The closer Leroux sped towards New Oklahoma, the more he felt a tug in his heart pulling him the opposite direction, like a rebellious cow trying to fight the farmer and the yoke, trying to go its own direction, instead of plowing a straight line.

With one hand on the speeder levers, his other hand scratched his upper lip. It wouldn't stop itching. If he had his thick mustache he would have tugged on it.

There was a time when he and Tracy would have braved danger together, shoulder to shoulder, moving through tight corridors, exploring all manner of criminal-controlled property, turning every corner, expecting to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. Any moment could have been their last. And they reveled in that excitement. Because they had each other's backs.

Then the United States Marshal Service scoped out Tracy. He applied, got the job, and left Leroux for bigger and better things. Leroux had never found a brother quite like Tracy, an irreplaceable part of him gone. He'd buried that void for a long time. Forgotten it. Tried to fill it with other men, like Russ and Crag, who could never match up. Recent events brought that void to the forefront.

The little light that shone grew dim down in Noctis Labyrinthus. Phobos and Deimos emerged from the horizon. He had a rough idea of how to escape it's winding paths. His best bet was finding the unfinished viaduct. It'd be hard to miss, due to the sheer size and the man-made structure contrasted against the raw shapes of the canyon.

But passing by meant he chanced running into those... things. Images of writhing tendrils behind a razor-toothed maw made him shudder. He turned the heater up in the speeder to ward off the shivers.

Those things lived down here. This was their territory. He was surprised Tracy didn't run into one yet. Maybe he did and didn't mention it to Leroux. The sheriff found that hard to believe. Facing one of those things was a life-altering experience. In fact, if Tracy knew they were down here, he might not have turned Leroux away.

A thought nagged at the sheriff's mind.

He should not have left the child. Tracy couldn't care for a kid in the wilderness.

Tracy. That sentimental sap. Gone and got his heartstrings attached to the boy, just because of some self-imposed guilt over the death of the child's mother. In the heated moment of the argument, passion had won out and Leroux departed. Neither of them were thinking clearly. As for Tracy, he was so determined to capture Roy, that one and only thought consumed him and clouded his reasoning. He couldn't feed the kid. Couldn't shelter the boy. And when the time came to take action, he couldn't both protect the child and nab Roy. Just wasn't possible to have your heart divided like that.

Plus those alien predators were still out there.

Against every instinct telling him to hightail it out of Noctis and push the thrusters to the max, Leroux slowed the speeder to a complete stop.

Those things slaughtered a whole construction crew. Still around somewhere. Prowling in blackened caverns. That meant that sooner or later, the marshal and the kid were going to come face to face with those sharp-tooth tentacle aliens. He'd seen what it did to Russ. And Russ was an amazing shot. Sure Russ had survived thanks to Sujin's wealth and resources. But Tracy didn't have any of that. And he was so far out, that if he or the kid got hurt, there'd be no one to help them.

No one, but Leroux.

He turned the speeder around, gunned it, and raced back to find Tracy and the boy.

***

The unnatural superstructure came into view, a megalithic abomination.

Leroux had no other words for it. But as best he could tell, the Mustang hoof tracks led into the alien fortress. A place that should not be.

The metallic sheen of light catching an object at just the right angle pierced his gaze. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and drove towards it for a closer look.

It was a downed hovercopter.

Leroux got out of his speeder and inspected it.

Scorch marks marred the exterior next to the thrusters, indicating a crash landing. The side had been torn open, ripped into, like a cardboard box or a can of food. Blood stains splattered the interior.

The wreckage had not just occurred. The thrusters were cold to the touch, and the blood inside dried. The boxy, no-nonsense design and the mounted gatling gun suggested it was a military vessel. But the gold knobbed cane Leroux found inside suggested otherwise.

The sheriff whispered the name. "Sujin."

The signature cane belonged to the Red Prince, no doubt.

Leroux's mind raced, trying to piece together what might have happened.

Why would the tycoon return back to the canyon so soon after finding his crew obliterated by alien monsters?

Revenge. Plain and simple. Sujin was a highly competitive man. And everything was like a grand chess game to him. The fool had probably taken the attack of those savage beasts on his construction crew as a personal affront. As if the aliens wanted to sabotage his viaduct. He'd hired a crew of mercs to track down and slaughter the aliens. They failed.

Unlike the remains found at the construction site, nothing else survived except the crimson stains, the cane, and the slagged hovercopter itself. He peered towards the city from his new vantage point. Sure enough, he noted more downed copters.

"Dust and shaleslag." Leroux swore at the thought of having to enter this place, where a whole slew of armed mercs got wiped out already.

A frigid wind whistled through the desolate pocked towers, causing eerie, jarring notes to his grate against his ears. He despised the sound as much as the sight of the place.

And it reviled him in return.

Instinct caused Leroux to reach for his coilgun. To shoot at what though? A teetering tower? An eroded archway? A pitch-black alcove?

The slender edifices wrapped in warped spiral staircases with their many darkened openings seemed to house phantoms leering down at him, a small insignificant mortal man, trespassing on unhallowed ground. He couldn't shake the feeling of being naked, exposed, and vulnerable.

But somewhere in this place that should not be, a boy and Leroux's ole' buddy braved the odds. As did that enigma, Roy. No, he corrected himself, thinking of the orphaned boy. Roy, the cold-blooded murderer.

He eased the throttle forward, entering the strange city as quietly as possible, as if he did not want to agitate it and so incur its wrath.