Sorry it took so long, but I have been busy... and my internet went down for twelve hours when I was about to post this. Anyway, back now.

@Isekuube: I won't be getting my results back for quite some time, so fingers crossed. I have a feeling I did well, though, if not alright.
@Chibi-Tear: I'm afraid I have no idea what you said there. Who were you referring to with the ":3"-related comment?
@Selenium: Thanks for the criticism. I still find it embarrassing when I mess up on grammar usage. I'll fix it now.

===Chapter 13===

Two Months Later

"All Horsemen to the briefing room. Repeat, all Horsemen to the briefing room."

Cross murmured indistinctly in his slumber before rising to his feet. What was on the agenda today? Another scouting mission, perhaps? Or an assassination? Whatever it was, Cross could detect a hint of eagerness in War's voice. Something had happened. Something big. Leaving the sleeping quarters in a lumbering daze, Cross shuffled down the corridors until he heard the beeping and whirring of the briefing room computers. Inside the room stood War by the monitor with Pestilence next to him, Famine standing to attention nearby.

"Ah, Death," War said pleasantly as Cross walked in. "Little slow today, are we? Come on, move it. This is important."
"What is, sir?" Famine asked as Cross walked to her side, half-heartedly standing to attention.
"I assume you remember," War said with a small glare at Cross, "your blunder at Darkfang Factory B-1, correct?"
"Yeah, two months ago. Why bring it up now?" Cross asked.
"Do you remember what you took from the Factory?" War replied calmly. "A specific piece of classified Gremlin knowledge, as well as schematics detailing the Constructs you found at the base. Pestilence, take over."
"For a couple of weeks after the botched mission, I took the liberty of cracking the encryption protecting the documents," Pestilence said. "After a week or so, I succeeded. Would've taken less time, but we've been busy since then." He raised his eyebrows at Cross and Famine. "As have you two."

Famine blushed a deep crimson. Cross smirked. War, unamused, cleared his throat, causing Pestilence to continue.

"Anyway, if you'll look here..." he pressed a button on the console, bringing up some images of Constructs and what looked to be a Gremlin in an ornate mask emblazoned with a peculiar gear emblem. "This is Warmaster Seerus, of the Crimson Order. Spacker said that he manages the Grand Arsenal, a vast patch of land somewhere in the Clockworks that houses a great deal of war machines. Fortunately, we're not dealing with him, as far as I know, or the Arsenal. We're dealing," he pressed another button, "with this."

A Factory, at least three times larger than the one they had destroyed two months prior, flashed onscreen.

"Darkfang Munitions Alpha. After the show we put on at B-1, Seerus relocated all remaining Constructs to here. Originally, there were nearly seven-hundred and fifty thousand Constructs at the time of B-1's destruction. We took out a fifth, leaving six-hundred thousand left, in B-2, 3, 4, and 5. That's one-hundred and fifty thousand per Factory."
"We can do math, genius," Cross snapped. "Get with the speakey-speakey. What's that big-nosed hairball up to?"

Pestilence brought up a few Construct schematics. "The documents label the armour plating on these things as some alloy. I've never heard of it, and it seems the Gremlins chose not to list everything in the documents incase people like us got our hands on them. Good thing we got the schematics." He merged the schematics together, forming one picture. "From my investigation, I've found that this alloy here is comprised of the four major metals found in crafting: Sun Silver, Shadow Steel, Primal Ore, and Volcanic Iron. Ordinarily, these metals cannot and should not be mixed together in case of a chemical reaction, but the Gremlins seem to have not only managed it successfully, but also cut out their weaknesses, keeping the strengths."
"How is that possible?" Cross asked.
“Can't be sure, but that's only the least of our worries." More images flashed onscreen, detailing different builds of Constructs, some sleeker, some bulkier. "Looks like they're building them to suit different squad roles. Scout, Guardian, the whole deal. And check this out."

The schematics vanished, replaced by three images: a sword of sorts, a computer chip and a 3-D image of what looked like the molecular structure of a volatile compound.

"This sword looks well-made, right? Sturdy, just the right weight. Now watch this."

The sharp edge of the blade started glowing, similar to a Hot Edge sword. Cross was about to remark when the red changed to blue, then white, then purple, then back to red. The image of the sword deconstructed itself before focusing on the handle.

"This sword uses minerals and prototype Gremlin technology to change damage types. This is the longsword, for the swordsman class. They have similar weapons for other classes. This," he switched to the image of the computer chip, "is the 'brain' of the Constructs. They have fully-enabled Artificial Intelligence. I'm not talking about 'the new Mecha Knight hot-off-the-shelves' AI, I'm talking 'fully-sentient, capable of functional thought like a person' AI. They’re building a fully-sentient, synthetic army of deathbots that could wipe out Haven in a single surprise attack."
"What's the compound for?" Famine asked.
"The power source. As you'd expect, it's volatile, but powerful, yet somehow the Constructs can circumvent the volatility of this compound."
"What's it called?" Cross wondered aloud.
"I can't read the Gremlin alphabet, and Spacker can't pronounce it, so I've coined the term 'Gremlonium'."

There was a pause.

"That is the single dumbest and most unimaginative thing I have ever heard in my entire life," Cross said loudly.
Pestilence frowned. "You got your name from your necklace. Your move."
"Enough." War barked. "Pestilence, the compound."
"Yes, sir. Anyway, this compound, to my estimates, should provide enough power to keep these things going for years at the very least."
"Alright, so you've done your homework," Cross said. "But this was nearly two months ago. What's happened since then?"
"Glad you asked," came Pestilence's response. "I've been busy pinpointing the Factory's location, perfecting my personal bomb, and developing this."

An image of what looked like an online network flashed onscreen. After a second or two, a blackout appeared on one of the networked nodes, before some electrical current passed to nearby nodes, causing further blackouts in a chain reaction.

"I've determined that the Constructs use an Uplink system similar to, but separate from the Spirals. I developed this virus during the last two months, whose function is to spread through the network and wipe out the Constructs."
"Thank you, Pestilence, I'll take it from here," said War. "Seerus has spent two months relocating his 'soldiers' to Darkfang Alpha. No doubt Tinkinzar has given the order to invade Haven as soon as possible, so we're going to make a pre-emptive strike at their base of operations."
"Wait, us?" Famine questioned. "Why not the Spirals?"

"The Spirals," War said irritably, "are a bunch of blind, stubborn, morons more concerned with auctions and Energy prices than actually defending their sorry hides. As such, I have not contacted their superiors to inform them. We, and Spacker of course, are the only ones outside of Tinkinzar's rule that know about this, so we, and only we, are going to stop them."
"Sir, not contacting the Spirals may seem a bit risky," Pestilence began. "Surely we could use-"
"I will not have those incompetent fools messing up this plan," War said, eyes narrowing. "Besides, how do we know they won't just take everything that isn't nailed down, slap their own name on it, and send them off to fight the Gremlins?"
"Well, you showed them the schematics, right? And I didn't hear them say-"

"I didn't show them anything, you dolt," War said coldly. "I didn't want them involved to begin with. I knew they'd want in if I told them, so all I said to them was that the job was done. They didn’t even know that you bombed the place."
Pestilence's eyes widened. "T-That's against standard regulation! That data-"
"Is for us, and us only," War finished. "Take your regulations and cram them."
"My God, he was right..." Pestilence whispered under his breath.
"What was that?" War said sharply.
"I said you can count me out. We're bombing that place, but not before I grab intel they have there and send it to the Order."

War was dumbfounded. Pestilence, disobeying?

"You may not be a child anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’re incapable of making rash decisions. I recall the last time you failed to listen to me, and that nearly cost you your life.”
Pestilence put his left hand to his own cheek, where the decade-old scar was etched into his face. “Well, I may have been stupid back then, but I like to think I’ve come a long way since.” He pointed a finger at War. “You can forget about me being your lapdog any longer, sir.”

Cross was amazed. The big, burly brawler, growing a spine at last. He glanced sideways at Famine, whose eyes were wide with shock.

“Well,” War said, oddly calm. “I see you’ve made your choice. And yes, you have gained quite the amount of knowledge in, how long has it been, eleven, twelve years?” His red eyes looked like they were attempting to dismantle Pestilence’s confidence, or at least see what brought it on. “But, if you think you know better than I do about this, then you won’t run into any problems. Everything will go exactly according to plan.”
“That’s exactly right,” said Pestilence, applying his own piercing gaze. “According to plan.”

War looked pleased, but it wasn’t to do with Pestilence’s guise. Cross could tell he was doing some serious thinking. After a few tense seconds, War broke away to address the others.

“I think that’s enough talk for now,” he said, still oddly calm. “We have three days to prepare before going to this Factory. Gather your equipment, rest up, and get ready. Horsemen, dismissed.”

Turning on his heel, War left the room, leaving Cross in a sense of confusion.

“What was that about?” he asked.
“All in due time, kid,” Pestilence answered. “In the meantime, I’ll need your Brandish.”
“You got the recipe?!” Cross suddenly sounded ecstatic.
“You bet. Go get the energy and bring it back for your new toy. You’ll need it for what’s coming.”

Oho! We have a detective on our hands, fellow Vaulters. You think that sounds familiar, wait for the rest of the Project Origins trilogy. I did say I planned to do one for my three stock characters. Now we just have to hope I can commit until the trilogy's finished.

Time for a new chapter. You guys ready?

===Chapter 14===

“Well… there it is,” Pestilence said, the colossal Factory still large-looking even in the distance. “Hoo, boy, this is gonna be tough. That Voltedge working for ya?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” Cross replied, admiring his new blade. “Still can’t believe how your alchemy machine keeps churning out UVs like nobody’s business.”
“Ah, old Hephaestus…” Pestilence sighed. “My pride and joy. Hope to be able to make it back to her after this, but…”
“But what?” Cross asked sharply. “Pestilence, what’s going on?”
Pestilence paused and took a breath. “We should cut the informalities. Look, Cross-“
“I hope you two are ready for this,” came a voice.

War was striding towards them, twirling his Sentenza as a pre-mission ritual. Cross turned to face him. Pestilence, instead, remained facing the Factory, trying to ignore his superior.

“What’s the plan?” asked Cross.
“Well, Famine has a techni-key loaded with the virus, so she will be moving throughout the facility to ‘infect’ a few of the Constructs. When a certain number have been targeted, it should spread sufficiently enough to cripple Seerus’ forces, wiping out all but a few.” He paused for a moment, seemingly thinking about something. “Spacker and I will enter through Sector 2 of the Factory, where we will split up to plant explosives on the bridges connecting the Hangars to the main building. This should cut the Gremlins off from their Constructs, who will be dropping like flies. Famine will enter through Sector 1, then move clockwise to Sector 4 where you and Pestilence will be entering. You two will head to the core terminal and ‘repossess’ any valuable data Seerus may be keeping here, be it related to the rest of the Crimson Order or otherwise. After you do so, you shall detonate Pestilence’s newly-improved bomb, the appropriately-named ‘Harbinger’, whose name has been provided by Death.”

Cross thought about bowing, then thought better of it.

“Well, that’s enough banter. Get to your stations. We’ll avoid the elevators so as to conserve our energy, but if all goes well,” he paused for a moment. “We shouldn’t need it.”

Cross mounted his grappling hook on his wrist before heading to the edge of the abyss that lay before him.

“Quite a drop, huh?”

Famine approached him from the side.

“Don’t worry, I’m good with heights,” Cross said easily. “How are you holding up?”
“I have a feeling about this place. A bad feeling. In my time with the squad, I’ve been able to tell a big job from a small job. This… I guess I don’t need to say it.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ll make sure Pestilence gets back safely, or die trying.”
She smiled. “Don’t jinx it. I hate when people jinx things.”
“I’ve got luck on my side,” Cross said, taking out his amulet. “Trust me.”
“Horsemen!” War called out. “To your stations!”

Pestilence hooked the Harbinger to his front bandolier. Famine adjusted her Silvermail before attaching her grappling hook to her forearm, then her Heater Shield to the other. War holstered his Sentenza in a stylish fashion before checking for his remaining weapons. Spacker slung the sniper rifle onto his back before cracking his knuckles. Cross sheathed his Voltedge, and kissed his amulet for luck. Famine eyed the amulet almost enviously, prompting Cross to kiss her, too.

“Death, stay focused!” War barked. “You’re going into the hornet’s nest, and I will not tolerate both of you getting stung!”

Cross smirked before releasing Famine, shooting her a wink as he did so, before walking to Pestilence, upon which the duo grappled to a distant gear and leapt from the platform. They reeled themselves in to the gear before climbing aboard and grappling to another one, then another, until they had an almost aerial view of the Factory.

Needless to say, the Factory was enormous. The main building in the centre was a large dome, misshapen by its pipes and tubes, with chimneys and battlements around the roof as a defensive measure. It no doubt housed the main data archives, and served as a main hub for the Factory. The four hangars that branched out from the main building must have been at least a few miles in length, and a kilometre wide, most likely to accommodate the large number of Constructs. A long, wide path connected the hangars to the main hub, making it resemble some sort of flying fortress.

“How did it take you this long to find this place?” Cross asked in wonderment.
“It’s not part of the traditional Clockwork paths. You can’t just happen upon it. That and they have some countermeasures to ensure they’re not discovered. To tell you the truth, I found the coordinates in the data packet you got from B-1.”
“Oh, almost forgot. You wanted to tell me something?”
Pestilence hesitated, before turning to give him a grim look. “Let’s wait ‘till this is done.”

The two Horsemen lowered themselves from the gear slowly, until after a few minutes they had reached Hangar 4’s roof. They climbed in one of the skylights before lowering themselves onto a catwalk high above the Constructs below.

“Don’t think they know we’re here…” Cross muttered. “We’d better move.”

They crept along the catwalk slowly, trying not to make too much noise while eyeing the Constructs. They seemed to be active, some walking around, some in groups… they seemed to be socialising. Strange. After a long time of walking, the pair found themselves outside the Hangar, staring at the main hub. Cross pondered how they would get there undetected, while Pestilence nudged him and pointed at a large vehicle that was transporting large amounts of minerals. They hopped inside and rode to the hub.

Once it was safe, they jumped to a pipe on the wall of the building and climbed upwards. This was strangely similar to B-1, but something wasn’t right. Cross could almost feel a presence watching him, making him somewhat anxious. They reached a lying rooftop.

“Right, vents. Hope you’ve overcome your fear of tight spaces,” Pestilence joked.
“I’m not afraid of tight spaces!” Cross said hotly. “I just didn’t have a clue where I was going last time! You nearly got me killed!”
Pestilence chuckled. “Look, you got a map on your HUD this time. Still, try to be careful. Come on, now. Let’s use your freakish strength to get this grate out of the way.”

Cross grumbled in annoyance, before seizing the grate’s edges and tearing it out of the frame. After a few tugs, it came loose, before it ripped out of the frame entirely. Pestilence climbed in first, followed by Cross.

“What do you think the others are up to?” Cross asked as they crawled.
“No idea, but according to the schedule, Famine should be on Sector 2 with War and Spacker. She should be onto Sector 3 in a few minutes. Meanwhile, War and Spacker will be preparing for some sort of fight, but they can’t move until the virus is in place so those bots will be out of the way.”
“When’s that?” Cross asked.
“When I upload a code to the main terminal, which will allow me to connect to their Uplink directly, allowing the virus to connect straight to Famine’s designated targets.”
“Smart virus,” Cross muttered.
“It takes after its creator,” Pestilence boasted.

After another lengthy time of moving, Pestilence signalled to halt before peering through a grate he was passing.

“Looks like the place, but it’s got a few Gremlins. I’m counting… six or seven. We might need to take them out quickly in case they raise an alarm.”
“You see if you can circle around and take the other side of the room. I’ll take this side.”

Pestilence resumed crawling, allowing Cross to work at the grate. He shifted his body so his legs were facing it, before putting a foot to the grate and pushing hard. He applied pressure to different parts of the grate to loosen it more efficiently, then removed it from the frame once it has loosened to the point of nearly falling out. He poked his head through to look at the Gremlins below him, then dropped down quietly.

He approached the nearest Gremlin working at a terminal, before tightening his fist and punching him in the back of the head. The Gremlin was knocked out cold and slumped against the terminal. Another Gremlin heard the noise and went to investigate. Cross moved quickly, yet silently, punching the other Gremlin in the throat, closing it. The Gremlin clutched at his throat, choking, before passing out. His throat would reopen in his slumber, so he wouldn’t die, not that it made a difference.

A Thwacker was patrolling the room’s perimeter. Cross snuck up behind him, before disarming him and knocking him out with his own wrench. He used the wrench to choke another Thwacker into unconsciousness. He spotted another at a terminal, who was swiftly grabbed by a hand. There was a thud, then silence. Pestilence was quiet too, it seemed. Cross crept through the maze of terminals, hoping to catch another two Gremlins off guard, completely unaware that both had spotted him. Slowly, they crept up until they were behind him, weapons raised, when-

*WHUMP*

Both Gremlins collapsed, the noise causing Cross to wheel about, drawing his Voltedge to face Pestilence, who laughed.

"You should have seen your face! Priceless! And you reach for that sword of all things! I crafted that for you so you'd be able to fight Constructs, not Gremlins."
Cross frowned. "Keep your voice down. There could be more. C'mon, let's get to the terminal."

The pair navigated the maze of computers and monitors until they reached the centre terminal, three times larger than the one at B-1. Pestilence stuck his techni-key in the machine while Cross went to look out of the giant window overlooking what looked like a... training facility? A few hundred Constructs, all painted black, were sparring with one another, some were shooting at targets, others racing each other. These must have been the higher-ranked soldiers. It was like a Spiral training camp.

"We got here just in time," Pestilence muttered.
"Why?" asked Cross.
"War was... correct in sending us in today. They're shipping out in a few hours. That's... odd. This is odd, too."
"Wait, what's odd?"

Pestilence turned to face him.

"There's something on these documents about a merc leader called Talbot. I've heard that name before..." he paused, a stricken look appeared on his face. "Cross, while we're alone, I should warn you. You need to be careful from this point on. He might think I've told you too much."
"What are you talking about?" Cross asked wildly. "You're starting to sound a bit crazy."
"There's more to the Horsemen than either of us thought before now. You've proven yourself to the squad, so I can trust you." He took a breath. "We've been-"

Something tore through the window, creating a bullet hole the size of a cannonball. Cross ducked for cover as a scream pierced the air. He turned to see Pestilence falling in slow motion, blood spraying from the wound in his torso as he staggered backwards before slumping against the terminal, which was fizzing and sparking thanks to the bullet inside it. Cross made a break for his comrade as another bullet grazed his arm, this one hitting an alarm button on the terminal. The room sealed shut as lights on the wall started flashing red, and a horn sounded with the incessant Gremlin chattering, this time a deeper, harsher voice. Cross threw himself to the ground beside his squadmate as another bullet ricocheted off his helmet. He stared in horror at Pestilence's wounds.

"Oh, God... come on, I'm getting you out of here!"
"No!" Pestilence shouted, coughing up blood. Some started to trickle from his mouth. "No... it's over for me. I'm finished." He clutched his stomach. "We had a good run, didn't we?"
"I'm not letting you die! Don't you dare die on me! I'll give you all my damned energy if I have to, just DON'T DIE ON ME!"
Pestilence chuckled weakly. "'Fraid I can't do much about this, man. Energy gets the heart going, but it can't repair all this. I guess I should thank you."
Cross looked stricken. "No, don't-"
"You opened my eyes to something I was too stupid to see, something right in front of me the entire time. 'Sides-" he coughed up more blood. "It ain't like I didn't see this coming."

"What are you talking about?" Cross said, panicked. His HUD beeped.

"Guys, come in!" came Spacker's voice. "That's Seerus on the intercom! He's sending guys your way! Spacker out!"
"Listen to me." Pestilence groaned in pain before continuing. "In my lab, there's a safe. It might look primitive, but you need to get inside. Password is 49064. There's a message about what's been going on behind the scenes in there."
"I... I'm so sorry," Cross said, a tear appearing in his eye. "I never meant to-"
"Don't worry about it, man," Pestilence said, cutting across him. "It's not your fault. I'm not afraid of what's coming, but do me a favour. Find that safe, take everything you find inside, and stop him. You're all that's left. You have to-"

His coughing had gotten worse. He was writhing in a fit of agony as a pool of blood formed around him. He made an effort to lie still. His breathing had changed pace.

"Anyone ever tell you you're just like him? Just like Death? Swift, deadly... but a pretty nice guy, and a good friend."
Cross smiled tearfully. "You know, I never learned your name, friend."
Pestilence chuckled like always. "Name's... Grant." He gave a pained laugh. "Grant. Haven't... used that... name... in a long time. It's funny... how things go... isn't it?"

He let out his last breath. His mouth was curved in a slight smile, slightly open, the trickling of blood having stopped. His eyes, though vacant, had that piercing blue colour still, and a slight twinkle. Cross closed his friend's eyes, straightened his glasses, and wiped the blood from his mouth.

"Bye... Grant."

Cross turned on his comlink.

"Horsemen, come in. Death reporting a... casualty. Pestilence..." his voice trailed off.
"Say again, Death?" War responded. There was gunfire in the background. "What happened over there? The alarms went off a couple of minutes ago!"
"We have a casualty. Pestilence is... dead."
"What?!" came Spacker's voice. "What did you do?!"
"We're at the core terminal, but someone saw us. Shot Pestilence. I'm... sorry."
"No..." Famine whispered.

Cross could hear Spacker growling in rage through the comlink. Famine's breathing indicated silent sobbing. War was silent.

"You guys get out of here," Cross said. "I'm uploading the code. Then I'm gonna blow this place to Hell and gone."
"No! We don't need another casualty!" Famine shouted through the channel. "You won't make it!"
"You will. Get to War and Spacker if you can, then get out of here."
"I haven't finished targeting those bots! I'm staying."
"Death has a point, Famine," War said. "The bomb should wipe out the Factory and the bots regardless. Erase the remains of the fallen ones, and destroy the rest. Win/win. Rendezvous at Hangar 2 with us, then get ready to make an emergengy exit. That's an order. War out."
"Go, Famine!" Cross shouted. "I'll make it. I promise!"
She gave a watery laugh. "Told you not to jinx it. Get back to us soon."
"I will. Death out."

He saluted his fallen friend before approaching the terminal. Grant had downloaded all necessary data from it. All that as left was to upload the virus. Only one thing left to do. Cross brought up a menu with the option to execute the file containing the virus. Clicking yes, Cross then approached the Harbinger, which had now been redesigned to look sleeker and more stylish. He adjusted the time to three minutes, then hit the button. Giving a slight nod to Grant's body, he jumped out of the shattered window as Gremlins and Constructs burst through the door.

He grabbed the hook of a crane and swing to land on a catwalk in a flat out sprint, heading to the nearest exit on the opposite end of the vast training area. Turning to look behind him, he could see one daring Construct giving chase. Despite its bulky stature, it was fast. Cross was still looking when he tripped and slid on the meshed floor. The Construct caught up to him, pointing a sword at his throat.

"Surrender, Spiral," came its voice.
"You can kill me, but in less than three minutes this place is going to blow, and your Uplink system has been infected with a virus. Might wanna get out while you can, if you can... tin can."

It looked like it was scanning him. It spoke.

"You speak the truth, but I cannot allow this to go unharmed. You and your squadron have been a thorn in Project Legion's side. A thorn I will remove."
"You know of us?" Cross asked, puzzled.

The Construct lunged. Cross rolled backwards to avoid the longsword, then leapt forward and kicked the robot in the 'face'. It staggered backwards, allowing Cross to keep running. The Construct gave chase again. Cross noticed the tone of Seerus' voice over the intercom had changed, but he still couldn't make out what he was saying.

Cross leapt from the catwalk, using his grappling hook swing through the large door to the next area. He kept moving, bypassing numerous Constructs that were now suffering the effects of the virus. Looking back at the Construct, still on the catwalk Cross could see it had given up, knowing it couldn't catch him. He turned forward to see the exit, when an earth-shaking explosion made him fall. The explosives War had planted had gone off at the worst possible time. The fires from the blast had triggered the blast door, which dropped rapidly. Cross made a break for it, hoping to get out before he was sealed in. He droppped into a slide, but stopped right under the closing door. It stopped just short of him, having been blocked by the wrecks of several fleeing Constructs. He tried to move. He was stuck.

In a panic, the thrashed around, trying to free himself, when he managed to grab the outer side of the blast door and pull himslef out. Getting to his feet, he could see chaos. Constructs collapsing, some still up and fleeing from Gremlins, who were trying to... destroy them? A few caught sight of Cross. Some attempted to give chase, but most were too busy fleeing. Cross headed for the destroyed bridge.

He leapt through the flames, kicked off the edge and dove into the abyss. He shot his grappling hook at the underside of the Hangar, swinging as far as he could. As he swung, the bomb detonated, sending a shockwave that catapulted him forwards. He didn't dare look back. Aiming his hook at an axle in the distance, he fired his hook. The hook connected. Cross reeled himself in, before attempting to grab the pillar and slide down. He drove a spike from his armour into the side of the axle in an effort to slow himself, but he was still moving too fast. He detached from the axle and fell, heading toward the bottom gear at a high speed.

What followed was darkness.

Well, it's an idea, but I didn't really think about doing something like that. I dunno, it could happen, but it's unlikely.

===Chapter 16===

Present Day

It was like déjà vu, waking up to a smoldering ruin, a catastrophe that he had caused. To him, it may as well have been a daily routine. Wake up early, get a good hearty breakfast, do an hour's worth of training, blow up an enemy base, meet back at the hideout for his reward. Despite what he thought when he started with the Horsemen, he was starting to get bored of his routine. Not the most fulfilling lifestyle, after all. You tend to have time to reflect when you're lying semi-conscious on a cold steel floor surrounded by burning chunks of metal and charred corpses. Fortunately, the air was fresh enough to breath adequately, and there was no chunk of metal crushing him this time around. Small victories.

He got to his feet, the sudden movement sending blood to his head. He clutched his helmet in a vain attempt to quell the headache. After a moment or two, he opened his eyes, allowing the wreckage to waver in front him through the smoke and confusion. He looked down at himself, checking his armour. Looked alright. No cracks he could see. No broken bones. He took out his amulet, also unscathed. Putting it back around his neck, he looked around to see if he could find any signs of life. Nothing.

"Horsemen, come in," Cross coughed into his comlink. "Horsemen, this is Death. Come in. Damn."

Comlink was busted. He was alone in the dark. He checked the rest of his HUD For the most part, it was scrambled, with only a few things working. Minimap was down, there was no Uplink connection... Gate Map was up. He was on Depth 24, but to his knowledge there was no elevator anywhere near him. He was stuck. It was only then he remembered he was stuck on a gear, not a proper floor.

"Great. Stranded in what passes for a mass grave down here.," Cross muttered to himself.

Approaching the edge of the gear, he looked down towards the smoky void. Heights didn't bother him much, but he should at least check if his grappling hook was still working. He spied an elevator rail in the distance. Raising his hand so that he was pointing his closed fist at the railing, he attempted shoot the hook towards the rail. The grapple made a strange clicking noise, before the hook fell out pathetically. Cross sighed.

"Fantastic."
"What is?"

Cross spun around to see Spacker standing nearby. There was no mistaking that milky white eye in the dim light.

"What are you doing here?" Cross asked suspiciously.
"Saving your sorry hide," Spacker retorted. "You've been out for a couple of hours, so War sent me to find you. When I did, you were still out, so I waited."
"Listen, about what happened-"
"But what did happen, Cross? Sure, we sent you into the fire, but one way or another, you slipped up! I gave you the benefit of the doubt two months ago on that stakeout. Hell, Pestilence did, too! But right now, think I'm entitled to some damn answers!" Spacker shouted.
"I don't know what happened!" Cross yelled.

There was a pause as Cross' words echoed around the vast expanse.

"I... I don't know. We made it into the central hub undetected. We used the vents to get in. We managed to stealthily take out all guards and scientists in the terminal room, but-"
"But what?!"
"Pestilence accessed the terminal, and found some documents. Someone saw us through the window and shot him. Tore a hole through his torso the size of my fist. The only way someone could have found us is if they had known where we were headed."
"Well, maybe someone saw you and assumed! I need to know, Cross!"
"I'm telling you, we didn't screw up!" Cross said hotly. "The alarm button was shot by the same guy who killed Pestilence!"
"Okay, so maybe you didn't kill him-"
"What do you mean, 'maybe'?!"
"I'm just saying, I don't buy it. Not entirely. i was going to ask, though: who could have made a shot like that?"
"One of the Constructs? They're not bad at combat."
"Maybe, but-"
"Spacker," Cross grabbed him by the shoulders, staring him down. "You need to trust me. I. Did not. Kill him."

Spacker closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling and exhaling.

"Alright... alright. I'm not saying I believe you, but you have to admit, something's a bit off about this."
"No kidding," Cross muttered, releasing the Gremlin. "Pestilence was about to tell me something when he got shot. He never got to finish his train of thought, but he did tell me to find a safe in his lab. There's something in there that might explain everything."
Spacker chuckled. "He was always the smart one. Alright, let's go find this safe. I have a spare hook if you need it. You probably do."
"Hey, for what it's worth... I'm sorry."
Spacker paused and smiled grimly. "...He was a good man. And he was like a brother to me. War only kept me around as an asset, Famine and I never really had a proper conversation, and you don't have much free time nowadays. Pestilence was the first person since my capture and torture that treated me like I mattered. The commanders saw me as a liability, The Crimson Order saw me as a potential threat, and my own friends saw me as a damned psychopath."
"Speaking of sight, who blinded you all those months ago?" Cross wondered aloud, voicing a question that had been on his mind for quite some time.
"Oh, you wouldn't know him. Just some two-faced cross-dresser with a Faust."

Hey guys. I'm back.

===Chapter 17===

The pair had made it up several depths after a painstakingly laborious climbing trial. Even with the grappling hooks, they were getting tired, and took breaks to rest every so often. They had stopped for another break, so Cross attempted to lighten the mood with some small talk as they sat.

"Glad you brought me a hook. I'd hate to have to grab hold of you for the trip back."
"Well, I'd hate to carry your dead weight around if it can move of its own accord," Spacker replied scathingly.
"Okay..." Cross muttered awkwardly.

Spacker held his head up, frowning slightly as though he had heard a sound. He then turned his attention to his comlink, from which, Cross assumed, he had heard a beeping.

"Still getting used to this thing," Spacker muttered. "Hold up, Cross. Getting a message."

Spacker brought up his HUD and began conversing with someone. Cross attempted to ask him who, but he held a hand up to silence him.

"Spacker here.... Yeah.... don't worry, I'm... what? Relax, the situation's under... Look, everything's... no, he didn't, he said... wait, what? No, he was..."

Cross was getting uneasy. What was so important that he had to be cut out of the loop? Spacker's tone kept changing with each word uttered, first calm, then shocked, then angry.

"Are you sure about this? Because I can't risk... yes. Yes, alright, fine. I'll... I'll take care of it."

Spacker stood up quite suddenly, closing his eyes before sighing deeply. Something troubled him. Cross spoke up, puzzled.

"What was that about?"
"Nothing. Nevermind." He seemed distant. "Just… something War needs me to take care of."
Cross frowned. “I don’t like being kept in the dark, man. What’s going on?”
Spacker hesitated. “I’ll save it for when we get back to the hideout. Well, when I get back. You’ll be staying here.”

Cross reacted instinctively as Spacker drew his blade, rolling backwards as he brought it down in a frenzied slash that clanged loudly on the steel floor.

“What the Hell are you doing?!” Cross yelled.
“You thought you could just lie your way out of this, didn’t you?” Spacker growled. “You traitor!”
“Traitor? What the-“

Spacker lunged in a rage. Cross dodged to the side and ran, not wanting to engage him.

“You backstabbing coward! Fight me like a man!”

Spacker aimed his hook at Cross and shot, hoping to entangle him in the cabling. Cross spun on his heel and grabbed the cable, before tugging and stomping on it, sending Spacker flying forwards. Cross kicked him with his other leg, sending him back a few feet.

“Don’t make me fight you, Spacker.”
“What, so you’ll kill me like you killed him?” he spat. “You traitor.”
“I told you, I didn’t kill him!” Cross said angrily. He paused for a moment. “The comlink. You’re working for someone. Who?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, that’s a secret!” Spacker said with a maddening grin, before scrambling to his feet and raising his sword again.

He aimed several strikes at Cross, who dodged each effortlessly, one after another, before following up with a punch to Spacker’s face. He stumbled backwards, eyes watering from the pain, and charged again. Cross raised a hand to grab the blade, before twisting it around, and with it Spacker’s arm, and following up with a kick to the leg, bringing Spacker to his knees. Relinquishing the blade, he spun into another kick, driving his heel into Spacker’s chest and sending him back a short distance, where he quivered in pain: Broken nose, bruised thigh, cracked ribcage. Cross looked at his own hand, which was cut from when he grabbed the blade. A stupid mistake, but necessary. He looked back at his friend.

“That’s enough! Stay down!” he shouted.

Spacker, unheeding, rose to his feet and threw his sword to the ground before assuming a fighting stance.

“You can’t be serious…” Cross muttered.

Spacker ran forth, attempting a haymaker. Cross elbow-blocked with his right arm and punched him in his already-injured ribs with his left, before uppercutting with his right again. Spacker stumbled backwards, stunned. Cross tackled him to the ground and held him by the throat.

“I told you to stay down,” Cross growled.

Spacker struggled against Cross’ weight, snarling and spitting. Cross tightened his grip on Spacker’s throat.

“Why’d you do it, Cross? What did he ever do to you?” Spacker choked.
Cross’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t convince you that I’m innocent, can I?”
“We go back a ways, Cross, but I trust War’s word over yours. That’s how the game’s played.”
“War?” Cross was taken aback. “So you were telling the truth, but… why does War want me dead?”
“Why do you think?” Spacker mumbled. “Treason.”
“Even if I killed Pestilence, how would War know?”
“Common sense? You were the only one there with him. How else would he have-“
“I told you, someone sniped-“ Cross paused, shocked.
“What is it now?” Spacker leered. “Coming clean?”
“Spacker…” Cross began tentatively. “Where’s the rifle?”
“What is this?” he retorted.
“Back at the Factory… you didn’t… lend War the rifle, did you?”
His eyes widened. “You mean… he…”

Spacker stopped struggling. Cross released his grip on his throat before helping him to his feet. Spacker paused for breath before speaking up.

“Alright, Cross. Once again, I’m not saying I believe you, but I can put that behind me long enough to find some answers.”
“Glad to hear,” Cross said. “Maybe next time you’ll learn to trust me.”
“Maybe,” Spacker replied. “But for now, let’s get back to the hideout.”

===Chapter 18===

“Password: 14247.”

Cross put his eye to the retinal scanner. The blast door rose upwards, allowing access to the building. Nervously exchanging glances with Spacker, the two headed inside.

“What if we’re found?” Spacker whispered. “They see me with you, they’ll think something’s up.”
“Then let’s make sure no-one sees us.”

The two walked the cold, dark hallways in silence, not making a sound for fear of attracting attention. Fortunately, Pestilence’s lab was the first area they arrived at, so the risk of discovery was minimal. Cross peered into the room, before signalling for Spacker to follow him in.

“Okay, look for a safe. Primitive, with some kind of numeral lock on it, I think. Should be here somewhere.”
“Righto. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Spacker set about looking in the low-lying cupboards and shelves around the lab while Cross checked the higher-up ones. Occasionally he’d get a glimpse of a project Pestilence was working on, like his energy tether, a few harmless Harbingers scattered around the lab, some varied scopes for the rifle, and some hacking tool on the table.

“Hey, Cross,” Spacker hushed after a few minutes of searching. “Think I got something.”

He pulled a dusty box from one of the shelves and laid it on the table.

“Sneaky son-of-a-gun probably kept it dusty to avoid suspicion,” Spacker beamed.
“Or it’s just a dusty box of crap,” Cross replied. “Open it and see.”

Spacker carefully prised open the lid of the box, before emitting a noise that indicated surprise. Cross, interested, walked over to where he knelt, just as he drew from the box another box, made of metal and bearing a strange keypad with silver buttons on the front. The numbers 1 to 9 were carved into each button, with some other symbols that seemed forgotten, obsolete. Grime was contained in the button markings; this was an old safe.

“Looks like it. Old as Hell, filthy as Hell. Did he give you the password or should we just crack it open?”

Cross snatched the safe from his hands before straining to remember the password.

“Uhh… it began with… a 4. 49…49064,” he typed the code as he talked.

The box beeped, before unlocking. Cross beamed. Spacker stared wide-eyed at the safe.

“Aren’t you gonna open it?”
Cross hesitated. “This is really it, huh?”
“Yep, the big reveal,” Spacker grinned toothily. “Come on, let’s see what his last gift to us was.”

Cross nervously opened the door to the safe, creaking on its rusted hinges, to find… nothing. Cross stared into the vacuous space, as if expecting the object to appear, before closing the door and opening it again. Still, nothing. Stunned, he dropped the safe, which fell to the ground, landing on his foot. Pain coursed through his leg, so he was awake, a truth that horrified him.

“C-Cross?” Spacker muttered uncertainly.
“Empty,” he croaked. “There’s… nothing there.”
“What’s empty?”

Cross spun around to see Famine, standing in the doorway, gun raised. She looked shaken.

“Famine, I-“
“Save it,” her voice was harsh. “I didn’t want to believe what War said was true, but then you show up unannounced, snooping around trying to steal from Pestilence. What the Hell is going on, Cross?”
“Famine,” Cross said. “I can’t explain everything right away, and the only proof I have is gone right now, but you have to trust me.”
She faltered. “We have protocols to follow, Cross. If you-“
“Damn the protocols. Listen to your instincts.”

She hesitated. The hand holding the gun was shaking. Cross held out a hand in encouragement. After several pained seconds, she holstered her gun and walked towards him. Cross held out his arms, expecting a hug. She punched him in the face.

“Guess I deserved that,” he said, rubbing his cheek.
“At least let me know in future,” she replied. “Trust can take seconds to destroy.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”

All three turned to see War standing in the doorway, looking as sinister as ever, his Sentenza pointed directly at Cross.

“How very disappointing, Famine,” he menaced. “Predictable, but still, disappointing. Fortunately, I still know how to point a gun.”
“Don’t tell me you’re behind this,” Cross growled, his eyes narrowing.
“Well, even if I was, would you trust my word? Or should we call upon the ghost of an old… friend?”

He held up a recon module. It was glowing a deep blue, whirring in the tense air.

“Pestilence was the smartest of my disciples, but he wasn’t without faults. He had forgotten that it was I who taught him most everything he knew, after all. That safe was child’s play.”

He tossed the module on the ground, where it activated, bringing up a holographic image of Pestilence. Cross stared in amazement.

“Ahem… this thing working?” the hologram spoke in that cool southern drawl. “Hey, Cross. If you’re listening to this message, then everything I have predicted has come to pass, where I’m dead and you’re without answers. Well, you’ve found the message, and here it is: There’s more to the Horsemen than either of us thought before now. We’ve been had. Betrayed, by the one we trusted all this time, by the one who brought us here. By War.”

Right on cue, War grinned sadistically, a mad glint in his eye.

“See, we all thought this was an undercover squad that cleans up messes for the Order so they don’t get their hands dirty. Well, our fearless leader has sought a way to make more than just common coin. Lately, he’s started to fancy himself a collector of weaponry. Little stings we pulled, War always reviewed the intel, sent it off to the Order for payment. I trust you remember him choosing not to get the Order involved on the affairs of Project Legion?”

Cross was starting to piece things together in his mind the more the hologram spoke. How long had War been planning this?

“He knew they’d mess up his plan, so he chose not to inform them, not to avoid chaos, but to gather resources and technology. Legion became the very macadam on which he would build his empire. An empire that has already been in the making. He’s been tied to numerous merc leaders, each of which have formed pseudo-guilds to avoid suspicion. An army. But, like any army, you need officers, enforcers, to keep the weak in line. The Constructs would do nicely, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now. The virus I developed to cripple the AI Uplink would undo War’s hope of controlling the Constructs-“

“Alas, the fool failed to realise that the Constructs were not true AI,” piped up War, pausing the recording. “It seems Seerus overestimated the abilities of his engineers. The Constructs were a hive mind at best thanks to their Uplink, save for a few anomalies here or there. I imagine that had they indeed succeeded at creating a true AI, the resulting Constructs would be very scarce. There were three-quarters of a million initially, after all, so it’s definitely possible, if not probable.”

The recording resumed.

“-But there’s always the chance that a few would escape the virus’ reach. It only affects targets within a certain range of each other, so small pockets of survivors may turn up, ready to be swindled into serving some forsaken cause.
“Look, Cross. You need to do something about this. War has an army, with officers and generals aplenty. All it takes is one assassination to get the ball rolling. They could have spies everywhere, even in the colonies for all we know. If they manage to get their hands on the Grand Arsenal, or find a way to resurrect Project Legion, we’re not looking at a war. We’re looking at a slaughter. A colossal bloodbath that could tear Cradle apart.
“I’m sure I don’t need to press on with the importance of this task I’m giving you, and I wish it didn’t mean putting the world on your shoulders, but damn it, you’re probably the only person who can stop this, assuming he hasn’t gotten to the others. I know you’ll see this through to the end, no matter who lives and who dies. You’re the catalyst that will end this temporary stalemate.
“Oh, and kid,” the recording said, chuckling in that particular way. “Give ‘em Hell.”

With a salute, the hologram vanished. Cross was taking time to process all this information. He glanced at Spacker and Famine, the former seething with rage, the latter wide-eyed with shock. War looked pleased, as though he had taken a gamble that would ultimately result in his victory.

“Well, now that we’re all on the same page,” he said with a twisted smile. “It’s time to finish this. I’ll admit, it’s a shame, not to mention a waste, but I can’t just stand aside.”
“It’s three on one, old man,” Cross said defiantly. “Think you can take all of us at once?”
War chuckled darkly. “Yes, actually, but you’re right. Let’s even the numbers a bit.”

Two Constructs appeared in the doorway behind War, standing to attention at either side of him. Both were products of Project Legion, one being a Striker class, of a smaller, sleeker design than the other, a seven-foot-tall Guardian, almost half as broad as he was tall. Cross gasped.

“Well, now that we each have our partners…” War said merrily, before cocking his gun and dropping his happy façade.

“Let’s dance.”

Glad to see I've not been abandoned. Not bad, Atrum. 3 out of 4. I'll do some retconning so you get full marks.