It was a considerably cool day of crystal vision and light. The city glittered off trickling water and glass. The clouds had died today and so the White Sea could be seen in the distance beyond the impenetrable wall. This tranquil beauty was slowly dying, seeming grey compared to its former glory. Mass panic. Mass hysteria.

The memory rained down hard, voiceless and echoing from the black hole of the sewers: “Operation: Venom Cleanse.”

A hand dipped in cool water, like sea weed, was gracefully waving contently, feeling the fluid flow between its digits and then into oblivion. The hand belonged to the body of Asp - a strong body of many scars. This body, perched at her regular spot at the edge of her building’s fall (which was similar to a natural waterfall only manmade) was watching the world like a goddess with womb-eyes, observing how things changed so easily and so slowly, like when one watches their garden flourish. She stared again into the black hole below and in return was offered voices.

“To tell the truth: I expected more.”

“You will never be happy, will you? At last, you, one of our greatest, are going in deep. For a soldier, this is a great honour. Umbillica wants to take back its children. This is a brilliant honour! And a blessing.”

“Blessed are those with jaws.” She suddenly closed her eyes but the memory was still alive, thumping hard with voice.

“Go ahead: remain in this obscure little life you lead, staring at the world go by while you lie on your back, still, weak, alone, desperate. Oh yes. We are knowledgeable in the life of Anna Heart. Leeching off decent men, using her fake spirit to captivate them. How many times have you been married?”

“Anna….” A shiver ran down her twisty spine.

So you’re still holding onto an old life? You’re a public confession waiting to be heard. Then why don’t you take it again? Prove yourself worthy of the name Asp."

Falling…Falling, hypnotically. It must have been the sound of water, splashing into the dark hole of the works, or the simple aesthetic of gravity; it functioned for beauty and as eccentric waterworks which were much different than waterworks of the dirt era. She thought hard and slowly, (flawed memories were obsolete, technically invalid; technically improvable, technically prone to being manipulated and distorted.)

“Persuading you is a tiring affair. Do you remember? You were the best at what you do.”

“The Glory days”

“You head out in two days. That’s right. It’s the day the White Wave rolls in. The operation has taken the interest of all branches of Umbillica. They have decided to grant Serpentine the opportunity.”

If there was any shred of history, it would exist only in data, encrypted and hidden in the Vault. She could distinguish the when, possibly the how but she could never distinguish the why.

She returned to her observations of the dying world around her. Buildings were constructed with the glassy, dark oily substance that suggested rainbows in space, as some people called it. It was just translucent just enough to make out the internal architecture like bones within an x-ray. There were few exceptions to this like the Vault. A large mammoth construction attached to the governmental palace. And the Redeemer Tooth. This bizarre edition to the city was where ‘Threats of Evil’ were suppressed and regulated. Asp was never quite sure why it was called this, and for some reason she felt it was best not to know. She stared hard at this building too, pondering if there was any meaning applicable to her own story.

She shifted her attention back to the heavy stigma, amateurishly burned without title or name. Was this Serpentine? (“Serpentine the opportunity”). It was all so long ago. She was declared a hero; “hero of heroes”. A sense of disappointment overcame her at this in same way an innocent would forget her own birthday. She pondered what it would have been like if there had photographic equipment. Perhaps if she knew then, what she knew now; she would have recorded in a diary but alas: no such luck or time travel could help her.

She rose carefully not to slip on the slippery, and plummet to an end. It was time to head to the dusty safe house of Serpentine. After all she was a member of the dreaded Serpentine: Asp had always been a member of Serpentine, and why not? Her body was ‘performance-perfect’, or at least once was. A sense of doubt still remained. She thought about responsibility, about duty and of course, danger. Her confidence was not as iron hard as before. Yes! She was decided. She was going to engage. In the end: all she knew was the snake.

Whir. To observe him sleeping might have inferred an unease, but no one ever saw him sleep. Cobalt and grey, the eye eserved a purpose. Aesthetics, unlike in most in Heaven, did not enter the equation. He was an example of purposeful enhancement, when they built on his tattered donor body so long ago. Click. A lens slid about the instrument in his face, cool light flickered and swept the perfect white. Just as it were the previous night; some cerebral impulse flashed the left of his brain, dumping in permanent storage. Wake up, Leon. Rise.
He found some solace in the image of Heaven, though moments of the æon perhaps still infested his thoughts awake as they did in dreams, vivid but fragmented. Dark and violence. The building had spoken to him - a message - however he was reluctant to acknowledge it. A leathery palm clawed his eye; he would need to soon. Cold light slithered through the translucency of the walls.

“Keen, there is a meeting you must attend”.

It was from Umbilica – from Serpentine. He cursed in the half morning. Reaching behind him, the alien hand tugged the cables from his back, (they swiftly slithered into nothingness through the walls) and he placed one glucose cap in his mouth, draining the orange liquid from the vial.

*

That table, it was covered with decay. He swept aside a thick film of residue from the steel top, a can a century expired, intangible plastic with impossible branding. Leon threw the bag onto the top, new food, new life. This place had been empty for longer than the imagination could span. Propping the door back against its frame (it was locked, to gain entry had required a run-up) he seated himself, on a filthy stool, taking a pack of cigarettes from his jeans. Silly, considering. He lit the stick, and smoked.

She sat in what could easily have been mistaken as a perfect state of bliss. Her white blonde hair flowed straight down to her waist like the falling water around her. She was in one of the Umbillica meditation chambers, a small white podium in a perfectly circular room about 4 metres in diametre, with a 2 metre wide pool surrounding her. Her soft lips chanted the teaching of her Church like a perfectly formed mantra. The doors to the chamber glid open with a delicate sigh and to themessenger who opened it looked as if the young woman was floating as she sat on a small antigravity pad to fully support her slight body.

"Lady Snow, your time has come again..." her blue eyes opened slowly, like a cool moonrise. Her feline pupils adjusted easily to room's gentle lighting, she gave a delicate yet sacarine sweet smile to the figure by the door. The light blue glow of the pad gravity faded away and she lightly dropped down to her feet, before walking across the pool's surface, another miracle? No simply a glass walkway, hidden by moving water.

"Please tell me how I may serve" she said softly as she knelt before the figure, her hair falling to frame her face.
"You are needed to return to your position within the Serpentines, a great task lays before you."
"Of course, I live in service of the Umbilica." she said without question.
"Lady Snow, you are one of our most prized children, you must return to us with your findings. Nothing must be omitted."
"As is the wish of the Umbilica" she chanted as a heavy hand rest on her head.
"Go for in peace child and bring hope to our hearts."

The hand lifted away and the figure moved away, leaving Kiya in her knelt position. She stayed as such until she heard the doors close. Getting to her feet she smiled to herself.
"God's work... and at such a time as this... It will be good to see the others again..." with a shimmering flourish she turned to a second door and made her way to her room to prepare herself to leave.

She listened. There was silence apart from the odd gentle noise. It was time. She pressed her hand firmly against the broad, rusted door. Immediately, it began to fall. With ancient reflex, she attempted to grip the handle but was quickly overcome with sense. The door crashed and the room rang like a pair of cymbals. Embarrassment. Disrespect. Foolish.
That is what could have happened. She found herself standing by the door which was still in the same place. Her imagination was going wild. After a couple more imaginative fantasies, she came to her senses. ‘What am I doing?’ She laughed, although not out of absurd jokiness but fear. Instead, she removed her bag and slid it through the opening, followed by squeezing herself through the gap.
Disturbingly, the room was cold and dark. The air seemed to be tainted a deep blue-grey. Only a couple of the sensor-lights were working. She had the strange sense she was naked – missing something.
Over came with lethargy, she leant forward over the sink, staring into the plug hole. It reminded her of the water-works. Oblivion.
“Blessed are those with jaws,” she whispered. She was about to embark on a journey of memories that braught her here but suddenly felt the warmth of a cigarette. She froze. “I’m - ,” she spoke up: “Has anyone else turned up?”

Crossing his legs, tapping the ash laden cherry he had trained his attention on her slender figure for a moment before she sensed him. "No." He screwed the burning end in his forefingers, and dropped it to the floor. Thin whips of white still trailed above the last embers; past his arms, his eyes his face, settling around the roof. "I was expecting an open door. I have only been here a short while though. Perhaps it would have been better to wait, but I am a little blazon outside." Metallic tone. Tapping the bottom of the pack, he extracted a second with ashen lips, drawing it in with a haematic tongue. He lit, smoked; scratched his neck. She was barely visible through the navy haze of the room, bent double at the sink Leon moved, rested on his elbows next to her shifting the weight of his laden jacket to his shoulders. "It's been a long while, Asp. Who else are we going to see?" From his pocket, he raised a bottle of water to his mouth and too a swig. "And what are Umbilica playing at, having us do this?"

She maintained her pose, engrossed by the hole. His presence was close. All her hairs stood erect upon her neck. The man was cold, the warmest thing about him being the delicate ashes that caressed his lips. She recognised him immediately but could not find a name. She continued to stare into the abyssal plug hole that had not been used for centuries. ‘What are they playing at?’ She thought. She knew exactly what he meant. It was all boarding upon surreal. It was like being woken from a long sleep; you would never know if you were still dreaming.

“To tell the truth, I’m not sure; a never ending horizon? (Probably.) Arid wastelands, (definitely). The occasional dead tree…There might be combat. But it does not matter: ‘We are blessed.’” She looked up from the sink and finally met with the man’s eyes. “They seem to realise they need us, so we can lead them into paradise, once again.”

Kiya could hear the familar voices from within, she smiled softly. As she approached the collapsed door, with it's gaping doframe she caught the last words that were said.
"Indeed that is so Asp, we are most blessed to be chosen. It is good to see you again." she smiled at the woman before turning to Keen
"It's so marginably better than neutral to see you also Keen. I hope I won't have to piece you back together too much this time around." her words were cruel but her tone and face showed that of a perfect lady. She was framed by the light coming in behind her and as she stepped inside, she seemed to glow almost, from the sheen on her hair and the pristine white uniform. She looked so delicate and pure, and her sweet smile only added to such a picture.
The small domes attached to her temples were knew but didn't seem to cause her any irritation.
"Before I am asked," she said neatly "I know as much as you both as to why we have been called here. My peers told me simply to come here and prepare to serve Heaven. My best guess would be that we will be informed once we have all assembled."
She sat on the nearest chair-like object, setting her medi-pack beside her. She stood out so completely from her dark and dank surroundings but she looked like she couldn't be happier.

Shakily turning, haunch against the counter he rested his weight on icy palms, folded his legs, then in turn his arms. A smile more like a grimace, some contorted grin - visibly displeased. "Lady Snow". He nodded in her direction, the cigarette still hanging from his mouth. "It is my recollection that no piecing was required." Keen wiped his cheek, taking the cigarette between his fingers he stood and strode slowly the yards to the other woman, his eyes fell aggressively on her body, fleshy neck, mouth... Cold and steady, his mouth within an inch of her ear, parallel to her face was his cheek. He adjusted his side arm, rotating it slowly to the point at which it would unclasp. The voice was a metallic whisper, "I just hope Umbilicas tight leash can keep me from ripping you limb from limb". Fine smoke escaped; a half smile for a moment flashed across his cheek, though had she seen his eyes it would have been impossible to mistake the thrill in his dilating iris. Floating past her, he slid himself onto the table next to the heavy canvas duffel. A click, the catch on his holster and he held the revolver, archaic, a relic like him. From the bag, he took his black box, gun cleaner. Dropping the muzzle, fingers rotated the chambers level with the barrel and the other dry hand pushed the brush through, erasing light.

Her smile seemed as serene as ever. In fact she even chuckled. Lazily she turned her head to direct said smile at him.
"My my! And I thought for a moment you were going to greet me with a kiss!" she chuckled behind her gloved hand.
It was one of her little sins. She loved to poke him. It was tempting fate to the extremes but he fasinated her. She had seen him in more pieces than should be physically possible during battle. Her medical training had saved everyone in the squad at least oncve but that was her duty. He was different. But she was more than aware of how dangerous he was. She had seen what he was like in combat and she truely prayed for what was left of his soul. However he was a nessesary evil.
She flexed her hand in the glove. Static flicked in between her finger tips, she blinked slowly and her palm flashed with eletricity and she tested the defib pads. With a satisfied nod she folded her hands neatly in her lap.
"Asp? Do you know how long it will take for the others to arrive?" she asked looking up with her feline pupils flexing in the shifting light.

The voices were aloof, murky; it was if she was underwater and along came the distant echo from its dark depths. She finally prised herself from the sink.
“It’s possible they forgot us, and this little old shed, or they felt it was better to fade away entirely than make a comeback. Now, there has to be something here,” she said with detached ardour. With much regret, all she discovered were strange, monstrous odours. She gave up on and dropped her bag onto the table. With a great thud, it rolled out and spread across the table. Within it displayed a colourful carnival of various chemicals; amongst them were poisons and venom, for preventing respiratory functions; hallucinogens, for distorting mental capacity and tranquilisers, made specially for rending a target unconscious. Each vial was labelled thoroughly.
She steadily raised and stretched. “As for those present…any rabid display of violence –within our own pack - will be put-down. Understood?”

Kiya lowered herself in her seat, swinging her legs like a scolded child. even though she was pretty certain most of the comment was directed at Keen. The submissive position was held only long enough to be registered before she hopped down lightly onto the dusty floor. The contents of the bag intrigued her and she crossed over to get a closer look at the spilled tubes.
Her eyes flicked over the labels as she cautiously placed them back in the bag, checking for cracks and leakages.
"Toxins... sedatives... neurodampeners... This is certainly a wide range... do you really think you're going to need all these?" she asked, with a slight frown "Or are we adopting a better to be safe than sorry policy..."
The professional was coming through more strongly now, Snow's childish nature flicking to reveal the hardened battlefield medic which had got her put in the squad in the first place.

“Better than dead, at least, I would say. I would say, better than life too. A romantic charm are those poisons, but this is real combat. Do not let the informality of Umbillica’s approach mitigate the seriousness of what we’re doing.” It took only a brief flicker of his wild eye to press Edge again. Unfortunately, this was the only distinguishing feature of his overly normal face. The great models of Umbillica would describe him as a man “without advantages.”
Asp moved tenderly forwards. “Look –“
“No. You look, I mean – Edge. Old code name. Not my name. Code name. Possibly to connote insanity, perhaps, I would say. I would go so far as to say one of you coined such a name – a little cute nickname for a little – I’m here to be a soldier – Serpentine. I would suggest you keep the unnecessary questions to yourself or a minimum or…” He finally took a long deep pause, but abnormally, there was no breath, no gasp for air. This broke his distinctive speech pattern which was equally disturbing. “I deserve good things.”
Asp felt oddly breathless listening to the newcomer, despite saying very little herself. She moved slowly and nodded. “OK. Take a seat…I was just saying to the others. Wrongful or dangerous members of the group will be –“
“Killed?”
“We’ll wait for the others us to show.”
She is already looking down on me, he thought. Her eyes dilated with fear until I spoke. The others are not fond either. She should appreciate honesty and not some face. He sat down.
Asp took a vial of poison and rolled it in her hand and contemplated: Were we all this vindictive in the past?

Keen looked up, robotic: "I can't help but feel that was directed at me, Asp". He carefully extracted the brush, and lifted the old gun to his eye; cast. Clean. He loaded it. .500, and with the safety on slipped it back into the cracked leather holster. Edge was feet from him. He could have flung out his wrist and taken the bastards face clean off, but instead his poked another into the synthetic lips and ignited. Thin smoke caressed his ruined face, dancing about his brow and off into the air. As though by instinct he replaced his cleaning gear, eyes now trained intently on the black leather of his associate. He spoke imperfectly, he always had, though he had never before appeared to be losing his mind. Older, Leon suspected, than most. But none of them had any concept of time, really. Not on him.

Pinning that anger down like a wolf struggling in a trap - it was hard. The nicotine still calmed him, that at least had been built in, somehow. Snow had been so close he could smell her sweat, there was even a faint touch of adrenaline in the scent drifting from her cheeks. Had his muscles been real, he would have shivered. The urge to taste her skin had been so strong, but he knew if he had, it would have been everything in his will not to take her life right there. He preferred the beautiful ones. Keen stood again, and took the cigarette from his mouth, holding it an inch from his face. Smoke left his nostrils. "Edge."

Eito sat quietly, concentration on his meditation. Rain lashing down upon him, colliding and forming yet more droplets of water. More echoes in the silence of his mind, that slowly faded. His mind was clear for a reason that even he did not know. He had hidden something from not only those around him, but from his self as well. A voice pierced the black void that was his mind.

"Juno, you are needed,"

Quietly the man arose from his slumber and took several careful steps. He had been there for days waiting for his time. Waiting. So patiently. But he didn't know why until now. He had always tried to ignore the subtle whispers in his mind, but this voice he recognised, and it's voice spoke with a clarity no other could. He loaded up his gear and set about his walk. Each step echoing in what was left of his meditation.

A short while later he arrived. He took one glance at the door, and brushed his hands across it. Too long had it been since he felt cold, rusty metal. He enjoyed the experience that he was soon to forget. He then began to usher himself under the door in a simple, graceful movement. Soon after he stood bolt upright, and looked at those around him. He recognised them all, if only slightly. Faces from the past, back to haunt his already questionable existence.

" I bid you my warmest greetings from the empty void," He smiled warmly awaiting a reply.

Snow narrowed her eyes ever so slightly as Edge had entered the room. Unlike with Keen, who's sadism was a subject of great intrigue to her, Edge was simply rude, arrogent and full of self importance. She didn't like him but it didn't stop her treating him. It was her duty to heal the sick and wounded and she always followed it. Edge may have been the only one she could ever possibly be pursuaded to make an exception for. Once more however, he was a necessary evil.
The second voice however brought a bright smile to her face.
"Juno! How wonderful! I thought you may not return to us." her feline blue eyes sparkled as she side-stepped Edge to greet him. With the light blocked from the door she seemed even more out of place, the glistening white tunic reflecting what litle light it could as the young woman laid a gloved hand on the man's arm, her gentle smile a truely genuine one.

Asp he regarded with respect. Snow? He disliked for her demeanour, for what she did, for the falsities she represented. He could keep his mouth shut for those, at least for now. Edge though, malevolence. He was dangerously arrogant, brash. He kept a steady eye on him while taking another drag from his cigarette... 'I'm a loner, a weapon' he threw the idea about in his mind - 'but he is a danger to us all.' He exhaled mistily, his eyes still perfectly steady, until an unseen voice broke his contemplation. A memory circuit sprung to life, and he felt the primal thrill of his adrenal centre alerting his body to the presence. He did not move an inch. The brain eased him with endorphins. Snow spoke first, but he already knew who this man was.

"Juno" he smiled again, still a half, but this time he was joyous; the movement twisted the scars around his lips into awful crevasse, lines seeping to his eyes and neck in a hideous ridge of white tissue. "Old brother, it has been an age". His voice still a dark monotone, showed no elation. He assumed Eito would recognise the affection. If he could remember. He smoked again. "I trust you are well, as you are here". Keen placed a ice-cold hand on the shoulder of the newcomer.

The Titan flew straight as a die, just as he had fixed it to. He loved that ship, it was a part of his heart and soul and was like another one amoung his crew.
"Piolet, we have something coming up head, about 1 mile before the land site." A voice said over the coms. Halfeb didn't think anything of this. He picked up the com device and spoke into it.
"Don't worry COM. I'm sure its nothing. Just chill." He said into the com device. Suddenly, the Titan shook, alarms went off. They had been hit, the Titan was going down. "Status report!" Halfeb yelled into the com device, but, it was too late. The coms room had been hit. Another violent shake as the Titan was hit again. He could here the screaming of his crew as they burned behind him. The smell, was indescribably horrific. He looked forward, twisting the controls to try and stop the titan from crashing, but it was hopeless, the ground was coming up too fast at the front screen. The screams, the smell, the ground, he screamed just before he hit.

He shot up in his bed. He calmed himself. He put his head in his hand. He could feel the nanites trying to calm him down too, releasing calming pharamones into his brain. He sighed, realising how fake this sence of calm was. He rubbing his temple, trying to feel what was real. He did feel something real, he could feel an ache where his body stopped and the cybornetics started. He massaged it, feeling flesh then mental. He couldn't even tell if he was real or not anymore. He pulled back to covers and sat on the edge of his bed. He took a second, the thought of another day in this so called perfect world. He stod up and walked over to his wardrobe and oved his hand over the opening mechinism. Inside were two outfits, is army uniform and his everyday street clothes. He looked at his uniform for and a second. He then screamed and knocked it off the hook. He took a second to calm down again and hung it back up before grabbing his everyday wear and got dressed.

Thats when he saw it, at his door. A letter. With the Umbillica markings on it. He looked away and growled to himself.
"Why can't they just leave me be?" He asked himself. He then walked over and picked up the letter. It was about a special task force, one that wanted him to join. He threw it to one side. How could he join a special task force? He no longer believed in himself. Ever since the acciedent, he's blamed himself for, he's never been able to fly another mission. However, to let these poor people die by not at least offering his asssisstance when it is asked for, this wasn't an option if he ever wanted to rediem himself for the lives that he cost all those years ago. He still refused to put on the uniform so, he took the letter and left for the location told.

When he got there, he heard voices within. He poked his head into the room where he had heard the voices. "I'm not too late to join the party am I?" He asked.

Juno smiled eagerly, all be it without any reason. He recognized their intents as just and true, and in a way he trusted them. But he was unable to draw on the information, locked in his mind, as to why. He wasn't used to warm gestures. Ever being used to being part of a crowd, despite not truly fitting in. He knew he was different and it was obvious to everyone else that he was different. No one knew why though.

"An eager welcome as always, it is good to see everyone so well, pity we had to meet under such... circumstances."

The sentence was spoken through the eager smile which he still didn't drop. He had emotions, deep inside of him compelling him to say things that he could not believe true. How did he really feel about these people. How did they feel about him? Something inside him wanted to ask. Something inside him wanted to know. As always, as shadow cast doubt on the integrity of what he may uncover in doing so. Instead he just sat down in a corner and crossed he legs. Shuffling off his equipment and start trying to clear his mind, to once again meditate.

A voice in his head echoed,

"Why did Snow's touch feel so warm to him, so... personal..."

A voice broke his concentration. His eyes shot open as he saw a man he did not recognize. He did not respond. Not out of arrogance, but because he felt he had nothing to say. Juno began to shut his eyes again.

The dark van drew up to the curb in the dark night, the rain beating a light staccato upon the interior. From the front, a man in a dark uniform stepped out, carrying a box. A survey of the box would show dark leather boots, and a black leather coat, twenty daggers, and a large handgun. The tools of a thief.

The man set the box down, drawing from his pocket a key. He placed the key in the trunk of the van, and opened the door. Inside, sitting chained to an uncomfortable bench, was a man. A blond man, with bruises upon his face and arms. A prisoner. The guard spat, and stepped in. He drew his gun in his right hand, a protection, just in case, and unlocked the man. The Duke.

Duke stood, rubbing his feet. He left the van, and walked to his box. First, he put on his boots, to protect his feet from the wet ground, and then his jacket, to protect his body. The gun was fastened to his left hip; and the daggers placed at various points about his body. He smiled at the guard.

Duke turned and entered the complex, arriving at the room right behind a man dressed as a pilot.

Duke entered wordlessly. He cared not about his companions.

Subconsciously Snow took a step closer to Juno when Keen had come over to greet him. This may have given him more space to approach him, or it may have been that when her back was too him, Snow was nervous of the machine-man...
The new faces however distracted her. The first man looked like a civillian, the bags under his eyes told he was a definate sufferer of sleepless nights. She opened her mouth to greet him when the second arrived. The manner of his arrival intrigued her greatly... A prisoner.
She gave Juno another smile making it clear she'd talk to him later, her fingertips casually drifting down his arm as she moved passed him to the what appeared to be the civilian.
"Greetings, I'm Snow, the squad medic." she smiled softly, her hand folded neatly infront of her, almost like a maid. "I'm assuming your services have been requested by the Umbillica but as I've been given none of your medical history I'll need to give you a brief check over before we proceed."
She was simple, pleasent and matter of fact, exactly as she'd been trained to be but there was a softness about the way she approached the stranger that was somewhat unique.
"Can I have you codename please?" she asked, giving him another sweet smile.

Duke looked the woman up and down... and smiled. At least he would have some female companionship on his long forced journey. And, a medical officer; she knew how his body worked. He considered telling her how and when and how thoroughly she could give him a whole body check, but thought better of it. She was military, they all were. Instead, he merely gave her the basics.

"Name's Duke, no codename. Six foot caucasian male, one hundred and ninety pounds, blood type A-, smoker, age thirty three."

After giving the rigamarole, he took a breath, thinking he'd better introduce himself more completely than the medical role sheet.

"I'm a thief, or rather, was a thief. I was caught, and offered this as my punishment instead of the chair. I guess they thought that since I evaded capture for ten years, I'm good at surviving. Plus, you military people probably don't know squat about picking locks, stealth movement, and good old fashioned stealing. All things you'll probably need out in those wastelands. So, you keep me alive, and I'll keep someone from killing you. Deal?"

She was quite glad that the others turned up. More so, it was a relieving sign to seem some potential stability with ex-members. She gave a gentle nod to the Piolet and then to Juno (whom already seemed to score some respect from his team.)Then, another man entered. Sensing something wrong, she listening attentively with a blank expression aimed at the floor.
“This is all liquid,” she whispered in her breath as she over heard the words in the background of the crowd. A spark of energy ran through, sending her diligently on a relentless weave through the party members to look at this newcomer with great, almost startling haste. She reached for the holster and reached for…
Thud. Crash. Her cold hand hugged Duke’s throat with a grip of unseen malice. She pinned him down to the metal of the table to where Kiya was sitting serenely. The barrel of the gun was pressed firmly against the flesh of Duke’s temple. Strangely, it all felt familiar, it felt like an extension of her arm.
“Now listen. I don’t know who you are; I was not informed I would be taking on board random vigilantes. What I find more unsettling is that you’re a criminal. Do you suspect me to believe Control would jeopardize this mission?” Her eyes seem to hide behind menacing slits as she spoke, her head twisted at some violent angle to get closer.
“So yes, in regards to your opinion, ‘us military people’ are not as dumb as we look. More so, we won’t, or I should I say we don’t think twice about eliminating a threat. We are an exceptional, if not the best team and that’s the only thing stopping me from blowing you away. You would have to have skill to be ‘informed’ of us, or at least find us; that is a merit on its own,” she said with a slight hint of interest.
“Oh shoot him already,” added Edge. She raised and eased her pistol slowly, followed by a gentle release of her grip. She reached out her hand in offer to him lift up.”
“He’s in…I’m sure he will be useful…in some way. Now, everyone get comfortable and listen carefully. I’m not going to repeat my self,” she commanded.

Duke got up hesitantly, put off by the random nature of this attack. He wanted to explain that he was here so the mission would succeed. He wanted to explain that only a fool would think military personal weak... just lacking certain skills. However, such talk would be frowned upon even more by this demon woman who had attacked him.

Standing, he raised his hand, and felt his throat. It seemed fine; he seemed ok. It was too damn bad that he hadn't seen that coming. Mere weeks ago, before his stay in the slammer, his reflexes would have been enough to dodge the blow and humiliate the woman... but perhaps it was for the better, since she seemed to be his future CO. As for the gun to the head; he was a dead man anyway. That was why he was here; as far as Command was concerned, he would die out there in the wastes. If, by some slim chance he did survive, he would have to take on a false identity; according to official records, he had been given the Chair this morning.

He returned his attention to the CO, he wondered how he would be "useful". Likely, she would try to use him as a human shield. Well, now that he was on to her, she would find him faster, and harder to hijack. He flashed a quick smile towards Snow, letting her know he was fine, and needed no medical attention. Now, to hear what his unstable CO wanted...

“Now listen because I’m not going to repeat myself. We are elected to escort assigned professionals through The Wastelands. One of which is supposedly a leading expert in reviving the Installation, if there’s no one there already. If all goes to plan, this should be simple and serve as a good way to reinstate ourselves.”
Asp took a deep breath and slowly traveled the universe of eyes, coping with their varying climates.
“As you have probably heard from the rumors, the aura of God is fading… Our world, (our Eden) is withering.” Her voice gradually adjusted itself to a softer tone. “Equilibrium is to be restored for the sake of millions.
As for those who don’t know me, yet. My name is Asp. I’m going to be running your life from right here, right now. I don’t truly care if you don’t like me or one another. I don’t expect appreciation or approval or even respect. I only demand cooperation and team work. The time of Judgment is near. Let us prove ourselves worthy. We all have specific roles, strengths and weaknesses but above all, we have each other. Remember that.
Let there be no misconceptions. This mission is a hazard just like any other. The theories vary; there is speculation that we’re dealing with a biohazard, some think the installation simply had a power failure, and thus, are unable to communicate. But theories don’t matter. We’re to make contact with the installation, escorting Umbillica’s Ressurectionist and leading man to the location and back again.
Edge raised his hand. “Look – we have all heard the bed time stories of demonic predators and ghouls and sausages and what not – I mean – how do we get in there? May I go so far as to say -”
“The chopper is going to take us to beyond the even grounds, Edge – a never ending horizon, might I add… There, we’re going to be dropped at a Canyon that was previously a major river that flowed to the White Sea. Beyond that, it is imperative we take to foot…Welcome to Serpentine.”

Leon pitched back, taking the canvas duffel in his hand. Neither the piolet nor the prisoner he knew, though a piolet he could respect; he was military. He had no time for scum. The bag hung from his shoulder, slack and unshapely with paraphernalia. Ammunition. Glucose caps. He finished the cigarette he held, throwing it to the floor behind Snow's feet. Asp had asserted her position, he would assert his ascendancy. The others were attentively listening to her, but he knew all he needed to, and besides, he could listen as intently from anywhere in the building. He moved silently through the milky air of the room, the dusty light only briefly dancing from one shoulder of his jacket before he stood behind the convict. His hand was already perfectly level with the gun; the clasp undid with only the most paltry click and he held the thick barrel deftly between bitter fingers. He lowered the duffel, and raised the revolver, cocking the hammer. One expert moment, he had gripped him by the skin of his hip, the muzzle digging sharp into the small of his back, between some kind of holster he quickly found a sweet spot. Keen's head rested inches behind Duke's.

"In this weapon are five rounds. Each round is half an inch across. Lead. Expanding. She develops a muzzle velocity in excess of two-thousand feet per second. It would cut you in half, and nothing would give me more pleasure right now, I assure you but what she said is what goes. So you listen to her. Stray our lines, you will end up dead. But if I have anything to do with it, your death will be a long time coming." He sucked air, his nose, mouth, face alight with sadistic allure. "And I promise, there is nothing you could do to me that hasn't been done a hundred times worse".

Leon eased back into the dark with his bag and his gun, and stood back to observe. The convict hadn't moved, maybe having two guns pressed to him in as many minuets had shaken him around a little. He kept the revolver trained on him; he wouldn't fire, though. The through and through would most likely kill, and if it didn't, the noise would carry for miles. Asp had finished. He waited until they had all nodded.

"Serpentine" he uttered, to himself, smiling sideways and laughing silently. Slipping the revolver back, he drew from his bag the smaller firearm, he pushed a magazine into the submachine-gun, screwed on the suppressor, and gripping it in his free hand and shoving it into the thigh holster. He slung the PAS assault rifle over his shoulder.
"Okay". He was mechanical and quiet, and he waited to he was heard. "You listened to her, now you're either committed, or you're leaving. If it's the latter, I suggest you go now. If it's the prior, then get outside".

Juno snapped out of his meditation, once again due to a rude interruption. His eyes opened slowly.

"You heard them, on to the setting of our inevitable deaths!". He seemed to cackle slightly afterwards. Managing what could be seen as a smile, though it was to faint to notice. He glanced at Snow and her beauty reminded him of a very vivid memory. He crouched, grasping frantically at his head. Images, flashes. Nothing that formed a solid memory. With the whir of the voices spiraling in the distance, he regained his focus. He re-erected his self and stood straight. He acted as though nothing had happened.

"After you, Snow." He gestured towards the direction of Asp and Keen whilst holding out one of his hands. His smile faded, he was too busy trying to suppress the growing consciousness inside him.

Duke heard a sound, another macho man military bum trying to sneak up on him to teach him a lesson. Fool. The CO had already said that he was welcome; killing him out of hand would be stupid. The man, confident in his stupidity, once again threatened Duke with a gun. Stupid. Killing someone with a gun proved nothing; only that your finger could pull a trigger. No. Duke was not impressed. Instead, while the man's attention was on his ears, Duke moved his hands swiftly, out of sight. The cigarettes were in his pocket. Stupid. Always keep something you can't stand to be stolen in you're tight back pocket, where you'll feel it being lifted.

The man stepped back, but Duke was already done. The other man's pack of cigarettes was now in his own left pants pocket, next to his personal cigarette case. These military men; they underestimated how fast a trained thief was. He chuckled to himself. If the mission wasn't so important, and honestly if he had a way back to civilization without them, he would have decided to leave them, stranded, having stole their bullets. Instead, he would board with them, and play his role. Likely, they would learn to respect him when they saw him in combat.

So far, the only person who hadn't assaulted him was the medical officer. No, scratch that, the silent pilot had also refrained from holding a gun to his person, or telling another to shoot him. Ah, well, if they thought they scared him, they should spend a week on the street, running from the idiot cops as the crime lords demanded tithes and fees from an honest thief.

It was all too much. Duke pulled out his own cigarette case, and lit up. He needed some nicotine. He replaced his cigarettes and lighter, and took a long drag. He was glad he had the other, mostly full pack. He would need them.

He stepped into the dappled sunlight. Squinting momentarily, his eyes adjusted faster than organics. He went though the rigmarole, the empty right fingers delicately stroked the outside of his pockets, his belt: the subby, the revolver, knife, clips, speed loaders, optics, tools, medical kit and cigare... Oh. He checked his back pockets, though he wouldn't normally of placed them there. Duke was just stepping out the door, smoking one of his own. The brighter light allowed him a more thorough view of the man, he swaggered unceremoniously from the building and into the street without concern for inconspicuity. His eyes briefly crossed Keen's figure, but by the time his inferior natural eyes had adjusted to the light it had already happened.

Two slight spits at first went unnoticed at first - even by the thief himself. Keen watched him. He knew that if he could, he would have raised his hand to the pain in his neck, but it wasn't going to happen. The first round had severed his spinal chord, the second mutilated his right lung just below the shoulder, and almost in slow motion he fell, slumped against the filthy brick of the wall. Asp had looked round, but turned away and carried on as before - this she had seen too many times. Keen holstered his weapon. The shape was a mere five yards, but walking to him seemed to last a minuet. He dragged the bleeding sack aside from the wall, and sat on it's stomach. He was alive, still, as he had hoped. His eyes moved, and laboured breathing through a punctured lung spat drops of blood onto Keen's face; he smudged them, and took the cigarette from his mouth. Snow was there. "Don't bother, he's beyond even your capabilities".

Taking a knife from the man's jacket, he placed it next to his face. "It seems that in your misfortune you decided not to listen to me." the thing took the cigarette from his mouth, and exhaled into his face. "How do you smoke this filth?" The thief's eyes writhed. "You will die, now, brother. And there is no other life". The blade punctured the skin above his right brow, and keen brought it along to his chin, streams of hot liquid fell like rapids over the chiselled face, hair, ear. He could feel it, he knew. Keen sucked the scent through his nose, and brought his face close to Duke's, licking along the wound, the parted flesh dancing around his tongue he could feel the capillaries, taste the lipid flesh. Leon found his cigarettes in the left pocket of the man's jeans. Then he stood, wiped the blade and tossed it down onto dying form. He looked around. The piolet, who had not served with him before was probably shocked. He moved away and carried along the street.

Eito witnessed the events that unfolded before him, yet did not faulter in his position. His hand still guestured towards the door with one hand still outstreched towards Snow in a welcoming manner. He was not surprised by the reactions of the cyborg. He though the man lucky to not be toyed with before his demise. The man should have listened, and that was his mistake. Arrogance pays little dividends with those incapable of fear and reason. His smile grew,

"Congratulations, dear Keen. Another sample of mother natures finest elixir? How many is it now? I fear you've lost count." His voice kept a calm monotone. Still he was battling with the memories inside him. His attention turned back to Snow.

"Come, we must set off on our long journey. After you, my lady."

Mutt looked around his home. The desert seemed to stretch on forever. He stepped outside into his small garden were he kept his only supply of food. Picking a few grapes for breakfast, he set out to find some meat. As he travelled throught he desert, he heard a roar. No, not the roar of a great cat, but that of a wyrm. He quickly stopped in place, these creatures found their pray by vibration and sound. He looked around for something sharp, about fifty feet to his left were the remains of some creature, but that didn't matter, it was the bones that mattered. Mutt didn't take a second to breathe. He broke into a sprint towards the body, the wyrm had found him. As it came at him, he quicly jumped over it. Landing on the other side of the dead creature, he pulled a rib from its giant corpse. "Yay, it was a young Behemoth," he whispered holding up the giant bone.

The wyrm surrounded him. Mutt looked for its head, then he decided to run. The wyrm was quick to follow. Mutt spun around in mid run and threw his make shift spear, hitting the giant worm like creature in one of its two brains. He turned an ran as it shrilled, grabbing another bone, he quickly speared the creatures second brain. "YAY, LUNCH TIME!!" he yelled as he cut huge slabs of meat from it. A few local people came out and did the same, the wyrm's body would be eaten by morning fromt he other beast, so they were quick to gather their share food.

Snow shook her head. It was always like this at the beginning, the testostrone in the air was high and the clash of egos was inevertable. Still it was of great comfort to see Juno had not changed and that chivalry still had it's gleam left with him.
She scooped up her bag, Duke's data already stored, and smiled to Juno with a grateful bow of the head. Her feline eyes settled on Duke for a moment.
"I'll keep you alive but that's my duty to do so. I will not be needing your crutch" her pupils went thn and eletricity flicked around her hands "And if you speak to me again without looking at my face... I may... accidentally give you the wrong injection and chemically castrate you."
The static faded and she provided him with the sweetest, most innocent smile imaginable. "Of course, I doubt such a thing would happen, don't you?"
She didn't wait for a response, merely turned with a little skip and followed her squadies humming a happy little hymn to herself.

There was a story Duke had heard. It went like this:

"Some men, at the time of their death, are granted a second chance. An angel appears to them, and gives them another chance at life. However, the thing about angels is, you only get one."

Duke had already had an angel. Four days ago, in the darkness of his cell, waiting for the cool embrace of death, he had been visited by a man. A man, with a chiseled face, with no hair, with a military uniform on. And, the man had given him another chance at life. Admittedly, it was a chance that would probably kill him. But, should he succeed, he could live. And that, Duke thought, had been the end of his angels.

Yet, now he awoke as if from a slumber. The pain was no more; the crazy man no longer on top of him, licking his wound like some sort of primitive animal. And this was to be some sort of elite squad? No wonder he had been added to the roster. He looked into the eyes of his savior; Snow. She had saved his life. She was his angel.

There was an archaic belief among some peoples that one who spares your life deserved your servitude until the favor is returned. Duke had never given the idea much thought, if he had he would have called it silly, frivolous. Now, he was inspired. He would serve Snow, protect her from any harm. His blades and gun were hers; his body would be her shield.

She was right, though it was meant as a threat. Never again would he speak to her without looking at her face.

Duke stood. So, in this group, retaliation was a priority. You could be killed, out of hand, for sticking up for yourself. And, there would be no warning. Well then. He could play that game.

Duke was back. He should probably have stayed dead.

Everyone arrived at the helicopter, each at their own pace. Each knowing that only one pace was really good enough. Asp's. There was no space in this unit for slow walkers and the unfit. This was a group of the best. Nothing was said on the short walk. Everyone was thinking of what was about to unfold. What they would face, and what diseases would infect the group that would, once more, cause rifts between them. Each man and woman, their own. Each with differences. Everyone knew that people didn't like others for their differences. Hate runs just as deep as love and is spoken of just as often.
Keen asserted himself at the head of the group. Taking up the first seat on the helicopter. Juno helped Snow onto the craft and then took his seat. The others soon followed up the rear, Duke and Piolet. They waited for the mark to set off.

The start of this mission would surely strike the chord for the rest of the mission. Tensions were high. Not just because of the up coming mission. But also due to the new born hatred between Keen and Duke.

Juno turned to Snow, "I trust that you haven't over worked yourself helping him. I could have helped you on the way if you'd have wanted it."

"When are we setting off, good commander?" Juno asked Asp, who was still standing outside the helicopter and seemed to be waiting for something or someone.

Snow laid a hand on Juno's, with the same 'slightly more than friend' air that she always seemed to have around him but never voiced. Her smile and tender gaze carried the same feel.
"My dear Juno," she said softly "I would not be much of a medicial officer if I couldn't tend to injuries as light as his. I've pulled people back from the brink of eternal silence with far more griveous injuries than he. You were one of them." she chuckled as she lifted the gloved hand away "I'm not offended if you don't remember, we were both a lot younger back then."
Even from her seat Snow monitered Duke, her augmented eyes and ears able to count his breathing rate and pulse simply by watching him, however she'd need to switch to her scanner once they were in the air. His eyes seemed distant, he was either daydreaming or deep in thought... She would have placed her credits on deep thought. While he seemed a rather rough and... hormone driven indivigual, he wasn't stupid. She hoped he was reaccessing his situation and thus hopefully his behaviour but she also concluded that some leopards chose not to change their spots. Thus she'd be playing anatomy jigsaw puzzles with him rather soon.
Her eyes flicked to Keen. She already concluded there wasn't a scratch on him but the corner of her mouth twitched and she gave him a slight nod. He may hate her and she may think of him a sadistic heretic but she could still admire his skills and visa versa. They just never admitted it, just occassionaly acknowledged it.
She looked away so it would only have looked like a passing glance. Her attention was drawn towards the pilot... The bags under his eyes concerned her, also the amount he seemed to fidgit. He didn't want to be here... She needed more information on him, she'd have it once she could get his name.

Duke was, for the first time in years, actually afraid. That big bastard... he had no real weakness. Oh, sure, Duke could slap a knife in his back, but he was wicked fast... even that might not work. What were the odds of finding someone in a supposedly well-trained military outfit who was so on the edge of sanity? Damn. All Duke could do was to keep the man in his sights.

Duke wheezed his way over to the chopper; that one bullet had clipped his lung, and though Snow was a remarkably talented healer, damage had been done. Duke would have to quit smoking; at least as long as he wanted to keep up an active lifestyle. Which at least included this little mission.

Duke sat in the back of the chopper; his breathing returning to a more normal rate and tempo. He would have to watch it out there in the desert; the hot air and swirling sands were a cocktail of disaster for one with bad lungs. Likely, he would be unable to use his knives efficiently; he would have to rely on his gun. Damn guns.

He sat down next to the pilot; who seemed as much reluctant to be here as Duke. Well then, Duke would leave him to his thoughts as long as he was left to his own.

Duke closed his eyes; attempting to get a little shut-eye on what he figured would be a long trip.

His synthetic hands tightened the buckle of the crash belts quickly, but he knew if the bird went down it would make no difference. He glanced at snow - two hundred years ago was nothing to her, he knew, but a hit to the spine would have been fatal on their last excursion. Field medicine wasn't as precise an art as she made it out to be. It was rash, yes, of him to take the law into his own hands but he was not remorseful. The bastard was injured, anyway, it would take time for his lung to function properly. And he perhaps would consider his actions more carefully, there's only so many times nanites can stitch a man's nerves together before they have to be surgically replaced. And that, of course, did not happen in the Wastelands. Duke was up front now; slouched in the seat nearest the rear he looked contemplative.

He wouldn't speak, now, until he needed to give an order.

The machine shuddered as the turbines accelerated. He chewed one of the shell casings he had picked up from the gravel, the taste of burned powder infected his tongue with undertones of brass. He could still smell the residue on his sleeve. He couldn't smoke inside the transport, fuel was only inches away inside lines that skirted the edge of the cabin disappearing to pumps and filters underneath the check plate deck. Keen crossed his legs, checked the belt another time, and pushed a hand into his pocket. He still hadn't taken his fingers from the subby on his thigh, and the barrel pointed from the holster still at the thief. Mistrust, now, would fester amongst almost all of the crew. Perhaps Juno an exception, old friendships are hard put to rest. Duke looked pained, now, liberal splashes of blood had crept down his white shirt, now pink, vibrant against white skin. He would probably need plasma, if he were to live, but Snow had as so far neglected that. He reached into his bag, the field aid kit had saline, the next best in any respect: it was coiled with the cannula ready to be administered. Leon threw the bag onto Duke's lap.
"If you don't want to be a total mess, get that into a vein. That's an order, too, thief. Consider it a peace offering, but consider me your superior." He swore in his head. How dare she save him? F_ck her.

Darkness. Complete darkness. Utter stillness. No noise or image would even dare to desecrate the peaceful tranquillity. However, something moves. Something stirs. Like a film, images flash, sounds come and go, then peace.
Juno was finding it ever harder to control what was being unlocked and deciphered in his mind. How could he store so much information. So many different experiences. Juno decided he may as well try to control one of these memories and see if he could understand it. He set about it carefully. The images flashed again. He settled on one. An image of a man lying on the floor. Red, lots of red. Blood. Yes it must be. But who?
On the outside you could see the effort that Juno was exerting, but no one knew what was happening or noticed. They all thought he was trying to suppress the memories. Not become one with them.
The image flashed. He was loosing it. Slowly the image died. Nothing existed again. Snow placed a hand upon his shoulder. Merely trying to ask if he was aright.
Juno let out a horrifying scream. The image, back once more. This time more vivid, more focused. He could see the man. The man was him. He vision went. His face expressionless. He had fainted.

Duke heard the man scream. "Whiskey Foxtrot Tango" he muttered under his breath; an ancient thieves' curse. Sighing, he looked in the bag in front of him. Inside, a simple syringe, and a bag of blood. Great. No tubing, no nothing.

Duke considered ignoring the bastard's request, but thought better of it. It was one thing to not be pushed around; another entirely to let pride end his life. So, Duke took the needle from the bag, checking to make sure it was unused. He pierced the bloodbag; filling the syringe with the important fluid. He filled it to the brim. Then he applied slight pressure to the bottom, and flicked the top, to remove any air. Duke looked down at his blood stained shirt; it served little purpose now, and was ruined anyway. He took out one of his knives, and, holding the shirt away from himself, cut a slice into it. Replacing the knife, he used the slash to tear a strip off of his shirt; leaving it now both stained and torn. Then, he pulled up his left sleeve.

If any of the crew were wondering how he was so proficient with a needle, the scars on his forearm would tell a clear story. Duke ignored any glares; instead he used the fabric to make a quick tourniquet, using a slip knot. He used two fingers to slap his major vein; two inches up from the wrist, until the vein was near the surface. Then, he inserted the needle, and gave himself a shot of the fluid he needed so dearly.

The shot in, Duke untied the cloth; using it to wrap up the needle. The used needle and cotton went out the side of the chopper, into the wasteland below. Only idiots re-used needles, and the cloth could serve no other purpose. He re-zipped the bag, and set it at his feet. Again, only idiots threw valuable supplies while on a copter.

Perhaps Duke's matter of fact treatment of the shot had impressed the bastard, who seemed to value brute strength. Or, perhaps it had angered him, as he hoped to get a rise out of the thief. But, Duke wasn't here for his foolish pride. He was here to do a job.

If only the "disciplined" military would do the same, he would be fine.

Snow had neglected to give the boy blood for one simple reason, it would keep him passive until they landed. He wasn't in such a dire state that he would die without it and given that she wanted to pool through her data for a while, she would have prefered a lack of disturbance. She had planned to finish his treatment when they came into land. All she had done thus far was make him fit to travel.
Then she had seen Juno's face. If Keen had been looking at her, he would have been treated to a small flash of fear in her eyes as the man fell forward. Snow had grabbed him but her slight frame wasn't built for strength and she strained a little to pull him back into his seat. It seemed he hadn't buckled in. Shebraced her legs against the bucking and rolling of the craft, still strapped in herself and rested his dead weight against her to check his vitals. He was fine... She sniffed at the sweat on his neck. Very high on adrenaline. Fear sweat.
She sighed and held up a hand to signify he was ok, before buckling him into his seat properly. She rested his head against her shoulder so she could support him and monitor for when he regained consciouness, before typing away in a hand-held pad, that she seemed less than impressed about.
Joy, paper work...

the sound came thick and low, a rising crescendo that instinctively made the eardrums raise in alarm; a set of dual helicopter blades thrummed and cut the air in sequence as the ungainly steel hulk drew ever louder and closer. The red landing bulbs pulsed and lit the landing pad eerily as the beacons on each corner of the building blared and swirled like banshees. His attention raised in a crescendo, a pair of grey eyes fixed on the landing platform as it descended from the helicopter's underbelly.

"Mr. Fiske! the parties are ready to disembark. Cleared for entry, sir!" the soldier barked, snapping into a smart salute as the lone figure walked past him as if in a trance or obsession.

"Evidently.." he remarked in a low tone as he brushed the armoured youth aside, the only sound the overpowering whoop of the blades as they whinnied and powered down.

he looked down at the service flashes on his jacket, a deceptively pretty and pleasent thing for such disgraceful deeds; the engine noise descended slowly as a lick of dark tightly swept hair was blown across his face, his mood lifting as the occupants stepped down onto the helipad. He allowed himself a smile as his vision blurred, spots of concrete turning dark in a patter of noise as the heavens began to open.

Rigidly, Asp took up the soldier’s stance. She saw him clearly - a high ranking official approaching a line of troops around the helipad. He had the air of importance, exemplified through the suits around him. The display seemed almost ritualistic as electronic notepads were attended to, as men and women ran too and fro with admirable diligence. Indeed, a marvelous, chaotic spectacle . Mr Fiske was the actor; Asp was the prop, and the Wastegrounds, the stage.

She leaned forward and shouted. Adversity seemed to have already begun as she felt prelude's conditions. The noisy chorus drowned her voice, and her hair danced to it in hand with the wind. It was dark. It was raining. “You must be Mr Fiske, the Ressurectionist?!” The term was crude but accurate. Looking like the sort who would facilitate equipment that would be alien to her, she quickly scanned his spirit, if there was such a thing. “I am Commander Asp of the unit Serpentine! We will be your escort and support! These people must be your associates! Let’s go. The sun will rise soon.”

The helicopter. Slowing down. This must be the place we're picking them up.

Juno stirred. Such a sweet smell tickled his senses. A soft warm feeling on his head. Such a sleep hasn't been experienced for a long time now. So long ago that time was. So different yet familiar. Such warmth. He couldn't remember what caused him to black-out. Now his mind was even more fragmented. Subconsciously memories were lost, precious ones kept.

His head shot up only to see the smiling face of Snow. His eyes tracked down to the pad. He smiled and apologised.

"I do beg your forgiveness." He bowed slightly and began looking at the man Asp had called to. Fiske. Great, someone to lay my life down for. Who may or may not deserve it. Why bring useless minions. Excess weight. However, they could always be used as cannon fodder.

Sno looked up for her report as Juno awoke, her smile a definate one of relief. Her eyes glanced at the man called Fiske and the pale faces of his men. They wer battle virgins.... or at least the kind of warfare they would be faced with... She sighed and murmured to Juno, under her breath.
"By the looks of things I should have packed my supplies... hese children will gulp down a month's worth of medication in only a few days if we enter combat status..."
She also noted she would probably writing the death certificates for most of them too, but she kept that quiet. Mostly so she wouldn't have to think about it but also so the young men wouldn't hear here and bring their deaths upon them faster than was nessasary.
She returned to her report, thus looking busy and thus excused from greeting the official.
for added affected her new pale green visor glid out of the sterile white disks on her temples and she was graced with a high-speed version of Fiske's medical file. It was protocol to review all medical records of those who were under her, or at least would be at some point.

Duke stood up, stretching his tired legs. It had been a shorter flight than he anticipated... but they weren't done yet. Nope, instead they were just picking up some nobs. No, scratch that, one high level guy and some lackeys. Well, it was hard to be interested in such events. It wouldn't really effect Duke too much... and even if it did, there was nothing he could do about it.

Instead, Duke picked up the bag he had stowed under his seat, and took it over to Snow. "I never got to thank you about earlier... you literally saved my ass back there. So... as far as I see it, I owe you one. Here's that bag... So... yeah. I'm glad to be working with you, I guess."

With that, Duke left, humiliation on his face. He was usually better with women than that... But, he had been through some tough stuff today. He sat back down, watching this "Mr. Fiske" as he prepared to board the chopper.

Snow looked up at Duke with a raised eyebrow, her eyes partically obscured by the visor. She slipped the now finished report into her hip pouch and unbuckled herself, walking after him. Resting her hand on the cockpit door frame she leaned in, giving the pilot a pleasent smile before turning her head to Duke.
"Your treatment isn't finished yet, like I said I saved your life but you're not fit for combat yet. I can do it now or when we land. Her visor was still up but now she was using it to scan him. Dermal, sub-dermal, deep sub-dermal, skeletal, her visor showed her each layer. She wasn't phased by anything she saw.
The visor slid away back into the discs and she smiled innocently.

Mutt looked around the area. He had a strange feeling about what was going to happen, but he didn't much care. The air felt heavier, and the sand, deeper. He felt as though his world was about to change. He shrugged it off and walked about to the old mansion. It now no more than rubble, but it was a nice place to get some quiet. It was about three miles from town, and he had been walking sice he killed the wyrm. He looked up to see the scavenger birds now headed for the dead creature, that was a good sign. It meant the town was now locked up in their hidding location.

Mutt sat down at the top of the rubble, starring into the sky. it had been nearly six months since it had rained in anywhere near his home. And it looked like a storm was coming from whatever is left of the oceans. Tommy watched as the clouds drew nearer, and the storm looked pretty bad. He began to laugh with joy when the first sprinkles began to hit him.

“Well, it’s too late to abandon this story now,” she self-said while boarding.

All that was missing was music - a dramatic overture to narrate. She considered the influence of clichéd Media upon her imagination. An era of the televisor, and life is like a film. To lose control of one’s internal voice is a disrupting affair. She left behind domestic sleep. Her seven husbands would hardly know about her departure, and probably care just as much. The awakening was speeding for destined lucidity. She would acquire memories…

Edge was scanning a Datpad. “Commander – Asp – I would say, this is very liquidous.”

“Why?” she enquired.

““I don’t know if you’ve noticed Commander, but there are no rules of engagement – no known parameters of conflict. We got only instinct to go off.”

“It’s just a system cascading failure,” she uttered with unease.

“I know what you are thinking Asp. We’re merely bodyguards keeping an eye out for out-casted criminals – if any survived at all, I would say. I would go so far to say that-“

“Enough. Umbillica does not trust us enough to deploy classified detail. If we had time, we would been more heavily briefed and heavily trained. Once we return, we might then get a steady position, with income of interceptor data.”
“Interceptors! And why not?”

Asp took her seat besides Keen. The phrase ‘chopper’ was a cute misnomer. It was colossal aircraft, capable of airlifting at least 30 people. The hull was metallic and grey, tattooed heavily with the Signia of Umbillica. The signia – a fetus. She pictured it in her photographic memory. It slowly moved, flickered. Flash-flash. This baby had now grown into a naïve child. With gut-empathy, she considered it had forgotten the womb, its origins (but was aware of it all the same.) Now, it was doing Mother’s will, for her sake.

“Pilot, everyone is aboard. Please ascend.”

He, it seemed, was the only to stay seated. Fiske she had referred to as a resurrectionist. The language of politics had always sought to disguise, though now the affair was becoming less murky: this was an escort job. He and his associates had been seated directly opposite, perhaps they looked fresh but Fiske had seen. His uniform was immaculate, and he was silent. Keen shuffled in discomfort, the hard seats, vibrations, and he was too warm; he pushed his sleeves above his elbows. Two ram's heads, and though they appeared to be identical tattoos, the symbol pre-dated Umbillica by millennia. Fiske tore back his gaze - he was still silent, he still hadn't moved, and he ranked everyone on the aircraft by so many echelon that he wondered whether he was simply the only option. There was something about him that made Keen uneasy, he was vacant, but not lost. Perhaps determined, but he could not tell for both dappled grey iris locked in his face seemed as dead as his own, betraying not one iota of emotion; they were quite alive. Had the reflex existed, his hair would have stood sharp, soldiers that had surrounded Fiske in the rain.

The alloy hulk lurched skyward.

It was twelve tedious hours later, before Asp slowly opened her eyes. Typically, one would ask if this was a dream. Now, she was beyond that. The phatic, pointless communication had slowly subsided. Instead, an unspoken agreement of rest was passed around. Noisy turbines became mere ambiance, intermixed with the bleeps and beeps from the monitors and hushed muttering.

The crimson sun was a beautiful sight, peeping from its hiding place, bleeding heat. Great light was shed upon the almight scope of the lands. A new day to begin a new chapter. The morning rain caused the hard-pan surface to crack like the face of a pitifully aged woman. From high above, it seemed almost like a sea in itself, the cracks turning into waves as it scenery moved at a rate difficult for the eye to comprehend.

Asp was no geographer, but she could clearly see the White Sea and considered the ‘therefores.’ Her speculation: if (and she had to highlight that if) the sea was a cause of rainfall, surely there would be some plant life surrounding the coast?
She looked at Keen, who was looking away. She pondered if he might be sleeping, or gazing into the horizon. It was all human instinct, seeking validation, seeking back up and she felt this was stronger in him than anyone. Was this merely because she met him first?

“Keen, Keen. Are you asleep?”

Such an engaging view. For nearly seven hundred years Keen hadn't seen anything outside of what Umbillica envisioned their perfect city to be, and through this he couldn't allow himself to doze. Not least were they in considerable danger, aircraft had been shot down in the past here, but the sight, oh, liquid sand pulsated in wave upon wave of peaks, stationary for a thousand years. She had slept a long while, but now she spoke, if only to ask.
"No, I could not rest through this". The horizon charged another colour against the bright red sand, the white sea was perhaps a a hundred miles out. From this height, it seemed half that, though at the speed they flew they had fifteen minuets. "If you expected an end to this desert, I pray don't hope" He wiped his eyes, they were dry from the rushing air, they wouldn't be lubricated until they stopped. So quietly he spoke, barely audible above the droning dual blades, he scanned her face as he talked. She was concerned. "The white sea is toxic with salt. There are some tributaries on the southern shoreline that are fresh, but they too run toxic with the ferrous oxide that colours the sand.
"I was here some time ago." He glanced away again, from the open side of the vehicle. "You're worried that this may be the last great distance we traverse, Asp. I can tell." Keen picked at his combats, liberal specks of blood stained them a darker red than the sand. "There is not much, by the way of humanity at least that could harm us here, commander. But I know too, other factors concern me. We're renegades at worst, a mess of mis-matched soldiers at best. I think." Keen sighed.

"Expendable comes to mind". He smiled briefly, but for once, genuine and honest.