A stampede of frenzied humans burst forth from Metropol, signaling an early end to their evening of indulgence. Most of them poured out of the front entrance in hysterics, only to find a half dozen Perdendosi foot-soldiers positioned in their way. They were all disengaging their cloakers, aware there was no longer a need to stay even partially hidden. They quickly scanned every human that passed them, snapping or barking at some as a show of dominance.

Some of the patrons fled from the back exits, only to be accosted by more soldiers there as well. They were frightful looking creatures with a lurking intelligence. They could perform complex tasks and follow extremely detailed orders, but were completely void of independent decision making. They lived to serve their masters and had no meaningful desires of their own. For anything requiring logistical thinking, a guardsman was required. But the foot-soldiers complimented their ranks well. They were loyal and they were deadly and they were as plentiful as could be.

Right now, they were directed to scour the crowd for the human that the Foot-Soldier Overguard wanted apprehended. With an ease that belied their bulk, they slithered through the escaping throng, stopping possible targets and then casting them aside with disdain. The master's frustration was reflected in their own, which was mounting by the second.

From a door at the back, Brittlesmith emerged into an alley, followed by the two foot-soldiers who had accompanied him into the club. He had tracked his quarry easily, and hadn't been distracted by their change in direction from the swarm of escapees. They had come this way, he was positive of it - even though right now he had no evidence to prove it.

The alley was dark, but he could see fairly clearly and so could the foot-soldiers. There were a few dim lights jutting above various doorways, and neon signs at both ends burned through steam wafting up from manhole covers. The canine blood of the soldiers sensed alley cats somewhere nearby, and they barked a warning, sending the cats screeching for cover. Garbage can lids fell, then the misty silence betrayed nothing.

Two more soldiers joined them via the back exit. They were all trained to track Brittlesmith by scent, and could do so with ease. The Overguard looked left, right and above and still finding no trace of the human or his apparent companion, directed the second unit to search the East end of the alley and alert the others to close in. He took the first two and slowly advanced to the West end. Logic said no one could have slipped away so quickly; the inquirer would be found. Bringing a dozen foot-soldiers along on this mission would prove to be overkill in the extreme. No human could hope to escape them all.

And then two thinly clad figures slinked up to the mouth of the alley, shrouded in steam and shadow. By rights, both ladies should have been chilled to the bone. They weren't. They may not have been entirely human by a standard definition, but they were both all woman.

The one on the left was slightly thinner, with long black hair curled thick around her ears to the base of her neck. She wore a shiny hot-pink two-piece outfit with matching shoes. Her arms and midsection were bare, and enough cleavage was displayed to burn a hole through any man's reservations. On the lower right side of her abdomen was a heart-shaped tattoo with bat wings. It peeked out from the front of her shorts as though threatening to fly away if pursued. On her left side was a tattoo of the 1950's pin-up star from whom both Children had derived their names.

This was BettyPg9.

The woman on the right was no less amply endowed, and actually somewhat curvier than her counterpart. Her burnt-brown hair was cropped short and swept tightly across her upper forehead. She had a soft dimple in her chin, which she held high and assured. She had a couple of years on her friend, not that it mattered or was noticeable. Her outfit was deep maroon, and it clung to her form with allegiance.

This was Bettypages.

And the Betties would not be moved.

Brittlesmith realized that the two, who stood seductively before him and his soldiers, were expertly yet passively gating the alley; they were guarding his quarry. And he couldn't be quite sure, but their auras were different than any he'd ever seen before. Maybe it was a trick of the diffused light, but the two women glowed a brilliant green that seemed unnatural. And they were calm. More than they had any right to be.

No matter. His soldiers would run them through with no mercy. He gestured and the two mutates sensed it, not even looking back at him. They sprang forward at the women, fangs bared and muscles uncoiled. Snarls filled the alleyway, and puddles of rainwater rippled beneath their advance.

Still the Betties didn't move - until the last second.

In absolute unison, the pair danced a pirouette, landing roundhouse kicks on the sides of the soldiers' heads. The charge was stopped instantly as the soldiers dropped dead to the cold wet ground.

Brittlesmith was astonished, but didn't show it. The Betties smiled, not-quite-innocently and took a step forward.

He wanted to engage them himself, but paused. More of his foot-soldiers returned now, and he sent four of them to renew the attack. The bodies of their brothers at their feet served as a warning that these enemies were deadly. The foot-soldiers drew their battle staffs as they advanced.

Again the Betties showed no fear, their improvised choreography remaining fluid. Brittlesmith studied them as they engaged this second wave of foot-soldiers. The women both rolled forward on the ground, jamming a foot into the privates of the soldiers and snatching loose their staffs as they did. Then they were back on their feet, and jammed the staffs into the sides of the felled soldiers' throats, then brought them back around to crack the noses of the two at the rear.

These two stopped abruptly, stunned. The Betties wasted no time in pressing their advantage and again hit them squarely in the faces, this time with the blunt end of their staffs. This brought them to their knees as well, and with a flurry of kicks and punches the ladies ended the breathing of all four soldiers in about eight seconds. Then they stood, back to back, each with a hand on her hip and the other holding their respective staff upright.

There were now six felled soldiers on the ground. There would be more.

Brittlesmith had almost no frame of reference for what was unfolding. There were some stories of insurgents that had survived direct physical altercations with foot-soldiers, and even some with their guard, but nothing had been fully documented. One person in particular, a thin female with red hair, was at the center of several purported incidents of fighting the Perdendosi. If she actually existed, no one could say. The brittle occupant had dismissed all of these tales as half-truths, exaggerated beyond belief although Farewayth took greater care to record the few details that existed. Now he wished he'd paid closer attention.

Brittlesmith could see the two Children in front of him worked perfectly in tandem, and decided to break their rhythm. He pointed at BettyPg9 and ordered, "Slash." Then he pointed at Bettypages and commanded, "Burn." All six of the troops hit buttons on their belts and their armbands hummed to life. Three soldiers then gave a mental command, and a razor sharp metallic claw snapped forth from each armband, arcing over the backs of their large hands. The other three troops gave a similar command and their hands momentarily flared as magma energy encased their digits. Their fists could now burn through solid rock if given a chance.

The Betties did not wait for these soldiers to approach them, this time going on the offensive. They ran straight at the beasts, undeterred by the weapons, and aimed their appropriated staffs in front of them - they appeared about to ram their opponents. The distance between them closed and the thunderclap of impact seemed unavoidable.

Then they brought the staffs down so they struck the pavement just in front of the soldiers and vaulted over their heads. The first four soldiers were carried forward by their momentum and were too late to do anything. By the time the two troops at the rear realized what was happening, they were the recipients of heeled boots to their faces. The ladies brought the full force of their landing down upon the soldiers, whose skulls cracked as they hit the ground, sandwiched between heel and stone.

Brittlesmith saw that it was impossible to sever their silent connection, but he still had to try. He picked up two bricks and hurled them at the ladies' backs, hoping to catch them unawares. Instead, the Betties deflected the mortar with a flick of the staffs, sending the debris flying back at the overguard. He was knocked off his feet, and the ladies smiled. As soon as we're done with them, you're next, their eyes seemed to mock, and he scrambled to get back up and prepare.

By now the remaining four foot-soldiers had spun and turned to attack again. The Betties used their opponents' size against them; they were too big to pass through the alleyway more than two at a time, so they couldn't maneuver as well as the ladies. The two soldiers closest to them swung out powered-up hands to cut and fry the lithe figures, who for the first time diverged slightly from their previous assault pattern.

BettyPg9 leaped straight up from a standing position, causing her adversary to slice only air with his metal talons. While still airborne, she brought her staff down on the top of his head, breaking it in two and forcing him back a half step. He actually blacked out momentarily while on his feet, but automatically regained control and staggered forward again.

Meanwhile, Bettypages ducked quickly to avoid the melting force of her antagonist's hands, and then rose just as suddenly bringing her staff up with her. She clipped him hard from beneath, dislocating his jaw. Like his comrade though, he continued to fight without pause. This was what the foot-soldiers were bred to do. They required and sought no quarter.

With just a passing glance at each other, the Betties kicked the soldiers once in the center of their chests, crushing their windpipes. They flew back and fell along with the remaining two mutates, who would be the only ones to rise.

Then they spun and threw their staffs away, like guided missiles at Brittlesmith's head. He fell to the pavement again to avoid being struck, and was angered that they played his own tactic back at him to such an undignified effect. Still they smiled at him. He would see to it that they suffered, and he had now all but forgotten about his original quarry.

The Betties languidly turned to face the last duet of foot-soldiers. From behind them, Brittlesmith signaled furiously for his troops to switch targets, something he knew they were too single-minded to do of their own volition. He hated to admit it, but they were probably ill-suited to bring these particular humans down. From the looks of things, it might take an entire battalion on a different battlefield (he'd learned from Sinclair's advice years ago the value of picking the right place to fight) to reign these obstinate females in.

The flame-fisted soldier lunged at BettyPg9 and his taloned comrade aimed for Bettypages. But the ladies had read their previous slight pause to perfection and grabbed the mutates' forearms, just below the armbands. They were easily as strong as the soldiers and forced them around until the Children stood once more back-to-back. From across the alleyway, Brittlesmith now foresaw by a matter of seconds exactly how this assault was going to end. The Betties' cunning was as sharp as any he'd ever witnessed.

The girls snapped their opponents' forearms - as the overguard had done to the bartender just a couple of hours before - and as the soldiers yelped in pain they tightened their grip and ducked, thrusting the weapons above them. Bettypages' soldier impaled his battlemate with his talons, only to be charred by the fire of BettyPg9's trooper. The ladies then lifted them up and flung them atop their already dispatched companions.

Brittlesmith was appalled at the ineptitude of his forces, but also impressed by the Betties' skills. He thought any Terrans worth fighting had already been conquered. He was now proven wrong, and he wondered absently if any more of these creatures existed.

Then he remembered the green glowing dots on the transmissions from the motherships, and could see the auras surrounding the Betties matched them exactly. He connected the dots in his mind's eye and a frightening truth came to mind. He knew there were more of them now indeed, possibly more than all of his foot-soldiers combined could handle. Sinclair may have been right - they might be back where they'd started from.

Unless he could capture these two and bring them back. The goal had changed and his duty was clear.

He walked up to them, each step measured and sure-footed. They didn't budge, amused but unimpressed. They had yet to stop smirking at him, and he had yet to crack under their pressure. It was now a matter of who would make the first move. He now stood directly between them, and they all exchanged glances. To an untrained eye it might have appeared like a strange mating ritual.

Brittlesmith lifted a hand and straightened a glove.

BettyPg9 licked her lips.

Bettypages brushed her hair back.

Brittlesmith straightened his other glove.

The ladies stood, arms akimbo, and sighed in harmony timed to the millisecond.

Brittlesmith grinned now too, ever so slightly, and dropped his head forward. Without looking, he sent two anacondas flashing out to grasp each woman's throat. The speed was blinding; the Betties thought they were prepared but weren't. He hoisted them up and they grabbed his arms to ease the pressure and pry free. It didn't work. He was much stronger than the foot-soldiers at his command. The women were no longer smiling, but he was.

He was stronger - but there were two of them. The Betties curled up and wrapped their legs around Brittlesmith's arms, their boots at his shoulders. Again he saw their intentions, but too late to stop them. The women each gripped his wrists tighter, braced a foot against his head and pushed. For the first time in centuries, spears of pain tore through him and he fell, still clutching the Children by their throats. The impact broke the three apart, and they were all slow to get up.

Brittlesmith slapped buttons on his own armbands and lightning flashed at his fingertips. He turned the power up to full intensity and grabbed each woman's arm. A current of searing electricity bore through them both and the women cried out, twitching. He refused to let go; had he not been so strong, their spasms would have surely torn them loose. The women were barely able to think.

But when they did think, they did so in unison.

Overriding the pain, the Betties grabbed Brittlesmith's arms with their free hands and twisted them behind his back. Then they each grabbed at his hair, returning the current to its host, short-circuiting the armbands and exhausting Brittlesmith's own strength. Now they were mad and it showed. Their limbs hung like spaghetti, but they found the reserves to both grip his shirt and fling him into the closest wall, dislodging bricks with his impact. This expelled the air from his lungs, but he still managed to stay upright, completely dazed and confused, as the women approached and balled up their fists.

A dizzying flurry of punches followed, coming faster and harder with each passing second. The overguard had no way to defend himself; there was nothing patterned or synchronized about this tactic at all. The Betties simply became the aggressors now, pummeling their antagonist with naked fury. By the time it was finished they were dirty and bloody and their knuckles were raw. But the dirt would wash off, most of the blood wasn't theirs, and their knuckles could be bandaged.

Their duty was clear too. Now they understood why Ven had sent them to the drop-off.

Brittlesmith fell face-first into the grime of the alleyway, concussed. They had allowed him to live. The ladies stood up straight, looked at each other and smiled. As best they could, they recomposed themselves, tugging at their clothes, pushing back hair and brushing off dirt. The primping didn't really matter - but they had to regardless; it's what made them ladies.

Once they were satisfied with their appearance, they each bent over and grabbed one of Brittlesmith's legs. Then in one-two unison, the Betties sashayed back toward the West end of the alleyway, hips swaying like pendulums, dragging the Overguard beneath them like the next day's garbage.

No amount of muck could disguise the fact that they were both all woman, by any definition.