The frog and the fox walked across the plain, holding hands. Object Architecture glimmered around them as they moved through the data-processing grass, their feet not leaving tracks on the software application layer ground. The night was bright, the moon full above their heads as it ran file checksum comparisons on the data that made up the warm breeze that the two enjoyed. Stars, files being processed by the massive system, gleaming and sang overhead.

In the distance a vast chain of mountains rose, snow gleaming on their peaks, the heavy code of system operation architecture visible even as the two crossed the file sorting plain. The lights of a city of some type glimmered here and there on the mountains and the fox and the frog wondered what manner of delights, sights, and peoples lived, worked, and loved in the cities and fortesses they could see.

"We have come a long way," the fox said.

"And seen many wonders," the frog agreed.

"We have witnessed the reveal of one of the Biological Apostles and that he still lives," the fox said, closing his eyes and lifting his muzzle slightly to enjoy the feel of the maintenance files breezing by.

"But our journey is not yet done," the frog warned. He too looked up at the starry sky. "Such wonders, made because they could make it in such manner."

"We walk the paths built by those who would not listen to those who said they could not," the fox said.

A streak went across the sky.

"A shooting star," the frog said.

More streaks began shooting across the sky.

"A data-stream shower?" the fox asked as the sky suddenly filled with hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of points of light streaking across the night sky and past the digital horizon.

"A wondrous thing to witness," the frog said. "What does this omen portend?"

"I do not know," the fox said. He pointed at the lights in the distance. "Perhaps we should hurry?"

"We should indeed," the frog said.

Holding hands beneath the starry sky, filled with the ever watching moon and the streaks of millions upon millions of shooting stars, the fox and the frog continued on with their journey.

-----------

Sam looked up from the button, his eyes wide with shock, his face going pale, and his knees shaking.

"You... you deleted them," Sam stammered.

Dee shrugged. "They were already dead. Most of them have already had their final death where someone says their name for the last time."

Sam's eyes bulged out. "You killed trillions."

Dee shrugged again. "Did I? The majority were already dead, forgotten by everyone but electronic copies."

"They were people," Sam protested.

Dee shook her head, smiling, and exhaled smoke from between clenched teeth, her gun-metal gray eyes hard and merciless. "No. They weren't. They were cheap copies," she curled her lip. "An amalgamation of social media posts a person does not make, Howdy-Doody."

With a scream of rage, Sam suddenly lunged forward, swinging one fist of the heavy robotic hazardous environment frame he wore. His fist hit Dee in the left side of her head with a crunch and he stopped, staring at the woman.

Her left eye rolled up as she went rigid. The corners of her mouth and where her nostrils met her cheeks suddenly took on a bluish tinge. A trickle of blood ran from her left nostril, another worming out of her left ear.

Sam still had his arm in position when Dee suddenly fell to the floor, writhed for a second, and went still.

Sam looked down, arm still outstretched, at the dead woman at his feet.

"Dee?" He said, dropping his arm. He stared at the body. "Dee?"

Sam dropped down on his knees, shaking the naked woman's body. "Dee? No, I didn't mean to. I mean, I thought, no, I didn't mean to hurt you, please get up. Please. I didn't mean to."

He shook her again, staring at her as she rolled over on her back, one eye rolled back, the other staring into nothingness. Her face was turning bluish and the blood running from her ear had smeared across her cheek.

"Dee?" Sam said. He shook her again. "Come on, Dee, this isn't funny."

The corpse didn't answer.

"Good," Sam said, his face hardening.

"Good? How can it be good? We killed a woman," Sam said, his face twisted in agony.

"She deserved it," Sam growled.

"But... but we killed her," Sam said, his voice sick.

"She was nothing more than evil in a sausage skin," Sam sneered, slowly standing up.

"No! She was a person! She could have been, was being saved!" Sam protested, reaching up and clawing at his face, the robotic fingers scraping across the hazard frame's face. He began punching himself in the head. "She was a person! A person! A person!"

With a scream, he fled, jumping from the hazard frame into the network of the SUDS.

The corpse of the woman did nothing as the hazard frame fell on her.

-----------

Vuxten was breathing heavy, his armor still cooling down, as the mat-trans door opened and the fog rolled out. The Detainee stood there, in a severe skirt and top, looking almost militaristic in the charcoal-gray clothing.

"We'll have to move. He's starting to lose it," Dee stated, lighting a cigarette.

"Are you sure?" Trucker asked, not looking up from the data being projected from his palm-implant.

"Pretty sure. He just caved in the side of my skull," Dee said. She gave a harsh laugh. "He's moved from talking about murder to actually committing it."

"That's a hell of a step," Daxin rumbled, taking off his helmet.

Vuxten felt slightly offended that the big human's face wasn't sweaty in the slightest.

"What's he doing now?" Peel asked, moving over by Trucker.

"Running," Trucker said, staring at the hologram. "Peter has me hooked up. He's running in circles, probably screaming."

"He is a Screaming One," Casey said.

"Tommy," Dee said.

The Terran leaning against the console looked at her.

"Get the rest of the platoon. Make your insertion," Dee said.

The Terran nodded, moving over to one of the computers and sitting down. He logged in and began typing as Vuxten turned his attention back to Dee.

"It's crazy out there," Vuxten said.

Dee smiled and nodded. "Yes, yes it is. This whole part of Alpha Layer is burning now. We can abandon this mat-trans facility, once we pop out it'll self-destruct anyway. Let him think the master control system is down."

"What did it accomplish then?" Vuxten asked. "I thought we were supposed to protect this facility."

Dee shook her head. "No. You were supposed to draw in the majority of the Enraged and Screaming Ones in the vicinity as well as force the androids to redeploy to take on Casey," she said. "This is a secondary facility that I relabeled in the digital realm and in the files to be listed as the primary mat-trans system processing array."

"So all of that was just a diversion?" Vuxten asked.

"We haven't started the real fight yet," Daxin said, setting down his helmet and running his SMG through a function check. He looked up. "The goal isn't to kill him," the big Terran said. "The goal is to save him."

Dee nodded. "Right now, he's a victim like anyone else. We need him, though, and we need the cross he's on intact."

Vuxten sighed and popped his face shield, breathing in the cool air.

Trucker looked up from the hologram. "Legion's hemming him now, bird dogging him toward Herod."

Peel put her fingers on her datalink, the pink enamel flashing in the light. "Herod, he's coming. Get ready. Remember, pink casement window. Pink. Casement."

The other Terran, Tommy, got up from the computer after logging out, walked over to the mat-trans and shut the door.

Vuxten leaned against the console as the mat-trans cycled.

--having fun yet-- 471 asked.

"Not sure yet," Vuxten sent back across his datalink.

--part of history-- 471 replied.

Vuxten just grunted.

"All right, let's get this party started," Dee said clapping her hands together as the mat-trans system gave an oscillating whine that slowed down and stopped. "Peel, Trucker, Casey, you'll be meeting up with Kalki and Joan."

Vuxten sat there while Peel and Trucker entered the mat-trans. He was silent as the system wound up, gave a high pitched vibrating whine, then slowly wound down.

"Vuxten, you're up," Dee said. "You'll get briefed on the other side."

Vuxten just nodded. He went in and sat down on the armaglass.

"Pleasant dreams, Tod," Dee said, and closed the door.

Before Vuxten could protest it wasn't his name the mist rose and sucked him down.

----------

"I got drafted, you know," Peter suddenly said. "I'm actually a trained soldier, I guess. I don't feel like it though."

Dambree looked over at him, still drinking out of the can of fizzybrew.

"It was during the buildup for the Third Anthill Invasion," Peter said. He shook his head. "Two years, absolutely terrified the whole time. Worse yet, the Corporation played up the fact that Chromium Peter was in the invasion force."

"Sucks," Dambree said, tossing the empty can in the garbage and walking back to the vending machine at the back of the room. She pulled the door open and grabbed another fizzybrew out of the machine she had pried open.

"It did," Peter said. "I had nightmares for decades until the Corporation had a synaptic surgeon edit the pathways to those memories," he kept typing as he talked. "Worst part was, they were so ingrained he couldn't remove them, so he just edited it so my conscious mind couldn't access them. I'd wake up in the middle of the night, shaking, covered in sweat, not knowing why."

"Yeah," Dambree said, cracking open the can. Part of her should have been surprised to see a can of Countess Crey Cola in a vending machine from 8,000 years ago, but another part of her was relieved at the same time. She grabbed an extra and turned around.

Peter was silent, leaned forward slightly, typing and scrolling. He had all four screens up, looking at the data back and forth.

He hit the little weird looking square and shook his head. "Tables are weighted. That'll sort the SUDS files based on how long ago they initially entered the system for processing."

Dambree just nodded, setting down the cold can of cola.

"Thanks," Peter said. He was already running search strings again, looking for the data and programs he needed to modify. He cracked open the can and looked up at the grav-ski mask that was staring down at him. "Are you afraid?"

Dambree nodded. "Always. Not of death. Death is nothing. I fear failure more than death."

Peter nodded. "Me too."

The door opened and Menhit stepped in, her hands in the wide mouthed sleeves of her kanga. The kitenge on her shoulders was smooth and unruffled.

"They will not be back. I have taught the survivors fear," she said softly. She moved over and sat down by Peter, reaching out and taking his hand. "I am with you, older brother."

Dambree walked back to the vending machine.

"Thank you, sister," Peter said. He leaned over, resting his shoulder against hers. He tilted his head to rest his head on her shoulder. "I feel tired."

Dambree set down the cold can of cola in front of Menhit and stepped back, leaning against a console near the door.

"I thank you, little one," Menhit said as she cracked open the can.

The grav-mask shifted in a slow nod.

The computers beeped and data started streaming by on one of the screens.

"What's happening?" Menhit asked calmly, setting down the can after taking a drink.

"Mass processing," Peter said, leaning forward. "Someone just dumped the entirety of the SUDS records into the processing queue."

Menhit gave a chuckle as she slowly withdrew her pipe.

"Is it wrong that I hate it that she was right?" Peter asked Menhit as the dark skinned woman lit her pipe with a match. "The more she's right, the more my stomach hurts at the idea of what will go wrong."

Menhit just smiled though a cloud of smoke.

-------------

On the blasted plains the great beast looked up at the sky as it filled with millions upon millions of falling stars that screamed as they plunged down to impact the blasted rock.

Motes drifted down, giggling and laughing, bouncing around the great beast in sheer joy.

The beast lifted up one hand and motioned.

A bronze gate, engraved and inlaid appeared. The doors cracked open to reveal sunny fields, puffy clouds in a blue sky, and bunnies playing in the grass.

"This place is not meant for you, little one," the beast rumbled. "Play on the Field of Summer and Song."

The giggling and dancing motes rushed through the gate even as more fell from the sky in a giggling rain of sparkling light.

"Mercy?" the bronze clad man asked, flexing wings with feathers of hammered copper.

"You don't know me," the demon rumbled, looking away from the bronze angel.

The angel just smiled.

---------

"Come on, get up," Vuxten heard.

--wish i was dead-- 471 said.

Vuxten looked up and saw The Detainee standing over him, holding out a hand. He grabbed it and she yanked him to his feet as if he didn't weight just over a ton.

"What are we doing?" Vuxten asked.

"Solving a riddle," the Detainee said. She made an odd face, her nose wrinkling. She lifted up her hand and sneezed. When she looked into her hand she grimaced. "Shit."

Vuxten saw tiny misting droplets of blood on her hand for a second before she wiped it on her leg.

"Come on," the Detainee snapped.

"Are you all right?" Vuxten asked, following her.

"I'm stretched beyond my limits. I'm not Legion, it's starting to... stack up, shall we say," the Detainee said. She glanced at him. "It's not so bad, you know?"

Vuxten just nodded as he followed her through dark hallways.