Gertrude’s arthritic fingers tightened on the handle of the stroller as she pushed it down the crowded street. Inside, her year-old granddaughter cooed contentedly, reaching for the dangling charms of her mobile—a set of miniature knitted animals Gertrude had crafted herself.

Beside her, seven-year-old Timmy bounced on his heels, his eyes wide as he took in the bustling market. The smells of exotic spices mixed with the ozone scent of 3D-printed meat sizzling on food stall grills mixed with cooking oil and fried meat from the food stalls were strong enough to overpower even the acrid stench of pollution and the urine-drenched alleys. Despite the less-than-savory surroundings, Timmy’s smile stretched from ear to ear as he hopped and pointed to some local delicacies, running his mouth off at his usual rapid-fire pace.

Good kid. Bright, curious, and a heart of pure gold. Just like his grandfather had been...

Gertrude fought to hold back a sudden tightness in her chest. She hadn’t cried in years, had sworn never again to feel that crushing, debilitating sorrow, and she wasn’t about to let anything interrupt her scouting mission. Casting a wary eye at their surroundings, she forced herself to calm down.

“Grandma, look! They’re setting up for the Mana Tide!” Timmy pointed at a group of workers erecting a massive holoscreen. The display flickered to life, showcasing a countdown timer slowly ticking away. Around them, more and more screens lit up, showing the same scene, until the entire district was awash with an ethereal blue glow.

She nodded, but her focus remained on the surrounding buildings, committing their layout to memory. As her gaze tracked the myriad of pedestrians around her, counting faces and reactions, recording gestures and body language, her expert eye picked out the ones wearing security guard uniforms.

Mostly goblins—as expected, since they dominated local criminal activity in this part of town. Their short, stocky forms moved with surprising agility through the crowd, their beady eyes carefully scanning for potential threats. She couldn’t help but shake her head at the lack of subtlety on display. Poor security. No attempt made at obscuring identities. Either this new syndicate really wasn’t a threat, or they didn’t care.

But that didn’t make sense... Not if She was involved...

Timmy tugged at the sleeve of her hand-knitted sweater, drawing her attention to a nearby stall. “Can we get some candy floss, Grandma? Please?” he asked, pulling out his best puppy-dog-eyes and clasping his hands in a pleading gesture.

Gertrude smiled and rumpled his blonde locks fondly before guiding him toward the line. While the boy was busy trying to decide on what flavor to choose, her augmented eyes saw everything in crystal clarity, recording every last detail. She took note of every camera, every security drone buzzing overhead, every potential vantage point. Her mind automatically calculated distances, angles, and sight lines, old habits from her days spent in the combat zone.

In less than a second, she’d already analyzed and memorized the layout, down to the smallest speck of dust. Then again, it had been her job once... many years ago... when she and Arthur would take the...

Pain lanced through her chest, forcing her to brace against the stroller to keep from stumbling. Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to control her breathing.

Not now.

I need to do this.

Please, not now...

The market fell away, replaced by the burning chapel and its walls stained red with blood. Screams filled her ears, echoing around the room, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Bodies littered the floor, some charred beyond recognition, others torn to shreds.

But she knew them. Had seen them only a few hours before, smiling, laughing, dancing. Happy. Safe. Whole. And now they were gone. Dead. Never to return.

By her hand. Her bullets. Her choice.

Arthur lay broken at her feet, his once-handsome features shattered beyond recognition by her rifle round. A hole the size of a fist gaped in his chest, crimson leaking onto the floor as he choked on his own blood. He stared up at her with dying eyes, those kind eyes that always twinkled with humor, accusing, judging, damning.

The world tilted and spun around her, darkness creeping into the edges of her vision. The ground rushed up to meet her, but she never felt it hit.

“Grandma!” Timmy’s frightened cry snapped her back to reality, back to the present. He clung to her arm, looking up at her with tear-filled eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Gertrude blinked several times, clearing her mind, before taking a deep breath and smiling down at the boy. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close and hugging him tight. The automated intervention pump finally kicked in, benzodiazepines flooding her system and quelling the psychosis attack. Slowly, steadily, her breathing returned to normal and her hands stopped shaking.

She patted her grandson’s back reassuringly, then gently pushed him towards the candy floss stall. He glanced back once more, his expression worried, but obeyed her silent command and approached the vendor.

As he placed his order, Gertrude bent over the stroller, gripping the metal bar so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes stung and her chest ached with pent-up grief, but she fought against it, forcing herself to breathe through it. In and out. Gradually, her heart rate slowed and the urge to scream passed.

Inwardly, she cursed herself for letting emotions get the better of her. For allowing old memories to surface when she needed to stay sharp. And for not being able to spare her grandson from seeing her like this.

But the cat was out of the bag now. The drugs circulating through her veins prevented any further episodes for the moment, but they also put a time limit on her mission. She needed to wrap things up and return home before the side effects kicked in.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Her gaze swept across the market once more, automatically cataloguing every object, every person, every movement.

Steady, old girl. Time to get back to work.

She gave herself another minute to let the medication run its course before continuing down the streetwalk. Timmy skipped along beside her, humming to himself as he ate his candy floss in huge, sticky bites. The stroller’s left front wheel squeaked with each rotation, a steady metronome for her as she checked off each building she’d catalogued earlier. She made note of the gang tattoos and the clothing worn, the hairstyles and the occasional cyberware or replacement limbs, all part and parcel of growing up on the streets.

But there were other details too. Details only a trained eye would notice—the subtle shifts in attitude among the crowds, the constant appraisal of every new arrival, the way conversations always seemed to stop when someone unfamiliar passed by...

It was almost comforting, in a way, to see familiar patterns again. It reminded her of the way things used to be—of the first time she’d arrived here, so many years ago. When everything had felt different, new, exciting.

When we were still young and foolish.

When we could afford to make mistakes.

Before life had forced us to grow up.

As they rounded a corner, Gertrude’s gaze locked onto a nondescript building across the street. To anyone else, it might have looked like just another run-down office complex, but she knew better. This was their target.

She paused, pretending to adjust the baby’s blanket while she studied the building’s facade. It stood ten stories high, its sleek, mirrored facade reflecting the sky and surrounding cityscape. Four goblins in standard security gear sat outside, smoking cigarettes and chatting in low voices, but out of the corner of her eyes, she could spot four more in similar suits lazily walking the perimeter. Nothing unusual for an office in this district, but a lifetime of experience warned her that these eight weren’t just random paid thugs.

They had to be the lookouts. And if the hidden cameras she spotted on her way here were any indication, they were certainly better equipped than the local thugs.

Timmy, oblivious to his grandmother’s scrutiny, babbled on about the festival preparations. “Look, Grandma! They’re setting up the mana attractors over there!” He pointed excitedly at a group of workers installing large, cylindrical devices on street corners. “Dad says that I’ll be able to sense it just like mom!”

Gertrude nodded, her lips curving into a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She guided the stroller closer to the building, pretending to be interested in a nearby vendor’s wares. While Timmy was distracted by the multicolored beads and sparkling jewelry, her gaze remained fixed on the guards, noting their positions, equipment, and movements.

The goblins were more alert than they appeared at first glance. Their eyes constantly scanned the crowd, and their hands never strayed far from their concealed weapons. Definitely professionals, not your average street muscle.

She picked up a cheap necklace, making a show of examining the fake gemstone. Her mental clock kept running, counting down the minutes until her medication would force her to make an exit. Her body was becoming sluggish, her thoughts foggy, and her normally perfect vision was starting to swim. Another half-hour, tops, before she‘d start crashing.

A cry from the stroller drew her attention. She looked down to find the baby girl reaching for an ethereal, shimmering butterfly drifting lazily in the air. Her granddaughter’s hand passed through it, scattering blue motes of light and making the toddler laugh and clap. These mana projections were becoming more common as the festival approached, tiny sparks of magic returning to a world long denied its wonder. She tickled the baby’s chin, eliciting another delighted giggle.

As Gertrude watched her grandchildren play, a heaviness settled in her chest. The weight of years and countless missions took its toll, pressing down on her. She wondered, not for the first time, if she should have refused this job.

What was she thinking? She was too old for this nonsense. Her joints ached, her eyes strained even with the implants, and her reflexes weren’t what they used to be. The risks were too high, the potential cost too great.

She looked at Timmy, his face sticky with candy floss, eyes bright with excitement. At the baby, cooing and reaching for magical butterflies. These moments were precious, fleeting. How many had she already missed? How many more would she sacrifice for one last mission?

No. It wasn’t worth it. Let the young bloods handle this one. She’d call Maria, make her excuses. They’d understand. Probably feel the same way themselves.

As this realization settled in, Gertrude felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She allowed herself a small smile, genuinely enjoying the market’s sights and sounds for the first time. The colorful stalls, the laughter of children, the smell of street food—it wasn’t so bad when you weren’t constantly looking for threats.

But that life wasn’t hers. Never had been.

As she turned away from the vendor’s booth, a flash of movement caught her eye. A hooded figure slipped through the crowd, moving with a grace that seemed out of place among the bustling market-goers. Something about the way they moved, the way the crowd parted before them without realizing it, the instinctive urge she felt to avert her gaze...

Gertrude’s breath caught in her throat. It couldn’t be. After all these years...

The figure paused at the building’s door, turning slightly. For just a moment, she caught a glimpse of a face beneath the hood. Delicate green skin, a pointed ear poking through messy orange locks. Glowing amber eyes, narrowed in determination. The glimpse only lasted a second, but it was enough.

Every muscle in her body tensed, ready for action. Her hand inched towards the concealed pocket where her pistol lay hidden. Without conscious thought, her mind calculated trajectories and odds of success. She could get off a clean shot before the other guard realized what had happened!

But the weight of Timmy’s hand on her arm and the soft coos from the stroller stopped her cold. This wasn’t the time or place. Not with her grandchildren here, vulnerable and exposed.

She forced her hand to relax, letting it fall away from her hidden holster. Her eyes never left the hooded figure as they slipped inside the building, the guards nodding respectfully as they passed.

“Grandma, can we go get ice cream now?” Timmy tugged at her sleeve, oblivious to the tension radiating from his grandmother.

Gertrude blinked, tearing her gaze away from the door. She looked down at the boy’s hopeful face, then at the baby gurgling happily in her stroller. Her resolve hardened. This wasn’t just about old grudges anymore. This was about their future.

She nodded, mustering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. As they turned to leave, Gertrude’s mind was already racing. Plans formed and discarded in rapid succession as she weighed options and calculated risks.

With a seasoned operative’s eye, she assessed the market for the last time. The colorful stalls, the chatter of the crowd, the smell of fried food and spices—it all seemed muted now, less real than the cold certainty settling in her gut.

She’d seen her. After all these years, all the pain and loss, she’d finally seen her again.

And soon, very soon, they would settle old scores.

Behind them, a massive holoscreen flickered to life. Bold letters blazed across its surface, drawing gasps from the crowd.

THE GODS RETURN