Mass Effect: Human Revolution

by IgnusDei

Adam Jensen finds himself in a time only dreamed of in vids, humanity is now part of a great galactic community that fears synthetics, and he struggles to find his place within it. Note: Primarily a DX/ME crossover, with elements borrowed and integrated from other Square Enix franchises.

38. Chapter 34: The Dream Machine part 6

Deus Ex Human Revolution is the property of Eidos and Square Enix

Mass Effect is the property of Bioware and Electronic Arts

Mass Effect: Human Revolution

Chapter 34: The Dream Machine part 6

~[h+]~

Wreav is voiced by Jason Momoa

... although if you have someone else in mind for the role, that's okay too.

~[h+]~

Early notes: I drew the Durendal! You can see the full color image on the fic's Spacebattles thread, or on my DeviantArt account: Just look up 'USSV Durendal' and you'll find the pic.

I apparently failed to convey this in earlier chapters, but Brea sculpted Jensen's face to appear like Basch Fon Rosenberg. Hairstyle, hair, skintone, everything.

Spell check by WarpObscura. He's doing it live!

More spell check by Vandenbz.

French translations are available at the end of the chapter.

~[h+]~

---

[ Homeworld Soundtrack - Kharak System ]

Noveria - High Orbit

With the VIP shuttle successfully escorted, Zoller and Taggart set their Endymion fighters for a direct course towards NAV 2, close to the cold world's moon.

"So, laddie, how about we take a little detour?" asked Taggart over the wireless.

"Where to, sir?" replied Zoller.

"Hm... let's go and meet the Durendal. I always wondered what that ship looked like up close."

"Are you sure, sir? Captain Segal's orders were to observe."

"Aye, observe. Didn't say from how far, or that we couldn't say hello, now did he?"

"...I suppose not, sir."

It did not take them long to approach the dark hull of the failed prototype of the Stealth Cruiser concept. Just as it appeared on sensors, Taggart hailed them, declaring his intentions.

"USSV Durendal, this is Alpha One from the Acheron, please respond, over."

"Alpha One, this is the Durendal," replied an American man with a somewhat nasal voice. "I've got you on my scopes. What are your intentions? Over."

"Durendal, Alpha One. Just wanted to show the new meat a fine example of Yank military overspending. We mean ye no harm, over."

"Heheh... Alpha One, Durendal. You're welcome to look... but no touching, over."

"Roger that, no sensors allowed."

Zoller and Taggart flew in and put their fighters in a 300 meter radius orbit around the dark german grey vessel, their engine trails forming rings around it. Zoller observed the ship: its lines were typically american, all angular plates and industrial sensibilities.

It also appeared... modular. Its main hull was shaped like a thick, wide broadsword, and under it was mounted a Kunde Transportation cargo pod, painted a bright orange. Bolted on the vessel's nacelles were four Diable Avionics VX-800 plasma drives, powerful but outdated pieces of engineering no doubt picked up for cheap at an auction. The nacelles were also serving as a hard-point for two long Blitzstrahl 800mm Gauss cannons, relics from the Luna War, each of them protected by long whipple shields mounted on mechanical arms. Said shield plates bore the logo of the United States' Space Navy, an eagle with a large halo, flanked by two stars.

"Scheiße!" said Zoller on the open channel. "This ship is an outdated piece of junk!"

"I could say the same about your Endymions," said another American on the channel. His voice wasn't quite as nasal. "Will Europe ever finish the Astraea, I wonder?"

"Hein!" exclaimed Taggart. "The madman of Shanxi! I haven't seen ye since you dropped in that Tatou Recon Wanzer from low orbit to save Harper's arse!"

"I do believe you owe me a bottle of scotch for that stunt."

"Aye, so I do... I see that you're still riding in that useless tub. Been meaning to ask, why did ye name it after a bloody french sword?"

"Figured I would name it after a sword, what with the shape and all. Of course, you Union jerks took Excalibur already. Figured I'd steal another name from you."

Taggart laughed. "Well, as much as I would love to stay and catch up on old times, I've got a pup to raise. Speaking of which, have you heard the news? Freeport S9 was destroyed by the Geth. No known survivors."

"You don't say?"

"Aye. So be careful. There's no telling what dangers lurk out here."

"Same to you, old friend. Durendal out."

Taggart and Zoller switched to their own wireless frequency.

"The Madman of Shanxi?" asked Zoller.

"Aye. Edgar Hein spearheaded the groundside operations by dropping in a Tatou and taking out a couple of Turian anti-orbital laser emplacements. After that, he harrassed the birds with constant hit and runs... after 12 hours, Arterius had sent about a third of his vehicles after him."

"...He achieved this with a Tatou? That's impossible! Those things aren't made for assaults, or protacted battles!"

"It's why me and me mates called him the Madman. Fights like a crazy person, he does. Harder and nastier in a light Wanzer than any of us in a medium or heavy. Alright, enough of that, now. Set a course to the moon, then accelerate to 60 klicks per second. By the time we arrive, Hermes will have your surprise ready."

Zoller did as commanded, and cut his engines, letting the inertia take him to the moon. He wasn't stupid; he knew he was being tested. After all, most of his experience had come from VR training, and seasoned pilots had nothing but scorn for the pups with little real flight experience. They wanted him to prove himself worthy, references and accolades be damned.

Right now, they were testing his patience: The Endymion had enough fuel efficiency to accelerate to a tenth of light speed and still have enough for a dogfight. They could have reached the moon in seconds. As it were, they would reach it in an hour and twenty minutes. A test of patience, to see how long he could stand in the cockpit, doing nothing but watch readouts, without so much as a complaint.

To Taggart's approval, the boy did not complain.

Waiting for them at NAV 2 was a Palaemonius utility heavy corvette, and a few dozen cylindrical targeting drones painted burnt orange with white stripes. The cylinders split in four, and opened up. Glowing plates of Omni-Gel expanded into place, forming octagonal bull's-eyes.

"Goose to Alpha Wing," said Hermes over the wireless. "Welcome to our little gauntlet. Mister Zoller, this is where you prove you're worth that billion credit fighter you're piloting."

"Alpha 2 to Goose," replied Zoller, trying not to sound too bored. "I am ready. Setting weapons to simulation mode..."

"That won't be necessary, lad," said Taggart. "Those target drones are cheap. Also, it's never a good idea to be out in space with your pants down. Ye never know when space pirates might attack."

"Ready to get started?" asked Hermes.

"I am," replied Zoller.

"Alright, let's see how well you handle a Ragulka 45mm Gauss cannon..."

One of the Palaemonius' two orange cargo pods opened, and a rack of gunpods slid out. On the top half of the rack, the Ragulka's were mounted side by side, ready to be picked up."

"... Ditch your Vulcan Gunpod, and take one of the cannons, oh and uh, I'm going to make things a bit more interesting."

The Palaemonius began to spin, slowly.

"Possible scenario: the corvette's dead in the water, and it is spinning out of control, but you need a fresh gunpod. Let's see how well you can pick it up."

Zoller complied, and quickly set his Endymion in a synchronous orbit with the spinning corvette, constantly making adjustments with his vernier micro-thrusters. That was the easy part; the hard part would be doing that while manually controlling the Endymion's mechanical arm to pick up the gunpod.

Zoller succeeded on his first try.

"Not bad, not bad," commented Hermes. "Let's see how you handle a Gauss cannon against moving targets, shall we?"

Three of the drones engaged their thrusters and went into evasive maneuvers, and Zoller fired at all of them in quick succession. He missed all three of them, barely grazing their bull's-eyes.

"Close, but no cigar, pup!" said Taggart as he picked up a Wasp micro-missile gunpod.

"Hold a moment," said Zoller, a bit annoyed. "I must recalibrate."

"Right, a likely story." Hermes chuckled.

The Ragulka was a difficult weapon to aim, as Zoller was used to weapons with much faster muzzle velocity. Coilguns were favored by Einhander pilots due to their low recoil compared to railguns, but the problem with coilguns was that they needed larger, heavier slugs to make up for the diminishing returns caused by ferromagnetic saturation. As such, coilguns shots tended to have a much lower muzzle velocity than railgun shots. This was typically made up for by using High-Explosive ammo.

It was best to think of the Ragulka as a dumbfire rocket launcher.

The adjustments made, Zoller tried again, and hit each drone straight in the center at a range of 2 kilometers.

"There. Much better," said Zoller.

"Well, you certainly took your sweet time," commented Taggart.

"I try to make every shot count, especially with Gauss weapons. There are only so many rounds in them."

They tested other weapons after that. The next in line was the Sonnenstrahl 1.12 gW UV laser gun. The real trick to using this gunpod was to keep the beam on target while firing long enough to blow through a hull. Against Hermes' drones, this proved more challenging, as their evasion settings were set to 'Random'. This challenged Zoller quite a bit, and more than a couple of times he mismanaged his coolant supply. After switching to another Sonnenstrahl with a full OVO cell, Zoller had gotten used to the weapon, and completed the challenge.

Then came the Ascalon 16mm railgun. The main challenge in using that gunpod was keeping the whole ship stable despite its considerable recoil. Since the weapon was slung under the ship, most of the recoil's force would be applied off the Endymion's center of gravity, and would send it spinning if the vernier thrusters weren't firing just right.

Hermes had upped the stakes by forcing Zoller to take down a dozen drones within a 45 second time limit, and bet some money to motivate him. Zoller felt like doing a bit of showboating, and shot the ninth target without compensating for the recoil. His ship spun, but he had lined up the rotation with a line formed by the last three drones. He fired off a three-shot burst, and all three 16mm tungsten-core steel slugs took a curved, four kilometer course towards their targets.

Bull's eye.

Bull's eye.

Bull's eye.

And so, Zoller was 2000 credits richer. He rolled his fighter and fired at the moon, letting the recoil put a stop to his fighter's spin.

"Och, you bloody showoff, ye."

"The targeting computers help... a little."

Hermes chuckled. "Alright, let's see how well your craft withstood that little stunt... Okay, scanners report you've got some metal fatigue in the manipulator, but nothing to worry about now. We still have one more challenge for you, Zoller. Feeling up to it?"

"I am." Though to be perfectly honest, Zoller was feeling a little ill from the spinning.

"Good. I set up a trench run on the moon. There's a ravine that runs through half its equator. Sending you some Nav coordinates... okay, Nav 3 is where you start, Nav 4 is the finish line. Tag as many targets as you can, with whatever weapon you wish, even your Endymion's machine guns."

"Get them all and cross the finish line in the allotted time," said Taggart, "and we'll put ten thousand credits in your wallet. Fail, and you get latrine duty for a bloody year."

"Alright, mate, pick your gunpod."

Since precision would be paramount, and any kind of recoil would no doubt send him crashing into the cliffs, Zoller's decision was simple.

"I'll grab a fresh Sonnenstrahl." said Zoller.

His fresh gunpod taken, Zoller set a course for Nav 3, with Taggart flying on his wing. Hermes had excused himself, saying that he needed to pick up all the junk Zoller had made.

A quick inertial cruise later, Alpha Wing hovered over the ravine. Zoller admired it for a bit, before realizing something strange.

"How did this ravine form?" he asked. "Was there water on the moon? Even if there were, then there wouldn't be enough gravity..."

"Who knows?" was Taggart's reply. "My personal theory? Protheans did it."

"If the Protheans did it... how did they do it?"

"Maybe they tested some kind of tectonic bomb."

"Considering this moon has no tectonics... Mein Gott! How powerful were the Protheans, really?"

"Heh... It's just a theory lad, alright, get in position. I'll be keeping my cams on ye from above, making sure ye don't cheat or some such."

"...How could I possibly cheat?!"

Taggart simply chuckled as his fighter went into position above the canyon. "So, are ye ready to get the challenge started?"

"Ready, though for the record I just want to say that I am endangering a multi-million Euro machine on your orders, sir."

"Duly noted, ensign. Alright then! Ready? Set? Go!"

The trench run started easily enough, and Zoller only needed to use his machine guns to take out the targets... but he discovered just what kind of sadistic bastard Hermes Smith really was within ten seconds of the run. Many of the targets were placed in such a way that required Zoller to fire his machine gun in one direction and his gunpod in the other. Some required him to shoot backwards. It was almost as if he was being baited to use the Drive.

Zoller missed a couple of targets, and had to go back to take them out. Six precious seconds wasted.

"Ye know, laddie, ye really should have just picked the Wasp pod. Or even a cluster gun. Would have made tagging the targets simpler, and you wouldn't have had to constantly fire your verniers to adjust."

"...I assumed I could only choose from the three long guns."

"Well, ye assumed wrong. Let that be a lesson to ye. Use whatever is at your disposal. It's like the Americans say: Overspecialize and you invite disaster."

But Zoller was not going to give up so easily. "I have a better saying. He who tries to master everything masters nothing." He redoubled his efforts, pushed himself even harder even with his handicap. He had made it half-way through the run with more than enough time to spare. By then, they had crossed into the dark side of the moon.

Taggart spoke again, his voiced hushed.

"Lad, slam on the anchors, and set your power systems to stealth mode, and maintain radio silence."

"But..."

"Just do it, that's an order!"

Zoller did as he was told and came to a complete stop, and waited for further orders. Had he done something wrong? Taggart's Endymion moved in next to Zoller's using its verniers instead of its main engines, and sent the young pilot a laser morse in one of his cams, setting up a discreet, low emissions comm channel.

"Look up, laddie."

Zoller set one of this cams to look up in relation to the surface of the moon, and thought he caught a glimpse of something. He zoomed in by a factor of three: Seven klicks from the surface of the nameless moon, there was a trio of fighters, metallic and shaped like some kind of predatory insect.

"Oh... Oh Scheiße!"

"Aye, that's the right word. Say hello to the Geth's idea of a fighter. We codenamed these bastards 'GF-00 Mantis'."

"I can see why..." replied Zoller. He held his breath, and kept his Sonnenstrahl aimed at them. Any time now, they would turn and attack them, and he would be ready.

Two minutes, and they had yet to attack. Zoller relaxed a bit.

"They're not moving in to intercept us. We have the element of surprise on our side! Should we not engage?"

"Wait a tad... from what we know of the Geth, they're rarely so few in number. Scan around; your IMREC should be able to spot more of their ships."

They both had their cameras comb the starry sky, and for a five minutes, they came up with nothing. Zoller was about to suggest they attack again, only for the IMREC to highlight another flight of Mantises. Then another. And then another. And then a dozen more. Suddenly, Zoller wasn't so eager for a fight anymore.

"Bloody. Hell. It's just like our last encounter. It's true what they say about the Geth: where there's one, there's a thousand."

"Wait... there's more."

Coming into view was a sizable group of larger vessels. The IMREC VIs counted twelve dropships, twenty assault frigates, and eight fighter maintenance frigates. At the center of their formation was a bulbous mass of junk, its volume easily twice as large as the Acheron, its hull a checkered pattern of various shades of steel and rust. Parts of its armor had been torn to make it appear like a snarling beast, and sharpened beams formed teeth and horns.

And it had lots of guns. All of its turrets were made of a gleaming dark metal, their elegance clashing with the rough, junky parts of the rest of the ship.

Zoller gulped. "I've read about those on the extra-net. It's a Krogan Battle Barge... Heavy Cruiser displacement. It probably carries thousands of Krogan Warriors..."

"Shite, they're planning to attack Noveria."

"Does that mean that the Krogan have thrown their lot with the machines?"

"Don't concern yourself with that right now. We have to warn the Acheron."

"But we've got a whole moon between us and them..."

"I know." Going full burn out of the dark side of the moon would light them up like flares, and they would be swarmed immediately. That left them with one option. "...alright, stay in stealth mode, we're going to follow the trench back out using our verniers. Hopefully, the gas emissions will blend in with the moon's surface and they won't spot us. Let's go."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Ten minutes. Ten minutes, and they had not even crossed a tenth of the way. Zoller's nerves were beginning to fray. Any second now, the Geth would pick up his gas trail, and they would attack and—

"Yer breathin' too hard, laddie."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Relax, I'll get you home safe and— shite, hug the wall!"

A frigate passed over them not even 200 meters above the surface of the moon. It moved slowly, its searchlights moving over the rocks, as if looking for something.

"Stay calm," ordered Taggart.

"Sir, if they look out the window..."

"They don't have windows. See?"

"But they do have cams!"

"We're just rocks to them. Stay. Calm."

"We should attack and make a run for it."

"Laddie, you power up and they'll definitely kill us!"

"But—"

A searchlight cast its light near Zoller.

"Sir!"

"Stay calm..."

It was moving closer.

"They're going to see us!"

"Stay calm, blast you!"

It was moving closer still.

[ Macross Zero OST - Sky Shine ]

Zoller powered up immediately, and scanned the Geth assault frigate. He quickly identified its power reactor, and that was the first thing to be pierced by the laser.

"Lad, no!"

Next came the heat sinks, and just like that, Zoller had crippled his first Geth frigate. His celebration was cut short when the sensor globe on his HUD showed him thirty red blips coming in fast. The Geth response was immediate. Zoller and Taggart went as fast down the trench as possible. The Geth frigate attempted to fire its guns on them, only for the entire ship to overheat, and shut down.

"Bloody hell, boy! We're in for it now!"

"They were going to find us! I had to act!"

"We'll talk about your cock-up later! We've got Mantises coming from above, 12 of them!"

"I see them!"

The twelve mantises attempted to fire on the Endymion fighters with their white-light lasers. Their aim was perfect, however, the silvery hull of the European super-fighters reflected and scattered a full electromagnetic spectrum in response, throwing off the Geth fighters' locks. They quickly adapted by reconfiguring their lasers to fire strictly in the infrared spectrum, but they could not heat up either of the Terran hulls fast enough to kill them before Zoller shot them down with an invisible lance of light. He hit one of the Geth Mantises in its primary optical sensor, and as it died a flash of purple was burned in its memory as its processes transferred out of the ship.

"And that's 13 bogeys down!" Zoller declared, his tone celebratory. Coolant flushed through the laser cannon, and six streams of hot gas vented from the sides of the gun.

"Well, excuse me for not throwing you a bloody party, but they're trying to chase us in the trench, now!"

True enough, the second Geth wave, now wary of Zoller's beam weapon, decided to use the treacherous, serpentine corridor of rock as cover and concealment from him. They got close, close enough to start firing their machine guns at him. He took evasive maneuvers, but he had little opportunity to fire back. Taggart took action by rising high above the ravine, getting multiple locks on each of the Geth fighters, and letting loose 42 micro-missiles.

"Welcome to my hellish circus, ye soulless bastards!"

42 white streams lanced out of the Wasp pod, and each made their way towards the nine Geth fighters Zoller had not managed to kill. Three exploded almost immediately, while the other six attempted to evade. One crashed, and five made a good show of dodging the missiles. Wasp missiles, as they found out, were tenacious bastards, and they eventually exploded as well.

Taggart rejoined Zoller. "We're almost out of the dark side."

"The Geth fighters are... retreating. Ha! That's right, RUN you synthetic cowards!"

"Machines don't feel fear, boy! Something's wrong."

"We've got a direct line of transmission to the Acheron!"

"Good. Acheron, this is Alpha One! We are under attack by a Geth carrier group! Please respond, over!"

Static. Goddamn it, did Taggart hate static.

"Acheron, Alpha One! We are engaged with enemy Geth fighters, do you copy?!"

Static.

Then, came a roaring, belly laugh.

"I am afraid your mothership won't be replying to your MEWLING anytime soon."

Ahead of them was a box canyon, and at the center a Geth heavy corvette — easily twice as large as the Palaemonius — was waiting for them. It was wide, and bulbous, and painted in a red and white paint scheme. Its stripes were splotchy and messy, like tribal paint. Hexagonal hatches were all over its back, like a beehive. It had two pods in front of it, like two crab claws put up in defense. A single glowing optic shone out of a menacing slit at the top center of its hull.

Zoller and Taggart came to a complete stop, then quickly shot up into the sky, as the geth corvette fired a swarm of glowing projectiles at them, leaving pockets of Snowblind chaff behind. Their acceleration was slow, far too slow, and they were going at full burn.

The missiles exploded right behind them, and the Endymion fighters shook from the blasts.

~[h+]~

---

Inside the cockpit of the Athjahakar, which had more than enough room for the Krogan Warlord and the two Operator Platforms, Wreav grinned as the two Terran fighters — such worthy enemies! — tried to flee from the custom craft the Geth had built for him. He had specified that they build the ship around the ideals of the Krogan horde, summed very well with the words Power, Resilience, and Numberless. They had not disappointed him.

They had added another feature, as well. The heavy craft was built around a spherical device that not only doubled as the ship's Eezo core, but also functioned as some sort of 'gravity interdiction field'. The science was beyond Wreav, of course. All he needed to know is that these fighters would not escape him so easily.

"The Interdiction field is holding and working at full capacity." reported one of the Geth platforms as holograms from its console hovered around it. "They cannot lighten their mass."

"Excellent," said Wreav with satisfaction. This was going to end in blood, one way or another. "Chase after them." He cleared his throat, and spoke into the mic to taunt the humans. "The reason the Geth are retreating, humans, is because I want you all to myself. You can't... imagine the torture that is to wait for some spy to report in while you're just sitting there in the dark with a fleet ready for battle."

Wreav huffed, grabbed hold of the ship's controls, and turned to one of the Operators. "Launch the drones."

~[h+]~

---

"What is happening?!" screamed Zoller over the wireless. "We shouldn't be accelerating so slowly!"

"Just keep it up! We need to get away from their signal jammer! But first..."

Taggart launched a flare, and hoped that someone, anyone, within one light second would be able to pick up the burst of EM radiation. That hope quickly died when a small beam of light shot the flare out, cutting the call for aid short.

It came from a small drone, the shape of a metallic eyeball with a glowing red iris. It fired its laser at him, forcing him into a dogfight and cutting his acceleration short. To his horror, there were maybe fifty more of the blasted things joining in the melee. Taggart readied another salvo from the wasp, and managed to take down twelve of the drones. Taggart had only one salvo left, and then all he would have would be his machine guns and the two eight-packs of Javelin IR missiles.

"Nicely done!" The Krogan laughed, and Taggart could hear clapping noises through the wireless. "Where was I? Ah yes, and then, you two come along and tear up my fighters, brightening my entire day."

Zoller fared better with his laser gun, but it wouldn't be long before he would run out of coolant, or his OVO Cell would dry up, or both. Taggart became swarmed again, and fired his last salvo before letting go of the pod. This salvo fared better, as thirty missiles found their marks. But that still left around 30 drones, and they had the Endymions surrounded.

Zoller and Taggart dodged and weaved through red beams, their shields slowly dropping. The strain on their bodies was almost unbearable, as the inertial compensators were not functioning properly anymore.

"That's right, keep evading, waste your precious fuel!"

"I'm surrounded!" shouted Zoller. "I —urk!— I don't know how much more I can take!"

"Come on, boy! We're almost there, we just need to break through!"

"There's three behind me! I can't shake them!"

"Don't panic! I got them!" Taggart locked with three Javelin IR missiles, and the drones were destroyed.

"Come on, just a little further! We're going to make it!" Even as he said it, Taggart was not truly certain they could drag that Geth corvette into the light where it could get spotted by someone. Their fuel had dropped below thirty percent, and there was no telling what other surprises the Geth had in store for them.

But bloody hell if Taggart was going to surrender to an overgrown frog. It'd be worse then surrendering to the french, he thought.

The Heavy Corvette was right on top of them, now.

"And now, you're all mine. Fight hard, Terran. I hunger for a good fight."

And its cluster flak guns opened fire.

"HAH! Just kidding, I just want you to DIE."

~[h+]~

---

[ The Crow original Soundtrack — Her eyes... so innocent ]

On the third floor of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of Middle Dosadi, away from prying eyes, there was a lodging. It was built from a converted office, meant to seat at least ten people comfortably so that they could stare at computer screens that sucked the very soul out of their existence for a half-decent monthly wage. Rice paper partitions set boundaries: living room, dining room, bedroom. It was barely illuminated, with warm lamps that favored yellows and oranges, setting off the dark red of silk sheets covering a wall. On the edge of a king-sized bed made of programmable, adaptive foam framed in black steel sat Jules Kai Leng, wearing little else than a black silk bath robe.

There was an electric guitar leaning against the far wall.

There was a woman on the bed, naked and still, her skin perfect and unmarked.

There was a camera mounted on a tripod nearby.

In the only thing that could be considered a separate room, walled off with ferrous concrete, was a bathroom, decorated in an old Victorian style. Steam came out from the open door, and Jules, should he have looked up, would have seen his sister, completely naked in the open shower, her mechanical limbs glistening as three sprays of water cleaned her body. He would have seen rivulets of water trickle down her tattooed back, seen the red and black inks of a red raven and a skeletal bird forming an X as she parted her long jet black hair.

Leng did not look up, as he was focused on something else, something his father gave him for his eighteenth birthday.

Red Raven stepped out of the bathroom, barely dry; her own black bathrobe was open, exposing her cleavage, belly, and a shaved mons pubis.

Leng looked up, and pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her stomach. She felt warm, the heat of the hot shower having not yet bled out of her body. She wrapped her arms around his head, and rubbed his hair.

Leng breathed deep, and sighed. "You should still be in bed." He faked concern for her. Kai Leng couldn't feel much of anything, much less concern for someone else, but his sister was special to him, and she deserved for him to at least try.

"Scholar's people do magnificent work." she said. "My body is healed, and my mind is unscathed. If anything, the experience of being broken in a hundred pieces felt... wonderful. I look forward to encountering Jensen again."

If there was one thing Leng could feel, it was jealousy, but that faded away along with the warmth of Red Raven's skin, with every stroke of her hand on his hair.

"You sure it was him?"

"Certain. I remember him from New York, and so should you." She rubbed the chitinous shoulder of his replacement arm. "He left his mark on you as he woke from his coffin."

...

"You told me he was dead!" screamed Leng.

"I don't... I don't understand..." muttered Dr Dawson.

And then Jensen punched his way out of the tank, panting, cold, and confused.

Leng tried to kill him.

All he did was make Adam mad.

...

"Yeah... I remember."

"Will you tell Scholar?"

"No."

They stayed like this for a while longer, until Red Raven took note of the snow globe in Leng's hand.

"Your thoughts dwell on our father."

"Yeah." He pulled away from her.

Their father's name was Shan Yu Leng, a disgraced Coalition general in exile to Europe, sheltered by the European Union in exchange for intel. He had made a fortune capitalizing on a bizarre fascination with his written meditations on death and depraved torture. He was rich, famous, and handsome, and had unspeakable appetites more than a few women fascinated by his writings had been willing to indulge. Jules' mother, a franco-algerian college student, had been one such woman. Red Raven's mother, a painter with a taste for the macabre, had been another. Their names? It didn't matter. All that mattered to Shan Yu has been their fertile wombs, and the legacy they could give him.

Shan Yu Leng believed in two things: That a real man was a killer, and that pain was good for the soul. When Jules had been diagnosed with congenital analgesia, he had been considered anathema to the latter belief, and Shan Yu had his mother murdered for the affront to his genes. As for the six month old Jules? He was thrown to the streets of a Souq in Paris. Leng remembered the sounds his father had made then, just before the roar of an engine, and years later managed to translate them.

"Let the filthy Arab scum have him."

At the age of twelve, Leng found out who his father was, and a hunger for approval and acceptance had woken in him.

He had read his father's books and, twisted by years of being unable to connect to another human being or even understanding why they cried or screamed, came to the conclusion that his adopted family needed to die.

That hadn't been enough to impress Shan Yu. "You killed them in their sleep. Try me, and understand what a true killer is." And so, Kai Leng found himself right back where he had started, on the very same street he had been dumped on twelve years ago, only with a hundred fractures and one nasty cut on his forehead, belly, chest and legs. He felt nothing except rage at the realization that he was weak, a pitiable creature meant to be coddled by nurses and doctors.

Never again, Leng swore in his hospital belt. He would recover, he would become a better killer. After six years of backpacking across Europe and Asia, he had succeeded.

"I remember the day he gave me this. It was after my journey was done."

"Your quest for his notice and approval."

"Yeah. Six fucking years. Six years of learning to become a killer, for him to look upon me and tell me how proud he was. And he was proud. I know he was. He gave me this." Leng held up the snowglobe. It was a perfect orb, and inside it was a tiny, perfect replica of Zhao Mo's burial suit, flanked by terracotta guards. A shake, and silver snowflakes fell on their shoulders. "And that's when he tried to kill me."

"He tried. And here you are."

"Yeah, here I am." Kai Leng took a deep breath. "How was it for you? You never speak of him much."

Red Raven had been everything Shan Yu could have asked, and more. For she had the Gift, and that was something Shan Yu had even stranger philosophies on. The day she was born, he had the Red Raven tattooed on her back, a baptism of pain through needle and ink. As she grew, the Tattoo warped, and had to be redone every few years.

There was no school for Red Raven. Only drugs, and a simulated reality meant to expand her understanding of the universe. It was a failure. Shan Yu knew nothing of the Void, and could teach her nothing.

Only the Idol he possessed had whispered wisdom to her. It was a shame it was gone, now, sold to the highest bidder.

"I barely knew he existed, until you came along. Do not dwell on him, for he is dead and we are not."

"...Right."

An eager smile crept on her face. "...Is she asleep?"

Leng turned around, and rolled the still body of Gianna Parasini. Her eyes were dead, and glassy, staring at nothing. The mycotoxin had finally done its job, and now there was nothing left inside her mind. But that was okay: Leng wasn't all that interested in her head. That was more Raven's thing.

"I think you broke her."

"She breathes still," said Red Raven as she crept over Parasini's still form, and stared into her eyes. "I see the myriad ways her life could have gone. A red-maned Lunarian man sells her out to a lizard. A blue-eyed black woman aids her in her quest, and they meet once again as friends. That person... so much like the wolf, and so much like the woodsman, all at once..."

"Yeah, well, that man-slash-woman never came along when I caught her with her hands deep in Scholar's cookie jar," he chuckled. "Oops. It's a shame we could never figure out who she worked for."

"She did not know herself." Raven lowered her face close to Parasini's, she touched the eyelids, and then her claws came out of her glossy, black, mechanical fingertips. "I want to keep them, before the pretty lights die."

"Hold on, those things are made to tear. You need something sharper for a clean cut."

Leng put the snowglobe on the nightstand and picked up his pack of cigarettes. He lit one up and put it in his mouth as he got up, and walked up to a man-sized brushed steel cabinet with all the charms of an iron maiden. He opened it to reveal his collection of bladed weapons.

Like all teenagers, Leng once had a obsessive fascination with the katana, believing it to be the ultimate melee weapon. That obsession had quickly ended when the man in the blue coat had sliced off his fingers with a Jian, of which there were ten in the cabinet, all of them with fine lacquered scabbards. Looking back, Leng should have had more respect for the weapon of his ancestors from the very beginning, which eventually led him to the french rapier (of which there were five in the cabinet) and then the saif (of which there were eight)... but that was not the end of Leng's journey.

His journey had ended in India, when he had learned of Kalaripayattu. Master Simhalan had shown him that the best way to kill a man (or an animal, or an alien) was with a knife... of which, there was only one in the cabinet, a curved piece of sharpened obsidian sandwiched between two layers of ivory carved into flowers. It had been a graduation present. Simhalan had gurgled out her congratulations (or a curse on Leng's family, it was hard to tell on account of her throat being slit).

Leng handed his favourite blade to Red Raven, and lay himself down on the comfortable foam to watch her work. He loved to watch her work: Raven had her mother's soul, and there was no one better at carving flesh than her.

The phone rang. It was Scholar.

"Scholar? I'm a little busy, here."

"It's important. We have a skinjob on today's schedule."

"No shit? Who?"

Parasini twitched.

"Elsa Devereaux."

"Ah. You think Lawson's going to be happy with that?"

"For a while, at least. It will buy me some time. Although... her captain just made the terrible mistake of trying to bribe Donna Morgan in a ham-fisted attempt to not leave too big of a digital footprint in Dosadi and... I'm not pleased with that development. I had hoped she would be more... morally flexible."

Parasini bled to death.

"Really? That's good to know. When can I expect Morgan all wrapped up at my doorstep?"

If this call hadn't been voice-only, Leng would have seen Scholar roll his eyes. "She's probably just making a show of it for her men. Once we're done with Peak 15, then... maybe. Put together a security detail, and go get Devereaux and her entourage out of their cells. We work before we play, Leng."

"Right, I'll be right there," he lied as he hung up the phone. Leng was more of a pleasure before business kind of guy. Why should he deny himself? After all, Ramsus was no doubt indulging his own sick appetites at this very moment.

~[h+]~

---

[Parade's End OST - Lost in the Fog]

Something felt... right about this place.

The gray void smelled like fresh cut grass, and the song of birds echoed through the trees. As Johann wandered, he looked down at his feet, and saw a bed of red orchids past the fog. He recognized their scent immediately.

Yes, Johann had been in this garden: he had played here with her, before their grandfather had called them for supper, then asked the young Johann to make a terrible decision.

"Call it," he had said, his hand flat against the table.

Johann stood in the fog in full gear, his sense of direction completely confused. He had no idea where he was, or how to find her. And he needed to find her: he had so few loves left in his life.

"Where are you?" he heard a small voice call out.

"Annah?" Johann called out, his voice full of hope. "Are you there?"

No answer.

"Can you make some noise? Let me know where you are?"

No answer... until, finally he could hear her sing:

"London Bridge is falling down... falling down..."

Johann smiled, and followed Annah's voice until he came upon a tree. Its bark was a glimmering midnight black with a blue sheen, its leaves were a bright shade of red that cast a red aura in the fog.

Spirals were carved onto it.

Within a hollow in the trunk, formed by two thick roots, Johann found Annah, sitting in the shadows, her knees to her chin, a clockwork knight the size of a doll in her left hand. He knelt at the opening.

"Annah, it's me..." he whispered, his deep voice soft. "...Don't you remember me?"

Annah said nothing, and kept singing.

"How will we burn it down, burn it down, burn it down... How will we burn it down...?"

"...My Fair Lady," Johann finished the song, and reached out to her. "Take my hand! Let us leave this place, the stars await us..."

"You can't save me," she finally said, and stared at Johann with empty sockets. The void in them became an enveloping darkness, and in that darkness he saw Him.

Annah screamed.

~[h+]~

---

Peak 15 - Special Lab - Core

"No...!" Johann awoke in his prison of ice, his naked body stuck in a fetal position. Outside the prison, he could feel his Omar minders scurry about with the fresh data he had provided them, like ants over a cube of sugar.

"Contact with Subject Zero lasted 68 seconds,"said one, transmitting wirelessly. They thought Johann couldn't hear them. They were wrong.

"Excellent, that was twice as long as the last attempt," said another. He recognized his mental stench. Tartakovsky.

While they discussed their findings, Johann 'sang' to the creatures that crawled all over Peak 15, trying to guide them here, so that they could tear those damnable drones apart and free him from this cage. It was no use. The way was shut.

"I know you can hear me, Tartakovsky."

Tartakovsky ignored the voice in his head; he was preoccupied with science, and how he could use it to further his own ambitions.

"This cage can't hold me forever, and when I am loose... I will ENJOY you, Tartakovsky, in ways you couldn't conceive in your own worst nightmares."

~[h+]~

---

An hour earlier - Middle Dosadi -

[Soul Hackers OST - Boutique]

Kasumi dragged Jensen by the hand into Cheri's, a clothes boutique that Jensen felt ill at ease in: It was just too high-fashion, and looked far too rich for his blood. The floor and walls were made of a gray marble that seemed dark blue due to the lighting of the place. Clothes were worn by mannequins trapped in floating tubes made out of fluorescent red-violet glass.

"I... don't think they have anything for me here," said Jensen, feeling ill-at-ease.

"They have something for everyone," said Kasumi. "You can't go in there looking like a street hood. Taiwanese gangsters are just as obsessed about proper business wear as the Yaks. Hank barely passes with his cream-colored suit. You show up in a burnt-up hoodie, and the negotiations are over."

The sole saleswoman in the store, a pale, slender Venusian in a black business attire cut to show off her legs and modest cleavage, greeted them with a smile. A practiced one for Kasumi, but a more genuine one for Jensen... along with an appraising look with her golden eyes, their vertical slits widening as she looked at him from head to toe.

"Ouh la la, I think there's a lot of potential here," she said with a slight french accent, as she twisted a long lock of her mulberry colored hair around her slender finger.

"My tall friend here has a meeting with a Taiwanese businessman," said Kasumi meaningfully. "You know how they are..."

"...Ah, yes. Yes, I certainly do. Will you be paying in Platinum, then?"

"That we are."

Adam cleared his throat. "Could you uh, make sure my outfit isn't... alive?"

The saleswoman looked so disappointed. "Oh! And I just received this Venusian crab-suit that would have looked fantastic on you. Oh well."

Kasumi had picked out three outfits for him to try: one was a pale teal colored suit with a painted cubist pattern (which Jensen thought was a bit too much), another was a grey suit with a Bush Barrow Lozenge pattern (which Jensen thought was a bit boring), and finally there was a black suit with faint gold pinstriping. Its shoulders were printed with a pattern of wide circles traced with the same colored lines, like the scales of a fish, each the size of an optical disk. The pants matched perfectly, with the scale pattern at the hem of each pant leg.

After trying all three, Jensen went with the last one. The black suit readjusted itself to his frame, and looked like it had been made just for him.

"Good choice, monsieur," said the saleswoman.

"Aw, I wanted the blue one..." Kasumi pouted.

"I like to keep things simple."

"Oh well," Kasumi grinned like a cat. "Time to accessorize!"

After trying many, MANY items on his person, Jensen had opted for a dark blue and green cubist-pattern tie, black shoes, and some gold cufflinks. Said gold links would not cost him much: as it turned out, gold was a far more common metal throughout the rest of the galaxy than on Earth. Still worth a pretty penny, however.

"I'll wear these out. How much do I owe you?"

The whole outfit would cost him six hundred and seventy-five platinum. As he paid the woman, Jensen's curiosity got the better of him.

"I take it you are descended from gene-modified parents?" he asked, trying not to call her a mutant.

"You mean the eyes?" she answered as she set up the transaction. Physical currency had to be processed differently than simply plugging in a Nuyen stick, or a quick exchange through the Chip. "That is correct. As for the pallor, well... Venus' terraforming gasses tends to give one a pale complexion."

Before he could quiz her more about Venus, Spooky gave him a call.

"We haven't got much time until the meeting, 'Jake'. You almost there?"

"Just dressing for success, 'Hank'. I'll meet you down at the floof soon enough."

~[h+]~

---

Kasumi drove Jensen to a part of the Floof separating Middle and Lower Dosadi called Pipe Town (due to all the visible plumbing). It was just 50 meters below the 'surface', but that had been enough to shield it from the holographic sunlight, casting the area in a perpetual evening dark enough for the bio-fluorescent tubes and OLED signs to glow brightly all day long. As Jensen got off, Spooky called again.

"I'm here, I'm here. Be patient, already."

"What? Oh, no, that's not it, I just got a call from Sparky. She's got my software. I told her to wait for someone to pick her up and take her home. It's not a good idea to get inside a Dosadi Taxi with what's in her pocket, you know?"

"Hold on, let me call 893, maybe he can come and pick her up."

"Hello?" said the Omar as he appeared on the Codec screen. "Ah, 'Jake', I'm at the meeting point."

"Is your friend's stuff still there?" asked Jensen.

"It is, and so is he. Asshole decided to sell the goods to a Fiera and a Krogan. Thought about sneaking in and just take the P90, but the Fiera just bought it."

~[h+]~

---

In a mostly deserted and partially flooded part of Middle Dosadi called 'Little Venice' (overdue for some renovation, apparently), Mjrn Katzroy — smuggler of things exotic, ancient, and slightly less than legal — felt the weight of the weapon. It was a small gunpowder-based weapon that required no electronics to operate. The way it should be, really. However, the specialized rounds the Lunarian was offering required a digital sight and rangefinder to get them to explode at the optimal distance to create maximum carnage.

"What happens when the electronics get compromised?" she asked.

"Then the rounds hit the target." said the tall, skinny human as he seemed to float in front of Mjrn, his grav harness making pulses that gave her the shivers. "Of course, they won't do as much raw damage. Tell you what? Buy it now, and I'll throw in two spare clips as a bonus. That's a 150 rounds, total!"

"Hm..." Mjrn pondered the purchase. Jenkins and Vega had complained that their Lancer rifles just weren't going to cut it, and had begged Mjrn to get them something better. She thought the souped up antique was a bit pricey, but hey, it wasn't her money to spend. "I'll take it along with everything else."

'Everything else' included a 600 round drum for Bren, two suits of mercenary armor for the human boys, two Cicada machine pistols (with semi-auto option), spare ammo blocks, and a Mattock modded for full auto.

The transaction done, Mjrn picked up the cases containing the weapons, and silently watched as Wrex slung the drum over his back and picked up the two armor cases. They made their way back to the elevator that would take them back down to Middle Dosadi... provided the SSC goons there did not give them too much trouble. Then again, 'not being asked too many questions' was one of the perks of traveling with a big strong Krogan... male.

Mjrn laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked Wrex.

"Just thinking what my mother would say if she could see us." Mjrn put on her heaviest Dalmascan accent ever. "No, Mjrn, no! You do not tell the men to carry things for you! It is not done!"

Wrex chuckled, but then fell silent. Gender politics was not something he liked to talk about. In the early days of the genophage, they had gone completely to hell on Tuchanka. 'Fertile' females — that is, women with a 'good' track record of successful hatchings — suddenly used their wombs as political leverage, while the less lucky ones became little else than fuck holes. A lot of people were unhappy with the situation, and wars got started.

Wrex approached a different subject. "So why didn't you get Bren to carry this crap? It's his ammo, and he's stronger."

"Sure, but you Krogan have more... stamina."

Wrex's scarred eyebrow rose. "...Is that right?"

"Or so I've heard!" she laughed. "Still, I trust him with babysitting my kid a lot more than you. You Krogan get surly around kids, I noticed. Err... no offense."

"...Yeah. That we do."

"So! I've been wondering. Who would win in a fight between you and Bren?"

That seemed to cheer Wrex right up. "Heheheh... Bren and I had this argument all the time twenty years ago. The simple answer? It depends. Firefight or Melee?"

"Firefight."

"Who's got initiative?"

"...He does."

"Where's the fight taking place?"

"...Construction yard? Plenty of cover made of cement."

"Yeah, Bren would win."

"Wow, I didn't expect you to be that honest about it."

"Hey, I didn't get to be this old by being blinded by pride. You've seen his gun, right? That thing chews through cover. Soon as I'm out of it, Bren's 20mm slugs would rip my barrier apart and turn me into ground varren. And I favor shotguns: At his Vulcan's effective range, I might as well throw cotton candy for all the good that will do me."

"Okay, different scenario: Hand-to-hand combat, he's got initiative, and it is taking place in an arena."

"I would win."

"...I've seen Roegadyn toss Krogan around like rag dolls. I doubt you'd win."

"True, but those Krogan weren't me." Wrex glowed blue for a moment. "I've got Biotics, remember? I can match his mass and my punches can hit just as hard. That's where my staying power comes in. Now, if I had initiative, I'd kick him in the nuts, and then his skull is as good as pulped."

"Yeah, that's not gonna work."

"...He's a guy, of course it'll work... Unless I've been wrong about that the whole time. Awkward."

"Well, it'll hurt, but unless you've been whispering sweet-nothings in his ear for an hour, his genitals are going to stay perfectly protected inside his body, inside the shell."

"Oh. Wait, what?"

"Oh, you didn't know? Well, you see, Roegadyn penises aren't like your species' or mine. It's a great big, prehensile, translucent blue tentacle covered in mucus. It resides deep in the body, and the opening's protected by a shell."

"...What."

"It's true! Oh, and I knew this one guy I dated, he could turn it into his big bulbous flower, and..."

"Too much information."

Mjrn sighed wistfully. "...and by the Wood, those things feel good inside of you. It's like getting massaged from the inside o—"

"Gah! Enough!"

Mjrn giggled. "Anyways, you'd have to kick really, REALLY hard to hurt it that way, and you're more likely to piss him off."

"I'll keep that in mind... Hey, wait a minute! Are you telling me that Bren's got..." he stifled a laugh. "Bren's got a man-gina?"

Mjrn tried not to laugh, and she was failing. "...Yeah, pretty much. I mean — hee hee!— it's covered by a shell, but—"

"Oh... ho ho ho! I am going to give Bren so much shit when we get back, mark my words."

Mjrn and Wrex had a good laugh for a minute as they walked side by side, until Mjrn's ears twitched and she immediately dropped one of the gun cases, drew one of her pistols, and pointed it at the top of a building. Wrex picked up on her galvanized nerves immediately, and scanned around with his eyes for enemies, his Executioner pistol in hand. He sniffed.

"I smell robot... amongst other things," he said.

"I know. Omar. He thinks I didn't see him."

"His scent is growing faint; I think we scared him."

"Yeah well, I think we'll keep alert for another tail, just the same."

"Smart. Lead the way."

~[h+]~

---

"Whew! That was close!" said Drebin.

"You okay?" asked Jensen.

"Yeah, I'll be fine, I think they didn't make me. Anyways, stealing from them is out of question. You just can't sneak up on a Fiera. Plus, they bought gear for two others, and I think they've got a Roegadyn friend in their base, from what I've heard. I'm headed home. Maybe I can whip up something decent for you. Brea's certainly got a collection of spare junk I can work with."

"Can you pick up Kaylee on the way?" asked Spooky. "She's currently waiting at an outdoors cafe at these coordinates."

"Pass, It's too far out of my way, and I need all the time I can get to get working."

"Fine. I'll send Goto over," said Jensen.

"Cool, thanks."

Jensen shut the call down and turned to Kasumi. "Goto, Kaylee needs a ride back to the apartment."

"Uh, you sure you want me to do it? That girl just... I mean she really doesn't like me."

"Just don't chat with her about synthetic life and you'll do fine."

Kasumi winced, but couldn't think of a good reason to say no to Jensen. She sighed. "Okay, then. See you back at the den."

~[h+]~

---

Phong's Tasty Noodles was a small eatery built out of a cargo pod set right next to a fairly busy street. Most of its clientele had to eat on some pieces of welded-together junk that passed for outdoors furniture. The grungy junk clashed with the attempt at giving the place an 'asian' feel with the little paper lamps and the Traditional Chinese script printed on the 'specials' board. Despite the terrible decor, Phong's noodles were actually pretty... well, tasty, and had a steady stream of customers throughout the day.

One such customer was a Taiwanese mafioso dressed in a suit much like Jensen's, only completely gold and with the large fish-scale pattern printed at the sleeves instead of the shoulders. His long black hair was combed straight and flat, and his eyes were covered with round black shades. He went by the name of Baofu, and was apparently an old friend of Spooky's from when he operated back on Earth. According to Spooky, Baofu always had the best kit and the best deals.

Jensen and Spooky were watching him from afar.

"Don't you think it's a little convenient you have a contact all the way out in Noveria?" asked Adam, a bit suspiciously.

"Hey, I keep in touch." Spooky shrugged. "It's part of the reason why I volunteered my services for this mission, remember? A lot of hackers like me fled out to the more prosperous colonies to escape the candy-coated juggernaut that was OZ."

"I don't know, I still think it's suspicious. Cyberdecks are hot commodities, aren't they?"

"Yep."

"I would have thought he'd want us to meet somewhere out of the way. Too many witnesses, here."

"A Deck isn't like a bag of Red Sand, Jensen. To the casual eye, it looks just like any other piece of electronic hardware."

"Where's his muscle? You would think a Taiwanese mafioso would have brought some."

"Hm... maybe the cyberdeck's hotter than I thought."

"Think he stole it from his fellow criminals?"

"...Possible." He took a puff of his cigarette, and Jensen resisted the urge to ask him for one. Damn, when was the last time he had a smoke?

"Still," Spooky continued, "it's worth the risk. Well, do you see any ambushes?"

Jensen had spent the last ten minutes trying to spot something or someone out of the ordinary. He scanned for wireless frequencies, looked for anyone that was loitering around for no good reason... nothing.

"No. But I still don't like it."

"Well, look, the whole deal with the gun fell through. Do you really want to make this 1 for 3? We have to do this. Trust me, the deck is worth the cash and the risk."

"Assuming, of course, that it's the real deal in that suitcase." Jensen sighed. "Okay, let's do this. But I'll be keeping an eye on the guy with my CASIE, if you don't mind."

"Hey, might as well. Look, trust me, I know traps, and this doesn't smell like one."

~[h+]~

---

It was, of course, a trap.

Two Copley Mechs, painted in the red and black of Manticore, had sprung out of their hiding places (the garbage cans) the moment money exchanged hands and Spooky took possession of the Ono-Sendai. As for Baofu, he had believed he was who he said he was up until that very moment, fooling Jensen's CASIE throughout the entire negotiations. Then, suddenly, the memories of Corto Riviera, Manticore Agent, reasserted themselves.

Riviera grinned, and once the Copleys had their guns pressed against the back of Jensen and Spooky's heads, he said: "Guess what, you're under arrest."

The two men put their hands up.

...

"Goto? Guess what?"

"It was a trap, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Think you could..."

Goto sighed loudly. "We're on our way. Gimme five minutes."

...

"Baofu, what the fuck?!" shouted Spooky. A crowd around them tried to form, but when the civilians realized it was a Manticore bust, they hurriedly walked away. The other customers at Phong's were nervous, and rose from their seats and backed away slowly, hoping that the Copleys would not attack them.

"Sorry," snickered Riviera. "We kinda burned the real Baofu out a while back, and now we're in need of another cyberjockey like you. Don't worry, we offer a fantastic severance package."

Jensen immediately attempted to Breach the Copleys to command them to attack Baofu, only for one of them to detect his attempt. They went into autistic mode, and immediately recognized Adam as the more immediate threat. This gave Spooky an ample opportunity to grab the briefcase with the Ono-Sendai in it, smack 'Baofu' across the mouth with it, and run inside Phong's, intent on making his way out of the back door.

After throwing one of the Copleys into the other, Jensen was right behind him.

"Doesn't smell like one, he says! This is all your fault, you know that?!" shouted Jensen.

"Hey, how was I supposed to know he was a cop?!" Spooky shouted right back.

"Take cover!"

Spooky and Jensen leapt behind the counter as the two mechs flanking Riviera (all three of whom had quickly recovered) fired at them. Thankfully, the mechs' Renaud-Kerbrat SMGs were using beanbag rounds, and the thick mahogany barrier kept the two agents from being hammered down into submission at 1500 rounds per minute.

The bursts of loud, explosive gunfire caused the rest of the customers to panic and disperse, much to Jensen's relief. Hopefully, no innocent bystanders would get caught in the crossfire. Of course, the panic meant that the SSC would be coming soon, guns blazing.

One week, Jensen thought to himself. Just one week I'd like to go without someone shooting at me. Just. One. Week.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Spooky shouted as he fired a Overload round from his Omni-Gun. It barely fazed the machines, but it did force the fake Baofu to take cover, and prevented him from calling for backup. "You're the cop! You couldn't spot one lousy sting operation?!"

"You're the veteran criminal!" shouted Jensen as he fired his pistol at the mechs' heads. Their shields did not trigger: they were customized only to activate when the incoming rounds were judged potent enough to pierce the armor. Jensen's Carnifex barely put a dent on them. "Why couldn't you?!"

"Oh, har har! Let's just get out of here! The exit's right over—"

"We have to deal with those machines! They saw us!"

"Shit, Jensen, how do you suppose we deal with those things?! They got armor half as thick as my dick! And its—"

"Yeah, I get the joke, thanks!" Adam cursed under his breath. "Just give me a moment to—"

And that's when Jensen saw a vending machine.

"Hello, you."

Jensen leapt out of cover, letting his shield belt absorb a couple of hits. He grabbed the half-ton machine and used it as protection, and when the Copleys stopped to switch clips for some armor-piercing ammo, Jensen threw it at them with all his might. Both Manticore mechs were slammed away, though not destroyed. Jensen barely had time to savour his victory when a third Copley burst from a fatigued spot in the wall of the cargo-pod-turned-fast-food-joint and grabbed Jensen from behind, intent on snapping his neck.

Jensen reacted quickly, and threw it on the ground. His Smart-Vision quickly identified the central processor, and he attempted to stab it with his new arm blade. The sharpened strip of high-frequency metal was half way to the core before the Copley kicked Jensen in the head, and Adam's skull would have been cracked if he had not blocked the attack with his arm. It had still managed to knock him against the wall, and the Copley rose to catch Adam into a bear hug, intent on breaking his spine.

"Urk! Spooky! A little help!"

Spooky fired a small Cryo Blast at the grappling Copley's cubical, silvery head, and the sudden drop in temperature caused the wiring in its sensors to glitch out. It let go of Jensen, and Jensen gladly finished the job he had started with another stab of his HF blades.

The Copley died standing up.

Thinking fast, Jensen took the dead Copley's Renaud-Kerbrat, loaded a 55-round AP magazine, grabbed the mech as a shield, and approached the fallen Copleys. He fired at them, and their response was immediate: One activated a blue Omni-Shield that easily absorbed the shots, and the other stood behind the shield bearer, tearing up the machine Jensen was using as a shield. It was clear that in a shootout, neither group had the advantage.

"Enough of this crap!" Riviera shouted. "Robots! Go in hand-to-hand and bring me Spooky alive! Break his legs if you have to! And kill his fucking bodyguard!"

Suddenly four orange fireflies the size of a man's head whizzed around and surrounded the Copleys before they could put Baofu's orders into action. The glowing Drones fired their micro-flamethrowers at the Mechs, and while they were not in any risk of melting down any time soon, their heat sinks were starting to overheat.

One of the drones began to latch onto a Copley's head — The shield-bearer — and turned its flamer into a plasma torch. It tore into its optics.

Jensen reloaded the SMG's AP mag, and emptied it into one of the Mech's limbs, disabling it.

As the cyborg began to engage the other Copley in hand to hand and winning. Riviera let out a curse, and ran for it.

~[h+]~

---

As Corto Riviera sprinted and shoved his way past a thick miasma of pedestrians, he wondered how things had gone so wrong: it was a simple bait and grab, an entrapment op. Have a legally ironclad reason to bring Hank Moody in by getting him to put his mitts on genuine hot goods, and then let the Copleys do the rest. As simple a plan as they come, and those tended to work the best.

But then Spooky had to go and grab a bodyguard, a cyborg by the name of Jake Armitage.

That was interesting, but at the moment he needed to get away, and call for aid. He managed to reboot his communicator and connect to Manticore HQ. He wasn't looking forward to explaining himself to Leng, but he needed to save his ass.

"Dispatch! This is Riviera! I've got an illegal Mech-aug and a Cyberspace Hacker at—"

"Sorry pal, your friends won't be coming to the rescue." said Armitage's voice.

"Goddamn you!" Riviera screamed, and tossed his communicator aside. He looked behind him, and caught glimpses of Armitage chasing after him with the apparent intention of making him pay.

He was getting closer.

Riviera pulled out his handgun and fired at him. He wound up hitting a teenage girl in the shoulder instead, and that turned out to buy him some time. As it turned out, Armitage was a bleeding heart (something Riviera would have found kind of funny if he wasn't running like hell.) and had stopped to make sure the girl would live. Then, the chase was renewed, and as Riviera looked back he realized that Armitage's cold fury became all the more intense.

Riviera decided that another civilian casualty was in order, but it wasn't Armitage he should have been worried about.

~[h+]~

---

Kasumi Goto, urged on by Jensen, chased after the man in the gold suit. She had run across rooftops, red pipes, vaulted down from a rail, jumped from scaffold to storage boxes, all to stay away from the crowd. Eventually, she found a zip line that took her just above her quarry, and she let herself fall down on him.

The man's face was slammed against the metal floor, and she proceeded to overload his Krypto Chip with her Omni-Glove. White and yellow voxels surged from her palm and into a holographic port in the back of his head, and he screamed.

She unloaded a few exabytes of garbage data into the Krypto, ensuring it would slowly corrupt the man's memories and perception of reality for at least a year, provided he got proper medical care. It seemed brutal, but Goto knew for a fact that Manticore contractors deserved far worse, and from what she could see by examining his chip, Riviera really, really deserved worse. He was spasming uncontrollably when she was done with him.

"What are you doing?" asked Adam, as he approached her.

"Wiping your tracks. Tell me you did the same to the Copleys, right?"

"You... you're erasing his memories."

"Well, I sent him into a nightmare-fueled coma, more like... but yeah, he won't be able to make much sense of the last few hours."

"That's..." Adam shook his head. He couldn't hide his distaste for it, and Kasumi felt that she needed to put this into perspective.

"I could just murder him, if you prefer," she said as she got up from straddling the prone agent and dusted herself off, "Or maybe we should have taken him prisoner? I'm pretty sure Power Girl would have loved that."

"No... no, you're right." Adam looked at the gathering crowd. "Let's get out of here."

~[h+]~

---

An awkward silence fell in the cabin of the Strada. Jensen was at the wheels, driving well within the speed limit if only to not bring any unwanted attention upon themselves.

Spooky was not taking the news that his old friend had been pinched by Manticore and forced to work 24/7 on god knows what until his brain was burnt out. And he had not taken it very well that some PMC schmuck had used his memories to set up a trap for him.

Spooky needed a smoke, bad, and lit one up to calm his nerves.

"So... um," said Tali. "Did we get everything?"

"We couldn't get the weapon," said Jensen. "But the DC and the Ono-Sendai are in the bag."

"Oh, well... that's good, right?"

"Yeah, it is," said Spooky. "Say, I see Alpha and Beta let you have their custom Hua Po drones. How's that working for you?"

"Oh! Uh, pretty good, actually! I didn't think something so small could do that much damage to a fully armored mech!"

"Thanks for the rescue, by the way." said Jensen. "Those things were tough bastards."

If Tali wasn't wearing her mask, Jensen would have seen her blush. "Oh! You're welcome! Still, those new drones were a big drain on the Omni-Gel... maybe we could pick up some extra cartridges and bottles on the way?"

Adam nodded. "Sure... ah, I've got a Codec call incoming... It's Morgan."

"Oh, Keelah..." Tali groaned.

...

"We have a problem," she said.

Adam had not been looking forward to this. "Look, we did our best to cover our tracks but there was a LOT of gunfire and..."

"Gunfire? Gunfire! What did you... oh, never mind! Whatever it is can wait until later. We've got a larger issue to deal with.

"Which is?"

"I've lost track of Devereaux."

"...What?"

~[h+]~

---

At the Port Hanshan holding cells, Patrolman Butterman was getting a stern talking-to by Sergeant Simmons.

"You! Had! One! Job!" shouted Simmons at the portly SSC prison guard.

"I'm sorry, sir..."

"Sorry doesn't quite make up for your cock-up! How the hell did she manage to get out of her cell?!"

"Well, I let her out..."

"You. You let her out?!"

"Well, she needed to go to the bathroom!"

"There's a toilet in the cell!"

"She said it was broken. I didn't see the harm. I mean, what is she? Like, five foot four? I didn't think she could hit that hard..." Butterman nursed the shiner on his head. The pretty prisoner had taken his tonfa and had smacked him in the face with it. She had managed to break his faceplate, which, if one had to be honest, was not that impressive a feat considering the cheap gear assigned to SSC patrolmen.

Brea, as Morgan, was watching the interview from a distance.

"In any case," she continued sub-vocally. "She made her way around Port Hanshan incognito and managed to get a daypass from a turian by the name of Lilihierax, one of the maintenance crew here. She took an elevator to Middle Dosadi. The pass is not a Chip, so she can't be tracked."

"She could be anywhere. How the hell am I supposed to find her?"

"Well, I've got every WTO tourism VI and Pop Idol with IMREC looking for her through the cameras right now. I'll let you know once they find her."

"Mind sending me a picture? You never know, I might see her on the street."

"Of course, there you are." She sent him the mugshots via Codec. "How are your preparations doing?"

"We're doing fine. We managed to get a DC Mini and an Ono-Sendai cyberdeck."

"That... I'm impressed, 'Armitage'. Those are some very useful tools. I take it 'Hank' will be handling the hacking?"

"Pretty much. I wish we could have gotten more, though."

"It will have to suffice..." Brea's Omni-Tool beeped, and she read the incoming message. "Oh, bugger."

"What?"

"I just got an email: Scholar and Leng are coming here. No doubt to 'rescue' the three Europeans."

"And you've only got two. I wouldn't want to be in your place."

"Funny. Take the time to prepare some more, Armitage. This mission is about to hit its stride."

~[h+]~

---

She had told him it was a bad idea.

Elsa knew a thing or two about the Ossies, and that knowledge told her that Matsuo would not react very well to being bribed. But Segal had his own ideas about the OCU: it was practically run by the WTO, and the WTO loved money more than anything. Wrong on so many levels, and when Segal had offered her a bribe, the SSC policewoman had sent them all to jail.

Then he tried to cut a deal with the tall woman with the porn starlet body. That one... had been harder to read, but Elsa could tell she had feigned taking umbrage. No doubt to rub the fact that Thierry was simply no good navigating the corporate world in his face.

Elsa had told him that he deserved to be in that cell when she left him there, though she told him not to worry, that soon the great gears of the political machine would turn again, and they could go right back to turning her into the hero of the galaxy.

She was mad at him. She had wanted to contact her daughter when she woke up from her brief healing coma. Hayha's death had still felt fresh, and she found no solace on Zead's shoulder.

She had expected Segal to be understanding, but he had dropped the news of her nomination like a mallet on her skull, and he had told her that, for the sake of Europe, she could have no contact with her family until her Spectre status was confirmed.

Qu'il aille se faire foutre, she thought, when she realized that maybe letting him rot in a cell wasn't such a nice thing to do. But she had wanted to take a few steps in a direction that a man with golden pips on his collar had not commanded her to take.

So she broke out of prison and made herself a fugitive in a WTO Arcology.

God, did she need a cigarette right now.

The bistro she had entered was a lovely, cozy place on the corner of the two main streets of Middle Dosadi, on level 84. Its interior was lit dimly, and partitions made out of dark chocolate mahogany wood (local lumber, apparently) and curved panes of frosted glass separated the interior into small booths, giving the impression of privacy where there was none. Elsa liked it. It wasn't too crowded, the music was quiet, and as far as luxury went, the white marble tables were as good as it got.

Elsa had thought the place would be perfect for a drink, but as she approached the bar her head started to throb, and her senses began to go into overdrive for a handful of seconds that seemed to last an eternity.

She could feel the bartender cleaning yet another glass through her teeth.

She could hear wine being poured in a cup through her skin.

She could smell the air being pushed out of a laughing fat woman though her eyes.

She could taste the chewing of a soup through her ears.

And she could see everything, when her eyes were closed.

Elsa shook her head. The Drive was still messing with her perception of the world around her. She had thought the bistro would be quiet enough for her, but for a Drive addict the only quiet place was a grave, and even then the ghosts were liable to bother you. She decided that she needed to pee, and after relieving herself at the bathroom, she heard someone humming a tune. It was a British nursery rhyme, though the name escaped her.

Something about a bridge, yes.

She looked for the source of the humming, and came across a little girl with short blonde hair sitting in a dark, windowless booth by herself, with a cup of hot cocoa, slowly cooling.

Memories of Beatrice rushed through Elsa's mind. The painful birth, the first time she held her in her arms, her first word, the first time she made a video-call all by herself...

...

"Quand reviendras-tu, maman?"

"Je ne sais pas, cherie, mais je te promets que ce sera bientot, et qu'on s'amusera tant..."

...

She approached the lonely girl, and sat in front of her. "Bonjour," she said, smiling.

"Bonjour," said the girl, her accent very English.

"Are you by yourself here, all alone?" Elsa asked, concerned.

"Yes, but soon my brother will come and find me. I'm not worried. Even if someone comes and takes me away, he'll find me. Nothing will stop him from finding me. He promised."

"And your parents? Where are they?"

"My mummy is dead," said the girl sadly.

"Oh.. I am so sorry..."

"I am so sorry too..."

"Tell you what? I'll keep you company until your brother comes to pick you up. Is that alright?"

The girl looked at Elsa with pale amber eyes, and smiled. "I'd like that."

Elsa sat in front of the girl in silence, intent on keeping her company. The girl was drawing something on a piece of paper Elsa hadn't noticed she had. She drew spirals with crayons of various shades of red. The spiraling motions made Elsa sleepy.

"What are you drawing?" asked Elsa.

"His dreams. Our dreams. Are you tired, Elsa?"

"Yes, very much." Elsa yawned.

"You should sleep..."

"I..."

"I shall sing you a lullaby, if it helps. My mummy used to sing to me in the dark place."

"I... I think I'd like that very, much."

Elsa vaguely remembered something falling down, falling down, falling down... and she closed her eyes.

...

[Aphex Twin - Nannou]

In the dusty attic, barely illuminated by the sunrays that dared poke out of a boarded up window, there had been clocks, and dolls, and automatons made of brass and steel, of porcelain and wood. Marie-Antoinette, once you spun her key once, twice, and thrice, played a lovely little number on her hammered dulcimer. If one were to put a coin in the forehead of John the Baptist, the disembodied head would have sang a curse upon Salome. Louis XVI, once you pulled a switch, would be beheaded over, and over, and over again...

The prize, however, was a large wooden cabinet, atop which was built a belltower with a clock. The cabinet was locked, but little Elsa had gotten the key. It was given to her by a clockwork butterfly, its wings looked like blue eyes wrapped in fluttering petals of shadow. She had to prop herself up on a box to reach the lock, and as she inserted the key the automata in the attic warned her against turning it.

"Don't!" said Marie-Antoinette, as she hammered her dulcimer.

"Foolish girl!" chided John, gold dripping from his neck.

Louis simply stared, his head in the basket.

Little Elsa did not heed their warning, and turned the key. The cabinet opened, revealing a mechanical animated triptych that seemed to become the whole world. The only sounds came from the machine, besides the whirring of cogs and gears, was from its internal music box, which played an English nursery rhyme.

The sky was made of dark brass gears, the clouds made of springs, and the one-eyed sun was made out of hammered gold. It chased a moon made of silver.

A little white bird made of paper hatched from an egg made of tin, though try as it might it could not fly under its own power.

The bird came across a clockwork knight with a skirt, and he caged it in his arms. He gave it to a spearman made out of ivory, who propped it up with a spear, to give it a taste of the sky... but still, she did not fly. Finally a sailor came along, and grabbed the cage, which came apart, and then threw the bird up in the air. The bird finally took flight, and sang happily, knowing true joy for the very first time. It flapped its wings, and hovered besides the moon, and the moon was happy to have a new friend.

But the sun was coming, chasing them with angry golden spikes. The moon left the bird behind, and eventually the sun caught up to the paper bird. Its flesh ignited, and from the holes burnt into it Elsa could see metal spirals and cogs made of a black metal that gleamed blue. The bird made an abominable screech that made little Elsa cover her ears.

"This is what they want for you." said the disembodied girl's voice.

The mechanical triptych fell apart, and dissolved into blackness. Only the burning bird remained, its paper feathers making way for cogs and metal as it fell deeper and deeper into the void until, out of nowhere, came a pair of mechanical hands of obsidian and silver, brought together as if cupping for water. The Bird fell in them, and stopped screaming—

"LET ME OUT!" screamed the boy, his mouth dripping with blood.

...

"Miss?" asked the waitress.

Elsa woke up with a start, her face rising from the table. Me suis-je endormie? she wondered.

"Oh... excuse me," she muttered, as she massaged her eyes. She looked for the little blonde girl, and saw no one sitting in front of her. "Did the little girl's brother come and pick her up?

"I'm sorry?"

"The little girl? She was in front of me. She was nursing a cup of cocoa..." Elsa looked around, and realized that she was sitting at a window table.

"You must have dreamed her," said the waitress.

"I... suppose I must have," agreed Elsa, a bit groggily. She had to admit, however, that the short nap did her some good.

"Can I bring you anything?"

"I... I haven't decided, yet. A cup of espresso, perhaps?"

"Right away, mademoiselle."

Elsa waited patiently for her coffee, and stared out of the window. Passing by her was an eclectic parade of humans wearing various pret-a-porter and casual fashions, interrupted by the occasional alien: Turian, Asari, Salarian...

One particular passerby, she took notice of: It was a tall, young blonde man with a well groomed beard dressed in a black business suit pinstriped in gold. He stopped a moment, meeting Elsa's gaze with a slight smile.

Elsa didn't like him. He looked like a stereotypical Ossie, a beach boy off to a job interview. She gave him a polite, if dishonest smile, because it was just her being polite and certainly not because she found him particularly attractive, and his Quarian girlfriend, dressed in garish pink, had to pull him away.

It occurred to Elsa, for no particular reason at all, that she hadn't had sex in years.

"Bordel, j'ai besoin de boire un coup."

As soon as her espresso was served, she headed straight for the bar.

~[h+]~

---

"Morgan, I've found her," said Jensen over Codec.

"What?!"

"She's wearing a black felt coat over a dark blue navy jumpsuit, right?"

"...That was what she was wearing when she escaped, yes, but do send me a picture, just to be absolutely certain?"

Jensen took a snapshot of Elsa as she got up to make her way to the bar, and sent the image to Brea via Codec. "Okay, there you go."

"...Unbelievable. She's not even really hiding."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'd like you to keep an eye on her."

"Stalk her, in other words."

"...Probably not a good idea. The dossier we have on her indicates that she has excellent instincts. She's also on edge from Drive withdrawal. She's bound to make you and react accordingly. No, I want you to approach her socially, keep her out of trouble, and stay close to her until 'Hank' and 'Kaylee' are done setting up their hardware. Once that's done, I'll supply her current location to Scholar's lapdogs, and he'll come and fetch her."

"How's Scholar taking the news?"

"He... wasn't exactly happy, but I managed to convince him that making him come to a EU starship captain's rescue was my plan all along."

"And we've also just confirmed Hein's theory. EG wants her as a customer: that means I didn't just risk my neck for nothing."

"As you say."

"So, when you say approach her socially, you mean—"

"Chat with her, wine her, dine her, take her to the movies, or out to dance, I mean."

"Jeez, should I bed her, too?" said Jensen sarcastically.

"...If you want to throw in a little sex," Brea said tersely, "that's your prerogative, 'Jake'. Morgan out."

And just like that, Brea had cut the connection.

~[h+]~

---

At the car, which was parked close to an electronics store, Jensen was dusting and smoothing out his suit to make sure he was somewhat presentable enough. Thankfully, his grappling with the Copley mechs hadn't ruined his suit too much. Kasumi was helping Jensen out, making sure the fabric on his back was dirt-free, hole-free, and overall impeccable.

Spooky and Tali were sitting inside the car, though the human hacker had his feet out of the open driver's door.

"Sure you don't want me to do it?" said Spooky with a grin. "I can keep a lady properly entertained. Ask anyone."

As Jensen adjusted his tie, he was seriously considering letting Spooky handle it. After all, he was many things, but a pick-up artist? Not so much. His romances had always been the result of circumstances, and not so much from any effort of his own. There was the CASIE, but the notion of blowing concentrated pheromones at a woman made him feel a little ill. Yes, he really wanted Spooky to handle it. Unfortunately: "You're on Manticore's shit-list, and the sooner you and Tali set up the van, the sooner we can get this job over with."

"Hey, whatever you say. I got a few tips for you, though. Never give a girl your full attention. Never be too impressed with what she tells you. Be just enough of an smart-aleck asshole to be interesting and not so much that you'll ruin her whole day. Always take her shit-tests in stride. Don't take yourself too seriously. And most importantly of all, when you do meet her eyes, give her your best look. Speaking of which..." Spooky pointed at his glasses and whistled dismissively. At Jensen's hesitation, Kasumi took them off and put it in Adam's inner breast pocket.

"Spooky's taking a page from like, every booklet on alpha-male posturing ever," said Kasumi, a knowing smile on her face. "He forgets to mention that those types strike out as often as they score. You're a six foot three athletic fella who dresses like a rich man. Just act casual and she'll be all over you."

"I'm not trying to sleep with her, dammit."

Spooky chuckled, and put his hands up in a relaxed defense. "Okay, I get that, but if you don't want her to call the SSC over because of the tall creep that just won't stop bothering her, you're gonna have to keep the dance going. Figuratively speaking, of course."

Adam grumbled, "Let's just get this over with."

"Wait!" Kasumi produced a small cylinder from her pocket, pushed the top, and sprayed something on Jensen. It was cologne.

Spooky looked at the tube and thought it looked suspiciously like his emergency supply of Drakkar perfume. He checked his own inner pocket for it: nothing. "Hey! That's mine!"

Kasumi laughed, sprayed some more cologne on Jensen's wrists, and tossed the spray back at Spooky.

~[h+]~

---

Jensen entered the Bistro, and quickly identified his mark. She was sitting at the far left side of the bar, with two other gentlemen on her left, busily chatting about football (the kind that actually involved hitting the ball with the foot, as they would say).

But not too loudly, not so loud that their voices would cut through the slow, pre-recorded piano lounge music. Such was the power of the dark, warm atmosphere of this place. It got two ardent football fans to stay quiet.

As the door chimes rang, Elsa Devereaux briefly looked back to see who had just entered, and promptly went back to nursing her glass of cognac.

Adam took a seat on the opposing end of the bar, and ordered a glass of Belgian Abbey beer, a drink far too light for him to get buzzed on, thanks to his Sentinel Health System. It was a pricey import, but Adam thought the taste was worth it.

In between sips, Adam managed to get a glimpse of Elsa past the other two bar patrons. She was a dirty blonde, with a skin that hadn't seen sunlight in months, maybe even years. A spacer's tan, as the expression went. Her jawline, oddly enough, was a bit chiseled. That, combined with a dimpled chin, should have made her look absolutely mannish. It absolutely didn't: if anything those traits made her look more womanly. Maybe it was because of her makeup, Adam decided. Her mascara was layered on pretty thick — no doubt to distract from the dark shadows under her eyes caused by Drive overuse — her dark crimson blush was light on her cheeks, and she had a matte shade of lipstick to match. Her medium length hair was slightly disheveled... but stylishly so. A bit odd, for a military woman.

Adam thought she looked more like a petite rock starlet. He wondered if she actually had tried to make herself look repulsive, only to be foiled by years of conditioning, of being tutored into being a proper modern french lady.

Eventually, Elsa met his gaze, revealing her grey eyes. She gave him a small, polite smile, then went back to her drink. One of the two men checked their watches, and reminded the other that it was time to go to another engagement, and left.

Adam took a deep breath, and hesitated to approach the woman. The CASIE readout had gotten enough out of her from Jensen's occasional glances, but it could tell she wasn't in the best of moods. He knew the feeling, and he hated it when people tried to intrude on the moments he'd prefer to keep to himself.

Maybe I should leave her alone, he thought.

~[h+]~

---

Elsa wanted the young tall man to simply try and make his move so that she could eviscerate him (mentally) then get back to her drinking.

The french pilot, unable to resist her need for another cigarette, fished one from her pack, and to her frustration, the ignition tab on the pack refused to work. She tapped the package, but the blasted thing simply would not work. Suddenly, a small flame erupted in front of her. It came from a small device: a lighter. It was held by a gloved hand, and that hand was attached to an arm pinstriped with gold, which belonged to a suit, which was worn by the tall young man she did not want to think about.

She locked gazes with him, and held his wrist — gently — to bring the flame close enough for her to light up her cigarette. She blew smoke at the flame, thinking it would put it out. It didn't. The blonde man closed the polished metal lighter, and put it back in his pocket.

"Bonjour," he said.

Elsa merely nodded, staring into his eyes: his irises were gold and green. Artificial, she realized. No doubt bought by his father. Then, she realized that it was odd that he did not simply have new ones cloned. She let go of his wrist, and went back to her drink.

"Est-ce que je peux?" said the blonde man, nodding at the chair.

"C'est un monde libre," she replied in a young, sultry smoker's voice. She shrugged, then leaned in on the glowing counter, propping herself up with her elbows. "Faites ce que vous voulez."

The blonde man sat on the chair to her right, close enough for her to get a whiff of his cologne. It was pleasant enough, but it made her self-conscious to the fact that she hadn't even put on a bit of deodorant. She hadn't broken much of a sweat on Noveria. If anything, she smelled of cigarettes.

Just as he was about to introduce himself, Elsa cut him off.

"Ne perdez pas votre temps. Je suis mariée."

The blonde man laughed, and took a sip of his expensive beer. That annoyed her a bit.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a de si drôle?"

"Hm? Oh, je me disais seulement que vous n'êtes pas une très bonne menteuse, c'est tout."

"Et qu'est-ce qui vous fais croire que je mens?"

He took another sip of his beer. "Vous n'avez pas de bague."

"Je l'ai perdue."

"Ah bon? Vraiment?"

"Oui, vraiment."

The blonde man gave her an amused look. "Vraiment."

Elsa smiled, and laughed a little. She could tell he wasn't buying it, and she thought it was a bit silly to have tried in the first place. "Non, pas vraiment."

The blonde man chuckled good naturedly, and held out his hand. "Allow me to introduce myself. Jake Armitage."

She shook his hand. "Elsa Devereaux. You are English?"

"Je suis beaucoup de choses. Je peux continuer en français, si vous préférez?"

Elsa felt a little disappointment wash over her. "Écoutez, vous me paraissez assez gentil... mais je serais sans doute forcée a retourner bosser dans les dix prochaines minutes..."

"Et... quel genre de travail faites-vous?" asked Armitage.

She held up her glass of cognac. "Le genre qui vous fait boire."

"On doit avoir le même boulot, alors."

Elsa snorted. "J'en doute. C'est quoi donc, votre profession?" She gave Jake an appraising look. The light tan was fake, though great care had been taken to try and make it look genuine, and make it blend with the brownish gold, medium length hair. Said hair was combed back, then stylishly blasted at the back, like straw. That was salon work. And then there was the suit: It was elegant, yes, but it was also fairly pricey. Rich boy, she decided. "Vous bossez à la compagnie de papa et vous passez le temps à niquer les secretaires?"

Jake, to his credit, didn't seem all that insulted. "En fait, je suis horloger."

Elsa quirked her eyebrow. "Vous reglez les Omnis?" she asked, disbelieving.

"Pas tout à fait. Je fabrique et je répare des pieces mécaniques qui servent a mésurer le temps."

"Et il y a encore un marché pour cela?"

"Un petit marché, oui, chez les riches. Mes clients sont — d'habitude — des collectionneurs qui veulent que je leur remet en marche leurs vieIlles pendules, des heritages de leurs arrière grand-père. À l'occasion, on me donne un contrat pour faire une pièce originale, ou de construire des jouets, pour que les enfants riches puissent se vanter aux autres."

"Et vous buvez pour garder les mains stables, c'est ça?"

"Je bois parce que mes clients sont eccentriques. Le truc, c'est de boire juste assez pour se calmer. Travailler sur de la mécanique saoul, ça invite le désastre."

Elsa smiled at him. "Ma mère vous aurait adoré. Elle aimait les mécanismes, aussi." Elsa's expression softened, and became wistful. "Elle avait un grenier plein d'automates: des poupées mecaniques, des imitations de la vie. Sa pièce favorite, qu'elle avait reçu d'un billionaire de Tokyo, était une tête, un buste baroque finement travaillé, fait en platine cloisonné avec the l'or, la surface parsemée de perles." She took a puff out of her cigarette. "Il pouvait parler."

Jake's interest seemed piqued. "Vous parlez de la tête de Jean le Baptiste, par Ashpool et fils. Je connais: c'est un hybride eletronique-analogue."

"Exactement. Sa gorge était remplie d'engrenages et de rouages, et de minuscules tubes d'orgue qui pouvais imiter une voix. Je trouvais cette chose effrayante... et inutile. Des programmes synthétiseurs de voix, ça coute moins cher."

"Peut-être, mais je crois que sa création en valait le coup."

"Ah? Et pourquoi donc?"

"Parce que c'était un testament."

"Un testament sur quoi? Le gachis?"

Armitage nodded in agreement. "Oui, mais aussi sur le génie humain. C'etait une chose difficile — voire impossible — a créer, mais ce n'a pas decouragé les fils d'Ashford de coopérer ensemble et d'achever le travail, et c'etait un travail bien fait, unique a travers le monde, voire même la galaxie. C'est même un peu triste."

"Triste?"

Sad?

Armitage looked straight into Elsa's eyes. "Oui, triste. Parce qu'il n'y aura plus jamais une pièce de mécanique comme la Tête. On l'a détruite, non?"

"Oui... on l'a détruite." Elsa didn't think it was possible, but she suddenly felt a small pang of guilt at her teenage act of vandalism. She took one last sip of her glass, emptying it. She looked at it with some feigned disappointment and curiosity, then: "Tiens?...Mon verre est vide."

"Oui, je vois ça." Jake said, his voice low and soft. "Et alors?"

"Et alors..." she said, her tone matching his. She smiled, and bit her lower lip. "...allez vous faire quelque chose pour me remedier ça, ou est-ce que vous allez me forcer à vous supplier?"

Jake smiled, and ordered another drink for her.

~[h+]~

---

It was getting dark, and to Tali that was proof that she hadn't been working fast enough.

Inside the basement-level parking garage, Tali had just finished outfitting the inside of a grey skyvan with everything needed to remotely hack any wireless network. She had fitted the right most inner wall with racks filled with computers, a few modems, and a router all interconnected with cables and tubes of coolant. Said computers were also connected to a small array of 3D projectors and haptic keyboards. Two chairs had been set up. A lightweight couch for Spooky, and a small office chair for Tali.

"I'm done!" shouted Tali happily. Spooky, Ono-Sendai in hand, peered inside the van from the open back door.

He whistled. "Nicely done, Sparky. And in record time, too."

"Yes, I know, I'm very good, now call her." Tali said impatiently.

"Just a minute..." Spooky casually threw the master switch that was supposed to power up the entire set of computers. Nothing happened. With a knowing smile, he flipped the switch over and over again.

"Okay, I might have forgotten to plug in the OVO Cell."

"You don't say. Well, let's get to that, and do a check of every piece of hardware in there, just to make sure."

Tali suppressed a grumble.

"Yes?"

"...Nothing."

An hour later, Tali and Spooky had double-checked the machines. They checked out, and Spooky connected the Ono-Sendai to the router, laid himself down on his seat, connected the headset to the Ono-Sendai, and put his head inside the headset. The 'trodes seemed to float on the harness, scanning Spooky's brain by combing the surface of his skull. Eventually they locked into place, and the Ono-Sendai was fully calibrated to his brainwaves.

Spooky took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he had done this. The thrill was coming back. He was eager for the rush... but he knew he was going to regret it in the morning.

"Alright Tali, I'm going to do a light dive, no need for the drugs. You're gonna be my wing-girl. That means you make sure I've got the apps I need when I need them, warn me of any incoming danger, and pull the plug when I encounter some black ICE. That also means we're going to go over every single app the twins gave you while we take over a virtual machine. Is that cool?"

"...Well, yes, but shouldn't we hurry this along?"

"Nope. Can you think of a good reason why we should?"

Tali rubbed the back of her helmet. "...Well, Jake's been out there a long time. The sooner we're done here, the sooner he can come back."

Hoo boy, thought Spooky. "Jake's doing just fine. He's got a lovely, petite french lady to keep him company. He's not in any danger."

"Well... what if she's an... an Illuminated, or... or, a killer robot wearing human skin?" she said lamely.

"That's Illuminatus..." corrected Spooky. "And really? A killer robot?"

"It's entirely within the realm of possibility and we should save Jensen from it!"

"Okay then, the sooner we go through this exercise..."

Tali sighed.

"...The sooner I make the call and we can put the operation in motion. Sounds fair?"

Tali agreed reluctantly, and proceeded to set up the virtual machine as per Spooky's specifications. The Ono-Sendai booted up, and readouts of his brainwave patterns, his current location in the network, and various console log windows appeared at Tali's workstation.

Spooky put on a VR mask to focus on the visions better, relaxed in his chair, took a deep breath, and dove in.

...

...

...

[ Soul Hacker OST - Prologue ]

Spooky's avatar, a crystalline lozenge with a radar ring surrounding it, was hovering inches above a ground that looked like an old electronic circuit.

Hank 'Spooky' Moody's interpretation of Cyberspace was...actually pretty banal, considering how weird things could get in there. It was a collection of every Hollywood Hacking cliché ever: you had your Tron lines, and your translucent, glowing geometric shapes representing data, and no color was ever far from teal, or purple, or orange. Still, everything had the architectural charms of an office building, with transparent file folders, crystalline desks, and boring, cube-shaped rooms inside boring cube-shaped buildings.

You could leave the FAI, but the FAI never quite left you, it seemed.

While Spooky's perception of time in Cyberspace was in real-time, allowing him to communicate with Tali vocally, he decided instead to send her text messages through a window. After all, when he would dive inside Europa Genomics' networks, the drugs would send his brain into overdrive, and his speech wouldn't make a lick of sense.

Tali, with more of a God's-eye-view of the fake network, was quick to keep the necessary apps loaded in memory just in case. Pulser, an brute force attack program, was to be kept on hand at all times. You never knew when a hostile security program was around the corner, after all. They successfully breached the I/O node, which had a basic gatekeeper ICE. Bypassing that was child's play. Then came the Firewall (which looked like an infinitely huge red wall, of course). The ring shaped portal dug into the wall was guarded by a Barrier ICE, linked to a Revere sub-ICE ready to put the entire system on high alert.

Drill proved real effective, here. And before long Spooky was riding on rivers of electronic data, on his way to the Data Storage Node.

"Man, did I miss this," thought Spooky. There were simpler ways to get access to a system: you could go in disguised as a delivery boy, sneak in the mainframe room, and drop a rigged up cell phone to hijack the wireless network. You could trick a guy over the phone into revealing important info about the system. You could even find a password by stealing their notepads. But those got boring after a while. For Spooky, Cyberspace would always be fun. Then again, the real fun had yet to start...

---

-Chat Window 01 open-

Kaylee: Hey, Spooky.

Spooky: Yeah?

Kaylee: What's Cyberspace like?

Spooky: Like nothing you ever saw before, and yet, made up of everything you did know. That's the best way I can put it.

Kaylee: But what does it feel like?

Kaylee: That's what I meant.

Spooky: Oh.

Spooky: Well, it's like a shooter... and a role-playing game.

Spooky: Imagine the best of both that you ever played, rolled into one.

Spooky: Then, imagine that game taking place in a psychedelic landscape, and the difficulty level is set to Realistic and Ironman. There's no respawns. No checkpoints. No saves. The hits are always critical, and if a Black ICE gets you, that's a real death.

Kaylee: ...That doesn't sound all that fun.

Spooky: For a casual? Nope!

Spooky: But for a hardcore fella like me, there's nothing like it. Wanna try it sometime, after this job's done?

Kaylee: I don't know. I got a big enough taste of psychedelics at the Elerium-115.

Spooky: You stepped onto the dance floor, eh?

Kaylee: ...No?

Spooky: ( -_-)

Spooky: (-_- )

Spooky: ( -_-)

Kaylee: ?

Kaylee: What does that even mean?

---

"So, how's the trip into Wonderland going?" asked Smuggler. He was carrying a small case, and in it was what he had come up with in such a short time.

"It's doing as well as expected. It is just a test, after all," said Tali. "What's in the case?

Smuggler made sure they weren't being watched, put the case on the Skyvan's floor, and opened it.

He had modified the two Renaud-Kerbrat SMGs into makeshift carbines, with extended barrels and clips. One he made for Kasumi, and for that one he added some extra recoil compensators. Kasumi was fit, but she was kind of a lightweight. Jensen's RK had a drum magazine instead of a straight clip. Both had silencers, and both had replicated .40 Armor-Piercing rounds using what the team had brought back from the Riviera encounter as a base. Smugger had given the bullets that special Omar touch.

"It won't do the raw damage per shot of the P90 custom," said Smuggler, "but it'll kill one Copley for sure at a distance. Maybe even two, if he aims it right."

"Couldn't you just make those airburst bullets yourself?"

"Sure, but I don't have the time. The rounds are easy enough to make at an Omni-Bench. So are the micro-circuits involved. The real issue is making the targeting computer. Again, the electronics? Easy as pie. It's the software that would take time. I'd need at least a day to write it, and then I would need to test it to work out the bugs."

"Couldn't we just download it from the Extra-net?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Too risky anyways. That kind of software is hard enough to find, and you can bet the planetary Ansible is being monitored for that kind of download."

"Come on, that's a big breach of privacy. I don't think anyone can get away with that."

"The WTO gets away with clone slavery. I don't think anyone minds that they check their emails once in a while. After all, most OZ users are law-abiding citizens. They've got nothing to hide." Smuggler motioned at the hardware set up in the van. "We, on the other hand..."

"...I get your point, yeah."

After another half-hour, the exercise was done, and Spooky took off his headgear. "Okay, I had a look at our setup from the inside out while I was in, and..."

"And?" Tali asked hopefully.

"I think we need to see how I deal with an actual connection. We're heading out!"

Tali grumbled something, and sighed.

"What's her problem?" asked Smuggler, as he stored the two cases in the van, intent on driving it.

"Sparky here thinks we should get Jake away from the French woman as soon as possible." Spooky winked. "Thinks she's a robot double out for his blood."

"Is that right? Well, stranger things have happened. Don't you worry, Kaylee. Goto's keeping an eye on them. She just reported that they left a movie theater."

Tali groaned and rested her head on her little desktop.

"Where are they headed now?" asked Spooky, intent on torturing his new pupil a little more.

"They're headed for a bar. Quiet joint. Devereaux wanted to go dancing, apparently..."

At this, Tali's heart leapt. Garrus had told her that Adam was a terrible, terrible dancer. Adam would make a fool out of himself, and this French witch wouldn't be interested in him anymore. Yes! Things would be working out for her, after all!

~[h+]~

---

[Wax Tailor - Seize the day]

"Hm... T'es pas mauvais comme danseur, Jake Armitage," said Elsa. She had said a bit tersely, and yet sultrily. She was giving Jensen bedroom eyes, in that subtle, very european way. They were swaying to the slow, sultry beat of a Trip Hop song. It was a hazy orchestra of deep bass and sharp guitars, and had a dreamlike quality given to it by a woman's voice that seemed to sing through an old phone.

"C'est mon genre de tempo, cette chanson." said Adam. "Je n'arrive pas à dancer dans les clubs qui vous écrasent avec du bruit qui passe pour de la musique."

"Moi non plus. Enfin, à l'époque, si... Mais les émotions fortes, j'en ai par-dessus la tête, just en travaillant."

Much to Jensen's relief, Elsa hated loud clubs just as much as he did. Le Firmament was an open air bar built atop a slanted skyscraper. All of the aircar traffic was just below it, giving the place a quiet feeling, amplified by the walls and floors of dark marble. Rivers of glowing blue water and glass partitions separated the place in several different areas: Bar. Lounge. Dance floor.

From these rivers, glowing droplets of water floated up. Jensen and Elsa had crossed one on their way to the dance floor, and the droplets had parted away from them, leaving them dry.

Elsa, some time in the middle of the song, rested her head against Jensen's chest. The truth of the matter was that, as a fairly short woman, Elsa had a thing for tall men. Bonus points if they were handsome. It wasn't something she was all that proud of: she loathed the fact that thousands of years' worth of evolution had favored the woman that found the biggest man to keep her safe from danger. Right now, though, that heady feeling of being protected lifted her spirits up immensely.

"Un peu osé, non?" he said, a little playfully.

"J'aime bien ton parfum," she said, realizing the truth of the lie as she breathed deep, her eyes closed. Jensen was about to follow up with something else, only to be shushed. "Tais-toi, s'il-te-plait, et restons comme ça pour un moment de plus."

They continued like this until the song ended.

~[h+]~

---

At the lounge, Jensen and Devereaux sat on opposite ends of an L-shaped couch. The waitress, a pale girl with a raven colored bob of a haircut, approached them.

"And what will we be having?" she said with a wink. Jensen immediately recognized her voice: It was Kasumi's... the actual Kasumi, not a fellow clone.

Elsa had not appreciated the wink, but decided to order a Kir Pêche, while Jensen ordered himself a Horse's Neck. Elsa and Adam made light conversation for about five minutes before Kasumi promptly returned, drinks on the tray.

The french ace pilot finished her drink quickly, then took another cigarette from her pack, then another, and offered it to Jensen, who had wanted to remember the burn and smoke and nicotine in his lungs. He lit it, and and breathed in the smoke... only for the Sentinel implants to repair the damage immediately.

"I miss it."

"What?" asked Elsa, in french-accented English. She was still struggling with her lighter strip.

"Self-destruction. It's no fun for me anymore."

"It's not fun for me either."

"Really? Then why do you do it?"

"I'm not brave enough to put a gun to my head, but I'm scared enough of death to kill myself slowly with cigarettes and alcohol."

"And why would you want to die?"

Elsa sighed. "...A good friend of mine died a few days ago. That's what my comrades think is the matter with me. The truth? I live in a cage, Armitage. I've been living in it ever since I discovered a talent for flying, ironically enough. And soon, once my government has its way, I probably won't be able to self-destruct with cocktails and smoke."

"And why can't you leave your cage, Elsa?" Adam asked, but he would get no answer from Elsa, not yet.

She gave up on lighting her cigarette and motioned Jensen to come closer with his lighter. She grabbed his wrist to pull it closer again, only this time she touched skin.

Or the lack, thereof. She wasn't all that shocked.

"Your arm. Your arm is mechanical."

Before Adam could protest, Elsa tugged at his glove's fingers, tip by tip, and then she pulled it loose, revealing the hand of a modified Sarif Class 7 Cyberarm.

Jensen unconsciously held his breath, wondering how Elsa would react. She simply looked on with fascination, cigarette discarded, as she set aside the lighter and began to play with his fingers, flexing them, tugging at them.

"How?"

"Car accident," Adam said quickly. He traced the angled, horizontal fake scar that ran from the middle of his forehead to the far tip of his left eyebrow. "It's also how I got this."

He was worried that, as a military officer, Elsa would recognize the prosthesis as military hardware, but thankfully, that was not the case. After all, she had no real experience dealing with mech-augs, and for her the Sarif Cyberarm was just a fancy-looking piece of black plastic.

"It must be useful," she said. "To make clocks, I mean."

"Among other things."

"What sort of things?"

At the way Elsa was biting her lower lip, and intertwining her fingers with his, Adam realized that he had accidentally made an innuendo.

"Well..."

This Omni-Tool beeped. He was getting a call on his Omni-Tool from Brea.

"Damn. Important call. I have to take this." Elsa looked disappointed as he left, and Jensen wasn't sure if he should have taken that call as a godsend or a curse.

"Switch to Codec," said Brea tersely before hanging up.

Jensen made a dental click of annoyance, and called Brea via Codec.

"Ah, Jake. I see you're making good use of your CASIE. So sorry to ruin your sex life.."

Jensen got the distinct impression that no, she wasn't sorry.

"...but the hackers have finished setting up the electronic support van. Are you ready to begin?

"First, can I say something? I don't use the CASIE to get sex. And yeah, I'm more or less ready."

"Good. I've given Leng Elsa's current location. Goto has a pack of gear for you, but for now? Stay out of sight. I don't want Leng to recognize you."

"Why? We've never met face to face."

"Maybe, but you did cripple a lot of Manticore personnel when you escaped that Europa Genomics facility back on earth. In fact, you're half the reason they started to invest in Copleys in recent years. They're quite familiar with you."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be. Your profile is required reading for every Manticore employee. Of course, it seems the disguise is holding. You're welcome, by the way."

"Look, how long until Leng gets here."

"He should be there in ten minutes."

~[h+]~

---

Leng appeared in a cloud of black spores, the telltale sign of a Nightshade Cloaking System that made him invisible. Not fully trusting this Donna Morgan, he had decided to go off on a search for Devereaux himself. As luck would have it, the entertainment VI — Sharon Resonance — had recognized her when the errant french pilot had asked for directions. This was the start of a trail that led him to some bistro, which in turn led him to a 2D theater, then finally ended here, in the Firmament.

He had been watching this Jake Armitage Yasumoto Whatever play the game with this dame for the last half hour, and when he was about to close the deal he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. What a pussy.

Leng approached Elsa from behind, flanked by two Copleys. "You're coming with me." he commanded.

Elsa shifted on the couch and turned her head, looked at Leng, looked bored, and turned her back on him. Leng did not like that kind of disrespect.

"I'm with someone," she said tersely. "Go away."

"Scholar wants to meet with you and your compatriots."

"My compatriots and Scholar can go fuck themselves. I'm not going anywhere with you. Now leave."

"I don't have time for this."

Leng grabbed her by the arm and activated his EPRA. As she struggled and cursed, the custom pheromones caused her aggression to dissipate almost instantly, replacing it with faint arousal and lightheartedness. She was so very pliable now, putty in his hand. Obedient.

Just the way Leng liked them. It was a shame Scholar wanted her unspoiled and unhurt.

~[h+]~

---

Alone in the bathroom (which, thankfully, was indoors), Jensen was relieving himself in a urinal.

"What are you doing?" he said out loud to no one.

Silence answered him.

"I know you're there," he said again.

"...I am most certainly not trying to get a picture of your junk." said Kasumi from nowhere. Her Camouflage app disengaged, and she appeared behind Adam, wearing the dark shirt and skirt of a waitress, and a big smile on her face.

Jensen zipped up and made his way to the sink. "You know," he said. "If our genders were reversed I would be well within my rights to punch you."

She gasped in amused mock concern and shock. "I know! Don't you just hate double standards?"

Jensen just shook his head and smiled, rolling his eyes. He started to wash his hands. "Brea said you had a package for me."

"It's in the vent, I'll go get it later. So, Elsa Devereaux, huh? What do you think of her?"

"I think she's burned out bad. I think she's haunted by ghosts. I can empathize... but frankly I think Europa Genomics is betting on the wrong horse. Maybe she is Spectre material. But right now? She's hurting too bad to help anyone."

Kasumi chuckled. "I mean, would you like to finish what you started?"

Adam said nothing. Kasumi had expected a playful yes or a bashful no, but instead all she got was a cold dead silence.

"Yes? No? What?"

"I can't."

"...Why not?"

"Because David's modifications had consequences on my sex life."

"Wait, you have an augmented penis? And it doesn't..."

Adam gave her an annoyed look through the mirror. "I'm talking about these." He held up his hands above the sink, looking at them a bit bitterly as the drops of water slid off the black polymer casing. "David probably didn't think these prostheses would have an effect on my sex life, but they did."

"...You lost me."

"It's the touch. Women aren't walking vaginas to me. They're sculptures made of soft skin and warmth, meant to be appreciated by touch. Before my accident I..."

Adam closed his eyes, and within that instant before he opened them again, he remembered that last night of passion he had with Megan, before their relationship began to die. The dream of it had haunted his surgery and subsequent healing coma, 246 hours of painful unconsciousness. He could recall perfectly the softness of her throat, the smell of her hair, the taste of her nape. Better still was that he could affect her breathing: the slow sighs, the sharp intakes of air, the gentle moans.

The frustrated begging.

Adam shared this preference with Kasumi, leaving out the frustration that he felt at needing to always be in control. If he ever let his excitement get the better of him...

Kasumi was staring at him, eyes wide open, mouth agape.

"Damn, sorry about that. I didn't mean to dump that on you." Jensen flicked his wrists, splashing all of the water of his hands.

"...wha?" Kasumi shook her head. "Ahem! I mean... err. So why can't you do... that with...I mean... You can still feel, right?"

"Yes, but it's not the same. For me or my partner. I can barely feel heat and pressure with these. All she would feel is cold plastic claws grasping at her flesh, threatening to tear something off or break a bone. It wouldn't be fun for either of us."

"You could just put it in. Some girls aren't that picky about foreplay, you know?"

"Those girls don't interest me."

"...Have you considered getting cloned limbs?"

"I did."

"Well, clearly you haven't gone for them. Why?"

Jensen's hands balled into fists for a brief moment. "Because people need me to have them."

Codec Call. It was Brea again. "Jake. Leng just picked up Elsa."

"That was... quick," commented Adam.

"I know. But I'm tracking his gunship as we speak... its pilot just reported it's headed to the Granada hotel."

"The Granada hotel is a secret EG facility?"

"Of course not. Scholar wants to butter up Captain Ségal and Lieuteant Elsa first. After all, once arrangements are made, Scholar could stand to make hundreds of billion of nuyen if he makes a deal with the European military. In any case, you and Goto are to head there and meet with my courier. He'll deliver the compound to you."

"Roger that."

Adam relayed the instructions to Kasumi, who excused herself to one of the stalls. "I'll be right with ya. I need to take care of something."

"The gear?"

"...Yes. The gear. Let's go with that."

~[h+]~

---

Adam made his way back to the sofa he and Elsa had been lounging on before they were interrupted. She had, strangely enough, left her smokes behind.

He picked up the pack, figuring that he'd give it back to her at the first opportunity he got... but as he took it he felt that the weight of it felt wrong. It was heavy, far too heavy.

Adam activated his Smart-Vision.

Inside the pack was a compact bomb.

"Oh, shi-"

~[h+]~

---

Kai Leng pressed the trigger on the detonator, and the compact eezo concussion bomb went off. The dozens of customers that didn't die in the initial blast were flung off the roof, and would die after a long, six hundred meter fall.

Leng could hear the screaming through the armored canopy. The sound technically came from the armored cockpit's auditory emulators, but it was still music to Leng's ears. He smirked.

"Let's go," he told the pilot, and the Gunship flew away to the Granada, with Elsa strapped in the passenger cabin. Leng couldn't wait to tell Red Raven the good news.

He had killed Adam Jensen.

~[h+]~

---

SHADOW BROKER DATABASE: FILE EG33: Enhanced Pheromonal Response Attuner (EPRA)

A set of discreet organs created by Europa Genomics designed for enhanced social manipulation. Not so much 'implanted' as 'grown' inside the host through a viral infection and a battery of mutagen injections. Though it provides no Micro-expression analysis like the CASIE, the potent pheromones it creates outclass anything else on the market. They are powerful enough to cause extreme arousal or subservience (or both) in any person it is used on, effectively turning even the most strong-willed, defiant individual into a slave. Analysis of the files stolen by Parasini (status update: asset terminated) suggests that EPRA can only be grown by one in a billion human beings.

Conclusion: In its current state, EPRA is a failed attempt by Europa Genomics to create superior commanders. Improved versions of the bio augmentation, however, may still be under development. Information on EPRA is now on Priority Level S.

---

Author's notes: I suppose the main theme of this chapter is connection. It is, after all, the main purpose of the Dream Machine. Here, Elsa had pushed her friends away as she crashed and burned, and attempted to be intimate with Adam, sharing some of her woes with him along the way. Adam shares some of his personal frustrations — his inability to fully connect sexually with someone — with Kasumi, who is quite happy to work with other people after spending so much time on the run. Spooky connects to information in his own intimate way.

Leng forces a connection with Elsa to get what he wants out of her. Jack is trying to reach out. And the Omar? Well, that's for the next chapter.

Speaking of which, this is turning out in my biggest arc yet. I think I'll need two or three more chapters to finish it, looks like.

---

Translated French dialogue:

Hello.

May I?

It's a free world.

Don't waste your time. I am married.

What's so funny?

Hm? Oh, I was only telling myself that you're not a very good liar, that's all."

And what makes you believe I'm lying?

You don't have a ring.

I lost it.

Oh? Really?

Yes, really.

Really.

No, not really.

...

I am a lot of things. I can continue in french, if you prefer?

Listen, you seem nice enough, but I'll be no doubt forced to go back to work within the next ten minutes...

And... what kind of work do you do?

The kind that drives you to drink.

We must have the same job, then.

I doubt it. What is your profession, then? You work at your daddy's company, spending your whole time banging the secretaries?

In fact, I am a clockmaker.

You set the time on Omni-Tools?

Not quite. I build and repair mechanical pieces that serve to measure time.

And is there still a market for that?

A little market, yes, with the rich. My clients are — usually — collectors that want me to restore their old grandfather clocks. Occasionally, I get contracted to make original time pieces, or even toys, so that the rich kids can brag to the others.

And you drink because it keeps your hands steady, right?

I drink because my clients are eccentric. The trick is to drink just enough to keep calm. Working drunk on mechanics, that's inviting disaster.

My mother would have adored you. She loved clockworks, too. She had an attic full of automata: mechanical dolls, imitations of life. Her favorite piece, which she bought from a Tokyo billionaire, was a head, an intricately worked Baroque bust, cloisonné over platinum, studded with pearls. It could talk.

You're talking about the Ashford and sons' head of John the Baptist. I know of it: it's an electronic-analogue hybrid.

Exactly. His throat was filled with gears and cogs and tiny organ pipes that could imitate a voice. I found that thing frightening ... and unnecessary. Voice synthesizers programs are less expensive.

Maybe, but I think its creation was worth a shot.

Oh? And why is that?

Because it was a testament.

A testament to what? Waste?

Yes, but also to the human genius. It was a difficult thing - if not impossible - to create, but that had not discouraged Ashford' sons to finish the work. And it was a work well done, unique throughout the world, even the galaxy. It's even a little sad.

"Because there will never be a piece of machinery like the Head. It was destroyed, right?"

"Yes, it was destroyed... Hm?... My glass is empty."

Yes, I can see that. And?

And... are you going to do something to remedy this, or are you going to force me to beg?

...

Hm, you're not bad for a dancer, Jake Armitage.

It's my type of beat, this song. I can't dance in clubs that crush you with noise that passes for music.

Me neither. Well, I used to, but I get more than enough excitement from my job.

A little daring, no?

I love your perfume. Shut up, if you please, and let's stay like this for a moment longer.