“Somethin’ about almost dyin’ gives a man a powerful hunger,” opined Walker as he bit down on his sandwich. We were sitting in a cramped booth at Gwen’s, a dingy little barbeque place crammed between a tenement block and a chop shop near Valiant’s northern edge. I chowed down too, though I wasn’t sure if our recent brush with death of the fact that the sandwich was made of real meat was to blame.

Walker wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and quaffed some of his Old Hand soda. “Toldja about the pulled pork, didn’t I? I ain’t gonna steer you wrong.”

I nodded, mouth too full to answer. We took a couple minutes to finish our meals while they were still warm.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, stifling a belch. “That was worth every chit.” Even though pork was the most abundant meat in D-block, it still carried a steep premium over arpaste.

“You’re livin’ the high life now, hon. Sticky tables an’ all.” Walker chuckled and took another drink.

“Yeah, thanks for turning me on to this joint. But now-” He held up one finger as he kept pulling on his soda, throat bobbing. I crossed my arms and sighed. Finally he finished the whole glass.

“Ahh, man. Don’t that stuff take me back. My pa’d always bring me a bottle when he got off shift if’n he had the spare chits. That’s how you can tell it’s real quarrymen runnin’ this place. Ain’t nobody else even heard of Old Hand, that’s for-”

“Walker.” I couldn’t tell if he was really rambling or just trying to get me wound up. By the way he grinned, probably the latter.

“Alright, alright. So.” His face grew more serious. “You wanna know why I turned tail and burned outta there soon as I saw the bodies.”

“Yeah. And what the fuck was shooting at us.”

“That too.” He sighed, rubbing his stubbly cheek. “Shit. This is always a weird conversation.”

What the hell does he mean by that? I gave him a searching look. Guess I’d find out.

“Now. You probably know what a menschenjaeger is, don’t you Sharkie?”

“‘Course. They’re cybered-up badasses, right?” In truth there was a little more to it. They were the best of the best, mercenaries whose skills cybernetics had improved, not created. Some of them were even famous. Slicky Daggers, who stole intel from a Yakkorp black site and lived to tell the tale. Bullhead, who’d taken down a whole clan of scavs in close combat at the Battle of Pit 3. Quiet Emi, who killed all her targets from at least a thousand yards and had never missed a shot. The media congloms made movies about these people.

Walker slouched on the bench and fished a cig out of his jacket, twirling it idly in his fingers. “You’re right and you’re wrong. Bullhead, the Hangman, their kind-that’s what people call ‘em. But they ain’t really menschenjaegers.” Finally he stopped torturing the poor smoke and lit it, muttering a curse when the match burned him. “Now, here’s where things get weird and you’re gonna think I’m fuckin’ with you. I promise I ain’t. Alright?”

Now I was really getting weirded out. “S-sure.”

He blew smoke into the air between us. “There are people, Sharkie, who can do things that just shouldn’t be possible. Things that don’t make sense. True menschenjaegers. Most of ‘em are freelance mercenaries, and at that lab we almost got clipped by one.”

Now I understood why he’d given me that warning. I still kind of thought he was having me on. “What do you mean, impossible things?”

“The fella back there that tried to kill us? Unless I’m sorely mistaken, that was a gent by the name of Lesuisse. He puts holes in things.”

“Like with a gun?” I asked skeptically.

“No, not with a gun!” He flapped a hand at me, dropping ash on the table. “I mean he just looks at things, and pop! Hole clean though ‘em. Works on locks, doors, walls, people...and cars, as I’m sure you figured out.”

It would explain the things we’d found and seen at the lab. Those clean-edged holes in the bodies, like someone had taken a core sample out of them. The attack from the ceiling and on the car, like bullet holes without bullets. “How would that even work, though? Is he just sending that matter somewhere else? Or maybe destroying the space it occupies-”

“I have no idea, little miss. This might surprise you, but I ain’t got a physics degree. All I know is that’s what he does. Other ones-well, they tend to be secretive types. I know there’s one lady called Winnower. She’s got this black string, thin as a hair but heavy as a quarry truck-or so I’ve heard. Other’n them I’ve only heard vague rumors, a few names. Pale Horse. Evenin’ Red. The Mirror that Flatters Not. Spooky shit like that.”

What he was saying sounded nuts, absolutely cracked in the head- but until a few nights ago, so would the idea of my bones being made of tungsten alloy. “Say for a moment that I believe you, Walker.” He raised an eyebrow, apparently inoffended. “So, where do these...abilities come from? Are they genemods? Mutants?” A worrying possibility popped into my head. “It’s-it’s not magic, is it?”

It was a testament to what kind of conversation we were having that he didn’t laugh. “’Spose it could be, though I very much doubt it. Like I said, Sharkie, these people...sayin’ they keep their cards close to the vest don’t even cover it. S’like buyin the shit they keep in the back at the liquor store- they don’t advertise. You don’t already know about ‘em, you can’t hire ‘em.” He finished the smoke in a long, vicious drag. “And somebody higher up wants to keep it that way. You post about ‘em on the net, it just disappears. You try again, maybe you disappear. What I’m tryin’ to say is that its hard to even talk about the fuckers, let alone figure out what makes ‘em tick. Bein’ honest, I wasn’t even gonna tell you, except for your…” he twirled a hand around vaguely, “...condition, we’ll call it.”

I crossed my arms. “So nobody knows. It might as well be magic, then.”

“Didn’t say that.” He signaled the waiter for another soda. “There’s a few other people in the Bones who’re clued in. The Runes, of course, and some like you. Wrong place, wrong time, you know. Our best guess is that it’s oldtech. Spacetech. Sun Age shit. Entirely believable, at least accordin’ to the Record.”

“Spacetech.” I leaned back, sipping my drink. If you believed the history laid out in the Sacrificial Record, mankind had once been a spacefaring race, hopping planets easy as I might hop a cab. The technology brought up in the text really did sound borderline magical. Faster-than-light travel, planetary-scale terraforming, medical tech that bordered on necromancy...and, of course, weapons that made Enforcement’s cutting-edge look like a flint axe.

“I know it sounds insane, but that’s ‘cause it is. I promise you I ain’t makin’ this shit up.”

I nodded slowly. “If they’re such top-secret classified eyes-only shit, Walker, how do you know about ‘em?”

He scowled, looking down at the table. “I ran into Lesuisse before. Years back, before I was a Rune. If I understand correctly, most of them are too good to do work around here. Charge way too much for any of us deeks to afford, too. Lesuisse, though, he don’t mind slummin’ it. He did for one of my buddies, and his whole crew too. I still don’t know who called the hit. Maybe some corpo type my friend pissed off, or some samurai with a stick up his ass.” Leather creaked as he hiked up his jacket. “Whatever it was, well, I go over to their squat to talk some shop, and when I get there the doorknob’s gone like someone took a hole saw to it. I went in and it looked just like that lab. Bodies everywhere, all full of holes. All too far gone for me to do anythin’.” I found myself leaning forward, engrossed.

“I just missed ‘im too. Heard an engine out back, dashed out there and saw this ratty old beater pullin’ out, the kind you steal for a job and torch when you’re done. Took a few shots but frankly I was too freaked out to do much damage. And Lesuisse-I seen him just glance in the mirror. His eyes...brrr.” He shuddered. “Pale, pale gray. Like fog, or ash. Faded. Just a glance, and I felt this sting in my ear.” He turned his head and showed me. There was a small, crescent-shaped divot in the top of his ear, so shallow I wouldn’t have noticed without him pointing it out. “I’d imagine aimin’ through a car mirror’s pretty tough, and he didn’t give enough of a shit to try again. I was pretty fuckin’ confused at this point, of course, had a dumb look on my face just like you do right now.” He grinned suddenly and I rolled my eyes.

“Fuck off and finish the story, old man.”

“Not much more to tell. I talked to Cwyr Smith, who was Naudis Rune before I was, and he told me the score. And now you’re in the same spot I was, almost.”

“Except one of my buddies didn’t get killed. Uh, sorry to hear that, by the way.”

“It was a long time ago, and if I’m bein’ honest he was a dickhead. Woulda got hisself killed some other way if Lesuisse hadn’t done it for him.”

I was taken aback. “Ah. Okay.”

“Anyway.” He took another long pull on his drink. “Having one of these jokers rattlin’ around D-block is bad news. Don’t matter that he hit Blue Div instead of us. I’m gonna pass it up the chain to Cwyr, and you can bet I’ll be bringin’ it up at the Runes meeting.”

I shook my head ruefully as I remembered I’d have to go as well.

“Aw, come on. It ain’t that bad. You just have to stand there and look tough, really.”

I cocked an eyebrow, dubious. “And you don’t have anyone else that can do that instead?”

“No. Not anyone that tore up Rossignol in a bare-knuckle fight an’ saved my damn bacon in the process.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m tryin’ to do you an honor here. If you really don’t want to go, why, that’s alright.”

I frowned, thinking about it. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. It was just another way for him to thank me. And how bad could it really be? I was acting kind of childish. “Alright, alright. It’s fine, Walker. I’ll go with you. Thanks.”

“Naw, thank you. I think you’ll have a good time, anyway. But before that, there’s that job with Monta I was tellin’ you about. You good to go for tonight?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“I think it’ll be easier for him to explain. You can meet him up here.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and slid it to me. “Ten o’clock tonight. And bring your saw.”

—The address Walker gave me was in the nameless, abandoned hood west of Port Town, where it began to drift into Vatburg. Sparsely placed lifelights illuminated rotting, empty warehouses and moldering offices. They clustered around yards stacked high with industial waste, all of it fenced in with miles of rusted razor wire. Offshoots of the Guethon canal tangled through and beneath it all, half-roofed over with stained concrete. My destination was off one of the latter. The waterway ran through the base of an artificial canyon, fifteen feet below ground level. I walked beside it on a narrow strip of cement placed between the water and the retaining wall, dimly lit by flourescents that buzzed sullenly in their filthy casements. Awful fumes rising off the waste-slicked canal stung my eyes. I hadn’t seen anyone since leaving Port Town behind. The only sounds were the sluggish trickle of the canal and the warm, sticky night breeze that blew down the back of my neck. The glittersaw’s tape harness clung greasily to my skin.

I stopped at a rusty man-door set into the concrete wall. Squinting in the dim light, I was able to make out a faint Holy Bones sigil drawn on its mottled surface. I rapped out a knock in the pattern Walker had showed me before I left.

I got an answer immediately. “‘So on we worked, and waited for the light.’” The voice was male, a smooth tenor.

I pulled Walkers paper out and squinted, trying to read his scribbles. “‘And went without the meat, and cursed the…bread?’”

“Ah, Sawyer. You’re a little early.” The door clunked open, revealing a figure clad in black tactical gear. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Monta,” I said as I pushed through. “Good to finally meet-“ My voice cut off as I saw, for the first time, Monta without a mask.

“F-fidi?” I stuttered, eyes wide. He was older, of course, his hair cut much shorter than he used to wear it, but I was ninety-nine percent sure-and even that doubt left me when his eyes widened in recognition.

“Sharkie?”

“Fidi!” I stuck out my hand and we clasped arms just like we used to. He grinned and I couldn’t help returning it- because it turned out ‘Monta’ was actually my childhood friend, Ofidio Valmontane. “Ho-lee-shit. I never would have thought…How long has it been? Six years?”

He nodded, letting go of my arm. “Something like that. Fah! That bastard. Never once did he call you Sharkie. Always ‘the new girl’ or ‘Sawyer.’”

It was easy to figure out who he was talking about. “Guess how surprised I am. What about the time he had you draw a bead on me? Outside Orrechs, I mean.”

He shrugged. “Thermal scope. What can you do?”

I shook my head, still hardly able to believe it. “How’d you end up working for Walker anyway, man? Figured you’d end up joining the family business.” Fidi’s parents ran a courier and transport company, moving stuff around for those who could pay. I’d lost touch with him when they moved far out into Quarryside to get closer to their customers.

“It’s…it’s a long story.” He gave me a sheepish grin, the expression so familiar that for a moment it turned him into the lanky kid I’d known years ago. “I had thought the same, but suffice it to say that fate had other plans. I could say the same about you, of course. What’s old Sawada think of you-“

“He, uh, doesn’t know.” I touched the back of my neck, embarrassed. “Let’s just say I fucked up big time, and Walker gave me a hand.”

“Not an uncommon tale. The man collects people like us the way some people collect old coins.” He grinned again to take any sting out of it, and I admit I found myself staring. Maybe he’d been a skinny teenager before, but now his compact frame was covered with a warrior’s muscle. It didn’t help that I’d always found him cute, too, with his olive skin and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. He’d always treated me nicest of any of the neighborhood kids, and we’d even gone out for a little while- admittedly more out of mutual boredom than romantic affection. Now, though, I found myself wondering if I should have pursued things harder.

I shook myself a little, and if he’d noticed me looking he was gracious enough not to say anything. “Yeah. He is a little odd about it.”

“Walker’s just very…individualistic, for a gang member. He has his quirks. Ah…shall we?” He made a courtly ladies-first sort of gesture at a folding table behind him. It sat in a puddle of light on the stained concrete floor. The rest of the room was bathed in shadow, redolent with the stink of mildew and bleach.

“Yeah, sure.” Straight to business, then. I guess that’s why we were there. We sat across from each other on a pair of rusty chairs.

“You will have heard that Blue Division has its connections with some of the more uptown blocks,” he began. I noticed him flipping a small pocketknife across his knuckles, back and forth and back and forth. “Their main contact is with the Fomorii, who run the underground in K-block. Drugs, gambling, prostitution, all that.” I nodded along. K was full of office drones, I’d heard, middle management types who spent most of their lives plugged into accounting consoles or control decks. I’d imagine that kind of existence made for a healthy drug market. “It’s far easier to make and move product in D-block, of course. Most of the commerce between them is simple exchanges of drugs for money. Occasionally, though, there’s more to it: weapons for the Blues, soldiers for the Fomorii, that sort of thing. One of those more unusual deals is going down tonight.”

“And we’re gonna crash it.” I wasn’t awfully excited about it. It sounded dangerous as all hell. “What are they actually handing off?”

He flashed another sheepish smile. “We have no idea.”

I let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Of course. Why are we here, then?”

“Oh, a couple of reasons.” He leaned back in his chair, shadows shifting beneath his high cheekbones. “First, this is happening on very short notice. Our slicers say there wasn’t a peep about this meeting until two days ago.”

“Are they usually scheduled?”

“Almost always. Second is that Barrikad Vivar is going to be there in person-according to what we’ve picked up, at least.”

“Who’s that?” ’Someone I probably ought to recognize’ was the easy answer to that one, of course.

Fidi didn’t mention it, though. “He’s Blue Division’s Executive Officer. As in, chief Executive Officer. Second in command to Commander Canra, the man who gets things done. Their equivalent of Cwyr Smith.”

“In other words, someone who doesn’t usually show up to a routine hand-off.” Now this was making sense.

Fidi laughed. “You always were smarter than you looked.” He winked at me and I couldn’t help laughing back. It was such an unexpected thing, getting to see him again. “Which is to say, yes. If he’s showing up, something important must be going down. Add this to the fact that the Fomorii are supposed to have their own contacts even further uptown, and things start to look rather worrying.”

I slouched backwards and frowned as I considered that. Further uptown…Walker had said that the only people who could afford to hire true menschenjaegers like Lesuisse were Admin and the corps. And now here was a Blue Division boss having a mysterious meeting with someone from outside the block, on the same day Lesuisse took out one of his drug labs…or was it a renegade lab? “Rem’s breath, what a mess,” I muttered.

“Thinking about the timing of your little adventure, eh?” Fidi watched me seriously, the little knife dancing across his fist.

“Walker told you about that?” He nodded. “He tell you about…who did it?” I continued, trying to stay cagey.

Another nod. “I’d heard rumors before. Whispers. Never believed them. To be honest, I’m not sure if I do even now.”

“I wouldn’t if I hadn’t seen it. I don’t know what it means, timed like this, but Walker didn’t think it was anything good.”

“I’m inclined to agree. But now we’ve got to get moving.” He tapped his big, old-school wristwatch, worn with the face on the inside. “The meet’s going down at the edge of the Sump.”

I grimaced. “Seriously? How are we going to get there?” I didn’t relish the prospect of wading through that mess.

He gave me a mischevious little smile, the same he used to flash before lighting a firework or lifting something off a gomi stand while the hawker wasn’t looking. “Oh, don’t worry about that.”