Bruno glanced around cautiously as he moved across the roof, keeping his body low to the ground.

'What are you looking for?' Serena inquired, the sudden intrusive thought forcing Bruno to come to a stop.

"There might be security drones looking for us," he muttered. "I can't risk being spotted."

'But Miss Ruth doesn't care.'

There was no need to remind him of that. He resisted the urge to glare disapprovingly behind himself; he'd done that enough over the last couple of minutes, and it clearly wasn't having the effect he wanted.

Ruth was walking across the roof as casual as could be, with only the slightest trace of caution in her stance. Bruno knew that she was good enough to leap into action at a moment's notice, but that didn't make him feel any better.

Still -- there wasn't any point in just him sneaking around like a dumbass. Bruno got up fully, feeling the evening breeze on his face.

"I hoped there'd be some transports left up here," he muttered. "Guess not."

Inwardly, he cursed himself. If the security forces knew there were people sneaking around the base, it was a no-brainer that they'd move the vehicles they could use to escape. They wouldn't make it that easy for them.

'That doesn't make sense,' Serena spoke up again.

Bruno moved over to the edge of the roof and peered over it, trying to see if he could spot any transports further down. No luck. "Of course it makes sense," Bruno muttered.

'Nuh-uh. If they knew they were coming here, there'd be guards. There aren't, so the transports are gone for another reason.'

Bruno paused. That did make sense. Where were the security officers if not here, then? He'd have thought two Aether-users breaking out of confinement would have been high on their list of priorities, but was there something else going on?

He heard the sheen of metal from behind him -- Ruth baring her claws.

"Bruno," she said quietly, caution finally entering her tone. "We've got incoming."

Bruno glanced back towards her -- then dropped back down into a crouched position, just as she had done. The two of them moved over to a concealed position just outside the service elevator they'd come up in. He followed her gaze up into the sky, at the object that was quickly growing larger in their vision.

A car was flying down towards the roof: a security transport that had obviously seen better days. One of the doors had been ripped off, and whoever was driving clearly wasn't used to the handling -- it's descent kept stopping and starting, and the driver was visibly having to prevent the car from rotating.

A second later, as the car thumped down on the roof a short distance away, Bruno saw the driver. His eyes widened, and his heart dropped.

Atoy Muzazi, the Special Officer, climbed out of the car, clad in a bright-orange prisoner outfit with a security chestplate over it, holding a sheathed sword in one hand. He looked around the roof, showing no sign of spotting Bruno and Ruth, before nodding at somebody else in his vehicle. A second figure climbed out.

Bruno blinked as he watched. The hell?

Dragan climbed out of the car, looking around the roof as well. There was no sign that Muzazi had apprehended him -- he had no restraints on, and Dragan's body language didn't show much in the way of anxiety. It was as if they were working together.

"What's he doing?" muttered Ruth from beside him.

A chill ran down Bruno's spine. Was it happening again? Just like with Cott? Had he been an idiot to trust this person?

'Stop worrying,' said Serena, cutting off Bruno's paranoid train of thought before it could really get going. 'Mr. Dragan is really smart. This is all probably part of some big plan of his!'

Bruno let the notion run through his head. There was a good chance that was true -- Dragan betraying them for Muzazi wouldn't make sense, given how eager the Special Officer had been to take his head earlier. If Serena was right, the best thing to do would be to make themselves known.

Dragan, looking around the roof, locked eyes with Bruno. He sighed and stood up, exposing his position.

He really hoped Serena was right.

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

"I swear," said Dragan, faux-cheer in his tone. "I can explain."

They stood just to the side of the police car Dragan and Muzazi had commandeered -- them, Ruth and Bruno. Patel was unconscious in the back seat; Dragan hadn't been sure of any other safe place to put a wanted criminal like him.

In retrospect, he wasn't sure that the current situation could be considered a safe place at all. For Patel or himself.

Ruth and Bruno stood on one side, and Muzazi on the other -- with Dragan in the middle, trying to act as the peacemaker. While there was no violence in their stances yet, he knew that didn't mean much: Aether-users could move fast.

Bruno's gaze flicked over to Dragan. "Explain, then," he said, voice low.

"Okay," chuckled Dragan, desperately trying to change the mood of the encounter. "I'll start with the headline: the planet's going to blow up if we don't do something."

Bruno raised an eyebrow.

Ah, shit. That did sound kind of ridiculous when he said it out loud, didn't it? Even if it was true. "I'm telling the truth," he went on, moving his hands in some kind of indecipherable gesture of anxiety. "I know -- I know it sounds ridiculous, but the bull guy -- you remember him, right? He's going to send the Dawnhouse flying right into the central mineshaft and boom. Maybe the actual physical planet won't fly into pieces, but the city will be done for. And we're in the city - so we kinda need to stop it."

Bruno blinked. "That's… a lot."

"It is, yes."

Ruth, who'd been silent for a little while, spoke up. "Can you explain him?" She nodded towards Muzazi. Her arms were crossed and her brow creased angrily.

Ah, right. There was bad blood there -- Muzazi had almost killed her back on Caelus Breck, after all. It made sense.

"I'll explain myself," Muzazi said flatly before Dragan could speak up. "Hadrien is in my custody. Until this crisis is resolved, he will not leave my sight." He looked down at Dragan. "Make no mistake, Hadrien -- the only reason you're conscious is because you have the navigation codes."

Bruno looked towards Dragan, expression confused. "Navigation codes?" he asked.

Don't give it away, idiot! Dragan waved a vague hand. "Don't worry about it. I've been busy since we met last. Anyway -- it doesn't even matter. Long story short is that I broke Muzazi out of prison because he's strong, and we need someone strong if we're going to break into the Dawnhouse."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Bruno mirrored Ruth's crossed arms. There was still skepticism in his eyes -- it wasn't that he didn't believe Dragan, but more that he didn't believe in Dragan's plan. "You're assuming we are breaking into the Dawnhouse."

"If we don't do it, we kinda blow up, so yeah -- I am."

Ruth's eyes didn't leave Muzazi's face as she spoke. "I… there's no other option, then, is there? Skipper's not anywhere here, so he's probably where the action is, right?"

Dragan nodded hurriedly. Now that he thought about it, that was pretty likely, too. A good argument to get Ruth on board. "Even if we wanted to run," he said. "We can't just leave without him."

Ruth looked down at Bruno. "We should go," she said, before turning her gaze back to Muzazi. "But I'm not letting this guy out of my sight."

Muzazi sniffed. "How fortuitous. I'm not letting Hadrien out of my sight. It seems we can all keep watch over each other."

There was no friendliness in Ruth's voice. "Sounds good."

Dragan interrupted just as he sensed the tension in the air increasing, gesticulating towards the car. "Well," he said. "In we go! Let's go, let's go! We've gotta hurry!"

Bruno got in first, then Ruth, taking the backseats either side of the unconscious Patel. A good decision -- if it came down to it, they could attack Muzazi from behind. Just before Dragan could get in, the Special Officer clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Don't forget, Hadrien," he said quietly. "The second this is over, you're coming with me."

How could he forget, with reminders like that? Dragan suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as Muzazi climbed past him.

He really hated these kinds of juggling acts.

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

In the end, Skipper believed, things always came down to a fist-fight.

His Aether-infused metal fist slammed into Chael's armoured jaw, sending the Citizen staggering backwards as the crack of metal resounded across the deck.

Skipper pulled his fist back, hurriedly picking out the shards of metal that had lodged themselves into the prosthetic. The arm still wasn't in proper working order -- it kept twitching sporadically -- but he didn't need fine movement to make a fist and send it flying.

The top deck of the Dawnhouse was a fairly bleak affair -- for the most part it was a flat surface, slick with condensation, with the occasional set of handholds presumably meant for emergency maintenance. At this kind of angle, though, those orange handles functioned less like handholds and more like tripping hazards. Skipper was painfully aware that, with the levels of wind up here, it wouldn't take too much of a mishap to send one flying right off the side of the ship. It'd be a hell of a way to go.

Chael's staggering came to a halt several meters away, and he glared at Skipper with his one visible red eye. With the exhaustion and the damage he'd suffered on their way up here, the Citizen’s armour was looking much different. Interlocking blades covered the right side of his face entirely -- eye and all -- while uneven patches of scale-like metal coated sections of his torso and limbs.

Still, Skipper couldn't relax. The fact that there were less of the things didn't make them any less sharp.

Chael wiped a line of blood from his mouth and charged forward, blades like cleats protruding from the soles of his feet to give him purchase on the deck as he ran. He raised his fist, blades sprouting on his knuckles, to return Skipper's punch.

Trick. Too obviously telegraphed.

Skipper fired a Heartbeat Shotgun off at Chael's other arm -- the one half-hidden behind his back -- and the long, thin blade he'd been growing there snapped off, sailing off into the night. Chael growled in anger, firing off two smaller blades from his chest.

A whistle escaped Skipper's mouth -- and a second later, the invisible blade of Heartbeat Bayonet parried the incoming blades right out of the air. One shattered on impact, crumbling into dust before it even hit the ground. The other ricocheted off, spiking into the deck just behind Skipper.

Chael still hadn't stopped running, though. It seemed he wanted to return the pain Skipper had given him in close-quarters. The blades over the rest of his body retreated as a mass of shining spikes erupted from his right forearm, creating something like a massive shield that he held in front of him as he charged, like some kind of augmented gridiron tackle.

Brute force? It was kind of intimidating to watch the metal shield growing closer, but Skipper was fairly confident he could handle it. In a situation like this, where he didn't have to worry about damaging the environment or protecting his allies, he was at his strongest.

Heartbeat Landm --

The air was pushed out of his lungs by a sudden flare of intense pain. He looked down -- a long silver blade was protruding from his side: he'd been stabbed in the back. Head shaking from the quickly intensifying pain, Skipper glanced behind him.

The second blade he'd parried -- the one that had lodged into the deck behind him. A second blade had erupted from it, and speared right through his body. It held him in place, any attempt at movement only causing the burning pain to flare further.

Stupid, stupid. He'd forgotten: Chael could make blades from his blades.

The Citizen collided with him, slamming his forearm into Skipper's face and sending him flying down onto the ground. The blade that had gone through him snapped, and as it dissipated into Aether the now-open wound began to gush with blood.

Skipper landed on his back with a thud, and he couldn't help but cry out in pain as his wound came down on the wet metal. His attempt at escape was thwarted by another attack from Chael -- the Citizen planted his knees on Skipper's stomach, pressing him down and preventing him from moving.

He looked up. Chael, silhouetted by the moon, had changed the arrangement of his blades again. The huge mass on his arm had disappeared, replaced by a more even distribution on his knuckles, elbows and knees. The Citizen raised his fists high.

Skipper chuckled. "Don't suppose we can talk about this, huh?"

The punches rained down, lightning-fast -- striking Skipper in the throat, the stomach, the arms, any part of his body that he left exposed. Any attempt at a Heartbeat attack was interrupted with another jab, breaking Skipper's concentration. He raised his prosthetic arm in an attempt to retaliate, but Chael's retaliation was swift and ruthless -- with the slightest grunt of exertion he seized the metal limb, using fingerblades for purchase, and tore it from Skipper's body, throwing it away and letting it fly off the side of the ship.

The attack continued, endlessly, endlessly. Skipper's Aether was doing good work -- preventing the barrage from fully penetrating his body -- but it was a losing battle. He'd be in for some serious bruising if he survived this, both inside and out.

Chael's face was expressionless -- Skipper had no idea what was going through his head. Was this brutal attack formed from resentment for Skipper, for rejecting his proposal? Was this simply business, the most effective means of defeating his enemy? Perhaps it was a means of venting the frustrations that years of living a double life created.

Skipper couldn't say. All he knew was that it hurt.

"You see?" Chael said calmly, planting his fist into Skipper's face once again. "This is what happens when you fight half-heartedly. When you're not prepared to do what it takes. Your will," his next punch landed on Skipper's stomach -- and he drove his thumb into Skipper's wound. "Was insufficient. Accept that and give up. Put down your Aether. I'll let you die quickly."

When Skipper spoke, he was surprised by how his voice sounded, the wheezing of his breath. "I…" his voice cracked. "I've never given up once in my life, buddy. I've compromised, sure, but I've never given up. Not planning on starting now."

Chael clicked his tongue. "Then I'll put your Aether down for you. I've won."

Skipper watched, mutely, as Chael raised his hands above his head -- spikes sprouting out of his fists until they looked almost like metal sea urchins on the ends of his arms. The blow from those would finish him off, he knew, he knew he had to do something, but his arm lay limp and exhausted on the deck next to him. His Aether was weak, good only for one final attack -- and then he'd be defenseless. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Through blurry vision, he watched Chael bring his spiked fists down.

Skipper spat in his face, crimson blood splattering onto Chael's eyes as he brought down his hammerblow. Then, with truly exorbitant effort, he jerked his head to the side, and Chael's fists came down just inches away from his skull, embedding themselves into the metal deck. He wasn't wiping his face clean with those anytime soon.

"Should've warned you, pal," Skipper chuckled weakly. "You haven't won 'till you're at the other guy's funeral."

Heartbeat Bayonet.

There was a sound like a blade being sheathed, and Chael's attempts to pull his hands free of the deck suddenly ceased. Slowly, slowly, the Citizen looked down at his own stomach, where a thin red line was slowly making itself known, just below his navel winding all the way around his torso. The blades on his fists began to disintegrate into the air, and Chael's arms came free -- but he just continued to stare at the wound.

"You…" he muttered, disbelieving.

"Yeah," Skipper grinned. "Me."

And he kicked with all his strength -- sending Chael backwards, almost flying from the winds broiling around the Dawnhouse's deck. He bounced off the ships hull once, twice, growing smaller in Skipper's vision --

-- and then the wound truly made itself known, and the Citizen split into two pieces, torso and legs, that went flying off the edge of the ship, out of Skipper's sight.

He finally let out a breath that he'd been holding in for a long time, and put his head back down on the deck. The metal could serve as a pillow right now.

This had been a hell of a day.