A deluge of acid rain poured down from the skies above on the planet of Sirtha Prime. As the last vestiges of blood-red sunlight sank below the horizon and were blotted out by the thick blanket of inky black clouds, the lights of the cityscape slowly flickered and flared to life.

The burning droplets splashed against a thousand wrecked buildings in the lower district of the city. Structures that once used to stand thousands of feet high were now little more than crumbling stumps. Shadows of what they once were.

Great fortresses and towering habitation centres. All reduced to rubble.

Far below these grand mockeries, in a dirt-slathered and dingy street lit by flickering yellow lamps, a figure hung in the shade of a tattered old parasol, the pattering of rainfall on the fabric above filling his ears as he stood in wait.

He was tall and broad, but his posture was far from human. Under the cover of his heavy greatcoat, his legs were digitigrade, bending backwards above his feet, and his neck stuck out diagonally forwards like that of a hunchback. Four golden eyes glinted from under a thick, flat hood as he slouched in the shadows, the rivulets of burning rain running down his coat through the gaps in the tarp overhead and dripping on the floor around his hoof-like feet.

A Sirthon.

Motionless and silent as a crouching panther, he stood there waiting, his gaze locked upon the entrance of a nearby building. A simple push-pull door, low-tech but serviceable, was embedded in the wall beneath a flickering set of bulbs. The small and quaint structure, a three-story tall column of concrete and glass, had survived the brutality of alien invasion and continued to serve its purpose.

The watcher knew it well. Once it was a place where the Sirthon Republic provided for its citizens. Under a neon sign, citizens had come and gone, signing off their ration cards and leaving with what they had earned in exchange for their service to their nation.

But no more. With the end of the Republic, the building was now defunct. And soon enough it would be gone... just like all the others.

"Hreizca."
A voice suddenly cut through his thoughts. The door he was watching had opened, with a voice from inside speaking the word 'farewell' in the language of the Sirthon. Then, a short, thin shape stepped outside and emerged into the light of the street lamp. The moving shape of an alien.

It walked on two legs, but was ungainly and flat-footed. Barely eight strenga tall, the creature had a short neck and round face, with skin the colour of mud and two deep-set eyes that were dots of darkness ringed with white. Long strands of what looked like knotted black rope hung down from its head and framed its face, this ugly feature of biology half-hidden by shallow-hooded coat that curved in an hourglass figure. A broad, flat protrusion in the middle of the face held its nostrils, more strands of black hung over its eyes, and its face bore a hole that opened and shut when it spoke, revealing small teeth and a slug-like tongue.

A human. Female.

The inhabitant of Sirtha Prime felt spittle clot in his throat as he saw the alien turn and saunter away, as if proud of her existence. As he watched, his face began to protrude from under his hood, revealing his features. His quartet of ghostly topaz-coloured eyes, with lids as pink as fresh meat, narrowed when he saw her. The two tooth-covered mandibles that protruded from his jaw twisted and curved below his cheeks, the lines of his face twisting into an ugly sneer.

But there was something else about him. Something terrible but unseen. Hidden by the darkness that surrounded his visage.

He eyed the lady as she walked, his alien face scrunching up with disgust and wrinkling in contempt. Not many knew who this lady was. To the casual onlooker, or someone who believed the news, she was just another human who had arrived to live on a world jointly-ruled by four of the galaxy's powers...

But the Sirthon knew the truth. She was Diana Lucan, spokesperson for the Human Union of Worlds' initiative to restructure Sirtha Prime.

Like all humans, she was a pest. A vile, pathetic insect that was taking root on a world that belonged to the Sirthon by right. It just so happened that she was an insect that people listened to. One who spoke of government relief efforts, the integration of Sirthon into the galactic community, and a magnitude of other false promises.

All of it was lies. Whatever an alien spoke was lies. Every true Sirthon knew that. But this human still spoke regardless, trying in vain to be heard, even daring to use a language that was not hers to know. Trying to reach out the conquered, just like all humans did. Every single one of them was condescending and untrustworthy. The men were brutes, the women were vipers, and the children evil at birth.

They would all soon be silenced. It was no more than they deserved. But every great mission starts somewhere.

Stepping out from under the parasol, the Sirthon followed her. As she walked through the streets, he trailed her, keeping a safe distance but never letting her out of his sight. His greatcoat was a reasonable enough garment in this weather. Even for a Sirthon, a species resistant to this natural Sirtha Prime weather pattern.

The rain grew more intense, falling heavier than before and pounding the earth like a hail of mortars. The Sirthon smiled as the pattering of rain grew louder, as the noise now aided him even more. Firstly, it distracted the human from the fact she was being followed, her priorities being to pull her own hood further over her despicable face to protect it from the rain.

And secondly, the loud noise of the liquid peppering the ground masked the faint whirring noise that arose from his legs with every step he took...

The human turned left, heading down another path in the town's lower districts. The Sirthon did the same, staying about thirty paces back and keeping his eyes locked on the female's movements. She took another left, then turned right onto an vast central street, featuring a wide road lined with automobiles and pavements that ran past vast rows of habitation towers, each one separated only by a small alleyway.

The Sirthon froze for a moment, watching as the human walked. As the rain continued to pour down, she strayed to the far left of the street, pressing herself against the buildings so that she might find shelter from the weather. The score of skyborne liquid dribbled down from overhead in places, but it was drier than the centre of the pavements that lined the street on both sides.

As he watched this, his mandibles curved upwards in satisfaction. The small-time alien politician was dangerously close to the maze of alleyways that snaked between the buildings. Just as he had hoped she would.

He dove into a nearby alley, concealed behind one of the habitation towers, and dashed forward, his legs pounding against the ground as he ran like the wind and weaved through the urban corridors that lay before him. As he sprinted, the whirring noise from his legs grew louder, the sound of both it and the rainfall punctuating his every step as he rushed forward.

Within no time, he came to another alley that led to the main street, and when he peeked out, he now saw Diana Lucan walking towards him. He had overtaken her.

The human woman was still unaware of his presence as he leant back and waited. His limbs twitched under his coat, impatient to do what had to be done.

His nostrils soon caught her scent, blended amidst the acrid rain. A sign that she was almost within reach...

He waited for her to approach, and the moment her body stepped into view, he lunged.

A pair of metal hands, tipped with sharp steel claws, protruded from the sleeves of his greatcoat. A gasp rose from the woman's throat, only to be silenced when his left hand clamped over her mouth like a vice. The pitiful yelps of muffled screaming stung the air, followed by the sounds of a scuffle as he pulled her into the alley and pinned her against the wall, his right hand gripping her shoulder and pulling her towards him with inhuman speed and strength.

For a brief second, the two met gazes, the Sirthon's cheek muscles pulled taught as he revelled in the fear on the human's face. Then, with golden eyes gleaming and his left hand over her mouth, he pulled his right arm back, bared his talons, and drove his claws into her stomach.

The hideous, visceral and sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the air, blended with a howling scream of torment and the crack of crunching bone. The Sirthon plunged his mechanical right arm deep into the woman's chest, smashing through her ribcage, crushing her intestines, then grasping and ripping out her lungs in a single brutal motion.

Crimson liquid sprayed everywhere, soaking into the dirt and splashing against the nearby walls as it painted the street in a great gash of sanguine and scenting the air with the rabid thrill of death. Rags of shredded cloth were cast everywhere, daubed and sodden with blood and tears. Diana Lucan gazed upon her killer's face, gasping and heaving as her ability to breath was torn clean out of her, before slumping against the walls of the alley, collapsing to the floor and falling silent.

The Sirthon stared coldly at his kill, eyeing the wet lines streaming down from her eyes, and his mandibles twisted into a satisfied smile.

His clenched fist opened, and the sound of sloshing flesh drowned out the rain as a trail of internal organs fell to the floor. The trachea and lungs dropped by the Sirthon's legs, with the intestines pooling in the lake of blood and islands of shattered ribcage that covered every inch of the ground, hissing as the acid rain began to melt them away. The human's abdomen has been ripped clean open, her clothing ripped asunder to reveal her bare body, with its two ovoid organs and hideous pallor of mud-brown skin. Her upper chest was bare and intact. Just as he planned.

The Sirthon knelt down, and a hideous squelching filled the air as he plunged his arm deep into the woman's ruptured stomach, driving his forearm through flesh and viscera as the coppery stench of blood tainted the alleyway and wormed down his throat. Yanking his arm free, he beheld fresh red ichor slather itself across his palm, cling to his knuckles and drip down from his clawed fingertips.

He then pressed his hand against the politician's chest, his touch as firm and as cold as deepwinter ice on her dead, unfeeling skin. His talons cut slits through the human's body, leaving yet more blood to run in rivulets down onto what he left upon her; a handprint with four fingers and a thumb, printed upon her skin in dark red liquid and bubbling with caustic acid as the rain dripped down onto her.

The Sirthon's eyes gleamed with pride as he watched the mark brand itself into her skin. His mark, and the mark of all true children of the Republic.

The mark of the Hand of Reclamation.

These invaders had come to their world, and the Hand would see them crushed. The Sirthon were now lost, and the Hand would steer them true. Back to the path of truth, no longer the lapdogs of these alien scum.

The Sirthon turned his head to the street, eyeing the electrically-lit stretch of pavement that lay just a few feet away. Lucan's body was easy to see here, so he had best leave the scene now. Time was of the essence, and being caught now would only hinder their plans all the more.

They were so close, after all...

Tearing off his bloodstained coat, the Sirthon slung it over his shoulder and left the alleyway behind, striding out into the main street. As he removed the garment of cloth, he felt a sudden cascade of heavy, soaking liquid roll down his face, dribbling down the back of his neck and pouring down his spine.

But it did not burn him. To humans, Sirtha Prime's acid rain was harmful. To a Sirthon, it was merely uncomfortable. No more dangerous than the water from a hosepipe, thanks to the materials in their skin. As he took off the coat, the metal pistons, gyros, plates and hinges that made up his clawed hands and hoofed legs fully revealed themselves, gleaming like jewels as they stood proud and unburnt by the searing rainfall.

The killer then walked away from the human corpse, quietly relishing the last smell of her blood as he left her to burn up and rot in the dirt where she belonged. Blood-coloured hoofprints were left in his wake as he walked, his mechanical legs creaking with each step he took.

However, he did not get far. A short way down the street, more golden eyes peered out of the lurking darkness, locking on him as he strode calmly towards them down the seedy, unpatrolled street...

And yet the cybernetic Sirthon made no move of self-defence. As he approached to their position, his three-chambered heart still beat calmly in his chest. When he drew close enough to be struck down with ease, the figures emerged from their hiding places. They were Sirthon too, dressed in civilian clothing, but with grim expressions upon their faces. They approached the cyborg, glared into his eyes... and bowed their heads to him.

The steel-limbed one bowed in kind, then eyed each of his fellow freedom fighters while he handed his crimson-stained coat to one of them. They were three in number; one had a scar-strewn face, another had a broken mandible, and the third had only two eyes. The right side of his face, from cranium to cheek, had been scorched beyond recognition by a blast of plasma during the war.

They all lifted a hand to each other, showing their allegiance. Their brotherhood. Their will to do what was right.

Everything was coming together, knitting into place like a healing wound. With Lucan's death, there would be investigations, police raids and questionings. Just as they had hoped. But it would be focused down here, in the small mining town of Nastra, and away from where they planned to move next.

A diversion. One that the humans and Xan-Klar couldn't resist. And when they turned to face it, the Hand of Reclamation would strike them down and allow the Sirthon to take back what was theirs by right.