Chapter Six: Bitter Pills

The sun had crested the jagged horizon, and its brilliant rays cut through the dust and smoke that smothered the city, turning everything into molten gold. It was breathtaking, but the light of dawn offered no warmth; every day was getting colder as autumn slowly passed into winter. The first snows would fall soon.

Marcus pulled away from the narrow window and rubbed his mouth. He had been up for more than twenty-four hours; the Xanthine was wearing off fast. The damn Stranded still had the supply packs, and he hadn't kept any of the stims with him.

Ah, well. So he'd have to stay up another couple of hours. He'd deal.

The sergeant turned his gaze to the stripped cot that took up nearly half of the tiny room. Anya was sleeping there, curled up like a child. Her armour lay stacked in a metallic heap on the tiled floor, and she was left in her black under-armour bodysuit. A strip of cold morning light fell over her face; she was shivering slightly.

She was not beautiful now. Her delicate features were streaked with dirt and ashes; her bottom lip was horribly swollen. Her long blonde hair—usually tamed into a tight bun—was messy and matted with blood. The old wound on her temple had re-opened, and while Marcus had been able to stop the bleeding, the lieutenant now sported a thin, grisly scab. Marcus hoped the scar would be small.

The woman stirred. Marcus leaned against the metal door—locked, the sergeant knew—and crossed his arms.

"Morning."

Anya's eyes fluttered open to blink blearily in the sunlight. She curled into an even tighter ball, and a tiny groan escaped her dry lips.

"I'm alive?"

"Looks that way."

"Shit." Her eyes unfocussed and she stared into space. "The Boomer?"

"Nothing that crazy bitch's Boomshot couldn't handle." He gestured to her quavering frame. "How are you holding up?"

"Eh, I've been through worse."

The cot creaked morosely as Anya stretched her limbs out. She moved with a halting tenderness that betrayed her real pain. Gingerly, she propped herself on one elbow.

"You flattened me."

Marcus jerked one shoulder in a half-shrug. "It was either that, or let you take a Boomshot shell in the face. In the end, I figured you'd rather deal with a few bruised ribs."

Anya's fat lip curved into an honest smile. "Well, thanks. Looks like I owe you one. Again." She pulled herself up on the cot and surveyed the cell-like room. "Where are we?"

"Generally? The hospital. And specifically..." The sergeant sniffed the air. "Judging from the iodine smell, I'd say we're in some kind of old medical supply room."

Anya sat up straighter, grimacing at the resulting pain. "We're already here?"

"Yeah. After we finished off that drone party, we hauled ass back to the hospital. Or, what's left of it."

"Did you see...?"

Marcus shook his head. "Tasha just threw us in here and told me to wait. I didn't see anyone else." He continued past Anya's crestfallen look. "That was over an hour ago."

Anya nodded in somber acceptance. "Our weapons?"

"They took 'em before they locked us up in here."

"And you just...gave them up?"

The sergeant just glanced sidelong at Anya.

Anya's brows rose. "That's...um...not like you."

He'd guessed that the lieutenant would say that. Of course, Marcus did it because he knew they were close to finding the kid, and he wasn't going to do anything to mess that up now. He debated pointing this out to Anya, but opted to just shrug casually again. Just like she always did, Anya accepted that as his final response and dropped the subject.

His keen ears pricked; somewhere beyond the heavy door behind him, the rhythmic sound of footsteps steadily approached. Anya must have heard it too, because she was pulling herself back up off the cot. The footsteps suddenly stopped outside the door, and an instant later, there was the loud click of a key in a lock.

Unfortunately for the person trying to get in, but due to Marcus' leaning weight, they were unable to open it.

"Hey, open up!" ordered a disembodied voice. Marcus looked to Anya; she was grinning. The feminine voice was familiar. In no hurry to comply, the sergeant uncrossed his arms and lifted himself from the door.

The door flew open, and Tasha stumbled haphazardly in. She immediately straightened and cleared her throat.

"Come with me. No questions."

Just like before, the woman spoke like a hard-ass general, but the scraggly Stranded simply lacked the conviction to make her order effective. She was still trying to maintain fierce control over her prisoners, but Marcus could see she was getting tired.

"Alright, give us a moment." He turned to Anya. "Can you walk?"

She waved off her sergeant's concerns. "Yes, I'm fine." She swung her feet over the side of the cot and proceeded to don her armour. Once she was back in her gear, they followed their escort out of the closet-like room.

They found themselves at the end of a long hallway. The once-sparklingly clean tiles that lined the floor were cracked and smudged with filth. Several other doors lined the peeling walls, each lit overhead by a single light. According to Marcus'—relatively limited—knowledge of hospital layouts, he guessed they were in the supply wing.

"Follow me." Tasha started down the hall, and the soldiers strode after. They passed door after door, hall after hall, marching through the symmetrical wings. Marcus tried to keep a vague map of the hospital's endless corridors in his mind, but after the first five minutes of seemingly random turns, it all became a muddled blur. Finally, just when he began to wonder if they were getting a tour of the entire hospital, they came to a set of wide double doors, and Tasha signalled for them to stop.

"Okay, kids. This is the outpost. Mind your manners, and try not to stare."

Marcus and Anya exchanged glances; Tasha pushed open the doors.

They stepped past the threshold and into the cavernous room beyond. Golden morning light filtered in through the tall, grimy windows that lined the east wall, giving the white plaster interior of the wide hall a rusted look. Inside, dozens of underfed Stranded sat on splintered benches, lay sleeping on the floor, or stood around talking to each other in hushed tones. As Tasha led Marcus and Anya through the haphazard smatterings of people, they each turned their dirty faces to stare accusingly at them as they passed. Marcus surveyed the motley assortment of people; there were men, women, and children; young and old. Too often, Gears and regular civilians forgot that the Stranded were more than bad-tempered thieves; somewhere in that hall, an infant keened for its mother.

They walked past the Stranded and followed Tasha as she came to a stop before a small group of quietly conversing men. Unlike the Stranded, these men appeared to be healthy, with their toned muscles filling out their relatively clean clothing. One of them—a tall, copper-haired man who seemed to be leading the conversation—even had a shiny COG sniper rifle strapped to his broad back. When Tasha approached, the group halted their discussion, and the man raised a brow at the woman and her prisoners.

"Our guests, Tasha?"

Tasha nodded, nose crinkled slightly as if she disagreed with the term. "Yeah, these are the ones. The blonde one said—"

The man raised his hand, and Marcus watched in mild surprise as Tasha fell instantly silent. That confirmed it: if this man could shut that woman up with less than a gesture, then he had to be some sort of Stranded big shot. Maybe even their leader.

"Thanks, Tasha. Gerrey has brought me up to speed on why they are here."

Marcus felt Anya flinch at the mention of the destroyed father; Tasha frowned in a rare show of human emotion.

Suddenly, Anya stepped forward. "Gerrey...how is he?"

The man cast a questioning glance at the blonde woman. Tasha snapped around to face Anya, but the man stepped in.

"He's exactly how a father who just lost his son would be; ruined," he replied evenly, his quiet eyes meeting Anya's directly. "But that's not what needs to be discussed right now. Tash?"

The Stranded woman understood her cue, and gave a curt nod of farewell before spinning around and trotting off into the crowd of people. The man gave a similar look of dismissal to his other comrades. Once they had left the man alone with Marcus and Anya, he smiled and, in an utterly unexpected gesture that caught Marcus by surprise, extended his hand in greeting.

"I'm Randall."

The sergeant hesitated for only a moment before he gathered himself and shook the man's hand. He had a firm grip, despite his lankier stature. Randall's grin widened at the reciprocated civility, and he stepped back. Marcus felt Randall's eyes on him; he knew he was being analyzed, sized-up. The Gear shifted his weight, returning the scrutinizing look.

"You're Marcus Fenix." Randall's smile ebbed slightly, but never faded completely.

Again, Marcus had to hesitate. Normally, Stranded didn't bother themselves to know any of the prominent Gears by name, and if they did, then they usually greeted them with a string of colourful curses and threats. Not only did Randall know him by name and appearance, but he seemed almost humbled by the meeting.

"Yeah," Marcus said shortly. He didn't care how well-mannered this guy was, the sergeant wasn't giving him an inch of leeway.

"You look just like you do in the papers." Randall crossed his arms casually. "I thought you just put on that hard-ass face for the press, but that's your legitimate default expression, isn't it?"

Randall's decidedly un-Stranded-like disposition was constantly throwing Marcus off, and he figured it was best to just let this man say what he had to say. Marcus got the distinct feeling that Randall knew more than he let on.

"So, we've discovered who our 'Bruiser' is, but..." Randall turned to Anya. "Who's our Blondie?"

Anya, who had been silently bristling by Marcus' side every time Randall opened his mouth, now stood stiffly and blinked at Randall.

"Anya. Anya Stroud."

The light of recognition glinted in Randall's eyes. "Stroud? As in, Major Helena of Aspho Fields?"

"As in her daughter." Anya didn't miss a beat. It was almost imperceptible, but Marcus felt her stand a little straighter at the mention of her war-hero mother.

"Look," Marcus interjected, hoping to use Anya's confidence to bring this conversation back under their control. "We've got shit to talk about, so cut the bull."

Randall didn't seem even slightly intimidated by Marcus' gruff tone. Instead, he stifled a laugh and clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I'm sure I seem like a crazy asshole. Really." He rubbed his neck. "I just thought you might...I don't know...know me."

Marcus furrowed his brow. Know? Was he supposed to recognize this guy? The sergeant scanned Randall's face again, racking his brain for any kind of familiarity. Had he trained with this man? No. Served with him? No, not recently. Maybe in the Royal Tyran Infantry...

"Hurnan." Randall smiled. "I'm Randall Hurnan."

Realization hit Marcus like a Boomer punch to the face. Hurnan. As in old dead Hurnan. This man was somehow related to one of Marcus' fallen RTI comrades from the Pendulum Wars. Anya's eyes were wide; she had been a CIC officer for Private Hurnan in Aspho Fields.

"You're the younger brother, then," she reasoned, shaking her head slightly.

Randall nodded. "Indeed. I was still in high school when he died, but I enlisted the moment I reached the age requirement. I...realize it was a bit of long shot, but I thought maybe he might've mentioned his baby bro when you fought with him."

Anya had gone rigid. "Enlisted?"

Once again, they were met with that knowing grin.

"Still am," Randall replied. "Corporal Randall Hurnan of Echo squad."

Marcus' mind raced as the slick man threw his last curveball. Echo squad. Stranded Gears. Rescue mission.

Shit.

"Echo squad?" Marcus blinked. "Ah, hell. The COG's been looking for you bastards"

At last, Randall's smile met its match. The corporal furrowed his brow. "Since when does the COG waste perfectly good fuel on goose chase rescue missions? Shit, after the first couple of days, I thought we were on our own for sure."

"How'd you get here?" Anya jumped in. "I mean...they're Stranded. Why didn't they just kill you and sell you for scrap?"

"Hah, good question! Turns out, my squad and I ended up meeting them after saving one of their scouts' asses—the lovely Tasha, actually—and they needed some help, so we just sort of...fell in with them."

Marcus' face was glacial. "That easy, eh?"

"Okay, hold on just a moment, Randall," Anya said. "Where's the rest of your squad?"

Randall jerked his head over to the men he'd been speaking to prior to their arrival. But there was only two; not nearly as many as they were told to search for.

"And the others?" Marcus asked, though he had little hope for the answer..

The man closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "Dead. Two of my best privates, too."

Marcus' grunted. "What happened?"

"We were sent to patrol the sink site shortly after it's appearance, make sure that no Locust stragglers used it for ground level access." Randall's honeyed eyes narrowed in remembrance. "It was all going well until just over a week ago. We got ambushed by a Corpser. Son of a bitch came of out nowhere."

"Hmph, I guess a Corsper attack is the Ilima welcome wagon," Marcus said grimly. His shoulder still harboured a dull ache from when their own brush with the tunnelling beast.

Anya bowed her head in respectful sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear about your men, Corporal." she said softly, but her eyes were on Marcus. He could tell by the concern etched into her delicate features that she was thinking the exact same thing he had been.

If Echo didn't need rescuing, then what the hell was Delta-Two doing?

Instinctively, the sergeant's mind bellowed at him to contact Dom and tell him about the latest change of plans. God only knew what trouble Delta was having, traversing the ruined city on foot in a futile search for non-existent soldiers; if Marcus didn't inform them now, then they would only be putting themselves in more pointless danger. Sixteen years of experience in the field of battle told Marcus to get back to his squad and bring 'em home.

But Anya was staring at him again, and he knew he couldn't do anything of the sort. They had finally found someone who might be willing to help them find Jackie, and he couldn't bail out now. Marcus reminded himself that Dom was capable of keeping Delta alive on his own, and, making a mental promise to contact him as soon as possible, the Gear focused on the task at hand.

"So," Randall broke the rising silence. "I suppose you want to discuss this so-called 'shit' that you've come so far for."

It was Anya's turn to take over. "Yes. We're looking for someone, actually, and we believe she may be here in your Stranded outpost."

Randall raised a brow. "She?"

"A younger girl, about eleven years old."

"Well, we've got a lot of kids. Specifics?"

"Easy. She's got heterochromia."

Randall's blank expression said that the word meant nothing to him.

"Two different coloured eyes," Marcus explained. He thought back to the conversation he had with Anya back in Fellings Station. "One blue, one green."

"You're kidding." The corporal's eyes grew wide. "I remember her. Quiet scrap of a girl; never saw her speak to anyone. Came with an older woman with a Wretch bite."

A wave of relief washed over Marcus; the 'older woman' must have been the caretaker Anya had hired to stay with Jaqueline. Anya took an involuntary step forward. "Do you remember her name?"

"Oh, God, I don't know. Jasmine? Jocelyn?"

"Jacqueline." Anya's voice was barely a whisper. "Where is she?"

At this, a shadow fell over Randall's face, and the very thing Marcus had been dreading was upon them.

"I...I wish there was something else I could tell you, but..." He bit his lip. "Your Jacqueline, she disappeared."

Shit...no.

Anya stared, stunned, at the corporal. For a moment, Marcus wondered if she had even heard what Randall had told her. But then her shoulders fell, her chest caved, and her hand went to her mouth.

"Disappeared," she repeated dumbly.

Randall nodded, his face contorted in shared remorse. "We do a daily headcount, to make sure that everyone's safe. The woman she arrived with died, and I guess the girl lost it...I remember that they reported a child was missing. It was the girl with the eyes; poor thing must have just sneaked out in the middle of the night. Didn't even take anything with her, she just...left."

Anya's eyes were glazed over and her hands were quivering; Marcus knew she was losing her battle against a tidal wave of crushing disappointment. He placed a bracing hand on her shoulder and turned to Randall.

"How long ago did she disappear?"

"Two days past. I would have sent a search party for her, but our scouts have been stretched so thin, and—"

The sergeant gave his head a single, firm shake. "It's not your fault. Thanks for the intel."

Randall nodded reluctantly, obviously uncomfortable with how unhelpful he was. "You'll continue to look for her?"

Marcus didn't have to exchange glances with Anya to know the answer to that. "We've come this far," he said.

"That's...good to hear." Randall replied. "Look, Sergeant, we have food and beds; you can stay here for as long as you need."

Marcus was instantly grateful. He had been more than a little concerned about the 'hospitality' they'd receive from the bitter Stranded, but if their leader offered them safety and shelter, than they would be home-free.

And yet, of course, they couldn't sleep now. Jackie had been freshly ripped from their grasp, and now she could be anywhere. Resting now was not an option.

But then he felt Anya shaking under his hand, and the fog of fatigue ebbed at his brain; he wondered if they were even able to go on.

Randall seemed to sense their moment of weakness, because he frowned and motioned to a row of empty benches by the windows.

"With all due respect, sir, you two look like hell," the corporal said tentatively. "It would be my strong suggestion that at least take a few minutes to rest."

Marcus looked down at Anya; her skin was pale, and she was still very unsteady.

"Your call," he said quietly.

Anya inhaled slowly and pursed her lips. "Only a few."

Randall seemed pleased by her relent, and he jerked his head back towards the benches. "Take as long as you need; I'll see that no one gives you any grief."

Marcus aimed his unstable lieutenant towards the benches, then, as she tottered away, turned back to Randall.

"What will you do?" Marcus asked in a low voice.

"Stay with them," Randall replied quickly, as if he'd known what his fellow Gear would say. The copper-haired man ignored Marcus' resulting incredulous expression and sighed.

"Look, Fenix...Stranded or not, these people need protection. Leadership." Another lopsided smile played up at the corners of his mouth. "And all that other COG bullshit, too."

Marcus couldn't argue with the fairness of Randall's logic. People in need were just that: people. He found himself admiring the corporal's rare immunity to bias.

"Fair enough," he said. "But you can't stay out here forever."

"Oh, we know. Tasha's informed me that the Stranded in Belphe have offered asylum to their Stranded brethren all across Sera. Well, those who are willing to cooperate with the COG, that is."

"You're gonna make a break for Belphe, then?"

Randall nodded. "We've got a couple of old junked ambulances that we're trying to get in working order. If all goes well, we'll all be in the city within the week." At this, the Stranded leader seemed to get an idea. "You know...we could help you and the lieutenant back to Belphe when we leave."

The image of a livid Tasha popped up intrusively in Marcus' brain; he'd hate to see what the Stranded woman would say if two Gears jacked their food, their beds, and their ride. "Thanks, but we're gonna have to pass." he replied dryly. "Besides...I've got some more men out there."

The corporal seemed to understand. "Well, I'll be the last person ask you to abandon your boys." He glanced over at the benches. "Good luck, Fenix."

"You too, Hurnan," Marcus replied. "Thanks. For everything."

The soldiers saluted each other in an oddly formal sort of way, and Marcus headed back to the benches. Anya was pacing back and forth in front of the windows, her face blank.

"Anya." The sergeant's growl woke Anya from her reverie. "You need to rest."

"I'm okay, Marcus." she protested as Marcus sat her down on a bench and took a seat beside her. "Really, I just need to...sit down for a second..."

"We both do. We're no good to Jackie without rest."

At this, the woman covered her face with her hands and sighed. "Oh, fuck. Marcus, I'm so sorry. I'm passing out because of a damned conversation, and here you are, going hard for days without complaint."

Marcus had been worried about this; Anya had been teetering on this edge of self-doubt and hopelessness ever since they'd left Belphe, and he'd been working continuously to keep from tumbling over the edge.

"It's not about me, Anya. It's about Jackie. We need to think of where else she could be. Where would she go?"

"I don't know, Marcus." Anya's voice quavered, but Marcus pressed harder.

"Come on," Marcus urged, his own mind racing to come up with some sort of answer. He thought back to the moment when Anya had first told him about Jackie.

"You said your house was close to here?"

Anya's face lifted from her hands and she gazed at Marcus. He knew he had struck a chord.

"Yes. Number 612. It's...just a few blocks away," she said slowly, processing the information.

Marcus' eyes bored into her, willing her to see the sense in his prompt. It was more than a little strange that a young girl would voluntarily leave the safety and security of the outpost without taking anything. However, Marcus was extremely familiar with the lonely kid act, and if he had to hazard a guess, he'd probably say that Jackie had run away to be alone with herself and figure the mess of her life out on her own. The death of her caretaker obviously hadn't helped things, either. Maybe she had gone back to Anya's house. Maybe someone was there with her. Maybe Jackie was safer than they thought.

"We'll search my place, then," Anya said steadily, and Marcus knew she had come to the same conclusion. The woman seemed to draw strength from the formation of a stable plan, and she straightened her broken posture. "Yes. We'll leave today and..."

Anya was looking at Marcus closely now, studying his face. Marcus tried to look more awake. He wasn't going to let his own fatigue bring her down.

"Randall's right, Marcus. You do look like hell." Anya frowned. Marcus looked into her eyes, and he saw—knew, from sixteen years of knowing her—that she was torn. The careful, prudent, officer Anya wanted to tell him to lie down, eat, get some sleep. But the desperate, maternal Anya was prioritizing; was putting Jackie above him. That Anya was now considering sacrificing his personal well-being for a young girl's life.

That was exactly how he wanted her to think.

"You know I'm fine." His voice was gruff, but honest. "Let's just get ready to get out of here."

She smiled, and it seemed to have the curious ability to make his fatigue and pain melt away. Yes, he could hold out for another couple of hours.

"I don't mean to break up your joyous little conversation here, but I have a delivery for one Blondie and Bruiser."

Marcus and Anya glanced up; Tasha was standing by the benches with an armful of weapons and supply packs. With a resounding crash that made the Stranded of the outpost turn around and scowl, she dropped the assorted gear at Marcus' feet and dusted off her hands.

"Randall ordered me to give me back your shit unconditionally, which is bull, because I specifically remember you promising to be of 'mutual benefit'."

Anya reached down and began sifting though the pile of supplies for her Snub pistol. "Well, if you had been paying attention, you would recall that I promised only that we would allow you to escort us back to your outpost."

Marcus, now busy with re-arming himself, expected a scathing remark, but no such remark came. Instead, Tasha had traded in her default scowl for an almost-sympathetic frown.

"Randall told me that you're looking for the girl that went missing."

There was a pause. "Yes, we are." Anya holstered her pistol.

Tasha nodded in understanding. "Your daughter?"

It took a moment for Marcus to realize that the Stranded woman had directed the question at both Anya and himself. He opened his mouth to reply, but Anya was quick to step in.

"Oh, no no no. No. She's my goddaughter."

Tasha glanced pointedly at Marcus, as if to enquire what his role in this screwed up family crisis was, but Anya offered no explanation. Strangely enough, the sergeant was rather relieved by this. What would she say anyways? Oh, and this is Marcus. He isn't the father; he just demanded to tag along for shits and giggles.

"Well, good luck, then," Tasha said, perhaps sensing the tense shift in conversation. She gave an awkward little wave, then turned away and melted back into the Stranded crowd. When she had disappeared, Marcus faced Anya and gestured at one of their recovered supply packs.

"Eat. I have to go take care of something."

"Take some of your own medicine," Anya retorted, rifling through the pack and procuring two shining ration bars.

The sergeant ignored her and rose to his feet. "Later. I've got something more important right now."

Anya's slender brows formed a frustrated line, but she offered no more resistance as Marcus made off down the hall.

"Hurry back!" she called out after him. He turned to throw a nod of reassurance over his shoulder, then pushed through the double doors and out of the outpost.

The insanely thick soles of the sergeant's armoured boots made it hard going as he clunked heavily up the grated steps of the narrow stairwell. He scaled one flight, rounded the corner, and started up another set of stairs. He had to be getting close; for the umpteenth time, Marcus halted his ascent, pressed his finger to his ear, and listened.

Once again, he was greeted by nothing but static. He huffed and continued up the stairs. He was probably about five floors up, and still he couldn't get any reception with his tac-com. Of course, once he got to his destination—the roof of this broken down hospital—he should have no problem reaching Delta squad. Then he could tell Dom everything he knew, and finally put his conscience to rest.

Putting yet another flight of stairs behind him, the sergeant found himself in front of a solid metal door with peeling green paint. He turned the tarnished handle, and stepped out into a blast of cold wind. He was standing on a conglomerate of roofing gravel, melted steel and charred debris; to his left, the roof stretched out over the unscathed portion of the hospital. To his right, however, he discovered that the roof—as well as much of the rest of the building—simply dropped off, just like the subway tunnel. Venturing closer, Marcus saw that the half of the hospital that had been devoured by the sinkhole was—while still smoking—no longer on fire. That was good news for the Stranded and their outpost; after meeting Randall, Marcus honestly hoped they would get along without too much difficulty.

The sergeant stood on the edge of the collapsed building and once again pressed a finger to his tac-com. The static was still there, but the gentle buzzing of a partially open line was coming through. Marcus knew this was as good as it got, and he cleared his throat.

"Come in, Delta squad, this is Sergeant Fenix. Repeat: Delta squad come in."

He waited. Ironically, the limited signal capabilities of Ilima's airwaves had proven to be a much-needed bonus. If Control back in Belphe couldn't hear their tac-com conversations, they couldn't put him or Anya on charge for being AWOL.

The static in Marcus' ear suddenly formed into quasi-words, and the sergeant strained to make them out.

"Well, if it isn't everyone's favourite hard-ass."

"Baird, cut the crap and tell Dom to get on the line."

"Oh, yes, your Majesty," came the predictable response. "Hey, Santiago, your boyfriend wants to chat with you."

The line clicked as another tac-com entered the channel; Marcus could hear Baird as he sang the chorus of 'I Just Called to Say I Love You' in the background.

"Hey, man," Dom said at last. "Long time, no love."

The sergeant couldn't help but feel slightly relieved at the sound of his old friend's voice. It wasn't often that they completed missions separately, and Marcus had found himself wishing he had Dom's gun at his side more than a few times.

"How's everything on your end?"

"I don't know. Echo must be actively running from us or something, because we've searched the entire east quarter just short of leaping headfirst into the sinkhole, and all we've found is an abandoned APC."

"Dom...Echo squad is gone."

"Gone? What, as in?"

"KIA, confirmed by their corporal."

"Corporal? Um, what?"

"Long story," Marcus sighed. "All you need to know is that your part in all this is over."

"You mean, we get to go home now?" Marcus could almost hear Dom's tired smile through the link. "Wait. Hold on a second. What about you and Anya? Are you guys still on your 'top secret mission'?"

"...Yeah."

"Shit...man, you sound dead tired. Come on, tell me what's going on."

Marcus inhaled deeply, then turned away from the edge of the roof. "...Anya's on a rescue mission for her goddaughter."

The channel fell silent as Dom digested this new information.

"...Holy shit, Marcus. That's big. I didn't know Anya had a goddaughter."

"I don't think anyone did," Marcus said. "Her name's Jacqueline."

"So...what are you going to do? I mean, so you find this girlJacqueline?and then what?"

"Shit, I don't know. Right now, we just need to find her."

Dom's responding silence seemed to concede the point.

"Look, man, you can't make it back to Belphe all by yourself, especially not if you're packing a kid around"

"Dom, I know what you're—"

"So it makes sense if we meet you at the edge of Ilima. Baird thinks he can get this APC running, so we can load you three up, make tracks to Belphe, and Control will be none the wiser."

Marcus took a moment and seriously considered Dom's offer. He had to remember that he wasn't the sole person in this situation; he had a lieutenant—and if all went well, a young girl—to look our for. Maybe he could make the arduous journey by himself, but there was no way he could ask Anya and Jackie to keep up with him. Right now, a Centaur pick-up might mean the difference between success and failure; life and death.

"Alright," he said at length. "Stay on the down-low until I radio in with Jackie. We'll meet up with you as soon as we can."

"Awesome." The relief in Dom's voice was apparent. "We'll see you on the other side."

"Thanks, Dom. Fenix out."

The com channel buzzed as Marcus cut the link and let his hand drop to his side. He took a deep breath, letting the smoky air rush through him and fill his lungs. Bright sunlight flooded his vision, and he screwed his eyes shut. He knew he had to get back to Anya; they had to leave soon.


30 Minutes After the Beginning of E-Day, 15 Years Ago...

Marcus snapped his cell phone shut and took a deep breath. He looked around the coffee shop; the tables were empty and everyone inside had fled. Leaning against the wall, his bloody hands clenched into fists, was Dom. He was staring, wide-eyed, at the body crumpled at his feet.

"What...what the fuck are these things?"

Marcus furrowed his brow at the hideous creature. The grotesquely muscular beast seemed to be humanoid. No. Marcus corrected himself. Not even remotely human. It had arms and legs and a torso and a head, but it was not human. This thing was a monster. Its mouth was lined with crooked fangs; its flesh was scaly and grey, the lifeless eyes tiny and black. It looked like some sort of reptilian insect hybrid; and it made Marcus slightly sick to look at.

Dom's face told Marcus that he was feeling the same way.

"It just...came out of the ground. It came out and started killing people."

Marcus screwed his eyes shut. He knew; he had been there when the monster burst into the coffee shop and opened fire on the patrons inside. He had been there when Dom leapt at the thing. He had watched as his friend choked the life from the thing with his bare hands.

"That...that was Anya." Marcus stared at his cell, working hard to keep his voice steady. "She said the COG is ordering an emergency mobilization of all Gears. These things...they're emerging all over the world."

Dom was still staring at the dead creature. He didn't move.

"Dom." Marcus put a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. "We gotta go. People are dying out there; they need us."

"Anya said these things are popping up all over?" Dom looked up at Marcus; there was a strange look in his dark brown eyes.

"Yeah. That's why we gotta—"

"Maria and the kids," Dom said suddenly and pushed himself off the wall. "They need me."

Marcus closed his eyes. He should have known Dom would do this.

"The kids are at my parents' place. You don't have to come with me, man." Dom said breathlessly as he searched the corpse. He came back up with the thing's foreign-looking gun. "But I need to make sure they're okay."

"As if I'm letting you go alone." He trotted up beside Dom. They stared each other down for a few seconds, but it wasn't long before they realized that neither would back down. Conceding silently, they left the cafe together.

The outside air was thick with screams; the curling, metallic stench of blood was suffocating. Death hung like an intangible shroud that smothered the city. The two soldiers started off down the street that led to Dom's apartment.

How was this happening?

It was an ambush; any soldier worth his bullets knew that. But it was on such a massive scale. How did they—those things—pull this off?Anya, who must have been in the CIC right now, had said that the attack was city wide.

How many were dead?

As they ran through the city, the extent of the damage became sickeningly apparent. People were running around, screaming for loved ones, clutching bloody wounds, begging for help. There were bloodstains on the pavement, and in the windows of the street side shops. After every gore-smeared wall they passed, Dom dug in a little harder, and Marcus had to sprint to keep up with him.

How the hell were they going to come back from this?

Would they be able to defend the city from these bastards with their resident military alone? Or would they have to plead for assistance from the other nations of the Coalition? Would they get help in time, or will humanity have drowned in its own blood before enforcements even arrive?

After what felt like hours later, they were outside the entrance to the Santiagos' apartment building.

The double doors were open; keeping their heads down, the friends rushed into the foyer. Inside, there were people lying on the marble floor; people crying; people dead.

"Has anyone seen the Santiagos?" Dom's voice echoed in the cavernous space.

He was met with blank stares and shaking heads.

"Anyone? Two kids? Sylvia and Benedicto Santiago?"

At this, a thin woman shuffled up to Dom. Her arm was bleeding.

"Dominic Santiago?" Her breath was laboured. "Eduardo's boy?"

Dom nodded eagerly. "Have you seen him? My kids are with him and Mom..."

The woman knit her brow. "No, but I think...I think I saw your wife."

"Maria? You saw Maria?
"Y-yes. She ran in about ten minutes ago.."

Dom looked like he was about to shake the woman in his excitement. "Is she up there now?"

No sooner had the woman nodded, then Dom shot off up the stairs to the second floor, where his parents' apartment was. Within moments, they were in front of the door.

It stood ajar. Dom held up his hand and listened. Marcus strained his ears; inside, the apartment was silent.

Dom pushed open the door with the muzzle of his stolen gun. "Mom, Dad? Maria?"

No answer. He stepped inside, Marcus right behind.

The apartment was ruined. A dishevelled woman was sitting like a broken doll on a sofa in the family room. Dom ran forward and swept her up.

"Oh my God, Maria, baby. You're okay," he whispered fiercely into her hair. "You're okay."

Something was wrong. Maria was silent; she didn't return Dom's embrace. Marcus held his breath. Dom sensed it too.

"Maria...where's Mom and Dad?"

The woman just stared at him.

"Maria, please...Benny and Sylvie, where are they?"

Maria's beautiful eyes clouded. It was all she could do to stare numbly at the door that led to the children's room.

"No." Dom whisper was barely audible. The silence of the claustrophobic apartment was becoming unbearable. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Dom edged towards the door. It was bloody. He opened it and looked inside.

Marcus watched as his friend fell to his knees.

"No."

Maria was crying silently now. Dom crumpled to the floor. His gun dropped uselessly to his side.

"No! NO!"

Dom's agonized wails of horror filled the suddenly claustrophobic apartment. Just like Maria, he was frozen, unable to move, to speak, to think.

Somewhere beyond the tiny windows in the wall, another scream rang out through the streets.