Chapter twenty three, Sasha Rolling Fuck trundled forward, crunching its way over the Texas Plains and leaving a carpet of flattened grass and broken trees in its wake. And Sasha Marian, situated in a little purple building atop one of the city's tallest spires, couldn't quite believe her eyes. In spite of its many wheels, the city didn't look like the kind of thing that should be able to move. It was as if the Empire State Building had taken up jogging. Sasha had been more or less alone since the war Council had concluded. She'd wanted to go up to the bar with Manny and Roland, since they were the only people here she even sort of knew, but their conversation had seemed a private sort of thing. At first, she thought that her hosts had made an oversight in leaving her unwatched. Surely they wouldn't let someone who had been their enemy just a few days ago wander freely through their home. But as the hours went by, it became clear that's exactly what they'd done, so Sasha explored it had been exhilarating. Actually, every inch of the city was different and strange and new to her. Across the gantries there were numerous market stalls with fresh meat and produce. At first she recognized all the foods, but the higher and further she went, the stranger everything seemed. The meat went from beef and chicken to alligator in zebra and mammoth, and eventually something Sasha thought might be from an actual dinosaur. She was sure it was all lab grown, and the produce was certainly gene modified. At one point, she came across a kiosk filled with fruit that had been tweaked to take the shape of gigantic erect penises. There were penis watermelons, penis oranges, penis apples, and even bags of tiny penis shaped grapes. She knew she should have felt disgusted. Two weeks ago, Sasha would have been horrified, but somehow she just wasn't. She felt a vague sense of unease awkwardness at the sight of so many genitals, but after all she'd seen in the Heavenly Kingdom, it didn't exactly horrify her either, How could it. The fondl boats were another matter. The sight and the strange sky's sweet smell that wafted out of the grinding, groping crowd inside it made her queasy. This is exactly as depraved as Pastor Mike said it would be, she thought. But she also thought, is this really worse than all that violence and death? Who were they hurting? The Lord? Said a shrill, small voice in the back of her mind. Why would God hate this and not the hanging of good people? Sasha wondered, Why would this make him angry but not the butchery inside that factory? You know what the Bible says, Sasha, There is no getting around that. The scriptures were clear. Well maybe they're wrong. Then maybe they've always been wrong, or maybe I read them wrong. Maybe they didn't say what I thought they said. It was odd, how freeing that thought was. She made her way past a fondle boat, and, for no reason beyond curiosity and the desire to stretch her muscles, Sasha started to climb upwards. The gantries that made up the bulk of Rolling Fox Walking Space were fairly easy for a human to traverse. They had high walls, so even the very drunk were unlikely to fall, and in spite of the city's clutter and bustle. Its designers had done a good job of making two clear lanes for foot traffic, but the gantries only gave Sasha access to a handful of the strange, glittering buildings that dotted the city's rolling superstructure, so she left them and she climbed up. It was not an easy climb. Here and there she found small sections of ladder or knotted rope to ease her passage. For the most part, though she climbed hand over hand up the criss crossed metal girders. She passed several buildings filled with people drinking and partying. Sasha didn't stop to talk. The climb was hard, but at least it allowed her to avoid awkward conversation with whatever manner of creatures lived in this place. By the time she reached the top of the spindle, Sasha's body was drenched in sweat and her arms were too sore to pull her up one more foot. She was grateful to whoever had decided to cap this spindle with a tiny purple shack, and she was even more grateful that the shack appeared unoccupied. Sasha pulled herself inside and collapsed on the floor for a while. It was all she could do to regain her breath. She wondered, in a vague sort of way, if she'd just broken into someone's home. Nobody had warned her that there would be certain places she couldn't travel here, but no one had told her much of anything at all. After she'd arrived, Sasha took stock of her surroundings. The interior of the room was plush. The walls were carpeted in thick, cushiony velvet. The floor below her seemed to be some sort of black shag. There was a framed picture on one wall. Sasha didn't recognize the artist, but it looked like a cross section drawing of a handgun with fetuses as the bullets. The sight of it made her feel a bit sick, but there was also something about the art that drew her eyes. The center of the room was a low, flat table that appeared to be made entirely of mirrored glass. There was a pile of white powder on the center of the table, along with a strange, rectangular piece of green paper. Sasha picked up the paper and stared at it. It took her a moment to realize what it was. Money said a voice from behind her. Oh, it used to be once upon a time. Sasha frose stiffened. She turned round, not sure what to expect, but with an apology already spilling out of her mouth. I'm sorry, sir, I didn't. Something in the man's smile and the relaxed slump of his shoulders made her stop talking. He stood in the doorway of the little building, just a few feet in front of her. She had no idea how he could have climbed up and in there without her hearing him. She didn't remember the man's name, but she recognized him from the war Council. Those writhing snake tattoos identified him as clearly as a name tag. I'm she trailed off. He smiled at her. There was something about his eyes that seemed off wrong. She couldn't place it. His pupils were somehow different than they should have been when he spoke, though his voice was warm and friendly. You are Sasha Maarian, the girl who was brave enough to flee her home and family for the Heavenly Kingdom, and then brave enough to leave it when she realized what it truly was. His head dipped down into a slight bow, I'm Jim Shannon. It's an hon at a eat you, Miss Marian. Jim squatted down on his haunches and dropped his arms in between his legs. It was a casual motion, but he executed it with almost mechanical precision. There was something to his movements that spoke of terrible potential energy, kinetic force just waiting to be unleashed. It's nice to meet you, she said, because what else could she say. Jim smile didn't change, but his eyes did. His pupils contracted and then changed shape from a circle to a spiraling, rounded star. No, it's not, he said. That's not a lie to each other. Eh, Sasha, I'm weird. I'll move wrong. My eyes. As he spoke, his star pupils started to spin in a hypnotic spiral. Are wrong. They don't look human. I can hear your hotbeat elevate as we speak. I can smell codazol in your brain and elevated levels of blood glucose. I can see in your eyes that me say in this has made you even more nervous. Yes, she admitted, Yes, you're right, you are me. That's perfectly normal, Miss Marian. It is not an act of weakness to admit fear quite the opposite. You feel better, now, don't you? She actually did. There was a queer sort of relief in admitting her fear and discomfort in this man thing's presence. I do feel better, she said. Why is that admitting fear is the first step to conquering it. You don't strike me as someone who wants to live in fear, miss Marian. You do strike me as someone who seeks control, strength, power over your own life. I, she sputtered, I don't. I don't know. A week ago, i'd have told you God was in control of my life. Sasha looked down at her lap, suddenly embarrassed. It wasn't very long ago, but it feels like a lifetime. It was so peaceful, just handing over control. Jim nodded and leaned his head forward a few inches. That didn't end well, though, did it. Sasha shook her head. You traveled to the heaven the Kingdom with a certain set of beliefs about the universe. Those beliefs met reality. Reality broke them into little pieces. There's no shame in that. It happens to all of us. Now you're a bit older and a few bits wiser. She looked up at him. His smile seemed somehow softer. Now she felt like opening up, confiding in this stranger. Sasha wondered if that was another aspect of his modifications, some alteration of his body chemistry and physical appearance that allowed him to seem more familiar and trustworthy to her. She opened up, anyway, I just don't know what to do now. I guess I could go home, but I don't think I was wrong in leaving home. I don't want a life in the American Federation. I know that. I just you don't know what's right, Jim finished, in a voice that was gentler than she would have guessed he was capable of sounding. She nodded as she struggled for her next words. I know I can't go back. I don't know where to go next. I don't have any money or really any useful skills, so I can't go to California or Cascadia. I doubt this place will take me, she gestured down at the rolling city below them, And even if they would, I don't really feel comfortable here either. Hm. Jim nodded and leaned back. Perhaps he said, you should weary, less about where you want to end up and more about what you want to end up doing. I don't have any options, Sasha said, fighting down a rising panic that tickled the back of her throat. I didn't even finish high school. I've spent the last two years preparing to join the Kingdom. I don't know how to do anything useful. That's where you're wrong, Jim said, in a firm voice. You lied well enough to hide your intention from your parents and am fed law enforcement. You did that for years. Sasha wanted to argue that she hadn't lied, not according to Pastor Mike's definition of the word, but she stayed silent while he spoke. You escaped from one of the most fortified botas in the world, Jim continued, And you did useful work in a medical facility. Then you helped facilitate the escape of several prisoners from the Kingdom jail. You functioned effective in a firefight and killed a trained soldier in hand to hand combat. Then you killed another man and stole a vehicle to aid your comrades in an escape. Am I missing anything? Sasha looked down again. She didn't speak. She felt bad about taking praise for murder, especially for Darrell's murder. She did, however, feel a tiny swell of pride at Jim's words. It was immediately accompanied by a flood of guilt. Killing is not something to be proud of, she said, Oh I disagree, Jim chuckled. Killing is a highly technical skill, and you've proven yourself a talented amateur. With some training and a spot of chrome, you could really be something. He trailed off. Sasha was quiet for a moment. She looked into Jim's eyes and tried to read something in them that proved a fool's Errand there was nothing in those orbs but cool confidence, And even that might be false. What did any gesture or look mean from a man who could control every aspect of his body right down to his pupils. I don't want to get better at killing, she told him. I don't want to fill my body with unnatural things. Just thinking about it makes me feel ill. And yet Jim said, what do you mean? And yet she asked, And yet that thought intrigues you too. It's no use, hadn't it. I can taste deceit. Sasha shuddered a little at that, but she couldn't deny that he was right, as much as the idea repulsed her. She'd spent too much time powerless to not crave power. I'm not looking to push you into anything, Sasha, but I would like to provide you with a unique opportunity. What do you mean, she asked. He smiled, plopped down on his butt, and swung his legs in to sit cross leg give on the shag carpet. Jim stuck a finger into the thick black fibers of the carpet and started tugging at them. It was an idle, nervous gesture, and Sasha found it oddly endearing. Part of her suspected that had been his goal. I mean that I would be willing to take you on as a project. A project, he nodded. My organization has access to skilled surgeons, military grade agmatics, and vat growing organs. I'll front the bill and I'll train you, and in return, you'll work for me forever, she asked. Jim laughed. She felt a little annoyed by that, and it must have shown on her face because he stopped Sary Sara. He said, it's just that be debt, slavery, you must not know this, but I helped kill the last country that lived on this land in that sort of thing. So how much time would I owe you, Sasha asked? Five years, he said. Sasha's heart trembled with excitement at the offer. When she thought about the way the adrenaline had coursed through her during the fight in the clinic, she wanted to say yes, But when she thought about Darrell bleeding out next to his car, the shame inside her overwhelmed everything else. Sasha knew she couldn't handle more weights like that on her conscience. I don't want to kill people, she said in a tiny voice. Shame dripped from resyllable That's fine, Jim said, his grin widening. We always need medics. You've shown an aptitude for that already. I have a feeling you'll take well to combat engineering. There's plenty for you to do without pulling a trigger. If I work for you, Sasha said, I have a feeling I won't be able to avoid pulling triggers. None entirely, Jim shrugged. But any shooting you'd do would be an immediate self defense, and you'd have the right to refuse an emissions that violate your moral code. I know that's important to you. The way he said that last bit set the hackles on her neck a rise. Is it not important to you, she asked, morality? I mean? He swung his hands out to the side, palms up in a vaguely buddick pose. When I was a young man, not much older than yourself, I knew a lot of gallant men who claimed to live by codes of honor. Such things were fashionable in the warrior culture of a Diyan empire. None of those codes stopped the men I knew from serving that great beast we called a state. When you see enough good moral men enable war crimes, you stop seeing value in the term morality. So what matters to you, Sasha asked, what do you believe in change? Miss Marian. He smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth, the snake tattoos on his chest and shoulders, writhed in excitement, I believe in change. I grew up in a time when the climate changed and my home became a deadly broiler. Politics changed, and democracy became a dictatorship of capital. For a time, I believed in the promises of change handed out by progressive politicians and scent of old revolutionaries, but every one of them was either co opted by the system or killed by it. He shrugged and cast his eyes down to the carpet for a while. Just a moment his mask slipped, Sasha saw a deep, yawning pit of despair in the tight lines at the edge of his lips, and the subtle twitch of muscles below his left eye. It passed, and a black velvet smile took its place. Then I met a man who showed me the way. Nothing new could grow on this continent until the weeds of the old were pulled out by the root and tossed into the compost pile of history. So he said, forget the old debates about what system should replace capitalism. Kill the state, and the seeds of a thousand new worlds will sprout on its corpse. You've seen two of those sprouts already, Sasha shook her head. If you're referring to the heavenly Kingdom, it's a nightmare. The old US can't have been worse than that, Jim shrugged. Depends on your perspective. I suppose tell miss Sasha you left the amphid the old U, say's most direct successor state. Why was that? Because it's a soulless pit, she said, the words almost leaping from her throat. Jim smiled at that. This isn't though, is it, He gestured out at the city of wheels below them. No, Sasha said, whatever else it was, rolling fuck was not soulless. Neither is the Navajo nation, Jim said, or Cascadia the black Stone Nation. Even the Mormons are up to some interesting things these days, one faction at least. So which do you believe in? Who do you fight for? He grinned again, Night the child, As I told you, I fight for change, to cast down the ossified bones of the old world and make space for the new. I owe allegiance to no national god save perhaps Lady Airis, who he smiled. A bit of smugness leached into the expression. She could see it clear as day right around his eyes. It should have repelled her more than it did. Airis was the Greek goddess of discord, back when people cared about what the Greeks believed. She set the spark that lit the Trojan wall. I know it's a bit silly reaching back to that old mythology, but I can't help myself. There's something about those old gods that calls to me. I can identify with them. He leaned in. There was an eagerness to his posture, his tone, his eyes. The snakes jerked and spun on his muscled chest and arms. I'm offering you a chance to join us on Olympus. Dear Sasha, you've spent your time in worship. It's time to embrace your own godhead, leave your antique books behind, and rewrite the world with your will. I don't know if that's what I want, Sasha said in a still small voice. She tried to ignore how much part of her ached for what he promised. The thought of killing again nauseated her as much as it excited her. But the thought of having power, the kind of power she'd seen Roland exercise, that was intoxicating. She hated how badly she'd started to want it. Well, you don't have to decide now, Jim shrugged his shoulders and gave an amiable smile. Aisle. The floor rumbled underneath them. There was a loud clattering wine as the whole structure of Rolling Fuck came to a slow stop. Jim waited for the scrunching noise to cease, and said, come and watch what we do today, then make you call Rowland. Dawn broke just as Rolling Fuck pulled to a long, slow stop by the shore of Lake Wago. The city had taken the long way around the reservoir, which had added at least an hour to their journey, but also put a sizeable water barrier between Rolling Fuck and the advancing forces of the Heavenly Kingdom. It had been a tight fit at several points, and Rowland had enjoyed watching the wheeled city crunch over several abandoned homes in many a street lamp. But eventually the pilots and navigators had found a suitably large public park and brought Rolling Fuck to rest there. It's a nice sunrise, Manny said. The kids stood next to Rowland on a wooden deck built onto the side of the main roller Skofucker. Mike had assured them this spot provided the best advantage point to watch the rising sun. It looked like he'd been right in that the sky around them was a heavy blend of red and orange that brought up fragmented memories of my ties and fireballs and Roland's head clouds clustered at the top of the horizon, ripe to bursting with the color and light of the new days sun. Roland nodded. Yeah, the shame no one who lives here gets to see it. Manny said, I've never seen the city this empty. Roland looked over at his young friend. The boy had seen a lot for his age, and Roland could see how much it pained him. Sorrow had as sent all its own. The plunging levels of nora, panephren and serotonin brought out the sharp stink of cortosol in the greasy odor of opioids. Lurking just below those smells was the odd, spicy tinge of the I L eighteen protein. Roland could almost hear it weaken the valves of Manny's heart. I imagine this sucks extra much for you. I mean, he's been where they are right twice, Manny said. Roland nodded and an't exactly recall, he admitted, but I expect I had something to do with the first time. Manny looked over to Rowland. Chemically, it was clear the kid was battling him a lunge of sadness, trauma, and anxiety. His actual thoughts, though, were just as hidden from Rowland as they would be from any stock human, perhaps more so. There were moments when Roland feared he was losing the ability to read human emotions or even display them properly on his face. Was that look you're given me? He asked? Finally, what do you mean? I can't tell what a look on your face means, Rowland explained, And I'm curious. Are you angry at me? Manny shrugged, and then he sighed. His shoulders slumped, his head drooped forward and down just a bit. No, he said, I'm not angry. What would I even be angry about? If you can't remember what you did back? Then are you even the same person who did those things? And even if you are, maybe you were doing the right thing. I assume someone was at some point that fucking mess of a war. Maybe everyone was, Roland offered. I know the heavenly Kingdom think what they're doing is right. Manny said, I also don't give a shitting dick what they think. They're murderers. They can all sit and spin. You're confident in me murdering the lot of them is the right thing to do, then I'm confident. It's better than letting them win, Manny said. Roland nodded quietly and stared out at the rising sun. The red had faded and the orange had grown brighter. He could see the shape of the sun behind the clouds missed rose off the field in front of them, and across the lake. A low light fog rolled in over what appeared to be an old golf course. You're probably right about that, Roland said, But where does it end. It ends when they're beaten and Austin is safe. Manny's words were forceful, but he looked down and away from Roland when he spoke. You know that's not true, Roland said. I forget my own name a lot of the time, and I still know you're full of it killing these fox buys Austin time, and probably not a lot of it. Are still millions of guns and millions of piste off desperate people in this ragged chunk of country. So what are you saying, Roland? It'd be better to just let the one place around here that isn't terrible get eaten by darkness. No, Roland said, but read the writing on the damn wall this place. He waved a hand out in a gesture that encompassed the whole horizon is fucked. Don't stay here and die with it. Manny crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned forward onto the railing of the deck. His head slumped into his hands, and he was quiet for a while. Roland knew the army of the Heavenly Kingdom was less than forty miles distant. The scent of that vast ramshackle horde had grown more prominent over the last few minutes. His nose took in the stink of diesel, the ozone odor of discharging batteries, and the cumulative reek of hundreds of vehicles worth of engine oil. Behind those prominent smells lurked the foul Ganger in a stench of ten thousand men, sweating fear and stress out of every pore. Roland looked down over the deck and onto the yellow mass that led up to the shores of the lake. The warriors of Rolling Fock had started to assemble themselves. There, a large group of men and women had started to unpack dozens of quadrfracts. The four legged robots had been built by Boston Dynamics back before the fall of the old us they'd been meant to ferry men and equipment up steep Afghan mountain sides. Roland stared at them, and he stalked through the lab, a razor sharp machete in one hand and a machine pistol in the other. The air reeked of blood ahead of him. He could smell the fierce weat wafting off two engineers as they hid beneath an overturned metal table. Pieces of robotic equipment were scattered on the floor. Roland reached out his senses and felt that these were the last two people alive in the facility. He stepped forward, swinging his blade in an arc that he knew would end in flesh. Roland shook his head and pulled himself out of the past. The flashes of memory were growing more frequent. Guilt came with them. It took some effort to force his mind to focus again on the world around them. Boland looked back out at the mustering yard. Warriors dawned armor, a fantastic array of old fashioned, polished steel plate mail, ultra modern powered body armor, antique flak vests, and a significant number of costumes. He watched a man in armor that mixed the aesthetic of a Polish winged hussar with an Imperial stormtrooper. Help a woman in a crop top Neil green GIEI suit as she locked a pair of rocket launchers onto the flanks of one of the four legged robots. Over to his left, another group of warriors had started to assemble the city's vehicle pool. Ramps had descended from garages in the bellies of the rollers. A slow, steady stream of armored vehicles motored their way down the ramps and into the ragged lines on the field. The bulk of rolling Fox vehicles were either modified APCs or armored motorcycles sporting portable field guns or automatic grenade launchers on side cars. There were tactical arguments for the use of such vehicles in open field combat, of course, but Roland suspected they'd mainly been picked because they were fun to drive. Almost every vehic Cole's engine had been souped up well beyond any potential battlefield benefit. Most of them also had nitrous oxide tanks, although Roland suspected those were more for huffing than they were for speed. Where did they get all this stuff? Manny asked Rowland. I had no idea, Roland said, But when the old government fell, it left behind a lot of equipment, basses and basses full of mothballed ordinance. I guess as these guys got in early before the rush and grabbed what they could. At that moment, Rowland caught sasha scent moving down one of the spindles above the main roller. His hind brain guessed she was headed to the deck he and Manny occupied. Roland couldn't smell Jim, who was good at staying hidden, but he knew that Sasha couldn't have known where they were on her own. That meant Jim had likely sniffed Manny out and made the same assumption about Rowland's location that Rowland had made about Jim's. It wasn't long before the sliding metal door slid open and Jim and Sasha walked out onto the deck. Jim was in his familiar battle gear, his blood red chaps almost own in the blinding light of the morning sun. He had a smug, self satisfied grin, and gigantic pupils that spoke of recent drug use. Beside him, Sasha looked disheveled and exhausted, but jittery. He could smell the coffee wafting from her pores. Hey, fuck nuts, Roland said, Hey, Sasha. She looked confused for a moment. Jim just nodded and said, hey, shit bird, Hey Manny. Manny waved vaguely at them, without turning his head to meet them. He continued to look out at the army assembling in the field. It's a pretty cool showdown there, Roland said. I kind of wish I had some dissociatives and maybe a blunt. Now would be the time for one. Ah she, Jim said, Just so happens, I got both. He stepped up alongside Roland, extended his fue arm and then tapped his left index finger to the back of his right hand. The tip of that finger detached and rolled up onto his knuckle. A lion of white powder poured out onto the back of Jim's other hand. He offered it to Roland. Sure, Roland said, and railed the line. Ketamine wasn't Roland's favoritest of drugs. He preferred m x E if he was going to snort a dissociative ant. In all honesty, a big bottle of d x M heavy cough syrup mixed with vodka was even more his speed, but hey, drugs was drugs. Once Roland had finished, Jim poured out another line and offered it to Manny. No thanks, said the fixer. It's pretty good stuff, Roland said, in a helpful tone. Ketamine goes well with unspeakable violence. Might be fun to watch the battle that decides the future of your people from inside a cahole. Mannie looked defended. Roland shrugged. He glanced at Jim, who gave him an I don't know why you're looking at me. Look I'll try some, Sasha said, I mean, fucke it? Why not? It was a little cute how she stumbled over the fuck Roland found it in deering. It seemed Manny did too. The cocktail of dopamine, testosterone at oxytocin that wafted off and made his feelings as clear as day. Hell yea girl, Jim said, with an exaggerated Southern twang. Get all over and rail this that means snorted, Roland said helpfully. Sasha approached Jim's arm. She looked him in the eye, then looked over to Roland, and last to Manny. Then she stared down at the powder as if she was hoping it would say something to her. It didn't, but she leaned in any way and snorted about half of it before she sneezed and then wretched, and then staggered to the side of the deck and vomited over the side. Jim and Roland laughed in sheer joy. Manny, being a good person, moved to hold her hair back and help her deal with the puky aftershocks. While the humans engaged with their frailties. Roland and Jim did a couple more lines each. That was terrible, Sasha said. A few minutes later, here Jim chuckled It takes some getting used to, and then the door slid open again. Skullfucker. Mike walked out onto the deck. Boy ass hats, He called out, We're about to war up. You should get down to the field as app if you want to see the face taking what Manny asked. Excuse me, Sasha said, at the same time, Mike just laughed and clapped them both on the shoulders. I'll explain down in the field. Get a move on. He nodded to Sasha and added, there's a pukewash station just inside into the right, next to the bathroom. Right, Jim rubbed his hands together in excitement. Why don't you kids go roll with skull fucker Mike. I've got to get Roland up to my mechanics so we can suit him up. Roland didn't like the eagerness in Jim's eyes or the excitement in his voice when he said that there was something indecent about it. But a promise was a promise, so Roland nodded and gave Manny a little squeeze on the shoulder. I'll see you soon, buddy, This won't take long, Manny. Skull fucker Mike, Manny asked as the chromed man led them through the gantries and towards the elevator. What exactly is so special about Roland? I mean, he's a nice guy, but what makes him so much scarier than the other chromed folks like you and Topaz? What do you know about Roland's past? Mike asked? In return, very little Manny admitted he doesn't seem to remember much. I've sussed out that he was in the army back before the revolution. He's talked about fighting in Turkey, but also in Dallas and Denver and a bunch of other American cities. Mike nodded, Yeah, we met in Dallas, back before it was Ciode de Muerta. I had just been dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps for He frowned, shook his head, and continued, it doesn't matter what. For I was broke and I had a body fellow Uncle Sam's chrome. He wanted it back. I wound up taken shelter in the White Rock Commune. Roland was there too. He was pretty political back in those days, always quote and baccoon in and Ochalon and Red John. Did you guys actually know Red John? Sasha asked. Up until that point, she'd walked quietly in the rear of their little group. The few times Manny had glanced back, she'd had her head down, stuck in her own little world. But now she was alert and engaged. Manny guessed it was hearing the name of the famous revolutionary that had done it. That's odd, he thought. I never met the guy, Mike said, But Rowland did. He was in real deep with that whole circle. So was that weird fucker, Jim. I was tight with Rowland, but I've never gotten to the political side of things. I liked smashing stuff and they needed stuff smashers. How does this relate to why Rowland's Rowland? Manny asked, Well, I've known old Rowland for a while. Magueni was still fully himself. He was always cagy about his background. But we had our theories, and mine was that he'd been part of Project Orange. What was that, Sasha asked, Holy fuck. Manny said he'd heard of Project Orange, although he wasn't surprised Sasha hadn't. The am FED was the closest descendant of the old United States. They'd have kept most of the bad stuff out of their history books. Well, you know, Mike said. Through the twenties, the military struggled with declining enlistment numbers. All the little resource wars climate change sparked created a need for a capable, nimble force that could project or without requiring a public commitment of force. So back in the late thirties, the U. S. Military started fucking hard with gene editing tools and bio mods. At first, it was just basic upgrades to select combat units, early versions of the healing suites y'all both have now. Then they moved on to carbon fiber laced bones, bullet resistant skin, nanohaling suites. The end result was Project Orange, the best warriors in the whole military loaded down with experimental self adapting, neural and physiological upgrades. Yeah, man he added, it was a real success, right till they wiped out a whole city. Skufucker. Mike nodded and looked back to Sasha. He's talking about the Battle of Inserlik. I've heard of that. Sasha said, a US air strike had a giant munition's cache. Like ten thousand people died. Schofucker. Mike gave a noncommittal grunt. There was one version of the story, he said. The story I heard, the story everyone told back then, is that it was Project Orange. They blew up a city. Sasha asked, they didn't blow it up. Manny said, they just butchered everyone, mostly in hand to hand combat. The DARPA guys miscalculated. Mike nodded to Manny. They'd entirely revamped the endocrine systems of these soldiers and made them immune to exhaustion and gave them perfect situational awareness. But it also made bloodshed. He trailed off and frowned while he searched for his next word addictive. So what happened to Project Orange, Sasha asked, Well, said Mike, the scientists did with scientists do. They refined things, They revised their hypotheses and tweaked their creations until the Joint Chiefs had another job for the Orange Team. They must have done well for a while, and Sir Luke was thirty nine and no one heard shipped from them until forty one, when they hit that protest in Denver, six hundred dead, Manny said, reciting the facts he'd memorized a half dozen times during his elementary education, including a sitting senator. They reached the lift doors, which slid open once they got close. Sasha and Manny stepped in first, and Mike came after them. He fiddled with the control screen on the wall for a moment. I'm just making sure this thing is set to normal human speeds. We don't want any more puke from yall today, Mike winked at Sasha. As the lift doors closed, there was a soft clump sound and Manny felt the lift descend. So yeah, schoofucker, Mike continued. The President deployed the Orange Team against a fortified camp that had blocked off access to most of downtown Denver. They cleared out the camp sure enough. After the bloodbath, some hackers with a Jesture collective took close to a terabyte out of the Pentagon servers. It contained a few files on Project Orange and a partly redacted report on the INSURLC massacre. And then Sasha asked, Mike shrugged. Then they disappeared. They weren't used during the revolution, and they'd have been pretty damn handy for the old US. At a couple of points midway through the war, we recovered some intel that they'd been wiped out some terrible accident in orbit. Only only Roland Manny said softly, yep, Schoofucker. Mike nodded, that was certainly my suspicion, still is, but the fuckers never confirmed it or denied it, not that he remembers now anyway. The lift reached the ground with a gentle bump. Its doors slid open to reveal an army six hundred people in three large clumps out by the shore of Lake Waco. To the left was the city's vehicle pool. In the center, where the infantry be decked in a ridiculous melange of medieval weaponry, small arms and handheld field artillery. And then to the right where the quadrifracts. The sight of them took Manny's breath away. There were well over a hundred of the strange horse like robots. Most of them were still being fussed over by the riders, having bolts tightened, weapons belted on to their chassis, or, in a few cases old timey leather saddle strapped onto their backs. Manny saw one saddle with what looked like a large purple dildo attached to it. The quadrifract riders were the most uniform group of warriors on the field. While rolling Fox infantry wore everything from romanly genery armor to bikinis made of bullets, the cavalry ward nothing. Even from here he could see that every nipple in the group was as hard as diamond. They were all covered in the same sort of led tattoos that Jim wore, but where his took the form of ever writing snakes, theirs appeared in blotches of gray black static all up and down their bodies. What are they? Sasha asked, voicing Manny's thoughts too. The elite skullfucker Mike said. The best of the city's warriors real tough motherfucker's mostly former soldiers who augmented their government issue upgrades way back in the day. Some of them have five or ten thousand hours of combat experience stored in their bodies. Why aren't you out there, Manny asked. H He grunted. Quadrafracts make my ass look big. Besides, Topez is a sniper. She keeps to the rear and I keep to her. It's not as fun as fucking ship up at the front eFront. His lips curled up into a wistful smile. But we all got to grow up sometime well. Sasha and Manny gawkeed the main rollers. Other lift descended. The doors opened just twenty feet to their right. Nani Yazzi was the first one out. She moved slowly. Some of that was surely due to her advanced age, but there was also a note of ritual to her movements. It was something in the arc of her spine, the cadence of her step, the way she held her head. The enormous gold bladed knife in her hand didn't hurt either. Behind her walked the citizens of Rolling Fuck. There were around fifty of them in the lift, but as that group walked forward, ropes and ladders began to roll out from all around the enormous wheeled city. Within a matter of minutes, hundreds and hundreds of people had descended. More continued to disgorge from the lifts under the main roller. In the rear roller, the riders had all formed into ordered ranks. They stood at something very much like a military attention. It was the only time he'd seen post humans do anything in an orderly fashion. Nani Yazzi stood in front of the cavalry, and the human civilians clustered behind her in a big semicircle. The other warriors gathered behind them. Mike maneuver their little group to a hill that overlooked the whole scene. It took almost twenty minutes for the entire city to gather. What are they doing, skulp fucker, Mike, Sasha asked, only stumbling a bit over the curse word in his name. This is what I wanted you to see, he replied. She's about to take their faces. Roland, the process of getting ready for war made the bile rise up in his gut. That was curious. Roland's stomach didn't still produce bile, not the same kind of vile it had when he was human. It had been years since his nervous system had been natural enough to respond to anxiety with any kind of physical symptom, and yet there it was. The bile, or the hallucination of bile, curdled at the bottom of his stomach while Jim's men strapped him into the murder suit. The armor they'd constructed was altogether different from the powered armor he'd faced a few days ago in Dallas. It was also different from what little he remembered of the armor he'd warned as an American soldier. That made sense, of course. Roland's wet waar got better with time and experience. Gear did not age so well. He watched while Sardar bolted a gauntlet into place over his left forearm. In hand, he could tell it was made of boron nitride carbon tubes, but the weapon's blister carried a sextette of tiny rockets that were not familiar to him. Sar, what are these things? A smile split the little man's dark, handsome features scatter rocklets, he said with relish. Each of them contains twelve guided solid fuel warheads the left hand or all anti personnel built to blow up big the right hand rockets. He tapped the second gauntlet, which sat on the work table next to him. Those pack a tiny bronze dart. One will penetrate a Leopard Mark five's front armor, no problem. Roland's sighed and looked around at the Workshop of Death that Jim had flown out here. From the outside, it had looked a bit like a shipping container, but painted a glossy white. Its edges were rounded and smooth, and the whole thing looked sl enough that it could have been an apple product. Inside the box was wall to wall weaponry in armor Jim's personal stash. Roland couldn't actually name any of the weapons inside. Most were similar enough to older weapons systems that he could make an educated guess as to their capabilities, but there were strange new things on the walls that he'd never seen before. Jim sat in a comfy chair at the rear of the workshop and watched start our work while he sipped scotch out of an enormous ram's horn. So this so's it's like your man cave or what Roland asked him Jim took a deep gulp and then smiled. I find it relaxes me, he said. I spent a lot of time carried in this collection over the years. I spent a lot of time working on that suit, too, so don't fuck it up. Something tingled at the back of Roland's mind. The suit had clearly been built to his specifications. That suggested Jim had been planning this for a while, but Rowland had been retired at Cammeltoe until very recently. So how hey, man, I need your port, Sardar said. The squat mechanic held up a pair of fiber optic cables that terminated in peculiar boxy plugs. Not unlike old ethernet cable, they were connected to a metal breastplate on the table. Roland pointed to a pair of lumpy, white scars on his lower back. The input sockets are in there. They've scarred up. You'll have to cut em back open, but it should fit. But it should still fit. The nice thing about DARPA engineering is that a little bit of blood and skin never gets in the way. Sardar set to work carving the sockets back open. Roland felt the pain as a distant sort of itch. He was having a hard time focusing his senses on his immediate surroundings. The smells of the advancing army presented an almost overpowering flood of data. Roland had loaded up on ketamine and vodka to quiet his hind brain, but all that interfered with his introspection. He built this thing for me to wear. Jim, how long have you been planning this? He is, Jim said, his fourth rightness, surprised Roland. You'll pass as hum is a mistake, Jim continued, brought on by your overactive conscience. They are still so much you need to do in the world. I figured at some point you'd realize that yourself, so I kept my men working. Sardar lifted the heavy metal breastplate up over Roland's head and settled it over his shoulders. The weight was comforting. A cold electric shock ran through his body as the armor connected to a central nervous system. Roland felt parts of himself wake up that he hadn't truly realized were asleep. Something in him had missed that feeling, and he felt guilty for that. I'm taking this thing off the instant. The fight's over, Jim, you wasted your money. Jim smile only deepened. You've forgotten how fun it is, Rowland, and you've forgotten what it's like to be a fucking human. Roland countered, have you always been a sociopath? Is this what I was like back before whatever took my memories? Jim's amused, smiled and shift by so much as a nanometer. Roland felt a spike of irritation before he was distracted by Sardar. Raise your hand, please, the mechanic said. He lifted a four barreled machine gun on a circular frame and slid it around Roland's right arm. Sardar bolted the weapon into place while he explained it's a stack charged machine gun magnetically fired, similar to the old metal storm weapons. But this fucker's capable of putting out twenty thousand rounds per second. How long an a fire? Sardar laughed a little less than a second. The mechanic turned back to his table, and Roland tried to direct his wandering mind back to the conversation with Jim. You're going to love it, his old friend said, I know you've been lovin' it when you've fought your way out of that citia could smell the dopamine waftin off your brain from all the way out here. Sardar snapped a queasts around Roland's thigh. The armor also sported a bulky weapon's blister on its outside edge gas grenade launcher. The mechanic explained, should co great with all the frag rocklets. Uh so we're committing war crimes now, Roland asked him, with more indignation than he really felt. Jim rolled his eyes. Is just he a gas? He said, mostly at least I may have included some aresolazed l s D in there. I've been on a big psychochemical warfare kicked lately For a little while Sardar worked in silence, Jim drank and Roland stared near him, but not at him. The self inflicted haze in his head had cleared a bit. That meant his hind brain grew louder. By now it was all but shouting about the approaching army. Roland felt a trickle of adrenaline, oxytocin, and endorphins. His left hand twitched involuntarily. He felt the power of the weapons system around him, and he felt the power in his own body, something like a rousal gripped him. Roland fought it down as best he could, but it lingered there at the edge of his consciousness. I've been remembering more, he said to Jim, as much to distract himself as out of a desire to get it off his chest. M Jim cocked an eyebrow in interest. I've had a few big sshes of memories. Once, when we drove into Dallas, past the side of the Lakewood Blast, I remembered. He locked eyes with Jim, and Jim nodded back his eyes said, I know so, Roland moved on. The memories come most intensely when I'm in combat. I remembered hiking with Topaz. I remembered burning the Taz in Denver. I got flashes of you and me in Mexico, and a lot more. I'm still certain through it. It's confusing because there's no timeline for any of this, just associated memories I know happened. At some point, Jim leaned forward, his eyes flashed with excitement interest, and he said, tell me, have you been able to draw any conclusions about who you were from what you've remembered? Have you gotten any insight into the old Roland. Roland frowned. He'd been so focused on trying to remember his old life that he hadn't given much thought to what the memories he had said about the man he'd been. As he pondered, Roland's mind lingered on the memory of shooting the Cheney Boy in the act of the head. I think I used to be a lot more like you, Roland said. Jim grinned, his lips curled up to reveal long rows of white, straight teeth. That's true, he said, Why else do you think I've missed you so much? Sasha? A part of Sasha had believed that after the Heavenly Kingdom, nothing she saw whatever shock her again. That part of her was proven wrong when Nana Yazzi's aged, darthritic hand began to messily carve at the first warrior's face. Her target was the young woman with the chrome hawk Sasha had seen in the War Council. The carving was a messy thing. It took the better part of a minute for her to slice and peel the skin free. Sasha noticed that there was very little blood. It was messy, but not as messy as it should have been. Once she was finished, Nana Yazzi stepped back with the woman's face in her hand. As she did, dozens of citizens stepped forward. They pulled out daggers, swords, straight razors, and switchblades of their own. Each civilian paired off with a warrior and began to carve. Some of them were quick and practiced. The motion of their hands reminded Sasha of an autopsy video she'd watched in one of her pre met classes, but the other citizens were cruder with their cutting. A few verged on brutal hacking and slashing at the faces and necks of their persons. None of the post human warriors showed any signs of pain or discomfort. They just stood, unmoving and without their faces, seemingly without emotion. I don't understand, Sasha said. She hadn't expected to say it out loud. The words just slipped out. It's a symbolic thing, Scoffucker Mike explained. Before they leave, the city's warriors give up their identities to the group. They leave their humanity behind and bloodied tatters in the hands of their friends and loved ones. It's a way of making sure the city civilians don't leave a war without blood on their hands, and it makes them look fucking terrifying, someone said from behind them. Sasha turned around. A short, fit man approached them. He had a thin build, but his body was girded with lithe muscle. There was something familiar about his face, the short mop of curly black hair atop his head. The man smiled when Sasha saw him, revealing pointed metallic fangs. Hey wait a second, low, Topez, Skolfucker, Mike said. Manny looked shocked as well. He stared at the man in surprise. Topez, what happened? There was a woman with those exact same teeth yesterday when we arrived at the city. Sasha hadn't gotten a woman's name, but she'd borne a striking resemblance to this man. I felt like a man to day, Topez said, what with the war and all? Sasha finally realized what had happened. Of course, she thought these people can change their physiology on a dime, Ah, Manny said with a nod. Skolfucker. Mike walked up to Topaz and the two embraced and then kissed. They twined their arms together, and a few seconds later, Topaz seemed to finally notice Sasha's presence. Sorry, he smiled as he spoke, But I don't believe I got your name, Sasha. Sasha Mariian. Topaz stepped closer. Well, Sasha Mariian, He said, in a low voice, how are you liking? Are strange ways and customs? They're interesting? Sasha said diplomatically. Do you find this place more to your liking than the heavenly Kingdom? Topaz stepped closer. Sasha took a step back and then another. The man's expression was friendly enough, but there was a sort of queer menace in the set of his shoulders. It may have had something to do with the very large rifle slung across his back. Sasha started to sweat. Fear gripped her mind. Topaz back off, schoolfucker. Mike's voice was devoid of anger, but firm. You're scaring her. Topaz stopped and stared at Mike. His expression went from plo said smile to rage, and then back to a smile, almost faster than Sasha could process. Sorry, darling, he said, in an artificially chipper voice. I just wanted to make sure our guest was enjoying her stay here. He looked to Sasha, again. You are, aren't you? Yes, good, Topaz purred, Hopefully you won't be joining any more extremist groups to get my friends killed. He turned immediately to Manny and with barely a pause for breath, embraced him and kissed his forehead. I'm proud of you, buddy, as far as I'm concerned your family. Manny mumbled his thanks and returned the hug, but he glanced at Sasha and they shared a what the hell look? Schoolfucker. Mike seemed to want a plaster over the awkwardness. Yep, he said, We've made some wonderful friends these last couple of days. He pantomime looking down at his watchless wrist and checking the time. Oh my goodness, he said, in mock surprise. Look at the time, Topaz, We've got a war to get to. You kids had better find some decent seats. Topaz smiled at skulf Ger Mike, his eyes lingered on the big man's face, and then drifted back to Sasha. Enjoy the show, he said, with an empty smile. Rowland, it was windy on the landing pad. He and Jim stood next to a heavy black feetole aircraft, the steed that would carry him into today's massacre. Roland could taste the dying summer and the faint stirrings of a North Texas fall in the air. It was cooler than he'd have expected this time of the year, grayer too. A gust of chill wind blew across his face, and Roland found himself falling back in time again. He was shorter, The world seemed sharper, even though his senses were dim and unenlightened. Roland felt a hand about his own. It felt big, powerful, and comforting. He looked up and saw a woman standing over him. She was tall, a giant. Her hair was brown and straight and long and clear as day in his mind's eye, but her face was blank, obscured even in memory. His head turned to track the passage of a blowing leaf. He felt chill winter air on his arm, and he watched as a red sedan rumbled past them, spraying water into the airs, and hit a puddle on the asphalt. Rowland pay attention. Jim's voice snapped him back to reality. The other chrombed man held a paper thin tablet in front of Roland's face. That memory flash had been the most immersive yet, although not the longest. He was a little confused at that why that moment? Had it just been the similarity in weather or Rowland? Jim was angry. It was actually somewhat refreshing to see genuine emotion on the other man's post human face. Veins bulged at his neck and his eyes were fully open. Roland caught a harsh whiff of methamphetamine from his breath. All right, all right, fucking chill, Roland muttered, what am I looking at? He needn't have asked. Once he focused on the tablet, it was obvious that it displayed a map of the area around Lake Waco. Rolling Fox warriors and vehicles were displayed in little blue pinpoints. Jim scrolled up a few inches and Roland saw a swarm of red. It was half over the Brazos right now, and it crept millimeter by millimeter towards their position. The river slowed him down a bit, Jim said, but the bridges there was still in good order. I'd say they'll hit rock Creak in about ten minutes. Roland nodded and asked, couldn't we have killed those bridges bought some hours? Jim gave a careless shrug. Why would we want to slow em down? We're ready enough. No sense in dragging this out. There was a strong smell of ozone as the V Toll aircraft next to them woke up. Red lights glowed on the missile pods slung under its belly. The chain gun on its nose cycled. The whole thing hummed with potential energy. It was too modern for Rolland to know the make and model, but it reminded him of the Russian Coba Assault transport, which had been state of the art back in the mid forties. So is the plan, he asked Jim Well, His friend said, we know they've got at least a half a dozen mobile antire batteries old US Patriot threes inaccurate garbage. Nothing I'm worried about. The name conjured up a ghost of another memory. A big Patriot battery wheeled around on its truck size chassis. He heard the machine whine of the motors, and then the reek of fear hit his nose, as rich and heavy as Texas thunder. There were missiles in the air aimed at him as he fell. They were child's plated dodge in his suit. He descended his fear stink rolled up towards him from the soldiers below. The poor fucker's Rowland. Jim shouted, I'm not gonna have to find another murder guerilla to take your place. What No, Roland shook his head. Sorry, he said, just memories. Jim gave him a long look and if then you need to talk about right now? No, Roland said, it's just the memories are coming at me faster now. It's distracting. That makes sense, Jim said, I'd imagine stimuli that reminds you of your past could prompt your brain into sudden healing. He reached into a bag at his hip. It looked like a standard dump pouch meant for half spent magazines in the heat of battle, but Jim pulled out a fully loaded crack pipe. Even unlit, it smelled like burning tires at a non percent pule. Jim held the pipe up to Roland right. Roland grabbed the pipe and lifted it to his lips. Jim reached out and flipped on the lighter built into his index finger. He held it under the glass bubble of the pipe. The rocks vaporized into white smoke rolland inhaled and felt the vapor dissolve into his blood stream through his mucous membranes. There was a tingle as the crack reached his brain's ventral tegmental area, and said, in essence, you know how much dopamine you were planning to produce? Make a ship load more than that. The happy chemicals flooded Roland's mind. His anxiety at their recently churned up memories faded, as did the memories themselves better. Jim asked, super good, Roland said, can I Jim waved, show a man keep the pipe. In fact, he pulled his index finger free from his hand and gave it to Roland. Keep that, I'll grow a new one. Cool. Roland took the finger, flicked it a light, and took another deep pole of burning crack, so he said, as he exhaled a plume of crack smoke. The plan right, said Jim, like I told you, Rock Creek is where we planned to hit him. The Edmund Fitzgerald here. Jim banged a hand on the side of the vToll craft. It's gonna take you up to around fifteen thousand feet and then drop you right on the heads. I expect we'll take some flak afterwards. But this bird can handle it. And besides, he raised his voice and jerked his head towards the cockpit. Anderson's piloting it today, and it's not like I give a shit if he does. In response, the nosegun wheeled around on its mount and locked on to Jim. There was a clinking sound as it ratcheted around into its chamber. Jim rolled his eyes. Fucking pilots. Anyway, me and my people will be with the Roland fuck folks getting shot at. He tapped Roland's helmet. When we're ready for you, I'll ping you both, and Anderson can drop you on top of the asses. So Roland asked, I've just got a fall on top of a hostile army and start shooting. Jim nodded, right, then, let's get started. Manny. Years ago and what now seemed like another life, Manny had gone to watch an outdoor movie at Silker Park in Austin Ghostbusters. He was pretty sure it had been Ghostbusters. Hundreds and hundreds of people had shown up, families with children and couples on dates, and so so many dogs. The sound hadn't been great, and the projectionist could have been better, but he remembered the evening fondly. Rolling fuck before a battle reminded him of that experience. The people were different. Very few of them were children, but clusters of citizens, friend groups, and families and families of friends had set up little viewing nooks across the wheeled city itself and in the field in front of it. The whole scene would have been idyllic if they weren't about to watch a battle. The vehicle's cavalry and infantry were already almost out of view. He could just barely see shapes out on the horizon setting up firing positions on top of buildings in Rock Creek. They moved so damn fast. Manny didn't think he'd ever get used to the pace of post human life. He knew Topaz and Skullfucker Mike were somewhere out there, he knew where they'd be soon, and in spite of their confidence, he worried for them more than anyone. He worried for Roland. Drinks for everyone. Donald Ferris said he had a tray full of drinks in his hands, fresh from the bar. He sat down next to Nana Yazi and smiled. Manny and Sasha sat on the opposite side of them in a booth in the main roller's bar, looking out over Waco. Donald started handing out beverages, first bubbly drinks and long brown bottles that smelled familiar Coca cola. The old documentarian said, not the stuff they still sell all over, the original recipe with cocaine and alcohol. It's great ship. We go through gallons of it every day. Nana Yazi took a sip from hers and smiled. It's quite good, she said, and the intoxicating effect is mild. Our chromed comrades have a stronger variant. Of course, we're all humans here. Donald smiled more or less Many took one of the cokes, sipped it, and nodded to Sasha. It's really good, he said, you should try it. It was good, and it didn't seem like it was too strong. Nanny took another sip and smiled. As Sasha grabbed her bottle and took a gulp. She seemed to like it. There was a loud pop sound from somewhere up above. Manny tensed up, but then he tracked its origin to one of the landing pads that extended from a gantry tower at least a hundred feet above them. Dozens of small black shapes flitted out from it and soared forward off in the same direction the army had gone spy drones. Donald Ferris explained, they'll be at the front by the time the fighting starts. This all seemed so weird, Sasha said, I think I read about people doing something similar during the Civil War. They'd set up picnic blankets on hills overlooking the battle. Donald Ferris grunted and shifted in his seat a bit awkwardly. Nani Yazi smiled and said, it is a bit like that. The differences that we're not doing this to be voyeurs. We won't see much fighting. What will we see? Just watch? Donald Ferris said, and reached for a tiny shot glass filled with a yellow brown liquid. But ever drink first, it'll help. Manny took one of the shot glasses and moved to belt it down, but Nanyazzie put her hand on his. That's fine, te quel a son, I'd recommend sipping. So he sipped it and it was good. The burn rolled down his throat and mixed with the cocaine and alcohol from the Coca cola. A comfortable, warm haze settled over Mannie. He was about to encourage Sasha to try some when another sound intruded. The high hum of drones filled the air. Mannie fought down an irrational surge of anxiety. He wasn't sure he'd ever feel comfortable with the sound of drones again. Each of these drones was the size and rough density of a rottweiler. They flew in pairs, connected by what looked like a thick, bindy white tube that hung between them. Several pairs settled in front of the main roller's bar in a stable hover. With a whirr and a click, the white tubes in between them opened up and unfurled into screens. A second later, the screens lit up. Manny took another sip of Truly Fabulous tequila and looked back across his new friends. Donald Ferris looked somber as solemn and gray as a granite wall. Nana Yazi seemed almost excited, as if she'd reached the first jump scare in a good horror movie. Sasha hadn't touched her liquor. She didn't seem to have taken more than a few SIPs of the coke Manny found himself wondering what would happen to her after all this? What am I going to do after this? Manny realized with a bit of shock that Oscar's wife was the only person he'd messaged in almost a week. He hadn't sent anything to his family or his friends back in Austin. He'd had the excuse of his deck being deactivated when he'd been inside the Kingdom, but now that he was back and his deck was functional, his lack of communication felt less and less defensible. Just thinking about Ayisha and the terrible news he still had yet to deliver brought a spike of anxiety that was somehow worse than his fear over the coming battle. There's a certain sound that happens when a large group of people all noticed some thing at the same time. That sound shook Manny out of his contemplation and alerted him to the fact that something had started to happen on the screens. He looked up, and he saw that all the screens scattered around the city and hovering over the field now shared the same images. One side of the screens displayed a video feed of a man in full tactical armor. His eyes covered by goggles and his head protected by a black helmet. He was seated in the cupola of an armored vehicle rolling fast over the highway. Next to that video feed was a picture of the same man Sam's armor in more peaceful days. He was fair skinned, with red hair and an easy smile. He wore a shirt that Manny guests signified his allegiance to some sports team. In the am fed the images sat there alone for a second. Manny looked out at the horizon towards Rock Creek, where Rolling Fox soldiers had embedded themselves. He saw three black gray contrails rush out from an old office building and out towards the highway. The Heavenly Kingdom's forces were just barely visible to his naked eye, tiny ant sized tanks and transports. All three rockets hit, and the black smoke of the detonations obscured the head of the vehicle column. And then on the video feed, a rocket burst right above the man in the cupola. Manny watched as he was torn apart in a hail of shrapnel. The video and the still image of his smiling face were replaced a second later by a looping video of an older man playing with a baby girl. He picked her up and spun her around, and the camera zoomed in on his joyous smile. Another video played of a younger man attending his high school graduation. More videos and still images popped up, displaying gentle moments in the lives of at least a dozen different men, and then all the screens cut violently to video of and exploding a PC. Manny jerked back in surprise. He saw that Sasha had reacted similarly. Naniazi just sat and stared, her face unreadable. Donald Ferris frowned, and when he noticed Manny looking back at him, he waved a gentle hand towards the screen and the word watch. Manny turned back to the screens in time to see them populate with more faces and more looping videos. He watched his children open birthday presents and celebrated graduations. He saw young men pose with team mates or hug their kids. He saw pizza parties and Christmas mornings and laughter and love, and then another vehicle detonated. The screen cleared, and then it populated again with scenes from four more lives. Next to video of a detonating leopard tank, the parade of shattered lives went on as rockets, mortars, and now gunfire lashed out from Rock Creek and towards the vehicle column. Rowland isn't even there yet. This is just the beginning, Manny stared out, numb and queasy, and watched as the Heavenly Kingdom's armored spearhead changed direction and began the drive to Rock Creek. They were firing now, too, pouring explosive shot and long range rockets into the neighborhood. This is what you wanted, he reminded himself, as the parade of death sped up Rowland. It was downright cold at fifteen thousand feet. Rowland relished the bite in the air and stared out the Edmond Fitzgerald's side window. As he hit Jim's crack pipe for the last time, his synapses bubbled with dopamine. Now he couldn't stop his lips from curling up into a grin as he looked out onto the distant fields below. Five minutes to drop point, the pilot's voice echoed through the cargo compartment. Normally it would have held an array of smart bombs or close as salt drones. Today it held only Rowland. He stepped forward towards the rear bay doors of the craft. The feeling of the cold deck under his feet and the elevated hemoglobin levels in his blood brought the threat of another rush of memory to Roland's mind. The dizzy glee of the crack high helped him shrug it off. Combat soon, battle and battle drugs. He tried to temper his excitement. He didn't want to crave that high as much as he did. It'll just take a few seconds, he told himself, and then I can disengage. He could already feel the Heavenly Kingdom's army far below settling in Their nose had been bloodied by rolling Fox rocketry, but they'd suffered relatively few casualties. So far, the plan did seem to be working. Dozens of vehicles and thousands of men had already moved into position around the Rock Creek neighborhood. Roland could hear the sounds of their mortars, recoilless rifles, and assault guns opening fire. He reached out with his senses and tried to find Topaz and Skullfucker Mike in the mess, but their scents and heat profiles were obscured by shellfire and smoke, Roland was able to locate Jim, as well as Bigsby and his assault team. They were hunkered down at the edge of the neighborhood, embedded in an abandoned apartment complex, and engaged in a furious firefight with the Heavenly Kingdom's vanguard. Roland could smell the dopamine rushing into jim synapses from fifteen thousand feet in the air. His heart began to beat faster. He felt his left hand start to shake, not in fear, but in delirious anticipation of the battle drugs. Another flash of memory took him, and his hand shook so bad he could barely hold the needle straight. He'd already missed the vain troice. God darn it, God damn it, he cursed, before taking a deep breath and preparing himself to try again. Sixty seconds to drop. The pilot's voice pulled Roland back into the moment. That memory had felt weird. It had been blurry in his mind's eye, but Roland's arms and hands had felt smaller than was I shooting up dope as a teenager. He knew the answer based on his current predilections was probably Roland shook his mind away from the past and focused again on the war downstairs. The Kingdom had moved quickly. He guessed around four thousand of their men were already in position. These would be the elite, their most veteran fighters, the soldiers wearing power armor or writing in real armored transports and not up gun trucks. He could feel the rest of the Kingdom's army flung out far behind them in a long tale that stretched back to the brazos. How many of these men will die today? How many are already dead? Seconds his nose caught the distant gasoline reek of a flamethrower opening up on a squad of advancing martyrs. That's out to be Gym Right five seconds, the jump light turned from red to green, and the bombay doors opened with a rush of air and wind that cracked the uncovered skin on Roland's face. Three, said the pilot. He stepped out to the ledge and planted his feet. The world whipped by around them at a maddening speed. Roland looked down, focused and saw the heavenly Kingdom's army underneath him, dozens of vehicles and thousands of men had taken up position in a large park and several buildings surrounding Rock Creek. Two large gatherings of mortars and a trio of Leopard tanks made up the bulk of the artillery now pouring fire into rolling Fox forces. There were also several large field guns and rocket batteries currently being bolted into place in an old parking lot behind the park. Competent Roland was impressed by how the Kingdom's soldiers had parked their armored transports to help complete a fortress wall around one side of Rock Creek. They'd sent a few probing attacks of power armored troopers, but he could tell they wouldn't launch a full assault until they'd flattened the neighborhood to a trickle of endorphins and serotonin enjoined the soggy mush of dopamine and Roland's synapses. He closed his eyes and with a thought, activated the sundry weapons systems that Sardar had wired into his body. The missiles in their pods hummed, and the barrels around his right arm chimed in readiness. Lyrics from a half remembered song flitted across his mind. Time, time, time for another peaceful war. One Roland stepped off the back of the craft and into the skies embrace Sasha. The faces flashed by, along with video clips and curated posts from social media, and of course, scenes of death. Some of the men died from sniper fire, cut down as they ran for cover. Others died in long range firefights or from shrapnel. The pace of death had gradually risen over the course of the battle. Some of that was due to the fact that the martyrs had sent in several assault teams to test the metal of the Defenders. Those men had died fast and badly. Many of them had been burnt alive. The sight of it all should have horrified her. She wanted it to horrify her. Everyone else at the table had tears in their eyes. Even Nanny Ozzie was crying, and that lady looked like she'd been through some ship. Since when a you curse like that? Sasha felt a pang of guilt at how easily the swear word had come to her mind. Then she felt really, really stupid. She was literally watching people die. She'd killed two human beings less than forty eight hours ago. What the fuck does cursing matter, but still the guilt was there. Perhaps what she felt was a betrayal of her past self, or maybe she was just dumb. Sasha shook it off. She tried to focus on the carnage. It was horrible, She knew that in a detached, academic sense. She couldn't quite feel the horror, though. It was as if shooting Darrell had opened up a great, gnawing hole inside her heart, and that hole had spread like a black film over her entire body. All her feelings seemed so distant now. She wanted to cry about Darrell. She wanted to cry about this. She wanted to cry for Susannah and Anne, left alone in that living hell of a kingdom. She wanted to cry for herself too, but she couldn't, and so she didn't. Instead, she sat and watched as the warrior gods of this strange city helped the martyrs earn their title. Sasha looked out at the citizens of Rolling Fuck. Most of the people she could see were crying, and even those who weren't looked shaken, horrified. The perpetual party atmosphere she'd come to associate with the city of Wheels was gone. It had been suspended to allow for pain. Sasha wanted to hurt with them, but instead she thought about the offer that man Jim had made. She thought about the squeaking sound of the razor blade ripping out of Roland's forearm. She'd seen the way he fought. She longed for the high that had come with the violence and the clinic, but she couldn't stand more of the guilt killing Darrell had brought her. I could be a medic, Sasha thought, Jim said so. She looked up to the screens again at the parade of death. She wasn't sure if any of the dead had been rolling Fox soldiers. It didn't look like it, But as she settled back in to watch, something glitched on the screens. The stream of faces sped up well past the point where she could focus on any of them. Then the floe stopped, sputtered, the picture glitched out, and then righted itself. Whatever algorithm handled the show eventually stabilized, and the individual images on each screen shrank to accommodate many many more people, a flood of the dead and moments from their lives. The nature of their deaths changed too. Most of the first waves seemed to come from a sudden burst of explosive detonations. But the explosions stopped and the dying continued, and whatever was killing the martyrs now moved too fast to be clearly seen. What's happening? She heard Manny ask, is something wrong? No, the old man said, that's just Rowland. Rowland. Forty five seconds after his feet hit dirt, Rowland was out of AMMO. He'd managed to do a tremendous amount of damage in that short span of time, decimating their mortar batteries with cluster rockets and clearing the martyrs away from their field guns with a mix of gas and fragmentation grenades. He'd emptied his machine gun and three long bursts, mostly aimed at the infantry who had been clustered behind the APC barricades when he landed. Then he'd taken to scavenging rifles from the dead and emptying those into targets of opportunity. By the one minute mark, Rowland's high brain estimated he'd killed or wounded close to a thousand men. The sheer ferocity of his initial assault sent the Kingdom's forces reeling and cleared a circle of ground around him. About two hundred meters wide. Roland finished gunning down the crew of a Patriot battery and ran for an abandoned anti tank rifle lying next to a pile of bodies. Bullets smacked into him from all sides, diversionary fire meant to distract him from the uparmored Mattis a PC that suddenly gunned its engine and barreled towards him. They think they can run me over, Roland realized with something like glee, so he slowed down, reducing his sprint to something like a normal human running speed, while the vehicle closed the gap between them. He jumped at the last moment, landed on the APEC's roof and punched a hole through the top armor with both of his fists. Then he gripped the ragged metal at the sides of the hole and tore the APC open. The smell of fear hid his nose as he tore through the concrete wall. The room held a dozen men, a mix of guards and officers. One man in the middle wore the stars of a general in the United States Army. Some of the soldiers screamed, a few opened fire, but the general just stood there while Rowland killed. He didn't even blink, No fear poured off him. It's our fault, the general said once they were the only men left alive in the room. This is all our fault, Rowland time. A bullet hit his face and Roland snapped back to reality. The men in the apec below him were dead. It looked as if he'd shredded them with his bare hands. But while he'd lost in a memory, two more a PC's had roared up and disgorged a dozen power armored soldiers. They shot him with big guns, weapons meant to hurt monsters. He avoided some of their rounds, but not most. Roland lost the better part of his right hand, a chunk of his skull in his left knee. It hurt, but that didn't stop him. He leapt off the Maddison. Soon he was among them, ripping off armored plates and shattering bones with his bare hands. The battle drugs poured into his brain and lit his synapses up like the New York Skyline. Roland let out a terrible whooping cry that was half laugh and half scream, and he tore into the men as they tried in vain to do him real harm. It took nineteen seconds to eliminate them all. As the last man dropped, Roland realized with some surprise that he could hear Jim's voice, distant but getting closer. His old friend was charging, screaming out war whoops, and firing those big dumb pistols. Then he heard the familiar crack of a Dragonov sniper rifle Topaz his rifle. He remembered it now the sound was as familiar to him as the voice of his own mother. Holy shit, Roland realized that for the first time in years, he could remember the sound of his mother's voice. Her name and face were still lost in memory, but all this violence was clearly knocking some things loose. He took a step back behind what of the intact a PCs to avoid a spray of heavy machine gun fire and take stock of the situation. Now that he focused, he could feel the hoofbeats of rolling Fox cavalry. He could sense that many of the city's infantry had charged out from their positions in Rock Creek to meet the martyrs in hand to hand combat. The Heavenly Kingdom was not in flight, not yet, but they would break soon. Roland knew it he could smell it in the air. Time to stop, now, time to let Schoffucker, Mike Topaz and the others finish the fight. He'd done enough, He knew he'd done enough, and yet the drugs. Even after just a few seconds out of direct combat, the high was starting to fade, and Roland wanted more. He thought about cracking another skull in his hand. Itched. He heard one of the martyrs open up with an automatic grenade launcher and thought about how good that gun would feel bucking against the meat of his shoulder. The man with the grenade launcher was close. Roland could close the distance between them and two maybe three seconds. No, you don't need to do this. Stop. Fewer people will die if you just, Roland charged Manny. Manny had seen nine people killed by bullets or bombs. He'd seen a good deal more fresh corpses in the aftermath of firefights. He had a strong stomach, and he was not easily distressed by gore. The opening stages of this battle and the war ritual had been unsettling, but not because of the violence that changed soon after Roland landed. He's just tearing people apart, Manny said, without really meaning to say anything at all. Donald Ferris replied with a grim nod. It's hard to watch. Nanny Azi admitted as an their dozen lives and did messily on the screens before them. It'll be over soon, though they can't take much more of this. I haven't seen any of your people die yet, Sasha said, is that abnormal? No. Donald's voice was grim. There will be a lot of injuries, but I don't expect Rolling Fuck will lose a single warrior, good, Sasha said, is it? Donald asked, of course, it's good. You silly fuck. Nana Yazzi snapped, that was the first time Manny could recall hearing her angry. I disagree, the old man grumbled. We're on a precipice here, the edge of a deep cliff. Every time this happens, we get a little closer to falling off. What do you mean, Manny asked, He means, Nana Yazzi replied with a bit of drunken slur to her voice. He doesn't trust the people of this city. He thinks they'll get a taste for war and this whole experiment will turn into a nightmare. You can't trust the dark, Donald Ferris insisted, and We're in the dark here, he waved out at the field and the hundreds of people watching the faces of the dead and tearful silence. Right now, we've managed to lash together a chain of rituals that keep them peaceful. How long can that last? Naniyazi glared at him, and then shifted her gaze to Nanny. She pointed a finger at Donald. He thinks we should have let your people die. I think we have a responsibility to intervene. I'm not saying we don't. Donald Ferris insisted, I'm just saying I've seen how this story ends. History may not repeat itself, but it does. Rhyme, pithy, Naniyazi said, But oh. She stopped mid sentence and stared out into the screens. Mannie looked back just in time to watch the flow of dead faces speed up again. The screens jerked and shuddered to accommodate the new flow. Once they adjusted, Mannie was shocked again at the violence on display. He saw men run through with lances, gutted by scimitars, burnt by napalm, and trampled under the spiked hoves of quadrufrats. Oh God, he moaned. Ah Yes, Naniyazi sighed, that would be the cavalry. It won't be much longer now they're here to finish the job. Rowland, the Knights of Rolling Fuck were a sight to see. Truly. It wasn't often that Roland came across something that registered as completely new to the deep, battered banks of his memory. But there was no deja vous here, no sense that he'd watched anything like it before. Rolling Fox riders worked in two and three person squads, mostly using a mix of hand grenades, small arms, flame throwers, and melee weapons for shock value. Their timing was exquisite. One hundred riders hit the martyrs at the same time. They didn't seem to have specific targets or goals beyond causing mayhem, but they did this expertly, spiking armored vehicles and field guns with white phosphorus charges and scattering any clusters of martyrs they could find. The woman Kashore rode past him, her face skinned and weeping blood as she lobbed a hand grenade towards a group of martyrs hunkered behind the shattered remains of a public restroom. She pulled a maqua wheedle with an iron trunk and gleaming obsidian blades free from her belt as her steed leapt over the burning wreckage of a jeep and bounded towards the survivors. Roland followed her, tearing a piece of rebar free from some rubble as he charged. The restrooms were at one end of what had once been a giant playground in a public park. It had been derelict for more than a decade, but the corpses of swing sets and remnants of slides were still visible. Several hundred of the martyrs had fallen back to this position, trying to create some sort of defensive line. Panic and mass death had robbed them of a lot of cohesion, but they still managed to pour a lot of fire into Roland and Cashori as they charged. A rocket propelled grenade hit the chest of her quadrifract and burst, ripping off one of the machine's legs and sending the Chrome Woman tumbling to the ground, gravel and rubble embedding itself into the red musculature of her bleeding face. Roland didn't stop for her. He charged ahead, absorbed a few dozen rounds of small arms fire, and dodged a handful of rocket propelled grenades. He hid a group of twenty three men clustered behind a long, still glass barricade and several heavy metal crates. These martyrs had been trying to get a trio of anti tank guns back into the fight. They gave up on that once Roland had closed to about twenty feet. One of them, an older man with a spine, shouted words of encouragement and charged forward, firing with a dozen of his men. These soldiers weren't wearing powered armor. They weren't good enough to hit more than one and twenty shots. They wore old, up cycled body armor. Only a few of them had bayonets. They presented no real threat. Twenty seconds n I can put every one of these fuckers down for the rest of the fight. No one needs to die. His hand twitched, the river of dopamine, and his synapses shrank to a babbling brook. Roland felt a craving rise. Maybe just a few more he was among them. Roland found that brave old fucker picked him up by the skull and used him as a flail until the bones of his face came loose and Roland's hands. He deployed the razor in his wrist and started slicing off hands and ears. He moved on to slashing tendons and muscles, and eventually just hacked at his enemies like a drunken butcher. One boy dropped his gun, tried to back away, and fell on his ass. As Roland stalked towards him, the protesters screamed and screamed. They swung sticks and tried to bash him with their shields, and he knocked their clumsy strikes aside and waded into the mass. Roland didn't even consider drawing a gun. He tore every fistful of human flesh, sent a wave of orgiastically bubbling through his brain. A young woman screamed and tried to run, and he grabbed her hair and pulled in the sound of her neck snapping almost made in shriek with joy, Please, said a different man, before Roland shattered his skull against the pavement and left up to chase down a trio of fleeing martyrs. He was back and in serlick, bloody and injured, an almost snowblind from the battle drugs. Roland shoved his way through the door and into the air raid shelter he'd already pulled a grenade free from his harness when he found himself face to face with a room full of women and children, old men and young boys, civilians, unarmed and with sudden shock, Roland realized he didn't care about that last part. His synapses screamed for more. Roland obliged them, My god, stop stop. He came back to himself and realized he was on the ground and locked into a pretty darn good half nelson. It took him a moment to realize that woman Kaushore was the one holding him. Oh, he said, what the fuck man? Roland looked around. None of the martyrs near him were still standing. It was hard even for his hindbrain to identify how many people had fallen around him. He guessed south of a hundred, but not far south. The number was shocking. It implied a longer blackout than any of the others. What was scarier was the sheer violence evident in these men's death. Most of them were in more than two pieces. Are you not flip out? If I let go? Roland shook his head and Cashorey released him. He turned around, still seated, and looked at the young woman. She was filthy with grime and blood, some of it her own. Her skinless face wept red. But even so he could still see the judgment in her eyes. That was not fucking necessary. She said, I'm sorry, I Roland, it was skufucker. Mike Topaz trailed behind him at a sizeable distance, sweeping the field with a rifle. Roland tried to catch his eye. He avoided Roland's gaze for a second or two, but then they connected and she stared at him with those big, brown, tear stained eyes. This isn't what I wanted, Rowland, This isn't what we said we were fighting for. This is just butchery. He felt angry at her blind rage that warred with his love. Of course, it's butchery, he screamed. The world is built by butcher's dude, kashore He slapped him hard, and Roland came back to himself, scofucker. Mike was closer now. Roland looked for Topaz and found him. He was closer to and looked worried, but he didn't say anything. Is Roland all right? Mike asked Kashouri. Was he hit? Sure, But that's not the problem, Kushorey said, he just went bug funk on like a company of those guys, ripped them apart with his bare hands. It's a fucking relapse, said skullfucker Mike. He knelt down in front of Roland and put a hand on his shoulder. Buddy, he said, it's done. They're starting to run whole army. You'll be routed in a few minutes. You just sit here and catch your breath and routed. Roland looked around and realized his hands were shaking. He felt a vast, throbbing emptiness in his synapses. He realized that the emptiness was always there, and had been for as long as he could remember. Most days he hid it under a haze of narcotics, But now that he'd had it filled for just a minute, it's emptiness hurt like an amputated limb. He looked out and saw that, yes, skullfucker Mike was wrecked. Several pockets of Martyr still held out, but the bulk of the vanguard was either dead or fleeing for the line of transports and technicals that stretched back to the Brazos. It felt like the rest of the army had started the slow process of halting and reversing its advance. The Kingdom had decided to pull back. Are you done or not, Roland asked an evil voice in the back of his head. If you're not done, if you want more, you'd better go get it. Roland leaned back. He looked from skullfucker Mike took a shore and finally to Topaz. Then he reached behind him, grabbed a busted rifle he could use as a club, and stood up Roland. No, skullfucker, Mike started to say. Roland didn't hear the rest. He bolted off as fast as he could run in the direction of the fleeing martyrs. Sasha it was amazing how much she could tell about the course of the battle just from watching the faces of its casualties. The pace of the killing and escalate it to a certain level, and then started to slowly fall. More and more of the men died with their backs to the enemy running. Sasha guessed that meant the army, or at least a lot of it, had started to break. The pace of death slowed to a trickle. Well. Then Donald Ferris grumbled, it seems like that's more or less settled. I'm going to get us another round. I think we've all eaten enough guilt. Father, He stopped, his jaw dropped. Oh no. Sasha turned back to the screen to see that the roll of the dead had started to increase again. These men were running too, but most of them weren't dying to ranged weaponry. They were being grabbed from behind, ripped apart, or club to death by something moving far too fast for human eyes to focus on. Roland Manny said in a dull voice filled with sorrow. Sasha scanned the faces of her table mates. Manny looked almost overwhelmed with guilt. His eyes were watery, and he just kept shaking his head and muttering to himself. Nanny Yazzi's mouth was closed, her face looked tight and frozen in horror. Donald Ferris was quite clearly furious. His face was so red. Sasha worried his heart might give out, and yet she felt nothing. That's curious, isn't it. Sasha could remember how angry she'd gotten as a girl when she read some story about anti Christian brutality in Turkey or Illinois. She remembered being horrified by the execution she had witnessed, but she could only picture her emotional state and those moments from a great distance, as if she were staring at it through the fogged up lens of a telescope. Why am I not angry? Why am I not horrified? Her concern over this fact actually generated a stronger emotional reaction than anything happening out on that battlefield. Sasha stared out at the cameras and the continuing parade of violence. She heard Manny cursing under his breath. She heard Nana Yazi fight back a sob, but Sasha felt nothing, save perhaps a bit of jealousy. Rowland, the scene out by the Brasos felt less like a battlefield and more like a playground. This might be the highest I've ever been, he thought, as he broke a man's neck with the back of his hand. Bullets whizzed by as a few of the braver soldiers tried to cover the retreat of their comrades, most of them, even the drivers, had abandoned their transports. Hundreds of men were already wading into the river, tearing off their armor and tossing aside their weapons as they plunged in. The Heavenly Kingdom's army would not rally any time soon. A martyr turned and drew his knife in a feeble attempt at resistance. Roland caved in the man's stern hum with a fist and squashed his heart like a june bug. Ten meters ahead, he saw three soldiers preparing to make their stand behind an overturned flatbed truck. As he ran, Roland grabbed at his scarded rifle off the ground, a Thompson submachine gun. He realized it didn't feel like a reproduction either. Roland brought the gun up to his shoulder. The Thompson gun bucked in his hand. Roland laughed as he danced through the Charnel house that had once been a forward operating bay. Most of the National guardsmen were dead, but his nose told him one of them was still in the game. Roland turned past a hesco and saw the young man propped half up against a pile of sandbags. The boy held a hand to a bleeding hole in his gut. His black face was bloodless, pale, and young. So young. Roland didn't know if he'd ever seen a soldier who looked that young. There was something familiar about the boy's face, Rowland, the kid said, and recognition dawned in Roland's eyes, and then he was back. He was about fifty yards further ahead than he'd been before he blacked out. The Thompson gun was still in his hand, pointed at a man twelve yards to his left who was scrambling to get a wire guided rocket launcher into a firing position. Roland put a bullet through his brain. He turned past the burning wreckage of a semi truck. A dozen bullets impact at his chest inside. Then three martyrs charged him, their bayonets fixed. The hit wasn't bad, nothing but a flesh wound schofucker. Mike looked worse. He lost most of his left arm. Topaz had in three rounds to the dome, but she was still firing her dragon off. Roland's mind stretched into the city of Dallas around them. There were a lot of men coming their way, but those men were mostly police swat officers, nothing substantial, no one who could stop them from getting this bomb where it needed to go. Roland screamed as he broke his Thompson gun over the head of another martyr. Then he reeled back and dropped the gun. That last memory had felt different, like it unlocked something Roland shook his head. The last martyr in front of him broke and ran. Roland didn't even think to chase him. His head hurt in a way he couldn't remember it ever hurting before. What the hell is going on? It had all started the second he'd thought about the bomb. As small as nukes go, just about one megaton. It matches the ones that fought Leonarwood. The Guardian already released the hacked documents showing the government considered bombing several of the separatist camps. I think we can trust the American people to put two and two together, Jim smiled. Roland did not. This was his plan, but he didn't like it. He knew, though, that it was the only way forward for the revolution. There has to be another way, said schullfucker Mike. This feels wrong, really really wrong. The floodgates of Roland's mind opened, and a tidal wave of memory swept him away. He dropped to his knees. The martyrs around him continued to flee, too, shocked and awed to take advantage of his vulnerability. The battle drugs were gone now, or at least he couldn't feel them anymore. Hundreds of memories assaulted his consciousness thousands. For the first time in years, Roland knew who he'd been, who he was again. I'm back, Roland stood. He took one halting step forward, and then another, and then he leaned against the frame of a broken a PC for a little while as he pictured his mother's face and voice for the first time in years. He wanted to sob, but there was no time. He knew who he was now, and he knew what he was bound to do if he stayed this way. Roland's gents wouldn't allow that, so he trudged forward until he found the right tool, a handheld grenade launcher clutched in the dead hands of a martyr. He took the weapon and sat cross legged and the blood soaked Texas dirt. Roland looked up at the sky one last time and allowed himself a long moment to remember his parents and his brother, and the day he and Topaz had first met. And then he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. Manny Nanni Yazzi, Sasha, Donald Ferris, and Manny had all rushed to a transport as soon as Roland's face showed up on the screen. It seems the drones either didn't know or didn't care enough to separate dead friends from dead foes. Maybe that was the point Nani Yazzi drove. It took about six minutes for the shiny green jeep to make its way over the broken roads and towards the side of the battle. No one spoke. They reached the battlefield, there so many dead people. Manny had seen a lot of carnage in his life, but nothing like this. The stinches of burning flesh, opened bowels, and burning fuel were so overwhelming they almost knocked him down. Donald Ferris and Nana Yazzi looked just as queasy. Only Sasha whether the sights and smells with calm. She stayed focused enough to spot skullfucker Mike and the mess and direct Nana Yazzi his way. Rolling Fox soldiers were out in force. They stalked through the killing fields in groups of four or five, searching for survivors or just looking for loot. Mike stood with Topaz and Cashore and a couple of chromed Manny didn't recognize. Most of them were seated by a handful of large metal crates in the center of what had once been a large playground. Oh god, the dead men here had been torn apart. There was so much blood, more than Manny had ever seen. It sluiced around on the concrete like some sort of macab kittie pool. The jeep came to a wet stop in front of the group. The act of breakings into spray of gore out across Skullfucker Mike's legs. Hey, he said, what are you all doing here? Rowland? Manny said, what happened to Rowland? Mike looked confused. Topaz raised his head up to look out at them. Many was surprised to see tears rolling down his face. His lip trembled a bit, but when he spoke there was steel and fury in his voice. He decided to keep killing. I'm sure he's still killing now. No, Manny said, he's dead, or that's what the drone said. We have to find him. Get out of that seat, Mike said to Nanny Yazzie, I'm driving in an instant Topaz. His tears stopped, and before Many could say anything, Topaz hopped into the back seat of the jeep. Fast. Topaz told Skullfucker Mike as he took over from Nanny Yazzi go very fast. It didn't take long to find him. Roland's route through the army was painted in red. Hundreds of dead men, maybe more than a thousand, made a clear path with their corpses. That path didn't end until they were almost at the brazos and they saw where Roland had fallen. Roland's armored body was splayed out limp next to the carcass of an old semi truck. There were two very dead men directly in front of him, but neither of them looked to have done him in. Roland hadn't gone down to enemy fire. He jammed a very large gun in his mouth and blown the top off of his head. To all signs and to all logic, he looked dead. Donald Ferris shook his head and muttered something. Sasha just stared. Nana Yazzi put her hand on Manny's shoulder. He was, she started to say, but she was interrupted by Roland. As he lifted his ruined head up to look at them. His eyes were still unfocused. Blood drooled down his nose, out of his mouth, and down from the gaping exit wound in his forehead. He spat out several teeth Manny saw daylight through his skull, but still Roland was able to speak. How the funk are you people, He asked, so m o o