Misquote

Whoever once said, “War never changes,” was lying through their teeth.

Here in Pitstop, war changed more often than a teenager choosing what clothes to wear for prom. Whether it was two drunks accidentally escalating to a full-blown gang civil war, or the international conflict currently taking place through the streets, the only thing that never changed about war was the fools who believed its nature always stayed the same.

Despite their superior weapons and equipment, the Greerians were not prepared for their enemy. They have fought in many battles in The Mids, but in The Depths, the rules of war were different. They did not exist. As was the line between combatant and civilian. One moment, a gangster was shot dead. In the next, a child comes up to pick up the weapon and continue where he left off.

In the end, Greerian soldiers were human. For Pitstoppers, humanity was optional.

As the fighting raged on in every nook and cranny of the town, the siege of Bottom’s Down was drawing to its end. The massage parlor looked more like a fishing net than a building, utterly riddled with holes. Yet, it still stood tall, looking over the corpses of meat and metal alike. Be it gangster or soldier, car or APC, none could take down the walls of the fortress, hardened by Lynn’s earthen Gift.

In the waiting area-turned machine gun nest, sandbags blocked the entrance, but not the smell of gunpowder. Cartridge boxes replaced customers. Shell casings decorated the floor. Yet somehow, despite being polluted by the taint of battle, the faint scent of eucalyptus and other essential oils lingered. The receptionist and the beautician gossiped behind the counter, killing time after killing their enemies.

-----

Subject: Mia | Classif.: Barzakh

Mia found the endless droning about men and relationships far more grating than the sound of machine gun fire. Even though it was loud, at least it was consistent. Reliable. Straight-to-the-point. Whatever nonsense the two ladies were spouting about “sending signals” and “zodiac signs” was a lot more painful to follow. If the guy was a bad guy, just shoot him. Why the need to overcomplicate things?

The conversation kept going around in circles. A verbal Ouroboros eating itself. She tuned out of the talking by focusing on something actually useful. Fixing one of the malfunctioning assault rifles. The weapon in question lay on the floor behind the sandbags, tossed aside in favor of another weapon.

The familiar texture of plastic and polymer in her hands felt like a friend. If she had one other than her Dad, that was. After having confirmed that a bullet was stuck in the barrel, she breathed a sigh of relief. The masseuse who used it earlier made the right choice not to continue firing and risk the weapon exploding in her face.

The little girl disassembled the firearm effortlessly, her tiny fingers making it seem like a toy. But instead of a complete field strip, she took apart just enough components to insert a metal rod through the barrel. Grime and gunpowder made the obstruction more stubborn than she liked. But after a bit of wiggling around, the bullet plopped out safely.

“My, my! You actually fixed it!” Having just returned from the restroom, the masseuse clasped her hands, impressed at the young girl’s expertise.

“It’s dirty. You need to clean it more,” Mia explained as she reassembled the weapon. “Don’t play around with squib loads.”

“Anything you say, Mia. You’re a lifesaver!”

Mia got up and instructed, “Look after the MG.”

“Huh? Where are you going?”

“I need to talk with Granny Grace. You all need better ammo.”

The masseuse sighed as the young girl left. Most of the staff were taking a much-needed break during this lull in the fighting, but the kid worked tirelessly. She was like a machine. A killing machine. No wonder Granny Grace had such a soft spot for her.

Mia made her way upstairs, grateful for finally having an excuse to escape from the pointless rambling. As the sound of the harpies faded out, streaks of light shone through the bullet holes in the wall next to the staircase. Shards of glass scraped the floor as the soles of her shoes stepped onto them. The gnawing desire to clean this mess was making her finger twitch, but she had bigger trash to take out at the moment.

Opening the door to the private room, she couldn’t believe her eyes and ears.

“So after she shot his ass, she said, ‘you get to choose which hole to shit from!’ Can you believe it?!”

Grace gestured wildly, her hands painting a vivid image that she couldn’t see, but perfectly visible to Mia and Lynn, the Immortal slapping her own thigh as she laughed like a jammed gun. Her short breaths mimicked the “poof” of a squib load. Tears streamed down her flushed face.

“Granny! How—Why is she drunk? Again!” The young girl resisted the urge to cure Lynn’s intoxication with a bullet to the brain, killing intent spewing through her voice.

“This young lady said she needed to build her alcohol tolerance!” Grace explained as she spawned a bottle from a compartment in her wheelchair. “So I told her, ‘the best time to start was yesterday, and—’”

“The second best time is hic now!”

“Aaaayyyy!”

The two women clinked their bottles. The bubbles inside popped in fear, reacting to the sound of Mia’s veins popping.

“Dad can be here at any time! The bad guys can come back at any time!”

Lynn got up from her seat, declaring, “Then I shall smite them with the full wrath of the Council!”

She raised her bottle to her lips, only for it to shatter from a precise shot from Mia.

“Why you littl—”

“WAKE. UP.” Her pistol shifted slightly, aim moving from where the bottle was to her head.

Lynn stomped her way to the girl, energy flowing out of her palm as a streak of light. Her Regalia, the sword that seemingly broke in their first battle, materialized in her grasp in perfect condition.

“Now, now, kids!” Grace mediated. “If you wanna go, take it outside~” Wrong. She instigated.

Mia and Lynn stared daggers at each other, sharp enough to blind the old woman a second time. Their faces red, one in drunken fury and the other furious at the drunk.

“If it wasn’t for Dad, I’d put you in a box and drown you again and gain.”

“I’d like to see you try, midget.”

Grace downed another bottle. “Ooooh I’d love to see this!”

Baring her clenched teeth, Lynn’s numb face twisted, redrawn into that of a smile. The satisfaction on her face made Mia’s skin crawl. As if the Immortal wanted nothing more than to get a kick out of her.

But she refused to get riled up. She had seen it many times before. An expression worn by bad guys. The desire to inflict suffering on others for no other reason than personal satisfaction. She did not know what her Dad saw in this sadist. What purpose was there in prolonging her life more than the other assassins they dealt with in the past? Dad got things wrong pretty often. This had to be one of them.

Before they could take it outside, the outside called for them. Two honks of a car horn ended the fight before it began.

“Dad’s here,” grumbled Mia. She holstered her gun, but not her knife-like stare. “See you, Granny. And please tell the staff to get new ammo.”

Grace smiled, extending her arms. “Not before you give ol’ Granny a hug.”

The young girl did exactly as she was asked. But even as she wrapped her arms around the elderly woman, she did not break eye contact with the Immortal. Not even for a bit. Her body showed love, but her eyes only had contempt.

The Immortal chuckled, sheathing her sword. Mia could read the drunk’s mind like a book. Lynn wanted to peel off all her layers. Her Shapeshifting. Her secrets. Her soul.

You are truly your father’s daughter. Apple and tree one and the same. Those were the words written behind both of those glassy, bloodshot eyes.

Mia watched the Immortal stumbling her way out of the room, following closely behind. From the staircase to the entrance, the girl hoped to see her slip and break a bone or two. Preferably, the spinal cord. Enough to get her paralyzed, but not enough to kill her and trigger resurrection via immortality. But the little girl’s colorful imagination was partially wiped away when she saw her father, standing beside the new car.

“Dad!”

Running into his arms, she was scooped up into a hug. Unlike the one she gave to Grace, this was genuine.

“Sorry, made a few detours. Stopped by the house to get as much of your stuff as I could.”

Mia’s eyes lit up seeing many of her weapon cases and bags through the rear passenger window.

“But I thought the house…”

“The neighbors helped.”

“Mortis. We meet again.” Lynn said, pointing her index finger at him.

“... Is she still drunk?”

“Granny Grace’s fault.”

Setting his daughter down, Tim approached the awkwardly posed woman. But before she could react, his palm was already on her forehead.

-----

Subject: Terilynn Veranos | Classif.: Barzakh

“Get your traitorous hands off me!”

She swiped his hand away, readying to counter with a punch, only to stop mid-swing. Her light-headedness, that floaty feeling, vanished. Mind and vision unblurred, sharpened to their default state. With just a single touch, the intoxication was gone. Or so it seemed.

Tim inspected his palm, red spreading from the center to his fingertips. A finger from his other hand tapped on the surface. Testing its elasticity. Gauging the sound. Lynn observed this strange behavior with curiosity, unburdened by alcohol. She knew he was a skilled healer, a reputation that set him apart from all the previous holders of the title of Mortis. But this seemed less like healing, more like him “stealing” her ailment.

“... Molly’s baijiu…” Tim mumbled. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

“What?”

But before confusion could spread any further, Lynn felt her stomach exploding. Fire erupted from within, burning upward and pouring out of her mouth as vomit.

Raising one foot up, Tim avoided the freak accident from touching his shoe. “I guess that’s a ‘no.’” With a bit of regret, he took out his handkerchief and offered it to her.

Even after letting it all out, Lynn swallowed her ego, taking the piece of cloth from him. Begrudgingly so.

“If you did that in my car, I’d have killed you.”

“If you wanted to heal me, why not do it BEFORE you left?”

“Just to get drunk with Grace again? I’m dumb, but not that stupid.”

Grace shouted from behind the second-floor window, “I can hear you, you know!”

“Thanks for taking care of her!” Tim cupped his hands as he shouted back. “You sure you can handle things from here?”

“You are dumber than you think! Who’d you think you’re talking to, huh?” Grace’s smile could be heard in her voice alone. “Mr. Tim! Don’t you dare forget what we talked about, you hear!”

“Yup! And make sure you save a spot for me!”

Grace chuckled before saying, “Now hurry up and get your ass outta here!”

“You heard her,” Tim said. “Now get in the car.”

“I thought you wanted to talk?”

“You’ve caused plenty of trouble, Princess. We’ll talk once these damn things stop following us.”

Drawing his revolver, Tim aimed it up into the air, pulling the trigger and shattering his wrist. Seconds later, a drone exploded midair, pieces of metal and plastic raining all over.

“Get in the car,” he instructed.

Lynn never even realized this machine was there, or the fact that it was observing them in the first place. When did mortals employ such machinery in their fold? Many other questions crept between the folds of her brain, but she knew there was little point in asking them.

For now, she had to play along with this traitor. She may have lost the first “chess match,” but not the war. A new war, one unlike anything that came before it.