Eavesdropping on the Overlords had given Sascha a headstart on the race to capture the escaped prisoner — her prisoner. Blatting across the countryside on her hoverbike, she drove northeast as the crow flies rather than take the convoluted highway to catch up to Sinovan. After a five-hour pursuit, she could finally see his silhouette on the horizon, a lone rider on the road accentuated by the noonday sun. By the time she was nearing Aeroz, she was absolutely sure it was him. However, instead of continuing on to Kryapat bridge that went over a swamp, he headed straight into the mangroves. Damn Calcar… he must have noticed me!

Within a few minutes she reached the grove where she had seen him disappear. Sinovan had abandoned the stolen hoverbike at the border of the heaving marshes. It was leaning on its side with the engine still running — black fumes issuing from the rear as if complaining about the long journey. Alighting from her vehicle, Sascha walked up to examine the stolen bike and turned off the engine, the noise of which was immediately replaced by the racket of boisterous marsh birds coming from beyond the grove. A few broken twigs and muddy footsteps showed that he had fled east, straight into the marshes. At least there’s no way the Overlords would find him before I do. 

There was no option for her but to follow him into the sweltering marshes. She dreaded taking another step — she could already feel the bitter, sticky embrace of early summer. Grunting regrettably, she put one foot forward into the soft, gooey mud. A hot, humid gale from the grove blasted onto her face like a stenchy breath from a drunkard. She could feel the heat behind the lids of her eyes. As she stepped forward into the thicket, it was like the marshes inhaled and in one great thrust swallowed her.

‘Shouldn’t have done that!’ Marana barked as she tried to steady the wobbling hover-truck — The Gloomhog. Mr Murderclawz had unceremoniously trampled over the dashboard when the slightest jerk had startled him. Marana thought she had restored everything after the cat’s chaotic disruption, but noticing there was a bit of a tilt, she fiddled with the balance of the underside thrusters long enough for it to rock sideways and throw her off balance. Sprawled on the floor of the vehicle, she thrashed her hands to find anything to hold on to. The killswitch under the dashboard was within reach, hidden behind a small glass door. She managed to activate it just in time — the truck swerved to the side of the highway before a bridge and slid into the muddy banks of Kryapat Groves — the overgrown marshlands south of Farianvale. 

The doors slid open and Mr Murderclawz, who intended to dash out, stopped himself at the edge, seeing only water below. Marana took a deep breath and slumped down on the aluminium tread plates by the door, letting her legs dangle off the edge. Grateful that she had decided to wear a thin, loosely-fitting top, which exposed most of her bionic glass-encased body, and a pair of shorts, she welcomed the heat from the swamp after spending so long in the air conditioning of the truck. 

Twisted, rotting wines dominated the shallow marshy waters. Pointy roots and mangrove shrubs peeped out over the surface, as if they had been suffocating in the dense liquid and had burst out to take in a breath of fresh air. Insects — hoppers, fliers, and gliders — zipped here and there, some of them bouncing into the vehicle to assess the cool air within.  

‘Well… enough drivin’ for today, ey,’ Marana ran her fingers through her hair that was ruffled by the warm breeze. ‘It’ll be a while to get stuff workin’ again. We camp tonight.’ 

Mr Murderclawz let out a disheartened meow. ‘Yeah, I know,’ Marana continued, not wanting to spend the night near the reek of a swamp. Then she remembered the mosquitoes — the fear of which sparked an idea in her mind, ‘Nope, we gotta get this beast runnin’. And I think I’ve got it! If Gloomy ain’t movin’ on land, he can at least glide over the marshes…’

Chuffed with this realisation, she got up and heartily cavorted towards the controls in the truck’s cabin. Mr Murderclawz followed her, pouncing on to the co-driver’s chair as soon as she took her seat.  ‘How you ask?’ she said, giving him a side glance. ‘Gonna switch to back engines. This baby’ll glide like butter on a hot pan… prob’ly take us all the way to Urgator, easy.’ 

You can’t give up now, Marana. You’ve got the world to save. 

The undergrowth crunched tenderly under Sascha’s boots as she furtively made her way through the marshes. Swollen with fern and palm, the twisted landscape proved challenging to traverse, even by foot. Sharp roots clawed out from the unsteady ground, threatening to impale unaware trespassers. Every step had to be taken carefully — if the ground pushed in like a drenched pillow, soaking the lip of her boot with mucky water, she knew she had to step back and look for another way around. Feeling the onset of a pounding headache, she felt weak and nauseous. She ascribed her ailment to the overdose of marsh stink, and the birds and bugs that showed no hint of ceasing their chirping and cawing and buzzing and squawking. 

Slapping herself every time she felt a bug bite, or waving her hands around to keep the flying ones at bay, she trod cautiously, tracking Sinovan prudently. What madness made him come this way? She found her answers after a few more steps — a lone wooden cabin in the swamp. The wimp’s in there. He knew about this place! 

Sinovan was cornered now. All she hoped was that he had no weapons with him — if he picked something up from the cabin it would be rusty. No more running, bloody Calcar!

Sinovan was drenched in his own sweat. The curling spikes on his head were dripping like the edge of a roof on a rainy day, spilling salty water onto his forehead and into his eyes. He blinked, trying to decipher the code on the barely-working transmitter under the dim lamp of the wooden cabin. 

‘Three-four-two,’ he muttered, his hands trembling as he entered the code on the input screen. ‘This is Sinovan. I name my kin: the late Feluo, Demaz, Chap, and… and Segran. If anyone can hear me, please… send help. I’m at a safehouse on the western shores of Kryapat Groves.’ 

Hugging himself from an unexpected chill, he pressed a button to begin broadcasting his transmission. The machine beeped, and then he heard a sound from outside — or was it the machine grinding? Unsure, he thought it best to keep moving. Whoever comes to his rescue would have to look around for him. Crouching silently, he crept to the back of the room, kicked open the wobbly backdoor and escaped into the entangling wilderness. 

Unthreatened by the slender, half-metre long, two-headed tree snake that had made its way into the hover-truck, Mr Murderclawz curiously sniffed the air around it, darting back everytime it snapped at him. Marana inched closer to examine the little crawly, fascinated and mildly anxious by its oily, gold-green colour. Pulling the cat away by his hind legs, she picked him up and put him behind her. 

‘Doncha dare come back here, Mister,’ she scolded, seeing the cat trying to creep back towards her from the corner of her eye. ‘This li’l dude seems to be lost.’ 

She dangled a piece of broken wire in front of the serpent, intent on distracting it from her other hand — her human hand, which she skillfully manoeuvred around its heads. In a swift motion she ensnared it between her fingers just below the heads making sure there was no way it could sting her. Picking up the dangling creature, keeping it a safe distance from her, she made her way to the open door and placed the ‘li’l dude’ carefully on the branch of a broken trunk that was floating by in the water below.   

A buzzing sound from the truck’s cabin caught Marana’s attention and she spun around attentively. The Gloomhog’s antennas had caught something nearby. Promptly walking to the devices, she set about tuning the receiver. First static, then a voice: ‘This is Sinovan. I name my kin: the late Feluo, Demaz, Chap, and… and Segran. If anyone can hear me, please… send help. I’m at a safehouse on the western shores of Kryapat Groves.’  

‘Sinovan! Here?’ she barked aloud, which made Mr Murderclawz jump up and look at her quizzically. He was still at the edge of the door examining the snake that was floating away with the dead tree trunk. ‘Come on, in now, fur ball! Door’s closin’... we gotta go!’  

A lone islet floated in the swampy basin — the only solid mass between the western shore and the greater island to the east. Sinovan could not see the bigger island, but he knew it was there. It would lead him eastwards to his rundown farm. He could safely stay in the barn that he and Zov’ha had once sheltered in before they had made their way to Aeroz. It was a day’s journey away, but he had to try. 

There was a safe path to the islet, though the waters. He only hoped it was still intact. A swan hovered over the reeds, landing gently on the surface of a nearby pool, eliciting glimmers in the water where it was disturbed. That’s the deep part. The colour of the light reflecting on the water spoke to him about the time of the day — late noon. He had to hurry. It would be safer in drier parts after dark. 

A rustle in the bushes behind him startled him, and he jumped back. Sascha slithered out from behind overgrown mangrove shrubs, producing a handgun from its holster that hung from her side. Her smoke pipe dangled from her neck as she tottered bitterly towards Sinovan. All the memories of how much she had tortured him the last few weeks about Zov’ha’s whereabouts came flooding back to him. It angered him… 

‘D’you know what you made me go through, you bastard!’ The Mechanov came at him, the barrel of her handgun pointed at his face. Her fancy attire was soiled, and she looked rather exasperated. ‘You’re comin’ back with me!’ 

As frightened as he was, Sinovan had a flitting vision — a memory, perhaps. When Sascha and her cronies had attacked Zov’ha and him seven months back, on the way to Aeroz, he had raised his hands and kneeled, instantly giving in to fear. But not Zov’ha. She had stood her ground, unafraid. That had stayed with him, impressed him; he had never realised it before. She was fearless, yet kind. 

And so, no matter how badly he wanted to give up and kneel, Zov’ha’s strong influence made him resolute, and he stared down the barrel of the gun. Threatening him with a complacent smile on her face Sascha walked closer, but he did not flinch. 

‘Fine,’ she said finally. ‘You’ll die with the secrets of that bitch! No one’ll know where that livin’ weapon is! I’m done with you! I’ll find her myself!’ 

A distant rumble interrupted her then, and the ground danced beneath them. Sinovan lost his balance and toppled helplessly onto the soft mud. Like greased lightning, something had splashed into the water nearby causing havoc. The frightened swan took wing and disappeared. A great wave of smelly brackish water surged onto solid land, snagging Sascha and violently hauling her away. Great plumes of smoke and dust veiled Sinovan’s vision. He hacked as the toxic fumes tickled his throat.

When the waters receded, and the dust settled, Sinovan looked around, but there was no sight or sound of Sascha. He noticed an enormous machine making its way from the north. It was gliding effortlessly over the water, eight bright lights emitting from its front, refracting erratically in the fog that had so suddenly blanketed the area. It had a great turret on the roof. Why would anyone shoot at us?

Then he heard a voice calling him. Still unsettled by all that had happened he let the machine approach him. From its side, peeping out and calling to him was Marana. He whispered her name, not believing it was actually her. She did it. She had a change of heart! 

‘Come on, Sin, we gotta go!’ Marana was leaning out of the door, with her hand stretched out. 

‘No! You… won’t!’ Sascha pounced upon Sinovan, who was trying to get off the ground, ready to take Marana’s hand. She pushed his face into the muck, holding him down in a half-nelson, restricting any movement. Covered in slimy mud and wet reed, she shaded her eyes from the glare of the truck’s lights.

‘Get off him, shit monster!’ Marana shrieked. Worried that there was no one to control the truck, she turned around and darted towards the cabin to kill the engines.

As Marana brought the truck to a halt, she heard a squeal of agony. Rushing back to the door, she saw Sascha sprawled on the ground behind Sinovan, her wrinkled face bleeding profusely. There were gashes so deep that Marana could hardly make out any skin, only the flesh and blood. The culprit, Mr Murderclawz, was perched on his victim’s chest, hissing at her with his razor-sharp bionic steel claws unfurled. 

‘Good kitty!’ Marana cheered jubilantly, a sudden elation raising her spirit. She hopped off the truck and helped Sinovan off the ground. ‘Can you walk?’ 

When he nodded, she raised his arm around her shoulder and carried him back to her truck. Calling out to her cat she yelled, ‘Come on, fur ball, gotta go!’ 

When the three of them were on board, Marana quickly punched the engines. The heavy truck wended southwards, beginning its cumbersome glide over the swamp. She had left Sinovan on the floor by the door, leaning against the wall. 

‘Marana,’ he said, breathing heavily, tears streaming down his face. ‘I’m so glad you came.’ 

She smiled, crossing her hands and walking over to him. The warm breeze from the swamp drifted in through the open door. ‘I’m sorry… for leaving you there, Sin.’

Sinovan never cared for the past. That was how he got by… how he had always gotten by, ‘I don’t care… As long as you’re back.’ He then moaned in pain, holding his abdomen. 

‘Shit, I’ll fix ya up, just hold on,’ Marana sprang towards the medical kit stored to the left of the doors.  

But then there was an echoing clap outside. Marana’s body jerked backward, and she hit her back and head against the wall so violently that her glass body shattered, spilling liquid, parts of her bionic organs and circuitry. Blood and fluids splattered on the wall behind her and onto the floor. She dropped to her knees, her eyes staring vacantly at the receding swamp outside. Dark red fluid oozed out from her gaping mouth before she fell face first onto the floor. 

Sinovan yowled, and crawled towards her. Confused, he swerved around to make sense about what had happened. The open doors — a clean shot from Sascha, who was still alive on the shore. More shots whistled through the fog, smashing devices within the truck. Sinovan’s mind became instantly aware. Finding cover, still on his knees and hands, he felt for anything that appeared to serve as a switch to close the doors. When he found it, the doors slid shut, and there was silence.