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“I do not wish to mark your face, little one.
 
Your ugliness would not please me in the evenings.
 
But your mind?”
 
He raised his hand, and the pain blazed bright behind her eyes, a red poker stabbing into her skull.
 
She screamed with the pain of it, falling back.
 
“I can leave you a vacant-eyed doe.
 
I can burn the thoughts from your head, given enough time.
 
And we have plenty of time.”

The light of the old red sun looked down on them, walking its slow steps into the sky.
 
If only the angel would come, would step back into the world.
 
If the angel would drop once more, stepping onto the blasted circle in the desert…
 
All this would stop.

As if it had never been, the pain in her head vanished.
 
She fell forward with the relief of it, gasping, then retched onto the sand.

The Master’s head was turned towards the circle of blasted and crushed sand their small camp was built next to.
 
“What…”
 
His voice trailed off, slaves forgotten.

Laia could feel it too, the sense of something, a pressure building.
 
She saw Zacharies’ hand was stretched into the depression in the sand, and pulled herself over to him.
 
He was bigger than her, and she was so tired, but she dragged him back from the edge.
 
Her small footprints marked the sand as she staggered back.

The Master continued to ignore them, looking at the air above the cracked glass of the depression.
 
He walked around the circle, steps careful and slow, his shadow stretching out like a finger away from the dim morning light.

“Something is coming,” he said.
 
It wasn’t clear who he was speaking to.
 
“It wants to come back.
 
It was
here
.”

Fear flicked at Laia.
 
No, please
.
 
If the demon came back, not the angel…

A small grain of hope, smaller than the sands beneath her, kindled into life.
 
The demon might have been here.
 
It might have fought the angel.
 
The demon could be running, in fear, or pain.

Such hopes were dangerous.

A point of light, a tiny star in the air, sparked above the crushed sand and glass.
 
The pressure built, her ears popping in her head.
 
A bolt of lightning arced from the light, leaving a trace of red and yellow across her vision.
 
It had reached out, falling short at the edge of the circle.

“Please, brother.”
 
She got a shoulder under Zacharies.
 
“You must get up.
 
You must be
ready
.”

A swollen eye looked up at her, and she could feel his breath rattle against her.
 
But he tried to get up, getting a knee under him.
 
They rose together, unsteady, leaning against each other, watching as the lightning coiled and struck.

It’s trying to escape
, Laia thought.
 
It’s a lion in a cage.

“The fury,” she said, her voice lost against the noise.
 
She squinted her eyes against the light, pointing at the circle of it.
 
It was marking a sphere in the air.
 
“Brother!
 
The angel!”

Zacharies looked at the circle, one hand
— broken nails, broken bones
— held up in front of his eyes.
 
“It is the devil, Laia.”

The Master walked close to them.
 
“The devil?
 
No, slave.
 
Something worse.
 
Something much worse.”
 
He began to laugh, a deep sound from his belly.

The air snapped and popped, a pressure blast of air spitting sand out from around the sphere.
 
The lightning stopped, the three of them blinking in the silence.

A ripple, a wrinkle of something, held itself around the sphere in the air.
 
Through it, they could see a room, the floor hard and real, solid stone in the centre of the sphere.
 
The sand was gone, and Laia could see four people on the other side.

From above, a falling star, blazing blue and white, fell to the ground on the other side of the ripple.
 
Wings of blue were etched on its back, and fire stitched a double line out from its arms as it landed.
 
She could see the ground on the other side crack and fragment as it hit.

The angel
.

She grabbed her brother’s arm, and ran towards the edge of the sphere.
 
Her hand touched it, cool and quiet against her skin.
 
She blinked, and —

Fire burned around her, and something was thrown past her head.
 
She fell to the floor, huddling over her brother.

Silence fell, and she looked up.
 
She saw perfect boots, the feet of the angel in front of her.
 
Laia turned her head, seeing the blaze of its face against the black of the room.
 
Force poured from it, terrible as the dawn, and she cowed in fear.

The Master stepped through from behind her, facing the angel.
 
“You will kneel,” he said.
 
“You will kneel or you will know pain beyond imagining.”
 
He raised a gloved hand, closing his fingers into a fist.

“I feel like I got my balls hanging way out here, is all I’m saying,” said Harry.
 
“You know what I mean?”

“You want me to be honest?”
 
Lace coughed down the link at him, her smoker’s voice rough.
 
“It might sting a little.”

“I love your honesty, Lace.”
 
Harry flexed his feet in the space below him, the planet stretching out dark under his feet.
 
The lights of the city were hidden behind cloud, whites and yellows blurred under a blanket of black as far as he could see.
 
“It’s why we make such a good team.”

“You don’t have any balls,” she said.

“I don’t think you should be quite that honest,” said Harry.
 
“You might hurt my feelings.”

“I’m just saying.
 
It’s all in your head.
 
Positive thinking, Fuentes.
 
Positive thinking.”
 
She started to tack targets up onto his overlay, pinpricks of red light marked on the city far below.

“Jesus,” said Harry.
 
“That’s a lot of dudes.”

“Yeah, but they’re all normals,” said Lace.
 
“Well.
 
Not enforcer class, anyway.”

“Tell me, Lace,” said Harry.
 
“And again — be honest.
 
Do you know what you’re talking about?
 
I hear sounds, but, you know, I don’t think you’ve ever been in the field.”

“I live vicariously through you,” she said.
 
“I tell you, they’re fine.
 
Easy targets for a big man like you.”

“Hey,” said Harry.
 
“Did Carter and Mason just drop out?”
 
He looked at the lights underneath him, a small section where the red dots flickered out to dark.
 
“What the hell is going on down there?”

“Wait one,” she said, her voice flat and empty.
 
“Crap.”

“Crap?”

“They’re gone.
 
They’re just—”

The link flared back on, hard in Harry’s mind.
 
A lash of static, then —

“Now, Carter.
 
Get Harry here now!”
 
Mason sounded panicked, the icon on Harry’s overlay flickering in and out.

“They’re back,” said Lace.

“About goddam time,” said Harry.
 
He looked up at the drop ship above him, holding steady in the cold of the thin air, then down at his feet.
 
Big metal shoulders shrugged against the drop harness, and he initiated the burn.

The ship above him confirmed his orders, the AI speaking over the link.
 
Her voice was quiet against the thin atmosphere around him.
 
“HALO insertion beginning.
 
Time to burn, zero seconds.
 
Time to fall, 11,000 meters.
 
Time to impact, 47 seconds.
 
Beginning burn, mark.”

The clank reverberated through his chassis, and he felt the sudden hard push of the fusion drive, fingers of fire stabbing upwards into space as it pushed him down towards the Earth.
 
The Gs were a solid pressure, a fist slamming him towards the ground below.

He let out a whoop.
 
Whatever had happened before, the accident —

The pain went beyond words.
 
He was trying to scream, but his throat had burnt out, lungs pumping flames instead of air in and out.
 
The lattice thrashed inside him, flailing left and right, but he was stuck in his seat, the wheel pressing him back into the burning seat.
 
His hand flailed at the dash, fingers sloughing off like melted plastic.

— it let him do this kind of shit, and it was nothing a norm could do.

“You still… me?” said Lace, the link crackling against the burn of the drive.
 
He felt the subtle tugs and shifts of the gyros holding him upright, his vision shaking against the vibration from the rockets.
 
The red dots stuttered a little, the scan lines vibrating in his optics.

“Sort of,” said Harry.
 
“You’re breaking up a bit.
 
Can you clean that up?”

“On it,” said Lace.
 
The link firmed up, markers for the syndicate agents on the street popping into his overlay, still images against likely load outs.

“Are those assholes wearing sunglasses?” said Harry.

“Looks like it,” said Lace.
 
“Reed.”

“What’s up with that?”

“Carter says they’re robots.”

“They’re remotes,” said Carter, cutting into the link.
 
“They’re not — look, it doesn’t matter.
 
How far away are you?”

“30 seconds, give or take,” said Harry.
 
“How bad is it?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Carter said.
 
“He’s in the middle of something.
 
He doesn’t usually talk to me when he’s working.”

Harry punched through the cloud deck, and lightning crackled around him as he burned for the Earth.
 
He was falling through water, the rain lashing against him, rising up at him as he burned for the ground.
 
Streaks of water ran across his chassis, blasting to mist as they passed into the streak of fire from the rocket.

“Ok,” said Harry.
 
“Lace, I’m going in hot on… that one.”
 
He marked up a van on the street, within the Reed group.
 
The rockets roared into the atmosphere above him, and the tips of his armored feet had begun to shudder against the thickening atmosphere.

“Not Metatech first?”
 
She sounded doubtful.

“You want to do this?”

“Yeah.
 
Actually, yeah.
 
I’d love to do that.”
 
She sounded wistful.

Christ, Harry, way to go.
 
Why don’t you just call her Hot Wheels while you’re at it
?
 
Instead, he said, “Sorry, Lace.
 
You see—”

“It’s ok.
 
At least I’ve got nice rims.
 
You’re in a metal coffin.”

“Metatech armor their vehicles,” said Harry.
 
“I don’t want to hit—”
 

He was cut off by the AI from the drop ship.
 
“Initiating breaking burn in 3, 2, 1, mark.”
 
The rocket on the harness kicked and coughed, the flame above him stuttering out, then the drive below him lit.
 
A line of fire lashed out, the torch of the drive cutting off the scene below him.
 
The overlay continued to mark targets, red dots over the white stabbing down below his feet.
 
He felt the force of it, and if he’d still had teeth they’d have snapped shut.
 
Harry tried to swallow, the old reflex still there, metal arms reaching out to his sides as he fell towards the ground.

“Overtime, Lace,” said Harry, kicking in the system.
 
He got an answering click over the link from her.

The overlay was still stuttering into white, showing his descent speed as he fell.
 
Slowing, slowing, but when he impacted against the van — through the van, into the tarmac below it — he was doing just under 30 meters per second.
 
His metal legs were braced for the impact, but one hand still reached forward to help with the impact.
 
The shock from the fall blasted out around him, the van exploding into a fireball, shrapnel spitting out around him.
 
The men standing near him were knocked from their feet as the ground bucked from his landing.

The sound was deafening, windows in the buildings around blasted inwards into shards of glass.
 
Harry stood up, chassis causing the air to shimmer with the heat, and the harness on his back clanked and rattled as the weapon rails rotated up from his back and over his shoulders.

“Game time,” he said, the external PA system switched high and loud.
 
The lenses in his faceplate burned red, and he leaned forward, flames from the van licking up around him.
 
“Under the Syndicate Compact of 2087, Apsel Federate invokes its right to recover intellectual property and—”