Outworld/Repurposed Peoples Collective X37F

The Centre Of Operations

Author: Axle, after Iteration I

The Centre of Operations on Repurposed People's Collective X37F is an imposing building. Bright, colourful propaganda vids are projected onto the large front facade, accompanied by cheery marching tunes, blaring out from large speakers. Posters adorn the remaining available space, showing heros of the Combine, and covered with slogans espousing “THE GLORY OF UNITY” and reminding people that “TOGETHER WE THRIVE”. One of the posters, showing Axle, and advertising the Volcorps, has been defaced, red painted words advising the citizens to “FUCK THE COMBINE”. It will be replaced soon. Other signs of dissidence are everywhere, if you know where to look. Industrioclast symbols have been scratched into metal street signs. Hurried glances and secret signs are shared between shuffling citizens. Coded messages hide on seemingly innocuous pamphlets.

Inside the Centre, hundreds of Revcorps bustle. Organising propaganda, and events. Marking more and more citizens down for re-education. Sending orders to Volcorps extraction teams, arranging programs and vids and Libcorps parades. Anything to stave off the surge of industrioclasts.

If you are looking for Axle, you will be directed to an unobtrusive side door, near to the back of the main hall. Going through the door, you will find a small, plainly decorated office. A desk, two chairs, a large propaganda poster on the wall, and another door, leading to her quarters, nothing more.

If you go into her quarters, you will find only a bedroom, and a small washroom. The bedroom, again, is very sparse. A single bed, with a thin mattress, an almost ragged blanket, and a pillow like a stone, take up most of the space. She could have shaped herself anything, but if anyone cares to ask, she tells them that this feels like home, that anything nicer would not be suitable for a Volcorps soldier. A small table near the bed hosts a little light, and a little manual counter, almost like something you would use to show the date, except all it has are numbers, no days or months. The number it currently displays is 3. It is resting on a small, typed note, which reads. “I will be visiting soon. Remember comrade, your current goal is 40. Find your strength among your comrades. - Valve.” Next to the counter is a simple, shining golden medal, the only thing in this room which looks cared for, and a cloth for polishing it. Axle is leading an extraction team today, you don’t take items of value on those missions.

The walls of the bedroom are covered in posters and photographs. Largely promotional material for the Symphony of Purpose and the RATA, or advertisements for the Volcorps. There are signed photographs of Valve, Crankshaft and Barrage, and a couple of less staged photographs as well, of crew birthdays, and awards ceremonies. A lot of the posters and photographs are faded, and peeling slightly off the walls. A newer poster, a promotional shot of the Victory through Persistence, has been placed in the centre of one wall. Gatling has been carefully scribbled out, with red pen, and written underneath, in a messy, uncertain hand, are the words “My New Friends.”

Getting Separated

Authors: Axle & Dynamics, after Iteration I

Axle pointed at the screen, the grainy video of the mock battle playing back to the recruits.

“Can anyone tell me where Comrade Drivechain’s team went wrong?” she addressed the hall of Volunteers, stood in their regimented lines, their backs straight and faces serious. This was the first time the Shaper had come to help with training at this particular academy. A young woman raised her hand.

“Yes Comrade?”

“They got separated after the main charge, Comrade Axle.”

Axle slammed her hand down onto the lectern, causing a number of the slightly less alert Volunteers to jump slightly. “She’s right. She’s exactly right. You do that against a Monarch in Shadow, you won’t even last to half way through the fight, and what good is that to anyone? The Combine operates as a team, people!” She slammed the lectern again at the word ‘team’. She relaxed slightly, and removed her ragged jacket, revealing arms criss crossed with scars, and mismatched, grafted on skin. She noticed the shock on the faces of the newest recruits and closed her eyes, a little weary.

“War is hard, Comrades, and we are the front lines. We get damaged, if we’re lucky, we get dragged out and patched up, and we get sent back out again. But we are lucky, Comrades. We have been given a second chance, to help form the Society That Must Be. But we aren’t going to form it like that,” she gestured at the screen. “Can anyone tell me the two other major mistakes that team made?”

A small amount of uncertain murmuring occurred, before a voice barked up from the back of the hall, “They wasted half their rounds firing from a distance they couldn’t possibly hit a target from, and in doing so completely missed the advance flanking them to the east: isn’t that right, Comrade?”

Heads all turned, and whispering rippled across the hall, familiarity with a voice heard cheering and shouting “For the Glory of the Combine!” on holovids, and recognition of a face plastered on propaganda posters across the facility set in as Dynamics stepped out and toward the front of the hall, with eyes tracking his every movement as he reached the front, putting a gloved hand into his pocket to withdraw a piece of paper which he handed to Axle.

“So I hear you have a Valtarian problem,” he grinned, light glancing off the mismatched goggles on his forehead.

Axle attempted, but totally failed, to give him an admonishing look. “Right now, I apparently have a problem with FacCorps interrupting my strategy briefings.” She gave him a grin, before turning back to the hall of Volunteers, who were straining to keep themselves ordered whilst simultaneously gossiping about the new arrival. “Comrade Dynamics is quite correct, although he failed to mention the lack of battle awareness which in his case led to what we shall from now on be referring to as the Grenade Incident. Meet back here tomorrow, and we’ll discuss what the other side did wrong, before going back out there again. Dismissed.” The Volunteers traipsed out of the hall, casting curious looks back at Dynamics as they went.

The Liberator, defaulting to a standard LibCorps stance of posing, returned the curiosity with smiles, salutes, and the occasional “I’ll tell you about the Grenade Incident another time,” as the recruits finally dripped out. He checked the last ones had properly left, before breathing a sigh of relief and leaning on the lectern, looking slightly wearier but nonetheless wearing a smile, “FacCorps presents its humblest apologies for interrupting your strategy briefings.”

Thrown by the overly polite apology, Axle went a little red, and found a scab on her arms to pick at. “I… I wasn't being serious, we were nearly done anyway. Don't worry about it.” She looked up again, “And thanks for coming, I kinda thought you'd be too busy… Facilitating stuff or whatever it is you do.”

“I ran out Facilitating to do after we opened the railway,” Dynamics shrugged, “And I’m quite glad of an excuse to get out of my own head - quite literally - and, well, you know, slaying Valtarian scum is exactly the sort of break I could do with.”

“Well, in that case, happy to help!” Axle grabbed her jacket, made an unsubtle attempt to use it to cover the worst of the ugly scarring on her arm, and headed for the door. “We have some planning to do, you coming?”

Dynamics froze, giving Axle a look like someone had told him the engines were going down on his ship, “You didn’t tell me there’d be planning!”

Axle gave a big, genuine grin. “Do they teach anything other than posing and hitting things at the LibCorps academies? Fine, I’ll think of a plan, and tell you. That sound better?”

Dynamics grinned,“Much better.” With a swish, he made to grab his coat for a dramatic exit, before realising he was already wearing it. Before Axle could laugh (or, indeed, not looking to see if she had), he also made for the exit, calling “I meant to do that!” as he did.

~

They lept behind the remains of what used to be a store cupboard, now resting on its side, under a rain of arrows. The air was thick with shouting and gunfire, and the acrid smell of whatever chemicals used to be stored in the plant. Axle pumped at the Cannon, recharging it, and then screamed, “NOW”. The pair of them lept up. Axle fired in a wide arc, followed by the smooth motion of Dynamics laser sword swinging above her head. They fell back down behind the makeshift defences.

“So, how’s Violet?” Shouted Axle above the din.

Dynamics nearly dropped his sword, but recovered with the skill of a Liberator in time to plunge it through the neck of an advancing Valtarian. “She’s, er, she’s fine. I think. I haven’t actually seen her since the Nexus, come to think of it.” He swung his sword round behind him, cutting through several trying to climb over the cupboard, the blade still glowing hot. “Didn’t think you liked her enough to - duck! - ask.”

“Right, enough hiding!” Axle pushed with all her strength at the top of the cupboard, and it crashed to the floor, sending the clambering Valtarians flying. She jumped over its remains, and swung at one of the knights with the butt of the Cannon, causing their jaw to break with a sickening crunch. Dynamics hardly needed to jump to reach her side, and soon his sword was swinging as she fired. “I thought she’d be over to your realm as soon as possible!” She grunted as a particularly heavy energy blast took out three advancing knights. “Figured she’d want to see that statue in all of its glory.”

“Well, I mean, she might have been,” Dynamics swung to the left, knocking the sword out of the hand of a knight flanking from the side, “But if she has, I must have been out,” he swung to the right, cleaving the gauntlets off the same knight, “Shaping the realm, or something,” he swung once more, from top to bottom, ripping open the knight’s helmet, “I mean, she might not have been at all. She’s probably more busy doing, er, whatever it is she does,” he gave the wobbling knight a kick, causing to fall over in a clanking of useless metal armour.

“Have you considered?” Axle ducked to avoid an arrow, then leapt back up and fired at the offending archer, “That maybe she’s waiting for you to invite her to visit?”

Dynamics stood stock still, momentarily forgetting the battle. “Um…” At that moment, the Valtarian archer took another opportunity to fire, this time at him, not at Axle. Without thinking, Axle shoulder-barged him to the ground, attempting, and failing, to block the arrow from piercing her side with her gun. With a grimace, she snapped the end off of the arrow shaft, swung her Cannon onto her back, and resumed shooting with a one handed pistol, so she could clasp one hand over the wound, and try to stop the bleeding. The archer was soon no more.

The Liberator snapped back to reality, his eyes drawn to the blood, and then to the advancing Valtarians on the other side of the remains of the cupboard. Enraged, he put a thumb to the button on the top of the sword and with one foot on the debris swung, a red shockwave flying out of the end and slicing through the approaching knights. “TAKE THAT!” the Liberator shouted, before ducking down as fire was returned, and turning to Axle, ripping off a red scarf and passing it over for a bandage. “Here, quick.”

Axle looked confused for a second, and then realised what he meant. Grabbing the scarf gratefully, she tied it tightly around her stomach, pushing the arrowhead in further, but stemming the blood. She thanked him, through gritted teeth, then swung the Cannon back round, and surveyed the few remaining members of the Valtarian strike team they’d been ambushing. “We’ve got them now. Just keep firing.” It was hard to say whether she was saying that to herself, or to Dynamics.

Dynamics nodded, and kicking debris out of the way shouted, “Come on Comrade: FOR THE COMBINE!”. The Cannon flared with the pulses of energy beams, and the pair advanced, with the Liberator charging sword-first into the quavering line of Valtarian knights, covered by bright shots of light from the Volunteer. Their morale broke, and the Valtarian invaders began to turn to flee. Dynamics grinned, turning back round sword held high and blood splattered across his goggles though his smile faltered at the sight of the injured Axle.

“You holding up?” he asked. Axle let the Cannon clatter to the floor, and staggered to a wall, her face pale. “I’m just, gonna….. Sit here for a little while, and do something about this stupid arrow.”

“Here, let me help,” he said, scooping up the Cannon and placing it more gently down along with his sword, “Sorry, this was entirely my fault.” Axle shrugged it off, untying the bandage and pulling up layers of leather and cotton to reveal a heavily scarred stomach, with one fresh new gash, oozing sticky dark red. She swore, and began poking at the wound. Then she reached into one of her pockets, and withdrew a well sharpened switchblade.

Dynamics crouched down to take a closer look, “It looks fairly clean,” he muttered, examining the wound, “Shouldn’t be too bad.” He held his hand out for the blade, “And no, I hadn’t considered inviting her.”

Axle handed over the blade. “Use the… use the Cannon to heat the blade. Lower setting. Then it cauterizes as you… agh… cut the arrow out.” She shifted position slightly, causing more blood to spill forth. “That way, no hospital.” She paused for a moment, talking clearly a strain, “And maybe you should… agh… invite her.”

“I mean, I suppose I could… should, even,” he applied the knife to the heat, letting it get hot for a few seconds. “Is that too forward? Is it not forward enough? I mean, I’m only just around to the idea that any sort of forwardness is - hold still a second,” he applied the hot knife to the wound, working with the speed of someone who’s had to do this too many times, “- necessary at all.”

Axle let out a long string of unrepeatable expletives as the hot knife went in. “DYNAMICS!” She shouted through gritted teeth, eyes wide with the effort of not screaming as her skin burned. “Arrow first! Love-life later!”

“Oh come on, don’t be such a Liberator about it,” Dynamics teased, though did duly shut up and focus on what he was doing, getting the arrow out and sealing off the flow of blood with the heat of the knife. “There, almost got it. Got a bandage, or something?”

Axle fished around in her pockets, and eventually produced a slightly grimy strip of cloth that could pass for a bandage. She threw it weakly at his head. “Fucking Liberators,” she shook her head and smiled weakly. “Sorry about your scarf, not sure all that blood’ll come out.”

Dynamics shrugged as he bandaged up the wound, mentally noting to request cleaner supplies for VolCorps next time, “The scarf was red to start with, if it stains it stains. Not like Gatl- er, anyone, is going to bring me up on it any more.” He tied the makeshift bandage securely, “That should do you.”

“Thanks, I… usually end up doing that myself, it’s nice to have help.” Axle began to attempt to stand up, using her gun as a wobbly crutch.

“Combine work as a team,” Dynamics said, simply, offering an arm to steady herself on, while scanning the terrain for any remaining Valtarians. She took the arm gratefully, and had Dynamics not been sensibly searching for enemies, he might have noticed a sad little smile cross her face. “Dynamics, if you want to see her, invite her over. It’s not actually that complicated you know?”

Glancing back to Axle, catching a brief glimpse of the smile, Dynamics’s smile faltered, “Opportunity are different though. They’ve got… weird ideas about, well, er,” his hand waved a bit as he tried to find the words he wanted, “weird ideas about life and, um, other people. As far as I can tell, you wouldn’t… well you wouldn’t catch an Opportunist taking an arrow for their, er, Comrade unless it directly benefitted them.” He sighed. “What if… what if she comes to visit and decides she can’t deal with the World That Must Be?”

Axle’s hand went to her wound, almost absentmindedly. “Valve used to be Opportunity, you know? And I reckon he’d take an arrow for any of us. Maybe she can’t deal with the World that Must Be, but, who knows… maybe she can?” Axle swung the Cannon onto her back. “You certainly aren’t going to find out by not doing anything. And hey,” she gave him a gentle push, “I bet she’d look well good in Liberator get-up.”

The Facilitator paused for a fraction of a second too long to pretend he wasn’t visualising something, but noticing the look creeping onto Axle’s face, he quickly spoke, “I don’t think she’s got the right mindset to be a Liberator though - however good she’d look dressed up as one. Have you ever thought about it though?”

“What, Violet dressed up in LibCorps gear? Nah, not really my type…”

“Ha, so what is your type?” Dynamics smiled, before realising quite what he’d said and quickly backpedalling, “Um, ah, sorry, that was, um, quite…” he awkwardly looked everywhere and anywhere but Axle, (who had, in an unusual display of clumsiness, dropped her gun on the floor) before trying to recover. “Ah, um, no, sorry, I, um, what I meant was more: becoming a Liberator? You know, some day?”

Having finished scrabbling around for her gun, Axle stood up, more than a little red-faced. She gave an unconvincing laugh, and gestured at her worn out clothes “And give up these glad rags for that shit you're wearing? No thanks!”

“I bet there’s a way you could spin it,” Dynamics began to muse, picking up his sword, “Wear something shiny underneath and talk about ‘The Spirit Within’, or something RevCorps would come up with, but to each their own.” Taking one last look over the battlefield he removed his goggles, “Ready to head back to base?”

“If by ‘base’ you mean “somewhere with booze”, then yes. Very much yes.”

~

“The Great Railway of Liberty,” Dynamics said, grandly, pointing at the mighty locomotive in the distance, “You won’t believe how difficult it was coming up with the name.”

“No, I certainly won’t.” Axle was a little out of breath, having to take about two steps for each of Dynamics’ strides. The train looked out of place in The Repurposed People's Collective X37F, all new and shiny, contrasting wildly with the run down VolCorps accommodation, and the grey, foreboding academies.

Either the disparity between the world and the railway hadn’t quite made it through into Dynamics’ head, or he was just incredibly pleased with himself, as he kept going, “I mean, airships would have been more efficient, but you can’t rely on them to steer themselves. This was a stroke of genius - Valve’s, wasn’t it?”

“Most genius ideas are. It’s certainly very… impressive.”

Dynamics turned around, though upon realising he was several steps ahead slowed down, “You should try it at some point,” he smiled. “Maybe come and see the statues? You can always help me work out what the hell I’m meant to do with the Violet one.”

Axle gave a flippant grin. “Break it down for parts? I'm sure the Combine could use an entirely purple academy!”

He smirked, “I’m not sure that having the word ‘Vynamics’ plastered over the walls would be good for the productivity of any of the Corps.” He paused for a moment, “But really, is it normal to flirt by building giant statues of each other?”

Axle frowned. “I honestly have no idea, I’m not really a “flirting” sort of person… Maybe it’s an Opportunity thing?”

“Could be. I’m not a ‘flirting’ person either, so I’ve really no idea…” he drifted off slightly as the train started to make its final approach round to the side of the People’s Collective, before turning back to Axle. “So you reckon I should just ask her? Straight out ask her?”

Axle smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course you should. It’s pretty obvious you want to, so stop procrastinating.” She looked down for a moment, and then continued, a little more hesitant. “Were you serious about me coming to visit? I won’t come if I’m going to be in the way or anything…”

“Absolutely,” Dynamics said, smiling with a simple smile that did show in his eyes, putting a hand on his Comrade’s shoulder, “Axle, you are always welcome in my ridiculous territory. Your presence would make it considerably more tolerable as well.”

Axle’s smile turned shy and awkward, and her eyes fell to the floor. “I’ll um… try to find the time to do that then.” She looked back at him and grinned, a little uncertain. “Thanks again for coming, by the way. It was… um… It was nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dynamics smiled, accidentally leaving a pause for just long enough for it to be incredibly awkward before quickly tacking on, “We, should, er, we should do it again, some time. I mean the Valtarians. I mean killing them. Because, you know, they’re probably not going anywhere fast. I mean, not that we didn’t… oh look, the train!”

“You should probably get on that.” Axle gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder, or rather, the upper arm, due to the difference in height. “See you soon I guess?”

“Yes,” Dynamics nodded, “I’m not hard to find: just look for the giant statue of me.”

“Ummm” Axle’s face went red, “do you, um… want an ideologically reassuring hug?” She blurted the sentence out without taking a breath, and then fixed her eyes to the floor.

Without even hesitating, Dynamics replied, arms wide, “I would always like an ideologically reassuring hug.”

The pair embraced, and a few moments later (although a moment or so after the point that had anyone been passing by they would have noticed the Facilitator looking wildly around for some sort of guidance) they let go. Dynamics once again seemed to be looking everywhere except Axle.

Axle pretended not to notice. “Get on your train.” She smiled, “It would be a bit embarrassing if you missed it.”

“Ah, yes,” he agreed, turning round to open the door to the carriage, “See you soon, Volunteer,” he smiled, giving a salute.

“Catch ya later, Facilitator.” Axle returned the salute. She watched the train speeding off until it was no more than a dot in the distance, and then walked slowly back to her rooms, wrapping the memory of the stolen hug around herself like a comforting blanket, a little half-smile on her face.

On the train, Dynamics settled into one of the functionally designed seats, a smile on his face that didn’t necessarily represent his mind. Running over the events of the last days in his mind, he eventually sighed, and sat up, swinging a terminal in front of him as he began to type: “+++ COMMUNICATION FROM SELF-PORTRAIT TO THE AMETHYST TOWER +++”

Fame And Fortune

Author: Axle, after Iteration I

Axle was just about getting used to fame. She'd actually come up with an autograph to use on her photographs, and although she still got very flustered talking to her Comrades as a “Hero of the combine” she was no longer sneaking out for food in the evenings to avoid other people. Some things, however, still caught her off guard.

“Comrade Axle?”

Axle turned around to see a nervous young rhetanomic engineer in training, beautiful golden curls framing a pixie-like face, that accompanied a delicate, pixie like figure. She was the picture of innocence.

“How can I be of assistance Comrade?” Axle tried to give an encouraging smile.

The girl blushed. “Is…. Is it true you're friends with Liberator Dynamics?”

“Well, actually it's Facilitator now, technically,” Axle smiled, “but yeah, we're… good friends.”

She thrust a letter into axles hand. “Could you, um, give this to him, from me?” The poor girl had gone almost scarlet, and with a puzzled look, Axle nodded. The girl fled before Axle could enquire further, so she took the mysterious envelope back to her quarters, to write some kind of accompaniment.

-

The girl had clearly been in a rush. The envelope was meant to be licked and sealed, but it hadn't been done well, and it was laying open, temptingly, on Axle’s desk.

“I shouldn't open it. I should just send it off.” Axle looked to Bearing, the rat, for guidance. He squeaked.

“You're right. It might be industrioclast propaganda. I…. I should check. It's not like anyone will know…”

She looked around, just incase, and then pulled out the letter, and opened it up. A photo slipped out, and Axle went scarlet as she saw the same young lady from earlier, looking far less innocent, in a corset and stockings. She shoved the letter and the photo back in the envelope like she'd been burned, and stared at it in awe for a moment, before starting a letter of her own.

“Dear Dynamics,

A nice young lady in RevCorps asked me to send this to you. The envelope was open, and I may have caught a glimpse of the contents, which is … interesting, does this happen to you often?

Well enjoy it anyway, I didn't catch her name but I guess it's in the letter,

See you soon I hope,

Your friend,

Axle”

Anger Management

Authors: Axle & Valve, after Iteration I

Valve was uneasy as he stepped from the transport towards the front entrance of Axle’s Centre of Operations. It was a fine enough building, of itself, appropriately imposing and suitably plastered in pleasing propaganda, but it was not unmarred. The anti-Combine slogans painted onto posters, one of which was being replaced in front of Valve’s eyes, were not unexpected, Valve supposed, but were indicative of the work still left to do. Work left too late. He looked up at the apex of the construction, imagining the woman who dwelt there plotting operations from her vantage point, commanding legions, swaying hearts and minds with charisma and terrifying competence. He looked back at the defaced poster, rolled up and carried away for the furnace. He shuddered.

The volunteers guarding the door let him pass without incident, he expected they knew his face already. Valve found what looked to be the main staircase, and began to climb the multitude of stairs to the top.

“Where,” he asked a passing volunteer as he breathily ascended the final step. “Are Axle’s offices, if you please?”

“Oh,” the young man replied, looking suddenly frightened, then reassured, then concerned. “Er, she’s back down on the second level, in corridor sixteen, side-section B. I, er, can show you if you like?”

“No no,” Valve answered, sighing at the thought of more stairs. “I ought to have realised. She doesn’t live up at the top. I’ll find my own way.”

A few minutes later, a rapping was heard at Axle’s actual door.

Axle was reading a report on industrioclast activity that the revCorps had prepared for her. They had gotten used to her by now, and the report was brief, with a number of suggested solutions clearly labelled at the bottom. “Come in” she said, eyes not moving from the suggestions, still working out strategies in her head.

Valve entered, eyes doing a well-trained spot check of the volunteer inside. No changes except…

Injury to the right hand. Inquire about origin. Also, new affectation, pendant in shape of arrowhead. Inquire about symbolism.

“Good day Comrade,” he began, in his customary manner. “How are matters in your Realm?”

Axle looked up. “Oh, Hello Valve!” She smiled brightly, moving the paperwork to one side. “Would you like some um, tea? Or water? I can have some brought in? The realm is… “ she faltered slightly. “There are a lot of problems, but nothing the Combine can’t handle.”

“The Combine can handle anything,” Valve replied curtly as he sat. “But the practicalities of how, and at what cost, are always pertinent. Belief is paramount, but no replacement for strategy. Water would be nice, thank you. May I ask… did you hurt yourself Comrade?”

Axle pushed a small button on her desk. “Comrade Bolt, could you bring two cups of water into my office? Thanks”, she turned back to Valve, and then looked down at her hand, fiddling with the bandage.

“Yeah, there was an… incident. Sorry, probably should have let you know. It’s not serious, just a couple of cuts…”

“On a shaper’s hand. I’m less concerned about the nature of the confrontation, more on the state of mind that allowed you to react to the incident with somatic injuries. What happened?”

Axle looked up, and attempted nonchalance that came out a little too defensive. “I got angry at another volunteer and punched them in the face.” Then she looked embarrassed, but gave a sheepish half smile, as she continued. “Apparently I forgot I was holding a glass at the time. I recon he came out of it worse than I did though.”

“I’ve no doubt he did,” Valve replied with a single raised eyebrow. “Remember, Comrade, you are a shaper. Your physical well-being is no longer a concern, most of the time. How, might I ask, did a fellow Comrade raise your ire so greatly?”

Axle looked past Valve, sulking at having to make the confession. “He was being rude about Dynamics. People shouldn’t be rude about the Facilitator, it’s bad for Morale.”

...Ah, Valve thought to himself.

“Indeed it is, but so is the sight of shapers losing control and exercising their immense powers on the rest of the populace, is it not so, Comrade?”

Axle looked down, shame flooding her face. “Sorry Valve, I’m not… I forget that I’m a shaper, I don’t, I’m not….” she trailed off, failing to find the words to express that being a shaper didn’t make her feel any different, that she was still only a Volunteer in her own eyes. Instead, she settled on something she could put into words. “He just made me so angry, mouthing off about Dynamics, and being so wrong about everything.”

The water arrived, brought in by a short and smiling individual, and Valve sat back thoughtfully in his chair as he took a sip.

“To be… what we are,” he began carefully. “For one of the Combine, it is a sacrifice. A capitalist or a Valtarian Monarch exalts in being raised greater and ‘better’ than their fellows. It confirms both what they believe about themselves, and what they believe about the world. But for us… we have great power that we can use to the benefit of the Combine, this is good. But we sacrifice our… sameness. Our equal footing with our Comrades. And for both of us two, it is an especially dangerous thing.”

Axle frowned. “It’s… hard. Sorry I messed up.” She fiddled with the bandage again, ignoring her own glass of water.

“It is dangerous,” Valve went on. “For me, because it can tempt me back to my old way of being. And to you… because it might confuse your psychological development.” Valve shook his head. “Do not be sorry, bringing yourself down will not help the cognitive dissonance here. You need to… to be cognisant of the power you possess, not think yourself weak, I think. Moreover, you need to develop more conscious self-control, not give into anger. It doesn’t help that…” Valve thought for a moment before proceeding. “How much, Axle, of your life is given over to fighting, the military, conflict of various kinds?”

Axle was on firmer ground here. She brightened. “Well, there’s planning for Assaults at the Nexus, training up new volunteers here, running extraction missions, dealing with the Valtarian problem, recruitment, and weapons testing… so that takes up nearly all of my time I guess.”

“I suspect…” Valve did some swift theorising internally. “That your mind, being more suggestible than most, is internalising the focus of your daily activities. Simply put, you spend your life on the subject of conflict, so you react to situations using conflict. Conflict is important, but so are more creative impulses. I think… you should devote some of your time, daily, to a creative endeavour. Make something, nothing big, and not something that contributes to the Combine war machine. Knitting or something, how does that sound?”

Axle raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “... you think I should take up knitting? It doesn’t seem very… useful.”

“As opposed,” Valve retorted. “To the highly useful activity of punching your Comrades?”

She grinned at that. “Ok good point. Knitting though? What would I even make?”

“Something, anything. Make something for a Comrade, a gift. Make something, then let me know if you experience any changed feelings… oh, before I forget, where is that arrowhead from?”

Axle looked thoughtful, mention of the arrow reminding her of how kind, and caring Dynamics had been when it had struck her. Perhaps she could try and make him something, to say thank you. He’d appreciate that, wouldn’t he? SHe considered asking Valve’s opinion, but decided against it. She didn’t want to talk about that. She shook her head, and returned to the conversation at hand.

“Oh, I took an arrow to the stomach from a Valtarian. But then I shot him, and now he’s dead, so I’m wearing it as a talisman,” she said breezily, carefully avoiding why exactly she had taken that arrow.

Valve raised an eyebrow.

“So it symbolises… resilience?”

Axle fiddled with the arrowhead, remembering Dynamics offering her his arm to lean on as they left the battlefield. She gave a little smile. “Yeah I guess, It’s sort of, a reminder that the pain is worth it?”

Almost imperceptibly, Valve froze momentarily at that last remark.

“It is,” he said, with sudden firmness. “It… yes, it accentuates our… resolve. A worthwhile talisman. Come,” he then said, reaching for a change of topic. “Let me see some of those reports, let’s see what’s been going on in this corner of the Outworld…”

Code 376

Author: Axle, after Iteration II

Axle sat at her desk, thumbing over the morning's reports. The faster she got this done, the faster she could get back to the important job of weeding out insurgency, and the faster she could maybe take a break.

She found the one she was looking for. General review of the Liberated Skies. Mana production… Normal. Supplies… Normal. Dissonance…

Axle frowned. She flicked through for the more detailed reports. Something wasn't right. She read on, panic mounting in her throat. Reports were coming in of an increased level of Dissonance stemming from Self Portrait. Horrible stories, farms producing rotten food, dangerous weather events, people disintegrating into dust.

Axle pinched her forehead, trying, as she often did when she felt the panic rise, to focus on her kinship tether. If she was connected to Dynamics, she was connected to the combine. She was whole, and the horrible memories wouldn't come.

The tether wasn't there. Axle's eyes widened, her breathing spiralling. In one panicked movement she slammed her hand down onto the intercom.

“I need… a Hege…monic engineer… in here… Code 376…”

She collapsed onto the floor, an all too familiar burning filling her lungs.

Punching Industrioclasts In the Face

Authors: Crankshaft, Dynamics and Axle

As soon as they got off the train, Axle knew that something was wrong. The usually quiet and organised platform was bustling with people, almost scrabbling for the supplies. All the way to the Centre of Operations she could see armed VolCorp guards protecting distribution centres. People were everywhere, and the minute they saw Axle and the Liberator, there was shouting and clamouring for their attention. They sped up their walk, and on arrival, Axle nearly slammed the door of the Centre behind them. Almost immediately, she was beset by aides, chief among them Oil, her nervous looking personal secretary, a VolCorp with jet black hair and round rimmed glasses.

“Comrade Axle, there’s been a development with the 3B operation. I need to brief you immediately.”

Axle turned to Dynamics, her face pale. “Dy, go and find Crankshaft in the main briefing room upstairs, I may be late, I suspect the plans for our mission may be... altered somewhat.” She turned around, not waiting for an answer, and was immediately launched into quiet and conspiratorial conversation with Oil.

Dynamics didn’t delay. The usual bounce of the Liberator was immediately replaced by a purposeful stride most commonly seen heading with urgency toward the Geomantic Tables in the Nexus as he moved directly to the main briefing room, the swish of the long red coat telling the Volunteers and Engineers in his path to get out of the way as he rounded the corner and entered the room.

Crankshaft turned around, grinning, as they heard someone rush into the room. “AXL… Oh. Dynamics. What are you doing here?” The gleaming smile on their face disappeared for a moment before returning, shabbier and in need of a clean.

Either missing or electing to ignore the change on Crankshaft’s face, Dynamics spoke bluntly, “I’m helping Comrade Axle and yourself with the Industrioclast problem. Things appear to have escalated. Were you not expecting me?” an eyebrow raised.

“No. Last I heard you were dealing with dissonance problems of your own. Something about a change in motives?” Crankshaft looked the Liberator up and down, trying to see if there was any visible difference. “Sooo... What’s going on?”

“The Dissonance is under control - has been for a while now,” the Liberator’s face remained resolute, “the entire territory seems to be on high alert from what I can tell. We had to wade through people to get here, and Comrade Oil is just briefing Comrade Axle on exactly what's going on. She should be here… shortly. Sounds like it's going to get more dangerous though.”

As if on cue, at that moment, Axle barged through the door and walked with some purpose over to the raised dais in the front of the room. She had discarded her usual oversized and ragged coat, replacing it with a tight fitting black leather jacket, instead of the cannon two wicked looking knives glistened at her hips, and her hair had been quickly drawn up into a messy ponytail. She was followed by two serious looking volunteers, who went and sat down towards the back of the room.

“So,” Axle announced, “There’s been a change of plans.” Crankshaft’s gaze had been following Axle as she strode across the room, the wide, bright smile returning to their face. “More problems than expected, I hear?”

“That’s an understatement.” Axle pinched her forehead, trying to figure out how to explain the situation succinctly. “RPC doesn’t have any natural water storage, lakes etc. Therefore we mostly collect rainwater in underground tanks, the largest being in sector 3B. As you all know, the recent…” She paused to pull a disgusted face, “ ‘party’ that has arrived in RPC has been distributing potions that remove pain, which have been very damaging to the Volunteers, for obvious reasons.” The two Volunteers nodded, their faces pale, “Industrioclasts in sector 3B have been stockpiling said potions for a while now, this mission was originally to go and find, and destroy their stockpile, but it seems they’ve already made their move. It turns out that someone working security for the underground tank was working for the other side. They’ve contaminated the entire tank with their “cure” and barricaded themselves in the chamber. We believe they have enough cure, and supplies, to keep this going for at least a month, and we’ve no idea which tanks distribute water to which locations, due to the… problems we’ve had mapping the area. Needless to say, incidents are up, supplies of bottled water are becoming a scarcity, and generally the whole thing is a colossal mess.”

“So we go in, break down their pathetic barricade and handle them systematically one by one until the tanks are secure?” Dynamics asked bluntly, his hands finding a grip on the handle of the sword by his side, and the lenses of his goggles already tinting black.

Axle smiled grimly. “You’re used to dealing with people who care about staying alive Dy. These people… they’re terrorists and they’re reckless and unpredictable. If we go in through the door, they’ll likely blow the entire tank, causing Unity knows how much chaos. No, we’re going to have to be more subtle than that.” Axle kicked a projector that was sitting on the floor, and it rattled into life, displaying a flickering map on the screen. “This is what we have of 3B so far. The water tank is here,” she pointed, “but here, there is a point of access to the pipes, and the pipes are still wide enough for a person to swim down. My Volunteers can’t do this, because the potion would cause them to incident, but” Axle flashed a significant glance at Dynamics, “We’ve already determined that potions don’t affect shapers, so we can swim up the pipe, into the tank and take them by surprise. You can both swim, right?”

Crankshaft nodded, their smile having slowly been replaced by a look of grim determination throughout Axle’s explanation. “Is the pipe access in Industrioclast held land as well? If need be, we can probably make our own entry to the pipe a bit further away.”

The Liberator shook his head, “It won't work. Like you say, they've got nothing to lose so they'll have a trigger set up to blow the place the moment we show - possibly even a dead person’s switch - and the same thing will happen, and possibly with us in the pipe,” he moved closer to the plans that had been laid out in the room to survey them, “we need some way to stop them blowing it at all, or to limit the damage it will cause. Either we need to infiltrate and disable the trigger, or…”

“Infiltration isn’t going to work. They know Axle, and given the posters that were around the Nexus, it’s likely they know both of our faces as well Dynamics. Even if they don’t they’re unlikely to let ‘new recruits’ join the barricade, not if they have not reason to trust us. No, I’m with Axle. The pipe is the best access route, and there are options we can take once in the room itself without needing to show ourselves. Depending on how the charges are set up, might even be able to disable them before they know we’re there. If they’re going for maximum destructive power, they’re likely to have placed them in these locations,” Crankshaft indicated some sections of the tank with a laser, “and those are easily accessible before heading to the dryer section of the barricaded area.”

Axle’s radio sprang into life, and she brought it to her ear. “Yes?.... Fantastic… Definitely her?... No, I want her there… Thank you Comrade. Over and Out.” She put the radio down, a satisfied look on her face. “I think we’ve just gotten a way to cause enough… infighting amongst the Industrioclasts that they may be blind to our arrival. One of them,” she clicked a button and a face appeared on the screen, a youthful looking woman smiling out at them, “is ‘romantically’ involved with another Industrioclast, who we have just successfully extracted from her sleeping quarters. Cog and Ratchet here,” she gestured to the two Volunteers, “Will take a team and bring her to the entrance of the barricaded area, and taunt the Industrioclasts a little bit, maybe maim her, threaten to kill her, you know the drill. Should cause more than a little argument amongst their rag-tag band.”

Dynamics checked the plans again, particularly noting where Crankshaft had pointed, “That does sound like it could cause enough of a distraction to let Crankshaft in through the pipes to disarm the explosives but…” he turned to Axle, “that brings the risk of half of the Industrioclasts deciding to blow the tank on their own. They,” he gestured to Cog and Ratchet, “need to be in position to cause the distraction when Crankshaft is already by the tank.”

“I wasn’t suggesting I go through the pipes alone Comrade. More hands dismantling the devices means less chance of them blowing before we finish. Axle, do you have any unexploded captured ordinance? If not, I’ll need to show you what to do on the first one, and we can go from there.”

“Yeah, all three of us will have to go through the pipes, partly cause,” Axle flashed a grin at Crankshaft, “Crank here is only ProCorp, someone needs to actually fight the damn Industrioclasts once everything’s been defused. I don’t have anything I haven’t exploded, I guess we’ll have to wing it.”

Dynamics still shook his head, “They know there are three Shapers in the territory - if they didn’t hear about Crankshaft arriving they certainly would have heard about us: if they’ve got ears in the Centre, odds are they’re probably still communicating with someone. They’ll know we’re causing a distraction if it doesn’t have one of us holding a knife to the Industrioclast’s neck,” he said grimly, “which will probably have to be me.”

Axle raised an eyebrow. “.... Why you? Don’t want to mess up your hair in the water? They don’t really know what you or Crank are capable of, if we want the element of surprise, it should probably be me…”

“We need you inside, you’re better placed taking them down from within,” Dynamics glanced at her knives, “And anyway, the Victory Through Persistence has always been better at making a loud noise and smashing down the front door.”

Axle pressed her lips together, studying Dynamics. “You have a point but…. Can I trust you to be… cruel enough if you need to be?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I couldn’t,” he replied, bluntly, his eyes meeting Axle’s sincerely.

“Sounds like we’ve got a plan then. Do you want to lead the way Axle?”

---

The five of them left the Centre of Operations by a small back door, and Axle lead them through what felt like a maze of alleyways, side streets and tunnels. They saw the occasional Volunteer hard at work, but mostly this area was quiet. Eventually they came to a wider street, and Axle stopped in front of an unmarked manhole. She opened her bag, and threw a black face-mask to Crankshaft. “These should give us about an hour of air. I’ve no idea what happens if a shaper doesn’t have Oxygen, let's not take the opportunity to find out. We can also communicate with each other through these, and Dynamics can contact us, but we won’t be able to speak with him via radio whilst we’re underwater.”

Catching the mask, Crankshaft examined it, turning it over in their hands. “Excellent. The hour should be more than enough. Give us half an hour or so to get into position before starting the distraction Dynamics?” Before an answer was given, they turned, and started inspecting the manhole cover, peering at every mark on it, feeling its weight with slight movements.

Dy nodded, and turned to Axle, “Good luck, Comrade,” he said, with a resolute look, before turning to head off with Cog and Ratchet, the crackle of Axle’s radio telling them he’d turned his on and ready.

Axle looked like she had been about to say something else to Dynamics, but she closed her mouth awkwardly as he walked away. Turning to Crankshaft she faked a smile. “So, let’s do this, shall we?”

“No time like the present,” Crankshaft replied, a genuine grin growing across their face as Dynamics retreated into the distance, “So it doesn’t look like the Industrioclasts have made it this far along the system, can’t see any traps that’ll be set off if we move this thing.”

“Well then,” Axle grabbed the manhole cover and heaved it upwards. “Let’s go find a pipe to swim down!”

Taking the lead, Crankshaft dropped into the manhole, sliding down the sides of the ladder to the bottom of the tunnel. Waiting for Axle to follow suit, they looked at the 4 exits leading off into the darkness, before pulling their goggles over their eyes.

Axle jumped down, landing by Crankshaft’s side. She grinned at them, a real grin this time. “This is the vents on that opportunity ship all over again!” She nudged them, “I promise I won’t get stuck this time, come on, the pipe is this way.” She strode off down the middle exit, almost swallowed by the darkness.

Cog & Ratchet led the way to collect the prisoner. As they neared the holding cell, sounds of a room being wrecked got louder and louder.

As they entered the room, a slight young woman in the baggy grey T-shirt she'd clearly been wearing when they dragged her out of bed, stopped pounding on the walls and turned to look at them. On seeing Dynamics, her red-raw eyes filled up with hope.

“Liberator Dynamics?” She tried to run towards him, but the Volunteers blocked her way. She continued trying regardless, her voice desperate as she spoke, “Please, Dynamics, You're so smart, and good, I know you are, you must be able to see there's been some mistake!”’

The Liberator paused and gave the woman a quizzical look, “Mistake? Comrade, I’m sure you must have seen this coming,” he advanced, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the person in front of him, “the only mistake that’s been made was by you. An Industrioclast in the heart of Axle’s operation… you really thought you wouldn’t get caught?”

She sobbed, reaching past the Volunteers and grabbing onto his coat. “I’m not… I’m not an Industrioclast! I love the Combine! Please, I didn’t know she was… one of them until this morning!”

Dynamics considered for a moment, and then a graver look arrived on his face, “Whether or not that is true, Comrade, your utility is going to be the same.”

She wailed as the Volunteers dragged her from the room, her face wet with tears. “Please…. Dynamics… I’ve only ever tried to be a good citizen….”

Shoulders clad in red shrugged, as the Liberator followed “If that is true, then you’ll be serving an excellent purpose and should be proud, Comrade. If it is not…” he left the sentence hanging, as a bag was thrown over the woman’s head and they headed out.

Back in the tunnels, Axle and Crankshaft scurried towards the water pipe access point. Hearing quiet conversation from around a nearby bend, they came to a halt, a shared look and a couple of gestures all they needed to formulate a plan.

As they crept towards the corner, weapons at the ready, a loud voice squawked through the silence. “We’ve got the package in position and are ready to move to the facility when you’re ready. Just give us the word.”

Axle froze, silently mouthing a string of expletives, and then pressed the reply button on the radio, and spoke loudly whilst gesturing at Crankshaft to remain quiet and prepare for combat.

“This is Maintenance crew 17. We're not actually at the pipe yet, we've received instructions to investigate a blockage, give us an extra… 15 minutes please. Over.”

“Understood. Let us know when you’ve finished down there. Out.”

The conversation from around the corner had very much ceased, and the sound of weapons being cocked echoed through the tunnel. “Check it out,” came one of the voices, and footsteps approached.

A gunslinging no-good dirty-rotten Industrioclast rounded the corner, rifle held in front of his face as he spotted the two Shapers in the tunnel. A look of panic overcame his face as his finger slipped on the trigger of his weapon. Axle ducked as the shots rang out, throwing a knife with terrifying precision, not at the enemy, but at his radio, slicing it clean in-half before he could alert anyone else to their arrival.

The gunshots themselves were enough to alert the other person round the corner, however, and they called out, “Horace?!”

Before they could answer, Crankshaft swung their Spanner, connecting with the side of the Industrioclast’s face, and causing them to bounce into the wall of the tunnel, their eyes glazing over in pain. They staggered back, trying to raise their gun to fire, but upon opening their eyes locked onto Axle, and in panic fired wildly, with shots ricocheting off the walls of the narrow tunnel. Axle swore as a bullet grazed her shoulder, and flung her other knife into the man’s gut.

There was a brief “Oh” from the man before he collapsed on the ground, passing out from the pain. Axle ran towards him, gesturing to Crankshaft to investigate whoever had called out. She took a pair of handcuffs and a strip of bandage from her bag, handcuffed the industrioclast to a nearby pipe, and then retrieved her knife and roughly bandaged his wound.

Crankshaft paused to pull a few smaller wrenches out of their toolbag, before flinging them blindly around the corner, before falling into a roll to take themself out of the line of fire as they rounded the bend. There was the satisfying “plonk” of another Industrioclast falling to the ground as they were hit square on the head with a wrench, and the tunnel promptly became quiet.

Axle checked the breathing of the first industrioclast and rounded the corner. “Not bad for a ProCorp.” She flashed a cheeky grin at Crankshaft as she went to check on the fallen woman. She felt for a pulse, then swore, and pushed a button on her radio.

“Hey, Dynamics? Can you let an extraction team know there is one candidate for re-education down here, and one corpse, can they be extracted as soon as possible, the candidate has some serious injuries. Over”

The radio crackled, “Roger that, Comrade, Extraction have been informed. How close are you to the target position? Over.”

“Just reaching the pipes now Comrade. Give us another twenty minutes by my count. Everything ok up there? Over.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” the radio replied. There was a sound of quiet wailing in the background. “Package is currently behaving as expected. Over.”

Crankshaft turned to Axle, “How far until we reach the pipe?”

Axle gestured down the tunnel. “It’s literally at the end of this tunnel, you were right, we’re gonna need to cut our way in.”

“No problem. Don’t want to use explosives unless we have to, would probably give our plan away. Fortunately, I’ve got this.” Reaching into their bag, they pulled out an angle grinder as a gleam appeared in their eyes.

Axle rolled her eyes and grinned as the pair walked towards the pipe. On arrival, she prepared as Crankshaft got to work, fishing the masks, and a pile of handcuffs from her bag. “Grab some of these when you’re done,” She called to them, “For when we need to incapacitate the Industrioclasts.”

“Will do. Before I start though, we might want to take care of that shoulder of yours. You said this stuff doesn’t affect shapers, but you haven’t tested it against an open wound I assume, and who knows what else they’ve put in the water.”

Axle craned her neck, to observe the graze running down the back of her shoulder. “Aww fuck,” she pulled a face, “ I like this jacket.” She peeled the leathers off, her tank top giving easier access to the wound, and dug around in her bag for a grubby plaster. “Seal me up would you?” She tossed the plaster at Crankshaft.

Catching the plaster, Crankshaft looked it over, “You sure this is waterproof? I’ve got gunpowder and flame if needed.” Axle confirmed with a nod. Moving over to stand behind her, Crankshaft swept her hair around and out of the way, taking care to gently clean the graze and surrounding area, before finally applying the plaster.

Stepping back to the pipe, Crankshaft picked up the angle-grinder and ,after climbing on top of the pipe, carefully started carving an opening large enough for a person. Feeling the strain of the pipe against the flowing water, they stopped and stepped back, using the reach of their wrench to break the hole free of the remaining pipe, and not immediately collapse into the opening.“Radio through to Dynamics. We’re going in.”

Axle finished zipping up her jacket, and radioed, whilst swinging herself onto the pipe. “Oy Comrade Weasel. T-15 till showtime. Over”

The Industrioclast with a sack over her head was marched forward. She didn’t need to be told at this point that she was at both gun and sword point as the Volunteers and Dynamics moved into position. The barricaded doors were just around the corner, and were covered at this point from a few angles by teams of ProCorps and RevCorps (the Liberator had elected to not use Volunteers beyond Cog and Ratchet in case of release of the chemical). Having checked his pockets thoroughly for holes, he filled them with grenades, ready to break down the door as soon as things kicked off.

Dynamics checked his watch, “One minute before we kick off,” he said to the Volunteers, before radioing quietly, “Axlotl this is Weasel. I make it one minute. Over.”

Crankshaft and Axle entered the tank, swimming away from the outlet pipe they had entered through to avoid having to struggle against the current unnecessarily. Looking around in the gloom, Crankshaft noticed bombs in at least a few of the predicted placements, and after pointing them out to Axle, set about starting to disarm and dismantle one.

A buzz came through Crankshaft’s mask “Oy Crank, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing remember? Get over here and show me?”

Crankshaft finished disarming the bomb they were working on, and swam over to Axle. “Sorry, forgot.” They maneuvered together over to another bomb. “So, the first thing to look for is the trigger mechanism...” Floating behind Axle, Crankshaft slowly walked her through how to disarm the bomb, giving advice and guiding her hands with their own when required. “Think you’ve got it?”

Axle gave a final twist of a wire, and the flashing lights on the device flickered out. “Yeah, this is a lark. Move upwards? ...I hope Dy is getting started.”

“Industrioclast scum!” shouted the Liberator, to the barricaded doors of the occupied facility. Stood behind him were two armed Volunteers, with weapons pointed squarely at the back of the kneeling figure in a bag next to him, “The glorious might of the People’s Combine has come to deliver you justice! Open the doors and surrender yourselves!”

Inside the facility, one of the Industrioclasts flicked a switch, and a flickering video of Dynamics and his retinue came to life. The one who’d flicked the switch pressed a button, and a booming voice echoed outside of the doors.

“Come one step closer, shaper, and we’ll blow the place sky high.”

Dynamics blinked once in surprise at the volume coming out, but shrugged, “I was worried you’d say something like that, but perhaps you don’t understand the gravity of the situation,” he nodded to the kneeling figure, “This is one of yours. Surrender or bad things might start happening to them.”

There was a pause, then the speakers crackled again, with the same voice. “One industrioclast for the freedom of thousands of “volunteers”. A fair trade, Liberator. That's if you even have an Industrioclast under that bag.”

Dynamics sighed and nodded to the Volunteers, “Believe me, we certainly have an Industrioclast under this bag,” he said, as Cog walked forward and removed the sack revealing the tear-stained red face of the woman they had dragged from her bunk, “I don’t suppose any of you recognise her?”

There was a long silence, and then a new voice rang out, calm with an undercurrent of fear, causing the kneeling woman to let out a pained sob. “Liberator Dynamics. That woman is nothing to do with this. She is innocent of everything except falling for the wrong person, and who hasn't done that? Have pity on her and,” at that point the voice cut out.

The corner of Dynamics’s mouth twitched upward at the voice cutting out, “Sorry, did you say I should have ‘pity’ for an Industrioclast spy in our midst?”

There was static and thumps from the loudspeaker as some kind of scuffle broke out behind the doors.

The second voice again, calm and gentle. “Switch? Love? I’m so sorry. I'm going to get you out of here, I promise, just,”

Another voice cut in, angry and rough. “We don't give a fuck what you do with the girl, Liberator. We're not moving.”

The Liberator briefly hissed to Cog, “Is her name Switch!?” to which the Volunteer nodded. The Liberator turned his attention back to the door, though his voice cracked slightly as he shouted, “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of dissent back there. Could do with some Consensus perhaps? I’d be happy to help!”

Another pause, and then the first voice returned. “OK, new offer. Let the girl go, or we’ll blow the place sky high.”

The Liberator rolled his eyes, “Blow the place sky high and I kill the girl. Come on, you must know how this works.”

The calm, pleading voice again, more panicked now. “You won’t harm her. You’re the great and good Dynamics, and she’s one of you, an innocent member of the Combine. She has your poster above her bed for fuck’s sake,” static returned to the loudspeaker.

Dynamics sighed, and kicked Switch to the ground, “Working with Industrioclasts is not an innocent act, Comrade,” he shouted, before lowering his voice and speaking to Switch, “What’s their name?”

She managed to blurt out “Tank” in between sobs.

“Tank!” he shouted toward the door, “Would you like to know what the ‘good’ Liberator Dynamics did to Industrioclasts we found on the Shattered Front? When we were countless miles away from the nearest Combine outpost, and we found a traitor in our numbers?” his hand was now holding a knife that very well may not have been there before.

There was a heavy silence, broken only by Switch’s terrified sobs.

“He’d remove increasingly large parts of their body until they told us who else was attempting to sabotage the ship,” he said, and grabbed Switch’s arm, holding the knife to her hand, “Still want to keep that door closed, Tank?”

The argument behind the door grew so loud the loudspeaker wasn’t needed to hear the Industrioclasts. From what Dynamics could hear, Tank was trying to convince the others to surrender, but they were having none of it. Cog leant down to the liberator’s ear

“Two more minutes comrade.” He whispered.

“Such a shame, Tank, isn’t it?” he said, pressing the knife into the skin of Switch’s hand, despite her cries of pain, “That those who offered you the opportunity to be with someone you… ‘love’, are the very ones keeping you from your dearest right now.”

There was a crash against the door, but it remained firmly shut, as Axle and Crankshaft, still concealed beneath the water of the tank, disarmed the final bombs.

Dynamics continued to press the knife into the flesh of Switch’s hand, ignoring the scream that accompanied it, and sighed, loudly saying, “Well, Switch, I guess what we’ve really proven here is that Tank never really did love you. Pity.”

At that moment, the dripping forms of Crankshaft and Axle silently rose from the tank. Axle swung herself up onto a ledge, and crouched low, gesturing for Crankshaft to follow. She surveyed the scene. 4 Guards on the tank, two arguing over the loudspeaker system, and one lying prone to one side. And a flickering video of Dynamics, the hostage held firmly in his grip. She positioned herself ready to jump, and then spoke into her radio, her voice echoing around the facility.

“Aww, we're late to the party! Hey Dy, cut me a off a trophy for the collection would you?” And with that, she lept onto the back of a startled Industrioclast.

Crankshaft wasted no time following Axle, leaping out of the water and over the ledge in one fell swoop, delivering a kick to a hapless Industrioclast standing by the tank. The blow knocked the Industrioclast over and Crankshaft landed standing over them. “Who’s next then?”

The other Industrioclasts by the tank turned around upon hearing the shouts of their allies, and weapons drawn began firing on the two who had exited the tank, bullets ricocheting off the metal of the tank, drawing the attention of one of the soldiers by the loudspeaker system.

“Intruders!” they shouted, “Blow the tank!”

Axle laughed wildly as she finished strangling the Industrioclast into unconsciousness. “Just you fucking try it!” She shouted.

Relinquishing control of the speaker system, the Industrioclast pulled a device from his pocket, held it high in the air and shouted “DIE, COMBINE TYRANTS!” and pulled the trigger.

The Industrioclasts braced as there was a boom, but bewilderment followed as they realised it came not from the tank but from the door, which was now very much not a door any more, with two heavily armed Volunteers standing at the newly blown aperture.

The Industrioclast with the trigger swore as he realised his bombs had been disarmed. “ONTO PLAN B” He screamed, and the two remaining guards turned, and fired their Bazookas at the tank. Meanwhile, Tank grabbed the loudspeaker, and shouted over the chaos.

“Please, I'm begging you. Let her go, you don't need her anymore!”

Crankshaft turned at the sound of the bazookas firing, whipping their shield off their back and jumping into the path of one of the projectiles, curling into a ball as the blast tossed them backwards against the far wall.

The other projectile hit the tank with a thunderous crash, as axle tackled the firing industrioclast to the ground seconds too late. Water started crashing out of the newly made hole in a roaring wave.

From outside, the Liberator’s eyes widened at the rushing flood of water heading toward the Volunteers. “Cog, Ratchet, high ground, now!” he barked, before grabbing the crying Switch and putting the traitor on his shoulders as he ran into the facility, sword first as the Volunteers ran for a balcony out of the way of the water. Surveying the scene, and the two remaining Industrioclasts, Dynamics shouted, “See, I said something like this would happen!”

Axle, who had just finished handcuffing the Industrioclast to a rail, ignored him, busy pushing back against the water, trying to reach the unconscious enemies and stop them from drowning.

Tank ran towards Dynamics, crying out for Switch. Dynamics shot Tank a look, followed by a shot from the end of his sword which grazed over their shoulder and hit the Industrioclast behind her in the shoulder, sending them spinning toward the ground, “Now is not the time, Tank!”

Axle reached the prone figure she'd strangled earlier, but as she went to haul them from the slowly increasing flood, they whipped around, gasping, and tore at her arm with a knife. Gasping in pain, she dropped them to the ground, and leapt on them, punching them back into unconsciousness with her uninjured arm.

Crankshaft stood up, slightly dazed from behind their shield. Surveying the battlegrounds, they shook their head, slinging their shield over their back again. Running around the tank to the damaged section, they started pulling tools out of their belt and bags, throwing those they would not need towards the Industrioclasts to distract and injure them until they had a welding torch and few metal sheets in hand. Starting at the top of the damaged section, they began to weld the plates over the hole, reducing the waterflow little by little.

Axle dragged the two prone figures from the water, grunting with the strain, and ducking to avoid a gunshot from the final guard, who was firing blindly in all directions, whilst attempting to reload her bazooka. She tied them roughly to a pipe and then turned her attention to the guard, who had the rocket launcher loaded and pointed directly at the weak point on the other side of the tank to Crankshaft.

“Good try, Liar, but not good enough,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

Axle swore, and threw a knife at the Industrioclasts neck. She collapsed almost instantly in a pool of blood as Axle ran to the secondary hole and pressed herself against it, holding in the water with all her strength.

“Stop. Blowing. Holes. In. My. Water Tank.” She screamed at the dying guard, before switching on her radio. “Crank, your gonna have to hurry I can't keep all this water in for long and we can't let it reach the Volunteers. Dy, can you finish up the liberation?”

Dynamics nodded, and tossed Switch with force into Tank, promptly causing the Industrioclast to fall over into the water. He ran over and grabbed the bleeding Industrioclast, and applying pressure to the wound with one hand tied her hands with the other, kicking her weaponry away, “How much longer do you think that tank’s going to hold?!”

“That….” Axle strained against the water pushing at her back, and streaming around her, her teeth clenched with the effort, “...is a question for our engineer…”

“Be right with you,” Crankshaft shouted over the torrent of water, “Just got to finish up... this... weld. There. Done.” Crankshaft checked the welded panels for cracks before climbing the tank, diving into the water and swimming down to the damage, where Axle was struggling against the water.

Unstrapping their shield, they pushed Axle out of the way, allowing the torrent of water to pull them through the hole, dragging their shield behind them, allowing the pressure to hold it in place over the damage, reducing the water escaping to a trickle. Crankshaft reached down, offering the skin-soaked Axle a hand up. “Sorry about that, the shield should hold the water until we’re able to repair the damage.”

Axle gratefully took Crankshaft’s hand, the effort of holding in the water having turned her entire body into jelly. “Right,” she said weakly, looking around. “Let’s… get these traitors all in the same place so I can have a little chat with them. Might need you two to move them though…”

“Maybe give these two a moment?” Dynamics gestured, with a slight smirk of amusement at the tightly embraced Tank and Switch.

Axle rolled her eyes, and stormed, albeit slowly, towards the couple. She tore Switch from Tank’s arms, silently grateful that she wasn't a muscled LibCorp.

“Tank, isn't it?” She glowered at the industrioclast at her feet, who nodded, terrified.

“Do you want to Volunteer, Comrade Tank?”

Tank shook her head, a tiny spark of defiance remaining. “I'd rather die.”

Axle shook her head. “You know, they all say that. It's so fucking boring. I'm sure I said it once too. But that's not the choice I'm presenting you with, Comrade. Volunteer, or I will wrap your hand around my knife, and you can kill your girlfriend yourself.” Switch let out a sob, and Tank stared at her, horror and hatred in her eyes.

“I'll ask you again, Comrade. Do you volunteer?” Tank nodded, defeated, and Axle dropped switch, took a small syringe from a pocket, and put the industrioclast into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Dynamics, with a notably more serious look on his face, knelt down by Switch, facing away from Axle. Ignoring what he assumed would be a look of disgust on Axle’s face, he spoke quietly, “You’re not out of the woods yet, Comrade, but let’s see to that hand,” he said, gesturing for her hand while he reached into his coat for a bandage.

“Dy, what are you doing?” Axle’s voice was soft and tired, and her face wasn't disgusted, just confused, and strangely pained.

“She helped us, albeit without a choice,” Dynamics said simply, holding the Engineer’s hand as he tightly wrapped a bandage round, his eyes watching Switch’s as she winced from the pain, “and though she messed up with who she chose to associate with…” he tied the bandage off, and let go of her hand, “I don’t think Switch is one of them.”

Axle frowned. “Well we'll have to take her in for questioning to be sure. But… if you think she's ok….” Axle looked around and shook her head, leaning gently on the tank for support. “Fuck it. Someone else can deal with clean up.” She looked up to Cog and Ratchet. “Did my bike get brought to site?” Ratchet nodded. Axle turned to Crankshaft and Dynamics. “Shall we leave this to extraction? I'm sure they’ll bring your shield back when they're done.”

Dynamics nodded, standing up and offering Switch a hand to her feet, quietly noting, “Come find me when you make it through the system,” before turning back to the sodden Crankshaft and Axle.

Axle heaved herself off the wall and headed to what used to be the door, assuming the others would follow. On the way, she took motioned to cog, who came to meet them. Axle looked back at switch, still standing motionless, staring at Tank, and then at Dynamics.

“Cog, would you call extraction please. Tell them 7 potential industrioclasts for processing. Comrade Tank has already Volunteered. Comrade Switch… is only for questioning, no re-education. Tell them to be gentle with her, I'll be checking up. And dispatch someone to bring back Crankshaft’s shield once the tank is fixed.” With that, she walked out the door.

Dynamics stared out the door, and then turned to Crankshaft with a look of bewilderment, “Is she intending to ride a bike across the entire territory in that condition?!”

“Well, it probably wouldn’t be the worst condition she’s driven a vehicle in, or indeed the most dangerous thing she’s done in such a state. However, her arm probably does need patching up before she goes anywhere.” Crankshaft turned to the two Volunteers, “Please ensure the repairs are done quickly. I’d quite like my shield back as soon as possible.” Rummaging around inside their bags for a bandage, Crankshaft chased after Axle through the doors.

Outside, they found Axle sitting astride a large, dirty looking hoverbike, all red paint and brass fittings, covered in a substantial layer of grime, but clearly well maintained. She was clenching the fingers on her right hand around the handlebars experimentally, and grimacing. On seeing the pair of shapers, she grinned, trying to suppress a yawn, and spoke cheerily “Hop on Comrades! It might be a bit wobbly, I appear to have lost some movement in my hand. Nothing I can't balance out though!”

“I think that might have something to do with this?” Crankshaft gently took Axle’s arm and showed her the damage. “Might be an idea to get that bandaged up and working before you do any more driving?”

Axle prodded the engineer with her working hand. “You're not my doctor, that's Vector.” She wobbled slightly and looked at the gash. “Maybe it does need a bandage though. Ugh. I liked this jacket!”

“It is a good jacket, fits you well. Make yourself an identical one? And Vector’s not here, someone’s got to make sure you’re fighting fit,” Crankshaft offered Axle the bandage in their hand. “Need any help wrapping it?”

Dynamics’s attention was somewhat more preoccupied with the hoverbike, “Can I drive it if you’re not in one piece?” he said, with a very natural smile.

Axle took the bandage from Crankshaft and did a shoddy job of wrapping it around her wound, then turned to glare at Dynamics. “I am perfectly capable of driving this bike.” She said, her words slightly slurred. “Anyway you're too tall you'll unbalance it or something. Science. Isn't that right, Crank?”

“Stand up straight for one whole minute and I’ll believe you,” Dynamics replied, simply, before his eyes turned back to the hoverbike.

“Axle is right about the science when it comes to you driving this bike I’m afraid Dynamics,” Crankshaft turned to Axle, “However, Dynamics is also right about you not being all in one piece. There’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to drive the blasted thing.”

Dynamics looked like a child who had their spanner taken away from them, “But…” he began, but gave up, “Okay... I guess Axle and I will hang on on the back.”

Axle pouted, and slid herself off the front of the bike. She very almost continued sliding right onto the floor, but the Liberator’s lightning reflexes kicked in, and she found herself being held up by Dynamics.

“Hmm, actually, weight distribution wise it might make more sense for you to drive after all Dynamics. Your height might make the vehicle slightly more unstable than normal, but nothing you shouldn’t be able to control, I’m sure.”

“No, no, Crank,” the Liberator smiled, holding onto Axle to stop her falling to the floor, “I don’t want to get between you and the hoverbike,” he said, stepping a little away from the bike, and turning his eyes to check the Volunteer was maintaining consciousness.

Axle smiled up at Dynamics, finding her feet and swaying gently. “You caught me?” She sounded surprised. “S… bad practice… catching Volunteers.”

Crankshaft grimaced. “Hop on then, Dynamics, and hold on tight. Let’s get Axle home and to a medic who can take care of that injury better than we can.” Crankshaft climbed aboard the Hoverbike and revved the engine impatiently.

Axle’s suddenly looked up at Dynamics with fear, shaking her head wildly. “No. No hospitals. No medics. Please Dy.” Her breathing began to quicken and her hands began to shake.

“Hey,” Dynamics said, putting the hand that wasn’t currently supporting her on Axle’s arm, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I know, no hospitals,” he said, his voice significantly softer than it had been, “we’ll get back to the centre, back to your room, sort you out, call Vector in if we need to, but I know, no hospitals, no doctors. Okay?” he asked the question, looking directly into her eyes.

Axle nodded, still shaking slightly. “Ummm.. Can you help me onto the bike please?”

The Liberator nodded, and gave Axle a hand up onto the bike in the middle, so she could hang onto Crankshaft with him behind and holding onto Axle and the bike itself in case the Volunteer’s grip slipped.

Crankshaft stopped revving, and gently helped Axle circle her arms around their waist. “Hold on tight you two, this might be a rough ride.” Kicking the ignition, they set off, aiming for the Centre of Operations.

The bike screeched to a halt in front of a side door to the centre, where Comrade Oil was waiting nervously, waiting for a mission debrief. On seeing Axle, slumped asleep on Crankshafts back, one arm hanging limply to one side, she rushed forward.

“Is Comrade Axle Ok?”

Dynamics hopped off the hoverbike, “She’s mostly in one piece, just passed out from exhaustion and blood loss,” he explained, “she needs to go to her quarters and rest.” He glanced back round expecting her to wake up as Crankshaft finished parking up the bike.

Axle’s eyes did indeed flicker open, and she almost slid off the bike, having to stand still for a few moments to regain her balance. “Oil,” she said, struggling to maintain composure. “Mission success. Cog and Ratchet will have the details. Tank still needs clearing, water should be back on in a couple of days. Increase in Industrioclast awareness training needed in sectors 1 through 4.” She staggered towards the door, and tried to open it with the hand on her injured arm, looking surprised and confused when it didn’t work.

A red cloak swished and the door was pushed open by the Liberator’s hand, with the other arm offered out to the swaying Volunteer, “Come on, you,” he said, with a softer look, “just focus on the standing and moving forward, I’ve got you.”

Crankshaft caught up to the two of them, and gently propped Axle up from behind as she threatened to topple over. “You're doing great Axle. Come one, not far now.” The three of them continued in this manner, with Axle’s movements becoming more unbalanced, until they reached the door to her office. She leaned her body weight against Dynamics to get his attention. “Open the door please, I can’t.”

Crankshaft delicately pulled Axle off of Dynamics, taking her weight themself. “Here, lean against me, should let him open the door easier.” Axle rested her head on their shoulder, her eyes flickering shut. “You smell like home,” she said, sleepily.

Dynamics sounded like he was about to make a noise to the tune of “I can open a door and hold someone,” but didn't, opening the door to the office and holding it as the others went in.

Axle staggered in, collapsing into her chair. She fumbled with a drawer in her desk, retrieving a battered tin box and a bottle of colourless liquid. She opened the box, pulled out a couple of pill bottles, a needle and thread, and then looked up, remembering she wasn't alone.

“Thanks for getting me back,” she slurred. “You're not gonna want to stay to watch this though.” She opened one of the bottles and shook out three small pills, struggling with her nonfunctional hand.

Dynamics walked over to lend a hand, “You know I've seen worse, though Crank may want to leave,” he said briefly regarding the Engineer before crouching down beside the chair, “tell me what you need me to do.”

Ignoring Dynamics, Crankshaft knelt down next to Axle, rummaging through their bags once again. Soon Axle had a bottle of water, a clean medical kit, and even some ration and snack bars piled next to her on the desk. “Here you go Axle. Might be worth having steadier hands do the sewing?” They rested their hands next to Axles, silently offering to help with the task ahead.

Axle grabbed the bottle, and gulped down the three small pills. She closed her eyes briefly, waiting for the chemicals to have their affect, and when she opened them again, her words were no longer slurred. “Right. I have about half an hour of adrenaline before the heavy painkillers kick in. When they kick in I’m probably gonna start spouting nonsense and being embarrassing, so I want the both of you out by then, I still have some pride. If you’re going to insist on helping, which I am certain I don't need, but am very grateful for, then Crank, I need you to hold down my arms, both of them, while Dy pours alcohol into the wound to clean it. I’ll try not to headbutt you.”

Dynamics opened the bottle of alcohol as he waited for Crankshaft to restrain the Volunteer. Shifting to kneel in front of Axle, Crankshaft moved Axles hands to rest on the arms of the seat, before placing their own hands on top of them, applying pressure to keep them in place.

“Right, now Axle, on the count of 3 I’m going to pour, ready?” Dynamics said, holding the bottle. Axle clenched her teeth and her hands as he spoke, “Okay, 1,” and immediately poured the liquid. Axle jerked in pain, straining against Crankshafts hands, as the liquid stung at the open wound. She let out a stream of expletives, and then sank into her chair as she adjusted to the pain.

“Fuck you Dynamics.” Axle glared at him, but her heart wasn’t really in it. “Ok, next,” she looked over to inspect the damage, “Wow, yeah they got me good. Think I can see bone! Ok, someone needs to sew that up.”

Crankshaft let go of Axles hands, and opened the medkit still sitting on the table. After pulling out the necessary components for the grisly task ahead, they set about sterilising the needle. “Right, I’m going to sit on you so you can’t move about to much whilst I’m doing this, and Dynamics, I’m going to need you to hold her arm down. You need something to bite on?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” said Dynamics, giving Axle a quick grin as he took over holding her arms. Axle rolled her eyes. “As will I,” she said, “If I want to get some relief from the pain I’ll just kick Dynamics.” With no warning, Crankshaft plunged the needle into Axles flesh, threading the still warm needle in and out of her torn muscles and skin.

“You know,” remarked Dynamics, “medicine is so much easier on non-Shapers. You just, you know, shape them back to normal.”

“Well,” said Axle, straining with the pain of the needle, “I’m sorry to be such an inconvenience. Could have done this myself you know.”

“Yes, but helping comrades is all part of a day’s work. No trouble, at least from my perspective.” Crankshaft stood up, the wound neatly closed. They placed the needle and thread in a bag, before returning them to a pocket of the medkit. “Just need to bandage it up now, so you don’t tear those stitches too quickly.”

Axle stopped in the middle of moving her arm around experimentally, which was, of course, straining the stitches. “Dunno what you mean, I never tear stitches.” Crankshaft tilted their head slightly. “I’m sure. However, I’m certain Vector would recommend it, better than needing to restitch it all again later, and having you out of commission longer than needed.” Axle rolled her eyes and extended her arm in Crankshaft’s direction. “Fine, fine. Wrap me up, but don’t take hours over it.”

Multiple clean bandages appeared from numerous pockets as Crankshaft worked, until Axle’s arm was neatly wrapped and slung in front of them. “There, that should do. Might want to check in with Vector as to how long you should leave it like that.” Packing away the rest of their supplies, they turned to Dynamics. “We’re probably done here Dynamics, we should leave, let Axle get some rest, before the adrenaline wears off.”

Axle smiled up at the pair of them lazily, the painkillers already beginning to take affect. “Thanks, comrades. For helping with the mission, and getting me back, and fixing me. It was… fun and stuff.” She tried to get up to get the door, and promptly sat back down as the room started spinning. “You can see yourselves out?”

Dynamics, noting just how tired Axle looked, gave a little smile, nodded, stood up and headed for the door, asking, “Do you want me to tell that Volunteer to check on you in a bit?”

“S’probably wise. Don’t forget your shield Crank, you don’t wanna have to make another long trip out here just to come fetch it.”

Smirking slightly, Crankshaft nodded as they headed to the door. Pausing in the doorway, they turned back to look at Axle, “The trip isn’t that awful Axle. Also, it’s odd not seeing the crew of the Relentless Advance on the Tyranny of Authority or Symphony of Purpose all the time. Will make sure to collect it if they’re done with it though.”

Axle watched as the pair walked through the door, smiling to herself, and then slowly made her way into her bedroom. Regardless of her throbbing arm, it had been a very good day.

A Visit to RPC

Author: Axle, Carrion Queen

Axle had been planning. From the moment she'd known when Vermilion was going to arrive she'd been making arrangements. She'd sent out an official broadcast to the comrades of RPC, informing them of the visit, and making it clear that Vermilion was there as a guest, and potential future comrade, and should be treated as such. She'd also then spread a rumour that referring to the monarch in shadow as comrade at all times would be hilarious, and bring a certain volunteer shaper much joy. She'd clamped down on industrioclast activity in the areas she planned to take her guest, and removed the graffitied posters of her face that were peeling off the centre of operations. Again. It was only on the day of the planned visit that Axle realised she had no idea how Vermilion was travelling, but she decided to deal with that when it happened, told Comrade Oil to be ready for the Monarch’s arrival, and went to busy herself in paperwork until her arrival.

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.

It was not entirely clear whether the horses proceeding at a sombre pace down the street, red-draped cart rolling behind them, were metal constructs of a particularly macabre design, or actual gilded skeletons. Certainly the flickers of crimson sorcery that showed around their joints as they moved could have animated either.

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.

Lounging idly on the cart, red silk robes falling about her in an artful display of decadence, the Carrion-Queen absently tapped her riding crop against her boot. Now, if she’d followed the directions the last individual she’d hailed on the road had given her, she should be almost there.

(She’d only gotten lost twice so far. Blasted Combine town planning was confusing. So many buildings everywhere. So many people. How was anyone supposed to tell where they were going? And it wasn’t as if she’d been able to bring a driver. The Wyrdwood’s people were too tied to the ley-lines to leave.)

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.

Eventually, she rounded a corner, and came across a large, grey, imposing building, flickering images of propaganda projected onto it’s large facade, and cheery, tinny band music blaring out from loudspeakers. Space that wasn’t taken up by the projected images was covered in posters, displaying a range of familiar faces, including Axle’s. As she got closer, a busy looking Procorp nodded at her, “Morning Comrade!”, he grinned, before disappearing down a side street. That had been happening a lot on her way in… then someone else was rushing towards her, a small, nervous looking volunteer with black hair, and wide rimmed glasses.

“Ah, um, Vermillion? Comrade Axle told me that was your name but my understanding is that Monarchs prefer titles? I’d hate to cause insult to a visitor…” she trailed off awkwardly, “I’m, um, Comrade Oil, I assist Axle with the shaping management of the territory. Do you need somewhere to put your… horses?”

“Oh, anywhere out of the way, they’re very docile creatures.” Vermilion smiled. One of the horses lightly pawed at the ground, performing a silent echo of a whinny. “Though I’m not sure if this will be the right place for the cart… Axle said you don’t get much in the way of fresh fruit in these parts, and that’s something we’re never short of in the Wyrdwood, so I brought some along – I know she doesn’t want gifts from me, but, well…” she fidgeted slightly, considering her words. I wanted to do something nice for her anyway didn’t exactly fit the image she was wearing like armour in this strange place. “I can be stubborn.”

“Right, Ok.” Oil fished out a radio. “Comrade Oil speaking, can I get 3 Procorp to the front of the Centre of Operations to deal with a food delivery?... No, not Dynamics…. Yes, thank you, that would be great. Over.” She then pressed another button, and lifted the radio again. “Comrade Axle. Comrade Axle… Oh for Unity’s sake.” She smiled apologetically at Vermillion. “I’m sorry, Axle appears to have, um… forgotten to switch her radio on.” There was a pause as Oil managed to stop herself from saying again. She gestured towards the doors. “If you would like to follow me, I can take you to her offices.”

“Lead on!” Vermilion smiled, pulling a red leather travelling bag out of the cart and jumping down. “The horses will obey anyone holding this…” she gestured with the riding crop vaguely before setting it on the seat. Oil decided that the riding crop and the horses were now definitely someone else's problem, and opened the doors, gesturing Vermillion inside. The place was bustling with people, most of whom stopped to look at the new, interesting visitor as the door opened, before grinning, murmuring “Morning Comrade,” and moving on. The entrance hall was largely taken up by a huge reception desk manned by Volunteers, and behind that, a wide staircase leading to the upper levels. However, Oil wound around the crowds to the back of the hall, to a small, unobtrusive door, and pressed down on the intercom. “Axle, you switched off your radio again.”

A familiar voice came back through the little speaker grill. “Sorry Oil, you know I’ve gotta concentrate on these reports. Maybe if you summarised them for me…”

“Not gonna happen Comrade. Anyway, you have a visitor. Which you’d have known if you had kept your radio on…” There was a shuffling noise from inside the room, and the door opened, revealing Axle, scruffy as ever, holding a radio in one hand. She switched it on, pulling a sulky face at her assistant, then turned to give Vermillion a wide grin. “You made it! Come in!”

“Thank you.” Vermilion nodded to Oil, with her best attempt at a warm smile, before turning to Axle. “It is good to see you again. Have you been well?” Stepping into the office, she glanced around, curiously; failing to control her evident shock at how small and sparse the place was for a Shaper’s seat of power. A simple desk, loaded with paperwork; two chairs, unnervingly plain; no heraldry or decoration beyond a single poster. She was fairly sure her bed was larger than this room.

Aware her face had already betrayed her, she allowed her brow to furrow in confusion as she turned back to Axle. “So… is this a deliberate display of modesty to throw me off balance, or do you actually live like this?”

Axle frowned, confused by the question. “I don’t live here, this is just my office. I work here, I sleep in my bedroom, through there,” she gestured to the door behind her, “and I eat in the mess hall with the others. But yeah, the bedroom isn’t much bigger than this. I don’t need anything bigger, really.” She shrugged, nonplussed. “We had to create some sleeping quarters specially for you, we don’t usually have overnight visitors in RPC, they’re upstairs, I’m afraid they will be more… modest than you’re used to as well.” Axle looked a little nervous of this prospect, concern evident on her face.

“If it isn’t an actual dungeon, I guarantee I’ve slept in worse.” Vermilion grinned and shrugged. “All part of the game-which-is-no-game.” She tilted her head and looked at Axle curiously. “You could have shaped yourself anything, and you chose… this?” A confused headshake. “You really think of this as… normal, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but you think sleeping in dungeons is normal so…” Axle smirked, then shrugged again. “This feels comfortable to me, anything more grand would just feel… wasteful. And anything bigger would just be empty.” She gestured back out into the hall, “Shall I show you where you’re sleeping? And then I thought I could show you around the territory a bit before we head to the show?” Again, there was that little look towards Vermilion, a wide eyed hope for approval.

“Lead on,” Vermilion smiled wryly. “And I wouldn’t say sleeping in dungeons is normal, exactly, just… it happens? They tend to be quite interesting, you can learn a lot about someone’s character by how they treat an enemy at their mercy…” her voice trailed off, and for a moment she looked almost embarrassed. “I’m certainly interested to see your territory, yes. From what I saw on the way in, you have a lot more people in a lot less space than I’m used to. We wouldn’t be rubbing up against each other like this in the Wyrdwood unless we’d called the entire population into the citadel to endure an attack, but then I suppose you’re always on a wartime footing…”

Axle led Vermilion up the wide staircase, past a number of RevCorp and VolCorp, each of whom greeted the pair with a cheery, “good morning comrades” as they went by. Axle smiled. “It's not that, Dynamics’ territory has people pretty spread out, I guess I like being surrounded by my friends, that's all. Ah, here we are. She gestured to a plain looking door to the left of the staircase.

Vermilion shot a baffled look back at the last VolCorp they’d passed. “...you really don’t get a lot of visitors here, do you?” She looked down at her robes, brow furrowed in confusion. “Wouldn’t have thought anyone could mistake me for their comrade in this outfit…” Shaking her head, she reached for the door.

Axle tried, and failed, to hide the cheeky grin that had swept across her face. “They know who you are Vermilion… oh I should mention, I shaped the bed, thought you'd want something softer than our usual bedding…” The bed took up most of the very sparse room, a hideous mixture of combine and Valtarian designs, very red, and gold, with badly shaped skulls wearing goggles on each bedpost. It did, at least, look comfortable. The walls were decorated with posters, including one of Axle, pronouncing that “Anyone can be a hero” and there was a small station for making tea and coffee.

“They do?” Vermilion caught Axle’s grin and sighed slightly, expression wavering between irritation and chagrined amusement before settling into a wry smile. “Insufferable optimist,” she muttered fondly, shaking her head. Turning to look into the room, her eyebrows rose at the sight of the bed, smile widening into a broad grin. “Oh, that’s perfect. Home away from home.” She stepped forward and gently dropped her bag onto it, with a soft clink of metal from within. Turning away, she caught sight of the poster, and paused, frowning, glancing between it and its original. “Interesting choice of slogan. Didn’t think you entirely agreed with that one.”

“Yeah… RevCorp decided which posters to put up.” Axle pulled a face. “I'm getting used to that one, but no, it's not my favourite.” She turned back to look at Vermilion, next to the bed, and grinned broadly again. “I'm glad you like the bed, wasn't sure I got it right… and um… “ the grin faltered a bit as pink rose to her cheeks. “I liked the poem. No one's written poetry to me before.” She shuffled her feet, awkwardly.

Vermilion blushed herself, suddenly looking anywhere except at Axle. “I’m, ah, glad you liked it. I don’t write poetry that often these days…” Her eyes stray back to the poster. “Well, slogan notwithstanding, I can’t say I object to seeing your face... “ A slight pause, considering. “Your people make decisions that you wouldn’t, then. And they trust you to let them. I… I’m impressed.” A slight sigh. “I didn’t choose to walk in the shadows without knowing I wouldn’t be trusted, of course, but… it does make it hard to get them ready to stand on their own feet when they’re constantly second-guessing whether I’m about to start throwing fireballs at them or something.”

Axle rolled her eyes, looking amused, but a little baffled. “Well obviously… A stable society is built on trust and friendship, not fear.” She resisted the sudden urge to take Vermillion’s hand, and instead, gave her a smile and said, “Come on, let’s go sightseeing!”

“And yet, without fear, how could they learn courage?” Vermilion smiled sadly. “The light requires the darkness to shine in, after all; one simply has to take the bitter with the sweet…” She sighed, then shook herself out of the melancholy reverie. “Yes, show me your lands, this world you have shaped to reflect you.” Her smile was bright and fierce; almost enough to hide the sadness that still lingered in her eyes.

The bright, fake smile was one Axle knew well, and she knew better than to question it. She led Vermillion back down the stairs, and through the front doors of the Centre of Operations, where Oil had left the hoverbike, ready for the day’s excursion. Axle jumped on, then turned to grin at Vermilion. “You know the drill by now, but if you want to preserve your image, I’ll let you bypass the goggles, but if you get flies in your eyes don’t blame me…”

Vermilion sighed and held out her hand for the goggles. “If I didn’t die of embarrassment from having my own people see me wearing them, I’m sure I can handle being seen by yours.” There was, nonetheless, a brief moment of hesitation before she pulled them on. “No photographs, though.” From the faint red glitter of sorcery in the air around her, she was taking no chances on the matter.

She swung herself up behind Axle, robes fluttering around her; evidently she’d been thinking ahead this time, as the skirts of them were sufficiently slit to allow her to do so without taking a knife to her outfit. “Show me your world,” she murmured, sliding forward to take hold of Axle’s waist.

Axle revved the engine unnecessarily loudly, and they sped off down the busy streets. Many of the citizens waved as they passed by, although Vermilion did notice that a lot of them got well out of the way of Axle’s bike before doing so, as it veered inexpertly around corners and through crowds. Axle knew the busy streets well, although, as she explained in shouts over the roar of the engine, they still hadn’t mapped out all of the non central areas, that was one of the major projects she was supervising.

Vermilion clung to her tightly; she’d stopped twitching after the first few apparent near-misses and decided this was clearly normal, but evidently saw no need to relax her grip where she’d instinctively tightened it. A true smile hovered on her lips from the thrill of the ride as she stared around at the unfamiliar buildings and people with evident interest.

Axle rounded the corner past a large factory that was producing, from the smell of it, soap, and slammed on the brakes. She jumped off and graciously offered Vermillion a hand to get down. She gestured to where she had brought them, a large open square, with blossoming trees lining the edges, and a fountain in the middle, cleverly constructed from recycled engine parts, turned to glorious copper rust by the flowing water. The square was busy, but not crowded, small groups of citizens sitting and eating their lunches, and playing cards. There was a large group playing some kind of catch based ball game. The air was full of gentle conversation and laughter. “This is the first thing I really wanted to show you. It’s the people that make my territory, really.”

“Of course.” Vermilion nodded calmly. “They are the future, after all.” She tilted her head, watching the scene a moment. “This is what the Combine looks like at peace, then?”

Axle smiled. “See we’re not all about-” She was cut off as a loud explosion filled the air, smoke and flames erupting from the central fountain, and the sounds of the citizens screaming in panic. Before they’d even had a chance to react, a loudspeaker cut through the chaos.

“Citizen’s of the Combine You have been Lied To. The Shapers are Not Your Equals. Rise Above Mediocrity. Individualism is The Future.” There was a pause, and then “I see we have some special guests with us. Comrade Axle. Come and Find Us. We have Demands and Now? We have Hostages.” Axle swore loudly at the last sentence, a small laser pistol already extracted from her belt and her radio in her left hand. She looked at Vermilion, her face deadly serious. “This isn’t your fight. You can leave, if you want, but I have to go and find my people.”

“Leave?” Vermilion sounded surprised. “And miss all the fu-” she caught sight of Axle’s face and caught herself. “-the excitement?” Casually, she extended one hand towards the fountain and whistled. The flames leapt upwards, whirled into elaborate spirals as they streamed towards her, and coalesced into an incandescent ball in her palm, leaving sparks and smoking embers behind. “Seems someone thinks they have enough of the stuff of heroes in them to pick a fight with a Shaper. It would be a shame to leave without seeing their mettle tested.”

“Thanks, be easier to deal with this without all that smoke.” Axle smiled gratefully at Vermillion, then flicked a switch on the radio. “Code ZZ682 Priority Axle, Zone 2B.” When she next spoke, it was out of the various loudspeakers situated around the square, and the surrounding area, her voice echoing across the territory. “Comrades of Zone 2B, this is Comrade Axle speaking. There has been an industrioclast attack at Unity Square. Please return to your accommodation and do not leave until the all clear has been sounded, unless you are tending to an injured comrade. Those who fight in shadow against the glory of the combine will be found, and liberated, do not fear. Over.” She then flicked a different switch. “This is Axle, I need a team of medics, and an extraction team in 2B, I’ll deal with the industrioclasts myself. Over.” Finally, she faced Vermillion, and gestured to the bike. “Shall we? I think whoever planted that device had to have come from that entrance opposite, over there. Oh, and try to avoid fatalities, if you can?”

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be a problem. I very seldom kill anyone I didn’t mean to, and it’s amazing how much you can do to someone without-” and again, she cut herself short, wincing at the look in Axle’s eyes. “Fine, I’ll be gentle… Let’s go, then. Would be a shame to keep them waiting.” Grinning fiercely, she swung herself back up onto the bike, newly-acquired fireball still burning in her hand.

Axle joined her, flicked down her goggles, and careered the bike through the square towards the street she had pointed out earlier. As they reached it, they saw a flash of a coat as someone turned a corner, and Axle raced towards that turning. Sadly it was too small for a hoverbike to get down, and Axle jumped off, briefly forgetting she had a passenger.

With a startled oath, Vermilion grabbed for the handlebars, yanking the bike skywards; fireball tossed unceremoniously downwards to explode in a blast of energy almost like the thrusters the bike was more used to. Rapidly accelerating upwards, she clung on for dear life, frantically trying to estimate the height of the buildings around them as compared to, say, the treeline of the Wyrdwood.

“Shit, Fuck!” Axle stared as the bike rose higher, wracking her brains for what she could do to help from the ground. “Point the front downwards!” She shouted, hopeful that Vermilion had remembered some of her lessons from the Wyrdwood.

High above, there was a peal of mad laughter as the bike cleared the rooftops. Vermilion twisted the handlebars vaguely in the right direction to follow the path of the narrow street beneath, seemingly unconcerned that she was somewhere between ‘sideways’ and ‘upside down’.

Axle rolled her eyes, wondering if she was ever going to get her bike back, and ran down the street after both Vermilion, and, she hoped, the Industrioclasts.

Reluctantly, Vermilion slowed the bike to keep an eye out down below; where tiny, scurrying figures, some of them dragging struggling figures with them, darted from cover to cover through the streets. Clearly there was no way she’d be able to take a clear shot at them while maintaining control of the bike, even if Axle hadn’t requested no fatalities; but since they appeared to be trying to use the confusion of the streets to gain distance, she could at least make herself useful…

A deep breath, left hand tightening on the bike, holding it steady as much by force of will as muscle, and her right hand darted downwards, leaving a sparkle of crimson witchfire to mark their trail. Again, and again, as they twisted and turned through the narrow alleyways, until at last it became obvious where they were headed. Given their fondness for fire, the burnt shell of a building with the scaffolding of reconstruction taking shape around it had to be the chosen dramatic backdrop for the narrative they were constructing. She smiled, and drove the bike forwards and - at last - downwards, circling to the far side of the building, looking for a safe place to land it out of sight.

Axle followed the witchfire with a grin, delighted by this new addition to her fighting arsenal. As she came to the building, she slowed down, making a purposeful march towards the door and slamming it open, laser pistol poised. “Come on out then?” She shouted into the echoey shell of concrete and plasterwork. “Let's hear your pathetic 'demands’?”. From behind a crumbling wall, six figures appeared, four industrioclasts, two hostages, being roughly held by two of the Industrioclasts, knives to their throats and fear in their eyes. Volunteers, by the look of their clothes. The tallest industrioclast, whose knife was pressed to one of the hostages’ throat, broke the silence.

“We want the research you've done on the potions that remove pain. Have someone bring it here, all of it, and give it to our scientist,” he gestured to one of the other industrioclasts. “Then we'll let your puppets go.”

Vermilion paused, focussed on the echoing sound of voices, and picked up her pace, scrambling over debris as she made her way inwards from the back of the building.

Axle raised an eyebrow, assessing the situation. “See, you can't kill me, and those two are Volunteers, who would be more than happy to die to protect this information from scum like you. So what are you relying on here? The fact that I care more about the fate of these two comrades than I do the fate of every volunteer you could hurt with those potions? Dangerous gamble…” she idly twisted the laser pistol round in her hand, subtly flipping the switch on the side to “stun” as she did so, and shot one of the hostages in the chest.

A shot, followed by sounds of surprise and consternation; Vermilion’s lips had already formed themselves into a smile by the time she rounded the corner and realised who had been the target. The rich, dark laughter of a Monarch-in-Shadow rolled out into the echoing space behind the startled industrioclasts.

“And here I thought you might have spirit,” she murmured, voice carrying despite it’s soft volume. “I thought that you might have an actual plan… You fear pain, little rebel?” That laugh, again. “You do not know what fear is; you do not know what pain is. But please, hold still, and let me teach you…” Crimson lightning crackled about her, sending ominous shadows dancing about the walls. Caught between her and Axle, the industrioclasts shot frantic glances at each other, not daring to give either Shaper their full attention.

Ignoring them, she fixed her eyes on Axle, and smiled. She’d promised to be ‘gentle’, which set entirely too many limitations on her; but these were Axle’s people, both the rebels and the loyal, and it was only mete that they should live or die by Axle’s will, not by her guest’s. But she could be one hell of a distraction, even so.

The scientist turned to Vermilion, in some confusion, whilst the others still continued to stare at Axle, Vermillion and what appeared to be a corpse of a volunteer, in shock. “Why are you helping her? We don’t want the potions for ourselves, we want to potions so we can free the volunteers from the Combine’s grip. If we can free them from their pain they might remember-” She was cut short, by Axle casually shooting the other Volunteer, and then aiming a laser pistol at her head.

“Volunteers are free, Industrioclast. Giving them that potion will cause confusion, and chaos and long term psychological damage. But that is irrelevant. You have no hostages, and now, you are going to Volunteer.” Axle’s voice had grown cold, and angry.

“You expect me to explain myself to you?” Vermilion still sounded, more than anything, distinctly amused. “You had it right the first time, or your friend did… Shapers are not your equals. I have done things you cannot imagine, twisted reality in ways you could never comprehend, committed atrocities you could never forgive. And the only thing you can count on in your existence is never understanding why.” She stepped forwards, flinging her arms wide; the crimson lightning sheathing her body roiled outwards, curving into a circle that encompassed the group and sealed behind her as she stepped inwards, cutting off any potential for escape.

Axle fired a blast at one of the Industrioclasts, knocking them to the ground, but as she turned to fire on the others, they collapsed to the ground of their own accord, strange blue foam seeping from their lips. “No!” Axle shouted, running towards them, emitting a strangled scream of frustration as she reached them and confirmed that they were, indeed, dead.

“How disappointing.” Vermilion glared at the nearest corpse. “You could at least have had the spirit to go out fighting, if you were determined to die free…” She sighed, shrugged, and looked to Axle. “If you need to interrogate them, I can probably call them back long enough for that. Not the outcome you wanted, I know, but if it will help… well, necromancer, standing right here.” She directed another withering glare towards the blue-lipped corpses.

Axle frowned, looking tired. “No, we've got that one,” she gestured at the stunned industrioclast. She sighed. “Sorry you had to see this. Not the finest of sights in my territory.”

“Perhaps not. You, however, were magnificent.” Vermilion hesitated, taking a moment to dismiss the now-superfluous circle of magic. “Axle - why do they think giving volunteers painkillers will undo their conditioning?” She frowned in concern, stepping closer. “Are you in pain?”

Axle smiled at her. “No. It's a weird walker potion, it like, digs up old pain and gets rid of that too, and re-education can be painful. We've already had a number of volunteer incidents because of it.” She bent down, reaching for some discarded rope, and tied the industrioclast to a nearby beam. “You were quite something yourself, you know? Although I think it’s the least… you that I’ve ever seen you.”

Vermilion chuckled dryly. “In some senses perhaps; in others, quite the opposite. Sometimes I forget we never encountered each other on the battlefields of Homeworld. If we had… well, that was positively restrained, by those standards. I didn’t earn the title of Carrion-Queen without embracing the role I was sculpted for fully, after all.”

“It’s probably a good thing we never met before…” Axle smiled ruefully, before taking out her radio. “This is comrade Axle. Can we have an extraction team down at the building site in 2B…. One for re-education, three for the science labs. I want a full report on the poison they ingested and where they are getting it from. There will also be two Volunteers awake and unharmed, please ensure they get home safely. Over and Out.” Axle shook her head. “I hate it when we lose them. And I hate that awful rhetoric as well,” She turned to Vermilion, bitter and sad. “Do I look like a mindless puppet to you?”

“You’re not, no.” Vermilion shook her head, took a moment to choose her words. “You… clearly chose to embrace what you are, what you’ve become. It’s not just something that’s been done to you, it’s a choice you make, over and over, every day.” Briefly, her eyes went distant. “That’s… something I understand. Something I respect.” Her eyes fluttered closed, and she took a deep breath, before continuing, sympathy in her eyes as she pressed on. “But… is that really true of all of your people, Axle? There’s a reason ‘re-education’ terrifies people. Why those of us outside the Combine call it brainwashing and spit when we speak of it.” She nodded towards the unconscious industrioclast. “Will she even be recognisable as who she was, when you are through with her? Her friends chose death, rather than face what you are about to do… if freedom is what you value, do you not accept they had the right to make that choice?”

Towards the end of Vermilion’s words, Axle had begun to pale, and back away, pain and confusion and anger flickering across her face as she tried to control her thoughts, and her breathing. “She will… be given a second chance.” Axle could feel her hands balling into fists, fingernails digging into skin as she fought to regain control. “And not all Volunteers may embrace that chance as passionately as I do but they all embrace it. Perhaps the person I was would have rather died, but I am very happy to be alive.” She fought back tears as she stared Vermilion down, determined to fight off the incident she could feel bubbling beneath her skin.

Vermilion spread her hands, meeting Axle’s gaze. “I am in no moral position to throw stones here. I aided my liege in performing his form of brainwashing, numerous times - it amused him no end to have those of us who’d been through it assist. And while I have not used the procedure since I left his service, it is not unknown for me to slit the throats of those who refused to serve me living, then reanimate their corpses to serve in death, as a useful object lesson to their fellows…”

“I am not about to stand in judgment. I am not going to try to stop you. I simply do not understand. Where you draw the line. How you reconcile your noble ideals of freedom with the reality of forcing this on the unwilling.” Her voice was calm, and even; her gaze intent and focussed as she waited for the answer.

Axle massaged her forehead, looking down, her hands shaking as she tried for form words, “There are those who will never be free the way they are because they are lost and it is better for them to… have a chance… at freedom.” her lip trembled, and she looked up, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered, still struggling for breath.

Vermilion blinked, in surprise and confusion. “I-” don’t understand how you can believe in freedom, without it including the freedom to define for yourself what freedom means.

“I-” worry what it says about you, that these people Shaped as echoes of your own subconscious rebel, over and over, and you put them through what was done to you, over and over, in the hopes that this time it will stick a little better than it did with you. As if your own mind will be at rest if you can only nail all theirs into place, scattered fragments of your own doubts as they are.

“I-” want you to acknowledge that we are not so different, that your world has its necessary evils as does mine.

Lost, sad eyes. The memory of arms around her in the darkness. I promise, I won’t let anyone do that to you again.

“I - oh, damn it all!” And suddenly she tore the crown from her head and hurled it out into the ruins, glaring after it until the metallic clank and tinkle of its falling faded. “Damnit, damnit, damnit…”

She turned back to Axle, eyes wide and almost frightened. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll stop, I promise, just - breathe…”

Axle looked at her like a wounded animal, but she got a grip on her breathing, and moved forwards a little. “I’m… sorry…” she whispered faintly.

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for,” Vermilion shook her head. “It’s me, I went full-blown Carrion-Queen on you there, it’s hard to turn her off, but she’s not who you wanted here, I’m just not used to remembering I can be anyone else, well, other than the Enchantress-Supreme, but she’s just a mask on a mask…” she let her voice trail off, aware that she was babbling.

Axle gave a weak smile. “Combine procedure for this sort of situation is usually an ideologically comforting hug. Not sure we can manage the first bit between us, but maybe the second bit?” She walked unsteadily towards Vermilion, and opened her arms awkwardly.

Vermilion mustered a ragged chuckle as she reached out towards her. “Not sure I’d know ‘ideologically comforting’ if it bit me, but yeah…” and then her voice trailed off again as suddenly she was clinging to Axle, uncertain when exactly her hands had started shaking.

For once, Axle didn’t fire back with, “you will.” but instead sank into the hug, not really sure when she had started crying, but no longer trying to stop herself. For the first time since the industrioclasts had set the bomb, she relaxed.

Suddenly, there was a noise from behind them, and Axle swore, untangling herself from the hug, and rushing over to the groggy, awakening Volunteers.

She gently passed the first of them a flask of water from her belt, speaking softly and calmly. “Here, drink this. You’ve just been stunned, might feel a bit of bruising in the chest for a while but you should be fine. Be sure to check in with your hegemonic engineer regardless, this is a scary thing to have gone through, and you’ve been very brave. What are your names, Comrades?”

The slowly awakening Volunteers took the water, and one of them answered for the pair. “I’m Nail and this is Ratchett. Thank you for coming to get us.”

Axle smiled and gently squeezed Nail’s arm. “That’s what Unity’s all about, isn’t it? I’ll let revCorp know how brave you both were, and come see me when you’ve recovered, I’d like to make sure you’re OK personally. There will be an extraction team in shortly, they’ll make sure you get home safe, OK?”

Vermilion found herself a reasonably intact section of wall to lean against, still shaking slightly, and watched Axle in fascination. The steel-eyed warrior willing to fire on her own people to save them. The fragile woman with the wounded mind. And now this, this… gentle shepherd tending to her flock. One woman, many faces. Another thing they had in common.

Axle stood up and walked towards her, seemingly calmer for having calmed the Volunteers. “We should probably head off, this has rather taken up our sightseeing time and if we are late for the show I think Oil might actually find a way to kill a shaper, it was hard enough to convince her to get me tickets in the first place.” She offered an arm to Vermillion, then paused. “Oh, do you um… want to retrieve your crown-thingy before we go?”

Vermilion laughed, a little shakily, “Oh, leave it - I have plenty more, and heaven knows where it landed, let’s not waste the time.” She managed a grin. “I think I remember where I left the bike…”

Axle raised her eyebrows as she let Vermilion lead them out the back door. “If there is so much of a scratch on it, I will hex you…”

The bike was, as it happened, not visibly more damaged than when last seen.

It was also not the right way up. Scraps of red silk clinging to the debris around it suggested Vermilion had had to wriggle her way free of it on landing in a rather undignified manner. She certainly looked somewhat embarrassed at the positioning.

“Hrmm, I’ll let you off.” Axle grinned, and swung herself on, quietly looking forward to being back in the safety of Vermilion’s arms after the earlier blip.

“Much obliged,” Vermilion answered dryly, pulling the goggles back on as she remounted behind Axle. “Shall we, then?”

They sped off, winding through more side streets and plazas than Vermilion could count, as the city got darker and the glow of orange Street lights began to flicker. Eventually, Axle brought the bike slowly, and safely to a stop outside a small theatre, plastered with brightly coloured posters for the show, and checked a small watch on her belt. “We're a tiny bit early, want a traditional Combine meal before we head in?”

“Why not?” Vermilion smiled, pulling off the goggles with some relief, even if she did seem a little reluctant to climb down from the bike (or, possibly, to relinquish her grip on Axle’s waist). “Did they actually get the food about right in the Nexus, last Grand Cycle?”

Axle grinned as she leaned against the bike and pulled two plain looking bars from a side satchel on the bike. “Maybe for people who aren't living in air ships, but these are proper soldiers rations here.” She threw one of the bars to Vermilion. “Enough nutrients in that for a whole day. Apparently these are 'fruit flavoured’.”

“Any particular kind of fruit, or…” Vermilion sighed, looking dubiously at the bar, and tried a cautious nibble. “Hmm… Tastes… pink.” Still staring at it in befuddlement, she took another bite. “Definitely pink.”

“If you say so.” Axle was chewing on her bar quite happily, enjoying watching Vermilion discovering something new. “Personally I prefer fresh fruit and veg, but these are good in a pinch.”

“Certainly… interesting.” Vermilion took another bite, eyeing it with a confused expression; she still hadn’t managed to make up her mind if she liked it or not. “And clearly a practical solution.”

“They grow on you. It’s by and large what we live of here, although Dynamics sends along fresh veg pretty regularly now, so we’ve been distributing that.” Axle’s face went a little pink as she said this, but she continued eating her bar as though nothing had happened.

“I can see how you’d want a little variety, yes.” Vermilion said mildly, noting the interesting reaction for future consideration and trying not to look too smug - she didn’t want to spoil the surprise of Axle finding out what she’d brought, especially since she’d evidently made a reasonable call on that one. “Oh - I think people are starting to go in, should we-?”

“Yes let's!” Axle swallowed the last bite of her bar, and practically dragged Vermilion towards the small queue outside the theatre, fishing out two battered tickets from her jacket pocket. “I hope Oil got us good seats, it's meant to be such a good show!” Axle buzzed with excitement as the queue slowly moved forward.

“Musical theatre, you said?” Vermilion found herself smiling, caught up in Axle’s infectious enthusiasm; even the latest round of good evening, Comrades, as they joined the queue, could barely dent her mood. “I must say, I’m rather looking forwards to it.”

It turned out Oil had got them excellent seats, a wonderful view of the stage, and far back enough that the whole theatre wouldn’t be watching their Shaper and her strange companion. Axle balanced the pile of biscuits she had collected from the biscuit rats on the way in, on the arm of her seat, and leant across to talk to Vermilion. “It’s only an Amateur production, but the reviews have been fantastic. It’s an absolute classic show, the music is brilliant!”

Vermilion smiled at her, taken with her enthusiasm, and tried to ignore the vague claustrophobia she was starting to feel at how crowded the place was becoming as it filled up. Of course this was never going to be the kind of theatre with private boxes, she scolded herself silently. Stupid to think otherwise.

As the lights in the theatre dimmed, Axle was was practically bouncing up and down in her chair with excitement. “Oil hasn’t actually told me who she is playing,” Axle whispered. “I hope it’s someone important! Ooooo did I tell you the main character is a weird nerd who spends all his time reading and not enough time having fun? I think you’ll empathise” Axle flashed Vermilion a cheeky grin as the Orchestra started tuning.

“But… reading is fun…” Vermilion pouted half-heartedly at her, before shrugging, sighing, and settling back to watch the show. (It wasn’t exactly that she was shuffling closer to Axle as she shifted in her seat, of course. Not exactly. Just a case of avoiding touching the nervous-looking hoi polloi crammed in all around them.)

Axle tried not to notice Vermilion’s closeness as the curtain rose on the Liberator who was clearly the star of the show, singing a cheery opening number about the joys of studying strategy as a Combine Liberator. Vermilion could see, even in the darkness of the theatre, that Axle was mouthing along to every word, entranced by the spectacle.

Vermilion found herself spending as much time watching Axle’s face as the show; it was a simple enough plot to follow, and the songs were, as was to be expected, the best part. And then it became apparent that the enemy were about to come on stage, and she found herself leaning forwards in fascination to see how the Combine depicted their villains.

Two figures came onto the stage, clearly dressed as Opportunists, one in the over-the-top garb of a heartisan, the other dressed all in black, seemingly a margin-driver. Depicted as cacklingly evil and devilishly clever, they opened with a fast paced patter song about the money they would make from the wreckage of the combine ships. “Maybe we should take Violet to see this…” Axle whispered quietly, laughter in her voice.

“Maybe you should,” Vermilion chuckled. “I’d be intrigued to see how your people play Valtaria in this sort of thing, I’ll admit… Vector certainly did a good enough job in that montage.” Interesting that your villains have the song that requires the most technical skill, I suppose you don’t want it to be too easy to sing along to…

When Oil finally came on, as an opportunist pilot the hero's talked into joining them after fixing her injured leg, Axle gave a rather loud cheer, causing the pair to be given a few odd glances, and causing Oil herself to go slightly red beneath the stage lights.

“Ah, a willing convert?” Vermilion murmured softly, leaning in towards Axle and shooting her an amused look. “No wonder you wanted me to see this… let me guess, it’s an infectiously catchy song?”

Axle went red. “I'd actually forgotten about this bit… but yes, yes it is.” They carried on watching in companionable silence, as the liberator and his new friends overcame various obstacles to foil the Opportunists plans, until it was the final fight scene, and Axle, who'd clearly seen the show before, nevertheless sat forward on her seat, biting her lip, and staring intently at the stage.

Vermilion leant forwards also, clearly drawn into the drama despite herself, grinning in anticipation as the drumbeats began to pick up. Axle looked over at her and grinned, delighted that she appeared to be getting into it. And then jumped slightly as a loud theatrical gunshot brought her back to the fighting.

Vermilion found herself grinning and clapping along with the crowd as the outrageous heartisan threw herself into a song that could almost have been a monarch-in-shadow’s monologue, making one last desperate ploy before inevitably succumbing to the combined efforts - and rousing choral backing - of her adversaries. Brow furrowed, she leaned over to Axle. “So, ah - where’s the other one hiding?”

“That'd be telling!” Axle grinned smugly, and minutes later the margin driver indeed reappeared in an ambush, only to be cleverly put down by the teamwork of the hero's. As the final song drew to a close, with much applause and cheering from the audience, Axle nudged Vermilion gently, her eyes sparkling with a rarely seen uninhibited joy. “What did you think?”

“All right, I’ll admit, that was fun.” Vermilion smiled back. “And the special effects on that last part were really quite something. Your friend Oil did wonderfully, didn’t she? I’m going to be humming that one all evening-” she broke off, groaning slightly. “...well played…”

Axle clapped her hands in delight, then grabbed Vermilions hand, and dragged her out of her seat and through the bustling crowds. “Come on, this way. If we are quick we can get round the back and congratulate Oil as she heads out!”

Vermilion clung to Axle’s hand, suspecting that if she let go she would lose her entirely in the throng of entirely-too-many-people. “Do you know any of the others?” A thought struck her. “Have you ever joined in one of these productions?”

Axle looked back at her and laughed, continuing to wind through the crowds. “Unity no! I'd be terrible at it! And I only know Oil, but I plan to congratulate them all anyway!” She got to a door at the front of the theatre and pulled Vermilion through it, into a tiny side passage.

Vermilion noticeably relaxed once out of the main crowd, though her hand still lingered in Axle’s. “If you say so - you seem to know most of the words already though, surely that’s the hard part?” She grinned impudently. “Okay, so maybe I was hoping someday I’d get to see you dressed up like one of ours and monologuing dramatically… a girl can dream, right?” She glanced around, trying to get her bearings. “So, where are we going?”

“You wish!” Axle snorted, but she had gone a little pink at what she had decided must have been a compliment. “It’s this way, I think”, she led Vermilion down the passage and round a corner, gently releasing her hand as they came across a crowd of Combine Actors. “Oil!” Axle shouted, and a short, dark haired figure turned around.

Vermilion gave her best attempt at a non-threatening smile from behind Axle, and waved in greeting. Oil smiled, and Axle ran towards her, enveloping her in a massive hug. “You were fantastic!” Axle released her, and Oil looked both pleased and embarrassed in equal measure. “Vermilion thought so too,” she turned to look at the Monarch, “right Comrade?”

“Right-” her ears caught up an instant too late, and she sighed and shot Axle a look of amused despair, before turning back to Oil. “You have a magnificent voice. And that was one hell of a good show.”

“Thanks”, said Oil, looking awkward, “It’s been a real team effort to get it up and running in time.” At this point, Axle was pulled away by one of the younger cast members, desperate for a chance to talk to the infamous shaper, and quickly lost in the crowd of actors. Oil looked up at Vermilion, frowned, and tilted her head. “You know, I know Axle pretty well by now, better than most people I suspect. I spend almost every day with her, when she’s not at self portrait.” Oil paused, clearly building herself up to continue. “It’s clear that she cares an awful lot about you. If you care about her don't… just don’t make her any promises you don’t intend on keeping, OK?”

Vermilion stared at her briefly, eyebrows rising. “I assure you, young lady, I am if nothing else a monster of my word.” Her voice came out dry and cold. Her head tilted curiously to one side, watching, waiting, to see if this show of courage, the mortal trying to protect her Shaper, would continue or fade into nothingness. Intriguing, most intriguing, to find the first sparks of that defiance here that she so hoped for in her own…

Oil shrugged, it was hard to tell if she was actually unperturbed by Vermilion’s coldness, or simply acting. “Well, that’s a slight reassurance, I guess. But you can get someone’s hopes up without using words. I may not be able to get to you myself if you do that, but the thing about the combine is if you upset one of us, you upset all of us.”

Vermilion watched her a moment longer, inspecting her for signs of weakness that never came, then slowly nodded in respect, letting her face break into a slight smile. “Oh, give it time, my dear, we won’t be Shapers forever, after all…” She sighed, and shrugged. “Seriously, though… I’m not trying to set her up for a fall. I’m not used to… caring about people. Even less used to them caring about me. I have no idea if there’s any way for... whatever the hell this is... to end which isn’t in tears, or flames. But that, genuinely, isn’t my intention.” She spread her hands. “All that I’ve promised her is my willingness to listen and to learn. And that much I can give her.”

Oil’s eyes bore into Vermilion, but she nodded. “Well, thanks for coming to the show anyway.” She stood in awkward silence until Axle bounced back towards them, full of enthusiasm.

“Sorry about that! You two getting along alright?”

“Fabulously,” Vermilion said, smiling brightly. “I like her. Best be careful that I don’t end up trying to steal her…” she tried to keep her tone light enough to be clear as a joke.

Axle rolled her eyes. “You can’t steal people Vermilion. But if you joined the Combine you could visit her all the time…” Axle grinned mischievously.

Vermilion sighed and shook her head. “You, Axle, are an incorrigible optimist. On both counts.” Her eyes flicked to Oil unconsciously. This is what you’re worried about, isn’t it?

Axle stuck her tongue out at Vermilion. “I prefer the term realist. Oil, we’re gonna have to head off before Vermilion tries to fireball me in front of all these people. See you in the morning!” She strode off in what was probably the direction of the bike, assuming Vermilion would follow.

“...she never gives up, does she?” Vermilion wasn’t entirely sure if she was talking to Oil or to herself. Shaking her head, she hurried after Axle, before she could lose track of her in the unfamiliar bustle of the Combine.

Eventually, they located the bike, and settled into their usual seats. Axle drove the long way back to the centre of operations, winding slowly through back alleys and quiet streets. “It looks lovely in the dark, I think. It’s not quite the Wyrdwood but it’s… it’s home.”

“It’s very different to what I’m used to. But yes, it’s quite lovely in its own way. All those welcoming lights and happy people…” Vermilion sighed happily and leant into Axle, resting her head on her shoulder. Axle smiled to herself and happily hummed show tunes all the way back to the Centre, careful to avoid the song of the pilot, in case Vermilion thought she was playing games.

At the centre, Axle stopped the bike gently, and swung herself off, turning awkwardly to Vermilion. “Well, it's pretty late. You know where your rooms are, and your intercom connects directly to mine if you need me for anything…” Axle trailed off.

“Want to come up for a nightcap? I brought along a bottle of that stuff we had at mine…” Vermilion tried not to sound too hopeful.

Axle grinned widely. “Ooh, yes. That stuff was delicious. Although I'll be monitoring your intake, lightweight!” Axle opened the door for Vermilion, still grinning.

“At least this time it’s stairs before drinking…” Vermilion smiled ruefully.

Axle looked around a little before heading up the stairs, but to her relief, the main hall was deserted. The only person who’d know if she didn't end up in her own bed tonight would be Oil and Oil… never asked questions like that. She headed up to Vermilions room and turned on the lights, rolling her eyes at the poster of herself and plonking herself on the bed, having forgotten to provide the room with chairs.

Vermilion pulled open her bag and began rooting through it, scattering the contents across the bed. A miniature wardrobe, all of six inches high; a four-poster bed on the same scale, skulls on the posts as small as beads; an elaborately sculpted tent, canvas and ropes alike crafted in gleaming gold; a palm-sized chest that rattled cheerfully; some kind of magic wand-

“Ah-ha!”

-and a familiar looking bottle of red alcohol, wrapped in cloth to keep it safe in transit. Handing it to Axle, Vermilion began gathering up the rest of her possessions and returning them to the bag.

Axle stared in fascination at this process, then tried very hard to look like miniature magical wardrobes were something she saw every day. “Didn't think I'd provide you with a suitable bed?” She commented, opening the alcohol and taking a large swig.

Vermilion shrugged. “Took me a few days in the forest before I got clear of the Crucible. If I have to go camping, I like to be comfortable.” She grinned, reaching for the bottle. “Of course, the problem with a tent big enough to fit a proper bed in, is finding a clearing big enough for the tent… still, I managed.”

“What you need is an airship.” Axle grinned, and then she looked at Vermilion curiously, trying to sound casual as she asked, “So. You've met my comrades. Do you still believe people need to overcome a tyrant to be courageous?”

“An outright tyrant, maybe not, but you’ve still wound up with villains. Conflict driving the narrative.” Vermilion frowned, and shot Axle a concerned glance. “Except… your villains seem to be under the impression that they are the heroes of the piece, and you are the tyrant. At least with our way of doing things, everyone agrees who the bad guys are.”

Axle tilted her head to one side. “Interesting. I’d have said the most courageous people we met today were actually the people who got up on stage and sang in front of all those people. That, to me, takes far more courage than being taken hostage…”

“With an audience that supportive?” Vermilion looked surprised and confused. “How could the prospect of sharing something beautiful with people who will appreciate it require more courage than facing death?”

“Because you don’t know the audience are gonna like it until you’ve done it! Opening night must be terrifying!” Axle shuddered as she imagined it. “And what if you forgot your lines or something?”

“What if you did?” Vermilion shrugged. “Your people don’t strike me as the type to throw fruit, much less knives… it would be briefly embarrassing, someone off stage would remind you, you’d move on. I mean - you wouldn’t hold that kind of thing against someone, would you?” She looked at Axle in fascination. “You really do fear disappointing people, or people not liking you, more than dying, don’t you?”

Axle frowned. “We might not throw fruit but I've seen some pretty harsh theatrical reviews in my time… and I'm a Volunteer, I don't expected to be liked, or adored, but yeah, disappointing people sucks.” Axle took another swig of drink, and removed her boots and jacket so she could sit more comfortably on the bed. Doing this revealed that all the veins on the inside of her right arm were glowing an odd blue colour, which didn't seem to faze her whatsoever.

“I suppose I have a different perspective on things. Hatred and contempt come with the territory; one gets used to it. In time.” Vermilion sighed. “Oh, that’s pretty-” she reached out towards Axle, finger tracing through the air over the lines of her glowing veins. “What is that?”

Axle looked at her arm in mild confusion, and then realised. “Oh that? It’s awesome isn’t it! An industrioclast stuck a knife in my arm, and Vector decided to fix it with some ‘experimental medicine’. No idea how long it’s gonna last, I’m basically a walking night-light now.” Axle frowned. “I think it’s a shame you think people ought to hate you. Especially because of how you’re secretly very nice and friendly.”

Vermilion blushed, tugging at her hair and glaring at it to make sure it was still her own familiar red. “Don’t go saying things like that, I didn’t pack a deuced thing in my sister-self’s green… besides, I have a reputation to maintain.” Taking a swig of the drink, she shot Axle a thoughtful look. “...one of them actually managed to injure you?”

Axle, who had been giggling gently at having made Vermilion blush, shrugged, unconcerned. “Valve says it’s because I get too emotionally invested in stuff or something. It’s something to do with force of will, or belief or something, I don’t really get it.” And every time you’ve been injured it’s somehow been connected to a certain Liberator… Axle pulled a face at Vermilion. “Please don’t turn into your ‘sister-self’, if you’re gonna reform, do it properly and become a Liberator!”

“Well, yes, our territories are literally reflections of our own souls, it shouldn’t be possible for anything within them to hurt us unless on some level we want to be hurt - which is exactly what I’m aiming for and not getting, and you’ve managed it without even trying?” Vermilion shook her head ruefully. “I’m oddly jealous. I mean, I actively want my people to rebel against me, to take up arms and shed my blood, and literally the only confirmation so far that that’s even metaphysically possible here are your Industrioclasts.”

A brief pause, an expression somewhere between ‘amused’ and ‘horrified’. “You really don’t give up, do you? And really - me, a Liberator? Really? I’d look ridiculous.”

“Yes. Liberator. Definitely.” Axle took another large swig from the bottle. “And no, I’m not ever giving up on you. I like you too much to let you go down this ridiculous path of trying to get yourself destroyed by your own people.” Axle swung herself off the bed and walked slightly unsteadily towards the poster of herself. “You would look brilliant as a Liberator. Look!” And Axle pulled a strange, concentrating face, her tongue sticking out of her mouth rather comedically, and the poster blurred, and reshaped itself to be a picture of Vermilion, in goggles and a jaunty hat, above the same declaration, that ‘Anyone can be a Hero’.

Vermilion dissolved into giggles, burying her face in her hands. “...ridiculous…”

Axle shrugged, climbing back onto the bed, and nudging the giggling monarch gently. “I think it looks… dashing. If not LibCorp, then what?”

Vermilion’s eyebrows rose as she reached for the bottle. “I haven’t exactly been planning a career for myself in the Combine! That’s like… picking out shoes for an outfit you’re not planning on wearing.” She shook her head absently. “Besides, don’t most of those not born and raised to it end up in the VolCorps?”

“No that’s only those who…” Axle looked down, “Won’t walk willingly into the light?” She nudged Vermilion again. “Come on, humour me. ProCorp, LibCorp or RevCorp?”

“Well, definitely not RevCorp.” Vermilion shivered. “They’re the ones who handle the actual re-education thing, aren’t they? Too many… issues, there. Old memories that... wouldn’t stay quiet.” Her eyes went distant again, staring into the past as she reached for the bottle.

“Only the Hegamonic engineers, the Rhetanomic engineers are more about making videos and posters and putting them up in people’s rooms without consulting me… Honestly I do think you’d make a wonderful Liberator.” Axle gently reached for Vermilion’s hand, and squeezed it softly. “Surely that would be better than being hated and feared?”

“Would it?” Vermilion shrugged. “My… sister-self… Viridian… she isn’t hated, isn’t feared, but… she isn’t happy, either. She’s… hollow. At least I’m real, when I’m, well, me. I know how to be a villain. I don’t know how to be a hero, not in any way more real than those characters on stage. I can play the role, but it’s no more than that, not for me…”

Axle waved her hand dismissively. “That's because monarch victors are fake as fuck. All 'look at me I'm so noble’ whilst they still put themselves above their people like they are better. At least” she gestured at Vermilion, “you’re honest. But you could be liked and still be you. I mean, I like you for starters.”

“Which confuses the hell out of me.” Vermilion reached for the bottle again. “I understand being hated, feared, despised. I understand being respected, admired, even loved. But for someone to actually like me, as a person…” She took a deep drink. “I don’t understand… whatever this is… at all.”

Axle was quiet for a minute, bewildered by Vermilion’s confusion. How can you not understand being liked. She squeezed the monarch’s hand again, uncertain whether the gesture was enough. “But do you… like whatever this is?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” Vermilion said softly, squeezing her hand back. “I like it a lot. I like you a lot. I just… I’m lost.”

“Well, this is what we in the Combine like to call friendship. It's remarkably common in these parts.” Axles voice was gently mocking, and she watched Vermilion carefully for a response, wondering yet again how close she was to crossing some sort of line here.

Vermilion gave a rueful laugh. Raising the bottle again, she looked at it, hesitated, and then very carefully handed it back to Axle. “...I was going to tell you why I don’t try to make friends with my petitioners, wasn’t I?”

Axle unthinkingly took another swig. “It's going to be some brain bendingly weird monarch reason isn't it. Like… 'they might actually notice I'm funny and generous and nice and I will die of shame’” Axle stopped doing her terrible Vermilion impression, and grinned.

Vermilion tried to look offended at the impression, but was rather undermined by the way her lips kept twitching. “...do you know what Companions are, in Valtarian society?” Briefly, her eyes went distant again. “That’s… what I was, before…”

“Not a clue. Spend most of my time pre…” she gestured at the room, “this, fighting capitalists. So most of what I know about Valtaria is what the Combine have been doing there.”

“Right. So-” she gestured vaguely. “We’re… they’re... the people closest to a Monarch. Amongst our own kind, monarchs can have allies, lovers, spouses… but the games of power never stop. You can never let your guard down. So instead, it’s common for a Monarch to surround themselves with mortals. They’re honour guards - insofar as that has any meaning, mortals guarding one of us - and confidantes, and... and pretty decorations for the palace. Some Monarchs even take them to their bed; my liege at least had more taste than that, he didn’t start paying court till long after I’d become a Shaper, when I’d shaken off enough of the conditioning to betray him, and I still took pleasure in denying him for years…” Her lips twisted into a bitter smile, remembering.

“Point is - in many ways, they’re the closest thing a Monarch has to having friends. Some Monarchs, I think, truly believe they are. My liege… he truly cared about us, in his way. But… it wasn’t friendship, it never could be. I remember laughing at his jokes, even when the punchline was that he was torturing one of my fellows for some failure or other; putting the sympathy and the relief it wasn’t me this time away for the moment to take my cues from his mood. I remember listening to his worries and his irritations and his plans, offering what comfort and support I could, treasuring the moments I was privileged to speak to him as almost an equal, but always watching for his mood to shift, because that privilege could and would be withdrawn in an instant, and woe betide any of us who presumed too far…”

Her grip tightened instinctively on Axle’s hand, staring blankly into memory. “He made us love him. But he never did a thing to stop us hating him. He didn’t care if we liked him. Because we weren’t friends, no matter how much he liked to play at it. We were pets.”

The cheery expression had melted from Axle's face as she listened, following Vermilions every word. She gently released her hand, and instead wrapped it around Vermilions shoulder, softly stroking her arm. “I'm so sorry Vermilion. That’s just… awful.”

“The thing is, though…” Vermilion leant into her, still staring into space. “I am what he made me. And my people are reflections of me, my mind, my soul. Even if I could trust myself to do better - and I honestly don’t know if I can - they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t dare to tell me ‘no’, any more than I’d have dared to deny him back then, but they’d perpetually be waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I remember what that was like back then… I can’t do that to them, I won’t.” Angrily, she dashed away tears, hating herself for the weakness.

Axle put the bottle down, and reached up to Vermilion’s face, gently tilting it so that they were looking directly into each other's eyes. “Vermilion, if there’s one thing the Combine do well it’s helping people to trust one another. Our entire society is based on it. If you want your people to trust you, whether you eventually join the Combine or not, I will do my best to make that happen. No Volunteering required,” Her eyes were intense, almost desperate with their need to help.

“Axle, I-” and suddenly Vermilion was clinging to her, in a fierce, desperate hug, a soft whisper of “thank you” barely audible before her face was buried in Axle’s shoulder, body wracked with silent, heaving sobs.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, don’t worry,” Axle stroked Vermilions back, not really sure if the stream of platitudes she was garbling were of any use, but saying them anyway. I need a hegamonic engineer for this sort of thing…

“Sorry, sorry…” Slowly, reluctantly, Vermilion pulled back. “Fuck, look at me, I’m pathetic. I never talk about this stuff…”

“Hey, I saw all that weird badass magic you did earlier, you're certainly not pathetic. A little tipsy perhaps… and probably tired, but not pathetic.”

“Ever the optimist…” Vermilion chuckled ruefully.

“That's me!” Axle grinned, then yawned. “Right, I think we've both had enough booze, and it's getting pretty late…” Axle lent down to put the lid back on the bottle.

“Axle, um…” Vermilion fidgeted awkwardly, blushing. “Would you, ah.... would you mind… can you stay with me tonight?” The words came out in a rush, blush deepening. “I… really don’t often go digging through old memories like this…” She looked down at her hands, sure her face must by now be as red as her hair.

Axle’s face went quickly from grinning to concern. “Do you think you might have bad dreams again?” she asked.

“I… don’t know.” Vermilion admitted. “I… I’m afraid I might. Thrones and stars, I’m a mess.”

“Then of course I’ll stay. I’d be a bit of a terrible host if I caused you to have nightmares and then did nothing to comfort you!” Axle removed her belt, fishing a strip of bandage from it, which she used to wind around her arm, dimming the glowing veins slightly.

“It’s not your fault.” Vermilion smiled sadly. “None of this is your fault. But… thank you.” She slipped out of her outer robes, revealing a simple tunic and hose beneath, perfectly colour-co-ordinated.

Axle crawled beneath the covers, wriggling about to get comfortable, bizarrely reminiscent of the rats that roamed the RPC. “Ugh this bed feels weird. Ah well, never mind. Ideologically comforting hugs, comrade to be?”

“Comforting is… good…” Vermilion smiled despite herself, too tired - if she was honest with herself, too needy - to argue, as she snuggled up to Axle.

Axle slipped her arms around the monarch in shadow, and drifted into a far-too-dream-filled sleep.

Dreamscape Engineering

Authors: Axle and Héloise

Axle stood nervously outside underneath the freshly painted sign for the “Volunteer Rehabilitation Centre”, looking around for the arrival of Vermillion, or Heloise as she could now call her, she supposed. It would be the first time she had seen her since the party at Switchgear’s, and she was unsure how the Monarch had coped with the dramatic revelation of her original name.

To Axle, of course, it made no difference, Vermillion was Vermillion, what you were, or what you were called in the past was irrelevant in comparison to who you were in the present, but she knew it meant a lot to her friend. She fiddled with the envelope Switch had given her, chewing at her lip, and, wondering if Vermillion had in fact decided that this was a bad idea.

---

“This is a terrible idea.”

Vermilion winced, frowned, and tried to ignore the voice from the leftmost mirror. Viridian, undeterred, continued.

“You, of all people, trying to,” a harsh laugh. “to help people? And not just your… pet.” She spat the word, mirror flickering with her anger as she shook her head in disgust. “Commoners. Combine scum. Really, sister, what in all the worlds are you thinking?”

Resigning herself to the interruption, Vermilion abandoned her meditation to glare at the mirror. “What am I thinking? That I really hate brainwashing. That even evil has standards.” She shook her head, looking away as the memories threatened to resurface. “What am I thinking? No more. Never again. Time to heal.”

“Careful, sister.” Viridian smirked smugly from the mirror. “You’re beginning to sound disconcertingly… noble. Are you sure it isn’t time you let me-”

Vermilion made an abrupt gesture, snarled a single curt syllable. The mirror cracked from top to bottom, Viridian fading away in a swirl of green and an echo of mocking laughter. She stared at her own reflection in the cracked glass and sighed.

“This is a terrible idea.” She closed her eyes, peace of meditation long since lost, and slumped forwards, letting her forehead rest against the shattered mirror. “What am I thinking? I’m not good at helping people, even if a territory of traumatised Combine volunteers can somehow be talked into trusting a Monarch-in-Shadow.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Vermilion’s eyes jerked open, looking over to the right hand mirror. There, a scruffy red-haired child in a patched peasant tunic sat crosslegged, looking up at her.

“You?” Her eyebrows shot upwards. “Wait – I thought we were – I thought I was -”

“You thought you were me? Well – yes. And no. Paradox-”

“-lies at the heart of all magic.” They finished the familiar phrase together.

“Speaking of which.” The girl – Heloise – rose to her feet, set her hands on her hips, and glared up at Vermilion. “Magic, I mean. We’re a Shaper, yes? Our will defines reality? So when you go telling yourself this is a terrible idea and it’s all going to go wrong, yada yada woe is me blah blah-” she slapped the mirror, which reverberated from the impact, heedless of the improbability of it, “what exactly do you think is going to happen?”

“...oh.” Vermilion winced.

“Yeah, self fulfilling prophecies are a bitch.” Heloise rolled her eyes. “Fortunately, I can help with that. I believe in us, even if you don’t.”

“And let me guess… all it requires is for you to take over.”

“Well, duh.” Another eye roll; tiny fingers drumming against the inside of the glass. “I’m older than you, and I’m stuck like, well,” she looked down at herself, “like this. Because this was the last time I imprinted on our body. Of course I want out. In. However you want to think of it.”

“Of course.” Vermilion frowned at her dubiously.

“I’m not like her, you know.” Heloise glanced over to the broken mirror. “I’m you, even if I’m not you. I’m not about to do anything you wouldn’t do; I can just do it better. And you’ll still be right there with me. The way I always am with you.”

Vermilion looked away, hesitated.

“You thought we’d already merged, right?” Heloise shrugged. “We might someday. Or not. But this is a step towards, perhaps. Two notes in a chord...”

“Two sides of one coin.” Vermilion nodded slowly. “And… you can help them? Axle’s people?”

“Yes.” The response was instantaneous; no hesitation, not so much as a flicker of doubt.

Vermilion took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then flip the coin.” She reached out to touch the mirror, Heloise on its far side echoing the gesture. The polished metal shimmered and rippled between their fingers. And then, before she could step into the mirror as she would normally, Heloise stepped out; her figure, hazily translucent, overlaying itself on Vermilion’s own, changing and shifting and growing and-

-and then they were one. Two. One. Two-in-one.

Vermilion blinked. Heloise opened her eyes. Glanced into the empty mirror in amusement; clapped her hands to summon her image back into the glass; took a moment to admire her adult form.

“Yes,” she said absently. “This was an excellent idea. Now, let’s get to work, shall we?”

---

Several hours later, fidgeting with the still-unfamiliar MedCorp armband, and after getting lost only three times on the way (Combine town planning still remaining a thoroughly impenetrable arcane art), Heloise and her skeletal-horse-drawn-cart finally rounded the final corner to her destination. Her lips twitched at the fresh signage - even when the Combine were trying to do better, their naming conventions still read like ominous euphemisms – before settling into a true smile at the site of the figure under it.

“Axle! Hello!”

• Comrade!” Axle’s face split into a grin, widening even further at the sight of the medcorp armband that matched her own. “You came in uniform- I'm impressed!” As Heloise dismounted the carriage Axle enveloped her in a massive hug and in a slightly lower, less jovial voice asked, “Do you want to go by Heloise or Vermillion today?”

Heloise relaxed into the hug, allowing herself to enjoy it for a long moment before she drew back, finally registering the question. “I’m Heloise.” She smiled brightly. “For the moment at least…” Her fingers strayed back to the armband. “Still feels odd, I’ll admit. But hey - it’s my colour.” A quick flash of a grin. “Been a while since I wore someone else’s livery. But I’m here to serve your cause, so to speak,” A brief pause, a moment of clear consideration, and she amended her words. “Well, one of your causes, at least; so…”

Axle smiled at that, but her smile faltered as she searched her friends face for a moment. “You are still… you though, right? Valtarian…. Name changes are… weird.”

“It’s… complicated.” Heloise shrugged. “I’m… more me than ever, in some ways, I think. In others… well, I’m not not me, if that makes sense. Vermilion and Heloise… we’re not exactly different people, but we’re not exactly the same, either. We’re…” she groped for words, then brightened. “We’re a team!”

“A walking embodiment of combine principles then? I can hardly disapprove of that” Axle pulled Heloise towards the door, kicking it open and dragging her into the building.

Heloise briefly felt Vermilion’s usual reflexive protests rising in her throat; shaking her head to dislodge them, she allowed herself to chuckle. “Well, I can safely say no-one’s ever called either of me that before. Let us know if you need us to… swap out, at any point. It should be straightforward, given we’re not fighting each other over it the way the other one does…” Her voice trailed off, realising she was drifting into theoretical analysis; shaking free of that urge too, she glanced around, taking in her surroundings.

The hall was rather plain, whitewash walls and a beige carpet, but as Axle (who was looking at Heloise as though she was speaking another language) pulled them through a door which had “Dreamscape Engineer: Main Office, Comrade Ember” written on it, there was a slight change in atmosphere. Axle had tried, she really had. She wanted the place to feel relaxing, so there were three battered leather armchairs, around a round table that was a little too high for them, and a motivational poster of Flare on the wall bearing the comforting and familiar slogan “Do it for your Comrades". She'd also brought in a kettle, some tea, and a fairly good array of biscuits. “Here we are!” She announced. “First volunteer, quite literally in this case, should be arriving soon.”

“Comrade Ember?” Heloise stared at the door as it swung shut behind them; Vermilion’s disapproval and her own amusement combining to distort her voice into something of an indignant squawk. Shaking her head again, she turned back towards Axle, lips twitching. “Optimist. We didn’t pack the outfit, anyway. Seemed too serious a business to be wandering around tangled in my own chains with airships on my-” she broke off and coughed, blushing slightly. “Do they… know? Who I am? Or are they expecting, well… Ember?”

“I thought that outfit looked fantastic on you,” Axle commented, as she started on making the tea, “And yes, they know who you are, but its… the idea is to relax them, to remind them that you are here… as a comrade, in a sense. The arm band too. It’s all about…” A voice in her head said It’s all about Image darling, and she shook her head, smiling. “It’s all about things that seem familiar. The Rhetanomic Engineers suggested it.” Axle, having made two cups of tea, came back to the table and put one in front of Heloise, then reached into her pocket and brought out an envelope. “This is for you, um, don’t open it.”

She passed the envelope over. In Fairly messy capitals it read:

OPEN ONLY IN EMERGENCY. I WILL END YOU IF YOU MISUSE THIS

Heloise frowned down at the envelope in confusion; tried and failed to place the handwriting. “Emergency? What kind of-”

Somewhere inside her head, she sensed Vermilion rolling her eyes in annoyance; the image of Leverage standing proud and defiant inside Axle’s mindscape flickered abruptly into her consciousness.

“...oh. Her?”

Axle looked down at the table, shuffling awkwardly. “Yeah.. um… Switch has gone off to the Chromatic Expanse, didn’t want to leave me without a back up plan, I’m kind of impressed she’s trusting you… but yeah, the codes are in there, if she shows up, open it and read them out. It’ll knock me out and when I’m conscious again I should be back to me… Sorry to be such a pain…”

“You’re not.” Heloise folded the envelope up and tucked it carefully away. “I promise, you’re not.” She reached out and laid a hand on Axle’s arm. “Are you alright? How’ve things been, since-” she waved her free hand vaguely in the air, “since we tried to help?”

Axle smiled weakly, grateful for the gesture. “It’s been, better actually. Less incidents. And I can talk to her now a bit, which isn’t always fun, but it is kinda helpful. I feel less like a badly made incendiary device, anyways.” She shook her head slightly, and reached for some files on a shelf below the tabletop. “But enough about me. I figured, to start with, we wouldn’t try to deal with a classic volunteer “incident” because, well… you probably understand it better than me, but, the people living here, they came into existence when I came through the breach, you see? But they came into existence… as volunteers, complete with reasons why they became volunteers, and in the cases of those who have been through the most intense re-education, entire past lives they have now forgotten” A look of incredible sadness crossed Axle’s face, “I didn’t mean to, but I created them like that, and I’m not actually sure what we’ll find… inside.” She silently cursed herself, she was meant to be convincing Vermillion she’d be happy in the combine, not showing her the bits she hated the most. She rallied slightly. “I mean, they’re happy, for the most part, but we just… I’m not sure… how they were built, as it were.”

“You know...” Heloise frowned down into her teacup. “One of the things going round at the Nexus, after the Apparitions started waking up… people were saying, we were never meant to survive coming through the Breach. We were meant to be… fuel. Burning ourselves up to create the Outworld. What was created… would have been all that was left of us.”

She stared into the tea as if it held the mysteries of the universe. “It didn’t work like that. Obviously. Except… it kind of partway did, didn’t it? These lands, these people… they’re not things we consciously created, far from it, but they’re… derived from us. Little… fragments of us, shards of our souls, fragmented off, or reflected, and extrapolated into whole realms, whole people. The philosophers always used to say that everyone contained a universe and multitudes therein. Never expected it to be so literal.”

She raised her eyes to look at Axle. “That’s… how they were built, I think. Fragments of our memories, our expectations of how things work, our hopes, our fears, our dreams. Every one of them, a collection of… of threads, plucked from all across the tapestries of what makes us who we are, and woven together into something new. You can learn a lot about someone by looking at their territory. A lot of Vermilion’s Wyrdwood, her people… they were reflecting me, my memory, my personality, the world I’d have Shaped if I ever had the chance, even before she remembered me at all. And yours-”

She broke off, sighed, sipped her tea. “She’s always been a part of you. Two people, but one soul; you came through the Breach together. So you get the Axle-flavoured ones who’re happy with their lives and love the Combine, and then you get the ones who wound up with a bit too much of her in them and want to tear it all down, and, well, everything in between. And when it comes to the pasts created for them – where they came from, what they’ve been through – I think it draws on preconceptions as well as memories. Hers and yours, I’d expect. Which-” A concerned look. “Honestly, I’m worried about what effect digging into this might have on you.”

There were tears prickling at the edge of Axle’s eyes, she clenched her teeth, and brushed them away. “It’s my fault that these people are suffering, mine and hers and I’m not going to walk away because it might upset me. That wouldn’t be very combine of me at all. The thing I love most about the Combine is that we always have each others backs, even when things get tough. And…” She brightened, flicking through the folder, “This first one shouldn’t be too hard, it’s just a case of helping someone deal with some fear problems!” At that moment, almost on cue, there was a nervous sounding knock at the door.

“It’s not your fault. Your responsibility, sure, that comes with being a Mon- a Shaper - but it’s not your fault.” Heloise shot a worried glance at Axle. “But we can argue that one out later. Who’s this, then?”

“Come in!” Axle called, and the door opened, to reveal a nervous looking volunteer, running his hand through dirty blonde hair to adjust his goggles. He walked in apprehensively, and took the chair axle was gesturing to, and clearly trying very hard not to stare at Heloise.

“Comrade Wheel, thank you so much for coming in.” Axle was trying her best to sound reassuring, and it was almost working. “This is Comrade Ember, but you can also call her Heloise, she is here to help. Now, before we start, I know we went through this when you signed up, but just a reminder. Your Hegemonic engineer will get a report on this session, but it will only contain information that is relevant to the problems you’ve been experiencing, unless we discover that you are actively planning to cause harm to any of you comrades. But to be honest, I’d be surprised if an industrioclast had volunteered for this…”

Wheel laughed nervously, but looked a little more relaxed. Axle continued. “This isn’t a method of interrogation, we are simply here to help with the problems you’ve been having, nothing more.”

“Hello, Wheel; good to meet you.” Heloise flicked her fingers at the kettle, which slowly began to boil again, and held out a hand to the young man. Pleasingly firm handshake, she noticed, after the brief moment of hesitation; if a little jerky and uncertain. He didn’t entirely seem to know what to do with his eyes; staring at her one moment, at the floor the next. Yet when she managed to make eye contact he held her gaze, trembling only slightly.

“So.” She sat back and ran her eyes over him appraisingly. “Walk me through the problems you’ve been having.”

“I, um…” he glanced at Axle’s folder, “it should all be on record, uh, ...comrade?” He couldn’t quite keep the uncertainty from his tone on the last word; Heloise smiled in amusement before refocussing.

“Oh, records can only tell one so much,” she said blithely, glossing over the fact she had no idea what was in it. “I’d really sooner hear it in your own words.”

“Oh… okay...” He rallied, visibly pulling himself together. “Well, it, uh, it started with the, the Industrioclast attack-” he broke off, eyes darting to Axle, clearly uncertain how much he was supposed to say about that.

“Go on,” Axle smiled encouragingly, handing him a biscuit like she'd seen Valve do so many times.

He bit his lip, and then continued. “I was working, I work in a factory making clothes, nothing particularly special but we were next to that damn fair… there was.. there was this explosion, then this swarm of Industrioclasts climbed through the wall right by my machine, I was pushed to the floor.” His voice began to tremble, his breath shortening, “One of them held me down whilst they secured the area to do… whatever they were doing. He held a gun to my head. I thought… I thought I was going to die…” his voice trailed off, and he took a bite of his biscuit awkwardly.

“That's very helpful, thank you.” Axle smiled and turned her attention to Heloise, “ Comrade, do you want to explain what is going to happen now?”

“Right. So, what we have is a particularly powerful memory – brushes with mortality often are – that’s becoming... unhelpfully intrusive.” Heloise nodded decisively. “So, what we’re going to do, is put some tools in place to help you deal with that – to keep the memory at bay, as a starting point, and potentially to confront it on your own terms to lessen its power. To do that – well, this is the reason Axle called me a ‘dreamscape engineer’. We’re going to take a brief excursion into the landscape of the mind.” She paused slightly, glanced at Axle. “I’m not sure how much of this has already been explained to you – but, well, it can get somewhat surreal. The mind is a place built on metaphor and symbol. But you will be safe, and you will not be alone.”

Wheel nodded, clearly not entirely convinced. “And… you won't say anything if you see… other stuff?”

Axle raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Wheel, everyone knows about you and Spark, if you think that's still a secret perhaps it's time you redid your basic subterfuge training…” Wheel went scarlet, but some of the tension in his face dissipated.

“Oh, um…. Ok then.” He turned to face Heloise, “Axle explained it a bit, I think. It'll be like a training mission but we'll be staying right here? It'll be a bit like being in a play or something?”

“Pretty much.” Heloise shrugged absently; it didn’t really matter if the boy understood, as long as he had enough of an idea not to panic. “Now, the practicalities of it...” She broke off and rummaged through her belt pouch. “Ah, there we are; one protective amulet, to keep the strain of having… visitors… from affecting you too badly.” A necklace of clear gems dangled from her hand; she shot an apologetic glance between Wheel and Axle. “I know, it’s terribly Valtarian; at some point we’re going to have to redesign it, or build a new one – I tried having a go myself, but the gemstones are really the key to the functionality currently, and I don’t understand your technology enough to figure out a substitute.”

Setting the necklace down on the table in front of Wheel with a light clinking sound, she dipped her fingers into the pouch again, drawing out a vial of red liquid. “And this, to ease the process. A few drops in our tea should do it for an enchantm- a procedure this minor, I think.” She hesitated, fingers toying with the stopper. “Axle, will you be joining us? Or watching over our bodies while we… dream?”

Axle, who had been stifling a grin at Heloise's attempts to make her language more combine, attempted to smooth out her features somewhat and considered the question. “If you're going to be um… engineering things? It might be useful if Wheel has a friendly face traveling along side him as it were?” And someone there in case you go all monarch-in-shadow and forget when to stop, Axle kept the thought to herself, but a nervous look crossed her face.

“It would be potentially beneficial, yes,” Heloise caught the nervous look, jumped to the wrong conclusion from a standing start, and continued hastily, “but please don’t feel you have to! After how eventful things got last time, I certainly don’t want to push you into anything if you’re not… ready...” her voice trailed off, remembering their audience. “Or if you think it might lead to...” her fingers found the protruding corner of the folded envelope in her pocket. “...complications.”

Axle gave Wheel a tight smile, and explained, “I've had this procedure done on me, to help with my incidents, and it is a bit experimental, but,” she turned and gave Heloise a smile, “I trust our Comrade here, and so should you, and I'm sure we won't run into any problems.”

“Oh, this should be considerably more straightforward than that was,” Heloise said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t think it was safe.” Unstoppering the bottle, she measured out a couple of drops into each teacup, before carefully resealing it and setting it down. Looking over at Wheel, who was skeptically poking the gemmed necklace, she gave her best attempt at an encouraging smile. “Any questions before we begin?”

“Nah, If Axle’s confident, I’m confident,” Wheel said, as he fastened the necklace on, “How do I look?” He said, bravely attempting to lighten the mood.

“Suits you,” Axle laughed, as she took her tea and downed it, “Bottoms up!”

Heloise smiled despite herself, draining her own tea in silence as she focussed her mind to the work ahead. “Right, then,” she said at last, setting the cup down and holding out her hands to the others. “Shall we?” Axle reached out, giving Heloise's hand a gentle, encouraging squeeze, and smiling.

“Yes”

Heloise closed her eyes, and let the magic take hold. For a moment, it felt like wind was whipping through her hair; the sense of maybe-falling-maybe-flying as they travelled inward.

Opening her eyes, she glanced around to take in the scene, not letting go of the others’ hands just yet. The table between them had been replaced with a column of flickering red light - not quite fire, she’d been working on making her power manifest in less intimidating metaphors since Axle proposed this idea - that looked to contain something like the ghost of a rope-ladder; exit clearly marked, then, one thing working to plan. Other than that, they seemed to be sitting more or less where they had been, in the same leather chairs, the same cozy little office.

Well. Almost.

The floor hadn’t been tilting away from them at a perilous angle in the real world, after all; almost as if it were trying to tip them towards the doorway. Which, in the real world, had not been a gaping wound in the wall, or had a mirror positioned on the other side of the hallway, spilling trails of stray polished glass across the wall like creepers reaching out to strangle the architecture.

That would be where memories lived, then. And one memory in particular, reaching out to try and drag the poor lad into it.

Wheel had gone pale, his eyes darting around nervously, taking in the strange changes in his environment. Axle could feel his hands going clammy.

“Volunteer Wheel, please recite section 3A of Manual 17B.”

Wheel looked confused, but almost on Autopilot, went into a dry, wrote-learnt monologue, “When you find yourself in unfamiliar territory, start with a Basic Assessment of Risk, Note your Entrances and Exits, and most importantly, make sure you know the name of Every Comrade you have by your side, for they are your greatest asset.” He took a deep breath, and Axle smiled.

“Feel a little better?”

“Yes, thank you Comrade. Um…” He looked at Heloise, “What happens now?”

“Right.” Releasing her grip on the other’s hands, Heloise rose from her chair and walked over to take a look at the wall, walking perpendicular to the angled floor with no apparent discomfort; it wasn’t her the obvious trap was meant for, after all. “Where we are now is the surface of your mind; current surroundings, short term memory, that sort of thing. This section out here is sort of a… records hall; as you can see, there’d normally be a bit more of a partition in between, but that’s gotten a bit damaged. So the first job is to fix that up.”

Returning to the others, she nodded to herself absently and moved to stand behind Wheel, hands on his shoulders. “What I need you to do is visualise that wall as it should be; whole and intact, with a door between here and there. Any kind of wall, any kind of door, whatever feels right to you; it’s your mind after all.” A brief hesitation, and she added. “Though I’d suggest making it a door you can lock.”

“And - that will work?” His voice was wary, caught between doubt and hope.

“Maybe not without a little help. But that’s why we’re here. I’m going to run just a little bit of my power through you, help you to make the image into something solid.” She squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.

Axle looked at Heloise in admiration and satisfaction, before turning quickly to Wheel, “What about something like the main doors of the Centre of Operations? They’re pretty sturdy?”

Wheel nodded and closed his eyes, frowning in concentration.

“Good, good...” Heloise watched in approval as the shimmering image of an intact wall and imposing pair of doors slowly flickered into translucent existence over the existing damaged wall. “That’s exactly what we need, just hold that there...”

One hand maintaining contact with Wheel, she raised the other palm-first towards the newly-imagined wall and fed a little power into it, faint streams of red light flowing across the room from her outstretched hand and weaving through it, the image growing ever more solid.

“If this one had been born Valtarian, he’d have made a decent mage,” Vermilion muttered regretfully, the words sounding as a stage whisper from behind Heloise’s left ear as their images in the mindscape briefly flickered out of sync.

Axle frowning slightly at the flickering image, retorted almost automatically. “And you'll make a decent medical engineer one of these days. Hey Wheel, open your eyes Comrade, I think you'll be pleased!”

Releasing Wheel gently, Heloise moved back a fraction, letting him stand on his own as he opened his eyes to admire his new interior décor. The moment where he accepted it was real was clear; not only from the stunned, barely-breathed murmur of “...I did that?”, but from the way the floor began, ever so slowly, to tilt back towards a more normal alignment, accompanied by a faint hiss of equalising pressure. She wasn’t sure he’d even noticed he was doing that; not that it was anything conscious, of course, simply a reflection that he was back in control of his own mind.

“Well,” she said lightly, trying not to look too proud, “I think we can call that a successful first step.”

“First-?” Wheel glanced at her nervously.

She nodded calmly. “The next steps are on the other side of that door. We don’t have to do it today; what we’ve done so far should be enough in itself to keep that memory from intruding on your mind so much. But,” she forced herself to pause briefly, keep her tone light, not turn the question into the challenge Vermilion was so clearly itching to make it, “if you think you’re up to taking this a little further?”

Wheel nodded, setting his shoulders slightly, looking at his new creation with nervous determination. “Might as well get it over with.”

“That's the spirit!” Axle said enthusiastically, and then looked at Heloise, hoping for some kind of instruction.

“Then if you’d open the door for us, Wheel?” Heloise smiled warmly at the young man as he moved towards it, reluctance barely showing. “Axle – it’s probably best if you and I go ahead, that memory’s going to need some putting in its place and it already has his scent.”

The door swung open. She glared at the mirror across the hall; stuck her head cautiously through the doorway and glanced around, checking where its gleaming tendrils had spread to after spilling from the frame.

“Alright.” A deep breath, held for an instant and let out slowly. “You-” she stooped to grasp one of the stray mirror-limbs -

Plaster dust in the air and her ears ringing, shock of the blast driving her to her knees -

This is not my memory. With the ease of someone who’d spent entirely too much time as a passenger in someone else’s head, she disengaged, only slightly out of breath, hands shaking just a little.

“-get back where you belong!” she finished, hauling herself back to her feet holding mirror-glass like tangled cloth and tossing it angrily towards the frame.

Axle, who had followed her, gently grabbed the hand that wasn't busy hurling glass. “You're doing really well! You're a natural at this helping people lark” she whispered. “Now which way do we go and how will Wheel know when to follow us?”

“Go?” Heloise sounded surprised. “The problem’s right there.” She jerked a thumb at the offending mirror. “Intrusive memories always make themselves easy to find; like to trip you up when you go looking for anything else.” She frowned at it. “Just look at this thing. Sprawling all over the place. What we need to do, basically, is a little housekeeping. Clear it back enough that Wheel there can get to his other memories without this one dragging him in. That’s stage two.” She squeezed Axle’s hand briefly and released it, kneeling to gather up the next tendril. “Which is all us, because it’s a bad idea for him to touch these.”

The click of the gun’s hammer being drawn back; cool metal trembling against her temple-

Still not my memory.

She straightened again, tossed another handful of improbably crumpled glass back into the mirror, watched it reabsorbed in a pool of ripples. “Just like old days,” she muttered absently.

“Fair enough,” Axle shrugged, and went to grab at one of the offending memory shards.

A stranger stared her down, fierce, unrelenting, gun to her head and her heart pumping, and in the back of her head, someone was laughing mocking her fear, delighting in it.

“Really Axle, you thought you could do something as delicate as arranging someone’s memory? It’s not like you’re as smart as Valve or Vermillion, this is pathetic.” Leverage’s voice needled at the back of Axle’s mind, and she came to, hurling the tendril a little harder than necessary into the mirror, teeth clenched, face pale.

“Are you alright?” Heloise paused with the next crumpled tendril in her hands, shooting Axle a worried look. “I… forget sometimes, how this can take people who’re not used to it. And this one’s-” she shot an annoyed glance at the mirror. “Well, it’s a pretty potent memory, I can see why it was causing him problems.”

“I'm fine,” Axle gave a pained smile, “Just a little background interference that's all.” she gestured to the memory, “It might be easier on me if we um… hold hands? To be grounded, you know?”

“Any time.” Heloise absently tossed her tendril back into the mirror and held out her hand to Axle, smiling warmly.

With the added security of Heloise’s grasp, Axle was able to focus much easier on untangling the memories, and ignoring the unhelpful interjections of Leverage, who continued to make snide remarks as to her ability to be of any use. Very soon, the mirror was very nearly looking whole again.

“Alright, I think that’s as good as we’re getting for the moment.” Heloise glanced around and nodded in satisfaction. “Wheel? If you wouldn’t mind joining us?” She gave him an encouraging smile as he stepped tentatively through the doorway. “Now, just steer clear of this one for the moment, we’ll get to that later… just take a quick walk down the corridor, find a mirror you like the look of, and take a look inside. Just need to doublecheck you can get to the rest of your memories without this one getting underfoot.” She patted him on the shoulder in a vaguely reassuring manner as he edged past them, keeping his distance from the mirror they’d been dealing with; then turned to Axle and lowered her voice.

“And you and I should keep an eye on this thing, make sure it isn’t… well, capable of moving to grab the lad. I’ve not actually seen that happen where it wasn’t a trap that’d been deliberately built in to someone’s head, but better safe than sorry…”

Axle silently added that particularly horrifying image to the long list of reasons to kill the Monarch who made Vermillion, if he ever came through the breach, and nodded seriously. “Tactical Advance it is then Comrade.”

They moved along what seemed to be a cross between the mirror/desert of Vermillion’s mindscape, and a hall of records, Axle carefully monitoring the area they had left behind, until Wheel stopped at another Mirror. “Um… this one?” he asked.

“Seems as good as any,” Heloise shrugged, eyes quickly scanning the frame to ensure there were no unexpected connections. “Go ahead – touch it. Hells, if it’s a good one, you might want to step on through, enjoy yourself awhile...”

Cautiously, Wheel extended a finger and poked the glass, hastily drawing his hand back on finding it somewhat less solid than might have been expected. The mirror rippled, briefly throwing up the image of a smiling face.

“Spark, I presume?” Heloise asked lightly, noting the slight flush beginning to colour his cheeks. “Handsome lad… oh, go ahead, Wheel, you look like you could do with some happy memories. We’re not going to spread gossip, if that’s what you’re worried about...” She clapped him on the shoulder absently; he blushed furiously, ducked his head away. And then, after a deep breath, slid smoothly into the mirror, smiling shyly.

“Ah, young love...” Her voice, staring after him briefly, was wistful.

“Don’t let him hear you call it that,” Axle said, joining her side with a wry smile. “He’d do a lot of stuttering and use the word companionship, a lot, I expect.”

Heloise snorted at the mental image, and tried to stifle a fit of the giggles in case Wheel re-emerged partway through. Her image blurred again; that odd double-image, one crowned and one not…

“Ah yes; love being ideologically unsound.” Vermilion sounded sad. “Of all the reasons not to join the Combine – and believe me, there are many – I think perhaps that might be the crown jewel. I can’t imagine trying to live without falling in love with anyone. I don’t want to.”

“Not that it seems to work,” Heloise added. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be those entertaining ‘Tales of Romance’ collections floating around the Nexus.”

“It's not… we're allowed to fall in love, we're free after all. But…. We believe everyone is equal. So you can love someone, but it's considered a bit weird, and if you'd put them above your Comrades…. It's not really right. Like….. I love Switch, but if I had to choose between her and the Combine, I would. We don't do the kind of…. All or nothing love. That's just… madness, it just leads to loneliness, cause if that person goes, you've lost your friends along the way, and end up alone, surely?”

“How did the poet put it… ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more’?” The flickering double-image stilled into one; Heloise sighed softly. “There are things even Monarchs will count above the pull of the heart, upon occasion. And I suppose having friends must change the equation somewhat. As for the rest… well, you are not wrong. It is a madness, of a kind, glorious and terrible. And it can lead to utter agony, and... the most profound loneliness.” A single tear rolled down her cheek, unnoticed, as she remembered.

“and yet, and yet. The joy that throwing oneself headlong into the whirlwind that is love can bring… that, too, is without parallel. And if we play it safe forever – if we choose never to risk the lowest of lows, nor seek the highest of highs… then we are choosing not to live life to its fullest. To cut ourselves off from experiencing everything that our existence has to offer. Why would we ever choose to be less than we can be?”

Axle slipped her hand back through Heloise’s, and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry you’re lonely. I’m sure you’ll say that it was worth it, but I hope I can convince you one day that you don’t have to be…” She trailed off… prefering to look at Wheel’s mirror, than at Vermillion.

Another blurring of the image; out of the corner of her eye, she could see Vermilion’s crowned head looking at her, smiling sadly, as Heloise turned to gaze outwards in the same direction. The silence stretched out for a long moment; the answering hand-squeeze came at last with a sudden desperate intensity, and held long enough for Axle to feel the slight trembling of her companion’s fingers, before she abruptly pulled away.

“I think he’s coming out,” Heloise said, voice carefully neutral, tearstreaks fading rapidly from her face.

“Vermi-” Axle stopped, as Wheel came almost bounding out of the mirror, looking flushed, whatever she was about to say fading on her lips as she dropped Vermillion’s hand. “Wheel!” Her voice was far to bright. “Good memory?”

“Uh-yes, Comrade.” Wheel flushed scarlet, though he couldn’t seem to stop grinning. “Very yes.”

“Excellent.” Heloise grinned at him; either she’d rebounded into something approaching good humour, or, perhaps more probably, she was faking it excellently. “You certainly seem- ah, fortified.” Barely pausing as Wheel somehow managed to blush a deeper shade of red, she ran an appraising glance over him. “We might actually be able to move to Stage Three today.”

“Ah- Stage Three?” He shot her a wary look, bright mood fading ever so slightly.

She nodded absently. “Third and final; always the hardest part, but I reckon you’ve the heart for it…” For a moment she flickered again; the ghost of a crown hovered over her forehead, the smile directed at Wheel was frankly challenging.

“You’ll be fine Wheel, and we have, err… Safety Procedures in place in case of Emergency, right Comrade?” Axle turned to Heloise, hoping she did in fact have something ready.

The heartbeat’s pause and flickering double-blink before the cheery “Of course!” were, perhaps, less than reassuring; fortunately Wheel seemed to have missed the signs, or he’d likely have been even more nervous than he already seemed as Heloise gestured for them to go back the way they’d come in.

As Wheel led the way back down the corridor, Axle gently pulled Heloise back slightly, “You do have stuff in place in case this somehow goes wrong, right?”

For a moment, with her bottom lip stuck out in a definite pout, Heloise looked every inch the child she’d been when they first met. “It’s not going to-”

Flicker.

“Might need your help with that.” Vermilion said thoughtfully. “I think I can see the shape of what we need to do, but-”

Flicker.

“But nothing is going to go wrong.” Heloise crossed her arms stubbornly. “He’s a brave lad, look at him, he’ll be fine, and we’re-”

Flicker.

“We’re here to help, and even heroes sometimes need to pick themselves up after failing a challenge and start again.” Vermilion sounded exasperated, glaring at the shimmering image flickering in and out of existence superimposed on her own.

Flicker.

“How is it even a challenge if-”

Flicker.

“You might as well ask why the allegedly bottomless pit in our dungeons lands in deep water.” Vermilion muttered, rubbing at her temple. “It’s not going to make it easier, just more survivable. Failure always has consequences, but it’s what happens after that matters, right?”

Flicker.

Silence.

Flicker.

“Right.” Vermilion took a deep breath. “So, what I’m thinking we need to Shape is – damnit, I don’t know what it’s called – you know those things your people use when they’re, um, fixing the outside of airships? Where you sort of sit in a harness and dangle off a wheel stuck on the side, and there’s a thing you can pull to go up or down in a hurry if someone points a wyvern at y-”

Flicker.

Facepalm.

Axle was staring at Heloise in total confusion, “I thought you were both sort of…. Never mind. A safety harness isn't a bad Idea but I was actually more thinking about what happens if you… um… Vermillion? Get carried away….” Axle’s mind wandered back to the building site, the last time her friend had lost herself in being the villain, and she shuddered.

From the utterly blank look Heloise gave Axle, it seemed fairly evident that this was a question that had simply never occurred to her.

Flicker.

Vermilion’s face showed hurt and shock in the instant it was visible before-

Flicker.

- Heloise smiled brightly and said “Well, then you’d stop us, wouldn’t you? All the more reason for you to Shape the harness, that way he’s not depending on us for a way out; and once he’s not in here with us there are limits to what we can do without crossing lines that we just won’t cross-”

Flicker.

“Even evil has standards.” Vermilion muttered, voice subdued, looking away.

Flicker.

“Seriously though,” Heloise added, sounding a little more thoughtful. “The best advice I can give you – if you reckon one of us has… gone too far, try summoning the other one. Or the green bitch, if you must. Hells, even Ember might be... real enough... to come when called, especially here. Though she’d probably be a bit confused, seeing as how she hived off from Vermilion before she knew about me...” her voice trailed off, lost in thought.

“Vermillion I… I don't think you will go too far” Axle sensed she had said the wrong thing, regretting it instantly. “I just… I want to know everyone is going to be safe, including you.” She paused, and then added, as an afterthought, “And I have no intention of inviting the green one to show her face. I trust you and Heloise far, far more than I trust her.”

Flickerflickerflicker.

Beneath the crown, Vermilion’s face was wary, almost fragile; one hand stretched out, reaching for Axle’s, falling back before they touched, flinching away from an expected rejection.

Axle shook her head, exasperated. And took Vermillion's shoulders firmly in her hands, looking intensely into her eyes. “Vermillion. I have no doubt that you can do this. You're my comrade, and I believe in you. But that also means I want to have your back if things go wrong, and I want you to know that I have your back. Ok?”

“…okay.” It came out as a whisper. “We, uh… maybe we should talk later?”

Flicker.

“We shouldn’t keep the lad waiting, after all.” Back in control, and apparently eager to get back on track, Heloise strode cheerily along the corridor to where Wheel stood waiting, glaring gloomily at the problem mirror and possibly practicing selective deafness.

He looked up at her approach. “You want me to go in there. Don’t you.” It wasn’t exactly a question; there was a certain inevitability to it. To his credit, the expression on his face wasn’t exactly fear, either, or not entirely; more a sort of weary resignation. He looked back at the mirror, set his jaw with his best attempt at grim determination, and shifted his weight, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Not without safety precautions,” Heloise said hastily – no sense him leaping in there unprepared, after all. “Not alone.”

Watching him as he relaxed ever so slightly, she propped herself against the wall beside the mirror.

“Look – it doesn’t have to be today. It doesn’t have to be… well, like this. But the memory’s a part of you now; we can’t-” Well, no, that wasn’t entirely accurate. “We’re not going to take it away. Sooner or later…” she shrugged. “Everyone has to face their own demons. We can help, to an extent, but it’s a battle everyone has to fight for themselves.”

She gestured to the mirror, still eagerly, hungrily shimmering. “It’s in your head, which means it only has the power you give it. But it’s a memory of fear, and so fear strengthens it. The longer you flinch away from it, the more you lend it teeth. Better to face it on your own terms; controlled circumstances…” she glanced over to Axle, “allies at your back.”

“And… that will… fix things?”

She sighed, and gave him her best effort at a sympathetic look. “It isn’t that simple. Nothing in the mind ever is – nothing ethical, anyway-” a brief flicker as she refocussed away from that. “But once you’ve faced it and borne it once, stared the whirlwind in the teeth – once you know and it knows that you can – you’ll have broken the back of the thing.”

Axle walked up and clapped him on the back encouragingly, interrupting his nervous nod. “You know about Leverage right? I know you do cause I’m pretty sure she’s been making unhelpful announcements on occasion via my radio.” Wheel looked shocked, but nodded, surprised to hear Axle talking about the mysterious industrioclast. “When… Heloise did this procedure with me, it didn’t get rid of her, but it has made it easier for me to stop her from surfacing.” For now. Leverage’s voice sneered in Axle’s ear, and she resolutely ignored it. Wheel nodded again.

“That makes sense,” he said “It’s like… welding up a crack. Doesn’t make the crack disappear but it means the machine can work again. So… what are the safety precautions?”

Axle stuck her tongue in her cheek as she focused on shaping, horribly aware of Wheel’s stare. Shaping in front of petitioners was something she liked to avoid, but it couldn’t be helped. Very soon there was a sturdy looking metal pole protruding from the ground outside the mirror, and attached to that, a sturdy looking safety harness. “Ok,” she said, “Put that on. I doubt you’ll be able to see it in the mirror, but you’ll know it’s there, and if things get totally unbearable, or, if I give you a direct order to pull on it, pull that cord there, and it will extract you out. Understand?” Wheel nodded, and began to pull the harness on.

Heloise glanced over to Axle. “I think you and I should be able to… self-extricate if needed?” She shrugged. “And mooring extra people into someone’s head is… well, let’s just not.”

She frowned into the mirror, running one finger delicately over it, hovering just above the surface. “Everyone ready?”

“Comrade?” Axle presented her hand to Wheel, and he grabbed it, grinning to mask fear. “After three?” Axle and wheel both steadied themselves. “One… Two….” They ran forward together, and disappeared into the Mirror.

When Axle opened her eyes, she found herself standing next to Wheel, at a factory workbench, a pile of fabric halfway through preparation in front of her. When wheel turned to look at her, he gave a little start. “Comrade Axle, your um… see through. Is that meant to happen?” She looked down at her arm, surprised to find that she could see the floor through her weirdly translucent skin.

“Huh. Well, it's your memory, not mine, so… makes sense I'm not really here, doesn't it. Ooo one second, I want to try something.” She ran over to the figure at the bench next to Wheel, who was seemingly unaware of her presence, and stood behind him. With a look of concentration, she took a step forward, into the volunteers body. It felt warm, like putting on a winter coat. She raised a hand. So did he. She turned him around to face Wheel, and did a comedic sort of jig, causing Wheel to let out a nervous giggle, before extracting herself and rejoining him at his station. “Sorry, just wanted to see what would happen,” she whispered. “Now I suggest you just do… what you would normally do, until, you know, it happens, and remember. I'm just here if you need me.”

Heloise lingered outside the mirror a moment longer, watching the harness-chain play out; satisfied all was working, she nodded absently to herself and followed the others in.

“So, this is what everyday life is like in the Combine? For people who aren’t soldiers?” She perched on the worktop, absently fingering the piles of fabric, entirely unconcerned at the translucency of her fingers. It all seemed so terribly… drab. Repetitive mechanical noises, repetitive actions, by the looks of it repetitive pieces of clothing. How terribly boring.

Still, though. She’d been promised explosions. She could wait.

Idly swinging her legs back and forth under the workbench, she glanced around, trying to figure out where the Industrioclasts were likely to come from, and what under the heavens made this place worth targeting at all.

Then there was a noise, disjointed from the cheerful chatter and the humming of machines. A screaming noise, like metal scraping on metal, something bending and buckling. And then there was the explosion. A deafening boom went off as rubble from the wall behind wheel burst into the room, sending a number of Volunteers flying. Axle had to resist running over to their prone bodies, reminding herself that they weren't real, none of this was real.

Plaster dust in the air; ringing in her ears… even as audience, the echo of Wheel’s emotions hit hard. Heloise could feel her own heart beating faster, syncing up to the hammering of his. Glancing over, she saw him on his knees, struggling to rise, shaking his head to clear it. And then, almost unheard beneath the ringing in his ears and pounding of his heart that threatened to overwhelm all other sounds, beneath the sirens beginning to wail and the thud and crash of settling rubble… the faintest of sounds; a slight, metallic clink.

Her eyes darted to the sound; a grappling hook, biting into the breach in the wall. Joined by a second, a third, the sound of hurried climbing…

“Ah. Here they come, then.”

A small group of heavily armed industrioclasts hauled themselves through the gap in the wall, guns pointing in all directions as they assessed the situation. Heloise noticed quickly, that seven or eight of the factory workers had suddenly also produced weapons, and were turning them on their friends.

“Everyone get on the floor! Do as we say, maybe we won't kill you!” The evident leader of this particular band kicked at a piece of debris as she shouted her demands. And those volunteers still left conscious did as they were told. One of the intruding force, a grizzled looking industrioclast with a heavy scar above their eye, caught Wheels eye, and began to move towards him. Wheel's heartbeat was racing fit to burst now.

“Stay Calm,” Axle whispered. “You've got this.”

“Interesting.” Vermilion’s tone – definitely Vermilion, crown back in place – was dry, abstract. “Not putting guns to everyone’s heads, are they? So why you? What was it about you, my lad, that earned you the special treatment?”

The grizzled industrioclast moved closer, boots crunching impossibly loud through the debris, the whole scene dreamlike-slow. She circled round, following their movements. Followed their eyes… to Wheel’s eyes… to the glint of a pair of scissors, half buried in a heap of fallen fabric.

Her muscles twinged in echo of Wheel’s, his body tensing on instinct, ready to move.

“Oh, you brave, foolish boy...” she murmured, with a note of fond amusement; crouching in his eyeline, fingers drumming on the metal of the scissor-blades absently, as her eyes flicked between him and the approaching Industrioclast. “Did you even realise what you were thinking of, before they stopped you, I wonder? Or was that pure unconscious reflex?”

Wheel, his face a mask of horror, looked from Vermillion to the Industrioclast. “I can't… I can't stop…” His shaking hand was reaching for the scissors, memory stronger than will.

Axle laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don't try to. This is good. Trying to defend yourself and your Comrades is a good thing.”

A voice rang out in Axle’s head. “Encouraging volunteers to become cannon fodder? So much for a new leaf, puppet girl.”

“Oh shut up.” From the confused looks from Vermillion and Wheel, her response to Leverage had not just been inside her head. “Sorry, not either of yo-” she was saved from having to give an explanation by the arrival of the Industrioclast, his gun suddenly cold against wheel's head.

“I'd drop those scissors if I were you boy.”

Wheel froze. The Industrioclast snarled in frustration, and grabbed his wrist, thumb digging sharply into a pressure point; Wheel yelped in pain, scissors falling to the floor with a skittering sound of metal dancing over concrete as the Industrioclast kicked them away.

His heartbeat was pounding; the loudest sound in the memory. Head tilted curiously, Vermilion watched him struggling not to hyperventilate, gun to his head and aggressor looming over him…

Flicker.

“Well, this won’t do at all.” Heloise frowned absently. At this rate they were going to have to abort before the lad worked himself up enough for his body to pass out while they were wandering around in his mind. “Let’s see if we can’t take the edge off…”

Moving forwards, she circled round the Industrioclast, set her hands on their shoulders, and slid inside their remembered form. Blinking a few times to adjust to their vision – wearing a body which didn’t use spectacles was always a little disconcerting, although at least this one had physical and non-decomposing eyes, and was therefore a step up from possessing undead – she glanced around briefly, and then very deliberately moved the gun an inch sideways, pointing just past Wheel’s head towards the floor.

“There. Better?”

A shaky nod. Her borrowed form smiled thin-lipped.

“Now, stay down – we’re going to need to stay close to the original memory, or we’re liable to lose it – but look around. People always remember more details than they think they remember. Focus on the parts less obvious…”

Her host-simulacrum glanced over towards their fellows; with no reason not to, she let them.

“Watch them; how they move, what they do…” A couple of them lingering, like her one, back towards the entrance hole they’d made; most following their leader in her determined march across the floor. One gun fired – the leader’s – towards the ceiling; a half-dozen others thrust this way and that, accompanied by snarled, harsh words, curt phrases. No rhetoric here, no attempt to convert; just ‘stay down’ and ‘get out of the way’.

“Look at their faces…”

Tension lines, eyes darting back and forth. Brisk nods passing between them; constant glances from one to another. As the main group passed out of sight, her vessel glanced down at their wrist, where a wristwatch flashed ever so slightly out of focus. She felt their brow furrow into a frown.

Wheel stared up at her – at them; stared around the room, doing his level best to follow her directions. And then looked up at her again, and said, in a tone of total disbelief, “They’re scared too?”

“Of course they are.” Axle’s hand was on Wheel’s shoulder, steadying him gently. “They’re going up against the might of the Combine, who wouldn’t be? And what does the combine always have, that the industrioclasts don’t?”

Wheel bit his lip, struggling to think, and then said, quite simply, “Comrades.”

“So,” Axle said, gesturing at the other, frightened figures on the floor “Look to yours.”

Heloise glanced around as he did, taking in the scene. Here, two figures clinging to each other’s hands like a lifeline. There, a young woman pressing a half-made garment to the bleeding wound on an unconscious figure’s forehead, glaring daggers at the nearest Industrioclast all the while; he couldn’t, or at least wouldn’t, meet her gaze. There, three figures huddled together, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, one of them muttering what sounded like extracts from an operations manual in the same tone others might have whispered prayers…

She glanced back to Axle, shrugging, her host-simulacrum’s forehead furrowing with her own confusion as she waited to hear what the point was.

But Wheel was nodding, he had seen the same thing Axle had, a figure to his left, apparently lying prone, but whose eyes were trained on his, giving him the tiniest of nods. The scissors the industrioclast had kicked were centimeters from her hand, and whilst Vermillion’s host was looking around in confusion, the woman shifted ever so slightly, and took the scissors in her hands, giving Wheel a conspiratorial wink.

“Did she just-” the darkly amused tone and following chuckle suggested it was Vermilion rather than Heloise who had caught up to what was happening. “Oh, she did, didn’t she?”

A slight, thoughtful pause. “I think it may be time I got out of this… individual… and let the memory get back on track. Apart from anything else, if they’re about to get stabbed – well, I won’t deny it’d be interesting to see how that feels from in here, but if I don’t match their reactions there’s a fair chance we’d get dropped out of the memory…”

Voice trailing off, she let her host’s hand trail back towards something closer to its original position, absent-mindedly caressing Wheel’s face with the barrel of the gun. “Ready to reset?”

Barely waiting for the nervous gulp and slightly-too-hasty nod, she stepped backwards, sighing in relief as the sense of being embodied in another form left her. Wheel’s heartbeat – still the predominant soundtrack of the scene – quickened; though not racing as badly as it had been when Heloise stepped in. Idly, she wondered if that was the sound of his heart now, or his heart then; or if there was even a difference, with him riding the memory like this. But his face seemed less a mask of panic than it had been; it would have to do.

As the gun moved back into position, Axle gave Wheel’s shoulder a squeeze. “You can get through this. Even if you got hurt now, your actions helped a Comrade to defend themself. Keep that in the forefront of your mind. You’re making the Combine proud.” Wheel’s jaw set, as he stared up at the industrioclast, a steely glint in his eye, amongst the nerves. There were a few, drawn out moments, and then the crackle of a loudspeaker from outside the building, and a voice familiar to both Vermillion and Axle rang out, as loud as she were next to them.

“Industrioclast scum!” Oil’s voice was curt, and calm. “We have the building surrounded. We suggest you surrender, and come quietly, before the Shapers arrive.”

The leader of the rebels grabbed her own loudspeaker, and responded. “We have hostages. Let us walk free and we won’t kill them.” One of the industrioclasts looked down at a watch, and back up at his leader, putting up 2 fingers silently.

Axle swore automatically. “It’s a fucking distraction. The bastards.”

“Oil!” Vermilion was suddenly grinning. “Oh, isn’t she magnif- wait, a distraction from what? And – ‘before the Shapers arrive’? Are you about to be here twice, because that could get confusing?”

Axle rolled her eyes, “See the chap there, looking at his watch? He’s timing something. There’s something else happening, somewhere else, but the eyes of the LibCorp and the Centre of Operations are all here instead. It’s a clever tactic, if you’re happy with causing unnecessary fatality.” Axle sounded briefly bitter, before remembering what they were doing, and pausing. “But what that means, Wheel, is that it’s only two minutes before they no longer need to be here, and you’ve already gotten through about two so far, so you can do this. Easy.”

“It’s – it’s only been two minutes?” Wheel’s eyes widened in shock, and he shot a worried glance up at his captor, checking that they weren’t reacting to him speaking now they were no longer being puppetted.

Flicker.

“A lot can happen in two minutes. And time runs oddly in memories, sometimes.” Heloise smiled at him gently. “Just ride it out...”

Her voice trailed off. “What are those two doing?” A couple of the Industrioclasts in the leader’s group had stowed their guns away, and were starting to move storage units. “If they’re trying to build a barricade, there’s got to be something closer to the door.”

“That’s… not what they’re doing.” Wheel’s voice only shook slightly. “You’ll see.”

Another round of worried glances and watch-checking ran through the Industrioclasts; one of them slipped over to stand by a window near the door, holding up a mirror to see outside without exposing themselves, then scurried back to whisper urgently to the leader. She, in turn, rolled her eyes, sighed, and picked up her loudspeaker again.

“Pull your troops back. Now. Clear our path. If I have to ask again, we’ll be writing the request on a corpse and throwing it at you; we have plenty of spares...”

The Industrioclast looming over Wheel grunted in agreement, gun-muzzle pressing deeper into Wheel’s skin. Wheel's heart raced but he didn't flinch. The Industrioclasts moving the storage units had nearly finished, revealing a roughly hewn hole in the factory wall.

Another round of watch-checking and anxious looks; and then at a nod from the leader, the Industrioclasts began pulling out and strapping on a mismatched assortment of breathing masks and respirators. The leader was the last one left unmasked; glancing around at the others, she nodded decisively. “Everyone ready to move? Good. Smoke on my mark; out the hole as well, let them think we’re going that way. Now, let’s give them something to think about-”

She raised the loudspeaker again. “I can still see your troops, Combine! Do you not care about your so-called comrades in here? Thirty seconds. Pull back. Last warning.” She lowered the loudspeaker, shot her fellows a cocky grin. “Confusion to our enemies. Mark.” And with that, she strode towards the hole behind the storage units, pulling her mask on as she went, as the others set off smoke grenades across the factory and scrambled to follow.

Amidst the swirling haze of smoke, Wheel choked and curled into a ball, frantically grabbing for some of the fabric strewn across the floor and clasping it to his face. The smoke thickened, obscuring vision, even despite the draft from the hole in the wall. Somewhere in the haze and the confusion, someone yelped in pain. A confusion of voices, distant sounds of violence – the door being broken down, perhaps? Running feet.

The world seemed to dissolve, everything blurring into smoke and haze and echoing, indistinct sounds. Amidst the chaos of the memory, it took Heloise a moment longer than it should have to recognize the signs of the memory’s drawing to a close; to recognise the time had come to leave.

For a moment, through the swirling smoke, she glimpsed the factory intact, wall undamaged; of course, a memory like this would bloody well loop if you let it.

“Axle!” She couldn’t see the others through the smoke any more; but Axle had been closer to Wheel than she had, close enough to touch. “Grab the lad, it’s time to go!”

And with that, she closed her eyes against the memory, reached out blindly for what she knew had to be there, regardless of what her senses told her, here in the liminal moment where the memory ended and began again-

-and grasped the mirror frame, pivoting herself around that point of certainty and back out into the mindscape proper. Holding her grasp, almost out of the mirror, she thrust her other arm back blindly into the mirror, into the memory, and opened her palm, summoning witchfire to her hand; a beacon of crimson flame she hoped would be clear enough even through the smoke to lead the others out.

On hearing Vermillion’s command, Axle had grabbed at the choking volunteer, trying not to think of the last time she had been in a memory filled with smoke, trying not to see the school house, to smell the burning bodies. “Pull the cord Wheel! Pull it now!” As the beacon of flame came down to light their way, he pulled on the cord, and, in a move that would surely one day help his advancement to LibCorp, grabbed Axle around the waist and pulled her up alongside him. They came tumbling out of the memory together, both gasping for breath as they fell onto the ground outside the mirror.

Hearing the rattle of the harness retracting, Vermilion seized control from Heloise in time to toss herself hastily out of the way as the others came hurtling past at pace; dismissing her witch-fire, she picked herself up and dusted herself off with a distinct, cat-like air of I-meant-to-do-that.

“Well,” she said, conversationally, “that worked.” Patting the harness-pole approvingly, she added. “Might want to leave that in place. Nasty piece of work, that memory; tried to loop on us, did you see that?” Her tone was almost admiring. Turning to frown at the mirror, she paused, noticing a new tendril trying to sneak its way clear of the frame. “Oh, you are an annoying one, aren’t you?” Grabbing it and shoving it back into the mirror, she waved a finger at it before rapping her knuckles smartly on the frame. “We’ll have no more of that nonsense, do you hear me?”

Dusting her hands off as she turned back to the others, she managed an almost-natural smile at Wheel. “I think we may be about done in here? There’s some meditation exercises I can write up for later, to help you use this…” she waved a hand vaguely at the mindscape, “this structure, to reinforce what we’ve been doing.” A slight wince, a flicker, and Heloise glanced at Axle. “Though we’ll probably need to run that sort of thing past your hegemonic engineer? Make sure it isn’t going to… conflict with anything else...”

Clearly distracted by planning for the future, she began wandering towards the exit. Axle and wheel followed, Axle trying to suppress a grin at Vermillion’s enthusiasm, Wheel looking slightly dazed, but happy.

“The way that volunteer caught the scissors, that was so… I can’t believe I never noticed it before…” He continued on in this manner until they reached the exit, following Vermillion up the strange rope ladder until suddenly they were back in their chairs like nothing had happened.

Wheel looked over at Vermillion, smiling as he readjusted to the room. “Thank you Comrade. I feel… I dunno, lighter? That was… that was a pretty clever procedure. Hey… are you sticking around? I’ve got a friend in pro-corp with a fear of heights, it’s really hindering her productivity I recon she’d really benefit from something like this…”

“...for a little while, at least.” Heloise said, smiling despite herself. “Fear of heights, hmm? That’s an interesting one, but I think I can see some approaches that might work...” Perhaps sharing someone else’s memories, to give Wheel’s friend a glimpse of the true joy of flight?

“You can take the necklace off now, by the way,” she added. “Not that it doesn’t suit you, but...” But she’d be needing it again soon enough; and even with only one crystal half-charged with swirling red energy, it still wasn’t exactly safe, not by mortal standards.

“Oh yeah,” Wheel laughed, “I’d forgotten about that!” He unclasped it, and handed it back to Heloise, still smiling. “So Um…” He turned to Axle, “What’s the procedure now?”

“I’ll write up a report, include any suggestions from our Comrade here, and you’ll discuss it with your hegemonic engineer next week. It would be helpful if you could make note of your mood, and dreams this week as well. You’re… free to go.” She smiled kindly at the Volunteer.

“Thanks,” he turned to Vermillion, “Thanks again Comrade.” He grinned, and made his way out of the little office.

“Well,” said Axle with a contented sigh, “I think that went pretty well!”

“It did, yes. Though I think it also showed that we could do with a little more planning, ideally…” Heloise’s voice drifted off; she gestured at the door, which swung closed, and slipped the necklace around her own neck. “Speaking of which, I should probably try to keep this discharged as we go. I assume we have a little while before our next appointment? And, uh… how good is the soundproofing in here?”

“Oh um… I only booked one appointment in for today I didn’t want to overwhelm you…” Axle looked around, “And um… why would we need soundproofing?”

“Ah. Well, never mind; for this level-” Heloise held the necklace up to the light and squinted at it, “we probably won’t.” She took a deep breath and pushed her chair back slightly from the table, before giving Axle a serious look. “This… shouldn’t take long. Just – don’t try and touch me till it’s over. Please?”

Without waiting for a response, she leant back in the chair, closed her eyes, and triggered the gemstone to discharge.

Crimson lightning erupted from the red-stained gem, dancing over her body for a long instant. Her hands tightened, white-knuckled, on the arms of the chair; her lips drew back in a silent snarl of pain.

A few seconds later, it was over; she let out a ragged breath, slumped slightly in her seat, and forced her eyes open, raising the necklace to the light to inspect it and confirm all the gems were now clear.

“Vermillion!” Axle looked shocked. “What was that? Are you ok?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine.” Heloise even managed a faint smile. “That was pretty mild, actually; we can’t have been in there as long as I thought...”

Blink. Pause. Refocus. ‘Fine’ or not, it was evidently taking her longer than usual to get her thoughts in order.

“So… the necklace.” She took it off and set it on the table. “It’s… a protective talisman. A… shield, of a sort. Having other people inside your head, or even doing that kind of intense mindscape stuff solo – without protection, it’s painful. Very painful.” She shuddered with memory. “Excruciatingly so, even, sometimes. Messes up the ability to concentrate no end. So...” she gestured to the necklace. “Vermilion came up with a solution, back when we started reprogramming ourself away from his handiwork. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing, which meant she didn’t have time to be hurting. Not during.”

She closed her eyes briefly, and sighed. “But we were young, and fumbling, and… you know how sometimes, once you shape a thing one way, even if it isn’t perfect, it’s hard to shape it a different way afterwards?” She flicked her fingers at the necklace. “What it is, effectively… it’s a storage device. It… bleeds off the pain, to be dealt with later. Fills up, gemstone by gemstone – you saw how that one was starting to change colour, then? Like that. And if they all get full, then it stops working. So, sooner or later… the gems need emptying out, to make room for the next time they’re used.”

“Comrade…” Axle sighed, and reached for Vermillion's arm “You… when I went in, it almost filled to the top, didn't it. You should have said something. This is ridiculous. We'll have to shape something else tomorrow morning.” She shook her head.

“It-” Heloise looked surprised briefly; then her facial expression shifted, abruptly; perhaps, to an extent, her face shifted as well. Less laughter lines; more frown-lines. “It did, yes,” Vermilion admitted, worried eyes flickering over Axle’s face, hoping she wasn’t going to react too badly.

“...worth it.” she added, ducking her head away and blushing slightly.

A deep breath, and she looked up, meeting Axle’s eyes squarely. “Look. I can handle this. I really, really can. And the discharge… it isn’t an all-or-nothing deal, I can… pace myself. So if we don’t get anything else worked out in time… we can keep using it till we do. And I’ll handle it.” She sighed, and let herself relax a little. “Still, though, we were saying it could stand to be a little more… Combine appropriate, under the circumstances. And if we can fix it to work better, at the same time…”

“It’s basically just another form of energy, right? All I’ve ever managed to figure out a way of powering with it were weapons, and… well, that runs straight back into ‘even evil has standards’. It’s a particularly unpleasant way of hurting people; and completely unsporting to boot. Lacks class. But maybe there’s a way to make it power something else...” She shrugged. “I’m a little too used to being the power source for my magics, perhaps; theory and praxis of magical fuelling isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Well. I'm not having you hurting yourself it's silly. If it can be weaponized we can just fire it at… china plates or… buildings that need demolishing. Simple. And consider yourself in lots of trouble for not telling me about this before. People shouldn't… sacrifice things for me.”

“Oh, I’m used to it.” Vermilion shrugged lightly. “It’s not a particularly enjoyable form of pain, non-physical stimuli rarely are, but it’s nothing I can’t-” she broke off, frowning at Axle disapprovingly. “And you shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.” Another shrug, a concerned look. “People… sacrifice things for the people they… care about, all the time.” Entire armies, sometimes. “That’s perfectly normal. And it’s only pain. Pain’s not a thing that… matters. Not to me.” A faint ghost of a smile. “Like I said, I’m used to it.”

“Well get un-used to it.” Axle said matter-of-factly, as she put Wheel’s folder back in the draw beneath the table. “And speaking of pain and stuff- should we talk about… the thing with the safety measures? I really didn’t mean to upset you…” Axle bit her lip, nervous to bring the subject up again.

Vermilion flinched, and looked down. There was a long moment of reflection, before she spoke; lips twitching slightly with some internal argument.

“The devil of it is, that’s a thing I ought to be used to. If anyone, anyone else was afraid to have me dealing with their people in case I got… ‘carried away’, and went full villain on them… hell, I’d likely take it as a compliment.” A slight, bitter smile. “And it’s a valid fear; I am still who and what I am. I just…”

“I guess,” she sighed and shook her head, still unable to look back up and meet Axle’s eyes, “I got a little too used to you being the one person willing to trust me.”

Axle gave a soft smile and reached for Vermillion’s hand. “Do you really think I’d let you inside my petitioners heads if I didn’t completely trust you? But you forget, I also know what it’s like to have a mind that’s been… messed with. I know sometimes it’s hard to stay in control, and then by the time you’ve come to your senses it’s…” Axle’s mind wandered unprompted to Valve, to the way things had ended. “... the damage has already been done. I just didn’t want you to suffer that.”

“The thing is, though… we’re not the same, you and I. You have an enemy lurking in your head. Me… I am the worst thing that’s in mine. Heloise and I are working together now, and there’s no one else in here except the people, the… the masks I created.” Vermilion smiled sadly. “If I ‘lose control’ in the way you’re worried about, it won’t be to someone else. It’s all me.”

“Hegemonic engineers talk a lot about trained behaviour.” Axle stroked Vermillions hand gently with her thumb. “For me, trained behaviour is assessing every exit when I walk into a room, it's turning to a comrade when I need advice, it's putting my hand up if I want to speak in a meeting. The things that make me comfortable, and keep me safe. And if you asked me to do something where I needed not to do those things, I'd struggle. Your trained behaviour is putting on the 'monarch in shadow’ act. Taking precautions against falling back into that trap is just common sense. You do… you believe that I trust you, right?” Axle paused, “You're pretty much the only person outside of the combine that I do trust, to be honest.”

“Really?” A blink of surprise. “But...” Vermilion trailed off, deciding she wasn’t going to go there.

“I have a hard time believing anyone trusts me,” she said instead. “But… you, you I believe. And that terrifies me, sometimes.” She shivered, glancing around the room. “The, the way I feel, around you… it’s confusing as all hell, but I like it. And there’s a part of me, a large part of me, that’s utterly, utterly convinced that this can’t be real, can’t last. That sooner or later, you’re going to see me for the monster I am, and hate me for it. And… if I let myself have this, enjoy this, then- then that will break me.”

She drew in on herself, curling up in the chair; a shiver ran through her as her eyes pressed shut against the threatening tears. And then, abruptly, she stilled.

Heloise sighed, readjusting her position, and gave Axle a wry smile. “And so there are a lot of very old instincts telling us that we should push you away, thrust our monstrosity in your face until you run from us; face losing you on our own terms, before it is brought upon us. Which brings us back to what you are afraid of; that urge to lash out with cackling violence and wear the mask which summons hatred...”

She sighed again, steepled her fingers, set the kettle back to boiling with a glance. “The thing is, though… the trained behaviours you speak of, those of the Monarch-in-Shadow… those were the lessons he intended to teach, yes, and we learned them well. But before we were a Monarch, before we were a Shaper, we were a companion. And there are other lessons, that companions learn. The companions of those in the Shadow, particularly so. And everything our old liege taught us thereafter only reinforced them.”

Her eyes went distant, reminiscing. “He hated to be disappointed, you see. And of course, being a Monarch, he was never wrong. So it was more than just an exercise in pleasing him. If he expected defiance, it was best to find something swiftly which one could bridle at, something small enough the punishment would be light, or he would keep pushing until he found something, and then it would be worse. If we were to entertain his guests, then we were to anticipate their demands, their needs, instead of simply behaving as we would for him, and if we failed at that we would be punished also. If we were to… ‘entertain’ his other ‘guests’, why then we should act exactly as they most feared we would and if we failed… you get the gist.”

She sighed. “And then, we became a Monarch, an heir to follow in his footsteps, and he never doubted we would do so. Someone whispered in our ears the possibility of betrayal, and we listened, and he took the knife set to his back as the fulfilment of a long-expected promise, and greeted us gladly when we met him after. It all seemed so… inevitable. Living up to his expectations. As we always had. Even in defiance, even in hatred, because of course he expected those too. That was the first and deepest lesson we learned from him, I think – to be what those around us expected us to be. Whatever we were expected to be.”

A deep breath. “It was simpler on the Homeworld. Monarchs made moves against us in the great game, and we laughed and responded in kind. Mortals cowered before us; we became terrifying. Lovers paid court; enemies laid siege; it was easy to see our role laid out upon the stage and step into the part. It was a single role, a few slight variations; we played it well, took pride in that, found ways to make the part our own. And then. And then, we came here.”

She spread her hands helplessly. “I shouldn’t resent it, the turmoil probably did a lot to bring me to the surface out of where he had me trapped inside her head, but… everything is so confusing here. You must have seen the way she shifts, day to day and hour to hour, depending on the company she’s keeping. There are too many different expectations on us to live up to all of them at once, but we can’t help trying; so here we are, trying to steer a course through a storm of different winds. Trying to figure out who we are, what we want, by figuring out whose expectations of us we’re happiest living up to...”

Axle’s hand tightened on Vermillion’s, her eyes blinking back tears. “I know a thing or two about not… having a path to follow anymore. With Valve gone…. Every decisions I make I second guess myself. I don’t feel wise enough or strong enough to make those choices without him, but I have friends I can ask, and that helps. And I think, I think you… both of you… shouldn’t be focusing on people’s expectations. From a Combine point of view, I’d say you should focus on the things you are good at, and how you can use them to help the people of the outworld, and see what kind of person that makes you. I have every faith it will be one I end up liking, anyway.” She let go of her hand, and went over to pour more tea.

“There are worse starting points, I suppose.” A wry smile, and a shrug. “We may not have finished burning up to fuel the Outworld yet, but they’re still going to be our legacy, these people. And the rest of our creations, of course.” She smiled fondly. “Speaking of which – you might want to swing by and check in on the dragons at some point. Last time I saw them, Propeller was colonising a corner of the Hatchery of Legends, Wings was fussing over her, and Swift was telling them both she told them so. I haven’t asked if that all means what I think it means, but… well, I can make a guess.” Her smile broadened into a grin.

“BABY DRAGONS???” Axle suddenly resembled an excited child, eyes wide and mouth agape. “That's amazing! Tiny Combine Dragons!.... Oh, speaking of tiny combine animals… where's Codex? I was hoping he'd come see my rats?”

Vermilion looked briefly guilty. “I… think he’s on the airship with the other Educational Rodents? I’m sure he’ll be sorry to have missed a chance to see you, but we’re… kind of not talking at the moment.” She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. “Blasted infuriating rodent got into my Aethernet connection...”

Was she blushing? Yes, she definitely was. Damnit.

“…and, um, used it to send something to the Gossip Report. Won’t tell me what, but clearly he knows I wouldn’t have approved, and I have some… theories...” she winced visibly. “So now I’m waiting to find out what the damage is, and then he and I are going to have a long conversation about boundaries. And decorum. And not squeaking smugly when you’ve just been caught...” She groaned, and buried her head in her hands. “Infuriating bloody rodent.”

Axle had to steady herself on the tea desk she was laughing so hard. “Ahahaha… that’s hilarious. Sorry, I mean, it is though. I might actually have to read the stupid thing for once!”

“It isn’t-” Vermilion sagged slightly. It was hard to stay grumpy when Axle was laughing. “Okay, maybe it is a little funny, though he still shouldn’t have... I wonder what they made of it, over in Opportunity, getting a letter from a rat?” She shook her head absently. “Although he probably writes more coherently than some of their correspondents, come to think of it.”

A faint groan. “I dread to think what it’s going to lead to, frankly. Still. It’s not as if I’m known for giving a damn what people think of me.” She settled back into her chair. “I’ll bring him along next time I visit. Anyway. Baby dragons.” She grinned. “Well, eggs, first.”

Axle brought over Vermillion’s tea, along with a protein bar. “I’ll come visit them as soon as I can. I’ll probably bring Switch, that’s something she’d love to see. One… other thing about the whole, memory diving experience. Leverage showed up, like in the back of my head… pretty loudly. You don’t think…. Doing this might undo all the good work we did last time?” Axle took a sip of tea to disguise her concern.

“It shouldn’t undo it, no.” Vermilion shook her head, but frowned. “Though there might be… complications. Not with the sort of thing we were doing today,” she added hastily, “but… once we get into the deeper stuff, the volunteers having similar incidents… the one’s who’ve been through what she, or you, went through, with other people buried in their minds… well, it’s possible that might give her a way in, or out, however you envision it. Especially if she’s… already starting to annoy you. We’re going to have to work out some precautions before we start dealing with that side of things, I think.”

A slight grimace. “I mean. I’m expecting this to be a matter of fending off problems in the short term, rather than it damaging your recovery in the long term. I’m hoping that what we learn in the course of doing this might actually help, in the end. But… I don’t think I can keep you completely safe. Not from her. We can try and find ways to mitigate the risks – we need to do that – but I can’t make this risk-free.”

Axle nodded. “I have some useful…. Information on that, actually, not really relevant to me, but worth mentioning. I was speaking to Diesel, apparently when he’s around Vector, it’s harder for his… industrioclast half to make an appearance, we reckon it’s because of the devotion tether.” She looked down, at her teacup, trying not to recall the conversation she’d had with Switchgear on the subject.

“Oh, that is interesting.” Vermilion swirled her teacup thoughtfully. “Are his… problems… on the same level, though? I mean, the Partnership helps shield against the effect of curses, if I understand it right, but a second person in your head awake and actively fighting you goes a bit beyond a curse…”

A thoughtful pause. “I mean, that’s assuming that it’s the tether itself that’s helping rather than the underlying emotional connection. Damnit, there are too many variables. And – you’re right, not immediately relevant. Even if it would help, there’s no way to get you Partnered up before the Nexus reopens…”

“Diesel is the same as me, mostly. And I can’t see a way of me having a partnership when the Nexus opens, to be honest…” Axle swallowed, “I mean, I don’t know anyone with a tether going spare and Switch… her devotion tether’s already in use and she doesn’t want to change it so…” she trailed off, beginning to wish she hadn’t brought it up.

“And I’m not going to be in a position to give you what you need there, either.” Vermilion sighed regretfully. “Even if I weren’t… committed… to other plans already, well… I’m Valtarian, my reflexes run more to romance than to friendship, and I already started this whole thing off by trying to do the whole wooing-the-opposition thing, ‘beloved enemy’ and all that… a Partnership would just trigger those instincts all over again, and I…” she blushed slightly and looked away. “I don’t want to ruin what we have,” she finished softly.

A brief pause, a slight shifting of the face. “Still, though,” Heloise said thoughtfully. “A lot can happen in one gathering at the Nexus; there’s no telling who’s going to come through the Breach, for one thing, and we wouldn’t be surprised at all if a lot of people start shifting tethers around once the soulforges come into play and start changing people. Plus there’s some of the Dream-foundry stuff interacts with tethers too, isn’t there? World of possibilities. Don’t count yourself out yet.”

Another pensive pause. “Devotion’s not a common motive for your comrades, is it? More a Valtarian thing, although we’re not sure there’s many of ours we’d want to trust with you. There’s always the Penitents, though? Any of them you get along with?”

Axle sighed. “There's no one except Switch I'd want a partnership with. As I said it's just… useful information.”

“And she isn’t willing to...” Vermilion shook her head in confused frustration. “None of my business, I know, and it’s not as if I’m in any position to comment on someone falling head over heels for some charming piece of trouble from Opportunity,” damnit, she was blushing again, “but, the way the two of you kissed that time… I’m surprised she isn’t jumping at the chance to make you hers.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Especially if it would help with the Leverage situation, I mean, isn’t factoring that kind of greater-good stuff into your personal choices kind of your lot’s thing?”

A puzzled shrug, and she tilted her head towards Axle with a thoughtful frown. “You aren’t… considering changing your own focus, then, motive-wise? I mean, you’d take a bit of a dissonance hit from your existing tethers snapping, but if it gets you what you need… what you want…” Who you want…

Axle gave an awkward shrug, trying to sound like she didn't care, failing horribly. “I'm not going to ask her to sacrifice things for me, and the tether with Violet has some useful strategic benefits anyway… and I couldn't change my motives if I wanted to, cause someone would object.”

“Hey.” Vermilion reached out to lay a hand gently on Axle’s arm. “You don’t have to justify or defend her choices to me, or to anyone else. Or even to yourself. This is hurting you. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine with it.” She sighed. “You should never have to be ashamed of asking for what you want, or being upset when you don’t get it – when the other person doesn’t care enough to-” no, not helpful, redirect, “and you certainly shouldn’t keep telling yourself you’re not worth making sacrifices for.”

She threw one arm around Axle’s shoulders in an awkward hug. “You are worthy. Believe me. You’re beautiful, and passionate, and… and full of hope. You always see the best in other people. See it in yourself, Axle.” Her free hand rose to stroke through Axle’s hair. “Don’t be so hard on my friend, hey?”

A thoughtful pause, and a dark chuckle. “Of course, back home in Valtaria, this is the point where I’d be making suggestions about recapturing your beloved’s attention by literally recapturing them, or by targetted strikes against your rival… I can’t quite imagine you taking that approach, much as I’d like to - hells, even I’m not playing that game for the moment - but the principle of it stands. You are a literal goddess. You do not have to… to meekly settle for whatever you are offered, and be content with it.”

“No.” Axle shook her head firmly, “I nearly lost her once, I'm not doing anything to risk that happening again.” She finished her tea and stood up abruptly, Vermillion was making her feel angry at Switch and she didn't like it. “I made you some rooms in this building, seemed more sensible than continually shaping the guestroom. Do you want to come see?”

Vermilion opened her mouth to say something. Heloise closed it, smoothing her features into a smile.

There’s no point pushing now. Valtaria wasn’t founded in a day. You’ve sown the seeds. Now drop it before you hurt her any more.

“Lead on. Oh – I should fetch my things from the cart...” Pocketing the necklace and vial from the table, she rose to follow Axle, leaving her own tea half-drunk. “Most of the cart’s fruit and vegetables, but there’s my travelling bag, and I brought a few alchemy supplies, wasn’t sure how quickly we’d be going through the potion…”

She glanced around at the corridor as they left the room, trying to memorize the layout. She had the unfortunate feeling she was going to be spending a lot of time navigating by motivational posters.

“How are your pesky rebels taking the existence of this place, by the way? Should I be worried about raids?” From the light tone, ‘worried’ was clearly something of an exaggeration.

“They haven't raided it yet, I don't think it interests them that much to be honest.” Axle wandered over to Vermillion’s cart, and found her travelling bag, and alchemy supplies, pulling them off the cart and heading back to the door, still a little less cheery than usual.

“Here, let me take that...” Heloise reached for the alchemy kit. “Have things been… quieter on that front?” she asked, voice soft, as they walked back into the building. “Since, ah-” she made an abstract gesture near her temple. “You know. As above, so below; as within, so without… is you being on a bit more of an even keel with her something that’s being reflected with a little more peace and quiet in your territory? I mean, our lands reflected us at their outset, some of the ways we can change ourselves affect them… but I’m not sure quite how thorough a reflection it is, as an ongoing thing.”

Axle shrugged, leading Vermillion up a flight of stairs to a door that read “Lead Dreamscape Engineer - Quarters”, “I haven't noticed much of a difference to be honest. And if they're quiet… it usually just means they're planning something anyway.”

“Pity.” Heloise pursed her lips thoughtfully, and for a moment considered whether or not to ask what was on her mind. There was no way for it to not be awkward, after all. Perhaps even hurtful. But… but damnit, she couldn’t not ask.

“What, ah – what do you do to th– with them, nowadays? The ones you catch? I mean, if forcible reprogramming’s no longer on the menu… what options does that leave?” Her voice was neutral, conversational, even as she eyed Axle warily; in Valtaria, after all, the fates of rebels tended to involve the dungeon or the block, at best. But the Combine did so love to think of themselves as merciful. And with their cruellest mercy removed from the equation…

“It’s… tricky.” Axle opened the door, revealing a fairly sparse bedroom, similar in style to Axle’s own, but with a few attempts at Valtarian comforts, more pillows on the bed, a drinks cabinet, deep red drapes on the window. “When the other shapers decided against Volunteering, which I think overall is a good thing, even if I disagree with how it was done, they didn’t specify exactly which bits of the volunteer program were banned, and what the alternatives were. Which is all well and good for territories without industrioclasts, but a bit tricky for me. At the moment I’ve gone for prisons, and non-invasive re-education, less… of the stuff that was done to me, more, trying to win them round with logic and stuff.” She made her way over to the drinks cabinet, trying to find herself something strong. How does she always manage to find the worst bits of what’s going on to talk about? How?

“That… can’t be easy.” Heloise sighed sympathetically, perching on the edge of the bed. “There again, I’ve heard it said that nothing worthwhile ever is. And at least there’s hope, right?” She snuggled into the pillows comfortably. “This is nice, thank you...”

Her voice trailed off, as she thought back over Axle’s words. That… was a lot of ‘I’ and ‘they’ language, in the world of consensus. “Axle… are the others helping? Not just Switch, I mean, but… like you said, the decisions made at the Nexus had more impact here than elsewhere. Do you have, like, ProCorp shapers dropping by to help build escape-proof prisons, and… is it just Fluidity for the RevCorp now? Anyway, like, RevCorp helping on education programmes, and whatnot?” A concerned frown. “They are… taking care of you, and your people, right?” They didn’t do X, I’ve gone with Y… tell me they didn’t leave you to deal with the fallout of their choices alone?

Axle shrugged, “I’m sure they would if I asked, Crank’s come to help with incidents before, and I’m sure Fluidity would but to be honest, I have a pretty good cadre of Pro and Rev corp here, I don’t need shapers specifically.” On turning and seeing Vermillion snuggling into the pillows, her face softened and she sighed. “Can we talk about something less… difficult? It’s been a long day, I don’t think I’ve got the strength to argue politics and loyalties tonight.” She downed her drink in one swift move.

“You shouldn’t have to as-” Vermilion caught Axle’s look. “...fine, I’ll drop it. I just – I worry about you, that’s all.” She sighed, massaged her temple. “Less difficult. Guess that means leaving figuring out a replacement to this for the moment, too...” She dropped the necklace unceremoniously beside the bed. “We can always keep using in till we figure something else out – I don’t have to discharge it till it’s full, that should give us a while.”

A pause, clearly struggling to think of any less serious conversational topics. A sudden brightening, and an almost-shy smile. “So, ah… after hearing Oil’s voice in Wheel’s head earlier, I couldn’t help wondering… are she and her friends putting on a show at the moment?”

Axle, already relaxing with the effects of the engine-brewed vodka, raised her eyebrows mockingly, “Shall I tell Oil she has a fan? That’s a reaction I’d love to see….”

“Oh, she’d probably just assume I was mocking her,” Vermilion said absently, smiling slightly. “Not that I am,” she hastened to add, “but… it’s not an unreasonable assumption, all things considered.” A casual shrug, unbothered by the prospect. “Seriously, though,” Heloise continued. “We’re… going to be seeing a lot of dark things in people’s heads, aren’t we? Not exactly the best view of your realm and its people; or of human nature in general, for that matter. So, y’know… it might be worth taking the time to see some happier things as well, balance it out a bit. Better for us both, perhaps. Even if it’s not Oil,” though the quick flash of a grin suggested she was hoping, “that show was… fun. I’d like to see more of that side of your realm.”

Axle gave a wide grin, coming over to perch on the end of the bed, and handing Vermillion a glass of the clear liquid she’d been drinking. “So you’re saying you want me to convince you of the merits of joining us?”

“That’s not quite what I-” She broke off, lips twitching into a rueful chuckle as she reached for the glass; sniffing at it curiously before taking a cautious sip. “Incorrigible optimist.” Her tone was fond. “It seems I quite like musical theatre, that’s all. Don’t read too much into it.” Another hesitant swig, the drink definitely not what her tastebuds were used to, and she flashed Axle a quick, mischievous grin. “After all, the villains did seem to get most of the best songs...”

“Well, when you join the combine, I’m sure we can get someone to write an entire show about you, and then you would be the villain to start with, and then turn into the hero, and get all the best songs. Sound good?”

“…I’ve heard worse sales pitches, I’ll admit…” Vermilion chuckled, and knocked back the rest of her glass. “But still no.” A brief pause, and a slight smile, trying to soften it. “Besides, I think they’d have some trouble including Wings…”

“Never doubt the combine’s ability to create large mechanical devices.” Axle smirked, reaching out to take Vermillion’s glass and wondering over to put them back on the drinks stand. “Sorry if I was a bit short with you earlier… Switch’s devotion tether doesn’t exactly fill me with joy.” She gave Vermillion a sad half-smile, “but it makes her happy, and unity knows she deserves some happiness…”

“So do you.” Vermilion pointed out firmly. She shrugged in puzzlement at the rest of it. “And please, don’t worry about upsetting me, I was the one upsetting you. As long as you’re alright, the rest really isn’t my business.” A slight hesitation. “You… are alright, yes?”

Axle came back to the bed, sitting next to Vermillion and resting her head gently on her shoulder. “I’m fine, but I wouldn’t say no to some ideologically comforting hugs…”

“Well,” Vermilion said lightly, throwing her arm around Axle’s shoulders, “‘Hugs are good’ is one part of your ideology even I can’t argue with. Is that comforting?” Not waiting for a response, she leant into it, her own head resting lightly on Axle’s, free hand reaching out to clasp Axle’s hand in hers.