The howling never stops. It repeats on a loop: a howl, a growl, a snarl, and the scratching of claws on the forest floor as they chase her. The smacking of lips coated in hungry slobber. These sounds she's hearing – are they even real? Or is this simply ambiance, a composer's concept of what a pursuit through the forest should sound like?

She sprints through the woods. Something is behind her. She hears it breaking branches and then on her left there is another shape in the darkness. Then the whole forest is after her, nipping at her heels. The heat from their hungry mouths feels like a fever. Tears stream over her cheeks, compelled backward by her momentum, rivulets pooling in her ears.

She cannot slow for even a single step or they will overtake her. They will tear her apart with their claws and fangs and they will consume her warm carcass. She runs and runs, finally bursting through the last barrier of forest growth and onto the wagon rut road. She tumbles head over heels and lands on her rump between the ruts and she shrinks down instinctively—the posture of prey when finally trapped—readying for the creatures pursuing her to pounce and rip her to bits.

But they don't. They reach the edge of the road and they simply lose interest. The fearsome creatures of the forest don't even stand at the threshold roaring – instead it's as if they've forgotten what they were doing altogether. Mass animal amnesia; the beasts simply wander off, meandering into the woods while Ava watches, panting, and sobbing fresh, joyful tears of relief.

It is still night when she arrives in Cripple Creek. A patrol walks the thoroughfare so she sticks to the shadows. But where is she going? She doesn't know how or where to locate even a single Slap. She knows how to find the pub and she knows where to find the jail—and the Sheriff—and that's it. That's all she knows.

A map sure wouldn't hurt, she thinks – but is she merely thinking? Or is she actually trying to communicate with the invisible arbiter of this game? Like some telepathic S.O.S. broadcast to whomever—or whatever—may be listening.

But if anyone does hear her thoughts they don't care to comply. There's still no map embedded in her mind and she's still just as lost as she was a moment ago.

Does she have really an option other than the Sheriff? She frowns, thinking. Is it even worth going to Remmick? Will he possibly believe her?

She looks around for something—anything—reflective that she can stare at to provoke a vision but the structures are all wood or thatch. There's no metal anywhere. But—

—there are windows.

She creeps alongside a sad slanted shanty, its walls and roof held together with mud and melted plastic and lengths of knotted twine. She moves to a window and for a moment she fears there will be no glass pane but she finds there is and she is relieved.

But it is still too dark to see her reflection – and she doesn't know another way to let her eyes go all wonky so she can potentially see the zone info. The thought of activating the glow from her hand and risking detection makes her stomach turn anxiously but she's out of ideas and out of time.

She stares at her reflection, letting her eyes slowly un-focus, waiting for the hidden details of Cripple Creek to become integrated into her personal knowledge base – her wiki of the mind. But suddenly a lamp is lit inside the shanty and there's a woman's sleepy face peering out and in the following moment the groggy woman opens her mouth to scream.

Ava sprints away, doing her best to stay in the shadows, navigating toward her last and least appetizing option: the jail. There's simply not time for anything else. Bach and Ellie are captured – probably in the lock-up themselves. Uri is off dying or worse, buried under a quilt of reeds and mud. She has to rush her appeal directly to the one citizen empowered to do anything about it: Sheriff Remmick.

She knocks at the jailhouse door. It creaks open and Remmick looks down his nose at her from above his scuzzy little mustache. His face expressionless, he chews and spits past her into the road, sprinkling her with a mist of his tobacco juice, never uttering so much as a, “hello.”

“Remmick,” Ava gasps, winded from her sprint across town. “You have to let me in. You have to look at what I've brought out of the mine.”

He continues staring at her. She can't tell what's going on in his head – he's not giving any hint. He just sighs.

“Remmick, listen to—”

“You went back in there?” He interrupts. “Even though you knew the penalty?”

“Look, goddammit.” She thrusts the evidence at him but he holds his hands up and refuses to take it. “Look! It's been stamped with Horst's crest or corporate logo or whatever. He still has a huge operation going on in there.”

He takes the evidence and studies it. This severed little piece of dwarf-mech, stamped with Horst's logo. He frowns and looks up at her with his eyes only.

“Who else have you shown this to?”

“Nobody. Just me and the others who entered the mine.”

“Yeah, Ostby told me you and two others got away.”

“So what are you gonna do?” She crosses her arms. “Horst is punking you, man. Are you going to protect this town like you're supposed to or what?”

“Come inside,” he says, opening the door, “let's take this conversation off the road.”

He holds the door and she enters. Once she's in his office, he closes and locks it behind her. He could just be securing the place—ensuring they're safe and left alone—but Ava knows better.

She turns at once to find Remmick has drawn his pistol. At once he moves to her and begins patting her down, and his search turns up the [Omega Key]. He turns it over in his hand, examining the weird light-emitting -diode-studded hilt, and then sets it on his desk beside Ava's gun – which she surmises he must have confiscated upon capturing Ellie and Bach.

“Fancy poker.” He nudges the stiletto with his gun. “Promise I'll keep it safe. Now I reckon you remember the way to the lockup, right? Get movin'.”

“Remmick,” she seethes, fumbling for words before finally landing upon, “you suck.”

Ava shuffles to the cell-block. The Sheriff keeps the gun trained on her. He locks her in and she turns around quick and tries to spit in his face but he dips his shoulder and it misses high.

“You stay put this time,” Remmick chuckles. He winks and leaves.

Ellie approaches in the neighboring cell, coming close to the bars so she and Ava can talk quietly. Bach lays facing sideways upon his cot, tight against the wall.

“What a relief,” Ellie says, “are you okay? Where's Uri?”

“He's been hurt bad. It was Scum – put him into some kind of trance. I had to leave him or we'd both have been killed. I had to.... Ellie I hid him; half-buried under some mud and reeds.”

“You what?”

“I didn't have any choice. Javors' song was wearing off and – there's just too much to explain.”

“What about Ratboy, anyway? Where is he?”

“I don't know where to begin with that one. But he's gone.”

“Gone? You mean killed?”

“No. Just gone.” Ava shakes her head. “What about Darby? Why isn't he here?”

“Darby?” Ellie asks, not recognizing the name. “Oh, the kid who went into the mine with you all. Nope, haven't seen him. Just been me and the strong, silent one over there.”

Bach doesn't acknowledge the call out.

“This shithead Horst has been working the mine this entire time,” Ava explains, “I don't know if there ever were any Scum in there but if so I bet they belonged to him.”

“You tell Remmick?” Ellie asks.

“I tried to show him proof. That's how I wound up in here.”

In the morning the sun shines into the cell Ellie and Bach share – but Ava's cell doesn't have a window anymore. The opening has instead been bricked up after her last escape.

The prisoners smell coffee and hear laughter coming from the Sheriff's office. Shortly thereafter Remmick returns to the lockup. He nods, tipping his hat, and smiles. And on his heels is the man Ava encountered last night—the man with the laser pistol and the Scum-bat.

“What's he doing here?” Ava demands.

“Good morning to you, too, Princess.” The Lawman laughs.

“Let me handle this, Dale.” Horst steps forward and squats before her cell so they can speak eye-to-eye. “I don't know what the hell you are. I don't know how you got away last night. But I'm here to protect my interests, Little One. I'm not gonna let some outsiders fuck up my operation.”

“You know he's been making a fool of you,” Ava says, addressing Remmick. He just stares, blinking, giving no indication he even cares.

“Dale here knows I've done nothing of the sort. In fact, rather than a fool, I've made him the fuckin' Sheriff.”

“You've terrorized these people,” she says, squeezing the cell bars in anger, “the two of you.” Remmick laughs.

“Cuff 'em and throw them in my carriage,” says Horst, and the Lawman does his bidding.

Right back where they started. Shackled together by the wrists and this time also by the ankles, shoved into the bed of a prisoner cart.

But this time it's different in a couple ways. This time the cart is futuristic and silver and gleaming. A luxury paddywagon. It is pulled by the towering, mechanical Clydesdale and the driver is yet another android, fabricated so it appears to be wearing a coat and top-hat.

And this time they aren't prisoners of Human Resources, they aren't going to be sold to the highest bidder and used for whatever illicit purpose the buyer requires. This time they're just going to be executed. Hanged by the neck until dead.

Horst climbs onto the bench seat beside his robot driver. Remmick stands on the thoroughfare beside the cart, shielding the sun from his eyes. Villagers are beginning to gather along the road, curious of Horst's gaudy steel horse and driver and cart. They whisper and murmur.

“Hey there folks,” Horst bellows, “you've all done your part by staying out of the mine. I don't blame you for a second. Nope, it's these strangers – they've violated our pact. So you have nothing to worry about, folks. Head on back to your homes. Have some grub with your people and just take it easy. The mine is secure again and I'll take care of these three.”

A voice in the milling crowd shouts, “whattya mean you'll 'take care' of them?”

“Means he'll have 'em hung,” comes the answer from the other side of the road.

“Good!”

“Well let's just relax,” Horst says, “we'll talk it over.”

“You're a fat fucking liar,” comes a curse hurled in a child's voice. The crowd gasps and murmurs anxiously, looking for whose kid could have said such a thing.

And then Ava sees them. On the rooftops and at the mouths of alleys. Peering out from doorways with slingshots drawn. It's all of their children. It's the Slaps, probably two dozen strong, once more coming to the rescue of her and her allies.

Horst just laughs.

“You kids are about to learn a lot about how the world works.”

But the Slaps stand their ground. Several move to block the road in front of the massive Clydesdale. A dark cloud crosses Horst's face. He's had enough of their disobedience.

“Collect the rotten fruit of your loins, people,” he addresses all of the adults, “get them out of my way so I can get the stink of this shithole off me.”

“Horst!” one voice shouts louder than the others. Ava turns to find the source and the glare from the sun blinds her. She shields her eyes and sees Remmick's deputy, Ostby Channing. He stands on the roof of the butcher's shop. He has an arrow nocked and aimed at Horst. He commands Horst to, “let 'em go.”

“Ostby!” Remmick shrieks, “what the hell you think you're doing?”

“Just shut up, Dale.” Channing keeps his arrow on Horst, and then a smaller figure joins him on the rooftop. It's Darby! And side-by-side the resemblance is obvious – they're father and son. “Just shut your dumb fucking mouth. You're relieved of duty. Drop your badge and get the hell out of our town.”

The Sheriff moves his jaw to contest this mutiny but nothing comes out.

“Alright, Deputy,” Horst mocks, his hands lifted in a mocking sign of surrender, “just calm down. We can work something out.” Ostby lets his arrow fly and it thwaps into the bench seat right beside Horst's thigh.

“Let them go,” repeats the Deputy. “My next shot won't miss.”

“Alright,” Horst fumes, “have it your way.”

He fiddles with a device and the back door on the prisoner cart clicks open. Ava and Bach and Ellie climb out. He activates another function and their manacles unshackle.

“Now get out of Cripple Creek,” Ostby warns, “and never return.”

“Alright, alright – I'm leaving, you self-righteous little shit,” Horst swears, “but you can't make me stay gone. I'll be back in two days. Two days!” He holds up two fingers for emphasis. “And you pick one of these outsiders to hang by then. You pick one and you hand them over – or you won't get to play sheriff, Channing. You defy with me again and there won't be much of a town left for you to serve and protect.”

He taps his driver on the shoulder and the Clydesdale stomps into action, towing the empty prisoner cart away.