“Monsignor!” A bishop waved wildly at him, and jogged over from across the gallery. Chaos reigned around them, but Taurus dragged the bishop over to a semi-isolated corner to hear his report. The bishop gasped for breath, but managed to blurt out, “The madman clans have started a rebellion in the garden atrium! The prisoners are missing, and the contingent sent down to the chapel haven’t returned.”

Taurus released a low growl from between clenched teeth. “And what of the relic?”

“Still nothing.”

If the heretics got their filthy hands on it, the entire pilgrimage had been for nothing. “Send more men. Stop them, stall them, I don’t care! I’m going to get some real weapons.”

“And the madman clans, Monsignor?” the bishop asked.

Taurus hesitated for but a moment before answering, “They’re a liability. Kill them.”

***

A renewed volley of gunshots against the ship’s hull made Glory flinch, and she turned to face the control panel again, quickly connecting with the Singularity to get them the hell out of there. “Later!” she called over her shoulder. “For now, we need to get—”

Mona let out a squeal as an actual old world rocket flew towards them. The ship jerked to one side just in time as the rocket soared past. Glory scanned the red figures lining up along the upper galleries, searching for the source of the rocket. She could vaguely hear Dixon shouting, “Hold on!” as another rocket sailed towards them and they had to dodge again.

Not for the first time, Glory was infinitely thankful for the ship’s proximity sensors.

Scanning the crowd, Glory’s gaze locked onto the conspicuous motions of someone reloading a rocket launcher. At the same exact moment, the Singularity made the connection as well, and powered the weapons.

The lights in the cockpit flashed red, then flashed red again when the sound of charging weapons abruptly died. Glory slammed her hand into the control panel in frustration.

“What’s happening?” Dixon demanded.

Glory wanted to snark back, but she bit her tongue. He had a right to know. “The control crystal in charge of the weapons systems is damaged. It only fires accurately about half the time, and occasionally dies out before it can fire off a—”

Mona let out a shriek as the rocket blasted towards them. They didn’t have time to dodge that one, and the rocket collided with the ship’s hull. The lights flickered, the ship shook, and a deafening boom echoed through the ship’s interior. Glory could hear some of the strangers Dixon had brought onboard with him screaming and crying out back in the hatchway.

“Damage report?” Glory spat.

Negligible

Glory let out a small breath. Well, at least their only apparent means of escape hadn’t been horrifically damaged.

“Glory?” Needles’ shocked voice made Glory’s spinal struts stiffen, and she whirled around to face him.

Warmth flooded her system, though she wasn’t sure why. “Needles!”

“Wh—” A wobbly smile crossed his face, and he jogged towards her, though he stopped before actually touching her. “It’s good to see you,” he mumbled.

Mona and Herman shied away from him, but Glory didn’t pay them any attention. She eyed him for a long moment, gazing at the painfully familiar goggles on his head (which only reminded her of the pair she’d lost), before reaching out to yank him close.

Needles jolted at the sudden contact, but he accepted the… hug, easily enough. It felt wrong to Glory; her arms were steel bars around Needles’ bony frame. It couldn’t be comfortable for him, hugging an android. But he didn’t seem to care, burying his face in her neck and all but snuggling into her.

Unfortunately, the ship swooped then, and they staggered, falling apart as the Singularity dodged yet another rocket.

Needles pulled back with a worried frown, though he didn’t let go of her hand. Dixon came to stand beside him, as Glory turned back around to face the view screen again.

Glory scanned the crowd for the rocket wielder again, and found another figure directly beside him pushing the launcher down. The other attackers hesitated as well, and the new figure seemed to be trying to get their attention.

Glory cocked her head. “Do we care what he has to say?”

Dixon snorted. “I don’t.”

Glory looked to Needles. Out of all of them, he probably had the closest connection to the cultists, after all. He hesitated for a moment, before he shrugged. “They… might offer us a deal.”

Herman scoffed. “A deal? With mutants?” He eyed Needles up and down with obvious disgust. “Suppose it takes one to know one.”

Glory turned to glare at him, and much to her surprise, so did Dixon. It wasn’t too long ago that the older man had thought exactly that about Needles as well.

But Mona frowned thoughtfully. “He’s right, though. Even if we kill them all, how do we get out? The purifier might be able to… help us, I guess.”

Glory exhaled harshly. She’d really rather just shoot them all and be done with it, but with a faulty weapons crystal…

“Can you detect what that one’s saying?” Glory asked aloud, unnecessary though it might be, as she pointed to the waving figure.

The screen flickered and displayed a spectrogram, as a familiar voice filtered into the cockpit. “—Impressive. But you must understand how this appears to us. Please, lay the vessel down and come out so we may speak civilly. Don’t do anything rash.”

Glory’s jaw flexed. “Oh, I get the feeling I’m about to do something rash,” she mumbled. Needles let out a strangled laugh that morphed into a yelp as the ship lurched forward suddenly. Taurus’s bravado faltered as he and the rest of his ‘congregation’ ducked for cover, and the ship soared overhead.

Glory was ready to leave, when she noticed faint blue-ish figures at the edge of the view screen’s perimeter. Blue figures, just like the rest of Dixon’s new herd… Red meant danger, which meant blue meant safety. Or, at least, docility.

Unarmed vs. armed, the Singularity said to her. Prisoners.

The cultists crowded in around them, and Glory couldn’t tell if they were aiming at the ship or at the prisoners, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to take hostages when they saw things weren’t going their way.

“Are those prisoners?” Dixon asked, nodding to the blue figures.

“Seems like it.”

Dixon swore. “Damn it. Set us down somewhere.”

“What?” Glory asked sharply, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

“We can’t just leave them! The cultists will slaughter them!”

“Look around!” Glory hissed back. “This ship isn’t big enough for everyone! We either leave now, with who we have, or we’re stuck here.”

Dixon scowled at her, but it was Needles who offered a quiet solution. “What about both?”

“What?” Glory and Dixon asked in unison.

He nodded to an uninhabited section of the nearest catwalk. “Set us down there. We can deal with the cultists and make a path for the prisoners. Then the ship can follow.”

Dixon’s brows furrowed. “That’s—”

“A ridiculous, harebrained scheme, I know,” Needles interrupted with a frown. “Do you have a better idea?”

“I was gonna say ‘not bad’,” Dixon said.

Needles flushed. “Ah. Sorry.”

Glory scowled, running through possible outcomes. Each time she found something relatively preferential, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Father’s reminded her of all the horrible things that could go wrong.

A hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump. Just Dixon. Just Dixon… “It’s okay, kid,” he said. “Just back us up and handle the heavy weapons. We’ll deal with the rest.”

Glory hesitated for a moment longer before activating the weapons system again. This time it didn’t cancel halfway through, and the cultists and prisoners alike seemed to recognize the danger, dropping to the floor. The blast sailed wide, impacting with the facility’s external wall and causing a minor tremor. But, it gave just enough time for Glory and the Singularity to pilot the ship to a relatively empty stretch of catwalk and open the hatch, lowering the ramp.

She turned to Dixon. “Make it count.”

He nodded and spun on his heel, jogging over to the hatchway to share the plan.

Needles hung behind, gazing over at Glory. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, he held a hand out toward her, which Glory accepted, lacing their fingers together. Needles squeezed, and a soft smile crossed his face.

Something inside Glory’s chassis spasmed, sending unpleasant shockwaves down her limbs that she imagined would be painful, if she could actually feel pain. Hm. Worrisome. She made a mental note for her next maintenance session

“Be careful,” Needles’ voice drew her out of her introspection. “Do you hear me?”

Glory couldn’t suppress a mildly derisive snort. “I’m not the one running around on foot.” She nodded behind him, to where Dixon, Gray Hawk, and Wilkes had lined up by the hatch, Centauri hovering close by.

Needles’ expression remained firm, however. “I mean it,” he stressed. “I can’t lose you.”

Glory swallowed, and tugged her fingers free. “You should go,” she said. “They’ll need you.”

He hesitated a moment longer, before reluctantly turning to leave. Glory, too, turned back around to face the control panel.

Herman elbowed her in the side. Glory flinched from the contact and turned to glare at him, hissing, “What are you doing?”

“Are you really gonna just let him leave?” he whispered back. “Without saying anything?”

“Wh—” Glory shook her head in disbelief. “What do I say?”

“Anything,” he insisted. “Anything to let him know you care about him.”

Glory stared, and shot an uncertain look at Mona. Mona looked mildly bewildered by the exchange, but she nodded in support of her brother’s advice.

Glory inhaled sharply, and called, “Needles?”

His footsteps faltered, and he asked, “Yes?”

“You be careful, too,” she said. “I’m not going to lose you, either.”

Glory turned only far enough to see Needles out of the corner of the eye, and the bright smile that lit up his face sent another spasm through her chassis. Strangely, though, that one wasn’t painful.

Needles jogged over to join the rest of the group as they disembarked the ship.

Glory reached out for the Singularity in her mind, and let herself be swept away on their fathomless tides. It’s time to fight, she thought.

Awareness, and agreement, met her.

***

The ship roared to life almost as soon as they got off, the ramp retracting as it lifted into the air. Vibrations juddered through the air, and Dixon grimaced at the feeling of it vibrating through his bones.

“Dixon!” Gray Hawk called. “You all right?”

Dixon nodded, and looked around, scanning for the muties or their prisoners. But, they were nowhere to be found. “Stick together,” Dixon said, “and keep an eye out for the—”

“Dixon!” Catherine’s voice yelped.

Dixon looked over, and found Catherine and most of her people hiding behind a long planter bed. She pointed around the bed to one of the rooms off the gallery. Glass doors and windows led into what looked like some kind of office space, and though the lights inside were off, he could see someone moving around inside.

Reaching for his rifle, he nodded towards it, and wordlessly, the rest of his crew got into formation. Needles hung back with Catherine’s group, tending to a man’s leg.

“On three,” Dixon said, and Gray Hawk nodded. “One… two… three!”

They charged forward and burst through the glass door. The lights flickered on—motion sensors?—and Dixon froze when he found himself staring down the leader of the muties with his gun to the side of a prisoner’s head.

No, not just any prisoner.

Mason Davis; mayor Davis’s son.

“Marshal,” the kid croaked, on his knees in front of a very pissed-off looking cultist, “I’m sorry. We tried to fight back—”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Dixon grunted. He refused to think of the other time a mutant had tried to hold a kid hostage in front of him; of how badly it had gone. He glared at the cultist and spat, “What do you want?”

“Lay down your weapons,” he snarled. Well, at least he wasn’t as prone to grandiose rambling as his associates were. Dixon silently thanked whatever gods were listening for that much, at least.

Reluctantly, Dixon began lowering his rifle to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he shot a glance at Gray Hawk. The older man looked just as disgruntled as Dixon felt, but he followed Dixon’s lead, as did Centauri and Wilkes.

“Excellent,” the cultists’ leader purred. He nudged Mason in the back of the neck. “What do you think, boy? Do you think your father’s arrogance has been properly rebuked?”

Mason didn’t answer.

The cultist sighed harshly. “No manners. To think we invited you heretics into our haven…”

One of the other cultists in the back—a tall, broad man, who barely fit into his skin-robe—scoffed and growled, “Father, this is a waste of time. The unworthy will never—”

“Did I ask your opinion, Initiate?” the leader—father—snapped with a scowl. The initiate’s mouth fell shut. The father turned back towards them. “Now… what to do…?”

A low rumble behind Dixon made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, followed by the unmistakable and haunting sound of the ship’s weapons powering up. A voice that sounded vaguely similar to Glory’s if not for the static-filled pops and mechanical distortion echoed through the lab. “Get down!”

Dixon’s group obeyed immediately, as did most of the cultists and their prisoners. The glowing blue round melted the windows and glass doors, screamed over Dixon’s head like the heat of the sun condensed into a ball small enough to fit in his hand. Sweat broke out all over Dixon’s brow, and the glowing blue ball rammed right through the cultist’s chest like tissue paper before impacting with the wall behind him, leaving charred craters both in the wall and in the corpse left behind.

The father’s body remained standing for a couple seconds before collapsing. Even his face looked cooked, and Dixon was just glad that his robe was already tanned. He didn’t want to think about what that’d smell like if it wasn’t.

The roar of the ship’s engines made the very walls vibrate as the ship tore away. Dixon sent a silent thanks to Glory, and snatched his rifle back up.

Just as all hell broke loose, Mason Davis scurried over to join them. The rest of the prisoners were cut off, trapped behind the cultist line, if they were even still alive. Until they could rescue them, though, Dixon had to deal with Mason.

He shoved the kid towards the twisted and melted remains of what had once been the wall of windows separating the office from the gallery. “Get out of here, ask for Needles!” Dixon shouted. “Have him check you over! And for god’s sake, keep yer head down!”

Davis did as he was told, crawling out of the office on his front. Only once he was out of sight did Dixon turn back to the fight, and squeezed off a shot at the nearest cultist who stuck his ugly head out of cover. The shot splattered his brains all over whatever was behind the toppled desk he’d been taking shelter behind, and over the din of gunfire, Dixon heard screams.

He hoped that was just alarm at suddenly being covered in blood and brains.

“How many?” he called to Gray Hawk.

Gray Hawk shook his head, nailing another cultist in the chest and arm, knocking the fucker down. “Not many. No more ’n six.”

And they’d already dropped at least two.

Dixon just hoped that was a good sign.

***

“Are you insane?” Herman shouted over the almost soothing, rhythmic roars of the ship’s engines and main gun. He and Mona were braced against the nearest control panels, holding on for dear life.

Glory only shot him a cursory glance as she and the Singularity rammed the ship’s front end into a particularly irritating squad of raiders with machine guns. “What do you mean?” she called back.

“You could have killed your friends back there!”

The thought made Glory’s synapses shudder, and she refused to consider it. “No, I didn’t! I killed the cultist!”

“You—” Herman cut himself off with a shout as the ship jerked to one side to avoid a sniper’s laser. Not that Glory thought a sniper rifle would make much of a dent in the ship’s hull, but why risk it?

She was, strangely enough, enjoying herself. This wild chaos—this disorganized cacophony, punctuated by gunshots, fires, and collapsing architecture—sent a rush of something warm and addictive through her bloodstream, almost like when Needles stood near her.

She’d never felt like this during a fight before. Usually, she just wanted the destruction over with so she could move on to more productive activities.

Another shot seared through a group of cultists banded together, charring their corpses as they hit the ground. A thrill ran up her spine, and she whirled around to fire at another unsuspecting group.

“What is wrong with you?” Mona shrieked.

Glory rolled her eyes. Wonderful, now she had them both screeching at her. Gritting her teeth, she continued with her assault, firing on cultists and raiders alike. She hesitated as a group of prisoners—blue—scurried across one of the catwalks, waiting for them to clear the area to fire on the cultists coming up behind them.

Shoot, whispered a voice that sounded suspiciously like Father’s. It’d be so much easier.

Glory twitched. Where had that thought come from?

She did not shoot, instead waiting until the prisoners got free before ramming the catwalk just under the cultists. It swayed dangerously under them, throwing them to the ground. They clung desperately as Glory charged up another shot and watched gleefully as it all but melted them.

***

“Jesus Christ!” Dixon yelped as another shot from the ship sailed right over their heads. Once was understandable—she was distracting the cultists so they could rescue those prisoners, who now ran along behind them like a den of Ripperbeast pups following Mama. But after the second or third time, Dixon was starting to wonder what the hell was going on with her.

Had she always been a bit cracked in the head, and just did a pretty good job at hiding it? Or was it something about this facility, or about the ship?

Needles worried at his lower lip, likely considering the same thing.

“Is she normally this reckless?” Centauri asked, flinching as the ship fired another round at another group of cultists, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. It was almost strong enough to make Dixon sick.

Dixon shook his head. “This is the woman who just about fell to pieces when the facility under the wind farm caved in. Why would she be doing… this?”

“Maybe something drove her to it,” Gray Hawk suggested.

Dixon still wasn’t sure, but they had bigger things to worry about. “We can discuss this later. For now, get moving!”

They jogged across a rickety catwalk and nearly collided with another group of prisoners. They yelped, and the man in front threw up his hands, screeching, “Don’t hurt us!”

“Relax!” Dixon called, also holding his hands up. “We’re getting out of here. Are any of you hurt?”

“N—No…”

Dixon gestured them over, and they joined the rest of the prisoners, made up of Catherine and Mason Davis’s groups.

Dixon noticed movement in the back, behind the prisoners, and shouted, “Get down!”

Mostly in unison, they dropped to the ground, and Dixon aimed his rifle at the lone cultist that approached.

He looked… different to the others. He wore the same skin-robe as the rest, but he also wore an intricate, heavy-looking necklace, like the usual high-ranking cultists’ interlocked rings, but with more dangly bits hanging down to his midsection. If Dixon had to guess, he’d say this man was the cultists’ leader.

“Stay back!” Dixon shouted, glaring down the scope towards the leader. “Whoever you are, make any sudden moves and I’ll drop you.”

The newcomer—the leader—raised his hands in the air, though he looked pretty annoyed at it. “Congratulations, Marshal,” he called, “you’ve ruined over a decade of planning. I do hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“I do pride myself on screwing up mutie plans,” Dixon agreed. “Who are you?”

“The High Purifier. My name is Taurus.”

Purifier. Dixon had never heard of a purifier before. But, then again, it wasn’t like he paid a lot of attention to cultist hierarchy, either. He strode forward, stepping through and around the rescued prisoners crouched as low to the ground as they could get. As Dixon approached the purifier, though, he never once faltered or reached for a weapon.

“What do you want?” Dixon demanded when he got close enough that he wasn’t aiming over anyone anymore.

The purifier licked his lips and answered, “To speak to my son.”

Dixon arched a brow. Needles’ father, something told him. It made his hackles raise. “And why would we agree to that?”

“Dixon.” Needles approached from behind, coming to stand beside him. “It’s all right.”

The purifier gazed at him evenly, though his lips did quirk downwards. “Scorpius.”

Needles glared. “My name is Needles, Father. Or don’t you remember stripping me of my name when you exiled me?”

“This is ridiculous,” the purifier grumbled. “First the android, now these heretics?”

“By Ecclesiastical law, I am one of those heretics now, Father,” Needles replied. “Like goes with like.”

“You disgrace yourself, and you disgrace me.”

Needles snapped, and lunged forward. Dixon had to grab him before he could do anything rash, which of course knocked his rifle off-target. Surprisingly, though, the purifier didn’t do anything, seemingly too focused on Needles’ rant. “Disgrace? Was it disgrace when you exiled your heir and favored son on a whim, and threw me out with the refuse? Was it disgrace when you—”

“Whim?” the purifier asked. “You think my exiling Sagittarius was a whim?”

“How should I know any better?” Needles demanded. “You never explained yourself, to anyone! Even Mother could only wail against the wall you built around yourself. Then she couldn’t, because she died on the pilgrimage you insisted on!”

“Sagittarius was found passing information to the tyrants!” the purifier snapped. “That’s why he was exiled.”

Needles, however, wasn’t impressed. “And me, Father? What was my crime? Not being able to read your thoughts? Siding with the brother whom I thought loved me, rather than the Father who only ever saw me as a pawn?” Needles shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re not the father I once knew.”

Dixon cleared his throat. “Right. Well, this has been mighty illuminating, but if you’d please get on your knees with your hands behind your head.” He leveled his rifle in the purifier’s direction. “Pretty please,” he sneered.

The purifier didn’t listen to him—might not’ve even heard him, since he was still glaring at Needles, his nostrils flared as he breathed in. Slowly, he raised a hand to his back.

Dixon whistled sharply, pressing his finger against his rifle trigger. “Uh-uh! Keep ‘em where I can see ‘em.”

The purifier laughed. His hand paused in mid-air, but he didn’t drop it to his side, either. “That’s the difference between you and I, Marshal.”

Dixon’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t fear death.”

The purifier whipped a handgun out of his robes, pointing it in their direction. Dixon didn’t hesitate.

One, two, three shots to his center of mass. The purifier staggered, dropped his gun, then collapsed to the floor. Needles jerked beside Dixon, and sprinted over to his father’s side, rolling the older man over and tugging the damn hideous robe out of the way, clapping his hands over the bleeding holes.

Dixon swore and lowered his rifle, just enough so he wasn’t risking shooting any of his companions. He marched over to see, to watch as the purifier’s choking gasps petered out, and he finally fell still against the floor.

Needles kept at it for a few long seconds, but eventually seemed to realize it was futile. His hands caked in blood, he bowed his head.

Dixon swallowed and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid. He gave me no choice.”

Needles nodded. “I know.” He stood on unsteady feet, and gently shrugged off Dixon’s hand, turning to rejoin their teammates and their gaggle of prisoners. Centauri and Gray Hawk closed ranks around him, and Centauri even offered an awkward side-hug, which Needles allowed.

Dixon swallowed thickly and marched over to re-join them. They still had to get out, and lord only knew how many more muties stood between them and freedom.

“We should get going,” Dixon said, drawing everyone’s attention. For the first time since he was a kid, he felt unsteady under everyone’s gazes and strode on ahead so he wouldn’t have to look at them. “Follow me. Stay close.”

He froze abruptly, however, when one of the prisoners let out an alarmed cry. Dixon spun around to face his teammates, just as Catherine Grayson yelped, “He’s gone!”

“Who’s gone?” Dixon demanded, stepping towards her.

She pointed back where they’d left the purifier’s body. “The purifier! He’s gone!”

Needles jolted at the news, and he and Dixon shoved their way through the crowd, back towards the body. Dixon broke through first, and staggered.

She was right. The purifier’s body was gone. All that remained were the wide puddles of blood that had pooled beneath him, and a set of bloody bootprints that led towards the edge of the catwalk, only to disappear over the side.

He’d only had his back turned for a few seconds; nowhere near enough time for someone to sneak in and drag the body off. And, more importantly, where were the drag marks?

“What the hell?” Dixon mumbled. He turned to Needles. “I thought he was dead?”

“So did I.” Needles’ eyes were wide and haunted, and he wrapped his arms around himself in a sort of self-hug. “I don’t—I didn’t—”

Dixon cleared his throat. “Not your fault, kid.” And he meant it. He had a pretty good feeling this was some kinda mutant fuckery, and you could never prepare for that. He turned around to face the rest of their group, just as the prisoners started to panic and scatter. Snapping his fingers, he called, “Hey! Knock it off! Up and walking around or not, he still went down with a few shots to the chest like everyone else. And for all we know, one of his buddies snuck in and managed to drag him off under our noses. Either way, we’ve still got a solid plan of attack.” He snapped his fingers at a few of the outliers. “Form up, people. Strength in numbers an’ all that.”

Reluctantly, they grouped together once more, and Gray Hawk came over to stand by Dixon.

“You don’t honestly think he got up and walked himself over to the ledge?” the older man asked in disbelief.

Dixon frowned and shrugged. “You got a better idea?”

Gray Hawk’s frown said all.

Dixon flinched as the roar of the ship’s engines rattled through his bones again as the ship jerked into view in the atrium. The ship spun on its axes like it was trapped in some kind of psychotic superstorm, firing off plasma bolts in every direction except theirs.

Unfortunately, the supports holding up the catwalk above them chose that very moment to start groaning.

Dixon and Gray Hawk shared a look. “Shi—”

The supports gave way, and the catwalk came crashing down on top of them.