Content Warnings

Minor surgery
Surgery without anesthetics
Rape metaphor (this is literally a single sentence, it’s not extended or anything)
References to torture

Also: yes, this chapter is from the perspective of a fascist. No, being a PoV character doesn’t mean the author thinks she’s correct or good or right or anything like that, no matter how pathetic she is. I feel like the rest of the story and themes so far should make this clear, but I want to spell it out, just in case.

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Ooni jolted awake.

Gunmetal walls, surgical tools, and the stench of dried blood; raindrops drumming hard beyond a thick metal shell — and the deep heartbeat throb of a powerful engine below her feet. Empty-handed, unarmed, peeled out of her carapace; her flesh was protected by nothing but a few flimsy layers of grey cloth. Thirsty and hungry and disoriented, sore from head to toe, with a gun pointed at her face.

Ooni remembered where she was and what she had done. She swallowed her panic. She decided to stay very quiet.

This was the infirmary, inside the giant armoured vehicle which belonged to her new ‘allies’. She’d woken up in much worse places than this. All her limbs were still attached. Nothing was trying to eat her. She wasn’t chained to the walls.

She had betrayed everything — Yola, the Dead-Heads, her oaths. All for—

“Leuca!” she whispered.

Leuca was right in front of her, lying on one of the two narrow medical beds. She was unconscious, half naked, covered in wounds and dressings and stitches. She looked just as she did in Ooni’s memories, as if all the decades—

Ooni caught herself. She snatched back her hand. She had to get a grip, and quickly. If she focused on Leuca she would start to weep. The rainstorm outdoors had masked the tiny sounds of her waking up, but open tears would draw attention.

And then she might not have time to be ruthless and cunning.

Ooni steadied her heart with a single deep breath, then stopped breathing, and took stock.

The others hadn’t moved her in her sleep — she was still crammed into the corner of the infirmary, on a fold-out metal seat attached to the wall. She wiped a thin trickle of drool off her chin. Her wrists and ankles weren’t bound, either. That made no sense; she had expected to wake up in chains, or locked inside some tiny prison compartment. She’d accepted that as inevitable, as part of the price for Leuca’s safety. They’d even let her keep her clothes — a tomb-grey t-shirt, some baggy leggings, and her cloak for extra warmth.

Why wasn’t she restrained? This group couldn’t possibly be as naive as Leuca had suggested, could they?

Ooni tried not to think about that. The alternative was that they’d left her free on purpose. And that was terrifying.

The infirmary was a wonder — a real medical facility, well-stocked with surgical tools and sterile dressings, a pair of beds, and even running water. The room had looked pretty clean too, at least prior to the little ART doing all that surgery; now the metal floor and the beds were covered with dried blood. Ooni would gladly get down on her knees and scrub every corner, just to see it shiny and neat and hygienic again. She could have cried at the luxury. She hadn’t seen anything like this since the Fortress — and that was a dim memory these days.

The little zombie with the extensive bionics — what was her name again, Ilyusha? — had fallen asleep sitting next to the door. She was still pointing her shotgun at Ooni, but at least her finger wasn’t on the trigger. An open backpack stood at her side. Five cannisters of raw nanos were inside, ripe for the taking, out in the open, unprotected. Ooni’s stomach clenched. Her throat bobbed. Her hands quivered. But she tore her eyes away; that shotgun muzzle was very wide and very dark.

The bulkhead hatch was open, but Ooni couldn’t hear any sounds from the larger chamber beyond.

Elpida and the little ART were gone. Elpida’s armoured coat lay over the foot of the empty bed.

That was very bad.

Ooni was no fool. She knew this group had not accepted her; Leuca — in her beautiful but blind brilliance — had betrayed them in a moment of god-spawned madness. Ilyusha wore the mark of the Wreckers and Murderers drawn right on the front of her t-shirt, and Elpida wore it daubed in blood. Only Elpida’s authority protected Ooni and Leuca from execution or cannibalism.

And what if Elpida changed her mind?

Elpida was a leader, just like Yola — or like Omur, or Heidelwiss, or Cece, or a dozen others Ooni had known. According to Leuca this group was young, absurdly young, a week fresh from the tomb. But that wasn’t possible, it made no sense. Leuca had told her the details — the kinds of details which mattered to Leuca’s singular brilliance. These people were mostly fresh meat, first-timers, disoriented and confused. But they’d banded together and made it out of a tomb — first try! Elpida had killed a monster, outfought highly modified revenants, and led this group of nobodies and nothings to that mech out there in the crater. And now they had an armoured fighting vehicle, an ancient machine from beyond the graveworm line.

Ooni wouldn’t have believed that from anyone but Leuca — and maybe Leuca was mistaken, or being tricked, or forced to lie. If that was true, then this group would degenerate like all the rest. Sooner or later they would fall to self-destruction, like all others except the Dead-Heads. And they had no structures to control the orgy of feasting that would result. No beliefs, no guidance, no guardrails. Just Elpida. Just another leader. They would eat each other.

And if Leuca was wrong, if this group was more experienced, as Ooni suspected, then why had they not bound her, or eaten her?

She was either in a den of monsters or aboard a ship of fools.

Ooni started to shake; the latter she could escape, but the former she dared not contemplate, or she would panic.

Instead she finally allowed herself to look at Leuca.

This woman was the reason she needed to stay calm.

Leuca was horribly wounded, covered in bandages and gauze and stitches. She had a pair of terrible head wounds; half her neck and jaw and cheek were closed up with a mass of ugly stitching. Her fire-bright hair was dirty with blood. She looked like a corpse. Ooni prayed to gods she had long since abandoned: please don’t be in a coma, please let her wake up soon.

Four subjective decades since death had parted them, since Ooni had seen that pale, freckled face, heard that crunchy, iron-hard voice, and felt the touch of hands just a little too rough and clumsy — give or take a few years, of course; the dozen or so resurrections since then made it difficult for Ooni to keep track.

But Leuca had changed. Ooni always knew this was a risk. Leuca’s core was the same — the same stubborn, cold, unbreakable willpower, the same vulnerable idealism lurking below the surface. But now it was applied to things which Ooni did not understand. Like refusal to eat.

But this was still Leuca. She must be right about the eating thing. Leuca was always right.

And she’d called Ooni a fucking traitor for joining the Dead-Heads.

Leuca was always right.

So Ooni was a traitor.

To what? To Leuca? To the memory of the Fortress? To the gods?

Ooni felt a sob building in her throat. She had to stay quiet. She had to be smart, and swift, and clever, and—

“Leuca,” she whispered. She stared at Leuca’s closed eyelids, her bloodstained brow, her slack lips. “Leuca, it’s not the wounds.” She sobbed once, almost a laugh. “I’ve seen you wounded worse than this. Remember when— when you lost your left leg? O-or the— the hounds, that one time at the Fortress? The third year, I think. T-that was really bad. You were in pieces. You almost died. I cried over you for a week. I fed you by hand. I fed you all the pieces of Vount, and Bea, and Patty. Do you still remember that? I forget so much about the Fortress now, but I remember everything you and I did together. B-but it’s not that. Leuca, I hadn’t seen you in decades. I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t know if you even came back. I-I never meant to betray you, I was just trying to stay alive, it got so … so tiring, dying. I just wanted it to stop. I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. She had to control herself. She stared at Leuca’s dented bionic arm. “That’s new. I wasn’t there for that. How did you get it? Was it after my time? After the Fortress? After we both … both died.”

Ooni wiped her eyes and swept her hair out of her face. She needed clarity of mind. She needed to act. She needed to take initiative. But she was always so bad at this. The Dead-Heads had given her purpose and place for six years, and she hadn’t needed to think; then Leuca had told her what to do, to sneak the hidden cannister of blue to Elpida when she was imprisoned. That had seemed insane, and it had hurt, but Ooni had done it anyway.

Then Elpida had given her orders, and the world had made more sense.

She wished Leuca was awake to give her orders.

“I can’t do this alone,” she whispered. “Leuca … Leuca, please wake up and tell me what to do. Please.”

Leuca didn’t stir.

Ooni screwed up her eyes and pressed her face into her hands. She mustn’t cry. The rain would not drown out her sobs.

She’d grown skilled at smothering her emotions among the Dead-Heads. Grown numb and empty. Weakness was unsafe. But since the moment she’d seen Leuca again all her self-control had begun to break down.

She took slow, shallow, shuddering breaths.

She needed to flee, with Leuca. She didn’t know where her armour or weapons had been taken; Ilyusha hadn’t let her see. This armoured vehicle couldn’t be that large, but the zombies had probably locked all her stuff away. She would escape empty-handed if need be, carrying nothing but Leuca. Into the city, into the ruins. They would eat mould and carrion, sleep in holes, take refuge in each other’s body heat; they’d done that before, they could do it again. Living as barely-human scavengers would be worth the privation, just to be together, to be alive alongside each other once more. Surely Leuca would agree? But what about the no-eating thing? And Ooni couldn’t return to the Dead-Heads, not after she’d helped kill two superiors.

Oh! And also not after she’d tried to assassinate Yola with an improvised plasma explosive.

Ooni smiled at that memory, behind the shield of her hands.

Where had that courage come from? She needed it again now.

To escape she would need to pick up Leuca, step over Ilyusha without waking her, get past anybody out there in the crew compartment, and get this machine to open the rear airlock hatch.

Or she could tackle Ilyusha now, while she was still sleeping, wrestle the shotgun out of her hands, and—

And what? Shoot her?

Ooni had pledged her allegiance to Elpida — in return for a guarantee of Leuca’s safety. The orders had felt good. She hadn’t been pretending. Escaping was one thing, that was not a betrayal. But murdering her allies was different. Then again, Ooni had pledged her allegiance to Yola too, in a much bloodier ceremony, with a great deal more gravitas. She had pledged her body and soul to the cause of the naked skull. But then her ‘sisters’ were going to murder Leuca, and she’d discarded her oaths without a second thought.

And then Elpida had sworn to protect Leuca.

And she had! She hadn’t abandoned them, hadn’t left them behind! When Leuca had attempted to sacrifice herself for the sake of these people, Elpida had sprinted to catch her.

Ooni’s mind went around and around: these people were fools, or they were terrifying; Elpida had saved Leuca, even after being betrayed; Ooni was unbound when she woke — and what did that mean? None of this made sense. How had this group survived this long if they were this naive? It was impossible. There was something hidden here, something she wasn’t seeing, and that unseen monster would eat her alive the moment her back was turned, and she and Leuca would be separated again for decades. She couldn’t take that a second time. Maybe they would never reunite again. Maybe Leuca wanted to give up and stop coming back. Maybe there would be no third chance.

What if she stole the shotgun, but used it only to threaten? Would they let her and Leuca go? What if she took a hostage? Ilyusha wouldn’t work for that, not with all her bionics. What about the little ART? Maybe. She seemed pretty defenceless. Ooni didn’t feel that courage again, but at least this was a plan.

She finally took her hands away from her face. There was a water tap on the other side of the room; she could creep over there and drink and then—

“You’re awake.”

Ooni jumped. Her hands scrabbled for a sidearm she didn’t have.

One of the zombies was standing in the doorway — the short one who’d been imprisoned alongside Elpida. Ooni hadn’t even heard her approach. She looked utterly harmless, petite and plump, with puppy-fat in her cheeks, her frame swamped by a tomb-grown coat. But Ooni knew better; this one had fought like a cornered fox when the Dead-Heads had taken her. She was a biter.

And now she was holding a naked combat knife.

Ooni struggled to recall the girl’s name. She had to memorise the names as quickly as she could. If she couldn’t escape then her best shot at survival was to make them see her as a person.

“Amina,” Ooni whispered. She prayed she’d gotten it right. “I’m— I’m Ooni. A-and yes, I’m awake. Let the others sleep?”

Amina chewed her bottom lip. She glanced down at Ilyusha.

Ooni whispered: “Please don’t wake her up.”

Amina frowned at Ooni, suddenly afraid.

Ooni showed her empty hands, and quickly added: “I-I think she might get angry with me, just because. Look, I don’t have any weapons. I’m not going to hurt you or anything, I’ll sit right here, I—”

“Illy,” Amina said. “Illy, I think you should wake up now. Illy, please wake up. Illy.”

Ilyusha snorted, stirred, and woke up. Her red and black bionic hands tightened on her shotgun. Her crimson talons scraped on the metal floor. Her massive tail-spike tapped against the wall. She shook her head, glanced up at Amina, then over at Ooni. She blinked bleary iron-grey eyes. Her lips peeled back in a sneer.

“Ami?” she grunted. “You okay?”

Amina replied: “She said I shouldn’t wake you up. So I woke you up. I’m sorry, Illy. I had to.”

Ooni tried to explain herself. “I-I thought you needed sleep, I—”

“Shut up, reptile,” Ilyusha growled. She made her shotgun go clunk, then clambered to her feet, claws scraping on the bloodstained metal floor. She stretched her tail, then coiled it over one shoulder. She cracked her neck left and right. She cradled her left arm awkwardly — still injured. She kept her weapon pointed at Ooni, then turned her head slightly to address Amina: “S’fine, Ami. Right choice. Don’t listen to her. Where’s Elpi?”

Amina said, “I think she went to the front of this … um … house?”

“Tank,” Ilyusha said. “Really big tank.”

“Tank,” Amina repeated carefully. “Tank. Thank you, Illy. Elpida went to the front. She’s been talking to the others. I heard them.”

Ooni said, “May I—”

“Shut up!” Ilyusha spat. She jerked her shotgun forward. “Fuck you!”

Ooni kept her hands visible. “Please … ”

Ilyusha mocked her: “Please, please, please. Shut the fuck up.”

Amina said, “She hurt Elpida really badly. When we were tied up. She stuck her hand into Elpida’s tummy.”

Ilyusha’s eyes twitched. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Amina said. “She—”

Ooni said: “I brought her the blue! I brought her a dose of raw blue! There was no other way to get it to her without being found out! Leuca—” Ooni gestured with her head. “Leuca told me to. It was her secret stash. We helped the Commander. We did!”

Ilyusha gritted her teeth. “Ami, truth?”

Amina swallowed. “She did. But I saw her face. She enjoyed it. Enjoyed hurting. She hates Elpida.”

Ilyusha growled: “Yeah?”

Ooni swallowed. She dared not tell the truth — she had enjoyed it, but the pleasure was a bitter medicine. She’d burned with white-hot jealousy; Leuca’s faith in this ‘Elpida’ was blinding, clearer and more devoted than even their time at the Fortress. And Leuca had called Ooni a ‘fucking traitor’ compared to this— this— nobody! This nothing! This fresh-meat filth!

But that was all gone now. Leuca was always right.

Ooni felt a sob building in her throat.

Amina said, very quietly: “I think I enjoy hurting too. But I’m on Elpida’s side. She’s not. We should get rid of her.”

Ilyusha bared her teeth in a nasty grin. She flexed her hands on the shotgun.

Ooni said quickly, “Elpida told us all to get along! She told us all to get along, you both heard that! And I’m— I belong to her now. I do. I belong to Elpida. She’s my Commander. Just like you. We have an agreement. I haven’t broken it!”

Ilyusha snorted and flicked her shotgun’s safety off. Amina lowered her eyes and looked at the knife in her fist. Ooni opened her mouth to scream.

A voice interrupted, from the compartment beyond the infirmary.

“She’s right,” said Elpida.

The Commander stepped out of the gloom behind Amina. The rainstorm static on the hull must have masked her approach.

The other two zombies turned to look. Amina blushed and hid her knife behind her back; Ilyusha flicked the shotgun’s safety back on. Elpida gave Amina’s shoulder a squeeze, muttered, “sheathe that, please,” then stepped past her and into the infirmary. She placed a hand on Ilyusha’s shotgun and forced the muzzle to point at the floor.

Elpida said: “Ooni is mine now. No summary executions — not her, not Pira. Do you both understand?”

Amina hung her head, hiding her eyes with one hand, consumed by shame. But Ilyusha peeled back her lips and snapped: “She’s a fucking reptile!”

Elpida said: “Yes. She’s my reptile now. My responsibility. You understand, Ilyusha?”

Ilyusha frowned, not quite convinced.

Elpida nodded to Ooni. “Ooni, did you sleep well?”

Ooni nodded back; a lie, absurd and obvious. She’d slept in a metal seat with her head against a wall. But something about Elpida commanded agreement.

Elpida said: “Don’t lie. Did you sleep well, or did you sleep like shit?”

Ooni swallowed. Was this a test? No — it was an order. “I … I slept like shit, yes. I’m sore and stiff. My neck hurts. S-sorry for lying.”

Elpida smiled. “That’s better. Thank you.”

Ooni flushed.

Elpida was god-like; that was the only explanation. Ooni had seen plenty of highly modified zombies get taller than her, or pack on more muscle, or exert more raw intimidation — but Elpida was apparently near-pure baseline; she looked as she had in life — seven feet tall, rippling with densely corded muscle, tight and toned and sleek and sharp, with the shining white hair of some god-touched seer, and purple eyes burning like spirits in the night sky. She spoke with unquestioned authority and moved like a giant cat on the hunt. She was stunningly beautiful. Right then she was also casually half-naked, topless, tits out, with just a t-shirt draped over her shoulders. She showed no trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment.

She was hunched to fit into the infirmary, the dressings on her gut wound showed a thin line of crimson stain — the pain must have been incredible — and her eyes were ringed with dark shadows of exhaustion. But none of that slowed her down.

Perhaps Yola was correct, maybe Elpida was superhuman; if Ooni had met Elpida in life she would have assumed this woman was the result of a coupling between a mortal and a god.

Perhaps she was. Perhaps the gods Ooni had forsaken were not quite as dead as she believed.

Elpida said, “Illy, Amina, I need to talk to both of you, to keep you in the loop. We have plans to make. Let’s go to the bunk room.” She pointed at the bag on the floor, which contained the five cannisters of blue ambrosia. “Illy, please bring that as well. Ooni, I’ll be back shortly. Stay right there. Try not to wake Pira.”

Ooni nodded, then quickly said, “Yes, Commander.”

Ilyusha grabbed the bag and shot Ooni a sneer, as if Ooni had been planning to pour all the nanos down her throat as soon as everyone’s backs were turned. Ooni couldn’t deny the idea had crossed her mind. Ilyusha looked at Leuca with even more venom, then followed Amina and Elpida out of the infirmary and into the larger compartment. Ooni watched the trio cross the space and step through the matching door on the opposite side. They closed the hatch after them.

Ooni stayed right there in her seat. She didn’t breathe. She tried to listen — she heard Elpida repeat something several times, and Ilyusha protesting. But she couldn’t make out any actual words over the drumming rain and the throbbing engine.

Were they discussing her?

She stood up to stretch her muscles, but she dared not cross the room to fetch herself a cup of water. What if Elpida looked to make sure Ooni was obeying? This might be the first of many tests, to see if she would attempt to escape, or do exactly as she was told.

It felt good to do as she was told. She stayed where she was.

Several minutes crawled by. Rainstorm static filled in the air. Ooni reached out and touched Leuca’s hand, lying on the medical bed. She was warm. That was good.

Eventually the door on the far side of the big compartment swung open again. Elpida emerged carrying one of the cannisters of blue ambrosia. Ilyusha and Amina followed her back to the infirmary. Amina was cradling Ilyusha’s shotgun in both arms. Ilyusha was carrying the chest plate of Ooni’s armour carapace — and grinning.

Elpida stepped back into the infirmary, nodded to Ooni, and sat down on the empty bed. Ilyusha placed the grey-white armour chestplate next to Elpida; the front showed the Dead-Head symbol, the naked skull, still smothered behind a smear of Elpida’s blood. The blood had dried and turned dark brown.

Amina hovered in the doorway. Ilyusha returned to fetch her shotgun, then made a big show of pointing it at Ooni and swishing her tail.

Elpida peered at the bloody smear on the armour. “I’ll need water first. Illy?”

“You go first,” Ilyusha said. “You first!”

Elpida smiled and sighed. She nodded, uncapped the cannister of raw blue, and drank one large mouthful of the glowing fluid. Then she offered the cannister to Ilyusha,

“Again!” Ilyusha snapped. “One’s not enough! You need more.”

“Illy, I can’t monopolise this.”

Ilyusha bared her teeth. “Sleep or drink! Sleep or drink!”

Amina spoke up too: “I think … Elpida should maybe … maybe sleep?”

Elpida sighed again. “I will sleep, but not yet. We need to deal with this first.”

Ilyusha snapped: “Then drink! You have to go out, right? It has to be you! You have to see it yourself! Drink more!”

Elpida looked like she might argue, but then she relented. She drank another large mouthful of raw nanomachines. Ilyusha finally accepted the cannister and drank a smaller dose of her own. She offered it to Amina, but Amina shook her head.

Amina said: “I didn’t get hurt. Not at all.”

Elpida said, “You’re one of us, Amina. That means you get a share.”

“But I didn’t get hurt.”

Elpida said: “Then just have a sip. Just wet your lips. For me, please, Amina.”

Amina looked very uncomfortable, but she stepped forward, accepted the cannister, and took a tiny sip of blue. Elpida recapped the bottle and placed it next to her on the infirmary bed. Ooni couldn’t tear her eyes away from the cannister; her stomach was clenching with the hunger for meat, for raw fuel, for nanomachine replacements. Wasn’t she one of them now? Didn’t she get a turn too? Maybe this was the proof. Maybe this was Elpida pulling off the mask.

Ilyusha sneered at her: “None for you, reptile fuck.”

Elpida said, “Illy. She’s one of us too — or she’s going to be. She’ll get her turn. Just not yet.” Ilyusha spat on the floor, but Elpida ignored that. “Once we’re done here, Atyle gets some as well. Kagami and Vicky will have to wait.”

Amina said, “What about Melyn and Hafina?”

Elpida said: “That’s very sweet of you, Amina. But I don’t think their bodies work the same way as ours do. We’ll have to find some other way to share with them.” She glanced at Ooni. “Ooni. ARTs — artificial humans — you knew what that meant. Do they need nanomachines, like us?”

Ooni shrugged. “I don’t … I don’t know. Sorry.”

Elpida nodded. “Right.” She gestured at Pira. “She’s out cold, huh?”

Ooni nodded. “I think so. I touched her hand. I-I hope she’s not in a coma or anything.”

Elpida smiled and shook her head. “I saw her wake up earlier for a few seconds. She’s not in a coma.”

Ooni’s heart flooded with relief. “Oh. G-good. Thank you. Thank you.”

“And if she’s secretly awake and listening to us, that’s fine too.”

Ilyusha growled: “Hope she stays asleep.”

Elpida said, “Illy, can you bring me some water, please?”

Ilyusha fetched the tin mug from the tiny counter top and filled it with water. Elpida dipped two fingers in the liquid and used it to wipe away the worst of the blood which concealed the skull. The grinning back Dead-Head symbol emerged from a bloody swamp.

Elpida said: “Ooni, what is this painted on with?”

Ooni tore her eyes away from the tin mug. “Uh … um … s-some kind of tar, I think. I inherited the suit.”

Elpida nodded. “Are you thirsty?”

Ooni swallowed. “Yes. Very. Please may I have some water?”

“Illy,” Elpida said.

Ilyusha screwed up her face. She took the tin mug and shoved it at Ooni so hard that water slopped into Ooni’s lap. Ooni didn’t care. She grabbed the cup and drained it in three gulps, then passed it back. Ilyusha’s tail hung in the air for a moment, as if she was considering ramming it through the delicate bones of Ooni’s face. But then she turned away and stomped the two paces back to Elpida’s side.

Elpida said: “Better?” Ooni nodded. “Good. Now, Illy, we need a scraper of some kind. A cauterization pen would be even better. Maybe we’ll need to ask Melyn if there’s a tool cabinet anywhere, for a blowtorch or something like that. Check that drawer, please?”

Ilyusha rummaged through the surgical equipment. Moments later she found some kind of hand-held cauterization wand, a self-powered surgical tool for closing wounds. Elpida thumbed the controls. The tip of the device glowed red-hot.

“Perfect,” Elpida said. “Now, Ooni, you have to watch this part. Illy, make sure she does.”

Slowly and methodically, Elpida drew the cauterization wand over the grinning skull on Ooni’s armour plate. The black paint burned away, crisping and flaking, emitting little curls of dark smoke. Tiny crackling sounds joined the static of the raindrops. The process took perhaps ten minutes. Nobody spoke. Elpida didn’t look up. Ilyusha sneered and grinned the whole time, watching Ooni closely. Ooni just watched the skull’s destruction.

She felt — nothing. She was following Elpida’s orders.

Eventually Elpida finished. She brushed away the remaining flakes of charred black. The paint was gone, but the outline of a skull was still visible against the grey.

Ilyusha spat: “Fucking shit fuck bitch—”

“Wait,” Elpida said. “Illy, do you still have those camo paint sticks?”

Ilyusha snorted, then fished around in her pockets and produced a stick of camo paint. Elpida drew a new symbol over the shadow of the skull: a crescent intersected by a line, the mark of the Wreckers and Murderers. Ooni tried very hard not to let disgust show on her face.

But then Elpida added a second line. She turned the symbol into a crescent intersected by a V-shape. Ilyusha tilted her head and frowned.

Elpida shrugged. She indicated the V-shape. “Telokopolis.” Then the crescent. “The world. Or maybe the sky. Or the green.”

Ilyusha said, “Doesn’t mean that.”

Elpida said, “What does it mean?”

“Mmmmm-rrrrr.” Ilyusha grumbled. “Complicated.”

“I’m just experimenting. I’ll have to think about it.” She raised her eyes to Ooni. “That’s the easy part over with. Now, Ooni. Do you have that skull mark tattooed anywhere on your body?”

Ooni felt the blood drain from her face. She stared at the cauterization wand in Elpida’s hand.

Here it came. The torture. Branding? She’d never been branded.

Ooni was no stranger to pain. She was pain’s unwilling intimate, pain’s favourite chew toy, pain’s bed-slave. She knew pain’s disgusting little nooks and crannies, pain’s peculiar desires and visceral dislikes, pain’s ends and means and insides and guts and brains. Having a piece of her skin burned off was nothing. She knew what it was like to get eaten alive, to wake up with the vultures’ snouts all buried in your own boiling intestines; she could recall the sensation of her head cracking open, consciousness still fluttering as predators plucked out her eyeballs and pulled out her tongue; a memory of being flayed floated to the surface of her mind. She couldn’t even recall when that had been. She broke out in cold sweat and struggled not to hyperventilate. Pain was coming once again; after six years with the Dead-Heads and freedom from pain, it had finally caught up with her.

She should have been used to this, should have been able to face it with ease, for Leuca’s sake.

She felt so weak.

Elpida smiled gently. She put down the cauterization tool. “Ooni, I’m not going to burn it off you. I’ll use a scalpel, a sharp one. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

They were going to flay her.

“Fuckin’ should,” Ilyusha spat. “Fucking tear it off her!”

Elpida said, “Illy, please. We have to do this right.”

Ilyusha snorted and crossed her arms. “Fuck you. Fuck you too, Elpi.”

Ooni hurried to obey. Her hands were shaking. Perhaps if she didn’t resist, they wouldn’t take too much of her; maybe she’d still be able to find a way out of this when all their backs were turned. She lifted the grey cloak from her shoulders and pulled up her t-shirt. She tried to ignore her own nudity; it didn’t matter, she had to submit as quickly as possible. She exposed her own tattoo: a tiny black skull, jawless, eyes blazing with jagged stars, high up on her left pectoral.

Ilyusha spat on the floor. Her bionic tail cut the air.

Elpida said, “That’s the only one?”

“I swear it,” Ooni replied. Her voice was shaking and she couldn’t stop. “I-I can strip if you want to verify.”

Elpida shook her head. “That’s not necessary. As long as it’s the only one.”

Ooni nodded.

Elpida said: “It’ll have to come off. Ooni, do you understand why?”

“Yes,” Ooni lied. “Please, I … I want you to … r-remove it. Yes.”

Elpida sighed. She saw right through the act, didn’t she? Her eyes weren’t even bionics. Perhaps Ooni’s mad assumption was correct — perhaps this woman really was born of a divine coupling.

Ooni didn’t care about the skull tattoo. The Dead-Heads were just another means to an end — a far more reliable means than any she had yet found, the only offering of hope she’d encountered since she’d lost Leuca, since the Fortress had fallen, since she’d learned that building anything in this afterlife was impossible. One brick could not be made to lie upon another. The Dead-Heads’ solution was the only way, and they kept the pain at bay, most of the time.

But Leuca had called her a traitor. So the skull had to come off.

Elpida was true to her word. Ilyusha offered to use her claws to cut off the offending symbol, but Elpida insisted on the scalpel — and on performing the excision herself. She gave Ooni a piece of gauze to bite down on, then loomed over her, metal scalpel held delicately in one hand. She used her other hand to press down on the skin, to make it taut and tight, easier to cut. Ooni bit down, turned her head, and screwed her eyes shut; perhaps the pain would come now, at the moment of willing surrender; perhaps Elpida would keep cutting — or perhaps she would leave the scalpel jammed into Ooni’s flesh, daring her to acknowledge the blade, let alone pull it out.

The operation was over in seconds. Ooni barely felt the knife. That scalpel really was as sharp as it looked.

Elpida pressed a piece of gauze against a wide, shallow wound just below Ooni’s collar bone. “Ooni. Ooni, look. Pay attention. Press down on the gauze. That’s right. Keep your hand there. Press tight. Good girl.”

Ooni blushed — good girl? She did as she was told; she was a good girl now. Blood soaked through the gauze and stained her fingertips. Elpida wrapped the gauze beneath a bandage, secured the bandage around Ooni’s shoulder, and said something about changing the dressing later on. Ooni spat out the piece of gauze she’d been biting down on, then automatically licked her own blood off her fingertips.

Elpida straightened up and stepped back — holding a piece of Ooni.

Elpida held the tiny flayed scrap of Ooni’s olive-brown skin between thumb and forefinger. The skull tattoo was pale now, no longer backed by flesh and blood. She held it up to the light — and popped it into her mouth.

Elpida chewed and swallowed quickly. Ilyusha looked a little confused, but didn’t complain. Amina seemed awestruck. Ooni was stunned.

Then Elpida offered Ooni the cannister of blue.

Ooni said: “I-I, uh, I don’t understand.”

“Gotta heal up that wound,” said Elpida. “One mouthful. If you’re one of us, then drink.”

Ooni’s hands shook as she raised the cannister to her lips. She hadn’t tasted raw blue in a very long time. She whimpered when the glowing life touched her tongue. She closed her eyes and swallowed a mouthful; she felt it sliding down her throat and filling her with warmth. It took all her self-control not to pour the whole cannister into herself; her body was screaming for more. When she lowered the cannister she found tears rolling down her cheeks. The terrible hunger was fading.

She didn’t understand. Why give her such precious resources? There was no way this group was really as fresh as Leuca believed — but this was pure naivety. None of this made any sense.

Ooni wiped her eyes. Don’t cry in front of a leader, it’s dangerous! What if that’s what she wants? Give you hope and kindness, then take it away.

Or maybe not. She’d cried in front of Yola — Yola had used that, yes, but she’d kept Ooni alive. Would Elpida do the same? Would she take pity?

Ooni knew she had to say something. “I— uh— t-thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Elpida replied.

Ilyusha snorted. “Like you fucking deserved it, reptile fuck.”

Elpida sat back down on the infirmary bed. Her eyes lingered on Leuca for a moment, watching her breathe, roving over her many wounds. Leuca had sworn to Ooni that nothing had happened between her and Elpida, that they had not shared any intimacies; in fact, they’d resolved their differences with a fistfight. But Ooni saw the deep affection in Elpida’s eyes as she looked upon Leuca. Like they’d fucked. Or nearly fucked. Or wanted to fuck.

But Ooni’s jealousy had turned into wet ash.

“Alright,” Elpida said. She lifted her eyes from Leuca, and looked at Ooni. “That’s the outside dealt with. Now for the inside.” She indicated Ilyusha and Amina with a sideways nod. “I was going to ask these two to give us the room, so you and I could talk alone. But now I think that would be a bad idea.”

Ilyusha growled. “Not leaving her alone with you, Elpi.”

Elpida eyed Ilyusha, then nodded at the other fold-out metal seat. Ilyusha just shrugged and crossed her arms. Amina shook her head.

Ooni said: “May I … ?”

Elpida nodded. “Go ahead. You don’t have to ask permission to speak.”

“I … I’m not going to hurt anyone. I swear it, on Leuca’s life. I don’t want to hurt any of you, I just want … want to be … ”

She couldn’t finish the statement. Too many lies, all knotted up together. Too much kindness, when it made no sense, repaying her fist in Elpida’s gut with a gulp of raw blue. And Elpida saw through it all; those purple eyes burned through flesh and bone. She must truly be the daughter of a god.

Elpida took a deep breath and nodded. “I understand. Thank you, Ooni. Now, you and I are going to have a conversation.”

“Okay. Okay, sure! Yes! I-I’ll tell you anything you want.”

Ilyusha snorted. Elpida sighed, and said: “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Ooni. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to hurt Pira. I promised you that, I—” Suddenly Elpida screwed up her eyes and flicked her head sideways. “Yes, yes, of course I meant it!”

Everyone stared at her: Amina looked awestruck again; Ilyusha seemed to understand, surprised but not shocked; Ooni didn’t know what to think. God-touched. God-stalked. Visions and voices. Why was she thinking these things again after all these years?

Because Leuca had told the truth — Elpida was special. But Leuca had not understood what she was speaking of.

Elpida opened her eyes again. “Sorry about that. Talking to the voices in my head, that’s all. Like I was saying, I promised not to hurt you or Pira. If you’re on our side, in good faith, then I won’t break that promise, no matter the mistakes you make.”

If you don’t fuck up; if you do what I say, when I say, how I say; if you offer up your flesh and soul to my cause instead of the Dead-Heads. Ooni knew the test must be coming soon, but what form would it take? A pound of flesh? No. Leuca had sworn off eating, and Leuca had so much faith in Elpida, so that made no sense. Something worse? Were they going to throw her back to Yola, as a spy? Or worse, so much worse; Ooni could imagine so much worse. The fresh wound on her chest itched beneath the dressing. The blood was beginning to clot.

Ooni tried to keep the fear off her face. She nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Commander.”

Elpida smiled. “You can just call me Elpida. Commander is fine, but you don’t have to do that all the time.”

“Elpida. Okay.”

Elpida said, “I need intel, whatever you can share. I gather that you’ve been around for a long time, like Pira, so anything you know might be useful to us — about the nanomachine ecosystem, or the tombs, or the graveworms, sources of nutrition, tricks we don’t know yet. Anything and everything. I also need to know about the Death’s Heads. I need to understand who they are and what they’ll do — how they might try to follow us or get revenge on us for escaping. And, more importantly than any of those things, I need to know who you are, Ooni. I need to know about you. I want to understand why you were with the Death’s Heads.”

Ooni wet her lips; she could do this. She could navigate this minefield. She had to, for Leuca. “Yes, Comm— Elpida.” She smiled.

“And, Ooni,” Elpida said. Rainstorm static filled the pause.

“Y-yes?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Don’t lie, Ooni. More than your reputation is riding on this. Zombies do terrible things, here in the ashes. Don’t pretend you didn’t.

Hoooooo gosh, this chapter was, uh, maybe the most challenging so far? Also the longest so far. This is nearly 6.7k words, and not on purpose. It just wouldn’t stop! I tried to find an end-point earlier, but that would have required an artificial cliffhanger, and I always try to avoid that. Ooni is a mess, possibly worse than anybody else in the cast so far. Her psychology here is … well, yeah, you’ve seen for yourself! Is her state entirely her fault? Not really. But she’s responsible for the decisions she took, the people she supported, and the ideology written on her flesh. Ooni is kind of a counterpoint to some of the Death’s Heads we met in arc 7; Yola and Cantrelle are ideologically committed true believers, while Ooni here is a fellow-traveler. She’s weak – but not for the reasons she thinks. She’s a coward, but not because she’s afraid of pain. Can Elpida make something better out of her? Maybe. Or maybe Ilyusha has a point. Seems like Elpida is going to try anyway.

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