He had watched her across the square. He was unsure what first caught his attention. Perhaps a movement that was unlike the other shoppers and tourists milling about the street. While everyone walked, sometimes not even at a fast pace, she had just stood there, one arm wrapped around her waist while her other hand rested against her chin in contemplation. Or he assumed so, for he could not see her face for the plain black mask she wore beneath her heavy woollen hood. It was pointed directly towards him, with no uncertainty.

His companion, Captain Faro, coughed under his breath. 'I believe General Arlene Dawes is watching us.'

'I thought that was her,' he replied, 'I wonder if she will come over.'

'Maybe she's hoping you will come to her first.'

Hannan Marisa lent forwards and took a sip of his drink. The air around him in the coffee shop overlooking the square was warm and cosy, with a comforting stillness and gentle music that opposed the autumnal nature of the world outside in every way. 'I am not at her beck and call. If she wants me, she clearly knows where I am.'

'You spoke too soon.'

Hannan groaned. The woman was walking towards them, her coat billowing behind her in the breeze while a flurry of red leaves swirled in her wake. She cut through the crowd like a blade as she made a direct beeline for the coffee shop, and with a tinkle of the doorbell, announced her arrival.

'Lord Marisa,' she greeted abruptly. 'And who are you?'

Faro rose and saluted. 'Captain Faro, General.'

Hannan couldn't see her eyes, but he could tell by the pause that she was taking in some observations of his companion, the black cargo trousers, the aethostone caster strapped to his thigh, the plain red mask sat on the coffee table, and finally the insignia of the ouroboros on his arm. 'Aeryn's man,' she stated in response.

Captain Faro lowered his salute, 'I work for the Duchy of the Stiriphese,' he agreed.

General Dawes sniffed audibly. 'Don't we all in some way.'

He looked uncomfortably between the expressionless mask of General Dawes, and the thin lipped glare of Lord Marisa, poorly hidden behind a patient smile.

'Umm... may I get you a drink, General?'

'A large black coffee, and some chocolate cake. The largest slice.'

'My Lord?'

Hannan's face softened. Faro never called him that in private. 'No, I'm good thank you. Shall I lower the blind for you?' He asked Arlene, and at a nod, lowered the blind so that she could remove her mask. With a sigh of relief, she sat down in Faro's seat and smoothed back her straight blonde hair. She had been eighteen when she was turned over five hundred years ago. She had a pristinely clear face, sharp, pointed, with eyes as large as the moon, and a permanent smirk on her full, yet twisted lips. This was a woman who had conquered armies and led her own revolution, and all within the unfortunate guise of someone who had only just exited her childhood.

'You're older than I thought,' she said.

There was no response Hannan could fathom to counteract that, so he tried a new line of conversation, 'Have you been to Steffen today?'

'Yes, I was visiting your mother this morning. You've probably heard that we're trying to work to a better working partnership. It's quite interesting being back there after all these years and see all the places that had once filled me with such fear take on a whole new feeling of hopefulness for the future.'

'I am pleased to hear it. And how are you finding Ibaleban?'

'Such a pleasant little town.'

'Are you sightseeing... or?'

'No,' she briefly glanced across the coffee shop to look at Captain Faro, who was taking the time to look at all the cakes while he waited in line. 'No, no I came to see you.'

Hannan felt his eyes widen briefly. 'Me? I don't know how I can be of assistance to you.'

'Strange for you to say that. Lord Marisa, the war is over. It's time for a new age, and let's be frank, after all that we've struggled through over the last five years, and even longer, we're all looking for a clean slate.'

He edged back in his seat slightly. 'I... I don't understand where you're going with this.'

'After my discussions, I'm here to clean up some loose ends. An Ananan for a son,' Arlene looked Hannan up and down with clear disappointment, 'It's just not a good look any more.'

'What?' he gasped. A ringing of thudding blood was rapidly growing in his ears. It felt familiar, terrifying, a gnawing sense of panic that filled his heart with fire. Arlene continued to speak, but he could no longer hear what she was saying as her hands crawled across the table towards him like a panther playing with its lunch. The rumbling increased. He could feel it through the ground and through the palms of his hands as he gripped the edges of his seat. It was more than just his own fears. It was the earth screaming out. Without even thought as to why, he dropped to the floor.

The explosion swept through the building with a blast of shattering glass and air that howled painfully as it swirled in a deafening stream of artificial wind. Every bone in his body felt as if it had been squeezed and pressurised into brittle fragments, but there was no time to think. As he looked up, he expected to see Arlene in just a state of confusion as he, but she already had her mask back on and a knife was in her hand. She lunged towards him as he jumped to his feet, the black blade audibly shimmering above the chaos. With his hands still pressed to his ears, he kicked the knife out of her hands. She twisted briefly, looking for it, and swung back around with her fist, catching Hannan in the chest. He slipped back across the rubble as he reached to his behind for his gun, and then instantly fired, splitting the grey smoking air with a streak of vibrant blue, and only just missing the matte black mask of Arlene Dawes. She raised her right knee and kicked out towards him, flicking the gun away from his hands.

He watched it fall down next to the hand of the waitress who had brought him his coffee earlier, her body dismembered by a pane of glass. Something collided with his face, knocking him down to the ground. 

The perfectly pointed foot of Arlene Dawes swept over his head, and he realised that it was her boot he had felt in his moment of distraction. Wearily he climbed back to his feet, picked up a metal tea tray from the ground and cracked it hard across her face and then into her stomach. She kicked her foot out again, tossing him back down to the ground, and jumped on him, pressing her forearm into his neck. He sideswiped her stomach with a fast jab, giving him enough time to roll on top.

He locked his thighs around her waist, forcing her down as she struggled beneath him. He clenched his fists against hers, closed his eyes, and reached deep into his hazy mind, searching for the rhythm of her molecules, and then he ignited them. Flesh turned ember-hot beneath his touch. She screamed. His brain still felt foggy, but it was all he could do to survive. He opened his eyes and saw the smoke rising from her shaking skin as he pressed into her. He would burn her alive if that was what it took. The flame began to overtake his own body as his hands turned to coals and his eyes became pure flame.

Something jabbed into his back and everything went cold as stone. He slipped from her, shaking and convulsing amongst the rubble on the floor while inside all felt empty and black. A man dressed in black with a plain red facemask was looming over him holding a night stick in his hands that tingled blue with aether. He went to jab Hannan with it again, but his mask shattered with an explosion of blood and he dropped to the ground next to him. Hannan looked up and saw Faro on the ground by the counter, gun in hand. His left arm was limp, a pool of blood flooded the floor around him. 

'Go' he whispered faintly.

Arlene Dawes screeched loudly in pain as she pressed her burnt arms against herself, rocking back and forth on the ground. Awkwardly she tried to rise to her feet, but the pain was so immense she collapsed back onto the ground. 'You can't escape,' she gasped out fleetingly to the tattered ceiling. 'There's nothing to escape to.'

Hannan inched his way back from her, his hands knocking against discarded stones and broken glass in the explosion. All the time he kept his eyes on her as she breathed out slow and trembling. His hands came into contact with his gun and her knife. He picked them up, along with the mask that was still lying on the coffee table. Faro's mask.

He turned to look. Faro's head was slumped into his chest with a stillness that Hannan had seen again and again on the battlefield, and still it felt unlikely. He pressed the mask to his chest, and then pulled it on. Out of the corner of his eye he could still see Arlene Dawes gripping her burnt body, her eyes rolling as she tried to control the pain while a film of sweat was beading on her brow. Ignoring her, he moved as swiftly as he could manage through the coffee shop, out the back, and down the stairs.

Acrid smoke filled the air. The mask filtered most, but he could still taste it, coupled with the stench of fresh death. he pulled his gun, holding it out before him, prepared. Between the shifting fields of smoke he could see people dressed in black, some wearing the red face mask of the Duchy of the Stiriphese, some wearing the skull mask of Night Command, his old unit. They moved with a sense of calm and purpose as they checked the bodies on the floor. A woman got up before they could check her. A shot ran out, and she crumpled to the ground with a disappointing sense of finality. They found another person alive. They didn't run, only whimpered in fear. The soldier reached down and ziptied their hands, dragging them to their feet and pushed them over to a crowd of others, each with their hands tied while their eyes whirled in confusion. Some were on their knees begging, others stood there in stony silence as they bleakly stared at the destruction. 

He moved out from his hiding place with the same amount of casualness as the rest, keeping his head down as he moved amongst the bodies. Someone glanced at him, moving their head with interest as they tried to discern who he was. He looked back down and saw a body mutilated by the explosion, and shot them. The other soldier's interest quickly waned, and Hananan moved on, picking up the pace as he walked quickly through the streets. Everywhere he looked, he saw a patrol moving with less caution than him. Some marched prisoners ahead of them. Others he'd see breaking into houses followed by a scream of the resident inside. And once in a while he would hear a gunshot ring out, and he could see over and over again that woman slumping down in the street, or Faro, bloodied on the floor.

He turned a corner and froze as his mask almost collided with another soldier. They had the same reaction, until they looked at Hannan and saw only a man dressed in black with no other equipment or insignia. He leant his head back to scream for support. Hannan dropped his gun and wrapped his forearm tightly around the man's neck. There was a sharp breath in. Hands came up to Hannan, grappling with him, trying to push him off. Hannan squeezed tighter, and then with a sudden jerk to the left, snapped the soldier's spine and dropped him to the floor. He would have usually been more subtle, but there was no time. He picked up the man's stab vest and the submachine caster and strapped it to his own chest. 

Hannan turned the corner again and came out on the main street feeling far more confident that no one would mistake him now. The smoke had turned to a steady mist that dampened the air. He could hear the noises of vehicles, the screams of people, distant and faint. With a roar, trucks trundled passed from one haze of mist into another, briefly revealing their cargo of prisoners, hands bound and heads bowed. Terrified, he picked up the pace. They were driving to main square park, only just in the distance. He began to run. He could hear them, and as he ran around the corner, he could see them, every single person, gathered in the park as if they were attending a festival. They stood in lines, their faces still ones of blank confusion, while soldiers walked amongst them, prodding them and making the cry out with fear. This was not war. This was genocide. He felt his knees weakened at the enormity of this situation. Thousands of lives or more, herded like cattle, ready for the slaughter. And he was one man, standing out on the precipice, gripping onto the railings that separated them. He breathed in tightly. A soldier nodded at him, he nodded back with feigned confidence, and with stiff steps, moved to the large house that overlooked the park, a front door marked with palladium columns. 

'I wouldn't bother searching that one,' a voice said behind him.

Hannan drew in a sudden breath and turned, delivering a salute. 'Sergeant,' he said automatically,

'At ease, private. That's Major Marisa's house.'

'Has... has it been searched already?'

'You got cloth in your ears boy. That's Major Marisa's house. He's marked for other things.'

'Yes... sir.' Hannan saluted again and slipped away, this time down a back alley. He could hear someone screaming, but it was far beyond his control now. Desperately he ran between the bins and jumped over the brick wall landing in the neatly mowed lawn of his own home and skirting along the wall, down the side steps and into the kitchen. It was empty. Chef had been making bread, and then had stopped. And then... he tilted his head to hear the rumble of trucks and cries outside. Hopefully they were okay, they had gotten out, they had left with great foresight in mind and were never in the vicinity when this happened. 

Softly he moved up the stairs and made his way through the rooms, scanning each with his gun in complete silence. Outside there was a gunshot. He paused, tilting his weapon upwards, but with the hand still on the trigger. Only now, as he stood in that silent house looking out at the park where the population of his home town were huddled like animals, did he begin to consider the weight of Arlene's words. There might be no escape. The army might have saved him, if they weren't out there now looking to kill him. 

Hannan took in a deep breath, only to find to his panic there was no breath to be had. He tried again, but the air was thin, and his chest felt on fire. Desperately he pulled the mask off his face and looked up to see a glistening white shadow of a woman pressed against the ceiling.

'Hannan!' Nina gasped, and floated down, filling the room with air as she became herself a tangible being with glistening gossamer hair and pale blue eyes. 'I thought it was...!' Her hands pressed against his cheeks, pulling his face towards her own. 'I'm so glad its you.'

'We need to go.'

Nina nodded, her pale blue eyes focussed intently on him. 'Yes, but my car isn't parked close by. We could...' she pressed a porcelain hand to her lips. 'Oh poor chef, we could take chef's car. But where to? Steffen?'

He paused at the name. 'No... no we can't. I don't know how, but we need to leave the country.'

'And never return?' her eyes revolved sadly around the room. 'Our home,' she gasped. 'Oh please, let's go. I've been so scared since the explosion.'

'Is there anyone else?'

'No, chef's gone, I think. The maid never showed today, or the gardener.' Nina pressed a hand to her mouth. 'Oh no, you don't think... they're... Oh I can't bear it. And where's...' she looked around Hannan. 'Where's Faro?'

Hannan gripped her hand tightly. He meant to say something, but nothing he could say seemed true in this situation.'

'What if we're seen?' Nina asked.

He pulled his mask back on. 'Then you are my prisoner.'

'And if that doesn't work?'

'I'll make it work.'

Hand in hand, they ran back down the stairs and out the kitchen, keeping her close to the garden wall. She floated ethereally above the bricks and down to the other side while he had to perform another crude jump. They ran down the mews, through the bins and bikes. The end of the street was in sight, and beyond that was the car belonging to their chef. Escape all seemed possible, until a black car pulled across the exit. Hannan pulled Nina down behind a bin. The car door opened and someone jumped out, their footsteps echoing as they walked under the archway to the mews. The footsteps sped up, they were running. Hannan gripped Nina's hand tightly, preparing to drag her out from behind the bin the moment the person passed, jump in that car, and drive to freedom. That was until he saw the person.

'Stobal?'

The man turned around and gasped. He was tall and broad with a pile of curly hair and dressed in jeans and a very bloody sports coat. 

'Hannan?' he asked peering at the mask.

He flipped his mask up. 

'Thank the angels. I need your help. Help me, and I'll help you get out of here. Please. My car is just there.'

Hannan inclined his head to look at the black car still blocking the exit. It was the best offer available to him right now. 'What is it?' he asked.

'Its my little boy. They hurt him.' Stobal grabbed Hannan by the arm and directed him down the alley to the car. 'Please, if you don't help I'm scared he's going to die.'

They reached the car. Hannan opened the back door and revelled a boy, no older than eleven, lying on the back seat. His clammy skin had turned grey and he was pressing a cloth sodden with his own blood as he trembled in horror. Nina cried out while Hannan felt his jaw tighten in a sickening grimace. 

'I'm no medic but I-'

He couldn't finish the sentence. Agony shot through his spine with such intensity he blacked out and he slipped down on the tarmac. Nina screamed until Stobal pointed the taser up at her as he busied himself removing the vest and weapons off Hannan's chest. 'Get in,' he ordered. 'Think all you like of me sweetheart, but I've just saved his life. Now get in.' 

Nina sank into the car beside the boy as she watched Stobal Hutz pick up the body of Hannan Marisa and toss him in the boot. They drove out in silence, avoiding the burning wrecks of cars and the fallen bodies of those who had once resided here, never once fully comprehending that they had woken up that morning to the last day of Ibaleban, and would now never see it again.