DIVISION 52 - BOOK II

CHAPTER XLVII

"Good day?" I drawled sweetly.

"Oh, divine." He answered with a knowing look. "Care to get a new face?"

"Can't wait." I muttered, moving for the ramp.

"Careful it's a steep incline!" He called to my back. I flicked him the finger without satisfying him with a glare. 

I strapped myself in and Proximo wasted no time punching the thrusters again. I drummed my fingers on my leg as the miles flew under us and we grew closer to the faceless maker. At least he or she wasn't far from the Crypt.

Proximo led the way as we walked down the familiar alleys and pressed the intercom to his door. It took a few moments before the metal slid open and the floor lit up beneath us.

"Upgrades." Proximo quipped unimpressed. His eyes didn't fail to notice the laser guided fusion guns trained on us from the ceiling either.

A dark skinned woman leant on a wall watching us. 

"I'm just going to hope you are who we are looking for..." Proximo drawled, walking past the guns and offering a credit bar first.

The woman smirked and ran a hand over her braids–that may have been an imitation anyway. She touched her jaw and became the Emperor I killed on the rooftop–

I staggered into the side of the wall on reflex and sucked in a sharp breath. Proximo stilled and the faceless' smile faded.

"Apologies I meant no... disrespect." The face morphed into a female again that looked almost fifty. For this city that was rare.

"Forget it." I growled, pulling myself up and scanning the wrinkles closely. "Get me something as forgettable as the face you're wearing–then another for him." I stated, jutting my thumb at Proximo's towering form.

"I look forward to making you forgettable, Scorpion."

I didn't correct his or her assumption I still held the title. There were many things Scorpion had lost her grip on... I didn't need to be reminded of another.

* * * * *

The crowds roared in that familiar electricity they always had. I used to live for it. Oblivion in the form of the shouts of a room, the drinks of the Underworld and the morals no one bothered to care for. Honesty among thieves.

Now all I saw was a painful reminder of how far a woman from Sector 1 had come into the darkness. A world that was mine by design now hers by necessity.

I looked at my hands. Weathered but not too much. Middle age. A forgettable face. Proximo regarded me behind the guise of brown eyes and a beard.

"How will you find Artella?"

"He will be near her." He answered in certainty. Then he adjusted the nondescript leather jacket he had traded his trench for.

The crowd roared again and parted. Proximo nodded at me and we split up in search of two different people. It was a busy night. A fight night and the usual low lives were here. I did my best to avoid the pushes of bodies and ignore the ache in my side. At least it wasn't the lethal stab of pain it had been days before. Now it was manageable.

"I see him." His voice spoke distorted into my comm.

"Is she there?" I demanded, dodging drinkers and gamblers.

"Tailing her six. Heading for the bookie."

"How long have they been here?"

"Long enough for Xavier to collect her winnings–or Artella's." He snorted. "Do you have a plan here or do you just want to tail?"