Ruth wasted no time.

She ducked down, bolts of plasma flying over her head and singing her hair. Then, in the same motion, she swept her leg across the floor, the limb buzzing with crimson Aether. Two of the guards were sent sprawling down to the ground, and the twin kicks that Ruth unleashed as she rose again firmly knocked them out.

The last guard, his eyes wide with panic, fired at Ruth again -- but this time she didn't duck. Instead, she spun on the spot, arm lashing out like a snake -- and she caught the bolt of plasma in her hand.

It took an obscene amount of Aether infusion to stop the plasma from melting through the armour and her skin, but she held strong. The guard's finger curled around the trigger again, but too late.

Ruth kicked off the ground and slammed her open hand right into the middle of the guard's chestplate. Her armour had been able to withstand the dissolution, but that clearly wasn't the case for him. The guard staggered back, screaming hysterically as the plasma ate through the metal, dropping his gun in his panic.

Well, Ruth was never one to say no to a gift.

She caught the rifle before it hit the floor -- and then, holding it upside-down like a farball bat, she struck it against the guard's head. He went down like a puppet with his strings cut, his scream trailing off into unconsciousness.

She'd heard a crack when she'd hit him. For a moment, she thought she'd gone too far and smashed his head in, but a little inspection showed she'd only damaged his helmet. Flipping him over onto his back, she unstrapped the melting chestplate from his body and tossed it into the corner of the room, where it continued to collapse into a pile of molten metal.

Ruth slapped her hands together as she looked down at the three bodies. Job well done.

Now…

She looked up from her work, anger already furrowing her brow as she stormed out of the room. Foolishly, she'd given North an inch -- and as always, he'd taken a mile. No doubt he'd been lying about the other guards approaching: he'd probably made a run for it and adopted a new identity.

Finding him again, when he had his guard up, would be pretty much impossible.

Ruth sighed as she turned into the hallway. First thing first -- she'd have to get back in contact with Skipper and Bruno, get a handle on what exactly was going on…

She stopped.

There, in front of her, was North, smiling cheerfully. Two guards were strewn on the ground before him, twitching weakly and groaning. Dried vomit coated their mouths and chins -- and a veritable helping of it had splattered onto the floor too.

Ruth sighed. "You asshole."

North's smile widened into a grin. "What?" he asked. "Don't trust me?"

It had been quite the trip.

Marie's awareness of her surroundings had been reduced slightly as she masqueraded as a corpse, but she still had a vague idea of the way she had travelled. From the morgue, she'd been sealed in some kind of secure unit -- and then that had been placed in an elevator, the vertical rumbling unmistakable.

It had travelled upwards, the module had been retrieved, and here she was. Wherever here was. Good thing she wasn't claustrophobic.

She'd heard footsteps heading away from her a couple of minutes ago, and since then nothing. No breathing, no shifting of skin or clothes… just sterile silence, and the occasional beep of equipment. She'd be hard-pressed to find a better opportunity.

Marie's body sparked back to life in a moment. Her legs became heavy and powerful, tense with muscle, and as she kicked out at the metal above her it gave way like paper. As it flew up into the air, Marie's hands lashed out like tendrils, multi-branched fingers grabbing onto the lid in the air and slowly lowering it back to the ground. There was no reason to cause too much noise here.

She sat up, her arms and legs returning to default as she inspected the pure-white chamber.

The place was massive, like a warehouse, but most of it was empty. Consoles and monitoring equipment lined the walls, but the space between was occupied only by six huge vats, each frothing with indistinct red liquid.

Blood? No. Marie's nose twitched as it sniffed the air with acuity superior to any machine. The intermingling scents of half-a-dozen cleaning products drifted into her nostrils.

Gingerly, she got out of the coffin-shaped module, adjusting her ruined tuxedo. That Skipper man had really done a number on her -- if she wanted to take him out in the future, it would have to be a sneak attack. All he had to do was look at her to cut her to ribbons, after all.

Her eyes flicked around the room. The man who'd brought her here -- Titan Hessiah -- was nowhere to be seen. Where exactly was here, though? They were surely still inside the ExoCorp headquarters, but from the way he'd been talking this place was clearly some kind of secret.

Marie’s gaze settled on a small door, right in the corner of the room, the red light above it indicating it was locked. It looked flimsy, but she got the feeling that security for something like this was more than met the eye.

Thump.

Marie whirled around as the heavy sound echoed throughout the chamber. Her eyes turned black as an Umbrant’s as she adjusted them, viewing the world through spectrums ordinary beings could not even comprehend. It took her only a moment to scan the room, confirm nobody was sneaking up on her, and relax her posture once again.

Thump.

This time, it was child's play to ascertain the source of the noise -- it was the closest vat, the red liquid in it bubbling incessantly. Curiosity getting the better of her for a moment, Marie took a step forward, glancing at the holographic panel next to it.

ENFANT-6.

Titan Hessiah had used the word Enfant in the morgue, hadn't he? So this was what all the fuss was about. Marie turned her head this way and that, trying to get a better look into the opaque vat, but no matter how hard she looked -- and no matter what organs she used to look -- the liquid did not surrender its secrets.

She sighed, ildly rapping her fist against the glass as she turned away.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Marie turned back, her eyes wide -- and as she did, she finally saw the source of the sound. The liquid did not clear, nor did the haze, but a great shadow fell over her as something floated through the crimson. Something huge.

It was like a giant human fetus, stark white in colouration -- save for its bulbous staring eyes, which glared a bloodshot red. Its body was undeveloped, its limbs stubby and unfinished, but even so the strength in it was unmistakable -- the grotesque bulging muscles clearly possessing enough strength to reduce a human being to a smear.

If that wasn't enough, even curled up in the fetal position it was the size of a car: how big would it be when it grew? Was this a thing that would grow, or would it remain like this forever?

Marie stared up at it, and it stared down at her. Slowly, its movements laborious, it reached out and tapped its hand against the inside of the glass.

Thump.

A reflection became clear in the glass, overlaying the grotesque infant. A short, grinning man with a combover, his eyes frenzied in rapture. He'd snuck up on Marie without so much as a sound.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" whispered Titan Hessiah.

"They're angry people," Anne said hurriedly, as if that was useful information. "People that are angry."

"Good to know," Dragan panted back.

Aether coloured his steps as he sprinted through the cave system. His footsteps echoed incessantly through the tunnels, and in the distance he could hear the alarming laughter of his pursuer. No matter how far he ran, John seemed to be perpetually on his heels.

He'd been running for nearly half an hour now, and he was no closer to escaping. These tunnels were labyrinthian, winding in on themselves like an insect colony, and Dragan was starting to worry that he'd never find his way out even if he did escape.

What, then?

His options were limited, but he did have options. He could continue running, hoping for a stroke of luck that would allow him to finally escape. He could try and hide in these huge caves, hoping that John would pass him by.

Or…

Dragan skidded to a halt, spinning around in the same movement. This chamber was well-lit, illuminated by glowing crystals, but it would serve for his purposes all the same. Across from him, the dark mouth of the tunnel waited, no doubt preparing to eject its contents.

Running was futile, and hiding was pathetic. The only true option left to him, then, was to fight and win.

Dragan raised his fists, assuming a combat-ready posture, and --

A spark of pale red Aether.

-- and his hand exploded.

It was sudden, unpredictable -- one second his hand was fine, the next it had been blown apart in a puff of red smoke. Blood spurted out from the wound as Dragan fell to his knees, clutching the limb in his remaining hand. His fingers had been severed at the base, leaving him with little but a thumb and assorted gristle, twitching impotently.

He tried his best to hold it back, but a strained scream escaped his throat all the same.

It was answered by more laughter from the tunnel, still some distance away but growing closer. John called out to one of his comrades, saying something, but in his state of agony Dragan was in no state to pay attention.

No. No, he couldn't falter. He couldn't surrender to the pain. He had to keep his mind, hold it in this present moment and squeeze it for all it was worth.

Dragan dragged himself to the far corner of the cavern, among the jagged rocks and stones, keeping himself as quiet as possible. He'd worried that Anne might make a noise, but the girl was surprisingly docile -- especially with what had just happened in front of her. Clearly, there was something more going on with her, but now wasn't the time to think about it.

Now was the time to think about what the hell had just hit him.

The explosion must have been incredibly powerful -- he'd been infusing his hands with Aether to attack and his fingers had been torn apart all the same. What was the delivery mechanism, though? Would he be hit by it again?

There was no way of telling. He didn't have enough evidence to guess. White-hot pain still pulsing into his body, he looked down at his hand…

…and what he saw there was even stranger than the explosion.

Orange Panacea, like melting wax, was pouring liberally from his wound, sculpting itself into the shape of his missing fingers. As he watched, the form of those protrusions shifted -- from talons to claws to boneless flaps of skin to actual human digits. Finally, the orange colour faded, leaving Dragan with a fully functional hand once again. Even the pain was gone, replaced by a tingling sensation as nerves reconnected.

He only mouthed the words, but they resounded through his head like a death bell.

What the fuck?!

Marie took a cautious step back as she turned to look at Titan Hessiah, ready to attack the second he came closer. He did not come closer.

Instead, he just stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, smiling serenely as he looked up at the creature in the tank.

"I'll admit," he said, as if they were having a casual conversation. "Aesthetically, they're not the most… mm, but it's a work in progress. At least at the start, we should pursue function over form, don't you think?"

Marie hid one hand behind her own back -- and as she did, long claws sprouted at the ends of it, thin and sharp enough to pluck a heart from a chest. If Hessiah tried anything, he wouldn't live long enough to regret it. Marie never missed.

"What is that thing?" she demanded, jerking her head towards the demonic embryo. "And what are you people doing here?"

Hessiah frowned as he rubbed his chin -- and with his other hand, gestured to the holographic panel.

"Why, it says right there," he explained. "It's an Enfant, one of six so far. And when you say 'you people'... well, ah, I understand how you could get that idea, but this is really more of my own personal project for the moment. I have others supply the raw materials -- out of necessity, really -- but the actual work is all mine. I don't mean to brag, but that's just the way it is."

Marie narrowed her eyes. Hessiah still hadn't moved from his initial position, but she got an unmistakable feeling of danger from him.

"Answer the question," she demanded, voice cold. "What are you doing here?"

Hessiah sighed, hands returning behind his back as he looked up at the Enfant. The creature's eyes had rolled up into its skull, and it had stopped moving. Was it asleep?

"Panacea is a wonderful thing, isn't it? Just miraculous," he murmured. "Seamless growth and imitation, and these people use it to fix cuts and bruises. I couldn't believe it when I found out how far it could be taken, you know? The sheer potential that was being wasted…"

Marie's eyes darted to the floating Enfant. "This thing… is Panacea? How?"

"Clusters of human cells," Hessiah sighed in happiness. "Harvested from the dead, pulped and perfected, nurtured as the farmer tends the flock. Only one cell in a million was fit to be used. Then my enhanced Panacea grows an entire body from that stock, and I cut away from the greater mind to give it consciousness. That last part has caused some trouble, but still…" He looked back to her, smiling. "Progress is inexorable, despite the world's best efforts."

She shook her head. "You're crazy."

"Really? I think I've approached this fairly rationally. I've covered my tracks, used only the forgettable, compensated my minor collaborators… where exactly is it you think I've misstepped here?"

Marie took another step backwards, her back thumping against the vat. The glass was disturbingly warm and moist.

"And witnesses like me?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "What happens to us?"

"Well," Hessiah sighed, looking down at his feet. "As I said, progress is inexorable."

He took a step forward.

His footstep echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls, slithering into Marie's ears. Within the first microsecond of hearing that sound, Marie moved -- and it was a movement no human body could surpass. Her clawed arm engorged with muscle and became a blur, tearing off Hessiah's head with a single swipe.

But. Titan Hessiah's blood did not pour forth. Only red smoke rose from his neck, like it was a chimney.

But. Titan Hessiah's headless body remained standing. It's hands swayed at its sides, but it's footing remained firm.

But. Hessiah's head, clutched in her hand, spoke. Tears were running down from it's eyes.

"I suspected…" he said, a smile of pure bliss on his face. "With your deceit, I of course suspected, but to have it confirmed, oh, oh…"

It would have been child's play to crush his skull in her hand, but all Marie could do was stare down at it in disbelief. She, of course, had reached the exact same conclusion he had.

Headless, Hessiah's body took another step forward -- and this time, she took no action to stop it's advance, nor did she prevent it from planting its hands on her shoulders. As it did, she could hear the bones of its legs and back creak and crack as it grew taller, towering over her. A slimy prehensile tendril emerged from the tattered neck, plugging itself into Hessiah's skull and gently tugging it out of Marie's hand.

His head, still suspended by the cord, swayed in the air, weeping.

"To think there were others of my kind…" he whispered, almost inaudible. "Oh, oh…"

Marie found that tears were running down her own face, too. For a hundred years, she'd thought herself alone, felt isolation crush down on her like the pressure of the ocean floor -- and now, here, that weight had been lifted by one single fact:

Marie Hazzard wasn't alone in this world.