PAUSE FOR BOURGEOIS LEGALITIES
"Digimon" and all characters and situations contained within are
copyrighted trademarks of Bandai, Saban Entertainment and Upper Deck.
Permission is hereby granted by the author to reproduce this document
unless you try to make money off of it; if so, please contact me first at
Calcite_McWhalen@hotmail.com. I may be a grown-up cartoon fan but I do know
my way around Title 17.
****
The Agenda
****
"Odaiba Two to Odaiba One, subject on ground, repeat subject on ground."
"Roger, Odaiba Two. She's on visual. We'll put down in a moment; she won't get far."
The pair of helicopters circled around the landing pad at the stadium, floodlights tracking a woman out in the circular platform. She was quite panicked about her situation, if what the President could tell from her face was any indication. Odaiba One, his bodyguard helicopter, dipped in lower towards the pad, and she scurried away from the center of the landing platform, running for a set of stairs on the far side. He leaned over and took the mic at his side "Odaiba One, this is the President. There's no need for further pursuit."
"Roger that, Mr. President." The helicopter pulled up, rotors whining, and made room on the pad for the President's helicopter, which obligingly put down a moment later. Shaking off the last effects of the bump that had occurred when they landed, the President gripped the handholds on the helicopter's side and pulled himself out of it, dropping the two feet to the ground, coat tails and hair whipping out in all directions by the force of the rotors.
The President surveyed the scene before him as the second helicopter took the place of the first, his bodyguards spilling out of it. The stadium was quite the place - a closed-top floodlit beacon of green and white light in the inky black night. He smirked as he saw the endless stream of people pouring into the stadium, watching with detached interest as they surged and grated against each other. So many people for his reactors to drain off that night. and with Tachikawa whipping the people up into a frenzy they'd just be radiating their energy for his devices to consume. It was beautiful, in its own way.
Of course, he reminded himself, this would be the last show for Gardening Sincerity for some time. He resisted the urge to laugh out loud at that and, turning, entered the stadium.
****
"Just how many people are going to arrive?" Ken shouted over the din. He'd managed to make it inside without having to raise his voice, but now that they'd actually entered, he had to yell even to hear himself. It wasn't just that that was unnerving, though. That honor went to the people in the stadium itself. Ken had guessed that it would have a seating capacity of about twenty thousand, but that number was a bit short - he was positively crowded now, with the place halfway full, and more people were entering by the moment. None of this was making Ken particularly comfortable.
"This place'll be full, man, and people standing up in the rows besides!" Chardsy howled, clearly enjoying himself. "This is gonna be great!" Ken had realized when they'd arrived that Chardsy had been right way back at the start when he'd said that he'd dressed conservatively. Most of the new arrivals were wearing anything from straight leather and rings everywhere to some people who seemed to only regard clothes as partially necessary. Having never been exposed to so much bared skin Ken had to keep catching himself from staring and keep his mind on the task at hand. It was a constant battle.
The two of them were seated in what Chardsy had referred to as the 'nosebleed' section, and given the circumstances Ken was inclined to agree. He wasn't sure, but it certainly seemed like he couldn't get much higher up into the stands. It was all that he could do to see the stage -- the sound technicians running around on stage were as small as ants from his perspective. It didn't help that even all the way in the nosebleed section that they were mobbed by people of all kinds, closer and louder than Ken would have liked any of them to be. Ken shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering how in hell Chardsy could have enjoyed this sort of thing. Even at the soccer games in the digital world he kept apart from the crowds, but here was Chardsy having a blast just mingling and talking to people he'd never see again!
"I'm going to get some readings. I'll be back after a few minutes." Chardsy waved him off, too busy with the three girls around him to respond, and Ken made his way around seats and bizarre humans to walk all the way to the top of the nosebleed section, eyeing one of the crossway ladders that lead to the lighting equipment and speakers and other arcane devices. That would be the best place to get away from it all and set up for the concert -- which was still an hour from even starting. Chardsy's insistence on getting to the concert more than an hour ahead of schedule wasn't Ken's favorite idea. Glancing around, seeing nobody right away, he gripped the ladder with both hands and climbed up. The scaffolding wasn't more than fifteen feet up, and once he reached the top, he pulled out his D-3.
Glancing at the screen quickly he saw that there wasn't anybody there; it was blank. He keyed the device to call Datamon's lab, then looked around. There was still nobody up here, and down below Chardsy was having a good time relaxing while positively surrounded by people. Not all of them were girls anymore, either. Shaking his head Ken looked toward the dim light of his D-3 and waited for the connection to solidify. Eventually the screen cleared to show a very alert Stingmon on the screen, in a room that looked nothing like Datamon's pyramid. Ken's left eyebrow twitched upwards. "Stingmon?"
The insectoid nodded. "Yes. Datamon's set up camp here, where the surveillance equipment is better. Besides, we couldn't all crowd into Datamon's tiny little control center."
"Of course," Ken said dryly. "Should have guessed that. Where is Datamon, anyway?"
The little monkey sprang onto the screen, somehow managing to push Stingmon out of the screen. "Right here, Regent. We're all set up, so can you pull out the scanner that I sent you?" Ken did so. "Alright. Place it so that the clear part of the head is facing the most humans that you can get it to." He rotated the device and pointed it straight down, towards the crowd. Obligingly the little device let out a single low beep and a light flickered briefly. "That's great. That's all we need for you to do for now - I'll take care of the rest!" With that he bounded off and Stingmon replaced him in the screen.
"Anything else, Ken?" Stingmon said.
Ken took a breath, braced himself. This was a call he didn't want to make. "I need you to transfer me over to the Keeper."
Stingmon cocked his head slightly to the left, but typed in the access codes and began the process. "Let's see. it'll be three minutes before I can get a connection to the Chamber. Can I ask why?"
"Sure," Ken said. "I happen to be at a concert hall of some sort, where one of the old Chosen is performing."
"Ooh," Stingmon exhaled slowly. "Which one is it?"
"Tachikawa," Ken said. "I don't exactly remember, but I think that she's the Chosen for Sincerity."
"Okay," Stingmon said hesitently. "Um. with all due respect to her, I don't see the relevence. Why worry about her? She might have mattered back in the day, but now - now, I don't see how she's important."
He took a deep breath, summing up what he was going to say for a moment. "A long time ago," Ken answered, "once when you were very busy, I promised a dying man that if I had the opportunity to make amends with the Chosen I would take it. I wasn't planning to go out of my way looking for them - I'm not ready yet for them - but I have to try now that fate's shoved her in my face. I have to try and gain her forgiveness." Ken spread his hands out, a gesture of helplessness. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't told him that, but I did, and I have to go through with it."
It was probably the longest speech made by the Regent that was entirely about himself in the last few years, and Stingmon didn't reply for a long moment, eyes off to the side, unfocused, remembering the most difficult day in his life. After a moment of thought the insectoid came to some kind of decision and, turning, looked at Ken in the eyes. "Okay, then. That's what we'll do." A beep came from his board and he glanced down. "Your call is ready, but it's not the Keeper who's taking it. It's one of his. uh, what did he call them?"
"Acolytes," Ken supplied, feeling much relieved. "An unusual name for them." With that last exchange, the connection flickered and displayed, instead of the metallic and efficient Command Center, a stone room of some sort with a few flickering devices in the background. This screen had one of the Migotomon at the mic; Bishojo, if memory served. She was probably the only named Migotomon there was, his mind chimed. At any rate, she looked tired and irritable and generally something to keep away from at the moment.
She started first. "Regent, what do you need?" Her words were careful; her voice, tight. Ken didn't blame her; he and the Keeper weren't on the friendliest of terms, and this particular Migotomon would have picked up on the stress between the two of them.
"Where's the Keeper?" he asked. "I've got business with him." He glanced around quickly, decided that nobody was in watching vicinity. The show certainly didn't seem like it was in a hurry to kick off, and Chardsy's little block party had grown again so that most of the nosebleed section was involved.
"He's in the Chamber itself," she responded coolly, "and is having me take calls today."
"Fine," he said blandly. "Can you leave him a message? In my real world travels, I've found one of the Chosen, and I decided that he ought to know." Bishojo's eyes all but sprang from their sockets. Ken felt a certain satisfaction in watching that happen.
"Hang on for a moment, Regent," she said quickly, and leapt from the seat, flying out of the room faster than a lot of things that Ken had seen in his lifetime. He sat back and waited for a moment, glancing around at the equipment around him. only to realize that a few of the devices up here weren't lights or obvious speakers. Keeping low, he stepped quietly over to them and examined one particular device, one that seemed larger than the others; it was marked PROPERTY OF ODAIBA GROUP: KEEP OFF and, in smaller lettering OG-EDR-3-1.45. Next to it was a digital display: DRN 60% TIME: 22:00 RNG Omni. Other than those few details it was a completely nondescript box. He took another look at it, trying to decipher the cryptic markings in his head, but the Keeper coming onto the line cut off his mental train of thought.
"You found a Chosen?!" the Keeper fairly shouted into the mic. As usual when he talked to Ken the hood was down, exposing his untended mop of brunette hair. "Which one? Is she still the same? C'mon, man, give me some detail here!" His hands were wringing against each other, his body twitching left and right. Ken decided that it would be a safe deduction to call him excited.
"I haven't actually seen her yet, but I've got it on good authority that Mimi Tachikawa's here in whatever stadium I happen to be taking readings in." Ken glanced down below at the enormous crowds. "There's another thirty thousand humans here, though, so actually finding her shouldn't be all that easy."
"Don't worry about that," the Keeper snickered with something of a grin on his face, settling back in his chair. "She'll make herself very obvious."
"I don't follow," Ken said carefully. This wouldn't be a good time to get into a sparring match. "How so?"
The Keeper shook his head, still smiling a bit. "Regent, she'll be the star of the show, guaranteed."
****
"This is where I like to grab a bite to eat, if I've got a few moments," Hawkmon said enthusiastically, leading Miyako inside with one wing. "It doesn't get much better than this for avians, but I think that they've got a smaller menu for normal Digimon." Hawkmon was in heaven. He was here, Miyako was here, and they were doing stuff together for the first time in six years. Even though his memories of her from before were pretty cloudy the feeling in his gut told him that this was Miyako and everything was all right now. Everything.
"Wow," Miyako breathed out, for what seemed to be the fifth time that day. The restaurant wasn't all that impressive if one could ignore the open-air chefs and six floors and some thirty kinds of bird Digimon that constituted the restaurant. It was laced with ivy crawling up the sides, bunching wherever a booth could be found, with a small waterfall coming from the top floor and rushing to the bottom, creating an ambient roar that allowed privacy. She breathed deeply, getting a whiff of broiled fish and a few hints of fruits. Hawkmon leapt into the air and started flying straight up - towards his favorite spot, all the way up on the left side - and he got about a third of the way up by the time Miyako got out of her trance and realized he was flying off. "Hawkmon, wait!"
Her shout brought the whole place to a standstill, as everybody in the restaurant suddenly stopped what they were doing, turned, and stared at her. She felt pretty uncomfortable. On the way here she had managed to not draw too much attention but in this little place it felt like a hundred pairs of eyes were on her. Nervously she glanced down at her feet and waved to the inhabitants. "Uh. hi?" she said hesitantly.
Fortunately, Hawkmon came to her rescue; dropping at her feet, he threw back his head, started to glow, and yelled as his feathers exploded outwards and his body reshaped itself in the glow. Rising up onto his two back legs the newly shaped Aquilamon glanced around at the other Digimon in the area. They all decided that they had better things to look at and went back to their meals. Satisfied, Aquilamon turned back around to look at Miyako, who was staring at Aquilamon with a mixture of awe and something else Aquilamon couldn't quite gauge. She wasn't moving much. "Miyako? Are you all right?"
She shook herself and nodded. "Yeah," she said weakly, then tried again. "Yeah. I'm alright. What do I call you now?"
"I am Aquilamon in this form," he declared proudly, then leaned down in front of her, presenting his brown back. She slowly climbed up on him, managing to keep her shuddering down on his back, and also managed to not scream when he shot off towards the ceiling. This wasn't a huge but gentle AirDramon, flying smoothly like on an airplane; this was like riding the wind, and having the wind love what it did. She managed to barely hang on to his neck and he shortly arrived at a booth at the top floor. She gingerly got off of him, sitting down on the seat, feet on the flimsy supports for the booth; it was bolted to the wall, with about a foot of material holding it up from a five-story drop, surrounded by various vines and the top of a tree.
Glancing around, she noted that none of the other Digimon were paying her or Aquilamon much attention. "They're really worried about you, aren't they?" she asked him. Aquilamon, perched on top of the booth on the other side, glanced over at her, making eye contact; he had hooded eyes as Aquilamon, eyes that had seen much.
"I head the Protectors here in the digital world," he said, glancing back out at the crowd. "They're not entirely comfortable when I'm around."
"Protectors?" she asked, head up and still looking at Aquilamon's eyes.
"They're akin to police from your world," Aquilamon said. "Everybody wants them around, but they're nobody's friends." The waiter came by then, dropping off menus and generally being pleasant. It was hard for Miyako to not stare at a Bakemon waiter, though. Aquilamon caught her glance amusedly. "Bakemon may be virus types, but their innate teleportation abilities make them great waiters."
Miyako opened her mouth to say something back, but a ringing sound somewhere nearby cut her off. "Damn," Aquilamon grunted out. "Hang on a second." He lifted one foot-claw, reached inside one of his wings, and pulled out a tiny device. A tinny voice could be heard out of it, and the giant hawk said, "He's what?" The tinny voice again. "Very well, I'll be there in a moment." With that, Aquilamon shut his phone down and looked over at a rather confused Miyako. "Come on. I need to get to the Command Center and you're coming with me. We'll have to find you a place to stay later."
She didn't know why, but she cringed inside from that suggestion, and her mind provided a quick way out of the situation. "But. but I have to get back to my world!" Miyako blurted. "I've got people there who need my help, and I can't stay here!"
Aquilamon looked over at her. "You mean that?" he asked carefully. Miyako stopped, took a moment to think, but she couldn't get over a kind of dread or fear inside her. It was one that she hadn't even noticed until she had made it here, and that worried her. With it inside she felt like she couldn't think at all, and all she was doing by thinking was making herself feel worse.
"Well. yeah, I kinda do," she said quietly. "Like I said, people there rely on me and I have to find a way to help them."
"Alright, then," Aquilamon said, and the two of them wing it off for the center of the city. "Tell you what, though - why don't you ask for some help? You used to be a Chosen, so you'll have some sympathy going for you here."
"I don't know," Miyako mused out loud, suddenly comfortable again. "I'd feel like I was using the situation. What is this Command Center we're going to, anyway?" Sensing Miyako's more relaxed state Aquilamon felt a bit more at ease himself.
"The Command Center's where the Regent and his staff run the digital world from," Aquilamon said. "I don't quite know why we're going there myself. All I know is that the Regent's close to meeting one of the Chosen, and being a former Chosen's digimon I'm allowed to watch when this comes down." Aquilamon made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. "I can't imagine the uproar that'll come down when they realize you're here, and without a D-3 too!"
"Who's this Regent guy, anyway?" Miyako yelled back at him. "I keep hearing his name, but that's all anyone ever tells me!"
****
An Odaiba Group stasis chamber was a small, rounded piece of technology that was manufactured entirely to keep a person alive and unconscious for an extended period of time. Inside a stasis chamber a concoction of chemicals kept a person comatose, but also forced the brain to maintain the same levels of hormones inside of itself. In effect, the person cannot wake or change what they might have been feeling at the time when they were placed inside of a stasis chamber. Which, considering its rather limited use, was exactly what the doctor ordered for the Odaiba Group.
The Assistant walked over to the third one of these devices in line, passing two others that contained an unremarkable brunette and a cheerful- looking blonde kid. Stopping by her desired container, the Assistant tapped a few keys on the side of the device; it emitted a hiss and the chemicals inside of it drained into a storage tank at the rear of the device. The chambers didn't fill with liquid chemicals; rather, the chemicals were all gasses. After a moment, the chamber's contents had been replaced with normal air and the front of the chamber opened. The inhabitant fell out of the chamber, landing on the floor at the woman's feet. She glared down haughtily at him.
For Iori Hida, it was if he was climbing a staircase back to reality, but for some reason he felt angry at himself and the world. Why was it? He couldn't recall the reason, but it was there. He focused, bringing his memory to the forefront of his mind, and remembered: being captured, being set free, being three feet away from freedom before something poked him and everything went black. He remembered being angry at something, some kind of betrayal.
"Have you come around yet?" a cold voice asked from above him. Iori turned halfway - whatever chemicals they were using on him kept him weak as a puppy - and looked up at the face of his inquisitor. Very pale skin was outlined by long silver hair and her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses; she wore a rather casual dress with a large red hat. Even though Iori couldn't see her eyes, the cold steel behind her gaze burned through to him, and he had to keep from shivering. He returned the glare as best he could and slowly climbed to his feet, stumbling a bit but making it in the end.
"I'd say I have, yes," he spat out, and straightened a bit. She cocked her head to one side.
"Temper, temper, little boy," she chided him. "Why, I don't have anything against you at all!"
"Then why the stasis thingie?" Iori yelled back. She merely smirked and, lifting a hand, seemed to push the air very slightly; as she did an unseen force hit Iori lightly on his chest, and the weakened Chosen lost his balance and fell on his back.
"Calm down," she admonished him. "There's no need for shouting - remember, we're parleying, right?" Iori glanced away and didn't respond. She continued, "After all, you did come to us and told use you were going to try to slow down Miyako's little insurrection, remember? Something about trying to compromise with us." Iori still didn't look up to meet her gaze. "Well, I just wanted you to know that we owe you quite the favor. We did use your escape route to track down the base."
That got a reaction. "What?!" Iori all but shouted, suddenly glaring up at her. She kept looking down at him, a strange smile on her face.
"That turned out to be more than useful, though; Miyako came charging in here, ready to release all of you, didn't she? Too bad for her that one of my comrades caught her quickly." Iori's gaze didn't waver much but his face dropped about three shades.
"Where is she?" he said, surging back to his feet unsteadily. "I - I gotta see her!"
"You misunderstand me," the Assistant said, and waved towards the other statis chambers. "We don't have her in that sense. You see, the person who caught her decided that it would be better to kill Miyako." His face went straight to white, the realization of his role came crashing down on him. He opened his mouth to scream even as something flashed out behind him. and instead of screaming he collapsed to the floor, mouth still open, face pinched tightly. The Assistant wasted no time; she gathered him up and tossed him inside the nearest stasis chamber, which obligingly slammed shut and hissed as it engaged its chemical pumps.
Gun still held at the ready, Taichi Yagami walked out of the shadows. "Good shot," the Assistant said. "I've finished what I need to, for now. You can go." She turned and looked at the stasis chamber Iori was esconced inside. "He's ready for what the President has in mind."
****
That concert was, without a doubt, the most nerve-wracking thing that Ken Ichijouji had ever been to. The screaming was so intense that he could hardly hear himself think, but the music was worse in terms of loud; it reached out one almighty arm and crushed his poor eardrums flat. Not that the music was bad; no, it was one of the better pop-rock sounds that he'd heard, with an edge of emo placed in every now and then. He was tossed to and fro by the crowd, often only keeping near the vastly more experienced Chardsy by chance. Eventually, though, the band on stage called a break and Ken was released.
He dropped to one knee for a moment, trying to collect himself. Here in the crowd he felt as if there wasn't enough room to breathe, let alone think, but he had seen the claustrophobia enough in his life to know how to go about fighting it. "How long," he managed after a moment, shouting slightly to be heard above the somewhat more muted crowd, "will it be before Gardening Sincerity takes the stage again?"
Chardsy glanced at his watch. "Figure about. oh, half an hour or so."
Ken nodded and glanced down at his D-3, now resting inside a front pocket of his gray uniform. He'd set it there to keep it safe. "Then I guess it's time, isn't it?"
"For what?" Chardsy asked. Rather than answer Ken turned and started towards the stage door on the left side, marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Chardsy had to hurry to keep up; Ken had a determined pace to his stride. "Dude, we can't go back there!" he protested. "We gonna get tossed for sure!"
"I wouldn't worry about it," Ken said. "We'll be fine." Chardsy opened his mouth to protest, but closed it after a moment. He'd decided to give up on second-guessing Ken. For his part, Ken rolled right on over to where the door was. Ken stopped in front of it and reached for the door as if nothing was wrong, while Chardsy kept glancing around and generally being rather suspect.
The door wasn't locked. "What?!" Chardsy all but shouted. "Damn, man, they know better than to leave the door unlocked - you never know what kind of crazy bastard goes to these concerts!" Ken pulled back, letting the door slip from his fingers and close, and glanced around the immediate area.
"Come to think of it," Ken said thoughtfully, "where do you suppose the guards are?" Chardsy looked around as well, realizing what Ken was saying. There weren't any guards around.
Chardsy shook his head. "This ain't right, man."
Ken shoved the door open, beginning to get a tad worried. "Come on!"
****
The adulating crowds gathered at her feet had always been her biggest thrill. Nobody else in the world got the kind of crazed acceptance that Mimi Tachikawa could command just by bringing her voice and body to the fore. Hordes of fans, eyes and minds glazed over by her mere presence, swaying in time as she ripped out the chords to her newest single piece or an old standby. It didn't matter. She could be alone up there, no backup instruments, and she'd still command their attention as if she had created all. In fact, that was the whole point of her newest single. Singing alone, no backup from the others for about thirty seconds.
Mimi tipped her head back, taking a long pull from the water bottle, sweat streaming down her face, back, arms, legs. The stage had always been beastly hot because of the lights and the sound and the action occuring on stage. She wasn't wearing any more than she could get away with, not only because it was almost overwhelmingly sweltering, she'd also command more attention this way. It was little things like that which had allowed her to spare the most important part of her, the one thing that had been almost consumed by her singing life.
She had spared her soul.
Singing at a concert used to also involve her soul. She would throw everything into it, mind and soul, and the resulting blast of feeling from the crowds would leave her, drained but happy, barely standing after three hours. Even though she loved the sheer pulse she had begun to tire herself right out - she couldn't keep throwing her soul into every concert or it was going to kill her, especially at the rate that she'd been going, with a concert almost every day. She simply couldn't do it.
She ran a hair through her red hair, dyed that way to remember an old friend. She didn't want to simply drop her soul out of the music - it was apparent that the soul powered her music, at least to her - but she hadn't much choice in the matter, what with a band to support. Mimi had insisted that the group always be self-sufficient and they'd managed it well enough until, still largely unknown on the major records scale, they'd almost collapsed one night when Mimi was simply too tired and couldn't give it anything else. The band had stopped touring almost immediately and as such started to go through money quickly. It was then that Mimi had been approached by the Odaiba Group, or more specifically, the President. He'd explained what he could do for them; the record deal, the end of unstopping concerts, the chance to be themselves and create new stuff. The only thing that he asked was for the name recognition.
He had delivered his end of the bargain. Suddenly she hadn't had to try quite so hard. She had a few days of down between a concert instead of confronting a new concert in a new town every night. It was even getting to the point where she was less tired than the maddened crowds that she sang for. She could even take the time to have a loose semblence of a personal life, moving from intriguing guy to intriguing guy when she could. She had delivered her end of the bargain. With the international exposure at her side she'd always mentioned the Odaiba Group and how it was helping not only her but the entire world with its clean, safe energy reactors.
Lowering the bottle, she glanced around quickly for the others and replaced the cap of her drink. Funny, the others weren't tuning their instruments. Her mind was still turning that over when she noticed him in the far corner; a shadow in a business suit, one whom she was vaguely familiar with. "Hey, it's you!" she said. "What's up, Prez? I kinda have a show to run here."
He ignored that statement, drawing out of the darkness at the corner and to the lit area where the band kept their gear. "I saw you out there, Mimi."
She grinned at him. "Whatdja think?" she asked, taking another swig from the water bottle.
"I've never seen such an easily manipulated crowd in all my life," he answered wryly. "It's no wonder why you get me so much business." His hands were clasped behind his back; his expression unreadable.
"Yeah, I know," she said sweetly, dropping the bottle. "It's what I do."
"Grand," he replied. "I came to talk a little business, and it concerns how you carry yourself out there."
She spun in place once, showing off. It was wasted on the President. "So what do you want to ask me?"
He started to pace, circling her slowly at a goodly distance, hands still behind his back, focused expression on his face. "I can see that you enjoy messing with the crowd's collective mind, but why?"
"Hey, just what are you accusing me of?" Mimi shot back, trying to ignore her own inner conscience. Since she took her soul out of shows it seemed like she only became more popular but somehow it didn't feel right, like she was cheating on a test. She hadn't ever considered why it still worked, but when he put it that way. Oh yeah, he was still waiting for an answer. Turning to match his new position, she said, "I guess that it's kind of fun. They all think that I'm giving it my all, and I'm not, and they can't tell the difference."
"You're pretty good at it, aren't you?" he conceded. "Until I came up here I wasn't sure about that. You put on a hell of a show - even fooled me a bit." Was that the wisping edge of a smile on his face? Mimi couldn't tell, but she was pretty sure it was.
She turned again to match him. "Of course I do. I'm the best there is at concerts!" Truth to tell, Mimi told herself, she probably was.
This time there wasn't any hint of the smile; it came right out, showing off for the universe, with a slightly sarcastic edge. "Of course. How could I forget that?"
"I can't imagine," she responded, just as sweet as ever.
"Nor can I," he remarked wryly. "We both know that the crowds enjoy your shows. Now, do you get anything out of the concerts?"
She turned again, beginning to get irritated. "You mean besides the worldwide fame and the tons of money?" She also stomped her foot a bit; obligingly, he ceased pacing and looked at her frankly.
"This is important, Tachikawa," he said, expression dropping from his face, eyes becoming hard. "I need an answer - is this just motions for you, or does any of this even touch you anymore?" She frowned, considering despite herself. She always got a great feeling off of the crowd, but she could go anywhere for that. She didn't put her all into it anymore and she never really felt drained coming off of the stage. Her frown deepened somewhat as she realized where he was going with this - she didn't get much off of this anymore, did she? It was all just. routine, now.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I guess I don't get much out of it."
"But you do it anyway," the President prompted.
".Yeah."
"Without any real meaning behind it," he said quickly. "Without the sincere edge anymore. It's become something to do in and of itself, hasn't it?"
She hadn't felt as down as she felt right then in a long while. "I guess so."
Finally the President's face formed into an expression again; it was possibly the most predatory smile that she'd ever seen, and she became nervous just being around it. "That's precisely what I thought," the President said, and he lifted a hand, spreading his fingers out and shoving the palm in her direction. She opened her mouth to say something, to protest, but a light of deepest black flared out of his palm, and then all was pain and darkness.
****
Bishojo was a fairly calm person, all things considered. Sure, if somebody caught her eye she'd never let them go - just ask the Keeper about that - but other than that she was a sensible, even-tempered creature that managed to get along with pretty much all of the other Migotomon.
That meant that it was a pretty rare thing to see her tearing out of the Chamber Core, hair askew and eyes wild, flying rather than walking like pretty much everyone else, shooting straight past the dorms. The other Migotomon stuck their heads out the door when she went past, yelling for the Keeper at the top of her panic-stricken lungs. A few of them, more curious than the others, followed her out. She was headed for the surface tunnel, where the Keeper was known to sometimes sit.
It seemed like Bishojo always just knew where the Keeper was, and today was no different; he was working a ball over, tossing it into the air, trapping it and using the nearby wall to send it back at him when he was ready for a little bit of fast reacting. "Da - Keeper!" she yelled out, pulling up to a stop. "It's happening again!"
He didn't need to be told a second time. Ball abandoned, spinning around, he ran almost as fast as she flew. Even so, she still picked him up and kicked her flight into high gear, shooting straight for the Chamber Core, where the Sigils and the Digimentals were kept. He raised his hand and pointed it towards the closed door, and the moment that the two of them hit it it was knocked aside as if it was a piece of paper.
He jumped out of her quick embrace as fast as he could, glancing around wildly for the telltale sign. He could see the Sigils now, devices crafted out of some kind of metal into the symbols of the Chosen. Some of them were glowing faintly, one particular one was pulsing with power, and some of them weren't glowing at all; they'd been turned to stone. One particular one in the corner - shaped in the circles-within-teardrop of Sincerity - that had formerly glowed faintly was now flickering; and even as the small crowd of people looked on a swirling sort of darkness came up around it, concealing it from view.
"Bishie, what's going on out there?" the Keeper whispered sadly. "Why is all this happening?" Bishojo didn't respond, just grabbed onto him and held him for all she was worth.
****
They had passed the unconscious security guards a few seconds ago; Ken had checked them to make sure they were alive, but there were more important matters afoot for them to tarry here watching over helpless humans. Chardsy's bad feeling about this whole mess got quite a bit worse when he saw the bodies, though. He took the lead, running through the underground of the stadium, trying to reach the center of the tunnels before something happened. He wasn't sure what that something would be, not exactly, but he was 100% sure that it wouldn't be any good for his favorite singing star.
Along the way they passed more people, keeled over, along the sides of the tunnel. Ken insisted on checking on a few and found that they all appeared the same way as the security guards - passed out but without any kind of injury. Chardsy shook his head as he ran down the brightly lit hall. He was sure that they'd been drugged or something, but Ken insisted that drugs weren't to blame here. Ken believed that their energy had been completely drained, like what Chardsy's report said that the Odaiba Group had been responsible for. Chardsy didn't know what to make of that, but kept running anyway. He turned a bend, ran down another straight corridor -
And stopped dead at the sight laid out in front of him.
His favorite singer Mimi was about two feet up in the air, held aloft by some kind of energy beam that a large man wearing a suit and tie was shooting at her with his bare hand. Her mouth was open but no sound was coming out; the beam itself was jet black and was darkening the room with its ebony brilliance. Chardsy found himself paralyzed, unable to do anything, but Ken jumped right past him, taking in the scene without even a second glance. Chardsy hadn't gotten more than a quick look at Ken but it seemed that he was suddenly a different person; determined with eyes of cold steel.
Even with Ken's speed, though, whatever it was that the mystery person was doing to Mimi was too far along to be disrupted.
Ken hadn't made it six steps before something small and glittery spat itself out of Mimi's body. The beam latched onto the little thing, allowing Mimi's body to drop unceremoniously to the ground. To Chardsy, it seemed to take a while for her body to hit the floor, but when it did, he was galvanized into action; he charged across the area and grabbed onto her shoulders, checking her. She was alive and even a bit responsive; she shivered ever so slightly. He glanced back up at the strange, dangerous man to find that his beam had neatly caught the little silver thing, pulling it into his hands; even as Chardsy watched, the man picked up the little device in his left hand. The man then brought his left hand to his mouth and swallowed the little thing.
Ken stopped his wild rush forwards and stood there, out in the light with the mystery man. The man smacked his lips once, then pronounced, "Delicious."
Ken didn't seem to share his opinion. "Who are you?" the indigo-haired man demanded.
The man hadn't bothered to send more than a casual look their way, but when Ken spoke he turned his gaze upon Ken. After a short moment of intense staring a light went on in the man's head. "Of course. I should have seen it sooner. Welcome back to the real world, little Emperor. I should have known that you'd go through the gate yourself rather than send a spy."
Ken shook his head. "I'm no Emperor anymore. Who are you?"
"Me?" The President leaned his head slightly back, contemplating his answer. "Oh. for now, I'm the President of the Odaiba Group."
Ken's lip rose up slightly into a sneer. "Charmed. What did you do to that Chosen?"
"Her?" The President indicated the now-motionless Mimi that Chardsy was crouched over. "I took her Sigil for my own, Emperor. I should think that would be obvious."
"Okay. We'll try another question. Why did you do that to her?"
The President raised a single eyebrow. "That's confidential information, Emperor. I can't go telling my reasoning to everyone who walks down the street, can I? I'm sure that you understand about hidden agendas."
Chardsy didn't know what to make of any of this, but it seemed like Ken had heard enough. He raised his right hand, then brought it down; as he did, a black band of flaring energy appeared in his hand, shaping itself into a rough parody of a fencing sabre. "You're attacking Chosen. I promised an old comrade that I'd do what I can to make amends with them, and I can't do that if you kill them all." Ken lifted his sabre into a ready position and slowly advanced.
"That's unfortunate." The President raised his own right arm, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he did so; the whole of his arm suddenly glowed a deep, rich ebony. Ken stopped and looked on as the right arm of the President expanded, forming itself into a giant, grotesquely ridged claw that seemed to ooze dark power and malice. Raising his newly clawed arm the President squared off against his new opponent, a hint of menace on the edge of his confident smile.
TO BE CONTINUED
****
The Agenda
****
"Odaiba Two to Odaiba One, subject on ground, repeat subject on ground."
"Roger, Odaiba Two. She's on visual. We'll put down in a moment; she won't get far."
The pair of helicopters circled around the landing pad at the stadium, floodlights tracking a woman out in the circular platform. She was quite panicked about her situation, if what the President could tell from her face was any indication. Odaiba One, his bodyguard helicopter, dipped in lower towards the pad, and she scurried away from the center of the landing platform, running for a set of stairs on the far side. He leaned over and took the mic at his side "Odaiba One, this is the President. There's no need for further pursuit."
"Roger that, Mr. President." The helicopter pulled up, rotors whining, and made room on the pad for the President's helicopter, which obligingly put down a moment later. Shaking off the last effects of the bump that had occurred when they landed, the President gripped the handholds on the helicopter's side and pulled himself out of it, dropping the two feet to the ground, coat tails and hair whipping out in all directions by the force of the rotors.
The President surveyed the scene before him as the second helicopter took the place of the first, his bodyguards spilling out of it. The stadium was quite the place - a closed-top floodlit beacon of green and white light in the inky black night. He smirked as he saw the endless stream of people pouring into the stadium, watching with detached interest as they surged and grated against each other. So many people for his reactors to drain off that night. and with Tachikawa whipping the people up into a frenzy they'd just be radiating their energy for his devices to consume. It was beautiful, in its own way.
Of course, he reminded himself, this would be the last show for Gardening Sincerity for some time. He resisted the urge to laugh out loud at that and, turning, entered the stadium.
****
"Just how many people are going to arrive?" Ken shouted over the din. He'd managed to make it inside without having to raise his voice, but now that they'd actually entered, he had to yell even to hear himself. It wasn't just that that was unnerving, though. That honor went to the people in the stadium itself. Ken had guessed that it would have a seating capacity of about twenty thousand, but that number was a bit short - he was positively crowded now, with the place halfway full, and more people were entering by the moment. None of this was making Ken particularly comfortable.
"This place'll be full, man, and people standing up in the rows besides!" Chardsy howled, clearly enjoying himself. "This is gonna be great!" Ken had realized when they'd arrived that Chardsy had been right way back at the start when he'd said that he'd dressed conservatively. Most of the new arrivals were wearing anything from straight leather and rings everywhere to some people who seemed to only regard clothes as partially necessary. Having never been exposed to so much bared skin Ken had to keep catching himself from staring and keep his mind on the task at hand. It was a constant battle.
The two of them were seated in what Chardsy had referred to as the 'nosebleed' section, and given the circumstances Ken was inclined to agree. He wasn't sure, but it certainly seemed like he couldn't get much higher up into the stands. It was all that he could do to see the stage -- the sound technicians running around on stage were as small as ants from his perspective. It didn't help that even all the way in the nosebleed section that they were mobbed by people of all kinds, closer and louder than Ken would have liked any of them to be. Ken shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering how in hell Chardsy could have enjoyed this sort of thing. Even at the soccer games in the digital world he kept apart from the crowds, but here was Chardsy having a blast just mingling and talking to people he'd never see again!
"I'm going to get some readings. I'll be back after a few minutes." Chardsy waved him off, too busy with the three girls around him to respond, and Ken made his way around seats and bizarre humans to walk all the way to the top of the nosebleed section, eyeing one of the crossway ladders that lead to the lighting equipment and speakers and other arcane devices. That would be the best place to get away from it all and set up for the concert -- which was still an hour from even starting. Chardsy's insistence on getting to the concert more than an hour ahead of schedule wasn't Ken's favorite idea. Glancing around, seeing nobody right away, he gripped the ladder with both hands and climbed up. The scaffolding wasn't more than fifteen feet up, and once he reached the top, he pulled out his D-3.
Glancing at the screen quickly he saw that there wasn't anybody there; it was blank. He keyed the device to call Datamon's lab, then looked around. There was still nobody up here, and down below Chardsy was having a good time relaxing while positively surrounded by people. Not all of them were girls anymore, either. Shaking his head Ken looked toward the dim light of his D-3 and waited for the connection to solidify. Eventually the screen cleared to show a very alert Stingmon on the screen, in a room that looked nothing like Datamon's pyramid. Ken's left eyebrow twitched upwards. "Stingmon?"
The insectoid nodded. "Yes. Datamon's set up camp here, where the surveillance equipment is better. Besides, we couldn't all crowd into Datamon's tiny little control center."
"Of course," Ken said dryly. "Should have guessed that. Where is Datamon, anyway?"
The little monkey sprang onto the screen, somehow managing to push Stingmon out of the screen. "Right here, Regent. We're all set up, so can you pull out the scanner that I sent you?" Ken did so. "Alright. Place it so that the clear part of the head is facing the most humans that you can get it to." He rotated the device and pointed it straight down, towards the crowd. Obligingly the little device let out a single low beep and a light flickered briefly. "That's great. That's all we need for you to do for now - I'll take care of the rest!" With that he bounded off and Stingmon replaced him in the screen.
"Anything else, Ken?" Stingmon said.
Ken took a breath, braced himself. This was a call he didn't want to make. "I need you to transfer me over to the Keeper."
Stingmon cocked his head slightly to the left, but typed in the access codes and began the process. "Let's see. it'll be three minutes before I can get a connection to the Chamber. Can I ask why?"
"Sure," Ken said. "I happen to be at a concert hall of some sort, where one of the old Chosen is performing."
"Ooh," Stingmon exhaled slowly. "Which one is it?"
"Tachikawa," Ken said. "I don't exactly remember, but I think that she's the Chosen for Sincerity."
"Okay," Stingmon said hesitently. "Um. with all due respect to her, I don't see the relevence. Why worry about her? She might have mattered back in the day, but now - now, I don't see how she's important."
He took a deep breath, summing up what he was going to say for a moment. "A long time ago," Ken answered, "once when you were very busy, I promised a dying man that if I had the opportunity to make amends with the Chosen I would take it. I wasn't planning to go out of my way looking for them - I'm not ready yet for them - but I have to try now that fate's shoved her in my face. I have to try and gain her forgiveness." Ken spread his hands out, a gesture of helplessness. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't told him that, but I did, and I have to go through with it."
It was probably the longest speech made by the Regent that was entirely about himself in the last few years, and Stingmon didn't reply for a long moment, eyes off to the side, unfocused, remembering the most difficult day in his life. After a moment of thought the insectoid came to some kind of decision and, turning, looked at Ken in the eyes. "Okay, then. That's what we'll do." A beep came from his board and he glanced down. "Your call is ready, but it's not the Keeper who's taking it. It's one of his. uh, what did he call them?"
"Acolytes," Ken supplied, feeling much relieved. "An unusual name for them." With that last exchange, the connection flickered and displayed, instead of the metallic and efficient Command Center, a stone room of some sort with a few flickering devices in the background. This screen had one of the Migotomon at the mic; Bishojo, if memory served. She was probably the only named Migotomon there was, his mind chimed. At any rate, she looked tired and irritable and generally something to keep away from at the moment.
She started first. "Regent, what do you need?" Her words were careful; her voice, tight. Ken didn't blame her; he and the Keeper weren't on the friendliest of terms, and this particular Migotomon would have picked up on the stress between the two of them.
"Where's the Keeper?" he asked. "I've got business with him." He glanced around quickly, decided that nobody was in watching vicinity. The show certainly didn't seem like it was in a hurry to kick off, and Chardsy's little block party had grown again so that most of the nosebleed section was involved.
"He's in the Chamber itself," she responded coolly, "and is having me take calls today."
"Fine," he said blandly. "Can you leave him a message? In my real world travels, I've found one of the Chosen, and I decided that he ought to know." Bishojo's eyes all but sprang from their sockets. Ken felt a certain satisfaction in watching that happen.
"Hang on for a moment, Regent," she said quickly, and leapt from the seat, flying out of the room faster than a lot of things that Ken had seen in his lifetime. He sat back and waited for a moment, glancing around at the equipment around him. only to realize that a few of the devices up here weren't lights or obvious speakers. Keeping low, he stepped quietly over to them and examined one particular device, one that seemed larger than the others; it was marked PROPERTY OF ODAIBA GROUP: KEEP OFF and, in smaller lettering OG-EDR-3-1.45. Next to it was a digital display: DRN 60% TIME: 22:00 RNG Omni. Other than those few details it was a completely nondescript box. He took another look at it, trying to decipher the cryptic markings in his head, but the Keeper coming onto the line cut off his mental train of thought.
"You found a Chosen?!" the Keeper fairly shouted into the mic. As usual when he talked to Ken the hood was down, exposing his untended mop of brunette hair. "Which one? Is she still the same? C'mon, man, give me some detail here!" His hands were wringing against each other, his body twitching left and right. Ken decided that it would be a safe deduction to call him excited.
"I haven't actually seen her yet, but I've got it on good authority that Mimi Tachikawa's here in whatever stadium I happen to be taking readings in." Ken glanced down below at the enormous crowds. "There's another thirty thousand humans here, though, so actually finding her shouldn't be all that easy."
"Don't worry about that," the Keeper snickered with something of a grin on his face, settling back in his chair. "She'll make herself very obvious."
"I don't follow," Ken said carefully. This wouldn't be a good time to get into a sparring match. "How so?"
The Keeper shook his head, still smiling a bit. "Regent, she'll be the star of the show, guaranteed."
****
"This is where I like to grab a bite to eat, if I've got a few moments," Hawkmon said enthusiastically, leading Miyako inside with one wing. "It doesn't get much better than this for avians, but I think that they've got a smaller menu for normal Digimon." Hawkmon was in heaven. He was here, Miyako was here, and they were doing stuff together for the first time in six years. Even though his memories of her from before were pretty cloudy the feeling in his gut told him that this was Miyako and everything was all right now. Everything.
"Wow," Miyako breathed out, for what seemed to be the fifth time that day. The restaurant wasn't all that impressive if one could ignore the open-air chefs and six floors and some thirty kinds of bird Digimon that constituted the restaurant. It was laced with ivy crawling up the sides, bunching wherever a booth could be found, with a small waterfall coming from the top floor and rushing to the bottom, creating an ambient roar that allowed privacy. She breathed deeply, getting a whiff of broiled fish and a few hints of fruits. Hawkmon leapt into the air and started flying straight up - towards his favorite spot, all the way up on the left side - and he got about a third of the way up by the time Miyako got out of her trance and realized he was flying off. "Hawkmon, wait!"
Her shout brought the whole place to a standstill, as everybody in the restaurant suddenly stopped what they were doing, turned, and stared at her. She felt pretty uncomfortable. On the way here she had managed to not draw too much attention but in this little place it felt like a hundred pairs of eyes were on her. Nervously she glanced down at her feet and waved to the inhabitants. "Uh. hi?" she said hesitantly.
Fortunately, Hawkmon came to her rescue; dropping at her feet, he threw back his head, started to glow, and yelled as his feathers exploded outwards and his body reshaped itself in the glow. Rising up onto his two back legs the newly shaped Aquilamon glanced around at the other Digimon in the area. They all decided that they had better things to look at and went back to their meals. Satisfied, Aquilamon turned back around to look at Miyako, who was staring at Aquilamon with a mixture of awe and something else Aquilamon couldn't quite gauge. She wasn't moving much. "Miyako? Are you all right?"
She shook herself and nodded. "Yeah," she said weakly, then tried again. "Yeah. I'm alright. What do I call you now?"
"I am Aquilamon in this form," he declared proudly, then leaned down in front of her, presenting his brown back. She slowly climbed up on him, managing to keep her shuddering down on his back, and also managed to not scream when he shot off towards the ceiling. This wasn't a huge but gentle AirDramon, flying smoothly like on an airplane; this was like riding the wind, and having the wind love what it did. She managed to barely hang on to his neck and he shortly arrived at a booth at the top floor. She gingerly got off of him, sitting down on the seat, feet on the flimsy supports for the booth; it was bolted to the wall, with about a foot of material holding it up from a five-story drop, surrounded by various vines and the top of a tree.
Glancing around, she noted that none of the other Digimon were paying her or Aquilamon much attention. "They're really worried about you, aren't they?" she asked him. Aquilamon, perched on top of the booth on the other side, glanced over at her, making eye contact; he had hooded eyes as Aquilamon, eyes that had seen much.
"I head the Protectors here in the digital world," he said, glancing back out at the crowd. "They're not entirely comfortable when I'm around."
"Protectors?" she asked, head up and still looking at Aquilamon's eyes.
"They're akin to police from your world," Aquilamon said. "Everybody wants them around, but they're nobody's friends." The waiter came by then, dropping off menus and generally being pleasant. It was hard for Miyako to not stare at a Bakemon waiter, though. Aquilamon caught her glance amusedly. "Bakemon may be virus types, but their innate teleportation abilities make them great waiters."
Miyako opened her mouth to say something back, but a ringing sound somewhere nearby cut her off. "Damn," Aquilamon grunted out. "Hang on a second." He lifted one foot-claw, reached inside one of his wings, and pulled out a tiny device. A tinny voice could be heard out of it, and the giant hawk said, "He's what?" The tinny voice again. "Very well, I'll be there in a moment." With that, Aquilamon shut his phone down and looked over at a rather confused Miyako. "Come on. I need to get to the Command Center and you're coming with me. We'll have to find you a place to stay later."
She didn't know why, but she cringed inside from that suggestion, and her mind provided a quick way out of the situation. "But. but I have to get back to my world!" Miyako blurted. "I've got people there who need my help, and I can't stay here!"
Aquilamon looked over at her. "You mean that?" he asked carefully. Miyako stopped, took a moment to think, but she couldn't get over a kind of dread or fear inside her. It was one that she hadn't even noticed until she had made it here, and that worried her. With it inside she felt like she couldn't think at all, and all she was doing by thinking was making herself feel worse.
"Well. yeah, I kinda do," she said quietly. "Like I said, people there rely on me and I have to find a way to help them."
"Alright, then," Aquilamon said, and the two of them wing it off for the center of the city. "Tell you what, though - why don't you ask for some help? You used to be a Chosen, so you'll have some sympathy going for you here."
"I don't know," Miyako mused out loud, suddenly comfortable again. "I'd feel like I was using the situation. What is this Command Center we're going to, anyway?" Sensing Miyako's more relaxed state Aquilamon felt a bit more at ease himself.
"The Command Center's where the Regent and his staff run the digital world from," Aquilamon said. "I don't quite know why we're going there myself. All I know is that the Regent's close to meeting one of the Chosen, and being a former Chosen's digimon I'm allowed to watch when this comes down." Aquilamon made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. "I can't imagine the uproar that'll come down when they realize you're here, and without a D-3 too!"
"Who's this Regent guy, anyway?" Miyako yelled back at him. "I keep hearing his name, but that's all anyone ever tells me!"
****
An Odaiba Group stasis chamber was a small, rounded piece of technology that was manufactured entirely to keep a person alive and unconscious for an extended period of time. Inside a stasis chamber a concoction of chemicals kept a person comatose, but also forced the brain to maintain the same levels of hormones inside of itself. In effect, the person cannot wake or change what they might have been feeling at the time when they were placed inside of a stasis chamber. Which, considering its rather limited use, was exactly what the doctor ordered for the Odaiba Group.
The Assistant walked over to the third one of these devices in line, passing two others that contained an unremarkable brunette and a cheerful- looking blonde kid. Stopping by her desired container, the Assistant tapped a few keys on the side of the device; it emitted a hiss and the chemicals inside of it drained into a storage tank at the rear of the device. The chambers didn't fill with liquid chemicals; rather, the chemicals were all gasses. After a moment, the chamber's contents had been replaced with normal air and the front of the chamber opened. The inhabitant fell out of the chamber, landing on the floor at the woman's feet. She glared down haughtily at him.
For Iori Hida, it was if he was climbing a staircase back to reality, but for some reason he felt angry at himself and the world. Why was it? He couldn't recall the reason, but it was there. He focused, bringing his memory to the forefront of his mind, and remembered: being captured, being set free, being three feet away from freedom before something poked him and everything went black. He remembered being angry at something, some kind of betrayal.
"Have you come around yet?" a cold voice asked from above him. Iori turned halfway - whatever chemicals they were using on him kept him weak as a puppy - and looked up at the face of his inquisitor. Very pale skin was outlined by long silver hair and her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses; she wore a rather casual dress with a large red hat. Even though Iori couldn't see her eyes, the cold steel behind her gaze burned through to him, and he had to keep from shivering. He returned the glare as best he could and slowly climbed to his feet, stumbling a bit but making it in the end.
"I'd say I have, yes," he spat out, and straightened a bit. She cocked her head to one side.
"Temper, temper, little boy," she chided him. "Why, I don't have anything against you at all!"
"Then why the stasis thingie?" Iori yelled back. She merely smirked and, lifting a hand, seemed to push the air very slightly; as she did an unseen force hit Iori lightly on his chest, and the weakened Chosen lost his balance and fell on his back.
"Calm down," she admonished him. "There's no need for shouting - remember, we're parleying, right?" Iori glanced away and didn't respond. She continued, "After all, you did come to us and told use you were going to try to slow down Miyako's little insurrection, remember? Something about trying to compromise with us." Iori still didn't look up to meet her gaze. "Well, I just wanted you to know that we owe you quite the favor. We did use your escape route to track down the base."
That got a reaction. "What?!" Iori all but shouted, suddenly glaring up at her. She kept looking down at him, a strange smile on her face.
"That turned out to be more than useful, though; Miyako came charging in here, ready to release all of you, didn't she? Too bad for her that one of my comrades caught her quickly." Iori's gaze didn't waver much but his face dropped about three shades.
"Where is she?" he said, surging back to his feet unsteadily. "I - I gotta see her!"
"You misunderstand me," the Assistant said, and waved towards the other statis chambers. "We don't have her in that sense. You see, the person who caught her decided that it would be better to kill Miyako." His face went straight to white, the realization of his role came crashing down on him. He opened his mouth to scream even as something flashed out behind him. and instead of screaming he collapsed to the floor, mouth still open, face pinched tightly. The Assistant wasted no time; she gathered him up and tossed him inside the nearest stasis chamber, which obligingly slammed shut and hissed as it engaged its chemical pumps.
Gun still held at the ready, Taichi Yagami walked out of the shadows. "Good shot," the Assistant said. "I've finished what I need to, for now. You can go." She turned and looked at the stasis chamber Iori was esconced inside. "He's ready for what the President has in mind."
****
That concert was, without a doubt, the most nerve-wracking thing that Ken Ichijouji had ever been to. The screaming was so intense that he could hardly hear himself think, but the music was worse in terms of loud; it reached out one almighty arm and crushed his poor eardrums flat. Not that the music was bad; no, it was one of the better pop-rock sounds that he'd heard, with an edge of emo placed in every now and then. He was tossed to and fro by the crowd, often only keeping near the vastly more experienced Chardsy by chance. Eventually, though, the band on stage called a break and Ken was released.
He dropped to one knee for a moment, trying to collect himself. Here in the crowd he felt as if there wasn't enough room to breathe, let alone think, but he had seen the claustrophobia enough in his life to know how to go about fighting it. "How long," he managed after a moment, shouting slightly to be heard above the somewhat more muted crowd, "will it be before Gardening Sincerity takes the stage again?"
Chardsy glanced at his watch. "Figure about. oh, half an hour or so."
Ken nodded and glanced down at his D-3, now resting inside a front pocket of his gray uniform. He'd set it there to keep it safe. "Then I guess it's time, isn't it?"
"For what?" Chardsy asked. Rather than answer Ken turned and started towards the stage door on the left side, marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Chardsy had to hurry to keep up; Ken had a determined pace to his stride. "Dude, we can't go back there!" he protested. "We gonna get tossed for sure!"
"I wouldn't worry about it," Ken said. "We'll be fine." Chardsy opened his mouth to protest, but closed it after a moment. He'd decided to give up on second-guessing Ken. For his part, Ken rolled right on over to where the door was. Ken stopped in front of it and reached for the door as if nothing was wrong, while Chardsy kept glancing around and generally being rather suspect.
The door wasn't locked. "What?!" Chardsy all but shouted. "Damn, man, they know better than to leave the door unlocked - you never know what kind of crazy bastard goes to these concerts!" Ken pulled back, letting the door slip from his fingers and close, and glanced around the immediate area.
"Come to think of it," Ken said thoughtfully, "where do you suppose the guards are?" Chardsy looked around as well, realizing what Ken was saying. There weren't any guards around.
Chardsy shook his head. "This ain't right, man."
Ken shoved the door open, beginning to get a tad worried. "Come on!"
****
The adulating crowds gathered at her feet had always been her biggest thrill. Nobody else in the world got the kind of crazed acceptance that Mimi Tachikawa could command just by bringing her voice and body to the fore. Hordes of fans, eyes and minds glazed over by her mere presence, swaying in time as she ripped out the chords to her newest single piece or an old standby. It didn't matter. She could be alone up there, no backup instruments, and she'd still command their attention as if she had created all. In fact, that was the whole point of her newest single. Singing alone, no backup from the others for about thirty seconds.
Mimi tipped her head back, taking a long pull from the water bottle, sweat streaming down her face, back, arms, legs. The stage had always been beastly hot because of the lights and the sound and the action occuring on stage. She wasn't wearing any more than she could get away with, not only because it was almost overwhelmingly sweltering, she'd also command more attention this way. It was little things like that which had allowed her to spare the most important part of her, the one thing that had been almost consumed by her singing life.
She had spared her soul.
Singing at a concert used to also involve her soul. She would throw everything into it, mind and soul, and the resulting blast of feeling from the crowds would leave her, drained but happy, barely standing after three hours. Even though she loved the sheer pulse she had begun to tire herself right out - she couldn't keep throwing her soul into every concert or it was going to kill her, especially at the rate that she'd been going, with a concert almost every day. She simply couldn't do it.
She ran a hair through her red hair, dyed that way to remember an old friend. She didn't want to simply drop her soul out of the music - it was apparent that the soul powered her music, at least to her - but she hadn't much choice in the matter, what with a band to support. Mimi had insisted that the group always be self-sufficient and they'd managed it well enough until, still largely unknown on the major records scale, they'd almost collapsed one night when Mimi was simply too tired and couldn't give it anything else. The band had stopped touring almost immediately and as such started to go through money quickly. It was then that Mimi had been approached by the Odaiba Group, or more specifically, the President. He'd explained what he could do for them; the record deal, the end of unstopping concerts, the chance to be themselves and create new stuff. The only thing that he asked was for the name recognition.
He had delivered his end of the bargain. Suddenly she hadn't had to try quite so hard. She had a few days of down between a concert instead of confronting a new concert in a new town every night. It was even getting to the point where she was less tired than the maddened crowds that she sang for. She could even take the time to have a loose semblence of a personal life, moving from intriguing guy to intriguing guy when she could. She had delivered her end of the bargain. With the international exposure at her side she'd always mentioned the Odaiba Group and how it was helping not only her but the entire world with its clean, safe energy reactors.
Lowering the bottle, she glanced around quickly for the others and replaced the cap of her drink. Funny, the others weren't tuning their instruments. Her mind was still turning that over when she noticed him in the far corner; a shadow in a business suit, one whom she was vaguely familiar with. "Hey, it's you!" she said. "What's up, Prez? I kinda have a show to run here."
He ignored that statement, drawing out of the darkness at the corner and to the lit area where the band kept their gear. "I saw you out there, Mimi."
She grinned at him. "Whatdja think?" she asked, taking another swig from the water bottle.
"I've never seen such an easily manipulated crowd in all my life," he answered wryly. "It's no wonder why you get me so much business." His hands were clasped behind his back; his expression unreadable.
"Yeah, I know," she said sweetly, dropping the bottle. "It's what I do."
"Grand," he replied. "I came to talk a little business, and it concerns how you carry yourself out there."
She spun in place once, showing off. It was wasted on the President. "So what do you want to ask me?"
He started to pace, circling her slowly at a goodly distance, hands still behind his back, focused expression on his face. "I can see that you enjoy messing with the crowd's collective mind, but why?"
"Hey, just what are you accusing me of?" Mimi shot back, trying to ignore her own inner conscience. Since she took her soul out of shows it seemed like she only became more popular but somehow it didn't feel right, like she was cheating on a test. She hadn't ever considered why it still worked, but when he put it that way. Oh yeah, he was still waiting for an answer. Turning to match his new position, she said, "I guess that it's kind of fun. They all think that I'm giving it my all, and I'm not, and they can't tell the difference."
"You're pretty good at it, aren't you?" he conceded. "Until I came up here I wasn't sure about that. You put on a hell of a show - even fooled me a bit." Was that the wisping edge of a smile on his face? Mimi couldn't tell, but she was pretty sure it was.
She turned again to match him. "Of course I do. I'm the best there is at concerts!" Truth to tell, Mimi told herself, she probably was.
This time there wasn't any hint of the smile; it came right out, showing off for the universe, with a slightly sarcastic edge. "Of course. How could I forget that?"
"I can't imagine," she responded, just as sweet as ever.
"Nor can I," he remarked wryly. "We both know that the crowds enjoy your shows. Now, do you get anything out of the concerts?"
She turned again, beginning to get irritated. "You mean besides the worldwide fame and the tons of money?" She also stomped her foot a bit; obligingly, he ceased pacing and looked at her frankly.
"This is important, Tachikawa," he said, expression dropping from his face, eyes becoming hard. "I need an answer - is this just motions for you, or does any of this even touch you anymore?" She frowned, considering despite herself. She always got a great feeling off of the crowd, but she could go anywhere for that. She didn't put her all into it anymore and she never really felt drained coming off of the stage. Her frown deepened somewhat as she realized where he was going with this - she didn't get much off of this anymore, did she? It was all just. routine, now.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I guess I don't get much out of it."
"But you do it anyway," the President prompted.
".Yeah."
"Without any real meaning behind it," he said quickly. "Without the sincere edge anymore. It's become something to do in and of itself, hasn't it?"
She hadn't felt as down as she felt right then in a long while. "I guess so."
Finally the President's face formed into an expression again; it was possibly the most predatory smile that she'd ever seen, and she became nervous just being around it. "That's precisely what I thought," the President said, and he lifted a hand, spreading his fingers out and shoving the palm in her direction. She opened her mouth to say something, to protest, but a light of deepest black flared out of his palm, and then all was pain and darkness.
****
Bishojo was a fairly calm person, all things considered. Sure, if somebody caught her eye she'd never let them go - just ask the Keeper about that - but other than that she was a sensible, even-tempered creature that managed to get along with pretty much all of the other Migotomon.
That meant that it was a pretty rare thing to see her tearing out of the Chamber Core, hair askew and eyes wild, flying rather than walking like pretty much everyone else, shooting straight past the dorms. The other Migotomon stuck their heads out the door when she went past, yelling for the Keeper at the top of her panic-stricken lungs. A few of them, more curious than the others, followed her out. She was headed for the surface tunnel, where the Keeper was known to sometimes sit.
It seemed like Bishojo always just knew where the Keeper was, and today was no different; he was working a ball over, tossing it into the air, trapping it and using the nearby wall to send it back at him when he was ready for a little bit of fast reacting. "Da - Keeper!" she yelled out, pulling up to a stop. "It's happening again!"
He didn't need to be told a second time. Ball abandoned, spinning around, he ran almost as fast as she flew. Even so, she still picked him up and kicked her flight into high gear, shooting straight for the Chamber Core, where the Sigils and the Digimentals were kept. He raised his hand and pointed it towards the closed door, and the moment that the two of them hit it it was knocked aside as if it was a piece of paper.
He jumped out of her quick embrace as fast as he could, glancing around wildly for the telltale sign. He could see the Sigils now, devices crafted out of some kind of metal into the symbols of the Chosen. Some of them were glowing faintly, one particular one was pulsing with power, and some of them weren't glowing at all; they'd been turned to stone. One particular one in the corner - shaped in the circles-within-teardrop of Sincerity - that had formerly glowed faintly was now flickering; and even as the small crowd of people looked on a swirling sort of darkness came up around it, concealing it from view.
"Bishie, what's going on out there?" the Keeper whispered sadly. "Why is all this happening?" Bishojo didn't respond, just grabbed onto him and held him for all she was worth.
****
They had passed the unconscious security guards a few seconds ago; Ken had checked them to make sure they were alive, but there were more important matters afoot for them to tarry here watching over helpless humans. Chardsy's bad feeling about this whole mess got quite a bit worse when he saw the bodies, though. He took the lead, running through the underground of the stadium, trying to reach the center of the tunnels before something happened. He wasn't sure what that something would be, not exactly, but he was 100% sure that it wouldn't be any good for his favorite singing star.
Along the way they passed more people, keeled over, along the sides of the tunnel. Ken insisted on checking on a few and found that they all appeared the same way as the security guards - passed out but without any kind of injury. Chardsy shook his head as he ran down the brightly lit hall. He was sure that they'd been drugged or something, but Ken insisted that drugs weren't to blame here. Ken believed that their energy had been completely drained, like what Chardsy's report said that the Odaiba Group had been responsible for. Chardsy didn't know what to make of that, but kept running anyway. He turned a bend, ran down another straight corridor -
And stopped dead at the sight laid out in front of him.
His favorite singer Mimi was about two feet up in the air, held aloft by some kind of energy beam that a large man wearing a suit and tie was shooting at her with his bare hand. Her mouth was open but no sound was coming out; the beam itself was jet black and was darkening the room with its ebony brilliance. Chardsy found himself paralyzed, unable to do anything, but Ken jumped right past him, taking in the scene without even a second glance. Chardsy hadn't gotten more than a quick look at Ken but it seemed that he was suddenly a different person; determined with eyes of cold steel.
Even with Ken's speed, though, whatever it was that the mystery person was doing to Mimi was too far along to be disrupted.
Ken hadn't made it six steps before something small and glittery spat itself out of Mimi's body. The beam latched onto the little thing, allowing Mimi's body to drop unceremoniously to the ground. To Chardsy, it seemed to take a while for her body to hit the floor, but when it did, he was galvanized into action; he charged across the area and grabbed onto her shoulders, checking her. She was alive and even a bit responsive; she shivered ever so slightly. He glanced back up at the strange, dangerous man to find that his beam had neatly caught the little silver thing, pulling it into his hands; even as Chardsy watched, the man picked up the little device in his left hand. The man then brought his left hand to his mouth and swallowed the little thing.
Ken stopped his wild rush forwards and stood there, out in the light with the mystery man. The man smacked his lips once, then pronounced, "Delicious."
Ken didn't seem to share his opinion. "Who are you?" the indigo-haired man demanded.
The man hadn't bothered to send more than a casual look their way, but when Ken spoke he turned his gaze upon Ken. After a short moment of intense staring a light went on in the man's head. "Of course. I should have seen it sooner. Welcome back to the real world, little Emperor. I should have known that you'd go through the gate yourself rather than send a spy."
Ken shook his head. "I'm no Emperor anymore. Who are you?"
"Me?" The President leaned his head slightly back, contemplating his answer. "Oh. for now, I'm the President of the Odaiba Group."
Ken's lip rose up slightly into a sneer. "Charmed. What did you do to that Chosen?"
"Her?" The President indicated the now-motionless Mimi that Chardsy was crouched over. "I took her Sigil for my own, Emperor. I should think that would be obvious."
"Okay. We'll try another question. Why did you do that to her?"
The President raised a single eyebrow. "That's confidential information, Emperor. I can't go telling my reasoning to everyone who walks down the street, can I? I'm sure that you understand about hidden agendas."
Chardsy didn't know what to make of any of this, but it seemed like Ken had heard enough. He raised his right hand, then brought it down; as he did, a black band of flaring energy appeared in his hand, shaping itself into a rough parody of a fencing sabre. "You're attacking Chosen. I promised an old comrade that I'd do what I can to make amends with them, and I can't do that if you kill them all." Ken lifted his sabre into a ready position and slowly advanced.
"That's unfortunate." The President raised his own right arm, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he did so; the whole of his arm suddenly glowed a deep, rich ebony. Ken stopped and looked on as the right arm of the President expanded, forming itself into a giant, grotesquely ridged claw that seemed to ooze dark power and malice. Raising his newly clawed arm the President squared off against his new opponent, a hint of menace on the edge of his confident smile.
TO BE CONTINUED