Chương 9: Mistinguette

Drops filtered through the curved roof of the gallery, wetting the cemented platform floor. A single train, much smaller than those of the main station, occupied the track. Leaning against its white flank, still untouched by rust, was Lance. His black jacket was torn, the sleeve missing, exposing a forearm dripping with red rivulets. His suit had various holes, and the fabric that should have covered his ankle had been violently torn away.

As his hand slid along the iron, it left streaks of blood running down like fresh paint. The hissing sounds only intensified, echoing through the darkness of the deep tunnel. He turned, driving his gaze into the dense black ahead. His eyes caught a faint distortion in the air, a wavering in the dark.

"I am starting to see it more clearly." He didn't know if it was thanks to the exhaustion or because his eyes had simply adapted, but he was now capable of glimpsing into what the Frequency really was, or what he thought it was.

"They are coming." He said under his breath, sharpening his senses, a cold shiver moving down his spine. Reddish sparks lit the station, scattering against the walls and dissolving into the air. Lance's hand had met the blade of Roman's Knight. His blood had hardened and amplified with the Frequency, holding the defence, but the force of the blow was more than enough to send him into the train wall, denting it under his weight. Lance smiled, dropping to the floor, coughing thick, reddish saliva.

"You are weaker now that we are here?" Satisfied, he smiled. His theory had proven correct: he could see the shadow's energy losing intensity. He pulled himself free from the dent in the iron, tearing the shredded sleeve up to the shoulder. He cracked his neck to one side, closed his fists, dropped his shoulders, and stretched his arms. Boxer's stance. Blood dripping slowly from his closed fists, sparks of something bright flickering through his yellowed eyes.

The Knight squared up, raising the heavy block of sharp tendrils that served as its arm. Lance's body launched toward it, sliding under its hips. The filament mass absorbed a hard right to the flank, followed immediately by a left. The figure staggered. Lance used the moment to shatter the leg carrying the weight of the sword. Loose, sludgy fragments scattered in all directions. The Knight dropped to one knee, legless. Twisting his body, he rose into the air, driving his bloodied knuckles toward the shadow's helm.

A portal of dense black threads materialised in the air and caught him. The slimmer shadow had finally entered the fight, gripping Lance's wrist with a spike-covered hand.

"Damn it." He tried to wrench free. The Knight's irregular shield connected with his face and sent him into the train. The carriage was considerably more intact than the others he'd fought through, clean enough that the first signs of wear and abandonment were only just visible as small details. He tried to rise from the table he'd crashed into. His head spun. His muscles screamed. He got to his feet and vomited through split and bleeding lips.

He reached into his pocket, closing his hand around the small silver cube." Not now..." The slimmer shadow materialised before him, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his face close to its own. The motion of thousands of fine filaments coated in a slimy film was unsettling. What was worse was the complete absence of any facial features.

"You... Beat all the absurd things I have seen in Sector II." He whispered before the shadow crushed him in its grip and lifted him by the throat. Outside, the Knight waited with its sword straight toward the ceiling, glinting with a disturbing cobalt light. He struggled with everything he had left, even biting the tendrils. The shadow held him fixed and steady in front of the Knight. The filament mass contracted like a muscle as it positioned the sword, the posture of an executioner.

Without warning, the blade swung toward Lance's neck, cutting the air with a hiss. More sparks lit the tunnel yellow, singeing his skin. The cube in his hand had expanded into the silhouette of a heavy platinum revolver. His forearm trembled from the force he used to press the barrel against the edge of the blade. With effort, he forced the sharpened mass of tendrils aside, driving it into the station floor with a hard crack.

He drove Supplicium's barrel into the swaying flank of the shadow, sinking it in nearly halfway. He coiled his hand slowly around the grip. His index finger settled on the trigger. Click A thunderous report erupted from the barrel, followed by a dense cloud of black and purplish smoke. A blinding light overwhelmed the faint glow from the platform's white lamps. The bullet detonated with full force. The Knight was torn apart, the wall beside it destroyed completely, leaving a deep crater.

The recoil had hit Lance hard. His forearm shook. The leg he'd braced on was planted into the floor. The shadow's grip had loosened. He caught it. He turned his body and drove his elbow into the creature's face, sending it staggering. What remained before him: a vague mass of charred black tendrils frantically trying to reassemble, reaching and stretching as they attempted to reconnect the fibres the revolver had severed. A faint violet glow pulsed at the centre of the damaged Knight, beating weakly, like a heart.

"That might be..." Lance drove his hand violently into the creature, wrapping the glow in a firm grip. He rotated his shoulder and pulled his arm free with the violet crystal still tight in his fist. Supplicium had already returned to its cube form, hanging from his neck on the chain.

"Maverick certainly had fun building this thing." He thought, running his thumb along the iron links. His gaze fell on the pulsing crystal, similar to the ones he'd pulled from the Helspawn in the clearing a week earlier. He could see the Frequency concentrated inside it and how much was packed into that small space. He began to close his fist, tightening until it cracked with a sharp, unpleasant sound. The crystal burst, scattering into fine shards carried off by the slow tunnel wind, mixed with dust and sand.

The tangle of threads stopped spasming. It began to reduce to black ash and disappeared into the warm, gentle draft.

"Is this like those rods they use on ships in the navy? A... Battery?" He smiled, sensing his vitality surge. He had absorbed the enormous reserve of energy Roman had taken from the plants. The new energy announced itself immediately. A hard impact connected with his neck, which hardened on instinct. The shadow was almost visibly startled by the resistance from a boy who had, moments ago, been vomiting and barely standing.

Without a word, Lance grabbed the slender creature's spined hand and crushed it, seizing the slick, dripping stump. He turned, twisted the arm, took the shadow by the throat, and hurled it into the train. Before it could rise from the floor, he was already beside it, smiling. The shadow hissed as it felt the point of his boot working its way into its black tissue. It rolled across the train's smooth, polished floor and recovered with a tumble.

Back on its feet, the shadow reformed its arm and raised a makeshift guard. Lance tilted his head and studied its posture. A faint smirk appeared on his face, smeared with dust and blood. A single uppercut from him shattered the guard, broke through, and connected directly with the chin. The monster's back bent under the impact, but Lance didn't stop. A punch sank into its stomach, followed by a jab to the face. His assault tore through the shadow's battered defence, hammering it with the full force of every blow.

The filament mass had softened and was beginning to sway, uncoordinated." Was I always this good at fighting?" Lance bounced on his legs with renewed vigour, arms bent in a guard over his face. A hiss escaped from the shadow's fissures as it compressed, like a spring. The floor cracked under the weight of what Roman's shadow had become: loose and disjointed. He looked at it for a second. The world around him moved slowly.

He could clearly see the shards of tile and iron panelling wavering, perceiving every movement in the train. He raised Supplicium toward the shadow, a few paces away, and pressed the trigger with care, releasing the casing from the revolver's chamber. The upper half of the creature vanished. The walls of the carriage deformed from the force. The entire rear of the car was torn open, driving iron fragments into the grey, dirty concrete of the tunnel walls.

The bullet had deflected mid-flight, warped, and ended its path in the corner where the tunnel met the platform, leaving a deep, smoking crack. He held his aching, trembling arm. A few of his bones had fractured from the force he'd put into the grip, but they had already reassembled themselves, almost instantly. Lance turned his head toward what remained: a pelvis with two legs still attached, moving slowly and incoherently, dragging across the floor like something that had forgotten it was dead.

"Does it work the same if it's broken?" He collected a small violet fragment still attached to the cadaver's flank. He crushed it, feeling a smaller amount of energy coursing through his veins. From the tunnel, Roman had watched the fight, concealed inside the walls. His expression was stunned, fixed on the boy who had just stepped out of the train.

"Is that kid supposed to be an inexperienced novice?" He examined the speed with which Lance had dismantled two of his soldiers. They were medium grade at best, but still not enough to be handled like that.

"He didn't give a single thought to his own injuries… Is he a rabid dog or what?" The thoughts swirled as he remembered Lance's wounds and the way he had deliberately injured himself to land a hit. Lance kept his gaze fixed on the darkness of the tunnel, waiting for that swirl in the shadow to make a move.

"He's noticed me? Good, I'll have to get my hands dirty." Roman dropped to the floor, cradled by his black sludge. He rose while a series of threads accumulated around his arms and legs, taking the shape of bones and skulls in a deep shade of blue.

"Lance Klint, isn't it? You are indeed not half-baked as I thought." He smiled, launching himself at the boy with the thread mass anchored to his fist. Lance's knuckles and Roman's solid threads clashed, the sound ringing through the empty station. A second blow came from the rotation of Roman's old body as he pivoted his hips, driving his shin into the boy's exposed flank. Lance's face contracted. He grabbed Roman's leg, lifting the old man into the air.

Roman tried to wrench free, but the speed with which he drove him into the floor left no room for defence. His eyes lost focus for a moment, flashing white. Roman's kick connected. Lance's head snapped sideways from the force. He staggered, trying to recover. He was breathing hard, tired and hurt, watching the shaken and trembling boy.

"You've pushed your power too hard… You've been arrogant." He smiled, pointing to the violet veins beginning to surface between Lance's knuckles and fingers. The old man struck the two skulls on his fists together, making them ring like instruments, advancing slowly toward Lance, who could no longer hold his guard. A silver glint caught Roman's eye. He sharpened his attention on the small cube in his hand. He stepped aside, avoiding the gun aimed at him.

"I've already seen that weapon. A useful tool indeed, but nothing special." He moved in. This time at a quick pace. Lance, instead of looking defeated or afraid, raised his gaze. He turned toward Roman, arm raised above his shoulder, ready to strike." I only have one single shot. Better not waste it." He swung the heavy, hard grip of the revolver into Roman's jaw. A sharp wave of pain hit him. He could clearly feel the nerves in his jaw compress from the blow.

He lost his footing, his guard crumbling, his left arm exposed. Click A report exploded from Supplicium's barrel, passing through Roman's arm, severing it completely, and lighting the tunnel behind them. A lament rose from both of them. Roman clutched his severed, blood-drenched shoulder while Lance held his own twisted and bleeding forearm. The recoil had been so powerful that without the last fragment of Frequency he'd had left, it would have torn his arm off entirely.

A sharp pain burst through Lance's mind, sending drops of red shooting from his right eye. The violet veins were advancing. Roman moved to end the fight, then a sound in his ear stopped him.

"Maica is at risk. Return." The female voice through the small earpiece.

"I've already sent Goliath… But I don't know how long he'll last against Lautre Clerc."

"What? That man is here? … Fine. Prepare the extraction." Roman turned his back. Lance reached out desperately, clawing across the ground with his chin pressed into the asphalt by the weight of his own body.

"I can't… Let him leave!" He whispered to himself, trying to get up.

"Come on, Lance… Don't disappoint me… I know you can do better than this." The spectral voice echoed through his mind again. Guided by those words, he rose. The gold of his eyes blazed between pupils drenched in blood. He moved to the dismembered train and touched its surface. With inhuman force, he drove his fingers through the iron of the vehicle, locking his grip around the steel pipes and thick mechanical cables. Every fibre of his body moved under the relentless force he was pumping through himself.

With every passing second, the violet of the scars dug deeper into his flesh. The train began to creak and groan, deforming between his arms.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" With that cry, Lance lifted the vehicle above himself, soaking in the remains of fuel and rancid oil pouring from the engine. He planted his leg, shattering the floor, twisted his entire body forward, and released every ounce of force from his muscles into the throw.

"How did he..." All Roman managed to think, watching a destroyed train come at him from a boy wrapped in blood and oil. The heavy mass of iron and machinery exploded, turning into a fireball that swallowed the tunnel, and both of them with it. Lance staggered. His vision was fading, and his skin was burning. He'd lost the syringes when the shadow had kicked them from him. He understood clearly what those veins were: symptoms of Hel overload, the mark of someone who had pushed their ability past its limits.

He ignored the pain of the flesh being gradually carved by the advancing scars and walked forward through the burning wreckage of the train.

"This boy… Is a devil!" Roman managed to think, dragging himself under the debris wrapped in fire. His skin was burned; iron shards had torn into his shoulder.

"I have to… Get back to Maica." He gasped as he pushed himself upright. A mass of threads emerged from the wall, forming a thick, sludgy portal. Roman slid silently inside, letting the sludge take him. His tired face was wrapped in a sensation of terror as he felt a firm grip close on his remaining shoulder. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Mind if I hitch a ride?" Lance asked, bending his exhausted face into a smile. Both of them fell into the portal. It closed behind them, leaving the tunnel in flames and with the stone slowly caving in. Around ten minutes had passed since Lautre had entered the fight against Maica, already worn from her clash with Jeanne, who was entirely incapable of keeping up with the man in the vest.

"I wouldn't win even if I were in my best condition!" Maica confirmed to herself, watching Lautre's movements. His posture was perfect, a style similar to Andimica's Internal Guard, but much more fluid, refined by experience. Every column she raised to create distance between herself and him ended up vibrating and shattering into fragments. And Maica had been unable to catch him off guard in any way, as if his senses had already mapped the room.

"You're boring." He pulled his fist from a thick cement column, which exploded a few seconds later. Maica was pinned to one side of the room, unable to move or escape Lautre as he advanced slowly. He pressed his knuckles together. A thin vibration moved the air near him, like an instrument. His step was deliberate and controlled, without offering a single gap.

"Maica… Goliath is arriving. About one minute out." The voice through the earpiece. Maica's face recovered its confidence, then went immediately into shock as she felt his knuckles against her sternum. From the point of impact, a vibration radiated through every fibre of her body.

"Bang." Lautre watched her vibrate, then slam into the wall like a bullet. Jeanne had watched the man's movements: light on his feet, cheerful, as if taking a pleasant walk. She had understood he was experienced the moment Maliard and Lance had faced off, but watching him in action was something else entirely.

"I thought Lance and Maliard were destructive, but this is..." She noted the vaguely human-shaped crater where Maica had been embedded. Every one of Lautre's blows had damaged the floor beneath his feet. Maica fell from her recess, dropping to her knees and spitting blood. Her ability was at its limit. The regeneration was failing.

"This is bad. This is bad! I'm going to die if we keep going." She realised, looking up at his face through the condensation and smoke. An expressionless face. Empty.

"You're not even worth a warm-up in this state... Are you the weakest of the bunch?" He pressed a hand to his temple and shook his head.

"Maybe that boy had it way worse." He sighed, rhythmically tapping his heel on the ground.

"Bah… Lance is certainly fine." He thought, recalling how he had managed to outclass Maliard in a full fight, even if it was luck. Lautre resumed walking calmly toward Maica, whistling a bar melody he'd picked up from Edvard during one of their drinking sessions. He stopped. His tongue clicked. A vibration travelled through him, expanding to the whole room.

"Something's coming." He felt a strong vibration stir through the space. His senses fired. He jumped upward, avoiding a set of sharp claws that had burst through the floor. Lautre landed and looked at the enormous abomination that had risen from the earth. A beast twice his height, covered in thick, glossy scales. Its bulk was tremendous, and the bony plates scattered across its soft parts made clear just how durable it was.

The jaw, lined with cartilage and bone, opened slowly, revealing a row of sharp crystalline teeth. It let out a guttural, inhuman hiss. He cracked his knuckles, irritated by the creature's noise. He rotated a small valve on his device, causing it to tighten and release a thin bluish mist.

"Maybe this will be more entertaining." He smiled, launching himself at the beast.

"Laure actually sent Goliath!" Maica sheltered behind a column, watching Lautre and the monster collide. Lautre's blows were having no visible effect. His knuckles were wearing down and bleeding. He shook the blood off, examining his hand with a satisfied expression.

"Aren't you pretty tough?" He slammed his knuckles together, producing that odd vibration. Goliath lunged with unnerving speed, startling for something its size, bringing its claws dangerously close to Lautre's face. His strike barely grazed the creature's arms. The limbs began to tremble violently, then detonated, splitting apart. He bounced on his feet, satisfied, rolling his now-relaxed arms.

"BANG!" He seemed like a child when he celebrated. The beast examined its hand, hissing in something close to a whimper. The limb regenerated immediately, releasing a white, foul-smelling vapour.

"You don't break easily... That's nice!" He snapped his fingers. An instant later, the entire room began to vibrate enormously, as if struck by an earthquake. Lautre spread his arms wide, opened his palms, and channelled the vibration to his fingertips. Every tremor in the room accumulated toward him, poised to clap his hands. Goliath charged again. He held the release until the beast was nearly on top of him." Allegro!"

A thunderous blast compressed the air in front of him, exploding outward and slamming into Goliath, sweeping it into the wall. The column of debris, smoke, and condensation dispersed shortly after, revealing the creature's condition: partially crushed against the wall. Its flank had been mutilated by the concussive current. Its claw was bent and twisted inward. The bony plates had begun to crumble. Fresh vapour animated the creature. It rose and began regenerating, slowly.

"I think I understand… I'll have to put you down in a single hit, right?" He asked the beast, which responded with a ferocious hiss and an open jaw.

"Well… I wasn't expecting an answer, frankly." He reached for the device on his body. The iron of the machine extended into a black rod above his shoulder. Lautre gripped the handle, pulling it free from its housing. The black rod in his hands began to rotate and thicken, forming a very narrow U-shape.

"A… Tuning fork?" Jeanne wondered, watching the instrument in Lautre's hand.

"Not a tuning fork… It's MY tuning fork." He said it to her, inexplicably having heard.

"This is one of the few objects capable of amplifying my 'song' and therefore allowing me to... Well, I'd rather just show you than keep explaining." He cradled the rod. Goliath renewed its charge, opening its jaws and claws toward him.

"Seventeen centimetres to the right of the second plate… Yes, that'll do!" He thought, examining the beast's torso. The tuning fork began to vibrate vigorously, shaking even his hand. He looked excited. Content." Mistinguette: Superposition." Lautre slid under Goliath's massive arms, striking with the tuning fork's prongs at the spot he'd identified. The creature froze, hissing furiously. Seconds later, it began to vibrate, increasing in intensity with every passing moment.

He set the tuning fork down, bowing slightly in anticipation. The instant he rose from the gesture, Goliath exploded in a shower of blood and violet shards.

"This performance is passable for a drink." He ignored the violet rain now staining his face. Maica and Jeanne were both unsettled by the figure in front of them.

"And this is supposed to be a NOIR Agent?" They both thought, watching Lautre clean himself with his bare sleeve. He was hardly sweating, let alone being tired. He turned toward Maica, looking at her with a flat, disinterested face.

"That's the best toy you've got?" He smiled, sour. Before he could take a step, an explosion detonated against the wall. An old man without an arm had been hurled to Maica's feet, completely torn and covered in bruises. The portal from which they had appeared was still open, and something was emerging from it. A figure with clothes reduced to rags, arms carved entirely by violet scars, pushed itself out.

He dropped onto the ruined floor and advanced, threatening and tearing the small cube from the chain at his neck. It transformed immediately into a massive revolver, shining with a brilliant silver light.

"I guess he really was unlucky..." Lautre said, looking at him.

"He lasted that long in a fight like that? Incredible." A private compliment." However, if he keeps this up, he'll be in serious trouble." His attention moved to the wounds and the scars." That man is no pushover either; his Frequency is still ramping up in that state." He looked closely at Roman. Maica ran toward him, who used the last of his strength to open another portal. She guided him slowly inside.

"HEY! GET BACK HERE!" Lance aimed the revolver with a trembling hand toward the two, only to find himself, a second later, looking at the floor and vomiting blood again.

"Damn it! I'll have to let them go! That boy is gonna kill himself..." Lautre bit his lip while watching the unfortunate convergence of events, but he couldn't leave Lance to die like this. He ran to him, collecting the syringes from the floor. He uncapped one and drove the fine needle into the back of Lance's neck. The shock of pain made him cry out and crack his head against the floor, but the wounds began to recede. Before losing consciousness entirely, he caught sight of Roman's face and turned his way.

The dark took his vision, but he managed to make out a faint hand gesture and a word forming on the old man's lips.

"Goodbye." He thought he'd read before watching him disappear into the portal. Soon, the darkness engulfed his senses and dragged him into a bland sea of sensation. He was in the sea of fog again. The same fog he had dreamed of before. Soft applause echoed through the pale mist, moving slowly toward him.

"Excellent work, you took way less of my influence than needed." A female whisper caressed his ear. The voice this time was different, not like the mature and comforting one he met in the clearing. This one was almost snake-like, with a distant and echoing hiss. He wanted to speak, but he was unable to. Unable to move any part of his body. The woman laughed and bit gently at the tip of his ear. He could feel the warm touch of her tongue against his skin.

"Not so fast, Lance… I remind you that you are only a stranger here." She said, moving steadily away. Her footsteps echoed and faded.

"Don't forget why you came here, Lance… Don't disappoint Jude again." Those were the last words he heard before the fog swallowed him completely. Lance woke with a jolt, cracking his forehead against Jeanne's. Both of them groaned and rolled to the floor in pain. Jeanne recovered first, crawling toward him on all fours and looking him over from head to toe.

"Y-you're all right, right, L-Lance?" She asked, her voice worried, remembering all the blood he'd coughed up, the convulsions before he'd blacked out. His muscles ached. His mind was still light, unable to focus. But he was awake.

"Don't worry… I think I am fine." He said, gently pushing her hand away. His gaze fell involuntarily on Jeanne's state: her clothing was torn to pieces. Her shirt was unbuttoned far enough to expose her stomach and chest. The trousers that had covered her right leg were completely open, leaving her side exposed up to the hip. Lance had no strength left to turn red. He removed his own ruined jacket and held it out to her, pulling his eyes away as much as possible.

"If you could… Put this on." He said in fragments, covering his face with his free hand. Jeanne took the jacket, not understanding why until she looked down and noticed, with obvious surprise, the state her body was in.

"EHHHHHHH." A flustered sound came up through her throat. She tied Lance's jacket around herself in a hurry. It was closer to a rag than a jacket, but it covered her just enough. The two sat in the familiar silence of their strange pair, staring at nothing in particular.

"How are you feeling, Lance?" Lautre asked from across the room. He had put his white fur-collared coat back on.

"Fine… Just a bit tired, Mr Clerc." He replied with a whisper, looking him in the face. Lautre exhaled and hit Lance on the top of his head with an open hand. They didn't even register when he moved.

"Lautre is fine. I hate formalities… The same goes for you, Jeanne." He was firm, looking at both of them.

"I won't deny that you did an excellent job, but there are two problems." His tone held a genuine rebuke.

"The first is the state you're in. Do you understand how much you risked? You could have killed yourselves, especially you, Lance."

"Second problem..." His measured tone gave way.

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU BUY A FOREIGN GIRL?! HOW?!" The girl was seated beside him on what was left of a sofa. Both Jeanne and Lance were quiet, looking at the small girl: eyes downcast, hands gripping the hem of her rags. Lautre shook his head and pressed his palm against it, resigned.

"That said, I won't deny it was a good gesture… As well as good work." He turned his head aside and gathered the girl up, settling her on top of his device, which had expanded into a small seat.

"I really hate these people, good thing they died!" Lautre sighed, pointing the thumb to the gallery connected to the auction room.

"The girl will be brought to NOIR for a medical checkup and to be schooled, but once you return, she will be your responsibility to look after. Is that clear?" He said it with authority. The girl seemed calm, perched on his shoulders. She smiled, saying something in a language they all couldn't understand. Both recruits nodded gratefully. Their expressions carried the kind of determination that made Lautre remember his own time as a recruit.

"Dammit, now we gotta be careful of this bunch of shitheads too? When will I be able to retire..." He murmured, covering the girl's ears. His gaze returned to the pair.

"Round is outside waiting. It'll be dawn soon… Sleep." He said, disappearing into the darkness.

"HEY HEY! DON'T TOUCH THAT!" That was the last thing the two heard before they headed off in the opposite direction. They walked slowly and tiredly through the subterranean corridors of the villa.

"I'm glad you're all right."

"I'm glad you're all right." Both of them said it at the same moment, causing redness to appear on their pallid cheeks. They laughed about it anyway. A light, unguarded laugh. Their quiet voices moved through the corridors.

"I think everybody either escaped or got killed." Lance noticed all the chaos in the rooms, the broken glass, the bent cages, and the eerie silence that came with it. Jeanne nodded, walking just a tad faster.

"So this is our world now..." A few minutes later, they emerged into the garden of the Child family's villa, still in disarray from the auction and the sudden fight. Edvard would take care of all that. Lance offered Jeanne a hand over the gate. She seemed not to need it, clearing it with a clean jump.

"Were you a gymnast?"

"What's that?"

"Well... It's a... Never mind."

"There you are! The car is ready." Said a butler who had stepped out from a bush at the roadside. They were too tired to be startled by the black mask with the circle painted on it.

"Thank you, Round… You saved us." Lance smiled, getting into the car.

"It's my duty, Lance." The reply came with gravity and a thread of concealed warmth. The butler took the wheel and drove them to the apartment on Fifth Boulevard. Strangely, there was a lot of traffic for the time: all kinds of vehicles, from older to newer models, moved like a column of ants, plus the various curses of their drivers. The night was tinged by the stars of the city, most of all the one in Sector V.

The more the gaze fell on the outer layers, the more the darkness engulfed them, fusing them in an amalgamation with the trees." The sea tonight is indeed beautiful too." He thought, relaxing his grip on the wheel while stacks of vapour flew beyond the glass.

"Tomorrow you'll need to report to the base and be detailed about those two figures, what you did, and—" Round stopped talking. The two recruits had fallen asleep on each other's shoulders, breathing softly in the rhythm of the car, cradled by the butler's steady driving.

"They earned it." Round smiled and turned onto the long road, away as usual from the light.