The local population was gathered in a circle in the middle of the processing station to debate the slew of recent changes to their personal status quo when someone on the edge of the room loudly cleared their throat.

Horan stepped forward and gave a subdued wave. “Afternoon, everyone. We…” He checked his watch, then looked back at the crowd. “Afternoon, everyone. My companions and I are back after a, uh, a quick stint of assumed fugitivity, and now– You guys have heard about that whole thing going on up top, right? With the glowing sky-fish and all that?”

Several of the locals nodded. One of them raised a hand. “Those gas mask fellas told us to not leave the room while they deal with it. Also, what?!”

Quet emerged from the same tunnel that Horan had stepped out of, Mark and Waia close behind her. “It’s a whole thing,” said Quet, “they tried the same thing back in February. Don’t worry about it, you become them when you die, we’re mostly just back here because of the Servants.”

Horan nodded. “We don’t mean to cause any trouble this time around, we swear. We just don’t have anywhere to stay while the Servants and monsters tire each other out and let us get out of here. I swear on my honor that, even though we keep saying we won’t be a bother, and then we are, we do do our best to not be one.”

Behind Horan, Mark shrugged and nodded. “It’s always harder than you expect.”

“Look,” continued Horan, “we came back to you guys because we were hoping that you could at least temporarily repay the solid that you kind of already said you would repay, it’s just that now we’ll be here for even less time before. Give us maybe eight hours and…” He looked over his shoulder at Mark. “How long did you put the monster thing at?”

“Around a day.”

Horan looked back at the crowd. “Give us the same amount of time that we were already estimating we’d be here for, and after that, we’re gone. You won’t see hide nor hair of us, and you can be buddy-buddy with the Servants all you want.”

Waia scowled and nudged Horan aside as she stepped past him. “Or, you could not do that.”

“Waia,” said Mark, “now really isn’t the–”

“Shut up, you aren’t my boss.” Waia turned to address the crowd. “Those nutcases upstairs aren’t interested in what any of you want in the slightest. They’re here to win. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t have burnt down my hometown when we told them to get off our island. Plus, now, they’ve rolled up to your own hometown and are acting like they’ve owned it from minute one.”

One of the locals raised a hand. “Actually, pretty much everyone who originally lived here already went south for better pickings. Most of us are Canadian, we just set up shop here after our last few spots ran dry. So, y’know, that.”

“Whatever,” said Waia. “My point is, the Servants don’t do anything except hurt people. Have any of the new arrivals mentioned the army of rabid nightmare monsters that they have chained up and sic on anything they don’t like? Because I’m, like, ninety percent sure those used to be people, and the Servants like to just pretend they don’t exist when it’s inconvenient for them. It hurts their ‘scrappy underdogs trying to look out for the little guy’ brand.”

“And what exactly are you suggesting we do about that, then?” asked another local.

Waia shrugged. “Anything, really. As long as it’s not just rolling over and saying ‘Sure, I’ll fork all my stuff over to the mass-murderers’. The Servants have been sticking to the easiest pickings for their whole stint as the big kids on the block, because that’s the most they can handle.”

Horan tensed up and put a hand on Waia’s shoulder. “Waia, this might be–”

Waia shrugged him off. “Oh, so now you’re scared to handle the truth?” She scowled at the crowd of locals. “I’ve faced off against their little demagogue and their fancy sword myself, and they couldn’t take the heat the second they had to take on someone who knows what they’re doing. Had to play dirty just to survive me, and they’ve been ignoring that fact in favor of telling everyone suckered into their scheme how great they were for burning down a house full of cowardly little Broadway rejects.”

Horan glanced at Quet standing next to him, who stared at the floor and gripped the edges of her cardigan. He looked up at the Hawaiian in front of him. “Waia, that’s enough.”

“What’s enough, Horan?” snapped Waia. “These people deserve to know exactly who it is that’s throwing out offers of heroism and glorious salvation as if they have any idea what they’re doing. They couldn’t kill these three schmucks when their leader faced them all down themself, what makes you think they’ll bring anything to the table for any of you?”

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Mark folded his arms and glared at a point on the wall. “Waia, that’s not how any of this works. These people aren’t–”

“Why do you three keep trying to stop me from doing what all of us have been doing?!” Waia stepped among the crowd, walking backwards to keep her eyes locked on Mark, Quet and Horan. “The Servants are a bunch of liars and cowards who only want to bring the whole world down with them.” She swept her gaze across the humans surrounding her. “They think they’re better than me just because they can hurt the runts of the litter and think they can get away with it. Well, I say you all join the four of us in proving them wrong! Get them the hell out of your city! Show them that you won’t take this all lying down!”

Several people in the crowd retreated from Waia, followed quickly by the rest, leaving a wide circle around Waia.

“They’re just people,” said Mark. “They can’t just be pep-talked into starting a war.”

Quet squinted and did a cursory headcount. “I think some of them actually already left, it looks like. Yeah, six or seven.”

Waia huffed. “Fine then. At least it won’t be my fault when they hand you a paintball gun and throw you at the Burning One.”

One of the locals exchanged a look with the one next to him. “Well, you keep calling these Servants liars. Are they honest about the Burning One really being here?”

Mark noticed Waia’s stomach contract as she gave a slight involuntary gasp. He stepped up to the edge of the crowd. “No. They aren’t.”

Waia looked at Mark, confused and relieved.

Mark glared at Waia and gave the slightest of nods. “It’s not real at all. The Burning One’s a boogeyman, a myth. Doomsayers just chalk any wild Primus reports up to the Burning One, we’ve seen it a hundred times, from here to Mexico City.”

Waia swallowed and nodded.

“I’ll defend the Servants when I need to,” said Mark, “but I’ll hold that the Burning One only exists to scare people. The Primoi that they’re here to hunt are just run-of-the-mill prey. Y’know, us.”

A nearby local looked at Waia. “Well, you seemed awful adamant that it’s really out there.”

Waia stepped out of the crowd and walked to the wall of the station, staring at the brick. “You heard him.”

Horan gave Quet a quick thumbs-up before clearing his throat. “Look, I… Some of us have given a couple bad impressions this time around, but we’re here for the same reasons that we were an hour and a half ago. Waia’s right about one thing, though: The main thing the Servants are interested in is putting up a good front, one that makes them look like the only option. We won’t act like we have any right to tell you your stances, but I cannot stress enough that the Servants are expecting you to immediately turn us in and leave yourselves with no other option but stick with them. What the Servants don’t know can’t hurt them, so at least let us stay quiet until we can leave. Or, at the bare minimum, until you understand what you’re getting into.”

Mark saw Waia’s gloved hands clench into tight fists as she resolutely stared at the wall. He caught Horan’s eye and offered a thankful nod.

Horan smiled in return before looking back at the crowd. “Plus, way I see it, I can always just pull out my trump card and bribe you with more pizza. Isn’t that right, Quet?”

Quet looked up from the floor, blinked a few times, and smiled sheepishly.

One of the locals shrugged. “Anyone else convinced?”

Several others nodded and chuckled.

Horan sighed with relief. “You folks have no idea how happy I am that you’re willing to think things through. That’s a rare thing these days.”

Several people among the crowd began to disperse into clusters, or to go alone and resume their prior activities. Horan strolled back to Quet’s side and leaned close. “And boom goes the dynamite… This is an applicable use of that phrase, right? I don’t say it often.”

Quet shrugged. “Think so, yeah.”

Mark trudged over to Horan. “I have to give you credit, that was–”

“Watch out!” Horan shoved Mark to the side, hurriedly held an arm out, and made a flicking motion.

A gunshot exploded through the processing station, magnified fivefold by the claustrophobic acoustics. Buckshot flew through the air before slamming into a wall of air that Horan had thrown up in front of himself and coming to a halt, pellets scattering across the floor.

The gas mask-free Huntsman who had just fired the shot at Horan rushed into the station from one of the many small entrances along the walls. While locals around him shrieked in surprise and dove for cover, he fumbled for the radio clipped to the strap of his backpack while keeping his shotgun trained on Quet and Horan. “Confirmed Primus presence among–”

Before the Huntsman could get any further, Waia stuck her hand into the wall next to her, the brickwork melting into slag and glowing an angry yellow where it touched her skin. An exact replica of Waia’s arm, composed entirely of molten brick, emerged from the wall near the Huntsman, reached forward, grabbed his head, and squeezed.

Waia pulled her hand out of the wall. The molten arm lost whatever was holding its shape and fell to the ground, leaving a hole in the brickwork that it had emerged from. The Huntsman slumped to the ground, steam billowing from what remained of his head.

Waia turned and noticed Quet and Horan staring at the scene in shock along with the other locals. She groaned, nodded at Mark, and walked to the entrance that the four of them had come from, hands stuck in the pockets of her sweatpants.

“Wha–what was that?!” spluttered Horan.

“Bad timing,” replied Waia as she walked past him. “We don’t need to stick around to have these people throw us out, let’s just hurry things up. We know how this goes.”

Horan turned to look at Mark, still stunned. “That… It really just all went wrong like that?”

Mark shrugged and turned to follow Waia. “Something was gonna go wrong. That’s the issue with your plans. You leave room for something to go wrong, something will go wrong. Let’s go find a new spot.”