Marcus navigated through the forest, stumbling and smashing down trees with the Firestorm. He didn't intend to rip a path through, but trying to steer a 100-ton upright with any amount of grace wasn't his specialty. Finally reaching a small gully which lacked any trees, he lowered the Firestorm's stance and low-walked until reaching a dry rock bed.

  That's when the red fuel light turned on.

  Layne turned around and gave Marcus a worried look. "What are we doing?"

  Marcus sighed. "We have to stop here. We're running on fumes."

  Layne swallowed hard and nodded, pulling his headset off.

  With his hand hovering over the switch above the keylet hole, Marcus weighed trying to leave it idle. Then he realized that if the Arcadians tracked them down, he'd need all the fuel they had to either fight or flee.

  So with a trembling hand, Marcus flipped the engine disengage switch, and pressed the confirm button beside it.

  The engines sputtered, then whined to a stop and the upright fell into a parking squat.

  Now in a perfectly silent cockpit, Marcus and Layne stared at their laps.

  "What now?" Layne muttered.

  That was the one question Marcus wasn't prepared to answer. He'd fantasized about this day for months upon months; training, focusing on every aspect of, every nut and bolt on this machine, for the day he had a chance to free it from the clutches of that barbarian fiend. Now he had it and there were only more problems. It wasn't like he'd imagined.

  Marcus took a deep breath, and a foul odor assaulted him. He looked over at Timur's body slumped over on the stainless-steel platform. "He already stinks, let's get him out of here."

  Layne followed Marcus's line of sight toward the dead barbarian. The mechanic nodded, got to his feet, and picked up Timur by his arms.

  Marcus stood and swept up the corpse's legs. After a few steps, the two lingered over the exit hatch.

  "How are we going to get out? There's no one outside to open the hatch." Layne spoke with a shaken voice.

  "Opening main hatch." Fenicks called out from the pilot's seat.

  Marcus's eyes widened and the two stared at each other for a moment.

  Then the cockpit viewport became opaque, and the lights darkened. The only remaining illumination was one of the monitors next to the pilot's seat, and the now-open hatch on the floor.

  Marcus looked out at the ground. "Just drop him."

  In unison, the two dumped Timur's body out of the hatch. The corpse bounced off the leg and tumbled head-over-heels before splattering against the boulders lining the dry riverbed with a hollow thud.

  Marcus shivered.

  Layne turned his nose up. "I'll go first." Without hesitation, he crouched down, threw his legs out of the hatch and onto the rungs of the ladder lining the Firestorm's left leg. Then he descended.

  Marcus sat on the edge of the hatch.

  "Will you be departing for long, sir?" Fenicks called out from the pilot's console.

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  Marcus hesitated. "Are you talking to me?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The mechanic blinked and looked out the hatch. "Why are you asking?"

  "My main batteries are charged to 94%, and reserve power is at 100%. Current degradation levels are 13% and 49% respectively. If we are not going to start engines anytime soon, it would be wise for me to enter hibernation." Fenicks responded.

  Marcus tilted his head. "What does that mean?"

  "Hibernation, sir, is when I shut down all non-essential functionality and enter a very low power state."

  Marcus cleared his throat. "Does that mean I can't turn the Firestorm back on unless you come out of hibernation?"

  "No, sir. Manual engine start or input from an authenticated user will awaken me from hibernation." Fenicks spoke plainly.

  Marcus nodded. "Do it."

  "Understood, hibernating. Safe travels, sir." An audible whir quieted overhead, and the light of the lone console extinguished. Only a blue button on the pilot's control panel remained lit.

  Marcus observed the light coming from below his feet for a moment. Despite on the verge of being hunted, he felt a sense of immense potential radiating from the still cockpit.

  "What are we going to do with him?" Layne called out from the forest floor.

  Marcus leaned down. "Coming." He descended the ladder to the forest floor still lit by the midday sun through the thick canopy.

  The body they tossed was contorted, wedged between two of the many boulders of the riverbed.

  Marcus put his hands on his hips and sighed. "We need to bury him."

  Layne scoffed and looked away for a moment. "C'mon get serious."

  "I am serious." Marcus shook his head.

  "Look at where we are." Layne splayed his arms out and pivoted his hips. "There's no one here. We're not being looked after anymore."

  Marcus pinched his nose. "I know."

  "Then start acting like it." Layne kicked the corpse's thigh. "This guy wouldn't do the same for us anyways."

  Marcus groaned and crossed his arms. "We aren't like him."

  "Yeah, we're alive." Layne looked away. "And I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind."

  "Then what do you want to do?" Marcus pursed his lips.

  Layne pointed toward the crest of a hill on the other side of the riverbed. "We dump him over there."

  "Man..." Marcus shook his head.

  "Did finding this thing make you forget what it was like living on those streets when we were young?" Layne held his arms akimbo, tilting his head and leaning to get closer to Marcus's face.

  Marcus closed his eyes and nodded. "Fine, let's just do it and be done." He crouched down and grabbed the contorted corpse's arms. "Just know if things were different—better, we would be burying him."

  Layne nodded and sighed. "I know. And that's why I stick by you no matter what. You're a better man than I'll ever be." He reached down and pulled the corpse straight by the legs then picked his half up.

  The two carefully navigated across the massive stones, careful not to slip into the gaping crevices. Then Marcus slid up the riverbed wall of compacted dirt on his back and yanked the body up, then helped Layne climb.

  The two ascended the berm and stood atop the crest of a sharp decline. The slope was steep enough that if either of them fell it would likely be deadly.

  "Alright, here we go." Layne started swinging the body by the legs.

  Marcus looked down at Timur's body. As it gained momentum from them swaying, the image of the still-alive Shooter swinging in his arms flashed in Marcus's mind once again. "I hate how often we've had to do this lately."

  Layne grunted, putting his back into the motion. "Yep, vae victis and all that."

  They hurled the body, and it tumbled down the hill, violently rag dolling, smacking into thin tree trunks as it careened.

  Marcus scrunched his nose and slapped his hands together. Then he turned and stared at his upright, its legs spanning the width of the gulley. The sense that this sort of thing would become far more common welled in his gut.

  Marcus's stomach growled. "We better figure out how to rustle up some grub." He blurted.

  Layne nodded, producing the bloody dagger sheathed in his pocket. "This is all we got to do that."

  Marcus looked around. "Well, let's make something sharp and pokey."

  Layne smiled. "Just like the old days, eh?"

  Marcus again observed his upright, its shadow lingering on the forest afar. "Just like the old days, yeah."

  They began crossing the dry riverbed again, when a sudden gust knocked both of them down. Marcus tumbled and slid between two boulders. Layne fell and steadied himself atop another.

  "What the hell was that?" Marcus reached up and clawed at the stone to pull himself back up.

  Layne stood to a squat and started pulling on Marcus's arm. "No clue."

  A deep drone filled the forest.

  "Is it the Arcadians?" Marcus couldn't steady his shaken voice.

  Layne yanked Marcus by the shoulder and slid him atop the boulder. The mechanic looked up, still squatting as another sharp gust buffeted them.

  A massive shadow ran along the riverbed. It had a great span at a point near the middle, and a long, thin wispy section near the rear.

  Layne shook his head, mouth agape. "I don't think that's an Arcadian."

  A sharp roar boomed from overhead, rattling the armor plating on the Firestorm.

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