Al leaned comfortably against a lamp post, slowly sipping a cup of cheap tea and watching the world go by. What a peculiar month this had been. They'd arrived in the former Fire Nation colony of Quiyan as homeless nobodies with pocketfuls of alchemically-created gold, and now they were... well, very well-informed nobodies with pocketfuls of alchemically-created gold. Fading into the background seemed to be working.

If anyone had ever needed to disappear from the eyes of the world completely, Quiyan was the place to do it. Technically administered by the Fire Nation, the city was in actual fact one of the old haunts of the Privateer's Guild, and as a result was practically a small, independent nation in its own right. There was a Fire Nation-appointed governor, to be sure, but he was content to sit back and let the bribes roll in as the various factions of the Guild ruled their own little fiefdoms. Ed and Al were just two among more than a million refugees, deserters, criminals, merchants and adventurers of all types. The fractured groups of the Guild had been waging gang warfare for control of the wealthy port city for so long the place had achieved a sort of pseudo-status quo, almost stable in its constant state of bustling, ultracompetetive semi-anarchy.

They'd found a house almost immediately- or rather, a sprawling, semi-dilapidated warehouse with very high walls and very sturdy doors, and settled in to watch and wait. After paying a bevy of 'special taxes', 'tariffs' and 'protection fees', of course. And then Al had begun to invest, in the currency that drove all of Quiyan. Information. The merchants needed it to stay afloat. The crime syndicates relied on it to keep ahead of the competition. The arrival of any new ship (or, increasingly, airship) in-port meant a massive boom in business for the dozens of news agencies, information brokers, their employees besieging sailors, crew and especially passengers for news, rumours, and even the latest gossip. With more than 30 newspapers printed daily, it was no wonder that Quiyan was said to be the only city in the world paved in paper. All Al had to do was pay for regular briefs from a variety of the more competent organizations, and sit back as the news flowed in in neat, creamy envelopes of clippings, briefs and transcriptions.

He and Ed had followed the news of the Retaking of the Capital, seen sketches of the huge airships fleets pouring out of the Capital, read reports on the mechanical marvels left behind in the scorched, ruined city. The general consensus of the information brokers was that someone was at war with someone else, but no one was entirely sure who. The sides or the motives weren't clear, but one thing was; they were beating the shit out of each other. The attack on the Fire Nation was just one part of a larger puzzle. There was the curiously nonlethal attack on the Northern Water Tribe. The disappearance of most of the Earth Kingdom's troops in the area of the Si Wong Desert. King Bumi's increasingly sporadic calls for calm. The bizarre lights and earthquakes in the mountains around Omashu. Zuko and Aang had apparently disappeared after what had happened in Gaoling. But that wasn't all. From all over the world came reports of the Unidentified Warring Objects. Fleets of submarines engaging squidlike monstrosities at the South Pole. Moving mountains spitting fire at airships in the Fire Nation. Tanks the size of houses firing rockets at gigantic birds in the Si Wong. All of that, combined with the total disappearance of the Order of the White Lotus from public life.

"Good morning, Mister Laorei."

Al started at the soft voice, turning to bow politely to the young Waterbender who'd materialized out of the passing crowds.

"Yakone, I'm fairly sure it's late in the afternoon. And please don't sneak up on me."

The flashy young man smiled coldly, readjusting the collar of his expensive suit.

"Sneak up on you, Mister Laorei? Hardly. It's your fault if you don't have the chops to pick out a man in a crowd. And I feel that the day truly begins at dusk- Nightlife is so much more exciting, wouldn't you agree?"

Al rolled his eyes, looking away from the gangster's heavy-browed visage. Just because Yakone was one of the more reasonably polite criminals in Quiyan didn't mean he wasn't a creep. He'd been one of the first to approach them when they'd bought the warehouse, and had been very impolite until Ed showed him exactly what one of his new Elric Rifles. After that they'd developed a working relationship. Or at least Al had. Ed was... never mind.

"Aaaaand suddenly I've lost my appetite for this tea. Why are you here, Yakone. We've paid our 'rent surcharge' in gold. On time. As usual."

The gangster flicked open a small knife and began cleaning his fingernails methodically. The fact that the Waterbender went basically unarmed, without even a waterskin, showed that he was either ridiculously overconfident or justifiably so. Either way, he was dangerous. When he spoke, his face was entirely neutral, and he kept his voice pitched low so the passers-by couldn't hear them.

"The Guild has... come into possession of a member of the Ember Group."

Al went rigid. The very fact that Yakone was using that name meant that whatever this was out of the ordinary. No one knew much about the Group, save that they were on one side of the conflict, and that they were dangerous.

"What?"

Yakone clapped a hand on his shoulder conspiratorially, and Al recoiled.

"Listen, 'Ao Laorei', I know you've got a secret."

Al set the teacup down, and slowly brought his hands together, ready to activate his alchemy. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"...The excessive wealth. The obviously assumed names. You're not wealthy refugees, or information brokers either."

Al felt a spark of static electricity jump between his palms. Using Alchemy in a public place wouldn't be remotely sane, but he had no choice. Kill Yakone, get Ed, and run.

"I don't have the first fuckin' clue what you are, but I know this. You're an obviously interested party, and you can afford what I'm selling. Namely, an in on the meeting. Strictly off the books. Security's tighter than it's ever been. If anyone found out I was letting you in, they'd have my balls in a steel trap. Six thousand gold pieces, Fire Nation currency, to cover all the favours I need to call in- and you're there."

Al breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe. And this was the opportunity of a lifetime. The Guild in question wasn't a full meeting of the leadership of the Privateers; it was just a gathering of the local Quiyan leadership. That said, those four men and women were tremendously powerful. Normally they would sooner have each other assassinated than cooperate, but the ongoing conflict and the threat of- of whatever the Ember Group was made all their petty squabbles pale in comparison.

"Okay, Yakone, I'm in. Come in for a cup of tea while I get the money ready? Edo's gonna want to hear all about this."

The gangster snorted derisively, crossing his arms.

"Really," he said, eyes wide in mock disbelief, "You spend the last few minutes tensing up to kill me and then suddenly we're like family? You're a weird one, Mister Laorei."

Al just stared at him, wondering (not for the first time) why the man was so difficult to read. Oh, he could see he'd clawed his way to the top. That he was ambitious to the point of obsession. Al didn't need hired informants to know that Yakone had the ear of Ataata Uumalaq. Everyone knew the wealthy old crime boss was grooming Yakone for a position of power. No, the strange thing about Yakone was that he seemed to be hiding a secret. Secrets were copper-a-dozen in Quiyan, but Yakone's was different. This was a secret he was constantly resisting the urge to tell everyone about. Whatever it was, it added a whole new level to the gangster's swaggering bravado.

He beckoned the gangster down a nearby alleyway, nodding to the homeless man sitting hunched in a bundle of rags at the opening. Yakone, nose wrinkling at the smell of decay that filled the space, stepped gingerly over the vagrant's oustretched sandal-clad legs.

"Friend of yours?" he inquired sarcastically, "You keep a very clean alleyway."

Al stopped, looking back at the rag-clad man rising to his feet, sword drawn. He shook his head, ever so slightly. The vagrant sat back down, sheathing his blade in complete silence.

"Myugen may no look like much, but he's a reliable doorman," Al said, turning his attention to a nondescript door in the wall of the warehouse that made up one side of the alley. A heavy, rusted padlock hung from an equally rusted lock. He pulled the lock aside, and the boards of the door came with it, revealing a heavy slab of metal beneath it. He rubbed his hands together, then pressed one palm flat against the doorway. With a soft, electrical hiss, the metal slid to one side. The door was fully three feet thick. Yakone whistled.

"Damn, Mister Laorei. What're you hiding in here?"

Al waited until the door had fully opened, checking that the thin lines of alchemical runes along the lintel were functioning properly. It had taken an entire week of solid work by Ed to get the construction/reconstruction arrays working well enough to literally melt away a block of solid steel. Thankfully, they'd chosen a relatively bender-free neighbourhood, or people would have noticed. 'the consequences of a mischoice could have been catastrophic, especially during those three hectic days where Ed was experimenting with weaponized Von Neumann arrays, and-

Yakone cleared his throat. Al started.

"Right. Come on in."

Around him, the Southern Air Temple burned. Aang sat on a comfortable cushion, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. The air was full of screaming, raw and hoarse. Gyatso held out a tray of fruit tarts.

"Want one? They'll help you stay sane."

Aang frowned. No, this wasn't right. Everything (wasn't) was fine. He was (wasn't) in danger. And Gyatso was (dead) alive. Gyatso sighed, small clockworks tearing out of his face as the walls of the Air Temple crumbled away into an endless row of corpses.

"You're right, I'm afraid," he said, voice soft and calm as internal fires tore at his corpse. "This is just your subconscious mind attempting to create a fantasy world in which your psyche can take refuge from the massively invasive trauma it is currently undergoing. Unfortunately, you didn't hide deeply enough. And they've just found you again."

The screaming was closer now. Aang stood, trailing tubing and pipeworks that tugged at his skin.

"Hold on," he protested, choking on his own vomit, "what-"

Gyatso chewed a fruit tart meditatively, his nightmare face distorting fractally.

"Sorry, Aang, but this is going to hurt a lot. Upping primary ego inhibitors by fifteen percent, dropping painkiller mixture to blue to compensate. Mesmeric pulse on my mark. Mark."

The temple (those were Airbender bodies) faded away, and Aang found himself hanging suspended in a dark hellscape of pipes, many of them protruding from his body. There was something in his mouth- something sharp and metallic, carrying with it the taste of blood. He was blinded by a strobing pulse of painfully bright light. They were holding his eyelids open. He couldn't look away. The screaming was so close. Where was it coming from?

Then the pain hit him, and through a blood-streaked haze he realized the tortured sound was coming from his own throat.

Yakone leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table. Al had to resist the urge to snap at him.

"That," the gangster said, face impassive, "is a lot of weapons."

Al gave Ed a significant glance. His brother shrugged, barely even looking up from the thin metal tube he was rifling into a barrel. Yakone wasn't wrong. It was a lot. And therein was the problem. Their home was rapidly becoming an armoury, all at the hands of an increasingly insular Ed. Al hated to admit it, but his brother was becoming worryingly paranoid. He'd lost a lot of the brash directness that once made him run head-first into danger. In some ways, he was starting to act more like Al. And seeing his own behaviour in his brother worried Al far more than he would have cared to admit. Since their arrival in Quiyan, Ed had been increasingly building weapons. No, not building. Slaving over weapons. Had Ed been working on alchemical formulae, or even research, he wouldn't be worried. But Ed was outright inventing, refining and testing weapons. Weapons he insisted he would need, someday. After one long night of increasingly furious arguments, he'd made his position clear.

"Al," he'd said, voice dull and tired, but eyes alive with... it could almost have been fear, "they sent a tank after us. That was their first try. Who know what it will escalate to next? Poison gas? Carpet bombing? Giant robots?"

Al had stifled a laugh at that, nonetheless remembering the huge, oddly organic constructs in Gaoling. He still hadn't told Ed about them- something about the way they died. The way they tore themselves to pieces, keening in supernatural agony as they did. It had disturbed him to his core. He'd witnessed the horrors of human alchemy, but there was something even more profoundly unnatural about witnessing those same horrors applied on a much vaster, more alien scale.

Ed had slammed his fist down on the table, scattering brass casings. His face was calm and determined, his voice a low growl.

"For gott's sakes, Al, we need to survive. That is what the Truth told us, and as far as I'm concerned It is the only real friend we've had since we began this fucking 'adventure'."

Al had just stared at him, completely taken aback. He- in a twisted, paranoiac way, he was right.

"I know I started this project to 'help our new friends', but it's not about them anymore. They're probably dead. Forget them. If you want to go galivanting off to save a world you have no stake in, go ahead. I won't stop you. Just remember that this is about us. It's about keeping us safe. And if that means weapons, if it means sacrifice, if it means killing, then so be it."

Yakone was speaking again.

"So. All these- whaddaya call 'em- Riffles? Ripples?"

"Rifles," Ed grunted. "They're called rifles. And they're still not for sale, not matter what Atatta Uumalaq is willing to pay us."

Yakone nodded slowly, face blank.

"Whole lotta killing power for two people."

Ed just nodded and kept working, scraping away at the barrel. He was paler than usual, skin pockmarked with specks of powder. Al knew he hadn't changed clothes in several days, and he wasn't entirely sure if Ed had slept either.

"Yakone," Al said softly, sitting opposite his brother, "Tell Edo what you told me."

The gangster took his feet off the table and began toying with his nails once more.

"Hells, I'll give you the whole story. So Ataata Uumalaq owns this club, right? Real classy joint uptown. Nice big bar, a good band, pleasure girls, the works. Well, thre days ago we hear tell there's been some sort of dust-up at the place. Explosions, screaming, fire, the usual. We assumed it was probably that fuckin' crazy Fire Nation slut Baola Laoka and her fuckin' army goons maybe trying to make a hit on some of our guys, yeah? Trying to restart the turf war that wound down a few years back. So me an' a bunch of the other foot soldiers go to check the place out. Ominous as fuck, lemme tell ya. From the outside, place looks fine. Windows intact, no burn marks, no nothing. Too clean for 'Colonel' Baola and her strict-ass one-two-three-scorched-earth-sir gang. So we go inside. And Sedna, lemme tell you..."

He paused, staring at nothing. There was a hollowness, a blankness to his features that he'd been hiding, but suddenly the force of his trauma was showing through. He wasn't lying.

"Place was a fuckin' slaughterhouse. The attack happened at maybe ten, eleven o'clock at night. Real boom time. Place had been packed. And they'd- they'd gone in there with some sort of bomb-thrower. The bitch who did it still had it. Little crossbow-lookin' thing, tossed grenades on spikes as fast as you could pull the handle. And- there was meat everywhere. People just ripped to paste. I've seen what a Waterbender can do to a person- I've don- I've seen some shit, okay. But this was fuckin' barbaric. Only two survivors. One guy, a firebender, had to cauterize what was left of his leg to stop from bleeding out. Poor bastard. Almost bit off his own tongue. The other was the fucker that did it. Nondescript looking bitch, lemme tell you. Wearin' this armour made her look like a fuckin' pinecone, just sitting there covered in blood and actually- can you believe it- fuckin' whistling. Like she didn't have a care in the world. I wanted to blow her head clean off for what she'd done- maybe teach her a lesson or two first- but then Ataata arrived. You know him. Real friendly guy. Family man. Good with kids."

He was almost talking to himself, his voice a low monotone.

"Lemme tell you, I have never seen Uumalaq that angry before. I've seen him kill families in cold blood, I've seen him send men to their deaths on a whim, but this was something different. He had her taken down to the warehouses where we- we- anyways. Wanted to talk to her personally. We get her helmet off, and would you fuckin' believe she's got Airbender tattoos? I mean Sedna, man. Respect for the dead..."

Ed stared into Al's eyes, and mouthed 'airbender?'. Good. He was thinking the same thing. The Ember Group woman who'd tried to take on Aang.

Aang sat on the cot in his cell, staring at the moss on the walls. There was some sort of complicated system of piping behind the fuzzy green carpet, one that kept the whole room cool and fresh-smelling. The small portholes in the ceiling through which sunlight seemed to be shining were another matter entirely. Not for the first time, he wished he had his bending. Or the Avatar State. But no, he was locked in his own head, his control over the elements utterly nonexistent. At least they'd stopped- whatever it was they had done. It was odd. He could coldly and clinically review the intrusions on his body and mind, and the screaming, and the hours of never-ending, retina-burning flashing lights, but thinking about them gave him- nothing. He'd expected to be crying himself to sleep. To be in denial. But no, it had happened, and he was all right. For some reason. The fact that he was being remarkably clam about it was worrying.

There was a step at the door, and it swung silently open on well-oiled hinges. The guard stepped in- an Airbender. Or at least a man in Airbender tattoos. He'd been polite, if curt, with Aang, refusing to answer questions or even begin to make conversation. Three times a day, he brought Aang food, and he'd provided him with a sponge, bucket of warm water and clean clothes twice since the end of the- Aang's time in the machine. Judging by when the lights in the cieling dimmed, he'd been here around five days. They'd even provided him with reading material- reproductions of old philosophical and historical texts by authors from all four nations. Nothing suspicious, nothing dangerous.

The guard stepped to one side, and in crept, hesitantly, a dark-skinned young woman, her scalp shaved almost-

"Oh spirits," Aang gasped. "Katara?"

Her eyes widened, filling with tears.

"Aang?", she said hoarsely. "You're alive?"

They held each other in silence for a long, long time.

The meeting was set to take place in a club belonging to the Bald Man. The mysterious information broker was also, apparently, a fan of drinking establishments, albeit of the moodily-lit, highly minimalist variety. When they'd arrived, the place had been bustling with the security details of the four major criminal (though they would disagree with that nomenclature) groups of Quiyan. Things had quieted down since then, but armed men and women were still very much in evidence. Yakone had handed a jangling bag of coin to a guard, who let them in a side entrance and bolted the door behind them. Good thing he hadn't checked them over. Al knew that Ed was carrying a truly bewildering array of weapons, from several small pistols to a bulky, roughly-constructed shot-pistol holstered in one boot. Now they sat in a darkened booth with a good view of the main hall- a depressed area built around a glass-covered rock garden. A high skylight cast clear, bright moonlight over the proceedings, the gloom elsewhere only fitfully pierced by a few luminescent stone sconces. Yakone indicated the long table set up at the far end of the hall.

"Look," he said in a whisper, "Baldie's already here."

The florid, well-dressed man in a dark suit slowly surveyed the room, his eyes an unnaturally piercing blue. Then he turned, starting as the doors were flung open and even more guards poured in, followed by the three remaining members of the Quiyan council. Yakone kept up a running commentary.

"Baola Laoka. Deserted from some sort of Fire Nation intelligence group," he said of the tall, scarred woman. "All her men are ex-military. Utterly fucked in the head, but at least she's a professional."

Ed grunted softly to himself. "Reminds me of General Armstrong."

Next was a short, haughty-looking woman with an unornamented longsword strapped over her white silk dress.

"Izshii Aorin. Claims she's royalty. Really just an Earth Kingdom slut putting on airs. Started off as a streetwalker, worked her way up. She loathes Baola. Always says she'll take the Colonel's head with that fancy katana of hers. Got a temper like a platypus bear in heat."

The woman's black-clad bodyguards settled into various positions around the room, their swords obvious ("Who the fuck needs 77 bodyguards? Honestly. Crazy bitch.") According to Yakone, it had been decided that all arms were permitted. The time for feuding had passed.

Lastly, surrounded by a posse of flashily-dressed Water Tribesmen, came a sprightly-looking old man with deep-set eyes and a pouchy, fish-like face.

"Ataata Uumalaq. Leader of the Crimson Monsoons."

Uumalaq sat slowly, waving his entourage away. He glanced down the table, receiving various affirmative gestures from the other three, and began to speak. As his hoarse, deep voice resounded throughout the club, Al realized that every booth was packed. This was more than just the leading four. This was everyone who was anyone in Quiyan.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to take the time to thank you for attending this little gathering. It gladdens me greatly that the organizations and families can put aside their differences and work towards a resolution of the present situation. Before we begin I'd like to give my special thanks to the Bald Man, who has so kindly lent us the use of this charming institution."

He nodded down the table. The Bald Man nodded back, but didn't say a word.

"Now, then. Let's being. Bring her in, gentlemen."

There was a clattering of chains, and several burly men dragged in a bound figure.

"I feel it necessary to point out that the armour was riveted on to her. We've had no luck removing it and I thought it prudent to keep her... relatively unharmed."

"A wise decision," the Bald Man said, his voice sibilant and cold.

"Let's get on with it," muttered Izshii in irritated tones.

"Happy to oblige," a sneering voice rang out. There was a smiling, cheerful quality to it that was utterly fake. Utterly constructed. The chained woman in the centre of the dance floor looked up, her bearing erect and confident despite the masses of chains holding her down and the overlapping plates of her body armour. Al gasped. Ed glanced at her, then back at him. A murmur rolled around the room. Airbender tattoos. It was the woman from Gaoling. The Airbender. And no one here knew she was genuine.

"Yakone...", he said, slowly rising from his seat. But the Airbender was still speaking.

"My name isn't hugely important at the moment, so I'll skip that little bit of useless small talk. I work for an organization which calls itself the Ember Group. We are currently engaged in military operations against the extra-dimensional- what you would call Spirit World- arm of the Order of the White Lotus. We are responsible for the razing of the Northern Water Tribe, the attempts on Fire Lord Zuko's life, the destruction of Earth Kingdom forces in the Si Wong, and the failed overthrow of the Fire Nation Capital. I am telling you this because you are already dead."

Baola was on her feet, long coat swirling about her.

"Ma'am," she barked, voice curt, "I'd think someone in your current position wouldn't-"

"How long's it been, Laoka? Eighteen years since the Hill Country campaign?"

The Colonel went rigid, the colour draining from her face. The Airbender grinned ferally, continuing in her falsely-friendly tones.

"You told him you'd come back. You told all of them. I mean..."

Here she laughed absently to herself, pale eyes utterly without feeling.

"... leaving your entire platoon to die is one thing. But abandoning the father of your child? And they gave you a medal? Sit DOWN, Laoka. You haven't earned the right to speak."

Baola collapsed into her seat, her face gray, breathing ragged. The Airbender giggled with genuine pleasure.

"No more interruptions, please! Anyways, the reason this has all happened is, well... we made a mistake. We were on the path to world domination. One world government and all that. Destabilize the already unstable Fire Nation through assassination. Force the NWT into paranoid isolation. Weaken the military might of the Earth Kingdom, then start a popular uprising against that schizophrenic pederast they call a king. It just so happens the White Lotus came along and ruined all that."

She cracked her neck carefully, the noise resounding in the dead silence.

"So, where do you come in? Quite simply, you've been nosy. Prying. Justifiably curious, I'm sure. We can't allow it. So we're here for a direct takeover. You give us what we want, and we'll make sure things go smoothly. For you."

Uumalaq sat forwards, glancing with apparent nonchalance at the rings on his fingers. Al could read the tension in his shoulders. And Gott, the fear.

"So you mean to take over out respective organizations? Madam, I'm sure you can guess our response."

The Airbender nodded.

"Of course. That's why we've had your entire immediate family executed. And why Izshii's bank vaults are empty. And why Baola's guards outside have had their throats slit."

The silence reasserted itself, broken only by a faint creaking noise. The chains dropped off the Airbender's armour, falling to the floor with a resounding crash.

"Pneumatic armour. So useful. We commence chemical bombardment in three minutes. Ladies and gentlemen, the Ember Group wins."

Laoka got to her feet, her arms wreathed in halos of golden-yellow flame. She coughed, expression confused as blood poured from her opened throat. The Bald Man tucked the knife back inside his sleeve, then waved a pudgy hand. The club was filled with soft choking noises and the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor. The black-clad guards were pulled into the shadows, where blades flashed silently. Al felt a cold, agonizing pressure pull back on his neck. He was yanked to his feet, unable to even gurgle as he clawed at the steel cord over his throat. There was a rustle of cloth from Yakone's direction, a peculiar wet bubbling noise, and the pressure eased as a soft weight fell over Al's shoulders. He hefted the body onto the table, glancing about the booth. Only one attacker. Ed had already pulled a gun, sweeping it with some indecision over the surrounding gloom. Yakone lowered his hands and dusted himself off.

"Obviously, they weren't expecting more than one. Don't get up. Let's see where this is going."

Izshii had made a rush for the exit, only to find herself surrounded by a group of armed figures who'd dropped from the rafters. Judging by the screams and flashes of metal from the little knot of people around her, she was holding her own.

Uumalaq was rooted in his seat, hands scrabbling at his throat. He had gone a peculiar shade of purple, and seemed to be choking as the Airbender slowly approached him.

"I just collapsed your lungs," she drawled casually. "Enjoy choking to death on your own blood."

Something huge and metallic came crashing through the skylight, pulverizing the rock garden in a shower of glass. The Bald Man extended a hand to the Airbender, still managing to look unconcerned.

"I'm gratified we could come to an agreement. The Ember Group will not regret this decision."

"Yeah. Sure.", the Airbender said, sidestepping quickly. Something on the thing in the rock garden went twang, and the Bald Man's torso exploded into a froth of shredded viscera. He blinked, tottering unsteadily forwards.

"We- we had a deal," he gurgled, blood pouring from his lips. The room resounded with the sound of whirring gears and a hiss of steam as a towering mechanical figure unfolded itself in the garden, pipes along its back and legs glowing red-hot. Its blank faceplate surveyed the broken informant as he collapsed to his knees, somehow still alive. The machine took a step forwards, bladelike mechanical leg rising with a hiss and descending with a crunch. At the sound, the horrified knots of assassins throughout the club, many still spattered with the blood of Izshii, scattered. The machine raised its arms, and began firing indiscriminately into the crowd.

-~0X0~-

Torture! Crime! Lung collapsings! Descents into paranoid schizophrenia! Huzzah!

I wrote this over the summer, but my school schedule has been waaaaay busier this year, so it took a while to transcribe over from paper. It's a bit shorter than some, but as you can probably tell things are building up...

EDIT: December, 2012. I've added a few bits that got cut out and finished some edits on chapter 4. Chapter 15 to follow.