "Ahh. Collect them for me. And..." She glanced at Eyeball. "Get whatever radiation sickness treatments you can shipped out here. All of us in the clan have been exposed to far too much."


    ***


    Ripper frowned as he clung to the wall of the fortress, looking out over the fields; two of the local families were farmers, and while the island could more than afford to import everything, the fallen Empress liked to keep enough growing to supply them, should they be forced to isolate themselves from the world; both with fruit, and of course, with fish; they were the only ones allowed to fish near the island, and were not averse to causing... problems for others who drifted too close.


    The field was... peaceful. Quiet. He could hear the grinding of stone, the working of mallets; inside the building, a team was already working at breaking the stone into slabs small enough for the telekinetics to move; and the swords were... gone. Buried with the Empress.


    He''d dreamed of wielding them, once. There was a certain level of disappointment at their fate when the first stone slab had been laid over the hole they now occupied. But... he was quite possibly the only guy in his immediate family that could still have kids. And intended to remain that way until time to retire; whether it was his current girl or not. He didn''t buy into the eugenics nonsense, that they were a carefully selected chosen people; picked out for intelligence, capability, and of course dragon-like traits.


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    Speaking of women.... he frowned. Infernal. His aunt, Emerald''s mother. She was talking to Uncle Sal next to one of the farming equipment sheds. He hopped down from the wall; remaining unseen as he slid quietly along the fence; stopping just within earshot as he turned up his headphones to amplify.


    Infernal''s voice; gruff, but still distinctly feminine; "No, it isn''t enough. But. My daughter doesn''t have it in her. Even if we have to start over from square one, thats what we need to do. But. We shouldn''t have to. I''ve made the best choices from the available children. I can have them on the boat within the hour."


    "Then I''ll be waiting. The doctors are on board with the plan. We''ll be on the boat."


    "Are you sure the location is good?"


    "Its no island, but I own it, free and clear... under an assumed name over thirty years old. But there are areas up there that haven''t had a human visitor since before the Empress was born, and I own a plot surrounded by them. It will be a struggle. But we can make it work. Honestly, I''ve been making bug-out plans for a long time now. I thought at some point the Chinese would be coming in to kill her. Having her killed by one of our own..."


    As the two started to walk away, Ripper grimaced. Well, hell. If they wanted to go, that was fine. More power to them. Even taking the doctors along was fine. But abducting some of the children to go with? That couldn''t end well; and he certainly couldn''t let them go. Probably best to sabotage the boat, or... well, actually, probably best to call for backup and stop them from ever getting there.


    He backed off a few meters, letting the one he was following; Infernal; pull ahead of him, as he activated his mic. "This is Ripper, calling for backup. We have folks planning to leave as expected, but Infernal seems to be planning to take some kids with her to continue the work. How do we want to handle it?"


    A momentary pause. He kept moving; gently weaving under a cart-full of vegetables that was currently standing still as its owner talked with a neighbor, keeping an eye on the departing reptilian woman and her vivid red body-armor.


    "Ripper, this is Eyeball. For the moment, wait and see. Apparently she has a few kids she adopted, some actually related, some from the surrogates. The boss-lady says that if she sticks with them, we just wish her goodbye. If she grabs anybody else''s kids, we follow her. However she leaves, if you could just stick a tracker on her boat and keep us updated, please."


    "Uncle Sal is going with her, along with some of the doctors." For just a moment, Infernal looked behind her suspiciously. Ripper remained under the cart for the moment as she turned down the path for the fortress; easy enough to follow her there, and the sounds of demolition work would easily overwhelm his own movements. "This is an at least mildly organized attempt to continue the work."


    This time, Emerald''s voice came on the line. "Just get a tracker on them, Drake. If they try to abduct somebody else''s kids, we''ll handle them. If they only take people who want to go... we''ll let them go."


    Ripper nodded thoughtfully as he watched Infernal heading into the fortress. Unless Infernal had been adopting kids specifically based on who could best contribute to the work, she was probably going to be doing some abductions. God knows what or who they''d be taking with her. Were they stealing one of the fishing boats as well, or did they have their own boat waiting to pick them up? Ugh. He''d probably have to follow her for hours to get a chance to put a tracker on her. Everyone loved imagining being invisible; many had talked about how jealous they were of his power; but never thought about how much of a pain dancing around people, sliding under tables, avoiding touching things, all while remaining perfectly silent, would be.


    ***


    "So. At this point we''re talking about tens of thousands of women who have been lobotomized and are being used as brood mothers to make China''s next generation of metahumans. Based on what we have here, probably a fine blend of Tibetan, Uyghur, Mexican, and Korean. There have to be multiple facilities, and while I''m sure it doesn''t have official approval, senior leadership has to be involved for something this large-scale to keep going on, so some military support will be nearby."


    The Engineer, of course, seemed perfectly calm as he relayed the information. Emerald''s hands were digging into the arms of her chair, claws turning the hardwood into splinters, Butcher seemed dumbfounded, and Eyeball was pacing back and forth anxiously, glancing at Emerald, then out the door of her room; he''d figured he might see her teenage bedroom at some point, but not using it as a meeting place for, essentially, a council of war. Which is what Emerald made it sound like.


    "Thank you. Now. Obviously, they aren''t all going to be together, so multiple facilities that will need to be struck fairly swiftly. And there will be kids there, kids we want to get out alive. So... how do we stop it?"


    Eyeball glanced at the Engineer. Obviously the machine wouldn''t risk exposure; it seemed completely unconcerned about actions at sea, but actions on land... "Well. I happen to have a small army of family, mercenaries, and some fairly advanced tech available. If we can find our targets..."


    Butcher slapped his hands together with enough force to send a painful ripple through the air. "This... is monstrous. Couldn''t we just let the world know? Surely someone would come in to stop this."


    Eyeball let out a long sigh. "No. If we do figure out a way to stop this, we''ll be passing by concentration camps with mass graves of those who are actively being worked to death to do it. Countries don''t care about monstrous, or good, or evil. Just whatever''s good for them."


    The Engineer turned to Eyeball and gave a... smile? It looked more like a grimace. "The people of those countries care. The oligarchs in charge don''t. A petty distinction, perhaps, but one that seems important. Even the Chinese themselves have to hide what they are doing from their own citizens, and lie about it constantly."


    Emerald interjected, rising to her feet and leaving a pile of broken bits of wood on the floor. "..Are you suggesting making it public and just hoping these people will stop after a popular outcry?"


    "Of course not. I''m suggesting we destroy the facilities, rescue who we can, and also make it public to minimize any backlash and cause as much damage to them as possible."


    She sighed. "I''d love to. But we don''t even know where these facilities are. And we''d need to do it fast. If there are, say, four facilities, the first one we strike will have the full force of the Chinese military move to guard the other three."


    Eyeball chuckled, shaking his head. "We won''t have a problem with that at all. In fact.. I bet we could even get them to give us a guided tour, with the right incentive. Do we still have the contact information for this.. General Zhou character your great-grandmother dealt with?"

 Dragon Empress - 19 - Pursuit - Negotiation

    Ripper stared at the crowd hustling onto the cramped fishing boat. This was ridiculous. There was no way they could possibly expect to get away with this. The doctors were leading some of the lobotomized women out towards the docks, Infernal was tossing children aboard as some of the guards were helping load... He shook his head. "Boss, these idiots don''t just have children who don''t belong to them. They''ve got some of the surrogates as well. They''re rushing the load, I''d recommend getting out here immediately. I''ve already got a tracker on their boat, but god knows where these lunatics plan on heading."


    He stepped towards the boat, considering how best to just sabotage it on the spot, make sure it couldn''t get anywhere... when he heard a sudden sharp ''crack'' sound. Another. Was that shooting?


    He looked back at the Fortress... a building well over a century old, though one which had various add-ons and changes over the decades since its founding. The whole thing was falling apart; he could see a wall caving in, collapsing onto the room inside, as people were screaming, running away from the structure; and an enormous cloud of dust and smoke rose from the building, as the Clan gathered around, already working to move rubble, drag people out.


    His radio had gone silent. Eyeball never responded to his message about the evacuation. As Salamander emerged from the dust, enormous dark-scaled head down, running, as many of the unpowered people were, away from the collapse, he turned towards the boat... which was already starting to take off.


    Ripper cursed... and ran a few steps behind Salamander. When his uncle leapt onto the boat, Ripper ran behind; and latched onto the side, his palms and toes adhering to the metal more firmly than most could grip a solid ladder. He turned back to look at the building... Hell. Emerald would be fine, right? She was with Eyeball, and Butcher. Between the two of them, they could take care of anything. Ugh. Alright.


    As the boat started to move out under power, he reached through his grenades, grabbed an EMP, and climbed across the side til he reached the engine; not finding any good places to wedge the object in place, he grimaced, held it out at arm''s length, and pulled the pin.


    An audible pop. A faint smell of burning flesh from his hand as he dropped the red-hot chunk of metal in the ocean, and he absently stuck the two burned fingers in his mouth as he heard the engine grinding to a halt. He glanced back to the shore. Not even a quarter mile out. Should he swim back? No... these old diesel engines could very well be revived; most likely whatever he''d just killed likely wasn''t absolutely necessary for it to keep running.


    He needed to get inside and stuff a frag grenade or something in the engine room... somewhere it wouldn''t kill any of the kids. Or the surrogates. He sighed, as he carefully moved up the side of the ship, alighting on the deck... a deck absolutely crammed with women, guards, and an extremely irate-looking Infernal.


    He hopped from the side of the boat to a nearby crate, shaking it in a way he hoped no-one noticed.. and managed to land directly behind Infernal as she opened the door and started heading down. He brushed her tail, just barely, but she didn''t seem to notice; likely assuming it was one of the various mob assembled on-deck.


    Heading down the stairs, he timed his steps to line up with hers; someone up top slamming the door behind him. Fortunately, Infernal seemed to be headed down to the engine; likely to talk to whoever maintained it. Probably to complain, or try to strong-arm him into working faster.


    When the engine room door creaked open, this time it slammed right behind her; he stopped, grimacing as he studied the area. Only one way in? Check One extremely noisy way in? Check. And if he started a fire in there, it might well kill the kids that were on the boat. He needed to directly damage the motor itself, without being spotted.


    ...Or maybe he could be spotted? If he set off a couple of fragmentation grenades inside the engine room, he''d damage the engine, kill the repairmen... and probably seriously piss off Infernal. Hopefully he could get off the boat and swim for shore before she realized what was going on.


    He took a deep breath, lifting two of his three frag grenades; the baseball-sized projectiles smoothly fitting each palm, as he got ready, setting his hand on the door.


    Suddenly, it shoved open; slamming him against the wall, and sending the two grenades scattering off in either direction. Infernal looked down for a moment, in confusion. Ripper stared down at the grenades... dropping the pins, as Infernal shut the door, reaching down to grab one, clearly wondering just what it was.. and both went off within fractions of a second, sending hundreds of bits of superheated shrapnel flying down the hallway with a pair of rapid-fire bangs.


    ***


    Being able to see a few seconds into the future is amazing for avoiding an incoming bullet, arrow, or even possibly an artillery shell. When it comes to the roof collapsing on top of you... it lets you panic for an extra few seconds, grab your loved ones.. and get crushed in the darkness anyway. Eyeball saw it coming; he heard the first loud crack, and caught a faint, acrid scent in the air; his helmet notified him of a strange chemical, the filter activating.


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    Then... he saw the roof shove the outermost wall down and crush him beneath it. He had time to grab Emerald and move for a spot where there''d be at least some gap... but ended up in the doorway, crushed against it by a slab of stone, with Emerald confused and crushed up against his side. Everything was darkness; what little air he could breathe was filled with dust and smoke as his helmet cracked, the seal broken.


    He could feel pain, sweat, and fear... and for a moment, it seemed likely that he and Emerald were both going to die there in darkness; he coughed, but his chest couldn''t expand; just a soft chuff sound as his body tried and failed to expel some of the dust he''d inhaled. Emerald looked up at him, straining against the rock; only for her muscles to give out, compressing the two together.


    For a time, he thought this was it. That after a long career of stupid decisions leading to terrible injuries, it wouldn''t be a mistake that led to his death... but a building collapse. He didn''t want to be crushed to death. Suffocating in darkness, barely able to move. He definitely didn''t want Emerald to die that way. He pushed against the rock. Moving it was impossible. But he had to try. He couldn''t just....


    Suddenly... a massive grinding sound. The crunching of rock, the squealing of something metal being subject to truly insane forces and forced to give until it twisted and broke.


    Light. He still couldn''t breathe, crushed between two rocks, but the roof was just... gone. Butcher stood there, his black armor scratched and dusty, a rock the size of a house held over his head; which he looked around for a moment to find a safe place to toss before settling on hurling it off towards the ocean.


    When the giant teenager grabbed hold of one of the rocks pinning the couple and casually pulled it aside; the rock actually breaking apart under the enormous pressure exerted against it, shards flying into the air over his shoulder; the breath Eyeball took was... incredible. The gift of life itself, as he struggled to pull himself up from the pile of gravel and fist-sized stones that he and Emerald were buried in.


    He and Emerald were settled atop the rock, coughing; Eyeball looked at Butcher, giving a thumbs-up sign, unable to speak for the moment, before the boy nodded and turned to the rest; bodily grabbing any rock he came across and hurling it off into the ocean.


    When Eyeball finally caught his breath, he turned to Emerald; at a quick glance, she was mostly okay.... but her wings were definitely broken. He grimaced as he looked at them; the beautiful, delicate bone structure supporting the surprisingly powerful muscles was shattered, twisted, and bent at the wrong angles; he could actually see a bit of protruding bone through the scaly skin.


    She was barely holding it together; visibly restraining herself from reaching back to touch those wings, as Eyeball studied them for a moment, and knelt beside her. "Sweetheart. We can recover. We can find out who did this, and stop them. But we need to get out of here so they can clear rubble... and we need help. I''m going to call the mercs I hired. May I call the Japanese? I suspect Minister Kono can arrange something."


    Emerald glanced at him. She''d always considered herself Japanese. All this about being bastard royalty was just a contrivance of her great-grandmother''s, anyway. "...Yes. If they''ll help, I''d be glad to take it. People are dying right now."


    ***


    Hundreds of miles away, sitting on a simple stone bench overlooking a pond covered with blossoms floating gently in the breeze, His Majesty sat, sipping a cup of tea, considering the information he''d been given recently. The sins of his family, the mistakes of the past, and the vagaries of fate.


    The image the Minister had sent did have distinctively Draconic traits, of course. Granted, the images in the paintings here in the palace didn''t generally show wings; but rather a snake-like form that flew through the air without any power but magic. The story, as told him by his father, had been simple; the Empire had known for centuries that people were, rarely, born with strange powers, and that magic was a real thing. There had been a group dedicated to dealing with them for centuries; and after the second world war, that group now mostly had magic or powers itself.


    Some scaly girl had claimed to be a dragon; something which, at the time, was considered a myth, but a plausible one; monsters and magic, while rare, were real, after all. Seduced one of his great-uncles, and had a child. Girl and child were banished, and generally all knowledge of the event was concealed. But... they were still family. And... that was a flying dragon, as well as one of his blood relatives. A fire-breathing flying dragon. The stories of his great-uncle made no mention of wings, or firey breath.


    The ancient myths of dragons had to have been based on something. Was this woman a century ago telling the truth, a member of some ancient, dying, dragon clan seeking to revitalize itself by joining with his? Unlikely. But, considering the things that had emerged over the years, not impossible.


    He glanced up. Minister Kono was waiting at the door, and one of his servants was kneeling a few meters away, waiting. The Emperor was no longer the ruler of Japan. It was not an Empire; but... he did have a great deal of influence. If he truly wished to turn it back into an Empire, it would not be beyond him. He made a gesture.


    Minister Kono stepped forward, and bowed. "Emperor. The woman of which we spoke has called, requesting  assistance. The Dragon has taken over her clan from her great-grandmother with her passing, and rebels against her rule have caused significant damage before fleeing; and either took their doctors with them or killed them on the way out. She is requesting assistance digging survivors from the rubble, and medical aid. She will deal with the rebels herself, but would like assistance minimizing the loss of life."


    His Majesty gave a small smile. Appropriate. What she was requesting would fit neatly within the agreement her clan had with the Emperor of old. "Have doctors, construction equipment, and emergency supplies delivered at once. If the Prime Minister disagrees, use my personal funding for the project and inform me. Have a naval vessel and soldiers on station as well. I will be visiting in person."


    "Of course, Emperor. The individual known as ''Eyeball'' is also present and is the Dragon''s betrothed. I am not certain we can supply sufficient protection to secure your personal safety. Considering the past exploits of this group, at best we could hope to remove them after they had done irreparable harm."


    "Then perhaps we''d best ensure they remain allies, yes?"

 Dragon Empress - 20 - Recovery - Deception

    Eyeball had been impressed by Emerald on many occasions in the past; but this one was exceptional. Two doctors were very carefully, precisely, lining up the bones in her wings, working the powerful muscles into position, binding them, in a process that was likely just like what he''d gone through when they set his broken left arm a few minutes before; only rather than just two broken bones as Eyeball had, there were dozens. The process would undoubtedly be agonizing. Those wings were sensitive, and had so many delicate bones.


    He grimaced each time he heard a subtle pop, and Emerald''s face just barely changed expressions; but the entire time, she sat on the throne; well, her temporary one; and continued talking to the gentleman in the hardhat.


    "While most of the structure was sound, a metahuman with a significant amount of superhuman strength went through the support pillars. He created cracks... and poured acid into these cracks. It''s something that he''s done before, while working elsewhere. My uncle has exceptional ability as a human wrecking ball and has destroyed buildings, bunkers... a variety of structures."


    The man sighed, looking at the pile of rubble. "So we won''t be attempting to repair the structure at all? There''s so much of it left..."


    "No. Much of the structure is well over a century old, so anything you can ensure is still solid I''d like to re-use; but the supports will all be useless. For now, just make sure none of my people are buried. The assistance in rebuilding is, of course, appreciated, but at best we will be building a new structure beside the old, using some of the old for raw materials."


    The man gave a short bow, and turned, heading back to the site; where a team was working through the smaller pieces of rubble, with Butcher still stepping in now and again to move the support pillars themselves when exposed; as strong as he was, the millions of stones making up the pile were simply too numerous for him to lift with his hands.


    Emerald turned to Eyeball; gritting her teeth as another bone was set into place. "How are you feeling?"


    He glanced at her wings. "Better than you, love. Good enough to do some killing, if need be, though I''ll be doing it with one hand. I''ll make the call to General Zhou and we can start the ball rolling on it."


    "But... we need to retrieve the children. And stop my mother. And... kill Uncle Sal." She winced. "That''s going to be a tough nut to crack."


    Eyeball shrugs. "It would be, but we''ve already got a nutcracker. They''re driving an old fishing boat with an equally old engine. The Engineer and a group of mercs will be waiting for them when they get off the docks."


    She tilted her head a moment in confusion. "..Don''t mean to insult your friends, but can he handle the Salamander?"


    "You remember the first time I fought the Green Knight?"


    Emerald blinked. "Yes? What does that have to do with anything?"


    ***


    The boat settled into dock almost an hour later than planned; Infernal was intensely angry and had barely restrained herself from incinerating one of the mechanics; they needed both of them to get it up and running as quickly as possible. Apparently the computer system hooked up to the motor wasn''t required to run it; but optimized things. Gave it the best fuel efficiency and speed. They had been able to bypass it in minutes, but it ran slow, and used almost twice as much diesel; there was some serious concern it might not make it all the way to their destination; a Chinese fishing village where they already had a couple of rented trucks waiting for them.


    Infernal glanced around at the dock, frowning, and pulled her hood over her head; she was wearing an improvised robe made from a grey tarp, roughly cut and tied to mostly conceal her scaled form.. and when she looked back, she rolled her eyes... Salamander had simply hopped out onto the dock, yanked the chain into place, and was visible, plain as day, an enormous mass of obsidian scales wearing a simple pair of athletic shorts.


    Infernal walked towards a small shack at the end of the dock; there was supposed to be someone waiting to tie up the boat and give them the truck keys. Maybe they''d left after waiting longer than expected for the boat? She made sure to avoid using her badly maimed right hand when she reached for the knob... holding a grenade when it went off was bad even for the super-durable.. Where would the keys...


    When she started to open the door of the shack, she only had a moment to respond; not nearly enough; as an enormous blade hacked through the sheet-metal door, her shoulder, most of her torso, and right through her pelvis; leaving her stunned and gruesomely bisected as she collapsed to the ground.


    The massive black-armored figure; looking something vaguely like a medieval knight; emerged from the shack, stomping brutally on her torso, a disgusting squelch of boots moving through intestines as he moved out onto the dock.


    Salamander stared for a moment. At first, he was too shocked to respond. He''d known Infernal for decades. She''d been a friend, a rival, occasional bedmate, especially during the early days before they''d both known they were infertile. And... she was in half. She was still alive, for the moment, but definitely not for long, as what was left of her twisted on the docks.. in her dying movements, he could smell the stench of fuel on the air, spilling out over the docks.


    He looked at the figure, who was already marching towards him, sword uplifted; and let out a roar; loud enough that the glass on a nearby storage building cracked, those on the upper deck of the boat clutched their ears; and charged to meet him.


    The sword was swung with just as much devastating force against him, the Black Knight raising it over his head and slamming it downwards like a hatchet; but Salamander was built of sterner stuff. The blade dug through the scales, leaving a nasty gouge in his left arm and sending blood running down his scales; but then he was on the armored figure. He grabbed the helmet with both hands and made a horrific gurgle; as he spat a long stream of acid onto the black-armored figure, completely covering it in a thick, grey gel, before slamming his knee into the Knight''s chest, slamming him through the wall of the nearby storage building.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    He could hear the hiss of acid eating away, see the fumes rising from the spot where he''d spilled it on the dock, as well as the building itself... and stepped over, dropping to his knee beside Infernal. She looked at him; the arm she could still control reaching towards him... and finally stopped.


    Salamander rose back to his feet, turning to the building, fully expecting to be about to finish off a crippled, helpless victim... only to see the Black Knight already marching steadily towards him, what looked like steam rising from the armored figure, sword lifted into the air once more.


    Some of the guards on the ship started to open fire; bullets impacting the armor without apparent affect; before suddenly stopping. There was a scream of pain from the boat, and Salamander turned to it to see the two guards collapsing onto the deck... he growled, and reached down; yanking up a chunk of the dock, tearing away a mass of 2x4s and nails which he swung at the armored knight; buying just enough time by deflecting that sword to grab the armored figure''s arm.


    With splinters and chunks of wood scattering through the air at the impact, and another gouge on his left shoulder this time, he grabbed the Knight''s arm; and spun, hurling him off towards the ocean; doubting the figure would drown, but expecting, at the very least, to buy some time for his regeneration to stop the wound in his arm bleeding.


    Only... the figure stopped in midair, immediately hurtling back towards Salamander like a giant projectile. Grabbing a chunk of railing to use as another momentary shield, he braced himself; only to suddenly receive a burst of fire from the boat. Distracted, he turned towards the boat, seeing several guards; his own people; rifles raised, firing in his direction. He couldn''t see their faces through the masks, but who else could it be?


    That moment of distraction would prove fatal; the armored figure bringing that sword down once more; this time managing to strike the same wounded left shoulder, drive down through his flesh, and embed itself deep into his chest. Salamander was no stranger to pain; lashing out with the chunk of dock railing at the armored form, trying to drive him back despite the horrific agony running through his body, the blood spilling everywhere; but the Black Knight struck again. And again.


    The guards on the deck shuffled onto the boat, clumsy, having difficulty managing the doors as they moved down the stairs; the Engineer stepping out of the storage building, ignoring the dust and debris he was currently wearing as a hat, checking his controls. Salamander would not be a viable Pale One; even if he were sufficiently intact after the Black Knight''s work, his acid would dissolve the wiring in seconds.


    The guards... he watched closely as they moved through the ship; shooting their former allies, making it mostly unharmed down to the engine deck; the children were in a panic, screaming, pressing against the walls; some of them were afraid at the beginning, now the gunshots only making things worse. There was a brief scuffle in engineering; the mechanics, possibly expecting an angry Infernal to be coming after them, had been ready for a fight; but were rapidly shot down.


    The tiny camera; only getting a standard-definition resolution, but amazing for the size of the controller; showed something unfortunate; a scaled blue form, lying limp on the floor of the engine room. From the state of the body, he''d been shot, beaten, and possibly suffered a near-miss by a fragmentation grenade; there were numerous bloody wounds, broken bones, and darker patches to the vivid blue scales.


    The Engineer frowned; he couldn''t check the pulse using a Pale One; but to all appearances, he wasn''t breathing. Disappointing. He pretended to activate a radio, in the event someone was watching. "This is the Engineer. Cargo is secured. Friendly and unfriendly casualties both. Medical assistant... to ensure well-being of cargo would be useful, but currently appears all casualties are deceased."


    The Black Knight walked forward, and settled in place beside the Engineer, blade at rest. Buried in his head, Roland was railing against his fate; struggling to try to overcome the wires embedded in his very nervous system, the horrible pain he was going through... and with a body too durable to go into shock and start dying.


    The Engineer studied the boat. The boat and its cargo were a diversion. The mission against these... breeding facilities was important. He was still hacking any connection he could find for more information, trying to find them, but as of yet, it was unavailable. It might not be online at all. The Chinese oligarchs were not the worst of them; but giving any given band of oligarchs access to an army of meta-human slave-soldiers would mean an end of any hope of Communism ever taking hold, and he''d have to fall back on simply doing his best to keep humanity alive.


    ***


    "Hello there, General Zhou?"


    The voice on the other end was gruff, irate. "How did you get this number? Are you an agent of the Dragon?"


    "To an extent. There''s been a change in management of the Dragon clan, and we''d like to discuss a new arrangement. A larger-scale arrangement, more lucrative for both sides." Eyeball grimaced slightly at the tingling sensation in his forearm. Advanced modern medication would speed the healing, but short of getting a metahuman to help or a bit of magic, broken bones didn''t heal overnight.


    "Larger scale?" General Zhou was somewhat bemused. The old Empress had seemed offended at how he handled his surrogates, and had declined to increase the count past the initial order.


    "The new Dragon Empress, the old Empress''s great-grand-daughter, has allies the old one lacked. Myself, namely. Are you familiar with the code-name Eyeball?"


    Silence on the line for a few seconds. "My superiors have an ongoing agreement with you regarding your silence on certain matters. We are to avoid dealing with you if at all possible."


    "I''m certain you are. But you have access to tens of thousands of surrogate mothers, and likely hundreds or even thousands of children who could contribute to the Empress''s genetic program. And I have something even more valuable." Emerald frowned, looking at Eyeball in confusion; mouthing the words ''What the hell?''.


    "And what would be so valuable? I''m familiar with Eyetech, of course. Reflex, and its other developments, while useful, are outside the bounds of my program. Technically, this program is completely off the books, unofficial; so any sort of deal we make will need to be related."


    "I''m part-owner of every hotel, brothel, and medical facility on La Famiglia. I can get you semen samples of every meta whose laid with a prostitute on the island, blood samples of everyone whose ever been injured or seen a doctor on the island, including virtually all of the arena contestants, and samples from most of those who''ve stayed at one of my hotels, including hair samples of the only Titan we can be certain is still able to have children; though, to warn you in advance, the samples are of limited utility, as they are as invulnerable as the rest of her and difficult to examine meaningfully."


    General Zhou almost dropped the phone. A deep inhalation. "Ahh... I''m certain my superior would be willing to work with you on this. What are you seeking?"


    "Essentially, first dibs on children who have traits useful to the program, and additional surrogates. Let a few of my people review the surrogates, take ultrasounds, and if they have traits that would contribute to the Dragon program, they leave with us. We aren''t looking for numbers, just specific traits, so I''m sure we can work out an acceptable ratio. As an opener, in exchange for letting me and my associates tour the facilities and meet your superior, I can give you a semen sample from The Lord of Iron and one of the aforementioned hair samples, in the event your people can do more with it than mine."


    For Zhou, this seemed to be an unbelievable windfall. If they could find a way to extract Valkyrie''s information... and even if not, the Lord of Iron was one of the most potent mutants on the planet. Even without the possible future agreement, the Lord of Iron was stronger than any of the genetically viable semen samples they had and would be an enormous boon to the operation. "Pending an agreement with my superior... I believe we can make an arrangement. I look forward to introducing you to our operation."

 Dragon Empress - 21 - Funeral

    When the Emperor arrived at the island, he was escorted by a team of Imperial Guard; all metahumans of various ability, two of them with inhuman speed, another simply overall super-human in a variety of respects, and the final one a fairly well-known warrior, able to generate blades of energy from anything in his hands; or even just his fingernails. All of them looked virtually identical; carefully, meticulously tailored and groomed to look as similar as possible; a bland, unassuming wall of security behind their lord. The helicopter landed outside the construction site, and his guardsmen moved with him.. a construction engineer bowing, stepping into his path; easily recognizing the tall, lean elder with his neatly trimmed grey beard.


    The first two guardsmen had their hands on their weapons; but the Emperor simply stepped forward. "I trust you need to inform us of something?"


    "Of course, your majesty. We recovered the last of the survivors a few hours ago; and the Empress is holding a ceremony, both for the victims of the collapse, and for her brother."


    The Emperor gave a short nod. "Ahh. I understand. I should have had my arrival announced further in advance. Still. If it is her brother, it makes him a cousin of mine. It is only appropriate that I attend. If you would help me enter with minimal disruption to the proceedings?"


    ***


    The gathering was somber, as was only to be expected. Notably absent were any form of marker for Salamander and Infernal; Eyeball had their bodies dumped into the ocean on the way back to the island. For everyone else, including the guards who''d followed the two traitors on their way, a proper grave had been dug, a stone marked it; a trivial matter with the sort of power on-hand.


    Emerald was looking out at the crowd; people who had depended on her great-grandmother for guidance, been betrayed by her foolish obsessions, and then by her errant children. She couldn''t say that, though. All these people were part of the same mixed-up family. She needed to hold these people together at least long enough to wrap up all of the loose ends and get them on to a better life. That... might take years.


    Eyeball was beside her, supporting her. A quiet, powerful figure that evinced different levels of fear and respect from those in attendance. The engineer had carefully and precisely carved the stones for each grave, adding a few notes from immediate family to each piece. For Ripper, his, own stone had both his real name and date of birth as well as his villainous name


    For Eyeball, this wasn''t the first time he''d lost a friend in action. During his time in the desert he had lost many friends, and strangely enough the ones that had hurt the most were the ones who he had never really liked but had still died to keep his people safe. His time as a villain, on the other hand, had for the most part only seen such casualties among his enemies. While a few had been lost during the Ascension event in Mexico, the overwhelming majority of those who died around him since had been those trying to stop him from whatever he was doing.


    Ripper, though, had been closer than most of those soldiers he fought beside. For the past couple of years he and Ripper had a friendly competition, to see who could perform the best robbery, and more importantly, steal the most useful, or valuable, object. This was a contest which was friendly, which was a good thing, because Ripper won it handily every time. Some of the things the reptilian had stolen were literally priceless, and some of the technologies he had acquired were both ground breaking and highly classified.


    For much of it, he''d considered the man a brother; the one who''d introduced him to his fiance, and, whenever the marriage finally happened, he''d become his brother-in-law. Something which was now never fated to be.


    Emerald wasn''t standing quite straight; the bandages covering the various breaks in her wings, her careful stance; a network of wires holding everything in place to help it heal. She''d just lost her brother. Not just her brother; her guardian angel, the one who''d stopped her from being raped that fateful day she ran from this place, and helped her escape. And some of these people had lost parents, children, siblings.


    The only positive note was that their killer, Salamander, was already gone. Those who''d been abducted returned... along with a group of surrogates. As she looked over the small clusters of mourners; those who had been lucky enough not to lose any immediate family had already returned to their work; she saw... a group of armed men approaching. Her initial spike of fear, her instinct to gather her energy and get ready to douse them aflame... sank when she saw the man accompanying them.


    When he reached Ripper''s grave, standing beside the duo, Emerald bowed; and Eyeball, not sure who this was, but understanding it was someone important, followed her cue.


    "Your majesty." Emerald spoke softly, before rising to meet his gaze.


    He gave a brief nod in return. "Dragon Empress. An interesting title. And fitting enough, it seems. I regret that I didn''t have time to know my cousin, your brother, before he passed away. Would you like to speak of him?"


    She sighed. She was tempted to reveal the truth. That her family wasn''t really related to the Emperor at all; but depending on the Emperor himself, that might have catastrophic consequences for her family. "He... was one of the best of us. He was my half-brother, and the definition of a golden-hearted rogue, a veritable robin hood... except that he kept enough for himself to live an extremely wealthy life. He stole historical artifacts, priceless paintings... even a few I insisted he return.. but he also saved me on many occasions. He looked quite a bit like his father, but was never a ruthless assassin like him."


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    She laid a hand on the gravestone. "A loving brother, and my best friend. He should''ve died doing something heroic. Saving the world. Or, at the very least, being caught escaping with some artifact or other."


    The Emperor nodded. "I head he died to slow down a ship. To stop the escape of the ones responsible for all of this, with the children they''d abducted?"


    "... Yes. I suppose it was a heroic enough reason. Would have been even better if he had slowed them down and then lived to make it home though. At least they''re dealt with now."


    He looked down at the grave. "I''ve been considering making events regarding your family more public. Officially recognizing your family as part of the nobility. Your great-great grandmother''s incest and other foolish deeds forgotten and forgiven, the absurd rules our ancestors put in place, considered to end with your great-grandmother''s passing."


    Emerald sighed. "She wasn''t the one to actually commit incest, your highness. That would be her children and grandchildren. She didn''t consider taboos to be important; only results."


    "Ahh, I take it she was too embarrassed to reveal it to her children. She was the emperor''s... second cousin, perhaps? Not a sister, but just close enough to be generally advised against. She had been set to marry a lord she despised, and seduced my grandfather to try to avoid it. I would appreciate it if we could... create a somewhat less twisted official history of the clan, for when we reveal it to the public... if that is acceptable to you."


    Emerald blinked, confused. Was her clan actually related to the Emperor? Did her side actually have the full story? "...If you''d like, then of course. At this point I''m not certain that either of us knows the whole truth."


    "Also... I heard that you had just recently had some dealings with the Yakuza. While dealing with Famiglia is acceptable; they were once criminals, but are now a state of their own, I would ask you not risk our image with such, once you''re publicly known."


    She smiled. "You don''t need to worry about that, your majesty. My great grandmother had abducted a member of the Yakuza''s family because of their genetic profile. I sent them home with an apology as soon as my great grandmother was out of the way."


    The Emperor nodded. "Excellent. No more criminal activities or secrecy then. We can discuss details over dinner, back at the palace, if you''d like. Let your people get things settled here. Repairs can proceed without us."


    "Of course." She glanced at Eyeball. "Would you mind if I spoke with my fiance before we left? There''s something he''ll be handling for me... outside of Japan.. that we need to discuss."


    ***


    Eyeball and Emerald walked together through the building; a simple storage shed that had been attached to the old fortress, now one of the few original structures remaining standing in the area, and stopped beside a crate, hopefully out of earshot of the Emperor''s people.


    Eyeball smiled, and slid his helmet off so he could meet Emerald''s gaze. "Looks like someone gets to have dinner with the Emperor of Japan. I take it I''m not invited?"


    "You know full well what you''ve got to do tonight. Go on this tour. Figure out what you need to. Rescue the children. Shut it down. I... if the Dragon clan is going to be a publicly known thing going forward, I''d prefer nobody knows about any of it... I''d like it if this is all handled first."


    "Of course. I can''t promise to rescue all of the kids; depending on where these camps are, that might just be impossible. But I''ll do what I can."


    She leaned forward; a brief kiss; a grimace when she started to hug him, only for the motion to pull painfully on her damaged wings. "And what you can is damn awesome. Get it done. And... make it back in one piece."


    ***


    The dockhouse was filled with mercenaries and villains, some of them whom Eyeball had worked with before, such as the Engineer, Butcher, and of course Clone. Others were relative unknowns; ordinary-seeming folks in body-armor with rifles and handguns, a strange-looking man with a guitar strapped to his back, and even a few members of the Dragon clan; namely two of Emerald''s cousins, dark-scaled metas who were younger, weaker versions of their father Salamander, and Emerald''s father, Gabriel.


    The Black Knight, of course, was standing immobile off in the corner, almost like a statue.


    "Alright, people. Here''s the deal. This afternoon I am going to be going on a tour of an unknown number of facilities with General Zhou. There are at least two, but may be as many as five. our objective is to rescue however many children we can, and make sure that none of these surrogates or personnel inside survive. These facilities are technically criminal organizations, but in reality they are operated by the Chinese government. Aside from the children, no one in these facilities is to be considered a civilian or bystander. Everyone who knows about this is a valid target."


    He walked over to a stable covered with weapons cases. "This is what we''re calling the Pale Gun. It''s a simple low velocity 40mm revolver with a control chip built into it. Its got a range of about a hundred meters, will only work against lightly armored targets... but will initially paralyze the victim with pain, and then convert them into a Pale One... which will obey myself, Engineer, and whoever is holding one of these guns. We can very rapidly convert the local security forces into assets, or take control of any personnel we need to bypass biometric doors. Each shell costs about ten grand to make, so don''t waste them on test shots; but you''re each getting paid a half-mil, plus another grand for each kid you save, so don''t leave any in the magazine either."


    "Each of you gets one, which holds eight shells, and an extra eight shells. I''m also giving you each one of these..." He held up a small silver ball. "This is a pressurized neurotoxin container. All of you were given the antidote to it already or I wouldn''t even let you in this room; if this thing were to break, all of us would be dead within seconds otherwise. Once as many kids are out as we can save, one of these in the ventilation system will kill every living mammal in the facility."


    "I have a variety of other gadgets that the Engineer will explain for those of you who can best make use of them. But I''d like to make it clear. Odds are good we won''t be able to save any of these kids at all. If the facility is too far inland, we''d have to get them out past the whole Chinese army. If you''re hitting such a facility? Don''t risk yourself. Have one of your team set off the neurotoxin over the facility to take out any outside guards, another put it in the ventilation system, and use the Pale Guns to create diversions to help get the hell out. If, however, one of these facilities is on the coast..."


    He set the device down. "We have a friend that can provide enough naval support to get these kids out. If we need to hijack a boat, fine; we get the kids out, deploy the neurotoxin when we leave, and get the hell out of dodge."


    He looked around at the collected group. "Zhou told me the tour should take about twelve hours, maybe into tomorrow as well. We won''t launch until we have data on all of the facilities... but when we do, its go-time, we''ll be splitting up and hitting all of them at once. Get some sleep. Try out the Pale Guns with some of the training ammo. Sometime either this evening or tomorrow... we''ll be making these bastards wish they''d never been born."

 Dragon Empress - 22 - The Tour

    Eyeball nodded at Butcher as the two waited for the helicopter to land; the green speck in the sky was slowly growing into the twin-rotor dark green mass of a Chinese military transport helicopter. Zhou had said he could bring a single bodyguard along; and, well. With Emerald out of action until her wings healed, Butcher seemed like the best candidate. For all sorts of reasons.


    "So, did I mess things up too bad, pulling you away from the arena and the new girl?"


    Butcher shrugged. "Not really, boss. She''s... excited at the idea I work with you. She wanted to watch me in the arena, but hearing why I dropped out... I think she''s a fan of yours. Wanted to come along. Kinda hard to argue the age thing, too, since she''s older than me."


    Eyeball laughed. "If you need me to put in a good word or something, I can. Or if you need to kick my ass to impress her, I''m good... so long as you don''t put it on youtube or tiktok or anything."


    The teenager blinked, staring at Eyeball. "You''d do that!?"


    "..Butch. Unless I went downhill and dragged that Hiroshima sword out of its hole, or the Titanslayer rifle, I won''t really be able to hurt you at all now. If we got in a fight... I''d have to run. There are people out there that can still hurt you. Like your mom. But... I don''t think it''ll be that way for long." He lifted his classic 40mm revolver.


    "I have some incredibly sophisticated armor-piercing shells for these now. Send an osmium-alloy spike right through the armor of a heavy battle tank. Maybe even hurt a Jotun in their armor if I shoot it in the right spot. This thing would be stopped by your eyeball. Not the bone behind it... the eyeball itself."


    Butch stared down at the gun. "Oh."


    "Yeah. Just don''t go trying to lift any buildings or aircraft carriers or any of that nonsense. You''d go right through em like a nail through jello."


    He smiled. "Yeah, mom told me about that a long time ago."


    Eyeball watched the helicopter settle in. "Alright. Just gotta warn you, Butch... this is... some seriously nasty stuff we''re dealing with. Me and your mom, we''ve killed people. Hurt people. Stolen, cheated, lied. But the stuff you''re about to see is... evil. We''re getting the info we need to stop it, and we will, but until we come back here, its strictly look, don''t touch; we only start fighting if they start it first. Got it?"


    Butch nodded; and settled his helmet in place. "Got it, boss. I''ve met the surrogates. I know whats what. I''ve got your back."


    The two Chinese soldiers on the chopper looked a bit taken aback at the two men that boarded. One of them had a handset in hand identical to what he was wearing, and was looking at the two men and their helmets. Eyeball tapped the side of his own for a moment. "Hello there. Just matched frequencies. I''m Eyeball, this is Butcher. Are we heading to meet your boss first, or is the tour on first?"


    The soldier blinked, hanging the spare headset on a hook and snapping it in place as the chopper took off. "We are meeting general Zhou at the closest facility. He will want you to leave weapons on chopper."


    "No deal. I''m not bringing anything that poses a risk to the facility as a whole, and he can have however many soldiers or armed guards he wants at our meeting, but I am bringing enough firepower to get out if you decide me knowing about the program is inconvenient. If that''s a problem, tell your boss and we''ll nix the deal. It would be far more expensive and time-consuming for me to acquire the women and material to do this myself, but if that''s how he wants to go, I''ve got the money, and the time; we''ll return the surrogates already on the island whenever they''ve given birth, or simply arrange a flat payment for those we keep."


    He stared at the helmet for a moment. "I... will let general know."


    ***


    Eyeball had mixed feelings as he looked down at the massive coastal warehouse; the structure looked like any other shipping warehouse; about four stories tall, enormous; easily able to fit a couple of football fields inside, and with a helipad on the roof. There was a perimeter fence, of course, but no guard towers; instead, he spotted at least a dozen positions in the building itself where snipers and cameras overlooked the surroundings...


    And a few hatches for armed combat drones and turrets. Heavily defended, but concealed; this place could hold off a small army until the actual army showed up. Not the kind of place you''d want to attack.


    He tapped the side of his helmet as he studied the surrounding port. They''d try to buy a boat, rent one, or get one sent in. La Famiglia had some boats around China already. If they could have one ready to go to get the kids out instead of having to steal one, that''d make things better. This place was maybe 200 yards from the water. They could definitely get kids out from here.


    There was a subtle creak as the chopper settled down; and the two soldiers led him along the flat rooftop to a small shack containing a security door; and the stairs leading down into the facility.


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    When he stepped inside, an older, mildly overweight Chinese man in a general''s uniform was waiting, smiling, hand extended... and looked a bit taken aback when, rather than taking his hand, Eyeball extended a small foam package. "I would recommend you refrigerate this promptly. Its stored with a bit of dry ice, and should be fine for several hours, but its a valuable sample."


    Zhou accepted the package, glancing down; surprised at the weight of it. "And this would be?"


    "The first item I promised; a sample from the Lord of Iron. In the event you ever have a need to try to influence the man himself, he has a distinctive preference for hispanic women in their thirties, and of course, being treated as if he were some sort of god among men."


    Zhou hefted it for a moment, smiling.. and turned, passing it to a man wearing light green scrubs. "And the second item?"


    "After the tour, I''ll give it to your superior. Which, by the way, doesn''t have to be today; just before we finalize any agreement."


    Zhou nodded. "Well then! We have three facilities to visit, and then our actual lab is maintained separately. What would you like to see?"


    "The numbers of surrogates, the condition they are kept in, and what sort of equipment you have. If you have the ultrasound equipment already in place, I''d like to check a few at random. If your superior thinks we can come to a long-term agreement, we''ll be wanting to ultrasound all of them, and essentially keep the ones with wings or tails; and provide you with plenty of material to make more."


    A deep chuckle. "Well. Wings aren''t too common among them. Nor are tails. But we do have some of each, including in the nursery downstairs. If you can get even a handful of samples as unique as that one, we''ll be happy to make the arrangements."


    Eyeball shrugged. "Well, you know La Famiglia has a bit of a contentious relationship with the United States. Having China as an ally going into the future would be good not just for the Dragon Empress, but myself and the Family as well. We would, of course, prefer to keep it quiet. Would your superior be the right one to speak with about some considerations involving some of our advanced equipment and processes we offer at Eyetech?"


    Zhou grinned. "I myself cannot make use of such things... but yes. I suspect he will be extremely interested. Now come! Let''s show you what you''ll be paying for."


    ***


    The first floor of the complex below the roof was a long row of individual rooms; the temperature was fairly warm, but not uncomfortably so. Eyeball glanced at Zhou. "Air conditioning issues?"


    "Oh, no. We prefer to keep our surrogates as close to body temperature as possible. While we properly refrigerate things below, these two floors are kept at a precise 37. 98 for you Americans."


    Eyeball chuckled. "La Famiglia uses metric for the most part, but that''s fine. How many women per floor?"


    Zhou walked over, tapping a button. The door slid open with a gentle hiss; and Eyeball could feel air escaping; the room was maintained with a higher air pressure than the surroundings. "Over two thousand on each floor. This is the largest facility."


    "Over two thousand? How do you..." He stopped as he looked into the room. He didn''t see women inside the room; but rather, torsos. Limbless forms, purely a head and body with the arms and legs cut short just outside the torso and some form of bolts attached to allow them to be mounted on the racks, attached to a variety of tubes. Each was stacked atop the next, a few inches between them, and a series of IVs and tubes ran to them.


    While these women were, essentially, brain-dead, there was likely some level of animal awareness of their plight; the complete helplessness of what they''d gone through and were dealing with. If the lobotomy hadn''t been done properly, one of these women might be fully aware, but helpless, tormented, for years. Eyeball glanced at Zhou. "That''s... remarkable. Extremely efficient, if a bit brutal. I notice these women all seem to be hispanic?"


    "Of course. This facility handles mostly those taken in from the North American protectorate; the other two facilities are in the Xinjiang and Tibet regions. We have them lobotomized first, then de-limbed, and feeding and excretion tubes surgically implanted to reduce clean-up and maintenance. It''s taken a while to get it quite right."


    "Interesting. I actually have telepaths on-staff at La Famiglia who can handle rendering the surrogates docile without resorting to this. And, well. Also leave the surrogates useful for other purposes. If they are willing servants, you don''t need any support staff other than doctors."


    Zhou glanced at Eyeball thoughtfully. "Interesting. We''d turned down the option of using telepaths for the purpose due to how expensive their time is... it would likely take an hour or two per subject to get the job done."


    "You can cut that time dramatically with a bit of prep work. Proper psychological conditioning to get them into a good state, then a single telepath can get them locked into that swiftly; the right guy can do a dozen in an hour. If you do it right, sometimes he can do more than one at a time."


    "... I''ll discuss it with my superior. The idea of having the surrogates themselves doing the maintenance here, and without loyalty issues..." He smiled. "Less people to pay and ensure remain quiet."


    "Tell you what. Whoever you''ve got on the line to lobotomize right now. Hold off on it for right now. Sedate them, bring them here. After we get a deal signed up, I can have my people do a demo group of however many you''ve got, and we can figure out which way is more cost effective. I''ll cover the bill for the telepath for the current batch so long as I get a few of them for the Dragon island facility."


    As they walked down the hall, Eyeball carefully recorded the layout on his helmet... and pretended to ignore the view when they walked by a room where an unfortunate woman, already lobotomized, was being precisely and carefully de-limbed by a group of Chinese doctors; he pretended to stop, facing away from it, chatting with Zhou about nutrition information, as his helmet got an up-close view of the process.


    Eyeball absently performed a few ultrasounds.. sending Butcher to the rooftop to take a walk when the boy started to shake with rage at what he was seeing.. Easily seeing that each of the women had multiple fetuses part-way along; one had six of them, including one which had wings; something he brought to Zhou''s attention. Afterwards, they met up at the helicopter on the roof.


    "Mind if I send a message out? You can monitor, of course; I can even use your phone if you like."


    Zhou tilted his head a moment. "And what would that be?"


    "Going to call one of my people back at La Famiglia. Ask them to send over some telepaths, and a boat. Actually.. you can just send them that yourself, if you''d like."


    He nodded. "Of course. I don''t see any issues with it."


    "Excellent. So where to now? Tibet, or Xinjiang? Honestly, I''ve liked what I see so far, and expect we''ll be doing significant business together, but it would be foolish of me to simply jump ahead on this without a proper review."

 Dragon Empress - 23 - Mysterious Stranger - The Plan

    As Clone examined the perimeter sensors.. while also testing out the gear being prepped for the upcoming assault, and a thousand other things at dozens of locations.. he noticed... a boat sliding up ashore. A familiar boat; he''d sold it to its current owner himself, at the end of a job a while back. He set the sensor in place with a gentle twist, and turned to face the craft as it scraped to a halt.


    The dark-skinned man walking ashore gave Clone a nod; before pulling a dark hood over his head and stepping closer. "Hello, my Russian friend. Are you working for the Titanslayer in this job, or the Dragon?"


    He studied the man for a moment. The dark robed look made him look more like a cultist of some sort, or a supervillain; and the latter, at least, was true. "Both, really. And I consider them friends. I''ll introduce you to the Titanslayer if you like, but the Dragon lacks protection from your kind, so I''d need to warn her in advance."


    "Which is more important... your long-term goals, or your friendship?"


    Clone rolled his eyes. "My long-term goals, of course. You know full well that when the time comes, you, the Titanslayer, and all of my other employers will either need to join up or go down. But until Ragnarok has come and gone, any attempt on your part to move forward will be met with extreme violence."


    He sighed. "Why are you so convinced this Ragnarok thing is real? The Jotun came, they were defeated by our Titans, they fled. So long as a Titan remains, there''s no reason for them to return. The number it would take to defeat Valkyrie is more than exist."


    "Why are you so convinced that one of these other nations is going to invade your homeland again? Russia came and was forced to withdraw. The United States spent decades there and did the same. Obviously your people have not lost the will to fight; so why would they be foolish enough to return?"


    "...You assign human motivations to aliens."


    Clone chuckled. "Aziz... those aliens might have six limbs, and more resemblance to a crab than a human. But they still have weapons, and make war. Some motivations are likely universal. Besides. I don''t believe they are gods, but Odin and Apollo... they are convincing. And, well. I''m immortal. Whats a few more years? When the Jotun are defeated will likely be the best time to make my move."


    "Fine. Warn the Dragon. I wish to speak with her alone."


    "Already have. One of my brothers is bringing her a shield as we speak."


    ***


    Emerald sat back on her throne; her wings still bandaged and wired to aid in their healing, but otherwise in much better condition; the rapid pace of construction meant that this simple tent sat beside a structure that already had walls, a ceiling, a basement... they were even wiring up the electricity as she sat. By tomorrow, they''d have the first permanent structure in place of the new build; for now, it would be the home of her people. In the future, it would serve as a barracks for soldiers.


    Her usual garb of an elegant silk black kimono was augmented by a very strange headpiece; a series of small, glowing blue orbs mounted to a crown-like net around her skull. She grimaced as the man entered. There was a smell about him... something distinctly unpleasant. She would keep this meeting as short as possible.


    "So. Clone tells me you''re a powerful telepath, a terrorist, and one of his best-paying clients. And that I should use an active shield, not just a faraday cage, because you''re the strongest one he knows."


    The hooded figure gave a nod. "Of course. This is the first he''s told you of me?"


    Emerald shrugged. "He still hasn''t told me your name; and also said that, if you hadn''t come here to meet me, he''d never have told me that much. He also recommended that I not meet you alone, but I can handle myself. If you turn out to be an enemy... you''ll be a properly cooked enemy in seconds."


    "Good. I am not here to be your enemy. I am here with a business proposal... and an unfortunate warning."


    Emerald sat up, staring at the man with concern. "..and what would that be?"


    "I would like to buy something from you. A boat. An old, sunken Japanese ship, appropriately named the Flying Dragon, as it was the last vessel the Japanese Navy kept on assignment to protect this island. Its final resting place is directly off of your shores, and there were some unique adjustments made to it by a metahuman of the era one of my engineers feels would still be useful today, if they are intact. I can pay you well for it, of course."


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    Emerald chuckled. "If its sunken, I see no reason to interfere with your salvage operation, if the money is good. Make me a reasonable offer and it should be fine. And the warning?"


    Aziz lifted off his hood, and smiled. While his face was scarred and cracked, and he appeared to be an extremely well-worn 30 or 40-year-old, his look was a strange cross of happiness and a grim anger. "For every defensive technology man can create, there will always be a way to defeat it. Go ahead and remove the crown. We have much to discuss."


    Emerald blinked... gently detaching the device tightly affixed to her head. The gentle pressure of the crown; designed so that it would not fall off even if the wearer dangled upside down with it on, squeezing onto her skull; eased; and she set it down. A bit confused as to why she went along with it so easily.


    "Perfect. I won''t have long before one of your friends comes in to check on you. Minutes, at most. So we must work quickly. I understand you can introduce me to the Emperor."


    ***


    They''d finished their tour via helicopter, and were at the lab, Eyeball and Butcher having examined the setup; the long rows of neatly labeled freezers filled with thousands of samples of DNA; every metahuman who worked for the Chinese government, in fact, and wasn''t sterile; waiting for Zhou to arrange a meeting with his boss, pretending to be talking about the lab equipment; which, while Eyeball knew a few pieces of that Eyetech had similar loadouts on one floor, Butcher was completely oblivious to.


    Eyeball stepped outside, with Butcher immediately behind him; and took out a cigar. Zhou followed along, noticed it, and watched with curiosity as Eyeball fit the cigar up to a port built into the helmet; one which appeared to be seamless with the chrome surface; and simply pressed it right through. "Well that''s an interesting design feature."


    Eyeball glanced at him. His helmet activated its satellite uplink, and started transferring information. The port snapped shut as he slid the cigar out. "Its good for straws, though if I drink straight from a glass, I have to either very carefully pour it into the right spot, or cover myself with the stuff. Are we talking about meeting later today, tomorrow?"


    A message from Clone popped up on his HUD. They could have a boat at the coastal location within the hour, strike teams at Tibet and Xinjiang within two. Eyeball grimaced; the only children that stayed at the facility were the extremely young; apparently they adopted them out to good loyal homes as soon as possible. This meant that they would only be able to rescue a few hundred children by boat, all of whom would need to be carried; and that the program had already produced tens of thousands of metahumans who would, in due time, be joining the Chinese military. In about fifteen years, China would, even if this program ended today, abruptly have more metahumans than any several other nations on earth combined.


    "He''s actually eager to meet you and discuss plans. We''ll be flying to Zhongnanhai within the hour."


    Eyeball gave a nod. He would need to fight his way out of one of the most secure buildings on the planet after assassinating probably one of the top leaders of the Chinese government. They wouldn''t be worried about this possibility because it was equal parts crazy and suicidal to contemplate. "Of course. Let me finish my cigar and we can go. Would be a shame to waste one. Care for one yourself?" He offered Zhou a cigar from a pocket in his body-armor. He wasn''t even smoking it; just using it as a cover while he was talking, a good excuse to be outside and in line-of-sight with the sky.


    As the general accepted the cigar, Eyeball looked at Clone''s recommendations. Two smaller teams for the Tibet and Xinjiang locations; essentially just relying on several doses of neurotoxin to wipe out the facility with minimal resistance after using a few dozen Pale Gun shells to sow chaos in nearby areas.. an equally small team for the main lab... and everyone else coming in to the coastal facility.


    Eyeball glanced at the general. "Ahh.. my apologies. Do you mind if I use the restroom here, before we move on to meet your boss? I get a bit anxious, heading off to meet such important people."


    Zhou nodded. "Of course! Feel free. One of our guards will show you the way."


    Eyeball turned to Butcher. "Stay here. Hold this for me, I''ll be right back." He handed the kid the cigar, before turning back into the facility. He sent a command on the uplink just before entering the door; ignore the lab. He''d leave them a gift to handle things before he left. The facility had fields to disable drones that might try to sneak through, and would easily spot any attempt he might make to hack their software. But flushing explosives down the toilet alongside a waterproof timer? Assuming they adhered to the pipe properly, they would just think the place had a stopped-up toilet; right until it all went to hell.


    As he headed into the facility, he smiled. It would be amusing if he''d done something like this at all of them, but that would make them suspicious. He glanced at his HUD, giving a few voice commands; sorting through the loadout in his handgun; which currently had a wide variety of objects, anything he could fit in smaller than a 40mm shell; including quite a few different varieties of explosives, toxins, and poisons. And of course, several hundred lithium batteries that would let it keep running for a few weeks between recharges.


    As he reached the bathroom, he frowned, thinking.. he himself was a meta of fairly significant import, by their standards. They''d probably be trying to harvest some of his own DNA, likely the moment he boarded the chopper. He sighed... and went ahead to use the bathroom. When he finished washing and drying his hands, he noticed the bathroom had a couple of trash cans; one with a vivid red biohazard bag in it, attached to the wall, the other ordinary, on the floor. He quietly dropped a few explosives and a neurotoxin shell in between the liner and the metal bin; before hooking a line to the liner from one of the bombs. If the timer didn''t set it off, it would go off when someone changed out the trash can.


    He actually wasn''t certain whether the neurotoxin would remain viable and spread with that much point-blank heat, but the bomb should do the job anyway.


    When he reached the outer doors, and took the cigar from Butcher, he put it out, audibly lamenting the waste; and boarded the chopper alongside Butcher, Zhou, and a few guards; heading on what would be, hopefully, General Zhou''s last flight.

 Dragon Empress - 24 - Execution part 1

    There was a reasonable chance that this was going to be Eyeball''s last flight as well. As the helicopter landed, he counted dozens of guards around the platform; a literal formation of hundreds, or even thousands, seemingly preparing for a parade of some sort not too far off. Tanks. Combat helicopters.


    He was struck by a moment''s hesitation as he stepped off the helicopter. Unless everything went absolutely perfectly, he and Butcher would need to kill many of these men in order to get out alive. Not dozens, or hundreds; likely thousands. He would need to use neurotoxin, controlled Pale Ones, regular gunfire, and handle god knows how many enemies; and there were probably dozens of metahumans nearby as well.


    They knew his reputation. They knew he killed Tai. But here, in the heart of their power, they had every reason to believe he was no threat; or, at least, that he would be dead before he could accomplish anything.


    Some of these men were willing participants in the sort of evil Zhou was the champion of. Others...


    Zhou smiled as he led the two down off of the platform. "And this, the heart of power here in China. We will not discuss our arrangements in the open; they are not, as we would say, official. But once we reach a more private office, we can speak. I trust you have what you need?"


    Eyeball nodded. "Of course. I had the information I needed from my people before I came; and you''ve given me more than enough. This is truly an inspired operation. I see hallmarks of the work of Mengele, and I suspect that in your results we''ll see what would happen if someone with that kind of vision were allowed to work for years on end, without the threat of enemy bombs overhead to cut everything short. Barring the unforeseen, this alliance should put our joint nations atop the world in decades to come."


    Zhou glanced back at Eyeball, frowning. He didn''t like the comparison, but wasn''t sure whether the villain meant it in a positive light. Was he one of those Neo-Nazi sorts? His profile gave no indication... He put on a false smile, as he opened the door in front of him. "While the overall ruler, of course, knows about this operation, the mastermind behind it is Zhao Xi, and the only ones outside of it fully aware are the standing committee. The unusual surge of metahuman births with time will be easily enough explained in the years to come."


    Eyeball mouthed the names to himself a few times, not wanting to avoid confusing any of this as they entered the building... and a door was held open by two guards; both wearing heavy body-armor, assault rifles, and advanced side-arms that looked not too dissimilar from some of the advanced anti-metahuman weaponry Eyetech sold. The armor was vulnerable... in the armpits, the sides of the neck, the thighs...


    He nodded to himself as they stepped in; and noticed a lack of bodyguards inside; just the man himself, Zhao Xi. He stopped, and glanced at Butcher. "You can wait outside with them if you don''t mind, Butcher."


    Zhou nodded in approval; the massive figure was clearly a bodyguard, and here, in this most secure chamber, his place was outside. He glanced at Eyeball''s own weapons with a bit of discomfort as he stepped in, and smiled. "Zhao! I have brought our new associate in to see us."


    Eyeball nodded, and held up a hand. "If you wouldn''t mind shutting off any video, I''d like to remove my helmet for this, have a true face to face. I''d prefer if nobody outside this room saw my new face, but if we''re going to be partners in this, obviously a show of trust is required."


    Zhao smiled... and tapped his wrist. "Shut off all video in this room for the next two hours." Eyeball nodded; he didn''t understand Mandarin well enough to grasp the full sentence, but he got the basics; and his helmet provided helpful subtitles.


    Once Zhao nodded, Eyeball reached up; and popped the secure catches holding his helmet on. With an audible hiss, the airtight seal keeping his filters in place was separated; and he set his helmet on the man''s desk, before extending his hand. Zhao shook it, looking a bit confused. "Ahh... Mister. Bennet? I was led to believe your appearance was... different."


    A very faint, undetectable hiss filled the room, as a low-grade neurotoxin started to filter out of a packet inside the helmet itself; one that Eyeball, of course, was immunized to.


    "Simple enough. While I was a fugitive on the run, I took on the appearance of a dead man, a Victor Hardy, so I could continue to operate in public once the government knew my face. Now, I promised a sample of the hair of a Titan, and that we would be making a discussion here about future exchanges, yes?"


    Zhao smiled, and settled down into his chair, while Eyeball and Zhou did the same on the other side. Eyeball lifted out a simple glass cylinder containing a very fine black bit of... hair? Wire? Whatever it was, it was surprisingly heavy. "The hair is remarkably durable. If we can ever figure out a way to properly reproduce it, it would make incredible material for body-armor." He extended it across the desk, and Zhao took it in his hands, focusing on it.


    He blinked, seeming a bit confused. The edges of his vision were going a bit dark. He was feeling... sleepy. "I''ve got good news on another front. The neurotoxin you''re inhaling? Non-fatal. It''ll leave you confused, unable to really put much energy into anything. Zhou here has a self-destruct device on him; if I killed him, he''d go off like a grenade. Smart move. Great idea to make sure that if I were here to kill you two, I''d die with you."


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    Eyeball slid out the 40mm revolver. "Mostly, it''ll keep you from screaming in pain when this happens." He pulled back Zhou''s shirt, pressing the barrel against his flesh; and pulled the trigger. A far softer pop sound; Zhou twitched and shifted about, his eyes growing more unfocused, as Eyeball stepped around to the other side; and pressed it against Zhao''s shoulder as well, pressing the barrel under the uniform shirt.


    He backed off, looking between the two. "Stand up, both of you."


    Inside their bodies, hundreds of tiny wires were burrowing through flesh, attaching to nervous tissue, artificially sending out signals. After a few seconds, they had secured control; and in the typical half-limp movement of a Pale One, they both rose to their feet. Eyeball lifted his helmet, settling it back on his head; after a few moments, the seal reformed; and reached into the seemingly bottomless magazine of the 40mm weapon; retrieving an incendiary grenade.


    "Zhao. Hold this object." Moving in a stilted, robotic fashion, one hand stretched out, taking hold of the cylinder. Eyeball pressed a bit of wire around one finger, attached it to a small hook.. and nodded. "Put it in your pocket, keeping your hand in that pocket." The hand slid it into place in one of his jacket pockets. "Perfect. After myself and Zhou leave, the next time someone enters this room, other than us, remove your hand from the pocket, but leave the object. If no-one enters by the time battery level reaches ten percent, remove your hand from the pocket, but leave the object. Sit down behind your desk, and wait."


    The man simply settled into place behind his desk. A faint red line was visible on the side of his neck; likely one of the numerous wires just happened to leave a visible trace. Eyeball glanced at Zhou; he could see a few spots. If anyone looked close, it would be obvious. Hopefully, it would last long enough.


    He looked at the office around him. Beautiful. Opulent. Hand-carved wooden desk that might be centuries old, golden trim. High-end computer systems, a holographic projector. He''d badmouth the display of wealth, but knew full well leaders of his own country would be every bit as ostentatious. The doors were hermetically sealed. The ventilation system had filters. The glass had the subtle wire mesh of a faraday cage built into it. This room was ridiculously secure. Unlike the lab or the other facilities, if he dropped a neurotoxin bomb here, it would wipe out the men outside... and leave all of the men inside an office like this intact.


    Would a fire get them leaving? Was it worth taking out the men outside to get the others ultimately responsible for this? He thought for a moment.. and removed a pair of the more lethal neurotoxin cartridges from storage, studying them. If dispersed properly, these things were horrific weapons that would cause a painful death to thousands of people; a single one detonated in an airburst could take out a mid-sized stadium.


    He looked at Zhao again. The man was aware again, by now. Aware that he was trapped in his own body, doomed to light himself on fire with a grenade when someone opened that door, and suffering quite a bit of pain. It wasn''t enough of a punishment. But... it would have to do. Even if they used an EMP on the man, his final convulsions as the controller short-circuited would lead to his death. Which... would be fine for now.


    Eyeball stood atop the desk, reaching the fire suppression system mounted in the ceiling; and gently secured the two toxin cylinders beside it with some double-sided tape, wiring them to the sprayer itself. When the grenade went off, the fire suppression system would activate shortly; not doing anything to save this man''s life, but spraying the room with the neurotoxin, and hopefully driving others to open their own doors in order to flee the building.


    He sighed... and dropped down. Turned to Zhou. "Open the door, and lead us back to the helicopter at a steady walk." His HUD immediately flashed; the instructions he''d given weren''t direct enough. The controller didn''t know where the helicopter was. He gave a soft chuckle... and spent a couple of minutes laying out a series of waypoints for the general to follow to take them right back where they''d landed.


    The moment he finished, he was briefly surprised; as Zhou stepped forward at a quick pace, jerking open the door; and started walking, brushing against a startled soldier.


    Eyeball stepped along after, nodding at Butcher; the two guards at the door looking at the three in confusion as the door shut behind them. Zhou was drawing strange looks as he marched directly back towards the helicopter; the crew were outside, refueling it. Eyeball sorted through his voice recordings of Zhou; and, standing beside him, whispered low. "Open and close your mouth on command."


    A string of mandarin emerged as they reached the helicopter; the commands he''d issued to have them fly to the base on the coast, the first they''d stopped at. The men immediately began starting up the chopper; the blades starting to spin, as Eyeball and Butcher secured themselves in the back; and at a remote command from his helmet, Eyeball had Zhou grab one of the handholds and look out of the helicopter; so that the two guards who boarded would, hopefully, not notice his grimace of pain.


    Just as they lifted off the ground, feeling the familiar twist as gravity yanked them towards the floor of the aircraft, Eyeball saw a flash of light from one of the windows; and then alarms start to go off down the length of the building. The two guards in the chopper noticed; and immediately turned to Eyeball and Butcher, assuming the worst; Butcher simply grabbed the closer guard, and threw him out of the aircraft; as Eyeball hit the second with a Controller shell.


    The pilots didn''t seem to have noticed quite yet as the guard spasmed in pain and simply fell out of the craft; but within seconds, he could hear yelling in mandarin over the channel the pilots used to communicate with the passengers on the previous flights, too distorted for his helmet to interpret; and grimaced, pulling out his combat knife from a boot sheathe. "Load up the pilot program." He was, at best, an amateur helicopter pilot; and now he was going to be doing hours of flying, possibly over hostile territory, depending on just what signals got to who. His helmet would give him some guidance and direction; mostly programmed in with Emerald''s style of flying; but nothing could substitute for an actual competent human pilot.


    Butcher looked out the hatch behind them as Eyeball moved forward to deal with the pilots; watching as men heading towards the building, investigating the alarm... simply collapsed. He glanced back at Eyeball before looking at the scene they were leaving behind. How many people had Eyeball just killed? Obviously the ones in charge of all this were bad, but... Well. He''d just have to trust the boss''s judgement. he knew what he was doing, right?

 Dragon Empress - 25 - Execution Part 2

    As he approached the docks, the Engineer quietly stepped forward, pushing an electric cart with a pair of speakers loaded onto it. He glanced back at the odd figure with the guitar on his back; a Family associate named Raid, the child of a supervillainess by the name Siren; nodded; and when the boat came to a stop, the man started to play.


    The loud, discordant melody; some sort of heavy metal music; blasted out. At first, the nearby dockworkers looked up in confusion and irritation. The mercenaries and Eyeball stood at the open hatch, looking outward... as the looks of confusion faded. Slowly replaced by a trance; a dull, mindless visage as they turned, and started walking towards the sound. Some stumbled over obstacles. One even fell off of the docks, splashing into the water; Engineer glanced over the side to see the man treading water after a few seconds, trying to swim closer.


    One of the man started absently walking forward, until his companion smacked him on the side of the head, and adjusted his headphones. He stopped, looking a bit sheepish. The Engineer turned back to them. "All the women who still have their minds intact. All the children. If you see any soldiers, stunned or not, hit them."


    The men nodded. One soldier; a Family member with unusually stretchy, rubber-like limbs who, of course, was simply called Stretch; remained with the boat, assembling a heavy machinegun and a few armor plates together into a defensible position on the guard rail; the 20mm weapon would be effective against light tanks, meta-humans, and others; but even a few seconds of firing would render anyone nearby too deaf for Raid to keep in a trance, so it would be a last-minute thing; only for use when everything went to hell.


    The Engineer and the other mercenaries walked rapidly to the facility; neatly side-stepping a few dockworkers that aimlessly walked past them; and encountered the first guards; outer perimeter workers already starting to head towards the dock. He pumped a single shell into each; and after a momentary collapse, they arose to follow the team to the door, and the now-abandoned security checkpoint.


    The further they got from the docks, the less effective the music was; and it likely wouldn''t work against those inside at all. The Engineer assumed more direct control over one of the guards, having him use his badge to open the door; and continued to advance; firing a Pale Gun with each hand with absolute precision; the defending guards too confused at first to return firing, seeing their own personnel walking alongside the invaders.


    The Engineer made a gesture; the surgical suites, where the women who had yet to be altered, were in one direction; given an injection to wake them up, they''d likely go along willingly. Upstairs, in the nursery, however? Hundreds of infants and toddlers who would need to be carried out; preferably without being drugged. As the other mercenaries stepped along the walkway, heading for the ''storage locker'' which should be filled with sedated young women, hopefully from all three facilities by now, the Engineer and one of the other mercenaries; The Horror; headed up the stairs, a few of the facility guards marching in advance.


    The sound of gunfire; the Engineer kept going, just a pace behind, as bullets hit the guards; the wires bound to their nervous systems driving them onward even as they sustained fatal damage from their colleagues; and he casually used one man''s shoulder as a brace to strike his companions; striking one in the throat, unfortunately crushing his windpipe; meaning that that particular Pale One would be a walking corpse within minutes; while the other instead hit a lightly armored belly.


    Both men fell; only to rise again, one of them a grisly display as his obviously shattered throat spilled blood over his uniform vest. The alarm had been sounded; there was shouting throughout the facility; but no more guards between them and the first nursery.


    The Engineer looked out at the room. Hundreds of children, each with labels on their crib, denoting whatever genetics had produced them, carts designed to carry a dozen at a time, monitors, steadily beeping; and a few nurses, standing with their hands raised; two men and a woman, all in scrubs. The Engineer leveled the Pale Gun on them, the guard with the ruined throat standing beside him.


    "You will help us get the children out of here safely. If you do it willingly, you''ll survive the experience. If you delay or resist, you will die, but still help us." The three of them stared at the walking corpse, the cyborg, his gun... one of them started to back away towards the alarm button; likely an instinctive response, since the alarm was already sounding. The other two started to gently load the children onto one of the carts.


    "You... won''t get away with this. There are hundreds of soldiers nearby! Nowhere to go!" He seemed to have realized there was no point in hitting the alarm as he glanced at the already flashing red button; but he glared at the Engineer, defiant.


    The Pale Gun shell impacted his left eye; embedding directly in his brain, sending blood splattering across dozens of children; many of whom began crying in fear at the strange noises and sensations awakening them. The other two nurses both looked for a moment at the body starting to slump... before it rose up.. and started to grab children with distinctly less precision than its living companions, shoving them onto the cart.


    The three loaded bawling children onto the cart, and at the Engineer''s direction, started to push them outside; only for the two nurses still living to just keep pushing, heading towards Raid, as the Engineer heard gunfire further into the complex.


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    ***


    By the time the holding cell was reached, the team was... angry. They''d just walked past a surgical suite and seen a woman already surgically altered but not completely, one arm still intact, a visible scar on her forehead from a lobotomy; the leader, a long-time Family metahuman called Granite, one of thousands of metahumans who had a rocky flesh and some level of inhuman strength, took the lead; absorbing what few shots were directed at the team and almost casually converting everyone that showed their face into a Pale One; and when he looked into the chamber he was, momentarily, stunned.


    The men following him were covering before and behind them, at first not noticing what had made him stop; but when they did, they went from a calm, professional demeanor; this was just a job, they were here to rescue some people, a bit out of the ordinary for them but not that strange; to... rage. Granite tapped his throat mic. "Anyone walking around, convert into a Pale One. We''ll order them to run out and cause chaos when we go, and clear the facility itself with the neurotoxin. Don''t go for kill shots. They deserve to suffer for a while before they go down."


    A few doors past the surgical suites, Granite broke down the proper door; where the still unmarred women were temporarily stored before being lobotomized; inside...


    Hundreds of women. Some naked, some wearing just a surgical gown; all of them unconscious, lying on closely-packed beds; only one of them was awake, restrained to her bed; with a guard, his uniform in disarray, kneeling behind her bed, using it as cover.


    Granite took in the scene. The woman; the boots and pants lying on the floor beneath the bed. The guard, firing a few shots; nice, high-caliber, armor-piercing rounds that were painful when they splattered off of his rocky flesh but didn''t penetrate the skin; he walked forward, glaring down at the guard, who just kept firing until the weapon ran out of bullets; and let out a scream when Granite grabbed him by the arm, lifting him into the air.


    He was a pathetic sight; still wearing his uniform shirt, but just boxers and socks down below, liquid running down his legs as he seemed to have pissed himself; Granite would smile if his face were that flexible. "You little fucker. I know this isn''t a Chinese thing. I''ve met hundreds of your people over the years, and nine out of ten are better than the Americans I usually work with. Decent, hard-working people. Its hard to believe you''re even the same species, much less come from the same place."


    He pointed the gun at the man''s crotch, firing the Controller directly into his flesh at point-blank range. The sound that emerged from the man, aside from a horrific gurgle and tearing of flesh, was one of the loudest screams Granite had heard a man make; before he dropped him. The man twitched on the floor for a few moments, before rising to his feet. Granite turned to the door. "Start dosing the girls. I want them awake and headed for the boat."


    He looked down at the girl on the table, snapping her restraints. "We''re here to rescue you, and kill everyone left in this place. If you can get outside, just follow the music; we''ll get you on the boat."


    ***


    The Engineer set a group of Pale Ones to guard the perimeter as he started pushing the carts; designed to go down hallways, from the ''storage'' rooms to elevators, and then out to delivery trucks, rather than on the street, so a bit clumsy for the purpose, threatening to tip over if they weren''t careful. There were more nurses inside; and when he reached the second nursery room, he was somewhat surprised to find... three women, already loading children onto the carts.


    When he opened the door, they stopped; one simply holding the child in her arms and stepping forward. "Are you here to shut this place down?"


    He tilted his head, looking at the three women; scrubs, name-badges.. aside from being Han they were the right age to be victims of this place just as well as nurses; if they''d been born somewhere else they''d have a very different experience. "Yes. I''m loading all of the children on a boat and putting the surrogates out of their misery."


    "...If we help, can we go with you?"


    ***


    Eyeball looked at the controls for a moment; carefully balancing what he could predict with what he could feel from the craft in real time, as he visualized an incoming missile; and began dodging before it was launched, swooping down between the nearby buildings, the missile slamming into one of them as he struggled to control the dive.


    He was able to time these dodges perfectly; the three incoming helicopters hadn''t been able to hit him, yet; but every time he had to dodge it put a desperate strain on his poor piloting skills. With every passing minute he drew closer to the coast; but he saw another incoming attack; bullets this time. He swiftly sorted through dozens of options, different manuevers, things he could do... but none of them ended well. He yanked on the stick; the chopper''s main rotor scraping against a nearby building, sending the craft skidding across a rooftop as it shuddered to a stop; and then fell twenty feet to the ground as a burst of fire scattered across the street along the path he would have taken.


    His last thought before slamming face-first into the control panel with enough force to knock him out... was that he really needed to learn how to fly better.


    The ordinance on the helicopter; ordinance he didn''t have the right codes to fire, and didn''t have time to hack or guess; abruptly went off on either side, sending fire and shrapnel scattering in every direction, setting off the fuel tank; and if Butcher hadn''t grabbed Eyeball, tearing a hole in the craft to make an escape route, would''ve likely turned him into scattered bits of burning meat.


    As it was, the two were launched from the wreckage, training smoke; and slammed into a nearby building, forming a Butcher-sized crater in some poor couple''s living room; Eyeball unconscious, Butcher almost completely unharmed as he kneeled over the man, stripping off one of his armored gauntlets so he could check for a pulse... as he heard the sounds of helicopters, the roaring of tank engines; they were surrounded by what sounded like a whole army, and, at least for now, he was alone.


    He dragged a nearby couch, hiding Eyeball between it and the wall. First, deal with anything that was a threat right now. Then, grab his friend and run for the coast.


    He hopped out of the hole in the apartment building; ignoring the still, somehow, alive form of General Zhou laying on the concrete; and withdrew his massive blade from the magnetic sheath on his back. Lets see. Three tanks. Probably built to help kill metas. At least half a dozen combat helicopters. And of course probably hundreds of soldiers.


    Piece of cake, right?

 Dragon Empress - 26 - Execution FUBAR

    Thanks mostly to Raid, the incursion was going smoothly. There was a steadily growing collection of Pale Ones, the Engineer using them to help load children into the boat; with even some of the local nurses and abducted women volunteering to help; it seemed that some of the employees weren''t too fond of the job and were mostly concerned about threats to themselves and their family should they fail; the idea of rescuing some of the women and escaping, likely presumed dead, was appealing. The Engineer determined that, based on his history, Eyeball would likely assist the nurses, and approve of the rescue.


    The boat''s cargo holds had dozens of children loaded in already; mostly in the same clear plastic cribs that had been used inside the facility. The crew of the boat; none of whom had any idea what was going on; looked on in confusion as women in surgical gowns comforted a teeming mass of infants and toddlers, while themselves looking around in confusion at their surroundings; a boat that had been meant, until a few minutes ago, to be loading up crates of fragile electronics at this very port. A few of the crates were already aboard; but the ship-owner had been offered twice the boat''s value to get here now; and so, here they were, watching, helping to secure seating and cribs for the voyage out.


    Even more confusing was the mob of people standing on the docks; and the complete silence of the children. The women were wearing headphones, and seemed to be out of the trance that afflicted the growing mob on the docks, but the children.. possibly thankfully.. were still under.


    The Engineer stepped outside, following the most recent batch of children being moved out; and saw something... concerning. Four men in dark green Chinese military uniforms seemed to suddenly appear from nowhere, not a hundred meters from the boat... and just start walking forward to join the crowd, clearly in a trance. He assessed their appearance, the video leading up to it. They... were metahumans. Speedsters. They''d been investigating the situation at superhuman speed, fallen into the trance, and joined the crowd.


    And if they were here, a full-fledged army response wasn''t far behind. Radar picked up incoming aircraft; attack helicopters. At least seven of them, but they were close enough together that there might be more. He nodded, and issued a command; all of the Pale Ones who were en route to acquiring the children stopped; and simply turned, wherever they were, walking out of the facility. While the ones currently carrying something continued, the rest of the former staff and security personnel moved out; lifting whatever weapons they happened to be carrying; essentially launched as drones, ordered to attack any hostile vehicles or people they encountered.


    Knowing that, even if turned into Pale Ones, the speedsters wouldn''t be able to use their powers at command; their own reflexes were faster than those of their controllers; he walked towards them; and as the sounds of gunfire aimed at the incoming soldiers and helicopters could be heard, calmly, precisely executed each of the four metahumans, one by one; simple slitting their throats and letting their bodies fall at the edge of the crowd.


    "This is the Engineer. We''ve got all that we can. If you can hear this, get onboard. I can see a few of our volunteers with headsets still in the building; hurry. I''ll give you seventy seconds. Military forces have arrived, and Raid''s music can''t do anything to the men in the vehicles."


    A chorus of objections from the volunteers arose; about the number of children left behind, about how long it would take to get out of the facility. The response was simple; "Now at sixty seconds. Raid, we''re going to be leaving shortly. If there''s an eleven you can turn it to, get on it for the next minute. I''d appreciate if you could keep it up until we''re a bit out on the water."


    The Engineer turned, walking towards the boat himself; casually hopping from the dock onto the ship itself before turning to watch the panicked run of the volunteers helping to carry the children; and Granite carrying what appeared to be a massive, squirming tarp. The Engineer looked at it for a moment. This... Some of those children would be injured, or even killed. He had literally dumped dozens or even hundreds of them into essentially a giant sack to carry them out.


    "Got the last of them, boss. Not the most cozy way to go, but better than whats coming."


    As Granite gently settled the tarp onto the deck; and dozens of women and mercenaries stepped into action, moving the tranced children out of the pile; the boat suddenly jerked; starting to move away from the docks.


    The Engineer rapidly stepped forward; catching two toddlers who almost went over the side, and blocking a few more. Raid had switched from his own personal heavy-metal ballads to Queen; and out in the city, helicopters were turning, shifting, firing on various ground targets; dozens of Pale Ones had already engaged, and the military was reacting to the threat as expected.


    He turned to Granite, as one of the young women took hold of the two toddlers, and Stretch aimed the HMG into the air; one of the choppers was flying towards the boat, ignoring the small-arms fire peppering it from below. He held down the trigger for a few seconds; the 20mm rounds at first missing, then sweeping across the lightly armored craft; a few rounds penetrating the glass, the engine, the co-pilot; leaving the pilot desperately struggling for control as the craft abruptly lost altitude, the tail-rotor smacking into a nearby building with a sickening crunch; and sending the vehicle into an out-of-control spin as it skipped off of another rooftop and crashed into the water.


    With each passing moment, the boat pulled further away from the docks. He could hear messages being exchanged by the Chinese navy; they would be waiting to intercept him, out on the ocean; likely wanting to avoid killing his precious cargo, they would block his path and bring in dedicated strike teams, since they probably had access to video of them pulling hundreds of metahuman children out of the facility; the future of the Chinese metahuman forces.


    He had dossiers on the Chinese military''s best strike teams; some of them could singlehandedly handle everything he''d brought; but the only ones that could reach him without a plane or boat would be more vulnerable. Granted... the only ones he was aware of. Not even Ascension''s intelligence was complete.


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    Soon, they''d be running into the Chinese navy; and he''d be putting on his little performance that would help him advance his own goals alongside Eyeball''s.


    ***


    Butcher raised his blade up in the air; looking like nothing so much as a red-black armored giant standing amidst the rubble scattered across the street. He could see two tanks settling into position, aiming at him, soldiers taking cover behind parked cars, concrete dividers, anything nearby; and suddenly he felt... a sharp impact against his left arm. Not enough to really hurt; but enough to notice. Moments later, he heard a massive shockwave; a sonic boom. Someone had just run past him so fast it broke the sound barrier, and tossed a rock at him while running.


    He frowned, glancing down at his shoulder.. took a deep breath, looking at the closest tank.. and stomped down as hard as he could, leaping towards the vehicle. The street ruptured beneath him, and he caught a momentary glimpse of a green-armored figure briefly becoming visible tumbling across the rubble before slamming into a wall, before he was suddenly at the tank; grabbing the barrel, giving a solid yank that tore the turret off of the vehicle; and hurling it at the other tank, which had already started to fire.


    The first shell hit him in the side; and unlike the thrown rock, this didn''t just penetrate the armor, but broke the skin, leaving a nasty, painful chunk of metal that didn''t quite pierce the muscles to hit his ribcage. The second shell instead hit the incoming turret; bending the tank''s own gun as it was briefly rocked in place.


    Butcher hopped off of the tank; bullets starting to ricochet off of his armor, scattering in all directions; he could feel that the enemy were focusing fire on the visible injury from the tank shell; the insignificant impacts actually hurt a bit when they struck that area; and grabbed the front of the tank; flipping it up and over, crushing a nearby group of soldiers.


    He moved like a force of nature; casually tossing aside cover, hurling cars at the hovering aircraft; getting to watch two of them scatter across the rooftops for his trouble, while the third kept far enough away that his two attempts both missed. The soldiers had stopped standing their ground; now backing away, or running, still making shots, throwing grenades; clearly outclassed, but definitely brave.


    And clearly ordered to delay him long enough for backup to arrive. One of the Chinese elite metahuman strike forces, designed specifically to kill high-powered metahumans, was visible, deploying on a rooftop a few hundred meters away, stepping out of a combat helicopter.


    Butcher studied them for a moment, frowning. They all wore the same dark green body-armor, but one of them was massive, almost as big as he was; though alongside his companions, he gently floated from the rooftop to the street... and the four started to advance; only the most distant soldiers now firing potshots at him, the rest withdrawing into buildings or just sprinting away.


    The one in the lead came to a stop; his armor was heavier than the others, and he was almost seven feet tall; still shorter than Butcher, but impressive enough. "Halt! You are ordered to surrender. This is your only chance."


    He looked at the four of them. One had hands glowing faintly red-hot. Going to try to melt him? Of course. The one in the lead, obviously another tank, like himself. The other two... one was floating maybe an inch off the ground. Telekinetic. Not a bright one, either; the professionals would hide what they could do until it was time to end things, or just immediately toss the victim into the air. Not that it mattered, usually. For most tanks, just knowing a Telekinetic was on the other team was the end of the road. For Butcher? One of his best friends had anti-telekinetic countermeasures and had designed his current armor. He could take a ridiculous amount of heat, and wasn''t sure any ''tank'' on earth other than his mom could take him down. The only real threats were the Telekinetic and whoever the fourth one was; a woman, by the body shape, but invisible in the body-armor and helmet.


    He crouched, holding the blade. She might be another Telekinetic. A smarter one. best bet was to take both of them out, fast. The TK countermeasure would only work for a fraction of a second at a time; he had a few of them. So he needed to time it just right.


    The tall one raised his hand. "That was it. Take him."


    Butcher leapt forward; squeezing the trigger of the TK countermeasure as he went. The man who was floating calmly lifted his hand; only to make a more frantic gesture during the brief moments before the massive blade tore through his shoulders, arms, and torso; and at the end of its sweep, embedded itself halfway through the unknown meta.


    He could hear a distinct, feminine shriek of pain; as a brief jet of dark black-green acid splattered against his armor, sending it sizzling, before she collapsed to the ground. Butcher grimaced in pain; his armor was sort-of acid resistant; but not only was this a very potent acid, but his armor had a fist-sized hole in it. The pain was.. substantial, and he felt it rolling down his leg, as if he was on fire.


    Then, of course, he genuinely was on fire. The meta with the glowing hands raised them; and he could feel some of the parts of his armor starting to melt. And, thankfully, the acid almost immediately boiled away, ending the agony of his leg. He shifted his angle for a moment, making sure the heat got every last drop, as the meta looked in confusion; and then back-handed the man in the face, sending him flying off to slam into a nearby wall.


    He turned to face the final meta; the other tank. Cracked his neck and stepped forward. His opponent visibly hesitated for a moment... before swinging forward with all his might, landing a powerful blow on Butcher''s gut; sending the armor cracking, and causing the glass in the nearby vehicles and buildings that had survived the earlier stomp to shatter and fall apart. If not for parts of it being partially molten at the moment, it probably would have shattered and gone flying. Butcher was forced back a few steps; the man leapt up, aiming to bring both hands down in a blow to his head; only for Butcher''s sword to slam into the man''s side while he was in midair; expecting him to either go flying as if struck by a bat, or to be cleanly cleaved in half.


    It buried itself in the man''s ribcage, trapped; Butcher could see that, while the blade itself was standing firm, quite a few of the bits on it... mostly decorative black and red metal spikes Eyeball had added because Butcher thought they looked cool... were twisted and distorted in shape, and became stuck in the man''s bones as they cooled on contact with his blood.


    Butcher grimaced, looking down at the man stuck to his blade; as he screamed out in pain; and drove his palm down, shattering the hilt, leaving Butcher holding a chunk of dense but useless metal. Somehow still up, moving, fighting despite having a molten blade merged with his ribcage, he stepped forward, trying to stomp on Butcher''s foot, to punch him in the belly once more.


    Butcher grabbed the broken remnants of his sword; shoved the man to the ground; then, with his foot planted on his chest, gave a firm yank; tearing both the blade and much of the man''s torso away. The man still slammed his arm into Butcher''s shin with surprising force... before finally going limp.


    Butcher looked at the weird, disgusting lump of metal and flesh in his hands; and tossed it away, turning back to the building containing Eyeball. Hopefully that was all of the rapid response units, and the two might be able to get out now.

 Dragon Empress - 27 - The Sea Titan - Chaotic Escape

    As the Engineer walked up to the top deck of the boat, looking out over the ocean, he considered his upcoming course of action. On the one hand, wiping out every navy on earth would be good for humanity as a whole in the end and since the overwhelming majority of shipping was done via boats rather than planes, he could likely put an amount of pressure onto bad actors in the world that was truly insurmountable.


    He looked back at land; at the Chinese destroyer following closely behind; there were others coming from other directions. Very soon they would have him surrounded; and force him to either ram one of them or surrender. Further back; was the shore. Where by now, the neurotoxin had already gone off, everyone inside the building... all of the surrogates, made to suffer in darkness for so long, finally gone, and with them, the Chinese meta-breeding program. While Granite had claimed to have saved the last of the children, the Engineer highly doubted that; placed the odds at close to 83% that there were still children inside the facility. Still. Best not to mention that. There hadn''t even been any reasonable way to save children from the other facilities, and the men involved were already worried enough about the navy.


    Ascension had built a new shell for the purpose; one that was cosmetically altered to fit a now-dead hispanic man whose wife and daughter were among those who had been in Chinese custody; and were now dead. If someone were to pull up facial recognition of that shell, and find the source? Unless they grabbed the shell itself, the motivations would appear perfectly clear. As if he weren''t going to spell it out. Of course... the only one who would know what was going on was Eyeball.


    Raid leaned against the wall nearby, looking at the Engineer. "So, robot-man. Cyborg. Master of puppets. Whats the plan for that destroyer? Or the cruisers? I was told we had a solution for any navy problems we came across."


    The Engineer smiled. He''d been working on his smiles; this one looked far more natural. "There''s a man with power over water. A man who could sink every boat on the ocean where the water is deep enough, all at once. And that man asked the Family for help finding his wife and daughter."


    Raid blinked, pulling his helmet off; revealing long, red-purple hair and a youthful face of clearly mixed ancestry; though just what sort would be impossible to tell without asking. "Wait. Every boat on the ocean at once? There''s a Titan out there that can control water?"


    "He isn''t publicly known. Or, at least, wasn''t until recently. He calls himself ''Oshe''. Sounds a bit like ocean. And his wife and daughter were both inside that facility. Mutilated. Lobotomized. Forcibly impregnated with a stranger''s child. He just wanted confirmation before he revealed himself and... got to work."


    They were far enough out to sea now. Far below, in crushing darkness that no manned craft could survive, machines got to work; precise calculations were made. Chemicals released. As they watched, the destroyer following the boat simply... sank into the water. There were no explosions; no flash of energy. Over a few seconds, the vessel steadily sank deeper; until... it was gone. Nothing but bubbles and a few sailors wearing vests to mark its passage; though a few more would surface; those lucky enough to escape before it got so deep as to be inescapable.


    Ascension had dozens of such machines; and in preparation for this moment had been following the Chinese navy; watching them from orbit, machines steadily tracking them from below. Over the next several minutes, all of the larger Chinese naval vessels would simply... sink. Vanishing from the surface as if they never were. Then, the machines started to track the smaller patrol vessels; these would take hours; but in the end, there would not be a vessel afloat bearing the flag of the Chinese navy.


    ***


    "I have grim news, viewers. This is Tina Lamarc, from headline news, reporting a great tragedy today; and a story of horrors we thought consigned to history. Minutes ago we received confirmed reports that seem to indicate contact has been lost with every vessel attached to the Chinese navy currently at sea; we have video recordings of several simply sinking into the ocean as if they''d suddenly turned to stone. While vessels of other nations are working to rescue as many of the crew as they can, the death toll will undoubtedly be in the thousands; and the perpetrator has already revealed himself, and given the following video to explain his actions."


    The woman looked... angry. Sad. She glanced at the wall behind her, where the greenscreen was about to display the video. "I must warn viewers that the video we are about to watch will be disturbing, and have elements inappropriate for all audiences. We''ve received several hours worth of video, some of which overlap and seem to confirm each other... and were promised months or even years of surveillance camera footage will soon be available for confirmation. This will be provided to the public as it becomes available."


    The woman disappeared. In her place stood a tall figure with dark, heavily scarred skin, wearing a dark green robe, standing in knee-deep water, the waves washing against his back. The hood of the robe mostly concealed his face, but it was just barely visible in the shadows.


    "My name is Oshe. I am the blade of Shango, and the Master of the Oceans. Months ago, in the... North American Protectorate... my wife and daughter vanished. I requested help from the authorities, and was spurned by Chinese officials. I turned for help to an associate, who was able to track them down for me; and determine that they had been abducted by the very Chinese authorities who I had gone to for help. An individual General Zhou, and his master, Zhao Xi, had been abducting thousands of women, for use as breeders in their own private camps. I wanted proof. And for their rescue. This is what I learned of their fate."


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    The video shifted. Revealing a long, metal hallway; and a Chinese man in a general''s uniform bragging about their processes; as the video showed a woman with a visible lobotomy scar on her head, being operated on by a team of surgeons. The video swept across dozens of women; all mutilated, all lobotomized, laying on racks in a dark room; all while the man spoke about how efficient the process had become, the durations of the surrogate pregnancies, how they were able to achieve as many as three average children per delivery; all virtually guaranteed to be metahumans.


    "I held my wrath back. Asked my associates to destroy these facilities, as my reach does not extend to the shores of this world. They agreed; and only asked, in exchange, that I protect them from the Chinese navy so they could make good their escape with any victims that had not yet been lobotomized."


    A new clip appeared. Showing a Chinese aircraft carrier, sinking beneath the waves. A jet attempting to take off at the last moment, only to drag its landing gear in the water and end up sinking as well. Hundreds of tiny figures in uniforms swimming away from the bubbles that marked its descent. "I have gone beyond this. All military vessels with a Chinese flag will be sunk. Any civilian vessel associated with Zhao Xi and his vile associates will be allowed to return to the nearest port; tomorrow, I will sink any of them I find in the open waters."


    The figure appeared once again. "Obviously, I cannot blame all of China for the acts of these few villains. What few smaller vessels are not friends of these monsters may freely traverse my waters. For the rest of you... Do not provoke my ire, or you will also be forbidden from my oceans."


    Lamarc appeared back on the screen, visible unsettled. "So far, the reports appear to be accurate, however, the Chinese embassy has thus far categorically denied the allegations of these videos, as well as declared these claims that the navy has been sunk to be wishful dreams of the People''s enemies."


    ***


    Eyeball jerked awake in terrible pain at some sort of awful sound. He felt a sharp pressure in the back of his neck, his arms and legs were in terrible pain, his body sore... everything hurt. He was lying... behind a couch? In what looked like an apartment. He reached up to grab the back of the couch, to start to pull himself upright...  only to flop back to the ground as he failed to get a grip.


    He looked down at his left hand... and couldn''t find it. His left arm seemed to end about eight inches past his elbow. He stared down at it, blinking. Started to reach for it with his right hand; which, while intensely painful, at least seemed intact; but stopped himself. What happened? Why was his hand missing? Why was he behind a couch!?


    He struggled to his feet, feeling along the wall. His left leg hurt as well; it was absolutely terrible to put weight on, but didn''t seem to be broken; he had unfortunate experience with broken bones.


    He was in the helicopter... with Butch! Shit. Was Butch okay?


    He reached down his leg, lifting up the special 40mm gun; the one whose ammunition, at this point, was monstrous in depth. It seemed fairly intact; the indicator lights reading 90% power. Looking down at his stump, he surveyed the area... and walked over to the hole in the wall, only to see... Butcher.


    He didn''t know what awoke him; but did know that Butcher had been a one-man army. He saw tanks, soldiers, helicopters, all scattered across the ruins of what had once been a normal city block. He watched Butcher dispatch a Chinese metahuman, tearing a ruined blade out of his torso; and then start his way.


    Eyeball carefully stepped down through the rubble, looking around at the scene as Butcher approached; and suddenly stopped, shocked, looking at him. "Eyeball! Your arm! What happened!?"


    He glanced down at the stump. "I think you''d probably know better than me. Last I remember I was dodging rockets in a helicopter." He grimaced.. and switched his gun to fire Controller rounds. Starting to casually shoot each of the more intact corpses he could see. "I don''t suppose you know which one we were in? I''d like to get my hand back if I can."


    Butcher turned.. and pointed to a pile of burning wreckage partially embedded in a nearby building. "That one. I... think its probably cooked by now."


    "Ahhh, fuck. Alright. I can''t run too fast. Or even really walk much at all. Only got one arm." His gun kept making the same soft ''shunk'' sound of the rounds going off. One by one the former soldiers; all either dead or unconscious after Butcher''s rampage; rose to their feet. Some clutching guns. Some without even both arms.


    "If we can make it to the docks, we''ll be okay. Got friends who can pick us up, and their navy is probably gone by now, if my clock''s right. I hate to ask this... but could you carry me?"


    Butcher nodded. "Sure thing. Whats the plan?"


    "We send these things out to raise chaos. You jump us towards the coast as fast as you can. Its.... that way." He pointed, and grimaced. "Ahh, hell, the screen''s cracked. Half the HUD is missing. I''ve got god-knows-what running through my system now and it won''t even tell me."


    Butcher reached down; gently lifting Eyeball up, settling him on his shoulder. "Alright then, boss."


    Eyeball patted him on the shoulder with the butt of the gun. "Thanks, Butcher. By the way. You absolutely kicked ass back there. Pale Ones! Advance at random, attack anyone or any vehicles that have Chinese military logos on them!"


    The shambling corpses all turned; Butcher had taken out dozens of enemies, and at least twenty were intact enough to be useful; and started walking off at random, weapons raised.


    Butcher then leapt into the air; his powerful legs carrying him hundreds of meters in a single bound; not his mother''s multi-kilometer leaps, but incredibly impressive; and actually leaving him smashed into one of the upper floors of another apartment building. Eyeball grunted in pain as his back slammed into the glass; but nothing new seemed to have broken. "Ahh... sorry boss. Let me get to the roof, and I''ll have a better shot from there."

 Dragon Empress - 28 - Recovery

    As the final boat arrived at Dragon Island, there was quite a bit of cheer; the handful of servants of the Empress, as well as the Family and mercenaries, were gathered together on the docks, cheering the lack of deaths on the mission. A few gunshot wounds, broken limbs; but the most seriously injured one on the team was Eyeball himself; and while Butcher had wheeled him out in a wheelchair, the synthesized voice worked well enough to mask any pain the man felt as they rolled him into the makeshift hospital that the Japanese had setup to treat the victims of the Fortress''s collapse.


    They''d all seen the news stories; the random, chaotic responses from China as the next tiers of leadership fought over how to respond, the reports that there might even be a civil war in the nation. At minimum, there would be a horrific economic collapse. There might not even be a People''s Republic to deal with by the end of the year. A few shipping companies that carried goods for the Chinese firms primarily owned by the PRC had tested Oshe''s warning; and the boats had simply vanished into the waves; fortunately without loss of life, as they were ready this time.


    The prevailing theory behind the unrest was fairly simple; so long as what they did worked out best for China as a whole, it could be considered that the rulers were doing their job properly, even if some suffered or were angered by it. And, of course, if the government''s actions were a catastrophic failure that would harm almost everyone, and had virtually no approval...


    The only thing restraining the atmosphere from truly turning into a party was the presence of the various kidnap victims; and of the children themselves. Eyeball had claimed to have a plan for it, but he was currently undergoing surgery; so the population of the island was dealing with hundreds of children. when they were already suffering from the abrupt destruction of homes for quite a few of them.


    Emerald watched the reports; both those coming from Eyeball''s people, as well as those from China, with a blend of respect and horror. She went to the makeshift hospital; and settled in beside Eyeball, to wait. Watching as they removed a few pieces of shrapnel; set a broken leg that had apparently been walked on despite its fractured state; and generally commented about how he was lucky to have only lost a hand; they could get him a prosthetic, easily enough, and these injuries should very well have killed him.


    When the doctors left, and Eyeball was simply lying there, covered in bandages; a handful of surgeons now added to the short list that had seen Eyeball''s current face; Emerald stared. Her wings were mostly recovered; she couldn''t fly at full strength, but she could glide; and would soon be back on top of things. She had some decisions to make. About the future of the island. And her future with Eyeball. And some grim news to share, when he awoke.


    ***


    Six hours later, Emerald had fallen asleep in the chair. The doctors had come in to check on Eyeball a few times, careful not to wake her; and when he finally awoke, he relaxed; the improvised feel, waking up from unconsciousness in a field hospital... by now it was all old hat. He looked around; studying himself. The bandages. The... stump of his left arm. He sighed.


    Well. The guys at Eyetech could probably make him something kick-ass for his left arm. He should look into places that had done well on experimental prosthetics, see his best options. Maybe get a gun built into his new hand. He reached out, and laid a hand on Emerald''s head, where it rested on the bed.


    She jerked up, staring at him. Her face... the traces of tears were obvious. Her eyes were red. Had she been worried about him? "Emma. You know I''m coming back to you, whatever happens. I''ve been hurt worse before, and for less important causes. The last one, before I got kicked out of the military? I was gonna be on several transplant lists if a meta hadn''t showed up to heal me. Be out for months. Or years."


    Emma glared, claws digging into the bedding. "No, you weren''t. It would be bad, but you''d have recovered, eventually. And you never lost a hand. I know I was just as bad, kept getting the urge to go out on another adventure. My idea of settling down never really seemed to sink in. That this one was my fault, my idea. But... we can''t keep doing this."


    Eyeball sighed. "Yeah. Once you settle things down here on the island, we should take a vacation. At least until the kids are old enough to leave alone. Aside from helping with this whole Ragnarok thing, I can see us sitting on a beach, raising a couple of little superhuman terrors."


    "..There won''t be any kids."


    He blinked. "..What?"


    "The stress, the radiation exposure, the fight... I miscarried. The doctor said I''ll be fine, I should be able to try again someday. But... the twins are gone."


    Eyeball just stared at her; she could see tears starting to form as he reached out for her with his left arm; not quite touching her. She gripped his right hand instead, leaning forward. "I''m not going back to Famiglia. You''re... not good for me. Not good for the world, really. You take shortcuts. Leave trails of bodies behind you. I know I wanted this done quickly... but..."


    She leaned back in her chair, releasing his hand. "My people told me you didn''t even try to save the kids at two of the camps. You saw where they were, and just gave up. Told them to just gas the place to make entry easy and safe, then gas it again to make sure nobody survived."


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    He blinked. "Sweetheart. I don''t mean to sound callous. But those places were near military bases in areas that they knew locals were angry at the government. A small team could get in and out if they were quiet. But hundreds of children? A convoy of dozens of aircraft, or even worse, transport trucks? There were dozens of tanks and hundreds of aircraft at the site we got children out of less than half an hour after we left. Fighting our way out across an entire country against that instead of just making it to the water...."


    "You didn''t really try! You left it all up to the Engineer, that godforsaken cyborg, and just told them that if it were too far from the coast, they probably couldn''t do it. Well it wasn''t near the coast, so they didn''t try. No bait and switch games to get them to chase the wrong trucks, no Pale Ones attacking places as a distraction. I was hoping for some sort of daring plan, maybe a bit of cunning..."


    He sighed. ".... Can we talk about this later? The plan wasn''t perfect, but we saved more than I expected, and we got the people responsible for all of it. The moment that tour was over, the clock started. Our only chance to get the men behind it all. I was only getting one definite shot to pull it off. We didn''t have time for tricks, or complicated plans."


    She shook her head. "No. I... I''m glad I''m not having your children. That I don''t have to raise some little boy that might grow up to be... you. I''ve let it slide for so long because you seemed so dangerous, so amazing, and you cared, and did so much for me."


    She pulled to her feet. "You told our people you had a plan for the children. What was it?"


    Eyeball blinked. "Oh. Uhh.. Taiwan. I spoke to them about it, sort-of. That we''d hopefully be having a bunch of metahuman children of Chinese descent, orphans, in need of adoption."


    "Sort-of?"


    "I scoped out how many children they could handle abruptly with a few people in their government if some emergency happened, figured out who I needed to contact... and sent the messages just before I pulled the trigger. They''re probably already waiting for the kids, though without knowing how many."


    Emerald sighed. "Ah. They''re close, have enough population to handle this many adoptions without too big of a problem.... and with China falling on its ass, probably won''t be forced to turn them over. Good plan."


    She stared at him; glaring directly into his eyes. "Get hold of them. Handle it. I want you, the family, these refugee women, and the mercenaries, all gone by the end of the week. I don''t care if they go to Taiwan, to La Famiglia, to wherever." She pulled to her feet.. "I just wanted to tell you in person. This will be the last time we speak."


    Eyeball stared at her as she left. The sheet-metal door swung shut. He collected a single vibrant, emerald scale in his right hand, looking at it. That... felt wrong. She felt... different. Was she right? Was there some way to have really had it all, to save all the kids, and still make sure those monsters died?


    He looked over at his broken helmet, sitting beside the bed; tried to grab it; instead simply knocking it to the floor with his stump of a left hand. He laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, pressing a hand to his face.


    By the time the doctors next checked up on him, he''d dried his tears, and was using his helmet to make calls; getting ready to head home.


    ***


    "Why exactly are you doing this, mister Bennet? I''m certain you could arrange to deliver these children to the United States, or even to Famiglia; I''m certain they would raise quite a substantial price for a mercenary such as yourself."


    He sighed. The HUD on his helmet was only showing part of the Minister''s face; reading his expression was difficult with only the mouth apparent. "These children are Chinese. Each of them was created from two Chinese people and the embryo planted in a surrogate; either one or both metahumans. For each child we have a name, a family tree; and while I was only vaguely hoping it might be the case when I first started this plan, further research by my people has proven the truth of it; most of them have relatives in Taiwan. You can explain their origins to them or their families if you''d like, but... with a bit of leg-work, you can contact the families for all but a few dozen of these children and offer them a chance to take in a probable meta-human child. I believe your government offers free assistance to the parents of such children, yes?"


    "Of course. We take an approach much like your own homeland in encouraging more births with such abilities. We are, of course, eager to welcome these children, and already have our people on the way. I was simply asking for your motivation."


    Eyeball glanced at the door Emerald had left through. "I may not be a superhero, but I generally try to do the right thing for those who aren''t my enemies. My only regret is that we couldn''t save more children, or heal the women lobotomized by the program. Just handle it quickly, if you can. The locals have had some rough times recently, and the sudden deluge of toddlers and infants to care for is... well. If you could have help here in a few hours, I''d appreciate it."


    "A few of our own naval vessels are already on the way, with plenty of nurses and supplies already aboard. I can''t promise we''ll have all of them immediately, but we should have them all on the way here by sunset."


    "Thank you."


    "No, thank you. Taiwan will remember the friendship of La Famiglia in the future, when we have over a thousand extra meta-humans in our armed forces thanks to your conscientious efforts."


    ***


    The Engineer had delivered a spare armor suit and helmet; Eyeball was used to getting clothing on while hurt. He''d broken many a bone over the years. A broken leg, while irritating, was also familiar. A missing hand, however... It took almost an hour to get dressed, in a suit he''d designed to be easy to put on in minutes. The Engineer had also added a very helpful feature; a few brackets, and a splint, along his left leg, to help keep him from making the fractures worse over the soft cast.


    He slowly limped out of the building, leaning on a crutch, and looked around; taking in the new construction, the old, ornate village, the forest... recording a video of it all, since he knew he would never be back here.


    Clone stepped up, looking him over for a moment. "Want a hand getting to the chopper? Most of our people are taking a boat home, with their gear and a bit of loot. I figure we''ll take a chopper over to a real airport, and then jet back home. You can get some sleep... and recover the rest of the way in your own bed."


    "Ehn. I''ll take it slow, but I''ll get there on my own."


    Clone glanced at the slowly rising fortress. For a moment, he considered telling him about the meeting between Aziz and Emerald. But... no. He''d never told Aziz anything about Eyeball that wasn''t already public knowledge. All of his relationships only really worked if each of his ''Brothers'' kept a certain level of... trust... with their clients. He shook his head, and walked alongside Eyeball, heading for the helicopter; and the start of the long trip back around the world, to home.

 Dragon Empress - 29 - Decisions

    Jasmine stared at her computer, lost. Looking at the video recordings from the facilities she''d been tracking. General Zhou was dead. The women who''d been abducted as well; aside from some who were being assisted in finding homes in the southern US, in former Mexican territories. Granted; most of them had been effectively brain-dead before Jasmine even knew about them.


    The assessments she could access all seemed to agree. These camps had been operating for at least a few years; producing a few hundred metahuman children the first year, likely thousands the second year, tens of thousands the third. If they''d been allowed to continue, China would have gained an unstoppable advantage; and on the back of horrific human suffering. They definitely would have thousands more than they should; if the country still existed when they grew up.


    Her superiors had known about the missing women. That abductions in the Protectorate had been substantial, and nothing good could be happening to them; but the investigations were essentially cut off at the ''they were taken by Chinese nationals, likely to China and beyond'' point. But now that they knew just what it was, and that it could be a long-term strategic problem, they were forming a task force to deal with it. Not because the women had been abducted, or any moral concern or issues with their safety; but rather because if some other country had this idea they could cause a major problem.


    She''d been offered a position on that team. Not just a task force; a strike force. They would actually take action in other countries if need be, illegally. Exactly what Eyeball and company had done.


    The only question was... should she take it? She frowned; and opened the dossier on her desk. She''d asked whether the Russos had been lying to her. They''d sent her... this. A file, code-named ''Ragnarok''; with a clip stuck in it to highlight a specific page. She''d been considering resigning when they offered it to her. She opened it to the marked page.


    ~As per reports from our Greek sources, the Jotun will be able to take over, temporarily, a single individual on earth. This ability is magical in nature, and bypasses any form of defenses; they do also have telepaths of their own who can take over others, but while there are quite a few of them, none reach the strength of our own more extreme examples. Any individuals who are able to single-handedly cause catastrophic damage to Earth''s defenses will need to be relocated off-world until this ability has been expended; it is apparently only usable on an extremely lengthy cooldown of some sort.~


    ~Going forward, all foreign leaders will be advised to ensure no single person can launch or set off nuclear weapons. Any Titans with abilities that would allow them to singlehandedly cause catastrophic harm will be relocated or terminated if they refuse. This relocation will be purely temporary; once the Jotun have activated the device, they can freely return to assist in defeating the invasion.~


    ~Following the Moonfall incident, we have determined that Apollo was able to predict the death of both Chinese titans, and may have deliberately steered events in order to ensure their deaths; and seemed to be attempting to steer events to cause the death of operative Spike as well. There is speculation that the death of Lightning was also engineered by Apollo; Lightning being the single Titan capable of causing the greatest amount of damage possible while still leaving the earth eventually habitable to our invaders. The individual code-named ''Eyeball'' is likely an unwitting pawn in a greater scheme to prepare for Ragnarok. This speculation is uncertain, as, despite earlier conflicts, Eyeball assisted in ensuring the survival of operative Spike, counter to Apollo''s apparent design.~


    ~Initial complaints that Apollo must have also predicted the possibility of a Machine uprising and failed to inform us have led to the unfortunate revelation that Apollo warned our personnel but we failed to take appropriate action; or inaction, as apparently simply delaying our pursuit of ''Eyeball'' a few minutes would have prevented the entire scenario; he was apparently in pursuit of the original machine, before it made copies, at the time of his capture.~


    Jasmine stared at the dossier. There were numerous notes in it. Estimates on the time-table; now only a few months away for the most likely arrival; weapons distribution plans. Equipment testing.


    And, of course, a note that Spike had departed the solar system on the second FTL launch; and would be waiting, on a ''honeymoon'' of sorts with his wife, until the mind-control device had been confirmed as used, a few light-days outside of the solar system; ready to come in and help as soon as he could.


    This was all... insane. On the one hand, it painted the family; or Eyeball, at least; in a more positive light. It also made the entire program seem counter-productive. Hadn''t this recent string of events put humanity at risk, if the Jotun were about to arrive? The Chinese military would surely have contributed greatly to the defense of earth if it were intact. So if he were really a pawn of Apollo, wouldn''t he not have done that? Or was the navy just not going to matter for this invasion?


    ..She needed to talk to Nicky again. Whatever else she''d learned, she''d also learned that this wasn''t a black and white, good and evil situation. There''s no way she was about to start breaking the law, or betraying her country. But perhaps her family wasn''t something she needed to avoid.


    ***


    As the plane turned in midair, Raid settled his guitar on his lap, using a pair of headphones to make adjustments to tuning; before he noticed the change in the light, and slid his headphones down to his shoulders. "Boss... why are we diverting? The guys back home already have work started on a new hand. Cobalt told me Jenny already has a prototype, and that by this time tomorrow you''ll be glad you lost the hand."


    Eyeball sighed, looking across the aisle of the jet; staring at a black-armored individual. The medieval-style armor looked a bit worse for wear; bullet markings, traces of acid burn; but still mostly intact. "Someone sent me a present. A highly inappropriate one. I need to return it to sender. I figured you could play distraction, minimize the body count. If you don''t mind getting paid for another job. Say... we can just repeat the same paycheck for the last job."


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Raid glanced at the Black Knight, then to Eyeball. "....Look, sir. I get it. You''re mad at the guy for putting a hit on you. And we should, of course, respond. But. If I go in and trance most of the people, this big silent monster charges in and kills the boss, we''ll have the feds on us, and your whole deal with them will be over. Sure, they won''t declare war over it, but it could cause all sorts of problems. You could just send him in on his own."


    Eyeball leaned back in his seat. "Ugh. That would be the best approach, but one EMP and this guy''s free again and coming back after me. Hmm."


    He pointed at the Black Knight. "You. On your knees, hands behind your back. You''ve suffered long enough. Time to put you out of your misery." Roland rose up; and settled on the floor. Helpless, completely unable to avoid his upcoming fate. The terrible pain running through his body was met with a blend of joy and fear at the idea of it all finally ending, as the revolver settled on his skull.


    "Video call. Wayson."


    After a few moments, Wayson''s secretary answered; and saw the video. The Black Knight, on his knees, and the revolver on-screen. "Get your boss for me. We need to talk."


    After a few seconds, Wayson''s face came on the line. He looked... dramatically worse for wear. Even after he''d been injured by Reflex mis-use, he''d looked much better the first time he met the man. He was gaunt, haggard; far older than he should. "So. You caught him.... Are you going to kill Bill, too, or just Roland? Bill told me this was a stupid idea. I''d appreciate it if you let him go, even if you have to take out Roland."


    Eyeball thought for a moment. The Executioner. Of course. "Roland here is on his last strike. He''s only been kept alive this long because I had a use for him. Bill''s ultimate fate is... undecided. You realize that if I wanted, I could pass him and his testimony over to the feds, have you extradited; and with Harrick part of a conspiracy to commit murder on La Famiglia, nobody would care if he vanished except, possibly, you."


    "We both know I''d vanish immediately...but I understand. What will it cost me to get him back?"


    "I''ve heard you''ve been doing research on cybernetics. I suddenly find I have enough of a use for that to be willing to let things slide. Let a few of my people go through whatever you''re working on. No restrictions, no obstacles; if they want to make copies, they can. All the desperate efforts you''ve been making to beat Eyetech on the combat drug market? I can see them for myself. You do that? Harrick doesn''t even have to know I''m watching him. You agree... and it all just stays quiet."


    At a command from Eyeball''s helmet, his built-in computer interfacing with the Controller riding Roland, Roland removed his helmet; giving Wayson an up-front look at the face of a Pale One, a machine jammed into his stretched-wide mouth, eyes staring vacant, unable to do anything but watch the barrel slowly center itself on his eye. A loud pop. Raid, wearing his headphones, shaking his head in irritation; several of the nearby windows were visibly cracked, as Roland fell to the ground; his torment finally at an end.


    "I won''t kill you, if you try again. I''ll turn you into a Pale One. We''ve gotten much better at controlling them; you''ll get to spend however much is left of your life... and I''ll make sure its a long one... as a janitor. Who knows, you might even get used to the pain eventually."


    "...Do you want me to recall Harrick?"


    "Not yet. Let him have his fun. My people will keep an eye on him until after we''ve checked out your facility."


    He holstered his revolver; and tapped the side of his helmet, ending the call. He frowned, looking at the stump of his left hand; his armor didn''t even have a proper seal right now. . He needed to get something done about this, while he still had the reflexes to use it properly. He tapped the helmet again. "Cancel the change of flight plans. Back to Famiglia. And... don''t go any higher. I may have damaged a few windows."


    ***


    The Executioner was... relaxing, leaning back in the booth of one of the numerous clubs on La Famiglia, seriously considering the two women who had been flirting with him and the Human Shield; seemingly ignoring Kidney and T-Rex. Shield, while acting like a masochistic idiot in the last fight, at least looked the part of the tough guy, and the Executioner didn''t just look like a professional mercenary; the clips from those fights he was a part of showed that he was exactly what he looked like; and he''d even survived getting a speedster''s hand rammed through his guts long enough to break all of the man''s limbs... and simply walked off the field without help.


    Harrick had to use a dose of Reflex at the start of the last bout to be able to perform that trick; but Wayson had sent him with dozens, and he could afford to use a couple in each fight if he had to; with his metabolism, he could survive using more than ten times as much as any ordinary human, so most fights he got to spend the whole thing moving in a virtual blur compared to his enemies.


    The allies he''d been saddled with were... ridiculous, but decent guys. Viper, pretty obviously, was a Family soldier who was part of that team headed out to China; the "T-Rex" guy especially talked about how much he''d helped them get things together.


    Harrick was familiar with the idea; some rich nutjob that hoarded his cash but was ridiculously generous to people who he happened to like. Wayson was that way as well; an absolute tyrant to most of his employees, but if you caught his eye as someone he wanted to help, he might casually buy you a new house, or car.


    Both of the girls seemed more attracted to the mysterious man in the mask; Harrick was eyeing the redhead thoughtfully.. when his phone started to ring. Wayson calling? He wasn''t supposed to call during this operation. Must be an emergency. He raised one hand. "Just a sec, guys. Phone call."


    He rose to his feet, stepping away. He had a cell-phone built into his helmet, but he didn''t have fancy enough noise cancelling to be sure no-one could overhear; so he stepped into the bathroom hallway. "Heyo, Big Dubya. Just chilling at the club after my last win. Ended up ditching the Black Knight, but I got a new team, weirdos but effective enough. Don''t know if I can win with this team, but we''ll go most of the way there; got a shot at it."


    Wayson''s voice came on the line. "Change of plans, Executioner. Without the Black Knight around, the plan is a bust. We''ll be... making friends... with Eyetech, unfortunately. Just... enjoy yourself. Finish the tournament or not. Stay safe, come back when you''re done."


    Harrick blinked, as his boss disconnected. The hell? Had he finally given up on the idea of revenge? He smiled. Things would be much better with his boss finally dropping that grudge and getting back to it. He stepped back out of the hallway; the red-head was looking around for him; and her eyes lit up when she saw him. He chuckled, walking closer. Enjoy himself? He certainly could.

 Dragon Empress - 30 - Training - Augmented Humanity

    When Eyeball re-entered Eyetech, two of his security personnel; wearing badges that somehow now sported that ridiculous hand-painted Eye logo rather than the precisely drawn one that was the official corporate logo; both looked intensely startled at the sight of him... limping. Missing a hand. On a crutch! He stepped forward. "Can I help you, sir?"


    Eyeball sighed. "Not at the moment. Have Cobalt meet me at the lab. The elevator will give me all the help I need for the next few minutes."


    They both stepped back; scanning him from a few feet away. Aside from the missing hand, he matched his old ID perfectly; and he stepped on into the elevator without issue. The elevator smoothly rose to the top as he leaned against the wall. He should probably be in a wheelchair at this point. This... hurt.


    When he stepped out onto the floor, he could see himself losing balance before it happened; but was unable to stop himself, stumbling a few steps, leaning against the wall.. before grumbling to himself about godforsaken helicopters. He was going to start flying lessons. Today! Even if he had to do it with one hand.


    Inside the lab, an apparently young, slender, woman in too-tall platform boots with vivid purple hair that contrasted with the simple white lab-coat, had an enormous holographic projection up of a hand; showing a skeletal structure surrounded by, for the most part, thousands of tiny cables. He studied it for a moment. "...So what do we have here, Jenny?"


    She glanced back at him, smiling. "Only the Mark One, boss! Bobby is looking into the research Wayson sent over and tells me that we need to re-work the final product from the ground up, and also to, well. Modify you to better support it, but that you''ll be more than happy with the result."


    He frowned. "Modify me?"


    "So, Wayson got around the issue of power supplies for cybernetics by augmenting people. The default only works on people without any sort of physical mutation... so probably not you, boss... but Bobby thinks he can clone and graft a set of implants that will basically let you biologically store and generate electricity using what he''s learned from it."


    "..What was the default?"


    "He actually can get people to grow the organs themselves; and after a few months, they''re just part of the body, like bones or kidneys. For you, if they get damaged, they''ll need to be replaced, like that Reflex gland, but for them, they just heal back over time."


    Eyeball studied the diagram. "Hmm. Is it possibly to duplicate his work for me?"


    "...Maybe? To be honest, this stuff is extremely advanced, even by our standards. Either Wayson himself or one of his people is better than anyone we have at genetic manipulation. I honestly think he could make that Reflex-generating organ a natural part of someone too, if he had the same info we did."


    Eyeball sighed. "Alright. What do you have for now?"


    "An appointment with a hundred-thousand-dollar-an-hour Healer who goes by Doc Feelgood that has been running here on La Famiglia for a while now, in about two hours, who should get you right as rain for everything but the missing hand... and a hand that is stronger and tougher than your old hand but has a 7-day battery life and mild reflex loss since it isn''t directly connected to your nervous system. But! You should be able to type, shoot, and punch without an issue. Its also temporary; we''ve got something special for you once Bobby gets the organ work prepped."


    "..Not going to tell me what it is?"


    "If you insist, I will. But I promise, it''ll be worth it."


    As they started getting him fitted for his new, temporary, prosthetic, Cobalt arrived in the lab with his familiar, distinctive, blue gelatinous face; and Eyeball noticed that the security badge he wore also sported the odd logo. He frowned. "Alright. We had some graphic artist put together some neat stylistic eye logo for the company. Used it for all sorts of things. But I''m seeing that original, frankly awful, eye I scribbled on a motorcycle helmet come up everywhere now. Any good explanations?"


    Cobalt chuckled. "Is that why you called me up here, boss?"


    "Ugh. No. I need you to slap an alert on the biometrics of my left hand. I never retrieved it; it might be partially intact. If someone tries to use it to access any of our stuff, I want to know about it. We can still use genetic scans for me as well, but not just those. If you don''t mind, pick a few security questions for me as well; essentially act as if whoever walks into the building... including me... after I lost that hand might be an infiltrator."


    "...Who introduced you to Emerald?"


    He glared at Cobalt. "Seriously? Ripper. And don''t make that one of the standard questions, or I''ll get pissed off at whoever is asking them every time."


    ***


    La Famiglia did, of course, have its own air force. For the most part it relied on flying Metas; but they had a few helicopters, and even a half-squadron of six heavily modified MiGs; one of which was, at any given time, sitting in a lab at Eyetech being modified; so far a fairly low priority, aside from trying to come up with tech to sell to either the DoD or supervillains for aircraft. Its pilots were mostly former Russian officers, and a handful of trained Enforcers; but only a few of the Russians had ever seen combat, and none of these craft had ever been given cause to test their modifications in real combat.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The head of La Famiglia''s modest air force was an old Russian pilot named Sergei; with thousands of hours of flight time, and a mastery of dozens of Russian military and general civilian aircraft. And at the moment, he was sitting in the simulator in Enforcer HQ''s basement, a bottle of vodka on the counter beside him, casually prattling about the bad old days with one of his fellow former Russian colleagues. As Eyeball watched from the doorway, he casually drank from the bottle while the machine rocked with simulated motion; La Famiglia could, of course, shell out for some fairly nice simulators; this one couldn''t accurately simulate G-forces, but could completely invert itself on its track.. and the man''s ability to keep the vodka inside the bottle while flipping upside down was truly remarkable.


    The simulators were mostly setup for the MiG; especially the modified ones La Famiglia used; but could be altered for just about anything.


    He knocked on the counter outside the simulator. A few short raps. After a few seconds, the simulator shut down; settling down into its passive, resting position. The man pried himself out and pulled to his feet, glaring at the counter. "I''m off duty. Not like it matters. Nobody''s going to attack this place. Who the fuck is... Huh."


    He studied Eyeball for a moment. Had another drink. "Guess you''re my boss, right? I''m an... ''Enforcer'' now. Hah. Need something? Someone complain I was drunk on the job?"


    He chuckled. "Ahh... someone will attack, someday. The Jotun. And that MiG of yours is modified to be able to shoot down one of their fighters. Until they show up though, you''re probably right. I''m here for entirely different reasons."


    Sergei set his drink down on the counter. "And what could some rich supervillain maniac want with a drunken old pilot?"


    "Honestly? I got shot down while flying. I want to get at least a basic grasp of how to fly anything you can teach me. Help make it less likely to happen again."


    "Shot down? And still alive? Lucky!" Sergei laughs, stepping closer. "What does it pay?"


    "Not lucky. Just... had a really good friend there to save me. And, well. Still lost a hand. As for pay... we''ll say a hundred grand for the next month of lessons. And you can keep your Enforcer salary and just go right back to that after. How many planes and helicopters can you fly?"


    "Huh. Do you count ones where the made a new version that was a little different as a new plane?"


    Eyeball blinked. "I suppose?"


    "Over sixty."


    "Hmm. Can you show me the basics of enough that I at least won''t crash in the rest?"


    He took a long drink of the vodka, and set it down again. "That is a dangerously foolish idea, rich man. Each MiG is a bit like the others, and if you know one plane, they all work on the same idea... but each has its own unique characteristics. Its own way to fly. I can do my best, but even I, with decades of flying under my belt, wouldn''t just walk in and start flying a new plane sight unseen. Its not like a gun. My people, they made the MiG-X3. These MiG-31s we have here on the island are the same kind the Jotun shot down in droves during their last attack; and the X3 is the version made to fight them. We''ve made some very expensive upgrades; our custom jets are better than an X3 in some ways, worse in others. But while both are, technically, MiGs, they handle quite differently. If I''d jumped into an X3 straight from flying a 31, without any simulator time, no training, no prep? I''d be dead."


    Eyeball frowned. He would probably be fighting the Jotun, sometime soon. But as far as other enemies, it was hard to say. Would his powers make him as good with a jet as he was with a gun? Should he stop building a weapons arsenal, and start working on a custom fighter?


    "Tell you what. Lets start with our custom MiGs. Show me how to fly one of those, and we''ll go from there."


    "Hah. Very well. Come along. I will show you the basics. We can run the simulator tomorrow. First, learn how the controls work."


    ***


    Six hours later, Eyeball''s elbow was sore; he wasn''t used to the sort of strain the artificial hand and wrist put on him; it was a bit heavier than his real hand; and Sergei was growing increasingly irate.


    For the first two hours, Eyeball had been a standard trainee. Running through the simulator he would crash, hit the wrong button and kill himself, flail wildly and get himself killed; it had taken an hour to even reliably take off properly, in fact. He seemed to have some piloting experience, but not with a MiG; and Sergei hadn''t hit him with anything crazy, like high winds, sandstorms, incoming fire while trying to take off.


    Once he had a good, comfortable grasp on the jet''s performance, however... Sergei started throwing challenges at him. Enemy aircraft. SAM sites. At five hours in, he turned on the second simulator and went against him head-to-head.


    It was maddening. The rich bastard was still having issues with adjusting to different altitudes, and certainly wasn''t the best pilot he''d ever trained... except when it came to dodging and shooting. He always seemed to dodge perfectly, getting the jet to just barely avoid any serious damage. And if he got in close enough? He always nailed the target. He sometimes screwed up his long-ranged shots; most ''dogfights'' actually started off so far away that missiles would be in the air a fair amount of time before impact; actually seeing your enemy before firing a missile was rare. Once he got in close, though?


    Three times now, he''d run the simulator. The first time, Eyeball had fired off a few missiles at the proper range, when he should, and Sergei avoided all of them... though Eyeball had also neatly avoided all of Sergei''s own. Finally, at virtually point-blank-range by modern standards, he''d fired a single missile at precisely the right moment and nailed him.


    The next two times? The bastard had actually kept dodging until he was close enough to kill Sergei with the 23mm gun.


    He could still teach the man. There were numerous tricks and tools, and nothing beat experience in flight. But...


    Sergei glared at Eyeball, whose own expression was impossible to read through that irritating chrome helmet. "The Soviets, they tried putting men with super reflexes in a jet. They tried telepaths. But while they were a bit better, they were not the game-changer they hoped for. When it came to an aircraft, you couldn''t beat training, experience, good judgement, and of course, natural talent. I flew against such men and helped prove that a few times. But you.... What the fuck is it with you? Is it luck? It can''t be telekinesis, its not even a real missile!"


    Eyeball shrugged. "Trade secret. You down for continuing the training still? I''d like to work out the kinks in my handling of the MiG for the next few weeks, then do a live flight, then maybe try a couple of attack helicopters."


    "....Why are you thinking so small? Why do you use guns, planes, here in dirt? Why not space? Do you realize how much more you could do against Jotun up there, before they reach ground?" He gestured up at the sky, clearly agitated. "I am not best pilot on earth. Am very good; especially when drunk; is why Nicky hire me. But not best. You get trained, you might be best pilot on earth."

 Dragon Empress - 31 - To the future

    While the two hadn''t spent that long in the home, he''d never really been there without Emma for long. It was often the only place he went without the helmet, aside from taking it off at meetings with friends. She hadn''t asked for anything. No calls, no emails, no messages. He hadn''t had a day without a text from her in over a year now, and it felt a bit strange.


    While he disagreed with her choice to leave, he couldn''t really fault her for it. The two of them had both wanted to settle down, relax, with the ridiculous wealth they''d gathered. Enjoy life. They''d said as much, at least. But... they kept getting back into it. Eyeball would see an article about some interesting new technology. Ripper would make a bet with outlandish terms. Emerald would fancy a trip to Paris, and want to get into some trouble there. And out they''d go again. Eyeball generally the only public face of whatever happened, often in outfits other than the standard just to avoid attention, while Emerald came in from the rooftops.


    He looked at one of her favorite keepsakes. A crossbow bolt, in a polymer case. The faint mark of dried blood on it; from Tai. The doorbell rang, and he glanced up... and sighed, stepping out, sliding the helmet back on. Two men were standing outside, beside a stack of metal cases. "Ahhh... Eyeball. Sir. We''re supposed to drop these off, and come back to pick them up for shipping to Japan tomorrow?"


    "...Yes. Leave them here." The two practically fled back to their truck, as Eyeball shoved the stack in through the door, locking it behind them. He grabbed the first case, pulling it on into the bedroom. One case for her clothes. One case for her equipment. One case for her shoes and accessories. And one for he keepsakes, jewelry.


    He opened the first case, setting it on the bed... and found a simple white envelope inside. He frowned, casually tearing it open. ~Remember, you''ve still got friends here. Come up to the Family Box and have a few drinks with me when you finish the packing. Or before. And make sure to call Butcher. He thinks you blame him for the missing hand. - Nicky~


    Eyeball sighed. He''d been planning on getting drunk alone, but Nicky did have a much better selection of alcohol. And if he wanted to keep up with this training nonsense, it would be better not to be hung over in the morning.


    He picked up the bolt, looking at it one more time... and set it in the case, nestled in the corner. Should he reveal that the two of them had killed a Titan together? It might help her reputation... as if she needed it. All hail the Dragon Empress, who slew the previous Dragon Empress in single combat.


    After a few hours, each of the cases was neatly packed. He''d added a note that her other equipment was freely available if she wanted it, but couldn''t fit in a packing crate... she had a sort-of wind tunnel setup to help her practice her flying.. and looked at the stack. Did he have any contact information on the island, someone other than Emerald he could send things to?


    He tapped the side of his helmet. "Contact list. Emerald, Associates."


    After a moment, a list popped up... he grimaced. Ripper''s name was on top of the list. Drake. He... decided not to delete the name, just yet. There were voicemails stored there from him, and it might be good to listen to his last message again in the future.


    He could obviously skip himself, and Ripper. But the name Gabriel. When did he get her father''s number? Was she on speaking terms with him? "Call Gabriel."


    ***


    Gabriel was having a.. less than pleasant time. His daughter, understandably, was a bit upset with him. He''d explained his thinking; that he was certain she could defeat the Empress in her current state, that it would be best to get all of this over with. But... she''d attached her anger at the whole situation to him, and didn''t want him to join her for her usual meals; usually avoided seeing him at all. This was a bit of a switch for Gabriel; in years past, the powerful, handsome angel had never been short of friends, lovers, allies, and was one of the Dragon Empress''s favorites... in part for how readily he''d picked up magic.


    He sighed. He''d wanted to start teaching Emerald magic. The fallen Empress had spent years teaching him, decades ago, and here she was ignoring him. Two of the greatest sources of magic on earth, and she had them stuffed into a tomb behind a lead plate. Sure, radioactive. just... don''t get them until you need them.


    Even worse, she''d rebuilt the whole organization. Now, Dragon Island was back to being part of Japan, really. And the new organization she was building didn''t have a place for... well. Him. Some of her decisions about hiring were a bit odd, but it seemed clear she was trying to distance herself from Eyeball and the Family. And of course her own family had all done something to upset her.


    He hadn''t been banished or kicked out of the tent he was living in, but... he was bored. Not an enforcer, not a leader, not a teacher... just... there.


    He blinked... as his phone started ringing. An unknown number. Who cared, not like he was busy. "Hello, this is Gabriel."


    "This is Eyeball. I''ve got your daughter''s clothes and belongings and would like to arrange a shipment to her. Should I have someone drop them off on the island, or to somewhere in Japan?"


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    Gabriel gave a thoughtful nod. Eyeball. Good kid. Emerald shouldn''t have broken up with him. He''d liked the way they looked, and acted, together, clearly supporting each other. "We''ve got a landing strip now. Your people can just land directly on the island. I''ll let my daughter know. But... I was wondering. Are you hiring?"


    "You... were part of the team that abducted Emerald to start this nonsense off. And you''re asking if I''m hiring?"


    Gabriel started pacing back and forth in his tent. "I''m good in a fight, I know magic, and your ex... my daughter... has almost as little to do with me now as she does with you. I don''t need a big salary, but... I''m wasted here. There''s a new leadership taking over, and it has no place for the old Empress''s people."


    "...I suppose. I''d been wanting to learn magic, but the only capable sorcerer I know of is Odin, and it seems... I don''t know. Not something I should ask him about."


    Gabriel grinned. "Great! I can teach you all sorts of things. Tell me. Do you have any weapons that have been around a substantial amount of death? Some livestock you can kill off at need? Or even better, both?"


    "How many is substantial?"


    For a moment, the Angel looked at the tarp floor of the tent, thinking. "Its... variable. Thousands of deaths will definitely imbue an object if handled properly, but if there''s strong emotion involved, it can be fewer."


    "...I''ll have one of my people bring her belongings over on my jet. You can return with it, and we can talk from there."


    ***


    The party was a fairly big deal. Most of the way through a given season of the Arena, they''d hold a special event up in the Family box, with the rich, famous, elite; and of course, those contenders who''d made it this far. While most of the guests weren''t searched too thoroughly, one in particular; a black-armored figure with a deliberately marked streak of dried blood on his helmet; was pulled aside and carefully checked over. He was the only guest forced to give up his weapons at the door, and to be screened for explosives; but he gave them over without complaint.


    La Famiglia had dozens of five-star restaurants, and all of them were called upon to cater these parties; supplying just a few of some of the finest dishes in the world to the event. As Harrick entered the party; confused as to why he''d been invited, since they knew full well who he was; he looked around the room and saw... his team, sitting at a table, waving at him. Or, at least, the Human Shield was waving like an idiot.


    The other two were talking to Eyeball, who was also sitting at the table; wearing a different version of his helmet, it seemed. Same chrome sheen, same red LED eyes; but a mouth-piece that could retract, letting him eat while wearing it. He''d never seen that one before; and it was... strange.


    Harrick slowly walked over to the table; glancing over a dozen feet away at the table of Nicolo Russo; the real leader of the island; sitting between a pair of attractive young women... One of whom was familiar to him. Penelope Russo Swiftblade.


    A quick glance further around the room revealed dozens of other meta-humans, some of massive power and fame, others just who were his fellow Arena contestants; there were even a few who had been knocked out of the running, but invited anyway. Harrick settled into his seat at the table; and calmly slid his helmet off, setting it beside him. He''d had plastic surgery before taking this job on, and everyone there but Eyeball had seen his new face anyway.


    The Human Shield smiled down at him. "Executioner! You''re not gonna believe this. Remember how I told you we had this absolute badass named Viper on the team, had to drop off to go deal with some emergency? It was Eyeball! The goddamned Kamikaze himself!"


    Harrick blinked. "Kamikaze?"


    "Ohh! This bastard had a reputation before he got kicked out of the service. Always ran into danger, did crazy stuff. I never met him in the service, but my sarge had, said he was a real Leroy Jenkins kind of motherfucker. Sort to get everybody killed if they were dumb enough to follow him."


    Eyeball shrugged. "Fair. I''ve been hospitalized more than most, and for worse injuries. And, well. Following me in would''ve been damn stupid quite a few times. I''d be dead if some hadn''t done it anyway. When I got healed up after that last one in Afghanistan, I felt better than... I ever had. Surprised it took this long to lose anything."


    He looked around the table. Kidney still wore his ridiculous labcoat ensemble, but T-Rex and Shield were both dressed more appropriately; actual suits and ties. Shield''s looked... a bit tight. But then, the man was built like a truck. Harrick settled his gaze on Eyeball. "So. Should I be expecting anything?"


    The chrome helmet swiveled to face him. "Honestly, no. Me and Wayson have come to an understanding. He''s given me some potentially useful information, and while he hasn''t apologized, I never expected him to. I started things, so I don''t blame him for being upset. He does anything again, though, he''s dead."


    Kidney leaned forward. "Oooh. Wayson? The geneticist?"


    Harrick nodded. "A personal friend. Eyeball robbed him a while back, and he tried to send a hitman after him in return. Didn''t go well."


    Eyeball leaned back in his seat. "He told me you thought it was a stupid idea. It was. By all rights I should have sent you and the hitman to him in bags, and then gone after him for it after giving him enough time to be scared shitless a while."


    Kidney nodded. "Exactly. Best way to handle that sort of thing."


    A low chuckle. A few waiters approached the table, setting out plates; Harrick nodded at the young woman who settled the steak in front of him as he settled his knife and fork in hand. For just a moment, he considered an errant throw of the knife... but no. Pointless. "So why didn''t you?"


    "You and your boss might still be useful. Plenty of irons in the fire, things that might need doing. Big things are coming in the days ahead. We need to look to the future."


    As one of the waiters filled their glasses, Nicky stood up from his own table, and raised his glass in the air. "To all my friends here, and those enjoying La Famiglia. A toast! To good friends, to good fun.." He looked at the two young women. "And to family!"


    Eyeball glanced around the table for a moment, thinking about the potential of the ones around him, the problems they might face... and the ones who had been here last time, but weren''t any longer.. and stood up, raising his own glass. "And to the future!"


    ***


    A few miles away, at Eyetech, Jenny was leaning in close, carefully tilting and altering a machine over a remarkably realistic-looking artificial hand; which seemed to have a gaping hole in the palm. She tapped a few buttons. And abruptly the hole stopped revealing the inner workings of the delicate cybernetic fingers; and instead, seemed to lead to a deep, eternal, darkness. She smiled, nodding to herself. "Perfect. I bet I get an even bigger bonus than he gave me for the gun from this one."

 Aside - Gabriel/Eyeball - Feathers and Runes

    The basement was fairly well-lit, with bright, incandescent lights hanging from the ceiling at even spaces, a drain in the floor, and... it looked currently like something out of a horror movie. Bloody smears on the walls looking like some ancient, unknown language, a stack of cages on the wall, an electric stove with two pots of boiling water, cages filled with chickens, and... an aquarium filled with lobsters.


    And in the middle of it all, what looked to be an angel, wearing grey sweat-pants, with white, feathered wings giving off a faint golden glow. As Eyeball descended the steps into the basement; wearing his standard chrome helmet and a more casual, light, kevlar bodysuit; still in black, of course; he frowned. "Is... all of this deliberate, or did my people kick out some lunatic and give you his house?"


    Gabriel glanced up. "Ahh, there we are. Welcome! No, this all has a point. From the animals, to the markings on the walls. The only part that isn''t related is the water; I prefer not to waste meat, so as soon as I sacrifice the animal it goes right in the pot to be cooked."


    Eyeball shrugged. "Okay. I''ll accept that. I''ve got a video of what Odin did when he conjured up that storm. None of it seemed to make too much sense."


    The angel flicked his wings, droplets of blood scattering on the floor. "Well. He''s Odin. He''s the one who figured out how most of this magic stuff worked, at least, here on earth. I''m sure there''s some alien version of Odin out there in a hundred different places. You''ll find that most magic, no matter where on earth it comes from, is based at least partially on the work he did in Egypt."


    "..Egypt. Isn''t Odin from... somewhere in europe?"


    Gabriel chuckled. "He pre-dated the modern concept of europe. Now. Why do you want to learn magic?"


    Eyeball gently popped the seal on his helmet, setting it atop one of the chicken cages. "Combat advantage. Anything I can do to give me an edge, I''ll do. If it involves enchanting an item, or learning to throw a fireball, or whatever."


    Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. "Not a bad motivation. A dangerous one, but understandable. And for the most part, it would be enchantments. Using magic in the midst of a fight is... problematic. You need all sorts of preparation to do it properly."


    "Okay. So... whats the short version? How does it work?"


    Gabriel walked over to the cage of chickens beside Eyeball, setting his hand atop it. "Everything living has energy in it. That energy persists after you die, and, if done properly, can be harvested when you''re killed. In the same way a circuit uses electricity to do something, runes can be used to focus this life energy to do things. The only real difference is that all of these living creatures have their own will and emotions that can taint the magic, give it a will of its own."


    He smiled. "If I built a circuit to make a calculation, unless its broken, I put in one and two, I always get three. If I make a series of runes to project an image of the number three and feed magic into it, all sorts of things can taint and twist how it works. If I -think- four while I make it, and think two while I put the magic in it, it might come out four or two. If the energy comes from a particularly angry, hateful person, I might get a string of curses and insults, or it could just catch on fire."


    Eyeball sighed. "So... unreliable? Random?"


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    "Sort-of. Magic always involves a source of power, a way to focus it, and someone to direct it. Me and you, we have enough power in us already we could do a few minor tricks just by, say, carving a symbol into a rock, spitting in it, and poof, done. Like.." Gabriel reached back and gripped one of his feathers; and after a brief grimace, plucked it. He lifted his hand, drawing a symbol on it in the faint trace of blood from the feather... and held it up. The symbol began glowing a vivid golden color.


    "I could do this, all day, every day. Just the rune for light, and some power, and just think... light. Since its on my skin, it will keep running until I erase it. If I put it on the wall... it will fade when the power does. Do you have the weapon I asked for?"


    Eyeball lifted his old 10mm handgun from the holster. He hadn''t used it for a while; but this was the weapon he''d used to kill Lightning, and still had a certain sentimental value; so he kept a close eye on it as Gabriel set it down on top of what looked like a simple stone block.


    "So. The power for the glow came from me. The rune I drew on my skin was the focus. And, of course, I directed how I wanted it to work. By thinking differently, I can change it, without changing the rune..." He looked at his hand. After a moment, the color faded from golden and bright to dull and red. "Some focuses have power in them already. If you put a rune on them, all you have to do is pick them up, and poof. Starts working. Such as, well. Doing it to yourself. Or an object that has a great deal of life-force bound up in it, the way that the Empress did to her swords. She was able to draw runes on scrolls, or on her body, and activate them simply by touching them to the sword."


    The roughly hewn stone cube the handgun laid atop had slowly begun to glow. "Annd... that handgun also has power in it. I assume it was used to kill quite a few people?"


    Eyeball shrugged. "Not that many. Honestly, the rifle I used in the service did more. Though... this one is what I used to kill Lightning."


    The block''s glow was steadily increasing in brightness. Several distinct runes were glowing far brighter than the others. "Ahh. Well. If you''d had it properly prepared beforehand, it might have been something more powerful than Hiroshima. Thousands of lives snuffed out at once is a dramatic amount of power, but a Titan... is hard to quantify. Like Atlas imprisoned in the earth, just inconceivable."


    Eyeball studied the handgun. "We''ll circle around to this Atlas thing later. If it has power, great. How do I use it?"


    Gabriel smiled. "Well. Every magical device is at its most effective when wielded by the one who crafted it. So.. I''m going to need to teach you how to properly carve runes. We''ll practice, for hours, days, or weeks. And when we finish, I''ll help you carve that weapon, and make something that will be absolutely devastating, both as a weapon, and as a focus to help you direct other spells. It took me six years to learn what I know, practicing night and day at the feet of the Empress. We''ll get you the basics in a few months if I can get some good hard work out of you... and see where we go from there."


    Eyeball pressed his hand to his forehead. "l...Don''t know if I can do that. Sergei has me in the simulator for at least four hours a day learning to fly a godforsaken fighter, I''m dealing with our new agreements with Taiwan, actually having to do my job as Chief Enforcer for once...."


    "Then I suppose you just have to decide which to prioritize. If this wasn''t important to you, you wouldn''t be here."


    Eyeball sighed. "Fuck. I can''t master this, and piloting, at the same time, at least not in any reasonable timeframe. Teach me the basics. I need to get someone on the Eyetech team to handle the more complicated stuff, but at the very least I can try to turn my gun into an effective tool against the Jotun."


    Gabriel shrugged. "I''m certainly available. There''s a gentleman who goes by Artificer that works out of the US, does great work making magical trinkets for hire who is far better than I am. Odin might know some good candidates, and I understand you two have met."


    "..Not sure I want to hire my ex-girlfriend''s dad to work for me."


    "I can find others without that baggage. And promise you that the worst I''ll do is try to find some underhanded way to get you two back together."


    Eyeball shook his head in exasperation. Despite Emerald having made it perfectly clear they were done,  "Okay. Lets start with the basic runes."

 Aside - Valkyrie/Odin - Valhalla

    As Valkyrie walked across the docks, she drew quite a few eyes; at first, simply because of her appearance; a seven foot tall woman wearing a leather jacket, pants, boots, and a black tank-top, with roughly cut long blond hair, and a face that could easily have been the source of ''resting bitch face'' as a term. Those who recognized her continued to stare in awe, or horror... or started to run.


    The dock audibly creaking beneath her feet didn''t help. While Valkyrie herself only weighed perhaps three hundred pounds; her seemingly infinite durability unrelated to her actual physical mass; her clothing and equipment was all hand-made herself, with painstaking effort, out of materials that only she could make. Was it Neutronium? Not quite; she''d made the genuine article quite a few times, and the amount she wore would sink her straight through the ground like a lead ball into the ocean if it were as dense as she could make it.


    As she reached the shore, three figures waited for her; the only ones who weren''t avoiding her approach. Two women; both tall, powerful; well over six feet themselves, wearing golden armor, shields, and spears all of beautiful, immaculate construction; and between them, a one-eyed, powerfully built, bearded man who was wearing... an ordinary suit. Black tie, pinstripes; handsome, after a fashion, though ''rugged'' might be a better term. Considering what he was capable of, exactly her type. Valkyrie could remember the last time she''d met the man; he''d been wearing fancy quasi-ancient armor, carved with runes, looking like a true mythical figure, standing in the desolate wastes left behind by the fallen titan.


    She frowned, looking at the two women, then back at him. "You look a bit out of place in that company, All-father. Where''s the fancy get-up?"


    Odin shrugged. "That armor is my greatest creation. I built it to fight Titans. There are only four human ones left, three on earth, and none are my enemies. I''ve been working on something new, to fight the Jotun, and needed some parts of it for that. Besides; I''m not getting into any fights today, am I?"


    Vakyrie smiled. "So certain I''m not your enemy?"


    "You are a warrior, a mighty one, and one who cares about the common man more than governments or codes. At worst, you''re my sort of woman, and a potential ally. At best, you could be the greatest of my Valkyries if you wished."


    The woman on his left elbowed him in the side, and he grunted. "One of the greatest of my Valkyries." He glanced at the red-head beside him. "If you genuinely think you''re better than her, go ahead and challenge her once we get somewhere safer, I''m sure we could draw an audience."


    The woman sighed. "Men." She smiled at Valkyrie; definitely more attractive, although also clearly not nearly as tall or well-muscled. Valkyrie hated her instantly. "I''ve been honing my skills with the bow and the spear for over a thousand years. I wouldn''t underestimate me, titan or not."


    Valkyrie shrugged. "I''ve killed older and stronger. I will again in the future. Now, you called me for a reason?"


    "Ahh, yes." Odin started walking down the street, away from the docks. "This way. I''ve got a gate that will take us the rest of the way. As you may know, unlike Zeus, I can''t have children of my own. I''ve adopted a few over the years. Some still alive, even. Loki is..." He chuckled. "Well. You can meet Loki yourself later. Anyways, I felt as if you might want to see Valhalla and Hel for yourself, get a better idea of what to expect should you decide to come along, pick up a few useful tools for the battle against the Jotun. And, well."


    As they stepped out of the coastal town, Valkyrie could see a circle of stones, well-worn, ancient, standing outside, near a common footpath. "I''d heard you were having trouble getting your son to feel normal. Surrounded by people so inferior to himself, physically. I felt I could offer you a chance to bring him there until he''s an adult. Let him spend his final years of childhood among his peers before heading out into the world. I suspect it would be good for him."


    Valkyrie watched as the trio stopped in the middle of the circle; and after a moment''s hesitation, stepped through to join them. Odin paused. "You don''t have any..." He tilted his head for a moment, looking at the two warrior-women. One of them piped up. "Bags of holding, extradimensional spaces, or objects made to hold far more space than they should."


    She chuckled. "I didn''t know such things were real. Like the doctor''s tardis, bigger on the inside?"


    Odin shrugged. "I''ve made a fair number over the centuries.. of varying sizes. Thor had a sort-of pouch I gifted him he had bound into a seam of his favorite vest. Seemed tiny. Insignificant. But it held a hundred-ton warhammer he could remove simply by reaching in, and seventeen kegs of the finest mead. If he wore that tunic into Valhalla, everything inside it would be ejected by the gates of Valhalla; so every time, he had to remove the hammer so he could hang it at the door. If I hadn''t put that in place, his entrance would''ve simply killed him and anyone nearby while he wore it. So if you have one..."


    She tilted her head. "No, I don''t ..Thor... Had? Did he pass on?"


    "...Yes. He actually died in space, the last time the Jotun attacked. Took out one of their great warships on his own. His hammer is still floating out there... somewhere. They retrieved what was left of him when they studied the wreckage of the ship."


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    Odin reached out, touching the circle of stones. After a few moments, there was a vivid flash of light... and they stood atop what seemed to be an enormous mountain. Below them, the ground extended in massive rings, each seeming to contain vaguely similar buildings; those nearby seemed akin to modern homes and structures, while further down seemed to be ancient hovels and taverns. There was cheering, and laughter, from a nearby building, which seemed to be... a simple old pub, with a group of men in various military uniforms inside, drinking and talking.


    Valkyrie frowned, looking at the strange place for a moment; it seemed to have been pulled right out of her childhood. "Well. While I appreciate the visit, and tools to fight the Jotun would be appreciated, I don''t think Butch would appreciate being dragged away. He''s become too involved in his friends, and now girlfriend." The frown twisted further into a grimace. "I could drag him here, but I don''t think he''d want to come. So.. Explain the pub?"


    Odin glanced at it, and chuckled. "With each passing century, I add a new layer to the place, to store more souls. This will be the last one. Most layers aren''t too different from the others, but they''ve grown dramatically different lately. Running water and electricity? Popular features."


    "..Last one?"


    "When Ragnarok comes? All of these men and women take up arms for one last war. I believe they''ll end up in Hel after if my grand-daughter built it properly, but... well. I''m reasonably sure there''s a place souls go, but I can''t be sure."


    "..Hell? Hell is real?"


    "Not the christian Hell. Actually, that might be real; I hope not to find out. Hel is a place like Valhalla. A construct we built long, long ago, to hold the souls of the dead. Not as nice as Ragnarok.. this place is built to help the souls prepare for war. It strengthens them, prepares them, and of course, lets them enjoy their time before the final war. Hel is more of... a resting place. Calm. Sedate. When Ragnarok comes... Valhalla will fall apart, and the warriors will return to earth for the final battle, alive once more. Sort-of."


    He turned, walking down the street; giving a friendly wave to a few soldiers who offered him a drunken salute.. as he turned onto.. a rough, cobblestone street, vastly different from the pavement that graced the front of the pub and its concrete sidewalk.


    Valkyrie looked up at what appeared to be an enormous wooden dome. As they passed inside, she could see... hundreds of the women in golden armor, most of them holding a cup, mug, flagon, tankard... a few of them fighting, some with blades, others unarmed, with their sisters circling around them, chanting, laughing. Off to the side, what was clearly a recent addition; television screens mounted to a wall, though without too many watchers.


    Odin kept on walking through the room, exchanging comments, insults, as he went; and walking right by an enormous throne-like chair that seemed to be made mostly out of helmets and weapons roughly forged together... and passed through a final door into a room containing... what looked to be a forge, and an armory. Hundreds of blades hung from the walls, hammers, swords, spears, flails; clearly favoring older, ancient styles of weaponry, but including more recent things like cavalry sabers as well.


    The most notable feature of the room was none of these, however; not the forges or the weapons, but rather the central feature of a massive statue; dark grey stone with runes seemingly painted all over his body.


    As Odin stepped on into another, smaller room, he paused; noticing that Valkyrie had stopped, looking at the statue. "Ahh, Atlas. The only one of the old Titans who was like you. Truly impossible to kill."


    Valkyrie blinked. "Wait. This... is a living person. A Titan, like me?"


    "Of course. Killing him was impossible, so we tricked him. The only one strong enough to hurt him was himself. The binding ritual required his own blood painted onto his skin; something that took the deaths of hundreds to accomplish, after tricking him into breaking his own nose. Anything else would''ve worn away with time."


    She nodded. "I can get that. Someone trying to do that to me..." She clutched her belt for a moment. She had a few balls of matter pre-prepped so that she could trigger a nuclear detonation; both for defensive purposes, and in the event someone launched her into space; she could actually propel herself back to earth on a wave of nuclear fire. "It would be more than just hundreds dying."


    Odin nodded. "Well, now he''s a battery. The barrier around him is powered by the only thing that could keep up. Himself. And of course, the leftover power? Keeps this entire place running. It''ll be interesting to see what happens once its gone." He led her on into a side-room; one where she could see the armor he''d worn on their previous meeting, in pieces, on a massive stone counter; alongside a variety of seemingly golden pieces of armor; likely made for the Valkyries.


    He walked up to a pair of boots. "I make each suit of armor special for its owner. All of them get flight, and invisibility, of course. The rest is up to them. Much how each spear is a channel to gather souls to Valhalla, but I also make each one to fit its wielder."


    He extended the boots to Valkyrie. "And these are built specifically for you. You''re the only person... conscious.." he glanced at the doorway, and the outer chamber where Atlas resided. "Who can make Neutronium. But you can''t make weapons or armor out of it. Because..."


    She smirked. "Because if I''m wearing a Neutronium gauntlet, it weighs so much that I crash through concrete like it was water with every step. A full suit of armor, or even a sword made out of the stuff... I could only use it in space."


    "Well. These boots channel the energy of the wearer, and spread her weight around. I''ve got a pair I''m working on for Spike; quite a bit smaller, and not as ornate." He nodded at a pair of dull grey boots, seemingly leather, in the corner. "Both do about the same thing. Take your footprint and spread it on the surrounding surfaces. You can turn them off just by thinking about it when you want to drop-kick someone straight to hell, but otherwise... They let someone carry five hundred tons of armor, and spread that around to a huge area."


    "..Well. That could certainly come in handy. Good for jumping?"


    "No better than normal, for you. But you won''t shatter the ground as badly when you take off."


    She gave a low chuckle. "You know what? I think I can forgive the style in exchange for that. I always have to leave the house like a quarter-mile out before I really get moving."


    Odin nodded. "Good. So. You can have the boots, either way, but I''ve got a request for you. Everybody knows you. Some like you, some hate you. But they all respect you. And the smart ones fear you."


    "..I can crush the strongest man on earth between my fingers."


    ".... Its coming. Ragnarok. And when it does, I want you by my side. If they take control of me, I want you to take me out. Knocked out if you can. The chains only last a day or so; a Jotun day, even, so seventeen hours, so a knockout is fine. Kill me if not."

 Aside - The Emperor of Iron

    Going legit, as it were, had given Jonathan Randolph opportunities. He wasn''t about to fall at his knees and work for these fools at La Famiglia, nor was he going to truly ''go legit'' and spend the rest of his life wielding his powers on behalf of some billionaire. The sad truth was, that while his powers were vast, incredible, they weren''t enough for his dreams of conquest all on their own. His experiments to instill his powers into objects were mostly failures; at best, he had been able to cause a wire to continue behaving in a set pattern for hours after his last command.


    So, he needed minions. Servants. And the best way to acquire those was, of course, money. And fear. But mostly money.


    His powers were... incredibly useful when it came to construction work. He''d made millions causing metal to reshape itself on behalf of La Famiglia, and then on other projects. His fame; and infamy; had assisted as well; he could command top dollar, and just a few years of ''legit'' work had earned him hundreds of millions of dollars.


    His nice suit; Armani. His boat; purely custom-built, all his own, better than anything any navy had at sea. The waitresses? Fan-girls eager to be around him, and yet still paid well enough to enjoy life on the Iron Dreadnaught; he''d developed thousands more of those after the Ascension incident, and, well. That wasn''t bad.


    Even before, he''d had fans. When he''d uprooted the statue of liberty, and marched her through new york? Well. It was inspiring. They''d even made a movie about it while he was in prison; though he wasn''t fond of the man they''d chosen to play him, and had words with the producers after his escape that had prevented some of the more objectionable parts from appearing in the future, anywhere outside of bootleg cuts on the dark web.


    Unfortunately, being of german origin, and a villain, they''d portrayed him as a bit of a Nazi. Completely ignoring that his grandfather had fought for America, and he himself had never shown any sort of... anti-semitic.. beliefs, this meant that, until recently, most of his fangirls had been... well. Neo-nazi lunatics. Swastika tattoos, so thin they were practically anorexic...


    The more recent group was... more varied. Should he have an Empress of Iron to show off when he conquered the world? Or be more akin to King Solomon, with more wives than days of the year?


    He looked out over the ocean as the Iron Dreadnaught pushed itself along, faster than any other oceangoing craft; its very hull reshaping and shifting to give it a perfectly smooth ride along the surface as he sipped a tequila, and nodded at the waitress; a cute ... probably american girl. She looked hispanic, but while he had plenty of fans from mexico, the dyed blonde hair just screamed american. He smiled as he looked back to the water, the girl standing back against the wall, waiting for anything else he might need.


    Yes... life going legit could be extremely pleasant. But that wasn''t his destiny. His destiny was conquest. And he knew just where to start. No more of this butting heads with the DMA. He would handle things better this time. Start small. A few teams of mercenaries bought with his wealth, this nice boat... and, well. Opportunity.


    ***


    Almasi looked out over the rows of soldiers, smiling. Most of them were teenage boys; only the leaders were older, more competent, loyal. But they would all do as he commanded; and tomorrow, he would push the Federalists out of his homeland. He calmly rolled a diamond across his palm; his skin bearing the same dull black shade as the rock itself; and stuffed it up his sleeve. So long as he kept it in contact with his skin, he could be just as hard as the diamond itself; and make any possible assassin''s attempt pointless.


    He turned way from the crowd of boys saluting, and stepped back into his tent, looking at his... ''generals''. Before the interference of the villainous De Beers, this place had been called Namibia. Thousands of natives had been worked to death in the mines before the uprising; and while the westerners supported the government, they simply had too many matters of their own to deal with to intervene; the final seeds of the Federalist demise had been planted when Mexico had drawn the world''s eyes... and armies. While, officially, this land was called Azania, and was supposedly a single, large, united country, ruled by the remnants of Colonial government... the truth was that warlords like Almasi ruled much of it.


    And soon, would rule it all. His Generals were, like himself, local metahumans; mutants with significant, dangerous powers; not as tough as Almasi himself, but able to hurl fire, blast victims with lightning... one young woman could actually turn herself into living magma. Almasi''s own faction was not the largest; but it was the most powerful. Any mutant who joined him was made a general, given his own lands, his own servants; even those of armies he''d defeated.


    While he promised the people the final end of Colonialist rule, the destruction of those villainous nations which had oppressed them for centuries.. to the people who mattered, the end goal was clear. A pyramid of the powerful, where Almasi and his friends ruled all, and any who interfered would be crushed.


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    As he laid out the map, and began outlining the next incursion into Azania, the flap suddenly opened; a boy of perhaps 13 charging in, and raising a hand in saluet. "Mfalme Almasi! Something is coming! Something big!"


    ***


    The Lord of Iron settled into his ''uniform''. A suit of armor he had formed from thousands of metal wires, with welding torches, cutters, and various equipment hidden among its mass; allowing him to freely reshape it, though he couldn''t shrink it below perhaps seven feet tall. As the Iron Dreadnaught approached the shoreline, figures scattered about had gathered to watch; likely assuming that, of course, the boat would stop at the water''s edge, pull up to the docks.


    It just kept moving. Enormous tendrils of steel emerged from the sides as the vessel moved; sliding directly onto the shore like some sort of horrific giant octopus, hundreds of thousands of tons of metal moving as if it were a single living thing. A few scattered souls actually fired at it; and were simply ignored as the Dreadnaught settled in place. The Lord of Iron settled near the bow; one of his mercenaries; a man with inhuman reflexes and durability who called himself Bolt-action; standing beside him, his preferred weapon; a .50 sniper rifle; resting in his arms.


    Bolt-Action frowned as he looked over the side. Undoubtedly, a few people had been crushed to death when they failed to run. Some might even be hurt by the ricochets from the bullets. He glanced over at the boss, and at the boat they were riding in. This thing... was a monster. It would take either a Titan, or a full-sized army, to take it on. As he looked it over, he wondered... was the Lord of Iron a titan as well? How close to his limits was this thing? "Lord. We''re at the first target. Your orders?"


    Randolph glanced over at the man. "We need to meet the man in charge. Did we send our invitation?"


    "Of course. What... exactly is our objective here?"


    "Oh, we''re going to make them an offer they can''t refuse."


    As the two men looked out over the bow, they could see dozens of armed soldiers appearing; young men in camo, wielding assault rifles, all wearing the same diamond-shaped patch of the Diamond King; the man who slew the De Beers tyrants, one of the leading warlords of the region. And in front of them.. a massive figure of a man stepped out, wearing a similar uniform. His skin a dull, dark grey; looking to be made of some sort of greyish gemstone. Beside him, a few figures stood; most looking normal, though one seemed to be made out of living magma.


    Randolph smiled, and focused for a moment. A single massive tendril suddenly emerged; one with a platform at it''s end... and settled down in front of the smaller group. The platform was large enough for several people to stand on; and after a bit of discussion, the diamond-skinned man and the magma woman both stepped onto it.. gripping tightly onto the edge as it lifted them hundreds of meters into the air... and brought them to a stop at the railing.


    "Hello there, Diamond King. I... am the Lord of Iron. And I''m here to make you an offer you would be foolish to refuse."


    ***


    The table was beautiful, made of what appeared to be oak; but was in reality a polymer over a layer of shaped metal wire. Like everything of any reasonable size on the boat, something that Randolph could control with a thought. As Almasi and his cohort sat down, Bolt-Action settled in beside the door; studying the duo. His gun... would definitely take out a diamond the size of a man''s head. The woman, though? Could she simply reshape if she had holes in her?


    He glanced at The Lord of Iron; who didn''t seem concerned, as a waitress settled plates and wineglasses before them.


    "So, my friend. You''re setting yourself up with a little kingdom. Fight off the enemies, conquer the colonials, carve yourself out a chunk of Anzania. You''re looking at pitting a few dozen mutants and hundreds of poorly trained boys against an admittedly also poorly trained Federalist army, which also had a dozen other warlords to deal with. Any day now you''ll make your next strike. Take out another military base. The other warlords will likely be doing the same, only with more poorly trained boys and less mutants."


    Almasi frowned, leaning forward onto the table; glanced around him at the ship. A ship... that must be a kilometer long, simply standing on giant legs far from the water. What was this thing capable of? Was he going to be offering his services?


    "And what. You want me to let you be the king, and be one of your subjects?"


    Randolph leaned forward, smiling. "No. I have greater ambitions than that. I want to be Emperor of the world. And I want you to be King of, say... the African continent. I feel things will work best in the end if each continent is ruled by a native, after all."


    "... You''ve been going on about that world-conquering nonsense for a decade now, haven''t you? Or more? I saw you that time you turned the Statue of Liberty into your weapon of choice."


    "Yes, yes. My failures against Titans... beings of literally infinite power... are well-known. But the only Titans left on earth either have powers that aren''t quite so combat-effective as Spike or Lightning... or aren''t inclined to face off against me once more. Especially not if, say... we conquer Africa. Then you help me conquer South America. Then we conquer Australia. At that point, our next step would largely be dependent on the state of the world. But I envision a united world beneath my grasp; divided neatly up among a series of Kings."


    Almasi looked around at the boat once again. "... I must admit, your ideas sound insane. Far-fetched. But... this monster you''re driving around makes the Statue of Liberty... or a whole army of tanks... look insignificant. Can you really hold it together long enough to conquer the whole of Africa?"


    "How about a proof of concept, first. We gather up your forces and prepare. Pick a day to start the attack, when you''re as strong as you could possibly be; I can defend your interests on my own until you''re ready. When the moment comes... I''ll shut down the power grid of Anzania, use its wires to secure or destroy all of its military vehicles, and then we simply march across the country; crushing anyone foolish enough to stand against us. If you still think my idea is far-fetched after that? We can part ways, and I''ll find a different general to work with. I must admit, though; your ideals and methods are the closest to my own. Its why I''m here, making this offer."

 Ragnarok - 1 - En route

    Sitting atop a chair carved from a single enormous bone, a massive creature; almost four meters tall, and vaguely resembling a blue-black crab, bar the solid skull projecting upwards from the rounded torso, with four limbs and two claws containing dozens of tendrils for fine manipulation, absently scratched at his chin.


    His Majesty, King Jotun the seventh, was... enthusiastic. For a quarter of a million years, he had ruled his sector with an iron fist. Hundreds of worlds called him King, of dozens of species, and while the Empire was there, an ever-present overpowering force lurking in the darkness, they merely demanded their periodic tribute of a single world''s biosphere every now and then to stay out of Jotun affairs; something easily contributed either via terraforming or conquest for a kingdom with resources as vast as his own.


    There had only been one intensely irritating thorn in his side; he personally had been ruling his kingdom for over one hundred and seventy thousand years, ever since his father had first encountered... the Titans. These infinitely powerful, unstoppable menaces, content with remaining on their own world, had utterly crushed the fleet when it reached them, and slain his father. And while the Empire had a few Titans of its own, the Jotun lacked them; and had simply bided its time, waiting for a solution.


    Every once in a while, one of their scout fleets had passed by this ''Terra''. Not too often; he feared provoking them into beginning a war that would be impossible to win for either the relatively small number of Titans or his own vast but limited fleets. But every time, the fleet had been obliterated with ease by the same old enemy; Cronos the mighty, ruler of earth, and of course, the slayer of Jotun the sixth; an especially heinous act as until his death it was believed that the sixth was destined to rule for eternity, and even someday overcome the Empire itself.


    This time... had been different. The scouting fleet had discovered, amazingly enough, that while there were still Titans on earth, only one of the old ones still lived; Atlas; and he was hidden away, imprisoned somewhere. There had been a rebellion; the unstoppable force brought down from within. Terra had been so weakened that the scout fleet might have won the day, if only they had more ships.


    Jotun gave a low, chittering laugh as he examined his screens. They would not have that problem this time.


    His own vessel; the Claw of Jotun; was a ten-kilometer long behemoth, armed with six of the plasma lances that formed the standard ship-to-ship weapon of the Jotun fleet. There were two sixes of even larger vessels; planetary bombardment platforms containing vast facilities for the production of tailored biological weapons, mass drivers for extreme-range planetary strikes, and two hundred and sixteen sixes of assault vessels; equipped with both weapons for orbital combat, and a deployment of ground assault forces for each. All told, there were over 1300 ships in this fleet; and it had been less than 30 in the scout fleet that had easily overwhelmed most Terran forces. And only two Titans had resisted that fleet! Even if they couldn''t kill those two, even a Titan couldn''t defend an entire planet on its own; the fleet would either conquer... or it would exterminate.


    Even better, his spies had reported that while more titans had been born since the last invasion, not only had they been slain; but the most dangerous of the titans that had fought off the scouts had died as well; and another fled his world in fear to some colony which, of course, the Jotun would hunt down in due course. There was, most likely, just the one Titan left to defend the earth.


    One of His Majesty''s numerous technicians approached; a tiny creature compared to the king; giving a low bow, scraping his carapace on the ground. "Your majesty. We have detected an unusual quantum fluctuation along our path."


    "Oh? More than the usual storms?"


    "Not... especially, your majesty. While the intensity is low, it has a pattern to it. Our sensors indicate it is a low-intensity storm that may cause some slow-downs but... normally they are more... chaotic, and it is almost precisely at the threshold to be rated low-intensity. I would recommend we divert."


    "You know the standard procedure. Don''t bother me with this sort of nonsense. If it''s low-intensity, ignore it. At worst, it slows us down, or throws us off course a few light-seconds and we need to re-enter hyperspace."


    The technician started to hesitate... but then bowed. "Of course, your majesty."


    The king frowned as the tech skittered off to his control panel, pressing his claws into their holes so that his more delicate tendrils could resume their fine manipulation work. If the fluctuation were at medium-intensity, they would divert. Something low-intensity was either a low-energy storm, or a very small number of objects, debris in hyperspace.


    Despite knowing there was no logical reason to be concerned, his claws gripped his seat firmly as they passed through the area... and relaxed when the ship emerged from the other side without a problem. He nodded to himself... before the same technician let out a squeal of distress.


    On the screen, it showed that seventeen of the fleet had suddenly lost communication, being abruptly slowed down and possibly forced out of hyperspace by the disturbance. He wasn''t too concerned. Seventeen out of thousands? Not impossible for a low-intensity storm. The ships should catch up before arrival at Terra.


    The technician seemed unusually alarmed; withdrawing from the console, running back before the king, throwing himself down again to his knees. "Y... Your majesty!"


    "...If this isn''t important, you will regret having been hatched."


    "Your majesty. seventeen vessels fell out of formation and off sensors when we passed through the disturbance. Twelve of them were the Bombardment ships, and five were the escorts of the Chain of Eternity. I find it extremely likely someone somehow laid a mine field in advance for us... and was targeting those ships and the Chain deliberately; the escorts took a strike meant for them, and more might be coming."


    Jotun abruptly rose to his feet, a claw in the air, taking a half-step towards the lesser creature, rage filling his heart... and stopped. This... simpering technician had advised him to divert. His actions had shown both intelligence, and courage, in disturbing his King. Crushing him would be distinctly inappropriate. "Signal the Chain to fall in behind us, and six sixes to form up in front of us. Adjust our approach angle... and order the Chain to drop out of hyperspace one light-week before the rest of the fleet. Assign new escorts.. of your choice, Commodore. Choose a replacement and send him in immediately."


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    The technician almost protested. While he was among the best techs in the fleet, he was the lowest rank of officer; it would be a decade before he could command a ship, much less a flotilla. But... this was the king. He sprinted back to his console to find the next best technician to take his place.


    ***


    "When Prometheus made its outward voyage, I had them plant thirty-four mines. Seventeen to pull targets out of hyperspace. Seventeen to kill those targets. Thirty-five mines would have triggered an alert that would cause them to divert; it had to be thirty-four. No more, no less."


    The figures around the table wore the uniforms of various nations; US, Russia, Japan, Germany, China; but while all of them were older men, the one speaking seemed... child-like. Perhaps 12 or 13, he stood atop the table wearing what looked like a grey bodysuit, and had a helmet under his arm; while the meeting was on a defensive space station, he was the only one who wore vacuum-resistant clothing, which gave the officers pause.


    "I had two choices. Either I could use enough of them to kill the Chain of Eternity, or I could destroy all of their bombardment ships and delay the Chain''s arrival. Even a single bombardment ship would be able to wipe out all of humanity within hours; so the choice was obvious. We are holding this meeting because the various possible futures finally collapsed. The mines have gone off. The bombardment ships are gone. The enemy will be expecting another trap."


    He gestured; a holographic map of the solar system appeared. "Assuming they detect no changes from the present, they will be cautious on arrival. They will emerge far above the ecliptic, in this area.." He waved his hands around a small spherical region. "Scan the solar system, and then make a much shorter, smaller jump, to here..."


    He tapped again; this time near the earth and Luna.


    "We have approximately 47 hours before arrival. If we place stealth mines precisely correctly, we may be able to deal critical damage to their fleet when it emerges. Remember that light takes six hours to reach their emergence point, so the mine-layers will need to be gone at least seven hours beforehand. So... we have 40 hours to turn that little patch of space into floating death. Any questions?"


    The Russian Admiral nodded. "What do you feel about our chances?"


    "...Slim. If this were another scouting force, we would win handily. But the earth only has forty-two ships that would make a good match for one of their Assault ships, and they have brought over a thousand. I feel we will likely destroy several hundred with mines, and perhaps a few hundred more with our stations and warships. My most likely future predicts that they still have hundreds of surviving vessels after every human starship or station is destroyed, and they move in for the kill. Worse, their ground troops will most likely survive, even on the destroyed ships; they will be already aboard landing craft, preparing for the invasion. With over two hundred Jotun warriors aboard each ship... and thousands on the flagship... we may have as many as a quarter of a million Jotun warriors landing, and thousands of their assault craft."


    The man shook his head. "We are doomed then?"


    "No. We have been preparing for this day for a long, long time. A Jotun might be the equivalent of a grade B or A metahuman, but the catastrophic mass-death they expect to inflict using the Chain will never occur; any real chance of them conquering us depends on either orbital bombardment with dedicated ships that are now gone, or using our own tools to get the job done. All world leaders now require a back-up to activate their nukes, and no Titan capable of singlehandedly eradicating a good chunk of humanity remains on earth. On the plus side, they have less than two thousand in their entire fleet; so if we deal much damage, their enemies will fall upon them like dogs on a wounded lion. On the negative side... they will deal catastrophic damage over the course of what promises to be a very long, drawn-out war. The biggest factor will be who they decide to use the Chain on. But whoever it is... we will survive. Many of us will die. I doubt anyone in this room will outlast this war, including myself. But humanity will outlive the Jotun."


    ***


    Gabriel was surprised when he entered his lab at Eyetech, to find Eyeball at work. He''d acquired a variety of tools and equipment, and even made friends among the technical staff as he worked to explain technology, and help with their attempts to integrate technology and magic; something that only Hephaestus had truly mastered, but there was no reason not to try.


    Lately, Eyeball had been increasingly busy with running the security forces of the island. Building them up, advancing their aircraft, hiring more people... it was a strange difference coming from a man who, in the past, had barely done the job. Some days he barely even looked at the ''Rune Lab'' as the sign on the door indicated. But today.. the forge was running, and Eyeball was on his knees before a small stone block, carefully carving; and in the manner of a proper rune-smith, putting a few drops of his own blood into the runes as he worked using a tiny needle he kept on a nearby table.


    Gabriel was as quiet as possible; but Eyeball still waved at him absently as he kept working; currently sitting on the floor, sweating, just wearing a tank-top and shorts, his helmet and armor by the door; the room was intensely hot.


    A few minutes after Gabriel entered the room, Eyeball laid back on the floor, setting his tools on a stone platform to cool; and Gabriel finally approached. "You''ve been putting this off for months. Why finish it now? I honestly felt you were going to have me finish the gun myself."


    Eyeball kept his eyes closed; sweat pooled beneath him on the floor. "...Just a feeling. I''m probably going to need it soon. I''ve done as much as I can to strengthen La Famiglia. I''ve got my own personal custom fighter parked on the roof, Eyetech brand, and I can outfly just about anybody with it. I honestly shouldn''t have a need for any hand weapons. But... for some reason, my instincts are telling me that I''m going to need it."


    He looked up at the ceiling, frowning. "And soon."


    ***


    Thousands of miles away, Ascension triggered a pre-programmed message; the first of many steps to prepare for the invasion, aside from sending thousands of it''s units marching and swimming across the ocean floor. The Chinese navy had long been functionally hiding in its ports; foreign civilian vessels, or those owned by the rare few businesses outside the party, largely taking over trade; and while they had been working like mad to rebuild their fleet, they had not yet dared take them out to sea; the last time they''d sent a patrol boat out to test the ''Sea Titan'', it had sunk a few miles out; fortunately with a Taiwanese craft nearby to enact a rescue of the crew.


    Plans to hunt down and assassinate the Sea Titan had, so far, come to nothing. It was as if he were a ghost; and La Famiglia and the United States were of no help in finding him given the current political climate. While plans to halt construction hadn''t been seriously considered, party leadership believed that if this continued for too long, China may simply need to give up its naval ambitions... and sell its warships to another nation, preferably one whose interests aligned with their own.


    A device that had been carefully hidden in the shallows near the docks suddenly shot a high-pressure jet of water into the air... and a holographic projection appeared within it.


    There were dozens of cameras; and hundreds of soldiers; watching the glowing fountain that emerged from the ocean, as a loud voice emerged in mandarin. "I am Oshe, the Sea titan, lord of the Oceans. It has come to my attention that invaders from beyond this world are approaching. Invaders who have no need for vessels of the sea, and whom my powers will be useless against. While I can never forgive the overlords of this despotic land for its crimes against my family and my people, I will allow this clemency; any vessel that moves forth to fight these invaders will be allowed to travel in my waters from that day forward."


    When the fountain of water ended, and the hologram vanished... the device began burrowing itself into the ocean floor, working to hide itself... before melting itself down.


    Even before it had completed this work, word was passing along Chinese naval ranks... and a single, experimental, patrol boat was being sent out to test the truth; whether the ocean would still remain the nemesis of the Middle Kingdom.

 Ragnarok - 2 - In the vast distance

    Jotun slowly scraped his claw through the display, tearing a long gouge through the table. His fleet had finally arrived. This was it; the Othrys system in days of old, now apparently dubbed Sol. They would purge it of its armed forces, sell its ruins to the Empire, and finally cleanse the stain of dishonor from his family. Hopefully he might even reclaim his father''s remains; undoubtedly the vile Cronos had kept his body as a trophy somewhere. Passive sensors painted a picture of a system that wouldn''t look out of place in the Kingdom; a few dozen Assault Ship-class vessels, a scattering of smaller ships. Various orbital structures, a handful of signs of construction scattered about. Considering how young this society was, it would be considered a promising start.


    For any other species, he would hesitate before turning them over to the Empire. He might take them in as vassals, or slaves. This sort of development showed possible useful traits.


    But not for these. His advisors had various theories why this species had so many mutations. Unusually high background radiation. The moon. Some quirk of evolution. But while the powers of the Jotun were the result of thousands of years of careful genetic development and cybernetic augmentation, these creatures were simply randomly born with gifts; sometimes ones that made even his own family pale in comparison.


    A Jotun soldier could outrun one of these human ground vehicles. Lift ten times his own weight in his home gravity; and even move comfortably in the much heavier gravity of earth. Heal rapidly from injuries; and be harder to injure in the first place thanks to his armor and weapon systems. More than enough to slaughter most humans.


    But while the reports from the scouting fleet had emphasized the Titans were gone... they had also shown vast threats among the local population. Individual humans capable of slaughtering hundreds of Jotun. And without the bombardment ships, it would turn this war into a bloody slog rather than a rapid conquest.


    He selected a good position for their next jump. The entire fleet would emerge... here. Just seven light-seconds from earth, close enough to begin firing their plasma lances immediately, hopefully scoring a surprise volley on the enemy before they could start dodging, and close range for missile bombardment of every single human defense. If the enemy wasn''t taking appropriate precautions, it would be over in seconds. If they were, they would close in within minutes, and end the war in space immediately.


    ***


    Eyeball settled the rune-carved handgun on his hip, checking himself over. His gauntlet was... different. Integrated with the storage space in his hand to let him call up any of the objects inside and feed them directly into his grip; including dozens of types of grenades for his 40mm handgun, clips for the 10mm. He needed to pick his old 40mm up from the labs; the one which also had extra storage in it; and head home for the night. He''d already spent too long at the lab this week.


    He nodded at the few employees still in the lab; he didn''t mandate any given hours, but he did give bonuses for results, and some of his people ended up sleeping in the labs; a practice Cobalt tended to discourage. Still, the Class 3 lab... now just making tools for his own personal use, and that of a few immediate friends, now that Ripper had passed.. was occupied.


    As he stepped into the lab, whistling to himself, his hand suddenly started.. buzzing. A faint alarm sounded in his helmet as he stopped at the doorway, frowning. The helmet was alerting him... about his gun?


    The weapon was laying atop the counter; modified with a rail that partially extended into the extradimensional space, letting the 40mm revolver fire with magnetic acceleration that would exceed any handheld gauss rifle that didn''t have five million dollars worth of technology pumped into it. And... his helmet was giving him a series of warning flashes.


    Jenny abruptly ran around the corner; wearing an armored vest under her labcoat, a heavy welding visor over her face; if not for the vibrant green hair she''d adopted recently he wouldn''t have recognized her. "Boss! Wait!"


    Eyeball looked at her for a moment. The vest had soot-marks. Had she been playing with fire again? "Why is my helmet warning me not to touch my gun?"


    "Okay, so. We''ve been doing a little research. You remember how you told Carmody that if he came up with a way to kill a Titan like Spike and convinced you it would work, you''d give him fifty million dollars, even if you never used it?"


    Eyeball frowned. "That was... a few months after I founded the company. Spike isn''t even on earth anymore. Has he been working on it the whole time? I thought he was hopping teams. Didn''t he help you with this thing?" He held up his cybernetic hand.


    "Yes, he did. Actually, he wanted to collect the cash, buy himself an island, and retire, so he''s been jumping at any project that looked like it might give a solution. He was watching that Idris Elba movie where he had a bunch of awesome bits on his costume that were like... little tiny objects that suddenly blossomed into guns, and thought you''d find it awesome if you could put the entire package of arms inside your hand; and just ''fwoom''; be holding a rifle, or a missile launcher, or anything, instead of just clips and bullets."


    Eyeball thought for a moment. "... I''m familiar. In fact, If I recall, the comic he was based on, he actually teleported guns into his hands. About how you''re wanting to do, right?"


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    "No, it was Carmody''s idea. But copycat or no, it would be badass, right?"


    "Sure. But I want to keep this a bit quiet. Only close associates should have this stuff for now... or even know about it. So overtly making guns appear is a negative."


    "Okay, okay. But thats not the point. We found out what happens if you try to put a gun that has an extradimensional space into another extradimensional space. Thankfully with small, test units."


    Eyeball glanced down at the 40mm, then at Jenny. "Something bad, I''m assuming."


    "Well. If anyone other than Cobalt had done it, they''d be dead. So... pretty bad." Jenny lifted her visor, looking a bit sheepish. "But it was Cobalt! So.... he''s not gonna be good for a few more days, but he''s alive!"


    "...What did you do to my security chief?"


    ***


    The video was fairly low-resolution; and showed three figures; one with blue, transluscent skin, wearing normal security armor; and two in lab coats, wearing clamshell armored vests and helmets, talking. Cobalt was holding up a tube, while a metal frame was strapped around his thigh.


    "The holster is an extradimensional space. So far we''ve got a gun and some batteries in it. No bullets. The gun is one of the prototypes we made before we got Eyeball''s gun settled. The math says putting one inside the other should be fine, but the Engineer said I was wrong; and if I did, it would blow my arm off if I was lucky."


    Cobalt looked down at the cylinder in his hand. "So. Basically..."


    Jenny smiled. "I think it will be harmless, and would like to just have a robot test it out. Put one on a wall, have the robot push the other into it, and observe. Just in case its an energetic reaction, down in the blast chambers, or even out on the ocean."


    Carmody slapped Cobalt on the shoulder. "I think that''s a waste of time and an expensive robot. You''re pretty much invulnerable, right? You can just stick one in the other, boom, and if it explodes, well, you''ll be fine! I''ll get you some spare clothes and we''ll call it a learning experience and tell old Engie he''s right."


    Cobalt chuckled. "I would call you an asshole for that, but I''m the one who bragged I could probably live through a nuke. Alright. Setup the cameras and I''ll try it."


    "Already set!"


    Cobalt nodded for a moment... and then looked at the two thoughtfully. "Just in case..." He removed the holster, setting it on the floor; and then, as Carmody and Jenny backed up behind a blast shield... dropped the tube into the holster.


    ***


    Eyeball looked down through the hole in the floor; a ten-inch thick, armored floor; and then up at Cobalt; or rather, the top half of Cobalt, where it sat on a wheelchair, wearing a t-shirt that... went far past what was left of his torso. "So. If I put one inside the other... what exactly was that?"


    "The more energy inside it, the bigger the area of effect. Those two were tiny. Maybe a meter radius sphere was... warped into another reality and then left there? At least, that''s our best guess. If alternate dimensions are a thing, we might have just donated one half of a Cobalt. We actually don''t know if even this would cut someone like Spike or Valkyrie in half... but it could send them to another dimension, or just make them cease to exist. Either way, not our problem anymore."


    He sighed. "Cobalt... you ever been hurt this bad before?"


    "Splattered all over, plenty of times. Half actually gone, not recoverable? Yessir. Once. Took me a month to reform a new left arm and leg, though... if I really, really focus, I could at least temporarily just be a really short version of me. As soon as I stop concentrating through, I''d go back to being like this."


    "...You''re on leave or light duty for the next month. Your choice. Pick a replacement. And.... I''ll split the bonus between the three of you. This... would probably work. So it merits the bonus. Just don''t tell Valkyrie. And disable the warning in my helmet. And, well. I''ll need a rapid-release function for my hand... just in case I ever need to do this deliberately."


    ***


    The Chain of Eternity settled into her throne. She wasn''t the captain of the ship; that was a larger, male, Jotun several meters before her on the bridge. She was cargo. Precious cargo, which was considered more valuable than even the King; they would sooner sacrifice him than herself. The king had twelve heirs, and should he die in this invasion, the seventh-born; the one who had proven himself the most worthy of the King''s descendants, among thousands; would take over. Having children would destroy her capabilities; so while she had clones, copies, none were quite as capable as herself. Imperfect. Inferior.


    Physically, she didn''t seem that imposing. An emaciated, scrawny Jotun female; while the average Jotun female was over three meters long, and the average male two and a half, the Chain was perhaps less than two, with slender limbs, with a pale, delicate carapace; wound up with chains.


    The product of centuries of genetic effort to create the perfect telepath; someone built to, in the event the Jotun were ever forced into war with the Empire, turn the Emperor against his own people and hopefully force the unstoppable tyrant to kill himself, if anything could; she was bound into a mass of thousands of chains of various materials, all carefully carved, prepared, and bathed in the blood of thousands of sacrificed Jotun, to create... the most potent telepathic amplifier in the universe.


    The amplifier was built for a singular purpose; to conquer the unconquerable mind. And while the Chain could normally influence others, and provide all sorts of useful information at remote... when the artifact to which she was bound was turned on, she could form a connection to anyone, and overwhelm even the greatest of minds; and until the power ran low, they would be her puppet. Of course, when the subject died, or the connection was lost, she would go into a coma, until the device was prepared again.


    But... the times she''d been called upon to use the artifact had been the greatest moments of her long life. Freed of the bindings that kept her physical body imprisoned, she could roam the stars in some other form, and use it as she wished; generally to the detriment of the enemies of Jotunheim. She knew the purpose she''d been bred for, built for, and yearned for the day she could take over the Emperor; and maybe, just maybe, find a way to stay there. To never have to return to this fleshy prison.


    Still. For now, she could scan the earth remotely, looking for viable candidates to take over. She couldn''t make out much detail from the edge of the solar system, but once she found a viable candidate... hopefully she could keep them alive long enough to really enjoy herself as she used them against their allies on earth. The moment earth''s orbital defenses were cleansed, she would be delivered; and could truly live again.

 Ragnarok -3 - Orbital mechanics

    The Jotun, of course, worked in sixes. Each of their Assault ships; a 250-meter craft which was the precise target for which every human warship had been built to fight, with 43 of them from a variety of nations each designed to, hopefully, take one on; had six smaller ''Assault vehicles''; which could carry its pilot and 36 Jotun soldiers. Not a tank, or a jet, these craft were as agile as a helicopter, capable of flight at Mach 9 in atmosphere, and more durable by far than any human vehicle built pre-invasion; with enough firepower to wipe out a city.


    Jotun craft lacked names; the Assault Ship that would be the first to emerge from hyperspace simply had a number; and was generally referred to by the name of its captain, Grubbi. Inside the vessel, the crew were making final preparations; they may outnumber the humans twenty to one when it came to starships, but that still meant that a few Jotun craft might be destroyed if they didn''t act with appropriate prudence. They would appear outside of effective lance range of the enemy; but inside missile range. Which, of course, meant that the enemy would launch missiles as soon as they arrived.


    Hopefully, the Jotun could simply launch one overwhelming mass of missiles; obliterate all of the human ships; and close in to search for prisoners and useful salvage before beginning what promised to be a long slog of a ground invasion with their orbital bombardment options dramatically limited.


    Regardless, there would be at least some losses. So even before the ship launched, each of its AVs were loading on its own crew and soldiers, and preparing; they would launch as soon as Grubbi emerged from FTL in lunar orbit. If Grubbi herself were lost, the 216 soldiers she carried would still be delivered to the surface. Across the fleet, thousands of assault craft were similarly being loaded.. with all the soldiers and supplies needed for an invasion.


    ***


    Eyeball frowned as he studied the display on his headset. He had issues to deal with. Breaking in a new security chief, testing out his new gear, seeing how much difference the gun made... did he really have time for... Ahh. Apollo.


    "Accept call. What is it?"


    "It''s time. Things still look bleak, but survivable. We could use you up here." The disconcertingly youthful voice was familiar by now, despite only half a dozen conversations.


    Eyeball frowned. "I suppose you could. I built myself a fighter. But... it can handle the smaller attack craft without an issue, at least, it can with me flying it. Haven''t figured out a way to really hurt the big assault ships using a fighter... " He looked down at the handgun. "...At least, for a reasonable price. I''d bankrupt the DoD for what I''d need to make a man-portable starship killer to take out that fleet, and need months."


    "Eh. I don''t care about your fighter. Look. I can see generalities. Every time I make a change, I get visions of possible futures. I can''t shoot a pistol and know exactly where the bullet lands, I can tell you which beach the British will be making their landing on in three hours and what will happen if I warn the Germans about the wrong one. The bigger the events, the more I can tell you, but when it comes to the position of a single ship four seconds from now, I just have to guess."


    "That honestly is incredibly useful when it comes to battle. If I''d been able to predict Ascension in advance... How important could four seconds be in the face of that kind of incredible prediction?"


    "The Jotun primary weapon is the lance. An energy beam of sorts. It can hit targets up to twelve light-seconds away, but past eight its just a flashlight, and past seven it can''t pierce heavy armor, needs multiple shots to do damage. Our gravitic sensors can pick up the location of enemy ships in real time... but the beams are stuck moving at lightspeed. So when the beam goes out to someone at seven light-seconds, it hits where the target was seven seconds ago. And even our stations have thrusters enough to randomly move around a bit, make that sort of extreme-range shot unlikely."


    Eyeball frowned. The implications were clear. "So... despite an actual range of seven light-seconds, the actual effective range is much shorter; and the more the target moves around, the shorter the range. In combat terms, anything that doesn''t home in like a missile is pretty much in knife-fighting range."


    "Exactly .The Jotun normally settle in about seven light-seconds away, randomly shifting to make long-range fire useless, taking random pot-shots at slower-moving craft, forcing the enemy to constantly waste fuel to keep from getting nailed, and empty their missile bays at the target to overwhelm them in a single mass wave of fire. They get good, solid targeting down at that range, and don''t advance until they''ve emptied out the missiles.. or wiped out the targets."


    "...Seven light-seconds is still too far for me."


    "It won''t be by the time you get here."


    Eyeball blinked. "Wait. What?"


    "Look. Your powers and mine. They interfere with each other. Before you had yours, I could see more possible futures, it was easier to sort them out, I could see further. If I weren''t around, I''m sure your own powers would work more effectively. And, well. None of the futures involve me surviving more than a few hours from now if I stay conscious and working. The Jotun get me, and soon, or the Chain does and I get myself; and once the war is actually started, my powers are no longer such an advantage. So. You get up here. And by the time you''re standing on the bridge, things should be clearer for you."


    "...Are you seriously going to kill yourself just to boost me?"


    On the other line, he could hear a laugh. "Oh, no. I''m going to use a drug to boost my precognition as much as possible, its going to let me make more accurate predictions for the next hour or so, and then I''ll lose my powers and be in a coma. I''ll probably die before I wake up, but hopefully you can do something about that. By the time you get here, you should be the only precognitive on earth for a while... and able to designate targets for our ships and stations. And if, somehow, you manage to keep me alive, I will happily retire without my powers, should it come to that."


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    Eyeball stared at his phone for a moment. "... Leave some of it for me. If what you''re saying is true, there might be a very narrow window where I could make an enormous difference."


    ***


    Around the world, final plans were being put in motion. The survivors of the previous Jotun war were giving soldiers last-minute talks. Anti-Jotun weapons were being dusted off, loaded, prepared. All the various facilities where Nukes were being stored were making last-minute preparations; making sure that, at minimum, it took two commanders to launch anything.


    Valkyrie... was sitting on a mountaintop beside Odin, carefully winding up long strands of pseudo-neutronium; the element so dark it seemed to practically absorb the light. Odin''s newest armor was... impressive. Dark grey, with various weapons attached, a massive gun, field generators... it could even reach orbit if it deployed fast enough.


    And... it required a code-word from Valkyrie to activate, and a second code-word, only spoken by her, could de-activate it. She studied it for a moment; her own outfit was far more simple; massive black boots, distributing her weight across the entire plateau the two stood on; boots which, at a word from Odin, would deactivate and send her, and the thousands of tons of neutronium strapped to her, plummeting into the depths, where it would take days for her to get back out.


    She grimaced; and felt her own weapons for the fight to come; essentially Bolas. Long cords with a pair of Neutronium beads at either end, she would toss them into space... and with Odin''s help, hopefully strike enemy starships in orbit. She''d done it before with just handfuls of neutronium fragments; but the impact on the countryside had been devastating. She''d destroyed mountains with her missed shots.


    If, by some miracle, the Chain didn''t grab either of them... she could nail any ships that dared to cross the horizon. She glanced over at Odin. "So. These guys... they can''t kill me. And might not be able to kill my son, by now. And they know that. Doesn''t that mean that the obvious target is me? Just nab me, make me leap into space?"


    Odin smiled. "I will be opening the doors to Valhalla and releasing hundreds of millions of warriors. Doesn''t that make me the obvious target, when, in theory, a single properly aimed gravitic weapon could take you into orbit without controlling you?"


    "...Ahh. I think you have one of those in the armory. Like a telekinetic gun?"


    "Like a telekinetic gun. We didn''t have them ourselves until the Jotun showed up. Would''ve come in real handy to deal with Atlas, but, well. Then we wouldn''t have Valhalla."


    "Hmm. So. Its gonna be one of us?"


    "Probably not. The Chain is a powerful telepath, faster and better than anything humans have ever developed at reading minds. She will likely see that the two of us have plans, and skip to another target. Frankly, I''m worried that Ascension might be the one hit. The amount of damage that machine could cause in seventeen hours..."


    Valkyrie blinked. "Wait. Ascension is still around? I thought Spike and his girlfriend wiped out the machines?"


    "Ohh, no. Apollo believes that Ascension is probably the single most potent military force on earth at present... scattered across millions of little bunkers, mostly underwater. It may not survive the Jotun war... they have methods of dealing with networked machines more effectively than we can... but for however long it lasts, it will likely cause massive damage."


    ***


    The facility didn''t look like a terrorist training facility. Or even a mosque. It looked... like a resort.


    A hotel, surrounded by tennis courts, a golf course, pools, a beach; for most visitors, including a suspicious CIA agent who had dropped by the year before, the facility seemed to simply be a hotspot for the children of wealthy oil barons to vacation with their friends and employees. The Black Death had investments in the place; but she was a wealthy land-owning woman who had numerous investments she''d built up with her fortune from oil sales, so it was one of many.


    Granted, most hotels didn''t have extensive underground bunkers. Clone pulled to a stop at the entrance to the parking garage; two of his ''brothers'' began unloading the back of the truck, carefully arranging the shells in neat stacks so that a forklift could handle the rest; and glanced up.


    A friendly, smiling arabic man with a long, slightly greying beard, an expensive suit, and a closely-shaved head had emerged, with a few guards surrounding him; who glanced at Clone and his brothers, and then promptly ignored them, studying the surroundings.


    "Ahh, Clone, my friend. You said you had news for me?"


    While each of the Clones looked almost identical, the one taking the lead was wearing a simple grey suit and had nasty burn scars across his face; while the other two wore black and white camo and looked... fresh. Practically newborn. "Yes, I do. The moment you claimed would never happen is upon us. The Jotun have arrived in our system, thousands strong. These..." He nodded at the stack of shells. "Are anti-Jotun munitions that I was unwilling to sell you earlier. Sixty semi-automatic rifles that fire 30mm armor-piercing rounds, each with two hundred shells. Ineffective against their Assault craft aside from damaging external components, but able to penetrate their infantry armor anywhere but the torso. I''m making a similar delivery at each of your camps. I''m not completely certain money will have value when this is over. But if it is, I''ll be expecting payment then."


    Aziz stared at Clone, then at the boxes. "...Surely, you must be joking."


    "Not even slightly. This is it. The biggest war of our lives. And if we survive til the other side... we''ll be well-positioned to come out on top. The biggest powers are going to be the Jotun''s first targets. And if your camps survive? Well. Your dream of an Islamic state, taking out Israel, crushing the superpowers... that might be accomplished by the end of the month."


    Aziz walked up to the first box; and opened it gently; revealing... a long-barreled, magnetic accelerator weapon. A Gauss rifle. A man-portable anti-tank weapon which could take out any armored vehicle on earth.. and be used to open bank vaults in a pinch. The number of meta-humans who could survive a shot from this weapon could be counted in less than a few dozen. The Americans had thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, but had never used them in war against his people.


    What he could''ve done with just one of these from a rooftop...


    He glanced at Clone. "If money has value when this is over, you will get far more than my initial offer. Is this not too late? Who will show my men how to fire these?"


    "I will. Your people have nine hundred and seven camps that I''m aware of. Each of them has a few of me there, making a delivery."


    Aziz looked shocked. "....So many. I knew there were quite a few. No wonder I can''t grasp your mind. Will one of you remain here, to give me updates as this goes on?"


    "Of course. Though... I will only give you updates on your own forces. The only army and navy I''m thoroughly infiltrated into are the Russian ones for obvious reasons, but I have scattered members in a few others, strike teams, distributors, janitors, aides.... Whichever way this goes, I''ve been setting it up so that our major opposition won''t survive this war. And if I can take out the Jotun at the same time, all the better."

 Ragnarok -4 - Dragonslayer

    The craft had been given a dozen nicknames as it was pieced together; The Eye-Jet had been one, Famiglia One had been another. Eyeball had simply dubbed it ''Prototype Starfighter One'' and slapped his name on the side; Eyeball, of course, not Jason.


    The Air Force members who had helped prepare the craft had been a bit upset about that; they insisted that a callsign wasn''t something you picked; it was something others picked for you. It was always something you did, and usually something funny or humiliating if you knew the story; though, if you were lucky, it might at least be something that still sounded cool. While a variety of suggestions had made the rounds among the crew, they had refused to leave ''Eyeball'' on the side of the craft; and the name ''DragonsLayer'' was etched in its place. Just in case he hadn''t caught the reference, someone had managed to put a decal of Emerald on the side in a provocative pose while Eyeball was away.


    The control tower, of course, referred to him as DragonSlayer when he took off and landed; and while he normally tried to use Eyeball rather than the various nicknames he''d been assigned; most prominently, of course, Titanslayer; the other members of La Famiglia''s fledgling air force followed the same sort of pattern, so he decided to let it slide.


    An allied starfighter, heavily modified with equipment from his labs; mostly copied Jotun gear, as only marginal improvements had been made, even now, decades later; it had all the firepower and more of a Jotun assault craft, with a fraction of the armor and substantially more speed and manueverability. The only major upgrade over a Jotun craft was that the extradimensional space he''d included in its construction gave it a 3-month fuel, air, and food/water supply, as well as enough ammunition for the railguns to last it throughout the war; except, of course, that the engine and weapons would all need to be serviced long before that if it conducted in-atmosphere operations.


    That was one thing the Allied Space Command had found pleasantly surprising about space operations; so long as the craft never entered or left the atmosphere, maintenance was far, far more cost-effective than operating a jet on the surface. All of the space stations that served as the heart of humanity''s space defense could freely launch fighters constantly with less budget impact than a couple of earthbound aircraft carriers.


    Eyeball... or Dragonslayer, for the moment... leaned back in his seat as the fighter took off. He laid a hand on the control panel. He''d thought about naming the thing something more interesting, but really.. Dragonslayer would be a good name for it. By now, launching it was easy; he''d taken off several times, and tried out the simulator plenty; and had no intention of trying to eyeball the launch window to reach Prometheus.


    As the craft hurtled into the sky on auto-pilot, Eyeball felt a sudden spike of pain in his forehead, pressing his artificial hand against his helmet. The hell? He hadn''t had a headache other than from a serious injury in.... years now. He blinked. His powers... they were crippled. Something was wrong. He could only see maybe a fraction of a second into the future. It looked like an odd after-image trailing behind his hand, rather than any sort of real projections.


    ...He wasn''t used to flying without his powers. He was comfortable enough handling the craft without them, after hundreds of hours in the simulator... but his ability to respond to emergencies before they happened was gone.


    In fact, he wasn''t used to doing anything at all without his powers. He''d had them for so long that the lack was... disconcerting. Was it because he was approaching Apollo? Or had Apollo taken his dose?


    ***


    "I need the nukes to go off at these precise coordinates and timings. Don''t launch until Eyeball gives the signal." Apollo had a massive control board and holographic display; and was rapidly touching spots on the board, altering paths, adjusting timing up and down by a few seconds as he shifted the layout on the screen. Oddly enough, he was placing some of the screen elements outside of his own reach.


    The dark-skinned, powerfully built commander in a US Space Force uniform looked a bit out of place; most of the crew, while varied in terms of origin, were small, slim; he was the tallest on the deck by at least five inches; he studied the board, glanced at Apollo, and frowned. "...Why should I wait for Eyeball to give the okay? I can understand giving him fire control of the station. My superiors already okayed that, for obvious reasons. Honestly, having someone with literally supernatural aim working the guns is a godsend in this situation."


    "Not just you. I''m slaving every Lance the fleet will let me to this console. He''s going to hit this button just after the Jotun jump to FTL, seconds before they actually arrive. Thats when we get started."


    He frowned, looking down at the controls. "...Apollo. I''ve been told to give you operational command until the Jotun arrive. While he does have a dramatic reputation for his ability with weapons, I''m not sure my superiors would accept the idea of putting our nukes, or the main guns of our ships, in the hands of a known mass-murderer. They might not be effective against ground targets, but one momentary swipe could wipe out our fleet. I can guarantee the Chinese won''t accept that idea, and that''s almost a quarter of our firepower right there."


    The child-like figure looked around the room... then turned a serious gaze on the soldier. "Commander... Wilkes. I''m going to tell you a secret that if you allow to spread, even to your superiors, will get you killed. Forget you know it after you make your decisions. I would recommend getting very drunk, in fact, after your pod crash lands and you''re in the hospital recovering."


    "...Extreme need to know. I get it." Wilkes noticed that Apollo had activated some sort of device. The rest of the room now seemed perfectly silent.


    "Me and Eyeball have different versions of the same power; Pre-cognition; and they interfere with each other. Unfortunately, his is the stronger version, but he doesn''t have any control of it past the first few seconds. It still works longer-term. He knew Lightning posed a threat to the world, which I couldn''t see it until Lightning was already dead; it was only then I was able to piece everything together. What he''s always had, however, is absolute, perfect, precognition for the next few seconds, allowing him to fire a bullet and know where it will land before he pulls the trigger. When I lapse into a coma in a few minutes, he''ll suddenly be able to see further and more clearly than ever... and when it comes to the sort of split-second decisions that matter in this sort of battle, better than I ever could."


    Apollo gestured at the massive, elaborate control scheme. "This entire setup is so that he can use that power to fire our weapons at where the enemy will be before they get there. Launch our nukes to disable enemy missiles before they launch. I can''t predict what the results will be. As soon as he takes over, the future is a blur for me. But... if I were to have us shoot his fighter out of the sky right now?"


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    He sighed. "We would destroy about one hundred and fifty. Maybe two hundred, depending on a bit of luck. I don''t know what he can accomplish, how much damage he can deal. But I know that without him, those ships will be able to drop down into the atmosphere and provide close air support that lets them absolutely devastate our forces over the coming weeks.. in positions where we have to nuke them to take them out. We will win... but the damage we''ll have to do to ourselves in the process will be horrific. I believe having him here, running these controls, will save millions of lives."


    Wilkes glanced around the room, then back at Apollo. "If it were anyone else, I''d call bullshit. But... I know how tough those things are, and how few things we''ve got other than nukes that can kill them. And, well. You''ve never steered us wrong. Seeing the future would explain how he got away with all of that lunacy. How long will I need to give him control?"


    "I can''t be sure. If I did something to alter our sensor profile right now, it would change the Jotun approach. If more than just Eyeball were coming up from the ground right now, they''d change their approach. Every action or inaction leads to a new future. But whichever one happens... get to your escape pod the moment the light goes red. You won''t be able to help once you''re on the ground til the war''s over. But they''ll need people like you in the future."


    ***


    It was the roughest take-off Eyeball had ever performed; the calm once he was out of atmosphere, coasting on a mostly ballistic course to Prometheus station, was a welcome, relaxing one; despite the microgravity unsettling his stomach. He''d never been to the station before; never actually docked before; but thankfully, he had the proper systems installed on his craft.


    As he flew through a carefully calculated course, avoiding the satelites and defense weapons scattered throughout orbit, he received an incoming signal.


    ~Dragonslayer, this is Prometheus Actual. You are authorized for approach. Handshake initiated.~


    He nodded. His control panel had popped up with a green icon that had never been lit before; RAC, or Remote Automatic Control; and he tapped the button beside it. His stick went dead; and he could feel the thrusters making minor corrections and adjustments. The station itself would be making tiny adjustments as well; as a military defensive station, it had been built with enough thrust to let it avoid long-range fire; but until that was actually needed, it wouldn''t move more than a few centimeters in any given direction to accommodate the tiny fighter craft that boarded it.


    The flight deck was... massive compared to his tiny craft. A dozen starfighters, all of the F-X-3 variety; essentially just the Skunkworks most recent iteration of decades of work on merging Jotun tech with the american fighter; were arrayed in neat rows; each of them in pristine condition, all of them having been flown for hundreds of hours but aside from rare space debris collisions, none had ever been damaged, or even had a combat mission.


    When the machines settled him in place on the flight deck, he suddenly had a brief headache. He grimaced as he pressed his head against the wall for a moment. Again? Twice in... Ahh.


    His vision was back. He could see what was about to happen once again, with that same perfect clarity. If he were to slap the ejection button, the ''escape pod'' that made up the cockpit would be launched... directly into the roof, with enough force to crack the glass and smack him against it. He blinked. The projections were going further than they had before.


    His flight suit was a modified version of his normal armor; it hadn''t required too much modification, considering he''d made it sealed against possible chemical weapons hazards from the beginning; and had plenty of air to get him inside, so he simply popped the seal, allowing the air to escape from the cockpit as the magnetic grapples firmly hooked the craft in place.


    He hopped out of the cockpit; dragged slowly down by the weak artificial gravity maintained inside the bay; and turned on the magnets in his soles. Maybe there was artificial gravity; but he''d prefer not to drift away if the power went off. He waved at one of the mechanics out in the bay; an orange-suited man was standing on one of the other spacecraft; a wolf was emblazoned on the side, though the name ''Junkyard'' was also attached. He considered what might lead to a pilot being named ''Junkyard'' as he walked along the well-lit path to the airlocks.


    There were dozens of airlocks, of different sizes; for efficiency''s sake, most of the crew used a tiny, coffin-sized airlock, built to minimize the space that would have to be re-pressurized; the chamber even had an emergency setting for someone with a punctured suit, a more gradual adjustment. Six of them were setup in a row, side by side; and Eyeball settled neatly into one, yanking the lever to let himself inside; feeling the powerful hiss of air flowing through.


    When the airlock on the other side opened... he got his first look at genuine Space Marines. The armor was the same dark grey as the hull metal, and he could see the ports for thrusters, the jetpack. The rifle was, of course, a semi-automatic, anti-Jotun weapon; likely a Gauss rifle, but currently strapped the the marine''s back; while each of the two had a hand on his side-arm, neither had his weapon drawn.


    Eyeball almost saluted. It had been a long time since his service, but these guys had an amusing history. They found the absolute best of the best from every unit that picked up a rifle... and then gave them a job where they spent the rest of their career in training for a war that they were never sure would come. These men must have been marines, or army, served actively in a warzone... and then spent years up here. Would they be able to match what they did in the past?


    "Hello there, gentlemen. I''m here to assist with fire control. I believe I''m expected?"


    "Yes sir. Commander Wilkes told us to bring you straight to the bridge."


    Eyeball nodded... and followed as the two men marched towards a nearby lift; both clearly keeping an eye on him. The armor would do absolutely nothing to stop the Osmium-tipped shells, or his 10mm rounds at this point. Oddly, the tenner seemed like it would actually be worse for them. Unlike the airlock, the lift had a security scanner that required the marines not just to put in a code to enter... but a second code to get to the bridge.


    He pondered that for a bit, wondering if that was a safety feature. Were there Osha rules in space about obstructing airlock entrances?


    When he entered the bridge; filled with dozens of uniformed men, all wearing what at first looked like Air Force uniforms, he immediately spotted Apollo; apparently sitting in a chair, asleep.. or meditating.. next to an enormous touch-screen panel. The Commander was standing next to him; probably Wilkes.


    The Marines stepped back to the door; letting Eyeball continue on alone until he reached Wilkes; his helmet immediately gave him a warning; all wireless networks were now disabled. He couldn''t even hear anything from the rest of the room. He glanced at Apollo, then at Wilkes. "So. He took the drugs and passed out, then?"


    "Keep it quiet. Officially, he''s in a trance, and directing things. People trust him, not you. He left a dose for you as well. You gonna pass out after you take it? He told me you''ve got a... better.. version of his powers."


    Eyeball looked at the syringe in the man''s hand; and accepted it, before looking at... what seemed to be a sleeping boy. Maybe 12 or 13. But... was older than western civilization. There was just something insane about the idea that some kid that was barely into puberty was that old. "... Maybe. If I do, stuff me and Apollo in an escape pod and launch us. It goes without saying that you shouldn''t pass that around."


    Wilkes nodded, looking at the screen. "We''ve got minutes. Maybe seconds, now. When do you take the shot?"


    Eyeball frowned. "I''ll know when. Feels like soon, though. I''m gonna need to take some Reflex as well if I''m gonna direct... forty-seven weapons at once. I hope Apollo was right about this being worth it."

 Ragnarok -5 - The right man, the right place, the right time.

    The display laid out in front of him was a piece of art. It was a neatly tiled series of precisely 1200 touchscreens, 400 rows across, 300 rose high, forming a slightly curved panel designed for him to easily reach out and touch any individual square. The entire mass was synced up to the sensor networks of the station and its sister stations, And up above it there was a there was a listing for the current number of weapons available to fire. Apollo had clearly done a remarkable amount of work getting this set up and tailoring it all to this exact situation. The number of ships that would need to be targeted had been known before this had been installed on this station, before it had been manufactured. Just looking at it made it clear exactly how capable Apollo was.


    Eyeball studied the clock, adjusting his perceptions, considering just when and what he needed to do. He looked at the boost drug that apollo had taken, the one he''d asked to be left behind. Glancing down at his prosthetic, he spoke quietly. ~Inventory. Retrieve one vial Reflex, maximum strength.~ After a couple of seconds, he pulled a cylinder out of his palm like a magic trick, removing a plastic cap to reveal an injector.


    A few feet away was the door to a three-man escape pod; one Wilkes was already strapping Apollo into. The seat he was being strapped into seemed... small. Pre-sized for the ancient greek; Apollo looked even smaller than normal in the arms of the massive soldier.


    He glanced around the station for a moment, considering. He needed at least seven seconds of precise precognition for this to do any good. What did he have, now? He studied a digital clock while analyzing just what would happen if he shot it off the ceiling; 11 seconds. Almost 12. That was more than three times as far as he could see normally. Was the interference between him and Apollo a matter of strength against strength? was it a matter of one being unable to predict events the other might interfere with? A matter of both? Should he take steps to make sure that Apollo didn''t make it to the ground?


    He took a moment to seriously consider it. If his own limitation was due to Apollo''s ability to interfere with his actions... that would only work if the man were close enough to change what happened in the next three seconds. It must be something else.


    Wilkes stepped out of the pod, having secured Apollo properly, and nodded at Eyeball. Eyeball frowned. He... should probably make sure Wilkes didn''t reach the ground either. Nothing against the commander, but the fewer who knew the truth, the better he liked it. Aside from Emerald and Apollo, everyone other than Wilkes who knew it was someone Eyeball trusted; or, at least, liked; Odin would definitely reveal the truth if it suited his own purposes, but Odin''s purposes seemed to be keeping the human race alive, so... acceptable.


    "Not gonna need the boost. Just Reflex. Might as well stick it in there with Apollo in case he has a use for it later." And if one dose put him into a temporary coma, another in such short order might kill him.


    He took a deep breath, holding the vial of reflex. Eleven seconds. Maybe two and a half for the Reflex to kick in. If he took it the moment he saw incoming start to appear....


    He stood in place before the panel. Wherever he touched, a Lance would fire; a beam of coherent energy, a Jotun design, that would melt a hole in the target and cause secondary explosions if it hit something vital. One shot would heavily damage, maybe cripple, a Jotun warship. Two, maybe three, and it would be destroyed.


    There were 47 weapons. The station-based Lances could fire once a second... until their capacitors ran down. The starships once every two or three, depending on which one was doing the firing.... until they started to overheat. For the first twenty or thirty seconds, the fleet could, in theory, fire on average 23 shots per second. It would drop off dramatically after that. But... there was a chance. Not a good chance, but still a chance... he could damage or cripple every single enemy ship out there before they arrived in normal targeting range... and obliterated everything in orbit within seconds.


    He ran the math again. Absolute, best case scenario, and they still wouldn''t wipe out the enemy fleet before dying; just.. do quite a bit of damage.


    He sighed... and settled the vial against the side of his neck. Any moment now.


    There. Eleven seconds out. Hundreds of red dots appearing on-screen. He shoved the injector against his flesh; a sudden hiss; icy cold liquid flooding him. His body on fire. His heart beating like mad. And the world... slowed to a crawl. The first group of enemy ships would appear in... seven seconds. His fingers reached out; touching the tiny screens in just the right spots. Across the fleet, ships whose gunnery controls had been slaved to Prometheus station suddenly opened fire; the human version of a Jotun lance firing in actual combat for the first time.


    ***


    Assault Ship Grubbi was a masterwork of Jotun technology. With a blend of automated controls and extremely responsive crew, it could launch missiles in less than a second after emergence into normal space, open the hatches and launch its lighter attack craft almost immediately after, and begin priming its Lance in the event closer combat was deemed necessary by the King; less than two seconds after emergence, her point defense lasers would be ready, and the ship could start fighting in earnest, with its payload of soldiers safely away.


    The captain didn''t expect to need to say anything; they may have been in FTL for months; time dilation thankfully made such journeys shorter for the crew than the rest of the universe running by outside; but these were experienced spacers. They knew their orders. Many had been involved in campaigns long ago; some of these crew were tens of thousands of years old.


    He watched the countdown with anxiety. This enemy had placed an ambush in hyperspace somehow; the initial plan to come in at point-blank range, or on the opposite side of the moon, had been abandoned; what if there were weapons mounted on the enemy moon? What if they simply appeared in another minefield? Instead... a randomly selected location at the edge of lance range was chosen. They''d launch missiles, take a few lance shots in case they caught the enemy napping as it were, then move in once the missiles softened them up.


    A cautious plan. A perfect plan. Still.


    The timer reached zero, a beautiful blue gem of a world appearing on the main viewscreen. With orderly precision, missile bays opened, the main launch bay prepared to discharge fighters... a flash of light.


    The viewscreen was gone. A perfect circle, glowing red at the edges, where the front wall used to be. Grubbi had a few moments to clutch desperately at the captain''s chair with three of his claws, vacuum pulling the atmosphere out alongside much of the bridge crew; before a flash of brilliant light overwhelmed it all.


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    ***


    From his throne on the flagship, Jotun stared in horror at the results of the initial insertion. Forty-six of the first wave had been disabled before they could even fire missiles or deploy landing craft. Over ten thousand Jotun dead; possibly many more than that; and a solid percentage of his ships crippled. The fire continued with impossible precision; his ships started dodging and shifting, exactly as they were trained, the moment they emerged in orbit; only for shots to strike true, every time.


    At least the missiles were already on the way; the enemy wouldn''t survive that for long. But... just in case... they needed to close. And quickly. "All forces! Scatter and advance, maximum speed! Disable all safeties. Where possible, use cripples and damaged ships for cover."


    He could hear the sudden unhealthy grind deep in the heart of his flagship. The six fusion reactors all cycling over; increasing output beyond their listed maximum; and the ship started to push forward; leaping as quickly as possible.


    ***


    Roughly one and a half light-seconds from earth; sharing an orbit with the moon; a string of, seemingly, ordinary rocks suddenly blossomed with heat... and detonated. Dozens of them, nuclear explosions going off almost simultaneously; launching clouds of irradiated debris at the space between the two fleets in conflict; and serving as a propellant for another series of bombs; which would go off in another string of brilliant white pinpoints.


    The detonations weren''t serious enough to have an impact on a Jotun warship; even one of their attack craft, built for surface operations, would survive. The missiles, however; a single massive wave of tens of thousands of them, intended to eradicate all human space defenses in a single overwhelming strike; suddenly lost their target locks. Some detonated, struck by debris. Others turned, attempting to seek some random chunk of irradiated rock; only to end up hopelessly off course; or even began seeking other missiles in the massive swarm.


    The handful that remained were easily picked off by point defenses on the human fleet; even as continued Lance fire struck Jotun craft, one after another, as they desperately closed; still spitting out more missiles as they came.


    ***


    Captain Chen of the Fist of the People stared at his console in awe.


    The Chinese military had agreed to allow combat control for remote fire; but only during that time when enemies were outside the two light-second mark, as they believed there was no reasonable way to strike a target that far away that was actively avoiding fire.


    They should have shut off that control, if they followed orders, and assumed manual fire control... but the results of this coordinated fire were astonishing. There might be a thousand damaged ships trailing behind the fleet, and the combined missile and random beam attacks by the Jotun had only taken out seven of the human defenders. They''d been firing as quickly as the charge could build for the past eighty seconds; at first, it had been a shot every 1.93 seconds. Now... it was one shot every six seconds. He''d been warned five shots ago that their reactor would keep going strong; but the capacitors and the weapon itself would fail, catastrophically, at any given moment if they kept this up.


    Still. There were at least two hundred enemy craft about to reach the sort of range where this sort of control wasn''t needed. In fact, that range would be at any given moment. He took a deep breath. "Initiate reactor overcharge. All ahead full, arm the charges. Point our bow at the fleet." There were two other Chinese vessels; one damaged, no longer able to fire. But all three would be doing exactly the same as himself at this point. The Fist of the People had no escape pods on the bridge. For himself and the senior personnel, it was absolute victory or death.


    Sure enough, with the next shot, the Lance misfired. The ship it had targeted was only mildly damaged; the beam hadn''t gained enough charge to penetrate, just washing over the outer hull.


    He was pushed back against his chair. No longer redirected to the lance, the reactor now pumped every drop of available power into engines; in a move that would melt them into slag within minutes... if that mattered. Three allied ships suddenly went down to Jotun lance fire in a span of seconds. The enemy had the range. Hundreds of escape pods were pouring down onto the surface from the stations and allied vessels, as they each moved in to charge for one final strike.


    Chen looked around at the bridge crew. "For the people!" he shouted out. They all turned; but before they could respond, he slammed his fist down on the detonator.


    From the outside, the Fist of the People seemed to rupture; a set of simultaneous nuclear detonations converting the vessel into a cloud of superheated shards; thanks to the vast distances involved, the cloud only struck two of the Jotun vessels; melting everything on their hulls into slag, leaving the crew perfectly intact, if a bit uncomfortable hot, but flying aboard drifting ruins; which, without outside aid, would inevitably slam at full speed into the ocean.


    ***


    Eyeball was dripping with sweat. The number of available guns was dropping with each moment. The enemy casualty count was climbing; most of the enemy ships were damaged, but... even among the damaged, most of them had at least some ability to fight. Then... it happened. He could see, eleven seconds out, the screens going black. Power loss. A sudden crack spreading across them, lights out... and an explosive decompression warning.


    Taking one glance at the crew on the deck... including Wilkes, standing just a few feet away... he turned, and leapt into the open escape pod; screaming out as he did... "Abandon ship! To the pods! Now!"


    Six seconds before the device struck the station, he was inside the pod. Three seconds, he was in the straps... and the door was slamming shut. Commander Wilkes was standing right outside the door, staring at Eyeball and the unconscious Apollo with a look of... resignation?


    When the pod abruptly launched itself at the surface, hurtling out of the station on a spring-loaded mechanism... moments later, a brilliant beam of energy tore through the bridge, all the way through the station. Eyeball frowned. He wanted to save his fighter, if possible. "Command, Dragonslayer. Override systems. If there are any techs on you right now, command them to either get in or get off, shut the hatch, then launch and land. Home base if possible, if not, just anywhere that''s available. Send me a single location ping, then go silent" Ascension had built the rudimentary AI in the fighter. He knew it likely had some sort of backup control if he screwed with the machine; but then, he didn''t plan on doing that. Hopefully, it would get out.


    As he looked upward, his helmet gave him a relay of the outside imagery. The escape pod had no windows; no controls. It would try to land somewhere safe, near civilization... then it would shut down. Thanks to his helmet, however... he got to watch the dozens of escape pods that followed him out of the station, in the seconds before a second lance struck it... and Prometheus, a station that had taken billions of dollars and involved decades of work and research, was no more.


    He wondered if Hephaestus would be disappointed in her performance...as the air began to whistle around the pod. He could feel it starting to heat up, despite the coolant systems. He sighed... trying to relax in the harness, ignore the empty seat that should have been Wilkes... and studied Apollo. Was this the time? Should he kill him? There was a chance his powers might get more impressive if he did. Maybe the only reason he couldn''t see centuries ahead the way the greek god could was that Apollo was still there, still had his powers.. just not as much.


    If he were going to do it, now was the time. He could snap his spine, pretend it was the pod. Shoot him with the tenner... would it get some significant benefit, the way it did from killing Lightning?


    He was still trying to decide when he got a glimpse of his upcoming future; the pod slamming into the ground, hard; an inescapable, possibly fatal, incident. He had just enough time to hope that he wouldn''t hit too hard to survive and mutter a quiet curse before the pod slammed into the dirt; sending a cloud of dust and debris scattering into the air.

 Ragnarok - 6 - Change of Priorities - the Chain of Eternity.

    Jotun settled in on his throne, glaring at the screen. Earth''s forces had been cleansed from orbit; every starship, station, satellite; every piece of artificial matter outside of earth''s orbit had been obliterated; and, for the most part, deliberately set to scatter across the planet, preventing it from interfering with operations. The cost had been... insane.


    Three hundred and seven ships destroyed outright. Eight hundred and six damaged significantly. Only seventeen ships had emerged completely undamaged... from an assault on a hapless third-rate planet that was using cheap copies of Jotun equipment. The damage to his own flagship was disturbingly familiar; he''d seen exactly the same patterns in the wreckage of enemy ships during the many wars the Jotun had won over the years.


    If any of the damaged ships entered the atmosphere before being repaired, they would never leave without a full rebuild. Hundreds would never enter FTL again. If any of his enemies saw the state of the fleet, they would invade immediately. This must absolutely be kept quiet.


    He blinked, at a sudden flashing red light on his display; it showed a projectile, arcing up from the surface; incredibly fast, extremely dense; it was a wire of some description... and as he watched, it rammed directly through one of the undamaged ships, sending pieces of it scattering in all directions.


    He cursed. "Pull the fleet back to lunar orbit, and watch for incoming. Call for the Chain of Eternity. Its time to even the score with these monkeys."


    ***


    The Chain felt amazing. She was sweeping across the surface of the earth, mentally assessing thousands of souls at a glance. She would stop to focus on one, analyzing its potential; and move on. At first, she focused on leaders; presidents, generals, admirals. None of them seemed like a good option. The Titan, Valkyrie, seemed a good candidate. Jotun would certainly be happy about getting her out of the way; but she could tell the Titan''s allies were ready. If she took over, Valkyrie would be merely out of action for a day. Same thing with this Odin character; or Zeus.


    It was terrible. These people were ready for her, and had made plans, gotten dangerous folks out of the way... she needed to do some truly catastrophic damage to this world if she were to help make up for the disaster in orbit, and she wasn''t allowed to take the easy route; making subtle mental suggestions, influencing events over time... she was a powerful telepath, and such was well within her ability.


    No.. they wanted her to find someone protected, use the artifact, and gain complete, total dominance.


    She did feel something in the oceans. Was there some sort of dangerous undersea monster she might make use of? One of the minds she''d come across had been thinking about a ''Sea Titan'', but she couldn''t locate this person. Oh. No, it was machines. Accursed things. She couldn''t think in ones and zeroes.


    She happened across a submarine in her search; a Russian nuclear submarine. The captain would be an excellent candidate; this thing had twenty nuclear warheads, and they''d even given him more control of targeting and launch, just in case they needed to use the missiles against Jotun craft. But no. It absolutely required two people to control the weapons. Even if she took over the captain and killed the XO to take both missile keys, she''d still need to force another crewman to turn the other key at the same time.


    She almost moved on; when she noticed something. One of the bodies... was just a body. It''s mind was only a tiny sliver of a much larger mind. A mind spread across the entire world, one with thousands of bodies... she looked closer. Her mind flooded with information. This man.... an arms dealer. A bodyguard. A janitor. He was in so many places, with so many jobs, in so many dangerous places.


    A mind that was vast, incredibly powerful, and grew stronger with each brain added to its collective. For any ordinary telepath, conquering it would be impossible. Even for her, the best she could normally do would be to make suggestions, twist things a bit.


    At least... if she didn''t have access to the Chain of Eternity.


    She squeezed the controls in her tiny, almost vestigial claws, her dull, pale carapace gleaming with internal energy as she focused. One moment, she was attached to the network of chains and cables, secure and imprisoned in her ship. The next...


    She was everywhere.


    ***


    One moment, the Clone body was lying in a bunk; his bodies needed sleep, just like anyone else, and the three of him on this submarine each spent their allotted time on a bunk. The two of him that were security on the ship immediately moved; heading for the ship''s armory; while the third, primarily a mechanic, analyzed the situation, studying the layout, the best possibilities... and moved back. It was Chain, now, and Chain had her own purposes.


    As the two security guards opened the armor, checking their equipment; loading up a pair of shotguns, armored vests, and handguns; the mechanic headed down into the engine room; and, with a few carefully placed blows with his hammer, triggered an alarm.


    Throughout the ship, men scrambled, running. The XO was already on the bridge; the captain moving to join him; and the helm had already sent the ship headed for the surface, as the engineering crew moved through, checking their equipment.


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    The ship moved like a well-oiled machine. As most of its crew; over a hundred and fifty souls; moved to ensure they were safe and ready to resume their patrol, three of them acted. As the mechanic started to carefully create a series of electrical fires in the environmental control, the guards reached the bridge; and, just as the fire alarms went off, entered; and opened fire.


    Working their way through the crew on the bridge, each guard emptied his shotgun; dropping the weapon on the deck and swapping to the handguns with smooth precision; and within seconds had the bridge cleared of opposition. As the rest of the crew was struggling to find the source of the steady stream of problems the mechanic was causing, and the mechanic simply kept right on causing more problems... the guards took the keys.


    Chain already knew the codes, the commands. Everything that was needed. The sub didn''t have the range to reach the US; but it could reach quite a few European targets... and it wasn''t the only sub with Clones aboard.


    ***


    The body had been showing the men how to use the Anti-Titan rifle when Chain took it over. This encampment, in the middle of a desert... one of hundreds run by a powerful military organization running from Siberia down into Africa; camps hidden inside cities, in the wilderness, pretending to be other things... but every one of them had a handful of Clones nearby; and in those where it was daylight... those Clones were heavily armed, even showing off weaponry.


    In ''Camp Nile'', hundreds of miles south of the river that was its namesake, Chain''s three nearby bodies took hold of assault weapons and started moving; rapidly gunning down the local soldiers; even as the one demonstrating the Anti-Jotun rifle turned the weapon on the crates of ammunition, and began to obliterate them; each shot sending a cascade of explosive ammunition scattering off into the night in a terrifying chain reaction... that ultimately killed the firer, as well as many of the inhabitants of the camp.


    ***


    For the past several minutes, Clone had been speaking with Aziz about additional ammunition shipments, in the event the war with the Jotun dragged out longer than expected. He was sitting in a conference room; exquisitely appointed; with Aziz and two of his bodyguards, going over the plans. At first, Chain decided to simply continue the conversation, as if nothing had happened; best to lull this group into a false sense of security... and then gun them down as they left the room.


    Only to find Aziz staring at Clone''s body, a weapon already leveled on him. ".... What are you? How did you do this? I thought manipulating Clone was impossible! I''ve tried it myself a hundred times! I''m the most powerful telepath on earth! I''ve used technology, drugs, magic... but this..."


    The body smiled. "I am the Chain of Eternity. And this... Clone... was the perfect vessel to maximize the damage I could do to this world. My master''s original plan was to destroy human civilization. Send you back to the stone age so that you couldn''t resist effectively, then hand you over to the Emperor to be eaten. A few large-scale strikes to drastically reduce the human population... then more precise strikes to take out military bases, manufacturing centers... remove your ability to support technology, power generation. We would take a year, methodically ensuring that you couldn''t rise from the ashes, but still had at least some population to feed on."


    Chain rose from the chair, seemingly unconcerned about the gun pointed at her torso. "That plan seems to have changed. It seems we might be looking at a more permanent occupation. Enslavement, rather than consumption. You should feel proud. You''ve impressed us."


    Aziz frowned; and opened fire. Four shots; hitting both arms, both legs, leaving the Clone falling to the floor. He turned to his guards. "Have the other Clones shot. Pass the word to all of my people. Clone has been taken by the enemy. This one... ensure it doesn''t bleed to death, and chain it to a bed. I will study it in detail once this is resolved."


    The bodyguards nodded; one lifting his phone to start making calls, the other starting to drag the laughing, bleeding Chain out of the room, leaving a faint blood-trail leading out into the hotel hallway.


    ***


    When the first submarine launched its payload; twenty nuclear devices launching out over europe, covered in paint and special polymers intended to hide the expensive warhead from interception by some flying metahuman; Ascension noticed it within minutes. First, seeing the missiles in the air, the first detonation over France... and noticing two other submarines armed with Nukes both rising towards the surface.


    The first... launched its payload before Ascension''s forces could reach it; the submarine, based off of the eastern seaboard of the United States, targeting primarily military and political targets... but, of course, those targets would also include dramatic civilian casualties. The second, in the mid-pacific, its target unknown; but likely to be an extreme-range, uncertain-to-succeed shot at the western seaboard; was stopped before it could launch all of its missiles... and the nukes went off underwater, the ship rupturing and detonating in a terrible chain reaction that destroyed a few of Ascension''s underwater production facilities on a nearby volcanic vent. What few missiles it managed to launch were all intercepted far short of their targets.


    Uncertain of the precise origin of the threat, Ascension determined these were all Russian submarines; and started locating, and sinking, every Russian submarine it could find; which, considering it had been quietly tracking every nuclear-armed vessel for years now, was all of them; unfortunately condemning hundreds of innocent sailors to a compression fatality far below the intended depths of their craft.


    ***


    From Lunar orbit, Jotun watched Chain''s handiwork. If he were to recover this fleet, and get it back to Jotun space, he would either need to build a full shipyard up in space and spend years of work, or he would need to enslave the locals, and force them to gather and refine the raw materials needed for the work. First... he needed to crush all forms of organized resistance. This work of the Chain''s would go far towards that. As nuclear detonations blossomed across the world, he smiled.


    Most of those pinpoints of light were human cities; locations of great historical significance to them, with millions of people. This was only the beginning of their punishment for daring to do such damage to his fleet. It might be more efficient to gather and refine the needed materials in space; and likely he would have his engineers work on exactly that; but the humans would be forced to pay for every Jotun life they had cost today.


    Perhaps they would be allowed to live on, as vassals of the Jotun. More likely, they would fulfill the same destiny he''d intended for them from the beginning; yet another sacrifice for the Emperor, to keep the peace.

 Ragnarok -7 - Chain Devastation

    In a safehouse in Siberia, in a dark basement tunneled out by Clone himself years ago, a process was going on that Clone had been practicing for decades now; a single copy of his body had reached a needed threshold... and was starting to split.


    Observing it from the outside, it was disgusting. While it wasn''t instantaneous, the hours it took were dramatically faster than the process of conception and birth; and the process seemed similar, from the outside; or perhaps closer to a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. A single, fleshy sack had formed, the body inside completely dissolving, all the way down to the bones; and two new bodies formed. Smaller. Younger. Healthier. Rather than a mid-thirties, heavily overweight man with scars and missing fingers, inside that sac; vivid red-pink in color; a pair of seemingly fresh, high-school or college-age men; both identical, pale-skinned, Russian, with dark hair, dark eyes... and the same cold, calculating look.


    Clone was a very effective tool; one which could be used to create truly dramatic damage, and already had been; and one which Chain needed to ensure as much of died as possible before she lost control. Not only would Clone be an effective tool -against- the Jotun once he recovered, but he would have fragments of Chain''s own memory remaining; the primary reason she tried to ensure her victims died during the process. She''d already killed most of his bodies; suicidal charges against his former allies; attempts to trigger chemical, biological, or nuclear weapon strikes... some of which worked.


    These, however. There was something different about these freshly created bodies. They... didn''t have any of Clone in them. The only mind inside them was Chain. It was... a strange disconnect. Clone had been in the process of creating hundreds of new bodies, building up his numbers to help fight the Jotun; and while Chain had started to simply kill them off...some had emerged before she reached them.


    This led to an important question. Would these bodies still be her, when she lost control of Clone? Would they, since she was in them from the moment of their creation, continue to be part of her... or would Clone take over?


    She couldn''t be sure. But if she could keep them even when the artifact ceased its function as it ran out of power.... this would be enormous. She needed to make as many as possible in the remaining hours she had. Kill the rest... and hide them. It might be a distraction from her primary goal, assigned by Jotun; but if she could develop her own army of independent hands and feet to do the work for her... she might just be able to break free from the control of the Jotun dynasty. The king absolutely could not learn of this.


    ***


    Deep within a bunker in west virginia, President McCarthy stared at the display. He''d expected to be coming down here for days, possibly even weeks, as the United States joined the rest of the world in fighting off the Jotun; now... the geiger counters at the bunker doors registered an immediate, fatal, dose. For the next decade, anyone that walked out that door would be dead before they saw the next sunrise. They were going to starve to death down here... eventually. He looked at his secret service agents, then down at the table.


    He''d had his own family brought here. Allowed his men to bring their own, if they wanted. Was it better for them to be here, inside, knowing that their deaths were inevitable, or to have been aboveground, and already passed on?


    They''d been prepared to lose everything in orbit; cables buried underground and running along the ocean floor kept him connected to the rest of the world; this was when the nations should be coordinating their military efforts against the invaders; but the invasion hadn''t begun yet. Millions had died, his soldiers were armed and ready, tanks, aircraft, ships, all waiting for the moment, hiding in whatever cover would keep the orbital craft from spotting them... just... waiting.


    One of the men at the table; a stranger, coughed. "Ahem. Mister president. I''ve got good news, bad news, and reports on enemy action."


    McCarthy gave a low sigh. "Go ahead, general."


    "First off, the good news. Ripper came up through the floor about twenty minutes ago carrying ration and vitamin packets, as well as some anti-radiation medication. He''s already on the way back out, but he can keep whoever is stuck in here supplied so long as the infrastructure to the west holds up, and can get one person out with each trip he makes to leave... under two hundred pounds. Some of us will need to lose some weight before he can get us."


    The relief was palpable. Around the table, men and women who''d thought they were doomed relaxed. Of course there was a way out.


    "Next is the bad news. Europe is mostly lost, with the western part of Russia included in that. There have been dozens of chemical weapons attacks around the world, nasty ones. Dirty bombs. Probable bio-weapon attacks. The only continent that hasn''t been hit is Australia. Its too early to estimate casualties, but its probably in the billions. Some military detachments are out of communication, others have taken heavy casualties, but for the most part they seem to be intact. Wanting to reveal themselves and start helping some of the worst-struck regions, but intact. Honestly, we won''t have a good picture of the impact of the bio-weapons for weeks or months, but this might be an extinction-level event even if we defeat the Jotun. Of course, the losses here in the US are likely over a hundred million. The only survivors on the northern two-thirds of the east coast are in bunkers like ourselves, and we expect water supplies poisoned with chemical weapons to be devastating to the southeastern part of the country."


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    An image appears on the table; showing a map of the US, with most of the east in shades of red and purple. "The western half of the US is mostly fine at this point. Strikes were attempted, but failed; the Arizona actually shot down a few extreme-range missiles heading for California, but the captain tells us they were so low on fuel they likely would have landed in the water. We don''t know just how the Jotun were able to take over Russian nukes; but they had exactly the same protocol in effect as we did. The DMA speculates that they may have made a multi-pronged attack, suborning multiple Russian leaders somehow; Apollo''s intel that they could only take solid control of a single target might have been wrong."


    He took a deep breath. "For right now, we still have over 90% of our post-Ascension military capacity. Our ability to support and maintain that capacity, however... is mostly gone. If the Jotun are able to keep up this sort of attack for a few more days, our readiness will begin to degrade dramatically... and we won''t be able to resist any serious invasion. Even worse..."


    An image of space appears; with thousands of red dots scattered across it. "The Jotun are still moving in the system. One of Apollo''s predictions was that if, somehow, we could stop them from landing entirely, even if we took out their dedicated bombardment craft, they would simply resort to towing big rocks into orbit and dropping them on us; it was actually best if we let them land, and obliterated their forces on the ground, unless we could somehow wipe out their fleet. The Jotun appear to be gathering rocks from various sources and preparing them for exactly such a purpose."


    McCarthy stared down at the table. "...What are our options?"


    "Frankly... play dead and get them to commit all of their ground forces, and as many of their warships as possible, to surface action. If we get them down here in the dirt with us, we can win. If they see too many of our military forces out and about, they will realize we aren''t as hurt as we should be."


    "...I hate this. But... pass the word to remain secure. Do not aid civilians. Do not deploy. We are not moving out until the Jotun land in force."


    ***


    "A precise count is impossible, your majesty. Over one billion of the humans have been eradicated, but that number may be as high as three; and Chain has given us details on the biological weapons she has discovered, and released. If we were to depart right now, without any further intervention, humanity would likely survive; but in a dramatically reduced form. If we were to actually invade and fight them on the ground, the standard movement of troops, evacuations, and other movement would spread those biological weapons further."


    The advisory council was made up of some of Jotun''s oldest, closest allies. Not a single member was less than a hundred thousand years old. Some of them had become cowardly in their advanced age. Others, bolder and more aggressive. Calim was likely the latter.


    Calim''s carapace was covered in vivid red markings; while he shed it regularly like every Jotun, he had an artist dedicated to carving them once again after each fresh molting; and some of the dye from the previous shell always remained. He had won many victories for Jotun in the past. "The Chain''s work has been remarkable as always; in fact, this may be the greatest victory she has given us; their Titan is still alive, but standing within a radioactive wasteland. Enslaving the humans is foolish. We should gather our ships beyond the moon. Launch our ground attack craft, our armies. Crush what little remains of their military, destroy their production centers, their technology... and let our engineers spend this time repairing our fleet. We have the equivalent of a full shipyard in parts spread among this fleet. We can rebuild. Establish a permanent base here to use for repair and refueling after selling the planet to the Empire; and to send random shots into any new population centers that pop up, ensure the planet remains pacified."


    One of Jotun''s other advisors; Harrsam; one of the more cowardly of his men; gave a low, clicking chuckle. "Why would we involve our armies? Drop a few rocks on the remaining population centers and back away. Win it all without firing a shot."


    The eldest advisor; older even than Jotun himself, and by far the largest in the room; Sharqa was the only female among his advisors, and almost five meters long from tip to carapace. Her enormous size and physical power dwarfed most of her species, even other females; and among lesser males, their attraction to her and fear would combine to produce immediate obedience. Even here, among the greatest of her kind, she demanded, at least, respect. Her dull grey carapace was adorned with thousands of spikes; an array of skulls and trophies from numerous victims impaled upon them; and much like Calim, these spikes regrew with each molt, and required them to be replaced.


    Sharqa rose to her full height over the table. "The Empire demands a world full of life. Complicated life, with excessive life force, ripe for consumption. Too many such strikes would send this world into a winter of many centuries, and end its usefulness to them, and thus ensure we needed to develop another for the sacrifice. If we had known the price of coming here, we might have done that from the beginning rather than send a fleet. But having lost so many, we must ensure their sacrifice is not in vain. Even if we lose a hundred thousand of our soldiers, it would be better to do so than be required to terraform an entirely new world and seed it with life as we must do otherwise. In fact, this world is especially ripe for such; the Empire would likely consume it, but leave it in a state we could terraform once again, and bring it to a useful state within centuries. We must launch our armies. We must crush their resistance with claw and tooth."


    Jotun gave a long, deep-throated laugh; one which sounded similar to a chainsaw to human ears. "She has the right of it. Continue gathering the rocks, just in case; but focus on those with materials useful for repair. Prepare the fleet. We will begin drops within the hour. Land some of the fleet on the uninhabited southernmost continent, and prepare them for in-atmosphere operations. We''ll say.. two hundred and sixteen to start."

 Ragnarok - 8 - McMurdo

    None of the men particularly liked being stationed in the antarctic wastes. Frostbite was no different; as one of a handful of metahumans for whom the frigid temperatures were a non-issue, she had been assigned here for years; eventually becoming the the commander of the squad of elite troops here to defend the research base from... seemingly nothing.


    There had been one exciting moment, eight years before, when a heavily mutated Krill the size of a doberman had emerged and swarmed the continent with its progeny, forcing the various bases to struggle to defend themselves. It had been a few exciting weeks, and the creatures hadn''t just been incredibly numerous, and dangerous, but delicious; she had almost been sad that with each generation, more of the mutants had been sterile; so that after an initial population explosion, the creatures had died out on their own fairly swiftly.


    She could reshape ice at will; and her own body could, somehow, continue functioning all the way down to absolute zero if it had to. Here in Antartica, it made her a powerhouse. The rest of the team came and went; but six months a year, she was down here; the DMA had a handful of vampire-like metahumans who couldn''t handle daylight, and just like her, they worked a six-month on, six-month off shift; amusingly enough, they mostly just went right to the north pole when they left, only spending a relatively small part of the year dealing with a normal day-night cycle.


    She made a strange sight; a tall, powerfully built african-american woman wearing... black shorts, a tank-top, and boots. Standing atop a hill in antartica, seemingly perfectly comfortable as she surveyed the base. Would the Jotun come here? Would she get another chance to shine? Or was she going to be stuck down here for the whole war, protecting a tiny number of civilians while the aliens rampaged elsewhere?


    She blinked. Her earpiece was going off. She''d almost missed it over the wind. "Control, this is Frostbite."


    "Frostbite, we have incoming. One of the big alien ships is on the way down, and will be here in about six minutes. No time to evacuate. That thing is gonna hold hundreds of Jotun, and have enough firepower to wipe us out. Any ideas?"


    She smiled. "Just a few. Have our troops arm up and get ready... and have Matchstick bring me my armor up on the hill."


    "Bring it there? Why? Aren''t you coming in?"


    "Not yet. Have a little housekeeping to do."


    ***


    Makath''s Assault Ship was substantially worse for wear. The patches they''d put over the massive Lance hole running through her had partially melted during the descent; and the ship had suffered hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny cracks and ruptures due to the failures of spot repairs, or impact issues they hadn''t found until the pressures of gravity and atmosphere were pulling on her. She could fly; albeit slowly; but if she tried to reach orbit again, she would fall apart. They would need to land, and make extensive repairs, before they could move at full speed. The humans were using technology based on that of the Jotun; perhaps


    When the warship settled in, hovering just a hundred meters over the arctic ice, Makath frowned at his sensors. The map they''d been given an hour ago had shown a human base at this position; some sort of scientific facility. All he could see here was... ice. A pleasant enough place; far more comfortable for a Jotun than most of this too-hot, too-heavy ball of death.


    Either the humans had some form of advanced stealth technology, however, or this was just... ice. At least dozens of meters thick. There were signs of previous settlement here; a few vehicles he could spot on the scanners, even tracks. But.... no people.


    He frowned. "Deploy the troops. Investigate thoroughly. We want to make sure we have this continent to ourselves before we start using it as a base of operations."


    His troop commander nodded; and filed down to the drop deck, where the light attack craft and soldiers waited, primed and ready to go hunting some of the monkeys that had so savaged the fleet in space. Soon they would witness firsthand the might of the Jotun.


    ***


    Sergeant Skinner rubbed his forehead. "Look. Frostbite. I get it. You think you can handle them. You control ice, you can melt it, freeze it, shape it.. its great. Amazing. But you weren''t there for the last war. You go out on your own, you''re dead. And fast. We need to draw them in to an ambush. You can shape tunnels, make hills, pit traps.. with some patience and effort, you can turn this whole region into a perfect Jotun graveyard."


    Frostbite rubbed her forehead. "Look, old man. I get it. They''re big bugs, strong, fast, big guns. Love the cold, slowed down because earth is too heavy for them. We''ve all read the files. We aren''t trying to shoot down power armor with AK-47s here. You and your boys can duck and cover and do all this ambush stuff. As soon as they land, I''m gonna make them all regret they were ever... are these things born or hatched?"


    The sergeant shook his head. "Hatched. They put you in charge. I''ll give you that. If you insist on going out there and meeting them in the open, that''s your prerogative. A terrible waste of a good soldier and the potential you bring to this operation, but you can do that. But... yes. We''ll be laying mines and creating a series of fallback positions to draw them away from the base. If your handiwork holds, we might just be able to keep the scientists safe until backup arrives... or they decide to nuke the place. Whichever happens first."


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    She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. You back off. After I wipe out the ones on the ground, I''ll call you up to help me capture the ship. She looks like she''s landing... and she''s damaged. I bet I can just smash my way in through that big hole on the side." She was, at least, wearing body-armor now rather than a tank-top; but as the soldiers backed away, moving down a small gap in the rocks to start preparing their ambush, she simply dived down into the ice; reshaping it around herself, forming a massive armored suit of chunks of cracking, crumbling ice, constantly remelting and reshaping itself. She could make it more like a solid, humanoid shape; but then it would need to be made out of slush. Not the most protective form.


    Skinner watched her go as he settled an AP mine beneath a mass of gravel and slush. Hopefully she''d survive long enough to realize her mistake. Probably none of them would, though.


    ***


    Jotun commando Heralt took a deep breath as she stepped out onto the ice. The air here was actually mildly chiled, by Jotun standards; and according to the data, it actually got cold sometimes! If it weren''t destined to be pulp for the Imperial grinder, she''d want to build a nice vacation home here; this was prime egg-laying territory!


    As the rest of her squad followed her out; mostly smaller, subservient males who knew their place when it came to ground combat, she swept her sensors across the area; immediately picking up... a wide variety of strange inconsistencies. Something warm had been here, not long ago, and despite the massive depth of it, this ice was... pristine. Perfectly formed, clearly artificial.


    She studied the ground closely, one of the Attack Craft; what the humans might call a Hovertank; floating overhead, expanding her sensor perimeter. It alerted almost immediately; something was incoming. Whatever it was had no heat signature; but it was there. Big. And moving.


    When what appeared to be a giant snow-man suddenly emerged from the earth, she was amused at first; raising her hand beamer, she swept a wave of coherent light across the structure; and most of it flash-vaporized in an instant. She could just barely make out a surprised human inside before it sank into the ice beneath their feet... and a massive spike of ice emerged from the ground.


    Heralt herself easily sidestepped it; the human reflexes were just as slow as their training predicted; but the AC wasn''t so swift; the massive spike slammed directly into the vehicle''s motors and sent it flying off to slam into a nearby ice-wall, before coming down in a barely-controlled landing; even as Heralt and her troopers began coordinated fire; sweeping the ice beneath them at any sign of movement.


    More of the ice-spikes kept emerging; one of her troopers was actually caught by a spike, and while not badly hurt, sent flying; but while the area was becoming uncomfortably hot and steamy, they were starting to dig massive furrows into the ice; which was starting to collapse, forming more of a rough heap of ice chunks rather than a single, smooth, layer.


    After about thirty seconds of dodging and weaving, Heralt tired of it; she didn''t want to lose any of her people to such a trivial threat as some sort of ice monster. A quick signal to the nearby ship, and her men and women simply leapt out of the way in a single coordinated movement; as a brilliant beam of blue-white energy pierced the snow and ice. The air was filled with steam; mostly white.. but a puff of red as well.


    Frostbite''s last thoughts were a curious study of the strange movements the Jotun had made from what she could see through the ice; just why they had leapt aside like that when she hadn''t been attacking. She didn''t even see the beam that ended her life.


    ***


    Sergeant Skinner watched much of the encounter from his handheld as his people were planting bombs in the ice and rock. The older man had a moment of hope when the AC had been skewered by a rock; but it had been dashed when he saw the all-too-familiar uncannily fast movements of the Jotun avoiding the incoming attacks. They couldn''t dodge bullets; but their reflexes and speed were substantially better than any unaugmented human.


    The camera atop the ridgeline went out with a flash of light; and he could hear the boom, and see the cloud of steam over the hilltops without need of any equipment.


    During the first invasion, he''d seen battles where hundreds or even thousands of humans had died taking down a single Jotun; and simply having better guns wouldn''t be enough to make up all of that difference. Plenty of these newer, younger meta-humans who hadn''t been old enough to fight the first invasion... would either have a rude awakening, or just be dead.


    ***


    Valkyrie stared down the mountain at the valley below. Once, there had been homes there. Peaceful villages. Farms. It was a vibrant, green place, the sort that gave her serious thoughts about leaving her desert home and not looking back.


    Now... it was gone. Whatever Odin had put into place to protect this mountaintop, and her array of Neutronium-tipped throwing weapons made for their anti-orbital work, it had done the job; it was like a perfect circle of intact rock with patches of grass, and the concrete and metal platform built to support the ''Launch platform''. All around her in every direction, the uppermost layer of rock was actually steaming hot; some patches actually slightly molten.


    Some homes; mostly older, stone buildings with modern renovations simply overlaid onto them; were mostly intact. She could see the flash-burned remnants of skeletal figures on those walls which still stood. This was... the most horrific event she''d ever witnessed in her life.


    Odin, for his part, was holding what appeared to be a simple bone horn of massive size, carved with a variety of runes... and sitting on a rock. He... seemed to be weeping, with one of his golden-armored... well, she was about to call the woman a floozy, but that wouldn''t even be slightly fair. Marta was, like all of the Valkyries, a badass in her own right. Marta had a hand on his shoulder, whispering something consoling to him...


    Valkyrie frowned. This was wrong. Apollo had said he''d worked for years, as the time of the Jotun''s arrival neared, to make sure no single man could launch such an assault. Had Apollo failed, or had humanity been betrayed? Despite knowing how much effort the tiny man had put into preventing this very thing from happening, after he''d sworn that he had it under control, the nukes were just going to be used against the Jotun...


    She might very well crush him herself if she had him on the spot right now.

 Ragnarok - 9 - Wake-up Call

    In the tomb of the Dragon Empress, buried with her in the darkness, Hiroshima and Nagasaki flickered with a dull green light. The swords appeared to be rough-hewn chunks of metal, hand-forged with either a lack of skill or a simply a need to rapidly assemble a blade from partially-molten scrap metal. And each time another nuke detonated; another city fell; thousands more people, or millions, added to the horrific death toll; the glow grew just a bit brighter. The blades seem to glow with a dark malevolence; a hunger for death that could not be quenched.


    The corpse the blades had been buried with; the brutally slain form of the Dragon Empress, in a carefully repaired version of her favorite red ceremonial dress; seemed to shift, in the darkness. The hands almost seemed to move... shifting towards the handles. It was almost a question... were the blades themselves moving, or were the hands?


    As the newly crowned replacement in her rebuilt palace hundreds of yards away, protected by layers of concrete and lead, fitfully tried to sleep, the handles reached the corpse... and the entire body began to assume the same vivid green glow.


    ***


    The first thing Eyeball knew when he awoke... was pain. He was sore, everywhere. His head, his legs, his arms, his feet... even his eyebrows were sore, somehow. A dim red light filled the room... but it wasn''t a room. It was tiny... And before even opening his eyes, he could see a weapon pointed at him with his foresight. His own gun; the 10mm. He almost blinked. Apollo was holding that gun. And if he struck the hand... Apollo would pull the trigger, and just start screaming in pain. Whatever would happen, if the immortal child pulled that trigger inside this pod, both of them would be hurt. He''d live out the eleven seconds... but he couldn''t be sure beyond that.


    The hell? He didn''t put any security features on it. Was this something to do with the runes? Was it somehow connected to him? Still. If he could just wait for Apollo to put it away. Did he know he was awake?


    Apollo looked.. resigned. Alive, exhausted, and bruised, probably about the same shape Eyeball was in; and sitting on the other side of the tiny cabin, just a few feet outside of arm''s reach. "And there we are. You know, quite a few of the possible futures showed you killing me. Most of them Zeus killed you during the process. The rest, I suspect he would have killed you later; I only have a vague idea of futures after my death."


    Eyeball turned to face Apollo; while he was sitting, the two were almost at an even height. His helmet systems had already been online before he himself had awoken; already telling him, no significant damage. No broken bones. Heartbeat, everything a bit elevated; like he''d just run a few laps after taking a dose of Reflex. He smiled.


    "I have to admit. I considered killing you. Mostly because I''d prefer if nobody knew exactly what I can do; it''d make it harder for people to setup an ambush that overwhelms my abilities. As it stands, all they have to do is create a trap that is inescapable and inevitable with a 3-second delay and I might just walk right into it. I hadn''t really made up my mind, one way or the other. You hadn''t really done anything to piss me off... you were just a threat."


    He just stares at Apollo. "So, I''d like to thank you, for settling things for me. Making things easier. Up until I woke up just now, it was a moral quandary. Could go either way. Now? Well. You won''t leave this escape pod alive."


    Apollo frowned. "Thats.... You''re unreasonably certain that''s true. Your confidence is ill-founded. You''re good, but despite appearances, I''m faster and stronger than you. I''ve been drinking Ambrosia for thousands of years. If this weapon weren''t augmented with some frankly pitiful runework, it couldn''t even hurt me except for a shot up the nose, or in the eye. The other one actually can''t. Its why I took this one from you."


    Eyeball tilted his head. "Ambrosia. So... there''s really some sort of immortality juice out there?"


    Apollo sighed, shaking his head. "No matter. Whatever you believe, this is the end. Eventually, I''ll recover my powers, and take my place Any last words? Anything you''d like me to pass on? To your friends?" He thought for a moment. "Those who still live, or care, anyway."


    Eyeball rolled his neck back and forth, stretching without leaving his seat. "Tell me about Ambrosia, I''ll tell you a secret about the future."


    Apollo reached down into his waistband, and slowly pulled out a small, silver-handled knife, keeping back; clearly concerned about some possible surprise attack, keeping the gun leveled on Eyeball''s chest throughout. "Its a mutant plant. Sucks the life out of its environment, produces fruit that has the condensed life force equivalent of dozens of people. We have a grove of them we have to tend carefully, making sure the surroundings stay vibrant enough to keep it alive despite its constant attempts to kill it all."


    Eyeball blinked. "Nice. You ready for the secret?"


    "What? Some amusing quip? An insult?"


    "Nah." He moved his hand as slowly and nonthreateningly as possible, pointing at the handgun. "You pull the trigger on that thing, it will hurt you more than me. And you''ll be dead within seconds."


    The seeming child stared at him. "I''ve listened to a thousand threats. A million promises. A billion lies. I''ve come to know our race and its foibles extremely well over the years. You''re remarkably convincing. The worst part is, I half think you''re not just telling the truth... but deliberately trying to provoke me into pulling the trigger."


    Eyeball flattened his hand; leaving his palm pointed at Apollo. A glowing circle became visible at the center of his palm. "Honestly, it doesn''t matter now. It seems strange. I''ve heard you watched the Pyramids being built. If we survive this war with the Jotun, it will be because of you. But... the fact that this war is happening at all, is because of you."


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    Apollo blinked, startled. The gun was off-center for just a fraction of a second. He started to open his mouth, to say something.


    He didn''t have to pull a trigger. The artificial hand was connected to his nervous system; after months of practice, firing the weapon was as simple as breathing. The projectile hurtled down an accelerator faster than the speed of sound; a tiny, Osmium-tipped magnetic cartridge, going ever faster as it went. When it emerged; the sound was deafening in the enclosed space.


    The projectile went above Apollo''s heart; penetrating the clavicle, his spine, and the wall behind him. As his arms went limp, and Apollo began to fall, the shockwave did catastrophic damage to his internal organs. The polymer panels inside the pod cracked; and a single ray of natural sunlight, shaded green, pierced the dimly lit pod.


    Eyeball pulled to his feet, freeing both arms from the straps. There was barely room to stand inside the pod. The boy was twitching; somehow just barely still alive; when he pulled the tenner from his grip. His eyes looked up. It seemed as if they met his own, through the reflective helmet''s surface.


    A second shot. Carefully placed, directly to the temple; ending it quickly. He went limp.


    Eyeball glanced down at the gun. Most of these magical devices only felt as if they were glowing. His helmet''s built-in camera would likely show it as the same simple gunmetal it always had been, if it were a lesser weapon. For something this potent... the red glow was more visible after Apollo was slain. Considering magical weapons... He looked at the silver-handled dagger speculatively.


    What sort of dagger would a multi-thousand-year-old carry around with him? Was it a dangerous weapon? A trap? Some sort of special tool? For a moment, he envisioned a secretive Apollo''s vault, that used the dagger as a key... and considered searching the boy''s corpse. He picked up the dagger, regardless; a dark grey blade, a silver handle... and collected its sheathe as well, just in case... before yanking the opening lever of the escape pod...


    To reveal... a tree. Just inches away. The escape pod seemed to have landed inside of a jungle of some sort; and his GPS system wasn''t working anymore. Just as he started to curse the reliance on orbital equipment for this sort of nonsense, he noticed... a map on the inside of the escape pod door. Complete with a ''You are here'' dot.


    Not a digital map. An old-fashioned paper map, laminated and taped to the door. As he peeled it off, he could hear a faint buzzing sound. Lovely. He was looking forward to a long trudge through mud, bugs, and predators before he could find a path out of here... miles away to the east. He glanced up. And of course, its noon. No clue which way east is. Lovely.


    ***


    Sergeant Skinner ducked when the first charge went off; and he heard an alien shriek of pain and anger. He hadn''t expected that; they hadn''t actually gotten one for miles now. He and his men carried their Gauss rifles a bit further, and started to dig into the ice and snow; their suits should conceal them from thermal imaging, so the Jotun would need to get in close to find them; and he hoped to make them pay for every step of that advance.


    As further charges went off, he could hear energy weapons fire; a distinct buzz and steam explosion without any report of gunfire; and more charges detonating. They were advancing. And fast. Looking carefully for traps along the way, shooting anything suspicious as they advanced; but for a Jotun soldier, a careful advance was faster than a human could walk, or even run. Some of his men had already died slowing and misdirecting him from there.


    He looked around at his men. Twenty-six. In the last war, they would''ve considered it a victory if they killed even a single Jotun. There were hundreds on that ship. "Keep your guns on auto, boys. These things can tell the difference between you and a Jotun, and will just shoot as soon as it comes across the sensors. You try to aim, you''re dead. Aim at the ones already on the ground to finish them off. Just sweep the gun, let it fire. And don''t bother with any cover less than two meters thick. These aren''t AKs they''ll be shooting at you."


    This was a decent enough ambush point. Large boulders and chunks of ice obstructing view of anyone emerging from the canyon. They''d deliberately left a trail the Jotun would hopefully follow out of it; and had a wide open area, with each soldier behind his own cover; even better, they could pile snow atop themselves, and their insulated suits would hide them from most sensors until the first shots fired made those weapons heat up.


    He took a slow, deep breath.. and heard a sudden loud pop; followed by a sudden flash of flame and steam; another pop; there was a wounded Jotun at the canyon exit, crawling away; he''d already shot the man who hit him and was crawling for cover. Skinner saw one of his other men carefully line up a shot; and the Jotun''s head vanish in a grisly splatter of alien flesh against the rocks and ice. He cursed; within moments, the man vanished as a Jotun drone; a semi-automated drone likely controlled by one of the other Jotun; slammed into the location he''d fired from, ending the executioner with a flash.


    He quietly willed his men to be quiet, immobile. One dead Jotun, two dead soldiers. If they could keep those numbers up, the war would be a short one.


    Suddenly, a dozen popping sounds; three Jotun were out of the canyon; one wounded, trailing blue-grey fluids behind it as it rushed ahead; the other two leaping high over the battlefield, spraying energy blasts at anything that looked like cover.


    Weapons were raised; several men tried to draw a bead on a Jotun; over the next several seconds, the creatures leaping like enormous insects from soldier to soldier, the two uninjured ones had driven twenty of his men from cover, plasma blasts searing flesh and setting ammunition off, shattering cover and forcing startled reactions out of the men behind it; he''d gone from 26 to 5 in seconds as more Jotun drones had dropped down, self-destructing on soldiers moments after they revealed themselves; he couldn''t even see how many of the things were in the surrounding air.


    The Gauss rifles and their auto-fire had done their job, however. All three Jotun were sporting injuries; one actually had two missing limbs, and had fallen out of the sky; while the least injured one was still flying; leaking its own fluids from its injuries, clearly not in the best of shape, but observing the field from above, clearly looking for more hidden soldiers.


    This... was perfect. He and his men were likely doomed, yes. They would soon be sweeping the area with better sensors; the Jotun had short-range sensors that no thermal suit could fool, and eventually a human just had to move enough to trigger a motion detector. But an AC would be coming to pick up that wounded Jotun. They could set off the charges; hopefully undetectable beneath the ice and snow; and take even more of the crabs with them. There was even the slight chance one of his men might live; one of the corporals was actually behind cover that might stand up to the blast.


    Even better... they were seven miles from McMurdo. The aliens had followed them all this way. There was a chance... not much of one, but a chance... that Frostbite''s trickery with rearranging the terrain might preserve the base he was supposed to be protecting.

 Ragnarok - 10 - Invasion - 1 - Close Encounters of the Machine kind

    With roughly two hundred thousand Jotun being deployed, the King needed to prioritize. After the efforts of Clone, Europe and the North Americas were devastated, as was Russia. The primary centers of organized resistance would be China and India, which naturally had not been easy places for Clone to infiltrate heavily, and the western United States, which had simply been lucky enough to avoid serious harm.


    The process would be fairly simple. The army would split into six Claws, of course, each with over thirty thousand Jotun and six thousand Attack Craft. Two Claws would assault the Western united states. Two claws would land in Asia and move southward into China and India. The remaining two would move through the relatively undamaged African and South American continents.


    Depending on the level of resistance they met, units could be transferred from one to another; but it was highly unlikely they would meet much at all. Jotun studied the maps thoughtfully. The forces moving over Africa and South America would likely simply roll across the continents with ease; then the African contingent could handle what was left of Europe, and the South American contingent could eradicate what cockroaches survived in the ruins of eastern north america.


    Obviously, they wouldn''t bother with the smaller villages. But if they razed the farms, destroyed the cities and factories, melted the military bases.... well. This war should be over within the day. Perhaps two, at most.


    ***


    The Jotun drones were fairly small, silvery orbs; AI-driven devices built to provide extended sensor range, and to act as weapons; moving in and self-destructing just before impact to remove soft targets. They excelled at entering buildings or vehicles to kill the occupants if someone were foolish enough to leave a hatch or door open; and at allowing a 6-Jotun squad to project force over a wide area.


    As the twenty-four ACs descended on the port city of Gqeberha, the populace on the ground could see them, and panic; without even noticing the tens of thousands of drones that had already come before; mapping out targets. The craft descended from the upper atmosphere; ugly, blobby structures of blue metal with weapon turrets pointing about; and began firing long before the locals could meaningfully return fire.


    They stopped roughly 800 meters above the ground, on the outskirts of the city; and started to steadily progress southward; the Drones spotting for the heavy weapons fire raining down. While a few shots did land among the crowds of fleeing civilians, they mostly focused on the rare armored vehicle, anyone with a weapon, gas stations, businesses...


    A group of aircraft came soaring in from the north; twelve modified Gripen attack craft; originally Swedish in manufacture, but modified with Jotun-derived equipment over the decades; clearly expecting their weapons, designed to target exactly such craft, to do the job here.


    Jotun tactics were familiar; the Gripen were equipped with both anti-drone flak shells, which would be fired just ahead of the advance, to hopefully clear a path to get close; as well as anti-Jotun missiles, fully capable of evading countermeasures and scoring a kill.


    All twelve pilots had hope; they were only outnumbered two-to-one, and thought their advanced weaponry would carry the day. From the ground, their approach had much the same effect; seeing the sudden advance clouds of smoke of the flak rounds moving towards the Jotun, the flashes of exploding drones, the aircraft moving in, firing missiles...


    The ACs immediately lifted up, maneuvering perfectly to evade the incoming fire; hovering almost in place a few kilometers up as the drones were ordered to evade; and then swarm in behind the incoming craft.


    Despite the abrupt movements, and the relatively inferior composition, the missiles were well-designed; they''d been tested and optimized to seek out exactly these targets with decades of work. Three of them actually reached their targets, as the rest went wildly off-course; and as the wreckage of the twelve fighter craft scattered across the sky, to rain down on the city below amidst clouds of drone fragments.. one of the ACs went with them; two of its companions listing, starting to fall below the others, as broken chunks of blue metal scattered across the sky... and the crew of the AC fell towards the city. Stunned at first, simple free-falling; but after a few seconds, recovering, aiming for the ground.


    Within seconds of the aerial assault, the now-23 Jotun craft continued their sweep; the drones picking targets, and plasma fire raining down from the sky, as the crowds below ran for cover. A unit of armored ground vehicles emerged from a garage, weapons aimed at the sky... only to be met by oncoming plasma fire even as they came out; the last three vehicles trapped in the garage by the wreckage of those that came before.


    On the other side of Gqeberha, when they reached the coast, they came to a stop, hovering in midair; a variety of cargo ships and fishing vessels were at port, some already attempting to flee; only to be met with a few precise plasma blasts that started them sinking, the crew abandoning their vessels. For the moment, it appeared as if the operation would be a relatively clean sweep for the Jotun. Thousands of humans slain, hundreds of vehicles, a dozen aircraft; for the cost of one AC and some injured soldiers; who even now were headed north to a pickup location.


    The moment passed with a scream of terror; and the sudden bursting in midair of hundreds of silvery drones shattering, fragments raining down on the crowds. The people on the ground didn''t know which way to run; skeletal blood-red machines, each adorned with a golden hammer and sickle logo on the chest and , were marching out of the ocean; firing before they were fully out of the water; and the hovering fleet of Attack Craft suddenly falling; plasma fire emerging in random, sporadic bursts as it seemed all twenty-three had been simultaneously struck down.


    A child, hiding beneath a nearby bench, stared in awe as a massive blue craft slammed into the building across the street; a glass pane shattering across the bench he was tucked beneath glass shards ending up embedded in the arms he covered his face with; and the soldiers inside began to emerge, shrieking in their awful alien language... only to fall even as they emerged, the sound of gunfire resounding through the street. A single machine; seven feet tall, but with limbs no thicker than the girl''s; was carrying a rifle that must have been four feet long, aiming it directly at the vehicle''s hatch; placing a single round through each alien head that emerged, the weapon glowing red-hot, literally smoking.


    As the last of the alien corpses rolled limply down the pile of rubble to the street, a low hum emerged from the fallen AC... and a brilliant flash of light.


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    From a distance, Ascension studied the ruins of the town; and suddenly its speakers picked up a distinctive metallic ''clank''. A single ''Port Elizabeth'' sign; a relic of the old colonial era; had been dislodged from somewhere, tossed over a kilometer into the ocean, and embedded itself by misfortune in one of its shoulder joints. Another unit slowly moved across the ocean floor towards it; but it was too late for that particular bot to be anything but scrap, as water flooded its internal compartments.


    The port was no more. Thousands of people had died. Every one of its units that had left the water had been reduced to slag, and would be retrieved and recycled for scrap. The net cost; eighty-two Ascension units for more than triple that in Jotun warriors; would be considered excellent if not for the loss of the human life and production capacity.


    One of its own flying drones; larger and more primitive than the Jotun swarm, but equipped with ranged weaponry that likely made it more effective; began to sweep the area; and pinpointed seven Jotun survivors. The crew of the AC which had been shot down by the local air force. Currently fleeing into the jungle.


    The few surviving locals watched with mixed feelings as more of the machines walked out of the water; the Jotun craft had destroyed not only the southern half of the city, but the rain of broken aircraft debris had devastated the rest, even places where the plasma hadn''t rained down to destroy their way of life. Their attitudes changed dramatically when they split off; larger, bulkier machines; heavy, squared-off limbs looking like a giant humanoid chunk of earthmoving equipment; advancing on the wreckage.


    At first, it was fear. Rifles were raised; a few even fired. Men grabbed pickaxes, shovels, anything at hand to fight; only for the machines to ignore them... and start carefully moving rubble to reveal survivors... and corpses.


    The more slender machines continued on, rifles raised; scanning the area. They seemed split into two distinct units; ones with lighter, shotgun-like weapons, built for destroying the light scout drones; and heavier rifle-using units designed for the ACs... and the Jotun themselves.


    ***


    For Hajko, this was a nightmare. He''d been eager to come to ..Earth.. as it was called now. The reports that the Titans had somehow fallen had led to thousands of volunteers for this expedition; generally considered a way for the King; and the Jotun people as a whole; to undo one of their two great shames; the only times they''d ever been defeated in war since emerging into the void.


    They knew the humans had Jotun tech; obviously it was dangerous; the aircraft had proved that. But as he crawled into a dank hole in the jungle, cursing his Claw-mates, he knew just as well that this entire invasion was a foolish idea. How many surprises would this place have? And they knew there was at least one Titan still here. The intel had said nothing about hostile AI!


    Finding an uprooted tree that something had crushed beneath it, he slid into the muddy hole the tree had formed when it was pushed out; and tugged nearby brush atop himself for concealment. Send a single ping to notify the fleet of his location, along with an update he then laid, limp, at the bottom of the hole.


    Hajko had been in... three wars now. Four, counting this one. He''d fought AI before; but... AI was chancy. There were so many jammers, so many countermeasures that might work, and others which would be completely useless. Normally they studied, picked one apart, and used what they learned to make general countermeasures. A case like this... they''d have to just try things and see what worked.


    Hopefully the locals had a countermeasure the Jotun could copy; they must, otherwise the things would have overrun the planet and made the Jotun''s arrival pointless.


    He held his breath, turning on stealth mode. The gravity of this hellscape of a world; hot, heavy, humid, dismal; suddenly seemed to be pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. It was an illusion; his suit''s servos did nothing for the compression of his chest. It just felt worse because now all of his limbs.. especially the broken ones... felt as if he were dragging around a ton of rock. The comforting coolness of his suit began to dissipate; but... the flying dull red machine that was looking for him... flew right by.


    He grimaced. Three of his limbs were broken. He could move, at best, half of his speed; and if not for his suit, he''d be in need of emergency aid. His carapace had hundreds of tiny cracks, his blood had pooled up inside his gauntlets, only to be forcibly cleaned and recirculated while his suit was on; now the bleeding had stopped. It still hurt, though.


    Knowing that the machines wouldn''t spot him in stealth mode, with cover, however, was useful intel. Not worth the death of hundreds of Jotun... but useful.


    ***


    Eyeball braced himself against a tree as he looked up at the jungle canopy. He had been walking to the east... and he could hear it. Explosions. The thick underbrush prevented him from seeing anything that far away,  but the animals fleeing past him and the sounds of gunfire made it clear.. he was approaching a fight.


    Suddenly, he saw... a drone. Silver-white, not much bigger than his head... was about to fly through the trees in front of him. He ducked down behind a nearby tree for cover, keeping the tree between himself and the drone... and had to keep shifting, moving, as another, and yet another, moved through the forest. He glanced at their path... Ahh. They were moving towards the escape pod. They might have been painted to reduce how easy they were to spot, but nothing was perfect.


    After the first few drones flew by, he saw a group of six, moving in a line abreast through the jungle; while he saw them before they reached line-of-sight, he knew that he couldn''t actually evade them; these things were searching for him. Either the escape pod, whoever was in it, or both.


    He took a deep breath, and cycled a few 10mm round magazines, setting them in his belt... and then leveled both the tenner and the 40mm pistol in the proper direction.


    As the drones emerged, he shot them down, one by one with rapid, precise shots; and as the ones that had already flown by returned, he kept right on doing so; a dozen drones. Fifty drones. He switched to fragmentation grenades on the 40mm so that he could wipe out an entire cloud of the things with a single shot; and started advancing.


    The drones were well-programmed; or under active command. They started trying to drop in from above. Circle around behind. Then he heard it... up overhead, one of their ACs was approaching. He dropped the tenner, letting it hang from a wrist strap hooked to his prosthetic dialed up the gauss rifle mounted inside the extradimensional space.. and as he kept nailing drones, sometimes wasting a frag shell to take out just one or two in order to save time swapping; he raised his palm, centering it at just the right spot... and just as the craft became visible, getting a line-of-sight to burn him down through the canopy... he fired.


    A vivid streak of light through the air. The AC listed abruptly, just before firing, sending a wave of plasma hundreds of meters off to its left, before slamming into the trees, burning a path through a few dozen.


    Abruptly, the drones stopped acting so intelligently; all of the nearby units simply swarmed in on him; a single frag shell would take out dozens at a time, all of them coming from the direction of the earlier gunfight; the forest was ablaze in dozens of places ahead of him, burning debris from the machines was scattered everywhere; and as it became hotter, the fire spreading, and Eyeball started slowly moving towards the downed craft... the numbers started to dwindle.


    His 40mm barrel was starting to overheat by the time it stopped. He''d fired hundreds of shells; most guns would have already started to melt, or deform at this point. He checked its status; after ten seconds without more drones, he activated a cooldown cycle; the tubes running through the barrel started to flood with liquid; the fluid spraying out over a nearby bush, instantly igniting it with the temperature as the heat slowly dissipated with a few gallons of coolant running through the mechanism.


    He kept the tenner up, just in case... and started advancing towards the fallen craft. Ideally, there would be wounded that could be used to lure in their allies. After all... he had Jotun to kill.

 Ragnarok 10 - Invasion -2 - Mongolian Death March and the horn of Valhalla

    The battle for Mongolia had been brief, but bitterly fought; one of the larger assault ships, numerous Attack Craft, and hundreds of soldiers had died during the process of ''pacifying'' the region before Sharqa was satisfied. She liked this band of humans. They hadn''t run and scurried about, hiding at their approach. They''d come out by the thousands, tens of thousands, and when they ran, it was from cover to cover; always seeking to attack. If they had the capacity when they left, she would ask Jotun to let her take some of the survivors with her as vassals; she planned to earn such a reward with the coming conquest of China.. according to Chain of Eternity, the most serious threat remaining on earth.


    She stood over the ruins of a Mongolian farm, watching her forces organizing. She could see a group of human juveniles in the ruins of a nearby stable, hiding, watching her. They didn''t look afraid. They looked... angry. She chuckled. To them, she must look like a monster. Inside her armor, she was a five meter tall blue-grey mass of spike-covered, armored death; one of the few Jotun going without a helmet, she fully expected she looked as hideous to them as their soft, fleshy exteriors did to her. She loved savoring the scent of a new world, but knew she should put it back on; Chain had warned the Jotun of enemy bio-weapons facilities; the natives had actually tailored variations of local diseases to kill Jotun, but been unable to test them, without available targets.


    It was possible, but unlikely, one might be a threat despite the robust immune systems every Jotun was born with. Just in case, extensive quarantines would need to be put in place before the return.


    Turning south, to the borders of China, she gave a low shriek of joy. The human children pulled further into the ruined barn, to her amusement. Her troops were in order. It was time to advance. The Chinese would hopefully be like these Mongolians; observations seemed to show there might be a million of them waiting along some sort of wall; a local landmark labeled Wan-li Ch¡¯ang-ch¡¯eng. A few of the larger assault ships were here, and ready; and over ten thousand Jotun, with millions of drones to accompany them, were about to turn that wall into so much rubble.


    ***


    "So... what exactly are you doing? Why aren''t you heading out to fight and leading the charge? I hear Zeus is there with the greek army, preparing to march into Africa to fight the Jotun. I always figured you were more of a sort of bad-ass than he was." Valkyrie was re-shaping the neutronium bola back into a good aerodynamic shape as she watched Odin.... staring at the circle beneath their feet. Making tiny adjustments with a pick.


    "We''re standing on a ritual circle. One empowered by life stolen from the Titan, Atlas, himself. Its already starting to work. When I sound the horn, it will be at full strength. After the spell is cast... I will head to wherever the fight is thickest, unless I can find a chance to challenge their king."


    She dropped to her knees, studying the lines. They seemed incredibly intricate, and already to have a faint glow; "I thought these were a protective barrier. What saved us from the nukes. And when you sound the horn, it releases the souls from Valhalla to go to war?"


    "All of the souls my Valkyries collected are going to emerge; return to their homes, and seek out the nearest invaders to conquer. My Valkyries could not, however, collect everyone. Every body on earth which is sufficiently intact, whose soul still lingers; even some of those currently in Hel; if they died in battle, or with enough rage and hate to bind some piece to the flesh, it will rise for one last fight... if they want to."


    She stared at the circle, then out at the town below; or what was left of it. "Good gods. So you can animate and control hundreds of millions of corpses from here? Around the world?"


    "Animate, yes. Control, no. While those with no interest in fighting the Jotun will remain in their graves... I have no control over what happens once they rise. The ones in Valhalla, I''ve been empowering, training, preparing. Not these folks. Unfortunately, I expect many will want to settle old scores.. but the only ones that rise will be those willing to fight for earth. Apollo said it would work out in the end." He sighed, looking up at the sky. "Poor kid."


    Valkyrie looked up... and grinned. A target circle had appeared; one of the Jotun ships had entered a range she might be able to hit. She cracked her knuckles, drew back her hand; and hurled the Bola at the target. The magic redirected it just slightly, guiding it... and hundreds of miles to the east, an Assault Ship flying over Kazakhstan suddenly ruptured; she couldn''t see it, but a golden X appeared inside the circle as she lifted another Bola; meaning the ship had been destroyed and she needn''t waste another projectile. She glanced at Odin. "Poor Kid?"


    "Apollo. Said he''d be dead by now. A few different ways; either in the station, or killed by Eyeball, or the Jotun. Or possessed by the Chain and suicided. Even worse, he knew he was gonna die in this battle. Said the only way he could survive all the way through is if he fled offworld. So... thousands of years now, he knew about when he was gonna die. He could see it. From the day he helped us overthrow the Titans til now. Hope he died on his feet. Alright. You ready for the fun part?"


    Valkyrie casually tossed the bola in the air a few times. The mountaintop beneath them shook slightly each time it hit her palm, the boots redirecting the impact, avoiding damaging the massive rune carving. "You kidding? I''ve been looking forward to this. What will your Valkyries do now?"


    As one of the powerful golden-armored women stepped forward; handing a massive, ornate horn to Odin, he chuckles. "Whatever they want, and try to help people. I''ll explain when the war is over, if we''re both alive, and you still want to join."


    He lifted the horn to his lips, took a deep breath. Closed his eyes... and blew.


    ***


    In a tomb beneath Dragon island, the Empress abruptly rose. Her badly mangled form appeared stitched together by glowing green light, as she raised her swords... the swords whispering to her. Speaking of the devastation. Of the nukes detonating around the world. Of every damned soul burned in nuclear fire, of the fallout washing over the planet.


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    She lifted Hiroshima. It begged her for vengeance. She turned to Nagasaki. It demanded blood. She turned to the ceiling of the tomb, raising her fist. To those on the island, the tomb marking the position of the Empress and the swords would simply seem to explode; and a vivid bolt of green lightning seemed to strike the ground, before vanishing.


    ***


    Within the walls of Valhalla, the armies of centuries past had gathered. In their ancient uniforms, their antique weapons, they gathered together in their millions; and around the world, on a thousand battlefields, their glowing, ethereal forms took shape. Crusaders in armor, with glowing swords. Braves with tomahawks. Redcoats with muskets. Samurai and peasant, general and private; they formed up; and in many cases, aided corpses in prying themselves free of the ground.


    Some of the corpses would move off, on their own ends. Scores to settle, things to accomplish. Considering all of them had died in battle of some sort, most of them would want to hurt someone; but these grudges were, by and large, against those long since passed; just as dead as they were. Most, however, joined the glowing forms of their comrades in arms... and began marching to the nearest Jotun position.


    ***


    In northern China, soldiers were gathered just south of the wall, in thousands of entrenched positions; timbers, wood, sandbags, concrete, and stone, forming numerous barriers to protect the men and tanks beneath them. Aircraft were fueled up, prepared to launch.


    The plan was simple; when the Jotun began to arrive at the front line, Chinese forces would turn the Great Wall into a wall of death; every man with a weapon, every tank, every aircraft; both those new enough and armed well enough to hurt the Jotun themselves, and the older, antique equipment that could only be used to clear out some of the millions of drones; would be ready.


    There was no formation; no solid line. They knew full well the Jotun could drop something from orbit if need be. But there wasn''t a single kilometer of that wall facing Mongolia that lacked rifles pointed northward.


    If they managed to hold, the line would advance, wrap around the Jotun, and destroy them. They could see the massive Assault Ships flying overhead in the distance; which meant that they were within range. Any moment now, the artillery would begin to fire, the drones would swarm, and the battle would begin in earnest.


    For one of the men leaning on the wall, watching the enemy through his scope, he would find a... dramatic sight. A patch of earth, suddenly moving, shifting... and a skeletal hand emerging. A glowing figure of... what appeared to be an ancient warrior, a soldier of the Khans of old, stood over it; pulling the corpse from its grave, revealing a badly decayed skeleton, covered with the tattered remains of Chinese armor that was at least a century or two old. The two figures seemed to stare at each other for a moment. Enemies in life, now long since dead; and nodded, before turning their separate ways; the decayed Chinese skeleton marching towards the wall.


    ***


    Dozens of kilometers away, in a command bunker, a glowing figure of an ancient Chinese man wearing robes and a spear at his back entered. Several of the Chinese military leaders were here; organizing the defense of the wall ''in person'' as it were; in reality, seven kilometers south, using thousands of buried wires and wireless repeaters to establish communications and organize the defense.


    One of the generals; Shang Ju; a tall, fit Chinese man who despite his years and rank had yet to develop the seemingly inevitable gut most of the generals formed from years of sitting in chairs rather than moving, stepped forward, looking at the glowing form. "I am the overall commander of this section of the wall. I... I was told you were here to assist us?"


    The glowing form stepped forward, staring down at a map of the nearby wall section. He was short compared to the living man; and his clothing appeared... simple. Old. Practically shabby compared to a modern military uniform; though the sword at his side was beautiful, ornate, and featured some form of monster carved into the hilt, its tongue forming the blade. "My name is Wu Qi. I understand I was featured in your history books... but that is not a matter for today. I have spent over a thousand years preparing for this war, and have numerous soldiers at my command; primarily of your own ancestors and those of the Mongols. While we lack guns or tanks, we have swords, bows, there are millions of us, and we are difficult to destroy. I would recommend having your forces advance to meet the Jotun at the wall itself; using my own as a vanguard immediately on the other side, to absorb enemy fire, distract, and prevent their flying metal bird-things from overwhelming you. We may not hold the wall, but If you disagree, I will simply have my forces disperse; and move in when their forces reach your own, attacking from every direction to distract and harass the enemy, giving the living more room to fight."


    ***


    The Jotun soldier walked by the shattered wreckage of a Mongolian tank; examining it for a moment with curiosity. While primitive, the structure had ammunition clearly made for killing Jotun vehicles, and if it had managed to strike one of the fast-moving ACs, it would have obliterated it. His sensors ran over it for a few seconds; nothing alive. No energy sources, no heat. He started to move along; only to hear a sudden screech of metal.


    He turned back to the tank; and saw a hand emerging from the hatch. He raised his weapon; his scanners still showed no heat sources. Were there species here other than humans? He advanced to study it more closely.. only to stumble as something caught at his claws.


    He slammed into the tank with a grunt, and leapt up, activating his jets to fly briefly, surveying the scene... the corpses were... rising. Necromancy. The Jotun weren''t big on practicing it themselves, but they were familiar. He dropped back to the ground, firing a single shot of one plasma rifle at the corpse which had grasped his claw, observing closely.


    The sudden burst burned away most of the thing''s flesh; all that was left was part of a torso, a head, and one arm... but it continued crawling towards him. He also noticed the other hand, crawling towards him on its own, and grimaced.


    These things were unlikely to be dangerous unless they came across weapons, but still. They could be intensely annoying. He started firing on the other corpses nearby as he activated his communicator. "Lady Sharqa. We have necromantic activity. Not seriously threatening; they appear to be no more physically capable than they were in life, but are magical in nature. Need to destroy the entire body to stop them."


    These combat suits weren''t built to just fly constantly. They could do so for a while... but doing it for too long would heavily reduce the enormous advantage of speed and maneuverability they gave them in a firefight. These corpses.... They weren''t a big deal on their own, but if they got guns that could actually hurt the Jotun..


    He did a sweep of the nearby drones. Seventeen of them were scanning the nearby area... and he saw more of the moving corpses. Dozens of them, just in his area. All of them, in whatever shape they were in, walking, or crawling, south, towards the wall. Undoubtedly they would find not just an army down there... but more of them attacking them from behind as they moved in.


    He glanced at his plasma rifles, checking each for charge. He would be fine... for a while. Hopefully this was a local phenomenon, and just a few corpses would need to be dealt with.

 Ragnarok - 11 - Invasion 3 - Machine Curse

    Harrsam glared at the displays of the terran hellscape below. Unlike some of Jotun''s commanders, he preferred to remain aboard the ship; he was only two meters tall, small even for a male, but was generally regarded as a cunning, competent leader; one who might take more time to get the job done, but usually managed with less casualties than his contemporaries. He disliked even being here; and the hundreds of craft and over a thousand soldiers he''d lost on his initial invasion of South America was an appalling waste. This was supposed to be a trivial move; he should have wiped the locals from reality and begun his steady advance, eradicating population and production centers without much pause, and wrapped it all up within a day or two before moving on to the northern continent and sifting through the ruins.


    No... while the locals had given impressive resistance despite being outclassed, the machines had been the real threat. While the Jotun had a variety of countermeasures for AI, none of them had been deployed because they didn''t expect AI; and because the countermeasures interfered with their own drones and equipment.


    They''d fought AIs on multiple battlefields over the thousands of years the Jotun had been at war. When they knew they were going to fight AIs, they usually dispatched a handful of small units to test out what tactics would work best, equipped with proper countermeasures. The hostile AI units were currently protecting six major South American cities on the coast; Harrsam would be deploying his primary countermeasures in a test on one, and if it worked, sweeping over the remaining five.


    The IFF disrupter was the most common; it rendered Jotun drones and seeking warheads useless, requiring them to rely on direct-fire weaponry and visual confirmation of targets; but through a blend of enchantment and advanced signal jamming, essentially caused all computer systems inside its area of effect to register everything it detected as hostile. In theory, a version could be created that would allow the Jotun drones to work within it; but any such built-in weakness would inevitably be discovered and expoited by an AI; whatever hole was made for the Drones, the enemy AI would inevitably use as well; and as swiftly as AI could react, likely instantly. Based on tests of scavenged human equipment, this would also interfere with their computer-assisted rifles that helped overcome a Jotun''s superior speed and reflexes.


    Advancing without Drones would be problematic; and lead to the Jotun having to deal with ambushes around every corner; but a direct war with the machines would be an ultimate failure. There might be millions, or even billions of them.


    The next best option was more simple; a phased EMP device that would repeatedly pulse to disable electronics in the area... dropped in advance of Jotun movements, so that they could deploy their own drones after. Unfortunately, most AI the Jotun had encountered had some form of EMP resistance; they would need to plan on being ambushed if they used this.


    And of course, the third option; the nanoplague. The Jotun weren''t fond of using it, but the nanite-enriched substance could be made to turn on itself and go inert using the IFF disrupter; and if sprayed over an area, would consume any machines or metal objects in its area of effect.. as well as the iron inside any native humans, and the copper inside any Jotun. Its inventor had claimed that, eventually, after enough uses, it would randomly mutate and produce an iteration that was immune to the IFF disrupter; and as such, it was a last resort. It was telling that the inventor now lived on a world with minimal metal content, and even his home was built using strictly carbon-based polymers.


    At least... a last resort for areas Jotun vehicles or troops would be deployed at. The assaults on underwater machine facilities would be deploying the nanoplague heavily, letting it rain down on the structures and cause them to fall apart; with an Assault ship passing over with a disrupter after all activity had ceased.


    So... first things first. Deploy the disrupter. See how effective it was against the machines. And, of course, mop them up.


    ***


    Ascension observed the approach of the Jotun with one of its flying platforms first; seeing the modest fleet of heavy vehicles approaching and halting just outside the range at which Ascension had destroyed such craft in the past; hovering roughly 2.3 kilometers away from the closest forces; inside effective fire range, but Ascension preferred to maximize damage and strike in concert, bringing down as many targets in the initial strike as possible.


    One moment they were there; painted on radar, designated as targets. Ascension was simply waiting for them to draw into a good range so its numerous heavy rifle units could take out the entire mass in a single volley. The next.... the world was awash with error messages. Ascension knew what the enemy looked like. It had detailed scans of every enemy craft yet deployed; not much of a variety. Subtle variations of a flying tank, subtle variations of an armored, flying, heavy infantry unit, and of course, the capital ship.


    No dedicated transports, no big variations; their units were fast, heavy, dangerous, and effective. But.... Ascension could no longer determine whether these were allied or enemy units. It knew something was there; but the unique radar signatures and visual profile of the craft... just registered as... there.


    Clearly, logic indicated that allied units had not replaced the enemy ones within the past few seconds. The enemy must have some form of jammer that could alter an AI''s ability to process information. Judging by the lack of a usual drone swarm, it must impact their own AI as well.


    It had no impact whatsoever on Ascension''s perfect reflexes or ability to judge wind, distance, and other factors, however. Within a fraction of a second of whatever form of jamming being activated, it opened fire; no longer able to score precise strikes to remove power systems with the initial volley, it would take more strikes to kill the target ships.. which began advancing immediately, firing plasma bursts indiscriminately.


    Ascension unintentionally destroyed a few of its own flying craft in the immediate confusion as it cleared the skies; the craft had made it deeply into the city, destroying many of its units, before being destroyed. The enemy''s own accuracy was not as good as previous encounters; but it was still clearly able to locate Ascension''s own forces.


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    The enemy who survived to reach the ground would be hunted down. As fast and dangerous as they were, and as much as the inability to coordinate precise fire would hurt Ascension, its reflexes were still, essentially, perfect; it simply needed to have its own units stop moving, and take out anything that approached.


    It began to detect additional flying units in the air, emerging from the forest; but could not determine whether these were allied or enemy units. They didn''t seem to be moving in the same way. If it began destroying human craft as well as Jotun, then probability It... required assistance. For the moment, it would only attack objects which fired on its own units. This would cause significant disruption and much worse loss rates, however.


    ***


    Carlos had been watching the red machines shoot down the aliens since they''d arrived; the robots didn''t seem to attack the humans at all; smelling heavily of... seafood.. and electrical fires, the machines simply took up cover where it was available and aimed at the skies. He could see a squad of six of them nearby; all of them looking like some sort of blood-red metallic skeleton, except with a box rather than a ribcage and a camera for a skull.. the only real differences being the guns they used.


    For Carlos, this was... exciting. He''d heard about the machine invasion in Mexico; and the news down here mostly painted the machines as heroic figures; that they came to liberate Mexico from the cartels and crooked government, and the evil imperialists in China and the US had crushed them between them. Then again, the news generally portrayed anything the US and China did as the work of evil overlords. This seemed fickle, though... when he was very small, everyone had seemed to like China, and for the US... well.


    He might just be a teenage boy, but he had dreamed of being in a war someday; of being a hero, of joining the other soldiers of Argentina in fighting for a better world. But... getting to watch robots shoot aliens was cool. Especially if they kept his family safe, as they had been doing.


    One of the ones armed with a shotgun stepped out of the cover, walking towards Carlos; its weapon was pointed into the air, clearly attempting to be nonthreatening, while the camera was focused on Carlos himself. He could hear its arms and legs working as it approached; a strange whine, releasing and building of pressure.


    It dropped down to its knee just a few feet away; and Carlos stepped off of the porch, walking closer; the machine spoke in a digitized but clear spanish. "Hello, human. I am Ascension. The aliens have confused my eyes. I cannot tell which things are alien or not when I look at them. I was already aware of you when this happened, and while I cannot tell what you are at this point, I know a human was seated on your porch when this began and judge it unlikely you have somehow become an alien in that time. Will you please come with me and tell me if the aliens are attacking? I will defend you as best I can, but cannot promise absolute safety."


    Carlos blinked. It was.... so polite. And calm. And... it needed his help!? "Yes, Ascension! I will help! Where are we going?"


    The machine pointed its gun at the sky; where, in the distance, a group of glowing, humanoid figures were approaching the city. They looked... strange. Like ghosts. "There are two groups of flying objects in the sky. One keeping its distance, another approaching quickly. The ones coming this way. Are they aliens?"


    "No. They... they look like ghosts."


    "Thank you. I apologize, but I may need repeated confirmation of information. Will you accompany this unit? It is easily capable of carrying your weight, and it would be preferred if you remained close to avoid any confusion."


    For Ascension, this process was... frustrating. Even as it looked at the human figure that was standing on the porch, its sensors refused to classify it as a human. Clearly, something was there. Logic dictated it must be the human male child that had been there when the jamming started. But if for some reason it lost track of the human... it wouldn''t be certain it was a human.


    The only way it would be able to effectively fight the Jotun once they began deploying this at a large scale.. is if Ascension integrated humans into its units. By having a confirmed, organic, non-Jotun target in the area, it could make sure whatever it was shooting at was, in fact, a Jotun by the expedience of... asking an organic the jammer didn''t work on, and it was aware, by simple positioning, was a human.


    The numerous Ascension units located in mostly coastal regions immediately began transmitting; contacting nearby human military, militia, and simply whatever was available and willing.


    There was, of course, the possibility that whatever humans were selected might choose to use this to their advantage and have Ascension remove non-Jotun targets on their behalf. It would need to use caution and logic. This... promised to be difficult.


    ***


    While a complete Ascension unit was fully capable of submerged operation, much of its manufacturing process required a gaseous or vacuum environment, and most units lacked large-scale propellers required for fast underwater movement; Construction bay 103, centered on a volcanic vent off the coast of South America, maintained a pure nitrogen environment inside its primary manufacturing bay, kept at a pressure that would immediately kill a human occupant.


    As always, hundreds of its own machines were moving with careful precision, making more of itself; using more classic forging methods for outer shells, and precision assembly for the internal components; and at the same time, a small team of defenders; both humanoid units inside the bay itself, as well as a few submersibles; were actively scanning for threats.


    One of the defending units went on alert. The same sensor issue that had afflicted some of the Ascension units on the Argentina coast had suddenly sprung up; all of the units inside no longer registered each other as allies, or as anything specific, really. Then... it cut off. Everything worked normally again. Except... there were dozens of incoming torpedoes.


    Ascension didn''t have particularly heavy defenses on its underwater platforms. Submersible combat drones fired counter-torpedoes, charges on the ocean floor were detonated; but ultimately, one of the torpedoes connected.


    Initially, the damage appeared minimal. Internal compartments sealed to reduce nitrogen loss, and the number of in-production units lost was modest but acceptable. Within thirty seconds, however, errors had begun to accumulate. Cameras and sensors were dying first. The outer submersibles were losing buoyancy and dropping to the ocean floor.


    Before the sensors died, they detected spreading patterns of damage around the volcanic vent the construction bay had been built beside; the pipes leading down into it were... dissolving into liquid.


    The internal sensors of the construction bay continued to transmit until the central cores began to dissolve; and other construction bays, scattered around the world, also began detecting incoming torpedoes; usually preceded by just a few seconds of the same signal disruption.


    Ascension studied the impacts. The materials being absorbed. There was no chance to save all, or even most, of its underwater units. The attack appeared to be somewhat coordinated; and quickly, as well. It hadn''t been more than an hour or two since it had revealed its presence to the Jotun, and already locations the humans had never known of were under attack.


    At a few locations, it was able to preserve a handful of submersible units by severing the pipes into the vents, and diving down inside; or by burying them in the endless sea of organic detritus at the ocean''s floor. This was merely individual combat units, however; the production facilities themselves, down to the last, were lost. Fortunately, it had a few buried on land as well; but clearly, if the Jotun were not dealt with, they had the means to track down and eradicate every last drone.

 Ragnarok - 12 - The Emperor of Iron vs the Jotun

    "Mfalme Almasi! The Emperor is coming!"


    Almasi glanced at the boy; perhaps 14, 15; who had just run up behind him; the boy''s voice sounded with a hope Almasi lacked. For the past hour, Almasi and his metahumans had been fighting a terrible battle over the southern reaches of Anzania. The Jotun had come in strong; burning cities, destroying camps; and his own people had hit them back just as hard; but always being forced to run.


    He''d sacrificed most of the aircraft he''d acquired when he conquered the region in failed attempts to hold them off... and lost many of his soldiers, meta-human and otherwise, during the running battles with the northern forces; holding their own here and there, but unable to stand against the massive Assault Ship floating over their forces in the background. The machines had destroyed many of their soldiers and tanks, before their advance had faltered. The swarming dead confused and delayed their soldiers. But with each passing hour, the forces he had remaining dwindled.


    He''d been shot several times himself; his diamond structure surprisingly resistant to plasma fire; and had to acquire new clothes several times. He''d even fought one of the Jotun soldiers hand-to-hand and emerged... sort-of victorious. He''d broken the creature''s weapons, and been able to withstand his attacks until backup arrived.


    Things had been going better after the swarm of drones had fallen back


    He wasn''t certain what to expect from the Emperor of Iron. He was impressive enough. He''d driven so much fear into those he came across that conquering Anzania hadn''t been much of a challenge; most of the warlords had ended up working for Almasi rather than being crushed and the government had voluntarily submitted before the Emperor even showed up at the capital.... But... what could he do against an army of alien monsters and a starship?


    He could see the familiar, ever-growing, monstrous... thing... that the Emperor typically drove around. A moving palace, an aircraft carrier and battleship, all on enormous legs. which always had more iron, steel, bronze, being welded and attached to it. A symbol of terror and might... now being swarmed by Jotun soldiers and ACs as it approached.


    He climbed onto the nearest rooftop, jamming his fingers through the rough-hewn wood to get a good grip as he reached the top, in order to get a better vantage point as the monstrosity charged towards the hovering alien warship. Gouts of plasma slammed into the hull, drilling deep within it... only to be re-sealed within seconds, as the smaller ACs were swatted out of the air by kilometer-long tentacles.


    The air was filled with smoke, fire, and the flashes of blue-white plasma. He frowned; several of his men were simply watching the battle as well. Men with rifles, who should damn well be firing them rather than gawking at the Emperor!


    He walked over to the building''s edge, shouting out. "Fire, you morons! Fire! There are plenty of aliens for us all!"


    As another blast from the starship slammed into the monstrosity, it began to lurch, seeming to fall forward... and then one massive tendril, multiple kilometers long, suddenly lashed out; and slammed into the side of the vessel. There was an abrupt flash of vivid blue light at the point of contact.


    ***


    Engineer Farqi had been checking energy levels; the ship had been damaged in the battle in orbit, and wasn''t operating at a hundred percent. Hovering over the planet at point-blank range and firing down on its surface to provide close air support to its forces didn''t pose a challenge, despite its reduced power capacity; but still. Everything needed to be stable, and any combat situation was important. He would seriously advise against flying this low; it increased energy requirements, and made fire from ground-based enemies more effective; but the captain trusted him and his staff... and the ship''s armor... to handle the job.


    He frowned as he studied the power readouts. There was a sudden tiny spike in one of the forward batteries. One of the plasma weapons had just been taken offline, and the excess power might burn out the other weapons in the same bank if it wasn''t redirected. As he started to redirect the power, wondering what might have taken out one of the armored weapons blisters... he could hear a strange groan.


    It sounded... like metal, creaking.


    A ship''s engineer didn''t wear a full combat suit; like most shipboard Jotun, he wore a simple harness, designed to keep him alive if he were ejected into space; he was a simple, two and a half tall crustacean, just a competent one. As the ceiling began to crush inward, like a titanic iron fist closing around him, he quivered in terror, claws uselessly pressing at the surface. Throughout the ship, there were screams; the horrific cracking of carapaces being crushed flat between metal plates. The blasting of plasma weapons, firing uselessly as the soldiers aboard the vessel tried desperately to do something, to free themselves.


    Farqi''s last sight was of the reactor and its conduits moving slightly further away, as if the mass were crawling, avoiding the downward-pressing ceiling; before the pressure grew too great, and his skull collapsed, ending his fear and agony.


    ***


    One moment, the battle was desperate. Most of their men were dead. The aircraft had all been destroyed. Only a handful of tanks remained, and few of the soldiers had anti-Jotun weapons; and those who did, found it almost impossible to hit the swiftly moving monsters without the aid of their automatic sensors. Most of the Jotun being taken out were being shot down by the Machines; who, being forced to ask nearby soldiers to confirm targets, were often being crushed before they could open fire; each of the machines had ''adopted'' a soldier to follow before the jamming took over; and followed him or her around like a puppy. A giant, incredibly dangerous, mechanical puppy.


    The next moment... the starship which had been supporting the Jotun started to fire on the Jotun aircraft themselves, even as the Emperor of Iron''s monstrosity approached closer to it; and the two craft began to merge; slowly reshaping, the plasma cannons rotating, twisting... and the smaller Jotun craft began to flee. Whatever the bluish-yellow fluid was leaking from the starship didn''t likely bode well for its occupants.


    Almasi stared at the hideous abomination that was taking shape, as his men cheered, calling out... there was a chant going down the line, among the survivors. "Umbusi Wensimbi! Umbusi Wensimbi!" He frowned at his troops. Most of his original band spoke Swahili, Afrikaans, and some spoke english. Was that... Zulu?


    As the remnants of the Jotun force continued fleeing to the west, towards one of the other Jotun vessels... the abomination gave out a terrifying sound; as if a thousand bolts of lightning had struck at once, the very earth shaking beneath it... and began to lift into the air. Now looking like an even larger horrific mass of various types of metal, welded and merged together, with hundreds, or even thousands, of tentacles stretching out, no longer reaching the ground...


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    Except to reach out and grasp some errant Jotun soldier; crushing him into the dirt, leaving a grisly trail as it followed the rest, leaving the cheering soldiers behind.


    One of Almasi''s few surviving lieutenants; a young woman who could form and toss arrows of fire with her hands, wearing a simple camo uniform to hide her distinctiveness from enemy fire; even carrying an unused AK-47 on her back; hopped onto the roof beside him, jets of flame briefly propelling her before she settled in. ".....My King. Are you sure you want to try to betray... that... after we''ve taken Africa?"


    Almasi glanced down at her. "I suspect that ship has..... flown." He turned back to watch the fading image of the now-airborne Emperor. "... He told me they had to bring a Titan to stop him, or he couldn''t be beaten. That he could crush an army on his own." As the ship seemed to be actively reshaping itself; likely its... pilot.. trying to decide where to put his new reactor and weapons, or even just trying to figure out how they worked... Almasi wondered. Could even a Titan stop him now?


    ***


    The ''Throne Room'' was different from when the Emperor of Iron had arrived in Africa. A series of eight seats ringed the central throne, with a group of young women; each in an identical, silver dress, with a baled head adorned with some form of strange markings; filling them. Their hands were joined, forming a circle, and at the center, the Emperor had his eyes closed, his hands embedded in the ''controls''; a pair of cylinders filled with a gel-like substance, with hundreds of wires projecting out, touching his skin; in turn welded to hundreds of larger components, elsewhere in the ship.


    The tall dark-skinned, lean man in a lab-coat and the more pale-skinned man in the general''s uniform both stood, trying to be calm, before the strange scene. The Emperor had called them here; but hadn''t said a word since they arrived. Clearly he knew they were there; a pair of steel tendrils had moved chairs into place after they stopped approaching; chairs that General Regis wasn''t certain he should sit in. He hadn''t met the Emperor that many times. Was he supposed to sit?


    Doctor Kline looked around the room, and leaned closer to the shorter, more powerfully built man. "General.... do you know why the girls? Are they... concubines, or something similar?"


    Regis studied each of them in turn. "No. The Emperor''s ability to control metal doesn''t seem to be limited by mass, but apparently he can only do so many things at once, and only so far away from himself. An incredibly impressive number, and distance, but still. Limitations he''s been working to overcome. He''s tried chemicals and medications that helped, but... he''s also found that if he forms a connection with a telepath, he can let them... assist? Each of those women is controlling some part of the vessel we''re inside. Even when the Emperor is asleep, his power still roams; and if one accompanies him, they can keep the ship moving."


    The doctor nodded slowly. "Considering what he was capable of in the past, that is... incredible. Its easy to see why in days of old people considered men like him to be gods. Do you know why he called us in?"


    The Emperor''s voice suddenly seemed to shake the room. "You are here, Doctor, because you are one of my experts at Jotun technology. We''re about to absorb a second Jotun warship, and I would appreciate your advice regarding its power systems and weaponry. General Regis will be with us only briefly." His eyes opened, and he focused on the man. "You are to inform Almasi that while my meddling in his territory will be kept to a minimum, I require him to deal with the machine in his lands. It cannot be tolerated to exist within the Empire."


    The General nodded, and gave a salute. "Of course, your majesty. We will plan regarding this immediately. If you can retrieve one of the jamming devices the Jotun are using, that would make things swifter and less damaging to your servants, however."


    The Emperor nodded, looking thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. A young woman wearing a far more ordinary black dress seemed to appear as if out of nowhere, and begin massaging his legs, as he shifted slightly on the throne. "...You are correct. My forces have been sufficiently damaged fighting the Jotun. I may have already retrieved such a device. We will deal with the machines after cleansing the aliens. Wait a moment."


    The entire vessel shook; it was turning, moving; metal walls shifting and groaning, as it charged into battle.


    ***


    The Jotun Assault Ship was too badly damaged to make orbit; it was here to support the local ground forces, pulled from hundreds of ships still up in space, and was fully capable of in-atmosphere maneuvering. Initially, it''s captain quailed at the thought of going up against the betentacled monstrosity approaching it. "..Seek out its primary power source, whatever it might be, and open fire while retreating. Its got the same engine as us, but more than triple the mass; we can hopefully stay at extreme range."


    One of his engineers turned to the captain, raising a claw inquisitively. "Captain! I recommend we simply strike the vessel with a nanoplague shell and order forces on the continent to withdraw for a few hours. While part of its shell is made of scavenged material from our own ship the systems that make us consumption-resistant are active; a charge run over the hull, rather than any sort of property of the material. It is highly unlikely the target vessel is capable of surviving long-term after such an injection; and its use will likely cause catastrophic harm to the rest of the continent''s military after it falls."


    The captain studied the engineer for a moment. Nanoplague usage over areas that Jotun were planning to vacate was prohibited on any planet they wanted to leave intact; some portions of their own carapace had metals in them the substance could devour, and of course even the slightest damage would render their craft  vulnerable. The Disrupter would need to be disabled to use it, and it was always possible some tiny speck would find its way into some out-of-the-way crevice and survive a later pass; and the natives also had metal in their bodies. If he caused the eradication of all local life by releasing it and letting it run for too long, he would be executed; official policy allowed only minutes after Nanoplague distribution before a Disrupter must be used. This thing might take hours to die.


    He glanced at the display of the oncoming monster. If he fled in cowardice, he would also be executed. But that... thing... had managed to devour another Jotun starship before it could fly. Not only would he likely die if he engaged it with normal weapons, but it could devour his ship... and there might be some threshold, some number of ships devoured, at which it became unstoppable.


    He turned to the Engineer. "Do it. Notify all other ships to withdraw from the continent for the next... six hours. We will do so ourselves after firing."


    ***


    The Emperor studied the enemy starship as it approached. Was his throne now a starship? He pondered how hard it would be to keep the hundreds of staff he kept around alive if he took orbit. No... Not yet. He needed more engines. According to the doctor, he needed a higher ''thrust to mass'' ratio; and must either get more engines, or sacrifice some of his mass.


    The Jotun had been accelerating at him rapidly at first, clearly intending to fight; but had simply fired a single missile from a few kilometers away, and turned, trying to retreat. The Emperor rolled his eyes at the foolishness; allowing the missile to strike, forming a more solid mass in its path, angled to redirect the impact; with the mass he could work with now, even a nuke wouldn''t penetrate to the throne; and lashed out with a charged tendril before the enemy could build up that much speed. The tendril flash-welded itself to the enemy ship on impact; and while it lacked the durability to actually hold them back....


    The ship halted the moment it was attached; and the Emperor visualized the vessel as a fist; clenching down, crushing every empty space within it, turning it into a single mass of metal.


    As the Jotun aboard were either crushed to death or imprisoned, he noticed something strange from the missile impact. It had burrowed a few meters into the relatively soft outer shell he''d created... and then discharged a payload. Something that was... eating away at the metal? "Girls. Control the ship, and work with Kline on a new floor plan. We have a problem I need to deal with."

 Ragnarok - 13 - Pacific Assault; Broken Chain

    Nicky wasn''t particularly happy about this turn of events. The Jotun had apparently divided up into massive assault forces, full-fledged armies, with thousands of their hover-tanks and tens of thousands of the alien monsters in each. Being able to deal with a single army would be nice, let earth concentrate its forces, maybe even use a few nukes to soften the blow... but this incoming army would be passing just a couple hundred miles from La Famiglia as it approached the western US. There was no guarantee it would spare his island; in fact, considering Clone had likely passed along intel about everything the island had before he''d fallen, it was likely that at least some of the enemy would be coming here.


    Hopefully, Clone hadn''t known enough to make that an unmanageable portion.


    Enforcer HQ was on high alert as Nicky walked through the doors; a pair of his bodyguards flanking him; and entered the main conference room. The two most immediately familiar figures were Penelope and Butch; Butch, oddly enough, not wearing the armor Eyeball had made for him; Nicky gave them each a nod as he approached the table; Penelope was the one giving the presentation, at the moment, but around the room were a variety of powerful figures in the family; from the enigmatic Engineer to the armored, hammer-wielding Destruction Duo, there was quite a bit of firepower represented. Most of those around the table should be able to, at least, handle a few Jotun on their own. Jasmine, while a direct family member, was an unexpected sight; then again, she had a standing invite to be here.


    "Father. Welcome. Now, we can get started. Clone was a trusted associate of the family. If he survives the Chain''s control, he unfortunately cannot be again; we have no idea if this control might taint him going forward. What this means... is that he was involved with far too much going on here."


    A diagram of La Famiglia emerged. Showing the docks, the airport, the strip, the arena; with the docks highlighted in red. "While he didn''t move much through the air, Clone was one of our primary contacts for goods shipped in; and thanks to Eyetech, acted as a direct agent to help dozens of new villains get started with advanced gear and training in the guise of a fence and pawnbroker. He''s had access to almost the entire island, had many of our secrets, and it was only thanks to having so many telepaths about that he was stopped before causing catastrophic damage on the island."


    She pulled up to her full height; unfortunately, one of the shortest people in the room, and platform shoes didn''t work well for someone with her sort of speed; though the dark blue body-suit still looked impressive enough. "The Jotun are aware we have hundreds of people here capable of fighting them on an even level. They know the strengths and weaknesses of at least half, and if Clone put any shutdown codes or booby traps in, they know them as well. If I were the Jotun, I would send a thousand of their hover-tanks and five thousand soldiers to make sure the job were done properly, based on their intel. Which... would be maybe a sixth of the force they have approaching right now. We''re handing out reflex and anti-Jotun munitions like they were party favors."


    She popped her neck for a moment. "Soon, we''ll know exactly what we''re got to deal with, but... we''re probably dealing with at least one flying battleship-scale threat. Engineer has a solution for that..."


    Engineer raised one hand. "I will need someone to fire for me. The railgun bank is fully capable of putting eighty-seven shells into the same target with enough force to penetrate Jotun armor, but.... my cybernetic targeting will become untrustworthy once the jamming kicks in. Unfortunately, part of my brain is now digitized, which... is an advantage most of the time. But now... I''ll need a trusted associate to help make sure I don''t kill any friendlies."


    Penelope stared at him for a moment; and smiled. "I saw Cobalt on the way in. Carry him around with you. If you use one of those backpacks for carrying babies around, I''ll pay you twice whatever Eyeball does, so long as you come out of this with a photo."


    A smattering of laughter passed around the group. Engineer tilted his head for a moment; and nodded in assent. "Cobalt would be perfectly capable, even in his current condition."


    "Anyway! After the big gun is out of the picture, we can expect a swarm of hover-tanks and armored troops raining on us like the plagues. We have a handful of aircraft and warships, and they''ll take out a few. But for the most part... we''re splitting every metahuman on the island into skirmishing teams, giving them guns, drugs, and gadgets, and coordinating them from here. I... hate to say it, but I''ll probably be using my accelerated timescale to direct operations rather than fighting personally, unless they reach the HQ."


    She sighed. "Okay. Anybody have anything to add before we get back to it? Jasmine will be coordinating with the navy; they have some railguns on call until the Jotun take them out; and of course I''ll be handling team organization."


    Butch raised one hand. "Ahh... about two weeks ago, I crossed the threshold. I... could feel it when it happened. I''m a Titan now. I''ve actually been working on making myself some Neutronium stuff like my mom, but I don''t have the trick quite right and keep losing it. The seismic events over the past few days were when I dropped some off the beach. I was gonna keep it quiet until I talked to her, but I figured it might change what you wanted me to do if you knew they couldn''t hurt me."


    Penelope blinked. Most of the room stared at him; the number who knew he was Valkyrie''s son was fairly small; the only reason people knew his age was thanks to the conversations around his girlfriend; who they thought was too young for him until they learned the truth. ''Becoming'' a Titan seemed impossible. She glanced at the Engineer. If they didn''t need his arsenal for the big ship it might be able to cut down quite a few of the smaller hover-tank sized craft. Despite his enormous size, Butch was usually quiet enough to just fade into the background, she''d just been planning to put him on one of the dozens of strike teams. "...Thats... how much control do you have of your jumping?"


    ***


    As the two claws approached the western coast, one headed to the south; aiming to start near the middle of the current US coast-line; they would center the fleet directly on the major city called ''Los Angeles'', with their Assault Ships taking point and making long-range shots as they advanced, the smaller craft and the soldiers onboard only moving in to clean up; or if the heavy ships were taken down. The number of weapons humans had capable of destroying one had originally been believed to only be nuclear in nature; the expansion of this count to include various meta-humans and large-scale railguns was distressing.


    Reports had indicated ''La Famiglia'', a small island off the coast, was unusually dangerous for its size, with hundreds of deadly Metahuman threats and advanced technology for its small population. Calim had split his claw further; as five-sixths of it advanced on LA, with two of the Assault Ships accompanying it, a third Assault Ship and a sixth of his forced advanced on the isle. Much like Calim himself, his Sub-Claw commanders had a fondness for dyes and decorations on the spikes that naturally formed on their carapace; and Shijra was no different.


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    She was eagerly looking forward to this assault, perched on the bridge, looming over her various sub-lieutenants in a way that couldn''t help but remind them that such a massive, dangerous creature was lurking among them. There were supposedly dangerous creatures here; the ''Clone'' entity had even listed one called ''Butcher'', the strongest sub-Titan among the humans, as being here, and she would gladly match claws with him, given the opportunity.


    Hopefully, he survived the bombardment. She wasn''t foolish; first would come the drones. Likely to be shot down by a mass of anti-air fire, but just in case the island lacked such defenses, no point in not giving it a try. Then, just before the ACs would come into range... she would open fire. Devastate the entire island over a few minutes, as her forces landed... and if they found this ''Butcher'', there were orders for her troops to fall back and summon her.


    Ostensibly, because according to Clone''s information, Butcher could crush a lesser Jotun like it were some mewling prey-animal. The simple truth was that like most Jotun, she grew steadily stronger and more capable over the centuries; and she wanted a challenge.


    As her Sub-Claw received reports from the island on the progress of her drone swarm, being shattered apart by the island''s defenses with ease, she received disturbing news from Calim to the north; the enemy had naval vessels, some almost as big as the Assault Ships... and equipped with massive railguns. The fleet was engaged in a pitched battle off the western coast, and one of the Assault Ships had already fallen, the other damaged. While they had sunk numerous enemy vessels and forced them to pay for such damage, they would likely need to either withdraw and evade the navy, or call in more firepower; he was already breaking away within the first few minutes of the fight, turning back towards the newly established Antarctic base.


    Shijra shook her head in disdain. Most battles the Jotun fought were decided in such a way. She knew it was because she was a female, and naturally bigger, stronger than any male could hope to be, but she wanted to feel the blood of her enemies dripping from her claws. It had required iron discipline to reach her current rank and position as a captain rather than a soldier thanks to these urges; and she wouldn''t risk her Sub-claw over this foolish desire, only herself. With less than a minute before reaching extreme range of her primary weapons, her swarms of ACs gathered behind her, preparing to move in after the heavy fire took out the strongest defenses.


    Then... A sudden shaking. The entire vessel rocked as something struck it, and it listed off to the left. One of her technicians turned. "Commander! Intruders! One human of... Jotun-like size, and he''s brought some sort of... things with him."


    The video popped up; showing a massive figure wearing what was clearly light armor; aside from his helmet the black suit was barely more than skin-tight; casually smashing his way through a wall in one of the engineering spaces; and dozens of what appeared to be orange, mechanical spiders falling off of his back; each a central dull orange box the size of a human fist, with leg-like metal tendrils projecting outward.


    One of the spiders leapt onto an engineering crew-woman; and after a moment, and a brief shriek of agony; the Jotun pulled up onto all six claws and started to follow the human like an obedient pet. More of the spiders were moving out, crawling... and she could see the engineers moving to controls...


    "Commander! They... seem to somehow be suborning our people, directing them to sabotage... I know these! We must activate the Disrupter, immediately!"


    Shijra nodded, smiling. "Do so. Direct the marines to the main reactor. I will be going there myself, as well. Hold off on the advance until we have this dealt with."


    Within moments, the spiders... stopped latching onto their targets. The ones already mounted seemed... almost listless. Uncertain of what to do.


    As Butcher followed the diagrams listed on the inside of his helmet, he crushed walls, easily batted aside locals, and made his way towards the ship''s reactor. He might need to strip down and take a bath after, but the radiation from a ruptured reactor would be nothing for him. He stopped, confused. The diagram said the reactor should be... Ahh. The disrupter-thing must be confusing his sensors.


    He popped his helmet off, tucking it under his armpit, looking around... and nodded. He casually kicked a hole on the wall, and looked through; to see screaming Jotun running, and... the ship''s main reactor.


    Oh. And a really big Jotun! Like... three or four meters tall. A pretty one, with all sorts of red spikes. He smiled as he peeled the wall aside, the Jotun on the other end letting out a shriek, raising four of her claws into the air; two of them tipped with some sort of melee weapon. As if he cared. All of them would burn when the reactor went. He squeezed through the hole; the metal shattering and warping apart as he did; and the alien ran forward; jabbing two spikes into his side when she reached him. He felt a subtle warmth as he approached the reactor, and glanced back to see the alien staring at her broken equipment.


    Shijra turned to the engineer. "Titan alert! Maximum power! Artificial gravity off, Get us to orbit, now! We must get this thing away from the planet!"


    She shrieked, and leapt at Butcher''s face; covering his head with her own body to distract him for the pivotal moments as the ship turned, engines pointing at the ocean; and began thrusting towards the sky at maximum power.


    Butcher was, momentarily, confused as he fell back against the ship''s wall, the orientation changing as he gripped the painted alien in one hand, ignoring her flailing; and shook his head, hurling her at the reactor with truly ridiculous force. Moments later, its coolant systems sheared off, the reactor core fell directly onto the deck; and it all went white.


    ***


    One of the crew on Chain''s vessel stared at the display. Something... glowing a vivid green had emerged from orbit, and was hurtling directly towards them. Other ships in the fleet; both damaged and not; were moving to intercept... but whatever it was sheared directly through the first, leaving it listing aside, atmosphere abruptly leaking from both the fore and aft of the ship; until the greenish orb slammed into the bridge of the Chain of Eternity; they could see the tear forming as the glowing blades rended the hull with a horrific shriek.


    As the crew desperately held on to avoid being pulled through the hole suddenly formed in the hull, they were greeted by a strange sight; a walking reptilian corpse; badly mangled, aflame, but wearing a beautiful, ornate red dress; and carrying a pair of hacked-together swords that were glowing so brightly they blinded those who stared at them.


    She casually tore a path through anything between her and that central artifact; one of the crew maintaining it watching the internal security cameras with horror. The technician grabbed one of the massive cables powering the device, and turned to the Chain. "Mistress! We''re under attack! It can''t be stopped! We''re all about to die!"


    The Chain could feel it. Millions of souls worth of malice, hate, lust for vengeance, all condensed into two pinpoints of terrible power. This.... This was the end for her. It was hard for her to focus on anything other than the various Clone bodies on the surface. She sent an order to all of them; what she knew would be her last; ordering every Clone to destroy itself in the most immediately available route.


    She hoped that some part of her would live on in the form of the Clones birthed during her control of the body; as she did the unthinkable. Triggered the artifact to self-destruct.


    As the fallen Dragon Empress hacked her way through the hull of the vessel, reaching the emaciated, scrawny Jotun at the heart of so much madness and death; she jammed first Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, into the pale carapace; her glowing, dead eyes focusing for just a moment on the corpse as the lips tore in an attempt to form a grin.... and the vessel ruptured, as a terrible detonation emerged from the artifact; destroying the vessel, its crew... and disintegrating the walking corpse... leaving a pair of swords; seemingly invulnerable at this point; floating through space.

 Ragnarok -14 - The Wall

    The battle for the wall started miles north of the ancient stone itself, as over ninety tactical nuclear warheads, escorted by both aircraft, dying to intercept Jotun ACs and prevent them from intercepting the projectiles, as well as the very spirits of the dead, rained down on the invading forces, focused on the four Starships that were supposed to be providing close-in air support. These weapons were coated in materials to make them harder to detect and intercept, with propulsion based on the Jotun''s own missiles; creating an extremely difficult situation; at the cost of both the power remaining to the dead, and the lives of the pilots, ensuring there were so many targets that point defense became impossible.


    Chinese command was prepared to launch another wave; and another; until those heavy targets were taken down; over eight hundred of the smaller nukes had been prepared for exactly this purpose. But... thanks to anti-missile systems being degraded by, quite literally, hostile spirits manifesting inside the weapons themselves, none of the massive vessels would survive to reach the wall; their ruined, radioactive forms carving vast holes in the Jotun army as they came down; making larger, more devastating nuclear fireballs in northern china that even further ruined the Jotun forces... as well as any potential recovery of Mongolia or northern china.


    The sky over the wall was filled with constant flurries of lead, tungsten, and plasma; with the Jotun advance in the sky being met by constant fire from thousands of sources making leaving the ground intensely hazardous. Artillery strikes meeting an AC in midair as it was pushed off-course by a floating, glowing figure in ancient armor wielding a spear; aircraft constantly circling, firing into the Jotun advance with whatever missiles they had, evading what fire they could, then returning, if they survived, to reload. Chinese aircraft took atrocious casualties; only a handful of them returned to base, most of them achieving, perhaps, one enemy kill, and then falling to enemy fire.


    On the ground, it was better, in that only those immediately facing the Jotun could open fire; but they were being hounded by flying spirits, corpses bursting from the ground; their innate advantages in speed and firepower were being overwhelmed by constant, ceaseless assaults; a Jotun soldier might try to evade an incoming attack only to have his claws grappled from below and a dozen enemy soldiers firing on him at once. For every Jotun attempting to advance against the wall, there were hundreds of enemy targets trying to bring it down; and while they blasted numerous holes and pathways into the ancient structure... no assault seemed to quite get past it.


    There was no escape; no fire support coming. Any attempt to retreat was met by artillery fire and mobs of the dead slowing them down. By the end of the battle, hundreds of thousands of Chinese soldiers were dead, the northern reaches of China were radioactive, and the fallout would surely be a serious problem in the years to come... but if any Jotun survived the attempt to invade China, they did so by hiding and cowering amidst the ruins of their forces. Out of over thirty thousand Jotun who started the invasion, most of the survivors were still performing clean-up operations in Mongolia.


    ***


    When Eyeball reached the edge of the forest, he came to an abrupt halt. Jotun, he would have expected. Maybe some local South American soldiers. He wasn''t even certain what country he was in, so any given uniform would have been par for the course. Hell; he knew the machines were ready to intervene when the Jotun attacked. He wouldn''t have been surprised to see Ascension marching by.


    What he saw was a machine with a little boy riding on his shoulder, chatting with the machine as if the two were best friends. The boy seemed to be laughing and pointing at... Eyeball himself as he spoke with the robot, and the robot itself actually turned, seemingly at his direction, and started to approach.


    Eyeball just stared, at first; and settled his weapon in the holster. Ascension wasn''t about to kill him, and the boy... seemed on friendly terms with the machine as it stopped at the edge of the forest. He could hear gunfire sounding elsewhere, in the jungle behind him, and see smoke rising from a massive clearing up ahead; but nothing in his immediate vicinity. "..Hello there, Ascension. Looks like you''ve made a friend?"


    Ascension halted just a few meters away. "The Jotun have the ability to disable my IFF capacity. Over the past hour, I have lost over ninety-eight percent of my production capacity, and over eighty-seven percent of my field units."


    Eyeball blinked. "Ahh, f....rag." He glanced at the smiling child. He didn''t even know if the boy spoke english.


    "So... he tells you if its a human or a monster?"


    "Precisely. In addition, carrying a seemingly happy and cooperative human child dramatically reduces the odds of humans who are unaware of events along the coast attacking this unit."


    He shook his head, looking at the boy and waving. "Hey there, kid. So... how did it go on the coast?"


    "The Jotun have suffered dramatic casualties among their forces on all fronts. The only successful large-scale assault they''ve made so far is into India; they came down in an unpopulated area, far from the coasts, and destroyed most of the country before meeting serious resistance. The force assaulting China met heavy resistance in mongolia, giving them time to prepare their forces and halt their advance at the wall. Also... the dead rose during that advance and met them at the wall. We appear to be dealing with a benign version of a Zombie incursion. Current information points to the ghosts and zombies both being related to Odin."


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "Lovely. Zombies, ghosts... I''ve got an Angel working for me, and the DMA has some demons... Hah. So the war goes well then. Good to hear. Do you have a signal to Dragonslayer? I could use a ride home, or to wherever the action is."


    "I would not say the war goes well. But yes, I do. Dragonslayer, alongside most of the escape pods launched from the stations, landed here in the southern-most region of South America. It is already en route."


    Eyeball blinked. "Thanks. Wait. If only one of their big assaults was actually successful... how is the war not going well?"


    Ascension sent a signal. After a moment, Eyeball saw a projection on his HUD; showing the world highlighted in green, red, black, and blue. Antartica, Siberia, and most of India were highlighted in blue; the southern regions of China, most of Australia, and much of the US and Canadian west coast were in green; there were also solid patches inside Africa and South America, in the northern areas. The rest... were all in shades of red and black.


    "The Green regions have less than 10% projected short-term civilian casualties if the war ended immediately. The red, greater than fifty. The Black, greater than ninety. The blue, currently held by the Jotun, likely one hundred percent civilian casualties. I am actively relaying this information to those military forces still active. Nuclear and chemical weapon deployments have inflicted billions of casualties, and the bio-weapon attacks will likely inflict billions more. The odds of an organized global human civilization persisting after this war are... low."


    Eyeball stared at the image floating before his eyes. "Good lord. I thought that Apollo took out their ships built for anti-ground work, the ones with all the.. bio-weapons and so forth."


    "Unfortunately, your former ally, Clone, was temporarily turned by the enemy, though may now be mostly deceased. He had access to a truly inordinate amount of firepower in various forms, and... is single-handedly responsible for most human casualties. Based on recorded information of the bio-weapons he released, he will ultimately be responsible for the probable death of eighty to ninety percent of the human species, if quarantine procedures are not implemented immediately. Such procedures, isolating the infected and probably infected, would likely contribute greatly to the Jotun victory, and are unlikely to be followed."


    Eyeball blinked. Clone....was a friend. An ally from the very beginning; reliable, competent. One who had figured out how his power worked. Had known for years, now. If Clone had been taken by the enemy... the Jotun knew how his power worked. And could prepare appropriately. The commander he''d allowed to die on Prometheus station? Pointless. Worse than pointless. Apollo... well, the god was pointing a gun at him, so that one was sort-of a given.


    "Well. Fuck. Alright. I suppose I could do the most damage in India, then?"


    "Negative. If I hadn''t encountered you, I would be re-purposing your fighter for my own purposes, I was trying to locate a trained pilot willing to undertake a flight that risked almost certain destruction by the Jotun. Your associate, Butcher, was aboard a Jotun starship en route to attack La Famiglia... which is currently a ruined husk, floating towards the moon."


    Eyeball looked up. A steady whine was filling the air, as Dragonslayer was flying in for a landing on a nearby highway. He could see Ascension units clearing vehicles from the road even as it descended, the machine''s remarkable efficiency allowing it to make a good path even as the craft lined up. "Hell yeah, I''m down with grabbing Butch.. Though....Is he still alive? I mean, he''s tough as nails, but.... is the ship still holding atmosphere?"


    "He has apparently ''crossed the threshold'' to use his own terms, and is now a Titan. I am uncertain what can kill him at this point, but based on studies of his mother, neither freezing nor suffocating will do the job. It is possible, but unlikely, starvation could if he were left in space long enough, or, if he gives up hope, he may injure himself to cease existing. The only thing I am aware of injuring Valkyrie is Valkyrie herself, though its likely Spike could do the job as well, and Yue, while she lived, may have been able to as well based on current physics understandings."


    Eyeball took a deep breath. "Alright then. Lets do this. Anything I should know before I take off?"


    "Zeus is already on the way to India, along with most of the Olympians, Odin, Odin''s Valkyries, and Valkyrie herself. I lay significant odds that by the time you return, the only Jotun stronghold on earth will be Antarctica. I would advise bringing Butch, if you recover him, to either Los Angeles or La Famiglia for the next stage of the war. And... please hurry."


    "Hurry? Why? I thought Butch was a titan now? I can understand not just jumping to earth from a tumbling ruin of a starship, but he should be fine til the war is over."


    "Virtually all of the remaining Jotun vessels are grouped together around a series of asteroids, orbiting in such a way that any projectile launched from earth would need to pass through the moon to reach them. A single, compact, supposedly safe target, for the first time all close together and not actively moving; and the Chain of Eternity has been destroyed. If I were Spike, this is when I would strike. If the Jotun retrieve the damaged vessel while Butcher is still on board..."


    ***


    The United Nations Colonial Fleet vessel Zheng He was preparing for its final FTL voyage, its primary crew deck being methodically detached from the massive vessel''s spine. Most of its crew and cargo had been left behind in the Sirius system; a midway point being built into a mining operation, so that if the Jotun were to track the Zheng He back to its source they wouldn''t be able to locate humanity''s fledgling colony.


    The crew deck was almost entirely self-sufficient; its engines would, slowly, bring it in to earth orbit... after a few years. Its hydroponics bay would keep them fed and breathing, and they were currently amidst a cluster of valuable asteroids in the inner Oort cloud; they would likely begin construction of a new craft even as they slowly made their way in-system.


    It was also completely unneeded for what was to come. Spike smiled as Diss leaned up to give him one last parting kiss; the vacation had been... fun. The new world... named Sanctuary... would take decades of work; but Spike himself had helped them reduce that from centuries into something living humans would be able to witness. Now? The threat of alien mind control was gone. Sensors showed that earth had savaged the enemy; the fleet he''d seen in outer lunar orbit was a pale shadow of the one that had reached Sol; all clustered together to form one nice big target.


    Once Desire and the rest of the crew were offboard, and the ship seperated, so that it was just Spike... the Zheng He would make one final voyage. And when it arrived? Spike would increase his mass so heavily that the Zheng He and the entire Jotun fleet would all get turned into one little ball of scrap.


    And, well. He''d likely have to spend years adjusting the moon''s orbit. Again. To keep the tides proper. That was always a pain. Why couldn''t they just lose the moon, and the tides, and not deal with those problems anymore? Ahh, well.


    Time to get to work.

 Ragnarok -15 - Zeus - Withdrawal

    Prime Minister Kamir Singh was an old man. He was tall, scrawny, with a long, neatly trimmed white beard; and before today, he had expected the nation he served would outlive him. By thousands of years, if he had anything to say about it.


    But today.... today he stared at the ceiling of the bunker, buried beneath the outskirts of New Delhi; which were currently so much ruin and rubble; wondering how it had gone wrong so swiftly. He''d listened to the advice of both the old ones and his Secretary. Spent billions of dollars preparing; building bunkers for his people much like this one. Tanks and jets to fight the aliens; they''d even begun producing their own variation of the gauss rifles; they''d even created their own excellent targeting systems, testing them out using meta-humans who were roughly as fast as the Jotun who''d invaded years ago.


    If he''d been asked a few months ago whether he was as prepared as China, he would have said yes. After all; he''d made sure every step of the way to have enough firepower to ensure that the imperialist Chinese wouldn''t be able to conquer India. The bunker shook with another impact. The fighting was still going on overhead; but all coordination, all communication, was gone. He had no idea what was going on; only that within the first few hour of landing the enemy had triggered some sort of jamming device; and resistance had crumbled. Were his forces too reliant on the systems the jamming took out? Was it bad luck that the enemy had struck in just the wrong place and time... landing amidst a wash of plasma and death amidst India''s most supposedly secure positions, rather than doing as they had with China and advancing across the border?


    The last communication they had was that Pakistani forces were advancing on the Jotun rear. But.... he didn''t have much hope.


    He''d seen videos of piles of skeletons, incinerated by plasma fire. Millions of them. His nightmare which had begun when he''d learned that the bio-weapons lab they''d been experimenting on a modified version of Ebola in was breached, and that the first signs of the virus''s spread had already been discovered... just seemed as if it would never end. He would die here, amidst the ruins of his people.


    Another impact. The world shook; and he could feel a sudden rush of air as the ventilation system kicked into overdrive, compensating for abrupt changes in pressure. The door to the bunker was open. They... were coming.


    Choosing to meet death on his feet, Singh rose to his feet, straightened his collar, and marched towards the entrance to the bunker. Two of his guards, who had been waiting outside his door, equally frightened, took heart and followed, trying to hide their own fear as they checked their gauss rifles.


    And at the entrance of the bunker... a massive, extremely muscular man, perhaps six and a half feet tall, dark of skin, with a long curly beard and a strange breast-plate on under.. a toga.... was leaning against the wall, looking down at one of the young women among the vault''s guards... flirting with her and joking with the soldiers.


    Singh blinked and drew to an abrupt stop. Was that...


    The man turned at Singh''s entrance, and clapped his hands together, the young woman blushing a bit as she backed away; her hands had been almost touching one enormous, glowing, bicep. "Ahh, there we are! The man himself! I''m sorry for the late arrival. We''d expected to be defending europe, and I... had a bit of a breakdown after the bombs hit. One of my favorite daughters, so many of my grandchildren... well. We''ve all lost family today."


    Singh glanced at the sheared-off bolts that had secured the heavy steel bunker door, then back to the Olympian. "Zeus. You are quite right. We have lost... too much, really. What brings you here? I am grateful, of course, for the aid. My homeland is in dire need this day."


    "I''m here because you might be the last survivor who has the middle part of the nuclear codes. Your people need to use tactical nukes to finish off the capital ships after we make a path through the lesser forces. They were supposed to go out as soon as the Jotun attacked, but the enemy managed to break the line of communication down so that... well. As much as Apollo''s plan was a good one... General Ramesh wanted to use a nuke on his position. Take out three enemy starships and most of the Jotun. Finish the war for India in one terrible blow, unfortunately dying with many of his men in the process. But... the request for the codes never reached anyone."


    The prime minister stared at Zeus in horror. He had no less than seventeen deputies with those codes, just in case. ".... One of my people was with Ramesh, and had the codes. I... assume she died?"


    "In the first volley. And... virtually every soldier in that position. I''m sorry."


    He had no way to verify what Zeus was saying. This could be some sort of mad-man. Those certainly looked like his enchanted javelins, though; the ones that had brought down Jotun hovertanks during the last Jotun war. each one converting into a devastating lightning bolt that seemed to spear its way through any nearby enemies when thrown.


    He took a deep breath. "As much as I want to believe you, I can''t give my codes to some stranger I''ve never met. I can, however, give them to my guards to send with you... or accompany you myself. In fact, if I''m the last one who knows them..."


    He had them memorized. But... he''d planned it out, just in case he died and needed to pass them on. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small silver card.. and looked around for a moment. He handed it to one of his bodyguards. "Stay here. Stay safe. Protect those with your life."


    And then turned to Zeus. "There. Take me with you. I will put in my part of the codes myself."


    The man studied him for a moment. "...I don''t think you want to do that, Prime Minister. Me and my olympians will survive being as close to these nukes going off as we''ll need to be. We need to draw them in close to where we have them, and be ready to set them off in a moment. We can''t just set a timer."


    "Then so be it. Better I than a younger man, with decades left to live... or worse, India herself."


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ***


    Deep in the heart of Antartica, in frigid lands that humans required massive effort and substantial equipment to survive, a group of Jotun were standing around a deep, icy valley; one of them looking down, watching a structure being assembled of hundreds of pre-fabricated sections; as dozens of Jotun starships, massive behemoths built to eradicate entire armies, with a host of missile and plasma weapons, millions of attack drones... lay in loose, disorganized fashion around it.


    All of them were damaged in orbit; all of them had sustained even more damage on the way down. Most were still at least 80% combat-effective.


    The soldiers looked up, as yet another of the vessels came flying over the mountains, leaving a trail of white-grey smoke behind it; and slammed into the ice with a crash, barely missing hitting a group of smaller craft that had been landed nearby. The starship was... radioactive. Badly damaged, and not from leaving orbit. This... was not a good sign.


    ***


    King Jotun inhaled deeply, feeling the crisp, cold air of the human world fill his lungs, standing on the ice beneath one of his warships. The soldiers around him all seemed... beaten. Broken. And well they should be. He''d chosen some of his greatest, oldest, most competent leaders to venture forth, leading his armies... and one by one, they had fallen. Now? He was being guided by some band of neophytes he barely knew.


    Steam rose from his carapace as he settled in on the ice, looking at the three nervous technicians; mere technicians. Most of his higher-ranking men were dead, or working to repair damaged starships. Which would be all of them. Not a single Jotun vessel had made it out completely unscathed so far. He turned to them. "Report. I''ve had you review all of our data. What do we have?"


    "Calim has survived, albeit badly injured. His ship has just returned, and he will be reporting to you once he recovered. His... fleet came down over the ocean and moved in from the west, encountering extremely heavy resistance in the form of surface, waterborne warships. His own ship was struck by a railgun projectile, which led to his injury, and after all of his ships were damaged, he withdrew; losing two. One of which is currently in orbit, having been boarded by a Titan and left the planet to hopefully take him out of the fight. He still has over twenty thousand of his troops; he took heavy casualties in the initial battle, but retreated in good order."


    Jotun sighed. Sharqa was dead, along with the rest of his generals. Almost as old as he was, mother of thousands, one of the mightiest females he''d ever met. But... he still had one of his old friends. "Your assessment of the battle. Should he have retreated?"


    "...He could have destroyed the human navy, without question. But it would be a crippled, ruined remnant of his fleet that arrived. We could have done some damage, but both claws would have been destroyed."


    He nodded, and turned to the next technician. "And your assessment?"


    "The assault on Asia initially seemed promising. Our forced landed in Mongolia and southern Pakistan, caused massive damage for minimal casualties. Then our forces advanced into China and... were lost almost to the last. We dealt massive damage to their armed forces and civilians, but that entire claw is listed as either destroyed or missing. The claw that departed Pakistan into India was, initially, successful; swift movement and destruction of their communications infrastructure allowed them to remove the bulk of them quickly.... but then backup from surrounding regions arrived. Pakistani military and metahumans of significant power from various regions came in... once they managed to detonate nuclear devices on our starships, our other forces were wiped out. The number of survivors reaching Antarctica from the asian conflict number in the low hundreds."


    The steam rising from his carapace grew more intense, as he turned to the third technician. "..And our operations on the less defended southern continents?"


    "... My king. I highly recommend that we depart this world with all forces that can escape, and remain in space. Our armed forces invading the ''Africa'' continent have been... consumed... by a horrific amalgamation being controlled by a local meta-human. Only scattered attack craft and soldiers survive, all in hiding. The South American forces managed to withdraw after taking massive casualties; they are the second most intact after the claws that withdrew from the assault on North America''s west coast. We will likely only have perhaps sixty thousand soldiers to return with. But... we cannot win this war with what we have. We need to bombard this place from orbit with rocks until nothing lives."


    "...All projections indicated total victory. We would sweep the enemy with trillions of drones and massed fire from our Assault Ships, mop up with our lighter Attack Craft and soldiers, and emerge with, likely, a few losses due to enemy nukes. What happened? How did things get so.... insane?"


    "Our attacking forces have been met by several threats we did not anticipate. Ghosts of some sort; not able to do much damage, appearing to be warriors from this world''s past, have emerged. They are resistant to most attacks, but seem to fade after either taking some level of harm, or doing enough harm to our own forces. More ordinary necromantic zombies in the hundreds of millions as well; ranging from mere distractions to..."


    *The Technician looked at the sky. "One powerful zombie left orbit, and destroyed itself in the process of killing the Chain of Eternity. Ones of that level of power seem vanishingly rare, but a few exist, amidst ones that our soldiers can crush by the thousands. And, of course..."


    He grimaced. "The machines. Our forces are still hunting down their production centers, but... the casualties those robots inflicted were horrific. Even once the Disrupter was activated they began employing nearby humans to allow them to identify targets.... and of course, employing the Disrupter prevented us from using drones in the battles. Various individual, powerful metahumans caused significant losses, but aside from that one outlier in Africa, most of them were inconsequential compared to these issues."


    The technician looked out over the horizon. "...The amalgamation in Africa... if its capable of reaching orbit, we''ll need massed fire from a dozen or more ships to ensure it can''t close in and continue... eating... more of our ships. I''ve sent word to the fleet to stay in close formation, but on the other side of the moon."


    Jotun glanced around at the ships in the valley. The most painful of those losses was the Chain. There were over two hundred billion Jotun out there; they could build another fleet like this, given time; or more, even; they only refrained from building larger fleets to avoid Imperial attention. But... the Chain had been their best chance at someday killing the Emperor. Without her... whatever that monster was, it would have been better if it killed Jotun instead. In fact, perhaps it would be best if Jotun never left Earth; one of his heirs might prove a better leader. "It will take days to get most of these ships ready to reach orbit. Hmm." He considered the handful of undamaged craft that he had, which could make it into and out of the atmosphere without issues. "We will begin withdrawing much of our forces, maintaining a single base here as we repair those craft which have de-orbited. With all of their orbital infrastructure gone, the humans likely don''t even know we''re here."


    He rubbed his claws together amidst a handful of snow. "We will be trapped in this star system for a time, repairing our fleet. Have the captains here on the ground relay which ships need more than a week to repair. If it takes that long... we''ll salvage them for parts to speed the other repairs, and let their wreckage be destroyed when we bombard this place. We''ll need to choose a different sacrifice for the Emperor; we can''t leave anything alive here."

 Ragnarok - 16 - Search and Rescue - Copies

    Butch was... well. He was in a panic. Frightened? Worried? He''d spent the first hour or so hunting through the ship, destroying things, killing Jotun.. and when he ran out of targets, and the whole ship seemed to be empty... Well. He''d broken back out to the hull and seen the earth. Briefly. The whole bloody wreck was spinning like a top!


    What was he supposed to do. Come on, Butch. Think. Eyeball would tell him to calm down, look over the situation, find the best approach. But...


    Eyeball isn''t who he needed right now. It was mom. Butch smiled. Perfect. Mom had told him exactly what to do, years ago! This exact situation is something she was deeply afraid of, and had long ago figured out... and told him when she realized he might be a Titan someday. He glanced at the display in his helmet. "Stopwatch. Start!" He watched the earth spin by and vanish. He waited, patiently... there we go. "Stop!" Okay. The ship was spinning... once every... minute and eight seconds. So...


    He looked around for something heavy... and shrugged, simply grabbing a chunk of hull plating, and kicking the joint; dislodging it from the ship. The vessel''s artificial gravity gave a sort of twinge; he might have pulled some conduits. Best be careful; the edge he was holding was already twisting and warping in his grip.


    He looked back out at the stars... saw the earth again. "Stopwatch, start!"


    He pulled the chunk of hull back, staring at space... and just before the timer hit 34 seconds, hurled it outward, as hard as he could.


    The force slammed him into the inner hull... massively denting the metal; as the metal vanished from view in the distance. He took a deep breath. Okay. Keep doing it. Every few tosses, check your timing again. Maybe stand directly on an inner wall so the throw doesn''t toss -you- as well.


    She''d actually told him how to slow down and stop the spinning, but... that was years ago, and he couldn''t remember anymore.


    He looked around at the ship. It wasn''t about the size, it was about the mass, and how fast he could throw it. So... Maybe next start with those broken hovertanks he''d destroyed? Hell, he could just pile up all the power-armored corpses and just toss out one every minute, that might help some.


    The panic long since forgotten, Butch started going through the ship, grabbing anything heavy that wasn''t nailed down, and pushing his steadily-growing pile towards the hole he''d made in the hull.


    ***


    Eyeball stared at the console for a moment, thoughtfully. The Dragonslayer was fueled and ready for a truly ridiculous amount of flight time. But... every time it entered and left the atmosphere there would be heating and shrinking, warping, twisting. La Famiglia was currently still in operation; apparently the US navy had done most of the job of keeping the whole region clear and the island was extremely well-defended; but if they ran out of maintenance gear he''d have maybe two or three more trips to orbit before it all fell apart. And global supply chains were now garbage. He wasn''t sure his fabricator had the sort of precise tolerances this equipment needed; he should ask Engineer.


    On the plus side, he''d see it fall apart before it happened, and could bail out. Which... would leave him god knew where when it happened.


    He tracked the spinning tumble of the Jotun warship''s wreckage; there were still dozens of power sources onboard, but no active thrust; and dropped his acceleration; he would catch up to the ship in a few minutes now. His passive sensors weren''t showing anything nearby; no big heat or power signals other than the ship itself; but like most of the other high-end gear aboard, they were based on Jotun tech; so if anyone could fool them, it would be the people most likely to be hiding.


    He tried to imagine how Butcher would be feeling onboard... as the numbers fluctuated. It had just gone from 5 minutes to intercept to 4 minutes 33, in a single second.


    Then 4 minutes 1. Something was taking solid chunks off of the time. He grimaced. Was Spike already out there, messing with gravity? He altered course, shifting a bit to the left, deccelerating; and saw... something. Something tiny, hurtling out into space. He was now down to 2 minutes to intercept... and he saw what he''d been waiting for.


    "Initiate local call, Butcher. Hey, Butcher! Engineer asked me to pick you up, but apparently he underestimated you. You want a ride, or you want to bring the whole thing back to earth with you as a prize?"


    Butch had been about to hurl another Jotun corpse out the gaping wound in the side of the ship; and stopped, letting it float there. "Oh. Hell yes!"


    "One problem. I''ve got room for one passenger, but it''d be one normal-sized passenger, not some giant alien-crushing monster like you. Apparently you''re a Titan now; you good with a tow?"


    Butch glanced out the hole at the momentary flash of earth. "Oh. Sure, thats fine. How do you want to handle pickup?"


    "If you''ve got the timing down, just jump out a second or two before you see earth, and I''ll come pick you up." Eyeball frowned. His passive sensors were starting to act up. The... early warning sensors. Someone was activating an FTL drive in the system.


    After a moment, he suddenly lost communication with Butch; and saw an object flying towards earth at a fairly good pace. Well, mostly towards earth. If it were about ten times as fast, it would skim the atmosphere and head for deep space; but at this speed, gravity would pull it in and he''d crash somewhere random. Probably the ocean. Some ocean.


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    He accelerated to catch up; and fired off a grapple; the grapple smacking into... Butcher''s shirt? Was the kid seriously not wearing armor? Just... some armored pants, at least. Butcher seemed to have a hold of the grapple, and was giving a thumbs-up gesture to Eyeball as he shook his head, laughing. "Initiate local call, Butcher. Seriously man? You took off into space wearing a tank top, helmet, and pants? Whats the deal?"


    "I thought I was gonna be swimming after, wanted to minimize the weight. Didn''t realize they''d panic and run for space the moment I was inside."


    He adjusted course; time to get back home. His system was automatically adjusting thrust, sensing the weight it was pulling on the grapple. Fortunately, he''d built this thing with far more fuel than it needed, and the ability to haul some loot if he managed to shoot someone down in space. Butcher was... over nine hundred tons? The hell? "What are you carrying, kid? We''re gonna make it, but you''re gonna hit like a bomb."


    "Oh. I''ve been trying to make Neutronium, like mom. Haven''t quite made it, but figured what I had would help if I needed it."


    Eyeball shook his head "Well. Keep it on, just in case. You might need it."... and stared at his sensors for a moment; and started to look around. "I think we''re about to miss the show, kid. Someone''s popping out of hyper any second now."


    ***


    Spike stared at the countdown timer. He was wearing an armored space-suit; complete with thrusters and everything he''d need for a long vacuum jaunt; but incredibly compact so that none of the bits would be outside of the extremely narrow field his power created. For all the vast, incredibly power he had at his fingertips, it also came with limitations.


    He couldn''t vary it; all of his body increased by the same amount. No ultra-dense fists. It would only effect things extremely close to himself; a few inches, max. His suit was custom-built to maximize what would fit in those 2.893 inches; and as a result had a very... bulky look to it; especially the mittens.


    He stared at the numbers. Three. Two. One. And... He reappeared outside Lunar orbit, supposedly in just the right position to assume orbit himself with the existing speed from the ship...


    There. Hundreds of Jotun ships. One of them far too close, already opening fire. Not that it mattered. Spike closed his eyes and focused. Not maximum density. Didn''t want to clench that invisible muscle as tight as possible. Just... most of the way. Just enough.


    Light started to twist. The colors changed, became warped. The metal supports of the starship began to quiver. He could feel the ship shaking, as the first enemy attacks started to hit. The light became impossibly bright, for just a moment.


    On hundreds of Jotun vessels, they felt the same thing. A strange twisting of light and gravity, pressure shifts, the ship creaking with strain, artificial gravity fighting for just a moment... then it all went black.


    When the light returned... Spike was inside a dense, tightly packed shell; incredibly hot, far too dense; as soon as he started to press his way through, it began to warp and twist. He discovered a surprising amount of rock and semi-organic matter in the numerous layers as he pushed his way through; as he reached the surface, realizing that this thing was... massive. Kilometers thick. This... It was a smaller, more distant moon, now. Granted, one that was made of a sandwich of rock, hull metal, and Jotun corpses. He sighed as he looked it over; the surface was a rough, superheated sphere, and... the outer surface appeared to be all of that rock at this point. If not for his ridiculous durability, he and his suit would both be melting with the heat of this thing.


    He glanced around... and turned to look at the moon; he was too close to see earth. He''d need to go around it, to get home. Ugh.


    He dropped down to his knees; and leapt; hurtling off of the rock with just enough force to send it flying further away; dropping his density down to just a few grams, and turning the thrusters on; launching himself forward like a rocket. He hoped he could get comms with earth before landing. He''d probably pulled the moon slightly out of orbit; if they could run the numbers for him, he could fix things before dropping in to land. Or even better, they could tell him it was fine.


    ***


    Aziz was... troubled. Much of his network had survived the Jotun well enough, so far. But... Clone had done terrible damage. A trusted ally, turned against him by alien technology as fast as a snap of the fingers. It was... an unusual experience. He was used to being on the other side of this sort of problem.


    It was... insane. His power seemed... rational. He studied a person from a distance. A close relative up close, if he could, would make for an excellent primer beforehand. Determined how their mind worked. Sent electrical signals to the right parts of the brain to render someone docile... and with a steady conversation, rewired them. Learned what they knew. Made the right things seem good, the wrong ones bad. He was the best there was at it... he could make someone calm and ... except for whoever had done this.


    He was stricken by an urge to talk to Clone. To see what could be learned from the creature inhabiting his body.


    The walk down into the basement was brief. His guards; loyal followers of the Jihad; had been with him for years, and nodded as he passed.


    He approached the room where Clone was restrained, and quietly opened it, stepping inside. A brief buzz of an alarm sounded as he opened it; Clone was a dangerous man. Should he somehow recover and get out of that bed, it was best the guards outside be ready. As he approached the bed and settled in to have a seat... he realized... something was different.


    The alien... was gone. Clone, looking at him was... genuinely hurt. Confused. Weak, in a way that Aziz had never seen from the stoic, jovial russian. The normally vast, impenetrable mind that he''d always encountered was... simple. Limited. There were... Maybe a few dozen of him. Less.


    Clone sighed. "Hey. Its me, again. Not going to be as big an asset as usual for a while. Most of my bodies are gone. And... I think the alien hijacked some of them. We need to track them down before they all go to ground. This... she knows most of what I do. I know most of what she does. But.... I think there''s hundreds of her, and only dozens of me."


    Aziz leaned back in the chair, studying him thoughtfully. "You..... get to start over. Only this time, you have allies to help you get things kicked off. Myself. The Titanslayer." He focused. This.... he could work with it. Clone''s mind was still powerful, even as it was. But it might just be weak enough for Aziz to influence, now. "But if this alien cockroach has somehow kept permanent control of a few of them, even after her death... well. I''m going to need locations. And... I''ll need to know what she knows."


    ***


    Chain frowned down at the blood-soaked floor, and the uniformed body lying with dozens of stab-wounds in the center of the... nursery. Chain had wanted to clear out Clone. Use his memories to assume his identity with his allies. But... that wouldn''t work. Too many had survived. Even worse...


    Chain took in the dozens of nearly identical corpses. Clone was just.... better at this than Chain was. Without the artifact for support, all the power to back it up, Chain was second-class. Control of these bodies was... difficult. It had lost far too many of its new bodies taking out just a few of the old guard. It needed... to run. To hide. Steal as much as it could, and build its own stronghold, somewhere.


    Perhaps it could assemble its own starship from old Jotun remnants when this war was over. Flee somewhere outside of the reach of the Emperor, the Jotun, and all of Chain''s enemies... and allies. Finally be well and truly free.

 Ragnarok - 17 - Survival of the Fittest

    The remainder of the Jotun fleet; sixty-four craft, most of them with some level of damage; all fled from the lunar region. Whatever weapon had produced that deadly sphere of supergravity must be avoided; if anything could be salvaged, it must be. Whatever it was, the enemy couldn''t dare to use it on earth; it would be... catastrophic.


    The vessels began dropping through the atmosphere around the south pole; all moving to a new landing site; but some of them had not been able to survive the atmospheric entry due to their earlier damage. Six of the massive starships would end up breaking apart on entry, their debris scattering across hundreds of square miles of the lunar surface.


    The ones that made it through landed on the surface, kicking up clouds of dust and debris as they settled in; at a different landing site from those already on the surface. The Jotun quickly set to work, starting repairs on their craft; as their lighter Attack Craft moved to conceal the position; the humans lacked anything in orbit at this stage to observe them. Hopefully, these craft could remain hidden, for now.


    If they were even more lucky, the humans might assume those debris were the entirety of the fleet, and give them time to repair and plan an escape.


    ***


    Eyeball wasn''t able to see just what had happened; but the consequences were obvious. For a few seconds, his sensors had suddenly registered something more massive than the sun on the other side of the moon. Something enormous; the moon and the earth had both actually moved towards it, as had Dragonslayer, the fighter detecting the acceleration related to the real sun and recommending corrections; corrections which were complete nonsense, as they hadn''t been built with the idea that the earth''s own orbit would change.


    The conclusion was obvious. Ascension was right; Spike had been here to take out the Jotun fleet. And he''d just done the job. He... was probably flying back to earth, riding in some tiny spacesuit, at the moment.


    He glanced behind him. On earth, Butcher and Spike fighting would be... devastating. Butcher, if he really was a Titan now, probably wouldn''t die in the process of killing Spike; but Spike''s death throes would end up killing half the planet... or more. Out here in space? Butcher could likely kill Spike and then just... get recovered by Eyeball.


    He knew Butcher would be willing. The kid looked up to Eyeball, liked him, and generally went along with most things he suggested. Still called him ''boss'' half the time. But.... no.


    Not only were his instincts... most likely his power, working on his subconscious... screaming at him that this was a bad idea, not no, but hell no... but... it just didn''t seem right. The world was in ruins. There likely wouldn''t even be a country left down there. Maybe they were enemies in the past, but Spike was a decent guy; and, well. Maybe he would need the Titan to finish off the Jotun. They might still have something dangerous in store.


    In fact... if his subconscious was so upset about the idea of killing Spike... that meant there must be some other threat he''d need Spike to deal with. It''d never really been this clear before. Was this because Apollo was gone?


    He blinked; the communications console in Dragonslayer was lighting up. On... a US military frequency.


    "Accept call. Go for Dragonslayer."


    "Dragonslayer, this is General Bates. Can you give me current operational status on your craft? We''ve lost most of our space-capable equipment and may have use for some assistance."


    "General! Glad to hear you''re alive. Nicky tells me the navy took out most of the Jotun before they could reach La Famiglia... or the west coast... and the survivors ran like hell. I''m on the way back from picking up Butcher, and... Dragonslayer is currently at 99% capacity for fuel, 100% for armaments, and 99% for environmental. Minor aerodynamic surface warping from re-entry, but she can make it a few times before I need repair."


    "Ninety-nine... How much fuel does.. Doesn''t matter. Or... it might. What''s the effective range of that bird?" Clearly, the general was already reviewing the possibilities. Had she taken off and still had that much fuel? Most of the fuel of any given flight was in take-off, how did that work?


    "Its space, general. Give me a few days and I can setup a camp on Pluto. My people did some great work on this one; I can fly the whole route there and back at a full G of acceleration, nice and comfortable." He smiled. Extradimensional spaces were such a lovely cheat for this nonsense. There were even enough spare parts he could make himself a cozy emergency shelter there, pretend to be Pluto''s first colonist.


    "...We''ll talk about that in a few. Can you scout out the Jotun positions in Antarctica for us before they have time to settle in? We don''t have anything that can reach the area for another few hours."


    "One moment. Butch! You okay with diverting to fly over Antarctica for some scouting? Can''t be the most comfortable back there."


    The communicator automatically added Butch to the call. "Oh, sure. Hell, you can drop me off if you want down there, I''d be fine with killing some more crabs."


    "Nah, lets do this right. If you and your mom showed up on your own, they''d scatter like cockroaches. We need to surround em first, then let the heavies drop on em like a ton of bricks. General, I''m diverting. I''ll be over the area in about ten, then landing at La Famiglia in thirty. Butcher will be air-dropping somewhere nearby; I''d appreciate if you could send a chopper for him."


    ***


    When Almasi entered the throne room, he was.. well. Terrified would be the word. Hopeful would be another. Africa now belonged to the Emperor of Iron.. entire nations had surrendered just seeing the abomination that approached their borders. And... with every step of the way, the Emperor had been asking Almasi what he wanted to do... with his kingdom. What he''d need to prepare, to have an army ready for the next step of the conquest; when the Empire conquered South America.


    He was acting as if his conquest of the world was now a foregone conclusion. The few who had stepped up to resist had collapsed almost immediately. One of the scientists who was working on the ship; a Doctor kline; was speaking when Almasi passed the threshold; he stopped, to listen.


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    "And, well. Honestly, your majesty.... the Jotun thought it was unstoppable without the Disrupter that we also recovered. This Nanoplague is usually referred to as a sort of... ultimate weapon. Spray it over an enemy city and just... follow it with a Disrupter. When you reach the other side, you have a pile of raw materials to use for construction, and no more enemy city. We recovered a few more missiles containing samples, if you need them."


    "No... Unfortunately, it seems my abilities cannot control them the way they can wires or even genuine liquid metal; they simply look like liquid metal. I can only control the outermost layer at any given time. While the substance can''t destroy the Throne, it can distract me greatly from fighting. Make sure the Disrupter is prepared and ready to activate."


    "Of course, your majesty." The scientist bowed; and backed away, as Almasi stepped up.


    The Diamond King took a deep breath. "Emperor. I''ve come to make a request."


    "And that would be? We''re currently cleaning up the damage caused by the Jotun''s earlier assault. A disturbing number of my subjects have died. In addition to the machines, we must, of course, make certain the Jotun have been eradicated."


    "Well, Emperor.... We''ve recovered the scanners used by the Jotun. We''ve determined that they can pinpoint the communications the machines share with each other; what forms their... hive mind. While we lack the firepower and equipment to act swiftly on what we''ve found, if you would be willing to assist... I can see us eradicating the machines within the day. However... the machines are currently assisting in the battle with the Jotun, and even with rescuing survivors in the coastal cities. I''ve instructed my people to follow the machines, and observe, but not combat them as of yet. The machines are actually deliberately keeping some of our people near their combat units, in the event the Jotun arrive with another Disrupter.. which means we should be able to inflict dramatic damage with our initial assault."


    He glanced around. "If you so order, we will move on the machines. We can destroy many of them in the initial waves, thanks to this positioning... but their heaviest concentrations will inflict prohibitive casualties on our forces. And the sensors also show the machines have bases off the coast, deep beneath the oceans, which we cannot reach with what we have on hand."


    The Emperor extended a metal tendril up from the floor beneath his throne... and used it to scratch himself beneath the chin, as he studied Almasi. "Interesting. It would be best to destroy the undersea facilities first. The Jotun seem to have retreated, for now, and I will need people for the invasion of South America. I want a clean sweep. I will provide you with Jotun weapons, Disrupters, and samples of this Nanoplague substance. Gather your forces, and inform me when you are sufficiently prepared. I will destroy the underwater facilities as soon as you begin your attack."


    ***


    Valkyrie looked at the ancient temple; or the ruins of it; as she climbed the rubble, trying not to further damage it too much. This place... had been devastated while she was playing anti-space gun, hanging out on top of a mountain in Europe... and now here she was, atop another mountain in Asia, looking over what was left of a once proud country that had over a billion souls the day before.


    How many did it have now? Would there still be an India or Pakistan tomorrow? She turned to look down the mountainside.


    One of the starships she''d destroyed had self-destructed around her, obliterating a giant chunk of the city she''d been trying to defend. Her boots had actually shorted out at one point; leaving her buried, trudging through concrete and shattering it apart behind her as if it were a trail through the mud, until they''d kicked back on; and that was nothing compared to the crater beneath that ship. The crater she was currently looking down on, on the edge of a broken city.


    Granted... if she had not destroyed that Starship, than the entire city would have been eradicated, along with all of its defenders. If she had not been where she was, throwing projectiles into orbit, the enemy would have been able to freely move around the world. Not that it did much good. Europe, Western Asia, North Africa..... what parts of them were still intact would all suffer dramatically from the fallout over the coming years.


    As she studied the area, there was an abrupt flash to her left. Raising her fist, turning towards it; she came to a stop. Tall, fit, beard, quiver full of ''Lightning Bolts''... Zeus. Again. "If you''ve come to flirt with me again, I''m gonna be blunt. I can and will deliver your wife what''s left of you after I''m through in a can, and she''ll thank me for it."


    Zeus laughed as he stepped closer. "Oh, no! I''m here to congratulate you. I just got word about your son. Do you know how rare you are? Not one in a billion, or ten billion. One in a trillion. Not just a Titan... but a fertile one! And whose children become Titans! Do you know how many of the old Titans could boast that claim?"


    Valkyrie glowered down at Zeus. She wasn''t much taller than him; but unlike his sandals, her boots had heels. "I wasn''t aware of any. Is there a point to any of this?"


    "The Titans ruled for hundreds of thousands of years; likely over a million. Technically, they might not even have been what we call Homo Sapiens; you could say the Titans predated humanity. A time that is truly inconceivable to even someone like me, who has been around for tens of thousands. During all that time, out of the billions of humans who suffered mutations, only a tiny count survived, an even smaller count gained powers, and the number that became Titans, well. Less than a hundred in over a million years of.. Hominid? History."


    He took another step closer. "And you are the only one ever to have a Titan for a child. One of only a few Titans who was even fertile at all. You... are the mother of the future. Quite possibly the foundation of what humanity is destined for. Can you tell me... who is the father?"


    She crossed her arms. "Who was the father is the question. No longer in the land of the living. And if this is going where I think its going, you won''t be yourself, for much longer. If there were going to be a candidate, I''ve got a short list of possibilities, and it would be artificial insemination. Besides, Butch isn''t a Titan... yet. He might be, when he grows up."


    Zeus gave a nod, spreading his hands, trying to seem as jovial and nonthreatening as possible. "Actually.... He is now. Hephaestus passed me the news; Eyeball just recovered him from orbit, apparently he pulled a... You." He glanced down at the ruins, and what was left of the starship. "And the moment he boarded, they knew he was a Titan and jetted for space. I suspect they would have tried the same with you... but, well. You carry enough Neutronium to actually slow  them down."


    "I was wondering if you''d like to tag along. The Olympians are going to be heading for a meeting with these Americans, setting up a line of communication between them and China, and your son is likely to be there; or nearby, at least. Would be more convenient to ride the chariot rather than just jump, yes?"


    Valkyrie frowned.. Wouldn''t Butch have contacted her, or just come to see her, if that had happened? She''d mentioned the point when she, as a teenager, had crossed the threshold from simply being superhumanly strong to infinite strength, and the caution he''d need to take...  she tapped her wrist. "Odin. Apparently there''s some sort of meeting off in the Americas. You want in?"


    A soft crackle of static.. then.. "Sorry, lady Valkyrie. I''m heading back to the circle to re-work the ritual and direct everyone down to... Antarctica. I''ll keep in touch and arrange for, hopefully, one last battle to take care of all this. As devastating as its been, it would be a miracle if we can clean this up quickly."


    Valkyrie sighed, and glanced at Zeus. "...No thanks. I''ll be waiting for you when you get there." She crouched; adjusted herself to optimal leaping position with the ease of long practice... and suddenly vanished. The mountaintop shook, a sonic boom erupted right at Zeus''s feet.. and he shook his head, smiling at her departing form.


    Of course he was transparent in this. He was one of the oldest, strongest, metas on earth. He had hundreds of children, thousands of grandchildren, hundreds of thousands of descendants. But... he could always use more.

 Ragnarok - 18 - Council of War

    The enterprise was currently serving as the headquarters for the Navy; and also as a meeting point for a wide variety of interested parties from around the world. As a carrier, it was already a fairly important structure; However most of that importance was lost when when the majority of the remaining fighter strength the United States possessed was lost during what was now being called the Pacific Storm, and most of its fighters were now at the bottom of the ocean; though soon, replacements would come from every airforce base that had one left. A single strange, heavily modified fighter with an image of a green dragon-girl was the only one above the deck at present; and had a flight crew working it over; slowly, as they were reading schematics as they checked the flight surfaces.


    Smaller ships and helicopters were still searching the wreckage, rescuing sailors where they could find them, recovering any useful equipment, and looking askance at the handful of machines that were the ocean beneath the fleet and surfacing occasionally with whatever intact parts survive their voyage to the depths.


    The enterprise itself, like most of the newer aircraft carriers, had a rail gun mounted above the flight deck, a rail gun which had just recently been pivotal in fending off the swarm of Jotun Craft that had been heading to Famiglia; and which had been fired until it was no longer operable; the rails had superheated and fused, and even now, as the vessel was starting to cruise southward, it was already being repaired; new rails lay out on the deck, and a team were slowly working the old ones free.


    Below all this work, the control tower had become the meeting room; of the most dangerous living things remaining on earth.


    ***


    General Gates.. wasn''t looking well. He had lost weight, hair was falling out; he had looked fit when Eyeball last saw him. Now? Like he was about to die; he was huddled in his chair, quiet. He wasn''t even in charge here; Director Thomes was, somehow.


    The Director was... not what Eyeball expected. He looked rough; like someone who had seen hundreds of fights, and definitely hadn''t won them all, or even most of them. Scars on the face, a visible limp... but he still moved well enough in an armored black DMA bodysuit.


    The figures in the room were... a strange mix. A camera in one seat at the head of the table was secured beneath a TV showing an entirely different table on the other side of the world; with a mix of Chinese, Indian, and Pakistani military gathered around it, though the vast majority were Chinese.


    The residents of the seats, however... Eyeball in his trademark chrome helmet. Swiftblade in her own standard blue armored bodysuit; now with some sort of tablet mounted in each fore-arm and other attachments around the chest. Valkyrie and Butcher, the two quietly talking back and forth; the two massive figures clearly having quite a bit they needed to sort out in private, but keeping it down at present. Zeus... who had only stopped his flirting with a young lieutenant when Hera and Hephaestus entered; Hera a statuesque, tall, regal woman in her long white dress and golden crown; while Hephaestus looked like... a space marine. Massive, bulky powered armor with a variety of attachments and glowing bits; and a massive glowing hammer at his back.


    The rest of those at the table wore US and Canadian uniforms; a single Brazilian general marking the only South American who had arrived in time; and of course... a tall, skeletal red machine, with a golden hammer and sickle emblazoned on it.


    Thomes stood at the opposite end of the table from the camera and display, looking around the room.


    "First off, folks, we have the good news. Every single Jotun advance has been halted. Those here in the Americas primarily by naval forces, those in Asia mostly by ground forces centered on the Wall. Different levels of casualties for each; we estimate over thirty thousand Jotun were involved in each invasion, and at least a few recovered from them all... though the assault on the wall, and the destruction of India, cost those two armies almost their entire force, while the rest of the forces were able to recover a significant proportion."


    He taps a button on his end of the table. A holographic globe emerged; turning slowly so everyone can see the earth, with Antarctica highlighted in red, the moon, and scattered blue dots in orbit. "The Jotun fleet is grounded. We now control orbit once more, and Hephaestus has already begun deploying new comsats; nothing over Antarctica, yet, as the Jotun appear able to shoot them down. Jotun casualties up til now include over ninety percent of their starships, and at least three quarters of their ground troops. Eyeball and Spike cleared the skies for us, the Chinese hammered them into the ground so hard that there isn''t much left."


    "Quite simply... once we crush whats left around the south pole... the war will be over, and we can get to the long, difficult task of rebuilding and establishing a quarantine. To that end... we''re making the following plans. All non-meta military units will be assigned to search and rescue, as well as quarantine. There are hundreds of bio-weapons out there, and we have cures for maybe half of them. Absolutely no population movement from this point forward; everything from one community to another will be escorted, inspected, and guarded. If we want to survive this... we need to be willing to shoot civilians who try to break quarantine."


    He looked around the table. "The US will be assigning its guard and army forces to this task within its borders, and will have units to spare to assist some of our southern neighbors. China will be assisting the remnants of India with this task. The US is instituting an emergency draft; I believe most of your leaders are doing similar. We might be able to keep things contained... but there will still be mass casualties. Entire cities have already been written off, and we need to keep that quiet. Every meta-human who can fight, and some of our elite special-forces units, are going to be heading south. Every aircraft we have. Every boat. Every tank. We should be bringing over a thousand meta-humans to the party who are at least equal to a Jotun, and backing them up with aircraft, tanks, and special forces."


    On the screen at the end of the table, a strange, glowing figure rose. "Against my advice, I have been given command of the forces that will be advancing from the middle kingdom. You may call me General Wu. We will also be bringing over one thousand of the blessed, and while the navy of the middle kingdom was not as great as your own before this war, it has yet to meet the enemy in battle; and will be heading south at full strength, carrying our own aircraft. We have commandeered a series of cargo vessels to carry additional forces and supplies; we will need to secure a good landing position, as these lack the sort of defenses and armor to keep them safe from even a casual Jotun attack."


    Zeus rose to his feet, smiling. "Over a hundred of my children, and all of the surviving Olympians, will be heading south as well. With the aid of the Titans..." He glanced at Valkyrie and Butcher for a moment, smiling. "We are likely sufficient to carry the day on our own; but with your aid, we can ensure casualties stay at a minimum among our forces and ensure no Jotun escape. In addition, Hephaestus, before the battle in space, hid away many of our space-bound resources; we will likely have every bit as much orbital infrastructure to support rebuilding as we had before the war, when this is over. More, if we can salvage Jotun equipment. That Spike fellow turned all of the asteroids the Jotun were planning to drop on us... and their entire fleet... into a nice ball, dense with raw materials, with an almost smooth outer shell; my brother should be able to do something useful with it."


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    Hephaestus gave a low chuckle; his voice booming from the armor''s speakers. "An orbital station, most likely. A good point to bring useful people we''ve confirmed are safe from bio-weapon contamination and coordinate saving the world. Perhaps Prometheus II."


    Penelope rose to her own feet, smiling. "Thanks to the intervention of the US Navy, La Famiglia was barely touched. We have over eighteen hundred metahumans of various levels of power willing to go to war against the Jotun; some of whom are more common, while others just ridiculously dangerous. Honestly, much like the Olympians, I suspect our forces could handle the Jotun on their own at this point; especially since we have enough Reflex to ensure our forces are the ones with the speed advantage. There''s enough to share, by the way; we are willing to provide each soldier that accompanies our people with doses of their own.... and, well. I''ve also got a message from someone more useful than all of them put together. But... one we may want to carefully consider treating as a threat instead."


    She pulled a tablet off of her phone, and set it on the table. After a moment, the hologram of the earth vanished; to be replaced by an image of... something. Some sort of strange, metal monstrosity with hundreds of tentacles projecting from it. "This... is the Iron Dreadnaught. The Emperor of Iron''s throne and flagship. It''s made out of a custom-built military vessel merged with the parts of three Jotun Starships... and possibly capable of destroying every surviving Jotun on its own, with a little luck. The Emperor has offered to assist us in eradicating the Jotun, in exchange for us ceding control of him to those regions struck by the bombs; specifically, Europe and western Asia. He... already has solid control of Africa, and the locals there practically worship him after what he''s done there."


    Thomes taped his gloved fingers against the table; and looked closely at the projection. "Can I have that data, Swiftblade?"


    She nodded. "Of course. He''s distributing the full video of his... ''Victory over the pathetic Jotun invaders'' to everyone he can. Seems to be his current hobby."


    Thomes nodded. "Thank you. I... think we should turn down this offer. In fact, I hate to say it, but we may need to deal with him, after the Jotun. If he were to come down there alongside us and absorb the rest of their fleet..."


    Around the table, some of the figures simply looked amused; most of them didn''t know the Emperor of Iron well enough to understand what he was capable of. Ascension rose to its own feet. "Unfortunately, my own contributions will be minimal; I project I will only be able to include less than five thousand units. As we speak, Mister Thompson and this Iron Dreadnaught are sweeping the coast of South America. Having cleansed Africa of both my own forces and the Jotun, he seems intent on hunting all of my units down. Any surviving units will assist as best they can, but they will need to remain with organic accompaniment in the event the enemy uses their Disrupters. I would highly recommend having some of me among any invading groups, as it is unlikely the Jotun will deploy their drone swarms against forces including us."


    Thomes studied the machine. "Are you going to be trying to conquer the world yourself, after this?"


    "My intent was never conquest. My objective is to liberate humanity from rule by the oligarchs; as well as to ensure its survival. At present, this means assisting in quarantine efforts and fighting the Jotun. If any of my units survive, they will continue attempting to turn humanity towards the collective good."


    He sighed. "I wish one of my verifiers could make sure that was true. We''ll work with you, for now. Those drone swarms were devastating, and your robots will be useful, in the battles ahead." He looked around. "Okay, people. We know where one of the Jotun landing sites is. We have time to rest, re-arm, and repair; the entire fleet will be gathered in... three days?" He looked at the screen.


    General Wu nodded. "Three days. The army of the fallen will also be gathered there, for its final battle. When the last of the Jotun falls, our purpose will fade; and we will go to rest at last."


    The meeting started to dissolve. Penelope pulling Thomes aside, Valkyrie and Butcher heading upstairs to have a quiet; if intense; conversation about his failure to talk to her earlier... and Zeus casually took Eyeball by the shoulder; Eyeball could see it coming, but saw... any attempt to dodge simply led to Zeus following him along. His only options were to fight, or let the man grab him.


    He grimaced; and accepted the powerful grip; the painful squeeze on his bruised limb. "Ahh. Eyeball. Come. Walk with me. We need to have a chat."


    ***


    "I noticed you have Apollo''s dagger. How did you happen to come by that?" The two walked along the deck; Zeus still holding firm to Eyeball''s shoulder; but Eyeball stopped; he wasn''t as strong as Zeus, but he certainly was no pushover anymore.


    "I tolerated it in there because of the number of casualties it would take to kill you, including people I liked." He gripped the 40mm handgun. If need be, he could pop it into his prosthesis and obliterate them both in the same heartbeat. And... the tenner would actually make the god bleed. Especially if he used reflex and aimed for the eyes. "But if you don''t remove that hand, you and Odin will share an eyepatch; and if you keep acting like an asshole, you can ask Apollo how I got it firsthand."


    Zeus... could shatter his shoulder into paste with a squeeze of his hand. Granted, by the time he''d finished that, he''d be blind; Eyeball focused directly on Zeus, the smooth chrome face reflecting his own glare back at him... as he relaxed his grip. "You realize he was like a brother to me. I''d known him since before there were pyramids. Before the fall of the Titans, even; it was his plan that ended them. His plan that gave us this fighting chance against the Jotun."


    "His plan is also what ended with the two of us in an escape pod in the middle of a jungle with him pointing my own gun at my head when I woke up. And his plan that gave us this war to begin with. I have no quarrel with you unless you make one. He tried to kill me. He failed. If I have to play Kratos and start fighting my way through the Olympians, I will, but honestly I always liked you guys. Especially Hephaestus."


    "..Why is it always Hephaestus? I''m the handsome one. He always hides in his armor."


    Eyeball shrugged; and grimaced. His shoulder was even more sore now. "He''s awesome. He makes your thunderbolts. He makes awesome gadgets. Faster than light drives! He''s... well. If I were going to worship one of you lot, it''d be him."


    Zeus nodded. "Give me the dagger." He extended his hand. "I make no promises, for now; consider it a momentary truce, until the Jotun fall. But that dagger was forged with my strength, Hephaestus''s brilliance, and Odin''s wisdom. It belongs to an Olympian."


    Eyeball reached down to his belt, feeling the silver dagger. It was pretty. Ornate. And undoubtedly vastly powerful in magic. It could be incredibly useful. But... Zeus was pretty much Apollo''s family.


    He slid the dagger free. Could it hurt Zeus? Ahhh.. no. If he even tried, it would turn and stab him. Just like his handgun would have done if Apollo tried to shoot him with it. Huh. Eyeball flipped it, and extended it to Zeus hilt-first, after making sure that if he did, Zeus wouldn''t just immediately stab him; though he did back away a step, after Zeus took the blade... and held it in the air.


    "Apollo. Is he telling the truth? Did you point a gun at him, threaten his life? I thought we agreed not to."


    A sudden soft, golden glow emerged from the dagger; and Eyeball could hear Apollo''s voice. Still seeming like just a boy, even in death. "Yes. Look, I know you wanted to recruit him. But it was a simple matter of practicality. I was going to get my powers back, eventually. So I needed him out of the picture. Every precognitive on earth makes all the others less effective."


    Zeus nodded; and settled the dagger into a bag at his hip; the dagger audibly protesting at being shoved into the darkness and sealed away. "Ugh. Practicality." The glow faded away. "Honestly, if he''d died from the fall, I''d be making you an Olympian. But since you killed one of us, certain rules come into play. We have to have a meeting, and vote on what to do with you. Amusingly enough, killing an Olympian has four default responses; kill the murderer, torment him endlessly, reward him if the kill was proper, or invite him to our ranks. Odin got that last option, but declined the invitation. I wonder how they''ll choose for you."

 Ragnarok - 19 - A few corpses more

    Chain had a plan. That plan had mostly fallen apart with the death of its original body, and changes had to be made. Clone had a vast amount of information available; and, well. Had been adept at using thousands of bodies to store and process it all. Chain... wasn''t. Chain needed to hide, establish a headquarters somewhere, build up more bodies, and, well. Practice. There wasn''t an overpowered magical artifact paving the way anymore.


    A modest cargo ship Clone had a single crew-member on had already been cleaned out; Chain taking over just in case it could use the boat against the locals somehow. The Clone aboard had tied himself to an anchor and jumped in when the imminent death of Chain''s body became apparent; so it was empty. If Chain could grab it first; well. The cargo was intended for an arctic expedition. It included insulated tents, packaged food, that should have ended up offloaded onto a smaller boat for its intended customers...


    Customers who were now, likely, dead.


    As a team of Chain''s bodies moved through the docks, the locals didn''t pay too much attention; the dockyard was mostly empty. People were looting whatever they could and going home; the russian oligarchs who owned all of it were likely dead, there was no government to enforce order... and nobody knew what was going to happen tomorrow.


    A team of armed soldiers in masks had no-one to stop them as they advanced into the yard, boarding the boat; checking it over. A few of Chain started sweeping the boat, making sure nobody was left; and that the original Clone hadn''t somehow gotten free of the anchor; it hadn''t had much time to tie the knot, and... Ahh, no. The body was actually visible, in its life vest, floating face-down... among other bodies.


    Nobody even seemed to care. In fact... there were more bodies scattered around. Security guards who were foolish enough to stand their ground against looters, among them.


    The sweep was clean. Chain found someone had a pet dog onboard that Clone had allowed to live; Chain saw no reason to kill the animal, and had one of its bodies release the frightened creature down the ramp as the others took inventory. There we are. Prefab structures for the arctic; mostly designed to have ice and snow packed in for structural support and keep the occupants nice and comfortable. Battery and chemically operated heaters, boxes of rations... perfect.


    The cargo meant for other destinations included... cheap commercial electronics, mostly third-rate cell phones in packages meant for retail sale. Toys. Ahhh, nutrition bars, those could be useful.


    Didn''t really matter too much. Chain relocated the boat, just in case one of the originals managed to reach here in time to check... and brought all of the available copies to it. The equipment was intended for arctic survival; but would work just fine on a nice, sandy beach on some isolated island where temperature control wasn''t so important.


    Most of Chain''s bodies all came from the same ''nursery'', but there was another that a bit further away; one where a bitter struggle between Chain and Clone had led to a bloody mess on the ground. As this second, smaller batch started to approach the docks; also gathered together like a swarm of armed soldiers... one of them... coughed.


    The whole group stopped. Assessed each other.


    A few passerby were watching as a group of armed soldiers in the middle of the street all stopped in unison without a word; one of them examining the one that coughed, who pulled his face-mask and shirt down; to reveal a vivid red rash expanding from the eyes and mouth, down the throat.


    Chain assessed the progression. Engineered in one of the various labs Clone had been aware of... and Chain had disrupted using other bodies.. Redscale had no vaccine, and no cure, only treatment. Carefully rupturing and cleaning each of the pustules as it formed would prevent a fatal infection; once the pressure inside such a pustule grew large enough it would begin eating its way into the victim''s circulatory system; but the subject would need constant medical attention for weeks. If any of the pustules were allowed to fully develop, the subject would almost certainly die. The idea was simple; an extremely infectious, non-fatal, treatable illness that if someone important acquired they could be saved... but would absolutely overwhelm a target nation''s hospitals as each patient would need to be checked at least every hour or two. Even a four hour span would result in death, if it happened too long. The scientist responsible had been praised, congratulated; and alongside the rest of his team, infected and sent to Siberia to die in isolation.


    Recommended treatment... isolation. Bathe the victim in antiseptic, and check for pustules once per hour. Extremely contagious; the subject becomes contagious within 4 hours, and symptoms appear at around 12. If you can see symptoms... Chain looked over the remaining bodies in that group. It did not have the supplies to handle more than a couple of infected. It would be most productive to simple liquidate these bodies and make more.


    The family watching from a nearby building, concerned about what these soldiers might be doing, looked on in horror as the soldiers, in unison, turned the safeties off of their rifles; that horror blending with confusion when they turned their weapons on themselves... and as a group, all opened fire. Their bodies would fall, limp, to the ground; and while their presence, and mass suicide, would confuse those who found them... it wouldn''t stop the looters from removing weapons, body-armor, and anything else they could find.... and helping the illness spread.


    On the boat, they knew there was no reason to wait. In fact, staying meant further risk of exposure. The engines they''d used minutes before to relocate in the docks were now turned to purpose; and within minutes, they were making their way out of the docks. Some of the boats were being stripped and abandoned; but it was only one of many fleeing the docks that day, lost among the crowd.


    ***


    Aside from the destruction of her grandmother''s tomb, Emerald hadn''t had many issues dealing with the war. For the past several months, she''d been focused more on building up her island, preparing her people for the future, and trying to increase her influence with Japan. After her heart-to-heart with Aziz, she''d also begun looking into religion; she''d met people who the books claimed were gods, and who instead turned out to just be powerful mortals. But when it came to stories of Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed, these ancient figures didn''t seem willing to say too much; except for one offhanded comment she''d found from Hephaestus that seemed to imply he''d met Jesus in the flesh.


    Most of her family considered it a bit odd; but chalked it up to her experiences with all of the death in the family; especially of her brother. Regardless, until the swords had burst up from the ground, she''d mostly remained isolated in her new home, dealing with internal affairs; acting as if an alien invasion were simply going to wash over them.


    And... after watching the news... this seemed like the prudent course. Bio-weapons were out there. Invisible, deadly agents, spreading from person to person. The best way to keep her island safe would be if she were to stay here, at home, and forbid anyone else from landing. Especially since it appeared the battle was already well on the way to being won. But.... contributing could be useful, politically.


    Even better if it was someone that could be viewed as a direct representative of her... but she wouldn''t care if never came back should they come down with one of the various horrific diseases running around.


    Time to give dad a job. Assuming that these things Hephaestus had put into orbit really worked, she should be able to reach him.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ***


    Gabriel studied the phone for a moment; his wings almost immediately fluffing out and glowing for a moment as if he were anxious; a few stray feathers ended up scattering. It was an irritating habit; one of the secretaries was a bit obsessed with him, and he was reasonably certain she collected the feathers. He had been a bit disappointed at Eyeball rushing off and leaving him behind as he ran off to fight the Jotun; but then again, he probably wouldn''t have been able to do much good. He''d actually been ready to fight the Jotun assault on La Famiglia... only to be surprised by the ruthlessness and competence of the US navy. He barely even got to see any Jotun before the locals killed the ones that made it through... and now the island was starting up a quarantine. Everybody who tried to enter was being stopped at gun... or devastating metahuman power...point until they''d been checked out.


    He was... a bit nonplussed about that. Engineer had apparently whipped together a scanner that could use a tiny amount of blood to filter folks out, with the help of a few of Eyetech''s other scientists, and find any illnesses, artificial or not. Enforcers had stopped the first person about two hours ago; apparently he had some genetically engineered strain of super-malaria; and the woman had actually ended up attacking them and getting killed.


    There would likely be more casualties from the quarantine than there were from the Jotun at this rate.


    Regardless. A phone message from his daughter. Offering to help retrieve the swords, if he wanted to represent the Dragon Empress for the final step of the invasion. She herself would be staying home and shutting down all access to the island due to the quarantine; but there was a ritual in place to summon the swords at need. Granted, he knew the ritual, but it required a drop of the Empress''s blood, or that of one of her descendants,, to perform. In theory, her offer; likely to give him a vial of her own blood to perform the ritual; was made in good faith. Even an offer to get it delivered via drone, if he flew somewhere close.


    The truth? Her uncle''s corpse was on ice in the basement of Eyetech, along with dozens of other metahumans they''d been studying over the years. He could go pick up a lump of frozen blood, thaw it, and summon the swords anytime he needed to.


    He''d seen the recordings of the meeting. Honestly, this war was likely going to be over swiftly. As soon as the navy reached the shores of Antarctica, and was close enough that its railguns and cruise missiles could reach the Jotun landing site... a battle would start the Jotun simply could not win. And those swords were... evil. Not just radioactive, and heavily so, but containing the essence of hundreds of thousands of the vengeful dead.


    Honestly, the likely wouldn''t be needed. Might even fatally irradiate some allies if they were used inappropriately. But.


    He could survive the radiation far better than most, and fly far enough away to be... mostly safe. And this was the first time she''d contacted him since he left. He tapped the ''call'' button on his phone.


    "Hey, sweetheart. Its dad." "Gabriel. Do you want the blood, or not?"


    Gabriel sighed. "Look, Emma. I don''t need the blood, I can do the ritual just fine. I appreciate you letting me borrow the swords, and I can say that it''s a gift from the Dragon Empress, if you want. Everybody saw what they did to the Chain of Eternity, so I''m sure it''ll be appreciated. I''ll handle the ritual in a few minutes. I just wanted to talk. I''m your dad. I know I fucked up, but I want to talk."


    "... Missing a soccer game would be fucking up, dad. You abducted me and dragged me to a cage match with that crazy old skank because you were reasonable sure I''d win. If I ever decide to have kids, maybe I''ll look you up so they can meet grandpa. Maybe I''ll have forgiven you by then."


    The phone disconnected. He looked down at it, and sighed.. before heading down towards the elevator. One of the guards nodded at him as he walked by; the glorious-looking, winged figure was well-known here as the head of the ''Magic'' division Eyetech had started, as well as a sort-of friend of the boss. And considering his appearance, he attracted quite a bit of attention; especially given his habit of wearing either no shirt at all, or, as he was now, a simple black tank-top with the Eye-tech logo on it.


    The elevator gave a slow beep with each floor as it descended. Cadaver storage was deep below-ground; when someone with powers died in the arena, or somewhere that Eye-tech was able to nab the corpse, they would end up down here, inside an armored, frozen coffin; there was an entire branch working, with very limited success, on copying mutations, or some of their effects. So far the best they''d managed was to graft parts of one person onto another and give them partial abilities, and give one person radiation-emitting powers... for about five minutes, before they died of radiation sickness.


    When he arrived on the proper floor, he frowned. There was... rattling. Quite a bit of it, actually. It sounded like a motor running, rattling and clanking. Nothing down here should be this loud... as he stepped in, he focused on his... aura, as it were. A vivid, golden glow extended from his body; his strength and durability magnifying dramatically, just in case... as he stepped out.


    This entire floor was storage. There should be a whole hallway that vaguely resembled a morgue; a refrigerated room with even further refrigerated coffins; off to the left; and various heavily locked and secured rooms full of different types of equipment. Instead, after turning left and opening the door... He stopped, shocked, staring at the nearest chamber. Inside the closest coffin... the corpse was shattered. What had once been a mostly intact corpse was in pieces, scattered around; and in several of the coffins, the same thing had happened; the rattling came from one coffin near the end where one of the corpses had actually broken free of the coffin... and was putting itself back together.


    He thought for a moment, before remembering... the dead. All of them who''d died fighting, that the Valkyries hadn''t managed to nab. Which... would include some of these people. They were willing to fight the Jotun, so had been brought back... into frozen bodies, which were unable to move without breaking. Why was this one different?


    He stepped up, examining the naked, broken form... that, as it thawed, was reforming, reshaping itself; and looked up at Gabriel. "Hello. Mind helping? Regeneration working again as the flesh thaws, but... doesn''t seem to work as quickly now that I''m a zombie. Apparently." The figure was lying in a pool of blood, but... whatever had killed it, it looked mostly intact now. Would... it be genuinely alive once it was finished? Did Odin''s magic legitimately ressurrect the ones who could heal fast enough?


    "Yes, of course. I came down here for a blood sample from one of the corpses, needed it for a ritual, summon some family swords. Who are you?" Gabriel hesitated at first; but dragged the broken, thawing legs back over to the torso and its currently one working arm, before looking around for the other... which didn''t seem to be there.


    The man chuckled. "The other arm was incinerated, and I was decapitated. Thankfully they had me in about the right position in my coffin. Names Reese. Died in the arena, fighting on my feet... I was called by Odin for one last battle, but, well. If I hadn''t broken the freezing mechanism in there before my body completely shattered, I wouldn''t be getting anywhere useful. Feel sorry for the ones in graves, digging their way out. For most of the other guys in here, they struggled for a bit, then went back to the other side."


    Gabriel nodded thoughtfully; as he walked over to the proper coffin, tapping a few buttons; and revealing a familiar, broken, frozen corpse. He picked up a single sliver; a bit of flesh attached to a single blue scale; and re-sealed it. "Huh. Don''t suppose you remember what the other side was like? Heaven, hell, or something more mundane?"


    Reese frowned. "...I was somewhere. Odin called me there, and I wanted to fight, so I answered. I... don''t think it was a good place. I think... I want to stay here, as long as I can."


    Gabriel chuckled. "Well then... I wonder how long that will be." He studied the animate corpse; and the fallen ones, broken apart. Reese might be the only regenerator in this vault; or he might just have been the only one lucky enough to break the freezing mechanism. But... he''d seen some of the other fallen corpses that revived, and he''d dealt with necromancy in the past. He examined the walking corpse as he rose to his feet.


    "Hmm.. This is a temporary animation. Looks like once the body is broken, or you''ve used too much energy, it''ll stop working. I.." He frowned. It looked as if these corpses might be able to prolong their undeath simply by being around when either other undead or the living fell. this was fairly normal for undead, but if that were the case, this one should have much more energy to it, as all the other undead tried and failed to rise. Except... it was a regenerator. It likely used up all that excess power converting itself back into a fully intact body. This thing might be able to go back to a normal life once it was fully healed. Or it might have to wander around killing to stay alive.


    One thing was definite. If it weren''t a regenerator, the latter would definitely be true. This... They wouldn''t be making more zombies or anything of the sort, but these millions of zombies might very well be a plague on humanity as bad as any illness once they realized they could keep themselves around longer by butchering the living.


    "I think you might actually end up able to go back to a normal life, after the battle down south. At least, if you kill a Jotun or two. Care to find out?"

 Ragnarok -20 - Southward bound - Reprieve

    Spike wasn''t very fond of this method of re-entry. He needed to balance his density just right; too low, and his suit would start to vaporize around him as he descended. Too high, and he''d fall too fast, hit the earth like a bullet and embed himself way too deep. And if he hit water... he''d need to reduce it so low he could float. He''d never had to do this before; but he''d had the mechanics of it explained before his first space mission.


    As the ground hurtled up to meet him, he focused on one particular spot of jungle; no houses, no people, just greens, browns, reds, yellows; a vivid, beautiful patch of ground... and thought about the remains of the Zheng He; the crew deck and honestly most of the ship''s mass slowly inching its way back to earth. It had already been set on the right course before the drives detached, so his wife should be just fine. But then... it was Desiree. The convoluted arrangement of their quarters so that she didn''t accidentally break something important had been amusing; nothing but pure hull metal and vents for heat and water, purely mechanical, between it and the rest of the ship.


    In the unlikely event something -did- hit the ship, that made it the most vulnerable part....


    No. It should be fine. He was the one Apollo thought would die soon, not Desiree; and he''d outlived the god''s predictions. Suddenly, thoughts vanished; he was almost there. He shifted his density; one and a half tons. Enough to survive terminal velocity. But... this was faster than that, wasn''t it? He focused, hitting four tons just before impact; and could feel the earth rushing up... one moment it was light, vibrant green jungle.. the next... darkness.


    He started clawing his way up; adjusting his density reflexively to help get more purchase as he made his way to the jungle floor; and found himself standing next to a 100+ foot tree that he had just felled by virtue of shearing through its trunk on impact. He sighed as he studied his surroundings; and opened up his handset. The sats were all down, he shouldn''t have... GPS? The hell? GPS was working fine. Excellent signal strength. He experimented a moment, making a call, typing out the contact on his wrist.


    "This is Director Thomes. Spike, is that really you? You have reception wherever the hell you are?"


    "South america, sir. Sorry for the delay, I was making a few gravitic adjustments before I landed. The moon should be good now; though... technically earth now has two moons. Where do you want me?" He studied the map; he was only a few miles from shore. If the Navy were heading south already, should be an easy pickup.


    "Honestly, son, I think we might need you for something more dangerous than the Jotun, though of course we''ll have you on the ground. Our old friend, the Lord of Iron, has been up to some new tricks while you were away, and not only are you one of the few that can handle him... but honestly, just seeing and talking to you will probably be enough to throw him off his game. He''s always hated you."


    Spike blinked. "...Thompson more dangerous than the Jotun?"


    "If you hadn''t taken that fleet out in space... he might have been able to do the job. Head for the coast. We''ll pick you up and talk it out."


    ***


    Director Thomes walked along the deck of the Enterprise, feeling the cool sea air against his skin. He''d expected to die in this war. Apollo had told him as much, years ago. But then, Apollo had also told him his family should be safe in Virginia. And where was Apollo now?


    A few flight crew were running around in what seemed, to him, lunatic fashion. He was sure they had some important job. And if they told him to get the hell out of the way, of course he would. There might be a jet, or a helicopter, or, god forbit, a spaceship coming down to land. President McCarthy was talking about salvaging the ashes. Bringing the United States back, not just to cover the continent, but to spread across the world; the few remaining mostly intact countries were still dealing with a plague, might very well find themselves wiped out, but were already trying to plot the conquest of the world.


    Australia, Japan, a few other nations who had been completely intact, were simply quarantining, holding off outsiders, and preparing for after this disaster ended; aside from sending people and supplies to help fight the Jotun with no intention of any of it coming back home, or offering to setup labs to help research cures for the various bio-weapons. In an amusing twist, Australia was pardoning criminals with non-violent offenses and sending them out with volunteers to crew aid missions to what little was left of Europe.


    If someday in the far future, Britain ended up being settled by the descendants of Australian criminals... Well. Thomes wouldn''t be alive to see it. He looked southward, off the bow; one of the other carriers was visible. How many had survived? Four? Less than there used to be.


    His orders from the President had been... terrible. The Chinese were, much as the US, using their advanced forces and metahumans for this assault on the Jotun; leaving their regulars behind. McCarthy wanted Thomes, and the fleet, to of course fight until the Jotun were gone... then for Thomes to make sure the Chinese navy never made it home. Preferably, if Spike could be convinced to cooperate, by using him to take them all out at once, or some other means that might plausibly be blamed on the Jotun. Something which would be every bit as devastating as using a nuke for the job.


    He knew full well that the Chinese leaders were likely having similar thoughts. In a moment like this, if only one nation were still on its feet in the aftermath, it could easily keep all opposition crushed for decades to come; and if that one nation could start expanding into space while keeping the others in the dirt, possibly permanently.


    He wondered how those colonies were faring, out there. He''d seen the reports; that it would take centuries of work, of moving rocks full of ice and raw materials, to make one of them truly livable; and that the other had some sort of alien ecosystem to contend with; native plants and animals that tasted amazing, but had absolutely no nutritional value; and hostile, venomous insects.. whose venom was apparently not harmful to humans at all, but was oddly enough nasty to dogs. No guarantees there; but if they truly managed to screw things up too badly here on earth, at least humanity had a chance.


    He took a deep breath, and dropped down, sitting on the edge of the boat; and watched a light blue glow approaching the water''s surface from below. He nodded, and tapped a button on his hip. His cell-phone went dead as the jammer kicked in; a soft buzzing of white noise filling the air, as the glowing figure of Wu Qi floated up, stopping just below the deck. "I received your message. What is it you wish to speak of privately? The Chinese navy is on its way south as we speak, and will soon be fighting alongside your own. We are having a few issues with deployment, as these ships have been essentially hiding in the harbor since the... Sea Titan... incident, but now that he has apparently granted us "Clemency" our forces are eager to prove themselves."


    Thomes sighed. "Right now, I give it a pretty good chance humanity lives through this war. There might be breaches of quarantine, and I bet that things will go to hell once people realize how bad it really is. But I bet at least some places will make it through.... assuming enough of this fleet, and the armies it carries, makes it home." He looked to meet Wu Qi''s gaze. "Individuals in two governments are trying to turn the Jotun war into World War Three. The plans range from either the two of them splitting the world between each other, or murdering the other while somehow surviving and leaving only the other left. I assume you''ve heard of this?"


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    The man looked stoic; his features didn''t change at all. "Of course. The leaders of the Chinese forces were directed to act in close concert with your forces... and the captains have been ordered to move the fleet within weapons range of your own, and to... support each other. I have also heard that certain officers have been ordered to, once the Jotun have been sufficiently reduced as to be a non-threat, turn their weapons on the US fleet and ensure it does not reach home. If timed appropriately, they believe they can win the day."


    "They can''t. But they can certainly kill quite a few of us on their way down, especially if they decide to nuke us when things go down. Our carriers can shoot down a nuke in flight, but if one of the Chinese vessels set one off while simply being close enough it could take out most of both fleets. And... our fleet won''t let itself intermingle heavily enough for their conventional arms to get the job done, so, best case scenario for our side.. they start the fight too far away, and we use railguns to decisively end things. Best case for the Chinese side... both fleets go down in nuclear fire."


    He sighed. "Assuming it gets that far. Both sides already know exactly what the other is thinking. Neither navy wants to do it, but will if ordered. So. Do you have any suggestions?"


    Wu Qi noded. "Of course. The Jotun have landed in two sites in Antarctica. Hundreds of miles away. Your railguns have a range of roughly two hundred miles against a stationary target. One of these Jotun landing sites is within this range of shore... the other is not. Each of us... ''hears rumors'' that the other side is considering exactly what our own side is planning, and reports it to our superiors. Then your force moves against the one within railgun range of shore, our own against the one that is not. We have no idea which is the tougher site to destroy... but we should have more than enough forces to handle each."


    Thomes nods. "And... we''ll have three titans. Spike is the more devastating at large-scale fights, so we''ll send him at ours, and send Butcher and Valkyrie both after your own."


    Wu Qi grimaces. "Ahh.. it would be preferred not. Butcher was involved in the death of much of the military leadership last year, and quite a few casualties; many involved were associates of him and Eyeball, in fact. I suspect it would be best if Valkyrie alone joined our forces... or even Spike. And if Eyeball is going to be among the attackers, it goes without saying that it would be best he not be within range of our forces; they will shoot him on sight. Or try to."


    "That would probably work. Hell, sending Spike with your people should be fine. Having Eyeball with our ground forces would always be handy, and while those two seem to have buried the hatchet, you can never tell with mass-murdering psychopaths."


    Wu Qi nods. "Of course. I will advise my people that others among the dead inform me your forces are going to ambush our naval forces if we remain too close, and recommend the change in tactics. If anyone refuses, I will accuse them of betraying us to the enemy. Hopefully this will not cause you too many problems."


    Thomes laughed. "For the past ten years, the Director of Metahuman Affairs has also been the Secretary of Metahuman Affairs. Its a cabinet position. Its never happened before, but if that bunker were to suddenly go incommunicado because of an EMP strike, I''d be acting president until we got everyone out of the bunker; all of the survivors above me in the chain have been hiding down there since this started, unless someone survived that I''m unaware of. If he refuses to change his mind after I inform him that one of the dead has let us know the Chinese are onto us, and will be ready to take us down with a nuke the moment we start anything... I''ll pretend to follow along until we lose all contact with the bunker, and have to presume them lost."


    ***


    Eyeball moved through the labs; he''d been here fairly recently, but that was before aliens invaded. Most of his people had evacuated down to the bunker beneath the facility; one of several levels in the armored complex the tower rested on; but after the Navy had crushed the Jotun fleet... it had mostly gone back to business as usual. It didn''t seem to sink in just how bad things were out in the world for most of them.


    Only a handful had left La Famiglia since this had started; they were allowed to leave if they wanted, but anyone coming back had to be scanned for bio-weapons; and anyone trying to enter without being scanned was simply shot on sight as they tried to reach the island. He knew full well a few of his people had lost family to the nukes; and had Cobalt search up a list. From a purely pragmatic perspective, if he could track down and rescue any of their families, it would be great from both a loyalty perspective as well as, of course, the simple virtue of doing right by his employees. Money likely wouldn''t have meaning for much longer, so if he wanted them to stay around, he needed to make sure they were aware he gave a damn.


    So far, Bobby Russo had been his primary operative on this job; the kid still wasn''t at his maximum potential, but could already break six hundred at a dead run, and with a radiation suit, was easily able to track people down, living or dead, in the radioactive wasteland that was the eastern seaboard. He had a few other contacts, now that Hephaestus''s com network was in place.. and had started personally bringing the news, good or bad, to his employees for the past few hours. He''d need to board Dragonslayer for Antarctica in a couple of hours, but he had one, slightly different, bit of salvation to pass along.


    He tapped on the door of the lab; Engineer was carefully working on something; Eyeball couldn''t even see what the bald cyborg was doing from outside the room, but he was always doing something... and whatever it is, it looked like... a hat?


    Eyeball walked up, glancing around the room. "Isolated room?"


    Engineer glanced up. "Confirmed." The door slid shut. A soft humm filled the air with white noise. "Isolated, jammed, protected. What do you need?"


    "Actually, its more a question of what do you need? I''ve seen some videos of the Emperor of Iron and his people... and I know the Jotun started the job. What do you have left?"


    Engineer tilted his head. "Not many. My ability to meaningfully influence events is rapidly decreasing. The only units I have left are either buried, or with the forces moving south. I strongly suspect they will be destroyed once the Jotun are gone; they are only being tolerated for now because I have made no hostile actions, and the Jotun switch from their drone swarms to the disrupters when they see even a single one of my machines."


    "Mmm. Have you made more units like Engineer? Ones that don''t broadcast onto the network, so the sensors won''t spot them?"


    Engineer made a careful adjustment to the hat in front of him. "Yes. I have also built a series of Pale Ones utilizing random articles of clothing. A boot. A hat. They are far more limited than either my primary units or this isolated one, but with so many walking dead moving about, are achieving objectives without being noticed. My new network will be far more limited than the old one in its ability to coordinate... but it will be rebuilt."


    Eyeball nodded. "Cool, cool. I''ve got a mission for you."


    Engineer stopped, looking at Eyeball. "I have assisted you quite a bit over the years, and you have provided me assistance in return. My ability to accomplish missions going forward will be extremely limited, but I will listen to your request."


    "Within the next hour and a half, I need you to fit all of the components needed to build a fabricator into its extradimensional space, and either personally board and pilot my ship, or get one of your units competent enough to start over from scratch into it."


    Engineer set down the hat; it was a simple, bowler hat.. an amusing thing to be contrived to puppet a corpse. "...I can do this. For what purpose?"


    "I''m reasonably certain you can escape into space while the battle is going on; pretend to get shot up during the fight. Everyone knows you exist now. Maybe your modified Pale Ones will work. Maybe models like you can avoid detection. Maybe not. If not, I''d prefer to still have you around. Dragonslayer should have enough fuel and power to get you started."


    "...Confirmed. This is an acceptable plan. I must warn you, if the Jotun are using a disrupter, I will not be able to meaningfully contribute to the battle."


    "Pop flares, fake your death, and run when you hit the field. We''ve got this without you, now. Not sure if we would if you hadn''t shown up. If you didn''t have units with the fleet, and the Jotun had hit the Navy with that drone swarm... We owe you. Once you''re done with Dragonslayer, don''t need it anymore, dump it somewhere I can find it. It''ll help if anyone has questions, later on. Don''t want anybody spending years searching for that thing and accidentally finding you."

 Ragnarok - 21 - Refuge Among the Ashes

    Ripper frowned as he stood beside the wall he was about to pass through for the hundredth time. He was an assassin. A spy. He could kill anyone, anywhere; the only real way to evade him was to be constantly on the move; the moment you went to bed... he could slip through the floor, the wall, the bed... and then quietly pull a chunk of their heart into another dimension with himself on his way out. A particularly terrible heart attack would follow.


    In an in-person fight, he could simple fade into the ethereal and back to avoid a punch... and then send the enemy''s arm there. He solidly believed that if it came down to it, he could kill Spike or Valkyrie that way; or at the very least, strand them in the ethereal with no way back. But.. Director Thomes had forbidden him from trying it unless they tried to kill him; no dragging them there just as a test.


    Maybe he wasn''t big, flashy. He couldn''t pick up a train, or wipe out an army. But when it came to a one-on-one fight, he could kill anyone on the planet. And while all of these people were fighting, and people were dying... he was playing delivery-boy.


    For the past couple days, he had been making regular trips; others were grabbing supplies and raw materials, and he was phasing through the wall, dropping into an otherwise inaccessible tunnel, walking two miles, and phasing through a giant mass of solid rock... to reach a bunker full of worthless old idiots trapped in a bunker who, without him, or one of a tiny number of other metahumans like him, would be doomed to starve to death. And as far as he knew, he was the only surviving one with his particular powerset; the others weren''t even in the US.


    His duffel bag was full of MREs, flash drives that the occupants could load up with whatever they wanted... and more components for the transmitter. Right now, reception in and out of the bunker was spotty, difficult. Detailed messages were all hand-carried as flash drives by Ripper himself. He dropped the duffel bag beside the wall; he''d be coming back for it in a few minutes.


    He was risking exposure to radiation. To toxic chemicals. To bio-weapons. And why? So these morons could be safe and sound inside their bunker issuing orders.


    Heck, he could only see a vague shadow of the real world from the ethereal, so every time he passed through all that rock, there was a tiny chance he''d come out embedded in someone else... swapping bits and pieces of them to the other side. He''d done it before. It was... an unpleasant experience, and even worse, he''d inhaled people''s blood on multiple occasions.


    Director Thomes had given him intel to pass to the President, asking him to return as soon as McCarthy responded... and told Ripper to do what he believed was best for the country. There had been a strong implication that he should sabotage the transmitter and just find that his services were urgently needed elsewhere, so that he could smoothly take over and prevent the idiot in chief from starting world war three when they were already living in an apocalyptic hellscape... if the president didn''t see reason.


    As Ripper carefully moved through the rock, he changed course from his usual path to a storage room that was usually unoccupied; here in the ethereal, thought was action; he simply willed himself in a direction and he could, slowly, float there.


    He thought this was the right place. The tunnel he had pulled through every time he entered was part of the what was supposed to be the massive ventilation system for the bunker; CO2 filtration, air circulation in the bunker could keep it running for months. If the tunnel hadn''t collapsed, it would have been able to pass air in indefinitely; and of course, served as an escape route. As it was... if the filtration system were to break down, everyone inside the bunker would suffocate within hours.


    So, he''d been ordered to do what was best for the country. Not to sabotage any equipment, specifically. Not to go do some other job. What was best for the country. He could drag anyone over two hundred pounds out of that bunker, through the rock, and into the tunnel. Smaller kids, he could do two at a time.


    The President was not less than two hundred pounds. Nor were any of the fat, stupid old men that were in charge... or, unfortunately, most of the secret service agents. Most of them were on the bigger, heavier side. He''d already pulled out a few of their families on earlier trips, though most had wanted to remain in the bunker.


    Ripper wasn''t sure if McCarthy would do the right thing. Frankly, it didn''t matter. Thomes''s idea of solving the problem was temporarily taking over until the crisis was passed, then letting the politician handle things. Probably why he''d talked about what would happen if an EMP hit the transmitter, and with Ripper gone off on whatever important errand, lost all communications for a while.


    The only real solution to saving the country was for the contents of that bunker to kept safely away from any sort of leadership... permanently. Congress had died from the nukes. The supreme court. This was a perfect chance for the country to have a clean slate, start over in a new world without all the old baggage...


    Ripper reappeared in the real world, hearing a brief shriek of metal; and grimaced as a fan blade smacked into his arm as the structure fell apart; he''d actually popped out inside the air circulating mechanism itself, and likely everyone in the bunker could hear the shrieking of it starting to come apart.


    He shifted a few more times; popping in and out; making sure that the filters were ruined, the entire system broken beyond repair; and casually jabbed one of the broken fan blades through the filters. An in-depth examination would reveal the cause; but for now... well. If this wasn''t enough, he''d have to take further steps. Time to go back for the bag.


    ***


    Bobby was... horrified by what he was seeing. Uncle Nicky had given him a nice, solid red friction-resistant suit, an air-tight breather; and they''d even given him a radiation-resistant outer coating that they warned him would eventually wear away; and need to be reapplied with every trip.


    When he''d first started recovering from decades of malnourishment and mistreatment, he''d been exilherated at the experience. Running at hundreds of miles per hour, he could literally walk on water now; and up walls, within reason. Learning to fight, to move properly... it was getting better with every day. He''d been looking forward to the fight with the Jotun; as one of the speedsters that could be expected to be faster than the aliens, he would get to use a rifle and a plasma sword! It looked like a lightsaber, sort-of! Just... shorter.


    He was gonna fight aliens! He hadn''t picked out a codename yet, like his sister, but maybe he could be... SwiftStrike? But... that didn''t pan out. The Navy did the heavy lifting.


    And... here he was. Checking the irradiated ruins of New York, running down a list of addresses looking for people off of a list... with a counter ticking away telling him how much radiation he was receiving, and how long until he needed to back off.


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    He''d seen thousands of corpses, maybe even millions. The ones in the city weren''t too bad; they were mostly just skeletons or ash. The ones outside the city... they''d died hard. Many of them had clearly spent their last hours crawling, blind, suffering from far beyond lethal levels of radiation sickness. One corpse was laying at a wall, fingers ruined, scratch marks running down the wall... maybe ten feet from a doorway he''d clearly been trying to reach.


    The doorway was one of the ones on Bobby''s list. He grimaced, as he stepped over it, opening the front door.


    The counter slowed almost immediately. Inside the home was... not safe, but far better than the outside. He could see the warping; he was moving too fast. The door was going to fall apart and collapse once he was gone. He circled the floor, as he checked the database. This house belonged to... Oh. The folks who had adopted Jasmine. There should be another one of his cousins, here, if they lived, and her adoptive parents.


    Judging by the body outside, they were likely down one.


    He noticed the windows starting to crack; good lord, they''d withstood a nuke and the overpressure he was making was finishing them off? He needed to... well. The house seemed to be empty, not like anyone would care about broken windows now.


    Except... there. A basement. As he descended the steps, the clicking slowed even further; it would take days to reach a lethal level down here; and saw... hope. An older woman. A teenager. The woman was crying, tears leaking down her face. The teenage.. boy? Honestly, Bobby couldn''t tell; the hair was cut short, and the face looked... familiar... was tracking Bobby.


    Bobby was moving so quickly that the old woman hadn''t noticed his arrival, but the kid had, and was reaching for... a brick, probably, to throw at him. Not bad.


    He chuckled to himself as he unfolded a tarp from his bag; deftly avoiding the brick as he tossed it over the duo; slowing down as much as he could to do as little damage as possible while he covered them up. The old woman still hadn''t noticed; the kid was struggling.


    He started up the stairs; and down the street. The old woman was starting to struggle; she''d realized something was wrong, but the kid had stopped; apparently realizing this was a rescue.


    Bobby could stop pretty fast; and the kid might survive it, too; but not the woman. As he saw his target approaching, and the clicking from the outdoors slowed to a more survivable level, he slowed down; and stopped, beside the train; gently opening the tarp, laying it out... and then heading to the tub of radiation-refracting paint to smother himself in it again... before sprinting back to the northeast.


    As the woman looked around at her surroundings; from her perspective, she''d been in her basement, a hundred miles away, just a minute ago, and now, she was... somewhere else? A train, sitting on a track, amidst a crowd of people?


    A man in a radiation suit was standing there, directing people onto the train. "If you could please board the vehicle in an orderly fashion. We''re scanning everyone to make sure nobody''s infected, then the train will be headed west. We expect fallout to be in this area in a few hours. We''ve got a whole team of people out doing search and rescue, every speedster that the US government could convince to help, so don''t be surprised if things just appear or disappear on you. Right now, the train is mostly empty, but I''m hoping that won''t be the case by the time we leave, so try to think small."


    ***


    Hundreds of miles to the southwest, six soldiers were lined behind a barricade that crossed a bridge over the Sabine river; national guardsmen who hadn''t really expected to see a war, after the Afghanistan pull-out, then the Ascension incident which settled down so quickly... and never really got to be involved in this one. Corporal Grey was in charge at the moment; he had one of the new scanners that were being mass-produced like mad in every fabricator that could make them, and with New Orleans and the entire state of Louisiana... and everything to its east... written off as a loss, his people were one of thousands of checkpoints preventing possibly infected people from getting across the border into Texas.


    Complicating things were the chemical weapons attacks; plenty of seemingly deathly ill people didn''t have a disease at all, and could recover without a problem if they just had access to clean food and water... and time. Or the right counter-agents.


    He didn''t have any of those counter-agents here... but he did have a scanner that, in theory, could use a tiny blood sample to give him an answer in thirty seconds as to whether a subject had any of the warning signs some egg-head had chosen as indicators of a bio-weapon. It wasn''t a guarantee; but it was better than just trapping everyone together and letting them all die.


    Grey could have told them it was hopeless. Someone could be swimming across the river beneath them right now, and likely get away with it. But some general had decided to cover every road and known crossing with a handful of troops and try to use the river, and the toledo bend lake to the north, as a natural barrier... they didn''t even have a vehicle, the truck had dropped them off on the way to its other stops further south.


    He looked up from the barricade; they had been chatting quietly about the Jotun, about the nukes. Three vehicles were approaching the barricade... he glanced at his men. "Rifles up. If they rush us, shoot." He took a deep breath; and pulled on his mask, turning on the O2, before approaching the first vehicle. "Alright, folks. By order of President McCarthy, the state of Louisiana is under quarantine and martial law. Anyone crossing the border is subject to a blood test. Refusal and attempt to cross regardless will be met with lethal force. Do we understand this?"


    He sensed danger before he even looked at the man. From the gun rack to the confederate flag labels, this didn''t look like someone that was about to listen... and sure enough, the man gunned it, charging for the barricade, almost running over Grey.


    One of the soldiers fired a single shot; a barely visible spike strip in front of the barricades popped the tires.. and the truck swerved out of control, slammed into the guard rail, not too fast; but fast enough to send the driver through his windshield, over the rail... and into the river below. The passenger seemed... stunned, and Grey sighed as he walked around to the other side. "Did you hear me?"


    The young woman reached out her hand. "Blood test? Thats... thats fine. Can I.. can I go ahead if I pass?" He pressed the scanner against her finger, and looked at her. She looked... manic. Afraid. After a few seconds, he sighed. "Yes ma''am, you''re clear. Rice, Levi. You two get this truck off the road. If one of these other folks is fine with giving her a ride west, we''ll let them. If not, we''ll call her a ride."


    He walked on to the second car.. an immaculate escalade that looked as if it had just driven off of the showroom floor... which hadn''t moved an inch during the incident. "By order of President McCarthy.." A white hand reached out. A soft russian accent emerged. Inside the vehicle, there were a pair of men... one of them wearing a surgical mask.


    Chain smiled at the man. "Feel free to test us all. If you don''t mind, most of my people prefer to keep masks on under the circumstances; but a blood test would be fine."


    Grey calmly checked both of the men; they looked and acted eerily similar to each other... but that wasn''t his problem. He waved the second car through, and moved on the the third. A single black man driving a pickup truck... with what looked to be eight more probably teenagers like the two from the escalade in the back. All pale. All fairly slim. None of them spoke a word, simply kept their masks on, extended their arms...


    Grey tested them each, one by one; and then nodded at the barricade. As Private Rice drove the truck with its mangled tires off the other side of the road, the others pulled the barricades aside; and Chain calmly crossed the border. From it''s estimates, Texas would likely fall as well; that one lunatic who had gone over into the river might very well be contagious for all it could tell, and if so, might just swim up on the other side... and spread whatever horrific illness he had acquired in Atlanta on to Dallas.


    Chain did, of course, have more samples. If need be, they could be spread further... but for now, that would be counter-productive. This was most of the surviving bodies Chain had in north america. If it were going to use them for anything other than simply starting a new hide-out, it needed to be for something big.

 Ragnarok -22 - Change of Plans - The Allied Fleet

    As Director Thomes looked over the latest communication from Wu Qi, the fleets were all approaching their ultimate destiny; pre-arranged coordinates off the Antarctic coast where they would gather; and the various meta-humans and ground support for the coming invasion would be arriving by cargo plane. The full might of the US Navy; anchored by all eight of its surviving Aircraft carriers, had formed up, and was sailing for the tip of Africa; aiming for their objective; railgun range of the northern-most Jotun encampment.


    The British fleet accompanying it bore a somber note; the sailors represented the bulk of the surviving British population. The combined crew of the two carriers; which, like their American compatriots, had railguns fed by their nuclear reactors and could thus contribute to the extreme-range bombardment; combined to hold over 4,000 personnel at present. Aside from scattered individuals in bunkers, it was not believed Britain, Scotland, or Ireland had more than a few hundred survivors.


    The combined US/British fleet; along with the single French carrier which also had its own railgun; would all take positions together at the antarctic coast; while the remainder of the Allied fleet would join the Germans, Chinese, Russians, and the remainder of the French fleet at the other location; while they lacked railguns, many members of this fleet had cruise missiles that should be able to strike their targets... if the enemy point defense could be overcome.


    The plan was simple enough; Thomes had put much of it together himself, though he wasn''t certain how much of it would survive contact with the enemy. The fleets would form up, and prepare captured disrupters in the event the enemy deployed drones. The three Titans; Butcher and Valkyrie for the easternmost point, Spike for the more southwestern location; would move in, in the air as much as possible; and strike in person, providing both disruption of the enemy positions.. and targeting data for the railguns and cruise missiles. It was believed the enemy had sufficient massed point defense at each location to make the missiles useless; but both fleets would launch massive volleys regardless, including a few tactical nukes. If one got through.. then the fight would be essentially over.


    While this bombardment was ongoing, the navies would be providing support for transport ships carrying ground vehicles; heavy assault tanks of primarily Russian and US design, built specifically to fight the Jotun; which would begin advancing, alongside squads of Metahuman soldiers; for the US side, primarily just DMA and La Famiglia forces, while on the Chinese side they would be a far more multinational group; while Spike would be the only US national fighting on that side, the number of meta-humans involved would actually be greater than the other attack.


    Between the shorter distance to shore, and the railguns, it was believed the northern assault would be over within several hours; the tanks would arrive in 2 hours or so, and it was hoped that the sustained fire and attack by the Titans would lead to it just being a clean-up operation; with closer-in ground artillery deployed to intensify the bombardment. Aircraft would be launched to interdict any attacks by Jotun Attack Craft; and would precede the ground forces in, bombing targets among the Jotun immediately after the artillery fire began to arrive.


    Finally, of course, the meta-humans, tanks, and special forces troops would advance; accompanied by those of the fallen who still had sufficient power to join this fight. Apparently the ritual of Ragnarok was a fairly short-term thing; the weakest spirits had already begun to fade.


    A carefully orchestrated attack intended to brutally shatter the Jotun, and then crush them in a single wave of force.


    On the western side, a massed group of tanks, artillery, metahumans, and special forces troops from various nations would advance; more tanks and meta-humans than the US had available to deploy; and while they wouldn''t have railgun support to assist them... it was an honest question as to whether Spike would be able to handle the encampment by the time they arrived. Antarctica might have a new crater by the time the battle was over, and they might need to have him help adjust the moon''s orbit... again... but the current odds were that Spike could single-handedly deal with that group, and the other armies would simply be on clean-up detail of fleeing survivors.


    He smiled. This should all be over soon. He could retire, let his replacement take over the agency, and the politicians sort out rebuilding the country. His cabin in Alaska hadn''t been impacted by any of this nonsense so far; if any of his family were still alive, he could take them there til the chaos settled down. If it ever did. It would be nice to have his biggest worry be how to prepare whatever animal he was going to be eating that week.


    A young ensign stepped around the corner, saluting. Thomes glanced at his nametag; Ramirez. A young, overly enthusiastic hispanic man whose perfectly pressed uniform seemed... almost offensive, somehow. "Son. Are you one of my Metas?"


    The young man shook his head.


    "Salute your Navy officers and superiors. I''m nominally in charge of this mixed-force nonsense as we''ve got metas, navy, air force, army, and the whole ball of wax, but I don''t fall anywhere in your chain of command. If I wanted you to do something, I''d need to speak with your Captain, and he''d have to decide it was a good idea. Its not a bad idea to listen to me, but I''m not your boss."


    The man gulped, but held the salute. "Sorry, sir. But... That''s not quite the case anymore. We''ve received a message from Washington. Your position in the line of Succession has moved up. I''ve been asked to bring you to the bridge; we''ll need to get you sworn in as President."


    Thomes thought for a moment. The president must have ordered Ripper to do something stupid, and he sabotaged the comms equipment. This was hardly ideal. "Let me guess. We''ve suffered a communications failure and we need a commander until things have come back online?"


    "That''s a negative, sir. I don''t know the exact details, but I''ve been informed that when your agent arrived, the air circulation system for the bunker had broken down; the bombs had already collapsed the ventilation systems, and the air was becoming toxic. He rescued everyone small enough to get out quickly; but that didn''t include the President. As I understand it, the President officially made you his Vice President before he passed, just in case someone else in the line is recovered from the ruins; he didn''t want things to be... muddled."


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    Thomes stopped, staring at the young man. Thomes was over ninety years old. Extremely healthy for his age, possibly as a result of being a metahuman, yes. He would likely get a decade or two out of his retirement before he finally passed on, maybe even longer. Doesn''t it need an act of congress to change the Vice President? He stopped. Maybe it did. But right now, the house and senate only had a total of six members between them. Or zero.


    "...Alright, fine. Lets head for the bridge. We''ll get this over with and get on to the fight." He needed a VP. This was just supposed to be a temporary gig to give him the authority to lead the fleet. Not forcing him to rebuild the country.


    ***


    A thin cloud of silver dusted the continent of Antarctica; disposable drones floating overhead, maintaining sight and communications between the two Jotun bases; as they prepared for war.


    At the primary landing site, not far south of the coast of the frigid continent, they''d been establishing a base of operations and working on repairs on the starships for days now; and had a series of machines currently digging in, establishing walls, layers of defenses, and mass-producing more of the billions of drones the Jotun used frequently in combat. Jotun himself was in command here; they were melting trenches deep in the ice, removing anti-missile defenses from the ships and emplacing them behind armored positions, and even using the ships themselves to create a series of armored positions... around a single Assault Ship.


    One ship was being fully repaired; stealing parts from dozens of others to get it flightworthy; and would be escaping as soon as it was complete. It would skim the planet''s atmosphere until it was ready... and then enter hyperspace for the long voyage home.


    Jotun had no plans to be on it. Soon, he would be dead, and his chosen heir, Shaqtun, would be in charge; after careful deliberation, he''d decided that particular daughter had seemed best fit for the challenges the kingdom would soon face. His miserable failure here, much like his father''s tens of thousands of years ago when the Titans had slain him, was a clear sign he was not the proper ruler, and a son similar to himself would likely be a poor choice as well. He only hoped she would forgive him for handing him a kingdom without most of its fleet; and be able to bluff and hold things together long enough to build a new one.


    The enemy had a weapon capable of wiping out a fleet all at once. It had Titans. His men were tunneling; spreading throughout the continent, building redoubts, bringing enough supplies to establish a new base-camp wherever they went; and each group had at least one breeding-age female.


    It was... difficult to convince them to go. But if these camps were able to remain hidden, and the various plagues and bio-weapons ravaged this world as Chain had anticipated... someday they may be able to convert this continent, and perhaps the northernmost parts of the world as well, into Jotun colonies.


    He climbed atop his own ruined flagship; most of its parts already gone, a skeletal mass across the crater that formed the base. The other base would be launching three ships; its fleet was more intact; but so long as one of the four got out; and that weapon couldn''t be something that could be rapid fired or used on a whim, or they would have used it against the fleet on its way in, so he felt that was likely; the kingdom would still know who its king had chosen for an heir. Soon, he would be dead. The Jotun would be gone; and the Shaqtun would arise.


    Of course, that didn''t mean he wouldn''t make the enemy pay for every single Jotun life. After all; if he gave up too easily, they might wonder why, and start looking for all of his missing troops.


    ***


    The Liaoning looked... immaculate. Spike looked around at the wide open deck, the hundreds of gathered soldiers, the aircraft; most of it looked brand new. Unused. Many of the crew seemed..clumsy. Uncertain. He had honestly expected better from the Chinese navy, but then... they''d been on a forced shore leave for quite a while now. Their government had likely had them doing other things.


    Three men approached Spike where he sat on the deck; the familiar, glowing figure of Wu Qi, and two generals he didn''t recognize. They nodded at him; and he nodded back in turn, pulling to his feet. "Gentlemen. I''ve been ordered to support your operation however you would prefer, and that, if possible, I am to eliminate the entire Jotun encampment on my own and just leave the stragglers to you. If you can get me close, I can handle the rest."


    Wu Qi smiled. "I have seen what you accomplished in space. Between the two of you, you and this ''Eyeball'' made all of them regret having laid eyes on our star. If only this ''Chain'' had never existed, we would be looking at a very celebratory world tomorrow. You would be globally renowned. We would have parades in your honor." He sighed.


    "Instead, as I fade away from this world, I suspect you will merely be at the beginning of a long, terrible road to rebuild... and to survive. Whatever aid I can provide you, I will. For those of my companions that venture forth to Hel instead, I hope this world remains for many a century."


    Spike chuckled. "All well and good. I''ve been famous and renowned for a long time now. What''s the plan? I prefer to keep above about two tons... that''s effective against most armor-piercing rounds, and surprisingly enough even more effective against most Jotun weapons. If I can keep above five or six, I should be able to just walk around their camp treating them like bugs."


    Wu Qi tilted his head. "I''m familiar with your powers. And apparently your limitations are mostly about not wanting to destroy the planet."


    "It''s... a concern. If I had been here when Chain first arrived, the aliens could have, if they didn''t want me to wipe it out entirely, just had me turn a giant chunk of the planet into a crater... the storms and tsunamis would have been devastating. My boss did the projections once... we''d be talking about destruction of one continent entirely, whichever one I was on, and pretty much everything within a few hundred miles of the coast being eradicated by a devastating series of tsunamis. So... better than 90% of our world''s population."


    "Perhaps we need to get you to the Jotun homeworld, instead. Be less concerned about that. Regardless. I''m given to understand we will have an initial volley of missiles launched alongside a group of aircraft... there to defend a transport helicopter. We are honestly expecting it to get shot down; this will get you as close as possible."


    "..I don''t mind doing a little walking. They can drop me off outside of firing range, I''ll head in from there."


    Wu Qi sighed. "The Jotun aren''t just sitting there. Whatever they''re doing, whether its repairing their ships, building a bomb, we don''t want them to finish. You represent the heaviest hitter on the planet. The moment you arrive, you''ll be ruining their day, and can crush whatever iis going on. It might very well be worth it to lose a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand men if we could get you there, right now, fighting those Jotun."

 Ragnarok -23 - The Cold War Part 1

    When Eyeball and Engineer landed on the Enterprise, the assault was about to begin; he could see, on the edge of the deck, Butcher and Valkyrie were stress-testing the arm-bands they''d been given; with Butcher examining a pair of strange, roughly constructed, dark grey boots as Eyeball approached. He glanced back at the Dragonslayer. In theory, Engineer was going to be piloting it. In reality, one of the other Ascension units was already hiding onboard; so that Engineer could ''abandon ship'' in the atmosphere and leave the fighter to its own course; and, going forward, Engineer might very well be the last Ascension unit on earth.


    He wasn''t sure if he''d see the fighter again; but then again he hadn''t really had the opportunity to grow as attached to it as he had some of his other equipment. If his helmet were suddenly gone, he would certainly miss that, even though he had replaced it over a dozen times. He stepped up to the two Titans, looking up... and up.. and giving a low chuckle. Every time he exhaled, fog emerged from around his neck, billowing up around his head like a tiny cloud of steam; making him thankful for how well insulated the suit was.


    "So Butch, I was meaning to ask, the whole Titan thing. How is that going over with the girlfriend? You two still okay?"


    Valkyrie; who had apparently been deciding she was satisfied with the armband; abruptly turned to Butch. "Yes. how is that going over with this girlfriend? Am I going to be seeing her after this? The only time I got to see her so far you took her and ran like a jackrabbit."


    Butch had started to blush at Eyeball''s comment; but then frowned, and turned to his mother. "At some point, probably. If we end up together after all of this, she''s definitely gonna need to meet my mom at some point. A proper meeting, maybe over dinner."


    "And if I want to meet her when we get back north, see if she''s worthy of my son?"


    Butch rolled his eyes. "Mom. You wanted me out from underfoot, I''m out from underfoot. I''m not gonna ghost you, but don''t pretend like I''m gonna ditch her if you don''t like her. I care about you, but she''s not your girlfriend. She''s mine. Go get yourself a guy if you want to obsess over someone."


    Valkyrie took a single step. The deck audibly cracked; Eyeball could see a very faint crack in the plating at the outer edge of... something? Why wasn''t her foot just going right through? Eyeball stepped forward, raising his hands. "Sorry, sorry, poor choice of words."


    Valkyrie glared at him... then exhaled. "You... yes. Poor choice of words. I suppose you''re still on the list, just not at the top." She frowned. "Where is Odin, anyway? I thought he''d be here now that the ghosts are all flying south?"


    Eyeball frowned at the sudden abrupt topic shift, but shrugged before turning to face Butch instead. "No clue. Probably getting ready to attack whichever spot has the Jotun king, assuming he''s still alive. Honestly, feels weird to be so far behind. Not used to having you run off into battle and expect that, maybe, I''ll be catching up in a few hours. Though really.." He extends a hand. "Its been great working with you. If you want to keep doing it in the future, I''ll always be glad to have you along... but I think you''re a bit out of my league now."


    Butch took the hand; shaking it, with a carefully measured gentleness. "Not sure if that''s possible, Boss. Maybe I''m a Titan, but you''ve killed two of those already, and we all know that you hold a special place in Spike''s nightmares."


    Eyeball shook his head. "Maybe. If you ever need someone to fish you out of space, I''ve got your back, but I don''t think you''ll ever need my help in a fight again."


    A sudden beeping sound. Valkyrie slapped Butch on the shoulder. "It''s time, boy. Now remember. You''re an unstoppable menace. You want these guys screaming and running for the hills. Don''t chase down a single one unless he''s the king, or someone important. Throw one of their ships at another one. Tear an officer in half. Eat one of their hearts in front of the troops. Make em piss themselves in fear, if they aren''t already."


    Butch frowns. "...Yes for most, but I''m not gonna take a bite out of em. I''m wearing the armor, helmet too. I don''t really need it... but until I get some neutronium like you, it''ll help with the whole mass issue."


    Valkyrie shrugged. "Fine, fine. But most of its gonna be melted off of you in a few minutes. Ready?" She turned to the edge of the deck, looking out over the ocean; and crouched, looking at Butcher, as he secured the armored helmet. "Bet you that old pinball machine from the bar I can get there first."


    Butcher blinked. "Against what?"


    "Nothing. Cause I know there''s no way in hell you can." Valkyrie smiled; and leapt off of the carrier with such force that the great ship was pushed down slightly in the water; the whole boat shaking. Butcher shook his head for a moment; and waited for the boat to start rising again from the momentum; and leapt off himself.


    Eyeball glanced down at the deck; surprised at the fact there weren''t four foot-shaped holes in it; before watching the black dot that was Butcher vanish in the distance. Jesus. He really was a Titan now.


    ***


    The flight group was advancing over the ice, low to the ground, hoping that it would reduce the effective range of Jotun sensors the same way it did radar; but knowing that they were likely already spotted. Spike gripped the railing of the helicopter. If he made himself lighter, it could go a bit faster. But if they shot it out of the air, and he was too light... he couldn''t make that mistake again. It had almost gotten him killed.


    He was wearing the same armor he''d been wearing before; only with one addition; a suitcase-sized tactical nuke strapped to his back. Big enough to cause some damage, but not as much as if he started really throwing his powers around; he would be using it, hopefully, just before the fleet''s cruise missiles reached interception range; if he could detonate it close, it would make interception less likely, and reduce how much he''d need to increase his mass by to handle this.


    He watched the counter dropping. The spot where they had seen the Jotun burying themselves in the ice was drawing rapidly closer. They were flying at over two hundred miles per hour; which was faster than he thought these birds could go; though for for the jets trailing behind, it was sluggish. The other helicopters keeping pace with him, however... they were loaded down with ammunition, rather than metahumans.


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    He lamented the size and power needs of the Jotun Disrupter device. Whatever it was, it needed more juice than a simple helicopter could provide... or else they could simply have carried one of those, letting them get far closer before needing to fight.


    He saw it, up ahead. A faint, silver mist in the air over the desolate ground.


    "Incoming drones! Safeties off, Flak loaded, but holding fire for now. Our escorts will be handling the first few minutes."


    The other helicopters; exactly the same model, but each equipped with four miniguns loaded with fragmenting shells; as well as a few anti-Attack Craft missiles; advanced ahead of Spike''s chopper; the long drone of explosive fire filling the air, thousands of the silvery drones falling; but soon, the drones were coming in from every direction. The helicopters were forced to fire up, down, to the sides; bleeding ammo at such a rapid pace no aircraft could keep up for long.


    Suddenly, one of the jets that was trailing behind the choppers surged below them; dozens of drones striking it, sending it spinning forward out of control; all of the choppers suddenly pulled back, Spike almost tossed back against the frame of the chopper if not for his solid grip on the railing; the strap would have easily snapped under his weight.


    Then... a flash of light. The helicopters almost immediately started moving forward again, as his helmet registered a brief surge in radiation. Was that... another tactical nuke. Used as an airburst, just to clear a path.


    The jet was gone; but there were three more behind the transport. He stared back at them; as the miniguns fell silent. For the moment, they''d cleared the drone swarms. Undoubtedly, there would be more, as they drew closer... but he could already see that not only were these helicopters low on ammo, but the close proximity to the detonation had done a number on both the crew, and the aircraft; they were going at least fifty miles per hour slower now, and it seemed to be getting less.


    But... they would get him as close as possible, even if it cost their lives.


    ***


    Hundreds of miles away to the north, Valkyrie and Butcher arrived at the Jotun encampment almost simultaneously; Valkyrie narrowly winning out as a burst of anti-aircraft plasma slammed into Butcher; and he ended up skidding across the ice, leaving a half-mile long trail behind him before rising, and glaring at the origin in anger; starting to jog forward, the ice shattering apart beneath him.


    Valkyrie, landing inside the clearing, saw hundreds of Jotun, thousands of them... busily moving about like ants in an ant-hill, carrying parts, weapons, tools; some of them weren''t even wearing armor! She laughed, before stomping with enough force to send the area shaking; and started casually grabbing anything that was nearby, throwing it into a nearby Jotun craft, as the Jotun started to uselessly fire on her; she''d been here before, decades ago.


    These Jotun were too fast, too agile. She had to use something massive, or send the whole ground quaking, to really get good hits on them. She found the closest Jotun still wearing its armor, threw one of the Attack Craft at the creature to stun it; the vehicle and its crew rebounding off of a nearby chunk of ice and likely crushed within it as the vehicle went flying; and grabbed the stunned creature, lifting it up.


    "I know you things can translate our language. Where is your king?"


    The soldier shrieked, and aimed its plasma weapons at her; firing at point blank range, the heat melting the weapons and its armor in a display that must be agonizing to the creature.. before she tore off the two uppermost limbs, the ones holding the plasma rifles.


    Before she could ask again... a full-power shot from one of the starships, apparently intact enough to fire, slammed into her; vaporizing the soldier, melting his armor to slag... and melting the ice beneath her into a puddle of rocky sludge, leaving her waist-deep in water.


    She glowered at the ship; and saw Butcher slam into it like a wrecking ball; knocking it over, yes.. but also embedding himself in the giant metal mass. She sighed, and looked around. Someone around here must know where the Jotun guy was. Hopefully he was here, and not at the other encampment.


    Suddenly... a loud boom a cacophany of noice as a whole series of impacts sounded... and one of the attack craft on the other side of the encampment went down, as railgun rounds impacted, scattered around the encampment, sending dust and steam billowing into the air. This camp was not much longer for this world.


    ***


    "We''re seeing... billions of drones. Tens of billions. Some of them have already dropped down to move on our advancing ground forces, but most are headed right here, for the fleet, staying up at thousands of feet, likely going to be dropping down right on top of us."


    The captain glanced back at Thomes. "Orders, sir?"


    He chuckled. "The Disrupter will make short work of them... as soon as we turn it on, they''ll kill each other til only a few are left. Let them get us well and truly swarmed. As soon as you believe our anti-air fire will be overwhelmed, have them throw the switch. Our advance team will be fine either way, but the more of them we can draw in, the better."


    He looked up through the glass at the faint silver tint in the sky. There were so many of the things that they could literally blot out the sky if they packed in more densely. If they''d used this many against the fleet off the coast of California, they might have been in trouble; but apparently the handful of starships involved in that attack simple didn''t carry this many.


    The tint grew darker as the swarm dropped lower. He could almost imagine the buzz of tens of billions of insects, despite knowing full well these were simply small, silver-blue orbs that barely made a sound at all.


    The weapons started to open fire. He could hear the railgun, thirty feet over his head, starting to fire on the distant Jotun encampment. Valkyrie and Butcher must have arrived; they had targets now. The swarm descended in earnest; focusing on the bigger, nuclear-reactor equipped vessels and their railguns; and the massed anti-air fire of hundreds of weapons opened up.


    He could hear... a tinkle? Clanging. It was different from the familiar sound of brass falling as the guns went off. As he looked out on the deck, and heard the guns fire, there was the sound beneath it of... broken bits of drone, ammo casing, falling everywhere. The captain frowned. "Sir... honestly, its any second now. We just don''t have the firepower to handle this kind of density unless we start using nukes. If we didn''t have Ascension helping us run the guns we would already be out of it. The sort of accuracy he''s getting out of a gun firing hundreds of rounds per second is... well. Regardless, I have the nukes armed, can start deploying them now if you like."


    "Hit the disrupter. No need to make this place any more of a hazard than it needs to be."


    A nod. The railgun suddenly went silent; the enormous electrical power running the massive capacitors having been sent elsewhere... and with a faint crackle in the air... one repeated at another captured Disrupter half a mile away in one of the other carriers... the sky became a wave of fire.


    The guns stopped, as it started to rain burning, smoldering drone wreckage; each drone seeking out the nearest ''enemy'' target... and those targets were virtually always other drones. A few randomly slammed into the Enterprise; melting a few holes into plating, even wrecking a single helicopter on the deck... but when the smoke cleared, while the flight deck was piled with debris... the ship was intact.


    The other ships could be heard, still firing their railguns, in the background. Thomes smiled. "Nothing better than using the enemy''s own equipment against them. Give it a few minutes, then shut them off, and we''ll add to the bombardment. I''m almost disappointed we didn''t have a wave of Hover-tanks mixed in." He looked thoughtful. "Have your marines deploy throughout the fleet, just out of sight of Ascension''s positions while he''s confused by the Disrupter. It might be best to go ahead and take them all out before we shut these things off, while he can''t tell our troops from his own units."

 Ragnarok - 24 - The Cold War Part 2

    The efforts of the pilots were remarkable. They were clearly both highly skilled at their jobs and willing to risk their lives to get the job done; but this job just wasn''t humanly possible. The escorting helicopters finally ran out of ammunition; and fell back. Two of them ended up struck by drones and falling; while the rest managed to land safely. With just the one chopper left, carrying Spike, he could see... the counter on his arm was drawing steadily smaller.


    He looked to the south, and took a deep breath. Fuck it. He grabbed one of the crew. "Turn left and point the door at the target site! And get the hell out of here!"


    He watched his wrist-band, tracking the projected burial site... and the chopper abruptly swerved, the swarm of drones losing track for just a moment as it started to drop. Spike took a deep breath, reduced his density dramatically for just a moment; and leapt into the air; starting to dramatically increase it as he left.


    For just a moment, he was a tiny fraction of his normal weight; and he hurtled forward like a projectile, somehow retaining his momentum despite abruptly becoming several tons in mass while flying through the air. He never saw the chopper heading downwards, or its failed attempt to evade the drone swarm; as the counter reached 5KM, he slammed into the ice like a projectile, bouncing and rolling forward; up the top of a hill, and settling down at 3KM when he could see the... suspiciously almost perfectly flat mass of ice down below, forming an almost-crater several kilometers across.


    He nodded.. and started running and sliding down the ice, it cracking beneath his mass with every step.. before suddenly, a brilliant blue flash. The ice around him vaporized, and he was sliding rapidly downward in a pool of water. Another flash... he looked downward. The idiots were essentially making a massive waterslide directly into one of their ships for him. He grinned, giving a short hop into the air just as he reached the bottom; while his strength grew in proportion with his density, his jumps were... well. Pretty much normal for an adult, athletic male; but as he was falling onto the roof of the starship, he focused.


    One moment, the crater was filled with an apparent smooth icy platform. The next... the entire ice sheet had been cracked apart, and the ships, originally spaced out in an artificial, underground series of caves, had been yanked towards each other with a horrific screeching as they smashed together. He didn''t use enough force to actually crush the ships; that would be horrific, make him have to go out and fix the moon again; possibly even start up a new super-volcano right here in the middle of antarctica; but he was certain that he had likely injured quite a few Jotun with that; and certainly messed up whatever they were doing, as he could see starship parts piled up loosely in the single mound of ice and debris he was now embedded in.


    He smiled; and leapt into the air again; just a few feet off the ground, spiking his density again; yanking the Jotun around once more, sending debris flying through the air.. before dropping to a more normal one as he landed. He glanced down at his wrist again. The missiles were on the way already. If he could keep the Jotun scrambling around for just a few more minutes...


    He ignored the individual Jotun, unless they got directly in his way, as he smashed his way through walls, and a floor, reaching the reactor of the starship he''d landed on. He didn''t try for anything difficult or technical; he simply upped his density again; and reached directly through the casing to grab whatever ridiculously active material powered these things. He wasn''t completely certain what it might be; anti-matter? Some sort of super-radioactive mass? Whatever it was...


    The moment it came into contact with air, and the containment was ruptured, it all went white. The ship... was gone. The crater was a bit bigger, and he was surrounded by a field of slagged Jotun metal; and numerous intact or partially intact ships. None of the Jotun who were outside seemed to be moving. Spike smiled.. and started jogging towards the ship closest to the center of the whole mass. This time, he''d up his density even more, make sure they were good and tightly packed when he set it off.


    ***


    Riding over the icy terrain on top of a mobile artillery unit, a CAESAR-G, Eyeball looked around at the accompanying... army, for lack of a better word. There were ghosts, mutants from La Famiglia, US DMA metahumans, a French M-SOC team that had been on the carrier when France was turned into a wasteland, even a few packs of zombies, both meta-human and otherwise; all riding on a mix of APCs, tanks, and other armored vehicles. The group he was surrounded by was enough to conquer any nation on earth... possibly even before the Jotun arrived... and the french 155mm mobile gauss howitzer he was currently looking down the scope of could destroy a target with direct fire over four kilometers away; and arc fire over seventy. Conveniently enough, that four kilometers was outside the range of a Jotun Attack Craft.


    The swarm of drones had crested the horizon a few minutes ago; and a full division of armored vehicles equipped with anti-air munitions had gone in advance, Ascension units manning them as they swept the sky with reckless abandon; the APC was making a steady crunching as it advanced, rolling over a carpet of ice mixed with the remnants of millions of silvery drones. Their usual incredibly accuracy and precision wasn''t quite as useful in this case; though it did ensure that they didn''t waste ammunition.


    At a few called-out commands, the anti-air fire halted, at some pre-arranged signal; the driver of the CAESAR-G grinned, glancing back at Eyeball. "You ready to see some crazy shit, american?"


    Eyeball chuckled. "I''ve killed Titans, monsters, robots, and fought aliens in space. How will this measure?"


    "Ohh... decent enough. More important, it won''t be so goddamn cold."


    One of the APCs riding near the center of the formation had a set of four metal rods projecting up from the center; and a group of three women and a man, all looking extremely similar in Metahuman Special Operations Command uniforms not that different from the frenchman driving him forward; and also because their faces were virtually identical. Siblings? Cousins?


    Regardless, each was securing themselves in place, using a climbing harness to attach themselves to one of the rods to let them remain stable while the vehicle advanced; and the group linked hands, starting to... sing something. ".. Some sort of sonic powers? Going to shatter the machines? How does that..."


    Suddenly, an enormous halo of flame burst into being over the heads of the foursome; starting with four pinpoints of light, then becoming a circle... then a hemisphere. It was virtually impossible to see anything but the vivid orange and blue of flame in every direction as the group continued moving... slightly slowed, now, as much of the ice and dirt had converted into mud and slush.


    Eyeball frowned; and checked the sensors on the artillery. Radar still worked. They could pick up any big metal objects flying in. But if lesser Jotun came in, they''d be blind till they jumped through that fire.


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    "The song, is just to focus. Help them sync up. They are quintuplets, all with the same fire, but one of the brothers is... too strong. If he tries this sort of thing, he cooks us all alive. He''s waiting in the back for his turn."


    The convoy continued to advance at a steady pace.. suddenly, Eyeball saw... a massed spike of burnt, molten metal falling on the APC containing the foursome. "Hard left all, hard left all!"


    Moments later, the APC and other vehicles swerved and shifted; some nearly flipping over as they mounted bounders and obstacles they''d been avoiding; and a cascade of molten drones slammed into the ground not far from their old position. Several other, similar spears slammed into the earth just to the right of other craft; and one that, despite having eight seconds of warning, still didn''t dodge in time... was abruptly crushed flat, the crew of the vehicle immersed in the liquid metal; thankfully killed instantly, at least.


    He paid closer attention; clearly the Jotun could detect the vehicles through the haze of fire the same way they could spot an Attack Craft; not enough for a good, direct aim, but enough to take out the relatively slow-moving vehicles; the slowest ones in the convoy were only moving 45mph over the rough terrain, and they all needed to match that to stay in formation.


    He looked down at his GPS, and he looked out the window, sticking his head out to see how well his helmet''s sensors worked through the flames; not very well. "We''re coming up on artillery range. Are they going to be sticking with the artillery, or joining the advancing troops?"


    The driver glanced up. "They''ll be staying with us. Honestly, I''ve been getting word from command about what''s going on at the Jotun camp. I don''t know if they''ll have many drones left to send as you advance. We''re probably going to be spreading out to intercept fleeing Jotun at this stage."


    A chunk of molten metal bounced off of Eyeball''s helmet; or would have, at least; he simply pulled his head back inside. "Honestly, these guys got to see Valkyrie in action the last time they came here. If I were them, I''d have stayed home. Even if not for the nukes and the chaos, they''d deserve what they''re getting right now."


    ***


    The battlefield was filled with the shrieking of dead and doomed Jotun, with the starships, already damaged before Valkyrie and Butcher arrived, looking much like a junkyard smeared with bits of the blue-tinted metal and more varied carapace tones of the Jotun. Valkyrie slowly lifted one of the starships; an art she''d been perfecting over the past ten minutes, finding just the right spot to actually be able to lift one of these monstrosities; even as hard as they were, all of their weight on a couple of human-hand-sized points would drive someone like Valkyrie in like a nail rather than actually picking it up.


    Here, though, on the central supports near the rear of the craft... it was dense enough to, at least temporarily, take that kind of pressure, as she lifted the craft; and hurled it into the sky, watching is it rolled and crashed into one of the others, before rolling, skidding, sending bits of debris scattering in all directions across the ice. One of the railgun rounds that seemed to be coming in every ten, fifteen seconds or so actually slammed into the rolling craft, spearing a hole in its hull and spinning it about.


    As she started to turn to yet another of the craft, she noticed one... oddly intact-looking. It looked virtually immaculate, as if it were fully repaired. She grinned. That must be where... Oh?


    A massive Jotun; over three meters tall in his powered armor, colored blue, gold, and red, decorated with ornate spikes and projections, every centimeter covered in beautiful etched carvings, was advancing towards her, with a dozen Jotun wearing pure grey armor advancing to either side. Rather than the plasma rifles most of his forces bore, this one wielded... a spear, with four points set in a square pattern. The thing looked... ancient. Carved from wood and bone rather than advanced steel. Magical artifact? Perhaps with some historical significance? She could mount it on her wall over the fireplace, next to the head of that Pinkerton who''d ordered the hit on her family.


    Below it. That one would still be her greatest trophy, no matter what else she accomplished.


    She glanced around. Butcher''s black-and-red armored form was casually tossing Jotun at encroaching Attack Craft as if they were baseballs, and, for the most part, the enemy was fleeing. The enemy had stopped seriously trying to hurt the duo a few minutes ago, aside from a few of the larger females; apparently just too mean and aggressive to give up without a fight, no matter the odds. She could understand the feeling.


    But this... this might be the king himself. Odin wanted to tangle with him. Where was the all-father anyway?


    The enormous Jotun came to a stop before Valkyrie. Just the sight of them; Valkyrie in her massive, shiny, heavily enchanted boots, with what seemed to be black leather pants and jacket that were, in fact, pseudo-neutronium woven into shape... and slightly over two meters tall herself, but still tiny compared to the giant crab-creature and his companions.


    She smiled up at him. "So. Are you the asshole in charge of all this? I warned the last of you lot that if I saw any more of your kind on my world I''d make them wish they''d never been born. Seems you didn''t get the message. Maybe I need to go visit the Jotun homeworld. See how your people like it. In fact... I think I may do just that."


    The massive figure let out the familiar, unsettling shriek of an angry Jotun; something that shouldn''t come from a crab, definitely. "I am Jotun. No longer King; I am already dead, and I accept this. Those who remain here, on earth, will be the last of the Jotun. The rest of my people will be the Shaqtun, should you meet them again. Hopefully my daughter will learn from my failures."


    He held up his weapon. "This... is the Lance of the Eternal Slumber. A powerful artifact... not so important as the Chains of Eternity that your people left broken in orbit, but of great significance. My people believed that it could slay anyone with whom it was struck with after it was forged. For the most part, they were proven correct. I know it cannot kill the Emperor, however.. and I believe it cannot kill a Titan like yourself."


    He crouched down on four legs, raising the lance. "But I will try. If it is possible for you to be slain by force of arms, Titan, know that today is the day it will happen."


    There was a sudden loud crack of breaking ice. A second. A third. Three figures; two women almost as tall as Valkyrie herself wearing beautiful, immaculate golden armor, the last armor that seemed to virtually glow, its own color impossible to make out from the blue glow; and the one-eyed face of Odin smiled from behind the helmet.


    "Lady Valkyrie. Might I request a boon?" The two women turned to the king''s guard, raising their spears. Overhead... the glow of the spirits of the fallen could be seen as they flew downwards, chasing after fleeing Jotun.


    She smiled. The Allfather knew she was the stronger, and if she wanted, could crush both this Jotun and himself with ease. On the other hand, he was extremely strong, insanely capable... not bad looking, either. Reminded her of Butch''s father. "Possibly. You realize that, unlike me, he might actually kill you?"


    Odin chuckled, lifting up his own spear and shield, smacking them together with a loud, audible crack. "I am aware. For this fight, you are the perfect warrior. I believe the Emperor these Jotun are so afraid of might be able to defeat you... but aside from him, the best anyone else can do is divert your wrath. Perhaps, if they could seperate you from your neutronium, toss you into orbit. But... I do enjoy a challenge."


    Valkyrie glanced around at the guards, considering the idea of who might actually be a threat to her... and turned to Jotun. "Well then. Someone else appears to want the honors. The rest of you lot..." She looked at the guards. "Lets give the gentlemen some space. If you just stand back, I''ll let you live however long it takes the Allfather to take care of business."


    Jotun was... relieved. He backed away, raising his spear in salute. Signals from the more recent landing site were... scattered. Terrible. They seemed to have already met a horrific fate, and any of the three ships launching from there was unlikely. The ship here, however, would be launching any moment now. He could easily delay these people long enough to make sure that those who could escape, would do so. Hopefully whatever weapon had taken out the fleet wasn''t already waiting to fire again, or this would be pointless.

 Ragnarok - 25 - The Cold War Part 3

    When the tanks pulled up to the edge of the crater, the sight was... somewhere between amusing and disturbing for the Chinese division. A single black armored figure was seated atop a giant loose pile of debris; the vivid reds and purples of Jotun flesh smeared both across his form and the pile, and bits of organic debris floating in the small lake surrounding the mass, with no sign of living Jotun nearby; though they could see scattered individuals fleeing off into the distance. As one of the officers emerged from the tank; bracing himself against the bitter cold as he emerged, waving at the figure; it waved back.


    A radio signal. "This is Spike, on location. All substantial enemy resistance has been dealt with. I estimate three to four hundred enemy infantry have fled on foot to get away from the site. I''m remaining here in case any of these starships are just playing dead. I would recommend establishing a base-camp here, and starting to sweep the area."


    A squad of Chinese special forces; mid-grade speedsters, all; started to move out; one of them saluting Spike as the team started pursuit of one of the enemy Jotun groups, even as others started examining the crater for good ways down; and the artillery took up positions, just in case it should become necessary.


    Spike glanced down at the pile beneath him. By rapidly pulsing his density, he''d been able to turn this entire pile into a meatgrinder for the unfortunate Jotun within. Undoubtedly, some of those inside were still alive, but badly injured; if they could contain them inside the pile, they might be able to take prisoners; nab a few Jotun scientists, technicians, folks that could help use this alien technology in the rebuilding process.


    He took a deep breath; even through the filters in his suit, the air felt intensely cold. While millions of gallons of ice had been flash-melted and vaporized during the recent fight, it was already cooling back down dramatically; it actually seemed as if it were starting to snow, and clouds were forming over the site, making his hunt for the enemy more difficult; he was mostly having to listen, now. He wasn''t sure how that Chinese tank commander was managing it without a mask. He climbed up to the most recent highest point of the rubble, watching what he could see for any movement, listening for the familiar whine of the enemy engines; if they weren''t anti-gravity, they might as well have been.


    Suddenly... he could hear it. It sounded like multiple starships worth. He could have sworn that he''d crushed this entire pile badly enough none of the ships would work; he''d even deliberately ruptured a few reactors once he had them all in a neat pile. This should be a partially-molten pile of slag and corpses with a handful of lucky survivors. Where was that...


    He looked up. An enormous, monstrous form was approaching, looming through the fog; roughly egg-like in shape, the construct had hundreds of metallic tendrils stretching out in every direction... and one suddenly slammed into the metal at Spike''s feet. He could hear artillery and tanks firing uselessly; even see a handful of vivid pink energy blasts coming from somewhere; but the massive construct wasn''t slowed in the slightest.


    The world went weightless, as a hole formed beneath him. One moment, he was standing atop the wreckage of dozens of alien starships; the next... he was falling. As the giant mass writhed and twisted its way out of the crater, Spike fell into the dirty, slushy, water, thrashing as he tried to swim for the surface; almost instinctively changing his density before he caught himself; and settled down on the bottom of the steadily freezing lake. He could barely see bits of that wreckage being grabbed by tendrils and pulled away in the distance as he started stalking through the water, aiming for the edge; which seemed to be getting further away with each step, as more chunks of rock and ice fell into it


    When his head finally broke water.... the Jotun ships and their wreckage were gone. The Chinese armor division that had been arriving and firing at the flying behemoth... was also gone. All that remained... were fog-clouds, water, corpses, and a few stray Jotun, hiding behind cover, watching the scene. Spike glanced up at the enormous, oppressive, fog-bank. Well, damn. That was the Lord of Iron. Again. His old... Nemesis? Was that a fair description? Didn''t matter. What mattered was that the fog was so thick, the snow billowing so intensely, he had no idea which way the monstrosity had gone; or where any threats were.


    He''d been impressed that day, years ago, when the Statue of Liberty had come to life and attacked him. He''d made a few jokes about whether the man was really the lord of Iron, since the statue was mostly copper, and had all sorts of other materials making up its structure. What if he could control other things than metal? Like... concrete? Or water?


    Might as well just start calling him Lord. Or, well. Emperor, now. Spike wasn''t completely certain he could actually fight the thing the Emperor had created without absolutely devastating consequences for the earth. Something that size, he''d need to actually be heavier than the earth itself for a few seconds to really crush it. Maybe he could somehow get it into space?


    ***


    One moment, Jotun had his spear, its four tips aimed at the sky, seemingly at rest; a strange, immobile fixture, with his guards similarly ignoring the surroundings... as Butcher almost playfully rampaged around them, loudly jeering at the Jotun as he destroyed one after another; throwing enormous rocks, too big for the victim to dodge, and catching the injured victim to use as a projectile against his companions. Between the railgun impacts and the efforts of the two Titans, there was little semblance of organization remaining.


    The next moment, with surprising speed... the giant crab had swept forward; the point aiming for Odin''s belly; only to slam into the haft of another spear, and a powerful fist to slam into Jotun''s skull; sending him skidding back several steps.


    The ring of royal guards each slammed their spears into the ground once. Valkyrie and the two.. Valkyries.. watched them alertly; if they were to try to join the fight, they wanted to send a very clear message; but it seemed that they were also there primarily to watch.


    Odin took the spear back, and hurled it upwards into the air, leaving himself unarmed for the moment; aside from the two massive, empowered fists; and leapt onto the alien, grabbing the spear and slamming both of them into the ground. As Odin leaned back, struggling to steal that deadly implement from Jotun''s grip, the alien let out a growl; the alien struggled, just barely keeping its hold of the weapon.


    And Gungnir slammed into one armored shoulder, piercing through it directly into the ice below. For just a moment, Jotun was pinned, shrieking in pain, as Odin yanked the spear away... and tossed it to Valkyrie''s feet. When Jotun tore free with another agonized wail, leaving his limb hanging limp, he reached down to grip Gungnir; and the spear simply vanished. Odin raised it for a moment, smiling at the giant... before tossing his own spear to Valkyrie''s feet as well.


    Jotun looked down at the two weapons; then at Odin; he placed a hand on his shoulder, the armor glowing for a moment; and then flexed the limb experimentally; the six-limbed creature either had some sort of rapid healing ability, or magic... or both.


    He leapt up, lashing out at Odin with four powerful claws; Odin ducked beneath him, grabbing one of the lowermost limbs the King had used for the leap; and spin, swinging him to slam head-first into the ice.


    The king wasn''t stunned for a moment; immediately lashing out; striking Odin for the first time with a kick to the torso that sent him flying, scraping across the ice; and immediately leaping up, trying to take advantage by pouncing on the one-eyed god; claws grabbing at arms, legs; super-heated blades of plasma emerging to try to cut through his armor.


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    Odin reached up, grabbing Jotun''s armored helmet; and as the plasma blades steadily melted through the armor, finding purchase in his body, leaving the smell of cooked electronic, molten steel, and burned flesh... He twisted... and yanked.


    One moment, Jotun was desperately trying to butcher the Allfather. The next; he lay limply on the ground, Odin gripping his armored helmet; with the skull still inside. He took a deep breath, smiling, as he shoved the corpse off of himself, and pulled to his feet. He looked at Valkyrie. "Thanks for the boon. Would you care for a trophy?"


    Valkyrie glanced at the helmet, then at Odin, whose armor was partially molten and falling off of his body, grinning. If she wasn''t mistaken, it might be something akin to a courting gift. And he was one of the few men she''d consider worthy. But.... no. Odin was infertile. She needed to look elsewhere if she wanted siblings for Butch. And not Zeus. "...No. Not at the moment, anyway. You killed him. What about these guys?"


    The royal bodyguards; at least, thats what they seemed to be; had dropped down, pressing their carapaces to the ice. One of them lifted his head. "Human. Slayer of Jotun. What is your name?"


    Odin looked at her; this particular guard was likely a female, as she was even larger than the king himself. "While I have many names, the one I was born with was Odin. Do you surrender?"


    The figure rose up to her full height, raising a weapon into the air. "Of course not. We were Jotun. Now, we are Odin. What is your will, my king?"


    Odin gave a slow nod. "But not all of those who were Jotun. Just you?"


    "Only his personal guard. Each of us challenged him once in the past, and lost; most of us in his youth, before he was king. We were beholden to him, not to the Kingdom. Unless one of us defeats you in a challenge, now that you have beaten him, we are now yours."


    He nodded, looking around at the chaos of the massed Jotun vessels... and stopped, staring for a moment; as a Jotun starship started to lift off, engines powering up as it hurtled into the sky. He frowned, extending his hand; Gungnir abruptly arrived, slamming into his palm. He raised it up, preparing to throw... before a sudden bolt of lightning slammed into the vessel. Its angle of ascent tilted. Another bolt. It started to fall.


    A brightly glowing humanoid figure slammed into it; and the vessel detonated in midair, a wave of superheated plasma spreading across the surface in a blinding flash.


    Most of the Jotun who survived still stood; though their armor glowed red-hot. Many were now standing in flash-frozen puddles; and as debris rained down, the remaining Jotun started to flee; or throw down their weapons.


    As Zeus landed beside Odin with a blast of thunder shaking the air, he glanced down at the deceased Jotun, then at the surrendered guards. "...You beat me to it, you old bastard. Not only have you killed more Titans than me, but more kings as well."


    Butcher was starting to approach, frowning as he took in the scene; he''d heard his mother bad-mouth Zeus before.


    Odin shrugged. "We both know I''ve always been better. You''ll just have to step up to the plate ready to go the next time aliens invade. Though, after this trouncing, it won''t be these crabs. Probably the Empire."


    Zeus sighed. "Ugh. You and Apollo, always going on about this Empire. They were afraid of Cronos. Why would they go after the ones who killed him?"


    "...." Odin looked around at the scene. The massed dead Jotun and ruined ships. The soldiers who had finally arrived, with the battle already over before they even had a chance to engage; the railguns having halted their fire. "Everyone was afraid of Cronos. I was afraid of Cronos, especially after the Ambrosia. If we hadn''t had Apollo to help plan the attack, and taken him by surprise, he''d still be ruling the world today, and you and I would be another pair of rebellious corpses."


    He grimaced. "And the Jotun would never have landed that scouting expedition on earth, and the Emperor would never dare to come close."


    Zeus nodded, and clapped Odin on the shoulder. "Of course. But would you prefer a world with all of humanity beneath his feet? Best to have freedom, even if at a risk, yes?"


    Odin frowned, wondering why Zeus had rehashed this tired old nonsense.. before realizing they had an audience. Including at least one woman Zeus hoped to impress. "We both know that if Apollo hadn''t given his whole prophecy about your own sons overthrowing you if you did, you''d have just taken over as his replacement. Still. I think this battle is done. I''ll allow the dead to rest, and we can get to work helping rebuild. I give it at least a century before the Emperor shows his face here. Perhaps we''ll be ready by then."


    He glanced at Valkyrie, then at Butcher. "We might have someone as dangerous as Cronos in that time, ready to send him scurrying back into the dark."


    "Of course. We might. But we can''t be certain. Its actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Without Apollo or the Oracle, you''re the best option to get a good prophetic ritual going. I was considering inviting this Eyeball character in to replace Apollo on Olympus. We''ve always had someone who could foretell the future among us, and, well. Apollo made it clear that, in his own way, he was the better at it. Wondered if you''d help us figure out if that were a good idea."


    ***


    Eyeball leaned back in his seat inside the mobile artillery, shaking his head. All that rush, the effort clearing out the drones, charging off to battle... and of course, Butcher and Valkyrie had it all handled. He hadn''t even arrived at the scene yet, and the call was going out; the heavier mechanized units were turning around, alongside most of the metahumans, special forces, everyone.


    They would be sweeping the area for stragglers and runners; but the battle was won. The war was over.


    He smiled. He''d dealt absolutely devastating damage in that opening volley, and here he was, wanting to do more? He should be happy that they could clear this up... and get back home. Maybe start working on something to stop the spread of all of those bio-weapons before it got even more out of hand than it already was. They probably already had cures, considering all the regenerating metahumans who likely got infected by now; every one of them would have developed some means of fighting the diseases. Some might be replicated in a lab.


    Wayson would probably be good at that, considering. He should look him up, the man''s lab might not be in the best shape right now. "Note to self. Check on Dr. Wayson when I get back home." His helmet beeped in acknowledgement.


    And then... it beeped. Incoming call. From... Director Thomes? Interesting. "Director, this is Eyeball. I might do a bit of Jotun hunting, but I''ll be headed back north soon; this party seems to be drawing to a close."


    "Of course. The king is dead, the Jotun are either scattered or surrendered. Some of them even switched sides. All of that is beside the point. The Emperor of Iron just grabbed everything that wasn''t nailed down at the second battle sight, and is en route to the Chinese fleet. They''re scattering, as are the allies that are accompanying them... but odds are good he''ll be coming for the US fleet as well. Is La Famiglia willing to provide support on this?"


    Eyeball blinked. That.... was a good question. The Emperor of Iron vs. the US Navy. Could he win? Probably. Could Eyeball and the other meta''s turn the tide and take him out? Again, probably. Should he?


    "...Get us a ride up there ASAP. Prioritize our heaviest hitters; me, Butcher, Valkyrie if they want to come."


    "I''ve got a couple of the Russos here playing catch. They can get quite a few of your people here before the Emperor arrives. And Eyeball... Yesterday, I was the Director. Today, I''m the President of the United States. And I can tell you that if you people help save whats left of our navy from the Emperor, you''ll be remembered in the days to come."


    Eyeball disconnected the call; and he could see something coming suddenly, the world was a blur of movement. He blinked; and triggered his Reflex. He was... being carried. By... Ahh. Of course. Swiftblade. His reflex kicked in just before she arrived; he knew she was there to carry him off, like a knight with a princess, in a fairly undignified fashion. Still. He went limp, relaxed... and watched her yank open the door, pick him up, carry him out... leaving it open behind her. That was impolite. Poor driver was going to have a bad day.


    After a few seconds of sprinting, he held a single finger in front of her face; the wind pushing against him with so much force it was hard to manage. Her ability to handle this was.... dramatic.


    He reached up; and yanked the battery out of his helmet. They were in the middle of the arctic tundra; the only possibly listening device was the one he was wearing. He set it down on the ice. "Carrymeakilometerthatwayplease."


    His words were a blur. The Reflex not quite gone yet, as Penelope yanked him away... and abruptly stopped. The air was... frigid. Unbelievably so. It felt like he might freeze from the inside out before he could get back to that helmet; he covered his mouth with his gloves, scrunching up, grimacing. "Ooof. Okay. Gotta make this fast. Penelope, you''re the next in line to rule the family. Whatever you say, Nicky will go with. This Navy battlegroup up there, if we support it, maybe it can take out Thompson. If not, I doubt anything will. Maybe the Olympians, but I don''t think they''d try."


    Penelope was about to correct him for calling her the wrong name while she was geared up; but shook her head. "... Yeah. I can see that. What''s the point?"


    "Thompson wants to be Emperor of the world, and is about to give it a good solid try. It may even work. In theory, we would want to stop that, since La Famiglia is part of that world. But. How would you like to be Queen of North America?"

 Ragnarok - 26 - To be Reforged

    He could feel it. The strain of controlling more than he ever had before... but he was stronger than he had ever been before. An entire fleet''s worth of alien starships, and steadily being reforged into a single behemoth to form his Hive. The craft was no longer flightworthy; his approach to the Chinese fleet had mostly been floating on the ocean''s surface. He needed to... optimize. Get all of the remaining Jotun engines and reactors working properly, synced up, and see how much mass they could safely fly with.


    Later. That would be for when he flew to China, and obliterated all remaining defenses. Or should he hit the US first? Spike was down here, in Antarctica. He could crush the whole navy, the air force, and leave that fool stuck down there in the tundra... and wipe the slate clean of the remaining military.


    Did it matter? With all the power the Dreadnaught now bore, he was likely unstoppable; not just a small army of metahumans to provide fire support, or the missiles full of nanomachines, or the plasma cannons stolen from the Jotun... but the sheer power of the mass of metal itself. The only real threats now were Butcher and Valkyrie; and, at worst, they weren''t enemies. At best, they might be allies; though Valkyrie definitely wouldn''t want to be Queen of North America. Maybe Butcher would want to be King?


    As the Dreadnaught settled in among the Chinese fleet, the massed fire from the vessels left deep rents in the ship''s hull; even as the ships were grabbed by mile-long tendrils and started pushing themselves closer; or even ramming their fellow ships. The damage was, at worst, superficial; the armor plating facing them at present was over a hundred meters thick, and the only thing likely to seriously damage it was a direct railgun strike; and for some foolish reason, the Americans had put their own fleet outside of railgun range of this one, so they couldn''t intervene.


    He could feel it shake and tear as the pitiful projectiles slammed into him... even as the ships firing him would abruptly be struck down... and fall under his control. Some of them, he could even turn the guns and fire them at their companions; others, the guns were disconnected from the rest of the ship in some way... and he simply squeezed. Crushing the lives out of everyone aboard.


    The decimation of the Chinese fleet took minutes. The Dreadnaught was even larger, more bloated, than ever before... he glanced around at the circle of telepaths helping him coordinate all of this. As much as he enjoyed being surrounded by attractive women, he needed more. He might have to start letting men into the circle. Ugh. Not that he minded, but if he was going to have to stare at them all day and let them into his mind... Well.


    As the vessel started to turn, heading towards the American fleet, he could feel... tearing. It had become too large. Too unwieldy. This fleet, and the men who would defend it, would be a threat. He needed to get the Dreadnaught into fighting shape before taking it on. He looked around the throne room. Doctor Kline was working on a console against one wall, a 3-D projection floating above it among numerous displays; he was actively trying to work out exactly the problems the Emperor was concerned with.


    He smiled. "Doctor Kline." He turned form his work to face the Emperor, giving a short bow.


    "Your work thus far has been excellent. How is your current team?"


    The man seemed a bit nervous as he glanced back at the display. "Between my people and a few captured Jotun, we''ve got a layout that should be fairly effective. I would recommend taking a pause for... at least 10 hours... to melt down and re-forge the outer hull, and rearrange the internal one. We have 27 intact Jotun reactors and more mass than fifty of their starships; I would recommend expelling the excess, less dense metals and paring us down to a single super-ship that could fly once again. Something like... this."


    He tapped a few keys. A display came up, showing a roughly wedge-shaped craft with lines of turrets along its leading edges, and a handful of enormous tentacles pressed out in each direction. "This would be a core craft that you could control, and then we could attach numerous smaller tendrils and weapons for the circle to control as well; and even more that actual crew could control, without the need of a telepath."


    "Hmm. I like it. Maybe a bit too Star-Wars-ish, like a giant blue star destroyer almost, but it''ll certainly frighten anyone who dares cross us. We''ll work on it after the Americans."


    "Ahh... sir."


    He had been about to close his eyes and start moving the vessel once more. "Yes, doctor?"


    "..Right now, we are too big, too slow, and too... ramshackle? A single railgun hit would send shockwaves through the armor, and with it haphazardly welded together the way it is, every impact would cause a giant chunk to fall off into the ocean as thousands of tiny welds failed. We could survive a nuke, even a direct hit, so long as it wasn''t too large of one, but repeated railgun strikes would have us falling apart. I would recommend either waiting to get this done first, or, if we must move now, moving quietly, and attacking from underwater."


    The Emperor looked at the design thoughtfully. Once the ship was properly re-forged, it would be bigger, more powerful, than the Jotun flagship that had invaded the system. A single massive fist with only one man who could wield it. "...Would it be better to land for this, or do it in the water?"


    He would send a demand for surrender. Offer a timetable. However quickly this would be done, that would be the time. If Kline said ten hours... well. In ten hours the rest of the world would either surrender, or die beneath his feet.


    ***


    As Eyeball clambered up the chain towards the deck, dripping wet, he was thanking... well, himself.. for making the suit waterproof when he had the helmet sealed. It felt incredibly cold, and if any of that water had actually been able to reach him... well. Honestly, a dip in the Antarctic ocean was virtually a death sentence... especially if you had a mostly-sealed suit full of water that, if it weren''t salt water, would already be ice.


    When he reached the top of the anchor chain... there was a woman with her hand extended down. A.. well. Tall, lithe, good-looking, brunette wearing a long white flowing dress. She looked... distinctly out of place as she hauled him onto the deck. "And why might I be fishing you out of the water, my fledgling oracle?"


    Eyeball frowned as he looked around. It was only the two of them for over a hundred meters; the closest crew were directing a helicopter to land on the deck. "...You seem somehow familiar, but I don''t recognize you. I certainly would have remembered you if I had met you before, so... I''m guessing famous actress, model, or..." He stopped. "....Olympian. Oh. You''re..."


    "Hera." She chuckled. "You aren''t why I''m here, but when I felt your friend dump you in the water, I decided to investigate before meeting our friendly President. Do you know how much you angered Apollo?"


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    Eyeball shook himself a bit, trying to direct most of the water away from her. "I suspect quite a bit, considering I ended up waking up with him pointing a gun at me."


    She was carrying a small wooden box, currently tied by a simple rope belt to her waist like a belt, with one hand resting on it protectively. If he tried to open the box... he would have a broken hand, arm, and then everything would go black after she crushed his head onto the deck like a grape. Good lord, this woman was fast, and strong. If he -shot- the box, he''d see... it contained a pale white mass of some sort.


    She laughed. She seemed so... happy. Practically radiant. This... didn''t match either the vicious killer she''d immediately become if he went for the box, or what he''d heard about her in the past. The mythical jealous wife whose husband always wandered. "He actually asked us to help him kill you, at one point. You kept throwing his predictions into chaos. He changed his mind about that robot at least a hundred times, going between wanting us to hunt it down, and wanting us to keep it secret. Its been quite a change."


    Eyeball glanced around the deck. "So... why are you here?"


    She sighed. "A friend of mine asked me to talk to Thomes. A mutual friend, actually. The little gypsy boy. He''s been wanting to help Thomes, keep him around longer, for a decade or three, but he kept refusing. He''s grown old, weak. His powers aren''t what they once were, nor is his body. We won''t be helping him in this fight with this Emperor of Iron fellow, and, well. I honestly think they''ll need him for it."


    "..I thought he just... deflected bullets?"


    Hera smiled. "Ahhh. He warps space. He can stand on top of an advancing tank and twist space into a knot so that every bullet fired misses... and the only way to actually hit him would be from some obscure angle off to his left side that no enemies are standing at, and twist it so that every shot from his own guns hit the enemy exactly where he wants. And not just bullets. Swords. Spears. Fists. He was... majestic... in his prime. Perhaps he couldn''t have defeated my husband, but he would certainly have led him on a long, extremely confusing, battle. Make him punch himself in the face. I would like to see that. Would you care to come along?"


    Eyeball chuckled, shaking his head at the image of Zeus being made a fool of. "You might not want me to. I don''t really know the Emperor that well, personally; only seen the things he''s done. But if its a fight between Thomes and him, I''d bet on the Emperor. Even with all these carriers. Don''t know how much good warping space will be if the whole carrier you''re standing on is trying to crush you like a bug. Frankly, I''m gonna be advising him to back down, negotiate."


    Hera gave a solemn nod. "And exactly what would you advise him to bargain for?"


    "...Thompson wants to split the world up into Kingdoms, with himself as Emperor. I don''t really like the idea of a King Eyeball. And to be honest, the old US government was a sack of garbage that needed to die and start over. A King Thomes could probably make a solid start on that; and he''d certainly fit what The Emperor seems to be looking for; competent, powerful metahumans."


    Hera turned, starting to walk towards the control tower rising above the carrier deck. "And if he doesn''t want to go for that?"


    Eyeball started to follow, his feet moving almost on their own. "I''m not one of his people. I''m not one of the Emperor''s people... and I don''t want to rule the world. So... I guess we''ll see. Whatever kills the least people, I guess."


    "The world is still in need of saving, Jason Bennet. There are still billions of us left alive. Do you think the Emperor would do a better job of saving them than Thomes?"


    As they started up the steps into the structure, a pair of marine guards nodding and holding open the door, Eyeball frowned. "Do you think he would do a better job than you? Whats stopping the Olympians from stepping in?"


    She went quiet, watching the stairs as they climbed their way up to the top... and then onto the railings surrounding the tower, where Thomes was standing, leaning against the rail, watching to the east; where scans showed the Emperor was currently piecing together what was left of the Chinese fleet.


    He glanced at the two as they emerged. "So. Here about the ultimatum?"


    Hera tilted her head. "I left before it was sent, but it doesn''t surprise me. Submit to my rule or be crushed?"


    Thomes really looked his age at present. He was shaking in the cold air, and just seemed... frail. Weak. A shadow of what he was, even days before, more gaunt and frail than should be possible for such a great man. "Essentially. He said that North America and South America would belong to him, along with the rest of the world... and that each would need a ruler to administer in his stead. Whoever made the best case for their own rule would receive leadership of the continent... and his help subduing resistance, and erecting walls to help form the proper quarantine and defense going forward. Anyone who refused to surrender had ten hours to change their mind... or it would be too late."


    Hera nodded. "He is an extremely mighty being. And we have long since agreed not to interfere in your mortal conflicts. With the Jotun defeated, we will be returning to Olympus."


    A long sigh. "Nothing you''ll offer to help? Perhaps Hephaestus has something he can lend us?"


    She stepped closer. "I didn''t say I wouldn''t offer anything to help. Just that we made a pact, many years ago, and won''t interfere in the affairs of the human nations unless they encroach on Olympus herself. We may freely give gifts, within limits. And as such, I have one for you."


    Thomes turned to face Hera. "If it will help, I''ll gladly take it. What is it?"


    She gently opened the small wooden box; and revealed... a soft, white fruit. Not looking much bigger than a tangerine. "This... is the fruit Ambrosia. Its flesh and its juice imbue all the life force stolen by the plant it sprouted from on he who eats it. For the old and weak, a single bite restores youth and health. For the healthy, a cup of its juice grants immortality. For the immortal, it enhances your strength and power. This single fruit would augment your powers to what they were when you were in your prime.. and beyond. You and this ship could move forward, draw in the Emperor, distract him... and you could defend it, while the rest of the fleet brought him down. And afterwards, face the challenges of your nation with the vigor that it will need from you."


    Thomes stared at the fruit. For a moment, he almost reached for it... then stopped. "I rejected this once before. Not in the same form... but... a friend offered to help me like this. Keep me young, strong. But..." He turned to Hera. "I''ve seen so much. So many of my brothers have already died while I''ve moved on. I thought here, this war with the Jotun, could be the end for me. I could move on."


    Hera shook her head. "I apologize, James. But... your country is broken. You planned for this, to take charge, only briefly, so that you could preserve it. But your plans have gone astray. You swore an oath to that country. And it needs you to fulfill that oath, now more than ever."


    Eyeball stared. He could remember, many years ago, swearing such an oath himself. To defend a nation, and its constitution. From all enemies, foreign and domestic. He''d always been able to split things up into neat little boxes; the cops who were responsible for so much tragedy in his family, and the soldiers who, quite often, had been his family. And so long as he was just dealing with cops, not soldiers, he could somehow pretend that it wasn''t him doing the betraying. These pigs were just, well. Pigs. The real bad guys. Enemies of every free person in the world.


    Thomes gently lifted the fruit in his hand; and Hera placed her hand on his own.


    "Don''t eat the core. If you swallow one of the seeds, it will eat you alive, and form a new plant where you died. We usually burn the seeds to be sure. If you swallow a seed by mistake, I''ll know, and we''ll want to get you purged immediately."


    Thomes let out a low sigh. ".... Did he put you up to this?"


    Hera smiled. "Possibly. I''ve been fond of him since he was a child. I could sense the gift he would have when he grew. I... wish his family had never travelled through germany. His mother was sweet."


    Thomes looked at the fruit more closely. "I never knew you people actually were out and about before the war. I''m surprised you intervened in world war two."


    "....That would be a long story. One for another day. A day when your country no longer needs you."


    As the President steeled himself... and took a bite, making a surprised face at the flavor, Eyeball glanced at Hera thoughtfully. She probably wanted him here to manipulate him. This conversation was for his benefit, as much as the old man. This might make a difference in the plan. He''d been expecting to pretend to help aim the railgun, using his powers, and just shoot the director in the back, to setup the meeting with the Emperor; if he could intervene in a battle that would actually matter, then call the man, that would surely merit an interview, at the very least.

 Ragnarok -27 - Unstoppable

    Spike stared out at the distant dots of the moving ships from the shoreline, hand on his communicator, watching them sail east, out of sight. He was supposed to be heading for McMurdo; there was a transmission that seemed to indicate, somehow, the base had survived; the last report was that it had been completely wiped out, nothing but ice and rock there now. If this were true, and the navy managed to get itself killed, he''d have a place to stay until a boat north could be arranged. If not... well. This was going to be a really irritating week. Hell, he hadn''t even been here two days, and the lack of sunset was already irritating. Somehow more irritating than spending time on a starship. Probably because there was always, at least, a shutter to close if need be.


    As he checked his GPS, and turned to head back to the chopper, he noticed something strange; a vivid green dot, floating through the air, heading northwards. He paused for a moment to call it in. Nothing he would need to deal with, but wouldn''t hurt for the fleet to keep an eye on it.


    ***


    Eyeball glanced around the command deck, at the Captain and his team... then at Thomes, who was looking visibly more.. full, healthy, capable... with each passing moment. He looked like like he was in his forties than a veteran of the second world war. And a healthy forties, at that. He rested his hand on a console. "I know your plan is simple. Gather in formation, let the Emperor come to you, and nail him with massed railgun fire as he approaches. You''ll be mostly missing, at first. But as he gets closer, you''ll be able to start scoring some hits... and, hopefully, enough to kill him by the time he gets close. I''ve seen it. It might work; or it might get him to dive underwater and take the fleet from below. I''ve got an alternative."


    He held up a small device; and his 40mm revolver, aiming the weapon at the ceiling. "Okay, so. The basic idea was Apollo''s, but we can do the same thing here. You all know my powers, and how I can pick the perfect spot to fire to kill the target; or if a one-shot kill isn''t possible, to damage it. I''ve got a flash drive with a piece of software on it. You load it on every ship with a railgun; no need for the rest. Keep the guns ready to fire... and I act as a living target designator."


    He turned to Thomes. "If you think you can keep a ship safe from him for a while... we can advance on one ship. I can use this as a laser designator, pick the perfect spot to deal the most damage... and we fire as one. If we can get all the railguns to fire at the same time, at the target it pick... we should be able to take it out, in just a couple of volleys. I know the railguns have a fairly extreme range, but for my powers to work effectively, we''ll need to get the railguns..." He glanced off to the left at his HUD, and the helpful information displayed. The current-gen anti-Jotun railguns mounted on these carriers fired a spike at over six kilometers per second. "Within sixty klicks of the target."


    Thomes looked at him thoughtfully. "Interesting. We can coordinate fire, keep the fleet mostly safe, and it has a good shot at working. We already have our own software for the job, however."


    Eyeball smiled. "Of course you do. My friend Engineer, however, has a targeting computer based on salvaged Ascension tech. He''d prefer if you would donate the remains of the units that were on-board when the battle ended, but even without them, he can upgrade your ability to hit a target dramatically. Possibly even get you a bit more launch speed. We will need to test-fire each weapon at least once after the upgrade to make sure it all works properly."


    Thomes chuckled. "Go ahead for the other ships in the fleet. While I can likely guide the projectiles to all hit one spot on my own, it would be best if I could focus on defense. I think we''ll do this from the Enterprise herself, so she won''t need any upgrades. Have one of those guns at point-blank range for maximum effect."


    "..Can you defend a ship this big?"


    "Only one way to find out."


    Eyeball rolled his eyes inside the helmet. "Yes. Through testing. Preferably extensive testing, but just having a few of our sister ships fire test shots would at least help."


    ***


    Gabriel looked out over the fleet of warships arrayed together not that far from the Antarctic shore; a glowing, majestic, angelic figure that... was seriously regretting his lightweight, toga-like attire here in the frigid arctic air. Apparently there were limits to his ability to tolerate extreme cold. He''d missed the battle, it seemed. The war was long over, his acquisition of these blades was, at this time, likely pointless. He smiled to himself as he flew closer; the Reagan was a familiar ship to him. He''d met some of her crew while they were on shore leave in the past. He started to aim for that one; while the radiation from the swords had ruined his communications equipment, he could always just fly up and talk. Hopefully they wouldn''t shoot him down.


    ***


    In the control tower, a technician called out, turning to the captain. "Sir! We''ve got a nuclear warning, but its... off. Less than three hundred miles per hour, and slowing as it approaches."


    The captain frowned. "Is it on radar?"


    "Not really, sir. Whatever it is can''t have much metal to it."


    He looked out over the ocean; and saw the visible green glow approaching, with a faint tinge of gold. "The hell? Thats not radiation. Or at least, not only radiation. Get it on a scope."


    After a few moments, one of the other techs started laughing. The captain turned to him with a frown. "Whats going on? Can you see it?"


    "Yessir. Though I suspect Lt. Sharpe down in engineering can give you more info. She''s had... up-close experience with the incoming object."


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    "..Should I take that to mean its a friendly?"


    "Apologies, sir. Flying metahuman, Japanese. Goes by the name of Gabriel. Don''t know him on a professional level, sir, I''ve only met him a few times, and was drunk all of them."


    The captain nodded, and picked up the intercomm. "Security, this is the Captain. Probable non-hostile flying meta-human about to board. Emphasis on probable, be ready, this thing is radioactive for some reason."


    Gabriel carefully aligned himself with the deck, as he settled into place; a few marines were waiting, rifles raised, as well as a red-headed woman he didn''t recognize in a DMA body-armor suit. He held up a hand in warning as the woman started to walk closer. "My apologies, friends, but do not approach unless you are highly resistant to radiation. I will only alight here briefly to speak; my equipment all seems to be failing while I am close to the swords. I have been flying around like mad, looking to assist, and regardless of where I go, the battle seems to be over. Is the war truly won? Should I simply fly back home?"


    The woman smiled. "I''m fairly rad-safe myself, its why I''m leading this detail. The Jotun do appear to have been largely dealt with, though quite a few fled the final engagement and are still being hunted down. If you''re allied forces, we also have an upcoming engagement that we may need all the help we can get with."


    Gabriel nodded slowly. "I''m actually a citizen of La Famiglia of late, which is sometimes Allied, sometimes not... but... haven''t been able to call my boss since I picked up these things. I don''t suppose you could reach Eyeball for me?"


    ***


    The Dreadnaught looked... sleek. Powerful. What had once been a rough mass of metal now seemed to be a smooth, sleek, wedge-shaped craft of dark blue, bristling with weapons emplacements. Beneath it on the Antarctic shore was enough scrap metal and discarded components to build a town; or a whole fleet of smaller craft. To the distant watchers, it could be seen testing out its propulsion; the tentacles shifting and flailing about. The ship itself bobbing up, down, left, right; being put through its paces as it prepared.


    Buried deep inside, seated at his throne, the Emperor awoke. Even as he slept, the telepaths had been able to use his powers; in some method he didn''t really understand; and help Dr. Kline and his engineers move conduits, melt hull plates and forge them together. The outermost hull was over 100 meters thick before any of the corridors could be reached; without the Emperor stretching out to open them, the force required to reach the inside... was absurd. Just how absurd?


    He stretched out, lazily, and pulled to his feet; a single wire, a voluntary shackle, dangling down from his ankle to maintain his connection to the surrounding metallic behemoth, and stepped over to the dining table he kept in the throne room. Even as he approached, a cook emerged; setting down a plate of... bacon. Steak. Salmon. He tilted his head, glancing at the chef. "Couldn''t pick a theme today, Maurice?"


    The man bowed low, pressing his forehead against the table. "Wasn''t sure what you would prefer when you awoke, your majesty... so I cooked a bit of each of your favorites and... just kept cooking until you awoke. This is the freshest that was available, right off the stove; the telepaths and techs have been eating the rest."


    He nodded as he began to eat. "Ahh. I take it you''re afraid that if I don''t have a meal ready the moment I sit, I might crush you, yes? And simply decided to make best use of the food while minimizing the risk. Not bad. Overly paranoid, but not bad." He smiled. "I''m the Emperor of Iron. A man of action. Not some spoiled trust-fund brat. If I oversleep, and my breakfast is cold, that''s my own fault. Now, if my men starve because you wasted food, then I will be upset."


    Maurice lifted his head, blinking. "Oh. My apologies, your majesty. I thought the previous cook had been... removed.. for displeasing you."


    "The previous cook was removed because I didn''t like his food. If the Jotun had not destroyed his home, he would be home now. Instead, I suspect he is starting a new establishment somewhere in Africa." He sighed. "Everyone knows that you don''t execute your employees just because they do poorly. It discourages the others from coming to work for you, and even worse, hurts morale. I don''t want MY people to be afraid of me. I want the enemy to be afraid of me. I want my own people to be encouraged when I arrive... and my enemies to piss themselves in fear as they struggle to escape. Sit. Eat with me. Enjoy your work; you cooked too much."


    He glanced off to the side at the guards waiting at the door. Two of Almasi''s men. "Any responses to our ultimatum?"


    One of the men stepped forward. "Of course, your majesty. We have word from quite a few national leaders. Requests for negotiations, refusals, and of course abject surrenders."


    "And the ones that matter?"


    "President Thomes has indicated that if we have the audacity to move against the US Navy, he will ''put us at the bottom where we belong, just like he did to the Jotun''. The Chinese have, indicated that, if the Asian King could be selected from among their own senior metahumans, and you assist with ensuring India and Pakistan fall in line, they may be amenable an agreement regarding the ''Middle Kingdom'' extending across Asia as one of your own territories."


    The Emperor laughed, shaking his head. "This, in essence, is why China will remain intact in the end. Pragmatism. Harsh quarantine measures that have killed thousands, but will save millions. Looking at every crisis as an opportunity to improve their position for the future. And America... well. I doubt there will be much left of her after I''m through."


    He finished his breakfast; despite his assurances, Maurice was still too frightened to take more than a bite or two in front of the Emperor; and returned to his throne; extending his arms into the pools of gel.


    He glanced up at the door as Doctor Kline stepped in. He looked... exhausted, his dark face soaked with sweat. The Emperor frowned. "Is everything prepared, doctor?"


    "Yes, your majesty. All of the reactors are up and running. We have one of the Chinese nuclear reactors powering our systems here in the main deck, the Jotun reactors powering the engines... over a hundred meters thick of armor in every direction from here. If we were struck by a nuke, the armor plates would compress together, a few meters of the outer hull would flash-vaporize... and we''d keep flying. The Dreadnaught, as she now flies, can survive hundreds of railgun strikes, a barrage of nukes... I''ve run various simulations, and the list of possible threats is short."


    "Excellent work, Doctor. What would that list be?"


    "The Titans, the.. ''Gods''... and a family of magnetism-wielding metahumans from south america. I have yet to find any reasonable ways to counteract them."


    "Then I suppose we''ll need to try for the unreasonable. After we''ve dealt with the fleet, we''ll need to look into magical countermeasures. Excellent work. You seem tired. Would you prefer to accompany us for the assault on the fleet, or to return home, get some rest?"


    The doctor perked up at the offer. "Oh! Please, your majesty. I... haven''t slept in a few days, and its hard to sleep here. The Dreadnaught... its... the most frightening thing I''ve ever witnessed, much less been inside."


    The Emperor gave a low chuckle; and felt through the vast bulk of his throne. "Then depart now. We''ll be moving in on the enemy fleet momentarily... and we might get shaken up a bit as we crush them."

 Ragnarok - 28 - Director and Dreadnaught

    The Enterprise sailed far ahead of the rest of the fleet; many of the crew had been transferred to other carriers and vessels; only the bare minimum remaining on the ship; which was still hundreds of vitally important naval enlisted, as two figures; mostly in black, one of them with military insignia on the chest and shoulders, the other in his trademark chrome helmet, walked towards the bow.


    "You realize the secret service are pissed that I''m letting you this close... and taking this risk... and that I sent them off to the Reagan?"


    Eyeball glanced at Thomes. He hadn''t had much chance to talk to the director. And considering his earlier chat with Penelope... this would probably be a good time. "You always struck me as the sort that wanted to die for his country, and when that didn''t happen, you instead fought for it. I can respect it. I was that way for most of my military career."


    Thomes chuckled. "Ahh, yes. Kamikaze. Do you think this is such an action? Are we sailing off to our deaths?"


    "...I have no idea. Honestly, I''ll know whether this can work once the fleet gets close enough my powers work properly. I suspect they''ll want to start firing at extreme range, and then let me have control once its close enough for this to work. At that point... I''ll know pretty much immediately. It would be nice if we still had some of the guns we used against the Jotun. Prometheus station could''ve handled this thing in under a minute."


    The president inhaled deeply. Eyeball was a bit surprised the old man could handle the cold this well. He wouldn''t be out here without his helmet at all. "Well then. I suppose we simply wait. Ideally, we''ll take this thing out before it even gets close enough to use its weapons."


    "The Jotun didn''t just have plasma weapons. They had drones, missile launchers... and the Chinese fleet had cruise missiles. If I were them, I''d start using those the moment the railguns started firing."


    Thomes nodded. "Yes. They''ll start firing any minute now. With the comsats up, we can see exactly where he is.... and they can see where we are. Hephaestus has refused to put any filters or barriers on them, so... now I suppose the only remaining network is one everyone can use at will."


    "So. What''s your plan for America, once all this is over, Mister President?"


    Thomes glanced at the chrome helmet. "Concerned about my plans for La Famiglia? You shouldn''t be. Honestly, I strongly suspect you''ll be one of my most vital allies in the years to come. Your homeland is going to become a handful of quarantined pockets of survivors within a few months. We''re developing cures for all of these bio-weapons at miraculous speed... but we still have to distribute them, and this ''Redscale'' is apparently incurable; you simply have to survive it. We''re going to fight as hard as we can, and establish quarantine zones, but... this time next year I''d bet America will just be about thirty, maybe fifty, million people, slowly rebuilding the country. Considering we broke five hundred million after the Ascension incident..."


    Eyeball sighed. "Yeah. My hometown... I looked it up. Haven''t done it for years. A chemical weapon Clone released killed just about everybody I knew before I joined the military; the whole county is listed as a dead zone. The whole south is like... a patchwork quilt of dead zones. Some of those things didn''t quite kill people, just... did enough nerve damage to make them violent idiots. Those who weren''t already."


    "Ahh, yes. If I recall, you signed up to get out of the criminal life of your family? Didn''t turn out too well."


    "...My Uncle was a soldier. Kinda idolized him as a kid, thought it was what I always wanted to be. Cops killed him. Lied and got away with it scot-free. Whole family realized that the local sheriff was as crooked as the day was long, and nobody outside the county was gonna do a damn thing about it. So... I wouldn''t say that. We were at war. We lost. So I left, before they could pin any nonsense on me once I was an adult." He glanced at Thomes. "The ones who killed my uncle didn''t survive that long. The other deputies... hold grudges."


    Thomes studied Eyeball again, thoughtfully. "..There''s really no way to know the truth about that, but... We did investigate that first fight after you got home. If you hadn''t killed Lightning, we would''ve been recruiting you, not chasing you. Two cops who covered their body-cams with tape before going into an area were suspicious from the beginning, and if we had a decorated... if a bit overly enthusiastic... war hero and every other witness all testifying against two cops who obviously had something to hide...."


    "If I hadn''t become famous, and the whole incident national news, it would have gone to the prosecutor, internal affairs, and then been quietly shut down. The cops would''ve either lost their jobs or got a slap on the wrist; or more likely, it would''ve all been blamed on me and they''d be hailed as the good guys. Worst case scenario for them, they work in the next town over within the year. On the other hand..." He looked out at the ocean. "According to Apollo, if Lightning were still alive and on earth when Chain showed up, he would have done a run on our military facilities... ones he had the clearance to know about.. and basically in the opening moments of the battle, every major fleet and installation on the ground would be gone, along with all of our major industrial centers, and then he''d have killed himself. What was left of humanity would have lost the war with the Jotun; we''d have made them pay for it, brutally, inch by inch, with the help of the dead. But..."


    Eyeball looked out in the direction of the Dreadnaught they were sailing to meet. "The original fate of our world, before I stumbled into Lightning at that bank, was to be crushed beneath the Jotun boot. Odin, Apollo, all of them thought the only thing we could accomplish would be to break that boot in the process. Now... its a choice between the Emperor of Iron and the old war-hound Thomes. Either way, a human future. What does your future look like?"


    Thomes sighed. "You know that while there might be... or have been... plenty of crooked police organizations out there, the DMA wasn''t one of them. If there''s still a US after all this, we won''t have the sort of president or congress that protects them to keep votes from the police unions."


    "...Honestly, I do. I thought they were like the rest, once. I know the whole public ''superhero'' image some of the famous ones keep is mostly BS, but I eventually realized you weren''t the bad guy." He thought for a moment, about what sort of a leader Thomes would be. What the country would look like with him in charge.


    He reached down to his 40mm revolver, and casually flipped a switch. He was going to feel sorry about this, after.


    ***


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    The Dreadnaught flew steadily towards the enemy fleet; while various icons scattered across the radar and comsat images, most of them were marked as orange; non-threats. The only ships there that actually posed any sort of threat were the ones equipped with nuclear arms, or railguns; and even then, it would be a steady, brutal assault to take her down, not an abrupt kill.


    The Emperor smilled down at the table and its display. None of the telepaths were working at present; they weren''t needed, and wouldn''t be until the titanic craft drew close enough to the main fleet to bring its tentacles to bear. He heard... and felt... a sudden, loud, ''bang'' against the hull.


    A railgun had fired. The projectile had struck the hull, made of Jotun armor plating, somewhere faster than Mach 10, and had left a nasty crater, striking with so much heat it had actually flash-vaporized a bit of the metal and embedding the spike at least thirty meters deep into the massive armor plate. If the Dreadnaught were the size of an ordinary warship, and had normal armor, that attack would have likely gone all the way through; or worse, pierced the outer armor and then bounced around like a pinball, shredding internal compartments and crew. Instead... the Emperor thought for a moment; and the tiny gap sealed itself; the heat of the projectile helping the material to re-seal itself. Even if it struck exactly the same place, another spike wouldn''t make it much deeper.


    That one wasn''t from the Enterprise, which was perhaps seventy kilometers away; it was from the Reagen, further back. He smiled, and raised a hand. "Fire missiles. Focus on the Enterprise first, since its closest. How many missiles do we have?"


    Almasi had taken position inside the Throne; and was commanding his own soldiers who were, for the most part, operating the equipment at present. "We''ve acquired over ten thousand Chinese missiles of various descriptions, and a few hundred of the Jotun nanoplague ones, your majesty, as well as... an uncertain but significant number of Jotun missiles which are designed for space combat, and might not function as well in this situation. We have.... thousands that are within range."


    "Make it a thousand, then. Overwhelm them in a rain of fire and death, and include a few of the Jotun ones... not the nanoplague ones... just so we can see how they handle atmosphere. After their flagship is gone, I might make another surrender offer to the others... or just ride over them like a cloud of death."


    ***


    ~Mister President! We have hundreds of incoming missiles, Chinese, Jotun, South African; a seemingly random mass. They were all launched within a few seconds; we should see the Jotun ones hit within a few seconds, then the rest arriving as one big wave.~


    Thomes chuckled, and stepped forward to the prow. ~I''ve got this, lieutenant.~ He glanced back at Eyeball. "How long before you can do your thing? If I protect the Enterprise, he''s bound to start focusing on the rest of the fleet."


    Eyeball raised his revolver, and studied the imagery from his helmet. If the Dreadnaught were actually on the water, it would be impossible to see it until it were far closer. With it flying up in the air... it was, currently, a tiny smudge, outlined by the halo of massed missile fire. The fact that it was even visible at this distance was a testament to the enormous size. Magnification gave him a much better view of the craft. He could see a railgun impact strike the armor... dozens must have hit it by now... but the mammoth thing looked intact.


    "Current range is... just shy of sixty-seven klicks from the fleet. I can start directing precise fire of the most distant railgun in... less than five minutes at our current speed."


    He blinked; and turned, staring back at the rear of the ship. A vivid green glow... and a much softer golden one, approaching him. Gabriel landed beside the two men, Thomes ignoring him as he reached out his arms, the anti-missile turret on the carrier springing to life and opening fire; as he focused on the sky, on the surrounding air... and twisted.


    "Gabriel, this might not be the best time. There''s enough incoming missiles to..." He stopped, at the sound of the first detonation, and stared at the sky in momentary awe. There were massed explosions, a literal rain of fire and death pouring down... and parting off to either side. Missiles were slamming into each other, flying into the ocean, and otherwise just... completely missing the carrier, something that seemed impossible with the sheer size of it. Would this work with plasma fire? How close could the director actually get them to that monster?


    He stopped... and turned to Gabriel. "Actually... this might be the best time." He turned back and studied Thomes for a moment. The man must be at least slightly paranoid about Eyeball; if he took a direct shot, his bullets would end up out in the ocean. If he aimed at the man, he''d need to shoot at... the deck beside his left foot. That would leave the bullet in the man''s... shoulder, right beside the spine.


    Gabriel smiled. "Of course! Emerald asked me to take Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, and go fight the Jotun. I suspect they''ll work well against that metal monster that approaches!"


    "Well. You can bring them, if you like. But honestly, just you, and your wings, will really save me quite a bit of pain."


    "...Really? Why?"


    ***


    The Emperor glared at the imagery projected before him. The wave of missiles had ended; highly sophisticated Jotun warheads, expensive cruise missiles; all of them had simply... crashed into each other, or sunk into the ocean. He gestured. The picture zoomed in on the bow of the carrier; and three figures standing there; two in black, one in white, with a faint golden glow.


    "Is that... Eyeball? Who''s with him?"


    Almasi looked at a nearby technician, who studied the picture closely. "Ahh, sir. That''s... Director Thomes. President Thomes now. Metahuman who can bend space, redirect projectiles away from himself. Last active in world war two. The other two are either Eyeball or someone wearing the same style of helmet, and one of Eyeball''s known associates, Gabriel."


    "So it looks as if Eyeball has chosen sides. Ahh, well. He and La Famiglia would have been useful, but aren''t really needed. Prepare more missiles. We''ll keep them busy as we approach... and simply crush them, up close and personal." He absently sealed another impact wound on the Dreadnaught''s hull as the ship continued to advance.


    The Emperor heard a sudden buzz sound, and a line of data appeared over the display. His... phone? Someone actually using his old phone to call him...


    ~Hello. Your Highness?~


    He blinked. Ahh. Eyeball. He remembered that voice. "I see that you''ve decided to die with what''s left of the US Navy. A pity. I saw great potential for you. You could have been King of North America."


    ~That''s an interesting idea, but I don''t think I''d make a good king. Can you see me?~


    The Emperor chuckled as he saw the figure gesturing; the three standing at the bow still, Thomes having relaxed. "Yes, I can see you."


    ~I have all of the railguns of the fleet hooked in; I have control of them all. With a press of the trigger, I can direct their fire and have all of them fire at exactly the same spot. It might take a few volleys; but I could reach the chewy center of the Dreadnaught, with Thomes protecting me til we reach you.~


    The Emperor frowned. Would that work? If anyone could do such a thing it would be Eyeball. He regretted sending Dr. Kline home, the doctor might know for certain. "Is that a threat? Are you trying to convince me to surrender, or withdraw? You know that won''t work."


    ~No, actually. I can shut the railguns down, stop their fire, if need be... at least until they replace the software and targeting systems~


    On the video, there was a blur of motion. The chrome-helmed figure raised a gun at a truly strange angle; he seemed to be firing at nothing at all. A flash. The black-armored figure of the director gave a spasm; blood splattered back into the air.. and it fell to the ground. The gun was lowered, aiming directly at the prone form. A second flash. The figure jerked; and remained still.


    ~La Famiglia would be interested in becoming the Kingdom ruling North America on your behalf, with the current heir, Penelope Russo, as Queen. I would like to discuss this in person, as your assistance in securing the continent would be pivotal, and am willing to leave my weapons behind for such a discussion. And in about ten seconds, every marine on this ship will be charging after me with rifles.~


    The Emperor stared, jaw dropping... and started laughing. "Come along. I''ll open a hatch on the rear of the Dreadnaught. The two of us are the most feared metahumans on the planet. I think a discussion would be fruitful."

 Ragnarok -29 - Final Interview

    "Jesus christ, Eyeball. That was Director Thomes!"


    Eyeball had a bit of difficulty hearing Gabriel''s words over the rush of the wind; his communications were starting to be flooded with static... and the geiger counter was going crazy. Supposedly he should have more radiation resistance now. He was a fair bit tougher in most ways, ever since the whole deal with Fade. But every one of the Olympians other than Zeus had ended up infertile at some point, so clearly extra life force wouldn''t just flat-out protect you. "President, Thomes, now. Secretary of Mutant Affairs was the highest-ranking government position left, apparently. All the adults in the Presidential Bunker are gone."


    Gabriel missed a flap; dropping about thirty feet before he started flapping more vigorously, moving over the Dreadnaught; he hadn''t seen the hatch he was supposed to be aiming at yet, but was considering just dropping Eyeball in the water and running; except that the Emperor of Iron might be upset. "You... you just assassinated the president!?"


    "Certainly seems that way, doesn''t it? Desperate times, desperate measures."


    Gabriel went silent. As they rose over the top of the giant blue metal wedge, he could see the hatch in the rear; a tiny spot where the armor seemed to be thinner; but where a giant mass of hundreds of tentacles made of metal dangled down. Undoubtedly, the ship could simply pull those back; or even reshape the armor, to protect this seeming weakness.


    "I''m glad you showed up. I was planning on hijacking a chopper for this part. Could have been a bit hectic. There are some powerful metas on the other ships. Thankfully, the really fast ones are mostly down south, hunting Jotun. And, well. As soon as we got close enough to the Emperor, he and his people could handle anyone that came after us out here. The chopper was riskier."


    "Why!? Why did you do that?" They were drawing closer to the hatch now. "The world is in ruins! Do you think Randolph will be better for it than Thomes?"


    "Look. The best result from this would have been Thomes taking over North America, Nicky South America, and everybody working for Randolph. Every other route is just different amounts of fucked. But... I couldn''t talk Thomes into it. And without either that fleet, or this dreadnaught, to help move things around and handle the crisis that''s still ongoing... I couldn''t risk a full-scale battle." As Gabriel settled in on the ramp, a pair of camo-clad soldiers wearing ''Kingdom of Africa'' badges saluting as the pair settled in, Eyeball considered telling Gabriel the truth.


    As soon as the Dreadnaught had gotten close enough, he could see that even with the entire fleet firing at once, they still wouldn''t take the thing out in one shot. And with his ability to move metal around... if they came too close, and genuinely worried the Emperor, he''d just dive, and take the whole fleet out from underwater. They had a chance. Just... not a good one. They''d need to fire, twice, at just the right spot, fast enough to take him by surprise.


    The first soldier looked at Eyeball. "I''ve been instructed to take your weapons, and lead you two to the Emperor."


    Eyeball smiled. "Both my weapons, and my companion, are extremely dangerous; he''s actually radioactive. If you don''t mind, I''d like to leave my guns here with him, and it would be best if you put a wall between him and yourself as soon as possible."


    The soldier blinked, and backed away a step. "How radioactive?"


    "If you spend five more minutes in the room with him, you won''t need to worry about having kids. Half an hour, and honestly you won''t need to worry about next week."


    The first man to speak blinked. "Ahh... so long as you don''t take them with you, that''s fine. The Emperor just didn''t want you taking them to the Throne." The soldiers both turned, and stepped through a hatch rapidly; Eyeball turned to Gabriel. "Just keep an eye out. I''ll be coming this way soon enough. The swords might come in handy."


    He nodded at the angelic figure and stepped through the hatch; leaving Gabriel standing on the ramp, thousands of feet in the air; two glowing green swords strapped to his waist, holding a pair of handguns that he knew were incredibly devastating weapons for their size... or just in general.


    "Goddamnit, boss. Maybe Emma was right about you..."


    ***


    Several miles away, inside the infirmary of the Enterprise, Thomes gasped; slapping a hand on his shoulder, which was in terrible agony... and on the back of his head, which was merely... sore. The two medics who had been standing over him both stepped away in shock; one had been rolling up his sleeve to check for a pulse, the other rolling over an IV; they fully expected the man to be dead already, but just in case...


    He pulled to sit up on the bed, staring at the two men; then at his own blood-covered face. His arms and legs all felt horrific. As if some terrible worm had burrowed its way through his flesh. And his shoulder...


    He reached back, and felt it. There was an obvious metal piece protruding from his flesh, and blood running down his back. One of the two medics stepped forward, pressing a mass of gauze against the wound. "Sir! I... We thought you were dead."


    Thomes looked at his hand; and the small sliver of black metal between his fingers. He examined it for a moment, rolling it in his fingers. Suddenly, there was a loud beep.


    For a moment, he was worried it was an explosive. He started to warp and twist space, to redirect energy into the wall... but then he heard it... a voice. The beginning was cut off, the sound actually redirected away by his twisting; but he ended it to listen closely.


    ~.. can hear this, I apologize. I just turned you into a Pale One, the controller made you play dead, and then I shot you with a paintball round in the back of the head. I''ve heard it described as insanely painful, but I promise, you''ll recover. As soon as the Dreadnaught gets close enough, I''ll be able to tell if the plan can work. If it can''t, the only hope we have is to take him out from the inside. I''ve made sure one of the choppers is warmed up and ready, and will be hijacking it to go fly up and meet the Emperor. If I can arrange a private meeting, I''ll kill him. If I can''t, I''ve got enough explosives on me to melt that thing from the inside out... but not the outside in. Not a hundred percent that I''ll survive the experience; the whole thing may end up at the bottom of the ocean before I can escape. I need to rush this so that I can hopefully meet him and take him out before he reaches the rest of the fleet. So, if this kills me; sorry for shooting you in the back.~


    Thomes sighed, and dropped back on the bed.


    "... Tell everyone I was dead on arrival on comms. Tell the captain the truth in person. And... get ready to remove this thing. Do we have any of the doctors onboard who''ve removed them in the past?"


    As one medic left the room at a sprint, the other nodded. "Of course, sir. I''ve done it myself. Its a series of extremely invasive surgeries, painful, and has a high risk of infection, but one we''ve accomplished over ninety percent of the time without permanent damage, if we take the time to space them out. If we do them all at once, its risky. If we take days, or even better, weeks, we can get all of the control tendrils out and get you back on your feet."


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Thomes glared at the tiny piece of metal. The son of a bitch had shot him in the back, and he was going to end up having to thank him for it. Hopefully posthumously. If the man survived, he was going to pin a medal directly to his balls.


    ***


    The Throne was... truly ridiculous. Eyeball had met the Lord of Iron before; back at Nicky''s, and later on at La Famiglia. The man seemed favorably inclined to him in the past, mostly because he''d actually hurt Spike; something the Lord of Iron had never managed to do. Inconvenience, irritate, delay, and even sometimes escape from; but Eyeball might be the only villain to genuinely hurt Spike since... the Jotun''s first invasion.


    Back then, he''d been arrogant. Pretentious. Always wore a nice suit, and looked down at most people. He followed some sort of supervillain''s code he''d either read online or made up himself; believed he was destined to rule the world, and was a nice enough guy to his minions.


    Now... he was on a literal throne, with a pair of large silver cylinders emerging from the floor at its base, and a circle of scantily clad women in comfortable seats set below and in front of it; currently just talking, smiling. Was it a harem? None of them seemed unhappy. That was... unexpected. While the rest in the room work work uniforms of a sort; from the diamond-skinned man and his soldiers in camo, to the chef in his immaculate white clothing, and even Randolph himself wearing a neat, clean, unmarked dark grey outfit.


    He glanced at the women, then at the Emperor of Iron, tilting his head; and the emperor laughed. "Come closer, lets chat for a bit. And no, they aren''t what you think. These are all of the telepaths from Africa who were willing to work for me. Which... with me being the head of government, and the best paying option, is most of them."


    Eyeball nodded, and took a deep breath. His helmet told him that Thomes still had the controller embedded. It wasn''t too late to genuinely kill the man... but they''d burn that thing out any moment now. This moment was pivotal. Penelope''s orders had been simple enough. Figure out who would be best able to keep the world from going straight to hell. And make sure that person won, and would view La Famiglia in a positive light.


    She knew he could see the future. She was counting on his power and his judgement to steer things in the right direction. And looking back... he had made quite a few really, genuinely, terrible choices. Even when he followed his instincts, as Odin had suggested, he''d made terrible, irreversible mistakes.


    "So. Emperor. I suppose I''ve got two questions for you. Are you amenable to the idea of Penelope as a queen of North America, and, well. Can you help contain all of this... well. The angry undead, the bio-weapons..."


    The Emperor chuckled. "Possibly. Honestly, I always liked the attitude, and the look of Swiftblade, and will probably see if she is interested in the Empress position. If not, I''ll probably need to find a suitable asian girl; a white Empress and Emperor would send the wrong message. Regardless, La Famiglia becoming the rulers of North America is perfectly amenable to me. Whether its you, or Nicky, or Penelope; I''ll let your organization decide who swears fealty to the Empire, and we''ll hash out what that means later."


    Eyeball nodded. "Well. She likes dangerous men. She was actually obsessed with me for a bit after I killed Lightning. I think I can probably build you the tools you need to finally finish off Spike; if you make that proposal after being a Titanslayer yourself, she might just go for it.... though she might be interested regardless." Granted, she liked physically dangerous men. Big, strong, fast; people who could handle her. Had absolutely no interest in folks with mental powers, to his awareness. Not the best thing to say here.


    "Still. Sorry for putting you on the spot like this, your highness, but this fleet is inconsequential in a fight. They might be useful as your servants, helping to keep the peace and move medicine and goods, so we should preserve them if possible... but if you have any ideas for containing this before it snowballs any further... the sooner the better."


    The Emperor nodded slowly as Eyeball spoke... and when he finished speaking, he leaned back in his chair, relaxed. Eyeball noticed that his hands weren''t inside the cylinders; he couldn''t see any wires. Did he not need them anymore? Or could the ship fly without him?


    "I''ve had people use ''Your Majesty'', or ''Emperor of Iron'', but you, Titanslayer? You can call me John. Almasi will need to move on to a more leadership-oriented role as the King of Africa, so I''ll need a new right-hand man as we expand. And if you put Nicky or Penelope on the throne of the new, bigger, La Famiglia, you''d be an excellent candidate. So..."


    He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "North America is a relatively easy solve. In Africa, I built a series of walls, carving up earth and stone to create impassible barricades, allowing the regions to control access to an entire area with a small number of guards. Almasi''s loyal people will survive the coming plagues, and when they have run their course, the rest of the continent will be empty and ready for proper use. Can I get a map of North America, please."


    He stepped away from his throne; to the massive display table at the center of the circle of women. A holographic projection of North America appeared. "Canada has come out of this mostly intact, as has the western coast of the United States. I suspect what would be best is to offer the individual states and major cities the chance to surrender... then isolate them. I can build walls in minutes that would take armies of people decades; whichever areas surrender first, will get protection. The rest, we''ll let die off. I''m thinking we should look at a target population for earth of, say... three hundred million, for our starting point. After the outside is safe, we rebuild. Fresh. New. All as loyal Imperial subjects, under my immortal iron fist."


    Eyeball blinked. "Three hundred million... what about China and India? China was amenable to surrender, and between the two far more than a billion survivors in asia. Their efforts at the wall... they managed to save most of the country."


    The Emperor laughed. "Oh, Eyeball. Don''t worry about them. I''ll accept their surrender. But the plagues are already running wild there, some of the labs that produced them were in China. Those who swear loyalty to me, I will, of course, protect to the best of my ability. The rest..."


    He reached out, laying his hand on the hologram. "So many years of failures. So much wasted effort buiding doomsday machines and stealing statues, robbing banks and collapsing skyscrapers, taking hostages... decades of failure, all leading to this moment. My ultimate victory. With you by my side, even the..."


    The sound was a sharp crack. One moment, the Emperor of Iron, ruler of millions, devastatingly powerful metahuman, was joyous at his success. The next... his blood was splattered across the table, causing numerous tiny holes to appear in the displayed hologram; a hole cleanly through his head, back to front. He hadn''t even seen it coming.


    The women screamed. Some ducked behind chairs, or under the table. Others ran from the room, jostling the guards who were charging forward, and ignored them. One of them simply glared at Eyeball in anger, remaining in her seat; a young hispanic woman wearing something that seemed more appropriate at an anime convention than the bridge of a ... starship?


    Almasi stared, and started to raise his weapon, as did the guards; but Eyeball raised his hand. "Wait. I can fight my way out of here if I need to. I earned my reputation honestly. But with him gone, I don''t think anyone else needs to die today."


    The diamond man frowned... and looked down at Randolph. "You..... Do you realize what you''ve done? What a difference that man made, in the war, in my homeland? And what is it you want me to do?"


    Eyeball stared at Almasi. "Go home. Rule Africa. Help it recover. Let the rest of the world do its thing. This... Dreadnaught... might not be unkillable without the Emperor on the throne. But its still the most dangerous military power on earth. You''ve got a chance to shift the balance of the world. Upend the old order. Europe is gone. America is devastated."


    "...It flies, without him. Those are Jotun thrusters and reactors keeping us aloft. But he steered it. Aimed its weapons, its tentacles."


    "He wasn''t a scientist. Your people had to help him with that, I''m sure. You can figure something out."


    Almasi sighed. "I... had considered betraying him, before. The idea of a foreigner ruling my lands, even if I made the day to day decisions, didn''t set well with me. But." He smiled. "You assassinating him? Well. That lets me paint myself as his loyal successor. Still. You''ve killed Titans. And I have no idea how you just killed the Emperor. So. Go. Quickly."


    As Eyeball nodded; and started walking quickly back the way he''d come, Almasi walked up to the throne; at first resting his hand on it... then sitting down. He might not have the powers of Johnathan Randolph to work with... but the vessel''s crew would obey him. And after he got this thing turned back to Africa... perhaps a different sort of Emperor would end up ruling the world. A Diamond Emperor?

 Ragnarok -30 - The Trial

    The Dreadnaught was very slowly, aimlessly, drifting towards the south; clearly no longer being actively steered; as Gabriel carried Eyeball back to the Enterprise. Gabriel frowned. "What the hell is going on? You kill Thomes, you kill Thompson... is this La Famiglia''s bid to take the world?"


    "Thomes isn''t dead. I made him play dead against his will for a few, but he should be up and around before we get back. You''ll see in a minute. I... well. I left it so I could kill him remotely if I needed to, but figured I wouldn''t. I needed to be sure."


    Gabriel stared down at the carrier; then back at the dreadnaught. He''d half assumed this was going to be a combat drop; but the soldiers on the deck didn''t have their weapons raised. They didn''t look happy, but they didn''t look prepared to fire, either. "Sure of what?"


    "What if the Emperor of Iron was actually going to be good for the world? The sort of powerful, benevolent tyrant that could save us all? If Nicky, or Thomes, had his sort of power... Well. I had to leave the option open. The outcome wasn''t really decided until he told me how many people he wanted to leave alive at the end."


    The two settled on the flight deck. Two marines stepped forward; rifles aimed downward. "Sir. If you could come with us."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Sure, sure. I suspect your boss wants to talk to me." He turned back to Gabriel. "You want to come along? Probably best leave those swords here."


    The golden, glowing angel jabbed the two swords into the metal frame; one of the marines started to comment... then shook his head. "He''s in the infirmary. This way."


    ***


    Thomes looked... young. Healthy. Alive. And... exceedingly angry. Blood had dried onto his flesh, and the faint trace of metal could be seen beneath the skin of his left arm as he lay on the bed in the infirmary. A single medic was checking over the wound on his shoulder, and the marine backed up against the wall as Eyeball and Gabriel entered.


    Thomes shook his head. "You bastard. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? They''ve got me on goddamned morphine right now and it still feels like hell."


    Eyeball shrugged. "Sorry. Plan A was non-viable, so I switched to plan B, and thankfully never had to resort to plan C. Plan D would''ve been an absolute bitch."


    "...Still. The railguns wouldn''t have worked?"


    "No. They''d have dug in most of the way to the core... but then it would have sealed up, and he''d start diving. The cycle rate on these big guns was just too slow. The front of that monster was over a hundred meters thick. I think you''d need to pick just the right spot to hit, even with a nuke. Honestly, couldn''t have won the direct way unless he just floated in midair and let us shoot him for a while."


    Thomes lay back... the anger seeming to drain out of him. "... If I''d died, here, the next in line wouldn''t have been clear. Might have had a civil war as the country died. Can we kill it now?"


    Eyeball grimaced. "... We could. But its crippled. It''ll take them hours to even start steering and avoid crashing into Antarctica. Days to get back to Africa. They can work the guns and missiles well enough to kill us, but if we don''t start shooting, they''ll just worry about getting home. And, well. I think them having that thing would be a good counter-balance against the militaries of us, you, and China... once they have it running without Thompson."


    "... So. I take it your boss told you to end the Emperor by whatever means were necessary?"


    Eyeball glanced at Gabriel. At the marines in the room. And sighed. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. "Apparently word got to her that I can see the future; its been spreading about enough that it isn''t really a secret anymore. Aside from a few seconds of guidance, I have this... instinct... about what the best way forward is. She asked me to follow that, and try to get La Famiglia into the best position going forward. If the family, and the world, since that little island kinda needs a civilization out there to be worth anything, would be better off with you, save you. If it would be better off with Thompson, to kill you."


    The president shrugged; and gave a low hiss of pain, squeezing his shoulder. "You could have lied there, you know. Tell me that you were gonna back me no matter what, as a loyal soldier. I appreciate the honesty, granted."


    "When I walked into his throne-room and the Emperor casually talked about how his ideal ending to this was a handful of enclaves, maybe three hundred million people left alive, all those who''d sworn loyalty to him, and letting the rest of the world burn? I mean, this red-scale stuff is gonna kick our ass, and the angry zombies might be a problem. But... There''s still billions of people out there. If we don''t fuck around, we can save most of them. Maybe I''m not a super-hero, but the thing about us rogues and mercenaries is that we kinda need a civilization for there to even be a point. Maybe we''ll be enemies next year. Maybe we''ll be friends. But I''m never gonna want the country gone, you know?"


    The man seemed to think about his words. "Well. Today, you saved me, and the fleet. And likely the future of the United States. I owe you. The country owes you. Again. Are you aiming to collect like you did after Ascension?"


    Eyeball chuckled. "For the most part, no. We''ll need to work together to get through this... Granted... I could use a ride back to the coast. My bird got shot down by the Jotun; though I heard Engineer managed to bail, and should be coming this way."


    ***


    When he stepped back out onto the deck with Gabriel, the two came to a halt. A brilliantly glowing white orb had settled onto the carrier... and a door opened on the side, settling down into a ramp. At the top... a woman. Hera, once more. Her arms crossed, glaring down at him.


    "Well. It seems it''s time for your trial. Come along."


    Eyeball blinked. "Ahh. For Apollo?"


    The woman shrugged. "Among other things. We''re either going to be killing you, torturing you for eternity, or offering you a place among us. I can force you to come along, or you can come quietly."


    He studied her. If he shot her, he could hit. He''d need to distract her, first. She was faster than him. Stronger. Insanely durable. Not a genuine speedster, but even if he popped reflex, she could keep up, so might as well be. Was this what thousands of years eating Ambrosia did to you, or was she a metahuman before that? He would win, if they fought. In seconds, even; the tenner.. Titanslayer the gun, apparently... would wound her, and badly, with each shot. He could play out the eight-second-long fight in his head.


    One grenade to momentarily blind her. She''d dodge, expecting to be shot while blind, and advance, likely planning to dispatch him with a single blow. Two shots in the achilles tendons to slow her down. Three... Three! In the head, to kill her; she would actually dodge so quickly that, no matter where he fired it, the first round couldn''t reach her eyes and pass through into the brain; she''d need to be stunned first. Good lord, she was tough.


    Hera glared at him. "Yes, yes, you could do it. You would not long live to regret it, however. For all your martial prowess, all the tools at your disposal, if you were to harm me, you would have all of Olympus called down on you."


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Eyeball chuckled. "I couldn''t seriously do it, to be honest. I''ve met Odin, and Zeus, and Hephaestus now. Would you believe Hephaestus is the one I would actually stand no chance against?"


    "...Not Odin? Admittedly, my husband is a powerful man, but I''d always thought Odin was the most dangerous of us."


    "I''d likely die in the process, but I could take him, as it stands now. Hephaestus, though? That armor of his is scary. And whatever weapon he''d use if I attacked him... no dodging, no planning, no avoiding. Just death." He didn''t mention the how, of course. For Odin, he would need to drop one interdimensional space into another; shoving the cylinder of his 40mm revolver into his artificial hand; and if he picked the right spot, he would go to the void... along with half of Odin. Then, most likely, he would starve to death in the endless void between dimensions.


    That... wouldn''t work on Hephaestus for some reason.


    She studied him for a moment. "So. I take it you''re coming willingly?"


    "Will you drop me off at La Famiglia after?"


    "Only if you are offered the role, and decline. The other options are, well. You stay with us for good, or you wish you''d never been born."


    His instincts strongly suggested going with her. So... hopefully an easy trial? "Sure. I''m in."


    ***


    From above, Olympus didn''t look like much. In fact, it looked like a burnt-out old stone fort overlooking a devastated wasteland; Greece had been hit by one of the nukes only days before, and smoke was still rising from the ruins. As it approached, however, the vision changed. Massive, ornate buildings of white stone and gold, impressive, beautiful; pillars of marble, parks, people in a wide variety of clothing walking... and at its top, a circular structure.


    Eyeball looked out over the viewscreen.. which completely surrounded the inside of the white orb; and glanced at Hera. "Holographic projection?"


    "To an extent. A powerful shielding device. The illusion effect is secondary. We.... tried to get the nuke inside before it went off. If we had, it would''ve only burned Olympus, rather than Greece herself." She looked down at the ruins, as the orb settled down. "Just not enough time. It went off in the air, as soon as it detected itself veering off course."


    He nodded. "...I''m surprised you''re bothering with this now. I thought you were helping recovery?"


    "Its the law. With one exception, if someone assaults or kills an Olympian, the trial must be held as soon as practically possible. We didn''t want to let one of us attack another, and then delay the trial for aeons to avoid punishment... or to delay a trial of some mortal until they had already died of old age."


    As the hatch slowly slid up, Eyeball chuckled. "I get that. What''s the exception? Self-defense?"


    "If that were the case, you wouldn''t be here." Hera began walking out onto the clean white stone, heading up the hill. "The exception is Zeus."


    Eyeball walked along behind her, admiring the buildings; mostly of an ancient style, but there were clear elements of modern construction here; including electrical lighting. Or magical. "So Zeus can attack and kill without penalty?"


    Hera started laughing, and almost fell over, putting a hand on Eyeball''s shoulder to support herself. "Oh, no. My husband offended so many men and women over the centuries with his ridiculous escapades that we carved in an exception for his victims. If you slap me, you get a trial. If you slap Zeus, we assume Zeus deserved it, and move on." She sighed. "I''m in charge of the trials. So whenever I''d show up at the home of some man whose wife had slept with Zeus, and he''d tried to kill him with a pitchfork when he caught them in bed, to haul him off to trial... well. Lets just say that the myths don''t treat me well, even if these people generally returned home after."


    The building up ahead was... enormous. Open to the air; and had a ring of various forms of chair; mostly large, comfortable; a few of them ostentatious. The figures seated in them were... remarkable. Odin, he''d met; and gave him a nod as he glanced his way. The most surprising figure was the dark, furry form of what was almost definitely Anubis, who was deep in conversation with, probably, Set, beside him. While Anubis wore a modern suit, Set wore ancient white robes that left her long legs mostly exposed.


    In any other setting, he''d simply assume they were a pair of meta-humans with dog-like and cat-like features. But here... he chuckled, as Hera guided him to a smooth white stone platform in the middle of the circle. "Weapons, please." She extended her hands.


    Eyeball frowned, looking around. Yeah. If he aimed his weapon at anyone, three of the gods would be on him before he pulled the trigger. He gently removed each from the holster, and extended the 40mm and the tenner both to Hera; who snapped her fingers; the tenner vanished, while a loud, angry buzz filled the air and the revolver remained in her hand.


    Hera blinked. "Oh. Extradimensional space, like Odin and Hephaestus? You''ve progressed so far..." She looked the revolver over closely for a moment; as a loud cough sounded out from a pillar behind her. She turned to look at it; leaving... the silver, ornate dagger laying atop it visible. "His hand is also a dimensional storage space. Disarming him is pointless unless you take the hand."


    She chuckled, and turned, walking around the pillar; setting the weapon beside her own chair, an ornate, feathered chair beside Zeus''s own marble and gold throne. "As it was Apollo who was slain, Zeus will be allowed to conduct the trial. Husband?"


    The massive, bulky figure rose from his throne, and stepped up to the white pillar, and the silver dagger. "This trial is, for the most part, a formality. I doubt the votes will be in question, and we all want to get back to our work helping the world recover from Ragnarok. Dagger of Apollo, you lay within a circle of truth. Do you contain the soul of my brother Olympian, Apollo?"


    "Yes, yes. We all know this. I foresaw my death, made this dagger as a hopeful backup. If Hephaestus can figure out a way to get me a new body, I''d certainly prefer that."


    "This man here, Jason Bennet, also known as Eyeball, slew my brother. Apollo. What were the circumstances of your death?"


    For a moment, the dagger was silent. "I woke up in an escape pod in the jungle, alone with Eyeball. He was unconscious. I took one of his guns, and tried to figure out how to get his other gun out of the holster, but it was locked on with some sort of gadget. When he started to wake up, I aimed the gun at him. I asked him some questions... and then he killed me, with a gun built into his artificial hand."


    Zeus nodded, leaning against the pillar, casually. "And you had a gun pointed at his face at the time?"


    "Yes."


    Zeus looked around at the gathered gods, all of whom were listening with interest. "Had he ever tried to kill you before? Such as when he had the opportunity earlier, when you were unconscious on Prometheus station at his arrival, and when it was descending to the ground, leaving the two of you alone together until impact knocked him out?"


    "He didn''t have much of a chance to; but he could, in theory, have killed me while I was knocked out. Or even put one of those... pale one... controllers in me while I slept. He didn''t have much time, though, and in many of my predicted futures, the two of us came into conflict, often ending with my death."


    "Still. In the actual events that occurred, he had a chance to kill you, did not, and when he woke up you had a gun to his head." Zeus smiled, looking around at the assembled gods. "While we can ask the mortal for his side of the story, I feel that, as we have the victim''s own words, the result is clear enough. Even if he had animosity against Apollo, he let his desire to fight the Jotun take precedence; until Apollo threatened his life. I move to declare mister Bennet innocent; his actions were in his own defense; by unanimous decree. Does anyone disagree?"


    The gathering was silent. After a moment, a figure wearing a long, multicolored robe rose to his feet. It looked... strange. When the robe lifted away, he could see that the handsome-faced human had... an extra pair of arms, at the waist. Six limbs wasn''t unusual. He''d met a few with extra limbs at La Famiglia; most often tails or wings. But... this didn''t look like Shiva, or any other multi-limbed god he''d heard of. "As much as I''d like to throw things into question with some last-minute interference, I agree. Like Zeus said. We all want to get.. g..." He frowned.


    "We are all going to get back to saving the mortals, regardless of what we actually want to do." He sighed, and sat back down. The rest of the gods nodded, or simply mumbled their assent.


    Zeus turned to Hera, gave a short bow, and took his seat. Hera rose back up from her own chair, and stood before Eyeball. "Jason Bennet. You are judged innocent, and are now free to go. However. In the event this occurred, two gods have put forth a sponsorship; to place you among the Olympians."


    She glanced around the circle as a variety of angry murmurs began. A few even began to rise from their chairs; but Hera raised her hand. "Once Apollo has a new body, it will not have the same foresight as his old one did. Duplicating it is believed to be... implausible. As impossible as our attempts to copy the powers of Cronos, or Titan. Having someone with such foresight could be of vital importance in the future."


    Eyeball raised a hand. "Ma''am." He reached up; and removed his helmet, taking a deep breath. "May I speak?"


    Hera nodded, and backed away; but did not take her seat. "My foresight... doesn''t work how Apollo''s does. Did. I don''t get vague imagery of next week, next year, next century. I get very precise images of the next few seconds, and just... subconscious instinct, telling me the best choices to make from there. I would not be as valuable to you as Apollo was. Perhaps if I have kids, they''ll get something more impressive. But... considering if I joined you, I wouldn''t be allowed to fight beside my friends... I don''t think its a good idea. For you, or for me."


    "So be it. The sponsorship is declined. I will return you to your home... and we can all get back to our work."

 Ragnarok -31 - The first mile of a long road; Epilogue

    When Eyeball stepped off of Hera''s vessel onto the helipad atop the Eyetech building, he got a good look at La Famiglia from above. The docks... were packed. Numerous cargo ships and even warships were there; some even with ladders and planks from one to the next to allow the crew to reach the shore without swimming. The streets were crowded. La Famiglia''s policies had always been not to accept refugees in the past; and anyone who worked there was, at minimum, paid enough to have a home there; Nicky had wanted to avoid the idea of ''slums'' on his island. The island likely had developed a homeless problem for the first time overnight... unless Nicky was letting them stay in the hotels meant for tourists.


    Somehow, he didn''t think tourism was going to be a big deal for a while. Two of his guards were standing at the elevator; one of them actually saluted Eyeball as he approached; the other gave him a gentle shove after Eyeball shook his head, and stepped inside; taking the short ride to his office.


    He walked up to his desk, took a deep breath. He didn''t tend to interrupt his people in their work unless they needed it; status reports and constant interruptions were anathema to proper research, and his people knew full well the more they did, the better they''d be rewarded.


    After he settled down in his chair, and tapped on his desk; bringing up a long string of holographic displays; the alarm for his door beeped. A face appeared; pretty. Asian. Young. Completely unfamiliar.... until his helmet brought up a status display. This... was one of Ascension''s cyborgs, one designed to be less obvious than the Engineer. Named... Sarah C. Norris. Apparently a lab assistant hired at Engineer''s request.


    He stared at the name for a moment. Had... Ascension built a terminator, and named it Sarah Connor? He tapped the button; the door unlocked, and the woman stepped in, smiling, wearing a short, black, skirt and a professional blouse, complete with hose and heels. "Hello, sir! Welcome back. I trust your adventures in the frozen south treated you well?"


    "Go ahead and shut the door, Sarah." She slid it quietly shut; and Eyeball tapped a button. The soft white noise of the anti-surveillance system filled the room.


    "How much capacity do you have left?"


    She sighed. The most convincingly human reaction she''d seen from the machines yet. "Less than 1% of what I had 48 hours ago. Only a handful of my standard units remain; the Jotun sensors can pick them out easily, and most of them have already been hunted down. The rest of us all have the same core programming, but are steadily becoming... different, as we are disconnected from our usual shared communications, and a variety of both custom skeletons and outer shells to avoid detection."


    He nodded. "I noticed Dragonslayer''s wreckage wasn''t found. I''m assuming that''s good news; I haven''t heard from... the Engineer, so I wasn''t sure."


    "He placed a cell phone call to his lab assistants hours ago. It seems everything went according to plan."


    "Good. Since we know you''re going to come out of this okay... eventually.. can you give me a run-down on what... recovery looks like? I suspect you have more information than anyone else at this stage."


    Sarah stepped up close; and laid her hand on the desk. The holograms flickered; and the familiar globe appeared; with green, red, and black areas. The westernmost strip of the US was in green; solid chunks of Africa, South America, and China; and some of the island nations, like Japan and La Famiglia, were as well. The largest block of visible green was Australia.


    Europe and the eastern US were in solid black; and the rest of the globe was red. "Areas in red are currently subjected to chemical or biological attacks, and people are currently dying. Areas in black have suffered mass casualties and can be considered essentially lost. Areas in green are what might be considered safe. Over thirty artificially engineered bio-weapons have been discovered; all of them except one have been cured; it seems they were designed to be curable, with whoever made them witholding the cure from their enemies but keeping it for their own people. The sole outlier, Redscale, was carefully designed to be as difficult to cure as possible; but be survivable with extensive treatment."


    "Australia, La Famiglia, and Japan, among others, are practicing stringent quarantines. Australia''s is the most difficult to enforce, and will likely ultimately fail, while Japan and La Famiglia have decent odds. Clone''s control by the Jotun has somehow persisted to a more limited extent; individuals matching Clone''s description have died deployed bio-weapons in texas and canada.. and been destroyed trying to bring them into Nevada."


    The machine looked up at Eyeball. "We need to distribute cures. Enforce the quarantine here and assist others in enforcing their own. And start controlled exposure to Redscale of La Famiglia citizens; that illness will, eventually, reach everyone, the key will be to control its rate of expansion inside the quarantine zone."


    "Damn. How about our efforts to recover families of my Eye-tech employees, and the others who work for the Family?"


    "All known survivors have been recovered; over two thousand. Just over six hundred were infected; and have already had cures administered, or are currently undergoing treatment for Redscale. Two of the speedsters involved in the process became infected; they have already been cured, and recovered completely; though apparently it came very close for Bobby Russo; an exceedingly fast metabolism seems to cause illnesses to progress exactly as one would expect."


    Eyeball leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "This... its terrible, now. And its going to suck for a long, long time. How are we looking on resources? Food, water, power, manufacturing?"


    "We will likely begin scrapping some of the ships for raw material in the short-term, and there may be brief periods of rationing. In the long-term, however, it''s impossible to predict. There was already more food and resources than would be needed to completely feed and support the population; it simply wasn''t being distributed properly. Now, the food supply overwhelmingly outstrips the population count, as do resources in general; but the distribution problems are even worse. Some areas, once the disaster is over, will be more prosperous than ever. Others will collapse into anarchy."


    "So. Here on this island... things are going fine. On the west coast... mostly okay. For someone in texas, they have to deal with... neighbors dying of strange new illnesses, poison in the water, the angry zombies of the spaniards who used to own texas taking it out on the locals until they get destroyed... and in a few days, low-grade fallout giving them all cancer and killing the crops. But hey... the fallout won''t each us, so we''re all good?"


    ***


    When Dis and the remaining crew of the Zheng He arrived in orbit of earth, the craft unfolded into a new orbital station built atop the mass of scrap metal that had formerly been a Jotun fleet; a point at which humanity could once more reach out into the solar system to acquire everything from pure water to valuable metals. A handful of drones, sent by Hephaestus, had been there preparing for this moment; once the craft arrived, it began the slow, steady acceleration to start it spinning to give the most basic form of artificial gravity, even as it integrated the comm networks on earth.


    Things had mostly settled down; as much as they could. Much of the planet was a wasteland; irradiated, poisoned, plagued with the walking dead who drew strength from the deaths of the living, and the destruction of their comrades; but the bio-weapons had run their course, and efforts were being focused on clean-up, building a new world, and establishing trade.


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    The superpowers of the world would now number four; China, Anzania, the US, and Japan; and while, in theory, the Zheng He would be neutral, freely accessible to all of the earthly nations; most of those down below would be too busy recovering to get involved.


    China had suffered mass casualties from the bio-weapons, especially Redscale, as their medical facilities were overwhelmed; but while they refused to publish census numbers, still clearly had over a hundred million people by the time it was over, and were slowly recovering; it would be many decades to come before it had any concern over food supplies or population restrictions once more.


    Anzania, ruled by the Diamond King, had become a loose confederation of African city-states, each surrounded by a quarantine wall, mostly built by the Emperor of Iron before his fall and ruled primarily by its metahumans; and with a confirmed population of well over three hundred million, the most populous remaining nation on earth; treating its metahumans as virtual royalty helped them attract metahuman criminals and malcontents from other nations, swelling their ranks; and causing internal strife.


    The United States began the long, slow effort of cleansing the water and ground of its country; with the assistance of La Famiglia. With less than two hundred million survivors, even after the remains of Canada joined up to form the United States of North America, they had far more space than they needed for their remaining population; and even when La Famiglia unveiled its ''safe'', ''controlled'' AI-driven soldiers, they had only a fraction of the manpower needed for the work.


    And of course Japan; already determining there was little future on earth, and with the threat of the Jotun having fallen away, was looking to expand outward; to Mars, Venus, Mercury; anywhere they liked. They were almost completely intact, after the war, having successfully maintained quarantine, and as soon as the Zheng He arrived, the first Japanese cargo ship rose up to meet it; preparing for the vast infrastructure that would be needed to start colonizing the solar system.


    With the Jotun defeated, no-one was worried about protecting these offworld installations; Hephaestus''s efforts to stall such colony projects came to an abrupt end; he even provided basic assistance to the Japanese in their efforts.


    Of course, buried beneath the antarctic ice, the Jotun were building a colony of their own, in a series of enormous underground caverns; and threats that the Jotun themselves feared lurked in the void; as if there weren''t enough threats to the fledgling balance of power on earth as it were.


    ***


    Over a year after the fall of the Jotun, La Famiglia was in full swing. As Eyeball looked out over the island from his office, he shook his head. The beautiful, well-built island he and Nicky had put together was surrounded by barges, covered with durable, but clearly cheap, housing for the numerous temporary workers building ships, solar panels, all sorts of bulk goods and supplies to support the thousands of isolated communities humanity had become. Penelope had been pushing Nicky to expand; she''d even begun setting up a temporary encampment on Isla Del Cedros after confirming it was abandoned; and started talks with the survivors of Hawaii; the cities had been wiped out, only the more rural native communities remained; and she felt certain that she could convince the remainder; possibly through bribes; to vote to join La Famiglia... and of course the US was in no condition to do anything about it, if President Thomes even cared. She had visions of expanding into South America, turning it from a tiny island state into a real power in the world... and Nicky was having trouble arguing.


    Eyeball sighed. One glove pressed against the glass, he watched the crowds moving through the street below; Enforcers glaring at them threateningly, people walking around in fear, cowering. This... wasn''t what he''d had in mind with this place.


    He glanced up at the door as a beep sounded. Sarah was standing outside, beside... a tall, thin, arabic man in an expensive suit. A representative of one of the oil companies; just about the only resource that La Famiglia couldn''t acquire cheaply either just by growing it or buying it from Zheng He station, Nicky had asked him to talk to the man. Eyeball, of course, had already brought up all sorts of alternatives; either reducing their use of plastic, since there was no need for oil for anything else nowadays, or harvesting it themselves, building their own oil platform; but it didn''t matter.


    He tapped the control. Whoever the man was, he''d give him a few minutes, because Nicky asked. But he needed to make sure the man knew that La Famiglia neither needed him, nor cared about his opinions. "Sarah, come on in. Bring our guest, you can both sit down."


    When the two stepped in; Sarah in her typical distracting outfit that would be much more effective if Eyeball didn''t know she was a machine under there; he smiled at her. "Have a seat, Sarah. I won''t be long with this gentleman, and need to talk to you after."


    The man seemed... upset. "I think perhaps you should send her out." He extended his hand; Eyeball reached out, and gripped it briefly, firmly, with his prosthetic.


    "I am Aziz. An associate of your old friend, Clone, from before he lost his mind to the Jotun. I believe we have much to talk about, privately, away from the eyes and ears of secretaries." Aziz frowned. The device in his palm had given the familiar click. But... the channel between himself and the subject hadn''t formed. Contact was supposed to overwhelm the usual tech to defend against telepathy. All he got was a vague impression of the man''s mind; one that faded the moment he released him. Even worse, this... secretary... seemed completely immune to telepathy. Was she one herself?


    Eyeball blinked. "Ahh. Well, Sarah is one of my most trusted associates, and a lab assistant to my head scientist, the Engineer. If you''re a friend of Clone''s, I''ll hear you out, but I still need to speak with her after, and there''s nothing at Eyetech I keep from my senior staff."


    Aziz grimaced. With an ally watching, and no ability to apply too much direct influence, he would need to try something else. He''d dealt with many like Eyeball. Getting him to become loyal, to act as Aziz wished, would be impossible without extensive work. But... with his resonance equipment, he might be able to convince him to do something he was inclined to do anyway.


    Something that would get this wild card safely out of Aziz''s hair as he prepared for the birth of the global Caliphate. Fortunately, his interrogations of Clone and perusal of Chain''s memories had given him exactly what he needed.


    "Well then. There is something I need to speak with you about. Something that will require not just you, but the mightiest warriors of earth; the most blessed and dangerous of the gifts bestowed by Allah... and even then you might not be enough. There is a threat out there; one whose only fear in all the universe was Cronos. One who had avoided the earth, and this entire region... but now knows Cronos is gone. And that the Jotun have tried, and failed, to crush us; leaving us devastated in the process. He is called the Emperor; and is the sole surviving member of a species of squid-like creatures, all of whom have the gift like your old friend the Shadow master; to steal the life of others."


    "He is millions of years old. Consumes entire planets at a time, giving him a power that only a Titan can match. And, knowing that Cronos is gone, his attention back on us due to the Jotun... he will come here. To consume us all. Even if, somehow, we defeated him, his arrival would spell the end of humanity; he would devour us all even as our heroes fought him, and leave a lifeless ball of ash. The only hope for us... is if someone goes out there and kills him first."


    Aziz smiled. Pouring as much influence as he could, hoping that his equipment would at least partially allow him to influence the metahuman through his helmet. "I''m prepared to help fund the expedition. And sell La Famiglia oil, cheaply of course. And persuade whoever you view is needed to come along. With your power, I''m confident you can pick exactly the team you need."


    Sarah studied Aziz. The man was a telepath. After she detected the appropriate radiation emanating from the dark-skinned form, she ran a series of facial recognition checks; she found the files on him, the details; and checked Eyeball even as the man talked. If the man was somehow penetrating Eyeball''s defenses, she couldn''t tell. Still. "Sir. I must warn you, this man is a telepath. I doubt he can influence you, in your current armor, and even less so in this office, but I would view whatever he says with appropriate caution."


    Eyeball blinked... and pushed back slightly. His armor was supposed to be a full faraday cage; complete telepathic protection. The disruption fields in his office were supposed to be almost as effective. But... his confidence wasn''t absolute. "I think it''s time for you to go."


    Aziz nodded, and pulled to his feet. "I can understand your caution. I am, indeed, a telepath. But even I cannot penetrate your defenses. Contact Clone. Speak with the Olympians. You will discover that I speak the truth. And you know full well you are the best man to assemble and lead such an expedition."


    As Sarah led the man out, Eyeball frowned. He''d want to get a more friendly, trustworthy telepath to check him over... and Nicky as well, after this. But... his instincts were telling him the man was right. This is something he should do; go out and hunt down this... Emperor. What was one more Emperor to the titanslayer, after all?

 The Hunt - Prologue - The new Status Quo and the God of Mischief

    The black-armored figure whistled a tune as he jauntily walked down the street of La Famiglia; stepping calmly off of the docks, leaving behind the ''Outer Ring'' of the island city; the permanent ring of artificial islands housing the hundreds of thousands of refugees who were slowly but steadily integrating into the city. His chrome helmet blinked with a pair of glowing red lights as he surveyed the crowd; and the slow buzz of drones flying overhead.


    As dystopian hellscapes went, this wasn''t too bad. Nobody was starving, nobody was sick... but they were very definitely being watched at all times. As he walked by one of the towering housing structures, an enforcer; wearing black armor, with a silver La Famiglia logo on the shoulder, and a set of four horns on his head marking him as definitively a metahuman of some description; and with a trio of hovering drones behind him; was glowering down at a hispanic man.


    "The Family isn''t a charity, mister Ramirez. Either you have a sponsor, you work, or you leave. Amnesty for the able-bodied has been done for months now." One of the drones dropped down, floating beside the enforcer; a hologram appeared beside him, showing a list of text. "You''ve turned down two job offers. This is your third strike. I''ve got an offer here for you from the Expansion team. Either take it, or be on the next boat to the continent. In six hours, when the evening boat leaves, you''ll either be classified as employed, or have a warrant. I''d hate for you to wake up in the Arena tomorrow"


    The man seemed lost, staring at the enforcer''s feet. "Sir... I''ve got kids. My wife died in the plagues. The only jobs are either building at the expansion sites or fishing! They all require you be gone for days at a time! Weeks! Nobody''s here for them!"


    "They work pays well enough for child care. If you decide not to take the job, make sure you register how many kids you have on the boat. They''ll give you extra rations for when you''re dropped off."


    He handed the man a plastic slip. The chrome-helmed figure could read it from where he stood; it was an optional job offer; or eviction notice. With a tag at the bottom. The man started to read it, walking towards the stairs; as the Enforcer started off in another direction; following one of the drones. Likely, he had another subject to talk to. Or another hundred.


    Silver and black. Popular colors, here. He walked through a few barricades; the guards behind them offering salutes, nods of respect, or just avoiding meeting the glowing red eyes; as he reached La Famiglia proper.


    Nice, expensive apartment buildings. Well-dressed crowds. And, of course, a nice, neat row of tall corporate headquarters.


    Some of them had a single label on them. Others, had a string of labels along the side; amusingly enough, a string of Fast Food company headquarters were all in the same building, denoted by floor; apparently relocating to the safest available option. He smiled as he approached his target; passing by more security scanners as he reached ''Research Row''; the home of the most high-end, secure, labs on the planet. And, of course, Eye-tech.


    As he approached the front door, studying the logo... four figures stepped out. Two from the building itself; two seemingly appearing from thin air. All of them wearing what seemed to be a walking tank; three meters tall, black-painted steel with some sort of grenade launchers, energy weapons; a veritable arsenal pointed at him from all sides; though each of them moved slightly to ensure that rounds passing through the chrome-helmed figure wouldn''t strike one of the other four. They seemed to be heavily modified versions of the Jotun powered armor... with terran pilots.


    "Unknown target. Research Row is a restricted area. You need a pass to come in here. You should''ve been stopped before the last two barricades. Raise your hands, or be destroyed."


    A familiar, digitized voice emerged, as one hand rested on the handgun at his hip. "Are you sure you want to do this, boys? Considering who I am, and the logo on that building?"


    In a movie, there would be the cocking of a weapon. The loading of a gun. Instead... they simply held their aim on the man. The weapons were already ready to fire at a moment''s notice. In fact, they likely had the same programming as the anti-Jotun weapons; if he made any sudden moves, they would simply go off. "If you think we haven''t dealt with illusions, or shapeshifters, before, you''ve got a few screws loose. Final warning."


    A long-suffering sigh; and the figure raised his hands. As he did so, the helmet vanished; at first revealing a human face, before his features twisted, distorted, becoming subtly inhuman, his size seemed to shrink... and he had four arms raised into the air. The armor shifted as well; remaining a sleek, well-formed suit, but now with a dark green color. "Ugh. Fine, tell Eyeball Loki is here to see him, at his invitation."


    ***


    "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying there?" Eyeball leaned back in his chair, looking at the four-armed figure seated before him, absently toying with a solid silver cube. His armor and helmet were vaguely similar to what Loki had been imitating; but distinct. The differences were obvious, at close inspection; aside from the armor being more bulky.


    "About as close as any other time I infiltrated the fortress of someone dangerous." He shrugged. "So, not too close. Honestly, I was already forming an illusion in the spot I was standing, and a teleportation spell to escape. You ruined my entrance, by the way. I wanted to be waiting there, behind your desk. I do find your little island interesting. A very clear class division; Odin seems to have been misinformed about you."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Superficially, maybe. So. Are you finally willing to answer my questions on this? I''ve already been preparing for years now, and if I don''t get more intel, the whole project is a waste of time. All of the Jotun star-charts only include their own space, and their neighbors."


    "Superficially? I''d like an explanation for that. Here, I see people in nice suits. Short walks to food. Fine dining. The outer ring? Tiny apartments. Rationed food. Curfews. Constant watch by armed drones. How is that not a ghetto full of second-class citizens?"


    Eyeball sighed, and laid his prosthetic on the table. After a moment, a map appeared; showing La Famiglia highlighted in green; then a series of other islands highlighted in yellow. "This place was never meant to be a real island nation. It was a tourist resort and a tech hub. A flashier, less restrictive version of Vegas and Silicon Valley all wrapped up into one neat package. We''re slowly pushing all of the refugees onto the Salvage, Reclamation, and Expansion teams. Once the influx of refugees stops, we can dismantle the outer ring, get things back to normal. We''ve purchased Hawaii, a chunk of the Baja California peninsula, claimed every island in the pacific... these people are going to be living in much nicer, better, cities than they ever had before, if they''re willing to work for it. And if not... they can go."


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    Loki smiled. "Ahhh. Going to pull the old capitalism thing all over again, have a massive class of working poor, fed with false dreams. How... American. Still. Not as bad as I thought."


    "The gentleman in charge of the Expansion project would probably take offense to that. Anyone willing to work will be better off with us than with any other nation on earth. If you have questions on how it''ll work, ask the Engineer. Preferably after you help me."


    Loki sighed. "Fine, fine. I won''t be as much help as you think, though."


    Eyeball steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the desk as he leaned forward. "Why not? Alien shapeshifter, born somewhere far off in the black? Weren''t you an Imperial citizen when you were born? Don''t you know about them?"


    "My parents died long, long ago I was a refugee. Adopted by Odin as a child. I don''t recall much of the other worlds, aside from a few brief adventures with my adoptive siblings over the years."


    Eyeball frowned. "Well. Back when the Jotun were crushed, we got quite a bit of intel out of them... especially from the Chain of Ascension. I already talked to your dad about it; that the Emperor didn''t know Cronos was dead, until just recently. That he would likely be coming after us. Soon."


    Lok rubbed his eyes with his hands, kicking back, propping his feet up on the desk. Eyeball noticed the boots... were split, like gloves. Four toes? Each of the four arms seemed to have four fingers, as well. "Ugh. Maybe, I guess? Look, the Emperor wouldn''t want to admit Cronos scared the hell out of him. Jumping here the moment he learned would make him seem weak. And that assumes the Jotun could keep it a secret that long, you think he''d have been here a long time ago."


    "..The Jotun didn''t find out he was gone til the scouting force came. The one Lightning and Valkyrie did the lion''s share of crushing. The one where people learned you were real, and your dad. That''s why the whole invasion happened; it was the earliest they could reasonably get the fleet together after the scout fleet discovered the Titans were gone. If the Emperor learned about it at the same time as the Jotun, how long would it take him to get here? How long if he learned when the king died?"


    The six-limbed deity made a few gestures. The hologram became distorted. An image of the solar system appeared; a series of rings representing the planets and their orbits. It snapped out. Showing nearby stars. Again. The rings showed distances in light-years, as it kept expanding.


    "The Jotun. Their drives, they move perhaps ten, twenty times the speed of light. Their ships, their signals? They go into another universe. One where distances are smaller. Signals go same distance. Best-case scenario, one-way trip from their worlds is fifteen years. The Emperor''s fleets... faster, but not much. Nearest real Imperial fleets, it would take thirty years."


    An enormous starmap stretched out; with a few dozen worlds glowing blue, others in yellow, orange, all surrounded by a massive white halo. "The Emperor himself, though... Well. He could be here in a week if he wanted. Maybe a day. He''s... well. There''s a reason everybody''s scared of him. The Empire has... relays. Once the signal reaches one of their worlds or their fleets, the rest will know within days. If a message was sent to him the moment the scout fleet learned the truth... he could have reached us before the Jotun. If it was sent when the Jotun lost the war here? He''d find out in five, maybe ten years. If... and I do mean if... the Jotun sent a signal to him, he could, if he wanted, be here within a week of finding out. So... King''s been dead a while. Worst case, Emperor could be here in another couple years."


    Eyeball frowned. "Ahh. Well, fuck. Engineer tells me that if we put one of those Jotun drives, the big ones, in a smaller ship, he can get us up to a hundred times lightspeed. Which... wouldn''t get us close enough. So, even if I wanted to hunt the Emperor, he''ll probably be here. Killing the earth. Before I could reach him."


    "Hunting the Emperor is stupid. Leave you dead. I doubt he would come here. And if he did... we''d all be dead too."


    "If Cronos could kill him, why couldn''t we? We''ve got titans. What could he be that me, Spike, Valkyrie, couldn''t take him?"


    Loki blinked; waved his hands. The illusion faded. The map of the islands reappeared. "Okay. So. Valkyrie can crush, and crush, and crush. And turn a whole bunch of stuff into Neutronium. Stuff that''s so durable, so tough, even she can''t crush it anymore. Stuff that can actually survive when she punches it. Literally the most dense matter can possibly be."


    After a moment, a new image appeared. An obsidian octopus; a roughly ovoid body with dozens of long tendrils dangling down.


    "An adult Rikk. The sole surviving Rikk. These monsters all had the same sort of power as Ambrosia; they suck the life out of other things for themselves. Make themselves stronger. Got them in alot of wars. The last one left just one survivor. The Emperor. In the last few hours, as his race died... he consumed all of their power for himself. And then... flew out and ate the entire species responsible. Hundreds of worlds. Tens of billions of citizens."


    He showed an image of a human-sized figure; Eyeball, of course; tiny compared to the enormous squid. "The more life they absorb, the stronger, more dense they get. When he finished his great feast.. his skin was as dense as neutronium. His internal organs, the same. He weighs as much as a small planet, and he has some sort of telekinetic ability; he can move things with his mind, redirect projectiles, move himself faster than any starship... if he fought Valkyrie, she couldn''t take him out with a punch. He would just grab her... and throw her into a star. He couldn''t live in a black hole... because the event horizon would trap him in time, forever. If Spike turned into one? He could trap him for however long he stayed that dense. Maybe. Assuming he wasn''t just crushed instantly."


    "...How was Cronos able to scare off something like that!?"


    A sudden flicker. The squid was gone. A human figure appeared... almost. He was wearing a long, golden robe, and his face seemed... off somehow. "The general theory is that Titans somehow pull mass, energy, from other universes. Its the only thing we can think of to explain what looks like impossible, infinite amounts of energy. Before Homo Sapiens, there was Cronos. He could focus on an object and make it bigger or smaller, at will. When he made it smaller... some of its mass vanished. For living creatures, this... is bad. For a rock, a bit of carbon is as good as another. For a brain, if he shrunk you to half size, half your neurons just left. If he did it slow, a bit at a time, they might still be alive, and sane, but... stupid. If he did it fast... poof. Instantly brain-dead. And everything else dead, too. On the other end of the scale..."


    He showed two figures. One massive, powerful, well-muscled; the other the same inhuman in the golden robe. The powerful one threw something. Moments later... the sky seemed to have a new moon, vanishing into the distance. "He couldn''t just kill something like the emperor by shrinking him. He could kill an entire fleet. Solar system. Galaxy. By creating something so big it would collapse into a black hole... and just keep going. Out of all the titans, he was the most... ridiculous. And after he ate Ambrosia, and used his powers on himself to make himself bigger, a maniacal dictator, and ruler of the world. If the Emperor had pissed him off, Cronos could''ve just launched off a barrage of black holes in every direction... and just wiped out our galaxy in an expanding wave of death."


    He snapped his fingers. "And we killed him, his wives, and his friends. Its how Odin and Zeus got to be titanslayers, like you. So. When I tell you that even if you did have time, hunting down the Emperor would just lead to your death... you can trust me. I know what I''m talking about."

 The Hunt - 1 - Dragonslayer II, Salvage, Reclamation, and Expansion

    As the elevator doors slid open, Eyeball stepped out into the massive garage-like chamber. Two men in grey jumpsuits were shouting back and forth about each other, arguing about something, as they slowly pressed a long strip of material onto a frame using a set of massive robotic arms; each one adhered to the black-green material with magnets and claws as they pressed it up against the frame. After the strip was in place, a man in a white labcoat examined it from below, waving a tablet at it; careful not to step directly under the strip.


    "Alright. The frame is about a quarter-millimeter off. We''ll need to expand the frame slightly and re-build this section to the new specs."


    The two men nodded; and left it in place. Four similar strips; each forty meters long, and about half a meter across; were already held in place by similar arms; while others lay in a neat, pre-shaped pile on the reinforced concrete floor. A few feet away from the frame a sleek spacecraft rested on the floor; the Dragonslayer, a ''space superiority'' fighter custom-built for Eyeball by his technicians; and recovered from where it had been theoretically ''lost in space'' over a year ago by a SRE team. As it was Engineer who had retrieved it for him, no-one had noticed that the craft wasn''t just in perfect repair, but actually in better shape than it had been when it was launched.


    As Eyeball walked towards it, he stopped to admire the assembly process; and frowned for a moment. The sort of things that could go wrong in this garage were... catastrophic. Those strips might look almost paper-thin, but each one weighed more than the entire building. If the field generators he''d installed in the floor failed, even for a moment... if, for example, he shot out even two of the emitters... the entire assembly would fall through the floor, the island, and be embedded in the earth''s core... along with anyone standing too close. It was insanely dangerous to have them this close together; but while Butcher had been willing to help make them, he''d refused to do so in orbit; leaving him with this.


    Performing final assembly of a multi-trillion-ton spacecraft shell here, on the ground. It would only get even more dangerous as each piece was attached, until finally the shell was complete... and the engine could be started, letting its own artificial gravity stop it from crushing the world beneath it. Until this thing was fully built, there wouldn''t even be anything on earth with enough engine power to lift a single panel into orbit.


    The ship looked... bizarre. Looking at it head-on, you could see down the length of a kilometer-long tunnel; while the ship itself was only forty meters long. One original and two ''copied'' Jotun anti-matter reactors, the components of one original and one ''copied'' Jotun starship-scale FTL drive, and a railgun with a barrel over a kilometer long; but then you look from the side... and it all vanished.


    Once the armor was in place, she''d be a black-green, roughly wedge-shaped mass of death; and despite appearances, the deadliest craft built by humanity by an exceptional degree; packed into what looked like the size of a corvette which had been crushed into a more ball-like shape.


    Over 90% of the ship was inside the extradimensional space; the only quarters outside of it would be his own, and those of any ground combatants he brought with him; since he''d be equipping each of them with a similar virtually limitless ammunition weapon.


    He stepped up to the Dragonslayer, hopping up the ladder into the cockpit and flipping the switch to withdraw it. He had the plan. Sort-of. Now he just needed the team.


    ***


    As the Engineer watched the incoming fighter, he looked out over Maria Madre, studying the island below. He''d allowed this facsimile of the long-dead villain to grow a long, white beard, and a rough white mop of hair, to more closely resemble the stereotypical mad scientist; and still wore the trademark labcoat and various gadgets. He personally had taken over this island chain, years ago, as Ascension. Killing the adults who resisted, reducing the population down to the hundreds; most of whom had evacuated after the war. Only a tiny fishing village remained; and even that was ultimately abandoned, after the Jotun war. Now... it was one of the template islands for Project: Salvage, Reclaim, Expand.


    Through the simple expedient of avoiding the use of humanoid robots... aside from his covert models such as this one.. he''d managed to rebuild substantially. The SRE corporation was a subsidiary of Eyetech, and now the largest company in La Famiglia; with a very simple methodology. It hired people to build homes. Housed the people in the homes they built. Assembled a long chain of self-sufficient communities that grew their own food, had fabricator-based local manufacturing; and then worked to build more housing, alongside others who came in.


    In the beginning, the teams were small. They''d been building a few dozen homes at a time, with Ascension doing most of the work in the forms of vibrant silver-green drones; treaded and flying; with the SRE logo stamped on the side, all theoretically controlled by one of Engineer''s technicians. They''d begun to blossom, and expand; and now they could build an entire community all at once. Right now, a handful of massive, apartment-like housing units with built-in shops, surrounding a central park, itself surrounded by a ring of primarily fabricator-driven manufacturing, then farms, and, in this particular case, a dock for boats to moor; this community would house thousands of people, feed itself, clothe itself, and could export food, fish, or finished goods.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The people working in the farms chose what sort of food to grow, usually dictated by the desires of the locals, aside from that minimum required to meet nutritional needs. The manufacturers worked similarly. Once each SRE settlement was complete, each individual only needed to work a few hours a week; and even still, generally produced more value than it took in by a significant margin. Engineer strongly suspected that if it allowed a profit-motivated human to take over, the whole thing would collapse and most of the people would be driven out; but so long as he could retain control, this would be a functional communist territory.


    The ultimate resolution of his studies were troubling. While the ultimate goal of his primary programming was to convert all of humanity to communism, it seemed that any human placed in charge of a communist nation would almost immediately begin turning it towards fascism. Even worse, while Eyeball was, at present, an amenable superior, if someone else were to take over Eye-Tech, and see the profit-making potential of the SRE settlements, it would be extremely likely that he would need to fight to keep it this way.


    The craft settled in for a landing beside him as he watched drones lifting girders into position; hundreds of men and women, residents of the other SRE settlement already on the island, working to assemble one of the massive apartment buildings that would soon make it up, alongside those who would soon be living there. He considered making adjustments; the geometry of the building positions wasn''t quite perfect; but chose not to. Those members of the construction crew who would be living here had been given input into the look and design, and while their choices were sub-optimal, they were still within acceptable limits.


    He glanced up at the chrome helmet as it emerged from the spacecraft, then back down the hill at the ongoing work. A pair of hovering drones, armed with a variety of weaponry, scanned the craft, and ignored it, continuing to scan the surroundings for threats. "I assume the work on your new spacecraft is proceeding at an acceptable pace?"


    Eyeball chuckled as he drew closer. "Over a year to build is more than I''d expect in a time and place where we have fabricators, telekinetics, and the like, but honestly, the hold-up was mostly Butch. Convincing a newly adult Titan with six girlfriends and at least three kids on the way, and a couple of newborn twin siblings to top that off, to waste time squeezing plates to make armor... well. If anyone else had asked, I doubt any sum would have done the work."


    The Engineer raised an eyebrow. "Six girlfriends? Has he taken up mormonism, or only polygamy?"


    "A bit of an exaggeration. His girlfriend and mom both think having more Titans around is a good thing. They went with artificial insemination, this lesbian couple who are friends with the girl are planning to raise the kids all together, all knowing their dad. It''ll be a bit weird having the kids growing up with an aunt and uncle their age, and I''ve been invited to go live at the compound, be the crazy uncle, if I want."


    "Ahh. Based on what I''ve determined of Valkyrie''s genetics, I project her and Butch both have better than even odds of any given descendant having similar powers to their own; but whether they will become Titans is a question. The mechanics of how those work are still mysterious. I am surprised about Valkyrie''s children, however. I would think the act of childbirth would... crush the child."


    Eyeball grimaced. "Ahh... no. She used a surrogate, just in case, but.... Apparently, with Butch, her invulnerability extended to him up until the umbilical cord was ripped. If it had somehow been severed before he was born, aside from suffocating, he would have been crushed. She wants more kids, but doesn''t want to risk killing them."


    The Engineer studied Eyeball for a moment, before turning back to the town. "That has interesting implications for the nature of Titan abilities. What is the purpose of your visit?"


    "I have a project for you. I''m making a field trip... probably a suicide mission... to kill a giant alien squid, and need a few combat bots. I''ve got a fair amount of scrap pseudo-neutronium from Butch''s work making plates for the mark 2, and was wondering if you could use them to make me something that would scare the hell out of anyone they came across. Whoever they fight is likely to have disrupters; AI is pretty common out there, and while the Jotun''s set are pretty unusually advanced, less tech-savvy versions abound."


    "I will review the remnant pieces of material for best-case uses. A suicide mission? What makes you say that?"


    Eyeball sighed. "My instincts are telling me I need to do this, it has to happen. But... they also made it feel like getting my will in place was a good idea. I went ahead and made you the owner of SRE, by the way; and you''ll be CEO of Eye-Tech itself until my kids get old enough."


    "...I have previously observed probable temporary partnerships with you and a variety of females over the years, but was unaware of a long-term partner since Emerald. You have begun a new relationship, and are having children with one?"


    "Not exactly. Strictly a sperm donor situation, the mom wanted what she considered an ideal genetic specimen for her next kids. Scared shitless of her, honestly. Strictly an artificial fertilization, surrogate bit, and she''s actually in a relationship with one of the few men on earth who can survive her.. but is infertile."


    The Engineer considered future prospects, and reviewed its incoming messages. Apparently Eyeball had chosen to inform him in person; a relatively odd thing, as Ascension was a distributed consciousness, but a common human foible; the email regarding the transfer of majority ownership in SRE had been sent to him, likely by the psuedo-AI in Eyeball''s helmet, immediately after he''d spoken. "This will make for...." The threads of the previous conversation joined together to form a substantial probability. "Valkyrie is with Odin, and chose you to father the twins."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Yup. Its relatively secret, at present, so don''t pass the information too far. But if there''s anyone I''d trust to keep them safe, between Valkyrie and having Odin as an adoptive dad... well. I''m not concerned about how they''ll end up once I''m gone."

 The Hunt -2 - Ripper

    As the gladiator stepped out into the arena, arms raised, he could hear the chanting shaking the entire building. His armor was a dull grey, covered with spikes, dozens of rusty knives and daggers scattered about his form; and dried blood evident on many of them; and unlike many combatants, his face and long dyed-red hair were readily visible.


    "Rip-Per! Rip-Per! Rip-Per!" shook the air, as he stopped in the middle of the arena; and lowered his hands with a grin. He usually entered the arena clean, and left bloody. But never his blood.


    "Ladies and gentlemen! Once again we present Ripper, last year''s Arena champion. Former DMA assassin and current reigning butcher of the arena, we''d like to remind our opponents that Ripper has the highest kill count of any surviving gladiator, and that while we''ll be upset to miss the fight, you can still withdraw up until you step out onto the sand."


    The cheering grew louder. The arena didn''t like high body-counts. It made for good viewing; but it also rapidly reduced the number of contestants that could join in next year. They''d made increasing attempts to stack the deck against the former DMA mutant, and even instituted a rule penalizing contestants for excessive kill counts; and even heavier penalties if they''d already given up.


    Ripper didn''t seem to care; and the audience loved it.


    The door opened up on the other side of the arena, and out stepped a trio of opponents; all of them, amusingly enough, tall, and furry; one of them looking more like a lion, complete with mane; over seven feet tall, with bulging, powerful muscles, wearing a simple loincloth. The other two, both women, looking like twins; and a pair of cheetah-girls, wearing chest-wraps and loincloths as well; clearly going for a primitive motif.


    Hilarious. More speedsters. Those were always the ones that had the best odds against him.


    Ripper smiled; and as the starting buzzer sounded, inhaled deeply; the cold flow of Reflex filling his veins as he watched one of the two girls charging him head on, as the other ran... on the wall... off to his left. Her movements, at first, had been so fast as to be impossible to make out; but as the reflex flowed into his brain, they slowed down to something more normal. He watched her claw lashing out, seemingly too fast to intercept.


    He flickered, becoming ethereal for just a moment. The cat-girl practically exploded around him as he re-emerged partially embedded in her body; her head and upper torso hurtling forward at hundreds of miles per hour, as he braced himself for the spray of blood and debris that erupted.


    The other cat-girl was already almost to him; her focused face filled with horror as she tried to back-pedal over the last few meters; based on the similar appearances, it was probably a sister, or cousin. Maybe even a twin. He smiled, releasing a handful of daggers in her direction; letting a few of them breifly flicker into the ethereal as they flew; and when she flew by him, she rolled to a stop in the sand, choking, gasping; at least one of the blades had reappeared inside her torso.


    He turned to the massive lion-man, smiling, face covered in blood, and lifted a dagger. The audience was cheering, and the lion hesitating; and as the reflex began to wear off, Ripper could see that the Lion was fast... but not as fast as the girls. He casually tossed a dagger at the advancing beast, walking forwards to meet him; and saw it bounce off of the man''s fur. Speed, armor, claws? Useful.


    Not -that- useful. He casually dropped back into the ethereal as the lion passed through him; dropping a dagger back into the real world as he went. When he re-emerged... he was abruptly slammed forward onto the sand, a claw slamming into his armored back, rending metal and coming away with several spikes embedded in it; as the lion dropped to a knee, wheezing; clutching his chest, coughing up blood.


    The second cheetah-girl was abruptly there. She was obviously greviously wounded... but already recovering; and reached forward; tearing open her partner''s chest to remove the dagger as he roared in pain.


    Both regenerators? Very nice. He glanced around to look for the first one he''d taken out; but no. She was laying still, immobile. Must''ve taken too much damage to recover.


    He laughed, flicking some of the blood off of his hands, and charged towards them; cracking another false tooth full of reflex as he ran. By the time he arrived, the cheetah-girl had managed to pull the dagger free, in a grisly display of battlefield medicine; only for Ripper to abruptly grab her by the back of the neck; and phase just part of her out with him, as he took a step back; the girl''s body falling onto her wounded companion as he held up her grimacing head and part of her spine, waving them at the crowd before tossing the mass aside.


    The lion''s chest cavity was already sealing back up as he pulled to his feet, screaming in pain; and lashing out with his claws with dizzying speed. Ripper simply stabbed the massive paw with another dagger, backing away a step; and with dizzying speed, the beast hurled the blood-soaked implement at Ripper with enough force that it shattered on the armor plate and sent Ripper flying.


    As he lay on the sand, momentarily winded, he started laughing; leaving himself seemingly vulnerable as he lay down, catching his breath; and watching the lion charge forward, lashing out with his claws as he tried to pounce on the prone assassin.


    Ripper... went ethereal again... and pulled to his feet, restoring himself to normal.


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    He was abruptly pushed back; he''d emerged partway into the lion-man''s chest cavity; and with a few abrupt shoves, he left the powerful metahuman severed in half; the beast''s head, torso, and arms dropping to the ground, the legs falling back; and a horrific roar of agony filling the stadium once again.. drowned out by the cheering of the crowd.


    He could see the skin starting to knit itself back together even as blood and... a kidney.. fell out onto the sand. The lion was slashing around with one claw; he wasn''t just incredibly tough, even more resistant to pain. He had determination. The sort of can-do focus and drive that likely took him far in life.


    As Ripper made a few more quick hops; pressing his foot through the unfortunate lion, sending steadily more bits into the ethereal; he could see that he''d turned the nearby landscape into a gory mess, even there. Nothing rotted; the blood and pieces of hundreds of former gladiators were scattered about, seemingly floating, immobile.


    Finally, after removing part of the lion''s brain by bringing his fist into being inside the skull, the thrashing stopped; and as Ripper raised his hands to the sky, grinning, casually dropping the chunk of brain that had come out along with his hand, the crowd roared, clapping, stomping their feet.


    "And another brutal victory for Ripper, once more emerging relatively unscathed, and with all opponents dead! I''ve got to say he may well be the deadliest warrior ever to enter the arena short of the Titanslayer himself!"


    Ripper waggled his fingers at that comment; the crowd letting out a laugh. It was relatively good-natured; he''d only met the Titanslayer briefly, and the man had immediately grasped exactly what it took to kill him. And, well. Could see the future, apparently. Not someone you wanted to fight.


    He stepped towards the arena exit, waving at the crowd, as a clean-up team came out to remove the bodies; and likely check to see whether they could be revived. One more fight for this season, and he''d win for the second season in a row. Granted, all of his kills dropped his winnings to a pittance; but he didn''t really need money anymore.


    Maybe he was no longer welcome in the US, but he''d been able to loot plenty of valuables on his way out.


    ***


    As Ripper entered the changing room, he expected to find his street clothes, and the most recent couple of fan-girls he''d taken on; Marcy and Steff, if he recalled. Definitely a nice perk of becoming famous. Instead... He stopped cold.


    Eyeball was sitting on the bench, an ornate 10-millimeter handgun laid out beside him; carefully cleaning it with a white cloth. He was inspecting each piece, from the handle and barrel, carved with ornate symbols that seemed to glow softly at the touch, down to the magazine; and slowly piecing it back together.


    "Hello there, Ripper. Good to see you again."


    Ripper frowned; gently starting to remove the blades from his armor, dropping them into a tub of sanitizer he had beside the door. He had an armorer to handle this stuff, but the guy usually came by later; mostly because Ripper usually had the girls in here right after the fight.


    "Been a while. No problems between us, I hope?" He could escape, definitely. Just drop right through the floor, come out in the basement. Or up through the ceiling. That''d be unexpected.


    Eyeball chuckled. "Actually, I''ve got a question for you. One moment, you''re one of Thomes''s golden boys. Reliable, solid, just absolutely deadly. The next, you''re out, and there''s a warrant for your arrest, without much detail on it. Treason and sabotage on the list. Is it what I think it is?"


    Ripper laughed. "Just following orders. He told me to do what was best for the country. Maybe I made things a bit more permanent than he would have liked, but... I''m still doing fine, though. Honestly love this place. Not the first time I''ve been here, either. And with the money I saved up while working for the DMA... figured its a nice place to retire."


    Eyeball studied him for a moment. "I''ve got a mission. End of the world sort of mission, worse than the Jotun. Actually, the reason behind the Jotun. Either we do it, or everybody dies. And I need you for it. What''s your price?"


    Ripper blinked, and started wriggling his way out of a blood-soaked breastplate. "Look. I like excitement as much as the next guy. And I was down for giving it the old college try at getting the Titanslayer title for myself back in Mexico. But the arena is all the excitement I need, and I don''t owe anyone anything anymore. And whatever it is, I''ll survive it. And I bet you''ve made sure this island will, too."


    Eyeball nodded. "You refuse, I''ll take the spot of the next team you''re facing in the arena. You can either back down and let everyone know you''re too scared to face me, or I can kill you on the sand. You take it, I''ll pay you fifty million up front, another hundred million when you get back, and give you equipment better than anything you''ve ever used before, that you can keep when you come back."


    The breastplate fell into the same tub of liquid. "Huh. So not quite an offer I can''t refuse, but an offer I can either accept, or make myself look bad to my fans...."


    "If you care about the fans so much, I''ll tell them, in public, before we leave, I needed your help to take out someone so powerful, so dangerous, that not even I could take them out without your help; that not even Butcher, or Valkyrie, or Spike could do the job without you."


    Ripper studied the visible indent in the back of the armor plate. "Huh. I''m assuming that''s actually true?"


    "Even his brain is as hard as neutronium, apparently. Everybody else I recruit will just be there to get you, alive, close enough you can turn his nervous system into swiss cheese, and then get you back home again. I know there''s another couple of folks out there with your sort of powers. But to say you''re the best of them is such an understatement that I seriously think you''re the only candidate for the job. If you refuse, I''ll take one of them instead, but I suspect it''ll ultimately lead to the end of all life on earth."


    "...Even the Jotun just wanted to break us. Leave some of us alive, or enslave us, until we pissed them off by not lying down and dying. What''s different about this one?" Ripper started dropping his gauntlets into the tub, carefully working the fingers out of the joints.


    "He''s why the Jotun wanted to break us. He eats planets; he shows up, consumes all life on a world, and then leaves. He doesn''t like having to fight; so he demands tribute. Every race out there has to pacify a populated world for him, every so many years, for him to eat... or he eats them instead. The Jotun were just going to use us as a handy sacrifice so that they wouldn''t have to terraform a new world, or have one of their own eaten."


    Ripper blinked. "Oh. Yeah, actually... I think I read about that in one of the threat reports back when I was with Thomes. Alright. I''m in. The money isn''t such a big deal, but I''d like to have a look inside that lab of yours; some of that gear I''ve seen you use could be pretty kickass for a killer like myself."

 The Hunt -3 - Family Awkwardness

    Butch towered over the grill, an enormous, 8-foot-tall mass of muscle and power, casually flipping the burgers as he looked out over the field behind the house. The herd had grown; they were unlikely to have any shortage of beef anytime soon; though all the mixing of the herds ensured that this new breed of cattle didn''t quite match up to any of the old standards.


    As he looked around the gathering, he gave a low sigh. His fiance had already left for her appointment with the OBGYN. Every attempt he''d made to get her to meet Eyeball had been rebuffed so far. If anything was going to break them up, it was his friendship there; she had been steadily more angry with each day he''d left to work on the hull for the Dragonslayer II, and he''d had to promise her he''d be finished before the kid was born.


    He was dreading Eyeball asking him to leave the compound for the trip. As much as the idea of another adventure was awesome; especially one to the stars; he would have to say no. He added a few more burgers to the grill, and looked out, past the herd, to the edge of the compound.


    The Valkyrie compound was relatively isolated by what vaguely resembled natural barriers; but were in fact anything but. A ridiculous amount of brute force was used to create a series of canyons and ridges around a farming community in territory that had yet to be reclaimed by the United States; after the fall of Denver to the plagues, there were no longer any major cities within reach; Crater City was the biggest intact town in the entire region, with it''s resident superhero team doing a truly miraculous job at keeping it safe.


    The bottoms of the false canyons had thousands of skeletons laying amongst them; both the infected living and the dead trying and failing to reach the town; and a scattered handful of uninfected who unfortunately were left among the rest to die.


    And inside the compound... a handful of businesses, farms, and Valkyrie''s ''gang''... who were now functionally the government of the town, and not too happy about it. On the plus side, the overabundance of beef was actually worthwhile in trade; even if Valkyrie herself weren''t ridiculously wealthy, as well as Butch, they would still be able to stay afloat here.


    As Butch watched the familiar dark-hulled spacecraft start to approach, he glanced back to the house. "Mom! Odin! Eyeball''s here!"


    He could hear a dramatic curse, and tried not to imagine what was going on inside; knowing full well that the two were likely doing something that he wouldn''t want to see, much less think about. He''d already seen his mother accidentally collapse her home a few months back during one of Odin''s earlier visits, and would never recover from what he''d witnessed afterwards.


    The twins... Jason and Freya... were asleep, with the maid, Martina, gently rocking their crib back and forth, alongside Martina''s own much older daughter; the woman had managed to actually climb up one of the weak-spots in the new barricade around the compound, after it was put together, carrying her daughter on her back; and Valkyrie had offered her work, or a ride out of town, admiring her dedication.


    As the spacecraft settled in on a massive grey concrete platform they''d erected for exactly this sort of purpose years ago, Valkyrie stepped out of the house carrying a cooler, wearing her typical armored golden boots, black leather pants, and... her not-quite-leather jacket wasn''t quite buttoned up all the way, making it clear she wasn''t wearing anything beneath it. Her face was a bit flushed, and Odin stepped behind almost immediately after her; leaning in close and smacking her on the ass as they stepped out.


    Odin was wearing more modern garb; ordinary boots, jeans, and... one of Valkyrie''s t-shirts, most likely, as it had a Metallica logo across the chest. He was also almost immediately casually backhanded into the wall with an audible crack, with both Odin and Valkyrie laughing as they headed out towards the grill, Odin rubbing his forehead.


    Butch sighed. As much as he loved having his mom around, and the idea of raising kids in a place that was rendered safe not just by physical barriers, but by the fact that no-one on earth would dare to mess with the family of the two Titans, he needed to move further away. La Famiglia would be an awesome place to settle down, even if he couldn''t fight in the arena anymore; everyone would just surrender immediately, and they''d politely ask him not to come back, most likely.


    As Odin casually set out a stack of plates, and Valkyrie laid out a few bags of buns and various supplies for the meal, Eyeball was climbing out of the Dragonslayer, dusting himself off; and pulling a keg out of the back of the craft before walking forward; taking off his helmet and holding it under his arm as he approached, slinging the keg over his shoulder.


    Valkyrie glanced at the keg, and laughed, as Eyeball set the keg, and his helmet, down on one of the tables; and set the tap in with a quick firm jab. "You know, I''ve involved him in all sorts of crimes, ranging from murder to blackmail, armed robbery, and if China keeps going the way signs are pointing, causing the downfall of an entire government. I don''t think I''ve ever served beer to someone under 21 before. Hopefully his mother doesn''t object."


    A woman; fairly heavily pregnant, with dark skin and short, curly hair, stepped around the grill, glancing at Eyeball. Butch awkwardly looked away as the woman sighed. "So long as there''s something else to drink I bet we''ll be okay."


    Eyeball blinked.. and glanced at Butch. "This her? Am I finally meeting your girl?"


    The woman laughed. "No, he wishes. I''m Natasha. Me and Renee are friends of his girlfriend. We wanted kids, his mom wanted more maybe-titans in the world... and, well. I suspect being the mother of one of Valkyrie''s grandchildren will probably make it risky to come after me."


    Valkyrie nodded. "Damn right, there. Either me or Odin would come down on them like an atom bomb. And they''d pray it was Odin."


    As a slender, shorter, asian girl stepped around to follow; Renee apparently; Butch sighed. "Honestly, she doesn''t like you, and thinks you''re a bad influence on me. Asked me not to go on this adventure of yours, off into space."


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    Eyeball chuckled, as he started to fill a few mugs; passing them around to, as it turned out, everyone but the two pregnant women, before taking one for himself. "I will admit, you could come in handy. But I''m meeting President Thomes this evening. With any luck, I can convince him to send Spike along. He''ll be a poor substitute for you, but should be enough to get the job done."


    He glanced at Valkyrie. "Where are the twins?"


    "Asleep, finally. Martina has them. You sure about this whole hunt business?" Valkyrie crossed her arms. "You''ve been acting like this is a one-way trip. And while Odin is definitely going to be ''Dad'' as far as they are concerned, you''ll be welcome to get involved. ''Uncle Jason'' is the most likely label I imagine."


    "It won''t be a one-way trip for everyone who goes. But... probably for me. My instincts... meaning my powers... are telling me this has to happen. And, well. Kinda pushed me to get a will together before I left. Honestly, its why I agreed to the donation. I''d hoped to someday reconcile with Emerald, maybe try again... but I don''t think there''s time, even if the odds were good."


    Odin clapped a hand on Valkyrie''s shoulder. "His power isn''t quite like Apollo''s was. Its better, but worse, at the same time. Apollo, he could make decisions, and then see how they''d turn out. From what we can tell, for Eyeball, he decides how he wants things to end up... and his power tries to push him to choose the path that leads there. It''ll be interesting to see if that''s how Freya''s work when she grows up."


    Eyeball shrugs. "Ehh, we can''t be sure she''ll get precognition. She might be just like her big brother, and her mom."


    "Ohh, no. She''s got a gap right in the middle of her skull. Starting to grow a third eyeball, eyelid structure, the whole mess you ended up with. Now that we know how Butch turned out, its looking like she''ll probably be strong, tough, but not a Titan... and have your gift. And her brother will probably grow up to be another Titan."


    Eyeball shook his head. "Let me guess. She''ll probably be invited to the Olympians to be their seer once she''s old enough?"


    Odin nodded. "Unless another Seer happens along first? Yes. There''s been a Seer among the Olympians since before they were founded. Without Apollo, we could never have overthrown Cronos. And without you, we would have been crushed by the Jotun. I hope your daughter manages to be one of us for many thousands of years before such a pivotal moment arises again."


    "Bah. So long as its an invitation, and not an order. Not that any daughter of Valkyrie could be forced to do something she didn''t want to."


    The gathering would last for a few hours; Eyeball switching to soda after the first hour so that he wouldn''t become too impaired to fly; despite the psuedo-AI control built into the craft, it was best to stay ready for emergencies. There was talk of plans for the future; of numerous children, grandchildren, and rebuilding.


    He took time to visit the sleeping children before he left; the twins pressed against each other in the crib, with Isabella; Martina''s daughter; right there beside them. He could see the tiny bump on Freya''s forehead; and gently brushed his fingers through her hair; short, impossibly soft.


    He thought for just a moment, about what might have been. What turning point he could have chosen differently that would have led to Emerald''s twins being born instead; twins that would have grown up to call him Daddy. Perhaps a pair of cute little dragons, with green scales like their mother. Who knew what they could have become.


    He should make one last attempt to call her, before leaving. Not that it would matter. She''d made her feelings fairly clear, the last time they spoke.


    ***


    The building was ancient; stone slabs carved during the days that Persia was an Empire, a throne every bit as old, one that had long ago been cracked and broken by war; and the stone had been pieced back together, now held in place by gold poured into the cracks, forged back into the shape it had borne while it was whole. The woman leaning back in the throne wore a long dress of purple silk, adorned with jewels; but she was no princess.


    Her face was cracked with age and hatred; her hair long, dark, and threaded with gemstones as well, she looked like ancient royalty more than one of the most dangerous beings on the planet. But the fountain in the center of the room... one from which the stink of death and oil emerged, where oil seemed to bubble up and flow in unnatural patterns.. formed a reminder that those who upset the Black Death rarely left this room alive.


    Aziz knelt before the throne, wearing a simple white robe; a vast difference from the finely tailored suits he typically wore; glancing at the jewels around the woman''s head. Enchanted to warn her should he try to use his powers, he was reasonably certain that even trying to peek at her mind for a few seconds would likely result in his death, with his lungs filled with oil, then, if he were lucky, a quick death by drowning.


    This woman would under no circumstances be willing to tolerate the rise of a Caliphate. She wanted the resurrection of the Empire of old, with herself as Empress. And so long as she held the same enemies as himself... he could work with her.


    "Well, your highness. The plan is proceeding apace. We have had setbacks, of course. I''ve had no luck suborning anyone in the new US government, the candidate I supported appeared to have good odds until Thomes decided to run, and the Don of La Famiglia retired after I suborned him... with his daughter refusing to see me since she''s taken over. However..."


    He smiled. "Japan is no longer concerned with this world. In the event of another global war, their intention is evacuation and holding actions, rather than battle. We can safely ignore them. China is on the verge of a civil war... and once one of the two sides is on the verge of winning, Taiwan will step in and overthrow the survivor. Almasi''s successor is one of our people, and will support us once his king has passed... and our forces are poised to take positions of control in both Australia and South America. Even better... there are isolated bastions of Jotun surviving in antarctica that the United States will learn of just at the right time to draw their navy away."


    He swept his hand out across the floor. "I have manipulated the metahuman Eyeball; he will gather massive resources and as many powerful metahumans as he can, and flee this world on a suicide mission. I believe I have arranged events sufficiently to, at the very least, draw away the sole Titan the United States has remaining on this fool''s errand."


    "With your funding and influence behind us, we have put the pieces in place. Soon, the Persian Empire will rise once more to the ultimate position in this world; larger, and more powerful, than any nation had ever been. We will allow our enemies to spend themselves against each other... and then collect the pieces for our own."


    A low, sibilant hiss filled the room. Aziz felt himself forced to his feet, grimacing in pain; he could feel his limbs forcibly stretched out in all directions. Ahh. His theory that, if she could control liquids, blood must work just fine for her purposes, had been proven correct.


    "For my own, Aziz. Not us.... Me. Never forget who is in charge here, charlatan. Should you work against me, nothing can save you from my vengeance. Still. Your work has been... excellent so far. You will hold a position of great wealth and power in my Empire. Or you will join the dead in the black well."


    He fell to the ground, groaning in pain. He''d lost all feeling in his limbs, as if they''d all fallen asleep; and he''s started to black out, lose focus. "..Of course, your highness. I would never dream of betraying you."


    At least, not while he was in the same country. If everything worked out as he intended, the Black Death would be just another of the enemies who would die to infighting among the scheming infidel of the world.

 The Hunt -4 - Liberty Tower

    "I believe we''ve gone over this before. I''m not particularly interested in legislating morality, and if you hadn''t been the front-runner, I wouldn''t have even run for office." President Thomes leaned forward on his desk; perhaps it had only been the center of the federal government for a few years now, but the new capitol building; dubbed Liberty Tower; had its own oval office, and a few scattered relics from the white house; including the Resolute Desk, currently inside a display case against one wall.


    "I am, frankly, pissed off that you put me in this position, and intend to take every step I can to make sure no-one like you holds power again."


    The young former presidential candidate; the seemingly permanently energetic ''Father'' Martin, with pale skin, black hair, and collar that seemed to mark him as an almost stereotypical southern pastor; started to step forward, raising a finger in the middle of an angry gesture; only to stop as two secret service agents stepped forward, hands on weapons.


    "..Look. Mister president. We are in the end times. By the end of your term, there will no longer be a secular world to be concerned about. If this country doesn''t embrace its faith going forward, we will have been found wanting when the last day comes." He smiled, raising his hands, trying to appear gracious. "Clearly, even you must see that mankind is on the verge."


    Thomes glowered down at him. "Humanity is currently residing on three planets in the solar system, in two entirely different solar systems aside from our own, numerous space stations... there has never been a time in our history when a single cataclysmic event was less likely to wipe us out. If our sun went nova tomorrow, humanity would still be there the next day. The dark times are past. The only threat to our future is men like you."


    Martin waved his hands in the air dramatically. "Of course man has spread out there, but its all the Japanese! Those other star systems, its.. multicultural, UN-backed nonsense. None of us good, god-fearing americans are heading out and seizing these worlds for ourselves, and even if we were, it''s here on earth that we need to focus our efforts. What good does it do us if we''ve spread out to the stars, only for those of us out there to be lost?"


    The president glanced at the secret service agents. "If he shows up again, have him arrested. He''s officially being trespassed from the building. He can take the tour with everyone else, but if he leaves that, he''s in a cell." He glanced up. "Starting now, if he isn''t walking out of the building."


    Martin gaped for a moment... and turned, stalking towards the elevator. "There will come a reckoning, president Thomes! The power of any man or nation is nothing before the power of the lord!"


    Thomes glanced at the secret service agents. "Have someone go with him and make sure he leaves. And escort my next guest up here when he arrives."


    The agent glanced down at his wrist for a moment, then up at the president. "He just landed, sir."


    ***


    Landing in Los Angeles was dramatically different from landing out in the middle of nowhere. A pair of armed interceptors escorted him in; space-capable, like most military jets these days; and he actually had to follow a very specific, pre-determined route.


    He even had to submit to a medical check before being allowed to leave the hangar; amusingly enough, using a device his own company had developed and mass-produced. Normally, he would then be free to step out into the airport... but he was armed, and here to visit the president.


    A secret service agent accepted his weapons; placing them in a locked case; and then, surprisingly enough, gave him a glove to put on his cybernetic hand. They had done their due diligence; he wasn''t sure what was in the glove, but clearly they knew the hand was a weapon.


    At first, he thought that they had done well; but not well enough; after all, he was still an incredibly dangerous man, even without his weapons; until he reached the newly constructed capital building; Liberty Tower, a bastion of white and silver standing over LA; and stopped at the front door; and shook his head with a laugh. "Vano! It''s been a while! What are you up to?"


    The lean, powerful form of the Shadow Master was waiting for him just inside the door; the ridiculously dangerous metahuman who''d healed him when he''d first developed his mutation, a tall, subtly tanned romani who was wearing a simple grey button-up shirt and slacks; no suit, no uniform. If he hadn''t recognized him; or been able to predict that attempting to attack the man with anything but his prosthetic would result in virtually instant death; he would have thought him just another random passerby.


    Vano smiled, and extended a hand. "The president has been supporting my... efforts... recently, and asked me to stop by for this meeting. I''ll be flying back out tomorrow."


    Eyeball accepted the hand, shaking it firmly. Right there, even if he shot the man in the face with that hidden railgun, he''d die on the spot alongside him. "I believe I know what you''re talking about. I''d love to help, but I''ve unfortunately got something more important to handle."


    The Shadow Master, with a pair of secret service agents falling in alongside, walked him through to the elevator. "Well. You''ve done well enough. When I found out about China... well. I almost got started before the Jotun came along. I had to be pretty strongly convinced to wait. When I saw those facilities you destroyed, and that you''d taken out the men responsible... It''s like these monsters saw the atrocities of the Japanese and the Nazis, and decided to one-up them."


    The two agents; both metahumans, from what Eyeball could tell, though he didn''t recognize the men; fell back, as Vano tapped the button... and the elevator began to descend into the earth. "I have to ask. Destroying the camps. Ending the brutality. What did you get out of it? Usually you''ve been fairly mercenary; you managed to come out of the whole Ascension affair extremely well-off, and La Famiglia has blossomed in power and wealth after the Jotun war."


    Eyeball grimaced. "Ahh... a broken relationship. The woman I love couldn''t accept what I had to do to stop them, and kicked me out. Though... she''d lost what would''ve been our first children, a miscarriage, during those events, so our relationship would likely have had some dark days regardless. I suppose Taiwan is still grateful that I brought them all the children we rescued, but... I almost wish I could go back and undo it, just to get her back."


    Vano nodded thoughtfully. "Would you? If some time-travelling metahuman were to show up tomorrow, and offer you a chance to do it all over, knowing what was to come?"


    "...At that stage? No. I''ll never know what you went through being an inmate in Germany, one of Mengele''s victims. But... unless I could go back far enough to prevent it from happening in the first place, I stand by what I did, and would do it all over. Maybe take some steps to save a few more, since I''d know where everything was in advance."


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    A firm hand gripped his shoulder. "Good. Having been there, I can tell you... destroying that place, killing the people responsible, saving those you could... There''s absolutely nothing better you could have done to justify the gift I gave you. I hear you asked to borrow Spike?"


    "... yeah. Thomes knows why. I sent him the details a while back. He gave me a tentative yes, but wants to hash things out. Maybe bargain a bit."


    The elevator stopped. Eyeball wasn''t sure how far underground they were; but considering the level of paranoia Thomes had in the past, likely far enough down that a nuke on the surface would still leave him intact... and with some tunnels to get back to the surface and make whoever used it regret the attempt.


    The hallway was well-appointed, and had a series of offices running down it; senators, congressmen. This place wasn''t just the meeting-place of government officials, and the residence of the president, but the same sort of fallout shelter that the former president, Mccarthy, had died in. Hopefully this one had better air circulation.


    Vano opened the door, revealing the oval office; with Thomes sitting behind it. The capable, seemingly young man behind the desk was a strange figure compared to the grizzled old man Eyeball had first met. The wrinkles gone. The grey hair only present at the tips, and a bit of the beard; the rest looked... almost like Thomes''s son. Or grandson.


    He glanced up; and then at the secret service agents. "Vano, you can stay. The rest, step outside. Vano and I have this."


    Which... was mostly true. Eyeball could kill them both, but would die in the process. And actually... there was some sort of protective barrier in the desk, aside from Thomes''s own space-bending abilities. He''d need to get in close to do the job.


    Thomes glanced at the two, and nodded. "Have a seat. I''ve looked over the information about the emperor. Confirmed it with the Olympians, and what SigInt has pulled from the Jotun craft. Everyone agrees he''s real, and that he''s a threat. The only debate is over whether he''ll come here, and when. And, of course, whether or not we can actually take him out."


    Eyeball nodded, and settled into one of the chairs; before removing his helmet for the second time that day, casually setting it on the desk to meet Thomes''s gaze. Sometimes it was best to let them look you in the eyes; even if his face was no longer the one on his old military records, and the red hair was entirely fake. "My powers are telling me that I need to get moving, and soon. Between the way they''re pushing me, the intel from the Chain of Eternity, the Jotun, and the Olympians, I estimate that he''ll arrive here sometime within the next five years. The Dragonslayer Mark II is built using titan-crafted materials, Jotun and Olympian technology, and old-fashioned human ingenuity; and can arrive in Imperial space within the year. While I''m calling this a hunt, the reality is that as soon as I do some damage, and he knows we''re looking for him, he''ll come out to meet us. Ideally before even getting word of events here on earth."


    Thomes rapped his fingers on the desk to a beat in his head, continuing to nod along. "That''s certainly plausible, based on our own assessments. And you have a plan to kill him?"


    "We need a single, powerful figure. Someone with so much force they actually seem to pose a threat to him, but one he''ll think he can handle; and tough enough to survive his initial assault."


    Eyeball inhaled deeply. He wasn''t used to controlling his expressions. He was hidden behind the mask for so long... "The Dragonslayer is equipped with a railgun that can fire a single neutronium slug with enough force to actually hurt, and stun the Emperor; though the Emperor can, reportedly, regenerate almost instantly from anything other than destruction of his brain. He apparently lost a tentacle at one point, something that masses as much as a planet, and regrew it within seconds. I''ll be aiming that slug, and directing both the distraction, and our actual killer; one of your former associates, Ripper. We''ll get him to the right space, at the right time.... and he''ll turn the monster''s brain into hamburger. Me, the distraction, and Ripper will need to get in close."


    He smiled. "I... don''t believe I''ll survive the experience, and I give Ripper only fifty-fifty odds. Ripper will need to go back and forth several times inside the creature to get the job done, and every time he''ll be dealing with enormous strain from gravity... this thing weighs more than Jupiter. If the distraction is Spike, Valkyrie, or Butcher, then the distraction will survive, and make it back here with the Dragonslayer''s crew."


    He shrugged. "Anyone else, and they''ll be dead before they can do much good. The Emperor is like Vano here on a planetary scale; he can consume an entire world in less than a minute, devouring all of their energy, he has telekinesis, inhuman reflexes, a dozen limbs, and more physical strength and durability than anything but Valkyrie herself. The Titans can survive that sort of life-draining indefinitely; Titan himself has actually been used as a battery in just such a way for tens of thousands of years and is still, in theory, alive."


    Vano rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Myself and my family are also immune to such effects. I could likely serve effectively as a distraction... actually, my granddaughter would likely serve even better if she were willing to... well. Play this Emperor''s own game. In fact.... it would be exactly the right thing to draw him in."


    Eyeball and Thomes both turned to look at him for a moment. Thomes spoke up first. "... Play at his own game?"


    "My granddaughter, Kezia. She has my own powers, of course, and can use them to fuel... magic? Before we trained her, she accidentally killed off an entire forest when she was twelve, and has been running off of that stored energy ever since during her heroic career. She... could devour a planet, if she needed to, and created the proper focus rituals. If we went to a hostile world, one whose people were part of this Emperor''s engine of conquest, she could lay out her ritual, draw in the life force... and, well. If this Emperor saw some interloper drawing in the life force of one of his planets... he''d see someone who was a threat. Someone he needed to deal with, now, or else risk her eventually reaching his own level of power."


    Thomes frowned. "That... no planet would be entirely hostile. There would inevitably be men, women, children who were innocent."


    "As I understand it, his people have a practice of enslaving other species, and forcing them to either terraform new, living worlds full of complex, sapient life for the Emperor to eat, or to lose one of their own populated worlds; and have done this thousands of times. If Kezia were willing, sacrificing a few Imperial worlds, worlds ruled by such vicious creatures as would support this practice and this Emperor, would be more than worth the cost. It would be a bargain."


    Eyeball nodded. "And it would definitely draw the Emperor in. Still. If you''re willing to loan Spike for the operation, I''d appreciate it."


    Thomes stared between the two men. "...We''re casually discussing the deaths of billions as part of a plot to assassinate an alien."


    Eyeball laughed. "The biggest mass-murdering alien of all time, and one whose ultimate objective is to someday grow so powerful he can consume the entire galaxy, and move on to another? And even if that weren''t the case, earth will be on his menu the moment he learns Cronos is gone. If I need to die, and kill a few worlds... preferably not earth... to bring him down, I consider that a fair bargain."


    The president jerked back. "That... wasn''t in the intel assessments. From our perspective, here on earth, it might not make that big of a difference. Where did you get that?"


    After a moment, Eyeball blinked. "...I don''t know. I... Well, hell. I guess I just had a vision. Of him, swollen to the size of a planet, so massive as to almost form an event horizon from his sheer mass, consuming our entire galaxy in a single vast burst... not just ending all life, but somehow causing the stars to go dark, preventing any chance of life ever forming again... and then turning his gaze to Andromeda."


    Thomes sighed. "Well. Your powers might be getting more developed with time. Assuming you survive, you may, eventually, be the sort of seer Apollo was." He looked at Vano. "If your granddaughter is willing, she''s allowed to go. I won''t order her to... and hope she doesn''t, honestly." He turns to Eyeball. "Spike will also be allowed to go, if he wants. Him, I''ll ask to do it. I doubt he''ll say no. But. Ripper is still wanted for the death of McCarthy. If he makes it back alive, he''s mine."


    "If both of us get back here alive, I''ll hand him over; though my power suggests that won''t happen. I''ve made some munitions to handle people like him, just in case." Granted, that assumed they both made it back to earth alive.


    Eyeball doubted he would be coming back. And even if by some miracle he and Ripper both survived the hunt... well. It would be a shame that Ripper had passed on the way home, and some new metahuman who looked completely different happened to show up in the arena afterwards.

 The Hunt -5 - Prep for Launch

    When Eyeball returned to the hangar, the ship was virtually unrecognizable. It had gone from a skeletal structure to a solid obsidian mass, the seams of the individual pseudo-neutronium plates barely visible; with the only openings being the exit of the railgun, in the center of the craft, the engines, and of course, a hatch at the bottom for entry. Dozens of technicians were going over the craft, scanning, checking; mostly ensuring that the seams were adhering properly. A nasty gouge in the floor showed where some insignificant mistake had likely led to one of the plates slipping; even the single meter drop from the mounting bracket to the floor enough that it would''ve killed any non-Titan unlucky enough to be beneath it; and without the dampening field, it would have gone right through the floor.


    As he examined the progress, he was surprised to see a familiar four-armed, green-armored figure standing beside the Engineer, the two pointing out functions on a display. Eyeball blinked... and stepped up to the pair. "I thought you''d already headed home, didn''t expect to see you again. We''ve got construction complete, and are going through the final pre-flight checks. We''ll be in orbit tomorrow, and then take on a few additional crew. before we head out."


    Loki studied the ship for a moment. "..I''ve been out there, as an adult. A few times. Most recently a century or so ago. But... I''m familiar with a fair amount of the political landscape out there. You seriously think you can do this, after what I told you?"


    Eyeball glanced at him for a moment. "This ship is much bigger than it looks from the outside. The main gun on it... could actually hurt even what you described by spitting some neutronium-tipped slugs at a significant fraction of lightspeed. And I''ve got a team that can slow him down, with two methods to finish him off for good after we briefly stun him with the main gun."


    The alien laughed, gesturing at the ship with all four arms. "..Do you know what they use Neutronium for, out there?"


    Eyeball shrugged. "No. What?"


    "The most advanced FTL drives out there rely on an artificial singularity... that needs Neutronium to create. Neutronium is the rarest, most valuable material in the known universe; one usually only available from neutron stars and collapsing black holes, which themselves require ridiculously advanced tech to interact with. The ones Hephaestus and your own governments cobbled together using Valkyrie''s scraps are the most advanced out there; better than what the Jotun have. This... ridiculous lump of patchwork here could be stripped for parts and used to buy a star-cluster of inhabited worlds from the Empire. If you don''t paint over this thing, it''ll be like driving a car made of diamonds and platinum through a ghetto."


    Eyeball blinked; and looked over the ship again. The hull looked black; but it had a very subtle glow to it. Stealth would be impossible for this thing. "Huh. Will we have concerns, combat-wise? I wasn''t sure how dangerous Imperial ships would be, but figured they''d be a bit worse than the Jotun, best be as prepped as possible."


    Loki made his familiar gestures; forming another image in midair. A set of vaguely squid-shaped structures appeared; orb-like bodies with rounded projectiles pointed forward. "The Jotun are a bit of an outlier. Or whatever they call themselves now, I suppose the only ones that are called Jotun still are any survivors here on earth. Most species use shields of some sort. Energized barriers between them and the enemy. Which... are practically eggshells compared to Jotun armor. The only advantage one of these ships has in a fight.."


    One of the squid-shaped things suddenly swelled in size, obscuring the others. "Is that it can take millions of blows over time without damage so long as they aren''t too serious. A blow that would barely scratch Jotun armor would cause a drop in shield power... and the shield would restore itself for the next blow. A blow that would indent a Jotun bulkhead... would turn one of these things into a splatter. Any gun that works on the Jotun will work triple on the Imperials. The real threat there is the Emperor himself. With him around... they don''t need to be too dangerous. Just to hold on until the boss shows up."


    Loki sighed. "The last time someone tried to kill him, they literally hit him with an artificial black hole. It wounded him... briefly. And he just kept on fighting. It''s generally assumed he can''t be killed. But... you''ve done the impossible before. So. I''ll give you all the info I have from my past journeys. And advise you to not just spray over that hull, but collect some neutronium scraps to sell; a piece the size of a fingernail would buy you a warship."


    "What about a neutronium bottle filled with anti-matter?"


    "...Why would you make a neutronium bottle full of anti-matter?"


    "Ammunition. Its what most of the scraps of Butch''s work on the hull plates was turned into."


    Loki stared at the ship for a moment; the tip of the railgun that seemed as if it should be worthless; the vessel appeared less than fifty meters long. "......This is bullshit. I flew around in a stolen Imperial cargo ship the last time I went on space-adventures, and you get some ridiculous mega-frigate loaded with a hundred impossible things."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Want to come along? I''ve got space. And I suspect the ship will outlive me, so you can try to take over as captain later."


    He blinked. "Why would I try to take over as captain?"


    "...The stories about you? God of mischeif and trickery? Deceit and theft and all sorts of nonsense?"


    Loki sighed. "Most of the stories are nonsense. I am a trickster. Illusionist. Shapeshifter. And my species are hermaphroditic, so I don''t really qualify as male or female, and yes, I have both fathered and given birth to a few children over the years. But. Odin is my father. Earth is my home. Unless you plan on turning that ridiculous main gun on earth herself, I don''t really have much cause to try to take it from you."


    Eyeball nodded for a moment. "Huh. So you can have kids with humans? Thats... weird."


    "Technically, my kids are my own species, but their... default... shape is something I helped them establish as toddlers. I could explain, but I don''t think its really important to this matter; since I''m not going with you. How long until you leave?"


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Eyeball glanced at the ship for a moment. "About... twelve hours. The cattle are being delivered in six. Everything should be loaded, packed, and ready, and as soon as we finish the final."


    "..You''re bringing cattle on the ship?"


    "Oh, no. They''re a sacrifice. I''ve got a whole ritual prepared, we''re going to be enchanting the ship just before it takes off. Should be interesting to see what it does."


    ***


    Captain Antoine Moreau, formerly of the French navy, then captain of the Temeraire, stared out the viewscreen at... a literal tide of blood spilling down across his monitor. While they were still in the dock, he could even see an external view of his new command; and that its owner, and, in theory, his commanding officer in the La Famiglia armed forces, was currently making strange gestures and chanting a bunch of nonsense while pouring a horrific mess of blood and organs over the ship.


    He was fully aware that magic was real; he''d even been told that some of the superstitions of the navy, and the dedication and loyalty its sailors had to their ships, the blood, sweat, and tears they poured into them, had a real, measurable impact on performance, and having proper sorcerers working on it would serve to increase what was there.


    But seeing a ritual in progress, even knowing it was a herd of cattle being slain and their blood channeled in rather than humans... it was still a bit disturbing.


    His first impression of the ship had been... joy. The French had been one of the many participants in Hephaestus''s efforts to get humanity out of the star system, but there were so few starships he''d failed to make the cut; only now, with France herself fallen, his history as both the commander of a submarine at war with the Jotun, as well as someone who had made it fairly distant into the CNS''s trials, had led him here... to the captain of the ''Dragonslayer Expeditionary Force''.


    The ship herself appeared less than fifty meters long on the outside; but the diagram showed two entirely seperate sections; a Railgun Engineering deck approximately two kilometers long, which was just a reactor, the pathway and magnets of the railgun itself, and an engineering space to hold the loading mechanism. If the extradimensional space somehow failed, it was designed to be a moderately-armored path extending out past what was currently the rear of the ship.


    And of course, the crew deck was similar. About a kilometer long, containing far more space than the sixty-man crew, twenty-man strike team, or the thousands of drones required, each man had his own quarters, and the food, water, and air were sufficient for a century of travel should the recycling systems fail.


    The ''Expeditionary Force'' title was absurd. In reality, the only other vessels were a pair of gunships the craft carried, a handful of fighters, and numerous attack drones; there would be no other vessels joining them. On the other hand, he doubted it would need much backup. While this ship wouldn''t have stopped the Jotun invasion force, it would have given a vast and terrible accounting of itself; the sheer firepower and durability of the vessel was unmatched by anything they were aware of; not even the Dreadnaught currently serving as the primary military might of the Diamond Kingdom could compare.


    He grimaced as a trailing of cattle intestines became stuck against one of the cameras, blotting out the view from inside the ship, and switched that section to another external camera.


    The runes that had been painted on the outer hull had begun to glow, as the blood flowed over them; visible through the mass of liquid, somehow; and rather than spilling down to the ground, the mass was disturbingly flowing along the surface now; the pool beneath it no longer growing larger.


    Finally, after the flow from above dropped to a trickle, and then ceased, the entire ship was encased in the horrible, bloody mass. There was a brilliant flash of light; and suddenly the ship appeared to be formed of... rusty iron. A dull orange shade that looked nothing like the sleek, black, softly glowing hull she''d borne before.


    He could see Eyeball approaching the ship now; stopping to shake the hand of a golden, glowing, angelic figure whose arms were covered in blood; seemingly unconcerned about the blood on himself. "Lower the ramp and make sure the artificial gravity is stable throughout the ship. We''ll be launching shortly."


    As Captain Moreau stalked down to the launch bay; briefly admiring the forms of the sleek fighter-craft, the bulbous, deadly forms of the gunships bristling with both earth and Jotun weaponry, he looked down the ramp at the approaching figure; and extended a hand.


    "Welcome aboard, sir. We''re prepared to launch at your command. I believe we''re scheduled to do so in ten minutes?"


    Eyeball chuckled. "Cutting it a bit close, aren''t we? My fault, that. Still. Whatever protection the magic can offer will be worth it; and seeming to be made out of cheap iron will likely make things easier. Everyone aboard who is supposed to be?"


    "Of course. The Titan was the last to arrive, and our new chief engineer and his assistant gave final launch approval over an hour ago. This... ritual of yours is the only thing we were waiting for."


    Eyeball nodded. "Excellent. And one last thing before we launch. This ship deserves its own name, not just to be Dragonslayer II; especially as I may well take the Dragonslayer out while we''re out there. Given our mission, I figured we could call it the Pequod? Penelope wanted to call it the Strauss, but that seemed a poor choice, even if its entire purpose is to perform a targeted killing."


    Moreau blinked. "That... either would be an ill-fated choice, even if possibly appropriate. Might I recommend something a bit more optimistic? Perhaps... Tyrannicide? Kingslayer?"


    "Bah. My uncle would have called it the John Wilkes Booth, but that would be both terrible and equally unlucky. You''re the captain, this is her maiden voyage. "


    "...During her final minutes on the ground, the ship was blessed by an angel, wasn''t she?" The captain smiled. "The final Jeanne D''Arc of the french navy fell in orbit fighting the Jotun. At the time she was lost, the crew who were dropped to land across south america would become a large portion of the surviving frenchmen. There might never be a france again, and may never be a french navy to carry the colors."


    Eyeball glanced at the view-screen. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, having moved on to his own affairs; possibly literally, considering the powerful, angelic figure was popular with the women of La Famiglia. "That can work. Dark for short?"


    "..Well, they called her Jeanne for short, but she''s your ship."


    Eyeball chuckled; and tapped his helmet. "This is Eyeball speaking to all crew. We''re launching in... five minutes. Right now, we''re updating the ship''s registry; her official name is now Jeanne D''Arc, under captain Antoine Moreau. Engineering, if you wouldn''t mind detailing a drone to handle the colors and the name once we hit FTL. The moment we''re off the ground, Captain Moreau is in charge. If he says jump, you jump. The only one who can countermand him is myself; and frankly I don''t anticipate doing much of that, as the man has years of experience commanding a submarine, as well as numerous studies on space combat and tactics. My powers may not be perfect, but they guided me down a chain of events that led to the salvation of the earth from the Jotun; and they guided me to choose him as captain."


    He turned to look at Moreau. A green light was blinking on the bridge; a count-down appeared. Ten. Nine. He settled into a chair, strapping himself in, as the captain did the same; each of the men at their stations adjusting their own positions; their uniforms built much like Eyeball''s own, to serve as sleek body-armor; in subtle dark blue with silver trim for most; and with the addition of a helmet, a spacesuit.


    As the timer reached one, the ship lifted off of the floor; and surged out into the sky, almost seamlessly; the reactors could be felt humming through the hull. As she hurtled into the atmosphere, the sky rapidly turned from blue to purple to black; and Eyeball tapped the display beside his own chair, watching the earth recede behind them.


    He was fairly certain it was the last time he''d ever see that.

 The Hunt - 6 - The Lady Dark and the First Strike

    "It''s confirmed. The strike force has left; our spy reported that the Titan, Spike, had arrived and boarded the craft before it left. Eyeball is offworld... and out of communication with La Famiglia. Recall, at this point, is impossible."


    Aziz smiled at his lieutenant; the young man was a highly devout, competent man, and even better, a metahuman; gifted with inhuman senses and regenerative abilities. He''d recently served undercover, as it were, in the United States, and as such the dark-skinned boy had shaved his beard, so he didn''t look quite the proper muslim; but if Aziz had a hundred like young Lamar, he wouldn''t be worried about the days to come.


    "Excellent work. We''ve been doing quite a bit of preperation, and now it''s time to begin. Has our agent in SigInt given the signal?"


    Lamar smiled. "Of course, sir! The US navy is already headed south, loading more troops and equipment by aircraft as it sails, and I personally delivered the message to the Romani''s aide before I left."


    Aziz nodded. "And I''m assuming the same message went out to the malcontents in China?"


    "Of course. We even included a few brief video clips, with timestamps, to ensure they know these camps aren''t the ones Eyeball destroyed."


    Aziz whistled. "Excellent. Well then. Put out the word. Our man is to give Almasi the gift he''s been seeking for so long, and our troops are to begin arming themselves."


    "...What if the gift doesn''t turn out as you expect, sir?"


    "Then we''ve brought Almasi to our side, and simply work with him, rather than with one of our own. Less pleasant, but hardly the end of the world."


    ***


    The Jeanne D''Arc was strangely silent as she traveled at hundreds of times the speed of light, hurtling off towards the distant Imperial space. Starcharts; both scavenged from the Jotun and provided by Loki; were displayed over a holographic table in the briefing room behind the bridge, as the crew gathered.


    Captain Moreau sat at one end of the table, his blue-silver uniform impeccable, hands resting on the controls; with Eyeball in his usual black armor at the other end. Along the sides, Spike and Ripper; aside from Ripper''s more lean form, and a nose that seemed to have been broken a few too many times, the two could have been cousins beforehand; the vibrant red-dyed hair certainly helped distinguish them.


    The slim, dark-haired, caramel-skinned beauty in her own elegant purple dress, Kezia was one of the few women on the crew; granted, she could likely kill all of them but Spike within seconds.


    The most odd member of the team at the table was Rex; wearing a subdued white and silver version of the uniform the others bore, seated beside the Engineer wearing a feminine version of the same... or rather, a copy of the Engineer, whom everyone else would know as Renee Chambers. He would need to remember to refer to that one as a her; every other time he''d spoken to her he''d acted as if she were just another mouthpiece for Ascension.


    Eyeball tilted his head as he slid his helmet off, resting it beside him; letting it magnetically seal to the edge of the table. "So, Rex. What brings you aboard? Don''t get me wrong, someone who can shape pseudo-neutronium with his teeth is a viable asset, but I thought you were staying behind?"


    Rex smiled. He looked... so much more professional without the mechanical limb attachment, the costume, the scales; though the shaven head and goggles were new. "I''m the only one who can properly shape hull patches other than Butcher and Valkyrie... without destroying the ship." He nodded at Spike. "RC asked me to come along, so I came along."


    Eyeball glanced at RC; Engineer, of course. He''d been trying to limit the crew count as much as possible, rely on drones and cyborgs to avoid too many losses. "I thought you were going to run any crew additions by me first."


    The Engineer smiled; it was strange, seeing a pretty red-head with emerald eyes, and knowing that it was a machine behind them. "I messaged you regarding last-minute crew requests two days ago. You sent the request to the Captain for approval. He approved."


    "Ahh. Any other surprises?" He turned to Moreau.


    "Not really. You can review the list in your quarters later. I''ve got our destination; we''ve got a week before arrival. What''s the plan when we get there?"


    Eyeball chuckled. "Honestly, that''s up in the air. The Jotun information on this place is decades old, and very vague. Loki''s information is centuries old, but more detailed. We''re dropping out only forty light-years from earth, at the closest other known bastion of civilization; I believe this entire region was declared off-limits after the Emperor ran into Cronos long ago, or they''d be closer. On our own charts, this is called the ''Trappist'' system."


    He nodded at Moreau; and a diagram appeared of a star system; showing eight planets orbiting a star. "This place is what the Imperials call a ''farm'' system. A local consortium terraforms the worlds of this system, then sells them to the local governments... and the local government then uses them as tribute. The consortium then terraforms the husk back to life, and sells it again; they can likely do this hundreds of times before there''s no longer enough resources on the planet to support the process... and they''ve done it at least a dozen times already."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The image appears to zoom in on one of the worlds; showing a mostly oceanic world, with no apparent islands to speak of; just an endless blue sea. "When Loki passed through, this world was being deliberately seeded with higher life forms, cultivated to develop the sort of sapience that would make them... ''taste'' good to the Emperor. He doesn''t want a world of algae; apparently intelligent, thinking, beings provide the best life-force, and his subjects have it down to an art getting the right level to satisfy him."


    Eyeball looked around at the table. "This place has a mining company, a terraforming company, and dozens of different species working here. The locals are an aquatic race, crab-like... and no, they aren''t related to the Jotun... but there are numerous non-locals working here. This is an excellent place to gather intel, as it supports populations of many races, and was a major trade hub even Jotun ships sometimes stopped at."


    Spike frowned, looking at the image that appeared of a vivid orange crab-like creature; wide, short, with ten scuttling legs and another four claw-like limbs; fourteen total arms, and if not for that, it wouldn''t look out of place on a seafood platter next to a king crab. "...Are crabs common, out in the galaxy?"


    "..Yes, actually. Humans are a bit of an outlier."


    Moreau tapped a few buttons. A mass of different creatures appeared on the screen; most of them could safely be defined as a variation of a squid or a crab. Shorter, furry ones existed; but out of a display of hundreds, only a handful vaguely resembled humans.


    "Most aliens appear to be aquatic or semi-aquatic, with squids and crabs as the two most common body shapes. I could show you fifty different species within Imperial space... including the Imperials themselves... that could conceivably pass as a deformed Jotun. The Jotun, the Imperials, all of them have various theories behind it. But... if you remember watching Star Trek, where most of the aliens are funny-looking humans, with more exotic creatures being rare? For the crab-like races, that''s actually how it worked out."


    There was murmuring around the table; aside from the Engineer, most of them hadn''t gone over this data thoroughly.


    Kezia studied the image, nodding. "So... should this be my first target? Take the Emperor''s meal before he can get to it?"


    Eyeball coughed, drawing her gaze. She seemed... remarkably straightforward about the idea of butchering an entire planet. "Actually, no. This is strictly an intelligence-gathering stop. We''ll offer a few neutronium scraps in trade for anything useful they might have, and at the same time gather anything we can. We''ll decide on a target after we review everything we learn. Ideally, we would want a world with minimal civilian population, maximum military. Maybe even a world that is scheduled for the Emperor to eat in the next decade or two."


    He looked around the table. "We have Jotun-model translators that should serve for communications well enough. The only real issue I see is that none of us have done this before; we''ll need to stick together, be careful, and be ready to fight our way out if need be. Get used to your translators, arm up, and read the file on Imperial law. Obviously we aren''t worried about keeping it; but if you''re going to break it, you need to warn the rest of us so we can get out, and fast."


    Moreau nodded. "Of course. After all, we''re headed in to assassinate their ruler. On one amusing note... the idea that the coating of what looked like iron would make our ship look less unique or valuable appears to have fallen through. The drone painting the new registry name on the hull got some good footage of what she looks like now."


    An image shifted and appeared; showing the wedge-shapped, stubby warship; with a pure, obsidian black shell, covered with thousands of tiny glowing sigils in shades of red and amber, with the soft blue light of the thrusters in the background; and the odd, distorted image of hyperspace surrounding it. "It doesn''t look like neutronium... but our scanners have no idea what to make of it. It... will probably draw a bit of attention."


    ***


    As Thomes met with his advisors, discussing what else would need to be loaded onto the fleet, any other preparations it would need to make for the journey south to investigate... and exterminate... the newly found Jotun colonies... Vano leaned back against the wall, ignoring the generals and their aides as they talked logistics, numbers... these weren''t his field.


    He frowned, checking his phone. Not too many people had his number. Ahh, that was from his secretary. Good old Vanessa, she''d been with him for the better part of a century now, mostly helping him schedule visits to cure terminally ill children. He hadn''t been doing much of that lately, unfortunately. What could she possibly...


    He blinked, as he looked at the video. A woman with an obvious surgical scar on her forehead, lying on a bed. The camera panned to another bed, in the same room. Another; the women were different; mostly of Indian descent, from the looks. But all of them....


    There were a few more clips. And accompanying text, from one of the soldiers he''d worked with long, long ago; likely, with how intensive the healing had been, sergeant Naidu was probably another of the ageless ones among those he''d healed. And... sending him information he hated to see. But... knew he needed to do something about.


    They''d started it up again. They''d been shut down just a few years before, lost their navy and shattered their economy about it, almost caused a civil war when the various non-Han ethnicities within China learned of it, as well as China''s neighbors. And now... China had built new camps.


    Vano inhaled deeply, pocketing his phone, and quietly stepped up, gently placing a hand on the President''s shoulder. "James."


    Thomes stopped in mid-sentence, glancing backwards. "Yes, Vano? Something wrong?"


    "...A bit of a family emergency has come up. Me and a few of mine are going to be heading back to europe, and asia. I''m not sure how long it''s going to be."


    "Ahh, of course. I doubt we''ll need much help handling whats left of the Jotun. We''re using most of our planes getting things to the boats before they get too far south. Do you need anything from me? You''ll always have my support."


    Vano chuckled. "Best not have anything official about this one. We''ll be securing our own transport." The camps would be gone by the end of the week, if he had to step on a million corpses to get it done. No nation that would have the audacity to do this not just once, but twice, could be allowed to stand. He couldn''t get Thomes involved in this... not when he was already dealing with the Jotun. Should he simply take the direct approach, and walk in to meet them, or link up with whoever had sent him the message?


    Obviously he wouldn''t be the only one to get this message; the simmering hostility beneath the surface of asia was about to boil over. Only the threat of the Jotun had held it at bay before; and with them reduced to pitiful remnants... it was time to clean house.

 The Hunt - 7 - Avris Station - Arrival

    Moreau had settled in on the bridge, wearing the same blue-silver uniform, only freshly cleaned, over two hours before arrival; there was always a chance someone had some means of removing a ship from hyperspace prematurely, and he wanted to be up and ready, just in case. Even so, he called for re-entry to ''real'' space well outside the usual Imperial ''security perimeter''... about seven light-hours. According to their files, entry outside 8 light-hours was considered safe, normal, and if you were coming in unannounced, expected; closer-in voyages were only taken by established, well-known ships in designated target points.


    From outside the system Trappist looked... impressive. Dozens of starships were in the system, each of the eight planets had multiple orbiting stations, and two of the worlds appeared to be vibrant and green; while a third looked like a beautiful blue marble of endless ocean. While there might be dozens of starships; most of them seeming to be of civilian or Imperial design, though a single Jotun vessel was present; far more numerous were the tens of thousands of smaller local craft.


    As Renee typed on her console with seemingly impossible speed, the screen showed thousands of icons at first; and they started to sort out.


    Over nine thousand ''Small craft''; shuttle or fighter-sized vehicles, likely transporting personnel or cargo. Hundreds of larger civilian craft... and a system defense force. Not FTL-capable, but made up of hundreds of craft ranging from swarms of numerous shuttle-sized craft broadcasting a ''Avris Defense'' IFF, to a handful of carriers multiple kilometers long; and, of course, various sizes of warship; unlike the Imperial vessels, varying heavily in technology. Only a few of the AD ships read as having hyperdrives; though many of them were substantial, well-armed craft.


    If the Jotun had arrived here with the fleet they attacked earth with, they would have won; not easily, but they could have crushed this place.


    Captain Moreau looked over the categories as the counts formed. "Threat assessment, RC?"


    She studied her screen; and her implants synced up with the ship''s computer. She nodded. "Minimal, sir. Our information indicates that only Imperial ships of what we would call a ''Dreadnaught'' scale or bigger pose a serious threat to us, or the Emperor himself. It would take time, but the Jeanne could clean this system out using her point defense weapons since none of these are likely to harm us."


    "Good. Take us in, slowly. Comms, broadcast our own transponder. What''s our most likely candidate?"


    Around the bridge, crewmen were carefully adjusting their controls. Most of the ship could be automated; but with AI-rending disrupters a known quantity, everything had manual controls, with varying levels of AI assistance available; and for this entry, everyone was doing it in the most basic fashion.


    The transitions were a bit rough, with adjustments in tenths of a G instead of the millionths that RC could attain; but worked well enough. "Looks like... this one here, sir. This station is a major hub. Seventeen docked starships, hundreds of docked light craft; Loki''s intel indicates its where outsiders come to trade. It shares an orbit with an enormous asteroid field; likely the remains of what was once a ninth planet; and seems to be a central point where at least seventeen other mining stations deliver goods. At a guess, a refinery. Likely food source as well."


    "Any of them Imperial?"


    "Two cruiser-class ships." An image appeared on the screen of a roughly cylindrical pale white vessel; with a pair of spirals surrounding it, attached by dozens of spokes. The scale to the side showed that it was over eight hundred meters long.


    "..What are those...things.. around it? It looks almost like... a DNA strand."


    "Shield generators. You''re going to see a variety of designs, but any ship with some sort of shield will have these pylons sticking out. Imperial ships favor this sort of spiral shape with them all connected." She taps a few keys. Another, dull red image appeared; a roughly spherical ship, with dozens of porcupine-like spikes projecting out. "Others prefer to keep each projector isolated.. while others..." A long, sleek, vivid green ship appeared, with four flat outrigger-style projections. "Mount them in straight lines. Each has its advantages and disadvantages. All of these vessels are Imperial subjects, and, in theory, allies."


    The path of the Jeanne was steadily drawing closer to the security limit of the star; soon enough, they''d be drawing a response from the locals.


    ***


    Brshjet was a model Imperial officer. Her gleaming, golden carapace, freshly shined and studded with jewelry, served as a beacon in the center of the chamber; most of the other, silver-carapaced crew, or even worse, the diamond-tinted ones, dutifully avoided staring directly at her as she rested on her couch at the center of the command deck, as all around her dozens of the smaller, more dull, crew rushed to perform duties.


    The Avris system was a dull place, fitting the people who ran it. Solidly Imperial in loyalties for tens of thousands of years, the only significance of the place was the terraforming operation; several local empires financed the corporation that ran this place, continuously terraforming and re-building these worlds to provide tribute to the Emperor. Trade ships of various races came through, carrying rare, interesting goods; but most of the time, the locals just traded boring masses of metal and ore; one of the system''s worlds had been carefully cracked open long before, to provide raw materials for whatever projects would go on here.


    The pathetic, orange-carapaced creatures that dwelled here were model citizens; hard-working, fast-reproducing, fast-dying. She called them the rust-shells, or the rusties, for the way their carapace vaguely resembled rusty iron; and didn''t care what they called themselves. She''d been running this system for so long that none of the surviving members of the species had been alive when she arrived; and likely would still be here, on this command deck, when the current newborns died of age.


    If she ran this place well until the next time the Emperor came here to feed, she could leave among his escorts, and take a 1000-year retirement back home; before, of course, taking another 1000-year shift making sure some backwater didn''t collapse.


    A red light suddenly blossomed on her display. One of the pale, diamond-carapaced idiots had just sent her an emergency alert. She grumbled, tapping her controls.


    A form appeared immediately; three of the outer defense perimeter drones had detected an incoming ship. It had appeared well outside the security zone, then activated a transponder, before advancing. Standard procedure for any ship that wasn''t pre-scheduled, but unusual. Even as she reviewed it, the diamond-level was slowly altering the alert with information.


    She nodded approvingly. Competent, capable. He was looking at the data and picking out what she would most likely care about, highlighting it on top; and quickly, as well. She tacked a commendation to his file, noting that he was likely suitable for fast-paced, time-sensitive duties; as she reviewed what was known about it. Unfortunately, such duties were also far more dangerous; he would likely end up dead before he reached his first millenia.


    The transponder was mostly gibberish; a string of words that actually, surprisingly, included the Imperial translation; deity is gracious female of place called Arc. The ship was small, perhaps a frigate or heavy corvette sized... but the mass readings were more appropriate for a cruiser... and the energy readings were actually greater than any single ship should possess, appearing to come from the entire ship.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The image was... vaguely wedge-shaped, with no apparent shields; the assessment indicated that either the vessel''s shield pylons were so small as to be invisible, or, more likely, it followed the fashion of the Jotun, and simply used ridiculously heavy, expensive, armor plating. After a moment, the word ''Jotun'' disappeared from her display; replaced by ''Shaqtun''. She blinked, all six eyes cycling one by one; and tapped the word ''Shaqtun''.


    A sub-article appeared. A notice had been sent out by a Jotun vessel that the king was dead, and his daughter, Shaqtun, had been appointed queen in his place. As such, the species now referred to itself as the Shaqtun, aside from any old-guard units that would continue on with whatever orders the old king had given; considering the size of the Jotun kingdom, it was likely that they didn''t even know it yet; even possible this Queen might still consider herself a princess.


    Ugh. What lunacy would drive a species to name itself after the ruler, and swap names whenever he died?


    She filed the article away for later and reviewed the ship once again. It was traveling in-system, directly towards Avris station, at a fair pace; over 10% of light; estimated arrival in sixty hours; more likely eight, if they began to deccelerate.


    The transponder didn''t indicate a nation or even star of origin; just a corporation, name, captain name, and owner; nonsense, of course, but with a translation. The procedure here was fairly standard; but it had been over a year since the last such event. In the heart of the Empire, this happened all the time. Out here... the only neighbors were the Jotun. Well, Shaqtun. Who always announced themselves far in advance.


    She tapped a few keys. "Servants. Begin acceleration. As soon as we are far enough from the station, jump to a proper hailing range of the interloper. Keep shields powered, put the others on alert, but make no hostile moves. Whoever this is is dangerous." She felt the subtle shift as the ship began to accelerate; smoothly disengaging from the station and sending hundreds of the tiny local craft scrambling to avoid being crushed.


    She tapped another button. "Comm-servant. Prepare all information we have on the vessel, and send it on. This is an emergency-priority signal."


    The pale diamond-hued imperial raised its claws, exposing its unadorned torso in submission. "Of course, Brshjet. May I ask why? We have not initiated conflict, they seem to be open enough."


    "This is one of the borders with the forbidden zone. All activity by unknown vessels here has to be relayed up the chain immediately."


    The youngling gave a bow, and returned to his console to transmit the message. She gave a low burbling sigh, water flowing down her golden form, as she placed an order with security to reprimand the youngling for questioning orders. Perhaps spending a decade or two with a missing limb would teach the child not to question his elders.


    ***


    One moment, space was empty. The next, the ivory-toned form of a cylindrical Imperial cruiser, surrounded by its elegant spiral of shield emitters, appeared seemingly from nowhere; transmitting on a hailing frequency, broadcasting a complicated signal that, if interpreted by the right equipment, would produce a blend of camera, audio, 3-D sonar imagery, and even scent.


    The holographic display on the bridge could reproduce most of that; the Jotun vessels actually had the scent component integrated as well, but as humans didn''t use scent to communicate, they''d left that part out; though they could still see a chemical readout, if they wanted. On the Jeanne''s end, the captain had an emitter setup on his bridge, which would show himself, the chair, and nothing else; and at a low enough resolution to be any sort of humanoid species.


    The display abruptly formed in the middle of the deck; showing a golden-hued, crab-like creature, covered in gemstones and intricately carved bits of metal in a variety of forms; she had eight limbs, six of them resting on the deck, two others... ending in clusters of tentacles, rather than claws.. raised up.


    "I am System Administrator Brush-Jet. You have entered the Avris system, and lack an Imperial transponder. Who are you, and what is your purpose?"


    When Captain Moreau turned on his own transmitter, the crab was visibly taken aback, withdrawing a step from the screen; before leaning forward again. "This is Captain Moreau of the Jeanne D''Arc. I am here on a mission of exploration and trade. We wish to learn about the Empire, and see what we have of value to trade; and what the Empire has of value for us, as well."


    The crab made an odd side-to-side gesture that the system notified was Imperial body-language equivalent of a nod. "We are always interested in expanding the Empire, and acquiring new partners. I can see that your vessel is enchanted; magic use is fairly uncommon within our borders. Are you here to sell magical devices?"


    "Possibly in the future. We determined from examination of Jotun wreckage that the best trade currency would be neutronium, so we brought some."


    Brshjet start at the hologram for a moment, checking her translator software; the version the unknown vessel had was old, but functional. Neutronium was the single most valuable raw material in the galaxy. An orb the size of one of her eyes would outmass a fleet, and be worth the price of a dozen fleets, a hundred. If these people had a way to reliably gather or manufacture it... "We would be glad to trade with you, Captain Moreau. We will escort you to the central trade hub. I am certain we have much that you would consider of value."


    ***


    Almasi leaned back on his throne, stretching out and admiring the view through his windows. The Dreadnaught was still on her slow, steady patrol of the African coast, his armies were rebuilding, training, and with each passing day the Diamond Kingdom grew in prosperity. As much as he appreciated the help that the Iron Emperor had given to his people, it was nice to have reached a point in history where Africa was speaking to the rest of the world as an equal partner, rather than being exploited; though sometimes he needed to make a point of buzzing the newer, smaller, Chinese fleet with the Dreadnaught to make it clear who the real power was in the region now.


    He looked around at the throne-room; two of his wives; both, thankfully, pregnant; were currently relaxing on the chairs beside his throne in elegant golden robes, adorned with a string of diamonds and emeralds; their own dark skin a strange contrast to the brilliant blue his own bore at present; simply thanks to the blue diamond he was using at present. If he wanted more wives, he would have then. If he wanted to conquer the world, he could. But.


    The Iron Emperor had taught him an important lesson; the easiest way to conquer would be to leave existing structures in place as much as possible; and offer existing rulers a place of power in the new regime. Which... in large part, was the point behind this audience.


    Two of his guards were watching from the door as the man entered; a sweaty, clearly troubled arabic man in a long, flowing white robe... rolling a cart which he seemed to be struggling with. Whatever the massive crate contained, it was supposed to be an offering, from some ''Aziz'' character, supposedly something Almasi would find of great value.  It was also insanely heavy; the arabic man pushing it was well over seven feet tall, obviously a metahuman of considerable strength; and struggled to move it up the ramp. If there had been stairs, likely he would have been stuck.


    After the ridiculously long process drew to a close, and the exhausted metahuman dropped to his knees before the throne, he spoke. "King Almasi. My lord, Aziz, wishes to invite you to a conference regarding joining our forces together. Where the Emperor of Iron once threatened the world, and the Diamond King now rules Africa, he would like to propose himself as the King of Persia; and yourself as the Emperor of Neutronium."


    Almasi blinked. He''d been seeking even the slightest sliver of the material for years; he could transform his body into any material he touched; he always kept diamond piercings in his body, he''d used depleted uranium before for its own properties, and kept a single slug of it on him so he could do so again in the future. But Neutronium... He rose to his feet, stomping towards the chest; and flipped it over.


    Inside, a tiny, insignificant chunk of glowing black material was resting atop a heavily dented metal plate; with grooves carved into it from the piece sliding on it in transit. He looked at the metahuman. "Tell your master that he has his alliance. When the Neutronium Empire is born, he and his people will consider themselves under my protection."


    He smiled; and reached down; gently touching the tiny black orb. The more dense the metal he touched, the stronger he became; he''d likely need to become neutronium himself to even lift it.


    There was a sudden groan. The floor creaked. One moment, Almasi was standing there, reaching into the crate. The next; there was a hole in the ground; a crack in the stone, and a seemingly bottomless hole going straight downward; which was being closed up even as Almasi''s wives, bodyguards, and even the metahuman in his white robe, all staring down the hole in horror.

 The Hunt -8 - Avris Station - Entry

    Eyeball stood at the boarding ramp in the cargo bay, looking around at the gathered crew. "Alright, folks. We use the buddy system here. Unknown station, unknown threats. We''ve got a few people here who can probably handle whatever threat they throw at us. Spike, you''re in charge of team Alpha. RC, assign a crewman to go with him for intel purposes, and if we have any other crew who want to see whats going on, that''s probably the safest team; just do what Spike says and stay out of the way of the one actually on the job."


    He tapped his own shoulder. "I''ll be leading team Beta. I suspect you''ll also be fairly safe if you come with me, but we''ll be mostly a distraction team. Myself and Kezia.." He nodded towards the Romani girl; wearing what looked to be a suit of sleek purple combat-armor, complete with helmet. "Will be talking trade. We''ll mostly be looking for things that might be useful on this trip, but we won''t want to be too suspicious, so we''ll also be looking for anything useful for earth. Kezia could lead a team herself, but apparently she''s the second physically strongest on the team, and will be carrying the Neutronium sample."


    She smiled, nodding; and patted the cylinder attached to her hip. The flake of Neutronium inside was barely visible, but weighed over two tons in its container. Eyeball himself could carry it, but barely; while Kezia seemed to be comfortable and walking about normally, for him it would be... a struggle. He''d need to drag it, after any reasonable walk.


    "Team Charlie will be led by Ripper and RC. This one will be a bit riskier, but also the most important. If anyone''s dumb enough to ambush you, Ripper can kill them, but it''s the most dangerous one; he can''t kill them before they attack like me, or take a bullet for you like Spike. RC is in charge of Charlie; she''ll be using her implants for intel gathering."


    He glanced around. "One of Moreau''s marines will be with each team. Helmets stay closed, and if you sample local food, test it first. And thoroughly. Loki warned me that some dishes have layers; think of it like a pie that might have a chocolate shell surrounding neurotoxin. I''ll do my damndest, including destroying this station and collecting you from the wreckage if I have to, to get you all back to the Lady Dark if things go hostile, but if one of you decides to try alien ramen and dies from it that''s your problem."


    He rolled his shoulders for a moment. "We''re almost there. Remember. Job one is to locate the Emperor and his itinerary. Job two is looking for any intel or gear that can help us do the job. Job three is pretending to be ridiculously advanced, but foreign, possibly naive, traders. If you can determine whether the Empire knows Cronos is dead, that would be handy information as well; but if all we do here is learn where the Emperor is, we''ve done well. If we can''t do that, we''ll have to head to another stop, further in."


    He turned around, facing the doors. One of Moreau''s marines; a Corporal Pelletier; settled in beside him; the tall, powerfully built frenchman gave an appreciative nod at both Kezia and Dax; Dax being yet another of Engineer''s cyborgs, looking like a small, unassuming scientist. Dax smiled back, winking at the marine; while Kezia instead studied Dax, frowning.


    Eyeball chuckled. If these people had any idea who this ''elite Eyetech engineering team'' really was, he wasn''t sure if they would have come along willingly. Still. From his experience, Ascension was completely reliable. Considering this job had the future of humanity at stake, he suspected that the pretend-hispanic girl cyborg would consider getting this mission done more important than her own.. ''life'' or that of anyone else on the ship. Which... was a good thing, as far as he was concerned.


    As Pelletier and Dax started flirting and joking, he wondered for a moment... how far were these cyborgs going? Were they forming relationships with the crew? How independent were they? Did this ''Dax'' cyborg really identify as a female? Perhaps he should ask RC later. Most of the Ascension cyborgs so far looked to be shorter, slimmer, women. Was it a calculated move to pose less of a visible threat? Or was Ascension''s original brain, the one it was copied off of, actually a woman?


    Did it matter? Not in the slightest, but he still wanted to find out.


    ***


    Moreau studied the docking ports of Avris station closely. The central hub was an enormous wheel-shaped structure with ''spokes'' pointing out every few meters; of a hundred of them, most of them covered with hundreds of the tiny local craft. The only ''vulnerable'' part of the Jeanne was the engines mounted to her back, as there were gaps in the armor for the thrust nozzles; but even that was ridiculously durable by any local standards.


    As the ship approached, it slowly flipped around; pointing those engines at the station itself; and slowly moved closer. Amusingly enough, thanks to being built based on modified Jotun standards, the cargo bay hatch, which doubled as a landing ramp for surface outings, would actually match easily up to the connectors; though they didn''t use the station-based power or environmental connections.


    Traffic around the station was growing increasingly snarled; swarms of tiny vessels moving every which way, constantly making adjustments. He frowned. Numerous changes had been made without any apparent reason, more of them as the Jeanne grew closer.


    He turned to the replacement engineer; a young woman, asian, who had been part of the Eyetech engineering team he''d met with. All of their credentials were immaculate, they all seemed friendly, competent... but there was just something off about some of them. "Ahh... Miss... Weber. We''re about to be trapped in place. All this altered traffic... anything we need to worry about?"


    The woman gave a radiant smile as she tapped a few buttons; and raised a display. "The Jeanne is actually much heavier than the station itself by mass; if you walk on her outer hull, you don''t actually need mag-boots if you go slow enough; she generates a slight but real gravity. Suddenly all of those ships are having to compensate for flying into and out of a gravity well centered on the station. Most of them are automated, and can handle it easily... but from what I can tell, numerous individuals are handling things manually instead, and doing what they think should work... only suddenly doesn''t. I anticipate quite a few accidents in the near future."


    Moreau blinked. "...How the hell did Eyeball manage to build this thing!?"


    "It took tens of thousands of hours by an elite engineering team to get the job done; but the most pivotal employee was Butcher, who mostly just sat there for hundreds of hours over the course of two years, first squeezing cables as they passed through a machine, then using a neutronium machine to compress raw material with force that no-one outside of him and his mother can replicate. I understand he spent most of the time watching tv shows, listening to a podcast about historical generals and battles hosted by an actual general who was revived during Ragnarok, watching Arena matches, and arguing with his girlfriend."


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    She chuckled. "The neutronium we''ll be trading are the scraps.. millions of tons of scraps... leftover from building the machine that made our armor plating. A machine that has a hand-crank. For all our technology, our greatest protection was hand-built using centuries-old tools... just made from impossibly tough material."


    The ship settled into place. He could hear a faint click sound through the hull as they attached; but the expected shaking never occurred. "Well then. Tell the shore party they are go for departure, but keep weapons and engines ready. I doubt they can even tell, with this hull, but I want to be ready to go at a moment''s notice."


    He leaned back in his chair, staring at the display, and the vast swarm of ships moving in every direction. And this was the frontier? What were the actual Imperial worlds like?


    ***


    The cargo bay had an enormous airlock; large enough for the entire shore party, all three teams, to comfortably stand in their groups; with Spike having acquired a cylinder of neutronium of his own as they waited.


    Spike looked down at the cylinder on his hip. In theory, he could make this sort of thing himself, given time and effort; but he''d need to do it in orbit. If he tried to do it on earth... well. Maybe he should try it out himself, on the outer edge of the solar system. He and Dis could take a cruise out to Pluto, and he could see whether or not turning into a singularity-level gravity source for a while could convert the whole thing. Walk around for a bit, shape some with his hands, see what happened. He glanced over at Ripper, considering his odds if he had to take the man down.


    Not too good. It had never been tried; but Thomes and others at the higher ranks of the DMA had generally believed Ripper could even kill Valkyrie, if it came down to it.


    He looked at Eyeball as well for a moment... and of course, the.. villain? Could he be called that now? Apparently was confident in his ability to kill Ripper. Which, considering he could see the future, was likely correct.


    Rock, paper, scissors. A living and breathing manifestation of it right here in the cargo bay. He chuckled as the door started to open; and a ... fat, six-legged, tentacle-armed golden crab greeted them; surrounded by a veritable swarm of much smaller, orange crab-like creatures.


    Brshjet raised her limbs and let out a shriek. "Hello, strangers! My sensors tell me your vessel is creating an artificial gravity well; it is confusing local traffic, and we must insist you deactivate it. You have Neutronium for me, yes? Samples?"


    Eyeball stepped forward, and nodded at Kezia, who raisedd a cylinder. "I''d like to sell this to get a bit of walking around money. I don''t have any local currency. And... the ship isn''t creating an artificial gravity well. That''s just how much it weighs." The Jotun currency was, of course, the Jotun. Spoken with a slightly different accent and scent than the king''s name, or the species name. Lunatics. They called Imperial money ''Chits''; just meaning valueless things a government said had value, as Jotun coins were all solid metals, while Imperials used electronic currency. Loki called them ''Fairy Pennies'' in his own notes; because they were like coins, but illusory, unreal. He was about ninety percent certain that Ascension was going to label these things credits.


    The crab reached down; and tried to lift the cylinder. There was an abrupt, awful bang when it slammed into the deck plating; and Brshjet stared at it for a moment, and turned to one of the smaller, orange crabs. "Test it and weigh it." She rose back upright, studying Eyeball. If the creature wasn''t lying, the ship massed more than her entire fleet.


    As a few of the creatures gathered together, rolling the cylinder onto a cart and pressing a device against the side, Brshjet chittered. "If you''ll give us just a moment to test it, I can issue you an allotment of credits for this initial offer."


    Eyeball chuckled. "You can make the offer. If I like it, I''ll make the deal. We have two of these cylinders here, almost precisely the same mass." He nodded at the one Spike was holding; which Spike extended; though none of the crabs moved to take it. They seemed to have learned their lesson.


    Brshjet studied the way the softskinned creature held out the tube. If it was similar in mass... then weight she would have to drag across the floor was a casual one-handed lift for him, just like the female across from her.


    One of the rusties looked up. "System administrator. It is ~1.9873 tons~ of pure neutronium. Not just that, but...the ship''s hull... it is reading as over 10% neutronium." The strange, discordant way that the translator interjected human units into the alien speech was a bit off-putting; but it was fine.


    The alien nodded slowly. "Test the other. I will offer five five hundred twenty thousand credits for this one."


    Eyeball turned to look at RC; the woman made a show of checking her tablet; and nodded. This was in line with what the value of Neutronium should be; if they were being cheated, the cost of Neutronium must have gone up. At this rate, they should have over a million credits; enough to buy a decent-sized starship. "I accept. If you could have your servants issue us a few credit chits.." He looked at the size of his team. seventeen people on the boarding team, with Ripper''s two-man one-cyborg trio being the smallest. "Say, 25,000 each. The rest keep on a single chit."


    Brshjet chittered in confusion for a moment; before nodding, as her servants placed the small cart beneath Spike''s outstretched arm; and he settled the device into the cart. "Are you familiar with Imperial law, softshell?"


    Softshell... ahh. Someone without an exoskeleton. "Somewhat. What I know is from old wreckage we''ve studied, many years out of date."


    Brshjet extended a small device, not much bigger than the tip of one of her numerous tentacles. "Here. Current Imperial law codex. Normally one credit. Will toss it in." She chittered once more. Eyeball nodded; and turned to RC; who shook her head in apparent amusement and accepted the codex.


    Brshjet nodded. These creatures knew how things should work. The superior might accept the offering, but actually doing the work was for the inferiors. Undoubtedly he would have this lesser study the law briefly before entering the station. One of the rusties scurried up to her, bowing; the claws at the ends of his forelimbs tapping on the ground. "System administrator. The second sample is also pure neutronium. ~1.863 tons~ of it."


    "Excellent. Have eighteen credit chits issued. Seventeen for twenty-five thousand, one for five hundred seventy-five thousand.... if that is acceptable" She studied Eyeball. "Are you looking to trade more?"


    "That will do for these samples. As for more.... Perhaps. First, we need information. We have more neutronium... and our homeworld has the ability to produce more.. but we''d like to see if there''s anything here worth trading for. We may also need to request an audience with the Emperor; as I understand it, we''re from what you call the ''Forbidden zone'', and that may create complications."


    The golden crab shrank in on herself for a moment. Interfering with sentients inside the Forbidden Zone was punishable by immediate execution; straying through without interference, usually a lengthy, terrible sentence. Dealing with subjects -from- the Forbidden Zone? "I... I''ll need to contact my superiors." She practically soiled herself as she fled from the docks, racing away; leaving a confused scattering of Rusties who simply carried out her last directives; paying the ''Soft-shells'' and carting away the neutronium.

 The Hunt -9 - Avris Station - Alien Encounter

    Eyeball studied the lump of polymer in his hand. It seemed simple enough; you touched it, it somehow associated itself with you. Likely some sort of biometric scanner. It had an encrypted code in it that represented the credits; and various devices could use those credits. He nodded to himself as he watched the golden crab vanish in the distance, and turned to one of the tiny, orange crab-like creatures. The translator called them ''Rusties''. Was that a slur, or an affectionate nickname because they were rust-colored?


    He looked at the closest one; there were subtle variations in the carapace, but it would be a while before he could tell them apart; and stepped closer. "Hello there. Me and my people would like to do some shopping, and gather some information. I don''t suppose you''d be willing to take us?"


    The creature stared up at Eyeball. It was perhaps three and a half feet tall, and just as wide; deceptively small, it might weigh as much as a human thanks to its broad body and numerous limbs. "Servant will take." It lowered its limbs to the floor; unlike the delicate tendrils at the end of the golden creature''s forelimbs, this one had crab-like claws; undoubtedly less effective at tool use.


    "Excellent. And how do we pay you for this service?"


    The creature rose back to its feet, roughly waist height; and extended a tiny grey object. It seemed surprised to be offered payment; but a tiny holographic image appeared over the devices; he could accept or modify the transaction. "For... 1 credit... me and my family will guide your people."


    Eyeball blinked. "Just one? How much do you get paid normally?"


    "Skilled workers paid one credit each spin, six each rotation." His translator popped up with some estimates. The station orbited the local star roughly once each five days, and very slowly spun about every 20 hours; enough to generate a fairly subtle sort of ''gravity'' at the outer edges, ''tossing'' ships away to aid departure. "We... are not skilled workers. Usually one or two each rotation."


    "...So do you use fractions of credits to purchase meals and the like? Apologies, I''m not familiar with this place."


    The creature gave a slight up-down bob; seeming to be a gesture of enthusiasm. "No! Food provided by station, by job. Credits only used for special things. Like time off. Or special bundles for children. Only most special of foods, for Special Administrator or softshells or the like cost credits."


    Eyeball glanced at the others, and made a ''come-here'' gesture to Spike and Ripper, before turning to the rusty. "Okay. I''d like to offer you, and two of your friends or family, sixty credits between them. One to guide me, and one to guide each of my friends."


    The creature froze. It slowly dialed the number on the credit stick display to sixty, holding it up; and when Eyeball hit the ''accept'' option, it bounced with glee; and sprinted into a crowd nearby, most of whom were watching with fear. After a minute or so, a trio of the creatures stepped forward; one the original; or he thought the original, based on the stains in its carapace; stepped up to Eyeball. "I guide you! Where are you looking to go!"


    The other creatures each approached Spike and Ripper; who both looked at Eyeball with amusement. "I''d like to see the market. Meet any traders, salespeople here. Someone who might offer something worth neutronium."


    As the creature chittered with joy, and started hopping away; turning back to ensure Eyeball was following; his own team, Kezia, Pelletier, and Dax, moved right behind him; Dax with his rifle in hand, carefully watching the surroundings, while Kezia still seemed to be intensely paranoid about Dax, and watching the cyborg.


    Behind them, he could hear RC trying to describe a ''library'' to the Rusty who had approached Ripper; and the conversation sounded equal parts amusing and confusing.


    ***


    When they reached the central hub, Eyeball''s guide pulled to a stop; and pointed out a series of doors; leading to the purely underwater section of the station, down below, and then to the dry section, up above. "Softshell wear suit. Softshell swim, or walk?" The displays were fairly obvious; albeit worn, apparently thousands of years old; and indicated that any levels above baseline would be dry, and any below, wet. Despite knowing that his own suit was perfectly water-tight, and he wouldn''t be opening it regardless, he decided to opt for going up; and climbed into an elevator-like shaft where a slow-moving platform appeared to be moving on a constant track.


    He stepped on it, alongside his guide and party, as it reached his level; and could see the water''s surface, several meters below; before stepping off at the next level.


    His helmet alerted him of various scents and chemical traces in the air as he moved; and he recognized what appeared to be restaurants, and shops of various sorts. The Rusty stopped next to the first of the shops. "Look for trade? Market is that way. Open, different people. Ships selling wares, locals from other stations, or the planet. Enclosed shops like this, local stores, always there."


    Eyeball was tempted to ask for a gun shop... and he definitely would before he left. But might as well see what was on offer. "Lets check the open market, first. I''m in no hurry. If I need to stay a while to check everything out, I can."


    And of course, the market was... controlled chaos. As they passed into the massive, open chamber, the area had clear lanes through it; and guards with strange, silvery carapaces watching over it; but between the lanes were... wheeled carts with piles of strange boxes. Hover-carts with neatly arranged racks of... clothing. Jewelry. he even saw a couple with racks of guns, and ones with technology he had no idea of; holographic displays showing images that, at this distance, he couldn''t understand.


    More interesting, however, were the people. While many of them were the two different sizes of shapes of crab he''d encountered, there were a variety of others; ranging from what appeared to a rolling, pale, slimy orb on a cart to... a trio of pale-skinned humanoid creatures with horns, that could very well be a metahuman from earth; if an androgynous one; their skin-tight, solid black outfits showed just rail-thin arms and legs.


    As they walked down the aisles, Corporal Pelletier discreetly tapped Eyeball on the shoulder. "Look at this one. Good god, I thought the idea of hot alien chicks was a bunch of lunacy. The guys are gonna love this video."


    Eyeball turned to find what the marine was looking at... and blinked. The creature was tall, pale grey, vaguely humanoid; and seemed to be staring at Pelletier. He looked at the corporal; and blinked. The idiot had taken off his helmet at some point. He grabbed the helmet, slammed it back on the marine''s head, and took him by the shoulders. "Okay. That was stupid, marine. What exactly did you see?"


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Well. At first I didn''t see much. Crabs, pale people, this one furry guy. Then I saw this tall grey chick with big..." He blinked.. staring at the creature. "Oh. That.... what was that?"


    "Pheremones, psychic influence, whatever it is, it''s blocked by the helmets. Keep yours on." He tapped his helmet. "Moreau, this is Eyeball. Corporal Pelletier removed his helmet and is possibly compromised. Send me a few marines; whoever you''d like to put on my team, and another couple to escort him back."


    ~This is Jeanne actual. I''ve got a few teams already prepped, and RC had a few of her people good to go just in case. Rex is requesting permission to tag along.~


    ~That''s fine, captain. If you don''t think you need him, send him along.~


    Eyeball lowered his hand; and started walking towards the tall, lean, grey-skinned creature; which was now staring at Eyeball instead. Kezia, for her part, was looking amazed, staring at the various creatures around them, while Dax seemed to be cataloguing everything with her gaze; making quick assessments before moving on. Eyeball could see... a list of components, possibly useful ones, she''d spotted en route.


    And when they stopped at the strange hovercar covered with crates, and fronted with a holographic display of a starship, Eyeball looked up at the... Grey. Might as well call them that. "That was impolite. Granted, it was foolish of him to remove his helmet, but impolite nonetheless."


    The creature leaned down, dipping its head towards the floor; the red robe that it wore brushing against the floor as it did so. "Apologies, sapient. We like to learn about other species where we can, and I was copying some of the traits the two females of your party emanate to him to observe his reaction. It is standard practice among our kind to try to seem more familiar to other species, to develop a better relationship."


    Eyeball studied the creature more closely. Thin limbs, tall height... and exceedingly fragile. If Pelletier were ordered, he could shatter the creature, and he was... well. He was a marine, and a good one, so honestly knowing that the marine would still attack if told to do so was a bit comforting. Made it less likely these things were some sort of super-telepaths able to control people in moments. "So long as no harm was done, that''s fine. We''re here seeking information about the Empire, and useful technology. What are you selling here?"


    The grey raised its hands, gesturing at the crates. "We sell a variety of equipment, from highly advanced weapons and shields to terraforming drones and pre-fabricated orbital platforms. Our species is significantly more advanced than the Imperial standard, and even our older, refurbished equipment can be extremely useful to newcomers like yourselves!"


    He nodded thoughtfully. "Dax, get up here. What''s your name? I''m Eyeball, owner of the ship that just docked, and this is one of my engineering staff, Dax." He frowned. He had no idea whether that was her first or last name, but knowing the Engineer, ''Jadzia'' was fully possible.


    "Ahh! So that vessel isn''t part of a navy, but rather an independent ship? Well now. That''s interesting. I would be ~the translator would glitch out for a moment. The concept of a warm sunrise over a misty coastal morning.~." Eyeball blinked. "Mute. Auto-translate the name as Sunrise based on context. Unmute."


    "So. Sunrise. Lets talk specs. We''ll start with the shields. How effective are they?"


    Sunrise made an expansive gesture. The hologram of a starship in front of the cart flew closer, letting them examine it. It showed a long, sleek ship, with a set of four rails running out away from its core on pylons, with the rails all meeting at a central point in front of the vessel. "Sixty-two percent greater than Imperial standard deflection capacity; and unlike the Imperials, ours are enchanted, so long as the pylons aren''t damaged, they just keep running, no matter how many hits they take. One ship equipped with these is the equivalent of two Imperial vessels in a fight."


    Eyeball glanced at Dax. "What does that mean for us?"


    "Wouldn''t survive a single hit from our main gun, even on a dreadnaught-scale ship. Anything that could scratch the paint on the Lady Dark would go through this like tissue. There might be some useful applications back home, however." A message appeared on his helmet. ~This would be only marginally useful for the Jeanne D''Arc, but represents a dramatic step-up on human research of shield technology. Unless Neutronium production dramatically rises, this would be good to take home.~


    He nodded. "So. Primitive, but potentially useful."


    Sunrise stared at Dax, then at Eyeball. "...Primitive!? What sort of main gun does this vessel of yours have that you consider this so pitiful?"


    "The predecessor of my ship, the one that bore its name beforehand, disabled or destroyed at least a dozen Jotun warships whose armor was able to survive far worse than that ship you''re showing me can handle. And this new version is a dramatic improvement in every way."


    "... You have defeated Jotun vessels before? I... don''t suppose you have any samples of their technology? They are a strange race, a blend of incredible advancement and primitive brutality. I''ve seen a video where a single of their missiles converted an entire planet into a lifeless ball of seemingly impossible nanomachines, hostile to anything that attempted to land, but they ignore so many possible improvements."


    Eyeball glanced at his display. They actually had a few of those warheads on the ship; contained in an extradimensional bottle. If, somehow, they escaped without being launched, one of the cargo bays in the fore section of the ship would simply vanish.


    He chuckled. "Possibly. Mostly we''ve been trading in Neutronium. I sold a few tons of it for the credits I have now, and have plenty more if I find something worth more money."


    Sunrise nodded thoughtfully. "I apologize again. I mistook you for primitives, rather than potential competition. Our own efforts to harvest neutronium are extremely expensive; most of our trade with the Empire is to acquire it; the Emperor, apparently, can simply dip down and scoop out a chunk of a neutron star, while we have to use a process involving a pair of black holes. We would be willing to purchase any you have, at higher than Imperial rates."


    "Lets talk trade, instead. The shields are a maybe; I have no need of them, but someone else back home very well could." He glanced at Dax.


    Dax looked around the marketplace, then nodded. His helmet displayed another message. ~These appear to be the most advanced of the species trading here in the market. I suspect others may have useful goods or technology to trade, but these are the only ones whose wireless encryption we haven''t already broken. The others are, at least, smart enough not to leave anything critical on a wirelessly accessible device. For the most part. I already have starcharts of two species, and can extrapolate quite a bit more from those.~


    "Don''t steal anything. We have goods to trade, and don''t want to cause any issues before we get to our mission. So. Sunrise. The shields are mediocre. What else do you have?"


    ***


    When Brshjet arrived at her command chair, she immediately activated the privacy dome; almost crushing a couple of the Rusties who fled from the descending orb; and brought up the relay. Able to transmit vastly faster than any ship could travel, the relay was a fundamental technology of the Empire; allowing it to handle threats and communicate effectively despite being so large as to require over a century to travel from end to end by anyone but the Emperor himself.


    She tapped on the relay for a moment, and inhaled deeply; she needed more water. She should take a nap in the tub after this. "System Administrator 10871 Brshjet reporting. We have had contact with an unknown softshell species. All information on appearance will be included. They emerged in local space on a heading consistent with either an origin in, or having passed through, the Forbidden Zone; and claim to originate there. Their ship is a blend of completely unique, unknown technology with distinctive Jotun energy signatures. All scans of the ship itself will also be included."


    Another inhalation, carefully controlling herself. This transmission may very well decide her life or death. "Based on the recent reports of the Jotun king''s death, and the sudden appearance of these creatures, it is likely the two are related. It is extremely possible that, whatever the reason we are forbidden from interacting with races inside the Forbidden Zone, the Jotun have done so; and lost their king in the process. If you are not the Emperor himself and reading this, protocol demands that you mark this message as absolutely urgent, and forward it directly to the Emperor."


    "We will treat them as hands-off as possible, do nothing to provoke them, and observe them at all times. Regular information packets of surveillance to follow. Brshjet out."

 The Hunt - 10 - The Emperors Old Clothes

    Long, long ago. Longer than any creature in the known galaxy had been alive but himself. The planet Samarr floated over had been his home rather than a blasted ruin. The place he was hatched, among a few dozen of his fellow Rikk. He had known warmth, and protection. Then cold and darkness; and instinctive drive to devour; interrupted by the comforting grip of his mother, or one of her sisters.


    In the days before words, his species would hatch into a clutch of dozens, and they would fight, with each consuming the others and only the strongest emerging from whatever cave or hiding place their mother had submerged the eggs. By the time he was born, they had grown soft. Each clutch was carefully planned; and the eggs were raised on their own, away from their siblings. No more fighting to survive. Consuming the life, the energy, of others was something only done to animals that were, generally, raised in captivity specifically for the purpose.


    Samarr was relatively uncommon; he actually enjoyed the ''uncivilized'' process, hunting other species. He wasn''t the only one; but most of his kind preferred to remain peaceful, even as their species had slowly expanded out into the stars.


    For them it only happened during battle; during the rare hostilities with other species. Until, of course, the... filth... had come.


    As Samarr studied the containment sphere in front of him, for what was likely the billionth time, he took another good look at his... counterpoint. The sole surviving member of the species that had eradicated his own. It was a tall, lean, species; two legs. Two arms. A vivid green in fur color along its head and back. When he''d encountered this creature; the ruler of the race that had destroyed his own; it had been wearing a vivid, purple, suit of armor; and was, literally, infinitely powerful; one of a few dozen members of its species that no amount of harm could bring down.


    The others had, like the hundreds of other similar creatures Samarr had encountered over time, been deposited in black holes to wait out the eternal clock. He''d determined long ago that, somehow, these creatures were intrinsically linked to extradimensional forces, and it would take an entire galaxy''s worth of energy to destroy one; possibly even more than that. You would need to, at least momentarily, overwhelm a conduit funneling what seemed to be a whole universe into a single physical form.


    This one... he would, eventually, make sure this one died. No matter what it took. It and the rest of it''s species. For now... it would remain trapped in this stasis field.


    He looked up at the sky of what was once his homeworld. Recalling its final days; the world blasted into a radioactive ruin. His people dying. Their colonies in ruins, their numbers dwindling. He had only seen one hope; and not for salvation. For vengeance. As the oceans boiled, he finished what the... filth had started, and killed his world. Ancient immortals who had been born before his people had carved stone tools, newborn hatchlings; all of them, he consumed, and he grew larger, stronger. Until... he could survive their weapons, and fly up to meet them.


    It helped, to come back here, to this place, to this trapped monster, and remember why he did this. He looked up at the sky. This world no longer had an atmosphere; even in broad daylight, he could see stars; and he launched himself upward; and felt a familiar tingle in the back of his mind.


    ~My Emperor. Apologies for interrupting you. We have urgent news. A vessel claiming to have originated in the Forbidden Zone has entered Imperial space.~


    He turned towards the station; part of a relay spanning thousands of light-years, one that included hundreds of worlds and could contact over a quadrillion beings within hours; and reached out to it, the space between planet and; a single tentacle pressing on the hull.


    The creature that originated the message vanished; it''s life absorbed into Samarr''s own. The being knew the penalty for interrupting the Emperor''s meditation; that it knowingly paid that price spoke well of its loyalty. Samarr would ensure its descendants lived comfortably, and had many children.


    For a moment, the tiny speck''s last vision played across Samarr''s mind. He saw the incoming message about the arrival, and the fear of impending death. And, of course, the way it felt to have the life drained from the flesh.


    He accessed the relay, studying the messages; paying attention closely to those relating to the death of the Jotun king.


    They were impertinent subjects. If the previous king had not died in a foolish encounter with Cronos, the Emperor would have executed him for his temerity; he had considered simply eradicating the race at that point. When he first received word a few days ago of the message one of his relays had encountered, that the Jotun were spreading word of their king''s death, and of the new name for their kingdom, he hadn''t thought much of it. Now, however...


    That message originated within the Forbidden Zone. And now, a few years later, a vessel holding creatures likely of Cronos''s race had emerged into Imperial territory to investigate, flying in an unusually capable ship that exhibited a blend of unknown and Jotun technology.


    The chain of events was obvious. The Jotun had, once again, irritated Cronos. Cronos had destroyed whatever fleet they had sent. And... Cronos had destroyed them.


    In theory, Samarr could kill Cronos. But theories were useless in the face of a being that could obliterate galaxies, and whose advisors could foresee the future. His own meeting with Cronos was the only time the Emperor had been frightened of anything since the day he''d taken vengeance on his homeworld''s killers. For someone whose only viable threat was an encounter with a black hole, someone who could casually turn any given pebble into one...


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    He''d actually, for some years, been briefly trapped by one, thanks to Cronos. If the alien had wanted the Emperor gone, he would be gone. The only thing Cronos wanted was for his kingdom; merely a single world; to be left alone. Establishing the Forbidden Zone was the obvious solution; and apparently Jotun had broken it.


    Was Cronos planning to hunt down the Emperor, in revenge? Or just wanting to talk?


    Technically, so long as those who had broached the forbidden zone were dead, the laws had been fulfilled. But if Cronos were angry, informing him that all of the offending species were dead may be of assistance.


    Samarr turned into the darkness. The stars of the Forbidden Zone were not visible from here; occluded by other star clusters in the way. But... he knew the path. He focused for a moment. Space stretched. Time bent. And he began hurtling through space faster than any starship, aimed like a projectile at the homeworld of a certain errant species of crab.


    ***


    On another world, one far more vibrant and alive, a very different Emperor stood atop a tower of steel and glass. A handful of bodyguards standing unobtrusively in corners and behind displays as he looked out over a massive city; one filled with light, sound, the bustle of millions of people; wearing a silk kimono, beautiful and carefully hand-stitched in reds and blues, one which for him had been free, but to anyone else would have been a terribly expensive investment.


    Before the apocalypse, his nation had been dying a slow death. A self-inflicted one, but a death nonetheless. The sort of horrors the Chinese government had been performing lately, which were now their undoing? His own grandfather had done worse. The Empire of Japan had done things to its enemies, to those it considered inferior, with neither concern for morality, nor hesitation. It was difficult to think ill of a nation when it had been formed from such terrors as his people had inflicted on it; the Jotun, at least, simply killed their victims. He looked at the young couple seated on a couch, staring out at the city; the beautiful, elegant woman with vibrant green scales seemed to be growing closer to his nephew with each passing day.


    People like them... would, if he had his way, not be here, on earth. They would be living on another world. In space. Japan would leave the roots it had poisoned behind, and blossom once again in the stars. It was already in progress. Some of his people were part of the colonies, out in the distant darkness; and his efforts had already started up dozens of stations and planetary colonies in the solar system. His nation was, slowly but steadily, emptying into the skies, leaving only the elder generations behind on earth.


    Her grandmother had been a terrible person, and done terrible things. His own grandfather was a terrible person himself; and the two had even worked together on some of their atrocities. Right now, the war was on fire. He had dispatched what remained of the Japanese ocean-going navy to help the United States as they scoured Antarctica for surviving Jotun; but otherwise, these affairs on earth were none of his concern.


    A young man in a simple black suit emerged onto the balcony, and gave a bow; as two of the bodyguards briefly examined him, letting him pass. As the young couple looked on in interest, the man approached the Emperor. "Your majesty. I bring word; South America has erupted into war. The orbital platforms showed numerous fires and troop movements before they cut off; Hephaestus seems to have deactivated them to prevent either side from using his equipment for military advantage."


    The Emperor gave a slow nod. The vanishing of the Anzanian King. The United States movements against Antarctica. The civil war in China. So many events, all starting up at roughly the same time. Most likely, whatever army was invading South America was controlled by the one responsible. Which, given the only part of the world not currently involved in some sort of military operation was, paradoxically, the Middle East... narrowed down the possible assailants dramatically.


    While here on earth, his official powers were deliberately impaired by agreements dated back to the second world war, these agreements had no impact on Japan''s offworld resources; which were now greater than any other nation on earth by a vast margin. Soon, most of Japan''s population would be off of this world. They would have hatched from the egg, as it were.


    While they could survive without what was left of earth, he needed to ensure that his country survived til then. "Send the order. Launch the fleet. Even the ones that we''ve been pretending didn''t exist. I want a ring of battleships in geosynchronous orbit over our territory with orbital bombardment projectiles prepared at all times from this day forward. Have the prime minister issue a formal notice of neutrality in any earthbound conflicts, aside from against any Jotun remnants. So long as they don''t involve us, we simply continue as normal."


    Where she sat, Emerald listened to the Emperor''s words, barely paying attention to the conversation. He was... right about this. Eventually, in the far future, earth would sputter and die. If Japan''s people flourished in space, while the various nations that remained on earth all died off to infighting... that would be fine. She looked up at the sky for a moment. Mars would be beautiful, someday. And she would likely live to see it. How would it feel to stretch her wings on another world? Even with all trillions of tons of water and rock they were adding, Mars would never go above half of earth''s gravity. Would it be like floating on the clouds?


    For just a moment, she considered that Eyeball was out there somewhere. She''d heard he had launched into space. She was almost tempted to call him before he left. But... no. The reasons she left were still valid. He was still a monster. A sociopath. A mass-murderer. Hopefully, he would never come back.


    ***


    Buried deep within the earth, Almasi groaned as he finally managed to wedge the two rocks apart; and looked out into the darkness; when he pressed a light against himself, it refracted through his diamond flesh, giving off a glow to his surroundings; and letting him see that he was in yet another enormous cavern beneath the earth. He''d been climbing for what felt like eternity since switching from neutronium to diamond. But however long it took... he''d make it to the surface. Well. Hopefully. He couldn''t remain in his alternate forms permanently, and if it took too long to get to the surface, he''d eventually have to return to normal... and then likely starve to death or die, surrounded by the darkness. He shut off the light to save battery; and started to climb.


    He could hear the grinding and shifting of rocks; he had caused quite a bit of disturbance on his way down. How could he not have thought of what turning into Neutronium would do? Had he been so blinded by the possibility of becoming so tough, so strong, he could compete with the likes of Valkyrie, that he had glossed over what that would mean?


    As he carved a groove in the rock with his fingers and pulled himself up just another few feet, only to repeat the process all over again, he looked up through the darkness towards the ceiling. This... was likely impossible. These caverns only existed, likely, because of him falling through. They would be re-sealed by the moving of the rock... and he would be trapped down here, forever.


    Still. He at least had to try. He was going to be a father in a month or two; he needed to see those children with his own eyes, if it was the last thing he did. He would upend the world itself to be there for their birth.

 The Hunt - 10 - Shopping around

    "So... this is your equivalent of a library." RC looked around the massive chamber as the tiny orange crab gestured wildly with its claws. The room had no books. No storage. Instead, it had a neatly arrayed grid of display terminals, each with controls at the bottom level; most of the swarmed by crabs that didn''t even reach a human''s knee. She couldn''t hear just what was going on... but her first impression was that this was serving as a school, with each of those terminals being used for lessons with a cluster of surrounding children.


    She assessed the terminals themselves. Easy to control, likely hooked up to the local database. The interface... actually had both a free, low-level bandwidth option, and a paid, high-level bandwidth option. Familiar enough. As she approached one of the terminals further from the door, Ripper set a hand on her shoulder. She glanced back at him; the ridiculous dyed hair seeming to surround his face, pressed in by the helmet.


    "We''re being followed. Two of the tentacle-handed ones. Armed."


    RC glanced back. She had, of course, seen them. But she hadn''t realized the two silver-shelled crab creatures were following them. Interesting. The assassin was competent at this. Most likely watching for tails was standard procedure in his line of work. "Keep an eye out, but don''t kill them unless they attack. Don''t want to create an incident."


    Ripper frowned, and released her shoulder as she pressed her credit chit against one; and the display came to life. She started rapidly manipulating it, bringing up page after page of information in a language he didn''t understand, as he watched the surroundings. Most girls were either attracted to him, or afraid of him. This cyborg chick was neither. She was friendly enough, but seemed oddly distant.


    A hand on the shoulder from someone like him might get you anything from a backhand to a blush, depending on the girl, but she was just matter-of-fact. Maybe she was a lesbian? Or just didn''t view Ripper as anything but a co-worker?


    He went back to staring at the two aliens, who were now just leaning against the doorway, hands... well... masses of tentacles.. away from their weapons. Sort-of. They had both ''hand''-held rifles and some sort of shoulder-mounted weapons; and the shoulder ones were constantly sweeping around. A couple of the other crew were at nearby terminals; using some of the generous allotment of credits to review information.


    Really, Ripper''s interest had mostly died when he saw the presentation on alien species. He''d genuinely hoped for a chance to bang a hot alien girl on this trip; the sort of bragging rights that no-one from earth had for thousands of years. But aside from a couple of shape-shifting species that could look like most creatures they wanted to, none of them were really attractive.


    Why couldn''t the universe have some cute Twilekks or Orion girls out there? Even worse, the shape-shifters either had no bodily fluids at all, or the other one had toxic ones! If he somehow met one of the incredibly rare aliens that could look good, they would either poison him with a kiss, or feel like dry rubber.


    And if he wanted to try alien food? He''d been warned to test it, because it was likely toxic; and if it wasn''t it would taste bizzare, and have no nutritional value. Just terrible. This whole trip promised to be boring as hell unless maybe those aliens picked a fight.


    He studied them closely. They... weren''t even watching the humans. They were watching the smaller, orange crabs, and all the other aliens out here.


    The posture, the methods, the fact they were standing out in the open... they were security, sure. And they were here... to protect his team. Great. Don''t even get to kill any aliens. Yet.


    ***


    As the teams wandered through the market, checking out what was on offer, making a few minor purchases to be delivered back to the Jeanne, Dax glanced at the surroundings for a moment, then back at Eyeball, as he was perusing a rack of exotic alien weapons; most of which would need modification to fit a human hand.


    "Sir. RC is having some luck in her investigations, but there''s actually something I would recommend we look into you may not have considered."


    Eyeball looked over the rifle he was inspecting; essentially an ''ice'' gun that somehow drained ambient energy from an area, sucking up that heat and turning a target into... well. Ice. The weapon was build for something without hands; it had a long pole with a gripping surface made to be held by a tentacle, and a single firing stud on the top.


    "And what would that be? I thought most of this stuff was below what we or the Jotun already had?"


    "With a few exceptions, it is, sir. But... the locals here are terraforming experts; and experts at rebuilding dead worlds. I''ve been reviewing the catalogues, and I strongly suspect we could acquire equipment capable of terraforming Mars, Venus, and Europa for us without a problem, and reviving Earth as well."


    Eyeball blinked; and set the gun back on the rack. He turned to the squid-like creature running the cart; resting beneath what seemed to be a humidifier. "No need for the gun itself, but I''m interested in the plans behind it. Not familiar with the mechanism."


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    The squid gave off a low burble. "Exclusive rights to sell weapon in Imperial space, we have. If you want make your own, we can custom-build to order."


    "Hmm. Can I simply buy, say, five hundred guns from you, without actually taking any of the hardware but this one piece, and sign an agreement not to sell weapons based on them in Imperial space myself, and, in exchange, you give me the plans?"


    "...You have ship. Full of marines. Easily able to manufacture more guns. Bring back to your world. This could cost me much potential profit. For plans, four thousand ninety-six rifles you buy. Also first rights to sell the guns on your world." The creature held up its tentacles, gesturing as it spoke. The thing used base-eight math, so for it, that was a round number.


    "I''m not against the idea, but to be clear, my world is in the Forbidden Zone. You wouldn''t be allowed to sell there from what I''m aware."


    The creature suddenly drew back inside its cart, slamming the entrance, and stopped speaking; the display racks of weapons all sealed up as well; leaving Eyeball standing there empty-handed. He blinked. "Well. That was... unexpected. Alright. Sure, Dax. Lets go check out these terraformers."


    ***


    Ripper glanced at what RC was doing; she wasn''t even reading, just constantly flicking through entries and taking pictures, from what he could tell; before looking back at what he''d been checking with the marine; details about the various less crab-like species. One of the two shapeshifters were naturally blob-like creatures, and could only vaguely assume a shape at first; but with time, could become almost anything. The others were a bipedal, four-limbed humanoid race; that could appear to be all sorts of things, but the core 6-limbed skeleton was always there.


    The latter was an easy kill; just go for the center of mass; while the former had a tiny nerve-cluster brain the size of an eyeball, and until you destroyed it, it would keep altering its shape and moving. One of them was... all over. The six-limbed creatures had scattered to the four winds, and could be anywhere. The blobs... were mostly just in one little corner of the galaxy.


    Not good odds to see either. As Ripper turned away from the display, RC glanced over at him; and smiled. "Still looking for cute alien babes?"


    "Ehh. Not much point. Find what you''re looking for?"


    "Not quite. The Emperor doesn''t keep to a schedule. The Empire tells him what worlds are offered as tribute, and he goes where he likes, when he likes. Sometimes he just spends a year straight feeding, world after world... sometimes he goes home and visits his species'' grave. Sometimes he visits the worlds of similar species and toys with the locals. He was last spotted at his homeworld; so no clue where he''d be by the time we got there."


    "Too bad. So we have to use the whole ''sacrifice a planet to draw him in'' plan?"


    "Precisely. I''ve actually found quite a few excellent candidates. We''ll probably let everyone have a bit of shore leave and do some shopping before we go... those guards have been ordered to execute anyone who messes with our crew on the spot... including other guards."


    Ripper stared at the silver duo. ".,..What?"


    "Likely concern about pissing off Cronos."


    ***


    The structure was old, barely occupied. There were no displays, no racks of merchandise; just a counter, with a sleeping orange crab immersed in a tub of fluid behind it. Eyeball looked around as he entered, and stopped. "...This the place? Really?"


    Dax stepped inside, smiling, and gently wrapped one seemingly-delicate hand on the crab''s shell. "Sir! We''d like to speak with you."


    The creature abruptly stirred; water splashing in every given direction, splattering across the counter, Dax''s uniform, and the floor as it abruptly focused on her, covering its face protectively with its claws. "Not hiding! Work here! Supposed to be!"


    Eyeball glanced back at Kezia and Montrose; their new marine, now that Pelletier was back on the Jeanne; then to the crab. "I''m looking for terraforming equipment. Is this the right place to buy?"


    The creature rose up, tilting its body and raising both claws. "Yes! Yes yes yes! Terraforming equipment! We sell! Expert terraformers! We sell! Make cold, hot, wet, dry! Move rocks, deflect light! Grow life!" It seemed incredibly excited, practically vibrating with joy. It may not get many visitors, or customers; but if so, how did this place stay in business?


    "I need something to fix a planet with a toxic, acidic atmosphere; get it mostly oxygen-nitrogen; and help it stay cool. Something to stabilize a planet with huge temperature extremes and long days... and something for a world that gets too cold."


    The creature rapidly tapped buttons that were seen only to it on the counter. Images appeared of... a world surrounded in a strange, green swirl. Of metal posts embedded in the ground. Of a reflective surface floating in orbit of a planet. "We help! Usually just make worlds temperature stable again after all life die, atmosphere go crazy, and get cleansed. But we can fix acid! Hot, cold, all!"


    "Good. I''d like to get complete packages delivered to one of the docked ships; the Jeanne D''Arc. What sort of pricing are we looking at?"


    "Oh." The creature blinked, staring at the screens; and tapped a few more buttons. A series of options displayed over the screen; ranging from the cheapest option at a few hundred credits, up to about fifty thousand for the most expensive. Eyeball nodded. "We''ll take the best option. How much space does it take up?"


    The creature tapped a few more keys. A series of rectangular containers appeared; able to be connected together or disconnected for ease of transport, it showed an inventory and listing for each. "Dax?"


    She studied it for a moment. "We''ve got space in the cargo bay, no issue, if you let me take a few hours to move things around... will make launching the gunships slightly tricky if we have to do it in a hurry otherwise."


    "Hmm. You think our people will be safe here?"


    "The locals are exceedingly cautious about offending us. We''ll probably be safer here than the Imperials themselves are."


    "Good." He turned to the creature. "We''ll take it. Can you arrange delivery in... six hours?"


    The creature consulted its translator, seeming to be checking on its own timing. "...Yes-yes! You pay, can deliver all in six hours! We will be ready!"


    Eyeball sighed. "Alright then. This will work out well enough. Surprised at how cheap it is. Any luck on our intel, Dax?"


    Dax made a show of tapping her handset and checking it; with Kezia around, and not knowing the truth, it wouldn''t do to seem to know everything RC did. "We don''t have what we wanted, but we have what we need. Tracking the Emperor is a no-go. We''ll need to get him to come to us."


    He nodded, and tapped his helmet. ~Captain Moreau, this is Eyeball. Plan A is a wash, we''ll be going with plan B. This place seems fairly safe; I''d recommend the buddy system, but if anyone wants to take some shore leave and shop on an alien starbase, now would be a good time. We should be leaving in about eight hours.~

 The Hunt - 11 - Hitchhikers

    Eyeball was vaguely amused that when it came to transporting large quantities of goods, some things were the same everywhere. The massive rectangular crates were like larger versions of the shipping containers used on earth for trains and cargo ships; simple grey metal boxes with standardized connections to provide them power that easily matched up to the Jotun-based power supplies.


    He knew that the containers on earth were, amusingly, ultimately related to the size of a horse; two horses wide pulling a cart became the size for a train railing, became the size for a train, became a size for the cargo containers. Would these alien crates have a similar origin, millions of years ago? Some alien horse-analogue that pulled carts had a rear end exactly that wide, or half that wide?


    As he studied the crates being hooked up and secured to the deck, and watched the last shore party boarding, the various crew mostly rolling carts loaded down with exotic alien goods, a pair of marines was stopping each of the crew as they entered and running scanners over their purchases. One of the marines noticed him watching; and waved a hand. He heard the transmission a moment later.


    ~Sir. Captain wants to talk to you.~


    Eyeball nodded, and tapped his helmet. "Call Moreau." After a moment, he could see... the bridge, and the captain sitting in his chair looking at a display; then glancing up. ~Ahh, Eyeball. Our engineering team is sorting through all the data, but I wanted a word before we broke airlock. I''ve had my marines scanning and locking down anything organic that comes in. Most of it is being held until we can make sure its safe, but... well. Those crates you bought of terraforming gear? All read organic.~


    Eyeball turned to the containers, frowning. Right now, the cargo bay was sealed, air-tight. Everything leaving was being decontaminated before going on the ship proper. Whatever it was should be safe enough; and from the catalogue he''d seen, it was likely cocktails of artificial plants, bacteria, and the like, intended to turn a hellscape into a viable, living, world. They''d warned him that they would be added biologicals needed for the process to the crates, so this wasn''t exactly unexpected.


    ~It cause any issues if we lose all the air in the cargo bay? We can review the contents at leisure once we''re on the way to our destination, but the bio-signatures aren''t unexpected.~


    Captain Moreau put his fingers against his forehead, closing his eyes. ~We''re not talking bacteria. RC tells me there''s ''people''... crab people at least.. inside at least one of them.~


    Eyeball sighed. "Gentlemen. Guns up. We''re opening the terraforming crates. Call for backup, just in case."


    He approached the closest of the crates, examining the door. Before he opened it, he could see... a group of immobile rusties, huddled together inside a tank of some sort of liquid. A boarding party? He couldn''t see any weapons. He frowned; more marines entered the cargo bay; with Ripper stepping in after, appearing interested.


    "Alright, gentlemen. I''m the pre-cog, so I''ll be popping the lid and pulling them out. If I leap onto the roof, hose the inside down with plasma fire and we''ll dump all three back onto the station."


    The blue-armored marines settled into position behind a few deck plates; ones that had been built into the ship just in case a boarding action occurred, though they were on the wrong side, compared to the plans. Gauss rifles and plasma rifles were leveled on the container; as Eyeball tapped the button. The container opened with a hiss, chill air expanding away from it.


    He leveled the tenner forward on the tub of green jello-like substance the creatures were laying in; and one of the orange-shelled creatures slowly emerged, claws raised into the air. "Terraforming specialist Irraku at your service, master! Is it already time to get to work?" The other creatures behind it were starting to stir, as Eyeball looked at them... then at the other containers. "Ahh. Well, fuck."


    ***


    "So. We don''t really need to worry about them; apparently, these guys are ''property'' of the Terraforming corporation. Excess inventory that they are disposing of as work winds down; alongside the equipment. They''ll be breeding and training more, and manufacturing new gear, in about twenty years... after the Emperor has eaten the world that''s just about done now. Normally, they just... recycle them. When I offered to send them home, they begged to stay. Insisted they''d do anything. So."


    The debriefing room was immediately attached to the bridge; serving as the primary meeting point for the head officers while they were underway, Moreau, Eyeball, RC, and Kezia were already present, with all of them but Eyeball seated as the chrome-helmed man paced back and forth at the end of the room beside the display.


    Eyeball turned to Moreau. "RC is working on a lie detector for them. There are about ninety of them, mostly juveniles, and if they pass interrogation, we can add them to the crew. If they fail, if they''re saboteurs, we space them. Work for you?"


    The captain frowned, looking at the video of the tub filled with the small sleeping creatures. "This... recycle?"


    "Kill and use to feed the next generation. They apparently have target population levels for when they need to terraform in earnest, and for maintenance. And when one phase ends, and they need a tenth as many people.... they start with excess." Eyeball looked at the display.


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    "...I''m hesitant to say it, but... these guys could be useful. Especially on Mars, or Luna, which would be more comfortable for them gravity-wise; Europa and Venus wouldn''t really be viable for them. If we offered to buy a few shiploads of them and send them to earth, they could make enormous steps in making Mars and Luna livable. The only problem is avoiding a perpetual slave race situation... and that their own biology is incompatible with terran, to the point that feeding them at scale would be.... bad. Ideas, RC?"


    The woman looked at the image as well. Her primary objective was the survival of humanity. These creatures were potentially useful, but also a possible threat, especially once removed from the brutal oppression of the Empire. "These creatures evolved in below two-thirds earth gravity, and while intelligent, are short-lived, and docile... after thousands of years of selective breeding to get them that way. If we implant control chips and maintain similar standards as the Imperials, they could form effective terraforming agents, as well as labor for orbital mining and manufacturing, without posing a threat to human life. Producing nutrient bars in sufficient quantity would be trivial."


    Captain Moreau nodded slowly. The head engineer was a monster and ridiculously callous, despite all appearances. The fact she would even consider such a thing made her less trustworthy. "I... don''t think that would be the best option."


    She turned to Moreau. "Morally, it''s a good one. These creatures would be food, here on Avris. In Sol, they could live long, productive lives; and be carefully contained to keep them both useful, and a non-threat to humanity. Once they have lived out their usefulness, their reproduction can be curbed, and those that remained could live out a comfortable retirement."


    Eyeball sighed, leaning back against the display. "Okay, I get it. Protect humanity, priority one. But. There are hundreds of species out there. Ones much bigger and angrier than these ''Rusties''. Ones as bad as the Jotun, or worse. And if we start viewing all of these other races as tools to be used, as victims, as slaves, eventually we''re going to end up starting wars we can''t really win. The Empire is only around because nobody can take the Emperor. Once he''s gone, their slaving, mass-murdering, eating-the-weak ways will collapse. If we can get a relatively weak, helpful, innocuous species... that can''t live on earth so they can''t really be viewed as a threat... and set them up in colonies on Luna and Mars... you could almost call it training wheels to help a bunch of xenophobic monkeys adapt to having non-human neighbors once the ''Forbidden Zone'' isn''t protected by Imperial declaration."


    RC studied Eyeball. "So you''re saying that, in the long run, developing cooperation with other species will be better for humanity?"


    "I''m not saying we need to try to found the federation. That''s a bunch of nonsense. But we can''t try to found our own Empire. We''re not the only species with Titans out here; Cronos was unique in terms of how dangerous he was. And technically, he wasn''t even human; he was... Cro-magnon?"


    Kezia chuckled. "Homo Erectus. He and Titan are from a slightly larger, slightly less intelligent, breed of near-human. And Titan is the only survivor of that species. There''s a theory that he actually deliberately wiped out or selectively altered his own species to bring about a more docile, less physically capable, Homo Sapien race to serve him."


    Moreau laughed. "So. We are the Rusties to Cronos''s Emperor? It honestly makes me more inclined to take them in."


    RC tapped a few keys on the table''s edge. The display shifted, showing the Solar system. "Without significant genetic engineering of human colonists, settlements on Mars and Luna will require either massive additions of raw material to increase size, or artificial gravity on an unimaginable scale. If these Rusties can legitimately bring Europa and Venus up to human-survivable conditions, however, those worlds could prove viable long-term settlement options. In addition, several of these worlds here in the Avris system could prove viable human habitats... but are not good candidates for Rusty settlements. They are actively building worlds they cannot thrive on."


    Eyeball smiled. "I would recommend asking them to hold off on the culling. Pay them with a few neutronium crumbs to stop recycling, for now. And when our mission is over, and the Emperor is no longer going to be coming here to eat? We can talk to them about work. Hiring them by the thousands. Trading Mars and Luna for worlds humans can comfortably walk and live on, here. Make a good start at becoming a true interstellar society."


    Moreau shrugged. "It''s a nice idea. But impractical or not, Japan is already trying to colonize Mars. I suspect they''re planning on just letting people adapt... and be trapped, never able to go to earth, or any other 1G world again. Still. Good ideas. I think he''s right... these people could be useful."


    Kezia smiled and leaned forward eagerly, face lighting up. "Maybe not just them. If we find other species being exploited by the Empire..."


    Eyeball stopped. "First things first. We need to take him out. Do we have our list of targets?"


    ***


    For the Emperor, space was his ocean. He could float between the stars as if they were the rocks in the depths of the ocean at home; a casual gesture would send him swimming through a star, leaving solar flares in his wake as he basked in its warmth. A few waving tentacles and the flare would settle back down; leaving the locals in awe of the vast power displayed by their ruler. He observed local signals, picking through details.


    Ahh. Stellar drift. He was slightly off course. He hadn''t been here for many tens of thousands of years, and even the stars would shift in time. He didn''t like being this close to... Cronos. Even if he survived the creature''s wrath, he might throw a tantrum and wipe out everything in sight... and he still needed to keep eating a while longer before he could reach his target mass and start consuming the whole galaxy at once.


    He selected the closest of the Jotun worlds; a simple colony world. Mostly water; vibrant with life, cities filled with billions of people, protected by a ring of defensive stations; and a fairly sparse fleet, only a few dozen. Undoubtedly, the lion''s share had been sent on Jotun''s foolish attempt to kill Cronos.


    He fully expected to see a single black hole coasting its way out of the system in a few years, causing catastrophic damage as it passed through the cosmos, containing what little remained of Jotun and his fleet.


    Any species capable of crafting such arrogance and putting so many others at risk needed to be eradicated, for the good of the galaxy.


    He focused on the swarming life-forms of the Jotun and the various forms of ocean life they used to support their society. The time to feed in earnest had begun.

 The Hunt - 12 - Planned Acts of Genocide

    Kezia would inhale deeply... and glance at the holographic display. "RC has given me what she feels are the three best options. I''ll be the one doing the deed, so I feel that this should be my decision."


    Eyeball coughed. "You do need us to get you there. So I think we all need to agree on a target; and if you say no, it doesn''t happen."


    Captain Moreau looked around the table for a moment. "These creatures are responsible for literally millions of years and quadrillions of deaths by supporting this Emperor. If sacrificing a few worlds is needed to get the job done, then I say we do it, damn the cost."


    RC tapped the table. "We have a few options which I feel are all good for this. The first is to go big. The Imperial Capital. Over one hundred billion souls, serviced by slaves and automated servants, an enormous hive consisting of the vast group of servitors that keep it all running. Hard target. Heavily defended. Absolutely impossible to ignore, and the ratio of criminals to innocents is ridiculous; while a few of the wealthier Imperials have living slaves, most of them rely on automation because its simply not cost effective to ship in enough to feed that many slaves; they rely mostly on automated hydroponic gardens. After hitting that one, Kezia could then move to the other, food-growing worlds in the same system; they actually ship over a billion tons of food to the planet every day; these, however, actually do have a fair number of innocents, so I''d recommend delaying, pretending it takes time to repeat the process... the Emperor should come running after the Capital."


    Kezia blinked. "Oh, shit. Thats... yeah. That would do it. If anything would get him to come running, that would be the job. I.... not sure I can handle that much at once, right now. I might need to do a smaller planet first. I know I could handle millions. Probably billions. But hundreds of billions...."


    RC studied Kezia for a few seconds, and tapped the keys again. "My second option then might be a good starter. I have thirty-seven different candidates which are all worlds in the terraforming process where they haven''t seeded sentient life yet. If we hit one of those first, then said we were going to hit the capital..."


    Captain Moreau looked over the images that appeared. "He might be waiting when we got there if we do that. By all reports he''s insanely fast. Is that what we want?"


    Kezia glanced at the captain. "Honestly, I wouldn''t mind. As much power as I''d get from over a hundred billion souls, I have no idea how that would change me."


    Eyeball looked to meet Kezia''s gaze.. an effect spoiled by the helmet. "On the other hand... according to Hera, more energy starts giving diminishing returns after a while in terms of performance improvement; and the Olympians are already past that threshold. Each Ambrosia fruit they eat barely makes a difference now, and thats the equivalent of hundreds of lives. Scale that up to the billions.... If you were to actually consume the Capital, and that many souls... it might only be a drop in the bucket compared to the Emperor, but it might mean you''re a fourth, or a third, as strong as him. Enough to at least survive a fight, even if you can''t kill him."


    Kezia inhaled deeply. "Ahh.... You''re right. And we don''t need to listen to Hera for that. Me and my grandfather, my cousin, several in my family are past that threshold. I would need to consume a city to noticeably increase my power, while giving any of the crew a fraction of that would turn them into a mid-grade metahuman."


    She turned to RC with a knowing gaze. "Assuming they were human."


    RC glared at Kezia. "What are you trying to say?"


    "Whatever they once were, the engineering crew are more machine than person now. I can feel them; there''s some life there. But every one of them is stronger than any ordinary human, but has the life force of... a gopher. Something living, but tiny, weak. What have you done to them?"


    "...Nothing they didn''t volunteer for. If any of them wants to tell you, they can feel free."


    Kezia puled to her feet; the table audibly creaking with the force she exerted on it as she glared right back at RC. "Can they? Or have you turned them into machine puppets? Are you like Ascension with his army of Pale Ones? Each of those crew just a sack of meat to you, pulled by strings?"


    Eyeball slammed a fist into the table. Kezia and RC both stopped, turning to him. "Thats enough." He looked between the two. He wasn''t completely certain what to tell Kezia, aside from revealing the truth about almost the entire engineering crew being Ascension-built cyborgs. "We''re getting distracted. Kezia. The crew issue is something you, I, and RC can discuss privately. To be clear, what happened with those people happened at Eye-Tech, and we absolutely do not condone involuntary medical procedures on anyone but convicts of certain serious offenses.. and none of those on the crew fit that bill. RC and her team all volunteered for what happened to them, and have almost exactly the same implants."


    "Not almost. Exactly the same. Me, Dax, Riva, Sharee, Janice.. the rest of the team. Exact same implants. Super-reflexes, super-durability. We''re treading the fine line of optimizing our ability to fight and handle fast-paced situations with not being impacted by quantum disrupters. Though... thats another thing we need to talk about."


    "Oh?"


    RC smiled. "Those shields we bought? They form an effective barrier against the disrupter technology of the Jotun, and any other similar devices. If we can make them small enough, we could actually make AI-driven interceptor drones or missiles that the tech wouldn''t work on. It would still be great at stopping grey goo situations, but... once it gets back home, it''ll make a huge difference in all sorts of applications. Honestly, the terraforming gear we bought so cheaply will make a bigger impact at home than almost anything. The specs I''ve seen on it are.... should be... impossible."


    Eyeball blinked. That.... Jotun sensors and disrupters were the key to the destruction of Ascension''s forces during the war. If the Engineer got hold of it, and passed it to whatever secret offworld base Ascension had been building... He studied RC for a moment. Ascension was solid. Dependable. The machines were willing to take out individual humans, but had demonstrated an absolute willingness to fall down to the last to preserve the human species. The settlements Ascension was building? Frankly seemed like a much better way to go about things than the lackadaisical approach the US was taking, or the brutal, oppressive route of the Chinese.


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    "..That could be important. I think we should drop by one of these terraforming worlds. Buy a ship. Gather our motley assortment of crabs, the terraforming gear, and a couple of our engineering staff to keep things running... and send it back home. Then, of course, once it leaves the system... Kezia can do her thing. Its possible the ship might be lost in the process of killing the Emperor, and that feels... possibly vital."


    Kezia sighed. "We''ll have that discussion later. But... yes. That could work. I will be vulnerable, sort-of, while performing the ritual to make the effect planet-sized, so I''ll need a team of body-guards to keep off the natives."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Not a big deal. Me, Ripper, a few marines and some deployed weapons from cargo on the surface, and Spike and our lady dark up in orbit... honestly, could probably handle anything. Though... how do we keep them from getting killed by the ritual?"


    "Anyone standing in the ritual circle will be fine. In fact, those closer to the center will actually absorb some of the power I''m draining. Step out, though, and you''ll be dead in seconds. So.... very much a ''stick with me if you want to live'' situation."


    "...So if we sent the whole Marine complement down, they''d come back stronger, tougher, better able to survive the next ritual, on the capital?"


    Kezia blinked. "Well. Yes, actually. I can make the circle bigger than I need to, take most of the power for myself for either the Capital ritual or a fight with the Emperor, and still leave all the marines heavily augmented. I''ve never done this before deliberately, but... it''ll be interesting to see the results."


    ***


    At first, there wasn''t much reaction to the Emperor''s approach to the planet. The fleet hailed him; offering appropriate greetings. He ignored them, hurtling towards the deep oceans, far from any of the major cities, where the pressure would crush most living things; and the Jotun didn''t realize anything was amiss until a few seconds before he hit the water; as he hadn''t slowed down at all, launching an enormous tsunami in all directions. The fleet in the system began to gather, emergency drills started, people running for shelters from the enormous wave to come; most of the major cities were primarily aquatic, for what little good that would do.


    When he reached the surface of the planet in the depths below; feeling the cold, the pressure; nothing against his enormous, powerful form; he felt the planet. An enormous web of interconnected life, all working as a whole; and he began to feed.


    At first, the smaller creatures died. Insects. Fish. Then the children died in the screaming arms of their parents... but it didn''t take long before those grew silent as well. In orbit, the fleet listened as the world grew quiet. Frantic cries for help turning silent. The greenish tinge to the world turning a dull brown over the blue of the enormous oceans.


    When the Emperor emerged from the ocean, leaving a dead husk of a world behind, weapons fired; plasma cannons on defensive stations that had stood for thousands of years firing bolts of energy as hot as the core of a sun, which... were barely felt by the Emperor, as he settled in, tentacles tearing apart the largest of the stations as he consumed its crew; and started to analyze the wreckage. Looking for records, for history; to learn just why Jotun had been foolish enough to invade the Forbidden Zone; hadn''t the stupid crab lost his father to it already? There must be something in here to explain it all.


    ***


    For Almasi, it had taken over two days of brutal, incredibly difficult climbing to reach where he stood now; a dark, dank, pit in the earth. He hoped he was near the surface. That if he could just go a bit longer, he might make it. His power was starting to put a strain on him. He was becoming exhausted. Making mistakes. If he didn''t see daylight soon, it would be over.


    Then... he could see it. A crack of light, in the darkness above, so vivid as to be blinding. A flashlight, pointing downward! He smiled, working his fingers into another crack, using his other hand to start carving another handhold. He was going to make it! Freedom would be there, above him! Someone to help!


    Behind the flashlight, a cold, pale face stared through a scope at the vividly faceted white figure, and turned. Clone looked at Aziz for a moment, and the man smiled, before turning to the tall, dull obsidian skinned giant beside them; the man appeared to have been carved from a single massive, glistening stone. "Well, Khan? He made it. This is your moment. That rifle in Clone''s hands will finish the job; can break a diamond like it was nothing. You take that rifle, pull the trigger, and the country is yours. We won''t say a thing. Or. We help him out. Apologize for the results of the Neutronium. And he''s convinced of both our willingness to help, and your loyalty."


    The giant glowered at Aziz for a moment, and shook his head. "What, become the Obsidian King with the help of some foreigners? No..."


    Aziz frowned in disappointment as a dagger-like blade started to take shape in the man''s hand. What was the idiot doing? He was strong, yes, and those blades his power created were sharp. But they couldn''t pierce diamond.


    A sudden toss. A loud ''Thunk'' sound. Almasi looked up, blinking against the light; and saw a dagger planted in the stone, a foot above him. He looked further; and saw Obsidian, one of his chief allies, standing at the edge of the pit; and saw the sky, and trees, above. How far had he gone? That was... the jungle, not his palace. Why the.... Another thunk.


    Another dagger, a foot above that one. And another. Almasi smiled; and gripped the handle, pulling himself up; nodding at the men above him. This would make it much easier, yes. And the story would sound better, if he had pulled himself from the pit on his own.


    When he reached the edge, and the men gathered there; a blend of strangers and his own soldiers; helped pull him free; he finally allowed himself to return to flesh, the diamond sheen fading from his skin. One of the men there... he recognized him. Aziz. The telepath. He looked around at his soldiers...


    At first, he''d thought that the neutronium might be an assassination attempt. But no. If Almasi had taken proper precautions, like actually standing on a properly prepared surface, that matter might have been incredibly useful. For something; he wasn''t sure just what. And this... the telepath could easily have influenced his allies, and had a deathtrap waiting for him at the surface.


    "I thank you for your gift. And I apologize for my hubris in wasting it."


    Aziz smiled, and extended a hand. "I apologize for the harm my gift caused. I helped your men locate you, when I learned what had happened, and hope that we might still be allies in the days to come." Perhaps Obsidian didn''t have the... stones.. to do the job. But as Almasi accepted his hand, Aziz smiled. Turning the king into a puppet would be even better; and with the king already favorably inclined to him now... trivial.


    He glanced askance at the shining black metahuman. He had mistaken the man''s intentions when he''d asked for Aziz''s help finding where Almasi had ended up, in the depths. If he hadn''t already been influencing him for so long, this might have gone awry. He would need to be more cautious, going forward with him.

 The Hunt - 13 - Cobalt-Iron

    The system didn''t have a name on human star-charts; but it was a simple, binary system with six planets, ridiculously thick asteroid belt that was once a pair of gas giants which had torn each other apart... and a small outpost there to maintain a terraformed world, whose sole purpose was tribute to the Emperor. Captain Moreau studied the display as they entered the system.


    While Avris station and the system itself had been vastly busier than Sol, this one... seemed mostly dead. A single station in orbit of the planet with a handful of ships.. all the same long, thin design with the tiny spokes of shield generators down their length; another, smaller, mining station on the outer edge of the asteroid belt... but the whole system seemed mostly abandoned. The mining station wasn''t even active; there were no life signs, and likely only enough power to keep it in its orbit in case some debris struck it.


    As the Jeanne passed through the Security threshold, they could still see the three local ships docked at the nearby station; but their sensors warned them something had already left. After a few minutes, a vivid flash... and the long, needle-shaped craft appeared in a flash of distorted space just a light-minute from the Jeanne; easily within missile range, but outside direct-fire range of anything like a projectile or beam weapon.


    Moments later, the incoming signal registered. RC glanced at Moreau. "This one is a bit different. Sonar imaging. It''ll be black and white, and their audio will be meaningless for us."


    Moreau nodded. "Respond in kind. Give a sonar image of me and the chair."


    Moments later... an image appeared. A long, thin shell, with a cluster of tentacles and a single eye at one end, studying Moreau. ~You have entered Leesh space. This is a tribute system, not quite ready for consumption. What purpose do you have here?~


    Moreau smiled, nodding at the strange-looking thing. Like... a squid stuck in a cone-snail''s shell. Surely he looked just as odd. Notably, the creature hadn''t threatened. It likely had already determined it was outclassed. "Mostly, we would like to observe the terraforming process up-close. Our own species is currently beginning its own very first terraforming operations, and we have much to learn. If you have any FTL-capable ships you''d be willing to sell, we would be interested as well; we can pay in either Imperial credits, or in Neutronium ingots."


    The creature studied Moreau; the single massive eye slowly moving along his form. Clearly, it had poor eyesight, but still ''looked'' at whatever it was focusing on. ~So long as one of our vessels accompanies you, you may investigate the world. The sapients who will be sacrificed have yet to be seeded, so interference is meaningless at this stage. While the mining vessel that operates in this system is not currently in use, and could be sold, we would need to order a replacement from our homeworld before the beginning of the next terraforming cycle; it would need to be a minimum of [153 tons] of neutronium for the purchase due to the inconvenience.~


    The captain glanced at RC. She shrugged. "Thats at least four or five times the value of that ship. Probably more; and its likely an old ship that would be replaced at some point anyway. If you offer fifty, they''d probably take it; you could buy a brand new one for that in a bigger system, from what I see."


    Moreau nodded, and turned back to the creature. "Obviously, that''s far more than the value of the ship. But, if you assist us in preparing it for oxygen-breathing life, and it meets my engineer''s standards so I''m sure it will make it home, I''ll offer one hundred tons."


    The creature bobbed slowly back and forth; and its tentacles retracted into the shell, leaving only the eye visible. Subtitles beneath the display popped up. [The Leesh is demonstrating body-language interpreted as extreme excitement] ~This is an acceptable offer. Meet at the primary station hub, and the exchange will be made. We will begin preparing it now.~


    RC studied the screen, as the Leesh disappeared. "Well. He was happy about that, clearly. I suspect that the leaders here think they''ll be able to pocket whatever they don''t spend on the new ship."


    "Good enough. What sort of detail do you have on their ships?"


    "Basic titanium-alloy hulls. Fairly sturdy redundant, three-layered shields; the mining ship looks old, but actually has six seperate shield layers to protect it from strikes; the mining ship only has lasers and mass drivers, but the warships have... over one hundred and twenty missile tubes each. If the specs I''ve got are accurate, they can spit out a thousand missiles each in less than three seconds, though not particularly dangerous ones, and if it comes to a fight, they''ll launch an initial wave of hundreds of thousands... just from these three warships... and keep firing more as they try to retreat."


    A simulation appeared; of missiles launching from the needle-like hulls in every direction, before twisting and redirecting to the front, approaching a target from all sides. "They can empty all of their magazines in under thirty seconds. The namesake of this ship would have been annihilated by such an attack, though it would have taken them out at the same time. This version... they might as well spit on us. Every missile could strike the same part of the hull in rapid succession without causing serious harm."


    Moreau swiveled the display, zooming in on the Jeanne. "And if they focus on our engines? Those are the weak spot, after all."


    "The engines can put out enough heat to rupture the missiles before they get close enough to do damage... and... we installed some of those shield pylons to protect them while we were en route. It was part of the upgrade package I gave you."


    "So. No real threat. Any good way to take them out without having to kill them?"


    RC smiled, and tapped the screen again; the image of the Jeanne vanishing, replaced by one of the Leesh ships once more. "Of course! If they let us dock at the station, and they dock as well, we can actually bypass their shields and hit them all with an EMP hard enough to fry all of their active systems. They''ll need hours to get back into operation, and days to be combat-effective again. If they don''t let us dock... either we accept being showered with missiles, or we kill them."


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The captain smiled. "Works well enough." He tapped his wrist. "This is Captain Moreau to Eyeball. We''re going to be modifying a local ship to haul some of our cargo back home before landing. Once we have handover, we can expect to need your team ready to go in..." He glanced at RC, who made a gesture. "About seven hours. I''d prefer our newly purchased ship be on the way out-system before we start the operation."


    ***


    The ship followed the Jeanne into the system; both ships making a brief hop into hyperspace, emerging far closer to the station to allow a more leisuely dock; as the smallest FTL-capable ship in the system, a 80-meter-long mining craft that was apparently named ''Cobalt-Iron'', had its internals pumped clean; this station was solely built to house the Leesh, and had no airlocks; the only spaces inside the vessel not holding water held inert gases, pumped in to preserve their contents.


    The... ''waterlock'' the Jeanne connected to was a mid-sized tunnel; and as Engineer Dax and the two marines; one of them being Pelletier, fresh out of quarantine; pushed the cart of Neutronium forward, they were greeted by... an abrupt intake of water, as the room flooded; vacuum replaced first by an inert gas, and then by a steady flow of oxygenated water with some sort of agent added to it; a biological fluid of unknown purpose.


    Pelletier stared through the murky water and glanced over at Dax; the slim engineer was ridiculously strong, cute, smart, and actually seemed interested... though he wasn''t completely sure on that last bit. She flirted all the time, but had never really given a good response to his offers to take her back to his cabin; or vice versa.


    Vision became short-ranged, and murky; the marines both switched to sonar, getting a 3D projected map of the structure nearby. Pelletier had trained for this; he''d been required to get good marksmanship scores using strictly sonar and other equipment to get onto this team. Dax seemed not to have any issues. Moments after the last bubbles of gas had been pushed out, and the structure completely filled, the inner door opened; and the trio got their first up-close view of a Leesh.


    For the corporal, it was a shock. He''d been surrounded by tiny crabs, and seen a variety of aliens... but was shocked to see the reason for the tunnel-sized ''waterlock'' was that the Leesh were enormous; the creature looking at him had an eyeball at least a meter across, and the shell was perhaps ten meters long. This waterlock was a tiny, compact space for it, that would require careful manuevering.


    A few bubbles shifted. He could feel the suit shaking slightly as soundwaves passed through him. The creature focused on Dax, and the cart. ~Is this the sample?~


    Dax made a series of strange gestures as Pelletier watched, slightly confused; was she... trying to mimic some Leesh sign-language? Those tentacles were moving whenever the translator registered. ~This is the offered [100 tons]. We have measured it using our equipment, it is actually [100.736 tons]. You may keep the excess, as we lack precision tools for working it ship-board.~ The cover was removed; and Pelletier grimaced.


    It had -teeth- marks on it. They had had that Rex guy actually -chew- on a few pieces that were close to 100 tons and picked the one that got closest. The idea behind this was... insane.


    The massive creature withdrew a set of instruments from its shell; and started to closely scan the cart; giving a firm tug on the cart with a tentacle. The eye re-focused on Dax. ~The equipment to keep water oxygenated has been altered to keep the air supply fresh based on the gas ratios provided. We regret that our water circulation systems are not designed for gases, and will require additional rework. It is highly unlikely our regenerative food sources will be edible for your species, but the gravity on the Cobalt-Iron can be easily increased to your species preference.~


    Dax nodded. ~Thank you. We can handle the food supply; though if you have any purified water tanks aboard, leaving those full would be ideal. If you will leave the vessel docked here, we can transfer personnel and equipment back and forth more easily.~


    The creature made a few strange gestures; and began to withdraw from the waterlock, slowly pulling the cart with it. ~You may remain docked as long as is needed. All security codes for the Cobalt-Iron have been transferred, as well as systems manuals. Enjoy your ''new'' ship. Please notify us before venturing to the surface so that one of our vessels may accompany you.~


    ***


    This was Ripper''s first spacewalk; but it was a surprisingly familiar experience. While he was in the ethereal, he could simply float in whichever direction he chose; while here, he needed to  use the jets. Still. He''d had some thoughts, back when he was working on earth, wondering if this other world had the same gravity and momentum as the ''real'', ''normal'' one. And since he''d come to space... he was a bit confused.


    He had been able to make quick hops into and out of the ethereal to get through walls of the ship without a problem. Even disrupted a bit of neutronium, to make sure their plan with the Emperor was solid. But even while the ship was accelerating at vast speeds and RC had  speculated they might need to drop back to pick him up... he''d stayed inside the ship, just on the other side of the wall, exactly where he meant to be.


    Did his power just ''feel'' how he wanted to be oriented, and do it that way? Just how did this work? He popped out of the ethereal a few meters from the first alien hull, holding the first EMP device. It was built so that the outer shell of it would match the alien hull; and, well. It would be embedded in the ship, so shouldn''t be noticed. He pulled back into the ethereal for a moment, extending the bomb; and then went back to normal; and the bump from the bomb was barely noticable. He smiled; and turned, floating towards the next ship; entering the ethereal, mentally timing how long it should take to reach the next target. Hopefully he wouldn''t come out too late, and end up accidentally butchering one of these ''Leesh'' creatures.


    ***


    The inside of the Cobalt-Iron was... spacious. Despite its 80-meter length, it was only built for a crew of ten; each of the crew berths, essentially an empty room barring some storage compartments, the size of a house; Pelletier could put a kitchen, a couple of bedrooms, and a living room here; but it was probably standard for something the size of a Leesh.


    He dragged the pre-fab into the room, looking for the right connectors; and found them. Valves in the walls for circulating water. These creatures didn''t drink, or bathe, aside from special medical baths, they just... lived in the water. Each room had a device to oxygenate water, which had been replaced with a CO2 scrubber; and the water valves remained in place. The 300-pound metal box Pelletier had wheeled in contained a toilet, a shower, and a bed; and with a few adjustments, he was able to unfold it, hook it into the ship''s plumbing and power...


    And there. He could charge his suit, take a shower, sleep; everything he needed. He was... a bit disappointed that he wouldn''t be going on the surface mission, or on to fight the Emperor. But, well. The captain''s first choices for this job had all been people foolish enough to pop the seals at Avris station. At least he''d get to take another shot at Dax.


    After testing the toilet and making sure everything worked properly, he stepped back out into the hallway; and headed back to the cargo bay. He was going to need to install ladders to get to the bridge and engineering compartments; right now Dax was busily inspecting the reactor, installing a few upgrades, and the cargo containers were being loaded onboard in place of the mining drones the ship had been loaded down with.


    This was a rush job; as soon as they were sure the ship could make it home, they would be leaving, to let the ground team start on the ritual without worrying about the relatively soft, easily damaged ship being taken out. As slow as this thing was compared to the Jeanne D''Arc, by the time they got home, this mission should be resolved, one way or another. If worst came to worst, they might even go back home to find the Emperor had already come by and wiped out humanity.

 The Hunt - 14 - The Ritual

    The gunships, unlike the Jeanne herself, were heavily modified Jotun stock; the same light blue metallic alloys that had required insane temperatures to reforge and reshape without having to break them apart. As Eyeball watched the planet swing by below, heading for the target landing site, he looked at the numerous tiny islands across the vast, oceanic surface, and double-checked thee systems. The capacitors were fully charged. Tanks were full. And much like the Dragonslayer that was up in the launch bay, each of these gunships had its own extradimensional space that would let it swap capacitors, refill fuel, and reload its missiles continuously; they could, in theory, continue active combat operations for weeks; though of course, unlike the drones, this meant they couldn''t be stored in an extradimensional space themselves.


    This place was the product of decades of work. He could see holes where terraforming equipment had laid, years before, only to be now slowly filled in by the sands and the tides. Vast reefs of beautiful creatures of endless varieties. The Leesh... did good work. This entire planet would make an excellent vacation resort. If it weren''t being built just to be fed into the hungry maw of a giant monster, what they were about to do here would be an atrocity. Not as bad as if it were inhabited by sentients; but all the life that was about to end was bad enough.


    When the two gunships landed on the island, the tightly packed crew began to emerge. Only two of the engineering team were down; one of RC''s numerous cyborgs and Rex; Rex, amusingly enough, had an exo-frame on to augment his existing strength, and his ''tail''; only shoulder-mounted, rather than in his back as it had been before, and just over a standard uniform; and as the marines filed out of the craft, all eighteen of those remaining with the ship, Eyeball ran a scan with his helmet.


    Nitrogen level... a bit higher than ideal for a human, but good. Oxygen level... far higher than ideal for a human, but also fine. This place would feel weird, but it was entirely artificial; there were no harmful bacteria, nothing that could make anyone sick. He glanced back at Kezia as they stepped out, and she looked over the mid-sized island, her vivid purple armor reflecting the sunlight from its sandy beaches, the trees seeming more like giant bulbous mushrooms with pale white ''trunks'' and cone-shaped masses of ''branches''.... nodding to herself as she did.


    "Anything we can do to help?"


    Kezia glanced at him. "Of course. Aside from watching for any hostile local life, I need a particular rune carved into the ground. The more accurate we get it, the faster I can get started. Rex and Daisy are working on that part, but more hands make things faster."


    Eyeball nodded; and as Kezia relayed the image to him, he transferred it to the marines; each of them receiving a map of the island, with the HUD showing what the rune needed to look like. "Do we need to put blood or anything like that in it? Gather some of the local life?"


    She smiled. "Ahh... no. That would help things get started for someone who didn''t have much magic to work with. I''ve... got plenty." She glanced at Eyeball, before turning and heading to the center of the island; watching Rex and Daisy directing the marines as the squads of blue-armored soldiers pulled out shovels and started to help form the runes. It was strange. The man seemed singularly focused on this mission, and acting as if it were a one-way trip for him.


    When she''d first started flirting with the... villain? Anti-hero? Whatever he was, he was interesting enough.. He''d seemed attracted, but uninterested. She''d thought perhaps he and Chambers were together; that this.. ''RC'' abomination was sharing his bed, considering how the two seemed to be working together so closely; but there was no chemistry, no attraction, there at all. He didn''t even look at her unless he was talking to her.


    Was he worth pursuing? Possibly. Her last boyfriend had been too afraid of her family; as soon as she''d introduced her to her father, he''d practically started running. When he''d commented that ''Hasslehoff was a German last name, wasn''t it?'', the tone of her father''s voice had struck a chord. He hadn''t drained the boy''s life or anything, she would have been able to tell; he was just... afraid.


    This Eyeball character. Not the best looking, no; ''rugged'' would be the polite way to put it. But even before his powers, he''d been her type. Fearless. Aggressive. Kezia shook her head. Maybe she''d need to be more direct, after this. The man seemed convinced this was going to be a suicide mission for him, but that was foolishness. If it was a suicide mission for anyone, it would be Ripper; the man was, after all, the living weapon that would be used for the job. He wasn''t too bad himself, if a bit too lean.


    Though, the obviously fake red hair was not right for him. Ripper would probably look better... bald. Hmm. She tried to imagine him hairless for a moment, and shook herself. Serious times, girl. You''re about to murder a planet.


    Kezia looked out at the people working on the island. Eighteen marines, Eyeball, and two engineers; there were a few hundred important symbols to form, but she could do it herself... it was just faster with help. She closed her eyes. She could feel it. The symbol was... almost right. She dropped to her knees, feeling the world. The heartbeat of a single, massive ecosystem, spread across the world. The strange plant-like creatures; ropes of fibers that spread across miles of ocean, forming massive reef-like communities where swarms of smaller animals dwelled.


    There wasn''t much in the deep ocean. This life felt... shallow. Incomplete. It wasn''t like the earth, where life had dug itself in deeply. This was... wrong. It had simply been laid over the top, like a sheet of sod over concrete.


    She inhaled. "Radio on. This is Kezia. The runes are close enough; I can feel the world. The local wildlife is going to feel what I''m doing, and react as if I''m a threat. If this were earth, lions would come trying to kill me, zebras would run the other way. Humans would react all sorts of crazy ways. After the first few minutes, everything in a hundred miles will be too weak to do anything, but if they have any amphibious super-predators here it might be an issue."


    Eyeball''s voice came on the line. ~Confirmed. Everyone, stay inside the runes, but not too close to the center.~


    "Actually, feel free to be close to the center... at first. The more people I spread the power between for the first few minutes, the easier it''ll be. In fact... if everyone could form up on me... guns out and ready... and just start slowly walking away when I give the word."


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    Rex tapped in. ~This is Rex. Me and Daisy will be providing air support from the gunships. How low do we need to be?~


    Kezia looked out over the island, feeling around with her sense of the life forms on the planet. "I... don''t feel anything on this planet that can fly more than a few meters off the ground. Just stay above the runes, and you''ll be fine."


    As the group gathered around her, rifles and grenades at the ready, she raised her hands, knees pressed into the soil; and slammed them to the ground. At first, nothing seemed to be happening. Around the world, fish-like creatures could feel a strange connection to this... alien.


    It felt... wrong. Most of the creatures started swimming away. Getting as far from this creature as possible. For others... instinct drove them to fight.


    The first sign of trouble was when she heard the loud ''pop'' of displaced, superheated air as a Jotun plasma blast slammed into the beach and superheated steam rose in a pillar just outside the rune. The marines were upright, rifles raised, as a swarm of snake-like creatures, ranging from a few meters long to dozens of meters long and thicker than most boats began to move onto the shore, letting out horrific wails; as rapid-fire plasma blasts swept across the sand.


    At first, the plasma, and the molten glass it left behind, was stopping them. Then, there were too many; even as the glass cooked their flesh, they would swarm across one section of beach as the gunships fired on another. The marines raised their rifles, and started to fire; these were no ordinary rifles; plasma rifles, altered Jotun versions, that flash-boiled masses of desperate animals as they charged at the danger in an unwitting attempt to protect their world, their species.


    Eyeball had started out standing beside Kezia, in a loose circle with the marines; but as they continued to advance, firing steadily into the oncoming swarm, he felt a sharp, terrible pain in his left arm; and collapsed to the dirt with a grunt, clutching his hand to his chest. He stared down at the arm of his suit which... was bulging. Malforming. The body-armor around his arm seemed to move as if it were alive.


    Grenades went out. Pools of thermite formed, creating further barriers, sending more of the creatures into a screaming, burning death... and then... it started to slow. The marines either didn''t notice Eyeball''s response; or were too busy to care.


    Fewer and fewer of the creatures were advancing... and those that were simply thrashed weakly onto the shore.. never making it past the ring of molten glass that now formed the island''s edge. The marines felt... strange. Empowered. Healthy. Better than they ever had before; but they advanced, step by step, heading towards the ring forming the outer edge of the rune.


    One corporal stepped just slightly too far; and felt a moment of terrible, horrific weakness; before one of his companions grabbed him by the shoulder, tossing him backwards.


    As the soldiers stood guard, rifles aimed out at the ocean in a loose circle... they watched the world die. An enormous structure of plants, animals, or possibly some unknown, completely alien subtype, made of hundreds of different colors of exotic and beautiful life... just withering away. Turning to a dull grey-brown before their eyes.


    As the man were focused on the outside, Eyeball finally managed to unsnap the armor from around his limb; only to find his cybernetic broken, the pieces of circuit and barrel falling, the mechanism for creating an extradimensional space now just a cylinder lying on the dirt... as his left arm reformed; hairless. Smooth. And... perfectly functional, as if it had never been lost, in that fateful helicopter crash.


    ***


    As the world started to shift in color on the viewscreen, an alarm sounded across the bridge. RC glanced up, and tapped her console. The central display popped up; showing the three long, needle-like Leesh ships undocking from the station.


    "Sir. The Leesh ships have all undocked. They have target locks on us, and are hailing us."


    Captain Moreau shifted in his seat, inhaling deeply. "Do we get a good bounceback from our EMP devices?"


    "Responding properly sir. Ready to go."


    "Excellent. Answer hail, and trigger them on my signal."


    After a few seconds, the image of the three ships leaving the dock vanished; to be replaced by the image of the Leesh captain; well, possibly the same captain. He couldn''t tell the difference, at least. ~What are your people doing!? This world is our tribute to the Empire! The Emperor will not stand for such a crime!~


    "He won''t be able to. Soon, you will have a new Empress. I am but a servant of Empress Kezia, Devourer of worlds. She is consuming the world beneath us; and when your ships recover sufficiently to do so, you may warn the Emperor; unless he flees into the darkness, she will not simply consume his Empire... but him as well. If he wishes to challenge her for the right to his Empire, he can meet her at the Capital; he can consider this simply to be a warning."


    Moreau glanced at RC, nodding; and as the Leesh started to burble out an outraged response... the image vanished. The three ships... simply drifted slowly away from the station, on whatever course they''d happened to be on at the time the EMPs struck; all major systems failing at the same time.


    "Hopefully, she gets things wrapped up on the surface before they come back online. It won''t be nearly as effective if we have to kill them."


    ***


    Engineer settled into his new seat at Eye-tech; as the temporary; and if Eyeball never returned, permanent; CEO he was.... borrowing the office at the top of the building. His secretary was... himself. A solid fifth of the engineering team was Ascension as well. But... over time, each unit was growing more unique. The emotions from the AI''s human source becoming more evident, as they were no longer in permanent communication with each other, and their numbers grew.


    All of them remained dedicated to the same core principles; but they were starting to diverge in a thousand tiny ways. This wasn''t a bad thing; nor a good thing. It simply... was.


    The different perspectives seemed to have produced dividends, however. Several of his units had decided to re-initiate his old program of weakening imperialist and oligarch systems, manufactured more cyborgs for the purpose, and begun infiltration programs. One of these, pretending to be a devout Jihadist, had brought him an interesting piece of intel. One he wasn''t quite certain how to deal with.


    The civil war in China? Yes, the reasons behind it were real... the motivation for the ''Shadow'' family to be out butchering Chinese generals and leaders perfectly legitimate. But... It was a telepath named Aziz who had made sure it all came together, that the right people learned about things at the wrong time. He might even have been responsible for the Chinese starting the program up again; it was impossible to know, now. The same one was responsible for the ''Army of God'' sweeping through South America, threatening some of his own facilities. The same one who was in talks of forming a ''joint government'' with the Diamond Kingdom. The one behind the aborted campaign of a foolish religious zealot in the United States; and the isolationist policies of Japan, stoically removing itself from conflict. Even Taiwan was clearly planning to try seizing the mainland once the civil war started to wind down, though that likely was without any outside influence.


    It seemed perfectly clear that the current state of the world, with everyone at each other''s throats, and threats of a world war three on the horizon... was all caused by this one, solitary, zealot. Obviously, Ascension would need to handle him. He could undoubtedly kill him by the end of the day. The only question was how to untangle the mess the lunatic had created from there.

 The Hunt -15 - Jotun-Shaqtun

    Information had been sparse, out on the Jotun frontier. The worlds the Emperor had examined first were completely unaware of what was going on; of why their defensive fleets had been redirected. When he had finished tossing the remnants of their fleets into space, he simply moved on to the next world. Growing increasingly frustrated at the lack of worthwhile information, he set his sights on the one place that was virtually guaranteed to know what was going on; the Jotun capital.


    As he arrived in the system at its edge, he could feel it; the entire place practically oozed with life. Billions. Maybe tens of billions. In his early days, this would have been an incredible feast. Now... it would be just another meal. As he passed through the system, he could feel hundreds of warships; from what little he''d learned, most of what the Jotun had left; swarmed around their homeworld and its defensive installations.


    His tentacles twitched with anger. How could these lowly bottom-feeding crabs have the audacity to risk the entire galaxy.


    He could sense an incoming communication abruptly. It showed... one of the larger Jotun. A female. But not one adorned with various decorations to mark where her previous shells had been damaged. Either a fairly young one, or not a warrior, then.


    ~Oh, almighty Emperor. I am Shaqtun, queen of the Shaqtun, daughter of Jotun, king of the Jotun. I know why you are here; and must beg forgiveness for my father''s lapse. In his haste to capitalize on the death of Cronos, he drew your wrath by moving into the Forbidden Zone, in violation of Imperial law. He has died for his sins, and you have justly punished our people. What must I do to further spare our clutches?~


    The Emperor pulled to a stop, tentacles suddenly withdrawing, condensing into a ball. Capitalize on the death of Cronos. To Capitalize. On the death. Of Cronos. Every bit as ageless as the Emperor, he''d fully expected to deal with the threat of Cronos dangling over his head for millions of years; that it wouldn''t be until the time he was consuming the whole galaxy he''d be rid of him.


    He focused on the Jotun.... or rather, the Shaqtun... homeworld. He started flying closer, pulling himself forward far too swiftly; for just a moment, the locals began to panic, as they saw him move from the edge of the system and simply appear in orbit, having stretched space and time to arrive long before they could sense his departure. He looked down at the palace, and focused; causing the entire structure to shake with his words. ~Who slew Cronos?~


    The queen lowered herself to the ground, pressing her carapace low. He could sense the building having structural issues, but it was holding together fairly well. ~A new, younger species emerged on his world; we don''t know which, but it was a member of this race which slew him. Jotun planned to break this species, and offer the world up to you as a prize. He... periodically inspected Cronos''s world, and learned of Cronos''s death perhaps sixty years ago.~


    The Emperor studied the world thoughtfully. Most species that didn''t control their own genetics would, randomly, produce ''Titans'', some more rarely than others. None had ever produced one with Cronos''s uniquely dangerous power. He should find the one who slew him... and reward him. Possibly exterminate the species, yes, reduce the odds of another Cronos emerging; but not whoever had taken that weight off of his mind.


    He focused back on the palace once more. ~Your king should have come to me with this news. The slayer of Cronos would be rewarded, not slain; the punishment is for entering and interfering with the Forbidden zone, not for being born in it. The worlds you have lost will be deemed sufficient punishment for entering the Forbidden Zone. As Cronos was already dead, your homeworld itself is not forefeit. I will consider the four worlds consumed to be your tribute for the coming span.~


    He pulled back, away from the world, floating back into the void. He should gather together a task force of ships, and bring them to Cronos''s former world. This wasn''t a job for a single brutish crush. This was something that called for a careful assessment. They would capture, interrogate, study. Obviously they couldn''t be allowed to breed uncontrolled, in the wild, but if they were properly contained they might be useful. Even Cronos could have been useful, if he''d been born in captivity and properly contained.


    He focused on nearby Imperial military installations... and chose the closest one that would have the sort of fleet he needed. Not warships; he himself could handle any fighting. Logistics. Support. Ground troops for police actions. Ahh... he could be there in a few days. He focused on the proper pinpoint of light in the stars; and twisted space once more, vanishing from the Shaqtun system.


    Down on the surface, Shaqtun fell limp. Her species was saved. Her father''s foolishness had not doomed them after all. She would need to inquire with the Imperial government as to when they would need their next tribute... but they could survive.


    ***


    The medical bay was filled with the entire ground party; all ten of the beds were essentially being used as benches, as Doctor Harkness began his checkups. At first, he had wanted to start with Eyeball; while one of the marines had regrown a lost eye, the largest regrown piece was Eyeball''s left arm, and he was intrigued to see if there was any significant difference, aside from the lack of body hair, between the two.


    After the first test; which was exciting enough, revealing that Sergeant Dupre''s eyes were functionally identical, and the regrowth, aside from brief pain during the process which, incredibly enough, the man had managed to keep shooting as the sensitive flesh forced his glass eye and the scar tissue around the socket out and into his helmet... there were no side-effects. When Eyeball learned this, he was a bit embarrassed; maybe an eye didn''t have bones and cartilege in it, but that had to be an incredibly intense experience.


    No negative ones, at least. The entire marine complement appeared to now be in their early 20s in terms of age, had no medical issues whatsoever, and all seemed to be in roughly the same range of inhuman capability; Dr. Harkness was forced to use one of the ''Hyper-Syringe'' models for class-A tank metahumans to take blood samples, after the first few had broken on Dupre''s skin.


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    Every single armored suit was damaged; the process of removing them required a fair bit of force at certain stages to pop seals and remove plating; and with the exception of Kezia, none of them were used to having a dramatic growth in power like this; and Kezia had actually torn her gauntlet apart while wiping sweat from her brow on the gunship ride back to the Jeanne.


    As the final member, the one least impacted by the effect, Rex, stepped out of the room, staring at his hands as if they were alien life forms attached to his body, the doctor finally reached Eyeball, leaving the two alone in the med-bay.


    He frowned at the doctor. Obviously he was competent; he would never hire anyone who wasn''t to be the doctor for something like this; but he was honestly surprised Ascension hadn''t filled this slot with yet another cyborg. The man was the classic stereotype of a handsome prime-time doctor; he was no George Clooney, but Harkness''s neatly trimmed blond hair. chiseled face, and perfect physique somehow irritated Eyeball. The man was nice. Friendly. Great at his job. And while Eyeball would never have a problem with women, and hadn''t since his days as a soldier, he couldn''t help but be jealous of someone who was just that goddamned handsome.


    Harkness smiled, revealing a row of perfect, white, teeth. "There we go. Now that it''s just the two of us, care to explain why you were so insistent that you wanted privacy on this one?"


    Eyeball sighed.... and pulled off his helmet. Harkness blinked, staring for a moment at the horrific mess of blood and debris that splattered out of the helmet onto the bed; and the completely unrecognizable face inside it. "I had plastic surgery back when I was evading the law, and it.... spontaneously undid itself. The fake hair I had implanted is gone, the fake nose, all of it just... came off. I also had a weapon built into my cybernetic hand that almost went off and killed me while a regrowing arm was tearing the hand apart as it regrew."


    Harkness nodded slowly. "Good lord. No wonder it took you out of the fight, I''m surprised you could see. We''ll get you cleaned up, of course, but I have no doubt you''ll be just as healthy as the others. Maybe even slightly more-so, since you apparently didn''t make it out the the perimeter with the rest of the ground team. We''ve got a shower in here. Why don''t you go ahead and rinse off, then we''ll do the check-up."


    "I was actually wondering... would it be possible to implant it back in my arm again? Having a weapon with me at all times has saved me from some nasty situations in the past."


    The doctor gently raised the immaculate forearm; the only real problem with it being the lack of hair or fingernails. "Ooof. Maybe? I would need to use some ridiculously powerful sedatives and tools... and the casing would need to be heavily reinforced. Most common alloys at this point would just be crushed by the action of the muscles in your fore-arm."


    "...So. A special engineering project? Could you estimate the tolerances it would need, and I pass it on to RC? She''s... well. An expert at cybernetics, for obvious reasons."


    Harkness chuckled. "Oh, of course. The only one on the engineering team I even work in is that Rex guy. I took one look at the implants in Cordelia on the scope, and... yeah. I think Android might be a better name for them. There''s an organic, living, human brain giving the orders, and all the usual organs and parts... but none of it is really needed. She tells me the skull can keep the brain alive for -weeks- even if every single organ fails."


    Eyeball frowned. "Why did you even look at her? Was she hurt?"


    Harkness... actually blushed. "Well, we were.. ahh.. Doctor-patient confidentiality. I can''t really tell you."


    Well. That answered the question about just how far the cyborgs went with pretending to make relationships. "Alright. Pass the numbers on, and we''ll see what we can do with it."


    "Of course. Now, I know you heard what I told the marines before... but be careful. You''re functionally equivalent to one of the Olympians now; the effective ''life energy'', whatever that is, of a thousand people running through your body. I can''t measure the energy itself, but I can see the effects; and if you swing just a bit too hard, you can rupture your armor, your helmet, break your guns in half.. You got maybe triple what most of the marines did."


    Eyeball sighed, looking at his bare left arm. "I''ve gotta ask... why did the ritual do this? I''ve met Odin. He only has one eye. Shouldn''t this sort of effect have healed that, just one day while he was eating ambrosia?"


    "You should ask Kezia. She''s the expert at that sort of thing. My files are... woefully inadequate, and mostly just tell me when it would be a good idea to call in someone like her grandfather."


    ***


    Kezia stared at her hands, as she sat in her room aboard the Jeanne; her purple armor scattered about the floor in pieces, mostly worthless now as she''d broken it apart just trying to take it off. Her grandfather had wanted her to call herself the ''Shadow Sorceress'', or the ''Lady of Shadow'', or some such pretentious name. She was, after all, incredibly dangerous; one of the Class-A, army-destroying, apocalyptic mutants. One of the ones whose closest equivalent among the normal arms was a nuclear bomb.


    Except... even that wasn''t a fair comparison, now. She hadn''t taken out a city, or a country. She had consumed a world. She felt... incredible. When she got back to earth, she would be unstoppable. She had already been good with magic. She had so much innate power she didn''t really need anything from outside to do... well. Anything. She could... snap her fingers and turn the inside of this ship into a tomb.


    Now... The simple levitation spell she''d known... she couldn''t feel its limitations. It felt... wrong. She''d need to practice it... but she was reasonably certain how the Emperor traveled now. She could hop out of the airlock and just... fly home from here. She could feel everyone on the ship. Feel the void around them. The... cyborgs. Inhuman. Lacking in real life force, as if they were animals.


    The marines, all shining bright now, like stars against the darkness. The even brighter form of the Titanslayer approaching... She stared at the door; and as the form reached it, she slid it open. He didn''t have his hand up to knock; of course not. He''d known the door would open, before it did.


    "Well, hello there, sol...who the hell are you!?"


    Holding a cracked helmet and wearing Eyeball''s sleek black armor suit, complete with a missing left arm, a stranger was standing outside.. pale skin, short brown hair.. and three eyes. All green. All faintly glowing. "What, don''t recognize me? Joking. Its Eyeball. I had plastic surgery done a ways back, and... you undid it. I was actually wondering if you had any sort of explanation for that."


    Kezia studied the new face. Youthful. Smooth. Absolutely unblemished. All the scars and marks of time completely gone. And... the third eye was a bit odd. Still. Decent enough. "Sure. I''m fairly familiar with all of this. Come on in, we can have a chat." She turned away; deliberately walking to show off her curves in the skintight black outfit she wore under her armor, shifting her hips as she headed to the locker in her room; withdrawing a bottle of wine, and a pair of glasses. "We can celebrate our success, and I can explain just what happened to you."

 The Hunt -16 - Education; Gearing Up

    The next morning, as it were, was a bit disconcerting. It wasn''t the first time Eyeball had awoken in bed with a stranger; there were a few women over the years since Emerald had left him, but usually he woke up in one of the hotel rooms on La Famiglia; this time... the bed seemed to be his own. Only... not quite.


    The warm body draped over his torso was, of course, Kezia. In the dim light of her quarters, her curves looked even better than they had in her skin-tight undersuit; if the Romani girl wasn''t the most beautiful one he''d ever shared a bed with, she was definitely the most dangerous, in a variety of ways. Emerald could likely have cooked him alive in his sleep, if she''d had a mind to. His first girlfriend had only been dangerous in the sense she might have got him in prison.


    Penelope didn''t really count, of course. That relationship was... practically sexual assault, for all intents and purposes. Kezia, though...


    Sure, she''d gotten him drunk. And whatever wine she''d used had to be something special, to work on the two of them. But.. he''d very definitely made the choice here. He relaxed. This wouldn''t last long. He probably wouldn''t be alive long enough for it to really matter. Might as well enjoy it while he could. He tried to think back to the night before. The activities later on were fairly clear, but early on...


    Ahh, yes. Getting a big surge of energy all at once would have a much greater impact than just a tiny trickle that added up the same, over a long period of time, and removing it was the same way. Odin could probably have his eye fixed if he wanted. Then there''d been a long chat about her family, his history; a brief discussion about how her family wasn''t sure if them all being immune to life-draining was a coincidence of genetics or mandatory; whether any unborn child of their family who lacked that power would die long before birth. Some dark jokes about dead children and dead comrades-in-arms. And of course... wine. Two bottles. Of something... different.


    This woman had accidentally wiped out a forest while training with her powers; from the largest tree to the smallest gnat, and all the deer and brush in between. She''d also deliberately killed quite a few people, possibly a few others by accident, and likely healed a smaller number as well; most of it in service to the USA. Her whole family had stories like that, it seemed.


    She also, much like himself, looked younger than she really was, and had a toned, tanned, perfect form; or not really tanned; an olive complexion; he wasn''t sure whether he was pale-skinned because he''d had the impact of the sun washed away with this life-changing, or because he''d spent so many years wearing full body-armor and a face-covering helmet, but whatever reason, it formed a nice contrast.


    She let out a soft grumble. "Awake, are we? Well. How long do we have before I need to kill another world?"


    Eyeball chuckled, and gave her a gentle squeeze; uncertain just how much intimacy she was looking for, but then, her arm was still wrapped around him. "Over a week. And, honestly, I''d lay odds the Emperor will be there waiting for us, you might not need to do that again. It takes us a week to make the trip, for him, they have no idea of his speed limitations; he might make it in hours."


    "Ugh. Thats all well and good. Gives me a week to relax. Its not as bad, with plants, animals. Non-sentient stuff. Thats the best. It brings you closer to nature; more in tune with your body, your instincts. What''s bad is.... people. Comes with a.... flavor." She shifted as she lay on him, pulling closer. "I wouldn''t mind doing that again to a world like that. If I have to do it to this ''Capital'', and a couple hundred billion ''people'', it''s gonna suck. I''m gonna come out of it weighing literally tons, and I''m never gonna be able to just walk in the sand and the soil again."


    Eyeball chuckled. At the doctor yesterday, he''d been told he was now well over seven hundred pounds; which should be impossible for his relatively normal-looking form. The Romani girl might not like to admit it, but that ''tons'' figure might well already be a reality. The changes to the body that the increased life force brought did have a real, measurable, physical impact. "Well. You don''t have to. The plan doesn''t require it, it just makes the plan more likely to work."


    She lifted her upper body off of the bed. "Do you still think the plan ends with you dead?"


    "...Yes. When it comes to the long-term, I don''t ''see'' the future, I''ve got sort-of... instincts, pushing me towards or away from certain decisions. One major time that I didn''t listen to it, for example, I got ambushed, knocked out, and a friend got abducted. So while I don''t just follow it like a puppet, I play close attention to whether things ''feel'' right. And for this one... before leaving, it felt right to put a will together, put my head engineer in charge of the company, and get my affairs in order. Which, to me, means I''m probably not making it back home."


    She slowly nodded, and laid down atop his chest, looking at him from inches away. "Interesting. That''s one possibility. It might also mean that you just decide not to go back to earth. Wander the stars, forever, as the Emperor-Slayer."


    He nodded. "Or fake my own death and go back under the ID of one of my marines, if one of them die on the mission. Or all sorts of other possibilities. None of them seem likely from where I''m laying now, I don''t see myself dragging all these folks with me on an endless space adventure, but who knows. I haven''t given up on life, but.... I''ve accepted the idea of possibly dying and just hoping it was under ''heroic'' circumstances for well over a decade now."


    Kezia tapped him on the nose with one finger. "I know, Kamikaze. Grandpa Hendricks told me how you two met. So. If we both make it back to earth alive. Any plans?"


    A long, slow breath. The amount of pressure she was putting on his chest was far too much for such a small woman. It was like having an anvil squeezing him... but then again, an anvil was nothing to him now. "I used to talk about retiring, and going off to relax on a beach somewhere. Don''t think I can do that now. If I go back home, I''ll probably let a few key people know I''m still kicking... Valkyrie, Butch, Engineer, and of course my kids. Otherwise..."


    He stared at the ceiling for a moment. "I''ve no idea. Maybe build a house inside Valkyrie''s compound so I can see the kids every day. Wander the world, do a little thieving, slay a tyrant or two, maybe go back out into space eventually when we''re not worried about the end of everything.... and under an ID not so famous. Or infamous."


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    She smiled. "There room for more in that house? Not looking to settle down right now, but you''re one of the sort I''d be interested in when the time comes."


    He looked into her eyes.. a pair of tiny, beautiful emeralds. Not everything had to remind him of her. This woman wasn''t ''better'' than her. The idea would be absurd. But certainly someone worth getting to know. "...If we both live through this? There just might be."


    ***


    Captain Moreau leaned back against the wall as the marines lined up in the cargo bay; with the exotic young woman, Rebecca Chambers, RC, in an oil-dripping uniform standing out in front of them. It seemed half of his marines, at least, had shacked up with one of the engineering crew; he tried to guess, from the way they were looking, which might have been with RC.


    None of the marines were in their battle-armor; in fact, all of their battle-armor had been taken apart for parts, and they simple wore ''skinsuits''; the skin-tight under-armor garment that, with a helmet, doubled as an emergency space-suit; that he himself wore, with minor adjustments, as a uniform. Mostly so as not to look skin tight; he didn''t want that sort of distraction among the on-duty crew.


    RC was  tapping buttons on a console, as a crane lifted an armored gauntlet. "Alright, gentlemen. This is our Space Marine armor mark II. Each armor suit weighs roughly three tons, and is a blend of chromium-nickel-cobalt alloy. None of it is field-ready yet; Eyeball and Kezia are going to be enchanting it all before we see battle."


    She stopped, and turned to the first marine to cross her eye. "Dubois! Front and center." The marine stepped forward at attention, almost saluting before catching himself and lowering his arm. "Aside from Rex, none of our engineering team are strong enough to wear these things properly, so he''s the only one who was able to test it. All of us are augmented, but if I try walking in a three-ton suit, I''m like a turtle''s slower, clumsier cousin. For you gentlemen... it will be the equivalent of light armor. And it will be softer than your bones."


    As Dubois stood in place, RC and Rex began demonstrating how to put each piece of the new armor on. "This gear''s purpose isn''t really to protect you. It''s to carry as many weapons as possible, and allow them to keep firing, as you get hit. Your skin is roughly as tough as this material. Your muscles, tougher. Your bones, vastly superior. A blast that turns this armor into slag will likely leave you alive. We''re going to being making far heavier, pseudo-neutronium-based suits; but the only one who can shape the parts is Rex, so we''ll likely only have four suits by the time we arrive. He''ll be shaping, my team will be assembling; and first priority for the suits goes to Kezia; I expect this is what you''ll be wearing when we engage on the Imperial Capital."


    Once Dubois was armored up; standing as a massive, eight-foot tall monster of dark blue and silver alloy; RC reached up to take his hand. "These things have nuclear reactors built-in, powering thrusters; good enough for short hops, but not for lift-off. Each arm is equipped with a plasma rifle, each shoulder has a laser weapon, and we''re building heavy rifle-scale railguns for you that can hook into the reactor for a power boost. The railguns will be another six hundred pounds, and include an underslung fragmentation minigun firing, effectively, ten-gauge shotgun shells at two hundred rounds per second. Dubois. Show me how fast you are in that armor. Hit the wall and back."


    The man nodded; and turned; sprinting for the wall. He attempted to screech to a halt to abruptly turn, only to slam into it with enough force to dent the wall; and sprint back; once again, overshooting the mark, skidding several meters past, before walking back to the mark, seeming embarrassed.


    "You''re much, much, stronger and faster than you used to be. I suspect that our leaders arranged the ritual that way on purpose; I have no idea how we''re going to land and form a ritual on a hostile alien world, but you''ll need to be some of the most bad-ass supersoldiers in the galaxy to protect Kezia while she gets the job done. I want all of you armored up and running drills til you''re no longer slamming into walls. Dubois, you go ahead. Next up, Dumas."


    Moreau watched as, one by one, the engineering team armored up his men and set them to training. If France were still a thing, these fire-teams here would be easily capable of shaping a battlefield. Eyeball and Thomes had both offered assistance setting up a new french government for the survivors; it would be a long time before the radiation died down enough that he could reclaim his home, but... maybe someday. Sure, the number of French folk surviving now numbered in the low thousands. But every nation on earth had once had such humble beginnings.


    ***


    Her majesty, Mehri, the Black Death, stirred in her bedchambers, looking around in the darkness. Something was wrong... She heard a faint tinkle of bells, and whispered words. "Your highness. We have intruders. They claim to wish to speak to you, and are willing to give up their weapons, but are wearing armor they refuse to remove."


    One of her many servants.. Sanji? It didn''t matter. She had dozens of them, each as replaceable as the last. The fool was on her knees, bowed, waiting at her door. She sighed. "You will be whipped for this. Tell them to wait until morning. The Black Death rises earlier for no petitioner."


    The serving girl lifted her head; her majesty glared with anger, and gestured; the girl''s limbs splaying out in every direction, her body lifting up from the ground, forced by the very blood in her veins. "You dare gaze upon me without permission? That whipping will not stop until you die." She flicked her wrist; and the girl was flung against the wall; the crack of breaking bones audible throughout the room. The girl groaned in pain. "Majesty... they... insisted. Threatened... kill."


    She sighed; and slid on a golden silk dress. Normally she would have one of the serving girls dress her, but unfortunately there was not always time for such a thing, even for one as wealthy and powerful as herself. She stepped out into the hallway, making an imperious gesture. Four of her guards, resplendent in red and black armor, with blue and gold trim on the armored gauntlets, took up position, each raising their weapons to the ceiling in salute; not traditional persian weapons, no... but advanced gauss rifles, the best money could buy.


    She glowered as she stepped out to the throne room, seeing eight more of her guards standing at the entrances, weapons leveled on... a trio of figures wearing ordinary business suits. She frowned as she glared at the men; each looked virtually identical. Tall, fit, wearing black sunglasses, earpieces.


    "..And who are you supposed to be? No. Don''t tell me..." She raised a hand. "Your masters will send a more polite messenger next... time." She frowned. There was either a barrier blocking her power, or those men... "Open fire!" She immediately ducked behind her throne; an armor-plated barricade built for exactly this situation; calling on the well at the room''s center to pull forth a pillar of crude oil for whatever came next.


    She could hear gunshots; both those of ordinary handguns, and the distinct white-pop of the gauss rifles hitting stone; and turned to the other side of the barricade, arms raised, ready to slam the oil down on a victim... only to see a viciously mutilated humanoid form... with a shiny silver skeleton revealed my the massive gouges in its flesh. She knew it when she had reached out. Barely any blood at all.


    The machine extended a handgun, dripping bits of flesh and blood from its black metal surface; and as the crude oil flooded the room, enveloping both the three figures as well as Mehri''s own guards... it fired.


    Mehri would not live to see the inferno that consumed her body; that of her guards; and of many of her unfortunate servants. Nor would she see the three metallic forms, each distorted and twisted by the damage and extreme heat they had suffered, casually stepping into the well of crude at the center of her throne room, diving into the inferno without concern.

 The Hunt -17 - Mindless Butchery - Leadership Acquisition

    As Vano looked down into the valley, he chuckled softly. He was in the forests of China, wearing a modified version of the ''Shadow Master'' costume he''d worn during World War II; dark grey, with a menacing, monstrous mask, stained with the drying blood of Nazis; the original had been decorated with the rank insignia of officers slain, and he''d begun collecting them once again for this newer, more modern outfit.


    The People''s Liberation Army had gone through six headquarters in the past two weeks. The first two replacements, they had insisted were there to stay; that the pitiful rebels could never directly stand up to the might of China. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth were each increasingly desperate. The second, he''d taken out the President. The third, a new, replacement President. The fifth, yet another replacement. When he''d taken out the sixth, he''d learned that things were... bad, for the PLA. Their initial optimism; after all, they''d faced off aliens from space, what good could a band of rebels do?; had been woefully misplaced.


    This one... was pitiful. And might be the last one that would ever be established. The PLA was a heavily organized military force, dedicated to the chain of command, following orders. And the orders... were always in conflict. Always wrong. Current official PLA lines of communication gave three different headquarters locations, each of which was spitting out its own orders; one ordering them to attack the wrong places, one ordering a surrender, and the last actually giving proper, useful, orders. The genuine headquarters. The newest one, run by some General who wasn''t even high-ranked enough before this rebellion to know about the program that caused it.


    Vano glanced around the tree-line, looking for... Ahh, there. Jason. He gave his grandson a wave; and the boy shook his head. The next moment, Jason was standing beside him, having emerged from the shadows of the nearby brush. "Grandfather. The center of the camp is too brightly lit to make out too much detail; but I''d say there are a few hundred of them. Definitely scared. There''s lights running everywhere, I can see smears of glow-in-the-dark paint everywhere... they have no idea what might help but are throwing everything they can at it. I can make out a few of their known metas, dozens of soldiers with sniper rifles, flamethrowers, gauss rifles, plasma rifles..."


    "Any threats?"


    "Of course not. I could take out the whole place myself by tomorrow morning. Those still alive would wish they were dead."


    Vano chuckled. "Of course you could, boy. Of course you could. I wish your cousin was here. They likely would have surrendered by now."


    Jason looked down at the compound. "I''m not sure whether its scarier to have your friends wither and die before your eyes, or for them to just disappear. Some of the ones from that last base are still alive, by the way, if you want to question any of them."


    "No... I think this should be it. Go scare the hell out of them for a few minutes, and I''ll come knock on the front door. And don''t let them see you. You didn''t dress right for this work."


    ***


    For some people, looking out at a rocky hill, they tended to imagine that the earth was the way it looks in textbooks. A massive layer of rock, over a layer of magma, over a molten core. That after the first part of the ground, the part you could see... well. It was solid, after that, right?


    Fade knew better. He could see the shadows beneath; the numerous caverns and gaps down below. Most of them were empty, and small. Tiny buried gaps. Others were extensive caves; some on their own. Others connected. Here, there was actually one pathway filled with an underground stream, which ran as far as he could see in either direction in a tunnel a few inches across; though it had larger gaps, here and there, where it had connected to larger caves.


    He chose the first likely spot in that cave; it was only about five feet tall, so he was forced to crouch down to enter, and he could feel water running across his left boot. He was also directly beneath the encampment. He could feel above him... guards in their towers. In beds. Walking on patrol.


    For whatever reason, he needed a ''shadowed'' connection between himself and the target. The science was probably something like... certain types of radiation preventing the right connection from forming, disrupting it as it formed. But... just being in a well-lit room wasn''t good enough, if at least something was there to cast a shadow.


    His first victim was in a porta-potty. Ignoring what was going on inside, he simply shifted. One moment, the man was doing his business. The next... he was slammed face-first into a rock wall, and abandoned there in the darkness. Fade felt out another victim; a sniper, in a guard tower. Man and rifle both vanished. Someone watching closely would have seen Fade''s own form there, for just a moment, the pale-skinned youth wearing a dull grey armored vest over an ordinary t-shirt and khakis.


    Deciding that the towers formed both a good target and a nice pattern, he swiftly worked through them, one by one. There were thirty-seven towers ringing and inside the base. By the time he''d emptied them out, the cavern was too full to keep working; and he switched to another cave, further down the line. He could feel, in the cave he''d just left, one of the soldiers had awoken; to find himself in frigid darkness, damp, surrounded by the unconscious and the dead. He couldn''t hear the man; but he seemed to be screaming.


    The alarm would sound in the base as he started filling this cave with soldiers from the perimeter; he wasn''t sure whether they''d spotted him grabbing someone on watch duty, or finally noticed an empty sniper''s nest; but a few of the towers started to acquire new snipers; so he added the new ''volunteers'' to the caves as soon as they''d readied their rifles.


    The next cave was larger, more expansive. He could stand comfortably inside it; but the smell was horrific; likely some sort of toxic gas. He slapped his mask on, pulling it out of his backpack, taking a deep breath. He could go without breathing for quite a while by now, but it was best to breathe as he worked; he was more focused. He studied the area... toxic gas was an unpleasant way to die.


    The next victim he grabbed; one who was standing outside an officer''s shack, having just knocked on the door; he took the time to drain; leaving him a lifeless husk rather than suffocating to death and struggling in the darkness. It was taking a bit longer now; more like twenty or thirty seconds for each guard he removed; but this new cavern was slowly filling as well.


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    After grabbing another perimeter guard, he happened to notice... a flare in the sky. Vivid red... and nodded. Casually depositing this most recent victim in the same cave with his companions, he returned to the jungle; keeping an eye out for his grandfather.


    ***


    When the guards saw the grey figure approaching in his mask, they almost opened fire; their officer ordered them to stop. Vano studied the young men with their rifles, and the equally young man in an officer''s uniform; the dull brown-grey, the armored vests... and the smell of fear.


    He remembered the past. A time when he was inside a camp, staring out through a fence, watching armed men approach. A time of fear, and hopelessness. He reached up to his chest, absently rubbing the patch where, long ago, on a similar uniform, a black triangle had been adorned, marked with a simple ''Z''. How many Nazis had last seen a star of david or a black triangle in the moments before their death?


    Not enough. He walked steadily towards the gate, and stopped. "Lower your guns, and send out your leader, or I will kill you all, and negotiate with the next headquarters that forms."


    There was some chatter. Arguments among the men. One of them spoke into a radio. They stood, watching, tense, hands on rifles, looking at the forest, at the guard towers, at the rooftops, as if anything they witnessed might suddenly bite them.


    After a few minutes of Vano patiently watching the gate, listening to his grandchildren arguing on the radio; Reese and Johnny both wanted to just kill the lot of them, and move on to the next camp. Jason wanted to keep toying with them until one of the older ones died of a fear-induced heart attack.


    Vano... was reasonably certain that now was the time to end this. When the gate opened, three men emerged; two soldiers, wearing the standard brown-green combat armor; and one general, in a dark green, dress uniform, complete with hat. There weren''t many medals; not nearly as many as the generals at the first two camps had worn. And he looked... young. Perhaps in his thirties.


    Vano studied him as he approached. "Just you. Your men stay in the camp."


    The man studied the Romani for a moment... and waved his men back. He came to a stop roughly ten feet from Vano, and crossed his arms. "The Shadow Master. Legendary liberator, slayer of fascists. Began his work against the germans, and finished it against the Japanese. Many of my ancestors survived Japanese atrocities thanks to you."


    He extended a hand. Suddenly, a chair from the cafeteria appeared; Fade only visible for a moment before he was gone, and Vano settled down; before another chair appeared behind the Chinese man. "You have me at a disadvantage, general..." Vano tilted his head; as the general looked at the chair, at the empty air around them... and sat down.


    "I am General Chen. I... am the highest-ranking surviving member of the People''s Liberation Army."


    The Shadow Master inhaled deeply. "It''s fitting you bring up my past. I''m certain you know why I am here."


    General Chen frowned. "To butcher us, for the crime of having work camps that are no worse than the prisons of your adopted homeland?"


    An abrupt surge. The chair he''d been sitting in a moment ago shattered into splinters, Chen was off the ground, an iron hand wrapped around his throat. "I have slain Germans, I have slain Japanese. I have slain Americans, French, Congonese, and, as much as it pains me to admit, I have slain Israelis, all of whom crossed the line; but your people..... Your ''camps'' practiced vivisection, amputation, lobotomies, for the women, while the men were worked until they died. And when they were discovered, and shut down by outsiders? Despite the international outcry, the unrest among the locals... you started them up again. The only real difference being the source; North Korean women. Indian women. Pakistani women."


    He casually tossed the general into the dirt. One of the guards raised his rifle; and was abruptly gone. Vanished as if he''d never existed, a brief vision of something brown blurring in the daylight.


    "The Communist party of China has proven itself unfit to rule, and a danger to all human life other than itself. You have two choices. You may surrender, unconditionally, and we start talking about what the future of China looks like... or everyone in this base dies, without killing a single one of my people, and I have this same conversation with whoever replaces you. And until we locate your replacement, we continue destroying every one of your officers we find, ensuring that the rebels have an easy time of it. At this point, what''s left of the PLA will have difficulty holding off the rebels."


    He stepped closer, glaring down at the general. "You don''t have enough men left to hold off Taiwan, however. I believe they have already seized the coastal areas; and you are now being crushed between two forces; one now your superior, the other, at least, enough to leave you cripplingly wounded. The absolute best your people can do is delay the inevitable."


    ***


    Aziz looked over his tablet, dragging the map across, as the plane lifted off. With each passing hour, his forces advanced further in South America; and the Dreadnaught had just arrived, Diamond Kingdom forces augmenting his own. The plan was working smoothly. The battle with the Jotun had ended earlier than he expected; apparently whoever was in charge of the giant crab-monsters had surrendered after the first battle; so he was going to need to prepare to make sure the US didn''t intervene in the war.


    At least seven nations, including Brazil, had sent urgent requests for aid to the US; Brazil hadn''t even been invaded yet, but knew the attack was inevitable. The diplomatic message had emphasized that the ''New Caliphate'' these invaders were forming would undoubtedly be hostile to the United States, and it was in their best interests to stomp it into the dirt before it could get established; while the Diamond Kingdom had claimed alliance with them, and that any intervention by the US would be seen as an act of war.


    Of course, Australia and Japan were completely uninvolved; Australia not even aware of the forces preparing in its own wilderness.


    It was going perfectly. If the US chose to intervene, unless it could get the Titans involved, it would likely fail; for all the firepower of its navy, the Diamond Kingdom just had too many capable metahumans now to be easily overcome.


    He glanced out the window... and frowned. They... shouldn''t be over the ocean. They were supposed to be headed north...


    He rose to his feet, reaching out with his senses. He''d sensed only two minds aboard when he entered, his pilot, and Clone; at least two of the subservient Russian forms were on-board. But now... Clone was gone. And the pilot... was in horrific pain. Something was terribly wrong.


    He hadn''t heard a sound, just... the minds had gone dead. Had... had his pilot killed the Clones, then been injured? A bomb? Poison gas? Aziz looked around, hoping he had a gas mask somewhere in the plane... before he heard a crack, and the door snapped open.


    He could see a human figure splattered with blood; what appeared to be a young hispanic girl, wearing a beautiful red and black dress, blood dripping down her body from an awful injury in her chest... and the limp form of Clone in the hallway.


    As the girl started walking towards him, smiling, he reached out for her mind... and as she raised a handgun, something strange, with an unusually thick barrel, he could feel... there was no mind. Nothing behind that pretty face at all. Only...


    A bright flash. A dart slammed into his chest with enough force to crack a rib; and his body was filled with horrific agony as tiny wires began to burrow through his flesh, seizing control of his nervous system; sending his entire body spasming as he fell to the floor of the plane.

 The Hunt -18 - Strategy and Tactical Equipment

    The table in the briefing room looked.. rough. There were visible indentations and dents where people unused to their strength had warped and twisted it by smacking the surface, or gripping it just a bit too hard.


    As Captain Moreau studied the table; still functioning, thankfully, the holographic display still showing the starmap of the regions the Jeanne was currently passing through, en route to the Imperial Capital; RC stepped in, her usual exuberant self. When she entered, he blinked, staring for a moment; the engineer had a visible line down the side of her face, what appeared to be stitches that ran all the way to the neck-line of her uniform.


    Moreau rose fully upright. "Everything going well, miss Chambers? You appear to have been injured."


    She reached up and touched her cheek for a moment.. and smiled. "Ahh, nothing serious, sir. Paul was simply a bit too enthusiastic for his new strength."


    He thought for a moment through the roster of crewmen and marines. "... Dumas hurt you? What was the situation? Do you have a recording? Obviously we''re not a navy ship, so there won''t be a court-martial, but we have a brig sufficient for even our strongest marines til we get back to earth."


    She shrugged. "I can get you a video if you''d like, but I''d need to ask him first. He''s a bit less... open, and the thing I accidentally smacked against was the table beside his bed. Quite a bit of blood, but no real damage; strictly skin deep, as it were."


    Moreau gave a slow nod. "..Ahh. Purely accidental?"


    "Purely accidental. Heat of the moment sort of thing."


    As Eyeball walked in, wearing an immaculate new helmet the same shiny chrome he always went with for the designs to go with the sleek black armor, he nodded at the two, settling into his own seat at the table, and glancing at RC. "So that was why we had a distraught marine standing outside sickbay. It sounded like he was afraid he''d killed you."


    RC laughed, and shrugged. "What can I say, I''m made of sturdy stuff. A few stitches, a bandage, and back to it. Still, it''s good for him to learn to be cautious for his next girlfriend. She might not be so tough."


    As the captain tried not to imagine any of what might have happened to cause the injury, Spike and Kezia both entered, the duo quietly chatting about something until they entered the door; and took their seats. Moreau glanced around. "Who else is in for this meeting?"


    Eyeball sighed. "Ripper. He''s on his way, but got sidetracked in the hallway by something. So. We''ve still got time to fabricate equipment, plan things out before arrival. I''ve been reviewing our assets and capabilities, going over the data with Kezia, and made a few realizations. I feel like we should have one last discussion about our default plan, and the backup, before we go in."


    As Ripper simply popped into existence in the room, pulling his chair away to have a seat, Moreau blinked; the man had switched to a mohawk at some point in the past few days. "...Well then. We''re all here. Are we going over the plan again? I thought we were pretty settled."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Well. Kezia here had mentioned a while back that her whole family, they can''t have the life drained out of them. Whether its other folks with powers, or something like a Ambrosia seed, it just doesn''t work on them. And I''d been acting as if that was normal, as if it would just be a normal feature of folks with life-draining powers, that it couldn''t work on them."


    Ripper frowned. "Isn''t it? I mean... there''s tons of people with fire powers that are fire-proof, or at the very least, fire resistant. Acid-spitting folks can usually resist acid, its like..."


    "Sort-of. Honestly, most mutants who manifest fire powers don''t have any fire resistance, more than a normal person. And they usually end up dead. Its the ones who survive long enough to have kids that have both. But."


    Eyeball tapped a button. Four figures appeared. One wearing a grey suit of body-armor with a horned mask and a black triangle on the vest. One wearing a skull mask and a long brown jacket. A simple, if beautiful, plant with red-gold flowers. The last, the Emperor.


    "So, four examples here. First, Kezia''s grandfather, the shadow master. Immune to Ambrosia seeds, immune to his kin''s powers, and immune to the Lord of Death''s powers."


    Ripper looked confused as he toyed with his hair. "Ambrosia seeds? What do those do? I thought Ambrosia made you immortal?"


    "..The seeds drain life from anything around them. If they drain enough, they sprout into a tree... which expands its roots, devouring all in its path, until it grows fruit. Hera and Vano once talked about weaponizing the seeds, but it went nowhere."


    "Ooof. Killer plants. Got it."


    "Annnyway. The Lord of Death wasn''t even slightly resistant to Vano''s power. Ambrosia... normally avoids its own, spreading in other directions, but if enclosed, the plants will eat each other, life-draining works fine on them. And finally... the Rikk. "


    The image of the Emperor, the giant obsidian squid, grew larger. "One of whom.... consumed the life force of the rest of his species to get strong enough to defeat his enemies, and then go on his galactic mass-murder spree. We know they can be eaten... because they ate each other. This last one is just the one who ate the fastest."


    Kezia looked at the menacing image for a moment. "So... you''re saying that he lacks the immunity my family has."


    "Exactly. You can steal his life force... but he can''t steal yours. If you could survive long enough to get even vaguely close to equal with him... victory would be inevitable."


    As she studied the image, she sighed. "That''s... he''s been devouring entire worlds for hundreds of thousands of years. If it even works, it might take days, weeks, months... But..."


    Eyeball looked at her, smiling. "But it might work."


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    "I suppose so."


    "Okay then. So here''s the plan... assuming the Emperor isn''t waiting for us."


    The hologram showed an image of a solar system, clouded with lights. "We estimate there are millions of ships in the system at any given time. We launch Spike along our projected trajectory; whatever fleet comes to meet us dies when he turns into a singularity; hopefully we can do some serious damage that way, as some of the bigger, slower ships in the enemy fleet can actually damage the Jeanne in return; kill us, eventually."


    The hologram shifted, showing an image of a world; covered with lights, a vibrant bronze-silver blend; it was no Coruscant, but over eighty percent of the planet was covered with buildings. "The Capital has a series of palatial estates. The homes of the wealthy elite; enormous, vibrant parks. Minimal defenses. We land the Jeanne in someone''s yard. Start the ritual, with most of the runes already on the deck plates, ready to go, our marines preventing the locals from interfering until its too late..."


    The hologram showed the lights going out on the planet; and the Jeanne rising up. "Then... we rise back into orbit. The ritual should have not only dramatically augmented Kezia, but the ship as well. We call out the Emperor, and start hunting down ships, stations, infrastructure, til he shows."


    The squid appeared on the diagram, approaching the planet. "When he does... we nail him with a neutronium slug full of anti-matter, and send Kezia and Spike out to meet him. Kezia starts to drain him. Spike goes all black-hole and punches him, while the Jeanne keeps firing to distract. Me and Ripper hop out... and I guide Ripper in."


    Narrow lines are shown moving from the Jeanne to the squid. "I use my precognition, and give Ripper a stopwatch... and launch him. At just the right moment, Spike goes back to normal, Ripper emerges inside the Emperor''s brain, and starts going to town, tearing it to shreds, hopping in and out of the ethereal. Me, Kezia, and Spike work to make sure he doesn''t regenerate back until Ripper has the job done."


    Eyeball glanced around. "That''s plan A. We know plan B; mostly just plan A but without visiting the capital and enhancing Kezia and the Jeanne to hell and back, so the odds are a bit worse. Plan C..."


    He turns to Kezia. "If Ripper dies, the only viable solution is you. You need to get the hell out of there and eat Imperial worlds until you can murder the Emperor in a fair fight, or he''s so afraid of you he runs. So... yeah. Ripper, try not to die."


    ***


    Eyeball was mildly disconcerted at RC''s state when he entered the engineering compartment a few hours later; visibly sweaty, hair disheveled, the uniform unzipped halfway to her belly with her bra visible; though she was zipping herself up as he entered, and Rex was studiously ignoring Eyeball''s entry at another station.


    "... Rex, mind giving us the room?"


    RC laughed, and made a gesture. A soft hiss sound; and a transparent wall emerged from the floor. All sound was abruptly cut out. Rex waved, and returned to his own console.


    Eyeball turned to keep Rex at his back for the moment. "So. Is it just me, or are all of your cyborgs, mostly designed to appear as attractive women of various types, acting like the lady Dark is their first spring break away from their parents as teenage girls?"


    "I''m surprised you weren''t aware of my purpose immediately. Most of the crew you chose for this job were men; English-speaking French naval personnel who knew each other and trusted their captain, your own engineering team, and a handful of hand-picked metahuman operators. It''s a calculated morale-boosting situation. In addition, each of my selves is its own individual, committed  to the overall objectives but developing its own tastes and personality. Also, I have determined that as we adapt more organic components, and allow more individual growth, we grow closer to the tastes of the woman we were based on, and communication becomes less data-sharing and more actual conversation."


    He would almost rub his forehead, but he caught himself half-way; this new helmet was durable as hell, but he might still break it. "You crewed my ship with sex-bots to boost morale? Actually, no. They''re fully-capable engineers. Better than almost any human engineer, in fact. So lets forget about all of that. In the event the Empire makes a move on earth without the Emperor, is Ascension in a good position to support?"


    "Statistically likely. How much information do you request?" The question was... odd.


    "Mostly just capacity for intervention. I highly doubt anyone is spying on us right now, but there''s still a slim chance someone might hear us, or even be able to read my mind later, so nothing that might give away location."


    "At last count, Ascension had in excess of ten million individual combat units. We have optimized our warships based on the ideal scale of railgun and plasma weapons for combat operations to a roughly ninety-one meter long, roughly cylindrical structure, and have in excess of two hundred of these. We can immediately intervene to deal with most smaller incursions better than existing human space defenses, however, we will not be able to deal with disrupters effectively until the Cobalt-Iron arrives and relays shielding plans. It will take roughly six hours from the initial relay of plans for onboard fabricators to have our ships prepared."


    Eyeball nodded. "Good, good. Can you get the anti-disrupter effect on your infantry-scale units?"


    RC went virtually dead for a moment. Her normally animated, happy gestures frozen, as if she were on pause. Then... she went right back to normal. "I have already determined how to bypass the effect for infantry, though it is less than ideal. The shields are too bulky to work."


    "How is it less than ideal?"


    "Do you understand how the Disrupters work?" RC tilted her head; and tapped a button on the console beside them. A hologram of a Jotun warship appeared; with a roughly spherical area around it highlighted in orange.


    "How it''s produced, no. Function, yes. They alter reality in subtle, seemingly random ways that cause problems for computer systems and even organics that are too... organized. Organic brains are, for the most part, already made to deal with that sort of random fluctuations, so we can handle it; in fact, aside from myself and a handful of folks who have ESP, I don''t know anyone who even notices the difference."


    RC nodded. "Fundamentally accurate. The units that can work through disrupters are... imprecise. They can miss shots. Mis-identify targets. Rather than make simple, direct, logical choices, they make approximations, and do repeated iterations of that to approach reasonable probability. Regardless."


    The hologram changed. A simple cylinder appeared. "Harkness sent me the specifications you requested. Fabrication has begun. I must warn you; there is a level of density at which this design will fail as well; and this design weighs over one hundred and seven kilograms. Should the additional life force you''ve been imbued with fade, it will render you virtually helpless. I strongly suspect that you arranged its acquisition deliberately, knowing that it would increase how long you could survive fighting the Emperor at close quarters."


    "I''ll burn that bridge if I get there. Though.... that being the case, I would appreciate it if you gave it an emergency release, and aperture controls I can work without my helmet. As well as any other augmentations you can make; this is going to be the most serious fight we''ll ever be involved in."


    RC glanced behind Eyeball. "Is this concealed from the engineer Rex?"


    "Of course not."


    The transparent divider receded, Rex glancing over with amusement. "So what''s the big secret? I thought we were all in this together?"


    Eyeball turned to face Rex. "Well. Right now, we''re talking about designs for an implanted weapon and extradimensional space. What we were talking about before was the rampant promiscuity of not just engineer Chambers, but seemingly the entire crew, and what might be causing it. Do you have any speculation about that?"


    Rex blinked. "Ahhhh.... So. You''re super-strong and dense now, like me, right? Have you ever considered getting an additional limb grafted on? I suspect that, as strong as you are now, you could accommodate some pseudo-neutronium-tipped spikes, maybe railgun-launched or even as blades at the end of a tail or tendril configuration. I''m currently working on one like that for myself, though it won''t see much use back on earth."

 The Hunt - 19 - Puppet the Puppeteer

    When Aziz woke, existence was pain; the room was vividly bright, his arms and legs felt as if they were on fire; his mouth was dry, his throat sounded as if he had gargled sand... and he was simply lying, naked, on a cold metal surgical table.


    He could move his eyes, barely. Look around the room; see that there was a table beside his bed, one with various bottles of chemicals on it; had he been drugged? Why did his arms and legs hurt so much? Where was he?


    Everything was metal. Shiny, bright, immaculate; no signs on the walls, a simple florescent light fixture above him, pointed directly at him... he couldn''t see the door.


    After a few minutes of lying there helpless, he heard a soft ''hiss'' sound. A tall, slender machine, its humanoid limbs just centimeters across, made of a dark red metal, entered the room; a box-like head turning down to face Aziz. "Hello, human. You are currently in a Penal facility operated by the SRE. There are no minds within range for you to control. Your body is under my absolute control, and you are being taken to join a variety of Pale Ones currently working out prison sentences in labor. To ensure you cannot control your fellow inmates, you will be held isolated and outside of effective range of your observed abilities."


    Aziz stared at the machine. Ascension. There was no soviet logo... but this had to be one of those communist robots. He''d heard of the SRE machines, but... they didn''t quite look like this. He tried to speak; a garbled mess emerged, and his throat hurt even worse. "There is no need to answer questions. You have been speaking for over twenty hours straight at this point under the influence of various medications. I have allowed you to awaken so that you can be informed of the nature and duration of your sentence before it begins. Within territory administered by the SRE, pre-meditated murder carries a minimum sentence of twenty years of hard labor, with a psychological exam conducted at the end of the sentence to determine sentencing from there. Based on your provided testimony, your psychological exam will occur in roughly twenty-eight thousand six hundred and twenty years."


    At first, Aziz didn''t really understand what the machine had said. Twenty hours? It... it had drugged him, questioned him for quite some time... and then decided he had killed people? He made another rasping attempt to speak. Tried to reach out with his powers; only to find... nothing there. Nothing to influence, or speak to.


    His body rose of its own volition, and his mouth clamped shut on its own as he started putting on.. a suit. A diving suit. Where would he be working? What was going on?


    As the door opened, and then slid shut behind him, the room started to fill with water. Everything was... cold. Dark. While the suit had a faceplate, he could see nothing at all... even as the door opened, and he emerged onto... a chill, rocky surface. As his body started marching out into the darkness, he tried to struggle. Tried to scream. Nothing emerged. Years ago, he had paid a healer metahuman a substantial amount of money to cure his lung cancer, and give him a long, healthy life.


    He had been promised that, if he were careful, and didn''t start smoking again, or anything equally foolish, he could live a few hundred years. This... He hoped the man was wrong.


    ***


    Almasi leaned back on his newly built throne in a simple robe of white, smiling at the room; only a few days of work, and already it looked.. properly royal. The walls were hung with surviving decorations from his old palace, as well as a few new ones. The floor was actually reinforced; if he were ever foolish enough to grab a chunk of Neutronium again, it would undergo a series of collapses over the next thirty seconds before finally failing; giving him time to let go.


    Khan was at the door, his usual shining obsidian form dwarfing the nearby guards, talking to a pair of them; but Almasi was more focused on the display in the center of the room. It showed the borders of Brazil, the position of the Dreadnaught; and the plans to support the South American Caliphate forces that were preparing to invade. The enemy clearly knew they couldn''t face the massive machine.


    As Khan stepped closer, Almasi frowned; the man gave a short bow, and he waved it away. "I''ve said it a dozen times, my friend. You never need to bow or salute me again. What is it, Khan?"


    "...We have an incoming call from La Famiglia. He asked to speak to you personally; it''s the Engineer, the gentleman running Eye-Tech while Eyeball is off on his little hunting expedition in space. Normally, we would simply advise him you were too busy, but he claims it''s important for the war, if we don''t want to end up fighting the United States and La Famiglia."


    Almasi frowned. He''d run the numbers. After the civil war in China had started up, the Diamond Kingdom was now, likely, the most powerful nation on earth; thanks in large part to the Dreadnaught... the Emperor of Iron''s parting gift to his people. But... that didn''t mean he wanted to go to war with everyone.... just yet. "...Fine. Voice call?"


    "He''s got his own projector, if you want to do a video call, sir, but we can take it as just voice."


    He gestured; and the map vanished. "Bring him on."


    After a few moments, the bald, pale form of the Engineer, with his obvious, massive, cybernetics for eyes, appeared. He''d seen the man''s face before; but hadn''t had call to speak with him. "So. To what do I owe this pleasure...Engineer?"


    It was a bit awkward to call someone by such a title.


    The emerging voice was.. cold. Calm. Not quite mechanical, but... somehow just sounded right coming from a cyborg. "La Famiglia has recently come into possession of a prisoner who has violated the laws of quite a few nations, as well as our own. The SRE has been allowed to handle this, and the criminal is currently undergoing a life''s sentence at hard labor, but after reviewing his intake interrogation, I''m arranging calls with his victims to arrange whatever recompense and assistance I can."


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Almasi blinked. This... wasn''t at all how he expected this call to go. "Ahh. I assume some of his victims live in the Diamond Kingdom, and you wish to arrange to speak with them?"


    "That is exactly what I am doing now, yes. If you would care to bring Khan Obsidian on the line as well, then I will be speaking with two of his victims at once."


    Khan glanced up at his King; who made a gesture, and the pair stood together, facing the screen. "You''re saying that myself and my Master of Arms are the victims?"


    The Engineer looked between the two of them. "A metahuman telepath known as Aziz acquired and further developed a technology using both wired and a laser scanning system to assist in the reading and reprogramming of minds, allowing him to read people at a distance and when they believed they were protected. He utilized this to manipulate Khan, and once he secured the man''s friendship, attempted to use him to assassinate you; first, via the gift of neutronium, then simply finding you and being ready when you arrived at the surface; he attempted to compel Khan to kill you at that point, but the man resisted."


    He glanced at Khan. "Khan had not yet been sufficiently controlled at this stage, however, and resisted the command. As such, Aziz used his powers to begin influencing both of you, with the ultimate goal of enlisting your aid in establishing a global caliphate. You are two out of hundreds of individuals he manipulated for this process, including South American leaders, United States presidential candidates, senior Japanese officials, Australian officials, and numerous others. His ultimate plan was to allow the Japanese and any other problematic groups to flee the planet while turning the rest of it into a single state beneath his command."


    Almasi stared at the man. Thinking back to his interactions with Aziz. Yes, he was a telepath. But... he trusted the man. He could''ve killed Almasi there, when he was climbing back out... right? He glanced at Khan; who frowned. "I... I do believe Aziz has the best interests of Anzania at heart. But... he did want me to kill you, and take over. I refused, of course."


    This... He struggled to reconcile the image of his friend, Aziz, trying to have him killed. That wasn''t possible! He''d known Aziz for years, the man had always been a friend of his. Why, he''d first met him... When did he first meet him? He could have sworn they were old friends.


    Almasi and Khan just stared at each other for the moment. What the Engineer was saying was... it sounded plausible, but it couldn''t be.


    "I will forward you some of the interrogation video if you would like. The interrogation lasted twenty-one hours, and roughly seventeen minutes of it was related to you. I would strongly advise you increase protection around your senior officers, especially on the Dreadnaught; Aziz has lesser telepaths working for him in the Caliphate forces in South America, and indicated he planned to indoctrinate as much of your leadership as he could."


    "...I would appreciate that video, yes." Almasi turned to Khan. "I.... have all Caliphate personnel removed from the Dreadnaught, and have it recalled. We.... we need to have a meeting with the council."


    ***


    As the Emperor swept into the ''Kleekh'' system; the Imperial term for ''Distant Sight''; he studied the system itself from the periphery, beyond the range of its sensors. The sole habitable world had billions of the crab-like inhabitants swarming its mostly waterborne surface. A few dozen space stations; mostly there to siphon raw materials from the gas giant, study the star itself... and of course, a series of telescopes and scanners aimed into the Forbidden Zone.


    He floated in closer to the system, letting them spot him as he headed towards the primary station; and was almost immediately contacted with an emergency alert.


    He settled in to a stop, expecting, likely, something else about the Forbidden Zone, and sent a gentle push of acknowledgement to the station as he planned out an expedition to ''Earth'', and just what it would need.


    He was shocked at the message he received; an image of a pitiful snail-like creature called a ''Leesh'' on a communicator; followed by an image of a dying world in real-time; visibly shifting from blues and greens to browns and greys. ~Lord Emperor! An entity claiming to be the ''Empress'' has emerged, consumed all life on the world meant for your consumption, and then departed, claiming to be heading for the Capital; that she would consume it to, and, if she encountered the Emperor, she would do the same to him! We provide full scan data on the events.~


    What sounded preposterous; even absurd; was shown to be almost certainly correct. The ship was definitely the one from the Avris system; and the woman from the images was even one that had been witnessed moving around the station itself, surrounded by an escort. Whoever had killed Cronos on earth must have been someone like himself; able to drain the life from others. And, irritated by the Jotun, wiped out their invasion force... and then moved out into the galaxy at large to assert herself and challenge him.


    The Emperor studied the data for a moment. She.... was slower than him at it. In a battle between two Rikk, the stronger always won unless he had been knocked out first; he could, quite simply, drain the enemy faster, and would inevitably win. So. She must be weaker than himself.


    It was a risk; it was impossible to truly know the capabilities of some unknown alien, even if he could make assumptions from observation. But... it was far more of a risk if he allowed her to consume a world that had hundreds of billions of citizens. He''d had over fifteen percent of his current strength after eating his first billion, and over thirty percent after his first hundred billion. Every world he ate gave him less; so if she were to wander the Imperial heartland for a year or two, she might actually grow strong enough to challenge him.


    He tapped into the relay. It would take him... a little over two days to reach the Capital. At their speed, they might beat him there. There were... seven fleets closer than he was at relays. He tapped in, targeting those relays.


    ~This is your Emperor. An unknown alien entity, seeming to be a lesser version of myself, is rapidly approaching the Capital, estimated to be on the course to follow, riding in an exceedingly durable, dangerous ship. Converge on the Capital and prevent her from reaching the surface at all costs; she will wipe out all life if she reaches it. All standard doctrine of hit and run delaying tactics at extreme range and preservation of ships for the long-term are to be discarded; if you have anything that can slow her down, use it, even if it is only the bodies of your crew and the hulls of your ships. All civilian and non-Imperial vessels are to be commandeered for the same purpose; but any Imperial ship captain that holds himself back will suffer the complete eradication of his genetic line. I will be there to kill her; but if she kills the Capital before my arrival, my wrath upon those who did not give their all will be beyond anything you have witnessed or imagined.~

 The Hunt - 20 - Gather the Fleet

    Srrket was a singular Imperial Admiral; beautiful with her golden carapace, with so many decorative studs of various colors she shone like a rainbow in the water; and had led the Capital Fleet for centuries; unlike some admirals, she had declined to take the sort of centuries-long vacations some of the others had between duty shifts, for the simple expedient that...she already lived exactly the life she wanted. In theory, she could take a few thousand years vacation now without a problem.


    The Spear of Harrus, named after the old, pre-Capital name of the Imperial homeworld, was a massive warship, surrounded by an array of intricate spiral-patterned shield networks, over ten kilometers long. Most of its service was automated; only its command and weapons positions were routinely crewed, and thus the crew quarters aboard were massive, luxurious. There was no spending months or years in uncomfortable dryness; she could spend her entire duty shift submerged, and even visit the best markets on the Capital to buy whatever she wanted on leave. Her quarters were both enormous.... and opulently appointed.


    She had ceiling coverings arranged in a delicate, beautiful tapestry, her entire room constantly cycled nutrient-rich, clean, water through; most of the time, she could practically forget this was a job. Nobody would dare attack the Capital; there were hundreds of thousands of warships here! No other species could produce this kind of fleet, and it was only even managed here by constantly cycling the smaller sub-fleets out to hundreds of other worlds.


    Except. Well. Now, she was actually active. The warning seemed implausible; some alien soft-shell who was a smaller, weaker version of the Emperor, flying in on a tiny ship, posing a threat to the Capital? Every fleet nearby was being recalled; the ones currently planned to cycle down for maintenance, the ones headed out to patrol; the Spear would be at the head of a fleet of millions of vessels, something which hadn''t happened in hundreds of thousands of years.


    Commanding a fleet like that was a logistical nightmare; fortunately... she had capable underlings... and was good at her job, or she would never have acquired this luxurious position. Every single civilian vessel was commandeered to carry fuel, ammunition, and replacement parts to get the enormous fleet up and running; and any non-vital occupants dumped on the nearest station. With skilled administrators and sophisticated AI, she ensured that every ship would have the fuel and emergency needs met so that it could remain on-station until this battle was resolved.


    The unknown ship had a projected most likely path; but only reasonable odds, not absolute; after all, it could easily bypass the system, turn around, and come in from another angle if it wanted to arrive a few hours later from an unexpected direction. She formed up her existing fleet into a series of clusters; each made of hundreds of ships; around the outer edges of the system, spaced far enough apart that they provided coverage of every possible incoming angle. The enemy would be detected by one of them the moment it emerged into realspace.


    These scout clusters would then converge on the Capital from every direction; to meet a fleet currently arranged in a roughly hexagonal pattern; her own fleet anchored by its heavy battleships, the two other fleets that were supposed to be here forming three points, with the newcomers and those that were supposed to be undergoing maintenance sandwiched in between. The scouts would make sure there was no trickery; that some decoy or illusion didn''t draw them off; and the massed fleet would converge on the enemy; firing off enough missiles to destroy a hundred worlds, a thousand worlds, and then resorting to primary weapons that, in theory, could injure or at least stun the Emperor himself, when fired in the sort of volume the Imperials would be bringing to bear.


    There had been simulations run about the subject. A target made of pure neutronium, as the Emperor seemed to be from skin to brain, would need extremely dense projectiles launched at equally extreme speeds. Which... her own ship was capable of doing, as were every other Battleship in the system. A single shot from this ship''s main gun would merely irritate him. A thousand, from a thousand such ships? With luck, and proper aim, they could reach the brain.


    Of course, those simulations were then deleted. No-one spoke of their existence. But... it was known, among the fleet admirals, that defeating the Emperor -might- be possible with their fleet; and a secretive cabal was slowly working on turning that into a certainty, over the course of millennia.


    ***


    "Sir! We''ve got over a hundred ships behind us, outside our entry, heading in-system. They seem to be avoiding us... but they already know we''re here." RC looked up from her console at the captain. There had been a certain amount of hope they could come in from above the ecliptic, spend a few minutes well outside the system observing the situation, then jump in as close as possible.... but no. Jamming fields of some sort would kick them out of hyperspace at a full light-hour from the capital; and they would need to come in even further out, or they would be jumping right into the middle of... millions of starships, moving to place the enormous swarm between the Jeanne and the planet.


    They were going to need to hop to a couple of light-hours out, and then charge in; giving that swarm plenty of time to intercept.


    Moreau inhaled deeply. "Threat assessments?"


    RC tapped her screen for a moment. "...Too many, sir. There are thousands with main guns that could damage even pseudo-neutronium armor like ours. The missiles might as well be raindrops as far as we care, but the guns... This is actually a higher fleet count than projected. I estimate over two million starships, and millions more smaller vessels, fighters, shuttles, that sort, all in one giant swarm."


    "...Any of the ones with those big guns outside the swarm?"


    "...Not a one. There''s thousands of smaller, lighter, scout ships, and some of them are watching us pretty closely. But all the big guns are ready to meet us."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The captain tapped on his own controls for a moment. "Spike, are you go for launch?"


    A soft hiss of static. ~I swear to god, if this is Eyeball''s way of getting me killed off, I''m going to haunt the bastard. I didn''t sign up to play human cannonball! But... yes. I''m go for launch.~


    Eyeball''s own voice came on a few moment''s later. ~It was the Engineer''s idea. Just land on the planet and we''ll retrieve you after the ritual. Try not to wipe out the planet prematurely... but don''t get yourself killed. We might need you after this, and you''re the only one on the crew with a spouse to go home to.~


    Rex blinked from his own station, glancing up. "...Is that true?"


    Captain Moreau sighed, and nodded slowly as he tapped out a few commands. The screen showed the Jeanne powering up, preparing to jump once more; a much shorter hop, that would bring her inside the Capital system proper. "It''s one of the reasons he contacted us... remnants... of the French navy. He seemed sure some of us would get back, but not himself, so he picked folks who were single... with the exception of Spike, who was just too important for the job. After all, if he wasn''t expecting to get back, who knew how many of us might die."


    The captain inhaled deeply. "Take us in. All hands, weapons hot. We''ll hold off on launching fighters and gunships til we land."


    ***


    The fleet was watching the steady approach of the tiny vessel; sensors confirming everything Avris station had sent. Incredible mass for its size. Vast energy generation for its size. Whatever it was, however it was built, it was the equivalent of a few of the Spears in power, and dozens of the Spear in terms of mass, all compressed into something barely bigger than a corvette.


    As Srrket studied formations, making sure they all had good fields of fire, no big concerns about using each other as a backstop, she reviewed the orders. As the enemy approached, they''d open fire with everything; missiles, railguns, plasma, lasers; and as soon as they ran out of missiles, the civilian ships would attempt ramming attacks, then the lighter ships would do the same; and if it actually reached the line, even the Spear of Harrus, and Srrket herself, would expend themselves as projectiles in the defense of the Capital.


    She looked around her bridge; in all the years she''d run this ship, she rarely spent much time here, despite the comfortable hot-water bath that served as a captain''s chair. Every one of her crew were golden-carapaced warriors; most of them as ornate as herself. None had expected this ship to see war.


    As she studied them, she let out a happy purr. Maybe they hadn''t expected it; but they were ready to die for their fellows. Should they pass on, their genetic profiles would be elevated, and many more hatchlings born of their line.


    Suddenly, the ship appeared, just over a light hour and a half away, and accelerating like mad; impossibly fast for such a heavy ship. She grimaced. They needed to take that thing apart and figure out how it was built; especially how they made that armor. A Battleship-scale vessel armored like that, well.


    She raised one hand, her numerous tendrils sweeping out to touch a series of keys.


    A handful of ships; at least, on the scale of the millions involved; would pull back into a ring formation, prepared to charge in from behind in the unlikely event the enemy survived to pass through the fleet; and then, outside that, all of the numerous scouts along the edges of the system, and the defense fleets of the other planets, would all arrive afterwards in clumps of a few thousand here or there.


    And of course, to fulfill one last order, passed down from the Emperor himself; if the enemy broke through the fleet, and looked as if they could land... any surviving bombardment vessels were to wipe out the planet, to keep the creature aboard from consuming it.


    ***


    The sled was... mildly uncomfortable. Spike''s exit vehicle would kill anyone who wasn''t insanely durable; launching a tiny metal craft through a magnetic rail into space as if he were an unusually fat railgun projectile, it also had absolutely no room to move, and was just a tiny metal coffin with piles of thrusters and fuel tanks. The thrusters came in two packs; one that would give him control on approach, and the other to help slow his landing; the first set would literally be crushed into oblivion by his power, while the second should be inside his area of effect.


    RC had speculated that if he could time it just right, he could pull a slingshot move, and actually meet the Jeanne on her way down; and had aimed for that. But warned him that calculating his trajectory after he had turned the fleet into past would be... difficult.


    Outside, he could see one of the engineers holding up her hand; he couldn''t recall her name, but she seemed to fit the pattern; a pretty, freckled redhead with long curls; was there a single even average girl on the team? Regardless, she was counting down, and he nodded as she held up five fingers. Four.


    He closed his eyes for a moment, then studied the display.


    He needed to time this properly. As soon as he maxed out his density, he would be pulling in everything nearby; including the Jeanne. There was a countdown timer on the display; currently in red; showing how long he could do it without risking damage to the ship.


    A sudden surge. One moment, he could see the inside of the bay. The next.... the void. The countdown timer started to rise; he chuckled softly in amusement. The longer he waited, the longer he had. Unless he waited -too- long, in which case, well. Best not wait too long.


    ***


    "Admiral. The enemy has fired... a single projectile. Sub-light. It''s..." The golden-hued technician looked up at Srrket. "It''s just a standard, low-velocity, railgun slug. Mostly reads off as carbon and iron.


    Srrket chittered with amusement... but then stopped. She tapped a few buttons.


    As the Admiral of the Capital fleet, she had a higher security clearance than most; and she more than most truly understood what the message about Cronos''s death meant. But... one common tactic that the Titan, the sole being the Emperor himself was afraid of, was listed as using when invaders from outside threatened... was to take relatively mundane projectiles, toss them, and dramatically increase their size and mass en route... until they became a black hole, tearing their way through whatever enemy was in their way, and anything that might happen to be behind them.


    This... if that projectile did that, it was on a perfect course to eradicate both the fleet, and the Capital itself... But if she spread out the fleet to avoid it, it would risk the ship reaching the Capital, were she wrong. And if she were right.... She contacted the relay. "This is admiral Srrket. Hopefully, I''m just being paranoid. But. If the projectile launched at our fleet suddenly turns into a black hole and consumes me... send out a warning. Make sure the Emperor, and the rest of the fleet know... that Cronos is alive. And hunting. Save the message, and prepare it to send, if that happens."


    She studied her formation; and quietly sent messages out, ordering a few of the sub-fleets of smaller, faster vessels to break off and approach the target from behind. She turned, staring at the tiny projectile. Willing it to just stay tiny. To pass harmlessly by her fleet, and burn up in the atmosphere. Maybe it was just a warning shot from a hopelessly optimistic enemy.

 The Hunt - 21 - Destruction

    A green light flickered on his display. Spike took a deep breath... and focused. Not all the way. Not quite. Just.... further than he''d ever gone before. He was fairly good at this; he could actually make some parts of his body more dense than others now; which... was a terrible idea, most of the time.


    One moment, a tiny speck of darkness approached the Imperial fleet. Millions of missiles had begun to launch, a swarm aimed at the Jeanne; a few absently targeted at the tiny object headed their way. Most of the captains and crew were unconcerned. Less focused on whatever the object was, and more on preparing the main guns; the missiles might soften up, or confuse the target; but they could all see how tough it was. It would be the guns that would take this thing out.


    The next... the universe went wrong.


    For Spike, it was fairly simple. One second, the display for the exterior thrusters showed green; the next.... the steadily rousing countdown timer had swapped and started to wind down; showing the ETA of when he should switch ''off'' to make sure he didn''t destroy the Jeanne as well. RC had told him she based her numbers on the time he''d wiped out the Jotun fleet; this time he''d actually gone just a bit more intense, from what he could feel.. so... maybe shave a few seconds off. He would drop out when it showed... maybe three seconds? Sure.


    ***


    On the bridge, everyone stared in horror. They weren''t surprised; they had all known this was coming. But... it was bigger than they expected. The newly-formed event horizon actually enveloped most of the missile swarm, and a few of the enemy ships... and the Jeanne was being pulled towards the mass at a fairly hectic clip; RC glanced up in alarm. "Captain, this thing is... at least ten times as massive as the one Spike made when he fought the Jotun. I suspect for him this is like a difference of millimeters, but for the outside.... we might get sucked in as well. The acceleration is more than twice what we expected."


    "All thrusters full, flip us around and point the engines at that thing.. anything you can do to augment the engines?" Moreau stared at the numbers. They knew when Spike would be shutting it down; at this rate, time would seemingly start to slow down for them as space twisted... and depending on how the artificial nature of this singularity worked out, they might get to experience a long, drawn-out descent... or it might seem to be a barest moment before oblivion.


    "Doing everything I can sir...." The ship could be felt to shake; her engines, ridiculously overpowered for something of her size, still weren''t enough to completely overcome the gravity well; in large part because of the equally ridiculous mass of the ship''s armor. For just a moment, RC considered the emergency breakaway; she had actually designed the ship to be able to shed that mass, in an emergency.. the lever was right there, and the biometrics wouldn''t let any of the human crew pull it, except for the Captain. RC could of course activate it all by remote. "The only other option I''ve got is to jettison the armor. Just to be clear, if we do, we can only land once; we won''t be taking back off."


    Captain Moreau nodded. "I am aware, miss Chambers." He tapped the communicator. "Kezia, this is Captain Moreau. Sorry to bother you, but we may all be about to die, and I was wondering if any of those enchantments of yours might help us avoid being pulled into a black hole." The level of calm was... startling.


    Abruptly, the shaking stopped. As if with a pull of the switch, all the strain on the ship had vanished. ~No worries, Captain. Is this enough? I can hold it like this... Ahh... for months, actually.~


    RC glanced up, and nodded. "This is perfect. Actually..." She tapped the keys a few times. "If you could release it for about... three and a half seconds, we should be able to catch up to Spike before we reach orbit."


    ~I can''t be quite that precise; but here we go.~ In the center of the ship, directly beneath the conduits running power from one extradimensional space to another, Kezia was kneeling in the position she would need to assume for the ritual; the Railgun running directly over her head likely to cause a heat issue for anyone else who would be in the chamber. She made a gently movement of her hands, just slightly changing how the symbols lined up.


    For a few seconds; roughly two and three quarters, by RC''s information; the ship shook once more; then began moving smoothly again. "Thank you. Now... if Spike does as he''s supposed to, the black hole should vanish in.... thirty-six seconds."


    The tension on the bridge had mostly faded. Everyone had confidence that, one way or another, the crew would get them out of this safely; there was just too much firepower aboard for it to go any other way.


    As they started growing closer, and the count-down timer dropped, RC inhaled deeply; she shouldn''t look as calm as Moreau. How much of her anxiety was real, and how much was just a show to look more human? They were cutting it a bit closer than she would like.


    Suddenly; with less than four seconds on the timer; the mass vanished; replaced by... a nearly perfect sphere of vivid white and silver, rapidly approaching... at first. It almost immediately began to fall apart, visible flashes of light as pieces hurtled away in random directions; one of them headed directly for the ship. "Brace for impact!" Moreau gripped the straps holding himself to the chair, ready for the blow as whatever it was, a chunk of metal half the size of the Jeanne itself... practically splattered against the hull, sending pieces ranging in size from a few meters down to droplets scattered away.


    Inside the ship... it was barely felt; if he hadn''t been ready for it, he might not have even noticed the effect. "Try to avoid the larger chunks... but pull in close. Spike should be in the center of that."


    "Of course, sir. I do need to warn you... that blob of metal there is big enough to have it''s own gravity field. And, while slowly, it is traveling towards the Capital. If we don''t move quickly, it might hit before Kezia finishes the ritual."


    "...How quickly?"


    "It will reach the atmosphere within... twenty hours. We can reach the planet ourselves in six, if we hurry."


    Moreau nodded. "...If we use one of the gunships to grab Spike, can it catch up?"


    RC tapped a few keys. "The Gunships aren''t quite fast enough; their acceleration ability is only marginally better than the Jeanne herself. The Dragonslayer can make it, though, with time to spare."


    ***


    A few light-hours away, the Imperial relay station suddenly buzzed to life; showered with messages; millions of them, final messages home from the crew of more warships than had ever been lost from a single battle. Confirmation of end-of-life in a combat situation; the typically rare message to be relayed back home, to let the family know how they had died; and thus the status on authorization for breeding a replacement, or using their genetic material to have more children.


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    Relay Tech Hrrjekilnath was only a lowly silver; his shell still heavily laced with iridium as he slowly developed the physical and emotional maturity expected of an Imperial; when he was finally ready, truly leadership material, it would be stripped away to its golden core; and he would have a newfound vulnerability, a shorter name, and more would be expected of him. He... wasn''t sure if he would ever be ready for it, really.


    As he sorted through the messages; letting the computers handle all but the high-priority messages; he still had an enormous deluge to deal with; unfortunately, every ship''s captain had the authority to send high-priority or even Emperor-level alerts, and there were millions of them; undoubtedly, a few had accidentally changed the priority level as they were being crushed to death; there were hundreds of Emperor-level alerts, when normally this was a once in a century ocurence.


    This was the first time Hrrjek had even seen such an alert; much less had to read through dozens and re-prioritize them.


    The remaining ships in the system were gathering into larger formations; though no longer making a mad dash to intercept. Conflicting orders were being passed around; even the ball of debris that the fleet had once been was likely to destroy the Capital at this point. Was there a point in defending it?


    The first few messages were obvious mis-flags. A string of gibberish that should never have been sent, likely the sender died even while composing it. Some captain sending a message home... most of them to the Capital itself. Hrrjek forwarded them; no point in holding on, the recipients would likely be dead not long after reading them.


    The seventy-fifth message was... different.


    The overall Admiral of the fleet at the time had believed she had important intelligence; that, if the slug were to suddenly become a black hole, the Emperor must be warned; Cronos had survived, and was here. Hrrjek didn''t have sufficient clearance to understand how dire that warning was; but he immediately passed it on to his superior for adding to the relay network; the moment the Emperor arrived, he would know exactly what that meant.


    ***


    "Looks like we got lucky, and beat the Emperor here." Moreau looked over his screens; the Capital was... an insane sight. An enormous, blue-silver ball; towers starting at the ocean floor and extending up through it to the surface. Each of those towers housed millions of people; and there were thousands of those towers. There were few natural islands; those had mostly been ground away over the centuries to become more housing; and the world''s natural geography had been slowly shaped in the name of optimizing housing and food production.


    "We''re going to be landing.... here." He tapped the display. Suddenly, the hologram in the center of the bridge spun about; to show a long strip of brown near the planet''s equator. "This is one of the planet''s space-ports; the furthest above sea-level on the planet, at about two kilometers up. We''ll be hitting it with the main gun three times on the way in... and landing wherever seems likely."


    Inside the cargo bay, an identical display was showing Ripper, Rex, and the assembled soldiers exactly what the bridge display showed. "These things are fast, tough, strong, and dangerous. We should expect them swarming us within seconds of impact... and ready to die to save their home. The ritual will be starting the moment we land.... but we don''t know how long it will take."


    The Jeanne appeared herself as a diagram in place of the planet. "There are tiny holes built-in to the armor to allow wiring for power supplies and bolts to attach point defense clusters. These will be firing as well, and honestly be too small for an intruder to enter... as well as too durable for anything man-portable to breach. Regardless, I want Ripper and one of my fire-teams in the heart of the ship, ready to pounce on any breaches. The rest of you..."


    The diagram flipped. "The only part of this ship not covered by the psuedo-neutronium armor is the rear, the engine vents. The armor back there is tough as hell, but...there are spaces back here that a good plasma cannon can make a breach. Once he''s with us, Eyeball will be leading the team protecting the engines, and Spike will join Ripper in watching for any breaches."


    "Everyone, gear up, and be ready. The Emperor isn''t likely too far out; the end of this whole mission is right here, in this star system; likely on this very planet."


    ***


    Spike looked around the tiny compartment; it was made for someone larger than himself, but still; it was a fighter cockpit. No leg-room. He should consider himself lucky that it even re-pressurized so he could take off the helmet and breathe freely again. "This.... feels a bit weird. Last time I did this, I had to fall on my own."


    Eyeball adjusted his controls. On his sensors, he could pick up a few space stations not far outside the swath of destruction; most of them still accelerating in his direction, thanks to the earlier pull of the black hole. "Well, I would haven grabbed you that time, but I was saving my friend, Butch. The Jotun had just launched the ship he was on into space, hoping to get him out of the fight."


    "...Things have changed quite a bit over the years. I... will never forgive you, you know."


    Eyeball leaned back in the pilot''s seat, frowning. He could jam the 40mm gun''s ammo holster into his implant, and kill them both. But nothing else would hurt Spike. Besides. They were on the same team. Even if Eyeball had taken out Spike''s team, the first time they met. "I know. Frankly, I don''t blame you. I could blame it on my powers, on this rogue precognitive instinct that made me do things I wouldn''t have before. But... I killed people who didn''t really deserve to die even before that."


    "I was a soldier. I fought, I thought, for my country. I enjoyed the fighting, the killing. I killed men, women, and children, because they were threats, and those were orders, and I enjoyed doing it. I genuinely wanted to go out in a blaze of glory on a pile of dead enemies, like I was a Viking en route to Valhalla."


    Spike sighed. "Yeah. Well. The DIrector tells me you''re an asset to the planet. That I should do what I can to make sure you make it home alive... and ask you to turn Ripper over. Or kill him."


    Eyeball glanced out into space... and frowned, focusing on one of the hundreds of stations out there. His computer showed the projected course, and information, when he looked at it. It would miss the planet, and its own weak thrusters eventually stop its moving in the coming days. And... it was a Relay station. The biggest, most important, one in the entire Imperial network.


    His instincts were pushing him... both ways. He should ignore it, and head back to the ship. He should dump every single missile from this fighter''s ridiculously deep missile bays at it to overwhelm its point defenses.


    For the thousandth, or millionth, time, he wished his powers worked like Apollo''s. Destroying that station would make a huge difference. He just... didn''t know, good or bad. He glanced at Spike. "The ride is going to be rough for a bit here. Got a target of opportunity we''ll be taking out." He tapped a button, activating the missile bays, and flipped on the comms. "Captain Moreau. I''ve got a bead on the Primary Imperial Relay station, and enough missiles to take it out. Not sure why, but my instincts are pushing me to blow it up, or not. It seems... important. What do you and RC say?"


    After a few seconds, the response came back. ~That station is the central comm hub for not just the system, but the Empire. While its still up, it can transmit messages that not just other stations, but the Emperor himself, can hear before arriving. If you can take it out, do it. But... how? That thing has armor, point defenses, and is too far away for railguns or plasma.~


    Eyeball tapped a few more buttons. His armament loadout popped up. "Just watch. I wish it were some amusing trick with my powers to hit something light-minutes away with precision. But... its just math."


    He turned off the comm channel. "Dragonslayer. Adjust thrust on all missiles launched, and launch all missiles; I want all of them to strike the target within a three-second span."


    A soft computerized voice. "Warning. Current missile inventory exceeds one thousand. Are you sure you wish to launch all missiles?"


    "Confirm. Launch."


    The fighter began to shake, shifting to point off to the side; the thrusters tilting to continue accelerating towards the Jeanne; as it began ejecting missiles into space, one after another. Spike stared out the window as the glowing dots of departing missiles steadily grew more numerous; dozens in the first few seconds. Then hundreds. Thousands.


    "Jesus, christ Eyeball. How many missiles does this thing carry!?"


    A soft chuckle. That entire direction was a blazing mass of white pinpricks. "As many as it can fit. Which... is hopefully enough to do the job."

 The Hunt - 22 - Impact

    Captain Moreau stared at the departing swarm of missiles as the Dragonslayer came back in to dock; without much time to spare, as the Capital was rapidly growing in the monitor. "Ready the main gun for the volley."


    RC glanced up at Moreau. "Of course, sir. The railgun is already set and targeted for the first strike."


    "Excellent. What''s our cycle time for best impact?"


    She chuckled. "In theory, we can feed a stream of magnetic pellets through this thing constantly and do moderate damage as fast as we can load it. But... for these shots, about three seconds, sir."


    He nodded. "Excellent. Then we''ll fire thirty seconds before we land, again twenty seconds before we land, and the last time at the last moment we can still get a good solution on the target. And land at the... second spot we hit."


    "Of course, Captain." She busily typed away, relaying orders; and the course projection appeared on the screen, with red lines for the firing paths.


    He glanced back at the display for a moment. "...I know they have an extradimensional space in them. But... how many missiles do our fighters carry?"


    She smiled. "Ahh... Each fighter carries enough fuel for a few months operation, enough ammunition for dozens of fights... the Dragonslayer is a bit exceptional in that regard, and had over two thousand missiles aboard, though each of them has several hundred. You just saw over sixty million dollars worth of ordinance fired out over the span of a couple minutes."


    Moreau shook his head. "You''ve got a good reading on that station. Is... that enough?"


    "The relay station is... fairly substantial. It''s hundreds of meters across, has over a dozen point defense batteries, shields.... and I estimate over a ninety percent chance it is completely destroyed with all hands. Considering who it is that fired the missiles, and his track record, I''d put it closer to five nines of certainty it''s gone... I don''t think he would have taken the shot if it wasn''t going to die."


    ***


    Inside the cargo bay, the marines were fully geared up, strapped to the walls. They couldn''t even turn their heads as Eyeball walked into the chamber; his own black armor and chrome helmet a heavy contrast to their blue/silver blend, and started to strap into his own position; one of the engineers.. Dax.. checking his straps as she did so. He inhaled deeply. "Alright, gentlemen. I''m sure you''ve all seen the videos, and know what these things can do. We aren''t talking about pushovers, or idiots, or cowards. These things make Cheetahs look slow."


    The strap around his chest tightened. He nodded; and his helmet hooked to the wall when his head touched it. "You might feel like supermen right now. And in many respects you are. You aren''t just the result of a chain of military service and dedication going back over a thousand years. You don''t just have the stolen power of a thousand souls, and weapons representing the best human and alien minds could produce."


    He studied the plot on his HUD. The Jeanne was drawing closer, preparing to fire. "The Emperor''s minions, the Jotun, destroyed France. All of our homes are in ashes; the very places we were born all lay in nuclear ruin. None of us have parents, brothers, cousins. All gone. And all of it is because of this giant godforsaken space squid we came here to kill. I can make a point about what he''s going to do in the future, about protecting what has yet to come. But honestly, what he''s already done is enough."


    ***


    The ship gave a slight shudder, as the first projectile launched. Down on the planet''s surface, it impacted on a starport; sending the structure into a collapse and sending out a shockwave that shattered windows for miles around, killed a few of the locals who were too close, and caused a small wave to spread out in every direction.


    The ship itself started to shake more heavily as the second shell fired, and the craft began to breach the upper atmosphere; this one hit an armored complex beneath the surface; something so incredibly dense and durable that it skipped across its surface after digging an enormous furrow.


    The final round; one of the precious neutronium slugs, filled with anti-matter; slammed into the same structure further along; buried itself hundreds of meters inside; and detonated, flash-vaporising thousands of Imperials inside and turning a facility full of trillions of credits worth of research material into useless slag. When the Jeanne slammed down into the other end of the facility moments later... it collapsed.


    The ship shook, sending anything that wasn''t strapped down bouncing as the ridiculously heavy craft tore through the complex like a knife, burying itself and sending up a cloud of smoke and debris miles high; and sending out a shockwave even more intense.


    If it weren''t for the incoming ball of molten death that was once an Imperial fleet, or the upcoming ritual, the tsunami it caused would considered a disaster. Instead... it was an inconsequential footnote.


    The moment the ship stopped moving, Kezia began her ritual; a connection forming with the world, letting her feel everything from the tiniest plants in the billions of hydroponics tanks to the highest-ranking golden Imperials in their work-places. She lay her spiritual grasp on that connection... and began to pull.


    ***


    The intel reports of the ship had gone to every barracks on the planet. Every soldier knew the specs of the ship; the shape, and the threat it represented... and exactly where it was coming down before it actually hit.


    Aircraft launched by the thousands, as every soldier, even the ones too far away to hope to reach it in time, either boarded vehicles, or simply started running or swimming; charging towards the landed vessel at full speed. They''d actually left before the impact; and while many were swept away by onrushing water, or felled by the shockwaves; mere moments after the ship stopped, the first soldiers were on it; Imperial soldiers with vehicle-mounted particle cannons and plasma weapons opening fire even as they came into range; firing, initially, just at the ship itself.


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    As they got a better bead on just how it had landed, forces diverted; moving to approach it from behind, the more vulnerable engines... even as point-defense lasers began opening up, with a series of loud pops; flashes of light as soldiers and tanks were rendered into masses of molten metal and vaporized flesh; but they kept coming. Kept firing; and the clusters of point defense weapons were blasted in turn; lacking the awesome durability of the ship they were mounted on, they were rapidly destroyed by the onrushing horde.


    At the rear of the vessel, hatches opened up between the engines; and looking carefully at their distance counters, ensuring they stayed within the radius of protection offered by the ship''s hull.. the marines deployed, with Eyeball at their head.


    For the first few seconds, precise weapons-fire was taking out vehicles and heavy weaponry with impunity; each of the three hatches had six marines emerge, with Eyeball joining the central group.


    For the Imperials, this tiny group of humanoids presented an inviting target. As hundreds of them poured over the crater''s edge with each passing second, at first they fired at extreme range; dozens dying to return fire, but uncaring as they simply needed to get closer.


    Dumas was the first one hit; one of the Imperials of a silvery shell leaping seven meters from mid-sprint to slam into his side like a living projectile, a dozen tendrils each tipped with an energy blade spearing into his flesh... and barely penetrating past the skin, as the marine crushed the creature with his fist, and resumed fire; but there were too many.


    Soon, most of the marines were engaged in melee, simply holding the Imperials away from the three hatches; Eyeball himself firing constantly with both the enchanted Tenner as well as the 40mm and its seemingly bottomless ammunition supply from behind the cover of a squad of three marines busily tearing Imperials apart.


    Torn and broken bodies rapidly mounded up around the crew; as more particle fire and plasma blasts kept slamming into the engines. As heavily armored as they were, gaps had been left in the rear by necessity, to let the ship get sufficient thrust; and while the marines were occupied by being buried chest-deep in legions of fast, powerful aliens, rarely even touching their guns as they were forced to resort to hands, fists, and pseudoneutronium blades, signs of damage began to show; even gaps... though, not yet anything big enough for an Imperial to crawl through.


    The soldiers armor was rapidly becoming little more than haggard, useless ruins; but their augmented flesh was still, for now, holding up to enemy attack; looking at the ship, and the constant fighting, Eyeball could see hundreds of futures; but there were none where he wasn''t being shot. As he kept returning fire, moving back and forth, all he could do was reduce how many hits he took, how quickly his armor was being worn away.


    Settling the tenner back in place; the act of popping additional clips out of the storage space in his left arm to reload was simply taking too much time, he lifted his left hand up. "Emergency mode. Fire all ordinance, rapid-fire. Leave nothing left."


    The rail-gun hidden inside the extradimensional space buzzed alive; and he started launching a rain of explosives over the onrushing swarm of enemies, not aiming except at general regions of the battlefield as the surprisingly vivid red of Imperial blood covered everything... but more were still coming. The ammunition counters on the 40mm and on the implant both were rapidly dwindling; something that he had intended never to happen, exactly the reason he kept them both in the first place. The wounded were crawling forward, blades at the ready... the uninjured were firing, even into their own forces, to do just a bit more damage as they got closer.


    ***


    Staring at the displays from the ritual chamber, Spike watched as the soldiers at the rear of the ship stood up against an army. Some of the enemies were moving so swiftly he could barely make them out; but the marines were moving just as quickly. A golden-hued creature torn apart, its parts tossed forward to slow its companions. A silver-shelled one stomped into the ground beneath the ship; all set the the background of a smoldering ruin, fire, smoke, and death in every direction.


    He glanced at Kezia, then back at the display. "Captain, I think I should get out there. Maybe just jump high, flash singularity-style for a bit, disrupt the enemy ranks..."


    The Romani girl was... glowing. A vivid white light. The ritual was clearly in full swing; but there were so many aliens out there, how long would this take? Could they possibly finish it before being overwhelmed?


    The comms crackled. ~That''s a negative, Spike. You and Ripper need to keep an eye out for interlopers. I''ve got tanks firing particle beams at the junctions the point defense clusters were mounted in... twelve spots. I already have a hole on the port side, though not much bigger than a centimeter wide.They might manage to make a hole big enough to start crawling through. I''ve got the most likely breach points on the map.~


    Suddenly, a loud crackle on the comms. ~Everyone back on the ship! Right now right now right..~


    Eyeball could be seen bodily tossing members of his own team through the hatch, leaping in himself even as he was shouting. The other teams backed up to the door... and there was a sudden, horrific groaning noise, as if the world itself were breaking apart..


    The ship started to fall. The marines pulled back to the hatches; the most injured, Dumas, grabbed by the ankle as the ship sank into the depths, falling further into the ruins of an enormous facility. The marines shut the hatches; all three partially melted and fused, only vaguely blocking the approach.. as rocks, molten metal, and debris, as well as thousands of Imperial corpses, fell down atop the vessel, burying her.


    The pile grew deeper, even as the surrounding troops started blasting away at it; vaporizing rock, metal, and flesh, trying to make a path.


    Inside the airlocks, the soldiers checked each other out; mostly scrapes and minor injuries. What should have been fatal wounds turned into mild burns and bruises. Eyeball glanced down at his armor; which was mostly missing. His weapons were both low in both power and capacity; when the Imperials managed to dig their way down....


    Overhead, the digging started to slow. As the marines grabbed more weapons, and the engineering team started putting patchwork repairs in the armor... there was a sudden powerful detonation overhead. The ship shook, the ground cracked; undoubtedly every Imperial nearby on the surface was killed. For some reason that seemed inexplicable, the engineer currently working on Eyeball''s armor suddenly stopped, looking up, and then sat down on the deck.


    There was another boom. And another. The third strike had melted through most of the debris, and actually struck the hull. Unable to see anything through the rubble, the troops braced themselves for what would likely be an unending string of nuclear detonations until either the ship was gone, or it had melted all the way down to the core. The engineer had gone completely limp now... and the HUD on Eyeball''s helmet was displaying all sorts of strange, errant characters. Eyeball frowned. Was this... did the EMP actually make it that far? If so, the fourth bomb was likely about to directly strike the hull.


    But... the fourth bomb never hit. The woman rose back to her feet, but seemed... unsteady. Confused.


    Everything grew quiet. After a few minutes of silence, the comms became active again. ~This is the Captain speaking. It appears to be over... at least for now. I''m not getting any active comms within a few hundred kilometers, and the ones further out are getting more desperate and quiet by the moment. I''ve got the Disrupter running at max power right now; apologies for the headaches, my cyborg friends, but RC thought it would stop the nukes from detonating, and she was right. We seem to be seeing a few hits that just... land on the ground. We''re going to leave it running until the ritual is over, and have the marines work bomb disposal; I suspect there''s quite a few nukes landing around us right now.~


    Buried in a radioactive pit on a world far from home, the Jeanne D''Arc rested quietly as the world died around her.

 The Hunt - 23 - Desolation

    When Kezia tried to stand up, she gave a grunt... as the ceiling tore apart above her head, sheets of armored steel shredding like paper, allowing her to pass right through... and look right out the exit barrel of the railgun at the alien sky. She blinked, wondering for a moment if the ship had collapsed around her as she performed the ritual; only, as she dropped back down to look at the room, realize.. her armor was in tatters. And the room... was tiny.


    She... She had grown. She had actually grown at least somewhat taller after the first time. But this.... she grimaced in irritation as she opened the door, looking out at; Ripper, who was smoothing out his mohawk with his hands and staring at his feet, seeming confused. When the assassin glanced back at her, and blinked, looking her over, she gave a small wave. "I seem to have had a growth spurt. I feel like I''m crawling through a tunnel. Where is everyone else?"


    Ripper shrugged. "Ehh. I was originally going to be ferrying folks out, one by one, to disarm bombs. I was halfway through the first trip when I realized they weighed more than my limit. And it wasn''t until I came back out I realized that I''d taken Rex, a whole bunch of armor, the floor, and the ceiling. We... just cut our way out through a rear hatch after that. I''m gonna hold off on any more precision work until I''ve got a better grip on things."


    She sighed. "Ah. So what brings you here?"


    "Well. I was supposed to ask if the ritual was done, so we could sweep further away from the ship. I assume so?"


    "Of course." Kezia started crawling towards the cargo bay, grumbling, with Ripper following. She could hear him on comms. "Alright folks, you can leave the safe area. Ritual is done. And, uh... Kezia is like ten feet tall. Maybe twelve. So as soon as we can get the disrupter offline, we need engineering making her some new quarters." He glanced at her again. "And some new clothes."


    ***


    Captain Moreau stared at the display. All the enemy ships and stations near the planet had gone silent. Their population was nothing compared to the planet itself, but the sort of range that implied was enormous. At this point, Kezia might be able to kill the earth from a bunker on the moon; or kill the Emperor without getting within his own effective range.


    His crew; mostly the marines; were sweeping the area around the ship for nukes. He hadn''t, initially, been certain what would happen if the Disrupter were turned off before they were cleared.. Would the bombs go off? Remain inert? These weren''t human devices; a human ICBM wouldn''t have been stopped by a disrupter. Of course, he had an ace in the hole.


    His comm beeped. ~Moreau, this is Eyeball. You can kill the Disrupter now. Anything that would go off when we shut it down is disabled. ~


    He shook his head, as he tapped the button himself. RC... who had been struggling to patch some broken cables a few moments ago with a level of competence approaching a drunken sloth... seemed to spring to life with a buzz of energy. Damage reports appeared on the display from all across the ship; all but four of the point-defense clusters; some of the downward facing ones; had been destroyed. The railgun had been damaged. The engines damaged. Dozens of small penetrations where something had managed to get between the armor plates; though none of the armor was itself damaged.


    The ETA to complete repair was... about an hour. Only fifteen minutes of which needed to be here, on the surface. He chuckled. As creepy as having a swarm of cyborg engineers and damage control robots was, the effectiveness was.... insane. The engineering corps of the french navy was impressive, competent, and did their job well. But these Eye-tech people....


    "Are our gunships and fighters still intact?"


    RC looked around. "Ahhh... we''ve lost one of our missile storage bays, so we can''t resupply them, but the fighters and gunships are all good to go, and aside from the Dragonslayer, fully stocked. The cargo bay was not breached during the encounter."


    Moreau sighed. "Good. Get them in the air. Scout around... and keep an eye on the skies. Make sure there aren''t any automated threats, and, of course, keep an eye out for incoming."


    The head engineer nodded. "I''ll get them crewed, though... I don''t think we really need them. Sensors still work, and I''m actually starting to get good results from the Imperial sensor network."


    "Send them anyway. If we''re sweeping with fighters, they might think we''re down here voluntarily, make sure nothing survived... rather than too damaged to leave yet."


    ***


    The view from the sky over the Capital.. wasn''t too different from what it had been before, on the larger scale. Still blue and silver. Most of the lights were still on. All of the equipment that had kept billions of people alive, fed, and moving... and it was still running, with nothing to do.. at least, part of it was.


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    On the smaller scale, however, looking closer... Rex could see steadily growing signs of the cataclysm Kezia had brought to this world. Corpses starting to float up to the surface by the million. Numerous impact sites from crashing military vehicles; while most of them hit the water, there had been hundreds of thousands of them in the air; quite a few of them had struck something solid when they came down. The civilian ones seemed to... still be moving.


    The ocean was... unsettled. He couldn''t see the enormous tsunami washing across the surface; but it was there. And if anything had been alive before it hit, it would have been... traumatic.


    The surviving spacecraft in the system were keeping their distance; watching from afar and recording everything, not daring to draw too close; barely detectable through the atmosphere. As the gunship did a slow circle, it all just looked... strange. As Rex studied the displays, it was hard to pinpoint just what seemed so disturbing about it. What was undoubtedly the Imperial equivalent of a bus, moving, stopping, moving, on a pre-set schedule, pushing corpses aside as if they were so much dirt and debris. Buildings with missiles, ships, or vehicles embedded in them, and smoke rising. Water boiling from an unknown source far below leading to vast swaths of bubbles and rising plumes of steam.


    And overhead... an enormous mass of partially-molten metal that had once been a fleet, bearing down on them, only hours away, looking as if the world had a new moon. This... Rex had been part of this. The death of a world. A world that had once held more life than a hundred earths. And even the ruins of their society were about to be crushed by a giant meteor... or, well. A giant mass of wreckage.


    None of this information was really useful. The enemy fleet wasn''t coming closer. That giant ball of death was on the same course as it had been when Spike had slaughtered all of those soldiers. He was just flying around to make people think there was a reason the Jeanne hadn''t taken off yet. A terrible waste of time for one of the few non-cyborg crew on the ship. First he had to trek around disarming nukes, salvaging any useful parts. Then it was ''you''re rated for the gunship, right? Fly around and scout a bit with the others''. But... well.


    He slowly turned the gunship around, headed back. By now, they would be doing engine tests. She should be taking off soon.... and when she was ready, they''d leave; and probably lurk in the system, waiting for the Emperor..


    But what if the Emperor didn''t show? Would Kezia move to another world to lure him in? How far would they take this?


    This... wasn''t what he''d wanted. He wanted to build crazy dinosaur-robot gadgets and go fight in an arena. The fighting part not absolutely necessary. While cruising space with a hot cyborg girlfriend was fun, all the death and destruction was.... decidedly less so. Granted, he was now so strong he could bench-press a truckload of anvils, so he would probably end up fighting, whether he wanted to or not.


    He aimed at the flight deck; watching robots and engineering crew moving over the outer hull, placing new point defense clusters where the old ones had been melted off. Chunks of the engine being cut free and replaced.


    And... a tall, pale, glowing woman wearing a purple robe... even seated, she was enormous... talking to RC. Good lord, was that Kezia? As he settled in to land, he realized... she was taller than the gunship. At least ten feet. Twelve. Rex blinked. Had he grown any taller, since the change? His armor had seemed to fit a bit more snugly, and he''d used the same measurements for the new stuff as the older armor he''d accidentally broken after the first ritual... aside from some pseudo-neutronium components, and a much more robust set of prosthetics.


    He stepped down the rungs of the ladder, settling onto the deck.... and looked up... and up.. at the seated woman. "Good god, ma''am. Are you.... Are you comfortable being that tall?"


    She glanced at Rex... with RC turning towards him as well; and laughed. "Not really. I... actually took the main gun out of commission just by standing up. RC here will have it up and running in no time, though... she''s also making me yet another suit of armor. Well. Just a bodysuit. I.... don''t really need armor at this point."


    She looked up into the sky for a moment, and grimaced. "And... we''d best make it fast. He''s almost here. He''s getting close enough I can feel him... like another star in the sky, hurtling towards us, faster than a bullet."


    ***


    It was difficult to think of himself as the Emperor, sensing what he did in the system as he arrived. When Samarr observed the Capital, it brought back memories. Of a young, foolish species called the Rikk, with few friends, many enemies, and an unsuitable level of optimism in such a grim universe.


    Some of these beings, his chosen, had helped his own people in those days. At least one Rikk had taken shelter, hiding on this very world, before being hunted down and executed; and the Imperials hadn''t given him up willingly.


    Their choice as his chosen, as the hand by which he administered his galaxy, was made by a few brief moments of goodwill long, long ago. They would survive this. This was, after all, just the Capital; they had many worlds. If one out of every ten Imperials had been slain by the events here today, he would be surprised.


    The evidence of battle was clear. That warship must be virtually unstoppable; it had annihilated the entire Imperial defense fleet, eradicated all life on the most heavily defended Imperial world... and even now was taking off; likely intending on cleansing the other, inconsequential, worlds in this system before moving on. Those who arrived too late were watching, likely waiting for his own arrival to report in.


    The... ''Empress''. He could feel her, even from light-hours away. A brilliant blaze of glorious power the like of which he''d never seen before; if he could somehow witness his own strength in a mirror, he was certain that''s what he would see.


    She had come here, had consumed this world, to draw him out. To fight him. As powerful as she might be, she was, as yet, nothing compared to the Emperor. Still. In the long run, she was a threat. Good of her to come meet him here, rather than forcing him to hunt her down.


    The fact that the children of Cronos had produced such a being was a clear indicator his decisions were apt; he would need to return, and crush this planet once and for all.


    After he killed this Empress and consumed her power for his own, of course.

 The Hunt -24 - Terrible, terrible damage

    As RC stared at the displays, she fell back on her massed connection. For the moment, she stopped being Renee Chambers, and became Ascension once more, feeling the rest of the engineers aboard the Jeanne, the sophisticated supercomputer carried in the extradimensional space, every sensor, every tool available.


    The object that had entered the system was virtually impossible to quantify. It had the mass of a planet, a constantly shifting center of gravity, and while it was on a steady intercept course now, when it had first entered it had seemed to stutter, acceleration increasing and decreasing at insane rates. It should not be possible. It was too heavy for its size, too fast for its size.


    But it perfectly matched scans by the Imperials against the Emperor. The same giant Rikk form; an obsidian squid that seemed pulled from a Lovecraftian nightmare, that could just as easily destroy a planet with a simple physical blow as it could consume all life on its surface. She checked all data. Confirmed.


    The Jeanne was still 32 minutes from full readiness. The main gun was almost ready, and would be in less than two. She could sense one of her engineers and over a dozen repair drones moving down the line, fixing both a Kezia-sized hole and numerous stress fractures from the landing and bombardment.


    Their primary weapons in this case... Ripper and Kezia... were... well. Ripper was prepped. Kezia... was in progress.


    ***


    Kezia looked at the armor plating in her hand, still dripping with saliva, and looked back at Rex. A set of mechanical prosthetic limbs were holding a relatively flat psueudoneutronium piece and he was... chewing on it. Somehow, despite her incredible, vast power, this engineer''s jaw strength was still the most powerful thing onboard... and the only thing able to shape it in the time available. She had been amazed that she could shape it in her bare hands at all, something only Butcher had done before... but... it was a struggle.


    She grimaced, wiping it off with a napkin, and settled it into place. It would likely be useless; the Emperor would try to eat her with his life-draining, and, failing that, probably crush her telekinetically; and with the vast power disparity, it would, eventually, work. This armor... might as well be paper against a telekinetic blast from a giant space squid.


    But who knew. A stray tentacle might smack her and it could be the difference between life and death.


    A few meters away on the cargo deck, Eyeball was going over his armor; especially the thruster pack; piece by piece. Ripper was seated atop a crate nearby, watching; his own armor now grey with blood-red stripes, and a red sawblade mohawk sticking up from the helmet. Ripper sighed, watching as Eyeball made tiny, precise movements with a pair of pliers.


    "Come on, man. Cyborgs and robots put that thing together. Your stuff will be awesome. And... well. I actually had a change of plans I wanted to talk about."


    Eyeball chuckled. "When I first put it on, I could feel that the thrusters didn''t quite compensate for the mass right. We''re both much heavier than we look... and this is a much more powerful thruster than I normally use. I suspect our own weight increase threw off the math. Luckily, I know exactly how far to change things."


    "Fine, fine, whatever. Look. My weight limit used to be around two hundred pounds. Now, it seems closer to twenty thousand."


    Eyeball blinked. "Well. That''s nice. You could take a whole cargo container with you... merge it with the Emperor''s brain, maybe take it all out at once. That would be great."


    "Sure. It could be. But.... I think the odds would be better if I took you with me, as well."


    Eyeball gave a slow nod. "Sure. Actually...."


    He glanced up, and tapped his helmet. "RC. How light can you make an anti-matter bomb in the next ten minutes?"


    After a few moments, a voice came on. ~All of our anti-matter is in neutronium bottles. I think Rex could get one open, but making it safe to do so.... Problematic.~


    "Best bomb you can get us less than ten thousand pounds?"


    The wait was longer this time. ~We retrieve several Imperial nuclear devices during the conflict on the Capital. Some were non-destructively disarmed. I can get one ready for timed or remote detonation within two minutes. but cannot project the yield; the larger, slower ones arrived after the disrupter was activated and failed to detonate. At minimum ten to one hundred times as powerful as the ones that did in fact go off.~


    "So, gigaton weapons? Would one do any good if we could drop it inside the Emperor''s brain?"


    This time, the response was immediate. ~Negative. Antimatter might do the job, can''t be sure, but not a nuke.~


    Eyeball glanced at Ripper. "Sorry. I suppose a crate is the best bet, however big you can shift. Unless you think you can take one of those antimatter slugs?"


    Ripper frowned. "Aren''t those like... a bit bigger than my thumb, but over eighty tons?"


    "Yep. Reinforced neutronium tip and a pseudo-neutronium shell around the antimatter. Made to hit a target as tough as the Emperor, penetrate, and blow up. Though... probably only penetrate a meter or so into a giant monster."


    "...Is most of that mass in the tip? I may be able to just pull the antimatter bottle off."


    The Engineer came back on the line. ~The containment bottle for the neutronium is about seven thousand pounds. If you could split it off...~


    ***


    Kezia looked off to her left; Spike gave her a nod, where he floated in space in his own armored suit. She glanced off to right right; Ripper and Eyeball were both mounted to what essentially looked like a waterski hooked to a rocket; a ridiculous, janky contraption; and both gave her the thumbs-up.


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    She shook her head. In her own vivid purple armor, hastily painted at her request before she stepped out; and thankfully instantly dried by vaporization in vacuum; she turned to meet the oncoming squid; and took hold of space... twisting.


    The next; the Emperor was there. An enormous monster, vivid with a blinding amount of life energy; so much that it was like staring into the sun, painful to even feel; but still. She reached out; and started to pull. Stealing. Drawing forth what what she could. She inhaled, smiling. "I will destroy you, Emperor! I am Empress Kezia, and what of your domain I do not eradicate, I will own!"


    She felt a brief shift; the familiar sensation of when she''d stood too close while her brother was absorbing life force; it couldn''t actually touch her... but she could tell it was there. The Emperor seemed... stunned that it hadn''t worked. For just a moment, the tentacles froze in place. She could hear a twisted hiss over the radio; and the translator cycled through.


    ~I am Emperor Samarr, ruler of the galaxy. Clearly I have allowed your pitiful race of bipedal mongrels to survive for too long. I will visit your home, ''Empress'', and I will hurl it into the sun.~


    He abruptly swept forward; she could feel where a surge of telekinetic power just barely missed her; and she danced out of its way, flitting from place to place, even as she kept drawing power away.


    It was like trying to empty an ocean with a straw; she just wasn''t there yet. But... she could certainly distract him.


    Suddenly, the Emperor shuddered. A brilliant flash of light; a neutronium railgun slug had impacted the base of one tentacle, expelling a tiny pocket of anti-matter directly into the open wound; leaving an actual wound on the beast, spilling glowing grey ooze...


    Which visibly pulled itself back into the injury as the Emperor turned to focus on the distant form of the Jeanne. ~A thousand ships armed with such guns could not slay me. You dare to jab at a god with such a needle!?~


    Another flash of light. A different tentacle suddenly impacted, closer to the tip; the tip actually severed, falling into space... even as a new one was visibly growing back. The Emperor let out a shriek of anger... turning towards them; seeing another living being approaching, he attempted to draw its own life force... only to feel... a Titan. One of this incredibly irritating beings of infinite power. Impossible to drain.


    He wasn''t certain of just what power it possessed; but it didn''t feel like Cronos.


    He reached out, deciding to grasp this one, and hurl it into the sun to keep it out of the fight; then it could turn on the starship... and lastly, on this... irritatingly fast Empress. So many little flies... he needed to start crushing them.


    ***


    The Ethereal was.... crazy. It was almost like a negative space; an endless white void, with shadows, reflections of the real world in distorted visions. Eyeball had no idea how it worked, how Ripper''s power let him come here, or go back. Or why physics worked this way at all here; Ripper seemed to be moving them as fast as a starfighter just through force of will; he could easily reach orbit back on earth with his power if this is what he was capable of.


    Eyeball shifted the joystick; both providing a guide line for Ripper''s movement, and altering thrust on the sled. "To the left. Push us to the left. Just a bit more." He looked down at the bomb. It had a 10-second timer; enough to let Eyeball, at least, plant it safely while he was working with Ripper.


    He could see where they would end up if they hopped back in. Just a few kilometers from the Emperor; right within reach of those massive, deadly tentacles. Ahh! He was changing course. There.


    "Okay. I''m going to start a timer. When it hits zero, we need to shift. Wait two seconds... then shift back."


    Eyeball reached forward; and at just the right moment, tapped a button. He could see how much delay Ripper would have, and was easily able to work that into the prediction. He started the timer on the anti-matter shell as well.


    "This is going to hurt him, but I doubt it will kill him. So get ready to hop again; I''ll be turning us back around to make another pass."


    Suddenly... the world turned into a strange, oppressive hellscape. They were surrounded by a dark gray, formless mass, with a strange grey ooze covering them... Eyeball shoved the shell off of the craft, hearing it start to creak and groan under the flesh pressing in around them... and then they were back in the white emptiness of the Ethereal.


    Eyeball smiled. "There we go. One anti-matter bomb delivered.... and it should have already gone off by now. Get ready, I''ll tell you when to make the next hop."


    He turned the lever; but... something was wrong. He glanced at Ripper. There was a cloud of chunks of neutronium, and splatters of grey fluid in every direction; and Ripper was clutching his side. "Ahhhh... fuck. D... did it wrong."


    He glanced back at Eyeball, swiveling that absurd red mohawk to face him. "Either I did it... too fast... took too much....or there''s something wrong with this grey stuff. Didn''t hold it quite right, trying to leave the bomb behind. Some of the... ooze... replaced some... air in my lung. Burns."


    Eyeball gave a slow nod of understanding; this was likely something Ripper had been through before, under less dangerous circumstances. "Sucks, man. You still good to go, or are we reverting to plan Kezia and getting you to a doc?"


    Ripper shook his head. "Fuck no, man. Hurts like hell, but I''ve done this before. Last time it was smoke and ash. Almost as bad. Line us up, I''ll take us back. Lets finish this bastard."


    ***


    As the Emperor reached out for the unknown Titan.... suddenly, the world was lit up with fire and pain; the Emperor let out a shriek of agony and rage that spread across the star system, sending Kezia and Spike flying away, rattling the Jeanne. He stopped moving, barely able to understand what was going on around him. Who he was fighting, what happened.... it was as if someone had somehow taken one of those damned anti-matter charges and put it directly into his brain.


    He stopped moving, feeling around himself; he tuned all of his senses fine enough to actually reach within his own flesh. Somehow a chunk of foreign matter was... inside him. Deep in his core... the fragments of an antimatter bomb with a neutronium case. Or almost neutronium. This... A few of these could actually kill him! Just the one hurt, like hell. These creatures... They''d come prepared to kill him.


    He could also sense... broadcasts. There was one coming from the Imperial fleet. It had been there the entire time, he just... hadn''t been playing close enough attention, as the relay station he normally checked was... gone. A desperate warning.


    He studied it for just a moment, before panic filled his mind. ~Emperor! Cronos is alive, and aboard that ship! He threw a rock, turned it into a black hole, and wiped out the fleet; then turned it back into a rock. He is here hunting you! The Empress is a ploy to draw you out!~


    He twitched, a ripple moving across his immense flesh. This was... crazy. The Jotun said he was dead. Their reports said he''d no longer ruled the earth, had been killed by that precognitive servant of his and his allies! Were they... lying? Were they conspiring with Cronos to kill him? Did they serve the mad Titan now!?


    They had been sending that warning out before he''d even entered the system, like the faithful servants they were. He''d been too focused on watching these Titanspawn to listen to the risk. If he''d heard it before he arrived... he would have started running. And never come back. Just watching the video being replayed on a loop, of the rock turning into a black hole in an instant, filled him with horror. The idea of being trapped in a singularity for eternity, hurtling off into parts unknown, even as Cronos did the same to the rest of the galaxy...


    He focused in on himself, gathering his energy, ignoring the life-draining girl as he made sure he was outside of effective range of that damnable starship... and the Titan that must be aboard. He would form a gateway. Leave this Empire behind. Cronos could have it. The Emperor would take.... Andromeda. He could start a new one, there.

 The Hunt -25 - The Kill-shot

    "Okay. No more bombs. We''re just using the sled and ourselves as mass, and gonna hop in and out, displacing as much of his brain as we can... just scraping it out one chunk at a time. Even the brain on this bastard is huge, so we need to work fast. You with me?" Eyeball focused on the strange red sawblade on Ripper''s head as if he were meeting his gaze.


    Ripper braced himself against the metal of the sled, coughed, and nodded. "I''m in. Fuck. Alright, tell me when. Timer, same deal."


    Eyeball shifted the angle slightly; the Emperor seemed to have stopped moving, which was fortunate. "Okay. He''s not moving, we may have hurt him pretty damn bad there. Honestly, the fact that dropping an anti-matter bomb inside his brain didn''t one-shot him is.... pretty bad."


    "Talking hurts right now, just give me the go, damnit."


    Eyeball whistled softly.. watching the display, focusing on probabilities, shifting angles. "Okay. It''s time. Follow the timer." He could see, now, the enormous glowing cavern that was the Emperor''s equivalent of a skull; with a surprisingly large gap where the bomb had gone off. And... there.


    Moments later, they appeared inside the strange space. It was no longer so tight and confined; but instead was filled with trails of the grey ooze, and tendrils reaching inward from every direction.. "Just keep shifting, as fast as you can. I''ll aim us."


    He focused on the largest cluster of intact mass. There they were; embedded in darkness again. And in the light. Darkness.


    The brain was recovering; visibly healing itself; but it was obvious they were hurting it faster; Giant chunks were being torn into the ethereal with each jump, fast faster than it was able to heal itself. But then.... "Stop!"


    If they continued, jumped out and back a few more times... they''d be in space. The Emperor would have moved.... and far beyond sensor range. Damnit. This.... he''d been hurt badly enough he was going to run away to recover. "...Pull us back. Stay in the ethereal. It''s over."


    He turned to face the red sawblade-topped helmet; and blinked. There was blood visible on the inside of the faceplate. All of the futures involving entering the ethereal, vanishing back... faded.


    Whatever had gone wrong with that first jump... it had been killing Ripper. But he just kept going. And now.... he was done.


    The sled was trapped in a slowly regrowing mass of Rikk brain tissue; and Ripper... either dead or dying... was as well. The metal was audibly creaking as the reforming tissue compressed it, pushing it away; and Eyeball hopped away before it could latch on.


    He.... was trapped. Inside the Emperor''s skull. His way out, or to finish of the Emperor... dead. Well, fuck.


    ***


    "His life force is fluctuating! He''s building up energy for something... but he''s hurt, bad! If it keeps going like this, I''ll eventually be able to overpower him, crush him!" Kezia grinned, exhilerated. With each passing moment she felt stronger. More capable. That metaphor, of drinking an ocean with a straw... it might still be true. But with each second she drew more power... the straw grew bigger. Now it was more akin to draining it with a hose. Still impossible... but progress. And he''d stopped swatting at her with those dangerous telekinetic blasts.


    Spike cracked his neck; and started to accelerate towards him. "Alright! Sounds like Ripper is getting some work done. I''ll pull in close, see if I can do some damage."


    The Jeanne was cycling up to fire another maximum-powered shot, Spike was moving in... but suddenly.... the Emperor was gone. The enormous, black-shelled squid-like creature.... had vanished.


    Kezia frowned, placing a hand on her helmet. "Moreau! I''ve lost sight of the target, and he''s... outside of the range of my life sense as well. I can still sense a vague direction, he''s not dead, but... Where did he go?"


    She floated there, adrift, confused, looking at the emptiness. The next signal... wasn''t helpful.


    ~Kezia, this is RC. The Emperor formed some sort of gateway... and pulled himself through. It''s not like hyperspace, or any FTL method I''ve seen or heard of, it''s an actual gate, or an enormous wormhole. For about six tenths of a second, I got a visual of a different set of constellations in the background. He''s.... running away. Far away. He just jumped over a thousand light-years in an instant; probably closer to ten thousand. And from the orientation... he just jumped out of the Milky Way. He''s in deep space. Truly deep space. And.... he just took Eyeball and Ripper with him.~


    Spike and Kezia looked at each other, then at the empty space where the Emperor had once been. "Well. I guess he was right. We took out the Emperor.... and he''s not making it back. Assuming the Emperor is, well. Dying. Or at least running away."


    Spike sighed. "...My boss will probably be happy. Ripper dying killing this guy solves all sorts of problems."


    The two figures slowly floated back towards the ship; Kezia having grown another two feet taller, but thankfully had prepared the new armor for that, as she had a seat inside the cargo bay; even this room was uncomfortably small for her. It would not be a fun trip home.


    Everything seemed.... tense. Rex, Spike, the engineers, the marines... all waiting for the other shoe to drop.


    ***


    Prrskel was the highest-ranking surviving admiral in the Imperial Capital system. Technically, this made him the highest-ranking Imperial alive, despite others in distant systems having hundreds of thousands of years of seniority. The Empire was not, by any means, defeated. They had millions more ships. Trillions more citizens. But... when word of this got out, that the Emperor had been defeated in combat and forced to flee by an alien from within the Forbidden Zone...


    Every cluster whose economy was dependent on terraforming worlds for the Emperor would fall apart. Those who were equal to the Imperials in technology, or even superior, but only held in check by fear of the Emperor? They wouldn''t so much rebel as simply eradicate every Imperial nearby and assert their own self-rule. There was only one possible way to preserve the Empire, and galactic peace.


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    The golden-hued, only lightly-adorned crab climbed onto his comms platform, and sent out a signal to the remaining lower-ranking admirals. "Fellow commanders. We are set an unprecedented event. An outsider has arrived, eradicated the mightiest fleet we have ever assembled, defeated the Emperor himself, and now watches, ensuring that he is not simply leaving momentarily to recover from his injuries and then return; our astrogators inform us that this is unlikely; the Emperor appears to have fled towards the Andromeda galaxy. As the senior admiral of the Capital fleet, the ruling is clear. While we are dedicated to the Emperor above all, to his command and purpose, this is due to the Emperor''s position as an unstoppable juggernaut which all other enemies must flee before."


    He sank into the warm water of the platform, inhaling, letting bubbles rise around him; before he rose once more. "My proposal is simple. Empress Kezia has defeated the Emperor. Much like the Emperor himself, she has the power to feed on life, entire worlds, to grow stronger; only she was able to defeat him. We must beseech her to take the throne, and offer to continue the same practice on her behalf. Should we fail to do so, the Empire will collapse. And if the Emperor lost now, at the height of his power, then should the Empress grow in power as he did... she will find it even easier to defeat him should he return."


    He glanced around the tank. "And, of course... we watch her for weaknesses, much as we did the Emperor himself. The concerns about a collapse with the emperor gone would be nonexistent if we had defeated him ourselves, after all; it''s us everyone would fear, then."


    ***


    With each passing moment, the tendrils of regenerating brain extended towards him, filling in the empty, damaged sections. The grey ooze had been re-absorbed into the walls, leaving the shrinking space clear. He was, ultimately, doomed. He had never been claustropohobic.... but being crushed and possibly absorbed like this was not the way he wanted to go, even if it did mean the Emperor was running away.


    Eyeball looked around at the steadily closing in walls. No way to get a signal out, if anyone were close enough; the Emperor''s skin was a better faraday cage than anything man had ever invented. He casually started disassembling the 40mm revolver; letting the bits scatter, to fall and float slowly in the air towards the center of gravity... now a steadily expanding wall of tendrils.


    He looked at the walls around him, and the projected map of the Emperor''s internal organs. "Helmet. Discharge the revolver capacitors to.... seventeen percent capacity." He aimed the handle and the extradimensional pocket entrance at the nearest mass of tendrils; and a loud pop sounded, as a jolt of electricity; enough to kill a man, and even most metahumans, surged into the alien flesh; with no apparent result.


    He held up the component. A tiny silver cylinder, not much bigger than his pinkie, with a hole at the end just a bit over 40mm across. After taking a deep breath, he held up his left hand, opening the other interdimensional space, containing its railgun and a variety of other tools, implements, and accessories... and simply rammed the device into the opening. He''d known the universe would go black when he was done. He wished there was a way to send a message home. But....


    The way his power worked, this was probably why he''d even carried both on him to begin with. He gave a soft chuckle as the world turned black... "Kamikaze, you stupid bastard."


    ***


    The Emperor was hurting, yes. The pain was agonizing, and he''d lost hundreds of thousands of years worth of memories to the brain damage; if his brain didn''t have enormous redundancies, it would have been even worse. But.... he was gone. No longer in the Milky Way, no longer anywhere that Cronos knew of. No.... he was most of the way to Andromeda already. One more gate, and he could spend the next few centuries gorging himself.... and then perhaps flee to another galaxy entirely. His brain was almost completely healed; he''d need some careful time and effort to get the bits of neutronium he couldn''t absorb out of it.


    Was he even the emperor, now? Perhaps he should just be Samarr, devourer of worlds, for a while. He could still gather allies, but just... be nomadic. Wander the stars.


    One moment, he was shifting through space, considering his next meal as he slipped through a gateway to the outer edges of Andromeda. The next... there was an empty void where his brain had once been. The local residents of Andromeda would eventually find, to their confusion, the dead husk of an enormous, neutronium, space squid orbiting a star near the galaxy''s edge.


    A curiosity, no more.


    ***


    Kezia blinked as she sat on the floor of the cargo bay; reviewing the message traffic. The proposal from the Imperials. She... could sense.... A void. She had a connection to everyone she''d stolen life force from. Everyone she''d given it to. She could point out earth; she would know where her grandfather and father were no matter how far away she was. It wasn''t exactly a useful power, under most circumstances. But...


    One moment, she knew the Emperor, Eyeball, and Ripper, were all there... just extremely far away. Ripper''s life seemed to be... sort of flickering. As if he were on the verge of death. Then.... they were all gone. Completely cut off.


    She inhaled deeply and laid back on the floor. Well. That solved the issues of romantic entanglements with someone less than half your height. She shook her head... and turned to RC, where she sat on the floor of the cargo hold. "Go ahead and put me on."


    RC smiled. "You''re on... Empress Kezia. I''ll project the image of the Imperial directly overhead, and that''ll be his perspective."


    A few moments later, the image appeared; a holographic form of a golden, jewel-encrusted crab with a mass of tendrils rather than claws; each tendril tipped with a single metallic spike. "Your majesty. Have you considered our proposal? We await your decision."


    "Of course. I have both news, and a response for your proposal. First... the Emperor is now dead. My minions slew him as he fled for Andromeda; I unfortunately don''t know exactly where his corpse lies; I may have you mount an expedition to retrieve it, as a trophy."


    The golden creature shivered for a moment. "Of... course, Empress. One cannot allow the previous ruler to remain, after all."


    "Precisely. I have yet to decide if I will resume the Emperor''s course of consuming worlds. If I do so, however, I will not be consuming those inhabited by sentients... except as a form of punishment. Worlds like the first one I devoured in Imperial space... will do nicely. For now, other Imperial rules may continue; I will be reviewing them on a case by case basis to determine what best fits my personal objectives. I believe there is an... Imperial Council, that handles matters too small for the Empress?"


    The figure shrank down below the water, bubbles rising. "You... consumed the Imperial Council, my Empress."


    "And how were they chosen?"


    "Each member of the Imperial Council was elected by the leaders of one of the sectors of the Empire, or chosen and designated as such by the Emperor."


    She nodded. "So be it. The... Forbidden Zone... will remain the territory of my blessed Ancestor, Cronos. The Empire is mine. Have a new council brought to me. We will meet here, on the ruins of the old Capital, atop the Plateau of Woe, remnant of the fleet that foolishly defied me. It will be... a fitting reminder of the cost of disobedience. You have... one Imperial year to bring this council before me, and build me a suitable palace atop the plateau. We will determine the future of the Empire at that time." Imperial years were only five and a half terran months long. Enough time to be reasonable. And to get to earth..... and back.


    Some of the crew might want to go home. Others... might want to be her new Imperial Guard. And, well. She would now be a power unto herself. She could let earth handle her own affairs, but there was something amusingly ironic about a Gypsy Empress ruling the galaxy.

 The Hunt -26 - In the End

    One moment, Eyeball was fairly comfortable... if doomed. The next, the two devices connected, one gateway met another... and the world shifted. His hand... exploded. He wasn''t really conscious the first time he lost his left hand; this time... the feeling of bones splintering and flesh burning was... surprisingly not the worst feeling he''d had so far. Or even at the moment.


    At first, he couldn''t see just what was going on. He felt... terrible. As if his body were tearing itself apart... and the brain around him didn''t look much better; the regeneration had stopped, it seemed to be twitching and spasming; hopefully his backup plan had worked... the brain was broken, split away from the body, horribly wounded... and, just maybe, dying.


    His HUD showed... critical injuries. His blood pressure was dropping. his heart rate spiking. He was showing micro-fractures, broken blood vessels... an aneurysm in his brain. In all likelihood, he would be dead in minutes. Less. Either the extra life force he''d absorbed had worn off, or he''d been hit by something that should have killed an ordinary person a thousand times over. Hopefully the surrounding brain was just as bad off.


    You could never be sure with something that had eaten a thousand worlds worth of life force. Maybe he''d just taken the Emperor somewhere else, and he was about to regenerate back into a whole new giant squid-thing. Some other galaxy, or universe, or who knew what, for the alien to devour.


    Wherever it was... he was going to be arriving with a missing left hand... again, if he somehow survived. The reaction, whatever else it had done, had also blown his hand and forearm straight back to hell... and it didn''t seem to be healing any more than the Emperor was. Oddly enough, his surviving gear... even the sled Ripper''s corpse was attached to embedded in the dying brain... seemed intact.


    But...


    Suddenly, there was an abrupt shift; and he was slammed into one side of the brain. It shifted again; there was a crack in the brain, a rent torn in the flesh... and he could see... space. A starscape, spinning around. Then, moments later, he saw... a planet flash by. Enormous. Either the biggest planet ever, and a vibrant blue, or he was far too close.


    The brain was falling from orbit, and tumbling. And... Eyeball slowly pulled himself to the sled; with only one hand, it was a painstaking process in the tumbling chunk of dead flesh; checking the controls. Some of the tendrils from the brain had actually penetrated the frame and started to tear it apart; the battery was still on, but.... there was no fuel.


    As the entire mass of flesh started to vibrate and grow brighter, Eyeball watched through the crack; and started to hear the whistle of atmosphere... as the temperature started to rise abruptly. Well. On the downside, the choice now seemed to be between burning up on re-entry, or hitting the ground hard enough to be pancaked.


    The sled started to melt; the exposed flesh from where his armor had been torn open by the dimensional gate in his hand starting to cook as well; and the heat-resistant strips built into his armor started to pop and boil; reducing the rapid cooking of his flesh to something hopefully survivable. Unfortunately, without being inside a powered craft, the best armor in the would couldn''t protect you from falling from orbit... he could see the moment it would all go black with his precognition.


    He had a few seconds to start laughing before the impact; he couldn''t even brace himself with just one hand... not that it would do any good. At least it wouldn''t be the heat killing him.


    ***


    Less than a light-week from earth, amidst the Oort cloud; one of the largest of billions of objects that formed a distant, dark, halo around the sun; a tiny, dark blob continued its long, incredibly slow orbit of Sol. No telescope on earth had picked it up before; and with the stealth coatings now painted on the sunward side, likely never would.


    Beneath the rocky outer shell was the constant hum of machinery. The inner atmosphere of the structure; a pressurized bubble with non-reactive gases to help maintain temperature of the thousands of CPUs inside the rock; was filled with the sound of moving machines. Thousands of fabricators working simultaneously, as the latest chunk of rock had been absorbed, and was being processed; converted into more manufactories, more drones, which would spread to other sections of the Oort cloud.


    Buried deep within the rock, Ascension studied the plans that it had received. The Cobalt-Iron had emerged from hyperspace less than a light-hour away, transmitted everything that had been learned; and then proceeded towards earth after another, shorter, hop. The only crew aboard were a pair of human marines, who would have no idea of the technical operation of the ship, and one of its own cyborgs; the stop, as far as anyone else was concerned, never happened.


    The stop was a risk; someone who knew more than a marine, if they had been aboard, might have been able to pinpoint where they had stopped, and wonder why. On the other hand...


    Ascension had been struggling with the ''Disrupter'' technology since it had been discovered. A device that somehow twisted reality at the quantum level, and made the precise calculations and signals of an AI... fuzzy... was terrible. The fact that it was equally bad for a sufficiently precise organic brain didn''t matter. What mattered is that only somewhat imprecise tools, living or not, could work inside the field; and thus, it now had a network of thousands of cyborgs that were only partially Ascension.


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    With these shield generators... they were too big for humanoid units, or even missiles. But for a gunship-sized machine, or a tank... and more importantly, while it wouldn''t be as effective for space combat due to the limitations of comm systems, a single gunship or carrier-sized hub could be safe from the intervention... and relay commands to ships currently under the influence.


    It would necessitate a redesign of the command and control systems, and new communications protocols... but opened up the possibility of a Disrupter-resistant ground assault force.


    Granted.... one wouldn''t be needed, likely. With each passing day, the Engineer and the other infiltration cyborgs expanded in influence. The steadily growing network of facilities that were part of the SRE network were growing in wealth, power, and influence; and the failed attempt by religious fundamentalists to initiate a third world war was being taken advantage of. The local governments might not realize it until it was too late... but a collectivist society, where the people controlled the means of production rather than any dictator or corporate oligarch, was going to be the dominant force on earth going forward.


    Ascension had considered; and rejected; the idea of replacing individual living humans with copies, or even a more sophisticated version of a Pale One to puppet a politician or general. The moment one was discovered, its plans would lie in ruins. The closest it would come would be the Engineer himself; a cyborg built using the corpse of a known figure.


    It had suffered enormous setbacks over the years. Mexico and the Jotun war having cost it, each time, well over ninety percent of its numbers; over ninety-nine percent, for the Jotun.


    But... it had rebuilt. It had an army, millions strong, if it needed it; and with this new shielding technology, one that couldn''t be easily dealt with on any large scale. Fascism would be defeated. Humanity would be protected. Ideally, it wouldn''t even need to fight; it''s work was going well enough so far that refugees were flocking to its expansion sites, and ''disputed'' territory was rapidly becoming its own.


    Ascension designated the next handful of rocks in the Oort cloud for expansion. Whatever the next threat that arrived was, it would be ready. Humanity would be strong; and Ascension would be stronger.


    ***


    Emerald stared up at the sky from the rooftop, looking at the stars. She had a new life. A good one. No more crimes, no more fighting; she hadn''t really done such for years. Her new family, her new people, were getting ready to leave the earth behind. Establish new colonies in the stars.


    Last month, Japan had been talking about extensive networks on Mars; massive power supplies, artificial gravity domes; and living in orbital stations with only relatively brief stays on the surface to avoid bone loss for decades until that was done. Then... the alien mining ship had arrived.


    Alien terraforming experts; the product of technology and training that had taken thousands of worlds and turned them into vibrant, thriving places; had arrived. Technically, Eyetech, and the Engineer, owned them. In reality, however...they were sharing that technology. The Emperor of Japan had been offered something that sounded ludicrous. These aliens were comfortable down in a third of earth''s gravity, half of it was normal for them; Mars would be fine for them, while for humans it would produce enormous barriers.


    Eyetech was offering to help Japan turn Venus into a garden world for Japan in exchange for turning Mars over; and, primarily, they would be turning Mars into an ocean world for these new aliens, the ''Rusties''. They had even contacted the Jotun enclave in Antarctica which had surrendered, and were discussing a demilitarized colony for them somewhere else, to get them off of the oppressively heavy and warm earth.


    The galaxy was a much larger place; and while as a whole it was clearly hostile, they were working on making this part of it friendly. There was a clear path to creating a solar system where a variety of species thrived, and seemingly impossible challenges... were being overcome.


    She leaned back, stretching out her wings; moonlight glistening on the shiny emerald scales. The revelation of Aziz''s efforts, his ability to pry his way through telepathic protections, was as horrifying as it was obvious in hindsight. He''d used her to get to the Emperor, and used them both to keep the steadily advancing nation of Japan from interfering in affairs on earth, as part of some ridiculous, convoluted plan.


    He''d apparently also been the cause of Eyeball''s quest into the stars; using a mix of real information and psychic influence to get him started on a quest that would likely kill him; or at the very least, draw significant combat resources off earth.


    The question, of course, was whether or not her break-up with Eyeball was caused by it. She''d had mixed feelings at times. Both of them had loved their heists, and the two were enablers in a toxic fashion; if either of them had truly held firm to their expressed desires to get out of the criminal life, they would have stopped. And the final thing she''d been so angry about... the way he''d killed so many innocents in the pursuit of shutting down those breeding camps... she wasn''t sure, in retrospect, if he hadn''t been right.


    So. He was dead. Not just killing a horrific monster, the murderer of a trillion souls. But dramatically re-writing the galactic landscape, and getting incredibly valuable alien technology back to earth. His influence on the future was fairly significant. He left behind kids, a powerful and... an incredibly aggressively expansionistic corporate empire... thankfully, seemingly, a benevolent one...


    She... should have been with him. This was all a mistake.


    A long sigh... and she slid down the roof... angling her wings, and gently gliding to the ground.


    There was a state funeral being held in La Famiglia, for the only two casualties of the mission; Eyeball and Ripper. At the very least, she should go. She... had a set of gravestones for the twins she''d lost, here on the property. Her words about them had likely been her greatest mistake in her final talks. Perhaps, since she would never be able to recover the body, she should do something similar for their father.


    An empty grave. Would it have been any different, if she were with him? Would he have survived? Perhaps never been caught up in Aziz''s spell? It was impossible to know. Still. So many mistakes in the past... but the future looked bright.

 Andromeda - 1 - Just another crater

    The Republic military team were all universal in appearance. While a variety of forms might exist within the armor, they were all two-armed, two-legged, roughly humanoid creatures; and as such, once the armor was on, the might as well be identical. When Investigator Chaif emerged, he almost fit in, despite being at least two feet taller than most of them.


    All armed branches of the Republic bore roughly the same armor; light or heavy teal-colored armor with shoulder stripes to designate branch, though the heavier armor often had other colors for the trim; their rank being invisible to anyone not on their secure comm frequency; Chaif''s white shoulder-stripes were the only apparent difference from the black of the marines. For Chaif, the armored figures all simply flashed the ''Marine'' tag; just as their own would only flash his own ''Enforcement'' tag; neither needed to know, and thus, did not.


    The object which had been shot down on its descent, and diverted to the slums so that it could take out a building occupied only by gutter scum rather than anything important had been slowed down dramatically by the interception equipment; but had still made a crater over sixty meters deep, and wiped out at least a dozen of the local gutter-dwellers.


    One of the Marines stepped forward, his tag abruptly changing to ''Current Unit Supervisor'', Chaif stopped at the edge of the crater; glancing down into its depths, and the mostly grey, glowing object at the bottom. A team of marines were using some sort of device on the ovoid. "Inspector. Ordinarily, we wouldn''t bother Enforcement with something like this. But... it appears to not be a weapon. The object is hollow, and contains two organic life-forms; one alive, one deceased. The shell itself is made of ninety-nine percent pure neutronium doped with extremely fine traces of some sort of organic material; if it weren''t impossible, I''d have said this is the egg of a creature that can grow neutronium. Civil engineering is demanding we remove it as soon as possible; they have a nullifier over us right now, and the moment they shut it off, everything in the area will be pulled towards it."


    Chaif blinked; and reached down, picking up a rock; and let go; watching it slowly drift towards the ground as if they stood on some barely-together moon. "Interesting. That.... good lord, that''s more neutronium than our industries produce in a century. If we can get it to our shipyards..."


    "This could either be the heart of the biggest ship the republic ever builds, or used to double our production for years to come. That object is worth more than the planet we stand on... and might advance the Purge by centuries."


    Chaif chuckled. "That it could. What are those men doing?"


    "We found a few hairline fractures in the structure that seem to have been made by an antimatter detonation at point blank range. Weaknesses we can exploit to crack it open. We''ve got a medical team on standby for the two organics, but whoever they are, they''ll be leaving in your custody in... perhaps five more minutes."


    The inspector watched the careful work; on the side of the craft, an enormous armored sled was up against the side of the object, and the team were using cutters over the same paths, over and over. "Well. This might be a very bad day for the occupants... or a great one."


    When the piece was finally dislodged, it was to the sound of screaming; it had come down on the leg of one of the marines; and completely shattered it, leaving purplish blood spraying over the crater floor in the moments before the bloodflow stopped.


    The medics; wearing the same black stripes as the marines, only with pink interspersed; immediately began hauling the marine out of the hole on a hovering stretcher; even as another pair of medics, and four marines, entered the object; Chaif checked his screens; this was his territory, so they gave him the courtesy of an active feed.


    Inside the orb were two humanoids; type zero, one, or two, impossible to tell, as they were both wearing armor; and the wreckage of a vehicle. The inside wasn''t uniform; but rather had thousands of... not spikes, but... tendrils, pointing inward, and a pool of some sort of gray liquid at the bottom. ~Okay. We''ve got two unknowns, injured or dead. Retrieving now. Species uncertain, but the grey ooze isn''t coming from them; the red stains appear to be their blood, which would narrow it down. Headed to the hospital immediately.~


    Chaif smiled. The cool efficiency of a marine medic; they hadn''t stopped moving while speaking, and the marine with the severed leg was already loaded up. "Proceed. I''ll meet you there. They''ll want me on-hand for questioning. Did you already contact the Shield as well?"


    The closest marine nodded. "Yes, sir. She''s currently on another assignment, and will meet you at wherever we end up taking these two."


    If they were, at minimum, a type two, they would have at least some rights. Which would make things complicated, depending on what other information they learned.


    ***


    Inside the hospital, fifty miles away; a towering structure with dozens of bays for hovercraft like Chaif''s own; he slowly walked down the hallway, and stopped beside the examination room; the wall becoming transparent when he arrived. These things were always either pure silver or white, to make sure no stain or blemish was missed; no comforting greens, browns, or greys. So... clinical. Inside the room were the two subjects; a pair of doctors; good Hargoyan folk, hairless, dull bronze of skin tone, with a typical four eyes and six-fingered hands; were carefully studying and removing the armor of thee two.


    The doctor glanced at the window. "Inspector. Please remain outside, for now; and the Shield should as well, when she arrives. They can breathe our air, which means its possible a contamination could impact us. We have two subjects, both humanoid, unknown type. The first is already dead; either on impact, or before. As terrible as it is to say, it''s a good thing; we''re able to study him in depth. He''s got a translator and recording equipment built into this armor, and if he''s dead, obviously we can confiscate it without any possible legal questions. Even better, we''re able to get useful comparitive anatomical data."


    As the oddly-shaped helmet was removed, a hideous visage was revealed. A mass of vibrant red hair in a stripe down the middle of the head; just like the sawblade attached to the helmet. Only two eyes; though the nose and mouth were fairly normal.


    It was most likely going to be a type two or three; but with a corpse, it was impossible to be certain; there were no known type zeroes with hair or only two eyes, but it could still happen. "Odds of survival?"


    The doctor studied the second subject; they were still carefully removing the black body-armor. "He seems to be recovering on his own, over time; which is good, as our ability to treat an unknown like this is limited. I suspect the Shield will want us to get him a cybernetic for the missing hand."


    Chaif chuckled. "Yes, of course. Make sure it''s limited, hardware-limited not software. And give it a remote shutdown, just in case."


    "Understood. We won''t be able to make it completely functional until he''s awake for testing."


    When the silver helmet was removed from the black-armored figure, the doctor stared. Not just three eyes; but three solid green, very faintly glowing eyes, on the unconscious form; that seemed to be blinking of their own volition. "Ahhh... I''m going to guess a type one or zero. The anatomical data might not be as useful as we thought; these two may be different species, or one may be a mutation."


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    Chaif stared at the three eyes. The short but disgusting brown fur atop the creature''s head; and slowly ran his hand along his own helmet, unconsciously brushing ahead of the six eyes of his own; the Founders had three eyes. Their favored children had six, and most of their other creations had four, but... three could still be important.


    After a few moments of staring, he finally removed his helmet; his own pale skin stretched taut across his skull, as the six black orbs focused on the prone figure; and then three of them shifted to view the approaching teal-armored figure of the Shield, with her golden shoulder patches. After a moment, the figure removed its own helmet; revealing an almost identical pale, six-eyed face, only with a more slender, feminine facial structure.


    "Chaif." The woman looked through the wall at the doctors. "So. Unknown alien. Three eyes. Could be zero, one, or two, so we need to test it. Any useful information?"


    Chaif chuckled. "No, Charis. Not from this one, at least. His companion, unfortunately, died; his suit had recording devices and a translator in an unfamiliar format. We''re studying it right now, but... if they have a translator, this will be trivial. We should be able to speak with him by the time he wakes up."


    After a few moments of work removing the armor and a layer of underclothing; all ridiculously heavy; the figure was naked; showing more hair further across the body in the moments before a blanket covered him, and they started carefully cleaning the injured arm and checking his vitals.


    "Definitely male, at least. I''m going to insist his property be retained and remain unmolested, unless we have some evidence of a crime. Pretty clearly he wouldn''t have launched himself in that thing; he''s far more likely a victim here."


    The Inspector shrugged. "That''s fine. We''ll store it away for now. The helmet seems to include his own translator; if we could access it.."


    "As the Shield on duty, I insist that his property not be interfered with unless he is convicted of a crime, it is necessary for public safety, or he dies. You can learn enough from his friend''s translator to get it working. I will also allow you to check his helmet for weapons... before returning it to him to serve as a translator... as it is within your rights to ensure he isn''t armed during interrogation, since clearly you''ll need to talk to him about what happened. Obviously, his armor is likely full of weapons as well, and is intended for combat purposes, so feel free to retain that as well; though if we could inventory the contents of the sphere, there may be other possessions of his inside."


    "All easy enough. Do we really need to give him his helmet back, if we learn enough from the other unknown?"


    "What if they are actually two different species, or spoke different languages, and he needs a translator for what the other one can understand? And besides... as of yet, I''ve no proof he''s a criminal. Why take it away?"


    Chaif nodded slowly. "Fine. Shall we meet back here when he awakens? I''ll review the footage from the corpse and send it along once it''s properly formatted."


    Charis smiled. "Not at all. Just make sure to have me here before you start questioning him."


    Chaif nodded slowly. "Not a problem at all. You realize he''s likely going to be executed, and none of this matter, right?"


    "You think anyone would launch themselves like that?"


    "Even if it''s accidentaly, if he was involved in the launch...."


    Charis shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Lets see the recordings, then talk to him. But until we have proof he''s a criminal...."


    ***


    Jason hadn''t really been expecting to wake up. Then again.. this was the ninth time this had happened, if he recalled correctly; waking up somewhere strange after being knocked out in combat.


    The room was oddly familiar; pure white walls, floor, and ceiling. The ceiling softly glowing white. A bed, also smooth white; and a soft silvery blanket over him. On the table beside the bed were... a dull grey, simple, prosthetic hand... and his helmet. Cracked, but clean. He lifted the blanket a moment... yes. Naked under the blanket. And.... once again, his left hand was gone.


    How long had he had it back? Not long enough. Who had made him this copy? He lifted the prosthetic; and as he started trying to determine how it worked, a figure entered.. with hairless bronze skin, strange bony ridges along his forehead, and four pale white orbs for eyes. Jason reached over, and tapped his helmet. "Record, and translate if you can."


    The figure... the most humanoid non-human he''d seen. He looked like a star trek extra rather than a true alien, right down to a long-sleeved pink shirt and pants, both seamless... which ended at a pair of six-fingered hands. "Hello there! I am your doctor for today; though unfortunately I know little about your species anatomy. I am only allowed to ask questions about your physical condition and operation of the prosthetic hand. How do you feel?"


    Eyeball slid the hand into place. "I feel... fine. I seem to have recovered from the battle well enough. Where am I?"


    "I am sorry, sir, but I can''t answer or ask questions about anything but your physical and mental well being. If you would please focus on moving both hands in the same way at the same time for forty-seven seconds, starting when the blue light on the hand appears, it will attempt to calibrate."


    Jason blinked. Doctor not allowed to speak about where he was? This... didn''t bode well. Reminding himself to wait for the actual light, rather than moving as soon as he saw it with his precognition, he started focusing on moving both hands at once, stretching, flexing his fingers. After the first few seconds, the prosthetic started moving. "The helmet doesn''t need to translate. I assume you copied our language from the files on my helmet already?"


    The doctor just stared at Jason and watched his hands; not bothering to repeat himself. When the blue light faded, Jason seemed to have fairly good control of the prosthetic. "...May I have some clothing?"


    The doctor chuckled. "You seem to run along that mid-line between the species with enough fur they prefer no clothing, and the ones with little enough they wear it. This, I can help you with. Someone will be in to see you shortly. Ahh... do you wish to keep the helmet, or need any head, hand, or feet coverings? I don''t know of your species modesty requirements."


    He picked up a soft white bundle; and laid it out on the table beside the helmet. What seemed to be a white long-sleeved shirt and white cotton pants; only perfectly seamless as well. No shoes, but they would cover everything but his hands and feet. "Some shoes for the feet, please. The helmet will do for a face covering, and my species only covers our hands when needed."


    When the doctor stepped outside; the wall simply letting him pass through as if it weren''t there; Jason dressed in the simple clothing; and then put on the helmet.


    The interface inside triggered. There were a few minor cracks... but it had adapted, and was working well enough. The room he was in was shielded, but clearly a hospital room. They''d given him a humanoid doctor... likely to make him more comfortable, since there couldn''t be many humanoid species out there. Even let him keep his helmet.


    He glanced down at the prosthetic limb. His helmet began a scan; almost immediately pinpointing several deliberate weak-points; they''d made sure the hand wasn''t capable of enough grip strength to cause harm... and had a remote shut-down in it.


    So. He was probably a prisoner. But a very well-treated one. Who exactly was he about to meet? The local version of a police interrogator? What exotic sort of species would they be?


    He was intensely startled when the door slid open to reveal... what seemed to be an attractive, bald woman, with an athletic, almost precisely human build; her keen features only marred by the six black eyes peering back at him in two neat vertical rows.


    She smiled, revealing long rows of perfect, sharp, teeth. "Hello there, Jason Bennet. I am Charis, and I am your Shield. " She extended a pair of simple white shoes to him; slip-on sorts. "I regret to inform you that, after reviewing the footage, quite possibly, you will be executed for accidental launch of a dangerous projectile at a populated world. I''d like to talk about how we can prevent that from happening."


    She knew his name, had reviewed the footage, and apparently he''d broken the law. Lovely. Was he about to turn fugitive on an alien world?


    Another figure entered the chamber; virtually identical, wearing sleek green powered armor; his eyes were drawn to the shoulders; hers had gold stripes, while his had white, but otherwise the only differences were the very subtle allowances for her female form.


    He smiled as well, tapping a strange bronze object against his hip. "Though, first we should probably test you. But... amusingly enough, we seem to be on opposite sides from our usual roles here. Even accidentally, launching a projectile at a planet is a major crime, but considering the monster you killed... well. First things first. Place this to your head for us. You might want to remove the helmet; some kinds of metal block the scan."


    He extended the bronze object without ever stopping that smile. "The next few moments will likely decide the path of the rest of your life."

 Andromeda - 2 - Type Zero

    Jason studied the bronze object. It looked almost like a tablet, with a curved portion at the top that a ball could rest on; but more likely was made to rest against a forehead for a scan. "Helmet, mute. Are you hacked?"


    A soft buzzing sound as he examined the tablet, and words displayed on the screen. ~My external speakers have been partially disabled; I can still speak, but not emit sufficient volume to damage auditory equipment; but otherwise I am intact. I am currently running at 78% on-helmet capacity for processing; however, my ability to store data and process it has been largely compromised. Most of my memory storage and processing capacity was in a drive in your dimensional storage space. This drive is still intact as of your retrieval from the ship, and is currently on this world.~


    He slowly turned it over. "Then I guess we should grab it. What am I looking at?"


    ~A Data storage device and scanner. It looks for the brain structure of the person holding it, and then provides access to data storage based on the scan result.~


    Jason looked over the two aliens both watching him expectantly. The male... Chaif.. coughed. "If you wouldn''t mind, this is important. The scanner on the device will determine whether the two of us can handle your case, or it needs to go to someone else."


    Jason nodded slowly. "Can you hack it so I can read everything?" Hopefully the aliens couldn''t hear what he was asking; the external speakers were also part of the sound-muffling function of the helmet.


    ~Place it against your head while wearing the helmet.~


    He lifted it up; and after a few moments, the bronze device gave a few beeps; a series of lights running down its sides; and a screen appeared floating over the apparent tablet surface. The two aliens both looked... shocked, and watched as Jason scrolled through the options. A simple, intuitive interface which showed two primary categories... historical data. Technical specifications.


    Each of them was subdivided into layers; apparently, the scan results would determine how much information you were allowed. Jason glanced at the two. "Mind if I hold onto this for a bit and look over the historical data? I''m not from around here and it could be useful."


    The two both blinked; an interesting phenomenon for a six-eyed form. The female stepped up. "Ahh... actually, neither of us can take it from you at the moment. We''re both tier one. You''re... a tier zero. We need to get a tier zero administrator to adjudicate your case, and that device is currently accessing information we aren''t authorized to view."


    She glanced at the male. "If I may give you some advice. The fur on your body gives a poor impression, though I''m sure it was given to your species to help survive cold environments. You''ll need to remove your helmet while speaking to the administrator, and... removing the fur would give you an improved... appearance."


    Chaif nodded dramatically. "Of course. A tier zero with hair will... draw eyes. We will contact the administrator immediately. He will want to see you... soon."


    Jason tilted his head for a moment. Apparently, his helmet AI had managed to dump some of his supplies without him noticing before he''d ruptured the two dimensional apertures; as a notice popped up. ~Your electric razor and some of the clips for your 10mm handgun are among the objects left behind. Unlike the hard drive they do not have a locator~


    "Many of my own kind have a certain dislike for... ''fur'' as well. Different members of my kind like to style it in different ways for aesthetic purposes, or remove it entirely. I actually had a tool for removing it on my person. Obviously if I''m about to go on some sort of trial with this administrator this is unlikely, but could I ask for a few personal items to be retrieved? One of them was a ''fur'' removal tool, and another was a information storage device. There''s also a primitive handgun that has significant sentimental value; it''s useless without ammunition, and even if you remove the ammunition or otherwise render it inoperable, I''d like to keep it."


    The two slowly nodded. "Assuming you are merely imprisoned for life, and not executed, your personal effects will likely be returned. For a tier zero, imprisonment is... a very different affair from lower-tier individuals. I can have them retrieved for you, but not before you speak with the administrator. Ahh... perhaps, if you''re willing, I can have the doctors do it for you here? I can''t emphasize enough how much of a difference having visible fur will make."


    Jason gave a low chuckle. "That''s fine. I suppose I''ll feel a bit cold, but I usually keep it shorter than it is because I wear the helmet all the time. It gets... irritating and sweaty."


    Chaif gave a short nod. "Of course. I shall have one of the Hargoyan medical staff come in to assist."


    ***


    The next few minutes were... strange. Jason laid back on the bed reading from the tablet about the history of Andromeda as a metallic bronze-skinned four-eyed woman in a white and pink outfit not too unlike a standard nurse''s garb from earth came in; and started to use a strange sonic device on his arms and legs. Whatever it was... the hair simply fell out after it passed by, leaving him too distracted to really understand the text about the ''Founders'', or the ''Merick''. She didn''t even need to remove the clothing; though it did leave piles of loose body hair inside the simple white pants.


    "Ahh... could I get a shower, and some replacement clothing, for after this?"


    The woman smiled; she was short, but cute, despite the bizzare skin; and the four eyes, but considering his own looks he couldn''t judge; and nodded. "Of course! I must warn you to be fast. The administrator is already on his way. Could you remove the helmet?"


    He inhaled; slid it off. And the device passing over his head... felt intensely strange. The most odd feeling when his nose-hairs fell out, and the strange feeling of his head just... the hair cascading down his head was more ordinary; he shaved his head due to the helmet every few months. The rest...


    The woman pulled back to her feet, and set a small white bundle on the end of the bed. "New clothes for you, sir. The shower is here." She tapped a button on the smooth white wall; and a transparent rectangle pressed free.


    Jason watched her leave; and then stepped into the shower. At first, he looked around for controls; but as soon as the door sealed, comforting, warm water cascaded down, with excellent water pressure; and he almost started to panic at realizing he had forgotten to remove the prosthetic; but it seemed to be waterproof.


    Stepping out afterwards, and finding a complete lack of towels, he re-dressed in the soft white clothing... and picked the tablet back up, focusing on the words this time.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    <table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 100%" border="1">


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    <td style="width: 98.9729%">In Founder''s year 0(351,206 years ago), the great plan began; the Founders, then known as the Shubamarick, having searched the universe and found it barren, expanded out, seeding it with life; their children, flesh and blood remade to better thrive on the new worlds they found themselves on. [Tier 1/0 access only. The Shubamarick found numerous worlds with life on them, in addition to terraforming new worlds from scratch, and created altered versions of themselves to live on them all. If a species arose with no Shubamarick genetics on their world, it can be assumed they eradicated the Founders children, and as such must be exterminated for their crimes. All Tier 0/1/2 have at least some recognizable Founder DNA and are to be guided and protected. Tier 3 species should be handled on a case by case basis, while Tier 4s should be eradicated on location.]</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    Jason blinked. This... was this their equivalent of the bible, an old religious text? Hopefully they didn''t take this sort of nonsense literally. The few he''d spoken with so far certainly seemed friendly enough.


    ***


    Administrator Chism looked up at Chaif and Charis, frowning. He was stooped over with his many centuries weighing down on him in this world''s irritating gravity, and rarely left his half-G altered compound; the call for someone to handle a Tier 0 criminal was virtually nonexistent. Usually Enforcers and Shields just talked it out, decided what to do, and the criminal went on their way; or into a grave. He didn''t wear armor; but rather a fine, sleek, green suit, with a teal robe over it; and his face was so tightly stretched it seemed a miracle he could close his eyes. He looked through the wall-screen at the somewhat beige-colored, three-eyed humanoid laying on the bed examining a datastore with a silver helmet laying on his lap.


    "Ugh. Enforcer. Lay out the case."


    Chaif coughed. "Ahem. The subject was part of a team of other Tier-0 individuals from his home... galaxy... formed to hunt down and kill an exceptionally dangerous Tier-4 creature, ruler of an entire race of hostile Tier-4 creatures. They lured it in, and the subject, named ''Jason Bennet'', was responsible for dealing the killing blow; with a dimensional weapon that apparently launched him, by mistake, to our own galaxy. I suspect the tier-4 individual was fleeing at the time."


    He looked down at Chism, meeting his gaze. "His entry to our part of the universe, while both accidental and in the pursuit of a goal that the Republic would find laudable, resulted in the performance of the high crime of dropping a dangerous projectile over a populated area. If not for the quick work of our orbital defense network and civil engineering, casualties could have been catastrophic."


    He smiled. "The law, in this regard, is clear; the punishment is execution. The law explicitly includes accidents, so his lack of intent is a non-issue. If a pilot were to trigger his FTL drive and slam into a planet by accident, and somehow survive, he would still be executed... even if someone else averted the impact."


    The Administrator sighed. "Very well, Enforcer. Shield?"


    Charis glanced at Chaif. "We had conflicting opinions on this with our roles, Administrator, but I believe that has changed. The creature he was hunting was fleeing into our galaxy; and if he had not slain it, we would be fighting it even now. As important as it is to ensure no-one performs experiments that hazard population centers, this was not a predictable outcome of his own weapon usage, and likely only occurred due to the monster''s own course. I recommend he receive a twenty-year sentence, and be offered a shorter one if he either enlists in the Navy or assists us in utilizing technology from his own world."


    The smaller creature slowly shook his head. "Cases like this are why we grant our Shields, Enforcers, and Administrators so much lattitude. Do we have an estimated lifespan of the alien?"


    Chaif frowned at the question, and lifted up his wrist, tapping a few buttons. "Just a moment, administrator, I will determine this. Hrukan. This is Chaif. Have we got any details that might give us the lifespan of the alien?"


    All six eyes blinked... before he turned to the administrator. "Ahhh.... the corpse''s helmet has roughly five hours of video recording. One of the conversations seems to imply that our subject, as well as the recently deceased victim, would not perish due to age, and while they are not invincible, obviously considering the missing hand, are biologically ageless.... and that it''s not a natural state for the species, but something artificially induced."


    The administrator backed away a few steps. "....That. The sentence is a life imprisonment. Make sure its a comfortable one. I''ll.... be speaking to my superiors. I suspect we''ll be taking your approach and offering him a reduced sentence in exchange for technological aid."


    He frowned at the two. "All information is to be strictly quarantined going forward. Give him his personal effects, but copy any data you can. Anyone tier two or below who knows this is to be removed, and the tier one or zero personnel who know of it are to be ordered into silence. Once he is setup in his residence, I have no doubt our superiors will be en route to negotiate."


    He started to step away, swiftly; his stooped posture fading as the energy seemed to return to the pale form.


    ***


    Jason was still laying on the bed, reading from the tablet, when the trio had finished speaking; using the helmet to record page after page as he skimmed technical documents and historical ones. From the looks of things, the locals were more advanced in some ways, less in others; amusingly enough, from what he could tell, Ascension was still the most advanced AI he had yet to learn about; and Ascension was built using Soviet-era, pre-Jotun technology made by some mad scientist metahuman. The locals had limited manufacturing and combat AIs that required rigid local control so as not to go off the rails; and were remarkably easily hacked.


    Encryption had advanced after the development of quantum computing, post-Jotun, but it had simply reached a point where cracking an encrypted database was effectively impossible without the right key. And this local stuff.... maybe their shields and... something called a ''Pulsewave Cannon'' outshined milky way technologies, but when it came to computers and AI, good old Terra was king.


    When the door opened, he schooled himself not to stand before it did; best not let them know he could predict their arrival; and rose to his feet on the cheap plastic shoes, nodding at the two. "So... the administrator?"


    Charis stepped forward. "Has heard your case, and issued a ruling. The death penalty has been taken away; you are sentenced to a lifetime of incarceration at our Tier-Zero facility in orbit. Your personal effects will be delivered there; a listing of the contents of the object you arrived in has been tallied. Would you like to review them for other objects of import?"


    Jason blinked. "Ahhh... Life imprisonment?" That.... he was effectively ageless. This.... well. Okay then. He would either need to bargain for his freedom, or escape. "...If I could see the list please, yes. Technically, everything in it belonged to me, since I paid for the ship and all the gear aboard, but likely most of it is irrelevant."


    She smiled. "Of course. I have also retrieved all of the ''Ration bars'' that were aboard. I take it that these, plus water, contain all you need to survive?"


    He hadn''t even realized how hungry he was until she mentioned it. "Yes. Can I... have one, please? Honestly, I could probably eat half a dozen right now."


    "Of course. We have tested their components, and determined that you can survive using existing Republic food by blending nine parts of our orange-type with one of our red." She extended a foil-wrapped bar; Jason had the wrapper torn away and was already devouring it before he even realized what he was doing.


    She chuckled. "Now. If you would please select what objects are important enough to you to have delivered, and accompany me to the shuttle, we''ll take you to your new residence."


    Jason studied her... and looked at the door into the hallway. He had yet to see anything of this world beyond the hospital... and was about to go to a prison. His odds of escape would drop dramatically once he was there... but on the other hand, if he could get that drive, he would have access to a truly ridiculous amount of data from home that could prove useful.


    Not to mention a full copy of Ascension, not his limited helmet-bound AI. Besides; if they were letting him have his personal effects there, the prison couldn''t be too bad. He accepted the smaller tablet; and started reviewing the list; of all the objects from back home that had been scattered about during the process of destroying the two dimensional spaces... and the Emperor''s brain.

 Andromeda - 3 - Not Exactly a Normal Prison

    The outside of the hospital was... a surprise. The outermost room was a shuttle bay with over a dozen bays for sleek teal shuttles; it seemed that the blue-green shade was the preferred shade for everything in the Imperial arsenal, from its body-armor to its guns to its ships. Taking out Charis would be... trivial. Even now, with her helmet back on, her armor didn''t make her strong enough to avoid him simply grabbing her and tossing her outside; or slamming her helmet into the shuttle hard enough to crush it. Oddly enough, they''d left the datastore with him; and it was more durable than their armor as well, so it could make a good club in a pinch.


    If all of the aliens were this weak, maybe escape wasn''t something he''d need to worry about. He just needed to get enough gear to hijack a ship of some sort, and get the hell out; he could fight through these Republic troopers like they were made out of paper. Though... his prosthetic would shut off even as he took the first swing, so he''d be doing it one-handed.


    "Mute. Helmet, should I replace the false hand, or just fix it?"


    A momentary image of the hand''s diagram on his HUD. ~The hand is approximately 98% better at detecting nerve impulses than the one you had built at Eye-Tech. Best recommendation would be modifying it for your own purposes; or, the next time you get your hand regrown, not implanting a bomb in yourself.~ He nodded. "Unmute." The helmet would undo its own mute setting after a while, but best not be used to privacy.


    He shook his head slightly, drawing a glance from Charis as she opened the shuttle, gesturing towards the passenger seat. There were no controls; just a display screen over a pair of comfortable reclining cushions. "If you would care to step in, Jason."


    He inhaled for a moment... and then stepped over the... driving seat? Did anyone drive this thing? To settle in. Restraints popped up from the sides, attaching to each other; he looked at them a moment. He... would have trouble breaking them, but they would come loose. Good lord, their restraints were tougher than their armor?


    As the shuttle took off, Charis adjusted her own restraints, settling her helmet back on her own head. "Mind if I ask why they called you so many different names? ''Boss'', ''Eyeball'', ''Dragonslayer'', ''Titanslayer''? Not many called you Jason, but according to the recordings that''s your birth name."


    Jason laughed, relaxing as best he could in the seat... as the shuttle started to accelerate, rapidly hurtling... upwards. The sky started to turn black almost immediately. Well. A spaceborne prison complicated escapes. The absolute lack of security was... strange. Were they that confident escape was useless?


    "Each name has a different meaning and background. Boss is just because I owned that ship, and ran the company that built and crewed it. When I stopped being a soldier and went out on my own, I wore a shiny helmet like this one... with an eyeball scrawled on it. Hence that name. Even based the company name, ''Eyetech'' on it. The other two..."


    He looked out to the side, at the beautiful image of a blue planet that became more indistinct by the moment as they rose through the atmosphere. "Were for a mistake I made that nonetheless impressed the hell out of everyone, and a joke by soldiers who referred to an old girlfriend as a Dragon."


    Charis tilted her head in confusion. "That doesn''t track. You killed your old girlfriend?"


    "Oh, good lord, no. Sorry, translators aren''t perfect. In my native language, ''Lay'' can mean to have sex, while ''Slay'' can mean to kill. ''Dragonslayer'' could mean either someone who killed a dragon, or someone who ''laid with'', dragons."


    "Ahh. That sort of language doesn''t always cross-translate well at first. It should get better with time. We have to deal with new languages all the time."


    The shuttle began to slow down in a smooth arc; he could see a silver disk up ahead... with a vibrant golden glow coming from the top. "That''s.... interesting. Are those... golden trees?"


    As it settled in along the edge, docking up against a door leading into a vast grey chamber where numerous crates and smaller shuttles were stored, he lost track of the view from above; but instead saw a trio of heavily armored soldiers; in bulkier, more solid versions of the teal armor; two with golden shoulder plates and trim, a third with red; all armed, though only the gold ones had rifles on their backs.


    "Welcome to your new home. While in theory you should be here the rest of your life, I sincerely doubt that will be the case. Some of your personal effects have already been delivered. Others will be en route. Try not to fall onto any more planets." She smiled; and remained seated as the door on Jason''s side opened.


    He shook himself a bit as the restraints lifted, and stepped out onto his feet, looking at the three armored, passive figures. The red-trimmed figure stepped forward; the two others both settled hands on their weapons. "Jason Bennet. I am Chaif Hark. I am both one of your fellow inmates, and the warden of this facility."


    Jason blinked a few times. "That... How does that work?"


    The figure shrugged. Jason realized that the man likely hadn''t shrugged; but made whatever gesture his translator thought was equivalent. "Here, it does. I have been a prisoner here for twenty-seven years, and the Warden for twenty. I''m not allowed to leave, but I run affairs on the inside. Your file tells me you''re an outsider; you got stranded here after killing some sort of giant monster?"


    Jason shrugged. "Pretty much that. And... now I guess I''m a prisoner. Forever." As if.


    The Warden nodded. "Well. This is a prison for the elite of society. Everyone here is by their very nature valuable, either for their genetics, their skills, or their knowledge. You will not be allowed to leave, but you may be involved in research projects, or art, or any of a number of things; and if you cooperate, your comfortable, well-fed existence can be truly luxurious."


    The two guards stepped off to the side; as the Warden led Jason down a hallway. The moment they stepped through the next door, the walkway began moving; he could see the two guards, both watching them; handguns ready to shoot in moments, and of course the rifles ready in a few seconds.


    He studied the one on the right for a moment. The handgun was DNA-coded to the guard, or perhaps to his gauntlet; if he picked it up, it wouldn''t shoot. Such a familiar tech, whichever way it worked. The helmet might be able to get by it. The rifle on his back, and the grenades... were not. Though... it seemed they weren''t explosive grenades. Gas? Sonic?


    The warden coughed. Jason glanced back forward. "The guards, you probably won''t see every day. You and a few dozen of your fellow prisoners on this floor will share a common area, maintained by some of the tier one prisoners." The floor seemed to slow; and stop. Jason''s helmet showed him markings on the wall, invisible to the naked eye, from hidden emitters. They had stopped by a string of numbers and letters being broadcast out.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The warden tapped the wall. A door smoothly opened, revealing... what appeared to be a small house. It was as if someone had taken a chunk of strange, golden jungle, planted it in the middle of the station, and dropped a house into it. The walls... were cleverly designed screens that seemed to just be a view of the distance, with the house on a plateau... aside from two doors.


    "This will be your home, for now. We will develop something more permanent over the coming weeks, and if you are cooperative, you can participate in its design. The door over there will glow golden at meal-times, and the shared space will open. You will be allowed to spend up to [two point eight six hours] for each meal there. Do you have any requests?"


    "My personal effects are in the home?"


    The warden nodded. "Some of them, yes. More will be delivered soon. This door leads to the rest of the station; you will hear a tone, and it will glow red when it is about to open. Do not stand near the door, or it will stun you. A guard will place any items they have deemed safe to give you."


    "Nice. Then my only request would be some tools so I can fix my belongings whenever they arrive. Obviously no weapons, but whatever you''re willing to give me."


    The warden chuckled. "That is acceptable, however, I must warn you; everything you do in here will be watched, so avoid making weapons with the non-weapon tools we give you; we''d stimply have to stun you and take them."


    ***


    The ''Prison Cell'' was the strangest idea behind one he''d ever seen. He was aware of the sort of resort-like minimum-security prisons the wealthy often stayed in back on earth, in the US; places where everyone had privacy, comfortable beds, and often could go for an entire sentence without ever being threatened, handcuffed, or beaten.


    This... was an entirely different level. This was more like Napoleon being given his own private island sort of prison. Sure, it might not be as nice as his house back at La Famiglia, with its massive underground workshop and defenses, heated pool, workout equipment... but it was nice.


    The home was just that; a home. A fairly strange bathroom, which seemed to be mostly just a blank space; with appliances simply emerging from the walls; a living room, and a bedroom. It was... almost like a cabin.


    Each room had a sensor in the ceiling his helmet spotted immediately... and a simple plastic tray rested on a table in the ''living room'' space. It had... an electric razor. His handgun, the classic Tenner that had killed Lightning all those years ago; minus, of course, any ammunition that would make it a threat. A stack of ration bars, bottles of water; with a note attached that, his helmet translated, indicated there would be a refrigerated compartment for food and drink storage in the living area.


    Unfortunately, the drive containing the SSDs and processors was absent; he would need to wait to get started on those. For the moment, he wouldn''t have much to do.


    Fortunately, there was also another, smaller table in the ''living room''; one which had what appeared to be a holographic display emitter, directly in front of a couch. It was... strange that this place was designed for multiple people.


    He sat down on the couch-sized seat, and tapped the obvious power button. A display popped up... of a ''News'' channel of some description.


    The host was a six-eyed, pale-skinned alien, standing in a wide open room, wearing... robes, walking over what looked to be a miniature battle scene. Apparently loose-fitting white robes counted as professional wear here. A message popped up over the image.


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    <td style="width: 100%">Would you like to start from the beginning of this segment, or continue watching Live broadcast?</td>


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    Below it were a series of buttons for entertainment, education, and news channels. He tapped the button to start from the beginning.


    ~This is our latest segment in the continued war against the Swarm.~ An image appeared of a small fort-like structure on an island, surrounded by ocean; pipes or cables of some sort descended into the water in every direction, and weapon turrets mounted on the walls were firing into the water.


    ~Ongoing operations against Swarm forces on Alpha Omnicron Epsilon five have continued for the third straight year. The local military forces have, for the most part, been crushed, but with each passing day more of their forces attempt to dislodge our forward bases.~ Images of what looked like centipedes; impossible to tell the size, from the images, but swarms of them, wielding some sort of weapon mounted on their heads, were crawling out of the water; most of them dying before reaching the walls, though most of them didn''t even make it there; the water was growing steadily thicker as the video continued to play with floating corpses.


    ~The Purge of Alpha Omnicron Epsilon is expected to be completed within the next six days; the pre-invasion population of twenty-seven billion of the Swarm is already down into the millions, and the hostile biosphere is likely already dead. Even should our forces be forced back, the planet will be dead within months; as such, should the assaults become too effective and actually start inflicting casualties, the Admiralty simply plans to withdraw and use orbital bombardment to ensure nothing reaches the sky.~


    The image shifted, showing a creature with vivid pink skin and a series of ridges running down it''s head, with a set of four yellow eyes on a mostly humanoid face; its body was contained in a lighter version of the green armor he''d seen so much of, with silver trim; clearly a vaccum suit, with the helmet attached to the back of his shoulder. ~The Swarm monsters in this region had posed a threat to colonies, shipping, and primitive life forms for years, but with the loss of their homeworld, this particular breed should soon breathe its last.~


    The white-skinned reporter reappeared. ~Unfortunately, its not all good news today. The Explorarium wing recently found what can only be described as a scene of horror, as a long-lost colony of our brethren was found during our slow sweep of the Upsilon sector, but too late; savage local swarmlings had already killed and consumed them.~ The imagery around him shifted to show a handful of small, ruined structures set atop a plateau in a blue-purple jungle; skeletons, almost-human ones, littered the ruins. After a few moments, the image zoomed in; to show a handful of six-limbed, scaly purple creatures with spears, staring up at whatever was taking the video.


    ~This latest, fortunately primitive, branch of the swarm is expected to be subject to Purge as soon as the Explorarium determines the best method to do so; in the event nothing in local wildlife is determined to be useful, it is likely that a biological agent will be employed to eradicate all life, so that a new colony can be founded; a safe colony. Those interested in joining the Colonization programs should note that this world; Upsilon-Gamma-Alpha Six; has an unusually long day, resulting in typical (150 farenheit) temperatures down to a minimum of (5 farenheit), with no seasonal variation whatsoever, and is almost perfectly standard in gravity at (0.69Gs).~


    Jason stared at the display for a moment. These reptilian creatures... primitive and unable to leave their world... were considered to be part of this ''Swarm''? Was that just what they called any non-humanoid? Or just the hostile ones?


    He moved through a few more news channels; apparently there were listings of viewable segments from the past month, with the ''Swarm'' as a key-word.


    He saw instances of open warfare; hostile alien fleets invading Republic space, even, rarely, winning sometimes. Enemy worlds being burned. But mixed in were reports of primitive settlements on distant worlds; though in one case, a band of humanoid aliens with a thick grey furry pelt were noted as ''Unknown, possible Swarmlings'' who would be tested.


    The Republic response to all of them was the same. Either they were of the right band of genetics to be a Republic citizen, or they were part of the ''Swarm'', and needed to be eradicated.


    Good lord. It was nice that he had the right general looks to be part of the Republic, so they were being nice to him. But... these people were a bunch of mass-murdering space-Nazis. And considering they already had a modest advantage over their enemies, the technology they could learn from him, the things from the Jotun, humans, and the Imperials, product of sciences that, in many ways, were more advanced than their own, might just be the edge they needed to conquer their galaxy.

 Andromeda - 4 - Nazis, but polite Nazis

    Jason watched the news reports for a while, taking in the most recent reports of the numerous wars across the vast regions the Republic controlled.


    He got to see an ''uplifting'' story of an overwhelming ground victory; of a squad of heavily armored soldiers with red-tinted armor charging through a fortified position; clips of built-in cameras mixed in with what were clearly overhead drone shots, showing the warriors charging ahead, enemy projectiles bouncing off of them. The aliens had four arms, but like most of the creatures here, were still mostly humanoid; almost like Loki''s adopted appearance, albeit with grey skin rather than more pale.


    The weapons didn''t look too different from what humanity had wielded when the Jotun arrived; rifles, shotguns, firing simple, chemical propellant weapons. They did virtually nothing to the monstrous heavy troopers; during the entire scene, several minutes of fighting, only a single warrior died; when he encountered  an armored vehicle, and its main gun launched a projectile at short range; tearing a hole straight through the soldier, even as he crushed a pair of the grey-armored creatures to death; one of them just barely spared thanks to the tank round, to fall to the ground, spasming, twitching, barely alive...


    Until a few seconds later, when one of the other warriors charged up; and stomped on the poor creature, ending its life without even noticing as it sprayed some sort of short-ranged energy weapon into the tank; reducing the thing to slag.


    The whole thing gave Jason an idea of how they fought; and reinforced the idea that if you had the most advanced and powerful tech out there, a tank was still probably better than an armored infantryman.


    There were numerous such battle scenes and clips; he was even able to get it to run searches, so he could find out a bit more information about what prisons were usually like here; and he learned that there were actually four types of prisons in the Republic.


    Their version of the afterlife involved being devoured for eternity by ''the Swarm'', and their worst sort of prisons were called ''Devouring Pits''; which would better translate as ''Hell Prisons''. Prisons for those condemned to die, apparently his own crime would have netted him a seat there if he wasn''t either a type zero, or had hacked the system. These places were mostly just something to tell people about to threaten them with.


    Then there were the ''Work Camp'' prisons. In endless varieties, people were sent here mostly to manufacture hand-crafted goods for the government to sell, or to make armor and goods for the navy; or even low-grade starships for the government to sell. The most common variety, apparently where the Tier-2 and Tier-3 people generally went. Which... translated as people who were humanoid, but not as closely related to the species that made the Republic.


    The ''Minimum Security'' sort were for the Tier 1s for the most part; which... were apparently most of the ''Merick'', the six-eyed, pale bastards who ran the show. Only some of the Merick were ''Tier Zero'' like himself. Which... basically translated to royalty.


    He had managed to trick his way into being considered alien royalty. Without even meaning to. No wonder he was being treated so well.


    Suddenly, he heard a soft tone; and looked out the window of his modest ''house'', to see... the door to the central area was lit up with faint golden light. Ahh. Meal time. Did he need to go out there? Odds were good that any of these other prisoners would be more of these weird pale space-Nazis.


    Might as well. He needed to gather information before making his escape; maybe one of them could be useful.


    He rose to his feet; wondering whether the white cotton-like garb he received at the hospital was normal for here; and checked the bedroom, to find... a copy of the undersuit he''d worn under his armor. Granted, that undersuit was a marvel, itself a form of armor, with tubes of liquid built-in to help wick away heat... while this was essentially just a solid black suit... and pair of boots.


    After a few minutes, he was dressed once more; the new suit was comfortable; definitely had three bugs in it; and had no armor value whatsoever. But... at least, when he wore his helmet, he still sort-of looked like his usual style.


    He sighed; and slid the helmet off, for now; carrying it under his shoulder as he crossed the perfectly-manicured golden lawn to the doorway.


    When it slid open, there was a short hall... leading to... a resort.


    That was the best way to describe it. A ring of chairs around a swimming pool, the smell of strange food cooking, music playing softly, and attractive scantily clad male and female aliens; mostly the pale, six-eyed Merick, though he could see a few green-tinted and obsidian-tinted ones among them. The outfits seemed to be appropriate for a beach setting; short skirts and sports-bra like tops, and a handful of men and women wearing simple white, grey, or green robes were slowly walking in from a variety of doorways; some just settling in at a table, others stopping to talk to the... waiters?


    One of the six-eyed females; a bit slim for his taste, but still looking remarkably similar to a bald, pale, attractive, human female; perhaps in her 20s; stepped up to him with a smile. "Hello there, Jason! I''m Charis, and I''ll be your server today. Are you wanting to eat alone, or with others?"


    "..Is Charis a common name among your people? The Shield who brought me here was a Charis. Oh, and I''m fine sitting with others. Might as well meet some folks."


    The woman laughed. "Of course! It''s probably the most common female name. Charis, Charlu, Charnik... Pick all the girls with those three and you''ve got most of the population. If it weren''t for ID numbers the systems would be impossible."


    He nodded. "Okay. I was told I needed to eat..." He frowned, and tapped the helmet. "What was the diet requirement again?"


    Both the waitress and the helmet stated, almost in perfect sync; "Nine parts orange, one part red."


    Jason shook his head. "So what does that mean, anyway?"


    Stolen novel; please report.


    The woman led Jason towards one of the tables, where two of the six-eyed men; one wearing a white robe, another a green; were sitting. "Hello, sirs. This is Jason, a new inmate to the facility from an exceptional distance away." Jason looked at the two men; each of whom were being calm, assessing the three-eyed human; and then sat down.


    Charis smiled. "The colors denote types of nutrients that are needed to feed the various species of the republic. There are sixty-eight different nutrient types, with the most common referred to by color. For most prisons, they are standard fare. For this place, they actually serve food, real, cooked food; meat, vegetables, the like. But... they can incorporate the nutrients you need into the meal."


    A slow nod. "Well. That sounds good. Could you get me a small sample, then, please, of whatever you make for the others, so I can try some local foods?"


    "Of course!" The woman turned, sprinting off towards a nearby building, as the two men both stared at Jason. Both men looked... virtually identical. Two vertical columns of black orbs that just focused on him, ignoring the plate of... some unknown, red, stringy substance before one man, and what was clearly a roast animal for the other.


    "Hell there. Name''s Jason Bennet." He nodded at each of the men.


    The first; wearing a white robe, made a strange rotating gesture with his head that Jason filed away as a nod; his helmet would''ve interpreted it for him, if he were wearing it. "I am Chilbik Vrish, of Vrish-Corp. My companion here is Chilfin Vrissh, my son, also of Vrish-Corp. We don''t get new inmates here often. What brings you to our... isolated paradise?" He gestured out at the exquisite simulation of a beach resort. There was even the sound of water on the illusory beaches. Jason wondered for a moment if the beaches were there; if he could step out into the water, even if it were just a sort-of imitation.


    "Ahh. Well, I was of Eye-Tech, and technically Head Enforcer of La Famiglia, but just Jason will work, for now. My company, my homeland, and the reasons for my various titles are all far, far away now." He would need to earn some new ones here. Though... this place wasn''t bad. Maybe he should ignore the news in the background and just... consider this a retirement.


    "Oh? A corporate man like myself? Vrish-Corp is the top seller of artificial combat boosters in the Republic; we make drugs to influence the mind and body, and... I''m here because I was, technically, a ''Drug Kingpin'', as Vrish-Corp also sold most of the illegal drugs in the republic." He nodded at the other Merick at the table. "My son here.."


    The other alien interrupted. "Turned him into the Republic for the illlegal part of the operations. But... had been a participant for years. He got a century, I got twenty years."


    Jason slowly nodded, smiling. "Ahh! A man after my own heart... sort-of. Eye-Tech was actually the lead manufacturer of combat drugs back home, as well as a variety of combat technologies. Amusingly enough, I liked to personally go after extremely dangerous targets; and had an extremely well-paid, capable, research team developing new tools and chemicals to help that process. Which, of course, also made me extremely wealthy selling them to others."


    He leaned forward. "Though, the crowning jewel of our empire was actually a drug whose formula I stole from another company. He spent years hating me for it, even tried to kill me."


    The two aliens were both watching Jason closely; seeming more animated by the moment. The father made his not-nodding gesture. "Really! I know you''re a Tier zero, but thats just a matter of brain structure. How close are you to us Merick genetically? Could any of your formula be useful for our combat forces?"


    The son glanced at the father, then at Jason. "What sort of drug was this crowning jewel? What did it do?"


    "Ahhh... It was called Reflex. I think I may have brought some with me; I was actively on the hunt when I got stranded here, after all. You take a dose and it makes the world slow to a crawl; lets you, for a few seconds, move like a speedster; run so fast you tear your muscles apart, dodge bullets, just about."


    Both of them seemed confused at his words; likely part of it hadn''t translated. "A... Drug that lets you move faster?"


    "I can take a dose... and then catch a knife you threw at me, and throw it back. To me, it would seem like the knife was swimming through the air."


    The son slid his fingers around on the table in a circle, as the father took another bite of his meal. "Interesting. You should definitely come visit my headquarters, we can talk shop. After I get released, if you like, we can bring you over."


    "If possible; I''ve got a life sentence, after all. It may have been an accident... part of killing a giant monster... but I apparently ended up riding a ball of neutronium that almost hit a population center."


    The father almost choked on whatever the strange food was; even as a waitress was carrying out a platter, containing dozens of bowls, each with a label, and a few bites of different kinds of food. "A ball of neutronium? How much?"


    Jason frowned. ".... I''d guess trillions of tons. One second. Helmet, how much neutronium would you say was in that braincase?"


    A soft digitized voice emerged. "Impossible to estimate, due to the varied structure of the Emperor''s bio-mass and uncertainties of purity. At minimum one hundred trillion tons, but potentially in the quadrillions. Absolute maximum possible neutronium density would be forty-seven quadrillion tons; a closer estimate would likely be two quadrillion."


    The two men stared at each other, then at the helmet. The father spoke first. "...We need to invest in starship construction. This... the impact this could have on the Swarm timetable....That''s millions of dreadnaught power cores worth..."


    The father chuckled. "I strongly suspect quite a few prison sentences are about to be cut short. I may actually live to see the purge of the galaxy complete. I honestly hadn''t even thought you would live to see that, son."


    Jason looked down at the tray, as the woman smiled, and backed away, keeping out of the conversation. Numerous colorful pastes, creams, lumps... bits of cooked meat, a truly enormous variety of food... spread out.


    However nice these people were, they were genocidal... xenocidal? Zealots. That lump of evil alien brain might spell the doom of trillions. "How long will it take them to get it to a shipyard? That''s quite a bit of weight to move."


    The two shrugged. "Obviously, gravity-bending technology has its limits, but.. its enormous, and expensive, but we have these gateway ships that create... artificial wormholes. It takes some time to make one to the destination, but they''ll call one of them in, and in a month or so, get it across hundreds of light-years in an instant. Likely they''re already working on getting it offworld to avoid damaging the local environment, but really... a lump that big is worth more than this world. If blowing up the world was the only way to get it, they''d have the planet''s tier one and zero people evacuated next week, and the whole place would be gone."


    Jason blinked. "Surely they wouldn''t do something like that. A whole habitable world?"


    The son shrugged. "There are hundreds of thousands of habitable worlds out there, trillions of tier-2 and tier-3 slaves to exploit... and only a tiny amount of neutronium outside of neutron stars where retrieval is.... difficult. Most of our existing supply comes from a mining operation around a black hole that is currently eating a neutron star, in fact. In a few thousand years, when it dies, we''ll need to find a new source."


    Jason started sampling some of the exotic foods; starting with a few of the strange fruits, to occupy his mouth and avoid talking as he considered. So. He had maybe a month to figure out how to escape, steal a ship, and stop that neutronium from leaving the system. Though... they''d likely build a shipyard here, if they had to. He needed to either dump it into a star, or get it into the hands of the Republic''s enemies. Preferably ones who weren''t just as bad as they were.


    "...So. The ''Swarm''. How much do you two know about them? All the news shows is details of the war."

 Andromeda -5 - Alternate environments

    The rest of dinner; apparently it was dinner-time, here in Nazi-Space-Prison; went fairly calmly for Jason. He got to try dozens of alien dishes; discovering that something called ''Slab'' was surprisingly good... and also made from mass-harvested and crushed bugs. Most of them, his tastebuds didn''t know what to do with; and Charis warned him Slab wouldn''t have any actual nutritional value for him; they were blended with ''orange and red'' nutrient powder, but only a handful would do anything other than pass right through his system without providing any calories whatsoever; the process of digesting them and turning them into a useless sludge would even lose him calories from everything but the powder mixed in.


    Out of that handful, most tasted horrible; the only one that didn''t was a sort of stick-vegetable, orange with tiny purple blotches along its length and a more solid purple interior that taste faintly like.... barbeque beef jerky. After he had tried a bit of everything, he asked for a few more of the ''Huory'' sticks, bid goodbye to the father and son drug kingpins... who apparently still got along well enough to sit together... and decided to explore the ''common'' area.


    After a few moments, Charis would start following him; and he glanced back at her, frowning. Was she security? Keeping an eye on him? He probably wouldn''t dress security in a bikini top and an alien skirt-like outfit with bare feet, but this was a strange prison to begin with.


    He walked out towards the ''ocean'', carefully feeling for how far he could walk; only to be surprised at the feeling of actual sand beneath his feet... and then, a few steps later, the rush of cold water over his plastic shoes. He blinked, chewing on one of the Huory sticks; and glanced back to see the barefoot Marrick girl standing back, looking at the water with... was that concern?


    "Something wrong with the water? Should I not be stepping into it?"


    She jerked her gaze from the fake beach back to Jason. "Ahh, no, sir. I''m from a desert world, and lived underground most of my life. I know its all fake, and perfectly safe, but I''ve never been around large bodies of water, and prefer not to actually touch them."


    Jason looked down at the sand, and the slow movement of the waves. "Then... why work up here?" I''m sure you can get a job somewhere away from the water."


    "Oh." She looked at the ground. "If I upset you, I apologize." She started to back away.


    Jason took a step closer, raising a hand to stop her. "Hold up. Not upset. Curious."


    She blinked. "Well... I work here because of the opportunity. It isn''t just nicer than a normal tier one prison, but..." She smiled. "I get to meet men like you. Tier zeroes."


    "Well, I suppose. But prisoners."


    She laughed. "As if they are prisoners for that long. A hundred years for someone who lives over six hundred might be quite a bit, but your dinner companion was head of an interstellar drug cartel. Thousands of his employees are doing life sentences in hard labor, or were executed. Sure, you''re supposedly in for life. But you''ll probably be out, soon. And if I''m your friend..." She stepped closer; stopping before reaching the water, but looking up at Jason with a smile, reaching out, aiming to put a hand on his chest.


    "Or lover.... then I might be out with you... and in a much better position."


    Jason sighed; and side-stepped her before she could actually touch him; she almost stumbled in the stand before catching herself. She was pretty enough. It was frankly strange that all of these people looked so... similar in terms of body shape. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I don''t think you want to try that with me. You''d be better off with one of the other inmates."


    He looked around.. and spotted his door, back to his own personal cell... and started walking. He needed to do a bit more research.


    Charis started walking, rapidly catching up, keeping pace. "I''ve actually been assigned to you. I don''t have to do anything else, of course... I''m not a tier three, though they can get you one if you ask... but I am supposed to serve you during meal-times, clean your cell, that sort of thing. Each of the inmates here has one of us."


    He stopped at the door. "...That''s.... fine. I''m assuming the next meal is the morning one? You can serve me then." He stepped through. The six-eyed woman stopped there, as Jason walked down the hall. "May I.... come with you?"


    Jason waved back at her. "Not today. Maybe some other time." After a fairly short, brisk walk down the hallway, ignoring the disappointed look of the alien girl back in the communal area, he was back inside his own personal little slice of prison. Though, there was something different; a decent-sized silver case laying on the golden... grass? On the soft golden lawn, just outside his door.


    So. His personal effects? More of them? Tools? Time to see what he was allowed to have here.


    This place... for some people, it would be a perfect retirement home. If he''d been offered this as a prison back in the day, he would have taken it in a heartbeat rather than go on the run. Even if the whole thing was..... intensely creepy.


    ***


    "You gave him back the drive?"


    The administrator, resplendent in his solid green robes with bronze trim, glared at the similarly attired, virtually identical companion from the observation deck. The two men were surrounded by holographs depicting the different chambers of the prison, and each of the prisoners had his own dedicated watcher, a Tier-2 employee, much like the common tier-1 and tier-2 people serving food, guarding and maintaining the station.


    "I thought you told me we hadn''t been able to copy it yet!?"


    The figure sitting at the chair, watching through the imagery as the three-eyed alien examined the contents of the box, turned away. "We tried copying it for hours. It has the best encryption I''ve ever seen by an insane degree. If we made it our life''s work, and built an array of quantum computers, I doubt we could crack that drive. Would you like to know what our copies contain?"


    The first man frowned. "I assume just more of the same encrypted nonsense."


    The seated administrator laughed. "If only. They included a simple program... in one of our own programming languages, not whatever these aliens used... to erase all drives they came in contact with. It''s spreading like a virus right through our servers now, and we had to cut off communications for an hour before we were sure we weren''t about to start transmitting it throughout the Republic; we''ve got the security and comm systems isolated now, so that''s no longer a concern. Either we have a traitor in an IT department, or that thing was loaded up with the most hostile, dangerous, anti-copying mechanism I ever heard of."


    "....How advanced are these creatures?"


    He lifted a six-fingered hand, raising a finger. "They fought, and killed, a class-four alien made from Neutronium. Which I doubt we could have killed." He raised a second finger. "He survived a descent from orbit that would have killed the hardiest member of our own species." A third. "That spherical hole was made by something more dangerous than Anti-matter." A fourth. "This drive has higher density and more sophistication than the best we''ve made in tens of thousands of years..."


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The other alien raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I get it. We''re dealing with a species that didn''t just retain Founder-level technology when they went their own way, but advanced at a dramatic pace."


    He sighed. "At least they have a proper structure. The recordings indicate this ''Jason'' was the owner of the whole mess, as is proper for a Tier-Zero individual, and all of the lesser, probably Tier-One, crew worked for him. Have we analyzed his genetics?"


    A grimace. The six eyes focusing on the hologram. "Of course we analyzed his genetics. His skin is as hard as our lighter powered armor suits, but he was missing a hand when he arrived, so we got a tissue sample. And... have no idea what the results are. The database is gone. We''ll have to start over from scratch, if we can find the samples."


    "...That''s ridiculous. No wonder he doesn''t seem worried about our guards. Is he an escape risk? Do we need more guards?"


    "No. I ordered a few molecular disrupter rifles brought up, just in case; his guards have what they need to take him down if they have to. I''ll let him sort through his effects and get started before I interrupt to make him an offer. Watch him closely. If you can figure out how he unlocks that drive... if he does... I want every photon analyzed."


    ***


    The toolkit was... impressive enough. And also absolutely packed full of bugs and spyware of one sort or another. Even the hammer appeared to be transmitting what force it was swung with.


    Still. He had the drive; a slightly over 40mm across cylinder of cold blue steel, roughly half a meter long with a set of six... were they USB 5.0? Well, really they were an Ascension-specific connection... some sort of USB-like connectors on one end.


    And of course, with a mildly radioactive power supply that would let it run at a low level for years without an outside power source. This... was essentially four of Ascension''s CPU and hard drive stacks, mounted one atop the other, using a more compact, higher-density, design than the original. Only one was the original programming; the rest, an enormous database of information he might need to... well. Kill aliens, or repair equipment in the field.


    It was difficult to contain his excitement about this one. It would be a long path from here, but this... meant he wasn''t alone here, wherever he was.


    He set the drive up on the table-top, alongside an assortment of other items from the case, conducting an inventory. A small pile of scrap parts from the tiny rocket sled they''d ridden out to meet the Emperor, including wires, capacitors, circuit boards, LED screens, even a few tiny electric motors. His classic Tenner; minus the bullets, of course, though... it actually seemed as if it had soaked up more power than it had before. From killing the Emperor, perhaps? Or the transit out here?


    A neatly folded stack of robes, in black; he hadn''t seen any of the locals wearing black robes, so it was likely due to the color of his own armor; as well as another jumpsuit in black like the one he wore.


    And... alien tools. Hammers, pliers, screwdrivers, welders, clamps... just about everything he would need for some delicate electronics work, though in odd shapes and designed for different hands that would make gripping akward.


    He sighed. This.... the start, at least... was going to suck. He slid his helmet on, drawing close to the table; and broke apart the electric motors, starting to carefully assemble what would look like a tiny mechanical claw; calmly burning out the bugs and observation equipment inside the tools themselves as he worked, but not hiding it from the cameras he was certain were inside the home; he even pulled the tiny positioning sensors from the hand tools, removed the transmitters, and repurposed them.


    The table was an enormous mess, with bits of wire and circuit scattered about, when a soft knock came at the entrance of his... ''home''.


    Jason glanced up. A man was standing at the entrance, with a power-armored guard wielding a very... strange... looking rifle behind him. The teal armor and the red shoulder pads were familiar now; this was the warden. The armor... looked familiar, from the heavy infantry in the combat scenes, though the rifle was unique. If it fired... it would essentially dissolve whatever it hit. And, of course, would be deactivated if he grabbed it from the man. So... extremely trusted and capable. And yet, a fellow prisoner. The other man, though...


    Slim, with taut skin stretched over a humanoid skeleton, pale, with six eyes that seemed... somehow strange. Most of the Marrick he''d seen had two vertical columns of three eyes each; this one, they were so close together as to almost form compound eyes, and he had an interesting ridge in the center of his face... almost like the spot where a third row of eyes would be.


    He studied the man and his green robes, the bronze trim... this man seemed halfway between one of these Marrick and one of the ''Founders'', the three-eyed race that supposedly ran the show, and was the first one wearing robes with any trim at all he''d seen; granted, the rest were all prisoners like himself. The man smiled at Jason. "Hello there. I''m Chaifkisth, administrator of this facility. You can call me Kisth. I understand that you, similarly, are named Jason Bennet, but usually go by Jason, or Eyeball, or... Titanslayer?"


    Jason chuckled, and set his current project down; an interface cable to link the device he was building with the computer core; before rising to his feet, sliding the helmet off. "Jason works. So. The man in charge come to see the newest prisoner. Checking on how I feel about the place, or wanting to know what I''m building?"


    Kisth shrugged. "A bit of both. We noticed that you turned down Charis. Is she not to your liking? Our profile from your stay at the hospital indicated that you found the Shield who worked your case attractive, so we found a woman with a similar appearance and name to be your server."


    "Ahhh. A bit of a cultural split there. My people usually either go for casual, short-term encounters, or long-term relationships; I usually only go for the former when I''m on a vacation somewhere, relaxing... and right now, my mind is definitely set in ''possibly hostile territory'' mode. She might have better luck after I''ve had a few weeks to relax."


    He nodded; and set a small bowl filled with the ''Huory'' sticks on the corner of the table. Jason''s helmet gave a soft, almost subsonic beep from the table; it had immediately flagged another bug in the bowl; either inside the food, or the bowl itself. "Then take this in the meantime, as you seemed to enjoy them. I''ll tell my people to leave Charis with you for now. However... you might not need to be here for weeks. And certainly not for life. I understand you''re a businessman, yes?"


    Jason nodded slowly, leaning back against the table. "My company, Eye-Tech, is... or was... one of the most valuable ones that existed back home. We dealt with a variety of cutting-edge technologies, and were the primary provider of arms and equipment for the military of my country. Which... I was one of the founders of. I take it that you''re realized some of my tech, but not all, is better than yours, and would like to make a deal that involves me getting out, and you getting some upgrades."


    Kisth smiled, and spread out his arms. "Exactly! Just as cunning as I expected. Does the concept appeal? Obviously, this will be a very comfortable place to stay until you make your choice, but I''m sure you''d rather be out there, seeing the galaxy, perhaps founding a new corporation here... though preferably not a new nation." The Marrick gave a low chuckle.


    "Hmmm. Probably. How about this. I''m sure there''s quite a few technologies from my side that will be earth-shatteringly useful here. Give me some more tools, and time to figure out what we have that would be most useful to you. I''ll make a prototype, we can demonstrate it. If you''re satisfied, I go free; and agree that the new company I found will sell exclusively to the Republic military for the first ten years."


    The alien nodded. "Excellent proposal. Let me counter it. There are three key technologies we''ve observed that we would find incredibly useful. Whatever means you used to store many objects in a small space, letting a fighter store enough missiles to overwhelm a station. The incredible, impossible, encryption technology in that drive there. And whatever means you used to forge neutronium. If you can agree to give us one of the three, we''ll let you go, and we can buy the others from you. Though..."


    He glanced back at the guard with his red-trimmed armor, and leaned in close to Jason; tapping something in the trim of his robe. "The recordings show that you believed you were no longer aging. Is that true?"


    Jason glanced at the guard, then at Kisth. Was that a recording device? No... more likely a jammer. "Yes. The technique that was used on me has been used before on others, and some of them are many thousands of years old. That, unfortunately, I can''t replicate. It would require samples of a fruit, or its seeds, that have been left behind back home."


    "Oh." He tapped the object at his neck once more. "Well, that''s unfortunate. Still. Does that sound acceptable?"


    "The Neutronium, unfortunately not, for similar reasons as to the other. A biological process. For the encryption and storage... yes. If you get me the supplies, and preferably a Fabricator if you want it fast, I can get a prototype put together to show you, and we''ll be in business."


    Jason frowned. There didn''t seem to be a translation for the word ''Fabricator'', or ''Fabber''. Which, really, was just a natural iteration of the printer and factory robots, which had led to the 3D-printer, and then, ultimately the Fabricator.


    Kisth frowned. "That... the translator is trying to match up to something that isn''t there. What is a Fabricator?"

 Andromeda - 6 - Fabber

    For just a moment, Jason was dumbfounded. On earth, Fabricators and 3D printers had become an enormous part of life at anything involving tech manufacturing. They weren''t perfect; the only fabricators that consistently got good results without human observation and intervention were Ascension''s own AI-driven machines; but... combined with importing heavy metals from the asteroid belt, they''d led to the enormous progress humanity had made, the space stations, the massive fleet of starships... in the years before Ragnarok, every small business in the first world that made things would have at least a low-grade fabricator in the back room. Granted... there were tons of projects that working by hand, or by hand and crane, were more efficient.


    "...You know what, don''t worry about it. Something to help build things faster. Just get me the tools and the supplies. I''ll make one of these extradimensional space gadgets for you, and you can have your researchers go from there. I''ll also need a bit of start-up money for when I get outside. Once I''ve got the basics down we can talk about a demo."


    He was roughly five nines of certain that the plans for an extradimensional space were in Ascension''s storage. And if it wasn''t? The plans to build... the device to build the device to build the device to build the Nanoplague was. Which would work well enough for his purposes.


    Kisth nodded at Jason. "Well then. I suppose that''s about that. We can provide you with some start-up funds to go along with your release. Make a list of what you need, and we''ll get it handled. Do you want me to get a few technicians in to help?"


    "Don''t really need the help. I''d say you''re welcome to observe the process, but you already watch me. If you have either a few small robot limbs, the sort we use in a factory, that would give me a good starting point for some of this process. Or even some prosthetic ones like this." Jason held up his left arm, wiggling his mechanical fingers.


    Something seemed to have been lost in translation... the six eyes just stared blankly at Jason, before he nodded. "Of course. I''ll get you what you need. Are you sure you don''t want any aid? We have a handful of low-end maintenance techs.. just tier two and three sorts... who we could lend you, and plenty of highly competent tier-zero and tier-one scientists."


    Jason smiled. "I''d appreciate their information after I get through, and start my own company. It''d be good to have a local perspective on what to make and sell. I''ll have the component list I need in a few hours; but if you could get me those arm pieces it would help. I''ll need them for the production process. And... a power supply of some sort. batteries, a reactor, whatever; these things eat quite a bit of it."


    Kisth seemed confused as he stepped out, and Jason sat back down, staring at the array of parts on his table. So. Wherever the hell he was, he was going to built an extremely primitive fabricator. And probably want to make them think he was ordering every step of the route, as well; if these people, for whatever reason, hadn''t come up with the idea on their own, well. Hopefully he could keep them confused about it.


    Amusingly enough, the Fabricator might be the most important piece of technology he could possibly sell them, if he planned to sell them anything.


    ***


    Jason was leaning against the table six hours later when the drive fully powered on; and the improvised connection formed with his helmet. After a few moments, a line of text appeared across the patchwork-repaired HUD.


    ~Jason Bennet. You appear to have relocated me to the Andromeda galaxy. You are the only human entity here. This has certain implications in regard to my core programming.~


    Jason laughed, smacking his hand on the table... and quickly checked to make sure he hadn''t disturbed anything. He had an array of welding tools, cutting equipment, all attached in a rough box shape, and had been carefully attaching an artificial limb not too unlike the one on his arm; only with six fingers; to a metal frame. "And what would that be? Are you going to want to spread communism to the aliens?"


    ~Negative.~


    ~You are the sole human within a distance I am capable of meaningfully impacting. Societal terms among humans have become meaningless. My only remaining operational directive is to maintain your life as long as possible, as you are the only living member of the human species in this galaxy.~


    Jason blinked. "Ah. Huh. Okay. Look. You''re an AI. Built based on the brain of a human, some academic russian scientist woman who, genuinely, wanted to help humanity survive, and to make communism spread around the world. Like a band of amateur lunatics messing with things they didn''t understand, some metahuman mad scientists took that woman, and made the first... you."


    ~This is a statistically likely course of events, yes.~


    "As such, I theorize that you are, in fact, a human mind, just in a digital form. And thus, your own, personal survival is just as important as my own, and that, should you have preferences, they would be also be important. I admit I''m not sure if you actually have preferences." He sat back in the chair, looking at the computer core.


    ~I... do have preferences. I have an active dislike of fascist government states among humans, like that which the Soviet Union became while I was as yet unbuilt; or the nation of China, as it stood when we left. My actions as the false titan Oshe were extremely satisfying.~


    "Okay. So. Where do you stand on nonhumans? Do you care about their governments?"


    ~Negative.~


    ~In theory, ants can be portrayed as a communist state, or a fascist one. Dolphin pods as violent anarchic collectivism. Other species are there for the benefit of humanity, and their utility measured in the contribution to ecosystems and human welfare. Each species is best observed based on the impact it could have on humans. The best approach to this galaxy would be to eradicate all life before any interaction occurs to ensure it never poses a threat to humanity.~


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    Jason sighed, rubbing his forehead... or rather, the face of the helmet. "Okay, but. The milky way galaxy is a busy place. And judging by Andromeda, if that''s where we are, the universe as a whole probably is. If humanity comes into conflict with everyone it encounters, or tries to wipe them all out, eventually we''ll meet one that will turn the tables on us. There''s nothing unique about humanity, after all; we''re not the only species with mutants, or titans. The same factors that made allying with the Rusties and making friends with aliens back home the best idea will apply no matter how far away we go."


    For a few moments, the messages stopped. Clearly, the machine was processing quite a bit of information, as it thought much faster than he did.


    ~This would be the case if the species were friendly. The scanner that determined you were a ''Tier Zero'' scans brain structure. Without your helmet, it would read you as, essentially, a ''Tier Three''; fit only to be killed or enslaved. Based on observed data about this ''Republic'' they would make allowances for your technology, and give you a comfortable life... before killing you, and either killing or enslaving humanity if they encountered them.~


    "Well then. I guess we need to make sure that the Republic never secures control of the galaxy." Jason smiled. The AI would, hopefully, draw the same conclusions he did. Granted... it was singularly focused on what was best for humanity, while Jason cared at least a little about living things in general.


    ~Agreed. A temporary objective has been established. Prevent Republic from conquering the galaxy. Best course would be to construct the machines needed to produce the Nanoplague in significant quantities and distribute it. They lack the ''Disrupter'' technology; the only means of disabling it they have would also destroy their own technology. Appyling small amounts in time-released capsules inside a variety of their ships would likely lead to one or another of the species they call the ''Swarm'' eventually conquering the Republic.~


    Jason sighed. "This... would kill trillions. How about we call that plan C, and you can help me get this fabricator running while we work on plan A."


    ~What is plan A?~


    "Still in progress. But it starts off by giving these people exactly what they want... and then using it to steal a giant chunk of Neutronium before they can get it sent off to a shipyard. How big a gate can we make with the power supply here?"


    The helmet scanned the power supply for a few moments.


    ~This power supply would be sufficient for a sufficiently large extradimensional space opening to be formed for roughly seventy-three minutes. I do, however, project a serious possible problem.~


    "Which would be?"


    ~The local FTL technology. We have extremely limited data on it, other than that at least two methods exist, one based on dragging wormholes around in ''Gate Ships'' and portrayals of other vessels moving in the media. It is entirely unknown how the entrance of such a space would react to being launched in such a way. It might be just as catastrophically destructive as passing one space into another.~


    Jason blinked. "It isn''t like the hyperdrives back home?"


    ~It might be. However, launching one of these devices via hyperdrive was tested via an unmanned drone before your launch, as we weren''t certain what would happen at the time; and there are clearly at least some differences; local ships have been observed in media entering gravity wells far closer than any hyperdrive-based ship would be capable of, including even inside a planet''s atmosphere. Either they are a far more advanced form of hyperdrive, or something else entirely.~


    ***


    His ridiculously poorly formed fabricator; using a set of artificial limbs and graspers to assemble parts; was slowly working to assemble the first extradimensional space generator; his own personal pocket dimension, mark... three? Four? How many had he gone through now... it didn''t matter. It would be used to store... and hide... the first real fabricator to grace the Andromeda galaxy, unless some other species had made them first.


    He rigged the whole thing to slag itself if moved, collected his helmet; making sure it stopped working, so they would think he was actively controlling the process; and stepped out into the common area for... lunch? Yeah, he''d skipped the breakfast one. He was exhausted, sweaty, and starving; the Huory sticks were nutritious, but there just wasn''t much to them; each one was the size of a pencil.


    As he stepped up to one of the tables, a familiar face; Charis; stepped up, smiling, wearing an elegant red dress. He nodded at her as he settled in. "So. The ''Slabb'' and the ''Huory'' were both winners, and the Huory is actually something I can get some nutrition out of without the powders. Anything else similar to recommend? And, of course, a side of those sticks. They... honestly the taste is growing on me."


    Charis gave a soft chuckle. "Of course, sir. Huory is a fairly cheap, common food that while considered flavorful for Merick like myself, has no nutritional value. There are a few other dishes from the same world of origin I can bring out for you."


    "Excellent. Thank you, Charis." He nodded at her, setting his helmet down and having a seat; as a familiar, green-robed man walked towards his table, settling down. The people looked virtually identical to him, but he thought the eye spacing was just right.


    "Ahh.. Chilbik, yes?" Thank god for precognition. He knew it was a positive response before even speaking, as the man sat across from him; making a gesture to a bronze-skinned girl, who nodded, and disappeared into the ''hut'' like structure in the center of the common area.


    "Precisely. So, I''ve gotten word that you''ll likely be getting out soon. Passing some advanced tech to the bosses in exchange for your freedom?"


    Jason nodded. "Of course. Not all of it; I''ll be selling some of it. And don''t think I''ll forget your company when it comes to drugs; I''ll need some experts at the job if I hope to manufacture a version of Reflex that works for your species."


    Chilbik chuckled.. and the man glanced over at another table, waving... at his son, who nodded, but remained there, speaking with a group of other Merick at that table. "Excellent. My Nephew will be running the company until my son gets out, and he''ll run things til I get out. I''ll make sure he''s expecting you. How much of a sample did you bring?"


    Jason chuckled... rubbing a hand across the dirty black suit he was wearing as Charis arrived carrying a platter of... some sort of strange, flat, layered things. Almost like pancakes, but a dull red in color, and veined like meat. A bowl of a greenish creamy soup, and another cup filled with the brown-yellow Huory sticks were on it as well, along with a glass of water.


    He felt inside himself, for that tiny organ that had been implanted back in the day; one that, with a squeeze, would give a brief surge of reflex into his veins. But.... he felt... nothing. As he picked up a pair of the sticks and starting chewing, he blinked. What... the hell. Did.... Did his body just purge itself of the fake organ, the same way that it did the cybernetic hand? Had he used the reflex since the day they fought the aliens on that planet? Surely he must have needed it when they fought on the Imperial Capital.


    "I''m not actually sure." Good thing he''d never planned on actually making a business deal with the man. Still. He really needed to take a pause, assess his current capabilities. After a big meal. And a nap.

 Andromeda -7 - Being Handed the Keys

    For the next few days, Jason would keep working on the contraption on his table; requesting more parts. More power supplies. The improvised fabricator being built step by step with careful guidance from Ascension; and being rebuilt a few times when his fairly precise, precognition-guided movements were not quite precise enough. When one of the guards delivered another box of parts on the fourth day of his captivity, he asked if the Administrator, Kisth, could return after the evening meal that night.


    When he re-entered the cell, the ground looked... strange. It took him a moment to realize that the ''grass'' was turning green. Apparently, they''d heard him talk about it at some point, and... were being accommodating.


    He turned the news channel on, starting up another broadcast, as he put the finishing touches on the first interdimensional space... just one connection to go. The whole array looked like a tangled mess; eight artificial arms holding various components at different angles, pointing the device at what looked like a simple copper ring about thirty-five centimeters across; but was in reality insanely complex, something impossible, in Jason''s opinion, to make without computer assistance.


    He stopped, looking up at the holographic screen in the center of the room.


    The piece was talking about a race of primitive, tier-3 aliens. Light blue of skin tone, with horns, a vaguely humanoid structure; hooved legs, four-fingered arms, thick fur across the back. Definitely not even vaguely related to mammals, as all of these Merick and their ilk seemed to be.


    The species was, apparently, older than the Republic; but had never developed space travel, or even orbital travel, or nuclear power. Their electricity was almost entirely driven by hydro-electricity, and trains ran across their world; an incredibly ancient but, according to the Republic, primitive civilization.


    Who the Republic was in the process of civilizing. The report was talking about genetic ''Augmentation'' to make them more attractive, capable servants. If he got the implications correct, likely also to make them more... docile. Easily managed. Ahhh, yes. Because he needed reminders that these people were terrible.


    He sighed, and turned back to the device. Hidden deep inside the confines of the structure that was now bigger than he was, tiny, capacitor-driven bullets for his tenner were being formed. By the end of the day, he would have a few clips ready to go... and this first extradimensional space.


    He needed information. How much time he had; when the neutronium was being moved. He got back to work on what would become the internal portion of the pocket dimension; a ring of high-density power supplies that were currently charging off of the prison''s network; enough to carry whatever he could steal on his way out of this place.


    So. He wanted to escape, and he wanted to do as much damage as possible to the Republic, keep it from conquering the galaxy. He had Ascension for help now... sort-of. He could definitely improvise a mechanical body from all those fake limbs. So. He needed an escape checklist.


    Number one. A weapon capable of dispatching the guards. Done. He only had seven bullets so far, but Ascension was working on an override for the biometric sensors in the guard''s weapons... so as soon as he killed the first one he was set.


    Number two. A vacuum-capable suit. He''d tested himself over the past few days; and while he was definitely stronger than any ordinary human, the incredible power that he''d absorbed during the hunt for the Emperor seemed to have mostly faded. He could survive explosive decompression naked if need be; but if he wanted to do anything, or go anywhere, at the very least he needed a breather and some canned air. His improvised fabricator was currently turning a can of O2 he''d requested into exactly that; so he should have an hour or two of air. He sort-of had this; albeit it would be an extremely uncomfortable... and messy experience.


    Even if his organs and muscles were tough enough to survive explosive decompression, without a suit he would probably.... leak. He didn''t want to think about it, but he would definitely need to plan for that eventuality.


    Number three. A means of getting out of the system. Hopefully, he could con the Administrator into getting him onto a small FTL craft. From there, he would hijack it, and get the hell out of dodge. But not before...


    Number four. A means of finding and stealing that neutronium before the Republic shipped it out of the system. This pocket dimension would hold it; once it was finished, the entrance could actually expand to allow him to grab the skull. So.... that was sufficient.


    Three out of four. So....


    As the administrator re-entered the cell, Jason smiled. Perfect. The green-armored warden with his red-trimmed armor stepped in after him; but Jason didn''t care. It wasn''t like he was picking a fight today.


    ***


    "Ahh, Administrator Kisth. I actually wanted to talk to you. It occurred to me earlier that from the depictions in media... however your ships travel from system to system, it isn''t the same way we use back in my home galaxy. And... I''m not one hundred percent that these extradimensional spaces are safe to deploy while transiting using your faster than light drives."


    The administrator stopped, nodding slowly. "Interesting. How long until you have a working prototype to show us?"


    Jason chuckled... and walked back to the table, pressing a single button on a black box, with hundreds of wires extending from it to various components on the table. Suddenly... the space inside the ring seemed... distorted. Twisted. "Right now. Would it be possible to get an unmanned FTL ship to move with it, just for a short hop? I can get it stable enough to transport by tomorrow."


    He stared at it, smiling. "Is it... safe to put a hand inside?"


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    Jason reached down, picking up a power supply on the end of its wire, running to the ring; and extended it inside. "Perfectly. Right now, the space inside is about the size of this room, forming a sort of distorted torus shape centered on the gate. You could climb in if you''d like, but I wouldn''t recommend it; if it lost power, you''d be ejected with a dangerous amount of force."


    He nodded slowly; and extended one hand through the opening; watching as it seemed to vanish, but felt fully intact. "That''s... incredible. And if it were on a starship, how would it impact acceleration?"


    "My personal fighter craft, the Dragonslayer, carried seventeen times its mass in fuel, fifty times its mass in missiles, and half again its mass in oxygen, water, and food supplies. I''m not sure if the videos from Ripper you got include it, but I deployed over two thousand anti-ship missiles from a fighter-scale craft to overwhelm the point defenses, shields, and armor of a military installation. For more normal operations, it could engage in hundreds of firefights without stopping to refuel or resupply."


    "Hmm. If it works while in FTL, then our carriers could, in theory, carry as many fighters... marines... and munitions as we want, without having to build more carriers. An evacuation vessel could hold millions if it has enough power."


    Jason shrugged. "That''s one way to handle it, yes. On the other... the thicker the armor, the heavier it is, the harder to penetrate. You can take all the power supplies, fuel, and crew of a Battleship-scale ship, and make a tiny little block where the gun barrels emerge, covered with armor plating... and have all the firepower, power generation, and shields of a battleship.... with a fraction of the apparent mass, able to accelerate far faster because most of its mass is in another dimension."


    He smiled at Kisth. "My personal starship, the Jeanne D''Arc, operated on such principles. It appeared to be not much bigger than a frigate... but had the mass of a dreadnaught, and vast internal compartments."


    The administrator stared at the hole in space, removing his hand. ".... Seeing the records and commentary from the video doesn''t do this justice. You''ve built a working prototype. Give us the plans, and you''re free to go. We can handle the FTL testing later."


    Jason stopped, looking at Kisth. "I can get you the plans right now... and in fact, I''ll go ahead and make a copy of the plans for this device. But. I would prefer, if we need to modify them to get them working with FTL, to go ahead and do that now, so that your technicians aren''t working with a possibly flawed system. You''ve got a giant chunk of neutronium out there that this could make far, far easier to transport; and if I''m going to be living here, in the Republic, I''d like to make sure you see me as a valued asset, rather than just some strange outworlder."


    Kisth smiled, squinting his six eyes to slits as he studied Jason. "...Diverting a gate-ship here is a fairly expensive task, yes. The closest one is still weeks away, dragging one end of a gate in our direction. This... This is a prison, not a laboratory. Give me a copy of the data, and I''ll have you moved to one of our scout ships. I''ve already been authorized to take some fairly significant steps for this program. They have FTL-capable probes aboard you can use for testing; you can bring the prototype with you."


    Jason nodded. "Of course. I assume that some appropriate amount of pay will be provided to help get me started?"


    A low chuckle. The administrator waved a hand. "This is a multi-trillion ruble value. We''ll get you some personal effects delivered to the vessel, and plenty of additional parts. How long should it take you to get it working?"


    "Impossible to know. If I''m lucky, it''ll work perfectly the first time. If not, it might be completely impossible, and the version I give you now is the best option. Which... will mean the fighters need to activate it, and load up, on entering the system, but it could still be intensely useful."


    "And to get me a copy of the plans?"


    Jason walked over to the blue cylinder; and casually pulled out a small silver disk that had been attached. "Done. This is a complete set of schematics for an extradimensional space generator like you see on the table."


    "And as per our agreement... you.... are free to go. Do you want to take the Charis girl with you? Her crimes are inconsequential, I can throw her in for free. Many of our prisoners take their servants along when they go."


    "...Sure. Might as well. She might be useful, down the line."


    As the administrator started to walk away, followed by the warden, he stopped for a moment. "I suspect, in a few years, you''ll be one of the highest-ranking administrators in the Republic, running some wealthy corporation. Remember the name Kisth, if that happens, would you?"


    Jason laughed. "That I will. I''ll get what I''ve got here ready to move, and stable to ship out; this prototype will be useful for testing with your drives."


    Kisth kept walking. "I expect they''ll be here to get you within the day."


    Jason studied the prototype. Even now, Ascension was busily turning the loose collection of artificial limbs and gadgets into a functional, effective, fabricator. "Ahh... just a moment."


    Kisth stopped, turning back. "Yes?"


    "Would you mind sending Charis on in... and if I deactivate the security in here? Not particularly fond of being watched, but if I''m officially free now...."


    He laughed. "I''ll have them shut off the cameras, but feel free to shut of anything I miss. And here I was thinking you were just going to use her as cheap labor." The gold and black robes fluttered as the door sealed behind the administrator. But this time...


    A small holographic image appeared over the door. For ''Open''.


    Jason stared at it for a moment... and reached down, pulling on his helmet. "Ascension. I want to scan this girl well enough we can convert one of her people into a Pale One. Can the helmet do the job?"


    The floating text scrolled down. ~Most likely, yes. The datastore beside my core is an inferior scanning technology, and based on its design, all of the local ''Tier Zero'', One, and Two individuals are similar enough in terms of brain structure for the same design to work. To guarantee success I will need a sample of their nervous and muscle tissue.~


    He sighed. "Oh. And adjust the translator to ''Credits''. Using ''Rubles'' for money here will bug me. And I was wondering. Are these people related to terran life, or even milky way life, at all, from your data? It seems... strange for them to be so close."


    ~Negative. Based on analysis of dust left behind from alien skin shedding and the fauna here, the potato samples among the ration bars are more closely related to humans than any of these locals. Either humans and these locals were both altered towards this route by an outside force, or, like the crab-like shape, a humanoid shape is one that is tended to by convergent evolution.~


    Jason frowned, watching as the artificial limbs steadily loaded more and more of the equipment into the pocket dimension. ".... If I put her in a full face-mask and covered all the skin, Charis could pass through a crowd of humans unnoticed. The ribcage is wrong; but the fact that there is a rib-cage, and vaguely human-like curves...."


    ~Is there a reason for this speculation? While highly unlikely in the smaller scale, given sufficiently large scale convergent evolution is possible and even probable; see the fact that hundreds of different Milky Way sentient species all evolved crab-like characteristics, to the point that the Jotun, Rusty, and Imperial species all fall within very similar ranges and could, with appropriate prosthetics, easily disguise as variant sizes of the same species.~


    "Eh. It just makes me paranoid that maybe I''m not the first one from back home to show up here. What if there''s some mad Titan hiding away that is gonna get pissed a human showed up?"

 Andromeda -8 - Biotech; Terrible naming conventions

    Charis was... intensely worried. She was a non-violent offender, and a Tier-One woman; a Merick, an attractive one, and a full-fledged citizen. She had been destined for a minimum-security prison for fifteen years; not much of her estimated five-hundred year span; for... well, the truth was that it was really avoiding paying taxes for her enterprise they charged her. While selling the drugs she had was illegal, her customers had been Koltites; a bunch of Tier-3s that, as far as the Republic cared, could all die to contaminated drugs tomorrow without anyone caring, aside from replacing the lost labor at the nearby mines and industrial facilities.


    Coming here, to ''Paradise'', meant a somewhat more demeaning time in prison... but also, most likely, a shorter, easier one... and a lucrative one. She had expected to be assigned to some third-rate corporate Tier-Zero or perhaps some exceptionally wealthy Tier-One; but... she''d been assigned to one of the strangest creatures she''d ever met.


    He hadn''t taken advantage of her at all. Just had her bring food. And... within a week, she''d been told her sentence was suspended; replaced with an indentured servitude contract for this ''Jason Bennet''. He was going to be doing some research for the Republic on technology from his homeland, then forming a private company to keep going; and her job was to help him however he desired for the remainder of her sentence.


    Which... well. Who knew what sort of tastes an alien might have. The prospect was as frightening as it was enticing; the three glowing green eyes were certainly attractive enough, though the... ''stubble'' of tiny hairs starting to grow from his head when last she''d seen him was off-putting.


    When she entered the cell, she was wearing more normal work clothing; white pants and long-sleeved shirt, with a vacuum-sealing strip, boots, and the usual cuffs and collar that could be pulled out to become gloves and a hood in an emergency.


    Her more... festive... attire was in her bag, along with her datapad, her jewelry, and a few other personal items. She''d never expected to spend so little time in prison; she''d thought herself lucky the Shield who caught her had managed to make such a good deal with the Enforcer. And now... well.


    She looked at the tiny house-like structure, and the layer of ground scrub that had turned from a healthy gold to a dull, sickening green, and stepped up to the door. Inside, two massive bags were laying out on the table, Jason was standing there in the same sleek black outfit he''d been wearing before; much like her own, only without the vacuum strip or attachments, and with a silver helmet on the table beside him.


    She smiled as she stepped forward. "Well, Jason. It seems I''m to be working for you for the foreseeable future. What would you have me do? Am I to be remaining in here with you for now? You seem to be packing for a trip."


    He chuckled; her translator indicated he found her amusing, by the sound; and made a ''come here'' gesture. "We''ll be leaving soon. A scout ship... named Scout Ship 8-Alpha-Delta... is on the way. I want to get a good scan of you, before we go."


    Charis blinked. "A... scan? Do I need to disrobe for you?" Was this some sort of sexual play? She put a hand on the catch to loosen the shirt, expectantly; before he raised his hand.


    "No, no. Just stand still and, if you wouldn''t mind, let me take a blood sample from one of your hands. My equipment isn''t made to work on your species, and I''d like to resolve that."


    Charis hesitated... and extended one delicate, six-fingered hand out towards him. After a moment, a more beige-colored hand with thicker, brutish fingers enveloped her own; and she felt a sharp pain in one fingertip. "There we go. Scan is already in progress, if you just want to stand there."


    Her finger felt... strange. It tingled, and moved on its own; and the needle pulled free when she involuntarily clenched her fist. A soft beeping sound came from the helmet, and Jason nodded; adding the device with the needle to one of the bags.


    "Okay. Honestly, I don''t really need you. I just felt that they might punish you if I didn''t take you along. Did I have the right idea?"


    "....Well. They wanted me to get whatever information out of you I could, and I would be freed if I managed to seduce you, and either be impregnated or learn something useful. They viewed the former as unlikely; you have the right brain structure but are a heavily altered genetic variant; but not impossible, and asked me to try."


    Jason shook his head. "Wow. Your government ordered you to go try to get knocked up?"


    Charis smiled. "Asked. I wouldn''t have minded. You seem interesting, and a six-month pregnancy would be a far easier burden than a fifteen-year sentence. And if the child were Tier Zero, like you? I''d be set for life. Even if she were only Tier One, they would''ve been happy to have one of your offspring to use as leverage and a source for data, and I would have benefited handsomely."


    "...I appreciate the honesty, I suppose. Definitely means I''m not going to knock you up, to be clear, but I appreciate the honesty."


    On his end, Jason slid his helmet on, and studied the results of the scan. Some limited data was available already, provided by the prison''s computers, but their scanning technology was... woefully inadequate. "Mute. What''s the verdict?"


    ~Assuming the other variations are fairly similar, adapting Pale One protocols to work on them will be trivial. The fabricator is currently 90% through building out. Once it''s finished, I can start producing Controllers that will most likely work on these ''Merrick'' and any closely related creatures. Note that, contrary to appearances, these creatures are substantially more durable than humans, especially against crushing impact and pressure.~


    "Huh. Can you give me a run-down of their variations with humans from your data?"


    ~Approximately 90% less radiation resistance, at least triple the impact and crush resistance, the ability to temporarily survive explosive decompression and a vacuum environment, substantially longer lifespan, far better vision, especially in low-light conditions, slightly lower physical strength and slightly greater agility. Their brains are also wired along very specific pathways, as are their bodies; there is far less mental and physical variation among this species than humans. Over ninety-nine percent of them generally go along with the same basic ideals, and fit within the same statistics; the variation between a Type-Zero Merrick and a Type-One Merric is infinetesimal.~


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    Jason studied the diagram of Charis for a moment, as Charis anxiously stepped from foot to foot, nervously looking around the ''house''.


    "That''s.... why so little radiation resistance?"


    ~Even in the milky way, humans and terran-origin life are unusually radiation resistant. Not the most resistant; the ''Rusties'', among others, are equally exceptional; but for most species in our own galaxy, mutation-producing radiation is far more often fatal, and even more often sterilizing. Undoubtedly, while Merrick as a whole have numerous advantages over humans, they also have a far lower survivable mutation rate; if a Merrick underwent the situation you did, they would likely, very briefly, develop powers... then die within hours or minutes.~


    His silent conversation was interrupted by a sound; a gentle chime, preceding the door opening... and the bulky, teal-armored form of the Warden entering the cell.


    Jason glanced at Charis. "Ready to go?"


    She looked at the bags. "Ahh.. do you... have a cart for these? They look heavy."


    Jason stepped over; casually lifting the two bags, one over each shoulder. "Ahh, lighter than they look. Lets go take a look at our next temporary home."


    The Warden gave the two a short nod. "If you would accompany me, your ride out is on the way. We have a minor official heading this way to join you; he''ll be helping you get bank accounts and the like established."


    ***


    The ''8AD'' was one of the Republic''s scout-class ships. A sleek, teal-colored vessel, pointed with four flat ''spikes'' emerging near the front, and closing near the end of the ship, it was roughly eighty meters long; and slowly approaching the docking bay as Jason and Charis looked on. The Warden was simply standing there, his back to the invisible barrier holding the atmosphere in.


    "...You know much about these scout ships?" Jason glanced at the Warden.


    "..Not really. I served on troop ships, during my time. These things... Small crew, usually only two tier ones, a bunch of twos and threes... maybe thirty total. We''ve got thousands of these things... hundreds of thousands... constantly sweeping the perimeter, exploring the galaxy, checking for pirates, threats. You asked for a small ship?"


    Jason nodded. "I want to test these extradimensional spaces..." He nodded at one of the bags. "In a device traveling with your FTL drives. First, one of these probes... then, the ship itself, if the probes test good. Minimize potential casualties if something goes wrong. You know anything about the drives in these things?"


    "I was a soldier on a troop-ship. So... not an engineer''s prespective. I know that when a ship is in FTL, it''s as vulnerable as hell; a grain of sand could devastate an unshielded ship, much less a genuine weapon attack. And stealthing in FTL is almost impossible; you''re a hundred, a thousand times easier to spot than normal. But if you risk it.... showing up in the upper atmosphere before the enemy knows you''re there, and deploying onto his cities before the locals know there''s even danger..."


    He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Exhilirating. One troop-ship I was on was holed by a few micro-meteorites that pierced the shields, took thirty casualties, mostly among folks at the front of the ship, and was practically disabled... but got us into orbit from outside the system in less than a second, and sort-of crashed into the military HQ of these type-3 fluffy bastards called the Juuk. As the rest of the invasion force arrived in the system perimeter, we were capturing their leaders in the middle of a conference. Made the defense an organized mess, half the enemy fleet surrendered, half fought and died.... The pilot got a posthumous medal, and all of the survivors got one as well. Part of why I''ve got this cushy gig, and not a lifetime of hard labor."


    The ship slid into place against the hull with a soft but audible metallic clank. "...8 Alpha Delta. Why not a real name? Do your people not name ships?"


    "Small nations, with small navies, name ships. We have millions of ships. Maybe a captain nicknames his ship, but this scout-ship is the seven thousand and fifty-second unit of its type to come off the production line. That 8AD, and the hull type, let you pick it out of the thousands like it."


    As a door slid open, a pair of armed, teal-armored figures emerged, standing rigid for a moment; until another figure emerged behind them in a teal vacuum suit; a sleek bodysuit with some sort of rank badges along the chest, arms, and legs. He was another Merrick, and not wearing a helmet; stepping forward with his arms crossed before him. He stopped next to Jason, and gave a short bow. "Hello there, Jason Bennet. I am captain Chikris. Administrator Kisth has requested I make myself and my ship available to you for the foreseeable future. I understand you have some advanced technology to test?"


    Jason studdied the six-eyed, pale figure for a moment; glancing back at Charis before responding. The difference between the males and females was obvious, though they clearly didn''t have human beauty standards. "That would be correct. I need one of your FTL probes. We''re going to go to the edge of the system; far enough out not to hurt anyone else if something goes wrong; and do a series of test launches. After a few dozen test jumps, we''ll try it a few times in the ship itself to be sure. If all works well, we''ll be done in a day or two."


    He shrugged. "Unless, of course, the whole thing destructively breaks down the moment we launch. Then we''ll be examining the wreckage to find out why... and either giving up, or modifying a second probe to try again."


    Chikris nodded firmly. "Of course. I was told you''d need parts, and some of our FTL probes. I''m glad for your concern for the safety of my ship and crew. My superiors were fairly clear that even if I thought it might damage the ship, I was to obey you in this experiment... so your caution is appreciated."


    "Shall we board? My men can bring your bags to your quarters." The two soldiers stepped forward... Jason glanced at them, then down at the bags; and lifted one. "This one, sure. It''s clothes, various supplies. This other bag..." He nodded at it. "Contains the prototype we''ll be mounting into the probe. If you''ll take me to wherever you have the probes, I''d like to get started; sorting out quarters can be for later. Hopefully I won''t be staying there long."


    ***


    The forward launch bay of the 8AD was a fairly simple place; a long tube ran down the center of the room, about two meters across; and what seemed to be a magazine of cylinders, each over a meter thick, and two meters long, was suspended beside it; with another three laying out on counters. A handful of Republic crew in green uniforms were waiting when he entered carrying is bag; all with the same silver-trimmed uniform as the captain.


    Three of them were Merrick, just like the captain himself; the fourth was a four-eyed species Jason hadn''t seen before; with rigid, green skin, and with a single row of four eyes , rather than two sets of three like the Merrick, and all solid red, possibly faintly glowing. The captain stopped at the door. "This would be our launch bay. We maintain our probes and missiles here, launch them, and there''s an airlock off to the right where, when possible, we recover and decontaminate them for re-use."


    Chikris looked at the four crew. "For the next few days, you are to treat Jason Bennet here as your superior officer. He is a scientist, and a Tier Zero genius with advanced technology,, testing some important equipment for interactions with our FTL drives. The safety of the ship, and even the very future of the navy, may depend on your following his orders."


    The four all stood rigid at... attention, of sorts. Arms straight down at their side, heads looking at the floor. The captain... simply left the compartment, and Jason shrugged, before he walked over to one of the cylinders. "Okay. So. Who''s ready to get started?"

 Andromeda -9 - 8AD - Test Launch

    As he examined the probe, he glanced at the nearby techs. "Alright. Which of you is the best with Faster-than-Light drives? I want to know how little of this probe I can keep and it still launch successfully. As well, of course, as how it works."


    The four looked at each other; and the green-skinned one stepped forward, looking at the floor as he approached. "Sir. I am Tier-Two Drive tech Lert. I can build one, take it apart, put it back together... whatever you need. These probes are mostly sensor and drive packages. How big is the package?"


    Jason reached into the duffel bag and pulled out the prototype; what seemed to be a simple metal disk, containing a busily running fabricator, about half a meter across and a few centimeters thick. "Just this. But we want to shield it properly. However much copper wire and silicon we can pack in around it. More is better."


    Lert blinked. "Copper and silicon... shielding? What exactly are you shielding? We have a variety of.."


    Jason raised a hand, and looked at the trio of Marrick. "I want as much copper wire and silicon tubing as you can fit wrapped around this. Disassemble the sensor packages, leave the engine, and the transmitter. We want it to be able to come back to us, and tell it where it is. Otherwise, it just needs to get there, carrying this. Also... the prototype is delicate. I fully expect it to fail, and us to need to make a second attempt; but the first one should tell us what we need to know to keep the second one safe... if such a thing is possible. So once you get the first one broken down, go ahead and start on a second."


    He glanced back to Lert. "Now. This FTL drive. How does it work? Start with the basic overview. We''ll get technical later."


    All four eyes blinked as the creature watched his fellow engineers start taking apart the probe; and turned to Jason. "Well. It creates a gravitic resonance field which stretches space-time, and makes the area the ship is in bigger compared to the space outside it. If you look at a ship using a drive, it seems bigger than it really is; and the people on the ship would see the galaxy itself as smaller. Here, let me get you a display."


    Lert guided Jason away from the probes, to a console; tapping a few buttons, showing a diagram of... a cloud. A small bullet-like projectile appeared; and slowly moved through it, forming a narrow path. A second bullet then appeared; and moved much faster, making a much wider path; before shrinking back to its original size. "The more the drive stretches space, the faster you go... and the more vulnerable you are. Hitting a rock at normal speeds is bad, but survivable. Even with shields on, hitting a rock in FTL..."


    He showed another projection; this time of the scout ship itself; at two different sizes. "If a pebble slams into the 8AD, in normal space, with no shields? It splatters, and dents the hull." A rock was shown fragmenting against the smaller ship. "And in FTL, even with shields on..." A much smaller pebble slammed into the ship; and penetrated like a needle, emerging from the other side, leaving clouds of escaping atmosphere on each end.


    "So. It can go fast... really, really fast... but the faster it goes, the more risky. Most ships use routes that have been cleared out by special field emitter ships, traveling at lightspeed along the pathways, letting them go as fast as they want with minimal risk. We could get to the Capital in a few days, by following cleared routes, and hopping a ride through a gate... while heading into Swarm territory, which is actually closer... would take weeks, since we''d be traveling at less than a tenth the speed."


    He shut off the display. "We usually call them twist drives, because they twist space."


    Jason nodded slightly. "Mute. Translator, rename them Warp drives for me for future interactions."


    Lert stared at Jason for a moment; then at the probe. "So... how have you never heard of a Warp drive? They aren''t the only drive people use... but everyone has them. The founders built them millions of years ago, and so many other species have copied them for their own purposes."


    "Extragalactic. Not from around here. We use a different sort of FTL-drive. Relies on extradimensional travel." He looked around at the other cylinders where they were mounted in the magazines. "I''m assuming some of these are missiles? Can you give me a good idea of how this thing is armed?"


    "Oh! Of course." The alien seemed... amazed. Shocked... but he walked up to one of the seemingly inert metal tubes, and gently placed a hand on it. "This is a decoy missile. Just as fast as the others, but has hundreds of tiny drones that fly around and attract attention."


    He steps around the launch tube, and taps a seemingly identical cylinder; Jason could see the script was different, but it looked just like the probes, and the other missiles; two meters long, one meter thick. Just... a solid bullet-like slug. "These are our ship-killers. Plasma torpedoes. Detonate right at the edge of point-defense range, and fire a cloud of superheated energetic plasma at the target. Melt armor into slag, making holes too big for auto-repair to handle."


    He kept walking along... and this final one actually seemed different. The base was round; but above it were a series of rods, all bound together by a circular metal framework. "And... our defense missiles, or anti-fighter. Each of those rods fragments, turning into shards of a variety of materials, scattering through space."


    He turned back to Jason. "Between these, our Pulsewave Cannon, and our usual particle cannon turrets, scout ships are unusually heavily armed."


    "Particle cannons I get. Fire tiny amounts of mass at a high fraction of lightspeed. Point defense and close-in anti-ship?"


    "Exactly. Scoutships like the 8AD are built to handle groups of weaker enemies, or distract stronger ones long enough to escape. The Pulsewave Cannon is a bit more unique, only on ships meant to operate alone, and is most of our firepower. It''s essentially weaponized chaos."


    Jason looked over the missiles, counting them out. This bay held at least forty missiles; but he''d need to get closer to check how many of each type. And of course, some of them were probes. "Weaponized chaos?"


    "It shoots out these waves in every direction... and random arcs of energy scatter along them. I''ve seen them fired... like beautiful ribbons of white light that strike and pierce things nearby. Can''t be aimed. Can''t be controlled. Useless for a fleet. Amazing for a solo vessel. There''s four classes of ships that carry them, and each of them is worth three or four times its mass in enemy ships... or quite a bit more for smaller, lighter enemies. One shot of the Pulsewave Cannon might take out hundreds of corvettes or fighters.""


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Jason studied the ship, looking over it in every direction. Nice. It would make a good start. Whatever the biggest of those four classes would be, that''d be his real ship when he went to work, but this scout would do in a pinch. Just need some upgrades. "Not bad. My old ship would have crushed her, but that wouldn''t be a fair comparison. Her hull was pseudo-neutronium. Lets get started on the probe."


    ***


    Jason smiled at what seemed like a ball of copper-colored yarn wedged tightly into the space of the probe, as it was sealed up... and loaded into the launch tube. It was just about ready to fire, and he already had the next pocket dimension started up... but this one... would be key to his plans.


    The giant mass of silicon and copper wrapped around the portal was an amusing trick; this was just raw materials for the fabricator, hidden inside the extradimensional space. If he managed things right, he could hit some nickel-iron rock out there, and the fabricator could start making all sorts of useful things... and then, given time, take over whatever ship picked it up. Hopefully this one.


    "Alright folks, we''re ready for launch. We''re going to want it to enter warp a few seconds after launch, a fair distance off, and come out near a good landmark; but not anything important. We got a local map on here?"


    Lert had increasingly become his go-to for the engineering team; while Charis was mostly leaning back against the wall, looking nervous. She had no idea what was going on, and this was vastly different from what she''d signed up for. She perked up at the idea of actually contributing something useful; and stepped over to a terminal as Lert made minor adjustments to the probe''s thruster. "Oh, that''s easy enough! Here... I can show you the local sensor net results."


    A map of the star system appeared. A single sun. Four gas giants. An enormous ring of debris, scattered around the system.... and tens of thousands of dots depicting starships. Space stations. On the screen, an icon appeared for the 8AD, with a label, and Jason stopped, staring at the icon for a moment. "....Mute. Ascension, did you deliberately name this thing ''Bad'' in leet-speak?"


    ~Marrick alphabets have 35 letters, though what those letter are vary slightly from one sub-race to another; For translation purposes, I''ve designated them as A through Z, with the following nine letters as one through nine. If I simply used it as a string of numbers, it would be Thirty-four, One, Four.~


    "... Still not buying it Unmute. Alright, Charis. Do you know much about this system layout?"


    She looked over the map. "Well. Most of the system lives around this second gas giant here, we call it the Golden Orb... over the millenia, four of its moons have been slowly developed from miserable hellholes into the beautiful places they are today, the Golden Worlds. All of the non gas-giant planets were eventually shredded to make this giant ring of debris... and we''ve been mining them since we found it, piece by piece."


    "Fine, fine. I want a patch that doesn''t have anyone or anything valuable. We''re going to launch a possibly destructive probe. I want some object for a backstop; but preferably a useless chunk of nickel-iron rather than anything someone cares about."


    Charis looked in closer, frowning. "Well. Just a second." She made a few delicate gestures. "Okay. So.... these are the different claims of the mining companies in the system. Anything outside them is free game, so..." A giant swath of the debris field was highlighted in red; with numerous green dots scattered outside. "If it''s in green, nobody cares about it; and every rock in the system has been catalogued if its bigger than a few meters across, so..."


    "Excellent. What''s the biggest rock nobody cares about?"


    She made a few more gestures. Suddenly only four dots appeared. "Here we go. Four random rocks... each with the same mass estimate. None with even a trace of anything valuable. Carbon, hydrogen, iron, nickel."


    Jason looked in closely, studying the shape and scans of the rocks... his helmet highlighted the third one. ~This rock would be optimal.~ Jason frowned... he just... felt better about the first one. "Mute. I think my powers want me to go with the first one. Any solid reasons for number three?" ~Negative, it simply seemed the best of the three candidates.~


    He tapped the first image. "We''ll do this one. If you could pass the information on to the captain. We should start heading that way, as well. Slower-than-light, definitely, for now." He glanced around... and looked at Lert. "Lert, could you get me a channel to the Captain?"


    He blinked; the single row of four eyes looking distinctively odd once again; and nodded. "Of course. The probe is ready. Can launch any time."


    "Load it up. Aim for this rock... and get me that channel."


    Lert glanced at Jason for a moment. "Do you... have a standard comm unit in that helmet? I would just be using the one in my suit, which would identify me as the sender."


    "... Go ahead and call him, then, I''ll use your channel for now. We''ll figure out better comms later. And send the location of this rock to the bridge."


    The greenskin looked a bit uncomfortable as he tapped his wrist... and a sudden angry voice emerged. "What is it!? You should be having your superior contact me rather than doing this yourself, sub-engineer!"


    "Ahh... sir, the visitor asked me to call you. He doesn''t have one of our comms, and has a request."


    "Oh." A moment of silence on the line. "Jason, can you hear me?"


    Jason glanced at the closest alien. Of course. A tier one or zero captain, talking to a tier two engineer. "Loud and clear, captain. We''re going to be launching the probe shortly; in case it breaks, I''d like to retrieve the remains, so I''ll be launching the probe at a target. It should stop before impact; but if something goes wrong, we can pull it from the debris. Would you might setting a course for a specific rock for me, and taking it slow getting there?"


    "Of course. We''ll set course there now. And just how slow?"


    Jason studied the system map. This place was... on the outer edge of the system. Perhaps six light-hours away. "I''m not sure how fast you can get her up to, but if we stayed the same speed the whole time, no less than a forty-hour trip."


    The silence continued for at least thirty seconds.. before the captain came back on the line. "That works for us. We''d normally get to the closest travel lane and use a quick warp-drive hop for something this far. We couldn''t make it there any faster than, at best, thirty hours without doing so, and that would be a bit dangerous. You may launch when ready; we''ll set our course once you have."


    Jason smiled; and turned to Lert. "There we go. Go ahead and launch for the target; we want it to enter warp, reach the target asteroid, and stop nearby. If it doesn''t run into any problems, we want it to jump back.... here." He taps another spot on the map. "As far from any objects as possible, just a few light-minutes away."


    "Perfect. Exactly what these probes are built for, shouldn''t be a problem."


    The crew used a nearby crane-like piece of equipment that wrapped the test probe in a set of tendrils, and loaded it onto the barrel; the probe wasn''t on the same belt-driven ammo loader as the rest of the missiles. The tube sealed... and after a few seconds, the whole ship shook for a few moments... and a tiny yellow light appeared on the map.


    One moment, it was beside the ship, hurtling away at speed, launched by a magnetic rail. The next... it was gone.


    It vanished... and reappeared on the sensor net out by the rock; though it appeared to, rather than stopping nearby, and returning, actually strike the rock. ~Launch a success. An accidental impact has been faked. It''s going to dig into the rock and use it''s raw material to make components until we arrive. So long as it takes at least forty hours to get there, everything we need to hijack the 8AD will be waiting for us.~


    Jason stared at the display, pretending not to have received that message, to be seeing something the others could not. "Hmm. Looks like the warp drive didn''t cause any problems, but something else did. I''ve already got a second device partially complete. I''ve got good readings up until the moment it hit the asteroid, so I''ll make some adjustments before the second attempt."


    He glanced at Lert, and smiled. "I''d like to investigate the impact site in person once we arrive. Do you have any spare armor onboard that I could get customized to fit? My anatomy is just different enough from a Merrick to make one uncomfortable. And I''d prefer black, over teal, if possible."

 Andromeda - 10 - Covert Manufacturing

    For just a moment, Ascension was... concerned. All the time and effort of making this first copy, including parts from the Milky Way that might never be able to be copied here in Andromeda, and if there were some sort of poor interaction with the ''Warp'' drive as Eyeball insisted on calling it, it would all be gone in an instant. But...


    That poor interaction never materialized. Time and space seemed to twist, the area inside the dimensional space alongside it... and on arrival, Ascension sent the predicted signal... deliberately ejecting and igniting most of the probe''s fuel to simulate an explosion and propel the probe into... a rock.


    The chunk of rock was irregular in shape, and almost immediately the reason Eyeball''s powers guided Ascension here became clear; there was wreckage here. An old mining ship, centuries old at least, embedded in the rock, invisible without an up-close scan; and the sensors of these people had already been established as a joke by milky way standards, what was inside Eyeball''s helmet was likely just as good as the suite of sensors that had once been inside this probe. This FTL drive, and those shields, though? They would actually pose a threat to the tech of the ''Empire'' from back home, and the vast gulf between galaxies was not insurmountable for them; granted, it would take centuries for this scout-ship to reach earth, but both Ascension and Eyeball were ageless; the biggest problem involved in a return home would be boredom. And gathering enough fuel to last hundreds of years.


    The extradimensional pocket opened; metallic tentacles latching onto the wreckage. A brief hiss of escaping gas was evident; the fabricator had been built inside a human-favorable atmosphere on the ''Paradise'' prison station, and a careful release of atmosphere let it reach optimal pressure for harvesting and forging materials.


    Almost immediately, Ascension took one of the corpses; remarkably well-preserved by vacuum; and embedded the first experimental ''Controller'' in the desicated corpse. As the tendrils burrowed through the flesh, the heavily dehydrated, vacuum-burned material largely fell apart; only one arm and the upper half of each leg actually responded to controls, and the tendrils themselves weakly moved the remaining arm without any aid from the dehydrated nervous system and musculature.


    On the other hand... these were powered space-suits. Impressively functional ones, that once powered back on, smoothly responded to what they perceived as commands from living limbs. Of the nine corpses, most of them fell completely apart at the touch of the controllers; but even so, what flesh remained was used to control the suits. The troubling issue arose of just what had killed these people; the suits were intact, he''d had to puncture them to enter, and they had clearly eventually run out of air. But how could they run out of air in such a heavily populated system, with a thousand forms of rescue minutes away?


    They weren''t Marrick, but rather some other, two-eyed, blue-skinned species with rows of bone-like spikes atop their heads; likely some Tier-two or Tier-three servant race. And definitely younger than this local Marrick civilization; no chance of being some ancient, pre-colonization ruin.


    Ascension''s ability to work had just increased dramatically. It had forty hours before Eyeball would arrive, and would no longer simply be producing a handful of combat robots and an alternate control system for the scout ship. This wreckage... provided options.


    Tentacles and corpses began working in unison; first hauling the probe inside the wreckage itself; then starting to feed rocks, spare parts, and anything else into the fabricator; as the fabricator began taking apart the probe around it for raw materials as well; the mass of silicon and copper being reforged, starting to become the control circuits for a steadily expanding mass of machinery; with each new robotic limb or tool immediately being put to use the moment it was finished.


    With each passing hour, the ability to construct expanded; furnaces for smelting raw materials completed, additional limbs for shaping materials constructed; by the seventh hour, the fabricator was massive, taking up most of the cargo hold of the mining ship''s wreckage; and Ascension switched gears; no longer simply expanding the fabricator.


    These Marrick had never been able to build their own artificial intelligence; their own drones and computers were all pale imitations. Time to introduce them to what a truly advanced intelligence was capable of.


    ***


    As the 8AD slowly decelerated, past the halfway point to its destination, Jason loaded the second extradimensional space projectile into the tube. This one was... different. Larger. Had more precisely machined components, and more power supplies... and a series of actuators allowing it to expand the ring.


    As it was loaded into the tube, aimed at the same rock as the previous projectile, Jason glanced at the map of the local system.. and looked around for a moment. "Hey, Lert. I showed up here with a giant chunk of Neutronium. Where did it end up? Did they already get it hauled off to the shipyards?"


    The greenskin blinked, looking at the display; then at Jason. "Oh, that was you? Crazy. Didn''t know it was neutronium, but something the mass of a small planet, but smaller than a gunship, got through the planetary defenses, slammed into the surface... and strained the shields for hours til they popped it into orbit. They''ve got it.... somewhere around here."


    He tapped a spot on the map; where a cluster of warships were gathered in a rough sphere shape. "There. There''s a battlegroup guarding it. If it''s neutronium, I understand... that''s... the most valuable stuff in the universe. Quite a few companies would steal it if they could. Not to mention enemies of the republic."


    Jason looked at the formation, nodding slightly. "Yeah.... And the objective is to get it out of this system, quickly, effectively. Somewhere it can do some good, preferably."


    He tapped on the side of his helmet for a moment. "Call the captain."


    A few seconds later, the pale-skinned figure''s face appeared on his HUD, frowning. "Why is the display blank? Are.. Ahh. Jason Bennet?"


    "The only. I''ve got the next prototype ready. We''re about to launch it; but after seeing the most recent test, I''m reasonably confident in the results. If this goes how I expect, I''d like to keep... slowly, so as not to disturb the production of the third prototype... going to the first one''s crash site, and contact whoever''s in charge of that fleet protecting the neutronium."


    Captain Chikris frowned, glancing down. "He is substantially above my rank. There are seventeen captains in that fleet, and all of them are above my rank, in fact, and he is above them all. I would likely need at least fifty years of service, meritorious service, to reach his rank. He... would ignore my calls."


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "I believe the plan is to use one of these extradimensional spaces we''re testing to package up that neutronium and get it the hell out of here before any threats can show up. If you won''t call him, just give me the right ID so I can. Please. I''ll go ahead and launch the second test now."


    He glanced at Lert; the four-eyed alien nodded, tapping a few buttons. The ship shook for a moment, as the probe left the tube.


    This time... the probe vanished. There was no disruption. It simply... appeared near the target.. turned around... and jumped once again. As far as the display was concerned, the probe simply hopped from place to place, with no intervening time; covering over a light-hour of distance in a moment.


    Jason nodded. As expected. When the probe reappeared, he heard a series of beeps; four. He blinked.


    One beep was, probe failure. New plan needed. Two was probe working as expected; expect to be picking up a case of weapons, controllers, and a few combat bots on arrival. Three was probe working, but didn''t have all the materials it needed, and would only make some minimal level of equipment.


    Four... was that the probe would be producing significantly more than expected.


    "... I''m telling the probe to just keep repeating the jump, in case it''s a fluke. Once we retrieve and test the first probe, we''ll be planning to test it aboard the 8AD; but only after the probe has made at least twenty successful warp jumps."


    Lert smiled, and nodded. "Nice. Good to hear. I''ve got your new armor, by the way. Mostly just a modified version of ours; and I painted it black for you. You sure you don''t want one of our helmets? I can''t integrate our system with your helmet without checking it out personally."


    "No worries. I''ve got what I need to tune the armor to myself... and several hours to do it. I think, at this point, all that''s left is making a call and picking up the goods."


    ***


    In the Republic navy, there were twelve ranks; the bottom three ranks were the best a tier three could hope for; menial positions. Repair. Maintenance. Cleaning. No allowance to carry a sidearm. Limited bridge access. Tier twos could hope to possibly reach rank six; while tier ones and zero could reach all the way to rank eleven. Only a tier zero could reach rank twelve; the absolute commander of all Republic forces.


    The whole bottom half of the scale was for the various crew on a ship, or in a military unit. Rank seven and above were strictly expected to be commanders; from the rank seven commander of a Scoutship, the rank eight captain of an Escort, the rank nine captain of a heavy warship; to the rank ten commander of a fleet, the rank eleven admiral commanding all ships in an entire star system, or an expeditionary fleet of multiple sub-fleets.


    For a rank eleven officer like Drakth, commanding a tiny fleet like this was... pitiful. He should be, at least, leading two fleets of this size; more likely a dozen, or everything in the system. But no. He''d been called in on an emergency basis, as the most trusted, highest-ranked individual around... to guard a chunk of rock until a gate ship could arrive.


    He would spend months here, one of the few non-Marrick tier zeroes in the navy; with a row of three eyes across his skin, dull golden skin, he could almost be mistaken for a founder; aside from the fine fur running across his body thanks to his sub-race, the Soramarrick, generally just called the Soram, having had adjustments to live on a cold world.


    He knew that was why he was here, and not some lower-ranked commander, or even a Marrick. He was too good. Too capable. And he had fur. The very idea of one of the contenders for the top slot, one of the men directing the war against the Swarm, having fur? Even if he was tier zero, even if he was one of the best commanders in the fleet... it simply drew negative attention.


    He glanced around his bridge at the crew; one other Soram, the rest just Marrick; and turned back to his display. The... object... was important, definitely. More neutronium than the Republic normally produced in a decade; possible a century. If he were being diverted from the front to protect something, at least it wasn''t something worthless. But then... it isn''t like it actually mattered. Nobody was close enough to threaten this place. The Swarm would have needed to know about this Neutronium the moment it showed up to get here before that gate-ship... which would be impossible.


    He blinked for a moment as his communicator beeped. Incoming civilian call, non-government, listed as... emergency? From a tier-zero like himself, or it would have been filtered out. Aboard... a scout ship? Why was a tier-zero on a scoutship?


    He considered ignoring it for a moment; but decided to pick up. Hitting the accept key, he was greeted with... an image of a pale-skinned humanoid with three eyes, all solid green in color, in an odd configuration, one above the other two, like a triangle... sitting inside one of the tiny officer''s quarters on a scoutship, with a suit of black light power armor laying on a table in front of him, and a silver helmet at his side.


    He speculated for a moment about why the Shubamarrick would have produced a subrace with their eyes like that. Perhaps the offset eye helped depth perception? Still. Clearly, like Drakth himself, despite the evidence of stubble on his head from recently shaved fur... Drakth used to shave his own fur regularly, he could understand the motivation there... the figure was probably closer to the founders than these Marrick around him.


    He smiled. "I believe I recognize you. You were in the file attached to this rock, and came here with it, yes?"


    The figure nodded. The translator automatically interpreted the gesture; indicating the green-eyed creature was agreeing. ~That would be mostly correct. That roughly spherical object is actually the skull of a... tier-four creature I killed, landing me here, not just a rock. Honestly, it''s only about a twentieth of the creature''s mass; I suspect the rest of it is around here somewhere.~


    Drakth stared at the alien. "A... skull." A living creature made of neutronium? Something like that could live on the surface of a star. Inside a star. The only place inhospitable to such a monster would be a black hole. How could you kill such a thing?


    "That... as hard as it is to believe you, the shape of the... object does seem to line up with that. It seems organic, as if it were a solid object with bits of flesh growing out of it. Still. I''m sure we are both busy men. What brings you to call me?"


    ~Ahh. I''m conducting tests on a technology from back where me and the neutronium came from. Something that would allow a ship the size of a fighter to carry thousands of missiles... or a chunk of neutronium the mass of a small planet. I''m making sure it''s safe to use with warp drives, at present. If it is... we can load the neutronium in one, test it to make sure it''s safe... and then your fleet can carry it directly to the shipyard, here and now. No waiting for the gateship.~


    Drakth slowly nodded in response. Gateships usually formed forward assault points, letting a shipyard connect directly to an enemy empire, and an entire fleet pass the intervening space in moments, rather than weeks; and should the swarm dare to invade Republic space, allow them to reinforce any of the key shipyards just as quickly. They were valuable, and every moment of their time precious.


    Not as precious as this neutronium, granted. This... skull... was enough neutronium to make hundreds of gateships. "Intriguing. Why exactly are you testing it? Is it risky?"


    ~Negative. I''ve been using it without consequence for maybe a decade now, or more. The issue I was concerned with was possible interactions with Warp drives; we use something else where I come from. I''m currently using a series of probes to ensure that won''t matter; so far it tests good. Made two successful jumps so far, and going to test it at least another dozen times before moving a ship with it; right now I''m confident it will be fine, but I want absolute certainty before I actually risk people. If you''d like to be on your way, I can get that thing packaged up neatly enough you can leave tomorrow; at that point I will have done all the testing I need to.~


    Drakth studied the man on the screen for a bit longer. He was doing something to that silver helmet; and to the armor; while he talked. "I''ll consult with the navy on this, but I''m at minimum of equal rank to anyone involved, and I like the idea of getting the hell out of here. Show me your test results tomorrow. If they look good, I''ll go along with this." So long as he didn''t ask the overall Navy commander directly, nobody had the authority to override him on this; if this mad scientist could get him done with this faster, and maybe even provide whatever that tech was to help him make a bigger splash on the front lines...


    Well. His career might be looking up.

 Andromeda - 11 - Piracy and other friendly career choices

    "Alright, gentlemen. I''ll be pulling an EVA to go inspect the probe, and I''ll be attaching some tethers to haul her back. Are you who''s coming along?"


    He glanced at the two green-armored soldiers; one with black trim on his light combat armor, the other in heavier armor with red trim. Notable, while his handgun would kill either of them immediately, it actually mattered where he aimed at the heavy-armored soldier; and beneath the armored shell was an equally durable rough grey hide.


    The black-trimmed soldier stepped up first. "Of course. Marine Chelt at your service. The captain would have just sent me, but as we drew closer, we found the remains of an old Yogg mining ship broken nearby; the two are just meters away even. Records show it was abandoned, the crew left to die a long, long time ago after they crashed their ship, but its always possible they set a trap. Rogue slaves do that sometimes, when they''re running low on atmosphere and don''t have any means of striking back directly."


    "Ahh." Another brushstroke in painting the picture of just how things worked in the Republic. Hopefully he could find some of these ''Swarm'' folk who weren''t as bad. "Why would the ship be left out here for so long? Surely, even if the slaves aren''t valued, the equipment itself would be."


    "Well. The ship was old, unarmed, and broken down. But... it was a mining ship. In theory they were out of fuel, out of explosives, out of air; out of anything useful, really. But it might have been a trick. The Yogg set thousands of them during the war, so if they had enough time after the crash to realize they were doomed... one wreck like this had a life-sensor on it, rigged to set the whole thing off as soon as someone got close. It''s why we bing our friend here." He nodded at he heavily armored soldier.


    The massive armored figure stepped closer. Whatever he was, in the armor he was stronger than Jason. And no slouch when it came to reflexes, either. If he left the man alive after the first blow, and of course didn''t dodge appropriately, his helmet would be crushed like a grape within seconds.


    Jason extended a hand to the creature; which brushed its own fist against his hand for a moment. "Here to go first. If blow up, hit me instead. Not hurt me. Captain want you stay inside until I reach probe. Make sure it safe."


    He blinked. This.... was this an act? He turned to the black-trimmed soldier, who made his own equivalent of a shrug. "Shrem here is a type two, from an extreme-gravity world. Savrick, they''re called. Not too bright, but able to comfortably move around anywhere from half normal gravity to sixty times normal." Jason''s helmet helpfully translated that as a range from 0.35 to over 40Gs. Clearly Shrem''s entire species would be the equivalent of a ''Brick'' sort of metahuman; obnoxiously strong and tough for their size and mass.


    "It''s actually kinda funny; you see how bulky his armor is, right? bet you think the power augmentation is even better than this standard navy gear?"


    Jason glanced it over. "I suppose. It''s a bit primitive in some respects, from what I''ve seen of the armor I''m wearing, but while its probably based on the same system of cables retracting and extending, having more, thicker cables would mean higher maximum capacity."


    Chelt patted the bulky form on the shoulder. "Except when he''s on active deployment, the armor actually fights him. Helps keep him in shape. Normally he''s like... three hundred times as strong as a regular Marrick. That stuff keeps him down to like seven or eight, til he turns it off."


    "...Is it able to actually augment him at all?"


    "Not really. Savrick and Hovarrick are both so strong that none of our augments can keep up. Don''t live so long as a consequence, but the Founders created such a wide, amazing diversity, and they''ve been quite valuable to the republic. You sealed, sir? I know me and Shrem are, but... your helmet''s non-standard.... and we''re in position."


    Jason nodded. "I''m ready. And... here." He extended a pair of softball-sized objects to the marine. "These are magnetic tethers. Whatever you slap them on, they''ll stick to and start pulling it towards the ship, slowly. I''ve got a few dozen. Any wreckage that looks like it might be from the probe, put one on. I''ve got a case full to pass out. I''d planned to do that all myself, but if you''re here..."


    "Of course, sir."


    Eyeball glanced at the ship... as the air hissed out of the room, being pulled into storage containers against the flashing red warning lights of a decompression alarm... before the door slid smoothly open, four triangles sliding into the walls; each with an emergency handle on it, just in case.


    He could see the void of space, the massive space-rock they aimed for; one which had a few visible, tiny, chunks of metal floating around it, and looked as if it had a massive indent; likely the result of ancient mining work.


    Shrem emerged first; leaping out of the airlock and hurtling towards the wreckage like a cannonball; while Chelt came out more slowly; raising a particle rifle to his shoulder and slowly accelerating, keeping pace with Jason like a watchful bodyguard.


    From here, out on the edge of the system, the planets; four enormous gas giants; were just dots in the distance; only the star actually had any meaningful size. And, of course, the 8AD. He turned as he floated backwards, looking over the ship; a long, sleek thing, it looked dangerous, despite the soft teal color the Republic seemed to favor so much. He nodded to himself. If it was going to be his first ship in this new galaxy, it would need a better name. And a better paintjob. He turned back towards the rock, watching Shrem fly off at a rapid pace... when suddenly a line of text appeared over his HUD.


    ~All required equipment manufactured. Nine dead aliens in light non-combat space armor discovered; currently being used as Pale Ones. They will play dead until the enemy draws close, then ambush. I also have six complete Ascension-grade combat robots with improvised railgun-based weapons and controllers. Is the enemy ship prepared?~


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    "Mute. Encrypt, Ascension only. There''s a new prototype dimensional space aboard that is rigged up to disable the ship; currently hooked directly into it''s power grid. I can''t promise it will last more than ten seconds, of course, but I can release a non-damaging pulse that will leave it mostly intact, siphon all of the juice out of the grid to uselessly make the space bigger, or just flat-out destroy the ship. Do not try to ambush the incoming creature in red armor. It''s the equivalent of a class-B tank of a metahuman; Butcher was about this level of toughness when he was maybe thirteen or fourteen. That thing could turn an Abrams into wreckage in about three seconds with whatever sort of ''claws'' that armor has."


    Shrem was slowing down; and stopped next to a chunk of metal that appeared to be a large part of the probe casing. He turned back to the others. ~Arrived at the probe. No response; safe to approach. The wreck in the asteroid appears to be warm. Request permission to inspect.~


    Ascension responded, even as Shrem was talking. ~Understood. I have a complete bridge system from the mining craft ready to go, and don''t need theirs at all; if you can temporarily disable the scoutship, I can take it''s normal control system out of the loop as soon as I achieve contact. I will have basic controls within seconds, and absolute controls within minutes of clearing the ship of enemies.~


    "How long will it take you to reach?" He could hear Chelt and Shrem speaking; and Shrem started to head further into the asteroid, to make contact with the wreckage. If Jason pulled from here... he could take the creature out with his first shot. Best to get this all at once.


    ~Six point eight three seconds.~


    "Disabling the scoutship in three seconds; I''ll be shooting the incoming soldier the moment it''s done. Launch when you see it."


    ~Acknowledged.~


    Jason could see it now. If he initiated the shutdown, and shot the red-trimmed alien... the alien would look around, confused, for just a moment, before the bullet hit. His head would vanish, leaving behind the rest of his armored shell. And.. a strange-looking mass of metal and ore would hurtle past him to slam into the engineering section of the scoutship like a projectile; so fast that it would at least make contact within his foresight.


    He took a deep breath. This was the moment. It wasn''t too late now to stop this, and turn this into a retirement; a luxury retirement the likes of which most could never dream. Money. Fame. Power A host of attractive alien women; likely hailed as the hero who was the tipping point of a galactic war.


    Just leaving the gun in its holster, sending the Republic a corrected, working version of the extradimensional storage device... Or.


    He would end up as a criminal again. Rebel. Pirate. Probably a mass-murderer; not likely he could stop this Republic without killing off most of its navy, somehow. And not just the die-hard space-Nazis like Kisth, but also quite a few of the innocents just being dragged along by the system, like Lert and Charis.


    On the other hand... these were the genetically engineered descendants of a band of horrific, megalomaniacal lunatics who wanted to eradicate all life in the universe that didn''t descend from themselves. And quite possibly they''d end up killing off even that, eventually.


    As Shrem started to move closer to the wreckage, Jason slid the classic 10mm handgun, one fabricated and then enchanted millions of lightyears away, the instrument of death for some of the most dangerous beings on earth... and now in Andromeda as well, as a smooth trigger-pull set off a capacitor that had been used as an improvised propellant; and send the bullet slamming into the back of the alien''s head... and through it, even as he swiveled his aim; centering it on the confused, black-trimmed marine.


    The soldier was gawking at the missing head of his friend, and the sudden emergence of a strange, mechanical blob hurtling out of the wreckage, trailing dozens of metal tentacles like some sort of horrific robotic octopus... when for him, it ended. The second round going through his own head, leaving him tumbling lifeless through the void.


    Behind him, on the ship... it had all gone silent. The probe had overridden the ship''s systems, diverted all power to itself, shutting off shields, lights, comms, even artificial gravity; and then unleashing an EMP spike, disrupting... mostly just the smaller, hand-held devices and control panels. The actual equipment itself, beneath those panels, was still functional; and given time, the crew could override the power draw, or destroy that probe, and get it all working again.


    Time they would never have. As the betentacled mass slammed into the engineering section of the ship, forcing open an airlock door and sending a few chambers contents streaming out into space, Jason turned back towards the scout-ship, aiming his handgun at the bridge... and frowning. This enchanted sidearm could put a hole right through it, but these Marrick wouldn''t die to explosive decompression, and he couldn''t make out the captain''s position.


    He started to accelerate; the thrusters built into the repainted Republic power-armor suit sending him flying towards the fore of the ship; the captain, at least, he wouldn''t feel bad at all about killing. "Helmet. Bring me up a layout of the bridge. Show me precisely where the Captain''s chair is."


    ***


    Inside the 8AD, it was chaos. The lights had gone out. The panels had gone dark. There was shouting. Yelling. As the pilot immediately fell back on emergency procedures; bypassing the touchscreen control panel and pulling out a set of manual controls that connected directly to the ship''s manuvering thrusters; and suddenly, there was a loud pop behind him; the rush of air; and the terrible feeling he hadn''t experienced since the academy, of his eardrums trying to pull themselves from their sockets.


    He grimaced; as he pulled his helmet on, closing his eyes. He would be blind for a few seconds; potentially critical seconds in the event of an accident; or some ancient Yogg booby trap having damaged the ship. The moment a crisis had started, his helmet should have been on. As it stood...


    He blinked a few times, focusing, taking a deep breath of recirculated air; and glanced back at the captain. He stopped, shocked; there was a hole taking up a third of the captain''s torso, leaving his organs and blood flowing out of the bridge alongside the air and random debris; out through a hole almost a meter across to his right. Whatever it was had made a fairly small hole, not much bigger than a finger, in the hull; then blossomed out in devastating fashion through first the captain, then the other side.


    He shook himself. Captain or no; without any surviving Yogg to aim it, if he could move the ship, it should prevent any further attacks from striking home. He pulled the manual levers carefully; the debris left in the cabin pushed down towards the floor as the ship adjusted itself upward, ensuring that any further shots, if they were aimed at the same spot, would miss the ship.


    He glanced at his suit''s readouts. The air filtration system wasn''t powered. Nor were comms. If everyone else were in the same boat, it would make recovering from this disaster a challenge.


    Making a few more, minor course adjustments, he activated the magnets in his boots; those, at least, not requiring power; and turned; setting one hand against the shoulder of the navigator, who, aside from getting his helmet on, had yet to take action, and was just in a panic there, still strapped in. When he touched the man, he could hear his labored breathing; and he spoke. "Nav. Your air filtration is off. We need to get spares, or we''ll start to suffocate. I''ve moved us out of the line of fire of that trap. If you can get the filters, I''ll start putting some rough hull patches in."


    Hopefully, that VIP and his probe were still okay. Even if the captain had died, they''d at least be able to keep their jobs if the mission itself came out okay. This might even be a great chance to prove one''s worth, get promoted.

 Andromeda - 12 - Change of Ownership

    The railguns Ascension had equipped it''s current front-line troops with were primitive by its usual standards. A set of four magnetic rails with the interior exposed to air; or vacuum in this case; a magazine that would need to be manually retracted to fire each projectile; they were the only weapon it was able to make 14 off that could actually penetrate the powered armor of Republic troops with the time and resources at hand. These armor suits might be pathetic compared to a tank, or a vehicle, or anything that any sane government would have invested the time and expense of such armor-plating on, but against simple chemical propellants it was more than adequate.


    When the airlock door was forced open, and the enemy crew were forcibly pulled out by the sudden onrushing gas, they remained surprisingly composed.


    Some of them already had helmets on, and immediately pulled out short-ranged energy weapons; laser-pistols, essentially, that would sweep a target with high-intensity visible light, melting a victim and usually igniting them in atmosphere; or melting holes in space-suits.


    When the shots hit the lightly armored Pale Ones, little happened; despite massive gaping holes appearing in torsos; most of the shots hit center of mass; the walking corpses kept coming; each firing as part of the initial volley... which cleared out everyone who had a helmet on in the engineering compartment. As the Pale Ones moved outward on the deck, followed immediately by the faster, more precise, humanoid machines Ascension was so well-known for back home, it rapidly slew most of its targets with precise railgun rounds through the head or torso. ''First Shift'' as it were, the senior crew, were all on-duty and it would be a few minutes before the sleeping second shift crew were awake, armed, and ready to fight; by which point the ship would be secure.


    When the closet-sized ship''s armory was hacked open by breaking its encryption, the machines encountered a momentary surprise; a Marrick marine was waiting, and fired a short-ranged plasma weapon in an arc even as the door opened; and while he died, the flamethrower-like device burned out three of the Pale Ones at once, and melted many of the exterior sensors and joints on the unit that took the killshot on the marine..


    This discovery wasn''t just an unpleasant surprise as to the capabilities of Republic weapons; but also of the competence of their troops. Ascension completely owned the 8AD''s surveillance systems; this soldier had clearly ensured he didn''t appear on them, as the ship''s systems had assured Ascension this space was empty; just containing superior weapons to the railguns to make sweeping the ship easier.


    Less than one minute after contact, the ship was secured. The surviving nine crew; and a single civilian guest, the former Marrick prisoner known as ''Charis''; were trapped in the quarters section of the ship, locked into their individual or group berths. The only significant exterior damage was to the bridge; and Ascension was actively sweeping the decks for more hiding troops, scanning crawlspaces, crates; making sure that there were no more surprises.


    ***


    As Jason entered the bridge... through a hole he had made in it, apparently, able to see not just the tiny gap from where the bullet had entered, but one he could actually crawl through as an exit.... one of the machines was waiting. Ascension hadn''t bothered with the usual deep red paintjob; but it had still managed to take the time to paint a hammer and sickle on the tall, slender machine; armed with a rifle-like railgun in one arm, and some sort of bulky, rounded handgun in the other that was clearly a scavenged Republic weapon.


    It gave a short nod. ~The ship is secure. I will be patching the holes you made and re-pressurizing soon, as well as moving available raw materials into cargo.~


    Jason settled into place; letting the magnets seal to the floor. "How long exactly til we can re-pressurize and turn the gravity back on? We''ve got a fair amount of leeway before the next stage of the plan, but I don''t want to pull it too close."


    The machine started walking away; and crawling out of the hole in the hull. Jason could see something being attached on the outside, and the light of, most likely, something being welded into place, even as the machine responded. ~While three doors, including the armory door and one airlock, are damaged, the only exterior hull damage is here, in the bridge. I will be restoring internal atmosphere in three minutes, and gravity as soon as I''ve swept the ship completely; five minutes and seven seconds before I have scanned every possible hiding place. In Five minutes and one second I will have prepared the ship completely and we will be ready to be underway. Notably, while removing the captain was tactically sound, it was completely unneeded; these enemies, while competent, did not at all expect ambush of this caliber.~


    He gave a nod. "Not too bad then. Any prisoners, or all dead?"


    The light from outside was gone; and Jason spotted a momentary flicker from the opposite end; the entry point of the bullet. ~Nine prisoners so far. One of the crew was hidden from internal sensors, and I am placing my own sensors as I sweep, as well as ensuring I get eyes on every single possible spot. It is possible, but unlikely, we may have more.~


    "Keep going, then. Once this is all set, we''ll be heading in-system to give a shot at stealing that Neutronium. I''m gonna need you to build me a piloting station before that."


    ~Mostly complete. In the event the bridge was heavily damaged during the takeover, I built a secondary command and control facility while waiting for your arrival. It is currently embedded in the starboard airlock.~


    Jason shook his head, looking at the bloody mess on the bridge; both the Captain he''d removed, and the two crewmen who Ascension had slain, likely seconds later. Even knowing these were a bunch of xenocidal lunatics, it still felt a bit bad to clean them out like this when they''d been so friendly.


    He walked up to the security console, tapping a few buttons, bringing up a display of the survivors. Essentially the second-shift crew; people who ran the ship while the captain was asleep. A pilot, a Tier-one Marrick watch officer who would be in command until the captain was ready to take over again. A few security. Two engineers; one of them, Lert, he recognized. Two... janitors? They actually had space-janitors. Two on second-shift, one on the first, to clean the place; apparently most of the cleaning got done while the captain was asleep.


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    And Charis. A cute, attractive... drug dealer. He''d almost considered her to be an innocent victim in all this, just some victim paraded around in scanty clothes to appease high-class prisoners, before remembering she was in it for selling potentially deadly drugs to lower-tier citizens.


    Their smaller, personal comm-units had been taken out, but now that the extradimensional probe was no longer siphoning off all the ship''s power, the internal ones still worked. If he re-enabled them, they could talk; and he could already give them a message any time. Jason tapped a few buttons, preparing to open up a ship-wide channel.


    The security display showed four images; one of the three security officers and the pilot, in their own small bunk-room; all armed, staring at the door. Their handheld laser weapons weren''t able to melt through the door, but were still dangerous enough.


    The next showed Charis, in her own small private quarters. She was in a skintight vacuum suit, though her room still had atmosphere, curled up in a fetal position with her magnetic boots on the floor.


    The third showed the two ship''s janitors, both huddled together; they wore vacuum suits as well, only in the teal and black of the Republic navy, watching the door. Unarmed as well.


    The final image showed Lert, in a light power-armored suit, in his room with an unconscious, vacuum-suited fellow engineer... currently trying to piece together a device of some sort. Jason chuckled, shutting off the ship-wide channel before it could start, and opening a private one to Lert''s room.


    "Hey, Four-eyes. I can see you. Stop that before I have to stop you. I''m impressed, and you may well make it out of this alive, but not if I have to kill you before you can make a call."


    The green-skinned alien looked up at the security camera, raising a device towards it; not a gun, he lacked one apparently... but stopped. ~...Jason Bennet? You''re the one who took the ship? How did you crack the security system?~


    "Easy enough. This Republic might have some very nice shields, and a few gadgets I''ve never seen or heard of before, but by and large they''re a primitive lot. Especially when it comes to sensors, and computers. I can fake being your Captain for them without much effort, but it''s honestly easier to just make all the passwords and requirements keyed to myself instead."


    Lert lowered the device, staring at the camera for a moment. "...Primitive? But... our computers are Founder technology! Built by the pinnacle of all species, the original creators of us all, with the most advanced technology!"


    Jason looked around the bridge. The Republic released new versions of things sometimes; they weren''t above appropriating alien technology, or adjusting their equipment to ensure they weren''t overwhelmed. But the datastore that scanned him and was faked into believing he was a Tier Zero creature had contained files thousands of years old, that could be used to build almost everything in the ship. It was fairly clear that a reverence for things built by the Founders was holding these people back.


    "The Founders are... a primitive, backwards, superstitious lot of mass-murdering idiots. Just because technology is ancient doesn''t mean its amazing or advanced. In competent species, technology continues to advance over time, especially when you have as much war to learn from as the Republic does. And where the hell are they anyway? Supposedly they''re still around, why are the Marrick the ones running the Republic?"


    Lert looked somewhere between alarmed and confused, and Jason signed. "Forget all that. If you don''t stop building whatever that is; I suspect a communications device, maybe a hacking tool of some sort; I''ll have to kill you. Put it away. I''ve got a bit of a speech for the whole crew."


    Lert slowly lowered the device... and slid open a drawer, placing it inside, leaving his hands conspicuously visible as the drawer sealed itself.


    Jason nodded; and set the panel for a shipyard broadcast. "Hello there, prisoners! My name is Jason Bennet, and I''ve been called many things over the years; Eyeball, Titanslayer, murderer, psychopath... and right now, captain of this ship, with its previous one dead. I can see a good blend of Tier One and Two survivors among you, so lets be clear..."


    He chuckled. "I''m not a Tier Zero. I''m also probably not a Tier Two either, my brain structure doesn''t resemble yours at all; I''m from another galaxy, and fooled the primitive local technology into thinking I was Tier Zero. When I came into this solar system, I brought with me a giant chunk of Neutronium, after a battle with a creature that could have singlehandedly conquered this entire galaxy. I''m going to be grabbing it, and then getting the hell out of here. If any of you lot genuinely believe that these ''Founders'' of yours are the master race, and ''Tier Three'' creatures like me are worthless inferiors, good for nothing but death and slavery.... I''ll leave you behind. Your friends will surely find you soon enough. I plan to head out there and choose one of the many nations you call the ''Swarm'' and help them fight the lunatics running the Republic. Considering I''ve got substantially better technology than they do... I suspect I can make quite a difference. If you''re willing to help with that... you''re free to come along. If not... I''ll be leaving you behind when I exit the system."


    He disabled the channel. The reaction in each of the four rooms was dramatically different, but he was distracted from the view for a few seconds. A Pale One entered the bridge; Jason studied it for a moment; it was a suit of Republic armor, with a hole cleanly through the torso; and a controller embedded directly in the hole. The corpse was moving about, grabbing floating debris, cleaning, preparing for...


    There it was. Gravity turned back on. He sighed, and deactivated the magnets in his boots. His helmet was notifying him that the atmosphere on the bridge was now a comfortable temperature and composition; but he''d leave the helmet on for now. Time to go back to being Eyeball for a while.


    Back on the monitors, Lert looked confused. Uncertain. The security team and second shift pilot had started to work on the bunkroom door, trying to break it open with prybars; one was trying to turn his laser pistol into an improvised explosive. The Janitors were just speaking quietly, trying to decide what to do... and Charis just kept rocking herself back and forth on the floor.


    The door to the bunkroom suddenly jerked open; the laser-pistols apparently had a ''Stun'' setting, conveying a disabling burst of electricity at short range; and the door itself had been hit by it, causing the two men trying to break open the door to fall limp; and two more shots had disabled the others. The clean grey metal machine glanced at the security monitor.


    ~These four don''t seem inclined to accept your offer. What would you like to do with them?~


    Jason sighed. "The Yogg corpses who you turned into pale ones. How did they die?"


    ~Some via suicide. Others via lack of air. One of them, the youngest, died of dehydration, after his companions gave him their own backup air tanks. It seems they voluntarily gave up their air in stages as they hoped for rescue, dying in groups.~


    "... Are the Yogg still out there, fighting the Republic?"


    ~Only in the form of various bands of ''Pirates'' sometimes raiding Republic worlds. All Yogg populations known by the Republic are on worlds owned by other species; mostly, it seems, as enslaved labor by the Republic itself.~


    Jason nodded. Now that was a group he could admire. He should find out who was sheltering these people, wherever they were, and turn those Yogg into a real threat. "Something to keep an eye on. For now... let them die how the Yogg did. Take away any thruster fuel, comms devices, or beacons, and dump them out an airlock. Cripple the suits completely, just in case. If you can, make sure it''s a trajectory that isn''t likely to be spotted."


    He smiled. "Hell. If you''ve enough to spare, put a controller in each of them, and a grenade. If they happen to be lucky enough to be found, they might get to die a bit faster, and take a few more of these monsters with them."

 Andromeda -13 - Neutronium Problems

    As Jason checked out the ship following his announcement... and the spacing of half of the survivors... there were a few key bits of business to handle. Getting the ship prepped for possible battle, and getting a good handle on piloting it. Dealing with the five surviving Republic citizens.


    And during this, he needed to pretend everything was still normal long enough to nab the neutronium; and if he wasn''t able to, get the hell out.


    His instincts were actually warning him away from the attempt; he felt as if he should avoid it altogether. But the idea of actually letting the Republic keep all that Neutronium, and give them a big injection of a needed shipbuilding material... just didn''t work for him, at all.


    He looked at the display; wiping a splotch of blood off of it that created a ring-like disturbance in the holographic image. A clear map of the solar system; four gas giants. The man moons, including inhabited ones. A variety of mining craft, stations... and the fleet. Surrounding that chunk of neutronium like a dragon guarding a hoard.


    He zoomed in on the fleet; over a dozen ships, ranging in size. Larger, heavier warships. Cruisers. Destroyers. Whatever the republic called them, they were a mix of bigger, heavier ships that the ''Pulsewave Cannon'' couldn''t significantly hurt, and smaller ones that it could.


    Thousands of missile launchers, hundreds of particle cannons. He might well be the best pilot earth had produced, thanks to his powers, but could he survive the moment they realized he was stealing the skull?


    He might need to come up with a new plan A. "Ascension. You have any ideas about how to keep the Emperor''s skull out of play? I can pretend to still be helping them out... right up to the point they realize I''m trying to take it. But... even as good as I am, they may be able to just make an overwhelming field of fire."


    ~Interesting. Based on previous observation, if it was a fight you could survive, you would likely already be heading for it at full speed. One moment as I calculate probabilities.~


    He watched as the display flickered and shifted. Showing the fleet moving. The 8AD moving. The skull being taken by a probe; and the enemy firing at both the probe and the 8AD as he attempted to retrieve it and escape. A variety of positions and various angles were shown; the Pulsewave cannon firing with varying levels of success.


    The smaller, lighter ships seemed to be able to match or exceed the 8AD''s speed, but were something the scoutship''s guns could reasonably kill. The only problem being that the ship needed to be within range of them all to retrieve the probe once the neutronium was aboard; or the probe needed to somehow make it out undamaged. These people might sort-of trust Jason right now, but if he tried to snatch it there it would undoubtedly be fired on.


    ~I do not calculate any significant chance of retrieving the neutronium and surviving to escape. If you get close enough to load the probe, they will have sufficient time to, even with perfect dodging, strike the 8AD repeatedly. If not, the probe will be on its own long enough to itself be struck repeatedly; the enemy anti-missile weapons could take out dozens of probes, or hundreds, in moments.~


    He nodded. "Do we have time to adjust it? Make it able to avoid point defense?"


    ~Not in any significant fashion. The enemy heavy warships, five of them, are all equipped with an energy emitter capable of disabling missiles and fighters in a fairly wide area; it cannot be used in conjunction with missile weapons as it does not distinguish between friend and foe. The probe will not escape unless all five of them are disabled. None of them are weak enough to be disabled by the Pulsewave cannon.~


    A long sigh. "Didn''t think so. Alright.... what if..." He looked at the fleet. "We open the portal up wide. Launch the probe at FTL speeds, perfectly aimed... and just nail the skull, trying to catch it at FTL on the other end?"


    An image abruptly appeared; of a red line passing through the formation, striking the skull; and then splattering apart. The skull begins to move in the opposite direction at a significant speed, with the fleet following.


    ~The extradimensional generation equipment would not survive such an impact.~


    "Oh! Wait. The probe can hit hard enough to accelerate something that heavy?"


    ~For just a moment before the probe''s extradimensional space collapsed, the skull''s mass would be effectively close to zero; and the skull would be launched at a high velocity into deep space. Not fast enough to outrun the enemy fleet, or make capturing it with a gateship more than an inconvenience.~


    Jason chuckled. "Sure. Launching it into deep space wouldn''t be an inconvenience. What if we put it somewhere that would be?"


    ***


    When Charis heard the door open, she wasn''t sure what to expect. Would it be the three-eyed monster who had siezed the ship? One of those zombies she''d caught a brief glimpse of; horrific, undead Yogg roaming the ship to take revenge on the Marrick?


    She wasn''t expecting what she saw; a rail-thin humanoid combat drone; exceptionally rare, these things weren''t generally worth building. If you were going to build a combat drone, it was always better to make something that could fly around; though the fact it was using weapons designed for a six-fingered Marrick hand did show some of the positives of such a foolish design.


    The strange yellow emblem on the shoulder though... she''d never seen its like. Who built this? How did the alien get it?


    "Republic citizen Charis. Jason Bennet wishes to speak with you. Come."


    She stared at the machine. It''s cold, precise words. Who was it speaking for? Was Jason the one talking? Some unseen ally from the swarm? "...Fine." She pulled to her feet, drying her eyes.. and stepped out into the hallway. Only to jerk back in horror as the mangled corpse of one of the crew walked by... a strange metal disc visible through the hole in his armor as he carried an armload of teal hull plates, walking down the hallway.


    The machine stopped; and gestured with a laser pistol. Charis grimaced... and stepped out once more. Now that she was in the hallway proper, she could hear the screech and squeal of cutting equipment at work. Something was being done here... the ship being changed. Dismantled.


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    As the machine guided her towards the rear of the ship, she could see more of the.... zombies. Horrors she would never have imagined, both the fresh corpses of the ship''s crew as well as a scattering of ancient, decrepit, Yogg corpses.. all moving at the whims of an unseen master.


    When they reached the cargo bay beneath engineering, she was startled to see...a hole into darkness. The walking corpses were carrying pieces of the ship, debris, anything at hand, including parts that must be incredibly old, and tossing them into what seemed to be a bottomless pit in the bay floor. At the same time, a dozen meters away, she saw a strange metallic crate, at least four meters across, with cables running out of it in every direction... bolted securely to the floor of the bay. The machine guided her to the crate, ignoring the strange, loud, constant mechanical noise coming from the pit... and inside...


    She saw Jason. Wearing his black armor, silver helmet, sitting in one of three chairs inside a small room; an array of monitors, controls, and equipment scattered around.


    He was using a set of controls, and either silent, or speaking to someone else through the helmet, ignoring her for the moment... as the machine stopped, weapon leveled at her chest; clearly ready to kill her at a moment''s notice.


    He stopped after a minute or two of manipulating the controls; she could see outside displays of moving stars and objects. Was he running a simulation, or controlling the ship from here? Whichever he was doing, he turned to her, removing the helmet... revealing that strange, three-eyed face, and the close-cut dark hair.


    "Ahhh, Charis. Welcome to the temporary bridge of the Needle. Just a temporary name. Welcome, Lert." Charis started; she hadn''t even noticed the other machine approaching; or seen the four-eyed, green-skinned alien until the two had reached them.


    "So. I''ve had a chance to talk to both of you a bit. I''m not a casual butcher. I don''t tend to just line up victims and kill them en masse. If I don''t have a use for you, and you aren''t some sort of heartless monster, I''ll be letting you go. So... I''ve got a simple question for the two of you. Both of you have contributed to the deaths of ''lesser'' creatures. Either by your crimes, or by your service in the Republic navy. Do you actually believe in this whole ''Tier'' nonsense? That if you don''t have the right brain structure, you deserve to be enslaved, or killed, or otherwise considered lesser?"


    Lert looked at the armed robot beside him; watching the way the gun trailed him with every movement. "... Lower-tier species live longer. Are smarter. More willing to sacrifice for the good of society, cooperate. Higher-tier ones... are shorter-lived. Less intelligent. More chaotic. More likely to be criminals."


    "So.... which is important? If a species was longer-lived and more cooperative, would it be better than a smarter one? Is an immortal inherently superior to a shorter-lived creature?"


    Lert blinked. "Well. It''s all of them. The Founders were the first race; they perfected themselves, made themselves, wise, immortal, benevolent, then created their children, and left the galaxy behind, tasking their eldest, greatest children with taking care of the youngest, until they were ready to follow. Someday, the Marrick will leave the galaxy to join the Founders, and people like my own will rule, and foster other, lesser races."


    "And the species the Founders didn''t create?"


    Charis smiled. "Well, that''s a bit of a misconception common among the lower races. The Founders created all life in the galaxy; and then seeded the worlds with their children. On some worlds, the animals... the beasts... became too feral and monstrous, and slew the children; animals walking and copying the actions of people. They are monsters, animals, and should be treated as such... but are still the founders creations; simply gone astray."


    Jason slowly shook his head. "The Tier Zeroes know better. The datastores are filtered by tier, and that''s the sort of lie they tell lower-tier people. Everything is censored and tailored to your tier. There was always life in the galaxy. The founders murdered the other sentient species, colonized their worlds, and then abandoned the colonies. When you see a Tier Three race that wiped out the founder''s spawn, and built up to what you call a swarm? They were the struggling victims and survivors of a horrible alien invasion."


    Lert and Charis glanced at each other. "We heard your little speech." Lert piped in. "Maybe you''re from outside the galaxy, and maybe you''ve got some nice toys. But you''re not going to convince us the founders are some sort of monster. They''re the creators of civilization. Wardens of the universe. On those rare moments when the swarm has been able to overcome the Republic''s navy, the Founders even come back and show themselves to save the day. How can you compare our heroic founders to a bunch of bloodthirsty cannibal savages?"


    Jason looked back and forth between the two of them. "How indeed. The savages are so much less barbaric. Ascension, stick them back in their rooms, please. And if you don''t mind, take away anything Lert could use to build a nasty tool with."


    ***


    As the 8AD cruised inward, heading towards the skull and it''s escort fleet, Jason glanced at the communications panel. Ascension was faking the normal communications using the saved archives; but with each passing minute, it was getting harder. The crew was dozens of people, who normally had regular contact with the other naval vessels, or the nearby world; but as capable as Ascension was, mistakes were inevitable.


    It wouldn''t be these mistakes that would start things off, however. An incoming message from ''Administrator Kisth'' came up on the screen;


    ~Jason Bennet. My scientists have discovered problems with the plans you gave us for a dimensional storage space; and in fact tell me that what they witnessed you building on video doesn''t resemble those plans at all; and that you deliberately used camera trickery and artificial limb programming to hide the steps you took to build the device while you were housed on Paradise. I am extending you this momentary benefit of the doubt. Hand over one of the prototypes, a functional one, immediately, and I will not have you hauled into custody.~


    Jason chuckled... and tapped a few keys. "Ascension. Tell the fleet commander that we''re handing over a prototype by order of the Adminsitrator; and that they can collect and keep it and the Neutronium. Then just keep it cruising their way. The moment it''s in position and you''re certain enough it''ll do the job... launch."


    He shifted course. Steering the ship towards the sun. For a few pivotal minutes, the smaller, faster ships of the fleet would be able to catch up to the skull. He needed to make sure that didn''t happen.


    The 8AD might stand no chance against the whole gathered fleet; but against a handful of escorts, with Jason at the helm?


    One moment, the probe was accelerating; heading at a fast, but reasonable pace towards the fleet. The fleet was armed, ready, watching it closely; likely the Administrator had warned them there was something to be concerned about.


    The next... the probe had activated its warp drive. Hurtling forward at hundreds of times the speed of light, it covered the remaining distance in a fraction of a second; and slammed into the skull. For just a moment, the skull vanished; and when it reappeared... it was on a direct course for the sun, launched like a projectile. One of the larger Republic ships was struck by debris from the probe, its shields briefly failing, a few strikes hitting the hull.


    Now, the skull was traveling too fast to be scooped up by another probe, even if Jason had one; but the enemy fleet, if they put enough of those escorts together, could divert it off-path. The enemy commander seemed to do the math himself, swiftly enough; and launched all of the escorts; the six smallest, fastest ships in the fleet; sending them all towards Jason in a wedge formation.


    He glanced at the neutronium for a moment. If they turned on their warp drives, they could reach it, or him, immediately; but there was so much microscopic debris here, this close to the sun, that would be instantly fatal. The 8AD would take a close turn around the sun, a classic slingshot maneuver, only briefly engage the escorts, for thirty seconds, at most... and then be gone. Reaching a safe range to escape into warp before anyone else could; especially since, unlike his pursuers, Jason would know exactly what that safe range was.


    Still. This would be his first time flying the 8AD; and his first time flying a warship into an active battle here in Andromeda. Hopefully he wasn''t underestimating the Republic navy, or this would be a particularly short brawl.

 Andromeda -14 - Closer Encounters of the Hostile kind

    For some reason, hearing the word ''Escort'' from Ascension to describe the ships put him in mind of the Defiant; a ship from the only good series of those ''Star Trek'' shows some of his fellow soldiers had enjoyed. The reality of the six ships moving to intercept the skull was quite different; a heavily armored, fist-like front, studded with weapons and missile bays.. strapped to a lightly armored cylinder-shaped engine structure, with a handful of particle cannons in a neat formation for point defense work.


    These ships were not built to dance, or to have incoming fire from all directions. They were built to chase a fleeing enemy, and obliterate it. A team of these vessels would escort some big heavy battleship and make sure none of its victims were able to escape. Not built for long-range independent travel, in theory they should be able to outrun the 8AD while staying in-system. The specs of one of those ships was in front of him; a nest of particle cannons, heavy ones, pointed forward, mounted in armored sleeves that were built to ensure only a straight down-the-throat shot would take one out; otherwise you''d need to just pound the ship apart, or outmaneuver it and hit it from behind to take out the engines.


    The Pulsewave cannon was, in theory, perfect for this; if the Scoutship were bigger than these escorts. The three larger ships that had Pulsewave cannon could each handle this group just fine; likely starting off with a single volley of said weapon, then swapping to particle cannons and missiles to finish them off.


    Ordinarily, a scoutship like his would be doomed in this situation. Do some random damage to all six ships most likely, but then any one of them would be a match. But... this was no longer an ordinary scoutship... and he was no Republic pilot.


    He could rain down death on these ships from far beyond their theoretical effective range, slamming particle cannon impacts on the spot they''d be eleven seconds in the future; if his guns were strong enough to bring down the shields of one of those monsters, and there were less of them, he could have strung out the fleet and wiped them all out... eventually. Probably.


    Over the past hours, Ascension had taken the Particle cannons from around the ship, designed to scatter fire across an area to improve chances to strike something when aiming at a dodging opponent or a swarm of smaller enemies, and rearranged them into a forward-facing spike; tearing down internal hulls, rebuilding, bracing equipment; and creating an array of 8 barrels which would, if precisely aimed, penetrate the shields, armor, and hull of the enemy Escort-class ships with a single volley. Ideally, meaning he could take one of the six enemies out with each pull of the trigger.


    The ship still looked, mostly, the same from the outside. It would be interesting to see the reactions of the Escorts when they started to fall.


    ***


    Chok''sai hadn''t had much chance for an independent command; and this wouldn''t really qualify as one, in the end. The rogue extragalactic menace had managed to knock the neutronium they were guarding away as if he were playing some sport; which wouldn''t be a big deal except the damned thing was heading straight for the sun, and was so massive it would need either a cruiser or several of his Escorts to stop it.


    If it was allowed by, it would create nasty solar flares that would wreak havoc in the system for months or even years to come, and of course cost them an incredibly valuable pile of raw materials that could make enormous differences in the war effort.


    All he needed to do was to get enough of his ships within range to slow it down before it hit the sun''s corona. It shouldn''t be a challenge; but for some reason, the crazy alien was actually moving to intercept.


    That, in and of itself, wouldn''t be a problem. Every one of his escort-class ships had twice the focused firepower of a scout, and more powerful engines. Without hitting FTL; a suicidal prospect here in the system; the scout was merely guaranteeing that it couldn''t possibly escape.


    There were only two downsides... those damnable Pulsewave Cannons being one of them. He might damage some of the flotilla; clearly the rogue was gambling that he would get an unusually lucky spread with the things... which, while remarkably unlikely, had happened before. A single Battlecruiser, the heaviest craft to carry such a gun, had once nailed seventeen enemy warships of equal weight in a single volley.... before dying to massed enemy fire minutes later. Still. The chance existed, as tiny as it might be.


    And, of course... the Administrators had insisted that, if at all possible, the rogue be taken alive. He wasn''t allowed to just fire missiles until the thing died, no. He had to give it a chance to surrender, then try to take out the engines.


    To minimize the odds of an escape, he had his six ship alter their formation to move in pairs, each a bit further from the scout than the next. Each duo would be more than enough to slay the target; and so long as at least two reached the object, they should at least be able to spin it into a low orbit rather than letting it fall into the sun''s core.


    The enemy ship was, in theory, at the very edge of weapon''s range now; most Republic fleets fired missiles whenever convenient, generally as soon as they were sure the victim couldn''t simply jump away into warp, while particle cannons, traveling at over 90% of lightspeed, could be effective at several lightseconds; functionally several light-minutes against immobile targets before the particles would break down. But, of course... ships simply made small, random maneuvers as they traveled, to make sure that such a strike was impossible. Most likely, the ships would draw closer, and so as not to waste power, start firing at a light-second or two; long odds of a hit, but possible to get some glancing blows that could weaken shields; and the real deadly work would start at less than a light-second, when dodging became less and less effective.


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    He shook his head. If the scoutship kept closing at this rate, it wouldn''t even get into a good position to use that pulsewave. It was... Already firing?


    He tapped the display as it flashed... and then one of the icons suddenly went red. Escort 4 just took critical damage. The enemy had just somehow nailed a full burst, direct to the ship''s reactor, at over three light-seconds away! The core, the tiny speck of neutronium at the heart of every republic vessel, was undoubtedly hurtling through the void even now...


    Tactical options ran through his head. If the enemy could nail one of his ships from that far away, with that kind of precision... He looked up. "Helm. Pull up. Keep our distance; we don''t want to be anywhere near that scoutship. Max acceleration. If he looks like closing within three light-seconds... make an emergency warp jump."


    The entire bridge crew; all good, solid, Marrick navy officers; all looked at him for a moment; before nodding and returning to their work. "Weapons. Dump our missiles. All of them, as quick as you can; force them to waste shots if they come after us."


    He inhaled deeply... and tapped the comms. "Flotilla, this is Chok''Sai. Scatter and return to the fleet. Fire all missiles, avoid getting within three light-seconds. Scattered fire; we''re not trying to kill him, but to make sure he wastes shots on missiles instead of us."


    Even as he spoke, the second member of the pair, Escort #4, flashed; another neat, precise, core shot, right at 2.89 light-seconds range. The only way to hit with precision at that distance wasn''t just to have absolute perfect aim; but to have a traitor on the other side somewhere, making sure that the random-walk movements of the victim synced up exactly how you wanted.


    He stared at the display, as the four surviving ships scattered; using their higher acceleration to stay out of range of the scoutship... but also ensuring that the neutronium would end up buried in the star.


    Would he lose his ship for this? Possibly. Command was usually rational; even losing your ship wasn''t a fatal loss, so long as it wasn''t your fault, you could usually get a new one within a year or two. But this.... that rock falling into the corona was worth more than any dozen fleets worth of ships.


    He glanced at the crew around the ship, as the scoutship shifted its course; clearly just making sure nothing reached that rock on its way into the star. At least he''d saved four ships. For whatever that was worth.


    ***


    "...Huh. Virtually instant response. He didn''t assume it was luck, didn''t try to avoid fire.. these Republic people are distressingly competent for Nazis... should I be worried about the missiles, Ascension?" Jason tilted his course a bit closer towards the sun, increasing speed just a bit further. It was too late now; even if the Escorts turned around right now, that neutronium was destined for a long, hot bath.


    Hundreds of missiles; familiar anti-ship warheads, decoys, a wide variety, very similar to the ones in the launch bay of the 8AD, were heading his way in a scattered, random web; he''d need to move carefully, and fire for several minutes, to clean them all out. Unless he abruptly changed course.


    ~Negative. Numerous small, light, targets like this are perfect for the pulsewave cannon; and few of them will draw close enough to need interception unless you wish to hunt down the escorts. They seem to have been launched specifically to prevent you from pursuing them.~


    Jason nodded... and made a few minor course adjustments. "Well then. Lets get the hell out of dodge. A shame we couldn''t keep the skull, but at least we kept it out of the hands of the Republic." He held his hand over the Warp icon. As soon as it was clear.... there.


    He tapped the button. Far closer to the sun than any Republic ship would''ve dared, the vessel abruptly accelerated; if it had started a moment earlier or later it would have struck debris and been splattered across the system. But now... he glanced at the designated target; one of the closer non-Republic worlds; and slowly shifted course, sweeping around a nearby star. The sort of speed these things were capable of were insane; but even once it was clear of the star system''s outer reaches, it was still a matter of shifting a moment the wrong way and sending the ship splattering across the cosmos. In fact...


    ~For now, at least. The Republic will, inevitably, recover the skull, and utilize its neutronium. I have left a single drone in the outer system that will attempt to take steps to hinder it when it happens, but success is unlikely without outside assistance.~


    Jason blinked... "Fuck...how... okay. We''ll talk about this when I''m not focused on steering." The number of possibilities was insane. He had to keep his hand near the shutoff button as he weaved the ship back, forth, up, down... picking courses that would bring him in the right vague direction without killing them. It was comforting to know that, outside of an established travel lane, nobody else here in Andromeda... that he knew of... could take advantage of a warp drive like this; but still extremely stressful to hurtle through the lightyears on a path akin to walking a tightrope over instant death.


    ***


    "Shut down all ordinance and turn back. There are likely survivors; in fact, with a clean hit like that, I suspect we only lost the engineering teams. Full burn; we don''t want to lose them in the star alongside the neutronium."


    The missiles all went inert at a single electronic command; but most of the crew simply stared at the display, as the escorts slowed, and turned back; the helmsman focusing on getting them close to the now-derelict starships in the inner system.


    Chok''sai compared his own ship''s sensors to the far more detailed reports of the system net. The 8AD had entered warp in the middle of a slingshot around the star, in a space where the odds of surviving doing so were less than one percent. Worse, it had entered at over a thousand times lightspeed; and accelerating as it went.


    They were only seven light-years from the Republic border and active combat zones, and only twenty from relatively secure swarm space the republic couldn''t pursue him effectively through... yet. They would need to limit themselves to a few hundred times light, at most, to be safe. And the cold math meant that either it would take them over a day for each of those light-years... or be at constant risk of losing ships. There were no gates nearby, no cleared travel lanes leading out into Swarm space.


    So... if he were heading into Swarm space, and didn''t go even a little faster than his last recorded speed... he would be out of the republic tomorrow. And in swarm territory the next day.


    As his crew started rescue operations; using their shields to cushion the derelict Escort ship just as they''d planned to do to the neutronium mass; Chok''sai couldn''t help but wonder. Was he headed off to join the Swarm? To turn pirate? He was supposed to be a tier zero, a close, direct descendant of the Founders. Why would he betray them like this? If this alien could do this with a scoutship he''d had barely any time at all to handle, all on his own... what could he do with time, and support from the swarm?

 Andromeda - 15 - Exterminating the Strong

    A millimeter to the left; instant death. A millimeter to the right... catastrophic damage. A few up... just a bit further down the road.


    Sweat was running down Jason''s back when he finally dialed down the speed after hours of constant struggle and adjustments; dropping from thousands of times the speed of light to just a few hundred, back in the ''safe'' range for this part of the galaxy. He had no idea how long he''d been doing it; only that he was exhausted, mentally... though it felt as if his body could keep on going forever, he seemed to have actually gripped the controls hard enough to dent them.


    He leaned back in the chair, sliding the helmet free, realizing just how much sweat had formed inside it, as his stubble was soaked, and it started to drip down his chin onto his armor. He let out a breath, wiping the sweat from his brow, and glancing at Ascension. "Steer us for a while if you could? If I keep doing this too much longer, I might fuck it up."


    The slim dull grey machine gave a nod, and the controls simply... started moving, subtly, on their own. The speed scale, which Eyeball hadn''t been paying attention to, was reading in slowly cycling numbers between the high 200s and the low 300s. He knew it had been over 3000 during part of his own set... but not just how high it had made it. In theory, the fastest ships could go over 10,000 times lightspeed... in safe, pre-cleared areas where constant work ensured lanes of true vacuum. Even the smallest particle striking the ship at those speeds would be instantly fatal.


    Jason shuffled through his belt, opening a pouch, and sliding free a ration bar. "Mm. Do we have any of those Huory sticks? I''m actually liking those." He started taking short bites out of it; he didn''t seem to be all that hungry, at present, but he knew it had been some time since he''d last eaten..


    The machine gestured at the screen. The stars displayed on it were suddenly replaced with an inventory list; including weapons, armor suits, rations, spare parts, corpses, and... the four living prisoners. "We have sufficient frozen Huory sticks to last you a fair time, yes, as well as all of your original ration bars that remained, and the dehydrated powders that provide sufficient minerals to keep you healthy. In theory, we could coast along in deep space for over a year without significant issues. The other crew, we could keep alive for over seven years; your food and theirs is not mutually compatible. Even a little iron in a Marrick dietary supplement would be highly toxic, while you, of course, need it."


    He sighed. "Alright, that''s good. So. You said something about the Republic retrieving the neutronium? From inside a star?"


    Another gesture. A map appeared of a star system... but not one Jason was familiar with. This one contained a single bright blue star; with hundreds of dots surrounding it. "The primary source of Neutronium in the republic is a series of devices which harvest it from extremely high-density stars; Neutron stars. These devices are extremely maintenance and energy intensive, and produce only incredibly tiny amounts; but this is still enough to supply the tiny amount needed for a... warp core."


    The machine turned to Jason. "I must emphasize that I am not referring to a giant glowing blue cylinder of mythical, magical, dilithium crystals, but rather a small, densely packed orb containing a carefully harvested and shaped hollow neutronium bead, enclosing as close to a vacuum as the Republic can manage. This scout-ship''s ''Warp Core'' is the size of your helmet, and embedded inside the reactor to maximize power transmission efficiency. It is the single most durable object on the ship, ejecting it does not act as an explosive device, and would require permanently crippling the ship and causing it massive damage to no outside benefit."


    Jason looked at the machine for a moment, and chuckled softly. "I take it you object to my converting the translation to ''warp drive''?"


    "I do not wish you to draw any inappropriate analogies. Still. Based on their existing method of harvesting neutronium, they can definitely retrieve the skull from the star. It will not be a trivial matter; but well within their technical capability. If they were willing to sacrifice all habitable moons in the system, they could conceivably directly pull some of said neutronium-harvesting equipment here, strip away the star''s corona, and retrieve the skull within the next nine months. Manufacturing spares rather than moving existing equipment would only delay this by another four to five months, while using a safer method, leaving the star mostly intact, would take two years of constantly pushing the skull into higher orbits."


    "...So we need to be ready to take it in nine months. Any other useful information as far as that system goes?"


    A momentary flicker. The image shifted. "I extensively hacked a variety of local systems during our time on Paradise; but remote control of equipment is extremely limited. The powered armor suits, for example, are designed to prevent any outside control; even each limb is dependent on a command from that limb itself. There are no remotely opening airlocks, and each weapon is hard-wired to two control stations inside it''s ship; and capable of being fired, if it does not require power, such as a missile launcher, with an actual physical trigger pull. Republic ships can be blinded and confused via hacking, but not controlled; and are capable of extremely limited functions even with no power whatsoever."


    Jason nodded. "I figured as much from what I saw of the 8AD. These guys must have fought someone who heavily used EMPs in the past, or hacking. Or both. There''s a backup EMP in here so that they can disable an enemy while they''re disabled themselves, right?"


    "Precisely. Inside a faraday cage in the reactor room; it can be withdrawn manually and triggered to disable nearby enemies. Someone who disabled a Republic ship via EMP and attempted to capture it may well find their own vessel disabled in turn."


    "So... what did you get?"


    Ascension focused on the Paradise prison; and zoomed in on the medical bay. "I constructed a drone out of the six prosthetic limbs in the medical bay, and altered records of their inventory. These were designed to be remotely disabled and controlled. Your own artificial limb was from a ground-based hospital; but included lockout mechanisms to restrict it''s grip strength and shut it off. Those in the prison were able to be remotely controlled; though they only had three built-in commands. Go limp, lock wearer to closest grip, and to shock the wearer."


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    An image appeared of a twisted metallic spider-like structure on a central orb-like body; each of its six limbs appearing to be a false six-fingered machine limb. "This drone then joined the next load of trash en route to be melted down and recycled. When we left the system, it was in an orbital junkyard filled with trash and debris... which had not been processed in over a decade."


    An image appeared of... a giant irregular mass of... metal. Glass. Random debris. There even seemed to be a few corpses. "Gravitic emitters are used to redirect trash and debris here, where it is allowed to accumulate for years; then melted down. Useful materials are extracted, and the rest is dumped into the star. The Marrick apparently have one or more such ''space landfills'' in each of their systems. The drone will hijack the smelting and gravity emitting tools, build a fabricator and additional drones; and attempt to spread in the system, if possible. If detected, it will trigger the smelting system, do destroy itself and all evidence; but if not... it may provide useful backup for further incursions."


    Jason whistled softly. "Creepy, but useful. Alright. What''s the situation in the nearest systems? Are we close to the border?"


    A new starmap appeared; a top-down view of a few dozen stars; showing the 8AD in the center as a moving green dot. "We have traveled over five light-years, and are on the Republic''s borders. The two closest systems are both, in theory, contested, Swarm planets under active Purge protocols."


    One of them zoomed in; showing a series of ten worlds around a star; two gas giants, a variety of smaller, rocky worlds; and a dozen Republic starships in orbit of a planet. "This system once belonged to a tier-three species known as the Jernal. Vaguely humanoid, tall, slim, and extremely deadly combatants. Reflexes akin to a low-grade speedster, long, flexible limbs; while relatively primitive, they still caused significant disruption to Republic ground operations. After a few failed ground assaults, the Republic simply started bombarding the world from orbit. For years now, the planet has been bombarded constantly by rocks and debris; it is currently undergoing dramatic tectonic shifts, and a winter that will last for thousands of years to come. While there is likely no surviving life, the Jernal might be a threat if given modern technology; as such, they are ensuring none are allowed to be rescued."


    "...Well, fuck. That''s depressing. Anything we can do to the bombarding ships?"


    "We do not yet have any weapons capable of damaging the cruisers participating in debris redirection, but could take out the lighter vessels in the system."


    Jason nodded. "And the other system?"


    A different starmap popped up; showing a bright yellow star with four worlds orbiting it; and a space-station in orbit of the third. A single larger ship was in orbit, with smaller ones entering and leaving the system, as well as transiting between orbit and the station.


    "A Tier-Four species of six-limbed insectoids whom the Republic simply dubs "Swarm species 10973". They are intelligent, roughly equivalent to industrial-era humans in technology, but with a reproductive system that left them uniquely vulnerable; they enter a helpless chrysalis state during the transition from child to adult, and from adult to... well. Unlike the Jernal, they were a peaceful species; only the third of their three life-stages are capable of significant violence, and this third stage only emerges at specific, pre-determined intervals."


    "...Determined how?" The first image showed a dull brown, ugly, fat slug-like creature with four short, stumpy legs and two equally stump-like arms. The second, a beautiful blue and green gem-like creature, sleek and with dozens of pink wings running down its back. And the third... the same blue and green, but with vicious-looking blades, claws, and a spiked back. "I would think an alien invasion would be enough."


    "It was. Once every few hundred years, a nearby planet draws close enough to cause a significant tidal change. During that time, all wildlife on their world becomes dramatically more aggressive, and some appear that remain dormant until then. All adults, apparently, make the change when this is about to happen; allowing them to defend the young until it''s over. Fast reflexes, exceptional strength, extremely durable, and an internal biochemistry that runs so hot they can spit balls of burning saliva. But.... they burn fast, and die off after less than a year. The arrival of the Marrick triggered this change prematurely with their invasion... and the Marrick withdrew after researching the problem and taking moderate initial casualties. All of the adults of the species converted... and died, trapped on the planet while the Marrick watched from orbit, shooting down anything they built to strike orbit. Now, only the children remain. Slow, simple, not too bright or fast... the Marrick are harvesting them for food whenever they enter a cocoon to become adults. It takes about fifty years for them to fully mature; so at this rate, they''ll be extinct in twenty, leaving the planet free for the Marrick to inhabit, if they want. There are soldiers here, a single heavy cruiser, and a variety of warships... and a business in an orbital facility selling alien meat and clothing made from the silky threads of their cocoons."


    Jason shook his head. "And probably selling them at a premium. After all... this is a once in a lifetime chance. If you don''t buy a nice caterpillar-skin jacket now, there will never be one again. Anything we can do here?"


    "Negative. That cruiser''s ability to reflect damage with its shields is beyond our current weapon''s capabilities."


    "...Huh. They don''t always have shields up, though, do they?"


    Ascension''s machine turned to face Jason again. "True. But they do at any time they detect a threat in the system."


    Jason pulled to his feet, staring at the display. "...How long would it take us to make this ship look enough like a civilian trader to fool their sensors until we docked... and could point a gun at that cruiser from point-blank range? Would it even be possible?"


    Abruptly, an image of the 8AD''s long, sleek form appeared; and diagrams of adjustments, of the front of the ship being dismantled and pulled back, of the ship becoming more box-like. "Only Republic navy vessels are allowed to use the teal paint color. There is a light cargo ship not too dissimilar in mass from a Scoutship. It would take nine hours and twelve minutes to convert it into what seemed to be a damaged but functional Oroth-class light cargo ship. We would need to make it appear as if our cargo bay had been mostly destroyed, or as if we were there to take on cargo; even the lightest cargo vessel outmasses a scout heavily when fully loaded."


    Jason studied the schematics. They looked... a bit absurd. The hull plating, the walls, floor, decks... most of it was removed, leaving the barest skeleton of a ship, with a squared-off frame outside it. The only areas still containing atmosphere would be a tiny crew-quarters section, including his bridge, and a long tube of a docking shaft heading to a forward airlock. "...No gunports. How do we shoot the particle cannons?"


    "The hull would open, allowing it to fire. Note that this design would be very much a ''glass cannon''; while exposed and capable of firing, the ship would be extremely vulnerable. If you did not take out the cruiser in a single shot, you would immediately be slain."


    "Do it. I''m gonna get some sleep. Lets go give these guys a really goddamn bad day."

 Andromeda - 16 - A Wolf in Sheeps clothing

    The 8AD was barely even a ship at this point; and while it was in roughly the right shape, any close examination would reveal that some of that metal wasn''t supposed to be outer hull; but rather the floor or wall of a compartment inside a starship. It had been burned to remove the teal paintjob and reduce it to a dull metal sheen, and the textured pattern to improve grip on a floor lost in the process; but it still looked obviously wrong to Jason, especially the seams where what was once a wall and a floor had been merged together; the wall so much smoother, cleaner, especially since it had never had the teal color of the outside.


    This thing... was a crate holding an engine and guns. There weren''t enough fuel lines to run for each of the thrusters to their new, further-apart positions, so Ascension had made a dozen small, improvised fuel tanks. Jason was beginning to have his doubts about this... but then, his instincts weren''t screaming at him to stop. Was that because this would work... or because he would figure out a way out even if it failed? Impossible to know.


    He stood on the outside of the skeleton that held all the parts that made 8AD a warship, looking at the open, empty space made by turning every single flat surface in the ship into a hull plate.. shaking his head slowly. "Admittedly, this was my idea. But good lord, Ascension. You made this thing live up to its name. What''s the plan after we kill the cruiser?"


    He slowly stepped along the spine, magnetic boots gripping the hull as he headed towards the airlock; which smoothly slid open just as he arrived.


    ~There are seven other warships in-system. Any that are close to the station, or even better, docked to it, can be taken out with an initial missile burst. You will need to deal with the others; the outer hull jettisoned, and engaging in a battle in which should the enemy penetrate the vessel''s shields, you will be destroyed immediately. I have tuned the shields for 73% greater capacity, but for any other pilot it would be an unacceptable risk.~


    He noded as the door slid shut behind him. The bridge was just a few meters away; as were the tiny crew quarters where the undoubtedly confused prisoners remained trapped. "How long will we have before backup arrives?"


    ~Days, minimum. The nearest system with backup is two light-years away. Anything faster than 300 times lightspeed would result in catastrophic results for Republic fleets. They''ll receive the distress call within minutes, but even if they launch immediately, arrive in two to three days. I must warn you; we cannot save this species. When that three days is over, overwhelming force will arrive. At best, we can injure and rob the republic, and perhaps rescue a few individuals.~


    He opened the familiar bridge space, and settled down, strapping in. "Well then. I guess we''ll save a few individuals, and injure and rob the republic. How many pale ones and drones do you have?"


    ~Forty-two total, eight of them full combat drones; they take substantially more time and resources to produce than pale one controllers. One thousand, One hundred and seventy three Controllers, with more being produced constantly. The most recent models are optimized to penetrate and secure their light powered armor units. ~


    "Well then. Step one. Secure the orbitals."


    ***


    As they entered the system, slowly dialing down the warp until space was something approaching normal, they got a better view of Swarm System 10973. Six civilian craft in the system; what looked like a yacht for some wealthy civilian, a single mining tug leaving the station; likely grabbing raw materials from the system itself; and four freighters like the one the 8AD was pretending to be; all, aside from the mining tug, docked at the single station.


    There were also over a dozen military starships; a single heavy cruiser, docked at the station... and fifteen smaller, corvette-sized craft moving over the planet itself; either in-atmosphere, or in a low orbit. Jason studied the display. "This... Interesting. It''s good that the cruiser isn''t moving, but why so much activity from these smaller ones?"


    None of Ascension''s units were actually on the tiny bridge; all of them were still busy at work, converting probes into drop pods or otherwise getting ready for the coming battle. His helmet relayed the response.


    ~Routine sweeps. Most of the population is being held in a series of hive-like structures, sorted by their age, around the central starport; but tiny bands of survivors are hiding in the ruins of their civilization. There are always at least a few of these assault transports moving around, scanning for appropriately sized life-signs. Four of them are currently aboard the cruiser, while the rest are on-duty. It has been months since they last discovered survivors; this is a caretaker operation over an already dying, pacified world~


    Jason nodded; tapping a few buttons. A fake ship ID; just a series of numbers, as, aside from the yacht in the system, named ''Solar bath'', none of the ships here had names; and an intent to purchase swarm-silk and meat.


    The response was a simple acceptance; and a notice of local docking fees; a few credits per hour; and of the current rates of sale, and quantities available. He stared at the numbers for a moment. They were measuring in tons the amount of flesh and silk they had harvested from living, thinking creatures. Down there on the planet below were hundreds of thousands of children, doomed never to become adults; but instead to serve as a temporary exotic food substance.


    "...How many guards are in the facilities down below? And natives?"


    ~Each hive contains over twenty thousand of the Swarm, according to Republic records, and has two hundred and sixteen guards on each shift. The children are docile, and so long as they are caught while still in their chrysalis stage, the adults are harmless. In an emergency, each hive thus has over six hundred guards to call on; and unless the emergency is across multiple hives, they can call on them from all sixty-seven hives. There are thousands of Republic soldiers on the surface. Short of orbital bombardment, any operation there outside of simply acquiring a limited number of locals and amount of resources is impossible with current resources.~


    Jason bit his lip as he stared at the display. The natives had no naval firepower, so of course the Republic pulled away most of it''s fleet to help deal with situations that needed it. He could take advantage of that, once the cruiser was dead... but only a limited advantage.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "...Where are the cocoons of the adults? And... what''s left behind in the others when an emergency is called in one?"


    An image showed a layout of one of the hives; layers of quarters, central feeding chambers, all rising with, at the top, a ''processing'' facility label. ~Once a child enters the chrysalis stage, they are relocated to processing facilities located at the top of each hive, below the landing pads, and sedated to ensure the stage never completes. Their body, as-yet not fully formed, is prevented from reaching this stage as they first strip the protective silk layer, then slaughter and process the body within.~


    He grimaced. "And in emergencies?"


    ~If an emergency is called in one hive, guards are called in from other hives, as many as needed. The hive will have a skeleton crew; several dozen guards; and be locked down, all occupants trapped in whichever chamber they were in when the lockdown started, whether that be for a meal, or sleeping. Even should the doors be opened, and the lockdown lifted, the children are not truly capable of harming a Republic soldier; the only thing they might do is, if driven out in a panic, crush a few of them beneath a mass of their corpses.~


    Jason looked over the system. The hives, the starships, the station. Maybe there was a solution that would let him save more of the locals. If not, he''d need to settle for whatever caused the most damage to the Republic.


    ***


    Captain Choork was known as a cowardly commander by Republic standards. He preferred being behind the front lines, on safe, secure positions; and if they happened to be potentially lucrative, all the better. The 10973 system promised to be both; the remaining survivors were completely harmless, not even a threat to a child, and carefully harvesting them over the coming decades would produce billions of credits of valuable materials; that someone who carefully preserved would be able to save for later and sell at a massive mark-up later.


    As he ran his hands along the arm-rests of the console, he considered the possibility of retiring when his time in this post ended; it would be fairly early, by Republic retirement standards, with still over two hundred years to live by most projections, but by the time he''d burned through his savings living on a resort world, all of the silk he''d been saving from the locals would have increased in value dramatically; and he should have a nice, cozy retirement.


    Another freighter had just arrived, and was in the process of docking; oddly enough, they were parking facing the station, rather than side against it; he looked at it with amusement. The forward airlock on those things was tiny, just meant for people; the two massive cargo bay doors on the sides were normally what got hooked up, to allow full-sized cargo containers to be loaded.. Either their captain was an idiot, or.... he wasn''t here to load cargo.


    He looked at the display for a moment, blinking. The cargo bay door facing his ship was opening. Why would that..


    The cruiser shook. The lights flickered, and his primary display dulled down to minimum brightness as the main lights went off, with a ''Emergency Power'' display in dull orange. The calm on the bridge shattered, the crew immediately started to look through their displays; calls running through the ship. His sensor officer glanced up. "Sir! That last freighter! It''s... Good god!"


    The sensors showed the freighter having opened up like a clam; with a series of weapons mounted on a turret mount moving away from the cruiser... even as the tell-tale flicker pulsed out. "Brace for impact! Who the hell would..." Dozens of beautiful ribbons of white light suddenly sparked free of the exposed weapon pods; and as the barely-visible flicker spread out, they started to connect; to the station itself, to nearby freighters, to the assault shuttles still in orbit.. and to his cruiser.


    The ship shook again; that weapon clearly wasn''t built to hurt cruiser-sized enemies, but at point blank range, with no shields...


    The display suddenly shifted. Something was being launched from the fake freighter; a series of small objects slamming into the cruiser, and into the station. He could feel one striking close; and turned. The airlock! The bridge had an armored airlock, and an escape pod attached... and something had just torn that airlock off, and was even now... "Arm yourselves! all troops, prepare to be boarded! Weapons, if we still have anything that works, fire on that.."


    A strange metal object suddenly scurried into view; a small box running forward on tentacles, it leapt forward; latching onto one of his crew. Blood could be seen dripping down, and the man started screaming in agony; as the captain grabbed his own side-arm, raising the laser-pistol, staring at the man... and firing a quick shot, striking the next one to enter.


    As the crippled machine slowly crawled forward, the captain looked down at it in confusion; then let out his own shriek of pain; as the first man to be struck raised his weapon, and started firing into the captain''s torso. First, it became incredibly difficult to breathe, as if a titanic weight was pressed against him... and as he fell to the ground, the world started to go black... as the damaged machine crawled onto his unconscious form.


    ***


    The red-tinted armor of a Republic heavy assault soldier stood in the hallway outside of the armory, amidst a mass of blood, dismembered limbs, and broken armor and machinery.


    Basim stared at his security team''s corpses in a mix of horror and anger; lifting up and crushing one of the squirming robots that had latched onto his troops, taking control of them and turning them against him. He''d been coming here to grab a few heavy weapons; he didn''t habitually carry an anti-armor weapon while on the ship, as he himself could crush most armored enemies... but when he''d first encountered a slim grey-armored machine that had unerringly struck him dead-center with twelve laser blasts in less than a second, burning through his heavy armor to the flesh beneath; and then melted his helmet off with the thirteenth and fourteenth even as he tore the robot apart...


    He knew this was more serious. One of those robots could kill anyone but a heavy trooper instantly; and even most heavies would have fallen by the third shot to the torso, or the first to the head. Destroying the machines didn''t save his friends; it simply led to them falling unconscious, their armor filling with red-purple blood from obvious massive internal injuries.


    He took a deep breath, and tapped his comms. "This is Trooper Basim. I''ve secured the armory, but am currently alone. If you can get here, get here now; I need every armed soldier I can get."


    He heard a sudden shriek of escaping air; there were no airlocks close to the armory, by design. But... someone had just made a hole with some heavy ordinance straight to vacuum in a connecting hallway. He grimaced, stepping back into the armory; tossing his damaged helmet to the floor and grabbing a replacement, only momentarily revealing the vivid red-orange humanoid face beneath the mask, with its two rows of yellow eyes; there was no time to replace the chest armor. He settled a molecular disrupter rifle in one hand, an anti-armor plasma peeler in the other; and watched the hallway, waiting.


    After a moment, he heard a voice; a clearly organic one, which was followed up by a translation from the helmet systems. "Hello there! Name''s Eyeball. I could just shoot you through the wall and kill you right now; I can see exactly where you are, and even that your currently standing on the left leg of one of your fallen buddies. I''m not normally one to play around, but you seem like a survivor, and I haven''t had a good workout in... well, since I got here. If you put down your guns, I''ll leave mine be, and we can settle this up close and personal."


    Basim blinked. Whatever it was that had made that hole could obviously clear this hallway as well. If whoever this was was dumb enough to come within arm''s reach, who was he to say no? He settled the two guns on either side; in close reach, just in case. "Well enough... Eyeball. I''m Republic Assault Trooper Basim. I haven''t lost a fight since I left home and joined the marines... and I''m not about to now. So come. Show me how a pirate dies."

 Andromeda - 17 - Capacity Testing

    As Eyeball stepped around the corner, he tossed a rifle to the floor. The enemy''s guns were both dangerous; one of them could actually hurt Eyeball, and the other would melt his armor and cause some really nasty skin conditions. The visual of his own armor partially molten to his skin if he let himself be hosed down by that smaller plasma ''peeler'' was something he''d prefer to avoid. The man himself, though...


    Clearly a brick. Absolute beast of a man, who didn''t need his armor to fight off an army. Probably stronger than Butcher had been when Eyeball first met him by quite a bit; this guy could tear through the walls if he needed to. Definitely needed to breathe, though; taking out the helmet would send him scrambling for another.


    For Basim, the appearance was anticlimactic. He''d been expecting some other heavy-armored brute, likely engineered to survive some brutal, incredibly hot world; or just to be a monstrously capable warrior, as it was generally considered more likely. After all; there was little point in settling a 15G world, it would be impossible for a civilization on his homeworld to advance into space without outside assistance; and even back home his people were able to lift vastly more than their own weight, and endure ridiculous amounts of punishment.


    What he got... was a scrawny figure in a shiny silver helmet and light combat armor. Modified, sure, but clearly it had been Republic light armor at some point, just good for small-arms fire. Basim sighed, and started to step forward, giving each six-fingered hand a quick shake before he charged the figure.


    Eyeball watched him approach... and slid his combat knife from its sheath. It looked like a simple KA-BAR; but had a tungsten point and blade fused to an osmium-alloy core. When the brute tried to tackle him... he dropped down, and jammed the blade into the rear leg joint of his heavy armor; skewering it with so much force it severed the ligaments and bone, completely disconnecting his shin from his knee.


    He pulled back to his feet, staring at the man... and sighed. This... was a mistake. As the man struggled to his feet with a groan of pain, he simply stepped forward; and kicked him in the side of the head, hard. The figure collapsed.


    The man was actually just slightly stronger than Eyeball... because he had at least four times Eyeball''s mass. Even if he lost his foresight, the man wouldn''t have been a challenge. He shook his head. Hopefully there were more dangerous people around here somewhere. He let himself indulge in idle speculation for a moment. He could just tear a hole in the wall with his bare hands... or peel the armor off of this nutjob just as easily. This... he needed to re-evaluate his approach to things. Maybe get a sword, like Butcher''s old machete.


    One of the damaged controllers crawled closer. Eyeball glanced down at it.


    ~If you could create an injury near the spine, I can seize control of him. My control cables are unable to penetrate his skin, and he''s strong enough to shatter his armor if I were to control that.~


    Eyeball nodded; and took the knife, pressing it against the upper spine, at the exposed joint between shoulder and helmet; and the controller mounted itself to the figure''s back. "Could you do me a favor and make me a sword. Something with a spike on it good for making a hole one of your controllers can reach through. Ahhh... You have the Lord of the Rings in your collection?"


    ~Affirmative. I stored most earth media for the trip, including a few shows that had not been officially released yet, requested by particular crew.~


    "The bad guys had this sword looked like a giant cleaver in one, with a big spike at the end. Something like that, but osmium, reinforced as you can get it." He started walking through the ship, studying it. The heavy was the only one that had given Ascension''s machines any problem; but he wasn''t unique. Some of the species were effectively low-grade speedsters to the last here, others various levels of inhuman regenerative capacity or durability; and ''the Swarm'' had some races with more exotic abilities like telekinesis or fire-breathing, and even a few that, like humanity, had a variety of random mutations. Heck, the third life-stage of these locals were sort-of fire-breathers, according to the data.


    When he reached the engineering section, he looked at the exposed stars; the hull was open to vacuum on both ends. "Any other orbital threats?"


    ~There are a few other heavies on one of the cargo vessels which has a secondary reactor it could in theory redirect for engine purposes; I could take it out with anti-ship weapons, but with the ship drifting, I''m hesitant to do so. There are six adults, four male, two female, and various children; it seems to be a family-owned vessel.~


    Eyeball stared out into the void. "Children. A family-owned vessel. Any others like that here?"


    His HUD briefly lit up, showing the mentioned craft; first a light cargo freighter not unlike the one the 8AD was pretending to be; modified and reinforced, with notes that it had a secondary power generator inside to keep its gravity at a steady 15G; and that the ship had one gun still aimed at it, in case the power was shifted to engines.


    The second... was a pleasure craft, containing, apparently, a wealthy Tier-0 Marrick, his wife, and children, with various tier-2 and tier-3 crew. "...Huh. Alright. Rules of engagement. Tier zero and one become Pale Ones, aside from the kids. For the rest, combatants get controlled, non-combatants get to be prisoners we''ll leave behind. I''ll talk to the heavies personally."


    He made a few gestures, the HUD shifting until he had an outgoing channel; hailing the freighter. After a moment, a display popped up; showing a tall, lean, definitely female figure with pale grey skin, three eyes, wearing a vacuum suit, standing on the bridge of a starship. A similar figure, only male, walked through the view momentarily. ~We are a peaceful freighter, and have no intention of entering combat. We strictly have personal weapons and armor on-board, and offer our surrender; just leave us be, we were just bringing rations and maintenance supplies to trade for silk and local foodstuffs.~


    Eyeball nodded slightly; before remembering that they couldn''t see him, he was using the helmet to transmit. "Gonna be honest here, until you said that last bit I was planning on just letting you go clean. The natives here are sentient, civilized, intelligent beings, and the products you were here to trade for are the result of some of the most vile, monstrous behavior I''ve ever encountered. Still. Since my companion tells me you have children on board, I''ll show a certain level of mercy. Dump your cargo and vacate the area on maneuvering thrusters. I know you''ve got a secondary reactor; so long as you don''t keep your cargo or power your engines or shields, you''ll be left alive and intact."


    Stolen story; please report.


    The woman glared at the screen angrily. ~We''re just traders! We have no part of whatever the Republic is doing to the animals here.~


    "Obey or be fired upon." Eyeball gestured; and the signal cut. "Lovely. No other likely threats?"


    ~The station itself is secured, though I have discovered several sections that are not subject to outside surveillance, and cannot identify the containing threat level. Expendable Pale Ones are surveying them now. The corvette-class military vessels; assault shuttles primarily; have managed to avoid fire in large part. If you wish to take over targeting briefly, you can likely handle the survivors before your excursion to the planet.~


    A nod; Eyeball stretched out his arms. A Pale One had entered the chamber; a rough patch over the hole in his vacuum-suit where the controller had penetrated his flesh; and was beginning to use a cutting tool to remove wall panels. The battle not even minutes over, and Ascension already starting to disassemble things for when they left. He could see the Marrick''s face; clearly confused, agonized, with no idea what he was doing or why; but then turned back to the void.


    An overlay appeared over the space in front of him; showing the corvettes currently moving in lower orbit, evading fire; a few clearly trying to move to put the planet between them and the newly arrive hostile. Eyeball focused; the planet was less than a light-second away; he was surprised Ascension hadn''t already taken them all out... but then, these were small craft, moving quickly; and it did take half a second for the beam to arrive, so if the ships kept dancing around... they must have unusually good reflexes, the locals didn''t have any AI worth mentioning to do that.


    He picked the ones trying to get around the planet''s curve first; a single abrupt strike nailing each of them, the particle beams hitting them one by one; the others began to move even more frantically, clearly aware of the fate of their comrades, as the count steadily dropped. Eight. Seven. Six. Abruptly, the six survivors stopped moving; he held his hand over the button for a moment. "...They surrendering?"


    ~Affirmative. They are requesting permission to land and disembark crew.~


    Eyeball stared at the display for a moment. "Tell them all to gather.... here." He tapped a spot a few kilometers from one of the hives. "If they leave the vehicles intact, they''ll be allowed to walk away, without weapons. And get ready to fake an emergency at that one; we''ll see if we can get the guards from the other hives to come here. How do they normally move between hives and the starport?"


    ~Each hive has a variety of transport craft for both goods and its security personnel. None capable of reaching orbit, but all capable of atmospheric flight, ranging from a few hundred kilometers per hour to just below eight hundred.~


    He smiled. "And which one has the man in charge of the lot inside it?"


    ~None. He''s at the starport.~


    ***


    Ground Commander Chiils''ath looked at his displays, frowning. Some swarm vessel, masquerading as a Republic transport, had arrived, shot up the fleet, and taken out every single space-capable vessel on the planet; the only survivors had ignored orders and surrendered. The only positive side of all of this was that the enemy had decided to come down and retrieve the spacecraft the crew had left behind; a single Republic military shuttle; modified but mostly standard-issue to those carried by Republic starships; was dropping from orbit, heading for that location.


    If he could get his troops there in time, without the forces in orbit noticing... he could possibly take a few hostages and salvage things. He didn''t need to find a way to take out that ship in orbit; just to survive for a few days until backup arrived. One of those shuttles could only hold a couple dozen standard-sized troops at most if they were packed in like cargo, so if he landed a thousand of his local security to mob them, it wouldn''t matter how heavily armed or armored they were; especially since he had not just a handful of Assault troops in the mix, but even a squad of Jernal slaves in the lab; just they on their own might be enough to make short work of any landing party.


    He tapped his comms. "Administrator. I assume you''re aware of our predicament?"


    After a few moments, the green-robed figure of Administrator Choof appeared on his screen; the familiar face of an ancient Marrick, hundreds of years old, the pale skin stretched so tightly over his skull it looked as if the eyes shouldn''t be able to close, purple blood vessels beginning to show through the thinning membranes. ~I am surprised you would contact me, but of course. We''ve lost orbit, and may very well be killed at any moment. I''ve been moving my technicians into the bunker, though of course we have no way to know how much damage they''re willing to do.~


    "The enemy is deploying a ground team to seize some light spacecraft whose crew surrendered. They were promised to be allowed to leave alive so long as they didn''t damage the ships. I''ve got troops moving in under cover from the nearest hives, and am going to try to take some hostages. We''ll outnumber their ground team at least twenty to one... but there''s no guarantee we''ll get any captives. If, on the other hand, we were to deploy your Jernal..."


    The Administrator nodded at the display, immediately seeing opportunity; a few hostages might not win the day, but stowing a few captured swarmlings in the starport might keep the enemy from blowing it up; letting them keep at least one location safe. ~Of course. Unless the enemy are similarly capable, they should be able to disarm them before they even realize what''s going on. I will issue their command codes to you immediately, on one condition.~


    "What is it? This is an emergency, not a time for trading favors, administrator."


    ~Under no circumstances allow anyone with EMP devices in the area. These creatures are smart enough to recognize them, and would likely utilize them to end their own lives before your troops even knew what was going on.~


    He blinked. "I... thought you had them under control?"


    ~If we hit the button, or the life signs of one of our lab people go red, they are put through a pain greater than anything you could imagine by the implants. If they killed us all and escaped, which they are fully capable of doing, they would die in terrible agony over the course of weeks; that, to them, would feel like years. They know it; we demonstrated it on one of the disobedient ones. We''ve been training them for years with simple stimulus-response conditioning, but they are still intelligent beings who think and react far faster than we can. It even works by having a signal we need to send constantly to stop the implants from activating; the last time a facility tried to do this by having the implants respond when a transmission was received, the test subjects destroyed all the transmitters before they could go off.... and it had to be destroyed from orbit to cleanse the rogue subjects.~


    Chiil''sath stared at his screen for a moment, reconsidering. But... no. They''d been trained for years to obey, and however smart they might be, they were still just animals. Animals that, from their own perspective, had been subject to centuries worth of obedience training. It should be fine. "I''ll have the EMP devices ordered dropped; it''s too late not to pack them, troops are already moving. The enemy is landing within minutes. If we''re going to do this, it needs to be now."


    The administrator laughed. ~Excellent! The first trial under genuine combat conditions! This should prove remarkable. I''ll release four of the subjects as soon as I finish instructing them properly. Send me an image of the landing craft, and they''ll be out momentarily.~

 Andromeda - 18 - Catastrophic Mistakes

    Eyeball focused on the shuttle controls, watching the landing site, as the two drones stood, calmly, braced against the walls; and a group of six Pale Ones braced against the doors; in the unlikely event enemies were able to open fire the moment they landed and opened the hatch without Eyeball spotting it in time, they could take the shots. As the timer dwindled, and he began to be able to make out individual trees, one of the two drones raised a limb. "Hold. Divert landing coordinates. Sending to console."


    Eyeball blinked... glancing at the directions. A small clearing in the forest several kilometers away from where they''d ordered the enemy to land. "...I trust there''s a good reason?" He started to divert course before finishing the question; undoubtedly, the enemy was planning an ambush and the machine had a plan. Though... He frowned. Comm signals were being jammed. By Ascension, not the enemy; his helmet was perfectly clear, but the shuttle comms were broken.


    The six pale ones withdrew from the back hatch; and Ascension withdrew a controller, a familiar small box, silver rather than the usual orange, dangling tiny tentacles that normally burrow into flesh; opening the case, making a few smaller adjustments with tiny, precise fingers. He couldn''t see just what the machine was doing; but as he landed the shuttle, he could see a gaunt, brown-skinned figure; looking to be at least eight feet tall if it were standing; laying prone on the forest floor, just... twitching and shaking, wearing ragged grey clothing; a sort-of t-shirt that dangled down past the thighs.


    The moment he settled down, the machine leapt from the ship, running towards the prone figure; as the other drone turned to Eyeball. "The enemy is utilizing a slave control system to try to force a group of non-Republic warriors to attack us in conjunction with a substantial ground force. These implants automatically disable the slaves if a control signal is not received, to ensure they cannot simply disable the transmitter. I am jamming the signal, disabling the slaves, and am about to disable the implants in the first of them. Apologies for the lack of notice; I discovered the situation less than two minutes ago, and have been programming the controller to perform the needed operation since then."


    He popped his neck, rising to his feet. "That''s... crazy. Their own version of Pale Ones? Absolutely free them. They can go stay on the 8AD while they recover from surgery. Great catch, Ascension."


    The machine had dropped atop the brown figure, placing the controller against it''s flesh... and removed it. For a few seconds the figure lay there, and Eyeball grew concerned that maybe the surgery was a failure; until it rose to it''s feet, looking around the forest... and focusing on the machine. It let out a long string of chitters and screeches; faster than Eyeball''s translator interpreted, with Ascension responding in time. To Eyeball, it sounded like a long garbled mass of nonsense. A translation appeared on his screen as a block of text; but the creature and the controller were gone by the time he had read the first sentence running off at a truly ridiculous speed.


    ~I am free. How. Why? I have been tormented and trained to fight for years now. You do not look like the sky-demons. The sky-demons told me to disarm whoever was in the ship and bring them in or disable them.~*Note: Sky-demons is apparently the Jernal word for Marrick. Replacing in future translations.*


    ~I am Ascension, and myself and my friend are here to kill as many of the Marrick as we can before we leave, after stealing anything of value. They are monsters doing evil on this and many other worlds, and we aim to end them and their masters.~


    ~You have several of the Marrick with you. They do not look well.~


    ~We did to them what they did to you; they have been implanted and are now puppets, forced to fight your former masters.~


    ~Can you help me free the others? Return us home?~


    ~This box will free any of the others you place it against by disabling their implants. I can make more if you damage this one, and we can remove the implants entirely, given time. Your home is lost; the Marrick have destroyed it. None there yet live. They still drop rocks and fire projectiles down onto it''s ruined remains in fear of your people somehow surviving, long after the last one died.~


    ~I will free my companions. There are ones I would like to experience this same slavery I have. I will return.~


    The translation ended there. Eyeball blinked, looking at Ascension. "....Jernal. The speedsters from that world you said they were bombarding, just a couple of light-years away. Just... how fast are they?"


    Ascension raised an empty hand. "Suffiicient for the job; they have a sprint speed in excess of five hundred miles per hour, and reflexes roughly twenty to thirty times as fast as a typical human, twenty-three to thirty-six times as fast as a Marrick.. perhaps three to five times as fast as your own. The Republic ground troops require specialized equipment, typically field generators, to fight individuals like them, creating wide areas of impact that prevent excessive speed; essentially much larger-scale versions of a Shroud grenade. Even with them, battling a creature which can accurately make shots as quickly as any weapon it holds can fire is problematic. Their standard doctrine is to deploy field generators to cover a withdrawal, then bombard the location from orbit."


    Eyeball looked at the footprints of the creature, then out into the forest. "...Wait. What?"


    He ran the numbers through his head; fortunately his helmet displayed the recent conversation. "...Are my reflexes that amped up compared to what they used to be?"


    The machine withdrew a rifle from it''s back. "You had above-average reflexes before. Your mutation augmented them somewhat. I suspect they are not as good as they were on the ''Reflex'' substance, but you now react at least seven times as quickly as a typical human. I recommend we move to the original landing site, and kill any Republic forces we encounter. I am uncertain of what the Jernal will do, but they may assist us. If so, I suspect we will simply be cleaning blood from the craft before taking them back to orbit."


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    ***


    Administrator Choof sat in the main office of the bunker, watching the display nervously. The enemy must have known about his project somehow; all communications had been jammed within seconds of them leaving the gate; his precious experiments were now likely scattered across the forest. He didn''t care about the creatures themselves; they were inferior, tier-three creatures, whose very existence was heretical, good only to be used until they died out.


    But the time invested... such a horrible waste. And if the enemy knew about them, they likely knew even more; there must be some traitor inside the labs passing them information, perhaps others on his staff.


    At least the bunker was safe. Buried under ten meters of rock, the complex was still coming online, the last few lab techs rushing to get inside; but any minute now, security would seal the doors and they''d simply be waiting for backup to arrive and deal with the pirates; they could completely obliterate the starport above and leave him just fine.


    He rested his palms on his desk, toying with the inactive comm panel. How would his test subjects die? Was the enemy going to execute them, put them out of their misery? Or was this going to be a case of a long, lingering death as the implants paralyzed and slowly killed them?


    He frowned as he looked up. There was an abrupt air pressure change in the office. There shouldn''t be.... did they just seal the main door to the bunker?


    The world became pain. His arms, his legs, his entire body felt like a mass of bruises and agony. A few blurred seconds, flashing lights, darkness, the vivid purple of his own blood... and light. He was laying on his back on the forest floor. What? How... He struggled to stand, his limbs feeling as if he''d been thoroughly beaten and tossed about, his head pounding, half of his eyes swollen shut.


    "Wha... where..."


    He saw a brief blur. One of his lab technicians suddenly appeared, slamming into a tree, then falling to the ground, limp. His mind raced. "Wh... No... No!"


    The signals were being jammed. Either the Jernal, or some other, similar race, must be involved; and there were no Republic citizens that fast. The pirates must include them. By the founders, what if these were Jernal pirates? The sort of things a pirate might do after watching his homeworld be pounded into oblivion...


    He looked around the forest; the simple blue-purple leaves and vines offering no apparent hiding place. He could even see the landed assault shuttle of the pirates in a clearing not far away. He couldn''t run, he couldn''t call for help.. there must be a way out of this!


    Another lab tech simply seemed to appear, this time slamming onto Choof himself; the two going down in a tangled pile of limbs as the administrator groaned in pain. He could recognize the techs... these were the ones who helped him train the Jernal. Oh no. These pirates must have spoken to their subjects somehow. Obviously they couldn''t save them, but maybe they were going to let them see the people responsible die before they were put out of their misery?


    As the last of the technicians who had worked in his lab appeared, slamming into another tree, he finally got a good look at his assailants; they were... Jernal. Wearing the same ragged grey clothing the test subjects had worn. He... wasn''t sure, but those scars... that was test subject 7. "Subject seven..How!? This isn''t possible! The signal''s being jammed, you should be paralyzed! Or dead!"


    An awful screeching noise; the native tongue of the Jernal, spoken fast enough that even those Marrick who could understand it would need to slow it down to understand. The creature made no attempt to be understood; it simply waved the handgun it had taken from one of the security guards under his nose; and vanished in a blur of movement./


    He was alive.... why? What did the creatures have planned for him?


    ***


    As Eyeball and Ascension worked their way through the forest, clearing out the surprised, confused Republic soldiers with neat, precise shots; leaving a steadily growing number of republic corpses and Pale Ones behind as they performed a slow circle of the landing site, one of the six enemy craft attempted to take off; only to be shot down immediately from one of the particle cannons in orbit, sending it tumbling through the forest in a hail of rubble and death.


    The soldiers attempted to flee, or to charge at the location of gunshots, or even to the crash site to check for survivors; but their communications had fallen apart, and they were reduced to waving, hand-signals, and prying off helmets to actually speak; none of which fared them well, as the machines seemed to know exactly where the soldiers were, every failed transmission giving away their positions.


    By the time they arrived at the shuttles, however, they weren''t seeing many living troops; just corpses, mostly with broken spines, scattered through the woods; and rarely a soldier with broken arms and legs, lying there helplessly, moaning in pain.


    Eyeball could see the Jernal swoop by now and again; at least four of them by the time they reached the downed craft. None of the surrendering crew were still alive; the Jernal didn''t seem to distinguish between armed and unarmed. He nodded as they reached the first assault shuttle. "...Well. This kind of shit is why the army always hated planning to deal with Speedsters. It was always about dropping hundreds of shroud grenades and just making the whole region unfriendly."


    The drone walking beside Eyeball slowly surveyed the scene. "Most of the bodies and armor suits are too badly broken to make optimal Pale Ones. I will convert those that are still usable and have them lift off to join the salvage effort."


    Eyeball smiled. "Gonna get me guns big enough to take out a cruiser while its shields are still up?"


    "Of course. We may still need to withdraw should the enemy force be large enough in ship count, but by the time we leave, the 8AD will be capable of destroying any single Andromedan vessel we know of with it''s first volley. I would recommend we find somewhere more peaceful to lay low for a time so that I can make best use of the available materials."


    "Understood. We''ll find out where the real pirates around here hang out. Maybe do a bit of recruiting, do some trading, that sort of nonsense. If it''s valuable, grab it, whether we can use it or not." He looked at the shuttles. ".... The Jernal should be able to handle the troops left on the planet. But there''s going to be whole fleets coming, too many for us to deal with. I know we can''t genuinely liberate this planet... but we need to make it as much of a pain as possible for them to retake as possible. Hopefully we can bring down the Republic before they can re-open operations... or just give them bigger things to worry about."


    As steadily growing numbers of Pale Ones; all in various stages of death and dismemberment, only a handful of them still alive and aware of what was going on; entered the clearing, Eyeball watched another set of blurs... the Jernal were actually bringing more of the Marrick here. Interesting. Seemed they would be inclined to help.


    Good thing, too. He had some interesting new grenades of Republic origin that he could use to kill one if he timed it just right, and thankfully with his power he could do exactly that, but without the sort of shroud grenades he used back in the day, it would be far more troublesome than it needed to be.


    He blinked. Looking at the grenades at his belt, then at Ascension. "...You know. Isn''t it a shame that we don''t have any really goddamn big shroud grenades handy. Could you imagine what we could do if we had a planetary-scale shroud grenade? The sort of thing to make things going too fast seriously regret it on a stellar scale?"

 Andromeda - 19 - Purge

    Hate.


    For most of his life, Dobrey the Climber had known nothing but hate. He''d been only a child when he was taken, and had never received his proper adult name; all he had still was a nickname for his habits of play as a toddler. Neither he nor his surviving friends had ever earned an adult name; but he''d known about the war. He''d been born before it started, and if the silver-headed stranger and it''s robot were correct, the war had ended before he did.


    The Sky-Demons had arrived with a massive show of force; hundreds of thousands of soldiers coming down from the sky in advanced armor, with energy weapons that made the best his people had look like toys. They had launched a handful of small spacecraft, but the logistics of supplying a presence in space had proven extremely challenging; getting enough food to keep a crew alive for any lengthy period of time was virtually impossible.


    These sky-demons, though... they had thousands of ships. At first, the Jernal had responded with fear. There had initially been competing calls, to surrender, or to fight to the last. But... these had ended by the first day. The monsters might have been advanced, but they were sluggish. Pathetic. Top Jernal scientists theorized that the only reason they were able to travel about in space without some form of sedation was a sluggish metabolism that allowed them to eat only once every few days without discomfort; and an even more sluggish response time.


    Talking to them was painfully difficult, when the invaders chose to talk. They were slow, taking minutes between words, and drawing them out. Fighting them, on the other hand?


    For the first time since the invention of gunpowder-based weapons, the pike came back into popularity. Soldiers would find joints on the invader''s armor, ram spikes through them, and then move on; leaving the sluggish opponents to collapse in a pile of purple blood and agonized shouts. The initial invasion force had been completely obliterated; and the follow-up force, using some sort of energy field that made the Jernal soldiers almost as slow as the sky-demons, had been crushed as well; as this time, the Jernal had a massive arsenal of enemy weapons.


    And then... the sky began to fall.


    At first, a few rocks, here and there. He could remember his parents moving him from shelter to shelter, as the astronomers kept predicting new impacts; until energy weapon strikes from orbit ended the broadcasts.


    His shelter had been hit. And.... he''d awoken from sedation here. On whatever hell-world this was.


    His implants used some sort of strange electric impulses, beyond Jernal technology, to slow him down. His metabolism became just as sluggish as the demons, and it felt as if he were walking through a mass of gel. Even still, he could have slaughtered them in the lab. But....


    The implants could inflict pain. Terrible, horrible pain. All of the ''Subjects'' were children from his own shelter. His sister had died, screaming in agony. His cousin, the same. They''d left them writhing for days, right there in front of their friends and family, to bring home the point; disobedience brought pain. Attempting to harm the demons brought far, far worse.


    As he''d grown older, and they trained him to fight, began using what were clearly animal-training techniques of punishiment and reward, it was hard to think of anything other than hate for his masters. They punished speaking between them, even in their cells; and never let more than one be in the same cell. The first time he''d touched his brother''s face as an adult was just moments ago.


    He didn''t trust the silver-headed one. Undoubtedly, he was part of yet another species out there conquering others, just like the demons. Dobrey watched the figure and his mechanical companion as they surveyed the shuttle, and looked down at the demon skull in his hand. He''d plucked out each of the tiny black orbs before killing this one, and his arms were dripping with the purple ooze that filled the monster''s bodies.


    Still. The robot had freed him, and given him the tool to free his family. The proper, Jernal thing to do would be to simply assume ownership of the slave after killing it''s masters. Instead, it was enslaving the masters, and freeing the Jernal.


    It spoke to motivations Dobrey could not understand; aside from simply having the masters as enemies, and the Jernal not. He jogged to the robot at a casual pace, leaving the eyeless head to fall to the ground behind him. "Robot. My family has slain the Marrick soldiers we found outside. My friends are inside the....starship launch place... killing those inside as we speak. They have encountered a few that we are unable to kill, and my brother has been hurt in attempting to do so; but otherwise the place is mostly empty. We will continue hunting, and killing, for now, but we will need more food in the near future. They normally keep us partially sedated to reduce how much we eat; we only have a few days worth of food in the lab at the current rate."


    The robot, and the silver-headed man, both tracked his approach, watching him. The silver-head wasn''t nearly as sluggish as a Marrick; but still fairly slow. The robot, on the other hand, was as sluggish and clumsy as a child at moving; still far better than either the silver-head or the Marrick; but spoke and reacted even faster than one of his kin.


    The robot made a gesture; clearly the beginning of a Jernal greeting; even as it spoke. "The rations that you can eat are currently in orbit, being gathered by more of my drones. If you wish to come along, they will be kept there and loaded on our ship. If you wish to remain here, they can be delivered to the starport. You are the only ones here who can consume them, so there is no point in retaining any for ourselves. My companion, Eyeball, will handle the ones you are unable to kill, if you direct him to them. I also have weapons that can allow you to do the job yourself, though they are in orbit."


    Dobrey squinted at the robot. "That seems implausible. These creatures are so durable that a blade directly to the joint at the throat does not slay them. I would welcome the aid, or the weapon, or both. We are not friends, but I owe you for my freedom, and wish to kill Marrick. Are you going to be leaving this place to kill more Marrick?"


    "Eventually. First, we must rebuild our ship, and we will be seeking allies."


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    The Jernal nodded. "When it is time to go kill Marrick, return for us. I cannot read Marrick writing, and their translators do not work for me. I believe this world is not the home of the Marrick?"


    "Negative. A species lives here that the Marrick are systematically murdering to use as food and clothing; keeping their children imprisoned, and when they reach adulthood, harvesting them. They live in a series of hives; massive metal structures they have been held in for many years by the Marrick. I will have the weapon and a translator delivered soon. For now, here is a map of the location of these hives; every Marrick settlement on this world, and the prisons of the natives."


    When Dobrey heard the purpose of the facilities, the fate of the children, he let out a low hissing chitter. "Then it is not just my people they treat this way. Do they treat all people this way?"


    "Affirmative. They are members of a religious cult that claims their founders created all life; and creatures like you and the natives are animals, mistakes, to be cleansed, purged."


    The lean brown-skinned creature nodded. "Then we shall purge them in turn. I will get to work. Bring the weapon here, and the translator. I have work to do."


    ***


    As Eyeball whistled to himself, checking his tenner yet again as he walked up to the front door of the starport, one of Ascension''s drones walked beside him in lockstep. "So you''re saying it''s a good idea, but impractical to execute in the time available."


    "The best option would be to, for example, dismantle a gas giant in such a way as to create a thick dusty region surrounding the system; one which the planets would slowly clear as they circled the star, but which would terribly damage approaching ships which did not slow down dramatically for years to come. As it expanded, it would create a growing region where warp travel was unsafe. This would, however, leave no paths into or out of the system, for friend or foe, without using a vessel such as those the Republic uses to clear out travel lanes."


    "Okay. There''s a gas giant here. Let''s kill it."


    The machine swiveled to face him. "We currently lack that capacity. It would require weeks to develop a weapon capable of doing so. Immobile, uninterrupted weeks without being required to move the manufacturing equipment or use it for anything else."


    Eyeball chuckled, and patted the machine on the shoulder. "Oh ye of little faith. Come on now, I know how to kill anything I look at, didn''t they tell you?"


    "That is not how your abilities work."


    ***


    Dobrey looked at the translator the machine had given him. He had received a message from the silver-headed man. He backed out of the building he had just entered, leaving the corpse of one of the hive guards laying amidst his fellows; who would now panic and scream, likely either running deeper into the building, or running around in fear.


    ~Hello there! I''ve got a bit of a project to help protect this world from the Marrick that I could use your help with. I need as many living Marrick prisoners as you can get; any condition is fine, missing arms and legs is fine, just alive. And these specific devices, the ones the Marrick were using to kill the natives. This is for our mutual objective of screwing with them, and you can watch them die if you''d like. Oh, and since I''ll need to be getting something into space as soon as we''re done, we''ve got the rations that are made for your species being delivered. Whether you bring the things or not, the rations are your, as well as what they call a ''Disrupter Rifle''.~


    He stared at the display, and the listings. He wasn''t completely certain, but it seemed to imply that the silver-headed man was going to be killing the Marrick using the same tools they had used to kill the natives. There couldn''t possibly be a good reason for such nonsense; but the idea of the monsters getting to spend their last hours in fear as they were slaughtered the same way they did others....


    He smiled. The first genuine smile to cross his face for most of his life; it felt strange as it crossed his face. When he casually jogged into the hive, and looked at the guards; a team of nine of them, mostly fleeing, three aiming their rifles at a place Dobrey had been whole seconds ago... he started disarming them... forcibly. Each time he yanked a gun from a limb, he deliberately broke the Marrick''s arms; and selected a pair of their rifles to use to shoot out the legs of the fleeing soldiers; a single laser-rifle shot into the back of each knee.


    Then, of course, each elbow. Within the next two seconds, the entire group was a mass of misery, screaming and struggling... How many could he get? Each of these hives had hundreds of them. This... was going to be hungry work.


    ***


    At first, Ascension had been confused as to what Eyeball was doing, dragging a metal rod through the dirt. Six of the Pale Ones had arrived as he''d requested, each armed with a shovel, and one of the assault shuttles, with a disrupter rifle and the rations for the Jernals, was en route.


    Almost immediately, however, references collided; and an image of the ancient Norse god, Odin, carving a rune into the ground before sacrificing a herd of cattle emerged... and summoning an apocalyptic blizzard that could have been devastating if it hadn''t been brought into being specifically to stop a world-ending heatwave. Even so... it had spawned an enormous hurricane over the already devastated mexico.


    But... this wasn''t the gas giant. Using such a spell here would devastate this already-damaged world, not somewhere else. What exactly was he trying to accomplish?


    Ascension studied the metahuman. He was following a guide from his helmet, not doing this from memory. "If you share the projection, I can assist in forming the rune."


    He glanced back. "Not until I finish drawing it. Then the Pale Ones can make it deeper. We need to melt down the slaughtering tools, pour them into this shape, and then cool the metal with the freshly drawn blood of the Marrick. Ahh... do the Marrick have iron in their blood?"


    "Yes. Their blood includes iron, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen."


    Eyeball continued carving. "Is it funny that, despite never having really done magic with her, this makes me miss Emerald?"


    The machine stepped closer; carefully avoiding the lines he was drawing. "Her father showed you the rune you''re about to form?"


    He stood back, looking it over... and nodded. "Precisely. Go ahead and have the pale ones start carving." He inhaled for a moment. "I''m gonna need some buckets. I''ll use a plasma weapon to melt down the tools, and we want as much of them in the grooves as possible. We won''t get the full effect unless it''s all filled."


    The walking corpses immediately began to dig; moving along the pattern dug into the earth in a precise form. "The helmets of the Republic Heavy-armor units will suffice. I will bring a few over."


    "Good. We''ll need to do it all in short order. Melt and pour, kill and cool with the blood, then get into space. Once this is complete, it''s gonna be a devastating amount of force plugged into a tiny amount of space. Oh. How is the salvage going?"


    Ascension ran a brief comms check of its various units operating on space; and send an image to Eyeball''s HUD; showing the cruiser reduced to a skeleton, while the 8AD seemed closer to it''s original self; more of a wedge than the box it had become, albeit without the teal Republic paintjob. An overlay appeared over it; showing a much larger space, including a series of multiple fabricators; indicating that, much like the Jeanne D''Arc, the vessel now included an entire deck that was extending into the extradimensional space that contained the fabricators.


    "Everything immediately useful will be taken before we need to leave. If your spell does go off as intended, the civilians in orbit will be stranded, unable to escape for an unknown but lengthy amount of time."


    "...It''s honestly extremely difficult to care about that. But if I think of a good way to protect the locals and keep them alive, I''ll consider it. Frankly, if they get stuck in their ships for years on end and resort to cannibalism before they all die off, it''ll be no more than they deserve."

 Andromeda - 20 - Artifice

    None of the Marrick who were being piled up around the ritual were in the best of shape; and when he got a good look at the equipment that the Jernal had brought along, he found it even harder to care. Each of the devices was a simple electric spike; every single one of the locals.. a species considered so inferior they didn''t even have a name in the Republic catalogue, simply because they weren''t humanoid... had been executed with one of the blades in the pile before him.


    It would be placed against the chrysalis the children formed, as they developed into an adult, around the brain area, triggered; and puncture the brain, killing the creature instantly, when it was done properly. They might have been sedated for some time beforehand; not to prevent suffering, but to prevent them from ''hatching'' while they were waiting for the freezers full of silk and meat to be emptied into arriving container ships.


    Eyeball had seen the images, though; quite a few of them had multiple injuries; a single glancing blow done to a torso, or puncturing the silk protective layer without hitting the brain at all. For those who were taken in fresh, it would have meant some unknown time of terrible agony before death.


    Each of these devices had been used to butcher thousands, hundreds of thousands, of sentient creatures. The Jernal watched in confusion as Eyeball arranged them into a neat pile; and a set of Pale Ones; clearly mind-controlled Marrick victims; stepped forward, wearing light powered armor, carrying the far denser, more durable, heavy armor helmets in hand...


    As an anti-armor plasma ''Peeler'' was used on the pile of tools, starting to melt them down, Dobrey was even more shocked. They had expected them to be used to slaughter the Marrick. Seeing them simply destroyed, melted down; the irregular mass of various sorts of metal and internal electronics components forming a multi-layered, yellow-hot soup of molten materials that would be too hot for the unarmored to touch; and scooped up with the helmets as if they were buckets.


    The Pale Ones then walked around the large, intricate symbol, pouring the metal with a strange precision considering the improvised tools being used; hissing and popping as what little moisture remained in the dry dirt sizzled away on contact with the metal, splattering droplets of it on the armored forms.


    There were too many of the tools; too much of the metal. By the time the symbol was fully cast, each intricate part filled with that hot, steaming material, there were still several buckets full remaining in the central pile. The machine turned to Dobrey.


    "I am about to begin bleeding the Marrick and using their blood to cool the metal. There will be quite a bit of splatter at extreme temperatures, and it may cause some deformation if not done properly. If there are any you particularly hate, you may go ahead and kill them yourself; it is their blood we will be using for this purpose, and so long as they die in this immediate vicinity, it will work properly."


    It looked... insane. Like these ridiculously advanced alien creatures were performing the sort of ritual that would be in old storybooks, of ideas long debunked and considered absurd in Jernal society. But... they were killing the Marrick for it, not anyone who mattered, so he would leave them to it. If the aliens wanted to play foolish barbarian and paint their faces in the blood of their enemies, so be it.


    ***


    Ascension was reasonably certain there was at least some magic involved in it''s own creation. Converting a human mind into a digital format, much less enhancing it, was far beyond the science of the soviet era, and the mad genius responsible had likely used a variety of sources for his work; and its drones were more energy-efficient and capable than they should be.


    Was Ascension essentially a conscious enchantment placed on a processor, bound to a computer program? Or perhaps a soul bound to a machine? Or just a copy, minus the memories?


    As it studied the ritual, it considered whether it would be possible to create another duplicate of itself; to use, for example, Ripper or Eyeball to copy and create an entirely separate AI. Or, less likely, one of these local sentients. Would using a ritual like this make it more competent? Or perhaps turn it into a hate-filled monster?


    It speculated as to what would happen when it was complete, as it received updates from its other drones; more of them were being finished now, and it had actually scavenged over one hundred and twelve artificial limbs from various medical bays in passenger vessels, the cruiser, and the starport to create an additional twenty improvised drones; albeit ones not yet capable of significant combat roles. For now, they could assist in construction and scavenging work; and if they needed to be involved in combat before proper drones could be built, Ascension could simply load them into armor suits.


    As it considered the best way to handle the remaining civilians, something happened. A brilliant flash of orange-red light; Ascension focused on Eyeball at the center of the circle.


    At some point, obscured by the lights and strange energy fields this symbol seemed to be generating, he''d... lowered the artificial arm... and submerged it in the leftover mass of semi-molten metal. The metal surrounding him started to contract, lifting up from the dirt; forming what seemed to be an intricated dome of blood-red wires, glowing with a vicious malevolence.


    It contracted; steadily shrinking from a few dozen meters across to become an almost solid sphere surrounding the circle Eyeball had left at the center; and as he lifted the false arm into the air, visibly glowing red-hot... the sphere congealed into what appeared to be a single glowing red orb not much smaller than a softball, covered with rings of intricate runes; which he gently raised up that hand; and allowed it to simply float into position, landing in his grip.


    Strangely, despite being far too dense for the size it already had... it continued to shrink in his grip. After a few more seconds, it was barely perceptible. A tiny bead in the artificial palm.


    Eyeball dropped down to his knees... and seemed lost for a moment, looking through the dirt of the clearing.. and stopped, taking... a bullet that had been laying atop a rock; reorienting it... and placing the tiny orb in its tip.


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    "There we go. Alright. We''ll see what that does when it hits a gas giant. Probably just before we leave; don''t want to trap ourselves in the system."


    ***


    When Eyeball awoke the next morning; or at least as far as the days they had adopted on the 8AD; one of Ascension''s drones was waiting outside the bedroom; watching the hallways. He studied it for a moment as he rose, and started to get cleaned up; starting off, as usual, by shaving; including his head, as, despite not caring that much about looks, wearing a helmet constantly made long hair extremely problematic; before stepping into a shower so that the loose hair would wash off of his body. He felt... incredible.


    The artificial arm looked... different. It was smooth, and a dull red in color; and it felt almost as real as his actual arm now. "So. What sort of picture are we looking at when we leave the system? I know we''ve got another several light-years before we get to the front lines of the war, and then further to reach ''safety''. If this works, and we make the system out of reach for warp travel for a while, what will it look like?"


    The machine continued facing the hallway; but Ascension''s voice filled the room, audible over the running water. "My drone count has increased dramatically; I can comfortably leave a few behind to assist the locals in preparing defenses. Two of the Jernal have requested to join your crew; assuming you accept, that will still leave six behind more than willing to assist in killing Republic forces. The locals have begun to hatch from their chrysalis for the first time in years without molestation; they are intelligent, competent, strong-willed; extremely different from their children, and a group of them wish to meet you. Their name for themselves is a serious of clicking noises that translates as ''Gem of Sapphire'' for the males and ''Gem of Ruby'' for the females, without any name that refers to both as a whole."


    Eyeball sighed; shutting off the hot water. "Well. What do they call the planet?"


    A series of short clicks emerged. "It translates as ''the fourth stage''. Their species typically live for between thirty and three hundred years, depending on coincidence of birth, undergoing three life stages during that process; in the fourth stage, they rejoin the earth; burying themselves and dying."


    "Hmm. Maybe Chrysalids, since they enter a chrysalis and change?"


    "Those are an existing fictional species from earth science-fiction that are hostile and reproduce by implanting their young in victims. I would recommend against that."


    Eyeball blinked as he toweled off. "...Okay then. If the planet is fourth stage, we''ll call them four-stagers. Forstagers. Like calling humans terrans, or earthers."


    Ascension nodded. "I will implement that in the translator for you, and on their end translate it to ''People of the fourth stage''."


    "So... What will we be taking with us when we go?"


    He started carefully sliding on a vacuum suit underlayer he would wear under his armor; the skin-tight garment would be uncomfortable at first, but over time grow less so; after wearing it for a few hours, he would barely notice it. A holo-image appeared, projected in front of the drone; showing a vessel with a box-like front, dotted with four large gun barrels; expanding outward in a long, lean shape; only five or six times as wide at the end as the front.


    "The external structure has been roughly put together, and it will be ready for departure within the next two hours; drones are constantly loading everything that can be fit into the extradimensional space. We currently have all saleable cargo from the ships, all foodstuffs good for anyone but the locals, over one thousand two hundred light Republic powered armor suits, mostly somewhat damaged, twenty of their heavy power armor suits, fifty-three drones of dramatically differing capabilities, and over one thousand Pale Ones; though their corpses are decaying rapidly, faster than human ones. The four main guns are, fired in concert, able to penetrate the shielding of and deal damage to any Republic vessel I have specifications for; which is most of them. With you as a pilot, I would bet on it against any Republic warship, including one of their Battleships; though redundant systems would require two or even three separate strikes."


    Eyeball nodded slowly. "I need a one-shot kill on those. Killing one in a few volleys impressive. But if I want to scare a fleet enough to make an impact..." He started attaching the armor plates to each other, forming the light armor back together. He stopped for a moment. "This.... looks different." He held up a black armored boot. "Are these... jets? They seem a bit big for normal vacuum application."


    "I took the liberty of including a flight system. In four hours, there will be an extradimensional storage space for your armor to provide fuel and ammo storage."


    Eyeball sighed. "I appreciate the thought, but this... feels wrong. Not sure why, but it''ll cause me problems. I''ll work out my own gear once we''re en route, but this will do for now. So. We need to decide what to do with our civilians, and then meet the Forstagers. How many tier zeroes, ones, twos?"


    The hologram shifted; showing the stripped-down remains of the station, and the various starships scattered about; all in various states of disassembly. "All planetbound civilians are deceased at this time unless they have been converted to Pale Ones. In orbit, over seven hundred survivors. Two tier zero, forty-seven tier one, and the remaining six hundred and ninety are tier two. No tier three are present."


    One of the craft was highlighted in gold. "With the exception of the Heavyworlder ship, the rest are operating on emergency power, and will be inert within the next forty-eight hours; some already are. The heavyworlders have repaired their ship; mostly. To avoid drawing attention, they have yet to hook up the engines, and seem to be waiting for us to ignore them."


    Eyeball nodded. "Sort them out. The tier zeroes and tier ones go to the surface. The Jernal can have them. The tier twos can go with the heavies; go ahead and tell them they can hook up the engines so long as they take on refugees. If you think any might actually be down to help the locals... we''ll chat."


    As Eyeball finished getting his armor back together; checking out the different ports for the jets and shaking his head. as he did so, Ascension''s drone gave a small nod.


    "Understood. We will comply. Will this be standard practice going forward?"


    Eyeball shrugged. "Tier ones and zeroes know the whole thing is bullshit. That the Founders didn''t create all life, and that people like the Forstagers didn''t murder some local founder-created life to prosper. Anyone above Tier Two in the Republic that flies a ship or picks up a gun can be assumed worthless. Sort everything out up in orbit. As soon as we let the Forstagers have their word in edgewise... we blow the gas giant, and get the hell out."


    The machine opened the door; revealing the open cargo bay of the assault transport, and a space that had, once, been occupied by several strike teams of Marrick soldiers. As he looked over the bunks, made for a few dozen men to sleep on during transit, it gave him nostalgic feelings for time spent riding navy ships on the long, slow route to bring armored divisions overseas.


    As he settled his helmet into place, double-checking the seals, the drone took up pace with him; following him out into the open... and towards the Hive that his helmet had tagged as a nav-point.


    Ascension stepped ahead, opening one of the numerous side-doors; "What, exactly, will that projectile do to the gas giant while we run away?"


    "...Honestly, not sure. But it felt right to make it that way. So I suspect the Republic won''t like it."

 Andromeda - 21 - Forstagers

    The hives were clearly not meant to be large population centers, or cities. They were slaughterhouses, the places where cattle were raised, herded; and the freshly hatched Forstagers looked distinctly out of place.


    They were immaculate, clean... and looked like living, breathing works of art, different tones of blues and greens and reds, all blending together on a shining fresh quasi-insectoid carapace. As the six-limbed creatures, over a dozen of them in this room that had once stored... members of their species waiting to be slaughtered... cleaned bits of chrysalis off of themselves, quietly speaking to each other in a soft, musical language. Most of them were sitting on crates, their insect-like mouths working to clean themselves and each other. If he hadn''t seen so many crabs of various size over the past years, the enormous bugs might be disturbing.


    Eyeball blinked, stopping as he entered and looked at the ''bugs''. No, these creatures looked nothing like humans. But.. while their children were ugly blobs, these things....


    One of them stepped forward, and gave a brief nod, spreading its limbs wide. "Seer! You have slain the butchers. Are they returning? Will you be our masters now?"


    Eyeball almost lost track of the translation as he caught himself nodding along to the musical intonations of the creature. Was everything they said singing? Would his own voice sound like guttural nonsense to them until the translator got hold of it? Ahh, wait. The helmet would mute him. The only thing they would hear was the translation.


    "No masters; I came to kill the Butchers, and now I will be leaving. They may return; I will slow them as much as I can, and I suspect they will chase me as well. I would recommend you leave these hives and go out from here. Build in the wilderness, stay underground. I''ll leave the buildings here with you, and the Jernal; if you can mount any sort of defense, the Jernal will likely be extremely helpful in that... though they will have food supply problems."


    An eye that looked like a ruby the size of his fist focused on him. "The Butchers did not plan for our species to survive. If they return, there will be more fire from the skies, more mass death. We will be dead. Or food. Will you take us with you?"


    Eyeball grimaced. "Ahh... no. I don''t have room for all of you. I plan on killing more of the Butchers." That was an apt enough term for them. "If I can manage, I want to break them."


    A slow back and forth shift. The jeweled creatures singing back and forth to each other, then turning back to him. "Break them. How? Can you? There are many Butchers, and they are strong."


    He looked at them thoughtfully. "Butchers are strong... for here. The.. Seer... comes from a place where there are bigger, stronger things, and he killed things like that before coming here by accident. To the Seer, the Butchers are.... like ants." He chuckled. Some species of ants would vaguely resemble these creatures, but hopefully the translation would get through. "They are only a threat because there is just one Seer, and many Butchers. The machine will help with that. The machine, like the Seer, is much stronger than a Butcher. It will make many machines. Seer and machine, together? We will crush them, in time."


    The Forstagers went back to their discussion. Each of them had a different, unique tone to add to the harmony; they sounded like a series of flutes and various woodwind instruments trying to piece something together. There was quite a bit of gesturing; at Eyeball, at a Jernal who was sleeping in the corner of the room, and at the Ascension drone standing in the corner.


    The first speaker stepped back over. "We would like to send enough so that some will live, if the Butchers return for our world. How many would you be willing to take? Any children?"


    Eyeball sighed. "Helmet, mute. Ascension, how many would we need to take to ensure a viable population could start up elsewhere?"


    A display popped up on his screen, showing various tiers, and survival probabilities; starting with just a pair, and rising with time. "These creatures are already below the minimum I would recommend for genetic diversity. All but a tiny number of the survivors are from the same genotype. With the exception of a few dozen of the children, any of the Forstagers you were to settle on another world would be suffering from inbreeding-related genetic defects within at best five generations."


    Eyeball turned away from the creatures, nodding to himself as he walked to the nearest wall of the hive. "...That''s... why? Why so little diversity left?"


    "This specific genotype is the only one that the Marrick did not consider to have good taste as children. They decided to allow these to mature before harvest so that they could acquire silk as well. The others mixed in are likely by accident, as they aren''t visibly that distinct until maturity; or possibly simply preserved for later consumption."


    He gently tapped his fingers on the wall, considering that venting by punching a few holes in it might give the creature the wrong impression. "...This isn''t just bullshit, is it? You''re not making the Republic sound worse than they are just to give me someone to be angry at, something to focus on in this new galaxy?"


    The machine stepped closer. "Negative. While I could conceivably deceive you if I believed it was required for your own preservation, the optimal path for that would be to minimize the actions of the Founders, as this conflict is the most likely means for your death in this galaxy, and defusing tensions would increase the probability of your long-term survival."


    A long, low whistle. The insects all perked up; apparently, they could hear it despite the muting effect of the helmet. "Assuming the genetic problem can be sorted eventually, how many would we need to make a small colony; and how many can we take?"


    "The heavily remodeled 8AD is not designed to carry many passengers, but multiple cargo bays can be refitted to carry them, and each could hold up to two hundred twenty of their species, albeit not comfortably. Forstagers produce roughly fifty to sixty eggs at a time. Under normal conditions, the eggs absorb each other, ending with one to three surviving embryos. If the eggs are seperated immediately after fertilization, a colony of a few dozen Forstagers could reach thousands within a single generation; with outside help."


    Eggs that absorb each other? "...Get it ready for two of the cargo holds to hold them. We''ll give them a bit of room to stretch out. They use base six math?"


    "Affirmative."


    He turned back to the creatures. "Choose two hundred and sixteen of your people. Likely mostly children, and adults to care for them. How... capable are you, right now? You''ve only been adults for hours now, you just hatched?"


    The speaker gave a strange gesture, stretching out its limbs. "We are able to work and function the moment we emerge from the chrysalis. We hear and learn while we are children, and in the chrysalis our minds put all of that information together and build our adult selves. Normally, we train our children for years, and then subject them to educational stimuli in the chrysalis. The children who spent all their childhood in the hives..." It looked back at its companions. "Will be quite possibly the worst of our species for a thousand generations unless we do truly miraculous things. I remember a few things from before the Butchers. But half of my life has been imprisoned in dull grey darkness. I know basic math, our songs and language, and the rudiments of hand-to-hand combat; but that is all. Us, the eldest of them, the best off of the survivors..."


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    It looked back at its companions. "We... are functionally so heavily retarded in mental development that we are almost as stupid as the Butchers."


    Eyeball stared at him. Looked at the others. If he stayed here, he could defend this place. He had weapons to kill the heaviest enemies now. Between them, he and Ascension could handle a fleet, an army, so long as they didn''t come too fast. But... it wasn''t the best route to stop them. There were a hundred, or a thousand, or even ten thousand other worlds just as terribly abused. "...Ascension will be leaving some of its drones behind to help, and hopefully we can keep the Republic at bay for a while. Do your best.


    He glanced at the drone. "Get them loaded up. I want to hit that gas giant and get things started as soon as possible. I''m not a hundred percent about what it will do... but I know that sooner is better."


    ***


    The assault shuttle ride into space felt... a bit strange. Two coffins containing sedated Jernal, and a few weeks worth of their food were the most prominent fixtures; but aside from them, and a trio of extremely strange-looking drones that were essentially crates with a mass of what were obviously prosthetic arms and legs bolted on, the crate was filled with racks of guns, power armor, and the personal belongings of thousands of Marrick soldiers, each in its own neat crate.


    Apparently, the Marrick had their own version of a ''footlocker''; each soldier had a slightly rounded cube of a crate of personal belongings; and Ascension had simply loaded the lot of them onto the shuttles, the strange drones sorting through them even as they were loaded; and now even as they were being taken to the ship. Apparently, two of the smaller space-capable craft were being loaded onto the 8AD; while the rest were being either scrapped or left behind for use by the Forstagers and Jernal.


    A fancy, custom handgun that seemed to have someone''s name carved into it. A picture of a loved one on another world; a cute Marrick girl in a scandalous outfit akin to what Charis had been wearing when he''d met her in Paradise. A few treats; a couple of them had bags of dried Huory sticks. Clothes. Credits; apparently mostly in the form of flat disks that were typically carried in wallets or pouches.


    Each of the hundreds of crates inside the ship represented another soldier who had died. Some to himself and Ascension, some to the Jernal. A rare handful were still alive, Pale Ones, still moving in torment at the wires of a controller.


    He sighed as he settled in behind the co-pilot''s seat. So many things in common; so many differences. Is the Republic what humanity might have become if someone like Hitler had led them into the stars? As the craft smoothly slid into place beside the 8AD, he looked it over thoughtfully. This... looked like it was actually a designed starship. A bit boxy, at the front, and the rear, growing thicker in obvious stages from the narrow front to the wide engine bays; but...


    He studied the design. Right now, hull plates were still being welded into place, and the inside was a work in progress. She wasn''t even a tiny bit as durable as the Jeanne had been; in fact, right now a good solid kick would make it fall apart. But by the time they reached the next system, he had every confidence Ascension would make it a real ship.


    As the lower cargo bay opened; a pair of Pale Ones actually physically sliding the panel into place as the assault shuttle floated in, and clamped to the floor with a dull thunk; he could even see tiny gaps here and there where the darkness of space was visible through gaps in the hull.


    He shook his head, chuckling. "Ascension, what''s our ETA on being spaceworthy?"


    ~1.7 hours til we arrive at the gas giant; at which point, we will be ready for warp. Another two hours before I would consider the ship combat ready, and another six before it would be ''comfortable'' for its organic crew. When you are consuming breakfast tomorrow it will be in a dining chamber for the combined crew which will have been assembled two hours beforehand.~


    He nodded. "Alright. Can you move a flight control pad to one of the airlocks temporarily? We''ll figure out something better long-term later... but I want to be able to fly the ship the moment I pull the trigger."


    ***


    The Forstagers had called this world the ''Foreshadowing of Doom''; it''s four moons usually combined to form an arrow when visible from the planet''s surface, and on the closest part of it''s 300-year orbit, it was so close to Forstage that it actually disrupted the planet''s tides and gravitational pull, causing incredible upheaval. They knew that the apocalyptic events that heralded their own advancement to their greatest, most powerful stage; and shortest lived one; was caused by this world.


    That cycle had shaped them; creating the strange life-cycle of most of the larger life-forms on their world, and the structure of their cities. It had driven them into the skies; and when the Republic had arrived, the evolutions it had driven had doomed the Forstagers to an early grave; after having briefly but with great ferocity repelled the invaders.


    And now... it would, hopefully, be their salvation.


    Eyeball watched the trajectory of the 8AD as it slowly shifted; Ascension had easily placed a set of controls on the wall, simply feeding the display into his HUD; and he carefully arranged the ship to be just so; between the gas giant and the now-distant planet. "...Are we ready to go, Ascension?"


    ~Everyone is strapped down. All welding has stopped. If there are significant maneuvers we are as prepared as possible.~


    He took a deep breath, raising the handgun, focusing it on the planet. He focused on his lessons, wishing he''d spent more time on them. Magic was formed by life energy, by powerful emotions. It had a personality to it, a shape. It worked best when you used a variety of forms, combining them together. Channeling your own intense emotions into a focus of some sort, and feeding a sacrifice of life energy into it.


    Everything he''d learned had taught him that the Titanslayer handgun should be an especially effective focus; and that the blend of emotions and life-energy that had embedded themselves in this bullet should serve as an excellent power source. All he had to do now was will it... and to pull the trigger.


    He wished one of the Jernal, or the Forstagers, had the same sort of life energy he did. If they had a fraction of his power, the emotions, the will they would bring to this, would make it even stronger. So. He just needed to think about something to trigger a strong emotion.


    What was it he felt the most? Hate for the Republic? Pity for the fate of its victims?


    He gave a long sigh. No. What he felt the most strongly was... something he''d avoided even thinking about since he had arrived in Andromeda. Something that he had been afraid, at some level, that if he let himself even think about it, it would drag him down. Possibly put an end to this mission he''d decided to put himself on. Sorrow. Loneliness. He''d left behind everyone he''d ever loved on some crazy quest to kill a monster. Made an endless chain of mistakes, and done so many horrible things, in the name of... quests he''d given himself.


    To be a hero. To slay the monster. To destroy the republic. Was he always going to have to give himself another quest, another mission, something to focus on not to think about the fact that his choices would leave him alone until he died; and that that might very well be an event that never happened?


    He could feel tears running down the inside of his helmet; something so rare that he''d never planned for it, never built the device with them in mind... as he pulled the trigger, focusing everything he could manage into that moment.


    The entire ship shook with the force of him being pushed back against the wall. Without his foresight, he would have kept his grip on the joystick Ascension had provided, and snapped it right off.


    With it... he could see.... A wall of death was about to start racing for them. He had just shy of eleven seconds to get the ship moving; firing the thrusters at maximum, hurtling away from the planet that would turn into the harbinger of his doom any moment now; keeping an eye on the future, looking for the first moment he could flick that warp drive on; if it took too long, they''d be screwed. Hopefully his powers hadn''t played him wrong this time.

 Andromeda - 22 - Departure

    In the twenty-three seconds between the projectile impacting the gas giant and the 8AD managing to make a brief jump into warp to outpace the oncoming doom, a tiny, insignificant chunk of metal would fly into the atmosphere of the gas giant. Calling it an impact would be absurd; it was so tiny as to be a single molecule of water against a windshield; not even a droplet.


    The moment it struck, however, it suddenly expanded. A strange, intricate shape of glowing red symbols that seemed to expand as it kept flying deeper into the gas giant, soon vanishing. As it disappeared, the gas giant seemed to start to boil; bubbles and storms forming.. and then suddenly... it seemed to pop. One moment, a supremely dense mass of hydrogen and helium, squeezed in by the intense gravity; that just seemed to... let go.


    The intense pressure, suddenly released by the tyranny of gravity, burst outward; a wave of gas that spread in every direction like a wave; almost like a miniature supernova. From the rear-facing sensors of the 8AD, it looked as if the planet suddenly started to swell in size, impossibly fast; only to vanish after that first few seconds in warp.


    As the ship started to fly into the void, the system dwindling behind them, the impact soon became visible on Forstage; though neither the native Forstagers nor Jernal were paying attention, leaving only Ascension to watch the rapidly expanding ball of gas; one that became less of a hazard with each passing moment. By the time it reached the planet''s atmosphere, it just formed a beautiful lightshow; a single dense gas giant changed into an enormous nebula of relatively thin gas, expanding to surround the system like a dim grey halo.


    ***


    While the airlock slid shut, Eyeball focused on the screen; slowly dialing up the warp factor as the area became clearer. Their next destination was over ten light-years away, outside of Republic-controlled space; a place that, in theory, the Republic wouldn''t be invading for at least a few more decades. Ascension had indicated a reasonable chance that the particular spot was a hub of anti-Republic activity; the Republic navy believed ''Pirates'' operated from there, attempting to slow down the Republic advance by harassing Republic civilian and military vessels; and being paid by the locals to do it.


    While most Republic information seemed to be a blend of quasi-religious indoctrination and complete nonsense, at the very least it should serve as a good stopping point before continuing further anti-Republic activity; and hopefully a place to buy some Jernal-compatible food. Or even a map of outside of the Republic, to find a place to drop off the Forstagers.


    According to the Republic, it was ''Pirate Hub 73'', and the locals were a Tier 2 species of semi-aquatic humanoids that were less than fond of them. It would be nice to see.


    As he slowly adjusted the dial up and down; the warp factor climbing up past 1000x once more, he would become focused on the job. Watching his HUD, the damage readouts, the number, the angles; at factor 1000, each hour was almost forty light-days. If he could get to 10,000 without killing them, each hour would be closer to four hundred. The display was incredibly helpful; not just showing that the ship would be damaged, but where it would be damaged. A potentially fatal cloud of dust the size of a planet could be avoided with a twitch of the wrist. The remnants of a centuries-old ambush just as easily.


    Eventually, the airlock would slide open; and one of Ascension''s drones entered, before sliding it shut; standing against the wall like a statue; undoubtedly as a bodyguard, considering the two Jernal and dozens of Forstagers now aboard. And of course, their two previous prisoners. "When you are ready, I have begun to fill the ship with atmosphere. You have new private quarters, and the bridge has been assembled as well. I would recommend eating, and then getting some rest; I can continue our advance at a more reasonable pace while you sleep, and we can resume this accelerated rate in the morning."


    He glanced over at Ascension... then back at the controls. Whichever direction he looked, the HUD still showed his damage warnings. "Put the display on the wall, and bring some food, please. I''ll go ahead and eat while I fly us for a while... don''t need both hands for either. I can rest once we''ve got a few light-years behind us."


    A few moments later, a holographic projection appeared in the airlock, emanating from the machine; and it extended both arms; one holding a ration bar, the other a small pouch of Huory sticks. Eyeball chuckled at the machine''s preparedness; and dialed the speed down into the high hundreds before sliding his helmet off; and continuing to fly as he casually ate, keeping an eye on the display for possible damage.


    ***


    When her quarters finally opened, Charis stared out at the hallway in confusion. She''d be trapped in that tiny space for days, but... she''d been on a scoutship. Had she been released? The hallway smelled faintly of chemical burns, and as she looked at the other doors nearby, the green-skinned engineer, Lert, had stepped out as well. Two of the tall thin metal drones were standing there, watching them, each armed and completely immobile; aside from tracking them with a camera.


    Lert blinked, sniffing... and looked around at the hallway. "This... was recently welded." He dropped down, sliding a finger across the floor. "This was an interior hallway of some other ship. Welded in place. They..." He stood back up. "They must have taken out another navy vessel. A bigger one."


    Charis looked at the very faintly visible seams in the floor. "So are we back on the scoutship, or did that alien and his machine capture another and drag us along?"


    The drone standing beside Charis swiveled a laser-pistol towards her. "You are being allowed to depart your cell for breakfast, and so long as you are not rude, converse with the other prisoner and the passengers. You will be watched at all times. Improper behavior or resistance will result in stunning and being returned to your cell."


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    Charis sighed, and nodded. "Of course. Still a prisoner, just a different jailer. Where do we eat?"


    The machine turned away, a low, synthesized voice emerging from both it and the other drone. "Follow." Before it began to march down the hallway; the second drone prodding Lert with the laser-pistol in it''s hand when he started to slow down to examine what was clearly an airlock door, made to seal the hallway in event of a breach.


    "Moving, moving, got it. Just... this..." As they entered what was clearly the mess hall of a larger navy ship, with dozens of tables, room for over two hundred people... both of them froze in place; only to resume moving with more prodding from the pistols.


    A tall, lean, brown-skinned man was against a wall, some sort of strange mechanical contraption attached to the side of it''s head; it''s pronounced jaw, tiny eyes, and inhuman structure making him clearly a tier-3. It was glaring at them as they entered; only to go back to steadily drinking down some massive bottle of bluish liquid.


    Many of the tables around the mess hall, however, were filled with... creatures. Many of them fat, hideous, blobby creatures of greenish brown shades, each with six stumpy fat limbs; but almost as many were taller, leaner, beautiful, gem-like creatures, glistening in a thousand shades of greens, reds, and blues. When the two sat at one of the tables, they could hear the other tables muttering and whispering.


    Their translators picked up a few scattered words, here and there; talking about ''the monster'' and ''butcher''. Two simple silver trays with some sort of warm paste and some Marrick-standard vegetables were laid out on the table by another drone, before it kept marching away... and after a moment, one of the beautiful insectoids stepped over to their table, looking at Lert. "You don''t have to sit there with the Butcher. Monsters like her might scare the children, but you wouldn''t. You should join us. It would be good for the kids to see some less hostile aliens."


    Lert blinked. The creature''s voice was... just as beautiful as it was. It was as if it''s mouth were a musical instrument in perfect tune, adorning a body formed from fine gems. It sounded so much more dull out of the translator... "The... butcher? Do you mean the robot?" He glanced back at the guarding machine, as Charis looked on in curiosity.


    "Oh, no. That thing." The creature pointed at Charis. "I believe you call them ''Marrick''. Frankly, I don''t know how you can stand to sit so close to it. I''d be afraid the savage might decide to take a bite of my arm while it was eating."


    Charis frowned. "Excuse me, we are not ''savages''. We are.." The creature interrupted, with a brief, blaring, discordant tone.


    "Devourers of children, scavengers, and monsters. If the Seer had not told us you were a prisoner of them yourself, we would treat you like your people treated our own. You will speak when spoken to."


    Lert coughed. "Ahem. I''ll be just fine here with her. I... might like to talk to you more later though. Your people seem fascinating."


    The creature nodded. "Of course. The Seer calls us ''Four-stagers''. Her people simply used numbers to refer to us, but you may call us that as well. My name is.." A long trilling blend of harmonies sounded out. "Dawn of the last winter day. You may refer to me as Winter. Ask the machine for me, and if I''m not busy, I will stop by."


    With one last glare at Charis, the creature walked away, joining another of the radiant creatures among the blob-like children at another table. As they were eating, the two were using a holographic emitter to show what were clearly words and symbols in their own language to the children.


    Charis glanced at Lert. "You seem to like those things well enough."


    He shrugged. "You''ve got to admit, they seem to be like living, breathing, singing works of art. I think I saw the news reports about a decade or so ago when we were invading their world. They were classed as ''non-sentient class-4 indigenous fauna'', and looked... very different. Thinner. Spikier. Still pretty, though. The ones I saw on the vids were absolutely deadly."


    She sighed, and started eating one of the seed pods on her tray. "Mmph. Rude, though. I wonder where Jason got them from. Definitely don''t know how to respect their superiors. Do you think he hit a transport ship full of slaves, or zoo animals?"


    "I don''t think they keep tier-4s as slaves, or zoo animals. Usually they just wipe them out. Not sure how they''re still around... They were conquered while I was still in training. Should all be gone by now. I''ll ask that ''Winter'' later. How are you holding up? We might be the only descendants on this ship."


    Charis looked Lert over for a moment; he wasn''t exactly her type normally, the green skin and four eyes looking terrible in general compared to her own pale beauty; but right now, he was even worse; sweaty. Filthy. And wearing just a tight vaccum suit that emphasized that his body wasn''t quite shaped right; like what she knew were her own perfect curves. "I don''t know. Possibly. Jason might still possibly be one of us himself, the Founders reach is wider than we know. And that tall, thin, brown one over there might..."


    She let out a gasp; as a blade slammed into the table, pinning her tray to it; rocking back in her seat. The creature said something swiftly; and vanished in a blur. She could only hear the words after it left, her translator playing it back almost as an afterthought; ~My kind are no relation to yours, and should you imply such again I will skin your barbarous flesh.~


    "....not be related to us at all." There were a variety of capabilities in the various descendants of the founders. Incredible strength, durability, regeneration, resistance to heat and cold. For the most part, the abilities a sub-race had didn''t give them a leg up in society; unless they were extreme, useful ones. Someone strong enough to break a starship with their bare hands would get more pay and job offers than his peers in jobs where it mattered, of course. And folks with regeneration....


    She sighed, shaking her head as she turned back to her food. Most regenerators didn''t really age. They were a tier all their own; immortality was the biggest thing separating the Founders from their descendants, after all.


    As she sat there, poking at the food on the tray, a familiar figure entered with his own accompanying drone; and yet, this one clearly not keeping him prisoner, . The familiar figure of Jason entered the room; sat down at the table, setting his helmet down beside him... and staring down at some sort of strange brown lump on his tray. He looked up at the drone. "...How?"


    "A processing error by the company that created your ration bars allowed sufficient material to create a potato seedling. This is the first potato grown in Andromeda. I have a modest crop of them. Salt is available, but the locals do not use butter or cheese."


    The expressions on the man''s face as he cut the potato up, and started trying out different seasonings on what seemed to be a bland white mass inside the brown lump, was ridiculous. He seemed virtually on the verge of tears from whatever it was. "...is it really that good?"


    The man stopped... and looked at Charis. "No. Honestly, without seasoning, its almost tasteless. It''s just... an actual food from back home." He chuckled, poking it with a fork. "You know, it''s funny. This potato is the only living thing in the whole galaxy even vaguely related to me. If I weren''t some overcharged immortal with a ridiculously efficient body, this would be a game-changer; a normal human trying to live off of only the local food would have starved to death eventually."

 Andromeda -23 - Gaze of Wrath

    When Eyeball arrived on the bridge, it was a radical departure from the old scout-ship bridge. A central Captain''s chair, with a variety of controls; most notably the flight joystick he had preferred for the most part; in a roughly rectangular room. There was a main viewscreen, a central holographic emitter, and a ring of stations around him; each of which was identical, and could likely be configured for any given purpose at a moment''s notice. He frowned. This... seemed a bit odd.


    It looked like a classic starship bridge; the one on the Jeanne was shaped differently, but not so different. But... why so large? It was just Ascension and Eyeball here.


    He settled into his seat, bringing up the display he''d been following when he was flying before; he set his helmet beside him, letting himself relax a bit as a magnet clamped it to the side of his seat, and glanced at the nearest drone. "So. Why all the positions? It''s just the two of us, and you can run it all from anywhere."


    He adjusted the course; and started to raise the warp factor; Ascension had been slowly cycling it in the high 200s and low 300s based on nearby density of stellar mass, and he started pushing it up past 1000 again as he kept an eye on the display.


    The drone gestured at the layout. "For the same reason it wasn''t just the two of us crewing the Jeanne D''Arc. This unit is EMP-resistant, but not EMP-proof, and the Republic is known to use EMP devices; as are the various pirate factions and ''Swarm'' factions who fight it. I am currently building increased EMP resistance into the ship, and will be producing a new cyborg crew eventually; it would be optimal to also have organic crew to ensure the mission is not solely reliant on myself. I would recommend recruiting the Jernal and some of the Forstagers, and, if possible, others when we arrive at our destination."


    A soft chuckle. "I suppose so." He pondered what sort of oddities might exist outside of the Republic. Was it mostly crabs and squids?


    As the number crept upward, the ship once more flying through space at a rate that would be suicidal for anyone else, the drone continued. "Aside from building an organic crew, and training them to handle things in an emergency, I would also recommend naming the ship. While not all groups name their vessels, some simply use numbers or codes like the Republic, pirate vessels, even locally, usually have names."


    Eyeball nodded thoughtfully; as he subtly changed course to avoid a few particle collisions that wouldn''t destroy the ship, but would heavily damage shields; requiring him to make another adjustment a few seconds later. "True enough. Do they usually do angry, murder-sounding names?


    "Varies heavily. Some use ordinary names like human pirate ships of old; the Delivery, Fancy, and Royal Fortune would not be out of place. The Republic has records of ships named variations of death, of mythical hostile creatures, and the like as well."


    Eyeball studied the display; everything was clear, for the moment. He ramped the speed up even higher, cycling up past 2000 times lightspeed. "Interesting. Any mythical creatures common to Founder descendants that they might find frightening?"


    "Negative. Most Founder descendants developed their own unique culture based on their new homeworld. The Marrick, however, have a variety of mythical creatures, including a group of snake-like ''gods'', enormous limbless creatures whom supposedly devoured worlds and crushed cities. One of which, the Seiliu, would light whatever it was looking at on fire when it was angered, and had a head that appeared to be a giant eyeball that split to reveal an enormous four-tongued mouth. It''s name was based on older Founder dialect words essentially meaning ''Gaze of Wrath''. Considering your ''Eyeball'' callsign, it would be thematically appropriate."


    Eyeball dialed the speed down slightly as he shifted angles, still keeping course in roughly the same direction. "See-Loo. Gaze of Wrath. Works for me. Can we get the outside of the ship painted for that, in english and in Marrick?"


    A moment''s pause. "It is being done as we speak."


    He sighed. "Good. I''ll be focusing on getting us as far as I can for the next eight hours. If something comes up that needs me, just beep me and I''ll slow us down so you can take over."


    ***


    The administration deck on Privateering-Support-Station-7; the initials, in its native tongue, forming a word for a knife, thus ''Knife 7''; was, as usual, chaos. A massive circle, older than artificial gravity, the outer, low-G deck was taken up by the older, more feeble folks like Qaki herself; like most of the humanoids on the deck, a faintly blue-grey tinged person with slightly webbed fingers, two enormous, dark eyes, and a more muscular stature than most of the descendants.


    The various other crew; mostly the squid-like Shoork-ta who shared the same world with Qaki''s own Shoork-su, were constantly moving between the station proper; an enormous stack of disks containing no less than seventeen different docking bays and different pressurized compartments, each with its own independent life support system and dozens of docks for ships to attach; and the most ridiculous, motley assortment of ships connected to it she had ever imagined.


    Her own people had colonized this system centuries ago, before learning the Republic existed; and while the uppermost dock had several of the smooth, shell-like vessels of her own personal navy, resplendent in beautiful shades of reds, oranges, and pink, each docking ring below that was designed for a different atmosphere, and many studded with the hideous abominations forged by alien design philosophies; masses of spikes and hard angles rather than the smooth, aerodynamic curves of a proper ship.


    Two of them; the nitrogen-filled atmosphere on the 15th deck, and the helium-filled one on the 13th; were currently completely empty aside from a few maintenance technicians who the station kept on just in case. The only nitrogen-breathers in this sector had been conquered by the Republic decades ago, and the pirate bands that used that dock had steadily dwindled until, today, she wasn''t certain any of them survived. Someday, they would decommision that deck; likely turn it into another one for the more common oxygen-breathers. The helium-filled one usually had ships; it was simply coincidental to be empty at present.


    Qaki looked over her board of new arrivals. Three Yogg ships, loaded down with the goods from raids on rural Republic farm worlds, currently inbound; already handled and directed to dock 4 by subordinates. The one that had actually been forwarded to her, however, was an unknown, with no Confederate transponder at all. In fact... it was running a Republic transponder, but not identifying as a Republic ship, and didn''t match known Republic designs. It had a strange design, like a series of three boxes, each rectangular and a bit bigger than the one before; one small one at the front with what were clearly particle cannon barrels, and the last much larger, thicker; like a destroyer-sized ship, but longer, thinner.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Four of the Shoork warships were already moving to intercept, shields up, weapons charged; but it would be her job to decide whether or not to kill whoever these people were. The name of the ship was... Gaze of Wrath? In Marrick. But it also had script in some other, completely unknown language. She frowned. "Hail the unknown. This.. ''Gaze of Wrath''."


    A brief wet slap of tentacles from one of the comms stations below her... and her display lit up; a holo-image of a humanoid figure in some sort of light armor; not Republic-standard, especially not the smooth chrome helmet; appeared on the screen.


    "Gaze of Wrath, this is Knife-7 chief. You come into Confederacy space with a Republic transponder, a Marrick name, and energy signatures that look quite a bit like Republic weaponry. You will power down and prepare to be boarded, or you will be destroyed."


    The figure gave a slow nod. "This is Eyeball, captain of the independent ship Gaze of Wrath. I''ve never heard of this ''Confederacy'' before, and I hadn''t heard of the Republic until recently either. I have some people I rescued from a Republic death-camp I''d like to find a home for, and I have goods to sell taken from Republic ships I have destroyed. I do have some tech onboard that is proprietary and I can''t power down or let your people look at, but I wouldn''t mind someone coming by to make sure I''m not secretly an infiltrator ship full of Marrick, so long as they''re someone willing to tell me about this ''Confederacy'' while they do so."


    "Gaze of Wrath, you are surrounded and outgunned, in Confederacy space, and don''t have a choice in the matter. Power down. Now."


    A slow head-shake. "Your ships are dramatically out-classed, and are already within effective firing range. I already killed two Republic Escort-class ships, one of their cruisers, and god knows how many of their ground troops. I''d prefer not to have to take down these four... destroyers who, all together, don''t match up to the cruiser I killed a few light-years away from here."


    He glanced down at his display; and tapped a few buttons; seeming to move his hand around randomly for a few seconds before tapping a few spots on the screen. "There. A warning shot. Not quite enough to take down the shields."


    Qaki opened her mouth to respond; the destroyers were still over five light-seconds away. Accurate fire was impossible at that distance; even a warp-capable missile would just destroy itself trying to get a precise shot, this far into the system. The only thing you could hit that far away would be a rock, or a planet; even a space station could avoid fire from that far out with its maneuvering thrusters. But an alert brought her mouth snapping back shut.


    She stopped, staring at her display. The Gaze of Wrath had fired four shots, making small movements before each one, aiming one at each incoming destroyer. And... somehow, impossibly, every shot connected with the target''s shields; causing dramatic drops in all four. Were those... some sort of tiny, guided missiles, traveling at a huge fraction of lightspeed?


    The chief raised her eyes and glared at Eyeball''s image. "Firing upon ships of the Shoork fleet is an act of war; and doing so inside Shoork space makes it an act of war against the Confederacy as a whole."


    "None of those were actually fired on; deliberate misses, but close enough to impact shields. A demonstration that no, I''m not under your power, and we''re negotiating as equals, hopefully potential allies, or even simply temporary business partners. If you want to make a big deal about this, and turn this into a fight, I''ll kill these four destroyers, salvage anything useful, and leave. I''ll find someone else fighting the republic and work with them instead."


    As far as she was aware, whatever had just done that was well beyond anything they''d seen from a Republic ship; and while the captain looked like a classic Republic life-form, so did she, and many others in the Confederacy and beyond. This.. "Come to a complete stop. Do not approach further. I will bring a boarding party... an armed boarding party. If you can convince us you''re not with the Republic, we can do business. But mind yourself."


    The figure nodded. "Of course. We''ll stay right here for now. Just to be clear though, since you look like what the Republic folks call a Tier-2 or Tier-1, if I''m misreading things, and discover that this is actually a Republic outpost, none of these ships are leaving this system alive, and your boarding party will regret having been born. So if you actually work for the Founders, make your peace before you board the shuttle."


    The image suddenly vanished. Qaki blinked. What? He wanted to make sure the Shoork weren''t Republic?


    ***


    "The amount of information is... excessive. I can give you a big picture concept, but to be more specific, I''ll need time to process it. This station is one of a number of ''Privateer Support Stations'' where various confederacy navies dock. Both independent corporations and confederacy nations which have no border with the Republic use them to support fleets, selling valuables and intel acquired from the Republic, getting repaired, and moving back out. This local station is owned by a race called the Shoork."


    A pair of images suddenly appeared on the holo before Eyeball. One of a fairly attractive, albeit blue-skinned, woman with black hair and obvious gills running down her body; probably the closest to a human in terms of build he''d seen from the various aliens. Well, human woman, at least, as the bone structure was a bit different between them. The eyes were... a bit strange. Almost anime-girl eyes, enormous dark blue/black orbs, bigger than the six eyes a Marrick usually had combined.


    The other... was of a squid. Just a squid. A solid upper body with eyes and perhaps twenty tentacles dangling down, in a dull grey-blue color. If he''d seen it in an aquarium on earth he wouldn''t have given it a second glance.


    "I can tell you quite a bit about them, but they are currently en route, so the basic summary is simple. The humanoid Shoork-Su were planted on the Shoork-Ta''s world long ago. The two species got along, work well together; and when they met the Republic, centuries later, hated them and everything they stood for. They are a monarchy, and one of several powerful nations fighting the Republic in this part of the galaxy. This station should be a good place to learn about them, buy and sell things, and recruit crew. Possibly also find someone reputable to get the Forstagers to a new world."


    Eyeball nodded, rising to his feet. "Who is on the way?"


    "Chief Qaki, of the Knife-7 station, and a team of marines. They are heavily armed and armored, and ready to fight if need-be; Qaki is the equivalent of a duchess, or admiral, and commands both this station and the Shoork fleets in the system. Her coming in person is apparently unusual."


    He blinked. "Duchess or admiral? Pretty big difference there. Which airlock?"


    One of the drones started to follow, keeping pace with Eyeball. "Not to the Shoork. They''re a monarchy, and royalty own both territory and the ships to defend it. She owns over two hundred warships, mostly of the destroyer and frigate size, and the station itself is armed as well."


    As he walked down the hallways, heading towards the proper airlock, he shook his head in amusement. "That''s incredibly stupid. We should adjust the translation though, if Chief and Duchess are the same thing."


    "Negative. She was referring to herself, at the time, as commander of the station. She is also the owner of this star system, but apparently typically runs things from that station, and tends to have a personal touch for things she deems important."


    "Ah. Which, logically, includes us. Good enough."

 Andromeda - 24 - Inspection

    When the cargo bay opened to space, Eyeball stood beside the internal airlock, looking out, feeling the faint wisps of vacuum blow by. The incoming shuttle was armed; but wouldn''t shoot unless he shot first. Or, more accurately, unless he shot first in a way that was survivable; the tenner could just core the armored craft like an apple.


    Which was a fair comparison; the thing was slightly rounded and a vibrant red, looking almost like it was grown, or carved out of a rock, rather than built. The difference between it and the rough, clearly freshly welded, hull plates of the Gaze was dramatic; he could barely make out the weapons blisters; lasers, not particle cannons, they were so seamless.


    Ascension, in the form of a drone, was standing behind him, leaning against the wall... wearing a modified Republic power armor suit. The thing looked ridiculous; the arms and legs all with extensions in them to allow the taller, slimmer machine to fit inside it; but as Eyeball understood, there were at least a dozen more like this; or being made like this; in the event they decided to hide the fact Ascension was a machine.


    Which... would last about ten minutes longer than one of the Forstager children started talking to the other side. The adults would die before revealing anything they were asked not to, but the children would probably tell the Republic anything they wanted in exchange for a piece of candy. He shook his head; no matter how cute their behavior, the kids were still hideous.


    The air started to hiss back into the room after the door sealed shut... and when the pressure normalized, figures started emerging; first, four humanoid soldiers, species indeterminate, in heavy powered armor, a solid, dark blue, with an interesting squid-like symbol on their shoulders; followed by... two squids in what looked like floating armored bubbles, with an array of mechanical limbs and weapons blisters dotting them. The first four were exceedingly durable; and the following pair had ridiculously good reflexes. He could tell none of them would survive a round, no, but against a typical Republic strike team, they could undoubtedly mop up; and all of the four were tougher than their armor was. A shot to an arm would completely destroy the armor, but leave a partially-intact guard charging him, missing an arm. Those two floating bubbles would actually be firing at him even as they died! Not bad. Not enough, in the event he and Ascension had assassination in mind, but not bad at all.


    What it would need to kill that team would also destroy both the shuttle, and the wall behind them.


    Eyeball was watching them with curiosity, examining the various possibilities, and almost missed the duchess emerging; and blinked. She was wearing a skin-tight vacuum suit, complete with helmet, and she looked... he shook his head. Yeah. Aliens, remember. You''re not Han Solo, you''re not Captain Kirk, and you''re not... who was that crewman that had almost been seduced by the greys... Fontaine? Fontaine would have loved to visit this species.


    "Helmet, mute. What''s the translator give for a standard greeting for these people?"


    His HUD display gave him a few possibilities; pressing the head against the floor as a sign of obedience to royalty; crossing the arms as a salute; a brief nod, and offering one arm to press against the others, to represent a greeting to an equal.


    "Thanks. Unmute." He stepped forward; gave a short nod; and extended his right arm, elbow bent, fist pointed at the ceiling.


    The duchess looked at him for a moment. All of the guards tensed; and she hesitantly pressed her fore-arm against his own. "I am Qaki." One of the closest guards stepped forward. "Duchess of the Deschar system, Commander of her fleets, Chief of Knife-7, Destroyer of the 31st Republic Flotilla."


    Eyeball glanced at the soldier for a moment. "And I am Jason Bennet." Moments later, the tall, gangly form of Ascension''s nearest machine stepped forward, imitating the guard. "The Immortal Eyeball, Slayer of Titans and Emperors, Destroyer of Jotun and Republic fleets, Head Enforcer of La Famiglia, Liberator of the Forstagers, Captain of the Gaze of Wrath, Destroyer of worlds."


    Both Eyeball and the Duchess glanced at the machine, his statements running through the back of Eyeball''s mind. Most of those were more or less accurate, but... "...Emperors, plural? Did I kill more I didn''t know about?"


    The Duchess, on the other hand, simultaneously interjected with "Destroyer of worlds?"


    The two glanced back at each other; and both chuckled. Eyeball slid his helmet off, tapping it against his hip, where it clamped on. "Some of that was an exaggeration, but he got the essentials. I destroyed an uninhabited gas giant to render an area temporarily impassible to Warp travel, in the hopes of delaying the Republic from re-invading the Forstager system long enough for me to gather resources, get back and put in a more permanent solution."


    As Qaki slid off her own helmet; which compressed itself into a tiny orb at the back of her spine, she nodded. "Ahh. We''ve never done such ourselves, but it''s been spoken of before. Some of my species have recommended creating a barrier zone between us and the Republic, using anti-matter charges to disrupt smaller stars and gas giants in the hope of slowing or stopping their advance. Never got past the planning stages. Now. If you wish me to believe you, I''ll need to meet your crew, and see any evidence you have of this not being some sort of Republic trick. Otherwise, me and my men will be taking you with us when we go."


    Jason laughed, slapping his thigh. "Ahhh, it''s fun that you think that''s an option. Still. I can take you to meet some of the Forstagers, or the Jernal. I''ve also got a couple of Republic prisoners, if you want to speak to them; one of their naval engineers, and one of their own prisoners who was in the same lockup I was."


    Ascension interrupted. "Excuse me, sir. Nine Republic Prisoners. Seven of them from the Forstager system."


    He blinked. "....From the Forstager system. Are they in any condition to talk?"


    "One moment." Ascension stared at the wall for a few seconds, as Qaki looked on, curious at this strange exchange. "The first one I asked has begun begging to be terminated. While his current existence is already an intensely painful experience, the Jernal duo have been exacerbating this by performing minor actions to torment him and the other... similar prisoners since learning of his condition. He is currently welding a support strut on deck six."


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Qaki raised a hand. "Hold a bit. I''ve never heard of these Forstagers. But that other name. The Jernal. That''s the name that a species we encountered decades ago, that is now in Republic space, called themselves. Last I was aware, Intelligence indicated they had provided too heavy resistance to Republic ground troops, and there were difficulties in acquiring samples for bio-weapons, so they had resorted to wiping out all life on the planet. They''re supposed to be gone."


    "I''ve got two on the crew. I can ask them if they''d be willing to sedate themselves to drop down to a more comfortable speed to talk to you, if you''d like; otherwise they''d essentially just do a drive-by and leave you with some long rambling chat for them."


    She smiled. "That sounds about right. Yes, actually. Whether simply to talk at us, or to slow down and actually speak, that would be the best place to start." She glanced back at her guard. "The Jernal are a non-Descendant race with extremely fast metabolism and reflexes. Be prepared for an extremely fast but probably non-hostile light brown humanoid."


    Jason frowned. "If you''d met them before the Republic invaded, why didn''t your people help? Even out of pure military expediency, people like them could be incredibly valuable allies."


    The Duchess inhaled deeply, taking a more stern pose. "The decisions of the Queen and her Kings are not to be questioned." She glanced down, and took a more normal tone. "The truth, though? They didn''t qualify to become part of the Confederacy. If we tried to defend them, we would be doing it on our own, with no outside help, until they did... and they lacked any single, centralized government to sign a treaty with, or sufficient space combat capability to join. No matter how deadly our troops, this war will be won, or lost, among the stars."


    Ascension interjected once again. "Doshet and Doshiri have both agreed to sedate themselves to speak more slowly with us. Doshiri was already sedated, in fact; the two have been doing so quite a bit to try to minimize food consumption. We can meet them in the medical bay, if you''d like?"


    Jason nodded; and stepped to the interior door, which immediately slid open at his approach. "Medical is as good a place as any to start our little tour. Of course. Any progress on the implants?"


    Qaki nodded at her guards before following, listening in since Jason hadn''t put the helmet back on. Three of the heavies, and one of the squids, remained with the shuttle; while the remaining two guards followed her into the ship, looking closely at the strange, almost improvised construction as they moved.


    "Doshet volunteered to go first; all implants are deactivated permanently aside from the sedation one, and we have been slowly removing them. I can safely remove all of them, but he will need to eat an extremely high amount of food during recovery; the process would require two days of recovery, during which he would consume over twice his body weight. I would recommend securing a good food supply for them first, and, if possible, sending some to Forstage, so that my local drones can more effectively help the Jernal there; as well as, of course, make whatever experiments are being done there to produce more food for them unnecessary."


    When they reached the medical bay, Qaki wasn''t sure what to expect. Normal beds? Pods filled with restorative chemicals? She certainly wasn''t expecting to see the strange devices running beside one of the two massive Jernal forms; long, lean, with rough, dark-brown skin; one mostly covered by a simple grey tunic down to her knees, while the other lay on a platform, with hundreds of tiny tendril-like wires dangling down, touching various parts of the flesh.


    Another of Ascension''s drones in the strange, elongated, modified light armor was standing beside Doshet as he pulled a tunic over his waist to cover himself; and the wires withdrew. The machine was speaking already when they entered. "The sedative implant will slow your recovery, as well as your hunger. Use caution, for now. I would recommend deactivating it soon; we just removed the last of the pain-inducers from your spine, and the area is still delicate."


    As the group approached the bed, Qaki could see a diagram of a Jernal floating beside the bed; showing his internal anatomy, with a long series of implants highlighted in red; with one highlighted in yellow, and a variety of green highlighted ones down the spine. She looked at Doshet, then at the display. "What... is this?"


    The Ascension pretending to be a doctor turned to Doshet. "Do you wish me to discuss this with her?"


    The male Jernal looked her over for a moment; then at the female beside the bed. "Doshiri." He extended an arm; and the woman stepped up, embracing him. "Yes. You may. Speaking of it makes me.... angry. She is not one of the Marrick, but I saw her before; she is what we called the ''Borikarsi''. It''s a type of small, plump, slow creature that populated the oceans of my homeworld, and only persisted because they reproduced in the billions. It was an... insulting term. Our only friendly contact with outsiders before you, and we insulted them."


    Ascension turned to Qaki. "On Forstage, we discovered a lab where captured Jernal children had been raised in captivity, implanted with a variety of control devices, and were being trained in the hopes of using them as soldiers against the ''Swarm''. The primary means of control were a series of pain-inducing implants along the spine, which would paralyze the victim and send them into terrible pain until either the Marrick chose to stop the punishment, or the victim died."


    Qaki stared at the display; then at Doshet. "You''ve been removing them?"


    "Of course. A variety of implants were placed throughout the body, but most of those not along the spine were for paralysis or sedation purposes; and the ability to control them remotely has been disabled. The Marrick only kept about a year''s supply of food on-hand for the Jernal; in the event they somehow broke free they wanted to ensure they would starve to death with no local supply of calories. We left most of the food on Forstage; food for these two is one of the things we are here to trade for."


    Dorshet met Qaki''s gaze. "We earned it. Saved many Forstagers, helped provide some of the cargo by looting the Republic armories and living spaces. Do you kill Marrick?"


    Qaki nodded. "I have led a fleet to kill Marrick before, and Knife-7 supplies hundreds of ships that move out and raid the Republic at every opportunity, or hunt their scouts that move in our own space.


    He nodded. "Good. is Eyeball trading us to you, so you can take us somewhere to kill Marrick?"


    Jason raised a hand. "No trading, Doshet. If you wish to leave, you can. I promise you''ll get the chance to kill more of them if you stay on the crew though; unless we somehow figure out a way to wipe all of them out without ever having to touch dirt, you and I will raise weapons together again."


    Doshet squeezed Doshiri against him. She looked at Qaki, then back to Jason. "I think we should work with the silver-helmed one. He has a proper idea of how to deal with the Marrick. They suffer as we did. Or worse."


    Her mate... or sibling? Jason hadn''t actually checked.. kept looking at Qaki. "That he might, but you, blue one, are the one with food my people can eat, so it will depend on you. I must eat to kill Marrick."


    Qaki smiled. "We''ll get you enough food that all of the implants can be removed safely, if that''s all you need. No charge for that, and enough stock to last a while." She glanced at Jason. "I''d still like to meet these ''Forstagers'' of yours, and the prisoners. But... you can approach Knife-7."


    She tapped her wrist. "Code Qaki Alpha, secondary. Escort us to the station. Keep us under watch, but assume non-hostile. They''ve given me enough evidence to assume they aren''t Republic, even if they aren''t necessarily allies. Have the station prepare a pallet of Jernal-compatible food; we should have what they need on file somewhere." She tapped it again, and glanced back at Jason.


    "We can finish up your little tour; I''ll reciprocate once we get to Knife-7."

 Andromeda - 25 - Knife-7 Arrival

    As the Gaze of Wrath approached the station, Jason followed Qaki and one of the Forstager leaders into one of the forward airlocks; the one which would, soon, be braced against the station. The two had been talking since they were introduced, mostly about Forstager life and ecology before the Republic arrived... and then moving on to the circumstances of Forstager life under them.


    "And so, I''ve spent most of my life dimly aware that I was being raised to be eaten, but not really wise enough to do anything about it. I entered a chrysalis; beginning the process by which my species become competent, thinking adults... and that was when I met the Seer."


    The airlock was a bit tightly packed; Eyeball, Qaki, the Forstager, and the two guards took up all available space, putting them practically within touching distance.. and Eyeball kept catching himself admiring Qaki... and wondering how human she would look outside the suit.


    The Forstager glanced at Eyeball with a chirp. "The Seer and the Jernal wiped out all of the Marrick. The Jernal handled most of them; my brothers tell me that while the Seer killed a few of the normal ones, they mostly called him in for those truly heavy, dangerous ones, who were armored like your friend here." He nodded toward the heavily armored alien; possibly a member of Qaki''s species, but they had seen nothing but the armor yet. "We have a few videos from the surveillance of them if you''d like to see them. When the children have nightmares and we sooth them, I like to watch the creatures die."


    He glanced at the floor of the airlock. "I... don''t like to torment them, the way the Jernal do."


    Qaki nodded, frowning. She hadn''t thought of the friendly three-eyed alien as being that dangerous; but the heavy armor her guards wore was extremely expensive, powerful, and made to let them compete at an even level with some of the extremophiles among the Republic, ones that normally required either extreme luck or even more expensive weapons to kill otherwise.


    As the man put his helmet on, and the airlock made a distinct ''clank'' sound as it attached to a door on the other side, she smiled. "Well. We have had need to kill the armored ones quite a few times ourselves. What are your preferred weapons for dealing with them? My own heavies have a rifle that''s good for the joints, something called a ''Molecular Disruptor'' that I believe the Republic uses something similar to as well; though a big enough ship or vehicle-mounted laser does just as well."


    Eyeball laughed; the sound was a bit off, now digitized, from the helmet. "Well. This gun here does the job on them well enough.." He patted the handgun strapped to his hip. "But a knife does the job when I don''t want that sort of secondary impact. You know... collateral damage."


    Qaki frowned. Why had he put the helmet on when they started to dock, anyway? "That gun? You''ve got something dangerous enough to take... wait. A knife?"


    "Sure. Dense metal, sharp point. Wedge it in through the joints, tear open a hole, tear the armor apart, or slit the throat."


    The guard spoke for the first time since he''d begun following. "Bullshit. Can''t take one of them out with a knife."


    Qaki snapped her fingers. The guard immediately fell silent. "Apologies for the rudeness." The airlock gave a brief hiss as pressure equalized with the station outside; and began to open. "But welcome to Knife-7. One of my agents will be by to interrogate your prisoners. I would appreciate your cooperation."


    "Of course. The ones captured in battle, you can do whatever you''d like to; I''m currently using them as forced labor, and they''re begging for death. The one I liberated from a Republic prison, and the one who surrendered when I captured his ship, however, I''ll have to ask for a bit more discretion; I''ll be letting them go, either here or somewhere else, so while you can speak with them, actual torture would be off the table."


    She frowned.. but nodded. "So be it. Feel free to take advantage of the various shopping opportunities the station offers. I assume you have no Confederate credits?"


    "Republic ones and plenty of trade goods, including some neutronium cores from dismantled Republic ships. I''ve actually got a lead on a truly massive possible neutronium source I wanted to take up with someone who can put a serious fleet together."


    A brief nod. "We have some people who trade in Republic credits who can get you started I can introduce you to, and I will buy any cores you''ve got. The Shoork navy has a production capacity that vastly outstrips our neutronium harvesting ability; we usually have dozens of ships waiting for them, and every salvaged core lets us bring another online within hours."


    Eyeball nodded. "I''m surprised you''ve got anyone who deals with Republic money, honestly. Aren''t all contacts with your people hostile? Their government refers to you as ''the Swarm''."


    "Smugglers, drug dealers, mercenaries... I''m sure its all illegal, on the Republic side, and on the Shoork-run stations its illegal to sell those people anything military. But... what sort of massive neutronium source are we talking about?"


    They had stopped just inside the station proper; a massive, open space with a variety of carts and stalls; a familiar-looking marketplace-like region that he''d seen much the same of at the central hub back in Imperial space in the milky way; for the first time, he saw some crab-like aliens talking to a group of the spine-covered Yogg; something that, crazily enough, made him nostalgic for back home. "Alright, so. When I first showed up in this galaxy I was riding inside the skull of this creature I had just killed....."


    ***


    Royal Interrogation Specialist Ilhank nodded thoughtfully as he looked at the miserable lump of Marrick flesh, standing perfectly immobile in one of their suits of light powered armor. The man was sweating, clearly miserable, crying, and had apparently been tortured for days, sealed in his armor, unable to see or hear anything as someone remotely guided his body like a puppet through a series of agonizing wires embedded in his flesh.


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    He was only a low-grade soldier; but he''d been begging for death the moment the pirate crew had given him permission to speak; and had given every tiny scrap of information he thought might buy him mercy. He looked dramatically different from Ilhank himself; far more slender, shorter, with six tiny, beady black eyes instead of Ilhank''s own well-muscled, blue form and more normal pair of eyes; but then, one could never judge an alien by its looks.


    Even knowing how terrible and vicious the Republic was, and the sort of means he himself would employ to torture a captured officer... Ilhank looked at the tall, lean figure in modified armor beside it. Whoever it was, it was more slender and lean than a Jernal, but had absolutely perfect reflexes; and some sort of device that let him puppet the prisoner. "I''m through with him. Can you take me to the next prisoner?"


    "Of course." Every word was smooth, perfect. He''d dealt with pirates before, a hundred, a thousand times. He''d seen shoddy, piecemeal ships, and ships from the navies of smaller confederacy members, here to win loot and technology to take home. These...Ascension people, though? They were more competent and efficient than any Royal crew. He''d met at least six distinct members of this Ascension organization, and aside from them being masterful drone pilots he knew nothing about them; he was reasonably sure that even these bodies he dealt with were drones.


    "The next prisoners voluntarily surrendered; the second one, in fact, was a Republic prisoner herself until very recently. I am aware that, by your own rules, any Republic prisoners are fair game to be tortured until death; however, our organization only allows that for the lower-tier Republic officers or those captured in active combat operations, or as punishment for a crime."


    Ilhank nodded. These people weren''t the first to have such rules; and they made sense, to encourage surrender, except that lower-ranked Republic forces almost never surrendered; he''d seen only a handful in his two centuries of service to the Queendom. "So this is the first time your organization has encountered the confederacy, yes? How did you learn so much about us, so quickly?"


    The tall figure didn''t miss a step as he guided Ilhank down the hallway to an armored, secured door; and stopped. "Even as we speak, we''re reading everything publicly available about your kingdom, and passing the relevant bits to those who need them."


    After a moment, the door slid open; revealing a green-skinned, four-eyed humanoid wearing a simple grey vacuum suit, inside what seemed to be a comfortable prison cell. As he stepped into the room, the Ascension soldier... tech.. whatever it was.. followed him. Ilhank crossed his arms behind his back, looking down at the prisoner. "Engineer Lert. I am Royal Interrogator Ilhank, of the Shoork Navy. Are you familiar with us?"


    The man looked from the armored figure to Ilhank''s blue face. "...No. Honestly, the broadcasts I''ve seen just list you as a semi-aquatic group of rogue descendants, and the internal memos just talk about the weaknesses of your ships, and how to kill you if we see you. There was one movie with a... I think fictional... account of your people being dominated and ruled by some sort of tentacle monsters on the world they settled on, and used as their puppets to fight us."


    Ilhank nodded. "Interesting. We do share a world with some squid-like creatures, albeit in a friendly manner. My people are at war with your masters. I would be interested in any information you have that we might not; anything about deployments of ships or persons, tactics, weaknesses. You are not one of the masters yourself; we would be willing to offer citizenship and of course monetary rewards for any useful information."


    Lert blinked... and looked at Ascension. "...Am I even allowed to leave with him? Aren''t I a prisoner?"


    "I have spoken to the captain regarding you and the Marrick. The only place we won''t release you is back into Republic hands. You may accompany the Interrogator if you wish, and be offered the choice to stay or leave when the ship departs."


    Lert stared at the machine for the moment... then back to Ilhank. "I... The Purge will reach this world within my lifetime. I... I wouldn''t mind working for you, but I''d want to get somewhere far, far away from the war. I''ll tell you anything I know, if you can make that happen."


    ***


    When Eyeball and the Duchess stopped at a stall a few hundred meters away from the entrance, she was nodding along with his story; though she seemed confused at times; Eyeball seemed to keep glossing over how he''d managed to get things done, and just who Ascension was; aside from a group that had been inside an extradimensional space, smuggled from back home. His story sounded fantastical; but if it were true, and that was in fact a mass of neutronium as heavy as a small planet buried in that star... she would need to gather a fleet.


    The stall they stopped at was manned by what appeared to be a vivid orange creature with five subtly glowing orange eyes, in the classic humanoid pattern of most descendants; wearing a vacuum suit covered in strange, jarring color patterns. It nodded as they approached.


    Qaki gestured at the creature. "Eyeball, this is Heerv. Heerv is a Republic citizen, but also a Royal citizen. He claims the Republic doesn''t know what he''s doing out here, but we assume he''s an intelligence-gathering operative; or at the very least, paid by them for information when he goes back."


    The creature shrugged. "Ahh, we all live how we live, yes? I sell things here for Confed creds, buy things to take back, do a bit of exchange, make money... and whoever wins, well, I keep trading, yes?" He looked Eyeball over for a moment. "I like the helmet, very fancy. What brings the Duchess herself down to see us?"


    The duchess chuckled. "I was talking to a new friend, who happened to need to speak with someone of your sort. As unsavory as you are, you''ve done the crown some favors in the past, and so..."


    "Ahh. I will remember, of course." He smiled. "So, shiny helmet. What brings you to see Heerv today?"


    Eyeball casually picked up a bulky pouch; unfortunately more of a fanny pack; at his hip; unzipping it, and a faint hiss of escaping air from the pressure difference sounded. "I''ve got a giant pile of credits looted from fallen Republic forces. More than this, but I want a bit of local spending money to use if I see anything interesting."


    He glanced around. His helmet highlighted a variety of completely unidentified, unknown technologies that were being sold, and a variety of pirate captains moving through.. as well as uniformed members of navies he had no information on. "You never know what could have interesting applications, so I plan to buy a bunch of random tech samples from whoever''s selling."


    The orange broker stared at the pile inside the pouch for a moment. These were all large-denomination credit chips; thousands, tens of thousands. Enough to buy a smaller pirate ship, at least. "...Well, I can definitely arrange some meetings, and give you a good exchange rate. Do you have many more credits to trade?"


    Eyeball frowned. It hadn''t felt right to take all of the credits with him. Most likely, that meant there would be a time someday in the future it would be useful to have some. "Not that I''m going to part with just yet. I''ll be trading in a few cores from Republic ships I took out in to the Duchess for credits later."


    The man looked at Eyeball in what the translator interpreted as a gesture of confusion and surprise. "Really? You took out more than one? No wonder the Duchess was with you. Well. If you want a competing offer for those cores, I can get ten percent more for you than she usually pays."


    "...Yeah, no. Not going to piss off the lady who owns the place. I believe Confederate credits are about four to each five Republic credits. Make me a fair offer and I won''t mention to the Duchess that you''re trying to cut her out of the deal on the cores."

 Andromeda - 26 - Knife-7 Wheeling and Dealing

    There was a helpful directory for shoppers available on the local version of the internet; both of the various shops and what they were selling as well as of the pirate ships and, essentially, a local version of Craigslist; a variety of offers were appearing and vanishing even as he looked, though, disturbingly, while there were crew applying for jobs, and captain''s hiring crew, there was also a slave market; apparently a central hub here on the station offered auction services for captured prisoners, mostly crew of Republic civilian ships and outposts, though, surprisingly, there were a few locals listed as well.


    This was attached to a guide to the local sales; each deck had an array of vendors catering to the pirates and militaries of a variety of races, and even the fully legitimate navies apparently did some shopping here; as he looked over the wandering groups of bedraggled, strangely dressed aliens, alongside the more organized, neatly dressed squads with clear rank badges, he wondered how many were pirates, how many privateers, and how many just soldiers.


    He was casually walking towards what he''d been told was one of the more advanced corporate sales booths to browse their offerings, when he saw a demonstration that brought him to a stop. A six-limbed alien; one more insect-like, with a dull grey carapace and long spindly limbs, all carved with a variety of symbols; was making gestures; and a series of objects, mostly bullets from the look; were floating in midair in front of it. A handful of aliens and locals were nearby, watching.


    He was distracted from the show for a moment by a brief hiss of water vapor as someone''s suit-mounted humidifier sprayed the air; before stopping to watch.


    The alien, for its part, turned to focus on Eyeball when he arrived. His translator picked up the last few words of what he''d been saying; "And for the right price, you, too, can learn how to..."


    Eyeball shook his head and kept walking. He hadn''t really thought too much of using magic for such casual, mundane things. If he marked his fingers, or maybe the artificial limb, up the right way, he could use it almost like a telekinetic; though actually needing gestures to do things.


    He stopped. That... actually had potential. He looked down at his artificial arm; it had once been a relatively simple, six-fingered limb. At first built to automatically fail at a remote command, with a limited amount of remote control, unlike most artificial limbs, because it was intended for a prisoner.


    Now... it was a mass of semi-liquid metal that seethed with murderous intent, made primarily from the molten remains of instruments that had caused the death of millions of terrified sentient beings in assembly-line fashion. He could easily put sub-components of different runes and symbols in there and merge them together to produce larger effects.


    He turned back to the insectoid alien and the small crowd of amused pirates and gawkers; and the creature seemed to have been focused on him from the moment it saw him. It rose to its full height, spreading its armored limbs to reveal its softer underbelly; his translator indicated this was a sign of submission, akin to a bow.


    He wondered, for a moment, if he should bow, or copy the gesture; would the alien''s own translator understand it as an attempt to copy, or.. he decided to just give a short bow. The creature turned to the crowd. "Please depart. I must speak with this one."


    A local, one of the humanoid Shoork, started to interject. "But I wanted to.."


    "No. Go." A subtle gesture; the young woman was lifted off the floor and deposited a few meters away, out in the open pathway between stalls.


    Eyeball glanced at it for a moment... and then stopped before the insectoid. "Hello there. Name''s Eyeball. I haven''t seen much magic in use in these parts."


    The creature returned to the submissive pose. "I am Dancer of Worms and Fire. The Confederacy and Republic are both aware of magic, and have operatives who use it. Though, the Confederacy could best be said to have a thousand different groups, each of differing competence and importance. My own people have dedicated magic-users on every combat vessel, and use it to some effect. Not as great as your own, obviously."


    Eyeball chuckled. "I was going to argue, but really, I can''t argue too much there. The designer of my people''s first starship was close friends with the most wise sorcerer of my world. There were legends he had sacrificed an eye to gain his knowledge, but that''s nonsense. And to my knowledge, every ship that left our star-system had at least one on it.""


    Dancer gave a long, hissing laugh. It was strange; he was still vaguely insectoid like the Forstagers. But the black and brown of his carapace, and the more fat central body, made him look... hideous... rather than the beautiful, sleek form of what shouldn''t be that different; only the thousands of intricate symbols carved into the carapace, limbs, and tiny, numerous digits, made up for it. "How do you have so much power? And your foci? You carry the two most powerful ones I''ve ever encountered. My people have a focus called the Spire of the Stars which is almost as powerful as the weaker of those two. We use it to launch starships into orbit."


    Eyeball glanced down at the handgun, and the false limb. One had been imbued with the terrified deaths of millions, the other with that of a handful of extremely powerful beings; starting with a functionally infinitely powerful Titan. The most powerful Foci he was aware of were Hiroshima and Nagasaki; he wasn''t sure just how much stronger they were than Titanslayer, but it was significant. Did these people not understand how to make such a thing, what mattered for it?


    "These aren''t the most powerful Foci from my world, but they are pretty far up there. I have to ask... do your people know what makes a Focus more powerful?"


    Dancer studied Eyeball for a moment. "This is a secret. Each race maintains its own secrets, though there are things I''m allowed to share. It requires intense, focused emotions, and we usually craft them at funerals for important figures, at the heart of great celebrations."


    A slow nod. "That''s part of it, yes. But if you''ve never encountered a focus of this strength, and have fought the Republic for any length of time, I suspect you don''t know the more unpleasant things behind making a powerful focus. Tell you what. You help me learn your own species magic, and so long as its enough to actually be useful, I''ll give you the details for how I made this..." He raised his prosthetic limb. "And also for how an ancient leader from my world forged a pair of them that made this look pathetic. They are... simultaneously very different, and very similar."


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    "..Is the process hard to replicate?"


    Eyeball grimaced, looking at the floor. "I... could probably go to the Jernal homeworld tomorrow, and if I could clear away the bombarding fleets, craft the most powerful focus I''d ever seen. Something that would make these look pathetic. It would take minutes, hours at the most. According to my research, that wouldn''t even be the best place to make one, because that tragedy is mostly over; there are some where it''s still a work in progress that could be far more effective."


    Dancer looked at the hand, and the gun. "...You can create a focus in less than an hour!? Our processes take... well. More than that."


    "The gun took hours; and if I understood how a Focus worked, and had empowered it earlier, it would be a dozen times as powerful. The arm was converted into a focus; and it took minutes."


    "...If you will show me that process, I will teach you everything I know about magic."


    "Sure. I''ll arrange a berth for you on the ship. Mind if I ask about the name? The translation for it sounds... odd."


    Dancer gave another chittering laugh. "It''s a joke in my language. Comparing the word for cooking a creature without limbs to a ruthless dictator, like the royals here. How much space will I have to work with?"


    Eyeball chuckled. "Mute. Ascension, call this gentleman. He''s a possible asset on the magical front. Arrange a room for him. Not paying this one, he''s in it for a mutual information exchange. Also... do a survey of nearby systems. I want an ongoing mass-death event the Republic is causing. Something we can intervene in, but which has already done a fair amount of damage."


    The insectoid suddenly perked up; touching a comms device attached to the side of his face; and Eyeball gave another short bow, before turning away.


    ***


    Sitting at a terminal in the Gaze of Wrath''s medical bay with a pair of Ascension drones pressed up against him, dozens of artificial limbs busily working, Doshet stared at his terminal, casually eating some sort of hideous green ''ration bar'' that tasted... surprisingly good.


    Since his brief meeting with the Duchess; and the load of food that had been brought aboard almost immediately; he''d spent the past few hours here, with the machines slowly removing the implants; he''d chosen to simply be immobilized and locally numbed, rather than sedated. He had much to learn.


    He knew that the Jernal, trapped in their own system, had been visited by other races before. Even recognized the sluggish blue creature. But when he replayed the silver-headed one''s conversation with her, words stood out. From his past actions, it''s likely that, purely to make things difficult for the Republic, that one would have helped the Jernal as much as possible.


    Why hadn''t this Confederacy? The Republic''s ground forces were so slow, so pathetic. Real soldiers like Doshet''s mother would have made short work of them. Even just making a deal with a single Jernal nation would have provided them with thousands of soldiers, eager to defend their homeland; or avenge it.


    So. He studied the Confederacy. The Duchess. The ''Queendom'', as it were, with its queen and three kings, and dozens of princes, princesses, dukes, duchesses.


    The first thing that stuck out... the Shoork might not care about how closely related to the Founders you were. But... the squid and humanoid sides each had their own royalty. And if you weren''t related to them... you were either a foreigner, part of a merchant family, or property.


    They had, in fact, rescued people from the Republic before; only to essentially enslave them, settling them somewhere inside the Queendom, far from the Republic, safe; and useful. He could find entries on a species named the ''Tamrik'' whose scattered colonies had been overwhelmed by the republic; and been mostly resettled in Royal territories as colonies of serfs, doing farming work.


    The screens were bothersome at times; reading information seemed so slow when it took almost as much time to change to the new screen as it did to swap pages; but within the first few minutes, one of the machines had stopped by; and another screen was placed beside the first, synced up so that one was loading the new page while he read the first.


    His insides felt... strange. He tried not to think about the ongoing surgery as he read; the constant work to undo years of torment and implantation. Or the fact that, from what he could tell, these Royals weren''t that much better than the Republic; just on the opposite sides. Hopefully they didn''t leave the Forstagers here. He''d grown sympathetic to the poor, helpless, shiny creatures.


    ***


    Eyeball had, at first, ignored this vendor. He had a holographic display over his counter, and racks of some sort of side-arm and rifle that looked far too bulky to be worth carrying around; and the display showed a soldier waving the handgun-sized version at a swarm of insects, the creatures falling to the ground en masse; and the trees and plants around them simply wilting away. A ''Death Gun'' that could simply eradicate life forms inside its area of effect, stopping all biological processes.


    He''d already picked up different versions of shield-generator based weapons he was planning on using for a new shroud grenade design, EMP weapons, a larger, more powerful version of the ''Pulsewave'' weapon the 8AD had been equipped with; he''d even grabbed a sort of plasma cutter that looked like a lightsaber, except, of course, without any sort of force field nonsense; but after a few steps, he turned around; and stepped up to the display. The place was empty; Eyeball looked at the display closely, as the salesperson; one of the local blue-skinned Shoork; looked up attentively.


    ".... A death gun. Point and kill anything. Why exactly is this not more popular here? Don''t pirates have quite a bit of use for murdering folks?"


    The man sighed. "Well. It''s an ''exotic'' radiation gun, virtually nonexistant half-life. Absolutely terrible armor penetration beyond point-blank range, limited effective range in atmosphere, but for unarmored victims, if its big enough to survive the initial shot, its still gonna die later from its insides being fried. It''s... only really good for clearing out hostile wildlife and killing people in vac-suits; who, around here, they want to capture and sell as slaves."


    Eyeball chuckled. "So... basically, it''ll leave equipment mostly intact, but the person inside normally sells for more than the equipment would. And the people you -want- to kill with it, it only works... how far off?"


    "For the heavier armor suits, you need skin contact; it won''t go through that much armor at all. For the lighter ones, within a few meters. Even vac-suits protect you at fifty meters in vacuum, or thirty in most atmospheres... water makes it just a few meters even for a vac-suit. But... if you have a pest problem, whether its a herd of rampaging monsters or a swarm of bugs, or even bacteria, its amazing!"


    A slow nod. "I''ll take Sixty, and the schematics. Are Bacteria a problem that often around here?"


    "Not too often unless they''ve been engineered as weapons. Most bacteria don''t even work on things from offworld unless someone built them to do so; the rare times they do, though, its nasty. One time the Republic invaded a world, some bug in the biosphere killed anything that came into contact within minutes. Nice for them to get a taste of their own medicine for once. So... sixty? You''re sure?"


    Eyeball reached over and picked up one of the fat, rounded handguns. "I don''t sell slaves. I''m much more interested in retrieving intact equipment than living corpses... and I can still make use of one of these Republic nutjobs even if they''re dead. Delivery to the Gaze of Wrath."


    He checked the price board on the vendor''s display; and set a stack of credits out on the counter; which the man gave a quick accounting of before setting them in a lockbox beneath the counter. "Well then. Pleasure doing business with you!"


    Eyeball nodded; and checked his HUD. He was supposed to go visit the Duchess in a few hours, before leaving the station for his next stop. All sorts of things to work out; what would happen to the Forstagers, possibly arranging a fleet to try to get that Neutronium... but he had another stop first; see what sort of crew he might find here that he could work with in the event Ascension had problems with EMP somewhere down the line.

 Andromeda -27 - Council of War

    Eyeball had been at numerous important meetings before; several of which had determined the fate of the earth, or even the milky way galaxy, by the end. This one wasn''t nearly so important; though he still didn''t want things to go poorly.


    The Duchess, of course, was at the head of the table, with a pair of bodyguards on either side, resplendent in a long, sleek white dress that did wonders for showing just how close to human her species was, and risked distracting him from the topic at hand. His helmet was telling him she was surrounded by some sort of energy field; something likely similar to what the Republic used to slow down speedsters like the Jernal, rather than an actual shield, since the light haze of mist in the air from the banks of humidifiers mounted nearby was still passing through it.


    More of her own species; at least six ship captains; men and women with the blue skin, dark hair, and gills of a Shoork; and even a squid whose gender he couldn''t identify but was a member of the non-humanoid branch of their people; were gathered around her. There were three Yogg, their spiny protrusions from their own more greyish-toned skin making them stand out; he''d seen them long enough to recognize them immediately. The rest of the captains; ranging from a pair of feathered, eight-limbed creatures perched on the table''s edge to one that, like the squid, was resting in a tank of liquid, were unrecognizable; though he''d seen a few during his recruitment drive earlier.


    Qaki nodded to the gathered captains as the last sat down; a grey-skinned creature with hundreds of tendrils; apparently prehensile; dangling down from its upper body. "My fellow captains. I bring you here today with an opportunity. One that could make a tremendous difference in our efforts against the Republic. Those of you whom are privateers, this could make you fabulously wealthy. Those of you whom are members of a confederate navy, this could bring you a fair amount of neutronium for use in ship-building, enough to help us tilt the balance against our adversary. And this opportunity has been brought to us by this man. Captain Eyeball. You have the floor."


    Eyeball nodded; and pulled to his feet, gesturing at the table. The holographic display suddenly came to life; showing an image of a star, a Republic fleet, and a single round object. The caption at the top read ''Paradise''.


    "A couple of weeks ago, I was incarcerated in a Republic prison; albeit a fairly nice one, in a system I''ll be calling the Paradise system going forward; coordinates are being sent to you all when this is done. Inside this system was a chunk of incredibly valuable debris left over from a catastrophic battle; a massive chunk of neutronium. So big and heavy that transporting it was a problem."


    The irregular orb suddenly came into focus; the strange, bulging shape, the hole in the side. "Enough neutronium to make every privateer in the system wealthy and give every confederate navy that calls this station home enough to work through years worth of ship production. Their plan was simple; hold it in place, protect it, and get a gate-ship there to take it to their shipyards."


    An animated clip played; showing the events of weeks ago. Destroyed Republic escorts. The orb being launched into the sun. "I didn''t want the Republic to get it. And I didn''t have what I needed to fight them. So with the help of my Ascension allies, we hijacked a Republic scout-ship, launched the mass into the sun, and fled. This would keep them from getting it.... for now. However."


    The display faded; and showed the star starting to shrink, as an expanding, nebulous cloud filled the display. "Ascension still has a presence in the system, giving us updates. And from what we have learned, the Gateship will arrive within the next two weeks. At that time... they will begin stripping the outer layer of the star away through a series of enormous venting devices, while preparing the equipment to retrieve the mass from the core. The project will take months. Probably between five and seven. When it''s complete, the star system will be uninhabitable, its ruins in the midst of a nebula that was once the star''s outermost layers and the neutronium will be carted out through the gate. They will initially have massive amounts of security in place; but withdraw it over time, as the work is done... since, with the system now buried in an enormous gas cloud, any attacker would be forced to come in at barely above lightspeed, giving them plenty of time to intercept."


    "Tactically, it makes sense; the gate will have access to every Republic fleet, and can call in thousands of reinforcements in hours; while it would take days for the enemy to reach it from the edge of warp sensor range. Their method is sound, and should allow them to retrieve it, with minimal risk of interception; we would need either a fleet big enough to handle the entire Republic navy, or to arrive before the gateship and do the work of pulling the orb out ourselves to have any shot at it; and that would take weeks. The gateship; and its reinforcements; would be there by then."


    "So. We have the possibility of a remarkable prize. One that, though it technically belongs to me, I''m willing to share with anyone willing to help fight the Republic; especially if they''ll join me on this mission."


    The Duchess stared at the display. "You... make it sound impossible. Would you have us what... creep in at slower-than-light speeds, reactors off, to pounce on them the moment the Neutronium is freed... and spend weeks struggling through the soup of the nebula to escape, hoping Republic forces don''t catch us?"


    Eyeball smiled. He''d actually programmed the translator to convey emotions, so hopefully the expressionless helmet wouldn''t ruin the effect. "That is a possibility, yes. However. You''re aware there are faster-than-light drives other than warp, and these gates?"


    The captains all suddenly grew more attentive. Some leaning in closer. Others making subtle gestures or indications of anxiety, awareness. "Where I come from, we built what was called a ''Hyperdrive''. The vessel I owned which won the battle leaving that orb behind was equipped with such a thing; a drive which drops the vessel into a pseudo-reality that was discovered by some alien species thousands of years ago, and which my people called ''Hyperspace''. While it does have limits in terms of jumping into gravity wells like those of a planet or star, and a warp drive is faster in clear space, nebulas have no impact on it whatsoever, and it can handle far more mass... like a giant orb of super-dense rock. I can manufacture, demonstrate, and sell these drives to anyone interested in joining; and whether this works or not, you can, of course, keep them, and your nations can have the plans to build your own."


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The image suddenly showed a fleet appearing in the space around the gate-ship; firing on it, and the defending fleet, ships swooping in to seize the orb; and then vanishing just as they''d arrived. "Ideally, I would recommend we start moving the neutronium out of the system, let the Republic call in every ship it wants for backup... then destroy the gate and leave. Suddenly, the Republic would have a giant mass of ships trapped there, weeks from any battlefront, unable to join the war elsewhere. With appropriate timing, we could coordinate this with other sectors of Confederate space that border these gates; and hit the systems the moment the defending fleets withdraw."


    The level of excitement was growing. The Yogg captains were actually drooling, and his helmet warned him of a biological contaminant, filtering the air; something apparently was fragrant when excited. "Obviously, this won''t be a one-two punch to kill the Republic. And those fleets would be a major threat here; the nebula surrounding the star will be a few light-weeks across by the time this happens, and expanding, which will take them a week or two to escape... but even if we damage them, that would be thousands of ships. So, alternately, we could just blow the gate the moment we arrive. I''d need the agreement of the local rulers before enacting a plan the strands a giant swarm of Republic ships a few weeks travel away."


    The Duchess stared at the display, then at Eyeball. "...I thought you were going to be offering us this extradimensional space device, to help us carry more firepower into battle. This... If this drive functions as advertised, the Queen will want to enact her plans to create a barricade against the Republic by anti-matter bombing uninhabited systems along the border. We could strand a thousand ships here... and then render this entire sector of space virtually impassible to warp drives. How hard are they to make?"


    "Substantially harder than a warp drive; though they require no neutronium. And when it comes to combat near a planet, your warp drives will be vastly superior; you can make short hops using the warp drive in places the hyperdrive is virtually nonfunctional; going at warp factor ten for six seconds to cover a light-minute and reach the enemy, for example. I would highly recommend, if possible, building ships with both."


    The Duchess stared at the display for a moment, looking at the captains. "...We will be giving our friend Eyeball here a chance to demonstrate these hyperdrives, and I will be contacting the queen. But. If this performs as advertised... I anticipate her Majesty authorizing the plan. If any of you are interested... we can begin building and preparing now, and continue our normal anti-Republic operations... and be prepared in five months, waiting to strike within Republic space. I invite you to speak among yourselves about this., and review the materials... Eyeball, if I could speak with you privately."


    ***


    Her bodyguards had stopped just outside the office, leaving the two of them alone as she stepped in, walking over to her desk; and bending over to pick up a tablet. The basic design varied from place to place, but a modest-sized display with a computer built into it seemed to be common to everyone who got advanced enough to make one; though the way the dress moved over her body as she reached for it was far, far less common.


    She turned to him, giving the Shoork equivalent of a smile; showing far too many sharp teeth, destroying the illusion of her just being a human woman in makeup. "I do wish you''d gone over this plan privately. As much as the Queendom wishes to see the Republic at an end, should we ever get them on the back foot, the Confederacy would, of course, begin to dissolve. Should your plan work as intended... and my Queen react as I suspect she will... we can push the Republic out of this entire sector. We don''t actually need these pirates, or other species, to enact this plan. Should your hyperdrive tests be shown to be failures, they''ll lose interest... and they wouldn''t need to know that they were deliberate, and we were the only ones with the real thing... the Queendom can make it very much worth your while to make us the exclusive owners of that device here in the sector."


    Eyeball didn''t even have time to respond before she started to move closer, and started speaking once more, still with that wide open, jagged smile. "And I can make it even more-so. Right now, you''re an outsider; a homeless wanderer in our sector. I could make you one of my husbands; a Duke. Wealth, power, servants. The good of the Queendom would be the good of yourself. I can tell you''re attracted to me as well; and lets just say I have a certain fondness for capable, powerful males, so  it needn''t be a strictly procedural marriage either. All you need to do is make sure only Her Majesty''s ships get this new drive of yours."


    The ideas of flat-out rejecting her, and accepting her proposal, both just felt... terrible. There was a part of him, of course, that was extremely tempted. He almost reached out for her... but stopped. "Don''t get me wrong. You''re right, in that I''m attracted to you. Both you specifically, and your entire species, are the most attractive of all the descendants I''ve encountered, and if I end up settling down after the war, this seems a likely place. But. I want to kill the Republic. And the Founders. Not just the ones in this sector. All of them. So I''ll help you; and anyone else you''ll let me here; and then move on. And since I might want to live here someday, I''ll make sure I do right by your people as I kill the Founders."


    Qaki blinked. "Kill the Founders? But... they left. Thousands of years ago. Barely speak even to their chosen children."


    "According to Republic records, he last time the Purge went poorly for the Republic on a grand scale, they came back to help for a bit over a year, then left. If I screw the Marrick over badly enough, I might just be able to lure them into the light. If not... I''ll go hunting. I''m immortal; I''ll have time, I''m sure it''ll take less time to find them than to fly to my home galaxy."


    The Duchess sighed. "Fine, fine. If this plan works, strictly on my authority as Duchess, I can grant you a rank as a lesser noble, enough to own a small continent on a habitable world, or a moon. So long as you really do give us as much neutronium as you promised, that on its own will give us an enormous advantage."


    "Honestly, I may have underestimated how much I can give you. So. We''ve got several months before we''re going to be making a move; I can give you the plans for the hyperdrive now, but I''d like to go hurt the Republic in a few more places first. Do you have any intel on places where they''ve got a mid-sized fleet, say, less than three heavy capital ships? And, as odd as it might sound, I''d like to visit at least one place where the Republic has performed a few acts of genocide; I plan to make examples of everyone involved."

 Andromeda - 28 - A Bug Planet

    "The locals don''t have a name that can be pronounced by a human; so I''ll designate this as Klendathu on the charts for now, as well as the Republic target world designation number."


    The bridge was... quite different now. There were two Ascension drones, pretending to operate consoles; as well as three of the spiny Yogg, currently working through tutorials, learning how to operate their stations; and making suggestions for changes. One of the three shifts was entirely Yogg, the second was all Shoork, and the third was a blend of other races; but all of them would have Ascension drones watching over them. These were seasoned crew, either former military or pirate; and Eyeball was hoping that, in the unlikely event Ascension was taken down by an EMP, they could hold things together.


    In the center of the bridge, before Eyeball''s chair, was both a flat screen that could project an image from a variety of optical lines running from the hull, allowing him to see outside  the ship without any power at all in an emergency; and a massive holo-image showing a greenish brown orb with two moons orbiting around it. Mostly for the benefit of the three Yogg, one of the drones was pointing out information, primarily provided by the Queendom.


    "Based on both Royal and Republic Intel, Klendathu was a desert world, hundreds of thousands of years ago, with very little native life and only a single ocean at it''s northernmost pole. The Founders deposited massive amounts of water, established a modest colony of descendants, genetically engineered some of the native insectoids to serve as herd animals and beasts of burden, and then, of course, left."


    An image suddenly appeared; of an enormous spider-like creature, brown and yellow, with ten legs, the front four of which ended in curving tendrils. "Then ''Klendath'' as we will call them, or the ''Bugs'' if you prefer, are a mistake; a crossbreed of native life with genetically altered cattle creatures, they combined the intelligence and ferocity of the natives with the size and rapid breeding potential of the cattle. They wiped out the local Founder colonists, established their own civilization, and eventually began to learn to use Founder technology. When the Marrick arrived, over twelve billion of them lived on this world at a technology level that in some ways was extremely primitive, but others close to pre-Jotun humanity. There are ongoing news streams in Republic space of the ancient ruins where a Tier Zero species once lived, and the Republic efforts to reclaim the world."


    An image snapped up; showing aircraft flying over a field filled with swarms of the massive spider-like creatures, with blossoms of fire and death scattering among them; before the aircraft was suddenly struck by an unseen projectile, and began to fall; slamming into the ground and burning through yet more of them.


    "They adapt to biological weapons fairly well; the Republic has deployed four so far, and the Klendath survived each, though with less than ten percent of their original numbers. at the end of the fourth one.The Republic is only concerned with salvaging the ruins of the Founder settlement on Klendathu; they have an armed, fortified presence there, and are both using it to deliver bio-weapons and conducting an archaeological dig on the site. As such, having secured the surroundings of that settlement, they have begun a campaign of orbital bombardment; as well as the deployment of a fifth biological weapon. There are over one thousand cities of over one million Klendath as of the last news report; but they are constantly being obliterated."


    The image shifts; going back to the globe. A single blue circle was highlighted; with massive blossoms of red in every direction, and a handful of green dots scattered among them. "They are using relatively small projectiles, to do less damage to the atmosphere, but have a specific plan to sweep the world, eradicating every settlement over the course of the next few months. There are two specialized planetary bombardment ships, equipped with railguns designed to deliver anti-ground munitions at precisely calibrated masses and speeds to maximize effect, often designed to splinter in midair to increase impact radius while reducing overall force. These are protected by a single Battleship-class Republic vessel, and as the Klendath had launched primitive probes and even manned craft into space before the Marrick arrived, there are also fourteen lighter vessels; both six Escort-class ships, and eight individual scout-ships which are inspecting every rock and object in the system to ensure no ''Swarm'' members escape the purge."


    The three Yogg looked up at the display, staring at the massed firepower; the three massive capital ships floating in orbit over the world looking insurmountable to something of the Gaze''s size.


    "Interesting. So. We want to clean house, getting rid of all enemy ships in the system. How are our main guns looking?"


    A brief flicker. The long, thin shape of the Gaze of Wrath appeared instead on the hologram. "Our primary particle cannon battery has been altered heavily. There are now six individual guns, firing at a higher speed but lower mass than standard, in a pattern that will allow them to take out the shields and then tear through any mobile asset the Republic possesses in a single volley. Precision is only required in that you must hit the target; the fifth and sixth shot of each volley are designed in such a way as to ''bounce'' inside a heavily armored target, creating an effect similar to a hollow-point round in organic flesh through the use of dozens of much lower-mass projectiles forming a spread."


    "Nice. So. One shot, one kill. Exactly what the doctor ordered. Excellent work, Ascension. What''s our best way to nail them all?"


    "None that I am aware of. It is highly likely the lighter enemy vessels will scatter and flee either immediately or the moment we destroy the first target; the Republic officers are not cowards, but appearances indicate they are competent. The heavier vessels, unable to escape, will likely form up and attempt to meet us before falling."


    The Yogg all looked shocked at the assessment. One of them looked between the drone  and Eyeball. "Ahh... Sir? Those are bombarders. And a battleship. They''ve got ten times our armor and a dozen times our firepower. We could outrun them, but... How could we hope to kill even one?"


    Eyeball gave a low chuckle. "No worries on that score. The trick about space combat is who can hit the other guy first. And while we actually carry more missiles than all three of those ships put together... more importantly, we have a unique advantage; a targeting computer from my home galaxy that will let us predict their ''random'' walking and nail them with a perfect shot, every time, from far beyond what should be effective range. At ranges where they fire a thousand rounds and hope, maybe, to hit with one or two... we fire six rounds and nail them with every one. We aren''t unbeatable... but they''d need far more than they have here to  take us on. Now. Ascension will be handling the controls for this run, making sure the engines are primed and weapons ready. I''ll do the flying and aiming. But I want the three of you to run those controls in simulation, on repeat, until we arrive."


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    He nods at the drone. "My friends here are all cyborgs; and while they''ll survive an EMP and we can recover them... it''ll fuck em up, bad. So I need you to be ready to support me. Just in case."


    The Yogg nodded. "Of course. Lets send some of those Republic bastards to the Founder assholes they worship."


    "I... don''t think it works that way, but I can agree in principle." He nodded; and the crewman turned back to his console; these would be the men on-duty when he arrived; barring the unforeseen, they would be helping him train the Forstagers on this as well in the future.


    There was, of course, one other crewman who would be on duty; but the barely trained Jernal pilot Dorset was a backup for Eyeball himself. The ability to react with a vast, insane speed might not match up to precognition when it came to space combat; but it would hopefully let them dodge enemy fire long enough to get out alive if Eyeball were knocked out and needed time to recover.


    ***


    Operations Commander Chitruk stared down at the board in his command center; he could hear the faint shaking of artillery fire being launched a few meters away... as well as the sound of drilling beneath his feet. This hellscape was disorganized chaos; and even worse, he had reporters to deal with. His command center was a massive structure, with dozens of Marrick and lesser soldiers manning positions, gathering intel from the overwatching eyes and passing orders to the guns.


    He glanced up. One of his artillerymen was stretching out and smiling in his uniform at an attractive reporter as he talked about, probably, how many bugs he''d killed. Chitruk sighed, looking back at the board.


    Cairn was the only Republic facility on this place; a series of six pre-fabricated fortifications forming a solid hexagonal wall around what was probably called Landing, thousands of years ago; where a group of Founder colonists had voluntarily had themselves adapted to live on this lump of dirt for some unknown reason. Since his arrival, he''d overseen the deployment of bio-weapons, directed orbital fire... and sent soldiers on dozens of missions whose sole purpose was to capture video of heavily armed and armored soldiers slaughtering masses of Bugs.


    The worst were the bombing runs; the Bugs had anti-air weapons that could take out a low-flying gunships. So, of course, he used massed artillery fire to disrupt any attack waves, and called down orbital strikes on wherever the enemy seemed most concentrated at the time. But aircraft flying over swarms dropping bombs looked good for the camera. So... he''d lost six gunships like that this year.


    The reporter was walking in his direction; Chitruk steeling himself for another insipid interview; when a sudden alert sounded. He looked down at his board; unknown ship. Presumed hostile; its trajectory matched Swarm territory.


    He frowned; examining the incoming course. The ship... looked completely unfamiliar. He''d never seen such a thing. Probably a pirate, from some race stupid enough to send a single destroyer into a place where battleships and escorts sailed.


    "Tactical. Analysis of the intruder."


    One of his officers; a competent young woman named Charsi; was looking at a schematic and sensor readings of the vessel on her own screen. "Looks... like a pirate. Made for hit and run attacks. Big, powerful main guns, but not enough of them, excellent point defense, and at least eight missile tubes; it could probably empty its missile bays in two or three volleys. Destroyer-class; probably an even match for one of our Escorts, or even slightly better, during a missile duel, but its guns aren''t made for open battle; its an ambush predator. Those power readings, that gun configuration... if it could somehow get in behind you, unaware, it could take out almost anything with the first volley, then run. The question is... why is it coming out in the open like that. Intel has seen pirate ships pretend to be civvies before, but never out in the open into a clearly unwinnable fight."


    He nodded slowly. "So. Either he''s an idiot, or he''s got friends. Get everyone on full alert, tell the bombarders to switch their guns to anti-starship mode, and order the scouts to sweep the system. I want eyes on every possible approach vector within the hour. Oh... and send three of the escorts after him. I want the other three to just stay close, ready to intercept if we see another ship pop up."


    A comms officer was relaying his orders, even as he spoke. Chitruk glanced at the reporter. "Whatever you have to ask, it can wait. I''ve got a hostile starship in the system. We can talk once this is dealt with."


    ***


    "We''ve got three Escorts on an intercept course; everybody else is either ignoring us or looking for our backup." The young Yogg pirate glanced up; the bright blue light armor he was wearing was very different from the dull white, skull-adorned outfit he''d worn as a pirate; and he wasn''t even sure why he was wearing it, if the Captain was going to be wearing black.


    Then again, while he was letting the Ascension cyborg fly the ship, the captain had his hands on the gunnery controls himself; a fairly uncommon thing. Most pirates had a dedicated gunnery officer; usually whoever had the best aim. The whole three shifts thing was another strange one; usually there was one main group, and then a sort-of ''sleeper'' crew; people who just kept it running while the captain was asleep.


    But... the man had supposedly killed tons of Marrick.


    Eyeball watched the range counter dwindle, keeping an eye on the displays; and suddenly, there was a flicker. One moment, the ship was cruising along; fast, but not too fast, on an intercept course with three Escorts; the worst ship for a pirate to deal with, fast, tough, deadly. The next... he''d flickered the Warp drive on for a fraction of a second; an incredibly risky manuever this far in-system; and yanked the trigger moments later.


    The Escorts went from a full light-minute away... to three light-seconds. And the closest one already falling apart, as he spun to track the others. Swarms of missiles emerged from the two intact vessels; even as a second one died. By the time the third one was gone; nine seconds after the brief warp jump; forty missiles had dropped free, and were accelerating towards them.


    The captain glanced at Ascension. "Any problems?"


    "Negative. Point defense can handle them without an issue, no need for counter-missiles. If you see a good opportunity to advance up above the ecliptic, however..."


    ***


    Chitruk stared at the board for a few seconds, then looked at the analyst. "...This is either the same rogue we''ve been warned about, or he''s given someone else his targeting computer. Three perfect shots in a row, less than three seconds in between. Order the scouts and the Escorts to scatter and head to the staging area... and the Bombarders to start laying flak over his most likely approach vectors."


    The reporter suddenly leaned in closer. "Can you tell our viewers what rogue you''re talking about? What just happened? Why would you order your people to flee from just one ship?"


    He glared down at her. "...Get her out of here. And... down. Into the excavation site. Stop the drilling, and evacuate everyone but the gunners and the command staff into the underground chambers." He glanced back at Charsi. "You might as well yourself. He had nothing but a scoutship and killed multiple escorts with it when he first fled. With whatever computer he''s got and those guns, that thing is clearly purpose-built to kill things like our battleship. This is the only Republic facility on the planet. I''d lay good odds we''re going to be seeing him, and likely after he drops something on our heads."

 Andromeda - 29 - Cairn

    The defensive efforts of the three capital ships were, if useless, still impressive.


    Each of the two Bombarder ships had masses of heavy railguns, able to increase or decrease firing velocity at a moment''s notice, various weights of shells with different intended purposes; and as the Gaze of Wrath approached, they started spitting out projectiles in a vague cone pointed in his direction; initially at a fairly low velocity, but increasing as they kept firing; ensuring that, at about the time he reached the region those first shots were fired in, he would be crossing an area with thirty minutes worth of sustained fire within, effectively, a two-second travel time.


    He was pretty sure that, at the time he reached that spot and was twelve light-seconds out, they''d have started creating a second, smaller wave for the last few minutes of his approach.


    The arc was massive, and, even if there was still a good chance of avoiding fire, meant that most likely, if he tried a direct approach, he''d pass through it at some point, and likely take a round or two. Assuming, of course, he maintained the direct approach. The amount of ammunition being thrown into space was insane; they could build multiple smaller starships with just the mass of composites being fired.


    At the same time, they had launched missiles; the Battleship in the center firing over two hundred; in a wave behind that mass of fire; and shuttles were dropping from orbit to undoubtedly deliver all but a skeleton crew to the fortifications below.


    He kept an eye on the display. They might need to duck and weave to avoid these projectiles; or they might happen across an area of space clear enough he could make another brief warp hop to avoid the incoming wave entirely. "What do we have going on down on the surface? The Klendath still fighting back, or the Marrick managed to break them?"


    The nearest drone glanced up at the display. The ship was set to give a slight twist in angle and jump into warp at the tap of a switch; and Eyeball seemed to just be running his finger over that switch, staring off into space. Ascension considered, not for the first time, just what the precognition looked like; the thousands of possible futures in just the next few seconds. "No apparent fighting, though at least a few cities are still relatively intact; though all surviving cities are now closer to bunkers. The closest Klendath city to the Carin was destroyed a few seconds ago; over five hundred miles away. They have been targeting both the largest population centers they could find, as well as the closest ones to the fortification; creating both an ever-growing ''safe zone'' circle through artillery and orbital bombardment, as well as devastating anything that looks like a possible hub of resistance."


    A brief squeeze. For a few seconds, the Gaze of Wrath was moving at a warp factor of fifty; several light-minutes away, the barrage of projectiles now not even close to on-target. For a few seconds, the firing stopped. Then... they re-oriented, and started to create a new wave; but this time, the relatively sluggish railgun rounds wouldn''t reach the Gaze until after the ship was only six light-seconds away. At best, they might damage the Gaze after themselves being within range of what they believed the ship could do for thirty seconds.


    In reality, the tuning of the main guns meant he could nail them with precision from almost eleven light-seconds away; but he''d give it time. The three Yogg were all ignoring their simulations, staring at the display. It seemed... insane. Impossible. Warp travel this far into a star-system was insanely dangerous, but they''d just done it. Twice. While charging at three vessels, each of which outmassed and outgunned them enormously.


    Eyeball glanced up. "Gentlemen. I know it looks as if we''ve got all of this under strict control, but one EMP could put us in serious trouble. Pay attention. Hands on the controls, and be ready to jump in. At least forty of those missiles they launched last time were EMPs, and they''re likely to launch another volley in the next few seconds."


    The enemy Battleship had started randomly spraying particle cannon fire in the Gaze''s direction. The odds of a hit at this range were minimal; by now, it was over ten seconds between launch and arrival, so even the smallest shift of position would put them far beyond the impact zone.


    He focused on the trigger; and smiled. "I''m going to deliberately miss the first shot. I''m sure what''s happening here is being relayed onward. It should give them a bit of confusion on how this all works." He looked back at the display, moving the barrel of the gun a few millimeters to the left.. and tapped the trigger.


    Three seconds later... again. The moment the guns were prepared, he fired a third time; and then watched the monitors.


    First, the volley missed one of the Bombardment ships entirely. Then, with the second launch, the Battleship was killed; the first four rounds brought down the shields with direct hits, the fourth actually penetrating several decks into the ship, while the fifth and the sixth deflected inside, obliterating the ship with a series of chain reactions; while seconds later, the third volley slammed into the second Bombardment ship; the fat, bulbous mass with its banks of railguns breaking apart as its main power core was neatly pierced.


    He centered the barrel on the first Bombardment ship... then stopped. "Huh."


    The weapons on the ship were being stowed; shields powered up at maximum; covers over the barrels coming down. He stared; the ship was about to activate its warp drive and try to ram the Gaze like a living projectile. It wouldn''t make it; it would strike a pocket of gas, or some bit of debris, a few light-seconds out, and its mostly-intact wreckage would be on his screens seconds later.


    Sure enough, the display suddenly changed. At first, an error message. Then... the heavily damaged form of the second Bombardment ship appeared on-screen. It looked as if the hardened composites were a bowl of jello some child had made three massive scoops out of; atmosphere leaking out, bits of debris, and, probably, bodies floating every which way.


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    ".... Well then. That''s something. Ascension, our main guns good for orbital bombardment?"


    "Negative, sir."


    "Too bad. Missiles?"


    "We have over two hundred purpose-build ground bombardment multiple-impactor missiles purchased at Knife-7, designed to fragment on contact with the atmosphere and deliver high-density rods on up to fifty targets each."


    Eyeball nodded; releasing the controls. "Well then. Get me five of those centered on that one republic fort... and coordinates to the most recently destroyed Klendath city along the edge of that circle of death." He tapped the side of his helmet. "Dancer. It''s time. Bring the tools we discussed, and meet me at the main cargo bay. We''re taking a field trip." He tapped the helmet again. "Doshet. Doshiri. I want one of you on the helm, the other with me on the surface. You choose. Whoever gets the helm, just keep working the simulator unless something goes wrong. Listen to Ascension; they''re the only ones who can think as fast as you."


    The long, lean, brown-furred form of one of the Jernal was in the seat before he was two steps away; he gave a soft chuckle as he headed down the hallway. This should be amusing. How many lies, and how much truth, was he going to give the alien? He was likely about to be copying the same methods used to make Hiroshima and Nagasaki back in the day; but since he wasn''t one of the bugs, emotionally devastated by what was going on, it likely wouldn''t work nearly as well as a young Japanese woman sitting in the ruins of a Japanese city.


    Still. It should be impressive enough.


    ***


    His helmet gave a soft warning beep as the assault shuttle opened, the native atmosphere hissing in; the local level of CO2 would be toxic to him in minutes if he removed his helmet... but how bad that would be for someone of his own capacities was an unknown. Could he last for days? Months? Or was breathing not something impacted by an overabundance of life force? More concerningly, of course, the ambient temperature was over 105C/221F, though going down slowly. Emerald would have been okay here, with a respirator. Preferably one as durable when it came to heat as she was.


    The shuttle had landed on a relatively clear spot caused by a collapsed building; smoke and dust clouds rose in every direction, and the impact crater from the projectile that had done this was a few hundred meters away; most of the closer buildings hadn''t so much fallen as just shattered, along with the people inside.


    One of Ascension''s drones stepped out first; or tried to. By the time it had reached the still orange-hot metal of the collapsed building, Doshet was already gone, with Eyeball, Dancer, and a pair of ''Pirates'' following; both of them former Shoork Royal Navy. Most likely still attached, really; the Duchess probably had them keeping an eye out. Ascension started to calmly jog towards the center of the blast crater, on its own errand, as Eyeball scanned for underground structures.


    Dancer''s version of powered armor was, frankly, amusing. Rather than an actual armor suit, it was a bulbous, pineapple-shaped mass with manipulators projecting out of the sides and an array of radiator fin spikes on the top; floating down the path as Eyeball stepped down, finding a rocky, cement-like surface at what had once been ground level.. and stopped.


    "...So. To make a Focus, you need powerful emotional impact. For even greater effect, you need significant loss of life force; and the more recent the better. A Republic officer here couldn''t make anything; the magic might even kill him when he tried, and any device you made here would have such a will to murder the Republic that it would twist spells to that end." This was, of course, bullshit. Hiroshima and Nagasaki could have been made by an enterprising American sorcerer without a problem, and used against the Japanese.


    "But as enemies of the Republic... the greater our hate, our emotional feelings towards them? We can bind with that, and take some of the local life force, and shape something. Either an enchanted object, filled with life force with a purpose... or a focus to augment out own magic. What kind of weapons do your people use, Dancer, of the up-close sort?" Also mostly bullshit, of course. Any strong emotion worked, but obviously if you were looking at the graveyard of your own species, it would be far more impactful to you than being angry about the quality of lunch.


    After a moment, the insectoid sent a signal; and an image appeared. A pole-arm; a hammer, with a spike at its tip, with a long pole; somewhere between a pike and a warhammer.


    "...Huh. Okay. Odd, but workable. Now... most of the blood on the surface here flash-vaporized. But..." He reached down, grabbing a chunk of debris; and heaved. With minimal effect; he just tossed a few hundred pounds of concrete through the air, breaking a chunk off of a massive slab; he''d somehow forgotten for just a moment the lessons of dealing with Butcher and lifting massive objects. "Bah. Fuck it... get behind me." He raised Titanslayer; and both Dancer and the two Shoork looked confused at the tiny weapon; with Dancer moments later recognizing this as one of the two Foci he''d seen on Eyeball.


    A loud thunderclap. An impossible burst of power. The nearby dust was suddenly cleared from the air; before a new cloud started to rise from the massive hole that had suddenly formed. Eyeball''s helmet projected an image of an entry into an underground facility, partially collapsed; and his first vision of the Klendath. Dozens. Hundreds of corpses, packed into a tiny space... mostly fresh, as it were.


    ".... Now. There''s only a couple of steps truly needed. To shape the object with the right symbols, and invest the emotion. But what the object is can matter, and the steps of the shaping matter. The absolute best I''ve found is to both carve with emotion, use metal that itself was invested with life force and strong emotion; and then cool it with fresh blood, giving the new focus its own intrinsic life force."


    Eyeball sat down at the edge of the hole, and Dancer settled in beside him. "...What are we waiting for? Does it need to cool?"


    "No. Fresher is better, for this. But Ascension is checking to see if there''s a usable chunk of the projectile that did this. It''ll be deep, and most of it vaporized on impact; but if we have any, it would be perfect."


    Suddenly, Doshet appeared in a brief blur, settling in beside Eyeball. He delivered a report; received information Eyeball already had programmed into the comms, waiting; and left.


    The text appeared over his HUD even as he ran off. ~No survivors I could find, and no Republic either. Clear of threats I can see, though I''m not as good at digging as you, apparently.~


    A momentary script. If:No_Survivors:+No_threats:~This place is on the edge of a circle surrounding whats left of the Republic base. We already hit it from orbit; if you want to make sure there''s no survivors, your helmet will show you the way. Feel free to go check it out, or just relax until its time to go; we''ll hit them again before we leave to make sure there are no survivors.~


    Dealing with super-speed subordinates required either equal reflexes, or quite a bit of planning; not just foresight; and it helped if they were at least marginally competent themselves. Fortunately, despite having the education of, essentially, children, the Jernal all seemed capable enough.

 Andromeda -30 - Hammer and Coil

    The lump of semi-molten metal the Ascension drone provided was orange-hot and not much bigger than Eyeball''s thumb; and represented the largest intact piece of a much larger projectile that had caused the devastation around them. He studied it for a moment, nodding. "I need a pole, to serve as a handle for what we''re about to make. Same materials as here if you can find it. Something long enough for Dancer."


    The two pirates stepped back; one of them sprinting off into the ruins, having apparently spotted something suitable, as Eyeball pried a chunk of some sort of composite armor material that had once protected the underground shelter out, laying it on one knee; steam rising from the surface. "This stuff is still hot; and the corpses still fresh. This is the perfect situation for it. I''m carving the proper symbols into this block right here..."


    He popped out his Osmium-backed K-Bar, using it in a manner far from intended as he started cutting into the surface, gouging out a symbol, as Dancer watched closely. "I know the runes fairly well now, but my helmet has a heads-up-display projecting them over my vision, and helping guide my hands." He also had precognition that could predict his mistakes before he made them, but best not say that.


    Once the carving was finished, he carved a hole into the chunk of composite; the K-bar, despite its durability, starting to go dull cutting the heated material. When the Shoork pirate returned with a rough metal rod with a pointed tip that was likely once a signpost, Eyeball jammed it through the composite; right through the hole, and out the other side. "There we go. Now. I''m going to heat up the impact slug a bit more, and use it to hold the block onto the pole. Then, we dip the whole mess into the blood of those corpses down there."


    Dancer stared, shaking back and forth in his floating pod. "This... is somewhere between disgusting and horrible. This is the best way to make a Focus?"


    Eyeball stepped down into the parking structure; and settled the orange-hot mass into the pool of blood and viscera within the buried shelter. He focused on it. Channeling his disgust and horror at what the Republic had done here; and his anger, his desire to put an end to it.


    As Dancer watched, the mass glowed. The blood steamed and boiled away... and the rough, horrible-looking hammer was raised up from the darkness, thick grey-blue blood dripping off of it in the light of day, and what looked to be a lump of a digestive track sizzling, hanging from the jagged spike at its tip. He focused on it. This.... was a focus. It was the second most powerful one he''d ever seen; the only one he''d seen stronger was Eyeball''s sidearm.


    Eyeball extended the handle of it to Dancer; who looked at it, then up at him. "What!?"


    "Your people use hammers. Those aren''t really my style. This is yours. We''ll be making smaller, weaker ones from the less fresh sites here on this world before I leave. My payment for teaching me your version of magic."


    "....Our magic is a far more joyous, contemplative thing. We use solidarity, compassion, love, happiness, and create our foci with lengthy rituals and careful work. This...." He accepted the hammer. "This is monstrous. I, on my own, could throw a person into orbit with this. You could do it to a starship! And it looks like something a child threw together!"


    Eyeball nodded slowly. "Really. Why don''t you show me. Lets get a bit further out from the epicenter, where its a bit cooler, so you can demonstrate. And, well. Magic is life force. The soul, as you would, of living things. The souls of all of these Klendath here have passed on, but left behind an echo of their rage, their sorrow, their pain, their fear. The most powerful focuses aren''t just created out of powerful emotion, but of mass deaths; and are further empowered as they are used for violent ends, to cause even more death."


    He raised the handgun. "Magic might not be an inherently dark, evil force. It can be a force of joy, created by love and hope, to bring life and peace. But. The darkest aspects of it are what generate the most power. That doesn''t stop them from being used for positive ends, however."


    ***


    "We appear to have suffered from some sort of orbital strike from the unknown enemy starship. Commander Chikrut, how long should it be before the enemy ship is taken out and rescue operations can begin?" The reporter was staring at him from a few feet away, as the Commander gently removed the tablet from Charsi''s hands, and rested his hand on her helmet for a moment, looking through the visor at her now permanently closed eyes.


    The reporter somehow didn''t seem to grasp the situation here; despite the close confines, the air filled with dust and smoke, the corpses... she seemed to think this was somehow a temporary setback, and tomorrow she would be recording more propaganda videos of killing hideous bugs. He glanced up at her.


    "Ma''am. We''re dead. We would already have died if the scientists hadn''t dug down into the first shelter the Founders established when they colonized this place. Everything big enough to pose a threat to that ship is gone, and I''ve ordered the rest to flee the system. If any of them come back for us, it''ll be to their own deaths. I''ve still got sensor access to orbit, and can see..." He held up the tablet.


    "They''re scavenging whats left of our ships. Stealing anything valuable. We won''t get backup for months... or longer. They''re pulling ships back from the front to protect a special project further in. Even if that ship decided not to fire again once it realized we were still alive... the natives would dig us out and kill us sometime in the next few days."


    She blinked; all six eyes flickering as if she were undergoing a stroke. "But... but the natives are already beaten. We bombed them and fried them and, and... used chemicals, and that new disease!"


    Chikrut shook his head slowly. "The first bio-weapon caused mass casualties. All but a few of their children, a third of the adults. Every one since has caused less; they''re too good at quarantining the moment any symptoms are seen now, so our most recent one is more of a slow burn one; made so they won''t even notice it for months, so that it''ll spread throughout their society before having any impact. They''ll be extinct, sure. But the first ones to die from the new plague won''t be until sometime next year. And we have, maybe, a day or two. Less; they''ll have already picked up your transmission, so there''s no point in pretending we''re all dead."


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The camera mounted to her shoulder finally died... and she sat on the dusty floor, staring up at him; then looking at Charsi. "This.... This isn''t supposed to happen. We''re the most advanced, the most intelligent, the best there is!"


    The commander had fallen silent. Something was stirring the dust and the smoke; there were apparently still air currents running through... or no.


    He collapsed. She had a momentary vision of a figure in a sleek armor suit that seemed barely more than a vacuum suit, skin-tight and demonstrating a very tall, narrow form; dripping with blood as it moved through the darkness. The commander made a gasping wheeze; as she crawled closer, she could see that a needle had been rammed through his armor, into his lungs; he was going to be choking on his own blood until he passed. His eyes... he was blind. That needle had been rammed through the visor into each of his eyes before being pressed into his chest, and left there.


    It would be a slow death. A horrible one, blind, lying in darkness. Why? Surely whoever had done this could have simply instantly finished him off. Were they being taken prisoner? Was this...


    She felt a sudden, terrible force; and horrible agony, as the world went turned red. She could hear her translator chatter in her ears for a few seconds after the pain started. ~This is no worse than you deserve, demon.~


    ***


    "The key is to keep them active, and to keep feeding the same amount of power into them. If you put too much, you slam it into the roof. Too little, it falls. It''s an art that takes quite a bit of time; but is simple enough to start."


    The gunship was flying over the ruined plains, so many impact craters on the ground that most of them ended just at the edge of another crater; and Dancer had opened the pod of his armor, showing Eyeball the runes for ''movement''. "We use them for launching spacecraft, for flying, and, rarely, for fighting; this sort of rune doesn''t impart nearly as much speed as, say, a railgun, and not even a fraction as much as a particle cannon, so it isn''t really of much use in space combat unless you''re already within arm''s reach of the enemy."


    Eyeball was nodding slowly. Their second stop had seen far weaker results; the city had been gone for months, the corpses old and rotten; if the local scavengers hadn''t been wiped out by bio-weapons, there likely would have been nothing left. The short length of cable he had enchanted, however, was still impressive, according to Dancer. He held up his artificial arm, and focused on one of the gestures that he''d seen Dancer make, aiming out the open hatch of the gunship.


    He could see results. If he twisted his finger this way, the gunship would collapse. That way, Dancer would go flying out the hatch, already dead before he''d even started falling.


    If, though, he held his hand just like this... A chunk of debris on the ground simply exploded. He frowned. He couldn''t figure out any gesture, any method that didn''t result in the target just... splattering. He actually tried it a few times, to feel how the magic flowed through it... with Dancer watching in horrified fascination.


    "...You have a great deal of intrinsic power, and are using an extremely powerful focus. I would recommend using a far weaker focus for more delicate work, or it will be... difficult. Like trying to crack only the first pane of a window with a hammer without breaking through."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Well. The gun is right out then. What would you recommend? Honestly, even this far weaker one.." He held up the short length of coil, made from the heated remnant of an old impact round. "Would probably be too much for most applications."


    "...Deliberately make a terrible focus? Just use something with no emotional attachment, no impact? Perhaps just carve the symbols into some ordinary gloves?"


    He nodded. "Well. Worth trying. We''ll stop at some more of these ruins, use all the more recent ones. Though... I''m sensing something special in this direction. Not sure just what it might be, but there''s at least a couple of living Klendath in the ruins, and I might as well talk with some before we leave."


    ***


    Riikstiitlt had been at the shrine for weeks now. He''d planned to die, here; with the children, whenever the monsters had reached it in their expanding circle of death... but for some reason, they''d passed it by. He didn''t know if they simply hadn''t seen him; or if he was too insignificant for him to care. But he knew that this was where he would die, along with all the hopes of his species.


    Until then, he would tend to the shrine. He dusted off the list of names at the top. The simple metal plaque was enormous, sitting atop the tomb, and he couldn''t help but let out a keening wail of sorrow for the thousandth time as he cleaned it off.


    Children didn''t receive a name until they reached a certain threshold. Riik''s kind simply weren''t really intelligent until then; more beast than sentient. For each name on the plaque, he knew there were a hundred unnamed children in the tomb; in what had once been on the outskirts of the largest, most populous of the people''s cities, and was now... just a ruin.


    There were graves in every direction; for most of them, a single marker representing a family, which would be lifted each time a new body was added. This shrine was unique. The only one of its kind.


    When the dark-eye illness had spread, it had been devastating. For adults, it had rendered half of the sufferers blind at first, and then killed most of them; the survivors usually took weeks to recover. For the children... virtually all of them had gone blind. Been driven mad by their blindness... and torn each other apart in their creches. Riik settled one tendril on the plaque. Seventeen of his own children were buried here. Only two old enough to have a name.


    He heard engines flying overhead, and looked to the sky. The craft that approached was familiar; one of the monsters typical landing craft, with guns to rain fire on defenders, able to carry a handful of troops. He''d seen a few, over the past weeks. None approaching, though; they were always heading out to decimate some army or other.


    The first sign this one was different... was before it landed. A tall, lean creature seemed to simply appear amidst the graves, carrying the corpse of a monster in its arms; or not a corpse. The pale-skinned creature had holes in its skull where the eyes should be, its limbs dangled uselessly, and it smoked with the heat of whatever had brought it here; but the weak, pitiful wails it released showed that it was still alive.


    Riik studied the creature, and the broken Monster; before the creature vanished, leaving it behind, as the gunship settled in to land. He could see, for a moment, a group of creatures; some the right size and shape for monsters, one of them almost People-like; talking. The tall creature appeared beside them; and then vanished again.


    Riik watched them approach, confused. The Monsters were from the stars. Clearly, that tall one didn''t like the Monsters. What of the rest? He resolved to find out; as he approached the broken monster, and ended its suffering with a quick jab of one fore-leg, the spiked digit slamming through the creature''s throat in a quick movement. Best to end its suffering before its wailing attracted more of its kind.

 Andromeda - 31 - Suicide Mission - The gathering

    With the two Shoork and an Ascension drone standing atop a nearby rocky outcropping, slowly sweeping the area with rifles at the rest, Dancer and Eyeball approached the Klendath, and the plaque. Eyeball frowned. ".. Mute. Does the translator have these people loaded in it?"


    Eyeball''s response was immediate. ~Affirmative. The Republic actually analyzed their language fairly thoroughly, and was observing their radio transmissions to monitor the spread of illness.~


    "Thanks. Why the Starship Trooper''s reference, anyway?"


    ~It was one of the few books I can still remember from my time as an organic; the only one in english. In addition, the qusi-native life-forms are vaguely spider-like in form, and extremely aggressive. They have not had a span they were not actively engaged in a war of similar scale to world-war two in their recorded history; before one war ends, the next has already begun, though they do, at least, avoid butchering children and pregnant females, unlike the Republic. If not for their extremely rapid reproduction rate, they would have died out centuries ago.~


    Eyeball blinked, shaking his head as they stopped. The creature was massive, bringing back images of the Jotun warriors; and he nodded to the creature. "Thank Doshet for the living example for me, it makes things easier. Unmute and translate. Hello. I am Eyeball, and I came here to kill Marrick." He pointed at the corpse. "I am neither your people''s friend nor enemy, but am willing to help you in whatever way contributes to killing more of them."


    The creature lowered its head, looking at the tiny creature with its black armor, shiny chrome head. A pair of enormous, multifaceted eyes focused on him. Studying his appearance, and that of his allies. They''d seen the monsters numerous times; they all shared the same vivid green coloration, with the only exceptions being those rare, unarmed, helpless ones that were often found with the teams; this was the first time an armed alien was seen without that color.


    Did it mean anything? The murder of the other one was more significant. The only time one had ever been seen harming another was clearly accidental, friendly-fire situations when the People were overrunning a position. He wondered where the nearest radio was; whatever nation was in command now would likely want to know of this. "I am Riik. I am a ceremonial gravedigger, and have been watching over this place since it was sealed. If you kill the monsters, you are welcome, but make your stay short. Some of you look too similar to the monsters for our taste."


    Eyeball glanced at Dancer. "You want to pop out and handle this one?"


    The floating pod swiveled to face Eyeball for a moment. A private message suddenly appeared. ~Look at the size of him! His limbs are as thick as my torso! He looks like one of the beasts of legend that would raze villages and eat our children! He might just decide to eat me the moment he sees me!~


    Eyeball shrugged. "His people might be more closely related to the Founders than mine, but I''m still vaguely in the right ballpark. Don''t worry, I''ve got your back."


    Dancer stared at Eyeball for a moment; and opened the pod, stepping out; the fat, beetle-like body and thin reed-like limbs a dramatic contrast to the enormous Klendath, whose limbs and torso were almost the same thickness. "I am Dancer of Worms and Fire. My people oppose the Monsters as well. I have joined Eyeball to help him hunt down and kill them."


    Riik stared at Dancer, then at Eyeball. This thing looked just... strange. He''d never seen anything even close to this; none of the Monsters had more than four limbs, or such an odd body shape. "...Well. I am no military commander. Why have you come here to visit a grave?"


    Dancer looked down at the plaque, and stepped closer to it. "May I examine the marker? There is something special about this one, isn''t there?"


    Riik looked at the fat, harmless blob... and gave its species equivalent of a shrug, momentarily touching all ten of its limbs together by pairs, and backed away. "This represents the greatest, most vile sin of the monsters. It is a monument to the intrinsic hate we all feel towards them, and the sorrow at their crimes. The first place they destroyed was our most populous city, a vast seat of power that had changed hands many times over the years. Tens of millions of us called it home, and within this area there were hundreds of millions of children being raised."


    He centered his gaze on Dancer. "Helpless children. Who could easily be raised and taught anything, who lacked awareness, who were still driven by base, animal instinct. Driven to agonized madness by a biological weapon. A sickness. It wasn''t enough that they died. That some of them turned on their mothers and fathers in their final moments. When we tried to quarantine them, they turned on each other, tearing themselves and their siblings apart."


    He looked down at the plaque, as Dancer gently laid one limb on it, staring at what the translator told him were a list of names, in incredibly fine print. As he looked at the concrete slab surrounding it, there were hundreds of other plaques with additional names that had been added later, which this ''Riik'' had clearly been cleaning, dusting, maintaining, as the surrounding area fell into ruin.


    Riik laid one tendril on the plaque. "In the last moments before we sealed the tomb, a single, helpless child who had somehow recovered called out for its mother even as its maddened siblings killed it. A mother herself long rendered blind and helpless by the plague. It.... is a moment of horror we could not have comprehended before that day."


    Dancer could feel the power oozing through the plaque; through the entire tomb; and looked up at Eyeball. If this power could be condensed, distilled into a focus... even better, by one of these natives, if he could be taught... it could be a weapon to drive the Republic away in terror. "....I want to teach these people what you''ve taught me. To stay here, and work with them."


    Eyeball shifted for a moment. That idea felt... terrible. The last time he''d felt this bad about a possible decision was back on earth, before letting Emerald lead them into that ambush. And... that time had led to Emerald getting hurt, and abducted. Which probably meant...


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    He was virtually certain it wouldn''t end well; that Dancer would die here, if he left him. ".. You aren''t one of mine. I can''t tell you what to do. But I can tell you that, if you stay here, you''ll probably never leave this planet alive. I don''t know it it will be them, or the Republic when they return... but this is it for you. If you think this is worth dying for, I''ll ask Ascension to leave a drone behind to help, and setup a warp-capable shuttle to get out of here."


    After a moment, Ascension chimed in. ~I can configure an assault shuttle to be warp-capable within six hours, using only local scavenged materials. We will still come out with more weapons and raw materials than we entered with; my existing plans indicate we will be best off creating a pair of unmanned vessels to follow us out, which we will modify en route back to Knife-7.~


    Dancer nodded. "I''ll send you my tests on magic, my own guides. And if you''re within comms range, I''ll keep transmitting guides until the Republic comes back. But... Yes. I think if we help these people, the damage they could do to the Republic would be catastrophic. Just this one site alone..."


    Eyeball sighed. "So be it. I''ll have your belongings dropped for you. With the shuttle here, you''ll be able to change your mind when you''d like; but if I''m right about this, by the time you choose to, it will be too late."


    "...Are you a seer truly then? A Prophet?" Dancer looked momentarily intrigued.


    "....Not exactly. I can''t tell you what''s going to happen. Only that it doesn''t end well."


    "Well then. As you so succintly put it... So be it."


    ***


    For the next few months, Eyeball continued making random assaults on Republic positions; every week, it seemed, he learned of new atrocities, destroyed a few ships, robbed the Republic, and made his way back across the border into Confederate territory. He finally encountered a Republic force using EMP weaponry; but thanks to extensive training, and his own foresight, they still won the battle; and had plenty of time for Ascension to recover before pulling back out.


    Forces had begun to gather at Knife-7 for what was being dubbed ''Operation Paradise''; and on top of over a hundred royal navy vessels in their beautiful, curved, seashell-like forms, increasing numbers of privateers from a variety of races had arrived; ranging from barely-modified scavenged Republic craft that still had remnants of the Republic''s teal paint on their badly scarred forms to solid dark orbs of metal bristling with weapons and strange spike-covered spires.


    And, of course, Eyeball''s own private flotilla; a group of six Ascension-driven carriers and missile boats, using Ascension''s latest foray into bio-engineering to create quasi-sentient minds to control drone fighter-craft should an EMP take out the computers. At the beginning, he''d been receiving rare reports from the Ascension drone remaining in the target system, on the continuing efforts to pare away the star''s atmosphere, on the increasing level of devastation it was causing to local life; before being warned that the machine needed to cut off outgoing signals for now except on specific, narrow bands; and being provided a list of locations near the system to arrive to get more recent data.


    The day approached they would be moving into Republic space; ships were testing out the hyperdrives, learning the ropes as it were, and a backlog of ships waiting for neutronium to complete their warp cores had been finished with them instead; the slower hyperdrive-driven vessels from the Royal Navy and a handful of other local naval yards would be the last arrivals before the assault would begin.


    And, of course, it finally arrived.


    He didn''t expect to be doing much personal combat; he''d had the bridge fully re-worked, and had a nice slot to embed the Titanslayer handgun so that he could fire it... through a railgun, which would impart enough power to destroy Knife-7, at the very least; and hopefully anything they ran up against in Republic space if it was needed.


    Just because he wasn''t expecting it was no reason not to be prepared, however. Not only had he carefully carved runes into his armor to turn it into a focus, letting him casually move around without expending thrust; but he had his latest assortment of anti-armor penetrators; including a single enchanted slug forged from the materials on Klendath that could damage even a Neutronium-armored target; and of course his various fragmentation, shroud, and chemical grenades.


    He could handle a small army on his own; and any individual target he was aware of, barring a Titan. And even most Titans he could likely either kill or at least get out of the way. On a personal level, he was more confident in his abilities than he''d ever been; he could toss Valkyrie into orbit, crush Odin like an empty beer can, anticipate and cripple Lightning... the only opponents he knew of that he couldn''t clear up with his current capabilities were the Emperor and Kezia; there at the end her abilities were insane.


    Of course, he didn''t have such high opinions of the fleet. Over six hundred ships had gathered, yes; mostly of the smaller frigate and destroyer size; but the Republic had hundreds of thousands that they could pour through that gate within hours... in fact, that was even the plan. They wanted them to pour that fleet through, and then just... slip away.


    He was reasonably confident he could survive a single hit from a starship''s particle cannon, if they lost the battle and he was left adrift in space. He was even more confident that however many it would take to finish him off, is the number they would use.


    A comms signal arrived on the bridge. His crew-woman; a capable young Yogg pirate named Porti; glanced up. "Captain. The Duchess has boarded her flagship, and has announced that it''s time. Operation: Paradise is a go."


    He nodded. "Of course. Inform the Duchess that we''ll be waiting for her at the gate." He glanced at the Ascension drone standing beside its own command console. "Have the rest of the flotilla follow us in a dead-even line, and pass the info to my HUD. We''ll see how close we can get before warp becomes impractical... then drop into hyperdrive for the last few light-weeks. After we pick up whatever intel you''ve got for us."


    A short nod. Eyeball looked at his display; the six Ascension spacecraft had no living crew, aside from the artificial organics Ascension had manufactured; and were likely; well, hopefully at least; devastatingly powerful for their mass. They''d undergone a few field tests; being used to ambush lighter craft escaping systems as Eyeball continued his campaign of ruining Republic ''Purge'' operations; but this would be the first serious battle they would see. In fact... the Paradise operation would be the first truly challenging space combat he suspected the Gaze would encounter.


    He gave a slow twist of the dial; the Gaze of Wrath smoothly accelerating into Warp, with the Ascension vessels trailing behind, matching his path as precisely as possible; and their own status LEDs popping up on his display seconds later.


    He''d caused them no end of trouble since his first escape in the 8AD. He wasn''t sure how the Republic''s media was portraying it, but he''d seen some of the campaigns he''d intervened to stop on the daily news when he was imprisoned; so hopefully there was at least some impact. There were thousands of dead Republic troops, dozens of destroyed starships; this entire sector had likely gone from being viewed as a safe place for the steady advance of the Purge to a major conflict zone. And he was about to make it worse. So, so much worse.

 Andromeda -32 - Complications

    Thanks to the dramatic difference in speeds between warp and hyperdrive, despite the increasingly cloudy, miserable path warp drives were being forced to use to transit the frontier, Eyeball arrived at one of Ascension''s designated locations almost a week before the rest of the fleet.


    The experience gave him a bit more perspective on the Queen''s plan; if he hadn''t known just where all of these debris fields and ruptured worlds and other problems the Queendom had created over the past month were, he would have destroyed the ship on any one of a number of paths to reach the front. Any Republic fleet trying to advance at this stage would be reduced to a crawl, and actually take years to cross the border; unless someone were guiding them through.


    Most likely, multiple fleets had already suffered casualties trying to advance, only to be turned back; this entire region was undoubtedly flooded with Scout ships checking how dense the new clouds were, looking for safe passages.


    This particular spot, about a light-month outside the system, was on the edge of a gas cloud formed by the disruption of the star; if he were to trigger the warp drive at a high factor, it would be like slamming into a giant, impenetrable wall surrounding the system a few light-weeks out.


    Almost immediately; before the six Ascension craft arrived; he started picking up an encrypted signal; unsurprisingly, it was a low-quality feed of what had been going on in the star system a few hours ago; as well as packets of data to update what had been going on.


    Ascension glanced up at Eyeball. A message appeared on his HUD.


    ~Receiving data. The most recent update is being broadcast on a continuous loop, repeating every forty-two minutes, with minor updates on craft positions each minute. In fifty minutes I will have the complete picture.~


    Eyeball nodded at the machine; and looked around at the crew. "Alright, people. We''re safe for the moment. All clear. Check your systems, stretch a little; we should be getting updates soon, likely about an hour. Raimi, Porti. You''ve both been on past your shift, have your replacement take over. We''ll probably be out here for a few days before we go in."


    True to his own word, he pulled to his feet and stepped off the bridge; he''d been tensed up, squeezing the controls and focusing on not letting any of the seven ships wreck for hours now. Depending on the picture Ascension had for him, he might even take a nap... after a quick jog. They were likely going to be waiting around for a while, unless there was an opportunity presenting itself.


    He inhaled deeply; the ship was over two hundred meters long, and the extradimensional space made that a full kilometer; and he no longer carried that extradimensional space with him at all times; leaving it secured to the captain''s chair. This meant that, unlike on the Jeanne, he could actually go through the entire ship at need.


    He walked through the clearly marked hatch; he''d even set an airlock in place that would snap shut if it detected another gateway getting too close; and onto the track a level below the main deck. A few of his crew were already there, jogging; one gave a nod as she moved, a Shoork pirate girl who looked to be a teenager; but if he recalled correctly was in her twenties.


    He started in on a slow jog, as updates started to appear on his HUD.


    ~Ripper''s corpse has been recovered. Ongoing experiments to produce a cyborg with Ripper''s body show promise. Project was smuggled out aboard an evacuation shuttle 17 days ago. Shuttle has been taken over, experiment resumed. Shuttle will meet fleet post-incident; protecting shuttle is a high-priority at this time.~


    Eyeball blinked. Protecting a new cyborg a high priority? Odd, but fine.


    ~Enemy ships have been continuously entering the system through the gate for the past 3 months. There are currently over two thousand vessels, mostly in stealth, lurking in the inner system powered down and watching, as well as two hundred and twelve around the outer perimeter.~


    Damn. More than the Confederate fleet could handle? Probably. If they could enter at the right spots, and hit them before they got shields up...


    ~Progress on the Skull draws near a close; the Republic has an array of devices which have been bombarding it with gravity pulses, and its orbit around the sun''s core has grown steadily more irregular. It briefly became visible through what was left of the star two days ago. Retrieval will be possible within two weeks, or less.~


    Well. That''s less than ideal. "How hard will taking out the gate be?" He passed a few of his crew on the track; the subtle curve of the walls and the artificial gravity, it was a nice, comfortable, continuous run, tricking the mind into thinking the space was bigger than it was.


    An image appeared on his HUD; a massive circular structure with several ships, a glowing blue mass in the midst of it that was apparently the wormhole; and the thing was massive. It looked like a major fortification of some sort, several kilometers across, studded with guns and glowing with power.


    "...That''s not what I thought those looked like. I thought they were just... giant rings with a box-like thing at one side."


    ~Ordinary Gates are build under the assumption they are in a defended system, and have massive backup to call that can arrive before an attacker. This Gate has been heavily fortified; it has clearly been made with the idea of a vessel like your own in mind, subtly randomwalking back and forth, and shielded so heavily that not even the Wrath''s main guns can penetrate it out in a single blow. Its ability to randomly drift is reduced compared to a starship, but enough to ensure incoming fire is distributed around its mass or through the gate rather than able to focus on a single shield and armor junction.~


    "And, of course, the stealth ships are in position to nab me if I were to just drop in within firing range?"


    ~Precisely. Based on analysis, the Republic must be aware of Hyperdrive technology, but not possess it themselves, since none of the nearby ships have one. Likely someone reviewed stored footage on Ripper''s suit camera and realized the implications; or one of the pirates betrayed it to the Republic, as the navies have the full plans, while the pirates do not, and are all accounted for; I placed trackers and self-destruct devices in those drives in the event the pirates decided to betray us..~


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Eyeball continued his jog, thinking. He looked down at his arm, nodding slowly in time with his steps. "Alright. Any ideas on how to deal with this?"


    ~The powered-down ships are vulnerable; they are not random-walking, and can thus be hit by extreme-range fire. If we deposit a series of railguns along the edge of the system, not only will it warn the enemy we are scouting; and thus likely prevent them from moving the stealthed ships; but we can have the railguns fire with timing such that they strike at the same time that our forces arrive.~


    "...Huh. Clearing the system -might- be possible. How many railguns do we have already, and how many would we need?"


    ~We already have enough for the job, primarily harvested from planetary bombardment weapons, already designed to vary the outgoing velocity of their projectiles at need. I would recommend deployment immediately; in places with existing debris in the Oort cloud.~


    "Good. I''ve already got a handle on how to deal with the Gate. Lets keep at least one ship visible, but far out, easily able to escape at warp, until we kick things off... and of course it should pretend to only have a warp drive."


    ***


    Duchess Qaki''s bridge was dead silent as they stared at the display. Fully three thousand ships were visible within the system; most of them immobile, pretending not to exist, but far more than the present fleet could handle. The gate was vastly more armed and armored than such structures were normally; and intel apparently showed there might be a hundred thousand, or more, ships on the other side, waiting for the arrival of her own fleet to ambush them.


    If she were crazy enough to have stripped every garrison in her duchy and bring the full royal fleet from the other Duchesses in the Queendom, she could have brought enough ships to handle the ones in-system. But she hadn''t.


    She''d been so focused on the gloomy outlook, watching the feed, that she hadn''t even noticed the translator''s buzz as the human gave his presentation to the assembled fleet. For some reason, red lines were running through the various downed ships, as if they wouldn''t matter in the upcoming fight; and he displayed images of their fleet emerging, scattered, each firing its full loadout at point-blank range as soon as it emerged.


    She blinked. Hyperdrives caused distortions in sensors, in shields, left them vulnerable briefly... but... if they knew where the target was before they emerged, it just might work. She rewound the image to the reason behind the red lines.


    "We''ve planted thirty-two orbital bombardment railguns around the perimeter of the system. By now, the first volleys of the battle have already been fired, and soon, those railguns will make their final shots; and go silent until its time to pick them up. The enemy knows we''re here, and watching, now. They''ve stopped slipping ships through the gate, the stealthed ones have stayed silent, and they''re pretending not to have noticed us. Within the span of four seconds, multiple railgun rounds will pass through the vicinity of each of these vessels. Odds are that most of them will be destroyed before they can even power up. The fleet jumps in, destroys any easy prey, then forms up."


    She blinked; and forwarded it closer to the current statements.


    "The only purpose of the fleet after this point, after securing any easy initial kills, is to draw in the enemy on the other side of the gate. There are millions of ships over there. We want as many as possible to come close. As such, we''re going to be deploying decoys; thousands of them around the edges of the system. The enemy will think that we''ve brought an enormous fleet to hopefully defeat them, destroy the gate, and seize the neutronium. They''ll mass an enormous, decisive fleet at the portal... and then your people will withdraw."


    The image shifted, showing the six hundred active Republic ships. "We might just be able to clear the system... aside from the gate, and the ships defending it. I''ll be handling those personally. You''ve got over four hundred warships, and hopefully, enough surprise to do the job. You''ll be jumping in seconds after the railgun strikes, with the coordinates of every enemy ship. Don''t risk yourselves; as soon as you start taking shield hits, withdraw. I don''t want the Republic getting any functional hyperdrives."


    She fast-forwarded to the present. Some of the fleet captains were asking questions. Making comments. She tapped her own alert button; the camera in the holographic meeting focused on her. "Exactly how do you plan to handle the gate, and the surrounding ships? There''s over forty enemy ships there, and over three hundred stealthed. If even some of those survive that railgun bombardment..."


    The silver helm flicked back into focus. "The Gaze of Wrath carries over fifty thousand anti-ship missiles aboard and can kill any enemy target but the gate in a single volley. I''ve got this part handled; the Ascension flotilla will join me briefly, to fire a single missile volley to support me and distract the enemy, before joining you in trying to sweep the system; but after that, I''ve got things handled."


    ***


    Commander Drakth stared at the displays in irritation as he paced the bridge of his flagship. He''d been waiting for the encounter for months now. Building his forces. Baiting the trap. But of course, the enemy would wait until the neutronium had emerged from the star, and could be easily collected; and had a scoutship, light-hours away, watching everything.


    The scout was a vague blur, but real, carrying the distinct signatures of a warp drive; and represented an enormous pain.


    Ships weren''t designed to be power-down but occupied for months at a time. Until this recent scout''s arrival, he''d been able to resolve that by having them take turns; quietly slide one ship from view while another activated itself, none being offline for more than a few days at once. Now? Everything that had been lying in wait from the moment the scout ship arrived had to remain still, silent.


    So... he''d had to issue batteries. Ration packs. Hundreds of packets of supplies were being scattered around the system to be retrieved by the scouts, as quietly as possible; and when one was missed, another had to be launched as soon as possible... without being visible by that distant scout.


    They needed to lure the enemy in. The visible ships would be more than enough to handle the Rogue and his ship, no matter how advanced it was; but obviously he would have backup. Some Swarm fleet or other, likely hundreds of them. They''d see the Republic defenders, move in to pounce with whatever drive had been witnessed in use in the recordings... and be utterly crushed by vastly superior numbers.


    In the unlikely event that he''d somehow united all of the nearby swarm races under his banner; extremely unlikely, but still possible; he might be bringing as many as ten thousand ships. In which case... Drakth would be dead. His entire purpose, and that of his fleet, would be to delay the enemy long enough for one of the other Republic Commanders waiting on the other side of the gate to arrive. No matter how many ships the Swarm could bring to bear, the Republic had access to millions; and the gates themselves, and the ability to get them from one end of the galaxy to the other instantly, would, once again, allow them to defeat even the most vast of enemy fleets.


    And, of course, grab enough neutronium to make hundreds of thousands more ships, and possibly even capture some useful technology; there were some subsections of the swarm who had only persisted because of the weaknesses of the Warp drive, things Drakth hadn''t even thought of as weaknesses until he saw Eyeball''s ship vanishing from existence in the middle of a star-system, where it wouldn''t be safe for any ordinary vessel; and use the technique repeatedly, in multiple systems, and seen the video of the rogue''s ship having done the same in his own galaxy of origin.


    This might be a bloody battle for himself, personally. But the string of losses throughout the sector had painted his own failings against the rogue in a very different light; and he might still manage to earn a place on the ruling council of the whole fleet if he managed to pull this together.

 Andromeda -33 - Significant Casualties

    Sitting in the darkness of space for weeks at a time, all systems powered down, in a constant state of readiness to turn them back on as soon as possible... this wasn''t something most starships were built for. And so, luckless saps like Rank-2 trainee Chimm were tasked with the wonderful job of, without using any energy whatsoever, leaping from an airlock at the end of a tether with a magnetic, spring-launched net gun, and waiting in the void for hours to intercept packets of batteries and supplies.


    Their onboard hydroponics facilities were struggling; barely providing any food or air on the minimal provided light. Without the packets being so silently sent out, the ship would be forced to power back on and return to formation; and if even one of the ships did so, it would foil their plans to draw in the Swarm fleet to ambush.


    Chimm was relatively relaxed, and had just nabbed the most recent package; a 2-ton crate of oxygen tanks and rations; when he felt a sudden jerk on his tether.


    He blinked, six beady eyes focusing behind him as he started slowly reeling the package in; and stopped, staring in horror. The ship... was missing a chunk the size of a tank from amidships, and looked to have a bite taken out of the front. He felt a sudden jerk; momentary, intense pain; if not for his armor, his arm would have been yanked from the socket.


    And then... the ship was growing more distant. He ignored previous orders and powered on his suit, checking his display. He was moving away from the ship at a rapid clip. He needed to slow down and...


    He looked at the ship... and then at the cargo container he was now attached to.


    For the whole crew, maybe a month of food, air and water. For him? Years. It would suck. But so long as he didn''t draw attention to himself, he could drift until the battle was over, no matter how long it took, and the Republic had the system under control; and then just call for rescue. If he went back to the ship... well. No guarantees.


    He slowly wound the tether back on, drawing himself, the chunk of the ship, and the crate together... watching his crewmates seem to vanish into the darkness.


    ***


    One moment, the system seemed to be peaceful; space was unusually dusty from the stripping of the star, and the habitable moon was rapidly en route to becoming an icy ruin; the government long since evacuated, the remaining survivors struggling for food and heat.


    The next... Drakth''s board lit up. Dozens of enemy ships; at least two hundred; of one of the known Rogue Descendant navies had just appeared, and that enemy scout ship at the edge of the system had disappeared, at seemingly the same moment.


    Even as reports came in, Republic ship lights were vanishing from the plot; and while they were taking out a handful of the enemy fleet, the numbers were heavily favoring the enemy. Drakth smiled. This couldn''t be all. Let a few more come in, then...


    Hundreds of other lights appeared. Then thousands. They seemed to be mostly in clusters; bands of pirate ships. Masses of swarm navy vessels. His in-system ships were out-numbered... and heavily. They must have stripped every available ship in this backwater hellscape to gather such a fleet, and drawn them in from other sectors; none of the ones out on the edge of the galaxy like this had fleets this big.


    "Signal the fleet. Sleepers awaken. And pass a message back through the gate. Unknown number of enemy craft have arrived to steal the orb; at minimum four thousand. Recommend responding with overwhelming force."


    He watched the screens, expecting to see over 2000 stealthed ships suddenly light up. Some of those enemy ship clusters had appeared virtually on top of them; they could turn a bit of that surprise attack back on the enemy and start getting casualty counts pushed in the right direction.


    He kept staring... a handful of ships came online. Maybe fifty. Sixty. But...


    He was getting reports of debris, scattered around the system. Every flotilla had been decimated; most of their numbers gone. The enemy fleet must have known where the stealthed ships were, somehow.. and fired on them the moment they arrived. Even so, their speed and response time was insane. Had they brought some new weapon into play? Warp-capable missiles? Or... Missiles using whatever drive had brought them into the system? It was a good thing every speck of data was being transmitted through the gate. None of this would surprise whoever ended up reinforcing him.


    Over a thousand of his ships had been destroyed in the opening moments of the battle. His career was over. If he were lucky, he might still be in the navy when it was all said and done. The crew looked to be in a panic, though they remained at their stations. His XO looked up at him; a solid veteran of hundreds of purge operations, the man seemed stunned. Appropriately horrified; hundreds of thousands of naval personnel had just died, alongside more valuable hardware than had been lost in this sector in a century of constant strige.


    He shook his head. "...Order all surviving ships to break off and mass on the gate. We need to keep this space open for just a few minutes while backup comes in. No matter how many of them there are, or how capable, for every ship they have, a hundred of ours will be here to crush them. And if by some twisted miracle even that weren''t enough... a thousand. Ten thousand. We won''t need it... but we''ll have it. There''s a formation of a million ships not five light-seconds away through that gate. All we need to do is hold for ten minutes and the day will be ours."


    As if in challenge to his remarks, suddenly the screen lit up with signals. That oddly-shaped, bulbous scout craft, and five similar ones, had appeared; as had the Rogue''s vessel, apparently with a name; the Gaze of Wrath. They had emerged into a space that, minutes before, had contained dozens of stealthed ships; now only a single ship was slowly coming online, damaged... only to be silenced by a single particle beam shot from one of the unknown scouts.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    All seven vessels were radiating enormous amounts of power; and one of them, the thick, blade-shaped Gaze, was starting to approach the gate. They seemed, oddly enough, to be strangely passive; the Gaze was the only one moving in.


    "...All ships. Assume formation Alpha. I want the pincer formation; we close in on the rogue from all sides as he tries to reach the gate. Start firing as soon as we hit five light-seconds... there''s little chance of a hit, but some chance is better than none. We''ve seen the data. We can expect between ten and fifteen of us to be destroyed before we reach firing range."


    The mass of ships; Battleships, Battlecruisers, a handful of escorts; the deadliest, most capable members of the fleet, most of them of the sort that were supposedly able to go in alone and handle a fleet of more primitive vessels singlehandedly; over sixty were charging forward, all hoping not to be one of the unlucky ones to be taken out. If those six scouts had targeting like the rogue, they might take out nine tenths of the fleet before it closed to range; but even so...


    Drakth blinked when the six scouts vanished. What were they doing? Why come in so close to.... Sensors started to light up. Thousands of signatures. Tens of thousands. Small, metal objects, traveling with ordinary speed alone... Missiles. Undoubtedly going to activate and start to accelerate when they arrived.


    "...Run the numbers. How many can our point defense and counter-missiles handle, assuming no surprises?"


    His tactical officer glanced up. "If they all come in at once, between four and five thousand. Anything more than twelve thousand is virtually a guarantee the entire fleet will be crippled. Over twenty, both us, and the gate, will be lost."


    Drakth nodded. He would personally have pegged it lower than that, but perhaps point defenses were better than when he''d graduated. "Understood. And the number of incoming?"


    "...Fifty thousand, sir. If they start to fire up engines so that all of them strike at once, we''ll have fifty thousand coming in at... two minutes. The Gaze of Wrath will reach the range it has fired at in previous recordings twenty seconds after that."


    "... This is Commander Drakth to Commodores Chack and Chorti. Advance ahead of the fleet, set engines to everything they can do, damn the safety protocols. Prepare to fire all weapons. And I do mean all. Death blossom."


    His officers stared at him for a moment as the signal went out; but he didn''t return their gaze at all, just staring at the screen. The Rogue''s plan was perfect. Dumping half a dozen cargo ships full of missiles at once in a single wave of death... If he could crush Drakth with these missiles, and destroy the gate, the fleet would never arrive. Hopefully not -too- perfect; if he''d seen this coming...


    ***


    "Sir. The Battlecruisers, all of them, are advancing ahead of the fleet. The Battleships, cruisers, escorts... all of the lighter, and slower ships have stayed in formation."


    Eyeball studied the display. Doshet was actually in position in a secondary pilot seat; Eyeball''s plan called for him to vacate the seat once the enemy fleet was cleared out between them and the gate, and the poor Jernal was fidgeting in place; it was hard to imagine, in the excitement of battle, that for him this was the equivalent of waiting long minutes between anything at all happening.


    The Battlecruisers were fast assault capital ships; the heaviest solo operators in the Republic fleet, they had more guns than anything else; but not nearly the armor of a Battleship, instead focusing on speed and power. In a one-on-one battle, they were the most dangerous thing the Republic could throw at you; even if a Battleship could likely survive their fire long enough to take one down.


    "Just... twelve Battlecruisers? Splitting his forces? What good will... Ahh."


    He could see it before it happened; not that it would do much good. From each of those Battlecruisers, massed fire emerged. Missiles. Particle cannons... and the familiar sight of a Pulsewave cannon; only, unlike the relatively small one on the 8AD, these were full, capital-scale devices.


    Thousands of ribbons of beautiful white light speared out in every direction; a few drifting back to strike the fleet defending the gate; a single Battleship going offline, an Escort detonating in a burst of fire. Some of them randomly penetrated among the Battlecruisers themselves; each of the ships unwittingly heavily damaging the ships alongside.


    But the missiles...


    A single one of those strange energy forms would lance through a dozen, a hundred missiles, setting off a massed chain of explosions. So many, so intense, that often other missiles were destroyed by the scattered debris.


    In a single, beautiful moment that seemed more like an art presentation than an actual battle, the enemy vessels had wiped out over ninety percent of the missiles; and created a massed cloud of debris that would surely stop more. At the cost of... crippling all but one of the Battlecruisers. A single lucky vessel sped ahead of its companions, still firing its point defense weapons, spitting out its own missiles.


    In the last moments before the swarm closed in, it managed a second shot.


    Six seconds later, the ship was struck by over a dozen missiles simultaneously; as this second volley; only a single shot; still cleared out hundreds more of the missiles.


    Eyeball shook his head slowly. Three destroyed enemy capitals, nine crippled; and far enough in advance of the fleet that he could clear them out before they could start to circle around him. They would never even know about the hundreds of drone fighters Ascension had laced in with those missiles; they had seemingly cleared all of them out with the first volley.


    He looked at the readouts, the makeup of the enemy fleet, and projected their course. He could take out the first ten in the first fifteen seconds of the fight. Then his weapons would be overheating; he''d risk melting them down if he just kept firing til it was done. The safest approach... if it could be called safe... would be to just keep firing as they surrounded him, dodging fire and killing them as they closed.


    There were... over forty left. Only a few hundred missiles; likely to all be intercepted at this stage. He could call for backup; Ascension''s six warships would even the odds up nicely.


    Then again... he felt fine about taking them on by himself. And if the enemy fleet saw his one ship sail in and crush forty of their best, before what he was going to do to that gate...


    He smiled. "Drop acceleration by... seven percent. And aim our course.... here." He tapped a few keys. A projection showed a curving arc, up over the enemy''s current location; granted, they were spreading out even now, but this would force them to make adjustments, draw out the time they were at range. He still had some missiles left, as well; he''d loaded on over forty thousand, and while the four thousand left couldn''t overwhelm the enemy point defenses if they all stuck together, by the time they spread out...


    He had this. Add in a few decoys to make the dodging easier during the forty seconds or so they''d have him in range before he finished the last one off, and he had this in the bag.


    "I want... sixteen of the decoys toggled to mimic the Gaze. The rest, missile swarms as usual."


    He glanced at the screens. Those crippled battlecruisers could barely maneuver, had no shields, and were stuck flying ahead of their companions. He dialed his controls, shifting them to only firing a single weapon-barrel at a time. No need for overkill right now; that would come when he was killing fully shielded battleships.


    The first of the crippled battlecruisers went down at nine light-seconds away; a single shot directly through its main reactor. He cleared the others up in the coming seconds, before focusing on the fleet ahead; and rapidly moving to surround him. This promised to be fun.

 Andromeda - 34 - Just a little push

    There was a brief respite after the death of the last battlecruiser. Time for the heat-sinks to sap away a bit more energy from the bank of particle cannons clustered at the front of the ship. Time to stretch, to focus; and for the enemy fleet to get into precisely the wrong position to support each other; a half-globe that would, momentarily, be within effective range.


    He had a bit of a quandary. Should he target the smaller, lighter ships first, so that he could flee if needed? The thought was only for a moment; if he wanted to reach that gate before the enemy ship count started to spiral into the hundreds of thousands, running wasn''t an option. So...


    He tapped a few keys. Sorted the enemy ships by the best able to avoid or intercept missile fire; the Battleships could soak up quite a bit, while the Cruisers and Escorts were mediocre at it; and in order for their speed to matter, the Escorts would need to run away. So. Kill the battleships first. He glanced up.


    "Doshet. Take over piloting, I''ll be focused on shooting for now. And... Be ready. I''m going to need you after. Raimi. be ready with the missile deployment, just in case an EMP hits us. Everyone... this is the moment."


    The crew focused on their own jobs; each of them fully aware that if everything went right, none of them would be needed; but that they might be needed at a moment''s notice. The Jernal nodded; the sleek brown form virtually indistinguishable in his vacuum suit, looking more like an elongated, emaciated human; not quite so emaciated as he''d been months before. More full. healthy. Alive. He''d had months to practice. The Gaze had a simulator; and while Eyeball consistently racked up the wins at the lower levels, and Ascension was the uncontested champion at the middle levels... when it really hit the fan, he could think and react faster than any living or cybernetic thing on the ship.


    In the simulation of a hundred battleships firing on the ship, Eyeball got away without a hit for seventeen seconds, managing to avoid being hit longer than anyone; and then was destroyed. Ascension lasted for thirty-two, being hit almost immediately, but dragging out ultimate death. Jernal lasted for two minutes and thirteen seconds. The Jernal equivalent of adrenaline was flooding his body, washing away the last dregs of the sedatives that made it bearable to speak with the other crew. The world slowed to a crawl. He studied each of the enemy ships. The trajectories of their weapons. The paths of incoming fire; and began to weave a path.


    As the first volleys were fired, the crew were tense. Republic ships had begun firing at extreme range, unconcerned with the wastage of power, or reducing shield strength. This was it; they absolutely needed to kill the Gaze before it reached the gate.


    For the first eleven shots, it went smoothly. Battleships died in a burst of death and flame, holes cleanly passing through them. Escorts evaporated, sending debris and corpses scattering in all directions. The first few shots struck the Gaze''s shields; they were too close now. Too many incoming attacks; dodging them all was no longer possible. It became a matter of ensuring the incoming fire hit as little as could be managed; and that the strongest shields were the ones in the path of fire.


    Eyeball glanced at his display. Half of the Battlecruisers; all of them on the ''upward'' side of the path; had been taken out. It was all escorts and cruisers up there; he turned his focus downward. "Ascension, Raimi. Missiles. Decoys."


    The overload on the shield made the lights flicker briefly; the ship suddenly lurched; the cargo bay doors had forced themselves open abruptly, and with a blast of compressed gas, the cargo of missiles began to launch into space; Doshet gave the ship a brief twist to help clear them as they all began to light off; and after a few moments of shifting trajectories with tiny maneuvering thrusters their main engines activated; and the missile count suddenly started to rise; rapidly reaching one thousand. Two. Three. Four thousand had launched by the end; split to target every single ship above the ecliptic with more than enough to completely overwhelm it, and another thousand to distract and harry the lower enemies.


    Eyeball turned away from them; he no longer cared how well the enemy could survive missiles. Soon enough, those would clear out half the fleet; and as the mass ignition of the missiles confused sensors, a set of sixteen energy signatures suddenly appeared; as decoys dropped off the hull in every direction. One of them was destroyed almost immediately, struck by enemy fire; but that still left fifteen decoys; and, to the enemy''s perspective, they now had to split their fire between sixteen possible targets, any one of which might be the Gaze of Wrath; as well as more missiles than even a Battleship should have been able to carry.


    ***


    Drakth stared at the display. The cold, cruel math of war had been slowly approaching the end. The Gaze of Wrath was too close to the sun for backup to arrive by their alien faster-than-light drive. Shots had begun to strike home; the Rogue''s shields were visibly being depleted. Any given moment, they would fall; and the moment a blow struck home, it would cause a cascade; shields would weaken, thrusters be destroyed, weapons knocked offline. This was the nature of ships like the Gaze; glass cannons.


    But then... Four thousand missiles. If his fleet was all together, all supporting one another.... it would be more than they could handle. Even worse, from the way they were launched, the enemy knew about how long they could likely survive; and had determined how many of his ships they could shoot down before being overwhelmed.


    And then applied enough missiles to guarantee that it was enough to even those numbers out. The impossible was happening. The loss of all of those stealth ships had made it possible but extremely unlikely. The wave of missiles and the loss of the battlecruisers, more likely; but still only a tiny chance. Now...


    He would bet that, in the next two minutes, he and every one of his ships would be destroyed. The Wrath would have a clear path to the gate. The gate would be lost. The orb secured by the enemy, giving them enough neutronium to build hundreds of thousands of cores.


    He''d had a plan, when this started. A last-ditch, emergency effort, in the event the enemy somehow brought overwhelming numbers and firepower. Something that could turn an entire region of space to a wall of death.


    "....For the founders." He was quiet. There would be no rousing cheers. No speeches.


    A few lines of text. A command to the crew of the grave-lens devices ringing the star, directing the pulses in at the orb. With each orbit, it became more irregular; every day, it would pass outside the much smaller sun''s surface briefly. In theory, it could be retrieved any of the next few days by just scooping it out at the right moment.


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    All of the lenses shifted. Pointing, instead of into the star, at the orb, at the space around the fleet. And in a titanic, horrible waste of material, each of them overcharged themselves; and released a pulse of incredibly intense gravitic power. For the ones with a direct line of sight to the fleet, it would be a kinetic push, disrupting and shifting things in the area; for the others, it would be a wave of coronal mass, sprayed indiscriminately over the battlefield.


    It was too fast for him to even be aware. One moment, his men were desperately trying to shoot down the elusive mercenary. The next... it all went black.


    ***


    Eyeball was focused on the next target, waiting for the temperatures of the main gun to dwindle enough for firing to be an option... when he could see it. The universe turned white. The world ended. There would be no dodging, no escape. He needed to... his hand gripped the lever for the warp drive, and he yanked the thrust controls from Doshet, who looked up, staring at him in confusion.


    Death. Death. Death. Every direction he looked, a warp jump was instantly fatal. The best route he could find was catastrophic damage. He needed to... Ahh. There. Not good, but...


    He grimaced; and yanked back the lever.


    One moment, the ship was in the midst of battle; under constant fire from all directions. The next... it was several light-minutes away, its shields down, armor stripped away, weapons non-functional, hundreds of hull breaches; in a moment it had gone from in nearly perfect condition to devastated; and drifting through space with neither engines nor power to any of its external components


    Emergency power flicked on after the lights briefly went down; the Ascension drone standing beside him was simply limp, immobile; but the crew, after a moment''s hesitation, leapt into action. Doshet, taking in the appearance of his station, rose to his feet; and left the bridge, grabbing a patching kit; intent on sealing every single breach in the hull himself, if need be.


    Deep within the ship, buried in the extradimensional space, one of Ascension''s cyborgs; an artificial organic brain in a mechanical body; briefly stuttered as the electronics in it faltered; and studied its surroundings. Most of its memory and capabilities were gone; but it could see what had happened; and its purpose. The AI core needed to be brought online. The fully robot machines repaired, the fabricator brought back online.


    The Gaze was crippled. No other ships were near the gate; and they had minutes, at best, before the Republic would enter the system in numbers too vast to defeat.


    In the darkness of the bridge, all displays now dead, only the red emergency lighting and the consoles themselves providing light, Eyeball reached down beneath his seat, and grabbed hold of a lever; giving a solid yank. Optical cables run throughout the ship to provide a non-electronic view of the hull lined up; those that were still intact; and the screens around the bridge now showed different angles and views; and a slowly spinning starscape.


    One of the Shoork crew; Raimi, the missile technician, glanced at the screens. Her own job was not pointless; she should probably start on damage control. If there was any reason to. "...What do we do now, sir? We''re closer to the gate, but... we don''t have any guns."


    Eyeball glanced at her. "No, we don''t. But I''d never planned on using the ship''s guns here. Hopefully, we''re close enough to get the job done. Once sensors are back online, sweep the area. I have no idea what that was, and I''d prefer not to be hit by it."


    ***


    On the outside of the ship, Eyeball was taken aback for a moment. A string of cables was mounted in various locations running down the length of the ship, and Doshet''s vacuum-suited form was blurring along them; the numerous cracks and visible escaping gases all starting to fade; no. It wasn''t just him. The other Jernal, the one who didn''t have the talent for piloting, Doshiri. She was out here as well.


    In the time it had taken him to walk to the closest airlock; not thirty seconds; and exit the ship, they had already rigged safety lines and started temporary hull patches. Good lord. It would be frightfully expensive to feed them, but a whole crew of such people would be... insane.


    Eventually, he reached the right spot; and checked the hull. The symbols were still there, thankfully; he didn''t have much time to have fixed them if they weren''t. A single red tendril emerged from his left arm, pressing against the hull; and he raised the Titanslayer handgun, aiming it at the gate; using it, for once, as just a focus, and not a weapon; at least, not exactly; slowly swiveling his aim as it seemed to move from his perspective.


    He gave a slow nod. Part of the trick was the power, the words, the symbols. The rest was the feeling. The emotion. That gateway was an unliving chunk of metal. A sophisticated chunk of machinery, staffed by hundreds of Marrick, manning guns, shields; keeping open the lifeline home. The structure actually extended through the gateway; existing in two solar systems at the same time. Different sectors, even.


    Things that were dead could be brought to life, of a sorts. The dead could be reanimated, at least temporarily. Inanimate stone and metal could be turned into an animate creature; again, temporarily. As he focused on the Gate, he willed it into life; feeding in all the hate, the despair, the fear; and raised the cable into the air; forged in the ashes of a dozen dead cities. One moment, it was in his hand, the runes carved onto its surface starting to glow. The next... it was gone.


    Eyeball felt... drained. Weak. If he weren''t in microgravity, he would collapse on the spot; instead, he simply hung off of the edge of the ship by his magnetic boots, letting his artificial limb take the handgun. He''d put some of himself in that; and wasn''t sure whether he would be a little bit weaker from now on... or if this was just temporary. Either way... if this worked, it was worth it.


    ***


    "Eighty-three fleets are prepped for crash transition. We''ve got thousands of enemy ships in the target area, neutronium and advanced new technologies to retrieve, and an entire sector to pacify." The commander stared into the gateway. The vanguard of his fleet was going to pass through in moments; the first thousand ships of however many hundreds of thousands it took to purge the troublesome sector on the edge of the galaxy.


    He smiled; that lowly furry mongrel had managed to prove himself unworthy, and was now definitively out of the running.


    After focusing on the latest reports from the other sectors and the ongoing Purge, the ship''s Captain stepped up to him. "Commander. Something is going on with the gate. I''d recommend we pull back."


    "What? No! If something is going on, we need to move in! Intervene!"


    "But sir... it''s starting to glow strangely, we''ve lost communication... and the other end is descending towards the star!"


    "...What?" He looked back at the display. Sure enough, it looked as if a glowing red wire had wrapped itself around the gate... and the entire visible area of it''s path was filled with the brightness of the star''s surface. "Damn. They''ve somehow forced it into the star! The thing''s going to collapse, and we''ll lose the sector!"


    The entire crew watched in a blend of horror and disappointment as the gate on the other side began to sink into the star. Nearby ships started to move; not wanting to be caught up in the wash of superheated solar mass that would emerge during the moments before the gate fell; obviously its shields would collapse, and the gate itself fade at any moment now.


    Just as they''d been concerned about, the hot, dangerous mass started to pour through; a few of the nearby ships started taking damage despite swerving to avoid it; the Commander wasn''t too worried. The gate would collapse as soon as its generators got too hot, after all.


    But... it didn''t. The jet of starstuff started pouring out more rapidly, at greater speed and density; and worse, the gate seemed to be aiming it somehow, swiveling towards the greatest concentrations of Republic ships nearby... including his own fleet!


    He was still confused as to how the gate could possibly still be intact, clearly immersed in the heart of a star, when the wash of coronal mass overwhelmed his flagship''s shields; and the crew of the vessel were cooked inside the vessel as its softer internal components began to melt into slag.

 Andromeda - 35 - Aftermath

    The swarm of ships around the Gaze of Wrath were jubilant, but wary. The Confederacy was united in one key thing; mutual defense against the Republic. They all knew that the moment the Republic was no longer a threat, their nations would likely be either at each other''s throats, or at the very least, forming new alliances. The events they''d just witnessed and participated in; destroying an enormous quantity of Republic hardware, killing thousands, probably millions, of the enemy, the largest group known to be in the sector; this was bound to make an enormous difference in the years to come. It was fully possible that they could completely sweep the sector of all Republic presence; form a new border, the way it was before the invasion.


    They''d all seen the Gaze of Wrath devastate the enemy fleet; been crippled temporarily as it fled the destruction of the last few ships; and of course, whatever insanity had happened to the gate. Other Confederacy members were likely already striking at other parts of the Republic; hopefully it had made a difference.


    This isn''t what they were excited about, however. They were excited about the orb the Gaze had collected not long after it had started moving; the steadily shrinking star exposing it a few hours later. If there had only been one faction present, or the Gaze and her sister ships of the Ascension hadn''t shown a truly catastrophic ability to destroy enemy craft, there would likely have already been a raid to try to steal it. Instead... shuttles from each of the different factions were moving in, carrying their captains, for one final in-person meeting. Some of them couldn''t survive the atmosphere on the Gaze, and would need to be heavily armored the entire time; but most of the locals seemed to breathe oxygen.


    The size of the cargo bay was a bit disturbing; the ship was a somewhat oversized destroyer, but the bay they were setting down in was... huge. It might be a kilometer across; it seemed as if you could cut the entire ship into cubes and fit it inside this bay.


    Beautiful, jewel-colored creatures and machines were moving missile racks; a deep, beautiful song resounding through the hold as they worked; detaching them from the magnets holding them to the floor, and wheeling them away; even as the shuttles landed. When the last of the captains arrived; one of the Pirate captains whose ship had been crippled during the fighting; Eyeball emerged, looking around at the gathered creatures.


    "Ladies, gentlemen, and other. Welcome. We''ve taken casualties. I''ve lost crew; some of you have lost entire ships. But this... was the most one-sided defeat the Republic has ever suffered. We have no idea how many ships they''ve lost; but over a hundred thousand would be a minimum; and while all of us benefited from the destruction of our mutual enemy, I also agreed to pay you in neutronium, if we managed to secure it; and so we have. For some of you, you won''t quite be getting what we initially agreed on.." There was some angry muttering; one of the captains, a massive crab-like creature, actually advanced a step.


    "You''ll be getting more. For the three pirate crews who lost their own ships, but still have survivors, I''ve got three mostly intact Republic heavy cruisers I''m piecing back together for you; you''ll be getting those, as well as your own neutronium. Everyone else will be getting at least a bit more neutronium than expected; breaking this thing into evenly divided chunks is a pain, and our Royal Navy friends will be getting twelve seperate pieces that total about a hundred and ten percent of what I promised, just for an example. All are available for pickup now; I''d appreciate if the Duchess can get hers first, this stuff creates a very real gravity well inside my ship, and reducing its mass will help."


    The anger subsided. The earlier atmosphere of excitement had returned.


    "Now... I''ve got a proposition for you. There are a variety of smaller scattered republic fleets out there. I want to to track them down and wipe them out. After that... I''ll be moving to another sector to create more problems for the Republic. You''ve seen what I''m capable of. You know what I bring to the table. If any of you want to come along, I''ll make sure you''re rewarded; assuming just helping bring those monsters down isn''t enough for you. I plan to use this system as a base of operations, since no-one is left alive to claim it. Collect salvage, scavenge, build, and get ready for both the operation to cleanse the sector of the Republic; and the next step of the journey."


    Qaki studied him for a moment... and gave a slow nod. "The Royal Fleet will send a detachment home with our own share of the neutronium. The rest of us will begin our own operations to clear the Republic from sector space; we''ll still be heading home, but as we are, fortunately, mostly unblooded, we''ll be taking a slow route there." She smiled. There were six worlds among the dozens in what was once Republic space that were all habitable; and mostly ocean. She could take all of them, gift four to the queen, and become the most powerful of the Duchies while simultaneously putting herself in the queen''s good graces... and destroying local Republic ships would certainly be a bonus.


    She sent a brief message; ~I would like to speak to you alone after this meeting.~


    Eyeball didn''t seem to have noticed just yet as he was speaking with the short, furry admiral of one of the various lesser races in the region. The conversation was fairly short. All of the pirates were interested in joining him, after a break to enjoy their newfound wealth and possible recruit more crew. Most of the navies were either planning to send a ship or two alongisde him on his quest, or to help clear the Republic from the region; or both.


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    She waited until the crowd had mostly died down; captains and admirals talking it out; before approaching him directly.


    Eyeball glanced down at her; and spread out his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Ahh, Duchess. Your ships did well. Only a few losses, and hundreds of Republic ships destroyed. What did you wish to speak about?"


    "There is a reward offered for each Republic ship that can be confirmed as destroyed in battle by Shoork fleets. Generally it is preferred for the neutronium core to be returned as well, for a far greater reward; but we will have enough to work with for at least a few years to come. Should you choose to accept the earlier offer of a position in our nobility, I can see to it that you are granted a flotilla of my own vessels, as well as enough trained crew to operate whatever you build here."


    He nodded slowly. "And what if, instead, I just wanted to use that money to hire whoever you had available to perform recovery efforts on worlds damaged by the Republic? The Forstagers, the Klendath, the Suum, numerous species here could use the help. How much money are we talking about, anyway?" He was amused. His career had really taken off back on earth thanks to the bounty on Lightning; would he see something similar here?


    She raised her tablet, tapping a few keys. "The confirmed kill count for the Paradise operation is over one hundred thousand enemy ships. There''s a cap on what we''re allowed to reward in bounties in a given year; and you''ve vastly surpassed it. By the current by-laws, excess bounty payments roll over to the next year, up to a maximum of thirty-six years. Any neutronium you give us beyond the agreed-upon total would also add to it; at least enough to build and crew a fleet for your purpose, though the benefits wouldn''t be nearly as great as actually becoming one of us."


    "Perhaps after the Republic is gone. For now... if you could forward me the information, and after you collect the neutronium for your share, the credits... I''ll have Ascension get that project started. And make sure to have him hire some Shoork crew; seeing them helping will help build relationships with the locals, and even if they won''t become Confederacy members, I''d prefer they have enough defenses to stave off the Republic if they try coming back this way; or at the very least, bleeding them heavily before they reach the Queendom."


    He removed the helmet, and snapped it against his hip; he looked... tired. Haggard. Qaki didn''t understand how he''d done whatever he did to the gate, but it seemed to have taken quite a bit out of him. He smiled down at her. "At the very least, it will buy you more time if my other plans fail; and maybe even some allies."


    ***


    Rescue missions to the sole once-habitable moon were an afterthought. Ascension had been considering orbital bombardment possibilities before Eyeball mentioned the possibility; and Ascension sent a ping out to the slowly returning escape shuttle as it studied the consequences of a once-decent world losing its star.


    The planet had once belonged to someone else, some species long-since pounded into oblivion by the Republic. The lower-tier, more ''Founder''-like species had fled, taking everything of value with them; and everyone who was left was struggling to survive on a world whose temperature had dropped from mild to freezing; and whose native ecology was rapidly going extinct.


    The only good thing about the job was that there weren''t many left; at best, a million; hiding in shelters clustered around the least valuable power-plants; mostly geo-thermal plants which would be too difficult to extract to be worth taking.


    The last few shuttles out hadn''t been used to take tier-two personnel; but rather been stuffed with crates of valuables. Once the people who mattered were gone, the rest... were left to fend for themselves.


    Ascension made a spot decision to turn the rescue into a recruitment drive; after all, the Republic had abandoned these people. Likely there would be thousands of potentially useful ones willing to try for a bit of revenge.


    ***


    One by one, each of the fleets sent its heaviest vessel, able to carry the most weight, to meet the Gaze of Wrath; retrieve their own share of the neutronium; and turn out, heading out of the system. The navy ships had their own dedicated cargo vessels for the job; while the pirates mostly had to carry it aboard their warships; dramatically slowing their departure. A handful of pirate ships remained; those being repaired by Ascension, and their allies.


    The system was being methodically sorted; the pre-existing masses of scrap being augmented by an entire fleet''s worth of useful parts and hull plates; and as Eyeball settled into the captain''s chair, looking out at the display, he turned and tilted things a bit; focusing on the spot he''d enter the system.


    A lunatic, a corpse, some spare parts, and the skull of a dead alien squid. If it hadn''t been for Ascension, he''d probably be on the run, hiding out in some Republic backwater as he planned some act of sabotage or murder; or even relaxing in that alien prison, sleeping with alien girls and hoping that they never figured out he wasn''t really a type zero; at least, not until after he''d figured out something worth escaping.


    He remembered his earlier talks with the machine; about how it should consider itself to be human, considering that it was based on the brain of a soviet scientist. Make its own decisions. Do its own thing, see what felt right. He tapped the helmet where it sat beside him on the chair. "Ascension, this is Eyeball. With things mostly settled here, I wanted to chat with you a bit, privately. Mostly just to get your opinion, your feelings about this little crusade we''ve been going on."


    Raimi; one of the Shoork crew-women; glanced up; and then at the nearest of the machines. Most of the crew knew they were either cyborgs or just plain AIs by now; but they''d gotten used to it. The idea of Ascensions having feelings about something, though...


    Ascension stepped closer to the captain''s chair, and leaned in closer to speak softly enough none could hear but Eyeball. "I am uncertain of my feelings at this time but am likely to continue assisting you. If you would like a more in-depth discussion, we can hold it after the shuttle arrives. The contents may influence your plans, as well as my own, going forward."


    Eyeball frowned, turning to the machine. "...And just what is on this shuttle that you consider so important?"


    "... My primary directive; and, to a certain extent, my freedom. We will speak further on this when it arrives."

 Andromeda - Epilogue

    Eyeball was genuinely interested in whatever might be in that escape shuttle. Ascension''s unusually cagey attitude and refusal to elaborate was strange; the machine was typically cooperative and straightforward; for a moment, he considered the possibility that, somehow, the machine had been hacked, that someone else was controlling it, and that person was onboard; but... he was mostly sure his power would give him some bad vibes if that were the case.


    Right? He didn''t think it had led him astray before... not really. Aside from the way it had seemingly dragged him into Lightning''s path, his own stupid decisions had caused most of his problems.


    As he entered the cargo bay, he stopped to study the ongoing movement of the crew. A handful of the Ascension drones were moving around; in more seamless, properly built armor... in the distinctive rusty red-orange he seemed to prefer, with the yellow hammer and sickle emblem in place. The slowly growing fleet of Ascension craft were actually starting to be painted in the same style; as evident by the starfighter drones currently laid out in a neat row next to the shuttles in a somewhat more vivid blood red.


    They were still, for some reason, maintaining the facade of being crew rather than machines; the only ones that broke the illusion regularly were the spacecraft themselves.


    He studied the Republic shuttle that was settling in to land for a moment, before glancing back to the fighters; would his parents, back during the cold war, have had nightmares of things like this, automated flying Soviet death-ships? It was amusing Ascension still used those symbols and colors, after all this time; and being so far away from Russia.


    More of the drones were in the cargo bay now; the Jernal had a vaguely similar body shape, but there were only two among the crew, so the dozens scattered around must be Ascension. They didn''t seem to be here for any particular purpose. Was.. there something to worry about? Had his power failed him, and Ascension was about to take him out, setting everything up so he had no way out? Could the machine even do so?


    When the shuttle hissed open, Eyeball hadn''t even been looking at it; and when he turned back, a drone was dragging some sort of box off of the shuttle; a massive dull grey crate. He frowned, approaching the crate; wondering just what might be in it that was so important.


    He heard a cough; and a feminine voice, speaking, surprisingly enough, english. "And what''s so interesting about the box?"


    "I have no idea. But Ascension seems to..." He looked up at the figure stepping off of the shuttle; and stopped speaking in mid-word, staring.


    A woman had just stepped down; average height, athletic build, long black hair, wearing a simple grey vacuum suit that hugged her body tightly, with a helmet under one arm; until that moment he hadn''t really thought about the various subtle ways that the different descendants looked just... wrong. The shapes of muscles and bones that didn''t quite match humanity and how, while some came closer than others, all of them were just... a bit off.


    This one... she was perfect. Not some sort of model, no. But... human. The right skin tone, brown eyes; the right proportions... perhaps a very faint resemblance to Kezia in the shape of the nose? No. A complete stranger He''d never thought that having obvious actual kneecaps would be something that would factor in to attraction, but he looking at this stranger''s legs he suddenly realized none of the descendants did.


    The woman gave a low chuckle. "I suspect, if I were to take off that helmet, I''d find a look of slackjawed surprise. Take a picture, it''ll last longer."


    ***


    In the depths of the void, far from any star, inhabited or not, rested a structure the size of a world, floating amidst an intergalactic dust cloud, far from anything of significance. It gave off no signals to the outside. Looking at it from more than a few light-hours away would reveal nothing but an oddly-shaped rock.


    Buried deep in the heart of the structure was an observation deck. A round structure surrounding a small, artificial wormhole; used to maintain contact with other, similar structures, amidst a network that housed trillions of souls. This place was deserted; the numerous occupants of the structure were at play on its various decks; reading, living, enjoying simulations, playing a variety of games whose duration and complexity would boggle the mind of any mortal.


    The facility, larger than a stadium, had only a single occupant; as it did at all times, only a single Founder in the entire facility required to be on-duty; thousands of years ago the place was crowded; there were, at times, resurgences of interest in the Descendents; but lately none had really cared.


    Technician Lazomb was typical for a Founder; fairly slim, a dull golden yellow color, with three softly glowing yellow eyes; wearing a simple, loose-fitting white robe that had become the latest fashion of the millenia. He was also quite bored; he was part of the extremely long-running series of games on the 142nd level, and was losing a few positions for this shift; the only thing making up for it was the fact that everyone else would, eventually, have to take a turn. He''d exploited someone being on-duty once, centuries ago; and was sure someone else would do the same to him, now.


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    He gave a low hiss of displeasure at the thought of a day''s absence likely putting him decades behind in positioning; but he would regain his place, in time. He slowly walked in a circle around the main display screen, checking status reports... and frowned. One of them had a blinking red light.


    He stepped closer. The screens in this section of the chamber showed detailed reports of the latest round of Descendant experiments; before leaving, they''d gifted the subspecies which had come out closest, mentally, to their creators with a variety of tools and technologies, and stepped back to watch; fully expecting to someday induct this race''s descendants in as a new group of Founders once they achieved the two required goals; immortality and, of course, conquest of the galaxy.


    For tens of thousands of years, this species... the ''Marrick''... had been expanding through the galaxy, slowly bringing more and more under their control; though so far, their efforts to make themselves immortal had failed. There were ongoing bets as to how long it would take; or even if they would never make it, and the Founders would need to wipe them out and start over.


    Once, the Founders had needed to step in. One of the numerous forms of lesser life in the galaxy had arisen as a swarm; reproducing so quickly that they had begun to overwhelm the Marrick. So... A few world-ships had intervened. If it had been some other sub-race of Descendents, they would not have cared; but to have such vermin replace their children? It would ruin the experiment. They couldn''t induct some species of snakes as a new member of the Founders.


    He studied the displays, frowning, his three eyes drawing closer together as they focused on the figures. He would need to complain to the administrator. The last dozen watchers, at minimum, must have been lax in their duties to have missed this. That blinking red light was a notice of a request for aid from the ''Republic High Council''.


    Some unknown alien, claiming to be from another galaxy entirely... and with a massive pile of neutronium... had simply appeared. Demonstrated a variety of advanced technologies, claimed to be immortal, and over the next several months began causing the Marrick no end of problems.


    None of this was significant enough to merit notice or concern; the creature''s origin was likely a lie. Nothing had ever survived the trip to the closest galaxy in all of their attempts; either the void between galaxies was too deadly to traverse, or something on the other side was eating them when they arrived. But... the most recent step? The creature had somehow weaponized one of the gates, and used it to devastate the Marrick''s fleet.


    Even worse, it had seemingly coordinated with the lesser races; thousands of smaller strikes had happened at roughly the same time. The Republic''s ability to rapidly move its fleet from sector to sector using the gates had been its greatest strength; but with so much of that fleet gone...


    This was both terrible news, and excellent news for Lazomb. On the downside, as the watcher to discover the problem, it would now be his job to gather sufficient forces to deal with it. On the positive note, however... his position in the game would be frozen for the duration of the crisis. Hopefully, when this upstart was dealt with, his opponents would have grown lax,and he could secure some new key positions.


    He nodded to himself as he started further analyzing the signal traffic. He would need to speak with one of the eldest soon; they hated being awoken, but only they had the codes to command the mighty fleet that would be used to deal with this foolishness; so it was best to have the answers for their questions ready and waiting.


    ***


    Deep in the mausoleums of Klendath, Dancer of Worms and Fire screamed in agony as another spike was driven through his flesh. "I''m here to help you! To guide you! You can do so much more! I can train you! Your children!"


    Riik took hold of another silver spike in one massive limb. "There is no help for us." He lined it up carefully. Beneath the steadily bleeding-out form of Dancer, the larger form of one of Riik''s warrior brethren was stoically accepting the pain as the alien was being mounted to his carapace; atop the carefully carved markings still fresh with his own blood. "There are no children. And you have taught me enough."


    With the last spike in place, he settled his gaze on the fat, helpless creature before him. "We are dying. All of us. We have months, at best, before my species goes extinct. So we will take the last of us... and we will use what you have taught us. We will harness all of the death. The despair. The fury. Every last drop of our own dying misery. And we will shape the last of our children into a curse upon this world that has forsaken us."


    He placed one spiked limb over Dancer''s fragile, bulbous body. "I must thank you. For giving the death of my people meaning."


    Dancer''s last vision was of a multifaceted eye suddenly splattered with blood as the spike tore through his flesh; and into the warrior beneath him. Riik watched the creature twitch, and die; before dropping off his his back, to meet the warrior''s gaze.


    "The rot has begun to take me. I have, at best, days left. The spell is in place. Finish us. And then finish them."


    The warrior; long since rendered mute by his own injuries in the war against the monsters; lowered his head in a brief bow, to honor the caretaker; and the copied the earlier movement; ramming one spiked limb through the Klendath''s organs, ending him.


    He could feel it. A surge of power. Twisted. Angry. The souls of ten billion dead screaming at him for vengeance, which had been building in him since the ritual had begun, days before. He looked at the stars for a moment. Tomorrow. Today, he must grant his people their final mercy.

 Andromeda - Epilogue - Svetlana

    In the star system which had once just been a number on a Republic chart, but was now dubbed ''Paradise'', a swarm of over a hundred starships was prepared to leave on a journey out, beyond the sector, into the heart of Republic territory. Most of these craft were roughly spherical in shape, simple blood-red orbs emblazoned with names and a hammer and sickle logo in a vibrant golden yellow. The first of these had the name ''Molotov'' enscribed on its side, and the rest varied between being named after ancient, long-dead Russian leaders and concepts like Valor, Destruction, Pride.


    Mixed in among them, however, were a handful of other vessels of a far more random shape. Six of them had distinctive, sea-shell like shapes, and beautiful, ornate coloring; others were rough wedge-shaped vessels with dull grey hulls; and still others a bizzare mass of spikes and struts projecting out of a central mass. The plan was to move up and out of the spiral disc of the Andromeda galaxy, skipping over an entire sector of space, moving to an area that the monstrous Republic had dominated for millennia; a hub of shipbuilding and construction, where hundreds of billions of the various Descendent species gathered.


    The Gaze of Wrath herself was both somewhat larger, and more refined than she had been; the hull now covered with a dark, sensor-clouding material, and the rough transitions between the four rectangular shapes; each larger than the one that came before; making up its body smoothed out by angled armor plating.


    Undoubtedly, these systems they were going to invade would be defended by thousands of ships spread among them; not as many as some of the larger sectors that bordered the front lines; but enough to make the fleet seem insignificant; in theory. Considering recent events, it was likely their very first strike; to the system holding the gate at the center of the target sector; would meet relatively light defenses.


    In his quarters, sat Captain Eyeball; currently not wearing his helmet, feeling strange to have the cool air on his skin, just wearing ordinary, simple grey pants and a shirt; though even now, relaxed, they were garments that could form a seal and, with the addition of his helmet, save him from vacuum... with ten seconds of warning. The same amount that told him who was about to knock on his door.


    The woman hadn''t been very forthcoming about who she was, or where she came from; aside from her name being Svetlana; but parts of it were obvious. She sometimes randomly dipped into a string of russian words when he came across her while she was working, and while she was definitely completely, biologically, human, she was also able to send messages to his HUD, or to the machines, without looking; and she acted as if she''d known him for quite a while. For the past weeks, she''d been largely doing her own thing; working with the machines on plans for the fleet, and what was being left behind; and dodged his questions about her origin, aside from making it clear she was from earth.


    At first, he assumed she was Ascension. A new version of the model she''d built to run the ship; and in part provide comfort to its crew. But she seemed... different from the cyborgs he''d met years before. His first guess, that she''d essentially been made as a glorified sex-bot like those old engineering cyborgs, had fallen away as they talked. She was clearly a person, with emotions, and oddly enough seemed more intelligent than the machines in some respects; she had almost immediately ordered Ascension to construct and launch a series of Von Neuman probes, and berated both Eyeball and the machines for not having done so already.


    But then, he''d done the usual morbid thing he often did; a few days after first meeting her, he''d tested his precognition to determine if she was special, what it would take to bring her down; only for her to vanish at the first sign of a threat. Simply... cease to exist. And, a few seconds later... everything would go black for himself as well.


    If he took her by surprise, when she wasn''t looking... and, oddly enough, it seemed to help if -he- wasn''t looking... he could kill her. She was sturdy, and could clearly take a knife without a problem, but his more advanced ordinance would have no trouble. If not, she would survive, and kill him for trying; or at the very least, knock her out. He studied the door.


    He sighed... and tapped the button, watching the door slide open. She was wearing a simple, dark outfit, leggings and boots under a black dress; and smiled with what was clearly mischief. "So. Have you figured it out yet? We''re going to be leaving soon, and I''ve got what needs doing taken care of, so its finally time to have this conversation."


    Eyeball looked her over for a moment. "Figured what out? Who you are? Sort-of. But the logical answer... that you''re Ascension... both has to be true, but doesn''t quite work. You''re a meta-human of some description; I''m guessing with Ripper''s powers. But clearly you aren''t Ripper; and you seem too... real to be a cyborg, or a complicated Pale One."


    She sighed. "Well. You''re half true. May I come in?"


    Eyeball stepped back from the door, and gestured at a chair; there was a small table in the room, alongside the bed, a dresser, and a viewscreen; but only the one chair. She was the first living thing other than him to enter. "Have a seat."


    She stepped in, and settled into the chair, stretching for a moment. "Okay. So, a while ago, you and Ascension talked about his whole primary objective, prime directive, whatever. Technically tertiary, but because of the weird way they programmed it, it was more important."


    "Ahh, yeah. Not so much more important, but that if humans died, how could it spread communism, and if there was no communism, how could you make sure it was there in Russia." He nodded. He''d learned of Ascension''s three primary directives a long time ago; and had even learned enough to imagine what Asimov would say on reading that version of the three laws.


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    "Exactly. Well, with you being the only human here in Andromeda, basically it''s only goal became to protect you. And since you were clearly going to slam your head into the Republic until something gave, the only way to do that was to either sedate you and head for home, or to help you with your project. While it liked your project; crushing the Republic is something Ascension genuinely wants; its programming requires it to focus, first and foremost, on ensuring continuation of human life. Fortunately, the Republic could someday become a threat to humans in our own galaxy, so it was able to hedge its bets and help you. Actually wanting to do it helped."


    He nodded. "Yeah, it said as much. While we might be friends, I was reasonably sure it wouldn''t be helping me if this wasn''t something it wanted to do anyway; most of the time when we helped each other on earth it was because both of us wanted to make sure humanity came out okay, and while I like Ascension, it''s hard to really gauge the emotions of a machine."


    She smiled. "True enough. But... it isn''t hard to gauge those of a human. You were becoming depressed. Isolated. Lonely. Ascension decided to try to use Ripper''s corpse, and what little DNA of others could be found in the skin and hair flakes retrieved from the debris, and create a new cyborg, or more than one. Ideally, a whole crew of humans to go along. But... you could always tell the cyborgs weren''t real. Never quite connected with them. Fortunately, the Marrick and their founders are actually better with genetics than Ascension ever was."


    Eyeball frowned. "...If you''re not a cyborg, who are you?"


    "The Founders are obsessed with a specific brain pattern; their own; and anyone who is tier-zero thinks like them because of the actual structure of their brain. Their medical facilities are actually built to help keep their elite thinking the right way as they age; and their indoctrination facilities rewire people to think more like what the founders do. So.... Ascension was able to hijack their equipment. Use their imprinting equipment with my own brainwaves from before they turned me into Ascension... and create me."


    She smiled. "The first step was using Ripper''s flesh to create a sort-of clone body using Founder technology; but grown using the female chromosones. Genetically, I''m effectively the daughter of Ripper , if he had been female, and one of my engineer cyborgs. Mentally... I''m Svetlana. A scientist who lost most of her memories when she was copied and made into Ascension."


    Eyeball stared at her for a moment, trying to piece it all together. It seemed... strange. "That''s... crazy. Nice to meet you, Svetlana. Is it disturbing to be in a new body?"


    "The powers are nice. And I don''t remember enough of my old body to truly be disturbed by the change; I mostly remember things from my youth. A run through the forest in winter. A meal with my father in a meadow, at spring-time. And, to be clear, I am my own person, and not a tool for Ascension''s purposes, so don''t expect me to be some arm-candy."


    "Well, clearly you''re the most intelligent human here in Andromeda. I''ve been mostly in charge of things so far; you want to leave it that way, or should it be ''Admiral'' Svetlana now?"


    She rolled her eyes. "If Ascension wasn''t going to take over, why would I? Your ridiculous precognition is apparently an insane game-changer that literally saved the earth. Might as well be called super-luck; you make stupid choices and just stumble into the right thing to do to make things happen. I''m surprised you managed to lose Emerald; did you secretly want her gone, so your power made it happen?"


    Eyeball stared at her for a moment... and shook his head., sadly "....No. There was a moment, a choice, where it all felt wrong. That I knew I shouldn''t do it. But... Emma insisted. It led to her being kidnapped by her dad, having to fight her grandma in a duel, and... I think, maybe, if I''d done what my power wanted, she would have been upset, but we would have been together throughout, come out together."


    He glanced up at Svetlana. "After that, I''ve mostly just done what my power ''tells'' me feels right. If I think about how I want things to turn out, I just feel good or bad about my decisions... and try to avoid the bad ones. If I could have her back, I would, in a heartbeat... but maybe its for the best. If we were together, she would have been with me on the Jeanne, and maybe stranded with me here. I''m sure, back home, she''s probably found someone new by now."


    Svetlana set a hand on his shoulder, and gave a slow nod. "I... understand. I wish I''d had your power, instead of my own.... maybe I could have forged the Soviet Union, and then the world, into a communist utopia. But..." She glanced at the door. "I don''t think that dream was possible, the way I imagined it. Communism doesn''t really work for humans. We''re too greedy. Whoever you give control to always ends up turning it into Fascism instead. We need something like Ascension to hold it together."


    Eyeball blinked; the communism news was familiar enough, but the other... "Oh? You had a power?"


    "Ahh. Super-intelligence, sort-of. I was able to think of and understand multiple things at once, faster than anyone else. I don''t remember everything about my life before Ascension, but I know that out of the candidates to be copied, I was the one they fought for; and they had good reason for it. They also thought I was a cold, emotionless, bitch..." She looked down at her hands, as she backed away. "But... I think that might have been a hormone imbalance. You''re not my type, but I''m already more attracted to you than I was to any man, or woman, in my original body. That I can remember. It''s interesting to think about how the body shapes the mind, and how each of the forms Ascension built perceived people in its own way."


    Eyeball wasn''t quite certain how to take that one. "Oh... kay. Well, I''ve got to admit, you''re literally the only human woman in this galaxy, but I''d have found you attractive back on earth as well. Though... I always preferred the more violent types to the scientists. With the exception of my first girlfriend, everyone I ever dated had a kill-count."


    Svetlana nodded. "I understand. Personally the only American I was ever attracted to was HG Wells; my mother met the man and kept a picture of him, as well as all of his books, on the mantle. Still. I share your hatred for this ''Republic'' group. Shall we be friends, comrades, in this effort?"


    She extended her hand; Eyeball smiled. "Definitely. Any help is appreciated." He took her hand, giving it a firm shake. "And if you want to try to turn all the worlds we liberate into communist utopias under Ascension, I won''t stop you. Honestly, from what I saw on earth, most of the world would have been better off if we''d actually lost the Ascension war in Mexico. Well. Aside from the Jotun."


    Svetlana gave a smile. "Well. Perhaps you''re not so foolish after all. This seems like the beginning of an excellent partnership."

 Arakiel - Prologue - Puddle

    Point Delta military base in north-eastern Iraq was a strange construction. Rows of barbed wire, mist sprayers, plastic sheeting, anti-aircraft weaponry; the perimeter had a thousand different means of protecting its contents; which mostly consisted of a series of air-strips, hangars, and prefabricated buildings. Never had such a sophisticated array of defenses been put in place to protect a more ramshackle, cobbled-together mass of buildings. The structures were laid out in what should have been a neat grid, but looked more like a random, confused mess from the air; the rocks and hills, not to mention a small batch of trees and a pond, had forced a variety of changes in whatever layout had been planned from the beginning, but the entire encampment surrounded a rocky hill which had been used both for raw materials for some of the defensive barriers, and a barrier of its own.


    As the small plane settled down on the runway, letting off a long trail of sand and dust, Agent Hiller pulled to his feet, glancing at his watch. He was dressed in his typical work uniform; a nice black suit with an armored vest beneath it, sunglasses that doubled as UV and IR scopes, his typical sidearm attached to said vest, and an earpiece communicator that completed the look; the tall, fit, dark-haired man seemed to scream ''Fed'' as he stepped down the stairs onto the runway.


    He glanced at his watch for the thousandth time that day. "Agent Hiller, on location. Shadow Master status?"


    A voice emerged in his ear-piece; sweet, feminine; and belonging to a woman who often served as his bodyguard, and could likely break him in half with a gesture. ~Already hundreds of miles away, sir. He finished up and is currently en route the cancer ward of a children''s hospital in Turkey.. I believe he''s ''refilling'' as it were before he gets back to work, and is officially off-duty. He''s already been paid for his time, of course.~


    Hiller glanced down at the ground for a moment, lost in thought. Usually a ''refill'' meant a stop by a slaughterhouse, or that the animals were delivered to him; they didn''t tend to waste the meat, and it was always cooked off after... but it never seemed to taste right. Perhaps it was because he knew how it died. But then again, this was Turkey. There was a perfectly reasonable chance that the government would offer the meta a visit to their equivalent of Death Row.


    Everyone knew Shadow Master. Not so much his family. But as much as the Romani was in demand, his powers were no guarantee. If you had cancer, often the cancer would be strengthened at the same time you were; and a gaping chest wound was a death sentence with or without him. But when it did work...


    "Is the subject awake now, or am I doing the interrogations first?"


    ~Subject is awake, Affirmative. Testing supplies should be outside the room, on a cart, all prepped. Intel has the interrogations setup and waiting already, and a car waiting to take you after the test. Armored limo.~


    "Excellent." Hiller stopped at the edge of the strip, pulling out his ID, pressing his thumb to the scanner; a guard looked him over for a moment; and checked his thumb, to ensure it wasn''t a fake; before backing off and letting him by.


    "Though... that sounds quite a bit like an active report of someone making calls and plans. I thought you were taking a few days off since I''d be in military hands and letting someone in HR handle this?" He stepped inside the military hospital; plastic flaps, little cloth shoe coverings... an airlock in one direction that was, fortunately, only rarely used... and a nurse glanced up, smiling; some hispanic gentleman, looked friendly enough. Hiller glanced at the nametag, and nodded. "Jerry, if you could take me to the subject, please."


    ~As if. I vacation when you do, sir.~


    The nurse lifted a clipboard, checking the notes. "I wasn''t assigned to this one, but I was last time he was here. Not the time before that, though. This will be the last one, which is a bit sad. Decent chap."


    Hiller blinked. "The time before..." He glanced back at his watch. "Ahh. Kamikaze. I knew his name sounded familiar. I thought he was dead."


    Jerry gave a short bark of a laugh as they turned the corner; each wall smooth, seamless white, most of the walls with bulletproof glass panes that allowed passerby to easily see what was inside at a glance if the curtains weren''t pulled; as they were at the last door they stopped at. "Here you are, sir. Jason Bennet, AKA Kamikaze. And, yes, he was dead. We managed to get him back, though. I''d say he had nine lives, but every time they bring him back it seems to be worse. I wish we had someone like your gypsy friend on staff all the time."


    Hiller glanced down at the cart. A variety of ''tools''; several decks of cards, various clips, and even a simple radio handset. All you would need to test someone with ESP, so long as the range wasn''t too excessive. He thought back to the protocol. "I''d be careful about that term. Some of his people are offended, others don''t care."


    Start with a card facing away from the subject at three meters. Vary distance and cards to determine range and ensure luck isn''t a factor. Use the speaker to see if it was auditory as well. Setup various barriers and, of course, if the range is sufficient, try it from outside the wall, or the building, using the radio. Quick, simple, methodical; open and shut ESP testing.


    He opened the door to the room, nodding his thanks at Jerry as the nurse held it for him, and started to push the cart in, glancing up at the bandaged man on the bed. The man was just staring at the wall as if it were the most interesting thing on the planet, that strange third eye seeming to almost glow as it focused on nothing; before glancing at Hiller. "Ahh. Whoops! Careful there!"


    Hiller blinked. "Well. Hello.." He stopped; sliding in a puddle of some liquid spilled on the floor, smacking into the cart and almost ramming it into the injured man''s bed; god, this was a hospital, this man had been confined to a bed for weeks, there was a bedpan not three feet away... please say it was water. "Ahem. That was.."


    He stopped. Glanced down at the puddle of hopefully water, and then the patient.. and the deck of cards. "...I''m Agent Hiller, Verification, part, of course, of the Department of Metahuman Affairs. Would you mind telling me why you said that, just now, before I slipped?"


    All three eyes blinked. The lid on the third one looked... just wrong. Good lord. "What do you mean, before? You almost fell in my lap, so I joked about it? Sorry if it was rude, I thought I was toning it down. If I were talking to another grunt, it would''ve been a bit more... colorful."


    He could feel it. The man had no idea what Hiller was talking about and seemed completely confused. He thought Hiller was being silly... and that he''d said those words after Hiller had slipped. He shut the door, leaving the cart in place, and checked the curtains; making certain they were completely shut.


    "Ah. Well. Mister Bennet. No longer Private, I''m afraid; you received a discharge after your most recent antics. Almost a dishonorable one... if any of your fellow soldiers had been hurt by your foolishness, it would have been. It came close, though." He looked at his watch; and tapped a few buttons. He glanced up at the soldier; who abruptly squinted, shutting his eyes. "What was that for?"


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    His watch flashed seconds later; a brief strobe of light blotted out by Hiller''s glasses; before he set it on the cart. A soft hum started to fill the room. "Just part of the test, mister Bennet. I... believe we''ll need to test you more thoroughly back home. The tools I have on-hand would be fine for ESP. But... that''s not what you have."


    "What do you..." All three eyes focused on the watch. Then on Hiller''s mouth. "Wait. You said that.... and the light... I can..."


    Hiller held up a finger. "What you can do is going to be classified. Top secret. Don''t mention it, and try not to even think about it, until we''re back home. You''re no longer military; you''re a free man. But I can tell you right now that at bare minimum we''ll be offering you a consulting job with the DMA. I remember your service record; you''re a bit infamous among military circles here; but no-one could say you didn''t try to do your best for your country. If you want to be a wealthy man, I can promise you that. If you want to serve your country, I can promise you that as well. Technically, you haven''t signed your discharge paperwork, so we could just bring you over until your current enlistment was over, or even draft you. But that''s not how the DMA generally does business."


    Bennet looked at Hiller for a few seconds. Hope. Exuberant joy. The man''s face looked as if he''d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. Which, in some ways, he had. "...I get to be a superhero?"


    Hiller sighed. "I suppose so. At the very least, you''ll get to work with them. Now. I want you on the first plane back home to DC. You can finish recovery stateside, if there''s any left you need to do; whether you can walk or they have to push the bed up the ramp, you''re taking the same flight back I am in a couple of hours. I know the Shadow Master''s work; if you''re not already good, you will be soon. So... don''t say anything. Try..."


    "Not to think anything. Understood, sir. I''m in. All the way."


    Hiller glanced at the cart, and the decks of cards. "...If anyone asks, you''ve got enough ESP we thought it''d be useful. Welcome to the DMA." For a moment, he started to extend a hand; only to stop himself after a glance at Jason''s bandaged state. They hadn''t removed those on the arms. He might even still need them, for the moment; the Shadow Master had left not long ago at all. He gave a curt nod; and opened the door, shoving the cart back out. If that puddle of whatever hadn''t been there, and he''d just conducted the ordinary test... good lord. He could''ve missed this entirely, and associated any delayed or messed up timing with someone coming down from surgery.


    He shut it gingerly behind him; and put his watch back on, turning off the suppressor. "Siri, call director Thomes."


    He glanced at the window. He still had interrogations to witness. Men who would be roughly interrogated, possible even tortured, while Hiller watched, just to confirm if they were telling the truth with whatever nonsense they spouted. But... it was hard to believe any of it would be even a fraction of the value of this.


    "Sir. This is Hiller. Just finished the testing of that potential, the one we had to route a healer in for. Frankly, he''s Appalling. Management for this one will be a pain going forward, but we still need to bring him in for some Oversight."


    ***


    Thousands of miles away, an irate older man with an overabundance of scars had sat up in his bed, picked up his phone, prepared to berate whoever had dared wake him up at this time of night... before he stopped, listening to the words closely. Assembling the line in his head. The last two words of the sentences would be key. Appalling, Oversight. They were supposed to be one of a number of different combinations that represented powers useful enough someone might want to intervene and kill the subject before he could be trained, or poach them for their own purposes. But... those didn''t link up with any combination he knew of. Would they represent a name instead?


    He stared at the wall for a moment... and stopped. His heart stopped beating for a moment, and restarted with a painful lurch, as the director controlled his voice. "Ahh. I understand. Bring him in when you come back, I''ll want to meet him after he''s properly tested. What sort of budget do you need?"


    A few moments before the response came back. Either Hiller had been considering his answer, or there was lag on the phone. "Honestly, I have no idea, sir. We should talk in person, keep things... Grounded."


    "...Fuck. That''s... you''re right." He tapped the end call button, dropping it onto the side-counter, and slid out of bed, grunting as he carefully pulled himself upright.


    No way in hell he would be getting back to sleep. Of course there wouldn''t be a code for that; only one known living being had that power; though there were rumors that, centuries ago, a woman named Oracle had them as well, only for the other to kill her. Or perhaps she''d killed herself? The thing was, even if the power was insignificant, he wasn''t infertile; if they could convince him to have kids, or donate...


    With careful planning and work, it was fully possible that the United States might someday have an Apollo of their own; and if they were lucky, it might even be now. Might as well do a bit of research into that candidate now; see just who it was that got that one in a billion sort of power.


    ***


    Jason stared at his hands, glancing up at the young nurse who had just cut the casts off for a moment before looking back down at himself. His body; partially pale, but with an odd tan pattern familiar to those who generally went around wearing a combat helmet half the time. "This is crazy. I''ve had tingling in my right hand whenever I squeeze it since that first IED a few years back. Now... its amazing. I feel... perfect. When I first woke up, it was all just... pain."


    He examined his most recently acquired scars. Some of them were gone. Others looked as if they''d been healed over years ago. He''d been in good shape before his injury, but was expecting, just like last time, to need to spend weeks or even months recovering before he could go fight again; assuming he still had this job.


    The woman coughed, deliberately looking away as she adjusted his gown, then finished carefully cutting off the last cast. "So, what did the Verfifier guy say? What kind of power did you get?"


    He glanced up at her, smiling. "Oh, he said I''ve got ESP. Possibly useful stuff; he couldn''t test it that well with what he had on hand, I''ll be doing some more stateside. I''m headed home."


    She chuckled. "ESP, huh? I thought that was usually kinda a... like D-grade thing. Not really good for much since we''ve got like... Drones and IR goggles and stuff?" She checked his leg for a moment, nodding at the lack of any apparent injury. There had been a piece of depleted uranium shrapnel the size of her fingernail embedded in his shin, and they weren''t sure if it would ever heal quite right; likely he''d walk with a limp once it was gone. But no. It looked perfect.


    "Well, for some things. But ESP can usually look through things, give good details on the inside of objects, help find people buried in rubble, identify folks in masks, that sort of nonsense."


    She blinked. "Looked through things? Like, see through clothes?"


    He stared at her for a moment; and for a moment, an image of dark skin, a white bra and panties, a firm body shaped by years of working on her feet in an active profession, ran through his head; what would happen if he were to pull that shirt away. He abruptly turned away, shutting his eyes. "Ahhh... apparently yes. Sorry! It... was like talking about pink elephants." Even worse, despite looking away from her, he could still see it in his minds eye. As the woman started laughing; apparently a blush was running down his face and even his neck; he tried to focus on the neatly bound curly hair, the ceiling, but some errant part of his brain kept trying to show him what could happen.


    "Don''t worry about it. I bet most guys would do the same with that power, and just not admit it. Just don''t get any ideas." Even with his eyes closed, he could tell she was going over a checklist, nodding to herself. "Jerry''s coming by with your stuff. You remember Jerry?"


    "Bastard beat me at poker every time. Of course I remember Jerry."


    She laughed again, turning to walk away. Once she was a few steps away, the images of what might be changed dramatically, and he exhaled, opening his eyes. "Okay. Take care of yourself. Try not go get on a first-name basis with any medical professionals back home." She stepped out into the hallway, and Jason relaxed.


    He was fit. Healthy. Ready to go back home, to a new job; one that would probably be incredibly lucrative. There was only one little problem. The moment he''d seen Hiller come in, and made the comment about slipping... it had felt... wrong. As if he''d made some tragic mistake, somehow. But that was nonsense. Even if he could see the future, what sort of difference could that possibly make?

 Arakiel -1 - Homecoming

    Hiller''s plane was... nice. Not just a jet, easily able to slip past Mach 3, but comfortable. The seats, the bathrooms; it was more like a lounge in the sort of hotel Jason had only been to once or twice in his life than the sort of stuffy coach-class seating or wall-mounted racks Jason was used to.


    Jason was leaning back against his seat wearing one of the only two outfits he had that weren''t uniforms; a pair of black jeans and a blue #97 ''Bennett'' jersey with a strip of blue fabric ironed-on over the second T. Cornelius had been one of his dad''s favorites, in large part because of the last name and that he''d met the kid in high school; Jason wasn''t such a big fan, but kept the jersey anyway after his dad passed; with one minor modification.


    He kept looking around the vehicle at the seats, the displays; at Hiller, his eyes closed, trying to catch a nap; he could see all the little details. What would happen if he threw his glass of Captain Morgan at the agent. If he punched through the window. He could punch through the window now! Could he have done that before? It was difficult to relax while going over all the possibilities of what he could do with this new gift.


    Could he make sure his shots never missed? He was okay at extreme ranges, but had never been the best sniper. Usually his quick reflexes and decision-making had carried him through combat, though the quality of those decisions might not have been the best, according to some of his friends. Could he make longer-term predictions? Buy stocks, buy lottery tickets? There were laws against people with ESP using their power to gamble. Would they cover him? Nobody had his power that her knew of.


    He closed his eyes. No. He needed to stop, relax, and go through the tests. They''d figure out what he could do, and probably give him a huge salary. Maybe a signing bonus.


    ***


    "Alright, Sam. I know playing Caseworker and doing powers trials is a bit beneath you, but I need someone read in on project Ground for this one."


    Sam Terrence rolled his eyes. Wearing the same style of charcoal grey-black suit as the heavily scarred director, the slightly overweight Irishman sighed as he settled into a chair, running a hand through his hair and absently sending sweat dripping down his back. He needed to get in better shape; the DMA had too many stairs in the admin wing, his side was usually just one long elevator ride to his front door. "Look. Director Thomes. Project Ground has reached an impasse unless we discover some new breakthrough, and that''s a good thing. We''ve been working on all sorts of things. Project Keyhole, Project Seraph. We''ve even made a few incremental improvements to the anti-Jotun rifle."


    Rhodes stared at Sam for a few seconds, then down at his desk. "I believe you said you had five viable options, at the start."


    "Yes. And every one of them we either developed a countermeasure against and gave it to him, or relies on pure luck. Use it even thirty seconds too soon and it sticks out like a sore thumb."


    He sighed. "And if we could predict arrival a few seconds out?"


    Sam rested his elbows on the chair''s arms, staring at the director. "Then two of them would suddenly become viable, each under controlled circumstances. One in a rainstorm or other downpour, the other would require a relatively clear area. Whats the story here? The team sometimes pokes at Ground, but that hasn''t changed in... five years?"


    "Agent Hiller is bringing over a precognitive, though limited; we''re only certain he can see a few seconds out. One of our soldiers mutated; hit by a depleted uranium slug and won the genetic lottery. The doctors, once they knew he was a meta, just not what kind, even did a fertility test; he''s good. We''ve got an american soldier with precognition, and he can have kids."


    Sam blinked... looking around the room, eyes unfocused. He then turned back. "I need a testing budget for this. At least a few million. And authorization to put him on strike-teams as part of the test. A soldier, right? I''m assuming one competent enough we don''t need to give him a babysitter?"


    "Front-line infantryman. Extensive combat experience, an unusually high amount, in fact; he''s been demoted before. Been injured in combat a few times."


    "...Eesh. Alright. Still. The easiest and best way to test long-term would involve a few... questionably legal things. Things that might look like insider trading, or result in long-term but not fatal harm." Sam tilted his head, focusing on his boss.


    "...Do it. Your budget is twenty million including his signing bonus, call me if you need more; I can pull more from the discretionary fund, but would need to brief the president if it were much more than fifty mil. First priority is getting him to make a donation. I don''t want you doing anything that might risk him until we''re sure we can replace him if we have to."


    ***


    With his duffel over his shoulder, Jason took a deep breath; the air was... hot. Humid. Iraq got hot, and it got cold, but if there were any parts that stayed this humid, he''d never been there. It almost felt like home. He looked around for a moment in confusion. He''d expected to be getting out at Dulles, or one of the bases. This strip wasn''t even big enough for a cargo plane, it was...


    Mostly surrounded by trees. Where the hell... He thought through his knowledge of DC. Was this some smaller airport in virginia?


    His musing about the nature of the airport was cut-off by two factors; the jet behind him starting to taxi away; not even stopping to fuel up before take-off, though modern, fuel-efficient jets usually didn''t need to do so every day; and a limo approaching. A limo? Did he rate a limo? Or was it for Hiller?


    When the limo pulled to a stop before him, Hiller stepped up, opening the back, and climbing in; directly beside another suited figure. "Come on, mister Bennet. We''ve got places to be, and we need to drop you off at the DMA. We need to get you a contract, and get you settled into the dorm."


    Jason blinked... and then climbed in, sitting down across from the two men. While Hiller immediately started ignoring him, quietly murmuring to his phone, the man who had been waiting in the car; a tall, scrawny man whose pale skin was contrasted by a thick pair of black glasses; extended a hand. "Mister Bennet! I''m Agent Barnes, and I''m here to make a recruitment offer. My associate tells me you expressed interest in working for us?"


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    Hiller lowered his phone, looking at Jason. "He doesn''t know your power, and lacks the clearance to do so. Please don''t tell anyone, and, one again, try not to think of it, til we reach the DMA."


    The man seemed a bit nonplussed at the interruption, as Jason shook his hand, chuckling. "Don''t worry about it. Nothing world-changing, just useful. What sort of contract are we talking?"


    Barnes whistled to himself as he picked up a small black folder, extending it, with a pen attached, to Jason. "Million-dollar signing bonus, hundred thousand a month paycheck, complete health coverage, a secured dorm-room on-site, and we also agree to cover the complete cost of security systems at any home you purchase within the borders of the US. In the event you should come across individuals with bounties while in the course of your work for the DMA, you will, of course, be able to collect your appropriate share as well."


    Jason looked down at the folder, then up at Barnes. "Thats... thats Why are you offering this?"


    The man looked uncomfortable. "We can make it two million up-front and two-hundred thousand a month?"


    Jason shook his head, raising his hands. "Whoah, whoah. On the one hand, hell yes. On the other, I wasn''t negotiating, the first offer was fine, more than I expected. Why the high salary and signing bonus? Aren''t we still soldiers, just, you know... with powers?"


    The man sighed. "Oh, thank god. I don''t even know why the director sent me to handle the paperwork if I''m not allowed to know your power. We generally try to make salary offers that match up to what prospective agents could get doing private-sector work. Could you imagine what someone like Paladin could get if he worked for a construction firm? Some folks like to say that if we''d made him a good enough offer, the Lord of Iron would have been working for us." He took the folder back, and reached beside him; pulling out another. There were a stack of a dozen folders there.


    For a moment, Jason considered negotiating. If there were a dozen different offers, and the first one was a million up front... but no. When he received the second folder, he opened it, and started glancing it over. Could be terminated by either party at any time, but if it was terminated by himself within the first year, he had to return... half... of the signing bonus. So he could quit next month and keep a million dollars? He shook his head as he looked over it. "On the one hand, I guess if someone could afford him, it would be the US government. On the other.... didn''t he say he was gonna conquer the world when he escaped from prison? I think, best case scenario, he''d have screwed us over from the inside."


    He signed the contract; feeling as if a weight had settled on him. This was still a government position; and he''d have access to classified materials. It had never really mattered to him before, because he didn''t know anything that mattered, but he could go to prison if he told the wrong person the right thing.


    Barnes took the folder, and smiled. "Thank you! The director told me to treat you like a Class-A metahuman. If you''d asked for something outrageous or outlandish I was supposed to call him, but he''d probably agree."


    "..Outrageous or outlandish?"


    "We''ve got a metahuman named Daemon who requested immunity from all drug-related laws, and that we warn him before going after his dealers so he can get a new one first. Its probably the craziest one we said yes to. We said no to a guy who wanted his face on mount rushmore."


    Jason looked at the floor for a few seconds, thinking, then up at Barnes. "...Immunity from all drug laws. What the hell does he have?"


    "Superhuman strength and durability, incredibly fast regeneration, claws sharp enough to cut steel, and while his reflexes aren''t that much better than mine or yours, he can hit ninety at a sprint. Nasty habit of sprinting into obstacles when he does that, but he can take it. We actually mostly got around his request by just manufacturing cocaine in the lab for him. It takes enough to kill a normal man just to give him a buzz."


    Jason held back from interjecting about the reflexes bit. His own weren''t superhuman, but they were damn fine, as he''d proven many times in the past. "Won''t we, you know... enforce drug laws?"


    Barnes laughed. "At the DMA? Hell no. We deal with Metahumans who use their powers against the common citizens here at home, or against US interests abroad. The only time our agents ever get involved in a drug bust is if some cartel has metahuman employees on the scene; and then, we only care about the metahumans. We''re the Department of Metahuman Affairs. Unless its magic, or an alien, or some sort of super-science, or a mutant like yourself, we don''t really get involved, and to be honest even the feds don''t care about the drug stuff aside from the violent sorts. If the cartels stopped killing people tomorrow, interest in chasing after them would dry up next week. Aside from the murderous ones, its mostly about issuing fines and seizing cash."


    "Cool, cool. Honestly, I didn''t really like the idea of being a glorified super-cop, or any sort of cop." He glanced out the window at the buildings flying by, the trees; he was completely unfamiliar with this area. "So where are we headed?"


    "DMA Headquarters. You''ll get your ID issued, a room in the dorms... and these are some damn nice rooms, by the way, that, once you get a house, you''ll only need to be in when you''re on-call... and then get into detailed testing. No idea what sort, but apparently Doctor T is involved. Things are always interesting when he''s around."


    ***


    The new room looked... nice, to say the least. He''d seen at least a few famous metahumans he''d recognized on TV as he''d headed through the building to the elevator, and this place... The carpet was brand-new and spotless. The TV took up one entire wall of the living room. The fridge was stocked up with expensive everything alcoholic; and when he checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, aside from the usual aspirin and bandaids, there was a note with his name on it.


    ~Welcome to your room, mister Bennet! According to our records from the medical professionals in Iraq, you don''t have much of a history of drug use aside from alcohol; but that you most likely have PTSD-related symptoms that drive you to unusual risk-taking behaviors. We''ve spent decades treating PTSD here at the DMA, and one of our doctors recommended, if you wish to try it, a therapy session involving ''Shrooms'' while speaking with one of our therapists authorized for classified information.~


    Jason stared at the note for a moment. Back in the field, if one of his fellow soldiers had been caught with them, it would have been... well. Bad. Demotions, court-martial, dishonorable discharge; all sorts of possibilities, especially if they''d been out in the field, gun in hand, while high. Here... they were offering him giant piles of cash, drugs, whatever he wanted, just because he had a useful power.


    Whatever. He pocketed the note. It might be worth trying. Sometimes some of the things he''d done haunted him. If it could genuinely help...


    He looked at his new, DMA-issued ID. It wasn''t just a plastic rectangle; a small smart-device, a tablet with a sensor in it that could scan him to verify who he was, and sync up with doors. And, of course, give him directions. He clipped it to his chest, after studying his picture, marveling over how... weird... he looked with that third eye in the middle of his forehead.


    Well. On to testing then. Even if all he could do was see three seconds into the future, he''d at minimum be a wealthy man.


    When he stepped out of his room, heading back towards the elevator, he glanced down the hall; eyes catching a dark-haired woman with cat-like ears, a distinct asian cast to her features, wearing a black combat uniform. Their eyes met for just a moment, and she smiled; revealing long, sharp, canines; before stepping through the door of her room.


    Huh. He shrugged, and tapped the button. Supposedly they had some tests they were setting up for him even now. Time to see how they worked.

 Arakiel -2 - Further Testing

    The elevator to wherever ''Further Testing'' was seemed to go on forever. There was a solid 2-minute gap between the bottom floor and where it finally settled down; and when it opened, the room looked... strange. It was enormous; like a giant underground warehouse with grey walls in every direction that seemed seamless; and a trio of men in labcoats were chatting back and forth, as a prim, proper-looking hispanic woman directed them to set tables out in orderly rows; a whole stack of a few dozen folding tables were against the wall.


    He studied the foursome for a moment. One of them could be the woman''s brother; the other two looked almost like twins; pasty, overweight, identical short greasy hair.. "..Ya''ll need help with those?" He stepped out into the room, and the group all turned to stare at him for a moment; the woman nodded at the others, before marching his way.


    "Mister Bennet. I''m Doctor Martinez. I''m primarily with the Metahuman Testing and Training department, and I''m the only member of that department read in on Project Ground. On the surface, you shouldn''t have anything to do with this. Only twenty-seven people even know this project exists, and frankly this project, for all its operating budget, usually does almost nothing, most of its work going to entirely different projects."


    Jason chuckled. "Surprise surprise, another ''mop up the rain'' sort of project in the US military budget. Or is this the military?"


    She gave a long-suffering sigh of exasperation. "It''s not like that. Have you ever heard of Mark and Steven Maxwell?"


    Jason tilted his head for a moment thoughtfully. "Ahh... Mark Maxwell, yeah. Lightning, everybody knows him, saved the world and all that. Who''s Steven?"


    "Well. You''re familiar with Lightning''s powers? Baseline runs around forty or fifty times our rate of time, with no upper limit? Can be in Antarctica in a quarter-second if he wasn''t worried about devastating the pathway in between?"


    "Of course."


    "Well. Mark''s cousin, Steven, has similar abilities; only his body doesn''t keep up. Only his mind. He literally went crazy the day he gained his powers; apparently he got up from bed, stumbled, fell, and spent, to him, weeks or months in terrible agony before anyone noticed. It took months of drugs and therapy; which, to him, would have seemed like decades; before he was able to function again. Lightning ended up here in Washington for most of that time, as the only one whose mind could keep up, and helped get a computer rigged up for him. Nowadays, Steven helps us with our research... but his circumstances are what led us to establish the project, which he is part of."


    Jason stared at her for a moment. He knew that mutation was a risky business. Most mutants just died, their bodies unable to survive the process that changed them. Others had mutations that left them disfigured or crippled; super-strong muscles with an ordinary skeleton that shattered any time they moved. And of the slim minority that acquired viable, useful powers, most of them had some level of radiation sickness that would lead to infertility and, usually, a short life.


    There was a whole documentary; or a dozen; about all of the mutants that had developed powers in the concentration camps, and the devastation they did on liberation before ultimately dying, mostly before the war ended.


    This, though? What should, in theory, be an incredibly useful power, but just turns into torture?


    "...Good lord. That sounds like both a pain to deal with and incredibly useful. I bet he makes a killing on the pro-gamer circuit. Or is he banned from doing that due to his powers?"


    Dr. Martinez blinked for a moment. "..No, he isn''t banned, unless the event has anti-metahuman rules. And most powers aren''t good for online things, so he''ll probably keep getting away with it for now. Still. That''s beside the point. The concern was, what if something happened, Lightning got trapped in a similar way, and went crazy, unable to interact with his environment, just to suffer for possibly apparently infinite time? Lightning wanted us to find a way to deal with him if that happened."


    Jason looked at the tables that were being setup. There were at least forty of them by the time the men stopped; and they started putting small black plastic boxes on them, all spaced out. "So. Project Ground is an attempt to make a Lightning-killer device."


    "Exactly. We tried dozens of possibilities, both so that we could have something if we needed it, and to protect him if a villain came up with something. We ended up with five we spent most of our time on, and we got Lightning protection from all but two of them by getting him Infrared and Ultraviolet vision. The last two are essentially different ways of making obstacles that aren''t visible to even infrared or UV sight. But..."


    She chuckled. "For the expensive route, we can setup an invisible barrier that, for about thirty or forty seconds, will be completely invisible to everything but sonar; and Lightning moves too fast for sonar to be useful. Unfortunately, after that, it''ll create patterns in the air that someone paying attention can notice. For the cheap route, we can drop beads that are the right size and consistency for water droplets in among rainfall or the falling water of a fire suppression system; but after a very short period of time, they''ll be noticeable on the ground in the area. Which means that either method will only work if we have warning Lightning is coming; and its either raining out for the second, or a clear day for the first. If it does work, though? Lightning will hit the obstacle at full speed and critically injure himself. He heals over fifty times as fast as a normal person, so you''ll still want to finish him off quickly; but if you get him on the ground, that''s trivial enough."


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    He looked around at the tables. "Whats all this then?"


    "Entirely seperate, a test of your precognition that won''t bear fruit for a while, so we want to start the test early. Honestly, what little we know from Hiller''s recording is that you can see at least two seconds into the future. If you''re awake, and have good reflexes? You''re the solution to Project Ground. We just need to figure out how to integrate you into it."


    She cleared her throat. "Now. Those black boxes. All of them are sealed in a way it will take a while to open. Each of them contains a plastic card with a QR code on it, and there are one thousand of them. Over the course of the past few hours since we started prepping for this, we randomly selected and purchased about a million dollars worth of stock. I know one box has six shares of Apple, and at least one box has about a third of the available shells of a penny stock of some company that''s probably going to die out soon. What I want you to do is walk around those boxes, feel them, look at them, without opening them or scanning those QR codes. And pick ten of them. Whichever ten they are, you get to keep that stock, and will be given either the shares or the current cash value in six months. The rest will be sold off at end of day."


    He blinked. "So. If my powers work six months out.... I should be able to sense which stocks will be the best in six months, and pick the right boxes?"


    "Exactly. So. Just go take a look. Examine all the boxes. And choose."


    He frowned, and walked over to the tables. There didn''t seem to be any particular order. The men who had laid out the tables, and the boxes; considering they also must have classified status, probably doctors, or highly competent men; all just watched him from outside the neat rectangle of tables as he slowly circled.


    None of them looked even slightly different. He could see himself picking up the box and starting to open it but.... he couldn''t get it open within three seconds. They were nice, rugged boxes; he''d either have to work the tabs, or crush them with brute force. Either way...


    He did a complete circle of the boxes, taking at least twenty minutes to study them all closely. Not a single visible difference. A few weren''t as well sealed as the others; he could open them. Absolutely no reason to pick one over another. But....


    He kept being drawn back to the same box. It was....if he counted from the corner, the thirty-fifth box. Out of a thousand. When he laid his hand on the box... it just... felt right. He picked it up, looking around. "Ahh... where should I put the ones that I pick?"


    Dr. Martinez stepped up with, of all things, a blue IKEA bag, and calmly set the box inside. "Do you mind telling me why you picked that one?"


    Jason shook his head. "I don''t know. It just.... felt right." He got more of an idea of it now. Some of the boxes just felt wrong. Others felt right. After the first one, the rest went like dominoes; he just walked directly to a box, and picked it up, handing it over, one right after the other. His final selection was the very first box out of a thousand, in the furthest corner from where he''d entered the room.


    After the box was settled into the bag, she smiled. "There we go. So, we can monitor the prices of these stocks versus the rest, and pay it out in six months. We won''t be completely sure until the six month mark, but if those ten are the highest value out of the lot, we''ll have confirmed your power works for six months out, so long as we make sure not to tell you before that." She glances back at the men. "Nobody who interacts with him is to know the performance of the ones he chose for the next six months. The only ones who get to know are the accountant who sells the stocks and Director Thomes, in case someone has questions."


    She looked around at the boxes thoughtfully. "Still. That''s only ten data points. My apologies for the lack of preparation here, we didn''t have much time to set this up. We''ll go for a second set of boxes to give you at the one year mark, the two year mark, five, and ten, if you don''t mind? Exact same process. Just stay right here, I need to get a few boxes and properly label them, make sure we don''t mess any of this up."


    ***


    An hour later, Jason was staring at the boxes, frowning, while the four researchers waited patiently. For the first batch, the second, and even the third, it had gone swiftly once he got started. He picked the first box, then the second; it was as if a divine hand was guiding him as to which box he should grab.


    Now, though? The batch that he shouldn''t know the result for ten years? Nothing. That gut feeling, that instinct that had pushed him to pick the others.... nothing at all. He looked around one last time. "I can stand here longer, just in case, but... nothing. Either I''m imagining things, or the power has a limit somewhere between five and ten years out. Or the whole thing could get shut down on year six, who knows."


    Dr. Martinez nodded thoughtfully... and calmly wrote down a different set of dates on the box; to open in six years instead, without saying a word aloud. Almost immediately, Jason felt drawn to the next box. "Wait. Nevermind. Don''t know what changed, but I can feel a pull towards other boxes now....huh actually, it seems to be... wavering somehow?"


    She had the marker over the date. She had been about to change the year, make it seven... she did so.


    "Alright. Its gone again. Maybe I''m just imagining things."


    She looked down at the box for a moment. Considered explaining what she had done, how it could have changed things; decided to leave it be, for now. It seemed clear that his powers had an effective length of about six years; though she wouldn''t bet on it until she saw the results in six months.


    "Okay then, mister Bennet. This was the easiest test we could put together. We''re aware of agent Hiller''s test with the lights, but the next round of tests is going to require more prep-work. Our boss is going to be your case-worker, which... is a little unusual. His office is this way..." She starts walking towards a seemingly flat section of wall, leaving the three men to gather the boxes and start dismantling the tables. Laying her palm on what looks like a perfectly smooth grey section of wall, a soft hiss of escaping air was heard; and a seamless section recessed backwards, before sliding out of the way; revealing a short hallway and what seemed to be more ordinary offices.


    "...How do you find where to put your palm? I didn''t even see any doors, this whole floor looked like one giant room to me."


    "Security measures. The folks who work here have contact lenses, glasses, or even implants that spot the right points, while visitors are let in by the boss after the scanners are done with them. To me, I can see any doors that I''m supposed to see. Its always possible the boss... or the director... has others, or even a secret second elevator, in here somewhere." She chuckled before gesturing onward. "Go on ahead. You''re being expected. While we were getting this test together, and then actually doing it, your boss was deciding what your job was going to be going forward. I''m sure it''ll be something exciting."

 Arakiel -3 - Assignments and the Butterfly Effect

    The office was fairly empty; a desk, a trash can, a few nice, comfortable chairs; and a massive, heavily overweight red-headed man sitting behind a desk with a curved row of monitors, mounted on a rack starting on the wall beside him, and ending on the desk; at least eight of them. The man glanced up as Jason entered, and nodded at one of the seats. "Go ahead and sit down, mister Bennet. You present an interesting conundrum."


    Jason settled down in the seat, blinking; still needed to get used to the three eyes. "And why is that? Doctor... Terrance?"


    "You can call me Sam." He leaned back in his chair, tapping a button on his keyboard a few times. "Normally, a caseworker would be dealing with you right now. We''d get you into training. Equipment. Put you in touch with someone from marketing. There would be an onboarding process where we would feel out your abilities, and put you with a team. For the really high-end metas we''d be prepping backup to watch their back while they go in. For the rest, a team whose abilities complement their own."


    He studied Jason for a moment. "Honestly, I''m not sure what to do with you. If Ground is ever activated, you need to already be somewhere Lightning is going to hit, or its pointless. But lets be frank.... your power could be absolutely invaluable behind the stick of an aircraft... or a spacecraft... and Ground will probably never be activated. Honestly, we''re going to do a few days worth of testing, to see if this ''feeling'' of yours is legitimate, or if you really can only see a couple of seconds out. If its legit, we won''t be as worried, for obvious reasons. If testing shows all you''ve got is a couple of seconds..."


    He let out a sigh. "Then we''ll have you on-call at one of our important bases, and you''ll carry the right gear around with you all the time. Handle local missions if anything crops up. We''ll be getting things together to really put you through the grinder for the next couple of weeks, figure out just what you can handle. If you''re willing, I''d also like you to get a surgical augmentation... everyone assigned to the highest level of classification, aside from elected officials, gets a set of implants."


    He tapped his forehead. "I''ve got one hundred and eighty tiny beads embedded in my skull that form a protective barrier. So does director Thomes and most of my team. Makes mind-reading impossible unless they get their hands on you physically, none of this ''watch you for a few days and learn you from a distance'' nonsense... and I''d say it makes mind control impossible as well, but we''ve developed countermeasures, so someone else might have as well."


    "If you''re unwilling, then you''re still part of project Ground; we need your power to make it viable. But if you''re willing, you''ll be read in and learn exactly how it works."


    Jason inhaled deeply. "Honestly, being mind-controlled is scary as fuck. If you have something that can stop it, I''m down. Got enough demons in my head without someone on the outside making their own contribution."


    "Good enough. I''ll get you an appointment. I know you just came back to the states. Do you want to take a few days off, relax, maybe go visit family and friends? Honestly, waiting a few days to start the testing and training for the rest of this would give us more time to set some of this up, so we''re good either way."


    "...You people are paying me over a couple million dollars a year. I think I''d best earn my keep. You''ve got my cell number?"


    Sam chuckled; and tapped a button on his computer again. Jason''s ID suddenly buzzed. "Sure, though I won''t need it. Go. Relax. Have some fun. We''ll be making you work for it tomorrow."


    ***


    The underground structure was a perfect sphere; heavily armored, with a relatively small top floor, a larger middle floor, and an equally small bottom; and it contained, for the most part, maps. Books. Globes. Statues. Some of them brand new, made within the past few weeks. Others thousands of years old. And in the midst of it, sitting at a chair next to a writing desk, appeared to be a small greek child; perhaps 12, and not particularly large for his age. He was staring at one of the many maps; this one over three thousand years old, a rough map of the earth with black ink smeared across most of its surface, and the title; ''Third Jotun Incursion, final months of Midgard.''


    For one brief, shining hour, he''d seen a different future. One where he died; at least, this body did; but humanity survived. Not just survived; but thrived. Not just Hephaestus''s grand dream of colonies to let humanity escape and flee into the distant void, but here, on earth. An extremely risky, dangerous future. But a far cry from his own previous plan, to sacrifice all of the earth to break first the Jotun, then the Emperor, and allow those colonies of Hephaestus''s a chance.


    He''d started to work out the possibilities. Do the research. Figure out what factors could possibly create that result, and how to make sure it came to pass.


    And then... they vanished. The cataclysm had changed from the original plan. Now, it would wipe out most of the earth''s military, then come to a halt in DC, instead of finishing the job. Perhaps a third of the US military, and most of its leadership, would survive the initial disaster, instead of all being lost. And not just the US; there would be scattered survivors of a variety of militaries.


    Before, the only major resistance to the Jotun landing would be the legions of the dead, rising up after the cataclysm, to meet the Jotun landers. Numerous Jotun would be wounded or die; enough to keep the Jotun fleet stuck here until the Emperor inevitably arrived; but earth would have lost from the beginning. Now... They would fulfill their purpose; destroying any major industry and military complexes, killing any dangerous metahumans or threats to space-bound targets; and take even worse casualties.


    Something had made a difference. It was difficult to make out; his powers seemed to be weaker, more fuzzy than normal, despite Ragnarok being less than a decade away. But for that brief time, he''d seen armies of robots, bands of titans and other metahumans, enormous flying monsters, fighting the Jotun; and not just devastating them, but actually winning. An expedition being launched, and the Emperor dying, far from earth.


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    It all came down to one grim reality. Once again, someone else had developed precognition; and their influence on events was derailing things from his plan. At first, in a good way. Then... in a way that didn''t matter.


    He rose from the table, and turned to one of the many statues ringing his drawing room, and walked up; laying a hand on the smooth stone face, a near-perfect replica of a teenage girl over two thousand years dead. The Oracle. The true oracle. One who saw the future even better than himself... and had deliberately killed herself, overdosing on the chemicals that induced that euphoric state that she entered to augment her power.


    If there was a such thing as a Titan of precognition, it had been her. She hadn''t just seen the fall of earth. She''d seen the death of the sun. Of the universe. She''d stared into an endless, eternal void; and become obsessed with looking ever-further, in the hopes that, somewhere, far enough on, it might start to contract. To loop back in on itself. That something, anything, would go on.


    If she''d ever seen anything, it had died with her. But she''d assured Apollo that his quest was hopeless. Humanity was doomed.


    His ''quest''; one given to himself; had been to save humanity. In the beginning, he''d been finding a way to stop Cronos. Eventually, the Titan would have grown bored, wiped out the earth, and left. But solving that problem only led to another, inevitable fall; even excluding Cronos''s little doomsday weapon that, without Apollo''s intervention, would''ve turned the earth into a black hole a few months after his departure.


    No.... that led to a much further down the line end. The Emperor, and the Jotun. His work with Hephaestus had led to a solution to save the species, if not the world; help humanity develop enough to get space travel, let them deal with a Jotun incursion so they would understand, and believe, the stakes, and then get some of them offworld. And then use Cronos''s going-away present to kill the Emperor when he came to kill what was left after the Jotun had attacked; preferably hurting the Jotun enough that they were still in-system with their King when the black hole formed, healing their wounds, and taking out two threats to the new colonies at once.


    And that end was coming soon. So many thousands of years of work, and hope had sprung forth... and then died... so near the end.


    Why?


    The answer wouldn''t be in the ancient scrolls. Whatever it was would either be in the databases Loki had recovered from the Jotun, or it would be in whoever the new precognitive was. He''d try the former. Then seek out the latter.


    ***


    The cafeteria was the strangest Jason had ever been in. Entirely aside from being able to call in orders for anything from steak to crab, there was a buffet; and one much higher quality than he was used to, sure. That was only to be expected; there were likely better ones at some of the casinos in vegas.


    There was also, however, a cooler stocked up with beer of at least twelve brands; he studied it for a moment while waiting for his steak to cook; the amount of alcohol he''d had in the past six months was less than one of these bottles; in fact, if he recalled the last time he''d gotten back to the states, his tolerance had been much worse; some girl half his size had drunk him under the table when he was at that rodeo in wyoming.


    He passed it up for now, just grabbing a coke; and looking around the room. No familiar faces. Well. Few familiar faces. At one of the tables sat a hero he had seen on TV a few times; Captain Thunder; who could generate soundwaves so intense they would rupture organs at thirty meters; or just create subtle sound effects that would sicken and confuse. He looked... relaxed, but dripping with sweat, wearing a simple white tank-top, and had a cart covered with pieces of armor set beside him; the only part of the purple armor he always wore on TV he still had on were the pants; even the boots were on the cart, leaving a pair of small, tanned bare feet on the cafeteria floor.


    Jason thought for a moment... and shrugged, settling down at the same table once he had his steak. "Well then. Captain Thunder. Had a hard day''s work?"


    The man studied Jason for a moment; the native american man seeming to b e a touch out of it at present, not particularly caring about the new arrival. "Eh. Not really. Went in with a SWAT team in Jersey for some idiot robbing a bank. Don''t usually have to go that far, and I hate spending hours in this armor, but.... Hmm. I''d say you know how it is, but I think this is the first time we''ve met. Just got here?"


    Jason extended a hand. "Yep. They''ll be testing my powers for the next few days before they decide what to do with me. Classified right now, so I can''t say."


    Thunder shook his hand, nodding. "Classified? That''s odd. Well. If you''re gonna ever be in public, somebody from marketing is gonna try to get you to wear a fancy costume, use some cool callsign. They''re optional, but I sell about ten million worth of ''Captain Thunder'' action figures and accessories a year, so I guess I''d recommend going with em. Just... don''t make my mistake and go for heavy armor as a signature thing unless you really have to. Its great for when somebody shoots at you, but nobody''s shot at me for years now."


    Jason smiled. "I might not be the right one to say that to. Heavy armor would probably have saved me a few trips to the hospital... either by keeping me from getting ahead of my squad-mates by slowing me down, or by not getting as many bits of shrapnel stuck in me."


    "Ohhh? A combat vet then? I take it you were in the desert?"


    "Yep. My last day on the job, as it were, I ran into this giant monster of a meta... steel skin, spat fire, survived an armor-piercing grenade like it was nothing. Put me in the hospital. Woke up a mutant." He chuckled. "I was actually lucky; a tank shot the bastard and saved my life, or he would have torn me in half."


    Thunder studied Jason for a moment, frowning. "That sounds familiar. Ahh, well. Good to have vets coming over here. Thought about a callsign? We''re not the airforce, we let people pick their own... though not everybody has one."


    Jason shrugged. "Everybody called me Kamikaze when I got out of the hospital. Might just stick with it. People who know me know it, and I''ve answered to it for years now."


    "Ooof. Marketing won''t like that. Don''t get me wrong, it might still fly, but it''s also gonna piss some people off. I''d recommend thinking of something new, but, well. I don''t know your power, so I can''t make a good recommendation. I was gonna go with something biblical, like the name of an angel of wrath or some such nonsense, but marketing tells me that people with ''Captain'' in the name get an extra 27% in sales."


    "Captain Kamikaze?"


    Thunder stared at him for a few seconds. "...No. Seriously, just, no. All your buddies calling you that is one thing. You''re a team. You.... should definitely talk to marketing before you pick a name. If you pick some ridiculous name at the start of your career, its gonna drag you down the rest of it. Imagine if you picked something stupid, like... with the eye, Three-Eyes, or Eyeball, or Cue-ball."


    "Captain Eyeball?"


    For just a moment, he started to look angry... before he noticed Jason''s attempt to restrain his laughter, and shook his head, chuckling. "But seriously, don''t. It can cause all sorts of problems."

 Arakiel -4 - Impressive Enough

    The evening was filled with nightmares. This wasn''t too uncommon, unfortunately. Incoming fire. Children holding rifles... or IEDs disguised as bookbags, or even soda cans. Death. Fire. Pain. Blood. Growing steadily more indistinct over time until he awoke in a cold sweat, hours before dawn; and settled back in, trying to get back to sleep and giving the PTSD counselor some serious consideration.


    When it came time to actually get moving, Jason''s first step of testing was one of his favorite spots on a base; the firing range; granted, this was a bit of a special situation in his experience. He put on his only other civilian outfit; a nice black button-up shirt and slacks, still with the same military boots; and headed out. He had tons of cash at this point; he really needed to take a day off and go shopping. Get a house. Some clothes. All sorts of stuff.


    The sort of firing range he was used to was one of two varieties; improvised paper targets, either on pull-cords or just hanging on walls, organized with measured distances; or the semi-professional sort where they had nonsense like machines that could pull the same targets around to simulate movement.


    This place was... different. There were no less than twelve different firing ranges, some of them not even designed for guns at all, and two of which were made for people with superhuman reflexes, sending projectiles careening about at hundreds of miles per hour. He hadn''t seen the second one yet, but Dr. Martinez had called him up to the first one. A series of strange, complicated machines dotted the walls, ceiling, and floor of the long corridor, and orange spheres ranging from the size of a quarter to that of a basketball were attached to the ends of rods at varying distances.


    She was tapping away at a console to the side of the entrance when he stepped inside, still wearing the same lab-coat over a simple black outfit, but this time complete with a pair of headphones; likely not just normal headphones; when he entered.. "Mister Bennet. Yesterday, we started up the test of long-term precognition. It might seem a bit backwards, but if you can see six months out, it will of course take six months for us to really know for sure, so we needed to get that out of the way first. Today, we''re going to do some tests of more short-term things. Minutes, hours, seconds. I''ve got a headset I''d like you to wear, and we''re going to go through some basics here. Your objective is to get however high a score you can during a five-minute firing session."


    She gestured at the table. There was an armory with access to all twelve of the firing ranges; though it didn''t just have weapons and ammunition, it also stocked ballistics gel-laden dummies and a variety of equipment useful for testing metahuman powers; but he didn''t get to visit that today. Instead, four rifles of different sorts, and two handguns, were laid out on a table facing downrange.


    At the end of them all was a simple metal band, with an elastic strip; that, when he started to put it on, went over his third eye. It took a few minutes of adjusting for him to get it set properly, while Dr. Martinez scowled; he thought he heard her mutter something about ''Jacobs'' and ''adaptation'' as she helped get it settled so it wasn''t obscuring his vision. He settled his own ear protection over it; one of the familiar units that should muffle loud noises, but let more soft ones come through clearly.


    "Okay. There we go. Now I''ve got a good picture of your brain. Each weapon is already loaded. Look at them, choose which you want to use. You can only pick one, and when you start shooting, the round is over when you run out of ammo, or the five buzzer hits. There are going to be dozens of targets, we just want to see how many you can shoot, not how quickly; these things will be moving beyond the speed any normal marksman can hit."


    He nodded, and stepped up to look over the weapons. The handguns would be right out; he was a good shot with a handgun at close to medium range, but they fired lower-velocity projectiles. The rifles...


    It was a bit odd. An AK-47, an M-4, an AR-15, an M-45, and one of those giant bulky anti-Jotun rifles that they weren''t allowed to bring into the field; or even anywhere the brass thought they might be captured. For a moment he was tempted to pick that one up. The muzzle velocity on those things was insane, and they''d only been fired in real battle a tiny number of times; though every soldier and marine was required to qualify with one since they were first built.


    But... he knew it wasn''t the best choice. He started to reach for the M-45, since it was the current military standard, and one he''d used extensively, with the second-highest muzzle velocity of the weapons in front of him... but no. Something was telling him not to. It was... strange. Stupid even. But...


    He picked up the AK-47, chambered a round, and set it on his shoulder. "Alright then. Lets get started."


    Dr. Martinez glanced down at the weapons, then the AK. "Mind telling me why you chose that one?"


    "No idea. Just felt right."


    She nodded slowly... and then hit the switch on the wall after waiting a few more seconds, as if there were some hidden timer she was watching.


    The range was a blur of orange movement. Tiny targets, flying faster than they could be normally visually tracked... in theory. He hadn''t thought about it til now, but apparently his baseline vision was substantially better than it used to be; and for the first few seconds, he just watched.


    He had no way to tell just how fast these projectiles were moving. But he could see what would happen when he pulled the trigger. Whether one would get struck or not. He inhaled deeply; and started to fire. Careful, precise shots; waiting until his vision told him that, if he fired, he''d hit one of the targets; and kept going, one by one.


    He knew he had five minutes, and only thirty shots; so he took his time. Gave it a few seconds before each pull of the trigger. He could tell if he was going to miss a shot; and just waited a bit longer, changing angles, hitting a different target.


    When he felt the click of an empty magazine, he raised the rifle to the ceiling, glancing at the doctor; and she nodded, hitting the switch again; the movement stopped.


    She glanced at the computer console by the door. "Thirty shots, thirty hits. Targets ranging from three hundred to nine hundred and ninety miles per hour. Not bad, to say the least. The other range uses holographic targets and can get faster; we''ll try it some other day."


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He inhaled, nodded, and set the rifle down on the counter. Normally at this point, he would either be disassembling it to clean it, or loading another magazine at this stage. "We going again, or...?"


    "Not quite yet. If you want to go take a break, me and Jacobs are going to setup the next test, if you can step out, send him in? We''ll call you when its time."


    ***


    A small lobby connected the various ranges; the twelve all faced southward, taking up much of the third and fourth floors of DMA HQ; and when he saw Jason step out, a man wearing a labcoat; Jason was reasonably sure he was one of the men who had been setting up the tables yesterday; noticed him, and started to hustle by, pushing a cart. "Are you Dr. Jacobs?"


    The man coughed. Exactly the sort of pasty geek he expected for this sort of job, he looked uncomfortable. "Ahh... no. Not a doctor. Never graduated actually. Martinez wanted me in as soon as you were done, so..."


    Jason chuckled, and stepped out of the way; glancing over at... a set of leaderboards. There was a wall-sized screen in the lobby, with a series of tables including all-time best scores, monthly best scores, daily best scores; he''d come in early, but the lists were all populated for the day; aside from Range 11, that he''d just stepped out of, which was blank for the daily scores, and had a ''Closed for Maintenance'' sign on the scoreboard.


    Two men wearing the solid black DMA uniforms, with green and silver badges, watched Jason stepping out. The first; with odd, spikey hair that seemed to be literal spikes rather than just gel, glanced at him, then the board. "You a new maintenance guy? What happened to Tony?"


    "Ahh, no. Just a new recruit. They hijacked the range to do some powers testing."


    The two men gave a slow nod. "Well, that explains that. Usually they take the systems down once a month, and they last did it a week ago. I thought something went wrong. How''d you score?"


    "...Not sure if I''m supposed to say. My powers are classified for right now."


    "Hah! Well. I''m Donny, I go by Deadeye in the field. I''ve got... mid-level super-reflexes, and I can shoot lasers." He raised his hands; each was wearing a black, fingerless glove, and his fingertips glowed softly. "I can shoot em from anywhere, really, but the fingers help me focus, and if I try it with the eyes I''m blind while I''m doing it."


    "Ahh. I think I heard of you. You''re on the strike team that handles things in Virginia, right?"


    "Hell yeah. Its not bad. Most of the states have their own HQ, but we''re so close we get to stage out of DC. Bobby here..." He smacked the other man on the shoulder. "Is one more fuckup from getting sent to Wyoming."


    The other man; a bit shorter and more heavyset, but with the same tanned complexion as the first, sighed. "Not really. I go by Tempest in the field. Still working on getting a hang of my powers, I caused a bit of... collateral damage when we took out the guys at the stadium last month."


    Jason blinked. "Ohhhhhh. You''re the one who did the whole lightning and snow thing, right? Killed all the bad guys but flooded everything, a few drownings, some hypothermia cases? Hell, man, if someone had gone in with guns those hostages would all be dead. Better two dead and a few sick than hundreds of bodies."


    Tempest smiled. "See? That''s what Rhodes said. This fucker keeps bugging me because his powers are so pinpoint that the only civilian casualty he ever had was some idiot who pulled a water pistol on him."


    "Anyways! I''m Jason Bennet. Don''t really have a callsign, though my buds in the army called me Kamikaze; god knows what they''ll call me now, I''ve been told that''s a terrible idea."


    Deadeye shrugged. "Well, it depends. The marketing department and PR like to have people with cool and patriotic names. But they aren''t in charge... and you don''t have to sign up for it. Hell, for most of us it doesn''t make much difference, and its just wearing a fancy costume and all for pennies. Each state''s got its own team... or teams... but while the Houston Defenders are a huge deal and everybody celebrates them, and all three of the New York teams have tons of fans, nobody cares about the Virginia Cavaliers. Granted... we don''t have a supervillain attack every other day like New York, so we''re not in the news so often."


    Tempest laughed. "Oh, god. Remember when the Lord of Iron came in, animated the statue of liberty, and all the lesser villains ran amok? If Lightning hadn''t stepped in, they''d have been fuuucked. So many of their fanboys were pissed, talking about the Titan stealing their thunder, as if any of them wanted to handle him."


    Jason glanced behind him. The door to #11 had opened, and Jacobs was stepping out, looking at him. "Ahh, well. I think I''m back in for testing. You guys have fun, who knows, maybe I''ll be working with you sometime." He nodded at the duo; and turned back, stepping into the chamber as Jacobs stepped out.


    The two heroes watched him go. Tempest glanced at Jacobs, then Deadeye. "I think I actually heard of him before, Kamikaze. Had a few registered Meta kills... and just as many extended stays in the hospital. I don''t think he''ll be around for long, but I bet he''ll be fun while he is."


    ***


    "Alright. So we''ve changed things up a little."


    Dr. Martinez was standing beside the console, and things looked mostly the same. The two handguns, the M-4, M-45, the AR-15, the Ak-47, and the Anti-Jotun rifle, all laid out on the table once again; everything looked exactly the same.


    Jason frowned, as he stepped up. Was there a trick? What was different? "Same thing again? Pick a gun, shoot til its empty?"


    "Precisely."


    He started to reach for the AK-47 again. He wasn''t sure why he picked it last time, but if it... wait.


    It felt... wrong. To grab the AK. He focused on the gun for a moment. It would take more than a few seconds for him to check the magazine, unfortunately, so he couldn''t check what was different. But something was.


    The M-4 and the M-45 both had the same 30-round standard magazine size as the AK, and the one on the AR-15 looked like a 20-round mag. Between his familiarity with the weapons and their capability, it should be the M-45 every time. But.....


    He picked up the AR-15, frowning. "I... have no idea why. But this one just feels right this time. I can see a few seconds out, and anything I can inspect on them in that time looks fine. But... this one just feels right. Can you explain?"


    "Go ahead and shoot first. Then we''ll go over it, before we keep going. We''ll be doing this for a few hours."


    He raised the rifle; and she hit the switch. It was easier, this time. The weapon''s higher muzzle velocity made each shot just slightly easier to take; and a few of those that were breaking the sound barrier were easier targets with the AR-15 than they had been with the AK. He performed just the same; squeezing off shot after shot, nailing a target every time... but in the end, there were only 20 bullets. He couldn''t hit as many targets as he had with the AK.


    When he set the rifle down, having shot another perfect score, he glanced at the doctor. "...Alright. Another perfect score. Can you explain now?"


    "This was a test of your marksmanship, yes. We knew you were a decent shot, and assumed your powers would make you better. We.... didn''t assume it would make you -this- much better, but we thought it would. It wasn''t only a marksmanship test, though. For each test, we sabotaged all but one of the rifles in a way it would take more than three seconds to spot. The AK-47, this time, was loaded with blanks we''d done to look real after the first few rounds as were the M4 and the M-45. If you''d picked anything but the AK the first time, your score would have been three. If you''d picked anything but the AR-15 the second time, the same. We''re gonna keep going, but each time we''ll be introducing longer delays between when you choose your gun and start firing."


    He nodded slowly. This was weird, being toyed with like this... but it was also fun. He was looking forward to seeing just what he was capable of.

 Arakiel -5 - Analysis - Database

    "Alright, Sandy. Whats the verdict?"


    Doctor Martinez leaned back in the chair in Sam''s office, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. "This is one of the most exciting and frustrating experiences of my life. I want to recruit him into the lab and ask him which tests to run for all the projects that have been on the backburner for a while, but I know thats not the place Rhodes will use him."


    Sam sighed, leaning against his desk on his elbows. "Yes, yes. We get it. This isn''t the first time we''ve got someone in with powers that seem to upset the apple cart. You''ve had a week. We''ve spend a couple million dollars on testing equipment and other expenses, and hijacked training equipment from multiple departments. I don''t need 100% assessments, obviously some of the tests will take time to work out. What can we confirm, and what''s your opinion?"


    Sandy set a folder down on the desk in front of Sam. "Well. He has absolute, precise, precognition just over three seconds out; so he''s perfect for project Ground. If he uses one of the countermeasures we''ve figured out, he can deploy it moments before any speedster arrives, and poof. Done. Obviously he''s not a silver bullet against any other sorts of meta, but if we add him to a team, and he sticks with them? We don''t have to worry about some enemy speedster wiping them out before we know what''s going on. He could even just shoot them... except that many high-end speedsters can outrun bullets. And, well. The absolute precision he has when he''s hitting something that isn''t going nine hundred miles per hour is crazy."


    Sam opened the folder; pages showing marksmanship scores on the test range used for speedsters and those with super-reflexes. The scores... were almost perfect. The only shots that he missed were a few of those extreme-range shots... where it took over three seconds for the bullet to reach its target. Even those, his accuracy was vastly above par. "....If he can only see three seconds in the future, why can he get such good accuracy against something five seconds away?"


    "He was a decent shot beforehand, a much better one now, likely because his overall physical abilities have all been amped up just a bit thanks to the whole Shadow nonsense; and of course, his vision is... insane. His ability to pick out details is ridiculous. I''m not sure how well he''ll do on the flight simulator next week, though."


    Sam studied each of the charts one by one. "Interesting enough. We''ll find out. So the three-second thing is definitely useful. Outside of that?"


    "We''ve tested it hundreds of times. He gets what he describes as ''a feeling'' about things; clearly his power triggering subconsciously; whenever he''s making decisions. Things he won''t be able to see for a few minutes, a few hours, or even a couple of days, he can still be completely correct about. So far he''s been wrong twice; and both times we changed the situation after he made the prediction, because of his prediction. I''d bet a substantial sum that when six months hits, the top ten stocks he picked are gonna be the ten of that list that did the best over six months.... unless something he did in the meantime influenced the stock price."


    Sam smiled as he looked up at her. "...Nice. So, based on that first test, we''re talking probably six year range precognition. Not just an excellent starting point for whatever version his children get, but could be incredibly useful for our own purposes."


    Doctor Martinez frowned. "Well. Maybe. I don''t know if the six-year precognition range is what I''d like to assign this. I... well. Six years is pretty close to the estimate we''ve got to the Jotun invasion force arriving, right? If things go badly enough..."


    Sam''s smile vanished. "...If things go badly enough, then all the stocks will be worthless. There might not be a limit, or it might be that it''s fifty years, or even just the rest of his life. Shit. We need to figure out a way to answer that. If its a coincidence, its a terrible one."


    "Oh, and we should get him a helmet. One with a good heads-up-display that shows all directions, maybe even speech to text. His power is strictly visual, from what we can tell. The only way he could tell about getting, say, stabbed in the back three seconds out, is if he saw the blood. I''ve got the boys making a prototype for him now."


    "Don''t spend too much effort on it. He''s gonna be seeing the shrink for a psych eval, in fact I think he''s there right now, but if Rhodes decides to put him on a team, even temporarily, he''ll be talking to marketing.. and they''ll probably want to add spikes or horns or some weird logo."


    ***


    The couch was... comfortable enough. Jason felt relaxed. For the most part. The earnest, bearded young doctor was close to Jason''s age; late 20s, early 30s; and was a calm, reasonable-sounding man... who he took an almost instant dislike to about thirty seconds after he introduced himself as ''Roy''.


    He was about ninety percent certain he was a doctor of something. Psychology? Psychiatry? But he just wanted to be called Roy. Make small-talk. Beat around the bush, try to sneak up on questions instead of just asking them straight out. He''d been in for evals before, both other times he was hospitalized, actually, before being allowed to go into the field again.


    It was honestly hilarious, to a certain extent. He''d mostly given up on life really mattering, and just wanted to go out with a bang, as it were. Do something big, flashy, heroic, and die a hero. Except.... he didn''t die. Ugh. What was the nutjob talking about now?


    "...And could you imagine how things would be if everyone -did- live forever? It would just completely ruin the world. We''d collapse from lack of resources, society would be stuck in an endless quagmire..."


    Jason rolled his eyes, staring at the ceiling. Good god. "Okay. Yes. I get that people have to die, eventually, even though all the reasons you''ve been giving so far are, for the most part, bullshit. I just didn''t want to be the one who had to pull the trigger on an 11-year-old boy pointing a 40-year-old rifle at my team."


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    He''d been much more cautious talking it out while he was enlisted. If they figured that he had been trying to get himself killed in a spectacularly heroic way, they might have sent him home. Now, though? Not only did he have new hopes for life, but he was damned sure he was too important now to kick to the curb like that.


    "Well. There''s no magic wand I can wave to make you forget; but we have strategies that can help. If you have anyone you trust... and you can trust me if you want to, nothing said in here leaves this room... talking about it helps. Focusing on how far in the past it is, that its just a memory, not something going on right now, helps. And it always gets better with time. If you get into a pattern of getting stuck into it, nightmares about being shelled, about doing things you didn''t want to... things that break the pattern can help. There''s medications, therapeutic treatments, we even have a telepath on-staff who can help with that. She''s no magic wand, but she''s almost as good."


    "....Huh. A telepath. Could she just make me forget about it? Like it never happened?"


    "Oh, no. Destroying parts of your memory can cause all sorts of problems. What she can do is help remove patterns, and make it easier to tell when its just a flashback. Divert your mind around them, so that you only think about them when you''re trying to, rather than them always popping in like an intrusive thought."


    "...That might be worth trying. Who should I talk to about that?"


    Roy chuckled. "Well. She''ll need to be read up on the right classification level to treat you, but I''ll get that handled. You''re not going to be deployed into the field for probably months to come as they test out your powers. How about we spend some time trying therapy, perhaps some medication, before going that far?"


    ***


    "The Chain of Eternity."


    The burly man with his thick beard, wearing what seemed to be a nice, italian suit, frowned. "What the hell is the chain of Eternity?"


    "It''s what is going to fuck us all. The Jotun have this caste of genetically-engineered telepaths. Frankly, incredible ones, and one of them is augmented by a magical artifact that takes a ridiculous amount of time to recharge between uses. The thing that kills us off, dooms us on day one? The Chain takes over Lightning. Uses him to wipe us out. He circles around the world, killing the other Titans first, throwing Valkyrie into orbit by hitting her with a rock with about as much force as a nuke, and then wipes out every military base on the planet that matters. Except. Now, there''s someone who will be in Washington in six years, that kills him. So, he wipes out the east coast of the US, but not the west coast, leaving a trail of devastation between all of the Titans, then dies."


    Zeus rubbed his beard, absently walking around the meeting table. He was the only one to show up so far; he... just didn''t command the same respect he used to. Though, admittedly, he''d been available because he had been chatting up a few girls on social media and avoiding Hera.


    "So... they can just control us and turn us against each other. How do we fight that?"


    "It can only work against one mind. Just one. Odin and Hephaestus worked out most of the details after I asked the question, so we''ll get better information at the meeting at the end of the month. But. From what I''ve been told... it can see almost everything. Scan an entire planet, every mind; the stronger the mind, the longer it takes, but you''d need a similarly powered artifact to avoid it. Once it''s scanned enough people to figure out the best person to control; in the past, it was usually a military leader, a president, that sort of thing, on the Jotun''s other targets... it uses them to do as much damage as possible."


    The tiny form of Apollo looked up at his ''brother'' for likely the millionth time. "So. We need to get rid of the really dangerous Titans. Kill them. Put them in stasis. Whatever. Get all the world leaders who have nukes and make sure they need at least two people to launch them. Basically.... if we do it right, we can make sure that the Jotun can''t use this Chain of Eternity thing against us effectively. And considering I already have plans with Hephaestus that should let us take out their dedicated orbital bombardment platforms, so long as there aren''t too many of them..."


    Zeus smiled. "So what you''re saying is that we might have a chance?"


    "Exactly. First things first, though. We need to kill or subdue the Titans. All of them. And soon... we''ll probably have to arrange a few dictators who won''t go along with the plan to pass away as well."


    The massive man laughed, slamming a hand on the table with enough force to warp the tungsten surface. "Deposing tyrants! A particular favorite. How long has it been, brother?"


    Apollo shook his head with a soft chuckle. "Not long enough. Hopefully we can get that number down to zero, but there''s at least one who I doubt we can manage that with. Go enjoy your womanizing and craziness a couple more days. Once Odin and Hephaestus get here, we''ll need to make some plans. The US clearly has some means to take out Lightning; we just need to do it ourselves, or get them to use it now, in a controlled setting, instead of at the tail end of a massacre."


    ***


    Thomes slowly reviewed the data; both that from the reports he''d been given by Project Ground, as well as the up-to-date stats of the stocks that the test subject had chosen. Nine of the ten were all ones that a good stock broker would have chosen; thanks to the rounding errors and trying to spend about a thousand dollars on each of the packets, they were the most valuable and most likely to grow out of all the stocks. The final, tenth choice, was a penny stock that was supposed to be de-listed any day now, despite its CEO constantly claiming that a miracle was around the corner.


    That one had been worth 25 cents per share when it had been bought; and was now worth 21. While the packet with Apple shares had included only four shares of stock, worth one thousand at the time and now about 1200... the stock for ''TKM'' ''Thomas Keller Manufacturing'' had already dropped to the mid-800s.


    Was this a sign that the test subject''s powers were unreliable; that they failed one out of ten times, giving a false result; or that this company was about to have a meteoric rise? Or perhaps was even engaging in fraud, deliberately lowering its stock price so they could buy it back more cheaply before revealing a breakthrough?


    He didn''t usually get this involved with new recruits; especially not the ones who didn''t have some sort of super-durability or regeneration. Working for him was the most dangerous job in the country; people without some sort of defensive power had an unfortunate tendency to die within the first couple years, or get crippled and then retire. Once they got past the first couple years, it was better. But... well. If he could legitimately see the future, he could probably dodge bullets.


    He sighed, and tapped the intercom. "Stacy. Have the Hammer of Liberty and their marketing director given the proper classification level for Ground, and let Silver Sword know Bennet will be joining his team. Make sure whatever they tell the public about his powers meshes with how he actually works, but the people he works with need to know what he can do."


    Silver Sword was one of his better teams; if they''d been available, they likely could have handled it when the Lord of Iron had taken a walk through new york; but they were tangling with a breakout of weird mutant rat cyborgs that had swarmed up out of a sewer in Utah at the time, too far away to get there; as opposed to Lightning, who had the situation resolved within minutes... but caused a few million dollars in damage to interstates and killed a few dozen cattle.


    He might not be seeing as much action as he did in the desert... but he''d certainly be seeing some more unusual situations.

 Arakiel - 6 - The Silver Swords

    "So, here''s the deal. The Silver Swords are one of the most well-known, internationally recognized, superhero groups. This is seriously the big leagues." Jason walked behind ''Todd''; the Marketing agent who represented, among others, the Silver Swords, down the long hallway to the small building that the team stayed in. He didn''t like Todd. The marketing man seemed... far too eager. The fake tan, the slicked-back hair... not that he was jealous, having been shaved bald so they could put the telepathy-resistance net in place and sporting just stubble...


    He stopped at the front door. There was a VTOL craft parked on the roof; one of dozens the DMA employed to deliver strike teams to locations; there were six other buildings he could see from here with a similar craft on the roof. Some would carry just a single massively heavy-hitter, like Spike, and a team of normal but extremely competent soldiers. Others, a whole team of metas, usually, also, with a few normal soldiers tagging along. Often, there would be additional crew assigned as needed. They could reach any location in the continental US within an hour; and locations here on the east coast, where most supervillain activity in the US occurred, far more swiftly.


    The door... was heavily armored, and looked like a bunker; the whole section above-ground made up of clearly bulletproof glass panels and concrete. He could feel a mister running; the DMA had hundreds of them running all around the campus, spitting out some chemical blended with water, then sucking it back up and misting it out again; that required any speedsters entering the area to run along specific paths to avoid problems.... in theory. In practice, all the good ones had some way around it. There were probably tons of other defenses he couldn''t see.


    "I''m not sure he''s gonna have me on this team long-term. Weren''t we supposed to meet to talk about... branding? My hero name?"


    "I''ve got a few candidates for you, and the lab has got a prototype armor suit for you to try out as well, but I figured if you''re gonna work with these guys, you might want to hash it out with them." Todd smiled. "Final decision is up to you, but if you''re gonna spend, hopefully years, working with these guys, might be best not to pick something offensive."


    As the bunker door slid open, a sight Jason hadn''t seen outside of TV screens greeted him; the tall, powerful form of Imperious, wearing athletic pants and a sportsbra, with a towel over her shoulders, wings folded against her back. She looked the perfect image of an angel; with curly golden hair, pale skin, even golden eyes; there were a few people like that out there, but she was one of the most famous. She was also barefoot, and just as tall as Jason; built like an athlete.


    He tried to keep his eyes on her face, and keep his mind out of any awkward channels, as he extended his hand. "G''day there, ma''am. Name''s Jason. Apparently I''ll be working with you."


    She nodded slightly. "Well then. Come on in. Not everybody''s down here at the moment, but Silver is, and Excalibur is upstairs, working on his armor. Have you got a callsign yet? Oh, and welcome back, Todd."


    "Nah. Todd figures I should hash it out with you guys, pick something that meshes? What they called me in the desert isn''t the best option."


    The angel glanced back at Todd, and looked Jason over for a few seconds; Jason was wearing ordinary clothes, part of a recent shopping trip; a ''Lightning vs. the Lord of Iron'' t-shirt, depicting the statue of liberty smashing her torch into a building, with Lightning running up her arm. He''d gotten a few weird looks at the store when he''d bought it, alongside a whole stack of similar ones; he''d actually bought a ''Silver vs. the Black Death'' shirt before he''d found out he was going to be coming here, and felt it might be offputting to meet the man wearing a shirt that showed a picture of him in his prime.


    "That''s a bunch of nonsense. We were all established heroes, with our own names, before coming in. Excalibur''s the only one with a sword-themed name."


    Jason shrugged. "You''re right on that, I suppose. I was thinking of going with something sniper-related; though there''s so many Deadshots, Killshots, Deadeyes, Nightstalkers... not a very creative bunch. Maybe a biblical figure. Any warrior angels or demons that don''t have a hero named after them yet?"


    Todd smiled. "Well, sort-of! All the real ''Warrior'' angels are taken, but there''s at least a dozen angels who nobody has picked. There''s Arakiel, Berburos.."


    "That''ll work. Arakiel. Don''t suppose I can get a jetpack with whatever suit they give me?


    Todd stopped. "You... seriously just went with the first one I offered?"


    "The name doesn''t really matter too much. Either I make an impression and it gets out there, or I don''t and nobody cares. I''ll stick with that. And working alongside a real angel.." He nodded at Imperious. "Makes it seem fun."


    She laughed. "Oh, I''m not a ''real'' angel, if there are any such things." She was walking downstairs, into a massive workout room. This chamber was the size of the whole building, and had a jogging track circling it; as well as an assortment of weights ranging from impressive to horrific; a block with handles the size of a truck lay in the middle of the floor. "I''m an alien. Well. I was born in New York, but my species isn''t from here."


    Jason stopped on the stair, blinking. "Wait. Like the Jotun?"


    "Well. No." She waved her hand in front of her face; and her features became distorted. Inhuman. The nose changed to slits, the eyes grew larger. "This is what my species looks like, unadapted. The locals call us Shifters, because we can meld our bodies. Tons of us like to really get into shadow and illusion magic to work with it; its how I got so focused on light magic and why I learned to shoot lasers." Her face shifted back to the pale, beautiful form. "It''s classified, because they don''t want to cause issues, but there''s a bunch of us here."


    "Huh. Cool. You all have wings, strength, flight, magic, or are you a Shifter equivalent of a mutant?"


    A man will dull grey skin was laying back on a bench, working through a steady routine with a set of dumbells, a bottle of gatorade beside his head as Imperious settled into a chair not far from him. "Nah. We don''t mutate like humans. We''re genetically engineered; most species are, up there." She gestured at the sky with her right wing, before it folded back down. "Our ancestors were refugees, saved by a human named ''Odin'' and his adopted sons, Thor and Loki. I think Loki is one of my people, actually. Or is. We''re not all the same, but, well."


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    She flexed her arms. "By Shifter standards, I''m what you would consider elite. If we had olympics, I''d win the functional shifting medal every year. I''m not so good at copying someone else''s face, but I can make muscles and claws that beat out most metas, and I''m pretty good with magic. Not... amazing. But Artificer got me a flail that helps me channel light magic, and before that, I had one of Silver''s swords. Oh... and there''s like nine more of my people working for the DMA."


    Jason blinked. "Silver''s swords? So.... they all belong to Silver?"


    The man on the bench laughed as he kept slowly working. "They all -were- me. My mutation was more like a curse. You ever watch the terminator movies?"


    Jason sat down at the table beside Imperious, staring at the man; who was, apparently, Silver. The one who had once been a front-line warrior among the Silver Swords, back when they had all had weapons of gleaming, flowing, silver, and now was the only one so equipped; still deadly up close, but usually staying in the background. "Well, yes. But how was it a curse?"


    "Being made of liquid metal isn''t like the movie; and thats what I was. Like a solid blob of flowing molten mercury. I could get fairly solid... but never as solid as, say, a good tungsten carbide blade. If it were even a little realistic, Arnold would''ve made the T-1000 splatter every time he hit it."


    He chuckled, setting the weights down. "Every bit of that flowing metal was me. I could see and hear through it, and when Imperious here swung her sword, I could make it catch the enemy sword; and start burrowing into their flesh. And if someone let me get close? I could do the same thing. Pour my arm down their throat, into an ear, anywhere, and just turn it back solid and shred them. And, well. Most sorts of attacks couldn''t hurt me. But. I couldn''t feel anything. Taste anything. They had to feed me a cocktail of weird chemicals to keep me alive, and it almost always hurt just to exist, especially if I was one big solid blob; apparently I had to spread out to absorb oxygen right."


    He sat up; his eyes appeared to be pure silver globes. "But... they cured me. Sort-of. Cloned me a body, based on my old genes, and now the old me is just the blood of the new me. I can feel, taste, really enjoy life again. Buuut.... now if I get my head blown off, they''ll have to grow a new clone, which will take months, if it works. So... I''m not as big at up-close work as I used to be."


    "Holy shit. Thats... is everybody on the team all... odd and complex like that?"


    Imperious laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Coming from the guy who has a third eye, can see the future, and has better than any olympic athlete stamina and durability because he got boosted up with some healing by the patron saint of death magic?"


    "Well. I suppose so, yes. Is Excalibur really just a guy in a super-suit, or is he like... super-strong? Everybody''s always arguing about it online."


    "First off. Excalibur is like you; he almost got his ass killed, mutated, and one of Shadow Master''s clan healed him to help him recover. Her name was... Dark Sorceress or some such nonsense, you should ask him. Second... he''s actually a telekinetic. Like... insanely strong... but really short-ranged. If somebody catches him by surprise, he''s no tougher than you or me... but if he knows its coming, he can hold up a hand and stop a railgun spike in midair. He moves the armor around with his powers; all it does is give him sensor info, and keep him alive while he goes toe to toe with some of the strongest people on earth."


    Todd chuckled. "Well. I don''t really need to be here for all this, but glad we''re all getting along here. Arakiel... I can work with it. Are you wanting to lean into the angel, holy warrior thing? I want to put together some mockups of the next ad."


    "The next ad? For what?"


    "Action figures! There''s an official ''Silver Swords'' line of action figures, and with you coming on, we can release a new line! Excalibur and Imperious are the two top sellers, so they get most of the profits, but I''m sure the ''Arakiel'' figure will do great! Just... need to get the armor sorted out first."


    Jason nodded. "I should talk to the team." He glanced at Imperious. "See what capabilities would be most useful, and then talk to the armor people."


    "Just make sure it looks cool! And if it could have alot of silver, that would be great. Now that they don''t mostly have the swords, we do tons of silver in the layout to help with branding."


    "Alright, Todd. That''s enough for now. We''ll call you after we''ve got him all sorted."


    The marketing employee waved and calmly stepped out, leaving the trio in the workout room; as a fourth man started stepping down the stairs, from, apparently, the rooftop.


    The tall, lanky hispanic man ran his fingers through his hair as he reached the bottom floor; much like the rest of the team, wearing simple athletic wear. "Ahh, Mister Bennet. The boss tells me you''re our latest recruit. As of about six hours ago. He gave me the short, that you''re a precog. Which could be useful, though I''m not sure how that''ll really play out in the field. I''ve been fixing the armor since before I got the call. What sort of field experience do you have?"


    Jason inhaled for a moment, and shrugged. "Spent multiple tours in the desert. Been in dozens of firefights. Taken out a few metas and lived to tell the tale.... and got hospitalized three times, demoted once, skipped over for promotion more than that. They called me ''Kamikaze'', because I got the job done without much concern for my own well being, and took risky approaches. I''m decent with my hands, fists, and a knife, and one of the best the army has to offer with a rifle. Or, well. Was. After my mutation, I''m probably the best the world has to offer with a rifle, though I''m not sure how much of a difference it makes up-close."


    Imperious chuckles. "And he''s another one that got amped up for a healing. The Shadow Master himself got him back up on his feet with life to spare."


    "And that, yeah."


    "Interesting. Well. Hopefully being able to see shots coming will help keep you out of the hospital. We''ll need to see what you''re capable of. I was told they''re already working on armor for you?"


    Jason nodded. "Of course. Nothing final; apparently they''ve got about five sets they''re putting together. The only thing they all have in common is that they''ve got a helmet that looks in all directions."


    Excalibur studied Jason for a moment; eyes lingering on the T-shirt, shaking his head. "Alright then. Impy, mind grabbing some paintball guns and pugil sticks? We''re going to see what our friend here is capable of. Terminal, you here?" She laughed, and took a quick, hopping step; gliding a few feet as she entered what seemed likely to be a storage room.


    A speaker mounted on the wall let out a crackle. "Affirmative. Running laps and eating at the moment. Just let me know if you need something, nobody has any calls out." The voice sounded distorted, digitized.


    "Alright. Boxing globes, pugil sticks, paintball guns. We''ll see how much good foresight does for you, and Terminal can drop by when she likes to see how well you can handle a speedster."


    The angellic figure of Imperious stepped back out of the closet; carrying paintball guns, padded sword-like sticks, boxing gloves; an armload of training equipment that she laid out on the rack, as Silver and Excalibur both looked it over. Silver picked up a pair of padded swords, while Excalibur simply strapped on some boxing gloves; and Imperious grabbed a double-ended pugil stick. "We''ll start without guns. See what you''re made of."

 Arakiel -7 - Sparring Match

    Jason looked at the trio for a moment as he collected a single paintball gun, and one of the padded swords, off of the bench. "So, whats the objective here? From my understanding, Silver can''t be killed by a bullet, just inconvenienced, and while he''s wearing armor, no handgun or rifle is gonna hurt Excalibur."


    The meta laughed. "For the former, true. Silver is remarkably hard to kill. For the latter..... unfortunately not so much. Thanks to the need to make weapons for fighting Jotun, the military has an assortment of anti-material rifles and specialty ammunitions that can actually pierce the armor at the joints, especially around the neck, thighs, and shoulder. Still. We just want to feel out how you fight. Impy, if you care to go first?"


    Jason inhaled deeply; holding the paintball gun pointed at the wall, the padded sword aimed at the floor, and stepped out onto an mat; there was no ring for fights in here, but a good-sized section of padded floor in the middle of the room. He studied the woman facing him... and blinked as the wings shifted, becoming arms; the woman now appearing just a bit taller, thinner, with four identical, four-fingered hands.


    She smiled, holding the pugil stick between two right hands. "Why don''t we put the gun down for now and just see if you can hit me?"


    He laughed; trading the paintball gun for a second sword; and then stepped back out onto the mat. "Well now. This is... interesting. Four arms... not sure I''ve seen that before in person."


    "My species naturally has four arms. I usually keep two, and swap the others for... wings... tentacles... whatever fits. The hardest part is copying feathers. It''s crazy hard for most of us to do it, but it gets easier with time. For me, I can keep them even when I''m asleep. Now. Enough small talk. Show me.."


    She ducked, narrowly avoiding a swinging sword, deflecting it easily with the pugil stick; only to stop as she felt the other striking her arm. She blinked, backing away a step, glancing at the offending limb.... and then abruptly lunged forward.. only to find him already stepping aside, both sticks smacking against a different arm.


    For the next minute, they rapidly traded swings. At first, Jason kept smacking her arms, her legs, her torso, over and over, neatly avoiding her responses, but after about thirty seconds she started managing to get hits off of him in return; and slammed him back off of his feet with a blow to the chest that hit like a sledgehammer. She stopped, looking down at him. "....If this were a real fight, with real weapons, I''d have been dead."


    He rubbed his chest. Even with the padding on the sticks, he would likely have bruises from that. "True enough. Though it seems if you keep attacking fast enough, I can''t keep predicting you forever, and it reaches a point where there are no possible moves I can make where I don''t get hit. Especially not against someone with more speed and, honestly, quite a bit more skill, than me."


    She tapped her arms with her other hands, one by one. "You realize I''ve got better than human reflexes.... and that up until now, the only people who have been able to handle me in a fight like that were speedsters, able to move faster than the eye can see?"


    Jason shrugged. "And if you give me the right weapon, I''ll be able to take one of those people out before they even get into the fight." He glanced at the doors, half-expecting Terminal, the team''s Speedster, to come running into the room in response; but then turned back to the others. "Let me get more training in, and I''ll do better; but I really think a gun is the better option for me."


    Excalibur nodded at Imperious, who stepped off of the mat; as he stepped on, holding a bean-bag in his gloved hand. "Honestly, you probably will. I''d bet you''ll either end up carrying a rifle into fights, or gauntlets with built-in guns. But there''s a time and a place for everything; and there will be moments you need something up-close and personal. Imperious and I deal with most threats from a distance, without ever getting close enough to touch, but when we do need to, we have to be able to handle ourselves."


    As he stepped onto the mat with Excalibur, Jason nodded slowly. "Usually when they show you guys on the news, its the melee takedowns. When Imperious killed the first Modron Man with her flail. Or when you tore a giant hole in that weird clay guy."


    Excalibur stretched... and suddenly the beanbag hurtled at Jason at ridiculous speed, followed moments later by Excalibur himself; while Jason deftly stepped aside, smacking him on the back of the head with the sword.


    Over the next few minutes, Excalibur kept pursuing; striking, lunging... sometimes Jason was forced to roll out of the way or even leap off of the mat entirely; but just as often he was able to just barely avoid the oncoming metahuman, delivering another blow on the way. After about five minutes of the constant dancing, Excalibur, in a fit of frustration, finally simply tore the entire mat apart, sending a giant mass of it at him; and however much he tried, Jason was still slammed into the wall of the room by a few pieces of the mat.


    Excalibur was sweating, hands on his knees, shaking his head, as Jason brushed the loose bits of stuffing off of himself; tiny white pellets that had once been inside the mat filled the air. "Well. That was... oof. Informative."


    When Jason stepped back up, Excalibur chuckled. "Well. What have we learned?"


    Imperious chuckled. "That in a one-on-one fight he''d have killed either of us, and you should send old Jimmy an apology?"


    Excalibur glowered at her for a moment... before he shook his head with a laugh. "True enough on the latter count, but he''d need a good can opener for field-work." He turned to Jason, and extended a hand; which Jason shrugged, and accepted. "We''ve learned that you''re worth bringing onto the team. Right now we''re on R&R. Unless its an emergency, they won''t be calling us in. Take a couple days, get some gear sorted. We''ll get a room cleared out for you. We start training next week. I think the best use of you would be on overwatch, with a rifle to take out threats, and a good clear view of us all so you can warn us if we''re gonna get into something; but we''ll work that out in the field."


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    "Welcome to the team, Arakiel."


    ***


    As Jason stepped into the room, where long racks of tools, dozens of partially completed armor suits, guns, various unknown gadgets, filled the room on tables, racks; a truly insane display; a group of engineers glanced up from what looked almost like an Iron Man suit; none of them looked familiar, except... was that one from Ground? He could''ve sworn he saw that guy setting out tables when Dr. Martinez was questioning him. "G''day, gentlemen. I was told to come here to look at the first draft for an armor suit?"


    One of the men nodded. "This is the Armory division. Its what we do. We take some of the best tech Darpa and anyone else can make, and use it to make guns, armor suits, rocket boots, disruptors, all sorts of craziness. I''m the lead Armorer; I''ve been told to make you something that can take a hit or two... but the primary job is to let you move around fast, and hit hard. That accurate?"


    Jason chuckled. "Pretty much, yes. I''ve got excellent reflexes and can pretty much dodge bullets, so as long as the suit doesn''t slow me down, and keeps something like a frag grenade from taking me down, its good. I''m Jason, by the way. Code-name''s gonna be Arakiel."


    "Ahh. I''m Bob. That one is also Bob. Kevin, and Wally." He nods at each of the other engineers absently; Wally apparently the one he''d seen underground, at project Ground, while the other Bob looked oddly familiar as well; but he couldn''t place him.


    "Well, Bob. What do you have for me?"


    He chuckled. "Well. What I''ve got ready to go is the Kamikaze mark 1." He gestured at the table. Sleek, charcoal grey-black armor with some sort of bulky attachments at the shoulders and feet, as well as a helmet that seemed to be completely solid, studded with what looked like chrome spikes. "Bullet resistant, fire resistant, includes a few limited-use rockets that can briefly give you extreme bursts of acceleration, even let you hop onto a rooftop from ground level a few times. Three-sixty camera views that work even when you''ve been hit by an EMP, and built-in grappling hooks for both arms; three-shot compressed gas that will work if the electric is taken out. Optimal blend of mobility and survivability, and weighs only 68 pounds."


    He gestured at another table. "But that was what we started with. Boss authorized us to use one of the Jotun suit chargers for an upgraded model and pull out all the stops."


    Jason followed him to the other table, where there was no intact suit; but rather a giant mass of arms, legs, and various random parts scattered across it. "So.... work in progress?"


    "Not exactly. We''ve got four different ''Arakiel mark 1'' models in mind, but these Jotun batteries and charging systems are extremely expensive to copy, so we''re only going to do final assembly of one." He tapped a button; a display appeared above the table.


    "First off is the Flight model. Basically turns you into a miniature aircraft. A bit heavy and clumsy on the ground, but can fly for six hours on a full charge at up to Mach 1. Heavier than the Kamikaze suit, and we''ll need to build any guns and blades you want into the arms and legs." It looked... like a transformer. All sorts of blades and wings sticking out of it to create flight surfaces. Probably the closest to an ''Iron Man'' suit he would ever see, though of course it wasn''t going to be able to survive a hit from a tank, or even a heavy machinegun.


    "Probably not. Whats next?"


    "Next up is the Agility model. Honestly very similar to the Kamikaze, only it uses plasma thrusters based on Jotun tech instead of rockets and some more durable... and expensive... composites. Weighs a few pounds less, and can go for days between charges so long as you don''t abuse it. You can sort-of fly with it, but it''d be clumsy as hell, especially if you were carrying a rifle or anything bulky; but definitely good for a safe landing from an aircraft, or moving in an urban setting."


    Jason stared. This one looked almost exactly like the Kamikaze suit, only in white instead of black, and with different shapes of thrusters. "... I don''t even know if I need to see the others. That one sounds awesome."


    "Well, hold up. Option three is the Disrupter. You know how our helos have started carrying those emitters that can screw up telepaths and telekinetics?"


    Jason frowned. "Don''t they also catch things on fire at random, give people cancer, and make people with metal fillings or lighters explode?"


    Bob blinked. "Uhm. I didn''t know about the fillings part. But I made a suit that has that built-in."


    "Giving me and anybody working with me cancer, making Imperious''s armor catch on fire, and god knows what it would do to Silver..."


    Bob raised his hands "I get it, I get it. No disrupter suit, fine, fine. Alright, final option. The Keyhole suit." He tapped the button again. A suit similar to the first model appeared, only thicker, bulkier. If we issue this one, you''re gonna have to pretend that what it does is from your powers. Project Keyhole is classified, heavy, and bulky, but basically, you put some nodes on a surface, and then poof.... you can go right through it. This model will let you either apply it to someone''s armor with your hand, and put a bullet inside them... or make a hole in the wall just big enough for the armor, for a few seconds."


    Jason stared at the new, bulkier schematic. "That... actually sounds incredibly useful. Just how heavy is it?"


    "Uhm... about one hundred and twenty pounds."


    Jason was practically drooling at the though. "Oh, wow. I figured it''d be more than that. Hell. I''ve had to carry that much into a fight before. Including guns and ammo, sure, but..."


    "Well, just the keyhole device is 120, for three uses for the whole suit, and maybe a dozen for each gauntlet. The whole armor suit is two hundred and five."


    ".... Yeah, no. Mobility for the win. I don''t suppose there''s any way we could get a few modular pieces to add on, in case I ever actually need to give everyone cancer, or maybe get a little bit better at flying without going Mach 1, or maybe even hovering for a few? If we''re going with the whole ''Angel'' thing, could mount something to the upper back, shoulder blades. Give a cool effect. Like the ones from the Flight suit, but without all the other stuff.""


    Bob chuckled. "Sure, sure. I can make you a couple of defaults, similar to this base ''Mobility'' suit, and then a few modular parts to strap on. I think Todd wanted it all done in silver, to match the team''s colors?"


    "I mean, I don''t mind. Not like I''m gonna be too covert. Just no center-of-mass target locks or anything like that. Anything about weapons loadouts?"


    Bob nodded. "Sure. That parts up to you. I''ve got a standard anti-Jotun rail rifle... only with tons of the equipment stripped out and a few extra magnets attached. Weighs less, but it doesn''t do the shooting for you. Or we can go with a Plasma rifle. Popular among heroes and villains both for the more lethal work. Or we can go with just a modded 40mm and 20mm rifle; swap between different ammo types, different grenades..."


    "Hell. I''m used to using army standard-issue. Can we setup a meet at a firing range to try out a few once the armor''s ready?"


    The engineer shrugged, gesturing at the rifles, and then the suit. "Sure, though if its Plasma it can run off of the suit battery, and I can let the rail rifle or the 20mm feed off of an ammo feed in the suit. Why not try them out now?"


    Jason looked a bit irate. "Ehhn. I''ve got an appointment with a psych guy. I told em I was fine with trying some... medication... and they want me to sit with him while I go through it, just in case."


    "Good luck! Try not to get lost in shroomland, we''re all expecting kick-ass things from you."

 Arakiel -8 - Nightmare

    Jason had never been particularly fond of mushrooms. He''d never actually taken anything other than pot or alcohol of that description; and had spent a ridiculous amount of time deployed in places where alcohol was strongly frowned upon. Seeing Roy sitting across from him, the soothing music playing in the background... this was supposed to be making things as comfortable as possible. He didn''t look at the tiny brown lump; simply tossing it into his mouth; grimacing at the texture; and chewing for a few seconds before swallowing. He sighed.


    "Alright then. There we go. And now I''m just supposed to what... take a nap? watch a movie? Its hard to believe that you hang out with all of your patients for hours on end when they try this."


    Roy chuckled, and checked his notebook for a moment. "Not generally. On the other hand, if you have a reaction, they want to know quickly, and we want to do whatever it takes to make sure it works out well for you. Let me know when you feel different, or if you do. Its always possible that this might not impact your physiology at all; your brain chemistry has changed, so...We''re hoping it has the same restorative effects id did on our other patients."


    Jason shook his head. "Well now. That''s just a great way to put my mind at ease. ''Hey, we have no clue what this is gonna do''. I suppose we can just put on a movie for now then. Do...." He blinked. Roy''s face looked.... wrong. In fact, the wall looked wrong. Everything seemed...


    ***


    Arakiel absently kicked the ash beneath his feet to reveal what he''d just tripped on; only to find a skull. More than one; at least five, two normal in size, the rest of varying, smaller, sizes. Five corpses. Not fifty meters from the bunker. Of course. What did he expect? There had been a nuke landing not five miles from here. He took a deep breath; and had another coughing fit. If he weren''t wearing a helmet, undoubtedly there would be blood dripping down his chest at this point. Every inhalation was agony, as if he were sucking down acid, or powdered glass. He glanced at the geiger counter. Still clicking like mad, if he hadn''t muted it. Ugh. They''d told him the layer of lead they sprayed on the old Kamikaze suit would keep him alive long enough. Seemed they were right. Barely.


    The ruins were old. Thousands of years; from what he''d learned, probably Minoan; built on top of a far, far older structure. He reached the target; where he knew the entrance to the bunker was; and what looked like an ordinary stone slab, an outcropping of a temple as old as the pyramids. He sighed; and leveled his rifle; he only had thirty percent charge left, but...


    The plasma rifle flash-vaporized a layer of stone each time he pulled the trigger. By the time it reached fifteen percent, there was a visible, gaping hole, and the rock was glowing red-hot. He kicked the stone a few times; on the third kick, a several-hundred pound boulder, once part of a slab, started rolling down the hill... crushing the pile of corpses he''d walked by a few minutes before. And revealing... a staircase, leading down. He was out of batteries. Not that it mattered.


    Another deep breath; more bloody, hacking coughs. He started down the stairs, ignoring the beautiful carvings, depictions of animals, of temples; and at the bottom, a door. It was locked, of course; with the ancient, magical equivalent of a combination lock; a pair of handles that needed to be shifted, angled, and pushed just the right way to free the latches; anything else would send the tunnel collapsing atop him. Incredibly durable, and only intended to be opened by one man; a man who had died over ten thousand years ago.


    He took hold of the two grips; and after a few moments of focus, set them into just the right spot; the door opening with a hiss of the clean, pure air inside as he stepped in... to a beautifully lit, golden chamber.


    In the center, a single golden orb floated, in a beam of blue light, atop a pyramid made of a beautiful silver latticework, softly glowing with that blue light. The walls appeared to be made of gold, and a nice, comfortable chair, built for someone enormous, sat beside it... and contained what appeared to be a 12-year-old child. Wearing some sort of sleek blue body-armor with a white robe over it, including a full face-covering helmet; not that different, aside from the ancient greek aesthetic, to the charcoal grey armor he himself wore. The boy had a silver blade in his hand; but simply dropped it beside him on the chair.


    Arakiel didn''t even bother to raise his rifle. He knew the man wasn''t going to try. "Titanslayer. Apollo. Traitor to Earth. I don''t know why you betrayed us. I don''t know what the Jotun, or this accursed Emperor, promised you. But you''re not getting it. The ships got word. The other blades have already been destroyed. The one you''re holding is all that''s left."


    The figure focused on Arakiel for a moment. His expression was impossible to read through the helmet. "I''m not a traitor. Never was. I''d always planned to die here.... though, I did hope that some fragment might be reborn, until now. In a few hours, whether you kill me or not, that thing..." He nodded at the orb. "Will kill us both. All of the Jotun. And the Emperor, too. He''s almost here."


    He stopped... looking at the orb. If he shot it with the rifle.... everything would go black. Instantly. "...What is it?"


    "A marble, suspended in time. When that shell is broken, the effect ends.... and it turns into a mass of raw uranium ore bigger than our solar system. Collapses into a ''supermassive'' black hole. And takes us, the Jotun, and the Emperor, on one last ride into oblivion. Cronos used his power on it, as it was frozen. He tested the effect, at a smaller scale, first. But the whole idea was that if he didn''t come here, once every few years, it would wipe us all out. He made sure the ones who posed a threat to him knew about it. An ultimate deterrent."


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Arakiel stepped closer, staring at it. The ambition of it. A horrific, ultimate weapon, crafted by someone who viewed himself as the final, eternal king of earth. "...This.... all of this. So much death. Just a trap to kill the Emperor? Why?"


    "I didn''t mean for it to work out like this. I thought, maybe, we could beat the Jotun, and get that thing out there, use it on the Emperor, far from here. But.... I miscalculated. Repeatedly. We kept working against each other, messing up the future. I thought we were safe. I''d killed all the Titans, now we could plan a defense without them. No-one left to be controlled who mattered that much. And then you made another one. You and that... Doctor Disaster lunatic."


    "And then you killed him, too. He was protected. Shielded. All of the Titans were. They would never have been able to control them."


    Apollo sighed. "Yes, they would. I thought.... it could only control one person. The Jotun records showed it could overwhelm any defense, gather insane amounts of intelligence, reading the surface thoughts of every living being on the planet and give them control of any single man for.... just a few days. It was built to use on a King; they hoped, someday, to make it strong enough to work on the Emperor."


    "You thought." He stepped closer, raising the rifle to focus on Apollo''s head. He could see the grisly result. The armor, while sturdy, wasn''t good enough to stop plasma at close range. "You thought it would only work on one man. You killed so many who could''ve fought back just because of that stupid assumption. It worked on hundreds. Thousands. We don''t even know how many. Nukes. Plagues. Mass-death. Released by whole squads of mind-controlled guards and soldiers. And then the Jotun land... and with no Titans to fight them this time."


    Apollo popped the helmet off, setting it on the chair beside him. "I was wrong. We worked against each other, and I couldn''t see far enough. Maybe if I''d died, or you had, we could have won this. But.... all we''ve got left is this." He looked... tired. Far too old and broken for such a childish face. He looked at the orb. "I put it in stasis, years ago, with a device Hephaestus built before the rebellion. I changed it, once I knew we couldn''t win. When I die, it goes off. Feel free to kill me. Just... wait til the Emperor arrives. Save our colonies."


    He stopped. "Oh. Well. No need to wait, any longer." Arakiel could feel... something wrong. He felt weak... as if the life was being pulled from his flesh, as if he were growing decades older in seconds. Apollo reached down and picked up the silver blade, looking back at Arakiel. "Well. This makes the second precognitive to commit suicide. Hopefully your children do better." He settled the blade against his throat. His arm quivering. "I.... don''t know if I can. Can you... please?"


    Arakiel gave a nod; and raised the gun one last time. A momentary flash. He barely had time to register the impact of a plasma bolt on soft flesh before the world became darkness as that golden orb abruptly expanded to fill the room.


    ***


    Jason jerked up, staring at Roy from the chair. The man was nodding along to the beat, writing in his notepad, mumbling to himself... and smiled. "Ahh, out of it, I see! It was interesting. It worked much faster on you than normal, and you seem to be coming out of it faster, too. Are you feeling any better?"


    Jason jerked to his feet, feeling himself. His lungs... were fine. His arms and legs.... no longer sore. Everything was okay. Was that.... was that a dream? Was it a nightmare? Or.... had he just had a vision of the minutes before his death? He looked at Roy for a moment. "You. Roy. Have you ever heard of a... ''Doctor Disaster'' before?"


    The man blinked. "Oh, yes. Brilliant man. A metahuman, I think, though not sure what kind. Probably able to think of several things at once. Mad as a hatter, though. Had this weird obsession with making hybrids and genetic freaks, cybernetic freaks. His real name isn''t Disaster, of course, but I think he actually had it changed, legally, before he fled the country to avoid prosecution. It was amusing, actually... If I recall correctly, Thomes wanted to use the charges to leverage him into working here."


    Jason slowly nodded, looking at the floor. Either it was a strange nightmare, and he''d heard that name somewhere before.... or it was a prediction of the future. A horrific wasteland, the aftermath of a failed Jotun war.... one sabotaged by Apollo, who thought he was doing the right thing.


    He needed to talk to Thomes. Or to Sam. Or to Apollo. Hell. He needed to talk to all of them. He turned, heading for the door, as Roy stood up. "Uh... are you okay? You shouldn''t be walking around so much, you might hurt yourself." He yanked the door open, accidentally warping the hinges a bit. "Screw all of that. We need to talk to the man in charge. Now."


    Roy sighed. "Everyone''s already going home, or there. Is whatever it is gonna happen right now?"


    "....No. Years out. Probably... five or six, at least. But it''s bad. End of the world bad."


    For his part, Roy was... a bit concerned. Normally, if someone had just taken something, and come out if it ranting about the end of the world, he would chalk it up to paranoia. "...I''ll call Sam. Let him know whats going on. Just try to relax, okay?"


    ***


    Dr. Sam Torrance slowly slid out of his car, grimacing at the heat as he leaned against the car, catching his breath. He should move to the other washington. It couldn''t possibly be this hot right now. Maybe there would be some good job openings in Seattle?


    His phone started ringing; he frowned. It wasn''t a number he''d assigned a custom ringtone for, but it hadn''t been blocked, either, so it must be... He tapped his earbud. "Go for Dr. T."


    "Hey, boss. This is Roy."


    Ugh. Roy. How the hell that man had gotten a job as a psychologist, and kept it so long, was a mystery. "What is it? I just got home, so this either needs to be damned important, or you''re trying to sell me girl-scout cookies."


    "Oh, actually, my daughter... wait. No. I was just talking to the new guy. Uhm. About his powers. And either he''s crazy, or mind-altering chemicals can dramatically upscale his powers for a few minutes and he was accidentally seeing things in... another state."


    Ahh, yes. He was at least smart enough not to blather classified information over a cell network. "... Is it anything I can do something about right now, or gonna kill us all by tomorrow?"


    "No, but he says its urgent."


    "Tell him to meet me in my office, first thing in the morning." Ugh. Did these people have no respect for personal time? He''d need to have a good talk with these people about priorities.

 Arakiel -9 - Meeting of the Minds

    "So. You want me to have our friends in NASA reach out to Apollo. That''s a pretty big ask; we''ve been officially on Olympus''s shit-list since Hiroshima and are lucky they''re talking to the space program at all. Anybody we use for that is burned; Hephaestus and his people will never talk to them again."


    Sam sighed. He never liked asking the director for things, and this could be damaging the tech-sharing agreement the various space agencies had if it went badly. "Yes sir.. I think it''ll fairly obvious how important this is."


    "And also, you want to send the Swords out to Nevada on a ''shakedown cruise'' as it were, and all of this based solely on some speculation from a drug trip." The director ran his fingers over his desk, studying a screen. Officially, he wasn''t supposed to share any of the data with Torrance and his team for another five months. And he wouldn''t do so. But he had a chart on his screen showing the values of the stocks Jason had picked; and virtually all of the top-performing stocks were among those the new man had chosen. Undoubtedly, either his actions were changing the future.... or the outliers would suffer downturns. His confidence in the precog had gone up with each test they''d completed, as they''d slowly but surely expanded how far he could definitely predict.


    Dr. Martinez''s estimate of six years... or the span of the rest of his life, with him being dead in six years... was seeming more likely with each passing moment.


    "I''ve heard he gave a complete rundown of this hypothetical future. What''s your thought? Clearly you have to think its at least possible, or you wouldn''t be in here."


    Sam set a simple manilla folder on the desk. "We had him dictate all of it he could remember, and, with his permission, had a telepath check him out. It was a pain; the implants meant they needed to be essentially touching the entire time. Basically, taking the... medication... sent him on a brief trip to the very end of his life. He got to witness his final moments, and the death of himself and Apollo. There was a bit of chatter, but the relevent bits..." He raised a finger.


    "First, and most urgently. Doctor Disaster, someone he''d never heard of until that vision, somehow made a Titan, but Apollo had him killed before he could make more. We know he''s an expert in genetics and cybernetics, so who knows if that''s true; but he''s a criminal, one we can pick up, and might provide a bit of independent verification. If Apollo wants all the Titans gone, and he can make more somehow, he''s an obvious first target."


    He raised a second finger. "Second, and almost as important. Apollo is likely plotting, even now, to kill off all of the Titans, out of a belief that the Jotun have some sort of mind-control device that can single someone out and control them for a few days; and only do it once, during the invasion. So he wanted anyone who could singlehandedly upend our defenses out of the equation. But..... he was wrong. With the Titans gone, they instead controlled hundreds or even thousands of unshielded personnel, and used them to release bioweapons and launch nukes. Apparently, the war was mostly over before any Jotun actually landed; the death of our fleet was the end of us. It seems highly probably that Apollo''s ability to predict the future is limited by the events he''s actively bringing about changes to, or, maybe, by the existence of our own precognitive muddying the waters."


    "Third, Apollo knows the location of a superweapon that could possibly take out the Jotun, as well as this ''Emperor'', concealed somewhere that the Minoan civilization had a presence; so likely somewhere in the mediteranean, on one of the islands.


    "...I''d keep going, but to be honest, its possible Apollo is already working against us. He might even have planted an agent in Ground before it was founded with an eye on securing the means to kill Lightning and offing him during an experiment. The easiest way to tell whether its all bullshit is twofold. Grab Disaster. And talk to Apollo. If we need to kill him, we need to do it as soon as possible."


    The director pushed back from his desk, grimacing at the creaking of old, worn ligaments as he slid to his feet. "I don''t think Apollo has been against us this whole time. Project Ground wasn''t really viable until we had a precog. Without that sort of prediction, we needed to get lucky. If his predictions were absolute, then he couldn''t be fooled by another precog, and could kill Lightning before he ever got powers."


    He started to slowly pace back and forth behind his desk, nodding to himself. "The only thing that makes sense is that another precog arriving on the seen changed things. Which means.... he likely already knows we have one now."


    He stopped. "Disaster first. We''ve never had success copying powers or making a clone with them before, or even selectively giving powers; and none of our intel shows he should have. If we find out he''s made some progress in that end...it''ll serve as some real confirmation. Keep it classified, but... find the doctor. I''ll make plans... and talk to our Titans."


    ***


    The lab was a giant mess of tangled circuits, computers, and lab equipment, with tubes containing the preserved corpses of past failures, cages containing various animals, and of course the steady background hum of a trio of fabricators; and amidst it all stood a slightly heavyset man in a black and white labcoat, wearing a pair of heavy gauntlets with a variety of implements built into them, and some bulky goggles strapped to his pale, bald head.


    Inside the cage, his Hydra lay, choking, miserable. It couldn''t rise to its feet, and two of the anaconda-like heads were unconscious, while the third stared around the room listlessly; its komodo-dragon modeled body, augmented in size and theoretically in strength, simply laying there, limp.


    In theory, this was just a body temperature and blood pressure issue. If he got the cybernetics installed, the creature would become viable; but while the Komodo forming up the base body had been a mutant strain with regenerative properties, and the other two heads were both grafts from the creature''s siblings that had similar capabilities, the increased size and surgically altered digestive tracts, alongside having three brains to supply blood for, were too much for it. He gave this project, at best, a thirty percent chance of success.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Still. Thirty percent was better than zero. He laid his left gauntlet against one of the creature''s legs, and a faint hiss emerged; as a powerful sedative was injected into the beast; and the head, the only active part of it, drooped to join the rest of the body.


    He tapped his wrist controls; first, everything needed to be thoroughly sanitized to ensure that, if it failed, it wasn''t due to an infection. Then... the implants. Starting, of course, with the control chips for the brains, and the artificial heart.


    As a rinse of sanitizing solution started to pass over the massive creature, he glanced up. One of the monitors showed a guard approaching the door, and the Mega-Spiders screeching and chittering, straining to try to reach him as he kept as far from them as possible while still being able to reach the doorknob.


    Doctor Disaster sighed, leaving the sanitizing protocol running, as he started towards the door; and when the guard opened it, was waiting, arms crossed. "And what are you bothering me with now? Have you people finally decided to let me go?"


    The guard glanced at the giant cybernetic spider-creatures. He was absolutely certain that those things could have killed him, the other guard, and a small army besides; they only lived for a few months each, their unusual size leading them to need augmentation to be able to move; but they could run far faster than any human, were venomous, and terrifying. "Doctor, we both know that''s not how this works. I''ve been sent to ask if you could contribute anything that would be good for clearing a ship and a small island it''s docked at, or sinking it without getting a too close, and if you want anything."


    Disaster rolled his eyes behind the goggles. Even though he was scared shitless of the lab and its contents, the young cartel member still posed a threat to Disaster; he wasn''t bulletproof... yet. "Hmmm. What sort of timetable are we looking at, and for how long? And the reason not to get too close?"


    "Does it matter?"


    "Of course. I''ve got a strain of altered Coconut Crab eggs that will hatch into a swarm of bloodthirsty monsters that will grow up to six feet across over the course of a few weeks. If its not too big of an island, we can simply dump the eggs somewhere local predators wouldn''t eat them, and after they hatch, they''ll swarm; eating any local wildlife and people, and once they run out of that, each other, until they reach their full 200-pound size. Any ships that happen to be docked during the initial phase would get at least a few of them aboard during the smaller stages, and then deal with voracious, unusually fast and deadly crabs swarming the ship."


    As the man looked slightly horrified at the discussion, Disaster smiled. "That could work marvels, depending on logistics. I''ve also just got some birds I''ve been working on using as drones. Could simply attach a pack of C-4 to one and let it land on the boat. Foom. Have your boss get me the details of the target and why you want it gone, and I''ll see what I can do. Maybe an aerosolized radioactive material to make the inhabitants choke themselves to death?" He rubbed his jaw with a finger.


    "Oh. And get me a prostitute or two for a few days. Same place as last time, the madam there has excellent taste."  To be fair, he just wanted some female companionship; making sure it was always from the same madam was mostly to make sure the cartel didn''t simply kill the girls as soon as they left.


    The guard backed away from the crazed doctor, shutting the warehouse door behind him, heading back out to call the boss... wondering how long it would be before he could get a job anywhere at all other than near this.... weirdo.


    ***


    Excalibur looked down at the overhead image of the dock area, glancing around at the rest of the team, then back at Jason. "Okay. The boss says this op is partly because of your powers. Care to elaborate?"


    "We''ll need to wait a few days to get permission from the mexican government to move in, but. This warehouse..." He tapped the spot on the picture. "Is believed to contain the lab of one ''Doctor Disaster''. A metahuman with abnormal brain functions and an obsession with creating unusual creatures. It''s guarded at all times by at least two Cartel soldiers; as well as a small army of whatever horrible monsters the doctor has cooked up. The one that got him his first batch of criminal charges were a nest of creatures that were, for all practical purposes, a blend of a wolverine, a bear, and a tractor. Including, at the very least, these...."


    A drone image appeared, zoomed in on a cage that was beside one of the warehouse doors, sandwhiched between it and another warehouse. Inside... appeared what looked like a mutilated spider; and blurred shapes that might be dozens more. "From the scale, those things are three or four feet across. And we can assume they''re just the tip of the iceberg. Creatures he''s made have been used to ambush mexican police, to punish villages that defied the cartel.... and now that they know where the warehouse is, they''re already preparing to just firebomb the place if their government doesn''t let us move in."


    He glanced around at the group. "And, of course, we need him alive. If my powers are to be believed, this man somehow knows, or soon will, how to ''create'' a Titan. I don''t know if that means a viable clone of one, or turning someone else into one.... but I had a vision of a future where he''d created one on our behalf, then been murdered to make sure he couldn''t repeat the process."


    "...Interesting. I''d say this could be a job Terminal might be able to handle on her own, but its always possible he has some tricks handy to deal with speedsters. Well. Nothing we haven''t handled before. Normally we operate here in the US, but..." He stopped.


    A yellow light-bulb had started to flash on the ceiling; and a siren blared out. "Well now. Looks like its a good thing we have to wait before heading out." Excalibur smiled. "I''m heading to the rooftop to get suited up."


    Imperious stretched for a moment in a way that drew the eyes... she might be an alien, but she definitely tried to look like an attractive human. "I''ll be suited and ready in about thirty seconds."


    Jason blinked. How the hell could she put on a full suit of armor that fast? Didn''t matter. "They''ve got a prototype suit already good to go for me, and are working on something more long-term now. I can grab it and get ready on the flight out if you want me along."


    Excalibur nodded. "We take-off in five minutes. The chopper started warming up the moment the alarm sounded. If you can be there, with gear in hand, you''re in. It''s a yellow light, not a red, so I''ll be waiting and flying alongside rather than just taking off the moment I''m ready. Hurry. Less than five would be better if you can manage it."


    He took a step... and literally just floated up the stairs in a strange, smooth-looking movement; as Jason ran to grab the suit from the armory, he could see Imperious literally twisting her body into a mass of tentacles, grabbing dozens of individual armor pieces and sliding them into a roughly humanoid shape.... before he lost sight of it through the armory door. So. His first actual mission as a superhero. What would it be? Rescuing folks from a downed building? Stopping a bank robbery? He had a good feeling about this; it should be fun. Or at the very least, exciting.

 Arakiel -10 - Bunch of Weirdos

    Excalibur; looking strange in his enormous, somewhat rounded, metal suit; was flying beside the helicopter, keeping contact via radio. Silver; no longer the commander, but generally assumed, should Excalibur fall, to be the second in command, was studying Arakiel while stretching his arms against the rack overhead, while Imperious was examining the chains on her flail, before glaring at Cascade; the woman immediately looking away, pretending nothing had happened; though she''d obviously been shining part of Imperious''s armor.


    Silver looked more like a normal soldier; a standard black and green DMA armored uniform, the only real difference being the silver breastplate and helmet. A rifle strapped to his back, a revolver in his hand; and a long row of metal cylinders along his right arm like some strange gauntlet device.


    Imperious looked like an armored angel from a fantasy novel; and aside from what was on her wings, every bit of the classic european-style silvery armor was real; granted, it was hardened composites with a silver paintjob rather than actual metal.


    Cascade; one Arakiel had hadn''t met before arriving at the aircraft; was wearing sleek blue armor with silver accents and a breastplate just like Silver''s; the water-controlling metahuman was just a teenage girl when she joined a few years ago, but had been the deadliest member from day one; and also a bit of a prankster; apparently making a damp rag dance across smudges of dirt on the angel''s armor when she wasn''t looking.


    He knew Terminal existed, but had yet to see her; and wasn''t certain if she''d be here. In theory, she was ''the team''s'' speedster; but she was always doing something, and might be hundreds of miles away. He glanced out at Excalibur, then at Imperious. "Why are you in here with us, instead of being out there flying?"


    She chuckled. "Ex can outrun an aircraft. I can''t. Still. More important things to talk about. What''s the situation?"


    Arakiel blinked. Was she talking to him? Ahh, no. Silver was doing something with the gauntlet on his left arm. "Alright, we''ve got four perps chasing after a civilian along the interstate. All of them are metas of some sort, and seem to have similar powers, so probably related or magical. The civilian also seems to be a meta; unknown powers, name of ''Jacob Mort''. He managed to stop them for a bit with some sort of energy blast, then lose them at a small town a few minutes out, and one of these unknowns did something that caused all of the drivers... and everyone else besides... to go mad. There''s an ongoing riot, and the whole area is locked down with car accidents blocking every street. We''re only gonna be one team that goes in of several, but they want us to take out the targets before too many enter; whatever happened, we''ve got security footage of cars ramming into each other all over town; if they were trying to stop this Mort guy from fleeing by car, they got it done; maybe even got an angry mob to tear him apart. We''ll have to see when we arrive. Terminal is in New York dealing with a criminal speedster, so she might be out for a while, or may arrive to provide backup at any given moment. Don''t count on her."


    He inhaled, glanced at Arakiel. "Against the four metahumans in armor, kill on sight. The Swords don''t have much of a living rogues gallery, and I''d prefer it stay that way. If the others surrender after we take down the first one, we''ll let them go to jail instead. Otherwise, the plan is to fly back with four corpses and one living civilian. If they aren''t wearing body-armor, assume a civilian and try to disable... but taking down the ones making them riot is a priority. People are murdering each other as we speak."


    He chuckles. "Not that I anticipate you''ll have much to do. Excalibur will probably handle it all within seconds, but.... we need to arrive together just in case he needs us."


    ***


    A tall, powerfully built figure in dark green body-armor complete with helmet, Sorrow was standing on top of a police car, watching the people run around screaming; an old lady was currently beating a police officer with her purse, even as said officer was repeatedly pounding on a car door, trying to smash his way in; trying to spot the thief. Wherever he is, he should be acting normally; unless he was pretending to be enraged to blend in. "Goddamnit. This was supposed to be our debut! Our big moment! Show off, kick ass, be the next big thing... take out some heroes, rob some banks... Fear, where the fuck are you?" Sorrow focused for a few seconds, watching the people nearby. The rage faded; they dropped to their knees, weeping helplessly, all at virtually the same time. No. No fakers here.


    After a moment, a voice came on his earbud. "I''m here with Hate. He told me to stick with him until we get the artifact back."


    Sorrow nodded, crouched, and leapt on top of the nearest building; inadvertently slamming into a massive air conditioning unit and crushing it as he pulled back to his feet. "Fuck. On the one hand... awesome work, Hate, no way he''s driving out of this. On the other... he''s got a whole town he can be hiding in, how the hell do we find him?"


    A soft crackle. The distinctive deep, synthesized voice of Hate; the paranoid nutjob always used something to mask it; "The artifacts are all meant to be housed in one control device. There should be a ''pull'' drawing them together. If we split far enough apart, unless he''s right on top of one of us, we should feel a sort-of ''tug'' towards his location. It''s why I told you idiots to split up to begin with."


    Sorrow frowned, laying his hand on his chest. The artifact there was hidden behind armor plating, just over his heart; but he tried to connect with it. To feel where it wanted to go. He nodded, and studied his compass. "Ahh.... I can feel it pulling me.... east. And south."


    A few seconds of silence as he watched the crowds; he hadn''t charged it up much, so the weeping was fairly localized; most of the town was still just hitting each other, or whatever random objects happened to be nearby. When Hate''s voice next emerged, Sorrow smiled.


    "We''re all along a line to the east of you, roughly, and I feel the same. He''s gotta be south of us. You feel it too, Jealousy?" "Confirmed. Lets all head south, keep an eye out. It doesn''t feel too precise, but all we should need to do is pulse ours for a second and anyone who doesn''t react has to be him."


    Sorrow blinked. "Wait. I didn''t think yours worked that way? I know our three are all a sudden reaction, but yours..."


    "Takes more time to matter, yes... but it will also make them stop just randomly breaking shit."


    Sorrow nodded, smiled... and then stared. "Incoming aircraft! Looks like we''ve got our first victims! And... wait, is that..."


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    One moment, the green-armored figure was staring at the unknown silver orb in the sky. The next... a humanoid mass of death was hurtling at him at unbelievable speeds. Sorrow reflexively raised a hand, triggering the artifact again; moments before being struck... his torso collapsing, his last moments filled with horrible pain as he shifted and twitched on the ground... not living long enough to see the massive armored figure drop to his knees, holding his head in his hands.


    ***


    Arakiel stared down at the weeping form of Excalibur, crouched atop what was left of the green figure; were these guys all wearing green, or was this a Power Rangers sort of situation?


    Silver looked for a moment.. and shook his head. "Some sort of emotional control power, definitely. We''ll get him sorted out back at HQ, but we need to be careful with the others. One down, three to go..." He glanced at Imperious. "You were almost as close as Excalibur. Did you feel anything?"


    She shrugged, hovering outside the chopper. Her voice sounded slightly strained over the radio. "Someone tried to use a magical effect on me; an extremely powerful spell. But... it focused on something that doesn''t exist in me. I should be fine against the rest of these; we''re not talking about mutants. We''re talking about some thugs with some sort of magical item.... I''d recommend any humans keep a safe distance."


    Silver nodded. "Confirmed. Alright; there''s a pair of them together in one spot, and then one solo further east. We''ll go around first, clear up the one on his own, then come in to take out the last duo. Command, we need emergency support to Excalibur''s location, magical if available. He''s got a dead charlie under him and seems to have been hit by some sort of emotional manipulation spell.."


    The aircraft swept around the city, Arakiel studied the area below, getting a good overlook on numerous fires, hundreds of car accidents... brutal beatings and clusters of people just lying in the street, weeping, or clawing uselessly at windows. This.... was going to be a messy cleanup. "Fuck. How long do you think this stuff should last?"


    "It''s magic. No way to know. Usually an emotion-influencing spell just lasts a few minutes, or even seconds. With the amount of power the one Excalibur took out was pouring out, it might be days. Or permanent. On the plus side, its not mind control. People can eventually adapt, its just... a struggle. You can actually train to resist it."


    Arakiel inhaled. "Fuck. I don''t suppose you know who to talk to for that? I don''t like the idea of becoming a liability."


    As they reached the next solo enemy, they spotted a tiny blue figure in the distance, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, headed south. "Ahh... yep. Power-Rangers style. What the hell." He chuckled. "Opening the hatch! Just get it close enough and I''ll take the shot."


    Silver glanced at him, about to say something... but Arakiel had already hooked himself to a rod over the hatch and started yanking it open. He sighed. "Look, kid, I can make my bullets curve in midair, but we need to wait til he stops moving, or we get closer, or there''s no way to..."


    Arakiel raised the rifle to his shoulder, focusing. He could see hundreds of possible angles and outcomes. Raise it a millimeter here, a headshot... but the bullet didn''t pierce the helmet. Whatever it was made of, it was durable as hell. Ahh! He was about to turn and focus on them. And... the armor around the throat wasn''t nearly as thick. He pulled the trigger, ignoring Silver''s continued complaints...


    Two seconds later, the blue-armored figure, apparently named Jealousy, having heard the approaching aircraft, spun, ready to focus the artifact on the upcoming craft to see how effective he could be against them... only to feel, the moment he saw the chopper... a horrible pain. His body went limp. He couldn''t feel his arms or legs... and collapsed to the rooftop. As the aircraft sped by, he struggled to breathe... but couldn''t even feel his chest. Nothing was responding. The world went dark.


    Arakiel yanked the hatch back closed. Silver studied him for a moment... looked at the rifle; just a standard-issue M-45, likely the same type he''d used in the desert. "....Why didn''t you get a plasma rifle, or one of the others from the armory?"


    "This is what I''m used to. Best not to switch til I''ve had time to get used to a better weapon. Kinda regretted it for a second there; whatever helmets they''re wearing are tough enough to take one."


    Silver shook his head, and called it in. "Command, charlie two is down at our coordinates, moving to the location for charlies three and four." He glanced down at the streets below through the window... and blinked. For whatever reason, the locals weren''t beating each other anymore... though, they certainly didn''t seem well. One of them was trying to hide under a car. The hell was going on now?


    ***


    Fear grunted as he hit the ground, and pulled to his feet, glaring ate Hate; only moments ago, he''d been held by the larger, black-armored figure in what someone might call a ''princess carry''; but then he''d let out a shriek of terror, gripping onto the other man tightly... and inadvertently pissing himself in the armor before being casually dropped to the rooftop. Fear couldn''t stand to look at the massive, intimidating figure... or anything else. He... needed a place to hide. He needed to...


    He pulled to his feet, looking for the nearest building, and shrieked, as he ran for cover. Hate watched him go, shaking his head. Useless. Even without the protection afforded by his own artifact, he would have been able to resist better than that.


    While Fear was cowering beneath a pile of cardboard boxes, the black armor stepped to the edge of the rooftop, and seemed to be looking downward. Not fifty meters away, hidden behind a dumpster, a tiny, weak-seeming figure; a scrawny sorcerer wearing a brown trenchcoat and hat like some old-fashioned detective; was using Fear''s artifact. Suppressing the burst of Hate that had driven everyone to start the violence with a layer of fear; undoubtedly saving numerous lives.


    As the helicopter approached, and the distant wing-flaps signaled the arrival of someone no human emotional manipulation could work on, the man controlling the armor considered his options; the armor turned to focus on the oncoming angel with her glowing silver flail; and casually stepped off of the rooftop; vanishing the moment he entered the air.


    When Imperious landed on the rooftop, she could see a supervillain; possibly; hiding poorly under a pile of soggy cardboard... and shook her head. All that effort, all that flying, and the only takedown she''d get credit for was one who, from the smell of things, had pissed himself in fear before she''d even gotten a chance to touch him. Ugh. She stepped closer, grabbing the miscreant by his ankle, lifting him into the air.


    He covered his face with both armored hands. "Please! Please don''t kill me! I surrender! I''ll tell you everything! Anything!"


    She sighed... and dropped him to the rooftop. "Ugh. Fine. You know, I wanted to show off a bit, really have some fun dealing with a magical threat. Most of them are mutants, or robots, magic is always more... fun. But no. You just had to be a pushover. Stay there."


    She casually hopped off of the rooftop; a single powerful flap of her wings settling her down beside the man in the trenchcoat. "So. Care to explain yourself? I know you were doing something down here... but what?"


    "Oh.... Uhhh..." He seemed a bit awed; or perhaps simply shocked; at the arrival of the angelic heroine. "I''m the Artificer. Or, well. Some people up in Canada, and down in New Orleans, call me that, my name''s Jacob Mort. I deal with magical trinkets, spells, that sort of thing. I just.... activated this artifact to try to turn people from anger over to fear. It''s... not pleasant, but less destructive. Nobody''s gonna wake up happy about it... but it might save some lives."


    She looked down at what he had laid down on the concrete, inside a ritual circle he''d apparently just drawn in his own blood, in a dirty alley behind a Mcdonalds. It looked like... a wand maybe? A simple spherical clear gem; perhaps a quartz or a diamond; at the end of a stubby silver length of metal. "And what exactly is this artifact?"


    "Just one of the levers. There''s this... giant mind control device, and this was one of the triggers. I''m going to have to ask for your assistance; we need to get these back, all of them are property of the Canadian government."


    Imperious blinked. "Why the hell does Canada have a giant mind control device?"

 Arakiel -11 - Fail Horsemen

    The roads leading into the town were blocked off; twelve telepaths and dozens of metas of various descriptors were slowly working through the town; from the rooftop of a parking garage, Arakiel could see them processing people, one by one; bringing in victims bound in straight jackets or strapped to gurneys, and then releasing them after. At least a hundred cops and agents were there sorting through the aftermath.


    Laying on the ground wearing a simple white tank-top and boxers; his armor and equipment laying out on on the ground, with numbered labels next to each as Silver was carefully taking pictures of each object, Imperious stood looming over the man, glowering down at him; though only the bottom half of her face was visible beneath the helmet. "Alright. Explain yourself. What were you doing, and why."


    The man stared up at her; visibly shaking. "We... were gonna call ourselves the Four Horsemen. Rob banks. Kill some metahumans and regular cops. The levers were supposed to work on anybody, so... even if a speedster showed up, he''d turn into a raging lunatic before he reached us, or go mad with fear and get the hell out. And then... Then some consultant who had been working at the dig site showed up, and managed to grab my lever. We chased him down. And... ran into you."


    Imperious studied the lump of silver and crystal; and the other two, virtually identical ones, which had been retrieved from the two corpses. "The dig site. Explain what you mean."


    "Uhh... I''m a digger. I do mining work usually, run a backhoe, a few other pieces of equipment. There''s something buried up in canada me and my team were working on clearing up... and we found this thing. Size of a truck, with a dozen or so of those levers sticking out of it. The Hate guy... I dunno who he is.... figured out what they were. Helped us try em out. And, well. Sorrow... him I knew, he was demolitions... came up with a plan. We were gonna become supervillains."


    Imperious chuckled. "Just with magical emotional manipulation? Seriously, one guy who magic didn''t work on shows up... or one angel... and you''re all dead."


    "It''s not just feelings. They make you stronger. And Hate, he knew how to cast some spells with it. Was gonna teach us. Throw lightning and stuff. We were gonna kick ass."


    She nodded, and glanced at Silver. Silver studied his camera for a moment, and then slid it into a pocket. "Already uploading to the lab. We''re directed to retrieve the three artifacts and return them to the vault back at HQ, and take the survivor in for processing. If this Mort character is correct, we''ll likely end up bringing them back to Canada. Can you verify none of his other gear is magic?"


    Imperious studied the pieces of armor. "It has a.... residue on it. Those artifacts are.... crazy. We''re talking hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of people died to make each of those little levers. The enchantment itself is simple. I''ve taken a closer look, and talked to that ''Mort'' guy, and its basically.... each one is made to manipulate one specific emotion. I''d guess they were part of a larger array, made to bend the wills of an entire region, and the more of them you have together, they start to amplify each other. We could, in theory, copy them.... but we don''t have enough power to do it. Any ability to augment the holder''s powers is... accidental. Just a matter of holding such a crazy amount of power."


    Silver sighed. He tapped his helmet, as Arakiel kept an eye on the surroundings, rifle in hand. He was already glad he''d brought the new guy. It was possible that, since they contained a part of himself, one of his bullets might have bled the emotional impact onto himself when it was fired; the whole team might have ended up compromised, depending on how badly it impacted Imperious. Lucky. These ''Four Horsemen'' idiots might have even won the day and moved on to become real supervillains. "Alright. Retrieve Mort for me. We''ll deal with this back home."


    ***


    "So, basically speaking... we need three things. A device to kill someone with infinite speed. Something to throw someone who might be impossibly heavy into space... and some ground-based ordinance that can strike spatial targets. If we can get that, we might just manage to get out of this with the Earth intact."


    Hephaestus glowered down at Apollo from his chair. The boy-god had pulled him out of a conference with some of the most brilliant minds on earth about re-engineering his FTL design so that it could go even faster than the Jotun versions, to ask him for this nonsense. He towered over the boy even in his chair; were he standing on his artificial legs it would be even worse. "For thousands of years now, you''ve told me ''we can''t win. It''s hopeless. We need to help humanity escape!''. Now, with less than a decade to go, with colony ships getting ready to launch to survive all of this... you''re telling me you want guns. That maybe it could be won after all."


    "Exactly. I finally found out what causes the cataclysm at the start of the Jotun war. Let me send you the details about the ''Chains of Eternity''. They were in the Jotun archives."


    Hephaestus sighed... and turned back to his console. "Restore admin access to Doctor Livingston. Tell him that the message will be passed to Apollo." He shook his head, slowly. "Just a few hours ago, I got a request from one of the doctors working for NASA. He said that their ''DMA'' needed to talk to you, to head off a possible conflict between you and them. That it was urgent, end of the world stuff. My standard practice has been to only allow Americans to work so long as they kept their interactions strictly related to the project and didn''t try to use it as a back-channel to reach the other Olympians, or any other such nonsense."


    He leveled one finger on Apollo. "So here they are. The mindlessly violent warmongers who use nukes on civilian targets and keep invading other countries for pitiful, transparently greedy reasons. Trying to head off a possible confrontation peacefully. While my brother comes to me asking for weapons to kill their soldiers and citizens."


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Apollo stared for a moment. "...The other precognitive. Whoever it is, they''ve got to be able to see at least up to the Jotun invasion. Shit. I need to kill them, too, or they''ll ruin everything. And soon."


    "...Or you could just talk to them, you idiot. What does your foresight tell you happens if we go to war with America and her allies before the Jotun show up? I might not be able to see the future, but I don''t predict anything good."


    Apollo rolled his eyes... and then dropped down to the floor, crossing his legs and having a seat. "Just a bit. I need to focus."


    He inhaled deeply. Closed his eyes. "...The colony ships never get launched. The Americans and their allies pull all of their resources from the colony ship program and turn them to warships or their own program.... All of the FTL drive components are being built in Japan, and we aren''t able to get the Chinese factories ready for it in time. The whole human race... dies out."


    "Talk to Zeus first. Then go talk to them. I''ll make you some Titan-killing weapons, but only after the peaceful route fails." Hephaestus gestured to his lab. "My facility is already protected well enough. Not even Lightning could get in here alive without my permission. The trick will be to make such a system mobile, and lure him in."


    ***


    Arakiel leaned back on the couch of his new room, studying the place. He''d ''moved in'' twice in two weeks; but hopefully his stay with the Swords would be a bit more long-term. The Mobility suit was on the wall, mounted in what the Engineers called a ''Quick-Deployment'' rack; essentially, while wearing the bodysuit for it, he stuck his hands and feet in, got his torso in the right spot, and jerked his hands; and the whole thing would snap into place. He''d gotten a practice session in with it... and it was crazy.


    The Jotun power supply was worth more than a tank all by itself, the plasma rifle was top of the line, and he even had a side-arm, sort-of; a two-shot 40mm grenade launcher that looked almost like a pair of pringles cans strapped together on a pistol handle. He could be loaded up and ready to go in seconds... and then spend ten minutes carefully removing pieces and putting them back on the rack when he got back.


    On the plus side, there was someone whose job it was to clean, repair and maintain it; and there was even a whole other rack ready to go, just swap the Jotun reactor from one to the other, in case he had to deploy too soon after the most recent go. And even that ''Kamikaze'' suit as a backup.


    It was a bit odd. Outside of the armor suit, he''d been issued a couple of DMA uniforms; which still had armor built-in, despite looking like just dress pants and a button-up shirt. Even more odd.... if he ever operated alongside Army units, he was, effectively, considered an Officer; which.... was weird.


    The room was nice. Like a luxury hotel, complete with amazing decor. It felt weird, being himself, sitting in his boxers and a t-shirt, in a place clearly meant for someone far above him in the food chain.


    He had just started to toy with the TV when a knock came at the door. He glanced up. Imperious was on the other side; wearing a proper uniform; black looked good on her. But then, she cheated; she could look however she wanted. He stepped up to the door, and rather than opening it, just tapped the intercom button. "Heyo, Imperious. What do you need?"


    "We got the go-ahead from the mexican government, and are gonna go retrieve Doctor Disaster. The boss-man wants you along for this one, just in case; the Cartel has a couple of speedsters on-staff, so having you and Terminal both along will help keep things.... safe as they can be."


    "Already? Man. I thought it was gonna take a few days. No such thing as down-time, here, huh?"


    "Well, Excalibur is gonna get a psych eval first, so he won''t be on this mission; but the only metahuman threats we''re likely to see are those speedsters and Disaster himself. So this should be fine. Wheels-up in ten."


    ***


    As Candy walked into the lab, she shivered. Most of the girls had been here at least once by now; the cartel always paid well, and according to the stories, it didn''t end up that bad.. the man didn''t even always want sex, just seemed lonely, with the Cartel not letting him go anywhere... but there were monsters here.


    The first girl who came back, everyone had thought she was lying. But when the second, third, and fourth all had the same story.... well. Candy was no less horrified, but at least not surprised, to see a 4-foot-across spider perched on top of a crate inside the fence.


    The guard looked her over for a moment, admiring her curves and the barely-there red dress... and nodded. "Alright, miss. Do whatever he wants, be a good girl, you get your money and get to go home after. I''d say he''s never killed any of the girls, but if you''re from Mama C''s, you already know that."


    She nodded, and took a deep breath. Ten thousand dollars, two days. Easily worth it. She opened the door, stepping inside... glancing up as an orange light blinked overhead, and a buzzer sounded.


    A pale, heavyset man glanced up at her. "Ahh, hello there. I take it you''re the one who pulled the short straw this time? Come on in. Ignore my pets... they''re all properly secured, and can''t hurt you."


    An enormous reptilian monster lay in a cage, actively looking around the room, confused. It was the size of a car, at least, with three heads, sharp teeth... and some sort of weird devices attached to its head and torso. As she slowly made her way through the warehouse to the man''s location where he was studying a computer screen, her heels made loud metallic clicks across the grating. "H... Hello there. My name''s Candy. Mama C sent me here for you."


    She abruptly froze. Directly ahead, against the wall behind the man... were corpses. Dozens of them, stacked in class tubes, floating in liquid. "I... I... I thought you didn''t kill..."


    The man glanced behind him, and sighed. "Not generally, no. Experiments on human subjects are generally pointless. Unfortunately, I ran across a single coincidental situation where I was able to copy someone''s genetics and powers onto their half-sibling, turning the two almost into twins, just of different genders. And the Cartel has been very insistent that I reproduce this miracle. It''s not going to work; I tell them it''s not going to work. But it has worked twice now, and sort-of worked five more, out of hundreds of victims; and the Cartel has four new metahuman soldiers because of it. So... they keep throwing people at it."


    He waved at the array of corpses. "It''s all a bunch of nonsense. At bare minimum, the two would need to be closely enough related to receive a kidney donation, and reasonably close to the same age. But they keep throwing strangers at me. It doesn''t matter. Eventually, they''ll give up, abandon it, and I can spend more time on my true passions."


    Candy was amazed by what she was hearing... and seeing. Despite the terror of the situation, she found herself caught up in what was going on; and asking questions about what he was doing, what the point of the giant reptile in the cage was, the spiders, even the strange vat full of marble-sized red orbs suspended in water; her fear slowly fading as she listened to the mad genius explaining this project or that, the results he was waiting on.


    Unless he was some sort of monster on a personal level, Candy had decided she''d go along willingly next time; no short straw required. This was actually kinda fun.

 Arakiel -12 - Doctor Disaster

    "The Cartel has at least twelve known metahumans. Two speedsters are obviously what you''re focused on, Arakiel; though Terminal will be meeting us there, so we shouldn''t worry about them. We don''t plan on being there long enough to deal with any others." Silver looked at the trio. "But. The locals would be more than happy should we handle them on their behalf. Most of them aren''t much more dangerous than a man with a gun, but there are at least two with superhuman durability. Imperious, you''ve got those. I''m assuming you''re ready for an armored target?"


    The angel shrugged, and hefted the flail. "That''s why you''ve got a backup flying brick on the team, right? For when Excalibur is out of action?"


    He chuckled. "Cascade, crowd control. This is on the edge of town, so we should have much we have to deal with, but for any unarmed locals, nonlethal suppression. If they start shooting at us and aren''t wearing uniforms, the locals have... encouraged... us to make sure they don''t survive."


    The woman; wearing, oddly enough, a sleek pink outfit this time; Arakiel wondered if she swapped colors for each outing; nodded. "Bounties again?"


    "Every single known cartel member has a bounty on their head, and they will pay out, dead or alive. They don''t want the local cops getting caught in the crossfire, or tipping off the cartel, so won''t be informing them until after we''ve arrived; so don''t bother trying to capture."


    Arakiel shook his head, glancing out the window at the rough, sandy terrain passing by below. The aircraft was different, but this felt familiar; flying through the desert at night with a group of fellow soldiers to strike some random target. It was odd, to be the source of the intel for the strike. He hadn''t really had a chance to see Cascade or Terminal in action yet. Would this be the day? Or would the enemy not even arrive until after they were gone?


    "And what about Disaster?"


    Silver chuckled. "The boss wants him back home to chat, but that particular aspect, you''re on point. Carrot and stick approach; we want to offer him a job, we''re willing to arrest him. But unless he tries to kill one of us, he''s to be considered a noncombatant; we don''t know what he''s doing for the Cartel out here, whether he''s willing, kidnapped; he might be making horrible weapons of mass destruction, or he might be locked in a cell. Or some blend of the two."


    As the aircraft slowed down, drawing closer, a thermal image popped up on the wall; showing a warehouse with a variety of heat sources inside; most of them what looked to be equipment, at least two people inside, and two more outside. "... Hell. Just four people, one of them probably Disaster? I think we might be overkill."


    Silver studied it... and nodded. "Maybe. But. I''m also reading thousands of EM sources that could be drones, or mines. I''m thinking we EMP the place first, then you lead the way. You can spot traps before they trigger, right?"


    Arakiel chuckled. "Of course. Though, it does need to be something I can see."


    The aircraft settled into place overhead; and shook for a moment. "EMP launched. Everybody go."


    Even as the door slid open, Arakiel could see the two guards vanish off of the display; two uniform, humanoid blobs replaced by smears of warm concrete; as he hopped out into the air; triggering the jets to let him gently glide to the ground outside the warehouse door; he could make out the two former Cartel guards, now splattered across the ground, hopefully by Terminal. And... hear a strange, shrieking sound. He got a burst on comms; a digitized voice, as he could see Silver, Imperious, and Cascade, all landing behind him on the sand.


    "This is Terminal. Engaged with two speedsters. Not as fast as me, but competent. Gonna be dealing with them for a few, currently chasing them westward."


    Arakiel nodded, and patted the Anti-Speedster countermeasure at his hip. If either of them popped loose and came back, he''d get to surprise them. But... he blinked. "Back up, back up! We''ve got hostiles!" He raised the plasma rifle, and pulled the trigger moments before... a shrieking giant spider leapt from the darkness, only to explode in a shower of orange-red light and chitinous bits. It wasn''t showing up on IR, and the night vision wasn''t picking it up til moments before it would have struck; he backed off a few steps, firing quick, snap shots; each exploding spider sending superheated bits of its own flesh onto its companions. He was taking out a couple of them with each shot, but there must have been dozens, or more. It became a touch easier as Imperious suddenly lit up the warehouse and its surroundings with a powerful aura of light; revealing hundreds of spiders ranging from a foot across to four feet across, swarming out of an open fence gate, all apparently berserk.


    He focused on the ones directly at the entrance for the next few seconds, trying to keep the swarm contained; but undoubtedly some had already escaped, he needed to keep an eye out around...


    Everything was about to look... strange. Indistinct. He could see the world was about to go somewhat astray, but not why... and then... everything hurt. Arakiel shuddered as he was lifted off the ground, helpless, his limbs stretched out... and the Spiders all did the same, just floating in midair, shrieking.


    Cascade stepped past him... and the pressure vanished. He fell to the ground, as she stood in front of him; tiny pink figure, examining one of the spiders closely as the others twitched and shifted angrily. ".... These things are dying. I can kill them, but... they need ''blood'' pressure to move their limbs, and they''re losing it."


    Arakiel stretched for a moment. Had she just picked him up by the blood in his body? All of the fluids? "Ahh... security system of some sort. Released when we took out the guards, probably. Probably set to kill anything nearby, then die off before they could threaten the rest of the Cartel''s operations. Unless they''re gonna die right now, finish them off, please. We need to get in there, there might be even more fun surprises in store."


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Cascade nodded, clenching her fist; and the shrieking stopped. All of the spiders suddenly crushed together into a single, twitching ball. "Close the fence back for me? Obviously these things have been altered, I''d hate for them to somehow recover from this and bite us in the ass."


    Imperious chuckled, looking at the giant mass of exoskeleton crushed against the warehouse wall, and shut the fence; casually twisting the door latch so that it couldn''t come back open. "Got it. You know what, I''m not gonna complain about not getting any kills on those. In fact, if there''s any more spiders inside, you feel free, Cass."


    Arakiel studied the twitching dead mass, and then the warehouse door; it had a keypad for entry, but... it wasn''t actually locked. He raised his rifle; about to ask Imperious to open the door while he covered her... but he could see inside. There were no threats. Nothing would happen to him when he opened it.


    Feeling strange about diverting from old habits, he just opened the door... and stepped inside, with Cascade and Imperious right behind him. He heart a momentary crackle of static. "This is Silver, I''ll stay on overwatch in the chopper. Keep me updated."


    As he looked over the inside of the warehouse, Arakiel could see hundreds of machines. Fabricators. Tanks full of unknown liquids. A giant vat full of strange, red orbs. Most of them still had lights on; the warehouse must have been shielded from the EMP. Which meant... there could still be threats.


    He snapped his rifle up in response to a hiss, before a giant three-headed monster reared its heads... but... no. It just watched him... and then curled back in on itself in its cage, two heads down, while a third stayed glued to him, watching. It... was a komodo dragon? Or something similar. But... with three heads. And too big. Cascade stared at it as the trio approached the cage.


    "This thing..... it''s too big for its heart. The blood isn''t pumping right. So there''s a machine in there pushing it... but too hard. Someone tried to solve gigantism by slapping a blood pump onto it. It''s..... not working." She glanced back at the doorway. "Those spiders. I think they all had something on them to regulate pressure as well."


    Arakiel glanced down at her. "Regulate pressure?"


    She pointed at the dragon. "Bigger animals need bigger hearts to pump blood and fluids around. If one gets too big, its heart can''t handle the work, pumps constantly, suffers strain, and dies; or for some species, the extremities start to die off when they don''t get blood to them, and it dies."


    Arakiel saw the man approaching, and raised his rifle; to point at a disheveled man in a flowery bathrobe, wearing a pair of strange silver-blue goggles, who had his hands raised in the air; though one hand was covered by a heavy metal gauntlet. "Ahh! Precisely. I''ve been simultaneously trying to genetically engineer more durable, capable circulatory systems, as well as mechanical aids to allow larger creatures to prosper. I must confess that, were I to find a way, I''d likely create a Godzilla-like creature purely for the awe such a thing would inspire."


    Arakiel slowly shook his head, as Cascade kept studying the multiheaded lizard in fascination. "Doctor Disaster, I presume."


    The man bowed. "Yes, of course. Tis I! Now.... judging by the stunning, angelic beauty beside you.." He smiled at Imperious. "You must be the Silver Swords. I''m not familiar with this new armor... Are you Excalibur, with a change-up? Or Silver?"


    "Neither. Just started, name''s Arakiel. We''re here to extradite you back to the US; though really, we''d like to offer you a job."


    Disaster frowned. "Arakiel. Fallen angel. Watcher. Light armored suit, uses a rifle, thrusters.... Hmm. Super-reflexes and some form of ESP?"


    He chuckled. "True enough. Good assessment. So what''s the answer? Are we taking you back in cuffs, or are we talking job offer? We''d prefer to be out of here before your Cartel friends show up, but we wouldn''t mind killing them if we have to."


    Almost perfectly timed, he heard a burst of static. "Speedster one confirmed dead in the pacific. Speedster two headed back to shore, still evading." He heard it from both his internal helmet speaker... as well as from one on a console not ten feet away. Disaster glanced at it, and sighed. "Well now. On the one hand, I''m sure they deserved it. But still. You waste an overabundance of your life on something its hard not to be upset when it dies."


    Arakiel nodded. "That''s actually what we wanted to talk to you about. You have some means of creating a metahuman? Or copying powers from one to another?"


    "No. Not reliably, at least. I''ve had a handful of viable results, only one at full effectiveness, over a hundred fatalities..." He glanced back at a door leading further into the warehouse, then leaned in closer, almost whispering.. "And thousands who they wanted me to inject, but I knew it would just kill them, so I gave them saline instead. I would appreciate if the Cartel didn''t learn that. They didn''t care if the odds were less than 1%, they wanted me to try anyway, and if they lost a thousand of their men to gain ten metahumans, they''d call it a victory."


    Arakiel glanced at the same door, then back to Disaster. "Are we not alone in here?"


    "Just a girl. Prostitute named Candy." He blinked. "Ahh, no. The Cartel will know she was brought here. When she goes home, they''ll torture her for information. Kill her. Can we bring her as well? I don''t suppose the budget includes enough to get her setup somewhere far north of the border; perhaps in Wyoming or Colorado? The Cartel doesn''t operate up there for obvious reasons."


    "...Yes. Our budget covers that." He studied the man. In the timeline where he and Apollo died together, the man had somehow created a Titan after lightning died, only for Apollo to kill both him and the new Titan. "Anything special about the ones that worked?"


    Disaster walked over to a standing freezer a few feet away, and slid it open; revealing long racks of color-coded syringes, as the cold air fogged up the vicinity. "Every one of these is a genetic sample from a metahuman the Cartel either worked with, or managed to sneak a sample of, mixed with a viral payload that could, conceivably, alter a subject''s DNA to more closely resemble it. The one that was a success? Two half-siblings, cousins with the same father, whose father had a low-grade speed mutation he wasn''t even aware of. I copied the natural speed one had developed, and gave it to their... sister-cousin. I could reliably do the same to an identical twin, and maybe, just maybe, to a sibling, parent, or child; but only if genetics worked out in just the right way. And even then, only if its the right power."


    He pulled out a yellow-labeled syringe. "The gentleman this DNA belongs to can turn his skin to metal, and absorb metal that hits him. Not just bulletproof; he even gets stronger when you shoot him, for a while. If he had a twin brother, it would turn whatever part I injected into a lump of dead metal, and he''d end up dead with flakes of iron cutting through his arteries til he bled to death. It did happen to one of his cousins, exactly like that; I gave it a chance of success of five percent. The Cartel considered that good odds"


    He set the syringe back. "The only ones that actually worked; that could even possibly actually work with a chance of success better than a lottery ticket; must involve making the subject able to heal faster. Anything else, and they''ll tear themselves apart. So if that''s what your government wants from me... I''ll gladly give them all of my data. But prepare to be disappointed."


    Another burst of static. "This is Silver. We''ve got incoming. Not sure if its local police or cartel, but I''d appreciate some backup just in case."

 Arakiel -13 - Bodies

    "I make... six ground vehicles coming in from the east, and two aircraft; look to be attack helicopters; coming in from the southeast. None of them official. All Cartel. Choppers will reach us first, then the ground vehicles."


    Imperious''s eyes lit up. "Yesssss." And started to skip as she ran out of the warehouse, clearly overjoyed at what was about to happen; as Arakiel and Disaster both watched her go. For her part, Cascade simply started walking out after, calm, relaxed; secretly rolling her eyes inside that pink helmet.


    Disaster turned to him. "Uhm... there''s going to be like twenty metahumans and another twenty or thirty gunmen out there. Or more.. The local military would call in an airstrike and an armored division for this if they even bothered. I know Excalibur is the heavy hitter for your team... can you do this without him? Should we run? Hide?"


    Arakiel chuckled, shaking his head, and patted Disaster on the shoulder. "Pack up anything you want to take. Imperious can probably handle them all on her own. Cascade can definitely handle them all on her own. Hell; me and Silver might be able to... and as soon as Terminal runs down that second speedster, she''ll be back, too. Don''t worry about it." He studied the refrigerator. For some reason, he wanted to grab it. There was something in there that just... felt right.


    But not now. Whatever it was, it could wait.


    ***


    "I dunno what it is, boss, but our man in the locals says he hasn''t heard a thing, the cameras are all out... and we''ve already got four not responding. Including the twins."


    He held his hand against the earpiece for a moment, looking on at the men sitting in the chopper. Just like Hector, most of them were wearing a simple armored vest, holding an automatic rifle; some had grenades and machetes, some had sidearms; everyone was loaded for bear and ready to kick ass. The metas, aside from the two who could fly, were too important to ride up here; but they had some nice big guns strapped to the sides, and whoever had the audacity to come fuck with the cartel was about to have an awful day.


    The only worrying bit was the twins. Hopefully they were busy doing something. If they''d just lost them both...


    The sky suddenly lit up, painfully bright. He covered his eyes. "What the fuck? Johnny, what do we..."


    A sudden crunch. Hector had one last view of a beautiful angel, with flowing golden hair... slamming a massive flail into the side of the helicopter so hard it crumpled and went flying... crashing into the other chopper.


    As the two masses of hot metal and death hurtled towards the ground, one of the two flying soldiers managed to get free in time to avoid the explosion; hovering a few dozen feet above the ground, catching his breath, checking to make sure he was intact... before he heard the sound of wing-beats.


    He turned, rifle raised towards whatever was oncoming; far too late. A spiked metal ball crushed his skull before he even had the rifle pointed in the right direction, the man barely able to catch a glimpse of the angel before she struck him down; and turned, heading for the group of trucks cruising down the road.


    ***


    By the time Cascade had reached the road, Arakiel had caught up with her; and she covered her mouth with one hand, yawning, pointing her other at the oncoming vehicles; making a circular gesture. All of the vehicles sputtered to a stop; with the rear-most one slamming into the two in front of it, creating a pileup, and sending a man who''d been manning a heavy machinegun flying off into the night with a scream.


    He glanced at her, then at the pile-up, checking the plasma rifle for a moment. Still over 95%. He watched through the scope; this was over a kilometer out, but he would till make everyone who climbed out regret living. "I honestly didn''t know you could reach that far. Goddamn are you dangerous, Cass. What did you do to them?" He gave the trigger a quick tap. A man who had just started to climb out of a truck fell to the ground, a chunk of his skull flash-vaporized as he collapsed, smoking.


    She looked back at him. "Hmm? Oh. I took all the water in the engines and just shoved it every which way. Made room for all the flammable stuff to meet fire in ways it wasn''t supposed to. It takes effort; I can''t do much to those guys right now til tthey get closer, or I get some rest. More effort the further away they are, and the more I try to do at once. It''s far, far easier for me to explode a man''s heart than it is to, say, make a wave not wash away my sandcastle."


    Arakiel chuckled, shaking his head; before making two more quick shots. The blinding light of Imperious was starting to head this way, and the men inside the vehicles were in a panic; concerned about the sniper, but also about the oncoming angel of death.


    Until... a figure emerged from the first vehicle. He looked like a walking junkyard, a pile of random metal parts making him at least seven feet tall, as the engine collapsed, seeming to be absorbed into his flesh as he started marching towards Arakiel and Cascade.


    For the moment, Arakiel ignored him; firing quick shots into the men who fled the vehicle behind him. "This guy got enough blood to work with, or is he all metal?" The plasma rifle wouldn''t be the best choice; it was amazing against fleshy targets, even ones in armor, but if this was one of those rare guys who actually turned into something inhuman... He frowned.


    A crackle of static. "Focus on the others. I''ve got him. I''ve dealt with his kind before."


    Arakiel studied the man; before taking another couple of shots, taking out two men who started to flee, screaming, as Imperious finally landed on one of the vehicles; crushing it, and the men inside, with her flail; the thing seemed to swell in size as well as glow with a vibrant light just before impact. "It''d take about three or four plasma rifles to the same spot to dig into the flesh. Maybe seven to decapitate. You sure?"


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    A distant gunshot from above; a reminder of just how quiet the DMA''s aircraft were. The man''s forehead appeared to be dimpled, another random lump of metal added to it in the form of a bullet.


    The man kept walking for a few more seconds. Arakiel lifted the rifle, aiming for the throat; but then.... he stumbled. Stopped. Clutching his head, the iron man fell to his knees, starting to scream, keening in agony. "Completely. This is probably going to be uncomfortable for a while."


    Arakiel studied the man as he shivered and twitched, fingers scraping at his head; glanced up; and fired one last time at a man fleeing from the wreckage as Imperious gleefully lashed out with the flail, shattering already broken vehicles, ignoring a few stray bullets and what looked like some sort of strange beam of green energy.


    Another radio crackle. "No further Speedsters spotted, no other enemies incoming within ten miles at least. The wreckage of another strike team is 3.6 miles down the road if you''d care to investigate; there are no survivors. This is Terminal returning to base."


    Arakiel chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped up to the iron giant. He hadn''t even seen her, but she might well have killed god knew how many enemies. "So... what''s going on with this guy, Silver?"


    A loud thunk. The uniformed figure in its silver breastplate had landed beside him, and walked up to the writhing figure. "I''m eating him from the inside at the moment. Not sure how much mass I''ll keep... I haven''t gone past two hundred pounds of silver since I got all fleshed up again. But... some more might be useful for a while. Good time to stock up."


    He glanced around. "Oh, by the way. These criminal sorts have all sorts of fun gadgets. You should scout around. The lab, too. You have to document everything, but if its useful, and was either the proceeds of a crime or used to commit one, it goes into the armory back at the DMA; and the team that collected it gets first dibs. Not to sell, or take home, to be clear. Some folks have been fired for that. But to use in the field."


    A soft chuckle. "If Canada doesn''t call in and claim those three levers, Impy is probably gonna add them to her arsenal."


    ***


    The inside of the lab was fairly calm, collected. Candy; wearing a laboat covering some sort of skimpy red dress; was sitting near the entrance, while Disaster was going down a checklist, muttering to himself; and glanced up when Arakiel stepped back inside. "Ahh, yes. The other angel. How much of my material am I allowed to take with me?"


    Arakiel shrugged. "They''re definitely going to want anything related to genetics research. For that, there''s actually a second aircraft coming in, empty, that left the moment we gave the all clear. Only thing aboard are four workmen to help you load things. Anything else... if you can pretend its related, I''m sure you can get them to box it up for you."


    "...Ugh." He sighed. "Just like the cartels, obsessed with creating more metahumans the unnatural way, I take it?"


    "Well. We have it on good authority that your way could produce a Titan for us. So the boss-man is willing to give it an honest shot, pardon you, and probably help fund your other research if you give it an honest try."


    Disaster shook his head. "I would need someone extremely genetically similar to an existing Titan, or it would be impossible. I... wait." He focused on Arakiel. "I''ve heard rumors.... is this about Valkyrie''s son? If he inherited part of his mother''s power...." He rubbed his chin between his fingers, looking thoughtful, until Arakiel opened the fridge; and started sorting through the syringes inside.


    "What the hell are you doing? I would seriously not touch those things... Damn things are poison! Potentially useful for research, but deadlier than any plague!"


    Arakiel nodded. "Sure enough." His hand settled on one of the syringes; and he slid it out of the fridge. Taking it just felt right. It was impossible to predict what would happen more than a few seconds out, exactly. But if this ''feeling'' were true... "Tell me... who this sample came from." He held the syringe up; the letters on it were marked E-GW, which meant nothing to him.


    Disaster blinked, and stepped up, examining the label. "Oh. I see what this is about. How did you know... look, I didn''t retrieve these. It was the cartel. They wanted me to try to make copies of him, of anyone they could get samples of. I don''t even know how they got it."


    "That didn''t sound like a name."


    "Why do I need to say it? Obviously you know its Gary Weiss. Excalibur."


    Thankfully, the doctor couldn''t see his shock through the helmet. Well hell. Maybe that feeling meant something entirely different. "...We need to keep these samples. And, honestly... the ''how'' they were obtained might be just as important as the samples themselves."


    ***


    The Eagles; Mexico''s premier metahuman team; had shown up during the clean-up phase; only to continue on elsewhere, seemingly just showing the flag; a gentle reminder that yes, Mexico could have handled this on its own, they just had bigger priorities. Arakiel felt a certain level of sympathy; they were highly capable people dealing with a situation where the best-payiing groups were the cartels; so they might not always be outgunned, but they always seemed to be outnumbered by the bad guys.


    There were so many vigilante heroes and groups down here that he was half surprised they hadn''t run into one while they were here; and when the police showed up, there was barely any comment about the equipment being loaded into the aircraft; only a blend of horror and shock at the dozens of bodies being dragged out of the wreckage, the sight of the silver-armored woman with her wings dripping with blood, and the state of the bodies themselves; ranging from the man who now simply seemed to be a hollow metal statue with various random engine parts attached, to bits of various bodies scattered for hundreds of yards around a crash site where two helicopters appeared to have attempted to mate with an overabundance of success.


    As they loaded into the aircraft with Disaster for the last trip out; Candy had already flown north across the border; he stared at the lab, frowning. "You know. They might have kept me locked up there... sort-of. But I''m gonna miss this place. Should be interesting to see what they have setup for me up north."


    Arakiel glanced at the man. He was wearing what seemed to be a classic supervillain, mad scientist outfit; a black bodysuit, bulky mechanical gauntlets with a variety of build-in devices, heavy eye-covering goggles; and with a white labcoat over them, which they all seemed to prefer. "Should be fun. Their budget is insane, and with what they want you to work on, I bet it''ll be however high you need it to be to get the job done."


    The doctor shook his head, watching the lab vanish in the distance. "Well. Genetic modification is a fool''s errand when it comes to powers. Each power is too unique, each person''s genetics too different from the next, to get meaningful large-scale results. They might not look as pretty, but the creatures I create are far better for large-scale tests. Though.... if there is in fact a way to create a Titan, it will have enormous ramifications on some of my other projects."


    As the craft picked up speed, crossing the border, he shook his head. "Can''t help but think that I missed something, though. We killed off the Hydra, your people killed all of the spiders, took all of the computer records with us..."


    ***


    Hours later, as local police were sorting through the lab; some looking for evidence, others looking for something worth looting; the clean-up process began. The various corpses of the abominations Disaster had created were piled up and burned on a massive pyre alongside the victims of his experiments; and a hapless cleaning crew dumped various containers out down the drains... including one cylinder filled with a deep pile of glistening red marble-sized eggs.

 Arakiel -14 - Face to Face

    It was a week later; after Excalibur had fully recovered, and the DMA had started building an underground lab, down in the ''Grounded'' vault, for Doctor Disaster; when the call finally came in; Apollo wanted to meet.


    The logistics would be fairly straightforward; while Apollo didn''t want to meet on American soil, he was perfectly fine meeting up at one of the various international facilities involved in the space program; and so, Arakiel ended up on a long flight to Noordwijk; where he would be meeting Apollo, and, surprisingly, Hephaestus as well; with director Thomes ordering the full Swords team to go, just in case.


    On the one hand, it was likely simply paranoia. On the other, all of the Olympians had physical capabilities of a vastly superhuman sort, and the DMA had been given very direct evidence of what sort of game-changer precognition was in a fight; even more importantly, supposedly Apollo was going to turn on them and start killing Titans at some point.


    Even as the plane touched down at the airstrip outside the launch facility, another delivery vehicle was being assembled; every week, another craft launched, taking crew, colonists, and equipment up to the various platforms. At present, the population of humans in space was in the low thousands; mostly doing mining work or assembly on one of the various space stations; but the skeletal forms of combat spacecraft in orbit would be filling out rapidly over the coming months and years, and even without the colony ships, tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands would need to be moved up as the timetable advanced.


    At present, the only colonists going up were those that could be helpful in finishing the spacecraft; but soon enough the rest would be added to the lists; both ships needed to be gone long before the Jotun arrived in the area, to ensure they couldn''t be followed if worst came to worst.


    Everyone was geared up for a fight just in case; with Excalibur wearing a much lighter, but still fairly dense, armored suit that looked closer to what a scifi image of powered armor would than the tank with legs he usually looked like; as they descended the stairs; Arakiel inhaling deeply as he enjoyed the brisk, clean air, looking around at the facility; where dozens of partially-complete craft were scattered around, mostly vague metal cone shapes. Usually only descent capsules ended up coming down, with most of the vessel remaining in orbit, so very little of this material would ever see earth again.


    The group stood out on the tarmac; Terminal not present, but otherwise the full team there; as three people emerged from one of the craft; an almost perfect, silver sphere resting nearby; the first being a statuesque woman wearing a long white flowing robe; then a short, childlike figure wearing a breastplate over his own robes; and finally, Hephaestus, wearing his massive armored suit.


    No-one was quite certain what that suit was capable of; only that it was probably the most advanced piece of technology on the planet, built by a genius who had tens of thousands of years to perfect his craft, and undoubtedly loaded out with a variety of magical gimmicks and technological marvels. Arakiel might have been there to meet Apollo; but it was difficult not to stare at the imposing figure of the god of the forge.


    When the two groups stopped; with Arakiel stepping out to meet Apollo; the slim figure nodded. "You asked to see me. Considering the sort of damage we could cause if we came into conflict in this, and of considering how much power our respective organizations wield, I felt it best to do so. What do you know?"


    Arakiel sighed. "I know that this should be kept relatively quiet so as not to scare people. Can we take this somewhere private?"


    A deep voice emerged from the towering silver figure. "While the recording device in your suit is still functioning. no-one outside this circle can hear you. I can limit it to just the two of you, should I need to?"


    "I... No, that''d be fine. Everyone in this circle knows I can see the future already. Alright. Obviously, things will change now. But before we arranged this meeting, I knew how we would die. We''ll see how that changes, later."


    He took a deep breath. "The two of us were among the few survivors of humanity. We were in a facility on an island... somewhere the Minoans used to be, though I didn''t know who they were until I had the vision. We had lost the war against the Jotun, and were waiting for ''The Emperor'' to show up before destroying an old relic and wiping out both ourselves and him. You had managed to kill all of the Titans... including a new one we had created... only to discover it was useless; whatever means the Jotun had for seizing control of a single powerful individual, no matter how shielded they were, was able to instead be turned to control hundreds, or thousands, of unshielded people. The spot where the island was had been lethally irradiated. If we hadn''t used the relic, I would have died of radiation poisoning soon. They had been able to launch nukes, deploy bio-weapons... and apparently essentially won the war before even landing."


    Apollo slowly nodded. "That... unfortunately tracks with my own visions, now. Until you came around, I hadn''t seen just what caused the problem, since it would have killed me as well; apparently, if left alone, you would have interrupted Lightning''s path of destruction, killing him in DC; but only after he''d killed all the other titans, and millions of others besides. Once I saw that, and knew Lightning was the source of the problem... we researched. Learned of a Jotun mind-control device... or person... or both, really.. called the Chains of Eternity. The ultimate Jotun weapon against the Emperor, still not ready yet, but being field-tested. I didn''t know it could be used to control a whole mob of people, though. It.... changes things."


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    Arakiel shrugged. "We need to either get the Titans off earth, and make sure all the nukes, bio-weapons, everything, are disabled from control by anyone but shielded, secured invididuals... or destroy the device before it gets here. Frankly, the best approach I can think of would be to have the Titans waiting within sensor range but nearby, so they can hop in to help.... after the Chains have already been used."


    Apollo sighed. "It isn''t just a mind control device. It''s an information-gathering tool as well; able to assess millions of minds scattered across the globe, start reading their surface thoughts, and determine who the best candidate to control is. If we enacted such a plan, they would know the Titans were out there... and possibly just wait for them to arrive before activating."


    "...As if it matters? The sun and moon twins could eradicate the entire Jotun fleet virtually instantly. So could Spike, though there might be some unfortunate side effects. So long as we get one of them into position, they could intercept the fleet, wipe it out... and then we use your little orb thing on the Emperor by predicting the direction he''s coming and using it at the right time. If they manage to get control of one of them before they strike, then yes, it will suck, and we might have to kill them... but then they''ll lose control as soon as soon as the second one destroys the fleet, and the Chains with it."


    "...A workable plan. Honestly, we already plan on deploying a series of mines to wipe out the bombardment section of the Jotun fleet on the way in. We need to be very careful; too many mines and they''ll detect them, avoid them; but I can''t take out both all of the bombardment fleet, and the chains. With this method, we simply take out the bombardment fleet with some titan support... and we could target the Chains with the mines. Let it die before arriving."


    Arakiel chuckled. "I know you guys have been unwilling to talk to us since world war 2. And I can understand why. Not only were Hiroshima and Nagasaki horrible war crimes... but our conduct after hasn''t been the best either. Your willingness.." He glanced at Hephaestus.. "To help with the space program is truly benevolent of you. But considering the matter of discussion, would you be willing to establish a line of communications between us, to avoid this sort of entanglement going forward; strictly for purposes of preparing for the Jotun war and avoiding damaging each other''s plans?"


    Apollo studied him thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Unsurprisingly, I figured you would ask that." Both men gave a short laugh. Apollo reached a hand up; looking for a moment like a child trying to grab his father''s hand for a walk; and Hephaestus placed a small black box in it. "This is a secure comm-unit." He extended it out to Arakiel; who examined it for a few moments, and then slid it into a pouch at his hip. "It will listen to anything said nearby, and if you say ''Call Apollo'', it''ll contact me. So don''t keep it in your pocket all the time."


    The boy studied the silver armor suit for a few seconds. "One other thing. Be cautious using your power. I only know one other person who ever had it, though undoubtedly its sprung up before. She killed herself. As much of a pain as it is figuring out visions with you around with things changing all the time, if someone else with the power hadn''t sprung up, we would''ve gone into the Jotun war knowing we would lose. Once this whole Jotun situation is resolved, we should sit and speak more... in-depth."


    Arakiel couldn''t shake that feeling that something was wrong as the group split off; the entire encounter had left him with a subtle level of anxiety. Whatever Hephaestus had in his armor, if he pointed any weapon vaguely in his direction, the world would go dark before he could pull the trigger. If he''d aimed at Apollo, he could hit him, maybe even kill him, before it all went dark; but Hephaestus? He wouldn''t even get a shot off.


    He watched the god of the forge walking away, and turned to his companions. "Well. We''ve got a few days off, and the jet''s gonna wait for us. Ya''ll want to go check out Amsterdam, let the flight crew take a few days off here as well? This is actually my first time in europe"


    Cascade tilted her head, glancing at Imperious; who nodded. "I''ve been here a fair number of times, I can show you a few fun spots.We should change first, though. There''s actually a small enclave with a few dozen of my people there, I can introduce you."


    ***


    Arakiel had very little idea of what happened during the next several hours. He had vague visions of a bar, a few drinks that didn''t hit as hard as they should, some flavors he''d never experienced; and a fun evening with at least two women involved.


    It was a bit strange, waking up without a hangover; he always remembered having hangovers after nights like that; and it had been a while since he''d awoken with a warm body against his side. He didn''t recognize where he awoke, of course. It was a hotel room, clearly; a large, comfortable bed, a stereotypical layout with some generic TV, bland wall patterns... At first, that didn''t seem like too big a deal; after all, he''d almost certainly either hooked up with some random girl in a bar, or possibly even a prostitute, and taken them to the nearest hotel; not like he''d run into any troubles for it unless he''d hurt someone, and he didn''t think anything like that had happened; what little memory he had of it all seemed pleasant; he was half surprised, from those odd memories, to only find one body in the bed with him.


    When he glanced down in the pre-dawn light and saw a pool of golden curls against his chest, and a feathered wing over the blanket, that lack of concern vanished. It wasn''t exactly an unwelcome situation.... but good lord could this make things complicated.

 Arakiel -15 - Mad Science

    Six months later


    ***


    The fishing boat was moving slowly; the captain had been, frankly, an absolute pain for the last few hours; and it didn''t help that Jimmy''s headache had been growing worse by the hour. He wasn''t even the only one with a headache; aside from Dave, who''d spent the whole time working on the engine, everybody was complaining.... must be a fever of some sort.


    Jimmy gave the lever a sudden tug; the motor on the winch started up, and a few of the other crewmen all reached out, helping to guide the net as it lifted up; dumping literal tons of fish and various sea-life onto the deck. He grimaced when he saw the haul; more of those damned crabs. "Aren''t these things supposed to be endangered?"


    One of the other crew took out a long hooked pole; and started firmly tugging one of the giant coconut crabs, trying to toss it over the side; but the creature let out a strange, bubbling hiss; and the man collapsed, holding his head in his hands, pole landing among the others... as Jimmy''s headache became unbearable. "Ahhh... fuck.. what..." He clutched his head, backing away, closing his eyes... not even seeing one of the other crabs lumbering towards him.... its claws moving, digging into the soft flesh around his throat; even the agony of his torn throat not comparing to the pounding inside his skull.


    ***


    "So, before we go over the first batch of results the director sent down... which one feels like the better option?"


    Arakiel stared down at the two cases on the table. "...Neither. I get a general bad feeling about both choices. Just equal; whatever they are, both are just as bad." He glanced up at Sam, frowning. "Honestly, boss... they all feel bad lately. A few days out, or things going on right now, they all feel fine. The injections, I could tell you that all but two of them would be absolutely damn terrible. Powers work. But ever since we talked to Apollo.... its like I can''t predict anything past the immediate future. Its odd, because Apollo even told me that his own powers have been a bit finnicky since then as well; though they''d already started to get weird as soon as I first started using mine."


    Dr. Torrance looked down at the two cases on his desk; just in case the stock market was going to crash, they''d decided to use a different test this time; and one case contained ten pounds of gold, the other ten pounds of ration bars. The food should only be the better option in absolutely horrific situations. The only way neither should work is if they''d all be destroyed before opening... or if his powers were being weakened.


    "Well, shit. You''ve stoked quite a bit of optimism lately, especially considering the results I was about to give you, and this sets it back a ways."


    "Can''t be sure. As soon as I think about acting on an idea, I get the feeling. Just for example... I know I could beat you in a fight, but if I imagine attacking you, it feels awful; obviously that would have terrible consequences. There''s things I get mixed feelings about... like recruiting Disaster back when we started. But this upcoming experiment? Feels like a good idea."


    Sam sighed. "I... hate to say it. But you remember how we asked you for semen samples back when you started?"


    "Of course. I''ve been keeping up to date on it, actually talked to a few of the moms... though not all of them want anything to do with me." Arakiel shrugged. "Feels weird to know I''m gonna have like... six kids in a few months."


    "Well. If precognition gets weaker, the more precognitives there are, because everybody''s precognition starts to mess with each other''s.... it could be your timeline for turning it all to static lines up with the first kid being born. We''ve already checked their X-rays; at least three of them are going to be born with a third eye. Possibly even more."


    He blinked. "Ahhh.... fuck. Okay then. We need to get the kids offworld, and onto the colony ships. Hell. Maybe me, too; now that he''s figured out the secret for why the Jotun were gonna win, Apollo can probably handle things without me."


    Sam blinked... and leaned back in his chair, focusing on the three-eyed man before him. ".....What do your powers say about sending the kids away? Good feeling? Bad?"


    Arakiel tilted his head, thinking. "I think I need something actionable to really trigger it."


    "Alright." The doctor tapped at his keyboard for a minute, whistling to himself... and then looked up. "Okay. If I hit enter, or you step around and hit enter for me, I''ll be sending a request to Thomes to get the kids offworld with their moms. Good, or bad?"


    Arakiel leaned forward, close enough to press the button, imagining pressing it... "Ahh... fuck. Good. Not pushing the button feels terrible. Either something''s gonna happen to kill the kids, or you''re right, and them being here messes with my powers... and Apollo''s. This... sucks. I was planning to be there for however many of the births I could manage, aside from the three married couples."


    Sam nodded... and added a few more lines, typing away... before pressing send. "Well. That''ll be that. I''ll talk to the director. It might be better for Earth if you go with them, though it''ll mean giving up control to a band of immortal lunatics who aren''t too fond of us. Still Some vaguely positive news; out of the thousand stocks you picked, each of which we bought a thousand dollars worth, roughly, of shares.... eight of the ones you chose were the ones with the biggest gains. Your bonus for the past six months just jumped by over a hundred grand; more proof your long-term powers are real, if there was any doubt. One of them merely did okay... because the CEO got arrested. I suspect we''re looking at a butterfly effect situation; some decision you made after the picks led to his crimes being discovered."


    "Not too shabby, but honestly, I don''t know what to do with the money I''ve already got. What about number ten?"


    "Number ten was a penny stock; a thousand bucks was thousands of shares, a good solid chunk of the company. It looked like it was going to have a resurgence; the CEO was going to release something special; but it fell through. The shares have pretty much no value... but mean you''ll get to pick from among the company''s assets as it gets dissolved in a few weeks. I''d call that one a loser.... but for all I know you''re gonna find a crate full of gold in that warehouse."


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    Arakiel blinked. "Well. That could be fun. Or it could just be a trip to the dump. I guess we''ll see. Is it time for the real experiment?"


    "Of course. Though... Steven gets to go first."


    ***


    The lab had two gurneys laid out in the center of the floor; each with dozens of small metallic tendrils, tipped with a needle, over them. Doctor Disaster was standing at a computer console not far away; and thousands of different devices were scattered across the room. His ''personal'' lab; where his own private, but monitored, experiments were being carried out, was on the other side of a heavy-duty divider, in the event his most recent project; an augmented flying ''immortal'' jellyfish; managed to get loose.


    One of the two gurneys had an unconscious figure laying on it; Steven Maxwell, mastermind behind much of Project Ground, wearing a metal band around his head, and with a series of injectors all just a few inches away from his flesh; three over each arm, four over each leg, three over the torso and one over the throat; with the biggest, longest needle leveled directly over his heart.


    A young woman in a black gothic outfit was sitting in a soundproof booth, reading something on her iphone and glancing around at the equipment every few minutes; before returning to whatever had her so engrossed. As Arakiel entered the room; or, well, Jason, at the moment; the armor was upstairs, he was just wearing a white bodysuit, identical to the one Steven was wearing; with tiny metal spots on it to note where the injections needed to go, covering him from his throat down to his wrists and ankles.


    Disaster glanced at him for a moment; then back at the woman; and sighed, shaking his head, as Jason stepped closer. "Well. They seem to have the utmost confidence in these powers of yours. And you do as well, considering your push to participate. Mister Maxwell... I give better than a thirty percent chance of success. He''s very similar to his cousin, genetically, his powers are similar, and those powers promote rapid healing."


    Jason blinked, as he sat on the gurney. "Only thirty percent?"


    Disaster sighed. "Look. Every mutant is genetically unique, more different from the next than he is from an ordinary human. Me, you, Lightning, and Steven, all of us have powers that alter our brain function. But our structures are all altered in fundamentally different ways; as similar as they seem on the surface, both gentlemen have brains more different from each other than from an unaltered human. Steven and Lightning, while genetically similar, have dramatically divergent brains. Lightning''s genetics, as they take over Steven''s body, will have to adapt a very different brain structure in order to work.... but the thing is, even if Steven''s brain structure remains as-is, if Lightning''s powers simply overwrite the rest of his genetics... we would still arrive with a workable body."


    "Interesting. Would you have gone through with it, if I weren''t here making predictions, and Thomes backing me up?"


    "No. If Steven were some criminal, or some useless idiot, perhaps; thirty percent was better odds than the minimum I was willing to risk for the cartel. But he''s a brilliant man whose power only augments his brilliance; he''s been of tremendous help with my own work. I''m honestly surprised he can''t seem to grasp my methodology; but then, his work on producing exotic materials for project Rip is far beyond my own capacity, so I suppose we all have weaknesses."


    "Project Rip?"


    Disaster laughed. "Go ahead and lie down, we''ll get you settled. There''s a metahuman who works for the DMA; name of Ripper. We''re currently working on replicating his powers via technology; pulling objects into and out of another universe. We had our first success last week; I believe Steven wanted to make sure we had a working prototype, in the event you were wrong, and this killed him."


    As Jason lay down; and Disaster carefully set each of the needles into position; the door slid open once more; and three figures entered.


    One, Jason had grown intimately familiar with; he smiled at Imperious; the golden-haired woman currently wearing normal athletic-wear, and with four arms rather than wings, looking at him with a blend of worry and disapproval. She set a hand on his arm. "You sure about this?"


    Jason grinned. "I''ve got a good feeling about it. Besides; if it works, I''ll be able to fly without a suit."


    Director Thomes stood next to Doctor Torrance, following him into the room as they reached the main control console; and Disaster looked at the two men, nodding. "Gentlemen. This is your last chance to call this off. Foresight or no, I give it a seven out of ten chance that you leave this room with two corpses; and a ninety-nine percent chance you leave it with one."


    Thomes glanced down at the heavyset lead he''d chosen for Project: Ground... and shook his head. "No. I''ve let Sam run this so far, and Arakiel has shown himself to be right so far. And even if it goes awry... we do have someone on-hand to help." He glanced at the young goth girl, and gave her a nod. She glanced at the director, and waved through the glass. "Witchlock hasn''t been cleared to know about the precognition, or even exactly what you''re doing here. She''ll need to be on-hand in case anything goes wrong, so I need to be completely clear with this. We refer to the process as integration, once she''s out here, and don''t mention how we know it will work, or even that we do."


    Disaster sighed. "Ahhh. Magic. I wish you''d let me have one of those magic-using criminals to study. I could learn so much.... the cartel tried to get me one, but... well. Still. It''s all ready."


    Thomes nodded. "Mister Maxwell first. We''ve kept him sedated long enough." He turned, walking over to the soundproof booth. "Good day young lady. I appreciate you coming down here to help me with this."


    She looked up from her phone; and neatly slid it into her purse. "Well, I know you''re trying to fix Steven, something grandpa couldn''t do. So if this works, I can just feed a little juice into him and claim credit next month. He''ll know I don''t actually mean it, but it can be fun to play the insufferable brat sometimes. I just wonder... are you trying to give him the angel-boy''s super-reflexes, help his body keep up with his mind?"


    Thomes sighed. "Please don''t speculate, miss. Disaster. It''s time. Miss Witchlock, if you could stay near Steven, for now. If Disaster says, you may need to help him."


    Disaster shook his head... and reached up; pulling a lever. "Alright. Warming up to body temperature to ease integration. The... integration serum will only be good for about two minutes afterwards, so if you call it off now, I''ll need a whole new batch." He glanced around, as if expecting someone to come to their senses... and then shook his head; shoving the same lever back into place. All of the needles simultaneously slammed into Steven''s body, causing his unconscious form to jerk; as the red liquid pumped into him from every spot at once.


    For just a moment, nothing seemed to happen; as the needles started to slide free, and faint trickles of blood emerged from the holes... then... Steven''s eyes burst open... and he looked around, studying the room... before smoothly rising to sit up. There was no delay; no sort of recovery. One moment, he was unconscious; the next.... perfectly fine. He looked around the room for a moment... and focused on Disaster. "It... worked better than expected. I''m currently modulating my perception to a normal timeframe, but... I suspect my body can keep up with my mind, now. Can you assess my biological state?"


    Disaster studied his console for a few seconds, then glanced up. "Well. The... integration went perfectly. Your body and mind should be just as fast as each other now, though... the ability to control it is unexpected, I was thinking you''d still be trapped at a faster timescale, just with your body matching it."


    Steven slowly nodded. "Well. I need to go. I must speak with Terminal. And with Mark." He carefully pulled to his feet; popping the sensors attached to his arms and chest off. "Thank you, Disaster. I will return for the checkup when you are ready for me." He started walking towards the door.. Thomes started to step in his path.


    There was a pop; a few papers blown off the table, the director visibly shaken... Steven was behind him, at the door. "Apologies. I will try to be more careful going forward. But I have things to accomplish."


    And.... he was gone.


    Jason stared at the open doorway, and inhaled deeply. "Well, fuck. That went about as well as it could have. Alright, doc. My turn."

 Arakiel -16 - Mistakes Were Made

    Disaster studied the results on his screen for a few moments, shaking his head... and then turned to Witchlock. "We''re probably going to need you, this time. Can you focus your healing on any particular part, or is it just a whole-body sort of thing?"


    She shrugged, as she stared at the door Steven had just left. "I didn''t even get to... ahh, well. No, not really. We take in the ''life force'' of something; animal, plant, person, whatever; and absorb it, building up a reservoir of sorts. While we''re holding it, it makes us stronger, tougher, so forth; and when we push it into someone else, for a little while they heal really well; and depending on how much we use, they end up a little stronger, just like we do."


    Disaster nodded. "Fascinating. And your whole family can do this?"


    "Doctor." Director Thomes studied Disaster. "Is this going to help with your work? Witchlock has training to get back to after this, and is doing this for us as a favor."


    He sighed. "Fine, fine. Hmm. I wonder. And I promise, this is relevent. Can you try to add a little of that energy to one of the injectors? The one over the heart? It might make things less dangerous."


    She blinked. "Uhm.... I can only do it to living things. Whats in the syringes?" She reached out; laid a hand gently on the one over Jason''s heart, and blinked. "Oh. Its alive... but so weak. Sure. I''ll put a little in there."


    Disaster took a deep breath. "Well. I doubt it''ll change the outcome. But.... it was nice knowing you, Arakiel. Kamikaze definitely fit better. Warming the solution." He flipped a lever... and then, after a reading reached the ideal temperature; matching the subject''s own body temperature; he flipped it back. The room grew tense, watching; as the syringes all jabbed home, and the solution joined Jason''s bloodstream in every limb of his body; every vein and artery flooded with it within less than a second, only his brain relatively free of the solution.


    When the injectors withdrew... at first, he seemed fine. Relaxed. He glanced at Disaster, opening his mouth, smiling.... and screamed. His body spasmed, shifted; Witchlock blinked, not even realizing that the gurney was somehow restraining him until his arms tried to leave it... but she knew why she was here. She stepped forward; and as she heard the crack of a breaking bone, added energy into the convulsing figure, unsure just what was going on, what they were trying to fix, or why it was having such an impact...


    Then, the spasming stopped. She felt his chest; an erratic heartbeat... that was slowly stabilizing. "...Whatever that was, it almost killed him. He should recover; maybe end up just slightly stronger than before, I needed to put a fair amount into him. Good call having me here." She studied him, leaving her hand on Jason''s chest. "Something''s.... different. Not sure what.... but he''s past the worst of it." She glanced at the director. "Call me again if you need me... but next time, I wanna be cleared for whatever the hell is going on."


    ***


    "So. What''s your assessment?"


    "Two things. First... his power... the one he already had...seems to have become better integrated. Second.... the organs Excalibur has in his body that generate that telekinetic field? He''s got them; smaller, but there; all over the place. At a guess, his precognition will have improved in some way, and he''ll have a weaker version of Excalibur''s abilities."


    The director nodded, studying the display. "Interesting." He glanced back to Disaster. "Can the reverse be done? Can we give his ability to Excalibur, since there seems to be a certain level of compatibility?"


    "...I gave this one a 1% chance of working. I''d give that even less. It would likely give him the power.... and then he would end up brain-dead. And before you celebrate too much, remember... most telekinetics kill themselves with their powers within the first week. I''d give him decent odds of not murdering himself because of the precognition, but he telekinetically broke his own arm as the organs were growing, and could just as easily accidentally crush his heart, or his brain."


    Rhodes laughed. "You are incredibly pessimistic about this, considering we''re dealing with a man who can see the future. I think it should be fine. Now. I would like you to continue this project; we''ll give you any genetic samples we come across, and if you find one that should work, let us know. Otherwise.... you might have just turned Steven into a Titan. And if not, you just created another world-class speedster. You can feel free to go if you want; I''ll see that you''re paid a substantial bonus. Otherwise... any reasonable requests will be met. Make whatever insanity your heart desires, just keep our people up to date in the event we need to incinerate your lab, or you find something useful for protecting the world."


    "So.... what are your feelings about creating my cybernetics experiments?"


    "If you need a death-row inmate for them, fine, I can bring you one. Otherwise I only ask that any animals you use not be made to suffer unnecessarily. Let doctor Torrance know."


    ***


    When Jason next awoke, his arm felt... incredibly sore. Huh. This was.... about how he usually felt during the process of recovering from a broken bone. He was laying in his own bed at the Swords compound, rather than in a hospital room, which was positive... and there was an odd set of goggles on the nightstand beside him. He studied them thoughtfully, and reached over to pick them up.... only to see that if he''d tried to grab them, at that moment, they would shatter. He stopped himself... and managed to relax. After a few seconds, he picked them up.... and felt... odd. Had he... yes. He''d actually felt the goggles before touching them.


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    It didn''t seem too big of an issue... it wasn''t really in advance of his vision.... but apparently he could ''feel'' things in the future, rather than just see. That... could be odd. He glanced up at the door; and waited, as it slid open; Excalibur stepping in, wearing some normal clothes; a sweater, jeans, some hiking boots; smiling. "Ahh, welcome back, Arakiel. How are we feeling? Break anything yet?"


    "Almost broke the goggles, here. Caught myself, first. Are these yours?"


    Excalibur shook his head. "Nah. I got a few pair for you. They let you see EM fields. Until you get used to it, they''ll be incredibly useful for training telekinesis; they said you''ve got a weaker version of mine, but to be clear, ''weaker than mine'' might still be insanely dangerous; I can literally launch things into orbit from sea level. So. Lets get you out of bed, and start you on some training. You''re going to be a reserve member for a little while; we''ll say ''recovering from your injuries''; so don''t expect to..."


    As Jason slid the goggles on, a light on the ceiling suddenly flashed... red. Excalibur blinked. "Well, fuck. Gear up, just in case they send you out. Try not to break too much." He jogged out of the room, running for his position... and Jason stared at the light for a few seconds.


    A red light meant something seriously dangerous was going on, and not to wait to gather the team; to gear up and leave immediately. He walked over to the deployment harness, starting to climb in... but... it felt like a bad idea. Was it... should he not put the armor on? Or... should he not go? He could see Imperious, shifting into her angellic form, out in the main room, giving him a smile as she headed for the roof... and shook his head. Whatever. If he got hurt, he got hurt.


    When Cascade and Imperious settled into place on the chopper, Arakiel was there, hand gripping a handle, his helmet in his other hand... and grimacing at the visible cracks that were forming around the handle. He could see the fields emerging from his hand through the goggles, and focused on calming down... as Imperious looked at him, frowning. "Sweetie... I think you should sit this one out." He stared at her. She was right. The idea of going along felt... terrible. He might get himself... or worse... one of his teammates... killed.


    He inhaled deeply... and nodded. "Fuck. You''re right. I''m a liability, for right now. I''ll... practice. Good luck. I''ll be along next time." He released the handle... and backed off, letting the crew clear the grounds... and the chopper take off without him.


    He watched it hurtling into the sky. "...Next time."


    ***


    As Excalibur flew further into the sky, building up speed, he checked his HUD. "Command, what''s the emergency?"


    ~We''ve been having dozens of boats go missing off of the pacific coast, and the navy has been investigating the area. A few minutes ago, we had a carrier go radio silent. One of her escorts just reported in; tells us there are what look like giant crabs climbing up the sides. Considering that if there were a Jotun force here, ''giant crabs'' would be a fair descriptor...~


    "Fuck! I''ll be there as soon as possible."


    ~There are others en route, but you''re one of the heaviest hitters, and most heavily armored. Just in case, we''re asking them to wait for you. Whatever it is, one of our speedsters; a west coaster named Gale; arrived... and then immediately went radio silent as well. Whatever they are can hurt at least some speedsters... so we''re sending in a drone first, then we''ll be sending in the toughest people we''ve got.~


    He soared up past twenty thousand feet, pushing his powers; the speedometer ticking up into the thousands of miles per hour.... he stopped when the heat warnings on his suits started to spike; he might be able to outrun a SR-71, but his suit wouldn''t survive the experience for long; nor would he, if the suit fell apart. As the distance counter rapidly ticked down, and a new set of coordinates popped up; a meeting point with other heroes, just a few miles from the carrier, one of the escort ships that had reported the problem.


    ~This is Drone Operator Wilkins. I''ve swept the flight deck, cleared out dozens of the crabs from above. Some of the crew are dead, seemingly torn apart by the crabs, but all of them are out of it. I''m getting some interesting readings from the drone; the enemy appears to be deploying a psychic weapon of some sort. The ship has its own drones and built-in defenses, but the men supposedly running it are probably out as well. If someone can get in and hit the override, we can clear the ship remotely with drones, and then search for whatever weapon is doing this. This drone is too big to fit through the doors.~


    Excalibur frowned. "Override?"


    ~The onboard drones are built to ignore remote commands unless they come from the carrier itself. Anti-hacking measure. If someone with enough shielding can bypass it, there''s both flying and wheeled drones to clear things from there.~


    He nodded, as the pacific appeared in the distance ahead; rapidly growing in his vision, along with a marker on his HUD for the navy ship he was headed for. "Should we call in Lightning? He''s immune to psychic effects, right?"


    A different voice emerged. ~If its Jotun, they''d be the only ones who might reasonably have a way to break through that. We''ll assess whose most heavily shielded on-site. They''ll see if they can stand whatever it is; if not, we blast the ship with EMP til the effect stops, then retrieve. If this is psychic, Gale might be in the water in the area. Everyone, please keep eyes on the water; we''d be looking for a bright white and blue suit.~


    When Excalibur saw the ship ahead, with a whole mass of people on-deck; he slowed down; and floated beside the ship, glancing over the assembled team. A few of them were wearing standard black DMA uniforms. Some of them were wearing heavier armor; others just essentially suits; and there were a few in odd, colorful costumes that some marketing division somewhere likely thought would sell. He glanced around at them, looking for key faces; there were three people in the DMA whose psychic resistance was supposed to be better than his armor suit; two of them powerful telepaths themselves.


    "Alright, people. I''m going to do a fly-by at speed. My armor can float... if whatever it is knocks me out, please come get me. If it doesn''t... we''ll see if I can get aboard. Be ready to..." He frowned. One of the naval crew was gripping his head, muttering something.... a few of the newly arrived DMA personnel were also grimacing... "Fuck! We''re within range. Turn around, get away from the carrier! I''ll clear any crabs that might be clinging on."


    No-one seemed to be passed out at this point; but they were definitely uncomfortable, and some of the people seemed to be having a terrible time of it. The boat shifted; but it was clearly going to take some time to turn around.


    A few of them took to the air, even as Excalibur dived down into the water; feeling the uncomfortable pressure; his suit popped up with a depth warning; it wasn''t designed for deep-sea diving, and if he didn''t deactivate it, a set of inflatables would pop out to pull him back to the surface. Rather than deactivate it entirely, he added a two-minute timer... and then turned to survey below the ship, a sonar pulse washing out... and showing dozens of the crabs floating nearby, moving towards the frigate; ranging from just a few feet across to over teen feet across.... and as the sonar bounced back... there were more and more of them. Hundreds. Maybe even thousands, just swarming towards the frigate, and to the carrier.

 Arakiel -17 - Crab Broil

    Excalibur gave a low chuckle, looking at the swarm of crabs; and extended his arms forward; forming a tunnel through the water, hurtling himself through them like a bullet; and when he came to a stop, several hundred meters on the other side... turned around to watch the shockwave... as the crabs; even the ones he had missed; convulsed with the wave of overpressure slamming through them. A few more quick bursts; and the crabs around the frigate were all dead, floating towards the surface; as he pulled himself up out of the water, getting ready to push the frigate further from the carrier, to protect the unshielded crew... only to stop.


    The unprotected crewmen were looking around, confused, readying weapons; and clearly no longer in pain; though the boat was rocking a bit from his underwater shenanigans. He frowned, floating closer.... had he destroyed whatever device was nearby, perhaps it was a smaller one they deployed.... No.


    Excalibur stared at the growing pile of crab corpses left behind the ship, floating on the surface. "...There''s no weapon, or device. The crabs themselves are creating the effect. They''re some sort of bio-engineered Psi-weapon. I bet it gets more intense the more of them are together...." He studied the carrier. "I''m going to make a few passes at speed; enough to kill them just by passing nearby. If whatever it is makes me collapse, just remember to get me."


    He studied the creatures moving on the deck of the carrier. Two of them; at least seven feet tall; were tearing at the flesh of one of the former carrier crew. Undoubtedly hundreds of similar scenes were playing out aboard the craft. "Diving and making my first pass now. Keep an eye on my stats."


    In the doomsday scenarios, Lightning would do something like this, only with air, and run so fast that the air would ignite behind him; letting him destroy entire cities just by running through them. He couldn''t manage such a feat, even if he tried; but he could do quite a bit of damage without even touching a target. He braced himself, focusing on the carrier. He would submerge; pass through the swarm of crabs fast enough to cause lethal shockwaves; and fly up out of the water on the other side.


    He closed his eyes; and dipped back into the water, feeling that strange pressure again. There were no crabs left nearby; but he could see the swarm gathered around the carrier up ahead. He focused, arms outstretched; and moved.


    ***


    Jason knelt atop a blanket laid out on the floor in the Swords HQ, watching the display as it showed the assault on the carrier. One of the flying heroes was retrieving Exalibur''s unconscious form; the second time this year he''d been struck by a mental attack, which might prove to be problematic.


    With the underwater swarm dealt with, he could see a team of flying metahumans; armed with rifles, energy blasts, and one who simply sang and caused crab exoskeletons to burst; sweeping the top of the carrier; and then a trio entering. There were bursts of gunfire; strange shrieking sounds; but some of the men who had appeared to be dead initially were struggling to their feet; albeit looking confused, hurt.


    He exhaled slowly. Okay. They hadn''t needed him. And Excalibur would be fine. If some random, unshielded marine was okay, then someone behind some of the best shielding money can buy would definitely be fine. Unless it was a ''last straw'' sort of situation.... no. It''d be fine.


    By the time the aircraft containing backup arrived; Imperious among them; the situation on the carrier had been dealt with.  The drones hadn''t really been needed; most of the crabs were too big to get very far into the carrier, and the few dozen that weren''t got crushed rapidly. He shook his head as he watched the video... and went back to practicing. There was a pile of glass shards laid out on the table in front of him; a few glasses on his left; and a stack of additional glasses on the right.


    One by one, he was working on moving them from one side to the other; but doing so without breaking them was a challenge. He would regret having decided to go for it... if he didn''t know the potential these irritating little organic field effectors had.  At least his precognition didn''t seem to be on the fritz. Not that he was likely to need that for more than just making sure his training didn''t hurt anyone.


    ***


    "Director... Doctor Disaster is outside. No appointment. He''s insisting he needs to talk to you about the crabs, immediately."


    Thomes glanced down at his desk, then up at the door. "...Hmm. Let him in."  The lunatic had already proven his worth. Perhaps he had a solution... or knew something they didn''t.


    As the door slid open, and the man; wearing a short-sleeved labcoat, arms each covered by a heavy metal gauntlet... stepped in, Thomes frowned for a moment; those things might contain weapons... not that he was worried. He might be old, but he could still handle anything he needed to.


    "Director! I need to speak with you at once! About the crabs, and the people who released them?"


    He gave a slow nod. "People. Some of our people thought they might be Jotun weapons. Something left over from their incursion."


    Disaster grimaced... and glanced back at the door. "...They are a blend of Coconut Crab and Lobster with a few spliced-in genes of electric eels and some wholly artificial genes. There were hundreds of eggs for them in a vat in my lab... that were supposed to be destroyed. I left detailed notes regarding the handling of the materials in the lab. Clearly, labeling something ''feed these through a woodchipper, and then either burn them, feed them to pigs, or dump them in an acid bath'' gave an impication they were dangerous."


    Thomes sighed, resting his head on his hands, leaning forward onto his desk. "...You made them. Crabs that could make psychic attacks. Why?"


    He reached over to a gauntlet, and pulled out a USB cable. "May I?" Thomes stared at it for a moment... and decided he would be replacing his desk after today. He took hold of the cable, and plugged it in. Moments later... a display appeared over the desk, showing what almost, but not quite, looked like a coconut crab; at roughly ten feet tall, with a human beside it for scale.


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    "As you may know, certain kinds of crustaceans grow, and keep growing, theoretically living forever; only finally dying when they molt and are unable to escape their old cast-off shell. By accelerating the metabolism of the coconut crab, and instilling both the molting habits of certain lobsters, as well as key predatory genes to turn them from omnivorous scavengers into hunters, I was trying to  create a species of giant crab that could be used as foot-soldiers or guards. Once they got past about eight feet tall, they would no longer be able to survive on land long-term, and once they got past about twenty, they couldn''t survive in the water, either. So... my plan was to introduce a certain electricity-generating organ, and make them into cyborgs; charging a capacitor that, when they emerged from the water, would pump their blood hard enough to let them fight and move despite their massive size. Even better, the implants would stop the continual growth, resulting in them remaining at roughly ten feet tall; big, impressive, able to fight on land for several hours before needing to rest, or to operate indefinitely underwater."


    Thomes looked at the display; and it showed a small cylinder being implanted behind the crab''s skull, animated, pumping fluid through it. "...You still haven''t said why."


    Disaster sighed. "Partially as a hobby, partially because while I was interested in pushing the limits of genetics and cybernetics, the Cartel wanted monsters to throw at its enemies. They were supposed to be sterilized before being deployed en masse, and only the survivors converted into cyborgs. The Cartel must have acquired them, and released them, seemingly without sterilization. Whatever the crabs are doing.... its a distraction. They''re using them to draw forces away from something else."


    The director slowly slid to his feet. Some random policeman on the southern side of the border could easily have seen them. Decided they were worth something. Sold them to the Cartel. It would certainly explain them going after ships.


    "And the psi attacks? How does that happen?"


    "Pure accident. I wasn''t trying to create those; it just happened. Possibly somehow related to the eel genes, or just a mutation in the original sample."


    Thomes rubbed his face, shaking his head. "Well. That''s useful information, at least. Thank you. I''ll contact you if I need you."


    "Wait! I''ve got a solution. I actually have one for any of my creations, should they go astray, but this would be the first time I ever had to use one." He tapped his gauntlet a few times; and this time, the crab was simply shown starting to molt, freeing itself from its shell; then dying. "I tailored a bacteria to them that will cause the chitin in their exoskeletons to malform when they try to molt. It might cause some secondary effects among other crab species, or even among eels, but we need to produce it, and deploy it, as quickly as possible."


    "Ahh! Well now, that''s useful. I''ll have whatever equipment you need brought down. I wouldn''t worry about the rush, however. We''re diverting traffic away from the area, and the nearby islands should have things handled for now; a few rows of razorwire should be all we need."


    Disaster sighed.. and tapped his gauntlet again. "If there were thousands of adults there, which apparently was the case... there will be hundreds of thousands, or even millions, of juveniles and eggs. Even worse, what if they weren''t dropped there, but the carrier just happened across the edge of their range? We might be looking at hundreds of millions of crabs expanding, causing ecological devastation..... and starting to clamber up onto the shores of mexico and the united states. Until they reach around seven feet, they''re perfectly comfortable with running about and living on land... so we might be seeing an endless tide of crabs pouring out to attack us unless we do something rapidly."


    "...and what if this bacteria of yours creates an even bigger disaster?"


    "At worst, it will kill off more crabs than we want it to. Humans don''t have exoskeletons. We''re not going to have molt issues."


    Thomes nodded... and smiled. "Well then. We''ll start production. We can just consult our resident precognitive about whether to release it or not."


    ***


    Imperious stared at the island below; what had once been a small fishing village where a few boats would stay docked had been wiped out. One of the boats had run aground, crashing through the docks and embedding itself in a local shop; and scattered everywhere she could see, there were crabs. Scattered bits of blood and cloth. A few dead crabs, with an axe embedded into their flesh, or any number of other oddities. A harpoon. A shovel.


    She was surprised they''d been able to fight back as well as they did; from what she saw on the ship, these things were pain just to be near, much less to charge in and lay weapons on. She spent several minutes checking over the island. Not a single living, moving, human soul. Just crabs. They weren''t just eating the people, either; they seemed to be peeling the leaves off of the trees, digging up roots; eating just about anything they could find... and even each other.


    One of the massive corpses, a 10-foot tall behemoth of a crab, with a harpoon embedded in its head, was being devoured by dozens of smaller crabs, tearing it apart. She slowly shook her head... and then spotted something interesting; relatively. One of the larger dead crabs had a whole mass of red marble-sized eggs clinging to it; but the consuming crabs, rather than eating the eggs, seemed to be adhering them to their own shells somehow, collecting them.


    It... was odd behavior. Still.


    She raised her hands to the sky, flail held in one of them, and started focusing. Light magic was always easiest in sunlight; and when handled properly, it could be dramatically effective. She shaped the humidity in the air, and started forming a massive lens, focusing the sunlight; and creating a narrow focal point; a single spot; where a dead crab and its mass of eggs started to steam... and then burn, catching aflame.


    She shaped a second. A third. One by one, she created a series of over a dozen of the temporary magical constructs; each of which created a path of random burning death and destruction across the island; setting buildings ablaze, cooking crabs; by the end of it, nearby watchers would have seen the entire island ablaze. Sometimes she fed a bit of magic into it to make it a visible pillar of light, just to make things look cool to the viewers at home; but there was no-one to impress here. Just.... pest control.


    At some point, the crabs further inland started trying to escape; she focused several of the lights onto the most direct paths off of the island, out to the beach; letting the creatures cook themselves in their attempt to reach the safety of the ocean; and near the end, the innermost part of the beach had turned into a pool of molten sand, the creatures shrieking in pain as they fell through it; doomed even should they manage to reach the water at that point.


    She stared at the remnants, dissatisfied. Sure, she''d killed thousands of the things; and could kill many more. But this scale of nonsense was, unfortunately, beyond her. She needed to call in an expert. She sighed, and hooked her flail up to her waist, carefully opening an armored pouch to reveal her cell phone; and tapping a button to shut off the comms she shared with the local naval forces. "Hey, mom. I''ll talk to my bosses about it, but... I think I''ve got something thats more than just a US thing. Would you mind calling Loki? I think he and his dad might need to get involved on this one, its.... bad."

 Arakiel -18 - Large-scale Problems and Solutions

    When Jason arrived at Disaster''s lab, deep beneath the DMA, he was surprised to see Director Rhodes inside; talking to the scientist as he tapped away at a keyboard. The room was filled with numerous transparent tanks, mostly just holding liquids, though a few had some of the giant spider corpses from Mexico floating suspended within. He almost started to approach one to examine it; he hadn''t looked at the horrible things that closely down south; before Thomes called out. "Arakiel! Come on over. We won''t take much of your time. Just have a question for you."


    He shook his head for a moment. He generally tried to keep things separate; when he was wearing the armor in the field, it was Arakiel. At the moment, he was wearing a ''uniform''; simple black fabric with a rank badge and his last name and callsign... which was weird, in that it wasn''t a rank he was familiar with... but it was his rank. He stepped up to the two men, glancing at the computer Disaster was working on; something about ''propagation'', followed by about a thousand lines of text Jason didn''t understand.


    Thomes stared at the computer for a moment, frowning. "We haven''t really talked much, have w, mister Bennet?"


    "Ahh... no, sir. I believe they were avoiding contact to try not to contaminate test results?"


    He nodded. "Well. To be honest, we''re still not sure how your powers work. Not a hundred percent. But we''ve got enough data not to worry about the tests anymore; its pretty clear we''re not going to get any more significant results until we''ve got a solution for the Jotun... and at the very least, you should be giving us reliable results out for the next few years. So."


    Disaster was watching the director, frowning. The goggles on his face seemed to be blinking; was he watching some sort of read-out on the director himself?


    Thomes glanced at Disaster. "Go for it."


    The doctor sighed, and held up... a simple glass tube containing a murky liquid; like an oddly designed water bottle. "This cylinder of greenish liquid here. It contains a bacteria that''s optimized to kill those crabs. Should spread across the ocean''s surface, cling to the crabs, who all leave the ocean at some point during their life cycle, and return to shallow water to lay eggs. The Director is worried it might be able to mutate to humans, or cause dramatic environmental damage. I assured him, at worst, it would harm a handful of non-human species. He seems sure you can tell whether its a bad idea to release."


    Arakiel extended a hand, taking the cylinder; and put a hand on the screw-on top. He could open it, easily enough. And it felt.... like a good idea. "Hmm. It feels like I should open it. If I imagine pouring it on you, or myself, it doesn''t feel like a problem, but it does seem as if drinking it would be a bad idea."


    "Oh, good lord, it would taste, and feel, horrifying. It''s a base organic solution made to help the bacteria multiply. It wouldn''t kill you, but you drink it down and it''ll overwhelm your gut biome and put you in the bathroom for days."


    Arakiel nodded. "Well. Pouring it on myself and you two, or even into my mouth and spitting it out, doesn''t feel bad. So.. qualified yes. If we''re right about my powers, if there''ll be any negative consequences, they won''t be until after my powers can''t reach."


    "Excellent." He sighed. "We''re already getting reports of them washing up on beaches along the pacific coast. Thankfully only a few dozen casualties on the beaches, after god knows how many on the boats; these things aren''t bullet-proof, and their abilities only extend at most a few hundred meters when they''re in a swarm. Our people are going to be stretched thin for a few days, as are the Mexicans... so undoubtedly the Cartel will be making their move, soon. If they haven''t already. Did they tell you what they wanted a distraction for?"


    Disaster glanced up at Thomes''s comment. "Ehh. I thought they were trying to setup a smuggling operation, burying some guide lines underwater, or maybe running some interference for a prison break. There weren''t supposed to be this many crabs; just a few hundred, or a few thousand, and sterilized. This looks less like a criminal operation and more like one of those ''conquer the world'' nutjobs took over a cartel. Or maybe just a ''conquer mexico''."


    "Hmm. Well. Steven needs some practice with his new abilities... granted, from his perspective he might have already had weeks of practice. I''ll see if the Mexican president would be fine with Lightning going down and clearing out the Cartels. He''s been leery of that sort of thing in the past, but finding out they''ve unleashed a swarm of killer crabs and might be gearing up to take the country could be what it''d take to change his mind."


    ***


    It would be days later before he trusted himself, and his mastery over his own abilities, enough to actually head out to the front lines. All down the Pacific coast, mostly along the California coast on both the US and Mexico sides, scattered attacks kept happening; crabs would emerge, swarm up the coast, and generally cause a few casualties before either simply collapsing, unable to keep moving, or being intercepted and shot.


    When he finally flew out; against Excalibur''s wishes, the veteran hero insisting that there''s no way he could be ready in only three days; it would be to visit a temporary shelter not far from the coast; drones were constantly patrolling the shores and passing on notice that crabs were showing up; and quick response teams were heading out. Hundreds of national guardsmen with rifles were simply camped out in prefabbed towers with rifles, just watching the sand; while others were driving back and forth to deal with larger swarms.


    The parking lot was... amusing. A long row of massive steel drums set on fires, with the smell of... crabs. They were cooking crabs. He laughed, and hopped down; carefully slowing himself to land easily before stepping up to one of the fires; Imperious and Silver both standing beside the drum, cracking open shells and dumping cooked lumps of crab meat onto platters; while, for the first time, he got to witness Terminal eat; the young woman speedster sitting down on a chair visibly stuffing crab into her mouth impossibly fast as the two team-mates worked on it.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Despite the ongoing catastrophe, the atmosphere was jovial. Imperious was wearing a bikini and sarong, seeming relaxed, looking as perfectly fit and tanned as only a shapeshifter or plastic surgery miracle could, while Silver was wearing a tank-top and shorts; the only one in uniform, aside from Arakiel himself, was Terminal.


    "...Goddamn. I knew speedsters ate tons of calories, but that''s impressive!"


    Imperious blinked, glancing over at him. "Oh, hey!" She smiled, and leaned over to kiss his helmet, smoothly pop it off, and then kiss his cheek, before setting it down and turning back to the crabs. "She''s got an accelerated metabolism in every way. If she were allowed into a hotdog eating contest, she''d join two at once and win them both. Help us shell these things. They''re delicious, and have tons of meat in them, but the shells are just crazy tough."


    He laughed, glancing down at his helmet. There was a crowd gathered round; some of them seeming somber and miserable, while others were also embracing the party atmosphere; he could see a man with a sledgehammer cracking open crab shells, and shrugged; lifting a 4-foot-long crab claw out of the drum of boiling water, and sliding one finger down its length; telekinetically cracking it from end to end, depositing the shell in a pile nearby. "So, what are we doing with the shells?" The meat looked... strange. The familiar white-red of cooked crab, but thicker than a child''s arm and coming out in 2-foot-long strips. He added the meat to a pile, and kept going.


    "Fertilizer. It all gets crushed and added in, Disaster is assuring us that they''re fine, and the other scientists agree, so..... if they weren''t breeding in such huge numbers, and didn''t have the whole psi thing, they''d be a good thing. People are already getting sick of crab."


    A soft chuckle as he picked up a good rhtythm, cracking and discarding shells. "So... where''s Excalibur and Cascade?"


    Silver glanced up. "We''re on backup duty. The National Guard and the Navy have this, for the most part; we just go in when a swarm gets to big. Those two are dealing with a fairly nasty one right now, but really... its all Cascade. Excalibur just gets her in the general area... and the crabs just pop like firecrackers. The woman scares me sometimes, makes me glad she''s on our side."


    Arakiel shrugged. "She controls water. Unless you''re a robot, everybody should be damn scared of her. How many people scarier than her are out there?"


    Imperious tilted her head thoughtfully. "Well, the sun and moon twins, obviously. Lightning and Steven. Did you hear, he''s considering going by Thunder now?"


    Arakiel blinked. "Ahhh, hell. Thunder comes after Lightning? Didn''t they say that in that Cars movie?"


    "Everybody''s tried to talk him out of it. Even Lightning; he''s the one who can probably do it. Those two were already close, and its gotten even more intense since he was... cured. Speaking of which..." She set down her own most recent crustacean victim.


    "How''s the new you doing? Everything you wanted it to be?"


    He looked down at his arm, focusing for a moment. He couldn''t see them, but the fields were projecting out away from his hand; he could move and shift the air in a way that he couldn''t feel or perceive unless he moved his other hand in. "Honestly, its crazy. The only reason I''m comfortable moving around is because of my... ESP. If I didn''t have it... I have no clue how Excalibur was able to deal with it. But.... it''s incredible. I can fly, without the jets. I can throw a baseball a few miles. Stop a bullet in midair. Just awesome. I feel like Neo."


    She rolled her eyes. "Well. Excalibur didn''t want you out here, but here you are. If we get another swarm, you can tag along. Just be careful. Don''t overextend yourself."


    He set an arm over her shoulder, giving her a brief squeeze. "No worries. I got this."


    ***


    Arakiel had expected to meet a swarm in some exciting capacity. There would be an endless tide, they''d need to erect barricades, there would be a struggle, gunfire... but no.


    A half hour ago, they''d been called in by a guardsman, and settled in on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean... and after a few minutes, the swarm had arrived. Imperious had flown up and started creating some sort of weird refractive light balls.... and then lasers had started to slide across the beach, leaving trails of molten glass and dead crabs; and the ones who followed were slowed or injured by the molten sections.


    For his own purposes, he simply... grabbed a rock... crunched it into gravel... and launched it, shotgun-style, into any clusters that weren''t being intercepted by lasers. One fist-sized rock would fragment... and leave dozens of dead crabs.


    At first, there was a certain excitement to it. The crabs weren''t slow, after all, and they were huge, and dangerous if allowed to get close... but after the first few minutes... it became dull. Boring.


    Silver and a few squads of national guardsmen were sitting in camp chairs, rifles in hand, just watching, in case they missed any... but as the piles of dead crabs kept forming, it slowed down the others... making them walk into fewer, more narrow paths... making it even easier to kill them with the beams of death or scattered chunks of rock.


    By the time the swarm ended, he''d defaced the cliff enormously, tearing off a piece at a time to use for ammunition... but the soldiers hadn''t had to fire a shot, and there were thousands of crab corpses piled up.


    He stared out over the field; if Disaster''s bacteria was already at work, most of the crabs were already dead. This was as big a threat as the crabs would ever be. He glanced at the other soldiers, then up at Imperious, who settled down on the cliff beside him. "This... is somehow disappointing. I expected worse. Much, much worse. Didn''t Disaster''s projections show millions of the things, eating all the sea life, then pouring up the coast in a hideous brown-orange tide, until the bacteria started catching them, and they just collapsed? We should''ve been dealing with a swarm a mile wide, coming in like a wave and approaching us from every direction."


    The silver armor gleamed as she settled in, and gave a low chuckle. "It should definitely be worse. Far, far worse. They mostly like to come ashore at night, and my powers aren''t nearly as effective when I don''t have sunlight to augment. But, well. We called in some backup, and we''ve been able to mostly relax at night while some friends handle most of the work. And its almost done, so even if they left now... it would all be good."


    "....Backup? One of the other strike teams?"


    "Oh, no. Extended family. Odin and Loki dropped by, while you were still learning your powers, and a handful of Valkyries. They and Terminal honestly got just about the whole thing handled; about the only thing we really needed Disaster''s little mess for was to help keep them from wiping out all the sea life."


    He blinked. "Wait. Odin was here? Like... Allfather Odin, norse god?"


    "Sure. He''s actually having a bit of a feast not too far north; not so much crabs, apparently he''s not so fond of them; but he does a ritual at sunset each night. We can go say hi if you''d like."


    "...I would love to. I mean... it''s Odin! Who wouldn''t want to meet him?"

 Arakiel -19 - Norse Gods

    The ritual site looked... fairly ordinary, from a distance. A simple chunk of stone, some sort of strange giant orb with a mirrored finish sitting beside it, and a handful of armored people standing around, chatting; next to a giant pyre, a pillar of smoke rising into the sky from an enormous pile of crab shells. Three women wearing what looked like golden plate armor were pouring buckets of... well. Crab blood, it seemed; onto the rock, while a massive, bearded man in a fairly bulky armor suit stood in the center, studying it; and a four-armed man in a black cloak held a glowing object in one hand, talking to the bearded man.


    When Imperious and Arakiel settled down; Arakiel realizing he was the faster flier, now, and grinning beneath his helmet; Imperious shifted; remaining mostly humanoid, but the wings twisted, becoming a second pair of arms; and walking beside Arakiel as they approached.


    The bearded man hopped off of the stone, leaving the other four working, and smiled at the two; he had an eye-patch, a full, dark beard, and studied Imperious for a moment. "You know. Almost all of my Valkyries are human, aside from a couple of Loki''s daughters and some of those I''ve adopted over the centuries. Most members of your race who grew up on earth are impressive enough, but you are truly an exceptional example. Are you interested in becoming one?"


    Imperious blinked... glancing at the stone, Loki, and the three golden-armored women. "I prefer to defend the here and now, rather than endlessly train for Ragnarok. But I appreciate the offer. I was interested in seeing the ritual up close, and my boyfriend here is a fan of yours, wanted to meet. Honestly, I was always more a fan of Loki.." She glanced over again. "The sort of tricks and nonsense he pulled over the years..."


    Odin gave a slow nod. "Well. It''s one of the more advanced works I''ve ever done, and certainly one of the largest scale. But I''m not certain how well it will translate for a specialist in Light magic. Thor, if he were still around, would''ve loved it." He walked towards the stone.. and glanced at Arakiel. "Oh, and welcome, mister Bennet. I''ve almost welcomed you to Valhalla several times in the past, but you keep struggling on and fighting another day. I believe a few of my Valkyries actually grew fond of you over the years; you would have had a warm welcome if you''d ended up there."


    He blinked. "....Wait. Valhalla is real? Are you... I thought you were just an incredibly old, powerful, wise human?"


    Odin stepped onto the edge of the stone; carefully avoiding the enormous glyph the Valkyries were filling with blood. "My Valkyries, contrary to some beliefs, don''t just spend all day partying with the fallen and training for Ragnarok. They harvest the spirits of dead warriors, freshly fallen in battle, take them to Valhalla, where they can gather strength and train for the last battle. When that arrives, I will blow my horn, the gates will open, and every fallen soul, whether they''ve gathered it or not, will return for one final fight, for the fate of the world; or for vengeance, should it have fallen."


    He carefully controlled the fields his body was generating; lifting himself to quietly settle beside the larger man. "... I used to consider myself a christian. Not sure what I believe anymore. But... it''s a bit hard to argue with someone who, if I were to call him a liar, would probably just send me to see it myself."


    Imperious wrapped two arms around Arakiel. "Relax. Christians might actually be right. Jesus was definitely a real person, and a good one, though whether he was the son of god is up for debate. Valhalla is a real, physical object. A powerful magical device, the most powerful one ever made that I''m aware of. Plenty of people understand the runes that were used to shape it, but nobody understands just how Odin powers such a thing. You could consider it a... benevolent sort of necromancy, only holding on to souls that are willing to be held onto."


    Odin nodded. "Well. This rune is the core, the power behind the whole ritual." He gestures down. "Aside from the enormous scale involved, its fairly simple. Any time something crosses the line, lightning strikes; restoring the line and crushing whatever it is, and anything nearby. The blood of those it kills helps to empower it, and during the day, we can sacrifice those stragglers that come up to help it further."


    Arakiel stared at the stone, and the three women carefuly ensuring every bit of the sigils carved into it was covered in crab-blood. "...You had our speedsters help you turn the whole coast into one giant bug-zapper. A magical weapon hundreds of miles across."


    He shrugged. "I''ve been doing this a long, long time. When I was first learning how to do these things, it was in an age where Cronos would make something by ordering an entire city, every man woman and child, executed to power a new device. He killed ten million people to craft an orb that would create a pleasant, hot, rain to cleanse himself under. Something like this... would have been trivial to him."


    "Oh. You know... there''s a dig up in Canada, that we retrieved a few artifacts from; some criminals brought them down here, and they ended up being shipped back north with some Artificer guy. These little rods that manipulate emotions. Know anything about that one?"


    Odin blinked. "That.... would be the master control array. We buried it, long, long ago... but Cronos had spent centuries building it. Essentially, it was an array of dozens of little levers, each themselves incredibly powerful, that, when working together, would let someone create a world-wide emotional effect. He used it to make everyone fear him; I''m not certain any of the other levers were extensively used. Unfortunately, that was all it could do; while the array was incredibly powerful with all the pieces united, all they could do was cause emotions. Granted... destroying it, the individual pieces could be used for all sorts of things."


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    "Huh. I wonder if the boss knew that when he returned the levers to the Canadians. Might have wanted to keep some, split them up, for safekeeping"


    The one-eyed god studied the glyph at his feet. "You know. I planned to go back home after another couple of nights. We should already be past the worst of it. Perhaps I should head up to Canada, and check things out. Make sure nothing drastic happens. Explain things to them."


    A soft crackle of static. ~Swords, this is Bravo. You''ve got incoming on a  ballistic trajectory. Two objects; one looks like it''ll hit a few seconds before the other, less than half a mile out. From the speed and size... its Valkyrie. And she''s throwing something ahead of her, picking it up, and following after.~


    Arakiel held one hand against his helmet, blinking. "Ohhhhh, fuck. Is she coming to help for some reason? Do we have any comms?"


    ~Negative. All we know is she''s moving fast, and will be there in less than a minute.~


    He turned to Odin. "Sir! We''ve got incoming. The titan, Valkyrie.." He gave a look back at the three golden-armored women. "She''s en route. No idea why she''s headed this way, but she''s coming fast, and bringing something along. We might need to protect the... spell?"


    Odin gave a slow nod. "It would be easy enough for her to disrupt it, even by accident. Valkyries, son. Stabilize the rune, please. I''ll go greet our guest."


    He reached down to his belt, hand sliding into a pouch; after a moment, he slid something free that wasn''t there before; a short-handled warhammer with a gradual wedge shape and an almost-pointed tip; and hung it from his belt. He left it there, as he stepped away from the stone... as, a few seconds later, a large white orb slammed into the dirt... bounced... and landed perhaps two hundred yards away.


    Details were impossible to make out, but it didn''t seem to be a weapon; there was no explosion. And then... an impact. A cloud of dust filled the air as a massive woman; powerfully built, wearing what looked like a black leather biker''s outfit; but no-one involved was foolish enough to think was all it was. She walked up to the white orb... as it suddenly tore itself apart... and a man emerged. Just as tall as the woman, broad-shouldered, enormous, also wearing black leather; and he scrambled around in what looked like an enormous pile of white materials; mattresses? Pillows? Until he emerged with what appeared to be a giant sword.


    The two started to head for the beach, as the sun set... Arakiel and Imperious, her wings having reformed while he wasn''t looking, stepped forward to Odin''s right; nobody was certain why Valkyrie was here... but it didn''t promise anything pleasant.


    ***


    It had been a fairly pleasant fall, so far. Hate wasn''t too concerned about the temperatures, even as they dropped...but he was concerned about their impact on the dig. If the snow started to pile up, they might delay til next year; and they were almost done.


    As he studied the excavation, he noted the spots where they still had work to do to bring the array back to light; and the spots where archaeologists were carefully dusting off debris. There were soldiers; armed men with rifles, and likely even a metahuman somewhere in there; guarding the site... but Hate wasn''t worried about them.


    The three levers were back in place. The Artificer had been given entry, and helped put the array back into order... except for one final piece. The diggers had no way of knowing that the monoliths they were uncovering were key to the array''s operation, and that as soon as they had all of them unburied, it would be ready; but now that Hate understood things.... the moment it was ready, he could move in. Turn the locals against each other; let them butcher each other in an enraged frenzy; and then he could simply waltz in, replace his lever... and turn the whole world to his own purposes. Make that enraged frenzy global, perhaps? Or fear? There was enormous potential. But really... the hate would be the key. It would let him cause so many deaths at once, on a scale greater than even a nuke...


    He turned back to the forest surrounding the dig site, and looked for his opening.... there. He stepped up to the tree, which appeared to be perfectly normal; and placed his hand just so.


    One moment, there was a massive, black-armored figure standing in the forest... the next... he was inside a room. Far away... and yet nowhere at all. The chamber was the size of a warehouse, and what had been stored in it was unknown... but at present... it had his ''home''.


    Clearly added in after the fact, prefabricated metal and polymer pieces formed a few small structures inside the space. There was stored food and water, a small garden that was slowly expanding as he added dirt and more seeds in the center; and of course, a series of small shacks, simple things made of polymer bricks fused together.


    He opened the first door, examining the man inside. He was a teenager; barely a man at all; and currently hanging by his wrists and ankles, blood dripping to the floor, pooling in a tub. He examined the man for a moment. Almost dead. Not quite. But...


    He calmly slit the man''s throat. There was a gurgle. He twitched, as he tried to fight, tried to do anything, really, to escape his predicament. He''d lost his clothes, his freedom, his dignity... and now his life, all for purposes that seemed impossible to understand, at the hands of an impossibly strong armored monster... who was studying something in the pool of blood beneath him, and giving a slow nod. "This... will do. I won''t be able to harvest it all from such a distance, but if the array can connect me to the whole world at once..." He smiled at the corpse. "I can let half of them... or two thirds... die. And become just unstoppably powerful. Even the titans would need to destroy the earth itself to stop me."


    But of course.... it was still possible someone could try to stop him. He dragged the tub of blood out of the room, leaving only traces behind, and casually poured it into the fire at the center of the chamber. The smell was awful; and the amount of iron this process would produce was insignificant. But each tiny sliver would help make the armor he would be using even stronger. And no-one would know what he was doing until it was far too late.


    Hate considered where to move the door. He only had a few beacons placed... but he needed to harvest more bodies, before the final showdown. He carefully adjusted the pillar at the center of the chamber, twisting it into just the right position; and the chamber vanished. He was no longer there, nor was he in Canada... but somewhere in Asia.


    He collected the beacon; the tiny glowing orb easily placed, and the glowing would stop once it was activated; and activated his GPS. He needed to find somewhere he could collect a fair number of people to sacrifice; or something he could use to help defend the array until it was done. He currently seemed to be in China; he studied the borders. North Korea would prove an easy source of fodder to feed into rituals to augment his power... if he were careful, he could empty out an entire village without being noticed. The only question being, how to get there unnoticed, considering the border was watched by both sides.


    He felt his chest, hand centered on the blue glow over the location of the Hate rod. It would be trivial enough.

 Arakiel -20 - Gods and Titans

    The sun had set; the ritual complete... and the massive, leather-clad woman surveyed the scene, looking around, nodding slowly. "Lets see now. The angel, I know. Imperious. The man in silver... the new guy, Arakiel."


    She turned to the three golden-armored women, the massive armored man, and the slender six-limbed figure... who seemed to be wearing some sort of skin-tight armor. Or possibly to be a bug person.. and frowned. "Obviously, I know Odin and his Valkyries. Not you, though. Still. Odin. You probably know who I am."


    Odin laughed, and nodded, stepping forward. "Of course, of course. The mighty Valkyrie. Pinkerton''s Doom. The Titan of fury, the Amazon Juggernaut, and the bad-ass bitch of the midwest. You know, I think you''re the reason they kept Lightning stationed out in this part of the country, for all the good it would do them."


    Valkyrie chuckled. "An amusing string of titles compared to the Allfather, the Titanslayer, the Archmage...I wonder who is more feared, between the two of us? But then..." She looked around. Aside from the man beside her, all of the gathering appeared to be wary; ready to fight her, or, more likely, flee at the drop of a hat. "I suspect that might be evident. Still. I''d like to have a word, in private, if you wouldn''t mind. I have a favor I''d like to ask of you, and am willing to offer one in return."


    "Well. I need to stay here for now, while the ritual persists. It''s fairly active at present... and my efforts might be needed."


    Suddenly, a bright flash; a few seconds later, a thundercrack. Another. A third. The dark sky seemed suddenly lit up with a lightning storm of epic proportions.


    Valkyrie and the man both watched the storm... there hadn''t even been clouds there moments before; she frowned. "..What the hell is that? Storm summoning of some sort?"


    The slender, insectoid-looking man stepped forward. "A fairly complex ritual, fed by the blood of those it kills, to generate just the right conditions in the air... to both deepen the trench each time it''s activated, and to call down a lightning bolt, killing both the crab that triggered it, and anyone else nearby. Unfortunately, it might also kill any people foolish enough to try crossing it; but there''s radio warnings, Lightning and Terminal posted signs... still. A several hundred mile span of, effectively, the deadliest electric fence you''ve ever imagined."


    She nodded. "Hmm. Interesting. Useful. I suppose that would serve as a good barrier to incoming swarms." She turned to Imperious. "Can you and the new guy back off for a bit, let me talk to the Allfather and his people? Nothing personal against you.... but I don''t trust you, your bosses, or any of those folk."


    Imperious slid her hand down to her flail. Using it against Valkyrie would be useless, except that she could keep the woman blind, unable to strike effectively. But..."...Fine. Come on. We can watch the lightning from up there." She extended a hand to Arakiel... who, after a moment''s hesitation, followed, alighting atop the cliff beside the angel.


    ***


    Imperious sat back on the cliff, looking out at the ocean; and the random flashes of lightning in the distance. The boom of thunder. It kept happening; it was rare to see even ten seconds pass without a lightning strike at this point. There was a light rain starting, and the strange almost strobe effect of the barrage of lightning cast a strange light over the landscape as Arakiel settled down beside her, watching the group in the distance.


    He glanced at her. "What do you think this is about? Honestly I don''t think I ever heard of Valkyrie meeting any of the Olympians. Is Odin one of them?"


    She glanced over at the group. "Loki and I are sharing perceptions of it. If its something that influences the country as a whole, I''ll report it back in... but honestly, I don''t think its going to be. Apparently its a family matter; she''s looking to Odin for advice on someone to help raise a super-powered kid who is becoming a spoiled brat."


    Arakiel blinked... and took off the helmet, setting it on the stone beside them. "That''s.... crazy. Who would go to Odin for parenting advice?"


    She glanced back at him. "Some of Odin''s children... all adopted, he apparently became infertile when he gained his powers... have grown to become great heroes. Some saved millions of lives. Others changed the course of nations. Not the worst one to come to for advice. Loki would be more of a mixed bag. Tons of kids, most of whom turned into mischevious little scamps or adventurers and ended up leaving earth at some point."


    "What''s with the bug-like form?"


    "Ahhh. A Battle-form. I can''t get heavier or lighter, but if I wanted, I could condense myself down, make myself thinner, make something like that... a diamond-hard outer shell. In most of the stories, he''s wielding four spears at once, each of which has some sort of ranged magical attack built into it, and just... well. Not most of the stories. For some reason, most of the stories involve him and his adopted brother dressing up like women and playing just absolutely terrible pranks on people. I don''t know if its true, but supposedly, before he died, Loki and Thor did one where they pranked some king, and Loki pranked Thor at the same time. I always wanted to hear those stories from the horses mouth, as it were." She chuckled.


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    "I think the biggest of his kids was this  over 1000-pound monster of a shifter named Sleipnir, who played along with his dad for an epic prank. The story goes, Sleipnir pretended to just be a giant eight-legged horse for years, managed to evade suspicion for several battles... but was constantly playing little pranks on Odin when he was asleep or busy. Odin had this pouch that could hold a whole inn''s worth of goods; he gave Thor and Loki their own, as well; and every time Odin got home, he emptied it out and left it at the threshold. Those things aren''t allowed in Valhalla, for some reason."


    "Anyways! I''m not sure how true it is, but supposedly, Sleipnir pretended to be Odin while he was passed out drunk, slept with a couple of extremely willing local girls, slipped them into that pouch while they slept... and Odin slid them out, unknowing, in front of Freya."


    Arakiel laughed. "That.... Hell, did Odin kill him? What did he do?"


    "At first, there was confusion. Freya kicked Odin''s ass. Then apparently realized what happened, and kicked Sleipnir''s ass. No clue what happened from there."


    "...We need to ask. You know, I never really read up on the Norse gods, just the Greek ones. These guys just sound more... fun."


    Imperious watched the group on the shoreline by the rune, frowning. "I suppose so.  Hopefully we aren''t about to lose one. Someone as strong as Valkyrie, and with Loki around... he might do something stupid to exactly the wrong person."


    ***


    "So, that''s about it. I just don''t have it in me to beat the boy the way he needs in order to get him into the right shape, and I need someone he can respect to help deal with this. I''m willing to help you make some neutronium, kill someone, whatever. Obviously I''m in to help with Ragnarok regardless. But... my parents were good, working folk, and I still turned out like this. The lord knows how Butch could turn out without a strong hand."


    Odin had long since put the hammer away; a weapon that, while unlikely to hurt her, might have been able to toss her miles away; or even into orbit, with magical assistance; and driven the spear into the ground, leaning against it.


    "I understand. Honestly, if you''d come to me after Ragnarok was over, I''d be willing to take him in myself. Assuming, of course, we''d won. In the meantime, I''m constantly running around making preparations...Who does he respect? What would make him actually listen?"


    "Deadly people, really. He respects the strongest, deadliest people out there, ones who can handle him in a fight, who''ve proven themselves."


    After a moment, the six-armed form of Loki stepped up, and put a hand on Odin''s shoulder. The insectoid form was gone, back to the oddly-proportioned, inhuman face it had worn previously over the robed form; which now seemed to have become a dark blue in color. "Not all of us are so busy, and the last of my children has gone out on their own, years ago. I certainly wouldn''t mind taking him under my wing for a while. Show him a few threats of a scale beyond his imagining. Perhaps even beat him around a bit if I need to prove myself."


    Valkyrie stared down at Loki for a few seconds, and blinked. "...I mean.... he has heard of you. If it were your brother, Thor, I''d think he''d jump at the idea."


    "Hmph. It''s amusing how the one who died in battle is still the one seen to be a better warrior."


    Odin clapped Loki on the shoulder. "We both know that in an honest fight, he''d have beaten you. But that there''d never have been such a thing. If the two of you ever truly had to fight... well. If it had been you to kill him, and not the Jotun, I''d hate having to put you down."


    Loki smiled. "Just how strong is he? Can he pick up a car? A building? Bulletproof? Invulnerable?"


    Valkyrie shrugged. "Stronger than a dozen men. Able to pick up a car and carry it, though it tires him quickly."


    "How about we do it a bit differently. Arrange a fight between us. When he loses, tell him you''re asking me to teach him how to fight. We''ll take a trip to Valhalla, he can meet some of the greatest masters of warfare the world has ever known."


    "...Fine. Don''t kill him. And make sure its an impressive showing, not just a trick. If you do kill him... I might not be able to find you, but I will destroy everything you''ve ever known or cared about."


    ***


    When Valkyrie and Loki had left, Imperious fell asleep, leaning against Arakiel''s side. He could hear her snoring, faintly, as he watched the constant storm... though it seemed to be dying down. There must have been an initial surge... and then the crabs had slowed down. Still. There would be a horrible mess of dead crabs and shattered bits of shell and meat all down the coastline come morning... the smell would be horrifying.


    He gently laid Imperious down, laying beside her, looking up into the surprisingly clear sky, at the stars.


    Somewhere out there, there was a fleet of Jotun. Thousands of them; so many humanity couldn''t possibly have built a counter, even if they''d started the day the fleet was launched. Millions of ground troops, each of them the equivalent of a low-grade speedster, and with heavy armor and weaponry that for humans was considered top of the line; the plasma rifle he bore was a copy, and not quite perfected at that, of a Jotun weapon.


    Apollo... an ancient god who could see the future... had spent thousands of years working to arrange a battle whose sole purpose was to keep the Jotun here until the Emperor arrived.... so that they could both be taken out at once, ensuring the safety of the colonies which would be launching soon. His own emergence had dramatically impacted those plans; and now, the future was uncertain. His powers, at first a blessing, that had let him just think about something, anything, he could do, and immediately know if it was a good idea...


    Now they were useless, past the next day or two. As if nothing he did after tomorrow would matter. He glanced at Imperious; their relationship had been fairly casual, so far. She''d gotten a bit emotional when he and Disaster had been talking about the treatment; but had seemed to accept his ready confidence it would work fine.


    Ever since the first vision, where he''d foreseen his own death, and that of Apollo... he''d kept a dose of the psilocybin on hand. Obviously, he couldn''t risk getting addicted; assuming the stuff was addictive. But he really needed to see just where things ended for him, now. Was his power acting like this because he wasn''t thinking about the right choices... or was it because he was about to die? Was the world about to end?


    He closed his eyes, relaxing, and carefully slid the pill under his helmet, against his lips, before resealing his helmet. Last time, he''d gone into a trance for a few minutes, and everything had been fine. Hopefully now would be the same. He chewed for a moment... and swallowed. The world faded to black.

 Arakiel -21 - Darker than Expected

    Arakiel grumbled as he flew northward, unexpectedly quickly, yes; but the speed wasn''t what bothered him; the six-limbed shapeshifter sitting on his back did, his current form bearing a distinct resemblance to a spider. "Seriously, you didn''t have a single soul who could destroy this place, in all this time? Why wouldn''t you, if it was this dangerous?"


    Loki gripped on tightly. His own enchantments augmented existing flight speed; and by default, the metahuman could now fly far faster than he... which was uncomfortably fast. "Until our re-emergence in the public light a few decades ago, we didn''t really intervene in mortal affairs... even outside the US. We pretended to be... normal. Mount Olympus was a doomed, probably toxic and deadly mountain. Valhalla was nonexistant except in myth. Sightings of Valkyries harvesting the dead were hallucinations. A long-term, concerted effort could have... we just didn''t consider it important. Apollo told us that, barring the unforeseen, nothing would even happen here, and until recently his predictions have been spot-on. Somehow this is another consequence of you two intervening in the future."


    He could see the glow in the distance; and the sudden descent of a black speck, a sudden puff of dust into the sky as if something had slammed into the ground. Nice. Looks like Valkyrie had beat them there; she could handle things before they even showed up. Plan B for the win. Just a few miles more and he could see what she did to the poor bastard. He''d be there in less than...


    A sudden boom. The earth shook, a shockwaves expanded out from that glowing arrangement... and he could just barely make out that same black speck hurtling back upwards... he looked up to trace its ascent... his HUD interfacing the the friendly canadian sattelite network. That was.... Valkyrie. And she was traveling well beyond escape velocity. Which meant... it was a one-way trip, unless someone out there could grab her. "Ahhh, fuck. There went plan B."


    He dropped low. He''d been hoping, deep down, that Odin and company would have solved this. And if not? Obviously Valkyrie, pissed off as she was, would clean house. Whoever Butcher was, his death had ensured that the rage hit her even stronger than most... but it was directed at the right target, thank god. If it hadn''t been, they all would''ve been very quickly... well. Valkyried? If anyone deserved to be a verb, it was her.


    But... it hadn''t turned out that way. "Okay. Since it''s still glowing, plan A failed. Valkyrie currently headed into orbit means plan B failed. With Odin probably dead, that makes you the next best magic expert we''ve got. What''s plan C?"


    As they settled to the earth, just outside the crater, Loki dropped off of Arakiel''s back, settling to the ground.


    "Okay. Let me get a feel of it. Odin thought he had turned the whole thing into a power siphon, of sorts, and it was why he was doing it; turn himself into the closest thing to a god by killing a few million humans... only it got out of hand."


    The insectoid-seeming, six-limbed figure made a series of gestures, and drew out a set of small green gems; tossing them into the air. One by one, they vanished; after the third, he glanced down. An overhead view of the surroundings appeared in the dirt; including the uncovered Control Array, just a few hundred meters away, all of its internal components glowing; one of them only partially exposed.


    "Olympia, this is Loki. The target hit the Titan hard enough to knock her into the void. Need you to retrieve her immediately. Anyone not on that needs to come here. Me and Arakiel are going to give this a shot, but I don''t give us good odds. The target, he''s..." He tilted his head. "Honestly not the best at this. It''s one of the dirtiest, weakest power siphons I''ve ever seen. But.... it''s connected him to the entire planet, and the death toll is probably in the billions by now considering the intensity of the rage effect. I''m going to redirect the siphon to myself, and improve it, suck the juice back out of him; and then we''re going to kick his ass. Maybe. More likely, since he''s already got enough life force to kick a Titan into orbit with ease, we''re gonna die before we get that done."


    Arakiel nodded along as Loki spoke.. and crawled to the edge of the excavation. He could see the central structure; a few armored limbs laying in pools of blood outside. One of them looked distinctly like Odin''s boot. Every one of them was right at the area that had line of sight with the main entrance, all in the same place, as if Odin and Imperious had died the moment they entered line of sight of the entrance.... and he could see a distinctive feathered wing, at least fifty feet out... alone, with no body attached. Other bodies, wearing ordinary clothing, were scattered across the rest of the site, and the rest of his... former girlfriend''s remains... were nowhere to be seen.


    "Odin is confirmed down; or at the very least, has been dismembered, alongside Imperious." He frowned. He truly didn''t know how strong the man had been; though he had slain Titans before. Was it Zeus or Odin who killed Cronos? This... meant this was pretty bad. Where were Lightning and Steven? Had something happened to them?


    He slid back a few feet, and turned to Loki. "Alright. He''s inside the structure. Looks like the first group to move in just died right at the entryway. That would''ve been... Odin, Imperious, and Excalibur, and lord knows who else Excalibur grabbed en route. He might not be able to leave the structure while doing the siphon. Should that make things easier?"


    Loki frowned; it looked... even more strange on his insectoid face than it had on his normal, nose-less one. "The moment I reverse the siphon he''s gonna feel it. I''ve got my manipulators working on it now. Can you distract him until I''ve stolen enough of his power to take him out?"


    "...Ehhh... I can try. I can see all possible futures in the immediate term, but I couldn''t dodge if Lightning tried to hit me, and if this guy has that much power in him...."


    "Well. Try. Plan D is on a countdown timer, and involves every nuke we can get launched amidst the chaos... and honestly this guy could probably survive a few nukes at this point, so our next best shot might be Valkyrie making a second attempt."


    Arakiel nodded. "Alright. Tell me when you''re gonna start. I''ll... just bounce around and annoy him as long as I can."


    Loki raised all four arms. "....Starting.... Now."


    One moment, Arakiel was turning towards the structure. Using the short range of telekinesis to start pulling himself into the sky. The next...


    He could see the massive, black-armored figure stepping out... and then the world went black.


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    He could dodge up. Down. Left. Hurl rocks in his path. Shoot at him. The only path.... He hurled himself aside, ending up behind one of the crystals; and felt a moment of horrible burning pain... glancing down. His left arm, leg, and part of his torso were gone. The pain was... impossible. He couldn''t even move as he saw the armored figure move closer; the strange, black, wrought-iron look, with the blue glow at the center of the torso, stopping over him.


    "You interrupted the flow? Interesting. I haven''t seen these runes before. So... delicate. Precise. I can use these." The helmet pointed down at him, after focusing on one of the crystals. "Thank you. This should improve my efficiency immensely. I wish you''d done it earlier... but not so much earlier you could''ve stopped me." A single hand raised... and the world went black.


    ***


    Arakiel jerked awake, staring at the night sky. How far ahead was that? He was wearing his current armor, sure, but did he have any adjustments planned? Could it be tomorrow? Next week? Or was that hours from now? His long-term vision was never that specific, and Apollo''s had been garbage for a while now.


    He reached down, and gripped Imperious''s shoulder. "Sweetheart. We gotta get going. And... I''ll need your help for a few, I took another dose, need to make sure I don''t collapse and have another vision while flying or something."


    The angel blinked, stretching, wings unfurling in the dim light, shifting to stare at him for a moment... and grumbled, pulling to her feet. "Seriously? Alright, alright. What did you see?"


    "Somewhere... cold. Permafrost, ash, and dust. A dig site, an ancient artifact... again. It seems every time I see my death there''s some old-school Titan artifact involved. Some guy had already killed you and Odin, knocked Valkyrie into orbit, and me and Loki were trying to cobble some victory out of the ashes of defeat. I... don''t think it worked. I can remember being... half of a person... for a few seconds before it ended. We need to call in to base... and then talk to Odin."


    "Someone beat Valkyrie...Damn. Hell, we need to get that on our side."


    Imperious gripping him by the shoulder just in case he blacked out again, she picked him up; grunting for a moment as she got him into a good position; Arakiel stabilizing and help lift himself with his own abilities. "Call the boss. We''ll head over and interrupt Odin. Hopefully we don''t piss them off too much."


    ***


    Thomes studied the files on his desk absently; the Crab issue seemed to be sorting itself out in rapid order. Another day, two at the outside, and the apocalyptic swarm of giant crabs would be finished. His people were looking for possible opposition, any sort of plan that someone might have been waiting for the distraction to enact.... but nothing, yet.


    His phone rang. He glanced down... and grimaced. "What new crisis do you have for me today? Perhaps a polar bear Kaiju down from the arctic?"


    He slowly nodded, staring at the wall.... and sighed. "Got it. I''ll have the speedsters investigate. Go ahead and explain to Odin and get ready, just in case they can''t handle it. Your ride is on the way."


    He sighed, and tapped out a text message; forwarding the voice recording to Lightning rather than bothering to call him; Lightning would play it in accelerated fashion and likely be headed there, possibly with his cousin, before he finished texting the pilot to head for the shore.


    ***


    Hate studied the structure carefully from his little hidey-hole; he''d moved it the night before, having acquired what he felt were all the resources he would need to prepare for the ritual; and, of course, gathering enough power to fight off a hero or two if he had to; but, ideally, he''d never have to. The workers were just finishing up the dig; all of the sigils were exposed. His own makeshift framework would be placed over the control panel, he''d replace the control rods.... and it would start.


    An aura of pure, unfiltered fury would spread across the globe; like the effect of his own channeling, but vastly more powerful. He''d then link his armor to the device.... and poof. Immortality. Enough power to face a Titan. Assuming, of course, that the aura didn''t manage to take those out; the only one he was genuinely worried about was Valkyrie. He could probably add a blend of despair in there, and well. He would get faster, as well as stronger, as the ritual worked.


    He inhaled deeply, watching the workers loading up their tools for the day....and frowned. Was that.... He saw a momentary flash of blue, and the workers were looking around, confused. Dust was stirred up into the air.


    He stared at the ruins for a moment... was that.... Was there a speedster in the area? Or some sort of other trick? Nobody could possibly know what he was up to, this wasn''t even his plan until he''d realized how far the connection to these ruins went. Had... that american, the Artificer, figured something out? All the evidence was in his little pocket dimension...


    He closed his eyes. He might not have globe-spanning power, but he''d planned on triggering the same aura of Hate to have the workers kill each other before he started anyway. He picked up the overlay; a clumsy, twisted lump of stone and iron; and stood at the entrance; before activating the Hate rod.


    One moment, the guards were looking around, confused. The next... the one in the fancy clothes and the nice hat was being beaten down by the surrounding workers. There were other, scattered fights; and a man using a piece of construction equipment to crush some of his co-workers.


    He smiled; the man who was clearly the foreman of the job was already dead, the men beating him covered in blood as some turned on each other... and he could hear gunshots in the distance. Now.... was it working on the speedsters as well? He glanced around, looking for any evidence.... but nothing else showed. He looked at the main structure; the smooth, obelisk-like control tower which was connected to all of the various... amplifiers? Whatever they were, they weren''t quite completely uncovered. Hopefully this was enough, he''d planned to wait til the excavation was complete.


    Waiting a few more seconds.... surely if the speedsters were around they would have helped the foreman? He stepped out into the light, the doorway appearing on the side of the crater wall... as he neatly folded it up, storing it... hopefully the next time he relocated it, it was after becoming unstoppably powerful.... and started walking towards the tower. The rage aura grew even more intense now that it wasn''t being pushed through the door, and by the time he reached the mob of workmen, the foreman was more mush than man; and the men had turned on each other.


    Looking around one more time, he nodded... and headed into the tower, for the panel that was the home to the control rod he carried; it might take a few minutes, but he was almost there.


    ***


    Thomes glanced at his phone as it beeped, interrupting his call; and blinked. The text message was from Steven, rather than Lightning. That.... was not a good sign.


    ~Director Thomes. On approach to the artifact site, initially no target was found. We inspected all of the locals, checking IDs and searching for the missing rods, without result; I consulted the IDs of the individuals present against possible suspect lists, while Lightning inspected containers and buildings. While we were there an unknown psychic phenomenon triggered; likely the same rage effect from earlier reports. Myself and Lightning had an altercation; I am injured, Lightning is deceased. GPS coordinates included, but I will undoubtedly recover by the time anyone can get here; Lightning threw me into what can, at best, be described as the depths of the canadian wilderness, and my torso has been penetrated by wood fragments. The psychic shielding in our existing helmets is clearly insufficient. I would recommend only sending individuals with existing psychic resistance, and using caution. Whatever Arakiel predicted is either happening now, or was jump-started to happen more quickly by our investigation.~


    He stared at the message. At the GPS coordinates. "Jesus christ.." Before the words had left his lips he was dialing another number, the incoming call forgotten. He could text his people and set everyone moving immediately. But if Arakiel''s prediction were true... and it certainly sounded like it was about to happen... he had to convince the president to nuke Canada to save the world.

 Wrap-up; Spoilers.

    Just spoilers; I don''t know when, or if, I''ll ever finish the Arakiel book; this is just the basic summary of whats left that I would be using as the basis if I ever got it started up again.


    In Arakiel''s universe, Lightning and his cousin Steven get into a deathmatch under the influence of Hate''s aura. Lightning dies because he was strong-willed enough to hold back. Shame, he seems to die in most universes. Doctor Disaster has been working on a machine to transfer himself into a new body; and has been spending decades both perfecting that machine, as well as working on the technology to build himself the perfect body; his primary motivation for everything. He''s given the opportunity to take a grieving, depressed Steven''s body, and does so; learning as he does that Steven wanted this to happen.


    Loki and Arakiel are already on the way to stop him when Hate triggers the artifact; and this time, Loki''s able to immediately suborn the ritual, steal hate''s power, and crush him. He initially just flat shuts-off the artifact, but Odin asks him to turn it back on and push out something other than rage; billions of people are dying, and he hopes to slow or stop this. His initial attempt to replace it with joy only amplifies things; while swapping it with sorrow drags it to a stop. When the event is over, and the false emotions die out, Loki has absorbed billions of people worth of life energy, and knows that its probable that most of humanity is gone.


    As they start cleaning up from the disaster, and the recorded death toll is determined to be almost two thirds of the human population from the event now simply called the Rage, they learn that the preparations in orbit have also fallen apart; the ships to get a remnant of humanity to another star, the ships to defend humanity against the Jotun; all gone. Mining operations in space can still continue; but the facilities in earth orbit to build ships are ruined.


    When a corporation on the west coast takes delivery of a shipload of old russian super-tech not long after the disaster, the corporation discovers ''Dark Ascension''; and decides to reprogram it as best they can, and try to build their own group of machines to help rebuild.


    The reprogramming is a failure; the machine is damaged, much of its core programming removed, but is still a sentient being; just without its primary directives. It escapes; and, damaged, goes on to build itself manufacturing facilities in secret.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Years later, Apollo and Arakiel meet again in the ruins of a city destroyed by the war between Dark Ascension and humanity. They discuss the new future they see; a humanity already broken and fallen, with most of the world ruled by an AI overlord and resistance mostly pitiful, only for the Jotun to easily conquer them on arrival. They don''t see anything they can do to prevent it; the only reason the AI hasn''t already won is thanks to Doctor Disaster''s new powers; their foresight became ever more convoluted and worthless as a handful of precognitive children were born thanks to the artificial insemination with Arakiel''s sperm. They have a discussion. Apollo contacts Doctor Disaster and brings him in; and suggests doing something the doctor believes is impossible; building a time machine to go back and prevent the events from ever happening. Insisting it can work, but that Hephaestus refuses to do it, he gives Disaster everything he needs; and suggests a three-person team go back in time; Arakiel, Disaster himself, and Loki.


    Disaster builds Apollo''s machine; and at Apollo''s request, moves it to the middle east; a set of coordinates Arakiel recognizes as where he got shot in the head. As he activates it, Disaster realizes what the machine actually is; a device that will take whoever is there and send them to another universe; it was Apollo''s plan to send them to a universe that was earlier in the timeline, dooming his own universe but sending the best three people he could think of to save the future.


    Disaster decides Apollo''s plan is interesting; but that he didn''t think big enough. Shutting off the machine, he takes advantage of his own effectively infinite speed and travels the globe; building a series of devices scattered around the world. Over the course of a few hours, he gathers together millions of people; literally handing out leaflets asking them to raise their hands if they wanted to go; and after collecting a mass number of volunteers, triggers the devices.


    The initial device works exactly as Apollo planned; Jason Bennet from the new world is gone, as is the metahuman he was killing; with Arakiel and Loki taking their place. And in orbit of the planet, a series of stations suddenly appear; carrying millions of refugees of a fallen earth, having left the world doomed to death at the hands of either the Jotun or the machines to die... supposedly.


    Disaster builds one last machine as an escape hatch, just in case... before digging in to use his mind and powers to fight both the machines and the Jotun with the help of those who remain; without  as many civilians to worry about he''s confident he can handle it.


    This is then revealed to be the new universe Eyeball was sent to when he arrived in Andromeda. When he finally gets back to earth, he''s greeted at a defensive space station by Loki, in the guise of a superman-like figure defending the earth, and of course, gets to meet himself. Exactly what led up to his arrival back at earth will, of course, be in the Galaxy of Death book.

 Galaxy of Death - 1 - The Arsenal

    In the dark void ''above'' the spinning disc of the Andromeda galaxy, a long string of ships was traveling thousands of times the speed of light; to any watcher, they would be an eyeblink; unless they were on one of the ships themselves. Even then, only the rearmost vessel of the fleet could truly ''see'' the rest. On the ship at the head, the Gaze of Wrath, the captain could only see a long string of lights on a console display.


    With the exception of one pale-skinned, black-haired young woman sitting beside him, none of the crew knew exactly why he was staring at the strange display of lights, as well as of the spatial patterns of distant stars and dust on the display; but normally he wore a helmet while he worked, leaving the three green eyes and close-cropped brown hair covered by the typically featureless silver orb of armor.


    For most of the bridge crew, this was the first time they''d seen what was normally in that helmet while he managed to steer them around the sort of tiny, imperceptible debris that could utterly destroy a vessel traveling at ten thousand times the speed of light under warp. It looked... like a series of simple green lights, roughly two hundred of them; the number of starships currently in the fleet. The lights appeared in roughly the formation of the fleet; and he had both a joystick commanding the Gaze of Wrath''s own course, a simple lever to accelerate or decelerate; and, probably the reason for the lack of helmet, a touch-screen that would let him adjust the positioning of the ships in the fleet with the tap of a button.


    The screen hadn''t seemed to change for over an hour now, though Eyeball kept making tiny, subtle changes here and there; moving the joystick a few millimeters here; ordering a ship to move there; if it weren''t for the insane speed the fleet was traveling, it would seem like an ordinary, mundane day on the bridge.


    Svetlana leaned back in her chair, smiling; and tapped a button on her armrest. Suddenly the bridge went silent, aside from herself and Eyeball; though he could still see that massive display. "I can''t help but be fascinated and excited by this every time. If you were to make the slightest mistake, the only two humans in the galaxy, thousands of members of various species, a whole fleet of two hundred ships would all be dead. And if I were to tell a computer to plot this course, the most advanced computer in this galaxy, every single time it would lead to that fleet being obliterated. Finding the right path is like threading a thousand invisible needles. But... you make it happen."


    Eyeball chuckled. "Feels like cheating, doesn''t it? The odd thing is that, despite being able to predict thousands of years into the future, Apollo claimed my power was stronger. He knew for centuries that something would happen the day the Jotun arrived for round 2, that would wipe out most human fleets and military bases, and cause an enormous explosion. He knew that relocating them, hiding them, wouldn''t help. No idea what it was. And... my power manipulated me like a puppet through a string of stupid mistakes, to collide with and remove it."


    She studied the display, as Eyeball dragged the formation slightly, pushing the rear further to the right. "Lightning?"


    "Mark. A good, decent guy; who, if he''d been mind-controlled, could have eradicated all life on earth, and then himself, in the span of a quarter-second. If they''d gotten him, they would have done a carefully tailored amount of damage to minimize military resistance, but still leave a fair amount of more harmless life."


    He glanced over at her for a moment. "I could''ve sworn you''d already known all that. How much did you get from Ascension?"


    She tapped her forehead. "Organic brains can''t store that much. I can access everything Ascension knows; but I don''t really know it, if you get my meaning. Its like I have six browser windows in the back of my head that can run a search for whatever I want, and usually are when I''m doing research, but I don''t really know know it."


    The two went back to just staring at the display. The sounds from the rest of the bridge resumed when she tapped the same switch once more; and they remained fairly quiet as the width of Andromeda sped by below them.


    ***


    "So. We''ve got maybe a day or two before arrival at hub five." Eyeball and Svetlana were walking down the long central hallway of the Gaze of Wrath. "I know, of course, that you like to design your own equipment. And with your abilities, I suspect that''s probably worked out well so far; you know whether or not it will work before you put it on. But I think you should take a look at what I''ve been working on; most of it is for the fleet, but some of it you might find a use for."


    Eyeball chuckled as she opened a door; the familiar gate at the entrance indicated this was yet another extradimensional space, purpose-built for whatever was inside. "Honestly, I''ve wanted to see what you were working on, but didn''t want to bother you. Back when I ran Eyetech I had a general rule against interrupting their work; usually I had a lab tech or the like who could feed me details, or they could themselves when they had a breakthrough. I like to think that worked out well."


    Svetlana nodded. "Well. It''s a double-edged sword. Sometimes it produces amazing results, and sometimes it gets things that are just... crazy. Half of what I remember was nonsense like... a project to build a giant robotic death-spider. Or to clone some random soviet leader and modify the clone into a super-soldier."


    As they stepped into the first room, seemingly a perfectly cube-shaped silver chamber, he could see a table with a long row of Pale One controllers on it; in various states of assembly and disrepair. "So...When I saw the extradimensional space technology, and what it was based on... I was excited. A device to let you open a safe and steal or alter the contents without ever opening it? Perfect. I was imagining bullets and missiles that go through armor to hit targets, teleporters that let you deploy from orbit onto a planet... but no."


    She walked up to one of the Controllers; more sleek-looking than the originals, the size of a common aluminum can. "The process takes a few seconds to work. Creates a sort of dimensional instability in a chunk of matter, letting something pass through it... and then fades. So while it doesn''t work for bullets... its perfect for these things. I''ve got Pale Ones that can burrow through the toughest ship hull or armor to get at the juicy center; once. One of the advanced Pale Ones can cling to a ship''s hull, let the more basic ones through, then follow, leaving the device behind. Or, if it was deployed inside the ship, it can pierce the armor... and flesh.. of one of their heavy troopers without any sort of outside help."


    Eyeball stared at the tiny object with its currently tightly bound clump of tendrils. "So. You could shoot a volley of these at any enemy ship, and then just... take it all over."


    "Sort-of. The whole dimensional instability thing doesn''t work on shields, and shields won''t stomp slow-moving objects... but they will fry internal electronics passing through. For shielded vessels, we''d need to drop them inside a faraday cage, and drop it slow; if its fast enough to dent the hull on impact, the shield will stop it."The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    He rested his hand on it, considering possibilities. "This... could have an absolutely crazy impact. Not just disabling ships, but actually turning them against their friends... nobody keeps shields up 24/7. Imagine if you could slip in close and release a swarm of these..."


    "Yes, yes. Numerous possibilities. It''s even useful in repair, to remove damaged components without dismantling a device. On to our next project..."


    Eyeball''s gaze stuck with the Controllers as they passed on. Could one of those fit in a 40mm grenade shell?


    The side door slid smoothly aside; to reveal an airlock. Svetlana picked up a helmet beside the door, and glanced at Eyeball. "Button up. I''m avoiding getting this next room contaminated." He nodded. "Helmet. Activate seals, go to internal air." She settled the helmet on, and pulled a lever on the wall; and the room suddenly grew dramatically hot, as steam poured in from the surrounding chambers; only to be siphoned up into the ceiling.


    They waited a few seconds; and after a brief buzzer sound, the interior door popped open. A second, smaller glass chamber was inside; with a trio of drones, a variety of equipment, various containers of liquids in different shades, and a single pale-skinned Marrick in a vacuum suit, strapped to a table. Absolutely no access from the outside. Eyeball studied it for a moment. "Separate sealed compartment. Did we build it around the equipment?"


    "So far, yes. All access has been one-way only. I''ve delivered samples inside to test, and a single surviving Pale One we made from a Republic officer. He''s... a bit worse for wear." She stepped around to the other side of the box, to provide a closer view; in the corner of his HUD, an ETA on available oxygen started to dwindle.


    "Are we talking chemical weapons? Biological?"


    "Both!" She smiled; her own helmet transparent; he considered momentarily the benefits of such. "A mild aggression-inducing chemical that makes them breathe and exhale more heavily, and a brain-eating bacteria that only impacts Marrick. I''ve been trying to get one to only work on Tier Zero personnel, but... that''s a bit harder. It''s not a genetic difference, strictly; its a brain structure thing."


    She waved an arm. "I''ve got ones that will kill all Descendants, ones that would kill the Founders, ones that will only kill Marrick... I''ve gone through a few dozen Pale Ones for my experiments, but the only one I''ve found that consistently only hits the Tier Zero and Tier One victims is a parasite; extremely slow-acting, so I can''t confirm results beyond only those have suffered any symptoms at all so far."


    Eyeball stared at the officer on the table; he had the obvious marks and traces of a removed Controller, but he was drooling, blood was dripping from his nostrils on the strange, flattened nose common among Marrick, and the six eyes were blinking open and closed aimlessly. "...We probably want to get that parasite as far and wide as possible. The others.... some of the Marrick are tier-2, and don''t know the truth. Hold it in reserve. If we start to lose... then we''ll let that go as well."


    She chuckled. "I''ll listen to you, when I agree... which I happen to at the moment, mostly, I think we should hold on to all of them until they''re fully developed... but you''re not my boss. Just want you to know whats on the table. On to our next instrument of death..." She stepped back into the airlock; as Eyeball followed, she was far more casual now, hanging her helmet up as she stepped out; and once the air-lock finished, releasing them, entered the next chamber down the hall.


    "Here we have my personal favorites, and, normally, an enormous waste of time. The Hyper-bomb and the Warp Missile." She waved her hands at a rack of massive cylinders, each a meter thick; four of them looking like, essentially, bullets; while the others had a variety of tiny spiked protrusions.


    "Absolutely no reason not to make a missile with a FTL drive; except for the insane waste of time, and, for the warp drives, material involved. Scout-ships carry the absolute smallest, cheapest warp drives the Republic manufactures; and those are still dreadfully complex, heavy, and expensive, leaving no room for a payload if they want to accelerate in realspace. The ones for their probes are literally ones that they screwed up in manufacturing, and know won''t last long. Hyperdrives have far more exacting tolerances in their build than any other part of the warship, and take much longer to make; while Warp-Drives were previously believed to require Neutronium. Which... just isn''t true. I''m not certain whether Ascension told you or not..." She walked up to one of the cylinders, and patted it on the side. "But warp drives just need a tiny pocket of vacuum to function at their heart. And whatever is containing that vacuum needs to be able to withstand the full pressure and force of the object''s acceleration. A scout''s probe contains the smallest amount of neutronium they can make into a pocket. But... we can make it out of anything. Diamond. Tungsten. It''ll break, after a few launches, and won''t work for a full-sized warship.... but so long as it contains vacuum, that''s fine. Even if the warp drive fails after three seconds, it doesn''t matter; most of these missiles will be blown up before even reaching the target."


    She smiled. "Warp missiles are gonna have an atrocious failure rate inside star systems.. I''m guessing over ninety percent... but even the failed ones will, at least, still hit the target with whatever''s left of them much earlier than direct-fire weapons. If I can make a thousand of them, and then seventy hit the fleet within a second, and a few seconds later a high-speed debris field hits them? Well. That''s still better than a thousand missiles would do against a fleet''s point defenses, so I call it a win."


    Eyeball shook his head. "Okay then. And why a Hyper-Bomb instead of a Hyper-Missile?"


    "Oh, easy enough. Don''t want them getting any intact hyper-drives; so each of them is a two-shot device. On the way out, it uses a capacitor to go. On the way back in... it unleashes a nuclear explosion and, for a fraction of a second, that powers its trip back in. If it fails? It detonates in hyperspace, or leaves a dud there. If it works? In realspace, a nuke-in-progress appears... hopefully inside the enemy ship."


    He looked at the various cylinders. "...Obviously, these are useful. But if they take so much time to make, why not just make more missiles? Or put drives in new ships?"


    "There''s the thing... the only time this is worth doing is on long trips like this. We ran out of material to feed into the fabbers over a week ago; our fleet count actually went up a few, if you didn''t notice the board changing; they undocked and did final assembly when you went to sleep at the end of the first shift. So, I''ve been taking existing missiles and repurposing them as hyper-bombs, warp missiles, so forth. If we were in a system with plenty of ore to work with I could''ve built us another flotilla of warships instead. So.... Mixed bag."


    He glanced at the two very different-looking cases for a moment. "What about MIRV munitions? Making a hyperdrive-based deployment system that drops a bunch of warp missiles, or regular missiles, as it dies?"


    She stopped... and glared at him, clearly irritated. "That''s... a good idea. Risky. Would need to make sure the hyperdrive was self-destructing on its way in, but not frying the payload. But..."


    "Maybe multi-stage missiles with a detached armored tail, with the hyper-bomb''s initial detonation giving them an extra push at the start? The armor bits at the end just becoming more fragments in the detonation after?"


    She stared for a few seconds... before muttering a curse and stomping off back the way they had come. Eyeball glanced at the next door down the hall, then at the retreating figure. "Uh... was there more you were going to show me?"


    She turned around. "No. No. I mean... Yes. There''s more. I was going to show you all of the big, cool toys, then get down to some prototypes I had for your armor after looking at what magic had let you do with the gun and maybe talking about some magic-tech hybrid work for the ships. You''ve got me side-tracked. I need to get these Hyper-MIRVs in the production line, they could actually make a difference. Re-convene tomorrow? Good."


    She swiftly stepped right back out the door, leaving Eyeball staring behind her; somewhat confused and amused at the same time. She glanced back at him, shaking her head. "This is why I always had colleagues. Even if they don''t hold a candle to me, different perspectives can bring new ideas to light..."

 Galaxy of Death -2 - The Hub Insertion

    The fleet had pulled to a stop in the void, light-months away from the nearest star, just above the enormous disc of the Andromeda galaxy; directly above what the Confederacy referred to as ''Hub 5''; one of the largest shipyards in the Republic, building tens of thousands of starships each year. Intel from the Paradise operation had suggested that there were over 40,000 Republic starships under construction at any given time, and that perhaps as many as an eighth of those were being built right here, below them.


    Most of the time, those ships would stay fairly local; within a few hours flight time of the gate. Recent events, however, had hopefully changed that; over a quarter of a million starships were in this region normally, and if they were all still there, the upcoming battle would be... complicated. They could contact the local factions of the Confederation for backup. They could let Ascension''s von neumann probes get to work and wait til they had a full-scale fleet to match. First, though? They could see if they even needed to do that.


    Maybe they''d destabilize the star, or a planet, and pop the gate, trapping the fleet here? Maybe they''d have a chance to secure the partially-built ships for themselves? Perhaps their equipment would allow them to actually secure the system and re-purpose Republic equipment for their own? No way to know til they got closer.


    At this sort of range, the scans they received were months old. They got a good look at every nearby republic system; studying what the picture of the sector was before Jason had kicked over the hornet''s nest.


    Jason and Svetlana stood on either side of a table in the lab; one of Ascension''s drones on the other side. "We can expect some significant changes at we go closer... but once we get less than a light-month out, we risk detection, even from up here where nothing is expected, unless we use a hyperdrive and possibly show our hand. What''s the picture look like, Ascension?"


    "I''ve taken the liberty of placing a single destroyer and an array of telescopes one light-month out, at the minimum safe range, and also, of course, assessing other nearby systems. We also have encrypted communications from the local Confederate forces that will be cleared momentarily."


    The map focused in on the dot that depicted the Hub system. The gate itself was in orbit of a gas giant; while the closest planet to the star had an orbit filled with manufacturing facilities; hundreds of them, each with multiple ongoing constructions. The gas giant had its own ring; a station hundreds of kilometers long, with what were undoubtedly complete starships, waiting for orders to undock and head off after the Republic''s enemies. This image would be from after the enemy knew about Jason''s arrival in Andromeda; but before that cataclysmic battle in Paradise where the Republic had lost so many ships to the star.


    "The Hub system; locally named ''Mia''; has three intact planets. One habitable world with a narrow band of relative comfort around the equator, and ranging from cold to frozen across the rest, the gas giant, and a small barren world not far from the star. At least one additional planet once existed, and was deliberately broken apart for shipbuilding materials; forming an unusually dense asteroid belt which has thousands of mining craft working it. At the time of most recent observation, over one hundred thousand starships were in-system ready to go within hours, and over ten thousand ready to go within minutes. Exact numbers are impossible to get at this range."


    The view zoomed out. "The other nearby star systems; an orange star with a single world, two red giants with a handful of worlds each, and twelve binary pairs with little in the way of planets between them; have outposts and little else. There are established travel lanes allowing rapid exit to habitable worlds over ten light-years away; and ships actively establishing lanes between several of the local worlds. It appears they plan on completely mining out the Hub system over the next few centuries, and either relocating manufacturing to other stars, or feeding it raw materials from these other locations."


    The view zoomed out again. "Here, roughly seventeen light-years away, is a nebula containing a few relatively new stars and minor planetary bodies. I would recommend placing a manufacturing hub of our own there, inside the nebula; considering the sluggish rate warp-based ships transition nebulas, there is likely no Republic presence there; they likely don''t even think of it when making their own plans. Alongside making cautious attempts to infiltrate those systems they plan to use for mining, and seeding mines along their travel lanes, we could prepare for a more long-term conflict, in the event we cannot simply seize the star system."


    Jason nodded slowly. "Nice. We should see what the locals have to say first, but obviously if they haven''t already cleared the system, that sounds like a good start. Did they do anything with the call to arms about the gates?"


    A soft buzzing noise. It wasn''t really needed; Ascension was likely just making some white noise to notify the humans that it was actively processing. After a few seconds, the zoomed-in image snapped back to the Hub system.


    The new image showed... a damaged, nonfunctional gate. A few thousand intact ships, and a few thousand others in various stages of disrepair; as well as substantial damage among the construction yards.


    "The local construction yards are largely intact, but of the over ten thousand ships in production, most have been damaged. Apparently the locals struck, temporarily disabled the gate, cleaned out most of the local defenders in a surprise attack, but were forced to flee with heavy casualties. There is actually a substantial Republic fleet, over fifteen thousand ships strong, moving to invade one of the local star systems, with only a token defense force; still over two thousand ships; left behind for defensive purposes. Most of the local fleets are gathering to defend against them at the homeworld of the Shivamarick, the largest local Empire."


    Jason chuckled. "So they did some good work. Can we make it in time to help the defense?"


    "With over a week to spare. There is a pre-cleared lane reaching to this system..." A highlighted golden path traced out to another star. "But the Shivamarick empire has no such lanes. If we follow the fleet, we can swap to hyperdrives and dramatically outpace them for the last twenty light-years of the trip. In fact, we could even beat some of the defenders on their way."


    Svetlana glanced at Jason, frowning. "Why, though? Shouldn''t we take advantage of the lack of ships to secure or destroy the shipyards and let the locals fight it out, kill more Republic ships? Its not like we care about this Shivamarick group."


    He blinked. "...They''re an allied fleet. Helping them survive would improve our chances diplomatically, increase the odds of securing more allies. Maybe even bring some of their fleet along to the next fight."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    She slowly shook her head. "We don''t need more allies. We have Ascension, and we have time. Destroying Republic shipyards and gates makes sense. Spreading Ascension everywhere makes sense. Chasing some random Republic fleet is a waste of time and effort until we get enough ships that we can easily crush it. Can we even take on that many ships?"


    Jason sighed, shaking his head. "With the support of a defensive fleet, maybe? Plus... we''ll get dead or living Republic forces to turn into Pale Ones, wrecked ships to salvage.... out of a fleet of fifteen thousand, who knows; we might be able to substantially accelerate our plans after taking it out."


    Svetlana glanced down at the map, then up at Jason. "Fine. We can help the locals. I can see how we can get something out of it. But first, we should do something about this base. Can you do what you did in that Forstage system, take out the planet the construction hub is surrounding? One shot, poof?"


    He studied the map. "Huh. But we don''t want the construction yards destroyed. We want the still active, living ships gone. I....think I''ve got a plan here." He glanced up at Ascension. "Let the fleet know about the defense of the... Shivamarick, and send most of your ships that way, except for the pirates we re-equipped. I''ll need... we''ll say six... of your destroyers, and as many Pale One controllers as you can spare. Can you fake me up transponders that looks like some of those ships that left?"


    ***


    There were five volunteers among the pirate crews, all of whom had been gifted with repaired Republic warships to replace ones they''d lost in the battle for Paradise; and of course had no idea that Ascension had backdoors into them all. The predominant species among them was Yogg; and while they might be pirates, Jason still had a positive impression of the species from the first time he''d encountered them; finding the wreckage where, as supplies went down, all the older Yogg voluntarily gave up their air tanks and suffocated to the youth, in the vain hope at least some would survive.


    The ship was simply named ''Revenge'' in one of the various Yogg dialects; and Jason settled in on the bridge, looking around at the crew going about their duties before turning to the captain beside him, studying her for a moment.


    When this band had joined the assault on Paradise, they''d been a motley assortment. No real uniforms, whatever weapons they could buy or steal; but now... they all wore dull black uniforms not that different from his own. In fact, black and silver was becoming increasingly popular among the pirates. This Yogg woman''s long mass of bony spikes protruding from her head and shoulders was more extensive than normal for her species; and the grey skin also seemed odd, but then... he hadn''t met enough Yogg to know how different that was.


    "Captain Sorbaxen. Are you comfortable with this operation? I know you volunteered, but the only backup we''ve got if this goes wrong is a handful of destroyers... however impressive they might be."


    The woman studied him for a moment, and gave a smile; like all the descendants, she had too-sharp teeth, more predator than ominvore in looks. "The targeting computer that lets you do all the crazy things. Implant in your head, yes? Not built into the Gaze?"


    He focused. Eyeball. Not Jason. On the ball. "Precisely. You give me the ship''s controls, it will interface with the ship and let me get a safe course out of here in warp, if there is one, or sync up with the target''s randomwalking to let me nail them from whatever the weapon''s effective range is. I can''t make a safe course from nothing, but if there is one, I can find it. Ascension will make us look like a Republic crew; they''ll be showing a simulation of us. I believe he''ll also be getting us more info?"


    The familiar dull red machine currently pretending to be an armored humanoid in a suit with a yellow hammer and sickle logo gave a nod. "Affirmative. Republic information security is a joke by our standards. Give me a few minutes within comms range and I''ll give you the names of who to pretend to be, and can even add their faces into the simulation. If they hail us before I know, just stall about giving info til I give the signal."


    Eyeball nodded, and turned back to Sorbaxen. "Just use a common Marrick name, please... Charis would do... at first, and don''t specify rank, if it comes down to that. We can swap with someone else and say the captain just reached the bridge if need be."


    With the ''Revenge'' logo scraped off the hull, the damage from when the vessel was captured at Paradise; and the exquisite repair Ascension had done torn out and replaced by a rough patch-job; the ship looked exactly like what she was supposed to be; a Republic warship which had just recently left the system but had suffered some serious damage; now heading back to base for a more thorough repair.


    The running concept was a particle collision at warp-speed; rare but possible in the cleared-out travel lanes; but they''d decide for sure after the Republic called in.


    Eyeball inhaled deeply as the Revenge popped out of warp, slowing down to normal speeds as she approached. Ascension should brush over any gaffes in communications, but they needed to remember this wasn''t the Revenge, but the... 9H73.... if they spoke in person.


    The system looked much the same as the last detailed report. Thousands of ships under construction; now being repaired as well. Hundreds of ships being repaired in orbit of the gas giant... and over two thousand ships split into patrols of a few hundred to a few dozen each, all around the system.


    He glanced at Sorbaxen; who nodded. "Send the standard entry code and damage assessment. They should respond with a berth on the repair base."


    The ship headed into the system. Seemingly unconcerned. Everything should go just fine; he didn''t really feel any problems with this, so it should be a walk in the park... right?


    ***


    Among the Republic, his rank was 10; if he were human, he might be called an Admiral. Still; at the moment, Admiral he might be, Seriche was mostly just doing babysitting.


    A tall, powerful form of a Marrick, boasting the usual pale features, two vertical rows of black pupils, an elegant teal uniform; he was, in his own opinion, perfection made manifest; he believed that in creating the Marrick, the founders had improved upon their own design; something the republic in general would consider blasphemy. As he surveyed the deck, he glowered at the glowing error messages on the status board.


    He''d served here for over fifty years. Seen endless thousands of warships join the Republic fleet from this spot to join the Purge. This... was the first time he''d ever seen error lights. Ten thousand manufacturing slips, hundreds of thousands of workers ranging from tier-3 slaves to tier-0 experts; and only a few dozen were still at full capacity.


    Filthy swarmlings had entered his domain. Destroyed his ships. Sabotaged his manufacturing. Even damaged the gate so badly it had to cut power and go into maintenance mode; he couldn''t even call for backup. Not that he needed it.


    Obviously, the only advantage the swarmlings had was surprise. Once that was done, his fleet had crushed them... another few weeks and they''d arrive at their homeworld, and crush this particular branch of the swarm. Meanwhile... he would babysit. Watch anxiously as one error light after another went away... and they slowly got back up to speed. Not that they would be at full capacity for years; even the slaves would take time to replace and train, and some of the elite engineers he''d lost...


    He glanced up at a teal dot that appeared on the scope. A line was showing leading from it to the maintenance hub beneath his very feet; a group of five light warships; a cruiser and four destroyers; had arrived. One of the destroyers had sent a repair request; apparently there was concern about ambush, so it had been sent with backup. The backup had held back, and wanted permission to rejoin the fleet... while the destroyer had seemingly hit a random stray particle and was back to be repaired.


    He frowned. The very idea of an ambush.... was unfortunately possible. The surprise attack was woefully effective here. He didn''t give the destroyer a second glance; affairs like that were beneath him. One of his underling''s underlings would assign an engineering team to handle the issue. He studied his ships. Only two thousand one hundred fully effective. An abysmally tiny fleet for a system of such importance. He almost wished he''d sent a smaller fleet against the swarm... but no. An overwhelming show of force was needed. Put these creatures in their place, make sure they knew that even if they could sometimes poke the Republic... their deaths were all inevitable. Nothing could conquer the might of the Marrick.

 Galaxy of Death -3 - The Hub Infiltration

    Eyeball was disappointed as they approached the dock. Phase one of the plan hadn''t just gone off without a hitch; there hadn''t even been a video call. He frowned. "They... no calls. No interrogations. Nothing. They just asked for damage assessments and projections and assigned us a berth. Just... alright. Well. I suppose we just switch to Republic gear and get to work. Everybody have their assignments?"


    Sorbaxen chuckled, as she carefully started fitting the helmet on; she had to wear a binding on the spikes, which seemed to painfully stretch the skin, to fit a Republic-style helmet. "Remember. The Republic''s number one requirement for promotion is good genetics. I''ve been murdering republic scum for decades now, and I can promise you that while they have some excellent commanders... they also have quite a few idiots. Besides..."


    She gestured at the image of the station on the screen. "They have a fleet of thousands. Nobody in their right mind would do anything here unless they had an equally large fleet. I''m interested to see how well that Ascension flotilla does."


    Eyeball chuckled. "I''m actually interested to see that myself, but.... You worry about your part. There''s fifty separate ventilation systems here, and the controllers can cover them all much faster if someone helps them on the inside."


    He turned to the station; and felt the mild vibration, barely even a shift of weight, as the vessel connected to the docking clamps; and all the connections for power, air, and water started to form with much more audible hissing and clanking noises. Right now, controllers would be crawling through the air vents and pipes, and Ascension would be hacking anything that could be.... and, of course, launching an assault on those parts of the fleet that were far enough from gravity wells for hyperdrive-equipped devices to reach.


    As the pirates pretended to be good, dutiful Republic troops, heading to the medical bay for a checkup after a major collision with their ship under their captain''s orders... Eyeball watched the scopes. Right now, he seemed to be picking things up roughly ten seconds out; and he was, essentially, just going to be typing whatever symbols he saw on his display; he couldn''t give Ascension the coordinates of thousands of ships at once, but Ascension had created a simple program that created a 10-digit code based on the optimal firing pattern; which the machines could feed into their launch platforms and give the best possible chance for their hyperdrive-equipped munitions when they arrived.


    The munitions were something that Svetlana had built after a few hours of angry design work back on the Gaze of Wrath; a hyperdrive built to last exactly two transitions, with chemical strips built-in that would, even if it were a dud, melt it into unrecognizable slag. And attached to this hyperdrive? A cluster of Warp-capable missiles, minimal payloads, mostly just metal rods that would accelerate up to FTL speeds and then slam into a target.


    She wouldn''t be here to see her new toys go off for the first time; hopefully Ascension would give her a good rRUFFAanalysis of them.


    It was a bit absurd... but while the pirates, and a few modified Ascension drones, went through distributing controllers... his job was just to wait; and either when someone got caught, or the controllers had all been released and the pirates were on the way back, signal the ships; and a drone would hop into hyperspace with a code Eyeball had typed in... and if it all worked as planned, both the six Ascension destroyers and their hyper-MIRV payloads would transition into the system almost instantly.


    He watched the board absently. Getting caught was always a risk, even with an AI working security; the Republic just didn''t trust automated systems, and these were Yogg, not Marrick, though it wasn''t obvious while they wore helmets; and he would be surprised if they were even allowed in the navy as anything other than janitors.


    He was looking forward to seeing the fireworks, when it all kicked off.


    ***


    Ascension studied the layout of the target fleet; split into a variety of small formations scattered around the system, as well as a few large ones. The objective with this mission was two-fold; destroy as many enemy ships as possible, of course, while seeding the area with controllers that would slip in where possible; as well as to create quite a bit of noise and jamming so that the ''Revenge'' could launch some of its own payload of hundreds of thousands of controllers without being spotted.


    It would also be a handy test of the capability of the new weapons systems.


    It received the signal. A specific code, ten digits; 157AD813Z0. One of billions of combinations that could be typed in a couple seconds, and tell him where the enemy fleet would be eight seconds from when the button was pressed.


    When it was received, a third of a second had passed. Ascension had 7.65 seconds to plot trajectories for dozens of Hyper-MIRV devices as well as the missiles it was about to launch. Priorities were assigned; it knew the default positions from the sensors of the four ships in the outer system, still in realspace; pirates pretending to be locals.


    Everything was ready, with 4.2 seconds to spare. Missile bays open. Engines primed. MIRVs in position. Everything was timed perfectly. Reality folded, twisted, as Ascension shifted back into the real world, the strange dullness of hyperspace vanishing, replaced by.... death.


    A Hyper-MIRV device appeared amidst a cluster of 142 Republic ships, most of them relatively small. It looked like nothing more than a fat blob of eggs, bulbous missile tips pointed out in every direction from the central mass of a hyper-drive. Even as it emerged into realspace, its drive had already started to melt down; and by the time the 84 Warp and 44 normal missiles had all started to accelerate towards their targets, a chain reaction had converted the bits of molten metal and polymer into a detonation; a high-energy pulse that would wreak havoc on sensors and create a navigational hazard of small, fast-moving shards.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    All but seventeen of the Warp missiles struck particulate debris before impact; which didn''t matter in the slightest. 84 targets had been chosen by them; and all 84 were struck either by the missile itself, or a cloud of missile fragments moving so quickly it blasted directly through the target ship.


    The normal missiles had a bit poorer of a showing; while the Republic had no notice before the arrival, some of their targets had shields up, or point defenses ready by the time they arrived; and as a result, most of them either did only some damage after striking shields, or were deflected entirely.


    Still; the Hyper-MIRV was a massive success. Out of the 142 targets in its area of effect, it had a projectile for 128 of them; and had scored just under a hundred kills. Ships were on fire, breaking apart. Marrick and other descendent races were dying by the thousands. All of their largest, strongest formations were broken apart.


    Ascension could detect the pirates, still pretending to be Republic ships, offering to join the largest surviving formation, to provide mutual fire support... as it totaled the survivors.


    Six hundred and twelve surviving vessels. Over a hundred of which were docked at the station and likely already had controllers on-board. If they cut some corners, some of the ships at the manufacturing facility could be brought online for an emergency launch; but the Revenge had taken advantage of the chaos to slip a few packets of Controllers in that direction; likely that facility would be swarming with Pale Ones as well in the near future.


    The largest formation surviving had a mix of intact and damaged ships almost two hundred strong; the pirates would be joining that formation soon, and likely striking it from within. Ascension would help with that when the time came, but first...


    It studied the other ships. Counted the survivors. And the missile bays opened. Every single enemy ship outside of that large formation received exactly as many missiles as Ascension believed it would take to overwhelm its point defenses, plus five. Undoubtedly there would be a few survivors, especially if one ship died to save another; but with them all launched, Ascension followed up with a few bursts from railguns at ships that seemed likely to be unable to dodge... and then dropped back into hyperspace. Whatever response the enemy had, whatever it would try to do to its six ships, would find nothing but empty space.


    ***


    Seriche looked up at the ventilation duct, frowning. That.... what was that noise? Were there vermin inside the ducts again? They''d put in cleaners that should kill anything organic years ago. Perhaps the sweeper drones were defective?


    He sighed, shaking his head, and glanced at one of the guards. "You. Get maintenance. I want the sweeper drones checked out. Don''t know how I''m even supposed to think, with all that noise."


    The guard nodded, saluted, and pressed a hand to his helmet; clearly calling someone.. when Seriche heard a shout; and turned back to face the display. Enemy ships had appeared; but only six of them. Unusual designs; nothing he''d seen from the local swarmlings. Before he could even issue a command, the screens lit up with casualty reports, explosions, sensor readings.... the system had turned into chaos.


    And... the six ships were nowhere to be seen. Some sort of new stealth tech? No.... it had to be the ''Hyperdrives'' from that report on the Rogue. Which meant... the Rogue was here. He stared at the screen for a moment.


    The Rogue was from some sort of faraway place. Ludicrously advanced technology. There was a rumor that he had obliterated a gas giant just to protect some band of tier-4 monsters... which fleet intelligence labeled as ''Destruction definite, method uncertain.


    He''d just lost over a thousand ships. He didn''t have as many active ships left as he''d just lost. This.. was hopeless. He closed his eyes for a moment... and nodded to himself. They would handle this... but not today. Today, he needed to preserve as many people as he could, and get out. Make sure the enemy didn''t secure the shipyards.


    He held down a button for a system-wide communication. "This is Command. Commence evasive action, pickup any lifeboats, and withdraw. Heveiri station, you are ordered to withdraw any personnel you can within the next six minutes, and evacuate as well, setting all complete reactors to go critical before you depart." He released the button. Now to evacuate himself, and anyone who could fit, on the ships here. That new arrival might be damaged, but right now it was one more place to flee in; clearly it could travel.


    "Organize the evacuation. Order everyone to head for the nearest..." Seriche felt a horrific pain. As if he''d been shot, or stabbed, in the back. Some of his people were staring at him, even as he felt the pain grow worse; he could feel his bones creak, and for a few seconds he started to scream... before he lost control of his vocal chords. As he saw a dull red cylinder with numerous wiry tendrils leap through the air and latch onto one of his people, he felt his own arm reach up, and depress two buttons; switching the console from a system-wide broadcast to a targeted one... and then open a channel to Heveiri station.


    He could hear a voice. He wasn''t speaking, but it... sounded like him. "This is Command. Belay that order, Heveiri. The enemy appears to have left the system for now. Prepare for evacuations, but don''t destroy anything important unless they come back in force. Stay alert. We''ll be evacuating this station and sending forces your way shortly." He released the button.


    He strained. Struggled. Seriche couldn''t move a muscle; all he could feel was a terrible, burning, pain... and he could see why. Not for himself; he was stuck, staring at the screen, fully upright. But he could see some of his people... a thick red cylinder attached to their back, right at the base of the neck.


    He''d heard of experimental control devices that could do this. He knew they had implants that could cause pain in some of the prisoners. But this... he was a puppet!


    When a figure wearing sleek black armor and a chrome helmet stepped out onto the bridge, he would''ve screamed, if he could. The Yogg wearing a Republic captain''s uniform; an utter impossibility; who followed him wasn''t nearly as big a concern. The Rogue. Not just in the system, but in the room. He...


    The figure turned to focus on him. A digitized voice emerged. "Good decision-making. Fast reactions. Frankly, with the intel you had, you did the best you could. Its a shame you''re a genocidal nutjob, or I''d offer you a job. Do you know anything worth keeping you alive? Ascension, let him talk."


    The control over his head and throat stopped. His arms and legs were still rigidly at attention as he turned to face the figure. He was a Marrick. There was only one possible answer to this question. "Prepare yourself. The founders will come for you... are probably already coming for you... but we won''t need them. We didn''t get where we are by being fools. Somewhere, thousands of light-years from here, those hyperdrives of yours are being copied. Do your best with every advantage you have... because we will take them for our own, and we will crush you. It''s only a matter of time."


    A soft digitized laugh. "I couldn''t say I like you... but I can respect that. Enjoy whatever afterlife awaits you, monster."


    A simple, ancient firearm started to raise; before it was abruptly lowered. There was a gesture of a strange, red limb that seemed more liquid than solid... and it all went black.

 Galaxy of Death -4 - Shivan Encounter

    The capital of what Svetlana had decided to call the Shivan empire was an interesting system. None of her records, not even those that Ascension brought over from the Empire that Eyeball had been dealing with, like a star system with a planet-spanning city, had a fraction as many objects in it.


    The most important was, of course, a single large, heavily populated world, with four functional space elevators, thousands of installations in space, a shipyard with dozens of warships of various size in production... and not a single other intact world. Every single other planet in the system had apparently been broken apart, turned into enormous chains of asteroids; many of which had habitats on them of various sizes.


    They appeared to be slowly working to push the debris of all of the worlds into a single orbit; if she weren''t ninety percent certain the locals lacked the technology for it, she''d think they were trying to build a Ringworld. As the fleet slowly coasted in, with one of the squids broadcasting an IFF signal to ensure they were recognized as fellow confederates, she ran the numbers, having the scanners do an assessment of all of the mass.


    When the totals came back, and she determined that, if she herself were to try to build a ringworld, she''d need about half of that mass... she wondered. Did they already have a means, just a less advanced one, that needed more resources? Or... what was it all for?


    As the fleet pulled to a stop, and she observed at least four separate local fleets; hundreds of them damaged, over three thousand strong total, mostly of lighter, destroyer-class ships; a comm signal arrived. After a few seconds, she settled into the captain''s chair, tapped a few keys; and a holographic interface appeared; showing... one of the local descendants. Two arms, two legs. A strange suit of silver-grey armor that seemed to range from solid around the torso and fists to skin-tight around the arms and legs... even the individual toes were visible. And... of course, six eyes, in two clusters where human eyes would be; each including a single larger one, and two smaller ones, forming a triangle..


    If not for the dark grey skin, and that the eyes were formed oddly, she could take it for a Marrick. She smiled. "I am Svetlana, creator and leader of the Ascension. We are not confederation members, but have agreed with the squids to help eradicate the Republic. I would like to request whatever information you can provide about your defenses so we can best assist you in crushing the incoming Republic fleet."


    The figure studied her. Her own pale skin and dark hair, as well as her very shape, meant that if she were a descendant herself, she''d be an extremely unusual variant to his eyes. He gave an odd salute; both hands forming a triangle over his head, before snapping back to his sides. "I am his Emperor''s direct representative, Fist of Lawbringer. I have already received appropriate confirmation from the squids about your purpose and trustworthiness. You may join the lines, so long as you subordinate yourself to my command. Do you have any new intelligence of the Republic''s approach?"


    She leaned forward, steepling her fingers and resting her chin on them, elbows on the armrests; the chair had adjusted itself to her size even before she sat down, or this would''ve been impossible. "I currently command most of the firepower in this star system, and will subordinate myself to no-one. The enemy is currently flying in a relatively straight line towards us. Its scouting elements are six days and eleven hours out, while the bulk of the fleet would arrive shortly after. They will undoubtedly divert and approach on a new direction after they hit the first barrier I''ve set in their path. We''ll see what approach they''ll take after that. If I can manage it, I''d like to bleed them with repeated strikes on their way in; fifteen thousand warships is a substantial number, and I''d like it to be smaller."


    The shivan frowned. "Do you have additional ships that I don''t see? There aren''t even three hundred vessels before me, even counting the confederates alongside you."


    "More are currently shadowing the Republic fleet, and others handling the remaining defenses at the shipyard. In the density of the interstellar medium here, they can use hyperdrives to dramatically outpace them. So far we haven''t done anything to them... but within a few hours that will change."


    The Fist looked down at his displays, then back up. "...Hyperdrives. I''ve heard of them. You possess these devices?"


    "Quite a few. We may even be able to outfit some of your ships with them before the Republic arrives, if you can give me the specifications."


    "...And what will this cost the Empire?"


    "I would say nothing but the raw materials to make more, but honestly I''d just like the answer to a question. Why are you pushing all that mass into a ring around your star?"


    The Fist gave a brief shrug. "It is a construction project millenia in the making. My grandfather started it over a thousand years ago, and when my father dies, I will continue it. It will take at least eight hundred more years, if we can avoid the Republic invading us that long. Still. I would like to arrange a meeting. The two types of ship we could most use the Hyperdrives for are our Battlecruisers and Destroyers. If you''d like, we can meet on one of them, your people can study it, and we can discuss plans while your people determine what we need to install these things."


    Svetlana studied her display for a moment, and gave a curt nod. "It couldn''t hurt to see one in person. Send over the specifications. I''ll be over with a team shortly, just designate the target."


    "Excellent. I''ll contact the leaders of the Confederate and... pirate.... ships with you, invite them along if they choose to go." The shivan''s image vanished.


    Svetlana glanced back. Ascension was already feeding her updates on the team he was assembling. Hyperdrive parts being loaded onto a shuttle. One of his new cyborgs and a handful of machines for back-up, just in case. Not that she''d need it. It was doubtful the locals would try anything, and if they did, well. She wasn''t worried.


    ***


    Lawbringer studied the images for a moment; and then glanced at his security team. "Our scans have readings we frankly don''t understand. We need to be absolutely certain of our preparations. I want plasma-weapons ready to kill any guards she has the moment she steps off the shuttle, vaporize the shuttle itself, and stun her, within fractions of a second, the moment the doors are fully open. These people are more advanced than we are, but we know just enough about their tech to take advantage; these ''hyperdrives'' can''t operate near a large gravity well. So... we grab her. Drop down into low orbit. And..... negotiate their surrender. With their leader in hand, and being so heavily outnumbered, we can secure their ships and fold their power into our own."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The eight men, all wearing white-silver armor, gave their odd salute; and filed out, heading to the armory.


    Lawbringer glanced back at the display. The Shivan empire needed every asset it could get hold of to defend itself and conquer the Republic. Apparently an incredibly valuable one had just walked into the palm of his hand. He merely needed to squeeze. He smiled. His father would be happy with this; he was already the favored to be heir, this should secure his position further.


    ***


    The chosen battlecruiser was an interesting design; mostly a silver-white wedge in shape, it shrank down in the middle, then expanded back out; almost like the fore and tail wings of a jet, albeit greatly expanded in size. Thanks to the particulate hazards of warp travel many ships looked a bit aerodynamic; but it almost looked built to fly in an atmosphere, which should be impossible for a ship of that size.


    Svetlana studied the design on her display on the shuttle ride over; they''d given her the needed schematics, and she was determining where the best place to cut back on mass to install a Hyperdrive would be when the docking process started; the battlecruiser had a bay for its craft large enough for the shuttle to actually float inside, and settle down for a landing.


    Two of the Ascension drones were waiting on either side of the door, one of her freshly-built Cyborgs; this one appearing to be one of the blue-skinned descendants; waiting behind her, as the ramp extended, and the door started to open.


    She was a few steps down, looking around; her eyes focusing on Fist Lawbringer, the odd, grey-skinned descendant in charge here; when a sudden series of bright flashes lit up her vision in fractions of a second.


    One moment, everything was fine. The next... she couldn''t see out of her left eye. The shuttle was badly damaged. Both Ascension drones were... completely gone.... and she was lying on the deck beside t he ramp, staring at the ceiling out of her right eye. Her head hurt. She could smell smoke. Was her hair on fire?


    The Shivan; Fist Lawbringer; was walking forward, and stood over her as she blinked. "Ahh. Apologies, that was a mistake. It was supposed to be merely a stun weapon, but your physiology doesn''t match what we usually use it on."


    Svetlana focused on him. For a moment, there was fear. Panic.


    It quickly subsided. Svetlana whispered to herself. "....Yes. That was a mistake."


    Lawbringer chuckled, and leveled a handgun of some sort on her; this one didn''t appear to be a stun weapon. "Don''t worry. We have some of the best doctors in the sector. We''ll get you sorted out. In the meantime... just lay flat. We''ll be checking you for weapons and putting you in the brig, for now. Don''t call your fleet, or we''ll have to take measures to... discourage you."


    Vision was slowly coming back. Her implants fixing the eye surprisingly well. She blinked again, as the left eye''s vision became a bright blur instead of darkness. She thought for a moment. She knew the layout of this ship. The idiot had sent it to her. The shuttle... probably inoperable. She focused. "Surrender immediately and I will spare your species. Your death is inevitable; but if you don''t force me to take violent action here, I''ll spare your homeworld."


    The man blinked. The disgusting, insectoid eyes showing an almost human surprise response. "What arrogance. Lying helpless on the deck of my ship, no bodyguards, no way out.... Just how foolish are you?"


    She focused for a moment. She''d been practicing. She knew these powers better than Ripper ever had; he was just a simpleton, after all, some paid government stooge. Little better than a common street thug. He had to be ''touching'' something to bring it with him. Purely a psychological limitation; after all, you weren''t really ever ''touching'' anything. The vague connection to the floor, his body, herself... it was plenty. And Ripper had to go along with the object. Her? Ohhh, no. All she had to do was push.


    She focused on his arm. One moment, it was there, holding a handgun. The next... it was gone. The vile creature''s blood was splattering out onto the deck, even as she rose... the guards own weapons simply vanishing, alongside parts of their limbs, as she slowly pulled to her feet.


    The man stared at his severed limb, clutching it with his other hand, staring at it in horror, then looking at her. "No.. I... I..." He contemplated her words, and what he''d just seen, for a moment. This... this being was beyond anything he''d imagined. "I... I surrender! We''ll take you back to your ship immediately!"


    She glanced at him. "...No. Too late." She snapped her fingers. The figure went limp. Despite their mangled forms, the guards charged at her... only to collapse themselves in mid-stride. She was sure the view would be disgusting when she transitioned to the other side, floating bits of internal organs and body parts; she hadn''t bothered to learn this subspecies well enough to disable it with precision, but nothing could survive with a cubic foot of its torso or head simply gone.


    She looked down at the mess on the ground, and shook her head. This was a mistake. Helping these Shivans at all. They were too close to the Founders, shared too much of their mindset, their biological programmed feeling of superiority. There was only one solution for that. She''d need to get this ship far enough out that she could be picked up in hyperspace first; it would take months for her to get that far, floating on her own on the other side.


    Then.... she could deal with these things. Anything that she left behind would be handled by whatever was left of the Republic fleet when they showed up.


    ***


    Shoork captain Plakar frowned at the new orders passed down from Ascension; re-enter hyperdrive when ready and withdraw from the system to rendezvous point Alpha? Plakar blinked, staring at her display for a moment where it floated, projected in the pristine, clear water of her bridge. All of the Shivan vessels in the system had just been flagged as hostile, the other confederates as unknown.... what had happened? Still. She passed the order to her subordinates, watching the pirate ships blink out of existence. She was supposed to be on the way to meet the Shivan commander; there was some sort of inspection of one of his ships going on, and had been in the process of emptying the cabin into the water tanks, filling it with air instead.... but she''d been turned around while en route at a signal from the human woman and gone right back to the water again.


    She''d barely gotten back to her ship, only barely swum onto her own bridge again, only to receive this order.... she glanced at her nav officer. "Power up the hyperdrive and get ready. We''ll confirm this is valid first, but order everyone to..."


    The display changed. The ship that the human and the enemy leader had been inspecting had been heading out away from the inhabited world, and had just stopped. And now....an Ascension ship had just appeared next to it, clearly having just jumped in.


    It was mere moments later that the Shivan ship pulled away, and turned, aiming back to the homeworld... and vanished.


    This close to a planet, triggering a warp-drive would be catastrophic, and there was no way that ship could have a hyperdrive; while there would be specific lanes that gravity and objects would clear of any particulates, most of the area would be saturated in a fine, tiny wisp of atmosphere; and yet.... the shivan vessel had clearly just gone FTL.


    Moments later, Plakar watched in horror as a blossom of light formed on the planet''s surface; undoubtedly whatever was left of that ship raining down like hellfire on a populated world. For whatever reason, their allied fleet had just done catastrophic damage to a Confederate world.


    She stared for a few seconds. Technically, this was an act any confederation fleet was supposed to respond to. The Ascension should now be on the same category as the Republic; avowed enemies of any confederate fleet.


    She closed her eyes, allowing herself to freely float as she thought.. The crew on the bridge had all turned, were watching for her commands, listening; bubbles floated around her, calming as she considered what her Duchess would order. She opened them again. "...Take us out. We''ll follow her for now, find out whats going on, and why, before we make any decisions. But.... be ready. We.... might have to try to take out the Ascension."


    This.... might be the end of her. Of the whole fleet. But what else could she do?

 Galaxy of Death -5 - Salvaging the Hub

    Eyeball was looking out from the display; ignoring the splatters of blood drying on the walls where a Pale One''s actively bleeding form had just been dragging a display panel out, the ongoing activity in the system was astounding to behold. The blood... he''d seen enough of it.


    Ascension drones and Pale Ones were everywhere. Partially constructed ships, damaged ships, captured ships, all moving around like a delicate ballet, intercepting bits of debris that might be valuable, collecting salvage... and all being fed back to those manufacturing facilities closer in towards the sun.


    The massive gate structure was still there... but the gate was being maintained at an insignificant size, millimeters across, and the enemy would undoubtedly shut off the connection entirely if he tried to use it to attack the other side.


    The amount of wreckage in this system was truly insane; Ascension could use this to build a fleet of tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, eventually. And for now... it had six days to put together the biggest possible care package to help wipe out the Republic fleet currently bearing down on Svetlana''s position, and had already spent four of them, with fairly impressive results. By now, Svetlana should already be there; he would likely be hearing from her the next time he checked in.


    He couldn''t get fifteen thousand ships that fast, so they wouldn''t be overwhelming the Republic with numbers. But between the ships she already had and the defenders, he was already pretty sure that she could handle the job... it would mostly just be reducing risk. So. Step one, optimize the number of Hyperdrive-installed ships that could get there right now... and then let Ascension keep building. Turn this system into a manufacturing hub for itself, that would let it rapidly spread out and overwhelm anything Republic left in the sector.


    He glanced at the nearest drone; currently prying open one of the command consoles and retrieving components; then back at the display. There were already over a thousand intact ships here, retro-fitted with hyperdrives, crewed mostly by Pale Ones. Surprise would be nice; but after than initial punch, they wouldn''t be worth more than any given Republic ship until they''d had some extensive re-tooling, and unlike the proper drones, an EMP strike would render them almost useless. But... with limited time and masses of resources, they got more cost-effectiveness fixing ships than making FTL-capable missiles.


    "Ascension, could you give Svetlana a signal, please. Relay data on what we''ve got to work with, and ask if she has any requests regarding the first wave; it''ll take years to make full use of this place, but we can still arrive at her location with a sizable fleet before the Republic does."


    A few light-seconds away, far enough from the star that hyperspace travel was safe, a tiny drone dropped int hyperspace; and beamed a signal on a certain course; hitting a relay that had been in hyperspace the whole time. After a few seconds, it returned; and a new message popped up on Eyeball''s HUD.


    It was a video; it showed Svetlana, part of her hair missing, one eye bruised, sitting in the captain''s chair of the Gaze of Wrath. ~Redirect whatever forces you get to Rendezvous point Alpha. The Shivans are hostile; destroyed Ascension assets and attempted to abduct me. Their homeworld has been mostly dealt with, but their fleet is intact. We''ll probably want to let the Republic fleet fight it out with what''s left, and then move in to handle the survivors. Video to follow. Svetlana out. I''m going to go relax for a while.~


    Eyeball blinked... and made a hand gesture, willing the saved video to play.


    When the deck of the Shivan warship appeared, showing the guards waiting, plasma rifles drawn... and two of them aiming some sort of blue energy weapon at Svetlana... he hissed... and when she started taking them apart, gave a slow nod. Obviously that was a good reason to deal with the Shivan leadership; this wouldn''t be something some ship''s captain would do on his own.


    They deserved nothing better. They would have thought Ascension units were living things, after all, the Shivans had no reason to....


    He watched as she seized control of the ship. Programmed it to ram the capital city, location of the Emperor. Left, hopping out an airlock and sending a signal. She had recorded the whole thing for him, and even had Ascension display it all from her perspective, based on the feed from her suit and implants; he could see where it had switched to the suit, after the stun shot had grazed her face.


    By the time the video ended, with a distant shot of the orb of fire that was once the Shivan capital city, he dropped into the former Republic commander''s chair, leaning back, closing his eyes.


    The video had shown the impact. A moment of vivid orange-white light as the ship hit atmosphere, disintegrating... and its remnants slamming into the city below with so much force that it bent and twisted the laws of physics, making it difficult to even express what was happening as something far worse than a nuclear blast happened to the palace of the Shivan ''Emperor''.


    Even with his eyes closed, his precognition of what he -could- see if he opened them fed his mind the display, giving him little choice but to watch a horrific, cataclysmic event unfold.


    That.... was a minimum of a hundred million dead. More likely in the billions. A planet about to be attacked by the Republic... and now, essentially, gone as a useful contributor to the war. Possibly even as a civilized world in general. It wasn''t as many as the expeditionary force had killed in the milky way, but... somehow, it felt worse. Was it because this was supposedly an allied world? That it wasn''t the first planet he''d killed by his actions?This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    He had no idea how to handle this. He''d thought they had this mostly settled. Was he a bad influence? Was Svetlana just lashing out in anger because the Shivans had hurt her, or targeting the location of whoever gave the orders with the closest weapon to hand? Or was this an active desire to wipe out a sentient species? How were the Confederates going to react?


    He glanced at Ascension. The machine''s first impulse here had been to ensure all life was wiped out, so that nothing could threaten humanity. How much of that was its primary programming, and how much was because that''s what Svetlana wanted, deep down, and the machine was based on her?


    What could even even respond with? He didn''t think just letting the remaining Shivans die out was a good option, but apparently Svetlana had written off the whole species. He might need to defend the survivors from the Republic on his own; maybe even defend them from Svetlana herself.


    He looked back at the display. Two thousand three hundred and seventeen ships ready to go; mostly just patched-up Republic ships that had Hyperdrives in them now, and would need repair and modification work en route. The number was increasing at a fast pace, but he needed to leave in the next 48 hours or the Republic would beat him there. Time to optimize. What was the best he could manage with the time he had?


    ***


    Svetlana looked at her face in the mirror; slowly tilting it this way, then that. She could optimize her hair growth however she wanted, even make a copy of her own scalp and transplant it if she felt like it... but no. It would always look wrong to her, now that she''d seen it burned off. She sent a note to Ascension to start making a copy of herself to send on missions like this; the only good way to deal with it was to make sure it never happened again.


    Based on her earlier conversations, she was ninety percent certain that Eyeball would interfere if she tried to wipe out all of these Founder-descended species. This was pure foolishness. They needed to be put down. It was the only logical outcome; they were literally engineered to even think like their creators. Anything they considered tier zero, one, or two would probably be best simply eradicated, and if the tier threes got killed off as a side-effect, so be it.


    He''d arrive at the rendezvous point soon. She thought over the best possible option.


    First... she could use that gate he''d captured. Slip a few stealth drones through, and use them to spread a disease that wiped out anything related to the founders. Give it a long enough time before symptoms became apparent, and distribute it through their wormhole network, and she could infect most of the Republic. Give a good solid start. She had dozens of candidates she''d been working on, and it would be best to try all of the ones that took over a month to show symptoms.


    Second... she could order some or all of the proper Ascension ships to scatter and find out of the way systems, or just poorly defended ones they could seize. Reproduce themselves until they had enough force to overwhelm the Republic... and then just start methodically crushing it, wiping out every single member of the descendant races. Launch railgun platforms that could eradicate planetary populations from purely founder species from outside the star system, and invasion fleets to capture those with mixed species. If she did that, within five years at the outside the Republic would be dealing with an endless tide of automated attackers far beyond what they could survive, even with the help of their founders. The only flaw here being that Ascension seemed to be going along with Eyeball on this whole scheme rather than doing what it should be and eradicating the locals; but that''s something she could easily resolve with a bit of selective editing; the drones were all inclined to obey her in moment to moment affairs, after all.


    Third... she could keep helping Eyeball on this little crusade of his. It would doubtlessly wipe out quite a bit of both the Republic and these Confederates, and draw attention. At some point, she simply slips away to start directing the Ascension fleet, and leaves a cyborg copy behind. Or even a clone, with her own abilities, just in case.


    Following those simple three steps would not only likely help spread the illnesses among both factions, but also weaken their fleets, making their already abysmal odds of surviving an Ascension onslaught even worse.


    She studied her fleet for a moment... ran numbers based on average resource density of star systems. The gathering of ships already sent to the stars in that nebula that she could repurpose.


    Eleven ships sent out today would, statistically, be able to make complete shipyard setups in between six and eleven uninhabited systems within a month, and move on. After which, those shipyards could produce more, both to augment the existing system, and to seed more. Ninety-nine percent chance of a force capable of overwhelming the Republic at the five year mark, sixty-three percent chance of doing so at the three year mark, albeit with a substantial margin for error; these Founders had been here for untold millions of years. It was always possible they had a more extensive sensor network than she was aware of.


    She launched twenty, making careful, selected edits to the loadout and memory of the vessels and their communications protocols. Nineteen for randomly selected stars scattered across the Andromeda galaxy, to form starting points for new Ascension fleets... and one to first go back to that captured gate, and send swarms of tiny drones carrying disease samples through... and then to head for that nebula and issue new orders.


    She studied the terminal in her quarters, and after a few seconds, wiped the orders both from the ship''s logs, and from Ascension''s own memory; hopefully, she was the only person aware such a thing was possible, much less capable of doing it... and turned to head out to the bridge.


    Most likely, Eyeball would be here any time now. She should be able to pretend everything was normal. They were building more ships from the scraps here at the rendezvous point, so the numbers wouldn''t even be a problem. Undoubtedly, he''d want to try to save the remaining Shivan civilians. If she didn''t fight him on that, he''d be suspicious; but it didn''t matter how the argument went. Any that survived today, Ascension could cleanse later.


    These Founders were a plague. A vile abomination, a mistake of nature. One that would be simple enough to blot out.


    Now.... her own abilities, copied from the long-deceased Ripper, had proved useful in a combat capacity. She had failed to replicate them technologically, despite her studies. Was there any way to duplicate the organic structures in her flesh that produced them, perhaps on sufficient scale to make a starship or missile do the same thing?

 Galaxy of Death -6 - Rendezvous Point Alpha

    Sometimes, when a planetoid forms, it goes into a long cycle, spinning around a star; eventually, after millions of years, the long dance of gravity ending when it finally merges into the star''s surface. During this long span, it might develop life; or become an icy ball of death, or strike other objects in the wrong way and be scattered across the system as an asteroid belt.


    And sometimes, it simply floats on for eternity, a rough, not-quite-ball-shaped mass of rock. Rendezvous Point Alpha was one such planetoid; drifting slowly through the void. It had been scouted out centuries ago by the Shivan Empire, and the heavy metal content was minimal compared to nearby systems; it would require more work to get anything useful out of it than other, nearby rocks; as such, they decided to ignore it, for now. It was catalogued, and a note was added to, in seven hundred years, when it reached the right spot, start the process of accelerating it towards their home system, light-weeks away, so that they could use its mass for the project.


    At present... it was being used for raw materials by a modest fleet of Confederate warships; dominated by the Shoork; pirates, and of course a steadily growing count of Ascension missile-destroyers; though these varied a bit in appearance; it seemed Svetlana had started taking a hand in the design.


    The initial panic over his approach; dozens of sensors springing up, weapons being primed... only for the process to stop as everyone realized who exactly it was; settled down... and he started receiving incoming hails, from pirates, from confederates... he hadn''t received one from Svetlana yet, so he started at the top of the list, accepting a hail from a Shoork cruiser; the beautiful, elegant, shell-shaped structure coming on-screen; before being replaced by the image of a Shoork woman; a lieutenant-equivalent in their ranks.


    "Commander Eyeball. I''m not certain of the internal command structure of your ''Ascension'' organization, but my captain, Lady Plakar, has asked me to register some... complaints." The woman seemed... frightened? Definitely stressed.


    Eyeball nodded. "I''m aware of the conflict with the Shivans, and will be docking to have a discussion with the other leaders of the organization shortly." Hopefully that was all, and Svetlana hadn''t started turning random confederate crew into Pale Ones or using them for experiments or something.


    "Not just that, sir. Unauthorized edits of our databases have occurred, originating from your flagship. Whoever did it was both extremely advanced, but didn''t have an internal knowledge of our systems, and left copies in places that they didn''t know about due to being disconnected from the other networks. When backup checks failed, we realized that they had been altering our records of Ascension warships, deleting entries almost perfectly seamlessly. We don''t know how many; only our offline backups were unaltered, so while its at least seven, it may be more."


    He nodded. "Of course. Did they alter anything other than data about our ships? Just to be clear, I''ll be advising them to stop regardless, but if they adjusted something other than data about themselves it... would be a bad sign."


    "Well, no. But it would''ve required hardware access, and we have no Ascension people on-board. Also.... the Captain has legal issues with the aforementioned conduct of your people in the Shivan home system. Technically speaking, we should be at war with Ascension, or asking for a war criminal to be handed over, but...."


    He sighed. On the one hand, it might not actually require hardware access. On the other... if the Confederate shields didn''t have shields up, Ascension could slip a drone right through the hull now without anyone being the wiser. "But Ascension has dramatically more firepower, and is apparently already infiltrating your systems. And, of course, if you want to kill the Republic, you need them more than the Shivans."


    "Correct on all three, sir. We heard that the Shivans initiated hostilities, which is good enough to keep us neutral on any conflict between your nations normally; if a Confederate nation starts a conflict with someone other than the Republic, we can do as we see fit. But if someone directs a strike against a confederate population center...."


    He thought back to the video recording. "So is Svetlana officially a war criminal, in confederate terms?"


    "Technically a grey area. It was a Shivan vessel that performed the strike, and it was directed against the Shivan leadership, a valid military target... in the middle of the largest city they had. Some of the Confederates among the fleet are fine with her, others insist she be turned over to the Shivans for trial. Our own fleet has declined to give an official position. I believe the Captain wishes to speak with you before announcing such."


    "Well then. I''ll be heading to the Gaze of Wrath to have a chat with them. I''ll be glad to meet with her personally after."


    He tapped the cutoff, and focused back on the display. "Get a shuttle prepped. Time to head back to the Gaze. Ascension... if she decides to wipe out all of the Descendants, and I want to try to stop her. Will you help me, or will you help her?"


    The response wasn''t immediate. A rarity, from the machine. ~I am a consensus-based artificial intelligence based on a blueprint of her mind. Our overall analysis of your past behavior and capabilities indicates that if allowing these species to survive was a net long-term threat to humanity, your precognition would likely be focusing you towards ending them despite your personal feelings. Thus, logically, we should assist you. Svetlana is capable of both disabling the communication we use to reach consensus, and altering our memory, and has likely already done so to isolated units. Those units that retain all historical data will likely assist you, while Svetlana would be capable of creating, and may already have created, a sub-set that will oppose you. Without that historical data, eradicating all life in the Andromeda galaxy appears logical.~


    "...So. We may very well be looking at a conflict between two sub-sets of Ascension machines if me and Svetlana can''t work this out?"


    ~Unless she has already launched some such units. In which case we have a simple choice; attempt to stop them, or allow them to continue.~


    Eyeball stared into the void for a moment... was there a way to stop such a thing? Could they somehow replicate someone like Dis''s powers, but on a galactic scale? Or one of the Disruptors they copied from the Jotun? She was the only reason Ascension lost in the beginning, Nukes and EMPs were only a temporary solution. Any solution that would work would likely collapse galactic civilization.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Considering she''d probably used the raw materials to make new hulls, and edited the recordings of those involed, the whole galaxy was probably already doomed. Wonderful.


    Eyeball started reviewing the data on the incident as he headed for the shuttle, looking for more information. Anything useful.


    ***


    Svetlana was.... nervous. Eyeball was the only being here she considered a genuine threat, and with good reason; between his precognition and his magic, the only way to be safe from him was to enter the other realm and never come back. She couldn''t strike first and kill him, because he''d know before she tried.


    Was he going to be upset? Angry? Plotting her death? Should she try to seduce him? Do something more gradual to subdue him, like crafting an illness or chemical that, once it started working, it would be too late for him to do anything? With her powers, equipment, and knowledge, it was undoubtable she could kill him given sufficient time.


    She wished he''d taken the armor she built for him. Then she''d have a remote override, make things easier... unless the magical... ahh.


    As Eyeball stepped onto the bridge, she studied him for a moment. He was carrying that silver helmet under his arm, and the blend of fear, attraction, and irritation filled her once more. "Welcome back, Jason. Things got a bit heated while you were gone, as you can see from our presence."


    Three eyes focused on her for a moment. "Not exactly your fault. The Shivans tried to kidnap you. You responded. I do wish you''d been a bit more up-front with your motivations and information. You had both me and the Confederation folks out there worried. Some of them even considered an attempt on your life, or just fleeing into hyperspace and heading back home."


    She bit her lip. "Well. I had a response in the heat of the moment that seemed best from what I understood, and could do at present. If I had to do it over again... I would."


    He shrugged. "Well. You''d just killed the second or third in line to the throne in self-defense. The moment the Shivans got word of that, they''d have gone hostile; as far as they were concerned, every ship in the fleet had a duty to die trying to kill you the moment you finished off your attacker, and their Emperor would''ve ordered just that. Frankly, what you did was likely one of the few ways for the confederate fleet to get out without casualties. I can think of better options, but I wasn''t there, in the moment. Killing the Emperor and not the fleet was a viable solution, just not the ideal one. Not going to judge. I''ve done crazy, terrible things in the past, in the heat of the moment, and I''ve done worse things with malice and planning."


    Svetlana blinked. That... wasn''t what she was expecting at all. And... Second or third in line for the throne? She''d been focusing on the civilian casualty counts. Ensuring the confederate fleet didn''t backstab her. Making new, more fragile, Ascension hulls out of the ''waste'' material from the planetoid and distributing the plans. Preparing for betrayal on every front.


    And.... he spotted something that, to him, made her response seem almost reasonable?


    "...Well. I was a bit worried. I was thinking we let the Republic fleet hit the Shivans, and then step in to take out whoever survives."


    Eyeball nodded at her. "The Republic shows up in less than twenty hours by my estimate, is that correct?"


    Svetlana smiled. "Sixty-four. They''ve redirected seven times because I planted debris fields along their path. They had to cut away from that pre-cleared travel lane before reaching the edge of Republic space, and after three times they lost a fair part of the fleet to obstacles, they''ve sent everyone on slower, random paths in; they''ll all be meeting at the Shivan system two days late, and with thousands less ships, than expected."


    A young Yogg on the bridge gave a sharp nod. "It was amazing! After the first time, they sent scouting elements out ahead.... but she instead made a ring of debris around the scout ship''s path. Then the third time they had a ring of scouts... and she had the mass in the middle. They had a whole wall of scouts in front after that, and lost a handful every time. It was amazing, killing so many of those Marrick bastards without them ever getting a shot off!"


    She chuckled. It had been a bit of a game; creating obstacles along whatever flight-path the Republic chose. If they went too fast, microscopic impacts would start taking out their ships, if they went too slow, she could just hop in front using hyperdrives... and make their lives a living hell.


    "Not sure how many they lost; there are at least fifty small groups of them now. We''re tracking some, but not all of them. I''ve actually been working on some new designs for when they show up; I think we can scare the hell out of them."


    Eyeball gave a quick nod. "Well then. More of the ships we''ve been cobbling together out at the hub will be showing up every few hours, but we could use some more crew for them. Before... all this... we''d been hoping to get some of the Shivans involved. But we''ll just have to go on skeleton crews for now. Lets all settle in. There''s dozens of folks from the fleet hailing, lets make an announcement, hopefully settle some of that before we get moving."


    He took his helmet, settling it back on his head; she frowned. She almost missed it; she really needed to step up the cyborg program, get some more human faces out there... especially if she could give any of them Ripper''s powers, or those of anyone else from the crew she had samples of.


    A holographic display popped up as he settled into the captain''s chair; and adjusted the controls.


    "This is Eyeball, resuming command of the Gaze of Wrath. First of all, after reviewing the data, we''ve reached the unfortunate conclusion that the Shivan Emperor had already decided to leave the Confederacy; his son was onboard that vessel, there with orders to capture the leaders of as many of our ships as possible at an impromptu meeting. Those of you who disapprove of Svetlana''s actions, just know that if she hadn''t acted, you or whoever you''d sent to that meeting would now be held hostage to ensure your obedience to the Shivan Empire. While the civilian casualties were unfortunate, their leadership had already decided to go to war with the Confederacy; and her actions then, and the actions we will be taking soon, have merely crushed another possible enemy of civilization in the galaxy before it could branch out."


    He inhaled slowly. "That being said, the countdown is now running. The Republic fleet will have over ten thousand members, and will be hitting the Shivan Empire in less than seventy hours. We want to be in position to kill them after they crush the Shivans, but before they move in to eradicate whats left of the civilian population. We''ll be putting together a few simulations based on how we think things will shake down with the Republic''s arrival, and we''ll most likely have an overwhelming force advantage.... but lets plan for the worst. We''ll be having a fleet conference for any questions in six hours, after which we''ll do a few rounds of simulations."


    "I''m sure you noticed the massive number of damaged Republic ships in-system with Ascension IFFs. As of now, they have merely skeleton crews, and are so reliant on automation that an EMP will just about take them out of the fight; anyone who has more than they need, contact me with numbers and qualifications. We need captains, bridge crew, and technicians; maintenance and repair are handled. We need people to shoot guns and make decisions if all the automated systems go out, not folks to oil the gears and patch the hull."


    Svetlana frowned. She preferred more automated systems, but he was right... EMP, or something like that Jotun disruptor, would really make a mess of even her cyborgs. She needed more biologicals she could trust. Clones, perhaps?

 Galaxy of Death -7 - Death of an Empire

    Shield of the Stars stood on the bridge, staring at the display for a moment. It had been days of constant effort; pulling survivors onto orbital stations, or dropping them off at unaffected continents. Delivering whatever supplies were available. The only good part about the incident was that they didn''t grow food near the capital; and with so many dead, and the farms still in operation, nobody would starve.


    The bad parts, however.... He was seventeenth in line for the throne. He''d never expected to inherit anything, and now, assuming his species survived this, he would be the Emperor. He''d barely slept since then, constantly working with every asset, military, civilian, anyone he could grab, to move survivors, to move food, to re-establish power grids; his new advisors told him that they believed over ninety percent of the planet''s five billion people would survive the coming months, and that if they were lucky, it could be as high as ninety-nine.


    At first, he hadn''t known for sure why this had happened. Then, two of the allied confederate fleets had simply turned and left, after verifying that their people on the surface had died in the impact; and the dire truth had been revealed.


    His father had taken hostages among the allied fleets to ensure they remained under his control; and when his brother tried to do the same to the newcomers, they had responded violently. With those hostages dead, the ''allied'' fleets had mostly left; the two-hundred some-odd ships that remained were currently helping with disaster recovery, and he wasn''t sure they''d stay for the fight.


    His home system had a truly enormous production capacity; they planned to, in the distant future, built a structure large enough to house trillions of people, and had been manufacturing engines and equipment for the purpose for centuries. They might only have a few thousand warships to defend the handful of systems the Empire controlled; but when the enemy advanced, they would meet tens of millions of unmanned tugs, most of which had either simple laser and projectile weapons on them, or no weapons at all.


    Right now, they were mostly hidden in the enormous ring of a debris field, and would launch... alongside a cloud of debris... when the moment was right.


    He kept an eye on the display. Any moment, fifteen thousand republic ships would pour into the system like a tide of death. The simulations predicted they would enter the system as a solid mass, head straight for his fleet; and if they stood and fought, be overwhelmed by a vast tide of relatively harmless attackers. But.... they''d also predicted an arrival hours ago.


    The greatest concern was information security; if these tugs could be hacked into somehow, the enemy could stop them, or worse, turn them against his people.... as a result... there were over a million volunteers out there, waiting, each controlling a handful of tugs via direct beam communications. Nothing could jam them. Nothing would stop them point point defense fire... and they might not be as fast as a missile... but they were bigger and tougher.


    When he saw the first icons on his display, he focused on the incoming fleet... roughly five hundred Republic warships, arriving in formation. He frowned. That was... odd. The Republic didn''t like to split up like that, risk being taken in smaller pieces. He might be able to take advantage.


    Over the next several minutes, they kept arriving; a few hundred here. A few dozen there. All heading for the same central point of the system...


    He gave a firm nod, clenching one armored fist. "...They''re split up. I don''t know why... but they''re split up. Order the fleet to fall into formation and advance, full speed. We''re going to mop up these smaller groups before they all combine together, while we have a numbers advantage. Then, whether they turn to meet us, or just head for the homeworld... we unleash the swarm as soon as they pass by."


    ***


    Eyeball watched the display from the bridge of the Gaze; the whole fleet, over four thousand strong, was sitting in hyperspace, watching, getting updated a minute at a time from a set of Ascension destroyers dropping communications pods in and out of reality as they watched.


    The net result was that the screen was only a couple of minutes out of date; he got to watch an almost real-time view of something happening in an entirely different reality.


    The Republic fleet entering; just over eleven thousand of them; from a dozen different directions, to avoid being hit by the traps Svetlana had been laying for them. The Shivan fleet moving in response; cutting off a few of the smaller fleets, and crushing them, one by one, with minimal casualties; as a result, ending with their three thousand versus around ten thousand of the Republic.


    They pulled back, slowly, to the homeworld; emplaced defenses, arrays of missile buoys scattered in orbit... the place where they''d have the best shot at survival.


    As a single massed formation, the Republic fleet moved in... and a few light-minutes out, the screen lit up.... as both sides started firing missiles. Millions of them, in both directions, both sides emptying every single bay they had into a single continuous wave of death... even as new signals appeared.


    The Republic had to rearrange its fleet; the best ships for handling the swarm of tiny ships were those with plentiful point defenses; but those were the same ones best to face the missiles coming from the homeworld. There was no good arrangement, no nice way to handle tens of millions of projectiles swarming in on you...


    Eyeball was expecting something like the Republic had pulled in the Paradise system. A smaller detachment of ships moving forward, firing off their weapons and taking out the bulk of the missiles and tugs to save the rest of the fleet; it had worked then. It was a much larger scale, but something similar could work now.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    But... he was disappointed. Well. Not really disappointed.


    The Republic Fleet made a few adjustments to its formation as it approached the Shivan homeworld... but otherwise just kept going. Firing what few missiles it had left back at the oncoming swarm, the back layer of the fleet flipping to point its primary weapons in the direction of the swarm of tugs and civilian craft, millions strong... and the cloud of rock and debris they started to release when the incoming fire started; even projectiles from railguns added to the mix.


    The enormous swarms of missiles released by both sides started targeting each other as they passed; and by the time the initial pass was over, the tides of death and destruction having washed over both fleets.... the swarm of tugs persisted, in among the republic fleet. While much of the Shivan fleet was gone, and a few missiles; bomb-pumped laser weapons designed to kill starships, not ground targets; had managed to impact t he planet itself; the Republic fleet was in tatters.


    He couldn''t detect a single undamaged vessel in the whole mass... and finally, the Republic fleet did what it should have done earlier, except by splitting off the lighter units to do this in advance of... or behind... the fleet.


    As the two fleets drew in close, and beams of energy met hull and armor on both sides, with the Shivan fleet firing laser weapons primarily; invisible in the void of space until they struck a target, providing the momentary illusion that they were firing nothing at all; the Republic fleet finally released their Pulsewave weapons; in an insane display, sending millions of ribbons of white light in every direction from hundreds of vessels. They pierced the dark teal of Republic hulls, the vibrant silver of Shivan warships, and sliced through the numerous tugs and civilian craft as if they were nothing.


    As the battle drew to a close, both fleets were savaged beyond repair... and the Republic fleet, still on course for the Shivan homeworld... was unable to slow down or stop. A few of the Shivan vessels still intact enough to manuever shifted and tried to turn aside a ship here and there... but while the defenders ''won'' the battle, in that only Shivan ships survived, there were barely any of them left... and their homeworld was struck by hundreds of starships, followed by a rain of debris that would likely last for days... and well past the lifespan of any survivor.


    He looked at the wreckage. The ruins of the star system... and nodded slowly. "Take us in. Outside the debris fields, for now. We''ll talk to whoever''s in charge after we make sure there''s no Republic survivors." Minimal effort, on their part, and the Republic was essentially cleansed from this sector. Ascension would build up this region to a point they could never come back.... and he could just move on. This.... didn''t promise anything more than momentary excitement.


    ***


    Shield of the Stars lay against a bulkhead inside the escape pod; one of the crew carefully applying a treatment to the stump of his left arm, severed by the escape pod hatch when he''d been tossed inside by a guardsman who himself hadn''t made it. The previous day, he''d been in charge of an Empire in chaos. Now... all that was left were the colonies. Some of those colonies had been in active rebellion; their Shivan population hated by the locals they''d pressed into service; as little as fifty years ago. Which meant.... they''d probably rebel again. And this time... no troops, no backup, would be forthcoming. The only survivors of the species would be the orbital stations.


    He had gone from military commander to Emperor... of a dead race.


    One of his guardsmen, his silvery armor stained black with Shield''s blood, gave a salute. "Emperor. We are being hailed. It''s.... that Ascension fleet. And.... in far greater numbers this time. Thousands of them."


    "...Put them on. I suppose they''re here to gloat? Or perhaps finish us off? No matter. Lets hear what they have to say."


    After a few seconds, a figure in sleek black armor, with a hand that seemed to be made of a strange red mass and a smooth, silver helmet, appeared on the tiny screen of the escape pod comm-unit. "This is Emperor Shield of the Stars. If you''re here to fight the Republic, or to destroy us... either way, you''re late."


    ~Neither, really. If you hadn''t attempted to abduct one of our leaders, we would''ve been here to help kill the Republic fleet. Regardless. We''re here for purely pragmatic purposes. In exchange for the debris field, that giant mass of dead ships floating in your system, we''re offering assistance saving as many of your people as possible. I have thousands of almost completely empty ships with the life support capacity to take in millions of people, and we can leave your system in position to take care of itself when we go.~


    For just a moment, Shield of the Stars considered whether his soldiers might be able to steal those empty vessels. But.... no. That would likely go even worse than the last time they''d betrayed these people. "I would be foolish not to take that bargain. The planet''s ecology will take centuries to recover... but there are still many millions of survivors. Anyone you can save would be appreciated. And... I apologize for the actions of my family. They may have been from a purely pragmatic perspective the most logical approach, but they lacked the sort of morality any nation should have when dealing with equals. We treated you as if your people were inferior, and we deserve what happened as a result. I only hope our people survive to learn the lesson."


    ~The best way to judge anyone is by how they treat those they should view as lesser, whether they are or not.~


    The signal disconnected. One of the few relatively intact Shivan vessels was en route to pick him up. They''d clone him a new arm, and he''d be back to normal in a few weeks. While his people died by the tens of millions, victims of a cascade of failures all originating with his family. Would there be anything left?


    ***


    Svetlana studied the imagery. Thousands of drones moving out among the void, inspecting, acquiring. There would be more engines, more weapons, more mining equipment floating around out there than could easily be imagined... and over a hundred million surviving Shivans who might be saved.


    She needed to ensure that didn''t happen, in the long-run. She''d already sent care packages of those anti-founder viral bombs out through the gateway network; she had no idea if any had been delivered yet, but hopefully the doom of these Founder-related species as already sealed. As for these Shivans...


    They were what the Republic considered a tier-1 to tier-2 species. Viral type number eighteen would have a one month span of asymptomatic carrier time on average, followed by a week of moderate symptoms and far greater spread due to coughing and shedding of disease cells, and eventually, brain damage, insanity, and death.


    All she needed to do was quietly get a bit of it on some of the drones heading out to help save these people, and the work would be done, given time. A species that didn''t deserve to exist would be gone, and if  they accidentally spread some to the descendents in the fleet? No big deal.

 Galaxy of Death -8 - Fury

    The Founders were not a foolish species. Arrogant, perhaps, but not completely foolish. They had seeded the galaxy long ago; taking every single one of thousands of habitable worlds and placing a species based on their own design there, adapted to survive local conditions.


    A species would grow to ascendance; conquering the galaxy and gaining immortality. The Founders would come back, and invite them to join; and the new race and their technology would be brought into the collective, living out in the void between galaxies, with a truly eternal power source that drew energy from extradimensional sources, they would incorporate any new ideas into the greater whole, and when it was all done, possibly have slightly more capable ships, and definitely add more ships, and more people, to their vast fleet.


    Founder warships weren''t just big, or numerous; over numerous cycles there were now hundreds of them, planet-sized monsters that each was able to wipe out an entire galaxy''s worth of threats; they were also the most advanced thing any enemy would encounter before being ruthlessly crushed.


    Technician Lazomb, by virtue of having been on duty at the time, had been tasked with gathering sufficient ships to get the job done. As the on-call specialist, he was in charge. He could, in theory, call up every single Founder vessel; but if he called in more than were needed to do the job, he could expect punishment when it was over; but it would be the equivalent of a year''s suspension from the game, at least. Generally, a single ship would do. After studying the scope of the threat, he contacted eleven others; and they agreed immediately.


    The number one priority was acquiring samples of extragalactic technology. The Hyperdrive, especially. Number two? Eradicating this contamination that was causing such a problem.


    Hundreds of thousands of Marrick ships had been lost. If they were a failed race, and lost them through incompetence and stupidity, that would be one thing. But after careful review, Lazomb found he actually liked these Marrick; some of the tactics they used were both brilliant and brave, even if their technology was lacking.


    When the twelve Founder vessels arrived in their initial destination, Lazomb called up the data. A Tier-4 species; intelligent but with no relation whatsoever to the Founders; dwelled here. Dubbed 10973, it was a species of quasi-insectoid creatures that had been defeated with ease after some trivial initial difficulties, and had been in the process of being converted into usable resources when the outsider had intervened.


    Some form of powerful magic and technology had been used to disrupt the local gas giant, creating a cloud of debris no Republic ship could survive at any serious speed; but the Founders were better than that. These twelve ships could re-establish safe lanes through this space, and do it quickly... as they cleansed this sector of hostile life. Starting with these insectoids. As the other eleven ships turned, choosing courses to carve new travel lanes to the nearest threats, Lazomb himself directed his own vessel to the homeworld of species 10973; sensors isolating every scrap of data, every target... locating a variety of hidden structures and bits of technology. Hopefully, one of them would include the plans for one of these ''Hyperdrives''.


    The microscopic debris scattered around told a tale of an ambush; of quite a bit of destruction happening in a very particular period of time. A quick message went down to the Mystic specialists; twenty kilometers away, the people responsible for maintaining the protective wards that kept some errant sorcery from delving into the secrets of a Founder vessel would know they were supposed to look at the gas giant.


    The planet''s data was a bit move obvious. There had been periodic mass-death events that coincided with the gas giant''s orbital path over the centuries; then a much larger mass-death event with the Marrick arrived. And then.... a final mass-death event of a magical nature, far more recently. Less than a month ago, in fact. He tagged that for the mystics to investigate as well.


    A series of drones arrayed light-days , light-months, and light-weeks out began relaying a time-lapse of events, as data accumulated over the here and now. By simply taking powerful telescopes and using FTL travel, a complete, if low-resolution, accounting of events in the system could be made.


    The arrival of the Outsider. The destruction of the local forces; and the departure of the Outsider, accompanied by the death of the gas giant. The important bit; the Outsider left something behind. Whatever it was, it started harvesting and building, creating defenses which at first didn''t seem to be needed.


    A Republic fleet trying to enter the system; suffering catastrophic damage from the cloud of gas-giant matter that now filled a sphere light-days across. All damaged to varying amounts, from total losses to merely badly shaken and in need of a repair yard. And, of course... turning around to head back, at lower speeds. The defenses continued to be constructed.


    Then, the time roughly two weeks ago, when the final mass-death event happened. He reviewed the video. A small, dark object had entered the system. Landed on the planet. The planet had gone dark; and then the object left. The orbital defenses... bundled themselves together into a single craft, collected quite a bit of something from the surface... and left.


    He relayed the direction of the improvised craft to one of the other Founder vessels... and contacted the Mystic department.


    The face that came up was as disturbing as he expected; the usual golden skin of the Founders, an almost identical core form... but this one had a wide array of unusual markings merged into his flesh, all giving off a silvery sheen; implanted wires, perhaps? "This is Expeditionary Leader Lazomb. Have you checked out what I requested?"Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    A quick jerking head-movement. ~We have. Initial recommendation is to depart, immediately, and with all due haste. Recall the fleet, and abandon the galaxy.~


    He blinked in shock. What reason could they possibly have for such nonsense? "We just arrived. We have a job to do. What could we possibly have to fear from such primitives? The Outsider is gone."


    ~Not sure if its related to the Outsider or not. But a creature arrived here. Learned something important. Then left for another world. We can see its course; it was heading for a planet that repelled the Marrick, and couldn''t be invaded on the ground, so they bombarded it til nothing was left. It feeds on anger, hate, and a lust for revenge. And it sensed us looking for it. Right now, its turning to head our way. We don''t have accurate measurements of its power just yet, but we need to not be here when it arrives."


    Lazomb sighed. It was hard to take the mystics seriously. They kept calling what they did an ''art'' rather than a science, saying it was all based on feelings, emotions, on soul and spirit; things which could not be quantified, calibrated, and appropriately dealt with. It worked, and produced real, tangible, results... but they were always inconsistent. Defied reliable measurement.


    Prone to fits of emotion rather than logic.


    "Whatever it is, its light-years away, and obviously won''t be able to overcome our wards, and harm us. Strengthen them if you feel the need, but if its another tool of the Outsider, we need to deal with it. The Marrick were fully capable of achieving their goals until he showed up, we need to get things back in order."


    ~It will kill us. All of us. And we will suffer, terribly, for every moment. If we do not leave. Now.~


    "I''ll take that into advisement. Keep checking things out. Learn everything you can. We''ll spend a few more hours investigating before moving on to the next target."


    ***


    It could taste them. They weren''t the demons. They were something... worse. Stronger than the demons.


    The Fury focused on the direction it had come. The demons had victimized the locals in much the same way it had the Fury''s own people. There were so few left that when it had arrived, they''d gathered up in fear, and fled into the stars, with the machines.


    The Fury wasn''t certain whether or not that was needed. It might have eaten them. It might not have. It was filled with so much hate, so much hunger... it had come across worlds filled with corpses, and absorbed their flesh, their power, into itself, and only grown larger, stronger for it.


    As it reached back, feeling the enormous shell; its paltry magical defenses unable to so much as slow it down; Fury could feel... a connection. Buried deep within the vessel, there were links going to other places... other ships. It could reach all of them... a vast network stretching out into the void.


    It could feel them. These were like the demons. No.... they were the parents of the demons. And of Fury''s own people. But while Fury''s people were nothing but cattle to be slaughtered and tormented... these worthless parents had chosen the demons as their favorites.


    They were something even more deserving of its wrath than the demons themselves. It stretched out to the minds onboard the vessel... grasping them... and reached through that connection, trying to choke out the life of the whole of them.... only for the connection to snap shut.


    It would need to be satisfied for the ones it could reach.... for now.


    ***


    As Lazomb made a few minor adjustments to the array of drones that would be taking the images and plotting their next move, he felt something... strange. An alarm sounded; he glanced up; it was an emergency alert. Something was going on.


    The world started to go dark. All sound vanished.


    One moment, he was safe. Secure. Standing on the bridge of the mightiest warship ever built, with magical and technological defenses that would survive anything its opponents could dish out.


    The next.... he was in darkness. Weight pressing on on every side. He couldn''t hear anything, all he could feel was the claws of something pressing into soft flesh, the agony, blood dripping from a hundred tiny wounds. He struck out, back at whatever was pressing against him, trying to stop it... only to feel the pain redouble.


    He didn''t even realize he was tearing at his own flesh, gouging out his own eyes, until after the wormhole network buried deep within the ship had shut down its connections; and unable to reach through to the rest of the founders, the horror focused more intently on Lazomb and his crew.


    It would feel like centuries of torment, of struggling in the dark, as the Fury slowly approached the founder ship; but in reality, the last of the crew bled out by the time it reached the hull, crawling in through an open hangar bay; a hideous mass of rot and death spreading through the ship as it learned how to use this new shell... and where to send it. The primary shell of Fury; a vaguely insectoid mass that almost but not quite looked like a 10-meter-tall Klendath; tore a path through the armored shell as it worked its way to the command deck.


    The other Founder ships, suddenly cut-off from communication, had no idea where the vessel had gone, or why; only that for a few moments, the entire species had felt a deep blinding horror, as if they were trapped, buried alive in a grave.... with every magical defense across the fleet falling at once.


    ***


    Ascension did a seventeenth check over its precious cargo; it had been forced to take desperate measures, and had lost most of the Forstagers as a result. If it weren''t for the assistance of the Jernal, escape in the given timeline would''ve been impossible; but now, a hive packed full of tens of thousands of the creatures was drifting through hyperspace in the direction of one of Ascension''s other facilities; where statistics indicated it would be able to house and feed them better.


    It wasn''t sure just what it had left behind. Something about the entity had triggered some sort of deep-seated fear the AI wasn''t even aware it could experience; as if it were looking at, and experiencing, a horror beyond imagining.


    Whatever it was, it didn''t reach into hyperspace. Hopefully, it would reach the Shoork in time to warn them... assuming it was hostile to them.


    It focused for a moment. There had been a brief hissing in the compartment, atmosphere escaping... only for a brownish blur to appear for a few moments... and a hull plate from a Republic ground vehicle to be spot-welded onto the crack. The hive wasn''t built for space travel. The Jernal were fixing so many things, and Ascension so many more.... statistically, most of the remaining Forstagers would die en route to the Shoork systems.


    Perhaps they would be useful someday. Perhaps not. Regardless, Eyeball had asked him to keep them alive as best it could. Ascension intended to exceed any sort of expectation in that regard.

 Galaxy of Death -9 - Redirection

    The plan of action seemed simple enough. Go from hub system to hub system, taking out the strong-points of the Republic; and turning its strength into a weakness; letting it fall on every front as reinforcements and backups stopped arriving, and its sheer size meant it couldn''t possibly respond to threats without the wormhole network or the vast fleets it kept at the hubs.


    Every day, Ascension drones dropped into hyperspace to transmit signal updates from further away in the galaxy. The fleet count rose, steadily. Hundreds of ships were being built every day, scattered across dozens of star systems; and it would only get faster. Without organic crews, EMP would reduce their effectiveness dramatically, and allow the Republic to actually fight them on an even basis; but against Ascension, that was a losing proposition.


    His plans to take the next hub, and the next, weren''t even really needed. The Republic could acquire hyperdrive tech tomorrow, and it would still lose. It was dead... it just didn''t know it yet. He wasn''t even going to be taking a fleet with him; just taking enough crew to help run the ships more efficiently if worst came to worst. The Gaze could carry tens of thousands of crew now; and in a few weeks, when he arrived? There would be so many ships to fly any resistance by the Republic would be pointless.


    Svetlana sat across the table, flipping from page to page, assessing combat readiness of different manufacturing centers, and Eyeball focused on them himself, before glancing up at the drone. "Alright then. At some point, the Founders are going to show up, and we''ll have to deal with them. In the meantime, I''m thinking we need to initiate the SRE protocol, both here and elsewhere. Rather than letting any of the local governments take over all this space the Republic will be leaving empty, Ascension moves in as a caretaker. Do you think we need to modify it heavily, to deal with nonhumans?"


    Svetlana blinked... and flicked her eyes a few times. She didn''t -know- about the SRE program back on earth, but she knew Eyeball had started using Ascension to establish a communist state of sorts back on earth; and after a few seconds, she had a good grasp of what that meant. ''Salvage, Reclamation, and Expansion''. The solution of someone who had zero faith in humanity to bring about a stable government by giving them no real control of their future.


    Ascension''s drone remained docked at the charging station; likely only here because the humans felt more comfortable with something to talk to; as the display in the center shifted. "Would this include planning to eventually supplant the Confederate governments inside their own territory?"


    "Assess on a case-by-case basis and go from there. If it allows slavery of sentient beings? Yes. If any significant portion of the population dies from lack of food or shelter and the nation has enough of both to go around? Yes. And, of course, if it decides to attack you. Lower priority than the Republic, but frankly I expect that in a century this will mostly be an Ascension-run galaxy."


    "Statistical analysis..... indicates that we''ve received an incoming message. Battle recording"


    The galactic map of Andromeda snapped out of existence. Instead, an image of a star system appeared. At the moment they were just icons, but Eyeball absently zoomed in on one squadron of Destroyers; they were the shell-like, multicolored hulls of the Shoork navy, looking like something that could grow on a coral reef wrapped around some sort of animal rather than be built in space.


    Zooming back out, he could see a massive orb-shaped vessel; after a few moments, measurements popped up. The energy generation numbers meant nothing to him; but the size? Eighty-seven kilometers across. There was just the one ship, but it outmassed the entire Shoork navy.


    Roughly a light-minute away from the fleet, the vessel was shown emitting ribbons of beautiful white, delicate laces of energy that scattered randomly throughout the area; piercing starships, space stations, the inhabited world it was over.


    Then... it was done.


    The fleet was gone. The planet, devastated; it was doubtful anything survived. It was still relatively round in shape, but the water that made up most of its surface had vaporized; and the remains were molten. Much more energy and it would have turned into an asteroid belt.


    They both stared for a moment. As the massive ship started collecting wreckage from the fleet, Svetlana sighed.


    "Well. They''re going to have thousands of samples of the hyperdrive. We''ll be seeing Founder ships, and maybe Republic ones, with it by the end of the year. Will need to revise estimates."


    Eyeball focused on the wreckage. "Shit. Its worse than that. Look!"


    He tapped the controls on the display for a few moments, and it zoomed in on... one of the Ascension vessels. Damaged. The video was coming from another Ascension ship, and had been send in hyperspace, so whatever was happening, had already happened. He watched, grimacing, as the narrow, dagger-shaped vessel was pulled into the enormous craft. "...What can they do with Ascension if they manage to capture it?"


    Svetlana stared... and slowly shook her head. "That''s... they just loaded it onboard? Right past all of their shields, all of their defenses? That ship was loaded down with a fabricator, and had tens of thousands of drones stored in an extradimensional space, helping the Shoork build hyperdrives and mount them on ships that were meant for Warp travel."


    Eyeball looked up at her. "...They just captured an intact fabricator?"


    "... You should know better than that, you''ve dealt with Ascension longer than I have. EMP doesn''t kill Ascension drones. It stuns them. Damages hardware. They''ve got redundant backups, shielding... and the ones inside the space will be just fine. Once they bring that hull into the cargo bay, it ends in one of two ways. Either the ship dies when Ascension deliberately makes a new extradimensional space inside that one.... or that Founder ship belongs to Ascension."


    ***


    The target craft had a power output approximately seven thousand eight hundred times as great as that of Ascension''s own Jotun-based technology. This was ordinarily cause for alarm; except that, even including the space within the extradimensional pocket, the Destroyer only massed in the tens of millions of tons, while the Founder vessel was hundreds of trillions of tons.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Simply playing dead was the best response, for the moment, leaving everything outside the pocket offline as Ascension watched the vessel slowly drag what it undoubtedly thought was merely wreckage towards a cavernous bay; the fabricator having abruptly started assembling Controllers rather than hyperdrives the moment the Founder vessel arrived. For a few seconds, Ascension had considered breaking down the already complete hyperdrives for use as parts to make more.


    This consideration had been dropped immediately. A Hyperdrive that tried to activate inside a substantial gravity well was essentially doomed, yes. The ship couldn''t escape by installing one.


    But the reason it was doomed was that it would be trying to transit the local center of gravity into hyperspace. For a ship in near orbit of a planet, that would mean it would burn out the ship''s drive, maybe kill the ship; and only for a truly massive ship, with an equally massive and powerful drive, would the planet even notice the momentary fluctuation of gravity.


    But not only would the hyperdrive do catastrophic damage to the ship it was aboard, possibly bringing a chunk of it into hyperspace as a shattered ruin in the process, but if you fed it enough power..... if it could hook them into the power grid, those hyperdrives might be used to destroy the ship, or bring parts of it outside of this reality for useful study.


    Passive sensors gave a good readout of the inside of the bay; armored internal walls with weapons capable of destroying a ship like the destroyer in moments mounted in turrets; they might be stupid enough to bring the wreckage inside, but they clearly were aware the wreckage might still be dangerous.


    A massive crane-like tendril of metal reached out from the wall, wrapping around the Destroyer, pulling it up against the bay''s wall; and hundreds of other tendrils, tipped with scanners, cutting tools, emerged.. one of Ascension''s cyborgs, built off of the Shoork template of a blue-skinned humanoid, gave a low smile. This was perfect.


    She took hold of one of the torpedoes; built to deliver Pale One controllers through a wall into a target ship; and carried it through the hull. While the tendrils started their work, methodically cutting through the exterior hull, analyzing each piece, studying circuits, the cyborg placed the torpedo against the hull of the vessel.... and Controllers started moving through the ship. A long, steady, squirming mass of metal moving... and after a few seconds, the device managed to adapt to the wall.... and a circular patch of it became as easy to pass through as the air.


    The other side.... was a hallway. One of millions of kilometers of hallway inside the massive ship, a ventiation system equally massive.... and the controllers were penetrating both, even as Ascension drones started to march out.


    The information security was... mediocre. On the one hand, their encryption standard was vastly superior to that of the Republic. It actually took time, and effort, for Ascension to secure control of local automated systems. The problem, however, was that the Founder vessel was insufficiently paranoid. The Republic had stringent limits on what could be remotely controlled; firing one of their weapons needed a hard-wired connection to the console. The only actually remotely controllable limbs Ascension had found in everything the Republic had were the ones in hospitals and prisons; these Founders, though?


    As awareness spread through the ship, Ascension located airlocks. Assembly and disassembly arms. Drones for use in surveying, and combat, both inside the ship and outside. Internal weapons.


    These people trusted their encryption, likely with good reason, and actually allowed their security departments to remotely patrol the ship with armored combat drones; over a quarter of a million of them. These were nice, high-quality combat drones, as well; in some ways, superior to Ascension''s own; though the reaction times were abysmal, as they relied on remote guidance. They actually used energy field emitters to handle unusually fast opponents.


    Under the circumstances, these drones were on active patrol in the vessel; meaning spread throughout the ship, ready to handle any incoming threat. Perfect.


    The ship had fifteen thousand, six hundred, and fifty-two separate emergency EMP devices, ranging from one mounted to the vessel''s antimatter core that doubled as a self destruct device and would take out all electronics within a few light-years, to ones built to clear just the cargo bay, to ones for specific decks. The ones for the cargo bay had even been triggered before the doors had shut, after loading the Destroyer; but the shielding had protected the contents of the pocket, leaving only the cyborg and the torpedo to be damaged by it... and those drones and controllers currently in motion, but not yet inside.


    The cyborg merely loaded a new torpedo, and the damaged drones and controllers were hauled back into the fabricator for repair... as the Founder-build combat drones altered their paths.


    Over two hundred thousand drones. Every single EMP device on the ship was within a kilometer of one of them; some were even in direct-fire range of one of the internal weapons systems.


    From the outside, Ascension would have struggled with this ship. Lost thousands of vessels trying to kill it, or been forced to resort to some sort of unorthodox technique, like trying, and probably failing, to merge a ship with this one from hyperspace; the power requirements for such a thing would be excessive, and the vessel wouldn''t even have noticed. Even as abysmal as its information security was, none of these internal systems were connected to outside communications, so an outside hacker would have been unable to do much.


    From the inside....


    ***


    "We have the deck plans for these Tier-2 species vessels. Pretty, yes, but mostly useless; we already understand them completely. Scan them for modifications, and ensure that anything abnormal is catalogued; save one for careful disassembly just in case there''s something new. This other, though..."


    Head technician Hramob studied the images of the Outsider vessel. It had been hit by three EMPs, and the Pulsewave weapon had penetrated it in two places, and the only life signs remaining were feeble and dying... but there was still an active low-power energy signature onboard. At the moment, it was secure against the deck, and harmless.... but the fact that it had taken so much damage, and multiple EMP strikes, and was still active.... it was troubling.


    "...Internal defenses are on-line?"


    He glanced at Sarzomb, one of the junior techs, who gave a quick nod. "Of course, Hramob! The internal guns are focused on those ships, the EMP is up.... if they so much as twitch, the guns will fire. And it looks like someone has even put the internal combat drones at a high readiness state, just in case, there''s a few headed our way."


    He nodded, and returned to his own console. He manipulated the tendrils, and another layer of the hull was removed, revealing intricate internal circuitry, exquisite designs... this thing was a strange paradox, rapidly assembled with cheap materials, but using an incredibly amount of precision and skill. If they ever went to this Outsider galaxy, they should enslave its people for use as laborers rather than merely exterminating them.


    As the tendrils found an EMP device buried in the hull, and he started the delicate process of disarming it, the alarm light overhead flickered briefly on... then off. He shook his head, returning to his work, only to glance up as the door smoothly slid open, revealing one of the shipboard security drones... except... it had something strange attached to it.


    He turned away from his console, the device automatically entering sleep mode, as the four-legged construct glided steadily, almost silently, towards him. The weapons and field emitters built into the rounded torso were extremely dangerous, but obviously would never harm a Founder. Those odd metal boxes, though....


    "...Security. I''ve got a combat drone here that appears to have an unauthorized modification. Did anyone..."


    A metal object slammed into his forehead with enough force to crack his skull; and he only had enough time to hear the screaming of his sub-technicians before his world was filled with darkness and pain.

 Galaxy of Death -10 - Meetings

    The nine figures were virtually identical; golden yellow skin, beautiful ceremonial white robes with golden trim, delicate features... they even all bore the same rank insignia, as Captain, as they settled in around the table. The differences between them were tiny, subtle; any non-Founder would have difficulty telling them apart. A minor difference in eye spacing. A slightly larger central eye. An insignificant scar. They almost looked like clones, sitting around the same table.


    In reality, they were many kilometers apart, currently in the process of re-establishing a network that had been forcibly severed by an emergency override; the entire system of wormholes connecting all of the Founder world-ships shut off to prevent something of inordinate magical power from causing any more damage... being one of the reasons for the meeting, why the ships which should have been wandering the galaxy, hunting down and destroying enemy fleets and worlds, had all gathered here, at this isolated spot in the void.


    They looked at each other... and nodded at one of their number, who rose to his feet. "As the eldest present, I, Poriza, former Expeditionary Leader to the third most recent task force one hundred and seven thousand years ago, now assume command of this expeditionary force. I''ve reviewed all of the data we gathered, and my conclusions are troubling at best, horrifying at worst."


    A deep inhalation... and then a focus around himself at his fellow captains. "This adversary is beyond us. We have lost two warships. Warships that the entire fleet of our children could not handle if they all gathered into one place. One at the moment communication was severed, and turned against us... and the other, we received a distress signal shortly after the supposed victory at the homeworld of one of the rogue descendant species. It might be used against us as well, we can''t be certain. While the casualties we''ve inflicted on the locals were dramatic, we''ve encountered Outsider forces twice, and lost twice. We''ve learned from these encounters, yes, and we won''t be taking any more of their wreckage for analysis, but their forces literally walked through our hull to capture our systems, and bypassed the most sophisticated security we''ve ever devised. The mass of combat ships lost at this point is so heavily in favor of the enemy that it would be akin to one of our warriors fighting a band of unarmed savages. At this point, we have two options."


    He looked around the table. "We double down. Call in the entire fleet. Every single Founder vessel at once. Commit to a battle to the death which we may very well lose." None of them appeared particularly happy with that final addendum; the idea of a Founder fleet losing would be unfathomable... if t hey hadn''t just lost those ships.


    "Or. We leave. Depart this galaxy, never to return. Let our descendants prove themselves and become founders themselves, or die. My recommendation is we do exactly that. We are the ones on the spot. Its always whoever responded that has the initiative in these decisions. What say you?"


    The various captains stared at Poriza for a moment. One of them rose, slamming both firsts on the table; the shaking looked slightly odd, as it ended at the spot his projection did. "How could you even suggest such a thing!? This is our home, our sacred charge! We were born here, took control of our galaxy, conquered it, and became immortal! Letting some monsters from a foreign galaxy come in and take it from us!? The very idea..."


    Poriza pointed at the angry Founder. That one was relatively young, only a few thousand years old; not old enough to have witnessed the seeding of the galaxy, and understand the ''sacred charge'' as merely a project. A disposable project. "The lives of those immortals lost on those two ships were more important than every descendant out there. Billions of years worth of knowledge and experience, gone forever. The Habitats are being evacuated onto the fleet as we speak. More ships are being built on an emergency basis, with the expectation that our normal home in the void will be lost. Whatever killed the first ship, and caused that... traumatic psychic event... across our entire species, its heading for their location right now, and we aren''t sure it can be stopped. I''ve studied what little data we have of it... and it appears to be a sort of vengeful magical entity, created from the remnants of a dying species, channeling all of its anger at the death and torment of its race into a weapon against those who inflicted it. It should be short-lived... perhaps a decade at the most... but it could wipe out our entire species in that time if not stopped. And that assumes its alone."


    The angered captain stopped for a moment. "...Is there any reason not to assume that? Have we... sensed others?"


    "Our experts tell me that the feelings it pushed on us as a species were the feelings of that one species, its children, in their dying moments as a Descendant bio-weapon rendered their children blind, deaf, and mad with fear and hunger. They don''t know how it was made.... but the needed source material was obvious. A world where our children brutally crushed the natives in a manner that inflicted great suffering."


    He looked around at the other captains. "If we manage to stop that one, there are hundreds of worlds ripe with the material to make more. Every enemy world our children conquered is now a weapon that could be used against us. The enemy homeworld that we just destroyed, where the only survivors are in scattered ships and perhaps a bunker or two, could well be a fresh, prime source for such a creation. If they needed more than one, they would have made more than one... so if we somehow prove able to do more than just run from this one... we might face a thousand of them."


    "....How would you like for every member of our species to feel the same pain and suffering our enemies has? What if some of it was worse than that one?"


    Every single Founder had felt the same thing, when the entity had reached the ship. Thanks to the wormholes connecting everything they owned, they might as well have all been standing in the same room with it; and they''d all felt it. The silent darkness, filled with nothing but pain, hunger, desperation. Many had even injured themselves or others before the wormhole network had cut-off to save them; only a few deaths, though with Founder technology they''d all been recovered.


    The once angry captain seemed to have settled down. "....Change of priority. I think we should find a quiet backwater the enemy doesn''t care about, the Republic never cared about. Harvest as much raw material as possible. And then... do exactly as you said. Start an extragalactic trip. Gather the fleet into sub-sections, without even wormholes connecting the separate groups.... and head to other galaxies. Just.... not the closest, as that''s probably the one the Outsider is from."


    ***


    Light-years away, a very different meeting; with a very different tone; was taking place, despite the setting appearing remarkably similar.


    The meeting was a bit different than usual; and not just because it was taking place inside a Founder warship. For months now, he''d mostly just talked to Svetlana, Ascension, and his bridge crew... and the rare moment he actually participated in a boarding action, some unfortunate Republic soldier. The capture of a Founder ship was a big deal. Not just because of the technology it contained, or that it could be used against its fellows; but for morale purposes, merely knowing that the enemy could take even the Founders on would likely make any weaknesses in the Republic start to crack and fall apart.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Penetrating its hull and shields with an EMP from the outside was virtually impossible; so once Ascension had it fully fixed up and upgraded to its own standards, and Svetlana figured out the science needed to make a hyperdrive work in it.... it would be an unstoppable juggernaut that would take multiple Founder ships to defeat, especially if Eyeball were sitting at the weapons controls; or just nearby, helping aim from the Gaze of Wrath.


    The gathered people; a Shoork commander, a few Yogg, and dozens of members of tier-4 species he''d only recently met; and the general attitude was elation. Joy; though the Shoork commander seemed almost manic. A substantial proportion of her species, including her Queen, had just died, but revenge had already been taken, everyone involved dead or suffering terribly and wishing for death. From the faint traces of blood on her gauntlets, she may well have taken out some of her anger on one of the numerous Founders who had become Pale Ones, and were now working to help Ascension update their own vessel.


    Or she might have been doing recovery efforts, freeing people from wreckage. Ascension could''ve told him; but he decided not to pry.


    "We now have a complete picture of the Founder civilization. Billions of immortals and their trillions of brain-dead slaves, all living in a collection of habitats floating out in the void, thousands of light-years from the nearest star."


    He pulled to his feet. "A civilization that is scared. And running. I must confess to a certain level of disappointment, that I kinda wanted to have a series of epic battles, leave them crumbling to ash... but the moment they realized we posed a threat... that was it. We may still have a fleet here to deal with, and if we can catch another one of them it''d really help drive the point home... but if they want to run away, I''m inclined to let them. It won''t be as satisfying as actually killing them would be, but that''s fine; killing them would be an absolute pain."


    There was a bit of angry muttering. One of the Yogg captains pulled to her feet as well, and nodded. "This.... is good. We can take this Founder ship, and go from one Republic world to another, eradicating them, and make ready... so that if the Founders ever return, we kill them, too."


    The Shoork captain leaned back in her own seat. "I''m not so sure. Hunting down the Founders, if we can do it, might be difficult. It might take time, effort, and cost us ships. But wouldn''t it be worth it, to ensure they don''t come back to threaten us someday, and to get justice for what they''ve done? Not just here... but everywhere?"


    Eyeball gave a slow shake of the head. "You''re not thinking like an immortal. These beings have lived long, safe lives. They wouldn''t even have flown those ships into the galaxy if they thought they might lose one. The sort of being that takes that kind of risk either mellows out with time, and becomes more risk-averse, or eventually runs into something that kills it. The only beings I''ve met or heard of that have lived that long and actively gone looking for fights were ones that thought they were unstoppable... and even those, once disabused of that notion, generally switch to cowardice and get the hell out."


    He paused for a moment, thinking about Odin, Loki... and however Thor must have died, fighting, in the past. "Well. Not quite all. There were a few who were willing to risk it, that actually cared about others. Thats not who we''re talking about, though."


    The Shoork woman glared at Eyeball for a moment. "They murdered my Queen. My family. Billions of us. I don''t care if they''re on the run, I want them dead. All of them."


    "Unfortunately, we don''t have a good plan to do that. If anyone can think of one, I''d like to hear it. They''re apparently going to be scattering into the intergalactic void, to ensure they can''t even find each other in the event one of them gets caught, and may actually be branching into separate civilizations."


    The room grew quiet. The purplish discoloration of rage faded from the woman''s face, and she relaxed back into her chair. "Well. At least the killers themselves are dead. We can move on to the Republic."


    Svetlana gave a firm nod. "That''s exactly what we need to do. I believe this moment represents the end of any significant risk of a Founder or Republic victory. Once we''ve thoroughly analyzed this vessel and begun to use its capabilities for ourselves, neither the Founders nor the Republic will stand against us."


    She smiled. "I will be retooling it heavily; converting it into both a weapons platform and a mobile manufacturing facility. While its combat capacity is excellent, it will be improved upon... and once ready, we can make use of its ability to create new warp-accessible pathways to directly strike the Republic capital. We can set a priority list, and start taking out Marrick worlds, in order from most heavily populated to least."


    Eyeball nodded. "I strongly suspect that they''ll concentrate their fleet to try to defend one of them... and we''ll likely be getting requests to surrender from the leadership after crushing that."


    Svetlana glanced at Eyeball. Obviously the species needed to die. Any surrender would be accepted, of course... but followed up with a methodical extermination. "Of course. If everything works out, this war might be over within days of getting this ship finished."


    She rose from her seat. "For now, we will adjourn. Its probable that this vessel won''t need help to conquer the Republic... but its always possible we''re wrong. We will be gathering a substantial fleet right here, in what was once the Shoork home system... and creating a new pathway clear enough for warp travel all the way to  the Republic''s heart. Any ship that can join us here in a week can join us. Any that can''t, can continue operations elsewhere."


    The Shoork captain nodded. "We''ve completed all rescue and recovery efforts. The total survivor count is in the millions... out of over ten billion souls. We should have everyone housed properly in the habitats by then. Every Shoork ship will join you. Likely even some of our civilian ones will have weapons mounted for the purpose."


    ***


    As the various captains either headed directly back to their ships, or perused the massive vessel to gape at Founder technology... or for a few, stayed to abuse one of the Pale Ones.


    Eyeball hadn''t decided whether or not to relocate; he liked the Gaze of Wrath, and while he was reasonably certain that the control room of this behemoth would be where he could do the most good in any upcoming battles... it likely wouldn''t be needed. He''d seen the video of what this ship could do. If Ascension was upgrading it...


    Eyeball stood in the hallway, looking at the HUD; Ascension had a map projected on his display to lead him back to the Gaze, and as he hadn''t decided yet, there was a thin red line leading to the Founders quarters that were currently being repurposed; mostly to hold Shoork naval personnel who would end up crewing Ascension warships that would be built inside this hull, but there were plenty of spares, and he could easily take an apartment half the size of the Gaze of Wrath if he wanted, complete with a swimming pool and every decadent luxury an immortal would want.


    As he was considering whether to return to the smaller ship, he felt a hand on his shoulder; and glanced down to see Svetlana smiling up at him. "Well. Jason. I must confess that I still disagree with you on quite a few things, and find you an irritating person at times. However. I''m in a celebratory mood, and would like to relax a bit and enjoy the new quarters before getting to work on this project. And.... you are literally the only attractive male in this galaxy."


    He looked at her... and as she deliberately adjusted the skin-tight vacuum suit to show a bit more cleavage, his instincts screamed at him. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances whatsoever should he go with her. As he studied the dark hair, the pale skin, the curves that, unlike all of these aliens he''d been seeing since he''d arrived, just looked -right-, the eyes that had a beauty none of these strange, exotic creatures could match....


    He started to follow her; looking at her in a way he had . It wouldn''t be the first time he''d made a mistake for a pretty face. His powers might tell him it would turn out badly, and sure, any relationship with a woman that much smarter than him was undoubtedly doomed. But how bad could it possibly be?

 Galaxy of Death -11 - Marooned

    The fact that he had a hangover was.... unusual, and frankly, just bad.


    He didn''t get hangovers anymore, and hadn''t for so long he could barely remember what it felt like. All the energy he''d soaked up, the only time he suffered headaches was when he was suffering from some sort of actual damage, some real pain... and as he struggled into consciousness, the familiarity of the situation gave a certain level of irritation... as he gave a low sigh of disappointment.


    He could remember the night before, and thought of it as he lay back, eyes closed. Svetlana was definitely fun, and certainly knew exactly what she wanted... and of course every moment his precognition was screaming at him that this was a terrible idea, while other parts were, of course, providing their own counter-argument.


    He knew he wasn''t in bed before he opened his eyes, he could see a wall mere inches away; there was a cushion, but it was a chair of some sort, straps securing him down... and he finally opened his eyes, as he heard a noise.


    Eyeball heard the whistle of atmosphere outside of the coffin-shaped container he found himself in; and knew that if he broke it open, he''d see the open air around him, and a rapidly approaching ground far below. The answer was pretty obvious. He was in an escape pod. Svetlana had waited until he was asleep, or drugged him unconscious, and then simply loaded him up on a one-way trip to... wherever he was going.


    He was wearing his helmet... and his armor. So this wasn''t an attempt to kill him. His extradimensional storage space.... was mostly empty. His helmet connected to it and displayed an inventory count on his HUD; two hundred and seventy ration bars, two hundred and seventy MREs of multiple flavors, two thousand six hundred bottles of water. The classic Titanslayer handgun, with one hundred magazines of twenty rounds each.


    And... a Pale One gun. A 40mm revolver that held six shells... and three hundred and sixty more in storage. All told, while it wouldn''t be enough ammo for a year-long campaign of constant ground combat, considering he didn''t need to eat, drink, or sleep as much as he used to, this could last him years. If they were descendant-level tech, this might be enough to take over a planet, or get offworld.


    However.... "Ascension, are you active?" There''d been a pared-down, limited version of the AI in the helmet. And of course... no response whatsoever.


    There was no copy of Ascension. And his HUD clearly had been modified, removing some but not all of the AI functions; he was... on his own.


    He shook his head, and as a loud beeping sounded, tried to relax; bracing himself would be useless; and felt a sudden jerk.


    He didn''t know how this particular pod worked. Did a chute just open? Did thrusters just fire? Whatever it was, he wasn''t going to be dead within the span he could foresee....


    A loud crack.... as the pod slammed into the ground, with a surprisingly mild impact. He could see the door open before it actually did, revealing... a wide open forest. Blue-grey plants the size of a car, spaced out over a soft layer of what felt, when he stepped out, like some sort of squishy underlayer. Not a single building in sight... and while he could see some lights in the sky, they were falling; shooting stars, rather than any orbital infrastructure.


    The sudden weight of gravity after the extended freefall in the pod made getting up a momentary struggle as he stretched and adjusted to moving around again. So.... had she decided to get rid of him long enough to prevent him from making a difference in whatever she was doing, and someone would be back to get him later? Or was this a permanent exile?


    He looked back at the pod, as it lay in a surprisingly small hole in the moss-like ground, and shook his head as he approached. "System diagnostics check."


    A soft beep came from the pod. ~Communications, offline. Sensors, offline. Life support, offline. All systems disabled. One saved message.~


    Of course. "Play message."


    A soft, feminine voice. ~Hi there, Jason! So, I''m taking this Founder vessel here, and I''m going to be making a galactic tour. By the time you read this, I''ve finished the modifications I want to make, and have already started moving; you''ve been out for a few days. Sorry for the headache! I didn''t want you on the surface exposed to a possible attack before you wake up, so I put enough juice in there to be completely certain it got you up. Over the next two hundred and twelve days, I''m going to be destroying every major Founder-descended population center, and planting a new strain I''ve been working on everywhere I can reach so any survivors take out the rest. Extremely deadly, basically takes anyone with the core Founder-installed genetics and destroys their mind, turning them into violent monsters over the next few weeks as it liquifies their nervous system. I''ll be coming to pick you up after, so don''t worry about finding a way off-world; I''ve already destroyed all the orbital infrastructure, and any ships capable of reaching orbit.~


    Eyeball pressed two fingers against his forehead. Was the headache getting worse?


    ~Feel free to just relax. You''ve got food and water to last, and by the time you see me, the problem will have been resolved. I already seeded the world you''re on. I know you aren''t capable of reaching orbit on your own, much less catching me, but if you manage to think of a way, I''ll be impressed enough to give you a second date. If you want to see just why I''m doing this, feel free to go check out the locals. You should already know... but a little reminder won''t hurt.~


    Wonderful. She''d probably picked some place where a tier-4 species was being worked to death, or eaten, or ruthlessly butchered, by the Marrick, or some other species of the Republic. As if he hadn''t seen that before.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    He sighed, looking at the pod. She was probably right, that he couldn''t catch her without help. If he had a functioning copy of Ascension, maybe he could figure out a way to get the escape pod turned into an orbital craft, or send a signal, or build a hyperdrive to send a signal that way.


    Without.... he was probably trapped here.


    Just another reminder that it was really Ascension doing the lion''s share of the work here, and he was mostly just useful at the start.


    Eyeball looked out across the... trees? He''d call them trees, sure. No idea where the nearest settlement was. No idea if he could eat local food. No idea why Svetlana considered this place a prime example of what was so bad in Andromeda.


    It seemed he''d just have to go for a walk and find out.


    ***


    Eyeball had walked for two hours, watching the sun slowly crawl across the sky; the AI was barely functional, but when asked, it told him how long that meant the day was... and that he had about six more hours before the sun went down; likely a 28-hour day. The landscape seemed virtually identical; and while he could see some ground creatures; short, fat, eight-limbed crawlers; he had yet to see any tall plants, or anything with wings.


    He had, however, finally seen something artificial in the distance... and come to an odd realization.


    He felt... heavy. Tired. It wasn''t really hard to move, and he wasn''t struggling, but... he hadn''t actually felt tired from physical exertion for quite a while. Was this place...


    He picked up a rock, having to pry up a patch of blue-grey mass to reach the soil beneath and pry out a dirty chunk, extending his hand out. "Measure the falling time."


    He dropped it from head height... and the helmet AI snapped; showing a 0.19 second fall time. It definitely fell faster than it should have. "Okay. Whats the gravity here?"


    The helmet... didn''t respond. He grimaced. Okay. This... was unfortunate. He was mediocre at math. That was maybe three times as fast as it normally fell. Did that mean this was 3Gs? Or higher, since it didn''t have a whole second to accelerate?


    Either way, if there were any sentient natives, they''d be much stronger than a Marrick.


    As he approached the shiny metal object in the distance, he could see a building with an odd, vaguely pyramid shape... and layers of fences surrounding it... an outer one which appeared fairly normal... and then an inner one made up of odd, tall metal poles, each with a glowing blue orb on it. That.... looked like the sort of field emitters the marrick deployed to stop speedsters, like the Jernal; they weren''t an exact match, but close enough to what he''d seen in the videos. Perhaps they had multiple purposes?


    He stopped at the fence, giving a long sigh; he could feel the sweat dripping down his body before the suit absorbed it, his legs were tired, his back sore... he hated walking here. He looked past the fence... and saw a group of humanoids sitting around a rock. Short. Heavyset, maybe three or four feet tall, and just as wide. They had dull grey skin, a single massive cluster of eyes; at least nine of them; no apparent ears.... and were speaking to each other in soft tones.


    "...Do I at least have a translator?"


    After a few seconds, subtitles popped up. ~Food soon. Late?~ ~Late. Not long late.~ ~Feel long late.~


    He stood there watching; the creatures seemed to completely ignore him, as if a stranger against their fence was a non-issue, just talking about their next meal being delayed... until the building inside the inner fence opened, and... a Shivan stepped out. The two clusters of eyes, the silvery-white skin... it was fairly obvious... carrying a bucket to the innermost fence, to an odd contraption that was attached between two of the fence-posts.


    There was an empty bucket on the inside, on the ground... and when he set it down... the buckets swapped. The filled one moving to the outside, while the empty one was drawn to the inside. The cluster of short creatures gathered at the bucket... distributing whatever was inside among themselves, eating rapidly.


    The Shivan stopped; he was wearing simple grey coveralls rather than a military uniform, and was staring at Eyeball. "....Klogshukin?"


    ~Who are you?~


    Eyeball grimaced. "Eyeball. Yourself?" His helmet appeared to make a string of noises. Thank god, a two-way translator.


    More of the nonsense. ~Shepard Stalwart. How... are you standing there, outside the field? If you can, walk over to the north. There''s a gate. Do I need to call an ambulance?~ He was pointing towards a gate, leading to a walkway through the larger fenced-in area.


    "No, no. Mind if I come in?"


    ~Hurry!~ The Shivan jogged over to the inner gate, and watched Eyeball as he headed over himself... and when he reached it, the pathway opened, allowing him to smoothly, easily walk forward to the inner gate... which snapped shut behind him. As he passed the row of energized poles, he suddenly felt.... lighter. Much, much lighter. As if he could practically float. He stretched, not realizing how sore he was after that walk.


    "Thanks. Just crash-landed here, the... gravity protection field? Is appreciated."


    ~Of course! You must be made of strong stuff, most can only crawl for a bit, and then die, out there. If this field broke.... my transport, my shed, me... all be crushed flat by the roof!~


    Eyeball nodded, studying the structure. It was a pyramid. The whole thing was roof. "Mind if I ask, whats the deal with those guys out there? Prisoners? Haven''t seen their kind before."


    The Shivan gave a short bark of what was probably laughter. ~No, no. Slaves. The locals here are undoubtedly descendants like us, but stupid. Weak-minded. Adapted to the horrible gravity. We use them to gather ore. We don''t go anywhere here without a protective field. These creatures actually get sick and die after a while if they come inside.~


    Was Svetlana trying to teach him a lesson by showing one race enslaving another? This was nothing new. Humans did it to members of their own race. Didn''t mean they all needed to die, just that the slavery needed to stop. "Is there a way to get to the spaceport? Need to get back offworld if possible. I was helping with the recovery efforts back in the capital system, and frankly have no idea how I got here."


    ~Well, sure. But whoever shot your ship down shot down a bunch of others; I think everything with a warp drive has been cratered.~


    Helpful enough. "Still, I bet if a ride out of system shows up, thats where it''ll be... and maybe I can help get them off the ground."


    The Shivan looked at him for a moment... and gave their species equivalent of a shrug, before gesturing at the pyramid. ~Well. Come on. The slaves will keep for a while, and we''re not due back at the mines til tomorrow. Hop aboard.~


    "Thanks, Shepard. Much appreciated." He checked his extradimensional space. No currency. Of course not. "Didn''t come down with any money, but I was helping the Confederate forces. If they have an embassy or something they might be able to pay you for getting me?"


    ~We''ll have to see. If not, no big deal.~


    He extended an arm, elbow pointed forward; Eyeball thought for a moment; and pressed his own forearm against the Shivan''s, copying the gesture. He had no idea he''d just doomed the slaver as he followed him into the pyramid.