Chapter 42: Frontline

            The only thing that had kept Signas going had been the victories. Even those, however, were tempered by defeats. Everything had happened in the sky thus far. Gallagher and Icarus were both destroyed, thus neutralizing the major assets on both sides. The Ravens had shot down a number of Bee Bladers and other Maverick assets, but Ravens were falling too, and Storm Eagle was still around. The blasted bird had relayed their coordinates to the Mavericks—Signas was positive of that. He saw the enemy group massed in the distance, near Hunter Headquarters. He hoped against hope that they would not start marching their way, but he knew better than to trust to hope at this point.

            The battle had started in the air, but it was coming to the ground. Zion and the rest of the Hunters had arrived, and Signas had been grateful for that, but now he and all his comrades were realizing that it was already far too late for them to be helped. This tiny refugee party consisted of Signas, Alia, Douglas, Caligula, Xu…those were really the only people Signas could think of who could fight. The rest were technicians who had been monitoring the battle at Seraph Castle when all this had started. They were armed, of course, but they were not used to firing their weapons and Signas had a feeling that the Mavericks would have no such handicap. There were Dragoons in the area, and Signas had called for them, but he had no idea if they'd make it in time or not. The odds were leaning towards the latter situation. The Dragoons had touched down a good ways away, and they had a long hike to get to the alcove where the Hunters were hiding. No, the Grand Commander admitted finally, they were very much alone against impossible odds. The battle would be over before it began.

            Signas looked out from the twisted mass of highway that had been ruined by a Bee Blader attack and was now serving as their shelter. He saw Maverick Hunter Headquarters, a devastated building that was now being visited by unwanted guests. Signas never thought he'd see the day, but it had come after all: Mavericks were freely entering the greatest Hunter establishment in the world. Hunter HQ had fallen to the enemy. Though his exceptional vision Signas could make out Boomer Kuwangner ushering the troops inside. That abominable bug was the one responsible for the attack on Signas and Zero in Sub-City 3, and Signas's blood boiled at the thought. Now that bastard was taking over his home, and there was nothing he could do about it!

            "Sir…?" a quiet voice asked him. It was Alia, looking up from her communications gear. She kept her wits about her, but it was clear that whatever news she was about to convey was very bad.

            "What is it, Alia?" he asked, sitting down on a slab of mortar next to her.

            "It was a transmission from Commander Zion." Alia absently brushed a lock of her short blond hair off of her perspiring face. "He reports that the Mavericks have massed their troops in a line…a frontline of sorts."

            "They're completely cut off from us," Signas finished in a dead tone.

            "Yes," Alia affirmed, almost inaudibly. "They have to break through the frontline before they can help us, and that will take some time."

            Signas stood slowly and looked back towards the headquarters. "We don't have any time left." Alia stood too and shared the sight. As they watched, the massed group of Mavericks Signas had seen earlier started marching their way. There had to be thirty of them, and Signas only had twelve on his side, and half of those weren't even soldiers. It would be a massacre, not a battle.

            There was a moment of silence before Alia turned her head and looked up at her leader. "We're not going to win this battle, are we?"

            Signas didn't have the heart to answer her. Instead he turned back to watch the advancing group. At the head was a tall, well-built Maverick wearing armor arranged in a green/brown camouflage pattern. His very appearance screamed "guerilla fighter" to Signas, and he identified the man as Gredam, the leader of the Mavericks in Sigma's absence. He now led an army that had only one objective: to kill. They were coming to butcher Signas and every Hunter under his command. And, the commander admitted internally, they would succeed.

            But as a commander he could never entirely give up hope, and if he did he still couldn't let his troops know about it. And so he looked back at Alia and said with as much force as he could muster, "We're not licked just yet." He acted as though he had some great idea, something he did not have. But if anyone would have a great idea, Signas knew who it would be. The big Reploid walked over to Caligula, the intelligence chief, who was currently fixing a wound on a fellow Hunter's leg. "How bad is it?"

            "I'll live," the Hunter answered for Caligula. "What are we gonna do now, sir?"

            "We're gonna do some thinking," Signas answered. "And then we're gonna do some killing. Caligula, can I see you for a minute?"

            The Hunter waved the spy chief off and Caligula went with his commander to watch the approaching Maverick party. "Fifteen minutes tops," Caligula said immediately, and suddenly breathlessly.

            "I didn't give us much more time than that either," Signas agreed glumly. "I'm supposed to have the most advanced CPU of any Reploid, Cal, but for the life of me I can't figure out what our best option here is."

            "You want a second opinion?" Caligula frowned and rubbed at his chin. "Well, to be honest, we can't stay here. If they corner us here, we're all dead."

            "I was thinking that," Signas agreed, again glumly. "But I don't think just marching out there to meet them head on is a good idea either."

            "No," Caligula agreed, thinking. "You've considered a trap?"

            "Somewhat. A trap or ambush of some sort seems to me like the only way we can possibly whittle away at their numbers enough that we'll have some chance at a victory when it boils down to hand-to-hand combat. But the only place that's good for a trap is…"

            "Right here," Caligula finished. "And if the trap fails, there won't be any way out of these highway remains."

            "That's the gist of it." Signas looked around him, trying to put two and two together. "We don't have any elaborate equipment with us, so any trap we have will have to be simple."

            It took approximately five seconds for a wily grin to appear on Caligula's face. "Sometimes, sir, simple is better." A minute later Caligula had explained his plan, and a minute later Signas approved of it, and for the next two minutes they explained it to the others, who were happy just to have any plan at all. It was an exercise in futility, they would all privately admit, but it allowed them one last grain of hope in this hopeless situation. They just hoped they would be ready when the time came.

            Boomer Kuwangner couldn't remember the last time he'd been inside Maverick Hunter Headquarters.

            Actually he could, and it was a fun memory because in it he was about to start flying around in Death Rogumer to help Storm Eagle blow lots of shit up. This was better, he decided, because he was entering a mostly vacant headquarters and it was all his…and woe to any Hunter he found inside.

            The thing was, Boomer Kuwangner was a dedicated sadist. It probably stemmed from getting about twenty Homing Torpedoes fired up his ass during the first rebellion. Whatever the case, he now reveled in torturing helpless victims, be they humans, Hunters, or even some unlucky Mavericks he could pluck away from the crowd. Kuwangner was the very epitome of the kind of Reploid X had pledged his life to destroying. Not so curiously, Kuwangner was also one of Sigma's favorites. Sigma saw a lot of potential in Kuwangner's brutality, and it was always nice to be noticed, Boomer thought. And oh, would he be noticed…especially after today. There had to be some unlucky soul still inside this building. He'd find them and then…ooh, it would be great. Boomer had been planning something special for the longest time. It was wicked. It was brutal. And all he needed to do it was his Boomerang Cutter and the knowledge in his head…and an operating table, for convenience. They should have those in the medical ward, unless Old Man Cain had been getting cheap. "Old Man Cain," Kuwangner mused aloud. Wouldn't that be the prime subject! But no, Kuwangner already knew how to torture humans to death. He needed a Reploid subject. Well, he could always use a prisoner. And he couldn't let Gravity know, because—

            "What are you scheming, brother?"

            Because Gravity was a sentimental idiot, Boomer thought as he turned to face his brother in crime. Because Gravity still believed in honorable fighting and killing on battlefields only. Because Gravity didn't appreciate the subtle art that was torture. Because Gravity hadn't received an enema comprised of twenty Homing Torpedoes at the hands of a blue bastard who wasn't even here to get what was coming to him!

            "I know that look," a wary Gravity Beetle stated as they marched proudly in the HQ's grand hall. "You've got something up your sleeve."

            "Don't be such a goddamned pussy all the time," Kuwangner rasped even more harshly than usual. "These people would murder us all if given half the chance. Hell, they already have murdered us once! Why should we not avenge ourselves?"

            "We are avenging ourselves!" Gravity said stonily. "We've taken their home. We will now fortify it. Storm Eagle is controlling things from the sky. Gredam is going even now to destroy Signas and the other big shots. You understand?" the big blue Maverick said, crossing his arms over his chest under his curved, blue, bladed snout. "We can avenge ourselves without strapping each Hunter down and ripping their guts out piece by piece!"

            Kuwangner had to chuckle. He just had to, because Gravity had hit the nail right on the head. "You are a very imaginative Maverick, brother. But as you said, we have work to do. Take care of yours…and leave me to mine."

            Gravity Beetle fixed his lanky older brother with another stony glare. He didn't trust him. As time went on Boomer had been growing more and more aloof. He had stopped caring about the everyday pleasures that made life…well, life. He only cared for blood and screams…and in that sense he was nothing more than a drone, Gravity often thought disapprovingly. Kuwangner was a Reploid, a MAVERICK nonetheless, and all he could think of at all times was inflicting pain. There was more to it than that. There was a purpose…a reason for fighting. There was also LIFE, a life that included simple small talk, playing cards, training, slacking off, having friends and all number of other things that sentient life forms did. Kuwangner was the perfect example of what the Hunters said Mavericks were. The Hunters published propaganda that labeled all Mavericks as bloodthirsty monsters, petty murderers, and general criminals…while the real criminals, the humans, got off free. It disgusted Gravity, and he would fight to end that image…but his brother, it seemed, fought only to perpetuate that image. At times it made Gravity sick. He had no sympathy for Hunters and he would kill them if they raised any semblance of a resistance to him. But he didn't exactly wander about killing random folks, and when he did kill someone he gave them one quick deathblow and let that be the end of it, unlike Kuwangner, who had been known to sit for hours with just one poor schmuck and dismember him. Gravity had gone as far as to appoint himself his brother's watchdog, ready to stop him from doing anything really grotesque.

            Now, though, the mission was to secure a base of power inside the Hunter HQ, and Kuwangner and Gravity both set out to do that in different wings of the building. They ordered their troops to flush out any remaining Hunters and capture them—both beetles thought that it might suit their purpose to have a hostage or two, just in case.

            "We've just about secured the base," Gravity Beetle said via communicator to Tetra. "In time we'll be ready to rejoin Frontline."

            "Good," the tanker responded from inside his armored behemoth. He had four other tanks with him, stolen from the Megacity Army HQ, and together they comprised the backbone of Frontline. "I ain't exactly a commander, y'know? I'm just a junkyard worker who happened to get lucky."

            "Take care or the Hunters will send you back to the junkyard," Gravity warned. "Boomer and I will take separate regiments. Gredam is leading most of our forces here to where we think Signas and the other runaways are hiding. After they're eliminated we can really secure this place."

            "I suggest you hurry," Tetra urged. "The Hunters are massing together in a spearhead fashion. I think they're trying to push through our little wall by focusing all their power on one point…makes sense, I guess. I've left our front troops in place as somewhat of a façade and gathered everyone else around the spot I think they're going to push through."

            "Good going. It's just what I would have done. You're a bit more than a normal junkyard worker, Tetra."

            "Well I do have military training, you know. I was the best tanker my platoon had." He harrumphed. "Till they decided I wasn't good enough for them. Racist human bastards."

            "Now's your chance to get even, Tetra. Do you have any surprises waiting for them?"

            "I'm sitting here in plain sight with two of my other tankers. The other two are kinda hidden…off to the right and left flank. When the Hunters come a-runnin', I'll have my boys come a-shootin'."

            "Nice. Let them make the first move, then?"

            "Maybe. Or we might coax 'em into it." Tetra's grin was plain in his words. "Just hurry your bug ass down here before I get blown up. 'Else all we've got is a buncha 'commanders' who are even phonier than I am."

            "Don't worry. We'll be there." Gravity broke the connection and turned to a Maverick he'd kept a close watch on these past few weeks. He was a big humanoid, and he was somewhat disfigured. His left arm was fleshless, his cold steel limb revealed. His face was badly scarred and in some cases metal could be seen there too. Both of his eyes were amazingly intact, but they always seemed bloodshot. He was a big, bald bruiser who wore armor that even Gravity Beetle, who had been called a walking suit of beetle armor, thought was extensive. He used as a weapon a large mace ball with energy spikes, attached to a sturdy metal base by adaman links, much like the Hunter Lariat's whip. "Geddon," Gravity said to his lieutenant. "You know what to do?" Geddon spoke not a word, opting to merely nod his imposing head once, very slowly. "Then I leave the base to you. Find and collect every enemy rebel you can, and have our gearheads find a way to activate the Hunter automated defenses. If they somehow infiltrate this place…they'll have to fight off their own defenses."

            Geddon could appreciate that, and began bellowing orders in a great, terrible voice that echoed throughout the stricken building. Gravity turned and headed back to the grand hall, where he planned to exit through the giant hole in the wall. It seemed like a fitting way to leave.

            Boomer Kuwangner hadn't wasted the time he'd been given. The Mavericks had thus far found no Hunter prisoners, but Kuwangner was definitely giving it his all. He needed one victim, just one…preferably a brave one, because he loved to break the brave ones. And oh, would this one break…they would shatter like glass. He had to find a victim, and then he had to hide the doomed Hunter somewhere so that Gravity wouldn't be able to see what his brother was up to. Gravity was a good lad, but a bit misguided, Boomer thought. His younger brother had the right attitude, but he was much too stiff. He needed to let it all hang out and enjoy himself. Boomer couldn't understand how Gravity could possibly enjoy life when it was tampered by all those annoyances like duty and honor. Like there even were such things! They were just delusions of the mind…necessary delusions for some, Boomer admitted, but not for him. He had surpassed the foolish notions of "right" and "wrong". What the hell was right and wrong anyway? Some HUMAN conceived notions—notions founded ENTIRELY on peer pressure—that existed for no reason other than to make people feel bad for doing things society didn't approve of.

Society! There was another joke. Society was just a group of conformists hostile towards differing opinions. There were a million examples. The Maverick Wars were started because Reploids thought they should have rights…but SOCIETY disapproved. Society thought—and still thought, and had ALWAYS thought—that slavery was a good thing. Boomer loved the reactions he got when he spoke that aloud. America was the funniest example. America was a nation born on black backs, and until the Civil War they spurned the idea of freedom…a notion that they based each and every founding principle on! And even after the war, EVERYONE wanted slavery back. Everyone, of course, except the former slaves, and even THEY wanted someone to beat down, to control, to manipulate, just so they could get some semblance of vengeance against the cruel past fate had given them. Unable to use Africans, America next turned to third world nations, enslaving Mexicans, Bangladeshis, Chinese, Indians, and endless other people, most all of them women and children. These slaves were forced to produce foolish clothing and frivolities that only Americans could possibly desire. Americans wore only shirts that had a particular brand name on them. Americans wore only shoes that famous people on television did. Americans bought cars that guzzled as much gas as possible. And America got it all from big companies…Boomer could easily recollect a few. This was his area, after all. Disney…yes, the Disney Company. That was an infamous one. That stupid mouse and his stupid friends, appearing all over the world on stupid shirts that only fools would spend money on. And fools did spend money. Disney grew fat off money from its shirts and its trinkets…shirts and trinkets made by slave women and slave children in other "democracies", while paying them a few cents once in a while so they wouldn't be official slaves. All the while Americans carried on in blissful indifference…indifference, Boomer always had to insist, not ignorance. They knew. They all knew. They just didn't give a damn, because not a one was wiling to give up their special shoes and their foolish mouse shirts, and besides, their leaders were getting too rich off the foreign sweatshop labor. It was far cheaper to hire slaves than to hire American citizens, with their Unions and their 'civil rights'. Rights were always a terrible burden for American leaders. Rights of citizens were always getting in the way of things like International Trade, which kept everybody happy who was a friend to America, except the beaten, starving women and children who made the mouse shirts.

            American Principle…Boomer thought it was the greatest and best-acted charade of history. America started as a slave nation and ended as a slave nation. Things were looking so good for it, too, until the fateful confrontation with China. China had finally reached America's status as a supreme superpower, but their warmongering had gone too far and touched American economic interests. With their precious mouse shirts at stake, America had resorted to its own warmongering, the kind that nearly caused World War 3 decades earlier by putting the Western nations against all united Arab nations. The conflict soon grew hot, and in the end both leaders were so close to launching nuclear weapons that an accident in a Chinese launch silo started a chain of confusion that almost resulted in nuclear holocaust. World leaders immediately signed a treaty that led to the burial of weapons like the SCBM Buzzbombs. But that wasn't the only effect. America died a slow death after that mini-war. China was clearly the worse of the two nations, but the thing was, the world knew that. They expected the Chinese to act like assholes, but America had kept up the pretense of being a good and noble nation, and this latest bit of warmongering led to the sudden sever of economic and political ties that isolated America with itself…and led to a severe lack of mouse shirts. Then, world borders changed drastically. European nations banded together into the European Commonwealth, and only Great Britain remained with its longtime ally America to create the Megacity System. China expanded into the Asiatic Alliance. And the best part was, war stopped. These three superpowers were able to work everything out, by some great miracle.

            But then…the Reploids came. Suddenly there was an opportunity for the former America to have its slaves again, and they took them greedily. It was an American thing…there was no question. The Commonwealth and the Alliance had nowhere near as many Maverick incidents as the Megacity System had. Each and every major uprising had occurred in the System, because the System was and always had been blatantly racist towards Reploids. That wasn't the case in the Commonwealth, Boomer knew. Reploids could even get MARRIED in the Commonwealth, though why they'd do such a foolish thing Boomer did not know. He hated the concept of 'love' too…it flew right against his torture principals. But that was another story. Boomer's concern was the Megacity System, and he'd fought together with Sigma to unseat the racist human bastards by becoming a racist himself. But that didn't bother Boomer. Hypocrisy was yet another foolish mental defect that he had overcome. The best way to live, Boomer thought, was to do what one pleased. If someone didn't like it they were welcome to stop him…if they could defeat him. That had been his life principle for all his years, and it remained so now. Torturing people was his hobby, and by God he'd do it if he wanted to, and if Gravity wanted to stop him that badly…well, he'd just have to prove himself able.

            Boomer snapped out of his thoughts when he caught sight of a hunched over humanoid Maverick. He beckoned the old fellow to him with an eager wave. "Doc Volvar! I was hoping to find you here."

            "A good time to be here, for sure!" Doc Volvar cackled, revealing yellowed, irregular rows of teeth. His face was a bit distorted, and his entire frame seemed a bit off. Whoever had created the quack doctor had not done a good job…but they'd given him the right kind of mind to get along with someone like Boomer Kuwangner. "Are you still going to go through with your little plan, hmm?"

            "Yes," Kuwangner rasped. "But we mustn't tell Gravity. He's on his crusade again."

            "A stiff one, he is!" Volvar adjusted a glass eyepiece. "He never had an eye for adventure! But if you're going through with this, well…it will be an adventure, won't it?"

            "Do you remember it?" Kuwangner asked eagerly. "Do you remember the procedure?"

            "O'course I remember!" Doc Volvar was offended. "Doc Volvar never forgets! It's a fine scheme you've got going, my friend, and I can't wait to try it out. A pity we won't be able to hear the poor bastard's screams, but so long as we know what he's goin' through it's all good, eh?"

            "I don't think we will ever be able to comprehend what he goes through," Kuwangner said with a raspy, wicked, telltale cackle. Aside from his brother and Lord Sigma, Doc Volvar was the one person Boomer Kuwangner would never kill just for fun. Volvar was one of a dying breed, one who understood where Boomer was coming from on almost every issue. Also, Doc Volvar was a surgeon…and while he was the best surgeon a Maverick could ask for, he was Satan On His Throne for any unlucky Hunter. Boomer had learned much of his own art of torture from Doc Volvar, and was more than willing to share his project with his revered doctor comrade. It was only fair, after all.

            "But we still must find a patient. There must be a Reploid Hunter still in the building?" The creepy doctor looked around as though he'd see something new this time.

            "Perhaps Gredam will bring one back," Kuwangner said blandly. "At least then he'd be good for something."

            "Boomer!" Gravity shouted through his communicator. "Where are you? We've got work to do! Tetra can't hold the Frontline on his own!"

            Boomer sighed and shook his head at Volvar. Brothers these days. "I'm coming, I'm coming…hold your horses, will you?" He broke the connection. "Go with the others and seek out hostages. Pluck one that looks especially brave and…see if you can find the medical ward. As a matter of fact…try the medical ward first! You might get lucky."

            Doc Volvar nodded, cackled, and started off on his irregular legs. Boomer turned and went his own way, meeting his brother at the hole in the wall. "What?" he asked innocently when his brother immediately threw him a look. "Do you really think your dear brother would sneak around behind your back?"

            Gravity said nothing, and walked out to rejoin the war.

            Doctor Tiberius had certainly seen better days. The medical chief had enough on his mind without the knowledge that he had to lead three doctors, two of them humans and one of them old and sickly, through a suddenly unfriendly home base to the "safety" of the outdoors, and he was being assisted only by Damia and two other rookie Reploids who were only barely activational. Put bluntly, the situation sucked, but what could he do except keep his finger pressed on the trigger of his pistol?

            Damia herself was a major comfort to Tiberius. First off, the two went way back. They both knew they could count on each other to pull through in a pinch, and thusly both knew that they weren't alone in this struggle. Damia was also the leader of the best squad of guerillas Tiberius had ever seen, and she had recovered mostly from the wounds she'd sustained at Seraph Castle's radar base. The short, blue armored brunette knew stealth like the back of her hand, and if anyone could get the group out of the HQ and to a place of safety, it was her.

            The others were iffy. Carlton, the only Reploid doctor, had recently been nailed with an I-beam, and Tiberius didn't know if that would affect his performance in a fight. He wasn't a soldier at any rate, built only to heal, not to hurt. He had only a small service pistol to defend himself, but he was more interested in aiding the wounded anyway.

            The more militant Sidney Ledyard provoked less worry. Doctor Ledyard had served since the first uprising when he'd raced through the war torn streets and administered medical aid on the field. He'd repeated that performance during the Repliforce War and had a medal to show for it. If Ledyard was afraid of anything Tiberius didn't know what it was, but he was still an unarmored human. One shot would mean the end. Nevertheless he seemed determined to help fight and Damia had given him her assault rifle, which had been brought back to the HQ with her. The Huntress herself was unarmed, and according to her that was best for the moment, since firing a shot would only expose them and ultimately kill them. Ledyard said that he agreed, but Tiberius couldn't help but notice that the rifle's safety was off.

            The wounded folks were the ones Tiberius was really concerned about, and he was grateful for the aid Carlton tirelessly gave them. Dr. Cain looked good, considering he'd just had a heart attack, but he was still wobbly and unsure of his footing, relying more on his cane than usual. He was clearly doomed if anyone were to ambush the party. The Reploids, Krysta and Nightchaser, were useless in Tiberius's eyes. He'd given them injections of hyperactive fluid to bring them out of their sedation. He could not carry them around, and so they'd have to fend for themselves. It seemed to Tiberius like a very unfair way to repay them for their efforts in destroying Scythe, but what else could he do? At least they still had their weapons. Nightchaser, while still appearing somewhat groggy, somehow walked nevertheless with his arrogant swagger and held his deactivated lightsaber in his left hand. His wounds had been easy to mend, and he stood as good a chance as any at coming out of this alive.

            Krysta was different. The white haired, quartz armored Huntress had her axe clutched awkwardly in her shaking hands, looking around in some kind of paranoia while Carlton gently but firmly prodded her along. Scythe had put a big hole in her side, and while it was patched up it was far from healed. It would be easy for the Mavericks to take advantage of her. God help her, Tiberius thought, if she were ever taken captive.

            Damia moved closer to Tiberius and spoke softly as they walked. "Ten to one we're going to have to shoot our way out of here."

            "I know," the doctor admitted in grim defeat. "There's no way we can do it like this."

            "Not necessarily," Damia said, though she didn't sound all that hopeful. "All we have to do is find someplace that is relatively unguarded and push through. Then we run like hell."

            "We'll still need better weapons," Tiberius insisted, raising his pistol as an example. "This thing won't hold off a group of Mavericks. And you yourself only have your fists."

            "They're strong fists," she pointed out. "But you're right. We need to get to the storeroom. There might be spare weapons there, and maybe even a few radios. If we can radio Signas and the others, we might be able to get some help."

            "I doubt it," Dr. Ledyard butted in. "Signas is bound to be tied up with his own problems. There weren't many here anyway. There's no way he'd come running back into this deathtrap."

            "Well what else do you want me to do?" Damia retorted, not exactly coldly but definitely harsh in her desperation. "Can you think of anything better?" Ledyard couldn't, and turned his head away. "Right. We'll get to the storeroom and figure out a plan of attack from there." She stopped and looked Tiberius in the eye. "I'm going ahead."

            "Of course," Tiberius sighed weakly. Damia was best used as a scout, after all, but he hated losing his most valuable support. "You know my frequency?"

            "Yeah," she replied, glancing towards a ventilation duct and wincing at the strangeness of the situation. "I'll tell you guys where to go and what to do. It's up to you to do it. If things go completely to hell I'll do my best to help, but…"

            "If things go completely to hell," Dr. Cain finished in a dead tone, "no amount of help will save us."

            Damia stared at them all for a few seconds as though it might be the last time she'd see their faces. Then she smiled as confidently as she could, checked around the corner, and sprang like a cat up to the ventilation duct. She grabbed hold of the grate, ripped it free, swung herself inside, and pulled the grate back in place behind her all in one flowing, adroit series of motions. Tiberius once more allowed himself to be grateful that he had one of the best sneaks in the business on his side. Then he looked back at his sorry party and nodded, and started down the shortest path to the storeroom.

            The Hunters had come together. Units 20, 15, 17, 8, 5 and 3 were waiting for the order to charge the Mavericks, who had placed their troops in the form of a large horizontal barrier. Boomer Kuwangner's Frontline army was very well named. For the Hunters to succeed they had no choice but to break through Frontline, and aerial reports from the Ravens had provided them with the enemy chain's weakest link. Zion's plan was simple. Infantry Units 3 and 5, led by Mason and Archer respectively, and Erich Zegmann's heavy artillery Unit 15 would rush towards the strongest Maverick concentration, Point Alpha, drawing their attention further away from the weak link, Point Delta, which Units 20 and 17 would storm together. Once these large units broke through, the Mavericks would almost certainly abandon their efforts with Zegmann and company and try to stop the invading Hunters from proceeding any further, thus allowing Zegmann to push through with his big guns and allow Archer and Mason to lead their swarms of foot soldiers past the Frontline. Unit 8, the guerilla fighters, really had no special purpose for the moment. The Unit, under Castle's leadership, would be more useful when the time came to invade Hunter HQ.

            Zion confirmed the plan with the Unit Commanders and gave the order to proceed. The Hunter army finally went into full action, marching into the heart of the battle-ridden Megacity 5. In the air, Storm Eagle led the Maverick air patrols against Alec Tremont's Ravens. Jimmy Taggart had been safely recovered from his jet and positioned well away from the battlefield. Tremont, Taggart's replacement, was doing a fine job keeping Eagle at bay, but even with the loss of Gallagher the Mavericks were causing the Ravens to weaken. Part of the problem was that the Ravens only had a small amount of fuel and firepower left before they became little more than floating nuisances. This worried Zion more than a little, because if Storm Eagle were allowed control of the skies he could seriously damage Zion's efforts on the ground. Just one Storm Tornado could move something as big as a tank, or in Zion's case a squadron of Hunters in ride armors. As far as Zion knew Storm couldn't shoot nukes, but aside from that he was every bit as dangerous to the Hunter war effort as Gallagher had been.

            Every unit marched together to Point Alpha, the strongest concentration of Mavericks. They would not actually begin the split until battle had begun, lest they alert the Mavericks early on of their true intentions. After both parties drew swords, Zion and Jasper would lead their units away from the main body and dart towards Point Delta, the weak link. Point Alpha, the current destination, was nothing less than the Megacity Highway—the very same roadways Mega Man X had used to chase Death Rogumer all those years ago. The Highway was actually a labyrinth of roads at different levels of height. Maverick forces littered all roads at all four major levels and a powerful enemy vanguard of ride armors and tanks and foot soldiers sat on the Asimov Lane, where all roads came together on the wide road where X had first fought with the nefarious Vile. For one trying to reach the Hunter Headquarters, Asimov Lane was the best way to go. This was Point Alpha…Asimov Lane. In time, Units 20 and 17 would head east from the battle for several blocks before coming upon the weaker concentration of Mavericks at Exit 4, Point Delta. They couldn't follow Route 4 to the HQ, but they could bypass the road and find Exit 8 and Route 8, which did take them right where they wanted to go…which in their case was the hideaway Signas was desperately but futilely trying to maintain.

            "We can't waste more time," Jasper's voice came through on Zion's communicator. "Signas and the others are sitting ducks out there. The situation is the best we're going to get."

            "We're about at the target zone," Zion agreed, reverting to his arm cannon. It was the first time he had done so thus far. "I'll have the others give the order."

            "Come at them like bats out of hell," Jasper growled his suggestion. "They deserve nothing better!"

            "Tell me about it," Zion all but whispered, seeing the devastation caused by both Gallagher's attack and Gallagher's fall. Point Alpha was in shambles. Now it was time to make the bastards pay for what they'd done. It was his order to give…and people would begin to die once he opened his mouth. But it had to be done sometime…and for Signas's sake, total war would begin…now.

            They'd told him it would be a field day. It had become a holocaust.

            They'd told him it would be a way to stop the killing. It was all coming down instead to bloodshed.

            They'd told him he could make a name for himself. They left out that the name might be for his tombstone.

            All the billboards, all the advertisements, all the propaganda, it was all designed to recruit dumb young soldiers under the impression that they were in for a world of fun. They were realizing instead that war only provided for a world of hurt. The rookies were realizing with a start that there was no such thing as a toy army, and there was no such thing as an easy war. The Repliforce should have taught them that, but no one learned, and so the Maverick Hunters were able to recruit a fresh batch of cocky self-confident fools to replace the ones who had died in the last war.

            Vulcan had a leg up on his friends in the sense that he'd learned all this much earlier. He'd fought Mavericks in the 12th district quarry, and there he'd tasted the thrill of victory. Then on the speeding Blackstar Express he suffered the agony of defeat. Teytha's attacks had almost fatally wounded the silver Reploid, and were it not for Hunter Feldspar's help Vulcan wouldn't have survived the night. Now Vulcan was heading into battle not with the elite of Unit 0 but with his slightly above average friends in Archer's Unit 5. He had spent the night shivering in the rocky Catskills, and he'd watched the sun rise to reveal a nuclear wasteland. He'd seen fire in the sky and now on the ground, and he saw tragedy up close and personal for the first time. He knew nothing of the other tragedies the night had brought. He didn't know that Feldspar was dead on the floor in a Seraph Castle arena. So far as he knew, Krysta and Scythe were hiding with Signas and preparing for the final strike. He could never have guessed of Scythe's betrayal. He would have been horrified to learn that Krysta never made it out of the HQ, and was stranded inside with a party that included of all people the hated Nightchaser.

            But he was plenty horrified already with what he did know, and what he knew was simple and one sided: death. Death was everywhere this morning. Death was all around him, and more Death was about to appear in front of him. Vulcan looked around the shattered city sector that Zion was calling Point Alpha. Icarus had died above them, and the nuclear explosion had scorched the whole area and torn down mighty buildings. Gallagher had crashed further away but still in the same area, and the effects of its explosion were made clear by the row of rubble Vulcan could make out in the distance.

            Part of him wished he were out in that distance, because maybe out there things weren't this ugly. He didn't know if he'd ever seen an uglier sight in his life. He looked to the left, and saw the skeletons of blown out Bee Bladers and Ravens. Ride armors lay broken and shattered, and Maverick sky droids lay in shambles along with the ruined, burning buildings. He looked to his right and saw what had once been a residential apartment. He saw people with ruined faces and burned bodies rising from the rubble. He watched a man and a woman pull a little boy out of a pile of debris, the boy's frantic wails of pain and fear reaching Vulcan clearly. He saw humans and Reploids coated with blood standing in a line, watching the Hunter army pass them by to fight the war they should have been fighting earlier. One civilian Reploid with a shard of metal stuck clear through his limp forearm looked at Vulcan as he passed, and the silver Hunter knew that he was being singled out. He turned unconsciously and against his will to face the Reploid, who stared at him with blank eyes that spoke of far more devastation than his ruined arm could. I'm sorry, Vulcan apologized to him. I'm sorry that we were too late.

            This was the specter of nuclear destruction, Vulcan realized, and this was the absolute smallest form mankind had developed. If this was horrible, what had Hiroshima been like? It was hard for Vulcan to imagine that a weapon as archaic as the old atom bomb could have done all the things that history books said it did, but now Vulcan believed everything he'd ever read about the subject, except he now knew also that history books were impotent. There was no way to express what he saw now, and he knew that what was hard to express from a Buzzbomb would be impossible to express from the larger ones.

            What right did people have to do things like this? What ideal or motive could justify this kind of an atrocity? And what kind of fool would ever think that it could be justified in the first place? On the same token, wasn't he about to perpetuate the Death these Mavericks had caused? He was going to take lives today, if his wasn't taken first. This he knew and accepted, and there was no guilt. There was, however, defeat. He was defeated because he had become just another soldier, another murderer on the plain of legal murder that was a battlefield. But the difference between him and the people he would kill was that he would kill for sport. He would enjoy their deaths, but he would not enjoy killing them. It was just work that had to be done to protect the world, and if he had to sell his soul to do it…well, that was what he'd signed up to do.

            "It's the price we soldiers pay," Mega Man X's voice said from a past encounter in the headquarters medical wing. "We're entrusted with the duty of killing people, but for that 'privilege' we pay the price of our innocence." Vulcan could picture the pacifist's face and dull, resigned eyes as he spoke. "It's a sad state of affairs. But that's how it is."

            And he was right, Vulcan now knew. The killing would go on, and more innocents would die. There would be more boys trapped under debris and more civilians with metal stuck through their arms. There would be more dying wails and more pure souls left to ferment with the unclean ones.

            …But not today. That was Vulcan's promise to himself, the reason he would fight. He would kill today…but he would kill to stop the innocent from dying. It was not the thrill of battle that came into him then as it had in previous fights, but rather the anger of injustice that sent his senses into a surprisingly calm state of overdrive. There would be more Death today, but not for innocents. The murders would fight each other for justice…and the results would be up to the blind statute herself.

            "Hey, buddy, you all right?"

            Vulcan looked up to see Rykov towering over him. His best friend's heavy machine gun was draped over his shoulder, and his bulky green and blue armor had never looked stronger. "I'm fine." Vulcan nodded his head at the Mavericks in the distance. "They won't be."

            Rykov noticed the distance in Vulcan's eyes and just let him be, looking ahead to see the red and white armored Hawkins, their squad leader. Hawkins was very similar to Rykov in build, and for as long as either could remember they'd been competing with each other for the title King Carnage. Maybe today would be the day that was settled, Rykov thought. Next to him was a shorter yellow Reploid named Derringer, a nervous kid who probably hadn't realized what he'd been getting into by joining the Hunters. Bringing up the rear was Gasket, one of the best ride armor pilots Rykov knew about. Rykov had no idea what the human Gasket's real name was, since he'd gone by his nickname since forever. Now he sat in a big Chimera mech and would protect the squad if things went awry. Krysta should be with them, Rykov noted grimly, but who knew what had happened to her at this point?

            While Rykov summed up his squad mates Vulcan did something he rarely ever did—he powered up his arm cannon. The cannon he'd been born with was next to obsolete, so he never used it, opting instead to use his rifle, which sent streams of adaman bullets at targets. Now, though, something told the silver Hunter that he wanted to enter this fight…in style.

            Commander Zion's voice boomed on every communicator, and Commander Archer repeated it for Vulcan's unit. It was the go-code. They were officially in battle now. The Mavericks had finally started shooting, and bursts of energy landed in the middle of the oncoming Hunter army. Vulcan knew that there were explosions around him, but his mind didn't allow him to care. He just kept running, his gun swinging loosely in one hand and his cannon fully charged. He set foot on Asimov Lane—Point Alpha—and picked his target, a cluster of foot soldiers standing near the front of the Maverick battle line. He shouted a battle cry, though he didn't realize it, and sent a sparkling silver bolt of plasma flying towards his target…

            And for the first true time in his life, the Hunter Vulcan went to war.

            He didn't wait to see where his shot landed. He converted his arm cannon immediately back to a fist and used it to line up his rifle. He sent a three round burst in the general direction of the enemy, and he thought he saw one connect but he couldn't be sure. There were just so many of them…all of them with only one goal—to kill him. Well, they were going to have to bust their asses if they wanted to do that, Vulcan thought. They were in for hell if they thought they could take him out.

            For the moment there was little to do except fire the odd shot, because Zegmann's Unit 15 had led the charge. The Maverick ride armors surged forth to meet Zegmann's, and suddenly there was a world of noise thundering throughout Asimov Lane and Megacity 5 in general. Vulcan stuck close to Hawkins, who was getting orders directly from Archer, and kept searching for targets. There really was little for him to do, he realized, except try and stay sane. He could hear nothing but continuous noise, all of it loud and offensive. All around him people were firing at targets Vulcan knew were there but couldn't see himself. Explosions ripped through the battlefield as each side began to use its heavier artillery. Zegmann ordered his mini-tanks and Hawk ride armors to the front, and a barrage of heavy fire drove the Frontline back suddenly and sharply. Then one of the giant Megacity Army tanks sitting on a highway overlooking Asimov Lane sent a shell flying in the middle of the Hunter mass. There was a huge explosion, and Vulcan went deaf.

            He realized that he had fallen down, and when he got up everything seemed to have taken on a white glow. Smoke rose from fires Vulcan could not see, and all around him people were moving much more frantically and were screaming war cries that to Vulcan somehow seemed more personal. That was when he realized that he could hear again. He thought that it was interesting how profoundly such a simple thing like hearing affected his battle performance. He was glad to have it back.

            He figured out what was going on when what seemed like a million Maverick foot soldiers came running at him. What had really happened was that Frontline had surged forward and sent in its foot soldiers ahead of its tanks and ride armors. Vulcan raised his rifle and began firing three-round bursts, switching targets each time. Some fell and some didn't. That surprised him. How could he be missing? He never missed. As he looked around he realized that lots of people were missing. This wasn't like movies at all, he realized. In movies the good guys always hit their targets, but in reality it was all so different. He turned sharply to the left and saw Tim Seton, a Hunter from Mason's Unit 3 who was about to be gunned down by a clever Maverick. Vulcan raised his rifle, targeted the Maverick, and fired. It seemed strange to the Hunter that the Maverick just stood politely still while he lined up the shot. It was like the Maverick was allowing Vulcan to kill him out of the goodness of his heart, when in fact the Maverick was just trying to line up a shot at Seton, but he just wasn't as fast as Vulcan was. These shots struck true to their mark, and the Maverick fell.

            Seton turned and gave Vulcan an appreciative nod before turning and racing towards a crowd of Hunters. Vulcan turned and saw Derringer firing and missing at approaching Mavericks. Vulcan fired at the same Mavericks, missed, and fired again until his clip was out. He ejected the cartridge and inserted a new one with ease that surprised him. There was no shaking of his hands. There was no mental freezing. Wasn't he supposed to be prone to that? Wasn't that what happened to rookies?

            Derringer shouted something that brought Vulcan back to the present, and he looked up just in time to see Gasket's ride armor explode. Gasket himself leapt from the cockpit, but landed right in front of the Mavericks Vulcan had fired at and missed. One of them fired at Gasket but he, too, missed his mark. There was a lot of missing going on. Gasket danced out of the way and raced towards Vulcan and the others, where he'd be less of a target. Then there was a series of thundering booms and all the Mavericks approaching Vulcan screamed and fell dead with large ugly holes in their bodies. Vulcan turned to see Rykov's machine gun barrel smoking. There was no grin on Rykov's face. That struck Vulcan as funny. Usually Rykov enjoyed combat. The thought struck Vulcan as funny because he, too, enjoyed combat. This, however, was hell. There was too much happening at once, and all he could do was look around and shoot anyone who looked threatening while hoping he didn't get shot himself.

            A loud buzzing attracted his attention. He turned and met Tim Seton's eyes just as Seton blasted a Maverick creeping up behind Vulcan. Vulcan gave Seton his own appreciative nod and Seton nodded back just before a buzzing Bee Blader flew overhead dragging a trail of machine gun fire across the Hunter ranks, tearing Seton apart along with his five squad mates.

            Six people had just died before Vulcan's eyes. Six people that he had called friends were now dead because of one simple attack from a mindless drone. Vulcan thought of a million things to do to that Bee Blader if only he could get up to its level. While Vulcan thought, Rykov and Hawkins acted. Their weapons thundered and sent tracers flying across the sky, pummeling the Bee Blader with immense firepower as it fled. From overhead, Alec Tremont's Raven sped into the picture and finished the job with its own more powerful machine guns.

            Hawkins said something like "Stay together," but Vulcan didn't hear him. He was planning on sticking together anyway, and so he just decided that was what had been said. It was easier than worrying. He lifted his gun and shot at someone. Then he lifted his gun and shot at someone else. His cartridge spent its last bullet and Vulcan calmly reloaded and began shooting at other people. Bullets and lasers exploded into the asphalt all around him. People were screaming now not just war cries but cries of agony. People on both sides were starting to die.

            There was a sudden booming sound from every direction, and Asimov Lane shook with the force of an earthquake. When Vulcan came to he didn't know how much time had passed but he did know that Rykov, Gasket, Derringer and Hawkins were still around him and looked just as hellish as he must. When he collected his thoughts he realized that those tanks he saw in the distance must all have attacked in unison. God knew how many Hunters were now dead.

            One Hunter who was dead was Peter Stromm. The Unit 8 guerilla veteran had been approaching a Maverick tank with the intent of sabotaging it when the tank fired, scaring Stromm and allowing a Maverick to get into position. Stromm turned and fought the Maverick off, but the man operating the tank's chaingun locked onto Stromm and tore him to pieces.

            Shadin of Unit 17 was leading her large squad to the back of the Hunter forces to merge with the rest of the unit and with Zion's Unit 20 to begin the march towards Point Delta. The tank shells impacted the ground nearby and a spray of shrapnel sheared Shadin's right arm and half her right leg off. She fell flat on the ground and would have died there, but Lariat the lion scooped her up and brought her to the closest cluster of debris where she might be safe.

            The battles were getting almost boring. Vulcan just kept searching and shooting and reloading, searching and shooting and reloading, and it was tiring. God was it tiring. The enemy didn't end. Frontline was everywhere.

            Vulcan decided that this would go on forever. He shot at a female Maverick and the bullet hit her in the shoulder. The adaman projectile left her arm hanging on by a few steel threads. She looked up at him with a face he could not decipher and then screamed in pain, dropping her weapon and crumpling up into a whimpering ball. Vulcan turned and shot another Maverick in the stomach. Blood exploded from the wound and this enemy too dropped his weapon and screamed. Stop bleeding, Vulcan thought with a growl. What the hell right had they to bleed? Just die and be done with it, he ordered them. Don't bleed. I don't want to see you bleed.

            Vulcan had never expected himself to be able to fly, but all of a sudden he could do it. He soared suddenly above the battlefield and watched a bunch of Hunters, ride armors, and some Mavericks fly with him. Then he slammed into something hard—the side of a highway road—and fell. When he stood enemies surrounded him. How in the hell had that happened?

In fact, Storm Eagle had happened. With one Storm Tornado he'd sent half the Hunter army flying past the Frontline. Zion's worst fear had come true.

Enemies were everywhere, and they knew Vulcan wasn't one of them. He threw his rifle over his shoulder, the strap keeping it on his person, and ignited his lightsaber. He flew back into action, slashing at the nearby Mavericks while looking for Rykov and the others. He didn't see them.

            One Maverick came at him, a cat model. He parried the blows just as he'd been trained, throwing back every lunge the Maverick sent his way. The Maverick, too, had received some training and let it be known. He used his own lightsaber to hold back the attacks Vulcan struck, and for a while it seemed like the two would fight forever but Vulcan's peripheral vision sensed three other Mavericks ganging up on him. He dropped into a roll, completely abandoning the cat Maverick and trying to escape his chasers. This had little effect, because no matter where Vulcan went there was someone trying to kill him. It was hardly boring anymore.

            Vulcan swung all around him, acting whenever he saw the glint of a claw or a beam saber or even a gun muzzle coming at him. He struck mostly defensive blows, launching into attacks only when he felt he'd caught the opponent significantly off guard. He lashed brutally into one Maverick's chest cavity, screaming a war cry as he did so. The Maverick staggered back and Vulcan did not wait to see if he was dead, instead whirling to slice at a Maverick with his back to him who was harassing someone else. It was Derringer. The little yellow Reploid looked like he was about to go to pieces. His eyes had a sort of distance to them like he knew this was the end of the line. The Mavericks had started to surround him now.

            Vulcan slashed a bloody line down his target's spine, evoking a shriek of pain and more damnable blood. Vulcan cursed his victims once more for having the gall to bleed. Monsters didn't bleed. Only people bled. It was so much easier to think of them as monsters, so why in the hell did they have to go and bleed? It made things so complicated, because Vulcan knew now that they were not monsters and that he was committing murder.

            But he bled too, and he wasn't about to let anyone murder him. He launched himself into the fray and scared off the advancing Mavericks with a wild display of foolish slices with his saber. Then, rather than fighting them, he grabbed Derringer by the arm and dragged him away quick as lightning.

             For a long time, they just ran. Vulcan became lost in the moment. He knew he must be slashing out at oncoming blades to parry them, but he was never consciously aware of doing so. Derringer just kept whimpering something under his breath, and Vulcan fought the urge to slap the Hunter for his weakness. Didn't he know there was a war going on? Didn't he know that war was no place for the weak? Vulcan loathed Derringer for his weakness, for his inability to kill as effectively as Vulcan could kill. What good was he, after all, if he couldn't help Vulcan kill these people? Then Vulcan noticed that Derringer was whimpering because his right arm was missing from the elbow down. Vulcan actually froze in his tracks. The feeling was like running into a brick wall. Derringer looked up in surprised urgency, but Vulcan didn't acknowledge him. How could he tell Derringer that he'd hated him for feeling pain? How could he tell him that he was useless because he couldn't kill people? How in the world had he allowed himself to think that way in the first place? What is happening to me? Vulcan wondered.

            When Vulcan returned to the war, his first notion was that at least no one was shooting or piloting ride armors in his vicinity. He attributed this to the fact that there were lots of people around in very close quarters, and the Mavericks didn't want to trample or shoot down their own troops. Then he remembered that he and Derringer had been running, and he looked around to see that there were not as many soldiers around and yes there were shots being fired that crept up and stitched a hole in a Hunter Vulcan knew from Erich Zegmann's unit. He fell dead and Vulcan wanted to shout his name in shock, but he couldn't remember his own friend's name. It somehow didn't seem important.

            Vulcan looked around to see who had killed his friend but that was a worthless gesture. Everyone was shooting, he realized, even the medics, who had no one to shoot at. Priests in their churches were shooting, he was sure, and so were politicians in their offices and civilians on their way to work and even babies in their carriages. The whole entire world was shooting, Vulcan realized. He too was shooting. He'd swung his rifle around his shoulder and started shooting at targets that might or might not have existed. He didn't know why he'd shot, he realized when he discovered that he'd been shooting. Had he killed someone just now? Would he ever know?

            "Why are we standing?" Derringer whimpered, clutching his bloody stump of an arm. "Why are we standing here?"

            Vulcan didn't answer him. Instead he looked behind him to the larger, more closely compressed mass of Hunters and Mavericks, wondering perhaps if it might be safer in there. At least there he knew who he was supposed to kill.

            "We're going to die," Derringer was pointing out. He was very unhappy.

            "We're not going to die," Vulcan thought he heard himself say. He didn't know for sure. He was too busy scanning for people to shoot. He was still searching when he screamed in pain and fell to the ground, electricity shooting up and down his limbs. What in the world was that? He remembered it with surprising speed. It was a stun cannon, much like the kind Vile had used, but why in the world someone was using a stun cannon was beyond Vulcan. Then he realized that everyone around him was also stunned, and that there was all of a sudden a large grenade sitting menacingly nearby.

            Vulcan flew through the air and landed hard on his back, involuntarily firing off a few rounds from his rifle that transfixed someone's body flying overhead. He had no idea if he had killed a Maverick or a Maverick Hunter. All he knew was that his armor was peppered with shrapnel and he was very tired. He was vaguely aware of the war going on around him. He knew it was still a war because people were still screaming their stupid battle cries, as though they changed anything. Those same voices were soon screaming for another reason, and some perverse smugness in Vulcan provoked him to think something along the lines of "I told you so" whenever he heard a voice change from machismo to agony, when in fact he told them nothing at all and was just laying on the ground wounded by a grenade and having maybe just shot an ally and friend as they flew overhead. The last thing he was aware of was a very loud, repetitive booming sound. It sounded kind of like Rykov's heavy machine gun. Vulcan smiled as he passed out. Good old Rykov. He always had to make noise. Always…he always…

            Zion thought things were going well, up to the point when Storm Eagle descended from the sky and fired a Storm Tornado that repositioned half of Zion's forces behind enemy lines. The Hunter commander swore very loudly and shot a nearby Maverick through the face who'd been trying to stab him with something akin to a pitchfork. "Jasper," he said into his communicator while running through his ranks. His unit and the 17th had been in the back rows, and were thus not as badly affected by Storm Eagle's attack. "What's your status?"

            "Bad," Unit 17s acting commander reported. "I'm trying to pull everyone together. You wanna move now? Hold on a sec." It sounded like Jasper was killing someone. "All right. You wanna move, I said?"

            "Yeah. I'll pull Unit 20 together and meet you at the east sector of the battlefield. They should have summoned most of their reinforcements by now."

            "Gimme a minute to find everybody. Jasper out."

            Zion relayed the command to all his sergeants to pull Unit 20 out of battle and start marching towards Point Delta. They could still salvage a victory out of this, he knew, if they could make it to Delta before the Mavericks realized what was up. Once they smashed through the Frontline unit they could reinforce Signas, if they weren't already too late for that. Unit 20 merged without real incident and they hurried to the east. Already Zion could see Jasper and the others gathering together, minus Shadin and Scylla. "What's up, Jasper?"

            "Shadin is out of commission," Jasper growled with uncharacteristic rage.

            "Dead?" Zion asked without emotion.

            "Not now, but probably before this is all over." Jasper sounded like he was on the edge. It was understandable. Shadin, Scylla, Lariat and Alia were his best friends. "Scylla is…I don't know where she is. We'll have to move without her." He did not sound happy about that at all.

            "Roger." Zion still refused to allow emotion to enter his voice. He was too used to war for that. He knew Shadin and Scylla, he respected them, but he could not grieve for them yet, if indeed they needed grieving. Right now his only option was avenging. Point Delta, he thought, here I come.

            It had often been said among his soldiers that Commander Archer was the best motivator the Hunters had, and he was now proving it. The alabaster Reploid tore through the Maverick ranks with his ornate lightsaber like some kind of specter. The Mavericks seemed to politely stand still while Archer felled them with chops of his sword, or shot them from afar with a golden energy burst from his fist gauntlets. Every Hunter who saw him immediately redoubled their efforts, knowing that it most certainly was possible to win with leaders as skilled as this.

            If Commander Archer was an angel, Commander Mason was a devil. The career soldier came crashing through his opponents with a rapier of sorts, raising a bazooka-like arm cannon every once in a while to vaporize a cluster of enemies. His troops rallied behind him to show their support, and Mason led furious charges into and behind enemy lines, helping out anyone who looked like they needed helping.

            The Hunters far outnumbered the Mavericks. That much was certain. But the Mavericks fought like wild animals, energized by the Buzzbomb incidents and by successes far behind Frontline. The two commanders wondered with dread what had become of Signas, Cain and the others.

The battle for Megacity 5 reached a stalemate of sorts. The Mavericks had regrouped their heavy artillery and were launching a second assault that pushed into the Hunter lines. The apparent strategy was to pull the strong guys away from Frontline, send them crashing through the Hunters, and then sandwich them against the infantry when the Hunters closed on Frontline and tried to break it. Zegmann's hard hitters were giving the Mavericks a hard time, however. Nevertheless nothing Zegmann could procure was invulnerable against the Megacity tanks, and one by one the shells fell on Zegmann's clustered forces. They spread, frantically trying to escape, but the Mavericks, further invigorated, were now actually leaping up at ride armors, pulling their operators out, and mauling them to death on the street. They'd then steal the ride armor and use it for their own purposes. These instances were few but the message was clear, and Hunter confidence began to waver.

            Then news erupted in every communicator that electrified the Hunters—a tank had been destroyed. One of Tetra's five behemoths was no more, courtesy of the final missile in Raven possession and a concentrated attack from two of Zegmann's mini-tanks and a Kangaroo ride armor that had disabled the tank's treads. The Hunters surged forth with new vigor, pushing the Mavericks back and tearing them out of the ride armors. Now it was the Hunters doing the mauling, and no matter how loudly their Mavericks screamed it was never good enough. An eye for an eye, they all reasoned, was the best way to go.

            The upside to it all was that the Mavericks didn't notice Zion and Jasper until it was really too late. Storm Eagle and his remaining forces saw them leaving the battlefield and heading for a much weaker portion of Frontline. He radioed the Frontline commander, Boomer Kuwangner, who sent Tetra and several squadrons of infantry after the sneaky enemy.

            Then the Mavericks turned their attention to the battle at Point Alpha. Commanders Archer, Mason and Zegmann were all surprised to see, out of a clear blue sky, soldiers flying through the air again. This time, however, there was no Storm Tornado—the action was happening on the ground. Flashes of blue light split the morning gloom, and after each flash more Hunters flew through the air like rag dolls, thrown clear away from their attacker and left helpless on the ground for the Mavericks to finish off. A circle began to form around the origin of the flashes, a large blue Maverick who positively glowed with somewhat mystical energies—Gravity Beetle, using his anti-gravity powers to knock the soldiers away. A more spindly form leapt through the air like a spider, though it was in fact another beetle. It landed amongst the Hunters as they landed, goring them to death with a glinting curved blade. Boomer Kuwangner was back in action.

            Archer and Mason were at this point within eyesight of each other. The look they shared conveyed their feelings—these opponents were not meant for regular soldiers. The Commanders themselves would handle the enemy Commanders…they would have to. No one else seemed to stand a chance. They radioed their intentions to their units, who immediately tried to catch up. Gravity continued to advance towards the greater group of Hunters, driving them back now with a large wall of pulsating black, blue and purple gravitational energies rather than the short bursts of power he had been using. Boomer had leapt past the wall and was now closing in from behind, speedily striking and driving the Hunters back against Gravity's wall. Other Mavericks caught on and moved to help Boomer, and the Hunters in between suddenly became desperate to break past Boomer, a task that was becoming increasingly more difficult as more Mavericks clustered around their newly appeared leaders. Archer and Mason both realized at the same time and with horror that they would never make it in time.

            And then something else electrified the Hunters and left the Mavericks momentarily impotent. Something was approaching from the sky…many things, actually. Squadrons of flying Reploids filled the air, rapidly approaching the much smaller unit held up by Storm Eagle. Only only a few Hunters knew their leader, but those who did know pointed out the Pegasus as a friend. "The Skiver's here!" they shouted. "Reinforcements are here!" All the Commanders breathed a little easier.

            The Reploid Air Force had finally arrived.

            Storm Eagle glared at the newcomers with all the rancor he could muster. The Reploid Air Force was really a very small group. After Repliforce, the humans understandably refused to allow the former Repliforce officers cluster in large numbers. The force was mainly just a security patrol, and had brought with them only one small airship used mainly for transporting troops.

            But it was still enough, because all Storm Eagle had were five sentient flyers and a bunch of drones. In order for this to work, only one strategy could be employed: destroy the leader. Eagle summoned forth the final two Bee Bladers and positioned them at the right and left extremes of the aerial battlefield. He screamed a command to rush the Skiver, and this his minions did.

            The British Reploid just let them come, snorting in disgust at his hated opponents. He'd never expected things to go this far when Taggart had briefed him not a week earlier. But somehow it had come to this, and while the Ravens had held the aerial enemies back this long they could do it no longer. The small jets had all but retreated from the sky from danger of crashing due to lack of fuel. Two still circled the skies, the only two that still had charges left in their cannons. Well, two Ravens for two Bee Bladers, the Skiver decided. He had to stop Storm Eagle from further ravaging the Hunter ground forces, and there was only one way to do that.

            The Skiver became aware that Eagle's flying minions were speeding his way. Grinning slightly, the former Repliforce officer spread his large, alabaster wings and shot towards one of the oncoming Mavericks, a bat of sorts. The Pegasus glowed with strange white energies, and the bat was suddenly intimidated. Before it had a chance to get out of the way, however, the Skiver stopped on a dime and from his body shot a clone of sorts, composed entirely of blazing white energies. It struck the Maverick like a sword, slicing him nearly in half and dropping his remains to the ground below.

            It was an interesting feeling, the Skiver thought to himself as he gathered little storms of wind to his fists. Here he was fighting for the Maverick Hunters, a group he really disliked very much because they of course had been responsible for his own group's failure. His biggest grudge was for the demise of Colonel, a noble and honorable officer who had been killed for wanting nothing more than simple freedoms for his people. His murderer was not around, however, and that made things easier for the Reploid. The Skiver—that was a nickname, his real name was Spiral Pegacion but people had used his nickname for so long that he himself had mostly abandoned that first name—was only here because he hated the Mavericks far worse than he did the Hunters. Were it not for the Mavericks Repliforce would still be peacefully coexisting with the Hunters. This time, they'd gone too far, and it was time for them to be stopped.

            The Skiver unleashed his charged spiral winds and blasted all nearby targets away from him with sudden and unrelenting force. The Pegasus Reploid focused his steely eyes on the enraged Storm Eagle, shortly before the majestic Maverick unleashed a terrible Storm Tornado that blasted all the Air Force soldiers away from him. So, this was to be a battle between giants, then. That was fine with the Skiver. He and Storm charged each other at the same time, playing a rather daring game of chicken since both could move at extreme speeds in the air. Then, at the last minute, they both screeched to a halt and attacked. The Skiver sent his energy wind clone streaking towards Eagle, but the Maverick had simply flapped his wings. The inexplicably large amount of power this simple gesture produced scattered the energies that made up the Skiver's clone. The Air Force officer was forced to remember that Storm Eagle's greatest advantage in the past had been his super-strong wings, and he damned himself for forgetting that.

            Storm Eagle had come this far for Commander Sigma and he'd be damned if he gave up now. With a screech that echoed throughout the whole Megacity, he dove into the stunned Skiver with a hurtling body crash attack that sent the other Reploid plummeting to the scorched earth below. Eagle threw back his head in what his comrades assumed to be laughter. They were corrected when Eagle snapped his neck forward and spat out a large egg. Once the slimy projectile hit the ground near the Skiver it shattered and four small mechaniloid birds popped out, converging on the Skiver like the little homing missiles they were.

            Acting as quickly as he could, the Pegasus lifted himself up off the ground with a powerful flap of his wings, letting one of the four missiles explode beneath him. Two other birds nailed him, exploding on impact and driving the Skiver back to the ground, but not before he shot out a wind clone that drew the other bird's attention. It exploded harmlessly a ways away. Snarling, the Skiver got shakily to his feet and then back into the air. Storm Eagle gave him no quarry. He came screaming at him again, but this time the Skiver had the good sense to dodge. As he did so he kicked out hard with his right hoof, catching Eagle in the side. The Maverick's scream broke off with a sudden gasp for breath and he spiraled out of control just long enough for the Skiver to shake out the cobwebs the last few attacks had created.

            A new strategy was in order for both of them. That much was clear. Fortunately for him, the Skiver identified his strategy before Eagle did. Above them, one of the two Bee Bladers went down due to an attack from Zion's nearby mass. The other one was flying nearby, dealing with the Reploid Air Force regulars. The Skiver shot up towards them, wind swirling around his fists and boots. He approached the occupied machine from the side and lashed out his fists and feet in simple but powerful martial maneuvers. The wind energy carried his limbs at great speeds, and so he was able to seriously damage the Bee Blader's armor with simple punches and kicks.

            The Blader registered the sudden extreme damage and turned to face the one causing it. The Skiver backed away, giving it room to fire, and fire it did, using its homing torpedoes instead of its machine gun…just as the Skiver had hoped.

            Storm Eagle, watching his adversary having fun and hating it, had screeched and darted his way again, a Storm Tornado ready to fire. When the Bee Blader fired its torpedoes they locked onto the Skiver immediately. The Pegasus dove to the side, letting Eagle and the missiles approach. Then, at the very last second, the Skiver looked Storm Eagle dead in the eye and smiled.

            A split second later a wind clone shot out and directed the missile's attention away from the Skiver and gave them a new target: Storm Eagle. The wide-eyed Maverick was struck by the mass of plasma-laced wind, and then by the full brunt of exploding Bee Blader torpedoes. Eagle screeched in pain and shock, feeling his internal reserves plummet to a dangerous low. He raised his arm cannon and looked for a target, but his vision was suddenly very blurry. Without any other option, the avian fired a Storm Tornado in a random direction and hoped he hit something.

            What happened was, there was a sudden crash, followed by a lot of enraged shouting. Eagle had little idea what was going on, so severe were his sudden wounds. They began to get worse. The Maverick became aware that people were shooting at him…in fact the whole of the Reploid Air Force was coming at him to help the Skiver finish the job. Shot after shot punctured his already spent armor, and finally his generator decided enough was enough. A message ran through Eagle's CPU telling him to get the hell out of there or die.

            There was no escape for Storm Eagle, but that didn't stop the dying Maverick from trying. His wings seemed fine, he thought, and he took to the skies…the very extreme skies. His vision was fading to black, and if he was still taking damage then he didn't know about it. The snow felt cold on his steel cheeks, and the sky darkened as the blizzard grew stronger. However, the gray clouds parted for one instant, allowing a ray of the morning sun to pass through and illuminate the rising avian. Storm Eagle's last sight was of a momentarily clear sky, and he thought that if he could just reach it everything would be fine again. Though when he thought about it, things were already fine. He'd done his job. He'd served Commander Sigma well. He would go to any extreme for Sigma, the champion of Reploids who'd pulled them all from ignorance and set them on the path of liberty. He'd even die for the cause, he thought as the darkness began to consume him. It wasn't so bad…he was flying again. He loved flying…he loved the open sky more than anything, and he couldn't think of a better place to…

            Storm Eagle's final attack had missed all the aerial combatants and instead struck an apartment skyscraper that's foundation had been damaged by the Buzzbomb shockwave. The Storm Tornado's colossal velocity had been the final straw, and the building snapped in half. It was impossible to say how many were now dead, since many had fled the building when the Maverick attack began, but the grisly sight had been enough to turn the Reploid Air Force into a bunch of madmen. They took potshots at Eagle's body as it fell from the sky and gave it no respite when it landed next to the remains of the Bee Blader that had fatally wounded him in the first place. The other aerial Mavericks had fled for their lives, and now only a few mindless drones remained to dispatch. The Ravens had completely fled the scene, going lord knew where to hide while Tremont tried to figure out how to restock them.

            The Skiver's eyes hadn't moved from the destroyed residential building. More civilians were now dead. Civilians had died all night, and only now were the soldiers dying. As a soldier himself the Skiver could not stand the thought of attacking noncombatants. Eagle hadn't deliberately attacked the building—in fact he was one of the few Mavericks left who had anything resembling a code of honor—but no one cared. All that mattered was that it had happened.

            The Skiver looked down to the battle at Asimov Lane. The Mavericks apparently knew that their aerial force had been completely removed, and they were worse for the wear because of it. The Hunters were slowly but surely pushing ahead…and the Skiver could see a sizable pack of Hunters sneaking away from the battlegrounds. In that instant all feelings of animosity fled the Skiver and for that moment he felt nothing but camaraderie for the Maverick Hunters, who now worked again with Repliforce to destroy the common Maverick foe.

            "Go get 'em, guys," the Skiver said as he elevated himself to deal with a drone. "Go get 'em."

            Darkness gave way to unwelcome light, and Vulcan was jolted rudely back into action when Rykov grabbed him by the arm and threw him across the street. He landed in a startled, helpless heap but he heard Rykov's machine gun thundering loud and clear in his ears. Able to do nothing else, he concentrated on remembering what in the world had happened. Oh yeah, a grenade…he checked his internal systems for damages. Surprisingly, he'd been spared serious damage. He didn't know it, nor would he ever, but the Hunter he'd killed accidentally had landed in front of him and the corpse had taken the full brunt of the shrapnel meant for Vulcan.

            The next thing he knew Rykov was hauling him to his feet, and he could see clearly again. "Where is everyone?" he asked first. He looked around and didn't see Derringer or anyone else. Then he became aware that Rykov was dragging him somewhere. When they stopped, Vulcan had recovered enough senses to fully get his bearings.

            They were somewhat secluded from the fighting, though bullets still came their way. Near them was Hawkins himself, his shoulder smoking from some wound. Derringer was there, and despite his mangled arm he looked better than when Vulcan had last seen him. He understood when Derringer tossed him a half-empty energy tank. Vulcan nodded and drained it, bringing himself back up to full capacity.

            The well-armored Gasket reappeared, his assault rifle clenched tightly in his hands. He said something to Hawkins, who waved them all to the east. Vulcan just followed and observed. He was vaguely aware of Hunters and Mavericks killing each other in the background, but he wasn't sure if anyone was making progress or not. All he knew was that his squad was still together and Hawkins seemed to have something up his sleeve. He soon found out what it was.

            "Here's the thing," Hawkins said when they all huddled under a large chunk of destroyed highway. Bullets whizzed past them, but it was an amazingly casual event for all of them. "Archer reports and Gasket confirms that a squadron of Hunters is pinned down to the east. They're probably stragglers from Zion's Delta party." The squad leader checked his heavy weapon and Rykov did the same. Vulcan absently felt for his weapons and made sure they were still there and still functional. Derringer somewhat feebly clutched a pistol in his remaining hand and Gasket didn't move. He apparently had recently tested his gun, and found it to be in perfect working order. The look on the human's face told Vulcan all he needed to know.

            "Let's go," Hawkins ordered, and the squad began to file out. "They're one block down, in the Pit!" Hawkins shouted over the noise pollution.

            Vulcan learned what the Pit was three minutes later. It wasn't a pit at all per se, but a mild crater surrounded by what looked like Gallagher debris. It was surrounded on most sides by debris or highway, and there seemed to Vulcan like a million places for a sniper to hide. In fact there were only four snipers hiding up in the highways, and they weren't very good at their work. Adaman bullets destroyed the road beneath the Hunters' feet, succeeding only in getting them to move with greater speed towards their destination.

            The first thing the besieged Hunters did when they saw Hawkins and his party was shoot at them. The small squadron split apart very quickly, and after some shouting the Hunters realized their folly. The delighted Mavericks kept on shooting, however, and a Hunter already present fell. There was a curious silence after this as the Hunter—a human—fell onto the street bleeding from the side. His pitiful moans were the only noise anyone could hear. Even the sounds of carnage from Point Alpha were drowned out.

            Then the moaning became shrieks of agony and horror as something hideous took place. Two lupine Mavericks leapt from the shadows, pounced on the downed human giddily and with great enthusiasm began tearing him apart. Blood and guts flew everywhere, and simple revulsion kept every Hunter rooted in place for a second. Then rage dominated Vulcan's heart and the Hunter quite simply stepped out of his cover, raised his rifle, and blew the midsection out of one of the Mavericks with a three-round burst of adaman bullets.

            The Maverick stared up at Vulcan in shock, human entrails still hanging from his teeth. Then he let out his own screech of pain and fell onto his stunned companion. Seconds later both were disintegrated by a concentrated onslaught of all the firepower the Hunters had. Hawkins leapt suddenly from the airship wreckage shielding him, pointed his rifle at Vulcan, and fired. The silver Hunter followed the shots past him and watched a Maverick armed with dual energy blades fall dead four feet away from his intended target. Vulcan looked back to the advancing Hawkins, who threw him a very sharp look. Watch your flanks! They both thought at once.

            The Mavericks were leaping from the shadows and Hawkins and the others took care of them. Vulcan, chastised but still energized, retreated from the scene and quietly found a place beneath the wreckage of a Gallagher wing, curiously close to what remained of a Buzzbomb launcher. It figured. The Hunter switched on his rifle's farsight and curled into a crouching position. He scanned the battle scene in front of him and his sniper's eye began to locate bullets that seemed to be coming from where there were no enemies. He explored these areas, mostly on the highway, and lo and behold there was a sniper, clumsily reloading his weapon. Without even thinking about it Vulcan lined up a shot and nailed the son of a bitch in the chest. His generator exploded and he died. Vulcan began sweeping the highways for another target. By pure and simple luck he locked onto another sniper and shot him, too. The shot took the enemy in the arm rather than the desired mark in the torso, but it was enough for the Maverick, who shrunk away and was not seen again.

            Then something very scary happened: a laser exploded into the shredded metal above Vulcan's head. The shot, chillingly, did not come from a direction where Vulcan could see any soldiers. A cold feeling went through the sniper's body—now he was being sniped! Someone had locked onto his position, and now he had to get the hell out of there before he died.

            It was at that precise moment that the world turned upside down yet again. There was a huge noise like the rumbling of the most treacherous thunder, and then a whole section of the wall of wreckage surrounding the "Pit" vanished as a tank drove through it. The behemoth was the very pinnacle of Megacity armored cavalry technology. Heavily reinforced with adaman armor and durable, fast moving treads, the tank moved with all the calm authority of the dark messenger, rumbling forth to issue the Hunters an invitation to Hell. The few remaining Mavericks dispersed and the Hunters dove for frantic cover as the tank's already focused barrel heated up. They were all too late.

            The explosion cracked Vulcan's helmet and left him dazed and bleeding out of an ear. When he opened his eyes the world was full of dust, and he could distinctly hear a very loud ringing in place of the carnage he'd expected. It took him surprisingly little time to recover from the tank's first attack, but as he switched on his infrared it became obvious that at least one other was not so lucky.

            The tank had stopped in the middle of the Pit, and before it lay Derringer's broken, bleeding body. The Hunter was moaning and begging for help that Vulcan could not see coming—all the other Hunters were hiding and watching the same hellish scene Vulcan was. Almost all of them, anyway…Vulcan saw two new corpses on the ground. He didn't know either of them, and that made him curiously joyful. Vulcan now had a better opportunity to observe the tank. In addition to its obvious cannon it had a monster of a machine gun positioned on the right side of the barrel, requiring only a daring gunner to man it…a gunner who Vulcan now saw, settling in behind the wicked gun's controls. That thing could probably mow down Archer's entire unit in seconds, Vulcan realized. He did the most obvious thing—he lined up his rifle for a shot at the gunner. It would be an easy shot. The tank was sitting still, after all, and—

            The ground before him exploded in a little burst, and Vulcan remembered that he had a sniper trying to kill him. He had to get out of here—

            "Nobody move!" a voice boomed on the tank's external speakers.

            "Help me…" Derringer's order was far less inspiring than the Maverick's.

            "Damn," Vulcan said aloud, his body beginning to shake. He had to move. He had to. There was no choice in the matter. But yes, there was, because if he moved Derringer would die. But if he didn't move, he would die. Maybe. Then Vulcan noticed that the giant machine gun was swiveling as the gunner behind it began sweeping the area for targets. Vulcan realized that if he did run, the gunner would get him before he even broke into a full sprint. Fear gripped his heart with slimy, clammy hands. He turned his sweating head slowly, scanning the horizon with infrared sensors to pick up on his sniper's location, but the morning's battles had produced so much heat that infrared was useless at that distance. He switched it off and looked again at Derringer, who was trying to crawl on broken legs out of the way. How could they help him? How could they help themselves?

            Why wasn't anyone shooting the gunner? He was swiveling the huge weapon towards the largest concentration of Hunters. He was going to fire. They were just using Derringer to stall for time. Why didn't anyone else see that? Why didn't they understand that Derringer was going to die no matter what? Why wasn't anyone shooting the gunner? Why aren't I shooting the gunner, Vulcan asked next. It was so simple. All he had to do was raise his weapon and stop the threat in its tracks. Then they could deal with the tank. Right, fine then. It was time to go. Vulcan's arms didn't move. Damn it! He cursed himself with all the vehemence he could muster. He hated his body for its refusal to obey his commands. What was so hard about it? Derringer would die anyway, so why was it so hard to fire the shot that would kill him?

            "Help me…" Derringer was still sputtering, having given up on escape from the devil in charge of the tank. "It hurts…"

            That devil turned out to be Tetra. The junkyard worker who'd made possible the whole war was having a fine time keeping the Hunters at bay. He'd sped off to follow the renegade Hunter force, and he fully believed he'd pinned them all down here. Tetra sent a message informing his gunner to be ready, and then returned to his loudspeaker. "You want to save your friend? Surrender, then. I'll blow him away if you don't…and then you'll be next! So save yourselves the trouble, you assholes! You'll never defeat a tank."

            Derringer couldn't hear him anymore. He just laid there, his armor spent by shrapnel and his frame even more mangled than it had been going into the fight. Vulcan sat there nervously, not breathing. Stop the gunner, he thought as loudly as he could. Somebody DO something!

            Someone did do something, and that someone was Tetra. He didn't blow Derringer away—he was too close for that. Instead he ran him over with the tank treads. The shrieking Hunter raised his good arm as though to defend against the behemoth and it was the first thing to snap off of him. The tank was a steamroller, and Derringer was now a pancake…more of an omelet, actually, a mixture of flesh, coolant, wires, servos, and scrap, all mushed into a sloppy goop.

            Vulcan came to life now that Derringer was no longer around to hinder him. It would later amaze and shame him to think that while Derringer's fate had been the annoyance that paralyzed them all his death had been the thing that energized them to fight. It made so very little sense. None of this made any sense at all, really. The silver Hunter hadn't had any idea that combat could get so confusing. He wasn't thinking of this at the moment, though, as every bit of his mind was consumed with a terrible rage at the sight of his friend being so brutally murdered. His one and only desire now was to get up and fight Tetra to the death and he was one hundred percent sure that nothing could stop him, at least until the sniper shot him through the arm and he fell back to the earth. That was an excruciating feeling—not the pain, but the sense of all that built up energy dissipating slowly and without any semblance of satisfaction.

            His friends made up for his lack of attack, however. A screaming mass of plasma, adaman bullets, and even a bazooka shell exploded into the side of the tank, the result of time spent awkwardly charging weapons while wondering what the hell to do next. The tank shuddered and turned its attention to the direction of the fire. Vulcan was surprised that the Hunters had all clustered so closely together, especially given the nature of their opponent. They began filing out of their hiding spots in a mad war rush, and Vulcan was glad that the sniper had prevented him from running out there with them because the gunner turned on his weapon and began to do just what Vulcan had predicted—he mowed them down. The weapon spouted flames like a dragon's maw and the huge, golden streaks of light that were armor piercing bullets—much more destructive than any normal adaman bullets—ripped much of the original Pit squad to pieces. Inside the tank, Tetra boomed with laughter as he realigned his tank barrel and fired again.

            Those who had been spared the gunner's wrath suffered next before Tetra's. Fire consumed them, and a sick feeling took Vulcan as he wondered which of his friends could possibly come out of that alive. The answer was a startling surprise—Rykov, Hawkins and Gasket ran out together along with two others Hawkins had picked up on the way to the pit. They all opened fire on the gunner, who tried to turn their way but pivoted the gun as far as it could go in one direction. Frantically he turned about the other way, but not before Rykov and Hawkins switched on their heavy weaponry. Vulcan didn't see what became of it, but he did see the gunner's weapon start up again, and that was enough for him. He raised his rifle to fire a burst at the gunner's exposed back, but the tip of his right foot exploded in pain. Sniper 2, Vulcan 0. Snarling and throwing caution to the wind Vulcan looked to the direction where the bullet had come, prepared to give the spot hell, but something else demanded his attention: foot soldiers.

            Vulcan surprised the Mavericks by running in their direction and simply firing like a madman. He struck one in the leg, and they both turned and fled out of more fear than anything. Vulcan next stopped to aim and the wounded one's head exploded with a satisfying sound, like a watermelon splattering on a sidewalk after a long fall. He tried to get the other one but he was out of ammo. He swore and took evasive action just in case someone was trying to get him. He uploaded his last ammo cartridge—that was depressing on so many levels—and turned back to the action just as the sniper shot the ground dangerously near him. Sooner or later that damned hidden evil would get lucky, and Vulcan wasn't about to let that happen.

            With a roar of vengeance, the enraged Hunter let some of the Derringer anger brew up inside him as he ran towards the highways, his arm cannon activated on his unwounded arm—the wounded one was hurt but not bad enough that it couldn't carry the rifle—and unleashed a charged blast up at a point where he knew the sniper had to be somewhere near. It was a fool's shot, an attack that would never possibly bear any results, except of course in this particular instance. Vulcan was blessed with an almost insane amount of luck today, and the shot flew far closer to the hidden sniper than Vulcan could ever have imagined. The startled Maverick leapt in fright as the shot passed by, lost his footing, dropped his weapon and fell off the highway far down to the city below. Vulcan never knew this, though, and just remained content in that he'd sent a message, relying on luck and hoping the sniper wouldn't bother him for the remainder of the war.

            Vulcan looked back just in time to see one of Hawkins's two new friends—the one who had the bazooka—launch a rocket right into the machine gun, which looked damaged already. Vulcan briefly wondered why no one had leapt aboard the tank and turned the gun against it, but he didn't know that Megacity tanks were designed to guard against such an action. The gun and the gunner vanished in a screaming tower of fire, and the tank itself shuddered very violently. At the same time it shot backwards on its speedy treads, startling the Hunter with the bazooka and causing him to scamper backwards. His balance was already off from the bazooka recoil and he fell, his weapon rolling away from him. Fortunately, Tetra stopped before driving over him. Unfortunately, a Maverick foot soldier shot him in the head.

            So absorbed was Vulcan in the moment that neither he nor his comrades had really noticed a new Maverick presence arriving at the scene. It seemed that Boomer and Gravity had realized how dangerous the Hunter strategy really was, and were dispatching more and more troops to Point Delta. Since the Pit was on the way, many felt obliged to help their partners in crime defeat the ragtag Hunter group under Hawkins.

            "Watch it!" Hawkins thundered, but Gasket would do no such thing. The human raced towards the new Maverick squad, much as Vulcan had done, and began unloading his weapon. Vulcan followed his example and dropped three stunned Mavericks in five seconds. It became automatic. He shot, redirected, shot, redirected, shot, and on it went, and all his shots were hitting, in sharp contrast to the rest of the morning. Eventually he and Gasket lost too much ground and had to retreat, but Rykov met the enemy with a rumbling heavy machine gun that did to the Mavericks what Tetra's gunner had done to the Hunters.

            Speaking of Tetra, the tanker was giving Hawkins a very hard time. As soon as Vulcan realized how alone Hawkins was he raced to help. Hawkins had selected the treads as a target, but even with his machine gun it would take forever to wear away at those things. Fortunately the other added Hunter had scooped up his friend's bazooka and reloaded it. He approached the tank from the opposite side and fired into the treads, shredding them and briefly disabling the tank.

            Hawkins moved with very admirable speed. The daring Hunter raced to the still tank and drew three grenades from his utility belt. He pulled the pins on all three and lodged them in the tread wheels, just as he heard them groan in protest as Tetra ordered them to move again. Hawkins then ran his ass away from there, motioning for Vulcan to do the same. Seconds later the other side of the tank's treads exploded, and Tetra's voice shrieked over the loudspeaker he'd forgotten to turn off.

            Rykov and Gasket fled from their corner of the Pit as a much-reduced squadron of Mavericks trickled in. Vulcan shot one down and moved for cover when he saw Tetra redirecting the tank barrel his way. They had to knock that thing out of commission before Tetra got the treads moving again. But how? Vulcan looked for the Hunter with the bazooka. It seemed to be the only weapon capable of doing the job. He found the Hunter just as he finished reloading his weapon. He raised it just in time to draw the attention of two other Mavericks. Rykov and Vulcan both saw it and cried out warnings that were too late. The Hunter fell wounded and his bazooka was lost under a pile of shrapnel. Rykov did nail one of the attackers, though.

            Hawkins shouted something in a very frantic, distressed tone. Vulcan turned around just in time to see Tetra's tank barrel coming down right in his direction. The Hunter's world crashed around him as he very quickly realized there was no escape. Rykov was already moving and might get out of the blast radius, but he himself could never get far enough before the fire started. Everything started moving in slow motion, including his arm that was converting into a cannon and coming up towards the tank. Vulcan didn't stop the reflex action. After all, if he was going to die, why not go out strong?

            "Strong" was not how anyone would describe what came out of his blaster. It was a regular blast fired quickly, and looked nothing like the massive plasma rays that had been needed to previously damage the tank. But Vulcan wasn't aiming for the armor, and even in desperation his aim was true. The shot flew through the air and straight into the tank barrel. Such an attack could have no effect on the tank except to stun it, and even that only happened once in a blue moon, and even if it had it wouldn't have mattered, because Tetra had already fired the shot…much to Vulcan's benefit. It impacted the plasma about halfway through the barrel and everything went straight to hell.

            The premature explosion peeled the barrel back like a banana, or something straight out of a cartoon. The melted metal then disappeared in the fiery explosion, which just got worse as the tank cockpit felt the effects of the detonation. The tank began blowing up from the inside out. Gouts of fire exploded out of its sides, and the entire top section actually fell off, the remnants of the gun and the barrel clanging hard onto the ground. Fire flew freely in burning tongues across the battlefield, scalding combatants on both sides. The Mavericks watched the death of their behemoth with amazed eyes, though none were as amazed as Vulcan, who'd shot a tank with a peashooter and destroyed the whole thing. The explosion set him flat on his ass, and there he sat while recovering his senses, a dangerous thing on the battlefield especially when the enemy has just gotten really pissed off.

            The tank's demise did not dishearten the Mavericks. Rather, they became infuriated. They rushed forward bellowing obscene, vulgar war cries and opening wild streams of fire. Vulcan, Rykov, Gasket and Hawkins shrunk away from them, realizing in stunned horror that even though they'd taken out the major enemy the minor ones would inevitably overpower them.

            Then something happened that none of them expected—more combatants joined the fray, and none of them bore Maverick symbols. The enemy looked around in shock as the Hunter reinforcements came upon them. It was a large squad…a squad of Unit 17. A woman with long white hair and a nasty looking lightsaber floated like a spirit among the Mavericks, cleaving their lives away with elegant yet vicious swings of her saber.

            "Scylla!" Vulcan heard Hawkins exclaim when the two sergeants met up.

            "We got separated from the main unit," Scylla explained as she cut down a Maverick offender. "I was leading them to Point Delta."

            "Nice of you to get lost," Hawkins said, suddenly in a wry mood. "I mean that."

            Scylla just smiled and got back to work, her troops doing a good job of countering the Maverick reinforcements. Rykov let out a triumphant whoop and rejoined the fray. Vulcan ran to follow him, but turned his sights to a group of combatants near the demolished, burning tank. He fired a series of shots their way, in his excitement forgetting to take proper time to aim. He adjusted that and dropped one Maverick with a chest wound. It was good to be winning again, he thought.

            His good mood vanished when something entirely unbelievable happened: Tetra sprang from the wreckage of his tank and tackled Vulcan, dragging an energy dagger across his upper chest. It was meant for his throat, but Tetra hadn't exactly been in a position for flawless coordination. They rolled over each other on the ground until Vulcan found himself pinned under the mad Maverick's form. The unimpressive but still competent Maverick spat in Vulcan's eye just before slamming his dagger down towards the Hunter's head. Vulcan moved his head to the right, feeling the dagger slice open his cheek. With a yelp of pain he surged upwards, knocking Tetra off him. The Maverick staggered back awkwardly and Vulcan, an evil glare in his eyes, raised his assault rifle and fired straight at Tetra's chest.

            He was out of ammo.

            Vulcan blinked, stunned, while Tetra laughed wickedly and approached with surprising speed. Vulcan, slow to react, was gashed across the stomach with the knife and in a frenzy smashed the broadside of his empty rifle into Tetra's face. The Maverick gagged on something—a tooth—and staggered back. But he came forth much faster, delivering a solid punch to Vulcan's face and tearing his slashed flesh even more. The sting brought tears to Vulcan's enraged eyes and he threw the weapon to the ground, converting his arm to a cannon while reaching with his wounded arm for his lightsaber. Tetra kept coming, and it was all Vulcan could do to stop his martial maneuvers. Then the Maverick suddenly snapped his wrist out and flung the dagger into Vulcan's collar, dangerously near his throat. Gagging in surprised pain and experiencing the sensation of death, Vulcan did the only thing he could do—he raised his weak arm cannon and shot Tetra.

            The Maverick yelped as the plasma burned his synthetic skin and recoiled, allowing time for Vulcan to yank the dagger out—an agonizing action—and toss it to the ground in a rage. He instantaneously reprimanded himself for not thinking to throw it at its owner. He put it out of mind and activated his lightsaber, rushing Tetra with his weapon held high.

            Tetra had apparently never come face to face with a lightsaber before, because his eyes went wide and he leapt backwards in fear. Encouraged, Vulcan surged at him with very rapid steps, ready to annihilate this Maverick scum once and for all.

            He slipped on the slick ground and fell, bathing himself in a wet mixture of…something. Tetra's face split into the most sardonic smile Vulcan had ever seen, and he was immediately dying to know what was so funny. Then Tetra drew another smaller dagger from his belt and approached the stunned Hunter to thrust the knife into his neck. At this distance, there was no way he could miss. Rykov finally realized this too, and blew half of Tetra's lower abdomen out with a single round from his machine gun. The Maverick's formerly giddy eyes went very wide with shock and pain, and he staggered away from Vulcan, alive but very wounded.

            Vulcan sat up slowly, feeling the sticky tar-like substance peel off of him as he did so. It was like falling into a puddle of paint, only with bits of metal in it. He felt something leathery on the back of his neck and pulled it off quickly, shuddering at the feeling. His mechanical heart stopped when he realized what it was—a face. A scream escaped the Hunter's lips as he realized that he had Derringer all over him.

            Rykov had traversed the distance to his friend and with a mighty cry he hauled Vulcan up and out of the Derringer soup, scooping their friend's mangled face out of Vulcan's paralyzed hands and wiping the as much goop off the silver one's face and hair as he could. Vulcan just stayed in his own little world, shivering, completely immersed in the horror of the moment. Rykov hadn't the slightest idea what to do—his own heart had yet to start beating again. The concept of Vulcan's plight was enough to drive Rykov mad. "Come on," he said as calmly as he could, leading his friend away from the shooting grounds. "Hang in there, Vulcan…Jesus Christ!" He turned his head away in revulsion, and would have vomited if he'd had the ability. Blood was all his kind could spit up, and that was only due to a wound.

            Neither realized that the shooting grounds weren't really shooting grounds anymore. Scylla was mopping up the remaining Maverick resistance and Hawkins was crouching near the Hunter who'd possessed the bazooka second, his apparent friend. He had a nasty wound in his stomach, and Hawkins was seething with maddening rage. It grew worse when he saw what had happened to Vulcan and Rykov, and when he saw the greasy wet smear that he knew had to be Derringer he lost what was left of his mind. Hawkins picked up his weapon and marched over to where Tetra was poorly nursing his gaping wound. The Unit 5 squadron leader wordlessly pointed his gun at the Maverick, who was blustering pathetic protests, and unloaded his heavily destructive weapon. Hawkins blew Tetra to atoms, bellowing one extended scream of rage through the whole thing. Finally the clip emptied and his voice switched to something between anguish and great frustration. He stepped back a few feet from the execution grounds and slumped down to his knees, leaned on his weapon, and shuddered. He didn't cry, nor had he any desire to. He just shuddered.

            Vulcan did the same thing. Rykov kept a firm hand on his friend's shoulder, constantly reassuring him that it was over, that it would pass, but Vulcan knew it would never pass. He'd had Derringer's face on the back of his neck, and he had Derringer's blood and guts all over his body, in his hair, hell, probably even in his mouth. He existed in a quagmire of horror and revulsion, his young mind shattered as the sickening event replayed over and over in an endless loop. He wanted to shut it off, and he didn't care how he had to do it. Never in his life had Vulcan wanted to die, but at this moment he would have taken the option without a second thought, just to stop this agonizing, wrenching, disgusting moment in its tracks.

            But he could not die, because Rykov would not let him, and Vulcan mentally thanked his best friend a hundred times over for not getting killed and for sticking around him now. He concentrated on Rykov, he replayed their earlier battles of the morning, and he remembered all the successes they'd had. He tried to remember that they'd even stopped a tank, but that thought was too closely connected with Derringer, and he shut it out of his mind. He was not aware when Scylla approached them in a sort of silent reverence. Rykov, however, was fully aware.

            "This is the one who took out the tank?" Scylla asked him quietly, her white hair stained with dark Reploid blood.

            "Yeah." Rykov nodded his head towards the tank's remains. "Then…"

            "I know." Scylla looked at Vulcan's torn face and her own features softened. The lifelong Huntress perfectly identified Vulcan's crisis as one she herself had been faced with once. Most of her friends, in fact, had experienced something similar in their careers. Mega Man X himself had been painted with Zero's blood at one horrible moment in time.

            Rykov saw her recognition and begged for help. "How…"

            She cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. "This is the best thing you can do. Don't leave him alone," she said ominously but accurately. Rykov absorbed it and solemnly nodded. Scylla looked at Vulcan again and a sigh escaped her lips. Then she left them and started walking towards Hawkins.

            As the white haired Huntress walked she glanced at her sharp, menacing saber and remembered the first time she'd been forced to use it. She remembered the first time blood had splashed all over her, the first time she'd taken a life…and the first time she'd ever had a nightmare. Half of her damned Vulcan for forcing her to remember all of it, but the other half was grateful. It brought her back down to earth. It reminded her of the exact nature of what she did in combat, and that nature was pure unrefined evil. It was as evil as it was when she'd first discovered it. Such a shame, she thought, that people as young as Vulcan had to experience such a thing.

            It was the price some soldiers paid, she reflected sullenly. It was, at least, the price her Commander X had paid.

            Zion couldn't thank his lucky stars enough when he beheld the series of roads that was Point Delta. The Maverick concentration was as sparse as they'd all hoped. The Hunters of Units 17 and 20 surged forth with great enthusiasm as the Mavericks scrambled to meet them. Five dead Mavericks later and they accepted the futility of their resistance and fled. Zion threw Jasper a triumphant look as they stepped behind enemy lines and rushed for the road leading to Signas's location. The Maverick Hunters had broken through Frontline. They just hoped they weren't already too late.

            Erich Zegmann gave the order, and a calamity of heavy firepower roared into the Maverick ranks, devastating them further. Frontline was falling back, but somehow they kept on fighting. No one knew of Zion's gains quite yet.

            Boomer Kuwangner and Gravity Beetle were still causing trouble, and the Hunter commanders Archer and Mason had finally approached their positions. Archer went straight for the spindly Kuwangner while Mason went for his more heavily armored brother.

            Archer sprang from a crowd of combatants and fairly surprised Kuwangner, who still recovered well. He lashed out with a spindly foot and knocked Archer's sword arm askew. Both combatants recovered their stances and dove at each other with a fury that surprised and warned away nearby soldiers. The sadistic Kuwangner leapt into the air over Archer's head, leaving his Boomerang Cutter in his wake. The deadly blade curved down towards Archer while Kuwangner landed behind him. Archer merely dove to the side, avoiding Kuwangner's kick. The lanky Maverick scooped his weapon out of the air and leapt again towards Archer, slashing the Cutter his way. Archer parried the blow with his own rush, his sword knocking the boomerang out of Kuwangner's hands. He continued on and punched the Maverick hard in the face…or he would have, had Kuwangner not bent his head back to let the punch slide overhead. He drove his own fist into Archer's midsection and quite suddenly vanished. He reappeared near his Cutter and he scooped it back into his hands.

            Archer swore, remembering Kuwangner's short-range teleporter. The Maverick used it again after snapping the Cutter back on his head, reappearing behind Archer and snapping the Cutter around his waist. Archer swore more sharply as Kuwangner performed his Dead Lift attack, snapping his body straight upright and throwing Archer at very high speeds into the air.

            Fortunately there was no ceiling in the great outdoors for him to smash his metal bones against, and Archer was a quick thinker. As soon as he realized what was going on he twisted his body and flung his sword arm downwards. His ornate red lightsaber slammed into the ground at Kuwangner's feet, scaring him and prompting another warp. He warped back when he decided to steal the Hunter's sword.

            This was precisely what Archer counted on. Like many combat Reploids Archer had an innate special attack, and his was called the Thunder Seeker. Archer's arm cannon activated and he uploaded the program for his special maneuver. The sword on the ground gave off a faint glow as did his arm cannon, and from the cannon erupted large, concentrated bursts of plasma energy. They actually had nothing to do with thunder other than the fact that they could blow things up, but Archer just liked the name for his attack. The lasers homed in on the sword, their targeting beacon, which Kuwangner held in his hands. The Maverick learned firsthand why his opponent was named Archer.

            Kuwangner let out a frustrated screech and dropped the weapon, his armor damaged by the Thunder Seeker. Archer landed rather awkwardly, but recovered quickly enough. He dashed forward to grab his sword but Kuwangner was no longer playing the game. The spindly beetle teleported away from the area, moving progressively backwards into the Frontline. Archer allowed himself a smile and chocked up another victory for himself.

            Mason's powerful bazooka buster sent a large burst of plasma flying at Gravity Beetle, who shielded himself with his thick wings. Nevertheless he nearly fell over due to the force of the attack.

            The problem with his blaster was that it took it a few seconds to recharge. Mason used his free time to encroach on Gravity's space, hoping to cover the distance before the Maverick pulled off one of his notorious attacks. It was not to be. Gravity rose from underneath his wings with a ball of energy already in his hands. It exploded out into Mason, sending him flying through the air like the Hunters Gravity was tossing around earlier. When he finally got to his feet he had to beat back a Maverick soldier, and by then Gravity was more than ready for him. The powerful Maverick sent a Gravity Well into the air, and the pulsating orb of energy began gathering all nearby matter to it like the black hole it was. Rather than being repelled, Mason was dragged in the Maverick's direction while the enemy positioned the huge blades on his curved snout to impale him when he arrived.

            Glaring, Mason raised his cannon and fired straight into Gravity as he approached. It was almost comical to see the way the Maverick's eyes widen before the shot hit him dead in the chest, sending him flat on his back. The Gravity Well dissipated and Mason touched down, leveling his cannon to launch another shot just as soon as it was ready.

            It was about at this moment when Hunters and Mavericks alike learned about Zion's breach at Point Delta. The Hunters let out a collective shout and surged forth while the Mavericks fell back in dismay. Gravity Beetle, realizing his predicament, spread his wings and activated the powerful thrusters underneath them. He shot into the air away from Mason, who sent a burst of plasma up after him. The shot missed, but as soon as the Mavericks saw their armored leader retreating they too began to scatter. Archer and Mason threw each other glances of victory and behind them Zegmann started moving Unit 15 forward, pressing the Mavericks who were resisting back even further. Frontline had fallen to the determined Hunter force, and now it was time for the more delicate part of the day…

            …The reclamation of Maverick Hunter Headquarters from the hands of the enemy.

            Tiberius gave the all-clear signal and his little party stole as quietly as they could down the long hallway leading towards the storage room. "Nothing's coming," Damia kept reporting via communicator from her vantage points inside the ventilation system. Tiberius counted on it and kept moving. Cain, Ledyard, Carlton, Krysta and Nightchaser were remarkably alert considering their situation, and Tiberius certainly gave them credit for that.

            Every step down that final hallway caused Tiberius's heart to beat a little slower. The storage room was the closest thing they had to a sanctuary. Inside would be weapons and communication equipment. Inside would be a chance at salvation. But all that needed to happen was for one Maverick to come around the corner at the other end of the hall and all would be lost. Tiberius would shoot him dead with his pistol, but the pistol was not silenced and someone would be bound to pick up on the noise. Finally after what seemed like hours he arrived at the locked door to the storage center. Ledyard stood guard with his rifle at the ready while Tiberius removed his keys and unlocked the door. Then he took a deep breath and opened them.

            It was dark inside, and the first thing Tiberius did was turn on his internal infrared sensors. Immediately he locked onto a life form and raised his pistol suddenly. "Who's there?" he asked, and immediately wondered with dread how loudly he'd actually said the words.

            His target wasn't exactly squeamish. He was a human in casual clothing, dropped into an expert stance with his own pistol leveled at Tiberius. His green eyes were unwavering at first, but they did blink in recognition after a second or two. "Tiberius."

            "Kevin," Tiberius identified him as Caligula's protégé. He lowered his weapon and turned off infrared. "So you're still here."

            "Close the door," Kevin Seitz hissed unnecessarily. Ledyard had ushered the rest of them in and was closing the doors as Seitz spoke. "They haven't been by here yet. I didn't know who you were."

            "Likewise." Tiberius allowed himself to relax a little. He wiped sweat from his brow and looked to see his comrades already grabbing and loading what few spare machine and regular pistols were left. The medical chief touched his communicator. "You still with us?"

            "Already on my way," Damia replied in a voice that was remarkably nonchalant. "Look up."

            Tiberius did so and saw the vent shaft on the upper right wall. It was actually very easily accessible to them, he noted. Damia might use it to enter the room, but anyone could use it to get out. "We need to get through to Signas," he told Seitz. The young intelligence officer, paid to be a mind reader, was already handing Tiberius a radio. "Thanks. Hello?" he asked after he entered Signas's frequency. With any luck the electromagnetic pulse Gallagher had shot the HQ with before its Buzzbomb attack would have dissipated by now. "Anyone there?"

            No one was at the other end, but Damia chose the moment to arrive at this end. She rapped on the grate to let them know not to shoot her, and then forcibly removed the grate, slipping her body out of the cramped steel tunnel and down to the floor below. She set the grate aside and looked curiously at Tiberius, who still picked up nothing but static. If Signas still existed, he was too busy to answer his communicator. The thought deeply disturbed everyone in the room.

            "You'd better take this, Commander," Dr. Ledyard said, pressing a loaded machine pistol into Damia's hands. "No telling how ugly things might get."

            "Nice choice," Damia said genuinely. The rapid-fire pistol was much easier to get into the ventilator, and she had some premonition that they'd have to get into the ventilators before this was all over. Ledyard nodded and went back to cleaning his own weapon. Dr. Carlton allowed himself only a pistol, considering his main business to be keeping the wounded on their feet.

            One of the "wounded" was not exactly one to fight in battles, but on the flip side Dr. Cain did not like feeling helpless. He took a pistol for himself, knowing that if he had to use it he was in a losing situation anyway. Still, the aging scientist thought, it was somehow more acceptable to die after sending a few of the bastards to the grave before him, a feeling that flew against the principles he'd lived all his life, but somehow seemed perfectly applicable in these desperate times. Cain knew enough about his situation to be afraid but strangely enough he didn't care as much as he thought he should. It didn't seem to sink in that death was right at his doorstep. After having lived through so much already, it was hard for Cain to comprehend being killed by Mavericks.

            Krysta was in the worst shape of the lot. Her side was numbed as much as Carlton could numb it without knocking her out, but it still hurt like hell. She marveled at every step she took how Scythe's weapon hadn't managed to pass right through her. The crystalline armored junior Huntress was getting much more than she'd ever bargained for by joining the Hunters. Never once did she think she'd be hiding with some of the most revered members of the whole force while in the belly of the beast, which was oddly enough their own backyard and not Seraph Castle, as everyone had first suspected. She wondered how things were going over in the Catskills. Were the Mavericks celebrating yet? Were the kingpins drinking merrily at the confirmation of all the mindless deaths they'd caused today? She was sure they were, and it sickened her. She hoped they died. She hoped they all died in the worst ways possible, mostly because she knew she would never live to do it herself. Even though Krysta was very young, she had no delusions about fighting off a whole Maverick force while wounded as badly as she was. And death was not so bad, she decided, especially when it was compared with capture. She'd seen the images of Maverick prisoners, and she knew what kinds of things the Mavericks did to their captives. The hole in her side was a big neon sign saying, "Torture Me". The more she reflected on this the more dying became her actual goal for the day. She didn't want to survive. Death equaled safety from agony, and agony was all the Mavericks promised to Hunters. At least, she reflected with a glance at Cain and Ledyard, she was not a human. She might be humiliated and hurt, but the Mavericks would never spend the kind of time on her that they would a human, especially such a hated human as Cain.

            Nevertheless the concept still haunted her, and the fear was enough to make her turn to Nightchaser and say "Don't let them take me alive."

            Nightchaser let out a slow breath when he heard the statement. "Only," he said evenly, "if you promise me the same thing." He too feared a death in captivity, but not for the same reasons Krysta did. Threat of physical pain did not frighten Nightchaser, but the concept of such an ignoble, humiliating demise revolted him. If he had to be killed by a Maverick it would be in combat, he resolved, and not in a torture chamber or as a civilian on the streets. He knew, of course, that Krysta could care less about such things and made her the promise only because he saw no reason to force suffering on her. He might never get along with Krysta, Vulcan and Rykov in civilian life but in combat they were all allies, and Nightchaser never had any qualms about helping allies in combat. That was part of the reason he'd resisted Scythe with such zeal. He hated Mavericks with a passion, and his personal hatred of Scythe exploded like a volcano when his identity was revealed and even more so when Chase considered that the abominable Reploid had been playing him for a fool. The final straw was the fact that Scythe had attacked noncombatants, people who couldn't defend themselves. He'd attacked Krysta from behind, and Chase wasn't about to let the bastard get away after that.

            Krysta nodded to Chase's condition and he nodded back, settling the grisly deal. Hopefully, both thought in the part of their minds that could still fathom survival, they would not be forced to carry through on their offer. And if he did, Chase thought with an actual wry grin breaking out on his face, he had better die also, because there was no way that asshole Vulcan would believe that he'd killed Krysta out of mercy. Such a situation he had with that crowd…well, Vulcan was a prick, but Chase also was a prick, and he often proudly stated it. He supposed he could respect Vulcan for his prickitude.

            "What's going on in the city?" Tiberius was asking Seitz.

            "I was about to ask you the same question," the young officer responded. "I know I heard a few big bangs after the Buzzbomb hit this place, so I can't help but wonder if…"

            "Yeah," Tiberius nodded solemnly. "This whole situation sucks."

            "So let's get out of it," Damia said forcefully. "That shaft will lead you to the electrical center if you follow it straight. From there it's a short run to one of the back exits. It's cramped, and no assault rifles are gonna fit in there, but it's better than staying in here." She gestured to Ledyard. "You go up first."

            Ledyard was already replacing his rifle with a machine pistol, taking plenty of ammo along. "Tiberius isn't gonna fit."

            "Tiberius can teleport," the medic said himself in a bit of third person behavior. "But I'm not going anywhere until we get everybody out of here."

            Kevin Seitz was next. He went of his own accord, holstering not one but two pistols and climbing with admirable, youthful agility into the vent.

            "Can you get up?" Tiberius asked Cain. The old man could not, and Tiberius and Carlton carefully helped him into the confined area, both worrying about how the old man would manage.

            "Carlton, get up after him." Damia ushered the Reploid doctor to where the human doctor was climbing into the shaft. Cain actually threw them a thumbs up and vanished into the darkness. Carlton pocketed as many medical supplies as he could fit and followed his colleague into the shaft. "Who's next into the Hall of Claustrophobia?" Damia asked dryly, her eyes falling on Nightchaser. "You. Can you fit?"

            Nightchaser had already started removing his bulkier bits of armor. It was a hard thing to do, but it was necessary. It would be a tight fit, but the Reploid could do it. He looked somewhat awkwardly back at Krysta. He wanted to make sure she made it. As the two most junior members of the little party, they both figured they ought to stick together. Krysta limped after him and Chase got started hoisting himself into the vent. "Christ," he said instantly. "This is gonna suck so bad…"

            It sucked worse than any of them could have guessed, because at that moment a storm of energized Maverick voices filled the halls outside the storage room. "Shit," Tiberius and Damia said at once as the latter rushed to close the lights, just in case any light was spilling out through the door cracks into the hallway. Chase, suddenly blinded, swore again and earned a nervous punch in the leg from Krysta below him. He realized that there was no way for him to do it quietly, so he decided to do it quickly and squirmed into the vent, forcing himself to keep his vulgarities under his breath.

            Krysta was next. She made out Damia giving her a frantic "go" signal in the dark and clumsily began her climb. The Mavericks outside were excited about the way the battles were going outside. Boomer Kuwangner and Gravity Beetle were returning to this place, they had been told, and here a final stand would be made, inside the Hunters' own home base! They were finally now able to explore the whole HQ interior looking for any more hostages. They'd found a few and kept them as bargaining chips, as they'd been ordered, but they were still hungry for more. It was a lethal game of hide and seek, and all the hiding Hunters knew that their number would be up as soon as the noise of a single gunshot resonated throughout the halls.

            Krysta didn't fire any guns but she did the next worse thing. She slipped in the darkness, lost both her grip and her footing, gasped in shock and fell into a shelf of radios, knocking over the shelf and spilling the contents loudly onto the ground.

            The sound like was like thunder in their ears. Damia and Tiberius both promptly freaked, raising their weapons and whispering frantically for the vent party to MOVE IT. Krysta herself lay on the floor paralyzed by a monster stab of pain in her side—the corner of the shelf had dug into her wound. The overwhelmed Damia moved like a madwoman, scooping her up and hauling her roughly back towards the vent. She helped the agonized young Huntress up to the vent and Tiberius helped shove her in. They were at a disadvantage because Nightchaser was too big to turn around and help pull, and thus everything relied on pushing.

            The Mavericks hadn't missed the noise. Cries of alarm rang out from the hallways and both Damia and Tiberius swore with great vehemence. They finally got Krysta into the vent just as the doors burst open and two Mavericks entered. Tiberius got them both with his assault rifle. The sounds radiated throughout the building, and it seemed to Tiberius like there was no one on earth who shouldn't be able to hear them. It was useless to try and hide the bodies since their blood was splattered all over the walls, and so Tiberius and Damia switched on their infrared and pulled the doors shut.

            "What the hell do we do now?" Tiberius asked, his cool exterior shattered.

            "Don't panic," said Damia, even though her voice bordered on panic. "We're gonna have to make a break for it."

            "Why not use the vents?" Tiberius asked. "You're small. You can fit."

            "No," Damia shook her head, fear apparent in her eyes, fear that was not for herself but for others. "The vents are obvious. They're gonna smoke 'em out. Grenades," she added when Tiberius didn't understand. "We have to stall them until the others make some progress." To try and help her planned charade, Damia ran to replace the grate to the vent.

            "So we can't teleport?" Tiberius confirmed, breathing heavily.

            "No, we gotta buy them time." Damia crossed back over to him and forced confidence back onto her face. "We're not licked yet. Get to the others in the electrical room…the long way."

            Tiberius caught his breath. "What about you?"

            The younger Reploid's confidence wavered, despite her efforts to maintain it. "I'll draw them away from the halls you'll use. I'm better in a fight than you, pal. I'll keep them busy longer."

            "Don't do that," Tiberius protested lamely. He knew she was right but still hated the thought of leaving her to fend for herself. They'd been friends for too long not to think that way. Plus he'd promised Delates over the radio when Damia had been sent back that he'd take care of her for him, and he did not think Delates would react well to his significant other's demise. "You'll die if you do this."

            She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head in an unidentifiable emotion. "I'm…not just gonna stand there, you know?" She looked at him with as much conviction as she could as the Maverick voices outside grew closer. "I'll be fine." Her show of confidence, feeble as it was, was as reassuring as it had always been. "Just don't forget what you have to do. Get Cain and the others out of here alive! You're the healer. That's your job."

            Outside the Mavericks saw their dead comrades. "In there!" one of them shouted.

            "We won't leave you behind," Tiberius said with as much conviction as he himself could muster.

            Damia looked back at him with an appreciative but hopeless half-smile. She bade farewell to her old friend with her eyes and smashed the doors open, flooring the approaching Mavericks. Something took over in her then and with an imposing cry she opened a spray of continuous gunfire while racing down the halls, mowing down anything in her way like some action heroine out of a movie.

            The Mavericks were very eager to be duped. Shouts of "After her!" and "Don't let her get away!" rang throughout the halls as all the Mavericks forgot about the storage room and chased Damia. Tiberius ran out after counting to ten and blew the brains out of the only nearby Maverick. That settled, he had to make his escape. It was the hardest thing he ever did, because every impulse told him to follow Damia and he could not do that. He had to leave his old friend to her own designs. He had to worry about the others, who needed his help more.

            Tiberius breathed a curse at the Fates and ran. He ran faster than he'd ever thought he could, making his way towards the electrical center. He gunned down a Maverick as he rounded the corner, making no war cries to divert attention from Damia. He did check his internal scanner and was pleased to learn that Damia's signal was still going strong. "Hang in there," he whispered as he ran. "As long as you're still with us, we're not going anywhere without you."

            Damia was very unconcerned with living or dying at the moment. For now all she cared to do was run. She was a fairly accomplished sprinter, since after all she was the leader of a guerilla unit. It was much harder for her because she had people running behind her and people appearing in front of her. Every time she rounded a corner she started shooting, always downing a group of Mavericks who'd been coming around the corner at the same time. She didn't rightly know where she was going, but as long as she was on the run she might as well go for the exit farthest away from the electrical center—the Buzzbomb hole.

            It wasn't long before the Huntress's ammunition ran out. There was no way for her to change cartridges in the middle of her sprint so she just pointed the weapon threateningly at her would-be attackers, roaring or leaping at them as she did so. She clubbed anyone in her way with the gun's hilt and as she rounded corners she hoped as hard as she could that no one would be immediately around the corner. This worked for two corners, and then at the third she ran right into three Mavericks who'd been running at their own breakneck speed to reach the party.

            Damia flew backwards on the ground but rebounded admirably. She surged forward and stabbed the barrel of her gun into one Maverick's eye. She dropped the weapon and leapt onto the tallest one's back, breaking his neck as quickly as she could. Tirelessly the Huntress dropped to the ground and tried to dispatch the third Maverick, but he had already recovered from the impact and punched her hard in the chest. She recoiled and ran, not bothering to fight, but by this time soldiers had caught up from behind and in front. They seemed to be in a brawling mood, much to Damia's dismay. Damn, she thought. Is this is it, then? Well…then let the bastards come!

            None of the Mavericks had ever remembered seeing as monstrous an opponent as the relatively short brunette in the blue armor that day. She became a whirling dervish of fists and feet, using all the martial skills she possessed, but even a unit Commander couldn't handle all these opponents at once. Damia felt a fist crack against her right temple. Seeing stars, she staggered somewhat and fell victim to a powerful blow to her chin that snapped her head back and sent her flying back into the wall. Before she knew it she was pinned, held down by a number of strong Mavericks while others attacked her from the front, beating her face, chest, stomach and anything else that was accessible. Not once did she stop squirming, straining or snarling at her attackers. Her rage was her only companion, but even that began to abandon her in time.

            The Mavericks were taking turns, she realized glumly. Apparently she'd murdered a few of their buddies back there. The beating was more of a dull ache to her than a sharp pain, and she could deal with that for now. Come on, she mocked them. It was all she could do. That's all you got, she mentally asked of a particularly muscular Maverick who'd just delivered a crushing blow to her midsection. This little girl herself hits harder than you, she thought as she snarled at him, hoping it hadn't come out as a whimper. Let me at you…let me at you all, you bastards…!

            This would have gone on indefinitely, and despite Damia's sneers she was really in a state of living hell. However everything stopped suddenly when a crackling old voice asked, "What's all the hullabaloo about?"

            The voice was not particularly loud, but all the Mavericks stopped their frenzied assault and stepped back. The owner of the voice was a short, hunchbacked Maverick with a large eyepiece over one eye and a tattered red lab coat. He approached the scene, running his hand through his mangy silver beard in a show of curiosity. Damia immediately felt a chill run down her spine when she beheld him, but she used the last of her strength to subdue it. No way was she going to show fear in front of these bastards.

            "She killed Lawrence and Graybolt, Doc Volvar," the muscular Maverick explained. "And Harmony," chimed another, and cries of other names rose throughout the crowd of angry Mavericks. "We're gonna make the bitch pay!" the muscular one finished, cracking his knuckles. "That's all, Doc Volvar. Honest."

            Doc Volvar narrowed his dull, murky gray eyes at Damia, and again she felt that chill shoot through her. It was clear to her that the Mavericks held this Volvar fellow in extremely high regard, but how much of that reverence came from fear she did not want to know. The sadistic Maverick doctor let a smile crack his wizened face and showed slightly yellowed teeth. "Commander Damia!" he acknowledged her, and all the Mavericks shrunk back a bit. They'd been beating the shit out of a Commander? Wow! "I am Volvar, the chief surgeon for these fine fellows. I'm delighted to finally meet someone of your caliber."

            "Go fuck yourself," was Damia's irreverent response. It earned her a sharp slap across the face from a nearby Maverick, followed by a hard jab to her kidneys from one of the Mavericks holding her.

            "Bitch!" one of them shouted. "You don't say that to the Doc!"

            "Easy, easy!" Volvar sounded far too amiable for Damia's liking. "We're all Reploids, here. We can settle things in an orderly manner."

            "The hell we can." The voice was new, and it was a huge voice that rang in everyone's ears. The massive, grotesque Geddon stomped up next to Volvar, fixing Damia with a poisonous glare. "This one murdered my pals at the radar base."

            "She's a Commander," Doc Volvar reminded him reasonably. "She knows things." He turned to the crowds. "Normally I'd leave you all to your own merry little desires. But really…" He shook his head in mock disgust. "Where are your MANNERS? This is a Commander, for Sigma's sake! It's just not proper to be so rude to a Commander. Plus, you should all be ashamed of yourselves…beating up a pretty lady like this. Where is your sense of decency?"

            To a one, all the Mavericks chuckled. There was a secret and very, very dark inside joke here. The Mavericks holding Damia gave her rough and rude insinuating squeezes and prods, and while at first she thought they were just being pigs she began to suspect that they hinting at more than sexual harassment. The chill returned, only much worse. Volvar was approaching her with a strange smile, and he had drawn a pistol of some sort. The Mavericks held her tight and she heard one of them curse her name. She quite suddenly renewed her struggle in full as Volvar got too close for comfort, but the Mavericks behind her slammed her hard into the wall behind them, winding her long enough for Volvar to shoot her with something that seemed to drain all her energy and willpower straight away.

            A stun blaster! She realized it with no small amount of horror. It was like what Vile had used in the earlier wars. She was paralyzed…she could not move. Doc Volvar, that same twisted smile on his face, came closer to the unnerved Huntress and roughly seized her by the arm. He stabbed a syringe through her bodysuit and into a vein, and she felt herself go numb. Her CPU slowly returned to inactivity as the tranquilizer took over, but in one last act of defiance Commander Damia spat in Doc Volvar's left eye.

            The Maverick doctor blinked and wiped the substance off his face, frowning but not showing his true irritation. He stood in consternation for a second, but held up a hand to stop his loyal comrades from harming Damia for her rudeness. She slipped into unconsciousness and a strangely warm and fatherly look spread out on Doc Volvar's face. "The brave, strong Commander Damia…and in nearly perfect condition!" He took her face in his hand, examining it. It was a bit bruised, but still attractive. He smiled out of anything but lust and a fit of wicked laughter shook his shoulders. "Oh, you poor girl!" he finally said aloud, looking into her slumbering eyes. "The way you die will make even the Furies weep!"

            When the Hunters were first meeting the Mavericks at Point Alpha, while Storm Eagle was fighting the Skiver, and while the tide of the war still hung in the balance, Gredam of Terrornova led his small unit towards Grand Commander Signas and the rest of the Hunter refugees.

            This, Gredam thought as he examined the upcoming battlefield, was the perfect revenge. Not only was he cutting the head off the wicked Hunter serpent, he was doing so by eliminating their most important leader next to Cain himself. Gredam didn't especially harbor any ill will for Cain. He'd made possible Gredam's existence, after all, and he could hardly hate the man for anything after that. But Cain was on the wrong side, and that was that. If he were found, well…Gredam knew what would have to be done.

            The Maverick in the camouflaged armor with the grenade launcher/assault rifle and the missile launchers under his bulky shoulder epaulets looked to where he knew Signas and the others were hiding. It was a cluster of debris under a highway road…and there was Signas himself, standing there defiantly with two others Gredam recognized. The shorter one was Caligula, the Hunter intelligence chief. The bulky green one was Douglas, the leader of their weapons development. All three were armed and set in firm defiance, even though there was just that—three of them. Was this it? Was this all the refugees that there were? Perhaps…yes, there had to be noncombatants hiding somewhere. That unnerved Gredam. He hated eliminating noncombatants…perhaps he'd just take them hostage. So long as he kept an eye on that Kuwangner prick he was pretty sure nothing wicked would happen to the captured ones.

            But these three…no, they had to go, if they would not disarm. But to overwhelm them like this seemed hardly fair. Gredam stopped and let his voice bellow out to meet them. "Throw down your weapons, Hunters! The time for battle has ended!"

            "So that you can slaughter us like cattle rather than like soldiers?" Signas retorted in a voice just as powerful as Gredam's. "The Maverick Hunters will not be used as bargaining chips!" He spat the last words.

            "You will not survive this fight," Gredam said next, though his hopes for a peaceful resolution had already been dashed. "Surrender now and you have a chance. If you fight you have no chance at all!"

            "There's always a chance!" Signas declared, raising his pistol to the sky. "Burn in hell, Mavericks! You may send us there too in the end, but you can rest assured some of you will be there with us!"

            His voice visibly struck fear into the hearts of Gredam's soldiers, even though they outnumbered Signas in an incredible way. Remarkable, Gredam thought. Here was a true leader. He did everything Gredam would have done. He did not surrender. He did not accept a defeat when he believed he could still accomplish something. Up till now Gredam hadn't known him, but already he respected him. He was also glad that Signas had no battalions under his control at the moment…no doubt he could energize them in a way that would spell huge trouble for the Mavericks.

            "Then fight well, Hunters!" Gredam shouted, raising his own weapon to the sky. Both commanders fired one shot together, and then the Mavericks rushed past Gredam to invade the pit. Gredam caught up, but didn't fire a shot. Signas and the other two had no such reservations, however, and felled two of Gredam's men before they scattered. The Mavericks invaded Signas's sanctuary, and then something ingenious took place.

            On the highway above the bastion of debris, Alia and Xu detonated the explosives they'd spent the last few minutes planting. The small section of road fell onto the Mavericks below, crushing many of them. Gredam and three fourths of his unit got away, but his forces were thinned further when Signas, joined now by the "noncombatants" Gredam had expected earlier, attacked from the sides.

            It was incredible. The battle had just started and already Gredam's forces had been significantly dwindled. He hadn't given Signas enough credit, he reprimanded himself. But even with their sudden gains, the Hunters still could never hold out. Xu ran among the Mavericks, goring them with her katana. Alia sniped from her position further down the ruined highway. Douglas, Signas and Caligula fought as valiantly as they could while the technicians who'd been forced to fight did as well as they were able. There were just too many Mavericks, however, and in time the Hunters started dwindling. Douglas fell howling in pain with a wound in his leg. Most of the technicians were picked off. Gredam felt victory approaching.

            Then, all of a sudden, victory was snatched away when Gredam found himself surrounded by humans.

            They all had Megacity Army standard issue weapons, which weren't exactly weak, and all of them wore the uniforms of the Dragoon squad. Gredam drew a sharp breath and without even thinking blew three of them away with a grenade. This prompted the others to attack, but Gredam mowed them down without any form of sympathy whatsoever. He was also profoundly nervous. Dragoons…but that also means…

            "It has been a long time, Private Gredam!"

            Gredam turned in what seemed like very slow motion to behold the physical embodiment of everything he hated in the world. It took the form of a tall, averagely built Reploid in sharp, pointy black armor carrying a spiky, monstrous black beam saber. He was a living, breathing contradiction: he was a Reploid, yet he oppressed his own species; he was legally with the Hunters, but truthfully hated humans; the only spot of blue on him was his sapphire helmet gem, but yet his name was Chartreuse. The man Gredam called the Traitor was once again before him, and this time the day was theirs alone.

            "Nothing to say?" Chartreuse asked, a thin smile forming on his lips. Gredam's blood ran red with rage and hate…and at the same time it ran cold. He remembered that smile. It was the sick, twisted grin Chartreuse always wore when he was about to kill someone…the man took more pleasure in murder than anyone Gredam had ever known.

            "I don't make it a point to converse with dogs," Gredam said acidly, leveling his rifle at Chartreuse and firing a grenade at the Army officer's feet. Chartreuse cart wheeled backwards as soon as he saw the gun level in his direction, and was hit only by a few pieces of shrapnel, something he shrugged off easily.

            "Me oh my," the Traitor chuckled, fixing Gredam with an impressed smile. "I do believe you've grown some balls since our last meeting!"

            "Grow your own, then, and fight me!" Gredam sent a three round burst at Chartreuse, which the nimble Reploid dodged, still snickering like a damned idiot. "Stand still and die, damn you!"

            "Oh, I see." Chartreuse's arm formed into a cannon. "You've grown balls, but not brains. That's all right. Makes things easier for me, you know." Without another word he rocketed himself through the air, sending his rapid-fire high power plasma barrage down towards Gredam. The Terrornova assassin remembered the attack's nature too late, and though his dodge spared him the full damage his systems complained about armor damage. Great.

            Gredam let out a roar and targeted Chartreuse as he sailed through the air. His shoulder epaulets opened and he let loose a storm of small missiles that locked onto their target. Chartreuse, however, just ran right at Gredam, his sword poised to strike. Suddenly unsure what to do and completely horrified because of it, Gredam raised his gun and shot at Chartreuse, who rocketed to the side with a cackle to dodge both the shots and the explosions…well, almost. The explosions knocked both combatants back.

            It was as though the other soldiers were politely allowing Gredam and Chartreuse to settle things. No Dragoons or Hunter took a shot at the Maverick, and no Mavericks took a shot at the Traitor. Chartreuse looked at Gredam like an appraiser would a rare gem and then finally threw back his head and laughed. "Excellent! You're just as fun an opponent as you were the last time! A shame you don't have your little lady friend to shock the hell out me this time, though," he pointed out, referring to their last battle, which had ended when he killed Teytha but still suffered the full brunt of her last minute and nearly fatal surprise lightning blast.

            Gredam snarled and rushed Chartreuse, who leapt out of the way and, rather than using his sword, just kicked Gredam hard in the side. The Maverick grunted and turned to face Chartreuse in frustration. "Damn you, Traitor! Fight!"

            "Traitor…you're still using that one?" Chartreuse laughed again and shook his head. "Well, perhaps. I have many names, after all." He leaned his head forward conspiratorially. "Would you like to know another one?"

            There was something so…incredibly sinister about the way he said that that put Gredam instantly on guard. "All I need to name you are four letter words," the Maverick said, fixing his archrival with a hateful stare. "You don't deserve a name other than that anyway."

            "Such harsh words," Chartreuse said, forcing pain on his face. "Some thanks, after all I've done for you."

            "What?!" Now it was Gredam's turn to laugh. "All you've done for us? You're the scourge of our existence! Get over yourself!"

            "The scourge," Chartreuse agreed. "And the savior!" He laughed and his dash thrusters flared up. He shot towards Gredam, his sword poised to kill. "But what Chartreuse giveth, Chartreuse taketh away!"

            Gredam simply raised his rifle and shot Chartreuse in the chest. The opponent grunted in shock but somehow kept going. He slashed his sword across Gredam's chest and knocked him back, following through by flinging out his arm. From his fingertips there sprang a huge cloud of black flames that engulfed Gredam and dropped him screaming to the ground as it ate away at him like acid.

            "Gotta love the Darkfire!" Chartreuse laughed merrily. "Eats right through flesh and steel, it does! Your buddy Malevex uses it too, if I'm not mistaken." He touched his chin in thought. "I wonder if we're cousins or something? Wouldn't that be a trip!"

            Gredam let out a roar of rage and staggered back to his feet. It was all to no avail, he knew. There was nothing he could do to defend himself now, and Chartreuse would cut him down just like he'd done Teytha, Saybir, Grate, Redmond and all the others.

            But the attack never came. Chartreuse just kept surveying Gredam, that unholy fire dancing harmlessly around his dark, satanic body while his sinister eyes bored holes into his wounded opponent. His own chest armor was reinforced with advanced adaman plating—something Kitao had provided before his untimely demise. Therefore he had survived Gredam's attack, but he was still a bit unnerved. It was great, though—finally he had a real opponent, and finally he could spit out what he'd been dying to spit out to somebody…and why not, since Gredam would soon die anyway?

            "What are you gawking at?!" Gredam fairly shrieked in rage.

            "Temper, temper…" the seductively wicked voice reprimanded him. "I swear, is this the thanks I get for my good deeds? For my selfless service to those who I once so deeply wronged?"

            "What…are you blathering about?" Gredam asked, the strange apprehension seizing him again. Whatever this was, it was absolutely huge. But what was it?

            "Well you see," Chartreuse said in conversational response, "I felt really bad about killing you all and hunting you like dogs, so I decided to put your group back together. Wasn't that nice of me?"

            Gredam just blinked at him. "Now you really are whacked out." He advanced to silence the madman.

            "Can you prove me wrong?" Chartreuse said evilly, and Gredam froze in his tracks. "Tell me Gredam, what happened to you after you escaped me? You wandered around like a bum, correct? And then what happened?"

            "I found work," Gredam glared. "You must already know my employer, since you know so much as it is. And then I met up with Malevex."

            "Working for the same employer, wasn't he?" Chartreuse nodded with lips pursed in condescending contemplation. "And then a while later, you're all kindly directed to the corpse of your dear friend Teytha, by that same employer. …I mean, come on," he said, his pretense cracking into a grin. "Didn't you think it was just a little convenient that Teytha was sitting there in that junkyard on that night?"

            Gredam's throat suddenly got very dry. His limbs went slightly weak, and he stepped back in shock. "What…what are you saying?" he asked in a hoarse voice, even though deep down he already knew.

            Chartreuse straightened and stabbed his flaming black sword into the ground, looking for all the world like the Gatekeeper of Hell. His dark eyes were full of satisfaction and mocking superiority. He was, always had been, and forever would be the Eternal Puppetmaster of Terrornova. He was also a respected and reputable Megacity Army officer...and also behind all the scenes, he was the source of corruption and evil in Megacity 5, on a different level than Sigma, but every bit as malicious. And now it was his time to really shine. "Do you think this little terrorist incident is your own doing, Gredam?" He loved that line. He'd heard it in a video game.

            "Stop with the riddles, damn you!" Gredam snarled, though he clearly was not in a mental state to attack.

            "Fine," Chartreuse sighed. "I'll be dull about it. For the longest time I've wanted to eliminate that idiot Kitao and the annoying Maverick Hunters." He grinned at Gredam's reaction. "Don't count me with you foolish Mavericks. I work for my own purposes. Kitao was convenient for a while, but in the end he was a link I needed severed so I could pursue my…other ventures. And the Hunters kept getting in the way of these ventures! They're a counter terrorist squad, not a police force! But they try so hard to be both. It's annoying. It really is," he punctuated with an emphatic shake of his head.

            "Get to the point," Gredam growled. "Where do we come in?"

            "You can't figure it out?" Chartreuse threw him a look of pity that infuriated the Maverick. "Fine. I'll tell you. I couldn't just ruin the Hunters and the Army myself…I needed another force to do it. Now, given my rather illustrious position as Colonel Kitao's personal assistant, I was privy to all sorts of information and special access. Well I quickly got bored and started abusing my privileges, and what should I stumble upon but information revealing that right here in the junkyards of Megacity 5 are buried the SCBM nuclear missiles…the 'Buzzbombs'! Can you imagine my excitement? Nukes, man, nukes! Now all I needed was the right puppet army to give the nukes to. The answer? The Mavericks! Who else?

            "I knew the Maverick army would jump at the chance to screw the Hunters and the humans, but I could never count on Sigma to do rational things. Plus he didn't know me, and wouldn't have trusted me. I needed intermediaries to do the dirty work for me while I manipulated them from afar. Well, thanks to my 'other ventures'…" He grinned maliciously. "Who should I find but my old friend Malevex, who came right up and asked me for work?"

            "You bastard!" Gredam shouted, raising his weapon and firing at Chartreuse. The Maverick just raised his sword in one quick motion and deflected the shots, the last ones in Gredam's cartridge. "It was you all along," Gredam declared, his voice boiling with hate over his deception. "You're in charge of all the crime in the city…you're the one with the black market networks…" All the weight of the revelation crashed on him at once, and the realization nearly killed him. "By God…you're HIM!"

            "I told you I have a lot of names," agreed Kou Cao, the Gold Serpent in a quiet voice. "If only you'd known them earlier, huh?"

            "You son of a BITCH!" Gredam raged, racing at Chartreuse. The Serpent just clicked his tongue in annoyance, dodged to the right, snapped his foot up and kicked Gredam upside the head. The Maverick fell to the ground, stunned, and Chartreuse circled him, his every word a poisonous lance in Gredam's heart.

            "Is it hard to accept?" The Serpent asked, his venom unbearable. "Rather ironic, isn't it? You ran from me all your lives, but in the end you came right back to me of your own free will." He laughed again, and his laugh was full of even more scathing, wicked glee than ever before. "Once my pal Guyver informed me that Malevex and his spy network was working with me out of their own free will, I did a search of my 'employees' just out of curiosity. Sure enough, there you were, alone in the world and looking for work. I set you up to work with Malevex and his group. I'm sure the reunion must have been so very touching." Chartreuse couldn't stop another grin from twisting his features.

            "Normally you destroyed your comrades' bodies after they died so I couldn't revive them," the Gold Serpent went on. "But for some reason you left Teytha intact, and what a pleasant surprise it was to find her in that warehouse in the Sherman District when my Dragoons flushed you out of hiding and scattered you, Malevex and Mortar. Something told me to keep her body, and so I did. When I realized I had two of you back together again, the best idea in the world struck me—I planted her corpse in the nearby junkyard and sent you two on a mission there where you'd be sure to find her. Her body was missing the control chip when I found it, so I figured one of you had it. I gambled correctly, it seems." He chuckled again, stepping away from the seething Maverick he'd used as a puppet for years. "The Terrornova squadron lived again."

            "You bastard," Gredam spat, getting to his feet.

            "Now all I needed to do was get you involved with the Mavericks," Chartreuse continued, ignoring Gredam. "That was easy. Your hatred of humans and desire for vengeance consumed all three of you. Soon enough you were puckering up to Sigma's behind, and I knew he would pay attention to a proposal from you to use the Buzzbombs. And so it began. You stole the Buzzbombs, built Gallagher, and destroyed Kitao. The Hunters yet live, but their organization is shattered. That was always the point—not to destroy them, but to weaken their power. Now the time is right for the Gold Serpent to tighten his grip on Megacity 5…don't you think?" Kou Cao asked with a sweet smile. "And hey! You even got to see Mortar again! I didn't know about him at all. Imagine the odds, eh? So what are you so mad about? You got to see your friends again before dying. You even got a taste of freedom." His voice dropped to a scathing, vile hiss. "After all, you simple minded twit…a taste is all you ever deserved!"

            "Go to hell!" Gredam ordered, turning his rage to new strength.

            "You'll be there with me," Chartreuse pointed out. "You not only killed all these people today, but you also killed Malevex, Teytha and Mortar." At Gredam's shock the Serpent grinned and went on. "Mega Man X is still inside Seraph Castle. He's going to free Zero and kill all the Maverick chieftains…including your dear old friends." Gredam was aghast, and Chartreuse nearly screamed with laughter. "They followed you, you stupid old fool! You are the leader. You are the one who pushed vengeance more than anyone. Your loyal buddies stood by you, just as I knew they would! And now because of your simple mindedness…your willingness to be controlled…" His voice dropped off into a heartless whisper. "Only the Gateway to Eternity awaits you now."

            Gold Serpent Chartreuse slammed his sword into the ground again. From it sprung twin snakes of Darkfire that crept along the ground, forming a theatrical circle of flames around both opponents. The demon tore his blade from the earth, the energy saber burning with tendrils of black fire, and pointed it at Gredam. "And now, Maverick, I shall open that Gateway for you!"

            But Gredam was not the Reploid Chartreuse remembered. Nor was he anymore the Reploid Chartreuse had just sparred with. Chartreuse had denied him of freedom since the earliest times of his life…even now he was still chained to the sinister Serpent when he'd thought he'd been acting on his own. But no longer. The chains of fate were his to break…and he'd break them now. And the Gateway of Eternity Chartreuse spoke of would open for the Serpent himself.

            Gredam's shoulder armor slid back but he did not fire his remaining missiles. Instead he raced towards Chartreuse with feral rage, channeling every bit of anger into sheer explosive power. Chartreuse snarled and met him head on, his body a burning black comet. Gredam surprised Chartreuse by slamming his weapon up into his saber as it came down, destroying the firearm but driving Chartreuse back and completely off guard. Gredam continued forward with a powerful elbow rush, sending Chartreuse flying. The Serpent rebounded awkwardly off the ground only to be met with a murderously hard punch in his abdomen. Chartreuse cried out, but before Gredam could do anything else there was a bright flash of black energies and the abominable Reploid was suddenly gone.

            He reappeared in the same flash of energies right behind Gredam, and the Terrornova assassin spun around just in time to receive a burning saber gash deep across his chest. Flames exploded from the tip of the blade and spread throughout Gredam's insides, sending the Maverick reeling with a shriek of pain. Chartreuse laughed aloud in sweet victory, and then closed the distance to drive his weapon through Gredam's chest.

            That was when Gredam fired his missiles.

            There were only four left, but all of them exploded into or around Chartreuse. The Gold Serpent flew through the air with a yelp of surprise and landed in a smoking heap, his fire briefly extinguished. It soon burned even brighter than ever as the crime lord stood again, his armor melted and mangled and yet his eyes burning with remarkable malice. Chartreuse exploded into black energy again, and Gredam immediately turned to face the next flash of light. But Chartreuse warped again, and again, and again until Gredam could no longer keep track. Then he felt a searing line of pain trace its way down his back. He roared in pain and anger, throwing himself forward to prevent the blade from pushing into him any further. He rolled on the ground and rose halfway to his feet before doubling over in pain.

            Chartreuse vanished in a black flash again, and when he reappeared he was falling from the sky towards the prone Maverick, his sword held downward for the fatal skewer. It had taken him a long time, but finally he would eliminate the final remnants of the Terrornova program. They'd been so useful, these simple minded Reploids. When one only desires simple freedom, it is so easy to manipulate their mind, Chartreuse thought as he often did. It was almost a shame that they wouldn't get the chance to be anything more, but, he mused, they were already the most significant nuclear terrorists in recent history. What more could they want? Whereas he, Chartreuse, would be forever unknown, but that was the whole point. He would rule through his puppet politicians and officers. No one said no to the Gold Serpent, after all…not if they wanted to live. And sometimes, he thought as his sword fell towards Gredam's head, even those who said yes to the Serpent perished because of it. But that was life.

            Then his mind went from satisfaction to maddening rage as Gredam shot suddenly up to his feet and kept his fist going on an upward path, delivering a monstrous uppercut that caught Chartreuse right in the chin, snapping his head back and dealing serious whiplash damage. The Gold Serpent choked in shock as he sailed backwards through the air and landed on a slab of debris, his already aching skull rattling around inside his helmet. Gredam, a few feet away, collapsed again to his knees and recovered much needed strength.

            For a while both combatants sat there. Chartreuse's ceremonial ring of fire died down, and Gredam became aware of the rest of the battleground. He was very surprised to see that while most of the Dragoons were dead the Mavericks were pulling back in great alarm. He realized why when in the distance he spied an entire Hunter force moving in. Impossible! His mind went wild. The Hunters have already breached Frontline? But…but how?

            Chartreuse saw it too, and spat a glob of blood from his lips as he got shakily to his feet. His head felt like it might just roll off his shoulders, and since he knew Gredam might well make it do just that it might be a good idea to end this fight now. It was over anyway, he reflected, gazing at Zion and Jasper as they approached from the distance.

            Gredam stood at the same time the Gold Serpent did. The dark devil still managed a cocky smile even in his apparent defeat. "You've grown strong, Gredam." He broke into that maddening laughter of his. "I'd expect nothing less from one of my minions."

            "I'm no minion of yours," Gredam growled, approaching the Megacity Army officer with murder in his eyes.

            "So you say," Chartreuse said, narrowing his eyes at the approaching Maverick. "But I brought you back into this world…and I'll take you out of it in the end. I swear to you, you insolent bastard, that you and your friends will never secure the peace you seek!" He spat again, as though making it an official oath. "I will hunt every one of you across the globe until you are all dead! And I'll make you watch, too! Just like the good old days!" Chartreuse laughed harder as the look on Gredam's face grew darker. "What? Do you think you can stop me? First you have to stop X and Zero! They're murdering your friends as we speak! And before that you have to run from the Hunters here! It seems, my old friend, that you have a little too much on your plate."

            Gredam just stood like a statue for the next few seconds. "No. It's not full at all. It ends here, Chartreuse." He started towards the officer again. "You won't curse us with your existence any longer."

            "It's futile," Chartreuse protested, backing up. "The Gateway opens for everyone eventually. Even if you destroy me you will never have your peace. The Hunters will do my work for me." He glared. "I've already destroyed you! Don't you get it? There is no way you'll be pardoned for this…they'll hunt you all across the world!"

            "Then let it be them," Gredam said in the same dark tone. "I'll deal with them. I'm sick of dealing with you."

            Chartreuse leapt over Gredam's head, swinging and missing with his sword. Gredam just turned and advanced towards Kou Cao once more, his eyes clearly conveying that his one and only intention was to cut the head off this snake once and for all.

            Chartreuse, however, had other ideas. "I'd fight you," he said, his eyes full of mischief. "I really would. But I don't know…it just seems…" He began to glow with the black energies again. "It seems so much…crueler this way." Alarmed, Gredam rushed him with his arms out to strangle the bastard, but he was too late. Chartreuse vanished in a cloud of energy and did not reappear again. Gredam stumbled through the space where his archenemy had been and immediately let out a grand roar of rage when he realized that he had failed. The Traitor still lived…and now they were all marked for death once more.

            The first thing he did, when he regained his sense of self, was to run. The Hunters were coming in full force and he was the last of his squad to retreat. He ran as fast as he was able, crossing the distance to the Hunter HQ rather quickly. On the way Gravity Beetle contacted him to inform him that Frontline had indeed fallen.

            "We're regrouping back at the Hunter base," he explained. "From there we can begin the evacuation of our forces back to Seraph Castle. If we use the Hunter teleporters, we should be able to get most of our troops to safety. It's better than leaving them out in the city to be slaughtered."

            "Yeah," Gredam forced himself to speak. "I doubt your brother is happy. I imagine he'd want to fight to the death or some such crap."

            "Boomer's mind…is on something else." Gravity sounded ominous. "He and that Volvar fellow seemed to have some activity planned." His voice grew frustrated. "Hell, I don't have time to baby-sit that asshole! I've got troops to manage!"

            "Don't worry about him," Gredam said, disgusted with Kuwangner and Volvar. "Let 'em mess around. They'll regret it when the Hunters get back." He sighed. The Hunters would be back…very soon. How in the world were they going to hold out long enough to—but of course! "Gravity! What about Marauder?"

            Gravity probably had an expression like he'd been hit in the face with a brick. "Yeah! The Marauder! Our 'Weapon'! That monster will keep the Hunters busy for sure!"

            "I'm going home, then," Gredam decided. "I'll be back in no time…with the last trump card we've got left."

            "Hurry back," Gravity cautioned. "I don't know if Geddon and I can manage everything alone."

            Gredam assured him that would not be the case and activated his teleporter, returning to Seraph Castle. He needed to return anyway, he knew. If Chartreuse had been telling the truth then Malevex and the others were in serious danger. He'd warn them ahead of time to escape…they had no responsibility to stay. Chartreuse had been right, after all—they'd followed him. Now it was up to him to protect them…he was their leader, after all, and he would not fail them again. Even if it meant his life.

            Chartreuse's Gateway to Eternity would not open today, he promised the world. Not if he had anything to say about it.