Four-hundred and seventy-seven.

Talwyn let out a soft sigh as her pen scribbled on the paper. Occasionally, she would glance up from her desk and at the pair of low-hanging monitors, numbly absorbing the information been relayed on them before going back to writing. She did not look at the ID picture that came with them. For her own sanity, she had long since stopped doing that.

She set the pen back down, picked a small hand-held device by her side and pressed it on the document. She removed it after a couple of seconds, revealing the Polaris Defence Force's freshly engraved insignia on the paper.

Talwyn held it up before her tired eyes, fingers placed carefully around the corners. With a satisfied nod, she added it on the growing pile on her desk's right side. Then, she reached for a fresh paper and began again.

Four-hundred and seventy-eight.

She was doing good progress today, a detached part of her mind informed her. She had only broken down in tears once so far. Good progress indeed.

The Markazian's pointy ears twitched slightly as a soft knock came from the door. Or what was left of it, anyway. Reconstruction teams had yet to assess damages on her floor, just as Talwyn had instructed them to do. There were more useful things to do than fixing a door.

"Come in," Talwyn said simply, not once looking up from her work. She had recognized the three knocks in quick succession easily enough, just as the sharp sound of steps approaching her desk.

"Good morning, ma'am," a polite voice rang out. "The dossier is ready as per your request."

She nodded, absentmindedly. "Thank you, Bradford. You can leave it here on my desk."

"Of course, ma'am." An info-pad was placed opposite to her, together with a steaming hot mug.

Talwyn froze, pen hanging in mid-air, and she looked up. Bradford stood there, hands behind his back, waiting. He was a tall, smartly dressed humanoid with greying hair and a thick moustache covering his upper lip, wearing a speckless uniform.

Talwyn's brows knitted together. "What is that, Bradford?"

"Cocoa, milk, and a touch of vanilla, ma'am. Your favourite."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Even the Captain-General ought to take a break sometimes," he said with a shrug.

"I don't need breaks."

"Of course you don't, ma'am, and we all admire your work ethic for that. But, as you're very fond of saying, 'pacing yourself is a fundamental skill to master'."

Talwyn's lips wrinkled around the corners of her mouth, but she made no reply. Eventually, after a few more moments of tense silence, she reached up with a hand and took the mug, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

She gave him a nod of appreciation, her tongue savouring the sweet warm liquid as it rushed down her throat. "That's … quite nice, actually. Thank you, Bradford."

"My pleasure, ma'am. And while we're at it, I might help you with all that paperwork. I'm sure if we go through it in two it will-"

"No," Talwyn stated flatly. She placed the cup back on the desk. "I'm doing this alone, Bradford. I owe them that much."

The comm-officer frowned, then grimaced. "Ma'am, with all due respect, I don't believe holding yourself responsible for Megalopolis will achieve anything but torture you further."

"I am responsible," Talwyn said, eyes narrowed. "I'm the Captain-General, remember? If there are planning failures of that scale, they go all the way back to the top. If there are shortcoming in our agents' overall preparation, then I'm directly responsible for not addressing them. That's what leadership is."

"I still don't believe you could have done anything different in such situation."

"Bradford. Enough." She did not raise her voice. Her icy tone was more than enough to indicate that the conversation was in fact over.

"Was there anything else you wanted to report?" she asked him as she went back to work, the soft scribbling from the pen filling again the air.

"Your appointments have been reshuffled as per your request. Aside from that, nothing more."

Talwyn nodded. "Good. You're dismissed, then."

"Ma'am." Bradford snapped smartly to attention before making a brisk exit.

Talwyn waited a few more moment, until she could no longer hear the disappearing echo of his footsteps, then looked back up. With a drawn-out, exhausted sigh, the Markazian leaned back in her chair. One hand went up and she massaged her temples.

Eventually, her gaze fell on the info-pad. Picking it up, Talwyn activated it with her touch and went through the information inside with well-practiced ease. A good chunk of those were already known to her and she thus skimmed quickly over them. Some of it was instead pure nonsense.

A snort escaped Talwyn as her gaze fell on a very original report about a ghost ship on the edge of the Zarkov Sector. Somebody in the Intelligence Department had clearly imagination aplenty, or quite the sense of humour. With a sweep of her hand, she pushed the file aside and kept on reading the rest.

Until she stopped.

She blinked, eyes scanning the lines of information a second time, just to make sure. Only then they widened.

"Stars above," Talwyn muttered under her breath. She had completely forgotten about that.

She sat the info-pad back down, then took a moment to adjust and straighten her uniform. One hand reached up the monitor in front and pressed the communicator's icon. "Bradford, are you still there?"

"Always, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"Have my hov-car readied and dispatch a small security team. I'm going to the Evergreen General Hospital, and I'll probably be absent for a while. Anything that doesn't have at least Priority Orange will wait until my return."

Talwyn heard a patient sigh from the other end. She didn't like it. It was the kind of sound Bradford always made when he disapproved of something.

"Of course. It will be done." A pause. "Ma'am, I hope you're not doing what I think you're about to d…"

"Bradford," she said, cutting him off. "This is not up for discussion. If you want to come along, you're welcomed to, but I don't want to hear any comment. Is that understood?"

There was one single moment of hesitation. "Understood, ma'am. Your transport will be waiting for you in the usual spot."

Talwyn switched off the comm. She strode out of her office shortly afterward, the Markazian's eyebrows knitted together in a deep frown. She was aware of only two ways this whole thing could play out in the end; Talwyn hated both of them.

"Hey, Grim. What's that thing?"

"Uh? Oh, you mean that." The Fongoid got up from the blueprint he was examining. He stroked his chin. "Well, you see, kid, that's an Altostratus 255."

"Wow," Ratchet nodded, eyes wide. Then, he tilted his head. "And what's an Alto … Altu …Astru?"

"Altostratus, kid. It's not that hard. And to answer that, it is a hov-car. A very good one."

"Really? You mean like the one we put together two weeks ago?"

Grim shook his head, grinning. "Oh, absolutely not! Not even close. You see, this is an Altostratus 255 Hov-Car. It's a miracle of Kerwanite engineering, a flying work of art. It's what you get when you combine acceleration, manoeuvrability and sheer engine power in one sleek chassis."

He shot Ratchet a look, and the young Lombax noted that his smile went now from one tusk to the other.

"This, kid, it's the car that comes out once in a generation," he announced. "If you're lucky, that is."

Ratchet listened silently, his big green eyes drawn to the vehicle like moths to a flame.

"Must have been really expensive then," he noted.

Grim scratched the back of his head. "Well, not exactly. It's a long story from my younger days. You remember what I always say, right?"

"That all your tools are off-limits, and I've got to ask your permission first?"

"No, not that one."

"Oh. So, that using a plasma cutter, a grav-lifter and an active ion core is a recipe for disaster?"

"That's very sound advice and I'm proud you still remember it, but no, it's not that."

Rachet knitted his eyebrows as he thought hard. Then it hit him.

"Always pay your mechanic?"

"Yup! That one. Needless to say, someone did not and that's why I've got hold of this beauty."

"Oh."

A few more moments of silence passed. Ratchet opened his mouth and was about to speak up.

"No, kid. You can't drive it."

He blinked. "But I haven't said anything yet!"

"No, but I know that look on your face. And my answer is no. It requires repairs anyway. Hasn't seen the light of day for a long time."

"I swear I'll be careful."

"No."

"Pleeeease?"

"Still no."

"But it's so cool!"

Grim frowned. He pinched his nose, humming thoughtfully, then shook his head. "Ah, screw it. How old are you, kid?"

"Not sure. Sixteen? I think sixteen."

"Good enough, I guess. Look, the Altostratus is not modular, so finding the right parts is gonna be a pain anyway, so here what we'll do," Grim explained. "This weekend, we're gonna check it and see what's missing, what's to be replaced and what not. Then, in between normal jobs, we can start working on it together. Yes, I said together. You're not touching it without my supervision."

Ratchet nodded dutifully.

"Then, if everything works out perfectly, and only once you're eighteen, then I may let you test for a little while. How does that sound to you, kid?"

The answer turned out to be a furball smashing against his waist and almost knocking him over.

"Yes! Yes! Thank you, Uncle Grim!" Ratchet squealed in delight as it clung on.

"Alright, alright, calm down, Ratch. Don't make me regret it, now." Grim said, though there was a satisfied smile on his face, tucked between his tusks. "Now, come on. Break's over. That tractor over there is not gonna fix by itself, you know."

"Ratchet? Ratchet, wake up."

The Lombax blinked, his eyes crawling open. Blinding light greeted him, made even more so as it reflected onto the pristine, white hospital's walls. Ratchet hissed softly in discomfort as he struggled to bring the world around him into focus. Eventually, he noticed the large outline standing by his side. He had a hand on his shoulder, gently trying to shake him awake.

For one, singular instant, Ratchet's heart jumped in his throat as more details came into view. The size, the shape, the broken left tusk … could it actually be …

No. His mind was just playing a trick on him. Again.

"Hey, Felton," he croaked, finally recognizing him. The disappointment left a bitter taste in his mouth, heart tightening painfully in his chest. Still, he made an effort to at least sound amicable.

"I thought you said you were gonna come back here in the morning," he said, struggling to suppress a yawn. He shifted in his seat; stabbing pain flared up in his lower back and Ratchet grimaced in discomfort. Whoever had designed the plastic chair he was currently using, Ratchet decided, had clearly been a sadist.

The larger Fongoid chuckled. "It kinda is though." Ratched blinked at him in confusion. Only as he glanced around, he noticed the sunlight filtering through half-shut curtains further down the corridor.

"Seems like I fell asleep then." It was Ratchet's turn to chuckle, ruefully this time. He tried to rub the torpor off his face with a gloved hand.

Felton nodded with a grunt, but remained silent for a few moments, eyebrows knitted together in a deep frow.

"Did they … well, did the doctors said anything?"

Ratchet shrugged, then shook his head. "Not really. At least not out loud." Seeing Felton's perplexed expression, Ratchet explained, "I, uh, I may have eavesdropped some of the staff here while they were on break. They …" He stopped, hesitating. His long ears dropped behind.

"They said nanites are not working well on his body, so they stopped that treatment. I think they're trying to save them for other patients, but they won't say it. For now, they think he's stable."

"I see. He's …" The Fongoid seemed to be about to say something else, but he evidently thought better of it.

"Grim is tough, you know," he suddenly added. "Real tough, even when we were still kids. Did he ever tell you that time back in high school we crashed an hov-car? That was wild. Still, I'm sure he'll be alright and back on his feet. That's just how he is."

He didn't sound very convinced. Still, Ratchet made the effort to nod along. He simply couldn't bring himself to disagree, despite the horrifying thoughts gnawing his insides. The Zoni knew that he needed all the encouragement he could get right now.

The image of Grim, his friend and mentor since childhood, laying unconscious on a medical cot, breathing slowly through a plastic tube shoved into his mouth, flashed again before his eyes, more vivid than it had any right to be. He could almost smell again the antiseptic in the air inside the small medical room, hear the soft beeping of medical instruments and consoles surrounding the Fongoid, keeping him alive.

His lips twitched and Ratchet struggled to suppress the snarl taking form. Once again, his eyes' corners felt suddenly wet.

He hated all of this; to feel so powerless, to just sit there and wait for something, anything to happen. He could face life-threatening situations, waltz through firefights as if they were nothing; danger was something Ratchet had grown quite comfortable with over the years. Give him a supervillain, a galaxy-wide threat, any day of the week. But now? None of his previous experience mattered. He could do nothing.

"Why don't you take a break? You've been here for how long, a week?" Suddenly ripped away from his thoughts, Ratchet glanced up at the Fongoid -due to the noticeable difference in size between the two-, frowning as he did so.

"I'm alright. I don't need it."

"Maybe, but I think you should." He beckoned with his head to somewhere behind. "There are some visitors at the entrance for you. Official looking types; they look like PDF if you ask me."

Ratchet arched an eyebrow, momentarily at least. "I'm not really in the mood right now. What do they want?"

"Well, I'm not actually sure. See, there was this Markazian woman tha-" He failed to go any further; no sooner had those words left his mouth that Ratchet shot up from his seat.

"What?! Where?"

"Down the entrance, as I've said. She was-" But once again, Ratchet didn't let him finish. His mind was racing by then, and the Lombax broke into a run down the corridor. He managed only to convey a half-mumbled apology to a startled Fongoid.

"I have a visual on him."

From his concealed position, Stopec lowered his binoculars as he felt something stir by his side. Vilke had pulled away part of his camo-cloak and now had a plasma carabine in his claws. The barrel rested against a low-hanging water tube, snaking across the rooftop before the two pathfinders. The weapon's stock was tucked snuggly against his shoulder.

Stopec observed his partner as he peered through the weapon's enhanced optics, a clawed finger caressing the trigger. His coiled tail twitched slightly behind. He knew the meaning behind those signs; Vilke was reading a shot.

Slowly and with deliberate calm, Stopec reached up and placed a firm hand on the weapon's barrel, keeping it in place.

"No, Brother. Stay your hand," he hissed. "He's not to die now."

Vilke remained silent. Of his four eyes, only one snapped to the side to glare at him. He snarled though, razor-sharp teeth catching the sunlight and glistening.

"She has placed him on our path. How can we refuse such an offering?"

Stopec shook his head. "We cannot be impatient, not now. We slay him here, and we will only warn the others of our presence."

"There are no others," Vilke hissed back. "We scoured this entire damned place. He's the only one of his kind here."

"Still, our orders stand." His companion tried to turn the weapon so to keep the target in his sight as he moved away, but Stopec kept it in place effortlessly thanks to his larger bulk.

Eventually, Vilke gave up, and the carabine returned beneath the folds of his camo-cloak, much to Stopec's relief. Reckless action had cost them too much one time already. It simply couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"She had placed him in our path," he repeated hoarsely. Stopec narrowed his two pair of eyes in irritation.

"Keep your impudence in check, Brother! And do not even dare to assume you know what Her wishes are!" He turned back to peer through his binoculars, but it was too late. The Lombax had already disappeared from the large hospital's windows.

He glanced at Vilke, crouched by his side. "We go back now. The bait has been readied, and now we wait for him to spring it. We do not act on our own. New orders will be waiting for us back at base." As he spoke, a hand-held communicator disappeared inside one of his suit's pouches.

"And what if the orders are to kill him, uh?" he countered.

Stopec grimaced for a moment, but managed to keep himself from snapping outright at him. Vilke was still young, he reminded himself. His commitment to their cause was unquestionable but, putting everything else aside, he was still young.

"Then, if those are Her wishes," Stopec said quietly, just as a soft grin formed on his lips, "We will finally have our vengeance for Fastoon. Come now, we head back."

Dirty-grey camo-cloak secured tightly around their scaly bodies, the pair of pathfinders slipped away from the rooftop and into the backstreet behind, where an unmarked hov-vehicle stood waiting for them. None had noticed their arrival the day prior; and just like that, none would notice their departure.

"So, let's see if I'm understanding this correctly," Talwyn was saying, "You took the Dimensionator, an extremely dangerous instrument of which we know worryingly little, and brought it to your garage; the same one -mind you- that Vendra used to slice open an interdimensional hole so to let in a floating, battleship-sized, one-eyed thing into Meridian City. And you decided to repair it."

"Well, actually …" Clank tried to interject.

"Then, after repairing it, you decided to present it during a public event. You also forgot to warn me or anyone in the PDF so that we could arrange for proper security in advance. And then, like icing on the cake, Nefarious swooped in and stole it right under both of your noses."

Clank chuckled ruefully. "I will admit that, upon a stricter review my actions, it was not the best course, and a more cautious approach might have been appropriate. Still, I do believe that neither of us could have foreseen …"

"I'm not finished yet, Clank." Talwyn sighed, one hand reaching up to swipe a tuft of hair off her face. "So, all of that is why I received a panicked call from Megalopolis's mayor claiming that not one, but two Nefarious were attacking his city. And finally, on top of all that, I had to deal with the fact that one of those rifts had opened in my office and vomited out an entire nest of Sand Sharks across the whole floor."

"Oh dear. I was not aware of that. Are you alright?" Clank asked with evident concern.

"I had an Alpha Disruptor at hand and two weeks of pent-up frustration. That's not a question you should be asking at me."

"I … see," Clank said tentatively. "I am nevertheless glad that you are unharmed."

She nodded. "So am I." Her eyes wandered for a moment around to her surroundings. The hospital's reception bustled with activity, although to a level significantly lower level that it had been two weeks prior. Talwyn grimaced as memories of those days surged back; when the dimensional catastrophe had occurred, most of Igliak health services had nearly been overwhelmed right there. Still, she was confident that, as bad as it had been in the Polaris Core, what the more distant sectors had experienced was ten time worse.

She pushed those thoughts away with a scowl. That was not something she wanted to deal with, not right now at least.

"So, how are you guys holding up by the way?" Talwyn said, forcing a smile.

"Quite well. Our recent forays into different dimensions have tickled my curiosity, I must admit, and I have no doubt there are many things yet to be learned. Me and Kit have been exchanging notes ever since."

Talwyn frowned for a moment. "Who? Oh, you mean your new robot friend. How does that work by the way? Is she like a version of you from another dimension? Are you a version of her in another dimension?"

Clank paused, one hand tapping at his chin as he pondered the matter. "I am … uncertain," he finally said, slowly.

"Do you think there's another me too, out there?"

Clank blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"It sounds stupid I know, but if Ratchet, Quark, and even Nefarious have their own, well…" She shook her head. "I was just curious."

"We did not have the time to check," he mused, "but if you wish to know I could message Rivet and ask her-"

"Maybe another time. I barely have the time for myself these days, never mind a second me." Talwyn let out a brief chortle, then her expression turned suddenly serious.

"By the way, Clank, how … how is Ratchet?"

The bot paused for a moment. "His health parameters are all well withing acceptable conditions."

"Good. That's not what I asked though."

"I know," Clank admitted. "I'm afraid that is as far as I know."

"That bad, uh?"

He shook his head. "The situation is complicated."

"Talwyn?"

The voice was familiar, and Talwyn's eyes immediately snapped to the side, toward a very familiar-looking, long-eared figure. Although they had not seen one another in quite some time, Ratchet had not changed that much. Still, the signs of weariness were all there and easy enough to spot, from the dark circles around his eyes to the unkept fuzz beneath his chin.

Nevertheless, Talwyn smiled warmly at him. "Hi there, Ratchet. It has been a while, hasn't it?" She shot Clank a sidelong glance. "Clank, would mind, uh …"

The small bot nodded, quickly getting the hint. "Of course, I'll leave you some privacy. Besides, I've heard the Evergreen General Hospital has an extensive conservatory. I'll go check if they still do guided tours."

He and Ratchet exchanged a quick grin and a fist bump before the bot wandered off, disappearing behind a corner leading deeper into the complex. Now that the two of them were finally alone though, a sudden unease settled in, as both for a few moments refused to make eye contact.

"I …" Ratchet began after a while, scratching the back of his head. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

Talwyn chuckled. "Well, that's not exactly the greeting I'd imagined, but I guess that it'll do."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry," he said with evident embarrassment. "It's true though. I thought you were busy with the Polaris Defence Force."

"I am, unfortunately. Still, being the boss means that sometimes you can take a five-minute break." Her grin faded, replaced by a much more serious frown. "How are you holding up?"

"Nothing much to say, really," Ratchet said with a shrug. "I'm managing."

She nodded. "I see. I … I've heard that Grim's condition have improved so far." She shook her head. "How is he?"

Ratchet raised an eyebrow. "How do you kn- oh right. You're Captain of the PDF. That was a dumb question." He drew a deep breath. "He's … stable. For now. The doctors don't speak much about it."

She nodded. Knowing the influx of patients, those same doctors were working overtime. "I'm sure he'll be alright."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. That's what everybody keeps saying anyway. First Clank, then the doctors, then Felton, and now you too," Ratchet all but growled. He blinked, seemingly realizing what he'd just said.

"I'm … I'm sorry, Tal. That was uncalled for. It's just that … I…" Rachet shook his head, seemingly lost for words.

"Don't worry. I know how if feels." She reached up with a hand, placing it on his shoulder. "Do you need a moment?"

"I'm fine, really. You don't need to worry. Besides, you didn't come all this way just to hear me complain, right?"

The Markazian nodded. "I'm afraid so." Without paying attention to it, she bit her lower lip. There was no way to go around it. "Look, Ratchet, you remember when I promised you that the PDF would open an investigation on the incident regarding the starcruiser Calypso?"

Ratchet ears shot briefly upward. "Uh? You mean the ship where Grim was aboard? Yeah, I remember that."

Talwyn nodded in confirmation. "Yes, that. I assigned a team on it a week ago, but we're already stretching our manpower thin as it is so, well …" She paused, although judging from Ratchet's expression, he didn't need to hear the rest.

"You're ending it, aren't you?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do more, but so far we've reached a dead end and I can't no longer spare the men."

Ratchet's lips quivered for a moment, his ears dropping behind. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in a deep breath. "No, it's … it's alright. It was a long shot anyway. You already did more than I'd hoped you would."

His eyes blinked open again, and he shook his head. "Honestly, I don't even know what I was hoping you'd find really. You can't exactly charge a dimensional rift for that incident, uh? I guess … I guess I just didn't want to admit that it was all my fault-"

Ratchet didn't get to finish the sentence, as he found something pressed against him. He blinked in surprise as he realized that Talwyn was hugging him, arms wrapped tight around his neck, her head pressed into his shoulder.

"Tal? What are you…"

"Stop it."

"I … what?"

"You heard me. I said to stop it." Talwyn pulled her head back and looked at him, her hard, determined eyes boring deep straight into his. "I know what you're doing, Ratch. You're about to blame yourself for something out of your control. So, I'm telling you right now; don't you dare do it again."

Ratchet was about to rebuke, but some part of his brain was telling him to shut up right now. And, surprisingly, he did listen to it for once.

"I've heard about Megalopolis, Ratchet. I've lost many, too many colleagues when that second Nefarious came through the rift. But despite everything, I know it would have been much worse had you not intervened. Many of my boys and gals returned to their families because of you; so, for once, try and be proud of what you did, alright?"

Ratchet remained silent, and not for loss of words. Rather, too much was going through his mind in that moment. Still, as he looked at her, he couldn't help but let a tender smile spread on his lips.

"I mean, how can I disobey a direct order from the Captain of the Polaris Defence Force?"

Talwyn grinned. "You really insist on being a smartass all the time. Don't you ever take a break?"

"We've dated for a while, haven't we? I thought you knew the answer already."

"Aaand, you had to bring that one up, didn't you?"

A hint of red touched Ratchet's cheek. Still, the smile didn't waver. "Right. Sorry. I just couldn't resist."

"Ma'am? I don't mean to interrupt, but your presence is requested back to the HQ." A voice from somewhere behind interrupted their moment. Talwyn let out an annoyed sigh before breaking off from the embrace.

"Bradford, what did I said about being disturbed?"

The lanky humanoid stepped into view, seemingly out of nowhere. "That anything below Code Orange was to be handled locally," he repeated dutifully, a data-pad in his hands. "Unfortunately, ma'am, it appears we have just that on our hands."

Talwyn blinked. "What? Who declared it?"

"The vice-president."

"Oh, that son of a …" She scowled, but bit her tongue just in time. "Alright, start up the vehicle. I will have a thorough conversation with him once we get back."

"Yes, ma'am."

After nodding quickly in response, she turned her attention back to Ratchet. "Forgive me, but work is burying me alive these days. Mind if we continue the conversation later?"

Ratchet shook his head. "Not at all, Tal. You know where to find me anyway."

She smiled at him, gratefully. "You and Clank just stay out of trouble, alright?"

"We can try, but you know how it is. They seem to always find us."

Talwyn said nothing, except chuckling in amusement. Stepping closer, she planted a kiss on his cheek. Blinking, he gave her a quizzical look.

"Just take care of yourself, ok? Promise me this."

"Alright, alright. I promise. You'd better go now, though. You don't want to anger the vice-president because of me, now, do you?" The Markazian only response was a shake of her head before making her way outside.

Through the glass panes of the automatic doors, Ratchet watched as Talwyn climbed aboard a blue-and-white hov-car. She stopped for a moment though, and glanced back at him, grinning one last time before disappearing inside. Ratchet smiled back, although he wasn't sure she could see him.

Silently, the PDF hov-car rose a few dozen feet from the ground, before veering about and accelerating away, far from his view.

Ratchet sighed. He was about to walk away too and check on Felton, maybe even see what Clank was doing. A soft beeping from his communicator stopped him though. An incoming call.

Perhaps it was indeed Clank, he mused. He brought up the small pad on his glove to accept the call … and then stopped, both eyebrows furrowing. It wasn't from Clank. For that matter he didn't even know who was calling him; the signal lacked any ID.

He tapped the pad anyway though, and accepted the call, out of curiosity mostly.

"Ratchet here."

No answer came from the other side, aside from a soft clicking and buzzing of electronics. Ratchet's frow only deepened.

"Hello? Anybody there?"

"The attack upon the starcruiser Calypso was no accident, Lombax," a voice from the other end suddenly spoke up. "You may in fact consider it as our personal declaration of war, although perhaps calling it a 'reignition of hostilities' is more accurate."

Ratchet froze, fur standing on end as a chill run through his entire body. His confusion was momentary though, for something else seeped inside his bones, something rawer and hotter.

"Is this …" Ratched tried to speak, his lip quivering in fury. "Who are you? What's this, some kind of sick joke?"

"Hardly. I should know it better than anyone else. After all, I've personally placed the plasma charge on the passenger deck." There was a chuckle. "PDF authorities are a bit lax on security, you know. Still, you should be thankful. Had I managed to smuggle a more powerful charge on board, there wouldn't be much left of your friend."

Ratchet's lips twisted in a snarl of pure, burning hatred. He grinded his teeth together. The very thought that someone had deliberately hurt Grim, filled with something he had not experienced in a long time.

"You … you motherfu-"

"Angry, Lombax? Come to me, then. Come to Basilisk III. Bring your weapons, your friends, your FURY!" the voice roared in his ear. "She has promised us this fight for almost thirty years. Don't you dare to disappoint us."

Ratchet blinked. "Wait, she? Who are you talking about? Who are you?" But by then, the signal was already gone.

"Still nothing from them?"

"You mean Ratchet and Clank?" Kit inquired as she looked up from her notes, papers scattered all over and around the console.

Rivet rolled her eyes impatiently. "Who else? Yes, of course I mean them. Didn't you and Clank put together that whole communicator-gizmo?"

Kit's lenses went slant in a frown. "You mean the Extradimensional Rift-based High-Speed Communicator?"

The Lombax gave her a sceptical glance before shaking her head. "I … I'm not even gonna try and say its name, but yes, that. Still nothing? Not even a tiny signal?"

"I'm sorry, Rivet," the bot replied, "but there has not been any activity from their side so far."

Rivet scowled, eyes narrowing to slits, but said nothing. Once back in her hideout, the Lombax would often don a more casual attire rather than her suit. Today, however, it was a bit different, and she wore her training outfit, consisting of a close-fitting t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and practice boots. A towel laid on her artificial shoulder, and droplets of sweat glistened on her fur.

Kit had not been with her for long but, in the time she had spent there, she had quickly picked up on a few things. For example, Rivet often performed some intense sparring to better handle stress. Said sparring often involved subjecting a poor sand-filled bag to what amounted a fifteen minute-long beatdown, followed by a five-minute break, only to then having another go at it.

Indeed, Kit had to merely shot a glance to the side to catch a glimpse of her training area nearby. The punching bag was there, hanging limply by a chain secured to a support. There was a wide gash in the fabric, and sand poured out and onto the floor in ever-increasing mound. That was the second time that week it had happened.

Eventually, Kit decided to go ahead and ask it. "Rivet, are you … worried?" The Lombax ears flicked upward.

"What? Me?" She shook her head, placing both hands on her hips in a show of confidence. "Not a chance. You must be imagining things. Do I look worried to you?"

"Well no, but my sensors have detected in multiple occasion sudden spikes in your heartbeat and so I assumed-"

"Hold up just a moment," Rivet cut in, eyes narrowing on her. "Who said you could check on my heartbeat without my permission, uh?"

"I …well-" Kit hesitated, caught unprepared by the sudden shift. Personal boundaries were in fact one of those new things she was struggling most. Combine that with the previous history between her and Rivet, with all that entailed, and it was no surprise things could get … heated.

"I-I did not wish to intrude on you, of course, and I apologize for that. It won't happen again. I was just worried for you, that's all."

Rivet shot her a suspicious look. Her lips parted momentarily, as if she wanted to add something, but nothing came out. Finally, she gave Kit a headshake and sighed, deeply.

"Nah, that's alright, don't worry. I kinda overstepped right there. It's just …" She clenched her prosthetic hand in a tight fist. "I just wish they would call, you know? Especially Ratchet. Heck, last time I saw him he was white as a sheet. I could have sworn he was about to drop dead right there! Did at least Clank said something on where they were going?"

Kit shook her head. "I remember him mentioning about a friend of them getting hurt, but he did not elaborate further. I'm sure that whatever emergency required their attention they have it under control."

Rivet grimaced, but said nothing more, limiting herself to an absent nod. She remained silent for a few moments, eyes wandering about the room.

"What if we try and call them?" Rivet suddenly asked, just as Kit was about to turn back on her work. "If there's trouble, maybe we can help them or something."

"We could certainly try, yes …" Kit mused, although the uncertainty was evident in her voice. Even if contacts between her and Clank had been scarce in the last three days, the bot had been more than eager to share his notes with her. The Rift-based Communicator was still barely out the prototype stage after all, and thusly there was ample room for improvement.

She liked working with Clank; he reminded her that she was more than just a walking arsenal squeezed inside a tiny body.

For that very reason Kit was now hesitating, tapping with a metal digit on her chin. On one hand, she was eager to get back to work and show Clank the optimizations she had been planning for the device they'd built together.

She frowned; on the other though, she could understand where Rivet was coming from. If their fight against Emperor Nefarious had taught them anything was that those two could deal with most problems without breaking a sweat, and yet Kit had to admit she was a bit worried by their prolonged silence.

In the end, she didn't have to choose. The large monitor on the wall burst to life.

"We have an incoming transmission," Kit said, whirling her head toward it. Her sensors barely managed to register the blurring mass of white fur as the Lombax whizzed past her and across the room in the blink of an eye.

"You think it's them?" Rivet blurted out in excitement, fingers punching buttons on the keyboard in quick succession.

"That is unlikely, I'm afraid," Kit explained. The little bot jumped down from her seat and made her way next to her. "Me and Clank have synced our respective ends of the Extradimensional Rift-based High-Speed Communicator with our own operative systems. That way we can be warned a minute or so in advance if it comes onl-" She stopped talking as she realized that Rivet wasn't really paying attention to her explanation, the Lombax's whole attention devoted to the monitor.

The screen flickered for a moment as the image of an alien took shape on the screen.

"Well, would you look at that. If it isn't my favourite girl." The figure grinned. He wore a worn-out flight suit, leather straps hanging loose on his chest, and a piloting cap. The most outstanding feature, however, was probably the single eye. "How are you doing, Rivet?"

"Hi there, Clatchky," Rivet grinned back, hands planted on her hips. "Nice of you to finally remember to call once in a while. Yeah, I'm alright. Just doing the usual. Training, weapons testing, finally enjoying a break, and all the stuff that comes with finally winning. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do. Can't believe I missed the celebrations back at Zurkie's by the way, but someone had to start planning for the future now that Nefarious is out. I hope you and Phantom saved a bottle or two for me."

Rivet barked a laugh. "You didn't call just because you wanted to get hammered, right?" Her friend shook his head.

"Believe me, I wished I did. But we've got some serious business on our hands right now, so we're calling all hands back on deck for this one. And no, I'm not exaggerating. I mean all of them."

Rivet let out a long whistle. "Sounds serious."

"Oh, it is." On the screen, they both saw Clatchky grinning broadly. "We've found Nefarious's Assistant. And I'm not talking about some blurry holo-picture or some back-alley rumours, no. This time we've gotten a solid identification. It's definitely her."

Immediately, Kit noticed the sudden shift in Rivet's entire body as soon as she heard that. White fur bristled; ears went rigid behind her head; the beginning of a ferocious snarl took form on her lips.

"Where?" Rivet asked, her tone barely more than a hiss as she leaned forward toward the monitor. "Where is she?"

"Markazia," Clatchky said with a grimace. "That damn bot has spent the last week emptying all surrounding Imperial planetary garrisons, concentrating them all there. My guess is that she's got right now between six and nine Legions under her command. She's definitely readying for something, no doubt about that."

Rivet bit her lips in annoyance, eyes narrowing. Kit remained silent by her side, her processor elaborating data at lighting speed. If the information stored in her databanks from her days as a warbot fighting for Emperor Nefarious were still correct, nothing of what Clatchky had just told them was good news.

An Imperial Legion was made up of six thousand warbots on average, divided then into smaller sub-units of varying sizes, depending on the model or the task required. Now, it was true that the Battle of Megalopolis, as some had started to call it, had irreversibly damaged the Emperor's forces, combined with the nearly-constant uprisings as more and more planets saw the chance to finally regain their freedom.

Still, even accounting on the possibility of none of those legions being beyond half-strength, that still left thirty thousand warbots fully operational at minimum. Kit felt something akin to a shiver run through her chassis. A force that large could do a lot of damage.

Clatchky furrowed his only eyebrow. "Look, Riv, I know you said you wanted to take a break and think about the future, but right now we really nee-"

"I'm in."

Kit blinked, sensors widening at Rivet. Before she could raise her concerns though, Clatchky was already grinning broadly.

"Ha! Ready to dive back into the fight, aren't we? Glad to have you back on board though. That will teach Phantom to keep his damn mouth shut once in a while." She shook her head.

"Anyway, I'll be sending you a briefing in a couple of minutes. This is big, so we're gathering a strike team from multiple resistance cells, not just ours. I guess I'll see you both at the gathering point."

"Got it. I'll be there. You guys make sure to wait for me," Rivet said as she terminated the communication. The screen went black again.

For a few moments, Rivet stood immobile, hardened eyes staring at it. Her prosthetic hand opened and closed in quick succession; one eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. There was something else in her gaze though, something that Kit didn't know how to properly describe. Was it pain? Maybe anger?

"Ahem, Rivet?" Kit ventured after a while, worried. "Are you-"

"Yeah. I'm alright," the Lombax blurted out. "I'm alright." Whatever emotion she had been showing a moment before, it quickly dissipated, only to be replaced by cold determination.

"Better start packing, Kit. We're gonna be away for a while."

Kit blinked. "How much is this while, exactly?" Rivet shrugged in response.

"Can't say for sure. Maybe a couple of days, maybe more. We'll stay there as long as it's necessary."

"I see." Kit paused. "What about Ratchet and Clank? Should we warn them?"

For a brief moment, uncertainty flashed across her eyes, her stoic façade cracking open. It was a quick though. Rivet shook her head, regaining her cool back. "They … they'll have to wait. I'm the one who failed to get the Assistant back on Zordoom, and now she's causing trouble out there because of me." Her teeth flashed. "I'm not dragging anyone else in this mess. I have to deal with it on my own."

Kit blinked, tilting her head to one side. "You meant that we have to deal with it, right?"

Rivet shoot her an appraising, and equally curious, glance. Her lips' corners twitched upward, forming something that could be called, after some squinting, a smile.

"Well, we did work pretty well together back on Megalopolis, didn't we? And I guess it's time for me to stop flying solo." The Lombax shrugged. "Sure. You can come along. Ever broke into an Imperial facility before?"

Kit frowned. "I … I don't think so?"

"It's alright, don't worry about it. There's a first time for everything. Just keep in mind that plans usually go wrong, so-" She loudly snapped her metallic fingers. "Always be ready to improvise on the fly."

Kit wasn't sure if that was meant to be either a warning or an encouragement. Knowing Rivet, perhaps it was a bit of both. Still, she nodded her head in acknowledgement. Clank had said that kind of things took effort and time, right? Well, that looked as a good place as any to properly start.

Kit just hoped she would get the chance to finish it too.

Author's Note: Writing the second chapter made me realize a couple of things. First of all, despite a lot of trying on my part, keeping chapters at around five thousand words will probably not be possible, not always at least. I was even tempted to just break the chapter in two, but I decided against it. I have a couple of things in mind for the third chapter anyway.

And secondly, splitting the beginning in two separate arcs for Ratchet and Rivet is a better idea than my original project. Will it make the story longer? Probably, but I want to avoid scenes too cluttered, with me joustling four main characters (and by that I mean I don't trust my ability as a writer at that, not yet anyway). Still, I've got already a few ideas for that and, if I manage to implement them properly, the Markazia Arc will be a wild one for sure.

Until next time