Arg…I'm so sorry.  I've just been so incredibly busy…  *bangs head on desk* 

            Anna gritted her teeth, trying to breathe properly through her bruised throat and the pain in her side.  Three ribs at least fractured, she estimated, judging by the stubborn agony that persisted long after Marco's first kick had hit home. 

            "Enough for you?" he asked softly, a joyless, mocking laughter rippling in his taunt.

            She glared and spat blood at his feet, not bothering to wipe away the crimson trickle that trailed from her lower lip.

            All trace of a smile disappeared from his countenance as his face hardened.  "Perhaps the question is whether or not I am tired of toying with you." 

            "Just shoot me then," she challenged, knowing full well how foolish it was to bait an Agent.  "I'm sure you're not afraid to put a bullet through my forehead."

            "No," answered Marco with infuriating equanimity.  "It's just that we rather need you alive…for the time being."

            "That's a mistake," said Anna, smiling coldly through her pain.  She launched herself toward him, flipping through the air, her right foot aiming a brutal kick at his neck.  His hand shot out to catch her and push her off balance, but she had anticipated this.  She pulled her legs in, feeling his fingers close where her ankle had been only moments before, and before he could focus on another possible danger point, caught him with a vicious punch to the face.

            He stumbled back a step and then calmly returned the blow.  She tried to dodge it, but wasn't fast enough.  She failed to suppress a gasp of pain and briefly touched the new wound on her face.  Her hand came away sticky with blood.  She looked at Marco and saw the shards of broken wall grasped in his hand, their sharp, pointed edges tipped with red.  His face twisted in a half smirk as he dropped the pieces, letting them clatter on the ground. 

            "Agents don't make mistakes," he informed her.

            Her lips thinned to a line as she threw herself forward into a handspring, ignoring the flaming pain her movements caused throughout her body even as she calculated her attack.  He's so prepared for any frontal assault; I need to do something he's not anticipating.  Remembering her short fight with Yoh, she decided to borrow a leaf from his book.  Instead of landing straight on, she shifted her path slightly to the right, lashing out from the side, a brief flash of triumph rushing through her as her heel caught his shoulder sharply.

            He barely swayed from the blow, but turned, following the direction of its force so that he was facing her when she regained her feet.  Before she had fully recovered her balance, his fingers caught her hair again, yanking mercilessly and throwing her down to the floor as if she weighed no more than a rag doll.  She sprawled gracelessly over the rubble-strewn surface, fragments of wall scraping everywhere it made contact with her already bleeding skin. 

            She gritted her teeth as Marco's boot pressed into the back of her neck, pushing her bruised throat down hard on the uneven floor beneath her.  He bent down over her, his fingers just ever so lightly brushing her cheek.  "You could give up now," he suggested, his voice soft and condescending.  "It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face, you know." 

            She winced at his touch, teeth clenching.  No man, especially not an Agent, should be allowed to purposely touch her; she had taught even Hao that.  Battle was one thing, but this was another.  In desperation and rage, she snatched up a shard of glass just within reach and pushed it backward, hoping to stab it into his leg.  A powerful hand caught her wrist, clamping down painfully, forcing her to drop the glass.  She could almost feel the smirk on his face as his grip slowly crushed her arm. 

            But it couldn't end there.  She wouldn't let it.  Suddenly thankful for all the gymnastic-like training she had practiced back on the Nebuchadnezzar and the fact that physical rules could be stretched in the matrix, she arched her back even as her entire body screamed in protest, throwing both legs over her head, catching him in the side of the face. 

            He stumbled back, his foot leaving her neck as she righted herself with the momentum of the attack.  But she too swayed dangerously as she stood, for a moment almost about to fall back down again.  She had lost blood and was having trouble breathing; the room was spinning and warping before her eyes; this could not last much longer.  No matter how many blows she landed, it was a losing battle for her, and both combatants knew it.

            "Don't you see, little girl?" said Marco with an ill-concealed smirk.  "You can't win.  We may as well call this battle finished."

            But Anna wasn't listening.  She had suddenly realized that Jeanne was no longer standing behind Marco, watching the happenings complacently.  Then she fell forward noiselessly, an expression of slight surprise on her face, dropped from behind by a quick, sharp kick to the head from one of Jeanne's steel-studded boots.

*

            Outside of the matrix, Kanna carefully guided her ship, bringing it closer to the unsuspecting Nebuchadnezzar.

*

            "Almost there," muttered Ren.

            Speeding down floor by floor, Yoh could only think about the aching in his hands from the rough walls and that fact that Anna wasn't there to show him up when it came to being stoic.  Powdered with dust, his hair took on an aged gray appearance, but no one was worried about looks.  They only had to reach the basement level now…

*

            Silva and Chrom watched, focused entirely on the screens before them.  There was nothing they could do now.

*

            They broke through the wall at the basement level to find themselves greeted by glaring flashlights and gleaming gun barrels.  A few metal canisters clanked dully at their feet; Ren had the sense to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve just before a thick smoke began to fill the area.  "Tear gas!" he shouted, though muffled through the material.

            Yoh managed to follow suit just in time, and a little after the rest of the group, but he could still feel the smoke burning in his nose and throat, forcing tears into his eyes.  He was suddenly half-blind, unable to see through the haze and his watering eyes. 

            Something underneath the floor was pushing up, straining to break through.  Someone whapped an arm against his shins, and he heard Ren's voice mutter, "Baka.  Move!"  Yoh stepped back and saw Ren's form wrench up the grating he had been standing on.  "Let's go.  Down here."

            They tumbled down into the slimy, damp darkness beneath as the shooting started, managing to escape just in time.  Sloshing through the muck, they gathered together several meters from their entrance point.  Manta lit a penlight and surveyed the disheveled group before him, silently counting them.  "Who's missing?" he asked quietly.

            "Anna," replied Yoh, a slight tremor in his voice.

            Manta nodded gravely.  "Who else?"

            The question caused a stir.  They hadn't noticed anyone else go missing, but the count did come up one short. 

            "Lyserg," said Horohoro finally.

            It was true.  Lyserg was gone. 

*

             In the haze, Lyserg couldn't even tell up from down.  His brain seemed as fogged as the air around him, and he couldn't hear anything but the rushing roar in his own ears.  His lungs were burning with unquenchable flames as he choked, each forced breath drawing in more of the noxious gas.  His friends…his friends were gone; he couldn't see them through the thick vapor

            He was vaguely aware of the reports of guns exploding around him, but they stopped abruptly.  He looked up at the sudden quiet, his eyes streaming from the irritation; a figure was striding toward him through the smoke, apparently not experiencing any adverse effects.  Whomever it was grasped his upper arm and dragged him roughly from the danger zone and out to where the air was clearer.

            Lyserg could not banish the burning sensation from his lungs and throat, but breathing became easier as the person led him to an area more open and less cramped by battered walls and pressing, faceless gunmen.  The grip on his arm did not seem friendly, but at least he was alive.  At least there was a little hope.  But it was Marco in command of this incident, he remembered, and there would be no hope at all.  His heart sank as the hand steered him to a metal chair, where he was left alone.  He heard the heavy, crisp footsteps fading as softer ones drew near. 

            A cool, wet towel swept soothingly over his forehead as he slumped against the back of the chair.  He forced his burning, teary eyes open to meet the gaze of the crimson ones facing him.  "Jeanne!" he gasped out through his raw throat.

            She jumped back, startled at his sudden recovery.  Then she straightened, her face clouding over sternly.  "You will address me as Holy Agent Jeanne or Agent-sama," she informed him in a toneless voice.

            He turned his gaze away so she wouldn't see the hurt in his face.  They were in the back of a white van, he noticed, and no one else seemed to be about.  "Yes, Agent-sama."  He looked back at her, unable to keep his eyes from her face for very long.  "But…you were almost my sister.  Why can I not…?" his voice faded, unable to finish the plea or voice the pain.

            Her face remained blank.  "Marco is my only brother."
            "Don't…don't you know me?"  His throat constricted, whether from the residue of the tear gas or from emotion, he didn't know.  He doubled over, coughing painfully.

            She shook her head, handing him a glass of water.  "Only that you are a rebel against the system.  Why Marco chooses to let you live is beyond me."

            His eyes caught the gun hanging in the holster at her side; she was not jesting.  "You don't remember," he said hopelessly, half to himself.  "Don't you remember working on computers and inventions?  Don't you remember the tree house?  Your parents?  O…our parents?"

            "Maybe you live because you do not know what you are doing or saying," she observed.  "He shows mercy because you are insane."  She shook her head with a trace of pity.  "Fragile, fallible humans…"

            "You were my best sister," he said in desperation, reaching out for her hand.  "Don't you remember when I said that?"

            She pulled away, and he slumped back in the chair.  She offered him more water, regaining her composure.  "Calm down," she ordered him matter-of-factly.  "You are raving."

            He took the cup but did not drink, unable to look away from her.  "It hasn't even been ten years.  How could you have forgotten?"
            A hand on his shoulder cut the conversation short.  He looked up to see Marco standing grimly over him.  "Don't do that," said the older man.  "It won't help anything.  There's a reason I'm the only contact you've had with either of us since we became Agents."

            "Marco, I –"

            "I don't want to hear anything," he interrupted.  "I have only one question, so don't waste my time."  His hand forcefully on the back of Lyserg's neck, he led him farther back into the truck.  There lay Anna on a cot, unconscious and swathed in careless bandages.  An IV was in her arm, and blood had already stained the white sheets around her.  "Does she know the information I want?" demanded Marco.

            Lyserg bit his lip and paused when he heard the click of a gun's safety turning off.  The muzzle of Marco's revolver was resting nonchalantly against Anna's temple.  "I'm asking," said the Agent with acidic clarity, "if she's of any use."

            Lyserg closed his eyes.  "Yes."

            "Good."  Marco returned the gun to its holster.  "I'll take you to the nearest phone."

            Lyserg looked up.  "You're letting me go?"

            "For now," said Marco, his expression closed.  "You have unfinished work still left to do."

            "More?"

            "Unplug the rest," replied the Agent calmly.  "See that they don't get out; it won't be hard.  They're still on the run, after all."
            "But…"

            A sharp, stinging pain flared on Lyserg's cheek, his head snapping to the side with the force of Marco's blow.  "Don't question me," said Marco, his eyes still emotionless and cold.

            "Yes, sir."

            "Let's go."

            Jeanne watched them walk down the street until they vanished around a corner.  Confusion seeped into her crimson eyes as something stirred within her.  A whisper escaped her, though she didn't understand the word on her lips.  "Lyserg…"

*

            Kanna grinned slightly as she felt her own ship latch on to the Nebuchadnezzar.  She could finish this in no time at all. 

*

            Hao wandered into the computer room, looking for a chance to surf the net and hack a random helpless site or two.  The place was deserted, but he slid into a chair anyway, glancing at the screens. 

            The ship jolted suddenly, nearly toppling his chair and spilling several papers onto the floor.  He leaned over to pick them up, but some of the words caught his eyes.  It was a printout…of some sort of conversation, it seemed.  Turning back to the computer, he searched back through the data for records of this.

            His eyes narrowed.  Someone had been recording his brother…and…the Oracle?

            He hadn't been told; something wasn't right. 

*

            "There's a boarded-up store just down the street.  You should be able to get to a phone there," Silva told Manta, speaking into the microphone of his headset as he studied the readouts on the screen.  "Get down there and I'll bring you all back.  No sign of Lyserg yet?  No, I can't track him; I think he dropped his phone somewhere.  Too bad."

            Chrom picked up the other line just as Silva hung up, and his eyes widened.  "It's Lyserg," he told the other man.  He cocked his head to one side, listening to the voice on the other end.  "Kid, you've got some luck on your side.  Got away from the Agents, huh?  Well, let's get you home; hold on a sec…"

            A few more codes entered on the keyboard and Lyserg opened his eyes and sat up.  "All right there?" asked Silva kindly, easing the plug from the back of the youth's head. 

            "Yeah," said Lyserg vaguely.  "I'll be okay."  He couldn't make eye contact.  Instead he surveyed the scene around him.  Faust's life monitors were flat and Anna's were flickering precariously, but the others seemed all right. 

            "Great.  You just hang on there while we get the others."

            Lyserg waited until the other two present in the room had turned back to the task at hand.  He then moved as he had seen so many times in his mind, pulling a gun from where he had hid it just out of sight in an empty disk cabinet.  Then, clutching it in his shaking hands, he walked noiselessly up behind Silva and Chrom, both of whom were still fully focused on the screens, waiting for the others to reach the abandoned store.  It would be so easy just to shoot them, unplug the others, and be done with it.  He looked away, his eyes sweeping over the comatose forms of the rest of the crew, lying vulnerable and fragile amidst the wires. 

            An involuntary shudder gripped Lyserg, and suddenly he was afraid his legs wouldn't support him.  He couldn't kill these people, his surrogate family, perhaps the closest thing he had ever had to a family.  Except for…  He shook his head, pushing the painful thoughts away, even as the harsh tones of Marco's voice echoed in his memory.  How could he kill everyone at the same time that Silva and Chrom were working so hard to save them?  He was no stranger to the pain of betrayal.  To just kill the ones who had accepted him as well as the one who had freed him seemed an unthinkable crime, even if it was to save them from a worse fate.

            Marco had promised long, painful deaths for them otherwise, and Lyserg had never known an Agent to make idle threats.  Elisa, after all, had been a warning, brutally gunned down after Lyserg had failed to hand over the schedules for several major Zion ships' coordinates during a series of crucial days.  The quiet decision had saved lives, but at a painful cost.  Elisa had been murdered in front of Faust and Lyserg.  The incident had been executed so well that it seemed only by chance that the two had escaped, but Lyserg knew better.  It was Marco's terrible way of making sure he knew that defiance would never go unpunished.

            Now Faust was dead too.  Anna was half gone, not to mention in the custody of the Agents, and the others would be hard pressed to leave the matrix.  Lyserg's hands trembled.  They would all end up dead if he knew anything about the way Marco worked; it was only a matter of how.  But for the how to be by his own hands…

            He quietly placed the gun behind a mass of blank disks, just wanting it to be out of sight and mind.  He couldn't do this.

            Still shaking, he turned and rushed from the Core, only to be stopped by the inconvenient end of a plasma gun resting gently against his forehead.  He looked up into Kanna's smirking face, wreathed in smoke from her cigarette.  "Going somewhere?" she asked softly.

To be continued…

To Macchu-chan:  Hm…I was going to kill Ren next chapter.  I guess I'll have to find someone else now.  ^_~

And if anyone is vaguely interested, I have some random original art up (though I'm not very good…) here: http: //elfwood.lysator.liu.se/zone/d/a/damashi/damashi. html  (You have to remove the spaces after http: and before html.  The URL doesn't show up otherwise.)

Despite the fact that there's a fanart link in the bio, my fanart won't be there for a couple weeks (it takes forever to get stuff up at Elfwood.)  When it finally gets posted, though, I can promise at least a couple Shaman King images so check back later, K?.  ^_~