“You can't save everyone,” Bach had said.

It feels like that sentiment has been drilled into her sufficiently at this point. It started when she accidentally caused the death of Skid Mark's nephew, Trevor. And it continued when they arrived in the cybernetics lab too late to prevent Darby and the other Slaps from being modified into adolescent killing machines.

Which one is Benjamin? she wonders.

She studies the slaves in her immediate vicinity. They shiver from fear. Some cling together and cry quietly.

They're not people. They're just NPC's. Find the one who matters.

She can try scanning them, right? Same as she scanned the featureless floor to glean information about Castle Dia. Because like the dungeon itself, these people are simply game assets.

She concentrates on the nearest slave, a scarlet-haired girl only a few years older than herself, and:

Ava cringes. Right away it all feels wrong. Scanning a person – it's not the same as scanning a structure or an object. People have a right to privacy; their data shouldn't be collected without their knowledge.

That's ridiculous. Knock it off.

Because this Diana – she's not really a person, is she? No matter how lifelike she seems—she's simply a string of computer code. Does an algorithm deserve privacy?

Regardless, it worked. Ava has proven to herself that she can [Scan] anyone at anytime and learn their info. Hopefully she manages to identify which of these NPC's is Benjamin before he gets himself killed.

But right now just isn't the appropriate time. She's being impossibly selfish during the most critical and stressful moments of these prisoners' lives. She's distracting herself from the immediate goal: getting the hell out of Dia.

She studies the map in her mind. As a whole it's just far too much information to make sense from; an exquisitely detailed, three-dimensional rendering of both the above-ground structure and the subterranean complex. She zooms in on their current location.

This underground settlement burrows vertically and horizontally in equal measure, spreading out wider than the world's largest airport and plunging thousands of feet below the surface. It could be close to a mile deep, and she observes structures of every sort: homes, retail shops, a hospital, restaurants, hydroponic farming operations, a power station, and on and on. Seemingly an entire civilization hidden from the rest of the world. Human Resources might be concealing the world's largest remaining city here, for all she knows. What they show to the surface world is essentially a labor camp; the industry enabling all those who dwell below.

It's a baffling realization and she wonders: do the rank-and-file Body-Snatchers even know this place exists? Are they themselves perhaps also victims of their boss's exploitation?

A question for another time, because right now she's located their escape route:

Just a short distance away the map in her mind reveals a freight elevator which rises all the way to the surface. It appears it will deliver them into a huge area designated as “Fleet Storage.” Seems likely there may be guards present but Ava determines they'll simply have to cross that bridge when they reach it.

“This way.” She nods, specifying the direction of the elevator. “I know a way out.”

They sneak as best they can along a narrow scaffold high above the underground metropolis. But it doesn't take long to realize they've been detected. Closed circuit cameras mounted on the walls whine, rotating to follow the fugitives as they pass. It would be better if Ava and Bach didn't need to keep their hands glowing – but navigating this stretch in the dark is too dangerous to consider as a serious option. Only a shaky handrail keeps the escapees from plummeting over the edge of the scaffold and down into the dark city below.

“Hurry.” Ava gestures toward one the cameras tracking their movements. “Looks like they're onto us.”

She leads them further, off the nerve-wrackingly narrow walkway and onto a more stable ledge. And just up ahead is the elevator she identified as their escape route. It's closed and locked but Ava doesn't waste a moment before drawing the [Omega Key] and hacking the password. The doors unlock and she slides them open.

It's a less-than-luxurious lift. The doors aren't automatic and require someone to manually pull them open and shut by a strap. And the interior compartment is small—not meant to carry human cargo—more suited to delivering small boxes and sacks of supplies.

“I don't think more than two or three can ride up at a time,” Bach concludes. “Darby, pick one of your Slaps to join you and your Pa on the surface – you're first.”

“Yes sir,” he says, “Oscar – you're with me.”

“But I wanna stay here and fight,” Oscar whines.

“There could be fighting up there,” Darby counters, “our mission is to secure the escape route.”

“Why don't you send someone else,” Oscar argues – not a question so much as a demand. He barely gets the words out before Bach cuffs him hard on the side of the head, knocking him to his rump.

“You'll follow orders,” he seethes.

And that settles it. Darby and Ostby and Oscar cram into the elevator and pull the doors shut. The conveyance creaks and groans and begins to climb. There's no way for Ava and the others to know if the trio will survive on the surface. They could face immediate ambush; they could be gunned down as soon as the doors are dragged open.

Right about then, Ava's almost grateful to hear the boots of their pursuers, stomping along the scaffolding, interrupting her anxious thoughts.

And then there's rapid-fire gun-play happening all over again. Uri with his uzi. The Slaps with their bizarre cybernetic attacks stirring up a sound like a robotics factory, clicking and grinding and high-pitched motors whining.

These guards are becoming fodder. The child-soldiers kill them with ease and the bodies begin to pile up.

Have they leveled up yet? she wonders.

The elevator returns—empty—and a pair of slaves are loaded inside to become the next escapees.

But then the leader of this Loss Prevention team arrives.

A stocky cyborg, he comes in swinging a fist much like her own, bashing a Slap unconscious. He sees Bach and grins.

And his teeth – they're bullets.

“Puck,” says Bach, under his breath.

“Who?” asks Ava.

“Get these people out of here. This one's mine.”

A teenage slave is gunned in the gut. He falls on the floor and screams. And then he's no longer screaming. He's just dead and motionless and silent.

But you still haven't failed the escort, Ava reasons, so at least he wasn't The One.

Bach flies forward to grapple with the cyborg he called 'Puck.' Does she recognize that name from someplace? Yes, of course she does. That was the name of Darby's uncle.

He's supposed to have been a Slayer – so what's he doing here, working for H.R.?

Ava flinches as Uri's gun spits sparks and then it just clicks.

“Here,” she offers her submachine gun, “take mine.”

“But what about you?” he asks, still accepting the gun all the same.

“I've got my pistol.”

And she's got other priorities, too. There are plenty among her party who can perform the requisite killings – but only she can [Scan] for Benjamin. Only she can locate him before it's too late – before he's bleeding out, gut-shot like that other boy.

She turns her focus to another young man who she guesses might be around the right age. The [Scan] reveals:

Curious. He doesn't even have a name.

What does that say about the girl from before? Diana. Is she somehow special?

And while she wonders, she sees the boy's eyes go blank and a black pock appears suddenly on his forehead. He collapses straight down, done in by a headshot.

It's going to take too long to [Scan] her way to Ellie's son.

She has to find him the old-fashioned way:

“Benjamin?” she cries, too ragged. But she notices a young man nearby who turns his head flinchingly. They've been fighting damned near shoulder-to-shoulder. “Are you Benjamin?”

“Uh, I'm Ben, yeah,” he says, “nobody but my mom ever calls me Benjamin.”

“We gotta get you outta here.”

“What? There are others who should go first.” He stares at her, purely perplexed. “There are older folks. Hurt folks. Sick folks. They should all go before me.”

“They'll come after, right now we gotta make sure you're safe.”

She grabs his wrist in her metal grip and tugs him to Uri at the elevator.

“Get him on next.”

“I won't leave Diana,” Ben argues.

Ava sees the way he looks at her – desperate to stay near. They're obviously in love.

So that's why she has a name, she thinks, and then she cringes at the misogynistic implications.

“Fine,” says Ava, “get her and she's with you on the next lift out.”

“Diana!” he calls and she throws a quick left-right combo, dropping her Body-Snatcher opponent right where he stood, knocking him out cold.

Ben shouts, “come on, we're next!”

She nods and works her way toward them, shuffling backward, fists still raised in a defensive stance, feet dancing; the choreography of a skilled boxer. All of these slaves and Slaps—they're growing—this killing is just feeding them experience.

Diana must have leveled up and gained some sort of fighter class. Maybe she'll come in handy.

She and Ben pile into the elevator and Uri slides the door shut.

Ava's glad that Darby and Ostby aren't still here to see this. Their kin—the mythological Puck—is a captain of the Body-Snatcher army. He presents as a nearly identical copy of Bach but he's fighting for the wrong side.

He seizes Bach by his ballistic vest and swings him against the wall. And it's weird and unsettling to see Bach manhandled in that way. He's supposed to be King of the Monsters – but without buffs his strength isn't any greater than Puck's.

His blood-extracting tubes snake out and seek his opponent's throat but suddenly Ava hears the old familiar grinding groan of the motor coming to life within him. She expects that he's about to electrocute Puck – but she's misinterpreted the sound.

Because it's actually Puck's motor she's hearing. Before Bach's maggoty tubes can penetrate his flesh he crackles with electricity:

Finally! she thinks, another use beside Overload for these invasive implants.

There's no time to celebrate her new ability, though. Bach tenses and his tubes retract. The [Sanguine Extraction] has failed and he's suffered a Moderate Injury.

Puck seizes him by the throat and lifts until Bach's feet can barely touch the floor. Then he presses a pistol against Bach's gut and pulls the trigger. It's a Severe Injury and Ava knows Bach must be nearing his maximum wounds. Puck is murdering him right in front of her.

“You chose the wrong fuckin' side,” he growls, shoving the barrel further into Bach's gunshot-stomach.

But suddenly her limbs tingle. Once again it's unexpectedly become her turn and the timer in her head begins to count down. How can she help Bach against the New King of Monsters?

The old-fashioned way.

First, a [Quick-Draw]. The revolver comes sliding smoothly out of its holster as though the gun has been eagerly anticipating this moment. The bullet disappears into Puck's side and he releases Bach's throat and jumps back, reflexively clutching his ribs. He stares at her in shock.

“Little girl?” he mutters.

And before ha can say anymore Ava's [Aimed Shot] penetrates his upper-right chest—a plume of smoke spirals up from the wound—and he staggers back another step.

And that's all the opening Bach needs to blast him with the paralyzing acid. Puck's shoulders slump and he drops to his knees and then Bach guns him immediately in the chest.

Darby's uncle falls back and stares lifelessly at the ceiling, mouth agape, that look of surprise etched ever after upon his face.

These Kings of Monsters—these Paragons of Violence—they can be done in by a little girl with a gun. That's the cold truth: no power is so insurmountable that it can't be conquered by a gun in a willing hand.

Encounter Defeated

Experience: 1500

And just like that the combat is over. Ava and Bach are the last standing.

“We did it.” He smiles down at her and then he scoops her up in a bear hug. “We finally did it!” He carries her over to the elevator and sets her inside. She's just speechless. She's never seen him this happy. This relieved.

The elevator quakes and rattles as it carries them to the surface.