The execution of the nomads was a regrettable decision, but one that he had to make. He couldn't afford treating prisoners of war to free grub. Their operation had already gotten delayed by several days because of the sudden uptick in the local resistance. The pace at which Parasol and the Royalists joined forces was surprisingly slow, though last night's attack served as a wake up call, reminding him that there were still enemies gathering whose existences he was not aware of. That his intelligence network wasn't as wide as he'd wished was just a consequence of the distrust the Reorganization had against him. To win that trust, he needed to succeed in this operation no matter what.

The capture of Samarin.

The uprising there was underway. The fort hadn't fallen, but it surely would once they reinforced the forces already there. Why the Reorganization needed that place, he didn't know, but that was the task set for him.

In truth, he had two tasks, and the capture of Samarin was secondary. The capture of the most recently-awakened person from the dilapidated Cryo 6 facility, and the capture of the facility itself, was tantamount. That the dumb guy would, himself, traverse nearly a hundred kilometers of roads, jungle, patrols, and bandits, and land right in his base in the middle of a night raid, was wildly out of his expectations. Between here and there, there were countless opportunities for the man to get killed just by chace, and thus he would have failed his primary objective without realizing it.

That the other man that Jack had come with had escaped was also regrettable. He seemed talented and persuadable with the right amount of money. There was also that other man from right before the attack. He was most likely a spy, or not—it was unbelievable that that was just acting. As a professional commissioner of atrocities, Ravager knew very well how a confused and traumatized person acted. If that man were a spy, he must have been reliving some terrible memories to have been able to act that way.

That didn't matter. Jack and Frill were his prisoners now, and per Azerkali decorum, he had unfinished business with Frill.

* * *

The battalion packed up their camp and loaded up on trucks. This was Ravager's personal command—out of the 3000-strong brigade occupying the border, his absolute command extended only to 500 of them. The rest were merely collaborators under the command of various purchaseable influences—mercenary companies and corrupt governors alike.

Unlike the common horse and foot soldiers of this backwards world, he had assumed command of a mechanized force whose mobility and firepower were unmatched. They directed their loyalty solely towards Ravager, a lost soldier of Parasol, revived from a cold, decades-long slumber, risen through bloodshed as the fearsome governor of their province, their homes, their very lives.

For their forces, the trip to Samarin would not take two hours. The roads to get there were all already secured.

Not 30 minutes into the advance, the convoy halted. Frill was taken from the truck. Ravager observed as his men cut the ropes binding her hands. She was free. She looked at him, surprised, but no less seething with contempt.

"Don't be so surprised," Ravager said, "Did you know? When two Azerkali governors fight each other, they completely defeat their opponent by killing all of their enemy's beloved soldiers in front of them, before parading them through their own town, and then courteously seating them in their own office. It's soul-crushing for a prideful leader, isn't it? Making them into a governor of no one; a defanged snake; a deboned fish."

The convoy left Frill. She stood, unmoving, until the last truck was a speck in the horizon. She watched them go. She watched them disappear. She looked up into the sky—it was still early in the day. She only had her clothes on her. Ravager was right. All of her clansmen were dead. Only the children and the elderly remained concealed in their abode. Though she was concerned for their wellbeing, she could not return, for she, as well as everyone who went with the war party, was marked as a Ghost. They, who sought death for death, were considered already dead. They bid their goodbyes, and did all their crying in the ceremony. She had no tears left to weep, and no life left to live.

That's why she could forget about the massacre—you can't kill what's already dead. Ravager killed no one. She was not some governor—some snake, some fish. The dead hadn't even a desire to survive. Ravager couldn't rob her of what she didn't even value. What was honor, what was dignity, to a Ghost like her?

She looked down from the sky—it was still early in the day. She'll make it. She took a step on the road that led to Ravager.

* * *

Ravager toured Cryo 6. The cleaning operation a few weeks ago had mostly secured the area. They were also supposed to have caught Jack in the process, but that hadn't come to pass. Nevertheless, he detached a unit from the battalion to secure the area, and then he sent the rest of the battalion to support the uprising in Samarin and break the siege.

"Ah, brings me back," he remarked. Jack followed behind him, accompanied by Ravager's personal protection team. "You just woke up from here a few weeks ago, right? Headache was terrible, wasn't it?"

Jack stayed quiet.

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"I don't blame you," Ravager replied, "Before I went to sleep all those decades ago, you wouldn't ever find me giving those orders—but, don't blame me, either. I just want my son back."

They passed by a familiar part of the facility. Glass capsules lined the walls, and there was one on the floor whose door laid opened. "That thing just fall off the wall or something?" Ravager thought out loud. "You didn't feel that?" he asked, looking at Jack—not that he expected a reply.

Jack felt lost in the maze of corridors. Even if he made a run for it, he probably would just get lost in the facility. They arrived at a long, unlit hallway. The soldiers beamed their flashlights down the length of it. At the end, there was a heavy metal door.

"We'll take it from here. Secure this entrance, and at all costs, do not enter the corridor," Ravager ordered. He took out his pistol and grasped Jack by the arm, pressing the barrel against his back. The hard touch of it made Jack break into a cold sweat.

"We're ready, sir," a man in a white coat said. He carried an impressive briefcase that was surely filled with terrible instruments—or a laptop that could destroy the world?

The three of them started walking down the corridor, with Jack in the lead, gently pushed along by Ravager and his handgun. The lab tech followed closely behind. The moment Jack stepped foot in the mouth of the corridor, the ceiling by the end of the hall popped open, and two gun turrets sprung out on either side. He almost jumped backwards, to which Ravager replied by pushing the gun's muzzle against his back.

The three continued along, and the ceiling turrets stayed unmoving. They reached the door, and there, a panel on the side wall started blinking blue. The lab tech tapped a card against it, and the door opened. The air rushed in from behind them.

* * *

They entered the room. It was cold. Air conditioning?—Jack thought. He didn't quite understand how it worked, since there wasn't any ventilation noise coming from any part of the building. Stealth air conditioning?—he thought once more. It was a dumb thought, but it might make sense if the facility was intentionally designed to appear dysfunctional without closer inspection.

"Equipment's a bit basic, but it'll do," the lab tech announced. He was fiddling with a clear glass pod, inside of which was a comfy bed. A small robotic arm inside the pod came equipped with some scary-looking surgical instruments, enough that it might even come with a fully-automated kidney extraction feature.

"I'll be blunt here," Ravager said, "You won't make it out of that thing alive."

Instead of terror, Jack found himself exhaling, half in relief, half in disappointment. Ravager offered him a seat, zip-tying his legs to the chair's. "You're cautious," Jack remarked. The major looked up at him and smirked a bit. "That's the first thing you're going to say to me?" he replied.

He pulled some decades-old tea powder from a cryogenic freezer and made some half-witted joke about the Cryo Engineering Dept calling it "iced tea".

"Some guy named Robert stashed this here. Wish I could thank him in hell, but he's actually a really nice guy, I doubt he'd end up in the boiler room."

He added some ice and offered a cup to Jack—with a straw, just a little courtesy.

"You're being too nice, you know?" Jack said. Ravager smirked a bit.

"If I just said I was just following orders, you probably wouldn't take it too well."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Well, care to hear my circumstances?"

"Coz the dead tell no tales, is it?"

"Hey, I'm not like the other commanders."

"That's what they all say."

The two managed to share a laugh. That the executioner and the prisoner shared a laugh was something that they realized a bit late, but it was unreal enough that they didn't mind it. Perhaps, they both just had their circumstances.

"Really," Ravager explained, "I didn't order those massacres for nothing."

"So you knew, and you still did it?"

Jack's expression stayed unchanged. So did Ravager's.

"I knew. And I did it."

"Why?"

"Moral code in this age just isn't the same as where you and I came from, you know?"

"And that makes a difference because?"

"Survival is the law here. Our transport's capped, so's not like we could take on some POWs. We can't just slow down to let the POWs walk with us, either. If we'd just left them, they'd stab us in the back someday. So, they had to go."

Jack was laughing like his mind was slowly losing its way. He shook his head—Life is cheaper the less of it there is, is what you're saying?

"That's cold, you know that?"

"If you get hung up on things like that, you've got no right to live around here."

Jack shook his head. He couldn't wrap his head around how the snap of a finger could have that kind of power over death, but it does, and he saw how it did.

"Your son," Jack asked. Ravager's eyes met with his. It was some inexplicable sense of grief and contempt that he saw in that soul's windows.

"If you die, he gets to live," Ravager explained.

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

"Why, even?"

Ravager was taken aback. His body had gone a bit stiff.

"What do you mean?"

"Why me, of all people?"

Ravager looked to the lab tech. "It's alright, isn't it? He's gonna die anyway," he asked. "It's fine," the lab tech answered, without so much as turning his head their way.

"You caused all this, you know?" Ravager answered, "You're why the world almost ended. You're why my son is dead."