The morning was filled with lively chatter coming from the train's locomotive. Rye and Break conversed with Vande who was found within the engine's cockpit. The conductor drove the train at a slow pace, knowing that their stop was approaching within the coming minutes.

"I never met someone so eager to learn more of our operation, had I the power I'd hire you as a Proxy for our Company," Vande said cheerily, causing the flustered ursine to offer a dopey smile.

"It is a fascinating prospect, and being an essential proponent in the services of others is an honorable duty," Rye said with a firm nod. "Were it better circumstances, we'd join your Company in a heartbeat. But unfortunately we are bound to another Company..."

"That is a shame, I'm sure Ms. Sawyer would enjoy having you onboard," Break added, giving the larger Astral a comforting pat on the back and a warm smile. "But hey, what's stopping you from coming over once your contract is up? There's nothing stopping you from doing so outside of reputation. And even then, from the sounds of it, your Executor doesn't sound one to necessarily care."

"Ms. Wright? You have it all wrong. Were it not for her aid we'd still be wandering aimlessly in Sagittarius," Rye said with a deeply seeded gloominess. His paw instinctively gripping at the tattered flag tied to his hip. "The loss was too great. This body would have served to be the feast of a more opportunistic and determined predator had Ms. Wright not intervened."

"Razel did say you and I were alike in that respect, seems she wasn't lying," Break remarked with a disheartened tone, but still trying to keep up a jubilant presence through a strained smile. "But, we survived. All we can do is keep pushing on, yeah?"

Rye ruminated on her words for a moment. It was true that he had survived, but he knew well that this constant fight for his survival was a life he wished to long abandon in favor of stable tranquility.

'When will the bloodshed end?'

'Would they still be alive had I been stronger?'

'Do they curse me for being the only one to survive?'

'Do I deserve to be the only one alive?'

Rye's thoughts spiraled, his eyes staring blankly at the train's engine that stood before him, his paw tightly bunching up the fabric of the flag in its grip. His gaze, clouded by his despair, looked down upon the jackalope that had nudged his heavier frame to the side. A considerate effort to free him from the battles deep in his mind.

"We've heard that before and it sparked something unpleasant. Sorry," Rye apologized, watching Break wave her hands dismissively.

"No mind, no mind! The fault is mine to begin with," Break said, offering him a business card emblazoned with an illustration of a noble, powerful hound delivering a letter by its maw as it left behind a streak of flames in its sprint. This was the logo of the Skyrunner Company, and with it was the address of the Company's office and the name of the Postmaster: Chime Sawyer.

"That's for you, Rye. I hope you'll consider visiting once you finish up with your contract," Break said, giving him two thumbs up and a bright smile in vain attempts to lift his spirits.

He took the card and examined the finer details for a moment, returning his solemn gaze back to Break as he pocketed it. "You say we are alike with our misfortune. If you do not mind us asking, what happened to you and your people?"

"Oh, that," she replied with a sheepish laugh. "I was seen as the runt of the tribe, and the people of Sequoia lead a nomadic life roaming the red-wooded forests of the region. The chieftain sent me on a gathering trip, and when I returned they had all but left. I was devastated, sure, but I knew I was going to be cut-off. I just didn't think it'd happen so soon."

"And that's where our glorious Postmaster came by and scooped you up. You were lucky she happened to be running by," Vande added with a lofty chuckle, pulling back on the stick that controlled the train's acceleration as he engaged the brakes. "But I am proud to work under her all the same. She built this Company from nothing, and I aim to continue serving under her to continue building toward her dream."

"Dream?" Rye echoed, looking toward Vande with a dim twinkle in his dulled eyes. "What would that be?"

"She hopes to reunite with her brother," Break answered as Vande focused on controlling the train's deceleration. "She grew up largely alone, her brother, Ding, took it upon himself to care for her. But he was swamped with Proxy work every waking day solely to ensure Ms. Sawyer lived comfortably. But what good is that comfort without the presence of another?"

"That much is true," Rye said with a low, musing hum. "But what of Ding? Did something happen to him?"

"From the way Ms. Sawyer described it, he just dropped off the face of the planet. He became unreachable," Break explained with a contemplative frown, idly fidgeting with one of her droopy ears. "So she created her own Proxy Company as a delivery service with the hopes of either running into him by chance or catching wind of him."

"And why not ask the Executor about his Company of his whereabouts? Surely the lead figure should know much about her brother, no?" Rye asked with an arched brow, truly perplexed by Ding's roundabout means of taking care of Chime.

"He worked with the Bells of Justice, the Federation Company of our country," Break said as she stepped towards the door leading to the passenger car. "While they can be freely contacted by the public, Ms. Sawyer has been complaining that they have been largely unhelpful in regard to her brother. She thinks there's something deeper going on, but who are we as mere Public Servants to question the likes of a Federation?"

The talk of Federations, Proxies, and potential conspiracies all flew right over his head. His mind was still consumed by his own anguish and guilt that ravenously feasted upon every waking moment of his consciousness. But his mind was once again focused on Break who beckoned him to follow her.

"Come on, let's go and prepare the others for the upcoming stop!" she said with an encouraging cheer.

The train ride to Corriente's Outer Ring was uneventful for the other Proxies. Cass focused on resting to replenish his depleted Radiance while the others prepared supplies Break and Vande offered them. The supplies being primarily the crops the Skyrunner Express was tasked to deliver, however Vande was willing to part with some of the food in thanks for the Proxies' deeds.

The Proxies gathered around Break as their anticipated stop drew near. The jackalope was there to ensure proper "disembarking protocol" was upheld. Cass looked over his aviator's coat that was washed clean of his blood. His discerning eyes staring at the precise spot where that dreaded tendril pierced him. However, there was no tear in the runeweave where one would expect.

As if the attack had never happened.

"All this runeweave and yet it didn't do anything," Cass remarked with an intense glare that threatened to burn a hole straight through the fabric. The heads of his compatriots turned to look at him from the sudden comment, watching him grip onto the coat with trembling fists. "What's the point, then?"

"The point is that you need to watch your RL. The runeweave ain't a solution to any and all threats," Razel retorted, pinching the bill of her hat as she looked down at the rat-kin. "Besides, those old threads are worn to shit. It's anyone's guess why Gage even let you take her coat from her navy days."

"Were it better circumstances, he'd have his own tailor-made outfit," Oriol interjected, fastening the straps of her backpack to her torso. "But Gage had a deployment time slated, and she didn't want to budge. So a hand-me-down was what he got. Better than nothing, I suppose."

"We would offer him our runic paints..." Rye's voice trailed on, dipping his digits in a wooden jar of dark-blue pigments. He used it to paint swirling markings over his body akin to the design of his tattered flag bound to his waist. Each marking that was finished giving off a dull shimmer before settling against his thick fur. "But we do not think his body would be able to maintain the Radiance drain. The paints are much like the runeweave you all wear in effect."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"But you have to paint yourself," Isles remarked, scratching an itch behind her ears. "Annoying. I'd rather have clothes."

"You know, Rye, I've been meaning to ask: why do you refer to yourself as 'we'? Was it a part of your tribe's culture?" Cass asked with a curious arch of his brow as he tied the sleeves of his coat around the waistline of his pants.

"Hm? You see, our power is bound to the spirits of the slain, and they remain trapped within this body. Our will is that of the tribe's. It is our way of honoring them," Rye answered thusly, sealing the jar of paint as he spoke before storing it in its rightful pouch. "We believe in no individuality, we never did. And we will carry on as we always have."

"Ah, perdóname, I didn't know it was tied to your loss," Cass spoke apologetically, hanging his head low with drooped ears.

"Pay no mind, Cass. You were merely curious," Rye reassured, giving the rat-kin a comforting pat on the back with his heavy paw.

Isles had her focus on Rye, her ghastly eyes glued onto his larger, burlier frame. Given her capability of seeing souls, she was only to perceive a singular bundle of dazzling, nebulous light that shone within his breast like a star. But that was his soul. There were no others harbored within him.

Rye, feeling the stare of Isles' deathly chilling gaze, turned to face her. "Is something amiss?"

The wolf-folk's eyes narrowed, her lips drawn into a ridiculing frown. "Yeah. You only have one soul. Where's the others?"

"They come when our Miracle calls for them. The Miracle is their beacon, and this body is their vessel to command. Do you doubt us?"

Isles fell silent upon Rye's final remark. She withheld her doubts for now, believing it not worthwhile to continue the line of questioning as she saw no merit in doing so. Her contract did not involve Rye, nor was Rye an object of concern in her mind as long as he remained an ally.

Not to mention Vox made digital, puppy-dog eyes in an attempt to pacify Isles' abrasiveness. This, coupled with Strafe's own pleading eyes, silenced the wolf-folk.

The train drew itself to a stop, threatening to pull the Proxies along with it unless they grabbed hold of something or someone to keep themselves steady. Once it reached a complete stop, Break removed the bulky, steel lock keeping the door shut. She then slid the door open, allowing for the Proxies to step into the city that awaited them.

"Thank you for choosing to ride with the Skyrunner Express," a trill, yet dignified voice sounded out from the P.A. system found attached to the walls. "Have a safe trip and we hope for your success during your time in Corriente."

Emboldened by Vande's parting words and with Break eagerly ushering them outside, Oriol was the first to walk out. Following soon after her was Rye as the others trailed after him with Isles taking up the rearguard of their formation.

Cass's golden eyes took in the sights of the ruined city, his gaze immediately drawn to the abundant flora that claimed the dilapidated, crumbling urban sprawl as their own. Gargantuan roots rife with sprouting, bell-shaped floors with petals colored an immaculate, purifying white. The roots weaved themselves through the windows and blown-apart walls of the giant buildings that made Cass feel like a speck in comparison.

His gaze followed the roots as they snaked along the streets littered with rubble and vehicles abandoned by their owners, coalescing into a tree that stood tall over the city's skyline. Its leaves matched the pigment of the roving clouds its branches split apart as streams of golden light flowed throughout its numerous limbs. For the tree to be visible even within the Outer Ring spoke to its sheer, impressive size.

The sound of the train's horn snapped Cass out of his fascinated trance, watching as the Skyrunner Express chugged along rails that were created before it. There was no turning back.

"According to Isles, we are currently a few blocks out from the mall," Oriol said as her feline eyes quickly examined the surrounding buildings, specifically looking for spots where one may take high ground. "We move together, stick to any and all cover, and follow my lead. I'll see to it that everyone leaves this place alive."

Oriol was cautious to move as she maintained a steady pace everyone could follow. The Proxies waded through the ruined streets and overgrowth, taking in the sights of the drab factories and enlarged housing of the Outer Ring that was forgotten to time. Housing that was designed to shelter Astrals much bigger than even the likes of Rye, and walking past wide rows of these towering buildings made the Proxies feel insignificant amongst the grander scale.

Razel herself was particularly interested in examining the strewn-about buses and semi-trucks with cabins befitting of an average Radiant. She could not resist the allure of their antiquated bodies as she examined the mechanisms contained underneath their hoods. Her deft hands moved through the rusted motors in attempts to pry free salvage as Strafe was the one to pry her free from further tampering of the weathered vehicles.

What would've been a mere ten-minute walk to the mall was extended to an hour as Oriol ensured the path ahead was safe. The threat of other Dimmed entities potentially lurking nearby was pinned to the forefront of her mind, and as she led the vanguard, she had the self-appointed responsibility of shouldering everyone's safety.

Rye, on the other hand, made use of his abilities as a seasoned tracker and hunter in concoction with his heightened senses to remain aware of the party's surroundings. While a densely urban environment such as Corriente was one he was unfamiliar with, he'd still ensure to employ all of his senses to be perceptive of any potential threats.

And then there was Isles. Her ghostly eyes are able to detect the souls within others. The selfsame eyes bore down the avenue the party found themselves entering, looking past the thick foliage of the trees that have grown wild over the years. Looking past the destroyed fountain that once stood magnificently in the center of the mall's outside plaza, the head of the proud minotaur was found in crumbled pieces amongst the overgrown grass. Her axe long eroded and split in twain by the years of heavy rain and winds.

Isles' icy gaze then pinpointed a mote of light directly ahead of them, flashing like a miniscule star silhouetted by the encompassing, grandiose mall it resided in. Seeking shelter behind a rusted archway that spanned across the large entryway of the spectacular building that was once a lively and bustling cornerstone of Corriente's Outer Ring.

She knew that familiar starlight all too well, for it was the dazzling light of one's soul.

Strafe was the first to take notice of Isles' sudden stop, turning to face the wolf-folk who was seemingly staring off in the distance. "What's wrong, Isles?" she asked with a concerned frown.

"Someone's directly ahead. Watching," Isles announced plainly. Her announcement was met with Oriol immediately stopping in her tracks, throwing her arm to halt Rye and Cass from proceeding any further.

"Everyone, take cover, now--"

"Wait," Isles interjected Oriol's command, keeping her stern, paralyzing gaze affixed to the distant soul that glimmered among the avenue's backdrop. Staring into the scope of a bolt-action rifle that was trained in on her, staring into the trembling eye of a distant sniper.

"Fuck!" shouted the sniper who instinctively ducked behind the elevated window she peered out from. She hugged her beloved rifle close to her chest as her elongated monkey's tail grabbed hold of a radio that was out of her arm's reach.

The filtered daylight shone down on the dark-brown fur of the Astral. Her short, agile body was clad in a brick-red, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows as a long, dark-grey cloak with the lettering "T.G." on its collar veiled much of her upper-body. A pair of denim jeans was worn over her powerful, well-shaped legs as a pair of sturdy boots protected her feet from the shards of glass that littered her nest.

She pressed her thumb down on the push-to-talk switch as the radio emitted a soft chirp, notifying her to continue with her message. "Frankie, I've been spotted by the Proxies you warned us about. Permission to fire?"

She released her thumb from the switch, waiting anxiously for a reply as she took a peek outside from the corner of the window. Her sharp, fiery orange eyes trying to gauge the location of the Proxies she was aiming at moments prior. "How did she even see me? My spot was perfect. Perfect! Is it her Miracle? And what was that feeling just now..."

Her mind raced to find a rationalization as to how her alleged "perfect spot" was thwarted so easily. A hand idly gripped onto the thick collar of the cloak she wore in an attempt to calm her trembling core that was shaken by Isles' domineering glare.

"Be mindful of your ammunition, we don't have the equ to spare, so you better make every shot count, Luanne," a masculine voice commanded through the radio, accentuating his words with an aggressive and confident tone. "Alfie, open the Gateway. We'll let those corrupted freakshows swarm them. And who knows, maybe that'll be just enough."

Luanne listened in to the commands being given with a growing disdain for the one giving them. "I still do not trust that Furlano guy for putting us on this contract. How did he even know Strafe was going to be here?" she questioned through the radio, releasing her button from the PTT switch with a heavy sigh.

"You saw Strafe?!" Frankie called back immediately, blasting her eardrums with his violent shout. "Alfie, scratch that last command. You are to bring Strafe directly to me. Use anything and everything you have. And Luanne: put a bullet through Razel's fucking head. Clean shot, gone."

Hearing this had Luanne staring down at her radio with disgust. "You always blabbered on and on about those two. I guess spite is the only thing you know, Frankie."

"Understood, boss," Luanne called back before tossing her radio aside. She took her rifle and moved to mount it against the windowsill. However, seeing a thick coat of ice take root against the wooden ledge of the sill raised numerous alarms in her head as she heard the low rumbling of a motorcycle in the distance.

And it was rapidly approaching her.