Teca draped a studded denim vest-jacket over Waia’s new T-shirt. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s the smallest fit I’ve got. I mean, you can have ‘em, I don’t really use them anymore, but those are really loose.”

Waia shifted into her true form, removing the massive gaps between the bottoms of the sleeves and her arms. When she shifted back, the clothes fit her perfectly.

“...Wait, you can do that?”

Waia folded her old clothes up into a pile. “Trick I learned when I had to scrounge for new clothes. They go both ways when you shift, after all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.” Waia waved Teca off as she left the room. “Thanks for the new stuff, I'll bring it back if I can.” She grabbed her old clothes on her way out.

Mark leant against the railing opposite the door to Teca's room, waiting for Waia. When he saw her leave, his eyes went wide. “You've had a sleeve tattoo this entire time?”

Waia glanced down at the mass of swirling colors that adorned most of her right arm. “Oh yeah, the jackets cover up my ink most of the time. It's still a solid conversation starter at bars, though.” She gave a small smile and pointed a finger-gun at Mark.

Mark looked at the floor. “Man, I wish I had one of those.”

“Eh, it's pretty high-maintenance when you get cut as much as me.” Waia brought a hand up to one of several patches of bare skin that implied that a scar was supposed to be there. “Healing factor can't do everything. When my Domain saw I got this one, half of them refused to talk to me for a month. I mean, they didn't do that much anyway, but now they were making a point of it.”

Mark chuckled and turned around to look down from the balcony.

Waia joined Mark against the railing and continued. “Told you, it's a great icebreaker. Yeah, you'd think they would just give up on passive-aggressively telling me they hate everything I do after eight centuries, but no, those guys are persistent. Or... Were.”

Mark turned to Waia and opened his mouth to speak, but she waved him down. “Ah, it's no big loss on my end. That story should be enough to get across my thoughts on those morons. I won't go so far as to say ‘good riddance', but...”

Mark and Waia watched the Primoi below mill about nervously. After a while, Mark sighed. “So, this hasn’t really been how any of us wanted our day to go.”

“I would assume.” Waia gripped the railing. “But you’re gonna help me with this, right? And I mean help-help, not just the occasional word of fake encouragement.”

“Oh, no, absolutely. I told Horan I was gonna be cleaning my gun for the afternoon, and I’m pretty sure he thinks that’s the closest thing to fun I can have.” Mark squinted and looked at the crowd below. “Yup, there he is.”

Horan was standing in front of the couches arrayed around the TV, examining various parts of the room around him.

“I give him an hour until he gets nervous and decides to see how I’m doing,” continued Mark.

Waia grunted. “That gives us a four-hour headstart on them. I’m sure we can lose them in that time, especially if we take a car from any nearby highway, those are packed with the things this close to a major city.”

Mark let the railing carry his weight. “But… I dunno, do we have to do this now? Leaving prematurely is just gonna make them come after us.”

“Omet’s just being unreasonable, Mark. The last time they decided to wait for the perfect moment, we all almost died and they lost a brother. I honestly have no idea how they’re still okay with waiting like this.”

“Yeah, well…” Mark stepped away from the railing. “Thirty-five years isn’t much time for gaining wisdom compared to your three thousand or whatever, but I have picked up that people are hard to change. Heading out early for the sake of it is just gonna freak them out and make them come after us.”

“So what? We’re just gonna let those Servants sit out there and watch us? The most warning these people gave Honoka’a was a thirty-second monologue, and I don’t think they’re gonna be that generous the second time around.” Waia let go of the railing. Slight dents remained where her fingers had been. “You should’ve learned a second thing these past few months: Waiting gets people killed.”

Mark folded his arms. “We have a plan, and we’re all playing a part in it. If we go against that now, it’s gonna turn out a whole lot worse than waiting a few hours.”

Waia began to search the foyer for alternate exit points. “Maybe. But I can leave by myself and be just fine.”

“You’re going to die.”

Waia held up a hand. “One: ‘Waia never loses’. Two: That’s kind of the thing about trying to stop a Primus with an army of humans. They get a good look at me, learn my name, anything like that, and it’s like drinking straight from the hose. You’ve seen me in action. I’ll manage.”

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Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I neither can nor will stop you, but I’m just trying to tell you that this is a very bad idea. The Servants have been hunting down demons and Primoi and everything else for as long as they’ve been around, and if they’ve been able to cover most of the world, they have to be doing something right.”

“Oh, please. The only reason their leader isn’t shark bait right now is because they got to hide behind…” Waia looked down at her boots. “...My point is that it was a one-time thing. I find enough Servants in one place, I get stronger faster than they can kill me.”

“Bravado might’ve worked against one demon and a lobotomized monster-Primus,” muttered Mark, “but this is an army, and one who knows what it takes to bring down people like you. I know armies. We need to be smart about this kind of thing, because underestimating an enemy force like this is by far the easiest way to get killed, powered-up or not. You might be immortal and bulletproof, but can you deal with a drone strike? Long-range artillery? Chemical warfare? Or do you plan to be quiet for this?”

Waia looked away from the foyer, staring Mark directly in the eye. “When you first asked to talk to me, I figured you were on board to join me for this.”

“I was, and I still am. But halfway through, I realized that just up and leaving was stupid. You’re allowed to admit when you’re wrong, you know. Nobody’s going to think less of you.”

Waia stared at Mark for a moment, groaned, and stepped away from the railing. “First thing in the morning, we’re out. And this is entirely bec–” She stopped herself and winced. “Right. Never tried to lie until now.”

Mark nodded. “Well, uh… Get some rest, if you can. Just because we’re giving ourselves more prep time doesn’t mean this is gonna be a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Waia made for the stairs. “Th…” She trailed off and left in silence.

Mark decided to go and do what he had told Horan he was doing.

-

Suleman felt awkward, being the only one in the car with a visible face. It wasn’t an alien feeling to him, he had been in the Servants for something like six months after all, but being forced to look at dead-eyed gas masks while talking to someone throughout the entirety of a several day-long trip was getting to him. He began to understand why civilian members of the Servants had taken to calling the Huntsmen Bug-eyes behind their backs.

The old man really wasn’t sure how he felt about getting assigned like this. On the one hand, he had retained lordship over his city when the Servants took over, and was more than a little enthusiastic to have the chance to stick it to that one Primus who had made him and his community look like a joke. On the other, he had spent months being shipped across a pretty sizeable continent, followed by an even more sizeable ocean. And here he was, given command of an entire army of Servants out of the blue as if he was some kind of chosen one. That sort of thing didn’t go unquestioned by him.

But then he decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and would not wonder about the issue for the rest of the trip.

He was greeted by a somewhat diminutive figure, who thankfully did not wear a mask, the moment he was let out of the car. Icy blue eyes punctuated their smug countenance, unbroken save for a faded scar that ran from the side of their nose to the corner of their mouth.

The greeter extended a hand. “The new Huntmaster, so nice to have you here. Or should I just call you Suleman? Ah, doesn’t really matter. We’re all siblings in arms these days, after all. Vengeance scattered, am I right?”

Suleman hesitantly shook their hand. “...Hello. Were you told I would be coming?”

“Of course.” The person turned, gestured for Suleman to follow, and led him through the improvised parking lot. “You’re replacing our old Huntmaster, what with all of your prior experience with capturing Primoi ‘freelance’. And don’t worry about the last guy. He’s just been demoted to something more suited to one of his ability.” They glanced at someone at work underneath an ATV. “I see you, Carlos! I’m the boss now, keep slacking off down there and I’m getting you put on cleanup duty!”

They smirked and looked back at Suleman. “Oh, who am I kidding, I’m gonna do that anyway. But enough about that has-been. Esparza, chief consultant-slash-advisor for the third cadre's top dog. Pleased to make your subordinate, new Huntmaster. In here, if you would.”

Esparza led Suleman into a surprisingly intact storefront. Suleman couldn’t speak Spanish, but the imagery next to the name suggested it was some kind of hardware store. The interior made no such implications.

Shelves had been overturned and turned into radio stations, manned by plainclothes Servants who filled the room with chatter in half a dozen different languages. The whole thing felt like a World War Two-era bunker. Suleman was quickly brought up to the second floor, which was thankfully far less cluttered.

Esparza stood by the door, letting Suleman take in the pathetically sparse living quarters by himself. “Welcome to the Huntmaster’s quarters, you’ll be staying here for the next… Oh, however long it takes to exterminate the local Domain. I’m sure you had it better back home, on the other side of the planet, so if you feel like upgrading, I’m sure you can find some uninhabited building to nab some furniture from. Might want to work fast on that front, though. Cuernavaca here is the only permanent base for a hundred kilometers or so, and we’re still pulling in new Servants from local hidey-holes. So, there’s all that.”

Suleman dejectedly sat down on the bare mattress, which let out more of a scream than a creak. “Um… I did expect more.”

“Well, expect the occasional request for orders if our hard-working brethren down below don’t think they have the clearance to handle it. I think the last guy had to actually give orders twice between here and the old border, and one of them led to his demotion. So, hey. You get to work from home, and you’ve got plenty of break time to do whatever you want, but potential assassins mean you won’t be leaving this building without a coordinated escort detail. I can’t imagine anything worse. Have fun!” Esparza dipped out of the room.

A moment later, they peeked back inside. “Oh, by the way, Torch is probably gonna be arriving eventually to see how things are going for us. Not sure why they couldn’t just come with you, considering the two of you were stationed in the same city, but who am I to judge the savior of humankind? Okay, that’s everything.” They left once more.

Suleman looked around their virtually empty room, tried to make anything out through the shuttered windows, and laid down. The mattress was sticky.