- Chapter Nine - Fractured Past -

"Anything over there?"

"Just another can," the man said dully. His hands remained at his gun, nostrils flaring with every sniff of the dank city. He was constantly on the lookout, and nothing changed except there was a scrawny man a distance away that, too, was holding a gun. However, unlike the battle-hardened veteran, the oblivious boy held it agitatedly against his chest, something he had smirked at. Tweaking movement from the other caused the smirk to grow into a grin before he picked up his foot. "Monster!"

Two faces turned as the words were spoken, the others remained stationary in the foreground as they continued. The rounded metal's side received the boot's invitation, sending itself soaring into the low-lit streets. The clunk, followed by a sharp sound, was the ground's only warning before being hit by a hunk of useless, scorched metal.

A woman's voice cut in a hushed scream. "This is a stealth mission, Kyrus!" Her eyes prodded over to the one that fired off the sharp sound, standing wide-eyed in their spot. "Look what you've done to Marrik. He's frightened out his wits! Should have shot you as well as the can."

Kyrus smirked as he walked over to the shaking boy. As the brown eyes looked upwards they were sent back with a twitch as the older man's hand came down on the shoulder with a tight, reaffirming grip that there was nothing to worry about. "You gotta lighten up, kid. It's just a joke, right? The only monsters here are the nobles, and they don't munch on kids."

Why they green-lighted a boy without any fuzz on his chin for a mission like this was beyond the two. The youngest recruit Kyrus admitted to ever seeing, probably due to lying on his de-facto application to join the Resistance when it was still around. If he could lie to Torn with those pearly whites and pre-teen green eyes, then why not send him on a mission to the worst of the city?

The boy was dazed from the false attack. He produced a week smile, the only thing he could offer to the one who brought him to such a delirious state. He gulped before looking to Izobel for confirmation that it was just a joke. However, he only found a turned, purple-haired head in her place.

"We're losing the others," she sighed, looking at the group of four that was a distance away. The light green aura was still in eyeshot after what happened, and the outline of the other three soldiers was visible. Her displeased look was turned into a confused, but placid, smile that found itself somewhat sympathetic as she saw the still quivering Marrik look at her. "Let's go, huh? All the real action is up there with that salty old sage."

"Action. Yeah," the boy said, giving an attempt at a laugh before following her. They walked off in the direction of the dim, green light.

Kyrus began to grunt, rolling up the sleeves on his personally degrading, standard-issue military camo outfit. It was something everyone had worn for years, but only Kyrus had gone through with it as he missed the memo concerning mission attire. Even the pants were camouflage, a nonchalant touch in the heat of Haven's summers, something both Izobel and Marrik missed out on by wearing a set of dark green with a tank top, which had no tactical advantage, and what looked like something he'd find in the slums garbage pile, respectively. The only thing that made them stand out was the light armor they wore.

It all came up to another point in Kyrus' internal monologue: why does no one tell him anything?

"You've heard stories about him before, right?" Izobel asked, pointing off to the forward distance with the butt of her gun. She began her new tangent as they both began walking faster to get away from the man who realized he was going to be left alone and began pacing to catch up. Those same brown eyes had temporarily glossed over in wonder as they turned to her, saying otherwise at her innocent notion of storytelling.

Another quick turn from the blonde to make sure her young companion was alright didn't reassure her as he continued to delve wildly into the darkened landscape around him. She turned to Kyrus, understanding what Torn had said about him. He was only in his late twenties and was in more battles than any on the team. For a Haven veteran, the constant checking of his surroundings would cause him to catch any eye that glanced his way. Unfortunately, it was that way with him when it came from the look of a woman.

As if the story was true, he caught her smug look. He turned immediately from fumbling around with the scorched tin can and began grunting softly as he began to close the distance between him and the group that was already lagging behind the main. "Wait, let me catch up!"

He was quite the idiot for a veteran too.

Ignoring his complaints, Izobel tilted her head with a smirk. It was always good to get the mind off the mission, and this may have been the kids first. "They say the old man is more ancient than the city itself. Kept alive for hundreds of years because of the eco that runs through his veins." Catching the glimpse she was given by Marrik, she jokingly raised an eyebrow, "But, I'd say he's no older than any of us."

"I, for one, don't think any of us are four-hundred years old," Kyrus said, out of breath. He had finally managed to catch up, breathing heavily as Marrik inched closer to the original speaker. "Except maybe Kaysin, but who knows with that one. He's more guarded than Praxis was."

Disregarding the last bit about one of her comrades, she gave him a silly look before rolling her eyes, "You know that's not what I meant."

The green light continued before them, slowly pacing along the city streets illuminating every crack and crevice. It was oblivious to any fault of the city, widely enveloping the rubble to create shadows that danced vividly among the stone. They weren't going to wait for the three to catch up.

"You mean how those eco weirdos sometimes age faster?" Kyrus guessed. He began to fiddle with his brown hair as he pulled some out, letting it drop to the ground. "My folks always said it was a side effect of it all, like how hair loss is from killing people. Dad said you can play the Precursors all you want, but in the end, you die. Simple as that." Pulling at his hair again, he looked to Izobel, "got any more of that cocofruit milk? Could really use some for this."

Marrik twitched a brief grimace at Kyrus' words before rolling his eyes. "He can hear you, y'know."

"Yeah, right." Gazing over at the walking elderly man, Kyrus narrowed his eyes. If that man could hear anything, then there was certainly no indication of it. "And the Precursors are a bunch of rats and that old—oof!" He gasped, slamming directly into the back of Izobel. "What'd you stop for?"

"Told you," Marrik whispered. Without addressing either, he pointed at the stopped man in front of them. "He heard."

"Heard my nose break," Kyrus groaned, feeling up his face to make sure nothing had broken when he slammed into the plate of back armor that Izobel donned. For backstabbing purposes, she had mentioned, not breaking noses. "You really needed to wear all that, huh?"

"Shhh," she returned, placing her finger on his lips.

The man standing before them stood still. His already faint aura grew weaker for the passing moment as the charcoal black walls loomed over them, sending the once dancing shadows scurrying behind the desolate landscape of the ruined city. The remaining three soldiers stood around him without the spell of petrification that had fallen upon the sage.

The smaller of the three approached the sage sedately, nudging his arm slightly with the butt of the blaster they held. For a moment, he had returned to reality, only to faze off once more. "Sh-Samos, sir?" she asked, correcting themself as the threat of a heavy, oaken cane crashing down upon them rested in the back of their mind. They gently grasped his shoulder, asking again; "Sir, is everything alright? We've arrived."

Samos shook his head violently, knocking the resting bird from its perch as it flew up to a safe distance. The branch it had rested on shifted, no longer being a suitable place to land except for bristles of grey hair, which, when the sage began rubbing beneath his spectacles, it turned to and nestled itself down in.

"Sir?" The soldier asked again.

"Yes. Yes, I'm alright," Samos answered mechanically. He looked around, disorientated at his surroundings. "It is just that…" his face turned heavy as he looked at the brash walls, "I am terribly bemused at the lack of work done on this dreadful place considering how much importance it holds to the nobles."

"Perhaps they have lost interest in the prison?" The soldier guessed. "The nobility are known for caring little about what they don't physically own. There is no use for such a place as long as they don't remain in power."

Giving a doubtful look to the woman, Kyrus shook his head. For someone rumored to have a celestial appearance, she was always devoid of any smiles. She did presume a dignified air to her, much like an angel, and took her position in the guard quite seriously. However, angels never did have onyx hair, and especially had more flattering styles than tucking it all back in a military bun. Much to his regret, her wit, and her jawline, were as sharp as her shooting. Both of her eyes and her gun.

"Kyrus? You had something to say?" She had raised an eyebrow to him as they made contact, partly wondering why he had begun to size her up.

"Just doubtful about the last words," he kicked in. "You know how polished they like their pieces. And they do think they're in power, Coledy."

Another guard, far back compared to the other, parted their lips momentarily. His ears, one cut to a stump, jittered as his mouth closed with a heavy sigh. He watched as Marrik pushed himself to the side near the now open gateway to the prison. The gun was still held tight, steadily as if he were preparing to fire the moment something were to pop out. They had, however, managed to catch Izobel's gaze as he instead showed her the top of his bald head. Agitated that, once again, he refused to voice his opinion, or that the one next to him had their arms folded just watching the sage's situation.

"Nevermind," Samos said, silently shrugging to himself. This wasn't the proper time to discuss what the nobles may, or may not for that matter, be up to with the prison. He shifted to the man with the folded arms. "Now, Elrize, is everything in working order from when you last scouted the prison? I want this to be done fast and I believe Torn said you were the best."

"Did he now?" The guard smiled. He relaxed his arms as he pulled out an old scanner from his back pocket, flicking a switch on the top to bring the machine to life. He pressed the large center button sending a hologram of the prison's levels upwards from the red sphere in the middle. It tappered for a second, only to appear largely in green light, followed by the labeled entrances, exits, and areas of importance with a flashing black dot. "Here we are then. Everything inside is clear, and there truly was nothing of importance to report during the scouting other than the slight disturbance at the front end when clearing up the rubble."

"Good," Samos nodded. He fixed his spectacles, looking at the hologram before taking another glance at the current party. "We'll have to divide and conquer the prison's levels to finish this before the sun rises. Torn has told me that you are the best men that he had. Your governess has the same thinking as that man, and are you going to prove them wrong on the matter?"

Several of the guards turned to a halted formation: arms behind their back in a power stance before saying 'no, sir.' It was a pep talk, the first Samos had ever given, and four of the six was a good enough place to start as some were ex-KG.

"Coledy and Kaysin, since you both have been into the prison before, I'll need you to lead your own groups. Elrize, you are to read that map of yours while we go through the lower levels while Coledy guides us through this... place," Samos said, confirming the plans with the two guards, who nodded. "Kaysin, take Izobel and Marrik through the upper levels since while Kyrus, you stay in the entrance to continue contact with both groups."

"Sir," Izobel began, raising an eyebrow to the old sage. "Don't you think there's just one problem with all of this?"

"And what exactly would that be?"

"Going in blindly on a mission has never been the best thing to do, now has it?" She cocked a questioning look Samos' way. "We've never been told what we're searching for."

"Yeah, we really never did get much info on the mission," Kyrus added, copying Izobel by raising an eyebrow. "Something about getting info on the nobles' next big plan doesn't add up when you're in that deep, dank place instead of just asking around. Y'know? A few coins in the right pocket will get you more than this will."

"I, too, believe there is more to the mission," Coledly chimed in, looking at Samos before the look left her face, going downwards to the cold, stone street as she caught his worried look. "That is unless there is a greater purpose in not telling us our assigned mission to complete."

"There is, Coledy," Izobel reaffirmed, taking the action of Elrize as she crossed her arms and spitefully frowned at her stationary commander. "We're risking our lives here, so I think we deserve to know."

Samos' lips protruded for a second, puckering slightly as he readied the thought in his mind. That was where he was told the problem would occur, and it wasn't necessarily a wrong prediction. Several soldiers here were once members of the Krimzon Guard, though never truly as loyal as some to join the Freedom League, they all were to have some opinion on the matter at hand, with Torn deciding it best to tell them beforehand. However, with what Samos no longer agreed with, it was thought best to tell them a rouse of the nobility's interest in the prison.

It was one thing to say they were going to support their governess, which they were by rescinding their chances of ever continuing to live if she were to fail, but this is much more. None in this city were loyal to the man they called an 'eco-freak.' It was dangerous grounds that even the sage himself dared not travel, though it was something he dearly regretted many times.

"Well?" Kyrus prodded, glaring daggers through the darkness of the dimly lit city streets. "We deserve to know what we're doing here. If anyone finds us here that isn't loyal to our governess, we're dead."

Kaysin opened his mouth, following the sage that had done the same. However, unlike Samos, he had closed it but gained the attention of Kyrus, who was still less than pleased. "Oh, now you got something to say, Quiet-boy?"

Blinking haphazardly at the nickname, he stood up. Kaysin, for the third and final time, opened his mouth as he went to the prison walls. "It's here... Dark Warrior Project."

Samos was the first to change his stance at the sentence. He spun around quickly to the one who had spoken it as if it were an ancient curse. His head dropped solemnly as the truth came out, alerting the others to what they were all really there for.

The Dark Warrior Project.

Even the youngest of the group had come to learn of the name, his once tanned hands turned into white husks of fear that turned white as they stagnantly gripped around his gun. Elrize dropped his arrogant cool at the words, finding himself sitting on a stray brick. Izobel, too, was at a loss for words, and even Kyrus lost his spunk attitude.

They had all learned as to what transpired during that infamous project one way or another. Through other guards or Resistance members, hushed whispers at the bar, or even by working directly with the project. It was, after all, what simultaneously created the monster that singlehandedly defeated the metalheads and became the thing of nightmares to the most astute of warriors.

The eco-freak.

"So, it is true. Isn't it, Samos?" Coledy questioned, finding the answer in the man's solemn face. "We are here about The Project. That was why I was asked…"

"I don't want to know nothing about that," Marrik whimpered to himself, looking to the ground defeated.

"There's nothing to worry about," Izobel comforted, still trying to contain the façade. "Everyone knows he left for the desert and never came back."

Giving another sorrowful glance at the prison's walls, Samos conjured the strength to come to the realization of it all. "There is good reason as to why I feigned in telling you all," he said, sighing as he looked out to the others. "It was my intention to not rile up the situation due to something I regret in life. Allowing that project to go on was something I, nor you governess or leader, could continue to live with. If only I had known earlier, it wouldn't have been like this."

"That thing Praxis created?" Kyrus began, his voice rising to a deep growl as he spoke on, "we all regret so much about that thing. We should have killed it when we had the chance. It did it to so many others, and what did we do? We just let it walk."

"You, above all, should know how much he's slaughtered," Elrize added. He gave a distasteful glance towards Samos. "Was it now your decision to let him live all those times?"

"Kyrus," Izobel hesitated, reaching out to grab Kyrus' shoulder. "Calm down."

"No! I will not calm down, Iz!" He barked, throwing her hand away as his anger returned to the crestfallen man before him. "We're going into this place for that thing? You probably want to save the damn eco-freak from a fate worse than the end of my gun. And for what? Because he was the biggest pawn in the entire Resistance?"

"Kyrus…"

"Shut it, Izobel!" Kyrus spat. "You don't know what that thing has done to me. Hell, to the others!"

"We all do, Kyrus," Coledy interrupted. "Do not think that none of us have lost something because of what came from that project. Izobel is trying to calm down the tension you've created."

"And it is true that we do owe this remarked 'eco-freak' quite a bit. Not only did he save the Resistance in its darkest hour, but he also managed to defeat both our enemies simultaneously," Elrize said, going closer to the mute sage. "But, once more, there is always another side to every story. Isn't that right, Samos?"

All Samos could do was continue standing. It wasn't as if he couldn't run his tongue off, one of the deadliest weapons he ever had the gift to carry, but it was that the air of pride that had ever once encompassed him that wavered as his thoughts ran dangerously free. He was warned of this by it before but rather took the folly on his own shoulders to save him some peace of mind.

He knew the story of every member here, reading over them so much that he knew each of them by heart. They had all lost something to the war, some more related to Jak than others, but Kyrus was an exception. It was second nature to a man to hate something that took everything away from him.

"Perhaps you are all in the right to be as wary as you are now," Samos began. He offered eye contact to many of those around him in a plea for some sympathy, but it fell on deaf ears. It was against his nature, but what hadn't been these days? His mouth cornered down as they awaited his next words. "You all see him as a monster, for that is what the Baron had created. But none of you know him as I had."

"That's what he was, right? A monster."

"A monster is what you made of him, Kyrus," objected Samos. "Nay, there never was a reason to see him through different lenses than the red you were offered since birth. He was once a young boy. One I raised many years ago. He was not just some freak you all fear. Not just one you all find yourself crawling to whenever the need for him arises."

"I think it would be safe to say some of us wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him, too," Izobel reluctantly said. There was no point in fueling the fire any more than it already was, but she could still do with a last-ditch attempt to put it out. "Whatever our feelings are on the matter are to be cast aside. First and foremost, this is a mission. Remember?"

The strain on his composure retreated momentarily as his face twisted into that of revulsion and confusion. "The mission?"

"We've still got to search this place from top to bottom. Just because it changed from one thing to another doesn't mean anything," she said, gently smiling to Kyrus. It was working, as far as she could tell, as his body relaxed. "Even if it feels like a taboo, that doesn't mean we can't do good for someone who risked their life for this city."

Gathering his thoughts, Kyrus looked around. Not that there was much chatter before the bout, the hushed group had remained silent after. Elrize and Coledy watched on as Kaysin sat there, empty minded. Marrik had not stirred, gun in hand, while Samos stared on. Abashed by their part in it all, they had subconsciously agreed to no longer get involved in his rage.

"Have it your way," he snarled. "You can do whatever you want in that prison. Die for all I care. I'm just not getting involved with that—."

"And you won't have to," Samos interrupted, returning to his place in the conversation. "You will only be making sure that our connection remains intact. It is vital that we can contact Torn, as well as each other, at any given time."

Kyrus breathed deeply, reaching around him to grab the large bag off his back. He narrowed his eyes at the sage before unzipping the military-style backpack, pulling out the large computer case and turning it on with a low beep. "Fine. But, this is all that I will do. Understand?"

"It would be best for you to bleat about your losses out here, acting as if no one else has lost something to that project," Samos churlishly responded. He spun to face the prison before walking off, looking back at the man sitting with the open computer one last time. "As Izobel said, the mission is what is important. You will do what you were commanded to do."

Kaysin quietly followed Samos into the prison's entrance, as did Coledy after nodding off to Izobel. Raising an eyebrow to Kyrus, and receiving a less than pretentious remark in return, Elrize rolled his eyes and made way to join those further in. Marrik waited for Izobel, the only team member that had not just gone in without him, who winked at the man in charge of communication before leaving.

Waiting for the sound of footsteps to wane, Kyrus whipped out a small case from his back pocket before heading into the entrance corridor. He planted himself into a seat, presumably that of the guards who sat at the front gate and opened it. He grinned as he grabbed the small, opaque chip from within, placing it into the reader on his computer.

A beep clattered until a low, gruff voice shot out. "Update?"

"They've entered the prison in two groups as you said. I've been set to transfer messages."

"Good. Let us know if anything changes."

The sun bleated down on the soft sands that shifted through every loose paving stone. The metal of the buggies laid bare for the scorching rays, sending the light gleaming onto the wastelander working under the shade-giving roof of a make-shift canopy of rusted metal sheets. Only a few remained in the Spargan garage, the tracks of those that left hours before now gone to the wind.

Spargus took on the role of a ghost town.

Every now and then, a rouge kangarat would come through, investigate, and wallow away at the lack of vegetation and other foods to steal. There was no food to spare, and it seemed as if no more would come in. The foragers and fishers did not report in, desert traders due for Spargus did not come through, and what little food kept for these situations would only last a week at best if not replenished.

The great desert city survived worse with less food, but that was not the problem.

In the eyes of Kleiver, one of the only remaining wastelanders, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. The day was the most normal he's had in the past few weeks, and that was supposed to qualify for a good day.

The past few days though? That was a different story.

The other wastelanders have all been spouting nonsense. The blokes from that city said he died saving the world, but here he came crawling back with the boy blunder like a postie. Saying his majesty couldn't handle a small dozy outside the wasteland? Utter garbage.

It served them right being sent out there for bringing up such lies about their king.

Sure, it may have been better to do some investigating first, then maybe he wouldn't have rung the neck of the first man to utter the words. Damas, king of the wastelands, and past ruler of that shiny dump in the horizon, couldn't handle a meet and greet with that cobber death herself? That was the word: garbage. Baloney if he'd ever heard of it.

Damas wasn't the one doing it, and Kleiver knew that for a fact.

It was that dark-skinned floozy he'd brought in.

Sig was called out on a mission back to the city without any rest. Forced to leave, if you ask any wastelander. Said he and the boy saw some kind of monster out there. Something with hundreds of teeth and smelled of death. It killed some marauders too, and it seemed as if it were all for that box Sig dropped off.

A big monster going after some precursor junk was one thing, but the rampant scourge of offsiders leaving on missions to either the depths of the wasteland or to find those missing foragers was another. If a beast like that were out there, then they'd be saying their prayers that those rat's ship comes crashing down on them.

A wastelander could take one, but that wasn't the problem. If there was one, then there would be more. And that, dare he admit, left Kleiver a little on edge.

The best thing to take the edge off of forced conscription was, of course, to work on his ride. It was the second one this month, the first not being fast enough to even take on that blue-eyed bloke with the aid of those damnable marauders on his own track. Granted he took a liking to the new blondie, this one as faster, stronger, and mean enough to take him out this time. A nice piece of metal he'd been waiting go test on a couple of metal monkeys that still wandered their way near the city walls.

That is if he'd ever be graced to have the chance of going on another mission. That blow in Damas took a liking to strolled in one day, unannounced, and he took a liking to her. Not that this was the first time his majesty did it, what with the shortie and his rat at least being... valuable. This one waltzed in as if she owned the place, even having the nerve to ask Kleiver who he was. The man who practically ran the place in the stead of the man she groveled over when Sig was out of commission.

Now, there's one thing about having a fair shake of the sauce bottle over a woman like that, but that was the catch. Damas wasn't the man to lust over something that wasn't the pride of war, or whatever Kleiver knew that the king considered to be fun. He wasn't even the one for those talking rodent's fireworks and metal ship or even the gimmick of a possible feast in the middle of a desert.

All fur and bones on those things, though that middle one would have made a tastier stew than that one he thought was high and mighty.

After those fleabags left was when everything went south. Kleiver grunted at the thought as he fastened on a new bolt for the buggy seat. They may not look like gods, but they did act like them. Leave when the going gets rough. That didn't bother him. He never believed in them anyways, and even after seeing them he still didn't.

What did bother him was what was going to happen next.

A large rumble echoed through the garage as the gate from the city opened. Kleiver gazed over, looking to see if he needed to raise another buggy for more wastelanders being sent out. He didn't.

Speak the devil's name, and she'll come knocking.

Much to Kleiver's disgust, she herself had come strutting along the wind-broken path of patchwork stone. Though a woman of that caliber walking over a wastelander was something considered a sight for sore eyes, he wasn't much of one for that type. Manipulative and sneaky, not slim.

If she had come alone, then anyone in their right mind would ignore whatever she had to say. She was no wastelander but with Seem her voice held more weight. Too much weight for her body to hold, but the monks were Damas' eyes and ears of the wasteland, giving him advice whenever he needed.

And who was Kleiver to ignore a possible order from Damas?

The repetitiveness of it was hackneyed. It was the same ever hour or so: soft footsteps of the monk followed the harsh clacks of metal heals, scraping against every poor rock that found itself in her path. She would announce that Damas sent her down to say there was to be another group sent out, and how she hoped the others would return safely. That was rubbish if Kleiver ever saw any.

At the sound of the metal standing still, Kleiver deeply sighed. He tightened the last bolt before putting away his lug wrench and stood up. The tire was fixed, and now these two needed fixing. "You and the sook in the need for a bit o' help, are ya?"

"Quite the perceptive man as always, Carver," Orphne said, smiling. Seem stood a distance away, violet-red eyes staring blankly ahead.

"Kleiver," he said obtrusively. His hands were already being wiped on the not-so-white cloth, now covered in oil.

Orphne blinked. She glanced around confusedly before ignoring what Kleiver had said. Looking around the garage, there were sparsely any hints if habitation save the man, who for her very knowledge had said the name the of the knife that was certainly his specialty tool from seeing the mangled and cut parts. "Those foragers have not returned I take it?"

Kleiver raised an eyebrow. "Whaddya think?" he quipped. He tossed the wrench in the jagged box with the rest, whipping off his oil rag and throwing it in too.

How suspicious was it that everything happened right after the broad in bronze showed up? And how the blondie and his rat left right after too. Damas gave Jak that metal armor, and it seemed he did the same for her.

Her arms closed together in a crossed bar as she rolled her eyes. "Of course. I didn't expect them to anyhow."

"What's that s'pposed to mean exactly?"

"Oh, nothing," Orphne said. She huffed and looked around her, eyeing the buggy that Kleiver had begun work on. The sudden scowl on the man's face as her hand approached it did not sway her from touching it, passing her hand down the metallic shaft. "Working on something new, are we?"

"I know you didn't come for chit-chat," Kleiver snorted. He looked to Seem, still as quiet as before. "You here for something, monk?"

Reddish-violet continued to stare at the desert sands, not wavering at the man's remark.

Orphne pushed herself in front of the monk, tilting her head and smiling. "They're just here to confirm something for me. There isn't a need to bother them."

With a gruff, Kleiver relaxed. "I think I need to confirm somethin' too. Why are you wasting my time?"

"Wasting?" Orphne raised a hand to her lips and laughed slightly. She caught herself, blinking as her face lightened. "Well, it seems that Lord Damas believes it to be a good idea that I study an artifact that just came in."

"I didn't report any new artifact coming in."

"Of course you didn't," she returned, shaking both her head and shoulders sarcastically. "A man named Shig did."

"Sig."

"That's what I said, Sig," she huffed, crossing her arms as she continued. "The artifact was a box. I do hope it wasn't damaged. You people are ever so callous with how you deal with things."

Kleiver cracked his knuckles, scowling at Orphne. "I'll damage something all right,"

"Yes, quite intimidating," Orphne wanely remarked. She rolled her eyes again and ran her fingers through her hair before giving a glinting look to the wastelander. "Now, the box?"

Another gruff grunt of disapproval came from Kleiver. She'd have no use for the damn box anyways, not like there was anything in it as it was as hollow as her head would be if she weren't one of Damas' call girls.

Now, where was it? The back of his buggy?

"You know, my time is quite precious," She said, giving a bored look."If you won't get it yourself, then I will."

"Be my guest, lady," Kleiver jeered. "You'll find right over there."

"In your... whatever that is?"

"My ride." Kleiver smacked the hood of the buggy, spurring the ride to shake. "On the liftgate."

"Yes... wonderful," Orphne said, pulling back her lips to expose white teeth. She let out a breath of air and walked to the buggy, stopping as she looked inside. "There it is... after all these years."

Kleiver moved over, doing his best to not watch Orphne bend over the back of the buggy. Her face gleamed in excitement, eyes narrowing as she licked her teeth. Her backside was revealed, as were other areas, as she reached in and grabbed the box. She held it, inspected it, bit her lip, and breathed deeply to calm herself.

Pretending to not look her over, Kleiver twisted his head away. He really didn't see what Damas liked in her. There was no meat.

She traced her fingers around the intricate markings on the box, leading her to the center divet beneath the small handle. Her chest swelled as she took another breath, gulping as hands grew tight around it. "...finally."

"You done?"

Orphne lifted her head. Her face returned to a displeasing smile as she saw who spoke. "Yes. This is all that I- we came for."

Resting his hands on his stomach, Kleiver began tapping his fingers on his metal belt. "You'll find it time that you leave then. All that 'research' must keep you pre-occupied."

"I've researched this exact artifact for years. Every groove and mark, here as they were in the texts. Only now that the Precursors have left has it come into our hands. The unimaginable power of this relic... and all I need now is the key."

"Eh, do what ya' want," Kleiver said, shrugging. The box was useless junk, like everything else they found, anyways. The only thing it would have done is end up in some snoddy collection in Haven.

"I'll take my leave," grinned Orphne. Her eye twitched violently as she laughed to herself. The gate was only a few yards away, but Kleiver could see every violent jolt in her movement. "Brace yourself for the coming storm, wastelander."

Kleiver shook his head as the gate shut behind the quiet monk and the cackling woman. Damas always did have a thing for the crazy types.

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm back from an unannounced and unexpected hiatus, I guess? I apologize for kind of just up and abandoning this story for about 3 months because I didn't have any time whatsoever, but now I actually might? (Well, I had enough time to write an entire two-section chapter again with new characters). However, I will hopefully return to writing but it will definitely take longer than the two week periods it took for me to write each other chapter now. Either way, my writing has changed and I kind of forgot how these characters would act, and also I've added so many new characters because of the prison section (I didn't want to do a "guard No. 1" kind of thing so I gave them names and kind of some sort of personality and backstory?). Overall, I've never made any original characters before and I've never had to put in descriptions of people in a story, so sorry if that messed up whatever flow was left.

I don't know how much is left in this story, but I am going to finish it. I don't know which route I'm going to go yet, but It might go up to like chapter 20? (With how long it took me to post chapter 9, it'll be done in a few years. Hopefully less than a year if I get back into the writing mood.)