The Interloper Chapter 25: Groundbreaking Development, a digimon fanfic

Pre-chapter author notes:

[1] HOLY CRAP. An update… AFTER EIGHT MONTHS! Homaygod, God save us all. XD

Anyway, so I've been out of the updating scene for far, far too long. But nope, I haven't been dead all this time. Several things have happened to me in the interim. Some are too personal for me to even allude to. Some are related to major steps I've made towards my professional aspirations (oh, like you guys would be interested in that). Some have more to do with useless stuff like videogames (Skyrim, Arkham Asylum/City, Modern Warfare 3, and Mass Effect 3, anyone?).

And the rest have to do with my rewrites of CH9 and CH10. I've spent quite a chunk of my free time on these two, since these are pivotal chapters. They have been made more immersive, and the quality is comparable to the efforts I've put into the writing of the more recent chapters.

So please read the rewrites. I'd like to know how much they hit you. XD

[2] Anyway, because Cruel Intentions ended up becoming too long yet again, I'm splitting it into two chapters like what I did with the previous ones. Word count's approx. 18,900, containing six of the eleven story segments planned for the original chapter.

So here you go. Chapter 23, Groundbreaking Development. Read and enjoy. ^_^

Imposing.

It was the first word Taichi could think of, seeing the woman responsible for the disastrous ending of Operation: Pyramid appear before him. Her bombastic figure was exposed for all to see—"all" being Taichi and the crimson liquid that once comprised his security detail.

Imposing.

It really was the only word he could think of.

Felicia Portal pranced into the cell, every step an exaggerated march that merely served to sensationalize her bosom, her tantalizing figure, and her waist-long hair, every strand a wonderful brown. The Child of Courage found her chartreuse eyes intimidating, orbs exuding nothing except ambiguous intent.

The grin gracing her lips disturbed him. Taichi took a few steps back, his mind recalling the way Felicia easily disposed of his guards, easily obliterated the thick door that separated him from freedom. One pace for every one taken by the woman's deliberate strides.

His hands gripped the rotund blob of flesh that was Koromon, extracting some form of moral support from the digimon. The digital half of Taichi Yagami stared, aware of the uselessness in even attempting to fight off this threat. There was no doubt both the human and digimon of Courage—albeit in one of his weakest forms—remembered Felicia Portal took down WarGreymon with little effort, a memory so infectious it literally sapped away Koromon's ability to make vicious, bestial snarls.

Something hard interrupted his withdrawal. Rigid.

Solid.

Brown eyes rolling to the side, Taichi glimpsed an unmoving wall, virtually leaving him with no room for escape. He felt a bead of sweat descend his cheek, staring at the stunning being before him, shivering from fright. From the inability to fight back.

Never before had the Chosen Child felt so mortal. The fragility of a human being constantly swirled within him, his life threatened by one who was human in only appearance, nothing more. One who was powerful enough to be a god in the Real World—no, in the Digital World.

Felicia's supremacy was unparalleled. After seeing the way she teleported across the airspace, effortlessly neutralizing the threat posed by Agumon in his Ultimate level, Taichi figured—Taichi knew—this accursed b*tch had the capacity of slaughtering an army of BelialVamdemon and Apocalymon without breaking a sweat.

So what did the Child of Courage have going for him? Short, brown hair that was once an afro everyone seemed to associate with him? A honed talent for strategy? For grasping things that would've otherwise been glossed over? Or was it his ability to invoke miracles in times of despair? (Until now, Taichi refused to think Daisuke had long usurped that role from him ten years back.)

Armed with nothing but a living plush toy and his human body, Taichi Yagami was, before the regal cruelty of Felicia Portal, a man weak in stature but impeccable in spirit and intelligence. For all the victories his erudition and skill had granted fourteen years ago, for all the support he has provided to the second generation ten years ago, there was nothing in his impressive repertoire of experience that would allow Taichi to survive this encounter.

To survive the enthralling and mysterious woman before him.

Already Taichi Yagami envisioned the pulsating, green wisps of energy appearing without warning, ending his life like a child would blow a candle: immediate and resolute.

With nowhere else to retreat, Taichi felt Koromon's squishy body squirming in his hands. "I'll protect you," the Baby digimon murmured. "Even if I die I will protect you, Taichi." Koromon prepared a last ditch attack—the ultimate sacrifice—to save his partner. That it was apparently a futile and hopeless effort never graced his digital half.

It's the thought that counts, Taichi thought acquiescently.

Then Felicia acted.

In the blink of an eye, her hands were upon both Koromon's face and that of his human half. She overwhelmed human and digimon with her speed and dexterity. A lime glow surrounded Felicia's palms, actually soft in intensity but as blinding as the sun as far as the two Chosen were concerned.

Resigned to the imminence of death, Taichi Yagami shut his eyes. Regrets filled his heart. He would never see the light of day again. He would never have the chance to rectify his mistakes, to even apologize to his sister for what he did. His fists were clenched, trembling to put up a fight that would certainly end in his doom on the very second it would've begun.

Tears slipped out of his shut eyes.

He tried so hard to pull the Chosen Children—the Digidestined—humanity itself—out of a depressing predicament. All he wanted was the realization of Hikari's dream, of a world where both digimon and human beings lived together in sacred harmony. Taichi had become an ambassador for the Digital World for that sake.

When Takeru and Yamato died with their families—when her boyfriend and his best friend died—he had sworn to do everything he can to right the wrongs of humanity, even as the war began, even as soldiers from across the globe invaded the Digital World and subdued them, simultaneously employing every government out there to repress those who fought for what was right.

A sense of weakness, a sense of failure, struck Taichi Yagami every time he ventured beyond the safe haven of the underground base. He despised the leash he snapped onto Agumon's neck. He could barely endure the meager lives led by countless digimon in the Real World. Pets. Commodities.

It rattled his soul, seeing the triband suppressors—the DARK SPIRALS—clipped on their bodies, stripping away free will and intelligence, enforcing the line that delineated humanity from every other creation of God.

Digimon as a species were gradually being enslaved, and the biggest tragedy of it was, there was no more "Digimon Kaiser" to unite against and fight. Oppression was conducted by organizations operating under the maxim of human progress, of society's advancement.

He still remembered the blond man they saw the other day, who ate his fill with a Veemon by his side. They ate the same food, from the same table. Perhaps, even the same plate. It offered a jarring disparity, for the other humans in that diner treated their digimon so callously and heartlessly, like they weren't people themselves.

Recalling the scene exposed Taichi to the clasps of both happiness and grief.

Happiness at the thought that seeds of hope still flourished somewhere out there.

Grief at the reality he could never expand that heartwarming scene to all of humanity and digimon alike. That he would never be given a second chance to fulfill Hikari's dream.

Tears slipped out his eyes.

There was just no escape. He was going to die here in this cold, damp prison. His body would be liquiefied like the guards outside the cell.

Nothing left to bury. Nothing to mourn over. The Child of Courage would never be rewarded with such dignity.

Yellow-green blinded his vision, overcoming the darkness of his eyelids. This is it, he told himself. I'm about to—

Death never occurred, to his surprise. Not even pain.

He could still feel the firmness of the floor, the chilling temperature of the prison cell.

What happened in oblivion's stead elicited more confusion. An annoying itch took over his ENTIRE body—he could actually feel every wound and scar on his body melding together. Healing. The bag of flesh carried by his hands became heavier, increasing in size and weight to the point Taichi Yagami was forced to relinquish his digital half.

A minute passed.

Only then did he open his eyes.

Agumon stood where Koromon should have landed, revitalized but as astounded as his human half.

Wasn't Felicia the one responsible for his imprisonment? Wasn't she the one who set her terrifying beasts upon both the DSI and the Digidestined? Wasn't she the one who averted whatever advantage Taichi's platoon gained from the surprise attack, teleporting soldiers around like toys?

Didn't she murder his jailers in cold blood, literally turning them into sickening, malodorous paste before his eyes without even an ounce of compunction?

Hasn't she proven herself as someone who never did things without reason? Cold and calculating? And immensely intelligent?

Before he knew what was happening, darkness suddenly overtook his vision. His gloved hands instinctively moved, only to grasp flowing cloth, its fibers and rough texture familiar in his uncovered fingers. Somehow pulling his head free from the mess, the Child of Courage discovered the chocolate brown cloak his captors certainly confiscated from him earlier. H-how…?

"I snatched it from the man who took it," Felicia's voice attacked his ears, seizing the elder Yagami's attention before his thoughts could proceed further. The way she said it made Taichi think the woman did something far more insidious than just stealing the sinuous cape on Taichi's behalf. "Same for these."

Taichi was in the midst of wrapping the shroud around his body when he felt two items land on the floor next to his feet. Agumon's claws must have found them before Taichi could return to the embrace of his cloak, made warm by its thickness and make, protection enabled by the Chrome Digizoid injected into the fabric—heavy yet manageable for an adequate degree of mobility.

"Hey Taichi," mumbled Agumon, his first words for the night. He tendered the two items to his human half, letting them rest on his palm, keeping his long, sharp claws away from both the objects and the Chosen Child. "Look, it's your digivice and…"

My goggles.

The battered headgear rendered obsolete by time but retained its symbolic power, having been passed down to Daisuke Motomiya in 2002, only to be retrieved by its former owner from the Child of Miracles' own memorial ten years later.

Caked spit and dried phlegm covered the surface of its lens. Dirt and grime swathed the black strap. They've certainly abused it, Taichi noted, his mind conjuring images of grown men molesting everything the goggles symbolized, violated in the names of hate and domination.

With tender, loving care, Taichi Yagami wiped the strap free off filth and, spitting on the dirtied lens, wiped it clean, using one end of his cloak. Once the goggles were back on the base of his neck, gleaming in what little light shone through the exposed doorway surrounded by fresh blood, Taichi regarded Felicia Portal, who was watching him with traces of amusement and condescension hiding behind her very posture.

Once she realized his attention was finally on her, she broke the silence. "You can scavenge the guns those meatbags were carrying," Felicia stated, referring to the soldiers she slew without gesturing towards the door behind her. Indifference and disregard for life oozed from her words. "I made sure you had something left to defend yourself with when you escape."

Taichi's steel gaze turned to Agumon, whose straight face remained constant trying to comprehend this mystifying woman, although his prehistoric head bobbed up and down in acknowledgement. The elder Yagami's eyes revisited Felicia. "W-why," he gulped, "Why didn't you kill me?"

Had Taichi possessed the gift of omniscience, he would have known the Digimon of Miracles spoke those five words just one week ago, addressing someone who had nothing to do with the war, someone unrelated to the digimon or the Chosen Children.

Unlike Christopher Van Numen, who spared Veemon's life and dressed his wounds out of kindness and a sixth sense of trustworthiness, who was moved by his own burdens to befriend him, who until now could not find a reason to explain his actions, Felicia's response was as quick as lightning, and as glacial as malice.

"You and your pet aren't completely useless to me."

Taichi's thoughts were deadpan. For a moment there, he thought the woman had some compassion in her.

"Chaos," the woman in green buttressed. A sadistic glee pervaded her cadence, and Taichi had an inkling that wasn't a figment of his imagination. "Disarray. Your escape will unleash pandemonium."

The words were deliberate. Purposeful and calculated, as though the sadist's mind operated on processing speeds a human brain could never approach. It kept the Chosen of Courage wary—guarded.

They were dealing with a villain. With a monster of a being that had some teleology in mind, a catastrophic vision she wanted to realize, and maximize the ramifications for Buddha knows what.

They were dealing with a puppeteer. A manipulator acting behind the scenes, weaving and lacing the cords of fate like a master spinster. Felicia Portal had orchestrated the proceedings of Operation: Pyramid and Taichi fell right into her trap. What was she arranging now? What was the scheme forming behind those inscrutable, chartreuse eyes?

Had Taichi realized the role she had played to this day, perhaps the Child of Courage would question her identity. Was she somehow related to the Chairman of the DSI? Was she the elusive leader of this despicable organization?

Had he asked that, the woman in green would laugh at him and mock him for suggesting something so ludicrous and unrealistic. Only to reveal hints—bits and pieces—of the truth: that the Chairman was both a foe the Chosen Children have defeated in the past, and an adversary they have never met.

But he did not ask this question. He did not have enough data to realize her position. He did not even know she was the antagonist to the blond man he and Agumon glimpsed in the steakhouse.

The question he did ask—the question he was compelled to ask—was, "Why? What do you want with us?"

Felicia smirked. Her daunting countenance intimidated him further. He watched the woman in green place a hand to her hips. Breast jiggling tantalizingly as though they derided him, poked at his masculinity. "For a higher purpose," she verbalized. Malevolence no lesser than Demon's underscored the articulations rolling off her tongue.

Taichi Yagami noticed she wasn't even breathing. He would've been right to assume Felicia didn't need to. "To destroy the Emissary of Victory. The Harbinger of Miracles."

Then the woman vanished. Without a sound. Without warning. Felicia left behind ripples in the air like it had been a body of water. Her disappearance was no different from someone who sank beneath the waves of obscure seawater, made navy blue by its unfathomable depths. The Chosen of Courage were effectively abandoned in the prison cell, alone with each other and the liquefied remains of the human half's jailers.

If it wasn't for those, for Koromon, and for the lack of a door on his cell, the elder Yagami would've thought this was all a dream. A part of a terrifying nightmare he would soon wake up from.

They were left pondering over her ominous statements. "The Emissary of Victory," he repeated. "The Harbinger of Miracles." Now that they rolled off his tongue, Taichi was surprised to feel a tug of familiarity. They seemed to call out to him, shouting at him, insisting he knew them, the two associated with these titles. "Wonder who they could be."

He shuddered at the thought of being her prey. Felicia was unstoppable in her own right. Sadistic like the b*tch she was and perhaps, as cunning as BelialVamdemon or even more so. Man, I'd hate having someone like her on my ass.

Taichi nudged his digital half, snapping the orange dinosaur out of the confusion ravaging his thoughts. "Kinda makes you think how strong that 'Emissary' and 'Harbinger' are, huh, Agumon?"

The Digimon of Courage did not chuckle. Neither did he retort with a lightning-fast quip. His muzzle was gaping with what Taichi could only describe to be horror. "Taichi," he began, "I thi-think, I think we know who they are…"

"What do you—

"Do you remember Veemon? Daisuke?"

"Huh?" Taichi cocked an eyebrow. "Agumon," he chuckled nervously, somewhat confused. "Of course I remember Veemon. But—

"You don't get it!" The Child level clutched his human half's hands, holding them as though the two were lovers. "I'm the Digimon of Courage, Taichi. You're the Child of Courage. What do you think Daisuke and Veemon are?"

Taichi launched himself from this starting point. It did not take long for him to connect the dots, and the more he ruminated, the more a revolting combination of relief and fear churned inside him. "V for Victory," he uttered, an expression of horror as gripping as Agumon's glazed his brown eyes.

Shit.

Agumon listened to him, saying nothing as the sentences—the concepts—formed themselves in his astute intellect. "Then the 'Emissary of Victory' and the 'Harbinger of Miracles'… they are…"

Holy shit!

The Digimon of Courage did not interrupt him. He merely nodded.

"Buddha," Taichi Yagami pushed out everything with a single breath. With a single expletive. "Daisuke—Veemon—they're still alive!" The mere statement moved him, impelling the man to advance, to exit the prison cell. Purpose accompanied every step. "I don't know how—or why—but they got her after them. We can't do anything if we stay here."

It was bad enough this woman was after Daisuke Motomiya. Worse still was the fact his digimon partner still languished somewhere in the Digital World. Or was he really? It had been almost three years since his disappearance. Perhaps Daisuke returned to the Digital World and picked him up during these turbulent times?

The Child of Courage couldn't resist speculating. Daisuke's and Veemon's whereabouts had long been unknown, to the point the Chosen Children thought the two were as dead as the three pairs of Chosen that have died in the Shinjuku March and the Reception.

Not once did he realize the Veemon they saw with Chris the other day was Daisuke's one and only partner. If he had, Taichi Yagami would have most certainly felt the spike of regret being thrust into his chest.

Of course, such shame assumed he was receptive to the idea in the first place. (And he was not.)

The Chosen's gaze landed on the blood-drenched floor, catching sight of an M9 Pistol and an FN FAL. He leaned down and retrieved them. He took great care in wiping off what was part of a lung from the ACOG Sight installed on the rifle's Picatinny rail.

He knew he was being used. Manipulated like a pawn destined to die a meaningless death by the chessmaster's standards. Nonetheless, "We don't know where Daisuke and Veemon are, but knowing they're still alive's a good start." Taichi scavenged some of the magazines scattered along the empty corridor, which, he observed, went in one direction.

He wiped the disgusting mixture of dirt, blood, and unidentifiable guts on the wall before running a hand across his scalp—through his short, rising hair, as though it was a ritual preceding a major battle. Or perhaps it was a habit from long ago.

Once Taichi was sure everything was ready—rifle cocked, pistol prepped, digivice clipped to his belt, and goggles right on the base of the neck—a worried thought crossed his mind. Daisuke, what the hell happened to you?

A worried Agumon snapped him from his thoughts, putting his doubts on the table for his human half to see. "Taichi, do you—can we defeat that woman?"

Taichi took a deep and doubtful breath. Thirty seconds had elapsed before something finally went out his mouth. "We must escape first."

What he really meant to say was, "We'll cross the bridge when we get there." But who in their right mind would affirm the anxiety and sense of weakness percolating inside their best and closest friend?

Especially when they were about to venture into the unknown?

Knowing no help was coming.

Knowing success was literally up to them and enough luck to exhaust the Digimon of Miracles of his fabled ability to attract it.

Taichi Yagami and his digimon partner scuttled out of the corridor, away from the scene of carnage. Gun at the ready for the former, claws poised to attack for the latter.

The Vice-Chairman was cornered. Trapped like a rat with nowhere to run. Lucille's presence was unprecedented. Completely unexpected. He had obviously thought one of the most talented Modifiers on the roster of volunteers would be asleep in an assigned M&A Wing quarter at this ungodly hour in the morning.

And that's where you made your mistake, Lucy thought with a smirk, skirting the notion Yamaki was just too engrossed in his work—a conjecture long invalidated by the one-way rant he had with the Child of Miracles.

She eyed the DSI's second-in-command. Lucille Diaz was well aware of Mitsuo Yamaki's rank. His position in the organization—in the world, for that matter—was miles and miles above her. Lucy was an ant compared to her. A puny insect that could be flicked off with one finger. If provoked, the executive could easily demolish her professional career and end any and all aspirations she may have had in her life.

The figurative godhead of the Digital Suppression Initiative had enough authoritative power in him to dispose of the Modifier permanently. He could kill her and get away with it. None of the skills she had earned over the years-long course of her career, first as a radical extremist and then as a praiseworthy soldier, could ever hope to even match the sheer prowess of the Vice-Chairman.

A sinister moniker has followed Mitsuo Yamaki ever since his induction into the global organization, and one that stalked him even as he rose rapidly through the ranks in months, overtaking incumbents with such speed he was the human incarnation of Facebook, Google, and Apple in the business world, taking to the skies of corporate glory in mere years instead of decades. Ever since the Chairman of the DSI had gone through the trouble of personally welcoming him into their ranks. A blessing many a rookie would kill for. A gift incumbents would envy him for.

He was called the Divine Assault.

The pioneer of the Digital Modification technology and the progenitor of the triband suppressors that now blanket many of Earth's modern societies and tame the inherently dangerous weapons of mass destruction that were the SCAI. The man with effective control over everything that represented the Digital Suppression Initiative.

From the eyes of an observer, of a political analyst, or of anyone with a shred of common sense, the act of accosting the second most powerful man in the world with brazen remarks and accusatory undertones would have been the most asinine, the most dangerous and reckless decision Lucille Diaz had ever made in her career. In her life.

But from the eyes of its actor and, indeed, from the hazel pools of this accuser who dared to tread in the realm of the angels and demons lording their divine and demonic mandate over mortal society, over the small and puny and tiny and insignificant men and women and children, the sense of justice overrode such fears.

Lucy's confidence was brimming with bravery and valor. Why should she cower down before this man? Why should she accept his orders without question? Just because she was a soldier? Just because she had sworn to protect both country and species, by virtue of fighting under the insignia of the Digital Suppression Initiative?

The Modifier had good reasons for confronting the Vice-Chairman. Twelve of them.

She remembered it all too clearly as though it happened yesterday, or as though it was happening right before her eyes like a YouTube video hastily posted on the Internet moments before going viral.

Fifteen soldiers—the cream of the crop—who qualified for the Digital Modification project had set out for battle. Two were key members of the team. The rest were trainees who had yet to prove themselves worthy in the harsh, ultramarine gaze of their sponsor.

Ten were equipped with rifles capable of firing dark energy; and while all fifteen were armed with digivices permitting the glorious power of Digital Modification, only one—held by the operation's deceased commander—was powered by a new prototype that ran on a virtually inexhaustible power source.

And what had happened?

Because they—because YAMAKI sought action as soon as the satellite base was found, skirting over military protocols like absolute rules of engagement begging to be violated, the forward operatives discovered too late the two variables that ruined the Modifiers' overwhelming success.

It was a depressing stain on the group's reputation as the best of the best.

Many of the digivices were lost. Five to the enemy and the rest, destroyed.

Seven of the ten dark matter rifles were gone. Four of them were scrapped. The fates of the remaining three were up to speculation; for all she knew, the Child of Knowledge might be having a mindgasm just by having the weapons available for study.

And that was not all.

Twelve hard-working soldiers died that night.

Colonel Albert Reeves died that night.

Lucy clenched her fists, burning in rage from the memory of seeing him in his defeated, pathetic state, kneeling before the blond demon that changed everything.

Only one person was responsible for the damage they have sustained, for the lives that were lost. Lucille Diaz stared at the perpetrator with her cold, unflinching gaze, her hazel orbs sending over a gaze imbued with the power of justice and vengeance.

She didn't care if its culprit was her superior. She couldn't give a damn if that person had her entire career—and her life!—in the palm of his hands. The Modifier had nothing to lose, and Mitsuo Yamaki had all the answers.

"Why did you allow it?" the woman demanded. "Why did you approve the Midnight Assault?"

She had to know.

It was her right.

The executive could only clear his throat. "It was an excellent opportunity, Diaz. Research and Development had rolled out new tech for testing. Dr. Kurata even boasted how the new issues were going to change the war as we know it—

"Don't you give me that f*cking crap!" Lucy snapped. Her ejaculation was frigid and glacial. Had her opponent been someone else, she would've won right then and there, and she would've relished the victory like a buffet. "I warned you that morning, sir," she emphasized, letting derision accentuate the last word. "We didn't know the layout of their base, the demographics of the SCAI's patrolling there, and yet you commissioned Albert to lead a direct attack!"

"And don't make me repeat myself." His reply was replete with disdain. "You yourself saw how powerful the dark matter rifles were. One shot can erase a digimon regardless of level! The new digivice—

"That's a load of bull and YOU KNOW IT!"

"Lucille." He articulated her name ex cathedra, aiming to unshackle her from her blind rage through its stern intonation and commanding pulse.

But to her, it came off as derision. As condescension. "And you call it an opportunity?" The Modifier's lips trembled…

…but not from fear. "Opportunity?" The Modifier yelled at him, releasing hours of aggravation and disappointment that had been cooped up for far too long in the week that passed since their bitter defeat. "No," she asserted. "No! You threw out our SOP's, bribed everyone with new toys, dangled the promise of power before Albert, and we both know he's egotistic enough to take your bait!"

Mitsuo Yamaki frowned. Her charges were offensive and vulgar. Had Lucille been a nobody, she would've been locked up and arraigned for insubordination, pacified by the Divine Assault himself. "How dare you. Are you implying—

But she was not a nobody.

"'Implying'?" Lucy reiterated. "Have you forgotten who you're even talking to, Mitsy?"

The Modifier watched her superior recoil from the nickname. So it still moves you, huh?

Yamaki's momentary retreat ensured Lucy's position wasn't that of a no-name the Vice-Chairman could easily dispose, but that of someone who held some sway over him, who posed a threat to him.

She refused to let him recover. "Don't try denying how much you loathed Albert. How much you wanted to kill him every time you looked at him!"

"I know your M.O.," the soldier arraigned. Her deepened voice accentuated how much those two letters disgusted her. How they appalled her. How they infuriated her. "I know how you murder every operative involved in that incident three years ago, assigning them to the front—

Mitsuo Yamaki cut her off with a fierce defense. "My personal feelings HAVE NOTHING to do with this!" Neither did he admit guilt to her allegations nor did he accept the fact the Midnight Assault was one of the biggest mistakes in his career. "If you want to blame someone for what happened last week, then point your finger at Reeves' grave!

"At his pompous…" Crystal blue met sepia and contact was maintained.

Every adjective, spoken with derision and a rage so strong it couldn't have been professional. "..arrogant…"

With each word he stepped forward. His blue eyes unyielding. "…and completely, disorganized management!" Mitsuo Yamaki fought to stay afloat, fought to repel the threat that was the Modifier, standing before him not unlike a group of defiant rebels confronting the cause of their suffering and agony.

Certainly he could fire her at anytime. Certainly he had the ability to hurl a crippling lawsuit for her accusations. Certainly he could invoke the government-mandated power of secrecy and, as her superior, command her silence. Certainly he could murder her on the spot and escape unscathed without so much as a trial in the courtroom.

He was one of the most influential men on the planet and he knew it. Multinational corporations and governments of worldwide importance danced in his grasp. The Digidestined viewed him as the cesspool of humanity's wrath, seeing him as an indifferent, despicable, and discriminatory overlord who wanted humankind and humankind alone to flourish, even if it came at the cost of raping a people. Of dehumanizing an intelligent race.

There was no way he was going to resort to the most pathetic and cowardly methods used by provincial warlords of the Philippines, dominant terrorists of the Middle East, and feared leaders of organized crime. Never.

"You had everything in your disposal to fend off the unexpected! EVERYTHING!" He shot the unconscious, heavily sedated adult behind him a passing glance. "Even if Imperialdramon and Omegamon fought all of you at once, you STILL would've won hands down!

"Don't even get me started on—

"DO I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU? I gave him full responsibility over the platoon and he whipped out the green light out of his ass and paid for his mistakes with his life!

"And now you're accusing me of discarding protocol? Holding me responsible, for what you think was a suicide mission?"

The Modifier snorted derisively. His counterattack was meant to pass the blame to her commanding officer. It was meant to defang her assertions, to challenge her worldview and think twice of even crossing the Vice-Chairman.

But none of the soldiers that died were his friends.

And that made all the difference.

"Hmph, coming from you, Yamaki, it sounds like you don't even give a damn some of M&A's best people died that night."

Lucy leaned on the banister's finial, glaring at the executive. "I bet you didn't even bother reading Aldo's report."

Mitsuo reached for the Zippo lighter hidden in his blazer. From his slacks' pocket was extracted a lone stick from a pack of Fortune cigarettes. Click.

The soldier knew this was a direct violation of organization protocol. Smoking was prohibited in all but designated areas, and the nearest one was far, far away from here. It was, in fact, closer to the elevator to the Sunrise Offices in Odaiba than it was from the laboratories allocated solely for Digital Modification, Triband Suppression, Dark Matter, and the Chairman's personal research.

Considering what was about to happen in the next hour or two, they were lucky they stayed down here.

Clack.

Even though Lucille permitted this respite, that by no means indicated she was comfortable with the lingering odor of smoke drifting into her nostrils.

She watched Yamaki face the form of Daisuke Motomiya, seemingly immune from the grotesque manner the wires and tubes just hung from his body. The prized specimen of R&D was suspended within a viscous colloid and locked like a lifeless subject being ready for dissection.

His presence seemed to calm the executive down, allowing him to draw out the tension until it was so thin it left the room the instant a puff of smoke fanned out from his mouth. "Do you really think I had time to read it, Lucy? That stunt Taichi pulled kept me busy for hours."

Ashes fell from the glowing cherry. "You have absolutely no idea how stressful it was," he murmured, not minding the dark clouds that now entwined with the filtered air. "All that damage control. Politicians, regulators, corporate fatcats, and journalists…"

She relinquished her anger, heaving a disappointed sigh. Mitsuo Yamaki was operating from limited data, and it became clear to her that neither of them were wont to withdraw unless all the information had come into light. Perhaps by then he would be open to suggestion.

Perhaps, Yamaki would be willing to listen to her.

"Well," she initiated, leaving her post on the finial to approach her superior. Her titian orbs spared no glances for the Child of Miracles floating nearby, his body defiled in the name of science. Lucy's gaze retained the Vice-Chairman, who stood resolute and immobile. "It's time you heard a firsthand account."

The Modifier could see it all once more, in the bosom of her thoughts. The darkness of the night, the screams of agony and rage, the whining blasts of dark energy as they ripped through the air, and the sounds of battle emanating from the command center and the northern portion of the base.

Lucille Diaz was brought back to the Great Forest and the traumatic battlefield it held within, where she replayed the impressive teamwork between the DSI's unprecedented enemy and the SCAI partnered to the unconscious form floating inside the glass cylinder.

She could never forget the firearm in the blond's hands. The indestructible bracer on his left hand. Neither could she forget the unnatural, ebon blade that had been in the hands of both demon and dragon.

The cadavers of her comrades locked eyes with her, their hollowed expressions all too eager to relay their agony, to communicate the regrets of their deaths and the agony that took their lives.

Lucy reminisced, in a clarity that rivaled that of a digimon, the pitiful sight of Colonel Reeves kneeling before the blond demon.

Defeated.

His demise, imminent.

"It's time someone told you how we failed."

Rain.

Heavy rain.

The deluge of water that now barraged a vast portion of the Tokyo Metropolis was like an eerie premonition of the trouble that lay ahead. A dark forecast—a grim sign of the catastrophe the two worlds slowly approached as the digits of time tick-tocked towards the onset of oblivion.

Hikari Yagami, the Chosen Child of Light, shuddered in the autumn-chilled temperature of the water as she and the Digimon of Miracles followed her digital half to the hidden path, stashed within the storm drainage as though its designer sought the protection of the elements.

But her shivering was not merely a product of the chilled liquid. Although it didn't seem to be there at first glance, on further and deeper concentration, a menacing tremor suffused the atmosphere around them, as though the struggles of the Chosen Children were on the brink of exacerbation, inches away from a cliff that beheld an opaque darkness.

Hikari could not comprehend why she was the only one who was blessed with this gift of foresight. Why was she receiving these dreams? Why was she the only one who could detect the portent saturating the skies?

The more she looked at Tailmon, the more she eyed Veemon, and the more she remembered the visage of Taichi moments before slamming his fist into her gut, it became clearer and clearer to her that Hikari Yagami was a different breed of Chosen.

Long ago, she recalled, long ago there was once a digimon that sought her for this quality. A nefarious villain that, unlike Vamdemon fourteen years ago, wished nothing more but full control over her inner light. Over the source of her inimitability, the very thing that separated her from the Chosen Children.

Although Hikari Yagami had no idea how the master of the Dark Ocean was faring, now that ten years have passed, the memory did not only make her shudder, but perhaps clarified her own situation. Speculation it might be, through her connection to the Light, her link to an otherworldly element of the two worlds, maybe her access to these omens—the three nightmares and the foreboding aura of the blackened skies—was a prelude to her destiny. A prologue to her nature as the Child of Light.

If Daisuke Motomiya was truly the "Child of Miracles"—yet another element that defied the categorical logic of the Crests—then perhaps it would explain why Veemon was the only one who seemed to live in this special situation. It might even explain why, back then, he had always been the first of the group who gained the innovations they used to topple their enemies.

But in that case, where did that leave her beloved? Did Takeru still play a role in the events of the world? Even now, three years after his untimely death?

Before the Chosen Child could proceed further, Tailmon's voice shattered her focus. She turned to the white cat, finding her standing under the awning of a closed shop, rubbing the sleeves of her mackintosh vigorously. "Brrr!" her muzzle trembled. "The water's so cold." Her hands moved to her feet, rubbing the clammy pads as though she could stimulate some warmth.

Her human half was not surprised by this. It was already mid-October, and fall was setting in on Japan, chilling the weather ahead of the weeks of winter awaiting the country in the months ahead.

But more importantly, Tailmon was a cat. A feline. It was in her nature to resist the cold, to experience discomfort in the presence of water. A useless trivia that invoked memories of a young, teenage girl struggling to give the Digimon of Light a bath.

This was a welcome distraction from the apprehension the weather exuded, from the anxiety troubling Hikari since the three of them left Jianliang Li and Terriermon on the porch of his house…

…which was not surprising at all. They were currently stalking the streets of the Nakano Ward, engrossed in what any sensible person would assume to be suspicious, criminal activity. While the massive volumes of water drenching the streets provided enough cover to keep them safe from the Neighborhood Watch, it highlighted the immense danger they were in, out in the open.

The few moving vehicles plying the roads might actually hit them by accident. That was not something the younger Yagami looked forward to.

Hikari's coquelicot eyes gazed into Tailmon's blue. "Tailmon—

"Are we there yet?"

She blinked. The human turned to Veemon, who stood behind her, groaning. Hikari resisted the urge to laugh. The pink raincoat he donned was a miraculous emphasis of his bright blue skin. It was funny how it complemented the patches of white that were his muzzle and what would've been his underside had he crawled on all fours like Armadimon.

What brought out a snicker from the Chosen Child was the bright tinge of red coloring his cheeks. His hands were constantly gripping the raincoat. His incessant tugging at the sleeves served to minimize the claustrophobic tightness around his biceps.

Veemon's palms had a steady presence on his waist, fingers digging into the waterproof fabric as though they had the ability to moderate the severe constriction he must be enduring there—after all, the raincoat he wore had been made for humans.

And last Hikari checked, humans didn't have a tail at least two inches thick at its base.

The feline did not look at him, vigorously rubbing her toes. "Almost."

"Ugh," Veemon moaned. "And THISis why I hate wearing clothes."

Xiaochun's coat was barely his size. The awkward stance and his futile efforts to keep himself comfortable were rather hilarious. Hikari would've pitied him if it wasn't for his ridiculous approach to the problem. She watched the blue dragon reach for his underside and play with it, the expression on his face varying from relief to unease and back. He was far too busy to even notice the lady scrutinizing him.

"Tailmon," he whined. One of his hands went inside his collar to create breathing room between the fabric and his white chest. "Please, tell me we're close!" Veemon lurched forward, increasing the spread his body sought. "I don't think I can take this anymore!"

"Yarrr!" Veemon reached for his butt, pinched the folds of the thick coat, and pulled. "I want…"

The dragon wiggled and waggled, scrambling for the best purchase. "…this tighty wighty…"

Twists and turns followed, before Veemon reached for his collar and tugged at it as though he had a rambunctious animal stashed away within. "OFF ME!"

Hikari Yagami couldn't hold it in anymore. "Haha!" she guffawed. Veemon's antics were a sight for sore eyes. It was as if Daisuke was right there with them, poking fun at his digital half's expense like he would a beloved, little brother.

It was as if things had never changed. As if they were still in elementary school. As if they were still in high school.

Living the good life.

Living the peaceful life.

Where happiness and authentic coexistence were a reality.

Even Tailmon began tittering—snickering in her little corner while Veemon remained within the periphery of her azure vision. His frivolous behavior thinned not only Hikari's general unease but also distracted the Digimon of Light from the cold weather.

"Hey, don't laugh at me!" Veemon yelled at the two as though he was a spoiled brat who could no longer stand being the butt of every joke. "This"—he pulled his sleeves—"isn't"—his waist—"funny"—his torso—"at all!"

The white cat couldn't hold back either. "Don't forget what Terriermon said: 'it's better than nothing'."

"Meeeehhh!" Veemon blew a raspberry at her. "First, it had to be a pink coat. Then, it had to be a pink coat two sizes TOO SMALL for me!" He pouted.

Hikari pinched his cheeks. "Awww, you're so cute when you sulk." Both of them.

The hands were slapped away… very gently. (Obviously he didn't want Tailmon chewing him out for hurting her partner!) Veemon gave Hikari the meanest scowl that ever graced his muzzle, but given the context, it was as toothless as it was playful… "Quit it!"

…as it was daunting and meant to intimidate.

Sort of.

The Child of Light gave Veemon a friendly pat on the head or two. "Just be patient, Veemon. We'll be there soon enough." She glanced at her partner. "Won't we, Tailmon?"

"We're almost there," nodded the cat. She lifted her arm, not minding the recession of the long, oversized sleeve. Her two followers barely perceived the tips of her claws trained at an intersection two blocks away.

Specifically, the steel manhole in the middle of the street. A circular slab that, on further inspection, had the design of a fishing boat emblazoned on the surface. Even from afar, Hikari Yagami could tell it was as heavy as it looked. Entrenched by corrosion, the ever-changing weather, and the accumulated pressure from the hundreds of vehicles plying over it day after day, there was no way the three of them could lift the cover alone.

With no lifting tools at their disposal, nothing to slip in the notches and apply hundreds of pounds of force, they were done, and there was nothing they could do to really progress from here.

However, that assumed they were all humans to begin with.

Tailmon certainly had more than enough strength to lift the manhole straight from its hinges. Her human half had seen the white cat alone take on monsters far larger and far stronger than her. Bloodthirsty beasts capable of hurling forces no manhole could ever compare to in a single swipe of their claws.

Veemon, on the other hand, merely looked like he could perform the same task. But the fact he was in his Child stage meant the spread between a human's strength and his own was narrower, much narrower, than what he would have had should he be in his Adult form.

In the end, of course, none of that mattered so long as they could pop open the cover without trouble.

And that's where the next problem reared its ugly head: an obstacle that announced the roar of a most horrible destruction, indiscriminate and capable of killing either human or digimon without a problem.

Only an idiot would be completely oblivious to the distinct rumbling pitter-patter of rain striking the shade that covered the awning, and Hikari was not foolish enough to ignore the heavenly assailants striking the fabric over her head. The downpour had been going on for three hours already—since she, Tailmon, and Veemon arrived at Janyu's house for preparations.

The drainage system below was going to be filled with water.

A torrent of greywater that impended nothing but death to urban explorers with an immense taste for adventure. Or to three rescuers whose intentions were more benevolent and munificent than those who entered the gritty and murky depths of a city's intestines.

Joy.

As the only ones walking the streets at three in the morning, drenched in a rain so deafening it was as though the end of the world was nigh, the thoughts swirling in Hikari's head should have been the safety of her two companions and the trouble they might encounter along the way. Instead, she was thinking about the secret passage.

About the informant who provided them.

The identity troubled her. The identity troubled her brother.

Whoever apprised the Digidestined of the clandestine tunnel had disclosed its location in an SD card attached to a slip of paper. A typed document addressed directly to the Chosen Children, with the writer claiming he knew about the lodge, the entrance in the well, and the tunnels underneath Mt. Fuji.

It had been left inside the lodge as though the author had full and unbridled confidence the note's intended recipients were sure to find the document rather than a random visitor or mountaineer.

A confidence that wouldn't have been unfounded or irrational, for terrorist warnings broadcast by the Digital Suppression Initiative smothered the region, repelling visitors and ensuring hikers no longer strayed from the beaten paths, out of fear for confirming the rumors of DSI soldiers hauling in trespassers and interrogating them as though they were members of the Digidestined.

Fueling the rampant aversion of innocents were confirmed reports of the Vice-Chairman personally visiting the base, an event that occurs on a weekly basis. As the most powerful man on Earth, Yamaki could easily plant "evidence" in someone's belongings before publicizing the trial, indicting the innocent of treasinn against humankind and the Japanese sovereign, and enforcing the death penalty.

The Chosen Children—the Digidestined—lucked out, for the lodge that had been the site of many a gathering by and for the Chosen Children was located inside a "danger zone". Roads leading to it were monitored meticulously by the forward bases, hoping to find a real Digidestined unfortunate enough to be "bagged and tagged".

For the past year and a half, these installations had scoured the landscape of Mt. Fuji and its mountainous environs, funded by government subsidies and sales revenues alike. Despite limitless financial backing, these efforts met failure and only failure.

It was a miracle.

A miracle that forced the DSI to such revolting cruelty.

Because only a person with intimate knowledge of the Twelve—or a close connection, at least—knew about and had access to the lodge, the fact someone left a note there was proof someone inside the Digital Suppression Initiative possessed this knowledge.

It was terrifying, knowing a person that lived and breathed the same air as the Digidestined's greatest enemy had the fate of their entire movement in their hands. Thousands of lives, human and digimon alike, were but contingent on words. On events beyond their control.

Taichi and Hikari lived with constant fear, frightened for increased activity in the forward bases, or for a shocking press release that would undoubtedly slam the hammer of injustice and discrimination down on the Digidestined, down on the last known remnants of the Chosen Children.

Such apprehension proved unnecessary as time elapsed.

The Chosen of Courage and Light, along with Rika and the late Yuuji, reviewed the contents of the note when the danger finally passed. Hikari Yagami remembered clearly the informant signed the slip of paper with "Anon".

Internet slang for anonymous.

Speculations ran rampant. There were times when Hikari encountered Agumon, Renamon, and Tailmon discussing the informant's identity. Conversations she was drawn to like a fly, as though their subject was a lamp that overrode all senses.

Hikari sat closer to the group, fidgeting next to her partner as if she aimed to embrace Tailmon like the cuddly animal she was.

In reality, the Child of Light was trying to read one of the only copies of the letter. She had only read it once, and Taichi obstinately refused to give her a copy. It was almost annoying how he tended to preclude her from strategy meetings.

But she couldn't fault him for it.

He was just being an overprotective, older brother, after all. Hikari had long learned such instincts never left him—not even once—even after she hit 21 years of age.

The contents of the letter flew forth from her lips, murmured quietly so as not to disturb the others. They weren't far from the core group's quarters, but the fact they were in a utility area minimized the probabilities of outsiders dropping in.

"I know," Hikari whispered. "I know everything. Your lodge. The secret entrance in the well. I know about the double agents you planted and the tamers you sent to burrow a way into the Military and Administration complex. All of them have been intercepted and, I assure you, Vice-Chairman Yamaki is overseeing their execution as you read the very words in this letter—

Renamon's quiet voice interrupted her reading.

"—food chain, but that's what—

Her coquelicot gaze jolted from the copy. Hikari Yagami ogled the speaker. The yellow fox. "What?"

"Rika spent all day analyzing that letter yesterday," Renamon replied. "She believes only someone really high up the food chain could've written it."

"Why?" Hikari was poring over the first paragraph. "This seems like things anyone can get from the grapevine."

Tailmon turned to her. "Hikari, study the next part."

The Chosen Child returned her gaze to the document, vision tracing the lines word by word. "Who I am is not your concern," she read, unaware that all eyes were on her, letting the young lady recite without so much as an interruption. "It isn't as important as the information I'm about to give. It is reliable and, to my knowledge, unknown to everyone in the organization. Including our executives."

That last sentence had been capitalized and typed in bold, standing out amidst the wall of text. The writer pushed aside the concern of identity the instant it was mentioned, forgotten as the words transformed into what possessed the undertones of reliability and exclusivity.

"Hikari…"

Agumon nodded as the lights of understanding glowed in Hikari's pools. "We all know how paranoid the DSI is. If a serious breach like this continues even after rotating some people, then this guy's…"

"…fudging the reports before it's sent to the higher-ups." The younger Yagami gasped. It made sense.

"Look at how she dismisses her position here," Renamon adjoined, "The writer's obviously in a high-enough position."

"Hey, Hikari…"

The Child of Light poked the white cat. "Tailmon, what do you think?"

Tailmon crossed her arms. "If that's the case, I'd say somewhere in the middle. Not important like an executive, but maybe high enough to have quite a bit of power."

"Veemon to Hikari!"

Before the conversation went on, a masculine voice shattered the tension, perhaps sending sparks of electricity through it. "Lopmon, why're you taking me here?"

"Yuuji, I can smell three of the core group—oh, Hikari's here, too! Looks like they're having a—

Hikari's memories never got to replay that part.

A violent shaking caused the underground cavern to tremble, enduring shockwaves comparable to a horrific eruption of Mt. Fuji. Suddenly, she was done. No longer was she present in an informal meeting. No longer was she speculating. No longer was Hikari wondering why the informant had never contacted them again in the months that passed between then and now.

Because she was back. Back to reality. Back to the sodden weather. Back to the torrent of rain pulverizing them from above. Back to the mission at hand. Back to rescuing Taichi and, it was hoped, destroying the Digital Dive System.

Veemon's scarlet eyes were the first thing she saw, blocking off most of her vision. He was staring in her coquelicot orbs with an intimacy reserved only for partners and extremely close friends.

Unfortunately, only her relationship with Taichi's digimon went that far.

She backed away. "Veemon!" Hikari swore her eyes caught the drool pooling in his muzzle. Had he been planning on licking her? Yuck. "What're you—

"I was telling you we're heading out now," he said, shooting her digimon partner a passing glance. She was waiting five paces away, the cat's cerulean gaze filled with urgency. They were wasting time. Squandering resources they couldn't afford no differently than Westerners and their lack of financial discipline.

"But you were spacing out," he murmured, "You wouldn't even look at me when I shook you a bit. Thought I'd have to lick you to get your attention." A nervous chuckle escaped his muzzle; the blue dragon sent a nervous stare in Tailmon's direction. "Even if she kills me for it."

"And why wouldn't I?" the cat retorted. She went with the flow. "She's MY partner!"

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Veemon. "You don't need to remind me." Her words had stung him, no matter how lightheartedly intoned. The Digimon of Miracles didn't show it, but Hikari was certain the pain was there, buried and bottled up.

"You know what I want, Tailmon," he said, pushing the other digimon away. "Someone who can tolerate me, spend time with me, and"—Veemon chuckled, embarrassed to say it out loud—"someone who'll put me first above everything else."

He needed Daisuke.

Hikari felt the cool touch of her bracelet, soaked with rainwater. Her eyes paid the accessory a visit, invoking an echo that went in her ears three years ago.

"I will always be here for you. Through thick and thin. No matter what."

She needed Daisuke too.

If Takeru was somewhere up there in the heavens, Hikari was certain her beloved would be happier if their best friend stood by her side…

Tailmon's blue eyes were fixed on the fishing boat. It was a delicate work of art. A depiction of something that was Japanese in construction and design. The sail buffeted by the wind. The pointed end tearing through the water like a wedge. There was a profound difference between Japanese fishing boats and their brethren in Asia. For one thing, they didn't have bamboo logs protruding from the sides like a pair of training wheels.

Tourists would wonder at this item's level of detail and, perhaps, consider advocating the ubiquitous blocks of steel as an outlet, an avenue, of cultural development and social concerns, for there was no other nation in the world that would turn these boring objects into works of art. Some of them, colorful. Others, possessing designs so intricate the artists might as well have colluded with the city to form something no one—not even copycats—could ever duplicate.

But the Digimon of Light felt no regrets as her fist slammed the canvas, tearing through an inch of solid steel as though it was paper. Her claws mutilated the fishing boat, mincing it into several pieces of metal that literally fell into an ocean. Into the rapids scuttling beneath.

And soon shall the fishing boat head out to sea.

If the rain above could be described as a torrent that fell on their heads, overwhelming her feline ears with a sound no different from a howling wind, the floodwaters below were best delineated as a maelstrom of hydrological chaos. A black nothingness that trumpeted its arrival with an unearthly rumble like the stomach of a giant, salivating beast of doom. A terrifying void that would engulf the unfortunate and drag them to their deaths without pause, slamming their fragile bodies on concrete walls, battering them with debris, and drowning them in blackwater.

It would certainly be a humiliating death as it was a dreadful one. After all, dying in a deluge of fecal matter, urine, chemicals, and a wild assortment of rubbish wasn't very appealing to the ears.

The more Tailmon stared down into the black hole, gaping before her like the throat of a ravenous monster that lusted for her meat, the more she realized they could succumb to this dreadful, humiliating death. Hesitation struck the cat, infusing her with fear.

Fear for Veemon.

Fear for her partner.

Fear for herself.

Fear for the consequences of failure.

Fear for what their deaths would ramify.

Hikari's and Veemon's eyes were bare, their night-vision nowhere near as Tailmon's. The human and the blue dragon were creatures biologically unqualified for this moment, yet there was nothing they could do to avoid this route.

The only known, unsecured entrance to the DSI was through here. Coming in from above was absolutely more dangerous than the path they were about to take, and finding the pipe itself to mitigate this risk required time they could no longer waste.

They had to—they must go down and risk it.

Hikari Yagami didn't like it. "Tailmon." She stood at the edge, her gaze trained not on the flimsy ladder of steel descending the drenched wall, but the opaque blackness that surged with the power of a hundred thunderclaps. The hollow, booming echoes of a waterfall. "Can we actually do this?"

Could she discern the wastewater streaming through the tunnels?

Could her inferior body perceive the monstrous crash of this deluge and feel its terrifying gales?

Tailmon snuck a peek at Veemon. Surprise failed to take root when her gaze noticed a familiar hesitation flash across his muzzle. Though he probably had tremendous difficulty perceiving the speeding floods, surely his dragonic ears were sensitive enough to distinguish their piercing screams.

She watched him swallow his fears, gulping them down as he balled his fists. Her cobalt stare noticed one hand rubbing a pouch on his baldric, rubbing so vigorously for strength Tailmon grew curious from what was stored within. The lips on his muzzle moved slightly. He whispered what she assumed were words of encouragement.

The Digimon of Light would've been right. "You can do this, Veemon," he was murmuring. "You can do this. You don't need Christopher. You don't need anyone else. You won't be a burden to your real friends."

If she heard them, Tailmon would think to herself his undertones were sweet. "You're gonna get your life back. You're gonna find Daisuke, and you're gonna fight the DSI and win. You'll definitely get that happy future…"

He squeezed the emptiness in his hands, imagining that happy future was there, imagining Daisuke Motomiya was with him again, imagining his eponymous victory was literally within his reach.

But Tailmon did not see any of this, for she opted to answer her partner's question. "There's a path of indentations six rungs down. We can use them to shimmy along the sides. Above the water."

"Can we actually do this?" she repeated.

Had Hikari sought the same answer, she wouldn't have asked the question again. Tailmon's intimate relationship with her own partner shone in how she knew exactly what the junior Yagami wanted without seeking clarification. "This was all Taichi's doing. He had Renamon and I tear up a path of footholds on the wall just in case it's raining hard."

"He went down there?"

"And noted the highest level the water has reached." Tailmon approached her human half and held her hands. Held it as if she was her lover. As if she was her sister. Her mother. Tailmon grasped Hikari the way only a true partner would. "Hikari, we can do this. We, can."

"But… the water…"

She had realized death would come from one little slip. If so much as the ankle touched the dark rush, that was it. The sheer force of the flood would upend the explorer's balance and rip the body from the wall, sinking the victim beneath the waters and guaranteeing the most humiliating and the most terrifying death. Even Tailmon couldn't imagine Vamdemon being subjected to such agony. She wouldn't be that cruel to think so.

"I know," Tailmon confirmed. "But don't think about that. The pipe we're after is 10 meters upstream. I'll take point and lead us to it." The lady's countenance remained unchanged. "Don't worry, it'll take five, maybe ten minutes for us to get there from here, on the footholds. And if you're scared, you can hold my tail."

"Have you ever tried—

"Taichi did. Believe me, Hikari, your brother thought of everything."

Hikari retreated, her coquelicot eyes dilating at the imperceptible chasm paces from her feet. Tailmon's senses picked up her human half's accelerating heart, pulsating to the beat of a soldier's war drum. Her breathing became shallow, and the Child of Light began palpitating.

Tailmon tightened her paws, squeezing their clasp. "Hikari…"

A child-like voice blew the dramatic scene apart. "I'll be right behind you!"

The two Chosen turned to its speaker. They saw the blue dragon regarding them with what was beyond doubt a reassuring expression soldered to his muzzle.

"I'll watch your back, Hikari," muttered Veemon. "That way, if you slip, I can catch you. There's no way I'm letting the water take you. I'm a digimon, so I got the strength for it." And he flashed a silly grin he could have only gotten from years of living with Daisuke Motomiya. "So stop worrying!"

That grin that defied all despair and fright, banishing them with a radiance that was possible solely from someone who was either incredibly optimistic…

Or an idiot, Tailmon mused, letting a smile grace her snout.

But Veemon's beliefs were mistaken. That he was a digimon didn't matter. He was merely a Child level. That was that. Tailmon, being an Adult, had better chances of survival, but only if she didn't lose the holy ring worn on her tail.

Yet Hikari's confidence returned. Raised up by the combined efforts of the two digimon beside her. Because of it, Tailmon did not correct Veemon's error. She did not rectify his mistaken assertion. She just didn't have it in her to be a killjoy.

"Let's go," said the Digimon of Light, descending the galvanized step irons. It took a lot of guts to ignore her bristling fur. She disregarded the overpowering instinct to flee as she climbed down, feeling the mist that swirled in the rushing air.

The roars were so loud it assaulted her sharp ears to no end and rang rows and rows of bells as the powerful gusts of wind toyed with them. As soon as her feet rapped the sixth rung, her cerulean eyes dared cast themselves down. Tailmon felt the oily sweat pouring out of her paws and hear the throbbing of her own heart whilst her vision absorbed the sight of raging waters so close to her feet, one end descending like a true waterfall.

The highest crests narrowed their margin of safety to no more than four inches. One slip and you're finished. The end. Game over.

Pushing such thoughts away, Tailmon bent her muzzle up and away from the unforgiving rapids, veering it rightward to see how far they had to go. Her incisive night-vision was her only asset in this situation…

…yet her eyes were almost useless. The part of the tunnel unoccupied by wastewater was virtually imperceptible, cloaked in so much darkness not even Tailmon could discern the indentations she and Renamon had made in the past.

And there.

There it was.

She saw the gaping pipe in her line of vision, slightly protruding from the wall. But it was far. So far away that Tailmon barely discerned its form. Photons were virtually absent in its immediate areas.

This was more difficult than she expected. It bordered on insane. They had to shimmy carefully. She didn't want any of the group to die here.

She gazed upward, finding her partner's rear end staring at her in the face. The younger Yagami was standing on the fourth step iron. "Hikari!" she yelled, hoping her fragile ears could not only withstand the constant barrage, but also discern her voice. "Take two more steps down, got it? It's less than four inches to the water! The path's on your right!"

Tailmon faced the black pipe. Her eyes narrowed the instant she did, pounded by the crushing vortices flying through the drainage as though it was forever married to the raging flood. Tears began trickling down, blurring her vision. Tailmon worked simultaneously to find and swing to the next indent.

Her companions' heights weren't going to be a problem. As far as she could recall, three rows were made then, so the typical stature of a Child-level didn't undermine progress. Hikari would certainly perch her hands on the ones at the very top while Veemon and herself placed theirs on the mezzanine row.

"I can't see!"

Hikari's shrill holler hardly pierced the omnipresent thunder. Tailmon kept on going, unwary.

"TAILMON!"

"What?" she shouted, hoping her digital half heard the response.

She did. "I CAN'T SEE!"

"Feel your way!" Tailmon instructed her. "I can barely see myself!"

"Whaaaatt?"

"FEEL YOUR WAY!"

The Digimon of Light was already a meter in when she curved her head, looking back the way she came. Her heart fluttered when she saw Hikari struggling to keep up. Tailmon sensed the terror radiating from her partner as she felt around the walls, seeking available space for her hands and feet.

Her arms trembled, shivering from both the cold and the level of effort it took to keep her body from falling backwards into a Shinigami's swimming pool. How long the Chosen Child could hold on was unknown. That she had been on a fitness regime since mid-2010 barely allayed her fears. They had to get out of here as soon as possible.

Veemon, as he promised, was directly behind her. Though he probably couldn't see a thing in front of his muzzle, at least his sense of smell was still present. Tailmon could swear she just heard him complain about the earthy, murky odor of pure, unadulterated mud and shit emanating from the water. An understandable grievance considering his nose was as sensitive as her own.

Indeed, the smell was terrible. That a community of humans would venture into storm drains for fun boggled her mind. To each his own. Even if it was a momentary distraction, Tailmon had to give the blue dragon some credit. Not everyone can make light of even the most serious of situations.

Halfway there, Tailmon noted by the eighth time she craned her neck towards their destination. The dense fog that blanketed the air drenched her fur. Tailmon shut her eyes to protect them from the wind. She felt the depth of the next two indents. Her paw clamped on the soggy hole, sliding slightly from the algae that now coated it and every single notch preceding it.

The Digimon of Light opened her eyes in a little slit, peeking at the destination. It was closer, though obscured much further by the dark—

Tailmon's hand slipped as she was swinging to the next indent. Her foot fell from the bottom notch. All of a sudden, the feline found herself descending into the churning rage. "CRAP!"

Her tail was the first to submerge. An instant was all it took for it to gain speed. From zero to sixty (kilometers per hour).

The cat attempted to recover by reaching for the indent again, only for her last remaining lifeline—only for her other hand to slip, loosened by the algae. She was falling sideways into the water! Even if she couldn't see the waves, her nose told her she had only an instant before death—

Her foot sank beneath the water.

"AH!" she screamed. "NO!"

Her heart clawed for respite. She breathed as though every single one was her last. Tailmon felt the oil in her toes and felt something like plastic bump the pads of her foot. It gave way to her frantic search for purchase, yielding so easily she could've just made a stroke in the water and it wouldn't have made a difference.

Yet it did.

It gave her body the illusion of balance.

An illusion Tailmon used to surrender herself to her desperation.

She slammed her paws into the steel wall, punching it so hard they created new indentations as they buried themselves in the thick concrete.

The water refused to let her go! In a split second it snapped at her, pulling so hard Tailmon realized she had gotten herself in a tug-of-war between life and death. Between earth and water. It fought for her the way Veemon would fight for the last bit of food, engaging in a most brutal and exhausting game to see who could eat it first, never to relent. (A game that Patamon, apparently, enjoyed as much as Daisuke did.)

Tailmon felt her own arms sliding slowly, gradually out of the pits they dug themselves in. If she continued to hold on like this, sooner or later, the water would win.

Like hell she was allowing that. She wasn't going to die in a gurgling pipe of liquefied shit. Tailmon refused to would let the rapids have their way; the white cat scraped the notch with her other foot. All three of her limbs dug into the spaces, supplying the leverage the digimon needed to escape the enormous drag sucking her feet.

Without stopping, Tailmon created more holes as she ascended into safety, rising to her reprieve. At the moment she finally recovered, at the second the Chosen felt the adrenaline fading away from her body, yielding to the ambient thunder and gust. "That, haa, was close…"

By the Harmonious Ones she felt utterly victorious. Like a proud survivor.

Then Hikari had to ruin it as soon as she realized what had happened. Despite the enveloping cacophony overwhelming her hearing, the Child of Light felt—endured—every quiver the wall made accompanying her desperate struggles.

"Tailmon," she yelled over the tunnel's thunderous wrath. "I hope you didn't forget I'm here if you need to evolve!"

Nefertimon could fly over the blackwater. Angewomon… well, even if she was too big to fly in this tube, Tailmon's Ultimate form was doubtlessly strong enough to the point the violent flood had the pressure of a running faucet.

Looked like all that worry and anxiety were all for naught.

Whoops.

Tailmon felt her insignificant pride deflate like a short-lived bull run in the financial markets. The cat spent the next two seconds wondering if this was how Daisuke and Veemon felt whenever someone burst their bubbles.

Just two seconds. Tailmon enjoyed being the voice of realism and common sense. Plus, the three of them weren't out of danger yet. They still had to get out of that tunnel.

So the next time the white cat decided to check on their progress, a smile formed on her muzzle. The drainage pipe they were shimmying to was literally the next in line. Her paws reached out to it, caressing the short protrusion with happiness.

"WE'RE HERE!" the Chosen screeched. She hoped her voice reached her companions. "WE'RE CLIMBING INTO THE PIPE!"

Aided by the dexterity only a digital monster could have, Tailmon ascended the indentations directly underneath the tube and slid into it with ease. A perfect fit! At 500 millimeters (1.64 ft.) Tailmon had only to bend her head down. She could walk through it easily.

Too bad the same didn't go for the other two.

Neither thought nor the emotion of pity streamed through her mind. Tailmon was too busy lending a helpful hand—paw to the two lagging behind. She let her limb linger in the air, hovering above for Hikari to grasp as her right hand arrived, feeling its way to the next path.

"A little more!" she cheered, ogling the almost-impalpable silhouettes of her partner and best friend. "Just a little more and we'll be out—

BAM!

A burst as loud as a shotgun blast right next to the ears rattled the air, jarring the continuous noise of in the tunnel. Whatever caused it had a mass so large, the crash ramified into a powerful quaking that upended the balance of everyone holding on to the wall.

"AAAGGGHHHHH!" screamed her human half.

Tailmon's and Hikari's hands met for the briefest of moments. The Digimon of Light lurched forward and seized her partner before she could fall—

A refrigerator! While a mere outline, the white cat had lived in the Real World for so long there was no mistaking it! No wonder it shook the pipe! Considering the speed…

Seemingly guided by the hand of Demon, the colossal machine was not yet finished. The currents steered it straight at Hikari Yagami, and it was only by sheer luck the Child of Light did not have her legs crushed to a bloody pulp at that moment.

"Buddha!" Hikari exclaimed. "Something touched me!"

The worst was far from over.

Veemon's bleating reached her indigo-tipped ears. Oh no. "WAH! SOMETHING GOT MY LE—

Splash!

He fell.

"SHIT, VEEMON!"

The most curious of people may probably be wondering, what would happen had Christopher accompanied Veemon, Hikari, and Tailmon, tagging along through their precarious trip to the DSI's military and administration wing? What would've happened if the blond man somehow threw off the veneer of selfishness and self-preservation, casting it aside to appease his dormant morality, to position himself underneath the virtues of charity, compassion, and friendship and extol them to the best of his ability?

Although a potential answer to that would certainly be a much happier Veemon—because they would still be friends and because Chris would devote his efforts to reuniting him with Daisuke—a more certain scenario, perhaps one grounded in determined reality, would be the pointlessness of shimmying in that dark and dank tunnel swirling with a churning flood.

Christopher Van Numen would be scoffing at the hesitation flickering in the trio's faces. He'd leap into the eddy without fear of being swept away. To him, what was a torrential vortex imparting a quick and grisly demise to all it abducted was a gentle stream. Like a relaxing breeze in the air.

A zephyr that, unfortunately, bore the overpowering aroma of the most wonderful combination of sludge, feces, bacteria, and other unmentionables.

This was only reason why he would possibly consider shimmying along the walls of a slippery drainage pipe like a certain caped crusader addicted to bats.

Whether Christopher shimmied or strolled, the idea was now inconceivable, for he chose his mission above his conscience, above the demands of a nascent friendship. He disregarded what he had long acknowledged as a growing attachment to the blue dragon. Instead of providing aid for his friends, instead of promising support in his single-minded pursuit of his beloved brother, Chris spurned him, playing the part of a ruthless villain who would willingly manipulate others for personal gain.

"A ruthless villain," the blond perpended in idle amusement. Funny, he thought. It had a nice ring to it. A fair complement to the fresh corpse dangling from his hand—a security guard that once had his skull intact, now crushed as though processed by an industrial crusher.

If guilt and remorse still reverberated within him, if remnants of his agony from irrevocably dissolving his friendship with Veemon haunted him even now, such emotions were not visible in his vacant expression. Christopher oozed apathy, the holes that were his goldenrod eyes shimmering deadpan.

He dissociated from the atrocious horrors he was committing. He had nothing personal against all the people he slaughtered like animals, each one now populating the floor of the Sunrise Offices as bloody cadavers.

It was simply business. They were safeguarding the building. He was invading it. Nothing was simpler than this. Chris drilled his numbing thoughts deep into his psyche, hoping it'd appease the buried, suffering conscience that now rumbled like a volcano. Yes, he deluded himself, It's just business. That's all.

Multiple concerns were at stake here. Matters that deadened anyone lost in the territories of the Divine. Christopher Van Numen understood the gravity of the situation this universe was in. Cognizant of his powerful influence over the Real and Digital Worlds—the war—the injustice that saturated the bond between two intelligent species.

Any action the exogenous man took here had a compounding effect across the board. Everything revolving around the blond outsider ramified into the universe, its specifics aggravated greatly by local affairs—the war and the injustice, the rushed development of humankind, the lives of hundreds—thousands—or perhaps, millions.

The blond was a catalyst. An epitome of change, capable of transforming the null hypothesis without lifting a finger. He was virtually a god, albeit a wandering, vagabond god that drifted across the Space Between Worlds, motivated solely by the most selfish and destructive of purposes.

Sustained by such thoughts Christopher kept walking, ever moving forward…

The Sunrise Offices was heavily guarded. Such attention and detail to security did not escape his notice. At first glance, the building seemed no different from the average office building of the urban landscape. It was plain. It rose into the air, overflowing with the aura of professionalism. The parking lots surrounding it were empty, and a side entrance on the side—an entrance into its capacious basement—gawped at him, its mouth open, accepting all visitors.

When the brightest blue washed over the goldenrod hue of his eyes, when Christopher Van Numen activated the Realm Scanner, the world turned black and white. The side entrance, in particular, had become a mesh of crisscrossing light.

A miracle computer, the indestructible shield on his left arm was incomparable to all. Its neural technology was tethered to his brain, processing everything his eyes absorbed before reproducing them as a finished product. A filtered and modified vision that had proven an asset throughout his journey.

Christopher's gaze was powered by thermal imaging. One look was all it took to realize the side entrance was armed with infrared lasers. Switching to the electromagnetic spectrum revealed glowing wires traveling further in, as though portending a fate for invaders who dared to enter.

He did not enter, thinking he could minimize the loss of lives by storming the front. Ivan Beleegar would have rebuked him for being a hypocrite, particularly after the absolute domination of his will on both the Digidestined and a group of innocents.

The security detail that greeted him confirmed Fujieda's admission. Such corroborations, however, were unnecessary in the first place. Christopher was a master at intimidating the inferior and the powerless. He sauntered in, armed with the confidence in her intel. That it was indistinguishable, so to speak, from a white shirt bought from the department store: stain-free, colors vibrant.

As soon as the battle was over—it was really a massacre, reminiscent of ants battling an unstoppable force—Christopher Van Numen stood idly, expectantly watching the lobby as though more challengers were coming to meet their Maker. Fortunately for them, the blond's guaranteed victory had been witnessed in full view by discretely-installed cameras.

Perhaps whoever was cooped inside a box of television screens, LCD monitors, and computers was stricken with fear. Perhaps news of his invincibility spread out, paralyzing the elite of security. His opponents had fought with a tenacity only gained through treacherous combat experience, however minimal.

It was clear to Chris he would've lost had he been an ordinary human. The corpses sprawled around him must have been soldiers. Active soldiers who were constantly trained to keep their talents honed and instincts sharp.

Another odd detail that contributed to the menacing grin widening on his countenance. Indeed, the DSI's research and development wing was underneath this building. Otherwise the security here was excessive, not to mention an unsustainable drain on the landlord's operating profits.

The blond ambled to the fire escape, ripping the door from its hinges and tossing it to the side without effort. If anyone was considering a surreptitious approach, witnessing this made them reconsider. He smiled at its simplistic structure, noting the gaps between each flight. Though banisters and railings barred the sensible from an unlucky fall, it was easy to leap over into empty space.

A normal man would've fallen to his doom five stories down.

Christopher would've doomed anyone waiting for him.

At the bottom of the shaft he eyed the solid slab of wood and steel and hurled his fist. It flew from the frame with its hinges still attached, smashing into a supporting pillar. The impact crumbled both, and the blood that seeped from beneath the rubble told Christopher he slew a guard in the midst of his patrol.

Who probably saw a flying door moments before it smashed his face into goo.

The blond meandered out the stairwell, leaving nothing behind except a small and foot-deep crater—the only mark of his descent. Bullets were fired the instant he stepped out. Fancy footwork or exaggerated evasive maneuvers were unnecessary for someone of his caliber. Through his impeccable eyesight and unnatural reflexes, to Chris the machine pistol that unleashed its 9mm's might as well be hurling volleyballs.

Though potent at shredding human flesh and barraging them with hundreds of tiny, high-speed projectiles a minute, against this ruthless villain it was no different from a water gun. A composed demeanor ushered him. Chris calmly walked on as though he was outside, enjoying a tour of the Metropolis. Each step brought him closer to the guard who spammed his gun, fear becoming more evident as every single shot failed to even strike someone who seemed preoccupied with a leisurely stroll.

Fear transformed into a sickening dread when Christopher was suddenly in front of him, traveling from fifty feet off to six inches away in a tenth of a second. He jerked the Minebea PM-9 from the guardsman's grip and, crushing the barrel with his merciless hands, tossed it into the wall where it shattered. Those same hands simultaneously gripped his assailant's neck, slamming him into the wall like he did with Veemon a week ago.

But he was not the same Chris who overwhelmed Veemon while he was weak, fatigued, and lacking the intent to kill. He was not the same Chris who threw Kiriha Ichijouji into the wall, assailed by the spell of his self-inflicted agony.

He was the Chris who moved on and rose above the surface—struggling for life!—after fleeing and committing so many atrocities he had long lost count. The monster that condemned a civilization, erased a squad of policemen, blackmailed innocents on the threat of rape, and manipulated one who would have become a loyal friend.

The blond demon that suppressed his nagging conscience to face the hardest decisions he had ever made.

All for the sake of the two worlds.

For their balance.

For his aspirations of normal life.

"Just keep on going," urged the echoes of his recent memories. "KEEP WALKING! Never, EVER doubt your dreams just because fate—destiny—life—is being hard on you."

"I will alter my fate," Chris vowed. "And I'll do whatever it takes."

Instead of choking the man to death, he thumped him down on the floor and pulverized the fragile body. The impact tore the fresh corpse asunder until it was no longer recognizable. Chris was covered in blood and he did not care. Goldenrod orbs zoomed in at a narrow corridor by the far corner, in front of which six guards were garrisoned behind a concrete divider.

They huddled against each other, aiming their M9's despite the foreknowledge such weapons were useless against him. Chris stood there, watching, ogling them with a stare so piercing a civilian would be compelled to shoot himself rather than endure the terrifying scrutiny.

"H-h-he's, he's just standing!"

In spite of the great distance separating them from each other, his sensitive ears easily picked up their echoes in this hollow basement.

"W, what're we gonna do? We can't let him get to the elevators!"

"Dammit! I didn't expect this when the JSDF assigned me here!"

"What is he? Some kind of SCAI?"

"A SCAI? What the eff; SCAI's don't look human!"

"Buddha! He's coming! GUYS, HE'S COMING!"

Christopher Van Numen approached them casually. The closer he was, the tighter they snuggled up to each other. He could see their legs shaking, the guns in their hands quaking in unadulterated terror. How mortal they must have felt! All six, very cognizant of the looming torment.

To these soldiers, he was a god. A god of death and destruction. Chris felt like scoffing at their toys. Standard issues were powerless against his deviant invincibility. Their fright was palpable, ostensible in their decision to kneel behind the four-foot dividers, if not for cover then just to keep the demon out of sight.

They couldn't have known they were defenseless. Even if those concrete blocks were swapped for wood, the result was still the same. Chris, however, only slew those who obstructed him. These men looked like they didn't give a damn for their jobs, for their body language constantly shouted "I WANT OUT!"

If that was the case, he was feeling merciful enough to give the six one chance. "Get out of my way and you live," he verbalized nonchalantly. "Block my path to R&D and die."

One guard gasped, eyes dilating. "He knows about the entrance!"

Another exclaimed. "Even if you pass us, the elevator's secured with biometrics! You won't—

The naysayer was dead, his head hanging from Chris' hands, blood dripping from where it had been connected to the neck. He was in the midst of tearing the newly deceased's hand from the body when the blond muttered offhandedly. "Any more volunteers?"

All of them ran, fleeing for dear life.

His path now free of unwanted obstructions, Chris strode through the corridor with a composure many would surely associate with psychopaths—murderers and serial killers. The end of the corridor contained a couple of elevators, their steel doors painted such that they melded seamlessly into the concrete wall.

The blond demon paused for a quick scrutiny. He was awed—amazed at the lengths the DSI took just to conceal the location of R&D from outsiders and spies. No one would ever suspect the most advanced technology on Earth, derived from the psychics of the Digital World, underwent development deep beneath what was clearly one of Tokyo's many residential zones.

If it weren't for Tina's information, the intense security, and the flat panel of steel on the sides, Christopher Van Numen couldn't have found R&D's entrance on his own.

The camouflaged double doors opened wide as soon as the dismembered body parts he carried were used to bypass the security measures. He tossed them in with him, just in case he still needed their DNA.

Such precautions became unnecessary.

The insides of the lift were barren, save for a couple of buttons on the side and a panel accessible only to those who had the key—or the strength to destroy it. Identification was not required now that he was in.

A security measure inside the lift seemed stupid to him. There was no need for redundancy here. He recalled Tina's confession with the exact clarity as Veemon's memory. The first elevator led to a security checkpoint. A hub that existed solely to screen and process individuals coming in and out.

Whatever waited for him down here was beyond his imaginations. Christopher expected people and high-powered weaponry, but in a world where monsters coexist with humankind in a twisted reflection of concupiscence, he was better off withholding them lest he court surprise.

Already something strange was happening to the elevator. The steel walls were becoming unnatural. Adopting a foreign aura that left Chris reeling from the impression of incongruity and strangeness. He was entering a place that didn't belong. A setting that, by the laws of physics, shouldn't exist.

It reminded him of the Digital World, where every molecule was pronounced with a synthetic quality. If that was not proof enough that the data particles comprising this other plane of reality adhered to a different set of existential rules, was there anything else that could foot the bill?

It also reminded him of himself. Of the experiences he had faced to date. Chris remembered all too clearly the distrust felt by everyone who laid eyes on him. A nagging suspicion dogging his every step. Did he exude this foreign aura as well? This unnatural air? Did he, too, instill feelings of incongruity and strangeness in everyone he met?

Was this what it was like, to be bothered in the face of something that did not belong here?

It was a frightening experience. Not even Christopher was immune from the unease taking a stroll up his spine.

He half-wondered whether Veemon ever felt this numbing chill. His real friends had felt it at one point or another, after all; naturally, quite a bit of time was spent ignoring the pall until a sense of trust replaced it. Yet as far as he could recall, the blue dragon never regarded him with caution or guarded words.

Why? He asked himself. Why was he so f*cking trusting? Chris clenched his fists. If Veemon hadn't been so overt in his yearnings for the past, if he hadn't been suffering from being separated from his precious Daisuke for far too long, none of this would have happened. He was sure of it.

Maybe the DSI wouldn't have gotten their nasty power-ups. Maybe this Taichi fellow he and his two friends were now in the process of rescuing would have succeeded. Maybe, he continued speculating, maybe Veemon would have stayed in the Digital World like a good little dragon. That scene he made at Mt. Fuji probably wouldn't have happened; the many lives Chris wiped from the face of the Earth in his fury would still be alive.

He half-wondered whether the threads of fate were entwined in the unfolding events. Were they actors guided by the invisible hand? Were they nothing more but characters, whose capacities for self-determination were undermined by an unfeeling writer—an omnipotent author that had nothing better to do except enthused prostitution to the ideals of entertainment and fame?

Felicia delineated his nature well. She felt no sympathies for the man that convulsed at her every step, his amber gaze locked on the ebon, pulsating sphere glowing in her hands. "You are a curse, bringing tragedy wherever you go. Everything you suffer from now was your fault from the very beginning!"

The present circumstances boggled the mind. All the complications that caused it couldn't have been coincidence. Meeting the Digimon of Miracles, staying in this universe, discovering the presence of the third Fragment…

He remembered the look of recognition crossing that woman's orange eyes. The growling suspicion in the cat's expression. The horror evident in the way they carried themselves around him—always wary, as though waiting for something to happen.

Something was at work here.

Destiny was at work here.

"People control their destiny, Veemon. There is no such thing as fate."

Christopher scowled. After all that work, after all the suffering and anger he endured just to get spare someone from meeting the same, gruesome ends as his real friends, he failed?—Failed to escape?—Failed to evade kismet's unrelenting talons?

He refused to accept it. This was all a product of their individual traits and choices. There was no element of predestination. It was all coincidence. Sheer luck!

The elevator stopped.

It pulled Chris from his darkening thoughts. He was here. The security hub: a small space constructed a hundred feet below sea level for a purpose that needed no clarification.

Tina Fujieda chuckled at Christopher's probing questions. "A special kind of biometrics like no other," she responded to his inquiry on security. "DSI's got the entire checkpoint inside a Digital Field."

The twin doors parted from the middle like a woman's legs in the midst of her heat. Christopher vacated the elevator, entering a space reminiscent of a warehouse. It was a long passage. Four stories high, twenty feet wide, and equivalent to a football field in length.

Much of the checkpoint was empty, with only markings on the floor indicating where employees and scientists lined up for inspection. The bareness of the hub baffled him. Where were the patrols? Where were the soldiers?

Surely he was entering one of the most elusive, manmade facilities in the world. That old man back at Mt. Fuji described R&D the way anyone would have described the infamous Area 51. The Digital Suppression Initiative's obsession for the R&D Wing's security logically called for plenty of weapons, plenty of men, and certainly plenty of traps.

Chris was already a quarter of a way through and until now he had yet to encounter anything resembling security. Goldenrod eyes darted across the corridor, glancing at the translucent windows above. The rooms within were lit, yet devoid of shadows—no one was inside.

Was anyone actually guarding the place?

Either the head of security was a crazy son of a bitch begging to be fired by the boss, or whatever they had in store for him necessitated such spacious architecture. Chris kept his cool. Confident. There was nothing here that could hurt him anyway. He was invincible. There was nothing to fear—wait a minute, he stopped himself.

It just occurred to him the walls—the floors—the ceiling—were shimmering with an otherworldly hue, reminiscent of Digital Modification. Were they being reinforced by—

The lights around Christopher turned scarlet, blanketing the blond in its glow. His goldenrod eyes turned blue at once, the R-Scanner's HUD displaying a map of the place. It didn't take its computers more than seven seconds to scan the æther particles of the corridor and reproduce a map for Chris' use.

Neither did it take seven seconds for multiple sentry turrets to pop out of previously-unseen panels, their barrels aimed straight at the blond. Security drones rolled out of openings along the wall, each one armed with a minigun and explosives. Filtering and identification programs within the Realm Scanner indicated their ammunition was fitted with depleted uranium instead of steel. The explosives looked ordinary…

…until one of the drones opened fire, hurling a spherical object that burst into a cloud of electricity and lightning on impact.

Automated Digital Modification.

The voltage was enough to send jolts of paralysis throughout his entire body, enough to slow him down and diminish his reflexes.

But not enough to deal significant damage.

Christopher would've ignored these obstacles if it weren't for the fact his attempt to save time might just result in causing a cave-in, or otherwise destroying his only path into R&D. A risk he was not willing to take.

Besides, he thought, I need a little exercise.

Lucille Diaz did not spare the details. Though she took care of Yamaki's comprehension the way a mother would care for a child, the soldier made sure he understood enough to know just how much was at stake here.

"By operating on a quick survey of the battlegrounds, we assumed most tangos were going to be Rookie and Champion class SCAI's. Albert was betting on one of the Chosen being there, mourning over the loss of that useless lizard. Had we succeeded, we would've killed another of the Twelve, captured a critical area, and obtained information that would've led us to the Tactician's primary base of operations."

The Modifier sauntered to the glass tube, her hazel eyes gazing intently at the Child of Miracles. They regarded Daisuke Motomiya with so much hate he might as well have been responsible for the disaster that was the Midnight Assault.

"We never expected the Midnight Assault to fall apart…"

Indeed, Daisuke was.

"…and by this guy's SCAI, no less." She frowned.

Yamaki's ultramarine orbs widened. Lucy believed his astonishment was real. Despite his fearsome reputation as a shrewd and cunning manager, the Vice-Chairman was actually easy to read. "You mean Veemon? Kikuchi confirmed his deletion at the Spire of Courage! I received his report just before you came in."

She was observing the floating body. Lucy watched him twitch at his words. The serene expression on the Chosen Child's face, for a brief second, contorted from the relaxed and indifferent expression of sleep to a grimace embracing unease and discomfort.

The soldier leaned forward, trying to make sense of this. The tubes plunging directly into Daisuke's arteries fed, on a daily basis, powerful sedatives straight into his body. Drugs capable of knocking out elephants and, through Digital Modification, Champion-class SCAI at modest volumes.

His movements should be involuntary, she pondered. So why does he look like he's in pain? Why did Daisuke Motomiya's unconscious form appear worried—or perhaps, furious?

Drugged to sleep, the Child of Miracles was at this point a glorified corpse. A living cadaver perpetuated merely for the sake of science. Since his incarceration two years ago Daisuke never saw the light of day again. He never saw light at all to begin with.

He lived in a world of darkness, boxed in by artificial slumber. His muscles, eaten away by the atrophy of time. Even the many experiments performed on his body—most involving blood extraction and merciless infusions of chemicals—failed to rescue him from limbo.

Scientists and doctors had long declared him a vegetable… at least until someone ordered him off the sedatives and narcotics. A scenario that was highly unlikely—no one knew where he was. Moreover, Vice-Chairman Yamaki had, for reasons known only to him, very little interest in returning consciousness to him.

Despite powerful tranquilizers coursing throughout his bloodstream, despite being unconscious for the past two years, despite scientists violating him repeatedly like a worthless whore in a sex den, the Child of Miracles flinched as though he was part of this conversation. As though he heard every word being spoken in front of him and was capable of response.

She gyrated, resuming eye contact with the Vice-Chairman. "That's what we all believed, Mr. Yamaki. Thought he died—murdered by a human with a sword."

Lucy saw his eyebrows rise. The bastard didn't believe her. "A sword?" he reiterated, his voice incredulous. Yamaki didn't hide his opinion, lacing his derision through cadence.

The Modifier crossed her arms and continued her story, refusing to bite. "Turned out that lizard befriended this guy, deceived Kikuchi, and somehow dragged him into the Great Forest hours before we struck."

"I can't see how one guy made such a diff—

"YES IT DID!" she erupted. "T-that Christopher…"

Verbalizing the name brought her back to the satellite base. Once more she had returned to the Clinic, to the moment she freed Aldo Kikuchi from Wormmon's silk threads. Lucille Diaz could feel the stupor—the shock seeping in from her memories. "He only looks human," she stressed, "when he's really a monster."

She remembered the scout's words perfectly. Aldo's voice echoed inside her, informing—reminding—emphasizing the threat he posed to the Digital Suppression Initiative.

"His strength…"

Bullets were useless, bouncing harmlessly off Christopher's skin. Undaunted he stepped forward and thrust, intending to impale Haseo's neck with the three-foot, ebon blade in his hands. Kazuki watched the blond nearly slaughter his comrade in cold blood. Though a well-trained soldier, even a man like him felt the pangs of fear creeping up his spine.

"…his speed…"

But his willpower was great, for he did not let it deter him from steadying his modified gun and pulling the trigger, hurtling lime spheres from the blond's flank. Kazuki had only the capacity to gasp in horror as his target eluded the orbs with an otherworldly ease. The Modifier desperately tried to escape his position, only for Chris' fist to strike his jaw in a split-second.

The blow sent Kazuki flying.

"…his technology."

To his superior, Aldo Kikuchi described Christopher's possessions in excessive detail. A bracer immune to any and all forces of destruction, a marvelous piece of armor that doubled as one of the most sophisticated and powerful computers he had ever laid eyes on. He spoke of his ebon blade, telling her of its incredible sharpness minutes before Lucy herself faced it in battle, wielded by the Digimon of Miracles himself.

Then there was the firearm. A weapon employing the power of dark energy, yet it ran on technology far beyond those utilized by the DSI's mere prototypes. Boasting semi-automatic fire, impeccable handling and durability, and maximized destructive capacity—no overheating, no charge time, and stronger spheres of power—it was the ultimate weapon, secured by biometrics.

"It was a miracle the three of us survived with that man on the battlefield. He did everything in his power to kill us all. He's—

Mitsuo Yamaki did not give her a chance to finish. "But that's EXACTLY why we issued those prototypes in the first place! As I've mentioned, the energy spheres fired by those rifles are strong enough to—

"I know they vaporize SCAI of any level! I know dark energy erases anything it hits—"

"Including people. All the experiments we've done here in R&D show there's nothing immune to dark energy. We tested every form of protection available. Lockheed dispersion coating, Chrome Digizoid—

Lucille interrupted him. "Here's something your tests never expected." She ogled the Vice-Chairman, staring straight into his eye, as though presaging the once-in-a-million anomaly no amount of quantitative statistics could anticipate. "He's resistant."

His mouth dropped like a log. "What…?"

"Christopher's resistant to your prototypes," clarified the Modifier, going to great lengths to derisively emphasize the last word. "It's not a one-hit kill for him! Dark energy explodes on impact and despite that he's still standing when the smoke clears."

"B-but—but that's," he stammered. "That's IMPOSSIBLE! I—I was never to—

Lucy sighed. "I know it's extremely difficult to believe, Yamaki, but I'm only stating the facts. I watched that demon welcome Albert's X-Laser with open arms like a fool. Attack blew up as soon as it hit and he's left with shallow wounds.

"And that's not the worst of it." Lucille Diaz had plenty to say about the blond, but she had no idea where to start. Should she begin on his unnatural character? Or was it better to focus on his technology?

Christopher was virtually a mystery. An obvious, third party—a disconnected figure in the war between men and monsters, somehow dragged into the conflict by happenstance. Who was he? Where was he even from?

Lucille Diaz had been there when he fought Colonel Reeves. Though she was quite distracted by her one-on-one with the Chosen, its survivability boosted tremendously by the black sword, the Modifier was still aware of the other battle's proceedings. Her alert eyes had skimmed this stranger several times and for all the good it did for her, her observations shed no light on his origins.

By abilities and endurance levels alone, the blond had a place in the DSI's database of SCAI's. "I'd classify that bastard as an Ultimate," resurfaced Aldo's speculations, articulated the night of their return—after the three survivors swapped stories. "Definitely not a Mega class, y'know. That rank grossly overestimates my experience with him."

"Abilities and endurance levels alone" weren't appropriate for this stranger. He defied the DSI's taxonomy with a strangeness verified by his proven resistance to dark energy, his comprehensive understanding of its properties, and the bizarre equipment on his person.

They were not dealing with a unique, never-before-seen SCAI. They were dealing with an entity that escaped conventional taxonomy. An alien.

At that train of thought, Lucy realized where she'd best begin. "Christopher's motives are directly placed against us. He's definitely our enemy no matter how we look at it, and I can give you two reasons for this." The soldier paused, permitting Yamaki to request for clarification, or maybe dispute her statements.

The DSI's second-in-command did nothing. He was quiet, leaning on the wall with his gaze trained on her. Yamaki stared at Lucille Diaz with the seriousness of a businessman and commander. The solemn aura pervading this dialogue fit his profile completely. Right now he was the Divine Assault—the Vice-Chairman of the DSI: feared and respected by all.

"Go on," his posture spoke.

Without breaking the eye contact, Lucy strolled to the stairway and took a seat on the banister. "We—the three survivors—suspect he's developing an attachment for Daisuke's partner." Before proceeding she glanced at the Child of Miracles, holding his haggard form in her hazel pools. Diaz studied his impassive expression, awed at its resemblance to a silent and contemplative focus.

The living cadaver promoted an illusion of awareness. Outsiders who've yet to notice the equipment sprouting from his flesh would surely be fooled into thinking he was part of the conversation as the two of them were.

In hindsight, Lucy held, it was actually a creepy thought.

"Kikuchi exchanged words with him during their encounter in the command center. Christopher maintained detachment—no concern for the SCAI dying all over the compound. He used his 'allies' as shields and diversions, firing at them when it reduced our numbers without the least bit of hesitation.

"None of that applies when Daisuke's lizard is involved. Kikuchi said he fought tooth and nail to keep the Veemon alive. Fujieda recounted their impressive teamwork—I actually got to see it for myself. Chris held his own against six Modifiers at once with only the Chosen beside him. That goddamn monster had many opportunities to use that effing SCAI the way he did with the rest, but in the end he chose to work with it!

"And together they brought Albert down." Lucy released a disgusted snort. "Tell me that isn't some kind of a working relationship! If it develops into an intimate friendship, that demon's guaranteed to fight with the Twelve." She tilted her head towards the only other person in the chamber. "And if he somehow reunites that lizard with Daisuke…"

The Modifier exhaled sharply. "Won't take much figuring out how terrible that'll be for us."

"That's not happening." The executive flapped his tongue before Lucy could continue. "I've played enough politics in my line of work, and unless Veemon—or the Twelve—can give Christopher something he wants, his cooperation is impossible." He huffed. It resembled a scathing chuckle. "Real life works differently from theory, Lucille. All relationships are give-and-take. Close friendship alone won't be enough."

Her adversary reclined on the wall, that blond head of his steered towards the man in the tube. Yamaki's actions were sending subliminal messages—ideas that failed to elude her titian gaze. The apparent skepticism and doubt of the Divine Assault drew attention to the unconscious Daisuke, highlighting the unwavering fact Veemon's relationship with Christopher would never amount to the bond the lizard had with its own tamer.

It was a barrier—a direct assault—to the Modifier's warnings. A response that halted her worrying assertions, one that granted Yamaki unquestionable victory.

Lucille Diaz would certainly subdue her tongue to save face if she hadn't come prepared. "Tsk, tsk," she reproached. "I wasn't finished, Yamaki. That's where the second reason comes in." The yellow-haired woman sauntered from her place, her eyes reserved solely for the man before her.

The Vice-Chairman was fidgeting in his suit, his cerulean eyes glimmering with patience. He was waiting for her to speak, waiting for her to reveal her second reason. The one that cemented the outsider's allegiance against them.

As much as she wanted to point out how Christopher insisted their dark matter weapons ran on his technology from the get-go, the truth was, Lucille Diaz couldn't spit it out. Going on the topic of this technology returned the Modifier to the Midnight Assault—brought her back to thoughts that screamed at her, screeching all those deaths could've been prevented, assigning suspicion to R&D.

Lucy did not take the straightforward path. "The morning of the Midnight Assault, you told me R&D had been developing the dark matter rifles since morning. It really strikes me odd how your science geeks produced ten working guns in less than ten hours after a 'groundbreaking development'."

Her eyes shone ominously. They broke free from the soft and pensive glaze arresting them, almost as though it was holding them back. She closed in on Yamaki, her words turning reproachful one step at a time. "Did you forget I've been around R&D more than any of my colleagues because of you?"

The flames of anger dug their way back into her, burning the tempo—the characters in each verbalized syllable. She pulled back her left sleeve, showing the Vice-Chair the thin digivice strapped to the wrist. "I remember the last time you made a prototype, Yamaki. If I recall correctly—no, I'm certain of it—it took ONE WEEK after a 'groundbreaking development' to ROLL OUT THE FIRST MODEL!"

If the man was nervous of her direction, wondering where she was going with this, pondering why Lucille digressed from her main point, he did not show it. "Compared to Digital Modification, R&D has been researching dark matter for over a year." His words were calm. Composed.

Yamaki's poise did not stop her from snapping a finger towards Daisuke. "THAT is the only project I've EVER seen you working on. Digital Modification was—is—your life. I still remember the nights you spent toiling over that man's body without sleep!"

He glared. Anyone subjected to such a powerful and frightening glower would cower before it. It was no different from the intimidating death stares sent out by that menacing Christopher. Similar in intensity and indifference. But whereas the outsider's gaze instigated a mortal fear in its victims, the executive's glare brought out trepidations closer to home.

With many of Yamaki's subordinates being scientists, soldiers, or businessmen, clearly they would be frightened for their professional lives. For their reputation. Angering or, perhaps, disappointing the second most powerful man on Earth did wonders for someone's future.

Anyone else in her place would have their legs quivering like jelly, for the Divine Assault's reputation as a stoic and shrewd commander devoid of sympathy was famous throughout the Digital Suppression Initiative—throughout the world. He was almost comparable to Steve Jobs: focused ruthlessly on performance and organizational goals, blatantly condemning his own sociability among peers.

Lucy was unafraid, for she was special. While merely a veteran soldier, rungs beneath even the highest position in the military division, the Modifier possessed an advantage no other soldier had. One that granted her enough leverage to go head-to-head with the fearsome Mitsuo Yamaki without flinching.

"You don't know what it's like to juggle—

"SHUT UP!"

Which explained why Lucy was so vocal about her opinions. Her knowledge of the Vice-Chairman was intimate and more comprehensive than any of his peers. Akihiro Kurata did not know him as well as she did. The soldier could easily tell the executive was feeding her one lie after another. She recalled with perfect clarity how he deflected her sensible questions—manipulated Colonel sReeves—before sending fifteen Modifiers into an operation of tragedy and death. "Christopher thinks our rifles are running on HIS TECHNOLOGY! That f*cker had a gun that outclasses your prototypes by wide margins!"

The man's eyes were dilating with shock. He had clearly never expected this. "N-no…"

"No digital modifications, no overheating, semi-automatic, excellent handling, and SIGNIFICANTLY MORE POTENT!"

Mitsuo Yamaki could not accept the truth. He denied the truth: his precious subordinates were relying on someone else's technology, on someone else's designs. He was beginning to see the second reason without Lucille spelling it out for him.

Weapons employing the unstoppable might of dark energy were Christopher's realm. By issuing "prototypes" in the Midnight Assault, the Digital Suppression Initiative has undoubtedly earned the demon's attention. If there was something that man wanted, it would most likely be in the DSI's possession.

This hypothesis established Chris' antagonism against them. It was indisputable. Whether he joined the Twelve through Veemon or acted on his own, his interests were aligned against the DSI.

Yamaki shook his head profusely. He refused to accept it. "My scientists—we developed everything—worked on dark matter for two years—

Lucy yelled. "STOP LYING!" Her voice was so loud it echoed throughout the chamber, audible even from the mezzanine above. Daisuke's body shuddered from its intensity. "Accept the truth, Yamaki! If we don't do something about Christopher, we're going to be screwed."

The Vice-Chairman adjusted the tie in his suit and exhaled sharply, expelling his anxiety if he could. "No, we won't," he stated. How Yamaki could still speak with the coherence of a well-oiled politician was beyond her. Lucille had long undermined his confidence, and the man was clearly sweating profusely from fright. "I've—I've got it all taken care of. We already have the people in place and it's all a matter of—

She balked. Was he seriously downplaying the threat Christopher posed to the entire organization? Was he blind to the ramifications of having someone as strong as that demon running against them? That man was invincible to everything except dark energy. Bullets, modified projectiles, hell, even SCAI-derived attacks.

The Chosen Children would no doubt lever themselves on his power and act as he did. There was really no need for any alliances when Chris was already a guaranteed enemy to begin with. And as the archaic proverb maintained, an enemy of an enemy was a friend.

They needed to find a way to deal with him as fast as possible, and to begin, all this denial had to stop. Lucille needed the truth out of Yamaki.

Luckily, she knew how to push his buttons.

"If there's one thing I despise more than SCAI's, it's a f*cking liar." She palpitated as she brought her body in front of his. Their eyes were almost drilling into each other. "And you're the biggest of them all. Keep in mind I know all your secrets."

Lucille Diaz glimpsed the white gold on his neck.

"Why you're micromanaging some of our operations."

A choker with an exceptionally-crafted jewel attached to the chain. Its verdant green sparkled radiantly despite the low light. She frowned at its sight.

"Why you're obsessed with Digital Modification."

She breached the unspoken barrier between them and gripped his shoulders, clutching them as though Lucy held her most hated enemy in her grasp for interrogation. "Why people call you the 'Divine Assault'."

The soldier slammed his back on the wall, causing a raucous thud to resonate in their ears. "Why you're always in this room." A sound neither of them noticed.

"WHY YOU'RE EVEN HERE!"

Mitsuo Yamaki stowed one hand in his blazer, shoving Lucy away with the other. His arms employed a strength his sleeves efficiently concealed. "Diaz, stand down." He had dug himself out from his rut as soon as she mentioned his darkest secrets.

"Never." The digivice on her left wrist snapped to the palm. Her right hand gripped the M9 tucked into the pants of her indigo uniform and held the DSI's second-in-command at gunpoint. The handgun glowed weakly, its chassis encircled by azure lines of energy. "Not until you give me answers."

The Divine Assault raised his free arm, keeping the other hidden, probably clutching something within. Lucille Diaz knew what it was. So long as nothing out of the ordinary happened, she didn't need to worry. She had everything under control.

Such wishful thinking did not stop Fladramon's gauntlet from appearing on his raised arm, its three, protruding claws crackling with Lighdramon's electricity. "Lucy," Yamaki spoke darkly. "You wouldn't dare."

"You know damn well I would, Mitsy." Without warning she pointed her gun at Daisuke. "If you don't want your prized specimen shot, tell me everything. How you perfected dark matter weapons. Why you really permitted the Midnight Assault."

Lucy cocked the firearm, hoping the jarring sound elicited a quick response. "While you're at it, you may as well tell me why Taichi's still alive in that prison cell and just how you intend on dealing with Christopher…"

Indeed, her threats on Motomiya's life educed a response.

"I wouldn't worry about him if I were you."

Her eyes dilated when she realized it wasn't Yamaki who spoke…

Post-chapter author's notes:

[3] Comments and criticisms, again, are welcome.

Also, if you got anything to say about my characterizations, don't hesitate to do so. I worry about them a bit.

[4] Random trivia no one cares about. Veemon's experience with the raincoat happened to me in real life.

[5] There are actually people who enjoy going into storm drains and sewers. Yes, such persons find the prospect of walking in a mosquito-filled cesspit fun. I actually spent one night watching videos of parties of three to five heading into these murky passageways (some of the places they end up going in are beautiful)and found a "guide to urban spelunking" in Australia that outlined some key concepts employed in this chapter, including the dangers involved.

People who find the prospect of exploring storm drains should look up "A Predator's Approach" on Google before they end up doing something incredibly stupid and get themselves killed.

[6] Responses to reviews:

kingveemon: Thanks for the review. Really, comments are one of the things that keep me going (aside from my drive to see this project completed! Broken_Angel has set the bar really high...), though I'm a little disappointed considering I'm beginning to unload some of the heavy sh*t on the readers now. Let's see if that changes next chapter...

RazenX: *whistles* LONG REVIEW! I sent you an equally lengthy response, which I shall, ehrm, truncate here for the curious readers.

CH9&10 rewrites. The extra details were necessary to justify what happened in CH18. The culture shock, naturally, acts as a nasty surprise for the unwary reader expecting the story to turn into a Gary Stu garbage. Speaking of CH18, I will eventually rewrite it because of the way it portrays Veemon. When will I do this? Who knows.

Expectations for CH23. LOL. Sorry, Raz, but the last thing I want to show is Christopher blazing through R&D like a God Moder. He's already got the mindset of one, and I've already showcased his abilities in the first story arc, so there's no need to even show it. HOWEVER, there's a horrifyingly brutal scene coming up in the DSI Infiltration battle (comparable to the "Salamon" scene in the rewritten CH10) and here I am, pondering how you (and other readers) would think of it.

Lucy and Yamaki. First, glad to know I've got Yamaki in-character. Second, Lucy really is your "typical alpha b*tch with a dark past". Just because someone's a jerk/asshole doesn't mean that person's inhuman. Everybody's got a side to their story, and unfortunately, the spirit of Lucy's choices can easily be made by people in real life. Go figure.

Writing praises despite author's requests for criticism. I am like that in my professional work as well despite my talent and skills definitely above the average cut. Conflict breeds evolution and innovation, and naturally, criticism is conflict in itself.

Christopher's backstory. It will eventually be revealed in The Interloper in due time. Even though Chris does not have the spotlight (as it should be! OC's should never hog the attention in a story with a cast of OC's and canon characters), his backstory is still crucial to this story. It clarifies multiple questions (e.g. his relationship with Veemon), and it resolves plot holes in the Zero Two anime in a manner complementing the pervasive "Predestination vs. Self-determinism" theme that Christopher embodies.

On a final note, multiple seeds have already been planted over the uploaded chapters, even in the ones I've written and never edited. Goes to show how much I've planned in this story. Can't wait to write 'em blooming. If that doesn't get my readers giving feedback, I honestly don't know what will... aside from a typical shipping story with an "Adventure" style plot.

Thanks for your review and see you in the next chapter.