It took weeks before any of the world's major powers could agree on what to do. The Russians were sure this was all a setup created by Chernobog, in revenge for not being worshipped anymore. The Americans were being given the hairy eyeball for having gotten off easy, relatively speaking. There were few supernatural reptiles in the States, so the major losses, in terms of lives and gear, had come from lending aid beyond their borders (which, of course, resulted in some lovely comparisons with World War Two). China was currently seen as ineffectual, much to their annoyed blustering, after a failed attempt to calm down a maddened dragon by praying to it. It wasn't their fault, they said. Dragons had always been revered in their country, and responded favourably to human pleas.

Everyone else was watching from the sidelines and commenting, passing popcorn and money to each other. Waiting for one of the big guys to say or do something embarrassing.

It was the middle of October when a decision was made. The leaders of the Global Gathering met in Greenland, the island having been seen as neutral ground for decades, due to its location, sparse population and lack of ties to any country.

There would be a joint military effort to crack open the Reptilian Collective's defences, they said-most of the reptilians had entered their hidden cities and closed the doors behind them at the start of this mess. Despite repeated demands to open up and give reparations, or at least explanations, nothing had happened. So, if they wouldn't come to us, we'd go to them.

The plan hinged on mages, mainly. They could teleport people and vehicles to any location they were aware of, convert their mana into food and reshape terrain at a whim, making logistics almost laughably simple and removing the need to dig to the Earth's core. The mages would take the assembled forces deep into the Collective's domain, provided the reptilians didn't have defences against teleportation, and they would take things from there.

Most of the supernaturals in quarantine, for lack of a better term, had gotten used to the routine, to the random bouts of madness, much to their families and friends' dismay. They hoped something would change, so that they could be let out, but they weren't betting on it.

But there was also the matter of Mars-and with the way people used this phrase on the news, I think "matter" deserved to be capitalised. Basically, the reptilian representatives, workers and security forces had slaughtered a large portion of the Martian expedition, then dug in around Olympus Mons, and they weren't eager to leave. They had indeed concealed weapons, confirming my theory, though not in the way I'd expected. I'd been thinking of personal subspace pockets and the like, but the weapons had been surgically, ah, introduced into their bodies, so that they were indistinguishable from organs, turning them into scaled cyborgs with attitude problems.

And that was where I came in. Well, I and people like me.

The taskforce that would be sent to Mars consisted mostly of undead, their minders (in the case of voodoo priests and their zombies, as well as other necromancers) a few ARC agents and military officers from their countries as "liaisons" (handlers), and, of course, the camera drones. People needed to see a triumph, se we had to get rid of the gloom that had enveloped the planet before it turned into something else.

After I talked with Flavius Marcus, the Legionary passed my question to his own superior. I was tentatively accepted as a civilian consultant, though I could become a Crypt agent once I finished the training course, which mostly consisted of what not to do in public. Sure, I learned to fight more efficiently and focus my powers, but as a strigoi, my mind was unnaturally-inclined towards violence and worked much faster than a human's, so that took far less than the PR fest.

As for why undead had been chosen? Well, the answers varied, depending who you asked. Most politicians said that the rest of the forces were already committed to either peacekeeping or assaulting the Collective, so we were sent (so glad to be seen as the shit scraped from the bottom of the barrel). Other people said we were sent, because, as Kenshiro would have said, we were already dead, so nobody would miss us if things went pear-shaped.

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There were also those who said our existence was an affront to the world, and mankind was sending us away to be rid of us. It sounded disturbingly close to what I would have said five years ago.

We met in Greenland too, of course, on one of the many mountain-surrounded plains. Mages were waiting to teleport us to the Red Planet-those of us that could be teleported, that is. Their spells would just slip off me like water off a duck's back, but...I had an idea for an alternative. Being unable to see their faces after I did it would be a shame, but...

We had zombies and ghouls and draugr, roused when a dragon had tried to plunder the tombs of Norwegian nobles. We had more Japanese undead than you could shake a naginata at, and even a lich from Australia, though he mostly kept to himself. I didn't know his name yet.

The leader of our merry fellowship was a colonel of the Israeli ghoul force, who didn't give his name for security reasons, instead introducing himself as "colonel". He was hunched and wiry in his unkempt uniform, but I knew that pale, ragged body housed the strength to rip through tanks and trains.

While the colonel briefed us once more on the mission's details and objectives-capture and restrain the reptilians if they surrender, use lethal force if they don't- I walked towards the lich, who turned his skull-like head, green flames blazing in empty eye sockets, to look at me as I approached.

I took one look at the robes, the headdress, the staff with carved snakes wrapped around it, and couldn't help but grin. It was niche, sure, but that was why I always loved to find another fan.

Unfortunately, I'm shit at expressing my emotions, so he took my grin the wrong way. 'So I like fantasy, 'he rasped. 'If you're going to talk shit, bite me.'

'Sorry, not a vamp. But seriously, I like Warhammer too. Though I'm not sure whether Nagash would be flattered that you're using his image, or offended for the same reason.'

The lich snorted. His face didn't, or couldn't change expression, but he sounded amused. 'Probably both. I don't always dress as him, mind. You'd be surprised what cosplays you can pull off when you look like this.'

'I know what you mean. There was this undead guy at London Comic Con two years ago, pulled off Arthas perfectly. And there was a great Skeletor a year before that.'

'...That was me. Both times.'

'Ah! Sorry, didn't know. I only saw you from a distance, you know. So...'

Written supernatural fiction has suffered since the Shattering, but games and shows have been mildly successful, if niche. That's why you always should talked with a fellow enthusiast when you met one.

'So, you can't be teleported either?' I asked conversationally as we watched a group of draugr vanished in a flash of white-blue light.

The lich shook his head. 'Not by others. Too many wards, on top of passive resistance. I'm going to teleport myself. You?'

'Oh, I'll jump.'

'...To Mars.'

'Don't be absurd,' I flashed him a smirk, and turned away, legs tensing. The departure area had been warded and covered in forcefields, in case anything went wrong. It would contain the side effects.

I cleared the atmosphere quickly, though it took me a few minutes to reach the moon from the exosphere's edge. Thank God strigoi don't need air to fly, or I'd have gotten stuck floating like an idiot.

Sure, I could have jumped much farther, but needed landmarks. So, reach the exosphere, follow the moon, find Mars. I could have just aimed straight for the Red Planet, but I'd have needed to stop and fly to it if I missed or miscalculated anyway.

The flight to Mars took longer, but I busied myself with the reactions the people on the ground must have had to my jump.

I could practically hear the lich rasp "fucking showoff."