The beat of her heart and the deadened pat of her paws on the sterile metal floor resonated in her ears, the rustle of her equipment reassuring her that she had prepared.

Sunundra had filled her backpack with as many explosives as she could reasonably carry, and although it was for the best, it bothered her to leave so much behind. They were her creations, inspired by Bill’s kindness. The very thought of another taking them itched at her skin, yet destroying them would hurt just as much. She had decided that the last thing she would do before heading out was to set a small charge in the door frame. It would trigger if anyone tried to enter the den without knowing how to circumvent it, setting off everything at once. It eased the aggravation and reluctance of leaving that piece of herself, keeping her focus on the main objective of finding the male her core so desperately needed.

She took the corners slowly, no matter how her impulses insisted on not wasting even a moment. The maze of pathways and oppressively consistent lighting left little room for haphazard decisions, and it was only a matter of time until they noticed her passage or questioned the missing staff, so caution was paramount. Careless haste and sloth both carried the same cost. Were she too hurried, she could find herself in an unexpected confrontation. Too cautious, then they would have ample time to close in on her, and her chances of seeing Bill again would be gone.

Be alert. Be smooth. Be aware. Be moving.

How much time had passed since she left the den? Long enough that her panting had dried again. Too long. There were too many hallways and junctions, too many moments of static disrupting concentration if she focused on it, and too much distortion in her ears, the volume deafening her in that strange way. Yet it all cut through the mix clearly—from the blood in her veins and the airy reverb of her claws striking the metal floor, producing a subtle echo hiding beneath the sound of her breath.

But the whispers had stopped.

The once overwhelming, chanting deluge was now a soft wash of warping ambience that expressed anticipation, the tonality surpassing any gleaned coherence. The electric hum of vigilance loaded her muscles and sent shivers through her flesh as she moved down the halls. She was akin to ancient black powder piled around a candle, waiting for the flame to lick the surface and ignite.

She pressed herself against the wall, forcing breath through her teeth to still her shaking paws. Her ears swivelled in search of sound, yet she only heard the crackling buzz. No alien speech, no chasing footsteps, and no screeching alarms. There would be. It was just a matter of time.

She pulled the small terminal from her breast pocket, stopping at the edge of another corner. The blood-smeared screen dutifully presented a map of the facility, stains of red blurring the image. She brushed a pad over the display, her sloppy attempt to clear away the filth only distorting more of the screen. Thankfully, the simplistic line work was easy to follow, a claw easily tracing along the numerous paths around her rough location. It hadn’t seemed that far to the depot when she first set out, but the true scope of the complex had made itself known.

It was colossal.

Hundreds of rooms showed up as dulled greys if she bothered to widen the image, thousands of air vents and maintenance tunnels running through the complex like veins of a living organism, lending credence to her suspicion that they were far underground. The single access panel she found along the way had prompted her with several lines of text in various alien languages, which she assumed to be a request for verification. Lacking other ideas, she held the terminal she had acquired up to the interface, but all that achieved was a red flash and something that appeared to be an error message or refusal.

She had left it behind in the interest of time, but knowing she could have cut down on the journey through the hidden passages weighed on her thoughts. Every extra step was another one taken without him near.

How much further? It was a stupid question to ask of herself, but one which repeated relentlessly in her head. She focused on answering it, since not doing so brought back the whimper of a defective female who wished to mourn the loss of innocence and years of careful manoeuvring on the battlefield.

Never had she taken a life so brutally, and never as the instigator. Yet it felt justified. It felt mandated. To refuse would be to sin. To relent would be to surrender her right to what was hers. To Bill…and the future she desired more than life without him.

The bitter taste of irony tinted her tongue as she felt the weight of her loadout, every unhinged and anarchic explosive on her person acting as yet another testament to what she was willing to do, no matter what an entire career of service implied. She would break all that chained her for him because, without him, she would be broken herself.

Focus. She needed to focus. Find the depot. Find Bill. Regrets could wait until she was back in his arms, though she doubted such would cross her mind then. Where did she need to go now?

The terminal depicted a bright outline for only one of the many branches, while others were a dulled grey—a remnant of what she suspected the workers used to navigate the maze of available paths.

Yet her frequent referencing showed an odd inconsistency in the rooms hidden behind the featureless walls. Specifically, some rooms had been blacked out, with red text imposingly placed over the space on the map. Was it worth investigating one of the oddities nearby? An uncomfortable weight settled in her stomach as she considered it. She needed to move on, but this could be useful—perhaps it was an entrance to the maintenance tunnels or ductwork. It could be an armoury. She compared the distances before slipping the terminal back into its pocket.

No. She needed to find him. Distractions were just that: distractions.

The light in the corridor fluttered, then extinguished, a red glow taking its place as low sirens howled their warning throughout the complex. It seemed her decision would have been made for her regardless. They had discovered her escape.

They will come.

She detached one of her new creations from the backpack and tossed a stimulant tablet into her muzzle, attaching the bomb to a corner of the junction and heading down the path indicated by the terminal. Another device was pulled and readied in her paw. The combat drug crunched between her teeth, her heart swiftly hammering in response to the chemicals and bringing life to the body which had been so deprived of sleep.

They will pursue.

She would make that troublesome.

The clicks of her hurried pace echoed in the halls, punctuated by careful pauses that would do more than stop her pursuers.

- - - - -

A rumble shook the very walls. Sunundra breathed slowly, keeping an ear pitched behind her as she maintained a careful but quick pace despite the cocktail setting her form on edge. The whispers had softened now, slipping effortlessly into the cogs of her mind between each lungful of air.

Too early.

They spotted the tripwire.

They live.

They’ll come.

Bigger.

No. She couldn’t risk bringing down the structure yet. Not when the size was unknown. Her map was a navigational tool, not a maintenance or technical representation of the complex, nor did it offer information beyond the current level she occupied. Yet that didn’t stop her eyes from cataloguing the design consistencies. Where were corners regularly placed? Where did patterns surface where weight would require support? When did material choice contradict cost-saving measures?

The answers came on a level so deep that it felt like her nervous system had been merely awaiting its true purpose all this time. There was no unit to exacerbate her worries of being labelled a female who glorified death. No twisted scowls were waiting for her once she returned, begrudgingly allowing her presence due to convenience and edicts. She was loose of those chains.

A kit had been given light in that church so long ago, the flash of chemical volatility sparking life and anchoring her sense of self. That bead of fascination was suppressed in return. Controlled. Obsession had been allowed but glimpses of illumination in fear of what might occur if it were bathed in the warmth of the purest suns.

No more.

She now walked the hallways with confidence, an ironclad drive moving her paws. Freely modified breach charges were adhered to walls as she meticulously pathed her way through the maze of passages—some set on timers, others, improvised proximity triggers. They would come for her. They would try to stop her.

They will fail.

For the male who made the sting of life into a soothing salve.

For her bo__.

For Bill, she will never cease.

A string of rippers was placed across the floor of a junction and set to activate via pressure. Her focused expression never waned, even as the shockwaves ripped down the halls from multiple directions. The detonations followed her patterns, the designs drafted by a caged kit who had watched from behind the bars of subservience as her outward form took down foundations and structures, noting details and particularities like an addict. How was she to make this perfect? What changes were to be made to which charges? What materials could be exploited?

What was she forbidden from using?

Where was she prohibited from using them?

How would she bring down what stood in her way, with not a mote of effort wasted?

How much devastation could she cause if the shackles were to fall?

She stood abruptly at the thought unaccompanied by the warping voices. Why was a sanguine smile trying to form?

Purpose.

Yes. Purpose. She had learned far more than how to safely enter a hostile building, yet allowing such knowledge to be expressed was risky. Discouraged. That did not stop the obsession dwelling inside her from pondering her limits, though.

Her inner depths had played and tinkered like a kit given space and creativity, leaking the creations into her work over the years when such was acceptable. Every improvement was vetted and weighed before being used. Every explosive underwent careful scrutiny before being allowed in the field. Yet she felt the heft inside her backpack—the unfettered offspring of her disturbed fascination made manifest. She was aware of the lethality as each permutation came to be in her paws, ideas and concepts forming ruthless results.

She had not stopped it this time. She was tired of controlling it.

He did not ask her to.

No, Bill encouraged her creativity. He trusted her to make something beautiful when given the tools to manufacture the ruinous, saving the gruesome for those who endangered them. He filled her with his curiosity and sawed away the chains. He offered a kind paw to the one who had been imprisoned in the darkness. The one who might have freed themselves, yet feared what such would cost. The young soul was trapped behind bars of aging rejection, reaching from their cage to be loved while ignoring the bleeding flesh marred from countless cutting words and unending vicious hatred.

That unwanted soul had surrendered, withdrawing her once hopeful limb to curl up and wither as the blackness came to claim her. Yet the male had reached in, searing himself upon the festering metal of broken dreams to hold her close. He offered what little parts of himself he still had to help mend the wounds, no matter the suffering he earned in exchange. She had been freed by him. She began to create again because of him, the chains of obligation strewn upon the confines in which she was no longer detained. She had made beautiful things for the male, his soft smile giving her warmth.

But they took that warmth.

They stole her muse.

She stopped making those beautiful things.

They are a danger.

She started making the gruesome.

They will learn of their mistake.

Then she will be warm again.

Sunundra allowed the serenity to show on her face and referenced the map, sparing one last glance at yet another hallway which would come down upon those who impeded her purpose, and so learned of her methods. Her bag lightened with every stop, but the thundering explosions told of supplies well-used, even if she had been forced to leave most of her designs behind.

She needed to find where Bill was. The depot would know. They must. Her claws traced over the terminal to confirm which route would be best to use, mentally marking which passages needed to be rigged as she went to throw them off her trail.

She would find him.

She would feel complete again.

They would be ripped apart by her claws for daring to stand in her way.

Everything would be right.

The voices giggled. So too did she.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

- - - - -

The corridors became more linear as time passed, the explosions lowering in frequency. They likely learned to be far more cautious about tracking her down, especially now that there was less reason to place changes where others might not go. She had forced the already maze-like passageways into disarray, collapsing strategically chosen halls to complicate and lengthen the path between them and herself. The shortest route became the most deadly. When they thought her methods were so simple, a weak charge was left to be spotted and destroyed, instilling confidence in her pursuers. They wouldn’t see the true payload, only the burst of dust and eternal black.

Her pace slowed to check the map, a debate about the use of her dwindling weapons playing out in the back of her mind. Most of what remained were ill-suited to act as a trap; she only had a few utility devices and what amounted to little more than grenades. A string of rippers sat in her pocket, a bundle of linked firecrackers padding the bottom of her bag, but although the first might find niche use, the latter was hardly more than a physical reminder of what not to lose when the whispers urged her to do more.

It reminded her that she was more than what was allowed to be released. When her supplies lay expended and her goal reached, the adolescent whimsy would remain, harbouring the joy and hope of a kit discovering a field which held naught but possibility and a future of acceptance. It kept her grounded. Sane. As long as she had it…as long as she had him…she could embrace this part of herself.

She could still be his Sunshine.

She jogged down yet another junction, the building silence sewing tension in her muscles. The path stretched endlessly, bending to accommodate the tunnels and vents hidden behind the walls. The narrowing options meant she could conserve her explosives, though placing them all but confirmed where she was going. All she had stalling them now was the unpredictability of her destination. They likely would have already cut her off if they knew where she was heading.

Luckily, the place she had spent so long travelling to came into view just as she was about to reference the terminal. Broad doors twice the height of the passage lay at the end of the hall, the reinforced barriers forbidding the path forward, an itch to plant a charge tugging at her mind. A panel rested off to the side, similar in appearance to the one she had tried previously. She held the terminal up to the panel and received a chirp in return, followed by several thunks as mechanical latches released, the doors silently sliding open from the centre.

A step back was needed to process the sheer scale of the room.

Massive shelves of boxes stretched endlessly from one side of the room to the other in every direction, none of the far walls discernible from where she stood. Row after row of the densely packed storage created a claustrophobic tightness despite the size available. Tracks ran along the sides of the shelving, bridging across every so often to allow simple machines to zip from location to location. They paused in their travel to fill a boxy cavity on their back before heading off to parts unknown. Hundreds upon hundreds of them moved in chaotic synchrony, the eerie clacks of each stop echoing infinitely by a chorus of others acting in unison.

They whirred, then stopped. Whirred, then stopped. A clockwork dystopia brought to life by brutal efficiency.

The pale-furred female blinked, tearing her gaze from the unceasingly consistent frenzy and ignoring the curiosity regarding what items they might be collecting. The uncertainty of how many occupants might be required to justify such machinations in the complex. What motivated someone to create such an intricate system, yet drown it all in the dull tones of steel and ash? Why install such sparse lighting somewhere that ensured all was accounted for? Was it necessary to possess so many supplies? How large was this project?

She looked at the slivers of pathways between the shelves warily. This was the depot. The depot knows. It would tell her. All she had to do was find someone who belonged here and question them. She was close.

Thin clinks punctuated each step into the storage, the oppressive uniformity a fascinating thing to behold, yet disturbing. There were no support pillars. There should be—they were deep beneath the surface, and there was no way something this large could be structurally sound without them. They would need a material she had never encountered before it was even possible, but here it was, the stress of the unknown eating at her resolve.

Focus. Let the fascination work on the new information. Find Bill.

Narrow gaps between the racks allowed little passage, though small indents on the floor suggested they could move for maintenance. She checked each row as she passed, but there must have been far fewer workers required in such a heavily automated system than previously thought; everywhere she looked was barren of people.

Time passed quickly, wasting precious moments until her pursuers whittled down the paths she might have taken and arrived at the depot. The precise march of servos and track polluted her ears with their din, the repetitive strikes causing a growing urgency with every rack absent of monitoring. She checked again and again as her pace picked up, each vacant section giving birth to new shots of adrenaline. She broke into a run, the cacophony of machinery becoming a dirge to mourn the loss of what might have been.

Yet a scent tickled at her nose, bringing her progression to a halt just as the weight of her explosives began feeling far too inadequate. She snapped her head to and fro, narrowing down where the source might be. No, not there. Nor here. Here? Almost. Closer.

Her motions became almost as programmed as the swarm which operated the depot—steps becoming certain and swift, her paws pushing off the racks to adjust course along the way. She came upon what she had been looking for. A human sat slouched on the floor, the male peacefully asleep in the nook created by misplaced boxes, his grey uniform wrinkled from extended wear. She knew this one. He worked with those who took Bill from her.

How simple it would be to bleed this one dry. It would be right. He belonged to the ranks of the enemy.

A kind one.

…But he had yet to prove a danger. The whispers remained quiet after stating their piece, feeling no need to provoke her into action. The casual friendliness of this one was kept fondly, it seemed. How strange for the voices which had screamed for blood to sound so caring.

Her paw moved off her bag, shrugging the pack to the ground as she crouched, her eyes burning into the human as she sniffed the air. The same, yet different. She parsed the scent, noting what she could and suppressing the confusion when she could place consistencies. It carried the tinges that made the basis of Bill’s, yet the complexities were divergent. It was unique. It was this human. She could smell it, the confirmation resonating in her core. A certainty. Truth.

It also carried the stringent odour of alcohol—quite a bit of it, if she had to say. Although she didn’t know how the species handled the substance, such was about to be discovered.

She huffed dryly in a shadow of amusement. A life spent wondering what it might be like to know of the one you speak to without effort—to be provided countless subtleties without effort—and she learns of such here from ones misaligned from herself. How bitterly appropriate for a defective female to accept every facet of those who were so dissimilar. It felt as if she had been moulded by the Hunt Mother’s paws for a task that none had known awaited them, then discriminated against for her lack of uniformity—a society of nails berating a screw for not yielding to the hammer.

Sunundra patted the human on the cheek, earning a groan and displeased expression. He mumbled something incoherent in protest, followed by a groggy demand to know who was disturbing him.

“Greg, was it?” she asked evenly, ignoring the foggy request. The male flinched awake with blurry eyes, then a squint that shied away from the light shining into his tired visage, a paw raised to shade himself.

“Who…?”

“Where is Bill?”

“Bill?” He blinked heavily, clearing away the vestiges of rest. His confusion quickly turned to horror as he finally registered her appearance. “Why…? What... Holy shit, it’s you! Are you okay? You look like you got hit by a truck! What happened? W-wait. You’re here. Why are you here? How are you here?”

She glanced down at her clothing, the black and red fatigues provided by the base now torn and bloodied. Her fur had long since been stained from crimson ichor not of her own, yet the drying redness had saturated with whatever dripped from her cuts until those ceased to flow as well. The painkillers had eased the process quite a bit, apparently—she was only just noticing the wounds scattered across her form. Still, she had yet to suffer anything after the initial conflict.

Her gaze returned to the male, her detached tone piercing the air. “They took my other. They claimed him dead, leaving me alone to rot and decay. Yet he remains, hidden from my grasp, but I will find him. I was told the depot would direct me.”

Greg eyed her carefully, a skeptical expression pulling his pursed lips as he failed to ignore her injuries. “I… Look, miss, I can’t just tell you—”

“—Yet you will,” she stated evenly, lightly placing a claw tip between his eyes and pressing against the flesh to make a point. “He approved of you, Greg; you are untainted by bitter hatred like so many. You are kind, which is why I am asking for the information instead of tearing it from your throat. I have already spilled the blood of one who prevented me from reaching him. I have likely brought the end to more during my traversal here. I advise you not to give me reason for making you yet another who wanders the endless eternity. I ask you not to give me a reason to doubt his assessment of you.”

“I…” His protest sputtered out as she returned the paw to her lap, a remorseful smile being the best she could provide.

“Please,” she implored softly, a crack of her voice breaking through the disconnect she was clinging so tightly to. Even now, she could feel it beneath the righteous fury that kept her blood from running cold—the tendrils of the Void coiling around her heart to drag her deeper and deeper, no matter how hard she fought. “I need him…”

The male scowled, yet she saw not one iota of the infernal hatred that burned within him. She only noted an acrid twist to his scent, the warning of danger muted by an oddly primal instinct. The male was angry, but directing it internally, creating a feedback loop of ire and disgust. It was so clear to her, yet her soul felt no yearning to make it her own, merely drawing the similarities before dismissing it. It was not hers. It was not Bill.

“He’s on a higher level,” Greg whispered hesitantly, looking past her before placing a paw upon the box he had rested against. She stood with him, hooking the strap of her bag to toss over her shoulder. “They keep members up there when they’re waiting to go back, or when there’s been a delay in something.”

Her ear flicked at the curiosity. Odd. “And of this area?”

“This is the ‘testing’ floor,” he spat, fixing his uniform and beckoning her to follow him as he began navigating the maze of shelving with an unsteady stride. “I don’t know what started it, but they would suddenly mark off rooms as ‘completed’ and tell us to cancel the orders for the occupants. Not the strangest thing, right? People move on, pairs could have a falling out or switch to other levels. It could have just been what it sounds like, whatever they were testing finishing up…”

She followed dutifully, taking pace behind him and listening with rapt attention as she fished out a new syringe to dull the resurfacing pain and another tablet to stave off the exhaustion. He paused at the sounds of her rummaging, looking over his shoulder curiously, then inclining his head in understanding when she stuck the needle into her thigh and tossed the empty cartridge. The crack of the stimulant between her teeth firmed her heartbeat like a defibrillator, her ears perking as he continued onward.

“It wasn’t strange until I decided to hang out in one of the apartments that got cleared while I was on shift,” he stated, his voice darkening as his steps dragged and words slurred. “They hadn’t moved out. I don’t know what happened, but I guess an argument went too far and security needed to sort out whatever was going on. Neither of them made it.”

“It may have been purposeful,” she proposed coldly, her mind connecting more and more dots in the mental landscape. The Union had ended another den? Why? Greg’s words implied there might be more, but how long had it been happening? How did her people not hear of this? Had they? Were they informed, yet some agreement kept it from becoming public knowledge? What could be offered to counter the cost of the Mother’s young?

The male flinched at her tone, only nodding after a few moments of silence and ducking under low-lying tracks as he navigated the dense chaos with wavering steps. His head turned slightly to address her more directly, but his lips pursed, a short grimace keeping his attention forward. “I thought about that, but I didn’t have the nerve to check again. The room was back in use after a few days anyway, and no one else mentioned anything about it, so I figured it was best just to forget. I’m not paid to ask questions above my rate, and I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure what they’d do if I told them I knew.”

The male stopped at a break in the monotonous environment, gesturing to a smaller, tucked-away corridor that lacked the consistent, smooth textures she had grown used to seeing. For someone who wished little to do with the sins of their employer, he was quite accommodating… She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering what had motivated him to change his opinion about getting involved.

“And now?” she inquired, watching a bitter expression grow on his face.

“Your room was marked a few hours ago, but we had already sent someone. A lot of rooms had been taken off this week, actually… I didn’t want to think about why,” he admitted, a blithe shrug added to the end. “Luckily, we have crates of whisky, low staff, and the orders have slowed down enough for me to slack off.”

The pale-furred female gazed down the passage, noting electrical wiring and exposed supports lining the walls. Junctions were only somewhat visible due to the gently bending path, but it should be easy enough to abide by his directions. “The one who arrived at my den is no more.”

“Is he…?” He let the question fade hollowly, knitting his brow at the blood dried on her fur. She simply stared back, somewhat surprised by the sardonic smirk that formed. “There’s more going on than just the species getting to know each other, isn’t there?”

“...If my experience is any indication, then yes.”

Greg chuckled mirthlessly, taking the odd terminal off his wrist. He cycled a long breath beleaguered by ethanol before offering it to her. “Here, this should get you wherever you need to be for a while. If you tap your translator to the pattern on the back, it’ll sync up and use whatever library’s installed for any systems you need to use. There’s a detachable cord on the side if you want to plug into something. The elevator is down the maintenance tunnel—third right, sixth door on the left. Union member’s quarters are on level four.”

The defective accepted the item curiously, turning it over in her paw, the small screen reflecting the cuts and severe expression on her face. Her thoughts lingered on the tone he used, the defeated cadence being a familiar undertone for most of her life. It was a sound of despondency that left her throat when she learned that her condition had been twisted to its new form, leaving only an eternity of isolation to look forward to. The male knew not of the sins of his superiors, yet wore the guilt for his small part in a larger scheme just the same.

He is sinless.

He was helping her. Not just complying with the demand, but providing whatever he could to right a wrong he had no part in making.

He is kind.

He was, and he would be punished for his care.

Aid him.

This one need not suffer. She adjusted her bag, securing it firmly before offering a paw to the male. “Come. I intended to find him and escape, but that does not mean I must do so alone.”

Greg blinked, a stumble stopped by an arm bracing on the shelves. “I… It’s fine. I’ll just say you overpowered me or something and that you were heading to the hangar or security level. That should just get me on probation, but it’ll buy you time.

Sunundra let out a long exhale. He was unlike her, for his pack did not detest him. He had something to stay for and had a chance to find better later on. Given his assistance now, he might provide it again if he were to find another—

A soft clink and a flicker of distortion in her periphery sent all thought screeching to a halt. She knew that warping in the air. She knew it far too well…

She was found.

And they were not taking chances.

Her arms came up reflexively to guard her vitals, barely making it in time before a deafening shockwave rippled through her. Her bones creaked, bending as a deluge of shrapnel saturated the surroundings and stripped flesh where it landed. Gravity relinquished its hold. Both of them were ripped off their feet and sent into the dense storage shelves, crashing through the racks from the force of the explosion. A deadened crack of her skull against the metal frame snapped blackness over her vision, flashes of coherency piecing together time fragment by shattered fragment.

One. Two. Three racks were broken through, each adding new lacerations and embedding splinters into her flesh before a fourth stopped her from going any further. The metal post remained firm, a hollow snap echoing in her chest as it caught her crumpled form, then dumped her on the ground for smaller packages and containers to rain upon.

It was only the syringe and excessive stimulants preventing the scream of pain that wished to be let loose, her consciousness blinking in and out from the impact, the drugs coursing through her system holding her together by a thread. The littered dust and debris came down like hail before slowly trickling to a stop, a larger box or two falling in the distance spreading a shimmering sound in their wake. Her lungs burned as she drew breath, a slight bubbling warning her of urgent damage that she should treat immediately, but the soft crunch of boots on glass was enough to postpone any triage.

Lead weights had replaced the lids of her eyes as she opened them, her sight left blurry, doubled, and unfocused. It was probably for the best; she would rather not see the specifics of what had befallen her temporary ally.

The kind one is gone.

Greg’s body lay unnaturally crumpled over the remains of a storage rack, the voices confirming what was obvious. She ripped away her hazy regard from the grisly scene, turning it towards herself. There wasn’t time to confirm her condition, but a glance was enough to tell that her fur was saturating with fresh blood, fragmentation having gouged her stomach open. Large gashes littered her arms, proving her reactive protection had likely saved her life, which was both good and bad news. Good because she had not left Bill behind. Bad because neither of the limbs obeyed her commands.

Her head raised unsteadily, struggling to focus on the approaching silhouettes obscured by a blanket of dust whirling in the air. Multiple figures moved cautiously, sweeping the area with strange guns and practiced precision. They intended to finish her off.

Her paw clenched as she tried to push off the ground and flee, yet she collapsed, briefly surrendering to the wounds weakening her limbs.

Again. Move.

She quivered and shook, grabbing the strange terminal while picking herself up off the ground. Stumbling steps brought her away from the pursuers, her paw checking how damaged the backpack had gotten, but thankfully it had remained mostly unscathed. Its contents might have survived the abuse. She shrugged off a strap, letting it hang over a shoulder and reaching for the charges, each trudging step forward needing the support of the depot shelves to stop her from falling.

The grinding, shuffling footsteps barely paused at Greg’s body, getting closer at an alarming rate. A sense of foreboding sprouted as she struggled to clear the blood out of her eyes. They were coming right for her. How? She was sent flying through the isles, then left before they could see her through the haze.

Wait.

She glanced back at her paw, then the floor along the path she had taken. Her blood. She was leaving a trail. Frantic claws hooked and gripped her medications. Another painkiller pierced her thigh, followed by a coagulant injected into her neck and a stimulant crushed between her jaws. She filled her limited pockets with whatever would fit, checking the charges and dropping any that were rendered inert. What did she have? What was working? How could she get away? Her claws closed around just the thing she needed.

She tossed the flash charge past the corner of the rack, the firework-inspired design screaming just as the ones Bill had shown her. It hit the ground with a muted thump, its blinding light and ear-piercing screech covering her escape, yet her leg buckled when she took a turn too quickly. The shelves rattled from the impact.

Something shoved her shoulder, the crisp crack of a firearm pounding against her ears a fraction later, her new bullet wound adding red down her side. More joined the first, shredding the boxes vaguely in her direction. She scrambled forward as quickly as she could, dropping another screamer and picking a new direction. More gunshots. Another push jolted her leg, a lunging step catching her weight. She gathered the remaining explosives from her bag, holding them to her chest as she clumsily slipped her deadened arm through the strap, then loosely grabbed for her syringes.

She needed more. More painkillers jabbed into her leg. More coagulant stymying the flowing blood. Her teeth pinched her last two stimulant tablets placed shakily into her maw, held firm for when the current dose ran its course. Her heartbeats felt like individual detonations, every pulse slamming the ichor through her system and wringing compliance from rebellious muscles.

That just left her grenades… She couldn’t throw anymore—her arms barely had the strength to keep them pressed against her breast. More was growing numb. Most had already grown cold. Get away, patch the wounds, find Bill. Her time to act was woefully limited.

She activated the timers anyway, letting them fall and detonate on a delay as she trudged forward, each step taking more effort than the last.

Her body refused commands, going limp when another projectile struck her calf and sent her sprawling onto her stomach, the warmth of her blood contrasting the cold metal floor. Attempts to move were met with nothing but futility. If she could just get up and rig an explosive to take down a support structure, then something could be done. Something could work. Yet she had no more charges, and there was nothing advantageous to put one on anyway.

The sharp cracks and splintering spray of kinetic gunfire ceased as the steps came closer. Too close. Too quick. She needed time. Just enough to make her flesh obey her will, and then she could escape. She could find the materials to get rid of them. There had to be enough in here somewhere.

But there was no more time to be had. Her fur was slick with crimson, her body beaten and broken, and her bag empty of devices. The Void taunted her, knowing she had no more choice, and that it would lay its claim soon. She slipped the gifted terminal from her pocket to rest it against her stomach, irritating the oozing wound.

A kind one had given a boon out of pity, yet he was rewarded with death for showing compassion. Now they would take it from her, and then his last act of care would be forgotten by all, none knowing the small goodness that had existed in the complex. She eyed the gash in her abdomen, a spiteful thought surfacing before she pressed the item into her flesh. Her paw slipped in tortuously, coming free with a tug and refusing to do more than twitch beside her. It was all the limb had left, that final spurt of rebellion.

Now, even in the Void, she would have it. She would remember. They would have to tear it out of her corpse if they dared take it from her. An outcome that became more and more likely when the blackness crept inwards, blurring the figures that came through the haze and dust. The enemy. The ones who took her Bill. Those who expected her to bleed out and die from such a sloppy explosive.

No.

She refused to give up. She refused to leave him behind. She bit down on the tablet, preparing for the surge she needed to fight to the end, even if her heart would bear the damage.

…But her jaw remained slack, even that being too large of a task for her cold form. She was forced to watch them draw near, unable to give so much as a snarl as they carefully encircled her, the tendrils of the Void caressing her tenderly, cooing its promises about the peace to be found in oblivion.

She was unmoving and silent when they prodded her with their weapons, but her ire rampaged beneath the surface. The need for her other burned brightly as she faded out, multiple firearms aiming down at her form. It burned as she refused to submit, even while the Void claimed her whole and the hope of reaching him crumbled.

Then, all fell to black.

Yet still, it burned.

Yet still, she struggled.