Hello once again! I am back, and already updating less frequently than I wanted to. I really must warn you guys, this year will be plagued by infrequent updates, which i do sincerely apologise for in advance.

RECAP:
- Feliks, Gilbert, Tori and Roderich are still prisoners of the resistance. Lukas has managed to befriend Vlad, a detonation expert, and Kristian, a sniper like Tino.
- Lovino and Feliciano are still in Bibesti, and have befriended Vash. Vash is aware of who they are, but is yet to tell anyone. He is expecting visitors.
- Tensions are rising among the rebels, as the search for a dangerous spy goes on.

PLEASE REVIEW guys! It gives me motivation! MOTIVATION!

Bibesti, Rela,
8th Marrch

Bibesti was, at first glance, much the same as Loszok. A vast city whose suburbs and districts spread across the land like a massive, blooming flower. From the view of the sky-rail swiftly carrying them towards the looming towers and skyscrapers on the horizon, it looked clean-cut, almost sterile. But their destination was not the gleaming towers of the centre. His gaze turned towards the far-east of the massive city. The markedly poorer Szwicza District was their goal. The contact of Roderich's who Natalya had contacted had deigned to respond to them yesterday, supplying nothing more than an address and a time.

Antonio himself knew nothing of this contact. Natalya had warned them all that he was dangerous, but that was hardly anything knew for the group. Though there was only one of this contact, and several of them in comparison, Antonio remained on edge. None of them were exactly fighting fit. Feliks was one of their best, and his absence from their group, which Antonio had never experienced before, was beginning to show. They had been mugged by a group of street thugs about two days ago, back in Loszok. They'd fought them off, yes, but Francis was so used to having Feliks guard his side that he'd taken a knife before the fight had ended. Arthur and Berwald had had to carry him back to their lodgings. No-one at the desk had so much as looked their way.

Rela, it seemed, was truly like no other planet Antonio had been on before. The people here demonstrated disinterest in anything that was not themselves or their own affairs. While that worked to their advantage, it was unsettling. He supposed that the people here had learned their apathy from years of hardship, but even on Reycass, there was a chance that an injured person may be offered assistance. Here, they had to rely on their own.

Antonio stood, moving away from the window as the skyline continued to grow in size. There were a few stops yet until the train reached the Szwicza District. Francis had capitalised on the opportunity by turning his head into his shoulder and taking a nap. Arthur – who had very reluctantly agreed to keep an eye on the blonde and his wound – was sitting next to him, a well-worn book held loosely in his hands as his eyes skimmed its pages. Antonio didn't quite understand the history between those two.

Half the time they were arguing enough for him to want to rake his own ears off. But at other times, they almost seemed to get along. Like during the fight with the rebels, they had worked so well together that it had legitimately shocked Antonio. Even when Francis got stabbed back in Loszok, Arthur had used one arm to hold the blonde up, and the other to put pressure on the stab wound to stop the bleeding, and continued to do so when they were inside their room. They seemed to know each other in a way that neither their band of bounty hunters nor Kirkland's crew of pirates knew them as individuals.

It was enough to make anyone's mind race. They had history, Antonio knew that, but Francis liked to claim that they had hated one another from the start. But he remembered.

Not long after Antonio had joined this group, they had all been sitting in the living room of what would become their long-term residence. Back then, it had only been Matthias, Feliks, Gilbert, Louise, Alfred, Francis and Antonio himself. The lot of them had been sitting around the television, half-watching the news while joking around with one another. Their attention had been drawn to the screen by a breaking news alert. The story that followed had been about a pirate, fairly new to the criminal landscape, who had somehow gotten into high security vaults belonging to Yanish nobility. Hundreds of thousands of marks had been stolen, and it had verifiably stunned the entire Kyrs System.

Nothing like it had ever been accomplished before. The pirate had already been identified as a young man called Arthur Kirkland, and a slightly grainy image of his face had been displayed on the screen. Antonio had remembered looking on in shock, before turning to see what his friends thought. When his gaze fell on Francis, his eyes were met with an expression of such anguished horror that it was almost painful. Before he could so much as ask what was getting to him so much, the expression melted away, replaced by neutral surprise. Antonio had known that Francis had some sort of connection to the man involved in the heist, but had never felt brave enough to ask. It was clear, to Antonio anyway, that whatever had existed between Francis and Kirkland, there was no way it had been hatred right off the bat. He had long wanted to get to the bottom of that mystery, but he knew it wasn't his place to bug his friend over something that was obviously so touchy.

Antonio sighed as their destination flashed up as the next stop. He saw Arthur punch Francis to wake him up. Though, he noted, he did so in his shoulder, so as to not cause him true pain. The corners of Antonio's mouth turned up a little. He had long seen the pirate as heartless, but clearly, he had the capacity for some compassion. In spite of the dislike Antonio himself had for Kirkland, he was slowly starting to like him more. No-one could deny that he was an interesting man.

The group disembarked. They had decided beforehand to not all go to scout out this contact of Roderich's, and instead have some go inside, while others remained outside to keep watch for anything suspicious. Antonio was one of the 'lucky' ones going inside. Coming along as well were Arthur, Natalya, Matthias, Louise, Francis, Alfred and Berwald (for intimidation reasons). The others would keep a watch and make sure that they couldn't be jumped or caught off guard.

The streets of Szwicza were, predictably, much different from those in the city centre. The people here were poorer, meaner and far more suspicious. Here, people wouldn't just ignore you if you were stabbed, they would take the opportunity to knock you out and rob you as well. Their eyes generally skimmed over their group, dressed in plainer clothes as they were, but Antonio could see many pickpockets with their eyes trained on their soon-to-be-targets.

Looking around to distract himself was almost worse. The buildings were all either vandalised, derelict or clearly had been made home by squatters. Market stalls cluttered the streets, their owners watching every person who so much as looked their way. Antonio spotted one fruit seller who had a cocked shotgun sitting on the table next to them. Shuddering a little, he made sure to give the stall a wide berth. The air was thick with the scent of smoke (both wood and tobacco), oiled meat that Antonio could see displayed at many places, and petrol. It was far from the worst smell Antonio had ever encountered, but it set him on edge. There was a sweet, musky undertone to it which was making his stomach turn.

It's source became apparent when they turned a corner. Antonio's stomach rolled even further as Arthur screwed up his nose, but otherwise didn't react. Francis winced, and several of the others looked like they felt nauseous themselves.

A twisted, towering pile of corpses sat near the street corner. They seemed to predominantly be human, but Antonio could see some other species in the mix. They were all in different states of decomposition. Those at the top seemed to have died recently, with barely any signs that they were actually dead, save for the ashen tone of their skin, and unyielding stiffness of their bodies. Those at the bottom had clearly been there for some time. Black in colour, there were some whose decaying, necrotic flesh had begun to fall away from the bones. They had deep cavities in their faces where their eyes had once been, and Antonio could see some whose stomachs had burst open from the build-up of gases. The smell of them permeated the air, and made his eyes water. The whole pile writhed and heaved with flies and maggots.

Antonio pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth to stop the smell, choking back the bile which had rushed up his throat at the sight. He could see the others doing the same as he rushed past the pile. Even when the horrible scene was streets behind them, Antonio swore he could still smell the decay. He was so lost in his thoughts of the poor people unable to be buried that he completely walked past the building they had been told to go to. Francis had to seize him by the collar to stop him, before gesturing at the building.

It was a tall building, definitely about 200 floors, and clearly a residential. The whole thing was made of ruddy bricks and concrete, and black pipes and fire escapes decorated the side of the vast building like ivy. Antonio had to tip his head back ridiculously far to see the top. His brows slowly made their way up his forehead. He heard Matthias whistle. They all exchanged a look, before turning to Natalya. She pulled her Cell from the inside of her jacket and tapped at it for a moment. After verifying the address, she nodded, putting it away again.

"This is it." She said. "Floor 176, Room 5270."

Swallowing nervously and wondering why it had to be him who was chosen to go up, Antonio cautiously followed her inside. The foyer of the building didn't seem like anything special. Just a desk pushed against a far wall in a way reminiscent of a hotel, with a sleeping clerk behind it. The other side of the room, the right, held a epitaphal. Antonio loved those. They were used widely in large buildings like this for mail. All you had to do was type in your room number and a passcode, and whoosh! Your mail would arrive in a sealed tube to collect. The tubes then had to be unlocked by a key – which usually only the owner and the landlord had a copy of – to ensure security. A young man around Antonio's own age with black hair was currently operating it, frowning slightly at the screen. Antonio watched him for a moment, turning away when Natalya caught his attention.

Following her, they entered a large, circular room. A hydraulic platform, Antonio realised, the kind used in large buildings which had storehouses. They were made large so that cargo could be stacked in along with any passengers. Natalya pressed the button for the 176th floor, and suddenly, the platform was in motion, hurtling upwards at an almost sickening rate. For several long moments, there was near-silence as the platform moved. Antonio could feel doubt twisting his stomach into knots, and he didn't think that the motion of the platform – which was swinging ever so slightly – was really helping much.

Just as the thought passed through his mind, the platform shuddered even more violently, before pulling to a halt. Antonio saw Arthur hauling Francis, who had fallen from the shuddering, back to his feet. For a moment, he thought – rather wildly – that a malfunction had occurred, and they would be stuck here for hours as it was repaired. That idea was banished from his head, however, when he saw Natalya gesturing them over to a door set into the far side of the wall, accessible only by a worryingly flimsy-looking metal walkway. Natalya strode across it without fear, unsurprisingly, and they had no choice but to follow.

The hallway beyond the platform was shockingly…normal. The wallpaper clearly hadn't been replaced in about twenty years – peeling badly as it was – and the carpet was stained with who knew what, but Antonio had seen places like this before. It was the first part of Rela, and definitely the first part of Bibesti, which didn't seem to throw him off balance. He found himself relaxing a little, even if they were closer to the snake's den than before. Natalya fearlessly charged ahead, eyes roving over the numbers on the doors, before she finally paused in front of one, glaring back impatiently as they made their way towards her.

Antonio just had time to check the door – Room 5270 indeed – before Natalya knocked sharply on the surface. There was a moment of silence, before a muffled voice called out.

"It's open." Natalya swung it open, and they stepped into a rather average-looking sitting room. A group of couches were arranged around a low coffee table in the centre of the room, which connected on to a small kitchen. A small kitchen island had a mug of faintly steaming something sitting atop it.

"You're late." They jumped, spinning around as a young man emerged from a doorway to their right. He was of about average height, and had blonde hair cut similarly to Feliks' and a pair of bright green eyes. He wore a simple, long-sleeved grey shirt with its sleeves rolled halfway up his forearm, and a pair of military khakis. He didn't even appear to be armed. Natalya scoffed at his words.

"Three minutes late." She retorted. The man raised an eyebrow.

"You're still late." He responded, face expressionless. Natalya scowled as he turned away from them. "So, why exactly have you contacted me? I do hope that there's a reason. Unless you just wanted to enjoy my fine company." He scooped his mug from the kitchen island, taking a sip as he observed them.

Apparently sensing that Natalya was already annoyed by this guy, Arthur stepped up to explain.

"In short, about six weeks ago, my crew captured a rebel fighter to later hand over to the Union for money. Her friends weren't very happy about it, and attacked our ship. They kidnapped four of our crewmates. We now need help getting them back." Arthur folded his arms. "According to Natalya, you might be the right one for such a job." The blonde raised an eyebrow.

"You really want to face the resistance head on? I don't know if anyone has ever explained this to you, but they are quite the formidable force. A band of criminals won't be able to outsmart the group which has been outsmarting the fucking Union for decades." Natalya grit her teeth.

"We aren't looking to outsmart them. We're looking to just get our friends back." The man shrugged.

"In that case, I don't see why you need me. The rebels, I've dealt with before. They can be surprisingly reasonable." He tilted his head to the side a little. "Most likely, they'll set a fair bail for your friends. If you pay it, they'll let them go. Easy as that." He sipped from his mug. Arthur hesitated a moment before answering.

"Yes, that's probably true, but…well, considering their fighting ability, we doubt that they would be held in an outpost. The group which attacked us were likely heading back to their base. And we don't have a problem trading with the resistance, we have a problem in getting there in the first place." At this, the blonde finally stilled.

"Ahh, yes." He made eye contact with them. "The Coysash are a tricky hurdle to jump." Noticing how they all tensed slightly, the smallest smirk appeared on his face. "Any fool can deduce that Nyma is the rebels' current hideout." He folded his arms. "So, in actuality, you want me to get you down to Nyma's surface, and then through to Coysash territory so you can barter for your friends?"

Arthur nodded, but his expression shifted to anger when the other man shook his head. "Not a chance."

"What?" Arthur snapped. "Why not?" the man raised an eyebrow.

"Because that's incredibly dangerous, and time-consuming." He shrugged. "Oh yes, it's possible. It's definitely possible, but who says you'll be able to give me what I want in return for such a favour?" Natalya narrowed her eyes.

"You work in money, Vash. We'll pay you." The man – Vash – raised his eyebrows.

"Me and the rebels both? Oh my, your bank accounts will take a bit of a hit, won't they?" he turned around, walking into the kitchen. "Now, if there's nothing else of importance that you have to say–"

"They took Roderich." Natalya blurted out. "He was one of the four the rebels kidnapped." To Antonio's complete and utter shock, where the promise of money didn't make him bat an eye, the mention of Roderich apparently did. Vash stilled before turning around again to face them. His expression was the same, but his grip on his mug had tightened – to the point where his knuckles had turned white. He watched them keenly for a moment, exhaling slowly.

"How much?" he asked. "How much are you willing to pay me? To get you all on Nyma, through Mugarobe territory, and to the rebels?" Arthur paused for a moment, rubbing at his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Would you accept 150,000 marks?" he proposed. Vash shifted his hold on the mug.

"170,000." Arthur scowled, but conceded.

"Fine." Vash settled back against the counter, placing his mug down.

"Okay, now I'm listening." He fixed Arthur with a stare. "Tell me what happened again. We'll need as many details as we can get."

Resistance Headquarters,
Draak-Zafi Forra, Nyma,
10th Marrch

Yao swallowed as the canister was passed to him. Though it only weighed about a pound, it felt far heavier. It was a small object, and yet so much had been sacrificed to get it here safely. The canister was about a foot long, and made of lightweight but strong metal. It had a pale green colour, like copper Verdigris, and the outside felt almost chalky, according to the others. In all honesty, it looked like a very tall soft drink can, with a small, tab-like section on one end. It looked like any of the canisters used to carry messages safely. This canister, however, was distinguished by the presence of the dark blood which was splattered up it's side. It had stained the metal entirely, and many efforts made to wash it had been in vain. Yao was almost glad. He would rather see it, and know exactly what had been done to preserve this canister, and the information within.

He swallowed again as the young pilot being debriefed completed her tale. She had been the only one, of the eleven on this mission, to survive.

"And this canister was preserved how?" he asked quietly, turning it over in his hands. The pilot took in a deep breath, looking shocked to have been called upon by the leader of the whole rebel movement.

"Well, Lieutenant Nasrin was severely wounded before we could retrieve the canister. She took an axe to the stomach." The pilot hesitated slightly. "She…she opened the wound more and hid the canister inside her body." The girl bit her lip. "Before she died, she sent me a message telling me in was concealed in her stomach. When the guards cleansing the area cleared out the bodies, I raided their corpse barge to retrieve it. I then returned here, as per my orders." The girl was pale as a sheet, and her uniform was covered in dark stains – no doubt even more of Lieutenant Nasrin's blood. Despite it, Yao could not even lift his head to comfort her. His grip on the canister tightened. He heard Vice-General Gabras comforting the girl, gently leading her from the tent to clean up.

Yao's own stomach was aching, as if trying to emulate the feel of an axeblade buried inside. The hand that wasn't gripping the canister shook ever so slightly. He closed his eyes for a moment, placing the canister on the table in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he opened them once more, willing the shakes in his hand to subside. It had been a long time since a mission had come back with only one survivor. It was hard to see. That girl had watched her team get butchered, and yet still had the strength to plunge her hands into her dead friend's stomach and fly all the way to Nyma without rest.

Yao's eyes roved over the canister again, taking in the small dents it had suffered in its surface. The blood almost completely covered it. But no nausea came. Yao had long ago foregone the ability to feel discomfort in the face of graphic scenes or death. He didn't so much as look up when Aelia Gabras returned to the tent, silently watching him.

"What's her name?" he inquired, jerking his head roughly in the direction of the exit. "The pilot, I mean."

"Yelisa Grech." Aelia murmured, frowning at the canister herself. "She's a Lance Corporal. Iramese, I believe." Yao nodded silently, committing the name to memory. The Vice-General moved to his side. "We should open it." He nodded, moving to do so only when General Hassan had also entered the tent.

Though on the outside, it appeared to be almost a solid metal cylinder, inside, it was hollowed out. Yao reached inside and pulled out a data chip, no larger than his palm. He turned it over as Aelia watched. This. This had cost the lives of ten people. He sighed, handing it to Aelia.

"Have the techs decode and arrange all the files. Get Ailseth to run a summary." Aelia nodded, swiftly departing with the chip as Yao ran a gloved hand through his hair. Mohammed Hassan didn't say a word. He didn't need to, simply picking up the canister to look at it more closely. Noting the blood, he set it down again, more gingerly than before. He folded his arms.

"What was on there?" he asked, deep voice as quiet as always. Yao looked up.

"It contains some of the only information about the spy currently in our ranks." He sighed, fatigue overtaking him as he thought about it. "Hopefully, it might narrow down our search a little." Mohammed nodded, frowning at Yao.

"You need rest, friend." He said. "The others notice not, but I can tell. The last few weeks have worn you to the bone." Yao smiled tiredly.

"That they have, Mohammed." He agreed. "But I can't, not yet. I need to be present when that information becomes available." Mohammed nodded.

"I understand." He murmured. "But you still need to sleep." Yao sighed, knowing that the General spoke the truth.

"If I can afford it, I will." He said. "I have to check upon our newer recruits." Mohammed shook his head.

"Make someone else do it. Williams-Jones? That boy, you like him, yes?" Yao hesitated, but nodded. Mohammed looked satisfied.

"Good. I will make him do it. You sleep. I will have you woken when the data-chip is fully decoded."

Knowing that further argument would only exhaust him more, Yao gave in, nodding as he began to walk in the direction of his tent.

He was woken maybe three hours later, by Elizabeta shaking his shoulder. Trained as a soldier as he was, Yao had pressed a knife against her neck before he realised his mistake, and hurriedly hitched it in his belt once more. The Daernic girl blinked several times, looking a little shocked, before seemingly shaking off the incident and stepping back to let Yao stand. She waved off his apology. Looking around, Yao noted the time, and the rapidly dimming light outside, turning his attention back to Elizabeta only when she spoke.

"The chip's been completely decoded. The findings are about to be announced."

The two of them hurried towards the command tent, where Yao could still see people gathering for the meeting. His stomach plunged. He was normally the first one to arrive for meetings such as this. Hassan knew that. Then again, Mohammed probably sent Elizabeta late on purpose, so Yao would sleep for longer. He would have been angrier, had he not known that the General simply had his health in mind. Shaking his head in both exasperation and fondness, Yao parted ways with Elizabeta and slipped through the crowd to get to the front of the room.

Hassan smiled a little guiltily when he met his gaze, but even from this distance, Yao could see that his expression was saturated with gratification as well. Yao rolled his eyes, finding his place shortly before Ailseth, a tall, silver-skinned female Garvich, took the stage. Despite being Garvich, Ailseth held no hatred towards people born as a result of incest. In fact, she had sought refuge with the resistance because she had spoken out about it, and actively freed those slated for execution. She was among their most gifted technicians, and a vitally important member of their cause.

Ailseth cleared her throat, before she held the data-chip aloft and began to speak.

"We received this chip only a few hours ago, from a crew sent to Luna Vilaksa to recover information." She lowered it. "As many of you know, there is currently a spy within our ranks. This chip contains as much information about them as the Union would dare to digitally store. There is not much, admittedly, but there is enough to help us suitably further our work in identifying and removing the spy." Ailseth gestured to the screen behind her, which turned on, displaying blueprints for what looked like some sort of communications system.

"This," she continued, "is a new absorber being used by the Union. It is designed to be small and lightweight. We believe that this absorber has the power to continuously record audio for up to 48 hours at a time." Low murmuring began in the soldiers assembled, many of them looking shocked and worried.

"Quiet." Yao said simply, nodding to Ailseth to continue as the whispering died down.

"Since this new form of audio recorder is so small, we believe it may be hard to find by looking visually. It could, honestly, probably be completely hidden underneath someone's clothes."

"But won't that damage the audio recordings?" one Colonel inquired. Ailseth shook her head.

"Considering the capacity and sensitivity of these devices, as evident by the plans, no, it would not." More whispering broke out, some tinged with a distinct tone of fear.

"Quiet!" Yao said again, louder this time. The noise cut off instantly, with all eyes resting on him for a moment before shifting back to Ailseth.

"Yes, well. We also have determined there is a high chance that this is a sleeper agent. In other words, someone who has been with the resistance for a long time, but has only now been called upon to perform espionage. We estimate that they may have been with the resistance for as long as twelve years, and as few as four. In addition to this, they are using a single-frequency radio to contact the Union, as previously suspected." Despite this worrying information, the masses stayed silent – prompted to do so by Yao's stern look.

"This spy is someone of a considerable position. They have been leaking some fairly confidential things. We also have reason to believe that a large amount of this has been done late at night, when most other fighters would be sleeping."

Cera Bannion scowled. "Treachery of the highest order." She said grimly. Ailseth nodded slightly before continuing.

"Most of the other things within the chip were our own stolen documents and battle plans. Really," she shook her head, "It didn't have much information in it at all."

Silence fell, and at that moment, Yao knew that everyone was thinking about the ten soldiers who had died to retrieve this information. It seemed, he thought bitterly, that they really died for nothing. As the silence stretched on, Yao felt eyes on him, and finally, when he guessed that he had most of their attention, stood and folded his arms behind his back.

"It might not be much information, but 'not much' is a great deal better than nothing at all." he looked up at Ailseth. "We needed more details to root out this spy. These may be vaguer than what we were hoping for, but they are details nonetheless." He turned to the team of fatigued technicians, and bowed slightly. "Thank you for your efforts in decoding the chip. We are all grateful." They nodded, smiling tiredly. He turned to Ailseth. "And thank you for your report." He turned his gaze to other rebels standing nearby.

"Sripuy, I presume your team will find a way to lock down the confidential documents with higher security?" he nodded eagerly, already clearly thinking of ways it could be done. Yao turned to another Lieutenant. "And your team will find a way to detect audio recorders like these?" the woman nodded, chin tilted proudly.

"We will attempt to decode some of the other files as well." She stated.

Yao nodded once more. "Considering that we are a group who has consistently achieved the impossible, I fail to see how one spy could shake your faith in yourselves." A murmuring of light, uplifted voices filled the room. Yao smiled.

"Now, off to bed with you all. It is late, and we will need as much focus as we can get if we are to beat the Union at their latest games." The room began to empty, though he could see some groups putting their heads together to discuss the meeting. Yao rubbed his eyes. Clearly, his sleep had not been quite long enough to chase the last remnants of fatigue from his body. Resigning himself to an unproductive night, he traipsed out of the tent, aware neither of the furious gaze on his back, nor of the traitors who sent it.