"What do you want, North?"

Dragan glared at the Umbrant standing outside his glass cell. It was only natural -- the last time he'd seen the former member of Skipper's crew, he'd left Dragan to choke to death on poison gas. To be honest, he was lucky there was glass and Neverwire protecting him from getting a solid punch to the jaw.

North wagged an admonishing finger as he strolled across the perimeter of the cell, eyes carefully scanning Dragan. "You first, pal," he said, scratching an ear. "Like I said, you're supposed to be dead. Head blown off. How come you ain't?"

Dragan tapped a finger against his own temple as he turned to follow North's movements. "Well, as you can see, asshole, my head is firmly attached to my body. Looks like you've got bad information."

He almost winced as Pan chirped up next to him, but managed to restrain the reflex. "But dead boy!" she cried out. "That's truth! That's what happened! Why pretending?"

Dragan ignored her, not even glancing in her direction. He wasn't sure what North was doing here, nor what he wanted, and he wasn't about to give him any clues as to his situation. Pan kept yelling stuff at him, seemingly under the impression that he couldn't hear, but Dragan tuned it out.

"I dunno," North sucked in air through his teeth. "I was pretty nearby at the time, you know?"

Stray suspicions solidified in Dragan's mind, and a groan escaped his lips. "Oh, dammit. You were Micah?"

North smirked. "Took ya long enough."

Dragan grunted as he sat up further on the bench, raising an eyebrow. "So, you lure us in and bring us here. Obviously there's something you want from us. What is it?

North flickered out of existence -- and then reappeared on the other side of the cell, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Dragan swung around to follow him.

"So we're changing the subject, huh?" North smirked, one hand on his chin. "That's what we're doing? Cool, cool. But yeah, I do need you guys' help with something."

"And what's that?" Dragan sighed. "And why are you asking me?"

North's smirk spread into a grin, and Dragan felt a heavy weight settle over his shoulders. He got the distinct sense that he was being played in some way, but he didn't really have the energy to figure out how. He'd keep it in his mind as a background process, figure it out later, but play along for the moment.

"Well," North flickered again, reappearing leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the cell. "Skipper ain't too happy with me right now, but you're -- literally -- a captive audience. And with those on ya, you're not exactly gonna attack me. So yeah, I'm going through youse."

Dragan scowled. "So what? Do I look like his secretary to you?"

"Good way of putting it, yeah." He flickered once more, reappearing on his feet a short distance away. "See, the way I see it, you ain't likely to get out of this cell any time soon. I'm tricking the cameras with my ability and I've got the audio set to loop, but sooner or later they're gonna figure something's up, ya feel me?"

"Get to the point."

North leaned forward, his leering grin unbearably smug. "So I got a deal for ya."

"The kind of deal I'm not really in a position to refuse, I assume?"

The grin only widened. "It's my favourite kinda deal, boss. It's a three step sorta thing: I bust you out, you help me do what I gotta do upstairs, then I get you reunited with your crew. Big happy party, everyone goes home. Sound good?"

"What is party, dead boy?" Pan asked, leaning into Dragan's field of vision.

Dragan leaned forward as well, still ignoring Pan's questions. He stared into what he assumed to be North's eyes, but saw no signs of the microexpressions that should have been there. Even now, then, he was using a hologram as a decoy.

"You say I haven't got a choice," he said carefully. "But what exactly happens if I refuse your oh-so-generous offer?"

North sniffed, rubbing his nose with a thumb. "You see this cell you're in? Take a good look at the floor."

Dragan glanced down, squinting to inspect the rows upon rows of tiny holes in the ceramic beneath him. His eyes widened. Oh.

"It's biohazard quarantine," North elaborated needlessly. "This ain't my first rodeo up here -- hence why I'm so damn good at getting around the security. Every now and then the security boys will bag and tag a stray Repurposed, bring it up here, and the scientists will do their thing. Scans, dissections, all that nice stuff. And when they're done? Incineration."

Dragan gulped.

North knew he had him. "So, you say you don't want my help? You might live a little while longer, but eventually these guys are gonna be done with you. When they are, they're gonna burn you to a crisp, burn the crisp to smoke, and purify the smoke to nothing. Or you can help out your good buddy North and walk free."

North raised an eyebrow.

"So… what do ya say?"

"What do you mean you lost him?" Skipper mumbled, his face buried in his hands as he sat down on a bench in the corner of the warehouse.

After they'd returned from confinement, they'd elected against lurking around the surrounding hallways. Atoy Muzazi would no doubt be looking for revenge after his Special Officer partner was killed, and under the circumstances it was best to stay somewhere with plenty of witnesses. Still, that meant things were noisy.

Ruth winced as the sound of a crying child pierced her ears. "I messed up, Skipper. The guards came after us and he got away while I was fighting 'em."

Bruno, his arms crossed, looked down at the floor worriedly. "Did he say anything about what he might be doing? Any -- any clues or anything?"

Ruth shook her head sadly. If he had, she hadn't caught it.

"Shit," Bruno clicked his tongue.

With a final wipe of his face, Skipper threw his hands out at his sides. "Still!" he cried, as if wiping the slate clean. "It's not like North's going anywhere, I guess -- he's stuck on this planet, same as us. Hell, he's stuck in the building, same as us, and he's a smug son of a bitch on top of that. No way we don't run into him again."

"But what do we do?" Bruno demanded, his arms still crossed. "We came here to grab Panacea before all this happened, right? You said enough to win a war with. But North was our only lead on how to get it."

"At this point, Mr. del Sed," Skipper leaned back in his seat. "My bigger concern is getting off this planet without getting turned into a mushroom-man -- and I think I know the best next move for that."

Ruth cocked her head. "What is it?"

"Ansem del Day Away said that communications off-planet aren't down, but that ExoCorp are blocking them. Not sure if I believe that, to be honest -- I get the sense he's trying to play us -- but there's only one way to find out for sure, one way or another.*

Bruno nodded. "We check out the communication network ourselves?"

"Directly, at the central node. If they really are down, then we can all cry and have a pity party together. If they're not…"

He trailed off, his eyes far away.

"Skipper?" Ruth asked.

"If they're not," Skipper said, voice dangerously low. "And we came here for nothing, and Dragan died for nothing… then I'll show them just how disagreeable someone like me can be."

What makes a king a king?

Blood. Both their own, and that which they could spill.

Once, John Blair had been next in line to inherit a throne -- but when that cowardly planet had joined the UAP, the monarchy had been done away with. His family had been cast aside, told to make do with old properties and revenues, and abandoned to the winds of mediocrity. As a child, John had been told to forget about his rightful throne and settle for the life of a common man.

His humiliation had been considerable -- but not total. He could see now that his crown had merely been delayed. He'd just been meant for greater heights.

He stood on the edge of the cliff, inspecting the ExoCorp building from a distance. January was on one side of him, script set out before him, while Susan watched over their position with her sniper rifle. Pion was keeping their base of operations secure, while Ian was in place inside.

Ian's voice came through their internal communication network. "Security is concentrated around the quarantine floor right now, sir. We won't get a better opportunity."

"Very good," John replied.

"Then our crusade begins?"

Everything was ready. The time had come.

John turned down to January, the hefty man hunched over the controls he'd set up for his explosives. Slowly, he nodded -- and spoke through his own lips.

"Set them off."

January's thumb slammed down on the button.

"Fine," Dragan growled, staring North down. "Just get me out of here."

North stood up with a triumphant grin, slapping his hands together. "No problem, pal -- I stole the codes for this little cage a long time ago. No skin off my bones to bust you out --"

Three things happened at once.

First, there was the distant sound of an explosion, and the building shook. North stumbled mid-step, and Dragan was forced to grab onto the underside of the bench to keep himself steady.

Second, North -- with a visible look of alarm on his face -- flickered out of existence, his presence utterly vanishing. For a moment, translucent Aether crackled in the air, but then it too disappeared.

Third, the doors at the far end of the room swung open, and a security squad marched in. Five guards, with their commander -- Marsh, they'd called him when they were bringing Dragan in -- at the head. Their expressions were hard and their eyes resolute as they approached the quarantine cell.

"Get up," Marsh barked at him. "You're coming with us, freak."

North's voice, uncomfortably close to Dragan, was barely audible -- but the message of it came through loud and clear.

"Ah," he said. "Looks like this might be a little more physical than I thought."

John took a deep breath through his helmet as he landed within the building, his heavy boots slamming down on the ground. The bomb Pion had built from that wrecked ship had been just as effective as promised -- blasting through the reinforced exterior of the building without issue.

January landed on one side of him, Susan on the other, all three clad in their heavy armour. Massive plasma rifles in their grip, they rose to their feet.

"Eyes forward, team," he commanded. "Let's begin."

On the other side of the hallway, already, he could see their opposition approaching -- huge and hulking things of black metal, tall enough that their heads nearly touched the ceiling. Still, they were of no consequence.

With Aether and Panacea combined, nothing was of very much consequence.

He could feel it above, like his own beating heart. The flesh that must be destroyed. The false children.

Time to begin.