Production Notes #2

More pictures! This time in color (mostly).

These aren't great pics by any stretch. What I visualize is much more detailed and vibrant, but given my capabilities, this is all I can offer for your sighted edification. Enjoy.



I know her head is too big :S I really enjoy drawing Alix. She has the most intricate outfits, all intended to be 'distracting' but she never carries herself as someone looking for attention, which lets me play with postures and expressions. This particular outfit is supposed to be a modified 'tux' idea, since I was originally thinking what would happen if she wore more traditionally male clothes. Answer: More boobage.





See, I told you I would get a dude on here.

And finally:




A map I made when I was originally conceptualizing all of these groups, and attempt to relate it to others in a sensical manner. Thanks for watching.

Chapter 10

Bothersome. Unwarranted reaction.
Program malfunction?
Checking...
All systems normal.
Strange. Bothersome.

There was noise. Sound, as if underwater. Muted.
“Stay with me, Ceres! Don't go to sleep.”
If she noticed the new nickname, Denisovich made no mention. Marek shook her, the blood staining her clothes and the rusted metal floor of the sandtruck.
“Come on, Denisovich!” Marek's mind raced, despite a growing pain in the back of his head. He alighted on ways to keep her conscious.
“Tell me...what do you miss most about the Sapphire City?”
Denisovich blinked several times, her mouth finding it difficult to form words.
“Music,” she finally exhaled,” There's no music here. My mother played beautifully, all sorts of instruments. My father said it was all she was good for. When she died, he sold all her beautiful...the piano I miss the most, she...shee...Even Pyotr said...he knew how bothered I...and he never stood up to Father, never, save...this really hurts, Mercer.”
“I'm not Mercer,” Marek corrected, not for the first time. His headache was getting worse. Despite her innate regenerative powers, Marek knew Denisovich could not heal fast enough to keep from losing all her precious lifeblood. He felt her go limp in his arms, all color gone from her skin.
“Cerastes! Lacrymosa Cerastes!”
Golden eyes flittered open, then closed again. Marek swore, Ziro counted, for the thirty-fourth time in mere minutes. His first string of invectives had lasted as long as his breath did. The android quickly scanned the surroundings, pale eyes rarely blinking beneath bangs of auburn waves. A collection of rubble...rocks? structures?...grew nearer, and Ziro sped between them, attempting to gain cover.
“Why are we stopping?” Marek roared, as Ziro exited the sandruck.
“This vehicle was poorly constructed. There is no chance to outrun them. Lady Denisovich must be tended to.”
Marek swore, thirty-five. His head was throbbing; nothing made sense. There were gaps in his memory, his usually quick mind was sluggish. How to benefit from this situation...One thing was certain, leaving the daughter of Denisovich to die would be his death, regardless of any intervention by the Adjudicator. The android was an enigma as well, yet refused to cooperate with the neophyte. Biding time seemed the only option. The Thyestrians—NIL's take them—were getting closer. Some of the dumber ones (and who really credited Thyestrians with great intelligence?) may pass them by but eventually they'd be spotted, the moon a betraying brightness in the barren sky. He lowered his voice while addressing the android currently pressing its hand against the wound, blood pouring over fingers without ceasing.
“I can't take all of them on, Ziro. Even Ceres here couldn't, even with her stupid sword, not without superpowers.” He paused. “Do you have a self-destruct?”
The withering look he received in response made him chuckle, despite the tension. Suddenly, Ziro stiffened, its voice flat as it spoke without looking at him.
“Marek, go over to the rocks and tell me how far they are.”
Off-put by the android's chill tone, Marek nevertheless did as told. Holding Denisovich's long knife in one hand, and the metal rod, still stained with her blood, in the other, he peeked around the rubble.
“Looks to be a few hundred yards,” he guessed, as loud as he dared. He heard the sound of decompression, air rapidly released. When he glanced behind, Ziro had something in its hand. It looked very similar to a LiqNit cylinder, but it was all black with archaic markings over it. Pre-Outbreak, Pre-Adjudicator's War even. Before he could voice a question, the android had jammed the sharp end deep in the unconscious Denisovich's chest. A strangled cry ripped unbidden from his throat as he scrambled over to them, no longer interested in the death on wheels which was still bearing down on them.
“What have you done? What are you doing?” Marek demanded as the last of the container's contents emptied into Denisovich's torso. A thought was nagging at his mind, something important, but it was impossible to grasp.
“Saving you,” Ziro answered simply, though its voice betrayed a sense of urgency. It looked up at him, eyes deep and empty.
“She's a Pureblood who's fed recently. Her system should be strong enough to handle it.”
“Should be? Handle what?”
The pain in his head was becoming blinding. Ziro moved in and out of focus and the world was unsteady. Questions rose and ebbed in his mind, feasting on one another. He took a step back, missed and stumbled to the ground. He raised himself to hands and knees, heaving.
“Why am I sick?” he murmured to himself. Despite not being addressed, Ziro responded.
“You were a human a few hours ago. Now you're not. Your body is recreating the Change.”
Marek groaned, clutching his chest.
“I don't understand.”
“You were a human. Lady Denisovich bit you. I presume you drank of her blood and became a vampire yourself.”
Finally, he collapsed onto his back, his whole body aching.
“But I was always a vampire,” he whispered to the sky.
His vision was darkening and now the ground was vibrating with the weight of motorized engines. He felt a shadow move over his face. There were noises, the sound of scuffling. He thought he heard cries, but could not be sure they were not his own. Marek's mind was spiraling, grasp of reality slipping. A flash of silver here, the feeling of something warm on his face. A dripping sound. Rain?
A moment, an eternity passed. Silence. He felt a weightlessness, then a thud. Finally, he fought no longer and dipped into oblivion.

~~

Alix recognized the smile. Tavian glided through questions (some barely veiled accusations) with the grace and delicacy of a swallow. She wandered the Feasting Hall, seemingly without interest in her surroundings, murmuring greetings to those she came near. The noise had died down, not a single concern or problem had gone unanswered.
Tavian had dressed down for the briefing, his thick coat a sable black, double buttoned in the style of the Enforcers. No gold buttons shone at his breast or cuff. He went uncharacteristically unadorned save an opalescent stone on one ear. By contrast, Alix was a storm of reds and purples, tones fading into each other in a manner defying straightforward visual explanation. The silk shifted over her curves, offering tantalizing promises. More than one male Patrician had lost interest in the discussion in favor of studying the Châtelaine. For her part, Alix ceaselessly cataloged responses. None were surprising. The smaller families were reluctant to contribute forces to the 'training exercise', especially at a comparable rate as the largest families.
Lord Epirus had proved the most vocal, a cry for fairness and all but outright stating this was nothing more than an attempt to assimilate his house into the Justinian holdings. The room had gone preternaturally quiet, a few nobles moving away from the incensed Patrician. Tavian had simply given his impish smile, assuring Epirus and even guaranteeing the House holdings for the duration of the exercise. Briefly the Adjudicator met Alix's glance, pregnant with meaning. She mentally filed a note to look into Epirus' agricultural holdings.
Peasants should know better than to stand toe to toe with kings, she mused. Epirus' wealth stemmed solely from a monopoly on certain enriched vegetables. One catastrophic crop failure...the humans would suffer, of course, but such an occasion would allow Daren Sevren and his family to gain a firm foothold in the market. Sevren controlled a smaller production house outside one of the more affluent port cities. Such an increase in demand for his goods could potentially propel his name to the Order of Tables, making him a noble, if he played the circumstances correctly. More importantly, Sevren was a client of House Justininan, while Lord Epirus had Gregorii Denisovich as a patron. Alix smiled, her eyes dark below heavy lids. Tavian had set it up perfectly.
Speaking of which...while she'd expected Lord Denisovich to go along with the Adjudicator's plan, at least by appearances, she'd expected some kind of barbed question, something to undermine Tavian in front of the Patricians. Yet the argent-haired noble had proven to be nothing but smiles and supportive compliments. A disturbing development.

~~

The coolness was a comfort, a welcome change from the oppressive heat of the World Above. The two figures leaned heavily against the wall. There was no light, even their highly keen vision picked up little, but no matter; they could find their way home by feel. At the first outpost, they called for runners to deliver message of their return and by the fourth outpost, the whole den knew and was gathered in the Great Hall. As they staggered into the low artificial light, they were bombarded with questions.
“Aenor, where are the others?”
“Were there many?”
“Where are you injured?”
“Was it a new weapon, Elissa?”
“Enough!” a voice barked, silencing all. Members of House Thyestes moved aside for the Alpha. She was not particularly large...several members of her house were taller or broader. Nothing about her appearance bespoke her significance. Her hair was a tawny shade of brown, worn long as was their style, beaded through with bones and the occasional stone gem. Her eyes, though, violet and menacing, brooked no disrespect. She scanned the two haggard figures from head to foot, without sympathy.
“Why have you returned alone, Elissa, Aenor? Where are your siblings?”
The two glanced at each other. Elissa spoke first.
“They're dead, Rozresa-mother. We only barely escaped.”
“An ambush?” her voice was short and sharp.
“Not exactly,” Aenor replied, a hand still pressed against his shoulder. She stared at them in exasperation.
“Well? Out with it!” she roared, fangs glowing in the soft unnatural light. Aenor shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting around, but finding no comfort. The Alpha clenched her fists, claws biting into palms.
Finally, Elissa blurted, “It was just one. We swear, we didn't know! She seemed weak, tired. She got away for a moment with two others and the second squad went after her. By the time we'd caught up, most of them were down. We gathered the rest and...she just came out of nowhere. We...we...”
Elissa's voice cracked and she sunk to the rocky ground, whole body shaking.
Aenor looked Rozresa in the eye, and she saw the wildness barely contained.
“She was a monster, Alpha. There was nothing we could do.”
The rest of the Hall gave stunned silence, but Rozresa looked merely contemplative.
“Well,” she answered at length, a smile both feral and cruel lighting her face, “We have our own monsters.”

~~

A multitude of voices, humming—singing? She couldn't tell. There were so many.
She held perfectly still, feeling the slightest movement would shatter her. Everywhere she looked there was death. Broken bodies and severed limbs lay strewn about the ground like some morbid art experiment. Some looked literally torn apart. Even when she looked down at herself. She was covered in blood, it stained her arms and chest and legs. She put a hand to her neck.
“Lady Denisovich?” a quiet voice broke the stillness. She turned, saw ero standing by the unconscious Marek in the back of the sandtruck.
“It's almost dawn, ma'am. We need to get him away from the light.”
“Ziro?” Denisovich asked, voice small, her eyes brimming with rarely felt tears.
“Yes, lady?”
“I can't feel my heartbeat.”

Chapter 9

(Author's Note: HEAVENS. This is the longest effing chapter. I'm sorry this took so long, I kept feeling like I was close to finishing it for weeks. Like the NIL's, this was the chapter that would not end. Tons happen, and I STILL haven't gotten to the truly important part. o.o Hopefully this doesn't drag too much. Thank you for waiting. Enjoy.)


~~~
The body was hunched, slouched, a head too small sunk onto a huge set of shoulders. A mouth filled with needle-like fangs made the mouth impossible to close. A pair of wicked tusks jutted out from the top jaw. Tiny black eyes, barely visible under a thin membrane, did not move, though the head twisted from side to side, following the torn over-sized ears to distinguish signals coming over the dunes.
In theory, at one time, its ancestors had been classified as human, but generations of harsh desert life, close to the Death Winds' crevices had generated new traits for survival. Now, few characteristics bespoke even a shred of humanity, save a scraggy beard that would look more fitting on a goat than anything else.
On these sands, they feared nothing. And they were hungry, tired of feeding on the rotten flesh of zombies and non-moving carcasses. And the sounds from the metal rocks promised food.
If only they could locate it.
~~

People lined the wall, some armed with rifles, others with little more than sharpened picks.
“How many of you are there?” Denisovich asked, as she was shoved forward, her arms still chained behind her.
“Hundreds,” one of her guards answered, clearly unafraid.
“You all live underground?”
“It's the only way to be safe from the gases and keep ourselves pure.”
“With all this talk of “purity”, I'm amazed you're not all a bunch of inbred dredges.” The quip earned her a rock to the back of the head, but she didn't slow. Her guard seemed more than happy to continue talking.
“Nope, Kalten makes sure. He studies the Family Trees and determines who will mate with whom.”
Well, at least my plan to be nonthreatening seems to be working, Denisovich thought as the guard rambled on about the lack of disease or malformations among the Sons of Adam that the surface people dealt with. The air was beginning to feel even more oppressive, the smells stronger. Having trotted her out in front of the entire population, Kalten and his cronies were ready to tell her how to “help” them.
In a separate cavern, past a sign which warned against entering, Denisovich spied a whole in a far wall.
Without warning, they shoved her in, and ordered her forward. She heard movement coming from inside the hole, along with the tell-tale sounds of machinery.
“Hello?” she called. She was just along the side of the hole now, able to distinguish several sounds, including one that resembled dust being blown through a ventilator.
“I am Lacrymosa Denisovich of the House of Atreus. I mean no harm.”
A very quiet voice answered.
“Enter.”
A piece of the wall, including the hole, collapsed into a pile of dirt, moss and rubble. She heard murmuring behind her, the humans deciding what to do, but they offered her no advice. Waving a hand in front of her face to clear the dust, she walked into the stone antechamber.
Immediately, a gun was pressed against her temple, a tiny red light directed into her right iris. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Again, a hand pulled her head to one side to look behind her ear and the tattoo which marked her as a child born Before Outbreak. Just as suddenly, the gun was pulled off and soft light filled the room. Denisovich's gaze took in a computer, filing sheets of sensory information, cameras and other sensors, all of which were covered in a thick layer of dust. In the corner, a figure stood, head bowed.
“Forgive me, lady,” it spoke, in a sincere voice, but one which resembled a child's to the point of impossible gender identification. The mystery was no more solved as the figure raised its head. Dark brown hair, with a touch of auburn, cut in layers down to the shoulder waved enough to frame a face delicate without being effeminate. Eyes so light as to be almost clear stared at her with no apparent emotion.
“Identify yourself,” Denisovich commanded.
“Yes, lady. I am Zirconian-series Insurgency Repulsion Operations.”
Again, Denisovich found herself blinking in surprise.
“ZIRO?” she queried. The android cocked its head to one side.
“If you like.”
Denisovich glanced around again.
“How long have you been down here?” she continued. Ziro blinked, its computer mind calculating.
“Judging by the depletion of my batteries, I would estimate I have been here for 312 years, 2 months, 25 days, 21 hours and 17 minutes.”
Denisovich leaned against a wall.
“Three hundred years? You've been down here for three hundred years?”
Instead of answering, Ziro noticed her chains for the first time.
“Lady, if I may be so insolent...why are you bound?”
“Atrean!” she heard Mercer call. “We're coming in, tell the systems operator to stand down.”
Denisovich stepped toward Ziro, who ignored Mercer, as if it had heard nothing. She kept her voice low, but spoke quickly.
“Ziro, this is very important. What are you guarding? Is it a weapon?”
Ziro shook its head.
“I'm sorry, lady, I don't know what it is. They didn't tell me when I was assigned here. As you can see, there are weapons here, some gold too, but I don't know what it's for.”
Denisovich nodded.
“There will be men. Human men. They will take the weapons. You are not to speak, under any circumstances. Don't fire on them, do you understand?”
The android nodded. Denisovich looked it over once more. It wore a short jacket of red over a loose shirt tucked into place pants. A silver metal receiver rose out of its head for several inches. Evidence of decay showed on its hands, but otherwise, it was quite pleasant looking; aestheticism plus practicality was something Atrean Techniks prided themselves on.
Kalten, Mercer and a handful of others appeared in the doorway. She stepped in front of Ziro as she saw them lift their semi-automatic rifles.
“Don't fire!” she yelled. “It's rigged. You destroy it, the whole place could come down right on our heads. You have what you wanted, just take it.”
Kalten gazed appreciatively at the guns, bombs and other weaponry strewn around. He motioned for the men to pick it up. Meanwhile, Mercer had yet to take his gun off of Denisovich. She noted how much more intent and focused his eyes looked, how much more determined than Marek ever seemed, even if it was just an affectation. The questions gnawed at her mind, but there was no time for interrogation now.
When Kalten looked at her again, Denisovich's stomach turned. He had never seen her as anything more than a key, and now that the door was open, he had no need for her. She tensed, ready to dive if he gave the order to fire, but before any such thing could be spoken, a cry went up from elsewhere in the cave. Everyone rushed out to find the Sons of Adam in frantic commotion.
“What? What is it?” Kalten called out, his hand hovering near a sidearm pistol.
“It's...it's a Squee stampede, sir!” the woman called Zia responded, her eyes wide with shock. Kalten looked at Mercer, puzzled. As the others pushed themselves against walls and behind rock structures, a rumble could be heard. Sure enough, a mass of bodies, flesh white and spotted, writhed and climbed over itself, letting out the high pitched squeaks which had earned them their name.
Denisovich took advantage of he distraction by backing into the anteroom.
“Ziro, can you get these off me?” she whispered. The android peered into the lock. Satisfied that it had all the information it needed, the security droid picked up a piece of scrap metal which had been destroyed by the Sons of Adam initial attempts at entry. Bending it with minuscule detail, it jammed the improvised key into the lock and turned. The cuffs thudded as they hit the ground. The android stared at them blankly for a moment.
“I do not understand human obsession with these archaic forms of binding.”
“Stay close to me,” Denisovich cut in, “I'm going to make sure you get out of here.”
Straddling the wall, Denisovich was struck by something no one else seemed to be noticing.
“Ziro, do they look like they're in a hurry to get somewhere?” she asked quietly, though she already knew the answer.
“No, mistress, it appears that they are running away from something.”
Denisovich stared deep into the tunnel the Squees fled from, but everyone heard the growls at the same time. They were animal, chilling the blood. The lumbered forward impossibly fast, legs crouched so their knees were by their head, carried along by powerful primate arms. A few already had bloodstains around their mouth, several carried the lifeless bodies or limbs of Squees. Seeing new prey, they snarled, saliva pooling from their jaws.
“What the hell are those things?” someone screamed.
“It doesn't matter, just fire!” Kalten ordered, and all people who were able began to spray everything coming out of the tunnel with bullets. Some of the mutants were brought down, but more made it to the defenders, tearing appendages, literally biting faces off. Screams filled the cavern, amplified a hundred times from stone. Pungent smells of decay, blood and urine steamed from the ground, cries were joined with the sounds of splattering blood and the thud of bodies hitting walls and dirt. Denisovich stared in wonderment.
“Seladore's light,” she whispered to herself. Picking up one of the many guns in the antechamber, she too started firing, but her aim was poor, and only served to draw attention to her and the robot behind her.
“Dammit! This is why I use a sword,” she swore, dropping the gun and picking up a much smaller (and quieter) pistol.
“Kalten!” she yelled, hoping to draw his attention for only a moment, “There are guns here for you squishies. Use them and get out!”
If he heard her, he gave no indication, and she had used up all the goodwill she could muster for them. Sliding along the stone, only firing when one of the mutants was directly in front of her, Denisovich led Ziro past the battle into the now empty tunnels. Not twenty paces inward, they felt the ground shake as someone threw an Atrean hand bomb.
“Morons,” Denisovich muttered, not even bothering to look back.
The cave she'd initially been held in was off the main tunnel, and appeared empty, though there were no lights, having all been taken by the panicking Sons. Picking her way carefully across the room to avoid tripping over uneven rocks or chains, Denisovich found her sword, along with her other weapons, which had apparently been thrown at the wall at the first sound of trouble. Some of her belts, however, were missing, as was her LiqNit pouch. She echoed her stomachs groaning.
“Is there a problem?” Ziro asked, causing Denisovich to jump.
“Gods! I forgot you were there.”
Ziro made no response.
“It's nothing,” Denisovich assured it, strapping her sword on. “We have to get to the surface. Do you remember how you were brought here?”
There was silence.
“Ziro, are you shaking your head? Because I can't see you.”
“Oh. No, I do not remember. I was not activated until I was already inside.”
Denisovich sighed. The sounds were quieting now, though she speculated distance had more to do with it. The chambers were full of side tunnels, dead ends, caves...who knew where they all led?

~~

It took backtracking after more than one wrong turn, but the two reached the opening of cave without incident, which was making Denisovich incredibly nervous. Were those things really so set on the humans that none had followed them?
A boulder was pushed partially out of opening, letting thin beams of light in. Wedged in this opening was a familiar figure.
“Mercer,” Denisovich called, kneeling down and shaking him. He didn't move, but she had a clear view of what caused his little nap: a large bruise over his left temple.
The sounds had disappeared now, no doubt the Sons had made their escape or were all dead. Either way, no one would help. She turned him over, staring into his face.
“It's so uncanny,” she murmured, shaking her head slowly. She looked up where the light was fading. Without much effort, Denisovich lifted the prone body over her shoulder, nodding to Ziro to follow her.
Seeing the city where she'd been captured not far, she gave a breath of relief. The sky was an ugly shade of orange, bleeding down the horizon.
Denisovich stopped, realizing she could no longer hear Ziro's soft steps. Turning, she saw the android halted, eyes staring, head swiveling in both directions. Its arms hung loosely from its side and it held even still than usual.
“What? What is it?” Denisovich demanded shortly.
“What happened here?” Ziro whispered. Denisovich looked around, realization slowly dawning. The vast emptiness of the Wasteland, broken horizons split by the sad remains of dead cities. The darkening sky contrasted with a necrotic moon, the only point of light. Dust and still radioactive particles hung heavy in the tepid air.
Denisovich's face softened in sympathy.
“There was a ware,” she murmured quietly. “I'm sure you felt the blasts.”
Ziro shook its head. “I was not activated till those humans breached the wall. When did this happen?”
Denisovich shrugged. “Two hundred years ago? At the time, we were desperate to destroy the NIL's.”
Ziro blinked, assimilating the data.
“What's a NIL?”
Denisovich sighed.
“I'll explain on the way. See if you can find a car or bike or something.”
After some furtive searching, Denisovich had reacquired her belongings, save what the Sons had taken from her, even her Breather, which had gotten tossed aside. Now she felt weak, listless, the adrenaline used up in escaping having sapped the last of her energy. The air felt more brittle, the last few rays of the sun scorching beneath her flesh. She glanced around at the motionless NIL bodies, left over from the Sons onslaught, while leaning against the wall, hiding in the shade, plotting the next move. With no currency, she had nothing to trade for information or supplies. The old doubts returned...this was a foolish mission, she should return to the City and never have to deal with fascist humans, sarcastic androids and the always constant fear of knowing that everything that moved wanted to kill her. She clenched her eyes shut in frustration. A primal jolt ran from her head down through her spine as a sound-that-was-not-quite-audible floated down to her ears. Denisovich's eyes snapped open. An inhuman snarl hissed through her lips as she leapt to her feet. Ignoring the hunger that made her blood feel thick and chunky, she clenched her jaw, drawing her long knife. Her head cleared into predatory clarity as muscles bunched. Her eyes glowed metallic, skin flushing.
“I can hear you. Feel you here. Come out, you mangy, thrice cursed-”
“You Atreans say the sweetest things,” a voice which resembled sand paper scraping across rust spoke above her. She spun, instinctively raising her blade, deflecting a four pointed blade before she had even seen it.
Two figures hung off the side of the building, claws sunk deeply into the steel and cement. Both had long, shaggy hair, visibly swarming with insect life. Simultaneously, they released their hold, landing heavily on the ground in front of her. On the left was a lighter haired male figure, at least four inches taller than Denisovich and clearly significantly heavier. The true color of his hair was hard to determine, matted as it was with dirt and filth. Unnaturally thick hair covered the top of his bare arms, which ended in large hands complete with sharp, chipped nails. Bright green eyes shone out from the shadowed face. The girl on the right was no cleaner, though her hair was less thick and didn't cover as much of her skin. She was much smaller as well. Scars ran along her neck and shoulders, visible near the hems of her torn shirt. Her nose was pressed up, giving her a pig-like appearance, making the beauty of her deep blue eyes all the more disturbing.
“I wonder if the tongue that speaks them would be as sweet,” the female continued, licking chapped lips, revealing jagged teeth and two sets of fangs.
“Thyestrian mongrels,” Denisovich spit, taking a defensive stance. The paced back and forth in front of her, skin sliding over hardened muscles. Her mind flashed to predatory animals now extinct, who used claw and tooth before they disappeared into the ashes of Black Winter.
Denisovich forced herself not to look at the still unconscious Mercer, lest she draw the attention fo the two hunters.
“Crawl back to your caves,” she ordered, internally calculating her chances. Despite the adrenaline which echoed through her blood with a song of invincibility, the cold analytical mind reminded her she was outnumbered. Merely an inconvenience usually, considering these two were born After Outbreak by all appearances, but without feeding...These thoughts flashed through her mind, offering her the simple, frustrating truth.
She was going to lose.
Sharp Thyestrian eyes noticed the slight shift in focus and took the chance to strike. Sharp claws shot towards her face. She sidestepped, swung her blade down, attempting to lop off an arm. The male growled out, “Elissa!”, knocking the girl out of the way and catching Denisovich's wrist. She twisted out of his grasp, leaving her wrists bleeding from jagged talons.
The girl, Elissa, darted in low, but Denisovich landed a blow with the metal hilt of her blade, right to the back of the head. Elissa yelped, dropping to the ground. Denisovich leaped back, reposition herself. Blood from her wrist pooled into her gloves, making her grip slick. Elissa scrampled back to her feet, then started as the air was split with thunder like shots, followed by the telltale buzz of a motorized engine. The Thyestrians dove to the ground, the male bleeding from the leg and shoulder.
A sandtruck bounced over the rubble, Ziro firing out the driver's window. The front of the vehicle appeared to be made from the hatch of an older kind of vehicle, dependent on solar energy. Welded to the back was a tanker-container with the top half sawed off. The driving component was a rusty copper, while the bed was a tarnished gray, visibly eaten away holes glaring from the side and bottom. At least the caterpillar-style treads seemed to function just fine.
Seeing no chance for hesitation, Denisovich scooped Mercer up and, launching herself from a boulder, landed them both in an undignified heap in the truck's bed. Ziro sped them away, but not before Denisovich caught a glimpse of more figures climbing the sides of buildings, howling and snarling, their movements clearly marking them as vampire, yet as foreign to her as the mutants which had so devastated the Sons of Adam. Her eyes widened in frustrated surprise as a more modern sound joined the growling...more engines, clearly better maintained than the rusted pick-up she was currently bouncing in.
What I wouldn't give for a skiff or sandbike, she lamented before turning her attention to other matters. She shook Mercer's shoulder, yelling for him to wake up. He stirred, but didn't open his eyes. Her leonine eyes glowed in the dark, beginning to tint with desperation. She looked down, watched his veins pulsate. The blood memory of all those who came before her whispered in her head, entreating and enticing. His skin felt warm and she could hear his heart beat ringing in her ears.
“Mercer!” she hissed, putting her face close to his. The other vehicles, now visible despite having no lights, glistened in the putrescent moonlight as they came closer. Denisovich yanked Mercer up by his collar. His head lolled back. Her last fully cognizant thought was: He's going to be pissed, before rationality was abandoned for the sake of survival. Pulling her lips back, she cocked her head to the side, the better to sink her single set of fangs deep into his jugular vein. She didn't even notice as his eyes opened to slits, nor hear the low moan of almost-wakefullness.
The reaction was immediate and electric. Hot blood gushed into her mouth, burning metallic flavor flowing down her throat. She suppressed a gasp, trying to avoid letting any precious liquid spill out as her eyes tinted red, body spasming as strength poured into muscles and joints. The night was awash with light, every reflection a beacon dazzling. She drank deeply, had been so long, lose self in the sensation...Her eyes snapped open and she jerked back, automatically putting her hand on the holes to stop the bleeding. Her thoughts were a lightning-lit maelstrom.
So good.
More.
No. Stop. Killing him.
So what? Why does it matter?
No. Wrong.
Enemy. Weakling.
Person.
House Thyestes.
All at once, her faculties sharpened to pin-point focus. Only stopping to wrap a piece of her long coat like a bandage around the neck of the now quite pale human, Denisovich turned her attention to the fast-approaching enemies. Now she could see their eyes, bright shades of green, blue and violet, their slitted pupils one of the few attributes in common with her own race. Feral hair streamed out windows, obscuring semi-deformed features and mouths full of jagged teeth. Standing defiantly straight up, despite the bouncing which ever threatened to unbalance her, she bared her fangs in taunting challenge. Leaping off the back, she felt the whole world slow, a sensation similar to swimming through warm water (not an experience she'd had recently). She knew exactly when to stretch her legs, allowing her to use the momentum to literally run over the first vehicle, sliding her blade through the cab without it catching on anything. Without stopping to see what damage had been done, feeling the exhilaration of fresh blood pumping through her atrophied heart, she dove onto the roof of the next vehicle, grabbing the bar that ran along the top in front of the polarized glass and jammed her sword into the driver's window. A cruel smile crossed her lips as she heard the satisfying crunch and gush. The loss of consciousness (if not life) caused the Thyestrian to swerve the vehicle, knocking her from the top. She rolled away when she hit the firm ground, the movement the only things which saved her from the unforgiving tread of the final vehicle, a sandtruck similar to the one Ziro was currently barreling away with. It took a few extra seconds to regain her breath, her vision blurred and fogged. She heard two of the rovers stop, doors opening and the sound of heavy steps hitting dirt. Denisovich pulled herself up, raising her blade which still held a few shreds of metal shrapnel in its barbs. She counted as four piled out of one rover, the only one still undamaged. From the second, she watched a figure fall out, tumbling lifelessly to the ground. Two more crawled out the same door, one favoring a limb. The vehicle closest to Ziro's, now with a gash across its top, continued its pursuit of the android, leaving Denisovich to fend for herself against the six Thyestrians fanning out in front of her. She took quick stock of movements, features...anything to give away their status. Thyestrians didn't mark their offspring Before Outbreak, so such designations had to be implied through other physical means. She watched them confidently approach, their spines bent, some with spittle trailing from their mouths. Clearly hunters, perhaps even young Enforcers. Without the intoxicating effects of fresh feeding, she may have been concerned, but her mind was floating above the scene, calculating, and it never occurred to Denisovich that she might be in danger. None appeared armed, save one which wielded a hefty piece of re-bar. Their gender was difficult to determine as all were muscled, with long hair and filthy faces. She felt her stomach turn, hereditary and socialized reactions pushing the thoughts around in her mind. She felt more than heard the first movements of a fighter at her side, leaping at her with hands outstretched. The others followed suit, all diving in at once. She swung her blade in a wide arc, making space to move, to manipulate. She felt a sting at her back. Taking a few steps forward, she jumped and kicked the chest of the figure directly in front of her, one of the smallest in the group. It stumbled backward, continually growling, despite the blood she could see stain its lips. She used the gap to spin, catching the arm of one fighter. It snagged on a barb, shredding flesh. The creature howled, thrashing its other arm wildly. It caught Denisovich across the face, superficial slashes near the jaw. She roared back, swinging the blade into a leg, crushing the bone and sending the Thyestrian sprawling to the ground. Already the others were back on her. The re-bar smashed into her shoulder. She yelped, reflexively dropping her blade. Dancing away, she tried to reassert her position. Her shoulder was throbbing and she could barely lift her arm. Preparing to heave rocks if need be, Denisovich was just as surprised as the other 'pires when another figure darted in, impaling one from behind with her long knife. Sliding away, it slashed at another, ducking under the block and slicing up the chest. Sable hair whipped around a pale face and a bloody piece of cloth fell away from a slender neck. Twin fangs gleamed as if the moon itself was smiling back. For the second time, Denisovich found herself asking:
“Marek?”
“Well, who did you expect, lady? Oh, behind you.”
Denisovich ducked under another swing of the re-bar. None of the Thyestrians were dead, hardier even than Atreans, who were nigh impossible to kill. She knelt, picking up her sword with her left hand and side-stepping till she was back-to-back with the Atrean neophyte. A hundred questions poured through her mind, but they were all halted as a sound, as familiar now as it was unwelcome, rolled over the warped hills.
“Marek...you hear that?”
His cobalt eyes scanned the limping, angry figures.
“I saw it before. Reinforcements.”
Denisovich swore.
“The android will bring the truck around. Useful fellow, that, if a bit untrusting. Said it had something for you, yet refused to tell me what it was. Can you imagine?”
“Shut up, Marek. You're back to being you for four minutes and I already want to leave you as bait for them.”
“Cerastes, you hurt me.”
“I will hurt you-”
“Promises, promises.”
Despite the pain and Marek's incessant prattling, Denisovich could not stop the chemicals firing feelings of joy, of full life. And though this conversation had eaten away a few seconds, none of the Thyestrians had moved, either due to incapability or (more disturbingly) because they knew help was on the way and were simply biding their time. Allowing no such comfort, Marek lunged forward, the blade a singing arc of reflected light in his hands. Denisovich's face screwed into a frown as she was forced to acknowledge his superior fighting skills. Accustomed as she was to strength, agility and speed superior to almost everything which inhabited the Wasteland, she'd never honed the finer points of combat. Having managed to carve a void in the snarling masses, Marek indicated she should follow, and the two shot away form the approaching vehicles, laden with who knew how many more fighters. Ziro was waiting, slowing just enough for the two to hop in before kicking dirt up and speeding away.
Marek was closer to the driver's hatch, looking forward to see where they could go. A soft, ugly sound emanated behind him, and something warm dropped onto his back. Turning, his eyes went wide. The metal rod which had previously cracked her shoulder blade was now sticking several inches out of Denisovich's chest. Marek could see the other end pulling out her back. She looked down at the foreign object, seemingly confused. He had to move quickly to grab her arm before she fell off the back. As gently as possible he pulled her down to a reclining position. He saw her eyes mist over as she struggled to maintain consciousness. Feeling anything but assertive, Marek yanked the re-bar out as cleanly as he could muster. Denisovich screamed, her back arching as the rod pulled out.
Again, she looked down as blood pulled down her chest, onto the bed and through the holes, trickling to the ground.
“Well,” she managed weakly, a shadow of a smile flickering across her face, “This could be a problem.”

Production Post #1

So Chapter 9 is halfway done, I just need to sit down and knock it out. I'm thinking of writing a recap since we're more or less halfway though this volume and maybe it would make some things clearer (even for me, considering how much of this is planned and how much was developed on the fly). If you guys would like something like that, please let me know.

Here are some rough sketches I drew on the plane and in class when I should have been taking notes. I erased some of the lines, and the background design on the notebook paper but left the rest of it alone. I will have full color character art for you soon, as soon as I stop sucking with photoshop. Also, I've got some very kind, and very talented professional artists helping me out with some designs, so that is exciting (at least for me).



Alix Lucretia Olivia



Heydrich Veronika Kristallnacht



Jael

Yeah, I know these are all girls. I will have full color shots of Marek, Tavian and Kalten very soon, and may even finish a picture of Denisovich (who of course is the most difficult character for me to design -_-). Thanks for your patience. :)

Chapter 8

Beeping. Other duties requiring my attention.
Logical discrepancy discovered in memory banks.
Time lost.
Must discover origin.

There was a dripping noise, which sounded far away. She focused her mind on it to block out the otherwise all-encompassing blaring which currently bounced around her skull. A string of invectives swarmed up in four different languages, but her mouth was too numb to vocalize them. She took several swallows and attempted to move her arms and legs, while rolling onto her knees. A few wiggles and Denisovich had determined the nature of her predicament. She had been relieved of her weapons and the various belts she wore, all of her personal belongings, save the clothes she wore. Her hands were chained behind her back, linked to a plate drilled into the ground. While her legs were not chained together, a cuff was locked around one, which also connected it to a plate in the ground. She tugged and pulled but the links didn't even begin to give.
“Don't bother,” a voice, hoarse and low, advised her. She squinted, adjusting her eyes to the darkness. The man she'd seen in the light vest was leaning on a barrel a few feet away from her, stroking his goatee. His cheeks were gaunt, but he appeared to be in good health.
“What were you doing out there?” he asked, though his voice belied a lack of interest in the answer.
“Where am I?” she demanded to know, eyes flashing. He responded by standing and backhanding her across the face. She felt blood well in the side of her mouth and her ears added a ringing to the pain in her head, but she didn't respond other than to spit blood out. The man proceeded to grab a mess of her hair and yank her head to one side, pulling at her left ear. This time she grunted at the pain and struggled away.
“Knock it off, or I'll tear the ear right off,” he threatened, pulling a light from his pocket without releasing his grip on her hair. She heard him suck in a breath before he released her, taking several quick steps back.
“Well, Kalten?” a new voice joined, one that seemed so familiar. She turned, trying to see him.
“Marek? Why are you here?”
The one called Kalten glanced to the side, his brow furrowed in suspicion. Denisovich followed his gaze, noticing a cluster of individuals, all armed, staring at her. He stood taller than most of them, his long hair curling around his neck and shoulders, dressed in the same dark commando clothing the others wore.
“You know this...thing?” Kalten asked, jerking his head towards her. Denisovich walked him walk towards her, noted how different his movement was. His accent was gone as well, but she knew he prided himself on his imitative capabilities. He knelt in front of her, his face only a few inches away from hers. She swallowed her surprise at everything she saw. Gone were the points at ears, and the slitted pupils that were common among all Atreans (and Thyestrians as far as she knew). She looked down at his chest, even more alarmed by his clearly rapidly beating heart. She looked up again, confusion written plainly across her face.
“You...you're human,” she whispered. Ignoring her, the man straightened and addressed Kalten.
“Never seen her before. She doesn't look like any of my kills so I couldn't tell you what clan she's from.”
Kalten seemed to accept this, though not without some concerns. He looked back at her, pondering his next move.
“What's your name, 'pire?” he asked, his gaze intent. She straightened her back, and he was both impressed and disconcerted that despite the fact he was standing and she was kneeling, she appeared to be looking down at him.
“I am Lacrymosa Cerastes Durkovai Petruvskaiia Denisovich, oldest living child of Grigori Orlovii and Erzebet Ekaterina, of the House of Atreus.”
At the first glimpse of his (she thought, “rodential”) smile, Denisovich knew she'd made a mistake. She'd forgotten that, much like in Tavian's floating city, knowledge could be power in the Wasteland, as well as strength or LiqNit cylinders, and in her pride, she gave too much of her own away. Having apparently gotten all he wanted, Kalten spun to leave, commanding the other man to “watch it, we'll need it soon.” As he disappeared into the dark, her superior hearing picked up another command, this one directed to one of the other, scruffier looking humans. Two words: “Watch him.”
Her mind attempted to develop escape strategies but the pain was making it difficult to get past, “Kill everyone.”
“What did you shoot me up with?” she asked, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it.
“Shut up.”
Sighing, she rolled her eyes. The man with the black hair sat down on the barrel Kalten had vacated and stared hot daggers at her. An hour went by in tense silence. Finally, the man spoke up.
“Just who is it you think I am?”
Denisovich looked sideways at the others she knew lurked nearby.
“Nobody,” she answered without looking at him, “It was my mistake. You look like someone else I know.”
“A vampire?” he scoffed.
“Like I said,” she repeated slowly, “It was my mistake.”
She looked around again. Wherever she was being held, it was definitely underground. The walls were rock, and the air was damp and unpleasant. Vibrations in the ground told her there were many others somewhere else, somewhere connected to whatever cave she was in. She tried to remember how she'd been brought down here, but the memory was fuzzy and surreal, making time and distance impossible to work out.
“So you're a Pure, eh?” a young woman came in, carrying a flashlight, which she seemed to take great pleasure in shining directly in Denisovich's sensitive eyes. “We've killed the other kind, plenty, they ain't nothing. Never seen a pure, though. Can't say you look like much special,” she observed.
“Well, consider the feeling mutual,” Denisovich countered. At first, she thought she'd be struck again, but the man caught the young woman's arm, holding her back.
“Let go of me, Mercer! I'm gunna knock this bitch clean out!”
Denisovich raised an eyebrow.
“Mercer? Figures.”
He glared at her in annoyance and then looked at the other girl, shaking his head.
“You weren't out there, Zia. Kalten said no one was to go near her for a reason. They don't have to look like a mountain to hit like one.” Zia jerked her arm away, spinning on her heel and stalking out.
Kalten returned, followed by two kids who couldn't have been older than fifteen, both stumbling while they carried her sword, still crusted with blood from the morning's encounter. They leaned it against a wall and scurried out, too afraid to look at her.
“I gotta say, vampire...that,” he motioned to her sword, “Is the absolutely worst zombie-killing weapon I have ever seen. The barbs make it catch on everything, it's heavy and unwieldy and seems to serve no other purpose than to declare its own existence.”
She smiled, baring her fangs at him.
“I think it's pretty.”
Kalten stared at her, skeptically. Denisovich just smiled again.
“Just who are you people?”
Kalten crossed his arms, looking down at her.
“We are all that's left of humanity,” he stated flatly. Denisovich blinked, looking slowly from him to the others, none of which raised a word of protest.
“Guess you guys don't get topside much.”
Kalten snorted derisively.
“Oh, we know about them. Traitors and weaklings. Willing to compromise with creatures like you, just to save their sorry skins. They're only a half step better than the vermin that crawl around down here.”
“But,” Denisovich protested, “Everyone knows Squees are just humans who have been modified by the radiation and-”
“They're not human!” Kalten roared, his voice echoing down the cavern. “We are human. Those things are a perversion, a leftover from what your kind wrought. Don't you dare categorize us with them.”
His face was red and a blood vessel pumped in his forehead as he spit his dogma. Having lost steam from his tirade, Kalten took a deep breath.
“Through careful planning, the Sons of Adam will preserve the true, pure human spirit and rid the world of all taint,” he concluded, a mad gleam in his eyes. Denisovich didn't dare argue in her disadvantaged state. He refocused on her.
“And you, Atrean, are going to help us.”

Chapter 7

“What do you mean “No one knows”?!”
Tavian had been roaring this way for almost ten minutes. As always, Alix was a model of composure, checking data sheets and receiving more and more golems, none of which brought news the Adjudicator wanted to hear.
“Well?!” Tavian demanded. Alix took another breath.
“As I said, my lord, there has been no sign of Marek. We know for certain he checked in at the proper port city, received supplies and then headed back into the Wasteland. We have our best trackers out there but at some point, his trail just vanishes.”
Tavian swore, but calmed down.
“Likelihood of betrayal?”
Alix calculated silently before answering.
“Marek is slippery and ambitious but was as high as he could reach as a neophyte, thanks to you. Nothing could be gained from betraying you, no one else has a better offer. He would know that. More likely he was captured or killed.” Tavian shook his head.
“Marek plays the fop but he's a formidable fighter. I've heard he picked up a few things from Heydrich.”
“Like a disease?” Alix muttered under her breath. Tavian let it pass.
“My guess is he found something else. Not knowing the significance of his mission, he considers something else more beneficial to pursue.” Alix nodded, recalculating.
Tavian paced his chamber. The room was dark, only a few artificial lights lit the corners, giving every object monstrously long shadows.
“People are simple,” he repeated, absently. The ornately decorated ceiling was high, a round skylight open to allow golems entry, too small for anything else. The Adjudicator was a firm believing in combining aesthetic beauty with paranoia level security. Tavian continued, the headache at his temples threatening to expand to full head migraine.
“And the twins?” he asked yet again, closing his eyes against the pain. Alix looked at her board, though by now she had the information memorized.
“Commanders Kristallnacht landed in PC Midnight. Proximity to mountain made visual confirmation impossible. We assume they and their team made contact with the unknown enemy. Almost immediately we lost communication with them. The scout team we sent claims the PC is a ghost town. There is not only nothing living, the only activity they observed was a handful of NIL's who appear to have wandered in the open gates. Any evidence is therefore likely eaten.”
Tavian sat down on a soft green couch, his head resting on the back. Alix stood with her hands folded. The Adjudicator rarely exploded as he'd done today but never in public and never for long. She needed only to wait it out.
“Alix,” Tavian began slowly, “Write an order. Commanders Tiberius, Maksim and Kamsomol are to get their troops together. Dashkov is to step up security, to compensate here. A detachment of four KingKillers is to accompany the soldiers down to the surface. We must find the Dark Army. The story will be that we are sending reinforcements to Midnight. En route, there will be a technical malfunction and the Pandora and the Orpheus will be forced to land close to where we lost Marek. The KingKillers will act as Scouts.”
Alix thought carefully about her response as she wrote down as she'd been told.
“Three battalions, lord?”
Tavian sighed.
“I know, Lucretia. But my preferred method of stealth has failed and time is not our ally. I'll take no more chances.”
Alix considered.
“Perhaps better than sabotaging our skiffs, we could make it a training exercise. Ensuring the troops are in top form.”
Tavian turned and threw his legs up on the armrests.
“You really think they'll buy that?”
“Some won't. Lord Denisovich won't. But he won't trust anything. Keeping it simple means less can go wrong.” Tavian nodded but appeared unhappy.
“I liked my story,” he pouted, though his eyes twinkled. Alix smiled, but was still bothered.
“My lord...what about Midnight?”
Tavian stared up at the skylight and the artificial illumination wafting down from it.
“The Dark Army is worth more tan two warriors. Even if they are the best,” he answered quietly, “I have to trust that they will find a way out but for now, the twins are on their own.”

~~

Journal Entry #24

Why did I think this was a good idea?
Wandering around with only the vaguest sense of direction...Hard when you know only where you don't want to be. That place where you you're a toy, forced to play their games, by their rules.
But I can't lie. I hate this place.
There is simply nothing here. I expected to be fighting for my life every step of the way but not even the NIL's bother coming here. No life to feed on. It also appears I underestimated the size of this strip of desert. I've walked for almost two weeks. So far haven't had to pop a LiqNit cylinder but it won't be long now. Otherwise, if something DOES bother, will be too weak to do anything against it.
Writing by moonlight. Pressing on.
Hoping the structures I glimpsed are not just illusions.

Denisovich lifted the sand-glasses from her face and held her breath, afraid her eyes betrayed and the slightest disturbance would blow the apparition away.
Buildings, skyscrapers...built in a style long obsolete. Relics of the height of human domination.
She was not sure what was the more breathtaking—that there were such artifacts from a lost time, a sprawling city of likely great importance...or the degree of devastation which left these structures blown out, scalded shells.
A dead city.

There was a strange ethereal beauty to it all. The broken glass carpeting cracked and crooked streets, blown out from thousands of windows. Corpse houses, blackened walls and twisted metal. Her mind was incapable of processing everything her eyes took in. The air was still, the long shadows cast by high towers cooling and stagnating.
The subdued sounds of her leather boots against pavement the only sound. She tried to imagine what this city must have been like in its prime. Judging by the rate of decay...the extent of moss chocking the pillars, the disintegration of stone and steel...she guess this to be one of the later cities to disappear. So not a capital or anything of military interest, she reasoned. Were most human cities like this? Unlike the cramped technolopolis, where everything had been pushed together even before the vampires took over, the city was spread out, full of alley ways, sidewalks and what seemed to be the remnants of tree pots.

Despite the restless loveliness of the city, she knew instinctively it was not the one she sought. Like every other town, city, and random collection of structures she had encountered, none matched her end quest. Just another trove to be picked clean for any goods other scavengers had left behind.
Passing the majority of skyscrapers—undoubtedly office buildings, none of which would hold anything of interest for her—she left the more industrial area for what seemed to be a downtown. A line of shops appeared more intact that their surroundings, having been sheltered from much of the destruction by their steel bigger siblings.
“Jackpot,” she murmured, an archaic phrase no one remembered the context of anymore. The identifying signs above doors and in windows were long gone, but she'd seen enough of the same type to make educated guesses.
The first building proved to be picked clean, the next boasted a caved in ceiling. She smiled at the third building which still carried a lock on its door, offering hope. With a quick tug, she yanked it off, furtively glancing around in case the noise had attracted unwanted, drooling attention. She opened the door slowly to avoid creaking, but the bell over it sounded out like a bullet breaking the porcelain sky.
“Stupid,” she muttered. Too long alone in the desert. Careful to hold the bell as she closed the door, Denisovich took quick stock of the store. Many shelves still carrying placards were devoid of the food and sweets once put out for quick purchase, as were a variety of useful items. She smiled wryly at the giant display sign which read “SURVIVAL KIT.”
Behind the counter in a locked glass case, she found what she was looking for. Already running for their lives, most humans had wisely avoided adding unnecessary weight and items. Especially items which marked them with a smell that drew NIL's faster than the cancer the little white sticks promised as a bonus. Luckily for her.
Her feline eyes scanned the glass for her favorite brand.
“Can't be too picky,” she quietly reminded herself, glance finally resting on them.
She pulled seven boxes of the Red Tops (having long decided the Gold Tops had no kick and the Blue Tops smelled nastier than they should), slipping six in a thick pouch she carried for just such an occasion, and the last box in her pocket. Turning, she looked for the accessories which were never far from such cases. Unfortunately most of the flame making tools—matches, lighters, etc—had been stolen, for their intended use and for the fuel inside them, undoubtedly. No matter how many times I see it, I'm still surprised what humans thought up to get around us, she thought. Underneath the counter she found another locked case, this one not displayed behind hollow glass. Jerking it open she found additional products, silently waiting to be put on shelves for customers that would never return. Among the litter of items, most of which were now obsolete and few she even recognized, she spied success. Pulling two lighters and a carton of matchbooks from the very back of the case, she straightened, feeling her spine pop. Everything but one of the lighters disappeared into her ruck sack. Quickly, she turned off her Breather, and pulled it down around her neck. Opening the Red Top box, she pulled a cig out and lit it up, taking a slow breath. A happy smile worked across her face.
“Honest to Seladore, the best thing about this place,” she mumbled around it, stuffing the last two items in her pocket and walking out.
A few more blocks down the road (or what she assumed had been a road), Denisovich found a gap in the city. A seven foot wide chasm split street and building for what seemed to be hundreds of yards in either direction. Denisovich knelt and peered into the dark to determine the depth. Instead, what she saw was a pile of bones and rubble. Having been protected from the elements and with the lack of animal scavengers, flesh still hung off bones, flaps of skin stretched over agonized faces and twisted limbs. She stared at them for a bit and, seeing none had anything worth climbing down to get, she left them to their rest. A few steps backward and a sprinted leap later, she was across the chasm. Almost immediately, her sharp ears pricked at a misplaced sound. Taking a final drag, she flicked the cigarette away, swiveling her head to determine the direction of the sound as she returned her Breather to the lower half of her face. Automatically, she canned for a place to store her ruck sack, finally deciding on an knocked over tree pot. After setting it, and her long coat inside, she covered it with some dirt, to camouflage both the sight and smell. Then she returned to the center of the street where there was more open space.
More noise reached her, and now she could tell it wasn't all coming from one place. She closed her eyes and sighed, reaching behind her shoulder to pull her barbed sword from its strappings. Inside, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was long past the time she should be without feeding, but she ignored it. When she opened her eyes, they were steeled with the resolve that she could hold her own just fine without the benefits of fresh blood. The noise, which had previously been confined to shuffling and the sound of glass being kicked around, rose as moans filled the air, echoing off buildings.
She spotted the first NIL shamble over a large piece of shrapnel, most of its hair gone, an eye hanging out of one socket uselessly. Huge gashes along its arm indicated it was a Second Wave victim, one who had been attacked and turned by the horrors created by the Death Winds. Two more appeared around the corner of a tower, arms dangling at the side, heads lolling around. After 20 she stopped counting as more joined and closed in around her. Her sword gleamed in the pale sunlight as she hefted it with both hands. All the NILs spontaneously changed demeanor, becoming ravenous with prey so near. They snarled, faces contorting into something that barely resembled humanity and rushed at her, functional arms reaching out, broken fingernails reader to tear and scratch. She took a deep breath to avoid inhaling the smell and swung. The first blow caught a zombie in the side of the skull which imploded in a spray of bone and brain matter. Another flesheater leapt low at her, but her sword tore into its neck. A quick jerk upwards and the spine was severed, a junk of vertebrae still hooked on a barb. Three more attacked at once. The first was dispatched easily but Denisovich swore when her blade became embedded in the torso of the second, despite her considerable strength. Letting it go, she grabbed her long curved knife from its holster at her side. Lacking the head-removing force of the larger sword, even wielded by her kind, it was useful for quick cuts and jabs, able to pierce through the skull or sever the spine from behind. Taking care of the third NIL, she utilized a few seconds to grab her sword out, blood and gore spewing to the side. Now carrying a blade in each hand, she whirled, chopped, stabbed; slicing an arm off with this blade to provide an opening for knocking a head off with the other one, dodging bites and claws. Drool, blood and ichor was splattered across her shirt, but she'd been careful to get none on her Breather. Shoving another monster away from her, Denisovich raised her head to see how many were left. Because of this, she was able to see the dark figure in the shadow of a high-rise window before the first shot exploded the skull of a NIL behind her.
A rain of bullets, ranging in all calibers from the sound of it, collapsed corpses and blew apart the moving dead. Denisovich crouched, her sword raised above her head as she tried to identify her “rescuers”. In less than forty five seconds, the City was quiet again. Denisovich stared at the NILs strewn around her, some actually bearing expressions of surprise, a feeling she could easily sympathize with this time. Heavy, assured footsteps echoed out of the darkness, precluding the figure that emerged. He was dressed simply in heavy pants, a turtlenecked sweater and light brown vest. Close cropped brown hair looked like a dark cap, matching deep set eyes. Behind him, a half dozen humans fanned out, all staring at the last standing figure intently. Meeting their eyes, Denisovich could see the hostility and guessed their assistance was not born out of any love for her species.
Suddenly, strong arms gripped her from behind, giving no way to lift her blades and a prick at her neck caught her off-guard. She struggled against the assault but could already feel her strength draining, the result of whatever drug was now slowly making its way through her bloodstream.
“Hold still, suckhead,” the voice growled at her ear. She managed to push her head back, giving her a glimpse of the face so close to her own. Her eyes opened wide in shock as they locked with cobalt blue.
“Marek?”

Chapter 6

The vast expanse of the Wasteland was mind-wrenching in its emptiness. Having been raised in the highly contained floating city, Denisovich found herself suffering a sharp case of discomfort, bordering on agoraphobia.
“Not your first time,” she muttered, a weak reassurance. Despite having no clear destination in mind, she was at least clear on a direction. As long as she headed east and didn't turn south at all, the temperature would continue to be survivable. No one ventured too deep into the midlands, parts of the country that had been desert even before the bombs fell. There were rumors of nomadic tribes led by enlightened or crazy medicine men but she paid them little attention. It was simply impossible for human or vampire life to sustain itself in the blistering heat of the south.
Keeping both blades loosely sheathed while gloves, hood, Breather and goggles were tightly fastened, she set out into the shimmering brightness.

~~
Cassus Nestor did not usually mind being a serf. While the generous may have attributed this to some kind of indomitable spirit, the truth that Cassus himself well knew: he was simply too simple-minded to be overly bothered. He was up here, the zombies were down there and that was all that mattered. If he had to line up once a month to have a significant amount of his blood emptied into sterile sub-zero temperature containers, well...small price.
Being unambitious, with perhaps a touch of dimwit to accommodate such, Cassus was not particularly suitable for any kind of skilled labor. He was, as the LiqNit technicians liked to refer to him, a Drainer. There to feed on. Most of the time, he found himself charged with sweeping the streets or cleaning the hoods of ventilation shafts...jobs formerly handled by robots before much of the Old Tech was lost. Now, the only automatons were the KingKillers, which made up the Adjudicator's gendarme and gave Cassus the creepies.
The disadvantage of being a lowly Drainer was that it was easy for the Higher Ups to shove undesirable jobs on you, which was what landed Cassus in his current position standing outside a plain black building adorned with a single red flag emblazoned with a black sun. There was no lock on the gate; one would need to be suicidal or crazy to come here uninvited. He fingered the tassel on the end of his delivery, the one he'd been promised guaranteed his safety. The Adjudicator's seal was only good if he lived long enough to present it.
Cassus Nestor sucked in several breaths, intended to be calming but sounding more like a Squee giving birth (assuming they did).
“Come on, Nestor. Man up. Just a messenger. Who knows, maybe they'll be pleased and reward you.” Though this was a tantalizing promise, Cassus twinged, knowing Atreans were better known for their capriciousness than their generosity.
It took several muscle cramping tugs before he was able to pull the door open wide enough for him to squeeze through. The room was lined with huge windows, leaving no need for artificial lighting. At the end of this intimidating foyer, a door obscured another room, but did little to stifle the sounds of combat emanating from it.
Reminding himself once again that this was the barracks of the Sapphire City's elite security force, Cassus scurried down to the door, ignoring his pounding heart. His entrance was less than graceful, but thankfully, everyone seemed too busy to even notice.
“Everyone” here referring to the two vampires making scrap of several large robots. The bots were not androids, bearing closer resemblance to insects and they were huge, with 2 to 8 legs, some armed with spinning blades and razor sharp claws. They climbed the pillars and across the low ceiling, moving with great dexterity. Cassus found himself entranced by their non-humanoid movements, yet even more by the two figures in the center, feet firmly planted on the red mat which covered the floor.
He saw the female first. Her hair was a bright blonde, the color of the sun before ash covered and distorted its light. Cut to her neck in the back, save a long braid in the middle, and chopped bangs in the front, her hair seemed to have no practical purpose. A short braid hung in front of her left ear, which whipped around as she moved. She wore tightly fitting shorts and a cropped shirt which permitted full mobility and showcased a body of toned muscle structure. She moved with a viper's grace and lethality, leaping over this bot's pincers to grab a metal bar to shove through that bot's computer brain. At times, Cassus found himself incapable of fully following her actions; they were too quick and complicated.
The other figure was equally impressive in his abilities to dispatch enemies. A huge man, naked to the waist, with a thick ponytail of dark red hair which hung down his back like a mane. He moved impossibly fast for a man of his frame, the taught muscles turning him into a torpedo. Metallic limbs flew across the room, heads collapsed inward and never an opposing blow was landed.
Cassus Nestor's brain was trying to tell him to close his mouth but he wasn't inclined to listen. These were the Titans, warriors of legend. Even now, a nasty scar, healed but angry looking, crossed diagonally down the man's chest, a testament to his battle with House Thyestes' monster Enforcer, Vesuvius. Rhynharken Kristallnacht alone could boast surviving such an encounter.
Finally, his mind reconnected with the rest of him and Cassus made his presence known.
“Your pardon, lords...” he began, afraid his meek voice would not carry over the sounds of fighting. These concerns were quickly dispelled when the girl, her body shining with perspiration commanded “Off!” forcing all the robotic terrors to power down. Both Atreans turned to stare at the human, but it was the leonine Rhynharken who spoke first, his great torso rumbling as he laughed.
“There are no “lords” here, boy. So don't be so formal.”
Forgetting himself and his fear, Cassus questioned the two as they walked towards him, no longer even breathing heavily.
“Buit you are pure bloods. And you're here. I don't understand.”
The female—Heydrich--stared at him balefully, but Rhynharken laughed again.
“If you think the only dichotomy here is between neophytes and pures, you've got no more sense than a NIL.”
Emboldened by the warrior's easy demeanor, the laughter which danced in his feline gold eyes, Cassus continued.
“I've never seen anyone fight like you.” This time Heydrich answered, shrugging her shapely shoulders in resignation.
“Have to entertain ourselves somehow. Tavian hasn't had needs of our services for decades.”
“I've heard stories but I never-”
“What do you want, human?” Heydrich cut him off sharply, yanking him back to the cold reality that he was alone with the most dangerous beings in the Sapphire City.
“Leave the lad be, Hey, he looks fit to piss.”
Heydrich spun away in disgust, her blonde tail whipping over her shoulder.
“I-I bring a message from the Adjudicator,” Cassus stammered. Heydrich snorted.
“If this is about that incident in Konstanin's Tavern, I do not believe the changing atmospheric conditions is proper excuse for piss poor ale.”
Cassus held out the tasseled cylinder. Rhynarken broke the seal, unwinding the parchment. A feral smile broke open his face.
“Heydrich Veronika, come and see. The little man has brought us good news.” His sister read over his shoulder, her entire demeanor changing. She moved with seductive grace and power of a lynx as she sauntered around Cassus, trailing a finger across his shoulders.
“And would the brave messenger like a reward now?” she whispered enticingly in his ear. His mind flashed to all the other rumors he knew. Drawing in a steady breath, Cassus Nestor performed what was likely to be the bravest act of his life.
“Lady, grateful as I am, I understand that the majority of those you reward find themselves dead for the exertion.”
Heydrich laughed, the sound like hot metal.
“Human hearts are so fragile,” was the only explanation she offered. The bemused looking Rhynharken jerked his head towards the door. On shaky legs, Cassus moved away from the sparring room. At the door, the commander handed him a LiqNit cylinder, murmuring,
“A drink on us, lad.”
Cassus nodded and dashed off, ready to be anywhere else. Rhynharken closed the door after he was gone and when he looked back, his sister was already dressed in a fitted body suit. The two smiled.
“Gather the kids, sister. Tomorrow we go hunting.”