Rodney's last month had been a never-ending nightmare. He wasn't a good man; he stole his mother's savings to leave her village dump and drink himself into oblivion in Belaz City. Then he took a job handing out flyers for the Regulators, and threw them away, lying about the job's completion and grabbing some easy cash. Drinking himself into a drunken stupor, Rodney finally realized what he had done and fled Belaz before the Regulators could hang him.

That was when he met them. A man with glassy eyes and a scarred face grabbed him by the neck and dragged the drunken man behind him. When he woke up, he found himself on an operating table. At the time, his greatest fear was losing his organs and limbs. The Cartel's ferocity was well known in the Ravaged Lands. Even being hunted by the Bento Tribe and the Soultakers, the two largest nations in the region, did little to curb their ferocity.

What a fool he was. A far worse fate awaited him. These creatures, these... Numbers, had opened his face like a tin can, making him feel every ounce of pain as his skin was carefully peeled from his skull. Next came a strange needle, injecting something under his lidless eyes and through his nose, poisoning his brain and infecting it with... with...

Twenty Eight. That was the name of the entity that had been controlling his body for the past month. Rodney passed out on the operating table and awoke days later to find himself talking to a merchant. The woman refused to sell weapons at a bargain price and Rodney watched in horror as his own hand plunged a knife into her slender neck. Her bodyguards tried to stop the attacker, but Rodney's body moved faster than even people in power armor, and a strange red whip came from his wrist, cutting them in half.

Only he didn't do any of that! He screamed voicelessly throughout the carnage, trying to stop himself but failing to even move his finger. In the days that followed, he tried to regain control of his body, screaming questions at the entity that had taken up residence in his brain, and found himself unable to even blink. And Twenty Eight wasn't done with his body, not by a long shot.

Late at night, the Numbers stalked the streets, picking up junkies and drunks. Some were killed on the spot after failing a test. Others were taken underground, either to be dismantled to repair wounded Numbers or to create new ones.

Of course, the Regulators tried to retaliate. Mum always told him stories about how noble these men were and how they had saved his Da and Ma from the slavers. Rodney never knew if she was simply stupid or if there was a grain of truth in her words. People whispered in the bars, complaining about how the Regulators had changed after Yasen and Blaguna took over, and Rodney himself would never forget the look on his father's face after he was to be hanged for failing to pay a protection fee.

Cruel as she could be, Blaguna would not tolerate another gang's presence on her turf. Every year, a group of raiders would try their luck and carve out a piece of land from the Regulators. Blaguna made no secret of what she did to them, broadcasting their executions live on the radio. And some tongues also said that Nokto took some of the prisoners to her private resort, inflicting unspeakable cruelties on their flesh and prolonging their suffering for months. Rodney personally thought this was superstition until one such drunken fool was dragged away by the Regulators. The woman was not hanged; she simply disappeared into the night, and the soldiers never mentioned her again. Which was odd; the Regulators have never been shy about showing what happens to those who dare speak out against them.

Number Ten, the leader of the coven in Belza City, somehow managed to evade every encounter with the patrols. Possessing supernatural intuition, this woman coldly made the Numbers change their routes, safely avoiding the soldiers long before they encountered them. Twice a month, the Numbers would change their hiding places, abandoning everything just before Yasen or his thugs could find them.

Rarely, ordinary people would come the hideout and talk to Ten. In exchange for a favor, the death of a competitor, or the demise of a family member, these humans owed and provided favors for the Numbers. Ten pretended to be pleasant around them, but deep down Rodney felt Twenty Eight's disgust at hearing cattle bleat in the Numbers' presence. Occasionally, a Regulator informant would be caught by Ten among the petitioners. Rodney did his best to forget all the horrors the poor souls had experienced.

And here he was, a month later, clad in black armor and carrying a sniper rifle on his shoulder. Followed by fourteen other Numbers and led by Ten, his body controlled like a puppet, he walked to commit a most horrible slaughter.

Children. Twenty Eight never spoke to him, but Rodney heard these Numbers talking to each other. Someone named Eight had contacted this coven and given the order to send a message to Iterna and massacre some children, along with some Augustus guy. And what the single digits wanted, the double digits were eager to do.

It felt strange. The Number that ruled his body never said a word to Rodney. But when he heard the name Augustus, a dark urge came over his brain, making drool appear on his lips. For once, the captive found himself in sync with the parasite, feeling the urge to murder a man he had never met. It took all of his natural stubbornness to shake it off, and he was horrified by the feeling that something far greater than Number was watching him from the depths of his conscience.

Over the past month, Rodney had prayed to every known god, confessing all his sins and begging for salvation. He accepted his wickedness and his weakness; had he been free, he would have thrown himself at Mum's feet and spent his last days making amends for all the trouble he'd caused her. He wasn't a good man. But he wasn't a killer either.

They traversed the mountains for days under Ten's leadership, avoiding the main roads and slaughtering any insectoids bold enough to intercept them. The Ravaged Lands were always a dangerous place, with a scorching sun capable of burning the skin off a normal human and man-sized insects roaming the desolate wastes. Only settlements and villages provided aid and safety. Nestled in the ruins of the great cities of the Old World, the population was armed to the teeth and not afraid to shoot at any beast.

Ten, once again showing some sort of devilish intelligence, had stopped the group several times, hissing something about the unreliable fool. She made the group climb the mountains or use narrow insectoid tunnels, avoiding patrols of both the Regulators and some soldiers in the brown power armors.

When the sandstorm hit them, Rodney decided that the gods had answered his prayers. Surely this apocalyptic wind would cut them down, shattering his body and freeing his soul from this imprisonment. As a human, Rodney was not strong. He had been in a few fights, but he had lost more teeth than he had knocked out. The wind should have carried him away, even though the Numbers had taken cover in the crevice of the mountain.

But his new body held on. In fact, Rodney barely felt the strain as the Numbers moved on, leaving the safety and heading straight into the storm front. Goggles protecting his eyes kept Rodney and Twenty Eight from going blind, and an oxygen tank on the back of their armor kept them breathing. But here and now, the sharp stones occasionally pierced the joints of the armor, wounding the terrified man, who pleaded with Twenty Eight to take cover. As usual, there was no answer.

The group had positioned themselves on the slope of a high mountain, shielded from the fury of the sandstorm by two natural stone formations. While other Numbers were busy surveying the area, Twenty Eight was looking through the scope of his sniper rifle. Incredibly, Rodney's eyes detected a massive, half-ruined structure ahead. He saw vehicles arrayed around it and projectors lighting up the sky. A few guards could be seen briefly walking around the perimeter, fully clad in advanced-looking power armor. Some were black, others brown.

I will not harm children! Rodney tried to scream, desperately fighting to wrestle control of his body. Anything. Just a single shot would have alerted these strange people known as Reclaimers to their presence. A single twitch of the finger that now rested on the trigger and the nightmare could have been over.

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Nothing happened. Twenty Eight’s control over his body was absolute; he wielded it like a tool while Rodney felt all the pain and fatigue. The captive wept and began to pray to the one faith he had not yet tried.

The Spirits. It was a new faith, brought from the Reclaimers’ lands. A faith in deities that didn't demand worship, but rather were interested in helping humans improve. A foolish and gentle faith, but he had nothing better to try.

Please. He whispered in his mind. Don’t let me kill children.

“Situation?” A Number approached, speaking in a rough male voice. He wore the body of a woman, and Rodney wept for whoever the person in that flesh might be. In the midst of their journey, an insectoid warrior struck this Number, opening the armor on her chest. The Number didn't even bother to bandage the wound, and now it showed bone and torn flesh, widened by the sand.

“Eight’s information appears to be correct,” Twenty Eight replied, his voice barely audible over the sandstorm. "They are waiting for someone."

“Naturally. Two herself provided us with the prediction.” Ten came closer, her voice filled with dark satisfaction. “Seems like the fool was right about something, after all. Their patrol patterns are failing." She chuckled. "I love it when things go according to plan. Get ready; once the piggies and the pipsqueak are here, we will have little time..."

“Your kind has no time left at all.” A roaring shout broke through the sandstorm.

Pain! Rodney’s back exploded, the spine cracked, and he cartwheeled through the sand before slamming into the stone with enough force to leave a small crater in it. The Number who was speaking with Twenty Eight gasped, finding himself impaled on cruel claws. The hand spread and the woman's body came apart, streams of blood spreading like crimson lines in the wind. A beast of steel and metal gazed calmly at the Numbers, letting the body slide to the ground.

The attacker stood taller than any man Rodney knew, vaguely resembling a human body, yet so clearly inhuman. For one thing, it had a long snout covered by the elongated helmet of its power armor. Claws, real natural claws as thick as his arm, protruded from its armored gauntlet. The stones themselves cracked under the creature's weight, threatening to unleash an avalanche.

This was no animal. Rodney had heard rumors about them. Doggies. Cruel and merciless mutants in the service of the Reclamation Army. The Regulators went out of their way to tell everyone how these beasts ate entire villages alive, not even sparing infants in their cribs. Driven by madness and rage, these beasts showed no mercy and kept no word, purifying entire nations in the name of their evil dynast and their godless mother, Ravager, the Butcher of the Helpless.

Twenty Eight raised his hand, and a familiar whip emerged from his wrist. The creature barely glanced at him before disappearing in the explosion of stone and reappearing next to the number, kicking his arm away. Rodney's arm. The man howled in pain in his brain as the sharp claws on the monster's legs sliced his arm in half at the shoulder.

The other Numbers never had a chance. A howl pierced the night, and dozens of lesser copies of the beast descended from the night and attacked the Numbers from behind. The weapons in their paws barked, spearing men and women with sharp poles that moved at incredible speed. Claws ripped out throats. Paws reached out, grabbing the Numbers by the neck and shattering them with a single blow. Jaws opened wide, biting off faces and entire heads.

Aggression. Pure, unbridled aggression. Despite his pain, Rodney noticed a pattern in the monsters' movements. None of them were in each other way; each one of them knew the location of its allies with almost pristine accuracy. The largest beast stood unmoved, but some of the bigger beasts in this... pack, lunged and rushed, pulling the smaller ones out of the way of a sudden bolt of lightning or a blast of energy from the Numbers. No exotic power could save the body snatchers; when one began to attack a doggie, its companion would come at that Number from behind, or a shot would come from the depths of the roaring sandstorm and claim a life.

Ten moved to the edge of the cliff, dodging shots before they were fired. Twin canines pounced on her, and the woman stepped gracefully toward them, dodging the claws and sending both mutants away with one throw. She was almost at the edge when the largest beast left Rodney, closing the distance between herself and Ten with calm steps.

A flame burst from the mounted flamethrower on the monster's wrist, engulfing its right arm. With a single uppercut, the dog had bisected Ten's body in half, turning the remains into a rapidly burning funeral pyre. The monster grabbed the deceased woman's shoulders and crushed the body between its gigantic palms.

"You were right, sir," the largest of the beasts said calmly, the helmet slipping from its face. If Rodney had been afraid before, he was terrified now. It wasn't human underneath. A long, powerful snout covered in silken fur. Two wet, amber orbs shone through the darkness, burning like the brightest of embers; their light seemed to pierce Rodney's own soul. The creature spoke in the gorget of its armor, rubbing the ash from its paws into the fur. "The Iternian plague has been found and dealt with. Shall we report it to the Iternians?"

"No need, Warlord Ashbringer," a cold voice answered from the gorget. "The Commander has made his will clear.. If we alert our guests about the incident, they will call off the training and keep distracting us further. It is better to deal with this miserable affair quickly and professionally so that I can return to more important duties as soon as possible. I will join the security perimeter myself, just in case."

“Understood, sir,” Ashbringer replied. “We have a wounded Number on our paws. Shall we deliver it to the medics?”

“Curious. Numbers usually kill their host by inducing cardiac arrest to prevent capture, but we can certainly try. I might be able to extract something of value from its mind. Can it survive the journey?" The voice inquired with mild boredom.

“Potentially.” Ashbringer looked down at the slashed wound. Her amber eyes quickly scanned Twenty Eight, while Rodney could only feel terror and cold. So much cold. He was surprised to feel it in the Ravaged Lands of all places! "No. ASA and PSA are both torn. It is bleeding heavily from the missed arm. It will expire before we can get medical help.”

“Then end it and return to your patrol. We have a long night ahead of us, Warlord."

"Captain. I am troubled by how far the enemy has penetrated our defenses," Ashbringer said, pacing and glancing at her soldiers. "This situation should never have happened."

“On the contrary, Warlord. It is exactly the result I wanted,” the voice responded. “We knew that the Numbers were operating in the Ravaged Lands, yet suspiciously, several of our ambushes had failed to snare a prey. Knowing about the Numbers irrational hatred toward Iterna, I gave a map of the patrol routes to several officers in charge of the region, making sure that each of them received a unique map while personally planning the patrol routes themselves. I also provided them with the geological data on these mountains, which has led them to identify a number of potential safe havens that could serve as perfect ambushes against our guests.

“And wouldn’t you know it, Warlord? The obfuscation borne fruit. The Numbers were found in one such place. Another unit is already tracing the Numbers' footsteps, but judging by the location, their initial route, and the detours the Numbers were forced to take, I dare say we have identified our traitor. Alas, to my greatest disappointment, it is not Captain Scorpio.”

“You chose to conceal this information from me?” Ashbringer asked in a deadly calm tone, but the fur on the beast's neck rose and its lips parted, revealing a set of fangs. "The cubs could have been hurt by your meddling, sir!"

“My meddling, as you ignorantly call it, ensured the capture of the traitor and the elimination of an enemy unit, Warlord,” the captain icily stated. “As for our guests, no, they were in no danger; as you can see, my faith in your abilities was fully justified. And I will only reveal as much information as an officer needs for a mission and as much as an officer deserves. Consider yourself honored. I am sufficiently impressed by the adequate performance of your pack. Enough with the chitchat. Proceed with utter competence…” The voice stopped when a sound of chewing jaws broke out.

One doggy ate a deceased Number, hungrily devouring its still-hot insides. It tore a spine from the dead Number and buried its fangs in it, sucking out the marrow along with the sand in the air.

“Wolf Hag Bogumila!” The captain snapped, his voice now coming from the gorget of every power armor on the cliff. “Cannibalism is against the law. I understand that your limited intelligence may make it difficult for you to compute a reason why, but give me an answer to this simple riddle. How would you react if an enemy started eating your deceased comrade or you?"

"Honored," the dog said, setting the spine column aside under Ashbringer's gaze. "Wouldn't care, since I'd be dead."

A sigh came from the gorgets. "Warlord, see to it that a suitable disciplinary punishment is given for this behavior, which is unworthy of an elite soldier of the Third Army. A monthly cleaning duty for her entire pack would suffice, I think, but I leave the severity of the punishment to you. No killing or maiming. And keep anyone covered in bloody filth away from our guests so as not to frighten the children."

“Acknowledged, Captain Ivar,” the beast growled, coming closer and lifting its leg. It looked at Rodney’s helmet, and her voice suddenly softened. “If you can hear me, know that I am sorry, civilian. May the Spirits grant you a happier next life.”

I won. Rodney chuckled through the madness, fighting both the cold and the darkened vision. He won! He won! Twenty Eight tried to move, tried to crawl away from her useless husk of a body, but the man didn't care. No kid will die at his hands! Some deities do answer prayers after all!

The leg came down, and Rodney's misery was finally over.