2.20

“Highlander and Runick have been identified attempting to flee, dispatching Team One to intercept. Primary target is still engaging with preliminary forces on the top floor.”

Burke’s voice crackles over the radio as three sets of footsteps climb the decaying staircase, heading for the top floor.

“Why, exactly, are you here?” I ask Clockwerk in an attempt to distract myself from the twinge of my fading injuries.

“Maybe I needed a room!” She fires back.

“Bullshit.”

“What can I say, it’s rough out there!”

We reach the final floor, and Jet lets out a burst of flame from her boot, splintering the door and flinging it open. On the other side is an identical moldy hallway.

Clockwerk darts out and immediately starts sprinting to the left.

“Hey —“

“Sorry! Got places to be, y’know?!”

Jet tenses like she’s about to chase before I stretch out my arm. “No time. Burke, what room’s the target in?”

The radio crackles. “Redline. He’s in the dining hall, a few doors down,” he states.

I watch a little longer as Clockwerk flees down the hall and around a corner. Technically, we could go after her.

I turn towards the dining hall.

Jet follows as we sprint across ragged carpets and rotting floorboards.

We hit the end of the hall and turn to see another group of mercenaries fighting off a larger group of Rook’s drones. The drones dodge and weave in erratic, but calculated patterns, deftly wielding tasers on extended limbs to aim for spots in their enemies’ armor.

Seeing them for the third time now, I notice a couple things about their attire. Decagon called them the 12th Hour Dogs, right?

Their outfits are high-tech, practical, but with a certain flair to them. Their padding’s a deep, but rich, crimson, trimmed with gold outline all the way up to the standing collar around their necks, as if they’re wearing suits under all that armor.

The full-face masks I’d noticed earlier cover their faces, but not the top or back of their heads, allowing more range of motion than a full helmet would, with the slightly strange addition of two triangular spikes sticking up from where their ears would be if they weren’t covered.

Each of them has a badge on their breastplate, adorned with a logo. A full circle with ticks around the inside, centered by a snarling wolf’s head.

Distinct. And, obviously, dangerous. I glance at Jet.

She grins.

Jet bursts forward in a spiral of flames from all limbs, forcing the mercenaries to duck out of the way as I sprint through behind her. They stumble, disoriented, but as they try to recover and counterattack, the drones position themselves deftly in between us and them.

“Close one, Redline,” I hear Rook comment over the radio.

I ignore her jab. “How far are we?”

“Next right.”

We reach the end of the hall, tearing up carpet, and make our way towards the flimsy set of double doors.

The floorboards bend and creak with every step, the yellowed lights flickering and gathering moths, the sounds of unnatural violence wafting out from beyond the boundary.

Jet pulls back a fist and emits a burst of flame from the back of her hand, blasting the doors wide open.

Inside is a large dining hall, moldy carpets ripped and torn to shreds, ancient wooden tables splintered and cast aside, electric bulbs casting a weak yellow glow over the decaying room.

The back wall is covered in a row of large windows, drapes rotting and falling off their rods, blocking the light attempting to shine through and turning it a mottled green against the broken floorboards.

A number of Rook’s drones flit around the room, blinking a harsh electric blue in contrast to the grimy tone of the building. They swarm like flies around a crimson, hulking creature, a large crown of twisted horns and bulging muscle adorning its skull. The thing rages silently, swinging its fists and occasionally pulverizing a drone in its flailing.

Towards the back of the room, in front of the draped windows, there stands a man, back facing us. He wears a black trench coat, gray slacks and dark hiking boots. His hair looks like it was originally a stark black, but now it’s tarnished with streaks of gray.

In his left hand, he holds a small, black notebook, the bookmark ribbon hanging off the bottom end as he splays open the pages with his deft fingers. In his other, he flips a small coin, the room’s meager ambient light reflecting gold off its surface as it spins.

Something twisted an inhuman hangs off of his leg, a bony shriveled wretch with ashen skin and thinning hair, lines of shining gold tracing like cracked porcelain over its skin, eyes and teeth glinting like rare metals.

Faust snaps the notebook closed, sliding it into his pocket. He flips the coin one last time, and the wretch leaps desperately, snatching it out of the air with its teeth.

“Mammon. We have visitors.”

As the man finally turns to face us, I feel my stomach drop.

The room tilts, and warps, I can hear my blood rushing in my ears, and I can’t help but let a name slip past my lips.

“…Vincent?”

Jet shoots me a look. I ignore her.

Faust’s expression is lined with something profound. A thick layer of stubble climbs along his jaw.

“You’re… children.”

“Yeah, well —“ Jet retorts. “We’re still gonna kick your ass!”

He hesitates. “I’ll give you a chance to retreat.”

“Fuck off!” Jet fires bursts of flames from her hands and takes a step.

Faust’s expression deepens. “Unfortunate. I’m… sorry.”

“Satanas. Incapacitate.”

The hulking creature — Satanas — clears another batch of Rook’s drones with a sweep of its bulging arms and locks its gaze onto us. The remaining drones try to slow it down, but —

Nothing seems to budge it.

The thing lowers its stance and starts to charge, all nine feet of inhuman muscle shaking the ground with every step. It charges closer, barreling towards us at unnatural speeds and pulling back its enormous fist.

I can’t bring myself to move.

Jet leaps out in front, catching the fist and cranking her flames up to full blast. Streams of fire burst from the backs of her hands, kicking up dust and heating the air around us. The flow of whipping wind makes a sound not unlike a jet engine.

Just barely, she holds back the creature’s bulk.

“Red! Get your head in the game!” She grunts.

I can’t — I can’t…!

Jet skids further back along the padded floor as Satanas heaves, smoke and flame streaming out in plumes as she tries to regain her footing.

I can’t leave her.

Dropping into a crouch, I duck under her arm and streaks of red-hot fire, diving forward and leaping up to grab hold of Satanas’s outstretched arm.

Without having to worry about burning me with her flames, Jet redoubles her output, sharp cones of fire flaring outwards and starting to push Satanas back.

I push off the ground, swinging myself up to wrap around the thing’s arm, pulling back my leg and using my leverage to snap a kick at its face.

It doesn’t react. I curse internally.

Pulling back again, I remember the feeling of flexing a new muscle.

I spend another pressure booster.

My leg snaps out so fast I can’t track the movement, spitting out a burst of steam with a sharp hiss.

I hear a loud crack, and feel a stabbing pain as Satanas’s head snaps back, reeling. I let myself slide off the monster’s arm and roll away, and I watch as Jet turns her thrusters forwards to gain distance as well.

Both legs are out. I can only do that two more times. I assess the situation.

Satanas itself is going to be enough trouble to deal with once it recovers, not to mention the unknown. Mammon, I think he called it?

Jet’s likely still fatigued, and I’m down two pressure boosters. What about Rook’s drones…?

Glancing around the room, all I see are piles of scrap metal dotting the floor. When did that happen?

Faust spares us one last look before he turns and begins to leave.

“Stop him!” I shout reflexively.

Jet fires up her thrusters, speeding towards Faust in a flying tackle.

Faust stops walking.

“Mammon.”

The creature that was just moments before pathetically clinging to his pant leg vanishes in a blur of motion. Floorboards splinter, plaster erupts, small craters appear on every surface in succession on a collision course with Jet.

Her thrusters swivel and emit a sharp burst of fire as she halts midair, narrowly avoiding the shriveled blur.

“Jet…!” I start, too late to do anything.

Mammon slams into the ceiling and snags chunks of splintered wood in its hands, bending its neck to stare at Jet.

It leaps, and Jet releases an explosion of force, dodging against the burst of air it leaves behind

The thing plows into the floorboards, tearing up an enormous divot as it skids to a stop. Jet fires off two more bursts of fire, reorienting and launching herself at its back.

I watch Mammon’s eyes widen, sparkling overgrown crystals tearing through stretched eyelids as it bends itself around.

And then, a heavy boom. Mammon tackles Jet out of the air, ignoring her attempts to produce a counter-thrust and cratering through the drywall on the other side of the room. Both of them disappear into a plume of dusted plaster.

Faust’s voice sounds louder in the relative silence. “Satanas.”

I tense. It recovered?!

I whip my head around in time to see Satanas prepare a heavy downwards slam.

The blow whips past my face as I drop into a backwards roll, ignoring the sting of wooden shrapnel from the impact.

Satanas hefts its bulk and leans into another charge, pulling its shoulder forwards into a ramming position.

Faust is still standing near the room’s exit, seemingly content to observe. Why isn’t he running?

Is he nervous about continuing without a bodyguard?

I can’t wait for him to change his mind. Satanas charges, and I step to the side and position myself in front of its head. As it approaches, I take a small leap upwards, grab hold of its crown of horns and heave myself over its head, landing cleanly on its broad, muscular back as it tries to slow down.

I step off, transitioning into a sprint as I hit the ruined floor.

There’s a thud from behind me, and a thick red bar of solid muscle fills the right side of my vision.

An impact, the world around me spins and blurs before coming to an abrupt stop as I slam back into the ground. Pain lights up my entire torso, halting my movements and constricting my breathing.

I activate my power immediately, realigning bones and applying temporary sutures, sealing any major tears using surrounding fats, trying to preserve as much muscle as possible. I resurface just in time to twist out of the way as Satanas plants a foot where my head would be.

I stagger to my feet, eyes locked on Satanas and its body movements. Its body twists, and the muscles in its arm bulge, and in response I scramble into a sloppy duck as it whips out a swipe fast enough to disturb the air around us.

I drop into another roll, shoving off my helmet in the same motion and sliding out a calorie bar from my pocket.

It’s gone in two bites, and I take a second to redistribute the calories it provides and rebuild some of the structure I’d lost from the earlier attack.

Faust still stands in the corner of the open room, eyes locked on his notebook.

Ugh.

Satanas lets out an animalistic huff. I can’t take another hit like that, and it’s too good at restricting my movements. I need to stun it again, preferably long enough to get to Faust before it recovers.

I detach my tonfas and prepare a combat stance.