Whoa, what a time for my laptop to go bust huh? Sheesh, I AM overdue, best get this thing posted then (And the bloody tech support STILL hasn't actually helped me...)


* * *


What is most scary about zombies, what makes them more dangerous than, say, your usual homicidal killer, is that they just keep coming. You can blow them up, slice them, dice them, and whatever's left will still be crawling around after you. They don't need to be particularly fast, or smart, or strong, because they never give up. And they never, ever eat each other.


* * *

It was cold, and it was damp. Sunrise was still several hours away and Ciro wouldn't be able to knock off until then. Guard duty called for a certain type of soldier. Certainly not the creative type, or the easily bored, but the obedient and trustworthy. Ciro, along with the rest of his company spent their nights guarding Castle Carapace from anyone and anything. It was their duty to keep an eye out for anyone approaching the building, and to request I.D. from them, before reporting them to superior officers. They spent their time standing around, with wet feet and cold hands, and quite often a warming drink. They were not a defense force per se but rather a form of living warning system; all they had for defense was one small pistol, but they carried an intriguing amount of other equipment; night vision goggles, motion detectors (For cold blooded intruders) and a small radio tag tuned to their pulse. A sustained increase, or stopping of the signal would instantly alert those higher up, and start a real response.

Fortunately, nothing much had ever happened on the watch, not for years. The odd false alarm, lost tourist or strange visitor, but aside from that, the job offered years of secure and uneventful employment. Ciro was spending his time chatting to a lovely lady approximately four thousand miles away online, which allowed him to share especially intimate moments after sunrise on his clock. (Despite the temptation, he had never done so while on duty; his commander had once, and the pulse disturbances had raised the alarm and resulted in several weeks of entertainment.)

The attack on Castle Neverberg several days earlier, such as it was, had been the catalyst for his transfer here; he'd been meaning to request another post for some time, and being nearly decapitated by a snarling vampire had made his mind up for him. Of course, only a few people had actually died, but the experience had been more than enough to motivate him to leave. The rest of the squad was still in disarray of course, and there were a few things that would need to be cleared up. He really pitied those who would have to face Mr. Parker personally, but he was looking forward to a long and uneventful career in mostly legal security work. Private jobs really did pay better, and though he was technically still employed by the government, Mr. Parker had some very interesting business interests.

And so it was that he was very surprised when the turtle walked up to him and grabbed him warmly by the throat. Had they been moving sneakily, or looking around uncertainly, or even aiming for what so many people think is a nonchalant walk, he would have immediately attracted suspicion. But he hadn't; the turtle had just approached the building on the western track, in plain sight and a steady gait, as if he had every right to be there. Shocked by this Ciro let off his weapon, the dull *crcck!* echoing loudly in the quiet night air.

The turtle didn't even blink, just stared straight ahead with a rather disturbing fixed grin. There was a strange, visceral noise and Ciro risked a look down. Quite a bit of the turtle had splashed on him, and it wasn't a pleasant color. Truly terrified now he aimed a few desperate punches at the creature's head. It was like hitting a sack of cement. He stopped as he felt the grip on his throat tighten like a vice.

"Good evening friend. Do forgive me brusqueness, but it's taken me some time to get here, and I do want to get to the point. There were two prisoners admitted to your former workplace, castle Neverland, I believe, some time ago, and you look like the kind of person who might know where they are."

"Gnnk. I'm not saying... anything."

"I understand you're a bit reluctant to provide this information, but do be aware that if you don't, I will break, quite literally, every bone in your body, starting with the inconsequential ones. You may very well survive, and your friends may very well capture me, but you my friend will spend the rest of your life in bed eating with the aid of a straw."

"You're not serious!"

The turtle smiled again, as if he'd heard some old joke, then quite calmly raised a hand towards his face. Making sure he had Ciro's complete attention he proceeded to grab his own chin and twist. There was an organic sound as bone and sinew snapped under strain. For a few seconds the creature's lower jaw flapped lose, then with another sickening noise it slowly repositioned itself. Ciro's attempt at being sick was stymied by the grip on his throat, but it was evident he had got the point.

"I see we have an understanding. Now then, those prisoners?"

"I don't know! One escaped with a traitor! They say she was gunned down a few miles east of here!"

"Gunned down?"

"Yes!"

"I see.... and the other?"

"I don't know either! There was some sort of escape! A mob hit the van during a routine transfer! The guards were killed!"

"I see. So, let me get this straight... one prisoner was killed in the forest, the other is missing, and neither is actually there?"

"Yes, that's right!"

"Damn that bloody vampire! Well, at least... whathisname is alright. The other one, you're sure she was killed?"

"Yes sir! Parker saw to it himself they say!"

"Right, fine."


Tier broke the guard’s neck with a flick of his wrist. The body slumped to the ground and was kicked aside. He was aware of being watched; the burnt turtle he had met so recently was staring at him with a sly smile and a hint of hopefulness.

"I'm not going to eat him, I fed already."

"Are you sure? Pity."

Tier was feeling much better now he'd fallen in with the assassins, or whatever they were. It wasn't that he liked being around cold blooded killers, he was one himself, quite literally. It was more the fact that now, even more than in the past few weeks, he had a sense of purpose, a goal in life. Granted it was to kill someone for no real reason than petty hatred, but it was a reason all the same. It was almost like living again... almost.

"What were you talking to him about anyway? It's in, out, ASAP."

"Personal business, I want to know a few things."

"Right. Well, this looks fun, shall we begin?"



* * *

Susan looked about the place, testing surfaces for dust and inspecting the pot plants. She felt a bit foolish for doing so, considering what had happened to them all over the past few days, she would have welcomed a derelict shack if it was safe. Come to think of it, Greenthorpe manor hadn't been in the best state either... But doing this was a small island of normality in what had become, quite quickly, a massive mess. It let her feel like she was in control, if only over a small domain of her existence.

Well, it seemed nobody had vacuumed here for quite some time. Nevermind, she could fix that, and it wasn't as if they'd be staying long in any case.

"I hope this is to your satisfaction Mrs. Bradhurst."

"It will do fine. You're sure-"

"I assure you that it is perfectly secure. I didn't survive all this time being able to blow up trains when I wanted by just being lucky you know."

"Yes, well..."

Thomas and Yakira entered behind her, looking around what would be their new home until the correct papers and preparations could be arranged. It was rather pleasant, if a little disused. Surprisingly it wasn't underground anywhere, but a rather nondescript apartment in one of the many high rise buildings that composed the city. They were apparently barely a mile away from where they had arrived, just on the outskirts of the town. Susan let out a huge sigh of relief and sat down on a nearby couch. She was asleep in seconds.

Thomas looked at his wife, it was no wonder she was so tired, the past few days had really taken it out of her, and everyone was gradually realizing that everything they had, their old lives, was probably done for now. They'd need to relocate off world, start all over, it was a humbling thought. And a frightening one.

"You're sure she'll be safe Mr. Kaz?"

"Positive, I know the guy who owns this place; he got burned by Parker years back, lost a lot of property and business. There's no way anyone here will rat you out, just keep a low profile and we can have you safe and sound by the end of the week."

"I guess that's a good thing. You certainly seem to be working fast."

"Your... friend is being very useful; it's nice to have someone who doesn't give a damn about being shot."

"Just so long as everyone is safe, that's al I care about."



* * *

Burnt really hated that zombie. Something about him made you want to just punch him in the face until he stopped moving. It wasn't that he was annoying as such; he just had this off-putting way of behaving. He never laughed, or swore or acted tough, all the proper trademarks of people in the business. It would have been nice if he'd got drunk, or mad or... anything, but he just spent his time with annoyingly muted actions. Burnt prided himself on his ability to judge people based on those little things, the tics and smiles, their swagger or handshake, but Tier was as clear as a brick wall. He went through the world as if he was afraid he'd break it and someone would tell him off.

On the other hand, they'd made a killing in card games in the few short days they'd been working together. The zombie drank like a sailor, but it never seemed to affect him, of course he'd have to cough it up a few hours later. The alcohol also masked the disconcerting smell of the grave and regular feeding made him almost indistinguishable from anyone else, thought Burnt had to continually remind him to do so, the guy seemed not to care if he started attracting flies. Apparently he had a friend who'd been even worse. Hard to believe.

But it was wonderful to sit back and watch him at poker, a face that barely moved a muscle, a body oblivious to the needs of sleep, the affects of alcohol, and anything used to spike the drinks. Once Tier had the rules explained to him, he was a natural, playing with the same solid determination he did everything else. They'd made sure not to win enough to be noticed of course, just enough for fun. When people started getting suspicious then it'd be time for the slur, the increasing losses, the giving up and going home, but they were always ahead at the end of the night. It was wonderful what a little spare cash could buy and despite the unnerving aspect of seeing his 'partner' shot on a regular basis, Burnt was having the time of his life.

"Good evening Mr. Pangloss."

A single shot, and the job was done. Another assignment completed. Burnt looked around the darkened office, snatched up a particularly nifty looking pen, and walked out.