She took a detour, hurrying toward the generator hall. The kitchen was still ablaze, but the place was made of reinforced materials, and even with the firefighting system offline, it should endure a little heat with ease. Aranea doubled her efforts, hearing shots, and arrived just in time to see that the battle within was nearing its end.

Six Normies and three Wolfkins from Leila's pack guarded the main entrance with the broken corpses of two cyborgs and three greenies lying at their feet. The north wall of the hall had collapsed, and the man in silver armor backed away to the breach, dripping blood from his sliced shoulder. Broken bones glittered in the wound, and his arm hung limp. The shamans advanced after him. Tiny's Wolfkins hounded the woman in the light suit back to her comrades. She dodged several shots from shardguns, stumbled, and almost fell headfirst into an expanding explosion of acid. For all her speed, the cooperation of the lesser New Breeds proved too much for her to overcome. Out of the sixty cyborgs that had invaded the station, five remained.

The same thought clicked in the crippled man's head , and as greenies appeared from the rubble and charged at the shaman, he turned tail and fled.

What are they doing here? Aranea lobbed a sharp piece of stone into one throat, hearing the barking of Tiny and Gin's weapons tearing the assailant to tatters. In the narrow confines of their base, Tiny's pack abandoned their mortars and made liberal use of acid grenades.

"Coward!" the woman shouted at the escapee. "Our allies rely on us…"

"Run, you stubborn cretin! We can't win here! Let him take care of them! Bentos, if you have any brains left, join us!" the man angrily yelled back.

The woman paused, uncertain, and darted left, evading Gin's shot. No longer hesitating, she scrambled to her feet, racing after the wounded past the terrible tearing of the flesh coming from Scarred One's fangs biting deep into the thrashing greenies. Leila swooped from the ceiling, landing on a cyborg's shoulders and breaking both. Her tail whipped, cracking the man's knees, and she punched, moving as fast as the shaman, crumpling the fist of another Bento, and aimed the rifle at her face. The cyborg nodded, glowing her working lens at Leila, and she let the soldiers secure both prisoners.

We won. Aranea decided, coming into the room's center, exhaling a sigh of relief upon noticing the intact generator. Tired and weary, she contacted Ursico and prepared to rejoin the battle, which seemed to refuse to end.

"We can't hold them back for long. Yasen is coming…" Distortion ate the rest of the lieutenant's words. Shaking gripped the buildings, sending pebbles rolling. A larger force slammed into the station, and she heard the groans of bent metal and collapsed colliders. The lights flickered, reactivating thanks to another energy source. Everything returned to normal, except for the sounds of raging battles and the tremors passing through the floor.

"We have another enemy attack incoming! Suppress the rebels." Aranea commanded, facing the three outnumbered Bentos searching for an exit. "One chance. Surrender and be restrained. You'll be treated with respect, and we'll take care of your wounds. Resist, try to trick us, and I'll scrape whatever meat is left on your bones myself."

"Your victory was just snatched away, girl," said a calm and familiar voice from the entrance. Aranea started to turn around when someone crashed into her, tossing her off her feet.

A Wolfkin warrior was sent flying by the human entering inside. Chill touched the wolf hag upon recognition. It was Chort, dressed in untouched black body armor, with a jacket underneath it. His expensive shoes still shined, and the drops of fresh blood on his black pants didn't belong to the mercenary. His mocking green eyes found Aranea, and Chort gave them a curt nod before stabbing the palm of his hand into the back of the warrior clinging to Aranea. He moved with incredible fluidity, crossing the distance in a blink, and his simple slap, which had no force in it, sent shocking sensations first through the Wolfkin's body, then to Aranea's, causing them to tremble and lose their footing. Even her fangs rattled, trying to slip from her gums.

"It goes much harder through full armor," Chort said thoughtfully, backhanding Aranea into the wall. She cratered into the stone, cracking it with her back. "Out of armor, you would've lost your consciousness, like this lass here." His feet kicked the convulsing Wolfkin.

Chort stepped on her right shoulder, breaking it before rolling the disabled soldier away.

"Still, I owe you the same courtesy you offered us. Cut your losses and run. Yasen offered a bounty on your head, but I'm in the mood to ignore it. None of you are capable of stopping me, even if I stand still and grant you a minute to try."

"We'll gladly take you up on the offer. I'll start with your head…" wheezed Aranea.

The guards at the entrance lay dead. Inconceivable. A few seconds ago, they were breathing; now, the cruel hand had cut the threads of their fates. Clean cuts dotted their suits, indicating the work of the sharpest blade wielded by skilled hands. Well, hands she saw, but there was no concealed dagger in them.

"You'll pay for…" Aranea growled, trying to stand up. She was unharmed; the alloy shielded her from the damage. Systems confirmed her organs weren't ruptured, yet the strange vibrations rendered her immobile, tugging at her nerves and speeding up her heartbeat so much that the world spun.

"Yeah, yeah, heard that one before. Fine, if you lack wisdom, stay helpless. Yasen wants to play with you," Chort dismissed her threats, sauntering toward Leila.

His skin dripped from his hands, forming a torrent of flowing water that connected him to the floor. He appeared unbothered by leaving a small puddle of bubbling flesh. It squirmed, hands stabbed through its surface, and four greenies rose up, tearing the cocoons clinging to them. Not a single part of the mercenary was wasted; its scrubs merged with the chests of the hissing monstrosities, answering the question of their origin.

Leila and the shaman prepared to face Chort, and he smiled in satisfaction.

"I'm grateful to your inept leader for rejecting my offer. I could've killed you several times by now. But no. You, wyrm girl, deserve to be killed by me in a fair and square bout, lest I'll never have my inner peace."

"Do I know you?" Leila asked carefully, pointing her rifle at his face.

"Not personally, no. We never met. I praise your stealth. And despise your thievery." Chort's demeanor cracked, giving way to the cold fury. "Every living being desires to leave its mark upon the world. Mine was my reputation. For years, I toiled hard to maintain recognition throughout the Ravaged Lands. Normies, Abnormals, Crazed Artificials, Abominations… You can name almost any species, and I can describe in detail how to end it. None could escape me. Never, not even in our darkest hours, did I fail my employers. People referred to me as an 'army for hire' and 'the one true mercenary' for my undying dedication to a contract." His smile widened, and through Leila's cameras Aranea noticed warmth in his eyes. "Then you came along, an insignificant gnat, famous for killing worthless cannibals and rapists for five years. That's nothing to brag about. I've been doing it for decades. Yet people talk of you, daring to compare your prowess to my legend. A silent winged killer, she strikes without mistake from nowhere, bringing judgement and flying in the night, without requesting praise."

Chort spat on the ground.

"People, meant to praise me, elevated you to my pedestal. There were even requests to hire you in taverns scattered around. From the owners whose parents I rescued from slavery. Today, this competition… this affront to my legacy is coming to its logical conclusion. I will end you. I will dispose of the Silent Death, and score a wyrm's life in the process. Your head I'll mount above a tavern's counter for everyone to see and recognize the greatest mercenary and killer in these lands. Two precious goals achieved during a single work. I must say, King made me feel that one-of-a-kind present."

"You're pissed off because of something so shallow?" Leila hissed, bulging her muscles. "You murdered my precious subordinates over it?!"

"No, those were in the way, and I was in a hurry. We are at war." Chort smiled pleasantly. "Though I'm satisfied to have another reason besides money. A job must bring happiness."

"People are curious about new things, so beat it, Gramps. Take your pills, piss off somewhere, and keep your first place…" The half-wyrm tracked his face. "…is what I would want to say. But you just had to make it personal."

"Gramps?" Chort raised his brow, cracking his knuckles. "Don't tempt me into tearing your wings off one by one, mutant. I never tortured anyone and would rather not break the habit."

"It's a hollow thing to be proud of, since you're enabling sadists."

"Don't lose your focus, wyrm spawn. This one is dangerous," Scarred One warned Leila, flanking the mercenary.

"Wyrm spawn? Why didn't I think of that myself? Ah, a woman after my heart. Run along, doggie. I've killed plenty of your kind in the past. Pick up your rabble and escape Yasen…"

Chort dove, spotting Leila's movements. He dodged before she could pull the trigger, but the red ray still scorched his shoulder, burning the cloth and darkening his skin along with his clavicle. Much to Aranea's surprise, his arm remained mobile as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

"Yes. Yes, that's precisely how it's supposed to go. It would be further humiliating if you'd never forced me to taste pain…"

He vanished. No matter how much she tried, Aranea failed to spot his initial movements. His feet beat footprints into the solid stone, carrying him faster than a cannonball toward Leila. The Greenies leapt at the Wolfkins, while the mercenary focused on the half-wyrm.

Leila took aim again, but this time Chort predicted the trajectory perfectly, leaning back to evade the heat. A red knife, covered in pulsing veins, slipped from his sleeve into his hand. In one smooth motion, a single slice halved the laser rifle's barrel. Leila flapped her wings, trying to gain distance, but a kick beat her weapon from her hands and scraped her chest.

Chort tried to take a step after her and had to jump back, evading Scarred One's downward swing. She bounced off the ceiling, trying to catch him off guard, but ended up with a deep gash on the armor's forearm. The suit kept her safe from injury. She used a slab of stone, gouged out by her fist, to hide herself and obscure Chort's view. As he sliced the slab in two, the woman stabbed, almost touching his chin with the claws. Before he could hack at the fingers, Leila appeared to his left, kicking him in the knee. The leg buckled, and the mercenary swung, trying to catch the shaman by surprise. Scarred One retaliated with a thrust, sliding her claws underneath the blade.

It had to end with Chort's hand shredded. There was no way for him to escape after making that mistake. The mercenary let go of the handle, and his skin flowed again, bubbling around the bones, similar to water engulfing a cube of ice in a glass. The bones retracted, reshaping their structure with a series of cracks, fusing together into a solid bone blade that shot toward the shaman like a piston.

Leila tried to dig her claws into Chort's neck to stop his attack, but the mercenary stood up, ignoring the faulty knee, and her fingers lodged into his shoulder. The bone blade severed the space between the shaman's claws, traveling up the arm to the elbow and spilling blood. Chort smiled, beating Leila a dozen steps away, and almost lost his balance from Scarred One's low kick that broke his ankle.

The crack was loud. Everyone heard it. Not a ghost of pain passed through the mercenary's face, his green eyes remained fixed on his opponent, and he kicked with his remaining leg, shattering the shaman's knee. Scarred One did not utter a single growl of pain, but the crippling blow prevented her from dodging. Chort's hands elongated into swords, which he plunged into the woman's chest, piercing the armor, cutting the hide, and penetrating her lungs. He twisted, rupturing the organs further. With her last strength, Scarred One grabbed his elbow, buying Leila an opportunity to charge in. Her steel-covered wings pierced his ribs, and she reached for his head.

Chort grinned, tearing his blades free from the shaman's chest. His weapons reformed back into human hands, and he caught Leila by the wrists, stopping the stabs just short of his head. Leila tried to knee him, only for it to be blocked by his unexpectedly healed leg. Her tail moved to go for the mercenary's eyes, but he tossed her over his shoulder, slamming her into the wall.

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Scarred One attempted to stand, vomiting blood. Again. Aranea's head pulsed. Another one of her soldiers was dying with her useless, helpless. Chort raised his foot for a stomp. His face changed, losing composure, when he heard the shardgun's shot. The shards stabbed deep into his shoulders, belly, and the hand that he had raised to shield his face. Tiny stood opposite him in the open, ready to fire again.

"Impossible," Chort whispered, ignoring his injuries. "I saw you as I came here. I knew you were here. So how… how could I have dismissed you as unimportant? Who are you, doggie?"

"A scout of the Wolf Tribe." Tiny's finger twitched on the trigger.

Chort's wounds stopped bleeding. His ravaged flesh expelled the shards, and the torn edges shifted, moving like spilled hot wax, closing the injuries without forming even a little scar.

"Miracles don't happen twice!" Chort roared, running to her.

When Tiny's finger pressed the trigger, he bounced off the ground, reappearing to her left, dodging to the right in the instant the shards were fired, and they hit the rubble. Chort's arm shapeshifted back into the sword. Gin tackled Tiny and took the stab to his shoulder. It almost cleaved off his hand, bisecting bones and muscles alike.

But it created an opportunity. Tiny fired from under his arm, eliciting another yell of frustration from the assailant. The shot tossed him backward, pulling the sword out before he could twist it. Prostrate, the mercenary coughed, staining his ruined clothes red. His flesh had already hurried to close the uneven wounds in his torso where the shards had pierced him. He circled around Tiny on all fours, wary and unwilling to take any more chances.

Aranea jerked, trying to stand.

"Release it," the voice chuckled inside her skull. Ravager. A low growl filled her mind. "Come on, do it, you coward. If not now, then when? They are going to die, and you are the one capable of butchering…"

Aranea wanted nothing more than to heed this advice, but then she remembered what had happened the last time she embraced her power. Her claw lacerated Kate. And the desire to kill Sonya. The price was too steep.

Screw you. I don't need your help. The wolf hag snarled at the beast within and ordered her suit to inject her with adrenaline, raising up on the shaking legs.

Chort dashed in a blink, weaving aside from the incoming shards. He punched, tearing one side of Tiny's helmet; his fingers changed into bone hooks, hungry for flesh. Then he recoiled, evading a stone hurled by Aranea. The scout's armor and the intervention rescued her life, but the bone blade came next, plunging into Leila's belly. The half-wyrm had jumped between the fighters, jabbing at the mercenary's heart with her claws. Or where it should have been. The sword's tip exited at her back, bulging out a metal plate.

"Tch, sloppy. Missed the vitals." Chort grinned, enduring Leila's claws digging into the wrist of his swordarm. His muscles swelled along his arm, and the blade moved steadily in a clockwise motion, widening the gash. "Let's fix it, all right."

The steel wings pierced his shoulders, twisting in them. Blood gushed out. Chort ignored the agony and kept turning his arm. Leila brought her head closer, opening the faceplate to shine the light of her power over the mercenary. Undaunted, he yanked his arm back, liberating it fast, in large part due to the half-wyrm's efforts. He kicked Leila's footing out from under her, sending the light shining up. Then, he tossed the woman over himself.

Immediately he ducked, escaping Tiny's shot. Leila collapsed, bleeding. A simple worried glance of the scout had cost her any chance when the mercenary sped up to Tiny and shattered her knee, breaking the bone with ease.

"Take advice from the old fossil, girlie," Chort smugly told the howling-in-pain Tiny. "Give no shit about the safety of your allies. Shoot whenever you can. If they survive, excellent. If not, they were already in peril. Better take the risk."

The building shook once more, sending Aranea to the floor just before her paws could close around the rail gun. The breach collapsed, then spewed the rubble inside, widening enough for an entire mechanical suit to roll in. Sonya jumped after it; her armor was cracked, with plates hanging by artificial muscle fibers, and blood dripping from under that mess. Her left arm had been broken in two places and had been twisted up by the scout herself, so the claws of the twitching fingers could still be used. The large suit lacked its weapons; one leg, and an arm had been torn from their sockets, and the machine jammed, trapping Ursico inside.

Laughter flowed from the opening, announcing Yasen's arrival before he set foot through the dust. Cuts ruined his expensive armor, the cloak was halved and bore traces of acid, and the melted patch on his knee was broken by a shot, but he walked confidently, spreading his arms wide.

"I do enjoy it when our efforts pay off in the end," he boomed merrily, his lenses whirling, focusing at Aranea. "It would appear that every time we meet, you let another one down." He kicked a dead soldier. "We should meet more often. Better yet, your side should put you in charge so you can gift misery and death to everyone without exception," he laughed at his own taunt.

"You are the one losing hundreds today," Aranea snapped, reaching for the rail gun. Yasen flicked his fingers, and a wave of force knocked her to the ground, blowing nearby pebbles into dust.

"Ah, but you see, hon." He gestured at the shaman. A wide pool of blood spread from under her. Her plates groaned, bent, and bent under an immense power that shattered her body into a heap of rags with sharp bones sticking out. "No chances. You're the only one giving a shit about extras. All our key players are well, alive, and moving on. Don't consider me ungrateful about your dance, but your encore took one day too long." A ball of kinetic force formed at the end of his finger. "It's high time to lower the curtain."

"Kill her if you wish; the rest are mine. The half-wyrm will die by my hand..."

"Hand?" Yasen tilted his head, interrupting the mercenary, and glanced at the swordarm. "Me thinks you've grown senile and greedy, buddy. Don't stand between a human and their desire to fetch excellent hides for banners. Or scales for mail."

"You've been warned. Take the doggie, and don't forget to pay. The rest will be my witnesses, and if you dare so much as touch the wyrm spawn…" Chort stopped talking, watching around with wide eyes. Yasen turned to him, sending another bolt, which sent Sonya and Aranea flying. The mercenary twitched, slapping himself in the face. "Another miracle nearly occurred. But I'm not a kind deity."

The mercenary laughed loudly and maniacally, a laugh more fitting for a madman than his usual calm and collected self. He walked to the generator and up the stairs, not even looking around.

In a wave of steel shards, the entrance to the hall vanished, unable to contain a bright red line charging forward. Yasen cried out a warning, stepping back. The line crashed into the three cyborgs, busy securing the captive Normies. They toppled over, broken in several places and gasping for air, finding themselves at the mercy of their recent prisoners. The red line smashed into the greenies fighting the Wolfkins, scattering the latter and turning the former to paste faster than Aranea could blink. The sheer momentum of the newcomer's movements created a billowing wind, splashing wet pieces of the corpses upon the wall.

"If not for this curious scout, I might've fallen for it," Chort said, approaching the generator and reading his bone sword. Yasen shouted at him, pointing at the changing direction of crimson in the air. "But as a professional, I learn and adapt, never falling into the same trap twice!"

The red line raced up the stairs and circled around him to protect the generator. It was the opportunity Chort had been waiting for. He struck, not at the generator, but at the appearing neck.

A paw lightly tapped his blade from below, and the deadly weapon went up, casting shock and surprise onto Chort's face. The expression didn't linger and was replaced by a scowl of painful humiliation after the Wolfkin dented in the mercenary's cranium with a quick jab. The impact cartwheeled the mercenary through the hall, toward the entrance. He landed, rolling, losing clothes, wheezing, and spitting out blood from his nostrils and mouth. His entire left side resembled a piece of squeezed bubble gum, but done upon a living person. The broken ribcage erupted from the skin, held up by strings of muscle from falling out.

The small figure, shorter than Aranea by a palm, stood straight on the platform overlooking the generator. A black, old, patched-up leather cloak flapped on her shoulder. Thread forming a golden circle, torn on the left, glinted from both the inner and outer sides of the cloak. Crimson armor, dulled by layers of dirt, protected its owner from harm. While the rescuer was clearly a Wolfkin, her helmet lacked openings for fangs or claws, elegantly covering the woman. A series of retractable claws was mounted on her wrists, with similar constructions standing ready at her feet. Green lenses, set upon a snout too small even for such a slender figure, surveyed the opponent.

Valerye Foulsnout, known as the perfect warlord, had arrived at long last.

Aranea stared, watching in disbelief as the platform fell, unable to hold Valerye's weight. She landed, tore the stairs off her path, and walked free, reminding Aranea of what Kate had told her about this peculiar woman.

****

"She is unique, you see." Kate sipped her coffee, frowning.

Kaleb had introduced her to this new treat, and the scout had admitted being unsure whether or not she liked the stuff. But it kept dreams at bay, so she drank it by the gallon. Kate used her needle limb to position the photo of the Wolfkin in the black cloak. The woman raised a paw in triumph, thanking the cheering mixed crowd of Wolfkins and Normies. The photo was taken from the back, so it was impossible to see her face, but Aranea noted the unusual red fur.

"Valerye Red Streak, nicknamed so for the afterimage trace she leaves around while moving at low speed. That's the official version. The true version, known to the shamans, is less glamorous. Valerye accidentally tumbled into a vat full of crimson paint on an inspection and then charged out of it to stop an insectoid infestation, so the Normies dubbed her so. Valerye liked the nickname enough to later paint her entire armor crimson. She became a warlord at merely twenty years old, the youngest person to reach this title. Ranked eighteenth, the last in strength."

Aranea nodded, listening to Kate. Janine was ranked ninth among the warlords. After Kalaisa had crippled her, she had twenty- and sixteen-hour matches against Martyshkina and Fatima. She lost both battles and fell to eleventh place. Ranks were relative, and rarely anyone else besides warlords and their most loyal followers cared to track them. Aranea's warlord had merely wanted to know if she could still fight.

"Her charisma and leadership were off the charts. Almost everyone welcomed her; she made no distinction between Normies or Wolfkin males, standing by both. Even today, physical punishments are not used in her pack. The shamans grumble, but when Valerye commands, they obey. Then at the age of twenty-two, she had issued the Warlord's Challenge."

"Is she crazy?!" Aranea asked, shocked.

The challenge meant that a warlord had to defeat every single warlord standing above her in rank during a series of one-on-one duels. It was a desperate method of implementing a rapid challenge in the Tribe, and the Gathering was too far away. During the entire existence of their people, it was won twice, both times by Alpha. In the first case, she had banned the practice of sacrificing tribesmen to the Spirits. In the second, she had forced power armor upon the Wolfkins.

The undisputed Warlord Number One, Zero, had simply surrendered without a fight, embracing her sister's ideas. Lacerated One, Supreme Shaman in these days, had bared her neck, accepting the wisdom. The rest of the warlords had put up a modicum of resistance, throwing out their bouts.

"No way she did that. You mean to tell me she's that arrogant and stupid?"

"You wish," Kate smugly responded, enjoying knowing more than the wolf hag. "She cleared all the way to Alpha in a stomp. None could match her. Janine? Sent in a KO. Martyshkina? Tossed out of the circle. Her blows bruised hides, breaking bones; her punches sent others on an air trip; her speed was top-notch…" Kate produced a medical record, showing it to the camera. "It's all thanks to her biology. Here's the thing. Without power armor, Janine weighs two hundred and ninety-five kilograms. Probably more, since that jaw was added. Alpha weighs three hundred and fifty-two kilograms. Guess Valery's weight?"

"Dunno. She's a shorty, maybe a hundred kilos at best?" Aranea suggested, looking at the warlord's image. The woman had a helmet on, wore gloves and socks, and her ribs were skinny.

"Ha! Try four hundred and seven kilograms," Kate laughed, falling back on the pillows. She composed herself and explained to the disbelieving Aranea. "The eggheads have a theory. You know about myostatin, right? It is a protein that inhibits excessive muscle growth. It's produced by your body, and be grateful to it; thanks to it, you can sustain the growth of your muscles just peachy. However, when decreased through training or via drugs, you can wildly increase your muscle mass. Her body produces next to no myostatin."

"Bunch of cusack shit!" Aranea paced through her room. "We both saw her muscles; she barely has any fat in here! Where is she hiding all her muscles?!"

"Inside. They are compressed like a…" Kate attempted to demonstrate something with her needles and gave up. "A sheer mass of muscles that should be visible, yet can't be spotted. Her muscles, tendons, sinews, and bones are so tightly compressed, it's insane to even try to imagine. Even prior to powering up thanks to the Blessed Mother's gift, her strength easily placed her in the warlord bracket, while providing enough elasticity to move around at crazy superspeed. Red Streak Valerye, a champion material before she was even born, destined for greatness."

"So, did she win?" Aranea asked, curious. Sonya had always chastised her for not learning much about history. Clearly, her foster parent was right. It was asinine of her not to be more interested in the past.

"How do you think she got named Foulsnout?" Kate's face clouded over suddenly. "Alpha slept through the challenge. She was sparring with skinwalkers and tried to decipher their babbling prior to it and later had to kick their asses to protect travelers. So imagine her, bleeding more profusely than a cusack in her seat. Valerye cleared her way through the ranks to her. Those present said that the pool of blood that had gathered reached Alpha's ankles, yet she scowled at the medics while listening to Zero's songs."

Aranea nodded. Quite a picture.

"She opened her eyes when she heard her turn. This apparently freaked out Valerye enough for her to miss the first hit."

"How?" Aranea scratched her nose.

"You'll learn if you'll ever be in her presence." Kate shuddered. "The strike penetrated the left side of the skull, raking the brain. Thereafter, Alpha pummeled her without rest until Zero demanded she stop or face her. Based on the medical record, Valerye's arms were shattered, her right nostril was gone, her ribcage was stabbed into the lungs, and one ear was bitten off. Give me a second. Left, that's the one. Alpha declawed Valerye, devouring her claws and missing body part in front of Red Streak."

"Cannibalistic bitch," Aranea cursed.

"Zero had to rush Valerye to the field hospital since most of her organs were ruptured. Alpha had a couple of broken bones from the opportunities Valerye dared to take. Even the shamans were puzzled by how scared the young warlord was during the fight. Fools. Of course she isn't a coward, but to stand up to Alpha, you must know of her secondary passive power; otherwise your bravery will be seeped." Kate took a breather. "Valerye's face ended up full of ripped wounds, and Alpha forbade her from ever repairing it. Since then, Red Streak changed her nickname to Foulsnout and keeps her helmet on, copying Zero's style, while acting as Alpha's second. Her personality changed too, no surprise there. Now Valerye is ranked third and knows her place. As do we all. Alpha and Zero are far beyond us."

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