I may not like the reapers all that much, but even I have to admit that being in a room with this many powerful people is awe-inspiring.

  Not to mention terrifying, of course.

  Jonathan, the Captain, and Multishot—as well as Jayce and I—represent the reapers in the room. That excludes the Birdkeeper—who, sidenote, everyone seems to be calling ‘heron hunter’ for some reason—and Nightingale, who both seem eerily composed for some unknown reason. There are also a pair of men I don’t recognize: one a tall, thin man with dirty blonde hair and some kind of European accent I can't quite place, the other a gruff-looking southerner in a police uniform, whom Multishot, Jayce, and Nightingale keep calling ‘sir.’

  Clearly, this is not a room I would usually find myself in, but Jayce looks composed and his status seems to be roughly equal to mine, so I try my best to mimic him. Other than him, there isn’t a single person in the room I would be confident handling backlash from—except maybe Jonathan, given our recent history.

  The room itself is barren except for a projector, which currently has an image of a dark-haired woman displayed. There aren’t even chairs for us to sit in, but that’s probably for the best. Even if there were, I wouldn't be the one sitting in them anyway, not with the status in this room. Jonathan and Multishot are next to the wall being projected on, while the rest of us are situated in a loose clump facing said wall.

  “The situation is as follows:” Multishot begins orating, “for the last week, I’ve been pursuing a damned that seems to have the ability to summon copies of herself.” he gestures to the displayed image, “I have managed to confirm that if even one of these copies survives, she can proceed to summon more, regaining full strength in an unknown time, but less than a day. I also know that she is capable of summoning at least five such copies, and tends to commit no more than four at a given time. I was able to eliminate four myself, but lost the fifth, and have thus decided to ask for your aid.”

  “Due to the relatively unknown nature of this threat,” Jonathan picks up as Multishot trails off, “I am of the opinion that the best way to handle this is to eliminate the clones in a relatively simultaneous manner, in order to prevent the possibility of one creating another clone out of sight so that the whole can survive. Luckily, we already have sufficient numbers in the city to handle such a task. Operatives Inertia, Multishot, and Gale Force, as well as the yet-unnamed junior operative and myself, will make up our strike team, and each handle one clone.” He glances at each of us in turn, landing his gaze on me as he lists the ‘unnamed operative.’

  “Our support team will consist of the Birdkeeper and Operative Janus,” Jonathan continues, glancing between the old man and the younger one with blonde hair, “Communication, logistics, and transportation will be handled through them, so make sure you pay attention to their instructions,” he shoots an unfair glance at me, “Nightingale, Commander Kincaid, you two will be in charge of keeping this operation under wraps. As usual, under no circumstances are we to allow civilians to witness the operation, but, if we have to, use the clone nature of the damned to excuse any violence.” Nightingale and the policeman nod.

  “That’s all,” Jonathan concludes, “Any questions?”

  I raise my hand. Not a single other person in the room so much as twitches.

  Jonathan lets out an exaggerated sigh, “Operative Multishot, please handle our rookie’s questions. We move out in fifteen. Dismissed.”

  Most of the room files out, leaving Multishot and I alone. He walks up to me with a smile.

  “What can I help you with, miss?” he asks politely.

  “Aside from the fact that most of the mission details seem to have been left out,” I complain, “I also have nothing to wear.”

  Multishot blinks in confusion, “What about your hero costume?”

  I flush red, “It was…uh…’trashed.’ I haven’t yet had time to get a new one.”

  I’m currently dressed in civvies: a white oversized t-shirt and torn jeans. I can move in it well enough, but it won’t offer me any protection.

  “Well, you should be fine for this mission, miss,” Multishot says, “but you should handle that issue soon. As for the mission details, do you mind explaining precisely what you don’t understand? I apologize, but I’m so used to these things that I’m not exactly sure what you may or may not already know.”

  It’s my turn to sigh, “Mostly the logistics side. I get that the Birdkeeper and this ‘Janus’ are supposed to handle that, but precisely how are we supposed to stay in contact? And what about transport? I don’t even know operative Janus' ability, and I feel like that might be important.”

  “It is,” Multishot agrees, “To answer your first question, we will each be accompanied by a bird under the Birdkeeper’s control, which will facilitate communication. Transportation will be handled by Operative Janus, whose ability is related to space. Most likely, we will be transported directly to our given target, then given a signal to attack. Only if something goes wrong would any other communication be necessary. Do you have any more questions, miss?”

  I nod, “What about the whole ‘no civilian witnesses’ deal? How does that work?”

  Multishot smiles sadly, “I’m afraid I cannot tell you much, miss. The Reaper Corp has many methods of keeping out operations quiet. But few are mine to tell. With any luck, those two in charge of that part of the operation can control the heroes and police respectively to ensure no civilians get anywhere near the fighting. Nothing more should be needed. In fact, they’ve likely already begun; Jonathan’s orders were just a formality, really.”

  “It was worth a shot,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Only once, miss,” Multishot warns, “and only with me.”

  I agree with a silent nod, and follow him out the door to join the rest.

  —

  Five agents of death stand facing a wall. The old man in the aviator suit and his young, nordic companion whisper a silent exchange off to the side. A quintet of crows circle above, flapping down to land on the shoulders of each of the reapers. It is time.

  “Ready in five,” the hunter of the heron begins, “Four, three, two…”

  They each brace themselves.

  “One.”

  The air seems to ripple in front of them. Five swirling, flat circles of darkness materialize, then suddenly become clear. Five different scenes can be seen beyond them. Five reapers take a single step forward, crows following close behind. Then, at last, five Gateways close, and silence fills the room.

  The hunt has begun.

  —

  Sergeant First Class Julian Campbell finds himself in a familiar place. Old, withered trees surround him, and the smell of rot assaults his nose. He takes a single step forward, and finds his foot sinking softly into the mud. Shallow waters form various pools around him, some as small as rainwater might make, others practically lakes. It’s an artificial swamp, formed by the follies of the country that was here before—he has hunted here in the past.

  He cocks his shotgun, and steps out into the muck.

  —

  Captain Lynn Heydrich, known colloquially only by her title, absolutely despises cities. There are simply too many variables; too many people, that is—and only some of them she’s allowed to kill. It’s nothing like the simplicity of war she once knew, just as this operation is nothing like the hunt for the living shadow.

  She shrugs off her worries. Regardless of what she might face, it’s important all the same. Besides, this worn-out old edge-of-town neighborhood has been long since cleared of residents. She wonders what excuse they were given. Perhaps a gas leak, or a known villain in the area. Perhaps both. Perhaps it doesn’t even matter.

  With a sigh, she fingers a worn steel ball as she follows the crow down the street.

  —

  The otherworldly thing known by many names unfolds his wings as the gateway closes behind him. Surrounding him are many officers, all pointing their guns at a single building: a bank across the street. Civilians stand in a ring around him, and many cameras start flashing the moment they spot his arrival. Nobody questions his presence, nor that of the crow that flies inside the bank ahead of him. It is not their way to question; they have already been given all the answers they need.

  Not even stopping to think, the angel of death follows the omen of such closely behind.

  —

  Jayce Seiryo steps out of his gateway to find himself in an empty parking garage, devoid even of the cars which would ordinarily fill the space. His left hand slides to his long blade, carefully pulling it just an inch from its sheath. The wind in the room begins to stir, and he closes his eyes. In his mind’s eye, the space is filled in with colorless walls and pillars: shapes and nothing more. Small fluctuations begin to catch his notice, his senses long since having been intentionally over-tuned for this purpose.

  Suddenly, a massive fluctuation enters his senses. The movement of something large. He reopens his eyes, and slowly draws his short blade in his right hand.

  He has found his prey.

  —

  A SAU bar on the corner of 79th and Parsons. That’s where the portal summoned by this new Operative ‘Janus’ takes me. I can’t help but judge, to be honest. Sure, I understand the urge to get a good drink during hard times, but stopping to get sloshed when you’re being hunted is just…amateurish.

  Still, I step into the establishment as the crow Birdkeeper gave me hovers outside, finding it sparsely populated. I'm still in my civvies, so nobody bats an eye as I walk in. Hells, of the three patrons and bartender, only the latter even looks at me. This place is more of a watering hole than your average club, and its customers seem rather down on their luck. It’s the perfect bar for someone on the run.

  Sure enough, I spotted my target sitting at a table by herself, nursing a bottle of rum. I opt to sit at the bar, which is empty, rather than draw any more attention to myself.

  “Anythin’ I can get ya’?” the bartender asks.

  “Something that can get me buzzed, but still alert,” I reply, “For a SAU,” I elaborate.

  He nods, and plops a glass of some synth beer I don’t recognize down in front of me. I take a hesitant swig, almost nearly spitting it out. It tastes awful, and would probably knock a normal person on their ass, but I drink anyway, praying I still blend in.

  Having infiltrated, now I can only wait.

  —

  Marshes are generally not considered a good place to live by any sane folk, but if you want to hide, they do have their advantages. Many of which Julian notes as he trudges through the muck in search of his target. The difficulty moving, for one, makes it much harder to follow someone, and the barrage of horrible smells would make any scent-based tracking obsolete. Still, the sergeant is no amateur, and so he keeps pace anyway.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  That is, until the bird caws faintly, alerting him to a presence up ahead. Julian slows, letting the soft marsh floor smother the sound of his footfalls. With a few more silent steps forward, he presses up against a tree, keeping an eye on his target as he waits for the signal to strike.

  —

  The benefit to a cleared-out neighborhood is that you don’t have to worry about civilian casualties. The downside, notably, is that your prey knows you’re coming.

  Granted, finding someone is a good deal easier when there are no other people around. Easily leaping to the rooftops Captain Heydrich quickly spots the person hurrying along the streets in the distance. They appear to be looking around wildly, but even then they never seem to think to look up. Lightening her body, the Captain leaps across several rooftops at a time, arriving above her prey with nary a sound and only a few strides. From her pockets, she slips out a flexible thing made of a synth material a lot like leather, and a second steel ball.

  Eyes on her target, she lies in wait for the signal to advance.

  —

  Stepping into the bank’s main hall, the angel does the one thing he rarely ever does and sends his wings around to the sides, leaving him looking like a normal man—albeit, with an eerie look to him that cannot quite be explained. Regardless, as he walks into the bank with even strides, shoes clacking on the floor, you can tell that the woman inside is confused when she sees him.

  “The fuck do you want?” she hisses, standing from her position on the floor. The bank is empty and otherwise quiet, its patrons having long since fled—just as intended.

  “I’m here to negotiate,” the country’s guardian replies.

  “For what?” she growls, “I don’t have any hostages. You fuckers just set up outside for no goddamn reason and tried to shoot me when I evacuated with the rest.”

  “Really?” the thing that looks human replies quizzically, “You don’t even have one hostage? Not even a single other person who also was too slow to leave the building?”

  “Did you not hear me, asshole?!” she shouts, “How was I supposed to take hostages when I didn’t even know what was going on?!” she lowers her volume, “Maybe I could take you as a hostage, you ever think about that, fucker?”

  The angel does not respond, “Really?” He says to himself, “That is quite the mistake.”

  “Hey! Don’t ignore-”

  Then a hundred blades fall from above, and cut the woman into a dozen different pieces.

  “You really should’ve taken a hostage.”

  —

  Closing in on his target, Jayce is surprised when the bird flits up behind him, giving him a peck on the shoulder. With a start, he realizes that the thing was giving him the signal. It is earlier than he’d expected.

  Suddenly, his prey moves again, forcing him to change course. He draws his longer blade an inch, and commands the suddenly more forceful winds to push him forwards, near doubling his speed in an instant.

  Then he sees her. Hefting his small blade in his right hand, he draws his long blade a full two inches, giving him a sudden burst of pure speed. He flies out from behind a pillar, sword swinging in a lethal stroke towards the woman. He notices an unusual movement in the wind, but in his haste, ignores it.

  He doesn’t see the gun until it is too late.

  —

  Outside, I hear a crow caw loudly. I hadn’t even realized that the bird never followed me in, so it takes me a moment to realize that it was the signal I just heard. In fact, it seems I got the signal last, as suddenly the damned woman stands, a surprised look on her face, and, after a moment of apparent shock, bolts for the door.

  I leap up from my seat after her, more than happy to take the chance to get away from the—albeit few—presumably innocent patrons of the bar. I throw open the door as I rush out, ignoring the annoyed yelling of the bartender. I can pay later.

  Unfortunately, the noise of me doing that alerts the woman, who whirls to face me as I exit the bar. Deciding I still have the element of surprise for a brief moment, I rush her. She pulls something out from her coat and I hear gunshots ring out twice, but my danger sense doesn't even stir, and I barely feel the corresponding pair of impacts. Must be normal bullets.

  With a leap, I tackle her, throwing her to the ground. We wrestle for a few moments, but I’m clearly the stronger one of us two, and I quickly get her in a stranglehold. I count out the seconds as her movements begin to slow, and release her just as she faints, narrowly avoiding killing her. I stand slowly, watching for further movements but finding none. I won, and it was easy.

  There’s only one issue.

  “What the fuck do I do now?”

  —

  Finally, the signal arrives.

  Julian leaps out from behind his tree, firing off a pair of quick Volleys which tear up the trees around them. His target, however, is already moving out of the way, some phantom intuition having warned her. She pulls out a gun of her own, and returns fire, but it's pathetic in comparison to the reaper’s own attack.

  Not one to let his prey get away, Julian sticks his gun out from behind a tree, lining up his shot. The woman starts running, trying to outrange him, but he knows he has time. He takes a deep breath, and steadies his hand.

  “Homines moriuntur,” he whispers.

  Steel fills the air, and a woman dies in the mud.

  —

  Her target bolts.

  Captain Lynn doesn’t even have time to get the signal from her bird; she doesn’t bother to wait. The moment the damned perks up as if suddenly realizing something and begins to run, she veins her assault. She slips the first steel ball into the pouch of the not-leather thing she carries, and slowly begins to spin it over her head, the strap it’s attached to stretching to form a radius of near two meters. Then she releases, and her string hurtles the ball at blinding speeds.

  The damned turns in the last second, the ball striking her shoulder instead of her back. It blows out the bone like a bullet more than a sling, the arm now hanging by a thin strand of ligament. She stumbles, bleeding and wildly searching for her attacker, but it's too late.

  “Homines moriuntur,” the Captain whispers.

  And the next shot lands true.

  —

  The deed is done, without so much as breaking a sweat. The angel stands above his fallen prey, taking in its form with cold eyes. He wonders with a simple curiosity if the others have succeeded as well. Some part of him, deep down, stirs with a question: what will he do if they have not? He pushes it down, ignoring it.

  Then the crow flies down, forced to do so despite his presence. It lands on his shoulder, pecks him twice, and caws once. A predetermined signal.

  “You think I need to aid one of our recruits?” he asks it, “How bad is it?”

  The bird squeezes his shoulder with its left talon thrice.

  The operative sighs, “This was supposed to be an easy mission. Fine, open the gateway.”

  A portal opens up behind him, much the same as the first. Without even waiting to see where it leads, he steps through, only annoyance on his face as he awaits what lies on the other side.

  —

  The crack of the gunshot echoes throughout the empty garage, accompanied not even a second later by the sound of blood splattering on the concrete and the smell of powder and iron. The two combatants separate, both bleeding. Jayce clutches a new, red hole in his side, while the woman stumbles back with a long gash cut across her chest.

  Both wounds are lethal, but neither immediately so, and, after a brief moment of hesitation from the both of them, they move in unison. Jayce charges forward to slash again, releasing his side to allow him to redraw the few inches of his long blade he needs. His opponent steps back, trying to put distance between them to take advantage of her superior range.

  But he is alert now, and she underestimates him.

  The blade doesn’t even reach her. It doesn’t need to. The wind around it seems almost to harden as it moves with extreme ferocity. It’s no strong attack, not like the blade might be head-on, but as it strikes the soft flesh of the damned’s throat, it is more than enough. Blood blooms once more, and she drops her gun to clutch her throat futilely. A few more gasping breaths is all the clone has left in this world, and it dies soon after.

  “Homines moriuntur,” Jayce whispers, the winces, clutching his side once more, “Shit. I need a doctor.”

  A gateway opens up beside him, and the rookie reaper gratefully steps through.

  —

  I slowly drag the unconscious damned woman off to the side of the parking lot, trying my best not to hurt her more. I think I've made up my mind on what I want to do, but I have to think quickly. Without some sort of justification, this is merely an exercise in futility.

  I’m honestly not surprised when Jonathan steps through the hole in space that opens up beside me. I may have made my choice, but I fully expected him to take offense. After all, I’ve done something that violates his very principles. Most people wouldn’t let that go unopposed.

  “I hear you’ve been making some trouble, Gardner,” Jonathan says as he steps out onto the parking lot where I remain after having captured the damned. The woman; I can’t forget that. Whatever she’s done, she’s still a person.

  Jonathan glances at the still body of the woman, “Seems you've had no trouble apprehending her. I assume then that you still refuse to take a life.” He turns to me, “Reapers must kill, Gardner. If you won’t, then I will do so myself, and have you removed from the corp for your insubordination.”

  “And I bet you’d relish the chance to do so, wouldn’t you?” I reply, "But you won’t—not this time.” I’ve had enough time to think, now it’s time to act.

  “And why is that?” he asks.

  “Because it would be incredibly stupid of you,” I say with full confidence, “and, if nothing else, we’ve already established that you are not a stupid man.”

  Jonathan seems taken aback by this. It’s subtle, but before he studies me for any hint of a lie, he first just blinks at me for a moment, almost as if confused. It’s rather satisfying to see, if I’m being entirely honest.

  “Explain,” he orders in a harsh tone, eyes narrowing and wings flaring. But no warning comes from Superhuman. I’m in no danger—not the physical kind, at least. He’s just trying to intimidate me, and I won’t let him.

  “Let’s review what you’ve already established,” I begin, “The damned has an ability that lets her clone herself at least four different times. Presumably, even if the original is destroyed, the clones are still basically the same person, and can recover on their own. They also seemingly have a way of communicating, or at least telling if the others have died. Mine reacted almost at the same time I got the signal, before I could even move. That implies they knew when someone like the Captain or yourself took one out before I could.”

  “Your point being?” Jonathan presses.

  “We don’t know that the maximum number of clones is five,” I say, “We only know that there are at least five. They could have ten, or fifty, or even infinite.”

  “That’s preposterous," Jonathan says harshly, “If there were infinite, they would have taken over the USC by now. And I can guarantee there are no more in the city.”

  “And can you guarantee there are no more in the entire country?” I argue, “Or even beyond? I could never convince you that killing damned isn’t the best option in general, and I would hardly ever bother to try, but even you have to see that, right now, this particular damned should not be executed immediately. Not if you want to ensure you’ve dealt with her—or, rather, them—permanently.”

  “You still have not said anything that would imply that, Gardner,” Jonathan replies, “Get to the point already.”

  I sigh, “Can you really not see it? I’m proposing we use her as bait.”

  For the second time today, the most powerful man in the country seems taken aback.

  “We can assume there aren’t infinite copies,” I press, “you said it yourself—we would’ve already lost if that were the case. But they can be recovered if killed. That implies that an alive yet captured clone is effectively a permanent loss of power. Most SAUs wouldn’t be able to accept that. If there are more copies out there, they’d likely attempt some kind of prison breakout—or at least kill the copy so that they can make a new one. Even in the case that they’re smart enough not to try, then you’ve still made a more favorable situation than just killing this one. You’d have to hunt them down again either way, but this way they’d be weaker. In conclusion, the best bet you have is to just throw her in jail.”

  Jonathan hesitates for a moment, clearly thinking, “And what if she just copies herself in prison and attempts an escape that way?”

  “Then you have five copies captured instead of one,” I reply without hesitation, “Do you honestly expect me to believe you can’t keep a SAU contained who’s so weak she needed a gun to fight back? It’s like confining Multishot: disarm them and they’re just a person.”

  “No SAU,” Jonathan hisses, “is ever just a person.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake!” a new voice cries out, “Just give her what she wants, Johnny. You know she’s right, anyway. We can just put the poor cloning woman in Kur.”

  Jonathan and I turn as one, laying eyes upon the new portal through which the Captain and a new woman I don't recognize—the one who spoke—exit. She’s thin and brunette, and dressed in eerily bloodstained flowing white cloth. She wears a cocky grin as well, and the Captain follows her almost sheepishly behind.

  Then something far, far more surprising happens.

  “S-sandra?” Jonathan whispers in a soft, almost reverent tone, “You’re…back?”

  The Captain clears her throat, “I concur with Operative Vermillion on this one. The recruit has a point, and we’ve been meaning to add another test subject to Kur anyways.”

  Then Jonathan does something I’d never thought I’d see:…

  “Fine.”

  …he relents.

  And I stare, wide-eyed and bewildered, at the most powerful man in the country submitting to a woman I had never seen before. On one hand, this is a victory. I did it. I managed to save a damned’s life. This is progress.

  But on the other hand…

  …what the holy fuck is going on?

  drama there!