They stopped at a rust-patched station bar floating just off the border grid. Neon signs flickered through static, and the smell of oil and fried protein hung in the air.
"Bloody honey, took your sweetened syrup time," Dixie said, voice gravelly through his cracked vocoder. "Anyway—meet my boys. For the hunt."
He gestured toward the first.
"Wait— that's a Legionnaire?! Those are psycho zealots! You brought them?" Amaru snapped, her pupils tightening into slits.
The figure leaned down — eight feet of scarred alloy and rebuilt flesh. One half of his face was burnt into a melted ruin, the other hidden beneath grafted cybernetics. The emblem on his chestplate gleamed: a serpent with the head of a hawk, etched in silver and blood.
"True to life. Double-X life form," the giant said, his voice like metal being soldered underwater.
"Alright, you two, ease up," Dixie said quickly. "He's a mate now. No psycho here—well, not one aimed at us. And he's a clone, so relax."
Tyson, Moore, and Amaru exchanged uneasy glances.
"The Legion of Men's clones are always loyal to their originals," Tyson muttered. "If there's a clone, that means the original DNA host—"
The Legionnaire cut him off sharply.
"We are not here to discuss my formation, history, nor personal experience. I am here for the hunt. And the mission."
"Good intro, Cat," Dixie said, then gestured to the next figure.
"This here's Limedars — or 'Limes' for short."
Limes stood roughly one-seventy tall, humanoid in outline but anything but human. His yellow eyes bulged like a pair of swimming goggles, reflecting light in oily ripples. Two smaller limbs jutted from his chest — something between a T-Rex's claws and a crab's pincers — while his main arms were long, ape-like, and coated in bright orange chitin. Three holes where a nose should've been pulsed faintly, and gills fluttered along his ribs.
"Zlease zo ze zou zll," he said, voice wet and clicking.
"Huh? What did the crab dude say?" Amaru tilted her head.
"Mate said, 'pleased to meet you all,'" Dixie explained. "He replaces every 's' with a 'z.' You get used to it."
"And this's Nyxa."
Dixie nodded toward a figure standing half-hidden in the neon haze — a girl shaped like a dream drawn in winter light. Her skin was white as arctic frost, her hair the same, and her eyes black as spilled ink. Her wings wrapped around her like a velvet cloak.
"…"
"Darlin' keeps to herself," Dixie said, already turning toward the exit. "Now, let's move. Got prep to do before the hunt."
Tyson and Moore followed.
Amaru hesitated, eyes flicking between the silent Legionnaire and the pale moth-woman. Something about Nyxa pulled at her — not just beauty, but a familiarity that stung behind her chest, like déjà vu wrapped in silk.
"Amaru. Stop daydreaming." Tyson's voice cut across the noise.
She blinked and hurried after the others.