The intense heat of the day had faded into a sleepy afternoon, lit by warm ochres breezing through open windows. The ward could’ve been a comforting, cosy place for once if not for the incessant, shrill beeping of monitors acting as a constant reminder of its cold nature.

“...Gotta be close to an hour you’ve been sitting there…gonna say anything?” Antonio croaked out finally, eyes closed and unmoving. Soune jumped, not expecting the silence to be broken. She sat forward in the chair she’d brought into the ward, awkwardly picking at the fraying wrapping on her arm.

“I’m waiting for Raz to wake up…” She murmured.

“Yeah…me too.”

The pair had never been entirely comfortable with each other, even after four years of cooperation.

To Antonio, Soune was still an intruder. The trio had been established since they were kids; Raz, Kirche and himself, then the Second Scouring came, and all normalcy ripped away from his life. First, Soune had replaced Kirche, then two years later Kirche was back and the three were forced into a conflicted four. She was a disruption, an anomaly.

To Soune, Antonio was an awkward acquaintance. She’d tried to find middle ground like she’d managed with Raz over technology; she’d tried to talk fighting with him, but he was a brute who just swung his weight around. She’d tried discussing the armour she’d scrapped together for him, he didn’t care as long as it worked.

It wasn’t that they conflicted either, the pair did most of the muscle work for King and did it well. But there was always a wall of indifference between them, only broken by the buffer of Razgrith.

Now that buffer was unconscious, leaving the pair alone to struggle through the social niceties demanded by the situation.

“So…how are you?” Soune eventually asked, shaking her head at the stupidity of the statement. He was crippled, betrayed, and the person he loved most in the world was sleeping in sheets stained with their own blood. To her surprise though, he weakly chuckled.

“I’m on a fun combo, blood thinners and painkillers. I’m doin’ fine.”

“Blood thinners?” Soune poked, letting the drug haze smooth along the demanded conversation.

“Doc was worried about clots in my legs.”

“Ah…what about…you know?” She nodded to Razgrith, then rolled her eyes at the realisation he couldn’t see it.

“Raz? I didn’t catch much…he was grumbling a lot and yelling at the other folk who tried to get their hands in to help. But he said they’ll be okay…probably.” Antonio weakly shifted his arm to gesture towards the hanging bag near Razgrith’s bed. “He really wasn’t happy about needing to use some kinda special blood though…called us supply sinks…in a much meaner way.”

His arm fell back down and he released a shaky breath. From pain or a stifled sob, Soune couldn’t tell.

“Not that it’ll matter…we’re both dead in a few days once we get kicked out…can’t help but feel it’s our own fault too. We helped King for years, now he’s doin’ shit like this.”

“Somethings wrong with him…” Soune cut in, thinking back to her conversation with Eleanor.

“I think there’s a lot wrong with him…Always has been, but we were just kids when he took us in, how could we know?”

“Not like that, I mean yes but, now, recently. Something’s up…”

Stilted silence followed for a while, the steady beeps seemed to grow louder with each repetition.

“...It won’t change anything if you figure it out.” Antonio grumbled out, a slight edge in his tone.

“What do you mean?” Soune looked up, to see that Antonio had raised himself up enough to glare at her. She met his tight stare.

“I mean I know you well enough that you’re seeing whatever's wrong with him as a puzzle. Even if you figure it out, it won’t change what happens to Ingram…to Raz and me.”

Soune sighed, maybe they were closer than she first thought, too close for him to notice her flaws. She wanted to wait for Razgrith to wake up before explaining her plan, but that seemed unlikely.

“There is a puzzle I’m trying to solve, but it’s not whatever’s wrong with King. There’s a-” She caught herself mid sentence, a cold fear slicing through her mind. At the quarry entrance, alongside King and Scirocco were the Smithy suits. Two of them. When she’d let slip that Scirocco knew something, Antonio was the one who picked up on it and questioned it.

“There’s a what?” Antonio prodded, raising an eyebrow at the woman’s stiffening expression.

“...Oi, do you know how to use the Smithy suits?” She tried to soften her tone, raise it as a curiosity rather than accusation.

“The what?” His reaction seemed genuine, turning his eyes away to think. “The power loader things in the forge?”

“Yeah, those.”

“I dunno why you’re asking but nah, they were too tricky for me. And before you ask neither can Raz, though they did fix the wiring up on ‘em.”

Soune breathed a sigh of relief, then tightened her lips to a frown. There were still two dangerous wildcards to her plan then.

“I’ve got a plan on how to deal with King. Not what’s wrong with him, but he’s been doing something sketchy. I’m gonna use it as blackmail to get Ingram out of this shitshow.” She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable, infuriating question of Why?

“Oh…must be something pretty bad, huh?” Was the only response she got, it formed a new appreciation for Antonio’s blunt indifference.

“...Yeah, well I hope so anyway…not gonna ask why I’m doing it?” Her curiosity got the better of her.

“Nah. Don’t really care.”

Soune huffed a laugh, to her surprise Antonio returned it.

“Plans and tricks, all that stuff is what you and Raz are good at… That’s why I reckon you’ll get it done. You’ve got a one track mind, and it’s a damn scary one when it’s focused. But if you do succeed, cut us in on the pay eh?”

“No pay probably, but you two wanted to stay in Ingram right? Can’t do that if there is no Ingram.”

“True…works for us. I’m sure there’s a ton you’re not telling but…Appreciated. Gotta ask why you’re here though, looking for a pat on the back? A favour?”

Soune sighed, walking back to her chair, struggling to form the vulnerable words.

“...I wanted to thank Raz for their help…and goodbye. In case anything goes wrong.”

More tense silence followed. Antonio half-smiled, watching Soune stare at the ceiling with slightly trembling features.

“...Nothin’ better go wrong then. They’ll never forgive you if you don’t come back, and dunno if I can pick up the pieces without workin’ legs.”

A weak chuckle and huffed laugh broke the tension.

“I guess I better come back alive then.”

“Yeah…hey, why’d you ask about the Smithy suits?” Antonio asked, grunting as he laid back down flat.

“They might be an obstacle…” Soune admitted, lips tugging down realising how much of an understatement that was.

“Well, I know who pilots ‘em if it’ll help.”

Soune shrugged, trying to downplay her curiosity.

“Can’t hurt.”

“Started with five of ‘em in the crusades, called themselves the Hand of the King or some shit like that.”

King’s crusades were a bit of a mystery to Soune. After the First Scouring, King had declared himself a leader to anyone who would follow, and a campaign of stomping out anyone who challenged that followed. Eventually, his reputation became more of a warlord than monarch, though from what she’d gathered from Razgrith and Antonio, growing up under his rule wasn’t so terrible to start.

Before the Second Scouring his people had been frequent customers of Ariel’s small salvage and scrap business. It was on his spoils she’d learned the in’s and out’s of machinery, his armies weapons she’d spent hours repairing, all the while oblivious to the war he waged in the region.

The dynamic shifted drastically after Ariel’s passing. Mutual benefit had turned to exploitation, orchestrated by Kirche preying on Soune’s grief and desperation.

“Oi, you listening?” Antonio piped over her bitter thoughts.

Soune stiffened, focusing back on Antonio.

“Yeah, crusades, five of them.” She nodded to encourage him to continue.

“All had their codename they thought were clever;” Antonio held up a closed hand, opening each digit with the corresponding name. “Thumb, Pointman, Middler, Ring-Ring and Lil’ E’.”

“Cute.” Soune offered with a smirk, Antonio grimaced and snapped his hand shut.

“Yeah well, not so cute in person. Lil’ E was a junkie with rage issues. Ring’s a psycho bitch who got way too trigger happy with the raider camps and corpo’ holdouts. Pointman’s…strange. Could never get a read on him.”

“That leaves one couple unaccounted for…” Soune noted, raising a middle finger to Antonio. He huffed a weak laugh.

“Yeah, Unc-... Middler was alright. He treated us kids nice and kept the others in line. He was King’s go-to man, pretty sure he was his second-in-command in the war too. But one day he just took his smithy suit, loaded up the shittiest truck in the yard and just…left.”

“Odd.” Soune noted, scrubbing her jaw.

“Yeah, anyway, after that the crusades stopped. King became more like he is now, starting with making an example out of Lil’E and some other junkies. Thumb uh, followed… Ring chilled out and Pointman was Pointman. Fast forwarding, Scirocco starts cozying up to King to take Middler’s place, we start to pick up the dirty work, Second Scouring happens, you know the rest from there.”

“So it’s just two, huh? How do you know all this anyway?”

Another limp chuckle from Antonio.

“You can hear an engine hiccup and know what’s wrong with it before you pop the hood. Raz can look at a mess of wires and get them sorted like nothin’. Picking up on people is what I do.”

“Know ‘em that well, grew up with them, and no problem telling me about it? They could get hurt, y’know.” Soune prodded with a half-smirk, to her relief Antonio returned it.

“You kiddin’? I hope they do. Those bastards used me as their lackey-boy and punchin’ bag for years, only one worth a damn was Middler for letting me keep the change from smoke runs. If that last pair get in the way, give ‘em a good beatin’ for me ay?”

Soune stood from the chair and walked to the side of Antonio’s bed. She held her hand up and gave him a small nod. Antonio grunted with effort, sluggishly raising his hand up. Soune didn’t demean his strength or effort and waited for him to reach and firmly clasp hers before sharing a sharp smirk and a test of grip strength.

“To a bloody pulp.” She promised.

“Damn right, now get goin’, I’m tired.” Soune nodded, releasing the handshake. She turned and offered a gentler wave to Razgrith, wincing at the sight.

Bloody sheets, bloodier gown. They looked even feebler than Antonio’s terrible state earlier in the day.

“They’ll come back…Doc promised.” Antonio assured with shaky confidence. Soune nodded, pivoting away from Antonio to hide the wetness in her eyes. At the door, he cut back in.

“And you better come back too, don’t make Raz cry.”

“Of course.” Soune answered sternly, trying to ignore the awkward emotional pause.

“Hey, about Gress and Kirche.” Antonio broke the silence with a bitter tone, spitting out the woman's name. “Did he win?”

“I wouldn’t say won, more like a draw. She was in a bad state, locked up now. Lucky her.” Soune explained, her own anger twisting the words into hateful tones.

“Good, I know where to go to strangle her.” Antonio hissed.

Soune opened the ward door with a huff, peering over her shoulder to the bedridden man, anger clear on his features.

“On those legs?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I’ll crawl if I have to.”

“You’ll have to get in line… not just you two I’ll be coming back to visit.” Antonio grinned, hearing the malicious promise in her words.

The ward door clicked shut. Soune vented the tightness in her chest through a slow, solemn sigh.

She’d seen the pair injured before, she’d been on dangerous excursions before, but something gnawed at her about it. Something about their parting now felt different.

It felt final.

“How are my patients?” Bedan drawled.

Soune jumped, snapping her head towards the source. The Doctor was behind the counter of the waiting room, cataloguing sparse shelves of medicine. The scratch of pen on paper and the muffled beeps were the only sound between them for a long moment. “Well?” He added, side-eyeing the woman.

It snapped Soune from her moment of shock, reminding her to breathe. She pocketed her slightly-trembling hands in her coat before mustering furrowed brows and a frown to answer.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” She bit.

“I spent hours patching them back up. Again. Wasted precious resources to keep them alive. Again. You spent an hour sitting on your arse watching them. Updates.” He demanded, accenting his point with the snapping dot of his pen. Soune broke their stare, uncomfortable with the weight of the conversation.

“...Antonio seems okay. A little out of it maybe. Raz is still asleep.” Frustration at her friend's state creeped back in, along with a sharp glare back at Bedan. “In a puddle of their own blood.”

Bedan rolled his eyes.

“Do you see any nurses around here to change them? I’m short handed at the best of times, let alone when my assistant is licking his wounds.” He turned to face Soune fully when he heard bootsteps get closer, only a couple paces from the counter.

“And none of those people flocking around to help could do it?”

“Bah!” He dismissed the notion with a wave of his clipboard. “I wouldn’t trust these simpletons to not make it worse when trying to help.” He spat the word with utter disdain, years of dealing with invasive, inexperienced hands meddling in his work had befouled the idea of Help.

“How does such a miserable old k’nt make it as a Doc?” Soune snapped out. She had been sick of Bedan’s snide superiority since she’d first been confronted by him, the invasive phantom fingers investigating her face burning her skin. “Do you just kill off anyone who gets sick of it? Refuse treatment?”

She jumped back when he slammed his clipboard down on the counter, regarding her with a furious sneer.

“Do not mistake my bluntness for hatred, girl! I’ve more love for my fellow man than you ever will!”

She leant back forward, baring her teeth to the old man.

“Well you’ve got a great way of showing it, Doc! The jabs, the threats, and how far does that fellow man definition go, huh? Cos’ last I saw you left a victim with a sheet of painkillers and a good luck!” Soune was surprised at her own outburst, the anger flowing freely out into spittle and venomous words. “Why’s that? Splinter’s not worth any bedside manner?”

“You think I don’t do everything I can for that boy! That it doesn’t hurt me to know I can’t help him! What more could I do for Harris!” The Doctor was heaving his breaths now, the outburst overtaken by age.

Soune stepped backwards, confusion overtaking anger.

“Harris?” She questioned quietly. Bedan stiffened in shock, realising what he said.

“Gress… I meant Gress.” He muttered, pulling over a stool and clutching his chest.

“Well, you could’ve given him a look over, or some better painkillers than pills. I did your job there.” Soune added, fighting the urge to start berating the Doctor.

“How could I? Even if I broke down the door he’d refuse treatment before I checked the others…” His sweaty head perked up. “What do you mean you did my job?”

Soune shrugged.

“I hit him with a bit higher-spec stuff than pills, injected right into the bad arm.”

“Unless you knocked him unconscious first I doubt that…Those damn holes-”

“I distracted them. Faked an attack one side, injected the other.” Pride at her experiment pulled her mouth into a smirk.

“...Interesting.” Bedan jotted a quick note down. “How was he? Before and after the injection.”

Soune chewed the inside of her lip, considering how to answer. Gress’ few answers seemed to be given in confidence - confidence she wasn’t going to break for the aggravating Doctor.

“Fine, don’t answer. Must be well enough for you to drag into whatever insane nonsense this plan of yours entails…Still think some secret will be enough to turn that old bastard against Seere, bah.”

“If you don’t think it’ll work, why did you back me up?” Soune asked with a cocked head.

“To stop Eleanor from making a stupid mistake. Of course I don’t think it’ll work, it’s a ridiculous ploy”

Soune fell into one of the uncomfortable bench seats. Kirche’s handcuffs were still locked around its bolted leg.

“Don’t know until I try, and don’t worry, your nurse is fine-” She winced at the half-lie, debating whether or not to inform Bedan of Gress’ ideations. “-he’s not going.”

“Oh, good…” Bedan sighed and unsteadily lowered himself onto the stool.

“Good for you, sure…” Soune added under her breath. She couldn’t take her gaze away from the handcuffs, the dried spots of blood and thin curls of skin around their loop. Kirche had endured the agony of rebellion only to fail and suffer the consequences anyway.

The thought ran through Soune and twisted her guts into dreadful knots.

“You’re reminding me more of Ariel now. The way you’ve managed to tie all these morons up into your plan.” Bedan noted from the side.

In a moment, her panic and fear were washed away by beaming pride at the comparison. She looked over to the Doctor with a wide smirk.

“Gotta’ say, wasn’t expecting a compliment from you.”

“It wasn’t…” His voice was weak, the words barely wheezed out. Soune’s pride dropped back into anger, then furrowed curiosity.

Bedan’s stoic snark was nowhere to be seen, the stern Doctor replaced by a trembling old man steadying himself on the stool. The weight of the days threatened to pull his eyelids down into sleep, his normally straight back twisted to an aching curve. A thin cigarette shook in his quivering lips. His stony gaze, now low and weak, moved to Soune while he swayed on his seat.

“You wanted to know how I knew Harris. You won’t like the answer.”

“Try me.” Soune replied, offering a stern nod along with the words. Bedan sighed again in response, focusing on the tarry smoke coiling around his mouth.

“After the Oceanic War there were crackdowns on armed forces, which led to Strangers running people’s wetwork. Those with the money wanted protection from a more reliable source than mercenaries.” Some of his usual bitterness returned when addressing the Strangers. Soune bit her lip to halt any retort and let him continue.

“Crisis Corporation saw an opportunity. Diversify via militarisation, skirting the post-war treaties and sanctions by clever tricks and definitions - the same as everyone at the time.Their big plan was private security with the Lordship program, which is where I come in.” He paused to nurse his cigarette, puffing painfully slowly before continuing the story.

“I was one of the leading experts in cybernetics, just one of dozens in similar positions, all brought together to create the Lords and Vassals.”

“Lemme’ guess, you thought you were doing the right thing?” Soune cut in with an accusatory edge.

“No. I was under no delusions of morality. Some of my peers were, and they disgusted me. We were there to create transhuman soldiers and their puppets, not heroes. Unfortunately, our subjects were far more susceptible to such promises of grandeur. Particularly one young prospect who begged day-in-day-out to be accepted into the program, eventually I humoured him and his dreams of becoming a hero. Harris Pugil.”

He plucked the smoking stick from his lips, studying the faint ember at its tip.

“He was exemplary.” Bedan continued. “Brave, kind, caring, and most importantly, compatible. His academic and physical scores were above average, but his neural link tests nearly doubled the baseline. He graduated as the youngest Overlord the program had produced at the time, but instead of coasting off his status and becoming a figurehead, he held true to the hero role and headed out to save people. I was proud…and disappointed. I wanted to see just how far I could push him into the realm of superhuman, but he was satisfied. While he didn’t coast off his status, I did. My success with him was studied, laurelled as the high standard, and I was promoted to Surgeon General of C2.”

His hand clenched, crushing the smoky stick in his palm. His voice turned from solemn remembrance into keened, seething hate.

“Afterwards, he met her. The Silver Bullet. Ariel Argent.”

Icy panic crushed Soune’s chest. It was approaching the part of the story she had glimpses of.

“I think I know what comes next…” She tried to cut the story short, dismiss the Doctor and refuse a new version of an already conflicted story.

“You want the story. You get the story.” Bedan sternly commanded, glaring at Soune.

“...Fine.”

“Do you know why they called her the Silver Bullet?” Bedan demanded while shakily producing a new cigarette.

“No…She got mad whenever anyone called her that…said it was a stupid name from an old life.” Soune explained, shifting while unable to meet Bedan’s renewed, sour glare.

“Those were the days of vicious corporate growth. It wasn’t enough to outbid your rival, you had to remove your rival. Everyone who could afford protection was under C2. But when every rich moron has the highest level of security, none of them do. It was a stalemate. Sure there were conflicts, battles of small proxied armies, but it never ended until someone who mattered died. That’s where the Silver Bullet comes in. The one capable of killing the unkillable.”

“You make it sound like killing those bastards was wrong…” Soune tried to defend.

“No. It wasn’t. But to Harris it was. He was the hero. She was the villain. They garnered a reputation through their clashes, and it made C2 explode. Our Lords were capable of matching the greatest killer in the world. Harris didn’t care about that, he stopped caring about C2 and his heroism, he only cared about Ariel.”

Soune’s curiosity had been sated, now squandered. She didn’t want to hear any more, but couldn’t bring herself to leave. She rubbed at her eyes, ignoring the wetness building in them. The versions of the story she’d heard were dulled, focused on the excitement of the chase, the nobility of their actions on either side of a coin. She desperately clung to those romantic tales, hoping to override Bedan’s view.

“After years, he caught her. It nearly killed him. When I visited him in the hospital, he started crying. He wished he hadn’t done it. Pleaded with me to see if I could pull some strings to let her out. I asked him why. He laughed, unwrapped his bandages, and smiled at me with half his jaw showing. Do you know what he said to me?”

Soune meekly shook her head.

Bedan sighed, shaking his own head at the memory.

“He said ‘Because Doc, she finally kissed me.’.”

Bedan coughed through the smoke, struggling to hide the choked emotion creeping out.

“...Harris was a broken man. He needed the goal… Meanwhile, C2 thrived with its paramilitary status. Corporations kept growing without the looming threat of Strangers. Then when Priloca couldn’t match their growth, the Scouring began. I watched cities burn. I watched tens of thousands die…I left. I left it all. The money, the power. It meant nothing to me. I had to live with knowing I was the cowardly rock at the centre of an avalanche. Then it happened.”

Bedan took a moment to compose himself. Soune saw the flickers of rage and disappointment fight against the exhaustion.

“Somehow, in the middle of orbital bombardment, she escaped. Of course Harris found out. He was delighted. His beloved enemy was back, but more than that. She’d found a pet. ”

“A child.” Soune hissed.

Bedan shook his head.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other. That beast thought she could domesticate herself. Keeping Harris at arms length, but involved enough to torture him. He’d come to me, beaming with stories about your growth, and how much Ariel had changed. For fifteen years she pretended to be a human, and he pretended like there was a chance they could’ve been a family.”

“They were happy…” Soune growled out.

“I’m sure they were, for a while. I was happy too, living out retirement aiding simpletons and strays…then I had to fix the mess she left him in when she died.”

She’d had enough, the accusations, the weighted statements, all erupting from one word.

Soune shot up from her chair, striding over to the counter and slamming her hands down on the cold surface.

“What makes you think you’re so fucking innocent! Why is it all Ariel’s fault? She wasn’t the one who put that cyborg shit in his head! She wasn’t the one who used him like a fucking lab rat! Why are you so guilt-free in this story!”

She’d risen to screaming without realising it. Bedan didn’t flinch, his tired expression still unsteady and flickering with hate.

“...Because I need to make a point, and you’re proving it.” He slowly stated. Soune backed up, heaving heavy, angry breaths.

“Ariel never admitted her sins. Ariel never viewed what she did as wrong. She poisoned him, and called it love. What do you think she did to you?”

Soune’s breaths had turned to shaky, suppressed sobs. Her only option was to ignore his last point.

“She…She did love him. You’re wrong.”

Bedan stared flatly at her.

“If I’m wrong, so are you. Mine is resentment of a father clouding my judgement. Yours is the idealism of a child looking at others memories. I’m sure she did love him, in her own wretched way.”

A part of the nightmare cleared; two silhouettes against the inferno, embracing, kissing, loving each other before the last goodbye. Tears broke through Soune’s guarded expression. He was wrong, he had to be.

Bedan regained his composure, reaching down to heft a full satchel onto the counter. He groaned with the effort.

“My contribution to your inane little plan. Eleanor is gathering other supplies. You’ll get to do your little excursion and blackmail scheme, while I deal with the reality of the situation.”

Soune reached to snatch the satchel, but Bedan held tightly onto the kit, not budging from her strong pull.

“I’ll say it again.” He snarled. “It’s good that Gress isn’t going with you. Because he reminds me so much of Harris before I ruined him.” He released the first-aid kit, wincing at the feral anger on Soune’s face.

“And you’re reminding me so much of her…” He finished with a sneering, hateful shake of his head. “Hurry up and get out of my town.”

Soune pivoted to rush out of the building.

----------------------------------------

Gress groaned, feeling the aches return to his arm. He’d had his few hours of comfort from the injector, and some entertainment from messing around with its spent casing. Shards of glass on the carpet around him splayed into meaningless patterns, books splayed around after having been organised in a multitude of ways, all means for a bored, tired mind to burn away the dark hours until day. Until the radio line would be attended. Until the blissful numbness he’d gotten from the syringe would be his entire world.

His head tapped back against softened wood, staring at the moonbeam above him. Silvery light pouring into his stagnant home. Silvery. Silver.

Interesting. That’s what she’d called him.

He huffed, just words. Meaningless. Or at least would be soon enough. The crumpled card appeared in his hand without realising he’d been holding it, numbers twisting in the moonlight. An escape. The right thing to do, to repay everyone who’d done right by him. To settle a debt.

He’d be thanked. He’d be remembered. A saviour, a martyr, selfless sacrifice. They’d live. They’d be protected. Just like he unjustly was for so many years.

The card trembled in his hand, wet trails leaked down his face.

Doubt clawed from his stomach like icy oil. Was that what he thought? What he wanted?

Anger clawed up his neck, furrowing his brow. What have they done to earn his sacrifice? Why didn’t he deserve to live?

Was that his thoughts and wants or that of the spurring thing living in his flesh?

…

What did he want?

What did the real Gress want?

He closed his eyes, dredging up the thoughts he worked so hard to bury. It was a mashed, foul mix . All coming together in two words, spat out in rushed dread as if they’d justify his death.

“Fuck it.”

The shredded card scattered in the moonbeam, fluttering specks of silvered regret.

He didn’t hold back a tender smile at the sight.