Blythe followed Sarah out onto the veranda. The faint breeze blowing in from the bay was mild for early fall and carried with it a hint of salt that was too subtle for the human nose to detect. Sarah shivered at the echo it left on her tendrils; she ignored the distant call of the developing ley line and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Something I can do for you, Blythe?"

The histrionic teen hummed. "Maybe. Figured I'd pick your brain before the opposition puts a hole through it." She reached into the pocket of her cargo pants and pulled out a package of cigarettes. The word 'Salem' was faintly visible beneath the porch light's amber glow. "You mind? Jason rides my ass whenever he catches me smoking. It's left me craving one all night."

Sarah wrinkled her nose, already imagining the smell. "That stuff will kill you, you know."

"Let's not pretend you give a shit; we both have better uses for our time." Blythe cupped her fingers into a loose ball and shaved a wisp of mana off her core. The ambient energy curled around the rolling paper and then gathered near the tip. A burning ember suddenly flared to life with a pop. Blythe ignored Sarah's sarcastic applause.

"Been practicing?" the blonde asked her.

A trail of off-color smoke slipped from the warspawn's lips. "Here and there. My old man's been real gung-ho about it all. He thinks the Light's going to be the next big thing." She flicked a bit of ash into the dirt. "He's half right, I suppose. Broken clocks and all that."

Sarah leaned against one of the thin columns that were supporting the veranda's overhang. She ignored the way the square post left a painful indent in the small of her back. "I thought you were fond of your father. Weren't you tearing into Kennedy because he advised you to cut ties?"

Blythe shrugged, her skin-tight top rising with the careless gesture. "You can love a guy and still not respect him. My Da's got some weird ideas about the way the world works. Occasionally, he'll hit it out of the park, but trying to sift through the dross is like digging for grubs back on Deravan: it's usually not worth the effort."

Sarah grimaced at the memory Blythe's words invoked. "Then, why are you here?"

"Because he's worth the effort - not his stupid conspiracy theories." The parasite huffed irately as the cigarette's cherry deepened to molten gold. "I don't know what your life's been like, but my old man was good to me at a time when even my so-called mother wanted to bury me in a linen sack. Kennedy, though? He just sees the guy's hobbies and all of the risks they present; the person behind the bullshit might as well be fucking invisible."

"You're thinking of coming clean," Sarah slowly realized. "You want to tear the curtain away."

Blythe pointed at her with the fingers holding the filter. "Got it in one. And why not? It's not like things aren't turbo fucked, anyway. Kennedy's hoping I'll change my mind, so nothing splashes back up onto him, but this is my life: he doesn't exactly get a say." She took a long hit and blew the haze out in a thick ring. "I'm just here as a professional courtesy. In return for letting him make his case, he's agreed to help me break the news."

Sarah waved the fumes away before they could cross the porch. "Okay. Sure. What's this got to do with me, though? I'm not exactly out and proud.'"

"I want a second opinion," Blythe explained with a short, dismissive snort. "It doesn't take a political mastermind to realize Kennedy's got an incentive to screw me."

Did he? Sarah considered the man's position while Blythe enjoyed the peace and quiet. "...Alright," she acknowledged. "Let's say, I can see where he might be a touch biased. That's rough. It sucks. It also has fuck-all to do with me. Why should I dip my oar in, when I've got my own problems to deal with? I'm too busy to be your life coach."

"Yeah?" Blythe drawled. "And I suppose you've already figured out where Townsend's been laying low? All you need to do is pull up and kick his door in?"

Sarah struggled to ignore the blatant mockery. "It's not exactly a mystery. He's going to do the same thing everyone does when they've suddenly become homeless and crash on his friend's couch. Since Barkley is an itinerant jackass, I figure I'll start with Mannly. He's certainly got the space."

Blythe didn't seem worried about having nothing to sell. "That makes sense," she conceded. "If I was in his shoes, I'd probably do the same." She jiggled the moist butt with her thumb. "Pity you're barking up the wrong tree."

Sarah stopped edging towards her car and returned her weight to the column. "You're telling you know where he is? How? The two of you aren't that close."

"We're not," Blythe agreed. "But Samantha is, and the two of us talk. She's mentioned him slumming it at this one place in particular. If the kid's pulled a runner, I figure he's staying there."

Sarah eyed Kennedy's front door. She considered pumping Nickolas for the information before acknowledging that the conversation would be too awkward to pursue. "Let me make sure I have this right: if I give you my two cents about your family situation, you'll give me Townsend's location?"

Blythe nodded. "That's the deal."

Sarah rubbed the back of her neck. "Fine. I've done worse for less."

When it felt like there wasn't a steel cable suspended between her collarbone and her jaw, Sarah let her fingers fall free. She thought about how she was going to put her discomfort into words. "I've seen this dog and pony show play out a couple of times, and the only universal factor is that it always devolves into a trash fire. I'm serious, Blythe - not a single attempt has ever gone over well. Either, the recipient doesn't take the news amicably, and they freak the fuck out, or someone gets a bug up their ass, and they decide to plug the leak. Do you know why we don't talk to the Hartford cell, anymore?"

Blythe raised her eyebrow in sardonic amusement. "I'm going to guess it's because some jackoff blabbed to his friends."

"Worse. Half of the cell was afraid he'd blab, and they weren't convinced when the rest tried to reassure the doubters. The ones who remained skeptical decided to make their rebuttal via bullet. By the time everyone was done shooting at each other, there were only three survivors."

Blythe didn't look too happy as she chewed on her tongue. "So, you're saying I should drop it."

"No, I'm saying you should make sure it's what you want before you pull the trigger. Kennedy won't risk his family by taking matters into his own hands. Some of our other peers are a lot less gun-shy. You'll need to cover your bases."

Blythe flicked her cigarette onto the wooden planks and stomped it out with her boot. She dragged the heavy treads back and forth until the paper ripped and the cherry was fully smothered. "Sounds to me like you've got your own biases. If this shit never goes well, then why hasn't Amanda broken up with her girlfriend?"

Sarah scoffed. "Because Amanda is a damn good liar. I'm not here to trade gossip, though; if you want the messy details, you can ask her yourself." She waited for Blythe to hold up her end of the bargain before finally crooking a finger. "...The info?"

"It hardly seems worth the trade, compared to what I got. Still, if Townsend's willing to shoot you, then he'd probably drop me just as fast." Blythe scratched at her earlobe before visibly letting it go. "Fine. Whatever. I never liked the cunt, anyway." She pulled out her phone and started digging through her texts. "Samantha said he's been dropping in and out of this ice rink up in Bridgewater. The place closed down during covid, and it's been pretty slow to reopen. Given everything going on with the Light, it should be nearly abandoned. Here, I think I found the address."

Sarah could feel her pocket vibrate as the message came through. She checked the details. It looked like everything was in order. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

Blythe waved the gratitude away. "Sure. And if anyone asks..."

Sarah descended the white-washed steps. "This never happened." Before she reached the road, she raised her hand in a silent farewell. "Good luck not becoming a statistic, Blythe."

The teen yanked on the front door. "Try not to block a bullet with your face."

'Right,' Sarah thought as she picked up the shotgun and moved it away from the clutch. 'Nothing but good times from here on out.'

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I've gotta stop jinxing myself. It was funny when Dermith was getting the short end of the stick, but it's becoming a bit of a habit."

The rotting corpse dangling from the ice rink's lintel didn't reply. Sarah wasn't terribly surprised. There was a hole in its throat she could have put her fist through if she'd been inclined to stomach the gore. A second sat a meter down, closer to where its beltline would have been, and both looked torn - like someone had carved a cross into the skin before punching through the muscle with a nail gun.

Sarah took a quick sniff of the anemic mana field to try to learn more. It didn't take long to conclude that if the damage had been done with a spell, the traces had long since faded. Still, the idea that it had been inflicted with something besides a core seemed unlikely. Sarah circled around the body hoping to get a better sense of the display.

When she reached the edge of the steps, she noticed a length of fishing wire had been wrapped around the victim's chest. It was this borderline invisible string that was suspending the cadaver in front of the door. Sarah ran her fingers over the thin tether. She suspected the perpetrator had wanted to keep the corpse flush against the frame, except he'd been in such a rush, he'd left a gap between the body and the entrance. It wasn't wide enough to let her slip by the bloated mannequin; however, it did provide sufficient space to notice the floor was nearly spotless. Sarah deduced that the man had been murdered elsewhere before being made into a public spectacle.

"Now, the only question is whether this was intended for me or one of Townsend's neighbors." Sarah drummed her fingers against the pantleg of her jeans. Her nails sent silent echoes reverberating across the taut material. "You can interject at any time!"

The parking lot remained stubbornly silent. Sarah hadn't expected a response, but sometimes you got lucky and could trick an eavesdropper into revealing themselves via an offhand aside. It was dumb, but so were people, and Townsend struck her as the gloating type. The fact that he hadn't put in an appearance left her inclined to think this wasn't his work.

"Damn it all." Sarah blew out an irritated breath. "I'm going to need more gun."

The firearm she had taken from Townsend had been a comforting presence following her freakout. With that being said, it's limited tube capacity and prodigious barrel length left it ill-suited for whatever awaited her within. When the infiltrator had a better alternative stashed away in her luggage, there just wasn't a good reason to make do with a cumbersome trophy.

Sarah dragged her duffle bag onto the hood of the car. She groped around near the bottom of the sack and felt her thumb brush against a metallic protrusion once she'd fumbled past the folds of her underwear. She wrapped her fingers around the unseen object. When she pulled her hand out, a magazine full of nine-millimeter rounds came with it. The Uzi they were paired with followed shortly thereafter. "I can't believe this jackass is making me break out all of the old kit. Ten years, I've been sitting on this piece of shit without having to fire a shot; now, I don't know if a hundred will be enough."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She checked the charging handle and yanked on the metal stock. A decade of intermittent maintenance meant the latter was reluctant to unfold. "Are these even still good?" Sarah side-eyed one of the dusty catridges peeking past the magazine's lip. They'd been stored in her closet, so she didn't expect much rust; however, everything had an expiration date, and gunpowder was hardly an exception. "...Fuck it." She lined the bullets up with the grip and slid them home with a click. Sarah made sure the safety was engaged before digging through her bag for a second magazine and a clip. The later was especially important because she didn't think she could fit a reload into the waistband of her pants.

"I should have brought my freaking purse." Sarah slammed the car door shut and tried to get used to the weight. The Uzi rose and fell a couple of times as she lined the sights up with her cheek. The weapon didn't sit well; not physically and not emotionally. Violence may have been her birthright, but there was a reason why she'd let her training lapse.

A pity life was determined to break her streak. If it'd been a little more accommodating, she could have been curled up on the couch watching re-runs of Jeopardy with Simon. Amanda would be there - and maybe Pallsburg - and all they'd have to worry about was being too drunk to show up for work in the morning. That was the dream, right? Family, friends and a job you didn't hate? Sarah might have possessed two of the three, but the first was stolen and the second was strained by her ties to the Offal Sea. It left everything feeling like a wash.

"Last chance to stop this from turning into a bug hunt!" The angry shout didn't provoke a response, so Sarah resigned herself to wading through the spooky death trap. It sucked, but what could you do? She cut the body down with her keys and marched inside the gruesome arena. The interior was pitch black. Sarah's headlights provided a few scattered pools of illumination; however, none of them reached the concession stand, which bordered the enclosed rink.

Sarah kept her weapon pointed at the counter as she swept the rest of the room. It looked like the owner had been using the pandemic to get some remodeling done. Most of the alterations were in a state that the contractors would call 'feature complete,' while the few that still needed more time had been left 'as-is' until the laborers could return with their tools.

Sarah kicked a rusty paint can over and watched the oily fluid form a puddle between the bathroom and the ticket office. "I can't say I'm impressed with the digs! The body outside made me expect an Artist's atelier - not Mr. Freeze cheaping out on his rent!"

A drop of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades before sliding beneath the strap of her bra. The Uzi's grip was supposed to wick moisture away, but Sarah felt like it'd slip out of her hands if she didn't grip the barrel by the base. She wondered if Townsend could smell her fear or if his nose was too clogged up from the dust and the leaking refrigerant. The mana field remained still. Sarah skulked beside the tacky sheetrock until she found the panel that controlled the lights. When she hit the switch with her shoulder, the emergencies kicked in at once while the primaries followed a few seconds later. Altogether, they left the rink sparkling with a technicolor glare as the air conditioner whirred into motion.

The sound of soft clapping echoed from the far side of the room. Sarah covered the lower walkway with her gun since it was hard to make out the source. Finally, with a drawling lit she could have recognized blind-folded, Mannly bellowed across the gap. "I think this is the part where I tell you, 'The princess is in another castle!' Tough break, Fields; looks like you're a little late!"

Sarah resisted the urge to put a couple of rounds down range. The gun was only accurate out to about a hundred meters, and the far side of the rink was close to its limit. Plus, there was the safety glass in front of the stands to consider; the vitric panels wouldn't be thick enough to stop a bullet, but a deflection was definitely in the cards.

"You know, Kennedy warned me you might be here. Personally, I figured there was no way you'd be that stupid, yet here you are smearing egg all over my face. What happened? You decide to have a sleep over and enjoy some pay-per-view? Maybe dome a gas station attendant and wrap him up like a Christmas tree?" Sarah squinted, struggling to peer through the spots. She didn't take her eyes off the youth, yet it was hard to make out much besides a skinny, black and red blur.

Mannly wasn't quite so concerned. He propped his feet up on the backrest of the chair in front of him and let his body slump into an inelegant sprawl. "Would you believe me if I told you, 'he was like that when I got here?' It's a scary world, Fields. It doesn't need us to shit in its cheerios."

Sarah began to circle around the rink. The growing chill cast a moist film across the floor, causing each of her steps to squeak. "Cut the crap. We both know you told Townsend to take a swing at me. You're literally sitting in his chair - surrounded by his stuff. Why don't you just cop to it?"

The warspawn watched her approach, most of his body shielded by the bleachers. "Because I'm offended by the accusation? Because I'd rather gargle Windex than lend you a hand? I don't know what you want me to tell you: my life doesn't revolve around your damage."

Sarah scowled. She couldn't see what he was doing with his hands, and it was putting her on edge. "Last chance, Mannly. What are you doing here? If you give me a good enough excuse, maybe I won't test the glass."

She rapped the penalty box with her Uzi. Mannly tried to maintain an air of idle disdain, but Sarah could see the way his eyes kept tracking the barrel. The smug prick wasn't as unaffected as he was trying to appear. Unfortunately, his anxiety was also less pronounced than it should have been, so he clearly had an ace up his sleeve in the event this confrontation turned violent.

Sarah scanned the stands. It was hard to make anything out from the half-court line, but a few of the chairs looked wet. Gasoline, maybe? Or blood? The bright-red plastic would obscure the latter, and most fossil fuels were too clear to show up easily when spilt. If Mannly intended to torch the place, she could be in for a rough night.

"Do I need to give you a countdown?" she asked him as she probed the local mana. "Maybe hum the Jeopardy theme?"

Her finger tightened on the trigger. A deadline was the last thing she wanted; however, it was too late to take the offer back. She couldn't look unresolved. They'd been trained to target weakness, and Mannly was a proponent of the old ways. If he sensed any hesitation, he'd kill her on general principle.

"How about..." The youth shut his mouth with a click. A queer expression slid across his face while his interface opened on its own. [Regional Milestone Achieved], the notification read before the message repeated itself by Sarah's hip. [Condense Sixty Million Mana (complete)]. [Reward: 88.012 mn / 1.032 m3 / 2 min, purity = local, alignment = local]. [Activation in: 0:47].

Neither of them needed to look at their screen to know the upcoming wave would be intense. They could already feel it in their fins and along the tips of their tendrils. Mannly ran the numbers, anyway. She could see him working his way through the math in the hope that his conclusion was wrong. It wasn't. Even with the protection afforded by their hosts, this was going to be brutal.

Sarah wasn't sure she cared. She gave Mannly a moment to recall their conversation and then put a three round burst into the stands. "Pay attention, jackass, we're not done here, yet."

Mannly's head whipped around in a full-body flinch; one which grew more obvious after it stopped dead at his collarbone. "You must be joking."

"Did I stutter? Do you see a smile on my face? If you want a chance to kiss your ass goodbye, then answer the fucking question. Where's Townsend?"

Mana was beginning to gather in the arena. The local field was aligned with both 'Ice' and 'Metal,' so its initial manifestation was limited to floating crystals, which spiraled up towards the HVAC system, high above their heads. Once the Light opened up the taps, though, the two of them might see an elemental substantiate. It'd depend on the room's geometry.

"I -" Sarah shot one of the chairs a few rows to his right. "I don't -" She got a little closer.

"By all means," she growled. "Keep fucking lying to me. I'm more than willing to throw down while this place goes straight to hell." Sarah realized she meant it too. Townsend's attack had put her whole world on pause, and there was no reason to pick through the rubble if he could create another pile whenever he wished. Focusing on the bastard wasn't how she'd prefer to spend her time, but her feelings didn't factor into it. Townsend was her top priority: accept no substitutes.

By this point, Sarah was close enough that Mannly could see the furious twist of her lips. The tacky fluid surrounding his seat had resolved into blood, and his disheveled sprawl struck her as more imposed than intended. He wasn't hurt - his movements were too crisp for that to be the case - but she figured his recovery was a recent development.

A shard of ice suddenly erupted from the back of the rink and extended out across the arena. All along its length, fractal branches peeled away like fronds of broken glass. "Tick tock, Mannly. This offer has a fucking time limit."

The infiltrator hawked a wet one. Sarah heard it slap against the concrete. "You want to know where Townsend is? Fine. He's gone, Fields - is that what you want me to tell you? He slithered his ass into the head of some hobo and strode out here fifteen minutes ago. I wasn't kidding when I said you'd just missed him."

Sarah fought the urge to hold the trigger down. "Bullshit."

"Why? Because you want me to be wrong? Sorry, bitch, but life doesn't work that way." Mannly glanced at whatever he was fiddling with near the floor. Despite the effort he'd put into hiding it from view, he'd gotten a lot more cavalier about the fact that he was concealing something. Sarah assumed his negligence meant he was ready to beat her over the head with his surprise. "Well?" he asked her, his face expressionless. "Are we going to die here or what?"

The mana reached a crescendo. Rime began to creep up the wall while thick panes grew out across the rink, creating a ring of crystalline balconies. Above her head, Sarah saw a brace of icicles descend from the catwalk and intermix with the pipes supporting the platform. The tips of the frozen needles gleamed with a brilliant luster. It was easy to wonder where all of the 'Metal' mana had gone until the image nearly cut you to the quick.

Sarah squirmed beneath the growing pressure. "W-why?" she choked out. "You got somewhere to be?"

It was hard to form proper sentences. If the Blue Hills had posed a threat, then the field Sarah now found herself within realized that lethal potential. There were no significant caveats to such a statement - no abiding concerns. There couldn't be; the local mana level would kill her before they ever became relevant. It was just a matter of time.

'Two minutes,' the Light had said. The message wasn't supposed to be a promise, but Sarah was inclined to hold the Network to its word. Two minutes... might be survivable. Maybe. It'd depend on how much of her protein sheath was boiled away as her myelin reserves evaporated. If she could hold on, time would repair the damage. If she couldn't, Mannly would happily stomp on her throat to hide her corpse amidst the rest of the offal.

'...nine... ten... eleven.'

At the fifteen second mark Mannly fell out of his chair. Whatever dignity he'd been trying to preserve fled him as he curled into a tight ball. Not because of the pain - though that was likely a factor - but because it let him protect his body by putting more meat between his neck and the world.

Sarah wondered if it would help. There was too much mana in the air to pinpoint the energy's source, and any desire to imitate the attempt was spoiled by their ongoing feud. At the end of the day, Sarah didn't trust Mannly enough to lower her gun, so she suffered, instead. For a time in silence and then at volume until her ears grew deaf to her screams.

When her throat finally failed her, Sarah assumed it was due to fatigue. Time had gotten a little wobbly, the longer the wave had stretched on, and while she knew she was past the hump, it was hard to say by how much. Ten - maybe twenty seconds? More? Sarah didn't think it mattered. This wasn't the sort of test where you got a letter grade: there was only pass or fail - life or death.

Still, it was difficult to remain focused as she strove to endure the Light's gift. At least, until her toes spasmed, then it wasn't hard at all. 'No. Shut up,' Sarah subvocally hissed, a dozen inflamed tendrils dancing along her host's spine. 'You're not real. You're not a person. Go back to being the reason I get drunk at two p.m.'

The flailing ghost of the Fields' dead daughter lacked the self-awareness to truly fight back. It had been too long, and the war too strange, for her to even stand a chance. These were just the last spastic gasps of Sarah's wavering grip - the psychological equivalent of pissing herself because she'd been tased below the belt. It was awkward and embarrassing, but she refused to entertain the idea that it was evidence of a chronic condition. Let Amanda flirt with that abyss if she had the stomach for it; Sarah was content to self-medicate until her shame was a faded memory.

Now, if only her body would comply. Sadly, her internal struggle didn't end simply because she happened to talk a good game. Instead, it continued to play out in gasps and whimpers as she fought with her host for control.

Mannly chuckled to himself by the steps leading up through the bleachers. The metal released an oscillating creak whenever his stomach contracted too hard. "Something funny?" Sarah hollered back, her tone tense and distracted.

She could literally hear the youth shrug. "You wouldn't get the joke. Not really. Plus, I don't think it would have much punch if I lay here long enough to explain it. I'll tell you what, though: why don't you close your eyes and say the first thing that pops into your head."

About halfway through his speech, Sarah heard the sirens. They howled with a manic insistence that was too high-pitched to be a fire truck and too low to be the EMTs. 'Must be the police,' she concluded. It sounded like they were just down the block.

Mannly stuck his cellphone out into the central aisle. His finger was stretched across the pickup to better disguise their conversation. "You know, your scream was very authentic. I bet you cut a minute off their response time with your panic alone."

He yanked the device back before a bullet could penetrate the screen. If he'd been half a second slower, Sarah would have taken his finger too. "Prick," she hissed while a wisp of smoke wafted from the end of the barrel. Then, louder, "You're playing a dangerous game, Mannly. What makes you think you'll get away with this prank."

The warspawn didn't need to watch his words since he had control of the phone. "That's a good question! Here's a better one! What makes you think you can kill me and still get away from the cops?" His voice was disgustingly smug. "Think about it, Fields. You've only got a limited window before they arrive. Are you going to stick around and finish the job? Are you going to chase after Townsend? It's like you said earlier: tick-fucking-tock."

Sarah ignored the pain of having her words thrown back in her face. She simply didn't have time to flinch while she balanced her need for safety against whatever short-term satisfaction would come from offing the temperamental, little shit. "You're a real cunt - you know that, Mannly?! One of these days your mouth is going to write a check that your ass can't cash!"

"Maybe, but it won't be tonight!" he called back lightly. "This has been fun, though, Fields! We should do it again!"

Sarah hosed the bleachers down on her way out. Given his laughter, she didn't think he got hit.