Adam looked over the collection of loot he picked up from the Gasheads. Lucy's [Photon-Smite] had reduced the woman's equipment to dust, leaving only the lug and Rick's gear. The lug's arm lay next to his shotgun, Rick's knife and Rick's radio. The knife's blade was dented and barely worth its handle. The shotgun was still usable. It was a far cry from the searing power of the ADO's rifles, but a pellet was a pellet.

He inspected the radio last. The frame was a hard black plastic, weighing as heavy as half a brick. The antenna looked jury-rigged from a combination of metal scrap stuffed into plastic tubing. He flicked on the switch and met a password lock on the small orange-lit screen.

ADOSCH, hack into this. Adam commanded.

Hacking of [Zanik-F Handheld Radio T1024] was a success! Download all available data?

He blinked. That was fast. The radio was stone age compared to the sky-high level of ADOSCH's systems. Gaining experience from this felt like an insult to the developers, whoever they were.

Unknown language detected. Language bears no similarities to any of the 1296 languages or ciphers within ADOSCH's database. Recording audio and text files as presented.

The interface said that, and Astraean and English characters were written differently, but he comprehended them both the same. It was like an optical illusion. A fake mismatch, the cause of another headache. Just another ridiculous little detail the Goddess of Astraea thought she could impose on him without his consent.

The radio contents were nothing special—item lists, orders to pillage, random snippets of Rick's life that he couldn't care less about; he wasn't here to read a goddamn diary—except for the last message.

COLLECT THE DEMON-BOX IN THE GAS STATION NEAR GLENN'S REST. BREAK THE LOCK, BUT DON'T OPEN IT. DON'T TRY AND LOOK FOR ITS ORIGINAL REDSPOT. DON'T USE IT AGAINST THE VILLAGE, EVEN IF THAT SOUNDS FUCKIN' SWEET. WE NEED IT FOR LATER. BRING IT STRAIGHT BACK, AND IF YOU DON'T, THE BOSS IS GONNA LINE YOU UP AGAINST THE DAM AND HAVE YOU SHOT.

The message fitted with that he asked Penny last night. According to her, Demon Boxes, were essentially a wad of that red corruptive energy shoved inside a small space and then left to stew. The longer the fermentation, the greater the unleashed power, which took the form of summoning monsters, such as wraiths, the 'flesh slimes' or even 'flesh horses'. The presence of a Demon Box could be enough to sway a negotiation in one's favour, as a sufficiently charged one could tear half a town to shreds.

They were supposed to be rare, to where Penny, a native of Grassruin Valley, only heard about them in stories.

"Penny, do the bandits carry this level of gear often?"

"No, boss." Penny said, "Best they get are star-tech guns, and those don't come cheap. Demon Boxes are nasty things. Blood magic, old rituals, the spooks Granny used to tell me to keep me from wandering far off."

She shuddered, and it wasn't from what happened yesterday.

"I didn't think they'd sink that far, that boy. Guess you punched it out of him, huh?"

Rick had yapped his mouth after Lucy had thrown in front of the townsfolk in the village square. "She's a Witch!" he had cried, pointing to Lucy, "You all are making a mistake. A Witch is here!"

Adam then smashed his fist into Rick's jaw. He had felt the bone crack beneath the weight of his flesh. He then kicked the kid in the stomach. Probably broke a rib, not that he gave a lick. Rats deserved nothing. Rick should've been grateful that was all he got away, because the last time the Pitbull hunted a snitch, it ended with tendons being sliced out of heels.

The townsfolk seemed more disgusted than him. They'd take Rick's cries for the desperate act of a traitor. In any case, the more he thought about the Gasheads, the worse he felt. Adam wasn't a history buff by any means, but boredom had led him to read a couple of history books in juvie. Bandits in medieval times didn't assault towns. They hid in forests and setup traps and ambushes to compensate for a lack of manpower. For one to hold an entire town to ransom either meant stupidity or genuine, supreme confidence in their firepower.

"Let's do some recon." He said to Lucy, "I need some fresh air anyway."

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

In truth, he already planned to stay in Glenn's Rest. A soldier couldn't operate without proper recuperation. He needed a break after dealing with the fight from yesterday. It would also be a shame to leave the town so quickly after he almost died securing his entry pass.

He started with a walk around the place and came to the conclusion that Glenn's Rest was city-folk bait. A clean river source flowed through the north center, pooling into a lake containing fresh fish and harvestable algae. It overlooked verdant fields housing farms growing potatoes, wheat and fresh fruit. He spotted bushels of those strange oranges growing astray in the MOB's fields.

The architecture of the buildings was patchwork and piecemeal, slabs of spare material bolted on here and there, yet the residents maintained them with clear care and pride. It was the exact type of place some burnt-out city slicker would settle down, minus the total lack of proper sewerage and Internet part.

The townsfolk were on-edge. He brought back a traitor, which didn't equal acceptance. Some still shot him and Lucy shifty glares from behind their stalls. Others fingered their guns. Every person he met was armed. Pistols, shotguns, bolt-actions and one fellow even sported a crossbow. All ballistics.

They were at least courteous enough to let him into the marketplace, so he spent some time checking out the independent merchants. Some travelled on mule-back across the valley, while others rode bicycles or boated down the rivers. There were umbrellas, spare clothes, home-made remedies, water bottles and dried meats…but no guns.

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"Ah, apologies mate!" A merchant in a wide-brimmed hat and dry, sun-bleached skin responded. He chewed on a bitter-smelling brown herb as he spoke. "The townsfolk bought up all our weapons earlier this morning. That old missus of the Ram Roach's was the first in line. She helped us get all organised."

"She ever tell you why?" Adam asked.

"Nah, mate!" The merchant said, "Just said there was a varmint problem, but that's what every town has to deal with. Maybe she wants to stock up? I don't ask. I just sell!"

"You didn't hear what happened yesterday? You gotta pay attention, man." Adam said. He crossed his arms, giving the merchant a quick shake of his head. The merchant shrugged. Adam continued, "Demon box. One of the bandits got dragged back."

"Woah, is that what's happened?" The chewed-up herb fell from the merchant's mouth onto his shirt. He scrambled to shove it back in. "That's…bugger me, that's real nasty! Is there gonna be a fight soon?"

"’Course not, Brody!" A vegetable-peddler shouted from across the square, "We're tighter than a donkey's brace! Not even a Witch could break in. You just focus on selling your crap!"

A round of affirmations and cheers from the other store owners followed. They weren't fooling him. The people here were on edge. The barricades, the forced laughter between a couple, even the paranoia of that hick Cole…the powder keg wasn't about to blow just yet, but the sparks were crawling closer and closer. He'd seen it before in his own crew in the days leading up to a turf war. Hell, he'd felt it himself.

Most of the townsfolk knew the idea of Astraean tech, but not so much where to find it. None of them had ever heard of a signal beacon. Those things were apparently massive and hard to miss, which made it frustrating.

"Searching for star-tech?" The local blacksmith, a bald man with thick arms, said, "You’re chasing after dreams, boy. That rifle on your back not good enough?"

"It’s business, alright?" Adam said. "You got a lead for me or not?"

"If I knew, I’d already be there with my mates!" The blacksmith laughed. His hammer made a loud clang against the anvil, "That friend smells like scavenger. Ask her. Go and find her a map."

He caught Jona smoking outside the inn on his way back to the town square. She raised a hand in a gesture.

"Hello, boy."

"Hey," Adam said back, "Something up?"

"Nothing much. I'm on my break before working on fixing up the boards inside the Roach," Jona said, "Good work yesterday, by the way."

"Thanks?" Adam said.

Jona smirked. "You don't look too pleased."

Adam immediately scowled in return. "This better?" The old crone cackled in response. She congratulated him for killing someone. It felt weird, and not because no-one ever thanked him for anything unless it was out of fear. At least he was adjusting. The initial panic from the fight had flattened into a dull, prickly sensation in the pits of his psyche. Lucy had brewed some lemon-scented tea from her pack last night. It calmed his nerves enough for him to enter a dreamless sleep.

"We interrogated Rick. He doesn't know anything about the ransom. We expected as much." Jona shook his head, "Did you know he said your friend over there was a Witch? Kept insisting that."

"That sounds absolutely retarded."

Jona nodded. "Damned kid. Running away from home and getting himself caught up in bandits, of all scum…I helped his old ma give birth to him, you know. We scrambled for hours trying to find the medicine among the merchants' wares. We should've whacked him harder, taught him more lessons instead of letting him run about." Jona said. She gripped a glass in her hand tight, then put it down with a sigh. "There's always one bad apple in every bushel."

"Sucks to hear that." Adam said. He couldn't relate. There had been traitors in the gang, but even before their betrayal he'd rather shove a spike through his ears than call them anything resembling family. "He's all locked up, yeah? Not gonna be a problem anymore?"

"Don't you worry about that, boy. Glenn's Rest takes care of its own. Whatever those Gasheads have, we can take care of it. I know their types; one look at our heat and they'll be scurrying," Jona's gaze then brightened, as she caught sight of Penny. "Why, it's you, little tyke! What are you hiding behind this buzzcut for?"

"Good morning, Miss Jona! Boss is uh…" She snuck him a glance, "Taking us out for a walk!"

"That true, boy?" Jona said.

"I've got stuff to buy. What?"

"Nothing. Just making sure. Her last boss was a loudmouth and a braggart who almost got her killed. Going up against a Witch, honestly…some men, I swear." Jona said. "Take that as a lesson, boy!"

"Uh-huh…" Adam tuned out the conversation at that point. He juggled a rock behind his back with [Psychokinesis] as he waited for the two to finish. Jona raised a wrinkly hand to Penny, not to him, as she left. The two were left there, with Lucy in the background keeping watch over the street. The scavenger girl shifted slightly.

Right. He needed to give her something to do. Underlings required handling, otherwise they'd start getting funny ideas, like 'maybe I should ditch this buzzcut and stay in this village forever'.

"Hey, Penny. I've got a job for you." He reached into his pack and took out Laboz's mechanical arm. Penny had severed it off the bandit's wraith corpse with a few precise slices, then cleaned off the remaining flesh with a cloth. Adam inspected it. It weighed as much as a rifle and was constructed from greyish metal that the original owner had dyed black with cheap paint. The fingers were still bent at odd angles from the [Hacking] yesterday.

"That's an outdated model." Lucy had remarked last night, "It's rare to see mechanical augmentations, since they're all biotech these days, like the ones we've got. Most of the time I see them on poor souls who lost limbs in accidents and can't afford the proper ones."

"So it's almost scrap?"

"Actually, the tech-heads keep a bunch of them in their labs to play around with."

Back in the present, Adam tossed her the arm. Shock crossed her features, and she looked back and forth between the object and him.

"You can be the one responsible for selling it. Half goes to you."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, why not? You know the merchants better than us." Adam said. He dug into his pocket and took out the sack of metal chips, "Almost forgot. Here."

He took out a quarter and gave it to her. She almost dropped the whole lot in her haste to catch them. Then she pinched her cheek. "Wow, boss." Penny said, "I uh…"

He folded his arms, drawing up his chest. "What? You work, you get paid. Simple as. Got an issue with that?"

"No boss! Definitely not!" Penny said, quickly. "I'll find the best merchant for the arm in the area."

"Alright, get to it. Meet you in the front of town in four." Adam said, "Get a map of the valley too!"

"You're not coming with me?"

"I've got shit to do with Lucy. Go for it." Adam said.

Penny chewed on her lips. "You're…different, boss. Raz would've never."

"I ain't him. Don't even know him, Penny. But hey, I can start acting like him if you want—"

"No, it's good! It's all good, boss! I'll sell this arm in a jiffy! I'll bring back the best sack of chips for us!" Penny almost shouted, "You can count on me!"

Penny scarpered off, with Lucy shooting her a disapproving glare from behind. He shoved a hand in front of her.

"It's fine. It's fine." Lucy said, "One day, we'll reclaim that tech back."

"You said it was outdated."

"And it's dangerous in the wrong hands, especially unprepared human ones. But the two of us can't devote time to find them all."

Adam watched Penny's energetic steps disappear into the crowd, her ragged jacket flapping behind her.

A dry taste filled his mouth. He gave her the carrot, but could she prove she didn't deserve the stick? It was a gamble. He hadn't expected her to get that heated about fighting for a village she didn't even belong to.

Whatever. As long as she obeyed, he didn't have a problem with her.

Intel on the beacon was not the only reason why he was asking around. How many of these townsfolk knew about the Witches?