"Lizzie!" Vincent hollered from his den. "Lizzie, get in here!"

This was his I am very alarmed voice, so she dropped the soapy dishes in the sink and ran into his room, wiping her hands clean on a kitchen towel. "What? What's wrong?"

"Somebody's coming down the concealed ramp. Looks like another mercenary." Vincent's finger hovered over a mysterious switch. Lizzie wasn't sure what it was meant to do. "At least it's not a whole platoon," he grumbled.

On the monitor was a dark figure striding down the ramp toward the first set of pressure doors. "The armor style looks familiar," she said, "but -"

The black-armored man stopped in front of the intercom button and concealed camera, raised his left arm and extended a blade by tightening his fist. Lizzie relaxed.

"That has to be Ayers. He did that before leaving the first time. His unit must have gotten new armor or changed their company colors. "

Vincent was frowning, his finger still poised over the button. "I don't like this, Liz. Why is he back?"

"He gave me his lucky rabbit's foot for safekeeping. We both thought he wouldn't survive that Super Gore Nest, and he didn't want it to end up garnishing some demon's evening meal." She shook her head in wonder. "I thought that would be the first and last time we'd ever see him."

Vincent kept frowning, but he took his finger off the button. "Well, you'd better go shoo him away before he attracts anyone's attention."

"Will do. Hold on to Charlie's collar until I'm past the first set of doors. We don't want a repeat of last time."

Lizzie grabbed the candy tin that held Ayers's keychain and hustled out to the decon chamber. She opened the doors and waved him in.

"You made it! How on Earth did you survive a Super Gore Nest?"

Ayers saluted.

"The Army came?"

He nodded.

"Wow, lucky you! We honestly didn't think we'd see you again. I don't know anybody else who's made it in and out of a Super Gore Nest. Vincent's ham radio network is a lot smaller than it used to be, but they all say the Supers are teeming with demons. I guess your lucky rabbit's foot even works at a distance, eh?"

He nodded. Yes.

Lizzie held out the tin and took the lid off. "Don't worry, I washed the tin first. It won't smell like Altoids."

Ayers peered down at the rabbit's foot for a moment and then shook his head.

"You don't want it back?"

He shook his head. No.

"But it means a lot to you."

He nodded. Yes, it did mean a lot.

"Why won't you take it, then?"

His rough-as-sandpaper voice said, "Safe."

"It's safer here?"

Yes.

She stared, trying to figure him out. Ayers stared back. Lizzie really, really did not like strange men leaving things at her house as a pretense to return. It always reminded her of a dog peeing to mark its territory. If there was one thing she couldn't tolerate, it was being somebody's territory.

"I'd prefer you keep it, Ayers."

She could see his surprised blink even through the dark blue-grey visor.

Shit, she'd offended the person who'd saved her from a flock of Imps only a couple of days ago.

"I mean, uh, I don't want all the luck to wear off. You know. A person has to carry a lucky charm around for it to work, yeah?"

He looked down at the keychain again, but didn't take it. Okay, a different tactic, then.

"How about you carry it most of the time, and we'll look after it whenever your unit's going into a Super Gore Nest. Deal?" That ought not to happen very often, because any company worth their salt wouldn't send a unit into a Super without the Army at their side. Whatever Ayers's company was, they seemed to invest a lot of funds in outfitting and training their employees.

This time he nodded. Yes, it was a deal.

She tipped the lucky charm out into his palm, and he put it back in his belt pouch.

He didn't leave, though.

"Something else?"

Yes.

"What is it?"

"Charlie," he rasped.

"What about him?"

The mercenary drew a set of small items from a different pouch. Something that looked like a tiny walkie talkie and a black half-circle the thickness of a bar of soap.

"What's this?"

Ayers touched the half-circle to his neck. Lizzie understood, and it made her instantly furious.

"If you think I'm going to put a shock collar on my deaf dog, I've got fucking news for you, buddy -"

Ayers cut her off with a shake of the head. He held the attachment out in his palm and pushed the button on the remote. Lizzie heard a buzzing similar to a cell phone on silent. Her wrath dissipated like smoke.

"Oh. It's not a shock collar?"

The mercenary nodded.

"Oops." She made an embarrassed face. "Sorry. I've had lots of amateur dog trainers tell me I should use a shock collar to train Charlie because he can't hear me calling him."

He shrugged. No offense taken.

"I didn't realize they made ones that just vibrate to get the dog's attention. Did you get this in Denver? I can't imagine there are any pet stores left standing out here in Aurora."

Yes.

Ayers had been picking Charlie up to take care of him when Lizzie had found them. Now he'd brought the dog a present. And he'd been willing to die to avenge a rabbit. How could she not give the benefit of the doubt to a guy who loved animals that much?

"Well, you'd better come inside and see how Charlie responds to it." She waved at the hidden camera, holding down the transmit button with her other hand. "Vincent, we're coming in. Ayers brought a present for Charlie."

"Decon first, Lizzie. Hold your breath."

Without Charlie to protect, Lizzie could pull her T-shirt collar up to cover her own face this time. She instinctively turned her back to Ayers so the other person wouldn't see her bared midriff and get curious about the scars.

Inside the main bunker again, Charlie immediately burst through the flap on the house's doggy door and sprinted to Ayers, barking in that hoarse, off-key way that deaf dogs had. He bounced on his hind legs and scrabbled at Ayers's thigh.

"Wow, he really took to you."

Charlie kept pogo-stick-ing in front of the mercenary.

"You'd better pick him up, because he's not going to stop."

Ayers scooped up the dog one-handed as Vincent came out of the house. Charlie licked Ayers's jaw enthusiastically while the mercenary held his face slightly away so the dog wouldn't get saliva on the visor.

"So," Vincent said. "What's this 'present' you brought for Charlie?"

Ayers clipped the half-circle onto Charlie's collar and handed the remote to Lizzie.

"It's a training collar attachment. It vibrates instead of shocking the dog."

"Didn't know they made those."

"Yeah, neither did I. Ayers got it in Denver somewhere."

"Hm," Vincent said noncommittally.

"I'll get some training treats. You boys stay here." Vincent would not want Ayers in the house, which Lizzie completely understood. Harry came into the kitchen while she was putting some of Charlie's dog treats in a baggie.

"That's Mr. Ayers out there!" he said in excitement.

"Sure is. He brought a training collar for Charlie and we're going to try it out."

"Did you ask him how he poops?"

Lizzie couldn't help laughing. "No, Harry. I did not ask the very large stranger about his bowel movements. And you're not going to, either. That's not a topic for polite conversation."

"All right," Harry drawled reluctantly. "I won't ask him."

"Your grandpa will want you to stay here until he comes to get you. Don't come outside without permission."

"Can I watch him through the window?"

"Yes, you can watch him through the window."

Charlie responded very well to the collar attachment, as it turned out. He seemed to pick up right away that the buzzing against his neck meant there was someone around who wanted to give him treats.

The mercenary stood nearly motionless as Vincent and Lizzie traded the remote back and forth, bringing the distractible little dog back to alertness whenever his attention started to wane. The longer Ayers stood perfectly still and didn't try to make conversation, the less tense the old man became.

Finally he said to the mercenary, "I see you didn't bring weapons this time."

Ayers nodded.

"Much appreciated."

He nodded again.

"New suit?"

Yes, he nodded.

Vincent gestured at the three claw marks across the abdominal plating. "Didn't take the demons long to scrape up the new one just like the old, eh?"

Yes.

They watched Lizzie lead Charlie around the garden, regaining his attention with a light buzz of the collar each time.

Finally Vincent had to ask.

"Was it very bad in Colorado Springs?"

Yes.

"Did you see anyone alive in there?"

No.

"I suppose that's actually good, from a certain point of view." Being held captive by monsters, with the bodies of people you knew melded into the floors and ceilings … Vincent shuddered.

Yes, Ayers agreed.

"My daughter … Harry's mother … she was in Miami visiting some cousins when the invasion started."

The demons had hit all of the big cities at the same time. Vincent had trouble picturing an Archvile or Mancubus deploying troops from a command center, but someone was definitely coordinating their efforts. For some reason their generals or whatever had sent fewer forces to certain cities. Some of those were in extremely rough terrain, some were easily defensible with medieval counter-siege tactics, and some, like Denver, were just lucky. NORAD was taking the brunt of the attack in this part of the country, along with the base and Colorado Springs.

Ayers said nothing, which was good because Vincent didn't want to be asked for details right then.

Vincent didn't really trust this strange, silent mercenary, but how he felt wasn't important compared to what he wanted to ask. "If you're ever deployed to Miami, and you see any of those zombie things with white-blonde hair …"

He couldn't finish.

Ayers nodded at him very deliberately.

"Thanks. She's … she wouldn't want some demon driving her corpse around like a rental car."

Yes.

The orphaned boy peeked over the back of the sofa inside the dining room window and tentatively waved his fingers at the mercenary. Ayers raised his hand in greeting but stopped halfway through. Harry ducked down behind the sofa, all out of boldness for the moment. The mercenary lowered his hand slowly, blinking a bit, as though he were trying to remember something.

Vincent narrowed his eyes at him.

Ayers gave no indication that Vincent's suspicious gaze was disturbing him in the slightest.

"You got kids?" Vincent asked abruptly.

There was absolutely no response. Ayers might as well have been a statue. Vincent waited, but the merc didn't move an eyelash.

Finally Vincent said, "I bet you'd be really good at poker."

Lizzie was more than a little surprised that Vincent not only didn't want Ayers to leave immediately after Charlie's training session, but had even invited him to stay for a poker game. She almost made excuses to stay in the house with Harry, but the truth was that she really, really, really loved poker, and the more people involved, the more fun it was. Plus the most exciting thing she'd done today was plant sweet peas.

Vincent brought three folding chairs outside and went back for the poker table.

Ayers looked skeptically down at the folding chair, and then at Lizzie.

"Yeah, you're right. That little thing won't hold your weight, especially in armor. You can sit on the top step and we'll bring the table to you."

"Fair warning, Ayers," Vincent told him as he came back with the folding table. "Lizzie's good. Really good. 'Good' as in semi-professional."

Lizzie made no attempt to hide her pride in her skill. Poker was the first thing she'd ever been really good at. "It's how I paid the rent and tuition when I was going to trade school in St. Louis." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I'll go easy on you while you're learning. Once you've got the hang of it, however, all bets are off. Pun intended."

Vincent went into the house, saying, "I'll spot you the ante." He came back out with his grandson and a wide variety of candies on a serving tray.

She saw Ayers raise an eyebrow behind his visor.

"Harry plays with us, if we're betting with candy. Having to hold on to sweets in order to keep playing is good impulse control."

Harry was half-hiding behind his grandpa. "Hi."

Ayers responded with a short wave.

Harry seemed emboldened by Ayers's silence. Adults who talked loudly intimidated him. It had taken him a few months of Lizzie coming over for weekly poker games with his grandfather before Harry had warmed up to her.

"Is that real gold?" Harry asked, pointing to one of the strips of metal outlining Ayers's plates.

Ayers shook his head.

"I'm pretty sure it's chrome, Harry."

"What's chrome, Grandpa?"

"Shiny stuff like they put on hubcaps. Usually silver-colored." Vincent began stacking the larger disc-shaped candies first, consulting a sheet of paper that kept track of who had won what the last time.

"What's hubcaps?"

"Those big shiny plates in the middle of car wheels."

"Ohhh."

Lizzie could see Harry filing this away for further study. The boy was a voracious reader, which was fortunate when you couldn't go to school.

"Um." Harry came around to the near side of his grandfather, still holding on to the old man's plaid shirttail. "Can … can I touch it?"

Yes, Ayers nodded.

Harry leaned out to touch Ayers's arm, but couldn't quite reach. He paused for a moment before letting go of Vincent's hem and taking the last two steps on his own. Lizzie and Vincent raised their eyebrows at each other. This was progress for such a shy child.

The boy put his small hand on Ayers's gauntlet. "The chrome is cold."

Yes.

"But the black part is warm. Like when your clothes just came out of the dryer."

Yes.

"Why's it doing that?"

There was an awkward silence. Lizzie figured the speaking involved in explaining the heat-exchange capabilities of advanced armor tech would be far too much for Ayers's damaged voicebox.

"He doesn't really want to talk, sweetheart. Seems like it hurts his throat. Right?"

Yes.

"Is it like larg- lering- that thing that happens when you're sick sometimes?"

"Laryngitis? I guess you could say that. But permanent, maybe?"

Yes.

"What happened to your voice?"

There was another awkward pause, and then Ayers shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it.

Lizzie reminded Harry, "Honey, we don't ask people how they got permanently injured, remember? It's rude. They'll tell you when they want you to know. Okay?"

"I remember now. Sorry, Mr. Ayers."

Ayers nodded, accepting the apology.

"Okay, we're ready." Ayers sat on the top step of the porch, and the others settled themselves in the folding chairs.

"Harry …" Lizzie said in a sing-song as she adjusted her stacks. "You won't have anything to bet with if you keep eating all of your winnings."

Harry sheepishly put down the lollipop. "Okay."

"You can do whatever you want with your candy, just keep in mind that you won't be able to keep playing if it's all gone."

Vincent took the rubber band off the deck of old-fashioned Bicycle playing cards. No novelty decks of movie stars or hot rods for this man. "You know how to play Texas Hold 'Em, son?"

Ayers shook his head.

"We'll play open-handed for a few turns," Lizzie assured him. "Hold 'Em is pretty easy because you play the hand you're dealt. No worrying about which cards to discard."

Vincent snorted as he shuffled the deck. " 'Easy,' says the professional."

"Semi-professional. And I only play for fun now." She smiled wickedly. "And to watch the light fade out of your eyes, Carter."

"Heartless," Vincent warned Ayers.

"Quiet, old man, or I'll put you in a home."

Vincent dealt two cards to each of them, explaining the rules and winning hands, finishing with, "But there's nothing you can do to get a better hand, or influence which cards are dealt. Poker is all about psychology. The idea is to bluff the other players into thinking your hand is the winning one even if it isn't, so that they all fold and you win the pot. Or if your hand is really good, maneuvering them into putting more money in the pot before you drop the hammer."

"It's cheating if you wear your helmet!" Harry chirped. "Part of poker is not letting other people guess what you're thinking from your face express."

"Facial expression, sweetheart. You were really close, though, good job!" Lizzie praised him.

After a slight hesitation Ayers popped the neck seal and removed his weighty headgear.

"Oh," Lizzie said in surprise, almost fumbling her cards. "I thought you'd be …"

Younger would be extremely rude to say, so she finished with "... blond. Because of the British surname."

She'd assumed from the way he moved that he was college-age, but Ayers proved to be in his mid-forties, only a few years older than Lizzie. His short hair was almost as dark as hers, especially his eyebrows, and his skin had the pallor of someone who had spent so long in full gear that they'd lost any semblance of a tan. Every part of his hard-featured face was marked with small scars, including his ears and mouth. Some of them looked like they might even be bullet-burns, as if he'd barely dodged a superheated projectile.

"Whoa," Harry said in fascination. Normally he would have been frightened of someone who looked so fierce. "Did you get all of those scars fighting bad guys?"

Yes.

"Cool!"

Lizzie felt uneasy. Something about the closeness of their ages was making her uncomfortable. Maybe it was how the scars, coupled with the fancy armor, made it seem like he'd accomplished much more in his four decades than she ever had. Yes, that was probably it. She was envious that he'd had such a dramatic and eventful career, and she drove heavy equipment for a living. That was all.

Ayers removed his gauntlets so he could hold the cards. The fingerless gloves he wore beneath were an unusual dark gray fabric with silver threads running through in a honeycomb pattern. Even his fingers had tiny white scars.

"Fortunately, there are hand signals for all actions," Vincent continued. "Lay your cards face down on the table if you're folding, place the 'chips' in the middle of the table if you're calling, put them right in front of you if you're raising, rap the table once with your knuckles if you're checking. Push your whole stack to the middle if you're going all-in."

Ayers learned very quickly, and soon they were playing closed-handed. Lizzie went easy on the kid, but not on the two men. There was no room for mercy in poker. You went for the throat, or you didn't play at all.

"I see your two Hubba Bubba, and I raise you five peppermints."

Vincent dropped two foil-wrapped discs onto the pile. "I raise you a pair of Yorks, Khalid."

"Ooh, big spender!" Lizzie exclaimed. "But you're bluffing, Carter. I can tell. You're up, Ayers: check, call, fold, raise or all-in."

Harry, as usual, was out of candy pretty quickly, both from losing the big candies by playing poorly and from eating the smaller ones when no one was looking. Instead of grumbling that he was being left out, this time the little boy sat patiently in his chair - bless his heart - swinging his short legs and watching Ayers with something like awe. Lizzie had a feeling the kid was making up stories in his head that had Ayers playing an action hero.

Lizzie had known Vincent for two years. He was one of the best people she'd ever had the pleasure to meet. She still swatted him like a mosquito.

"Boom!" Lizzie crowed as she slapped down her royal flush, divesting Vincent of his last Atomic Warhead. "Khalid wins again!" She pointed at the old man. "Eat it, Carter." The mercenary. "Eat it, Ayers." And even the boy. "Eat it, Nelson."

"She gets like this," Vincent explained to Ayers as Lizzie began to run a circle around the house, whooping in triumph. "A sore winner, you might say." Charlie sprinted after her, barking with excitement.

Ayers lifted his brows slightly while his eyes tracked Lizzie's second victory lap.

"Wooo!" she cheered, running with two peace symbols held high in the air like an Olympic athlete celebrating a world record.

"You get used to it," Vincent assured him.

Returning to the front of the house out of breath, Lizzie scooped up the hyperactive Charlie and spun around with him held high. "I wish you could eat candy, Charlie, because we. Are. Rolling. In. It. Woo!"

Charlie couldn't hear, but he could see what her mouth was doing and echoed her as best he could with an enthusiastic Roo! and all four legs sticking straight out from his little potato body.

Then she plopped herself down in her chair and instantly was all business again. Charlie ran around to Harry for more pets on the head.

"This is why I was only semi-pro," she explained to Ayers as she dealt their cards. "I can't help celebrating a win. Most professionals don't like it when you tell them to eat their losses." She smirked at the memories of all the black-suited, reflective-sunglass-wearing, fratboy-minded "professionals" who had fallen before her like wheat to a combine harvester.

Lizzie had learned harshly about what to let show on her face, and turned it into a skill. She could be completely expressionless, or she could fake joy, dismay, excitement, disappointment, etc. Ayers simply had no expression at all. She wasn't sure how the mercenary had acquired the ability to be so unreadable, but his story might be as depressing as hers, so she didn't ask.

She'd have to shake him up somehow.

"You ever going to tell us your first name?" she asked nonchalantly.

He shook his head no.

"I bet you've got a first name you don't like. Maybe ... Wilbur."

No.

Vincent guessed with a smile. "Gaylord."

No.

"Horace." Lizzie dealt the cards.

No.

"Archibald." Vincent could see what she was doing.

No.

"I raise you two Andes mints … Barnaby."

No. Ayers called her bet.

"Raise one York peppermint patty. Bet's to you, Virgil."

No.

"Stinkybutt!" Harry piped in.

Ayers raised his eyebrows, and Lizzie shared an amused look with Vincent. "Yes, Harry, it would be very embarrassing to have a first name like Stinkybutt."

Vincent said, "Speaking of stinky butts, it's time for your bath, Harry."

"Awww, do I have to? I wanna stay and play cards with Mr. Ayers."

"Ayers has to go home soon, Harry," Lizzie reminded him. "And you've still got dirt in your hair from playing in the garden earlier. Off you go."

"But …" Suddenly Harry's chin quivered, and they could see immediately this wasn't going to be the usual I don't wanna bedtime plea of a small child. "What if he never comes back?"

Lizzie dropped her cards. "He'll come back, sweetheart. Of course he will."

"No," Harry insisted. "If he leaves, the monsters will get him. They'll eat him like Mr. Edison, or drag him away like the big kids across the street, or ... or …" Vincent stood in alarm as the tears began. "Or my mom. My mom." He was crying in earnest now. His grandfather knelt and tried to hug him, but Harry resisted. "They got my mom. They got her. They'll get Ayers, too. And then Lizzie. And Charlie. And -" He was starting to hyperventilate.

Vincent hadn't been able to get Harry to the bunker that first day before the kid had seen some pretty horrible things. The wave of invaders had hit Aurora like a sudden thunderclap. People had been falling to the demons left and right. Harry had been hysterical, screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes wide in horror, as Vincent tried to work his antique Glock and hold on to the boy's collar at the same time. Lizzie had taken the opening in the panicked crowd made by the Baron of Hell biting Mr. Edison in half, sprinted down the street and scooped Harry up so she and Vincent could get him to the bunker. Charlie, for once in his life, had stayed at her side instead of running off. They made it to the bunker. They made it, only to find out on the ham radio that Miami was declared a total loss and there was nothing they could do for his mother.

Lizzie stood motionless, not knowing what to do. She'd never had a child of her own, never helped raise one until two months ago, and had no idea what to do for such a sudden and intense meltdown.

Ayers rapped the table hard to get Harry's attention. Then he angled the left side of his body away from the table, lifted his arm and extended the blade attachment with a loud shink.

Harry's crying stopped with a surprised hiccup. The overhead lights glinted along the edge of the long blade.

Harry sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve and breathing heavily but more regularly. "You have a sword?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful. "Like a Ninja Turtle?"

Ayers nodded. Then he picked up the paper they'd been using as a scorecard and lifted it like a magician about to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Harry watched, fascinated. Ayers brought the paper down onto the blade crosswise, and the wickedly sharp edge sliced cleanly through the sheet without him exerting any force at all.

Harry gaped open-mouthed. Lizzie couldn't think of anything to say. Vincent was also speechless.

Ayers retracted the blade with a quiet snick and picked up the two halves of paper. He knelt in front of Harry and put one half in each of the boy's hands. Harry stared wide-eyed at the half-sheets as though they were going to magically come back together again.

"Wow …" His tear-stained face was at odds with his sudden smile. "Cool!"

Ayers nodded.

"You see, son?" Vincent said soothingly to the boy. "Ayers can take care of himself. Don't you worry."

"Yeah," Lizzie thought to add. "If anybody should worry, it's the monsters."

"Yeah!" Harry exclaimed in excitement, waving the two halves like pom-poms. " 'Cuz Ayers'll chop 'em up like veggies." The mood swing was extreme, but she supposed that was to be expected from an orphan who'd seen people literally eaten in front of his eyes.

"Yup. He'll chop 'em like carrots," Lizzie assured him. Normally she and Vincent wouldn't be encouraging something so bloody-minded in a six-year-old, but these were not normal times. If picturing Ayers ninja-turtling his way through a bunch of bad guys let Harry sleep better at night, then so be it.

"I don't like carrots," Harry confided in Ayers. The mercenary nodded sympathetically. He paused for a moment and then picked up his helmet and set it over the boy's head. He touched something on the inside rim, and although Lizzie couldn't see any external changes in the visor, Harry's eyes were clearly tracking something. "Whoa," he said in hushed awe. "It's like a computer. Does it help you fight?"

Ayers nodded, and then gently removed the helmet again. He hadn't changed expressions, but the hard lines of his face were softer somehow.

"See?" Vincent patted Harry's chest. "Ayers is going to be fine. Fighting monsters is just another day at the office."

Ayers nodded firmly.

Harry suddenly seemed exhausted. Existential horror really took a lot out of you when you were only six. "Yeah. You'll be okay," he said sleepily. "Right, Mr. Ayers?"

Yes.

"It's okay, Harry, you can call him by his first name. It's Herman, right?" Lizzie winked at the boy.

"Herman Stinkybutt," Harry mumbled as Vincent scooped him up.

"Herman G. Stinkybutt," Lizzie said. "Don't forget the G."

Harry smiled sleepily as his head fell against Vincent's shoulder. He waved at Ayers with one of the papers he still held. "Bye-bye, Mr. Stinkybutt. See you later."

Ayers stood and put on his helmet. Harry was asleep before Vincent had even reached the front door.

Lizzie realized Ayers was going to have to come back at least once more to cement the idea that he was invincible. Oh, well. If she had to have a stranger in her personal space, at least he was a decent poker player.

"Sorry about that," Lizzie said quietly. "He's a bit unstable right now. For obvious reasons."

Ayers shrugged. Who wasn't unstable these days?

"I'll walk you out."

Charlie had followed Vincent into the house, concerned about Harry in that way that only dogs can be. By the time she and Ayers were at the decon chamber, Lizzie was so tired from the emotional whiplash that she could have taken a nap on the floor in one of the vestibules.

"Thanks for coming," she said automatically, as if he'd been a dinner party guest. "That was really nice of you, thanks."

Yes.

"This was an eventful evening, wasn't it … Percy?"

No.

"Damn."


In this chapter The Slayer is wearing the Praetor suit's Ebony skin, a Horde Mode reward. For the purposes of this story, we're going to pretend The Slayer can change the suit's colors any time he wants. You know: a nearly indestructible Argent-absorbing alien space suit, "but make it fashion."

P.S. Sorry for the double-post and punctuation issues if you were the first to read this. I used FF's phone app for this chapter and it's ... not great.