“Let’s go.” Arcadia stood as soon as I answered, her knife disappearing under her jacket. I set my hands on my knees and got up too, groaning a little at the pain in my chest. I’d rather the center-mass shot over a headshot, but that didn’t mean it felt good.

Alvar looked from me to Arc and back, eyes wide. “W-what are you going to do with me, then?”

“Nothing,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re coming with us.”

“What? Why?”

“Certainly not out of the desire for your company,” Arc drawled, gaving him one of those crooked grins. I guess she’d designated herself as the bad guy here.

She quit when I gave her a slightly exasperated glance. I grabbed Alvar by the arm and heaved him to his feet, both of us wincing. “We need your help to get out of here.”

Alvar looked even more scared. “Why would I help-“ Arc and I both gave him a flat look. “Right. But aren’t you going to, like, tie me up or something?”

I smirked. “You want us to?”

“No, no! But-“

“Listen, Alvar. Just to be clear: We don’t need to tie you up because you aren’t dangerous.” I squeezed his arm hard enough he gasped. “Act up, try to shout us out to your buddies, and I guarantee we’ll kill you before we go down. Get it?”

“Yeah, ow, ow! Kings…” I let go of him and he gave me a hurt look.

“If they are still his ‘buddies’ at all,” Arc mused.

“Yeah, good point,” I said. “Macomb Sec- what’s their policy on getting captured, Al?” He’d gone pale. “You supposed to tell us anything? Name, rank, and pay number, maybe? If that? And what do they do if you do talk, huh?”

“…Shit. Shit!” Alvar tapped a fist against the wall behind him, looking up at the ceiling as if hoping for salvation from the Martyred Kings. “I’m fucking burnt now, I’m- They’re gonna carce me for talking to you, you know that? You fucking-“ He cut off, evidently reconsidering the wisdom of finishing that sentence. “I’ll get iso for sure. The rest of my life, I’ll be eating paste rations in an eight-by-eight cube…”

I felt…mildly sympathetic. “Hey, I spent a while living in a box and eating arpaste, and look how I turned out.” Arc snorted behind me and I whirled about. “You really want to have a competition over who has the weirdest home life?”

“Now that you mention it, no,” she muttered.

Alvar didn’t seem amused but I kept going. “Worry about it later, Alvar. No one’s getting carced. For now just focus on not fucking up and staying alive.”

“They’re the same thing, aren’t they? Only one thing to worry about.” Arc helpfully added.

“Fine,” he muttered, looking dejected.

“Pouting’s not gonna change anything, so you might as well hitch up your fucking pants and deal with it. Now let’s head downstairs.” I moved off. Arc’s long strides sounded behind me, and a moment later Alvar’s. Good. He seemed like a nice enough guy, for an uptown blindie and a mercenary, but I wasn’t lying about killing him if he flipped on us.

Arc and I went down through the ceiling- normal through, not Arc’s kind- followed shortly by Alvar. “You got me up this thing while I was out?” he wondered as he stumbled down the fallen crane frame.

I patted my arm. “These aren’t for show. Neither are hers.” Arc preened a little.

We looked around but the place was still deserted. I didn’t think the mercs that went out to the warehouses would be coming back this way, but it was still better to move fast. I led us to the far wall of the garage- a broad sheet of corrugated metal that looked like it had been kicked by a giant in steeltoes- and drew my glittersaw.

Alvar shuddered upon seeing it. “Why do you fight with that thing?”

Arc beat me to and answer. “No one will ever call it subtle, but it obviously works, doesn’t it?”

I was slightly surprised to hear her have my back, though Alvar didn’t look any less discomfited. “It’s good for cutting people up, sure, but it’s also a saw.”

I hit the Wiken’s trigger and send the diamondoid blade whispering through the wall in a now-familiar pattern. I bent the improvised door open on its remaining side and peered through. We were closer to the old factory than ever. Its decaying cement walls took up most of the view above. Light-spill from the searchlights illuminated streaks of rust, patches of exposed rebar, and massive cracks no doubt formed when it fell down here during whatever catastrophe formed the chasm. There were expansive sections of scaffolding secured all over it and even some reinforcing braces clamped across the cracks with massive bolts.

If the building was intact, we’d probably be fucked- with its solid ferrocrete walls and brutalist buttresses, the Keith-Whitney Rifle and Cartridge Works looked more like a bunker out of some old war holo than a factory. The only entrance was a huge iron gate facing the open area between it and the warehouses. Its rusty, warped leaves were propped open, but there was a well-lit barricade of hescos built in front of it. It was manned by plenty of Alvar’s heavily-armed (former?) coworkers. That way was a bust. But all the scaffolding on the sides, including the one nearest our currently spot? Surely we could climb up and come in above ground level.

I said as much to Alvar. “You think it’ll work?”

“I mean, I guess?” He shrugged nervously. “I haven’t been up top more than one or two times, you know- I’m still the FNG, so it’s not like they give me any of the interesting jobs. Counting C-rats, KP shifts-“

“Sometimes I think it a wonder that we’re even speaking the same language,” huffed Arc.

“Contract rations- mercs like him are owed a certain number of calories a day,” I told her.

“Yup,” Alvar said. “And KP is kitchen patrol, which is-“

“Doing dishes and maybe cleaning the shitters, right? How very high-speed low-drag. Just like your games, huh?” I regretted it as soon as I said it. We actually did need him and busting his balls would make him less likely to cooperate. I just couldn’t get over how out of his fucking depth he was.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, eyeing me. “I’d rather clean toilets than get cut in half by some freak from D-block, though.” He quailed as soon as he realized he’d said that aloud, but I just shrugged. ‘Freak’ was still among the nicer things I’d been called.

“You got a point,” I allowed. “But right now you’re not doing either. You’re sure you don’t know anything about the scaffolds?”

“I mean, they have searchlights up there. And snipers from Precision Outcomes. A different PMC, “ he added at my quizzical look.

“About what I figured. Are they in or out of the perimeter you mentioned? Be honest.”

“Outside. Really!” he insisted when Arc gave him a dubious look. “The geofence is only set up around the labs and the elevator.”

“Okay,” I said. “You got any more ideas, Arc?”

She shook her head and began to reaffix her hair back in its messy bun. “I’ll go across first. And we should hurry. The ones in the warehouse will be coming back soon.”

I met her eyes and nodded. “Sounds good. You sure you’re good to-“

“Yes. I’ll take it easy.” Her jaw was set so I didn’t protest. Instead I bent the improvised door open for her. She angled her head out, looking across the dark expanse between us and the factory. It was maybe twenty-five yards of heaved, broken pavement, with a few gray fleshy weeds growing up out of the cracks. After one final look at the guards in the pool of light around the main gate she darted out. As she said, she didn’t use her full capabilities. Rather than a wicked-quick smear she moved at a slightly fuzzy run. Still faster than normal but not by much. She stopped by the base of the scaffold, quickly slinking into the shadows beneath it.

“What the hell- what is that?” Alvar had joined me at the door and was blinking rapidly after having watched Arc’s passage. In a way it was good to see it wasn’t just my eyes she messed with.

“A secret. You’ll just have to stick with us if you want to find out.” He scowled at me but said nothing. “Now let’s go. You first. I’ll stay close.” That ws meant to be a warning, not reassuring, and he seemed to get it. After a single breath he sprinted through the hole in the wall with me right on his heels. Every breath and impact of my feet sent pain jolting through my ribcage. Even so I tried to keep one eye on Alvar. Despite all my dire threats I wasn’t sure if he’d try to get us spotted by the mercs at the main gate.

I must have gotten through to him, because he sprinted straight to Arc faster than I could- probably faster than I could if I hadn’t just been shot, to be honest. She watched him close as he pulled up beside her, hands hovering near her knives. I wondered if it was because Alvar was our enemy or if she distrusted everyone this way. I reached them a couple of seconds later, huffing and puffing. By silent agreement we waited to see if we’d been spotted. No spotlights moved, alarms sounded, or bullets ripped into us, so we seemed to be alright.

“Are you sure you’ll to be able to do this, Sharkie?” Arc peered up through the beams of the scaffold. It was several stories high, looked like. In some spots there weren’t ladders, and there weren’t any stairs at all.

“I’m gonna have to.” I was far from enthused about it, though.

“Sharkie?” Alvar muttered. “And you’re Arc? Arc and Shark? Those are really your codenames?”

Arc looked offended and I almost cracked up. “S-sure,” I told him. “At least we’ve got them, Alvar A’Hern. Let’s get up there.”

We soon fell into a rhythm. Arc would go up to the next level first, then Alvar, then finally me. This way we kept him bracketed and he didn’t get any brave ideas. The scaffold itself wasn’t anything fancy- it was the same galvanized pipe held together with screw clamps that many people used to build shanties in D-block. Luckily the lag screws holding it against the slightly sloped wall of the factory were fresh. The whole structure hardly rattled, which was a tiny bit comforting when we started getting thirty or forty feet up with no railing. Some levels had ladders between them, which was nice, but others we had to lean out, grab the edge of the next level, and kip up over it- which in my current state was an exercise in self-torture. Arc and Alvar were plenty fit enough, but after the third or fourth time I had to crouch and rest.

It was cramped on the little platform with all three of us. I tried to breath deep and slow despite the pain. My skin felt wet under the bandage Arc had put on. She looked down at me with taut concern.

“You’re, um, you’re leaking a little.” Alvar pointed tentatively to my chest.

“I noticed,” I said dryly. “I’ll patch it up again when we don’t have our asses hanging in the wind. We’re near the top, aren’t we?”

Arc glanced up. “Two levels more.”

“‘Kay. I hate to ask you this, but can you stay on point for now?”

She shrugged. “Of course. I’m best suited for the role, aren’t I?”

Right after she finished speaking something strange happened. We all froze as a…wave, I guess, an invisible pulse of something went through us. I could tell Arc and Alvar felt it too by the way they stiffened. It was a prickly cold sensation that seemed to originate within the factory. I blinked as it peaked then faded. It felt familiar- not quite the same but close to the sensation my ‘quantum inertia’ working.

“That’s it!” Alvar hissed. “That’s the same thing that happened right before the scientists got excited.”

“Hmm…” Arc gave me a significant look but didn’t say anything more. I shook my head a little. I had no firm idea either, but I highly doubted it was a coincidence.

The phenomenon didn’t repeat itself so we kept going up. A couple minutes later, Arc poked her head above the edge of the roof then vaulted over. After several seconds her hand stuck out and beckoned us along. Alvar went up and I followed- only to have a hand clamp over my mouth immediately. I tensed to strike but saw it was Arc before I lashed out. She held a finger to her lips and I nodded. Then she removed her hand and pointed above us.

We were in the shadow of some kind of huge, rusted cooling unit, one of several fixed to the roof in rows. Warped fans and smashed radiators hung from its sides, trailing innards of dry-rotted hose and corroded wire. The shadow was cast by fires off on the other end of the roof, results of the missile attack that the Cromwell forces still hadn’t gotten under control. ‘Get some more hose up here!’ came a faint shout from that direction, along with a series of clanks. ‘Can’t fuckin’ reach it yet!’

Arc’s finger led closer, though. Not far beyond our hiding spot, the stump of a monstrous smokestack hove up from the factory roof like bone from a compound fracture. Maybe ten feet up from from the base a tin shack was bolted to the side, Alba shanty-style. It was there that Arcadia was pointing- or, more specifically, to the suppressed rifle barrel that poked out of the shack’s window. A sniper.

Luckily, they’d have to stick their head out the window to get an angle on us. We were that close. That also made it far too risky to try crossing under them- and it sure wasn’t safe to leave them alive behind us. The sniper had to go.

Arc dropped her hand and nodded, going for her belt. I shook my head and pointed a thumb at my chest. She looked down at the bloody bandage and raised an eyebrow in a way that made me feel stupid. I ignored it and did my best to silently get across that I’d go. Even in my current state I could probably handle a single sniper myself, even a two-man team if there was a spotter up there too. I wanted her to save all the juice she could for a real emergency. Besides, I had a trick or two up my sleeve.

After several seconds of us waving our hands at each other, Alvar looked up at us and whispered “Um-“ Arc instantly covered his mouth again.

“What?” I said even more quietly.

He shoved Arc’s hand away and she let him. “Just- it’s pretty loud over there, you can probably talk instead of waving your arms like you just banged two lines of speed.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If that sniper had good enough audio implants- but then, if he did we were fucked already. “I’ll take care of the gunman,” I whispered to Arc. “Just make sure this one stays safe. And quiet.” The last words I aimed right at Alvar. He made a face. He was getting pretty feisty for someone whose life was hanging by a thread. Maybe I needed to cut some more people up for him- seemed he’d already forgotten the first time.

Arc didn’t look convinced, but also didn’t argue. “If you’re not done in a minute or two, I’m coming up there.” Her inky eyes were serious, fixed onto mine, and though her expression was neutral I thought I could detect some worry behind it. I actually found myself touched.

“Maybe three minutes. Just to be sure.” I grinned at the look she gave me and got moving.

If I was looking towards the fires, past the cooler unit that hid us, the front edge of the roof was a ways right and the sniper was ahead and to my left. I went straight left, wanting to come around from behind. I moved quickly from our cooling unit to the next, and then to the third and last before the smokestack. The light that reached me was dim; my shadow was barely visible while I was exposed. Steadying the saw’s sheath with one hand, I made one last dash and reached the side of the smokestack. I heard the dull roar of a pump or air compressor firing up from the burning side of the roof. Perfect.

The rusty, pitted sides of the stack plucked at my jacket as I shimmied around back, looking for a way up to the sniper’s shed. And there it was, a flight of perf-steel stairs that spiralled up towards the front. Slowly, not wanting to make a creak, I went to get up on the first riser- and then I froze. This was too easy. If I was a sniper, I wouldn’t want to leave my back wide open like this. I kept still, letting my eyes adjust, trying to look everywhere but nowhere in particular. There! A tiny box made of matte ballistic plastic was stuck to the smokestack just at the level of the second step, mostly hidden under a ridge of metal. I thought I saw the glint of a lens on it but I couldn’t be sure. A laser tripwire? A tiny mine? Just a motion sensor? I decided not to find out by fucking around and instead just bypass it.

The chimney was made of panels of thick, rusted steel held together by bolted flanges. They stuck out three or four inches, enough I could use them like steps. I really didn’t look forward to more climbing, but that had never mattered. I stepped up onto the first flange, then hissed out a tight breath as I shoved up two higher. Once I was up there it was pretty easy to hold on to the bolt heads and shimmy along. The metal was pretty stout, so it stayed quiet despite my weight. I followed the same course as the stairs, just staying several feet above them. If I was one of the Macomb mercs and I’d seen me, I wouldn’t do anything- I’d be too curious to see when the giant bleeding idiot was going to faceplant.

I kept an eye out on where I put my feet but didn’t see any other sneaky surprises. Maybe a third of the way round the wall of the shack came into view, leprous rotted sheet-steel screwed to the thicker plates of the smokestack. There was a landing made of metal grate but no door, just an open frame. I was so close I almost wasn’t breathing. I didn’t trust that landing not to make noise when more than three hundred pounds rested on it so I climbed up a flange higher, trying to ignore that swinging-in-the-wind feeling. I was glad it was so dark in the Chasm. I couldn’t see how far up I was.

The new vantage showed me my in. The slightly sloped roof was just as rusty as everything else; acid raid and falling rock had punched scattershot holes through the thin metal. Inside I saw burnt-out monitoring consoles and the top of someone’s balaclava-covered head. The merc sat peering through the scope of the rifle, which in turn was bipodded on an old desk that had been turned to face the window in the front wall. There didn’t seem to be a spotter along. Good.

I thought about using the Slukh, but I didn’t trust my aim enough- especially shooting one-handed at a weird angle. If I missed I was fucked. I didn’t want to risk busting in there with the saw either. So instead, I decided to try a less orthodox weapon. I let go with my left hand directed my will towards the PIN in my arm. The spacetech thread had been content to quietly hang out and keep me stitched together so far, but when I thought at it woke like a stretching cat. I felt it as a physical buzz in my arm but also a mental sense of awknowledgement. It was still creepy having a hanger-on riding in me, but maybe I could make it worth it.

Focusing hard, I pushed a nigh-invisible tendril of…whatever it was made of down through a hole in the ceiling. It extended from under my pointer fingernail with that painless but wrong feeling. My arm ached and I had to set my jaw to keep concentrating. A lot like my inertia, it was like moving a muscle you weren’t supposed to have. The Winnower must have had loads of practice to manipulate the PIN as gracefully as she had; compared to her I was like a kid poking around in the garbage with a pipe. Though I could barely see it, I could feel where the strand was as it inched closer and closer to the sniper’s head. What was that called? Proprioception or something. I was so close. My lips pulled back from my teeth with the effort. The thin black filament began to curve around the gunman’s throat-

One of my boots slipped off the bolts and I dropped- almost. I managed to catch myself with my right hand and the other foot, letting out a hiss of pain as I did. The sniper twitched and looked up, but it was too late. I flexed the pin, a feeling kind of like clenching a fist, and at the same time yanked it back. For a bare instant the length wrapped around the sniper’s throat snapped up with the weight of tons, a hanging in reverse. It crushed his neck into an hourglass shape before whipping up and whanging through the shack’s roof like tissue paper. I just got it under control and waited, chest heaving. No new shouts or running feet or gunshots. The only feeling I got from the PIN was satisfaction- not at killing, but at having done what I asked of it. It really was like a pet. It slurped back into my finger like a noodle and the pain in my arm eased. Fuck me, but that was going to take some getting used to. After several more seconds I shuffled down and dropped heavily onto the landing outside the shack.

The sniper was dead as the Kings. Their masked head was spun the wrong way round on a neck crushed so badly it was a wonder it held together. Their fatigues were a different pattern than those Alvar wore, the camo pattern one of fragmented black and gray and deep brown. The pistol on their thigh was a simple cartridge-loader, and the rifle on the table had a scope you actually looked through rather than a direct optic nerve link. It was even a manual bolt-action! The best part was that neither of the guns had gene-readers. Maybe they’d been a technophobe, or maybe I was just lucky. I stuck a quick thumbs up out the window for Arc and Alvar, then went to gather anything I could use.