Dean ran like he'd never run before. His power armour may him more sluggish, but his adrenaline pushed him through it. Footsteps echoed up the dark, empty streets of the downtown core, the only noise besides distant sirens and gunshots.

  Fuck! He was a fucking coward, a waste of money. The newest Ward, already severely troubled then nominated by Jack Slash, had told him to run. He recalled the pleading look in Lia's eyes as she begged him to go, set against a sickening backdrop of guilt, near-suicidal depression, and strangely enough a steely resolve. 'Don't make me wish for a next time.' A precog, maybe, but he agreed with her comment of being trapped in hell. How many times had she seen what he had tonight?

  'It means you didn't get the whole story.' Dean's teeth creaked as he clenched his jaw. Going out on limb after limb for Lia had only resulted it more lies and half-truths. He wasn't certain she'd ever told him the truth, in hindsight. The constant shades of anxiety and paranoia made it a bitch to figure out. For Cherish though, it had been nothing at all.

  Of course he should have stayed, he was a fucking hero! But his ears were still ringing from when the soldiers tried to kill him, his back was soaked in sweat. Lia, the terrified little girl, had shielded him against all of it, saved his life. Dean hated how it was becoming a trend, hated more how he couldn't do anything to help her.

  Except here, he could. Not with Cherish exactly, Lia had shown how much of a liability he was back there, but he could get help. Had to get help. He dug into his pants as he ran, tearing out his phone and frantically dialing the duty officer.

  “This is Officer Bacon, how can I--”

  “Emergency, Piper-Nine. Put me through to the console,” Dean barked, huffing.

  “Understood.” There was a click.

  “Clockblocker here,” Dennis' voice came a second later.

  “Get everyone in costume and ready to go,” Dean ordered. “Who's on QRF tonight?”

  “Uhh, Assault and Weld are down--”

  “Tell them I'll be there in two minutes,” he snapped, rounding a corner. “Let Miss Militia know Amaranth is in the Nine's custody, somewhere near the park on Bronson Avenue.”

  He shut off his phone before Dennis could reply, bigger things to deal with. The PRT headquarters loomed out of the darkness, glass and steel against the stone-fa?ade high rises around it. A beacon of hope, a promise of help. Dean slapped his hand against the scanner around the back, bursting through the door and sprinting to the elevator.

  Retrieving his helmet and gauntlets took only a minute, and after another he was down in the motor pool, pounding on the back of the QRF's running van. Weld opened it and gave him a nod, looking grim, then let him up. No sooner had he sat down than the engine roared and they took off.

  “Gallant,” Assault greeted him tersely. “Sitrep, now.”

  “Amaranth's been taken by Cherish,” Gallant gasped as he tried to catch his breath. 'Taken' was a strong word, but 'went off with willingly' sounded...bad. “Said it was her trial. Don't...know what that entails.”

  “Nothing good,” Assault said grimly. “How'd she get her?”

  “We were in the park talking,” he answered, wincing. “Ambushed, she had soldiers with her. Threatened me, tried to kill me.” He swallowed, shaking his head. “Amaranth protected me and I got away.”

  “Shit,” he swore. “Thank christ we have you with us. From what I've heard about Cherish...”

  “Yeah,” Gallant said shakily. “How far away are we?”

  “Thirty seconds,” the driver's voice answered in his ear. “Park looks empty from here, streets too. We sweeping, sir?”

  “Check for audio, and slow down,” Assault ordered.

  The PRT equipped their vans with all kinds of things to try and support the officers they carried. Thick armoured plating, the highly tuned engine, and mineproof undercarriage were just the most obvious parts. In the cabin there were all kinds of sensors, some regular, some exotic. Strangers were a serious problem, so having a hive of detectors feeding data to the men in the field was a massive asset.

  “Gunfire a block over!” the officer listening in bellowed.

  The tires squealed briefly as the engine roared, throwing Gallant into his harness. His heart pounded and he glanced around the officers, checking their weapons, yellow nerves and grim, blue determination reflected in the palettes. Assault's was fiery orange with a hint of jaundiced fear underneath, and Weld...an enigma, like usual. Gallant gave him a brief nod, then steeled his nerves.

  When they piled out of the van, the gunfire had already gone silent. His stomach flipped and he sprinted ahead of the officers, ignoring a shout to stop from Assault. He'd run away once, no more. The door slammed into the wall hard enough to punch a hole in the drywall, but Gallant barely noticed. He could see the faint wisps of smoke trailing along the ceiling from an apartment with the door ajar. He wasted no time, kicking the door in and--

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Oh, hey Gallant.” Lia spoke numbly. “I'm...sorry.”

  Her hands were pressed to the chest of an old man who seemed to be struggling for air. Belatedly, he realized the man had been shot. So had others, four civilians lay dead against a wall, surrounded by three of the soldiers. The fourth had his limbs at twisted at odd angles and was groaning in pain in front of the bodies. Besides Lia and the wounded men, there were just three: a teenager and two kids huddling in a corner.

  “What happened?” Gallant asked shakily as he heard a series of sharp gasps behind him.

  “Cherish,” Lia spat. “Come help.”

  He did, dropping to his knees and taking over putting pressure on the old man's chest wound. Assault muttered something to Lia and he saw her palette darken. She trudged out of the room, leaving the grim sight behind her. The medics ran in, duffel bags of supplied on their shoulders, and began working. The remaining officers started getting body bags.

  “Gallant,” Assault said sharply, drawing his eyes away from the sickening scene. “Go with her. We need to figure out what happened.”

  “Yes sir,” he replied, blinking slowly. “Uh, sir, do you think she--”

  “I think,” Assault said slowly. “You should go talk to her.” He gulped and nodded.

  Lia hadn't gone far. She sat on the back step of the van they'd come in, a wool blanket draped around her shoulders. He grimaced and stopped by the cabin, grabbing one of the paper domino masks they kept around from the glove box. The survivors may know Lia was a hero, but so far the troopers couldn't be sure. He wanted to try and keep it that way.

  “Hey,” Gallant said, sitting on the step next to her. He gently placed the mask on her knee. “Thought you might want that.”

  “Shit,” she swore. She grabbed the thing and, with pained slowness, covered her face. “I'm fucked, aren't I?”

  “What do you mean?” He was struck by the naval despair in her palette.

  “I killed seven people,” Lia said flatly. “Eight, I guess; no way grandpa lives. Doubt the other soldier gets use of his limbs back after--”

  “Stop.” She snapped her mouth shut, palette burning with shame and guilt. “Amaranth, what happened?” She took a deep breath.

  “She took me here,” she started shakily after a minute. “Dragged a bunch of people into the apartment. Killed the first one by mouthing off to her, two and three because I was too slow talking and--” Lia's voice hitched with her breath and he saw the guilt deepen and churn. She swallowed hard before continuing. “She told me to stay when she left, said she'd kill everyone else if I didn't.” The guilt gave way to the most vivid, violent hatred Gallant had ever seen. “She fucking tried anyway.”

  “Got a gun from one of the soldiers when he went to start shooting,” Lia continued, her gaze distant. “Took his pistol and shot him and the other two. Last guy fucking shot my gun so...” She opened and closed her hand a few times. Gallant had seen the grip-strength results and shivered. “Eight dead, all on me. I'm sorry Gallant, I really am. I...I fucked up.” He heard her teeth grinding.

  “It's not your fault,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you lying,” she muttered, staring at the pavement.

  “Amaranth...” Gallant sighed. “Did you drag those people in there, mind control a bunch of guardsmen?” He saw her frown deepen. “This is what I meant when I said you're a victim of them.”

  “I'm a fucking game,” she barked sharply. “I'm a fucking object ruining all these peoples' lives, taking their lives, Gallant! If I weren't here--”

  “Don't.” He wouldn't dare entertain that oily sickness. “If you weren't here, they'd have tortured and killed other people. They're the Slaughterhouse Nine, it's just what they do.”

  “You make them sound like an Endbringer.” Gallant shrugged. He'd never say it out loud but... “Guess you're not wrong, doesn't mean it's not my fault they're here.”

  “How many people are alive?” He asked suddenly, wincing at the shift in her palette back towards ugly guilt. “Amaranth, answer me.”

  “Three,” she said, voice brittle. “That's all I could do.”

  “That's three people who'd be dead without you.” She flinched, but he pressed on when her colour didn't worsen. “Three people who get to live full lives, because you stepped in and saved them. I saw them, Amaranth. They were scared but--”

  “Of fucking course they were scared.”

  “They were grateful,” he finished firmly. “And they weren't scared of you, Amaranth.” He took a deep breath. “You're...probably going to get into trouble for going with her.”

  “Whatever,” she spat, resentment glowing a radioactive green in her palette. “It was that or get you killed. Easy choice.”

  “Thanks,” Gallant said, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. “I hate to ask but--”

  “The whole story?” He nodded and Lia shook her head. “I can't I...I already told you too much.”

  “We need to know what Cherish knows,” he countered. “If she has an advantage, that could cost lives.”

  “She doesn't,” Lia replied evenly, a note of pride in her palette. “She got factoids, vagueries, details, nothing important except...” She shook her head. “No, nothing important.”

  “I wish I could believe you.” She shrugged, indifferently grey. “Seriously, I don't know how much you've lied to me Amaranth. About this, about...everything.” Her palette was quickly coloured by guilt again.

  “I can't,” she whispered. “I've told you as much as I can Gallant, without a gun to someone else's head.”

  “Because it wouldn't matter at yours?” Lia nodded slowly and he shivered. “Fuck, Lia I--”

  “Forget it,” she interrupted glumly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm a shit hero.” She was silent beyond the guilt churning in her palette, when suddenly a spark of vengeful blood-orange and an ugly grin appeared. “Shit, never thought I'd be glad for my awful memory.” Gallant frowned.

  “What do you mean?” He couldn't help asking as Miss Militia leaped from one of the just-arrived backup vans.

  “I mean,” Lia said evenly, letting out a sigh. “We don't have to worry about a thing I've told her; she'll never leave Brockton Bay.” Gallant had no idea what that meant, but it relieved him almost as much as it did her.

  “Amaranth,” Miss Militia spoke breathlessly as she stopped in front of them. “Are you injured?”

  “Fine, ma'am,” she replied, rising on shaky legs. “Sorry about the mess.”

  “We need to get you back to headquarters now.” Lia just nodded and turned, giving Gallant an odd look.

  “Hey,” she said, voice husky. “I'm...sorry, about Victoria. We're gonna fix this Gallant.” The silvery-yellow of courage streaked beside stark, bright terror and steely determination. He almost...

  “How do you know that?” He felt like a child asking, especially when her shoulders slumped.

  “Because we're the only ones that can.”'