Sig and Squad lie on their stomachs, watching the enemy camp from a hillside, as the dark lungs of winter winds blow across their backs. At this furthest point, the Night Elves have penetrated forty miles into Tyrian territory. Measured bites of orange glare show the practise fire of magical artillery in the distance.

Squad turns and sees Sig looking thoughtful. "What are you doing, mourning the loss of innocence?"

"Nope."

"Rejoicing in it?"

"Yep."

They meet each other's eyes and smile, though the military situation looks dire: the Night Elf Army Group Centre looks even stronger than estimates suggested, their numbers stretching across the gloomy and grand vista.

"What made you want to come on this scouting mission, anyway?" Squad asks.

"What do you mean?" Sig asks, genuinely offended. "I'm good at solving problems," he claims, then quickly adds, "and even better at inventing them!"

Squad looks at him as if he's mad. "Let's be honest, you weren't always a diligent investigator..."

*

Inside an abandoned industrial unit there's a scene of terrible slaughter, bloodied bits of flesh hanging from hooks in the ceiling and other innards scattered throughout. A police officer is writing notes as Sig arrives on the scene and addresses him.

"What's the situation here, sergeant?"

The officer indicates the surrounding gore. "All of this appears to be from one victim. It looks like another ripper murder—"

"And what draws you to that conclusion?" Sig challenges, stooping to pick up, and subsequently eat, a slice of pizza left on the ground.

"He left his signature slice of pizza. We're going to check it for evidence," says the officer, turning just in time to see the pizza disappearing down Sig's throat.

Sig, who's barely been listening, looks up. "What?

Almost in a trance of disbelief, the officer points at Sig. "You've taken—"

"Your breath away?" Sig smiles. "Thank you, sergeant." Sig winks at the poor man. "But please continue."

"...Certainly," the officer responds, regaining his composure. "The killer posted five packages to various public figures, each containing organs or body parts – the last was sent to the mayor and contained the head."

Sig looks all around at the bloody mess, then shakes his head while sucking on a lollipop.

"...Classic suicide."

*

Emptying a last look at the strong enemy forces, Squad turns to Sig. "It's going to be difficult telling the Tyrians that the Night Elves are even stronger than we thought."

"Maybe I should tell them," Sig confidently declares. "Remember when I worked at that hospital..."

*

A family sit anxiously in a hospital waiting room and Sig strolls up to them wearing a doctor's coat, then reads from a chart.

"Are you the family of the deceased?" As the family members gasp and cry, Sig quickly corrects himself. "Oh, shit! I mean...I have some bad news."

*

"That's great," Squad says. "But, when we're breaking the news to the Elves, we might need someone who's less...you know...absolutely terrible."

Sig chuckles to himself as if Squad has uttered the most far-fetched dream imaginable. "Okay, fine – shoot for the stars, you lunatic!"

Squad smiles and shakes his head. "I'm heading back to camp now."

"Can I come?" Sig asks.

"I can't think of any logical reason why not...and, believe me, I'm trying."

*

On a dilapidated street corner in the Undercity, a young drug addict buys narcotics from a dealer, the dealer counting the money and crossing the road to a row of seemingly-abandoned houses. He knocks distinctively and enters.

"Business is going fast," the dealer says as the stash man opens the door and lets him inside.

"Talk to Freddy – he'll get you more product," the stash man replies.

"No worries, no worries," the dealer responds, handing over the cash and leaving.

Shortly after the dealer leaves, there's an identical knock on the door and, as the stash man opens the door, he's struck on the face by the hilt of a sword. Mazer throws the street dealer down beside the unconscious stash man.

Another stash guard charges into the room, but Mazer's sword is at his throat before he can do anything, his voice steady and charged with menace, though there's a grin on his face. "Toss your weapon. And don't try anything: you're too young to experience that much pain."

The guard throws his weapon away and Mazer stands over him like a decisive wave.

"Don't be so glum – you look like a man who's been constipated for a decade," Mazer tells him. "Now, where's the stash?" The guard's frenzied thoughts are almost visible. "No, no, no, no, no – don't start thinking," Mazer cautions. "We were getting on so well."

Eyes shooting around frantically, the guard warns. "There's a drop-off soon. Dozens of guys will be here any second—"

Mazer lightly slaps the man on the head. "I'm not prepared to tolerate fictional guards in my hold-ups. Now you've got five seconds and two balls...currently."

"This is Steven Shryke's stash house!" the guard whines.

"Then you can hand him one of your balls when he gets here," Mazer replies, pressing his blade against the guard's crotch.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Panicking, the guard opens a panel in the wall. "Here! Take it!"

"Thanks," says Mazer, pocketing the drugs and cash. "You know the drill. Head down. Count to whatever."

With his nose pressed to the floor, the guard warns. "When Shryke finds out who you are—"

"I'm Mazer. Tell him that. Tell everyone you meet. And tell them that anyone who sells drugs to children can expect to get their profits seized."

As Mazer leaves, the guard calls after him. "How much is Quivermass paying you?"

A laugh echoes back before the door slams shut. "I'm not working for Quivermass – I hit one of his places earlier today."

*

Gloating with light from the magical signs inside and out, the club is filled with tourists, patrons and members of Steven Shryke's entourage. Arkady, Shryke and a Gamuk named Swampole are sitting around a table. Swampole is seven feet tall, muscular and bearded, with light orange skin. They're in the middle of a conversation, Shryke espousing a theory to the other two.

"...Women are attracted to flawed characters."

"What about that guy?" Swampole asks, pointing at a crazy man dancing erratically, and completely on his own, on the dancefloor.

Shryke nods approvingly, as if he's watching a grandmaster. "He knows what he's doing."

Several of Shryke's fighters escort an anxious, panting man into the gang leader's presence, one of the fighters explaining. "This guy works for us – says one of our stash houses has been hit."

"That's displeasing. Which stash?" Shryke asks.

The visitor is so nervous his words emerge as a strangled whisper. "The one on the far side of Bourbon Street."

"That's one of our main stashes!" Shryke exclaims.

Arkady addresses the guard with a patiently challenging smile. "Did you see who it was?"

"A Scrovengi – he said his name was Mazer...I think he wanted you to know," the guard nervously adds.

Stroking his own face as if he's just made a bad bet, Shryke leans back. "I thought he'd be dead by now."

"Who is he?" Swampole asks.

"A Scrovengi special forces type: I gave him the impression Quivermass was out to get him and a young Jiangese girl he travels with, thinking he would go after Quivermass. I thought he'd kill a few of Quivermass's guys, disrupt his operations and then they'd get him, but it appears he's figured out what I did and is now going after both sides in the war."

"You never go after Scrovengi special forces-types," Swampole shakes his head. "I'm from Indira, so I've seen what they can do."

"He's faster than anything I've ever seen," the guard adds.

"You sound impressed," Shryke smiles wryly.

"No!" the guard quickly corrects himself. "Just glad to be alive."

"It's unfortunate you said that," Shryke drily replies, throwing a knife through the man's neck.

"You've splashed blood in the drinks," Arkady complains.

"I knew as soon as I did it there'd be some kind of controversy," Shryke sighs.

Swampole drinks his pint, tastes the blood and nods approvingly. "So, what are we going to do about Mazer?" he asks.

Arkady's answer is simple and direct. "I'll track him down and kill him."

Shryke smiles warmly, though his resentment has cooled to a hard, bright realisation. "Arkady, we've known each other for quite a while now. Do you think of us as friends?"

"Yes."

"Well, we're not – you're my employee. And you're too valuable to be testing the waters on this. That's what we hire muscle for. We need someone who's big enough, tough enough and expendable enough to take the job on." Shryke and Swampole's eyes meet. "That's right Swampole, I'm talking about you."

"Yes!" Swampole shouts, with a gleeful fist pump.

"I think he was insulting you," Arkady points out.

"I don't think you heard me," Swampole replies, "I said," he mimics his exact tone and fist pump from before, "yes!"

"Just don't fuck it up," Shryke tells him.

"If I fuck it up, you can kill me."

"If you fuck it up, you'll already be dead."

*

In an innocuous-looking townhouse in a largely derelict part of the Undercity, Mazer is reading a close-quarters combat manual on a beanbag and Lu walks in, puts a hand on each of his shoulders and lifts herself up to see what he's reading.

"More fighting stuff!?" she says. "You need to take a break from all that."

"I need to be ready," Mazer counters. "I should never have got angry and killed that drug dealer. I've brought a whole heap of trouble down on our heads...I blame myself for what happened."

She pats him on the head supportively. "Don't blame Myself for what happened...it's your fault."

Turning, he sees her smile and chuckles. "You're very funny."

She snatches the book from his hands. "But, seriously, take some downtime. What do fully-grown Scrovengi's normally do? Go check out some porn or something." Her eyes widen as she flicks through the illustrations of fighters demonstrating techniques on each other and she gasps dramatically. "...Maybe this is your porn!"

"It's not my porn!" Mazer protests.

"So, you do have porn!" she triumphantly declares. "Go and chill the fuc—" She catches his warning stare. "—fudge out."

Mazer puts his head in his hands. "I was a Tiger Force commander, leader of an elite Scrovengi military unit: now I'm trapped in an abandoned house, being harassed about porn by a thirteen-year-old girl...and, the worst thing is, I'm sitting on a beanbag."

Glass in the window shatters and Mazer's instincts leap alive as several incendiary devices explode in running torsos of flame. He shields Lu with his body, bits of debris striking his heavy armour, then pushes her into a vacant fireplace and quickly covers it with an upturned couch.

"But I can run and get help," she tells him.

"Thank you for that heroic offer to fight via proxy," he jokes, making sure she's safe, then turning to face the intruders, his face furious and flushed with fire.

A thug leaps through the window and throws an incendiary device at Mazer, who slaps it away with the back of his hand. It explodes and sets fire to the room, as three killers charge from the front of the house and Mazer cuts them down, each with a single slash. He kicks through the front door, knocking down several more charging killers.

Eyes glittering feverishly, Mazer peers out at the dark streets, a frown carved on his face as he ducks back inside. The mothy flicker of flames comes from the living room and he rushes to put the fire out before it causes a danger to Lu, stuck in the fireplace. As he fights the flames, his fighter's instinct warns him of danger and he spins just in time to catch the axe-stroke of a massive Gamuk fighter, both of them gripping the hilt as the Gamuk's momentum slams Mazer into the back wall, raining down a hail of dust and debris.

Its skull protected by a stone-like natural structure, the Gamuk slams its head into Mazer's face with three concussive strikes, pushing the axe hilt into the Scrovengi's neck to trap and choke him. As the Gamuk sends its head in for a fourth strike, Mazer pushes back enough to free his neck then dips his head, hearing a grunt of pain as one of his Scrovengi horns makes contact with an eye.

The Gamuk stumbles back and Mazer rips the axe from his grip, swinging it down on his opponent's head, but a hand shoots up and intercepts; holding onto the axe, the Gamuk flies forward with his knee, crunching into Mazer's crotch and almost dropping him to his knees. Mazer keeps hold of the axe but, in the instant of his distraction, the Gamuk swings around behind him and puts him in a furious chokehold, pushing down the axe with his other hand so the Scrovengi can't swing it in his defence.

The axe falls from Mazer's hands and he launches several elbow strikes into the Gamuk's side, but can't break the hold, though each hit jolts the Gamuk with seismic force. The flames crowd around Lu's barricaded fireplace and she must be suffering right now, if the smoke hasn't already rendered her unconscious. Mazer too is starting to lose consciousness, the Gamuk's deadly efficient chokehold turning his vision black, the flames undulating and fantastic amid the darkness.

Last thoughts fly through his head in flocks and, in the rushing need of the moment, an idea strikes him: he lowers his legs into a squat as if he's lost consciousness and springs up with all his force, smashing through the ceiling and into the second floor, with the Gamuk still trying to choke him all the way; gravity takes hold and they fall back through the gap, the Gamuk slamming into the first floor with his back and taking Mazer's full weight on his chest.

Something in the Gamuk's chest cracks, a rib maybe if a Gamuk has ribs, and the hold weakens just enough for Mazer to break free and spin quickly so that he's sitting on the Gamuk's chest. Mazer launches furious haymakers into his opponent's face, swinging his head from side to side; he pulls his fist back mechanically, primes it in mid-air and fires it down with all his force, cracking into the Gamuk's head with enough force to explode the skull of a normal enemy but, while it clearly hurt, the Gamuk's stone-hard head just smashes off the floor and pain shoots through Mazer's fist as it deflects.

Taking advantage of Mazer's fist flying back but still pinned on the floor, the Gamuk removes a hidden dagger from its side, stabbing it forcefully into the Scrovengi's stomach, keeling Mazer forward. There's a speechless and cold struggle as their hands wrestle on the hilt of the blade in Mazer's side, the Gamuk yanking upwards and drawing grunts of pain from Mazer, who tries to hold the dagger in place with his left hand and prevent himself from being disembowelled, his right hand searching for something.

A cold rush of steel alerts Mazer to what he's looking for and he picks it up, plunging his sword through the Gamuk's chest as the enemy tries to rip the dagger free and eviscerate him. The Gamuk seizes up, coughs out a splutter of blood and lies still, his hand falling from the hilt just as he's about to rip the dagger across Mazer's torso.

Sensing his opponent's death, Mazer gets to his feet but every action feels painfully slow, as the monstrous gravity of the wound takes hold. He rushes over to free Lu from the blazing fireplace and the debris in front of it, but she's already escaped, leaping clear of the flames, rolling away and running to Mazer, her eyes wide with worry.

"Are you alright?" she asks, hovering around the wound, dagger still in place.

Mazer is touched by her concern. "I'm fine," he waves it off. "Come on – let's go."

They make their getaway into the sooty black of the Undercity, as the fire burns its way through the house.

***

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