The train barely slowed as the tracks shifted. Although its speed did not change, the angle of the cars did, adjusting as they rose until the track became vertical. Then, instead of moving forward, the train began to move upward. Within seconds it had entered a tunnel and what little light came from the lamps placed along its track vanished into darkness.

The cars- -or platforms, as they were more correctly thought of- -were not large. Peak season and hours had passed some time ago, and Morgana had managed to secure one of the small rooms for herself and her group. Twilight had come with her, but now stood in a corner as she pretended to look out the window. Occasionally Morgana would catch her looking back, but it was apparent that she was keeping as much distance between the two of them as was physically possible.

Forth and Elrod had been standing together, but as the train went into darkness Elrod approached Morgana. He had not changed his clothes, but he was now wearing an operator mask. This one was different from the one he had used before; it was more angular and a blue stripe had been painted down the front of it.

“I don’t like this,” he said. “Do I really have to wear this?”

“Unless you can figure out some way to change your face, yes,” replied Morgana.

Lynette looked up at Elrod. “Admittedly it is not dashing,” she said, “but for once Morgana is correct. You should in fact consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky?”

Lynnette nodded. “Indeed. Almost all of our investigative procedures are designed to track individuals with some level of cybernetic augmentation. Since you apparently do not, there is almost no way for us to track you.”

“Unless they had a mole in the system,” noted Morgana.

“Moles are not fashionable at all, darling. And if you are referring to me, I find it insulting.”

“That I don’t trust you? That’s not new,O’Toole.”

“No. That you assume I am so incompetent that I would not have had you eliminated by now.”

“That’s not reassuring,” said Elrod.

“I find it reassuring!” called Forth from the far side of the car.

Lynnette sighed. “To be honest, this whole situation actually turned greatly in your favor. A purely unenhanced individual teamed with a technomancer in a city with nearly a billion residents. We just do not have the ability to track you. Any of you.” She looked at Morgana. “Hexel is not a fool. Few individuals understand Aetna-Cross like he does.”

“He’d probably be commander by now if he wasn’t trying to hide the kickbacks he gets from gangsters and saboteurs. Yeah. I know.”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” snapped Lynnette. “Regardless, Aetna-Cross’s strategy was to strike quickly and neutralize you before you managed to escape. Hence why they poured all of their resources into the first attack. Hexel knew that surprise was their only advantage, and you now owe him your life.”

“Have him put it on my tab. Or I’ll take a mark off his.” Morgana lit a cigarette. “By the way, how is Hexel?”

Lynnette’s gaze sharpened. “I haven’t the foggiest what you mean, darling.”

“You went to find him, didn’t you?”

Lynnette paused, and then relented. “Yes. I visited his apartment.”

“And did you finally managed to get him in bed?”

“Don’t be vulgar! The situation is serious. More serious than you realize.”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed and her tone changed as she spoke, becoming softer and more concerned. “What did you find?”

“Nothing. Exactly nothing.”

“Goddamn it, O’Toole, that isn’t helpful.”

“It’s what I saw. I sent a microdrone. Everything was just as he customarily leaves it. Except neither he nor his wife were there.”

“Wife? He actually went and married that kid?”

“She’s hardly a ‘kid’. And you should at least know that about him.”

“I wasn’t exactly invited to the wedding.” Morgana sighed. “But I do know that Jillian Applebloom is from a rich family. She has a summer house up in Vermont. That’s probably where they went until things cool off.”

“Except that their suitcases were still in their closets and Hexel’s personal auto was still parked in the complex garage. Not only that. As I said. Nothing was picked up. To an extreme degree.”

Morgana paused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s as if they were just there for one moment and then suddenly vanished. To the point where there are apple fritters on the table, prepared and ready to be eaten- -but cold and whole. And his door was unlocked and ajar.”

Morgana swore under her breath. “I don’t like this. It’s sounding more and more like Aetna-Cross got to him.”

Lynnette shook her head. “No. I would have heard of something like that. And then of course there were the sentries watching his apartment.”

“I like that even less.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s less explicable. That would have to mean he either got out of there faster than he has ever moved on anything before…”

“Or he was taken.”

Morgana looked at Lynnette. “Is there any evidence of that?”

“There is no sign of a struggle. So no. But there was one anomaly.”

“What kind of anomaly.”

“Blood. There was blood. Not much, mind you; it was almost inconsequential. Even I barely noticed it. A single, tiny drop.”

“Whose?”

“I could hardly run it through our database, considering that I am currently functioning in a rather off-the-books manner.”

“So you didn’t run it.”

“There was no need to. It was not human.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “Not human?”

“Preliminary analysis of the genome suggests it is probably not even mammalian.”

“Then what is it?”

“I do not know. If my internal database or online readers cannot identify it, there is not much I can do.”

Elrod turned to them. “Genetics? Can I see the file?”

Lynnette looked up at him. “Why?”

“He’s a geneticist.”

“Of course you are.” Lynnette lifted a hoof and a representation of the file appeared before her. She passed it to Morgana, who accepted it. “You can look, but I don’t much see a point in it. It is neither human nor zooneus, meaning that they played no role in Hexel’s disappearance.”

“It’s still something out of place. It might be the only clue we have at this point.”

“Indeed. Today is a strange day, if only in how much we agree on various things.”

“Did you make any progress on figuring out who exactly issued my euthanasia order?”

“No. None of our precincts would have that information. I need to go to Corporate directly. I’m on a train to Hartford right now, actually. I have a few contacts there who I can inquire with without raising suspicion.”

“Wait. You’re not back at base?”

“Darling, certainly you don’t expect me stay in that dreadful space, do you?”

“You left Roxanne alone!”

“Let’s be honest, darling, if you stop and actually think I believe you would find that neither you nor her would like for her to be left alone with me in the first place. Besides, I have sent some company to her. The Jewish girl.”

“Jewish?”

“Yes. The centaur.”

Morgana took a step forward angrily. “Fuck! You’re dragging Valla into this too, now? What the hell, Lynnette, I’m trying to lay low, not get everyone who has any meaning to me killed!”

“The fact that she has some modicum of meaning to you is exactly why I sent for her! Right now, the people you know are the only ones that Aetna-Cross has leads on, and they’ve already begun to pressure your centaur friend.”

“Fuck…how bad?”

“Only slightly for now. But Fredrik Zawaski is currently the commanding officer on this case. You may not know him, but I do. When he gets more desperate, he will come for your friend. And he will force all the information he wants out of her- -or kill her in his attempt.”

“Fuck!” cried Morgana . “Valla doesn’t even know anything!”

“If she did not know anything I would not have bothered,” sighed Lynnette. “It hardly matters to me if she dies. One more piece of surplus population removed. And don’t argue with me on that, darling, I know your feelings on the human race. The difficulty is that Ms. Goldberg does in fact know where your so called ‘base’ is located.”

“Crap…because Roxanne told her.”

“So it seems. So I can either take her into hiding or risk my entire effort to slightly prolong your depressing life a little being all for naught.”

“Damn it…” Morgana took a long drag on her cigarette. “This is getting out of hand.”

“You honestly should have expected it. This is neither a joke nor a game. You and everyone you know are in grave danger, myself included, regrettably. Which is why I hope you have a very good reason why you are taking such an impressive risk to meet this…contact.”

“Because at this point I’m just taking shots in the dark.”

“How comforting.”

“What? Would you rather have me sit down there in that warehouse and do nothing? You’re a good detective, O’Toole, but not compared to me. I need to do this my way.”

Lynnette laughed and walked toward the front of the train car. “And now you give me of all ponies a compliment? Even a half-arsed one…my, today is indeed a strange day.” She paused and looked over her shoulder. “You have my thread. Pick it up if you need me. Until then, I have work to do.”

She walked forward again, this time into what appeared to be the wall of the train. Her body appeared to break up into smaller units as her representative image dissipated. She had terminated the transmission that she had been using to communicate.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” asked Elrod after a few moments.

It was an idiotic question that meant almost nothing, but Morgana still replied without hesitation. “No. It isn’t. But let me worry about that. Get on that blood stain, and let me handle the detective work.”

“Get on the blood stain she says…yeah, sure. Because we are all going to be one soon enough.”

“None of us have blood,” pointed out Forth.

The room fell silent, because although Forth’s statement was true, Morgana could not help but wonder if Elrod’s had been as well.

The exit from the train was underground, or what passed for underground. The station platform was immaculately clean, and the ceiling above spread out in wide modern-gothic arches. There were no benches or chairs; only the tile floor and the glimmering mosaics on the walls. These seemed to intrigue Elrod greatly; despite his inability to see color, he had never witnessed any sort of physical artwork, no matter how simple. It existed almost ulbiquitously in the sea of digitally projected advertisements that Morgana was privy to but never really bothered to consider; to Elrod, however, that realm was entirely inaccessible and foreign.

“I think those are real gems,” he said.

“They’re synthetic,” said Morgana. “Don’t take any. Move. Over there.” She pointed toward a round tunnel that departed from the station and progressed upward. The few passengers that had ridden the train before were not taking that tunnel, and Morgana wanted to avoid unnecessary attention as long as possible.

Elrod looked toward the tunnel and Forth pushed him along. Morgana, however, fell back to where Twilight was walking while looking down at the tile passing below her hooves.

“Don’t lag behind,” warned Morgana as they fell into step.

“I don’t see why I have to be here,” snapped Twilight. “I should be back there, with Roxanne.”

“And not with me?”

“No. I don’t like you.”

“Well that’s not very friendly at all. Aren’t you supposed to be a student of friendship?”

Twilight glared at her. “You’re mocking me. I can’t believe this.”

“You’re here because like it or not you need to see what the world looks like.”

“I don’t know if I want to see your world. I don’t like it.”

“Well, tough.”

They entered the exit tunnel, and almost as soon as they did Morgana detected a presence near them- -exactly as she had expected.

“Forth! They’re here!”

“Who’s here?” asked Twilight and Elrod at the same time.

As they did, something large descended from the darkness above them and blocked their path. Elrod turned and cried out when he saw the looming monstrosity standing before him, and Twilight screamed. The creature, although mechanical, had been wrought in a way that made it seem nearly organic. It walked on four pairs of thin but massive legs, and held a number of arms attached to the chest of something that nearly resembled a human torso. It had a long neck on which sat a head with a porcelain version of a human face. On its side it bore an insignia of a winged sword over a blood-red star.

The creature’s luminescent blue eyes turned toward the group.

“Identify yourself,” it demanded. Its primary voice was inhumanly deep, but followed by numerous higher and almost child-like echoes.

“Kill it!” cried Elrod. “Kill it KILL IT!”

“Shut UP!” cried Morgana. Elrod did so, and Morgana pushed past him toward the creature. Its eyes followed her.

“Identify yourself,” it repeated.

“Morgana Twilight Sparkle. Private detective.” She opened her coat to reveal her badge, and the creature looked at it before turning back to her.

“Records indicate that your license has been revoked. You are currently a wanted criminal by Aetna-Cross authority.”

“Is that a problem?”

The creature paused, thinking. “No.” It lowered its face to meet Morgana’s. “However. State your purpose.”

“I’m going to this address.” Morgana held up her hoof and a projection of the information appeared before her. “I have business with the man who lives there. The kind of business where everyone involved would appreciate as few questions as possible.”

The creature did not take its eyes off Morgana. “And the others?”

“My associates.”

The creature paused again, and then lifted its body off the ground and passed overhead of the group. “You are authorized,” it said as it passed. “We assume that you are familiar with our policies. Break them at the risk of the death of yourself and your party. We will keep tabs on your position at all times.”

“I know. I’ve read the terms and conditions. Completely.”

The creature did not respond. It vanished out of sight as it entered the train platform. Morgana watched it go, and as she did she noticed that Twilight was clutching Forth tightly and shaking.

“What- -what was that thing?!” she squeaked.

“Private security.”

“It was horrifying,” said Elrod.

“They’re supposed to be as intimidating as possible. Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s alive. Just a robot.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Morgana rolled her eyes and started walking up the ramp toward the light above. Twilight ran up beside her, clearly having difficulty with the slight incline.

“But you told it your real name! Now they can find you!”

“If I had told it any other name it would have killed me.”

“But now the other guys, the Aetna-Cross- -”

“Will be none the wiser.” Morgana gestured back toward the train station. The drone’s head was peering at them, supported from its long neck from behind the edge of the entryway. It was the only part of it that was visible, and it did not leave when they looked at it. “That’s how things work in this particular region. Aetna-Cross never comes this high up, not for enforcement. It’s bad for business.”

“Business?”

Morgana nodded. “The kind of people that live up here don’t like a strong police presence. Just think of that thing as an envoy of the local homeowner’s association.”

“I still don’t under…stand…”

They had come to the end of the tunnel, and Twilight’s eyes suddenly grew wide with confusion and awe as she saw the land around her. Morgana understood her feeling, although only in an academic sense. This place was far different from most places any normal person was familiar with in Bridgeport. Whereas almost all of the city was dark and rotting, this place was bright and green. Manicured trees stood on the sides of wide, smooth streets that curved upward into enormous artificial hills that had been planted with living greenery. Interspaced throughout the artificial forest were structures of ponderous size: houses, built in various fashions and by various architectural schools, sat amidst enormous green lawns and gardens sealed away by high and tasteful fences. Over all of it was a bright blue sky- -not the real sky of course, which was gray and perpetually cold, but one projected over the high and curving ceiling.

“Gah! Light!” cried Elrod.

“What…what is this place?” asked Twilight.

“Steel Point L31,” said Morgana. “Or as they call it, ‘Golden Meadows’. Welcome to the Upper Levels.”

Twilight and Elrod both looked around, the former in awe and the latter recoiling from the sight of it. Even Forth seemed intrigued, her eyes focusing on a nearby tree and her face covered with an expression of awe.

“Come on, Forth, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen trees.”

“No,” said Forth, quickly. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“They scare me.” She shook her head and then looked at Morgana. “I don’t like them. They’re too big, too uneven.”

“Really? How about the hedges?”

“Not the hedges either! I just don’t like plants. Not at all.”

“Well, you’re going to have to deal with it.” Morgana started walking down the ornate tile sidewalks that ran in the shade of the manicured ginkgo trees. “The trees aren’t really the main concern right now.”

“Why would we be concerned about anything?” asked Twilight. “Everything is so pretty here! And this is all artificial? I mean, that hill, the forest- -oh! Look at those flowers! They look delicious!”

Twilight ran toward an area where some clematis was blooming on the far side of a fence. She lifted her mouth to take a bite before Morgana suddenly pushed her out of the way.

“Hey!” cried Twilight. “Why’d you do that?!”

“One, equines don’t eat clematis, especially ligusticifolia, it’s toxic. Two, you don’t need to eat, you’re a machine.”

“I told you! I’m not a machine!”

“AND THREE, we’re only guests here! As in, I have the authority to be here and even that is a little bit dicey right now. Don’t. Touch. ANYTHING. Unless you to never be heard from again.” Morgana gestured to the beautiful scenery and luxurious houses. “Do you know how they get it so pretty? By keeping people like us OUT. So just follow my lead and do what I say and all of us are going to get out of here.”

Twilight looked both incredulous and slightly terrified, but she nodded. She also muttered to herself. “It’s a catesbyana anyway…”

Morgana continued up the road, this time both leading and making sure none of her “associates” did anything that would get them thrown out of one of one of the highest class - -and most lawless- -areas in all of Bridgeport. Fortunately, Twilight had begun sulking again and Elrod had largely fallen silent. Really, the only problem was Forth who rather than doing her job kept looking up at the trees as though she were suspicious of them.

Fortunately, there were not many people out. The day cycle for the district had just started, and almost all the inhabitants were either hard at work or sleeping in. Only a few were walking down the street. On the far side, Morgana was able to see a woman pushing a baby carriage; she was three meters tall, blond, and dressed in the absolute latest fashion- -meaning long, flowing, and absolutely transparent. Near her, a large van had pulled up to the sidewalk and several gardeners in perfectly clean uniforms were hard at work: two of them were porcs, the younger of whom was busy mowing the grass with a mechanical mower, and the remainder were muntjacks, who despite their tiny stature were in the process of assembling the stones for a raised flower bed. All of them wore operator masks, and the only one to speak as the woman passed them was the elder porc. He tipped his wide-brimmed hat and said hello, and the woman ignored him completely.

The road they needed to be on ran past the forest as it curved up the hill. To Morgana, it was quite obviously artificial. The trees had been assembled by computers in a way that was meant to make them appear random, and each had been discretely culled or trimmed to remove dead or unsightly parts. There was no underbrush, save for the type that could be considered pleasant to look at. Paths ran deep into it, and they were at the moment empty save for a group of joggers. In the darker parts of the forest, though, where the trees grew large on a diet of chemical nutrients and artificial sunlight, Morgana could feel the eyes watching her. The forest was where the neighborhood defense force waited.

Nearer to their destination, Morgana saw one of them walking on the opposite direction down the sidewalk. This one resembled a tall armored human, although it bore the same blank porcelain face as the others. Its robotic eyes turned slowly to the group and Twilight shrank away from it toward the trees, not realizing that so many more of its less pleasant looking brethren were waiting there as well.

Their goal was a house near the edge of the neighborhood on the second terrace of the central hill. It was extravagant and large, with a view out the rear end that had a spectacular- -although not the best- -view of a wide area next to an artificial reservoir lake. The house was surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence that was partially obscured by hedges. A large gate sat in the center.

“You actually know someone who lives here?” asked Elrod.

“That should not surprise you. And from here on in, try to talk as little as possible. That’s my job. He knows me, and he isn’t the kind of person any of you want to know especially well.”

Morgana approached the gate and pressed her hoof against a smooth black square beside it. The square illuminated and a clear voice spoke from nowhere in particular.

“Hello?” The voice was high and female, but had an unusual harshness to it. “How may I help you?”

“It’s me.”

There was a pause. “Of course it is. The master is not expecting guests at the moment. Especially not you.”

“Your point?”

There was an almost inaudible sign from the far side of the speaker. “I’m sending the outdoor-guards to meet you.”

A mechanical click came from somewhere inside the gate, and it began to retract silently. Morgana took her hoof off the panel and stepped through the opening before the door had even stopped moving.

The guards, as promised, arrived almost instantly. They were a pair of sobakans, both dressed in blue suits and both leaning with a heavily forward posture that indicated that they were likely used to moving on all fours. Each one of them held a rifle in their hairy claws.

Their canine noses began to sniff the air, and both of them growled instinctively as Morgana entered. Their gold-colored cybernetic eyes scanned the group rapidly, and one of the sobakans gestured with his rifle toward Forth.

“Not her,” he said, his voice only barely intelligible. “She needs to stay outside. No weapons like her.”

“But I’m not even loaded.”

“Does not matter. Stay!”

Morgana looked over her shoulder. “Go down to the ammo shop in the commercial district. It’s mostly hunting stuff but it’ll work.”

Forth looked at Morgana and then nodded. She backed out of the gate and stood behind it as it closed, looking somewhat pitiful.

One of the sobakans gestured the other way. “This way. To house.”

They started walking, with the two guards leading the way up the long and curving driveway. It was lined on either side with extensive lawns and exotic trees, and as well as some gardens that were far too gauche to be in any traditional style. Morgana also noticed several peafowl wandering the property, and she could hear their cries from the exotic but mismatched trees overhead.

The design of the plantings was not all she noticed, though. Morgana was acutely aware that she was being watched, and of the fact that it was not the eyes of machines this time. Several snipers had taken aim at her. Some were sobakan, but a casual glance indicated at least two humans in wait on one of the towers of the house.

Elrod and Twilight were oblivious to this, of course. Elrod was mostly concerned with avoiding the peafowl- -he apparently found them frightening- -while Twilight just walked on in amazement. Then, without warning, Twilight passed from the back of the group up to where the sobakans were marching.

“Hello,” she said. “My name is Twilight. I’ve never met creatures like you before. Have you been working here long?”

The older of the two sobakans looked at Twilight and then growled before turning away. The younger, however, replied without taking his eyes off the path. “Not long. New litter. Just made. Underestimating us would be poor idea.”

“And uncivil,” said the other, snarling at his companion for having talked. “Uncivil is bad. The master does not like being uncivil. Let that be a warning, if you are to see him.”

“Master is great man,” said the younger. “Strong man. Great man. We serve him. Love him. Would die for him.”

“As is demanded of us.”

“Using zoonei as guards is a little strange, though,” said Morgana. “Last time I was here, humans were doing your job.”

“Humans did bad job. They are gone now.”

“And what do the neighbors think about you being here?”

“Neighbors can fuck selves.”

Twilight seemed taken aback by this revelation, but to Morgana it was more or less mundane. These individuals were not nice people; not only that, but they had been bred specifically for this task and raised since puppyhood to serve their ‘master’. Had any member of the group been made of meat instead of machinery or starch, they would have been equally glad to devour him alive rather than lead him to the door had that been their instructions.

When they approached the door, the sobokans both stopped at a bright yellow line that had been painted over the pavement. Twilight stepped over it and looked back at them.

“You’re not coming?”

The older of them shook his head. “No. We are outdoor. Not allowed inside, or near inside. Master says it makes bad smell. Not unless emergency.”

“Don’t make an emergency,” warned the other.

Morgana did not acknowledge them because she saw no need to. She instead approached the large and ornately carved antique oak door of the house. It opened before she could reach it. A Scootaloo unit wearing makeup and an extremely short skirt was standing just on the other side, and she did not seem amused to be there.

“Scootaloo?” said Twilight, confused.

“Yes. I am,” she said. Her voice was that of every Scootaloo, but had a certain harshness to it that Morgana had come to expect from members of this particular organization. The Scootaloo gestured at her right shoulder, which was tattooed with a number. “137,” she said. She looked up at Morgana. “I have talked to the master, and he’s willing to have a meeting. But not a long one. He’s very busy.”

“That’s not encouraging,” said Morgana, stepping into the entry hall of the mansion. It was an enormous room with enough volume to house an entire resblock of eighty people, and yet none of it was habitable space. It consisted of a long tile floor that led to two stereotypical twin staircases to the mezzanine and upper floors. Several statues had been placed through the center, and artwork hung on the walls. Morgana sighed as Twilight caught sight of the artwork and began to blush. All of it was erotic.

“Those- -those paintings!”

“Are by a number of respected artists and have a net value of…well, a lot more than any of us are worth.” 137 started walking briskly toward one of the first-floor doors. “This way please.”

Twilight followed her, shielding her eyes with one hoof to avoid seeing the preponderance of nudity rendered in oil paint all around them. The only painting that gave her pause was Morgana’s least favorite: it showed a Twilight unit in repose, although her skin had been removed from the chest down to reveal an exceedingly detailed internal architecture.

“Oh wow,” said Twilight, clearly a bit disturbed. “Is that what you look like underneath?”

“Not even close,” said Morgana.

“Should I just leave you in the front gallery, then?” asked 137. “This isn’t a museum. These are private works. Please keep moving and don’t waste the master’s time if you value your legs and eyes being attached to your body.”

“I value my legs,” said Elrod.

137 looked up at him. “Who even are you?”

“I am Elrod.”

“And I do not care. And I don’t think the master will think you’re very amusing.”

“Do you treat all your guests this way?” asked Morgana.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t have a job if I did. Just you.”

“And if I report your rudeness to your ‘master’?”

“He it funny. My job is not to help you, miss. It is to make sure my master’s schedule runs quickly and efficiently. As you know, he is a very busy man.”

The began walking, with 137 leading the way. This gave Morgana an clear view of her rear, which was not something that she was particularly interested in but something that she could not help but observe. 137’s skirt and short tail hid almost nothing, and the fishnet stockings she wore only served to accentuate her exposed rear.

Twilight seemed barely able to comprehend how a little filly could be wearing something so small and lacy. “Scootaloo,” she started.

“137. That’s my number. Trust me, names have little meaning here.”

“Oh…okay…but why are you wearing…those clothes. I can see…you know…”

“My vagina. Yes. You’re supposed to, that’s how I assembled the outfit.”

Twilight blushed heavily. “But if you know, then why- -”

“Because the master prefers it. To be honest, I do as well.”

“But- -you’re just a little filly, I don’t- -”

“I’m more interested in why you bother to take this job at all,” interrupted Morgana. “Assistant butler? Really?”

“You can laugh if you want, but you know exactly why I’m here.”

“Why?” asked Elrod.

“There aren’t a lot of jobs for filly units. This is one of the best a Scootaloo can get. We all do this. If we spend a few years in the house, it’s a fast-track straight into the organization. You have to take the opportunities you can get, I guess.”

“But…a filly…” muttered Twilight.

“She’s a machine,” said Morgana. “Come on. This shouldn’t bother you that much.”

“It know. I know, but…Scootaloo. I just can’t…”

Twilight shook her head and tried to avoid looking at 137. 137 did not seem to mind especially much, dismissing Twilight’s behavior as that of another unwanted eccentric in association with one of her least favorite individuals.

137 led them through the main corridors of the house and to a door. She was far too small to reach the handle, but instead opened the door remotely after knocking briskly. As it opened, she stepped aside and gestured for Morgana to enter.

“The master will see you now.”

Morgana entered the room and immediately was faced with a man sitting in the center, essentially covered in a pile of Scootaloos. There must have been at least thirty of them, or perhaps more. The majority of them were, like number 137, wearing various kinds of suggestive costumes and makeup. A few were not, though; the man was holding and petting a nude one as though she were a cat.

“Morgana!” He spread his arms enthusiastically and smiled. As he did, he stood up. The Scootaloos jumped off of him or moved out of his way with practiced precision, their little wings buzzing uselessly as they did so. One remained balanced on his shoulder.

The man was tall, but not as tall as the genetically upgraded humans that tended to dwell in upper-class regions. His face was perfectly chiseled in a way that was meant to appear handsome in a nearly abstract sense: his features were harsh and almost hyberbolic, and his otherwise perfect face was covered with a number of symmetrical surgical scars. These scars continued down most of his body, which was visible through the velvet robe he wore. Apart from his face, several things on him did not match entirely; his arms, though tanned, had different colors, and one of his hands was far more pale than the other. His glaring eyes were two different shades of brown. They had no doubt come from two different people.

He looked at Morgana and put his hand to his square chin, pretending to be in deep thought as his eyes narrowed. “There’s something different about you. No wings.”

“I’m going for a more sleek design.”

“You shouldn’t. It looks terrible.” He turned his attention to Twilight and smiled broadly. The scars at the edge of his mouth made his smile seem unnaturally large, and Twilight gasped. “Well well!” he said. “Morgana, who is this? You didn’t tell me you had a daughter! The spitting image, I think.” He turned back to Morgana. “So what is this? Are you showing her the ropes?”

He did not give Morgan a chance to answer. His eyes turned to Elrod and his look of potentially feigned cheer immediately faded.What had moments before been an expression of joviality and abandon suddenly hardened into something much more sinister. “And who the bloody hell are you? Take that damn thing off!”

“But- -”

“Ut ut ut! I’ll only give you this warning ONCE. The only ‘butts’ here are those on my cute little Scootaloos!” He reached under the skirt of the Scootaloo on his shoulder and gave her a pinch. She squeaked and giggled.

“Oh master!” she said, pawing at the side of his face with one hoof. “There’s company!”

The man smiled, but any joy that was in it faded when he turned back to Elrod. “Now. I don’t repeat myself. When I say to do something, you do it. So…?”

Elrod reached up and immediately reached to his face and with some difficulty due to his panic removed the mask. The man stared at him hard for a moment and then cried out, recoiling and holding the Scootaloo on his shoulder out in front of him like a shield. “Ugh! Put it back on! Jesus, that’s a mug! Morgana, you actually brought that…thing!...into my house?”

“There’s a reason I put the mask on him.”

The man laughed. He was suddenly cheerful again. “I should have seen that one coming!” He set down the Scootaloo he was holding and walked past Morgana and out the door to the room. The Scootaloo’s scattered, with many exiting the room and a small contingent following the man.

“So!” he said. “What’s your name, ugly man and passable pony?”

“Elrod,” said Elrod.

“Horrible name.” The man shook his head. “And you, Morgana’s daughter?”

“I’m not actually her daughter,” said Twilight. “I’m just Twilight. Or Twilight Sparkle if you like that better. I’m pleased to meet you. What’s your name?”

The man stopped walking and seemed to suddenly be deep in thought, as if he could not fully recall his identity. Then he shrugged. “Some people call me Maurice.” He started walking again. “It’s good to see you have some amount of manners, though. That’s a positive sign. Although, Morgana, next time clear it with me if you’re taking in interns. We deal with a lot of sensitive topics here, very important business and all that.”

“I didn’t actually have a choice. My situation is pretty bad right now.”

“Yes, yes. I am aware of that. You’ve become something of a persona non grata at the moment.”

Maurice turned suddenly and entered a large room. It resembled a long hall with a high arched roof. One side had windows that overlooked the impressive view over the forest and lower houses below. Comfortable furniture had been placed throughout it.

“Sit down if you like,” said Maurice, pointing. “If you want drinks, I can send for some.” He snapped his fingers and a Scootaloo quickly ran to him. She had a silver tray balanced on her back, and on it was perched a bottle of absurdly expensive vodka and a small glass of ice. “Aww,” he said, bending down to pick up the bottle and pour himself a glass. “Thank you, 219.”

“Your very welcome master!” She blushed and giggled girlishly.

Maurice motioned for her to depart and she did so. He took a sip from the glass. “Ah,” he said. “The nerves in my new lounge aren’t back yet, so I can barely taste this. It’s still amazing, though. Are you sure you don’t want some?”

Elrod shook his head vehemently, and Morgana realized to her mild amusement that the reason he must have hated vodka so much was probably due to the fact that it was stereotypically made from potatoes.

“No thank you,” said Twilight.

“You don’t have anything I like.”

Maurice laughed. “No, I don’t keep cheap scotch. Come now, I have to maintain some appearance of class.”

He crossed the room toward the far side, where two individuals were waiting for him. One was a large human man with a substantial scar across his face, and the other was a Scootaloo with thin-rimmed glasses and a black business suit. Between them was something covered in a blanket.

“Ah! Exactly as I requested! Cilia, you never disappoint!”

Cilia, the Scootaloo, bowed. “I aim to please.”

Maurice looked over his shoulder and gave a toothy grin to Morgana. “I do apologize, but you did catch me at a bad time. Do you mind if I finish up? Just some horribly dull business duties and all.”

Morgana nodded and took a seat. Elrod stayed back and turned toward the window, either admiring the view or working on the genetics analysis he had been assigned. Twilight, however, looked confused.

Maurice gestured with his hand and the thuggish human removed the cloth before him. Twilight gasped when she saw what was beneath it: a thin human woman had been tied to a chair. She was gagged, and appeared to have been beaten quite thoroughly before being brought out.

A low chuckle came from Maurice as the girl’s eyes went wide. Maurice then removed the gag that was sealing the girl’s mouth. She immediately started to scream, but no sound came out apart from a low hiss. This, in turn, surprised the girl as well as appearing to cause her pain, and she seemed to freeze in panic.

Twilight gasped. “What happened to her voice?”

“Ah! You like it?” Maurice turned on his heels toward Twilight, his mismatched eyes twinkling. “You see, back when I was a little girl down in Steel Point L8, my father was a submanager of the canine packing division. One day he took me on a trip to see how they were raised. One thing that always struck me was the debarking. And, as it turns out, it works on humans too!”

He turned again toward the girl and laughed. Her mouth moved as though she were trying to speak, but the sounds that came out did not sound like words at all- -just quiet terrified whispers.

By this time a crowd of Scootaloos had gathered around and were watching intently. One of them pushed over a wheeled stand, the sort that might be used to hold a surgeons tools during an operation. On it sat several scalpels and a large brown glass bottle.

“Hmm…” Maurice raised his hand and held it next to her face. “A shame. Your skin color is way off. It would never match what I already have.”

Enraged, the girl suddenly turned and bit down hard on Maurice’s pinkie finger. A loud crack filled the air, and several Scootaloos gasped. Maurice, however, remained relatively impassive if not mildly amused as he pulled his hand away to see that his finger had almost entirely been severed at the middle joint.

“Huh,” he said, grabbing the digit and tearing it off entirely. “Cilia, make a note. Have her hands removed. I’ll be needing a new finger.”

“Both, sir?”

“Of course, both! I need symmetry, now don’t I?”

“Of course, sir. I just wanted to confirm.”

“Diligence,” said Maurice. He picked up the brown bottle from the small cart, the girl’s eyes watching him the whole time. “That is why you’re here, Cilia. Let that be a lesson to all of you!” he gestured toward the Scootaloos before his finger slowly turned to Twilight. “Even you, Ms. Sparkle.”

He held the bottle a distance from his face and cracked it open. A small plume of vapor immediately started emanating into the air.

“What…what is that?” asked Twilight, her body suddenly shaking in the realization that something very bad was about to happen.

“Concentrated sulfuric acid, darling. Oops.” He turned the bottle and splashed it on the sitting girl’s face. She closed her eyes, but it was already too late. She screamed silently, even though the pain of the chemical had not yet set in. As she did, Maurice poured the liquid into her mouth.

“Such a shame,” he said, calmly. “But what can I do? Business is business.” He set the bottle down and pointed at Cilia. “Right. I also want her legs broken. Upper, lower, and knees. But nowhere near me!” He shuddered. “I just hate the sound! Then wrap her up and take her back to her father. Let him know that I did it personally, and that this is what happens when someone takes out a loan from me without thought of ever having to actually pay it back.”

“What timeline do you want to give him?”

Maurice thought for a moment. “A month. That should be enough. And if he doesn’t have my money by then…” he bent down near the girl who was now writhing in agony as her flesh dissolved. “…then we find this one again. And next time I think something with gasoline should be fun.” Then, of all things, he giggled.

Cilia nodded and tapped her hoof on the tile below. The thuggish man grabbed the thrashing woman’s chair and began to wheel her out with Cilia beside him. Maurice turned around and gave a deep bow, and the Scootaloos around him smiled and clapped quietly.

Morgana could not help but look at Twilight. To her credit, Twilight had managed not to scream, but her eyes were wide with horror and her whole body shaking. She did not seem to know how to process what she had just seen. Then, as it slowly dawned on her, her face contorted and she turned around, weeping and retching onto the ground.

“Oh dear,” said Maurice, suppressing his laughter. “Someone isn’t a fan!” He walked over and knelt down by Twilight she turned around and tried to back away, but he took hold of her shoulder. Blood from his severed finger ran down Twilight’s neck as he lifted her chin with his other hand.

“Now now,” he said. “It’s not as gruesome as it seems. I’m a pleasant guy. But I’m also a businessman. And sometimes in this particular business you need to do things to make sure YOU ARE GODDAMN IN CHARGE!” He screamed loudly, his tone suddenly changing to one of uncontrolled fury. Twilight recoiled and started crying, and Maurice stood. He stormed over to the acid and his severed finger. He looked at it and his eyes narrowed. “This isn’t wrong!” he raged. “Not on my part- -but on his part? THAT is wrong! I LOVE! I love everything! I give so much love, to this organization, and to the people in it! I extended his deadline! I was nice!” His anger suddenly vanished, and he sighed. “And then he goes and takes advantage of my love. It just breaks my hearts.”

Several of the Scootaloos quickly ran over to comfort him, and he knelt down and hugged them.

“It’s okay, master!”

“He was a jerk anyway!”

“And so was she!”

“You did the right thing!”

“You probably didn’t even go far enough!”

Maurice sighed, and then stood up. The Scootaloos dispersed, returning to their various tasks. Maurice then clapped his hands together and smiled, having instantly returned to his jovial nature.

“Now,” he said. “Let’s get to whatever it was you wanted to talk to me about.”

He crossed past Morgana and took a seat on a low couch across from her, crossing his legs as he did so. Several Scootaloos jumped onto it as well and nestled themselves against him, snuggling as closely as they could.

“I need information,” said Maurice.

“Of course you do. The question is, do I want to give it to you?”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. “We have a deal.”

“We HAD a deal. That I provide you with information, and that in exchange any time your cases lead to me, you steer them in the opposite direction. You’ve even done a few jobs for me.” His smile faded. “And my competitors.”

“But I always honored the deal.”

Maurice leaned forward. “But the deal is moot now, isn’t it? You see, you’re not exactly a private detective anymore. You’re a fugitive. And if I’m not mistaken your license has been revoked.” He landed back. “So what good are you to me?”

“You son of a bitch.”

The Scootaloos’ respective eyes all went wide, but Maurice surprised them by laughing. “So full of fire! Spice! I like that! It’s been too long since there were people that could talk to me like that. Now their either my enemies…or dead.”

“Treat others how you want to be treated,” said Morgana, shrugging. “It would bother me to no end if the whole world tried to treat me with kid gloves on.”

“Exactly!” cried Maurice, pointing at her. “That’s exactly it! And it’s the problem with being the boss! You just don’t get time to spend with people outside the hierarchy!”

“That said, if this is just an idle conversation then I think I really should be going. Both of our time is being wasted.”

Maurice’s expression became dark. “I’m not finished.”

“Then are you going to help me?”

“Yes. I am. And do you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because you remembered my birthday.”

Twilight looked at him, suddenly surprised by the turn of the conversation. “What?”

“You sent me a card, Morgana. You always do. Every year, right on time. You don’t have to! You’re not part of my organization, it’s not obligatory- -but you know how important my birthday is to me, and you always send a card.”

“Five hundred and eighty third,” said Morgana. “That’s a big year. Getting close to the big six.”

“See! That’s exactly what I mean. Most people, they fear me. Some respect my authority. Both of those are okay. But that? That’s love. Treating me as a person, and not just as the boss. And that’s why I’m’ going to help you.”

One of the Scootaloos looked up at him. “But I remembered your birthday!”

The sound of a slap echoed through the room. The Scootaloo was knocked back, and her eyes began to quiver as she put her hoof to her face.

“Daddy is talking right now,” hissed Maurice. “Don’t interrupt!”

“But…but daddy…”

Maurice’s expression softened, and he hugged the filly. “I hurt you because I love you, 336,” he said. “I want you to grow up to be strong and effective, like Cilia.” He set her on the floor. “Now go down to the kitchen and help with dinner. And think about what you did wrong, and what you can do to…make it better.”

The Scootaloo wiped her eyes and smiled, and then trotted away.

“Now,” said Maurice. “We were at the part where you ask me questions, and I answer them. I can guess what this is about, though.”

“Natural-born humans,” said Morgana. “Would you happen to know about their disappearance?”

Maurice looked somewhat stunned, and then suddenly laughed. “Well!” he said. “That was NOT what I was expecting! Not at all!” He snapped his fingers and a Scootaloo brought him more vodka. “Goddamn, Morgana! You’re working a case in the middle of all this?”

“The case relates to my current predicament, yes. And trust me. We’ll get to that.”

“Well, then this should be an amusing conversation. The answer is yes, though. I do.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I killed them? No. Of course not. I actually have…had…a large number working for me.”

“How many?”

Maurice wagged his fingers. “I don’t give away company secrets. Not about my own company, anyway.”

“A lot or a few?”

“A lot. More than you would expect.” Maurice sighed. “Which is a shame, really. Natural humans are worth their weight in gold, especially for use as runners.”

“Because they can’t be hacked or traced by traditional methods.”

“That is part of it, yes. Information I give them stays with them unless somebody really, really wants it. But it’s more than that. It’s just not feasible to ensure loyalty in anyone else.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “Is loyalty a problem for you?”

“Not generally, no. But that’s not what I mean. I mean in terms of running information critical to my operation. Kids born in factories can’t be trusted for that. The companies leave stuff in their genetics. Kill switches, modulators, things you can’t even imagine. The right chemical or signal and suddenly all their beans come tumbling out.”

“You’re talking about mind control.”

“It’s not as ridiculous as it seems. Most of them? They’re born almost as adults. They come out knowing how to speak, read, write, do math- -with what in my great grandfather’s day used to be called a ‘college degree’. Who knows what else the Corporations program into them?” Maurice shook his head. “No. I can’t trust them for that. Have to go with naturals when I can get them. Which is now almost impossible.”

Elrod turned away from the window. “Are you a natural human?”

Maurice burst out in laughter. “Me? Maybe at one point, but now? Hell no! Although I think my kidney and this leg both came from one.” He tapped his left leg. “That’s the funny thing. Sometimes we find them. Not often, but sometimes, and, well…”

“They’re missing the head.”

Maurice nodded. “So you already know that part.”

“Any idea who’s doing it?”

“If I knew, I’d have his eyes by now. No. I assumed it was my competitors at first, but they tell me the same thing is happening to their runners too. And Bridgeport has been pretty stable for the past half century. I’m not about to start a turf war without hard evidence.”

“In my opinion? It’s not the other bosses. Or any corporation.”

Maurice paused for a moment. “Then who does that leave?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“Hmm. And you’re thinking this ‘someone’ is who got them coming out of the woodwork to burry your rump.”

“Yes. The two are connected. I’m sure of it.”

Maurice paused again, and then stood up. He swirled his glass and sipped from it. “If you had told me that when it started? Sure. I would have been ambivalent.”

“You mean you would not have believed me.”

“Sure, if you want to put it that way.” He turned toward Morgana. “But I’ve got guys. More than any other boss in the city. In Aetna-Cross, in a lot of places.”

“Which is why I came to you. Because you know more than anyone else.”

Maurice smiled. “Don’t give me too much credit, Morgana. I just do what I can.” His expression became more serious. “And I think you’re right. I’ve seen things moving recently.”

“What kind of things?”

“Corporate funds. A whole lot of them. More than I’ve ever seen moving before.”

“To where?”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Maurice swirled his vodka. “To nowhere.”

“Funds don’t go ‘nowhere’.”

“It’s not just funds. Resources of every kind. Billions of vod, equipment, technology, everything- -and it’s not just Aetna-Cross.”

“We live in a post-scarcity economy, Maurice. Money is almost entirely irrelevant.”

Maurice smiled. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? Even I’m not old enough to remember when Corporations were interested in profit. Even me, almost a vassal myself. Money is shit. Fun to take but pointless.” His smile became more mischievous yet at the same time darker. “What vassals want these days is power. Power is everything, the entire goal of Corporations. My goal as well, to be honest. It’s what we strive for. Day and night. At every turn.”

Morgana looked him in the eye. “And are they using this power?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. See, power’s hard to watch, but we see it. Sometimes. Things getting ignored, regulations being mysteriously bypassed. Cover ups. The money and technology? That’s one thing. But somebody is actively pulling every string they can to make sure somebody else stays invisible.”

“But you don’t know who it’s all going to.”

“No. That’s kind of the point. They don’t want me to know. They don’t want anyone to know. Looking at this thing head-on? You’d never move an inch. But somehow you managed to have luck just bad enough to slip through a crack.”

“Conjecture, then?”

“I don’t know.” Maurice shrugged. “If I had to guess, it’s a development project of some kind. But between that many Corporations, all at once.” He chuckled. “Man, I would almost give three Scootaloo rides to see what those meetings are like.” He sighed. “I don’t really think it has anything to do with natural humans, though.”

Maurice looked out the window and his expression became far more neutral than Morgana was accustomed to. He sipped his vodka in silence.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“There is. I don’t know if it relates. But hey, it’s a gut feeling, you know? And the guy who had these guts before me was pretty good at intuition.”

“Any information is helpful.”

“And this is probably the last piece you’ll get. From me at least. Maybe ever depending on how this all goes.” He sighed. “It’s my divers. A few of them have, well, been down to long in the Midnight Sea if you know what I mean. They were the first to see it. But the others have started to see it too.”

“What?”

Maurice turned to Twilight and sat down on the couch across form her. He leaned forward. “The War Stone. It’s active.”

Twilight looked up. “War Stone? What is that?”

“That’s impossible,” said Morgana, ignoring Twilight’s question.

“Because it doesn’t exist?”

“I’m not that naïve, Maurice. You know that. But no living being can control the War Stone, not without destroying themselves in the process.”

“They’re not lying. They see things. Especially the deep ones. ‘Things moving’ they say. They are afraid. And you should be too. I’m old, Morgana. Not nearly as old as you are. But old enough. And in all that time? The War Stone has never once been in play.” He smiled and laughed. “So you have to understand, this situation is a lot more deadly than you think it is. Honestly, given the choice? Thirty nine Corporations any day versus a minute with that thing.”

Morgana looked up at him and smiled herself. “That ‘thing’ is now my only lead. Or at least the only one I can get to. I know how to find it.”

Maurice laughed, but without humor. “Then I was right, wasn’t I? This really is the last time you and I will ever meet.”

When Morgana had arrived, it had been mid-afternoon . Now, as Maurice sat alone in his drawing room, the digital sun had started to set. Hundreds of thousands of watts still blazed outside, transmitted through the projection plates that overlayed the ceiling, but the color tone had changed. Now the horizon was bathed in orange light, and the shadows on the tile floor had become long.

Maurice remained, though. He had sent his Scootaloos away to attend to their various duties and to give him time to think. So he sat alone, facing away from the windows, occasionally sipping from his glass. The room was quiet, which was something his life so very rarely was.

He sighed, and reached into his robe. From an inner pocket he produced a cigar. He lit it and began to smoke. Almost as soon as he did, though, he smelled something foul. It was not the smoke of the cigar, though. Cigar smoke from what Maurice remembered was acrid but pleasant enough, while this smell had no redeeming qualities. It brought him back to his youth on the slaughter level, and the scent of hundreds of millions of dogs being prepared for butchering. Even with his senses deadened by repeated surgeries and a brain that was now far more machine than human, he was able to identify it: the scent of someone who had likely never bathed mixed with something more deeply unpleasant. It smelled like rotting meat, and blood.

A long shadow suddenly appeared to Maurice’s left. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“It’s not polite to come in unannounced,” he said.

“There was no one to announce me,” rasped a deep female voice.

“Really? My assistant butler must not be doing her job, then. I think that warrants a spanking later.”

The woman moved forward and came into view. Maurice’s vision was not good, but he was still able to see her clearly in the dim light. She was shorter than him, and dressed in a long coat that nearly trailed on the floor. Her hair was greasy and ragged, and it went down to her waist.

The woman turned to Maurice and smiled. Her hair was over her face, but through it Maurice was able to see a pair of brilliant blue eyes. They appeared massive, like those of a cat, but it was only because the woman’s pupils had constricted into a pair of narrow vertical slits.

Maurice saw a flash of pointed teeth as she smiled, and then she lifted something and dropped it on the table that still held a bottle of sulfuric acid. Maurice winced. It was the severed head of Scootaloo number 137.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Maurice.

“I don’t have to do anything, do I? But I wanted to, so therefore I did. They’re machines, human. They don’t feel pain.”

She pulled her gloved hand away from the head, leaving four trails of dark black fluid from the tips of each of her fingers. For some reason, Maurice could not help but find himself wondering where she bought gloves. He realized that perhaps that strange sense of amusement was all that remained of his capacity to feel fear.

Maurice stood up and looked at the woman. He knew what she was, at least tangentially. Her kind was considered a delicacy by the upper class. Maurice himself had more than once partaken in their gamy, salty meat, but he had never once desired to see one of them alive. Nor had he ever thought he would. Once again he found himself wondering, this time about why someone would employ a creature such as this- -and who managed to train one to talk.

“Nobody touches them,” he said. “We had a deal.”

The blue eyes shot toward him and the smile grew even wider. “Then perhaps I should touch you instead? You would enjoy it, I’m sure.”

Maurice winced again. The thought of touching the reeking woman made him sick. “Why are you here?”

“My employers wish to make sure that you distributed the information correctly.”

“Do they think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“No. You are insignificant to them. But it matters to me. Because I get paid to care.”

“And what exactly do they pay you in? Human flesh?”

The woman rasped, which Maurice supposed was a laugh. “If I wanted flesh- -for any purpose- -I would have killed you by now.”

Maurice started walking. The woman remained still, but her eyes and head followed him as he moved toward the table, pretending to look at what was left of 137. “I gave her enough information to send her on her way, but not enough to go anywhere in particular. Nothing finite on the corporate backing. Nothing to squeeze. Enough to keep going, but not enough to find anything.”

“So you were completely unhelpful.”

“Exactly as you asked.” Maurice smiled his best smile. At any other time, he would have considered this a waste of a good act- -that this behavior was meant to be used on other bosses, or rivals of some sort, not on a filthy mutant- -but he had grown so good at playing the game that he slipped into it automatically and without thinking. Somehow, he believed deep down that it was the only way for him to survive this encounter.

“And you told her nothing else?”

“No. Here.” Maurice produced a thin, needle-like component. It did indeed contain the recording- -minus the part about the War Stone. “This is the recording of the conversation. For your viewing pleasure.”

The woman reached out and took the needle. While her eyes were focused on it, Maurice took hold of the bottle of sulfuric acid with his free hand. It was still quarter-full.

“You knew she would come to me. You asked me to feed her information and I did. Now I expect you to honor your part of the deal.”

The woman looked at him, and then at the bottle he was holding. With one quick motion, she pulled it away from him. Before Maurice could react, she put the bottle to her lips and chugged down the contents. When she was finished, then threw the empty bottle on the ground. Maurice jerked slightly as it shattered.

“My employers make deals,” she said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “I do not. Consider the reward the fact that you will survive.” She smiled. “And that I will only destroy some of your global assets.”

“But- -”

The woman raised a finger and Maurice went silent. “Maurice Arnold Whittaker,” she said in as condescending of a voice as someone like her could muster. “You run one of the premier criminal organizations in this city. In Connecticut, even. I initially took you to be smart. Or as smart as you shaved apes can be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You lied to me. And that hurts. Worse is you thought you could trick me. Evolution made me superior to you, remember?” She leaned forward. Her stench became overwhelming, but Maurice did not flinch. She sniffed his shoulder, and then looked up at him with her snake-like eyes. “I can smell it.”

She suddenly pushed him back and began to move quickly toward the door, her long coat trailing behind her.

“What- -where are you going?!”

“You wanted power? I will give you the opportunity to earn it. I suggest you prepare for a gang war. A long and bloody one.”

Maurice watched her go, unable to speak. When she vanished into the shadows, he continued to watch, even as the sun set and the room was shrouded in darkness. Then he sat down all alone and took a sip from his shaking glass- -only to find that the vodka had run out.

Outside, the woman produced an earpiece from her coat and put it on. Her people did not have a language, as they were not social creatures, but she the closest thing they had: the debased form of Standard Language that they had acquired from Delvers and those foolish enough to wander into the Depths alone.

“It’s me,” she said. She was unable to contain her smile. “There’s been a development.”