6. Tyrants Destroyed
Note: Some serious carnage ahead. I don't think that in and of itself it's enough to warrant an 'R' rating (mainly because, if the same standard that applies to movies is used, I should no longer be permitted to read my own fic without the presence of a parent or guardian).
T.K's shrine had been empty, Joe's was not. Perhaps it was coincidence; he repressed a vain instinct to think otherwise. There was the same collage of photographic images and hand-drawn portraits, many of them peeling from the walls or coated in grime. Some of them were recognizable, but, for the most part, they portrayed an individual who had never existed, not even ten years ago. The face of this imagined Joe Kido showed only courage and resolve, there was not the slightest trace of doubt in his eyes or in the set line of his mouth. Joe remembered himself as he truly had been, cautious, tiring easily and allergic to everything, and nearly laughed aloud.
The largest portrait present, hanging across from the door, was more accurate. It depicted a boy in profile. His demeanor was harrowed, doubts played across his features and he held a hand to his forehead. He wished to run, that was clear, but there was no suggestion of movement in him. He stood his ground. He's dead, now, thought Joe, but I'm still living.
Beneath the portrait, a Floramon knelt. A green scarf was wound around her head. As the door creaked shut, she rose and turned to face the noise. Several other heads were also turned, and Joe found himself shrinking back.
"Welcome," said the Floramon timidly. Joe realized his concealed face seemed suspicious, but he couldn't risk drawing his cowl back, even here.
"Thank you," he said quickly, "Don't let me disturb you…" Something in his voice caused the Floramon to hesitate. She peered at him. He was taken with a sudden urge to flee, but, like the image in his portrait, he remained.
"Stranger," said the Floramon, "Your voice…"
"What of it?" Joe snapped, more harshly than he had intended. All at once, a Poromon near his feet bounced up. Seizing the hood of his cowl in its teeth, it tore it back, revealing his face. Too late, he fell back and reached for the door. A cry of adulation filled the small chamber. He turned, horrified, he had escaped detection for so long, and now, so easily…
"Joe!" The Floramon shrilled. Before he could escape, she rushed to him, wrapping her tendrils firmly about his ankles. He stumbled.
"You don't know me," he cried, "You can't possibly…!"
"You've returned!" chirped the Poromon.
The Floramon, burying her face in his tunic, mumbled: "As I knew you would. You saw our suffering…you were drawn back…to conquer all of these tyrants, to drive them out…"
Before he could think to muster a rational response, Joe shouted: "That isn't why I'm here! I shouldn't even be here! I don't have to…have to fight…for anyone, I don't have to…" His voice broke.
The Poromon, taken aback, regarded him with wide eyes. "You won't fight?"
"No…" he choked, "I don't want anyone to be hurt…but I don't want to be hurt, either! I'm not gonna throw my life away just because…someone said… And anyway, there's nothing I can do."
"But…don't you want to help?" It was a Gomamon that asked the question. Not his Gomamon, he would have had no trouble recognizing him.
"I…" Words failed him. He looked around the room, hoping an answer was in view.
"I don't understand," said the Floramon, looking up at him, "Nobody's telling you to do anything. We only hope you will…"
Gently shaking free of his admirers, Joe stood. His eyes met those of his portrait, and he expected to find them accusing. "I haven't wanted anything in a long time," he said faintly. He crossed the room. None of the Digimon dared to follow, wary of this alien creature they thought they had known. "But, maybe I want to help. And maybe there's something I can do after all. Just maybe."
A frightened cry came from the street without. The Digimon looked to the door in alarm.
"So I'll go out there," Joe said. His voice seemed infinitely distant. Once more, he looked around. On either side of the painting, a four-foot iron brazier stood. Each was only a simple iron pole, with a flat disc of a base and a bowl atop it in which incense smoldered. An iron spike projected from the bowl, meant to impale a candle. Its shaft was wound around with leather. He took hold of one, and raised it an inch above the ground. It was surprisingly light, and besides, he was stronger than he had once been. He extinguished the incense with a breath, and emptied it onto the floor. He lifted with brazier with both hands, and shouldered it. "And besides. It isn't like I have much to lose."
The lives of so many came to an end that day that the last scenes they witnessed could have formed a seamless film. There had been no warning. The catastrophe was so sudden that, for many, its reality failed to register until the dust had cleared.
Five seconds after Tai's command, a Gazimon, Streicher, was the first casualty. He had been recruited only days before, to replace a seasoned veteran who had resigned. Demidevimon's reign had brought about many such scenarios. His murderer, Koch, had been recruited only days before him. Kotch had only fired a rifle once before he discharged one into the back of Streicher's head. Eager to prove his worth, he had not checked his aim as thoroughly as would have been wise.
Aside from Streicher and Kotch, all of the Gazimon guards opened fire on Tai, as they had been instructed. At a gesture from Datamon, the boy went limp, falling backwards into the cart along with the prisoners. Shots split the air above him, harming no one.
SkullGreymon's howl echoed through the square: "Double Dark Shot!" Before the utterance had finished, another life was taken. Assuming that Kotch had turned traitor along with Tai, Rothstein fired one of his own weapons at the soldier, killing him instantly. He then vaulted from the edge of the royal seat to the ground, only an instant before two of SkullGreymon's living missiles streaked towards it.
Demidevimon, Vademon and Kokatorimon were not so astute. They could only stare stupidly at their oncoming doom. At last, Demidevimon thought to act. Folding his wings against his body, he plummeted earthward. The missiles passed over him.
Vademon's lips formed the word inconceivable, but no sound left them. Kokatorimon uttered a guttural, inarticulate cry, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He been safe from danger for so long that he scarcely recognized it. Even if flight had occurred to him, he would not have been able to lift his weight out of the seat.
Seizing Vademon by the neck, he croaked: "Grahck! You deadweight! Do something!" Panicking, Vademon reached out, seemingly into thin air, and produced a pistol with a flared barrel. He fired blindly ahead of him. The bursts of energy emitted by pistol collided with the missiles when they were only inches from his face. The resulting explosion enveloped the seat in a pillar of flame, carbonizing it and obliterating its passengers. Vademon and Kokatorimon died at the same instant.
Rothstein landed among his men. Once they had fired and missed, they were stymied. Their training had failed to prepare them for this.
"Rush the cart, you imbeciles! Kill him!" Rothstein barked at them, breaking into a run himself. He held a pistol in each hand. After a minute's hesitation, the majority of his men followed at his heels, though more than one fled in the opposite direction. Loyalty had never been a Gazimon's forte. Rothstein ignored the deserters, concentrating only on reaching Tai. That was his downfall—he was blind to the true threat, the killing machine that Tai commanded. SkullGreymon stepped in front of him, his tail scything through the crowd behind him. Another missile was already sprouting from his back. Before him, Rothstein and his men were so many insects. Sneering, he brought his foot down among them.
The dying screams of Gazimon joined the general clamor that had swept through the square. The crowd wished to flee, but, disparate as it was, it could not agree on any one direction. Spectators shoved, clawed and trampled each other in their haste to get away. The Monochromon who had been harnessed to the carts, maddened by noise, broke loose. They charged in all directions, unmindful of anything in their path that could not stop them.
All this within a matter of minutes.
The passing of time had left some things unchanged. The Digidestined had fought for their lives time and again, and functioned as well as any military unit. As the first volley of gunshots, something human within Sora and Izzy was suppressed. Unintentionally or otherwise, Gennai had proved as apt an engineer of temperament as Datamon. His influence, coupled with the dangers of the digital world, had made human children as ready to do murder as their foes.
"We can't right while divided," said Izzy, clenching his chin between finger and thumb.
Sora shook her head. "I don't understand any of this. Is it…even real?"
"I apologize," Izzy said, "You told us so much. I ought to have returned the favor, and informed you of some of the basic details of…the political climate." As he spoke, he crossed the room to his laptop. Though it had once been his life, it had been of little use to him once he found himself a refugee. Still, he had been unable to part with it, for purely sentimental reasons. He now regarded it regretfully. "In short," he continued, "Nearly everyone out there is our enemy. If we're lucky, they'll destroy each other, save us the trouble. But…"
"Joe," Sora said, "The Digimon…and, was that…Tai? Or only a clone?"
Izzy nodded. "It must be a clone. But Agumon is out there, and he isn't only one. There's Joe as well, we should…find him. I doubt he's gone far. I also doubt he's decided to abandon us, he'd never…anyway, if you can track him down, I'll do what I can to rescue Agumon."
"Didn't sound like Agumon needed any rescuing," Sora observed, "Sounded like all of them needed rescuing from Agumon. Or SkullGreymon."
"I can reason with him. Well, at least, I can try," said Izzy. Slowly, constantly hesitating, he reached into a pocket of his cowl. "We'll have to go into the open. That means we'll never be able to come back here, no matter what." Then, it a single motion, he drew his technocrat's data-pistol and fired it into the laptop. Like a Digimon, it vanished in a burst of data. It contained valuable information, he reasoned, he couldn't let it fall into the enemy's hands. But he didn't fail to recognize the symbolism of the act.
Sora knew that after all that she had witnessed, this loss should mean nothing. Nonetheless, there was something in it that made it incomparably sad to her, after all, the machine had been defenseless. It had not even suspected its fate.
"Tentomon?" Izzy called. He looked to his partner's sleeping form, and realized that he hadn't been asleep after all—only stock-still, listening intently. Hearing his name, he unfurled his wings and flew to Izzy.
"Ready," he buzzed. There was nothing flippant left in him. He existed only to follow orders, and now he awaited them.
"We're going down to street. Maybe we'll be under attack from the start, maybe they won't even notice us…but anyway, we have to be prepared. Are you hungry?" Tentomon vehemently shook his head. In fact, he was, but he imagined he had enough energy remaining to digivolve, if it were required of him. Turning to Sora, Izzy asked: "You've got your crest and digivice? If that really is Biyomon, out there…" Sora's dull expression suggested she didn't dare to hope, but she nodded. Izzy checked his own pockets, nodded to himself and headed for the door. The others followed without a word.
Sora thought that dust was rising from the earth. I took her a minute to realize that she was witnessing the dissolution of hundreds of corpses. Numemon, Pagumon, Gazimon and Gizamon, dead Monochromon as large as the carts they had towed. She knew she should gasp, cry or vomit, but she felt as though her capacity for horror had been exhausted. Nothing she had ever seen could compare to this. She walked, putting one foot stiffly in front of the other, and keeping her eyes trained on the horizon. With every step, her own weakness threatened to overwhelm her. The muscles of her legs had all but atrophied in captivity.
With any luck, she thought, Joe's far, far away from here. It doesn't matter if we never meet again, as long as he's safe. And if he was alive, she had no idea where to begin looking for him.
The abandoned death-carts stood ahead of her. One of them, she knew, would hold Biyomon, and the clones were also nearby. The thought of meeting her old partner sickened her. She might find her dead, and otherwise, even if whatever Datamon had done to her could be reversed, something had died between them. Friendship was impossible, and their presence would only serve to remind each other of a time when it had been.
Datamon rose above the edge of the cart, and took in the scene surrounding him. He said not a word. He had known this would come about, and saw no need to comment. The battle was hardly at end. Datamon's loyalists had joined the fray, wielding the chains that had bound them at first, then rifles scavenged from fallen enemies. They numbered only seven, but every one still lived. Datamon had chosen only the most able Gazimon as his lieutenants.
Of course, one factor alone turned the tide in the Director's favor. SkullGreymon could not be harmed. Gunshots directed at his bones might as well have been tossed pebbles, and any Gazimon luckless or foolish enough to come within range of his talons was torn to shreds. Tai had reclaimed his perch on his Digimon's skull, and took in the slaughter with detached interest. Within an instant, he had been metamorphosed from hero to merciless tyrant, playing both roles with equal abandon. Tai, whom the Director once regarded as his only failure, had served his purpose admirably.
Seemingly in empathy, the sun had begun to set, dying the sky virulent shades of red.
Datamon lowered himself to the ground, and ran a cursory self-examination. He seemed to be in working order. He had undergone as brief period of malfunction following his ridicule at the hands of that insignificant speck of a Gazimon, but was otherwise none the worse for his imprisonment. The future, however, was uncertain. His old experiments had all been interrupted, derailed, and his legitimate position was shot. He required power, a great deal of it, and at once. In time, some chance occurrence would stir a memory in the boy, and he would regress to his former state. Then, he would have another enemy.
The solution was apparent. He had designed and built the greatest power in the digital world, and it was time that it aided him. Directing his sensors inward, he searched his faculties for remote links to the dark network. Once he was on stable ground, he would locate some guileless Gazimon to replace Etemon and all would go on as before.
Even as he began his mediation, it was interrupted. Something shrieked in his ear: "Look sharp, egghead! Demi-devi-dart!" He opened his eyes in time to see a syringe bury itself in his side. It discharged venom that would have crippled any organic creature, but Datamon was unharmed. Carelessly, he withdrew it and snapped it in two.
"You continue to inconvenience me," he said. He rotated to face Demidevimon.
Though charred and bruised, the Lord Sovereign was not humbled. Eyes gleaming, talons clenched, teeth set in a desperate scowl, he stood his ground. "You've ruined me!" he screeched, "How dare…how could…I'll never, never have another chance! And all I ever wanted was…"
"Silence," Datamon intoned, "You are through, pitiful creature. Those such as you exist only as fodder for beings of true power." Moving with reflexive speed, he snatched at Demidevimon, his fingers closing around the crest of Hope.
And again, he was interrupted. A human voice was raised over the sounds of battle, and directed toward him: "Damn you! You can't have him!" Datamon judged that whoever had spoken was some twenty meters distant, and probably presented no threat. With his other hand, he swatted Demidevimon, propelling his feather-light body into the air and out of sight. The crest was carried with him.
"Weakness will out," said Datamon.
And Izzy rammed into him shoulder-first. "He…I…it wasn't supposed to work this way! I was meant to kill him, for what he did…!" he raged.
Datamon assessed his new assailant with little more concern than he had afforded Demidevimon. "You, here? Interesting. You would give Demidevimon credit for the death of your friends? Do you seriously imagine he could have accomplished anything without my support, or that he aided me in the least? If you must vent for your petty losses, direct your anger at its proper target."
Breathing heavily, Izzy stepped back. "So you admit that you're to blame for all of this?"
"Blame?" Datamon cackled. "An interesting term. What does it matter if wrong you? It is nothing less than my right."
"We freed you," Izzy said.
"Yes, you served my ends. What of it? You were meant to do so. You were sent, ignorant, to your deaths, you were sent against me and I made use of you. And this Gennai could not have expected you would live, you were only, as it were, a stopgap measure…intended to buy him a few moments…"
Izzy fired. The burst of data was absorbed seamlessly into Datamon's structure. Casting the weapon aside, he ran at the Director and struck out with his fists, feet and knees, succeeding only in bruising himself.
Datamon's voice droned on, never halting, his manner analytical. "You do not know when you are beaten. It would have gone better with you if you had fallen with the others. You have only the body of a man, your mind and aimless indignation is still that of a child. You cling to your old ideals, blind to the truth, insisting that you fought for the greater good…nothing could be further from the truth. The greater good does not exist. This was the first truth that I came to realize. All beings seek power. All beings seek to exercise their power. All save me. The history of this world has not been good against evil, but a series of meaningless power struggles. I am the only higher purpose…Gennai sought to stop me because he realized what I was capable of. You were his pawns, and now he has cast you aside…"
Blood ran from Izzy's knuckles and welled inside his shoes. He had not inflicted a single wound on Datamon, and he relented, staggering back. "Shut up," he said, "Your words don't mean anything…"
"You will see," said Datamon, "Now, listen well. You could be of great use to me in comprehending the psyche of your race, but if you will not come willingly, I will be forced to employ other methods." He called to Tai: "Boy! Your master is threatened!" But Tai could not aid him. Looking up, Izzy saw the reason and couldn't help but smile. Kabuterimon had seized him and was keeping him aloft with every ounce of his strength. SkullGreymon could only circle and snarl, any attack on Tentomon would destroy his partner. Kabuterimon clutched Tai to his chest, clasping him with all four arms. As for Tai, he was staring up at Kabuterimon as though trying to place some image in his mind.
"Your clone's life is in my hands," said Izzy, "I doubt he could survive one Super Shocker."
"You cannot know what you threaten," Datamon sneered, "The boy is no clone."
Izzy's eyes narrowed. "You've lied before. He must be, there's no other explanation. He's still young, he should be older than me by now."
"The boy was my security precaution, sealed away with just such an occasion as this in mind. You see how thoroughly I have planned. Regarding his age, my machines have kept him young. Yes, I am capable of this, it is really a most pedestrian display of my abilities. But it does not matter, in the end, whether he is a copy or the original. If he dies, SkullGreymon eliminates your Digimon before expiring himself. Then, I eliminate you. You could attempt flight, but my loyalists are at hand to apprehend you. Even if you were to succeed, this city is surrounded by my dark network. There is another option: you could fight, and fall, as you did before. Time and experience have not convinced you of the futility of this course of action. But I do not expect to reason with you, humans are not convinced by such elementary tactics…let me see, what does your kind appreciate? Ah, I know. Drama. Perhaps a demonstration is called for."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Datamon glided to one side, extended a hand in a manner of introduction. "Observe, he said." His two clones stood nearby, faces blank, arms stiff at their sides. His loyalists had freed them, but given them no further orders. "Both of you," Datamon called out to them, "What is the condition of your counterparts?"
"Badly malnourished," said the Sora-clone. Her voice was not as mechanical as Joe would have expected, but there was no emotion in it.
"They are barely alive," said the Joe-clone, "They can no longer fight."
"Then they have completed their function," said Datamon, "As have you." He reached out a hand to them. "The surviving enemy drones have fortified that cart—" With an outstretched finger, he indicated one of the death-carts in the center of the square, one of only two that had not been overturned. "My loyalists have failed to capture it. I command you to do so at once, although you are unarmed, ignorant and entirely helpless."
Izzy looked on, his face blank.
Unhesitatingly, the clones turned and walked in the designated direction. Even the muzzles of rifles appeared over the edge of the cart, they did not slow, or even look to Datamon for guidance. As soon they neared it, five guns flared, five bursts of multicolored pixels surged through the air towards them. They marched on. The Joe-clone was struck first, one of the gunshots vanished into his chest. His entire frame flickered. An instant later, a second shot struck his head. This time, he collapsed, and pixels began to trail from his body. Three shots collided with the Sora simultaneously, and she burst apart.
Datamon said: "Witness your history. See how freely your existences were spent. This is what you were, and what has become of you. Give yourself over to me, and you may at least expect a better fate than this."
In the cart that Datamon had vacated, Demidevimon's surviving Gazimon had indeed found shelter. They had numbered thirty only an hour ago, now, eleven remained. Of those lost, as many had fled as had been killed. Rothstein had done what he could to keep his troops together, but the fact remained that there was nothing left to fight for. The surviving eleven had witnessed how easily Datamon had dealt with Demidevimon. It was unlikely that the Director would deal kindly with them, after they had imprisoned him. There was little hope that they could leave the square alive, as Datamon's loyalist Gazimon prowled the area. Only in the cart, their rifles aimed outward in all directions, did they have a fighting chance. Rothstein alone possessed a goal transcending survival. If Demidevimon was missing, and nearly all of his legitimate heirs slain, it was only natural that Rothstein should succeed him. For that to come about, two things were necessary. He would have to survive, and Datamon would have to perish.
"That monster's guard is down," Spencer said, "We ought to run while there's an opening, not stay here, gunning down children." He had survived only by staying as far away from the battle as possible. His rifle had not been fired at all that day.
"We're a match for that thing," Rothstein insisted. In fact, he had no such pretension. A more likely scenario, he reasoned, was that the Kabuterimon would do the job for him by getting rid of SkullGreymon's partner.
"Don't be an idiot, there aren't enough of us, we aren't trained well enough," Spencer protested. Directed at his superior, they were suicidal words, and he realized it as soon as he had uttered them. "With all due respect, sir," he added.
Rather than erupting, Rothstein shook his head, as though astonished at his captain's naiveté. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," he lamented, "You're young. You'll learn. When I was clawing my way up through the ranks, did I ever run? 'Course not. If you want something, anything in this life, you have to fight for it. Something threatens you? Kill it dead. Someone's in your way? Kill them dead. You do whatever it takes." He finished his speech with a contented smirk. A smile had been developing on Spencer's face as he spoke, as well.
"Thank you, sir," he said, his voice unsettlingly soft, "I never thought of it that way. That makes a lot of sense. How can I ever thank you?" He would later insist that some external force had taken possession of him. He acted without thought, or even emotion.
"Huh?" said Rothstein.
Spencer raised his rifle, and fired point-blank into his commander's throat.
Sora saw the face of a Gazimon emerge from a cart. Before she could react, that face contorted in agony. "Wha—!" it shrilled. Raw data spewed from its throat, then its entire form collapsed inward and was gone. She blinked, reeled back. A voice echoed from the same cart: "What the hell d'you think you're doing!"
"Exactly what he told me to do," another voice answered. "Now. Our commander is dead. It seems to me that, under these circumstances, a full retreat is called for. Isn't that right?"
Silence followed. Sora took another step back, intending to run but unable to bring herself to it. A second later, an orange-vested Gazimon sprang out of the cart, veered to the left and dashed away, his head down. As Sora watched, four more followed suit. Then another four, moving together. None of them paid her the slightest heed. At last, one final Gazimon emerged from the cart and lowered himself shakily to the ground. Sora recognized one of Datamon's assistants, the one with the broken ear, and remembered that she had liked him in an a vague, abstracted way. He had seemed far too young to be in the service. He had been fragile, wincing at casual insults and avoiding his contemporaries. Whenever anyone displayed the slightest measure of kindness towards him, he worshiped them, following them tirelessly until they shook him off. Now, she smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.
"Hey," he said weakly. He looked to the ground. Then, galvanized, he ran forward. "Listen," he said, holding his rifle up to Sora, "You'd better have this. I only have to get away from here, but you…" Then he was gone, past her, following his comrades. She turned to look after him. Across the square, Gazimon were fighting Gazimon, clawing, firing, bludgeoning each other with the barrels and stocks of their guns. As many wore the same uniform, it was impossible to tell faction from faction. The former lab assistant was nowhere to be seen.
"I have only so much time," Datamon said, "Make your decision. I will allow you…twenty seconds.
"Nineteen seconds…
"Eighteen seconds…
"Seventeen seconds…
"Kabuterimon," Izzy shouted, "Drop the clone!"
Datamon's expression flickered in surprise, but he continued to watch, taking no action. Thirty-three feet above the ground, Kabuterimon released Tai, bellowing 'Electro Shocker' at the same instant. A sphere of writhing static erupted from his mouth and struck SkullGreymon in the face, blinding him, and forcing him back into the façade of a building. Tai, entirely limp, began a headfirst descent. Izzy watched dispassionately, thinking it isn't really him, it isn't really him…
Then, that illusion was shattered. Seeming to come to his senses, Tai uttered a deafening scream. It was noise no creature could summon unless it feared for its life, and Izzy realized his mistake in an instant. "Kabuterimon…No! Catch him!"
"Dark shot!" SkullGreymon howled, and a missile detached itself from his back. Moving as quickly as the missile, Kabuterimon darted upward and out of its path. It struck a building with a cataclysmic explosion, collapsing two floors and sending the roof up in a shower of alabaster. Tai continued to fall, now writhing, searching in vain for something to cling to. Izzy's eyes traced his path, unwilling to look away. Then they made out an image so serendipitous he dismissed it as a mirage—a man stood calmly beneath the boy with his arms outstretched. He recognized Joe.
Izzy smiled. Even as joy began to rise within him, it was quashed. Fluidly, Datamon seized hold of his arm.
"A complicating agent has been introduced into this situation," he said, "Everything is compromised. I can no longer allow you live. Data Cr—" And another complicating agent was introduced. A rifle was fired, and a shot struck Datamon's body. The Director spasmed and fell back, his eyes revolving in their sockets. His visible brain convulsed.
Izzy whirled, and saw Sora holding the weapon. Her grip was uncertain, but that had not hindered her aim. Her expression was one of utter confidence. "You won't win," she declared, but Datamon regained his balance even as she spoke.
"Must I be forced to slaughter every last one of you?" he roared. "My experiments…no matter. My survival comes first. Kill Switch!" he roared. Steam rose from his joints. The air surrounding him seemed to liquefy. Sparks crawled across his frame like worms. Beneath him, the ground boiled, causing eddies of molten glass to form. A field of electric energy surged around him, and, with a gesture, he caused it to expand.
Tai was still struggling when Joe caught hold of him. The impact forced the air from his lungs, and forced Joe to his knees. The boy gasped, his mouth working noiselessly, then he went limp once more. His glazed eyes stared at the face of his savior. He tried to speak, but managed only an inaudible whisper.
SkullGreymon loomed over both of them, jaws gnashing, claws tearing into the ground. Finally recovering himself, Tai looked up, opened his mouth and spoke a single word: "Stop…" And, to Joe's astonishment, SkullGreymon complied. It froze, then a blinding glow surrounded it. Joe was forced to avert his eyes. When he looked back, SkullGreymon's bulk had vanished. Only Agumon stood there, lost, bewildered and alone.
A drop of blood formed on Tai's lip, fell away and trailed down his cheek. Joe fought down a surge of panic, assuring himself that it couldn't be serious. Not after all of this. "Listen," he said, "Do you know me? You're safe."
"None of this is real," Tai said. His eyes were beginning to drift shut, and the muscles of his face relaxed. Then, terror seized him. His eyes bulged and he stiffened, tearing himself away from Joe. He fell to his knees, clawing at his scalp and crying, "None of this is real, none of it, it isn't, no…they aren't dead…I haven't killed…" Then, out of breath, he continued to gasp, attempting to form the same words. Finally, one last, strangled phrase escaped his throat: "Help me!" And he passed out, falling on his side. Joe knelt. Checking Tai's pulse, he found to his immeasurable relief that it was still present. He lifted the boy, and walked to where Agumon stood.
"Joe?" the digimon asked, sleepily, as though awaking from a very long dream, "Is it really you? I don't know…"
"I'm here. Everything is going to be fine," Joe said. Gingerly, he set Tai on his back beside his partner. "Just…keep him safe," he instructed Agumon.
Dusting off his hands, he picked up the brazier, and leveled its spike in front of him. Kabuterimon descended to his right, fixing him with a questioning glance.
"You're back?" he buzzed, then: "You're back!"
"I think…I'm all back," said Joe, "And I'll stay." He began to walk, then, seeing the situation clearly, he broke into a run. Sora and Izzy seemed to be fleeing a wall of heat, a distortion of the air that flickered at their heels.
"Electro Shocker!" Kabuterimon launched his attack directly at Datamon, who stood motionless, arms outstretched, eyes clenched shut in concentration. The Shocker collided with the Director's energy field. Thunder sounded, and Datamon opened his eyes, puzzlement showing in them. The field shuddered, then, destabilized, it collapsed in on itself. Datamon was engulfed in a burst of white light.
"It's over!" Joe cried. Gravely, Kabuterimon shook his head. Datamon was reeling and shedding sparks, but he still stood. Sora opened fire on him, missing twice and then striking him in the face.
"You don't understand," he spluttered, "I—can't—lose—…"
Joe charged, shouting: "Here's one thing I couldn't do when I was twelve!" With that, he drove the spike of the brazier to its hilt Datamon's right eye. The Director screamed. Smoke billowed from his mouth, his limbs twitched and he clawed at the air. Joe raised the brazier to strike again, but Sora caught him by the shoulder.
"He's finished, it's over, just…don't, please…" she appealed. She looked more horrified than pleased.
"Not while there's a chance," Joe breathed. He brought his weapon down on the transparent dome shielding Datamon's brain from the world. The glass shattered, and the helpless organ was laid bare. It managed to direct its body to utter a final word—"Maintenance…" and then Joe swept it away, taking it in his hands. The wires that had linked it to its body snapped. A final explosion wracked Datamon's infrastructure, sending up a gout of flame, and it disintegrated. If there was any life remaining in the brain, Joe wrung it out. Cerebral fluid dripped from between his fingers. At last, satisfied, he cast the lump of flesh into the dust. He turned to the others. Sora held both hands over her mouth, and Izzy was looking pointedly away. Kabuterimon de-digivolved, and, as Tentomon, covered his eyes. For Joe, the reality of what he had done began to sink in. He couldn't bring himself to feel remorse, but the elation of victory ebbed away, leaving him empty.
When he spoke, his voice was cold, and so low as to be little more than a whisper. "Come on. Let's go."
"Joe…" Sora took his hand and pressed it against her cheek, hoping to force warmth out of him, or, perhaps, into him.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be," she said, "It isn't worse than everything he's done to us. I shouldn't have said that, I don't know why I did. It's just that…we really killed him, he wasn't just beaten or vanquished or, or…"
"And I didn't even like it," Joe said, "It just felt like it was something I had to do…and maybe it was. Doesn't matter. We're all that matter, now, we've done our best for this place. No one can say we haven't done our best." He let the brazier fall, and began to walk away.