It took the two of them another day and a half to reach Mutetown. The journey following their encounter with the wolf-mutant was uneventful. Apollo explained that the scent of the wolf-blood was warning the other native creatures of the Static away from them.
They hadn’t talked much about the attack. Giger felt emboldened by slaying the great wolf-thing. After a life spent in the depths of consumer-grade hedonism, he was finally alive to the natural struggle between life and death. The splashing blood from the wolf had awakened an animal within him.
Apollo had cried for the wolf that night.
The walls of Mutetown were ahead, wooden palisades punctuated by crude guard posts at the gates. This was their first port of call. With any luck, Apollo thought, it would be the last. Delta Delta would know where to find this cult, their mysterious Julius, if anybody would. Then it would be a simple job. After the events of the journey, she had no desire to spend any more time with Giger than she was contracted for. He was at least a quiet traveling companion. She had once traveled with a pack of explorers into the deep zones of the Static where cartography broke down, which had been a horrible experience simply on the quality of conversation.
“Remember,” she said, pulling Giger aside as they approached. “These people are all mutated. To them, you’re the freak.”
“I know, Miss Ridley. I’m not a monster.”
Apollo nodded and released his arm. The gate guards were dressed in scuffed leathers, with rough mail coifs around their heads. One, burly and cycloptic, nodded to Apollo as she approached.
“Ridley,” he said gruffly. Apollo returned the nod. The gate swung aside.
“He’s with me,” she said, nodding to Giger. The guards nodded.
Mutetown was the largest single community in the charted area of the Static, with tens of thousands of souls protected within its palisades. The closely-packed wood-and-stone houses around the gatehouse soon gave way to Point Square, the marketplace. Wells marked the corners of the dirt-floored space, while a looming stone chapel oversaw the trade at the various stalls and carts.
“My God!” Giger whispered.
“Not your God,” Apollo said. “Theirs.”
They proceeded through the market at a shuffle, harangued by shopkeepers at all sides. Giger tried to ignore the overwhelming sensation of it all, keeping himself focused on Apollo’s lead. Suddenly, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down, and was met by the sight of a low, hunched mutant with bulging eyes.
“Not from round ’ere, are you?” the mutant asked. Giger smirked.
“Am I so obvious?” he said, avoiding the mutant’s watery gaze.
“Plain as the nose on your face, Mr. Out-of-town. Buy a nice scarf for your lady friend?” the mutant said.

Apollo found the Delta Teahouse deep in the market. Sometimes it felt to her as if the market, like the Static, stopped obeying the physical laws of space once you got deep enough in. She certainly seemed to have been walking too long to only be halfway through. She looked round. Giger was nowhere to be seen. She cursed under her breath.
“Apollo Ridley,” said a steely voice. “What are you doing here?”
Apollo’s face broke into a smile as she turned to face the voice. “You know me, Delta. I just can’t seem to stay away,” she said. Delta was a tall, long-limbed woman in a bright silken robe, and she wrapped those arms round Apollo’s shoulders in a warm hug.
“It’s good to see you,” Delta said. “Mutetown has missed your presence. As have I.”
“Got to make a scrap somehow,” Apollo said. “Speaking of which, there was a man with me. Purple coat, vacant expression…?”
“Ah, then this isn’t just a pleasure visit. You want the other Delta.”
“The spymaster, yes. Giger will be able to tell you everything you need. To start off, I have got this to show you,” Apollo said. She pulled a pouch with the clay figurines from her coat and handed it to Delta. “Can you tell me anything?”
Delta slipped her long fingers into the pouch and extracted one of the figurines. Turning it over and over, she examined it. “Hmm, river clay, crudely moulded, crudely fired. An idol of some kind?” she said eventually.
“I can give you a name, too,” Apollo said. “Does ‘Julius’ mean anything?”
“Julius Caesar? The last king of Rome?” Delta said experimentally.
Apollo shook her head. “Some men were sent to kill me. These and that name were all I got out of them.”
“Julius… Julius… I believe there’s a Juliustown to the west. But these figures don’t mean anything to me.”
At that moment, Giger came stumbling into the teahouse. He was clutching a large bundle of electric blue linen cloth.
“Apollo!” he exclaimed.
“There you are,” she said. “What is that?”
Giger looked down at the fabric in his hand. “A scarf, I think. Do you like it?”
“It’s very… blue.”
Delta waved Giger in. “Come, join us. We were discussing your situation, Mr…?”
“Giger. Giger Caust. You know where to find my daughter?” he said, pushing aside the curtains and stepping into the teahouse. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know exactly. What Apollo tells me could lead you west of here, but I know those people. They’re peaceful. They wouldn’t harm your daughter.”
“Peaceful mutants!” Giger scoffed.
“I’m a mutant,” Delta said. “A mutant and a friend of mutants. Look me in the eye.”
“So you can work some black magic on me,” Giger said. “Not likely!”
Apollo grabbed the scarf in his hand, used it to pull him around. “That’s enough! You are in their world! Show her respect before I beat it into you!”
“You! You’re as bad as they are! You’re worse!” Giger said. “A traitor to humanity. I’ll find Polonia myself,” he spat, and rose to his feet. “Degenerates!” he pronounced as he swept out of the teahouse.
Apollo rose and began to storm after him, but Delta caught her arm. “Pay him no mind, old friend,” she said. “He will have little luck out there on his own. He might even gain a little… perspective. If you catch my meaning.” She released Apollo’s arm.
“I hope not,” Apollo said. “The more perspective he gets, the less my chances of making any money are. If he can’t get back to his home, he’ll be no use to me at all.”
“Ah, you’ve been away too long. You should stay with us,” Delta said. “Let him go.”
“I wish I could,” Apollo said softly, her hand brushing Delta’s.
And she turned and ran after him.

Giger strode through the market, the streak of blue streaming from his clenched fist. Never had he been so insulted. He would sooner give up his home, his riches, his life than even pretend to respect these half-formed things, these inhumanoid perversions. The little creature that had sold him the scarf was up ahead, its boggled eyes swiveling towards him, reptilian. Sizing him up. No doubt it would call down a pack to rob him if he stopped. Sold him the scarf to determine if he was worth the effort.
“Mr. Out-of-town!” the mutant said, stepping into his path. “How do you like-”
“Out of my way,” Giger said, swiping a gloved hand towards the mutant that connected with a ringing slap. Giger felt all eyes turn to him. He began walking faster. He had miscalculated. He put his hand in his coat pocket, felt the comforting bulk of the gun. He had to get out.
He broke into a run as he reached the edge of the market.
The gate was already open, letting through a horse and cart, or what looked like a horse at first. Giger darted through, narrowly avoiding the cycloptic guard’s grasp, and ran as hard as he could up the road.

It was a simple thing for Apollo to follow Giger’s trail of chaos, and she caught up with him at a crossroads.
“Stay back!” Giger said, holding out a hand. “I’ll find my little girl myself! I won’t accept help from any freak mutant!”
Apollo groaned. “I’m not a mutant! I’m as human as you! Please, let me help you. You’ve seen how dangerous it is here!” She stepped towards him.
Too close. Giger darted back, lashing out with a fist that barely touched Apollo’s thick overcoat. Acting on instinct she returned the insult with a swift punch to Giger’s chest that winded him and sent him staggering.
Giger caught his breath quickly and came up with a haymaker that Apollo easily countered on her forearm. While her focus was there, his left fist came around in a hammer blow to the side of her head. Apollo stumbled, seeing stars, caught herself on a boulder, and turned. This was war. She shrugged off her overcoat, unbuckled her belt and let the long straight sword in its sheath fall onto the grass by the side of the road.
“You sure this is what you want?” she asked. Giger spat on the dirt between them. That was all the answer she would need. She planted her feet in a wide stance and raised her hands, open and fluid. Giger lifted his hands like a boxer.
He made the first move, skipping forwards and throwing a frantic series of punches that Apollo turned aside easily, hardly seeming to move but always managing to be where Giger’s fists weren’t. When the man lost momentum, it was her time to strike. Her open palm snaked through his amateurish guard to reach its mark at the bottom of his breastbone. With what felt to Giger like a sonic boom, the strike connected, lifting him off his feet and sending him spinning. He rolled in the dirt, and came to a stop.
Lowering her hands, Apollo walked over to where Giger had fallen. She held out her hand. “Feel better?” she said. Giger took the hand and pulled. It was then Apollo realised that his legs were between hers, and with a twist of his hips he had dragged her down with a thump. Blood was streaking from his nose, mingled with the dirt, and his eyes flashed furious white as he grabbed the neck of her leathers, kneeling over her, pulled her up to meet his white-knuckled fist coming the other way with a crack.
The second fist came down on Apollo’s cheek, knocking her head sideways and sending a spray of crimson blood from her mouth. The third did not connect. Apollo grabbed his wrist and squeezed, grinding bone against bone. Giger screamed, and Apollo used the brief window to wrench him around, landing him flat on his back. She raised her open palm and slowly curled it into a fist, preparing to bring down a blow that Giger suddenly realised would surely kill him.
Luckily for him, the sound of scraping steel interrupted Apollo.
“We hear you’ve been taking an interest in our activities,” said the brown-hooded man, leveling a glinting broadsword at Apollo’s throat. “Perhaps you’d like to come with us.”