“Can’t sleep?” Johnny asked me, leaning against the pillar beside the makeshift bed. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

  “Mmmrgh…” I groaned, gently sitting up, “Yeah, that all the adrenaline wore off… Can’t sleep when it feels like you have Adam Smasher sitting on your chest…”

  “Yeah, well them’s the breaks when you get splatted on the wall like a bug on a windshield and broke your sternum,” Johnny quipped, “C’mon, get yourself some fresh air.”

  “Gggrrr…” I grunted out-loud as I struggled to get up, “G-uh… it hurts everywhere…”

  “Nah. In your own words, you’ve been through worse. Now suck it up,” he implored me. It took me a few seconds but I did actually manage to stand up under my own power, brushing off some of the errant dust that caked most of this room.

  Apparently my wristwatch stopped working in the melee. Shocking… “What time is it…” I groaned, rubbing my eyes and waking myself up a little.

  “Dunno. Probably around 3 or 4 in the morning.” So about five or six hours’ sleep, not too bad, considering…

  It was pissing rain and the fog rolled in after a few minutes, actually good news for us – the thick blanket helped to diffuse the lighting of our little safehouse. I imagine, if this was a clear night, we’d have seen way more of a presence here. “Mm… Looks like that airship’s still flying around,” I noted, watching its spotlights dance around in the distance, “Guess he hasn’t given up looking yet.”

  “If your ultimate prize was out there, would you?” Johnny asked me, leaning on the balcony beside me. Raindrops mixed all the sounds of the otherwise sleeping city, like a child covering his ears to remain oblivious to all the death around him.

  “No… Probably never,” I admitted, “And I wouldn’t expect Hansen to. He’s just doing his job, like an immune system purging an infection.”

  “Mm…” Johnny muttered, watching the cars drive by well below us, likely filled with BARGHEST soldiers going to the Longshore Stacks to keep the peace.

  “Something on your mind?” I asked him, noting his puzzled expression.

  He twiddled his thumbs together, thinking of his response for a few seconds. “You could say that, yeah… Know how our minds’re linked together?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “Well, when Songbird inserted herself onto the Relic, it made me… see things. But not with my eyes… It was… weird. It felt like I was seeing some sorta… I dunno… like the world was pulsating with a deep heartbeat… I was here. But I also wasn’t here. I was… somewhere else.”

  “Somewhere else…?”

  “Somewhere familiar, I guess,” he elaborated, “You ever have that feeling, when you go to a new place but you think to yourself, ‘Have I been here before?’ It was like that.”

  “Where do you think you were?”

  “I dunno, but it was bad news…” he said cryptically, “Somethin’ about this rubs me the wrong way, V.”

  “You and me both.” The rain danced along the balcony railing, finding its own path to the dark streets below. Johnny flicked his imaginary cigarette over the side while I stared off into oblivion, pensively biting my lip.

  “And do you actually believe that this Songbird chick’ll keep her word? What do we know about her, anyway? I mean, really know about her?”

  “Hm…” I mumbled to myself, still passively listening to the water, “Well… We know she’s an outstanding netrunner. Like Bartmoss-level, as I said last night. And she’s one of the President’s personal detail aboard Space Force One. Which means she’s either insanely well-connected or insanely talented. Willing to bet the latter if she could interface with that tank thing, not to mention the Relic.”

  “Definitely… And how much’re you willin’ to bet that they’re not the only pieces of equipment she’s tampered with over the past week or so?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Space Force One, V,” he stated plainly, “Do the math. You think someone with her skills would allow herself to get punked by some fuckin’ street-trash chair jock? Think the onboard systems don’t have redundancies to prevent this exact sort of attack from happening? Come on… Are we just gonna keep ignoring the smokin’ gun in the room, here?”

  Definitely not, I agreed with him here. “It makes sense… But then we fall down this whole other rabbit hole. Let’s assume that she brought down the spacecraft. Why…? And why Dogtown, of all places? Yeah, we have a smoking gun, but we don’t have the hand that pulled the trigger, nor the intended target… So where’s that leave us?”

  “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the person holding the gun’s the one that fired it, though. Sure, someone else could’ve handed it to her, maybe she found it on the ground, I dunno. But I don’t see any other badass runners linin’ up to shake hands with the President, do you?”

  “Okay, granted. But we still don’t have a ‘why.’ Why would she do this?”

  Johnny pulled himself up onto the balcony, letting his legs fall idly in front of him. “We know a couple things. She was critical of Myers’ policies in the expo or museum or whatever the fuck that place was. We know she had Myers’ trust, enough that Myers apparently doesn’t suspect her.”

  “If you’re so sure, then why isn’t Myers, though?” I said with a raised eyebrow, “It’s not like the thought never occurred to her that someone within her organization could potentially disrupt her plans.”

  “You ever heard of the expression, ‘The poor craftsman blames their tools?’ That’s Myers,” he replied with certainty, “They can see their crew as just that - tools. I know these sorts of people. Agendas run deeper than the Mariana Trench, and they hate opinions. These aren’t your garden-variety wholesale corpo bullshitters. These are professional sociopaths. They’ll make you think you’re playin’ the game while they’re off runnin’ circles around you, turnin' your own opinions against you. Fuck knows what’s goin’ on in their heads, just assume they’re playin’ with yours.”

  “So… wait, no, I don’t follow.” God, I'm tired…

  “Fuck… I gotta spell it out for ya?” he shook his head in admonishment, “I repeat. Songbird, promises a cure-all in exchange for the President, whose life was probably not even on the line had it not been for this chick in the first place. Came down in Dogtown. Why Dogtown? Fuck knows. But I'm willin' to bet she's got beef with Myers." Johnny took a brief pause, contemplating something else that just came to mind. "Actually, come to think of it, how do we even know she contacted you after all this shit went down in the first place? What if she spiked us, then put SF1 in the drink once she knew you were wrapped around her finger?”

  Sent us a distress call before the spacecraft was in distress? Hm. Okay, I had to give him that one. Anyone with her capabilities could’ve knocked SF1 out at any point, might as well only do it when you could be certain of your insurance policy. “But that still leaves us with the question you just said – what about Dogtown is so important that you’d risk the President’s life for it? Not to mention that she could’ve died, herself, thanks to Hansen’s missile battery.” I still found it hard to believe that he had any missiles left after the War. Maybe it surprised Songbird as well…

  “Mm. There’s a lot of unknowns here,” Johnny admitted with a silent shrug, “And who knows if this supposed cure even exists. Probably doesn't.”

  “And the one person who does know if it exists is probably in Hansen’s hands right now,” I frowned, “Wait… Hansen.”

  “What about him–” Johnny’s eyes briefly met mine. “No, V… Don’t.”

  “Johnny, we have Myers. That’s a hell of a shield to get behind. If we go to see Hansen, maybe we can use her as a bargaining chip, see if we can get him to give us Songbird and the cure.”

  “Or he’ll fuckin’ kill you to finish the job he started, just on principle alone,” Johnny sneered at me, “Remember who killed half your old unit.”

  “Hansen didn’t. He was just the tool. Myers is the craftsman, right?” I continued, walking back into the main room with Johnny re-apparating to my left, “A very resentful tool. If he’s got a bone to pick with Myers, we could use that.”

  “Yeah? And what, you just gonna walk up to his base of operations, pop in to say hello?”

  “Why not?” I said matter-of-factly, rummaging through the clothes pile looking for something to wear… Fuck it. I’ll go out and buy something. “Come on.”

  “Well… Not like it’s the most insane thing we’ve done in the past week…” Johnny relented, “And let’s be real. Songbird ain’t knockin’ on that door any time soon. But then what’s the plan, huh? Go up to him, say ‘Hey, I got the President. Mind if we talk?’ What for? We don’t even know if he’s involved in this shit. Besides, wasn't the original deal to get the cure once Myers is safe?”

  “Sure, but we don’t know how deep this goes, either. You said it yourself – these people are professional sociopaths. And there must’ve been a reason why Songbird chose Dogtown. Maybe Hansen knows something we don’t. Maybe this whole thing was a play from the beginning.”

  “Listen, V. I’m all for the idea of puttin’ the President’s life on the table and gambling with it, but not if it’s a bad bet,” Johnny said with a raised tone, “Think about it. You’re bein’ impulsive. You got a game-winning card in your hand, so don’t use it ‘til the other side goes all-in.”

  “So… What, we just wait for this miracle cure to materialize?” I scoffed at him, “First of all, we don’t know where the hell Songbird even is, or if she's still alive, both of which leave us without an exit strategy regardless. Second, she could also just as easily be full of crap. I mean… We're supposed to be looking for a cure, right? Well it's not here. What are we even doing here, anyway… Why are we even in this situation, if not for the cure?”

  “A fair question,” Johnny admitted, “Desperation. Not bein’ able to say no. And let’s not forget the noose ‘Saka has round your neck if you leave.”

  “At this point I’m not sure which is worse, dealing with Arasaka's assassins or dealing with Hansen's. And it's not like Myers would ever keep her word, not to someone like me…”

  “If you want my two cents, I say follow the cure. If we assume it exists, who’s gonna have it? Cause it sure as fuck ain’t on-board SF1.”

  “Yeah… Unless we missed it…” I mulled, “Myers did have that experimental collagen healing stuff. Maybe it really is that simple? We got caught up in everything and just… didn’t look hard enough? Could it really have been that easy?”

  “Doubt it. It's gotta be in Dogtown, otherwise, why land here? And if it is, then who else’s gonna have it but Hansen,” Johnny continued the same thought I had, “Sides, he’d have ripped the plane apart by now. But we’re again goin’ along with ‘ifs.’ No guarantee this thing even exists.”

  “And, again, the only person who would know is somewhere out there… We've come full circle…” I muttered to myself, sitting down and sighing in defeat, “Fuck…”

  “Words right outta my mouth…” Johnny nodded in agreement, “We don’t know how deep this goes, V. Tread carefully.”

  “Yeah… You’re right…” I said while twiddling my fingers together, “Alright, then what’re our options… We still have Myers. But how does that help us, really? If we don’t have the cure – if the cure even exists, as we've said – what good is she? We have nothing to bargain with apart from Songbird’s word. She won’t help us get out of Dogtown alive if we give Myers to Hansen, and we can't leave alone since Arasaka will still be after the Relic, Myers or not. Which means–”

  “We’re fucked,” Johnny finished my sentence with a definitive end.

  “Yeah… Yeah, we’re fucked…” I bit down on my lip and took a seat on the mattress again, glancing back over at Myers, still sound asleep. And to think that all this was for nothing… No, I couldn’t believe that. I just can’t. “There’s gotta be something we’re missing…”

  “I mean, you could just throw her off the balcony, then tell Hansen where she is, give him the credit. Songbird’ll be none the wiser.”

  “Hah… As awesome as that plan sounds, that still gets us no closer to the cure. Songbird wants Myers alive.”

  “Does she, though?” Johnny protested, “I mean, she did down SF1, according to our line of thinking. Myers could’ve easily bit the dust at multiple stages.”

  “Right, but then why did she try and save us? Why did she give us an escape route?”

  “Hmph, fair point…” he sulked, “Fuck… Feels like we’re a couple’a roadies tryin’ to untangle a bundle of wires.”

  “Tell me about it– God…” I groaned in pain as I tried to lie down again, “Nope… I– I guess I’m sleeping sitting up…”

  “Still think you should just finish her off,” Johnny said with a pensive voice, “Face it. ‘S what you’d do if you weren’t dying.”

  “No, Johnny… I’m not gonna kill her…” I sighed – hang on… a lightbulb suddenly came on… “Wait… Do we know that Hansen would kill her?”

  “He shot her spacecraft outta the sky, then sent BARGHEST after her, pretty fuckin' sure he does,” Johnny sneered.

  “No, no… Think about it. What did he say on the radio? What were his words…” I quickly stood up, “He doesn’t want another war. Which is exactly what he’ll get if he executed Myers. What if he shot SF1 down because he wants a bargaining chip of his own? What if he wants her captured but alive?”

  “Mmm… And what good would a bargaining chip be if Myers was dead…” Johnny’s eyes squinted, “Think you might be onto something. But why would he hold onto Myers in the first place?”

  "Who knows - Retribution, perhaps? A lifetime of pain and dishonor, redeemed? What would you do if you got your hands on Arasaka-Sama?" I posited, standing up again, "Look, let's not worry about Hansen's motivations, let's just keep our own goals in mind."

  "Sounds like as good a plan as any. Let's get it done."

  “Alright… Hang on… I need to make a phone call…” I quickly scrambled over to my backpack, retrieving my phone and heading out to the balcony again… Alright, what’s her number…

  “Who’re you gonna call?”

  “The only person I trust enough to handle this–” As if by divine intervention, the phone rang in my hand and startled the crap out of me. “God!– What… Delamain?!”

  “Good morning, V, your car is pulling up to the entrance now, would you like me to–”

  “Fine, whatever, I’ll be down in a bit,” I said flatly, hanging up on him and scrounging through the clothes again… Gotta find something to put on… It’s too cold… Wait. I have my car now. I can just put my jacket on. Okay… Hansen, huh… Maybe it’s not the worst idea…

  –

  “Hey, Sarge,” Scars grinned as she approached, still dressed in her border patrol uniform, “Late night, huh? See you got Yorinobu's little 'gift.' Everything okay?”

  “Scars, how’re you doing?” I asked her with a pleasant smile on my face, “I wish I had good news for you.”

  “Hell, you askin’ me to come in here after SF1 went down, why the fuck would I think it’s good news,” she crossed her arms, “Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t about the President.”

  “Mmh…” My smile turned into a frown almost immediately. I couldn’t lie to her. “Well…”

  “No,” she interrupted me with a hard scowl on her face, “Just no.”

  “Can I explain, at least…?”

  “Rrrgh…” she growled, pacing around for a few moments, “You have thirty seconds.” She would cut me in half without a second's hesitation if I said the wrong thing, of that I was certain.

  “I’m going into the lion’s den. Meeting with Colonel Hansen directly. I need you to watch her and provide proof of life when I do. Just watch her.”

  “Wait, hang on. You’re actually meeting Colonel Hansen, the same guy whose battalion wiped out half our unit?! Oklahoma. Moto. Tank. Yankee-"

  "Doyle survived, she just went insane," I interrupted, "I found her two years after. Most of her frontal lobe is gone from the shot she took, but she made it. Somehow."

  "She- Whatever, fine. All that lunacy aside – you’re asking a lot, you know that?” she sneered, “You’re asking me to babysit the woman responsible for the near-extermination of my tribe. And for what? So you could have a fucking conversation with the man who nearly wiped us out?! You know he would just fucking kill her anyway. Fifteen seconds.” Scars was being dead-serious with the countdown, too.

  “I’m looking for a cure to the Relic condition. He’s my best shot at finding her right now. Once I get it, escort Myers out of Dogtown and do whatever the hell you want with her for all I care,” I said plainly, “I’m serving her up on a silver platter to you. Naira, please. I need your help–”

  “Fuck you,” she lashed out, “You have any idea of the shit this woman can pull out of her ass?! What gives you the right to give me orders anymore?”

  “Nothing,” I frowned, “I'm not your commanding officer anymore. Look, I know how hard this’ll be–”

  “No. You don’t,” she quickly shot back, “You don’t have any fucking clue. You’re asking me to put on a fucking mask for someone who killed my fucking family. Don’t you dare tell me it’s hard! You don’t know the first thing about that word.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Okay, okay… Fine, I’m sorry,” I bowed my head to her, “Scars, um… I know what this means, but I’m on borrowed time. I wouldn’t have come to you if I had any other options. So I’m asking you as a friend. Please.”

  "Mrrrgh…" she sneered at me, "So let me get this straight. You think Colonel Hansen, a guy who spent years killing us, would be willing to save your life because, what, you assume he wants the President? How do you even know he won't just give you a placebo, place some sort of toxin in the cure - how do you know it even exists?"

  At least I'm still alive thirty seconds later. That's a good start. "Because he's likely holding a third party - a woman who supposedly has this cure. She went down with Myers in the crash, went missing during the battle I'm willing to bet that Hansen has her in custody, and if he does, I'd trade the President for her."

  “Hm. There's a lot of unknowns there. Have you met this woman?"

  "Not in-person, no."

  "Do you trust her?"

  "Not a chance. But I trust her more than Myers."

  "So you don't know if she has the cure or not, she could be conning you. And you don't know if Hansen has her, either."

  "No… No, I don't."

  "And that’s assuming that Hansen doesn’t just blow you away the second you approach his compound. I mean – what the fuck are you thinking?”

  “That I have the President, and he might have a cure. And if he wants Myers so badly, he’ll have no choice but to get an audience with me.”

  “And you’re willing to bet your life on that?”

  “What’s it matter? I’m dead if I do nothing regardless. At least I have a shot this way. And if I don’t come back by daybreak, then you can lop her head off where she stands, for all I care.”

  Scars’ glance shot up to the dull light emanating from the eighth floor of the hotel, returning back to me with a pensive, angry expression. She was trudging through a deep reservoir of feeling behind those eyes of hers, I had no doubt. “Mmmh… She needs to be taken out of Dogtown alive…”

  “That's what the deal was. But once I have the cure in-hand, well,” I grinned, “Then she’s all yours.”

  “And then what? Am I gonna have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life cause the Rose mysteriously disappeared under my watch? Isn’t that just passing the buck?”

  I replied with a shake of my head. “I thought of that, too. Her security detail – their bodies are still at the crash site. Could always load up a truck, drive them out to a scav haunt in the badlands, make it look like she was caught trying to escape. Whatever you need, I'll help out.”

  She paced around some more, her mouth twitching involuntarily – something she does when she’s thinking. “I’m going AWOL for this. You know that. No one can know what we’re doing here.”

  “I know,” I said with a heavy tone over the pouring rain, “I understand if you don’t want to.”

  “Mmh…” she thought for a few more moments, “For the head of that nch??í… Anything. But if I do this, you owe me. You owe me a lot.”

  “Agreed,” I smiled, “Thank you, Naira.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she hissed back, “Let’s go meet this woman. After you.”

  We both headed inside together, walking past my fixed-up car to the elevator. “Still have that old Skyline, I see,” she motioned behind her as we traversed the main lobby.

  “Still got your MaxTac uniform… Nobody gave you shit for that?”

  “Bah, I’d like to see someone try,” she said, letting out an exaggerated groan, “You and I both could chew these pups for breakfast. I wear whatever the fuck I want and no one’s gonna tell me no.”

  “Fair enough,” I replied, hitting the button for the eighth floor and leaning up against the wall.

  “I see you got some new war paint. Where’d you get it?”

  “Panzer,” I said bluntly, not willing to explain the enigma that was the Chimera in a single sentence. Naturally Scars’ eyes widened as soon as I said that word. “Yeah, I know… Anyway, just remember, she doesn’t know you–”

  “So don’t give away any information, yeah, I know. I’m not one of your oblivious clients, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Alright,” I put my hand on her shoulder… surprisingly, she didn’t brush it off, “Thanks, Skara.”

  “Don’t…” she quickly hissed back, looking down and to the left. Her eyes danced along the ground, lost in thought. “You know damn well what this means.”

  “What?”

  “It means, if this doesn't work out, if Myers gets away, we’re done, Tokai. And even if it does, that's it. It's over. I just can't.”

  “Wait, what? Scars, it’s–”

  “Shut up,” she sharply interrupted, “I know I said you owed me. But the more I think about it… just… no. You’re asking me to be in the same room with the woman who murdered my tribe. Seven thousand people. My people. Dead. Because of her… And I doubt that she would even remember it. Wouldn’t even be a blip on her radar. Fuck me if she didn’t laugh about it over coffee and biscuits sitting in that fuckin’ office of hers. And you expect me to play nice with her?!”

  “I’m sorry, I–”

  “You were my sister when we served, Sarge. I would follow you to the gates of Hell. Why the fuck would you use that loyalty for something like this…”

  “Naira–”

  “No. I'll do this job, but no more. After this, don’t ever talk to me again,” she said sternly, throwing open the elevator door with a thunderous fury. “Now let's get the fuck on with it.”

  My heart immediately sank into the pit of my stomach. I could no longer look at her. She was right – what I was asking of her… I should’ve never contacted her in a million years. Not for this job. I felt like breaking down and begging forgiveness. But I couldn’t. Not now. We had to focus.

  The corrugated metal door opened with an unceremonious squeak. “V,” Myers said as I walked back in the room, the President apparently already awake, “Where’d you go– Wait, who’s that?”

  “Myers? Meet Sergeant Naira Skara. MaxTac border control. She’ll be your security detail.”

  “MaxTac?” she replied incredulously as Scars approached her, “What the fuck’re you thinking, bringing badges into this?!”

  “V and I go back years,” Scars crudely interjected, “I owe my allegiance to her, not to my badge.”

  “She’s an expert on all things trafficking, it’s quite literally in her job description to know the routes inside and out,” I explained to her, “If you want out of Dogtown, she is your best shot. And I trust her with my life – all the more pertinent, given that my life’s what’s at stake here.”

  “Mmmh…” Myers thought carefully, getting up and glaring at Scars from head to toe. I noted my friend’s twitchy pinky, telling me she was about two steps away from bludgeoning this woman to death, and I wouldn’t stop her for a billion eddies. “Sergeant, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Scars said with a heavy swallow.

  Myers got up and paced around the room for a few seconds, occasionally stealing glances up at the pair of us. I sensed that she was running her brain like a supercomputer, thinking of every possible scenario in her head. “You certainly got a spirited look in your eyes. You and V go back a while, you said?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Scars replied stoically.

  “Military, I’m guessing? In that case, you can call me Intrepid.”

  “Corsac Two,” she said without batting an eye.

  “Mm… Corsac Two, huh? The squadmate,” Myers raised her brow, “I see why she trusts you.”

  “You be okay?” I asked them both, “I’m heading out to look for Songbird. Going to try and find the escape pod, see if I can run her down before the sun comes up.”

  “For now,” Myers nodded, “I’ll contact someone of my own. See if I can get in touch with him.”

  Scars instantly shot a look back at me, glaring in disapproval. I knew exactly what her issue was – the more people, the harder it’d be to cover up any ‘accident’ she had planned.

  “That’s fair,” I broke the silence to keep the peace, “Do whatever you have to do.”

  “I will. Keep in touch,” Myers ordered before turning back to Scars, holding out her hand, “Pleased to meet you, Naira. I’m Rosalind.”

  Shockingly, my friend - or, well, whatever we were now - didn’t suddenly lop her hand off right then and there, instead reluctantly accepting the handshake and even giving Myers a reassuring smile. I hesitantly turned around, leaving Scars and Myers to their own devices – hopefully, if this plan works, I can have this mystery cure in-hand by the time the sun rises. Maybe I could even extract Myers personally with Scars in tow. Hell, I’d be more than willing to lend Scars my shovel if Myers took a nasty spill between here and there. Though I really shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

  “Corsac Actual, comms check,” Scars chimed in over the earpiece.

  “Got you, Two,” I confirmed, trying my best to loosen up a bit and stifle the anxiety and emotional gut-punch that this whole job was. My body still being in a lot of pain certainly wasn’t helping, either… Dammit. Why’d I do this…

  “Ah, Myers and Scars. A match equaled only by a power outlet and an unsupervised toddler with a fork,” Johnny groaned, appearing beside me as I got off the elevator and walked to my car.

  “Yeah, well it’s not like I’m calling up Rita for this,” I replied with a shrug, “Scars is the most capable person I know. Not to mention that she’s loaded with more chrome than the 1950s. She’ll be fine.”

  “Mm, and her presence really soured Myers’ mood, which always puts a smile on my face. Any day a shadowy cunt like her gets a dose of humility’s a good day in my book.”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” I said while carefully placing Izanami in the passenger seat, “I don’t like her, either. Do I want her dead? Not necessarily. But I sure as hell wouldn’t shed a tear about it.”

  “All that said… You be okay?” Johnny asked with surprising humility.

  “Hmm… No. And I really don’t want to think about that fact,” I admitted with a heavy sigh, “Scars is right. I’ve asked too much of her.”

  “Just get high and wasted. ‘S what I usually do when I run my friends away.” Honestly that doesn’t sound too bad right now…

  I glanced over to the tallest building with the lights still on, the Black Sapphire Hotel, and it stared right back at me with a cold, imposing presence I’d not felt in many years – not since I first laid eyes on Arasaka Headquarters in Tokyo. The massive structure was visible deep into the Badlands, dominating the land like a great, wrathful god. There is nowhere else that Kurt Hansen could possibly be but here. And if he’s not – well, I had no doubt he’d come running back the second he heard that the woman escorting the President walked in through the front door.

  Miyoko fired right up like I never left it, the S20 straight six barking into life and hanging on a low idle at 700 RPM, providing a droning note that allowed my mind to wander away from Scars and back onto Hansen. I had to speculate on the motivations behind why he wanted Myers so badly – of course, my initial impression was a sense of respect and honor for the men he lost under his command. She left him with nothing. Just… left him. Like how Arasaka left me, except the NUSA took his men down with him. What a punch in the gut – you serve your ass off for years, and not only are you expended, but your entire unit disavowed because of corporate bureaucracy. I’d be pissed as hell, too.

  But how pissed, exactly? Sure, the wrath of man is a bottomless abyss in someone like Hansen, of that I have no doubt. Would he risk it all on the head of the President, though? Would I risk it? I suppose I had the answer to the second part of that question, considering Myers is under the custody of Scars right now. I should’ve just turned around and left, in retrospect. Left Songbird to her own devices. Left Myers to be captured by Hansen. What the fuck am I even doing anymore…

  The further down the rabbit hole I go, the more self-doubt seems to be creeping in. I can’t help but think if I’m doing the right thing or not. Am I really making a difference? If Hansen were to execute me as soon as I walked through that door, what would it matter? All these intrusive thoughts, yet I continue to push myself. The more I’m here, the more it reminds me of the War, how we could never seem to escape our destinies. We fight until the reinforcements arrive. Then we retreat. The reinforcements are captured or slaughtered, and we fight again. And again, and again. Over a dozen battles in the span of two years. And now the President herself is standing amidst the rubble. As if we’re nothing more than toys in some kid’s box, and when he got bored with playing with us, just put us away and left us all to rot. Nothing’s changed, at least nothing on the surface. And that’s all that people give a fuck about in this city.

  Hansen… The Kurt Hansen. I still haven’t wrapped my mind around it. Even as I pulled up to the Black Sapphire’s entrance, I doubt it’d hit me until I saw him with my own eyes. Part of me just wanted to scream. If only to remember what it is he had done – to me, and to my unit. I suppose that’s war, but it seems that both of our wars are far from over. What a bizarre world we live in where this seemed to be the most sensible idea of all.

  “Hey!” someone shouted over a loudspeaker.

  A man in a tricked-out Militech Centaur exoskeleton stood firm in front of my car, staring me down.

  Don’t make a sound, V.

  “Outta the car, scop!” one of the goons ordered, leveling his weapon at me. I slowly took my hands off the wheel and let the driver’s side door swing open like it was made of glass. A single sudden move and that Centaur would put a thermal charge straight through my chest.

  “I’m here to see Colonel Hansen,” I declared, retrieving my sword from the passenger seat and holding it up for them to see, “I am the President’s bodyguard. I’m here to parley.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” one of them shouted at me, training his assault rifle at my head, “Why the fuck should we–”

  “It’s okay,” a voice called out over the loudspeaker… Hansen… “That’s no way to treat our esteemed guest, now is it? Show her in, I’ll deal with her myself.” His voice was chilling… deep, gravelly, tinged with a long-rooted anger.

  “Mrrgh…” the soldier grunted, backing off as I closed the door and stared him down, “You try anything… and you’re dead where you stand.”

  “Likewise if I find a scratch on my car.”

  “Ooohhh…” he mocked me, “I’m so scared… Heh, don’t worry, Jap. We ain’t touchin’ it.” Classy people all around, I see…

  I could feel them all breathing down my neck as I headed up to the door. They were all looking at me, just begging for an excuse to pull the trigger. Talking amongst one another in hushed whispers…

  “Is that a ‘Saka uniform?” one of them said.

  “Don’t look like any I’ve ever seen…”

  “I bet she’s full of shit… No ‘Saka scum’d be caught dead with the Prez…”

  “Looks like she got a limp goin’ on…”

  Stepping inside was like entering into some avant-garde fever dream. The whole place was dressed in a classic art-deco finish, with upper floors flanking either side of me, yet I didn’t see a single soul. Despite that, I felt nothing but eyes on me – I had no doubt that a single wrong move would see these doors burst forth like a tidal wave, carrying nothing but the finest wartime-issued heat imaginable.

  “Like what I done with the place?” Hansen’s voice boomed over a nearby loudspeaker, “Welcome to my humble abode. Don’t bother taking your shoes or coat off – you won’t be staying for long.”

  A massive green banner dominated the center of the foyer, bathing the room in a pale, sickly glow. My nerves screamed in protest, reminding me of every last one of my injuries and how compromised I actually was – I could never fight my way out of here. Certainly not against Hansen’s men. They held the upper rafters… a single flank from both sides would erase me.

  Where did I go wrong with my life that this became a good idea…

  The entire lobby has been converted into a barracks. With no roof ever installed, the building was essentially a massive donut circling around the main floor, letting the rain spill in from above. The sewers were overwhelmed, spilling hot, acidic water all over the floor, churning up smells of rot and decay. It’s honestly preferable to where we stayed in places like Bakersfield, but that isn’t a high bar to clear.

  Unfinished windows shone into rooms extending as high as I could see, providing near-infinite vantage points for enemy snipers. "Fantastic work, V… Just open yourself up to anyone and everyone, why don’t you… Well, too late now,” Johnny said, appearing beside me as I walked down the massive promenade, “Y’know, I never figured you for the type of woman to just bend over and take it raw, but that’s exactly what’s gonna happen. You know that, right?”

  Why does he always say shit like that… “What difference does it make, I’m dead anyway. Here, well, I have a shot, at least…”

  “No, everyone else’s got a shot at you,” he quickly snapped back, “But what do I care. Not like I’m also gonna be killed by this lunacy.”

  An elevator quickly descended from the top floor, going fast enough that it almost seemed as if it was in a freefall before finally slowing down. Hansen, I presume…

  I eyeballed turrets on either side of me, along with a pair of other elevators flanking Hansen, still resting on the uppermost floors. I had no doubt they were filled with people just itching for some target practice… God, what the fuck are you doing… Going out on a frozen lake and just winging it, hoping to whoever's listening that you don’t break through and fall into certain death.

  I could’ve been a dancer…

  I could’ve been on stage, performing a lovely baton routine…

  But no… You just had to be a soldier…

  Here he comes… Game-face on…

  The man more closely resembled a mech with a human head affixed to the top, his footfalls landing with sharp, metallic clangs despite his standard-issue military boots. Steel yourself, V. Look the lion in the eye. Give no ground. Remember what you’re here for.

  “Well now, isn’t this a surprise…” he growled at me, backed by an equally massive hulk of a man behind him, “Leave us, Bennett.”

  “Uhh… Kurt? You sure?” the man replied with a thick southern drawl.

  “You heard me. Get the fuck out. And take your pets with you.”

  He silently nodded, albeit with a sense of perplexed fear in his eyes, motioning over his head for everyone to stand down. He and two others on either side of me headed up the elevator on the left, leaving just Hansen and I staring each other down on the main floor.

  His ferocious body seemed to be carved out of marble, a pure Olympian build if ever there was one.

  “We don’t take kindly to guests dropping in uninvited,” he continued, his thick voice filling the void of the room with ease, “Especially not ones who drag shit all over the carpet. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t carve you up and ship you outta my town in shoeboxes.”

  “I’ll give you three. We both have something each other wants. We’re both soldiers fighting our own wars. And I’m willing to bet you want yours to end.”

  “And what the fuck would you know about it, huh?!” he quickly fired back, “You invade our home. Cut down a platoon of men and women I’ve known for years. Then take my Chimera out for a joyride before leveling a building around it.”

  “I have. And I’m sorry – I know what it’s like to lose soldiers under your command.”

  “Hah! You’re sorry… Maybe my translators are acting up. But did you just say you’re sorry?” he glared down at me, walking close enough that I could feel his breath in my hair, “This isn’t high school, ‘Saka. ‘Sorry’ ain’t worth shit to me.”

  “Is the President?” I snapped back at him, holding up my phone playing a live feed from Scars’ helmet cam, “A life for a life.” Myers was sat on the mattress, looking directly at the live feed. I could instantly tell from Hansen's expression that he knew I wasn't bullshitting him - she was alive, and he wanted her. He wanted her badly.

  “Mmh… A life for a life, huh?” he scowled, his massive body casting a shadow on me, “No. You seem to be a capable soldier, I’ll give you that. You got into Dogtown, you could probably get back out again. So it's not me you're afraid of. You came here because you want something. Get to the point.”

  “Fine. Songbird,” I said bluntly, “I want Songbird.”

  “T’ch…” he scorned with a click of the tongue, backing off and pacing around the room a bit, “Songbird… Escapes from her cage at long last, now she can’t help but pick up the garbage in her talons and drop it like a dead rat at the doorstep. Why don’t you tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you where you stand and resume my search.”

  “Because she’s still under guard. One word and her head is in your town square, and the whole world will come crashing down on you.”

  “Oh really now? The same world that eats at my soirées? The same politicos who bought two submarines from me last month?” he gloated through bared teeth, “And you think I give even half a fuck about the president of a has-been nation like the NUSA? A nation that left us all to rot in this God-forsaken city?”

  “I do,” I replied sharply, “And I think you want her badly enough that you’re willing to work with me.”

  “Hah, seems we got all the balls in the world on this very floor,” he shot back with a laugh, “What’s your name and rank, soldier?”

  “Captain Valerie Tokai. Former Second Expeditionary Regiment, First Company, Third Reconnaissance. Most people call me V.”

  “Mm… I know that unit. The Hunting Foxes. Appropriate for catching birds,” Hansen nodded slightly, “Kurt Hansen. 42nd Infantry, Second Special Troops.” He held out his hand with a surprisingly courteous smile. I was half-expecting him to draw his knife and stab me with it as I reciprocated the handshake, but it never came. All I received was a firm, tough grip that seemed poised to crush my arm before I retreated. “Organic, huh? I must say, I’m surprised. And you are clearly not from Myers’ security detail. Tell me then, Captain, what brings you here?” He was surprisingly eloquent for a man of his imposing nature.

  “You know about my unit?” I asked with a puzzled look on my face.

  He paced around with a sly grin on his face. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the phrase, ‘Know your enemy, know yourself.’ I know all about your unit. Demoralized, broken, never resupplied… Sure."

  "And I know about yours," I countered, "Disavowed by Myers. Left for dead behind enemy lines after the invasion failed-"

  "Hah, failed? Funny way of looking at it. Last I checked, I was still here," he quickly countered, "You know, it's interesting how Arasaka treated you all while everyone else was off gallivanting in the city. Almost like you were bait."

  “What?”

  “Ah… That never occurred to you, did it? Not surprising,” he raised an eyebrow, still slowly walking back and forth, “You ever think about the battle plan here? Second Armored set up inside Serenisands' borders, you on the beach, not the other way around. A single reconnaissance platoon dangling in front of the juicy prize, with the bear waiting inside the cave… Classic carrot and stick tactic. A favorite of the Japanese military.”

  No… No, that can’t be right. “No, Second Armored was countering the three battalions to the south. We were advance warning for the flanks, not front line troops.”

  “Then either your command was incompetent, or they were setting you up,” he said bluntly, “Arasaka wanted nothing more than to establish itself, and they were willing to pay any cost. Including a sacrificial lamb with no ammunition just dangling for the first dog to bite, so the rest could come back with the counterattack. I can see the headlines now… ‘Arasaka Establishes Martial Law, Fights Off Invasion.’ Welcome back to the States. Make no mistake – you’re nothing more than glorified bait.”

  His words stung like a thousand hornets. My numbed hands balled into white-knuckled fists as I struggled to maintain my composure. “And you wiped out the Armored and forced us to retreat. You didn’t chase after us because what would be the point – you’d already won.”

  "We set up our triple-A to intercept any resupply runs. And we intercepted plenty. Arasaka gave us all the supplies we would ever need. Food, ammunition, power… The horse doesn't care where the carrot came from. If Arasaka wanted to use you as bait, then why shouldn't I do the same damn thing," he said with a sharp, matter-of-fact tone. I wasn't sure whether to feel offended or validated, possibly both. "I've seen you in the news a lot, you know. The infamous samurai mercenary… Someone's been busy. You've met with some powerful people. Ironic that your little escapades would lead you right back to war. Seems like you never left by how you made yourself at home. You know, under different circumstances, I'd have you on as my security advisor. Right now, I'm still debating whether or not I should crush your windpipe with my bare hands."

  I stepped up in front of him, looking him dead in the eyes. "I'm dead whether or not you're the one to pull the trigger. But I'm coming to you because we're both soldiers, not monsters. You said that you left me alive to use me as bait. Well, I've outlived my usefulness, in that case, so here I am. Now if you're going to do it then get it over with. But shit or get off the toilet, because I don't have much time left, and you can't afford to have a dead President's head on your doorstep."

  Hansen's gaze remained cold and unblinking, staring straight into my soul. “My father always taught me to respect how small the world is, you never know when you’ll run into someone you remember on the street. Someone who might want to stab you in the back. Someone who might be your enemy. He taught me to never forget a face.” The colonel paused and analyzed my expressions to the most minute detail. He seemed to have a calmer tone, but I knew he was still ready to strike me down without a second’s hesitation. “Come with me. Let’s talk.”