Dragan shot Dir a resentful glare. The security chief was sprawled out among the scattered boxes of ammunition and supplies, staring off into space as the sounds of explosions rang out from the hospital.

"Really?" Dragan said flatly. "We're really going to do nothing?"

Dir's gaze slid over to regard him. "There's nothing to be done," he said simply.

"You don't know that for sure!"

Dir closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "I've taken in the information," he said. "Regarded it, and come to a conclusion. I'm not the one equipped to make a decision about what comes next. We need to wait for orders."

Dragan forced himself off the ground, ignoring the pain that rumbled through his body as he did so. "Wait for orders?!" he said. "Are you nuts? How long do you intend to wait? Your pal the flaming bull isn't here - we need to make the decision. We need to do something."

If Dir was at all affected by Dragan's outburst, he didn't show it. He simply adjusted one of his prosthetic windpipes between two fingers, continuing to stare off into the night.

"I was a fighter once, you know," he said quietly. "A professional fighter. The best."

"I didn't ask."

That at least caused the slightest irritation to appear on Dir's face. "I'm not telling the story for fun," he snapped. "There's a meaning to it."

Dragan folded his arms. "Well, get on with it then."

Dir looked up towards the moon, as if it were a window through which he could view days gone by. "I beat people - with my fists. All sorts of people, all sorts of ways. Professional brawling is very lucrative - it was one of the only ways to go from the Pit to Toptown, back in the day. I punched my way down from a slum down there to a penthouse suite right in the lap of luxury."

Dragan's voice didn't show much interest. "Good for you."

Dir silenced further interruptions with the jab of a finger. "One day," he said, as if the words were now leaving his mouth of their own accord. "I'm told to take a dive. To let the other guy beat me to a pulp and accept a shiny cash settlement for it. It's the easiest thing in the world to lose, you know. So easy."

Dragan still wasn't seeing the point of this. They were in a fairly critical situation here, and Dir was sat on the ground waxing nostalgic.

Dir chuckled. "But I couldn't do it. The punch was coming towards me - and I blocked it, so easy, I was fast back then - and I hit back. And then I started hitting because I was angry at being used, and I hit because I wanted to win, and I hit because I wanted to show them what I could do… by the end, though, I was just hitting him to hit something. My fists came away covered with blood and brain."

A chill ran down Dragan's spine. "You killed the other guy?"

"I did," Dir nodded. "And I stepped away, thinking: what have I done? What have I done? And I look up at the crowd - and they're cheering, louder than I'd ever heard. They loved it. They loved it."

Silence settled over the courtyard. Even the booms from within the building seemed to quiet down.

Dir looked up at the moon again, his eyes dull. "People of our level aren't equipped to make decisions, Mr. Hadrien. We're base and petty and vulgar. The people who stand at the top… they're there because they understand. They know how things work. How things should… proceed."

And with that, he sighed again, and his gaze settled on the ground. It was as if he were a puppet with its strings cut.

Dragan couldn't quite conceal his disgust when he spoke. "Are you stupid?"

Dir glanced up at him. "What?"

"I asked if you were stupid. You really don't understand anything, do you? Of course people are vulgar. They live in a vulgar, awful world. There's no choice in the matter. But there's nobody in the world equipped to make decisions, not really."

Dragan pointed up towards the sky, as if to punctuate his point. "You think the people on top got there for being wiser, more advanced, more worthy than everyone else? Of course not. They got there by being vulgar on a big scale, rather than a little one. They're just the people who could bring themselves to be the most awful. It's the same everywhere. There's no deeper meaning to any of it."

A faint, bitter smile crossed Dir's lips. "So it's all pointless to you, then?"

For a moment, Dragan hesitated - he'd ranted long enough, after all - but then he pressed on. He had some shit he wanted to say.

"There's no point," he began. "There's no point to anything until you force there to be. Nobody in the world knows what they're doing, so you might as well do what you think is best. You have as good a chance of getting it right as anyone else! And I'm not letting some trillionaire voice from the sky tell me what to do - the only one who decides what happens to me is me!"

With his piece said, Dragan stood panting, hands balled into fists at his side.

Another boom sounded from the hospital as Dir raised an eyebrow. "That's very egotistical of you, you realize."

Dragan nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Of course it is. That's what makes it make sense."

----------------------------------------

The team stationed outside the sewers didn't last long. The Citizen simply stepped out of the shadows, fired blades in every direction, and reduced them to mincemeat in less time than it took to blink.

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Noel was beginning to understand the Citizen's power - the one power he was using as industrial-grey Aether churned around him. The man had the ability to make those metal blades grow out of his body. He used it to make that armour, to make those weapons, to both defend and eviscerate.

And if he grew a blade in the same spot where one already was, it was launched out of its position faster than a bullet. He was deadly at any range. Noel knew that she wouldn't stand a chance against him - he'd shred both her and any drones she had with a single flex of his body.

Marie, to her credit, strolled after him without a care in the world, whistling a little tune. Simeon was still slung over his shoulder, nasty purple bruises making themselves known across his body. Whoever he'd run into, they'd done a number on him.

They were making their way across an abandoned industrial district now - the whole area had been evacuated after Sait's little announcement. A thought suddenly occurred to her: Sait.

"Did you get him?" she called out to the Citizen, still holding onto her newborn arm. "Did you get Sait?"

"The man is dead," the Citizen said simply. "I have the information he offered."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "Care to share with the class?"

"No. I will make use of this intelligence myself. You will serve as distractions as directed."

Hot anger rushed through Noel's body. Distractions? Was that all they were, then?

A crackly groan escaped from Simeon's throat as he regained consciousness - and nearly immediately, Marie dropped him like a sack of potatoes. This, of course, inspired further groaning and quite a few expletives.

"Nice to see you're back with us, pretty boy," Marie said cheerily.

"Fuck you," Simeon growled as he picked himself up off the ground - only to pause when he caught sight of the armoured figure before him. "And who are you supposed to be?"

The Citizen's red eyes regarded Simeon, their emotion inscrutable. "I am the Citizen."

Simeons eyes widened in surprise. "You took your damn time," he muttered. "Is it happening, then? Are we taking the fight to the top?"

"Yes," said the Citizen. "I will continue to do so. As I told Noel, however, you will be serving as my distraction in this regard. Please continue your good work."

And with that, he turned and began walking away - it seemed that he intended to leave them to their own escape from this point on.

Simeon frowned, took a step forward. "And where the hell are you going?!"

"I have business to attend to," the Citizen intoned as he walked. "Matters I cannot simply entrust to my substitute."

The Citizen's exit was suddenly interrupted - by a bright pink arrow that buried itself in the ground right in front of him. The man looked the projectile up and down, bathed in its light for a few moments. Then, he turned back to Simeon - who was holding a half-formed bow in his hands.

"We're not done talking," Simeon panted. "You think we're happy to just run around doing whatever you tell us to? We're the ones taking the risks, so we deserve to know what's going on. We're not your little dogs that'll come when you whistle."

Noel looked cautiously from Simeon to the Citizen. She'd known Simeon could be quite hotblooded when it came down to it, but this was beyond the pale.

"I believe I already told you how much I appreciated your work," the Citizen said softly.

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Simeon began. "But you'd best start giving us some answers, or-"

Simeon’s head disappeared.

One second, he was talking - and the next, the only thing remaining of his cranium were a few loose strands of flesh emerging from his open neck. For a moment, he still stood there, still pointing the bow in the Citizen's direction with twitching hands. The next, he fell to the floor in an undignified heap.

Noel stared at the corpse, eyes tracking it as it fell. Slowly, so slowly, she blinked. She didn't even realize her mouth was hanging open until she tasted the cold air.

Marie winced, looking at the blood-drenched blade that had lodged itself into a wall a short distance away. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

The Citizen shook his head. "The tiniest of cracks can sink great and mighty ships. Our revolution is not yet born - I cannot risk it for anything."

Noel stumbled backwards as the spreading pool of Simeon's blood reached her shoes. Her mouth was still moving wordlessly. It was as if she was trying to explain to herself what had just occurred.

"Please don't misunderstand, Noel," said the Citizen - and at the very mention of her name, Noel almost jumped out of her skin. "It is the same with you. Your efforts are invaluable to me. But your betrayal, your disloyalty, would be disastrous. I cannot even risk it. That is the level of importance you hold. Do you understand?"

Slowly, Noel nodded, the motion increasing in vigor over several seconds. Of course, of course, of course. She was the most valuable. That made sense. He couldn't - wouldn't just get rid of her for no reason. She was needed. She was valuable - invaluable, an irreplaceable resource, so there wasn't anything to worry about. She wouldn't just be thrown away, he couldn't afford to do such a thing to her for no reason because she was so important.

She wouldn't be left alone again.

Forcing a smug smirk onto her lips, Noel waved her new hand: "But of course," she said, voice still wavering slightly through the feigned arrogance. "We're not all - um - we're not all stupid enough to run our mouths like that."

The Citizen stared at her for a moment longer, as if transmitting the fear of death right into her body, before turning around again and marching off into the shadows.

"You will know when I need you again."

----------------------------------------

It was nearly another half an hour before they came out of the hospital.

Dragan watched the trio - Skipper, Serena and Ruth - as they marched out, all of them covered in dust. It seemed there'd been quite a bit more property damage since he'd seen them last. Ruth was holding her bandaged side, and Serena seemed to have acquired a brace for her broken arm. Skipper himself was walking firm, but with quite a few more cuts and bruises than Dragan remembered.

"You took your time," Dragan said as they reached him and Dir.

Skipper waved a seemingly carefree hand. "You see this?" he said, looking at Ruth. "I carry a kid out of the path of hundreds of bloodthirsty drones, and this is the thanks I get? What a cruel world we live in."

Ruth just looked down at the ground, pale. Something had definitely spooked her.

Dragan's eyes flicked between the other three members of the crew. "What happened?" he said after a moment, abandoning the attempts at snark.

Skipper answered, but looked instead at Dir as he did so. "It was him. The Citizen."

The security chief stepped forward, eagerness overriding his stoicity for a brief moment. "Did you get him?" he said hurriedly. "Did you win?"

Skipper looked at the shaken Ruth, at the injured Serena, at the garden of corpses and melted stone that was spread out before him. Then, he sighed.

"No," he said. "We lost. We definitely, definitely lost.