“This world is war, war upon the Host, war which we wage on other humans, the war upon ourselves. Before you fight the former, finish the latter.” - Serena Smiler, senior Proxy, most known for her achievements in the Barrowblack Campaign

Martin leaned against the wall, enjoying the soft hum of the databanks, considering his situation. Before the Devastation, before the Host fell from the sky, there had existed a small form of insects, one so much different from the bigger, mutated ones of the modern era.

Those insects, known as bees, had fascinated him as a child. People had eaten their vomit, which had been called ‘honey’ and the bees went from plant to plant, taking the nectar and pollenating. The databanks, he thought, hummed like bees.

Who exactly was the Proxy that had given him the offer? There were currents here. One Proxy was normal, or junior, the other was senior, as the hologram had noted. And what exactly was in the health-rapport that had led to his new Access?

The Proxy that he had met… they hadn’t had the aura of a senior Proxy. Those people carried rooms, held the world in their hands and you knew it. If it was a senior Proxy he had met, then that Proxy had acted with considerable constraint.

Really, did he need to know the who and the what of why he was here? He glanced down at his plastic lanyard. Access 3. And that aptitude…for once he could be on the right side of the law. Earn real credits. Get a bigger apartment, perhaps even start a family. He was here. In an arcology. And even if he never looked at his tablet again, where that offer hovered on a blue-lit screen, he was free from the camp and the mud.

And yet. Curiosity burned in him. 

He got up and walked out of the digital library, following a blue corridor where white neon crescents pointed out the direction. His steps brought him to an elevator, where he picked a spot against a wall. The car was soon filled and he marvelled at the small but subtle differences between these people and the ones where he had grown up.

Oh, they still wore overalls and make up, some wearing synth-leather jackets with glossy finish…but their faces were unlined, there was nothing of that guarded animal that seemed to infest the camp.

It irritated him, that these people had never seen a shortage of beans, or become used to the electricity going off at odds hours. When these people saw police-officers, they didn’t think to run, did they?

The elevator reached the level he was searching for and so he exited.He noted the rips in the steel of this corridor, left as a reminder of sorts. His path took him through the crowd, following the arc of the tunnel until he came to an entryway. Someone had sunk the floor a level, then put two doors of that same battered, scratched metal to guard the contents within.

He entered the museum, eyes drawn immediately to the right side exhibit.

Red lights pulsed over an area as wide as his new apartment, but several times as long. The dimensions created a sense of depth, in which a lone figure stood on a cliff, fighting a horror. 

A Swarm, a black cloud of snaking arms swerved, ever grasping for a Proxy in grey armor, fashioned to look like an archaic biker. One of the snake-arms caught the Proxy, neatly cutting the arm of at the elbow. A male cry echoed in the cavern and the Proxy pulled something from the chest, a square box-

The light seared through him. In that precious span between opened and closed, tears flowed from his eyes. It took him several moments before the after-images left him and he could see without spots.

He glanced down eventually, reading the plaque. “Extract from memory retrieval drone, Shuanghedong (雙河洞), 2023. A group of Proxies created a series of underground shelters next to the city of Wenquan, exploiting already existing cavern system, where they hid the civilian population. Results remain inconclusive, but findings suggests six Proxies held the area in the time period that would later be called the Devastation. They held it, until the day they couldn’t”.

The image spoke to him. He knew what it was like, to be on the losing side. He thought, for that reason, of how that red-clad Proxy had stood. Confident, secure in her place in the world.

He looked down at his tablet.

It wasn’t just curiosity that drove Martin. He had a connection to Deputies now, had med an actual Proxy and spoken to them. People who mattered. The camps, the Camp that he had come from- it was filled with people who didn’t matter, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Martin wanted to matter. To be more than a itinerary worker shovelling mud or making sure Two:ers didn’t get lost when they left the arcology.

He typed in the digits of the message on his pad, heart hitting a staccato rhythm, unsure if he was ready or not. There was only one way to find out.