Fallen Angel

by Chant99

Chiana's habit of snurching gets her into trouble when she steals from a Scarran criminal organization. Sentenced to death by the Scarran Overlord, she encounters an unlikely ally. New story version updated: 01.23.07

FALLEN ANGEL

By Chant99

"You made me realize what I truly am...

I am not an Avenging Angel,

...I am a fallen one."

(Unknown Erp Fictional Character)

He watched without any unusual interest as the girl was dragged, battered and bruised, into the brightly lit and extravagantly furnished throne room. The heavy chains that securely bound her hand and foot rattled as she was dumped unceremoniously to the rich carpet before the Overlord. He indifferently noted that the female had been beaten severely, and she had barely made a sound as her limp body hit the floor. His cold analytical mind in fact was on the verge of pronouncing the female dead, when she uttered a small painful groan to prove otherwise.

Something itched in the background of his psyche that the sight of the unfortunate prisoner should have registered on him in some unidentified way. He ignored the feeling in the next microt as was instructed by his electronic watchdog. The control collar around his throat had taken longer to act this time, it had developed another glitch in its base programming and it was seemed to be impaired to different degrees from one moment to the next.

The device was long over-due for re-adjustment. It had suffered the same logic fault a number of times in the past, and a secondary back-up protocol had stepped it until the problem could be corrected by one of the Syndicate's handlers.

The collar on-board computer sent another urgently flagged report out to the central mainframe data bank buried in the depths of the fortress-like estate. Ideally a tech was suppose to see to the malfunctioning control device right away, as common sense dictated that having a weapon such as himself not under the strictest control of its masters, at all times... was a disaster waiting to happen. However Syndicate technicians, unable to make it in the legitimate levels of society, were not known for their dedication to their work ethics.

He pushed the random thought away as the now slower responding collar warned of impending punishment protocols, its electronic vise tightening on his mental functions like a fist. He gave himself back over, knowing resistance was useless even with the device's performance hindered, and held his place on guard by the throne seat... watching for threats as he had been ordered, safeguarding the Overlord's life.

"This is the impetuous thief who thought she could absconded with my entitlement of Tomarh's credit disbursement?" asked the Overlord in his hissing rough Scarran voice. He raised one clawed hand to indicate the young woman on the ground before him as if he'd thought it inconceivable that anyone would ever be so foolish.

"Aye, this is the tralk," replied one of the humanoid men who brought the female in. He placed one booted foot on the prisoner's shoulder and roughly rolled the girl over so the Scarran crime lord could get a better look at her.

"We caught her in time before she made it to the space port and jumped on a ship."

The paid Syndicate hunter went on to tell the full story about how the girl was captured after stealing a small bag containing a very large amount of the criminal organization's daily cut of an illegal gambling operation from a carrier who had stopped at a refreshment house.

The theft had been a substantial one indeed, serious enough that the unfortunate carrier had died quickly in a dark back alley afterwards for his indiscretion. The girl's lifting of the container had been skillful, her fingers deft while she flirted and kept the carriers attention focused elsewhere, but the pilfering had been witnessed by other Syndicate members who had the transporter under a routine surveillance at the time, allowing the bounty hunters to be dispatched almost within microts of the young female's snurching of the credit pouch inside the tavern.

"Please," pleaded the girl suddenly as she rolled clumsily to her knees with an agonizing effort. A trickle of blue blood flowed from a swollen lip, "I didn't know what it was I was taking. I was hungry and just looking to take enough to eat. If I had known it was a Syndicate..."

Her plea was cut short as the lead bounty hunter kicked her savagely in the ribs, a look of disgust on his face.

"Quiet, you frelling bitch!" he snarled as the young woman cried in new agony from the vicious blow and then collapsed back to the carpet. She then tried to roll into a tight ball on the floor in a vain attempt to protect herself from any further abuse.

Some deep inner part of him told him he should have felt moved by the girl's pitiful cry, she was so small in size compared to the muscular bounty hunters, but the collar tightened its electronic leash and refused to allow him to feel anything remotely resembling emotion for the female.

"She's a tricky one, my Lord," the hunter went on. "Almost escaped twice. She had lock picks and several hideout weapons hidden on her... cut my man, Filgar, pretty good, she did. He's going to need surgery to clone a couple of his finger back. We had to do a little disciplining and searched her right down to the skin before we found all the toys she had. I don't think she'll be any more trouble from here on out though."

He ignored the hunter's end assessment and calculated his own. The female might be small but according the bounty man's information was very dangerous. He upgraded his threat analysis and took one step forward to place himself between the Overlord and the prone prisoner. The Syndicate head didn't even turn to look as he sensed his guard moving, and instead held up one hand to halt him.

The guard froze instantly and remained where he was.

The Overlord ignored cloaked underling behind him and smiled a fang-filled grin at the bounty hunter and his men.

"You've done very well, ChasSa'More. You will receive your usual payment for your quick and discreet handling of this situation for me. Plus a bonus, I think, to care for your wound man... and for your continued excellent service to my empire."

The bounty hunter deeply bowed his head in acknowledgement. The Scarran was mad, everyone in the underworld well knew. Believing he was some sort of royalty. ChasSa'More didn't really care one way or the other. The Scarran paid him and his group well, and that to him, was all that mattered.

The Overlord turned from the bounty hunter and now beckoned behind his immense seat with one clawed hand.

"Shrike," he summoned.

The collar commanded him to proceed approaching the Scarran crime lord once more, and then bow his hooded head deferentially in reverence while he awaited whatever orders his Master had. From the shadows, another armored and black-garbed Enforcer silently stepped forward to take his prior post guarding the Overlord. By the slightly shocked look in ChasSa'Mores's eyes, the hunter had not been aware that there was more than one Shrike in the large room with them.

The Scarran's half-mad grin grew larger at the stunned looks from the hired bounty man and his group, and the way they obviously scanned the room repeatedly, wondering what else they might have missed. He so enjoyed the theatrics, and it help keep the hired guns from getting any ideas about betraying him.

"Take the prisoner to a sub-level cellblock and stand guard over her," he instructed his Enforcer. "Be wary, if she tries to escape again and there is no other option, you have my leave to eradicate her at once. I do not wish to deprive the tralk of the punishment that awaits her, but neither do I wish her to be running free around my citadel to steal from me again. I will decide a fitting time to carry out her sentence later at my leisure," the Master ordered.

The crime lord then turned to another Scarran at his side. This scaly being had the much smaller head of a lower caste Scarran, and had several hand-comps clasped before him in his claws.

"Scribe, inform all the loyal subjects that are present on the grounds at the moment... that as reward for their continuing dedication, there will be day of celebration with 'entertainment' to be available in the cell block... at a time which I shall decree in the near future."

"It will be as you say, my Lord," the second Scarran answered as the girl began to moan and beg anew.

Her pleads only brought sadistic smiles to the faces of most of the others in the room.

"You are dismissed to your new duty, Shrike," the Overlord then said. "Remove her from my sight."

He bowed deeply a second time after the Overlord made his proclamation, his armor plates slightly creaking against each other and then moved to the helpless figure on the floor. The bounty hunters scurried to move with weary respect out of the way, and with a little hint of apprehension from each one... as was to be expected.

He was an Enforcer, hooded; black- cloaked, and armored... the Overlord's avenging hand of cold death.

Everything had a place within the organization, the hunters were used when something or someone had to be retrieved and brought back alive, like the thief on the floor before him, but they were still essentially outsiders. He was an insider; so to speak, one could more accurately say – Syndicate owned property. He, or someone like him, was sent when someone else had to pay the ultimate penalty for wronging the Black Syndicate.

He was a myth to the more sheltered levels of society within the Know Territories, a thing to be feared by those who live and thrived in the shadowy underworld, and who knew better. To some of the genteel members of society, he and his kind were known as Shrikes, but called by either name, it still meant Syndicate assassin.

Unfortunately the Black Syndicate's other members, those that made up the true inner circle directly under the Overlords that ran the various Houses, both High and Minor, in the organization, also knew better.

Inside the Syndicate crime ring, he and most of the other Enforcers wore a less grant label – slave. They were merely property. The normal underling members were party to the organization's deep secrets and regularly looked with contempt on the collared slave-assassins, and at times abused them as often as possible, mostly as entertainment.

Safely knowing the assassins were little more than controlled slaves and could not touch them unless the Master himself directly ordered it.

Only the assassins ranked as "Master Shrike" were different. They served the Syndicate as killers of their own freewill, and enjoyed the murder. Thus they received absolute respect inside the organization from everyone outside the Master's intimate circle. Cross a Master, and it was doubtful that even Lord Arckatius, this house's Overlord, would question an eradication of a non-Scarran fraction member. Such was their high position in the pecking order.

He reached down and took the girl by the bar connecting her handcuffs, and forced her to her feet. Her legs collapsed out from under her the first time she attempted to regain her feet, she was weak and stiff from the beatings she had taken at the hunter's eager hands. The Shrike jerked upward on the pair of handcuffs with microbe augment muscles, until the girl hung by her wrists; feet dangled a few henta from the floor.

She cried out, but the fresh flood of pain forced her to clear her head and find the strength to stand on her own again. She moaned in anguish from the mistreatment as he led her away, but he felt nothing for the small female. The collar forbade it... and with the control device on, he had no real autonomy of his own.

He steered the stumbling young woman out of the main chamber ahead of him and down the back server's hallway toward the lift that would take them to the lower levels of the Overlord's fortress-like home. On the basement level, few rudimentary cells had been constructed for just such occasions when a prisoner had to be temporarily held.

He had in fact taken many prisoners there and none of them in his collar-limited capacity to remember events had ever returned or been released.

Away from the throne room and serving no longer on guard duty over the Scarran kingpin, the collar eased back and allowed him the slightest freedom to let his mind wander a bit, as the current task didn't require him to pay the strictest attention to the Overlord's safety and well-being. He keep a tight grip on the female's thin arm as he pushed her forward, idly he noted that the collar was allowing him greater that usual access to his memories, even though what he could recall in any great amount extended less than a weeken into the past. The rest of the information was random facts and figures that presented themselves whenever they seemed relevant to his current thoughts.

The armored assassin turned his attention to idly cataloguing the female as he escorted her to her final destination and the fate that awaited her. She was of small statue – as he already previously detailed - and very slim. He estimated that she probably weighted less then half his total unarmored weight. He'd had no trouble picking her up with one arm when she fell in the throne room, actually requiring only a very small use of his microbe augmentation. This he filed away in case somehow she did escape and he needed to hunt her.

Continuing on with his eradication profile, he added that she was of a common race called the Nebari, and very young. Her pure white hair was now dirty, but cut in a short bob better suited for a youngster than for any adult Nebari he could recall ever encountering within memory. Her voice still held a tight high pitch to its vocal tremble, so she was probably not much removed from her teenage cycles. Given the evidence, that would be a logical assessment.

He concluded the profile with her apparent age and the fact that his master, the Scarran crime king, had just given her a death sentence.

For some reason he experienced that strange glitch in his mental process again as the profile closed with the condemnation. He chose to ignore it, least the collar decide to take punitive action.

Away from the main room and the other Syndicate members, the girl took the chance and attempted to plea her case to her dark-cloaked escort.

"Please," she said, "I never meant to steal from the Syndicate, you have to believe me."

He glanced dispassionately down at her, the collar deemed it unnecessary to inform her that it was irrelevant whether he believe her or not. He pushed her forward again when she attempted to slow her pace so she could turn and look up at him more easily.

"I'm begging you," she started, and then nearly stumbled over her own feet when he didn't allow her to slow or pause. Several images flashed through his mind, it took only the barest split microt to review and evaluate them. Many had begged him in exactly that way, microts before he eradicated them. The female would not succeed any better than they had.

She let out a despairing groan as they entered the lift and he engaged the button that would take them to the sub-levels. The Nebari stood in front of him and visibly shivered. Automatically, he allowed himself to become aware of the temperature inside the lift and found it at its normal operational degree. He then concluded that the girl's trembling was most likely due to her current concentration of fear and stress.

He inspected her for further signs of difficulty and upgraded his earlier assessment of her condition following her captivity at the hands of the bounty hunters. Her face was heavily bruised and a trickle of blue blood still flowed from the corner of her swelling lower lip. Her clothing had several rips and tears that revealed a number of other minor wounds. Her breathing was uneven and she favored her left side indicating if not a broken rib than at least a possible fracture of one. Which was unusual in itself, as Nebari bone composition is so flexible as to render breakage rare in the smaller bones such as ribs. He also concluded that bruising could cause the discomfort… or that she was faking the injury.

He catalogued and filed each impairment he perceived, along with the fact that she was limping slightly on one leg. He updated the profile accordingly.

"If you let me go, I promise you'll never see me again," she added in a low tone. This time she didn't try and turn around to look at him. Keeping her eyes locked straight forward on the lift door. "I'll never tell anyone that you let me go."

Part of him concluded that the Nebari thief probably expected there to be monitoring devices inside the lift, so she was attempting to speak her plea with him covertly. He added the observation that the woman was shrewd in regards to her environment to the file also.

The collar while not working quite properly, still in fact worked, and it instructed that he ignore her statement and disregard everything but his assessment on her physical condition in the pure tactical sense. Within a split microt both he and the collar computer concluded that if the female made an escape attempt, she would be easy prey to recapture or eradicate given her current condition.

Beyond all that the collar considered relevant to his current duty, he was not permitted to focus on much else than completing his assigned task to imprison the female.

The Shrike started to turn his gaze away, but she turned slightly back toward him anyway and her eyes held him for a microt longer than they logically should have.

They were dark but soulful; the idea that they were alive strangely presented itself in his mind. He had seen his own eyes in reflective surfaces many times. His eyes, when not affected by a microbe reaction, were dead in comparison with hers. It was an irrelevant thought to have, but for an instant he felt locked with those eyes.

They somehow were reaching further into him, father than her words could have.

With the hint of punishment, the collar demanded his attention to the task and started to suppress his thoughts, as the numbness took him, he broke eye contact with the young girl.

Even though he now looked straight ahead as they exited the lift, those eyes still bore somewhere into his submerged mind, to some place the collar didn't register or couldn't reach.

But it was only a small insignificant place.

After placing the Nebari female into a cell he took up the new post the Overlord had ordered. Lord Arckatius was taking the hunters' report of the Nebari's resourceful seriously, which resulted in the extra precaution of his posting to the cellblock on watch. Several near successful escape attempts and the wounding of a bounty hunter had earned the girl a number of severe beatings from the rest of the group of hunters.

To the best of his knowledge, this was an unusual precaution to take with a prisoner whose condition was so physically degraded. Most captives that required guarding to prevent escape had not been beaten nearly to death, and were obviously such a risk. The girl looked as if she were too weak to make much it further than a few steps outside her cell before collapsing, as she barely appeared able to make it over to the lone mattress on the cell floor unaided.

Her condition would only worsen in the damp natural chill of the sub-levels over time.

Still, the Master gave the command, and he must obey.

It would seem his collar's call for re-tunement was going to wait at least until someone saw fit to relieve him. He settled in to pass the time, his task of imprisoning the girl completed. Watching was easy and did not require much supervision from the control device unless it was as bodyguard for the Master. He reviewed his directives and the profile he was building every few microns, as was protocol.

The Master had also taken the small thief serious enough to order her killed on the spot during any escape attempt. He knew that should she try, that he would carry out the directive to execute the woman without pause. The armored braces on his forearms, each with a pair of long claw-like blades would see to that end.

The weapons were made out of a rare metal that would cut through other lesser metals except for Qualta. Each blade had three edges aligned in a "T" shape, allowing the weapon to slash or cut side-to-side and in a palm downward direction. The tips tapered down into almost a needle-like point in an efficient design for killing.

The Syndicate discovered long ago that the fear of being dismembered alive was far more terrorizing to victims, or potential victims, then being killed in any other fashion. The instinctive fright going back to primordial times where sentient beings in their early development phases feared the fangs and claws of the predator. Thus traditionally the Enforcers for the crime syndicate used the blade as their weapon of choice. Although at times, other modern methods of assassination had been employed as the need arose for them.

He halted in his thoughts and gaze to regard the woman in the cage once more. She lay still on the dirty mattress with her eyes closed for the moment. Some part of him surprised himself with the thought that it might be better for the girl to fall to his brace blades. Her death would certainly be quicker and cleaner than the slow torture Arckatius had in mind for her.

The collar responded to that line of thought by driving a hot needle into his brain, and self-preservation made him wipe any further contemplation in that area away.

The Nebari tried unsuccessfully several more times in the next arn to engage him in conversation about aiding her in escape. His blank uncaring stare soon discouraged her, and she finally went to sit back down on the filthy ragged mattress in one corner of the cell to languish within her own dark thoughts.

To add to her misery, members of the Scarran's organization began to drift passed to view the prisoner after hearing of the coming festivities, unlike the Enforcer, they served the Syndicate of their own free choice, thus wore no control collars.

A few snide remarks were thrown at the assassin as usual, but most of their energies were direct at the Nebari girl where there was more malicious enjoyment to be derived from, than from the expressionless Shrike standing outside the cell.

The assassin dispassionately noted that the fact the girl was so young and still regarded as pretty by many of the men who stopped - even with her injuries – seemed to make their tormenting of her even more pleasurable to them.

More often than not, the Overlord gave the female prisoners to his men for their enjoyment before carrying out their execution, sort of an added incentive and future inducement for their loyalty. An inducement that worked extremely well as the Syndicate life drew those beings with sadistic tastes and desires.

And the news most certainly traveled fast among the male, and occasionally the female, members of the crime syndicate when this situation took place.

As the word passed around of her presence in the cell and pending punishment, more members would come down to look her over. He had seen it happen before, he could remember bits and pieces of countless times and prisoners that the collar didn't bother to, or was unable to, block from him.

The thought again rose and ran unbidden through the Enforcer that the small girl would be better off dead before the men got a hold of her. The collar, most likely over-worked now, took a few moments but eventually spiked on that thought pattern and did its best to numb his brain again.

His thoughts turned cool again, but by the look in her dark eyes now, he could see that she was beginning to realize it also. Her visitors had not held back any details of what was in store for her in the slightest.

He had not been specifically ordered to impede any attempts by her at suicide, so if the girl found a way; he would do nothing to stop her unless someone in authority finally remembered to give him instructions to do so. He felt the control device hesitate over that thought, attempting to decide if it was subversive or not. It apparently decided that it was not, or could not reach a conclusion on its own, as no punishment protocols were induced, nor did the machine clamp down on his thoughts again.

He decided it would serve his well being best at the moment not to let his mind wonder too far, and focus only on his duty of the moment, and only on that.

The fact that he was no longer on guard-duty over the Overlord in the main room, meant the collar didn't waste energy clamping totally down on his mind at all times. This on occasions allowed him a little freedom to let his psyche and thoughts roam some on their own, as long as he tended to his assigned function and his thoughts remained free of dissident manners. The collar hitched over some new background function and calculated that given his current assignment, lack of response from the techs, and the fact that for the last half arn it had not needed to monitor his thought behavior, that it was safe to run a more in-depth diagnostic on its main programming.

The same fault happened once in a while on occasion, for some reason that no tech was ever able to fathom. Their solution to the problem was simply just to reset the tuning on his collar whenever it began to need it. With the control device busy like this, it also sometimes let him pay a bit more attention to things that he might find of interest outside of his orders or tasks. A holo-photo, an archaic painting, or even a view from a window might attract his attention for some unknown reason.

The memory must have been considered unimportant because it hadn't been wiped or suppressed, but he recalled one certain occasion where a tech discovered him staring at a piece of artwork for what his internal chron had said was over an arn. He knew of no reason for him to be doing so, the painting had no significant meaning for him other that the fact he remembered killing the prior owner at the Master's instructions. In an idle moment, it had captured his attention and held him until the tech had rescued him from its hold. Again the tech could find nothing wrong with the collar to explain the behavior upon examination, so he merely adjusted it as always and returned him to service.

It was just such a case, where his thoughts blankly roamed on their own, when he'd realized that the girl had started humming to herself during a quite moment when no other Syndicate members were around to continue their verbal torture.

The humming soon turned into a quiet song.

He vaguely remembered what song was but in a way that he couldn't firmly wrap his mind around. Each time he attempted to focus, the concept and clear definition eluded him. It was if some small part of him understood, but would not explain it to the greater part of himself.

Or perhaps, it was could not explain it.

The words and the melody of course were unknown to him, but filled him with an odd anomalous feeling. Her light, haunting, voice compelled him with growing curiosity to move closer to the girl's cell. He left his post with the quiet grace of the killer he was and silently walked over to the bars.

He listened and wished it were clearer. He heard the sound, the word, the tone in the here and now, but in the next microt it was gone to him as if it never was. Try as he might to recall, the song would be as if it never existed as soon as the notes faded.

He wondered if it was the collar that kept him from remembering? Or may it be that it was something else that prevented it? Something from whatever he had had before his life as an Enforcer?

The Nebari woman hadn't noticed she had drawn him, and went on to sing several more verses while she idly picked at a piece of mattress stuffing.

She was startled when she looked up and saw the looming black-cloaked figure standing there, watching her with ice colored eyes that sparkled from under the deep hood of his garb... and listening.

"So you like that?" she asked absently just to hear her voice on the presently deserted cell-block, not really expecting her guard to answer any more than it had her other questions of escape.

For a moment, her only response was a slight curious tilt of its head. Already the song was gone, but her voice held a hint of it he realized. Had he been anything else than what he was, he might have screamed from the pure frustration of it. He made himself let go of it in the next microt; there was no benefit to expending energy on something that served no purpose.

"Yes," he finally replied in a quiet voice that was slightly raspy from disuse. A deeper questioning tilt of his hood-covered head followed. She had in fact not asked for his assistance in escaping so the occupied collar allowed him to answer the question if he wished.

One of the few freedoms he possessed and he so rarely used.

"So you can talk," she said with an uneasy sad smile.

"Yes," he said again.

The Nebari lightly snorted, which made her wince as it hurt her lip.

"Can you say anything other than 'yes'?" she muttered lowly to herself.

"Yes," came the reply once more. The girl actually cracked a full smile for an instant, and then slightly yelped as it split her lip open again. Still, she had the hint of slight amusement about her, even if her hand went to hold the wound until it ceased paining her, which only baffled the Shrike.

The Nebari looked at the filthy floor of her cell, not sure if she should bother asking the Enforcer any more questions. She doubted she would get much more in the way of conversation from her keeper.

"Then why didn't you say anything before now?" she asked just for something else to say.

The Shrike gazed at her with his bright, but emotionally dead eyes so long that she was sure the man wasn't going to respond to her again.

"It was not permitted," he finally rasped.

"Huh?" the Nebari said, her dark eyebrows coming together in puzzlement. "What your boss doesn't allow you to talk to the inmates?"

"The collar... would not permit it," he corrected, finding the words cumbersome and sluggish. He'd already spoken to the female more in the last four sentences then he had to any other living being in the last half-cycle. His function was to accept orders from the Overlord and carry them out without question. Rarely did the Syndicate Master require anything from him or the other Shrikes than a yes or no answer to an inquiry.

And that did not happen often either. If the Master wanted information or a report about a Shrike's mission, he could more easily just download a complete log from the collar's mainframe computer.

The girl sat up a little on her mattress trying not to show too much interest, least the man decide not to continue speaking to her. "The collar?" she asked, trying to sound almost casual, "What do you mean by collar?"

In answer, the Enforcer reached up and pulled his cloak a little further apart at his neck so the woman could see the electronic device encircling his throat that she hadn't noticed before. No one had ever directed him not to reveal it... at least within his current memory.

"A control collar!" she exclaimed and then remembered to remain as calm as possible. If she became too excited the Shrike might believe she was up to something and terminate the conversation. She was hoping she might have a slim chance at gaining an ally and maybe a way to escape. "You're wearing a control collar. You're a slave."

"Yes," replied the Enforcer, back to one-word answers.

"They make you do those things then for them? They make you kill people?"

"I serve," the Shrike answered simply at first. He hesitated a few microts and then added, "I have... eradicated many in service to the Syndicate."

"But you didn't want too?" she asked next.

"I serve," he replied again.

"But I asked, is that something you want to do?" Almost as she said it, the Nebari wanted to take back the redirected question, believing that she might have pushed too far now. Hope had started to flicker a little brighter when the Shrike had actually volunteered that last piece of information. This time the Enforcer's hesitation was even longer and she was almost certain she had lost him.

"No," he finally replied.

She swiveled around on her pad to better face the man, trying not to show her surprise, and wondered how far the conversation would go. How far dare she push it before the assassin caught on that she was looking for something - anything she could use to help her escape? She had already searched the cell, slowly and carefully to avoid detection during the last arn of her captivity, but found nothing left inside that could have aided her in breaking out.

"That shouldn't be done to anyone," she said focusing back on the assassin. Trying to project a feeling into her voice that she hoped the man would take as her feeling sympathetic for him. That hadn't been too much of a stretch for her acting ability, as she'd been force by her own people to wear similar devices herself in the past. She genuinely despised them and anyone who resorted to their use on other beings. "Nobody should be treated like property."

The Enforcer only regarded her once more with an unchanging stare for her efforts. Apparently it looked like the fact that she was trying to feel compassion for him, meant little to the man.

"It is my purpose to serve the Syndicate," was all he finally replied.

His voice was toneless and level, with no hint of any emotion what so ever. She tried changing her tactics.

"You know... what they're going to do to me in here, don't you?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Yes." Again, she sensed no feeling from the man. He seemed to return to the cold as ice condition, more suited to a machine than a living person. The brief flicker of hope started to drown once more in that sinking feeling in her stomach.

She doubted it would do any good, but she asked anyway.

"Can you help me?"

"No," the assassin said after a moment's pause. The question was borderline the control device at his neck decided - She hadn't actually mentioned the actual act of trying to escape.

The girl closed her eyes and accepted defeat on that front. It wasn't the man's fault she knew, seeing now that with the collar locked on him, he was nothing more that a slave himself. A slave who could not help but follow his master's commands exactly as they were put to him. It was a well-known fact throughout the Territories; Scarrans were superb masters at designing mind control devices for their slaves. If you wanted the best, you went to a Scarran.

Not even her people's control technology was that good, and everybody feared Nebari Mind Cleansing!

She also knew that the knowledge he was a slave wouldn't have stopped her from killing the Enforcer if she were given the chance, even though she also knew very well that the Shrike could kill her without even breaking a sweat.

The Black Syndicate, the High Houses that could afford it, anyway, did something to their Enforcers to make them superhumanly strong. It was little wonder they chose to collar their humanoid weapons to keep them from turning on their masters.

The girl held back a snuffle of returning despair and turned her attention back to the man at the cell doorway.

"I didn't think so," she muttered and then leaned her head against the cold damp cell wall. "So do you have a name? We have all this free time, so we might as well amuse ourselves by getting to know each other," she asked just to keep talking, and for something to occupy her mind with. "My name's Chiana by the way."

The Enforcer surprised her by answering, "My designation is Shrike 457, Enforcer for High House Arckatius of the Scarran Black Syndicate."

Chiana gave a dry chuckle that held no humor in it.

"That's quite a mouthful," she said. "Don't you have any other name?"

"No," the Enforcer simply said.

"Well, I can't keep calling you that. Would you mind if I called you 'Ret? I had a friend called 'Ret when I was growing up - short for Berret... and you look like a 'Ret to me." Her voice ran off in another mirthless chuckle. She got no response one-way or the other from the Shrike standing at the door. Not that she really expected one. "No... I guess you wouldn't care too much," she finally muttered.

With nothing better to do at the moment, she did her best to re-examine her keeper as best as she was able. She could only barely make out his features under the deep hood of the cloak. He appeared to be of a Sebacean-like race as best as she could tell, thought the bright blue eyes were odd for any Sebacean she had ever known or encountered. She had the impression she might have found him appealing if she could get a clear look at him… and the situation was different. Very extremely different!

Other than that, the only other thing she could make out about him was the few glimpses of bluish-black metal armor seen through the brief gaps in his cloak

She rubbed at her sore face and winced as she irritated her swollen lower lip. Her entire body was one gigantic ache no matter what she did, so she decided to keep the odd conversation going to take her mind off of it.

'So 'Ret... What can we talk about?" she asked flippantly. "What can we do to entertain ourselves for a few arns while we wait for your boss to decide to kill me?"

"Will you continue?" he asked.

Chiana was again surprised by his immediate answer, but had no idea what the Enforcer was talking about.

"Continue what? I don't understand."

"What you were doing earlier. What you were doing with your voice."

Chiana was momentarily confused, and then she remembered what she had been doing when she first noticed the Shrike watching her at the cell door. "You mean sing some more?" she asked.

The Enforcer regarded her with a blank stare and then slightly cocked his head as if to say he wasn't sure what it was called. He could never really remember wanting anything for himself before. But for some unknown reason, just like with those other strange things that sometimes attracted him, he wanted to hear the girl make those pleasant tones again even if he could only remember them for that instant.

"I suppose so," Chiana said with a painful shrug of her bruised shoulders as she repositioned herself on the ratty mattress. "There's nothing else to do while I sit here and wait for the fun and games to began.

"Any requests?" she asked flippantly, and then realized she was well on the way to cracking up from the stress of her situation. The Shrike merely regarded her with another curious tilt of his head. "Of course not," she muttered. "Silly of me."

The Nebari thought for a few microts and then picked an old Nebari melody that her mother used to sing to her when she was young. She found the tune calmed her and she soon was able to stop thinking about for the present, where she was, and what she faced.

At the door, the Enforcer listened and watched. The melody slipped away within microts, but as long as she kept singing, the here and now was enough to satisfy the odd desire. Her voice and the sad dark eyes worked together to bring thoughts to his mind that were alien to him. The collar turned attentive briefly, but couldn't catalog what was happening any better than he was able. The mechanism finally determined that there was no obvious threat to its control and then left him to his devices for the time being.

The solar day passed and no one came to relieve him from guard duty. The Shrike wasn't surprised as the Scarran Overlord and his men gave little thought to the Enforcers. It wasn't uncommon for them to be forgotten about for days, left to themselves to complete their assigned duties within the stronghold, rotate guard shifts, and report for whatever maintenance was required.

Unfortunately, guarding a prisoner in the lower blocks was not one of the regular assignments, and there would be no replacement on the way for Shrike 457 any time soon. The Enforcer called upon his microbe augmentation to reinforce his weaning strength. Eventually the microbe enhancements would require vast amounts of food to replace the energy he expended. The illegal military-based microbe technology inhabiting his body not only extended his endurance, but also enhanced his physical strength and the ability to heal minor wounds - but at a price. The microbes required foodstuffs as raw material for their work, denied that, they would eventually start taking what they needed from his own body... literally eating him alive from the inside out.

In power struggles between the Houses, it wasn't uncommon for augmented Shrikes to battle the agents from other Houses until they literally wasted away. He was vaguely aware that he himself was a minor interest among the techs, as he was one of the rare augments of any Sebacean-based race to survive the microbe infusion. Most died immediately from the shock, or passed within a cycle to the best of what he could remember. The trivial fact was one of only minor interest, and one he dwelled on only rarely when he could recall it, as it served no useful purpose in his service to the Overlord and his House.

The Nebari girl dozed sporadically during the day, trying to ignore the taunts and threats of the Syndicate men that occasionally passed by her cell as much as she did the pain from her injuries. The members were only waiting for the tyrant's permission to take the girl and began their brutal torture. Cruelty was rewarded in the Syndicate houses, especially if it was creative. The more vicious the members of the establishment could be, the better the profits were from those they oppressed and fed off of.

His own sole principle for existence was a prime example of that theory.

The harsh knowledge of what was to come at these men's hands, and the waiting, were part of the gray woman's punishment for stealing from the Scarran Black Syndicate... and particularly from House Arckatius.

And judging by the girl's fitful sleep, it was having its desired effect on her.

He strangely felt troubled just a short time earlier, after three off-duty guards stood outside the cell for ten microns and described in great detail what they planned to do to the Nebari when they were finally given permission to touch her.

Some of the details involved serious maiming of the girl's body, but not serious enough to cause death right away. The Shrike knew from passed experience that these three individuals were quite adept at what they described. He had been present often when these same men were pressed into serve torturing a captive that had something the Overlord required.

A lucid pang struck him at the thought of the girl at their mercy, but it passed in the next instant with the collar's insistence.

It only vaguely registered that it was taking the control device longer and longer to react.

Chiana had sat back up on her pallet and did her best to put the vivid images of what the men depicted out of her mind. The Enforcer could see the strain beginning to show more apparently on the young woman.

Her complexion paled from a hint of gray to pure white flushed with the blue tones of stress. Her breathing became rapid like a cornered animal's, and he almost thought he could hear her heart racing in fear. She absently licked at her lips with a dry tongue.

"So 'Ret?" she finally said when they were alone once more and she had calmed a bit. She was trying to distract herself and regain control, but her tone betrayed her with a tiny bit of shake in it. "Do you have a home?"

The Enforcer moved back to the cell's door as she started speaking. Her question confused him and he began to indifferently look about him at the makeshift dungeon.

"I mean... away for here. Someplace else," she added. "Where are you from?"

"No. I do not remember anywhere else," he replied.

"You don't?" she said with a sad tone. "That's too bad. I left my home... I ran away. Me and my brother. We couldn't stand living there. Everyone expecting you to become something you're not. Telling you how to run your life. That was never for us, ya know? Always had to be free… answering to no one but ourselves."

She picked up another piece of mattress stuffing and began to shred it with her fingers to give them something to do in their growing nervousness. "My brother finally left me behind to go fight the Establishment. He won't even let me know where he is. I have some friends though, and they're just like family. They're probably looking for me right now." Chiana looked about her small cell and then dropped the now mangled hunk of stuffing to the ground between her feet. "They probably won't find me, not in time anyway."

The Shrike tilted his head and regarded her. He'd watched over countless prisoners and killed even more enemies of the Overlord ... why should this tiny woman interest him so? He almost pointed out that if her friends had arrived looking for her that they would likely meant their deaths as well. But some part of him realized that doing so would be needlessly cruel, so he remained silent.

Chiana settled her head down into both her hands in despair.

"Why didn't I just listen to Crichton?" she asked herself out loud as new hot tears burned their way down her cheeks. The girl seemed to all but forget about the Shrike's presence for the moment. "I had to do it, just couldn't help myself. Instead of just going back to the Transport Pod like I promised, I had to go back and snurch that frelling credit pouch off that guy at the refreshment house."

The Shrike could offer her no answer... nor did he really understand the comment.

He only recognized the regret in her tone... and it bit at something deep inside him.

Two low-ranking perimeter guards stopped by the cell to take their turn looking over the gray girl and caused the next big disturbance in the prisoner's dark and damp world.

"I'll give you, Teaguaar was right... even all marked up she's a looker," one remarked to the other as if appraising a piece of meat. "A pity what's going to happen to her. She'd probably earn a sakmur of credits put to work in a pleasure house."

His partner agreed. "Did ya ever frell a Nebari female?" he asked his friend. "I heard when you get one this young that it's some of the most mind-blowing recreation you could ever conceive of. I heard that their bodies are so flexible you can do things with them you only imagined in your filthiest dreams."

"Really? I can imagine quite a lot," responded the first man with a wide grin that showed decaying teeth. "You gonna treat us good, darlin'?" he called to Chiana through the bars. "We're going to be treating you real special, though it's a good bet you're not going to like it much," he continued while crudely rubbing his crotch in suggestion.

"Right!" giggled the second guard, "You're gonna be a fine frell toy! That is, for as long as you're able to last," he added darkly.

The girl ignored them... or rather did her best to ignore them as she lay on the mattress and stared blanking at the ceiling of her prison. A single tear leaked from the corner of her dark eye despite her resolve, and hung there until she just couldn't help but reach up and wipe it away with one hand.

The first man cackled as he saw the girl's will breaking, and then turned noticing the silent Shrike on guard.

"How about you, tin can?" he asked merrily to the tall assassin. "You ever frell a Nebari tralk before?" He then barked a harsh laugh and slapped his partner across the chest to point out the brilliance of his wit.

"Yeah," chimed in the second man, "You ever get the chance to put it too some sweet gray meat like this tralk?"

Both guards were too entertained with themselves to see the instant of hatred that skated through the Shrike's pale eyes. His fist curled tightly and he almost called forth the blades on that arm without realizing it, a brief mental image of him ramming the blades through both men's faces flashed by. The collar clamped down on the raising impulse before it went that far. He didn't need the device's warning that doing unauthorized violence to a Syndicate member would have serious consequences.

The Shrike silently continued to regard the pair. Neither was very high in rank and the collar then calculated that their comments had no bearing on his duties and didn't require an verbal answer, much less a physical one.

On some deeper personal level the Shrike discovered he had never liked these two to began with, they were loud, had bad hygiene, and were needless cruel at every opportunity that arose. The fact that he could feel something of such a personal natural was a shock to him... and seemingly a new experience. Stranger still, the collar now seemed unaware of the emotion.

"No, I guess you wouldn't have been able to have that much fun, now would a sexless nurfer like you?" one said.

The man rapped lightly on the Enforcer's breastplate making the metal ring. The Enforcer felt his eyes flicker in what could only be described as pure hatred. It lasted only for the most minuscule of instants and might have only been imagined by him, but the collar took a tighter hold on him anyway that time.

"Be kinda' hard getting your other weapon into action through all that steel," the other piped in, both men again bursting into their annoying laughter at the crude remark.

"Why don't you leave him alone," Chiana said in disgust from inside her cage. Both guards stopped chucking in slight surprise to glance over at her. For the moment the girl no longer looked on the verge of crying for herself, and in fact looked even a bit angry. "It must take a lot of courage to pick on someone not allowed to defend themselves. Froth mouths like you can't be real men, anyway... for all your farbing talk."

The Enforcer's own estimation of the Nebari's aptitude went up a few degrees at her keen assessment of her current tormentors. Even if he didn't understand why she should be defending him against them.

Both men where essentially cowards he recalled from prior observation and he doubted either had what it took to face an enemy on equal footing. That fact that he was able to remember those facts about the men at all possibly meant that they might for some reason have found their way onto a list for probable future elimination.

If the order ever came down to eradicate the two guards for some offense, the Shrike found he might take a great personal pleasure in carrying it out. Again, the collar seemed to not be picking up on this light background emotion.

The guardsmen preferred their prey weak and helpless, he continued assessing, which is how the Nebari would be before them soon. The thought, most oddly again, disturbed the assassin in a new way.

"Well, well... the little tralk has a tongue after all," the first man said after the moments' brief shock wore off. He causally drew a large knife from its belt sheath and waved it about for the girl to see. While the criminal was lackluster with his own appearance, the edge of the blade gleamed as if it had been freshly honed and oiled. "I think I'll cut it out and keep it as a souvenir... after I'm finished letting you use it to pleasure me in certain places that is. Then we're going to use your eema real good and show you what it means to be frelled by real men."

The second man grinned wickedly. "I'd rather have something else to remember her by," he said, pointedly lowering his gaze to Chiana's breasts. "They'd make a nice pair of credit pouches after you tanned them."

Both men snickered at the horrified look that Chiana couldn't keep from her face.

"Seeing you like the Shrike so much," taunted the first guard again, "Maybe we can arrange to have you frelled to death by a group of them after we're finally done with you."

"Do ya think they can even be made to do that?" laughed the other man.

The first shrugged. "Dunno. Be interesting to see though. They just do as you order them so I can't see why not. We'll have to run it passed Teaguaar and see," he said. "He's surely twisted enough to like the idea."

Chiana had drawn her legs up to curl into a ball on the mattress. Both men smiled when they seen her retreat that way.

"Not such the she-Luxan are we now, you little tralk?" the first guard asked snidely.

"Listen, 'Ret," she pleaded quietly after the two guards left. "I don't wanna die like that. When the time comes... can you end it quickly? Before they have a chance at me?"

The Shrike slowly shook his head. "I cannot," he told her.

Chiana's sudden shrill laughter filled the cell area. "Frell me!" she half-screamed as she buried her fists in her wild hair. "The only time I've ever asked an assassin to kill me... and he won't do it!" The Nebari finally released her hold on her hair and slumped limply to the floor of her prison. "I don't know whether I should be laughing or crying," she said, starting to break down. In the next moment, it became clear that tears were going to be her chosen response.

Surprisingly, the Enforcer suddenly saw a way that her request could be granted. But the information had to be relayed delicately, as he felt the collar computer's interest peak slightly at the events.

"My orders are to kill you, only if you attempt to escape," he said as meaningfully as the collar would allow him to.

Chiana stopped crying. "...Only if I try to escape," she repeated. What he was implying getting through her despondency.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"You -You can make it quick?" she asked with dismal eyes. "I wouldn't suffer?"

"That is allowed... if there is the opportunity," he answered, the last part containing a little risk to speak.

Chiana nodded slowly. "That's good to know. Thank you," she said in a subdued voice. Her sad eyes gazed up at him from under her wild white hair with a kind of gratitude. The Shrike suddenly found it very unsettling to have the girl thanking him for the offer to commit her murder. The collar did bite at him for that, he should not feel anything for performing his duty as required, it told him.

She turned away from him after getting that promise from him, and rolled over on the mattress to face the wall. It was the only way the girl could have a moment alone to herself, and he concluded perhaps it was also her way of preparing for death. It weight strangely heavy on him, that the girl would turn to a killer as a last resort for succor.

Those dark eyes were still affecting him somehow, he saw them whether the girl was looking at him or not. He moved back to his customary guard-post position and for the first time, he found himself wanting to resist the commands that would end this girl's life, no matter what.

A desire he knew the collar wouldn't allow.

A desire he knew the device would eradicate him for if he attempted to follow it.

Arns later the sound of many heavy footfalls, accompanied with many excited voices, alerted the Enforcer to more company on the cellblock. He did not have to be told that the girl's time had finally run out.

A group of humanoids marched into the antechamber, lead by one of the largest humanoid man currently in Arckatius's employ.

Teaguaar, the Scarran master's first in command of all the non-Scarran House members, approached the Enforcer, followed closely by the group of twelve eager and keyed-up men. The Shrike knew the Nebari girl's passing would not be easy if the man had his way. Teaguaar's eye plainly told him everything.

"You can stand down, Shrike," Teaguaar said. "Arckatius has given the command." The man was a Telcarian, a Sebacean offshoot from a heavy gravity world and almost as massively muscled as a Luxan. Telcar was a harsh and unforgiving world, and so were most people that inhabited it. And Teaguaar was said to be more brutal than most Telcarians.

The mob eagerly assembled outside the cell doorway while Chiana let loose an involuntary whimper and scrambled up against the far wall of her prison. The group parted so Teaguaar could release the lock, the big man leered lustily through the bars at the girl as he tapped in the code. The door swung open on rusty hinges, the screeching sound of tortured metal a herald to the atrocities that were to come in the next few moments.

Chiana eyes darted in near panic to the waiting Shrike, and she swallowed hard as the men began to filter into the enclosed room just behind the big Telcarian man. The assassin watched and waited, her only hope for a clean death was if she could make it passed the throng of men and set foot outside the cell before they could catch her.

Only then would he be free to end it for her. They had only relieved him from guard duty; they had not bothered to retract the instruction against escape attempts.

The directive meant to prevent her escape instead now became her salvation from the impending long torture and violation of her body.

"Hope you been thinking about this moment and you're ready for us, slut," sneered Teaguaar. "We've surely been thinking about you... and nothing else. Right boys?"

The other men jeered and added their own black wishes to those of their boss. The Shrike couldn't help but turn over in his mind how it would happen for the girl if she didn't make it to the doorway. The collar device couldn't fathom the purpose of those thoughts, so it busied itself analyzing them. Were they rebellious, or merely a review of torture techniques it was trying to decipher?

The others would hold the struggling Nebari down...the cold mental picture started for him.

"No! She had a name! The girl was a living being, and she deserved to be thought of as such.

Chiana... the others would hold Chiana down," he corrected himself.

The collar sensed now that the manner was indeed rebellious thoughts boiling to the surface and attempted to lock down on his mind again. He resisted the spreading numbness and played the pending scene through. Forcing himself to live it, every moment of it, faster than it was actually taking place before him.

When she was totally helpless under the weight of their many bodies and restraining hands, Teaguaar having the higher standing in the hierarchy; not to mention being the biggest and most brutal of the assembled men, would have his way with her first.

There would be merciless abuse, blood, and unbearable pain for the young girl. Teaguaar would see to it that Chiana suffered like never before. He would thrive on seeing just how much abuse the girl could take at his hands.

If she lived through the multiple rapes and mutilations, the execution would in fact be a blessing.

The Shrike knew that many of the frailer female prisoners never live through Teaguaar and his men's attentions to be executed. A fact Arckatius didn't seem to mind at all. It only increased the dark reputation of his Syndicate House in the eyes of the rest of the organization.

Once given to the men, a prisoner had to have the misfortune to live long beyond the point where they became boring, or too maimed to be of use for the men's entertainment before the Scarran would order the execution to be finally carried out.

The Shrike had the cold feeling that the men would never get bored of her. Chiana was going to die in the cell before she could be put to death... but that dying was going to take her a very long time.

The big Telcar closed in on the helpless girl while the rest of the men spread out through the cell attempting to corner her. The Shrike ready himself, one foot outside the door and he could complete his eradication directive and slay the girl with the beautiful haunting voice, sparing her this torment.

The collar read his true objective now as a violation of the punishment verdict and demanded he submit and abort his intention. He fought and resisted the command, even when the creeping numbness turned to pain, seeking to hold on to just a few more microts of semi-free will for her sake.

Within arms reach of Chiana, Teaguaar lunged, making as if to grab for her. Chiana darted to one side to avoid his grasp only to find out too late that the first lunge was a ploy. As she tried to get passed the big Telcar and rush for the door, the large man easily snagged her around the waist. He laughed with savage glee as he then seized her by the throat like some prize he had won.

The choking girl was forced to look up at the man by the hold of his huge hand clasped around the front of her neck; he bent his head down and brutally crushed his lips against hers until she cried out in muffled pain. The girl's abused flesh tore open again and she started to bleed from the pressure of his cruel mouth on hers. Teaguaar laughed evilly once again when he was finished, and made a show of licking at the blue blood from the girl that clung to his lips.

He abruptly flung her against the cell's stonewall. Chiana hit hard and slid momentarily stunned back to the floor by the dirty mattress.

Only being able to see the girl being grabbed by the large Talcarian from his position outside the cell, the Enforcer felt something break deep inside him as the girl's bid for a few microts of freedom failed.

He heard the Nebari's painful cry and then witnessed her bodily being thrown into the stone block wall. The rest of the men immediately pounced on her before she could recover, and dragged her back up onto the filth-stained mattress.

"NO!" Chiana franticly howled, but with her limbs pinned tightly by so many hands, she wasn't even able to put up much of a struggle. A few of the men chortled with pitiless glee as they stretched the female out on the pad.

"Please! Please, 'Ret... Help me!" she cried to the Enforcer.

" Ret? Who the frell is Ret?" asked one of the men on top of her with a feral laugh.

"Maybe she wants somebody called Ret to be first?" answered someone else, "Anyone here named Ret?" the same man called out, sending the rest of the mob into further fits of mirth. The group holding her parted enough so their leader could take his place over her.

Teaguaar grabbed Chiana by her hair and forced her to look up at him. "Sorry, tralk," he said with a malevolent smirk. "Ain't nobody named 'Ret' here. And if there was, I'd kill him!" The group laughed uproariously at the comment. Teagaar grinned at his audience, then turned his attention back to her. "Guess you'll have to make due with me first."

The Shrike could hear the sound of tearing cloth next, and Chiana's cries and whimpers increased. Her shed tears and pleas cause the horde of rapists no end of delight.

"Squeal for us, bitch!" somebody said, and laughed shrilly. Somebody else did something that did make Chiana squeal in agony an instant later.

Something dark and burning rose inside him that made the collar scream its demands for his obedience. The device instituted its punishment protocols, setting the Shrike's every nerve ending on fire.

Chiana's screams were in some ways cutting him deeper than the collar's pain had ever reached. Her cries making themselves heard above the punishment he was enduring from the control collar.

Without realizing he was doing it, he reached up and grabbed the control device with both hands. He felt the microbe enhancements kick in as he flexed his muscles and pulled hard in opposite directions. The metal of the collar gave a small crack at the initial tug, and he felt the muscles in his forearms and shoulders burn as they tore themselves apart from the strain he was exerting.

The microbes felt like tiny insects running through his body as they raced to the damaged areas to begin repairs. The collar's failsafe kicked in and the pain increased, attempting to incapacitate him before he could successfully remove it.

The agony seemed only to fuel his determination and made the fury in his chest burn hotter. He only had bare microts before the device's miniature computer deemed him unsalvageable and hit him with the deadly neuro-pulse that would destroy his nervous system, and kill him outright.

Chiana screamed again more loudly this time. There was the sound of a hand striking flesh and the cry fell into a long sob.

"Frellin' Bitch!" a voice that sounded like one of the perimeter guards snarled, "Do that again and I'll cut more than your tongue out."

"Cut her anyway, Jorg!" another voice urged, "Cut the tralk!" Other men laughed and offered their own twisted ideas on mutilation options.

With one last frantic surge of brute force from his arms, the metal collar groaned and split in two. Hair-thin wires connected to the inside of the collar pulled painfully out of his neck with a hot burning sensation. Sharp pain spiked briefly through his body as they tore from their bond with his nervous system.

The wires coming totally free just barely in time as the deadly neuro-pulse arced along them to dissipate harmlessly in mid-air.

The pain and the machine-like voice in his head were suddenly gone; the oppressive grip on his thoughts lifted and his consciousness abruptly expanded. It was almost as if until that moment he had lived life barely alive.

The Enforcer paused for an instant in confused awe at what he'd just done. The world around him suddenly seemed so very different.

Chiana's renewed sobbing pleas brought him back to the moment… and to what was still taking place inside the cell.

Awe replaced itself again with fury.

Their attention focused only on the girl and their enjoyment of the moment, none of the men standing around the small barred cubicle had witnessed the Shrike's struggle to free himself of his control collar.

Something, an emotion he vaguely remembered as being labeled as rage rose in the assassin as he stalked to the cell entrance. The sensation was new and fresh... and it overwhelmed him.

The Syndicate had made him a weapon of terror, created solely for their malevolent purposes. They had insured that he learned the art of violence well... a talent he retained even without the collar.

There were two men unable to find room inside standing in the cell's doorway, watching the rape and waiting their turns.

He battered his way between them. As he passed, he seized each bystander by the side of his head and simultaneously rammed them against the heavy steel beams that made up the door jam. Using such force from his augmented strength, that the heavy bone of their skulls crushed very satisfactory as they impacted the unyielding metal.

The twin thuds of the bodies hitting the ground was just loud enough, combined within the clamor that was still taking place, for only the next nearest man to glance inquisitively over his shoulder.

The Shrike seized him by the throat with one armored hand and picked him up off his feet. The Enforcer's grip so tight, the man was unable to scream a warning to the rest as he thrash about for air. The Syndicate man kicked his legs uselessly as he struggled to free himself from the enraged assassin. Chiana cried in pain yet again and the Enforcer responded by squeezing a little harder, ultimately causing the man's neck bones to shatter in his grasp.

He dropped the lifeless husk as it went still. As the body struck the floor, he deployed his brace blades with a thought. The biomechanical weapons responded to his nerve impulses and the wickedly serrated blades sprang out of his armored forearm pieces, the telltale metallic ring filling the prison cell and cutting through the din.

All activity around Chiana ceased at the chime-like sound and total silence covered the small cell like a blanket.

The entire crowd of men almost as one, turned back toward the Shrike and a few managed to cry out in alarm or confusion at the sight of the Enforcer blocking the single doorway. A pair of blades protruding over each clenched fist, with three cooling corpses already littering the floor at his feet.

The Shrike curled his lips and issued a snarl at the group that belong more to a wild animal than a humanoid, then charged and began the slaughter in earnest.

Each claw-like blade was constructed out of a rare element called Bat'Rellite, laid side-to-side with three cutting edges in a T-shaped formation, the uncommon metal was able to cut through lesser grades of metallic materials as easily as they did flesh and bone.

And the Shrike was able to lay open his opponents with blindingly rapid efficiency.

Syndicate men died with slashed throats that nearly decapitated, their torsos tore wide open and their internal organs spilled to the filthy cell floor, or entire limbs sheared completely off.

The screams seemed to last forever.

Before he realized it, the Enforcer was the only one left standing in the center of a gore-splattered room full of bodies. Very few of the bodies were reasonably whole and there were mismatched limbs scattered everywhere.

Blood thickly coated his brace weapons, running off the razor edges to pool on the floor beside him. The sound of the drops hitting the spreading pond of blood seemed to be the only sound in the cell at the moment.

An odd contrast to the screaming of just microts before, but somehow just as gruesome.

He had done terrible things as a Syndicate Enforcer, but he was reasonably sure this had to be near the top of the list as far as sheer carnage.

He casually flicked the blades to fling as much of the gore from them as he could. The gristle made a wet sick sound as it struck the cell walls. He also noticed in his quick inspection of the cell that several of the cell bars had been taken out, neatly slashed through by his blades as he killed Syndicate men who had back up against them in an attempt to escape him.

The thought that these men had died violently at the hands of the weapon they so callously employed to kill others, offhandedly struck the Shrike as poetic justice when he thought of it.

Chiana stirred on the mattress, making him turn in her direction. Her clothing was torn to near useless shreds; still she reflexively did her best to rearrange the fragments over herself. He wasn't sure if the effort was due to modesty, or the basic humanoid need to feel the spurious protection of a covering when faced with danger.

Besides her, a miraculously unharmed Teaguaar slowly stood up to face the Enforcer. Being down on the mattress with the Nebari girl at the time had allowed the man to escape the Shrike's first pass through the cell. His trousers were unbuttoned, but not down, so the Shrike concluded he'd hadn't had the chance to begin the actual rape of the gray girl yet.

Teaguaar was one who had to inflict a little pain before having sex with his helpless victims, the assassin recalled. And that leisure had kept him safe while the rest had died.

The Syndicate man looked as if he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. And indeed, he may not have seen for himself first hand what an Enforcer was fully capable of until just then. Men of his ranking rarely were involved in the typical assassination assignment of a Shrike.

"What - the - frell!" he exclaimed as he took in the carnage around him. The Shrike took a single step toward him.

"Halt! Stop right there!" the Telcarian commanded. The assassin's eyes had changed to burning silver, and the Syndicate man knew that wasn't a good sign.

The Enforcer took another step, his armored boot clicking against the quickcrete floor of the cell where it wasn't covered in blood. "I order you to stop! Stand down, Shrike!" he shouted. "I command you to obey!"

The assassin looked down at the battered and bruised Chiana. The girl watched him with half-crazed eyes, unsure of what was happening, and more than scared out of her mind at what she had just saw as well. He turned back to Teaguaar and fixed him with his unfeeling gaze... and the rage flared back to life within him. Only this time it was a cooler burning sensation, and that somehow made it feel worse as far as he was concerned.

"My name… is Berret," he said to the Syndicate man, and Chiana perked up a little at the declaration. "And you... do not command me... anymore."

Teaguaar backed away and swore hotly. He reached around to the small of his back and pulled out his hideout weapon, a palm-sized single-shot pulse pistol. He thrust the tiny gun forward and shot the Shrike almost point-blank in the stomach with it. The tactic was one of his favorites, because with most beings it took arns for them to die after being gut-shot... long agonizing arns.

The Enforcer now called Berret, staggered backward a step from the point-blank impact, but then straightened up an instant later - it was then that Teaguaar remembered something crucial that he'd forgotten in his moment of panic and automatically went for the gut-shot.

The armor the assassin was wearing was pulse-fire resistant for at least one shot to any plate before burning out and needing molecular realignment. He'd wasted his one shot!

Teaguaar swore again and threw the spent gun at the assassin, who simply swatted it aside as if it were an insect.

Teaguaar back away, his eyes shifting for a way out, settled on the half-naked Nebari girl. Chiana gasped as she saw she had the criminal's attention again. He himself growled back at the Shrike in determination and made his move.

He made a last ditch effort as if he were diving for the Nebari girl in an attempt to use her as a hostage.

The Enforcer recognized the move and changed his angle of attack to intercept the big Telcar before he could seize the gray girl.

Too late, Berret realized it was also a feint. The Syndicate boss again altered his assault, reaching into his boot top to draw a long thin dagger; he pivoted and stabbed with the knife at the assassin's throat. Chiana screamed as she saw the blade.

The Shrike managed to twist himself enough at the last microt not to take the long blade completely through his throat. Instead it hit lower, glanced off his upper chest plate, only to find its way into the gap left by the collar at the base of his neck and slip through to pierce downward into the area of his collar bone.

In his desperation, Teaguaar had struck with all his might, and the power of the blow had the added benefit of driving the assassin to one knee as well. The hilt of the dagger was yanked from his grip as the Enforcer went down. Ever quick to take advantage of a downed enemy, the Telcar didn't bother to try and retrieve it. He instead searched the room and scooped up the longest section of loose cell bar that he could find to use as a club.

Taking a two-handed hold on his new weapon, he swung it with all his might at the Shrike. His first blow struck Berret across the armor of his back plate, filling the cell with a muffled ring. His second blow hit a shoulder plate but the back swing making up his third try, struck the assassin along side the head.

The blow had been his weakest, but gave him more courage to take the precious few microts to properly line up his next swing, which he planned to shatter the rogue Shrike's skull with.

The club started to whistle down on its target, when the assassin sudden rallied himself and blocked it with both his metal forearm braces formed into a tight 'X' above his head. The Telcarian's massive arms went numb from the recoil of the stopped blow, and before he could react, the Shrike sharply drew both arms downward. When the blades themselves finally crossed over the length of cell bar, they sheared through it like a large pair of scissors, leaving Teaguaar holding only the last few hentas of pipe above his grip.

The Syndicate boss realizing he'd lost his weapon and advantage, back a step away as the Shrike began to get to his feet. This time he decided to actually go for the Nebari tralk and use her to bargain for his freedom, seeing he'd already confirmed that the Shrike was trying to protect her for some reason.

The assassin was quicker despite being wounded, and covered the distance between them in an heartbeat, smashing the bigger man backwards and driving one set of blades through his chest and into the stonewall behind him that they had run up against.

He died pinned there looking into Berret's emotionless silver eyes.

Berret yanked his weapons out of the body and stonework. He didn't even bother to watch the newest corpse he'd just created slide to the floor. A casual thought sent the blades snapping back into their brace housings.

It was only then that he allowed a trace of the weariness and strain from his wounds he felt to touch him. He reached up and with some effort pulled the dagger out from where it still protruded from the neckline of his torso armor. The blade had bitten deep into the muscles but he didn't believe that it cut any major blood vessels. It would however take the microbes a while to repair.

His hood had fallen down during the battle, and the side of his head was caked with blood from his head wound, but he also judge that wasn't as bad as it seemed, and that the microbes would take care of that as well shortly. He was however going to be ravenousness after they had completed their work.

He finally finished his self-diagnostic and turned to look at the Nebari girl. Chiana saw his attention and pushed herself back up against the wall, not sure what the Enforcer would do now that everyone else in the prison cell was dead except for her.

She wildly wondered if she might be the next to expire at the assassin's whim. She had no reason at all to expect that she wouldn't in fact be next to die, as it seemed the Shrike had simply just gone crazy and slaughtered everyone.

"We have to leave this place," he told her, his normal bland tone now rough with the tension of all he had just gone through. His head wound was bothering him more than he had originally assessed it would he found.

Chiana nodded, not yet trusting herself to speak. It was always better to just agree with whatever a madman said to buy yourself time to find a way to escape.

Part of her even still wondered if this was all a trick of the Syndicate to further torment her. She half expected the "dead men" to jump to their feet howling with laughter as she took a step toward freedom… and then began the rape all over again.

The blood pooling on the cell floor certainly looked real enough. It even smelled too real to be faked. The jumble of body parts was pretty convincing too," she concluded after allowing herself to take a deeper breath. Several more breaths came nearer to assuring her that she actually wasn't going to die in the next microt.

"Can you travel?" the bleeding Enforcer inquired next. It was then she noticed for herself that his eyes were no longer that strange shade of blue; instead they were now completely silver!

"I think I can," Chiana answered in a tiny voice, she was now afraid of him again. "What the hezmana was he?" she asked herself silently. "Why...? How did...?" she started to ask when he still didn't make a move to harm her in any way, and then she noticed his bare neck with the new healing scars for the first time. She should have noticed when she saw that big Syndicate bastard stab him! "The collar's gone! You got it off somehow."

He gave her a single tired nod as he slowly bent his knees to squat down closer to her, meaning to assess her damage before helping her up. The girl made a move to back further away from him but then held her place. If he wanted to kill her, he was going to kill her and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

Without realizing she was doing it, she tentatively reached out a single hand to touch the older scars cycles of wearing the electronic device had left on his throat. Her fingertips came away stained with tiny pin-sized drops of his blood; she could almost swear that she saw the small hair-thin cuts still healing right before her eyes.

The assassin who now called himself Berret, had started to pull away in turn, not knowing what she had in mind with her inspection, but sensing no threat from the girl, he remained still and let her touch his neck.

It was at that moment that they both realized that they had come to an unspoken agreement of trust with each other.

Chiana again reached out to feel the smooth skin of the man and knew she wasn't dreaming.

He really had broken free of the control collar some way, and she wasn't actually still being gang-raped and just imagining the rescue to escape the horror of that reality.

She grew stronger as she was able to affirm that her mind hadn't slipped into a self-made hallucination, and she now had a slim chance to escape, to survive!

To make it home to Moya!

She let the Enforcer offer her a hand getting to her feet a moment later. Her clothes were almost a total loss but she did her best to tie the remains together. The Enforcer saw her efforts and removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. The garment was too long for her statue as the Shrike was almost twice her size. He found a belt that was relatively bloodless on one of the bodies and used it to gather some of the cloak's length up and cinch it around her waist so she was able to walk without tripping over it. Chiana gave the garb a quick inspection and discovered it was made of heavy silk. She had always had a passion for the material, and further inspection showed her that it had a strange property. It was nearly soundless when she rubbed it together between her fingers! No wonder the assassin could move so silently. She decided it would do for her for the moment... even despite the blood staining it.

She hadn't been able to notice it with the cloak on, but most of Berret's body except for his head, neck and the last joints of his fingers were covered by the dark armor. It answered the question now why Shrikes had the reputation for being almost unstoppable.

If she had to guess, she would have estimated the man had to be wearing close again to his body weight in metal, and she was amazed that he could move as gracefully as he did. Berret had to be much stronger than his slim frame appeared to be, to be able to bear the weight of it for so long.

To her further surprise she discovered that the Shrike's dark hair was almost as long as Aeryn's and set in a braid that stopped at a heavy looking gold braid clasp. Strands of some type of thin metal wire were woven through the braid in a strange design. She also noticed that his eyes had by now slowly faded back to their normal color, and didn't quite have the dead-look they did earlier, though she couldn't say they held much in the way about what the man might have been feeling at the moment.

She wondered why it hadn't dawned on her before that they were of such a pale blue that they reminded her of Crichton's eyes, but where John's were warm, Berret's were more like chips of ice.

Perhaps it had been the way the cloak's hood had blocked the light from reaching his eyes? She shook her head and pushed the thoughts away. Now was not the time to be worrying about a pretty face, she thought to herself.

"We must move fast if we are to escape," he said bringing her out of her thoughts. "It will not be easy and the tactical odds are in the House's favor. We probably will not succeed. Do you still wish to make the attempt?"

Chiana nodded her head. Better to die trying to get away then to let them kill her... or to have to kill herself to avoid more torture if she had a choice now. "I've never let the odds stop me before," she said with a light smile.

"Very well," said Berret and he started to turn away from her to lead the way out of the cellblock.

"Wait," she said, grabbing him by one arm. He paused and looked back at her puzzled. "Why? Why did you stay and help me? You could have left while they were busy with me and gotten away by yourself."

He hadn't expected any questions, let alone that one. It also puzzled him why she would even think to ask it. It had never occurred to him to simply abandon her to increase his chances of a successful escape.

Perhaps his tactical logic functions were faulty?

"I do not know," he finally answered... and found that he truly didn't know why the more he attempted to dissect the problem. The idea of escaping by himself simply never entered his mind or presented itself as an option. The girl was a thief, there was no reason why he should have cared whether she lived or died? He then remembered the singing and for some reason, he found that he just did.

"Not that I'm complaining," Chiana continued with a hint of her old humor, "But, thank you." She reached out and took both his hands and gently squeezed his bare fingers in gratitude.

He wasn't sure what to make of the contact. Like when she touched his neck moments ago, it seemed to reassure the girl in some way, so he allowed it again.

She looked up at him with those dark eyes; even with the bruises she possessed a kind of beauty that he realized made him feel unexpectedly uneasy. Not uneasy in a threatened way, but uneasy as in an unbalanced way.

He glanced down at the small hands still holding his; her fingers, thin and graceful, left a trail of heat wherever they touched his bare skin... and something almost electric. Perhaps she possessed some type of natural bioelectrical defensive system he never heard of, he wondered? It was possible that Nebari had such abilities, and that his knowledge of varies races he might be called on to eradicate did not cover it. After all, it was not possible to know everything. But the weapon obviously didn't contain a strong enough charge to do damage to him, so he ignored it for the moment.

Her voice however, again reminded him of the sweet songs she'd sung for him from her cage, the same voice that pleaded for his help, as she was powerless and being brutalized. The same sweet voice that would have been silenced forever in a short time had he not acted.

He slowly began to reason out why he had done what he did, the base answer was that he did not want that voice silenced. He did not want her to die.

That also answered where the strength to finally defeat the collar had come from? There could only be one logic answer. This small Nebari thief in front of him had given him something he hadn't been able to find for himself - the will to fight for his freedom.

He regarded her with new eyes and a new level of comprehension. She did indeed have many secrets.

Before they made their break for freedom, Chiana wisely suggested that they paused to clean as much of the blood and gore from themselves as possible. A nearby slop sink held the answer to removing most of the evidence of the slaughter inside the cell. And gave the girl the chance to do her best to tend to his head wound. Once they were as presentable as could be expect, the unlikely pair left the sub-level to began their dash for freedom.

They had only gone up one level when they ran into the next small group of men on their way down to join the event that was supposedly taking place in the Nebari's prison cell. Chiana had followed closely along behind Berret so the three men didn't realize she was there until it was too late.

At first the Syndicate members were only mildly interested as to why Berret no longer wore the customary cloak over his armor. Arckatius, the mad Scarran Overload, demanded that his assassins cover their protective metal plates so as to render a mystic about them as to why pulse bolts could not stop them. Oddly enough, other Syndicate Houses had taken up the custom as well over the cycles, although all the Houses couldn't afford the expensive Acquarian silk that Arckatius preferred to deck his killers in. It was almost unheard of to see a Shrike out without its cloak.

They were just forming the question about the Shrike's lack of apparel when one finally noticed Chiana's lithe form trying to hide behind the Enforcer.

"What the hezmana is she doing out?" the alert man got out.

Berret spun and leaped into the air in a blur of motion, almost too fast for Chiana to follow. When he landed, all three men were sliding toward the floor dead and she noticed new sets of blades retracting into the soles of the Shrike's armored boots.

"You're full of tricks. Remind me not to gris you off," she said indolently. She quickly searched the three bodies and found one fairly decent pulse pistol and a large folding knife among the dead men. She cursed lightly when she couldn't find a reload for the weapon anywhere on the bodies. She then indicated that Berret might want to arm himself with something besides his armor and blades from the lesser quality weapons that were left, but the man disregarded the suggestion.

They dumped the corpses off into a side chamber hoping nobody would notice the bloody carpet at the scene of the killing right away, and continued moving upward toward freedom.

The next level up yielded even more activity by Syndicate personal so they picked a side room to duck into and discuss their next move.

"They will discover your escape soon," he said. "Our time is running out."

Chiana nodded in agreement, she felt the chron ticking away too.

"We have to find a way outta here. What's the quickest way outside," she asked.

"The main floor where Arckatius's common room is, but the main access way will be heavily guarded."

The Enforcer frowned as he considered something else, "Getting outside would do us little good as the Syndicate controls most of this sector of the trading port. We would be captured very quickly by the hunters, or other Enforcers once they are mobilized. Once they realize I have joined you, they will certainly send all the Shrikes after us."

"Any chance of stealing a ship?" Chiana asked. "If we can get to one, I can break the ignition code. Once we get off this dirtball, I can comm my friends for help and we can get away."

Berret shook his head in the negative. "Arckatius has ships here for use, but they are also under guard at all times in a hidden underground facility. There are also at least ten Enforcers on duty here at any given time and two should be inside the hanger. I might be able to hold my own for a short time against another Shrike, but not more than one especially if they are both augments like myself."

"Frell it!" exclaimed the Nebari woman She didn't know what an "augment" was suppose to be exactly, and didn't have time to go into it. It was enough for the moment that her new companion said two were more than he could handle. "We didn't get this far in our escape run just to be stopped short by a few farbing gangster thugs. Are you sure there's no other way... someplace we can bolt to?"

Chiana's turn of phrase triggered something in the back of Berret's mind.

"Yes! I do recall something now... Arckatius has a bolthole behind his chair in the common room that's meant to be used in case his home was overrun by the authorities or a rival Syndicate House. It leads to a sub-orbital vehicle on a launch pad hidden at the rear of his estate."

"Yes! That's it then! Its exactly what we need," Chiana said jubilantly as she jumped back to her feet. Without thinking she reached up and grabbed Berret by his chin and planted a resounding kiss on his lips. The contact made her swore lips hurt, but she was too pleased to care much about the twinge it caused her.

Taken by surprise, Berret stood there with a bewildered look on his face while working his jaw, attempting to ascertain the meaning of this new form of contact.

"What's wrong?" asked Chiana a microt later when it began to seem something wasn't sitting correctly with the Enforcer. He was gazing down at the floor while touching his lips as if in deep contemplation. She was beginning to worry that something dire was wrong with the Shrike… or worse yet, that he remembered something else that would shot a moon-sized hole in their new plan.

"Why did you do that?" he finally looked up and asked.

"Do what?"

"Brush your lips against mine. What is the meaning of this?"

"Oh!" said Chiana, feeling a rush of relief. "That's just called a kiss. Its something you sometimes do with another person when something makes you happy. Don't you know about kissing?"

Seeing him confused like this now, it was hard for the girl to connect the bewildered man standing in front of her with the thing that had so savagely ripped through the rapists in her cell just a short time ago. She felt something inside her soften toward the Enforcer. He was so hardened in the worse facets of life and so innocent in its pleasures. It was a strange, but intriguing combination she found.

Berret finally shrugged his shoulders to indicate he wasn't sure if he knew about kissing or not. The lost look slipped from his face to be replaced by the neutral one he usually wore.

"So I am to believe the fact that we have one small chance at escaping, by making it to the common room undetected, and then making it all the way to the escape capsule, makes you happy?"

"Yeah... that's about the measure of it," she replied.

Berret shook his head in dismay and straightened his stance a bit. "I do not believe you recognize the severity of our situation."

The Nebari drew her new weapon out and checked its charge.

"Oh, I recognize it for sure," she cooed. "I'm just willing to wager the Syndicate doesn't recognize the severity of dealing with a grised-off Nebari thief with nothing left to lose."

Chiana gave him a sly wink and Berret found her cavalier attitude somewhat mystifying.

An alarm suddenly sprung to life deep within the building, making them abruptly turn their focus back to the situation at hand and their microt to microt survival.

"They have discovered the bodies and that you are gone," the Shrike said unnecessarily. His eyes turned colder and Chiana caught a hint of that harden Enforcer about him again.

The Nebari blew a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. It was time to get back to business.

"Then you better tell me about the layout of this place really quick so we can get moving before they find us," she instructed her new ally.

The pair left their temporary cover in a bid to make a rush for the exit, but were soon discovered by their now alerted enemies a few moments later. They raced down the extravagantly furnished hallways. Expensive chairs and tables exploded as pulse bolts found them instead of the dodging flesh they were aimed at.

When the fire grew too heavy, the Shrike grabbed Chiana by one shoulder and steered into another side room, just as the corridor in front of them suddenly filled with more armed Syndicate men. Berret stumbled as a bolt caught him in the back, burning the armor there from the bluish-black gunmetal color to dark brown. Chiana glanced at the man and saw that several other plates of armor were also brunt brown, luckily nothing had yet caught him in the same place twice, or the pulse blast would have blown through the metal. Thanks to Aeryn, she had some knowledge of military-style pulse armor.

It was only a matter of time before a bolt did catch him twice in the same spot though, she considered.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked as he slammed the heavy door behind them. Before he answered, he paused a moment to shove several large pieces of furniture up against the door to block it.

"We're trapped!" she suddenly exclaimed as she realized there was no other exit to the room they'd barricaded themselves into.

"We go up," responded Berret as he leaped up on top of a table.

Before she could ask further questions, the blades sprang out of both his gauntlet braces. The Enforcer began to carve his way into the ceiling, squinting his eyes to avoid getting plaster dust and bits of wood into them as he cut. Within microts, he had burrowed an escape hole large enough for them to pass through in the ceiling.

"Come on. They will wait outside the door only long enough for them to amass sufficient numbers to assault this room," he said. "We have to be gone and on the move by then."

The Nebari didn't need much more urging to join the assassin on the tabletop.

"This was good thinking," she said as he lifted her up by the waist so she could pull herself through the hole. Once Chiana was out of the way, Berret jumped up and grabbed the edges of the floor above him then pulled himself through the escape hole after her.

"Yes. Most sentient beings are two-dimensional in their thinking. They will not think about up as an escape direction in a room with only one exit. Unfortunately we will not be able to use the ruse again," he said when he had rejoined her, "Once they realize what we've done, they will be looking for it again should they corner us."

"As long as it frelling works this time," the woman replied.

They found themselves in another room similar to the one below they'd just escaped from. Berret moved to the room's doorway and eased the entrance open to peek out. Outside he saw another Shrike patrolling the corridor. He signaled to the girl to remain silent and to move off to one side.

With Chiana safely hidden from view, he opened the door and half-stepped outside it.

"Shrike 362, I acquire assistance in securing this room," Berret said in a lifeless voice.

"Acknowledged, Shrike..." the other assassin started and then paused, "There is a malfunction in your collar and I do not read you as online. Be advised that my designation is Shrike 601."

"Noted, 601. I am scheduled for collar re-tunement at the end of the solar day to correct the error."

Berret stepped aside and let the Enforcer enter the room with him. As soon as the door was closed, Berret leaped at the newcomer. He tore the cloak off the other assassin, which at the same time pulled him suddenly off balance. The cloak came free and Berret stepped in punching the blades on his right hand into Shrike 601's throat, he then raked his claws downward to destroy the control device before it could send a warning to the central data bank. The other Enforcer's control collar shorted and spit sparks as it was cut nearly in half.

He let the body drop to the floor and bent to pick up the fallen cloak. 601 had been nearly the same size as Berret so the cloak fit him properly. Now he would again blend it with the other Enforcers.

"I though you said you might have a hard time taking on another Shrike? That seem to go fairly easy," Chiana said to him as she regarded the new body.

"We were lucky. Shrike 601 was still on guard duty and not on hunt mode, which made it easy for me to gain the advantage. They must still believe that we are contained on the lower floors if they hadn't activated all the Enforcers to look for us yet," he explained.

"Or the peons don't want that frelling Scarran narb to know that we escaped, and they're trying to keep it quiet," Chiana suggested.

Berret paused a moment as he contemplated her observation. "That could also be a possibility," he admitted. "Such a failure would bring dire results for whomever they deem responsible. But we cannot rely on that condition remaining current much longer. Arckatius will come to know of the situation very soon."

There was still no noises coming from the floor below them, so Berret considered the Syndicate members must still believe them trapped inside the room and were just waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

He led the way into the corridor and they quickly moved to the nearest stairwell. Just before they entered the staircase, the sound of footsteps warned them that someone was descending the stairs in their direction.

"What do we do?" Chiana mouthed at him. They were too far away from the room they came from to make it back in time and there was nothing closer for them to duck into.

Thinking quickly, Berret motioned for her to step closer to him.

Nibeck descended the stars at a leisurely pace, having just come from the Overlord's private chambers... and to say the big Scarran was in a foul mood from the recent news was an understatement, the fact that some of his underlings tried to hide news of the incident from him, didn't improve the Overlord's mood to say the least. Nibeck was certainly glad he wasn't the bearer of that bad information to the crime lord, or the one who had to explain it. How did those frell-ups manage to let the Nebari tramp escape... much less gain control of one of the Shrikes?

The news wasn't even thirty microts old before one of the lieutenants assigned him and some others the task of checking the guard stations, working their way from the Master's private apartment all the way down to the sub levels.

Nibeck was in no hurry to get down to the cellblock level, let those other nurfers to blame capture that pair. The reward would probably be good, but definitely not worth risking his neck over. He would just take his time and hopefully it would all be over by the time he got down there.

He began to wonder how bad the penalty would be for whoever was responsible? Nibeck was glad most of the main force working for Arckatius's House was non-Scarrans. He'd heard stories of other Syndicate houses where such a screw-up would have meant the death of every non-Scarran Syndicate member. Luckily, Arckatius in his paranoia didn't trust most other Scarrans; so most of his Syndicate house except for a few trusted high-ranking members and some personal guards were from other races. Killing all the non-Scarrans would leave him severely under staffed and ripe for a take-over from another House.

Still, some non-Scarran associates was going to die for the screw-up, and being he was still on duty at the time and nowhere near the holding cell - that person wasn't going to be him. And that was all he really cared about.

A first he cursed his luck at still being on duty when the Overlord gave the word to have at the Nebari tralk. He had heard she was a looker and he was looking forward to getting a turn at her… before she got too mess up. It had been a long time since he'd been with a female.

Seeing what a disaster it turned out for the first bunch, he thanked the Goddess and whatever gods were watching over him today. Perhaps the tralk might be retaken alive and he still might have a chance at her? Maybe better, what if by chance he lucked out some more and somehow got the drop of the rogue Shrike and the girl? If he recaptured them both, perhaps the Overlord would allow him to be first with the girl? Maybe even be given her for his private use for a while as part of his reward? The thought was almost enough to make him head to join the search parties straight away – but no quite. A piece of eema still wasn't worth purposely risking himself… but if they did happen to cross his path?

One never knew.

He paused a moment to step out on the next landing and checked the next guard post there. He found the Shrike on duty exactly where he should have been. Standing motionless not too far from the stair well.

"Report 601!" he snapped as he walked up to the Enforcer on guard. Despite the situation, the task was boring, and he didn't expect anything different at this post that had been reported at the last three.

"Sector secured," the assassin responded in its lifeless tone. It regarded him with expressionless eyes from beneath its deep hood.

Nibeck suppressed a shiver. He hated being around the Shrikes at the best of times. Anything so emotionless, so cold, should be dead he thought to himself. And to think there was one of them running around free somewhere on the floors below where he stood now gave him a case of the neebuur-jeeboos.

The other men got a big kick out of heaping as much abuse on the Shrikes, outside of Arckatius's view, as they could get away with, but he had seen one of the creatures snap a traitor's neck in the blink of an eye at the Overlord's whim.

For all the feeling in the Shrike's eyes at the time, it might as well been opening a door instead of killing a man.

These damned things weren't natural… and he hated them all if the truth be told.

"Go to level two protocols, we have an intruder alert," Nibeck ordered the assassin.

"Acknowledged, level two protocols," answered the Shrike as expected. "Query: what is the target?"

Nibeck inwardly cursed. Only Arckatius could issue the order to send the Enforcers into full hunt mode. Level two only allowed them to eradicate non-Scarran individuals who didn't know a specific password to get by the Shrikes. The Goddess help any non-Scarran Syndicate member who happened by this Shrike and who'd forgot what this weeken password was.

"There are two targets. A Nebari female – who is a thief under a eradication decree from the Overlord, and a rogue Enforcer – reported to be a Sebacean male," he explained. "Current information is that they are trapped on one of the levels below us, but should they escape and make it up here, you are to stop them by any means to protect the Overlord. The Shrike is running without functioning collar or cloak so any Enforcer you cannot read online... terminate on sight."

"Acknowledged," said the Shrike once again. "Directives accepted."

Nibeck turned away and headed back for the staircase to continue on with his appointed task of checking on the rest of the estate's security, when something that had been nibbling at the back of his mind took a rather large bite at his thoughts. Something had felt off the whole time he gave this particular Enforcer his new instructions.

Something didn't look quite right... then he had it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his hand-comp to review the posting list. Checking the entry for that floor, he discovered what it was right away.

The Enforcer that was supposed to be stationed on this floor was suppose to be Sebacean, but of a sub- race with a darker complexion. And now that he reflected on it, there was too much pale skin showing through the cloak at this one's throat... right where there should have been a control collar!

He felt his heart skip a beat. It was the rogue! He was sure of it… and he had him! It was trying to pass itself off as the Enforcer that was supposed to be at the post here. He glanced back at the cloaked figure, it was calmly and steadily scanning the hall like it should have, not paying him any mind at all, probably believing he was just checking something from his little hand-sized computer. He could get the drop on it if he played his hand right. He could be a hero to his superiors and claim the rewards. His heart started to beat faster as he thought about the possibility of having a woman all to himself, but he forced himself to remain clam and relaxed. He knew he could do this.

Nibeck made an exasperated noise and then a show of frowning as if he'd suddenly discovered that he'd forgotten something important, and turned back to face the assassin.

"Oh, and Shrike, one more additional order I need to inform you of..."

The Enforcer looked at him unemotionally once more as he stepped forward waving the hand-comp for emphasis.

When he was close enough, he dropped the hand-comp as if accidentally and as expected, the Shrike's eyes followed it as it hit the floor with a thud. Nibeck's free hand moved like lightening while the assassin was distracted and drew his pulse pistol. Knowing it would do him no good to shoot the assassin in the body because of the armor, he jammed it up under his chin and thumbed the power selector all the way up. The steady whine the pistol made left no doubt that it was at full-charge.

"DON'T YOU FRELLIN' MOVE!" he growled. "Don't even breath!"

This time the Shrike's composure faltered, and he was rewarded by a un-Shrike-like look of surprise. He was sure now he had the rogue in his grasp. Any other of the abominations that was still under control of a collar wouldn't have blinked an eye once at having a gun shoved in their face by a legitimate Syndicate member. The simply wouldn't have moved, or breathed for that matter, until ordered to do so.

"I don't know how you threw the collar or how you got up to this level so quickly, but it's over now," said Nibeck triumphantly.

"You do seem to have me at the disadvantage," admitted Berret in an oddly more normal tone.

"And it will stay that way. Stay still and no harm will come to you," the Syndicate man told, beginning to feel more confident with his position by the microt. He reached for his comm unit with his free hand, pulling it from its belt pouch. "I'm going to call this in, and somebody will come to take you back to the techs. They'll fit you with a new collar and put you back in service. That's all that will happen to you if you just stay still."

The Shrike's eyes narrowed with an unusual hint of anger.

"I'd rather not," he replied.

"Frell that dren!" Nibeck said with a painful twist of the pistol's muzzle. You don't have a choice." He looked around quickly as if remembering something. "Where's the Nebari tralk?" he then demanded to know. "Where is she hiding?"

"I do not know," Berret replied.

"Don't give me that..." Nibeck started to say when he noticed the front of the Shrike's bellowing cloak move in an odd way by itself. "What the hezmana?" he asked and without thinking, reached out with the hand holding his comm and brushed the garment aside.

He suddenly found himself staring into a gray pixyish face.

"Hello," purred Chiana. Her arm rose with the fluid grace of a dancer, seemingly in slow motion. Nibeck watch almost as if hypnotized as she placed the muzzle of her pulse pistol against the tip of his hooked nose. "Goodbye," she then said in a voice almost as cold as her black eyes.

The last thing Nibeck saw was a close-up view of her slim finger tightening on the pulse gun's trigger.

"That could have gone better," Berret said as Chiana extracted herself from under his cloak. He stepped over Nibeck's smoking body, then bent down to retrieve the man's comm unit where it had fallen to the floor. A quick examination revealed it to be one of the better quality all-purpose links that could be used to communicate with ships in orbit if need be. He regarded the dead man in passing, a large hole now resided where his face had been just a moment before. The sight didn't disturb the Shrike, he had seen much worse before.

"Works for me," replied Chiana off-handedly to his comment while she removed a shred of flesh from the barrel of her gun. She pulled out the chakan magazine and touched it to her tongue to test it. She knew better than to trust the ammo counter on the cheaper pistols. Satisfied with the remaining charge left, she slammed the magazine back into the well in the gun's handle.

From the room behind them there came a shouting of many voices as the gang members finally broke into the room under it and discovered the hole they had cut into the ceiling to escape.

"Game's up," commented the Nebari

"They probably also heard the pistol shot and will be on the way up here now," added the assassin. "We have to go up one more level."

Without a further word, he grabbed her hand and they raced for their lives up the remaining stairs until they hit the main level. Luck was with them that far, as they ran into no more resistance for the moment. However, just as they ducked into Arckatius's common room, where Chiana had been dragged some time before by the bounty hunters, someone cried out as they discovered them. A servant or some other worker had seen them and was now calling for armed men to give chase.

The throne space was empty as they rushed inside. But that condition wouldn't last for very long.

"Where's the bolt hole?" Chiana asked in excitement, looking around the room.

"Under the throne seat," Berret replied.

The assassin moved behind the huge Scarran-sized chair and kicked in forward with an armor-shod boot. The seat slid straight ahead on hidden rails, revealing a metal security door sunk into the floor underneath.

There was a handprint keypad next to the entrance.

"Oh frell! What do we do now? They took all my bugler tools from me," Chiana told him.

Without speaking, Berret's blades appeared over his right hand and he slashed off the control panel's faceplate, opening the machine's guts up to them.

"Well, that did us a lot of good!" shouted the Nebari as she started to panic. The sound of running footsteps and more shouting was growing louder by the microt. "Yotz, they're coming!" she said.

Berret found the main power cable and began ripping out wires at random and then attaching them to the power line, trying them one after the other. It suddenly occurred to the young thief what the Shrike was up to. Chiana knew that if she had been calmer and given a moment to think of it, she would have been able to trace the wires back to the door motor and over-ride it into opening - but time was something they didn't have much of.

"Your technique is a little like a Harlz-bull loose in a Hynerian china shop, but I'll be happy if it gets results," she quipped, while she nervously eyed the doorway. "Ill be even happier if it gets results real soon!"

The Shrike didn't respond and kept working at the bundle of wires. Sparks flew, and she was sure Berret had to have been shocked several times but the assassin's fingers never stopped testing wires.

Suddenly there was a deep whirring sound and the heavy metal door slid away with a grinding noise to reveal a short staircase leading down into a tunnel.

"Go!" shouted Berret as he dropped the collection of wire leads.

Chiana didn't have to be told more than once, and she literally flew down the stairs without touching a single one in her flight. The Enforcer dropped down behind her just as the common room began to fill with angry men.

The freed Shrike and Chiana raced along the narrow getaway corridor toward the escape capsule chamber.

Behind them they could hear the Syndicate forces gaining on them in their chase. Pulse bolts exploded and glanced off support columns as they dodged and ran passed. Chiana did her best to toss off return fire over her shoulder as she ran, but her small pulse pistol soon ran out of charge. Berret lightly grunted and mistepped as a one or two of the bolts struck armor.

The air in the long enclosed space was quickly filling with the acid smoke and smell of charred metal and quickcrete. They made it to the armored security door at the end of the tunnel just ahead of the pursuing troop of Syndicate personnel. As they ducked through, Chiana slammed her fist down on the activation button causing the heavy metal door to roll closed and lock, sealing them inside the chamber.

Berret extended the blades from his right brace and again slashed them through the control panel, this time cutting deep enough to thoroughly destroy the circuits there.

"That will stop them for only a few microts," he advised.

Chiana ran to the escape capsule and speedily examined the controls.

"Damn!" she swore. "This things need to be prepped first!"

"I know. Usually the warm-up cycle would have been activated when the keypad was coded. By the time the passenger would have gotten here the capsule would have been ready. Given that we had to destroy the keypad to gain entry…"

"The ship didn't prep. I got it," Chiana finished. "Let me see here…" The Nebari girl went to work on the controls.

Luckily she had a vast amount of experience stealing different types of spacecraft and the pod wasn't too difficult to figure out. Within several microts she then began setting switches and systems began powering up.

A warning light began to flash as the machinery was activated and a low buzzer started to drone, as fuel was sent at high-speed from the storage tanks to the vehicle. The ship was completely fueled within a few microts. When she was done she turned back to her tall comrade who was watching the thick security door.

"Its ready! We have to board now," she said, "It'll take at least 40 more microts for the ship to finish prepping and another 20 to launch it."

A resounding thud made her spin back toward the door. The portal creaked and then made a long drawn out groan as if it were alive. Dust drifted from the quickcrete frame as the jams came under duress.

"Frell! Their starting to open it," the gray girl muttered. The steel began to ring as if hammers had just been added to the abuse. She could see it start to vibrate as she pivoted on her heel and ran for the module.

The heavy pounding that came from the entrance told Berret they didn't have that much time left before their enemies succeeded in manually opened the security door, and got inside the compartment.

"Come on, we have to go!" Chiana urged from the escape capsule's open hatchway.

"We'll never make it," the Shrike said as he turned to face her. "They will be through the door before the ship is done running its prepping cycle. They'll be able to abort the launch sequence once they're inside the chamber."

Chiana looked at him in growing fear, "Then what'll we do?" she cried as she returned to his side. She gripped one of his arms through the cloak as she gazed up at him through the bangs of her wild hair. "Do we fight? I'd rather die here then have them drag me back to what they were going to do to me!"

Berret looked down in her dark eyes and she tilted her head slightly as she searched his own. She was waiting for him to tell her something, to give her a path, to find a direction they could turn.

But there was nothing he could tell her. The door would give within the next few microts, the Syndicate men would rush in with weapons blazing… and then there would be death.

Death and he had been intimate traveling companions and he shouldn't fear it. But the girl did even though she had spent the last few solar days wearing a brave face, a countenance she still wore even now in these dark moments. One so young and with her life still ahead of her should not walk with the same company he did so soon, he thought.

He searched his inner self, that new persona that had just been created, and found that he still did not want her to die above everything else.

A strange sense of calmness settled over him as he accepted his fate… and made the decision for them both.

Without thinking of what he was doing or why, he suddenly reached for the woman and pulled her close to him, hugging her small body to him and pressing his lips against her cheek... a kiss this time in his gratitude for her gift of freedom. In their limited time together, she had taught him something at least.

Surprisingly Chiana then kissed him back, seeming to have similar thoughts, one comrade giving another a final good-bye.

She muttered her thanks as she hugged him for the attempt at helping her escape, as she realized and accepted that they probably weren't going to make it after all.

"Its not your fault. I'm ready now," she murmured.

For just a few microts, time seemed to stand still for the ex-Enforcer. He allowed a brief moment to wonder at things that might have been, what more life might have shown him... and he allowed another brief moment to wonder at the here and now.

The girl's scent filled his microbe enhanced senses, strangely to him it seemed somewhere in his mind that her scent should be connected to things good and pleasant... and not a desperate run for escape, not this place, not this life.

He imprinted on himself the embrace of her small arms wrapped around him, that he seemed to be able to feel even through the protection of his armor... her warm seeking eyes and the recollection of her songs.

These were all he wanted to remember… the only light to fracture his darkness.

For just an instant suspended in time, he was someone else, and not a murderer for the Syndicate.

It was the final memory he wanted to take with him into the unknown void at the end of all life.

He pulled away from the Nebari who was stunned beyond words by the sudden intimate action taken by the assassin. She had not expected to be comforted in their final moments… and she was strangely glad she could give the same in return.

She was temporarily baffled in the next moment when he pushed his comm unit into one of her small hands.

"Live well... and remember me sometime when you sing," he said to her, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion at his words. Before she could ask about them, he pushed her into the capsule.

The small woman landed hard on the floor of the escape vehicle to stare blankly back up at him in shock.

"What are you doing?" she cried as Berret slammed the tiny craft's door shut and spun the wheel to lock it from the chamber side. Chiana sprang to her feet and rushed to the hatch. The wheel wouldn't budge when she tried it, so she turned to pounding at the small port window in the door.

"No! No together! We'll face them together!" she shouted.

Chiana watched through the armored glass in dismay as Berret's blades sheared through the air lock docking mechanism, making the door now inoperable again. It was then she grasped that he meant to launch the capsule with only her aboard.

He moved over to the launch control station and saw that the capsule's onboard computer had taken over the launch sequence. He rammed his claw-like weapons through the panel several times, and then for good measure tore the whole control assembly from its pedestal and dumped it over. He retracted his blades and reached into the heart of the pedestal and ripped out the main wiring harness, just in case one of the Syndicate men attempted to use the same trick they had used in the throne room getting through the first security door.

Nothing short of interfering with the gantry loading sequence could stop the launch now, he'd seen to that.

Berret looked back up at the Nebari girl watching him from the craft's hatch window and still pounding at door.

He couldn't hear her words, but he knew she was screaming his name... the name she had given him.

There was barely enough time for once last thing. He placed one armor-covered hand against the port in farewell. On the other side, the girl stopped yelling and attacking the hatch, and then sadly mirrored him, placing her small palm opposite his on the thick glass. Chiana never stopped speaking to him and tears ran freely down her cheeks.

He couldn't be sure, but for some reason he thought the girl was saying something more to him then just goodbye as the ship, progressing closer toward lift off, moved away from the storage rack on a transport rail and onto the gantry toward it's launch final position.

It brought him a moment's sadness to know he would never know what her parting words had been, that he would never her another song from her. He wished there was a way to tell her that it was all right. That perhaps this end was destined to be, as surely as their meeting as prisoner and guard had been.

"Thank you for the return of my life," he told her through the glass as the capsule moved away from him.

He turned toward the security door. With a thought both sets of blades sprang back into position over his fists. A large pipe in the middle of the control chamber turned out to be part of a coolant system, so he slashed a tear into it. The coolant leaked into the room like a heavy fog. It would give him a little bit more of an advantage in the coming moments.

The door began to shutter as the men on the other side found a way to start raising it open. He calmly stood waiting for what was to come. The tactical part of his mind used the moment to review the situation. The girl would escape and have a chance to live, some of his enemies would die in the next few microts before they killed him... but he would die free a soul.

And some other one day would have a chance to hear her sing.

Maybe not such a bad trade, he thought.

"No! 'Ret!" Chiana moaned and banged her small fists against the unyielding bulk of the hatch one last time. Her voice was already horse, but she still wanted to scream to the heavens at the injustice of it all. They had come so close! Just a few more microts and they both would have been free!

Berret had turned his back to her to face the steel security door and drawn the hood of his cloak up.

Steam vented from the escape vehicle's warming engines and added to the coolant fog swirling around the room. The Shrike stood like a shrouded statute; the only semblance of movement coming from the strobing hazard lights, that reflected wild flashes dancing along the keen edges of his brace blades.

Any other time she wouldn't have thought twice about leaving somebody else behind if it meant she'd escape to survive. This time was different. For the first time, somebody help her not because she had tricked them or offered her body… somebody help her just for who she was. Somebody saw her only for her and that had been enough reason. Because of a song, a song she had sung, a man had broken his own chains of slavery and risked everything to save her.

She had not realized until know just how good that had made her feel.

And now that same person had sacrificed it all, giving his life without question because he saw something in her worth the price. She wasn't sure which hurt more, that he was going to die for her or the fact that no one may ever come to see her like that again?

Before she knew it the computer sounded the ten-microt warning to launch.

"Damn it! Berret!" she yelled again, the steam and fog were making it hard to see much of anything now.

With the hatchway jammed shut and the controls destroyed on the other side, there was nothing more she could do and her time was running swiftly out.

The countdown shrilled at her, and the Nebari woman scrambled to belt herself as best she could into the big acceleration couch that had been designed and built for a Scarran frame, so she wouldn't be injured from the extreme forces of take-off.

Before belting in, Chiana's last clear sight of the Shrike had been of him rushing toward the opening security door and the mass of armed men pouring into the room.

From the heavily padded seat she couldn't see what was happening outside the capsule, only the flashes of pulse light that sometimes lit up the hatch port, and vibrations of small explosions in the last few microts told her there was a battle going on outside the craft.

The timer counted downward to "0", the engines ignited and slammed the seat cushions hard into her back, Chiana felt more hot tears of loss race down her cheeks as she hurled skyward through the launch tube and toward freedom.

The thought, "He hadn't had enough time to be free," raced continually through her mind.

And she knew she was going to moan the Shrike for some time to come.

"Damn it, it isn't fair," she muttered.

The view outside the tiny port gradually turned from sky to star field. Her body became lighter as gravity lost its grip, but her heart still felt heavy as a entire world.

The stars continued to twinkle and dance on the black curtain of night, cold and indifferent to her objections.

"... It isn't fair!"