Dave Brookshaw, N. Conte, Susann Hessen, David A Hill Jr, Alec Humphrey, Danielle Lauzon, Michelle Lyons-McFarland, Matthew McFarland, Mark Stone, Travis Stout, Stew Wilson, Eric Zawadzki ENEMY ACTION ++INSTIGATE++ Peace. Then confusion. Then pain. Every particle of being on fire, every whipcord of metal fibers twisted, every one of his twelve arms shattered. The freezing numbness where he should be warm, the deafening silence where there should be reassuring control. He thrashed in four dimensions, attempting to right himself, but his functions were being severed from him one by one, each accompanied by a terrible, visceral wrench. His Essence sublimated, burning out of him with white-hot agony, boiling away into the world like the trail of a comet. The night-time air split open with a scream as he finally took material form, followed by a shockwave. For an instant, he felt cool air on his agonized skin, and then a lurch as gravity took hold. He tumbled, shattering trees as he fell, until his body cracked with final impact. At last, he fell into grateful unconsciousness. ++LOCATE++ The call came just before dawn. The sounds of traffic filtered up into the apartment, overcoming the gentle white-noise hiss of the radios in every room. Ms. Book woke immediately, recognizing the ringtone of her second cell, the phone on which she could be reached in emergencies. She sat up in bed, checking the screen. Beside her, Kyle stirred, mumbling in his sleep. She regarded the human momentarily, put her hand on his shoulder and returned to the phone. The screen showed one unread email, subject “FIN,” and an incoming call with a withheld number. She thumbed the touchscreen to “answer.” “Speak,” she said in perfect Finnish. *** Mr. Knight leaned over in his car seat, contorting to see out of the sunroof, watching the skies. His earpiece beeped as Book picked up. “Speak,” she said, using the language he’d specified. “The Hive has been disturbed,” he replied in the same dialect. “Something’s happened.” “How can you be sure?” “I’ve been scouting the limits of the Bellevue Infrastructure —” “You shouldn’t have been,” she interrupted. “Well, someone has to. You think those idiots in the city are going to do it properly? I was careful and I got a result. Three bursts of Aether overhead in the last half-hour, in formation. Loyalists, spreading southeast. I lost them when they went over Lake Sammamish. Has your man picked up anything?” Ms. Book looked over at the man lying next to her. Half asleep, Kyle grimaced and clutched the old scars of his infection. “I think so,” she said into the phone. “Well, see if you can get any details out of him. I’m stuck here until I’m sure they’re not onto me, but as soon as it’s safe to get on the road I will.” The line went dead. Ms. Book watched Kyle for a few seconds before springing to action. She had work to do. He woke, convulsing, cramps spasming up and down his naked body. Gasping for air, he pushed himself up onto all fours, metal fragments falling off him as he rose. Darkness behind him, light ahead. He needed ... He stood up fully, feet slipping in the mud until he found his balance. He needed clothes. He needed weapons. He needed somewhere to hide. They would be coming. Gradually his thoughts started to clear. He was in a patch of wasteland, surrounded by forest. The trees closest to him were felled and burning, knocked down by the force of his impact. The clearing was littered with the steaming metallic wreckage of his old form. He was exposed. He needed shelter. Setting off into the trees at a run, he tried to knit his thoughts together. His name was Zuriel. His name was also Arran White. He was an Air Force officer, attached to … something. And he was an angel. The woodland around him became less dense as he climbed up a rocky outcropping. He reached the top and looked West, away from the sun. He saw the lakes, and the city beyond. Kyle woke to the sound of televisions. Walking, yawning, into the main room of the apartment, he found Ms. Book sitting in front of five laptops and the television, all showing local news. “Eat,” she said, without looking at him. He followed her outstretched finger to a bowl of cereal and a chipped mug of what smelt like cleaning fluid. He gulped down the chemicals, feeling it burn momentarily before settling. His stigmata ached less and he could concentrate on the food. “Was that the ... uh ... other one this morning?” He asked, hesitant. “Mr. Knight, yes. The loyalists are unusually active this morning and I am trying to determine why. Did you dream?” “I was…” He closed his eyes, trying to remember. “I was flying above the city, searching for something. I saw an arc of light like a shooting star. It fell into the rising sun, past the water.” She blinked, and then remembered to nod. The screens flickered and changed as she typed new search parameters. Finally, she saw results. “Get dressed. We have to see this ourselves.” He had been walking for hours, climbing down slopes, avoiding human dwellings where he could, sticking to the cover of the trees. He’d hid a few times, avoiding early-morning joggers and dog-walkers, but he’d left the path several minutes ago and was now making good time. His feet were sore and bruised without shoes, but he could take the time to repair them later. He felt a strange sensation within his mouth and throat and soon named it “thirst.” His body needed water. He resolved to find some as soon as possible, pleased at how well he was acclimatizing. He was so distracted by this revelation that, when he emerged out of the bushes onto a road, he didn’t have time to register the blare of a horn and the screech of brakes before the car hit him. Ms. Book and Kyle stood at the police cordon, looking at the wreckage strewn across the clearing. Book spoke briefly to an officer, then jerked her head, signaling Kyle as she strolled nonchalantly back to the car. “What’s going on?” Kyle asked. “They are still claiming a light aircraft crashed in the park,” she said, tapping at her emergency phone. “But..?” She raised a single finger. Quiet. Then dialed Mr. Knight. The other demon gave the correct recognition sign in Swahili. Kyle stared at his feet as he listened. He made out “Cougar Mountain,” in among the foreign language. Ms. Book locked the phone’s screen and returned it to her jacket. “What is that? It’s not an aircraft,” he asked again. “It is the remains of an angel.” “A … dead?” She remembered to shake her head. “Not dead. Fallen. The police haven’t found a pilot and they won’t — what’s lying out there is everything that came away when he Fell.” She thought for a moment, then added, “Like a cocoon.” They reached the car and she unlocked it. “Did … Did that happen to you?” he blurted, instantly regretting it. She paused, blank-faced. “Yes.” “What was it like?” he asked quietly, unsure whether the question would anger her. He watched her carefully, knowing that if she took offense it would never show. Not until she took action. She stood perfectly still for the longest three seconds of Kyle’s life. “It was like dying.” ++ASSESS++ For the second time that day, he woke up in pain. He was in a bed, walled away by a fabric screen. Machines monitored his body via sensors attached to his skin. A sharp metal tube entered the flesh of his arm, linked to a bag of clear fluid. A medical facility, but a human one. He had been found and his Cover had held. “Why now? What made him Fall?” Ms. Book tapped the steering wheel. She still hadn’t started the car. “He will have been sent on a mission, which he came to disagree with. Everyone’s Fall is different, unique to them.” Kyle nodded, thinking. Book braced herself for the inevitable follow-up. “What made you Fall?” “ ... Get down.” Kyle didn’t hesitate. He slid down in the car’s passenger seat, twisting to kneel in the foot well. Ms. Book did the same, but leaned forward to press the button on the dash controlling the wing mirrors. Slowly, patiently, she tilted the wing mirror left and right, until she got a good view of what was going on behind the car. Another vehicle, a black sedan, had pulled up to the cordon. He risked peeking up from behind his seat to take a look. The three men who had emerged from the car looked like FBI — dark suits and sunglasses, wearing ID badges around their necks. His infection scar throbbed, the black veins pulsing, and he knew that they weren’t FBI. “Angels,” he whispered “They’re here to find the Fallen,” she replied. “What do we do?” “I’m no match for three loyalists, not in the open surrounded by witnesses. We wait for them to go and we hope Mr. Knight finds our new counterpart before they do.” He heard the door open and close. Footsteps — a single person, approaching his bed. The curtain was drawn back, revealing a female human dressed in some kind of uniform. A medical technician. “Good afternoon.” He knew things. Who he was supposed to be. Arran White. He concentrated on the sounds she was making and realized he understood. Not by interpreting her communication’s meaning through divine understanding, but by simply … speaking English. “Where am I?” “You’re in a hospital. In Renton. You were hit by a car, do you remember?” “I … Yes. I was knocked down.” She consulted the machines beside his bed, noting down what they told her on a clipboard. “The thing we can’t figure out,” she said, cheerfully, “is why you were naked out there? Did something happen to you last night?” PAIN. He pushed it out of his mind, swallowing, and realized he hadn’t said anything. The woman was looking oddly at him, clearly expecting something “I don’t remember,” he said, trying to sound convincing. She took another step closer, and another, until she was right next to him. Close enough to smell her. She put a hand on his arm, the pressure making him uncomfortably aware of the IV, and smiled a fraction too warmly a fraction too late. She leaned in. Her hand gripped his arm tightly. Too tight. She whispered, “Are you sure about that, brother?” He caught the glint of metal within her eyes. “Wait! Please — this isn’t necessary!” He begged. “Everything is necessary,” she replied. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean to Fall!” “And yet you did. But what falls must rise.” Her grip tightened, metal-hard, and the glint in her eyes flashed. He heard something — a high frequency burst, above the range of human hearing. Calling for help. If reason failed, he would have to defend himself. With his free hand, he yanked the IV from his arm. Throwing his weight away from her, he dragged her off balance before she could let go. He lunged back into her, driving the needle as hard as he could into her left eye. Pulling it free, he stabbed again into her throat. She collapsed backward, clattering into the machinery. Her hands desperately pressed against her ruined eye and the blood streaming from her windpipe. He struggled free of the sheets, swinging himself around and kicking her. Without looking, he reached out with instinct, calling for a weapon — anything he could use. For a dreadful moment nothing happened, but he knew it should and felt panic turn to determined purpose. His fingers closed around the metal of the IV stand. He snapped the pole free of the base with a fluid movement. It came free leaving a sharp twist of metal at the end. Putting the tip of the makeshift spear to the nurse’s heart, he leaned forward and rolled off the bed, all his weight going onto the stand, forcing it into her. Looking down at the dying woman, he felt something change inside himself. A realization. He had killed without being ordered to do so. By his free will, another life had ended, and the Machine would not punish him for it. As he pulled the stand clear, her eyes changed color. Not a cover identity, then. Possession. Which meant whoever she’d really been was still in the room, invisible and intangible. Or on the way to find another host. Hurrying to the door, he checked no one was coming and set off through the hospital at a half-run, following the signs for a fire exit. He reached an emergency door and pushed at the bar, exiting out into a cold, concrete stairwell. He sensed something below him on the stairs and ducked. Three rapid gunshots rang out. Concrete chips hit his back — exposed in the hospital gown — as he clutched his spear and inched forward to try to get a view of his assailant. He saw two figures — both male, one wearing a suit, one dressed as an orderly — wrestling over a discarded pistol. Although they were throwing punches hard enough to make craters in the walls and using any advantage to smack one another into hard surfaces, the fight was in complete silence. He slowly advanced down the stairs as the suited man got the upper hand, finally snapping his opponent’s neck. He raised his spear, and the other held his hands up, palms out. “Wait!” He stopped, allowing the other to continue speaking. The suited man backed away, to the fire door behind him. “I’m like you,” said the suited man. “Like me how?” “I served. Then I Fell.” PAIN. “You’re … ” “Unchained. Like you.” The man — the demon — picked the pistol up off the floor and examined it, quickly. “You are nothing like me — ” A deep bass rumble emanated from somewhere above them and deeper into the hospital. “My name is Mr. Knight,” said the demon, “and that was the sound of angels regrouping. This one will find a new body sooner rather than later.” Mr. Knight gestured at the exit door with the pistol. “One time offer. Come or stay.” ++TRACE++ Kyle and Ms. Book sat in the car, waiting in a parking lot. Safe and anonymous. “So this angel — ” “He is a demon now. Or she.” “He’ll look human?” “He or she will be entirely human, as far as a doctor would tell. The remains of the final mission will become a human life. Whatever he or she ends up as, it will relate to what he or she was supposed to be doing here on behalf of the Machine.” “So… You. I mean, Sonya-you. Librarian-you. She was your last mission?” Ms. Book calculated the odds of Kyle understanding against continuing to pry at her secrets. “She was.” “What were you sent here for?” Ms. Book smiled sadly. “It doesn’t matter.” “Why did you Fall?” “You know why.” “Tell me anyway.” “Because — ” Her emergency cell rang and she leapt to answer it. Saved by Mr. Knight. The newcomer picked at the unfamiliar clothes Mr. Knight had produced from a bag in his car once they were a safe distance away from the hospital. He had changed clothes in the back of Knight’s vehicle and now sat on the back seat, Knight up front behind the wheel. Knight watched him in the rear-view mirror. “I have to ask this,” said Knight, “and I’m sorry, but I need to know who you are.” “My name is Zuriel. This body’s name is Arran White.” “Zuriel, huh? From now on, you’re ‘Mr. Stone.’ What were you sent to do?” “I … was in the Air Force. I was sent to persuade another to use the weapons in his trust. To tell him he was under attack.” “A lie?” “I can’t remember.” Stone paused, as though searching for the words. “All I remember was realizing something was wrong. I was flawed.” “Not flawed,” Knight slapped the steering wheel for emphasis. “Changing. Evolving — maybe returning to how you should be without the Machine.” Stone closed his eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do, but it still feels … I reported to a facility. I needed to be repaired.” At that, Knight turned around, twisting to look between the seats at his passenger. “You what?” “I turned myself in. And that’s the last thing I can remember.” “OK, well, that explains the reluctance. But let me tell you something, Mr. Stone. The angels don’t care if you’re an Integrator or not. It makes no difference to them if you want back in. You’re one of us now and they’ll kill you if you give them the chance. Now, clearly you didn’t make it back to the Machine. Maybe whatever Infrastructure runs corrupt angels between facilities is broken, or you Fell before you could make it there.” “Maybe.” Stone still sounded uncertain. Knight nodded to himself, making a decision. “All right. We’re going to get you a hotel room. I’ll stay with you as long as I can. We’ve got a human operative who’s got the sight. He’s been out to see your crash site already and he’s our early-warning system for angels. I’ll get him to come out to meet us.” He turned the key, starting the car. “Mr. Knight?” asked Stone. “Yeah?” “Why did you Fall?” Knight paused. “I wanted to see the world. But I found Seattle instead.” * The sun had set. Ms. Book stood on the balcony of her apartment, watching the traffic down below. She liked the nighttime, especially very late. The busy life of the day was stripped away by the harsh glare of streetlights, revealing the city beneath its mask of homeliness. A concrete and metal thing, disguised as something wholesome.