"As long as you refrain from the offensive craniotomy, sure." Trace smiled thinly, shortening and lengthening her own nose until she was satisfied. "Your eye. Want me to replace it…"
"Stay away from me, abomination!" Anissa hid behind Janine. "Why is she here, anyway?"
"Dad isolated and removed the genome responsible for Trace's slavish obedience to every decision of her former masters," Banshee explained.
"That's fucking horrifying!" Anissa stammered, hugging Chak. "So she is unbound and can do whatever? Why? Why would you ever do that?"
"Not free." Trace scowled. "They tampered with my genetic structure, adding a sentient virus. Should I overstep my boundaries or become aggressive…"
"You mean you weren't?"
"…I'll die. Nothing has changed; I'm still a slave."
"That's not true," Banshee argued. "You have free will to disobey an order. I mean, I would rather you didn't and served your sentence in Dad's employ and be free, but you have a choice about what to do now."
"Sure." Trace shook her head. "Sure. Anyway, Banshee is what interests me now."
"Still too young!" the pale woman screamed.
"Not in that sense." Trace stepped closer to Banshee and walked around her. "I don't mind being outdone or inferior. All I care about is learning what the end result of this will be and how to share it with humanity."
"Not into orgies either!"
"Trace, if you are finished fooling around, I expect your assistance!" Ingo called. "I need your opinion about extracting the implants and restoration."
"Restoration?" Mehmed's voice trailed off, distorted between horror and hope.
"Yes-yes, a complete vat-grown body," Till Ingo said, and Janine heard the clanking of metal. "Don't expect anything fancy. We haven't learned how to make a New Breed from scratch yet, but you'll get a Normie body for your participation in broadening my knowledge of augmentation. Shame about your frame… Warlord. How is the suit? Maneuverable enough?"
"Fits like a second skin," Janine thanked him, understanding that she moved with the same ease as if she hadn't been wearing anything at all, adapting to the new model without a hint of difficulty. She picked up the Taleteller and wove a web of slashes and stabs, testing and enjoying the limits of her protection. The HUD was wider than she was used to, and she changed the gold lettering to a more familiar silver color. "No complaints, sir! Pure perfection. Wait!" she yelled into Trace's back.
A grown fang. Janine swallowed and approached the woman, wary of whatever she might be. An artificial creature, was it? Eh, no different from us, then.
"I…" She licked her lips. "Trace, my son is hurt. Badly. Could you do to him what you did to Anissa? Only on a larger scale?"
"And you would trust me?" Trace tilted her head. "An abomination? Inhuman?"
"With my life." Janine pressed a paw to her chest. "Name your price."
"And if my price is your body? I collected organs, you know."
"Then take mine after the battle," Janine said without hesitation, her heart pounding and her imagination painting a picture of claws and pincers slicing through her arms and legs, pulling at nerves like ropes as the pincers carved their way through her body, searching for quivering organs. "If I'm still alive, use my body as you wish; just give Marco back his eyes and legs…"
"Eyes and legs?" Trace laughed, clearly and easily. "That's not extensive damage at all! I thought there might be brain damage or an invasive poison coursing through his veins. That? Phh. I ain't taking payment for community service. Survive and find me, and we'll see what can be done. I never recreated a Wolfkin's body part, but it can't be that difficult." She waved and headed for the elevator.
"Thank you so much, Trace!" Anissa yelled, hugging Janine. She lurked in Chak's shadow when the vat-born turned. "But stay away from me! Don't ever invert me to heal me or otherwise!"
"I would be able to feel again?" asked Mehmed.
"Eventually. Now, Warlord, to test your…"
The Wolfkins missed the rest of his words. Their hearts almost jumped from their heads; the unexpected, energizing sensations brought them both to their knees and blood pulsed in their temples to the surprise of everyone present. Janine's lips parted in a grin, showing her fangs, and Anissa mimicked it. The Spirits themselves gazed upon them, their attention directed by their very daughter. It didn't matter that the two were underground; Janine could hear the call even here. War! Slaughter! Hunt! Hope and unrelenting rage against the intruders drove them to their feet, and together they charged, almost mindlessly, to their positions.
"Hunt!" Janine cried, and her daughter echoed her as they tore through the elevator's ceiling and climbed into the shaft, hurrying into the city.
Their prayers had been answered.
****
Alpha entered the medical bay, sniffing her way to the destination. Lamps dimmed, the limpid panels turned gray, hardening as the mobile fortress prepared to reassemble and extract modules containing vital patients for the army to transport them while the unburdened Order waged war. The exhausted snoring of a sleeping Brood Lord's whelp raised her brow, and the warlord coiled the fear around herself to let him dream in peace a little longer and walked past him, softly and quietly like a cat.
She carefully curated her image of a hulking brute, purposely provoking bouts and stomping loudly. Surprises saved lives on the battlefield, and she hoarded the true extent of her agility, capable of outwitting even scouts of her own pack at stealth.
The medics wheeled a patient past her, a young male injured during the retreat from Quatindor. His wounds had long since healed, no longer threatening his health, and an artificial lung soundly worked, secured in the built-in case that replaced half of his ribcage. But a sizeable bulge on his skull, the result of a rifle butt trying to bash his brains out, judging by the shape of the bulge, kept the soldier in a deep coma.
Terror gripped his mind, and the Wolfkin gasped, catapulted back into reality. Crimson overtook one of his noble amber eyes and kept its pupil collapsed into a dot. An inconvenience, but nothing the kiddo could not handle in the future. Alpha compressed the terror needle and let the medics explain the situation to the confused male.
The smell led to the exact room she needed. She faced the closed door, the bane of her existence, and cursed her claws. It would be cub's play to cut her way in, but that was hardly the way to treat allies, Ice Fangs or not. Calling for help felt humiliating. She wasn't a cripple. Alpha knelt and used her nose to press the combination, letting herself in and standing too fast for anyone to notice her kneeling.
"What now?" The Troll turned, rapidly tapping at the rail of the patient's bed. "I already told them we need more time to safely prepare Marco for the evacuation."
"I need to talk to him."
"Impossible," the doctor positioned himself between the warlord and the boy. Her claws twitched, and his hand touched the scalpel. "I have heard of what your kind does to your wounded. Crippled—is that what you call them? If you so much as try to harm the patient…"
"I will not," Alpha said. "I swear. He is in no danger. P-please," she forced out the unfamiliar voice, amused at how soft she had become of late.
"This discussion is futile. He is unconscious." The doctor's posture relaxed.
Alpha no longer paid him any attention. The fear whipped from her mind, not touching the Troll out of respect, and penetrated Marco's brain. It wasn't a gentle touch like in the corridor; she used more force, turning his dreams into nightmares as punishment for disobeying an elder. Marco whimpered, reminiscent of a cub begging for milk, and thrashed, spreading the disgusting stench of emptied bowels.
"Mommy! Dad!" Marco whisper-shouted, trying to break free from restraints and touch his face. His eyelids blinked, closing and opening the empty holes. "Dark! It's dark! I can't see!" The doctor was at his side, patting the paw, calmly explaining the boy's situation, assuring him that everything would be all right, and giving him water to drink.
Alpha waited two minutes for this orientation and scraped her claws together.
"Marco," she said mercilessly, "your stupidity distracts Janine. She obsesses over healing you, the worry over your condition anguishing her, distracting from what is important. It almost got her killed in Opul."
"I am sorry." His tiny fingers clutched the blanket. "I… I am ready to pay the price."
"No, you are not," the Troll interjected.
"Fool." Alpha growled, sniffing over him, tearing away the smallest dried molecules of blood, absorbing his memories. His dreams, hopes and fears were laid bare for her. "Never surrender. Cling to survival! Janine was right. You don't belong in the regular packs. Nothing but death waits for you there. You would've been happier in the exile."
"I can serve!" He shouted, crying red tears.
"And serve you will if such is your desire." The Troll tried to push her away, but the warlord ignored it. "Marco, I offer you two choices. You can continue to be a burden to your family, not letting them focus on their duties. It's not a bother. Fed up with her inaction, one of the pack would soon wrestle the leadership from that softie in charge. Or…" She leaned closer, breathing at him. "You can disappear. Janine will grieve, but she'll move on eventually, and you'll serve the Tribe, but always in shadows. I am creating a new pack, a unit molded for entirely different purposes. Houstad had taught me of our inability to protect ourselves from the treachery within, and of the perils of relying on the Ice Fangs to navigate us through civilization. You have managed to befriend the Ice Fangs, are unafraid of our females, and are willing to learn. Exactly the qualities I seek to foster. Where brute force is not enough, my special pack will pave the way, compromising, negotiating, infiltrating, trading, sabotaging, doing everything we are not used to.
"It isn't honor," Alpha admitted. "Your name will be stricken from the records, and any lineage you sire will not know your heritage. Songs won't be sung of your prowess, martial or otherwise. What I promise is service to the Tribe, the means to do so, and equality. In that pack, you and the others will be brothers and sisters, never knowing dominations. You will be a glimpse of our future, aiding the Tribe better than you could ever otherwise. Silence!" She raised a claw, stopping Marco from speaking. "Know that your mother is willing to do anything to heal you back to your prime. You are not abandoned or hated. Janine, Ignacy, Marco, and Yennifer kept visiting you. They love you. I do not hate you."
"Where… where will I be of more use?" Marco whispered.
"It doesn't work like that," Alpha said, allowing the sadness in her tone. "It is up to you alone. If you refuse me, you'll lose nothing and regain everything, I swear. Choose. And choose freely, kin. What is your wish? To be in the family or to become a person capable of protecting them?"
A surge of adrenaline hit them both, and the two growled, confused and without aggression. The doctor experienced it, too, through the hand contact and let go of her, grasping the rail to help himself stand. For all her bravery, a shiver ran down her spine. But it wasn't a cold and clammy touch of fear, but a warm pat of an answered anticipation and the joy of relief.
Zero had completed her mission. Their chances of survival had just shot through the roof.