Andy's always had a bit of a strange habit. Some would call it bad, others would think nothing of it, as it seemed harmless enough. Harmless to any outsiders who've never taken a gander into the fine confinements of the boy's tiny skull. The very same instrument that worked overtime every day and night, ran like a precise freight-railway station that sorted, packaged and sent out little trains of thoughts which later would always derail, crash, and burn, lining the gray thinking-mass with clouds of smoke and walls of fire. Back on track. The habit itself relied mostly on the boy's inability to find peace in living on his own. It relied on his need to rely. To survive and push him further, he needed encouragement and a person by his side who would be willing to provide just that. It never mattered what caliber of person it was, be it a hyperactive, red-headed childhood crush or a sadistic, captive-slaughtering, white-haired maniac. Andy would always get too attached and then hurt when it was time to say bye-bye.

No such time came that day, however, as the boy found himself running for his dear life, running through the mud-soaked ruins of Kazdel. Running away from the bunker, from the piles of slaughtered angels and devils, the battlefield where both heaven and hell decided to finally settle their differences with steel and brass, ori-powder and concentrated arts-juice. With each of his footsteps came a loud splatter of dirt and mud, each mindlessly spraying in their own direction without a single thought behind the act. Some would stain the boy's cargos, which, mind you, were a size or two too large and presented quite a wide canvas to cover in brownish-gray. He truly did not mind.

The only thing that remained inside his head and stood out from the raging sea of worry was the need to find his comrades. Just his two, incredibly impassive and indifferent devil comrades, who had probably already moved on from today's events. Who would've thought, right? W, the ever so lively firework of a guy, a true maestro of his craft, how could he have ever gone down? The man who played Kazdel like an incredibly loud and annoyingly distorted electric guitar, the devilish bounty hunter with a heart oozing pure, black tar. At least he died doing what he truly loved, though. That tiny thought kept Andy's tattered mind from boiling over and spilling all over the gray mud in a very crimson fashion - the thought that W died truly living, killing as many Laterans as his lovely grenade-belt let him take along down to hell. Or heaven? What did the Law say about suicide bombers…?

He ran and ran, and his pitiful sniffles joined the clattering produced by his rifle that kept bouncing around his knees and thighs, hitting them repeatedly as it swung from its leather belt. Good 'ole Vincent "Vinny" Droz, a wonder of Ursine technology. Why or how were the Ursus developing such fine firearms was beyond the boy's knowledge, nor did he ever feel inclined enough to delve any deeper into the matter. All he knew was that it shot good and took lives, and that's all it needed to do. That day, it took a lot of lives. It took too many, and not just devils but angels as well. The W-centered thoughts clouding his brain parted for a moment, making way for a completely different freighter of clattered worries to enter his mind's cargo-bay. He shot his own. He stained his palms with red, shattered the golden fleece of another angel and sent them upstairs. Tore apart one of the Lawful agreements, disobeyed the forces above. His halo kept flickering, thoughts kept gathering. Amidst the muddy field, he fell to his knees and nearly face-planted into the dirt. The entire situation dawned upon the boy like the day of judgment, awaited, yet always hoped to be postponed. There he was, alone and empty, left by everyone and everything, even the higher powers that had watched his every move from above diligently for the past sixteen and a half years.

With not a soul by his side, only and just the two eternal companions that bathed in mud by his knees - two instruments of war, forever devoted to him and him only, eagerly awaiting the next order, next bullet fed into their chambers or ori-explosion produced within. Andy kneeled and pondered. He pondered, and he truly pondered hard. What was life, even? A life without W? A life without the light above his head? He'd be made a complete freak, had he ever returned back home. No girl, especially not Lem, would ever dare look at him without disgust spilling from their eyes and pity lining their lips. No girl would ever grace him with her sight.

As he sat there in his own, tiny pit of misery, the cold breeze swooshed past and brought upon a blanket of icy chill. That, and the sound of splatty footsteps creeping somewhere from behind. Near almost immediately, the boy perked up and gathered his guns haphazardly. With one hand on the rifle, one messily attempting to disengage the safety of his pistol, he turned back around towards the direction of the slaughterhouse-bunker he ran from.

In the bleak ruins scattered all across the mud-field, he found himself staring right into a pair of familiar eyes that belonged to a complete stranger. At first glance the sight made his stomach jump and his brain rack. Cogs turned, pipes filled with thought-juice and traveled onward. A lightbulb above his head flickered and knocked the dumb thoughts right out of his halo.

The disheveled creature stopped in place, startled by its sudden discovery. With apricot eyes of pure shock, the devil reached behind her back and clumsily dropped the loot-pile cradled in her arms. Andy seized his opportunity and shot up, rising to his feet with a gun at the ready.

"Don't." He ordered, as the fiend reached down towards a dimly black object sticking from beneath a mountain of dirty rags. They seemed just as familiar as the devil's snowy-white hair. "Move and you're d-dead."

The tiny voice crack that escaped his lips brought upon a wave of warmth assaulting his cheeks. That wasn't the moment for shaky stutters, not at all, yet his body had to intervene and ruin his flawless intimidation technique - a gun shoved in the face.

"..." The girl stood in silence, frozen like one of the rubble-piles that surrounded them. Her sharp gaze bore deeply into the front of Andy's skull, unflinching and cold beyond belief. Among all that, a glimmer of familiar warmth remained, as he just couldn't shake the memory of her look-alike throwing him a wink from his mind. "..."

"Who are you? Who the hell are you?" He asked and repeated, as the woman failed to answer. Again and again, she kept staring him in the eyes and dodging each of his words like an adept fencer. "Were you following me? Were you-... Are you one of the guys, from the bunker? HELLO?" He yelled out in vain and took a step forward. The nine millimeter pistol nuzzled into his palm clicked with malicious intent.

"..." No answer. Her eyes slid down towards the pile of rags at her feet, her very own war-loot. Andy followed suit.

"... That's not yours. That's…" He recognized them almost immediately, now that he stepped a bit closer. "... That's W's. You ripped that off him?"

"W." She finally spoke up, quiet like the breeze. "... That was his name?"

Andy stared in utter disbelief. How could anyone desecrate the fallen like that? Even if the fallen had been rather unpleasant in the past, and maybe even abusive, yes, but still. "Listen to me."

"..." Her apricot eyes rose off the corpse's automatic rifle and joined his in a light stare off.

"Listen. I'm giving you a ten second head start, okay?" He continued and nestled the muzzle of his pistol, "Nuffer", against her cheek. Her soft skin hugged the metal bore nicely from each side. "After that I'm gonna start shooting. And believe me, I'll hit, if you don't start running now."

"..." With a lazy roll, she let her eyes slide down towards the cold pressed against her face. "... Real scary. You sound like you're gonna piss yourself anytime now."

"Excuse me?"

"You sound like someone with an effeminacy complex." She continued, as if the gun wasn't even there. "A serious one."

"What?"

"Yeah. You sound scared shitless, but I'm unarmed. What's up with that?"

"..." Andy blinked once or twice, with the wind beaten right out of his sails. For a moment, he truly didn't know how to respond. "... This isn't a game, I'm gonna blast your head off if you don't ID yourself."

"ID? Sheesh, you're one of those…" She sighed and joined her hands together by her hips, slumping back a little. Andy did his best to keep the gun tightly pressed to her cheek. "ID? Since I'm the proud, new owner of your "W's" gear, I guess that makes me his successor, no?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

"Oh? What's that? the Sankta doesn't know anything about merc-culture? Yeah, who would've thought." She sent a few girlish cackles his way and stomped down upon the mound of stolen valor by her feet. "This is mine. All of this. Your buddy's life's work."

"..."

He needed a moment to process it all. This… CREATURE stole not only W's gear but, what, his identity? Who the hell did she think she was?

"What if I just shoot you? What if I blast you off and take that gear back to where it rightfully belongs?"

"And where is that, angel-boy? Enlighten me, WHERE does this gear belong, huh? Some museum? If there even are any left in this shithole." A scoff followed her harsh words.

"Us! To us, his crew!" He exclaimed a bit too loud for his own liking, letting anger take over his brain and cloud the tidbits of judgment still left breathing.

"Crew?" She glanced around the empty ruins with some genuine curiosity painted over her face. "... The, uh… The dead corpses? That's your crew? 'Cause I don't see anyone else."

"..." True, she had a point. "You don't know shit. They could be atop that hill behind you with a howitzer pointed at your back for all you know."

"For all I know, I saw a duo of lovebirds ditching the ruins and booking it in the COMPLETELY opposite direction of where your sorry ass ran." She shrugged and lazily threw a thumb behind her back. "I could take you there, if you put your toy away. And speak a little softer to your superior." With a smirk, the girl tugged at her shirt's collar and slipped a hand inside. Out, came a long, clattery mess of metal and tiny chains, with a little steel-plaque at the very end. Andy didn't even need to read the notches to recognize W's tags.

"You're not my superior, you're a fucking moron." He muttered and prepared himself for the familiar electric shock that came along, and slid down his spine every time the boy cursed. However, it never did, which was all the more concerning. "... You do realize you just told me where they are, right?"

"...?" She blinked, and the red antennae atop her head wiggled a little, showing unease. "... And?"

"And? And I don't need you for anything. I can just drop you and drag all these rags back."

"..." The boy's reasoning was difficult to argue. For the first time since she spoke, the girl showed signs of genuine distress. "... 'Kay, listen. I'll help you carry all this, alright? The rifle's unloaded anyway, I checked."

"There's spare mags in his chest rig." Andy pointed out and kicked the loot-mound, toppling it onto the side and letting all the war-fashion spill onto the mud.

"..." The girl was left stressing. As confident as she was before, most of that fake bravado had already dissipated into thin air. "I know. There's spare mags and I didn't bother shooting you, right? I didn't hold you up, or-..."

"Yeah, 'cause you'd be dead if you did. Sarkaz with a gun against a Sankta with two?" His eyes slid along the girl's tattered clothes and quickly assessed her marksmanship efficiency.

"But I've been following you, moron. I had tons of clear shots, but took none. Look- look, just- let me take you there. I'll carry those rags, whatever, you can take the gun. Just let me take you there."

"Why? W-... No, why the hell would I let you?"

"Why? Why not?"

"Why not?" Because you're a… A complete stray? Hell, you could have rabies for all I know."

"I don't have rabies!" She protested loudly and let her face lean closer to the boy's. Their eyes met, a raging storm hid behind her apricot ovals, contrasting sharply with his gray spheres. His spirit clung onto each bullet that rested within the magazine, each speck of originium dust, begging to be lit and fired away, to spread its cancerous roots all across the land and all its inhabitants. "I don't." The girl repeated with a soft hiss and crossed her arms.

"How can you know?"

"H-... What kind of question even is that? I'd know if I had rabies! And I don't." She huffed a little. "I do not have rabies."

"But I'm still not letting you take me anywhere." Andy summed up.

"But I can lead you exactly to them. They're probably packing up to leave by now, you know? Mercs are busy people. You're a merc, right? At least an attempt at being one. You'd know how busy we are."

"I'll take my chances."

"N-... Come on. I spared you! I could've shot." She pleaded, actually pleaded at this point. It was clear that her "master plan" had gone off the rails. "The least you can do is let me lead you to them. No traps, promise~."

"..." Andy couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity when staring right into her eyes. They were just like W's, had that exact same glint of utter, detached bliss to them, as if the lights were on but no one was home. Something shifted in his mind, something turned deep within his stomach. The muzzle of his gun slid down her cheek, then her neck, until it finally rested calmly next to its leather home, the holster by his hip.

"... Fine. Law, I'm gonna regret this." With a sigh, he resigned his fate into her hands. Just as he once did with a man named after an equally spicy alcoholic beverage. "No tricks, alright? Anything happens, you die."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." She mumbled and leaned down to gather W's gear. Andy kicked the rifle away from her grabby hands almost immediately.

"Hey!" He threw himself forward and hungrily reached for the gun. "I said, no tricks."

"... I was going for the rags, dimwit." With an amused chuckle, she gathered the clothes off the floor and took the liberty of draping W's cape over her own shoulders. "... Fits me nicely, no? Maybe needs some length-adjusting, but…"

"Don't get used to it." Andy cut in. "That's not yours, that's ours."

"Oh, and what're you gonna do with it, huh? Don't tell me you're actually planning on wearing all this."

"No, but we're…" His tongue tied into a knot, unable to find a suitable word or string of explanations.

"... You're gonna, what, send him off properly? Bury him like people? Please, we're not people. We're mercenaries, we don't do any of that sappy bullshit." The girl scoffed a little and hugged the rest of W's garb to her chest. "We leave corpses to rot. Or eat them."

"Shut up." Andy mumbled back and swung the poor corpse's rifle over his shoulder. With his eyes constantly aimed at the girl, he took off, waiting for her to follow. She did, taking careful, yet confident steps, as if she's walked this path many, many times before. "... Why'd you approach? Who even are you? You never answered."

"I did. I'm your new "W." You pick up weaponry of the fallen, you pick up their name and role, especially if you're someone as equally nameless as I am. Ever heard of flag-bearers, angel-boy?"

"Yeah. We've got flag-bearers, every self respecting merc group does."

"Exactly. The banner-man drops with a hole in his skull, your task changes from whatever the hell you were doing to picking up that flag, and waving it like a moron until you land in the mud as well. That's how it works."

"I know how it works" Andy bit back, as the two strolled along the empty battlefield, letting their gazes pass by the bunker bloodbath that spilled in the far distance. No sight of any loot-vultures, just yet. "I was asking about YOU, not your "role", or whatever."

"Me?" She tilted her head. A certain sparkle of confusion glimmered in her apricot eyes. "I'm free fodder, idiot. That's all you should care about."

Andy clicked his tongue. It quickly became clear that he wouldn't squeeze any information about the girl from the depths of her soul or mind. The former being permeated with this land's overarching sense of being utterly insignificant as an individual and the former lacking in… Either the ability to trust or just simply intelligence. Maybe both. Free fodder. If she wanted to be free fodder, so be it. It still rubbed him the wrong way, the fact that she had so nonchalantly robbed his W of all earthly possessions, even a tidbit of his personality, his pristinely, surgically white hair, crimson horns, that sense of superiority and snark. She was just like him, in a way. Then again, good thing it was her, not someone else. After each battle, each scrap, the vultures came to pick the meat off the fallen's bones, to pack each individual piece of gear and stuff it in their large, canvas bags, never to be seen again. The mere thought sent shivers down his spine, which joined the strange itching that had started forming at the bottom few vertebrae, as well as the temples and sides of his skull. Andy shoved the thoughts away, unable to face them at the moment in any way. The girl kept to herself, completely oblivious to the boy's inner turmoil. She stole a glance from time to time, her hungry gaze slid across the weapons carried in his arms each time she did. Andy just clutched them tighter and kept walking, mesmerized by the grace with which her tail swam through the air in circular motions.

"... Are you fucking staring at m-" She spat with disgust, only to be cut off by the boy's rapid, yet flustered counter.

"No! No, no, no, I wasn't! I was looking at your tail-"

"Stop staring at me, the hell is wrong with you? I'll lead you to your buddies, that's fine, but don't you stare at me like that!" She stopped and got uncomfortably close. Andy couldn't even react, as she flicked him in the nose.

"Ow?" He stepped back. "Why?"

"'Cause you're disgusting." The girl summed up. "I'll flick you another, c'mere."

"No! Piss off, n-..." He protested, yet the promised flick came. Andy rubbed his nose a little and hopped away from the girl's hurtful fingers. Just as he did, his back pressed against the wall of some old ruin, forgotten by time.

"Piss off"? You know what, angel? I'm getting sick of your constant disrespect, as your higher in command I'll have to beat some sense into you." She stated and creeped closer. Before Andy could notice or react, her hand reached behind her back and grasped onto the grip of another familiar piece of memorabilia. A combat knife, short and sharp, dim and stained. W's very own.

"W-... WAIT! WAIT." He pleaded, as the girl shoved her elbow against his neck. With a loud thud, his back hit the wall again, more forcibly and violently. He tried reaching for his pistol, but found nothing inside the holster. If any battlefield-vultures were to show up right now, he'd take it as a blessing, not a curse.

"Looking for this~?" The girl warbled with a sadistic sense of glee oozing from her lips. Her tail had wrapped itself around the grip and pulled the weapon right out. "... I didn't even need to put on the "lost, little girl" act with you, you still fell for it. Had it been the other two, I'd be groveling at their feet, trying to seem pathetic, but you? You just let me insult you, angel. You're so easy."

He wriggled in her grasp, gasping for air and reaching around to feel the grip of his rifle, yet both remained out of reach. W's automatic lead-spitter fell to the muddy ground, Vinny swung too low. Completely out of options, Andy tried kicking her legs or tearing himself away from the fiend, to absolutely no avail. She had a tight, tight grip on his neck, his arms and mind, forming clouds of doubt and genuine fear that enveloped his brain whole in their intoxicating fumes. This was it. The end to his story, the grand finale, getting his throat slit by some insane, W-looking broad. What a way to go.

"Now YOU listen to me." She purred into his ear, keeping her lips close and her intentions hidden. "... You'll get me to your buddies and introduce me as a new hire. Tell them I saved you, or whatever. They believe in heroic bullshit? If not, make something different up. Something that'll get me a ticket in, understood?"

"B-... Why?" Andy gasped for air and spat back, feeling the tip of her knife digging gently into his skin.

"Why? Why, why, why…" She parroted his words and rolled her eyes. "Why? 'Cause I'll slash your throat otherwise, got it?"

"..." His fingers dug into her forearm, trying desperately to pry the iron grasp open. "... G-Got it, fine."

"Oh, no, I wanna hear you say it."

"Say? What do you want me to say, y-..."

"Say what I just said. Repeat it to me clearly, Law-dog, show me your vocabulary."

"..."

"Come on."

"I just did! I said I got it."

"I got it" doesn't cut it, idiot. Say what I said."

"I don't even remember what you said at this point."

"Bullshit."

"No, really, I-..."

"Oh, gods…" She sighed in exasperation. "I said, you'll get me to your buddies, and-..."

"His buddies are right here." A certain voice joined in, eager to clear up any confusion and de-escalate the situation.

Andy felt his eyes nearly popping from his sockets at that very moment. The weight pressing down on his neck let go, and the girl took a step back. With a twirl, she turned towards the voice and slid her hands down to her hips.

"Oh~! O-... Oh." Her enthusiasm quickly dimmed. Andy slid down the wall and held onto the cold surface tight, feeling each unevenness sliding by his fingers, tearing little cuts and ravines into his skin. "... You lot look different."

With a strong nudge to his side, the girl woke the angel right up and forced his attention to focus on the matter at hand.

"Wh-...?" His oxygen-hungry mind couldn't comprehend her intentions, only putting the puzzle pieces together when his gaze had finally graced the supposed "buddies" that came to his rescue. Long, shapeless shadows clad in black, each of them distinctively detached from the earthly plane they stepped foot upon. Pointy, long masks ruled their faces, masquerades of misery hid their emotions and intentions. With large, steel baskets on their backs and massive canvas sacks by their sides, a group of battlefield-vultures stood in formation right before them, infesting the ruins with their unwelcome presence. Lengthy, leather belts hung all around their bodies, hugging the fabric of their cloaks tightly to their waists, legs, arms, chests, anything. Behind each belt hid a flurry of knives or crossbow bolts, a few arts-enhancing amulets or maybe even a dirty piece of originium or two. Andy blinked and wiped his eyes. He's never seen so many at once, let alone ever got surrounded and taken by complete surprise. Their bright, glowing eyes lit up his and the girl's face, painting their shadows with gray on the tattered walls behind their backs. Subconsciously, he stepped a little closer to the girl, who shot him a glance and aimed back for the birds of prey. The unwelcome flock of cowards, the bone-licking flesh consumers. She cleared her throat.

"... Vultures? Sarkaz equivalent of hyenas, you lot." The girl summed them all up and stepped forward.

"Could say that." Their unnamed "leader" spoke up and took a similar approach. They met in the very middle of the ruined building, the masked bird towered over the girl by a full head's length. "... You took a little of what's ours."

His voice was calm and reasonable, logical and almost friendly, in a way. After all, they just wanted to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. Rightfully W's, Andy's mind pointed out.

"Oh? You see a tag here, anywhere?" The girl tilted her head and grasped onto her cloak. She spun in place, searching all around the fabric. "... Naw, don't see "property of a buncha bird half-brains" written anywhere. You sure it's yours~?"

"Humorous." The bird-man summed up. "I'm offering you a lot. More than you deserve, merc. Hand over the rags and the gun." He ordered, which caused all his feather-y accomplices to perk up and assume ready-ish positions. Their masked eyes glowed a little brighter, as their arms and hands emerged from within their cloaks, holding bolt-spitters, wands, steel and whatever else they could get their claws on. Andy gulped a little.

"I don't ask twice." The vulture in charge claimed, yet asked once more: "Hand over the merc leader's loot. Just that. We won't even rob you."

"Oh, how generous." She let out a quick snortle and reached behind her back. There, her hands were joined together, holding onto Andy's very own pistol, which had been lying in her tail's embrace all this time. Her head slinged backwards, those apricot eyes aimed right at the boy's. A strange feeling of deja-vu enveloped him whole, as the girl shot him a rather wide, toothy and almost feral smile. One reminiscent of W's detached smirks and grins, one so very, very familiar.

"... You wanna bring your corpse-buddy's gear back?" She whispered. "Then we gotta fight for it. As much as it pains me, no other way to look at it, Law-dog."

With a shrug, she turned back to the pack of vultures and took a few brave steps forward.

"I got a better idea~!" With that announcement, she stopped right before the grand bird's masked facade.

"We don't want your "ideas", we want the merc's loot." He hurled back, eagerly sliding his hand into the abyss that rested within his cloak.

"Oh, but trust me."

She jerked her head back and threw the boy a tiny wink.

"It's a good one."

Tch-tchk.

Her hands racked the gun's slide. Andy could barely even force his own rifle's bolt back before all rationality and logic had been sucked out of this world. All hell went loose, even more loose than it had already been.

But that's alright. That's exactly where the girl truly thrived most.