An update note- at this point, I'm going to be scrounging together free time to reformat and do some editing for the first 25 chapters. Really, WTF is up with the formatting? It gets worse every time I look at it! ;;

Author's Note- A reviewer asked me in an e-mail to alert you all to why this chapter has taken so long. It's a fair request, so I'll tell you the truth. There are a lot of reasons for the delay. First, I started this fic almost three years ago. When I started posting to ff.net, I already had more than ten chapters written, so the update schedule was regular. However, I'm now posting them as I write them, so there's more of a lag. Reason two, I started college this year, and in addition to the necessary adjusting I had to do, I had left my work on a separate computer, which found itself unplugged and half-packed away during the hurricane and several bad storms since September. (I live on the East Coast.) Reason three, as you can probably guess from just reading the fic, my own mental health leaves something to be desired, and I've suffered several bouts of depression since my last update. Reason four- and this is the most important- well… as I said in the author's note I was forced to delete… we've reached the half-way point for the plot. Beyond the fact that more things are going to start happening, and I have to do a lot more planning as well as rewatching of Kyoto hen, events have taken a turn for the worse. Bad things will happen, to everyone, as well as the unveiling of some bad things that have already happened. As I've spent so much time with these characters, both in writing them and planning them out, it's very difficult for me to deal with their suffering, so the writing is hard to do. Angst is more difficult than fluff, I suppose. You don't have to worry about me abandoning this fic, though… it's my baby, after all. So if update lag gets to be too much for you, e-mail me and complain. I can't thank those that already have enough… So, here we go again, I suppose. Chapter 26.

"Hey, Tony."

The casual and yet discomfited greeting broke the early morning silence, Joe Richards' mumbling voice reaching the ears of all gathered instead of the single boy he'd intended to hear. Anthony nodded curtly in return, not intending rudeness but rather a calm warning for quiet. Joe was late, as always. Were this any other meeting, it wouldn't have mattered.

But as could be plainly seen, this was no ordinary meeting.

An ordinary meeting would have them strewn all over the Tech Ed room, some munching on pilfered projects from the Home Ec courses down the hall, some hurriedly copying over Physics labs before the club period was over. Anyone observing a regular Key Club meeting would see them like any other high school club; good-natured, but at base scattered and unproductive.

And that was how they wanted it.

Now, they met in the deserted Upper Lecture hall. Most students were unaware that there even was an upper part to the Lecture hall, let alone how to get to it. The Lower Lecture hall was used solely for Honor Society meetings and class housing during state testing, and Sydney could control the use of both the Upper and Lower parts of the hall with a casual request to Horace in the office. Not only was the location artfully hidden, special meetings such as these were held in the hour before classes started. After school, janitors were dangerously prevalent about the halls, and meetings were more obviously noticed.

In the Tech Ed room, the Key Club was a mismatched group of high schoolers who wanted community service on their college transcripts.

In the Upper Lecture hall, they were a highly disciplined team, organized to the letter and exceptionally specialized.

The Key Club was organized in two separate fashions, depending on what the situation called for. Each member was ranked in their respective ability in both physical altercations and public diplomacy. The four elite in each ability formed two teams; known fondly as the "Rumble Crew" and the "Polite Front".

The "Rumble Crew" consisted of the blind janitor Ollie, Kelsey Hahn-Jones, the inseparable team of Seth and Frederick, and was headed up by the formidable brawling skill of Joe Morrison.

The "Polite Front" was comprised of the vice principal known as Horace Sanders, the irresistible feminine wiles of Aimee Komming, the vast intellect of Anthony Morrison, and its cheerful leader, the enigmatic Sydney Shelley.

However, the entire Key Club was organized into a hierarchy of power and influence. Mack Sherman, of course, stood at the head as the conceiver and leader of the group. Beneath him were three: Ollie, the leader of the "dark ones", Eugene and Henry; Sydney, director of the "girls", Kelsey and Aimee; finally, Anthony, custodian of the "damagers", Joe, Seth, and Frederick. Horace answered to no one and everyone at the same time; he was one of Sherman's right hands, and yet was often ordered about by even Eugene.

They stood in this formation now, three tiers of dedicated men and women ready to sacrifice themselves for a cause.

The youngest was fifteen.

"We are swords."

The room was utterly silent, silent but for the roughness of Sherman's voice, the harsh labor of his breathing. Each stood at full attention, parade detail: one hand in the small of the back, the other on their weapon holster.

"We are swords," Sherman repeated, quick dark eyes boring a hole into the wall behind their heads. There was a cool emotion to his voice, a powerful ice that seeped into their veins, a quick flash that maddened their veins. It was always the same when he spoke, always the same intoxicating influence that flooded the room. This man was power. He was power, and when he spoke, that power became part of them. They became part of him.

"Ten of us, bright gleaming swords." He was pacing now, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Blades that have been sharpened and polished by years of abuse by the world that dares to tell us that it protects us." Sherman paused, as though collecting his thoughts. In the quickest of seconds, his gaze flashed to each of them in turn, settling like a hawk to its prey on Aimee.

It was the simplest of commands, and yet there was no inclination to disobey, or to even think of it. There never was the need to question, not for her.

"Tell them," he said quietly.

"My papa and mama got married right out of high school." Her voice was a drone, almost as though reading a script set in the dusty tile where her eyes had frozen. "Mama was pregnant, and she couldn't get an abortion because her mother wouldn't let her. It was too expensive and she'd kill the baby. So Papa worked at the hardware store even though he was gonna go to college and be a doctor. Mama stayed at home with me. When I was ten, Papa didn't love Mama anymore. He'd bring other women home, and Mama would just drink and get disgusting drunk and eat until she couldn't move." Aimee fell silent, staring blankly at the floor.

After a moment of eternity passed, the rough voice raised again. "Keep going."

"So Papa got enough money saved up and started a store in town." Aimee continued as though she had never stopped, her meticulously painted nails scratching at her belt loops incessantly. "He and Mama got happy again, because there was money. Then the police found out that he had a union violation or somethin' stupid that could close down the store and make him lose all his money. So I screwed the officer to keep his mouth shut, and all his buddies who knew. They didn't tell, but then Papa found out. And he made me screw all his creditors too."

There had been no emotion in her tone through the entirety of the story, but her voice broke on the last, and she subsided.

"So a man made his only daughter a whore to get out from under the thumb of the government."

The brief silence passed, and Sherman's gaze descended on Henry. "You. Go."

The thin shadow of a boy began his own story, voice a low hum of no emotion. When he was finished, Sherman called on Kelsey. Then Sydney. Then Seth, then Frederick. Abandoned children, all of them… stories of neglect, abuse, simple parental apathy… Henry, addicted to narcotics from the womb. Seth, the victim of vicious bullying, only finding security in Frederick, who was too retarded to tell his own story.

Kelsey, pretty, feminine Kelsey… a boy.

Joe stared at the floor, the pressure in his throat making him nauseous. Was this what Tony had meant, when he'd said it would be a trial today? When he'd said that, with dark, clear eyes, gaze directed somewhere down the hallway that Joe couldn't recognize… he'd never dreamed it would be like this.

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. But instead, he would keep his head bowed, his eyes firmly fixed on the tile in front of his feet. And pray Sherman didn't call on him.

If those hawk eyes fell on him… what on Earth could he say?

"Anthony."

It took all the might he had to keep his eyes pointed down, to not snap his gaze to the back of the head in front of him, to the hard muscled neck and the shaved-short black hair, to the familiar back of the boy who had been his best friend for two years, the only reason he was even a member of the Key Club…

What could Anthony say? What was there with his life that could match the stories the rest of the club had told? Joe had slept over at his house a few times; his parents were nice enough, they weren't poor or anything, they seemed… normal. Sure, they were a little more religious than Joe's family, saying grace and praying a little before they went to bed, but it wasn't crazy or anything.

Now that he thought about it… why was Tony in the Key Club at all?

Joe listened anxiously as the boy in front of him inhaled to begin his own story, hands clenching at his sides in both worry and some sort of sick excitement. Of course he wanted to know more about his friend… and yet, there was some part of him that waited in eager silence for whatever horror had gone before in Tony's past. Were his parents fundamentalist nuts? Did they run some kind of cult out of the basement? What could be so terrible about Anthony Morrison's life that would lead him to identify with all these others?

"I have my own reasons for being here," came the cool voice. "They are no less than any of the others, or any greater. But they're also no one else's business, not even yours, Mr. Sherman. So don't ask me again."

The silence that fell in the room was one of disbelief. It was enough that Anthony had disobeyed a direct order from Sherman, but to do it in such a curt, cold way… it was unthinkable.

It was a mystery to everyone involved, except perhaps Sherman himself, how he kept order. None of them could recall any member of the club ever having been punished for any disobedience… actually, none of them could even remember any disobedience. Sherman was simply always obeyed… fearing retribution never even entered into the equation. They obeyed out of their love for him rather than their fear… because in one way or another, they all did love him, with a fervor that was impossible to explain.

So this transgression of the usual code had left them all dumb and speechless. How could Sherman let it go by without some sort of consequence? And even beyond that, what sort of punishment could it be, for Anthony… Anthony, who was so instrumental to the operation of the club itself, who was one of their greatest?

Joe looked up as much as he could manage without raising his head, heart beating uncomfortably in his throat. Sherman's hawk-like gaze was focused sharply on Tony, his pacing halted, his powerful form still as a carved avenging angel, missing only the divine sword in his left hand. The other members stood in frightened silence, the same as Joe himself, some with their backs straight and eyes cast to the ceiling, others shifting uncomfortably and trying desperately to pretend they weren't there.

Suddenly, as swiftly as a passing heartbeat, Sherman nodded swiftly and broke his locked gaze with Anthony, letting his next step fall. "Eugene," he barked. "tell us."

With a mumbled affirmation, the boy set into a monotone tale of his own. No one was listening with more than half an ear; the shock was too much. Just letting it pass? How could he just ignore such a thing? It was almost a challenge of Sherman's authority, what Anthony had just done. Joe couldn't take his eyes off the proud line of Anthony's back, his shoulders firm and strong. He knew that his friend had his pride, something he would never allow to be compromised. He'd always been like that. But to see it demonstrated like this… it was a little awing, even a little scary.

He listened to Eugene go on for a few minutes… his own father using him for scientific experiments… it seemed too absurd to be real. All of this seemed too strange, too out of the ordinary, too weird and too tragic. It couldn't actually be… no. It couldn't, it was some kind of stupid practical joke, some early April Fools they'd spent a month or so concocting. It wasn't like Anthony had a good sense of humor, after all, and this might be just his idea of a trick. It had to be.

It really had to be.

"Joe." Sherman snapped, the harsh voice startling him out of his reverie. "Joe Richards. Tell us."

"Tell you what?" It was a stupid response, maybe. Maybe it sounded like he was poking fun at the whole process, or maybe stalling for time. Both would be perfectly in character for him, and yet… yet, it was all he could think to say. He didn't have a tragic story like everyone else. He didn't have some secret past, or some debilitating affliction that would match anyone else's.

But there was nothing for him to say.

"Tell us why you're here, Joe," Sherman elaborated. "What has brought you to our ranks?"

The thudding heartbeat ravaged his throat, thumping so hard as to run away. What was it, anyway? He'd joined, because… well, because Anthony was here. And Syd, and Kelsey. It was just a high school club, something you were in to be with your friends! Sure, they'd seemed a little serious about things… and he wasn't quite sure what they were building, or what it was for… but he'd never thought it was anything like this, not anything strange.

The silence was too much, so he cleared his throat. Something, anything. Anything to say….

"I joined 'cause this is where my friends are."

His voice cracked nervously, echoing throughout the room. It wasn't enough. It wasn't a reason, not like the others had. Nothing had ever happened to him, not like that… he was just a normal kid. He wasn't rich, he wasn't poor. His parents pissed him off every now and then, but he got over it. He was a little ADD, but who wasn't nowadays? He liked knives and stuff, he was good with them, but that was just because his dad indulged him in lessons when he was a kid. He'd never thought anyone else was any different… sure, people had bad lives in the world, but he never thought that it was… he'd never thought they were his friends…

It was like he'd walked straight into the Twilight Zone.

Sherman's dark eyes focused on him sharply, and Joe swallowed convulsively. Far be it from him to be scared of a teacher, but…

He was scared. Shit-faced scared.

"These people are your friends." Sherman opened his arms, hands sweeping through the air to encompass the room. "These young men and women, these painful stories you have heard today?" The charred face was stern, empty eyes stabbing into him. "These tragedies?"

"Yeah. They're my friends."

The silence that fell this time was even worse than those that had gone before, the pounding of his heart in his ears the only discernible sound. Was it enough? He didn't belong here, he couldn't belong here, not in this nightmare world where everything seemed to come straight out of a bad movie.

And yet, a heartbeat later, Sherman nodded and resumed his pacing, eyes glittering with renewed purpose. Joe could only breathe a sigh of relief, stomach flipping itself back into its proper place.

"The world we deserved has been taken from us." It was spoken as a matter of fact, accompanied by the precise clicks of his rigid pacing. "Each of us signs a contract with our birth- a contract with existence itself. We resign ourselves to existing in silence and ignorance, in subversion and obedience… but there comes a time when our dignity is compromised too far. There comes a time when bending any farther will break us." Sherman turned on his heel, facing to the front with a spin that spoke of military precision. "I have met that point."

Somehow, the voice that rasped like a snake's hiss from broken lungs boomed throughout the room, vibrating through Joe's chest. Unreadable eyes were blazing with power, stooped shoulders broad enough to carry their pains.

"There comes a time when bending any farther will break us," he repeated, each word rumbling from his cracked lips like thunder. "There comes a time when a man must be a soldier, to fight for what is rightfully his. The battle has come to us now, and we must prepare ourselves."

The breath that had been trapped in Joe's lungs fled in a long rush as the director of the high school Key Club lifted an arm for them to go, a split second before the first bell rang.