Needles truly did know his way around the twisting tunnels, somewhat to Glory’s surprise. And he kept his promise surprisingly well. Around every corner, where a waiting thrash of cannibals waited to snatch them, he’d led them to an expertly hidden escape tunnel, disguised to blend in perfectly with the stone walls around them.

Too perfectly. Glory was half-convinced that the secret tunnels were, in fact, completely invisible until Needles chose to reveal them.

“It’s not far now,” he said.

Dixon still wore a deep frown, but he didn’t look quite so murderous whenever he laid eyes on Needles anymore.

Glory considered that a victory.

“You’re sure we’re going the right way?” Dixon asked. “This sure as hell don’t look like the path to a major temple.”

“This is a spur-tunnel,” Needles said. “It’s meant for emergency transit and ambushes, mostly. The real corridor is just ahead.” He nodded forward. “From there, we go left, and—”

The crunching of rocks startled Needles into silence as a newcomer rounded the corner to face them. Heavy boots, a military-grade hazardous materials suit and matching full-face helmet, and a long, dusty trench coat made for an equally imposing and bewildering figure. Needles froze beside her, and jerked back.

“Wait!” Dixon snapped. “No one panic! This is Wilkes. They helped us clear out the cannibals up top.”

The suited head shook side-to-side, then they jerked in surprise or shock. Their right hand flew to their hip, where they yanked a revolver free and aimed it past Glory’s head, towards Needles.

Glory yelped, just as Dixon shouted, “No! Don’t!”

Wilkes hesitated, turning towards Dixon with their head cocked to one side.

Glory realized abruptly that she’d taken a step in front of Needles, as if to use herself as a shield. She hadn’t meant to, and that fact unsettled her.

Dixon sighed and shook his head. “He’s… helping us. Don’t ask why, but he hasn’t stabbed us in the back yet.”

Wilkes turned back to look at Needles and Glory again, and Glory got the distinct impression that they were questioning her sanity.

“How did you get past the fallen?” Needles asked from behind her.

Wilkes shrugged.

Dixon crept closer to the suited figure, glancing back to Glory and Needles before looking back to Wilkes. “Look, I know you’re under no obligation to stay down ‘ere if you don’t want,” he whispered, “an’ I know I’m askin’ you to risk your life… but we could really use an extra pair of guns, in case this goes to hell.”

Wilkes cocked their head again, as if to demonstrate that they were listening.

“Cannibal boy here tells us his pals have Jimmy. My deputy. The kid I was with. You remember him?”

Wilkes nodded.

“We need to save ‘im. They’re keepin’ ‘im in the main chamber. Ain’t that right, Needles?”

“Er, yes,” Needles uttered. “That’s right. Though I can’t say for certain what awaits us.”

“So, we need to be ready for anything,” Dixon said. He gazed at Wilkes imploringly, almost pleadingly. And, surprisingly, they appeared to be considering it. Or, at least, they hadn’t yet completely refused and stormed off towards the surface.

Glory realized she was fidgeting with her hands, her fingers twitching by her sides. She curled them into fists to keep them under control. The amount of unplanned, unnecessary, erratic locomotion she’d executing recently was starting to worry her, but it wasn’t like she could go to Father and request a diagnostic check and tune-up.

Finally, Wilkes nodded their head once, slowly lowering their revolvers to holster them at their belt. All the while, they seemed to be staring intently at Needles.

“Thank you,” Dixon said. “I mean it.”

Wilkes nodded again, raising two fingers to the black spots on their helmet over their eyes, then pointing towards Needles. I’m watching you.

“Noted,” Needles whispered. He cleared his throat and nodded forward. “It’s just ahead, to the left. Watch out for the fallen.”

Their little group continued on, with one additional member.

As they walked, Glory shifted a little closer to Needles and glanced over at him, taking in the way he hunched in on himself, as if he wanted to disappear. “What does that mean?” she asked, voice pitched low so as to not bother the others. “‘The fallen’?”

Needles opened his mouth to answer her question, but despite her efforts, Dixon had overheard her question, and snorted loudly, interrupting Needles’ explanation. “‘The fallen’ is what cultists call cannibals. Fallen from humanity, from logic and reason. That sorta thing.” He sneered over his shoulder at Needles. “A cultist playing dress-up as a cannibal. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Needles hissed in a breath between his teeth, but didn’t deny the accusation. Glory, meanwhile, stared at Needles, re-examining every centimeter of him.

Well, he at least looked more like a cultist than a cannibal. Cultists were generally physically indistinguishable from regular humans, aside from the distinctly fanatical glint in their eyes and their… unique manner of dress. They also tended to be the most peaceful of the wasteland mutants.

Though ‘peaceful’, when applied to mutants, was very much a relative term.

Glory’s attention turned back to the matter at hand when the tunnel they were in opened up into a much larger corridor, seemingly brighter lit than the rest of the cave system so far. The walls and ceiling were smooth, the ground cushioned by a thin, even layer of pure white sand. It was like night and day, compared with the cramped, filthy, blood-stained tunnels in the rest of the lair.

Dixon let out a low, impressed whistle. “Why’n the hell wouldn’t you stay down here all the time?” Dixon asked.

Needles wore a small frown, seeming nowhere near as impressed as the others. “…I am a healer. I am needed elsewhere.”

Despite his words, his voice sounded… tense. Did he know something they didn’t, or was he just easily unnerved?

They continued on, Dixon shuddered sharply next to Glory. “’S it just me, or did it get colder all of a sudden?”

“I don’t feel anything,” Glory said with a frown.

Dixon scowled. “Well, I sure as hell do. Let’s not be down here any longer’n we have to. Left, you said?”

“Left,” Needles agreed.

They continued on, turned left, and at last emerged into what had to be the ‘lower ritual chamber’ Needles had described earlier, if only because of the runes and symbols drawn on the walls in what looked like long-dried blood. Bones decorated the space as well, albeit far more delicately, perhaps, than elsewhere in the tunnels.

It was immediately clear that this space had not been furnished by the cannibals, leaving only Needles or Ghost as the possible architects. And, judging by the queasy frown on his face, Glory doubted Needles was the one responsible.

Glory could see the entrance to another tunnel at the far side of the chamber, though it was so dark she couldn’t see anything beyond its threshold.

“So… I distinctly remember you sayin’ we’d find Jimmy here. I don’t see no Jimmy, cannibal boy.” Dixon turned a murderous glare onto the healer. “Do you?”

Needles’ already pallid face paled even farther. “But… I swear, I heard—”

A sudden muffled, almost strangled-sounding moan startled the three of them, and they all turned to face Wilkes standing a short distance away, facing away.

“Wilkes?” Dixon asked. “Buddy, you okay?”

They didn’t answer. In fact, they seemed to be utterly enthralled by something at the far end of the room. Slowly, the rest of their group turned to look as well, and saw what had so enthralled the masked figure. Needles and Dixon let out soft, surprised gasps as well, sounding almost awed. But Glory…

Glory had a very bad feeling about this.

There, on the far wall, was another bloody drawing like the others, albeit much larger. Except, it wasn’t just a bloody cave painting. Glory would recognize that symbol anywhere: the Benefactors’ sigil—a sort of geometric, interlocking pentagram.

“What the hell?” Dixon asked, and Glory agreed. It was true that the Benefactors had created the mutants, albeit inadvertently; they were, all of them, failed attempts to create a better, stronger human subspecies.

When their experiments failed, the Benefactors cast the mutants out into the wastes to die off. Except, of course they hadn’t; they had flourished. But the mutants—or, at least, the ones intelligent enough to hold a grudge—did not forget how their creators abandoned them. And mutants could hold a grudge like no other.

To see the Benefactors’ sigil in a mutant lair like this was, as far as Glory knew, unheard of. But here it was, deep crimson the exact color of human blood, so dark it almost appeared black in some places, like the gaping cracks in the earth’s crust left by the war.

“He—He wouldn’t—” Needles choked; he sounded horrified, heartbroken. “He wouldn’t—Is this why—”

“You wanna explain what we’re seeing, cannibal boy?” Dixon asked, though his voice lacked the earlier hostility. He simply sounded as confused as Glory felt.

But Needles had no answer. In fact, he sounded to be on the verge of hyperventilation. Glory turned to the healer as his breaths began to wheeze out of him, sounding pained. He shook, hands scrabbling at his own throat, eyes wide and terrified.

Something sympathetic twinged in Glory’s processor, and she took a step closer to him. “Needles, listen to me. Listen. To. Me. Listen to my voice.” When it still didn’t help, she grabbed one of his hands and pressed it to her chest. “Feel my heartbeat. You need to calm down.”

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Glory stepped a little bit closer, until they were almost touching, so she could peer directly into his eyes. “Breathe with me. In,” she inhaled slowly, “then out,” she exhaled slowly. She repeated a few times, and slowly but surely, Needles’ own breathing slowed to match hers.

At the end of it, his hand still shook in hers, but he seemed calmer, at least. “Thank you,” he rasped. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You had a panic attack,” Glory said. “It happens.”

“Does it?” He blinked confusedly, peering over Glory’s shoulder. Glory realized she didn’t know where Dixon or Wilkes were, and turned to find them.

Wilkes hadn’t moved since they’d become enthralled by the Benefactors’ sigil on the wall, but Dixon had joined them. The two of them stood more or less shoulder-to-shoulder, staring intently at something.

“What’s going on?” Glory called.

They didn’t answer. They did, however, begin moving forward; closer to the wall.

Needles frowned. “Something isn’t right.”

His comment was unnecessary; Glory could clearly see that something wasn’t right. But she had no idea what it was until she stepped away from Needles and moved to approach Dixon and Wilkes.

She set a hand on Dixon’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”

He turned to her and growled. Growled, like an animal. It was so sudden it startled Glory into letting go.

She looked between him and Wilkes. They both appeared almost hypnotized by the sigil drawn on the wall, gazes dull and faces relaxed as if in sleep. Drawn inexorably towards the wall, Dixon, Needles, and Wilkes staggered towards it, shuffling across the sandy floor like the old world depiction of a zombie.

Lifeless, reanimated corpses, motivated not by the hunger for flesh but by the inexplicable desire to be closer to…

To the Benefactors.

Glory looked over at the wall again, and found her gaze drifting down, towards a small altar standing in front of the wall. It hadn’t been clearly visible from the back of the room, but she could definitely see it now.

A meteorite, approximately one and a half meters wide. The exact same as the one that had enthralled Father.

“No,” Glory whispered. “No, no, no, no, no!”

“What?” Needles asked. “What’s going on?”

Needles! He was still unaffected! She spun to face him and shouted, “Don’t move!”

“What?”

“Don’t move! Turn away! There’s something over here, I think it’s affecting their minds.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t have time to explain! Just… keep an eye out for your brother, or something. And whatever you do, don’t look over here.”

Thankfully, he didn’t argue further. He turned away to do just that, and Glory silently thanked anyone who happened to be listening that at least one of her companions wasn’t possessed, or whatever happened to the people the meteorites affected.

Mr. Icarus had claimed the meteorite was actually a ‘gift’ from the Benefactors. It consumed Father’s mind, and now Wilkes and Dixon. But how could she free them? Father’s meteorite had been impervious to physical harm.

Still, it wasn’t like Glory had a great many options. She shoved past Wilkes, earning an inhuman snarl in response, and staggered up to the meteorite. Kneeling in front of it, she laid a hand upon its surprisingly cool surface and almost immediately heard rapid footfalls behind her as someone ran up to her.

A hand landed firmly on her shoulder, and she was wrenched around with inhuman strength to stare up into Dixon’s dark eyes. “Do not interfere,” he hissed. Except, it wasn’t his voice. It was impossibly deep, and reverberated like the voices of several people speaking at once.

Glory’s nostrils flared as she squared her shoulders. “You!” she spat. “You poisoned my Father’s mind, and now you’re taking my companions!”

“Do not interfere!” Not-Dixon snarled.

“They’re mine!” Glory snapped. “Either leave them alone, or I’ll find a way to make you!”

Not-Dixon merely repeated himself. “Do not interfere!”

Either the Benefactors, or whoever was controlling them, had a terribly limited vocabulary, or it was just some sort of automaton, regurgitating pre-programmed lines at her like a…

Like a machine.

Glory wrenched away from Not-Dixon’s’ grasp and knelt down to grab the meteorite. It felt just as inexplicably malevolent as the one in Father’s compound had. But, under the sensation of wrongness was also the unmistakable, ticklish sensation of wireless data transfers. Like its predecessor, its IC was far too secure for her to force her way through like she could with Father’s archives. But…

If she couldn’t destroy it, then maybe she could interfere with the signal.

She pulled the stone in to her chest and curled around it, drawing her EM field around herself like a blanket. Not-Dixon and Not-Wilkes began convulsing.

Glory enhanced her EM field, almost shorting herself out in the process. But, it worked. The data transference ceased, and Dixon and Wilkes collapsed to the ground.

Needles had jumped at the sudden thud behind him, and had turned around to find their companions lying on their backs in the dirt. He broke into a sprint across the chamber and skidded to a stop on his knees next to Dixon. “What did you do?” he gasped.

“I—I stopped it.” She was still holding the meteorite, she realized, and let it drop to the ground as well like the lump of scrap that it was. “The same thing happened to my father.”

Needles gazed at her concernedly before turning his attention back to Dixon and Wilkes. Just as he reached for Dixon’s pulse point, gloved fingers whipped up and snatched his wrist, making Needles yelp. Glory stepped forward, into Dixon’s view, to watch as he woke up. Rather than the cold hostility of before, however, he just looked confused.

Glory glanced up at Wilkes, and saw them similarly rousing up, much to her relief. It seemed that her desperate approach worked.

“What—“ Dixon looked around them, his gaze finally landing on Glory and the rock at her feet. “What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Glory asked, trying to decide what to tell them.

“Seein’ the Benefactors’ sigil on that wall.” He nodded to the aforementioned wall with a grimace. “Next thing I know, I’m in the dirt. Care to tell me how that happened?” His face screwed up in thought. “Actually, now that I think of it, I do remember hearin’ a woman’s voice. Dunno what she was sayin’, but she sounded mad.”

Wilkes nodded along to his recollection, rubbing at the back of their neck.

“It might have been me,” Glory admitted. “I was trying to snap you out of… whatever happened to you. You weren’t listening to me, though.”

“You didn’t answer my question, kid,” Dixon said. “What the hell happened?”

Glory hesitated for what felt like a moment too long when trying to decide what to say. “…I don’t know.”

Dixon frowned, and looked to Needles, who shrugged. “What? You don’t know, either?” Dixon scoffed.

“I was keeping an eye out while she tried to figure out what happened,” Needles said by way of explanation, and held up a finger. “Follow my finger, please. Yes, like that. Anyhow, I figured it wouldn’t be good for any of us if Ghost walked in on us with you two out of commission.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t mention Glory yelling at him not to look. She didn’t know what to make of that. There was no way he’d forgotten, after all. Maybe he just had other priorities; namely, ensuring Dixon and Wilkes were up to speed.

It seemed that cannibals weren’t the only recipients of his healer’s instincts.

After a moment, Needles said, “Well, as far as I can tell, whatever happened to you seems to have passed.”

“Good,” Dixon grunted, getting to his feet.

“No sign of your deputy,” Glory noted.

He groaned, lip curling. “No thanks to him.” He nodded to Needles. “Got any more bright ideas, cannibal boy? ‘Cause I’m not leavin’ without ‘im.”

“How fortunate for you, Marshal.” The new voice made the micro-hairs on the back of Glory’s neck stand on end—an approximation of a human’s fight-or-flight response. Beside her, Needles didn’t appear to be in any better shape, having practically turned into another statue by her side.

Ghost.

They all whirled to face the source of the voice; at the other end of the chamber where they’d first entered. And he wasn’t alone. Not only was he surrounded on all sides by salivating cannibals, staring at them like an army of cats staring down a jittermouse, but he also had a prisoner.

A young man, in his early twenties at the oldest, with sandy blond hair and sporting a black eye. He sat on his knees in front of Ghost, his head bowed but a nasty snarl on his lips.

“Marshal, I’m sorry,” he croaked, voice raspy.

“Not your fault, kid,” Dixon said, voice deliberately calm. “We’ll get you outta here.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Marshal,” Ghost taunted. “Four against three hundred? I’ve heard of bravery in the face of danger, but that just sounds like suicide.”

“Three hundred?” Glory scoffed. “Learn to count. You can’t have more than two hundred in a tunnel system this big, or they would’ve started eating each other by now.”

“Glory,” Dixon hissed. “Not now.”

Ghost’s snide smirk faltered for a moment at her words, before he apparently decided to ignore her. Instead, his gaze drifted across their little foursome until he landed on Needles, and he let out an over-dramatic sigh. “Brother dearest, you disappoint me.”

“I… I didn’t—”

“What do you want?” Dixon snapped. “The sooner you spit it out, the sooner we can get out of here.”

Ghost smiled a dangerous smile. “And what makes you think you’re getting out of here, my dear Marshal?”

“A feeling,” Dixon said simply. “You said it yourself, we’re outnumbered, so you wouldn’t be wasting time talking to us unless you wanted something from us.”

“Stop wasting time and just shoot the bastard, Marshal!” the prisoner—Jimmy—shouted, earning himself another rough blow to the back of the head.

“James,” Dixon snapped, “shut up.”

Ghost scowled down at his prisoner, but regained his poker face quickly enough when he looked back up the rest of them. “Fine. I do have one request.” He nodded to Glory. “The girl stays. The rest of you can go.”

Glory tensed, her gaze flitting wildly between Dixon, Wilkes, and Needles, getting ready for the hand at the back of her head, shoving her to the ground in front of Ghost. It was only sensible; there’s no way they would risk their own lives (or, in Dixon’s case, the life of his deputy) for a stranger—

But Dixon reared back at the suggestion, a scowl crossing his face. “Not a chance.”

Ghost cocked his head. “Interesting. You must not know what she is.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, no…

“Brother—” Needles started, but Ghost continued unimpeded.

“She’s unnatural; a mach—”

Glory’s twisting internals clenched suddenly as the man in Ghost’s grasp—James—suddenly wriggled free of his grasp, flipped onto his back, and delivered a swift, strong kick to Ghost’s abdomen with both legs. It knocked the air out of Ghost’s lungs and sent him sprawling back into his cannibal followers.

Some cruel part of Glory hoped that his control over them wouldn’t be so strong as to keep them from eating him, but of course they wouldn’t be so lucky. The cannibals immediately turned on James, with a few of them turning to the rest of the group a few meters away.

“Run!” James shouted, even as he wrestled for a gun Ghost had evidently dropped on the ground. The cannibals split into roughly two groups: one of which piled on top of James, even as gunshots went off, tearing holes through their bodies; and the second of which tore away from their leader and his ex-prisoner and began racing towards their little foursome at the other end of the chamber.

But James had given them a chance—a split second—to escape, and Glory was determined to take it. She grabbed Needles’ and Dixon’s arms, and tugged them back, towards the other tunnel leading out of the chamber.

For a long moment, Dixon appeared to be in shock, stumbling along with the rest of them, his gaze fixed on some point behind them. It wasn’t until they neared the first bend in the corridor that he began struggling, digging his heels in and wrenching free of Glory’s grasp.

The rest of them came to an abrupt stop as well, and Glory turned to face him with a look of disbelief. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t,” Dixon said, as if that were an explanation on its own.

“He’s dead,” Glory said.

“Don’t say that,” he snapped. “He got the gun! Maybe he was able to—”

“There were dozens of cannibals back there!” Glory said incredulously. “Even if he managed to kill a few, I doubt the gun had enough ammunition to—”

“Stop!” Dixon barked, startling her silent. Then, softer, he repeated, “Stop it, please. I know. I just… I need to know for sure, okay?”

“Why?”

“He’s my deputy,” he said. “My responsibility. I promised his family I’d always bring him back.”

“That was a moronic promise,” Glory said, “and not one you could possibly hope to always keep.”

“I know, damn it!” He took a deep breath and nodded vaguely down the rest of the tunnel, behind her. “You should go, kid.”

“What?”

“Go on.” He nodded again. “Take Wilkes and cannibal boy with you. Get outta here, back to the surface. Tell ‘em what happened. See if you can find—” His voice cracked, and he started over. “See if you can find Lucy. She’s Jimmy’s sister. She deserves to know.”

“We can’t just leave you!” Glory insisted.

“Sure you can.” The corners of his lips quirked up, making him appear entire years younger. “My deputy, one of my kids. My responsibility.” He nodded behind her again. “Seriously, get out of here. I’ll catch up.”

He won’t, something told Glory.

Glory’s throat clicked as she swallowed. She glanced behind them, towards the tantalizing bend at the end of the tunnel. Escape was finally within her reach. But, for all his complaining and mockery, Dixon had helped them, and now he was allowing them to leave without him.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” he said insistently.

“Fine.” Glory turned to head down the tunnel, with Needles following closely behind her. Except… they were missing one set of footsteps.

Glory paused and turned to look behind them, and saw that Wilkes had yet to move from their spot at Dixon’s side. They crossed their arms and shook their head, even as Dixon tried to convince them to leave with Glory and Needles. Finally, he sighed and allowed it.

“Be careful,” Glory warned the both of them.

“You, too.” Dixon nodded towards Needles. “Keep an eye him.”

“I will.” Glory grabbed Needles’ wrist and turned to leave. After a short trek, they rounded the bend in the tunnel, revealing yet another near-endless stretch of tunnels. But, at least it was empty.

“If you want, I can stay with them,” Needles said softly. “If It would make you feel safer?”

“It’s fine,” Glory said, letting go of Needles’ wrist. “Just… stay close. And don’t make any sudden moves.”

“All right.”

“Wait!”

Dixon’s voice echoing from back down the tunnel where they’d left him made Glory and Needles pause. Glory thought he must’ve second-guessed his determination to stay and find his deputy. But the severe frown on his face remained in place, even as he came to a stop in front of them. Reaching for a holster at his side, he retrieved a small, black pistol which Glory identified as a heavily modified third-generation Glock. Though most of its body was scratched and faded, Glory could recognize the care that had gone into its maintenance, and she had no doubt that it was still a reliable weapon.

“Take it,” Dixon said, nudging it and its holster towards her. “Just in case.” He shot a glare over Glory’s shoulder towards Needles, and he didn’t have to specify what the gun was for.

Just in case the ‘friendly’ cannibal turns on you. The possibility had occurred to Glory as well, though she kept quiet. She accepted the gift gingerly and nodded to him. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He turned to march back in the opposite direction, leaving Glory and Needles alone in the tunnel.

Glory gazed down at the gifted weapon, before fastening the holster around her waist much in the same way that Dixon had worn his, and slipped it back into place. It felt as though it were burning a hole through her clothes and into her hip, searing her synthskin.

She did her best to ignore it, and instead turned to Needles. “Ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said shakily.

Glory turned and focused on determinedly putting one foot in front of the other, even as the sound of gunfire echoed from far behind them. She tried not to think about who was shooting whom.

Needles staggered along behind her, and his presence somehow felt both like an intrusion and as though he belonged there.