Nautilus City: Special Case Files

by Logos Minus Pity

Nautilus City is a metropolis filled with crime-both from humans, and from supernatural oddities. When Lightning finds herself transferred from the Homicide police department to the Special Cases Squad, she finds herself having to confront a whole new world of crime that falls outside the bounds of what she's used to. Cover picture courtesy of thegadgetfish (tumblr)

Nautilus City: Special Case Files

---

Dear Readers,

This is a fill for FangRai Forever Prompt #78: AU prompt. Fang and Lightning fight the supernatural.

I plan for this to be multi-chaptered, so please forgive the lack of intensive character development in this first case file, as I was really focusing more on creating the world and the setting for these stories-more cases should be forthcoming (hopefully).

There was a lot of inspiration for this (here in no particular order): The Harry Dresden books, Discworld books, Bakamonogitari, Kara no Kyoukai, and Ghost in the Shell. Oh, and, of course, FF XIII.

Now, thank you and please enjoy!

~Logos Minus Pity

Case File 001: Dead Knocks

Lightning looked up at the looming gray building before her, and heaved a sigh. Not for the first time since receiving her change of department orders, she considered just changing her job instead. The Special Cases Squad, or SCS for short, was always referred to as the Odd Jobs or Dept. of Oddities for a reason. They were the section of the police department that no one wanted to hear about, that everyone just wanted to sweep under the rug. If oddities would just stop getting involved in normal human lives, then the SCS wouldn't need to exist. But since oddities, and crime by the more human natured ones here in NautilusCity, showed no sign of diminishing any time soon, it meant the PD had to keep tolerating their existence. And it had to keep sending recruits and transfers to it as well.

Even so, Lightning internally raged at her stroke of bad luck. She was human, after all, through and through—not a single speck of inclination of oddity in her. There was nothing from her bloodline, and she certainly had not been bitten or possessed or transformed into anything during her lifetime, so why had she been chosen?

If only she had never said anything. If only she had just kept her big mouth shut on that last arson-homicide assignment and not pointed out that she thought the man felt strange, and then proceeded to run him down and arrest him when he fled the investigation scene. And, of course, he had to turn out to be an oddity. And a vampire fledgling at that. At first the commendations had been welcomed. Talk of promotion, a pay raise…she couldn't have asked for more. When her captain in Homicide asked her to look into both detective and SWAT training, she hadn't thought twice. It would feed her skills, and if she was chosen for the SWAT team, then she felt she would be just as happy there as being a detective in homicide.

And then it had all gone sour.

For some reason, they had transferred her to the Odd Jobs. A commendation of "exceptional ability to notice oddity behavior in subject's surroundings, particularly for a human", or some shit like that. She had been assured that there were other humans in the squad, but everyone knew that the Odd Jobs, were, well, "odd" for a reason. Almost all of them were oddities—sorry, the politically correct term was "atypical humans"—of some sort themselves. Dust vampires, ghasts, telepaths, and who knew what else. It was one of the few places where a normal human was a minority. And it wasn't as if to say oddities weren't welcome in society—hell, every squad in the PD had at least a few of the human based ones—but it was different. In the other squads, they just…blended in. They had their oddities, whatever they were, but they didn't flaunt them; they kept their powers or their curses tucked skillfully away like a concealed gun: there for when the situation called for it, but otherwise kept away instead of waved around. Everyone knew the SCS was different. Here, she would be in the minority, a weak, powerless human before a squad of individuals who likely used shape shifting on a more regular basis then their guns.

Lightning heaved another sigh before glancing at her watch. It was only a few minutes before eight, and her orders were to report before the captain of the SCS at 0800 sharp. It was time for her to face the facts. This was about to be her new workplace.

She pushed open the heavy double doors that led to the SCS offices and mentally prepared herself.

It seemed like an ordinary enough office space—clean, steel desks that were tabled together into small working islands, state-of-the-art computer systems as was only befitting of a specialty department like the SCS, and a relatively calm, almost forgettable décor. That, however, was where all normalcy ended.

"This is the best you could manage?"

Lightning stared, not quite certain of what her eyes were actually seeing. The disapproving and slightly upset voice was emanating out of a full sized model skeleton—like the kind you would see in a doctor's office or an art modeling class—still hooked onto its display backing, its arms crossed and folded almost petulantly. The plastic jaws of the skeleton clacked in time with the bizarrely cultured voice, and two ghostly pale blue flames flickered in its hollow eye sockets.

Though the makeshift "eyes" had no pupils, the gaze and question was clearly directed toward the pale-haired man standing only a few feet from the skeleton, a clipboard in hand. Though he appeared barely older than Lightning herself, his hair was silver, and pulled back into a short but tight ponytail that kept it away from his face. He let out a sigh and turned his head ever so slightly, allowing her a view of a wicked scar that cut across his brow—one that was now twitching in obvious vexation.

"The Disciplinary and Judiciary are having second thoughts about the criminal repossession program, so no more inmates for your temporary body usage until the politics get sorted out there."

A low growl of annoyance came from the skeleton. "Well then what about a dead body? Can't you just go down to the mort and grab me one? And don't tell me there aren't any—people die every day in this city!"

"Did someone say dead bodies?"

The interrupting and strangely excited question came from a large, tanned and mustached man who was sitting at his work desk off to the side. At this, the pale-haired man huffed a quick response. "Not for you, Amodar!"

"Oh…too bad." And "Amodar" was back to working at his computer in an instant.

Then the clipboard man turned back toward the skeleton—and whatever problem was at hand. "And you know better than that, Cid. Dead bodies are even more of a pain to acquire than live ones, what with all of the paperwork and necessary family sign offs."

Whatever that meant seemed to be make little impression upon the creature in the skeleton.

"This is a poor excuse for a host body! I don't even have any muscles or tendons to regulate movement." He bent one plastic elbow back in way that no actual body ever could.

Lightning watched the demonstration with a detached fascination, until movement at the back of the office space caught her attention.

A bronze-skinned and well-muscled woman entered the offices from a door that led into the further unknown bowels of the building. Her dark hair glistened with water, and a white towel was still twisted and hanging around her neck, clearly indicating she had come from showering. Lightning frowned slightly, taking in the prominent tattooing that was displayed on her upper shoulder from the wife-beater she casually wore. They were in the office now, not in the field or in a training exercise.

The woman, for her part, let out a positively toothy and malicious grin when her eyes honed in on the skeleton, and she moved in with a quick, predatory grace, opening her mouth to comment with a sharply accented drawl.

"Why…is that Cid in there, or do my eyes deceive me?"

"You know very well that this is my current host body, you ungrateful welp. Though, it will only be a matter of time until I am restored to a properly fitting body, I am sure. Hmmph." The bright "eyes" of the skeleton fluttered and then went dark, and the skeleton immediately went limp.

The woman, however, instead stepped closer, leaning in to examine the skeleton, looking like she was ready to poke and prod it. Instead, though, she leaned back, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows.

"Shame," she commented off-handedly, speaking again. "They managed to get you the model skeleton after all. And here I was hoping that they actually would have to resort to a marionette."

The eyes quickly flared into life again, flashing with blue fire as the joints clattered and moved. "No one asked for your opinion on this, Fang!

The woman let out a sharp and clear laugh, clearly pleased that her dig had hit the intended mark, and already walking off with a bounce in her step now that her ulterior motive had been realized.

It set the skeleton—Cid—off on another angry tirade about needing a body to host.

When the harangue showed no signs of stopping, Lightning coughed lightly, not wanting to interrupt, but not knowing what else to do at this point. Cid's "eyes" swung toward her first, almost seeming to narrow and squint at her.

"Oh…are you from the Disciplinary Corrections Office? A new body for me? Normally I prefer male anatomy, but I think you would make do." The ghostly eyes ran a full-body glance over her, making her hairs stand on end as her stomach flipped in uncomfortable fear at the momentary thought of possession from whatever oddity was before her.

A hand reached out and cuffed the skeleton roughly on the skull. "Enough." The man with the clipboard took a few short strides until he stood before her. "Who are you and what are you here for?"

No pretty formalities or offers of help—only a simple bare-boned question that sounded more like a command to her ears, but it helped her regain her composure. She stood straighter and flashed a quick salute, words automatically rolling off of her tongue.

"Officer Lightning Farron, sir, reporting here on transfer orders from the Homicide unit." She proffered her order papers forward, maintaining an impeccably professional stance, even though she felt the entire room quiet as every gaze—both human and otherwise—immediately honed in on her. She steadfastly ignored it.

For his part, the man holding the clipboard merely raised an eyebrow for a moment, his stony gray-blue eyes revealing nothing of what he might have been thinking.

"Ah, yes." He took the papers and attached them to his clipboard before glancing quickly at the watch on his wrist. "At least you're timely. I'm First Lieutenant Yaag Rosch, personal assistant and camp-de-aide to the Captain. She'll be wanting to see you now."

And with that he turned and began walking away, forcing Lightning to take several large and bounding steps in order to catch up with the brusque man lest she be left standing behind. They stopped short before a large and ornate wooden door at the back of the office.

Lieutenant Rosch performed three sharp and precise knocks on the door, and then opened it, allowing Lightning in before closing the door firmly behind them.

The first thing Lightning noticed was not the luxuriously dark-stained wood furniture, nor was it the surprisingly youthful features of the woman—her new captain—who lounged in the oiled leather chair behind her desk. The first thing she noticed was the smoke.

It was everywhere, pervasive and low-hanging, and she wondered how on earth an alarm hadn't gone off with it. Much to her abject surprise, she soon realized that the source of the smoke was, in fact, her blond-haired captain, who was easily puffing from a thin black cigarette, with clearly no care for the laws of smoking either in the office or on the job.

"Yes?"

Smoke or no, instinct and training took over when the captain prompted her, and Lightning straightened her back and began her normal recitation.

"Officer Far—"

"Officer Claire Farron, known by the alias "Lightning". I'm Jihl Nabaat, captain of the Special Cases Squad. Please, take a seat."

Lightning stood frozen for a moment, caught entirely off guard by the interruption, and abruptly feeling very apprehensive.

"Sit down, please."

There was the slightest of emphases on "please", making it seem more like a forceful command than a request, and Light dropped into the chair in front of the desk. The captain lazily flipped through the contents of the folder—Lightning's files—in front of her while Lightning held herself still, fighting off the urge to fidget and instead taking the moment to study the woman who was to be her new superior. She had never heard of Jihl Nabaat before, and knew nothing of the young woman who sat before her, smoking her cigarettes with seemingly not a care in the world.

"So then, Claire…" Jihl trailed off for a moment to blow out another cloud of smoke and then smiled softly before continuing. "Ah…you don't like that do you? You prefer Lightning, of course."

And Lightning knew immediately and unequivocally that Nabaat already had her entire personal record memorized and committed to heart. The last few minutes of her flipping through the files had been nothing but a show. It made her clench her jaw at being toyed with. What was even the point of it? Just what game was this woman playing at?

It was then that Lightning noticed that for all that her new captain seemed to be spewing out smoke from her black cigarette with every exhalation, the cig was not actually lit. The end of it was as cold and dark as if freshly pulled from its packing, not the faintest sign of an ember present.

That made Light sit up straighter, a shot of adrenaline abruptly flooding through her system as she reevaluated her superior. Just what was this woman?

They might have all of the information on Lightning in that file before them, but Light knew nothing of who, and what, the people she would be working with were.

"I see that you've had very high marks in all of your training—and you came with excellent recommendations from your last position over in Homicide," continued Jihl conversationally. "For a human, no doubt you will make an excellent addition to my team here."

She finished by closing the file, resting the full weight of her gaze on Lightning.

"It is an honor," Lightning managed the words finally, bowing her head slightly. She was receiving a promotion, a massive pay raise. She should be happy.

Jihl smiled, but there was a dark gleam to it. "Indeed. And I hope you treat it as such."

I know your true feelings.

She didn't need to say it for Lightning to know that her captain thought it, and the knowledge burned at her, but there was nothing she could say.

After a long moment, Jihl spoke again. "Do you have any questions? I'm sure there have been at least a few weighing on your mind since your orders for transfer here."

At subtle encouragement, Lightning finally hazarded the question that had been plaguing her since she walked through the front doors to the SCS headquarters.

"Are…are there any other humans in the squad?"

"Why, of course," soothed Jihl. She then gestured casually toward Yaag Rosch. "There's the lieutenant."

Lightning waited, but no other names were spoken as the captain continued to smile at her through her thin, metal-rimmed glasses, occasionally exhaling smoke rings until she decided to again break the silence herself.

"Any other questions, Ms. Farron?"

Of course she did! Of course—considering that she was essentially the only human on the squad—she wanted to know just who, or what, she would be working alongside with. But Jihl simply caught her gaze and smiled, unblinking and almost daring her to say something more. Lightning straightened where she sat, instinctively tilted her chin up, ready to face the dare and ask, but she quavered beneath the unnaturally still gaze, and felt the words catch in her throat.

On second thought, she didn't have to know those details. She slowly relaxed back into her chair, not wanting to appear cowed.

"Very good, then." The captain sounded genuinely pleased now. "Yaag will show you through our building here and give you a desk space. I'm sure you will not be disappointed with what our facilities and team here have to offer."

Lightning looked up from the "temporary desk" that she had been assigned her first day here, taking a brief moment again to survey the full crew that she would be working in the field with.

Near the far end of their office space was the stand for the model skeleton that was currently inhabited by Cid; Lightning knew now that he was their resident well of knowledge. He was some sort of spirit of air and memory—not a poltergeist as she had original feared—and so had to inhabit a host of some sort in order to possess any kind of physical form.

She knew what kind of oddity he was, but beyond that, most of the department outside of Yaag Rosch remained a mystery to her.

Well, she amended, not entirely.

There was Kimahri—the nearly seven foot tall ronso warlord, but his very appearance automatically gave away what he was; blue skin, a curved horn, claws and almost lion-like features. No one would ever mistake him for anything other than the half-bestial oddity that he was.

But in all honesty, beyond that, she hadn't the faintest clue still of just what her fellow squad mates were.

There was Kimahri's partner, Ashe, whose reserved and quiet demeanor seemed to be a perfect match alongside her ronso comrade. At first glance, Lightning thought the almost startlingly beautiful face to be far too delicate for the rough field work that their jobs entailed, but a second look quickly threw that rash opinion aside. Lightning had worked with all manner of rookie and veteran officers before, and she had long since learned to recognize the inner toughness it took to walk a beat. Ashe didn't have steel beneath her skin—she had adamantine, and Lightning was of the growing opinion that the fair-featured woman knew precisely how to use it.

At the cluster of desk across from them, closer to Cid, was the man called Amodar, his desk space impeccably clean and organized even while he worked. He physically appeared to be the oldest of the entire department, more middle-aged and grizzled, but always with a good-natured smile on his mustached face that left Lightning puzzled as to what on earth he was, and as to why she was beginning to appreciate his easy-going manner even despite knowing next to nothing about just who—and what—he was.

Interspaced next to him was Rygdea, and even now Lightning's eyes lingered over the rough-shaven and loud-spoken man. He was the squad's sniper—a position that Light had been secretly hoping and coveting upon her exit from SWAT training. She wasn't boasting when she said she had a sharp shot—she had been the best in her training class. But Jihl had oh-so-politely informed her that they had a sniper, and would not soon be needing another one. Lightning silently scrutinized the man, but his jovial and teasing demeanor revealed none of his secrets to her.

She shook her head and looked at the last member of their field squad, Fang—the loud and almost obnoxiously casual woman who had ridiculed Cid when Lightning first entered the SCS for reassignment. Even when dried and long since out of the shower, she had a mess of wild hair and a downright devilish grin that made Lightning wonder if the woman ever actually got any work done.

And then, of course, there was their captain. Just what on earth was she? And how on earth had she gotten to the rank that she held now? It seemed to Light that every minute she spent in her new department only served to raise more questions than answers.

As if summoned by her thoughts, suddenly the far door that led to Captain Nabaat's office opened, and Jihl leisurely strode out, Yaag expressionless as ever but attentive at her side. She smiled as all sound and movement in the office stilled, and pulled the cigarette from her mouth to let loose a stream of smoke.

"Time to gear up, everyone," she announced softly, a smile twisting her lips upward but never reaching her eyes. "We have business to tend to."

Lightning looked across her seat in the van at her fellow teammates, all of them dressed in the same standard issue special ops gear as her—Kevlar vests and riot gloves, knee pads and steel-toed military issue boots, heavy assault weapons and smaller handguns, and everything in a pallet of dark gray and black. It almost was like she was on the SWAT team instead.

Well, she amended, almost.

Ashe wasn't wearing exactly "standard issue" gear, with a longsword strapped to her back instead of a shotgun or assault rifle. The woman stood in one corner of the van, rather than sitting, her eyes closed as if sleeping, and the cruciform hilt of the leather-wrapped sword hilt rising ominously above her shoulder.

And of course there were the other not-so-standard items that she had included in her own gear—though apparently they were standard issue in the SCS. In her heavy utility belt alongside her handgun magazines were stored several vials of crystal clear holy water, provided for them by the High Sanctum in Eden. A pouch opposite of those contained pure iron fillings, and next to her flashlight were three identically carved protective totems hooked into her belt—one made of gold, one made of wood, and one made of what she was certain was bone.

And beneath all the layers of Kevlar and clothing, pressed tightly against her breast, was the necklace that had been her mother's; it was a simple silver chain, with a small medallion molded in the shape of a lightning bolt—one of the symbols of Etro. Light wouldn't call herself intensely religious, but she did believe in the power of the goddess; and belief, according to Cid, was the entire reason why religious symbols tended to work against vampires and other more unholy oddities. It wasn't about what the symbol itself was, but whether or not the bearer believed in what it stood for. And considering that she didn't really have any other charms that she "believed" in just laying around, her necklace would have to make do—hopefully, she wouldn't need its supposed power at all.

There was little time to contemplate it as the van rounded a curve, slowed and then stopped. Fang unlatched and opened the back doors to their van, allowing them to hop out and better survey their nighttime surroundings of Nautilus. They were in the Warrens, one of the poorest and most rundown districts of the entire city, based on the northern edge of the river. Most of the district was a mess of old warehouses and abandoned and cordoned off plants, relics of time when Nautilus once was a booming industrial production site; now it was a place that no self-respecting citizen would even think of showing face once night fell. Lightning had walked a few beats here herself during her early days of joining the force, and every shift had kept her more than busy with violent crimes. Who knew what oddity-related incident had called them in now?

They were close to the river edge here, near a decrepit train track bridge that had long since been left to decay. Several police cars were already on the scene, as well as an ambulance and a large SWAT K-9 transport truck. They grouped outside of their van while police officers seemed to fluidly move around them. Lightning checked the safety on her gun, and took one last moment to tighten some of the straps on her heavy gear before their brief began transmit in.

She readjusted the comm. device on her ear, hearing Yaag's voice boom into her head. "To repeat from debriefing again, the incident began at approximately 1900 hours, when police telephone operators received a distress call from a passerby of an assault occurring near the Warrens. A police unit several blocks away intercepted, and found the aggressor had already killed two victims—presumed to be homeless civilians, currently—and was in the process of reviving one of the bodies."

Lightning repressed the urge to shudder, instead forcing herself to remain rigid as she continued listening to the lieutenant, committing all of the information to her head and her memory.

"At this point, the on-site unit radioed in for further assistance, and SWAT was dispatched. The perpetrator fled from the scene, with officers in pursuit, and disappeared into the Undertunnels via the old north-side river entrance—where you are now at—nearly fifteen minutes ago."

He paused and Lightning could hear the lieutenant breath as clearly as if he was standing right next to her.

"Your orders are simple and succinct. Apprehend the criminal, or shoot to kill if he runs or resists. He is considered a high danger level and should be treated as such. For ground operations on-site, Amodar will be the field captain as he is the senior-most agent. NCPD will manage the current crime scene, and SWAT has brought their K-9 unit for the op. Report directly to me if there are any escalations or complications. Yaag Rosch, over and out."

In the silence after the lieutenant cut the line, they turned toward their eyes toward their new commander.

"So what's the plan, Amodar?"

Their designated captain rubbed his chin pensively, thinking. "I don't like the smell of this, and this isn't a sting op, its tracking. That being the case, I want one person to stay behind and watch base—be ready and tracking us with the equipment on the van while we fan out in the tunnels."

Which was a position that no one wanted to take.

Lightning felt a growing anxiousness in her stomach until Fang spoke up, roughly poking Rygdea with the butt of her gun. "Why not make that the sniper? It's not like he'd be of use anyway in the tunnels."

Rygdea looked appropriately offended at the suggestion. "Me! Well, what about you?"

"Why the hell would I hang back here?" she retorted.

"I mean, isn't it about your time anyway, Fang?" smirked Rygdea, clearly privy to some secret or joke that Lightning didn't understand.

"Oh, go fuck off, you little piece of—"

"Enough, ladies," warned Amodar, directing most of his glare—and the jibe as well—at Rygdea, who gritted his teeth but dropped his head in respect toward the senior detective. "We don't have time for your usual banter."

He turned and shouted out for the K-9 units to get unloaded before turning back toward his own crew. "Now, how long, Fang?"

"Two days, sir." Fang's face was unusually stoic.

"Right then, you take guard duty above ground with Ashe. We'll definitely need the dogs with us for this one."

"Sir." It was easy enough to hear the frustration in Fang's voice, but she nodded and didn't argue—Amodar was the field captain, after all, and he continued without pause.

"Ashe, I want you working the senior K-9 handler this round. Rygdea, you'll be with Kimahri on this one. Farron—with me."

Lightning hefted her semi-automatic and fell in step besides Amodar as the K-9 units dispersed among them and they marched toward the open gateway that led to the Undertunnels. The entrance was deceptively large, and Lightning knew that only a short ways in it would branch off into smaller, labyrinthine paths that led to underneath nearly every inch of the city proper.

The dogs whined and whuffed on their leashes, clearly eager to go. Amodar divided up the respective units between teams, with a young man and his happy-looking black lab teaming up with Lightning for the operation.

"Alright," confirmed their field captain. "Let's get this started."

And with that, the K-9 handler started into the Undertunnels before them, his four-legged friend eagerly leading the way into the old and cavernous sewers, and the handler seeming all too ready to keep as close as possible to his dog and as far away as possible from both her and Amodar. Amodar didn't seem to take offense, though, so neither did Lightning, instead taking solace in the silence as the steadily navigated through the Undertunnels. She was glad that Amodar didn't seem interested in bothering with small talk at all with her. She was in no mood to chat, anyway; she could only hope that they managed to find this idiotic necromancer sooner rather later.

They had been trekking through the slime and stale water for close to an hour when their K-9 escort finally halted. The dog had stopped leading and was whining plaintively, its tail tucked between its hind legs and nearly touching its belly as it tried to back into its owner and away from where the next corridor led.

"Hold," said Amodar automatically as the handler tried to struggle with his dog.

"Hank! What…? I'm sorry, sir, he's never normally like this! I don't know what's gotten in to him…"

Amodar waved him down gently, but his face was serious now. "It's alright. I think he's done what we needed already. We'll take things from here. Go ahead and fall back to base."

Lightning watched as Amodar pulled up his own assault rifle and nodded once toward her. "Farron—on guard."

They moved further into the sewers, alert and ready, until they turned a corner and saw movement at the end of the long hallway.

"Halt!" yelled Amodar. "Nautilus police!"

The person darted away before he could even shoot, and in a second afterward both Lightning and Amodar were running at full speed, trying to chase down their suspect.

"All units converge! I repeat, all units converge! Target is in sight!"

Lightning heard Amodar echoing out their coordinates as they gave chase through the winding tunnels, the water at their feet now becoming a swiftly moving stream instead of stagnant bilge like earlier in the Undertunnels.

The sound of rushing water grew in intensity, and when she and Amodar finally rounded the long and curving corner, they were presented with a vast, underground dome, a central matrix from which a multitude of tunnels streamed into at all sides, collecting water into a great central sinkhole that poured the water even further underground.

…to who knows where?

The thought randomly streaked through Lightning's head before being forcibly swatted aside. Pursuit of the suspect was at hand, and she caught the sign of movement in her peripheral as her fellow squad members emerged from other side tunnels, guns ready and loaded.

She emerged into the central complex, eyes alert and scanning, until they found what they were looking for.

"There!" she yelled.

The figure was shadowed, swathed in mass of grimy clothes and a jacket, and even with her keen eyes, Lightning couldn't distinguish the gender. Now at the far end of the cavernous room, the person halted, reached into the folds of his jacket and screamed a set of words that were lost over the sound of the running water. Then his hand pulled back out into the open, a ball of white light collected in his fist that he threw over the edge and down into the darkness below before Lightning of anyone else could do a thing.

Lightning loosed a few shots from her semi-automatic, but they were too far away for any chance of reasonable accuracy, and man darted away into the tunnel behind him as soon as the shots began to ring out. She cursed under her breath even as she heard Amodar yell for them to pursue the target.

She and Amodar were the closest, and Lightning was the faster of the two, so she took off around the edge of the room, her boots sloshing through the water and the sound of feet not far behind her as she hefted her gun.

A slow and powerful tremor ran through the grated path below her, and Lightning was not the only one to stumble for a moment. Then, as she regained her footing and began running again, the tremor turned into a great quake, and the waters roiled and frothed as the entire underground shook and tiny flakes broke free from the concrete walls and ceiling. In the center of the vast room a great shape ruptured upward from the dark depths where the water collected, breaking through the liquid and shadow and into the open air.

Huge plate-like scales, teeth the size of her forearms, and a great faded yellow reptilian eye that blinked with an inhuman gaze.

Terror, pure and undiluted, rushed through her veins, and she scrabbled to get up from where she had unknowingly fallen into the dank waters. A helping hand yanked her up by the collar, and she struggled to regain her footing as Amodar shoved her toward the closest side tunnel.

"RUN!"

She didn't need telling twice as she took off as fast as her feet would carry her, only vaguely registering her field captain's presence at her side as a roar louder than thunder echoed from behind her, drowning her hearing and making her want to clasp her hands to her pained ears, though her panic kept her moving. The entire tunnel system seemed to rock and shift, and the water surged from behind her making it difficult to keep her balance.

The roar finally dissipated, leaving a pervasive ringing in her head, though she still managed to hear Amodar's shouting as he directed down another route that branched off to her left. The water had risen above her knees now, and the violent shuddering of the Undertunnels was only growing worse.

Her lungs were burning when she reached the sewer ladder at the dead end of their path.

"Up!" yelled Amodar, and Lightning didn't need any further encouragement, she launched herself up the dank and rusted ladder, climbing furiously and only barely registering the clamor behind her that indicated Amodar was following suit. When she reached the top at long last, she nearly slipped in her rush to push the manhole cover up and loose. For one terrible second, the dense metal plate refused to budge, the years of oxidation and mold gluing it into place. Then, with a heaving groan, it finally started to shift, allowing in the fresh air and wind from the world above.

But before she had fully removed the manhole cover, another force tore the metal plate from her. Even faster, a hand latched onto her upper arm and then ripped her out of the sewer before she could inhale another breath to shout out.

The yell caught in her throat when she was hefted onto solid ground and recognized who her rescuer was. She took the moment to catch her breath and slow her heart rate while Fang helped Amodar was out after her.

"Great Maker, what happened down there?" Fang whistled, staring at their undoubtedly beaten forms and down the dark sewer hole. Then she put a hand up to her face. "Agh…you two reek."

And now that they had escaped from the Undertunnels and were again above ground, Lightning was slowly noticing that, too, though her mind was still too numbed to fully register it.

Instead she glanced at Fang's heavily gloved hands and shivered. She tried to convince herself that it was from the cool night air on her dank and damp form. The hands that had pulled her up and out of the sewer had been strong, stronger than any grip she had felt before. Even through the gloves and her own protective clothing, she had felt the power of tendons and muscles working from the other officer, with what almost seemed a lazy ease. No one was that strong. No one…human, at least. She remembered now what Amodar had said off-handedly at the beginning of the operation, about how not to worry about Fang at door duty, but to worry for whoever tried to cross her. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what exactly Fang was to be that strong.

She glanced at their van that was illegally parked behind Fang—Cid visible in the front seat. That at least explained how she managed to get to their exit location so quickly.

"What was that thing? And…and what on earth, no, how on earth is something living just right beneath the city?" Lightning tried to convince herself that her voice didn't sound as shaken as what it was. A heavy silence descended as both she and Fang slowly looked toward the captain. Whatever urban legends persisted, that was no simple alligator someone had flushed down the toilet years ago.

"The Sleeper," said Amodar, rubbing a hand appreciatively across his chin.

"The Sleeper?" She couldn't help if her voice sounded incredulous. "That…that thing looked like a dinosaur!"

"It's called the Sleeper for a reason," said Cid somewhat haughtily, his almost comically skeletal form exiting from the van now. "It's supposed to sleep, usually for a solid few centuries before it wakes up and stretches, so it is quite ahead of schedule."

He tapped his plastic chin thoughtfully at that.

Never mind that, though.

"And when is that creature scheduled to wake up? It looks like it could level entire city blocks if it wanted to. In fact, what's to stop it now? The necromancer woke it up, never mind whatever schedule it's on."

Cid looked disdainfully at them all for a moment, as if pitying their inferior minds to his superior knowledge. "That…whatever that was…was simply a hiccup in its sleep cycle, and it is doubtlessly returning to its slumber cycle already, or we would know it. You have no idea what the Sleeper is capable of when it fully awakens. The last time was in '39."

Amodar whistled appreciatively and murmured under his breath, "The year of the great earthquake and fire…"

Lightning saw Fang swallow apprehensively and felt some of the blood drain from her own face. '39 was the Year of Disasters in their school history text books. In only one day, the entire city of Nautilus had been nearly razed to the ground after a series of heavy hitting earthquakes and fires broke out, toppling nearly every building in the burgeoning metropolis. It had nearly spelled out the end for Nautilus at the time, yet the city had managed to come back from the freak natural disasters, growing into the vast and respectable city that it was now.

If Cid was saying the Sleeper was responsible for all of that…

"…and you mean to say something like that is just hanging out underneath our feet?!"

Fang finished the thought for her.

Cid stared at her with his emotionless balls of fire that served for eyes. "Please…if it were an issue, do you think I would still be here? The Sleeper won't fully awaken for at least another two centuries, by which time you will all be presumably dead or gone. Of course, what the captain thinks about this whole fiasco might be a different story."

Judging by the looks on Amodar and Fang's faces, Lightning had a sneaking suspicion that she should be more worried about her boss than about the overgrown crocodile that was sleeping in the sewers.

---

"Do you even realize how much pressure upper management is putting on us for waking the Sleeper?" hissed Yaag.

"That wasn't us!" protested Ashe

"The necromancer diverted—"

"Listen, that fucking prick raised the Sleeper!"

"—you can hardly expect—"

The squad room quickly dissolved into a frenzy of indignant shouting, and even Lightning had to fight the urge to rise to her feet and protest Yaag's blatantly unwarranted insinuation. Of course, she doubted her voice would have been heard over the clamor.

Jihl drummed her long nails lightly against the faux wood of Amodar's standard issue steel-framed desk, and the room immediately went as quiet and still as the grave, everyone's attention now almost fearfully fixed upon their unit captain.

"Who managed to rouse the Sleeper hardly matters at this, wouldn't you agree?" When no one responded to the clearly rhetorical question, she continued without pause. "But the fact of the matter is that the Sleeper woke briefly, and in the wake of that, we lost sight of our target. And, on top of it all, none of you can even continue your pursuit because the Undertunnels are untouchable from now until the Sleeper is well and truly back in its Deep Sleep. And do you know what that means?"

Once again, no one responded, though it was perhaps more out of trepidation than anything else as their captain continued to rather patiently extrapolate the state of affairs to them.

"It means that the case has run cold while we're all grounded. But unlike a cold case, it is simply a matter of time until our necromancer decides to rear his head in search of food again.

"And when he does, you will not let him get away a second time."

Or else.

The admonishment over their first failure—and the silent threat over what would happen if they repeated—weighed heavily in the air, even long after Jihl took leave of the building, Rosch ever present and patient at her side like a loyal dog.

---

Lightning removed pulled the sound suppressor earmuffs from her head, the echoes of her last shot still ringing through the shooting range. The now-emptied magazine was ejected from her Sig Sauer, though she did not immediately replace it with a fresh set of ammo. Instead, she took a moment to inspect her latest work. She'd been working with a rifle when she first walked into the range nearly an hour earlier, but after being satisfied with her accuracy on that particular weapon, she'd switched to her handgun for more mid and close range practice.

She loved the shooting range, and always had. It helped calm her in its own bizarre way, helped to distract and re-focus her thoughts when they were otherwise overrun. And this early in the morning—before the first rays of sunlight had yet to strike the city skyline—it was even better. She had the entire SCS range completely to herself, and she relished the solitude even as she soundlessly moved to check her aim.

The target was peppered with holes, most of them dangerously centered around the center of the chest and head on the humanoid cutout. There was one that was off, though, just over the left shoulder in what would have been emptied space. Upon noticing the missed shot, Lightning hissed in vexation, displeased despite the relatively far shooting distance given the firearm she was using. She might not be the squad sniper, but she still held herself to a high standard of shooting accuracy, and she intended to maintain it.

The entrance door to the range clicked and whizzed open, and Lightning spun on her heels, her hand instinctively tightening and half raising the emptied Sig before she caught herself.

Fang stood frozen in the doorway frame, a heavy semi-automatic thrown over one shoulder, and an expression of complete surprise at encountering someone in HQ this early into the day plastered across her face.

"You're here bright and early," Fang exclaimed, though her prior shock was quickly fading away into an expression more of curiosity and cautious interest as she re-hefted her own firearm.

"And?" she defended. "I'm usually up and about by now anyway."

That much was true, though she neglected to say that she was rarely in at work at this hour. Restful sleep had been evasive for her last night, and rather than continuing to toss and turn in bed as dawn broke, she had instead decided to head to work, and away from the issues that were robbing her of a good night's sleep—though those were not things her coworker was privy to discuss. Not to mention, what was Fang doing here so early? The woman had been out for last three days—Lightning assumed on vacation as no one in the squad had mentioned anything about her being sick.

In the meantime, though, a somewhat awkward silence had descended between the two of them; Lightning held herself still, but could feel her own urge to fidget mirrored in her teammate.

"Well, the range is all yours, then," Light tried to segue uncomfortably.

Fang scratched the back of her head sheepishly, nodded, and began to move toward one of the firing stalls again, while Lightning quickly and expertly took her leave, retreating back to the empty locker room and the showers.

Under the bitingly hot stream of water she felt her tense muscles start to relax, though her mind still felt as awake as ever, never mind the few troubled hours of sleep she had managed during the night.

When she emerged from her shower with a cloud of steam wrapped around her as tightly as her towel, she was grateful to find that the locker room was still quiet, so she quickly combed through her tangled mess of hair, and changed into a comfortable pair of field pants and a tight fitting and high-necked black base layer shirt. The chest holster and handgun soon followed, along with the standard issue boots. Content to leave her hair down to air dry, Lightning closed her locker and finally headed back to the offices of the SCS.

If the lockers and range had been quiet, the office was almost eerily silent this early in the morning compared to its usual noise and bustle during daylight work hours. Even so, she took her spot at her "temporary" desk. It was devoid of any of the clutter or personal touches that all of the other desks had. Rather, the only sign at all that the isolated desk was even in use was visible in the stack of notes and case filings placed off neatly to the side, and the worn leather jacket that Lightning had slung over her chair upon first entering HQ nearly two hours earlier.

Light sighed, and the relatively soft sound echoed loudly through the still room.

She pushed aside a troublesome lock of still-wet hair, glanced down at her darkened computer screen, and then at her watch. It was early, and would probably be at least another hour until more of the squad members arrived. Making a quick decision, rather than powering up her CPU, she snatched the files on her desk and shoveled them into her bag before grabbing her jacket and leaving the squad building to walk down the road toward the 24-hour diner that was only a few blocks away.

The tiny diner was neither packed nor empty, its current clientele a mix of various denizens both coming off of late nights and rising from early mornings. And it was a mixed group in more ways than one. Her eyes quickly took in details of all the various patrons that she could see, and while some seemed appropriately human, she also caught clear glances of curved ears, of pointed teeth and claws, of impossibly shaped eyes and inhuman looks.

A stack of menus was thrown down on the counter near her, startling her out of her observations, and as soon as Lightning turned to look at the waitress, she understood exactly why the customers here were of such a mixed crowd.

The hostess was one of the viera—one of the wyldefae races that looked like a cross between human and rabbit. They were—as she could very well see—generally more human in appearance (at least her skin was a normal tanned tone instead of blue like Kimahri's), but the viera's nose was buttoned and pink like a bunny's, and two great rabbit ears poked out from her white, fur-like hair. Lightning tried not to stare as she craned her head upward to meet the woman's dark and strangely liquid eyes. She had no idea what a fae oddity like this was doing serving as a hostess and waitress at a small diner, but she also had no desire to give insult to one of the notoriously proud viera at this hour of the morning.

They stared at one another, the silence dragging on and making Lighting begin to sweat until the tall woman finally broke it.

"Yes?"

Light swallowed thickly, wetting her dry throat as she tried to find her tongue.

"Breakfast, if you're serving it."

At this, a yell echoed out from the kitchen, and a handsome man with close-cut blond hair poked his head through the service window briefly to flash a reassuring grin. "Of course we're serving! Just have Fran here take your order and it'll be right up!"

The viera waitress—Fran—let out an indecipherable huff, and muttered for Lightning to follow before leading her to a small window-side booth table.

As the menu was slapped down in front of her, she began to worry if perhaps she had chosen poorly in coming to this diner. It was clearly a hangout for oddities, but surely she wasn't the only human to stop by the establishment.

"Drink."

It sounded less like a question to Lightning's ears and more like a demand.

"Coffee, please."

"I expect you'll want cream and sugar?"

Lightning pursed her lips at the slight exasperation that she heard in the woman's undertone, but forced her own annoyance back down. "No, I'll take it just black, thanks."

She was then completely baffled when she saw the tugging of a smile pull on the viera's lips as she already turned away, her voice instead now almost warmly amused. "Of course you will."

The coffee returned a minute later, freshly brewed and smelling delicious to her sleep-deprived senses. A moment later and the waitress departed again to put Light's order in with the chef, leaving Lightning to her own devices. She first sampled the coffee—perfectly roasted and aromatic on her tongue. Only once she was satisfied with her caffeine fix did she pull out the file and a yellow notepad from her bag, clicking open a pen in preparation for work. In perfect timing, Fran returned back with her newly made-to-order breakfast. The food was hot, fresh, and mouth-wateringly delicious, and she began systematically demolishing the pleasantly large plate of eggs, sausage, and potatoes as she spread the contents of the case file out on her table, looking over what details they had.

Her eyes ran over the original report filed by the police who had responded in the Warrens. Clearly they were dealing with a necromancer, or at least something very familiar with the unholy art of raising the dead. The suspect was still unconfirmed as being either male or female, but was roughly 5'10", and presumed to be male based on the voice that had been heard by witnesses. Beyond that, though, Lightning had almost nothing to work with. No more descriptions, no leads to follow. The Undertunnels were still on lockdown after the Sleeper had briefly woken, and as far as she could tell, it seemed like Nabaat wanted the squad to play things close to home until whatever stink the operation had caused politically finally cooled down a bit.

As irritating as it was, their hands were tied. Lightning was used to having to occasionally deal with the bureaucratic red tape—every department had its moments, even Homicide—but to be held back when they needed so clearly to pursue made her want to grind her teeth. This person, whoever they were, was a threat, and needed to be treated as such, regardless of whether or not it was the SCS or another police branch following up on the leads.

Of course, the incident had occurred nearly a week ago, and there had been no further sign of the necromancer since then. No more attacks on the homeless either in the Warrens or in other neighborhoods of the city, no missing bodies, no grave-robbing or zombie sightings. So where had their mark gone?

Lightning let out a low sigh.

She didn't buy that there necromancer was gone. Cid had gone off on a long-winded lecture to them about the nature of the Sleeper and what kind of expertise it took to be able to rouse the prehistoric creature from its slumber, and though Lightning had admittedly let her thoughts wander during the talk, she was certain of one thing from it: this was a person both knowledgeable, clever, and desperate enough to rouse the sleeper in order to cover his escape from them.

As far as Light was concerned, necromancer or normal human aside, it meant their target was not someone who was just going to quietly fade back into a normal, hidden existence in society. He would strike again, it was just a matter of when and where.

The one godsend was that clearly her superiors felt the same way. For all that they had not been given any clearance yet to enter the Undertunnels yet, Yaag had passed on the order from Jihl that the case file was to remain open, and they were to remain on high alert. Pretty much all of the known big entrances to the Undertunnels were being monitored—not that it meant much considering just how expansive all of the old sewers and tunnel systems were—so in the meantime, there was naught else to do but remain patient and ready.

Her musings were broken by the voice of the viera waitress.

"More coffee?"

Lightning wanted to, but her watch confirmed what the bright morning sun through the windows already told her; it was time to return to work. "Unfortunately I need to be on my way."

She gathered her notes and file papers together hastily, and made sure to leave a generous tip on her table. The food had been more than worth it, and though the atmosphere and service had been initially off-putting, she had a sneaking suspicion that this would not be the last time she stopped by the small, eclectic diner.

As she took her leave out the front door, the chef craned his head from around the kitchen a second time, calling out to her. "Come back again, officer!"

Even though she wasn't wearing her uniform or badge, she didn't bother asking how he knew she was with the police force. Instead she huffed and smiled, throwing a brief wave back before closing the door behind her.

Already the streets were bustling with typical weekday morning traffic, a buzz of people awake and on their way to work. HQ was no different when she slid back through the building doors. The office room was far more alive now, with most of the squad present and starting to fall into their usual morning routine.

Lightning took a deep breath and sat down at her desk, again removing her jacket and settling in to continue her work. At the end of the day, however, she was no closer to answers than anyone else, and she had only a mild headache as a reward for her efforts. Muscles creaking from staying in the same position for most of the workday, she leaned back and surveyed the office around her.

Amodar sat calmly at his desk, making some witty comment toward Rygdea as the man taunted Cid, Fang backing him up in his teasing of the spirit-possessed skeleton. Even Ashe and Kimahri, for all that they were relatively reserved, had the barest curves of amused smiles on their faces, watching the scene unfold from where they had paused in their work.

But for Lightning, sitting at her dusty and disused "temporary" desk in the far corner of the room, she abruptly felt all the more separate and isolated. She had first joined the SCS thinking only of what a group of misfits they must be, what with all of the oddities that composed their squad. She didn't once stop to think that they were as much of a family as any other department, much like how things had been for her in Homicide. Yet now that she was here, more than ever she recognized the growing truth of the matter: she was the odd one out. She was only human, and more and more she was realizing that no matter what the higher ups had been thinking, she simply didn't have a place here—not like how the rest of them did.

She blinked unexpectedly and forced her eyes down toward her keyboard.

It had only been a scant week and a half since she had joined the department, but she knew what she had to do. She would fill out her transfer requests tonight, speak with Jihl tomorrow. If she was lucky, she might manage to grab simple officer duty again in another department—never mind even thinking about getting put into SWAT or as an investigative detective now…

She shook her abruptly, making fists that were tight enough to make her nails bite into her skin. The uncharacteristically despondent thoughts indicated just how off her usual demeanor she was. She really did need to make sure that she caught up on lost sleep tonight; she would talk with Serah later—maybe tomorrow, when she had another night to rest on things; and as for work…she had a case to work on, did she not? That was what she was here for. She was not an oddity, but even as a simple human, she had something to offer. She wouldn't have been transferred to work at the department otherwise—of that much, she had to be sure.

Lightning's head snapped back up as all banter and laughter in the room died, a result of the captain's officer door opening. Only Yaag strode out this time, but his gaze was one that brooked the same air of command that Jihl normally possessed. He only needed to say two words.

"Gear up."

It was go time.

---

This time, when they unloaded from their transport van in the Warrens, it was to a fully enacted crime scene and SWAT operation. The area where they were along the river and by one of the big entrances to the Undertunnels had been completely cordoned off to the public, and already Lightning could see the flash of cameras and the buzz of people starting to gather from further down the road where the police now had the streets and sidewalks blocked off.

They wasted no time in finding the current officer in charge, one of the SWAT agents who seemed to be chaotically busied with handing out orders over the radio, though he stopped as soon as they approached him.

"I'm Amodar, senior field agent for the SCS."

"Lieutenant Borggs. Good to have you and your crew here." The muffled voice of the SWAT agent became clear as he pulled off his helmet and dialed down his soldier radio to a low background buzz. With his riot helmet now off, Lightning could clearly see his paled and gray face, shining with sweat under the harsh floodlights that had already been set up.

"So what's the situation, man?"

The lieutenant shook his head and wiped his forehead with a spare hand before talking. "Not good. We've got an undead uprising on our heads…courtesy of that necromancer that evaded us last week."

"Numbers?" interjected Kimahri, his gaze heavy and dark.

"We don't know," admitted the SWAT officer reluctantly, refusing to meet the ronso's piercing gaze. "I've pulled my crew from the tunnels—have them all watching the vantage point exits currently. Scouts initially went in when the first reanimated skeleton came out from the main entrance, but they came back after they got swarmed about a half mile into the Undertunnels…got five casualties as it stands; one in the ICU."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Amodar. "Now, what is your crew count? We'll need to move in quickly unless we want undead starting to pop out of the sewers in the downtown Financial District—"

The lieutenant cut him off, incredulity and panic beginning to show on his face, for all that he had to have been an experienced commander

"What are you talking about? We can't just run in there, guns blazing! There's an entire mess of undead down in those tunnels. Who knows how many? I told you myself, we don't even have a relative head count on them yet! I'm not sending any more of my men in there until we have a set plan."

"…no need to jump ahead of things, officer."

Lightning twirled around, surprised to see her captain smoothly exiting from a non-descript black sedan that had soundlessly pulled up behind them, Yaag holding the car door open for her. Even the SWAT officer gaped at her entrance, though he recovered himself after a moment.

"Ma'am…"

She waved a casual dismissal at him, her eyes already turning to survey the buzz of personnel around the entrance to the Undertunnels. She pulled a black cigarette to her lips and took a long and slow drag from it before exhaling the dark vapors into the night wind.

"My team will take it from here. You can call your men back and keep them stationed by the key containment point. We'll handle the sting."

As she finished speaking, Yaag offered a packet of folded papers—presumably the written authorization orders for the SCS to take charge—but it seemed as though no further encouragement was needed. Lieutenant Briggs straightened and gave Jihl a quick and crisp salute before turning around to take his leave, relief at no longer being in charge of the situation clearly evident in his voice as he radioed out the new commands.

Suddenly Ashe stepped forward and spoke, her voice cool and smooth, but pleasantly lyrical to the ear. "With all due respect, captain, while your faith in our skills as a team is doubtlessly appreciated, we will be stretched thin if put up against a small army of skeletons."

"For shame, for shame," chided Jihl gently. "You may call me cruel, but never call me unfair."

She reached into one of the interior pockets of her suit jacket, and when her hand reappeared, it held a small and slim rod, almost akin to a conductor's baton except for the prominent red jewel set at the base of the nameless gray material. With that now in hand, she turned around to face a set of two trucks that had just arrived behind her.

They were huge military transport trucks—the nondescript gray kind that were used to transport mini-tanks or large scale weapons. When Jihl flashed the rod at them, the back loading doors to each had swung open, and after a momentary pause, from each truck out had marched five freshly cut and gleaming stone guardians: golems. The ten creatures walked in perfect time up toward the squad, stopping short and holding position once they were about five feet away, their red eyes sparkling with an inner light as they towered over all else.

"The most recent contract with the consulting wizards' firm finally went through," explained Rosch patiently. "These are brand new, Grade-A, granite-class golems, freshly built and attuned, so they should provide you with sufficient strength, even against a small undead army."

No kidding.

The only time Lightning had ever seen a golem up close was when she visited the courthouse. There were always two of them stationed right outside, as motionless and unwavering as statues. But for all the hulking magical constructs appeared immobile, she had heard tales of what they could do when activated. To any average criminal, to be pursued by a golem was nearly a death sentence. The golems were not human—were not even "living" by any definition of the word. Their stone bodies were magically created and fueled, and would follow and command given by their master until their bodies crumbled into dust or their magical core was severed. They would never tire, would never injure, and would never stop…and against a horde of undead skeletons in the winding depths of the Undertunnels, Lightning would very, very glad to have them at their side. Of course, she didn't even want to begin considering just how much the city must have paid to contract a set of ten new golems just for the SCS to use.

"Do you have anything to add, Cid?"

They looked around, confused, until the front passenger window of Jihl's sedan rolled down and the familiar plastic skeleton head poked out of the window, eye sockets bright with blue flame and artificial bones chattering as it spoke.

"Based on historical records of the early town settlements here, I estimate that our necromancer has resurrected the old bones of approximately one hundred to two hundred skeletons from a "lost" graveyard that the tunnels were built over. A skeleton by itself shouldn't pose too much of a threat, though short of completely destroying the either the skull or the entire body they won't "die", not to mention that they will try to overwhelm you with simple numbers. The golems, of course, should give you an equal arm against the undead that the necromancer has managed to conjure, but don't forget that your target is the necromancer himself. The skeletons won't stay down easily, and until you stop the necromancer, he can just keep raising more from the dead."

"Yeah, yeah…we know the deal, Cid. We're not new to the gig, here." Fang tapped her foot, voicing the same impatience to be off that everyone else was clearly feeling. Time was ticking, and the longer they waited, presumably the greater the undead army grew.

Cid opened his jaws to retort, but was cut off by Amodar, who stepped in to take charge as the field captain. "Then let's get this show going."

He moved to the back of the assault van that they had arrived in and began tossing out weapons to all of them as he organized their sting formation.

"Kimahri and Ashe, you run at vanguard with the first wave of golems. I'll take second cover with the next set of golems—Rygdea and Fang, flank me. Farron…" Amodar threw her a modified Benelli heavy shotgun. "You provide rearguard cover."

She knew that rearguard was a generally important position, but considering their operation, it meant she was to sit in the back and take what shots she could while the big guns of the squad did their work. She felt chagrined, but held her disappointment in check. They were about to run an incredibly dangerous sting op, and even if she didn't expect to be in the thick of the action herself, she needed to be ready for anything.

"Ma'am?" asked Amodar, facing Jihl one last time.

They waited, alert and ready for any final orders before the plunged into the underground.

Jihl casually flipped some of her impossibly platinum blond hair back over one shoulder, and smiled at them through her glasses. "Time to work."

Each of them flashed their salutes, and then moved with their new-found golems toward the Undertunnels where a group of SWAT officers still maintained a weapon-trained vigilance on the tunnel entrance.

They lined up in files on either side of the main water entrance to the Undertunnels, guns loaded, golems in place, and every eye trained on Amodar for his signal. He nodded once, almost to himself, raised his gloved hand and then gave the go-ahead motion, and Lightning felt the trickle of adrenaline flood into a full rush as they started.

They dove into the Undertunnels, Ashe and Kimahri leading the charge with the first wave of golems, the typical drumming of their steel-toed boots drowned out by the heavy stomping of the golems.

They had only been moving for a few minutes when Kimahri's rough and deep voice echoed through her earpiece, deadly serious and calm as he spoke from ahead in the vanguard. "Skeletons ahead."

The brief echo of gunfire roared through the tunnel, amplified by its own echo underground, and was then followed by the literal sound of bone being crushed beneath stone.

"Keep the push! We're getting closer!"

Amodar barked out the command in the initial silence that followed the first attack, and they were moving forward in another short moment, at a jogging pace, small pieces of bones crunching beneath her feet. From there, the encounters only became more frequent, though with her station at the rearguard, Lightning had yet to even get a full glimpse of their opponents—at least until the tunnel widened again to meet another underground central hub where the tunnels seemed to converge, and where the skeletons seemed to amass.

Lightning had only a scarce moment to register her opponents before they charged at them, bones clacking and swinging and jaws open in silent screams of rage.

"On your left, Amodar!" Lightning shouted in brief warning, then fired without a second's hesitation, pulverizing the skeleton with a spray from her Benelli. She chucked the spent shells and immediately reloaded, only vaguely hearing Rygdea give an impressed whoop followed by a cry of "nice shot". Her mind was completely phased into combat mode now, eager for more action.

As the rearguard, though, she still performed a quick clear of the side tunnels as they pushed forward, but it almost seemed pointless. The skeleton army teemed at them from the chaos of the central room before them, not the abandoned side tunnel that Lightning was performing a quick scope of. Still, as her comrades and the golems charged in front of her, meeting the skeletons head on, Light couldn't help but feel her attention be drawn toward the dusty and dimly lit corridor on her left.

"Farron!"

She whipped her head back around at the slight admonishment in Fang's voice, bringing her focus back on the increasing numbers of the undead skeletons that were trying to swarm them even as the golems rampaged out into the open room.

A tickling sensation kept nagging in the back of her head, though, urging her attention elsewhere even as she unleashed another powerful spray shot from her Benelli. Her aim was on point, and sent fragments of bone and dust flying as the shotgun bullets pulverized a skeleton.

The horde seemed nearly unending, but her comrades were already deep into the foray, golems leading the charge into the undead army. Lightning reached for another set of shells, but her fingers grasped at empty air this time. A quick pat down of her belts and pouches confirmed what she already knew: she was out. A growl of frustration left her throat; her companions were moving far ahead of her, cutting a swathe through the skeletons with blades and fists and magic. With her shotgun now emptied, she couldn't even provide backup fire for them anymore.

Lightning was about to look for one of the sub-machine guns, to follow after Amodar and all of her teammates, but as she moved forward to continue, the nagging in her head made her step catch, and she stopped to glance back toward the tunnels and the dark junction that let off to the side sewers. That nagging grew stronger, and she checked herself for a moment.

She spat to the side, ridding her mouth of the dry taste of bone dust and coming to a decision simultaneously. The Benelli shotgun was thrown aside, useless now that she was out of ammo. Instead she pulled her Sig Sauer from its holster at her thigh, quickly checked the magazine and then pulled her flashlight from her belt and turned down back into one of the side sewers, echoing out a call through her static-filled radio to let her team know what she was doing. There was no copy response.

She steadied her flashlight had across her gun arm, moving slowly and cautiously, even when more lights flickered to life down her tunnel. She rounded the corner into a smaller open room, and came face to face with her target: the necromancer.

His hooded face and clothes were nothing special—layers that were dirtied and soiled with mud, water, and dark stains of old and dried blood. But for all that, he wore a small king's ransom of gold jewelry; there was a thick medallion around his neck, gold rings on most of his fingers, and in his left hand he held what looked like a small, jewel-encrusted scepter.

"Hold it!" she commanded, aiming the barrel of her gun perfectly at his face. From this close of range, she had no concerns about her accuracy either.

He quirked his head sideways at her, and though she could not make out the features of his shadowed face, she was certain he was smiling.

"Curious…so one of you dogs managed to find me after all. It is of no matter…your body will make an excellent servant to me shortly."

"Stand down now or I'll shoot!" She warned a final time, her finger tightening on the trigger.

"Daeava!"

Lightning had no idea what that meant, but she wasn't willing to find out. She prepared to take a lethal shot when a sharp blow struck her wrist, knocking her gun from her firm grasp. She brought her other hand up in a defensive fist, and had time only to see what appeared to be a moving shadow pass through her hand and strike her square in the face, making her see stars as she hit the ground. The creature—whatever it was—was immediately on, pressing its hands around her neck and lifting her back upright.

"Fuck—ckk!" She scrabbled feverishly at her throat, but to no avail. The shadowy fingers tightened, starting to constrict and cut off her breath. But though she struggled and lashed out against the shadow construct, her blows were useless, passing through the dark being for all that its grip on her was more than very real.

She couldn't breathe, and as her muscles quaked and fought, she felt herself begin to slow and fail against a foe that she could not harm. She was going to lose, and not all the training in the world would save her against the creature that was now literally squeezing the life from her. Her vision began to dim and haze, and she was only vaguely aware of her hands starting to fall back to her side.

Then an inhuman roar shattered the air. It was something bestial and animalistic, and were she not on the verge of losing consciousness, Lightning would have felt terrified at the sound. A moment later and all of the sudden she hit the ground, the lethal grip on her throat removed. She coughed and sputtered and her lungs shook convulsively, drawing desperate breath even though her bruised and raw throat burned with the dagger sharp pain of air against it.

But she could breathe again, and that was all that mattered to her most basic survival instincts.

"Fang!" She tried to shout, but her voice came out as a hoarse and pained croak, a frightening mockery of what it should have been.

But Fang turned for the barest moment, jumping back defensively from the shadow creature for a brief second before barking out a quick command as she pulled a round object from her utility belt. "Farron, close your eyes!"

Lightning immediately rolled her face into her forearm and shut her eyes as tightly as they would go. Even then, she was still blinded for a brief moment as the flash bang went off.

When she blinked her vision back, the construct was gone, and the necromancer howling curses even as he pulled his bejeweled scepter forward. It seemed as though Fang was not one to play games, though.

She swung her assault rifle around and unleashed an angry volley of lead into the necromancer at nearly point blank range without batting a lash, her lips pulled back in a fierce sneer.

The man crumbled backward from the force of the attack, slumping. Fang started to lower her weapon, and began to turn back toward Lightning, concern evident in her voice.

"Farron! Are you—what the bloody hell?!"

The necromancer stood up and straightened from where he had fallen, not a single drop of blood falling from where the bullets had ripped through. His hood fell back, and Lightning saw the skin of his face warp and ripple, a magical illusion that now sloughed away to reveal a face that look like a long-since dead and desiccated corpse.

It began to laugh, a hoarse and wheezing sound that made Lightning's skin crawl.

Fang recoiled, cursing audibly.

"—fucking…lich!"

Which now complicated everything. This was not a simple necromancer before them. The mortal was long gone, his humanity sacrificed to transform him into an undead being of greater power: a lich. It also meant that the creature was essentially immortal until they destroyed whatever his unholy source of power was.

"That scepter!"

Fang exclaimed it aloud at the same time Lightning reached that conclusion, and she wasted no time acting. Instead of bothering with bullets and ranged attacks, she charged in, engaging the lich in a flurry of hand to hand combat as she feverishly tried to either smash or steal the scepter as the lich fought back, uttering chants with its gravely voice.

Lightning reclaimed her handgun while Fang fought, uncertain of what she could do, but desperate to turn the tide in their favor. Her radio was still a haze of static in her ear, so no further help would be forthcoming. She tightened the grip on her weapon and traced her target's movements with her eyes.

The heavily ornate medallion waved with the lich's strikes, swinging across its chest and out into the air periodically. The prominent gemstone winked and twinkled even in the dim lighting, catching Lightning's eyes with its darkly verdant hues, almost hypnotic.

Lightning blinked once. Twice.

It's not the scepter at all.

She brought her Sig handgun back up toward her face again, trying to see if she could get a clear shot on the monster to at least slow it down a bit so that Fang could get the medallion, but it was no use. The lich and Fang were too entangled with each other in close combat. Their movements were too fast for Lightning to attempt a safe shot.

The heavy scepter swung around, faster even than what Fang could manage, and it struck Fang across her unprotected face with a heavy crack, sending her sprawling backward. Lightning wanted to cry out, to check that her teammate was still ok and breathing, but her training held her fast and she didn't budge an inch even as her innards clenched with anxiety. Instead she took her aim, steadied the barrel of her handgun one last time, and ripped her shot. And somehow, miraculously, it hit perfectly on its unsuspecting target. The massive green jewel exploded on impact, and the lich stumbled backward, dazed.

"Fang!"

But there was no need for her to call out, for Fang was already up from her blow and on the offensive, a wickedly sharp military knife drawn from her thigh-strap and flashing like a mirror's edge. The motion was quick, practiced, and professionally efficient, and the staggered lich didn't stand a chance before the blade smashed straight into one gruesome eye socket, as deep as the hilt would allow.

A howl reminiscent of a banshee's scream erupted from the lich, and then it abruptly stopped, as if cut short. Lightning blinked her eyes, and in an instant the undead creature disintegrated into a great pile of ash and grave dust, only the now-broken golden medallion and the ancient scepter left behind as token relics of its unholy attempt at a second life.

Lightning let her head fall forward and the breath whoosh out of her lungs in shaky relief. The static through the radio abruptly began to dissipate. She knew she should get up and check anyway, but her gut feeling told her that it was over. They had won. Besides, it sounded as though Fang was already checking to ensure the validity of their kill.

Still, she should probably get off the ground now.

A moment later as she began to push herself up, and Fang was towering over her, yet again hauling her upright with her superhuman strength.

"You bloody idiot," yelled Fang, and dazed though she was, Lightning could still hear the undertones of both worry and amazement present. "What were you thinking?!"

The question was clearly intended to be rhetorical, as Fang didn't even wait for a response but instead swept Lightning off her feet before she could even say anything otherwise.

"Hey," she protested instinctively, but didn't try to struggle as the woman easily cradled her in her arms. Lightning was scared by how weak even her protest sounded, and realized just how close of brush with death she had experienced.

"You're just a normal human, Farron," argued Fang, and Lightning could see that her jaw was clenched in anger. "You're lucky to be alive! So just stay still and quit your thrice-damned arguing while I take you to get your injuries checked."

Realizing just how little say in the matter she actually did have at this point, she closed her eyes and stopped struggling as her squad mate easily carried her weight and called in a bus over the radio. At this point, trying to make a fuss would be pointless. Their objective was complete and the lich had been stopped, and though she loathed the thought of being carried out of the tunnels like some helpless victim, she was too tired and beaten up to argue any further—not to mention she had a sneaking suspicion that neither Fang nor any of her other squad mates would acquiesce to her protests anyway. So instead she resigned herself to her current fate as she relaxed and leaned into the rough Kevlar weave of Fang's body armor, and whispered a silent prayer in hopes that the paramedics would patch her up quickly and without too much fuss.

---

Lightning struggled to keep her bleary eyes open and properly alert. She had spent the better part of the night first on the their sting raid, and then getting treated by the paramedics and helping with the site cleanup operations and filling out follow-up reports, so that by the time they were finally done at the operation site and she had been cleared, dawn was already breaking and Jihl had decreed that she wanted them all back at HQ to finish wrapping up the case—and that meant no sleep or coffee for her yet. Granted, the rest of the squad was in the same boat as her, but none of them were currently on the receiving end of a verbal lashing from Yaag, either.

Well, that wasn't quite true. She did have Fang next to her; and the last time Light had risked a glance at the other woman sitting beside her in their captain's office, the look on her squad mate's face indicated that she was no more enthused than Lightning to be in their current predicament.

Lightning winced abruptly, in part from the tirade as Yaag continued to yell at them, and in part from the discomforting pain in her throat as she was forced to swallow again. She resisted the urge to fidget in her seat and readjust the collar on her jacket for the millionth time.

Usually she found the formal jackets and collared shirts of their dress uniforms to be stifling, but until the darkly purple and rather visible bruises from around her neck decided to fully fade away, she planned on scrupulously covering her neck with whatever she could, and the only cloths she had stored at work that remotely fit that description was her formal dress uniform. For once, she was mildly jealous of her oddity partners in the unit, as she was certain the vast majority of them had superior healing capabilities to simple humans; she had already noticed that the injury Fang had sustained to head from their skirmish with the lich already seemed to be completely healed.

At the moment, though, thoughts of anything else were banished from her mind.

Yaag was positively livid, and Lightning was almost convinced the lieutenant would have them sitting in the captain's office for the rest of the day or until she could recite the Code to him out of pure memory on command.

As for their actual captain, Jihl was in a perfectly trim and tailored dark suit today, watching with what could only be described as casual amusement from behind her black wood desk while they suffered under the discipline of her second-in-command.

She inhaled deeply, and then a well-timed and well-aimed puff of dark smoke flew directly into Yaag's face, cutting him off and making him sputter and cough.

Jihl spoke then, at last. "That's enough, Lieutenant."

And Yaag immediately bowed his head and took a step back, his clipboard now out and his face as attentive and solemn as he waited on Jihl's words.

"Tell me, Ms. Farron…just why did you abandon position at rearguard? Why not follow the charge toward where all information had indicated the necromancer was supposed to be?"

Never mind saying that she had echoed her change in plans on the radio—the interference from the lich's spell had cut off their radio signals. No one had heard her call. Fang had only followed because she had managed to turn around and pick up on the fact that Lightning was no longer with the main group. Those were all semantic details now. What Jihl Nabaat was asking of her was different.

"I just…felt like it was a diversion," she admitted, having no better excuse than that. "Like the actual necromancer was elsewhere."

"You "felt" it?" Jihl questioned in sardonic mimicry, rising from her chair and slowly stepping around the table. She tapped the reed-like baton she normally kept on her desk into the palm of one hand, beating out a slow rhythm.

The tip of Jihl's willowy baton suddenly jabbed under her chin, forcing Lightning to move her head back up in order to meet her captain's coldly curious eyes. For all that Jihl was using her baton, they were very close now—just when had Jihl gotten that close to her?—so close that her captain's form seemed to block out all else.

"What are you really? Only human?"

She wanted to answer, wanted to protest that of course she was human! They tested for all measure of oddities when she received her SWAT training—what else did they think she was? But she couldn't work her voice; her throat was dry, constricted, and she couldn't blink, couldn't even tear her eyes away from the gaze that seemed to pin her to her seat. There was a roaring in her ears, and smell of smoke filled her every breath.

There was a low rumble from Fang next to her, and in the next moment, Jihl was turning away, and she could blink again for all that there was a pounding headache now throbbing beneath her brow.

"Enough of your growling, mutt." In an instant, the baton had flipped out from under Lightning's chin and sharply rapped Fang on the side of her head. "She is not yours to growl over. Not right now."

The words were said lightly, but Lightning still stiffened at them even as she felt herself lean back into her chair. How could Jihl speak like this to her own crew? It was a miracle any of them stayed working here! But when she turned to glare her anger at the SCS captain, the woman had already stepped away, moving back around her desk with a slow and predatory grace.

Once seated again, she raised a hand casually, and Yaag was at her side, scribbling furiously onto his clipboard while the captain spoke.

"Two weeks mandatory probation for both of you. The chain of command is there for a reason, and you both broke it."

Lightning bowed her head, chagrined but accepting of the fact that her captain was absolutely in the right. When Jihl said nothing further, Lightning recognized that they were being dismissed, and rose to leave, with Fang only a half step behind her as she moved toward the door.

"Oh, and Ms. Farron?"

Lightning stopped, her hand now hovering and frozen over the doorknob. She turned back over her shoulder.

"Before you get going on all of your paperwork, take the time to move your items to the desk across from Fang."

Fang started at this, too, and both officers stared incredulously at their superior. Once again, Jihl smiled—a mix of that same personal amusement and something else.

"You'll need to get used to working closely with each other—after all, you're going to be case partners from now on."

Report filed. Case closed.