Glory’s senses returned slowly, as her system rebooted itself. Her circuit breaker must’ve been reset. Intentionally? Or had Father programmed an operation to automate the reboot process?

Glory wasn’t sure which had her more on-edge: the thought of someone switching her on and off like a common piece of everyday technology, or there being aspects to her programming that even she didn’t know about. It wasn’t like Father had frequently overloaded her circuit breakers, after all.

A chill ran down Glory’s spine when the sound of muffled voices met her ears. She wasn’t alone. Her instincts screamed at her to scramble away, to reach for a weapon, to do something to protect herself, except… she couldn’t. The reboot process was only 47% complete, keeping her frozen in terror as diagnostics flickered up on her display.

As the reboot process crept its way towards 48%, she gained the ability to flicker her eyes open. Though her vision was blurry, she could make out what looked like an exact copy of her diagnostics readouts on a screen directly in front of her.

They were scanning her.

Glory’s vision flickered to her wrist, where her diagnostics port lay, and sure enough, a wire led from her chassis to somewhere out of her vision; presumably a computer. It would have to be an old world computer to handle the processor load from her brain, which at least narrowed down her current possible location. But none of that helped to alleviate the crawling revulsion she felt at realizing that some organic being was observing her innermost functionality.

It reminded her sharply of her time with Father; the long evenings spent completely motionless in the cybernetics lab, seated on a titanium table and hooked up to a diagnostics monitor while he pored over her every specification. How had she ever accepted this?

Her reboot process ticked past 52%, and she could at last twitch her fingertips. Her muffled hearing cleared minutely as well, until she could make out snippets of the dialogue around her.

“How the hell… Didn’t think it was possible.”

“Telling the truth… doesn’t matter… payment…”

“Proximity sensors… jammed… never even saw us coming… couldn’t believe…”

Were they talking about her? How they’d managed to capture her, perhaps? If they had some way to jam her sensors… well, at least she wasn’t malfunctioning, but that didn’t exactly help to assuage her fears. The very fact that they had something that could do that…

The voices lulled into silence for a few moments as Glory’s reboot process crept upwards of 64%, and when they picked up again, they were much clearer.

“What about the others?” a woman’s voice asked. “I thought the purifier said there was a whole team.”

A man laughed darkly, somewhere down past Glory’s feet, his voice raspy and dismissive as he spoke. “Does it matter? We got what we wanted.”

“Can she hear us?” a second, higher-pitched male voice asked, from farther away.

The woman made a dismissive noise. “The reboot process isn’t over yet. We’re fine.”

Wrong, fleshy! Glory wanted to crow. Instead, she focused on twitching her toes just enough to check that they were functional, but hopefully not enough to be noticed by an observer. At least her connections to her legs hadn’t been disconnected.

75%…

“This is creepy,” the higher-pitched male voice said. “She’s just… lying there. It’s like we’re watching over a corpse.”

A mutant, uncomfortable with corpses? That was unusual. Either he was incredibly young and inexperienced, or he wasn’t a mutant.

“It’s a machine,” the deeper male voice growled. “Don’t forget that.”

“But—”

“Shut up, you two,” the woman snapped. “Do you want the skin-boys to overhear you?”

Skin-boys… that sounded like cultists. So, that’d make Glory’s overseers raiders. Good to know.

88%…

“Diagnostic’s almost done,” the higher-pitched male voice said. “Should I go get the purifier?”

“You do that,” the deeper male voice said.

Footsteps trailed away, leaving the man and woman in silence. Glory was left with nothing but the constant ticking of her chronometer to mark the milliseconds as her reboot continued.

94%…

Footsteps grew louder at last: what sounded like two pairs. The man with the higher-pitched voice spoke softly, “The reboot’s almost complete. You said you wanted to be present when—”

“Yes, yes,” a voice snapped, and recognition jolted through Glory’s processor.

Needles’ father. She’d recognize that rasp anywhere. She did have a perfect memory, after all.

99%…

“Has anything else of note happened?” he asked.

The woman answered, “No.”

100%// Reboot complete

The screen flashed a similar alert.

Glory ran a quick, low-level diagnostic of her own—thorough enough to catch anything malicious they might’ve snuck into her system without her noticing, but minor enough to not be shown on the screen. Only when it came back showing all systems nominal did she strike.

She leapt upwards, yanking the cord out of her wrist with a shaking hand, and ripping the plug off the end just to be safe. The screen on the wall went dark, but Glory paid it no attention.

The woman moved forward to confront her, but Glory looped the cord around her neck like a lasso and yanked, knocking the woman to the ground as she groped desperately at her throat, choking for breath.

As she attacked, Glory realized two things about herself: one, that her weapons had been removed (not really a surprise); and two, that she was wearing a worn gray jumpsuit eerily similar to the one she used to wear in Father’s compound.

The reminder made her flinch.

The man by the base of the metal table she’d awoken on moved to take advantage of her momentary distraction, reaching for a rusted rifle on a nearby table. As he did, however, Needles’ father shouted, “No! Don’t damage it!”

Well, that certainly made Glory’s job easier. While the raider hesitated for a split second, Glory yanked the opposite end of the cord free of the computer and looped it around his wrist. She dragged him closer, twisted his wrist until his grip on the gun loosened, and took the weapon for herself. With her new weapon pressed to the man’s temple, she turned to face the two people in the doorway.

“Impressive,” the cultist—Needles’ father—hummed, a small smirk on his lips. His companion—a young man with ragged black hair and sporting an equally ragged gray jumpsuit similar to the one Glory currently wore—looked horrified at the display.

Not a mutant, Glory noted. Interesting.

“Surrender!” she snapped, “or I start with this one and move on to everyone else in this…” She glanced around the room, unease slinking into her awareness at its cold black and white geometric layout. It was somehow both completely alien and painfully familiar.

It reminded her of Father’s compound, though this particular arrangement was ever so slightly different from his laboratories. Still, it was clearly the same sort of facility.

“Yes, I imagine this facility should look familiar to you,” Needles’ father purred, seemingly recognizing the startled look on Glory’s face.

She snapped out of her reminiscing and instead focused on her prisoners once more. The woman had slumped by Glory’s legs, unconscious or dead (Glory couldn’t find it in herself to particularly care which one), while the man stood ramrod-still against Glory’s front, his own gun pressed to his temple.

At least he seemed to recognize that he had no hope of overpowering Glory. Smart.

“Who are you people?” Glory finally demanded. “What do you want?”

“I believe we’ve already met,” Needles’ father said. “Though our introduction was rather fraught, I’ll admit. Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Taurus.”

Glory’s left eye twitched. “The bull.”

“Indeed.” He beamed. “I am a high purifier of the Order of Vindictus. And I have a proposition for you.”

“Not interested.”

“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been looking for you, my dear?” Taurus continued, as if he hadn’t heard her.

Glory’s nose wrinkled at the endearment, and she sniffed. “No. Nor do I particularly care.”

He sighed. “Please. I understand your defensiveness, but I assure you that we mean you no harm.” He nodded to Glory’s prisoner. “Will you release him?”

“So you can disable me again?” Glory sneered. “No, thank you.”

He raised his hands defensively, showing that they were empty. As if following his lead, the ragged young man by his side did the same, though Glory noted how his hands appeared to tremble lightly.

“If it helps, I did not order the madmen to disable you in such a…” his lips twisted, “vulgar way. I am sorry about that.” He nodded to the man in Glory’s grasp again. “If it helps, you may keep the gun. I would simply discuss business with you without unworthy ears nearby.”

Glory’s grip on the gun tightened. She could hardly believe it, but she was actually considering it.

If she got to keep the weapon, that might at least offer her some protection from Taurus and his companions. And, if it got her answers…

She squeezed her prisoner’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she hissed, before loosening her grip and nudging him away. He staggered towards the door, not even turning to look at the woman Glory had disabled as well.

Slowly, Glory reached down to tug the cord free of her throat. Almost immediately, a choked breath rattled in between rotten teeth.

Impressive. Glory would’ve assumed she was dead.

Taurus nodded towards the woman. “Davis, take her to the infirmary.”

The jumpsuited man scrambled to obey, creeping forward with his hands still outstretched submissively. Glory kept a watchful gaze on him as he grabbed the woman under her arms and dragged her towards the door. Moments later, the raider man followed, and the door slid shut behind them with a low hiss, leaving Glory and Taurus alone in the room.

Davis… Why did that name sound familiar?

Glory searched her memory for mentions of the name, and the former mayor of Black Sun came to mind.

The man who’d sold his people to mutants for the sake of himself and his son. And now, either the mayor himself or his son—Glory presumed the latter, simply based on his age—had ended up as their slave.

It was a cruel sort of poetic justice, she supposed, though she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been programmed to admire poetry, after all.

She turned her attention at last to Taurus. Though she’d lowered the gun, she kept her grip on the weapon firm, ready to be used the instant he showed a hint of hostility. “What do you want?” she demanded.

His gaze appeared unfocused, as if he’d been lost in thought as well. “That little display of yours was impressive,” he finally said. “I had heard of what incredible pieces of engineering androids were, but to see it with my own very eyes…”

Glory smirked. “You should be in awe, human.”

“I am.” He strode forward, closer to Glory, and didn’t appear the least bit threatened when she brandished the gun at him again. “I have a proposition for you,” he repeated, voice as calm as it could possibly be.

“Proposition,” Glory scoffed. “What’s to stop me from simply leaving and burning this place to the ground on my way out?”

He smirked. “How many bullets can you conceivably dodge? One? Two? Ten? Whatever the number is, I promise, we can fire more. And, as durable as you are, I doubt your cranium could survive a direct shot.”

Glory’s jaw flexed in vexation. Father, in all his wisdom, had elected to house all her most vital processors in her head, much like a human’s brain. Her chassis might’ve been able to retain basic functionality without her head, but she’d lose her awareness, her personality… her consciousness.

And this bastard knew it.

Glory wanted to know how he knew so much about her. As far as she knew, Father was the first person in over a century to successfully design near-human class androids, and Glory was the only one to have ever been completed.

So where was he getting his information?

Glory’s first suspicions went to the Benefactors—they had slipped the mutants information regarding Father’s topics of research and subsequent escape, and had been using them to track Father through Glory.

But the Benefactors wouldn’t use mutants to do their bidding. Mutants were ruthless, bloodthirsty, and above all, unpredictable. Everything the Benefactors weren’t.

Instead, they’d send their own hunters—cyborg agents completely deferential to the Benefactors’ will and loyal to their cause.

That left one possibility that Glory could think of—Father himself had told them.

The thought made terror shudder through Glory’s synapses, though she did her best not to react visibly. Still, something in the sharpness of Taurus’s smile made her think he already knew.

“You wanted to talk,” Glory spat. “So talk.”

“In due time,” he hummed. “But, you’ve been locked up in here for far too long. Would you like to see the rest of our facility?”

“You’re stalling,” Glory accused.

He chuckled. “Without a doubt. But, it should be a little taste of home for you. And, it’ll allow me to show you the exact scope of our efforts.” He stretched a hand out towards her. “I swear, no one will try to hurt you while you’re under my protection. The people here answer to me.”

Glory glanced between him, his hand, and the door. She wanted to refuse. She wanted to get up and leave. But she had no idea how many mutants stood between her and freedom. And, well, he was essentially offering her free reconnaissance.

Reluctantly, she crept closer. She didn’t take his hand, but she did nod once, stiffly. “Fine. Lead the way. But I’ll be watching.”

That sharp grin crept across his face again. “Of course. Please, stay close. We still haven’t mapped the entire facility. I can’t say for sure what might lurk farther down.”

***

Stepping outside the cybernetics lab was like stepping back into Father’s compound. There were differences, of course: the promenade was longer and narrower, there were two staircases leading down to the atrium below instead of the singular spiral, and the corridor leading east was labeled hydroponics instead of biosciences. And, of course, there were the mutants lurking around every corner. But, aside from those changes, the two facilities were incredibly similar. Every surface, from floor to ceiling, was spotless—not a hint of dirt, or smudged fingerprints, or even dust. That was, at least, one aspect she had missed dearly; the cleanliness.

Wastelanders tended to always be some level of grubby.

Some part of Glory felt days old again, gazing around at the evidence of Father’s brilliance with awe instead of the resigned bitterness it eventually became. The rest of her, however, was just annoyed. None of this was real. The cultists—mutants in general, really—were parasites in the most literal way, burrowing into a pre-existing, thriving location and claiming it for themselves before pretending as if they had been there all along.

It was sickening.

“How long have you been here?” Glory asked, voice stiff and terse even to her own ears. She didn’t care; it was no more than the cultist deserved.

And, judging by how calmly he strode on about a meter ahead of her, neither did Taurus. “We first discovered this site about six to seven months ago. I can’t tell you the exact date, since I wasn’t there, and our earliest scouts never made it back to give an exact report.”

Six to seven months. Definitely not enough time to get everything working up to speed; especially not without an expert on old world and Benefactor technology among them. More likely, the facility had already been self-sufficient before they’d arrived.

But that meant…

That meant that Father’s facility had likely worked the same way as well. All the days he talked about all the work he’d put into restoring it from its ruined state…

Glory wasn’t sure why she was surprised; why something cold and hollow settled inside her chassis at the thought. She already knew he was a liar. Why would this be any different?

“We’d hoped some familiarity might help you adjust,” Taurus said, snapping Glory out of her sour, spiraling thoughts. He came to a stop at last at the edge of a balcony overlooking the grand atrium far below, and gestured towards the display with a dramatic flourish.

Glory wanted to turn away from the view with a haughty sniff, but… it was beautiful. A faint mist descended upon the plants from a series of nozzles set up around the atrium, and a simple mechanical arm wielding a pair of shears swung into place to trim a hedge. Blood red roses and lavender lined one wall, while a series of currently-flowering fruit trees were lined up and down the rows between other assorted, colorful blooms.

Altogether, this atrium was likely the only hint of thriving greenery anywhere in the desert. Glory couldn’t help but wonder, with a pang of regret and dismay, whether the facility under the wind farm had held a garden like this one, somewhere deep inside. Whether they’d simply passed it by, oblivious to its presence.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Taurus hummed, drawing Glory back to the unpleasant reality. “It looked just like this when we arrived. Old world engineering is incredible.” He turned to face her with something approaching a sly smirk spreading across his lips. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Glory shrugged vaguely. “I suppose.” She wasn’t entirely sure what he was implying, but she doubted she’d appreciate it.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be modest, please. It’ll do neither of us any favors.”

Glory’s jaw flexed, and she very carefully didn’t turn to look at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

For once, it wasn’t a lie. Something told her that Taurus’s intentions should have been obvious, but she couldn’t put a finger on it exactly. All she knew for sure was that he stared at her like some kind of prized possession. Which wouldn’t be so unusual—Father had gazed at her much in the same way once—if not for the almost fearful glint in his gaze whenever he did so.

He wore that same intense, almost-frightened look at that very moment, staring at her as though he could stare right through her with enough dedication. “I have been searching for you for years,” he whispered. “And, just as I encounter my traitorous son for the first time in nearly a decade, I find you at last. You understand why I believe we were destined to meet, I’m sure.”

“Not really, no.” Glory huffed and turned to look out over the atrium again. The pruning arm had moved on from the hedge, instead carefully clipping away at rogue branches from a nearby tree. “I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Well, I don’t believe in coincidence,” Taurus said, sounding quite sure of himself. “Everything has a purpose. You, me, these plants,” he nodded down at the atrium. Then, softer, he added, “my children.”

“Stop being so damn vague and just tell me what you want!” Glory snapped.

He grimaced. “I was trying to be delicate. To ease you into what I’m sure is a shocking situation.”

“Well, it’s not working,” Glory said bluntly. “You’re just annoying me.”

A soft, sheepish chuckle escaped him. “I see. I… apologize. It has been so long since I’ve had to speak with anyone outside my congregation. You could say I’m out of practice.”

Well, he certainly talked like someone out of practice. Just then, though, Glory stiffened when she noticed a pair of scowling raiders behind Taurus, watching them. Listening. Glory didn’t know how sharp raider hearing was, but she didn’t want to speak where they might be overheard.

Taurus seemed to sense her sudden discomfort, and turned to look around. He, too, stiffened when he noticed the raiders watching, and growled, “What do you want?”

They jumped and turned away, marching off down the promenade. Taurus didn’t seem satisfied, however, and turned to Glory with a tight smile. “Walk with me, please? I know a place where we can speak more freely, without a worry of being disturbed.”

Overheard, he didn’t say.

Still, Glory nodded, and he pushed off the railing, turning to follow the gallery edge around the side of the atrium. Glory followed to a smaller door off the main gallery promenade level, though she had no way of knowing how many levels there were in the facility. Father’s had had five—who knew how deep this one went?

The room turned out to be a comfortably sterile meeting room of sorts, with a long hexagon-shaped table and ten chairs spaced evenly around it. A screen covered the entire wall opposite to the door, and aside from a cabinet against one wall and a single halved geode in the center of the table to serve as a centerpiece, the room was completely barren.

“Sit down,” Taurus grunted, all but collapsing into the chair at the head of the table, right in front of the cabinet. A soft sigh of relief escaped him and he leaned back, his shoulders slumping. He reached up with an almost imperceptibly trembling hand to push back his hood, revealing the same worn, aged, yet ultimately un-noteworthy features that Glory had seen before.

Glory sat down stiffly across from him, her gaze never lifting from him as he slowly turned towards the cabinet and pulled out a bottle and a glass from inside it. Setting the glass on the table in front of him a bit harder than was strictly necessary, he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass of a deep reddish-brown liquid—something alcoholic, no doubt. Humans, even mutated humans, loved their imbibed toxins.

He didn’t offer any to Glory, not that she’d expected him to, and not that she’d have accepted even if he had. It wasn’t like she could taste or digest it, or get drunk for that matter.

Finally, with his glass in hand, he looked back up at Glory with an intense glint in his eye. For a moment, Glory was transported back in time, to late evenings spent in Father’s study. The only thing missing was a chessboard on the table between them.

He took a long, slow sip of his drink, evenly meeting Glory’s gaze. It wasn’t just the alcohol that reminded Glory of Father, she realized; the two shared a surprising number of traits. Not just because they were human men on the upper end of ‘middle-aged’, but also the sort of cold callousness that they treated everyone around them.

The way he’d so casually thrown his sons aside when one of them stepped out of line, and then didn’t even deign to tell the other why his brother was being exiled.

My reasons shouldn’t matter, Glory, Father’s voice echoed through her memories. Only my instructions. And if she’d ever hesitated, it was straight to the diagnostic scanner, to ‘help her overcome her weakness’.

Suffice to say, Glory had dealt with this type of pressure before. And if her genius creator hadn’t succeeded in breaking her, this mutant certainly wouldn’t.

Glory began to tap her fingertips on the tabletop in an abstract rhythm. Tap… tap-tap-tap… tap-tap.

Taurus took another sip. Glory continued tapping.

Finally, Taurus grimaced and set his glass on the table in front of him. Success! “I’m sure you realize I did not bring you here simply to debate philosophy,” he said.

Glory continued tapping, even as she replied, “Of course.”

“First, I have something I’d like to ask you.” Taurus’ voice was ever so slightly more strained than usual. “If you don’t mind.”

“Certainly not.” Tap-tap-tap.

“What do you know about Project Retribution?”

Project Retribution. It was certainly familiar. Glory pulled up the fragmented download from the wind farm facility archives just to be sure, and it was no less vague and indistinct the second time.

“The basics,” she finally settled on. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

He chuckled and took another sip of his drink. “My dear, if I start at the beginning, I’ll be recounting nearly a century of history.”

“We have time.” Glory leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. “And stop calling me that.”

Taurus sighed and obliged, recounting most of mutantkind’s history, combining what little Glory had already known with some of what she had learned from Needles, weaving a long, overdrawn tale of pain, ostracism, and torment.

He had a way with words, she could admit, but she remained unconvinced. Mutants chose to attack otherwise peaceful settlements, just as they had chosen to kidnap Gray Hawk, and had chosen to abduct her for reasons unknown.

She kept her face blank and smooth as he spoke, however. No reason to give away her thoughts.

Only towards the end of his ‘century of history’ did his words begin to shift into something Glory was not familiar with.

“And, I understand you are familiar with Sagittarius and Scorpius?” Despite the light tone of his voice, a shadow seemed to cross over his face. “My… wayward progeny.”

“Your sons.” Glory nodded stiffly. “Yes, I know them. Though they go by Ghost and Needles nowadays.”

He waved her off carelessly, almost spilling his drink. “Heretical epithets are of little concern to us. But, tell me, did they happen to share any of their knowledge with you?”

“Most of what you just told me,” she admitted. “Needles loves discussing history. But I thought getting as many perspectives as possible was good idea.”

He nodded. “Wise.” A sharp smile crossed his lips, as he seemed to forcefully repress the darkness that Needles’ mention brought to him.

Glory huffed a breath. “And Ghost… well, we weren’t exactly on information-sharing terms, last time I saw him.”

Taurus’ brow quirked, and despite his attempt to appear impassive, it was obvious that curiosity ate away at him.

Part of Glory wanted to just change the subject; let him stew in his own questions. But the rest of her wanted answers—answers that the man beside her seemed best equipped to give her.

“He kidnapped me,” she said. “Me and the nomads I traveled with. Like father, like son, I guess.” She glared at Taurus.

She still thought of the nomads from time to time. She hadn’t known them long—or been terribly attached, in all honesty—but they had seemed like good people. And Ghost’s pet cannibals had slaughtered them all, down to the last child.

“He was working with cannibals,” Glory blurted out. “He fed the nomads to them, but Needles helped me escape.” At the deafening silence that followed her pronouncement, she dared to look up at her host. “I’m guessing from the look on your face that cannibals aren’t part of your plans,” Glory deadpanned.

He coughed, shifting around uncomfortably in his seat. “No. Absolutely not. What was he thinking?” He shook his head. “The fallen are far too unpredictable. We couldn’t have them getting in the way or threatening to eat anyone who posed a threat. And he went and aligned himself with them?”

“Controlled them, actually,” Glory said. “Him and Needles both, though Ghost was better at it. He could order them to attack someone, or call them off if he needed to…” She glanced up at Taurus, and took in the look of shocked realization on his face. She forced herself to relax, to fake obliviousness. “Sound familiar?” she asked lightly.

He said nothing for a few minutes, seeming deep in thought. Finally, though, he bowed his head with a sigh. “Yes,” he agreed softly. “Both of them were—had a talent for… manipulating minds. Only the weak-willed, mind you.” He snorted lightly. “Suppose that’s why it worked on the fallen.”

A talent for manipulating minds? What, was Taurus saying his sons were telepathic to some degree? That just raised a whole host of other questions. Namely: why did mutants skulk around in the shadows if they had mind control abilities like the Benefactors? Taurus said it only worked on the weak-willed, but that usually just meant either that no one had tried to influence someone stronger, or that no one had put in the effort to improve.

Or, maybe more importantly: why was this the first Glory was hearing of psychic cultists? Or, psychic mutants in general? The first instance of psychic mutants that Glory heard of, and they just happened to be Taurus’s sons? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

But why, then, would Taurus exile his sons? By banishing them to the desert, he’d banished any benefits their abilities could’ve brought the cultists, too.

She turned to look at him, the question that had been burning at the back of her processor ever since she’d first gotten caught up in this mess finally bursting forth. “What did Ghost do?” she asked. “To get exiled or excommunicated or whatever you call it?”

Taurus’ lips quirked into an empty, mirthless smile, his grip on the railing tightening dangerously. “Sagittarius. My firstborn, begot on the winter solstice. The Great Ones’ chosen, set to become the icon of a god…”

Glory rolled her eyes—a painfully human gesture that felt perfect for the occasion. “Yes, yes, he fell so far from grace. I asked what he did.”

Taurus chuckled humorlessly. “He was caught conspiring with the tyrants—the Benefactors. Passing along information on outposts and settlements in the badlands. Giving them the means to round up yet more humans and hold them under their control.”

Glory frowned, shaking her head. “That doesn’t sound right. Why would—”

“Why would one of the faithful align himself with the tyrants?” Taurus asked, cocking his head to one side. “I wish I knew. I truly do. But, it matters not. He did not deny his actions, and simply said he was doing it for our future.” With a sour glare, he shook his head firmly. ”No son of mine would ever align himself with the tyrants.”

“But, why didn’t you tell Needles why you were exiling his brother?” Glory asked. “He probably would have stayed if he knew.”

Taurus glared at her. “It is not the—the purpose of the faithful to question their superiors! He should have had enough faith in us—in me—to recognize the necessity. Instead, he chose his brother.” His lips curled in a sneer. “I lost two sons in one night. The Order lost so much more. And then, years later, I lose a daughter.” He nodded vaguely behind Glory. “In that village. I watched her blood seep into the sand, murdered by savages.” He inhaled sharply and stood, setting his glass on the table with unnecessary force before turning away. “Humans have taken so much from us already, and yet we persist. We work to save them, and how do they repay us?” He sneered. “With blood and death.”

“Save them?” Glory scoffed. “How does kidnapping and enslaving people save them, exactly?”

“Look around us,” Taurus hissed. “Look outside! At the scorched earth and cracked ground! This is what humanity in all its glory has brought to us! The old world governments were so desperate to slaughter each other that they prostituted themselves before the tyrants! And they were wiped out for their efforts.” He shook his head with a scowl. “Humanity failed us long ago, my dear. And we’re going to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Even if I agreed with you,” Glory began, “what makes you think you’re qualified to rule the new world? Why should I believe you’re not just another lunatic who thinks convincing the idiots of the wasteland to follow him makes him a god?”

Taurus flexed his jaw, and decided to ask a question of his own rather than answer hers. “Out there,” he gestured with his free hand towards the door they’d come in from, “what do you see?”

“Nothing, at the moment,” Glory said. The door had sealed shut behind them, after all.

He sighed. “What did you see while we were out there, then?”

“A garden atrium.”

He huffed in annoyance. “I see I’ll have to be less vague. Very well. I see a home. Or at least a possibility for one. The chance to live—not just to survive, but to thrive.”

“You don’t think mutants have been thriving?” Glory asked. “You’ve certainly been doing better than anyone else in the wastes. Except maybe the Navajo.”

He sneered. “Yes. The wastes. Relegated to the badlands, like unwanted refuse.”

“Technically, that’s what you are,” Glory pointed out. “The Benefactors threw your ancestors out so they wouldn’t have to be reminded of their mistakes.” Using the term ‘ancestor’ to refer to people who lived only a generation or two ago felt extreme, but Glory could think of no other term.

Taurus, though, looked shocked by her comment. “How did you know about that?”

“About what?”

“The exodus.”

Glory’s brows furrowed. “I thought… isn’t it common knowledge?” Glory had overheard the nomads speaking of it; cursing the Benefactors for the mutants’ existence. If even they knew, it couldn’t be that much of a secret.

Taurus’ surprised lessened slightly at her comment, and he sighed. “I suppose.” Shaking his head, he continued. “We’ve been hunted for too long, by wastelander and citadel convoy alike. We’re too spread out. The cardinal sent me eastward with a force of two thousand. Even with the assimilated apostate clans to bolster our numbers, we still don’t have the force needed to truly fight back.”

Two thousand? Glory wasn’t an expert, but that didn’t seem like enough people for anything. And that was assuming they all survived, but she knew from Needles that at least a few of their people died on the trek east. “Is that why you’ve been kidnapping people? Why you’re working with raiders?”

Taurus’ lip curled at her words. “The madman clans. They’re good for one thing and one thing only; brutality. Sheer, unadulterated brutality.” He snorted. “If that was all I wanted, I’d turn to the fallen.”

“You don’t like working with raiders?” Glory asked, tucking that little nugget of information away.

He snorted. “No one likes working with them, my dear. They are a people to be tolerated, nothing more. If I could, I would gladly annihilate the lot of them. I’d have the support of the Order, at least.” He heaved a sigh. “But… desperate times, desperate measures.”

“How did you get them to work with you?” Glory asked.

Taurus’ lips quirked. “They are easily motivated by the offer of fresh water and a chance to fulfill their collective bloodlust.”

“That can’t be it!” Glory scoffed. “You pay them, let them rough up the prisoners a little, and they agree to do your bidding? Lay down their lives for your cause? Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

“We pay them,” he agreed, “and we have agreed to offer them a position of power in our new world order. After the tyrants have fallen, of course.”

Of course. Glory sincerely doubted that any of those so-called ‘positions of power’ would actually come about, even if Taurus succeeded in his undertaking. More likely, they’d be broken just like the water-worshippers, and dragged forcibly into the Order. Maybe turned into a new military arm. Or maybe the cultists would just outright slaughter them all.

The ultimate outcome didn’t matter to Glory. What did stand out to her about his statement, however, was the utter certainty in his voice when he said that—‘After the tyrants have fallen’.

For a man apparently determined to topple the conquerors who had successfully held earth captive for over a century, he sounded quite sure of himself, and Glory couldn’t tell if he was a madman, or if he actually had some kind of advantage Glory didn’t know about; besides an old world government’s underground research facility, that is.

“What makes you think you can defeat the Benefactors?” she asked. “People have tried before. Nothing’s ever worked.”

Father had talked about them—the men and women who’d believed that all you needed to return the earth to human rule was a really big gun. And, invariably, they all failed. It didn’t matter how big the gun was, they never made it past the Citadels’ walls, and were easily shot down by their security turrets. Usually, the attacks were immediately followed by some condescending message conveyed over loudspeaker, audible even outside the city walls—something about the futility of struggling against the generosity of the Benefactors, and how they could destroy any and all insurgents at any time but allowed them to live out of mercy, and how the wastelanders should be mourned and pitied rather than despised, blah blah blah.

(The latter addition might’ve been Glory paraphrasing, but not by much.)

A long, tense silence stretched between them, before Taurus finally reached for the bottle once more. “We have our methods,” he simply said.

Glory narrowed her eyes. “That isn’t an answer.”

“No,” he agreed. He uncorked the bottle and poured about half a glass for himself. “But your answers will come. All in due time.”

Glory eyed the liquid in his glass skeptically. “Do you really think drinking that much is a good idea?”

“I didn’t know you worried about my health,” he snorted.”

“I don’t,” Glory said, “but getting answers will be easier with you alert.”

He waved a hand dismissively towards her. “Don’t worry. It’ll take much, much more than this to make me impaired, I promise.”

Glory watched as he drained the second half-full glass and set it down before flicking it a short distance away, as though to say, ‘See?’ Sighing, he said indulgently, “I understand your concern. No doubt, alcoholism was a much greater concern in your time.”

“In my ti—”

He chuckled. “Not that it’s any less of a problem, really. We just have bigger things to worry about.”

Glory was so baffled by his words that she couldn’t even find it in herself to be annoyed at being interrupted. “What do you mean, my time?”

“Well, surely you must’ve realized!” He exclaimed. “Though… hmm. Maybe it’s less obvious than I thought. I, obviously, wouldn’t know for sure.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully and leaned forward, elbows on the table, gazing at her very seriously, as though he were about to break some terrible news to her.

Terribly sorry, madam, but your entire family’s just been slaughtered by bandits.

Glory just barely kept herself from snorting at the thought. She didn’t want Taurus to think she was laughing at him—it might convince him not to say anything.

“First…” he began, voice unusually gentle, “you must understand that most of us don’t really know what year it is. Not for sure, at least. Oh, I’m sure the tyrants know, but they aren’t telling anyone.” He inhaled and brought his hands together in front of him. “If I were forced to guess, I’d say it’s somewhere in the 2130s, or even the 2140s.” He held a hand up to stem anything she might’ve said. “Now, I know that must be a shock to you, even with everything else you’ve encountered so far, but I assure you, we’re here to help.”

Glory opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. All this, dancing around the subject, awkward sidestepping of the obvious, pontificating on history and philosophy… because he thought she was, what? A time-traveler?

“I’m sure waking up surrounded by your rusted brethren must’ve been horrifying on its own, and then with this on top of that… well, let’s just say that I don’t blame you for throwing your lot in with those humans.” His lip curled.

Glory felt dazed, and could only blink rapidly at him in disbelief.

He thought she was an old world android. One who’d buried herself in an Iron Graveyard and somehow woken up a century after the fact.

It explained a lot, at least: his surprise as to how she knew certain things, his bizarre mix of condescension and reassurance, his frankly pathetic attempts to comfort her.

Even worse than a time traveler—he thought she had simply woken up after the end of the world, and been forced to contend with the new world order.

Humans, at least, had been dealing with this for centuries. Most of them only knew of old world lifestyles through stories and scavenged media. But an android would’ve experienced it firsthand, and to have it all yanked away…

Glory inhaled sharply. “I don’t… know…”

“It’s all right.” He smiled stiffly. “We can work on that later. But for now, there’s a bigger issue.”

“A bigger issue?” Glory asked.

He nodded. “I carry no illusions that we can overcome the tyrants’… well, tyranny on our own, but that’s where you come in.” He reached once again for the bottle, this time drinking directly from it. “I’ll be frank; we need an army if we’re going to have any chance of overthrowing the tyrants.”

“…And you think I can provide an army?” Glory asked. Where was he going with this?

He nodded again. “I think you can. And all I need to know is, who re-activated you? What happened?”

The Iron Graveyards. He wanted to turn them into recruitment fields.

Glory’s gaze flickered down to the table between them. She had to play along, to buy time and to figure out exactly what his plan was, beyond ‘raise an army of century-old androids to storm the citadels’. But, how to do that…?

“Why now?” Glory asked.

He cocked his head. “I’m sorry?”

“Why here? Why now? What’s so urgent that you need an army now?”

He inhaled sharply, rearing back, walls flying into place. “That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is,” Glory replied. “After all; you need my help. Not the other way around.”

“Are you attempting to blackmail the Order?” he asked in disbelief.

“Blackmail?” Glory scoffed. “Of course not. I’m extorting you. Learn the difference.”

He huffed a breath, shaking his head. “You’re certainly direct; I’ll give you that.” A small smirk crossed his face, and he shifted in his seat, seemingly considering her demand. “You must understand that Project Retribution, even the name… it’s an absolute secret. If anyone other than myself and my bishops were to find out, well… I can’t guarantee your safety from the Order’s wrath.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” Glory sniffed. Then, quieter, she added, “And I know how to keep a secret.”

“Yes, I suppose you do.”

The words sent a shard of distress through Glory once again. She wasn’t sure why—after all, she already knew what she’d lost. But still, it was hard to forget. She’d lost her companions. Her… friends.

“All right!” Taurus sighed, snapping Glory out of her thoughts. “I’ll show you why we came here.” He stood and moved towards the door, his limp much less noticeable than it had been. “Follow me, please.”

Glory stood as well, and moved to do so.