“Huh, never seen that before.” Lier mumbled as he looked through the binoculars he was holding. He passed them back to Wicksomme, who upon seeing what Lier had, gawped silently. There must have been hundreds of them.

Wicksomme looked back down the tunnel they'd come from. After they'd all had a lot less sleep than they would have liked, Lier had grabbed him instead of Selby to help him scout. They were maybe a mile ahead of the others, who were taking stock of their supplies and cleaning gear. It could be the difference between life and death for the whole team if a tank pump or a rifle malfunctioned while they were this far under the city.

“How is she not dead? Why’s she got that look on her face? What’s that thing on her forehead?” The young man asked, leaning in further instead of adjusting the focus. Lier pulled the kid back and snatched the device from his hands. He silently demonstrated how the middle knob turned before using it himself to focus on Dibbuks forehead.

More precisely he focused on the odd orange growth sprouting from between her eyes. It was small, almost unnoticeable even with the binoculars focused perfectly. The only reason Lier could see it was the way the color stood out against her scales. It almost looked like a little traffic cone, keeping the area between her eye crests clear of passerby.

Lier took another look at her surroundings. He’d seen the ancient wastewalker cart from the beginning but it was the ants that really interested him. They weren’t just sitting still. Their antennae were extended towards Velez like some sort of prayer or salute. He could feel a faint vibration moving through the stone.

“What’s with that look on her face? It’s all wrong, usually she looks well, kinda depressed, or tired, but that’s just unnatural.” Wicksomme thought, squinting into the distance. Lier couldn’t fault the kids' radar. That smirk was practically violence incarnate.

Lier had always kept at least one eye on Dibbuk, in no small part due to one of his eyes being fixated on Harvel. He certainly liked the young woman a hell of a lot more than he did her brother. She had a solid head on her for the most part.

Quick thinking and if not courageous, then loyal to a fault. A bit on guard, but that was a good thing down here. If it hadn’t been for her lack of credentials she would have made an excellent engineer. She paid attention to her gear in a way that almost made Lier ashamed of his own sporadic routine. He hesitantly glanced down at the grime building up about his trigger group.

“I don’t either, but those ants will tear us to shreds the moment we make a move towards them.” Lier whispered, leaning a bit around the corner himself to take in the whole scene. Wicksomme turned to look at Lier, bewildered. In the distance something moved. The stone block only an inch or so from the pairs faces exploded into tiny shards, showering them in dust.

Lier whipped Wicksomme around him and down the pipe, sliding through the muck on his side. A split second later two more holes appeared in the brick behind Lier, knocking him to the ground. Lier scrambled to pull himself into the muck, hoping to throw off their aim. Liers arms lost their strength quickly. Using what little he had left Lier turned himself over. He refused to die face down in shi...

Another few holes popped into existence in the wall opposite them before the tunnel went still. Wicksomme pulled himself over to Lier as he lay in the muck. He dared not stand up for fear of more fire. He grabbed Liers suit and dragged him further away from the intersection, shaking him gently. Lier didn’t move. A voice echoed throughout the tunnel. A voice that was so close to being familiar that the uncanny nature of it's cadence chilled Wicksommes blood.

“Yulk garak! Tik dur leahg surro!” It bellowed, echoing around the pipes for an unnaturally long time. Wicksomme gulped and tried to shake Lier awake again. Lier didn’t move. Wicksomme raised his head a little and noticed the dark streaks of blood that the captain had left behind in the muck.

Whatever she had said, no, it had said, Wicksomme hadn’t understood it. Then again, he didn’t need to. Whatever had killed Lier had made one thing perfectly clear. It didn’t intend on giving Dibbuk back.

The young man slid backwards in the grime, pulling Liers body along with him. Each foot he moved felt like a million, his legs screaming with exhaustion. Lier in all of his gear must have weighed over two hundred and thirty pounds, and his knuckles spent every moment reminding him.

Over the next few minutes Wicksomme watched the corner of the tunnel fade into the steam of decomposition. When he could no longer feel the vibrations through the muck he let his heart beat slow down. It had been slamming into his sternum like a fleshy hammer. He was surprised it wasn’t making little splashes in the filth.

“What the hell just happened?” He choked, eyes fixated on the gaping exit wound in Liers chest. Bits of bone and other flesh Wicksomme couldn’t identify were strewn across the front of his suit. He’d gotten used to the smell of sewage, but entrails were a different matter.

“Oh, no. Kid…” A voice muttered behind him. Wicksomme turned and pulled a knife, his heart in his throat. He hadn’t even really heard the words, just the sound. He lowered the knife until it rested on his thigh, and watched the three other wastewalkers slosh solemnly out of the steam.

“Didn’t think I’d have to bury you too.” Don said, making his way towards the captain's mangled corpse. Selby stood with Mary, the two each resting a hand on Wicksommes sagging shoulders.

“Plenty of others I knew I would, but I always thought you’d go all the way.” Don muttered, leaning down and rustling about in the collar of Lier’s suit. He stood up and took his helmet off. He seemed to be having some sort of internal struggle.

“You two. Liers missing his tags. Follow the tracks and see if you can dig em up. Be careful though, it can go through walls. Stay low and away from wherever you see broken rocks.” Don said, pointing down the other end of the tunnel. Mary gave him a slightly confused look before pulling Selby down the pipe by his pack. Wicksomme saw a glint as Don slid his hand into his pocket.

“Sure, but clean them up a bit. They both look like shit.” Mary barked, disappearing into the fog. A trail of shifting vapor was soon all Wicksomme could see of the two.

“Now, time to get a good look at you.” Don grunted, grabbing Liers body by the wrists and pulling him up next to where Wicksomme was sitting. He unbuckled the captains helmet and held it out to the young wastewalker.

“What’re you up to?” Wicksomme asked, anxiously fumbling for the helmet with his free hand. Don ignored him and unlatched the plates covering the front of Lier’s suit. He pulled the envirosuit away from the wound and tilted his head back and forth.

“Not so bad to be honest. All said and done, if there’s enough left in there he might even be able to wear the odd t-shirt now and again.” Don said, jovially ruffling Lier’s graying hair. His head lolled to the side, inches away from Wicksommes face. He slid the glove from his right hand and cracked his knuckles.

Dons head snapped towards Wicksomme. He stared at the man as if he could see his soul. His eyes dropped out of focus after a couple of seconds and then before he'd even noticed Wicksommes right hand was empty. Don raked the blade across the knuckles of his ungloved hand.

“What did y-” Wicksomme started, but his words failed him. Little branches of green began to undulate and form from each of the cuts. They looked like tiny bits of coral building itself into a web at the end of his fist. Don handed him the knife and pulled the suit away again.

“Yeah, this should do it.” Don said, smiling at the web of green blood forming around his fingers. He plunged the fist directly into the wound, pushing until his wrist was the only visible part left. Liers body made a violent start, twitching and writhing next to Wicksomme. Don pushed further into the wound, nearly up to his forearm.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck are you doing you daft old bastard?!” Wicksomme shouted, batting away one of Liers arms that had bounced onto his shoulder. Don chuckled as the young man tried to scramble away.

“Gotta get it in there deep. Else it wont work right!” Don said, grunting as he forced his fist deeper into Liers chest cavity. Lier continued to stare sightlessly into the middle distance as his limbs twitched to and fro. Wicksomme held the knife between himself and Don, aware that it most likely wouldn’t do any good against the veteran wastewalker.

Liers body gave one last jerk and then went still. Don placed his foot on Liers thigh and pulled his fist out, leaving a trail of blood and viscera behind him. Wicksomme stared at the man he’d worked with for the last three months like a monster from another world. He’d heard that you could go mad down here. Maybe this was all just some horrific delusion.

“You- You’re a goddamn monster. Is this some kind of sick joke? Defiling his body like that?!” Wicksomme shouted, the knife quivering in his hand. Don kicked the knife out of the way and gave him a disappointed look.

“It’s all a sick joke kid, from up there to down here. What I just did is one of the few exceptions. Keep your eyes open. You might learn a thing or two.” Don huffed, whipping a bit of blood and pus from his hand. Wicksomme rubbed his hand and glanced at the knife. Don looked at his watch.

Wicksomme took his chance and dove for the knife. Don stepped on the blade and dropped his knee onto Wicksommes head. Dazed, the young man struggled to get his bearings, but before his head could clear Don had him in a headlock.

“Would you just stop struggling and look? Fucking hell.” Don growled, pulling Wicksomme into a sitting position and wrenching his head towards Liers body. Or, at least what he thought was Liers body. Don kept a firm grip on the lad as he tilted his head and checked his watch again.

“Any. Second. Now.” Don spat, straining a bit against Wicksommes struggling. He was strong for a lanky kid with a baby face. Maybe he would make it through the night. It was one of the few good feelings Don tended to have about people.

Liers body blinked. Then, Lier blinked. He coughed, clutching at his left side and stamped his foot.

“God! Damn! That fuckin stings!” Lier howled, pulling at his suit. The majority of his intact skin was covered in green splotches. The wound however had begun forming what looked like orange mold. It continued to grow until the crimson abyss was no longer visible.

Lier continued to wheeze as he poked the orange mass. Don released his grip on Wicksomme, who in his awe sat stone still. Lier looked up at the two of them confused.

“You two been making pottery or something?” He scoffed, pulling his suit back over his shoulder. He winced and slumped onto the tunnel wall. Don rolled Wicksomme over his leg and stood up, wiping muck off of him as he did.

“You really gonna play this game, lad? Pull that back off. I want to see my handiwork.” Don ordered, getting an annoyed look on his face. Lier glared back at him defiantly. Don sighed. He picked up Liers helmet and leaned down, shoving it onto his head.

Now, tell me. What music did you hear boy?