As Muzazi collapsed to the ground, eyes rolling up into his skull, Dragan almost did the same - only he managed to catch himself on a slot machine. He stood there, panting for breath, as the security officers made their way up through the wreckage of the casino.

Dir was the first to reach him - the bald section chief was holding a massive stun cannon which he kept pointed at Muzazi's prone body the whole time he approached. A noticeable line of sweat ran down his forehead.

"That's a …" Dragan struggled to speak with the little breath he had. Still, he nodded towards Dir's weapon. "A little … overkill … don't you think?"

Indeed, the stun cannon looked like it had been built to knock out large animals rather than people - Dragan couldn't see why a security company would assign it to an operation like this. Something Dir owned personally, then, and not company property?

Dir didn't look at Dragan as he spoke, only kept covering Muzazi. "Can't be too careful. This man's from the Supremacy - one of their Special Officers."

Dragan raised an eyebrow. "You know him?"

As his subordinates finally reached the upper deck, Dir shook his head. "Not personally - but this man was flagged by surveillance when he appeared before you at the niain. A high-ranking member of a foreign government is a priority target here in the UAP, as I'm sure you understand."

That made sense. Dragan nodded, pulling himself a little further up on the slot machine. He didn't want to appear too exhausted - he wasn't entirely sure he could trust Dir and his men, after all.

A thought occurred, a sudden alarm piercing through his heart like a stake. "Serena! How is she?" he said, almost collapsing as he stepped away from the slot machine.

He didn't quite know what had happened to Serena - she'd been fighting like a demon, bleeding from her nose and mouth, and then suddenly collapsed. If security hadn't arrived when they did, that would have spelled the end of both Serena and Dragan.

Dir looked perplexed. "Serena?" he said, the name clearly unfamiliar in his mouth.

Shit. Apparently, Dir didn't know about that. Had Skipper actually told him anything when they were planning this thing?

Still, he didn't exactly have the energy to lie. He'd do the next best thing - dodge the question. "Del Sed, I mean," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a hand. "Is … are they okay?"

Dir nodded, stepping right back into that rigid businesslike demeanor, and put a finger to his earpiece. "Gleeson," he said, clearly talking to one of his colleagues down below. "What's del Sed's status?"

The face of the section chief shifted, just slightly, and from that Dragan could see he wasn't receiving good news.

"I see," he said, none of that reflected in his voice. "Arrange transport to Anna Sait right now. Exercise subtlety - I don't want too much of this in the press."

Dragan looked around the room - the wrecked slot machines, the floor covered with splinters that were once patolli tables, the chips and handbags that had been discarded by the fleeing public. "That sounds difficult," he said, droll. "This is, uh … this is a pretty newsworthy thing, I'd say."

Dir moved his hand from his ear and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it is," he said, a sliver of the stress he must be feeling leaking into his voice. "But we'll think of something. Your, ah, your friend, however."

Dragan gulped. Dir's tone wasn't promising. "How bad?" he asked, mouth dry.

Dir went down on one knee as he secured the unconscious Muzazi with shackles on his arms and legs - Neverwire no doubt running within them.

"Significant internal bleeding," he said, clicking the manacles shut. "As well as the impact from your vertical trip through the city. The doctors at Anna Sait should be able to get them stable, but even if it goes well they'll be out of commission for a good while."

He didn't say lethal. He didn't say fatal. Even with the graveness of the situation, Dragan couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief for that small mercy. It seemed that, despite his best intentions, he and Bruno del Sed had become friends at some point.

The other security officers finally made their way up the wreckage of the stairs, carrying a coffin-like container to haul Muzazi in.

"How about you?" said Dir, looking back at Dragan. "You don't seem in the best condition, so I'd recommend accompanying us for medical attention. We're still in the process of reacquiring your associates, but…"

Dragan took a step forward. The night wasn't over yet. He had to regroup with Skipper and Ruth, make sure they were okay, and find out just what the hell Atoy Muzazi was doing stalking him through the UAP. It was a plentiful itinerary.

He opened his mouth to say these things.

"I'm fucking tired," he said, slurring the words, and fell flat on his face.

It seemed the night was over.

-

Noel Edmunds, on her hands and knees, screamed once again in a voice that sounded like a knife was being plunged into her. She was still in the alleyway where Skipper and Ruth Blaine had left her. Her fist, sparking with cyan Aether, struck the concrete below her - without making so much as a crack.

So? Who even cared about that? Her mental abilities were far more valuable than the power to punch things really hard. She didn't need that kind of dubious strength. It was beneath her.

And yet … that bastard had mocked her, humiliated her, and walked past her without her being able to do so much as lift a finger. It had been effortless for that man, to make her look like an idiot. It was as if her existence had meant nothing.

She gritted her teeth with so much fury that it felt like the things would just shatter in her mouth. She wouldn't even care if they did - she could fix them, after all, she was smart enough to figure out a way. She was a genius, after all.

"You're a genius," agreed the brickwork beneath her, speaking in a bright and helpful voice. Her breath caught in her throat.

There was a sigh from right next to her - it came from the wreckage of one of her drones, looking like a crushed can. "Not again," it said softly.

She groaned, put a hand to her head. She knew she needed to calm down, but it was too late.

Her thoughts were starting to voice themselves.

"You should have trained more in hand-to-hand combat," suggested a loose strand of her blue hair, dangling next to her eye. "You can ask Reyansh to teach you! He's protective of you, he would do it."

"Fuck Reyansh," spat a passing cat. "I don't need his help. Do you know who I am? I don't need charity from trash like that."

A sense of disapproval emitted from the dumpster. "You know he only wants to help. He has a good heart."

"See how fucking good it is when I tear it out and stomp on it," the cat snarled. "You gonna talk down to me? Shut the fuck up. I'll kill you."

"Quiet," growled Noel, fists balled to such a degree that her fingernails drew blood. Still, the pain didn't pull her out of the spiral.

"I'll just have to wait it out," said her fingernails.

The dumpster sighed. "Reyansh and Simeon will be along soon, I suppose. If you press your tracking beacon, they'll be able to find us a little better, hm?"

"Press me! Press me!" came the squeaky voice of the tracking beacon in her pocket. It grew more aggressive as her shaking hand reached for it. "Come on, press me! Press me, bitch!"

It was always like this. For all their intellectual superiority, Cogitants were more prone to mental collapse than the other subspecies - and once they pulled themselves together, their mind didn't always stay together.

Noel tapped the button on the disk-shaped beacon with a grunt, and it squealed in jubilation. Tiny objects like this always ended up as the mouthpiece for her most annoying thoughts.

Her mind had had to cannibalize itself, once, and now the thing was held together with tape and glue. Normally, she could keep it under control, but when she'd been defeated like this … humiliated like this …

"Smug bastard," hissed the cat, licking itself. "I'll rip that fucking smile off his face. Smash those fucking teeth out of his mouth."

"My teeth hurt," whimpered her teeth, aching from her grimace. "I should stop scowling."

"I should calm down," the dumpster said soothingly. "If I just find a way to calm down, I'm sure this whole mess can be corrected."

"That's right, that's right," the ground panted for breath like an excited dog. "If I'm to become the Citizen, I need to stay calm. Find the leverage to oust that red-eyed bastard."

"We'd have it," the cat said. "If it wasn't for that fucker. Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He'll get in the way if we try again."

The dumpster paused.

"That's true," it said slowly. "If things are to go smoothly, I worry that he could involve himself unnecessarily."

"Won't be able to stay calm with him around," the ground said slowly. "Need peace of mind if I'm to do this. Can't have him running around."

"I already know what I need to do!" roared the cat, settling down for a nap. "Find the bastard - find his friends - and teach him a lesson!"

"Teach him a lesson," agreed the dumpster.

"Teach him a lesson," said the ground excitedly.

"Teach him a lesson!" squeaked her tracking beacon.

"Teach him a lesson…" mumbled the drone wreckage morosely.

Her dangling hair's voice was full of confidence. "Teach him a lesson."

Noel was stirred from her thoughts at the sound of an engine from above. She didn't even need to look up to identify it - she'd recognize the sound of Reyansh's car anywhere. He'd found her. Good - that was what she expected of him.

A vicious, humourless grin crossed her face the moment before she rose to her feet.

"Teach him a lesson," she whispered.

-

"I thought you guys were dead," said Ruth quietly, tears streaming down her face.

'I don't die so easily.' That was what Dragan meant to say, but it instead came out as 'mmph mmph mmph mmph, mmph.' This was due to the fact that Ruth was crushing him in her embrace.

They'd all reunited in one of the myriad waiting rooms at the Anna Sait Memorial Hospital - a quieter part of the hospital, presumably for patients whose presence wasn't for the public eye. They'd already taken Bruno and Serena in for emergency surgery, so now Dragan, Ruth and Skipper were waiting here.

"You're gonna actually kill him, Ruth," said Skipper from his chair. He was sitting on the thing backwards, like a monster, and was leaning forward on the back of the furniture.

"When you guys fell..." said Ruth, the ghost of anxiety still in her voice. "I thought, I mean … how did you make it out of that? D-Did Bruno do something?"

Vaguely, Dragan nodded. He really didn't have the energy to go further into it - the helmeted doctors had given him a shot to calm him down when he'd arrived, and the drug was doing it's job well.

"Imagine, though," said Skipper, whistling up at the ceiling. "Our old pal Muzazi, all the way out here. He must really hate you, kiddo."

That brought Dragan back to himself a little. Even though they'd managed to bring down Muzazi, it was a victory only possible through a dozen coincidences. Hell, if Dir and his security officers hadn't shown up right at the end, Dragan had no doubt he'd be dead right now.

They'd taken Muzazi to some kind of holding facility, but Dragan just knew that the asshole would get out sooner or later - and when he did, he'd come after Dragan harder than ever. After all, he'd just been unable to resist adding that tiny hint of smugness to his victory.

What a mess - and it was getting messier all the time.

Finally, Ruth released Dragan from her death grip, stepping back and collapsing into a chair that Skipper kicked over to her. "I'm goddamn drained," she sighed, running her hands over her face.

Dragan went to wander over to a chair himself, decided it wasn't worth the effort, and sat cross-legged on the floor instead. "Tired…" he mumbled. "You fought, uh, that guy, then? The Fifth Dead?"

Ruth's expression hardened, and she nodded.

"He dead?"

She shook her head.

"Fuck."

She nodded.

"Not that this conversation isn't stimulating," said Skipper, having rearranged a few chairs to form something of a couch for himself. "But I'm gonna get some shut-eye, yeah? I'd recommend you guys do the same. You're, like, barely sentient right now."

And with that, he closed his eyes, diving into the realm of slumber. Slowly, as if being pulled by some invisible force, Dragan's own eyelids followed suit.

Sleep … sure sounded nice right now.

-

"Can we go now, lady?" whispered Den-S, hugging the steering wheel so tightly Marie was surprised he could see what he was doing.

"One sec," Marie replied brightly, using her scope as a viewfinder - zooming in on the security transport flying past.

They'd parked on top of some energy drink factory that was along the route Atoy's captors were heading. The transport itself was bigger than she'd expected: one heavily armoured vehicle flanked by four disc-shaped escort ships, likely piloted by automatics. The weapons on those ships were nothing to sneeze at - machine guns ready to rain plasma on any targets that came in sight.

Even with her physical capabilities, she couldn't see herself withstanding that kind of fire for very long - not without showing off more than she wanted to.

She tapped her finger against the back of Den-S' seat, the young man flinching with each and every tap. The boy was terrified of her - which was smart - but it was the kind of terror Marie liked. The kind that made them obey, rather than try to burn you at the stake.

"What kind of weaponry do you have?" she said - quietly, but her voice still seemed loud in the silence of the car.

Den-S fumbled under his seat, pulling out a cobbled-together plasma pistol. The thing really wasn't anything to look at - in fact, Marie suspected there was a chance the thing would blow up the moment somebody pulled the trigger. Not the best option.

"Hmm," she drew the sound out, putting a hand on top of Den-S' head as she considered her options. He stiffened up amusingly at the contact, his skin paling quite a few shades.

Then, with a sudden violent motion, she snapped her fingers - and Den-S almost jumped out of his skin.

"Oh well," she said, taking her hand away from Den-S’ head - she didn't want to give her driver a heart attack, after all.

"Oh well?" Den-S looked back at her, expression uncertain.

She shrugged. "There's no way we're busting Atoy out of there with our current equipment - so we won't. Looks like Atoy'll just have to play the waiting game for a little while. Oh well."

Marie was just a teensy bit annoyed.

With her last statement, she tapped an irritated finger on the car window next to her - and cracks ran out across its surface. Den-S' eyes silently tracked the spider-web of damage as it spread out, then flicked back to her.

"What do we, uh," he said quietly. "What do we do now, then?"

Marie lounged back in her seat, watched Atoy's prison transport turn a corner and disappear from sight.

"Head down to the Pit," she said. "I think I want to talk to your boss."

-

In a pitch-black room, a red-eyed man watched the script in his hands.

His silhouette was vague, inconsistent in the darkness - but it was unmistakably sharp, as though this were a man made out of knives. His glowing red eyes penetrated his unclear shape like twin fell stars.

With those eyes, he stared unblinking at the blank screen. The man had been waiting for this news for hours, for the message from his agent that would bring the night to a close. At this point, he was fairly confident he knew what that message would be - but still, he needed confirmation.

One hand, clad in an unnatural metal gauntlet, stroked the back of the script almost tenderly. It was the thing that would confirm his fate, after all. The work of years brought almost to conclusion by mere words on a screen.

So much of this world was shaped by words on screens.

There was the tiniest of beeps. A message came through from his Noel. Six words.

'Mission has failed. Security has Roz.'

The Citizen smiled.

Victory.