This was another Pearce, one who was finally seeing something go right after days of trouble. He wore the grin of a jackal that, captured and caged and frantic to escape, discovers that there are smaller creatures trapped inside with him.

“A pleasure to see you again, Keri,” he said, flashing a smile that had fangs. “And you've brought your friends, too. I really will need to know how you got the cells open - another mystery on top of all the others. They do pile up where you're concerned, don't they?”

Pearce stepped towards them, forcing Keri into the room with the others, as something prodded her in the chest. She looked down to see that Pearce was carrying something heavy and metallic, something she had never seen before yet nevertheless screamed “weapon” from every weld and curve. Its long barrel was pointed directly at her.

“It seems you were not playing games with me earlier. There truly does appear to be a Butcher rampaging around upstairs. He seems… confused. Confused and angry. Yet another thing you will need to explain.”

The room they were in was wide and dark, white walls supporting a low ceiling. In the centre of the room ran a long grey table strewn with technology, stick-screens and e-displays littered amongst storage drives and the miscellaneous goods of an untidy work area. There were a number of work stations scattered around the outside of the room, the glow of multiple holo-screens flickering in the gloomy lighting. As Pearce spoke, the burly corporal Keri had left locked in the cell strode in and came to stop besides him. The man glowered at Keri as he entered, one hand massaging a deep and expanding bruise on his forehead.

“Now,” said Pearce, keeping his gaze locked on Keri. “You’re going to pass me the sphere, and we're all going to leave together.”

Keri looked from the man to the sphere, laying in an egg-cup shaped data port upon the long table in the centre of the room, but made no move to towards it.

“If you think we've got some kind of control over the Butcher, you're less well-informed than I’d have given you credit for,” said Andreas.

Pearce swung the weapon in his direction, and with a loud ‘whump’ a circle of roiling blue and white charge burst from the barrel and slammed against the wall next to Andreas. The pulse left an imprint, a disc of cracked, splintered plaster and plastic from which flakes of paint fell sporadically amidst rising dust.

“I'll just have to use my other… deterrents… should you not be enough,” Pearce replied. “Besides, I only have to be faster than the slowest of you.”

Cassandra snarled; Pearce was looking towards Eu as he spoke.

“I’ll be surprised if you can run at all after I’ve put that gun up your…”

Eu’s words were cut off mid-sentence as Pearce fired another blast, this time at the ceiling. More flakes of paint and plastic fell from where it had hit.

“Enough!” he shouted. His face had turned red with rage, his lips a thin white strip. “Enough of this. Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? A bunch of analogues, the lot of you, trash off the street that found itself in possession of something worth far more than you'll ever be.”

He gestured in the direction of the sphere.

“Take it,” he said.

The hulking ink-man moved towards the sphere only to be stopped by Anisa, who sidestepped to block him with a steely glare.

“Move,” the man growled, lip curling as he looked her up and down.

“Make me,” Anisa replied, squaring up to him.

The next few seconds passed in a flash.

Keri saw her chance as Pearce’s attention wavered between herself and Anisa. She grabbed at the barrel of his weapon as it swayed momentarily between them, and twisted, wrenching it from his hands. Andreas and Cassandra both leapt at the other ink-man at the same time, driven to action by the hand that was now wrapped around Anisa’s throat.

Keri had just enough attention spare to see Anisa’s leg rise in a sharp upward movement and strike a part of the hulk’s body that he really ought to have protected better before she was forced to concentrate fully on Pearce, who was doing his best to regain control of the weapon from her. The hand grip was still the at wrong end of the gun to her, which meant the muzzle was most definitely also at the wrong end; it swung wildly over her head as she struggled to keep Pearce from getting a clear shot.

She felt the rifle jerk as her opponent managed to push the trigger[1], and an electrical shiver ran down her right arm. Half her hand felt as if it had been blown off, though when she looked it was perfectly intact; she simply couldn't feel it. All sensation and movement had been lost from index finger to thumb, and it became increasingly difficult to hang on as Pearce forced the barrel lower and lower, trying to angle it for a direct shot.

She tried, in later days, to explain what happened next, but never got it quite right. She felt as if she knew what to do, as if she'd done it before.

She twisted her body, fingers curving around the gun as she moved, gripping tightly to the metalwork even as she turned her back on Pearce, not letting her hold on the barrel weaken for a millisecond. Falling into one smooth step and crouch, she brought her entire weight to bear at the same time as she forced the gun to turn just so. It was torn from Pearce’s grip, and clattered to the floor.

She didn't stop there, but allowed her momentum to carry her back around, so that she performed a full circle and ended up once more face to face with Pearce. Shock was apparent on his face, and he barely reacted as her sweeping kick took his legs from under him.

Keri stood over the groaning figure, breathing heavily, and took the chance to see what the others were doing.

The fight with Pearce’s subordinate seemed to have reached something of a stalemate, the group unable to do anything to permanently stop the huge man, and he unable to deal with the four all at once. Whenever he went for one of them, another popped up behind, raining ineffective blows or trying to grab hold of him, only to be forced to retreat when his attention turned to the latest attacker.

“ENOUGH!”

This time the rage in Pearce’s voice was uncontrolled.

Keri looked down at him, and he glared back at her. It took her a few seconds to notice the flashing LED at his side.

“What did you do?” she asked, with a rising feeling of dread that she already knew.

Pearce gave her a shark’s grin.

“I called for my men,” he said, pushing himself up by the elbows. “Give up now, it’s hopeless.”

Even as he spoke ink-men poured into the room, one after the other, wearing heavy-looking body armour that, while obviously protective, was just as clearly ill-fitting. Wherever they had been storing this, they must not have expected to ever have to take it out. Each held a weapon similar to that Pearce had possessed, held, in some cases awkwardly, towards Keri and the others.

One of the men stepped towards Pearce, a too-large helmet sliding over his eyes for a moment before it was knocked back with the butt of the man's rifle. Pearce looked irritated to be still on the floor and the ink-man, picking up on this, helped him to his feet.

“Right,” said Pearce to the room at large, dusting himself off. “Now we can…”

“You're incredibly stupid, you know that?” said Keri, and Pearce’s eyes bulged at the interruption.

“Wha…?” he began, disbelief and shock rendering him short of breath.

“What do you think was keeping the Butcher away?” Keri continued, not letting him get a word in. “It didn't know where to go, did it? But now you've dropped a giant pin on our location. There's no way it can miss this amount of people gathering in one place.”

“Don't be foolish,” replied Pearce, but a note of uncertainty crept into his voice. His men shuffled nervously, though they kept their weapons trained on their targets.

It had gone oddly quiet outside. The distant crashing sounds had stopped completely, and all that could be heard for a tense moment was the heavy breathing of the ink-men.

There…

Something was coming down the stairs. The sound, faint at first, grew louder as whatever it was made its way closer, a sound Keri and the others now knew well, heavy and inevitable.

“Sir, I think…” began one of the ink-men, before another hissed at him to shut up.

“It doesn't matter how loud we are,” hissed the ink-man right back. “If that's a damn Butcher out there it can sense us a mile away.”

Pearce looked from one man to the other, mouth opening and closing.

He’s lost it, thought Keri, and she was clearly not the only one to think so. Several of the ink-men were swinging their weapons towards the door, all thought of the prisoners forgotten. All of them were glancing nervously at each other.

The steps were right outside now. They came closer, one after another.

And stopped.

The ink-men opened fire at the same time, blasting waves of energy through the darkened doorway in a torrent of power that crackled along the walls and temporarily rendered the room and everything in it in a blinding pale blue light that dazzled the eyes. Energy arced and fizzed all around them, drowning the senses. The taste of tin in the air became overwhelming.

The next second all was quiet once more.

“Did we..?” said Pearce.

The Butcher erupted into the room, upon the closest of the men before anyone could react. That ink-man was still flying through the air when the Butcher turned and in one instant of movement hit two others square in the jugular, sending them crumpled to the floor clutching their throats and gasping for air.

The rest of the ink-men fell backwards in alarm, clustering together and firing their weapons wildly. Keri saw one or two hit by their own friends as she and the rest of her group dived to the floor, sprawling flat beneath the hurtling discs of energy that crackled through the air.

Pearce was now somewhere within the crush of his men, and Keri was unable to see him. The Butcher must have sensed something, however, because it turned to face the men and advanced, but the weapons which initially had had little effect were finally taking their toll; the machine-man’s speed was diminishing rapidly. With every step it slowed until it moved as if through treacle, sparks pinging off its metallic skin and lines of blue arcing across its body.

It raised a metallic hand as it came closer and closer to the group, advancing despite the constant blasts that crashed into it. Keri could see the sweat on the forward-most of the ink-men as he pressed down on the trigger button rapidly and repeatedly in the frantic hope that this would somehow make it fire faster[2]. The outstretched fingers of the Butcher’s hand were only a few centimetres from him.

The fingers didn't make it. Overwhelmed with the sheer power arrayed against it, the Butcher collapsed to the floor, crumpling in on itself in a way no human body could. The weapons continued firing for a few seconds, then came to a slow stop.

There was no sound for a few seconds, until the sound of cautious movement drew Keri’s attention. Pearce stepped through the crowd, tentatively at first then with growing confidence, to stand over his fallen enemy.

“Let that be a lesson to you all,” he said, looking from the fallen form to Keri. “You cannot resist us. Even monsters such as this…” and he kicked the prostrate creature before him, “…even it cannot resist us.”

Pearce paused, and looked down with a frown. Keri followed his gaze.

The Butcher had its hand tight around his leg.

“What?” Pearce said, pulling backwards and nearly falling when the grip did not release. “Men, quickly..!”

His voice petered out as the metallic form rose in front of him, undamaged from the blasts. It towered over him, a blank expression on its face, residual electricity crackling across its body.

“Shoot it!” gasped Pearce.

This time the energy from the weapons seemed to have less effect. The Butcher, remaining standing though rocking slightly with every hit, raised a hand of metal-lined flesh and gripped Pearce by the throat, lifting him off the floor. It tilted its head and regarded the man with cold, silver eyes.

Keri didn't wait to watch anymore; she leapt to her feet and sprinted for the table, grabbing the data sphere in one swift movement and redirecting herself towards the exit. The others were heading the same way, Eu already out the door with a protective Cassandra right behind. Keri was the last out, and they sprinted down corridors lined with the sprawled forms of those who had not been wise enough to stay out of the Butcher’s way.

Behind them, shouts and cries rose.

[1] The weapon discharged at the push of a button. Pull-activated triggers were a thing of the past, suitable only for quaint pieces such as Andreas owned.

[2] It did not, but this was a time-honoured tradition for users of all types of technology and was hardly likely to disappear now.