What Luna did, she did for Taylor. It hadn't always been so, of course: when she'd been younger, freshly born, she had thought to usurp her progenitor, take her place. But now, with the two of them united, Luna would act as the Malcador to Taylor's Emperor: she would do the things that needed to be done when Taylor couldn't bring herself to do so. Luna fancied that she had made positive changes in Taylor's outlook, made her more prepared to make the hard decisions that would be needed if Humanity was to survive and thrive, but Taylor still had moral qualms that could hold her back. Luna lacked such weaknesses.

Mayville, Missouri was a small town, like a lot of others. A church, a town hall, a small number of buildings. Good, honest, hardworking folk – or they had been, before the Slaughterhouse Nine rolled into town. Now, mostly, they were corpses. Only the unluckiest weren't. Luna parked her stolen car at the side of the road and got out, fingers flexing as she called on the Warp to locate as many people as possible. The weight on her chest was unfamiliar but reassuring, a heaviness of machinery that would be her trump card.

When she got back, she decided, she would ask Taylor to teach her how to fly. It had been a long drive, being able to fly here would be a lot more convenient. She hadn't made any effort to be subtle, so she expected that she'd been seen. That worked for her: it wasn't as though she was trying to hide.

"I'm here to talk to Bonesaw," she said, loudly enough that the lurking minds nearby could hear it, "With a deal to make."

The Nine did make deals sometimes, she knew. Usually they reneged: the art was being better at double-crossing than the Nine were: Luna had confidence in her double-crossing ability. She felt three beings approach. One was a smart, sly mind, quick and confident. The other two felt like they were barely conscious, thoughts struggling sluggishly through a mind thicker than treacle. Interesting.

"Well, well, well," said a man's voice, "It's rare we get willing visitors."

"I can't imagine why," Luna said, ostentatiously looking around. There was a church just in front of her: the priest was hanging impaled from the steeple and, unless she missed her guess, had been at least partially eaten. Someone had been having fun.

"Some of my associates can get a bit over-excited," the man said, faking sorrow very well as he emerged from the doorway of the church. Luna assessed him, comparing him to the sketches and blurred photographs she'd seen. They were surprisingly good likenesses.

"Jack Slash, in the flesh," she said, inclining her head, "I am Luna."

Jack shrugged, walking further into the open. His two shadows remained in the church, out of sight, but he seemed unruffled.

"Never heard of you," he admitted, "But I've never heard of a lot of people."

Luna smiled, although it was hidden underneath the helmet she was wearing, and spread her hands.

"You've heard of Circaetus?"

Jack paused and nodded.

"I've heard of her. Huh…I guess that makes you her clone, right? I heard about that. If you're coming to try out for a position, we're all full. And we don't take failures."

"Big words for a man who looks like a Walmart Johnny Depp and spends all his time killing civilians and running away when the going gets tough," Luna replied. Jack smiled, tapping a finger against the folding razor he wore at his belt.

"Touchy, there," he observed, "If you're not coming to try out for a place in the Nine, what're you after? Not here to try and fight us, are you?"

The wispy shadow of a mind circled behind her, far away but close enough to be threatening. Luna didn't look back, but it took effort: she hated being surrounded.

"I told you, I'm here to talk to Bonesaw," she reiterated, "She's the best Bio-Tinker around, isn't she? I've need of her skills."

Jack's dark eyes lingered on her as he paced, thoughts flitting quicksilver through his mind. There was the faintest undercurrent of unease there, too, but it was overlaid by confidence. Luna supposed it wasn't unearned: after all, the Siberian had defeated Alexandria herself. He nodded once, making a decision.

"Well, I'm not opposed to taking work," he said, "Bonesaw, you know, she's very young. People do try to take advantage of her. And they try to take advantage of us."

He held out a hand and snapped his fingers. Luna tensed, but no attack came: instead two people came shambling from the church. Luna said people, although she used the term loosely: they were both Frankenstein abominations, covered in stitches and scars.

"Your two newest members?" she asked, indicating them. The one on the left, the larger one, was a man. A particularly large man too: Luna was over six feet tall, but this man was even larger, covered in scars and what looked like a metal framework, a large axe gripped tightly in both hands. The other one, much smaller, was also far more obviously altered: patches of black skin were scattered among the pale white, her face was twisted and contorted into a rat like muzzle. Her hands and feet, both exposed, had all their digits replaced by long machetes, leaving her walk shuffling and awkward. It was like a particularly bad example of something made by the Mechanicus, or maybe by the Dark Eldar. At least the Skitarii were usually physically functional. The male abomination's mind was dull, quiet, barely present.

Inside the female abomination, two minds screamed in unending torment.

"I didn't know the Nine were recruiting zombies now," Luna commented. Jack raised an eyebrow at her before smiling in realisation.

"Ah! These two, right? Hack Job and Murder Rat. Hack Job, you know, used to be Hatchet Face but it turned out he couldn't cut it, got killed by one of our new members. And Murder Rat, well, let's just say we don't take orders very well."

Hack Job stepped forwards, one eye fixing on Luna while the other stared blankly off. Luna lifted a hand.

"You might want to keep your dog on a leash, Jack. All three of 'em."

The lurking presence behind her went still and Jack laughed.

"And why's that?"

Luna reached up and pulled her coat aside, revealing the small metal box attached to her chest, light blinking.

"Well, it's because I've got a bomb."

Jack thrust his arm out, striking Hack Job in the chest and stopping him before pulling his arm away and taking a step to the side. Luna felt the flash of discomfort from Jack when he touched the zombie, wondered what had caused it, dismissed the thought as irrelevant at the moment.

"See," Luna said, "I know what you can be like. The Nine. Murder Rat, she used to be Ravager right? Disappeared at the same time Mouse Protector did, from what I've heard. And when you came to Brockton, the Teeth hired you only for you to turn on them. You're snakes, all of you. So I made sure to have some insurance."

"A bomb?" Jack said, "You know that won't stop most of us, right? I mean, I admire the initiative, but…"

"A normal bomb wouldn't," Luna agreed, "A small nuke, however? You'd be surprised how easy it is to get your hands on fissile materials. And if you're thinking that you can just have me killed before it goes off, or you can keep me alive if it's linked to my heartbeat, don't. The trigger is a dead mans switch that I'm keeping in place with telekinesis. If my powers fail any way, any how, we all get to find out what the centre of a mushroom cloud feels like."

Some of the Nine would survive, but most wouldn't. And all the sources agreed that Jack Slash was the heart of the Nine: if he was ash on the breeze the Siberian and Crawler, assuming they could survive her bomb, would pose very little threat. It would be inconvenient, but Luna would regenerate eventually. She could make that sacrifice.

Jack's reaction was fascinating. Jack Slash was a legend, internet and real-life: he was the boogeyman under the bed, the one person who could boss around the monsters in the Nine. He was suave, charismatic, eternally unruffled, he was the ultimate bad boy. The final expression of serial killers with groupies: at least, that was the legend.

Luna, watching the sheer animal terror boil through Jack's mind before he forced it down, watching the way his lips compressed and his eyes widened before he smothered the fear reaction in a smile, confirmed to herself that the reputation wasn't really accurate. She wasn't going to assume she had his measure, not yet, but she could guess what his next response would be: appear unafraid, unruffled. Brush the implicit threat off: laugh.

Jack Slash laughed. Luna, her expression safely hidden by her helmet, smirked.

"You know what, kid?" Jack said, "I like you. You've got gumption. Maybe we do have a place open in the Nine after all, or there'll be one coming up – but let's not get ahead of ourselves! You came here to talk business, so let's talk."

He was plotting her murder, Luna knew, but she couldn't say that she cared. She was plotting his just the same, after all. Jack looked around, pointing towards a small building not far away – a bar, in fact. Right next to the church? Well, Luna wasn't complaining.

"Over there," Jack said, "Some conversations are better had in a comfortable place, yeah?"

He was smiling and it almost looked genuine. Luna wasn't certain how he'd lived this long, actually, because he wasn't that subtle – but then again, she shouldn't underestimate him. That would be a direct path to dying, probably in a very embarrassing manner. And Luna didn't think she could bear the shame of being made into a puppet like Murder Rat and Hatchet Face had been.

She could imagine Taylor's expression when she had to fight a puppet Luna: sheer frustrated exasperation. The thought, paradoxically, made her smile and her stride was jaunty as she walked after Jack. Something about never going to a secondary location, she knew, but she was already in deep. The bar was completely empty, as she might have expected: a chunk of the back wall was missing, letting the light in. There was a broad splash of blood, speckled with pieces of flesh, around the edges of the hole.

"Homely," Luna said, taking a bar seat and perching herself on it. Jack laughed again, so very easily.

"The barman went for a gun when we asked him to serve us," he said, "Crawler just can't stand that sort of attitude, you know?"

He walked behind the bar, still grinning, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He glanced over at her as she removed her helmet.

"Whiskey? Actually, how old are you?"

"Physically, about sixteen," Luna said, "Chronologically, about four months."

Jack nodded.

"Beer, then. Catch."

Luna fielded the bottle as it arced towards her, catching it in one hand. She inspected the label, tilting it to the daylight: not a brand she recognised, but that wasn't surprising. She popped the cap off with a flick of her thumb and took a swig, resting the bottle on her knee afterwards. Not really to her taste, but not terrible.

"Knowing when to be polite's important," she agreed. Jack, pouring a glass of whiskey for himself, nodded graciously.

"Gotta know your limits," he said. Luna watched him drink his whiskey and pour another, although he only sipped at the second. Jack leaned on the bar, fixing his eyes onto her.

"So," he said, "You come here, with a bomb strapped to you, so you can talk to us. That's ballsy, I won't lie. And it's maybe even smart, in the moment."

"Was Murder Rat smart, in the moment?" Luna asked idly. Jack hid his smile behind his glass: this was really was genuine, a fond memory. Luna would have called him a sick bastard, but maybe she didn't have any moral high ground.

"Not really," Jack said, "She was pretty rude, y'know? Clearly looked down on us. We took her job, yeah, but her attitude just didn't sit right with us. Ravager, yeah, you were right about that. Ordered us to kill Mouse Protector. Well, now they get to spend the rest of their lives making up."

Luna wondered if Jack was already coming up with some theoretically ironic punishment for her. Probably – but she didn't intend for him to live it out. Once she had what she wanted she fully intended to drop her bomb on all of them, do the world a favour. She kept her expression even, taking another sip of her beer.

"You live up to your reputation," she observed, "But we have business to talk, right?"

"That we do," Jack said, "That we do. So. You want to talk to Bonesaw, right? She's like a daughter to me, you know, I can't let just anyone walk in and talk to her. She's my precious child, can't have her exposed to corrupting influences."

Smug bastard. But if he thought he could be smugger than Taylor or Luna he was wrong: Luna was the Queen of this. If he thought he could shake her composure he was sadly mistaken. She leaned back in her seat, one ankle resting on her other knee, and assumed an intentionally unconcerned pose. It didn't seem to get to Jack, but every little helped. It was a pity that she didn't have Taylor's wings: they were good for intimidation purposes. And she could have pretended to preen them, that would be certain to get anyone riled up.

"I'm not going to waste our time," Luna said, "I'll tell it to you straight. What I want from Bonesaw is a virus, made to my specifications. I'm coming to her because she's got a reputation as the best person for this sort of thing, and while I could do it myself it would take longer. This isn't something I'm desperate about, Jack: I can leave and make what I want myself. It'll just be less convenient."

First rule of negotiation: make it seem like you have the upper hand. Make it clear you have other options. Desperation only attracts vultures. Jack ran a finger around the edge of his tumbler, producing a shrill noise that grated at the edges of her hearing. Luna didn't blink, didn't give any indication of how unpleasant she found it, but Jack smiled anyway.

"You aren't desperate," he said, "But neither are we. Sounds like we've got some negotiating to do, right?"

Luna shrugged.

"Seems that way," she admitted. She observed him for a moment, thinking, considering.

"I won't offer you money," she said, "You've got no use for it, have you? What you want, you take. That's how you live."

Jack tilted his glass towards her, smiling. Flattered. For a moment Luna wondered if her powers would be a fair trade – to offer to help him with something, in exchange for her virus. No, too risky. Hiring the Nine was bad enough: to risk being seen working with them was intolerable. There had to be something else that Jack would want, however.

What did Jack do? What ambition did he have? The Nine were predictable in their overall actions, if not in the details: they roamed from place to place, recruiting who they pleased, killing and torturing everyone else they passed. Once, when she'd still been freshly born, Luna had thought that there might be some merit in what the Nine did, some similarity between her and them. They roamed, culling the weak, leaving only the strong. What better way for Humanity to become stronger than for the weak to die? What could be more efficient?

Once she'd come to her senses, she'd realised that almost any way was better. There was more to strength than the ability to fight, and that was all the Nine would leave behind: those who could outfight them, and those who could hide from them. That was no way to create a legacy.

So, the thing that might interest him would be something that could make him kill better, or give him a chance to kill more. Luna had something that might interest Bonesaw, because she was under no illusions that she would need convincing as well, but Jack? Whatever could she give him?

"Have you ever had much business with the Fallen?" she asked, testing the waters. Jack sat up slightly straighter, eyes sharpening.

"The Fallen? A few things, now and then, but not much. They don't like us and we don't like them, and they're good at hiding. I'd heard that you were having some disagreements with them – trying to get us to deal with your problems for you?"

If only. Getting the Fallen and the Nine to weaken each other would have been nice, but it probably wouldn't work. No, Luna had something else in mind.

"I can deal with my own problems. In fact I'm going to, very soon. Let's just say that the Mathers family won't have a matriarch for much longer."

Jack's eyes glinted with interest and Luna swallowed her grin. She'd known that would work: the Fallen were exactly the sort of people the Nine would want to recruit from, but Mama Mathers could make the Nine tear themselves to pieces. With her dead, however…

"Well, maybe I'm interested," he said, "But, what? You're going to give me a phone call and tell me when she's dead? I need more than that. If it doesn't work you've gotten what you want and I've gotten nothing, so I need something concrete. How about you stay around for a while, do us some favours?"

"How about you jump off a cliff," Luna said, "No favours."

Jack's smile slipped just a little, eyes hardening. Luna continued before he could speak.

"Something concrete? How about this. I've heard all about you – how you've walked off bullets, how you're stronger and faster than a human should be. You've been augmented, right? Well, my augments make yours look like child's play. You let me speak to Bonesaw, and I'll give her the plans to replicate my augmentations."

She'd been prepared to give that up. She wasn't at the level of an Astartes anyway, and Bonesaw might not even be able to replicate some of her augmentations. Besides, nothing Luna could give Jack would keep him alive once their agreement was done, so what did it matter? Jack closed his mouth, thoughtfulness flickering over his expression.

"Well, that's a better offer," he mused, "Why don't we go and see Bonesaw, and see what she says? She's very clever for her age, you know, a genius in fact. We should get her input too."

Ah, the doting father was back: fond, warm and slickly insincere. It was almost a pity that Luna intended to kill him with a bomb, rather than personally: maybe she'd get a sincere response from him if her fingers were wrapped around his spine. She left her beer half-drunk, following Jack out of the bar and back into the sunlight.

"No need to look so worried," Jack said as Luna looked about, pinning the positions of Hatchet Face, Murder Rat and the lurking Siberian in her mind, "I remember what you said about your nuke."

He sounded sarcastic, but his mind didn't reflect it. Ironically, it really wasn't a nuke: Luna hadn't had the time to put something like that together. She had, however, been able to put together an extremely powerful bomb, using the ingredients that had initially been planned for use on her Mama Mathers bomb once the plan had changed slightly. Not a nuke, it was still more than powerful enough to incinerate anyone close by: that would be good enough.

So long as Jack believed it that was good enough, and he certainly seemed to. Luna followed him through the town, observing the ravages that the Nine had left: pools and streaks of blood, scattered limbs, at least four corpses that had been partially eaten – what the fuck was it with these people and cannibalism, had the Siberian just been hungrier than a Hungry Hungry Hippo – all the detritus of a band of murderous psychotics. Luna could have been like this, perhaps: she was lucky that the Ruinous Powers didn't exist in this reality. She wouldn't have wanted to, but Luna could see how her freshly born self would have fallen to Chaos. That would have been an unfortunate outcome, for both Taylor and her.

Luna continued to follow Jack through the town, feeling the shadowy mist of the Siberian's mind race past them on a side-street – there was something about the structure of that mind that made Luna uneasy, something that itched at her instincts, but she wasn't sure what. It could be the cannibalism, but Luna didn't think just that would be enough: there was something wrong with the Siberian, in a structural sense. She worried at the thought as she worked, like a dog gnawing on a bone.

"Here we are," Jack said, "Bonesaw's home away from home. Such as we have one. Won't you come in?"

Luna walked behind him as he entered the building: a small-town doctor's surgery, she thought. Through the doors it was brightly lit, but the reek of blood and gore was thick in the air. Luna breathed deep, the acrid stench pulling at her nostrils, and tried to work out what she was smelling. Her sense of smell was strong, stronger than a normal human, but not quite as advanced as a dog. Still – blood. A faint whiff of chemicals. An underlying hint of urine and faeces, indicative of sheer terror: mad scientist's workshop. Luna didn't move her body, but her telekinesis vibrated against the bomb on her chest: if she was really in danger, it would be here. Jack, humming to himself and walking with a jaunty hop in his step, led her through two door and into a makeshift surgery.

Luna wasn't particularly delicate. When it came to operating on unwilling patients she had done mad scientist things herself, tying her victims down and going to work. But she'd not piled bodies around the room, and she'd definitely not left blood all over the place. It was almost artistic, really: like something from a Renaissance painting of Hell. And the Siberian, lurking monochrome behind the small girl doing the operating, would be the devil.

"Jack!" chirped the little girl, couldn't be more than ten by Luna's estimation, "Hi! Who's your friend?"

Bonesaw, because it could only be Bonesaw, wore bloodied surgical scrubs that were far too large for her over her dress. Her blonde ringlets were splashed with red that was drying to brown and her smile was wide. Her mind was afraid. Luna could feel it, how she felt towards Jack: a toxic brew of love, nearly adoration, and fear. Desperation. Luna, having previously had moments of insanity herself, could feel it writhing in Bonesaw: this one was dangerous.

"Hey, Riley," Jack said, and Luna could hear the smile in his voice, "This is Luna. She wants to talk to you about a project, a virus she wants made. I thought it sounded interesting, so I brought her over to you."

Luna, fully aware that letting Jack control the conversation was never going to be a good thing, stepped away from him and walked over to the operating table. The man there was a gory mess, but Luna didn't mind: she rested a hand on his flayed-open chest and used her powers to feel out his body, mapping the changes.

"Two hearts," Luna said, "One and a half livers. Three kidneys. Four arms? Not sure the chest cavity has space for both hearts to work properly, though."

Silence. Jack and Bonesaw stared, the Siberian stood stock still, and Luna affected a relaxed smile.

"Oh, didn't you know?" she said, "I'm biokinetic. Taylor doesn't advertise it a lot, but if I want to…"

She dragged a gloved hand over one of the exposed hearts, concentrating, and the heart slowly changed shape, shrinking under her fingers. Jack continued to stare, but Bonesaw gasped in excitement. Something skittered in the shadows, something that wasn't living: Luna forced herself not to look.

"Oh, gosh," Bonesaw said, "I didn't know! Is it because Panacea lives in your city? I've heard people talk about Circaetus being a power copier, I didn't know her clones are as well!"

"Wouldn't clones have the same powers as the original?" Jack asked, sounding slightly bemused. Funny: he'd barely seemed to know her, but Bonesaw was now walking around Luna and inspecting her. Luna repressed the urge to put her back against a wall.

"Maybe, maybe," Bonesaw said, "But I heard that the clones made in the Echidna incident had powers that didn't match up. Like they had powers that were based on the same thing, but different. But you must be different, Luna?"

"You could say that," Luna allowed, "I have the same powers as Taylor. Maybe the other clones would have, as well, but they were, pardon the phrase, born wrong. Their augmentations just didn't work. But before any of that conversation, I have something for you."

Jack tensed. The Siberian looked across. Luna reached into her coat and pulled out a sealed vial containing two pieces of flesh, grey brain matter floating in preservative. Bonesaw stepped closer, eyes gleaming with interest. She had heterochromia, Luna noticed, one eye blue and one green. She wondered if it was natural.

"The Corona Pollentia from two Fallen Parahumans," Luna said, "A gift, you could call it. Only polite."

Bonesaw reached up and Luna gave her the vial, watching carefully. The little girl smiled, eyes sparkling.

"Oh, thank you," she said earnestly, "I've got some of these, but it's always better to have more so I can keep comparing. Are you here to join us? I think you have to kill one of the others to join."

Bonesaw frowned at the last part of her sentence, almost pouting. A perfect little girl, right out of an old-fashioned movie: it made Luna's skin crawl. Bonesaw continued.

"Cherish was the last one to join, after she killed Hatchet Face," she said, "And Murder Rat joined too, after I made her from Ravager and Mouse Protector. But I don't think she really liked being one of us, and she started to rot. It was just too bad."

The cruelty of children, Luna reflected. She kept smiling. Still, Luna would like a look at Murder Rat's biology: melding two people into one, especially given that Luna had been able to feel both minds screaming within, was quite the feat. Taylor or Luna could probably have done it, but Biomancy was a short-cut: Luna suspected that the melding method Bonesaw had employed had been rather more brutal. She kept her attention on the little girl, however, aware that Bonesaw was thinking something. Something that might well turn out badly for everyone here.

Bonesaw tapped the vial Luna had given her against her chin, shaking whatever she was thinking off.

"I've always wanted a sister," she said, almost dreamily, "Panacea would be a good sister, don't you think? Since she already has one?"

Luna was somewhat torn. On the one hand, she didn't like Panacea just as Taylor didn't, and therefore giving Panacea even a weak compliment like saying she would be a good sister grated against her spine. However, giving that compliment would lead to a potential situation where Bonesaw kidnapped and tried to recruit Panacea, which would be both very funny and also give Luna a justified chance to kill Panacea in the event that she joined the Nine. Or, more likely, Bonesaw would die before she ever got the chance – or Taylor would intervene. Actually that might be even sweeter, saving Panacea from whatever Bonesaw would do to her. Luna could just imagine the look on her face.

And moreover, getting on Bonesaw's good side mattered most right now, so…

"Yeah, I think Panacea would be a good sister," Luna said, fighting the bile at saying it. Bonesaw nodded.

"And we could make all sorts of things," she said, "We could even make a unicorn. Do you like unicorns?"

Luna wasn't certain how much Bonesaw was playing the innocent and how much she was putting on an act to mess with her. Fifty-fifty, maybe, shading towards sixty-forty on the side of it being an act? Luna didn't know. Luna didn't really want to know.

"I've never really thought about them," she admitted, "If I wanted an assault horse I'd probably try to tame a rhino."

Bonesaw's eyes positively shone.

"Getting back on track," Jack interrupted, "Luna here's got something to ask from you, Riley. What was it, Luna?"

Trying to retake control of the conversation, Luna thought. Jack was supposed to be a smooth operator, and now that he wasn't panicking at the thought of an imminent explosive death he was calm, confident. He was smiling a smile that didn't touch his eyes, but Luna couldn't see many signs of his supposedly overwhelming charisma. Interesting. But he was right, she'd be better off not delaying.

"It's not that complicated," Luna said, "I want a virus that can change the DNA of people it infects, and nothing else. Just that. I could make one myself, but I've heard that Bonesaw does excellent work."

"A DNA changing virus, huh?" Jack said, "Whatever could you want that for?"

Luna smiled at him, innocent.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she said pleasantly, "If you're going to refuse then refuse and I'll walk away."

"Don't get too excited," Jack said lazily, "We haven't said no yet. I just want to know what it's for, because if you're planning to destroy the world then I'm gonna say no. It's no fun to have a plague kill everyone."

Surprisingly revealing, that statement. Luna considered him for a few moments.

"Alright," she said, "What do you know about powers, exactly? Where they come from?"

Jack shrugged.

"Some people get them, some people don't. You can see the structure in the brain, for people who'll get them, even before they Trigger. Isn't that it, Riley?"

Bonesaw nodded enthusiastically.

"Most people Trigger under stress," she said happily, "But some people don't! I'm not sure where powers come from exactly, though. I think it might be something to with DNA…oh! Are you going to try to make it so everyone can Trigger?"

Jack looked interested, which made sense. Parahumans were inherently self-destructive: if everyone in the world could Trigger, and if everyone in the world could be made to Trigger, the whole planet would probably dissolve into a free-for-all. Jack would just love that. Luna shrugged.

"Yeah, I'd like to try and give everyone powers, but I want to test it on a smaller place first. But I need the virus so I can add my own DNA to it." she said. Technically the truth. A gleam of cunning flickered in Bonesaw's eyes.

"I could do that for you, too," the little girl said, "If you'd let me have some of your DNA. Just a sample of skin would be enough."

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

"That's very kind of you," Luna said, "But I'd like to do it myself. A craftsman and her work, I'm sure you understand."

To her mild surprise Bonesaw did seem to understand: she seemed regretful, but she nodded easily enough.

"I can make a virus like that," Bonesaw said, "But it won't be easy. I have other things I'm working on, too…"

Ah, the haggling. Well, Luna had been keeping a trump card up her sleeve for this: time to play it.

"I'm not going to bargain with you," she said, "I'm going to make one offer, and then I'm going to walk away with your agreement or without it. You interested?"

Jack hooked one thumb in his belt loops, the other hand playing with a butterfly knife. The blade flashed, glinted, sharper than his smile.

"Go on," he said, "I'm listening."

Luna, if she had to guess, would say that he was probably fascinated. A lot of people probably pretended they weren't frightened of him when they bargained: how many were genuinely unafraid? Probably not many. Perhaps it was something wrong with her, but she'd take any chance she could get.

"Nilbog," she said pleasantly, "He doesn't do much, does he? Just sits around in his home. Why haven't you tried to recruit him?"

Jack said nothing, but Luna could guess. Either Nilbog didn't fit the profile, or Jack wasn't sure he'd survive the attempt. Or, perhaps, it would draw too much attention. Impossible to say.

"Not that it'll matter soon. See, Taylor and I have made up, so to speak: we've gotten over our unfortunate first meeting and the mutual attempted homicide it involved, and we've decided that if we're going to better humanity, we'll do it more effectively together. She's off in Canada right now, in fact, dealing with Heartbreaker. And Nilbog is next."

Bonesaw began to bounce on her heels. The way her ringlets bobbled up and down, tiny droplets of blood flicking from her hair with every impact, was honestly quite something.

"So," Luna continued, making eye contact with Jack, "I'm going to kill Christina Mathers, so that you can take your pick of the Fallen. I'm going to give you some plans for my augments, so you can upgrade yourselves. And, just to top it all off, I'll bring you Nilbog's head, to do whatever you want with. What do you say? Is that worth the virus I want?"

It would be worth it for Bonesaw, Luna knew. Whatever she wanted with Nilbog – probably to resurrect him as a shambling puppet and have him churn out legions of expendable footsoldiers for the Nine – it was enough. Jack was harder to read, harder to predict, but Luna thought that it had worked. Jack flicked his knife shut, pocketing it.

"Do you mind if Riley and I take a moment to discuss?" he said, mild in a way that made Luna think she'd won, "Just a little privacy. You can wait outside, if you please."

If she pleased. How very polite – how very Southern Gentleman of Jack. Fitting for the act he usually put on, anyway: Luna was willing to walk back out into the sunshine. She leaned against the wall, listening to the distant screams that still marred the air, and waited. Was this really the best choice? Uncertainty flickered in her breast, a weak ember but still present. Taylor would be furious, she thought, when she learned. But no, this was for the best: it was the quickest way to get their retro-virus made and deployed, and the less time it took to do that the less chance there was of something going wrong. This was no time to be doubting herself.

Doubt was for the dying.

The door opened again, hinges creaking, and Jack stepped out. He was smiling, still, the Siberian and Bonesaw trailing behind: Luna noticed that the Siberian had a hand on Bonesaw's head, like a protective parent. It might have been sweet, were it not for the fact that both of them were murderous maniacs.

"Good news," Jack said in a jovial tone, "We've decided to accept your terms! Now, so long as you show Bonesaw the augmentations-"

"Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Luna said. Jack stopped.

"Oh?"

"Oh," Luna agreed, "See, I had some time to think on it myself, and I realised that if I give you the augmentations, and then I call you about the Fallen, and then I give you Nilbog's head, what's to stop you from double crossing me? Let's not pretend we aren't treacherous, Jack: it's unbecoming."

Jack ran a thumb over his goatee, half hiding his wolfish smile for a moment. Luna felt the irritation simmering inside him, but it hadn't yet grown enough to overcome his interest. He was enjoying the negotiation, she thought, all a game to him. Well, Luna played to win.

"That's true," he admitted, "What are you suggesting?"

"We both walk away, now. I call you when Mathers is dead, and at that point you start work on the virus. Once I have Nilbog's head and you complete the virus we make the exchange, and I give you the augmentations once I've confirmed that the virus is good."

Jack laughed.

"Be serious," he said, "After all, we are both treacherous. What would stop you from taking the virus and never coming back, in that case? You call me. Bonesaw will start work on the virus, you bring us Nilbog's head, we trade the virus for the augmentations once it's completed. You can check Bonesaw's work when you collect the virus, even if it's going to be perfect. Nothing else."

Luna eyed him thoughtfully.

"The other way around," she said, "Once the virus is underway I give you the augmentations, and then we trade the head for the virus. The most valuable things are traded last."

Jack met her gaze, his eyes cold, shrewd. Luna held his gaze, second after agonising second, until he nodded.

"Agreed. Now, how about we walk you back to your car? Just to make sure there's no unpleasantness."

They did indeed walk Luna back to her car, Jack whistling cheerfully all the way. Bonesaw sulked briefly, but after a minute she started talking enthusiastically about her plans for the remaining people in the town, how she wanted to make them stronger, more obedient: she mentioned that her 'spiders' were wonderful, but human assistants had their advantages. She also talked enthusiastically of her hopes to have Panacea as a sister, and what they'd do together. Luna, for all her dislike of Panacea, found the tiniest ember of pity stirring inside: Amy was a bitch, but she didn't deserve what Bonesaw was likely to do to her. It only strengthened Luna's determination to see the Nine dead after she'd gotten the virus. They reached her car, alone in the church car park, and paused.

"Well, then," Jack said, "I suppose this is goodbye, for now? Until you call me to tell me that Mathers is dead."

"Until then," Luna agreed. Jack was smiling again, that alligator smile, that sharklike smile. Luna wondered if his eyes would roll up into his head before he attacked, but he just held out a hand.

"We're both going to betray each other, of course," he said, "But right now, let's pretend we're legitimate businessmen. Shake on it?"

Well, Luna had wondered about Jack's augmentations. She reached out and took his hand, a dark mirror of the pact she'd made with Taylor just weeks ago, and washed power undetectably through Jack's body. Wire reinforced bones and sub-dermal mesh, fascinating. Crude compared to Astartes augmentation or even the augmentations sometimes given to Imperial Guard elites, but still something. And on his brain, there was something…

Jack moved like a lightning strike, his left hand flicking up from waist level, the butterfly knife spinning in his hand and pressing against her throat. Luna blinked at him, slow and even, and smiled.

"Oh, Jack," she said, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Jack shrugged, lips pursed.

"I feel like I do," he said conversationally, "We Nine, you know, we've got a reputation to keep. And you coming swanning in here, getting away scot-free…it feels like it's bad for business. The whole bomb thing, people have said it before. And it's never been true. So, perhaps I do want to."

Luna tilted her head just a fraction, making eye contact more clearly, and smiled. Jack met her gaze, but Luna could see the doubt flickering in him. No normal person would be so very calm, not in her place.

"So do it, Jack. Cut my throat. Kill us all. It might even be fun."

Her nerves tingled with the anticipation of annihilation. Luna could already imagine her skin crisping, bone charring, hearing her enemies die, the satisfaction of knowing that she had taken her killers with her and it spread a grin across her mouth, lips parted, every razor fang on display and Jack Slash laughed.

"There it is," he said, his grin suddenly becoming much more real, "There's the crazy. Knew it was in you all along. You don't come to people like us without it."

The knife was pulled away, pocketed, and Luna blinked at him. Jack stepped back, his grin settling into a smirk.

"If you ever get tired of working for the good of humanity, give us some thought," he said, "You'd fit right in. And, once Mathers is dead?"

He lifted his left hand to his ear, mimicking the shape of a telephone.

"Don't forget to call, sweetheart."

Taylor made sure to watch Heartbreaker die.

He'd delayed as long as he could, fighting her order, but in the end it couldn't be denied. Taylor suspected that her flippant command to act natural hadn't quite done the trick and the more aware of Heartbreaker's children, the Heartbroken as she'd heard them called, would be suspicious. Well, let them be: she could hunt them down later. For now, she wanted a record that Niko was truly dead. Besides, his many, many victims deserved to see him die in good quality. She chose not to explore the line of thought that led her to that conclusion: it wasn't as though it mattered.

Small town, quiet life: Taylor may have inadvertently put this place on the map. Not that anyone would be able to prove it was her. Not that anyone would care. Taylor raised her freshly bought video camera as Heartbreaker walked into the centre of the town square and fired his gun into the air.

"I am Nikos Vasil, the villain Heartbreaker!" he announced, shouting to be heard over the hubbub: shouts rose in panic, people scattering away from him, but his voice was just about louder, "And I have come here to die."

He pressed the gun to the side of his head, a frozen moment as people began to realise, and he pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed, bright in the morning sunlight, and Heartbreaker staggered: the screams from the civilians stopped as they all stared in silence. Taylor saw a man, probably one of the PRT agents tasked with shadowing Heartbreaker, talking rapidly on his phone. Shame, she thought, he might as well have filmed it. Heartbreaker wasn't dead, somehow, unlucky with his shot placement or perhaps desperate to avoid his death, but this was why she'd ordered him to kill himself rather than just shoot himself. Avoid the obvious loophole. Heartbreaker fell to his knees, tears pouring from his eyes, and pulled the trigger a second time.

Blood sprayed, brain matter splashed grey and viscous across cobblestones and, by some malign miracle, Heartbreaker remained alive. Taylor felt his pain, his desperation, the grinding collapse of his senses but all of that was eclipsed by the triumph curdling in his bones, the soul-deep belief that he was immortal, that he couldn't be stopped, that she would fail. Taylor watched, dispassionate, as Heartbreaker raised the gun again in a shaking hand.

He pulled the trigger, and Taylor felt, like a candle being snuffed, his soul finally give in.

'Good riddance.'

The PRT had teams watching Heartbreaker, that she knew: always waiting for the chance to swoop in and actually deal with him, they would doubtless be on their way. They wouldn't be able to find her, but better safe than sorry: as the crowd continued to surge undecided Taylor tucked her camera under her arm and stepped into the Warp. She would send the footage to Tattletale, maybe, let her know that her teammate had been avenged before asking her to leak it on the internet.

Now, on to her next task: the Heartbroken. The less dangerous members of Heartbreaker's group would already be on their way to the PRT, Taylor was sure of that – Heartbreaker's orders combined with the despair of his death should see to that. The actually dangerous ones, the ones that might try to follow in his footsteps, had been sent elsewhere. The odds were good that they would have gone to a different safehouse than the one Heartbreaker had ordered, the Heartbroken weren't stupid, but they would be desperate. Going to a safehouse, any safehouse, would be the obvious choice. Somewhere they could rest and prepare without walking into a trap.

Pity for them, that Taylor knew all their safehouses.

She checked the safehouse Heartbreaker had ordered them to, out of a sense of obligation. That it was empty came as no surprise: on to the next, then, the closest one to their home base. She flew there, not knowing the area well enough to teleport: she was fast, but a niggling worry chewed away at the back of her mind. What if the Heartbroken learned Heartbreaker was dead and scattered? What then?

"The answer is unfortunately obvious. We would have to hunt them one by one."

'Maybe. It'd take a lot of time.'

"In the end, we have very little but time."

Taylor winced, dipping lower in the air and catching a gust of frigid air right in the face. She didn't like to think about how long she would live. At least she had Luna and the Emperor but…still. And how long could she live for? Would she grow old, die in time with Humanity still strong? Would she live until Humanity had gone extinct, in some unimaginably distant future? Would she live until the very stars burned out? Would she live to see the Universe die, and be reborn into a new one?

Taylor didn't know. Truthfully, Taylor didn't want to know. Eternity was too large a concept.

"No matter how long we live, I will always stay with you."

'I know.'

Eternity was a long way away. Taylor beat her wings harder, picking up speed, and let the wind blow her worries away. It wasn't a long journey to the next safehouse: it was just a log cabin hidden in the woods, one that the PRT had never found, and Taylor could feel the minds clustered within before she even landed on the snow. Her boots crunched softly on the fresh white powder as she advanced towards the cabin. They were arguing inside, she could feel, and she paused at the treeline to observe the building.

It looked, from the outside, like a holiday home. Dark wood walls, thick windows, a dusting of snow like a fairytale. Cosy. Snug. Looking at the safehouse from the outside, the cold settling across her exposed skin, Taylor felt like a hypocrite. Alastor, after all, had been raised in a cult and now he was Luna's second most trusted operative. But Alastor had broken free of his conditioning before joining Luna, and his power wasn't that strong: Taylor didn't have time to reprogram a pack of tyke bombs with powers that, in some cases, verged on terrifying. Thus the older ones, the ones more set in their ways, had been directed here. And here she was, lurking outside like the monster in a story.

'I could still turn back. Call the PRT, let them deal with it. They're arguing in there, they'll be caught off-guard.'

"Will they?"

A lot of doubt, packed into those two words. And it was right to be there: maybe the argument would distract the Heartbroken until the PRT arrived. Maybe it would cause them to split up and scatter, forcing Taylor and whoever else to hunt them down one by one. She was prepared to do so, but…if she could continue, now, she would never need to. And the Heartbroken were dangerous. Regent, Hijack as he'd initially been called, had been capable of controlling people and left a trail of crimes behind him. Cherie Vasil, who had fled Heartbreaker, was the newest member of the Slaughterhouse Nine according to the Cauldron files. Who knew what the other Heartbroken might do, the havoc they might wreak, if she was too soft now? Could she bear that on her conscience, knowing that she could have stopped them now?

No.

No. They were too dangerous. Too dangerous to be let loose, too dangerous for her to wait and try to take them alive. The only thing she could offer them, then, was mercy. The Emperor's Mercy. The cold crawled around her, icy fingers dragging across her skin, and Taylor started towards the safehouse. A single deep breath, freezing air raking her lungs, and she drew her sword.

No loose ends.

When Taylor stepped out of the Warp and into Luna's hospital lair Luna wasn't there. Taylor could tell, she couldn't feel Luna's presence - or Alastor's, come to think of it - but Cynthia was present. Cynthia, right in front of her, looked Taylor up and down, eyes lingering on the blood smeared across Taylor's armour.

"Heartbreaker's done, then?" Cynthia asked. Taylor resisted the urge to look down at the blood.

"Yeah," she said instead, "Him and his Heartbroken. PRT should be collecting the less dangerous ones soon. Now, I need to wash this off before I go all Lady Macbeth on everyone."

Taylor couldn't quite muster the energy to maintain her usual flippant attitude: her tone was flat and the joke fell even flatter and she knew it. Cynthia nodded, saying nothing as Taylor walked away. Taylor wondered what the woman was thinking, but didn't pry. It might well be better that way. Once she had stripped out of her armour and cleaned away the bloodstains, or at least the ones on her body, Taylor returned to find Cynthia in much the same place. It was unusual, but Luna's Lieutenants weren't busy all the time.

"No Luna or Alastor?" Taylor asked, "I know they're not here."

"Alastor went out to contact some of the Fallen, to make sure we can organise a false attack when the time comes. And Luna's gone out," Cynthia said, "On an errand."

Taylor paused.

"On an errand?" she repeated. Cynthia nodded again, a brief snap of her chin.

"That's what she told me," she said, "I didn't ask any further."

Well, Taylor wasn't Luna's keeper – but what could she be doing? If she'd gone out to deal with a Fallen cell she would have told someone, surely. Maybe she'd heard some rumour and gone out to see if it was true. Taylor felt a flicker of suspicion, but forcibly snuffed it out: there was a time to trust.

"Well, she's a big girl, she can look after herself," Taylor said, "Do you know how she's managed with our Mather's plan? The, uh, the agent must be nearly ready by now."

"Not sure," Cynthia admitted, "But I know that Alastor's been looking for a way to get a second location out so it must be close. We can go and see, if you want. I'm not doing anything right now."

Taylor shrugged.

"Sure."

She didn't really need the escort, but it was always nice to have company: Cynthia said very little as they walked through the corridors to Luna's workshop, but that was fine. Taylor pushed open the door, walking into the smell of antiseptic and the soft noises of machines. Their agent – Taylor briefly regretted not knowing his name – lay on the same bed as he had last time, mind empty, chest moving in slow breaths. He looked no different but, as Taylor trailed a hand along his jaw and took in his biology, she could tell that he was almost ready. Luna did good work, it had to be said. Cynthia, behind her, walked around to the other side of the bed and looked down at the man with a flat expression. Taylor, again, wondered what she was thinking.

Taylor and Luna had, in the end, changed their plan for Mama Mathers slightly. Taylor had thought it over and pointed out that a massive firebomb, while satisfying, would also make identifying the bodies quite difficult: in the interests of preventing any Mathers pretenders from appearing later, they should try something else. Luna, with her enthusiasm for putting heads on spikes, had happily agreed. The plan hadn't needed to change that much.

Their unwilling victim, brainwashed, would be taken into the compound and hopefully meet Mathers herself. Once he saw her his prior programming would kick in: he would reach out to the Warp with everything he had and unleash a technique that Taylor and Luna had jointly drilled into him, a devastating psychic scream. Luna and Taylor didn't quite agree on how damaging it would be: estimates ranged from rendering any non-Psyker in the near vicinity comatose for a week to outright killing them, but at the very least it would prevent any resistance. That scream would also kill their agent, causing the bomb they had implanted in the man to go off, destroying his body and therefore releasing the vials of neurotoxins they had surgically implanted. It would be gruesome but if it worked – and there was no reason to think it wouldn't – then fifteen minutes after Mathers came to inspect their agent everyone in the compound would be dead, bodies intact and ready for Luna to stroll in and make sure they were all done for. Neat. Tidy. Brutal. Taylor wondered if it would be enough to sate Cynthia's desire for revenge.

"I never met Mathers, you know," Cynthia said, "I wasn't considered important enough. Just defiant enough that I was difficult, not enough to be taken to her. One of the others they captured, she was an Independent Cape – a Hero. She nearly escaped three times, until they took her to Mama."

Cynthia shook her head.

"I saw her, when she came back. She was a wreck. She saw eyes everywhere. Everywhere. She was…it broke her. Whatever that does to Mama Mathers, it won't be nearly what she deserves."

Taylor said nothing. What was there to say? Mathers probably deserved a worse death than the one she'd get, but better to have her unsatisfyingly dead than alive to wreak havoc. Cynthia knew it, but that didn't mean she wouldn't regret missing her chance.

"He's ready, anyway," Taylor said instead, "We can stage his rescue any time we like."

She tilted her head, feeling something approach: shining in the Warp, Luna was very obvious. She was probably the brightest thing in the Warp at the moment, now that Taylor had taken to veiling her strength. Cynthia must have noticed it too, from the way she looked around.

"Subtle she is not," Taylor said, "Come on."

The two of them started towards the stairs, up towards the entrance. There was something just slightly off about Luna, something in her aura if Taylor was going to wax poetic: something like worry. As though something had left Luna unnerved. Where had she been? Taylor doubted she could get Luna to tell her, if it was a secret, but that couldn't be a good sign. She could tell when Luna noticed her presence: Luna's presence in the Warp contracted slightly before returning to its previous level. Show-off, Taylor thought.

"Taylor!" Luna said cheerfully as Taylor and Cynthia reached her, "Long time no see! I thought you'd abandoned us!"

"It's been three days, Luna."

"Three days too long," Luna said, "What brings you here? Checking up on us?"

"Do I need to?" Taylor asked. Luna smirked and Taylor chose not to press on an answer for that, instead continuing.

"Heartbreaker and the Heartbroken are dead, or in custody. Maybe a couple escaped, but for the most part it's all done."

Luna tilted her head, examining Taylor. Taylor wondered what she was looking for.

"You know, I would've thought you'd be happier," Luna said, "It's a big win, and all. Went out and eliminated someone the Protectorate's been delicately tip-toeing around."

Taylor met her gaze, dark green eyes looking into bright blue.

"Most of the Heartbroken were barely any older than I am," Taylor said, "Forgive me for not being overjoyed to kill people who never had the chance to better themselves."

Luna went quiet at that, eyes searching Taylor's face. There was a moment of silence before she wrinkled her nose and laughed lightly.

"If you're wiping out a nest of rats, do you let the pups go?" she asked, "Better safe than sorry."

Taylor, fully aware that Luna was goading her for some reason, didn't rise to that particular bait.

"Cynthia said you were off on an errand," she said mildly, "Anything interesting?"

Luna kept smiling.

"Nothing too important," she said, "Just something I wanted to sort out. Is Alastor here?"

A lie, Taylor thought, but she didn't call Luna out on it. If there was something going on, then Taylor would deal with it when the time came. For the moment, she'd trust Luna.

"Right here, boss," Alastor said, demonstrating a coincidental grasp of timing that honestly made Taylor jealous. He strolled in, cigarette still smoking in his mouth and the glimmer of a job well accomplished in his eyes.

"Perfect," Luna said, "Did you manage?"

Alastor nodded.

"I made contact with some of the Fallen, they didn't know it was me. There's a warehouse a short distance away that we can use as a fake base, let them attack it. So long as you've done your part."

Luna wandered over to Taylor, slinging an arm around her shoulders and walking her out of the room, towards a living room. Taylor let herself be moved along, not seeing the point in resisting.

"Fantastic," Luna said, "Mathers will be dead soon, then, and that's what I like to hear. So that leaves, what, Nilbog? As part of our starting play, I mean. You were going to go take a look at Nilbog, right Taylor?"

"Right," Taylor said as they walked into the room. She shrugged off Luna's arm, pushing her clone with a wing so that Luna collapsed onto a couch, and took a few steps away.

"Nilbog," Taylor said, "In his fairytale kingdom, or whatever you want to call it. I walked in, through his guards, and right up to Nilbog himself. He had no idea I was there."

"But you didn't kill him?" Luna asked.

"If I had, you'd know," Taylor said sardonically, "There are thousands of his creatures in Ellisburg, maybe even tens of thousands. The moment Nilbog dies they might well spill out into the world. They might do nothing. They might all die, who knows. So no, I didn't take the risk."

Luna made an irritated noise.

"So we just leave him alone until he decides to do something and thousands of people die anyway?" she asked, although it sounded like her heart wasn't in it to Taylor. Taylor eyed her suspiciously – Alastor and Cynthia, who had both followed them into the room, did the same thing. They must have heard it too, but Taylor let it go.

"I didn't say that," Taylor said, "What I'm saying is that we take the time to do it right, like we are with Mathers."

"Something like a firebomb, to kill as many of the creatures as possible?" Cynthia asked. Taylor nodded.

"Maybe, yeah. The PRT files that Alexandria gave me are weird, though. The Thinker ratings are hard to work out, but they go up a lot whenever the PRT considered using firebombs or nukes on Ellisburg. I don't know if there's something about them, or it's just because it would cause Nilbog to retaliate. And if Nilbog dies, I'm certain that his creatures would try to avenge him."

Taylor went quiet for a moment before resuming.

"Truthfully Nilbog is just a man, and a fairly pitiable one, hiding away in his kingdom of the mad. But to his creatures, and even to some of the people in the wider world, he is invincible. Unstoppable. He is a being of legendary power, a god in fact. So. How do we demonstrate that even gods may die, without killing thousands of people?"

Alastor stubbed out the last of his cigarette.

"You seem invested in killing a god," he observed, "I didn't expect you to be so, uh, blasphemous?"

Luna laughed.

"'Speak not to me of blasphemy, man: I'd strike the very Sun if it insulted me,'" she quoted, "Does that make Nilbog your white whale, Taylor?"

Taylor rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't think of him as it," she said, "But we shouldn't underestimate him. I've no intention of going out the same way Ahab did, so we need to do it right."

"What's the plan, then?" Luna asked, pale eyes intent. Taylor folded her arms.

"A guided vision."

"A guided vision," Luna repeated, "Trying to look into the future through the Warp is hard, Taylor."

"Hard, sure, but we've all had visions that have come true. With all four of us together, we should be able to direct the vision properly. So long as we're careful."

Luna stirred.

"Careful," she said quietly, "You're too careful, Taylor. You should have killed Nilbog when you had the chance."

Taylor met her gaze again, eyes narrowed, but Luna didn't give her a chance to speak.

"So what if Nilbog's death means his creatures decide to attack? You can kill thousands of people easily, Taylor, and we both know it. We set this up with a firebomb, a nuke, whatever. People will know it was us. Nilbog dies and you're on the frontlines fighting his horde? That's heroic."

"You have a warped definition of heroism. Besides, if I'm right on the frontlines, you think people won't be suspicious of how quickly I got there? They won't suspect me of causing a disaster?"

Luna curled a lip.

"Suspicion is temporary, Taylor. Myth outlives history and we all know it. The Spartans lost at Thermopylae, but they're mythologised compared to their enemies. This'd be the same. And this is what the histories will say: when Nilbog perished of unknown causes, his creatures surged from the containment zone and would have overrun the enclosure if it weren't for the intervention of Circaetus, the First Psyker, Empress of all Humanity, who led the defenders to drive back the masterless hordes. You hear me?"

"I hear a delusion."

"Delusion. The only deluded one is you, Taylor. We've both survived certain death - how long do you think we might live? For all we know – for all we know, when the universe ends, when the last star burns out, you will still be there. You will watch the universe die, and you will see the next one be born. What do you call that, but godhood?"

Silence. Alastor and Cynthia stared and Taylor tilted her head at Luna.

"Shit," Luna muttered, "Didn't mean to spill all of that."

"Oh, well, that's a relief," Taylor said, sarcasm thickening her words, "We both know that talk of immortality is nonsense. Everything dies."

"Everything dies," Luna repeated. For a moment Taylor thought Luna was going to argue, to try to force her to confront the awful truth – that Taylor would outlive almost everyone she knew, whether she was truly immortal or not – but she didn't. Instead she just sat back, pressing a gauntleted hand over her eyes.

"Can we just…forget philosophical arguments about godhood," Taylor said, repressing the urge to argue semantics with Luna until they both went mad, "And talk about Nilbog?"

Luna let out a long, long sigh.

"Cynthia. Alastor. The two of you've never done anything like this before – you ready to give it a try?"

Two nods, two agreements: even if they weren't sure what Luna and Taylor were talking about they were prepared to stick with them. Loyalty like that was priceless, Taylor knew, and she wouldn't let it be wasted. She'd keep an eye on them. Luna uncovered her eyes and looked back up.

"A guided vision, of what would happen if we killed Nilbog and firebombed his creatures," she said. Taylor nodded and Luna, very slowly, mimicked the gesture.

"Alright. Let's do it."

Bear in mind that Luna doesn't know the Siberian can share her invincibility: if she had she'd have been a lot less confident. Next chapter, probably September. As ever I hope you enjoyed, reviews are welcome and, as always, I'll see you in the next chapter.