Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

twos and threes, following the routes the Council had worked out earlier, just in case. They disappeared into the dark maze of narrow streets and alleyways, confident no Empire forces could follow them and not be hopelessly lost in moments. There was no talk of surrender. They were not broken, not beaten. And they had always known this was a fight to the death.
    Soon they were all gone, apart from Typhoid Mary and Investigator Topaz. Their song still crackled around them, drowning out Legion's howl, keeping the troops at bay and covering their friends' escape. They were the two most powerful Sirens the Empire had ever produced, and they would not yield. And then suddenly, the pressure eased. The gravity barges moved on, their work done, and the troops fell back. Topaz and Mary stopped singing, conserving their strength.
    The world around them was still a chaos of flames and screams and battle cries,
    the thunder of gravity engines and the roar of collapsing buildings, but their particular part of the world seemed strangely still and quiet. As though some new force had entered the scene. Topaz and Mary looked at each other. Behind them, someone applauded slowly. They both looked round sharply, to find a tall dark man in an Investigator's cloak studying them calmly from the other side of the street. Topaz frowned. She should have heard him approach, even in all this noise and chaos. She should have known he was there. His sword and gun were still sheathed on his hips, but in one hand he held a length of steel chain, on the other end of which crouched a cowering naked man. He was painfully thin and smeared with filth, and his bare skin clearly showed the scars and marks of many beatings. The left side of his skull had been surgically cut away, to reveal the brain beneath, protected only by a clear piece of steelglass. Various plugs and jacks studded the brain tissues, and silver wires gleamed in the grey meat.
    "Handsome fellow, isn't he?" said the dark man. "He belongs to me. Investigator Razor, at your service. I've been sent to bring you back into the fold of Empire. Teach you to sing the right songs again. Spare me your protestations, please. They don't matter. You have no say in things anymore. This unpleasant wretch at my side has no name anymore, only a function. He's a living esp-blocker. One of the Lord High Dram's special projects, I believe. Being alive, and capable of following orders, he's much more powerful and versatile than the usual brain in a box esp-blocker. He's strong enough to function even under Legion's influence, and subtle enough that you didn't even notice our approach. I'm afraid you'll find your songs have quite deserted you now, ladies.
    So put aside your petty complaints and come with me. Your life in this place is over. You belong to the Empire again."

    Topaz drew her sword. "I'd rather die."
    Razor drew his sword. "That can be arranged. I get a bonus if I bring you both back alive, but money's never been that important to me. They'll settle for one live Siren and one dead traitor, if need be. And I always wanted to know which of us is better." He dropped the length of chain he was holding, but the living esp-blocker stayed where he was. He would not move without orders.
    Typhoid Mary backed away from the Investigator, shaking her head.
    "I can't help you, Topaz. I'm sorry. I won't kill again. Not for any reason."
    "That's all right," said Topaz, advancing on Razor. "Just keep well back. You don't want to get any of his blood on you."
    And then Topaz and Razor surged forward and slammed together, sparks flying in the mists and smoke as their swords clashed. They stamped and lunged, swinging their swords with almost inhuman strength and speed, two Investigators trained to the peak of perfection. They circled around each other, hammering home blows that would have swept away a lesser fighter's defenses, probing for each other's weaknesses. They were strong and fast and quite magnificent, and neither of them would yield an inch.
    But in the end Razor was much the older of the two, and he was not fueled by the raw hatred and need for revenge that burned so fiercely in Topaz's veins.
    Slowly, remorselessly, foot by foot she drove him back, forcing him on the defensive, and Razor knew that he was very near to death. His pride kept him in the fight longer than he should have, but the pain and blood of his first few wounds brought him to his senses again. He forced the last of his energy into a