===Chapter 2===

Present Day

“Ow! Watch it! In case you hadn’t noticed, I just ran a three-hour marathon through the Scarlet Fortress!”
“I know, kid,” replied Pestilence, carefully lowering Cross onto his mattress. “But that don’t mean you can just holler at us like mutts. War knows what he’s doin’. Little extreme, I’ll admit, but hey, ‘what don’t kill ya’, right?”

Cross said nothing. He just focused on his aching limbs, seething with rage. He made a mental note to punch War in the stomach the next time he saw him. He would have to heal first, however.

“How do you feel?” asked Famine. “You don’t look too well.”
“Gee, thanks,” Cross snapped. “I feel like I just went ten rounds with a steamroller. Then two dozen rounds with… what’s that thing called? Big spiky thing, lives in the Wildwoods… Spino-something. Ugh, my head’s a mess. Why exactly did War chase me around the Fortress for three hours?”
“Training,” replied Famine. “He was testing your endurance, which, I have to say, is pretty damned impressive. If the rest of us ran that gauntlet we’d have died less than halfway in.”
“Damn straight,” laughed Pestilence. “ Boy, I can still remember when War brought you to us all them months ago. All kinds a’ stuff he said, about you runnin’ through an entire Dark City without breakin’ a sweat! Hot damn!” Still reminiscing, he sat down next to Cross, being careful not to cause more discomfort.
“He knew you would be up to the task,” said Famine. “Extreme as it was, War was confident that it would force your muscles to strengthen at a much faster rate. Give it a few weeks and you’ll be running that gauntlet with little trouble.”
“Weeks?!” Cross yelled. ”If this keeps up I’ll be dead in days! No. No way I’m doing this anymore.”
“You’ll do it or die.”

War had entered the room. Pestilence stood to attention so quickly the sudden movement almost made him lose balance. Famine glanced at Cross, and did the same. Slowly, deliberately, War approached his injured apprentice.

“We have a rule here,” He said, his voice low and gravelly. Cross could feel the anger in his voice, see it in his eyes. “Each Horseman is initiated in the most brutal manner corresponding to their unique skills. Only the best survive, who are then inducted into the squad personally by me, the elected leader. Once you have been initiated, you are recognised as one of us, and you will BE recognised as one of us until… you… die.”

He grabbed Cross by the collar, holding him up off of the ground, his legs dangling helplessly. Famine moved to stop him, but Pestilence held her back. Unable to help, she stared frantically.

“Put him down! He’s injured! What the Hell do you think you’re doing?”

Cross was groaning in pain, trying to stay conscious. Famine was looking on in horror, still being restrained by Pestilence, who was merely watching with a look of grim acceptance. Without warning, War dropped him back onto the mattress, on which he bounced pathetically.

“Your initiation is complete,” he said in a calm and relaxing tone, something that didn’t fit the mood at all. “Welcome to the Horsemen, my friend. In recognition of your speed, agility, and endurance, you will fulfil the role of Death, the master assassin, a role that has been vacant for quite a few months now. Team, let our newest member have his rest. Oh and Pestilence? That rifle needs a tweak. I was practicing with it earlier, and the sight’s a bit off. I want it dealt with by our next assignment, understood? Horsemen dismissed.”

War left the room with a certain pride in his step, almost like a swagger. Pestilence released Famine, and both saluted War as he left. Cross, through great effort, adjusted himself into a sitting position, before allowing himself to slump against the wall. After a few pained seconds, he broke the silence.

“Anyone mind telling me what the Hell just happened?”

Thanks Ise. I try. Oh, and I think I understand everyone's need for people to comment on their work. It actually IS frustrating. I'm still not going to "ninja bump" anything, though. Too predictable. I'm sticking with my patented "progressive bump".

Hooray! My first embarrassing mistake! I'll just edit that now...

Chapter 4

Present Day

“Ooh, there’s one! C’mon, take the shot! Hurry up!”
“This thing has a cooldown period, just wait a minute. Ok, good to go. Where is it?”
“Over there, by the Lumber.”
“Oh, sweet! Watch this.”

Cross put the Scorcher in his sights, adjusted the angle to compensate for gravity and wind, and shot. The rifle’s signature firing noise, a screech via technical jargon associated with the many chambers of the gun, rang out, scaring away the nearby wildlife and echoing around the Jigsaw Valley. The Scorcher’s tank exploded, igniting both it and the Lumber. Spacker laughed with glee, relishing in the kill. Cross made a mental note to find out exactly how the gun worked once he got back to the hideout.

“Ha hah! Taking pot-shots at those little suckers never gets old.” Spacker turned to admire the rifle. “Boy, Pestilence sure knows his way around guns. And bombs. Never knew he was this talented, though. Can’t believe no-one thought about a sniper rifle in your little Order before. Nice shot, by the way.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” asked Cross. “I mean, these ARE your people, Spacker.”
“Not anymore, Cross. Or do you go by ‘Death’ now? Ooh, you’re so scary, now, aren’t you?” his voice quivered with laughter.
“Easy, fuzz ball. I’m still me, just...” Cross shrugged. “One of the team now, I guess.”

Spacker sat down on the grass, beckoning Cross to join him, which he did. Spacker was a one-of-a-kind Gremlin, or at least, a very rare kind. Like those from Emberlight, he too was exiled from the colonies, but unlike the others, he was banished simply because he was far too crazy. His foes greatly underestimated him in combat, and his allies greatly feared him when he slaughtered opponents in unimaginable ways. He was once a dignified and respected soldier, who bore many medals on his chest with pride. He sacrificed himself to get his squad to safety, and was captured and subsequently tortured by a rogue clan of Gremlins. After two months, he returned to the colonies with nothing but tattered clothes, a blinded eye scarred by a blade, and a fractured mind. He was brought to trial, where rumour has it the Crimson Order themselves banished him on behalf of the King. After his exile, Spacker chose to distance himself from Emberlight, and found his way to the Horsemen, where he became a valuable ally with his knowledge of Gremlin weaponry. He regards the Horseman as the only friends he has left, which, when one thinks about it, is kind of sad.

“To be quite honest,” Spacker said, tilting his head back to stare at the artificial night sky, “it’s about time. You’ve been the errand boy for long enough, and you’ve earned a break. War may mean well, but he’s hard to read and he’s a real tough nut. Is that really true, you running around the Scarlet Fortress for three straight hours?”
“All true,” Cross replied, sounding slightly boastful. “But man, did it hurt. I felt like my body was on fire.”
“I know that feel…” Spacker muttered darkly. “And so does our friend down there. Don’t ya, buddy?!” he yelled.
Cross checked his HUD. “Oh, damn. Is that the time already? I told Famine I’d be back in time for our-“
“Date?” Spacker interrupted, before roaring with laughter. Cross frowned. “Oh, lighten up, kid. It’s a joke. C’mon, laugh! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually were-“. Spacker’s eyes widened. Cross immediately avoided his gaze. “Oh, my. You actually…” He then laughed his loudest yet.
“It’s not a date, it’s a scouting mission!” Cross yelled angrily.
“Hah! Scouting mission?! So that’s what the kids are calling it these days!” Spacker choked through his laughing fit, which had evolved to rolling around on the grass in glee.
Cross took a breath before continuing calmly. “We’re friends and squad mates. You know that.”
“Yeah, but I can read people. You want more, don’t you?” Spacker’s fit had subsided, replaced by a more serious, endearing demeanour. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Last thing we need is this turning into a poorly-written lovey-dovey tween romance story.”
Cross stared at him, puzzled. “Are you feeling okay?”
“What’s that about a fourth wall?” he chuckled. “Never mind. Go on, get going. I won’t breath a word of this, I promise. Oh, you see War, tell him I’ll have those dynamos for him soon. King Tinkybell’s upping security for some reason, so it’s getting a bit tougher to sneak my way into the markets. Soon enough it may just not be worth the pay. I can’t bribe my way out of an execution, can I?”
Cross stood up, slung the rifle onto his back and shook Spacker’s hand. “So long, old friend. Be careful out there.”
Spacker grinned his usual toothy grin. “You know me. I’m crazy, but I’m not stupid. I can look out for myself. Only on my left, though. Hah! Little blind joke for you. Good thing the ladies love scars. At least, Gremlin women do. Little tip for your love affairs, am I right?”
Cross sighed. “Sure, Spacker. Catch you later.”

With a final wave, Cross left for the elevator.

I wanna see this page flooded with comments, guys! All together now: "Scamall's the GREATEST!"

===Chapter 6===

Six Months Earlier

“How’d a novice like you get a shield like this?”
“Long story, and it’s all a blur. Can you unbind it?”
Vise scoffed. “Kid asks me if I can unbind a shield. Hear that, Punch?”
Punch twitched, before giggling maniacally. “That’s funny. Real funny. Funny-funny… funny.”

Vise took the shield to his workbench, where he opened the energy tank and extracted it with an odd-looking tool. Then, grabbing the shield, he focused the energy into a miniature laser, zapping the shield little by little, bathing it in blue. After a minute or so, he expended the rest of the energy in the shield’s centre in a concentrated blast, resulting in a sharp hissing that signalled the dissipation of the shield’s heat. Satisfied, he took the shield and
tossed it to the Knight.

“There. Go ahead and equip it. Careful, though. I don’t think you can pay me for another unbinding.”
Slowly, cautiously, the Knight slid his arm into the shield’s straps, which fastened instantly. The shield glowed for a brief moment, then faded again. The purple smoke had once again begun to issue from between the bones that comprised it. After an awed second or two, the Knight could have sworn he had heard a whisper coming from the shield. Something about blocking.
“Whoa… thanks, Vise. Pleasure doing business with you.”
Vise stroked his beard. “Anytime you want your weapon modified or unbound, come see us. We never turn down loyal coins- eh, customers.” Punch started giggling again.

The Knight saluted before leaving their shop, still content with his new 5-star shield. He decided to head to the Arcade to test it out. Within a few short minutes, he was in a Graveyard, fending off the skeletal swarms with ease thanks to his similarly-skeletal shield. He was astounded at how easy it was to wield, how light it was, how durable. Depth by depth he dove, smashing skulls and fracturing femurs, until he was at the Terminal again. Basil greeted him as he approached the healing station, then beckoned him forward.

“Little one,” he said gently. “I have been expecting you. I have been asked to give you this.” Out of his box of wares came a five-star armour and helmet, both looked as skeletal as the Knight’s shield. A Dread Skelly set… the gunman’s sign, perhaps?
The Knight was puzzled. “Asked? By whom?”
“The man did not say. He paid me handsomely to assure my completion of this task.”
The Knight had a suspicion, but needed to be sure. “Did this man wear Shadowsun Gear? Did he have red eyes?”
“Why, yes,” Basil responded. “Oh, here he comes now.”

The Knight turned around to see the Shadowsun Gunman approaching him at a slow pace, as if savouring the atmosphere he fortified with each step.

“Well, well, well…” he whispered, his voice barely containing his joy. “If it isn’t the rookie… Basil, leave us. I diverted the elevators to the other Terminals, so no other Knights should be capable of passing through here today.”
“Very good, sir,” Basil said with a respectful bow. “Will you be all right?”
“We’ll be fine, thank you,” the gunman answered, becoming a bit irritated by Basil’s polite demeanour.
Basil nodded and went to the elevator in the hope of selling his recipes to other travellers. The gunman faced the Knight with what looked like a smile on his face. The Knight was unnerved. When a trained killer stares at you with a smile in a remote part of nowhere, you know there’s something wrong. The gunman didn’t speak, but merely stared intently, as if daring the Knight to ask the questions he so wanted to ask. Finally, the Knight spoke.
“Alright… who are you, what do you want, and why should I care?”

“I’ll boil it down to its bare bones for you,” said the gunman, eager to answer. “They call me War. I am the leader of a 4-man squad called the ‘Four Horsemen’, or simply ‘Horsemen’ for short. With my team, named ‘Pestilence, Famine and Death’, we became the unknown conquerors of many of the Depths beneath our very feet. We fight and kill for money. Not the most noble cause, I’ll admit, but money’s the only language people understand these days, and I’m one Hell of a diplomat.”

The Knight was dumbfounded. “What does this have to do with-“

“Recently,” the gunman went on, “my team has suffered a very small, very minor setback. One of our team, an uncommonly talented man, died after sabotaging a Gremlin munitions depot. Ironically, the man who died was Death, our watchful, silent assassin. Pestilence, the team’s brain and demolitions expert, suggested I weed out contenders for his replacement. Famine, our sniper and thief, is not so sure I can. Well, I can, and have. Seeing you in action definitely proved that. You move as fast as Death did in his prime. With training, you will be able to do more. Much, much more. As I said last we met, there’s a lot of coin in our trade, and we’re short of a member who will take a long time to replace should you refuse. You in, or out?”

As he asked, the Knight noticed him finger the handle of the Sentenza he kept in his holster. He weighed his options. If he refused, he was dead, and would never be found. No other Knights would pass through that day, and it wouldn’t take long to dispose of a body on this planet. A simple toss off the side of the platform would suffice. His belongings would be stolen and sold, even his father’s amulet. On the other hand, if he accepted, he could gain countless amounts of crowns, kill a few bad guys on the way, go down in a blaze of glory, be remembered as a real badass, and enjoy an afterlife of hunting demons with Vog, or whatever the Stranger religions promised. Morality could not waver his decision, so, out of greed and fear, he said:

“So this is how a deal with the devil, a ‘Faustian Bargain’, feels,” the Knight said, both intimidated and impressed. “You know what? Sure. Why the Hell not? I’m not going to do the Order any favours the way I’m dealing with things now. They have plenty of pawns, and I want to live like a king.”
War’s smile grew slightly wider. “Good,” he said softly. “You’ll receive the best training and equipment, for your assignments, as well as the best rewards. But,” he paused for a brief moment before continuing. “I have yet to know your name. You need to earn the title of ‘Death’. What do they call you?”

The Knight hesitated. He didn’t know his own name. When he crashed, he was stricken with amnesia. All he had was his X-shaped amulet, which both helped him remember his father and provided a nickname for him with the other Knights. It was the closest he had to an identity. A life. A life he could only now begin to live…

“They call me… Cross.”

New chapter. Sorry it took so long, but I was having trouble getting my Prismatic Cake-Face. I am effectively a lemon sorbet.

===Chapter 7===

Present Day

Cross woke with a start, sweating and shaking. He pondered what he dreamt, staring at the ceiling of the darkened tent. He glanced sideways at Famine, still sleeping peacefully. How was she this calm? Was she always this calm before being sent into enemy territory? Cross sat up slowly, trying not to wake her up, and snuck out of the tent. He lay down on the grass and breathed in the recycled air, once more focused on his dream. It was of his encounter with War before joining up with the Horsemen. Why was he fearful of his dream? He could not be sure. What he was sure of was how vivid it was, how he felt each emotion again as he relived it. There was something else, though…
Cross took his amulet in hand, squinting into the amethyst in its centre, glittering from the artificial starlight. It was his father’s, that much he knew. His father was an angry man, twisted and warped by his military history. Back on the Homeworld, his father never rose above the rank of Soldier, despite everything he sacrificed for the Order. He projected his anger onto his son, who grew to resent him and what he stood for. Cross considered this for a moment, guessing that his resentment of his father manifested itself as a lack of motivation to achieve as a Knight. He remembered the amulet itself, given to him by a faceless Knight his father once knew after his father’s death in the field. He remembered his lack of feeling during the funeral, not grief, sadness or anger, but uncertainty. What would happen? What did happen? He was taken in by the Academy, despite being two years too young, and trained.
The amulet had seen more action than its wearer; despite being only an heirloom with no other significance it was thought to have blessed his father with luck, which ran out the day he died. Indeed, Cross himself had experienced this luck when he crawled his way to the Rescue Camp from his steel death-trap of an escape pod. He still needed to be careful, because he would soon follow Famine into the fire.
Cross had calmed down from his uncomfortable slumber, and went to re-enter the tent, but not before standing up, then turned to observe the factory. There was a strange light emanating from it. Curious, he reached inside the tent for the rifle, then used it to scope out the light. Slowly, he lowered the rifle again, then hastily ducked for cover as a rocket shot by him, barely missing the camp and spiralling into the night. Cross crawled into the tent and shook Famine awake.

“Famine! C’mon, wake up! I SAID WAKE UP, DAMMIT!”
“Huh? What’s going on?” she asked drowsily.
“We’re under attack! They know we’re here! What do we do?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “How did they find us?”
“No idea,” Cross responded, glancing at the tent entrance. Another rocket whizzed by. “But we need a plan. Now, if possible. Any ideas?”

Her eyes darted around as she thought. After a few seconds she came to a conclusion.

“If we flee, they’ll follow us. They get a good enough look, they’ll think we’re Spirals and start a war.”
“If we make sure they don’t follow us…” Cross started.
“No, they could jump to conclusions. Unless-“ she was cut off by another rocket, passing so close it shook the tent. “If we call the others, we could stage an attack on the factory, then frame some Gremlin clan and shake the heat off us.”
“That’s one way to go about it, but we don’t know where Spacker is,” Cross said pointedly. “That, and the team would take a while to get here.”

Cross’ HUD beeped, causing him to check what was causing the disruption. To his pleasant surprise, it was Spacker.

“Hey, kids,” Spacker chuckled through the comlink. “Couldn’t help but notice you’re in a pickle. Don’t worry, mom and dad will sort you out.”

Something kicked over the tent, causing it to collapse flimsily on its occupants. After a brief, panicked attempt to throw off the tent, Cross looked up to see Spacker and Pestilence smiling down at him. Frowning slightly, Cross broke the silence.

“Have you been… spying on us?”

The two exchanged glances and quickly changed the subject. Another rocket.

“So, uh…” Spacker began. Pestilence cut across him. “Here’s the plan. Go in, sabotage what they’re doing, stick a symbol on the walls, get out. Got it? Good. Now, we can use the gears to traverse the chasm, which gives us a stealthy entrance, and we have…” he counted the available equipment. “Enough stuff here to split into two teams. Fuzzy and I’ll cause a pretty neat diversion, allowing you two lovebirds,“ Cross and Famine glanced awkwardly at each other, “to infiltrate and sabotage what they’re doing. If you can’t bomb them, think of something. If you can bomb them, I got a little somethin’ here for ya.”

He pulled out a crudely-made bomb. It was, essentially, a metal container with jars and wires strapped to it. The jars’ contents and the wires were equally multi-coloured. There was a blinker on the top, likely a receiver for remote detonation, as well as a few gauges and dials stuck to it with... duct tape?

“Is this a joke?” Cross asked.
“Nope. This,” Pestilence beamed, “is what I call my most devastating creation. Haven’t thought of a name yet, but the legends this thing’ll cook up will see to that. Expensive as Hell, I’ll admit-“ Cross scoffed. “But it’ll take out a sizeable chunk of the factory. Use it wisely. Team, move out!”

Pestilence and Spacker moved to the edge of the island, where Pestilence shot his grappling hook at a gear in the distance. Grabbing Spacker, he leapt from the island, reeling himself in to the gear. Cross picked up the other grappling hook and moved to do the same, but Famine grabbed his arm.

“Is everything okay?”
“What?” Cross asked, confused.

Her amber eyes stared him down in an accusing fashion. A rocket briefly illuminated her face as it passed by.

“Is… everything… okay?” she repeated, with extra emphasis on each syllable. “You were talking in your sleep when I went in to rest. What’s wrong?”
“No point in lying, I guess. I was… having nightmares. War sure knows how to make an impression.”
She smiled. “That he does. We’ve all been there. Even me. Just… don’t let it get to you. C’mon, let’s go.”

Pow, you have ANOTHER NAME?! Seriously, "Little-Cloud"? Come on, at least something original. Trolls these days have such little talent compared to the good old days.

Damn straight there's more to come! BUT! I'm a bit busy this week. I have a major exam next Monday and a class trip on Saturday, so... I'll be putting this on a minor hiatus until then. I promise the next chapters will make up for it, though. Oh, and I forgot to mention I'm in my last year of what you'd call "high-school", so I have zettabytes worth of school stuff to be studying for the most important exam in my forseeable future (hoo-bloody-ray)...Once the school year ends I'll be churning out fiction like butter, so stay tuned.

Atrum, what are you doing? Not only has this thread been comatose for the last month, but I was in the middle of typing up my next chapter now that I have free time! That's why I was active on the forum today! You ruined a surprise bump! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! WAAAAAAAAH!

Anyway... what can I do for you? And what do you want with Necro?

Ok, then. Maybe the new chapter will grab his attention.

>ahem<

===Chapter 8===

“Easy… easy…”

Cross lowered himself from the gear, clutching Famine tightly as he went. After a tense minute of silence with only the sound of a strained grappling hook to keep them company, they landed on the roof of one of the many warehouses lining the Factory. What were they keeping here?

“Ah, there we go,” Cross muttered. “Still got the bomb?”
“Yeah, replied Famine. “Where do we go, though?”
“Anywhere the others aren’t,” Cross answered. “In the meantime, we can poke around for a bit, see if there’s anything worth noting. Or stealing,” he added, jokingly.

There was a window on the roof of the warehouse. Cross crept along the roof towards it, being followed closely by Famine, then both peeked inside.

“Oh my God...” Cross whispered.

It was an army. A thousand constructs stood in rows and columns around the warehouse, each as well-made and menacing as the last. The armour wasn’t the standard scrap-metal the Gremlins were known for using, but struck a chord between sleek and bulky, looking stylish all the while. Each plate was painted crimson, and bore ornate gold markings around the shoulders and chest, save for a few of the machines, who were painted black, most likely to represent authority. The faces had four ‘eyes’ each, arranged in the shape of an ‘X’: Darkfang Constructs. Cross glanced at a nearby warehouse and saw even more of them.

“Well,” he muttered. “At least we know what they’re doing.”
“They don’t seem to have been activated yet,” Famine said. “Maybe we can just bomb them now and be done with it.”
“We don’t know how many they have,” Cross replied pointedly. “There could be more elsewhere. I say we move until we get to the centre of the Factory, steal anything useful, plant the bomb, and get the ‘F’ out of dodge, as they say.”
“Alright, then.” she muttered with a tone of finality. “I guess it doesn’t make much sense to just bomb this place when Pesty and Fuzz-ball are-“

Her words were cut short by a thunderous bang in the distance. Both Horsemen wheeled around to see fire and smoke billowing from what looked to be a fuelling station.

“Causing a diversion?” Cross asked comically. “C’mon, we need to move!”

They dashed towards the edge of the warehouse before leaping to the next, repeating this long process until they reached the end of the line. Cross tossed the grappling hook to Famine, then jumped up onto a low-lying rooftop.

“You’ll need that more than I will.”
“Who trained you to run that fast?” she questioned.
He smirked in response. “My dad and his cane.”

He turned and sprinted across the rooftop, before jumping to a pipe and using it to scale the wall of a much larger building. Famine hastened to follow, but even with the grappling hook, she was having trouble keeping up with him. After a minute or two of scaling, Cross found a ventilation shaft. He signalled to Famine to stop reeling herself upwards, then grabbed the grate covering the vent. Taking precautions, he tightened his grip on the pipe before attempting to tear the grate from the wall. After a strained grunt or two, the grate came loose, and with one mighty tug, Cross ripped it from its nest. Famine looked slightly surprised.

“Huh,” she said, impressed. “Strong AND fast. Nice work.”

Kicking her legs to gain momentum, she swung herself towards the wall and grabbed the edge of the vent, before hoisting herself into it. Cross followed, being careful not to fall.

“Oh,” she muttered. “Forgot to retract the grappling hook.”

The rope slackened, signalling the hook’s separation from its wall. Cross glanced behind him and saw the hook fall by the vent, before hearing it knock itself against the building with a loud clang. The rope was then pulled into the main body of the grappling hook, taking the hook itself with it at an alarming speed, walloping Cross in the back of the head as it did so.

“Ow!” he grumbled. “What is it with you and hitting the back of my head?”

Famine giggled slightly, then cleared her throat and assumed a guise of solemnity. Turning away from Cross, she began crawling. Cross followed. Every so often they would hear an explosion or two, along with the chattering of Gremlins and, though rarely, laughter. It must be Spacker, Cross thought. Further and further they crawled through the vent, moving higher and lower, turning corner after corner, until Cross’ legs started to hurt. He leaned to the side to try to see where Famine was headed, but ended up simply staring at her rear; the vent was too crowded. While they crawled, Cross began to appreciate the form-fitting suit that Famine wore. It made her less likely to be seen, or heard, and allowed her slender figure a certain degree of flexibility-
Another explosion snapped Cross out of his trance. Pestilence and Spacker were inside the building. The distraction they promised would no longer be very effective. Famine suddenly stopped moving, causing Cross to nearly crawl into her.

“What is it?” Cross asked.
“I found a grate. If we’re lucky, we won’t drop into a corridor filled with Gremlins. I just need to…”

She pulled out a small screwdriver and started working at the screws. Cross was getting edgy; they had spent enough time doing nothing.

“Almost… got it! OH-!”

The grate fell out of the frame just as Famine removed the last screw. For a brief moment they held their breaths, but it did nothing to silence the deafening noise the grate made when it hit the ground.

“Crap…” she finished. “C’mon, we need to move!”

She lowered herself from the vent before dropping to the ground. Cross did the same. They checked their surroundings: no one in sight.

“Where are we?” Cross asked.
“If I knew I’d tell you.” Famine glanced around. “Go check out that window.”

Cross crept to the window, making sure he wasn’t seen, then observed the room below him: a mainframe of some sort. The layout was efficient as well as stylish. Supercomputers lined the four corners of the room, and the four aisles all led to the central terminal. Lining the walls were large monitors adorned with letters of the Gremlin alphabet. What were they planning?

“I think I found something worth stealing. Come take a look at this.”
“Whoa,” she said, awed. “How do we get down there?”
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s around, so we could just…”

Cross punched the glass, shattering a large portion of it before jumping down into the mainframe. An alarm sounded; the information kept here was highly classified. A loudspeaker on the ceiling started chattering random gibberish to all personnel in the building.

“Oh, shut up!” Cross yelled angrily, shooting the loudspeaker with his Silversix. His HUD beeped.
“Famine, Death, come in!” Pestilence shouted through his com-unit. “What in Sam Hill are you two doing? Half the Factory just went red!”
“Oh, we just broke into a top-level-security base, wound up in a mainframe of some description, tripped an alarm, and we’re about to hack some stuff to figure out what these fuzz-balls are up to. You know, the usual,” Cross muttered sarcastically.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the immaturity!” Pestilence shouted back. “Take things more seriously, would you?”
Famine decided to add her two cents. “Pestilence, it’s Famine. We’re right above you, so you’d better get up here and cover us. This place is gonna be swarming with Gremlins now that we’re here, and I get the feeling that whatever’s in this room is too important to blow up.”
“Eh, copy that. Be there in two. Pestilence out.”

The duo ran to the central terminal, whereupon Famine plugged a small techni-key into a slot.

“Ok… accessing hacking software… bypassing firewalls… re-routing...” she mumbled as she worked.
“No idea what you’re doing, but do it fast.” Cross spoke with a tone of urgency in his voice. “I think we may have-“

A bolt of energy hit him in the back of the head, breaking his train of thought. His brow furrowed in pain and frustration.

“Same… damn… spot,” he growled. “Company!”

In one fluid motion he whirled around, drew his Umbra Driver and opened fire on the Gremlins now pouring into the room. After clearing a sizeable chunk of them, he turned to Famine.

“How much longer ‘till it’s done?” he yelled over the gunfire.
“A few minutes, give or take!”
“If only it were that easy…” he whispered under his breath. “I’ll buy you some time!”

He charged down the central aisle towards the room’s entrance, gunning down Gremlins that were failing to find cover. As more entered the mainframe, he was forced to utilise his agility to dodge their shots. Once they were within melee distance, Cross jumped, kicked off of a nearby computer terminal and soared above the squad of Gremlins, drawing his Nightblade as he did so, before landing in the thick of it, whereupon he started cutting.

“I’ve almost got it!” Famine yelled, turning to see Cross fighting with skill and grace, dodging wrenches effortlessly and slicing his foes with his blade. His training had paid off, it seemed. It was like working with his predecessor- No. She couldn’t think about that. Not now.
“How’s it going, Famine? Because I’m kind of fighting for my life here!” Cross shouted. “How much longer?!”
“Just hold on a moment! Just a few more… almost… YES!”

She wrenched the key from the terminal and dashed for the exit, shooting the stragglers who had little interest in fighting Cross, who snatched the bomb from her as she ran past.

“What are you doing?” Famine hushed.
“My job,” Cross replied. “Pestilence, come in. What’s your position?”
“Right behind you, genius.”

Pestilence and Spacker had entered from the opposite entrance, looking exhausted.

“So…” Spacker wheezed. “How’s the first date going?”
Cross ignored him. “Why didn’t the Darkfangs come in from that door?”
“Plot hole or something? I don’t know!” Spacker growled. “We’ll need to repair that fourth wall, by the way.”
Cross looked around. The walls were intact. “Okay… I’m priming the bomb. You guys get going. I’ll catch up.”
Pestilence nodded. “You got the data?”
“Right here,” Famine held up the key. “Now let’s get out of here.”

The three of them left the room, Famine shooting a backwards glance at Cross as if to say “come back safely”. Cross nodded in response, watched her leave, then turned towards the bomb.

“Now… how the hell does this thing work?” he asked himself blankly. ”What’s this blinking light for? Pestilence really should have given me a manual or something. Let’s see… dial with a clock painted on it. Probably the timer. Twist that to… I’d say two minutes? Maybe two and a half, just to be safe. I just hope these ARE minutes. It would really suck if they were seconds. Okay… how do I start the timer? What’s this button do?”

The bomb started beeping. Cross lowered it carefully to the floor before making a mad dash for the exit, glad to be rid of this place. All around the corridors were Gremlins, either dead, wounded or fleeing the Factory. It was a maze of tunnels, and Cross was starting to wish he didn’t enter the building through a ventilation shaft. After a minute or two, by which time Cross was starting to panic, he spotted the exit. His HUD beeped.

“I see you kid!” Pestilence shouted. “Come on! We ain’t got all day!”
“I’m almost there! Oh! I just thought of a name for the bomb! How about the H-“

Boom.

===Chapter 9===

Six Months Earlier

In front of Cross stood two armed figures, both of whom looked capable of killing him within seconds. On his left, a tall, bulky, Bomber-clad brawler with piercing blue bespectacled eyes behind his Bomber's visor, bearing on his arm an equally-bulky shield, probably Third-Tier, but Cross couldn’t be sure. On his right, a smaller, frustrated-looking merc dressed in Divine garments, standing an inch or two shorter than Cross. Needless to say, neither looked very pleased to see the timid Skelly standing before them.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you two here,” War asked his two colleagues.
“This better be good,” the Bomber said. His voice carried a southern drawl coolly from his mouth. “I have research to be doing. Sir,” he added respectfully.
“As a matter of fact, it is,” War replied, his voice dripping with liquid contentment. “This,” he gestured towards Cross, “is the newest contender for our recent… vacancy.”

The Divinely dressed Horseman laughed mockingly. Whatever look her amber eyes contained was highly doubted to be anything praising. Cross was becoming less convinced of his usefulness as time progressed.

“What did you do, grab the first Knight you saw, dress him up, and drag him here?” she asked somewhat sarcastically. “There’s no way in Hell this… this... NOVICE can replace…“ She froze, and became pensive.
“Are you done?” War asked lightly. “Good, good. Now, let’s introduce ourselves to our new recruit. What say you?”
“Alright, fine,” the Bomber said with a tone of resignation. “If you think this kid’s got what it takes, I won’t judge.” After an awkward pause, he asked, “Does this guy have a name, or…”
“Oh. Um... I-It’s Cross. Name’s Cross,” he said sheepishly.
“Pestilence,” the Bomber said, gesturing to himself. “I’m the tech expert, weapons specialist, and bomber of this squad. That’s Famine,” he pointed to the Divinely-clothed, still lost in thought. “She’s the scout, and thief. You’ve met War, I presume.”
“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” War chuckled, “we can get better acquainted. Why don’t you two talk amongst yourselves for a bit? Give the rookie a ‘pep-talk’, as it were? Famine!” he barked. She snapped out of her trace and stood to attention. “There’s a time and place for dreaming. It’s called sleep. And-“
“”And a Horseman sleeps when he’s dead.” I know,” she mumbled.

War’s red eyes narrowed. “You watch your tone,” he whispered coldly. “And stop living in the past. It happened. It happens all the time. Get used to it.” He turned to face the others. “Horsemen! Dismissed.”

He left the room in an orderly fashion. Famine, looking somewhat distraught, shot a quick glare at Cross before running out of the room as well. Cross was having difficulty processing what had happened, and how to feel about it. Pestilence thumped Cross in the shoulder to grab his attention, then moved to a nearby mattress and sat down, beckoning for Cross to do the same. Cross glanced towards the door before joining him.

“Eh, she’ll be alright,” Pestilence said dismissively. “She’s just… upset.”
“Why, though? What happened?” It was a rhetorical question, and Cross could come up with a few good answers without help. Pestilence seemed to pick up on this.
“Forget it. Now,” he said, his eyes scanning Cross from behind his glasses, “let’s talk about you. War’s confident you can join us. Are you? What can you bring to the table?”
“I’m fast," Cross said, more confidently. "War said I move as fast as my predecessor did “in his prime”.”
“Did he now? Interesting,” his look was difficult to read. “And combat experience? Any of that?”
“I’ve only been out of stasis a week now. I have an extra two years of Academy training, but not much else.”
“Acceptable, but you don’t know the law of this world, which is a slight disappointment. No matter. Our training should compensate.” He adjusted his glasses. “Enough about experience. Tell me about yourself. You. Who YOU are.”
“The crash left me with some degree of amnesia. At least, the Camp’s medics told me that.”
“So you’re almost a blank template, then? No wonder he chose you. You have potential, both mentally and physically.”

Cross was starting to feel uncomfortable. He felt like a test subject being poked and prodded for the slightest detail. Pestilence picked up on this, too, changing the subject.

“Well, that’s enough of an interrogation,” he said, noticeably less serious. “Any questions you wish to ask about us?”
Cross was puzzled. “Uh, yeah. Why are you so ready to tell someone you’ve never met before about your team?”
“Well, War trusts you, so you can’t be all bad. Besides, there’s no guarantee you’ll survive the coming months. I’ve been around for a while, kid. Even before Skylark’s Fall, we were doing this same old song and dance. I’ve seen competent people die for a spot on this team, both recruit and member.”

The matter-of-fact tone in which he spoke was almost worse than what he was saying. Cross was feeling somewhat afraid. “And this “song and dance”, then? War said you just kill for money.”

“Of course he’d say that. Well, he’s not wrong. We take up contracts and odd jobs that the Order is too scared to, both before and after the crash. Sometimes we’re hired by Strangers. Hell, I remember a job we got from a couple of Gremlins once. The money goes toward research for weaponry and materials for crafting. Good money, too,” he added. “Prices range from a few thousand crowns, minimum, to a few thousand crystallised energy units. Crystal energy, if you prefer.”
“Okay, then. You mentioned research. What research are you doing?”
“Well, as far as I know, we have no advanced guns on this planet. Just handguns. Now, I know some are good quality, but they’re still handguns. I recall seeing an ancient schematic detailing a ‘sniper-rifle’, if you know what that is.” he looked unsurprised at Cross' confusion. "Basically, it’s a monocular on a rifle. I find it odd how no one thought of something so simple, yet brilliant. I could patent it and sell it to the Order for a few million, but then again, I wouldn’t trust them with this JUST yet. War would probably want to keep it low profile. Anything else?”
“Actually, yeah. Don’t get offended, but you seem to follow War around like a lapdog. Don’t you ever question him, or disagree with him?”

Cross immediately though he had said something offensive. Pestilence did not answer immediately. He removed and folded his glasses in a slow, deliberate fashion, before turning to answer.

“Let me tell you a story, kid, and pay attention.” His tone was no longer that matter-of-fact voice that spoke words of indifference, but more endearing, like a grandfather reminiscing about days gone by to his grandchildren. “I used to be kinda like you. Curious, inexperienced, cynical, you know. Then I joined the Order, and I thought it would end, that I’d be a big, strong hero. How naïve I was…” his voice trailed off before he caught himself. “Anyway, I was moving up the ranks like any Knight would. Took a while, but I made Defender, which I was proud of. Then we were sent off to battle. To Ilsora.
“The Morai,” he spat. “I guess you don’t know who they are, then? Doesn’t matter. That fight's over. Long story short, I came close to dying, by their hand no less, when I was saved. By the very man who brought you here. Told me all kinds of nonsense, of a “rogue squad of black-ops Knights” and there being an “open spot for recruits”. Reeled me in with the old “lots of coin in our trade” line, he did. I knew he’d kill me otherwise, he'd told me too much, so I accepted. Sound familiar? Of course it does. Anyway, he trained me for a few months under the most brutal regime I could have ever imagined. War never pushed me too hard, though, he knew my limits. That’s how he trains you: he just waits until you collapse as a test, then pushes you to that extreme each day. Then the initiation came.
“The initiation,” he went on, “is when everything comes to a head. Starting out with War and the others, I thought I’d die from the training. Boy, was I wrong. See, by that time, I’d grown stronger, as expected, but also smarter. I knew War wouldn’t kill me with training. But the initiation's not training. It's do or die. That, and he never actually TOLD me about the initiation. So when he chained me to a live bomb and told me to get clear or die, I had my doubts, but then I saw that look in his eye. He wasn't lying, and no amount of doubt would convince me otherwise. So, naturally, I tried to defuse the bomb. Only thing was, I couldn't. One of the only times I couldn't do my job. I panicked, then started counting down the minutes until my death. Then I noticed something.
"War had told me all about different encryptions and hacking techniques. None of them worked on the bomb. I wasn't SUPPOSED to be defusing the bomb. The 'chain' he tethered me to the bomb with had a computer locking mechanism. I tried that. After some attempts, I succeeded, but here's the twist: War had encrypted it multiple times. A multi-layered encryption, who would've thought it? I used every single thing he had taught me to get that chain off, every damn thing, then made a break for it with seconds to spare.
"See this?" He pointed to a scar on the left side of his face. Cross hadn't noticed it due to the lighting. "Burn mark from that explosion. Everytime I see it, I remind myself that the reason it's there is because I followed orders, and where I'd be if I didn't. After my initiation, I stopped being that little kid who questioned everything, because I would have died that same cynical kid had I continued the way I was going. I haven't doubted War since then, and that was more than a decade ago."

Cross remained silent. There was no simple response to a story like this.

"Look, kid," Pestilence said to him. "My point is, War may not be the most noble guy. Hell, none of us are perfect, but I owe him my life. If he tells me to jump, I ask "how high?" Yeah, I may not agree with him, and I make suggestions when I think of them, but he has the final say. That's why he's the boss."
"So if I keep my head down and do what I'm told, I might survive?"
Pestilence chuckled. "No guarantees, kid, but give it your all. I'd say the odds are with you. War said you move like the last guy did. The last guy survived his initiation with little more than a broken leg and a gash on his forearm. You'll do fine."
Cross managed a weak smile. "Thanks, but I'm still getting used to the idea that the next few months will suck."
"You don't know that. Just relax once in a while. Nothing says you can't make friends here. Speaking of which, I should introduce you to my buddy Spacker sometime. You'll like him, you know, if you like crazy Gremlins with little regard for life."

There was a pause.

"So..." Cross said. "'Sniper-Rifle', you say?"

----------------------------

Author's Notes: Not much action... or any. More dialogue than anything. Figured Pestilence deserved some character development. Poor guy never gets any screen time.

I'd hardly regard that as "cool". It was a safe bet from his perspective, though. Mathematics is probably one of the toughest school subjects to get an 'A' in. Fortunately, the terms of the bet didn't involve ME losing money, so either way I win. Unless I fail the exam, in which case my teacher will NEVER let me live it down. Oh well...

A Mean Critic appeared!

Mean Critic uses Plot Hole!

Scamall is affected by criticism and has been forced to retaliate!

Scamall uses Debunk!

"I said I'd refer to Cross as... Cross. Pestilence is not me. His being called Death by other characters is part of the story. Ergo, not a plot hole/contradiction."

It's super effective!

Mean Critic defeated!

270 EXP Gained!

They're called the Four Horsemen after the same horsemen from the Bible: War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death. In my story they go by their codenames because of safety protocols regarding their identities. Remember what War said? "You need to earn the title of Death." Cross is a recruit. He doesn't go by Death until his initiation. We discussed this several chapters ago. Oh, wait... I maybe forgot to mention that the others don't use their real names. Whoops. Still... My point is valid. Maybe you just haven't heard of the Biblical Horsemen, which explains all the confusion.

Hey, now. We only see War in flashbacks, so he hasn't had much of an opportunity to call him by his title. Of course, once he finally does, it won't have the same effect now that we've been discussing this. Eh, it won't be a problem.

===Chapter 11===

"So... you were really worried about me, weren't you?"
"What?"
"Oh, come on," Cross said teasingly. "No point in lying."
"I was not!" Famine yelled angrily. "I was... just...worried that we might need to fill in a new vacancy. It went SO well the last time," she added sarcastically.
Cross laughed. "Sharp tongue as always. Gotta respect that."

They walked carefully across the field-sized gear, around the pillar in its centre. Cross always wondered about how these gears were moved to accommodate the great machine that was the planet. Now, it didn't matter. He was limping with a wound in his side similar to a sword's, and was trailing small amounts of blood as he walked. Famine made a continuous effort to keep him in an upright position, something Cross was silently grateful for. After a long time of pained walking, during which time they had managed to grapple to different heights and depths, the pair arrived at the hideout, located in an abandoned gate. Famine approached the console by the entrance.

"Password: 14247. Retinal scan..." she put her eye to the scanner. The light turned green. "and there we go."
The blast door slowly rose upwards, allowing the Horsemen access. They stepped inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind them, sealing them in the dark.
"Wonder if the others made it back," Cross wondered out loud. "We've been moving pretty slowly."
"That's not your concern. We need to properly fix this wound," Famine responded anxiously.
"Yeah, yeah. To the medical bay, then."

The pair walked the corridors in silence, bypassing several rooms, including Pestilence's lab, War's shooting range and armoury, and Death's obstacle course. Well, it was Cross' now. Upon passing the debriefing room, they heard raised voices: Pestilence and War, arguing?

"- wasn't their fault! They were found out somehow!" Pestilence shouted.
"What do you mean, "found out"? There's no way they could have just been happened upon!" War yelled back. "They slipped up! And then they go and blow up half the goddamn Factory! And you!"

There was a noise, followed by a grunt of pain. War must have hit Pestilence.

"Where the Hell were you? Why didn't you stop them?"
"I gave the order," Pestilence said breathlessly. "We can't risk an invasion on Haven."
"Really? Well, it looks like it's gonna happen either way! There's no way those filthy rats will let this slide!"
"Hey, watch it," came Spacker's voice. "That's offensive!"
"SHUT UP!" War bellowed.
"That doesn't sound good," Famine whispered.
"I'm going in there," Cross muttered.
"What?" Famine whispered, panicked. "We need to-"
"My blood levels aren't that bad. I can wait a few minutes."

Cross limped into the room, Famine following closely. War turned to face them slowly. Cross had never seen such anger.

"Talking about us? I though performance reviews were done in person," Cross said with a smirk.

War walked slowly towards his colleague, each step echoing like the shot of a gun, which Cross assumed he would be feeling in a short while. On and on he walked, until his face was inches from Cross's.

"You have a lot of nerve, boy," War growled, his eyes narrowing. "I brought you here under the pretense that you would be a great asset, but here you are, proud of making a mockery of this entire squad. You know what I should do?"
"Pat me on the back and send me on my way?" Cross chuckled.
"What are you doing?!" Famine whispered loudly.
"No," War said softly. "I was thinking..."

In a flash, he drew his gun and jammed the barrel into Cross' wounded side. Cross yelped in pain and tried to move, but War restrained him with his free hand. Famine stood, transfixed, hands covering her mouth, and even Pestilence was reacting with utmost horror.

"Maybe I should just pull the trigger," War leered. "Ever been shot by one of these?" He twisted the gun, causing Cross to grind his teeth to withstand the pain. "The ignition from the powder not only sends a piece of lead into your body at an alarming speed, but also heats it to the point that it could cauterize your wound shut, trapping it in your internally-bleeding torso. Do you know how that feels? DO YOU?" he seethed, twisting the gun further.

Cross' pained moans were groing louder. "No! No I don't!" he shouted.

"Of course, that's not the worst of it," War continued. "You see, after the searing pain drills into you, the darkness kicks in. It spreads through your veins, slowly corrupting you, poisoning you, until..."

He yanked his gun out of Cross' wound. Cross screamed in pain before War kicked him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground hard.

"Until you bleed to death, slowly and painfully," he finished calmly. "What say you?"

Cross groaned in pain, clutching his side. After a few seconds, he spoke up.

"Well, not the most attractive option," he said through gritted teeth. "But I can think of worse."
War frowned. "This is pointless," he spat. "Every second I waste on you, no matter how satisfying, is still a second wasted."

He turned to Famine, gazing into her stricken face, her amber eyes laced with fear.

"Did you two at least find anything at that Factory?" he asked, sounding mildly annoyed.
"Y-yes sir," she squeaked, before handing him her techni-key. "Some data from their central terminal, and Pestilence has some schematics he thinks you might find interesting."
"You didn't mention this, Pestilence," War said sharply.
"I didn't feel the need to, sir," Pestilence responded, his voice low and angry.
"Hm," War scanned the key with his HUD. "Needs decoding. You can take care of that, right,?" He tossed Pestilence the key. "And forward me those
schematics. Maybe this night hasn't been a total disaster."

He went to leave, stopping once he had reached the door.

"Oh, and Famine?" he asked in his calm yet sinister tone.
"Sir?" she asked nervously.

He spun his Sentenza so that he was holding the barrel, before swiping at her face with the butt of the gun. She staggered before losing her balance entirely and falling to the ground.

"Be more careful next time," he said callously. "Horsemen! Dismissed."

Cross growled in anger, more concerned about this than his own predicament.
Famine scrambled to her feet before attempting to help Cross up. Her breathing was shallow.

"You two okay?" Pestilence asked concernedly, before moving to do the same.
"I-I'm fine," she stammered. She didn't sound fine.
"Yeah, me too," Cross grumbled. "Maybe I shouldn't have done that."
"Well, no going back now," Pestilence said. "'Sides, he probably doesn't think you're gonna break as easily, so he might lay off."
"Speaking of breaking, I think he cracked my ribs. Med-bay, please."
Pestilence chuckled. "Sure thing kid. Hey, Famine, I got him, don't worry. You just have a lie down, okay?"
"Yeah... okay," she mumbled, before wiping her eyes. "I'll just... go."

She stepped out of the room, leaving a sense of sadness in her wake.

"She'll be fine," Pestilence said. "She's always fine."
"Yeah..." Cross said, pensive. "But how much can one person take?"

What makes sense? Grammatical errors? Where?

Didn't think I could keep someone's attention that well with my writing. If you want, I can give it back. Ohoho, jokes. Nah I'm keeping it.

To be honest, I've been waiting to start that chapter for a while. I like portraying War as a competent yet arrogant [this swear has been filtered as per forum protocol].