Detective Morrison took a long drag from his stim cig as he walked down the small airstrip. His leather duster flapped in the icy wind, but the pockmarked detective paid it no heed. His partner, Von-Bron, lagged behind, checking his slate for incoming alerts. There was a never-ending stream of pings as information about the attack got updated. Frowning, the younger man stuffed the slate back into his jacket and adjusted his tie.

"Still no news on the eastern front," he said once he caught up to Morrison. "Novgrun still refuses to move."

"No surprises there," said Morrison. "They are so far up the military's ass that they could tell you what the general had for breakfast."

Von-Bron made a disgusted face, and Morrison chuckled.

"Forget Novgrun; there are other places that we need to be." Morrison checked his watch. "Get moving. We are late as it is."

Von-Bron stepped to the side to avoid several vehicles de-icing the runway. A small aircraft was waiting ahead, and the duo jogged the last few steps towards the pilot. Morrison flashed his ID, and after a quick word with the pilot, they were airborne.

It was a fast takeoff. The duo was strapped in, looking out of the windows. The skies were unusually clear of traffic, and the two officers looked grimly at the emptiness around them.

Von-Bron's slate buzzed again, and he checked the alert. "Tilus and Yavan just got assigned. That's everybody. Things are moving fast."

"Blood's in the water," muttered Morrison. "Things are going to get ugly fast."

"You think so?"

"I know so. The military is not just going to roll over," said Morrison. "That little stunt they pulled with the embargo is just the start."

Von-Bron shrugged. "The Chief wasn't too keen on giving us the assignment."

"That miserable old goat had no choice," Morrison snorted.

"He is still blocking your transfer, eh?" said Von-Bron.

Morrison scowled as he took a long puff on his stim cig.

"But if we crack this case," continued Von-Bron, "hey forget transfer, we might even be up for a promotion."

Morrison gave a snort but soon looked pensive. "Speaking of the case, what did you think about those tower brats we just interviewed?"

"You mean their story about going apple hunting?" asked Von-Bron. "Pure grade-A bullshit."

Morrison nodded. "And what is a Wagner doing with two undercity sewer rats?"

"Blackmail?" suggested Von-Bron.

"No, somehow I don't think so."

"Me neither," said Von-Bron, who waved his hand dismissively. "Do you think they are hiding something that we can hang the military with?"

The older detective took a drag from his stim cig and shook his head. "No."

"No! Exactly!" said Von-Bron. "At the end of the day, like the Colonel said, they are a bunch of kids. In the grand scheme of things, they are nothing. So, why even bother?"

"Why indeed," Detective Morrison muttered.

Silence fell in the cabin as both of them stared out of their windows. The plane was flying low over the former capital. The devastated city was like a ghost from the past that had come to haunt them once again. Smoke rose from different parts of the city where the airships had crashed. In some places, the fires still raged as hundreds of tons of fuel went up in flames.

"One, two, three..." Von-Bron counted. "And five. That's five crashes in this section alone. How many more will there be?"

Morrison got up and opened the overhead compartment. He dragged out two blue radiation suits and tossed one to Von-Bron, who looked at them with distaste.

"Do I have to wear this damn thing over my actual suit and tie?" Von-Bron grumbled.

"Suck it up, kid," said Morrison. "This ain't the tower."

Both men slipped on the protective gear, and just as they had sealed their helmets, the plane began to hover.

The small aircraft landed with a soft thump, and the duo disembarked as soon as the safety door unlocked.

The snow lashed at them as they made their way through the windswept streets. Up ahead was a beehive of activity. The military had swarmed the area as they recovered the airship debris. Several areas were cordoned off, and they were directed to a location further away from the crash site.

Multiple checkpoints later, the duo found themselves in a side street where two men were loudly arguing. One of them had a tower symbol imprinted on their rad suit, while the other had the eagle of the military. After a few more threats and shouts, the one from the military stalked off.

"Jaco!" Morrison yelled as he approached.

The man in the suit turned and waved them forward.

"Morrison, the chief finally let you off the leash?"

"Someone had to come and clean up your mess."

Both officers chuckled good-naturedly.

Von-Bron jerked his head toward the retreating military officer. "What was that about?"

"The usual jurisdiction shit. They are giving us the run-around," Jaco snorted. He gave a quick look around. "Turn on your comms."

They quickly added each other and set their communication to private.

"What is the Commissioner doing?" asked Morrison once the connection was made.

"Commissioner Kade is in talks with them, but it looks like they are planning on stalling us as long as possible."

Von-Bron clicked his tongue. "The military seems particularly interested in this crash."

"This one is special," said Morrison.

"They messed up big this time." Jaco walked forward, and the other two followed.

Up ahead, an armored military mech was nailed to a building. He was crucified with his arms spread wide and head resting to one side. Blood dripped down the gaps of his suit, and above his head, a halo was drawn in red.

"The Fallen Angel," Von-Bron exclaimed. "The Revenant?"

"That's their calling card, alright," Jaco said grimly.

The three of them watched the military personnel comb through the area. Empty casings were cataloged, and broken hull plating and machine parts were examined. The outside buildings were peppered with bullet holes, which were carefully measured and analyzed.

"Looks like our old boy over here put up quite a fight," said Morrison. He stepped forward and walked towards the cordoned-off area.

"Where are you going?" asked Jaco. "The military is not going to let you in."

"I don't need to get in to learn something," said Morrison.

Jaco shook his head. "You need to learn to rest your feet sometimes, Morrison."

Von-Bron nodded to Officer Jaco and followed his partner. Both of them skirted the edges of the perimeter while examining the wreckage.

"What do you see?" Detective Morrison asked his younger partner.

Von-Bron was quick to answer. "Standard military mech, full loadout, had bot assistants."

"As for the one they were fighting, I would have to assume it was also a mech," Von-Bron continued. He looked around at the damage. "It's a good bet. A single mech with spiderling bots."

Morrison nodded. "Keep going."

"The military standard is five bots per mech." There was a pause as he counted. "There is one missing."

"There is one missing from the spiders too," Morrison jerked his head towards a bunch of piled-up cars. The roofs were scratched up.

They followed the tracks down the road, ignoring the military personnel who were busy with their work.

"Now why would anyone have their bots take a detour in the middle of a fight?" asked Morrison.

"They had something else drawing their attention."

"Yes," said Morrison. They rounded the bend, and the street was clear of the military. They walked down the snowy sidewalk.

Morrison cleared the snow with his boots as he walked and soon found what he was looking for. The old sidewalk was torn up by something heavy, and judging by the tracks, it had six legs.

"The spiderlings?" Von-Bron mused.

Morrison raised his head and looked around. "Cover the tracks. No need to give our good friends from the military a head start."

They made their way down the street carefully, feeling the sidewalk, and came across the back entrance of the Grand Central Mall.

The metal door was blasted into fragments, and the two of them carefully stepped into the building. Their suits buzzed as they cranked up their field. The snow that accumulated on their suits fell away.

Von-Bron examined the prints. The floor here was scratched up the same way. "You see that one? Those are definitely from a coyote, and these are from the spiders."

The younger officer slowly made his way into the building when he paused. He pointed at the scratched-up floor. "Hold on. This is different."

Morrison joined him. "It has six legs, but the marks are different. It's not too deep. It is a lot lighter."

They found more such markings, and Von-Bron turned to Morrison. "What does this mean?"

"A third faction was involved." Morrison slowly climbed up the stairs when he gave a satisfied chuckle. There were footprints on the stairs. Some of the lysom had clung to someone's soles, leaving the print.

More footprints were up the stairs, but one of them caught Morrison's eye. This print was the clearest one of them all, and right in the middle of the sole was a stylized letter 'R.'

The person who had walked up these stairs had on a pair of Reelers.

Detective Morrison's eyes glinted. "Well, well, well."