In the shadow of these toppled titans a gathering of angels and demons had formed; although one would be hard pressed to say which was which.

On one side of the broken street stood the Screemers. They wore their colors of gray and bone-white proudly; each of the ragtag survivors hardened by the last few days of bloodshed. So far from their home, they'd cut out a new one from the turf of the Kane's Boyz. The cost had been surprisingly low, but at their weakened strength even the loss of four members would be felt long into the future. That was if they lived through the next few minutes, of course. Like the ground itself, nothing in the Fallen Plaza was certain.

At the front of their group stood a lone figure. The humid wind caught the flaps of her long coat, making them snap and twitch. Asha ignored the sting from the strands of her hair whipping her cheeks and neck. She ignored the blistering ache of two cracked ribs; a parting gift from Kane before she snapped his neck and cast him into a subbasement pit. She ignored the faces of all she and her `family' had killed to come this far. She ignored the twisted and deformed legion of demons waiting to hang her from the nearest lamppost. Her focus remained solely upon the man standing twenty feet away.

One the other side of the street waited the Glorious Lords. Few in the Tatters hadn't heard of them and their foul deeds. They gave up their lives to the gang; devoting their minds and flesh to the demon-king, Astaroth. Their scarified bodies were testament to their loyalty; their cruel augmentations proof of their power. They'd controlled much of the Fallen Plaza for a hundred years. Unless God intervened, they'd likely rule for a hundred more.

At their head, the focus of Asha's attention, stood Astaroth. Much of his inhuman form had been augmented beyond rationality. His metallic skin reflected the ruins around him in perfect relief. His arms, all four of them, were corded ferromuscle, steel, and razors. His feet were three-toed talons like a prehistoric predator. Sharp spines had been welded to his back and shoulders; ribbons of his last victims still clung to them like wet rags. Finally, Astaroth's face, perhaps the only piece of flesh remaining on him, had been stretched and stapled to his rusty coif. A ruined mouth quirked in mild amusement as his mirrorshaded eyes stared blankly at Asha. When he spoke, Astaroth's voice sounded like ear-cutting feedback.

"Your work on the Kane's Boyz has bought you five minutes, bitch," he yelled across the rubble-strewn street. "Tell me why I shouldn't put a smile on my face and have you crucify every last one of you."

Asha's insides churned at the sight of the Glorious Lords. They had been lucky... damned lucky with the Boyz.

'Some luck,' she thought, forcing herself not to look away, or worse retch, at the figure that Astaroth cut. The only thing that kept her going along this insane path was the fact that there was really no other choice. They were stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place- or more literally the known factor of the Glorious Lords and the unknown of whatever it was behind them.

In the face of that unknown that had chewed up and spit out other gangs - stronger gangs - like so much soypro, Astaroth was indeed the lesser of two evils.

"Bitch?!?" She yelled back. "You saw how we fucked up the Boyz and you're going to start off with that shit?!?"

Though inwardly she recoiled at her words, Grey had let her know that any weakness that she showed would cause the Lords to come down on them. And they were in no shape for a fight with the Lords.

"Ain't gon' front with you... you come after us, and you'd win. But believe me, this is one meatgrinder you don't wanna put your hand into. You're smarter than that, I thought..." She paused just enough time to let the echoes across the emptiness fade into silence.

"Those 'bots are coming this way, so neither of us can afford the mess a fight would bring right now. This is the border of your turf- but you can't defend all of it, even if you did take it from us. We can't use all of the warez we got from the Boyz..." She motioned, and from behind her, two Screemers bore forward under the weight of a makeshift planquin filled with a good share of what they had looted from the Boyz. Though the gang was initially resistant to the idea of giving so much of what they fought for up, they realized that appeasing the Lords was their only hope... or at least most of them did. The rest were sporting new bruises from Grey's persuasion tactics.

"...so consider this a gesture of good faith. Non-aggression as long as the 'bots are scraping through the Tatters."

The two that had gone forward to bear the palanquin dropped it just outside of their lines and scrambled back, using the terrain as cover.

Asha looked across the intervening distance, holding her breath... waiting for Astaroth's reply...

The gimp scuttled across the street, arms swaying like an ape. Up close, Toe Cheese smelled of blood and boiled leather. His skin looked like rancid mayonnaise and his nose twitched feverishly. He examined the weapons and armor, stroking them provocatively. From time to time, he'd stare up at Asha; licking his cracked lips with a hideous tongue. Fortunately, he looked away before his soiled mind could affect her. Whether it was the guns or Asha's angelic curves, he seemed pleased. He scuttled back to Astaroth with relish. Stroking the man's thigh, the gimp began to gibber and coo. Eventually, Astaroth pushed Toe Cheese away and refocused his vile gaze on Asha, "The Glorious Lord don't have friends; we have Blood Brothers. You've got my respect, woman. So I offer this once. Join in the Blood Bond and you can rule the Fallen Plaza with us. Otherwise…"

His electronic voice drifted off as he gestured to his troops. A coterie of men and women dressed in leather and religious garb stepped forward; dragging what looked like a man between them. It was hard to tell what he looked like under the bruises and dried blood. The spiral tattoo on his chest revealed his allegiance to the Kane's Boyz; probably a survivor of the brief war. From the way he choked and whimpered, Asha could tell someone had taken his tongue. The Lords threw him in front of Astaroth, who grabbed each of the man's limbs in his four arms. With a quick yank, the man was quartered in a messy spray. The torso fell on the concrete with a sickening splat. It continued to twitch and howl for several agonizing minutes before its brain finally realized it was dead.

"Yes or no?" Astaroth hissed.

Sickened at the display, it was all Asha could do not to avert her head and retch. But she steeled herself, even as her stomach turned flipflops. At the moment, it was all she could do not to look back at Grey. She felt horribly lost... she knew that they could not stand up against the Lords. But Blood Brothers? Even if that didn't sound totally vile, she could not see herself entering into any permanent arrangement with this monster.

But, was it up to her to make that choice? Like it or not, she was leader of these people... and they put their lives on the line with her. Was it her right to make a decision based on her preferences without taking into account the gangers? And what does being a blood brother mean?

Finally, she could see the impatience sinking in, and knew that she had to make *some* choice... and now!

Barely trusting herself to speak, she answered, "Yes."

Asha could almost feel her gang's tension radiate and grow. The Screemers had protected their independence with blood and honor. Now cruel fate that undone that cherished virtue. To be bound to these… people in any way went against their very souls. But certain death could make even the pious into converts. They kept their worries masked behind silence.

Asha bit her lower lip until it almost drew blood. She had no *idea* if this was the right way to go. It seemed so horribly wrong! But she could see no other choice. In the end, she was not sure if it was her mortality blinding her, or just the insanity of the situation...

Overcome by this show of solidarity, the blows didn't hurt so much as they healed. She had done the best she could with the situation- and had come out, if not on top, then at least not 6 feet under.

Breakbone, a hulking Amazon with vibrant golden hair, had rarely shown affection to Asha. Now she slipped her lioness' tail around Asha's waist almost seductively. "Yas done did gud," she said; her voice sounding more like a growl thanks to the huge teeth in her bioaugmented mouth. "I tot I'd had ta gut ya whens Grey tud us yers plan. But dis is better dan dyin, uh-huh."

Asha smiled at the woman's words that echoed her own thoughts. "Any day you survive is a good day," she answered.

Sevilen, a wiry fellow with bright purple hair, smirked at this. "What my galpal is trying to say is you might hear some griping, but we're behind you. This'll buy us the time we need. And it was real horror-show cutting up those Boyz. Just don't ask us to go to church with those nutters, kay?"

Asha shuddered inwardly at that thought. "Church? I'm not even looking forward to the feast with them. But watch yourselves- we're in, but not so much that a slip wouldn't put us right back where we started. Keep your thoughts to yourselves- but definitely keep them." She looked at the ruins as they passed through- and past them to the skies beyond. As such, she began to notice the sky growing darker than even it's usual scorched appearance as they neared the centre of the Glorious Lords' turf...

Breakbone seemed slightly confused by Asha's words, but then again, it was to be expected for someone who'd taken one or two .44-caliber slugs to the forehead. Sevilen, however, got it right away, and said so, "Sure thing, boss. By the way, we need a really good name for you soon. A blood name. The Lord's expect it. Asha just won't cut the grade. We could think of one for you, if ya like."

Breakbone hrumphed, "Ya. Yes need a real horror-show nick, boss. Put da fear of the Screemers inta douse Lords. Case dey tries anytink."

The Fallen Plaza grew increasingly dark as the sun disappeared behind the broken apartment towers. Torches had been lit along the streets, marking the spirit of celebration. Up ahead, the Temple of Ktonor loomed in the smog like a squat toad; its black maw waiting for prey to wander too close. Formerly a civil defense bunker, the Temple had been scrawled with the arcane graffiti of the Lords; pledging their allegiance and reverence to He Who Walks In Darkness. Many Lords were already drinking and shooting up on the Temple's front steps. Some of the Screemers had joined them; and it appeared they were getting along thankfully. The majority of the Plaza's gutters, however, had enough sense to remain hidden in their homes and hovels. Blood was in the air tonight, both figuratively and literally. Only a fool or a ganger would be out right now.

When the thin man stepped out of a shadow, Asha couldn't tell which category he fell into.

The man was a figure of duality. His face appeared princely, somehow both rugged and kind. His violet eyes spoke of friendship and yet forewarning. Although several inches shorter than Asha, he seemed bigger somehow; as if his mere presence gave him stature. His mottled green hair curled around his neck, barely hiding a long scar from Adam's apple to collarbone. He held himself well in his battered leather duster, fading blue jeans, and worn 13-hole Docs. He did not, however, have any gang markings whatsoever. This close to him, Asha could feel her skin tingle; her empathic shapeshifting triggered by his proximity.

"Lady Asha?" he said in a refined voice.

Breakbone and Sevilen stepped forward, reaching for their weapons. Immediately, the man held up his hands in surrender. The action revealed the outline of two Damocles MG-14 Assassin's at his sides. This only served to make the two gangers combative.

"I'm just here to talk with your leader, kids. Let's not get off on the wrong foot shall we?"

Apparently there was a third category out tonight. Asha could tell that the man was not a ganger- and he definitely did not carry the air of a fool. Looking beyond, Asha scoped him out... trying to get a feel for what the man was... MG-14 Assassins were not exactly in supply in the Tatters. Holding up her hand to stop Breakbone and Sevilen, Asha tried to decide how to play this. Decisions... they were being forced on her in rapid succession, and it was only a matter of time before she made the wrong one. Shifting into fugue, her mind rapidly processed the data on the man. His surrender showed several things other than the weapons. One, he was sure enough of himself that he didn't need his hands near his guns to be dangerous. Two, any trouble he posed was not immediate, even for that- if he had wanted to attack, he would have done it from ambush, and she had no doubts that there would have been two more of her family to mourn for. Third, he had knowledge- he knew not only *who* she was, but apparently more than that by the form of address he used.

So not bravado or force. She shifted, her stance changing even as her features flowed and her natural abilities started to work. "Talk is a valuable commodity in the Tatters, traded in more confidence than even flesh and blood," Asha started, catching the man's eye. Her recent wound throbbed with pain as she recalled the truth of this. "So... talk. And we shall see what your words are truly worth."

"That it is, that it is," he said. "My words are for you, though. Not your loyal companions. No offense, of course."

Breakbone and Sevilin glanced at Asha briefly, remaining where they were.

Asha moved not at all- even thought she didn't think that they would make any difference in his actions, it was reassuring to know that they were there.

The man smirked, "You can call me Rook, by the way. I've been watching your little display of fealty to the Lords with some interest. Seems an ill matching, but a necessary one to be sure. What with those other nasties breathing down your neck. Hell, I might do the same thing in your place. But here's the problem. Astaroth isn't afraid of those nightwalkers chasing you, even though he should be. He's more than likely to take them head on. That could be very messy and definitely fatal for all of you."

His shark-white grin broadened, "But, because you're such a pretty one, I'm willing to tell you how to convince him otherwise. I'd hate to see that lovely face become an Ephemeride's trophy. Sort of like letting the Mona Lisa get torched. This is only if you're interested, of course. I don't want to intrude."

Asha's eyes narrowed as she heard him refer to the intruders by name. "An Ephemeride? Let's deal with that first, shall we? What is an Emphemeride?"

Asha was thankful for the twilight as it hid the changes taking place over her body. By now, her hair had taken on a dark shade of lavender and her fingers had grown a layer of webbing between each digit. The increasing swell of her breasts pressed tightly against her outfit, straining the cloth. She also sensed she'd lost an inch or two, gaining more in the hips and belly as a result. While her companions hadn't noticed the shapeshifting, the man definitely had and smiled appreciatively.

Rook stared out into space as he spoke; painting a picture with his melodic voice and fluid hand movements. "An Ephemeride is a thing of no lasting significance; an expendable shell with one dark purpose. To kill without question or remorse. It doesn't believe in gain, it doesn't understand concepts like `turf,' or `mercy,' or `humanity.' And it's never alone."

He smirked at the skeptical looks Breakbone and Sevilin were giving him. "Hey, I'm not making this shit up. You've seen what happened to the Razorbacks. Well, they weren't the first and you're the next."

He shifted on his perch as if he were mimicking Snoopy's vulture impression. "You've been marked as test subjects; something to examine the combat perimeters of the Ephemerides as well as some other nastiness. It's all part of the Mark-13 project. Some civic engineer's sick sense of humor I think naming it after the bible passage; you know the one. 'No flesh shall be spared.' Either that or he's into cult films.

"One way or another, you've got several squads of hunter-killers with the latest augmentations black-ops biotech can provided looking for you."

While uncomfortable with the way this was going, Asha was not going to let discomfort stop her from utilizing every advantage that she had. They had *no* information on this enemy, and she'd be damned if she was going to keep going against enemies blindfolded. She smiled as she spoke to him, adjusting her bodice to accentuate the obvious changes as she caught his eye, waiting for the answer to her question...

Rook grinned softly, his eyes traveling over Asha's transformed body with keen interest. "After we're done here, we'll have to get down to you and me of it all."

"Well," Asha drawled slowly, "to get to you and me, there has to be some 'me' left." She wet her lips with her tongue in a movement both sensuous and necessary to hide the revulsion she felt at the thought of any time alone with the man. "So, tell me. What did you have in mind for handling Astaroth?"

Rook leaned back and laughed loudly. His strange manner made Asha's companions nervous and their hands remained poised over their weapons. The man wiped a tear from his cheek, and tried to catch his breath. "Oh, I do like you. Thank god that apple rolled, I must say. Don't worry, angel. Where I come from, that look is the height of fashion. Someday, you'll have to tell me how you pulled it off."

Kicking both feet out from under himself, Rook hopped back down to the street. "As for Astaroth, well, I'd have thought you'd figured him out by now. He's all about power and respect. If you have the power, you're respected. The same goes for the Glorious Lords. They respect him, because he's feared. Now, perhaps with good reason, Astaroth fears nothing and no man. Or so he'd have you believe."

He picked up a cinderblock in one hand. "In truth, he does fear one thing. A creature so terrible, they've built a religion around it." Without a hint of effort, Rook tosses the cinderblock seventy feet across the roadway. It arches and perfectly flies through an open sewer grating; little more than an inch wider than the thrown piece of concrete. He observes his work momentarily, then removes a nicstick from his jacket.

The glow of his match outlines the angles of his features in the darkness. For an instant, he looks like a jackal; canine eyes reflecting the light. "You see Asha; for you to control Astaroth you've got tp out fear into him. Only one thing can do that. You've to kill a god."

Asha looked at the man, evaluating his profile, looking for any sign that the man is toying with her. Innuendoes aside, her fate was one thing that she did not trifle with for anyone. It came as a dawning realization that the man might actually be serious...

Asha's heightened cognitive functions provided her with a keen insight far beyond that capable of mere human observation. Rook's duality immediately became evident. He was surely hiding his true personality under this oafish exterior. She doubted he'd ever reveal his true nature anytime soon. However, he did not appear in any way dishonest in his words. She sensed no deception there, although he appeared to be holding back some details. From his annoyed expression, as subtle as it was, towards Asha's companions, Rook had little intention of being truly forthcoming in their presence. He acted like an adult talking in front of children.

"I do hope that we are dealing in metaphors and symbols," she said slowly. "Being caught between killing a god and these 'Ephemerides' does not seem like an enviable place to be."

She sighed, closing her eyes. She knew she had to become proactive, rather than reactive. Events had up to know kept her on the ropes, dodging threats, rather than making true progress. Somehow she had to take the reins. But how?

She looked at Rook, catching those glittering, laughing eyes. "By the nature of your information so far, I gather that you require something for more specific details. What is your price?"

Rook snorted, "What price? What price? You wound me, Lady Asha." He spun on his heel, clutching his chest as if struck a harsh blow. Still `staggering,' he came to rest against the twisted remains of a girder. In the darkness, she could see his eyes flicker with the ember glow of his nicstick. "I'll give /you/ this information for free, my darling; although a tender kiss would be much appreciated. However, this present is for you and you alone. Only heroes can kill a god, after all."

Asha flinched as he called her a hero- for she considered herself as far from that as one could get. A hero confronted problems head on, and protected those who depended upon them. She had too much blood on her hands from inaction- had let too many people down to ever consider herself a hero. She forced herself from the grip of painful memories back to the here and now to continue to listen to the man... she had to put herself aside.

He took another drag and sent a column of sweet-smelling smoke up into the air. "As for metaphors and symbols, I couldn't rightly tell you, luv. The Lords think He Who Walks In Darkness is a god, and no one's questioned the fact. Well, no one alive anyway. That patchwork monstrosity is about as close to a real god as you or I will ever get, Lady Asha. Trust me; killing him will be no mean feat.

She frowned. His words were confusing to her- they brought up feelings and memories that she would rather repress. Memories of another time when she had been given a similar choice- and failed miserably. She rubbed her arms and hugged herself unconsciously- suddenly the night had turned chill. Or was it just her?

"But I've watched you, angel. You have his look to you. The cheekbones, the hair, the eyes. If my hunch is correct, you just might be the hero to do the job."

She wanted to ask questions... but she knew he wouldn't answer. Not unless she were willing to...

Though she knew that Breakbone and Sevilin wouldn't like it, she knew it had to be done. "Give us a few minutes," she said in a tone that expected them to leave...

Rook combed his green hair back with a broad hand. "Thought they'd never leave," he laughed. Sitting down, he stared up at Asha. His nicstick had grown short, and he flicked it off into the darkness. Some embers flew up, starling a pack of gopher-sized rats watching them from the shadows.

"The Glorious Lords worship a false god; a creature manufactured by science rather than spawned by faith. He Who Walks In Darkness isn't immortal in the mythical sense of the word. It can be killed just like anything else. But doing that is another matter entirely. And you have to do it quickly. Before the Lords catch a glimpse of the Ephemerites."

He chuckled, "You see, He Who Walks In Darkness was a mistake; a glitch. Part of the Mark-13 project that went very wrong. And as powerful as Crown Enterprises is, not even they could keep that thing locked up for long. The Ephemerites are based on its original design specs. Not the neurostructure, of course. They needed something more pliable for their plans. But here's the rub. The body structure is quite similar. So if the Lords see one, they'll probably think the damn things are avatars from their dark lord. They'll probably even worship the damned things as they get wiped out one by one. `Our lord is displeased,' or some such crap."

"Somehow, I don't find any of this amusing," Asha said drily.

Rook rolled his eyes and hrumphed loudly. "And the acorn theory rears its ugly head once more. You lot are by far the stodgiest buggers the world's ever seen. Trust me, luv. A sense of humor will do you good."

He tilted his head with a coy smirk. "So would a new bra, I'd say. Just what the hell is happening with you, anyhow? Not that I'm complaining, of course!"

Self-conscious despite herself at the size she had become, Asha crossed her arms reflexively in front of her. Then realizing what she was doing, she forced herself to relax. "You have a dirty mind," she said, frowning.

"From spending all that time in the gutter, I'd suspect," he laughed. "Still, you're beautiful, Asha. A truly intriguing creature. Not like all these shadows and fragments. Don't hide your looks. Use them. I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

Rook pointed at Asha, "But if you kill their god first, you become the new messiah. Then you can stand up to the Ephemerites when they come knocking at your door. And they will. I've seen the files. CE has marked your gang for termination. All in the name of science, of course."

"All right," Asha said exasperatedly. "I give up."

"You've hinted around... with a smug look on your face like you know more about me than I do. Why do you think I'm the one for this? What do you know about me that would make you think I'm your heroine?"

Rook shrugged, "If I told you, I'd have to kill you, I'm afraid."

He scratched the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, then shrugged again. "Ah well. I've got nothing better to do anyway."

One moment, Rook was sitting; the next he was in front of Asha, putting his hands upon her shoulders. She doubted his intentions were hostile, because her heightened reactions didn't go off. Instead, the man smiled broadly; puffing himself up like a preening peacock. He let the moment drag out for dramatic effect; so much so Asha imagined hearing "Pomp and Circumstance" playing in the background.

"You…" he announced in a throaty voice, "Are… Family!"

Rook hugged her tightly, sniffling with alligator tears. "Oh I've missed you SOOOOO much! No really. I have!"

Her eyes widened, as she wedged her arms between them and pushed him off violently. "If we are family, that makes you a perverse little bastard!"

Breathing heavily, her chest heaved with the emotions she felt. With effort, she forced herself to calm down. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked at last.

Rook stumbled back and put the back of his hand to his mouth in order to stifle the peals of laughter. He waggled his other hand apologetically. "Heh. I didn't mean direct, two-headed-baby-your-mama's-my-sister type family, darling. No, no. We're, hell… let me think now. Well, at least a dozen generations removed, I'd say. Give or take. But I'm still a perverse, little bastard. Quite literally, actually."

He knelt down, staring up at her with puppy dog eyes. "But trust me, your bloodline broke off from mine a /long/ time ago. So, when I say family, I'm taking about blood, here. The essence that makes you who you are. The same blood that made Franx who he was. The same blood that made your mother the women who she was. A Stormer, through and through."

"What is a Stormer? And how do you know about Franx?"

Rook began to comb his hair back as he talked, "As for a Stormer, that's you, honeybunny. You aren't from this world, are you? Something brought you here from another place. Another world. Sure we've got bio-sculpted wings around here, but those are home grown, ain't they? Tell me I'm wrong."

At his words, Asha shrunk in on herself even more than she had under his lavscious gaze- in truth, she felt more stripped naked by these words than any kind of sexual innuendo could cause. She gave an involuntary glance to make sure that there were no tale-tell hints of her wings showing...

"How did you..." She shook her head, cutting off her question as he continued.

His smile spread like an oil slick on a crystalline pond. "Why, angel, we gods and monsters know everything. Don't be look surprised."

He chuckled softly, putting his comb away. "A Stormer can change things, do things. Alter the world around them. We're different, you and I. We can see beyond the Veil of this place. Like Franx. But he pushed the limits before he was ready and the gods-on-high put a 100,000 kilowatt cap in his ass, didn't they?"

His eyes glimmered along with his white teeth, "So tell me. Why haven't you gone back home?"

"I... I didn't know that I could. Franx was trying to when he ... was destroyed. I figured that if I tried..." She shut her eyes against the images that involuntarily flooded her mind. "Besides... there's nowere to go, and I have my people to take care of."

There was the hint of a blood red tear in the corner of her right eye as the memories came back. She silently stood there shaking against them, more than the cold of the approaching night.

"Ah yes, your people," he said quietly. "Well, it's good a reason as any I suppose."

"As for Franx, the man was an arrogant fool. He got what was coming to him. It saddens me it happened so soon though."

Then he notices her distress and sighs audibly. Closing the distance between them, he lightly cupped her cheek in his velvet hand. A smile of genuine affection lit his darkened features. "There, there now. Don't be upset, my luv. Now that I've found you again, everything is going to turn out just fine. Trust me. I'd never let anything happen to any relation of mine. Hush now. We'll sort this out, you and I. Then, maybe, we can take you to see your home."

He lightly pulled her to his chest, not forcefully; allowing her the choice of seeking comfort in his strong arms.

Wiping away the last vestiges of the crimson tears, she asked, "'Home'? What do you mean by that?"

"Home. Where you mother lived. The place you were born, Asha. Or, if you like, you can seek out a new home. It's time someone of your importance, your grace, shouldn't be living in this filth, this degradation. You are above this, my dear. Far above it. When we are done here, I will help you reclaim your birthright. At the very least, you shouldn't have to wonder where your next meal is going to come from; be it a trash can or a Quik-Mart."

He gestured into the dark, pointing out the shadowy forms of the gangers keeping watch. "The night is calling you, Asha. Best heed that summons. Celebrate, put on a happy face, get shnoggered. We'll handle the demons and devils in the morning. Besides, I have things to take care of myself."

He pulled up the collar of his trench as if expecting rain. Then without a true goodbye, he started walking out into the Sprawl. His melodic voice faded quickly, swallowed by the night. "Machine City, here I come, right back where I started from…"

As she rounded the corner, the revelry was starting in its full splendor. Though there were still clumps of Screemers here and there, the sheer number of Glorious Lords precluded her gang from staying separate from the Lords. As she approached, Breakbone and Sevilin looked up at her with uncertainty. Finally, Breakbone broke the silence.

"Is the little man gone?" The gruff woman surely knew the answer to her query, but Asha nodded anyway.

"I think the natives are getting restless," Sevilin said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the revelries. Short on animals, the sound of human misery could be heard beyond towards a clump of cages. "Some of the Boyz apparently have been thrown in with the animals," Sevilen offered in way of explaination.

Sighing, Asha ignored the statement. "Where's Grey?"

As if he had been there the whole time, Grey melted from the shadows into the light with nary a sound. "Ready?" he said. Always on alert, his eyes scanned the crowd with the same intensity that they did amongst the wartorn battlefields... and well they should. For all the talk of joining, they were in as dangerous a position as they ever had been... everything hung so precariously.

Asha nodded. "Try to keep an eye on the others," she said to Sevilen. "Keep as close together as possible... we're not out of danger yet. This," she said nodding towards the debauchery going on in front of them, "shows that we might as well come from two different worlds. As long as we can pretend to be a part of theirs, we'll be ok. But one slip..."

With that she walked towards where Astaroth's palanquin stood, striding with a confidence that she didn't feel...

A half-naked and beaten girl crouched at Astaroth's feet when Asha approached the Lord's throne. She diligently smeared a mixture of oil and blood on the Lord's metallic legs, turning the cybernetic limbs black. The stink, both of the mixture and the girl's fear were choking, overpowering the heady scent of incense and cooking meat. Hearing footsteps, the girl turned around; eyes scared and hopeless, as if expecting to receive a blow for the towering angel. Satisfied Asha meant her no harm, the girl returned to her grisly duty.

Asha's eyes narrowed as she approached. Like a physical blow the girl's fear hit her... Asha didn't see the slave at Astaroth's feet... she saw herself. And in place of Astaroth, Franx sat on the throne, his vicious face split by an ugly leering smile. If it were in her power, she'd sweep all of this away. If it were in her power... But no. For all that she had, she still had more in common with the girl at Astaroth's feet than she cared to admit.

'From almost nothing, to almost something,' she thought bitterly.

The ganger's head turned to face Asha, emitting a low whir of gears and steel. He extended one of his upper arms, clicking the ceramic blade fingers in welcome. "Wondering when you'd show up. Take your place beside me. I've provided you with food and drink. Entertainment will be later."

She didn't reply, instead turning to her chair, not trusting her words...

The `place' in question was an old, dented dentist's chair someone had dragged up to the dais. Chained to it was a young man who shared the girl's eyes and bruises. He trembled in Asha's shadow, waiting for a sharp blow or harsh words. Astaroth smiled appreciatively. "You're now a Lord, Asha of the Screemers. There are benefits to that position."

Other servants brought over plates of greasy meat and bottles of clear, industrial smelling liquor. Below the dais, the celebration began to run its ugly course; fists and laugher flying with unequaled abandon.

"We need to give you a new name, demoness. Something to strike fear into our prey."

Her mouth opened silently, as a breath of shared pain escaped her lungs. Her feet wouldn't obey her commands to move- do something!- at this. She was in a state of brainlock, looking at the boy there. She felt more than saw Grey approach. But gathering her strength and will, balled her left fist... a signal for him to hold. She looked up at Astaroth, her eyes full of hate. Hate at him for what he was... but more than that, hate for herself at the position she found herself. There was nothing that she could do for this boy... nothing at all. She barely had anything for herself... let alone someone else. Her hand shot out with a whipcrack sound, silencing the cacophony of sounds near them in it's lethality as she hit the slave along his neck, breaking it. The body hit the ground with a thud. Asha felt another piece of herself die with him, as she forced a disdainful look on her face and walked with barely a look at him- though she felt his open accusing eyes on her even as she took her place on the chair she had been offered.

"To be touched by one such as that? Surely you jest," she said, turning the timbre in her voice into a wicked laugh as she reclined in the seat. If one paid attention, one could hear the edge of insanity in that laugh... but she held the demons back as she regally looked towards Astaroth.

"I find fear in the actions, rather than the name," she said icily.

He beckoned to his servants, "Get rid of that. Tell the boys we're having long pork tonight. That'll put a smile on their face, I'll bet. Har. I'm half glad we didn't kill the lot of you now."

The girl, eyes wide and teary, watched Asha from her crouched position. She shivered noticeably like a kicked dog waiting for another blow. Her face revealed her thoughts with total certainty, `Will I be next?' She continued to stare at Asha until one of Astaroth's claws gouged a generous portion of skin from her shoulder. The girl howled; he hissed. "Get back to work! I'm not going to kill you yet, you little whore. But don't push it."

He turned to Asha and shrugged his upper shoulders, "These Gutters are hardly worth the effort sometimes. Even the Boyz disappointed me in the end. The world is dust and ruin. All the light is gone and the blood is weak. How can we honor He Who Walks In Darkness with such hollow victories?"

"But as you said, there are no others worthy... unless..." She narrowed her eyes, looking out on the Lords in their mock battles.

"The cat was an inappropriate analogy- let's look to the warg. Wargs are pack creatures- they love each other's company. Except when it comes to food and mating. Over those things they fight... and the pack is made stronger by the loser's bloodline being ended and added to the strength of the winner." Asha looked over to Astaroth, a gleam in her eye.

"Break up the gang into packs... and set them to go out into the tatters after offerings for He Who Walks In Darkness that you set. No holds barred. The winner gets glory and honor, while the loser strengthens us by the winnowing of their weak blood from the gang. The victories begin to mean more- and our lord is glorified!"

"I have watched the wild dogs of the Tatters work as one to bring down a man before. Efficient, brutal, and oh so very beautiful in their skill. Yet, when they began to feed, they tore at one another to protect their status. Afterwards, they cleaned the blood from each other's fur; as if they hadn't inflicted the wounds to begin with. All rivalries forgotten. Perhaps a game like you said would make our troops just as effective and unified."

He took a messy swig of his crimson ale. Red rivulets trickled down his throat and over his metal chest. "So be it. I will consult with He Who Walks In Darkness tonight. In the morning, we will play your game. The survivors will lead this coterie into the next year and those to come."

Asha merely nodded at his acceptance... This was going much better than she had expected...

He patted Asha on the arm; his `soft touch' nearly breaking her collarbone. "I like you, Asha. You will make good, strong children for me, I think. Har."

She forced a smile onto her face... Wondering at that remark how she would make it *through* the night to the morning...

Make it through the night she did, but barely. As cybered as Astaroth happened to be, his remaining internal organs were still susceptible to alcohol. He passed out not long after the Lords began the "random torture" segment of the evening. Grey politely escorted her away from the festivities and into an abandoned Plex only a few blocks away. By now the Screemers had converted the ruined building into something passable as a home. Easily defended and overlooking the numerous approaches to the courtyard and temple. Someone had even taken the time to make her a room with all the creature comforts; Sprawl-style, of course. The slightly soiled smart- mattress beat out sleeping on the dusty concrete.

So, this was their new home; at least temporarily. Not exactly heaven, not exactly hell; but somewhere in-between. Sort of like Asha's soul, stuck in limbo. The night outside never grew quiet; interrupted by shouts of joy and terror, gunfire and breaking glass. But somehow, sleep did seem possible; at least for the moment.

...at least she could wrap herself in that hope until the morrow.