Scene: Day 3. A town at the base of the famous Arsenian Alps. Alter and Arwen are in the northernmost part of the country. The rolling hills hid a water-wheel powered textile factory, rectangular in shape with the door on its longer side. The machines are in rows facing the entrance and there's stairs leading up to a second floor that juts out over part of the factory.

The early morning sky was a deep lavender. The lights of the town at the foot of the mountains twinkled like stars in the darkness of the countryside. Arwen swerved the car off the road and parked it at the bottom of a gently sloping hill. They walked to its top and saw, tucked away in the curves of the land, a water-wheel powered textile factory. The wheel had fallen out of place and stood lopsided in the shallow river, acting as a poorly built dam instead. The building itself with its large gaps in the brick walls had suffered destruction by animals. Rows of broken textile machines plundered of parts greeted them. Twigs and bits of shriveled grass littered the floor from where birds and other critters built nests and freely roamed as puddles accumulated over time underneath the holes in the ceiling and each step taken blew up a plume of dust. But there were also obvious signs of people other than curious local children, signs of repairs.

Noticeably fresh wood of a healthier brown boarded up a few gaps in the roof and the path to the staircase was swept clean of dust and pools of water. The office door knobs were polished bronze. Their intelligence pinpointed this as the hub for the smuggling of illicit items and Arwen had given reassurances the information was legitimate. Nothing was stored amongst the machines. The second floor, then. Alter couldn't peer into the offices because of his lower vantage point but he could hear them.

"In the back. Five apiece," he muttered as he headed left to sweep the area just in case.

They would regroup at the stairs. Bullets fired from above. Alter lunged behind the machines. Someone appeared at the end of the row gun in hand. Alter fired.

A voice shouted, "Fall back! Do not engage." Bullets pierced the walls and dented metal. Alter waited for the hail to end. It never did.

He bellowed at Arwen, "Two maxim guns! How did you not know-"

Arwen roared, the noise threatening to drown his words, "I am no prophet."

He leaped aside. A stick of dynamite exploded where he had been. A bullet embedded in the floor inches away from Alter's foot. They hadn't accounted for two machine guns. It was near impossible to acquire them in Arseny, even more difficult to smuggle across the border. Alter was glad the accuracy was terrible. The parts, brought here and then assembled?

Arwen shouted, "You take the guns! I'll clear a path." He threw smoke bombs on the floor and lobbed a couple hand grenades that detonated mid-air from a slew of bullets. And he was gone, vanished in the smoke.

Alter cursed. Rapid breathes of crisp air cleaned the dust clogging his nose. How at such close range does one take out machine guns? Aim for the head. Sweat clung the coat to his body. He took it off, readying himself. He had to be fast and unpredictable. Faster than the bullets spraying his path. Outmaneuver certain death. Alter squeezed his coat, feeling fire invigorate his veins. He threw his coat towards the entrance, vaulted over the machines as bullets strafed it. He slid through a puddle as bullets punctured the air. Alter made it to the end of the row, preparing to dash straight and hide underneath the overhang. A person materialized out the smoke. Confusion laced their face. Alter shoved her gun aside and pressed his own into her head. He dropped to the floor with the body and swung his rifle off his shoulder. He slid cartridges in as he waited for the machine gun to move on. The smoke was vanishing. He threw the body high into the air. Bullets ripped it. Alter stood and aimed.

Bang.

Bang.

Silence. It was over. He heard nothing except the sound of Arwen's footsteps. The world swirled in his eyes as if he were on a ship in a storm.

Arwen steadied him, "You're bleeding."

He was hit in his side and leg, blood pouring from the wounds. Alter removed Arwen's arm.

"I'm fine."

He crumbled to the ground.

Arwen caught him and calmly asked, "Is it serious?"

Alter shook his head, "An artery in my leg was hit. I'm just dizzy. Look, it's already healing." And it was. New cells, wiggling like sea anemones on the ocean floor, closed the wounds.

He squinted at Arwen, black clothing drenched in blood. "Why are you so filthy for someone who only fought people?"

Arwen showed Alter a knife. "Using this was easier than a gun."

They headed for the entrance. Alter stopped. He heard something, something faint, quiet, something he nearly missed had the fog not finally cleared from his brain. A heartbeat. He chuckled.

"You've lost your touch, Arwen."

"What?"

"You missed one."

"I did not."

Alter walked to the stairs, stopping at the last line of machines and pointed, "You dealt a mortal blow, but not quite enough to finish her off." The woman lay on the floor, part of her head caved in from the bullet. She saw them through the pain and delirium and tried to crawl away. Her injury was too severe.

Arwen lifted his gun. Alter pushed it down.

"I have a better idea." He went up the stairs and entered rooms full of weapons, explosives, and oil. He took what he needed and went back down, stumbling once when he leaned too heavily on his injured leg. Alter busied himself with his contraption while Arwen spoke.

"Make it quick. The ASSR's investigations are underway, though it's more appropriate to say arrests are underway. We're to receive an update from Maks as soon as we return."

"I'm done." Alter stepped back. He had propped the woman up and surrounded her with stacks of dynamite. He flooded the floor with oil and at the entrance, Alter struck a match and flicked it behind him.

Fwoom.

Black smoke polluted the bright blue sky.