Session Four: A Glimpse of Fate

Just outside the city limits of Brigstown lies the Stalin-class mobile fortress 'Faust.' A veritable mountain of steel, it casts its imposing gaze over Hell's Kitchen, an ever-constant reminder of Fate's occupation of the city. Deep within the catacombs of this monolith will we find a bank of offices, the impromptu headquarters of the Fate Internal Securities Team. Although FIST has small bases in just about every city on the Twin Continents, this is where all that information comes to. It is eerily quiet in this seat of power, the only regular sound being the tapping of keystrokes. Illyana Corastis was Slash's personal secretary, a Fullen chosen for her skills in the field and not necessarily her secretarial skills, although she picked up on that well enough. Normally calm and collected, the leopard woman seemed a little agitated. She was talking to someone on the phone, a man she knew and feared second only to Slash himself. "Y-yes, Sir. Oh, he just arrived.... oh, okay. I'll let him know. In Her Ladyship's name." The female Fullen put down the phone and saluted just as Slash walked in.

"Who called, Illyana?" he asked, returning the salute by crossing a closed right fist over his chest.

"Lord Testament, sir." she replied, sitting down as she did. "He said that..."

Slash slammed his hand down on the desk, startling her."Testament is NOT of noble blood, nor is he worthy of it. If I catch you or anyone under my command using that title for him, I will personally mete out their punishment."

Illyana gulped. Slash's 'interrogation' techniques were well-known and feared. "I-i will spread the word, sir. At any rate, Colonel Testament wanted to notify you that Her Ladyship requests your presence sometime this afternoon."

"Make the appointment for 13:00 hours and have a vehicle ready by 12:15. Inform me if anything important requires my attention." The cyborg said, walking past her. "Otherwise, do not disturb me." He closed his office door, locked it and turned out the lights.

Illyana sighed and returned to her work. As much of an asset Slash has been to the FIST since taking over when Nataraja shuffled the brass' positions around five years ago, the Fullen remembered and preferred Slash when he was an Agent. Sure, he tried a little too hard to act like a real person sometimes but that was part of his charm back then. At least he used to smile now and then. He changed shortly after his promotion, becoming absorbed in his work and losing any emotion that stood in the way of him and his goals. Not that he had any goals anymore, he was all about Fate. Focused, unwaveringly loyal and soulless.

The Perfect Soldier.


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"Hey guys, her heartbeat is rising. I think she's getting ready to wake up." a voice said, female from the sounds of it. Everything was so fuzzy it was tough to tell.

"'Bout bloody time. Been long enough." Another voice. Male, gruff, and if his voice was any indication he probably looked mean too. The woman on the cot dared not open her eyes yet, she was still shaking off the fuzzy mantle of a very long and troubled sleep and wanted to be able to bolt when the chance arose.

"Dude, she's hot!" a different male voice said. "And would you get a load of that..." The woman's cheeks began to flush and she panicked, not wanting to get caught before even making an attempt to escape.

Luckily, the angry voice decided to take action for her. "Scias, what the Hell are you doing down here? Get your fuzzy ass topside pronto!" The younger voice whimpered and she could hear his fainting footsteps. "That goes the same for the rest of ya! If ya don't need to be down here, get out! We need to get this place operational as soon as possible."

About a minute passed as the gruff voice ordered/insulted/pushed the crowd out of what passed for the infirmary. He sighed and pushed something heavy, probably an obstruction of some sort, into where she guessed the door was. Then there was silence, save for the dull whirr of the ventilation system and the beating of her own heart. The woman decided to play it safe for a bit, trying to calm her heart down so she could think clearly. The whirring of the ventilation fans along with Angry Voice's comments obviously meant that she was underground, which meant she had to find an elevator. That would make her escape difficult, and she would probably have to fight her way out at the end, but she was...

"Hey, you gonna get up anytime soon?"

She jumped, startled at how close the voice was. She didn't even hear him approach, let alone get up right next to her. Her eyes flew open and she was face-to-face with Mr. Angry Voice, a tough looking Fullen. His feline-like eyes stared at her with the cold calculation of a predator sizing up prey and combined with the scowl he wore on his face did not make for a good first impression. The woman did the first thing that came to mind: she grabbed a bedpan and beaned him in the side of the face with it.

SO glad that thing was empty. Corinth thought as his head snapped to the side. He scrambled to his feet just in time to see her leap over the box he placed in front of the doorway. Corinth reached over to hit the panic alarm, then remembered that they didn't have the cash to wire that kind of stuff in yet. "Just. Friggin. Perfect." he grumbled, reaching instead for some aspirin.


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A sleek black car, windows tinted and doors brazenly displaying the iron gauntlet of the FIST department pulled up to a small bistro in Brigstown's sunny Paradise District, home to the city's government officials and major business owners, every one of them owing Fate for their success. Slash stepped out of the driver's side of the car, his metallic skin glinting in the afternoon sun. He didn't bother locking the car: it wouldn't go anywhere without Fate authorization anyways. He scanned the popular but not particularly busy bistro and had no difficulty finding the person he was looking for. Any conversation that was going on had died by now as he slowly made his way through the tables to his target. In his own way he secretly revelled in the attention he recieved. Very few Phobos cyborgs had the privilege of having a name and the fact that his moniker and his alone carried with it such a weight of fear and respect was the greatest honour of all.

He now stood across the table from the most powerful woman in the world. Fate CEO Nataraja Nova'xe, a legend in her own right, demanded attention with her very presence. She was mind-numbingly beautiful, her seductive figure accented by the suit jacket and mini-skirt she wore. Her deep crimson hair framed her pale but hardly delicate face. Men fantasized about her, women wanted to be her. She was adored by the public and worshipped by her soldiers. A goddess in almost every right. She smiled at Slash. "Sound off, soldier." the Dragon queen crooned.

Slash stood at ease and began to speak. "Infurion Industries Hunter-Killer series cyborg, model number 319047. Special designation: 'Slash.' Currently on loan from the Nova'xe Royal Family to Fate Corporation, where this unit holds the rank of Commander." He replied, preparing to list off his major achievements as is required of protocol.

Nataraja smiled weakly. She put her hand to her face and, shaking her head, said, "A simple 'Commander Slash reporting as requested, Your Ladyship.' would have sufficed. Even Nataraja would have been fine." She leaned forward a little, showing Slash ample cleavage. "Or maybe Natty."

Slash's vocal unit blew static, causing a cloud of frozen vapour to escape his mouth, the Phobos equivalent of clearing their throats. Nataraja knew that meant Slash's limited emotive centres were percieving the cyborg's version of embarrassment. She knew Slash better than anyone: she was his owner after all. "Such actions of familiarity have resulted in serious reprecussions for this unit in the past. The shortened greeting has been logged and accepted, but the latter two suggestions were cited as a breach of protocol when addressing a superior officer and have been rejected."

"But Slash," Nataraja said, intentionally pushing the cyborg's buttons. "you operate outside the chain of command. Such foolish breaches of protocol are far beneath you." She was enjoying this.

Slash refused to budge on the subject. "Regardless, you are still my superior officer. The FIST is the moral guide of Fate, ensuring loyalty and order are kept within its ranks. For this unit to breach protocol reflects negatively on both its position and those under its command." he replied.

Nataraja sighed, motioning for Slash to sit. "You still don't need to patronise me with all of this protocol garbage. I have known you for as long as I can remember." She paused, noticing that the Phobos maitre'd had arrived with her tea. She thanked it and it rolled off, beepling a tune that none outside of the Phobos would understand, let alone enjoy.

"I cannot understand why you must insist on these outdoor debriefings." Slash remarked as soon as the Construct had left. "Hardly secure, and it leaves you vulnerable to assassins."

Nataraja smiled over her tea. "Which is why I made you my spymaster and not my Public Relations officer. These meetings do more than inform me on what is happening. It shows the public I do not fear them, nor do I fear what they may or may not hear. I couldn't be safer."

Slash didn't seem to care, the comments sliding off of him like they never happened. "This is still enemy territory as far as protocol is concerned. Considering recent events, the FIST has reason to assume that the Resistance has returned under new management." Slash's words cut through the conversation of the bistro like a vibro-blade through aluminum. The last uprising of Hell's Kitchen was a scary time for the rich and powerful, destroying valuable assets and causing millions in damages. The magnitude of Fate's retaliation had led most to believe that the Resistance was gone for good.

Nataraja's eyebrows furrowed. "This isn't good, Slash. This needs to be contained immediately. It's been five years since the Purgatory Rifts were erected. That's not long enough for people to forget what happened."

Slash nodded. "Give the word, Your Ladyship, and Fate will level the entire city for you."

"Sounds a little harsh, tin-man. Why doncha stick ta bein' a spook an' let the real men decide when and where ta fight." a gruff voice said from behind the cyborg.

"Testament, so good of you to arrive. We were just getting started." Nataraja cooed.


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Fortune Gear didn't ask to be caught up in any of this. She didn't ask to have some fancy suit-and-ties to come to her sleepy little village home and take her away. She didn't ask to be assigned to some top-secret military fluff where she designed bioweapons and engines of war. She didn't ask to have her co-workers, who she learned to love like family, slaughtered like cattle. She didn't ask to be kidnapped by some terrorist group. She was just a simple country girl with a gift.

A gift, mind you, that opened up parts of the brain that allowed her to envision or recreate any mechanical weapon, prosthetic or doodad she desired, provided the materials were available. But the materials weren't available and she didn't want to risk alerting any search parties by jimmying up a weapon with what little crap was lying around this dump of a base. It didn't help, of course, that she was completely and utterly lost. The dirt walls all looked the same and the parts that were being renovated to look like a proper military compound were obviously crawling with people so going there would be a bad idea.

Which left the barely lit areas, a section she overheard two of the terrorists dub the "Lantern Zones" because they were still being surveyed and excavated so they hadn't been strung up with proper lighting just yet. Fortune's paranoia kicked in; it could all be some elaborate trap. She had heard scary rumours about the Fullen in Hell's Kitchen and how they performed blood rituals on transients to satisfy some sort of primal urge of theirs. The last thing she wanted was to have all her blood drained in the name of some tribal diety.

Which brought her mind back the the dark tunnel before her, her only means of escape. It stared forbodingly at her, the black expanse gaping like a mouth. She had no other choice though. She would gladly brave cobwebs for a chance to see her family again. She swallowed her fears and allowed the inky blackness to envelop her just as two armed members of the Crucial Sever turned the corner. She stopped and listened to them talk jovially about getting back to doing something meaningful for once as opposed to curb-stomping Skulls or chasing Syndicates out of their turf. It was strange for her to listen to them talk about war like it was a good thing. Didn't they know how much damage their crimes caused? She had seen footage of the aftermath of the last so-called Resistance movement and it scared her to see it happen again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a third entry into the conversation. It was an aged Plainsrunner, a wolf from the looks of it. He had a shovel slung over his shoulder and a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. The two terrorists paused and saluted the elder, who waved them off with his sandwich like any old man who disliked the limelight.

"How goes it, Longtooth? The boss ain't got you working too hard, does he?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Fer the last time, stop talkin ta me like ya owes me somethin!" the elder snapped back, clearly irritated by what he thought was patronisation. "I'm doin' this 'cause I want ta."

The other guard cocked his head to one side. "Whaddaya mean?"

The Plainsrunner dug the shovel head into the ground and leaned on it. "Yer all too young ta remember, but I've got a lotta years ta me. I 'member what it was like ta live afore Fate came. We lived life 'ow we wanted ta. Sure, life wasn't the best sometimes. There was fightin' an' sometimes the food was hard ta come by, but it was OUR choice." A hint of a smile crossed his aged muzzle. "I passed Corinth tha other day in the market. 'E looks diff'rent now. Not at all like when he was ganging. Reminds me of his father, he does." He slung the shovel over his shoulder again and took a bite of his sandwich. "That's why I'm helpin you kids. Not ta get rid of some tin soldiers, but ta have a choice again." With his speech finished, he shuffled on to get back to work. The two terrorists passed a quick look to each other before continuing their patrol route in reflective silence.

Fortune shook her head. Propaganda, that's all it was. The old man probably didn't even work on any of the projects. He was just there to enforce loyalty among the terrorists with false stories of a past that never was.

"This isn't Fate. We don't work like that." a voice behind her said. She whirled around to see Corinth emerging from darker regions of the Lantern Zone, hands in his pockets and an amused smirk on his face. "You were thinkin' out loud." he explained, his smirk disappearing to show a more serious side. "There ain't no hidden cameras, no pretense, no thought police. Ain't gonna find none of that crap here. What you just saw is the culmination of thirty years of oppression: a people whose cries for help have been unheard.... so now they lash out at their oppressor to get back the one thing they had left. Their freedom."

"Yeah, ya lash out all right! By killing innocent people!" Fortune fired back, advancing towards the larger Fullen with fire in her eyes. "I am NOT gonna forgive ya for what happened in the lab." She threw a punch at him, which he dodged by simply taking a few steps back. Fortune saw this as a retreat and began to advance again. "Nuh uh, sugah. You ain't gettin' away that easy." She leapt to one side, landing her feet against the dirt wall. Using the wall as leverage she jumped again, hoping to knock Corinth to the ground.

She was just as surprised at the result as any; Corinth grabbed her left wrist with one hand, placed the other on her stomach and effortlessly vaulted her into a large plastic container filled with drilling tools. "Listen, 'sugar.'" He said crossly, righting then turning on a few floodlights so they could get a good look at each other as opposed to fumbling around in the dark. "You're a real buzz-kill, ya know that? You already hit me in the face with something, so my impressions of you are not the best. Then you come up in my face, sayin' I did stuff I was tryin' to prevent and now you're wanting to beat my ass for it?" He turned to her now, eyes narrowed and fangs bared. "You want some? Come get some, but don't be surprised if I knock your ass all over this damn base to finish what you started."

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"So if all of these reports are true..." Slash said as he looked over a document regarding current military maneuvers. He paused to look at Testament, who was none too pleased by this change of topic. "...then Fate's progress in the Wastes is no less than 4.683 months behind schedule. Since you are the commanding officer in the Barren Wastes deployment, would you care to explain the reason for these setbacks?"

Testament snorted and crossed his arms. "Might be because yer schedules don't mean shit on the battlefield and Logistics don't know the meaning of 'stiff resistance' and 'difficult terrain causing equipment failure.' Might also be because yer still pumpin' all the arms money inta this excuse fer a rathole and not on our more important projects. Or maybe it's because yer usin' all the money to pay off the Syndicate ta do yer dirty work for ya." he snapped back.

Slash exhaled sharply, causing a layer of frost to form on the table. "The FIST's actions in the warzone labelled 'Hell's Kitchen' have been completely within..."

Nataraja set her cup on the table and glared at both Slash and Testament. "Although I find it charming to see you both vying for my approval, this is not the time nor the place. If you two are done posturing, I would like to get started." she said, laying down her authority. Both of the men quickly shut up, neither one wanting to lose face in Her Ladyship's presence. Testament did cast a sidelong glare at Slash as they got down to business, just to get in the last shot. "So Slash, what has FIST recommended regarding last night's events?" She took a small notepad out of her purse, ready to make notes if anything came to mind that the Phobos might have missed.

Slash looked over to his left, quickly spying a pair of Plainsrunners in black suits sitting at a table near the back of the bistro. Without even a word or gesture from their boss, they stood and began to go around the tables, 'suggesting' to the patrons that they either leave or incur a temporary loss of hearing for the next few hours 'For the sake of this city's future.' "After reviewing the data, our Public Relations branch has suggested that we spread the word that the warehouse had been scheduled for demolition and that the fire was the result of some poorly placed charges that short-circuited, going off prematurely."

"Stuff's always falling apart near the docks. That shit's as old as the Cataclysm." Testament commented, for once agreeing with something the FIST did. Like most soldiers he didn't trust the Agents, feeling that if they weren't willing to stand beside you in a fight, they weren't worth knowing.

Nataraja was similarly impressed. Most PR stories by FIST regarding accidents were lame, to say the least. This one actually sounded like it could happen. "Will the people buy it?

Slash glanced at another piece of paper in the folder he brought with him. The writing was mostly nonsense, media drivel regarding lighting, camera placement and vocal stresses to maximize broadcast efficiency. Slash knew the important statistics, he could simply transfer it from FIST's database to his processor in a fraction of a second, but non-Phobos absorbed information better if he used visual aids. This tactic was new to both Nataraja and Testament, one suggested to Slash by a Synthoid informant during one of the cyborg's visits to a FIST cell in Metal Gear. "87.6% of the general populace will accept the story as-is. With the proper refinements, FIST estimates that figure will jump to 93.7% of the viewerbase."

Testament smirked and leaned over to peruse the document for himself. "What's the margin of error on those projections?" he asked snidely, allowing a small growl to escape his throat to accentuate his thoughts.

Nataraja giggled once and then smacked Testament on the cheek, an inside gesture to show she would be mad at him later. "That's enough Testament. Slash, please continue."

"As you wish, Your Ladyship." He flipped to some pages in the back of the folder. These were written in the Phobos language, a binary language of zeroes and ones that none could decipher outside of those native to the language. "The case file in question was first opened when a FIST observer at the Weapons lab noticed that the outgoing communication of one Doctor Brannigan increased by 31%..."


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Meanwhile, the battle between Fortune Gear and Corinth Kale continued and it wasn't looking good for the rabbit-girl. No matter how hard she tried, no matter what she used to take the Fullen down, he always seemed to step just out of her kick's reach or deflected her punch into thin air or a wall. Frustrated, she threw a roundhouse kick at him. He stepped aside and her foot went straight into metal support beam. She yelped in pain and swore.

"How long're you gonna keep this up, Fox-bait?" Corinth chided, using a derogatory term for Fortune's lapine features. It had been like this the entire fight; she'd hurt herself and he'd mock her, getting her only madder and causing her to make more mistakes. Most of the blood flowing from the myriad scrapes and cuts on her body were her fault. What made it worse was the fact that Corinth had only struck her three times so far, each hit bruising a muscle system so that the pain would linger but not actually damage anything in the long run. He struck her for the fourth time now, planting a fist squarely on one of her kidneys. She cried out in pain and slumped to the floor, holding her sides. Corinth took a few steps back and with his hands behind his back, leaned forward a bit and said, "Ya done yet? It's past lunch time an' I missed breakfast. Food's great at the soup kitchen on Tenth, so could we hurry this up a little? I wanna get there before they run outta rye." His voice was casual, amused. It was almost if he thought the whole situation was funny, a raging Plainsrunner getting beat up by a collected Fullen.

The irony was lost on Fortune. Swearing again, she stood and went over to the digging equipment. She picked up a decent-sized box and threw it at Corinth. He caught it just in time to have it smash into his face, the result of Fortune's well-timed jump kick. The box shattered and Corinth's face was lacerated by the splinters and digging tools. He crumpled to the ground, blood flowing freely from his face. There was no time to see if he was alive; Fortune had to run. No doubt her struggle with the terrorist leader had been heard and she needed to get out before reinforcements came. Even as she stumbled around in the dark, she heard voices behind her shouting in a language she didn't know. The echoes drove her mad with fear. They came from everywhere, she had to run, she had to escape, she had to....

... Make a stupid mistake. The ground fell out from under her feet and she could sense that this was the end for her. She seemed to fall forever, her hands and feet reaching for a hold that wasn't there. Screaming would be pointless, Fortune knew that she would hit the ground before they could do anything to save her. So this is how I'm gonna die... she thought.

But then the heavens intervened, a bright light illuminating her falling form. A servant of the gods swooped down from on high and caught her, cradling her in his arms. She looked up at him but couldn't see his face, it was silhouetted by the light. His hair was made of gold and carressed her face as they streaked above the cavern floor, mere inches from what would have been her doom. The two of them entered the darkness and she could hear his wings flap as they gained altitude.

"You know where we're goin, darlin'?" she finally managed. Her voice surprised her: she sounded out of breath and far more scared than she felt.

The angel chuckled, a sound not unlike music. "Do you expect anything to the contrary?" he asked in return. His voice was soft, reassuring. Fortune was about to reply but her words turned to a squeak as they turned sharply to the left, then to the right and then left again. Adrenaline spiked through her body, the feeling of excitement of being carried along in the dark by someone she didn't even remotely know gave her a euphoric rush. Just as she was beginning to enjoy that feeling they began to slow down, the rush of wind through her hair lessening as her saviour's wings slowed to a more rhythmic beat. He advised her to shield her eyes as they shot out into open air. The darkness of the tunnel seemed so far away now as she looked down at Hell's Kitchen, some several hundred meters in the air. The city was a giant ruin, the devastation truly apparent at this altitude. Entire city blocks had been levelled and three vicious scars of twisted metal and rock formed a barrier between the slums and what was left of a once great people. Even the air was tainted, a constant cloud of pollution and death hovered over the city like an oppressing spirit, only allowing a few scattered rays of sunshine to filter down to the people below.

It took Fortune a minute to realise that they had actually touched down, sitting on what was left of the top floor of a skyscraper. She looked at the man who saved her, half expecting him to take off again and make haste to one of the pillars of light so he could return his masters in the heavens. Then her brain caught up to her heart and she began to make sense of what was before her. It wasn't an angel, but an Aviate. She had never seen an Aviate up close, the farm she lived on as a child being mostly Plainsrunners like herself. His wings were as black as the night, a fair contrast to his blond hair and white clothes. Fortune felt embarrassed at ruining the jacket he wore, the arms were stained with her blood. His face was fair and Fortune could not help but be attracted to his eyes, a deep cobalt that seemed to draw her in. He was perched on a steel beam that hung out from the building, a disarming smile on his face.

"I pray the ride was not too unsettling?" he asked. "I dropped my lantern when I saw you fall." His voice had an air of sophistication but seemed very approachable, the kind of voice that would make women light-headed at hearing. He gave her his full attention, as if nothing else in this world mattered more than her conversation.

"Ah... It was okay, I guess." she replied, unused to such civil behaviour. It made Fortune feel wanted. The men she usually hung around were either too absorbed in their work to notice her or too testosterone-driven to see anything above her neckline.

The Aviate smiled again. "That is good to hear." he said, pushing off of his perch and gliding down beside her. "Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Jann'en Moritar." he added, bowing gracefully.

"F-Fortune Gear." she stammered, her face going red as he kissed her hand. Somewhere inside her inner tomboy was raging for the way she was acting, swooning in front of a cute guy like some teenager.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Fortune." he said as he rose to his full height. "However, as much as I would like to sit and chat with you I am afraid we must go back. Corinth is very worried about you. Shall we take the stairs this time?"

Fortune's heart stopped. This guy was with them? It wasn't fair! How come all the cute guys were evil? She pushed away from him, stepping back. "I can't believe you!" she said, her voice almost a scream. "You all butter me up with nice words an' then stab me in the back! I was better off with the rest you killed!" She began looking around, thinking of a way to get out of this mess.

"STOP." Fortune froze. The Aviate's voice held such authority she couldn't help but listen. "I am truly sorry for what happened to your friends, and it was the fault of none but myself. Had I not contacted Brannigan..."

Fortune's eyes widened. She had defended Research Head Brannigan for days before his execution, protesting that there was no way he would betray Fate. To hear that he actually did... Flashes of his execution and the carnage that followed invaded her mind. "No..." she choked, her eyes watering up. She sunk to the ground, overcome by the nightmares. But she refused to cry. She didn't want to be weak. Fate was strength, glorifying those who gave their all for the hope of a positive future. She couldn't feel bad for a traitor, refused to feel bad for a traitor. But Jason Brannigan was more than a black-bagged traitor whose death they all cheered for on the vid-screen. The situation was different when it was someone you knew, someone you saw as a friend.

But he still betrayed Fate, that much hadn't changed. Fate gave to her life a meaning, a purpose. As convincing the angel was, Brannigan was still a traitor and Yan was still the enemy. She stood up and exhaled slowly. Staring him right in the eyes she said, "I can't go with you, darlin'. Not without a fight." Her hands balled into fists and she looked back at the black-winged terrorist with defiance.

Yan seemed disappointed. He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "You may go then. I will not stop you." he said stepping to the side, revealing a set of stairs. "Take these stairs and go to the motel three blocks north, which would be to your left as you leave. Ask for the keys to room 207 and say you are the woman the Angel spoke of.  Spend the night there, should you decide to return to Fate you should give yourself some time to collect your thoughts. However I ask one thing of you, considering I did save your life."

Fortune was almost ready to cream him for such insolence but even now his reasoning held true. He did save his life so she did kind of owe him. "Say it so I can get out of here." she snapped. Revulsion and ideology distorted her view of Yan. He was so nice to her but he had to have been trying to use her, to seduce her just like all the others.

Those words seemed to hurt him more than any punch could. He reeled a little at her hate and it took him a moment to recover. "Up until now you have had nothing but subjective views of everything you have seen. When you awake tomorrow, I ask you go to Traitor's Square. It will not be hard to find, simply follow the crowd." He walked over to the railing and put one foot on it, readying to take off.

"Wait." Fortune said just as his wings prepared to lift him into the air. His words intrigued her and she needed to ask one final question. "What'll I find there?"

Yan turned and looked at her. His eyes held such sadness, but whether that was because he lost this battle or because of what he had to say was uncertain. "You will find the true face of Fate, and you will not like it." he said cryptically before stepping off the railing and flying away, leaving the lapine Plainsrunner with more questions than she felt comfortable asking.