Skipper's finger was still pointed at Muzazi's head, ready to deliver the coup de grace -- but when Muzazi spoke, quietly, there was no fear of death in it.

"Is he… really dead?" he asked, head bowed.

Skipper blinked. "Yeah. He's really dead."

Bang.

Skipper did not fire.

Instead, the door he'd entered through flew open, striking the wall, and a squad of security officers breached the boiler room. Their commander, the asshole named Marsh, snarled as he pointed his plasma rifle right at Skipper's head. This time, his finger was secured around the trigger with grim resolve.

"Asshole," he snarled. "Should have known not to leave you alone. You think you've got privacy, dickhead?"

Bruno glanced up, at the security camera nestled in the corner of the room. It was nearly scrap, barely functional, but clearly still operating. They hadn't responded to the Special Officers interrogating him, but they were responding to Skipper's actions?

Skipper slowly lowered his finger to his side, taking in a deep breath. "I --"

"One more word," Marsh promised. "And I blow your goddamn head off. Don't think your Aether will save you: we know what you're doing."

Bruno took a step forward, only to stop as two of the guards swung their guns in his direction. "Look," he said warily, eyes fixed on the barrels of the weapons. "This was self-defense -- these two were attacking me!"

Marsh's eyes were cold. "Got no evidence of that." What? His eyes flicked to the pile of meat below Bruno. "From what I can see, you've already killed one person, and you were right in the middle of killing another. Even if you ain't Repurposed, you're dangerous."

"Execution, captain?" asked one of Marsh's subordinates, a burly-looking man with tattooed arms. "Like you said, can't have 'em running around."

Marsh looked sorely tempted, but he slowly shook his head. "Hessiah'll raise hell if I don't clear it with him first. We've got cells for trespassers -- throw 'em in there while we wait." His gaze flicked to Muzazi, still prone on the floor. "All of 'em. I wanna know who this guy is, too."

Muzazi hadn't said anything, hadn't even moved, since the soldiers had come in -- no, since Skipper had answered his question. He just continued to stare down at the floor with an inscrutable look on his face.

"Take 'em," Marsh ordered, before nodding to the corpse on the floor. "And get this one to the morgue."

As the guards seized Bruno, he gritted his teeth in frustration.

As the guards seized Skipper, he continued to glare in anger.

As the guards seized Muzazi, he just looked silently down at the floor.

Lost.

"No need to be so rough," North grunted as Ruth restrained him, pushing him into a storage room.

She manifested one of her gauntlets on both his hands, the cramped confines of the armour keeping him from moving his fingers. Needless to say, she kept the claws of the gauntlet recorded. Satisfied he wouldn't be moving around, she kicked him into the corner of the room, where he sprawled to the floor.

Before he could scramble back to his feet, Ruth knelt down and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. She didn't let go.

"You can trick my eyes," she growled. "But not my hand. I think you're making an illusion, I cut you to pieces. No questions asked."

North frowned, rubbing an eye with the side of his arm. "Seriously? This is the thanks I get for saving you?"

Dragan, his head blown open.

Ruth's grip tightened on North's shoulder, and the Umbrant winced in pain. When she spoke, her voice was dangerously quiet.

"You didn't save Dragan," she said.

"I'm no miracle worker, but I did my best," he grimaced, squirming in her grasp. "If I hadn't convinced that Nero guy to come get you, you'd have all died back in White Village -- or worse. You'd have ended up like the Repurposed. And the time before that, too!"

Ruth frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Unite Regent?" North said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Full-on Supremacy attack on a UAP warship? What, you guys thought you survived that because you were just so badass? I was looking out for you!"

Ruth raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Dragan said you left him to die back there. And if we're going that far back, I remember Skipper saying you were helping the Citizen back on Taldan. Were you looking out for us back then, too?"

"Well, I didn't know Dragan," North shrugged without so much as an ounce of shame. "And that shit back on Taldan was just a job, nothing personal. I didn't even know you guys were involved until it was almost over. Come on, cut a guy some slack? Let bygones be bygones?"

"And the time you faked your death, and let us all mourn for you? Was that just a job, too?" Ruth's voice was cold as ice, her eyes just as frigid.

For a moment, North had no answer for that -- but only for a moment. "That was… personal stuff," he muttered, glancing away.

Ruth gritted her teeth as she looked down at the traitorous man. She had no doubt he was lying about nearly everything he'd just said, but she didn't know why. Dragan would have known why. He'd have been able to figure it out.

Dragan, his head blown apart.

Ruth squeezed her eyes shut. It was fine. She'd be dreaming about that image from now on, so it was best that she get used to it.

As she closed her eyes, however, she heard it. Boots, thumping against the floor, heading their way. Skipper, coming back from getting Bruno? No, it was more than one person -- and as they moved, Ruth could hear them talking.

"There was a girl with them, too," the guy called Marsh barked from not far away, his voice echoing through the halls. "Micah was with her. Find them!"

Ruth's eyes snapped open -- and as she did, she could see that North had visibly paled. He reached forward, grabbing her by the forearm.

"You cannot let them find us," he hissed insistently, eyes wide with terror.

"Why not?"

"The things they're doing here… the things up top," North glanced up as if he could see through the ceiling, like whatever was up there horrified him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Ruth was immovable. "Try me."

The sounds of approaching officers were growing louder and louder, closer and closer.

North shook his head. "No time. The only way we get out of this is if we work together. You need to trust me. I can use my holograms."

The boots were nearly upon them.

"Please," North whispered.

"I don't trust you," Ruth said -- and then, a second later, she released him. "But I'll let you save us just this once."

Transparent Aether crackled around North's body as he grinned --

-- and there was a thud as the door was kicked in.

Well, that could have gone better.

Marie felt cold metal beneath her as her body was moved onto some kind of stretcher, no doubt being taken to the morgue the guard had described. That had been a close one -- the guy called Skipper really was her natural enemy, able to rip her to shreds without even getting close. It had been all she could do just to make sure Atoy wasn't killed, and even that had been difficult.

She'd had to create a new hand, just a few strands of bone and sinew, and wind it through the darkness of the room until it reached the broken camera -- from there, it had been a matter of reconnecting it to alert the guards. Creating an independent organism from her biomass would have triggered the Needles, so she'd had to keep the hand connected with a long, thin tendril like an umbilical cord.

If one of her opponents had just looked too deep into the dark, the cat would have been out of the bag for good. She'd disabled her nervous responses to masquerade as a corpse, but if she hadn't she could guarantee she'd be shaking like a leaf.

She repaired one of her eyes as much as she dared, just enough to restore her vision while not being too obvious. White sterile ceiling was spread out before her, and she was still being moved -- this was an entirely different part of the building from what they'd seen so far.

At least this whole incident had given her the opportunity to begin investigating.

The plan had collapsed from the very start -- the Arrowhead had managed to arrive long before Hadrien's crew, but when they'd made planetfall they'd been attacked by the Repurposed and forced to find shelter here. Given the circumstances, they'd had to adjust their plan: coming out and saying they were agents of the Supremacy wasn't the way to go. Instead, they were representatives of one of the GIB's shell companies. And now, of course, one of them was a corpse.

The best thing to do would be to figure out a safe way across the desert, and return to the Arrowhead. As far as she knew, the ship was still intact where they'd left it -- but getting to it was the tricky part. Marie was pretty sure she could adopt a form that would allow her to cross the desert in record speed, but Muzazi wasn't so fortunate: even if he clung onto Marie as she ran, being touched by the Repurposed carried the unacceptable risk of him being infected.

And so they waited. And so they investigated.

Movement stopped as her body was placed down on an autopsy table, still splayed out in the throes of supposed death. She could hear the beeping of machinery around her, the slight heat as a medical automatic scanned her form. She made sure to confirm its biases: stopping her heart, ceasing her breathing. Cardiovascular functions could be handled in more subtle ways, and she had enough stored oxygen to survive for hours without air.

"Death-confirmed," the automatic bleated from above her. "Time-of-death-05-33-local."

She heard someone else grunt above her -- the medical examiner, maybe? "Who else witnessed the murder?" It was a man's voice.

"Guard-squad-led-by-Anton-Marsh," the automatic responded. "Unknown-male-times-three."

Another grunt -- and this time, Marie recognised the voice. It was the guy who ran this place: Titan Hessiah, CEO of ExoCorp. What was he doing examining a corpse personally?

"Give Marsh and his men the usual bonuses," Hessiah said. "And approve the execution of the prisoners. Have their bodies and this one taken down for Enfant."

Oho. Someone wanted to keep things hush-hush. Some kind of secret project? One that required corpses? She was sure Atoy could fight off any executioners, but only she could hear through the ears of a corpse.

Perhaps she could continue being dead for just a little longer.

Dragan used his glowing eyes to light the way as he walked through the dark tunnels, Anne still clinging to his back. Occasionally, he'd feel her shift positions slightly, but apart from that she didn't make a sound.

"How'd you get down here?" he finally asked, keen to break the silence. "This is a long way from White Village, I can't imagine you ran. Do you have a vehicle? A bike or something?"

It took Anne a moment to reply, and when she did the answer was as unenlightening as expected.

"Don't live in a bike," she grumbled. "Bike all dusty and messy-like, not a place to live. Got arms and legs all mine, thanks. Not meat but mine."

Dragan sighed. "Yes, I know you don't live in a bike. I'm asking if you rode one here."

"Don't ride no bike."

"What, so you walked? I don't believe you."

He felt Anne's hand slap against the back of his head. "You fell, dead boy."

"Unrelated, but yes, I fell," Dragan rolled his eyes. "Obviously you didn't fall, because all your bones are still intact. If you came down here yourself, you could at least tell me the route to get back."

"Don't know no route," Anne mumbled. "Scary."

Dragan had to suppress another sigh. He'd known kids could be hard to talk to, but this was a whole other level of frustration. Would he be mean if he yelled at her? Nobody else was here, so it didn't really matter, but still…

Still…

This wasn't quite right, was it…? Wasn't this situation bizarre? Shouldn't he be questioning it more? Why was he just happily walking along like this was completely natural? It was like his thoughts were being guided down a specific path, surrounded by invisible walls. He --

Sunlight hit his face as he stepped out of the tunnel.

They were still in the system of caves, but part of the rocky ceiling above had collapsed, allowing sunlight to flood in. It was far too high to climb, but Gemini World would allow him to reach it without too much of an issue. Carrying two people made that idea a little more risky, but…

He glanced back at Anne, who was chewing one of her fingers idly. She wasn't too big. It should be fine.

Dragan turned back to look up, and stopped in his tracks, eyes wide.

"Trouble," Anne murmured mid-chew, as if the entire situation had nothing to do with her.

Standing right on the edge of the hole were four human figures, silhouetted by the blazing sun. At first, Dragan thought they might be Repurposed, but that didn't fit -- the way they stood was calm and focused, unlike the animalistic thrashing of those enemies.

They looked down at him, and as the light shifted Dragan got a better look at them. Each of the figures was wearing heavy metal armour, the sunlight glinting off of it, concealing every inch of skin.

The armour was pragmatic in appearance, industrial grey. The necks and heads of the individuals were entirely covered by steel domes, framed on either side by jagged protruding shoulder pads. Singular portholes stared cyclopean out of the front of each helmet, fogged up so that no faces were visible. Dragan could see they were holding weaponry -- rifles, each of them, although the models might have been slightly different. He couldn't tell from this distance.

What he could see from this distance were words -- the black words that were embedded on their bulky collars.

DEAD HAND. Those words were surrounded by a sigil like a hand spread out, each finger and thumb terminating in bloody bone.

"Danger," Anne muttered again -- and that was all the confirmation Dragan needed.