[b][center]Chapter 16: Bleeding Ground[/center][/b]

[i]Three hours later...
Sessrúmnir Entrance[/i]

A one-armed soldier walked up to the entrance to the tower, in view of a priest guarding at the door. Behind him was the Type-52 Infantry Support Vehicle on which he had arrived, the two-man, metallic, hovering Brute Prowler. His shoulder had a teenaged boy on it with a bandage over his eyes, his arm dragging a body bag behind him along the street.

The priest held out a hand, stopping the soldier. He lifted the head of the teenager, looking at his blonde hair and pale face, noticing some similarities to photographs. He then walked over to the body bag, opening it. Dark hair, a less pale face, but this one, also one-armed, was familiar as well, in his own way. "And you captured them?" A nod, and he zipped the bag most of the way. "How did you catch them?" the guard asked, looking them over a bit more. "This one looks like the escapee from years back, and the smaller one looks like he came out of one of those projects. You will need to bring them both in for processing, of course."

"Electrical paralysis and Narq-darts," said the man in his slight accent. With that, he continued inside.

"One moment."

The man stopped, looking back. "Hm?"

"Finish the paperwork quickly. Must be sure we have all of the arrangements ready for shipments before the next order."

There was a slight nod, too quick to be completely calm, and the transporting guard was off, into Sessrúmnir. Several minutes went by as the duo were dragged, and the man finally came to a medical bay. There were no cameras here, nobody truly wanting to see anything. It was reasonable to assume a guard would come, and the building did act as a kind of panopticon, so cameras were not necessary in all areas. All he truly needed to do was walk in as if he needed to do so, and nobody would question him for a few minutes.

The soldier unzipped the bag again on the ground after lowering the unconscious boy, taking out a large, capped syringe from his pocket. He tapped the latter, injecting the former into the "dead" man's neck.

Adán Brown's eyes snapped open in shock. He nearly screamed, but a hand closed on his mouth before it could come out. This continued for a few more seconds, a knee nudging Simon Goodman's head again to try to wake him.

"Be quiet before we are ruined," Malik said coldly. "I could have chosen not to remove the state of false death 'Fal imposed on you. We are lucky his cloak worked to bypass me as I allowed us in."

Fixer groaned softly as he awoke. He seemed to have heard the situation from Malik, so he wasn't particularly nervous. "Can you repeat where we go?"

Finally, Strongarm calmed to a degree, and the hand was removed as he panted, trying to let himself relax. Pax repeated their directives.

"You will find the robotics center according to the directions I gave you. Pretend you are a trainee for their projects. Your phone has the Monitor's frequency. Meanwhile, I will bring Strongarm to the soul capture unit. A prisoner for processing and extraction. Now go, while we settle our own business. You know how to contact us."

Quietly, Simon nodded. With that, he walked out the door, carefully setting out.

===

[i]Tsunami Sewers[/i]

Here again. Why was it always back here? The smell was rancid as ever, the decor wasn't the greatest. Her shirt was wet with blood of various species, though none, so far, had been hers. She was lucky that there wasn't a mech survey going on now. Not for survival, but because she needed to conserve ammunition where possible.

Alright, some of it was for survival. She wasn't cocky, nor stupid.

The groaning was audible behind her. Several with broken bones, just a few among the recently dead who's blood stained her knife or was caused by her suppressed gunfire. Abigail looked to her gun, checking its ammunition, and put it away, instead going to her knife. This was a better option, though slick with blood of many colors by now.

[b]"This is not your grave,"[/b] that familiar, booming voice said. Perhaps talking to her? [b]"but you are welcome in it."[/b]

One of those monsters climbed out of the trenches below. One of those "Stalker" forms, as Kira called them. It stopped before her, looking at the Runner as the voice stopped. Was this its current mouthpiece? She just glared at it, in any case.

"Look, what do you want? You gonna tell me or just drop this space zombie back into the trenches?" Headshot would not admit it, but she was scared. Not only was this technically all Flood territory, but it was actively seeking her out. They [i]knew[/i] she was here. Nonetheless, she, as always, kept her feelings behind a veil of rage.

Finally, she heard its justification for even speaking, though the Stalker did not move. [b]"Those who built this place knew what they wrought. Do not mistake their intent, or all will perish as they did before."[/b]

The scout was in no mood for philosophy. "Are you gonna give me a way into the Tower for the project? I know there's some way up."

The response was wordless, yet clear. Many fleshy tendrils coalesced, forming a pathway up on an angle that increased in steepness going up. It was like a rope ladder, up what seemed to be an elevator shaft high above. Several of those funguslike Infection forms crawled up and down, finally disappearing down into the trench once more.

Abigail just looked over the resulting pathway, nodding. She looked back toward the Stalker, having one question. "What made that form, then? The one you're using to talk to me."

[b]"You have destroyed his kin, thrown him to me to join to me."[/b]

The woman shrugged. Overall, killing a family in the sewers was pretty much standard fare for her. She grabbed the rope, starting to climb it after putting away her knife, but called back. "If I find you're screwing me over, I will hunt you down and destroy every single piece of you, bit by bit." When she got no response, she simply began to climb. Up through a hole to an elevator shaft, passing several floors.

After a long time, she finally began to lose her grip. It was just getting increasingly hard to hold on. She saw a door out near her a bit down...could she make it? The young woman reached for the wall....and slipped, losing her grip on the tentacle and falling. She only barely managed to keep from screaming, her fingertips gripping the threshold of the door. She pulled herself up, gasping as she stayed on her elbows and forearms, and began to work at the elevator door. The locktopus could open it, she knew that, and placed it on the crack of it... but heard a voice.

[color=blue]"Mother said to go on rounds... one last one before we finish. Go, Mary, I'll catch up later."[/color]

The woman swore under her breath as she topped, waited. She didn't think she could see what was talking, the woman inside, but she could not fight effectively from this angle.

She just hung there, looking back toward the tentacle. Maybe she could climb it further? ...no, it was retreating downwards. No way back. What to do... what to do...

===

[i]Ventilation System, near the Computer Core[/i]

A small, prehensile wire stuck into a panel at the side of the vent, electricity crackling along it into the computer system. Two people were talking, though through electronic impulses rather than vocal speech.

[i]"You go and find Fixer. I can go in and try to dis--"[/i]

A two-note beep, a tap on the panel with one "wave" of the wire.

[i]"Yes, yes, I'll open the door. Do you know your objective?"[/i]

A one-second, falling note chirp, then followed immediately after by a staccato series of short, rising whistles.

[i]"Very good. Now--"[/i]

A series of high-pitched "whoops" greeted her.

A sigh. [i]"I'm sorry, but no, I can't help you. Can you give me something to help a bit?"[/i] There was a pause, a transfer of data, of subroutines across the gap between one construct and the other. [i]"Thank you. I will see you later, then, provided this is successful."[/i] With that, the connection cut, the wire retreating into the sphere.

His work was done. With a soft whir, the Monitor floated further along the vent, off to find his creator and best friend.

===

[i]Undernet Remains, EM-Cyberworld[/i]

Countless platforms, suspended in a void. pieces cracked, others broken off. One could call this place a wasteland. The sky was nonexistent but for an eerie red glow. Pathways through the blackened abyss below, many of the walkways of purple cracked, entirely broken, some nonfunctuional moving walkways.

This place was a graveyard. Naught but death.

K1-R4 held her Geth Pulse Rifle low, tightly. She looked around the area, trying to find anyone, anything in this chaos.

There! A small subject ahead. She ran down the path, lunging, ducking into a somersault before standing again and coming to a stop near her subject.

The appearance horrified her. Yellow construction hat with a green band around it, a green plus sign on the front. Two yellow boots. A black body under it all between the two yellow sections, about a ball size. Not very tall, maybe two feet, three maximum. One eye was red, the other gone. Multiple holes in the helmet, code fizzing through as binary.

The Mettaur looked up at the new arrival, weak, dying. Was it all that was left?

"Please," she said, crouching in front of the helpless construct of supposedly-indestructible alloy. "How to I find the core of this data center? The information about top sec--"

A mournful whine, two sputtering fizzlings as if coughs. It was on the brink. Did it want anything?

She sighed, reaching out with the rifle, patting its head. "Can you give me the data? I... I'm going to take what I can then cause some damage." A stream of yellow code flew up her arm, filled her mind. The drug of the average Smart AI: knowledge. She smiled weakly, halfheartedly. "What can I do for you?"

The Mettaur looked up at her, coughing again...then shook its "head".

She understood. It wanted to die. But couldn't decide at the same time. "I...I'll need some help. Can you help me, then?"

Another beep, and he smiled very slightly.

[font=Herculanum][color=red]"I. SEE. YOU. INTRUDER."[/font][/color]

That voice spoke of death. Spoke of the grave, of things best left untouched. She gasped in surprise, the Mettaur coming close, though not touching.

"Shut up, Marathon!" she screamed, not caring at the moment, or at least not outwardly showing as such. When she heard nothing more, she looked to the Mettaur.

"...let's go," she said softly before walking on her way.

The woman hadn't gone three steps before she heard a scream behind her. She wheeled on the spot, rifle aimed...and saw it.

The red, glitched lines of code, reaching up from nothing to grab the virus, to assimilate it. She opened fire, destroying two of them, but only for seven more to take their place. More, more... The tendrils tore the helmet apart, engulfing the creature within. It was covered with red substances....which again flattened, becoming part of what was left of this decrepit world.

Her only ally in here, dead. She scowled, looking around for something, anything, to help her. Finally, she saw it. In the distance, a shining light. She had to get there, to see what it was. A portal? Not beyond question.

More red tentacles reached up, this time to grab [i]her[/i]. The woman was too fast for that, however. She aimed straight down, firing a barrage at the floor panel, forcing it up to protect her...and dropped under it, grabbing the edges as she edged her way over to the light, beneath the remains of this cybernetic underworld, out of range of attack.

She had no time to lose.

===

[i]Sessrúmnir Trophy Room[/i]

Hayabusa was glad that Diana was off talking somewhere else. She was busy setting up the final preparations for the project, something he did not care to stop. Still, his surveillance of the city showed strange movement patterns. Nothing overt, nothing most would get. But enough for him to know what he had to do.

The man stopped at the collection of guns, reaching for the one that he could only hold two-handed. Hitting a code on the side of the container, he opened the bulletproof, plasmaproof glass door, taking it out and holding it in both hands.

It was about black, about thirty-nine centimeters in length and sixteen kilograms in mass, weighing about thirty-five pounds. Out of no necessity to fire, he took it in both hands, the left on the grip and the right wrapped around the stock, looking it over. He moved the slide on the top back, making sure it was loaded with its customary, enormous silver-encased, explosive-tipped rounds, then looked at the inscription on the side, or what he could see without moving his hand.

[size=3][i][font=Edwardian Script ITC]is in Heaven Now[/font][/i][/size]

He could hear footsteps behind him, ones that stopped at last, and turned quickly. He was relieved, though not showing it outwardly, when he saw the armored figure. Just who he was looking for. "So I see they ate your wings, Bird," he said flatly.

The 'Bird' didn't make any response whatsoever, just staring.

"I got this for you. Hold still." Hayabusa put the weapon on the table, showing its entire inscription, and looked back to the silent one, the one who General Barkley regularly shouted at to no response. His hands pressed against one another, flat as he bowed slightly to the quiet one, and a soft light lifted out of the armor. He knew the meaning, knew the process was done.

Everything happened at once. Suddenly, the armor [i]exploded[/i]. The arm grabbed the bodyguard by the throat, slamming him into a nearby wall. The approximately twenty-year-old seeming body formed of blood and shadows. Glowing, angry red eyes, black hair down to the shoulders, teeth sharp as daggers. A charcoal suit, black leather riding boots, an intricately knotted red cravat at his neck. There was a red frock overcoat with a cape included over it all, a red fedora on his head, and heavily reddish yellow tinted, circular, wire-frame glasses with goggle slidings over his eyes. The hand that held his target, along with the other, had white gloves on with circular, five-pointed seals on their backs. The man seemed emaciated, pale, as if he had not eaten in days. In actuality, it had been over a decade, the armor keeping him from falling apart.

Hayabusa gasped in pain as the armor cracked, the shielding fading fast under the grip. "Impa--"

[i]"Shut up,"[/i] the assailant spat at him.  He was in no mood to talk. He had to eat, then he would kill anyone who got in his way. This one was as good as any other. "You are the reason I was in that...[i]thing[/i] in the first place. And you [i]mock[/i] me? Are you [i]stupid[/i], captain?"

Wheezing, and the pained man held up a packet filled with fluid, a plastic bag with red inside. "Take some... Barkley.... he's in the prison today..."

The bag was gone before he knew it. Torn to shreds, the man holding him dripping the blood down his cheeks. His body was forming better, his emaciation fading out... and there he was. Full strength again.

"Let me go..." he gasped. "Please... They won't hurt He. This isn't like Har--"

Slamming his back against the wall, nearly cracking it with the force, but definitely causing the same reverberation that often happened when such a thing happened. "Don't talk about that. Ever. Where is he?"

"Let me go..."

"[i]Where is he, Zivaku?[/i]" The name of the location was coughed, albeit almost inaudible. Only the released creature seemed to know what he had said. Finally, he released him, looking back to the gun on the table. "And the--?"

Coughed out, the armor repairing itself. "The General."

He picked it up with just his left hand, similarly checking its condition. "It's been too long since I had some decent European. And about the--"

"Full release as long as you do not harm the empress or her children. Anyone else is fair game."

A nod, and he started off...only to be stopped one more time.

"Samiel."

He looked back at the alias. "You know what to call me. And don't even try to justify yourself. I save you for later."

"Search and destroy."

A scowl, a glare, and he walked toward the wall...and through it, without even a pause or any damage.

It was going to be one hell of a night.