Another chapter! Go Go Go

Armour: None

Weapon: None

Acc(0/12)

Health: (10/500) Dismembered.

'Coming through! Clear the way!'

*rumble-clank*

The Cyborg grunted as their dinky little truck bounced its way across the sea of jagged rubble. The blocks of concrete and rebar were so sharp and vicious looking that with each jolt, he was certain something would finally pierce one of their wheels and they'd be consigned to going the rest of the way by foot. But so far, those heroic little wheels were holding up, and their merry little band of overworked agents were getting whatever rest they could in the car. Hell, he only needed to sleep once every three days, but ever since he'd returned to The Capitol, they'd had him working 24 hour four day shifts to clear rubble and search for bodies within the Capitol's Western Metropolitan District. They still weren't done, but thankfully CC Central wasn't interested in working them to death quite just yet. They had two days off, and hell if he wasn't tired. Fuck. He was exhausted enough to just shut off right here.

"That Damn Resistance Terrarian... even if he weren't a terrorist, I'll kill him just because of all the overtime he's causing. Since when did CC Agents work construction? Goddamn - I didn't sign up for this."

"Brother, shut the fuck up about work. I've been doing this shit for three days and the first instant we're off you wanna complain about it? Save your breath. Use it to order us some food. It's your turn to pay and I think I could eat a cow."

"Fair enough. Chicken wings? I think it's one of the only places open at this hour."

At the mention of chicken wings, The Cyborg blinked back to attention and spoke up so the two in the front seat could hear him. He was feeling charitable today (he felt charitable most days) and fumbled a wad of cash out to wave it at his subordinates. They looked tiredly back at him, their faces lit only by the glare of the headlights.

"I'll pay. Order fifty Lemon Pepper Wings - should be enough for the three of us."

"What!" The Agent sitting shotgun had the expression of utter disgust on his face as he snatched the money. "All lemon pepper? That's literally the worst flavour. I'd rather eat plain fucking wings than lemon pepper. C'mon, can we get half barbeque? Or at least half buffalo! You're not gonna eat them all anyways, so just get a third lemon-pepper."

The Cyborg yawned and grinned good-naturedly. He was tired, but he was happy.

"You bastard. Forty lemon-pepper wings, ten of whatever flavour you want. Take it or leave it."

*Thunk-thunk*

With a violent rattling, their truck finally made it out of the rubble of The Construction site and back into the smooth asphalt of civilization. It had been nearly two weeks since The Twins were shot out of the sky and crushed an entire square of office buildings. The cleanup job was a nightmare, but it really was quite a good thing the mechanical eyes had fallen where they had. There were only a few casualties - since only the crazies were in the office at midnight during the height of the Autumn Festival. Of course the place would cost a fortune to rebuild, but The Cyborg had always treasured lives far more than money - even if that wasn't the general opinion of his organization.

"Okay, so I'm getting five barbeque and... what other flavour do you want? What do you mean lemon pepper?! Are you stupid! Boss is ordering forty fucking lemon-peppers and you want five more?... no fuck you I'm ordering ten barbeque then."

Shotgun rolled his eyes and grumbled. He gestured to the driver to stop at a nearby takeout restaurant and shot The Cyborg a quick glare before hopping out of the vehicle.

"Boss, but you're dead to me."

The Cyborg responded with a sunny smile.

"Forty lemon-pepper wings, you whiny little bitch."

*slam*

The Cyborg sighed and briefly shut his eyes, quietly reminding himself to make sure he saved some of the wings for the little angler kid he'd picked up in the University district several days ago. He wondered how the brat was getting on in The CC Barracks... hopefully the lunch staff had found him and kept him fed and watered for the past few days. Of course, he wasn't really allowed to bring vagrants into the barracks, but he was an officer and generally nobody hated him enough to be a stickler over his activities. In fact, The Cyborg often found it was easy enough to bribe his way into anyone's good graces. A single box of doughnuts once every two months was enough for The Lunch Staff to help him out with any of his little 'projects'.

Man, do I need a nap... I should check in on him though. He's probably asleep...

*ping*

It was then that The Cyborg's visual aids went off, quickly pinging him to attention. Frankly, he wasn't particularly interested in doing anything at the moment, but by sheer habit - he raised his hand to his visor and flicked the positioning system on. The Visual aids were a helpful little tool that alerted him to anything strange or unusual in the vicinity (what was 'strange' was supposedly determined by some AI Draedon had built. Generally it was quite accurate). It also had built in night-vision, which was helpful in the wee hours of the morning. Today, it had picked up a-

"Oh, wow. What the hell is that?"

"Boss, please! We're off! can't we just file a report and let someone else handle it?"

Of course, the question was rhetorical. The Cyborg was fun and good natured, but he was by no means lazy. He was a good agent who did his job all the time, and sometimes his squad members hated him for it. The spring in his step was sluggish, but he still managed to conjure some excitement for this newfound oddity.

"Wait in the car, follow me at a distance."

"Ah fuck you..." The Cyborg gave his driver a pointed look and the man amended his statement. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

With a slam, The Cyborg stepped out of the vehicle and flicked on his night vision to confirm his suspicions. His Visual Aids had picked up a blood trail. Not some old stain either, but rather a fresh blood splatter that spotted the sidewalk beside their parked vehicle and ran straight up in the direction of The Palace's Imperial Gates. Given the droplets had yet to dry, the injured person was likely still close by. The Cyborg signaled to his driver and began a brisk walk up the street. The headlights followed at a crawl behind him.

Strange... I can't imagine a survivor managed to crawl his way out of the rubble without getting picked up by medical.

Up ahead, the blood trail made a sharp right, into a narrow alleyway that ran clear through the block and into the palace park. It was there that The Cyborg saw it.

A thin, frail looking frame that dragged itself slowly towards the Palace Park's trimmed lawn. It walked with its back terribly hunched and had thrown a large rag like a tent over its head and shoulders. The Cyborg was rather surprised to see any vagrants left in this city at such a time. Even so, he wasn't the kind to simply let a person in need pass him by. He quickly caught up to the shambling form - switching off his olfactory sensors as he approached - and called out to the figure.

"Hello there, sir. Are you injured? I can help-"

The figure had been muttering to itself as if deep in a trance. It did not acknowledge him as it continued stumbling through the darkness. One of its arms was broken and hung awkwardly in a hastily constructed sling. There was an awful odor about it (according to his sensors, anyways) and its leggings and bandaged feet were entirely steeped in putrid blood. If The Cyborg didn't know any better, he'd say this person had just stumbled out of The Crimson... but such a thing was utter nonsense. Normal humans simply did not survive The Crimson. Well... not so intact anyways.

The Cyborg called out once more and trotted to walk alongside the figure. He laid a hand gently upon The Vagrant's shoulder, only for his metallic gloves to clack hollowly against iron. He frowned.

"Sir? What is this? Are you alright?"

The figure froze rigid. It turned slightly and look at him from beneath the hem of the cloak. The Cyborg caught sight of a single brilliant blue eye framed by matted pink hair before the figure leapt up, walked up the side of the wall and scurried atop the building with the dexterity of a cat. Wait- Not a cat. The Cyborg knew those clawed shoes anywhere! Those had been issued to The Second Generation of CC Agents, and of the handful of Gen 2 still alive - only one had pink hair like that.

Agent #5534...

The Cyborg's electro-adhesive shoes quickly launched him in pursuit of The Rogue Agent. She wasn't a person unknown to him. Nobody stayed ten-years in the force without their names getting around. Apparently The Party Girl was a notorious bar hopper that could drink three men under the table before she even got tipsy. She was also the last of the CC Defectors that had yet to be caught, and Central was extremely eager to get their hands on her. The Cyborg launched up over the edge of the building and began running, following The Part Girl's limping - but speedy gait over the rooftops. He flipped on his comms and began issuing orders to his two subordinates.

"Target spotted: The Defected Agent #5534, Codename: The Party Girl. Set up a perimeter around fifth and East to catch her - alive if possible. Subject is injured, bleeding and missing an eye - lady's gone through hell already, so y'all got no excuses. As much I respect the old guard, She's Gen 2. We're Gen 4. If you can't catch her, I'll recommend the three of us for the scrap heap. Chop-chop, boys! Let's go."

Truth be told, even through many assurances and reassurances, The Stylist didn't expect to live through that ordeal. Being captured by pirates was historically one of the best ways to get killed - or worse, and the Blackbeard Pirates were the worst of the lot. Ironically, she - being quite the hopeless romantic - had often fantasized about this very thing! To be kidnapped by swashbuckling pirates who would eventually fall in love with her, and after stealing enormous amount of treasure from the wicked nobles, they'd have hot passionate- ehem!

She cleared her throat and picked up the pace.

Well, this particular fantasy had been ruined, to say the least. She was going to be dreaming about pirates in the coming weeks, but they'd likely cause her to wake in a cold sweat. That was an issue for the evenings though. Right now, it was daytime - and, as much as it pained her, now that she was back in The Capitol, she needed a job and a haircut.

*Ding-ding*

"Welcome!"

The Stylist had found she'd become a far less petty person than before she left her plush little life in The Capitol. A month ago, walking into the shop of her former rival - the rival she had sold her own practice to before departing on that ill fated rescue mission - and asking for a job and a free haircut would have been absolutely monstrous. But now, as she stood in the lobby of the familiar shop (the decor had really become awful) she could confidently say she didn't feel a lick of shame. Could she work for her rival? Hell - she had just been rescued from that killbox of a compound by a bunch of pirates famous for trafficking women! Having a shitty boss was paradise compared to what she's just escaped.

*jingle*

"Hi there, long time no see!"

"Stylist?!" A woman leapt up from her seat, hastily hid her magazine, and began spitting venom.

"Oh-ho?! Look what the cat dragged in! What brings you here! You know, if you want to buy your shop back, I'm not selling it at any less than three times the price you sold to me! And frankly, I doubt anyone you fixing their hair - given how you look! Look at those split ends! Shameful. You call yourself a hair-care professional? And why are you only wearing one shoe?! What happened to you!?"

Her Rival's beady eyes stared straight through her, and - in a certain way - reminded her of how The Monster Knight often glowered at them. She suppressed a chuckle. There was perhaps nothing further from the Monster Knight than this woman. Hell if she wasn't glad she was dealing with the owner of a salon instead of that idiot murder machine. She grinned sunnily and walked up to lean her elbows against the counter.

"Come on old friend, you've known me for years, so do me a favor. Are you hiring? Also I need these split ends taken care of. Pretty please?"

The Stylist made a pout. Her Rival rolled her eyes and shooed her away.

"Sorry Stylist. One of my very rich clients is booked to come in right about now." The Woman took a moment to look her up and down, then grimaced and shook her head. She reached into her purse, plucked out a few bills and tossed them haphazardly upon the counter. "Come back in an hour, I should be done with my client by then. And go buy a coat and a pair of shoes for heavens sake! You look like a soaked rat. Now shoo!"

"Aww, thanks hun."

The Stylist grinned, collected the bills, and turned on her heel. She honestly didn't expect this amount of kindness from her rival. A welcome surprise to be sure.

*jingle*

But that wasn't the only surprise in store for her today. Because at the moment she reached out to grab the door handle, somebody on the other side pushed the door open and - in his haste to make his appointment - nearly collided with her.

"Oh goodness, apologies madame-"

"G-Guide!?"

"...ah!"

That moment seemed to last forever.

The stunned silence stretched between them as their eyes met and emotions that had long been spooled away quickly came undone. She... she could not forget his face. She knew that it was The Guide in the flesh... but which Guide? Could it be her Guide? The one she had come to hold so closely to her heart? The one she'd raged at so terribly when he left with The Monster Knight? The one she had mourned so deeply when The Third Guide appeared? As all these thoughts and emotions roared in her head, all she could manage was a blank stare, a bit of nonsensical stuttering and the beginnings of tears in the corners of her eyes. He - thankfully, was far more eloquent.

"Stylist! Oh heavens!"

Because upon seeing her, The Guide's pensive expression broke immediately into a brilliant smile. His dull eyes were suddenly shining. His face beamed, and he was clearly unbothered with the dreadful state she was in, because without a moment's hesitation, he threw his arms around her and hugged her so tightly she felt he'd never let her go. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, he grinned and giddily murmured into her hair.

"Oh Darling, I've missed you terribly! I'm glad you made it back! Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?"

She was stunned. Stunned, and relieved, and just a little bit overwhelmed. She was glad her face was buried in The Guide's lapels, because the little trickle of tears had become open sobs. The Guide ran his hands along her back, and gently shushed her with encouragements.

"Ah, no need to cry... come on now, let's get you home. It looks like you could do with a hot bath and some good food. I'll call a carriage."

*thunk*

"Fuck!"

She'd fought like a feral animal. She'd pulled every trick in the book. She went for the eyes. She went for the balls. She'd bludgeoned the stump of her knife against the 4th Gen's unbreakable armour. She pounded her fists against them so hard, her hands came away torn and bloody. She was fighting for her life, and she knew it. She was so close. So close... Even if The Twins were gone (she wondered if they'd been sent on a mission or something) The Zoologist surely must have picked her up on some camera, somewhere by now. So why - after mullying about The Imperial Castle for an entire day - was the first person to accost her not a member of Draedon's laboratory - but rather a gaggle of 4th Gen CC Agents!

"A real fighter, this one! Good show, Party Girl! I'm a fan!"

"Fuck you!"

"Shut your mouth, resistance scum!"

*thwack*

She was foaming blood.

She'd been foaming blood for three days now, and she wasn't exactly sure what was causing it. Was she infected by The Crimson? It was likely. After spending that much time splashing through those miserable pits - something probably got into her system. Hell, it'd taken three entire days to cross The Crimson, and another three hidden in the storage of a freight truck to arrive in The Capitol City - and every single moment of that journey had been miserable.

But... but she was clinging to hope. She was here! She had The Monster Knight - still alive - strapped in those heavy iron boxes on her back, and she had walked both of them through the fucking Crimson to arrive on Draedon's doorstep. She'd lost an eye in the process. She'd broken an arm, but it was all supposed to be worth it because she was right at the threshold of success, but... but-

"Alright kiddos, make sure you respect your elders. You -Hold her down. I wanna chat with her...Hey there, Party Girl."

An armoured glove fisted a handful of her hair and yanked upwards, jerking her neck and causing her to face the amalgam of a man who saw fit to interrogate her. She was laying facedown atop one of the buildings, having been relieved on her cargo and use of her other arm. One of the 4th Gens was standing guard and scanned the street below (he had a plastic bag of take-out chicken wings hanging from his elbow). Another Agent had pinned her arms behind her back and was sitting his crushing weight upon her legs. The last one - supposedly their leader - was grinning down at her, his smile nearly as glaring as those cyan lights beaming out of his visor.

"We heard you betrayed The Empire. I really couldn't believe it, you know..." The Agent dropped her head to gesticulate with both hands. "Gen 2, and a ten-year vet that ran some of the most dangerous solo missions! When I heard the news, it really broke my heart..."

The Party Girl knew it was futile to insist on her innocence; Orders from Central were absolute. Still, there was nothing to lose in trying. She coughed blood and made a strained plea.

"I'm no traitor! If I were a Traitor, why would I come to The Capitol! The Zoologist called me here to deliver something to her! She was supposed to retrieve me! I had a deal with her!"

"If you weren't a traitor, then why does Central insist you are? There was no report that Draedon's Laboratory had requested anything of you. If they had, you wouldn't have a rogue status."

The Party Girl ground out the words from between bloodstained teeth.

"... Off record mission."

"Unauthorized mission."

"..."

The Cyborg Agent sighed and stood up straight. There was the veneer of empathy upon his features, but The Party Girl could tell he wasn't going to disobey direct orders for anything. Still, he was clearly far more diplomatic than the other Agents The Party Girl had encountered over the years by virtue of her head still being attached to her body. If he took her into custody - then perhaps she still had a chance. She drew a breath and made another plea.

"Please! I'll cooperate peacefully. I'll tell you whatever you want to know, just let Draedon's Assistant know I'm here. I even have her codes in my Comms equipment!"

"hmm... perhaps. "

The Cyborg mused for a moment before planting his hands on his hips and walking over to the various boxes they'd yanked from The Party Girl's pack. The various iron boxes had been scattered haphazardly over one another, and The Cyborg nudged one with his foot. Its occupant made no noise, but the impact must have driven the iron spikes deeper into The Monster Knight's flesh. Blood began leaking from one of the box's seams, and one of the 'forearm' boxes began thrashing and banging against the concrete roof with such violence, it nearly launched itself off the edge of the building and onto the street below.

'Whoa! Holy shit!'

'Ey! grab it before it falls!'

The Cyborg's subordinates scrambled about and quickly rounded up each of the boxes - tossing them into the cloak and bundling them up into what resembled a large, lumpy trash bag. They looked vaguely disturbed by the bleeding boxes, but remained professional. The Cyborg fixed her with a concerned look. He appeared to do a few calculations in his head before nodding at his squad. They hopped off the edge of the building and began loading The Monster Knight into the car's trunk.

"Well then, Agent... Looks like we need to investigate you and your cargo further. I'm going to cuff you. We're heading to CC Central."

Party Girl: Bleeding, getting her legs crushed by Gen 4 agent.

Faze: Damn, I wish PG would crush me with her thighs.

PG:...

I'm sick, so I'm holed up in my room writing all day.

Smh. Hope you enjoy