Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait I commisoned two other projects on December and January. I recieved February and March very quickly but due too creative differences when I repeatedly looked at them I decided to just stop the story so no more updates the story will be marked complete sorry everyone! im my own harsh critic unfortunately. I will upload the last chapters in quick succesion. Thank you everyone for reading!

And thank you Dahlinng and Tim Baril for working on the story!

Clad head to toe in midnight black, his face always hidden behind an imposing gas mask with mirrored lenses, his hooded cloak lined with red the colour of his enemies' blood, Skullshatterer considered himself a badass. That was, after all, why he'd given himself the name Skullshatterer. The moniker referred to something he'd done and something he'd likely do again, a message to allies and enemies alike that this was not a soft person. This wasn't the kind of guy you invited over for tea and biscuits and charming conversation unless you wanted to talk about what would happen if he shoved one of his grenade launchers up your ass and pulled the trigger a few times. He was a fighter for justice against those persecuting the infected. He was a revolutionary, a proud member of Reunion. He was a killer.

None of that mattered when standing before Talulah. He felt her cold, hostile eyes boring down on him like an impossibly powerful queen who could step on him and crush him like a bug. He tried to stop himself from quivering and failed. Whether that nervousness was due to pure fear or some mixture of fear and a desire to be stepped on, he refused to examine too closely.

They were in an audience hall in Chernobog. With deceptive casualness, Talulah reclined on a large couch at one end of the otherwise empty hall, forcing anyone meeting her to kneel so as not to look down on her. Skullshatterer's twin grenade launchers hung from his back like a pair of wings, but he knew for certain that even if he was mad enough to try it, he could never possibly draw one and fire it before this goddess of power destroyed him. Not that he would dream of doing such a thing. Talulah's raw power and rage embodied all his dreams for what Reunion could be and accomplish. For her, he'd do anything, and he knelt before her with reverence.

Talulah was slim and physically unimposing. Her black and white dress was fashionable, yet the hem was tattered and frayed as if battered and burned, which it might have been. Only her terrible, fierce eyes gave any indication of how terrifyingly destructive she could be. She spoke bluntly, "You have a mission."

His voice was muffled by the mask and sounded hollow, "I am ready."

"A refugee in Lungmen possesses the codes to Chernobog's defense systems. You will infiltrate the city as a refugee, find, and then recover her."

"Don't we already control this city's defenses?"

"They're on auto. We need the codes to be able to use them properly. That would make our assault on Lungmen far more assured."

"I understand. The target?"

"A young girl. Daughter of a former high-ranking scientist here in Chernobog. Apparently, the father hid the codes in her before he was killed. Her name's Misha."

At the name and age, Skullshatterer's head abruptly jerked up. "Misha?"

"Yes." Her eyes narrowed. "Problem?"

His heart raced. "Not at all. I will absolutely find her and bring her back safely. I swear it."

"This mission is crucial to our attack. Do not fail us. Take the Assault Squad with you."

He saluted. "For Reunion!" He stood and eagerly stalked from the room, cloak swirling behind, a panther on the hunt. He couldn't remember that he'd ever been as excited for a mission before. Misha. He had to find Misha.

Life for the infected had never been easy in Lungmen. There was too much prejudice here. Too much fear. It's why the infected had been walled off in the slums, as if that paltry measure could somehow prevent anyone else from succumbing to oripathy, a disease striking people the world over. But with the refugees pouring into the city, tension was rising, and fear was spiralling out of control. Citizens knew that another city-state was coming for them and would invade Lungmen. They knew that Reunion, the terrible, infected army, was behind the attack. And all that made it even easier to scapegoat the infected, to target them and vent their fear and helplessness on a group powerless to fight back. Easy targets. It was pathetic, selfish, and cruel, but so many people were exactly that.

The uninfected mob marching through the slums had come prepared to lash out. They wore makeshift armour and padded clothing, gloves to prevent their skin from touching those they molested, eyes covered in glasses or shades, faces masked so as not to breathe infected air. Hiding their faces from the authorities as well as their targets also gave them a powerful measure of invincibility, as if wearing masks meant that they could get away with anything. The angry people stomping along, calling out slurs and chanting hateful speech, carried clubs of wood or metal. Some even had knives. Most didn't come expressly to kill, per se. But they'd come prepared to dominate, and they wouldn't allow any resistance at all.

Trembling in the shadow of a narrow alley, young Misha was scared. Very scared. She wanted to run away as fast and far away as she could. She wanted to hide. But she couldn't. Because she wasn't alone. She was far from the only young refugee child without parents to protect and help her. Nor was she the youngest, by far. She peeked out of the alley at the violent mob marching down the street in their direction, throwing bricks at windows and smashing cars and mailboxes and anything else they could find. Then Misha looked over her shoulder.

In the dimness of the alley huddled four other kids. The youngest was another girl, barely a toddler old enough to walk. They were all dirty, their clothing a mess, their faces gaunt from lack of food. The two boys clutched makeshift weapons: a broken chair leg and a rusty pipe. None of them had parents to care for them because all were either dead or missing. None of the adults here in Lungmen had helped, all having run off on their own, looking after themselves rather than being burdened with someone else's children. Not their problem; not their risk to take.

Misha refused to be like those uncaring jerks. She forced herself to give the kids her warmest smile. "It's gonna be ok." She glanced once again back at the mob, then turned her back to it, feeling a shiver of vulnerability, like she could be struck from behind at any moment without seeing it coming. Ushering the kids forward, deeper into the alley, she told them, "Let's go. We can't stay here."

The boy with the chair leg scowled to hide his fear. "Where are we gonna go?"

Misha didn't know. This city was as strange to her as anywhere. She'd only been pulled along inside with the other refugees fleeing Chernobog and an army. But she shrugged. "We'll find somewhere. We have to try."

The toddler whimpered.

Misha reached down and took the tiny girl's fingers. "Hold my hand. Stay with me, ok?"

The toddler tearfully nodded, streaks of wet running down her unwashed face. She clasped Misha's hand with all her brave little strength.

Heart pounding, Misha led them down the alley as fast as she could. But the mob moved surprisingly quickly, and their shouts echoed off the walls of the buildings around them.

"Fuck the infected!"

"Get out of our city, scum!"

"We don't want your disease!"

"Our survival's in doubt. Infected get out!"

A voice called clearly from the end of the alley, where Misha had been only moments earlier. "Hey! You! Fucking plague rats!"

Glass shattered off the wall close by, making the kids scream and duck, then break out into a run.

Misha pulled the toddler along, nearly dragging the terrified little girl off her feet as fresh tears appeared, and she wailed. They had to find somewhere to hide from all this, somewhere safe. But where?

They tumbled from the alley into the sidewalk of the next street. Randomly choosing a direction that seemed quietest, Misha led the way, desperately hoping the hate-filled mob chose not to follow. Even as young as she was, she knew they wanted blood.

Lungmen did not exactly go out of its way to give Rhodes Island the best support, despite tentatively being allies. Rhodes Island was granted rooms in a hotel near the slums that could optimistically be described as sleazy. It had roaches. It had rats. The paint peeled, and there was no room service. With so many refugees in the city, space was at a premium, and they had to share. Doberman bunked with Amiya. Doctor Hayden would have bunked with Kal'tsit, but at hearing the suggestion, she harshly laughed in his face and slammed the door closed between them, leaving him to sleep on the floor between Doberman's and Amiya's beds. With the roaches.

The next morning, Kal'tsit's room doubled as their meeting space. Kal'tsit delivered news. She sat at the small, wooden desk attached to the wall at the end of the room while the women sat on Kal'tsit's bed and Hayden on the one she was using as a table.

Kal'tsit, as always, was stern as she addressed the group, "I have our first task. I've been in touch with Franka, from Blacksteel. We'll be partnering with them while in Lungmen as they're already established in the city, and we enjoy much closer relations with them than the city officials thus far." She paused, seemingly a little uncomfortable. "I've been told that the daughter of a former colleague was spotted in the city amongst the refugees. I would like us to rescue her."

Doberman asked, "Her parents?"

"Father is deceased. If Misha is alone, I suppose it means her mother is too."

Hayden asked, "Misha is the name of the daughter?"

"Yes. Young, still a child, I suppose. Ursan, like Amiya."

Amiya's long bunny ears twitched. "How do you know her?"

Kal'tsit looked away and was silent for a long moment before answering. "Her father was Sergei, a high-profile Ursus scientist researching the Sarcophagus with me." She added, "And Ilia. You've already met his wayward daughter. Goes by the name Crownsilver now that she's joined up with Reunion."

Amiya gasped. "You worked with her father?"

Hayden's brow rose. A term was unfamiliar. "What is the Sarcophagus?"

Kal'tsit eyed him with suspicion, watching closely for his reaction. "The device you were found in. That healed you. Where you allegedly lost your memories, though that should have been impossible."

Hayden felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and all the wind had gone out of him. She had been working on the device that had stolen his memories? And he was only now learning this?

When Hayden was too stunned to respond, Kal'tsit continued with the mission briefing. "I realize this is a sentimental mission, asking you to retrieve the girl, but it will also give you a chance to get into the slums and begin investigating. Misha is reportedly infected now. Search. Reach out. Make contacts."

Doberman had surprise in her voice, "It's not like you to be so personal with a mission."

Kal'tsit looked away and shrugged one shoulder as if to convince them this was no big deal. "Yes, well. I suppose I owe her father that much. He was an excellent scientist. And the girl was…charming enough."

Doberman barked a laugh. "I thought you hated kids."

A touch of defensiveness crept into her frowning expression. "Not to the point where I'd see them starve to death on the streets. Just because I have no desire at all to have them in my vicinity or speak to them, or goodness forbid ever give birth to any, that doesn't mean I want them harmed. I'm not heartless."

Amiya was quick to jump to Kal'tsit's defense. "No one thinks that! We all know how passionate you are about helping people. You don't have to be a people person to want to help others."

Kal'tsit slowly turned and looked at Amiya. Her voice was oddly calm, "Are you saying I'm not a people person?"

"Uhh…" Amiya glanced around the room as if seeking allies.

"Do you have a problem with me?"

Amiya's ears drooped in wariness. "What? Me? No!"

Kal'tsit turned her hard gaze on Doberman. The diminutive doctor aggressively leaned into the soldier and somehow loomed over her. "How about you? Do you think I have a problem communicating with others? Do you think I'm not a people person?"

Doberman leaned away and lifted her hands, palms forward as if to ward off the woman she could easily lift over her own head. "No, ma'am! Nothing icy or robotic about you at all!"

Kal'tsit stepped closer. Her voice definitely took on a threatening tone, "Icy? Robotic…?"

Amiya quietly edged away from Doberman.

Doberman shot her a betrayed look.

Hayden saved her by speaking up, "Doctor Kal'tsit." He couldn't care less about whether or not anyone was a people person. He had only one thing on his mind.

Kal'tsit turned her head while continuing to bodily intimidate Doberman, who took advantage of the distraction to slide further away on the bed as well. Kal'tsit was dismissive toward Hayden, "You the absolute last person who should be criticizing anyone's people skills. And I don't give a fornicating cockroach's filth ass for your opinion's about me."

Hayden didn't hear her, though he was dimly aware of the shock the other two women experienced at Kal'tsit's vulgar language. His mind was focused. He begged, "Please tell me about the Sarcophagus."

She stared a long time before sneering. "Why would I tell you about something you already know?"

"I lost my—"

Ignoring Hayden, Kal'tsit sharply turned her head away and refocused on Amiya, who had escaped to the furthest reaches of the bed. "Your task is to find Misha. Franka will meet you in the slums. I shouldn't need to remind you of the urgency, but a mob has appeared there."

Eager to escape, both women jumped up.

"On it!"

"Mission understood, ma'am!"

Hayden tried again, "Please, Doctor—"

"Is this conversation more important than the lives at stake? Lost little girl targeted by an angry mob? Undercover agents to root out? Imminent attack by a hostile city? No? Shall we sit around all day sipping tea? Shall I send out for some biscuits? Jam and crumpets? Maybe a nice helping of get-the-fuck-out-of-my-room."

This level of hostility was unusual to Amiya and Doberman. Struck dumb in the doorway, they both looked at Hayden for his response.

The desire to know more about the Sarcophagus burned in him. He desperately needed to know about his past, and any tech that had stolen his memories might also be key to restoring them. What knowledge did Kal'tsit carry? Questions danced on his tongue. But he couldn't say this was more urgent than the lives at stake. He quietly bowed his head and followed the others out the door. But questions would continue to haunt him.

Rhodes Island and Blacksteel teamed up just on the other side of the gate into the slums. The gate had been erected on a major intersection. The area had been littered with a mess of debris from the mob that had recklessly surged through the same space hours ago. There were discarded signs with anti-infected slogans, broken glass from smashed liquor bottles whose contents had been used to fuel the mob's lack of control, and here and there were splashes of blood. A tall, barbed wire fence separated the slums from the rest of the city. At the gate lounged a quartet of Lung soldiers. None of them visibly had the discipline of Chen's people.

Amiya caught sight of a body strung up in a second-story window of an apartment building facing the intersection. When she pointed it out to the guards, all she got were shrugs and disinterested looks.

The sergeant lazily told her, "We'll get to it later. After the mob tires itself out and people go back home."

"Why don't you stop the mob?"

"Why would we?"

"The infected are citizens, too. Why aren't you out there trying to protect them?"

The look on his face said he had absolutely no idea why they would do such a thing. He idly scratched his backside. "They're not really people anymore, are they? They're infected. Walking time bombs. Isn't it better someone puts them out of their misery instead of having one of those bombs go off and hurt others?" He shrugged again and sent a bewildered look at his mates, but the other three looked completely uninterested in the conversation.

Amiya was stunned by his frankness and utter lack of compassion. Unable to think of anything to say in response, she turned and led the group away from the uncaring soldiers and into the area they were here to investigate.

Hayden came up alongside her and spoke softly. "There are a few good people in the world. There are a few evil people. Most are a mix of good and evil and are basically indifferent until forced to be one or the other." He nodded back toward the soldiers. "At least they're not actively working against us. Strategically, it's a positive."

Vexed, Amiya looked like she wanted to start throwing her arts around. "Maybe. But they're still part of the problem. If they would just do their job. If they could just care a little!"

"Then they'd be putting themselves at risk."

"They're soldiers! They signed up for that!"

"They signed up for a steady salary and a dependable career. Probably with a pension. They'll likely try to avoid as much risk as possible so that they live long enough to enjoy that pension." He paused, then continued, saying, "I know. It seems terrible. It seems selfish. But let's focus on the task ahead and the fact that they're letting us go ahead with that."

She grimly nodded, doing just that. "Right." Looking around, she saw the members of Blacksteel, all of whom were new to her except for Franka, whom she'd spoken to because Franka had been to Rhodes Island for oripathy treatment on a regular basis recently. Amiya addressed the group, "We might not have much time. But let's introduce ourselves so we know what tools we have for the mission ahead." She told the Blacksteel members about herself, Doberman, and Doctor Hayden.

Franka was vulpo, with fox-like ears and a tail, both tan with black tips. She had an athletic build, a calm gaze that looked difficult to ruffle, and a hint of a smile on her lips. She wore a black jacket and skirt with her sword belted at her hip, black thigh-high stockings and black shoes. She spoke first for her team, "Franka; biohazard protection and response specialist for Blacksteel Worldwide. We do private security and information gathering. I'm a duelist guard. I carry an originium rapier with a thermite blade and can use vorpal edge to cut through just about anything. Basically, I kill tanks."

A much smaller woman spoke next, "I'm Liskarm. I'm a defender. You can probably guess from the huge shield I carry." She held up a big, rectangular, black shield and got laughs. "I'm also slightly resistant to arts attacks. I use my own arts to stun people, and I can counterattack a bit." Like Franka, she wore a lot of black: jacket, skirt, stockings, and shoes. Horns poked up from her shoulder-length white hair.

A more timid woman with blue hair raised her hand. "Uh, hi. I'm Jessica. Still a trainee, but I believe I'm ready for the field, and I'll do my best." Everyone spoke over each other, welcoming her and looking forward to working together. She continued, red-faced at the attention, "I specialize in dealing damage. I can also create a small smokescreen to help evade attacks. Um, thank you for having me." She bobbed her head.

A vouivre woman also in black but with a dark green jacket grinned. She held a massive axe on a long pole. How she was even able to wield such a monster could only be explained with arts. She hefted the weapon, then turned serious and said, "This axe isn't just for show! I hold the vanguard. I'm also a trainee, but I'm very dedicated and looking forward to working with all of you!" She stopped speaking, then grew flustered and added, "Oh. I'm Vanilla, by the way. Sorry."

Franka smiled. "The best thing about training subordinates is that I get to let them handle all the annoying stuff for me."

As Hayden mentally assessed the abilities of the group, he belated realized that all were female but for him. He didn't downgrade his opinion because of that fact, but he did privately remind himself not to act biased toward them. Hayden believed in equality, but it was natural for anyone to unconsciously behave a certain way now and then without realizing it. We often have a natural tendency to speak down to others based on age, gender, experience, or perceived status. He hoped he wouldn't accidentally do that. That was something he'd heard his previous self had done a lot of, to everyone, and he didn't want to be that kind of person anymore. He wanted to act more like part of the team.

In terms of strategy, they were going to be a highly offensive group with less defense. They weren't packing a lot of firepower, despite the size of that axe, so they would not be good in a firefight or a big battle. But they seemed mobile, agile. It was good for a mission like this, where they had to search an urban area quickly and move around a lot. The fact that almost everyone was female might be an asset as far as interpersonal relations went, too. They were here to build trust within the slums, and that would possibly go more easily with warm, smiles from women instead of more intimidating and aggressive confrontations from men. Also, they were here to find a young girl. For the same reasons, they would probably seem more approachable, being a group of mostly women.

He knew he should be coming up with a strategic plan to go about their search and so forth. Unfortunately, his thoughts about the mission quickly drifted away from the task at hand and back to Kal'tsit's words from earlier. The Sarcophagus. What was it? Why had they been studying a named piece of tech? Did that mean it was some artifact created before their time? What had it done to him besides heal him?

Amiya's communicator pinged and she answered it.

Ch'en's voice was loud enough for others nearby to hear, "Rhodes Island. I'm told you've entered the slums. Is that correct?"

Amiya responded politely, "It is."

"Good. I've just had a request in from Military Intelligence. They're urgently requesting help locating a young girl. Goes by the name Misha. She's probably with the refugees. An ursus child. If you spot anyone going by that description, contact me immediately."

Amiya looked up and caught Hayden's eyes. She looked surprised and worried. "Uh, sure. Will do."

"Thanks." The call ended.

Hayden nodded. "Very odd they're after the same person we are. I wonder why?"

"Maybe I should have asked."

"No. And it's good that you didn't give her our mission."

Amiya hesitated. "You think there's something Doctor Kal'tsit didn't tell us?"

"I'm not worried about her motives. But I don't think we should put too much trust in Lungmen's Military Intelligence. I think we need to find her ourselves, quietly, and fast."

"And not report it?"

"For now."

Amiya looked worried but thoughtful. She looked away as she mulled the situation over. "Ok. I agree. Let's get moving."

Hayden looked around at the others and raised his voice so they could all hear. "We'll cover more ground if we split up. I suggest pairing RI and BS agents up: Doberman and Jessica; Amiya and Franka; Liskarm, Vanilla, and myself. Check alleys. Look for other kids; they might be sticking together. Ask for help and let them know we're on their side. There's a mob out there, and people are probably frightened. Offer to protect them. It'll help them trust us faster."

Vanilla shouldered her axe and gave Hayden a casual salute. "Awaiting your orders, Doctor."

The city street had filled with angry, chanting people from sidewalk to sidewalk. The mob, masked and lightly armed, had driven everyone else into hiding and aside from the curses and bigotry being spouted, silence had descended over the slums. No one was shopping for groceries. No one was playing in the park. No one was taking their dog for a walk. Anyone infected or worried they might be seen as infected was holed up in homes and secret places, windows and doors locked and blocked with furniture and anything else they could stack behind them to prevent death from coming for them.

The air was thick with fear. And the streets occasionally ran with blood. The mob left more than a few unfortunate bodies in its wake.

Shiraz, by virtue of his charm and the degree of his fervour, had become one of the mob's leaders. He led from the front, his voice raised loudest of all, a makeshift flag on a metal pole in his hands. The white flag was no work of art, in black, it depicted the prejudicial symbol used for the infected: a grinning skull with three crescents coming out of it that meant infections death. The symbol was a way to belittle infected people, reducing them to being no different than walking viruses. A crude red X had been painted over the disease symbol on Shiraz's flag, declaring infected people as being unwanted.

With hundreds of people at his back, Shiraz was filled with an electrifying sense of power and invincibility. His cries fuelled the anger and violence of those behind. When he shouted, they echoed him a hundred fold. When he pointed at a shop front and declared it as guilty of serving the infected, sticks and stones crashed through the glass and destroyed the place. When he pointed at a tenement building and declared it the home of infected, flaming bottles smashed through windows and into wooden doors, and the place burned. It made him feel akin to a god. And he relished it.

He'd never felt such pride in himself, not once in his miserable life, yet now that he finally had, he realized just how much he deserved to be in a position like this. He would make the most of this chance. When the sun set this day, the entire slums would be afire, the entire disgusting populace of walking disease-bags would be dead or dying. And they would remember who had led this cleansing. They would remember him as a hero.

Skullshatterer stood on the top of an office building, looking down on the mob. He saw the leader at the front with the flag, chest puffed up with arrogance, drunk on group hate, his greasy smile sickening.

He was disgusted with this city. Contracting oripathy wasn't a choice. Greedy, selfish, ambitious societies had seized on this new mineral and found myriad ways to industrialize and utilize it without taking the time to assess its dangers and consequences. Infection came from mining, processing, and using originium, much of that use driven by competition for power and profits. Capitalism at its best or worst depending on whether you were one of the few profiting or one of the many dying.

Being infected had nothing to do with a person's bad choices, so it was completely unfair to abuse or kill the infected because of their unfortunate status. Although, really, infection was just the latest excuse for tribalism. People wanted to be special. They wanted to be in conflict: us vs them. Whether they used gender or species or geographical location or infected status, it was all the same: hate for selfish purposes.

Skull bunched his hands into fists. This city should be stopping such mobs from ever forming in the first place. That they'd allowed it to happen, that their laws and policies had encouraged it, that they did nothing now to stop it and save the lives of their own citizens, it was all enough to vilify and condemn this city in his eyes.

He burned with the desire to mete out justice to these heartless people. He grumbled aloud, "I should kill them all."

One of the soldiers in the Assault Squad, his sergeant, spoke up, "Aren't our orders to remain incognito while searching for the girl?"

Skull snorted with contempt. "These people are a direct threat to any infected, including Misha. Killing them all would keep her safe."

"But if we expose ourselves, won't that put Reunion's plans at risk? Maybe expose the other agents here or encourage Lungmen to hunt them down?"

Skull let out a long breath, controlling his temper. He could feel an itch in his trigger fingers. But he forced himself to be patient. This city would get its due. Reunion was sending an entire city of its own to punish this place. And he promised himself that he would be one of the avenging angels when the time came.

Feet pounded on the stairway, and then another soldier bolted out the rooftop door and onto the flat space behind Skull. "Sir! Target spotted!"

Skull whirled, his heart quickening. "Where?"

"Close by. She's with a bunch of kids. The mob's on her heels."

Skull ran for the stairs, and the other two soldiers followed hard behind.

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