Hey guys. Short warning, this is the last in Cross' story, minus the epilogue and bonus scene. As such, we got what i hope to be an adequate finale, again minus the epilogue. Anyway, just a few hurdles left before I can get to the next few stories. Hope I can plan those better than this one.

===Chapter 22===

“God damn, I hate that bomb…” Cross grumbled, rubbing his head with his free hand.

A falling rock had dazed him, gave him a headache as he dangled from the mountain. The tether had managed to keep him from falling to his death under the sheer weight of rubble from the blast. How many were left, now? He had to check. He had to make sure.

He seized a rock that jutted out from the face of the mountain, using it to steady himself as he reeled himself upwards shifting his grip on the stone when necessary. He took care not to disturb the mountain further, having caused enough trauma. As he climbed, the faces of Spacker, Famine and Pestilence swam hazily in front of him. He remembered joking with Spacker about becoming a fifth Horseman once: Conquest. Spacker would constantly deny the offer, on the grounds that he was what the Spirals would call “damaged goods”.

He remembered testing out Pestilence’s weaponry and gadgets, and how it allowed them to get to know each other a little better. Before joining up with the Horsemen, he lived in the Charred Continent’s rocky desert, conducting research on past technologies on behalf of the Spirals until he was summoned to the war on Ilsora.

As for Famine, all he could remember of her was her grief and sadness that she carried with her. Doubt clouded his mind as he thought about it further. Did he take advantage of that grief? No, he couldn’t have done. It was real, and yet… she had mentioned that he looked a lot like his predecessor. It couldn’t have been just a physical attraction. Cross attempted to push the thought from his mind, only to realise something: He never learned her real name.

He reached the summit again, his hand burning slightly as it grabbed the blackened rock, hauling him upwards. The smell of sulphur filled his nostrils, along with whatever else that the bomb used for its detonation. As he neared the edge of the valley, he saw rubble littering the landscape, smoke billowing out of the place where the bomb exploded. Scattered around the area were corpses, burned black and difficult to see in the dark of the night, along with the smoke and charred stone.

Cross stood at the valley’s edge, taking in the death and destruction that he had caused once again. If this kept up he’d be totally void of emotion, like War. Perhaps that was why he was recruited. War needed an easily moulded scapegoat for his plans so he could shake the blame until the appropriate time, when he would cripple the Spiral and Crimson morale with the deaths of their top soldiers.

The ledge started to crumble under his weight, the noise bringing him out of his trance. Unprepared, he slipped and fell, rolling down the hill amongst several rocks, hitting against jagged edges of boulders and stones. Pain coursed through him as he hit the ground forcefully, before rocks started to partially bury him. Indignantly, he rose to his feet, staggering slightly as pebbles and dust fell from his armour. He removed his helmet and wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth, before searching the rubble for any sign of War, despite the knowledge that he may well have been buried under the rock. But he had to know.

War was on the plateau overlooking the valley before the bomb went off. Cross looked around for it, noticing that it had fallen down the face of the mountain, now merely a large platform resting on dislodged stone. He approached the platform, clambering onto it to get a better view of the area. A pointless endeavour. Cross sunk to his knees, finally starting to hope that he had succeeded, that he had won. His gaze turned to the sky, still cloudy, still smoky. He wondered how long it would be until the Spirals showed up to arrest him for everything that would no doubt be laid at his feet.

"So you're alive, then?"

Cross looked down rapidly, seeing those red eyes glowing in the darkness. A sickly sense of dread washed over him. He attempted to draw his Peacemaker, but War was too quick, shooting it off into the distance with his Sentenza almost lazily.

"H-How... how..." he croaked.
"Those constructs are quite loyal once you reprogram them," War boasted. "They'll even die for you if you tell them to. The armour was everything I expected. Durable, but not indestructible. Boulder crushed its head before it could guarantee both of us safety. It matters not."
"I've killed your men. You have nothing left," Cross stated, almost confidently.
"Yes, you have," War whispered sounding somewhat joyous. "You're becoming more like me everyday. But I haven't lost everything. No, this was all necessary. I like to call myself a lateral thinker. Plans within plans... still..."

He drew his sword.

"This has gone on for far too long, as I'm sure you'll agree. Draw. Let's see if your training's actually made you a potential threat."

Cross glared through the smoke, getting to his feet rather hastily, staggering again. He drew his Voltedge, the electric blue blade lighting the dark, parallel to War's Combuster.

His gaze fixed on his opponent, he walked counter-clockwise around the platform, not daring to make a sudden move. War did the same. They circled the platform for a few seconds until they found appropriate footing for the coming event. The two locked eyes for what seemed like far too long, attempting to read each other's thoughts, before finally running forward and commencing the fight.

They locked blades, before pushing each other back and exchanging slices and parries. Sparks and embers flew betwen them. Cross hastily moved backwards, judging his opponent's strategy, his fighting style. War twirled his blade in a flourshing fashion, before moving forward for another strike. Cross parried, and War jumped, spun, and kicked Cross in the stomach, delivering another blow. Cross barely had time to block it. Turning clockwise, Cross attempted to slash at War, who merely blocked, grabbed his arm, and spun into Cross, elbowing him in the chest, then the face, before kicking him backwards a short distance. Cross slid along the ashen ground, attempting to steady himself, before snarling and rushing forward.

War dropped from the platform to a lower part of ground to slice at Cross' legs, who jumped over the attack, flipping over War and exchanging another clash between swords as he did so. War attempted to strike him as he landed, but he deflected the attack, prompting War to spin into another strike. Cross blocked this, running his sword along War's, who hastly pushed him away. The two exchanged glares, Cross exhaling and noting a sharp pain in his injured leg. he looked down to see a cut from a sword, watching the blood run down his leg to the ground, where it mixed with ash. War smirked, before pausing and putting a hand to his face, wiping off a slight trickle of blood. Staring at his now bloodied hand, his smile grew.

A strong wind picked up, blowing the smoke from the area. The smoke passed the two mercenaries, obscuring Cross' view of War, who took the opportunity to dash forward. Cross parried the strike, and again they cut, sliced, blocked and deflected. War managed to get in a hit, cutting Cross' left arm. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the two locked blades, staring into each other's eyes. War was slowly pushing Cross backward, overpowering him. His strength was admirable, if he himself was not. Cross held his blade sideways, the sharp edge an inch from his face. He mustered enough strength to force War backwards, who attempted a downward slash. Cross struck upwards, managing to deflect the attack and cut his opponent on the forehead, though the cut itself wasn't deep.

Bringing his blade back down for another hit, he was surprised at War's speed, dropping the Combuster to use both hands to grab the Voltedge, turn, and twist it over his shoulder, causing Cross to fall over and roll down a small slope. He then picked up his own sword, aiming a blow at Cross, who raised both arms to block with his shield. War hit him in his unshielded arm, burying the blade in his forearm, before kicking him backwards down yet another slope. Cross rolled downhill, trailing blood. War picked up the Voltedge, running down the slope after him.

Cross managed to stop himself long enough to grab the blade with his right hand and rip it out of his left, just as War leapt into the air, poised for a killing blow. Cross raised the Combuster, taking all of War's weight as he came down, locking blades for a brief second as he used the Voltedge to balance on his own sword. Cross summoned tremendous strength to throw him off, sending him behind Cross. The two of them spun clockwise, in preparation for the killing blow. Cross, sensing what was coming, raised his right arm, blocking War's slash as it came towards Cross' neck, and drove the Combuster into War's stomach.

A moment of silence went by, until War dropped the Voltedge, causing it to clatter uselessly on the ground, where it was showered with blood. Cross pulled the blade back out of War's torso as he stepped backwards, leaving a smoking, bloodied hole in his opponent. War coughed up some blood.

"You know, I've never gotten cut before," War laughed weakly. "I think the sword cauterized the wound a fair deal. I can last a bit longer, but... The pain of a sword feels... strange. A strange feeling..."
"It's over," Cross said harshly, the tone of finality echoing around them slightly. He bend down to pick up his sword, sheathing it. The Combuster remained clutched in his left hand.
"Oh, you wish..." War chuckled menacingly. "Remember, I have multiple guilds conspiring with me. Several hundred members at the very least."
"Then what was all this?"
"A test. To see if you can carry the torch."
Cross glared at him, horrified. "All this... just to see if we're alike? I'm not like you. I'm nothing like you!"
"Don't be so sure. How many have you killed simply because I demanded it? How many of my men have you killed, just today? And now you're going to kill me, too."
"But I can just walk away. Right now. That'll be the end of it."
"Oh, you know that's not true. The Spirals will want you dead. The Crimsons, too. Everything I've had you do, you will pay for. I've made sure you bear my sins as well as yours."
"Why? What possible-"
"So you can see things as I do," War said, doubling over to cough up yet more blood. He reached out to a boulder to steady himself. "When you see how corrupt the law really is, how it demands obedience, forces conformity, you will be ready. Ready to carry the torch and burn the whole world down with it."

Cross turned to leave, appalled at the words he had heard. He hadn't even started to walk away when War spoke again.

"You're too far gone, Cross. Think... you never learned Famine's name. you never asked Spacker if he knew. You just wanted me dead. You don't find that odd? Neither... do... I."
"Shut up!" Cross barked, the resounding echoes reminding him of the way he was treated all those months ago. "How do you know-"
"I'm in your head. I knew what you thought then, just as I know what you're thinking now, and you'd better stop that train of thought, because you can't walk away, Cross. No matter how this goes down, we will win."
"We?"

He heard War laugh to himself behind him. This was the start of another step in War's plan. Another wild goose chase.

"My associates, all guild leaders, with the exception of myself, and my brother-in-arms. You may know him as Talbot."

Cross remembered what Pestlence found on the night of his death. Was it true?

"We all feel alike about the state of the world. Talbot proposed that we do something about it. I'll admit, when I first met him after Skylark's Fall, I was skeptical of his plans, though we did share the same feelings towards 'order'. But when he explained his plans to create the perfect world... it sounded like Heaven. So, I killed my former leader, and took over."
"Let me guess. You had to take out the guys in charge of both ends of the war, because you were the 'black op' specialist. Then your merc buddies spread chaos and in the resulting riots, everyone copies you in order to survive. Discard the law, shed your humanity."
"You make us sound like monsters. You'll learn. I'll admit, you were a complication. You allowed yourself to show compassion towards the others. They tainted you with morality, but it matters not. I altered the plans so that if I fail, you take my place. We win in all scenarios."
"No, I'm walking. You can't stop me."
"Ah, but I can."

Cross heard War place his hand around the handle of his revolver. Instinctively, he spun counter-clockwise in a single fluid motion, using the Combuster to slice War's throat as he drew the gun. War's grip on the Sentenza slackened immediately, causing the gun to fly freely through the air. Cross grabbed it with his right hand, pointing it directly at War's face.
War's smile was as wide as ever, his eyes widened slightly as blood poured from his neck, staining his Shadowsun gear. Cross stared into his red eyes with a mixture of contempt and fury, tightening his grip on the gun. War's lips moved soundlessly, mouthing the words "I win".

Cross' eyes widened in fear, before narrowing in a cold rage. He thumbed back the hammer of the gun, looked War dead in the eye, and pulled the trigger.

Figured I'd merge the bonus chapter and epilogue together. I reckon it's a decent way to wrap it all up. I could do one more, as an actual epilogue, but either way's good, in my opinion.

Anyways, here's the bonus chapter, with Cross' predecessor taking the lead role for the majority. Oh, spoiler alert.

==Chapter 23===

"Gentlemen, do any of you know why I called you here today?"
"No. How long will this take?" one of the Knights asked bluntly. "Places to go and people to see. Sir."
"Don't worry, this won't take too long. Now, if you'll turn to the monitor..."

He pressed a button on the panel connected to the table that spanned the room. The four Knights sitting along the table leaned forwards to get a better look at the screen, on which the image of an aged and fragile-looking book appeared.

"What the Hell is this?" the first Knight questioned rudely. "I thought it'd be important."
"Must have been that novel he was working on as a teenager", said another with a smirk.
"Aldway! Maarv! Can it before I have both of you thrown out of here! Now, this book is none other than the Tome of Souls that we unearthed decades ago, one of what was originally millions of copies, dating back to the early centuries of the Second Civilisation."
"Oh, so this is the Tome of Souls," piped up the third Knight. "I thought it was on display at some museum with the other books we got from back then."
"That is a replica to fool the public, as are the others. We have been hard at work deciphering the contents of this book since the date of its discovery. From the other artifacts from that time period, we have determined that this Tome was the driving force behind the majority of the Second Civilisation's achievements. It is perhaps one of the most controversial works ever composed by any author of that era."
"I take it that this is important?", Maarv questioned. "Or relevant at the very least?"
"There is a passage in this Tome that dictates that four warriors shall emerge from the shadows to destroy the damned. And since I have a taste for the theatrical, I thought I'd draw inspiration from both the Tome and the Tome of War, which dictates the art of battle in an awe-inspiring fashion. Gentlemen, the higher-ups in the Spiral Order have commanded me to summon the four greatest operatives we have to form a Black-Operations squadron."
"And that's us, I take it?" said the fourth.
"Why else would you be here?" the commander replied. "Each of you have been hand-picked because of your tenacity and courage, as well as your unique skills. Please stand."

The four Knights rose to their feet, standing to attention.

"Do you swear to uphold the integrity of the Spiral Order's Code as a loyal soldier for the rest of your days in this military?"
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
"Do you vow to do what is necessary to maintain the peace on the Spiral Order's behalf until such time when your services will no longer be necessary?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will you serve, never revealing what has transpired in this room to a single soul, and maintaining the utmost secrecy from both comrades and family alike, until the day you die?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright, then. Maarv."
"Yes, sir," Maarv answered.
"Command have requested that you be the squad's leader, because of your tactile expertise and unparalleled physical prowess. Your skill in stealth is also impressive. You'd better do us all proud, boy."
"I'll do my best, sir."
"Aldway!" said the man.
"What?" Aldway replied irritably.
"What...?" the commander attempted to coax the appropriate response out of him
"... the Hell do you want?"
The commander glared at him. "Don't test me, son. Command want you to be the second-in-command 'cos of your skill with weaponry, but the way I see it, that's wasted potential. I suggest you take a class in respect."
"Guess i should be grateful you're not in command, then," Aldway retorted.
"Jeth!" the commander barked, ignoring Aldway.
"Sir?" the third Knight replied rather timidly.
"You're the team's scout and espionage expert. Thanks to those stunts you pulled during the rebellion we managed to gain their plans and shut 'em down. You've earned it. That leaves you, Byron."
"Yessir," Byron responded without missing a beat.
"Your technical skills proved invaluable when dealing with that rebel base's security in the Frontier. Command thinks they'll prove equally valuabe in this squad."

The commander turned back to the monitor, changing the image to four unique suits of armour.

"You will be required to wear these prototype Spiral armour sets while in the field, and you will each be given a specific codename. Each one has been crafted with the utmost care. Maarv, you will be wearing this, and will be henceforth known as 'Death'."

The image focused on a set of Spiral armour, but altered to resemble something skeletal. It was somewhat bulky but didn't seem to be too overbearing, and was a pale violet in colour.

"Aldway, your armour's design originates from the Second Civilisation, from an age where weaponry had undergone a revolutionary change. You will be known as 'War'."

A set of armour styled after the fabled gunslingers from bygone times appeared, coloured red. For the first time, Aldway looked interested.

"Jeth, under the alias 'Famine', shall be wearing this."

A third set of armour appeared, modified to be sleeker and lighter, to grant the wearer significantly more freedom, tinted blue.

"Byron's armour may seem a tad bulky, but since nanotechnology hasn't taken off yet, we needed to compensate. Under the name 'Pestilence', your armour should contain all the hacking tools necessary to do your job sufficiently, and the built-in mechanical endoskeleton should help solve any weight issues."

The fourth set of armour, a seven-foot tall hunk of metal, appeared on the monitor. Byron looked ecstatic at the prospect of wearing it. The forearms were decorated with miniature screens and buttons, and the armor as a whole was tinted green.

"Now that that's covered, gentlemen..."

The commander turned off the monitor before facing the four Knights.

"Welcome to the Horsemen."

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

"Well, hello beautiful."
"What the Hell was that?" the girl gaped, staring at the carnage before her. "You just-"
"Did my job. I was ordered to rescue you from this area."
"Ordered by whom? Who do you serve under?"

Maarv tilted his head slightly. "Classified."
The girl blinked in surprise. "Just get me out of here."
"Okay, but you owe me."
"You're acting under orders. I owe you nothing."
"Typical rookie. Acting tough to impress. If you were half the operative you act, I wouldn't be here."
"How do you know-"

"Your dossier," Maarv replied smoothly, cutting across her.
"Who briefed you about me?"
"I did. I needed to find out about your skillset. Impressive given your lack of experience. I need you to help me with something."
The girl frowned at him. "Get me out of here. Now."
Maarv's brow furrowed. "Not a very thankful person, are you? I swear, these graduates get worse every year. Fine."

He approached the body of one of the fallen guards, looting a keycard from him. Walking back to the cell, he swiped the card through the reader, unlocking the cell door.

"Now, what do you want from me?"
"Not even a thank you... alright, I need someone with your skillset to join my squad."
"Your what? What squad?"
"I'll clue you in when we get back. I shouldn't be divulging classified information in a place with such tight security," he said, giving a mock cough.
"So let me get this straight. You come in to this building, kill every guard in here and approach me with a story that you're part of a classified squad, and you want me to just go with you? You're dressed like a skeleton, for crying out loud!"

Maarv looked down at himself. "Figured I'd dress for the occasion. Why, is it too much?"
She folded her arms. "Why should I go with you? Give me one reason."
"You'll become part of the most elite squad in the Order, and make a decent living. Our work is taxing, but the pay's pretty good. Don't worry, I'll watch your back 'til you can take care of yourself."
"Suppose I do go with you. Why do you need my skills. You've probably got someone like me anyway."
"We did," Maarv said, his tone changing slightly. "Jeth. He was a good man. Shot down by the Morai two months ago in an ambush. Never stood a chance."

"Oh," she said, sounding apologetic. "I didn't mean-"
"Not your fault. Look, I can't hang here all day. I need an answer from you, here and now. Will you join our squad?"
She hesitated, her eyes shifting to the dead soldiers on the ground, then back to him. “Will I at least get some better training, or something?”
“Sure. The Academy’s simulations are rather lacklustre anyway. You should be warned, though. It will be tough.”
"I can handle it," she said, sounding slightly boastful.
Maarv smirked. "You still have that spark in your eyes. Cherish it, 'cos we work in the dark. Right, let's move out."
"Before we go, what's your name?"
He turned to face her. "They call me 'Death'.
"That's a bit melodramatic."

He stuck his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground and teetering on the balls of his feet in a comedically insecure fashion.

"My friends call me Maarv," he said in a jokingly timid fashion. "What do they call you?"
She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you had my dossier."
"I do," he said, exchanging his insecure façade for a more regal one. "But a formal introduction is integral to the inner workings of a tightly-knit team, wot wot."
She smiled slightly in an exasperated fashion, shaking her head. "Adeena. Name's Adeena, alright?"
Maarv smiled. "Now was that so hard? C'mon, let's get out of here."

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

"Maarv."
"Commander."
"I assume you're aware of the Skylark Initiative by now. Oslo's been announcing it left and right lately."
"Yes, sir. You intend to have the Horsemen tag along with the other few million?"
"We don't know what to expect out there, and the ship's as big as a city. You'll be working onboard to quell any mutinies, should they arise."
Maarv raised his eyebrows. "I hope you intend to have us do more than work security, sir."

"Oh, please. Such work would be a waste of your team's talents, and an indirect waste of manpower and resources. No, should any of the possible simulation scenarios occur, you do what is necessary to help the Order in any way possible."
"I recall vowing to do so when I took this job fifteen years ago."
"And you've held to that. You think your team are up to the task?"
"Of course. Grant, Aldway and I have been doing this for over a decade. Adeena's come along nicely in the time she's been with us."
"You're sure you're judging her skills adequately, then?"

"What are you implying, sir?"
"There have been... rumblings about you and her in recent months."
"And you mean to tell me that a commander of the Spiral Order is falling victim to gossip? All due respect, I've just lost some respect for you."
"I'm just saying that you need to keep this professional. If these rumours are true, do not let them get in the way of your duty."

"Pssh, my duty," Maarv scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "My duty got my wife killed. My duty saw my friends die in front of me. The only reason I'm here is because I'm a man of my word. And I know my team. They're far beyond those meat-head grunts you send off to die."
"What we do is for progress. Those soldiers' deaths are tragic, but they are martyrs for the cause. I wouldn't expect someone like you o understand."

Maarv's face contorted in anger for a brief moment, before he managed to regain his composure.

"We should agree to disagree," he said with an assertive tone. "My team will be on that ship, and you can bet your ass they'll be 'adequate' enough to help if things go south."
The commander leered. "That's all I ask."

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

"So, how are you guys settling in?"
"This place bites!" Famine whined. "Why'd you have to bring us here?"
"Well, the Rescue Camp's a bit overcrowded, and we have no other available territory that can be used as a base. This mountain valley will have to do for now, at least until we find a place. HQ are sending a squad out to find anything that can be used as a makeshift hub to gather at."
"Figures," War scoffed. "We're the Spirals' dogs, and they keep us outside in the cold and rain no matter how many times we roll over for 'em."
"They mean well," Pestilence said. "But I agree. Nothing in the Code says anything about treating subordinates like dirt."

"Good thing you're my subordinates, and not theirs, then," Maarv replied. "We're operating outside their jurisdiction, so while we may serve as an instrument of their will, we are our own people. Come on, we've been doing this for over a decade, Grant. And Aldway, we're the last two of the original team. If you really hated the Order so much you would have quit sometime during the last fifteen years."
"Practice what you preach, Maarv," War said in a bored tone. "Subtle changes in your body language since your wife's untimely death suggest you don't care for them either. After all, it was their orders that caused that little mishap."

"Aldway," Maarv, said, his eyes narrowing. "Do not attempt to undermine me. I don't know what's gotten into you, but since we got here you've been so much more of an ass than usual."
"Maybe it's because their ineptitude stranded us here. And you follow them like a lapdog. If I die here on this desolate wastelend, so be it, but I at least want those stuck-ups at the top of the food chain to know that things won't stay friendly for long. We've been here, what, three days? What do we even know about this place?"

"We know it holds the key to getting back off it. We vowed to help this Order in any way we could. I would hope you remembered that, Aldway."
"Don't worry, I'll help," War replied, folding his arms. "In my way. Not theirs."
Maarv raised an eyebrow. "Right. Just don't get anyone killed and we'll be golden, I guess. Grant, a quick word, please."

Grant followed Maarv out of the mountain cavern to the plateau overlooking the Rescue Camp, visible as a speck of light five miles away from the mountain range.

"He's plotting something."
"Hmm?" Grant turned to him. "Who?"
"Aldway. Look, I've known him for a long time. I always figured he was bitter about his military history, but lately something's gotten to him."
"Oh, come on," Grant replied, rolling his eyes. "He's a strong guy. Like something could just change his-"

"His distaste for the Order has been around for a long time. I always entertained the idea that he was biding his time until a hostile takeover, but I chalked that down to overthinking it a little, that maybe it was a simple mistrust. But it makes sense. Since we got here, he's been more rebellious than usual. He was the last of us to make it to the camp. What if he encountered something, or someone? Someone who could play off his mistrust, and the knowledge that his being stranded here was their fault?"
"I highly doubt that-"

"Of course you do. You feel obligated to trust him just because he saved your ass. I'm just saying, do not let your guard down around him. Something big's going down. I can feel it. I don't want you realising how right I was only a few days before you get yourself killed."
"I'm telling you, he's not going to-"
"And what if he does? I need someone to trust. Adeena's not going to keep quiet about it, no matter how much I trust her. You can keep a secret."
"We aren't kids, Maarv. It's not like he's conspiring to steal your lunch money. Just let it go."

Turning on his heel, he walked back into the cave, leaving Maarv on the plateau.

"Wish I could, Grant," he mumbled to himelf. "For once I hope I'm wrong, but my gut says otherwise. If I die 'cause of Aldway, I at least hope my successor has enough sense to know what to do. Maybe you'll see sense then."

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

"This is Maarv of the Spiral Knights, under the alias 'Death', leader of the Four Horsemen. I leave this message to my succssor, in the hopes that he or she will make sense of what i believe to be a conspiracy. Maybe it's just paranoia, but I believe my suspicions are true about my colleague Aldway. My daughter has been threatened by who claim to be the Morai, but I know better. Nevertheless, I can't call this a bluff. If Aldway doesn't carry out this threat personally, maybe he'll get someone who will. The demands were that I must die so she can live. Naturally, I'm obligated to follow those demands. We are to sabotage a Gremlin munitions outpost tomorrow. I will take my life there, in the heat of battle.

"Some twenty years ago, after I left the Academy, I managed to outfit my HUD with a recording system, to record anything worthwhile that would help the Order. I have compiled several years' worth of footage onto this module, editing out all but what concerned the Horsemen. I did this to show the world who we were, what we did, and will happen, if my suspicions are true. I go against several lines of protocol that dictate secrecy, but I don't care.

"I can only hope that my successor, who will arrive as sure as I will die tomorrow, hears my words, sees my memories, and stops what very may well be a plot that could destabilise the Order. You may call me what you will, but I know something is wrong. Maybe you will be the one who makes all this deceit and suffering mean something. I wish you the best of luck, Death. Maarv out."

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

Cross shut off the recording, considering his predecessor's words as he sat on his mattress. He pondered how Maarv would have felt, knowing that he was right about War. He wondered how Grant would have felt, knowing how seriously his former leader took this gut instinct. He wondered how War never found this module, having been hidden in Cross' storage locker. Perhaps he never bothered to check, but most likely he never realised that Maarv suspected him.

What troubled Cross on a personal level, though, was how Famine acted around Maarv. There was something he couldn't place about her posture, small features in her face, inflections in her voice, that she never showed around him. Maybe War was right about her, but that was neither here nor there. What she was and what she is now are two completely different things.

Now came the question: what to do with the module? Would he give it to the Spirals, assuming he could even get close now that he was a public enemy? What would become of this Talbot's plot once uncovered? Would it become undone, or would he have a contingency in place to counteract this newfound knowledge? Cross pondered for a while before concluding that the Spirals were not yet ready to know, not until he was sure that Talbot's plan would fail. If War seemed to follow Talbot like his subordinate, what did that tell Cross? War was patient and ruthless, cunning and manipulative.
For all Cross knew, it was the tip of the iceberg where Talbot was concerned.

He turned the module over in his hand. He had seen every assignment Maarv had been a part of. Every debriefing, conversation, every piece of banter. Why is it that Cross only focused on the founding of the Horsemen, Famine's recruitment, Maarv's discussion just before the Skylark's send-off, and his shared suspicion with Grant? Perhaps it was his own selfish curiosity regarding Famine. He noted how he was unable to call her by her real name now that he knew it. She should at least have told him. She owed him her name. He felt deceived. Used.

The Spirals would soon track him to the hideout. He'd need a way out. The emercency elevator would serve to take him to the outskirts, but the Wardens would be alerted to his prescence. He could use Hephaestus one last time, creating a new set of armour for himself, then, under his new guise, he could go to Vatel and undergo optical surgery so he would be unlikely to be identified, at least for the time being. And what of the hideout? Once the Spirals find it, Hephaestus could send the economy into turmoil. The solution was simple. Bring out the Harbinger one last time, before discarding it, and his old life forever.

"Here's to the future, with regards to the past," Cross said, stuffing the module in his backpack. "Because right now, the present is being a real pain."