Over Your Shoulder

Over Your Shoulder is a story set in Onu-Metru in the Fractures Universe.

It will be written by User:BobTheDoctor27 and will be one of the two sub-serials that will bridge the gap between Whispers in the Dark and Judgement Day.

Prologue
It was an age of deceit. Everybody was suspicious of everybody else – and with good reason. Metru-Nui was on the brink of a civil war, heading for riots. For the past three centuries, the island’s refugee inhabitants had put aside their differences to contribute towards the war effort. Bickering between Matoran and Skakdi, Dark Hunters and Order agents, Toa and Turaga had cost the island’s survivors valuable ground in the first years of the war.

So a truce had been formed. Turaga Vilnius had smiled at a Vortixx and shook his hand before burning the infection off with a small burst of flame behind his back at a protest. All industries had been nationalised. Metru-Nui opened its gates up to all refugees, forcing the Matoran workers to expand the island through artificial means.

But when the war stopped and the Brotherhood of Makuta was prevented from returning to the Matoran Universe the truce had met an abrupt end. Citizens had lost the residual hype left over from the war and awoken to their discontent. During the period of mass immigration there hadn’t been enough dwellings for the refugees to reside in. Instead, they had simply been dumped in Onu-Metru or in some of the more uninhabitable regions of Po-Metru and Ko-Metru. Now they were beginning to awaken to the overcrowding and squalor that they had been living in. Living and working standards were at an all time low for the refugees, while Matoran seemed to be entering a golden age of prosperity as their island gradually recovered.

But now everything else was in depression.

Skakdi gangs patrolled streets, fighting the new resurgence of Vahki law enforcers and the Metru-Nui Land Army. Fighting was rife. Turaga Matoro had tried holding things together but the mobsters and disgruntled masses of suppressed immigrants weren’t listening. They feared the Turaga, but they didn’t respect him. It had been a long six months indeed since the Cult of Darkness had mounted their last attack and Turaga Vilnius certainly felt the weight of the topical issues of the time pressing him down.

The Noble Hau-wearer narrowed his eyes and returned to the conversation at hand. A high-ranking member of the Metru-Nui Law Enforcement division was giving him and Turaga Matoro a status report. Similarly to all other members of the island’s new police force, the Vortixx before them had abandoned his black and silver armor and replaced it with navy plating instead. Tucked under one of his arms was a bucket-shaped helmet with a gold badge, signifying his rank. This particular officer had the past few years under his belt as a reputed Order of Mata Nui agent and was giving the two Turaga a rundown of one of his more recent encounters with what was assumed to be several Brotherhood of Makuta servants in Ta-Metru.

“There were four of us ‘gainst three of them” muttered the Xian, his voice like a cascade of tumbling rocks down a cliff face. “Two Steltians and a Skakdi. They killed two of my officers. One of them got away and we cuffed the other two. They’re locked up in the dungeon beneath the Coliseum, awaiting further investigation.”

“What were they doing?” asked Matoro, fighting off a cough. Vilnius winced at the sound.

The Turaga of Ice was unwell. His health had been deteriorating for months now. One morning he had risen from his bed only to fall over in a fit of screaming, clutching his head. Medics had rushed into the chamber to find him unconscious. His personal guard, Carnac, had been an eye witness to the event and refused to leave the Turaga’s protection. Even now he stood on the other side of Matoro’s throne, eyes like a lava hawk, flicking from the Xian law enforcer to the two Vahki Bordakh guarding the doorway.

The Council had done its best to keep the situation quiet. It was a delicate time and news of Matoro’s ill health could start conspiracy or mass hysteria among the volatile population.

But the Turaga had grown incredibly thin of late and an alarming cough was beginning to keep him up at night. What organic flesh showed from behind the Turaga’s pale armor was saggy and yellowish. He’d lost weight and he’d become frailer than he once was. Now he had to rely on his Ice Staff as a walking stick, not an unusual trait for a Turaga but still not a very promising one. As long as Vilnius had known him, Matoro only had a back problem, which was caused by an injury he picked up while fighting as a Toa in the war.

Vilnius’ first memory of the faded Turaga was when he had met the Iden-wearer as a Toa, the leader of a band of rebellious Matoran who had been among the prized champions of the Order of Mata Nui. Matoro had been a tall, lean, impossibly glorious hero then, with the proud strong build of a warrior.

But the Turaga sitting on the throne beside him now, stooped and feeble, seemed like a different person.

“They attacked Toa Kualus in the street” answered the Vortixx. “He was on a patrol with a platoon of Vahki and the Skakdi ambushed him. They used Elemental Fire powers to weaken him then melted the pavement, pinning the Vahki down before freezing them with the Toa’s spear. Hagah Tools are a safety hazard y’know. Anyone can get their hands on ‘em and cause untold chaos.”

“Hence why the Hagah Tool was in the possession of a veteran Toa of Ice” retorted Vilnius with a snarl. The Vortixx noted the iron in his voice then nodded and backed down, not wanting to insult such a domineering authority figure.

“So it was a planned attack on Toa Kualus?” asked Matoro. He sounded dreadfully short of breath, and the effort of speaking sent him into a barrage of wet coughs that came from deep inside his chest. The Vortixx glanced at him, politely waiting for him to finish before giving Vilnius a questioning look.

“He ate some bad Bula berries” grunted Carnac in his usual cold, steely tone. The Le-Matoran took his job seriously. Technically he didn’t have to cover for the Turaga, but he did anyway. ‘Faithful’ thought Vilnius to himself.

The Vortixx nodded then scanned the faces of the two Turaga before performing a militaristic salute and turning to leave. A cluster of other generals were waiting to speak with Matoro. They moved forward as the Xian departed only for Vilnius to raise a hand, signaling for them to stay. The two Bordakh at the door tensed and the doorway emptied.

Carnac stepped forward and handed the weary Turaga of Ice a mug of water. The Iden-wearer smiled and drank deeply, then wiped around his mouth with the back of a trembling hand – the responsibility of running the island during a 3,000 year old war was finally beginning to take its toll on him.

“Do you want to call it a night?” asked Vilnius, worried about Matoro’s health.

He grunted and shook his head. “The night is young” he muttered weakly.

“But you are not” boomed a familiar voice emanating from the doorway – Toa Danza. The Toa of Stone had adapted quickly to life as one of Metru-Nui’s protectors. Long-gone were the days where he was thought of as a novice. In spite of being the youngest member of the island’s Toa team he could easily give the likes of the late Toa Pohatu a run for his money at a game of Kolhii.

“You should rest” smiled the Toa, beginning his hike into the chamber. His voice carried on down, bouncing off the walls and amplifying by the point it reached the Turaga. “This process will last a long time. The war with the Brotherhood may be over but the war on ourselves has only just started. You mustn’t exhaust yourself too early, Matoro. We will have need of your diplomatic skills later.”

“Sham!” chuckled the Turaga dryly. “You, Toa Danza, are the future. I am the past. I will not live to see the end of this threat if it drags on as long as I fear.” The Turaga glanced out the window at the setting sun. Dark rainclouds covered the city but, on the murky horizon, the final slivers of gingery light were fading from view. The temperature seemed to have dropped lately and the air had grown tense, as if it carried the anticipation of the cataclysm that the entire city felt. “If I do not make my mark now, I never will.”

The Toa started to object, but the Turaga of Ice silenced him with a crooked finger. “An angry old Necrofinch hates to be told how young and virile he is. I am on my last legs, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool, a liar, or both.”

The Toa of Stone tilted his head obediently. “Mata Nui help us” he muttered, cracking a smile. “You’re starting to sound like Turaga Vilnius.”

“I should hope not” sniffed Matoro. The Turaga and Toa grinned at the joke for a moment before the Noble Iden-wearer shifted tiredly on his throne. “Did you have a reason for entering, Danza, or did you just want to admire the view?”

“I wanted to know if there was any news of the Cult” grunted the Toa, his tone suddenly growing serious, like the scientist he was at heart. “They’ve disappeared right off our grid, keeping an impossibly low profile. I’m beginning to grow concerned.” The Toa finished speaking just as he reached the foot of the steps leading up to Matoro’s throne.

“The Cult is ancient history” grunted Vilnius. “Their attempted conquer of Metru-Nui was thwarted. You need to get real Danza. We have new enemies now.”

“I know” muttered the Toa, his gaze lowering a fraction. “But it’s been six months and we only captured one of them. They’re revolutionists. They will stop at nothing to bring anarchy and havoc to this peaceful island. I’m telling you, we’re in more danger now that we were before.”

“They are enemies of Metru-Nui” wheezed Matoro, fighting back a fit of coughs. He looked ready to collapse. “The city remains in turmoil, just as it always has been. We need to be merciless. It’s the old way but it’s also the only way.” He reached for his Staff and Carnac carried the tool to the Turaga. “Have faith in us, Danza. The Cult will be stopped. I have assigned Toa Tollubo to the task of tracking down their operatives and rectifying the situation. He will not fail us.”

The Turaga of Ice fiddled with the Staff in his hand. “But this evening has been a taxing one. I will talk to the Generals outside, then crawl off to my chambers.

Turaga Matoro didn’t make it to his bed by dawn. The Generals had much to argue about only to be dismissed by the Toa Metru. An unplanned strategy meeting was organized between the Toa and the Turaga – by studying sketchy reports on the movements of various Cult of Darkness members they were trying to pinpoint the exactly location of their base of operations.

''Had the meeting gone on as planned, Matoro would have slipped away at noon. ''

But Toa Orkahm had much to say, for once, following an encounter with Bioka, a double agent hidden in the shadowy organization, in a darkened alleyway. The Skakdi had used a lot of words to tell him nothing. Not even he knew what the Cult was planning.

A ghostly flush of weakness rolled over the Turaga halfway through the meeting. Gritting his teeth he ignored the pain.

While Toa Tourik, the team’s newly arrived veteran Toa of Plantlife, suggested that a stealthy raid of the surrounding area where Bioka had been sighted Toa Danza argued that the Skakdi was not a reliable source of information, having misinformed them about the Cult’s previous attack on the Turaga Tuyet Dam in Ga-Metru. Had Toa Tollubo not been the only absent Toa he probably would have spearheaded a full-on military seizure of one district at a time, tearing apart building after building to find the anarchists.

By that point an overwhelming dizziness was beginning to mellow the Turaga as he struggled to stay focused. His words began to slur and, eventually, he had to sit down on a chair. Carnac watched over him closer than usual, concern in his eyes. After working straight through the night, the Turaga could barely think. Eventually he stopped talking and just let the Toa take over his role. Their voices rung in his head, echoing and dimming to distance.

''At around five in the morning, however, something strange happened. ''

Turaga Matoro’s eyes snapped open and he breathed in sharply, pulling in a painful lungful of air before rising to his feet with such force that the Toa stopped talking and turned to look at him, wondering what was happening.

Carnac anticipated what happened next in the blink of a heartlight. He threw aside his weapon and extended both hands as the Turaga collapsed. Matoro fell unconscious and slumped to the ground, his Staff clattering to the ground, rolling a distance before coming to a stop at Toa Jollun’s armored foot. The assembled Toa glanced at each other then swallowed in unison.

''Matoro had just collapsed from something other than his Kanohi Iden... ''

Chapter 1
''Some people see the glass as being half full. ''

To Toa Tollubo, those people were fools. Overly-optimistic, living in some ideal world. In reality, the world was a dark and sinister place. He didn’t see much joy in it and therefore didn’t see his own glass as being half full.

His glass was always half empty. And cracked. And he’d just cut his lip on it. And chipped a tooth.

The Toa of Light took another gulp of ale then blinked in confusion, wiping the sand-colored foam from his mouth. It was annoying. The froth was getting everywhere, sneakily finding its way into the unfamiliar ridges and crevasses of his new-found Kanohi Kiril. He wasn’t used to wearing the yellow-colored Kanohi. But, of course, he had to have good reason for wearing a mask that concealed his devilish good-looks. He had a famous face and this wasn’t a particularly pleasant neighborhood.

He was in some sordid tavern in Onu-Metru, one of the areas that had been expanded to make room for the thousands of refugees from Xia and Stelt who’d migrated to Metru-Nui at the start of the War. Most of the buildings had been constructed quickly, too quickly for their builders to focus on quality in a time of mass immigration. Flimsy, poorly made structures towered over the cramped, grimy streets. It was easily the most poverty-stricken area on the whole island, and therefore home to most of the crime – which he supposed was why he was there.

The Cult of Darkness hadn’t made any recent movements and the Toa were beginning to grow uneasy, particularly the young Toa Danza who was itching for a chance to recklessly prove himself against Metru-Nui’s most wanted. It was obvious that their enemies were going to regroup and stage some other over-elaborate attack that could potentially ruin Metru-Nui, but no action had been taken in months. They were almost overdue some sort of catastrophe.

That was why he needed to stay hidden. If the Cult was planning anything on the scale they’d attempted before then he was going to need to be ready. At any time, day or night, they could attack and Tollubo would be expected to respond. So he couldn’t risk being noticed in public. At that very moment, his customary Kanohi Tryna was resting on his bed back in his chamber at the Coliseum. He’d left the Mask behind and donned a Kanohi Kiril, a silent salute to the late Turaga Dume. The Turaga of Fire was a figure Tollubo had once idolized. He’d ruled Metru-Nui with an iron fist and crushed just about every single rebellion that had taken place during his time as the island’s leader.

''And for an overgrown Ta-Matoran, that was quite an achievement. ''

Of course, he’d had to change his color scheme too, like he’d done when he was an Av-Matoran. White and gold was far too eye-catching. Instead he’d darkened his armor to appear black and yellow and had stopped calling himself a Toa. Far less conspicuous.

Plus, whenever asked, he would use fake names now, a different one every time. He didn’t want anyone to track him down and murder him in his sleep. Metru-Nui was like a Ta-Metru crucible, bubbling with heat and fiery rage in a small container. It was obvious the broken island was beginning to buckle under its population. The landmass had been expanded through drastic measures taken by the Order of Mata Nui, but it was still far too small to accommodate both its native inhabitants and the thousands of other Matoran, Vortixx, Skakdi and Steltians. Things couldn’t continue like this forever. Turaga Matoro was going to have to introduce some sort of reform to help the struggling masses, or something terrible was going to happen.

The clock was ticking.

The tavern was empty, which wasn’t surprising to Tollubo. It was still fairly early in the morning, something that would make his presence in the tavern appear somewhat strange. Normally his schedule was pretty open. Turaga Vilnius had been tasked with supervising him and assigning him missions, and the Turaga didn’t like him one bit. So long as they stayed as far away from each other as possible, there usually weren’t too many problems. If they didn’t speak they didn’t argue, and cluttering up the Toa’s routine with trivial, dreary patrol tasks would definitely drag Metru-Nui back into a war.

He did, however, have one particularly pressing appointment that he was awaiting, one that was scheduled for later that evening. But that wasn’t for a while and the day was still in its infancy. He might as well stay in the crime-ridden area a little longer. Maybe he could make an arrest, just to liven up his day.

Though he reckoned his evening appointment with Racasix would be lively enough.

The Toa smiled to himself at the thought. A couple of weeks ago the two of them had met each other once again, in an alleyway in Ta-Metru. Tollubo had been searching for a missing Le-Matoran. Racasix had been putting out an unusually large and oddly shaped garbage bag. The second he’d spotted her in the shadows his heart had skipped a blink and he’d immediately started ogling her, which she seemed to have enjoyed, in retrospect. He had always been brave and courageous to a point beyond being a brazen hero but, in that moment, he’d made his boldest, most reckless decision ever.

''He’d asked the saucy Vortixx-assassin out on a date. ''

Aware of the fact that the female bartender was staring at him for smiling to himself, the Toa cleared his throat and pulled out his personal communicator. He dialed a two-digit code. There was a click and a pause before his call was answered by another female. A hot, seductive voice. Racasix’s.

“What’s up, honey?” purred the Vortixx appealingly. The Toa blushed.

“Just checking tonight’s still on” he replied, trying to make his voice sound as deep and gruff as his voicebox would allow. They’d made arrangements to go to a particular restaurant. The Golden Ruki, one of the most expensive places to eat in Onu-Metru. He reckoned he’d probably blow a whole week’s wages there, but Racasix was worth going bankrupt over.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been busy lately.”

There was a playful chuckle on the other end of the line. The Toa felt guilty for noticing how irresistible it was.

“True, I have ''been busy lately, but I’m no slave. Will I be seeing you there at nine?''”

“Nine.”

There was a brief hesitation on the line.

“What’re you wearing?”

The Toa’s eyes bulged. “I have to go” he grunted, ignoring the tempting advance and hanging up. He leaned back on his stool and took another sip of ale.

Racasix was a truly something. Like fire. Every second he spent with her made him wonder how long it would take for him to get burnt. She was smart. She was athletic. She was... sexy. Frisky. Cheeky. Flirtatious. Bawdy. He’d fallen for her, there was no denying that. She was gorgeous and she took his breath away, but she was a puzzle. She was so sleek that he didn’t know how all of her internal organs could fit inside of her, yet she was firm and strong at the same time. Her eyes were the cold and merciless yet he was sure he saw something in them when she lit up, radiating brightness and always making him increasingly aware of his own awkward presence. Her voice was like a whisper yet it crashed down on him like a wave. Even then he knew she was probably going to be the death of him. Chances were Racasix was going to break his heart.

But, for some reason, he didn’t care.

It was at that moment that the Toa’s concentration was shattered and his morning took its first interesting turn. A fuming male Vortixx booted the tavern’s door open and stormed in, which stunned both the Toa and the attractive female bartender. The newcomer muttered darkly under his breath and demanded for some serious-sounding alcoholic beverage Tollubo had never heard of.

“A widget for ‘em?” he asked calmly.

The Vortixx shot a glare at him. “What?” he spat.

“A widget for your thoughts” repeated the Toa. He pulled out a small gear-shaped piece of the Matoran currency and flipped it at the Vortixx. He caught it and held it in his hand, confused. “You seem a little unhappy, is all, my friend.”

“Who the hell are you?”

The Toa of Light paused, debating whether or not it would be wise to reveal his identity to the disgruntled stranger. In the end, he decided no harm could come of it – he probably wouldn’t remember it in his rage – but still, he chose to give another fake name anyway, just in case. “The name’s Kazat” he lied. “Metru-Nui Military.”

The infuriated stranger snorted. “What? A scrawny little Brakas Monkey like you?”

Tollubo’s face darkened and he leant forwards menacingly. “You gonna apologize for that ill-advised remark?”

The Vortixx stared at the Kiril-wearer’s burning eyes. Gulping, he smiled weakly. “Please forgive me. I spoke hastily.”

The dimensionally-displaced Toa nodded as the female bartender served the Vortixx’s drink. He asked the stranger his name.

“Darku” came the response.

“Well how can I help you, sir?”

Darku shrugged. “I’m not sure if you can. It’s the owner of the casino across the street I want. Some rogue Skakdi.”

“I believe I know him” grunted the Toa truthfully. “His name’s Thok, is it not?” As much as it pained him to admit it, he’d spent a lot of time in the area, around three weeks to be exact, waiting for something interesting to happen. So, to pass the time, he’d decided to test his luck at gambling in the casino... ''and lost Metru-Nui’s entire defense budget in the process. ''

The Vortixx’s eyes widened. “Well then, perhaps you can be of some use.”

He spoke quickly and plainly. It seemed the owner of the offending establishment, that rogue, had introduced Darku to a number of lady-friends over the years. A few had stolen small items on occasion, which was something the Kiril-wearer expected to hear happening in such a poor area. But the latest had taken his personal communicator, along with a considerable amount of money. Apparently he’d been scoring the town since dawn, trying to track her down but had enjoyed no success. Plus he hadn’t been able to find Thok either, which explained why he now had the idea that he was being deliberately ignored.

“The money’s not so important” sighed Darku between sips of his drink. “But I can’t replace the communicator. It was a gift from my wife and she’ll want to know where it is.”

Tollubo nodded. “Leave the matter to me, sir” he muttered, looking solemn and business-like whilst smiling on the inside. This would be a welcome break from his monotonous morning patrol of the city. He’d find Darku’s lady-friend then sort the situation out. A good deed. Something he rarely did these days. “Could I have her name?”

Darku had claimed the name of the offending female was Fortha. Tollubo asked the stranger for a description of her too, since a lot of the workers at the casino went by more than one name. Armed with that information, he promised him that he would investigate the matter fully and that he would do all within his power to return both the communicator and the stolen money, or at least he claimed. Either way, he assured the incensed Xian that he would make sure Thok compensated him for twice the communicator’s original value. That seemed to satisfy the irate customer, and once he’d left – in higher spirits than before – the Toa of Light set off in pursuit of this elusive Fortha.

He had a good memory of faces, and when Darku had described the female – 2-bio-tall, slender physique, fiery orange eyes, a faint scar over her right eye – he placed her instantly. There’d been a dancer like that at couple of nearby clubs a few months ago and he’d seen her again recently, this time in the casino.

The Toa ducked through the tavern’s door and winced as the sunlight burnt his sensitive, drunken eyes. Disorientated, he stumbled his was across the street with difficulty. It was still early, but there were a few customers already hard at it, gambling solemnly and without pleasure – creatures of addiction rather than the casual merrymakers that showed up later.

The staff on duty nodded politely to him as he entered. The Toa mimicked a momentary bow in reply then went upstairs to search for the Vortixx in question. Usually, the dancers could be found on the casino floor, but their customers wouldn’t arrive until later, so most of them would be relaxing.

He found several of them in a large room, chatting softly and sitting back, sipping drinks with their feet up. They looked worried – almost scared – when he opened the door without warning and entered. But when they saw who he was they smiled.

The strange Kiril-wearing hulk was the one who kept them in business.

“Good morning, Therius” purred the nearest of the Vortixx, a dancer who he knew as Olan and had used another fake name on – the same one he used whenever he visited the casino, Therius. “Can we help you with anything?”

A few of them tittered, but the Toa ignored them. “Is Thok here?”

“No. I haven’t seen him in days.”

“What about Fortha?” As soon as he mentioned her name the smile vanished from Olan’s face. The others fell silent. “What’s wrong?” asked Tollubo as Olan turned away. “Do you know where she is?”

“No, sir” she answered quietly, ice in her voice this time. Perhaps it was a touchy subject. Maybe they’d had an argument.

“She isn’t in any trouble” shrugged the Toa reassuringly, in case it helped. “At least she won’t be if I can get to her. She stole a communicator from some jerk in a bar and he seems pretty annoyed about it. A big guy too. Could do this place some damage.” He paused to scan the faces and found little interest among them. “But I can rectify the situation, even if she has sold it on. I won’t complain or anything. If you tell me where she is I’ll – ”

“But I don’t know!” snapped Olan. Tollubo stared at her, wondering whether or not it would harm his conscience if he broke her neck. But before he managed to make an advance the Vortixx buried her face in her arms and wept.

That was strange to say the least.

The Toa stared at the crying dancer, astonished. He’d never seen a Vortixx cry before. Was that a good thing? He hadn’t thought they’d been capable of doing more than sticking their noses in the air when they got upset.

“Fortha isn’t hiding, Therius” muttered another of the dancers, one he didn’t know. “She’s vanished.”

Tollubo blinked. “Vanished?”

The female nodded as Olan began to calm herself. The Toa’s eyes narrowed, driven off course from his search for the stolen communicator. “And what’s Thok doing about this? Do you think he’s responsible?”

“No” groaned one of the others. “He’s always been good to us. He pays us well and treats us kindly. We’re his meal ticket. But, in all honesty, he doesn’t seem to care.”

“She’s been taken” implored one of the other dancers. “Killed, surely. And any one of us could be next.” The others moaned and bunched together for comfort, save for the one Tollubo had spoken to. She was obviously made from stronger stuff.

“This is madness!” snapped the Toa, advancing furiously on the quivering, quaking group of wailing females. “Utter insanity! You’re making a mountain out of something as trivial as some disappearing Vortixx. Damn you all! Stop crying! How dare you –”

The Toa could sight of something that brought his rant to a stunned halt. He stared for a long moment at the Vortixx who sat apart from the weeping, hysteria-driven group. The sensible one. Then he cleared his throat and kneeled down, so his eyes were level with hers. Calmly, he grasped her right hand and held it comfortingly.

“What is your name, ma’am?” he asked as softly as he thought possible.

“Hollian” she answered uneasily, holding his gaze although she was clearly unnerved by the hand-holding.

“Well, I promise you, I will deal with this problem, Hollian” grunted the Toa firmly. “Fortha may have vanished, but I’m certain she has not been killed. I will find her abductor – wherever he’s hiding – and I will stop him. He will see justice. You have my word.”

Hollian stared at Tollubo for a long time, then smiled hopefully. “I don’t know why, but I’m afraid I don’t believe you, sir.”

The Toa nodded, retracted his hands, then returned to his feet. He scanned the terrified faces of the other Vortixx then smiled a ghost of a smile – barely a wisp of a grin – then spun around on his heel and exited.

As he hurried down the stairs, he thought again of what horrors he had seen. Hollian was young and attractive, with smooth yet fragile physique. But there had been marks on her left cheek, three small uniform scratches, each the same in length. He hadn’t seen them until she’d turned her head to face him directly and even then he hadn’t noticed their significance. She probably thought that she’d scratched herself in her sleep, but Tollubo knew better.

Hollian had been marked for death by a Zeverek.

Chapter 2
After stopping at the nearest Kanohi outlet, Tollubo managed to purchase a second-hand mask, an emerald-colored Komau, then stopped in an alleyway to alter the color of his armor to a silver and black mix, just in case he was being followed. Experience had taught him it was better to live a cautious life than to lose a careless one because of some silly mistake.

''Really, there should be more people like him. The universe would be a lot more interesting that way.''

He didn’t have to wait too long in the lobby of The Golden Ruki. It was only a matter of minutes. Fortunately, Racasix arrived promptly at nine o’clock, looking her usual elegant best. The Toa was surprised to find himself engaging in a kiss that was hotter than one of Tren Krom’s curses. From a distance it looked gentle enough but the Toa was surprised at how much slurping and tongue-action there was. Finally, the pair broke up for air. Tollubo’s cheeks were bright red.

“That’s an original way of saying hello” he gasped. “But it was nice...”

“Very” agreed the Vortixx, tantalizing him playfully with a peck on the cheek. “To be continued of course” she purred, then turned with natural grace and sashayed away, her Toa-accomplice in trail like a Mahi after its herder. Every other guy in the place had eyes tinged with green. That was the greatest thing about taking Racasix to a fancy place – he might look as shabby as a Kanohi Dragon in the run-up to having its whiskers sheared, but he still had the most beautiful woman in the city clinging to his arm.

“You could have at least made the effort of buying some new armor” she muttered critically as the Toa snaked a wandering arm round her lower back, resting his left hand on her hip.

“If I started cleaning my act up then, next thing you know, I’d start washing more than once a week. Might even start paying my own rent or get a proper job. You wouldn’t want to put me through that, would you?”

“Oh, the horror!” she giggled sarcastically as they made their way up to the counter. A curt Steltian waiter directed them to their reserved table. They ordered before sitting, without looking at the menu.

“So how’s directing traffic flow suiting you, Toa?”

Tollubo rolled his eyes. “You afford my job too much respect. It wasn’t until recently that I began to understand why Toa Stones even exists.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because nobody would ever want to be a Toa by choice.”

After none of his usual jokes got the desired effect from the striking Vortixx the conversation took a turn towards work, which meant it was relatively short. Racasix worked as an Xian Secret Service operative, based in Metru-Nui to carry out assassinations of political opponents who posed threats to the Xian government. Her work was marked with secrecy and lies, so the Toa chose not to inquire into it.

The food arrived quicker than the Toa had anticipated. Nevertheless, they tucked in. Both of them lived relatively active lives, which demanded they ate a healthy appetite and finished their meals. So there was no talking until they’d both done just that.

Halfway through his meal, the Komau-wearing Toa stopped eating to glance around the restaurant, noting how few members of his own species were present. Metru-Nui had opened its gates to all refugees during the war, but that didn’t mean everyone was welcome. In this particular part of Onu-Metru it was Vortixx territory, and if you didn’t believe in the dividing line between Matoran and Vortixx then you were living in a dream world. Vicious Xian eyes glared back at him as he realized he was the only non-Vortixx in the building. The Golden Ruki was a place of money and style. He stood out in his tacky black armor and scruffy second-hand Komau like a Takea Shark in Po-Metru.

“You know what day it is today?” asked the Toa, speaking as he returned to his meal.

“'The day you do your Naming Day shopping?”

He shook his head. “Six months since the Turaga Tuyet Dam incident.”

“You’re full of bright conversation topics, aren’t you?”

Tollubo cracked a smile. “I try not to dwell on it, but the date got stuck in my head and I felt we should commemorate it. After all, it was the first time we met.”

“You’re a strange one, aren’t you?”

“Only just figured that one out?””

“And this isn’t some ploy to win your way into my good books, is it?” she asked, half-suspicious, half-playfully.

“You mean get you drunk, harp on about the good old days and hope it leads back to my place?”

“Absolutely” giggled the Vortixx, alluringly.

They lingered over their meals, reviewing the past six months, more than enough time to get his act together. Tollubo had straightened himself out, cleaned himself up and started some serious thinking.

“Planning on recruiting any new Toa yet?”

The Toa shrugged. “We’ve got enough at the moment. Metru-Nui’s heading back into another golden age of peace.”

“And you’re planning on staying around till then?”

Tollubo leaned forwards, giving her the close-up doe-eyed treatment. “Now why would I leave a sexy beast like you?”

The Vortixx cracked a hungry smile and threw her napkin at him. “Seriously?”

The Komau-wearer smiled and thought of his old universe. There wasn’t much left for him there, just rubble and debris left from some long-forgotten war. He’d seen some horrors that would haunt him forevermore back in his own reality, but they were locked away in his past and he had no intention of awakening old fears.

“I’m staying here till the end. I failed once and because of that there’s nothing left of my world. I’ll be damned if I make the same mistake twice.”

A waiter brought the bill and the Toa settled up, trying not to look at the figure at the bottom. Racasix offered to split it in half but Tollubo would have none of it, waving her widgets away. He hadn’t treated her yet and, after how she’d saved his life several months before just about earned her a free meal or two.

“Where are you going now?” she purred as they walked out of the building, his arm hooked around her waist and resting around her side.

“To the Archives” he grunted. “I have to do some reading up on Zeverek and search for records of some missing dancers.”

“I’ll pay for a taxi if you’d like” offered the assassin as one pulled up near them.

“It’s OK” he grunted. “The walk’ll do me good. I haven’t seen much action lately.”

“You sure? The fog’s getting pretty strong in places. You might get run over and that makes for a very unattractive corpse.”

“I’ll take my chances” chuckled the Toa of Light, reaching up for another kiss. He closed his eyes but still felt eyes glaring at him. “See you, Racasix.”

“I hope so” she answered seductively, her voice as saucy as ever. “Remember, you don’t need to wait for special occasions to call.”

They shared a smile before the Vortixx slipped away once again. He tried to watch her go but she was gone in seconds, disappearing into the rolling fog that was starting to choke the city. After taking in a deep lungful of the murky air, savouring the moment, he turned on his heels and started walking.

He took a turning into a side street then turned again into an alley. It was deserted. Tollubo hesitated then bowed his head, eyes closed, thinking about what horrors lay ahead of him. Work. He’d be spending the night sat under some blinking cellar light, scrolling through all manner of ancient tablets and newspapers, tracing down the lives of two unknown Vortixx, trawling through their scraps of histories based on two shreds of information: their names.

Suddenly, an arm snaked around the Toa’s neck, cutting off his air, throwing his thoughts into disarray. As his hands rose defensively, someone clutched his ankles and yanked, jerking him off his feet and toppling him over. He connected hard with the ground. His assailants were on him before the stars cleared from his eyes. One kicked him in the ribs. The other swung some sort of club hard at his head.

Acting solely on instinct, he dodged the weapon but not the clawed, scaly foot that scythed in at his face. It caught him clean in the chin, dislodging his Kanohi. It hung on his face loosely, barely connected. The club dug deep into his stomach. He struck back blindly but felt nothing but cold, heavy air.

A second later, the club slammed down on his back. He writhed. One of them went for his mask with a talon-like foot again, but he was only scraped this time. Then a barrage of blows followed and it became impossible to tell one strike from the next. The Toa’s body rocked between the kicks and the punches. The strangers – laughing and panting like Rahi – were clumsy and scuffed a lot of their shots. If he’d been in better shape he probably could’ve dealt with them. But they’d hurt him already, catching him off guard. All he could do was lie there and take it and pray they didn’t deal out any serious damage.

Finally, one of them had a brainwave. Tollubo heard the cold swipe of a blade being removed from a sheath. The metal knife was being waved in front of his Kanohi, barely an inch from his mouth.

“We’re gunna slice you up, Toa” chuckled the one with the knife. “Cut you so bad, you won’t have a face left.”

“But I wanna cut him too!” whined the other one, pleading.

“You’ll get your turn!” snapped the first.

The Toa watched with sickened fascination, through swollen eyes as the one with the knife drew his arm back. It wasn’t the slicing that he was worried about. What terrified him was the thought that the jerk might cut him too deep. It didn’t seem like they wanted to kill him, just hurt him. He could live with the ugly wound – just so long as he lived.

There was a movement to his right. A figure darted forward silently, swiftly, almost invisibly. There was a snapping sound and suddenly the Toa’s assailant wasn’t waving the knife in his face any longer, but was backing off, screaming about a broken wrist, cradling it to his chest.

The thug holding him didn’t know what to do. He shoved his captive Toa at the mysterious newcomer, but not hard enough to create a problem. The benevolent passerby leapt over Tollubo and went after his prey, like a Rock Lion.

His head was spinning. Consciousness was beginning to slip away. Slumping backwards, the crumpled Toa saw his savior disarming the attacker who’d been holding him, beating him to the ground, then turning to wrap things up with the disabled club-wielder.

The Toa’s laboured breath caught in his throat when he caught a glimpse of the mysterious stranger’s face.

“T... Th...Thode?” he wheezed before the darkness finally overwhelmed him and he slipped away from reality.

The renegade Toa of Plasma just watched him suffer.

''It was strange being back in the Archives. ''

Personally, Toa Jollun had only ever visited the city-wide museum once in his life, when he had originally arrived in the this strange universe, and even then, he hadn’t learnt much. Most of the visit had been spent fighting off Zyglak and defending novice Toa. ''It was still the most fun he’d ever had at a museum. ''

He was nearing his destination, which was somewhere in the archaeology section. Much of the Archives was divided up into various different sections storing all manner of Rahi, Kanohi, historical records, tablets, items of power, relics… the list went on and on.

All that Jollun really knew was that a particularly reputable Onu-Matoran had requested his presence that morning. He’d been trying to stop a Mahi stampede in the middle of a Po-Metru trading center when a flash of blinding light had distracted him and Toa Danza had materialized out of thin air. The rookie Toa of Stone had swiftly engineered a rock fall that stopped the Rahi in their tracks then had turned to address the Toa, claiming Turaga Matoro was assigning them the task of travelling to meet the Matoran of Earth in the Archives. According to the Akaku-wearer’s account, the public had been requesting an exhibition in the Archives crediting the city’s newest Toa after the fiasco that took place at the Turaga Tuyet Dam. Matoran being interested in their Toa was nothing new, but now they seemed to be going to great lengths to thank their protectors by crediting them with a display in honor of their heroic deeds.

He was expected to travel across the island for an interview?

No matter what kind of an honor he was being rewarded with, Jollun still didn’t like the idea. After all, not all the island’s Matoran were too happy about the destructive nature of the island’s newest guardians. Tollubo was violent and unruly. More than once he’d gotten into fights in the street when he fans recognized him and the censorship that was covering the whole Ga-Metru Incident was only leading to more suspicion. That was why Danza was with him he guessed. His chauffer.

In this day and age one could only feel sympathy for Turaga Matoro. Over the past two months the island’s almost benevolent leader had taken to ill health and had quarantined himself, unable to perform his usual responsibilities as the island’s ruler but fighting off death with a willpower as strong and determined as a Ruki fish out-swimming the gaping jaws of a Takea shark. Now he barely left his chambers and sent Vilnius out for his public addresses in the Coliseum. Not even Jollun knew what illness had befallen the unfortunate Turaga but he prayed every night in the hopes that his begging would make a difference. At first he’d thought it had helped but now it seemed his pleading was falling on deaf audio receptors.

Mata Nui just wasn’t listening.

Even so, the Turaga was dying – it was obvious. Vilnius could try to cover it up to keep the Matoran ignorant all he liked but all the Toa now had their doubts as to what was going on. Orkahm seemed to think the Turaga of Fire was seeking to replace Matoro by poisoning him, to which Tollubo had reacted by punching the Toa of Air and ordering him never to speak poorly of his elders. Kualus didn’t really seem to care about the issue, though it was also obvious that he was in his final days of being a Toa. Perhaps he would retire and become a Turaga himself.

Danza, however, still seemed to be faithful to both Turaga, remaining unaffected by the changes of recent times. Perhaps that was why Vilnius had requested he accompanied Jollun. Personally, he doubted the novice Toa of Stone could do much other than throw a few pebbles at any attackers and it was obvious that he could easily overpower the rookie but it still felt better having a partner once again. He hadn’t seen Tollubo in months, which made Danza’s presence all the more reassuring.

Of course, rather than waste their widgets on chute rides or taxi fares, Danza had whipped out his Dimensional Horn once again and given the trumpet-like weapon a quick puff of air. A swirling circular portal had torn open in the air and the pair of Toa had stepped into it, reappearing at the Archive’s main entrance an instant later. They’d spent the next hour getting lost in the maze of museum displays, weaving in and out of tourists, staff and Ga-Matoran school trip groups. Unlike Tollubo, neither Jollun nor Danza had bothered to disguise themselves, which had attracted a great deal of attention.

Still, it appeared they were finally nearing the end of their journey. Their Onu-Matoran tour guide rounded one more corner ahead of them then stopped at a keypad in the wall. It scanned his hand and the metal doors opened up with a mechanical click. The Matoran waited outside while the two entered, passing the printing on the wall.

''Dessal – Chief Archivist. ''

The room was fairly large for an office. It looked more like another part of the Archives, populated with two evenly distributed display cases. One case held a blue Krana Yo, the other held the dented maroon head of a Rahkshi of Sleep. Neither were of any historical significance or they would be on display. The Krana was probably one of Dessal’s first discoveries. The Rahkshi’s head was probably a victory token taken from something he’d killed during the war.

The Matoran himself was standing by a particularly tidy desk. There were no papers cluttering the office, they were all bundled away in filing cabinets. Organized. This office was strictly for business purposes. This was where a very logical, methodical Matoran worked.

“Good day, Toa” chuckled the black-armored Matoran with a flimsy, insincere salute – meant for humor, not an insult. Dessal was an important ally of the council. If the district had its own independent ruler, Jollun was pretty sure this Mahiki-wearing archivist would be able to weasel his way into the role. Hence it was important they didn’t annoy him… at least not too much.

“Greetings, old friend!” laughed Danza. The Toa of Stone knelt down to clank fists with his former associate. When he’d been a Matoran, the two had been close, Jollun knew that much. They had worked together on a number of archaeology-associated projects in the past, something that confused the Toa of Light given the two different lines of work the Matoran had taken.

''Nothing seemed to make sense these days. ''

“How’s life as a Toa treating you?”

Danza puffed out his chest and returned to his feet. His Kanohi Akaku whirled into focus. “Well, the pay’s rubbish, the hours are long and erratic and everything that isn’t a Matoran wants to kill me… but otherwise alright.”

“That can’t be correct” chuckled Dessal. “I know Matoran who would sell their own Kanohi to be in your over-armored boots. Seriously? What’s it like?”

The Toa of Stone sighed then shrugged. “Before I was a Toa, I always wanted to be somebody, but now I realize I should have been more specific.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad?”

“It is” grunted Jollun, towering over both the others. “So don’t go looking for any Toa Stones.”

The Onu-Matoran nodded. He wasn’t intimidated, rather, ashamed at himself for getting carried away with conversation when there was a matter of business to discuss.

“I trust you know why you’re here, Toa?” he inquired.

“For a discussion about my history?”

“Precisely.”

The Toa nodded then sighed himself. He looked around the office, his eyes finally resting on the Rahkshi head. “You know you’re getting old when Matoran want to put you in a museum.” Dessal shrugged as he picked up a fresh stone tablet and a chisel. Danza took up his position, leaning against the desk, making a big deal over how he was now tall enough to sit on it.

“Now, of course, I know you’re from an alternate reality” explained the Onu-Matoran. “And, I believe that you know, your counterpart was a Toa here in Metru Nui. Quite a well-known one too.”

“Until he died” nodded Jollun. “But one thing I’ve never understood is the manner in which I passed. I gather it was a heroic death that ended the war but nobody had ever bothered to explain.”

Dessal nodded. “Your counterpart died six months ago, exactly one day before you arrived in this universe I’ve been told. In the closing days of the war we realized that all hope was lost. The Makuta were far stronger than our armies. They demolished entire legions of Toa, armies of Matoran, masses of Dark Hunters. The bodies were piling up. And worse still, we weren’t fighting, we were just throwing ice cubes at a raging furnace. Our tactics and war plans hadn’t driven the Makuta back. They’d left this universe on their own accord, ready to invade Bara Magna.”

“Those were dark days” muttered Danza, shaking his head. “Metru-Nui was nearly overwhelmed by the Brotherhood’s armies, Rahkshi and Visorak and Exo Toa everywhere.... and those were just the ones the Makuta left behind.”

Dessal’s eyes seemed to spark with life, reliving a long-since forgotten sense of hope. “And then you arrived. A strange and mysterious Toa. A heaven-sent gift from Mata Nui. Nobody really knows where you came from. All I can remember is word of some Toa of Light devastating entire armies of Rahkshi fighting his way through to the center of the island. Of course, I’ve checked historical records. You’re intertwined throughout the history of this universe. In times of poverty and war, whenever some unfortunate Matoran was suffering in some slave trade you’ve been there.”

The Onu-Matoran lay his stone tablet aside and reached for a carving beside his desk. He grasped it firmly in his right hand then swung it up with remarkable strength. The Toa squinted at the primitive picture then knelt down to get a closer look. He was surprised, not only to see that it was a drawing of himself, but also at how radically different had he looked in it. The Toa staring back at him in the stone tablet was far bulker than he was, adorned with thick, muscular muscles and menacing eyes.

This was a figure had been hardened by years of a long and barbarous life. Firm and resolute. Blazing with glory. Radiating power. His Light Prong looked small and puny in comparison to his brutish counterpart.

“What happened to him?” he asked, carefully deciding it was best not to say me. His counterpart was just too fundamentally dissimilar.

“He sacrificed himself” shrugged Danza. “On the final day of the war. Everyone remembers it. The day Toa Jollun battled his way, through entire legions of invading Rahkshi to reach the Coliseum, to give a speech.”

The Onu-Matoran placed the tablet back on the desk then gestured towards a bookshelf full of books. Probably reference material. It didn’t look like Dessal needed to use them very often.

“Your counterpart stood in the centre of the Sea of Protodermis and demanded he spoke to Turaga Matoro. After around an hour of arguing with the guards his wish was finally granted. When Matoro appeared he told him he intended to finish the war, that Mata Nui was dying and that he had been brought back to save the Matoran Universe. After some careful consideration, Matoro ordered Toa Balta, Toa Macku and Toa Zaria and the Chronicler to accompany him below the Coliseum, to the Core Processor… none of them returned… but at least they did their job.”

“Who was the Chronicler?”

“Some guy called Solek. A Toa fanatic.”

The Toa of Light fell silent, uttering a silent prayer for the long-dead heroes who had given their lives to restore peace to their broken universe.

“It’ll be in the history books one day, I’m sure. Stick around and you’ll go down in legends.”

The Toa bowed his head then let his gaze drift back to the Rahkshi’s head. “You know you’re getting old when people want you in a museum” he grunted.

The three figures stood in silence, paying their respects to the fallen Toa, only for the stillness of the office to be broken by a mechanical grind as the metallic doors peeled away once again. This time, an Onu-Matoran entered the room. Immediately, Jollun recognized him as Memel, a young and overly-eccentric archivist. The archivist wannabe ran into the room, at full speed, and nearly crashed into the display case holding the blue Krana Yo.

The Matoran of Earth was something of an oddball. He was an oddity to say the least. His eagerness and lack of evaluation has often landed the young crank in danger. Memel was synonymous for his impatience and desperation to prove himself to his superiors, who – similarly to just about every Matoran in Onu-Metru – was Dessal.

The Chief Archivist sighed as the trainee struggled to grab the display case and hold it steady. Neither Toa moved to lend him a hand as he withered and labored to return it to its original standing position. When he finished he was panting for lungfuls of air.

“D… D… Dessal!” he wheezed between gulps. “I’ve found something. Something that’s gunna blow... you... away.”

The Matoran stepped forwards and reached into his pack, shifting through all manner of clutter. He rustled around through papers and trinkets, gadgets and gizmos, scraps of spare armor and what looked like soil samples in small, see-through plastic bags. Finally, his stubby, clumsy little fingers closed around something, which he pulled out and presented to Dessal. The Chief Archivist just stared at him before plucking it out of his hand, rolling it over in his fingers then tossing back at him. It bounced right out of his hands then dropped to the floor, where clattered hollowly at Jollun’s feet, allowing him to get his first proper look at the mysterious object.

It was a smooth, soil-stained piece of wood.

“What did you do that for?!” exclaimed the candid Matoran. He knelt down to scoop it up then smoothed it, as if rubbing the dirt off it. “I checked the soil-depth. It was older than Turaga Vilnius! The thing’s practically ancient!”

Dessal shook his head. “This piece of ancient timber isn’t valuable just because it’s old, rare and looks nice. It’s valuable because it can tell you about the archaeology in the garden you ruined trying to find it.”

Memel fell silent. His eyes seemed to widen as he looked down and re-examined his find. The Chief Archivist smiled a sad smile then continued speaking, this time more sympathetically. “It’s not archaeology if we accept any widget, broken tree branch or brick you find. They’d all just be trash lying around, wasting storage space and gathering dust. It’d be like sneaking a handful of Proto Drake eggs from underneath their mother, handing them to me and telling me you’ve forgotten where the nest was… which you did last week.”

The trainee glanced shakily from Dessal to the piece of rotten wood. “But…” he muttered precariously. He raised his head again, recognized the steel in his superior’s eyes, then decided adding another word to his argument would be too hazardous. Instead, he just seemed to deflate and slacken. In the end he just nodded.

“Sorry for wasting your time” he muttered, dispiritedly. With a downhearted sigh, he about-turned on his heels and began trudging towards the door. Jollun watched him as he stooped over the keypad and pressed his palm against the screen.

The doors flew backwards, but not because they were opening. A ball of orange flame seemed to engulf the corridor outside before the two metal slabs were obliterated. Shards of metal flew into the office, the remnants of Dessal’s door. Dust and smoke everywhere. Jollun couldn’t even see Memel but he doubted he was dead. The Matoran had been moving slow because of his bad mood. If he’d been moving about in his usual energetic, bouncy manner he’d have been demolished by the explosive inferno. In a way, Dessal’s scolding may have just saved his life.

The two Toa hesitated, wondering whether to confront their attackers or to beat a retreat with the Dimensional Horn. After a moment’s thought they chose to stay and face the newcomers.

When the debris settled three sleek figures marched into the chamber. Two Vortixx and a Steltian, all clad in navy-colored armor. They had thick silver helmets over their ugly heads, the words Metru-Nui Law Enforcement stenciled across them plain and obvious. Golden service badges were strapped across their shoulders and they had standard issue police-blasters in sheaths, hanging loosely around their thighs. Jollun caught Danza’s worried glanced but turned to smile at the three cops anyway.

“Help you any?” he asked bluntly.

“Toa Jollun?” grunted the lead Vortixx.

“Yes?”

“Yes, sir” snapped the second Vortixx.

The Toa sighed inwardly – scumbag. “Yes, sir” he muttered coldly.

“We’d like you to accompany us to Ta-Metru.” It was the one who’d spoken first.

“Why?” asked Danza, inquisitively. He seemed generally interested, though it wasn’t idle curiosity. There was an element of hostility, as if he were asking what made the newcomers think they could boss Toa around.

“We’d rather not tell you why until you arrive.” They clearly didn’t pick up on Danza’s tone.

The two Toa looked at each other in confusion. The Steltian beckoned Dessal over and began talking to him quietly.

“Am I under arrest?” asked Jollun, a deep frown knitting on his forehead.

“Not yet, punk” snarled the second Vortixx. Openly hostile. He was going to have that one stripped of his badge when he got back to the Coliseum.

“What if I don’t want to go?” challenged the Toa of Light. “I mean, it’s not like I have to, right?”

“It’d be better if you just did.”

“What about Danza?”

The two Vortixx exchanged bored glances then shrugged. “He can tag along if he wants.”

The Toa of Light stretched his arms out and yawned overdramatically, making a big deal out of how he so clearly wasn’t taken aback.

“Very well. I’ll come quietly.”

“Thanks” beamed the first officer toothily.

“Jerk” added the second.

The two Toa turned to leave, following the two Vortixx. The Steltian stopped talking to Dessal and brought up the rear, forming a triangular cordon around the two Toa. The Chief Archivist looked numb. He was shaking his head, eyes wide with defiance.

Not a good sign.

Chapter 3
Tollubo could tell, as he returned to consciousness, that he’d been out a long time. He was in a pitch-black room, so he couldn’t check but, according to his body clock, it could have been anything between eighteen and twenty hours.

He ran his fingers over his body, assessing the damage. Every touch produced a sting but nothing seemed to be broken. And although his bruised stomach flared agonizingly every time he breathed, he didn’t think any of his ribs had snapped. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse.

''Then he remembered Toa Thode and his familiar face. ''

He might have caught it wrong. He’d only glimpsed the figure in the alley, he’d been thinking a lot about who this mysterious sixth surviving Toa was, and he hadn’t been at his most coherent at the time. Maybe he’d just noticed a similarity. Maybe it was just some Order of Mata Nui agent wearing a Miru. But in his heart he knew that was a bucket of Rahkshi-bile.

He got to his feet and almost fell down again as geysers of pain erupted all over. He thrust out an arm, found a wall and propped himself against it, breathing hard, letting his head clear, groaning softy.

“Awake at last” came a voice from the darkness. “I thought you would sleep forever.”

The Toa stiffened. It was Toa Thode’s voice but he couldn’t see him. Not even a vague outline.

Back in his universe, Thode hadn’t been a pleasant character. Originally from the same team as Kualus, Thode had abandoned his fellow Toa after having a disagreement with the local Turaga. For a brief period of time, there had been talk amongst the other Order of Mata Nui members about him being sent to the Pit for his crimes, which Tollubo had learnt about many centuries later. However, his rebellion was perfectly timed to coincide with the Time Slip and the Order had bigger Ruki to fry scattering an entire population of Matoran across the Universe.

The Toa of Plasma had slaughtered thousands.

Countless lost souls, Matoran and Makuta alike, had met their ends at Thode’s trigger finger. The renegade had moved to Stelt then started a fresh, new career for himself, offering his services up as a bounty hunter, priding himself with no moral restrictions and being able to deal with any opponent. Some said he’d never missed a target. Others said that he slept in a bed made of Makuta Icarax’s broken armor with The Shadowed One’s head mounted on his wall.

“Where are you?” he asked desperately.

“Around” replied the killer, and now the voice came from another spot. He was circling, silent, unseen, like a Takea Shark. “You saw me in the alley, didn’t you?” He sounded petulant, a dangerously irritable fluctuation in his cold, remorseless voice.

Tollubo gulped silently and felt it echo around the emptiness. He thought about lying but didn’t see the point. “Yes.”

“You know who I am? Who I was?”

Again, he considered lying but opted for the truth. “Yes.”

“I thought so.” This time the voice was closer.

With an unusual spark of courage, Tollubo stepped forwards, his hand reaching out but grabbing nothing. Nobody there. The room was full of shadows. The Toa’s head flicked left and right, not letting his guard drop.

Then the horrible face spun into view, as if it were one of his nightmares come to life. The outlandish smile of the murderer’s Kanohi Miru grinned menacingly at him. He could only watch breathlessly as the face crept further into view. No body, just the head. It couldn’t just be a floating head, but he couldn’t shake the fear that this was some ghostly spirit come to haunt him.

Years of training evaporated. Tollubo froze, arms dropping, eyes widening. Thode’s Kanohi filled his vision. The entire island could’ve gone up in flames and he wouldn’t have noticed. There was only the head.

''The light snapped on. ''

The battered Komau-wearer had to close his eyes and shield them with a hand. He counted to twenty before opening them again. He was in a small, whitewashed room. Nothing in it apart from a tatty mattress he’d been lying on.

Just him and one of the most deadly bounty hunters ever to be spat out of Tren Krom’s backside.

Now that he saw the Toa of Plasma up close all doubt vanished. The years had barely touched him and he was exactly the same as he’d remembered from the Wanted posters that had littered his universe. He said nothing as the Toa of Light ran his incredulous eyes over him, taking in his lean, muscular frame, the slender, hooked fingers… the outlandish grin that should have been put on a Skakdi.

The monster spread his arms, his grin widening. “Got a hug for your dear ole drinking buddy?”

“This is a nightmare” groaned the Toa of Light, sliding down to his knees. He stared at the callous Toa, appalled.

“I see I have no need to introduce myself.” Toa Thode – as his savor most surely was – laughed. “Good. I hate formal introductions.”

“Why am I here?” gulped Tollubo. “Are you going to –”

“ – kill you?” finished the assassin. “No. I am not going to kill you.” He raised a hand and gestured towards a door. “I’ve had enough killing for one night.”

“Can I have that in writing?” The Komau-wearer’s chattering teeth made a mockery of the show of bravado.

“I will write it for you in blood if you so desire” chuckled the murderer. He offered his fellow Toa a hand. Tollubo refused it and struggled to his feet by himself.

“Where are we?” he asked, glancing up at the flickering lighting grid above their heads.

“A building” answered Thode vaguely. “One of my many places of work. You do not need to know more.”

“What do you want?”

“I want nothing, Tollubo” he replied smoothly, with a voice colder than most Toa of Ice. “I present myself to you as an ally.” The orange and white armored Toa rested a surprisingly cold hand on Tollubo’s shoulder. “You were looking for me. Asking questions, spreading rumors, searching for the mysterious sixth Toa in this desolate world. I’ve even heard natter that I’m being blamed for the death of Toa Helryx because of you!”

Tollubo wanted to kick himself.

“I could not stand for such slander. Normally, I would have put a quick end to your lies, but I became interested. I began following you… it’s not like you made it hard. You’ve been to the same casino every day for… what was it? Three weeks?”

''Silence. ''

“But don’t feel bad, of all the Toa in your petty little team, you were the hardest to follow.” It appeared the assassin was attempting to encourage him. “I keep tabs on all you Toa, making sure you don’t ask me to join your little band of losers.”

“Is that why you were outside the Golden Ruki when I was attacked?”

He pondered the question, then turned and beckoned for the Toa to follow, deciding on silence.

“What happened to the pair who harassed me?” he asked, shuffling after the bounty hunter, feeling like he was walking on a tightrope.

“They await our pleasure” he chuckled, sounding almost compassionate.

“They’re here?”

“I told you this was a place of work.”

Thode’s daunting fingers locked around the door handle, pulled it open and entered. It was another dark room. He didn’t turn on the light until the door was closed. When he did, Tollubo wished he’d left it off.

The two figures from the alley hung from chains from the ceiling. In the light, he could see they were both Vortixx, which made the situation marginally more pleasing. One of them hung upside down, the other horizontally.

The latter had been disemboweled and his guts trailed over his sides, like a long, grey, slimy mess that had been dumped there. His eyes had been gouged out and nailed to either side of his pelvis so he looked like some obscene creature that only walked out of Brotherhood experiment labs.

Most of the other’s face had been sliced away and a long iron stake had been driven into his groin, which was chained tightly to his arms, driving it deeper in every time he quivered.

Both were still alive.

Tollubo turned aside and retched. Thode laughed and warned him not to vomit on his feet. When he’d recovered he asked who they were.

“That was my first question too” replied the Miru-wearer. “Tell me, did you really escort a female Vortixx to a restaurant?”

The Toa nodded wearily. “Yeah… so?”

“So these two fine, Xian jerks were there and took it as a personal insult. By chance they left before you then hung around and tried to, as one of them so poetically phrased it before I removed his tongue – ‘teach that damn Toa-scumbag some respect for his betters’.”

“So they had nothing to do with the Cult of Darkness?”

“Nothing” grunted the assassin, sounding almost as disappointed as the Toa of Light felt. “Still, I thought it too good to be true. Life is rarely that simple.”

The Vortixx with no face groaned and twitched in his chains. Something – it may have been the remains of his nose – slipped from his face and landed in a pool of dark blood with a gentle plop.

“For Mata Nui’s sake, will you make an end of those two?” moaned the Komau-wearing Toa.

“I have grown rather fond of them. I was thinking of keeping them on.”

“Just kill them!” yelled Tollubo, fire in his eyes.

Thode regarded him coolly. “Do not adopt such tones when addressing your savior. I have some spare chains left over and a short temper for the youth of today’s Toa. Remember, Tollubo, I have been a hero for far longer than you. I am your elder, and you are never too old to receive a spanking.”

“Please” he muttered sickly. “They’re of no use to us and I can’t stand looking at them like that anymore.” He felt fresh bile rising in his throat.

Thode produced a knife and held it out, holding the tip. “Care to do the honors?” The Toa of Light stared at the blade, then the Vortixx, then shook his head. “Why not? You have killed before. Why shy away now?”

“I killed when I needed to, when there was reason. This is… torture. They’ve suffered enough.”

“You will be putting them out of their misery. Is that not good reasoning?”

“They were a pair of fools but they don’t deserve to be – ”

Thode spun the knife around and reholstered it in the twinkling of an eye. “Then make no further entreaties of me. If you are incapable of dealing the final blow, I shall do so in my own time. One must never expect another to extend the hand of mercy on his behalf.”

He strolled past the sicken pair – they sensed his presence and started groaning and writhing anew – towards a door set in the far wall of the room. He followed, steering as far clear of the anguished captives as he could. He found himself in a room with a wooden desk and two leathery chairs, one on either side.

“Sit” instructed the callous killer, taking his place at the far side of the desk. Tollubo was glad to rest but his sense of relief vanished when Thode produced a firearm and aimed it at him. “I will use this if provoked. I will not shoot to kill – it should be obvious by now that I do not wish to harm you – but I will disable you without a second’s hesitation.”

The Toa just glared at the Miru-wearer contemptuously. “How many Matoran have you killed?” Thode must have seen the threat in his tone because his expression darkened.

“I am not the villain in this piece,” he muttered dismissively, “neither in this universe or yours. If you seek vengeance, seek the architect, not the hired gun. Do not waste your hatred on a mere messenger – which is all I am essentially.”

“How can I trust you?” growled the Toa of Light.

The Miru-wearing bounty hunter laughed loudly and lowered the gun. “I said you interested me, Toa Tollubo. You never irritated me. If you had, you’d be lying face-down in some drain in Ga-Metru. You may enquire after me further if you wish, but I would not recommend it.”

Sensing he had outstayed his welcome, Tollubo slowly rose to his feet again and stared down at the assassin. It was only then that he realized he had been towering over the Toa of Plasma the whole time.

“Count to fifty as you leave” grunted the renegade, a sly smile creeping onto his devilish Kanohi. “And, Tollubo?”

“Yes?”

“Count slow.”

The Toa turned around and snorted as he stormed out, hating himself because he knew he was about to subconsciously start the slowest countdown of his life.

The cops transported the two Toa across the island, sirens blaring, saying nothing. They avoided the roads to police stations. Jollun checked their uniforms in the glow of the street lights. They appeared to be real but he still had a bad feeling in his gut. He and Danza had been stuffed into the back seats, neither of them were cuffed. He could maybe grab a Plasma Pistol from one of them, force them to let him and his fellow Toa out.

He was finalizing the plan when the cruiser swung onto an all-too-familiar street then stopped outside a series of apartments. He immediately let his plans drop. The helmets, navy armor and badges were all real and the Toa had a premonition of what lay in store. The dismayed faces of the staff in the lobby confirmed his worst suspicions.

''By the time he reached apartment 327 and saw the horrific scene it was something of an anticlimax. ''

The officer-in-charge was grim when he stepped in front of the Toa of Light, not an unusual trait for an overworked Vortixx. He asked the Toa to account for his whereabouts the previous night. He responded saying he’d been in the Coliseum and that Turaga Vilnius himself could be pulled out as a witness if required.

“I hope that’s true” sighed the officer, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Who is it?” grunted Danza, bemused. He nodded towards the corpse that was draped over the bed.

“You don’t know?”

Jollun glanced at the unfortunate Matoran. It was a female, nothing interesting about her. She’d been stripped of her armor and Kanohi then left face-down on the sheets. She bore no distinctive marks aside from a fading scare running along her right arm. In the end he just shook his head.

“She didn’t have much on her. No bags, no armor, not even an identification tag. But she did have something you’ll probably be interested in… it’s probably best left in your property.”

“A thorough frame” grunted the Toa, smiling tightly. Again, he glanced at the body. The sheets were stained with blood and tucked under the corpse’s chest was a stone tablet, looking surprisingly similar to the one he had seen in Dessal’s office not an hour before.

“You want to ID the body?” asked the chief officer. “You don’t have to. If you want to consult a lawyer…”

“The suspense is killing me” growled Jollun, cutting him short. Slowly, he edged closer to the body, feeling time contract, barely aware of the other cops clearing a path for him, drawing back from him as if he had some contagious plague. The victim was still lying face down, unsurprisingly. The killer had been brutal. He doubted even Danza would be able to make an accurate count of the puncture wounds that peppered her back.

He stopped at the foot of the bed. Reaching over, he gingerly plucked the tablet from underneath the Matoran. His right hand darted forwards before anyone could stop him. The tablet glistened sickly with thick, scarlet blood. He lifted it to the light as Danza appeared at his side.

‘The day in which Toa Tollubo will die is fast-approaching’ it read.

“Know anything about it?” asked the officer.

Jollun shook his head. “Never seen it before in my life.”

“You’d better put it back then. Could have prints.”

Replacing the tablet – which had unnerved him more than the body – Jollun rounded the bed, reaching a position where he could view the face. It was half-smothered by a pillow. He had to kneel down to get a decent look.

“So, what do we have here?” asked Danza, following suit and bending over the puncture wounds. This must be the former pathologist’s idea of paradise. “I’d say she was stabbed from behind, repeatedly. Not a nice way to go. That tells us the guy’s a coward because he couldn’t face her yet he’d taunting us with the death-threat.”

His words seemed to fade away into silence as Jollun went cold. He was gripped by an icy paralysis and couldn’t move. He just couldn’t believe what he was seeing before his very eyes. The sky crashed in around him.

His stomach dropped. He no longer needed to see the maskless face. He knew by her skin, strong yet soft by the touch. Skin he’d run his fingers through a thousand times. He tried not to think of her name, just her flesh, driving all other thoughts from his mind, for fear the truth would madden him.

He obsessed over the Ga-Matoran’s flesh as the law enforcement officers read him his rights and led him back down the stairs, Danza threatening them inaudibly. Her flesh as he was bundled into a cruiser and driven to a prison. Her gleaming, blood-splattered flesh as they processed his details then locked him away.

When he was finally alone and couldn’t keep the name at bay any longer, he whispered it to himself, feeling his heart wither and his world burn.

“Saran...”

Rumours

 * Shylock will be killed.
 * - False
 * Kran will be killed.
 * Thok will be referenced.
 * - True, Hollian was in the employment of Thok
 * Tollubo will get drunk and cause public uproar.
 * Confirmed; he will spiral into depression.
 * The Zeverek species will make their first appearance in BobTheDoctor27's storyline.
 * Confirmed; two of the main characters will be Zeverek.
 * Both Dessal and Memel will reappear.
 * Confirmed; both will appear in chapter 2.
 * The story will be around seven chapters long.
 * Toa Jollun will be shot by a sniper and be officially killed off.
 * - False, though Jollun will be injured
 * A new Turaga will be introduced.
 * The second Makuta inside the Matoran Universe in the Fractures Universe will be named, as will the sixth surviving Toa, Thode.
 * Half correct as only Thode appeared. The second Makuta is scheduled to make his/her appearance in Judgement Day, which will form the story's main climax.
 * Eselox's Fractures Universe Counterpart will be killed.
 * - False, Eselox's counterpart will not make an appearance.
 * Toa Tourik will be captured by "Terminator".
 * Glacii and Torlo will become Toa.
 * The Epilogue will take place on a boat.
 * The Varna Murder Mystery will be solved.

Confirmed Characters

 * Toa Tollubo
 * Toa Jollun
 * Toa Danza
 * Toa Thode
 * Hollian
 * Mudro
 * Vunto - First Appearance
 * Racasix
 * Turaga Matoro
 * Turaga Vilnius
 * Carnac
 * Glatorian Tanish - First Appearance
 * Two male Vortixx - Critically Injured

Trivia

 * Over Your Shoulder was named after a lyric from the song "Ghost of Me" by Chris Daughtry, the same artist better known for composing "Crashed", the song that was used to widely promote the Toa Mahri in summer 2007.
 * BobTheDoctor27 will attempt to show a darker, more adult side to his writing in Over Your Shoulder.
 * This idea will be reinforced by showing Tollubo's wrath and by introducing the possibility of cheap women and lady friends, though no sexual references will be made. Additionally, alcohol - in the form of Steltian Ale - will be introduced to the story and Tollubo will in fact get drunk, showing both his lack of will power and lack of moral upstanding.
 * For this reason, BobTheDoctor27 wants to break Tollubo in this story serial, depicting him as a weak, contrived, anti-hero.
 * Aspects of prejudice caused by the immigration of other sapient species to Metru-Nui during the war will also be seen in greater depth, something which BobTheDoctor27 has hinted towards in the past but never actually done.
 * The story's official banner was, very kindly, created by Jman98.
 * By the point of the first chapter's release, Tollubo and Racasix will be courting and references to how they began dating will be made in the first chapter.