Peter Norwood was sitting in his workshop, the leg of his suit detached and focused under the lens of a thick magnifying glass. Sparks were flying everywhere as he attempted to micro-weld all the various stress fractures across a thruster’s housing. Time and being of things that were in short supply in his life, he was almost exultant to be finally managing a semblance of repairs on his near-ruined suit when a small device at his hip beeped with a soft but jarring melody. The noise somewhere lost between a bird's twitter and a cricket's cringing chirps…

The noise, nevertheless, folded his concentration like a house of cards and caused him to pull away from his work. He unclipped the small device from his hip, looking at what had, upon a time, been a smartphone, which had since been reconfigured as a project among High-rises brightest individuals. The result? A little blast from the past mashed into a modern marvel that had been stripped away of most everything that had made it special. The all-mighty iPhone reduced to a touch-screen pager with just a little more convenience than its now ancient counterparts...

On it, Peter noted the frequency in which he was being messaged. His mind jolting to alertness as he realized it was the emergency line reserved for those in the field.

“Peter! Get to airfield. ASAP. Emergency! No weapons! No fighting! Be nice—Issobella.”

The weathered and weary man who looked far in excess of his forty-seven years frowned at the message he’d received. While it had been a stroke of genius to set up a radio tower at the top of High-rise to provide reliable contact within their territory, the complexity of messages sent could get a little choppy. The great nuance behind the English language often lost in the scramble of AM airwaves. Send a sentence that was too long or too complex and as much as half of the damned thing could be lost or outright re-written as it was garbled by competing signals.

The way around this issue was simple. And likewise, as the old saying went, keep it simple stupid was more or less the nomenclature associated with the handy devices. Sure, walkie-talkies were all well and good but those had a more limited range and could be accidentally turned off besides. Radio, likewise, was an utter shitshow because the other factions could and were listening in, oftentimes spot-checking various frequencies to see if they could catch any juicy gossip. No, text-based information sharing was a rather secure alternative that only ever came out as utter nonsense to any listening on a ham radio. Sure the limitations could be problematic but even then, if really broken down, the entirety of Issobella’s message was, in theory, sent as individual packets that she’d separated into seven separate bursts to keep message cohesion to the best of her capabilities.

Still, the rather cryptic directive left him with as many questions as he had looming concerns as the settlement's leader; honorary as the title was these days, it was rare that somebody from the field messaged him directly unless there was something—big afoot.

His mind pushed aside everything that kept him in a perpetual state of light insomnia as his brain struggled to find traction toward what was going on. An emergency. But not one where he was to bring any guns. Likewise, he was expected to play nice. As if nice wasn't his default setting for the entirety of his damned life! Yet, what kind of crisis demanded both his immediate attention and a command to arrive unarmed? A mighty suspicious request, if he was any judge of things… Yet, he allowed his naturally paranoid inner self to take a seat on this one. Peter instead running through the reasons why Issobella would ask him to do as she had.

Captured? Well, if she were under duress, then someone had screwed up royally and let an enemy force know they had long-range communications in place… Not that it was a total secret but the entire stability and reliability of their network would utterly crumble if one of their adversaries figured out how to send bogus messages on their network. Of course, that was also a possibility. That someone had leaked information… and—this was all some setup to get him alone… But then, why the airfield? It was so close to High-rise… hell, he could see the damned thing in the distance if he stood on the roof! No, something wasn't making sense. Peter eyed the message for several long seconds before rising from his chair, glancing at his suit with a long and drawn-out sigh. Of all the times to trick himself into believing there was bloody time for repairs, life had decided to slap him on the wrists and laugh at his poor presumptions. And yet, his armour was still far from theoretical flightworthyness… there were simply way too many things still broken after Archibald Strom had done his best to cook him like a prawn in a deep-fryer. The navy-blue exterior was still scorched and blackened even now, entire weeks after their last confrontation over the downtown area…

No, the suit was still mostly out of commission… but, that didn't mean he had no available resources… just that he himself might not be able to make an appearance, in person. However, after a few moments, he sighed. He could practically hear Isobella’s stern disappointment as he yanked the boot off his workbench and fitted it back into place. Grumbling about proper safety procedures and necessary redundancies, even as he climbed into the back of the mech, feeling it enclose behind him as he fitted himself into it's snug, slightly musky interior.

“Note to self…” He muttered absently as his helmets display fritzed and warbled before snapping into place. “Install an air freshener in here…”

It was a seriously potent mix of sweaty nut-sack, cooked meat, B.O. and just a little bit of piss. But, that’s what the human body did when it was subjected to abusive quantities of electricity! Heck, he’d even lost an arm! Not that he hadn't built himself a new one but… “The argument holds.” He assured himself, the heavy clomps of his metal boots pounding into the concrete floor filling his ears before a hatch opened in the side of his workshop, and Peter activated his thrusters! His suit's computer compensated for their spotty flickering as he was shoved to the left, nearly in danger of crashing into the wall! Then jerked upwards! His malfunctioning suit just managing to clear the opening as sputtering jets were fed less fuel and stabilizers more. Eventually, reaching a sort of ungainly and meandering flight with such miserable efficiency that it genuinely wounded Peter’s engineering pride.

Still, he was airborne! And given how centralized High-rise was, it wasn't long before the airfield came into close enough proximity for him to zoom in on what was happening. On a nearby building, right across the street, was Isabella. The tall, raven-haired and aging beauty standing with a hand cupped at her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun. Below her, he saw William just standing there, arms folded low on his chest—almost seeming self-conscious, as yet another familiar shape sat on the same roof as his wife, curled up into a ball with arms tucking his legs tightly against him. Possibly even rocking back and forth…

The scene was definitely off, given the seeming urgency of the message. And yet, it really didn't take more than another heartbeat for him to notice the true anomaly in the situation. Along the fence looked to be two improvised barricades that hadn't been there the last he’d checked. Which, swung in at a little under a week ago when he’d been staring at the jet-liners, trying to figure out how he could strip them for parts… Finding usable oldworld tech still in good condition was getting harder and harder with each passing month. And to have literally dozens of planes just sitting in the airport but without the means to get to them was—frustrating beyond belief.

Yet, that still wasn't the big surprise that caught his eye. Oh no. And it didn't take more than a single blink for his mind to come to terms with the fact that he was looking at a sea of dead ghouls. Not in the sense that people so often liked to mislabel them as zombies, but truly deceased abominations that had been all—slain by the hundreds… no… the thousands… His computer desperately trying to keep up with the individual bodies it was identifying as his gaze swept across the concrete, the number rising higher and higher, nearing five digits, before his eyes fell upon another aberration. And this one caused the targeting system in his suit to throw up exceptions and warnings by the dozens with each passing second! There—seemed to be some sort of—speedster popping in and out of their power so quickly that they were leaving a trail of ghostly telemetry data that had his onboard computer freaking the hell out! He had to actually disable the targeting software as red error messages filled his developer log fast enough to risk him losing important data from his fight with Strom. His eyes trying to follow the blinking figure that just popped in and out of existence ten to thirty times a second! And, of course, the thing that the damned monster of a mutant was fighting.

Truth be told, it was the Hulk that normally would have classified as the true nightmare in any other given scenario. And yet, whomever it was that was down there, looked to be running circles around the thing! Gunshots barked with near fully auto repetition, an endless stream of noise and muzzle flashes that made his head spin just to follow all bursting in such rapid succession it hurt to stare at!

Then, an explosion suddenly erupted from the creature’s right arm as it screamed with a bone-chilling rage! Its limb flew through the air as blood gushed from the open wound like a geyser of crimson! Another explosion saw the leg of the same side abruptly burst into flames as well! What looked like napalm spreading across the asphalt and, its body itself as the monster crashed into the ground! One massive arm jutting out with horrifying speed for a creature of its size, clearly intending to grab the object of its vexation, only to catch air in its blistered and pustulant fingers…

Yet, right when he was certain the deathblow would arrive, the strange speedster just—disappeared… allowing the hulking abomination to continue its berserker screeching, the masses of a veritable endless tide of ghouls still alive in the area all heeding its call.

The fight, as it were, only took place within part of the airspace. And, though many of the creatures had begun wandering over as though sensing their prey, the true numbers of their frightening hoard only began lurching towards the speedster when the hulk began to—call for aid…

That thought alone caused Peter’s head to submerge back into itself… The sheer meaning behind its ability to do as it was… He wasn't even sure if it was documented! N-no, he wasn't even sure if that’s what it was doing… But, if it was… If it was calling for reinforcements… for help… what in God's name did that say about them? Certainly, animals could call for assistance in the wild… Pack beasts like lions and wolves and orcas… But, to the best of his knowledge, he’d never seen nor heard of a ghoul of any kind calling for help. Let alone that the others would actually listen… It was fascinating as it was deeply disturbing to the extreme… the realities that followed in knowing that either, A; the ghouls were somehow—evolving or, at the very least, gaining a degree of intelligence, or B; this hulk was doing the same and developing an ability to take command of nearby zombies in the process was— “fucking terrifying…” he whispered, voice hardly audible, even to his own ears…

For years, they’d thought the hulk that occasionally roamed around the airfield was—stupid as all the others. Well, no, that wasn't right. They’d always theorized that it had slightly greater than basic animal levels of intelligence, but, right now, what he was seeing wasn't some simple tangent of that. What he was seeing, was desperation… fear... And one couldn't have fear without a semblance of self-awareness… A concept for the supposed undead that was frankly too much for him to really handle right now…

Instead, his eyes flitted towards the speedster that had halted their onslaught, seemingly ignoring the burning and screaming hulk, and the multitudes of ghouls pushing in to surround them, in favour of rummaging through a pile of military supplies…

“You're kidding me… Don't you know that fucking thing can regenerate!” He nearly exploded as his voice shook the world around him! Speakers on full blast as he rushed towards the fray! Cannons on his arms unfurling from their hidden compartments, Peter rushed towards the squirming Hulk as it writhed, rolling and howling, seeming to be lost between attempting to crawl away or chase the demon that had brutalized it! Until Peter landed nearby and began hammering the brute's skull with all the ammunition at his disposal! Heavy fifty-calibre rounds pounded into its head! The joints in his shoulder whining with the effort of keeping himself on target! The casings bouncing off bodies and ashfault alike!

Yet, the monstrosity was not going down! Even as Peter shredded it's face of all visible meat until what remained hung in stretching strands of cartilage and gristle, his bullets just bounced off the creature's dense damned bones, deflecting with glancing blows as it snarled at him through the flames! A dark intelligence of pure hatred hiding behind its furious gaze that caused Peter to take a small step back…

“Just let it burn!” The speedster called to him once his ammo reserves ran dry… “The skull’s too thick! But chemical fire fucks with it's regeneration! Soon, there won't be much left than a pile of ash!” So saying, the apparent young woman who had brought the enormous beast to its knees, spun, a massive rifle in her tiny hands. The girl planting its stock against her hip as though mimicking a pinup picture, one hand saluting him while the other held the weapon… “Though, we could try this thing!” She proclaimed, giving it a little wiggle.

“I’ve just shot it with the equivalent of forty fifty-calibre rounds!” Peter called back, amazed that, even down and wounded as it was, the Hulk still seemed just as impervious as it had the last time he’d tried something like this… If only he’d brought along the specialty munitions he’d been tinkering with! But of course, nobody told him they were taking on the damned monster of the airfield. No, why would they? It's wasn't like Peter wasn't one of their best damned combatants!

Though he couldn't see her through the mask, the girl visibly deflated at his words… head turning to regard the massive gun in her hands before she audibly sighed. And rightly so, the gun was far too big for her anyway! Well, maybe she had a strength mutation to go along with her speed but, still, physics stated that she’d not have a very fun time shooting the thing… Then, Peter blinked… as one moment, the large case, and the large gun were both present and accounted for, and the next, they were both gone, but the woman was still there, cracking open the next box before he heard something that made every hair on his body stand on end…

“Oh… hahahaha… oh fuck yeah…” The speedster sang, the voice of an angel marred by the bloodthirsty exuberance of a demon about to feast… From the container, the small woman yanked out what looked to Peter to be a damned rocket launcher… Though, his computer quickly adjusted it's initial readings to display a zoomed-in badge sitting on the weapons side. M-three Carl Gustav… recoilless rifle… “Now this! This is gonna hurt big guy!” She announced, just a hint of insanity filling her voice, her body seeming to—stutter, one moment, holding the weapon high like a prize, the next, looking to have both loaded it and armed it, already pointing towards the Hulk, and Peter. “Better move dude! I’ve never shot one of these things before!”

Peter—only had a moment's hesitation before his thrusters burned hard towards the fence, not bothering with altitude as his feet sparked against the concrete and thudded against bodies! His suit only getting him a dozen or so meters away before—boom! Peter’s ears rang! Even through the deadening of his suit as a shockwave hit him, sending his form momentarily spiralling out of control! There was an eruption of black soot, concrete, charred limbs and dirt! A distinct pounding of three separate but nearly perfectly in sync explosions sending the immediate world into chaos!

Mandy was on her back, thoughts—thick as molasses… senses a slurry of discombobulation and abject confusion. She lay there for a time, head lolling from side to side each and every time she made to move it… She felt numb… tongue thick as a dry sponge, existence seeming to chime with the lovely ring of holiday cheer! She could see her mother and father sitting in the living room, each singing in god-awful harmony with each other while Mandy bounced around in full costume, looking like an elf. Her father, utterly ill-suited to being santa-clause, was wearing a near seven-foot chris-cringle mechanical suit, robot eyes merry, belly jiggling with some sort of—silicon and jelly-like fake skin… Her mother, by contrast, was dressed much as he, only she was Mrs Clause, forgoing her usual panoply of too-tight hero-cloth that was her staple as the country's leading super. It was rare not to see her in full costume, which had made these moments so—magical to Amanda… The happy cheer, massive tree, tiny robot reindeer and other green-clad elves… The roaring fire… cookies, and now warm milk resting on a table… a complete Christmas workshop wonderland surrounding all three of them, completing the scene as though they belonged on some holy-wood set for a movie…

“It's magical!” She whispered, delirious without question but tearing up in her eyes as her memories played on repeat!

“Dashing through the snow! On a one-horse open sleigh! Over the fields, we go! Laughing all the way!”

Pink drool was beginning to bubble from Amanda’s lips as she mimed singing along with her parents by memory, the world nearly incoherent, smile both stupid and absent to any reality save that in her own mind… “My visions turning red! I might be close to dead! Rush me to the hospital; there’s shrapnel in my head! Hey! Jingle bells—jingle… bells… jingle…”

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Mandy blinked, swallowing hard as she peered sideways, looking at the spot she was sure she’d just been lying and—died… Well, it wasn't like she was that surprised… She had launched three of the shells at what was, theoretically, danger-close… The cool part, however, was that she was still holding the recoilless launcher! It was even loaded! And, as to the hulk that had been squealing like a bitch! Nothing but charred chunks and enough broken asphalt to give a dog patch a solid run for it's money… Yeah… that had been pretty cool… Too bad she couldn't walk around with one of these bad boys wherever she went… Sadly, she’d learned that the advantages and easy-goingness offered by travelling light far exceeded the value of travelling with heavy ordinance… Which was to say nothing of all the added weight!

“Are you insane?” A crackling voice over some sort of—intercom or other, demanded, causing Mandy to lower her weapon after flipping the trigger lock. Seeing a navy-blueish suit of power armour awkwardly trying to fly back over, its thrusters barely keeping it aloft.

“Probably!” She rightfully admitted. After all, who the hell shot rockets at targets so close to themselves? Lunatics, probably… or, those who knew they wouldn't really die… “What's wrong with you're armour? I didn't do that, did I?”

“Not all of it! T-though, I will admit to a few things seeming—rattled by the explosions…”

Explosions… plural… well, it seemed as though the mysterious stranger had managed to register what had really happened—to an extent, of course… And, if his suit had systems that good in it, then chances were she was seeing it at its worst, not its best… if it wasn't already obvious. Mandy had seen plenty of brainiac suits in her day, most of which put the majority of those without meaningful powers at their complete mercy. However, they tended to fare very poorly against those with real abilities, like the old heroes before the collapse—which, might explain why his suit looked so rough. Brainiacs weren't the best fighters, which is why they made things to do that for them.

Most of the mutants could manage to cobble together some approximation of the classic battle armour. What lay as the key differences being how long it took them and what they needed parts-wise to accomplish their goals. The best of the best could take a bundle of twigs, some elastic bands, a sprinkle or two of grass and fuck reality so bad up the shitter that they turned it all into an archaic but working approximation of a firearm! While those not quite so divinely gifted still needed to work for their inventions with varying degrees of effort, time and resources.

So, Mandy suspected that this one was somewhere between her father, and whatever unfortunate brainiac out there found physics to still be difficult… the poor bastards… unburdened by greatness as they were… The damage that the suit had told her that he either had gotten into a scrap recently with it, or, he couldn't yet fix the problems, which, again, could be explained away by any number of reasons. However, she was positive that if a scuffle were to occur, she’d be perfectly fine… all relative of course.

“The—ghouls are getting closer, you know!” The suit informed her, somewhat testily, Mandy taking a look over her shoulder to see that the man wasn't lying. Something had the old ankle-nippers all riled up and in a frenzy! The zombies practically fell over each other in their meandering dash to close the distance. She paused time, carefully unloading the grenade launcher and stored it back in its case. Then, she hauled it all the way over to the other one. Struggling more with the case’s size than sheer weight. Mandy was actually pretty strong. Which of course, came rather naturally with her current lifestyle. She wasn't Big Burt levels of hunky goodness, but she was far from frail. Still, her stature was limiting in some regards, as previously stated. So it was with no inconsiderable effort that she carried, then dragged the five cases that had all been stacked or leaning together before setting upon them like a ravenous hyena!

Part of her couldn't help but comment that she very well could have inspected everything before she lugged it all over. Yet, Mandy shot that nerd right in the side of her Einstine head. There was no place for friendly-fire smartassery in her brain. Smiling even brighter than she’d been as she opened the next case, Mandy found two heavy battle rifles! Each one with accompanying extra magazine, optics, and even damned suppressors! Now, this was what she was talking about! They were futuristic looking, sleek and mean to the core… already done up in a desert camo that—didn't exactly fit the circumstances, but that was badass nonetheless! She was sure there was a long-lost story to tell as to why they were that colour, but that was possibly for another life…

All in all, they sort of looked like the kind of weapons she’d blasted and been blasted by while playing shooters in high school… No ammo, though… Idly, as she shut the lid on this box, pushed it aside and opened the lid of another, idly wondering if there were any bullets lying around… And, failing that, if there were any brainiacs willing to trade what she wasn't interested in bringing with her for some customized rounds with real kick behind them! Now that the regulation on such things had died with the government, it was largely up to the individual brainiac’s discretion if they could or would supply people with—inhumane weaponry. The thing was, even if somebody said they would only shoot ghouls with it, the odds they were lying, or would one day simply reach a point further down the road where they forgot about that promise, which was also a significantly high possibility…

Thus far, few had actually wanted to deal with her when it came to things meant to kill other things… Maybe it was because brainiacs didn't want to be the subject of a live-fire test on their own persons. Maybe people out there still held a degree of morality around combat. Either way, when Mandy did find that special someone to up her arsonal of danger, it would be a game changer!

Sadly, there wasn't much interesting in the other two cases. One was outright empty—annoyingly… while the other was filled with random garbage that she was sure held a degree of importance back in the day, but, for her, the phrase she used to describe what looked like a fancy drone was—meh. The sky was for birds anyway, and if she wanted to see what things looked like from a high-up place, she’d climb a building! What would she even use a drone for? Flying around to scout out areas of interest—wait a minute… no… no! That would take all the excitement out of doing things herself! If she just walked away, if nothing popped out at her from the sky, then she’d miss out on any buried treasure! Of which, yeah, there is a surprising lot of buried treasure in a post-apocalyptic society. Without banks, people tended to just hide their valuables wherever they could.

She realized she was still in frozen time and promptly cancelled it. Moving to start attaching the various bits and bobs to her new long gun, looking at the magazines with abject dismay. There were four of them, but sadly they weren't very big… Where, pray tell, was her military's famous history of doing things in wild excess? Was it too much to ask to find a damned banana clip? Maybe the old AK series was still king of this world… at least they had a bunch of cool mods…

“Ugh… hey…” A familiar meathead murmured, the man standing somewhat near the fence and walking towards her with stiff but forced bravado. “Anything ugh… cool in there?”

She grinned at the guy, waggling her eyebrows, even if he couldn't see it, before flipping the lid on the Barret she’d found and tossing it over the fence, “Catch!”

“Oh, whoa!” He gracelessly did catch the weapon, his unfamiliarity with guns showing as he looked entirely awkward with the thing, even as he hefted it, trying to get a feel for the massive gun. “Oh yup… this thing brings me right back! Modern-warfare two baby! Best summer of my life!”

“I’d say we should go have a headshot competition with it, but… I’ve got no ammo…”

“I'm fairly certain that we’ve got fifty-calibre stuff back at the settlement!” The apparent, fellow gun nerd said, grinning like a loon as he lifted the weapon to his shoulder and mimed bracing for the kickback! “I'm sure we could get some, I mean, look at this thing! It's a living legend!”

“But ammunition is finite.” Isobella interrupted, walking over with an inscrutable expression written across her face that was studiously calm. “But, maybe, if Subliminal is willing to trade, we can part with some ammunition for her.”

“What about my reward for saving all you're lives?”

“That…” the other woman began before sighing and rubbing at her temples, “Is that really how you want to be paid? In ammunition?”

“How else is there to be paid?” Mandy asked, wondering herself if she hadn't been just a little hard on the big guns now that she actually had one in her hands. Seriously, she felt like a fucking demigod of death while shamelessly caressing the heavy rifle's cool exterior! Maybe she’d try rubbing herself with it later…

“What all else is in the boxes?” William asked, now leaning in to peer at the heavy green containers as Mandy considered how she was going to get them through the fence.

“A recoilless,” She began, ticking off each one on her fingers, “Two heavy automatic rifles, one empty and good for nothing waste of space, and a big ass drone.”

“Was the—rocket launcher what you used for the, you know…”

“Yup! Blew him right to smithereens! Like Big Burt was telling me, the army didn't lose to zombies, they lost to a virus. Big difference there. Honestly, Splice could have probably just designed the virus to kill people rather than turn them into ghouls and got it all done a lot sooner than he did…”

“I heard someone say that the madman was quoted as claiming the ghouls were more of a failsafe. If the virus didn't get everyone. Which, if it's true, then they do sort of work as intended…

“That’s fair.” Amanda allowed, eyeing the way she came in very dubiously given its height and current inassessability via large green cases. “So, I'm just gonna cut another hole in the fence to get these out… I really don't want to climb up there…”

“Can't you toss 'em?” William asked, his big dumb and handsome face looking entirely smackable in that moment as she stared at him, throwing her arms wide as if to prove a point.

“Oh… yeah… you're tiny…”

“Nooo? Really? How could you possibly miss that?”

“Killing thousands of ghouls and a hulk all on you're own sort of… you know, skews things a bit…” The large lug protested, seeming almost offended he was being called out. “Not my fault you're a scary bitch…”

“Damn straight!” Mandy barked, holding up her hand against the fence for a fist bump that the big super reciprocated with the appropriate and appreciative level of strength. Better than Burt… hmm…

“Miss Subliminal…”

“Just Subliminal.” Mandy corrected, turning to face Isobella who nodded curtly at her reply.

“I believe we spoke of hiring you for a job before you—did half of it without asking…”

Mandy glanced back at the scattered dead, looking over their bodies with bored detachment. “That’s what you wanted? For me to clear the place out?”

“We want access to the jets, for parts.” She added at the end, nodding towards them with her chin. “We want to salvage them as safely as we can, which means the job in question would involve eliminating—the rest of the zombies present. After—”

“Hold up!” Mandy interrupted, lifting a hand in a gesture for the older woman to stop. Isabella caught with her mouth already open and prepared to say more before she slowly closed it. “I go by the first one’s cheap rule. I do a job, I work for whats around. Food, ammo, guns, new clothes, you know, basic stuff people can afford. But, you want me to stick around, and that’s gonna cost ya! I don't like hanging out in one place for too long, so what you're really paying for is how long I stay before I get bored and just—walk off. I know it sounds kind of sketchy, but at this point, I know myself best. And that’s exactly what I’ll do if you start sending me to all the various places where you have massive amounts of undead problems.”

“But, what you just did! You could clear out the entire city in—weeks! Make it safe for—”

“Everybody?” Mandy finished, tilting her head at the woman standing on the other side of the fence who nodded with silent agreement. “And then what? People start asking me to go wipe out their neighbours? Go put down a few settlements a city or two over? Or, maybe just keep clearing out ghouls until everyone is safe the world over? Ignoring what I’d even consider fair payment for that sort of thing… I couldn't keep my attention on it for long enough…”

“You're—attention…” Isabella whispered, voice nearly hoarse as she said it.

“Yuppers! It's really not what it used to be, hehe! It's actually a serious problem.” She added, whispering her final words like she was honestly despairing over them… Truth be told, she knew she’d already been in the deep end for quite some time… and the fact was, that depth only got darker and larger with each passing day…

The elegant older woman took in a deep breath through her nose as if trying to center herself and bring about a semblance of calm. Doing—yoga or… pilates or something else that obviously had helped with her meditation and self-regulation, even as Will cleared his throat to gain her attention.

“I mean, no offence, Izzy, but wiping out a city block by block is kind of a tall order for anyone.”

“Like, I could totally do it!” Mandy admitted, ensuring everyone present knew it wasn't a matter of capability. “But I’d just start wandering off unless I could somehow make a game of it… Cool weapons usually do the trick for a while, but eventually, all new things get boring…”

“And if we supplied you with interesting ways to kill ghouls?”

Mandy just shrugged. Who knew, maybe it would work for a while, maybe it wouldn't. She got immense gratification from visiting new places whilst on her road tour along the East Coast. Granted, she wasn't exactly certain what she’d do once getting to the border… But—maybe, she’d start heading west to do it all again on the other side of the country. Maybe try to hit up all the major cities. Or, possibly head back down south and do a whole South American tour! Or, even head over to Europe somehow and make her way through all the best places she could think of. London, Paris, Rome… Head around the Mediterranean to visit Greece and Turkey, then, Egypt! And wherever else life might take her! She really was just looking for experiences at this point…

“If it's weapons you want,” The large mech commented as it stomped over, “then I’d be interested in working with you Miss—mhmm… Subliminal. My names—”

“King Peter.” Amanda nodded, looking at the monarch and wondering if she should bow… respect where respect was due and all that. And even if he wasn't her king, it was still a fairly weighty title!

“I'm hardly an autocrat.” The suit of armour protested, voice falling slightly… “She already spoke with my cousin I take it?”

“Big Burt’s your cousin?”

“N-no… Kirk Mason is…”

Mandy just stared at the man for several long seconds. The name Kirk ringing—one small bell… but she’d met quite a few with that name, so she wasn't sure which it pertained to.

“Burtrom Kole hired her to go clear out Quonset so they can get to the helicopters there.”

“The—helicopters…” The not autocratic king said, tone growing contemplative. “They want to use them to ferry their people out of the city…”

“One and done!” Mandy clapped, amazed by his majesty's ability to reason. Not all monarchs were fools, but most of them had proven less than equal to the task left by their talented forefathers. It was a tale old as time itself really. Good no know that one of the local kingdoms were so appropriately governed!

“Smart… especially given what their hired gun can do… But why wouldn't they be going with you? I mean, if you can do all this on you're own… all the gear that was stockpiled by the National Guard… They could have taken it all for themselves!”

“Our deal is exclusively for the helicopters,” Mandy stated, adhering to the letter and spirit of her deal. “Burtrom agreed that I could have anything I can walk off with, but that everything else, and I quote, was fair game.”

“Wait.” Isabella murmured, looking at Mandy like she was crazy, “You're saying you're heading Into Quonset, and the only deal you have with the settlements is for the—helicopters…”

“He did tell me to kill anyone who got close to them so they could pinch them away at the last moment, and I’m going to be defending them while they send a team of—people in to try and get one working but—yeah, that sums it up.”

“There were tanks at Quonset, were there not?” Isabela asked, head darting to Lord Peter who just stood where his royal prerogative had deigned him to allow and contemplated likely kingly concerns.

“More than tanks… The military died there, but they weren't overrun! They were killing the undead in droves! Keeping them at bay!”

“Peter, if we sent a team in there with her! If we got our hands on all those machines!”

“It wouldn't matter if Strom or Issac came after us themselves… We could blast them out of the sky with land-to-air missiles!” He turned, the servos in his suit whining with the effort, his entire form looking like some extra-bulky and really beat-up iron-man variant that had—clearly taken a number of liberties with the whole copy-right infringement laws… “And, you're deal with the settlements is only for the helicopters?”

“And that I get first pick of whatever else we find.”

“But they're not going with you.” The king reiterated, seeming to want absolute confirmation.

“I’ve got a flare gun to let them know if I get there or not. After that, I think they're sending some flyers over—or something…”

Isabella and King Peter simply looked at each other neither saying a word in the intervening moments that only seemed to lengthen with each passing second.

“So…” Will began, still somewhat awkwardly, holding the large gun in his big hands. “What about, you know, Ian?”

“What about Ian.” The king asked, the spell breaking as he turned to regard the other man.

“Ian’s dead,” Isabella stated, a large exhalation of breath following her words. “Before we all became—friends, we attacked Subliminal when she refused to leave the perimeter of the airfield and she—”

“Blew his fucking head to itty bitty chunks, then fed his still warm body to the ghouls.” Will finished, an eyebrow raised at the discontent Isobella showed as if to ask her how else they could really explain it.

And King Peter, resplendent in his worn and battered kingly armour, froze, all prior semblance of excitement and jubilation finding itself tempered by additional problems that only ever seemed to multiply with each passing day…