…

The Fount

…

Araxes landed in a flurry in the Fount's central courtyard. Helena was already running up to the nearest guard, who had stiffened at the sight of the two Overlanders on Araxes's back. "Where's the Queen? I must speak with her urgently!"

The guard frowned, hand on the hilt of his sword. "How dare you bring more of your filth here, Overlander. The Queen's orders were specific."

Helena shook her head frantically. "Never mind that. The cutters are marching! They'll be here soon!"

The assembled crowd gasped, and it quickly dissolved into panic. Civilians started running in every which direction, packing up their things and items from the market and refugee tents and running. To where, Helena had no clue. The port? Luxa had commissioned more ships, but there were still not enough to carry the entire human population of the Underland.

Taking in the situation around him, the guard turned back to Helena. "Come with me, Overlander, and bring your kind with you. I don't trust letting them out of my sight."

"No need," a new voice said. "I am right here." Helena looked over the guard's shoulder and noticed Queen Luxa approaching, shoulders set. Gregor and Hazard flanked her.

The guard bowed his head and stepped aside. "Your Highness," he said with reverence.

She raised her hand towards him. "Rally the guard and coordinate this chaos. Women and children will board the ships first. Able bodied warriors to the walls. I will not have this city descend into panic."

He jumped at her command. "At once, Your Highness!" He darted off, already barking orders at the nearest soldiers.

Luxa's gaze turned to Helena, and she did her best not to wither under the Queen's glare. "I trusted you enough to let you leave these walls, and this is how you reward me? Showing the enemy exactly where we are, practically outlining an attack route for them?"

"My Queen," Mareth said, stepping out from behind Helena. "The situation in the Overland may have changed. These Overlanders were sent by Gregor's father."

Gregor darted forward, anxiety written all over his face. "My father? What did he say?"

Mariana stepped forward. "Greetings, Gregor. My colleague and I mean the Underland no harm. In fact, we mean to protect it. So does the American public. Your father interviewed with the New York Times and revealed the truth of the Underland to the world. The people above have flocked to your side, toppling the government that so wished to destroy you and replacing it with one that wishes to aid you."

Luxa frowned. "Your people choose governments… up there? What a foolish idea."

Gregor's eyes lit up. "That's fantastic! That means the Overlander Invasion is no more!" A massive weight seemed to have lifted from the Warrior's shoulders. "And my family is safe."

Luxa didn't seem nearly as happy, staring down Mariana. "What does this new government want with us?" Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword.

Mariana hesitated, eyes flicking from Gregor back to Luxa. "Gregor's father has offered to reveal the location of the second entrance to the Underland to the new American government, so that their soldiers may assist you with any crisis that might be unfolding down here." She pointedly gestured around them as soldiers rushed to man the walls.

Luxa's face twisted into something ugly. "Absolutely not. Never again will I trust these Overlanders. They came into my home, shot my people, and allied with the cutters."

Gregor put a hand on Luxa's shoulder. "Luxa, they're not the same people—"

Luxa whirled on him. "I will not trust them," she hissed. Gregor took a step back, eyes wide.

A guard ran up. "Your Majesty! There's a riot at the docks!"

Luxa shook her head, and the rage disappeared as fast as it had come. "My people need me. Gregor, if you are truly an Underlander, you will escort Helena and these two Overlanders to the prison." She hesitated, looking at Mareth. "Don't let her wiles fool you."

Mareth blinked, but Luxa was already off, making for the docks with her guards in tow. Gregor, Hazard, Helena, Mareth, Mariana, and August all stood in a stupor. "So…" Helena asked with a small voice, staring at Gregor. "Are you going to obey her order?"

Her words seemed to snap Gregor out of his trance. "No," he said softly. "She's consumed by her anger. We must act to save the Underland in the way we know how, even if she hates us for it." Hates him, he meant, or at least Helena figured.

Araxes leaned down. "So what do we do?" he purred. Helena was stunned by the bat's question. When had he been won over?

Gregor's expression tightened. "Hazard. Find the flier ambassador. Get her to send messengers out in every direction, post haste. We desperately need those gnawer, spinner, nibbler, and flier reinforcements."

Hazard jumped. "On it!" He took off immediately.

Gregor turned to Mareth. "Take these Overlanders back to the Overland on Araxes," he said. "Get the Americans to understand the urgency of the situation. We need their soldiers and their guns immediately. They will certainly arrive late, but we can only hope not too late. I've seen the cutter army. We will not stop them without modern technology."

Araxes lowered himself, and the two Overlanders were already climbing back up the bat. Mareth moved to follow them. "What about you?" he asked.

Gregor turned to Helena. "You know the cutter territory better than anyone. You and I are going to the heart of the nest to kill the problem at its source: the Queen."

Cold fear ran through Helena. No, this was all happening too fast. She gulped. "Won't you be needed here?"

Gregor shook his head. "If we kill the Queen, it might completely stop the attack. Ants above take orders from their Queen, and without a Queen, they wander directionless and quickly die. While I'm sure I could be of use to the defense here, if we can stop this attack at its source, well, there's no more important place for me to be. Her defenses will be lighter due to the amount of cutters she is committing to this assault, but it'll still take a rager to cut through them. It'll be dangerous."

He paused, looking at her sharply. "I need you to lead me to the Queen. However, there may be no coming back from this. Are you with me?"

Helena hesitated, and then she remembered Ripred, raging and spinning against the enemy despite the odds. She had to dare to hope. She couldn't live in fear anymore.

"Yes," she said simply. Into the belly of the beast she went.

…

New York City

…

James had been in yet another interview when he'd been roughly pulled out of it and told the news. Agents Orange and Black had returned—with an Underlander—crying for help against a cutter invasion. And so to war the Overland went.

Five square blocks around his family's old apartment complex had been completely blocked off. James watched as soldiers dressed in black geared up outside. AK-47s, headlamps, endless rounds of ammunition. The American government was certainly taking the abrupt request for aid seriously. Maybe they saw this as an opportunity to make amends with the Underlanders.

Or establish a permanent foothold in the Underland once and for all.

James shook his head. Now was not the time for such thoughts. One threat at a time. He'd contemplated that risk well before he'd asked Agent Orange and Black to go and check on his son.

Captain Johnston jogged up to him, already fully equipped. "Are you sure you want to come with us, sir?" he asked.

James nodded. His family didn't know. Hopefully they wouldn't know until this was all over. He thanked God that he had been separated from his family when the news had broken. "I'm needed down there, in case tensions rise with the Underlanders." His son needed him. "Gear me up. I know my way around a gun."

The captain hesitated, listening to something in his earpiece. Likely a superior comparing the potential optics of his death in the Underland, versus the optics of being refused to help his son. The decision came back quickly and as he'd predicted. "You may come," the captain said, "but you'll stay at the back. My soldiers need to run a tight operation."

"That is agreeable," James said, bowing his head, but inside, he was laughing. There was no such thing as a tight operation in the Underland. He knew it would go to chaos, and when it did, he would be there for his son.

Captain Johnston looked him up and down and gave him a short nod. "Alright then. Five minutes, and we go. From the sounds of it, we don't have a moment to spare." He stormed off.

As a man started strapping on a bulletproof vest to his torso, James noticed Mareth standing off to one side, not seeming to know what to do as Orange and Black bickered in their usual ways.

He beckoned him over with one hand. "How's my son? What did you see?"

Mareth hesitated. "He's put the weight of the Underland on his shoulders once more," he said simply.

James let out something of a strangled laugh, remembering the first time he'd seen his boy again after being a prisoner of the rats for almost three years. Gregor's shoulders set back, eyes determined, the weight of a quest and an entire people on his twelve year old shoulders. Determined to leap. "That sounds like him," James said.

"Constant war, since he's known us. Yet he loves us. Loves her," Mareth observed.

James let out a long sigh. "I know," he said.

A siren blared, and a voice came over a loudspeaker. "One minute until go time. Get into positions! We can only descend through the grate one at a time."

The man finished equipping him with his gear and there James stood, staring at the old entrance to his apartment building in full military gear. He could never have imagined such a moment. How ridiculous this whole situation was, he thought. All because he was curious about the wind he heard behind the washing machine all that time ago.

It was in the past now. He was a man, and he could make peace with this strange fate, as long as his family made it out alright. James's muscles tensed in anticipation. It was finally time to go save his son.

…

Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York

…

In the end, Mr. Barwell simply walked out of the prison.

He'd been given his own cell at the far end of the west wing of the prison, isolated away from the other prisoners. He'd been due to be transferred to a maximum security prison at the end of the month, where he was supposed to serve three consecutive life sentences. What a joke.

Two men in suits walked on either side of him, their black aviators masking their eyes. Both men were taller than him, but they walked with a sort of deference to him, as if they were afraid of what he'd do. A part of him was pleased at having power once again after weeks in a cramped cell. Another part of him wished that the men wouldn't treat him like such. All he'd done, all he'd ever done, was for the best of the Republic.

Mr. Barwell turned a corner and walked into the main stretch of the prison, where men clanged on their bars and shouted at him as he walked by. He allowed himself a small smile. It was because of him and men like him that this Republic remained safe from monsters like these.

In a way, though, he also sympathized with the prisoners. At the very least, these men understood the reality of the world. How cold, how cruel it was. How fragile society really was. Mr. Barwell and his predecessors had gone to great lengths with extreme prejudice to preserve America's internal peace and hegemony. In the end, he cared little whether or not the Underlanders actually were a threat. The fact was that they one day could be. A fragile archaic monarchy, gigantic rats, ants, and bats? Constant war and bloodshed? It was a relic of a time best left buried and forgotten. Such a world could not coexist with the United States, of that Mr. Barwell was certain. Thus, it had to be destroyed. He didn't have any particular hate for the Underlanders, unlike some of the sadistic soldiers he had gone out of his way to hire. No, the Underlanders simply had to go. It was cold, hard, cruel. And necessary.

The two grand doors at the entrance swung open. There, by the door, the grand warden was being held at gunpoint by his men. Mr. Barwell looked out to the street. The black sedan's engine was already whirring, the door open for him. They didn't have much time to make this plan work. Mr. Barwell slid into the back seat of the sedan, and the door was shut behind him.

There, next to him, he was surprised to see a woman. She looked remarkably average, one your eyes would gloss over even in a small social setting. "Do you have a message?" he asked as the sedan pulled away.

"Yes, from the Bureaucracy," she said. "They believe that after the cutters are defeated, the Queen and her retinue will likely be invited to New York to sign a peace treaty of some kind. That will be the best time to strike."

Mr. Barwell nodded. He'd hypothesized as such. "Yes. Are the preparations complete?"

She nodded. "Yes. The gun will be waiting for you in the building. It will be loaded. Next to you will be the explosive, for…" she trailed off.

Oh, yes. He wouldn't be walking away from this one. He would not serve a life sentence for doing his job. Instead, he would die doing what he'd always done: protecting the stability of America. His home.

The woman's face scrunched in what Mr. Barwell could almost pretend was sympathy. "You did great service to the Bureaucracy as director of the FBI, Mr. Barwell," she said. "You are to be commended."

He ignored her. He didn't expect or want thanks for what he was doing. It was dirty work. But maybe one day, historians would look back and realize that his measures were correct. That was enough for him. "How long before my escape becomes known?"

She checked her watch. "You likely have hours still. We've kept containment on the prison, and everything looks normal from the outside. Evidence is being placed as we speak. This will be framed as an internal FBI revolt, an unfortunate tragedy that implicates no one but yourself and your men."

He smiled. Now that was cold, hard, and logical. "Good. If your end is tidied up, I am good to go on my end." He saw it in his mind's eye already. His last mission. His fate.

Him, assassinating the Queen of the Underland.

…

Author's Note

Just when it looked like we were heading for a simplistic "everyone vs. cutters" ending, Mr. Barwell is back and up to no good…