Mega Man X: Trinity Helix

by Revokov

Episode 5: Two Towers-Two missions begin at once, dividing Hunter ranks while Kou Cao's agents set up some deadly surprises.

5. The Fear In Their Eyes

Episode Three—The Fear In Their Eyes Personal Log, Cmdr. Signas

July 30

Operations are proceeding smoothly. The new modus operandi has been as well implemented as I can expect. We have finally compiled a complete file on the attacks in Moscow and Rathlin Island, and X will receive them in today's briefing. It seems that we may also have the opportunity to test our new global network—the criminal Wildcard Azarias has been sighted in England, and the detective Virgil is hot on his trail. All our resources have been mobilized to help Virgil track him down.

Caligula has used Azarias's appearance to push his new security program, one that falls in line with the one the Megacity System is implementing. I must admit that I am sorely divided. X has voiced strong objections to the invasion of Reploid privacy, but Zero curiously vouched for the idea. With these most trusted advisors split on the issue, I'll have to wait and see what develops before making a final decision. Perhaps consulting Cain would not be unwise. He will return to Tokyo in two weeks. Until then we will continue as planned.

It is strange, but I have been feeling that something big is about to happen…something even bigger than the recent attacks. If Azarias is apprehended, perhaps my expectations will be fulfilled. Either way, I feel this will be an interesting few days.

***

Warehouse

Warsaw, Poland

            Goran Norquist smiled.

            It was the smile of satisfaction that came after a full day's work, a smile that twisted the corners of his thin lips upwards only enough to appear sufficiently smug. Then his features relaxed into their usual sharp, cold positions and he exhaled slowly and loudly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and, rocking back on his heels, he stared contentedly out the window at the black Polish night. It had been a long day. It had also been a hard day, since the Hunter patrols seemed feistier than usual. It was so much harder to conduct operations with authorities breathing down your neck, and Norquist had been forced to separate a few Hunters from theirs. Their necks, he meant. Not himself, of course, but Zev and Diggory were good for that sort of messy business. Norquist didn't care so long as they cleaned up afterwards. He'd seen enough blood in his day that the only thing about it that unnerved him was that you could slip in it. Some of the nastiest head wounds had been sustained by slipping on blood. It was a dangerous thing, blood. Also it was unseemly.

            Truth be told, Norquist didn't think his guest, Guyver Helm, had minded the blood. Mr. Helm had been much more irked at the fact that the three Hunters had dared to intrude in the first place. Sending Zev and Diggory after them was just reflex, though Norquist wondered if the beheadings were perhaps a bit over the top. He himself had gone into mild shock, fretting that his operation had been discovered, but Mr. Helm had been very calm about the whole incident, saying that the disappearance of three Hunters would only help the Serpent's immediate plans—whatever that meant. In any case, Norquist was to send the proper files and equipment the next morning to the secure location Helm had mentioned. Norquist was privately surprised that the Serpent Network had developed a bastion so far into the European Union. It was something of an accomplishment for Kou Cao.

            "Zev," Norquist said. "Close shop."

            A tall, lanky blue Reploid with a permanent smirk and a mad look in his eyes scurried over to his superior's side, replying in a hurried voice, "Sir, sir, shop is already closed. We took care of it, Diggory, he and I, when the bigshot left."

            "Close it again," Norquist said simply. He took his hands out of his pockets and walked calmly towards his sleek black desk. He liked things sleek. His features were well sculpted despite his relatively slender overall build, and his gray hair was smoothly sharp. All in all Norquist presented enough contradictory perfection to set any conscientious observer on their guard, but he didn't mind the aura of infamy. It wasn't like he hadn't earned it.

            "Close it again," Norquist repeated, picking up a sealed file and draping a heavy brown coat around his shoulders, "because there are three headless Hunters in our garage."

            "Sir," Zev protested, gesturing far more than was necessary in a general direction, which may or may not have been towards the local Hunter Headquarters, "Mr. Helm said, he said that the Hunters hadn't radioed in, he said it was just a routine patrol—"

            "And we probably have nothing to worry about," Norquist cut him off, using a tone that was low and calm but still sharp as steel. "But on the off chance that those Hunters were being monitored—or perhaps, followed—"

            "Followed, sir?"

            Norquist fixed his underling with a patient stare. Zev had been with him almost from the start, but it seemed like the manic Reploid learned little from his experiences. Norquist knew better—Zev was one of the most attentive students he'd ever encountered, but he needed reminding once in a while. "You know our situation. Serpent bases in the Union don't last very long before someone takes them out. It's possible that someone—"

            "—Was tailing the Hunters and would have found us," Zev finished, his limbs shaking with unexpended energy. Zev was on permanent caffeine high. "I'll take Diggory."

            "Do that." Goran Norquist smiled his thin smile and slid the sealed file in an inner pocket of his coat. "I will see you tomorrow morning. Begin the file transfer as soon as possible."

            "Yes, boss," Zev saluted, quite unnecessarily, and skittered off to join a large, square-jawed brown Reploid reclining in a folding chair pretending to read the Future Times. Norquist knew Diggory couldn't read, but the brute was infinitely amused by pictures. Norquist wasn't sure how a walking computer could manage such feats of stupidity, but then, he'd given up on Reploids soon after their conception. He wasn't about to attempt to understand them now. Like Zev, they were useful tools, and little more.

            "People," Norquist hissed, heading for the warehouse garage, quoting the most recent demand from Reploid rights activists. "They want to be treated as people." People were not machines and machines were not people. It was as plain as that, but why was Norquist one of the few who realized it? All the Reploid race had ever produced was killers—the murderous Mavericks and the equally murderous Maverick Hunters…

            …Three of whom were buried under black plastic sheets to Norquist's right.

            The sight of dead Reploids, for Goran Norquist, demanded about as much pity as did a pile of broken microwaves. They were both remains of machines that no longer performed their proper functions. Oh, sure, there were some who came close to earning his respect—Guyver Helm, for example, and Kou Cao himself. But the majority of that "race" was getting far too ahead of itself with the whole "rights" situation. Norquist had found this viewpoint especially convenient in his days working for the late Alan Kitao. Ah, the Golden Years of Terrornova, Armada and Phoenix…where had they gone?

Alas, times changed, Norquist reflected, tossing a half-hearted salute to the Hunter corpses and starting on his way. Times changed, and so did people. Kitao was dead thanks to nuclear terrorists, and General Virdelko had gone soft. The only ones with any sense anymore were the simple crooks, though Norquist had learned to stop adding a derogatory connotation to "criminal". Only among the ranks of men like Kou Cao, Guyver, Doc Volvar and even that Dynamo asshole did Norquist feel at home…which made sense, considering he'd worked with most of them before, in government service no less! Kou had taken care of Terrornova, but Phoenix and Armada…

…Now those were his babies.

            Goran Norquist hailed a cab, which would take him to an out of the way area, where he would walk to his own car and drive the rest of the way home. It was far too roundabout for his tastes, but necessary considering the hostility of the European Union to Kou Cao's Serpent Network. Once inside his own vehicle he took out the sealed file Guyver had left him, slitting it open with a sharp thumbnail. He removed its contents—three sheets of information—and replaced them five minutes later with a ghoulish smile on his face.

            So, it was happening at last. The Warlord had finally positioned his pieces, and Kou Cao had decided it was time to bring Phoenix back to life. How perfectly…perfect. It was worth rubbing his thin hands together in anticipation. Reploids would be worse off for it—Norquist remembered the fear in the eyes of the last group—but it wasn't like they'd have a choice in the matter. That was the whole point, after all.

            And so Goran Norquist disappeared into the darkness from whence he came. Zev and Diggory, however, found themselves curiously enveloped by plain old darkness.

            "'Ay," the larger of the two grunted, gesturing towards the fuse box. "Think we ought ter sneak a peak at them bleedin' thunderplugs?" A thick, gruff British voice betrayed Diggory in Warsaw like the Mark of Cain in a nun's convent. "Them's the reason fer the last blackout."

            "Done, done and done," Zev chattered, slinking to the fuse box and fidgeting with a few wires. He'd never fully understood these things, but he'd learned that the proper amount of wire wiggling could accomplish quite a bit. He did notice that one of the surger circuits—handy devices that attracted and stored electrical currents—seemed loose. He removed it. "There we go," he chimed, as one by one the lights flickered back on.

            Zev, Diggory and the entire Serpent security team present at the warehouse knew of the mysterious threats posed to Kou Cao's operatives in the European Union. They knew well the stories of the bombed out Calais factory, the seized ships in the Mediterranean, and the operatives tied up in the Labyrinth of Knossos, which had seemed like a grand location for a base at first. But it was unclear how these attacks had been carried out so smoothly, and without any trace of the perpetrators, and so they had taken on an almost mythical quality among most of the Serpent's agents, and these grunts were no exceptions. You trained as best you could and kept alert, and if you saw something weird you shot it. That was how it went. They knew that someone was after them, so the element of surprise was lost. Military discipline, clearly, was not something the Serpent's network of common thugs was familiar with.

            That was why, when Zev saw movement in the thin air behind Diggory, he failed to instantly equate it with danger, even after the blackout. "Hey you," he called to whoever was there, presumably one of the grunts handling message transaction. "You, yes you, go check, please, if anyone is nervous about that lights out we just had." Diggory turned to add his own comment, but never got that far.

            Something hard hit Zev in his lower back…the toe of a heavy steel boot, he realized, curling into a ball as his body hurtled forwards. He rolled back to his feet and stood upright, which proved to be a mistake—his injured back buckled and he crumpled into a position not suited for combat.

            Had Diggory been quicker on the uptake he may have been able to respond in time. Instead he turned slowly and carelessly, with a rumbling "What in the name of Moses and his ark is this…?" before the same boot planted itself in his side. Diggory let out a gurgled grunt of surprise and pain, staggering backwards with Zev. The two recovered themselves in time to draw the adaman pistols on their belts, but their target—a slight, dark Reploid—was dancing out of sight and range with annoying efficiency. So focused were the two on this foe that they didn't notice their underlings shouting warnings about the mass of colors that had appeared behind them. It was a camouflage function that had allowed its user close enough behind the two hapless operatives to wrap his hands around the backs of their necks with surprising force.

            "'Ay, I do believe," said the new attacker, in a voice that perfectly mimicked Diggory's, "that it was Noah who built the ark." An internal generator came to life, and before Zev and Diggory had a chance to launch a counterattack they were assaulted by an electrical shock powerful enough to render them both unconscious. "Lummox," the figure added, dropping his victims and materializing. He was, like his partner, an averagely built Reploid with features that weren't exactly notable…except for his wild blue hair, which was quite hard to ignore. "Shall we show the buggers a bad time?" he asked in his own voice, a voice that possessed an Australian edge.

            "I would be very disappointed otherwise, Zade," the other man said with a thin smile, hoisting an assault rifle into firing position. "Bombs planted?"

            "Right as a beaver's buckteeth they are."

            "Good." The Reploid in black turned to face the advancing crowd of angry, armed Serpent operatives, most of them human. The sight made him smile. This was what he lived for. He activated his cloaking device and Zade clothed himself in the colors of the surroundings, melding like a chameleon into the warehouse scenery.

            The next two minutes were frantic but not overly taxing on the two invaders. Humans and Reploids fired randomly or made for the exits, only to be downed by stun shots from assault rifles that fired faster than their targets could run. When all the commotion was over two electromagnetic pulses were fired from grenades suited to that purpose, just in case Kou Cao had any nifty surprises in store. The blast shorted out both cloaking devices, but the wearers weren't worried. Their opponents had been incapacitated, and now their mission was essentially over.

            What they hadn't noticed was the surger circuit that Zev had been holding in his hand when Zade shocked him. They also hadn't noticed that Zev hadn't quite gone off to wonderland like the others, undoubtedly due to the surger absorbing most of the shock for him. And they certainly didn't notice Zev carefully pulling himself behind a row of computer equipment while sneaking a better look at his two adversaries.

            What they did notice was a strong, contended voice emanating from a room behind them, the room with most of the files Norquist wanted to transfer. They paid careful attention to the owner of that voice, a man in a heavy black trench coat carrying an ebon cane capped with a silver eagle's head, a man who even as he spoke was walking into the main control room like he owned the place…which, essentially, he did.

            "I think," were his words, calm, cool and methodical, "I think, Zade, Diavus…I think…" He stopped, placing his weight on the cane and smiling viciously, twirling a floppy disk in the fingertips of his gloved right hand. "I think we just justified our existence."

            "'Bout bloody time, Stralnikov." Zade affected a painfully casual yawn." I mean, I was gettin' awfully tired of not justifying our existence. Y'know?"

            Diavus ignored it entirely, speaking in his usual hurried, cautious manner. "I installed our Bug. Everything worth hacking should be ours in five."

            "Grand." Vlad Stralnikov's smile widened ever so slightly, or at least as widely as one of his smiles could. Even at its best, his smiles always looked conniving. He raised a hand as though to throttle an imaginary Gold Serpent. "We're going to reach down his throat and tear out his heart with fishhooks."

            "Your benevolence is duly noted," Zade offered, though his smile was no less anticipatory as he changed the magazines in his weapon.

            Pure, unbridled rage flew through Zev's mind. These people had, for all he knew, killed his men and were about to make off with some of the most highly classified information Kou Cao had to offer. It was an insult. They were Hunters, of that he had no doubt—so frenzied was his hyperactive mind that he didn't even consider that they had taken down humans as well—and they were probably here to avenge their comrades. Well he wouldn't have that, Zev thought as he brought his pistol up to bear, a pistol that fired the most destructive solid round on the market. He wouldn't have that at all. Besides, there was something eerily familiar about the Stralnikov man. Zev felt the strongest rush of déjà vu he'd had in his life, but was unable to place it.

            Well, it had a simple solution—you couldn't be all that familiar with the dead, could you?

            Diavus noticed it first. His security-minded eyes had covered the room repeatedly since his arrival, and motions in a still room—even motions partly concealed by computer equipment—could not escape as seasoned an observer as he. "Who's there…?" he called out, too late.

            The acknowledgement startled Zev as he pulled the trigger, and adding to the already shaky grip on his pistol this effectively ruined the headshot he'd lined up. The adaman bullet was not wholly wasted, however. It took the man in the trench coat high in his left shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him into the wall behind him.

            The air in the room crashed as surely as a fighter jet that had just been rendered wingless. The stricken man's head slowly turned to face the direction of the shot, a look of poison resonating in his multicolored eyes. His smile was gone.

            It was as though Zev had just chucked a rock at a hornet's nest, and a single hornet had emerged, only a really, really big, nasty monster of a hornet that made a swarm of littler ones seem preferable. Stralnikov snapped forward, bringing his cane to bear as the eagle's head took on a strange, darker coloration. Afraid, yet still quite angry, the Serpent operative squeezed off a few more rounds. Each time the pistol rocked back in his hands a new hole appeared in his target, but there was just something wrong about the wounds, like they were leaking fire instead of blood—

            Fire instead of blood?! He knew of only one other person who could do that…

            And just like that Stralnikov was gone, while his two aides stood transfixed—apparently they'd never seen such a spectacle before. A rush of air behind Zev told him too late where his opponent had relocated, and he turned just in time to feel Stralnikov's cane crack across his face. He fell hard to the floor, his weapon clattering out of reach, and he barely had time to scream before a beam of energy erupted from the base of the cane and punched a bloody hole through his chest.

            Zev choked on his own internal fluids, gazing up in alarm at his oppressor. It was only then that he began to notice the fire…that amazing fire, black instead of red, that followed Stralnikov wherever he moved and lingered around his person like a cloak of readily disposable death. The man raised his cane in his good arm to deliver the killing blow, but halted  when realization flickered in his eyes.

            "Dear me…Zev? Zev of Fort Edmonton?" His cane lowered, and his face relaxed from ferocious anger to something that, in the opinion of his prey, was far worse—malicious amusement. Zade and Diavus approached slowly, their weapons at the ready, attempting to keep an eye on their environment but ultimately letting their attention refocus on their always-enigmatic boss.

            "Well I'll be damned!" Stralnikov laughed, a rich, full laugh that would have put Zev on ease had he not been painfully dying. "Zev, you decrepit old sinner, what are you still doing alive?  Hanging with the same crowd, I assume?"

            "Eat me," the operative choked out, determined to be defiant in his last moments. "Whoever you are…you're just another…you're just another dead man…eventually!"

            "'Dead men walking have no need for talking,'" Stralnikov rhymed, in a curious tone. Something about the words called forth a dark memory from the back of Zev's mind, a memory that curdled what blood he had left. Stralnikov smiled sweetly. "You still don't recognize me, old friend? Let's rewind a few years, then, and see if that helps!" As he spoke, the dark flames surrounding him washed over his person, contracting in some places and expanding in others, dissolving the coat and clothes and ultimately solidifying into solid battle armor of the deepest ebon Zev had ever seen. The dark violet bodysuit under his gauntlets, chestplate and large armored boots was what finally completed the puzzle in Zev's overworked mind.

            "Malevex!" he hissed, more angry than confused. "It's…you…but you died!"

            "Death is in the eye of the beholder," the terrorist from Seraph Castle responded coolly. "And when enough fear is placed in those eyes, who can say who lives or doesn't live? I think Chartreuse even had one of his sick little rhymes about that…oh yes. 'Violent bloody sentiments, our victims wrought with fear…'"

            "'Despite it all, no evidence, for we were never here,'" Zev finished the morbid anthem, blinking through dimming optics. "You won't stop him," he rasped. His voice was level, determined. In death he was gaining the control over his hyperactivity that he never had mastered in life. "You…you've already lost!"

            "I'll be the judge of that." Just like that the cane was gone; in its place was a lightsaber. Malevex switched it on, a burning blade of deep crimson that, reflecting off his black armor and with the fire around him, made him look quite the devil. "Chartreuse only wins when people stop fighting him. He doesn't have that luxury now…not anymore."

            "Idiot," Zev growled, determined not to show fear. "What makes you think I'm…talking about Chartreuse?" He laughed, painfully. "Put…Terrornova out of your mind…for one bloody second and remember…remember Phoenix. Remember Armada. Remember her!"

            Malevex's fingers tightened on the hilt of his weapon. Flames seemed to flicker in his eyes like the ones surrounding his person, but the display of fury was undermined by the fact that his face had just gone ashen. "You're bluffing."

            "No!" Zev laughed again. His voice was getting weak. "You'll take the files…you'll see. Project Phoenix never dies! She lives, she lives, we made sure of it, oh yes we did! And so long as you live…she'll hate you…she'll hunt you!" Zev laughed again, noticing that the world seemed much darker than it had a few seconds ago. "Scorpio…oh, Scorpio…she does carry grudges…doesn't she?" He looked his killer right in the eye. "You can kill me, and Norquist, and all number of small fries…but you'll never save yourself from Chartreuse…or from the Four!"

            Malevex regarded the fallen Serpent operative with an almost businesslike finality. Blood fell from his shoulder wound, dripping onto the floor in an ominous, wet rhythm. Finally the Maverick spoke, with a cold smile that only Zev saw. "Well…old friend…you're right about one thing."

            Before Zev could part his lips to say more, the lightsaber had occupied the hole in his chest. Tendrils of black fire snaked down Malevex's arms, flowing onto the blade and crawling into Zev's body. He was aware of nothing but his own screaming as his insides began to incinerate, and then there was nothing, just an inky darkness.

            Malevex deactivated his weapon and raised his head to acknowledge Zade and the returning Diavus, who had fled to collect the files hacked with his Bug after Zev had mentioned them. He had missed the grand finale. "I'm not always this cranky," Malevex protested, lamely. He leaned back on a shelf full of equipment and winced. It seemed he was just now becoming aware that his left shoulder was dripping blood and had a rather large hole in it. "I just…don't like blue people."

            "…That was bloody awesome!" Zade was finally able to gasp.

            "Are you all right?" Diavus asked, far more practical than his counterpart.

            Malevex stood upright, lowering his gaze to the departed Serpent operative and former lackey for Projects Phoenix and Terrornova. He spat on the corpse. "We need to leave. Things are going to get very interesting…very soon."

            "Anything we need to worry about?" Diavus asked with a frown.

            "Well…" his boss said, his voice sounding somewhat distant as his battle armor melted back into the trench coat he'd worn on arrival.

            "…I don't recommend you go to Tokyo anytime soon."

            Ten minutes later three Reploids left the Warsaw factory, entered their own vehicle, drove it to a pre-designated safe point and teleported home to Yekaterinberg using their encoded frequencies.

            Ten minutes after the intruders left the premises, bombs detonated that took the entire warehouse apart.

            Ten minutes after that, Goran Norquist received a nasty phone call.

***

Future Times, July 30

"COUTEAU STEPS UP ANTI-REPLOID MEASURES AS INCIDENTS CONTINUE"

By Roland Duke, Hunter Correspondent

MC5, NEW YORK—New blows fell today upon the campaign to establish stronger Reploid rights in the Megacity System when Secretary of Defense Xander Couteau approved a list of priorities generated by General Robert Jackson. Among the priorities is increased funding for Reploid screening and supervision methods.

The report comes after a series of heated debates between Defense Cabinet members over issues primarily regarding Reploid privacy. Key areas were the proposed "branding" of Mavericks, and a new device to be installed in Reploids at birth that would allow military and Maverick Hunter personnel to locate individual Reploids at any time.

"Given recent events," Couteau explains, "the Defense Cabinet was unable to disregard the merits of General Jackson's proposal." Couteau, 60, is himself regarded as a moderate with a conservative edge who prides himself on hearing both sides. "I understand that there are some people who are disappointed with our recommendation, but it is our job to ensure the security of the Megacity System, and I am confident that this plan, while not perfect, will be effective in protecting our people." The Defense Cabinet's recommendation will appear before the Executive Cabinet on August 18th, where the final vote will take place.

General Jackson, the force behind the bill, attempted to downplay critics' accusations that his plan is racist. "This is a good bill and it was created with good intentions," said Jackson, 56. "When humans go on the warpath, they're punished and monitored. But humans don't cause mass outbreaks of madness. By taking these measures, we ensure that subduing Maverick Reploids, quarantining the Maverick Virus, and protecting civilians becomes infinitely easier."

Jackson's strongest opponent is Lt. General Klementi Virdelko, who recommended that less intrusive measures be found to deal with Reploid aberrance. "For years now we have employed an effective pre-emptive policy against suspected Mavericks," said Virdelko, 58. "But now we are recommending that same pre-emption be used on civilians who are not even suspects. Law abiding Reploids do not deserve to be tracked and monitored their whole lives. They do not deserve an internal Big Brother watching them at all times."

Virdelko's opinion represents a growing feeling among some members of the population, primarily in groups related to the Maverick Hunters, that Reploids afflicted by the Maverick Virus are victims rather than criminals and should not be held accountable for actions taken while under Sigma's influence.

"If the truth be known," said Couteau himself, at an April 12th conference regarding this issue, "the Megacity System has never made it their policy to persecute Maverick Reploids who have been flushed clean of Sigma's virus. The true issue here is, what do we do with virus victims who, while momentarily cured, continue to show symptoms and are potentially unstable? At what point does protecting society become more important than protecting the individual? I don't have all the answers, but what I know is, I'm supposed to protect society. That's my job, and that's what my policies will focus on."

The controversial recommendation comes after a string of violent incidents occurring at various points on the globe. At least four Megacity Army bases have been attacked in the last three months by individuals identifying themselves as "Reploid liberators". Two European Union bases have met similar fates. Also, the Gold Serpent Network seems to have reappeared within the System and are suspected in several incidents including the hijacking of an Army supply train.

More recent events include the mysterious explosion in an underwater Army research laboratory near Ellis Island that contaminated most of Megacity 5's water supply. Army intelligence has issued warrants for a female Reploid named "Alutriel".

Rounding out the list are the attacks on CP Resolute in Northern Ireland and the devastating Moscow fracas two weeks ago. According to Jackson, incidents like these could have been prevented with his proposed measures.

"We live in a world where your best friend could wake up and kill you and your family, all because of a sudden, unanticipated glitch," Jackson asserts. "For everyone's protection—Reploid and human alike—we must act, and we must act now."

__________

Hunter Headquarters

Tokyo

            It's early. Why is it so early?

            Vulcan jogged towards the so-called Wormswood Forest with more on his mind than he would have liked. His pace was brisk, but Hawkins was still quite a ways ahead of him. His superior had been right, Vulcan admitted. The running hardly tired his mechanical body and it was easier to think. The problem now was that there was not much to think about. His dreams had been peaceful for once.

            It's too early. Illegally early.

            Vulcan knew it was too early because it was cold, and this was the middle of summer. The sun was only now claiming its rightful place in the sky, and while its warmth was a blessing there was still a sea breeze that was doing a fine job of pissing Vulcan off. Wormswood was very close to the ocean. Vulcan supposed it made for nice scenery, but he'd never exactly taken the chill effect into consideration.

            It's so early, the trees haven't woken up yet, he thought, passing into the groggy embrace of the thicket of trees the Hunters called a forest. They're all standing there, dreaming about two idiots running by them at ungodly hours of the morning, and they're laughing, they're saying "Ha ha, what a pair of goobers! If I was awake I clothesline them with a branch and strangle them with tree roots. Then I'd have a beer." Vulcan found himself hating nature this morning.

            As much as he hated being awake even earlier than vegetation, he had to admit that the constant smooth motion running provided—when you weren't being clotheslined by tree branches, as Vulcan nearly was when he neglected to keep his eyes on the overgrowth—did wonders for his mind. For one thing, he couldn't stop thinking. Albeit he was thinking about being strangled by trees, but his mind was moving nonstop. It would be nice, he thought, if he ever had something on his mind, to take a run and sort everything out.

            However, by some cruel joke of fate, he'd slept fine last night and had nothing to think about except Ents.

            He supposed it wouldn't be so bad, being killed by monster trees. It would definitely be something to tell the boys over on the other side. "I had an abrupt encounter with a semi truck," one would say. Another would say something stupid like "My bread got stuck in the toaster, so I broke out the fork and…" But Vulcan would be able to say, "I got brutally murdered by—

Jesus!"

            The sight probably wouldn't have been so meaningful if it hadn't been so sudden: two nearly identical trees rose out of the ground directly across from each other, flanking the trail like two of those British sentries who stood around with serious expressions on their faces and wouldn't say anything, even though they had to want to garrote you for trying to make them speak.

            "Ah," said Hawkins knowingly, jogging back to join his comrade, who'd come to a standstill. "I see you've found the Pillars."

            "That's what you call them?" Vulcan asked absentmindedly, examining them closer.

            "Mhm." Hawkins locked his hands together behind his head and gave a mighty stretch, cracking joints with a satisfactory sigh and wiping away some of the mild perspiration on his brow—not all Reploids could sweat, but Hawkins was one of them. "Someone planted them here for aesthetic reasons, obviously, unless nature is really this freakish."

            "I'd believe it," said Vulcan, who was imagining how he would react if the trees suddenly tried to clothesline him. "You pass here every morning?"

            "Mostly," Hawkins said with a shrug. "You know my day doesn't end with training and patrol. Archer wants me working on unit management, and I help Intel with some paperwork." Another shrug. "Sometimes, when things are really happening, it helps to sort things out in your mind before starting the day. I think so, anyway."

            "And there's a lot going on right now?" Vulcan reasoned, given that Hawkins seemed quite set on this exercise regimen.

            "Well…" His superior grinned. "Nothing I could tell you that you'd care about, save that we're investigating the incidents in Moscow and Northern Ireland."

            "What did happen with those?" Vulcan asked with mild interest as the two of them began walking away from the curious trees. The Pillars, huh…wonder if that's what they call themselves…when they wake up, that is…

            "Mavericks attacked," Hawkins replied simply, shrugging yet again. "That or it was the Serpent. We're leaning towards the latter, actually. Matter of fact, now that I think about it, Mason and Archer are supposed to present the final report to the commanders this morning."

            I'll call one Bob, Vulcan mused, his mind still on the Pillars. Bob's a good name. "Anything else? You know, stuff that the world doesn't know about yet and that I'm not cleared for?"

            "Vulcan, believe me when I say this, the things you're not cleared for aren't things you'd give a shit about if you were." Hawkins laughed and brushed damp locks of his long dark hair away from his eyes. "We have little police actions going on across the globe shutting down various Serpent storehouses and minor bases. If anything, Wildcard Azarias will be our most interesting bust in terms of actual progress. If Virgil can catch him, that is."

            "Azarias?" Vulcan didn't know much about Wildcard, save that he was a bad guy on the loose who had kidnapped children. Which, when he thought about it, was all he really needed to know. "He any closer to being nabbed?"

            "Virgil's tight-lipped," Hawkins explained, in the tone of voice of one who is trying to show respect for the methods of a wise old soldier who he wished wouldn't be such a wise old tightass. "But his team is in the field, and last we heard they were examining Grantham, England."

            Bob…Bob and who else? Pete? Larry? Freud? No, Freud was a prat. "Anything else going on?" What should the name be…

            Hawkins considered this for all of half a second before deciding, screw it, Vulcan was trustworthy. "Someone blew up a chemical facility on Ellis Island. US immigration's probably pissed, eh?"

            "Larry," Vulcan said, confidently. Then he stiffened slightly, the telltale Did-I-Say-That-Out-Loud look plastered on his face. "Sorry. Ellis Island? Isn't that—"

            "The Statue of Liberty," Hawkins agreed, choosing to ignore Vulcan's momentary oddity. "She looks like her dress could use a good dry cleaning, but she's still important to Americans. This chemical plant was apparently underwater, anyway. Megacity officials are struggling to contain any pollution—"

            "Right! That'll work well!"

            "Tell me about it. Anyway they're looking for a fugitive named Alutriel. They think she blew the place up. I'd say she's probably a Maverick still gloomy about Seraph Castle who thought she'd get revenge on her own."

            "By contaminating a Megacity's water supply," Vulcan finished the thought with a shudder. "You gotta admit it's clever. Ghoulishly, heartlessly, maliciously evil, but definitely clever."

            "So were the Buzzbombs," Hawkins replied, deadpan. They left Wormswood behind them, walking the straight stretch back to the HQ. Hawkins glanced curiously towards the nearby beach, so close by that the sounds of waves and seagulls were audible even deep inside Wormswood Forest. "Interesting…"

            "Eh?"

            "Delates is late."

            Vulcan blinked. He knew Zero's second in command from brief training lessons, but what he'd be doing at the beach each morning eluded Vulcan. "Late for what?"

            "There are seagulls down there," Hawkins explained, motioning. "Well, Delates calls them seagulls. He doesn't know what they are, but they look like seagulls and apparently they make a really funny noise or something."

            Vulcan blinked again. It wasn't a very satisfying explanation. "So he goes every morning to…"

            "Listen to birds make funny noises," Hawkins finished with a severe nod.

            "Sounds like he has quite the imagination."

            "Sounds like he's quite retarded."

            "Or that, yeah."

            They marched in ponderous silence for a while until the base loomed before them. Hawkins came to a halt in front of the Zen Garden, arguably the favorite spot of the base commanders, where he stretched again in his luxurious way. "Well, that was therapeutic."

            "Sure."

            "I mean, it must have helped you think a little better."

            "Sure."

            "Same time tomorrow morning."

            "Sure," Vulcan conceded. The only thing he really disliked about the running was the fact that he had to get up so early. He didn't really need sleep, he thought—a good half-hour in one of the recharging bays in the medical ward would bring him to full power. The problem with that was there was nothing to do for the six hours of night in which no one else was awake to mess around with. Oh well…there was no such thing as a free lunch, after all, and he'd just have to get used to crawling out of bed, just as Hawkins would have to get used to Vulcan looking like a corpse during these early hours.

            Hawkins fired off a little salute and strolled into the main doors of the Headquarters. He had morning briefings and whatnot. Vulcan, on the other hand, wanted to clean up a bit before reporting for training.

            "You know what happens to Reploids who exercise?" said a quiet, methodical voice, directly behind Vulcan's ear.

            The Hunter snapped around like a mousetrap. "You."

            "They show up the humans who exercise," said Commander Tremont, standing in a pose that screamed the word "blah", holding a mug of coffee half-heartedly in one hand, a file folder in the other, and wearing the best I-Don't-Want-To-Be-Alive expression Vulcan had ever seen. "And the embarrassed humans replace all the showoff Reploid's movies with recordings of old commercials featuring Carrot Top."

            Vulcan shook his head slowly, getting over his momentary shock and taking in the image of the disheveled leader of the Steel Wind aerial brigade. "You should put a bell around your neck, Alec."

            "What fun would that be?" the pilot asked, a halfhearted smile tugging at his tired lips. "Going to the barracks?"

            "Yep."

            "Walk with me." Alec turned and led the way, the yawning Reploid following lazily. "So what got you started on this running crap?"

            Vulcan shrugged. "It helps Hawkins sort out his thoughts. I gotta admit, I've tried worse things."

            "Keep them from me, please," Alec advised, taking a sip of his coffee. "And yeah, a good run does wonders for the mind. I used to run often, before I busted up the old leg."

            That was worth a snicker. "You've never so much as sprained your ankle, Alec, much less broken it."

            This time the pilot's grin was energized. "No, but I did a pretty good job of convincing Commander Taggart otherwise."

            They walked a little further towards the residential sector of the base, where Alec regularly caught a jeep to Sakimoto Airfield after his morning briefing…but the morning briefing hadn't happened yet, had it? Vulcan frowned. Had Alec sought him out for something…?

            "How's Rykov?" Alec interrupted his thoughts. "Haven't had a chance to talk to him much lately."

            "Ry's fine. Still breaking everything he touches."

            "I knew he wouldn't disappoint me. And the Lady Krysta?"

            "Nothing to report." Somehow he managed to say it with a straight face.

            "Mm." Alec slowed, affecting a somewhat conspiratorial grin. "You know," he said, giving Vulcan a light elbow in the ribs, "that gal's got some admirers."

            "Unsurprising," Vulcan replied, amazed at his self-control. Plus he was yawning when Alec said it, which helped him mask the inexplicable jolt the words caused him. "She's not exactly hideous, is she?"

            "Specifically," Alec went on, still conspiratorial, like Communists were listening around every turn, "specifically this fellow in R&D…goes by the name 'Jarkeld'. I hear he's quite interested."

            "Why exactly are you telling me this?" Vulcan finally caved, hoping to Light he couldn't turn red. He always forgot. "It's her business, not mine."

            Alec chewed a lip pensively. "Okaaaay," he said, nodding knowingly in that infuriating, Alec-like way that let Vulcan know his friend was on to him. Which was bothersome, because Vulcan had just managed to put Krysta out of his mind. "Well, just letting you know. If she disappears or anything, you'll know who kidnapped her."

            "Some guy named Jarkeld in R&D. I'll be sure to let Caligula know of his imminent threat to our security."

            "Do that." They reached the doorway leading into the barracks. Alec came to a halt, suddenly appearing slightly awkward. "Uh, actually, I wanted to ask you something else."

            "I had that feeling," Vulcan replied. Then he had to laugh at Alec's consternation. "Come on, man, what is it? You gonna propose, or something?"

            "I'm out of your league," Alec retorted. "Besides, I'm taken, by a very lovely lady who—"

            "—Isn't what you want to talk about?"

            "Exactly." Alec composed himself, trying to shrug the issue off and make it look trivial. "Okay…you'd consider yourself one of the more well-grounded people around here, right?"

            Vulcan blinked slowly. "I'm seeing a shrink," he offered, in that helpful tone of voice reserved for the worst of patronizations.

            "…All right, smartass, I'll rephrase. You, Rykov, Krysta…the three of you know bullshit when you see it?"

            "What kind of bullshit are we talking about…?"

            "The racial kind?"

            Vulcan blinked again. "Alec, is that what you were afraid to ask?"

            The pilot shrugged his shoulders, fidgeting as though this were the absolute last conversation in the world he wanted to be in right now, which in fact it was. "There are some folks—well, let me put it this way, okay? You know what the world is like right now."

            Vulcan did know. "The world is batshit. It's election season."

            "On a global basis. Do you know how long it's been since major elections in the System and the Union have coincided so closely?"

            "Yeah. Twelve years."

            "But a lot has happened in those twelve years," Alec pressed, apparently not in the mood for sarcasm. "Namely four major wars and a sprinkling of smaller uprisings, including nuclear warfare near Times Square. The issue this season is Reploid rights."

            "Reploid rights have dominated most elections, though."

            "But this is the first time in your race's history that more than half the planet can be swayed toward or against you in one fell swoop."

            Well that certainly soured the mood. Vulcan suddenly found himself wishing he'd paid more attention to recent bureaucratic bickerings. "So you're afraid there might be tension here…?"

            "I'm not, to tell you the truth." Alec gestured behind him. In actuality he had just gestured towards a wandering Mettool drone, but Vulcan could gather he was referring to the Authorities Inside The HQ (though Vulcan sometimes wondered if Mettool drones and Authorities shared common traits, namely brains). "I was asked to check around, is all. Apparently I'm good with people."

            "It must be your boyish charm."

            "Screw off. I mean that with the utmost respect."

            "See what I mean? You're a natural. You should take Ryoko's old press job."

            "You think they'd hire me?" Alec asked, tilting his head and sounding interested. "I mean, if I had my way the press would know nothing about our operations so they can't leak it to Kou Cao, but if they must be told I'd feel better if I was the one in control of the information flow." He paused. "You think Signas would feel better if I was in control?"

            Vulcan's face bore a look that suggested he just didn't want to be the one to crush a friend's dream.

            "Thought so." Alec smirked. "Besides, I might have to start behaving, and what's worth that?"

            "Exactly."

            "Even if it is an extra paycheck."

            "Exactly."

            "What were we talking about?"

            "My race hating yours and vice versa, I think."

            "Right." Alec shrugged again. "So if you'll hear anything, you'll let me know, right?"

            "Yeah, sure. Who are you asking around for, by the way?" Alec told him. Vulcan raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "Ah. So that's where this Jarkeld thing is coming from?"

            "Ooh," Alec said blandly, sipping at his coffee again. "You remembered his name."

            "Screw off."

            "Utmost respect?"

            "You bet." Vulcan turned to leave, but tilted his head back towards Alec with a frown. "So this racism crap is happening on other bases, then?"

            The pilot's face seemed profoundly disappointed. "Apparently?"

            "Wow." It was Vulcan's turn to shrug. "I haven't seen it, man. If I do, I'll give you a buzz, all right?

            Alec nodded. "Go away. I have a briefing to go to, and I'm already late."

            "You don't look like you're in much of a hurry."

            Tremont grinned. "I'm dodging Zero. I'm pretty sure this is the last of the coffee, and you know how he gets…"

            Vulcan flat out laughed. "Good luck." He took his leave of the pilot, heading towards his quarters to fetch his weapons. From there he'd have a very slight bit of free time before heading to training. His unit's patrol, thankfully, didn't fall until the evening hours today, and he'd have most of the day to himself.

            As he walked he caught himself glancing at the hallway leading to the main sector of the HQ, where he knew the Research and Development department was located. Jarkeld, eh… He shook his head, feeling foolish. He had already decided those emotions didn't amount to anything, and was comfortable with that. Why open Pandora's Box again? As he stepped into his room, he had already forgotten that part of his conversation with Alec.

            Jarkeld is a stupid name, he caught himself thinking five minutes later.

__________

"Looks like an easy day for you, X."

            The champion Hunter grunted something in reply to his associate, continuing at his brisk pace through the crowded hallway. "Easy is in the eye of the beholder, Alia," he clarified eventually. "What's up?"

            Alia leafed through the series of files in her arms, keeping perfect step with her commander. "Well, Douglas wants the 17th's field test results of that new elephant gun."

            "You know it's really just a pistol."

            "Can it take the head off an elephant, X?"

            "Yeah."

            "Then I'm calling it an elephant gun. Aside from that, you know you get to brief them about the—"

            "The attacks," he finished. They rounded the last corner on the way to the meeting room where X held the morning briefings, the Hunter himself looking quite proper in a dark blue shirt tucked neatly into black pants and Alia looking much the same, though she sported instead a more casual yellow tee-shirt that added emphasis to her ear-length blonde hair. Both were speaking rapidly in a very consistently deadpan tone of voice, as was the morning custom. "Any meetings? I'm getting sick of meetings, Alia."

            "It's the way of the world, X," the Huntress replied, handing over the briefing file that would be X's Bible for the next twenty minutes.

            "I should be taking the heads off of monstrous fiends," X protested as he took the proffered file. "Not sitting around in meetings."

            "Now you're talking, Hercules."

            "Anything else?" X asked, preparing to enter the meeting room.

            "Yeah, Jen Sun called again. I told her you'd be more than happy to talk to her after the meeting."

            "You did what?" X wheeled around to face her.

            Alia's features took on a sinister benevolence. "Aw, X, you shoulda heard her! She wants you to do a commercial for kids about staying drug free. There'll be baseball players and famous actors and everything!"

            "I'm not doing a commercial for Jen Sun about being—she does realize I'm a robot, right?"

            "No, X, last time she checked she probably figured you for a Reploid. You know, father of the race—"

            "Whatever! Look, if I'm a Reploid, doesn't it follow that I have to be drug free?"

            "The target audience will be too young to know that. It's okay to lie to kids, X, everyone's doing it nowadays."

            "I'm not lying to kids."

            "Can I do it then?" Alia begged in her infuriating way, the one where X never knew if she was serious or not—though almost always it was the latter. "I mean, if they get Jake Karrick to do the commercial too, then whoa!"

            "You have more important things to do, my friend. Plus I hate Jen Sun."

            "Okay," Alia said brightly, turning to leave. "You can tell her when she calls back."

            "Or how about you take the call for me, since you got me into this?"

            Alia raised one shoulder and slouched the other, in an overly haughty gesture. "Really, X, I'm not your secretary."

            "Oh." X nodded elaborately. "You just manage my files and screen most of my calls for the thrill of it?"

            "I happen to be a fully qualified dispatcher with combat training."

            "Who also happens to have a big enough heart to give of her free time to assist her commander?"

            "Yes, a commander who could one day serve as the recommendation I need to really hit it big in the telemarketing business!"

            "And here I thought it was because you liked me."

            Alia grinned coyly, scooting back towards him. "Do you want me to like you? Just say the word, bud."

            Her commander had to laugh at this. "Do you enjoy wasting my time, Alia, or is it just another of your wide-ranging dispatch duties?"

            "That," she agreed, "and the knowledge that you'd never last a day without me."

            "Get outta here."

            She backed away, starting back to the 17th Unit's common room and workstations. "I'll send the elephant gun results to Douglas."

            "Find me later," he called after her. "And do something about Jen Sun."

            "You owe me," Alia called back before vanishing around the corner. X couldn't repress a small smile. His dispatcher was, he thought, the ultimate test of intelligence. An outside observer might regard her as a vapid airhead if they weren't smart enough to detect the coy sarcasm that laced most of the friendly Huntress's words and actions. X found her not only quite intelligent, but also one of the more charming people he'd encountered on the job. He also did have to admit that he wouldn't have gotten very far on this new track without her help.

            "Who's Jen Sun?" Alec Tremont asked gruffly as he joined X in entering the meeting room. X didn't overlook Alec's relief at arriving at the same time as the boss—if one was going to be late, one had better be late with the best of them.

            "Remember that chick who wanted Archer and Mason to do that anti-drug commercial a month back…?"

            "Oh, her. She does realize you're robots, right?"

            "No Alec," X couldn't resist, "last time she checked she probably figured us for Reploids."

            Alec blinked at him, unsure whether to be amused or not. "You technical bastard."

            "I'm just getting warmed up!" X announced, strolling across the chambers towards his seat at the head of the lengthy meeting table. "The sun is up on a new day, the birds are crooning, the world is our oyster—"

            "X!" The voice, a desperate groan, stretched that one syllable out as long as was possible. "Where's the coffee?"
            "—And just like that I'm back down here in Hell," X finished in the same breath.

            "It's your responsibility to have the coffee!"

            "You know where to find more, Zero," X stepped up to his whining friend and dropped an outline for the briefing in front of him. "I've got enough responsibility running this outfit."

            "Excuses!"

            "He's got a point, X," the purple-haired Commander Luna opined from her seat across from Zero. The leader of Unit 20 affected a pout that put Zero's to shame. "We can't work without our coffee!"

            "Morning Luna," X carried on, unable to quell the usual feeling that he was dealing with kindergartners. "You're looking quite sane today."

            "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Luna growled, taking the outline from X's hands.

            "Archer, Mason," X greeted them, distributing his materials. "How's life."

            "Wonderful."

            "Couldn't be better."

            "You're kissing up," X groaned, crossing to the other side of table. "You want something."

            "This guy's good," Archer acknowledged through a thin smile.

            "Erich, ready for the brand new day?"

            "Birds crooning, sun rising," Commander Zegmann acknowledged, looking over the outline. "And with your promise that the world is our oyster, what could go wrong?"

            "Atta boy. Alec, how's…nah, I already schmoozed you," X said dismissively, half-heartedly tossing the pilot his reading materials.

            "Commander X," Alec said, grinning. "Our people person."

            "He's nice to me," Damia said as she accepted her materials, batting her eyelashes.

            "And what do you want?" the Azure Hunter asked with the false pessimism he'd been using thus far.

            "To be a positive influence on your life," Unit 8's leader replied lazily.

            "Jen Sun wants to find positive role models. Want to be a good influence on children?"

            "…Meh. Screw 'em."

            "Jake Karrick," Luna mouthed across the table.

            Damia blinked. "X, you were holding out!"

            "It's what he does," Zero chimed in. "Holds out on info, holds out on coffee…"

            "Oh, it's not the end of the world," X retorted, taking his own seat.

            "Maybe not to you but you know what happens when I don't—"

            "What happens, Zero?" X said, rifling through papers while looking uninterested.

            "I bitch. And I know it pisses you off, so you can stop pretending to be a professional." They both found themselves smirking. Both were the experts on pissing one another off. Infuriating each other was what best friends did.

            "Okay, a good morning to you all," X said in his For Real voice. "I hope you all had good sleeps, because we've got a lot coming our way today."

            "Do we really?" Alec queried.

            "No, but let's at least pretend so until the reporters leave." X cleared his throat and got right to the most important item of business. "Commander Gorov has finished his investigations and sent us his final report on the attacks in Moscow two weeks ago."

            "That's me," Archer took over, pulling out his own notes. "All right, Gorov believes, and Douglas concurs, that anywhere from two to four armed Reploids were in on this. Weapon residue indicates that the culprits used Zeta class laser weapons and a variant of the Dozer missile launcher. Clearly they weren't interested in giving Revenant and Haley a fair chance."

            "Assassination," Zero murmured, definitively. The word was like a bucket of cold water on each of their heads. Nobody wanted to think about the implications of assassination attempts on Hunter leaders.

            "Douglas says the lasers got rid of the girlfriend," Archer resumed. "Fragments of Revenant's armor were found on scene and the edges weren't singed, which leads the techies to believe that he was struck with some solid weapon. Definitely it wasn't the Dozer—we'd have found more of Revenant lying around if it had been. There were no other signs of life on the scene, and the official conclusion is that Revenant is deceased. Probably he was vaporized the same as Haley."

            "Do we know why, yet?" Mason wondered.

            "Aside from being the foremost Hunters in Russia, you mean?" Archer turned to the next page of Gorov's report. "Whatever personal enemies Revenant and Haley had, you can bet the only ones able to procure weapons like the Zeta and the Dozer have to belong to some kind of organized group."

            "Meaning Mavericks," Alec clarified.

            "Or the Gold Serpent Network," Archer added.

            "How feasible is that?" asked a quietly worried Commander X.

            "Difficult to say." Archer set down the report. "Frankly, the issue isn't whether or not they can get the weapons. Chartreuse is the guy who set up the Seraph Castle Mavericks with both their nukes and the Marauder ride armor—believe me, they've got the weapons. The question is, are they confident enough in their capabilities that they're now directly challenging the Hunter upper echelon?"

            "Even more interesting," Damia mused, "is that this happened in the Union. Chartreuse could be taking out his anger at not establishing a foothold there on the Hunters."

            "Get rid of the Hunters, get rid of the obstacles," Archer agreed.

            "Trouble is," Zero muttered, "I'm not always sure it's us who are keeping him out of Europe."

            "Why's that?" Archer inquired.

            "Just a hunch." Only X noticed the brief flicker in Zero's eyes.

            "How likely is Kou Cao to make his first strike in a territory he doesn't control?" Mason asked, somewhat skeptically.

            "How likely is Kou Cao to do anything?" Archer shrugged. "There were no witnesses. Whoever executed this attack vanished as quickly as they came. Only one person saw anything, and they described what reminded them of a scorpion's tail in Rovanin Park."

            "A scorpioid?" X frowned. "How many of those can be out there?"

            "Caligula already ran the checks," Archer answered, pushing a sheet of pictures forward. "These Reploids are primarily desert patrol and maintenance units, and the few that had Maverick connections were accounted for." Again he shrugged. "It was a brief glance from a woman waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of explosions. It could have been anything."

            "Whatever it was," Mason said, after a lengthy silence had drowned the room, "it wasn't the only attack that night, was it?" Unit 3's commander produced his own papers. "I have the report on the Rathlin Island battle from the Megacity Army."

            "The paragons of effective intelligence gathering," Damia deadpanned.

            "The UK's Coast Patrol lost one of their mini-battleships, the Resolute," Mason went on. "In all honesty, they don't know what the hell was used on that ship. What they deciphered was that there were immense blasts of electricity and fire that struck the Resolute, initiating the internal explosions that destroyed the ship. Its captains, Brian Wolcott and James Reardon, along with most of the crew died in combat against what the four survivors describe as 'vultures', and a large Reploid that resembled a sphinx."

            "Now I know there can't be many of those."

            "Correct, X—eight on record, and all are security Reploids manufactured by an Egyptian company. All were at their scheduled posts that night."

            "Not surprising," Zero shrugged. "The only ones capable of pulling off stunts like this are the ones who are very good at not officially existing."

            "Wasn't there another ship?" Alec remembered.

            Mason nodded. "A civilian ship, the Sea King. It was owned by one Thomas Powell, one of those paralyzingly stupid rich types with nothing better to do than buy yachts while their managers run their companies. He apparently didn't even realize his boat was missing. The Sea King was vaporized by a fairly conventional weapon, the M-580 bomb. Apparently it was used as a trap to neutralize Reardon.

            "There's more," Mason added, frowning slightly. "Resolute was immobile during the attacks because…because somehow, the water was frozen."

            "Cryogenic rays?" Damia wondered.

            "Probably," Mason allowed. "Whatever it was it suggests another attacker, unless the sphinx was skilled in three elemental attacks. Which isn't at all out of the question."

            "Two major attacks at the same time," X summarized. "What's the connection, guys?"

            "Victims." Archer and Mason both produced pictures of Reploids—one of the tall, dark Revenant, one of the luminescent Haley and another of the scaly war hero Spartan Lionfish. Archer handled the explanation. "Several reputable and powerful Reploids were removed from the playing field. All have offended Mavericks in their day, and all were doing a splendid job of annoying Serpent Chartreuse. Both groups have the motive—the question is, which one has the stones?"

            "My money's on the Mavericks," Erich Zegmann opined.

            "I'm not so sure," Zero responded, looking thoughtful. Given that this was a coffee-less morning, this was noteworthy to his colleagues. "Chartreuse has…well, he's been known to carry grudges against Reploids simply for being powerful. Anyone he sees as a threat he has to eliminate."

            "But would he take this step?" X had to ask. It was, after all, the most crucial question in this scenario.

            Zero chewed his lower lip for a few seconds, thinking deeply before answering. "I think so," he finally said quietly. "Mavericks have never assassinated Hunter leaders. They're not good at it when they try, and for whatever reason they seem to prefer the all-out street warfare to a simple murder of, say, X or myself. Even Sigma never sends snipers or assassins after us—he lures us into places where he or his generals can face us directly." He shook his head definitively. "No. It wasn't the Mavericks. It's just not their style."

            "And Kou Cao is just emerging onto the field," X said, completing the thought running through everyone's mind. "We don't know how he operates yet, and we don't know to what extremes he'll go. Judging from the Seraph Uprising he prefers to set others up to do his bidding while he waits in the shadows, but that was before he had a huge network at his disposal." X looked to Damia, the commander who probably saw the most in the way of intelligence information. "You think he'll use his own organization?"

            It was Damia's turn to chew a lip. "Not exactly," she finally answered. "Oh, hell, X, I don't know. But judging from past experiences, he'll use sub-cells of his main organization to move his power pieces into play. Even if we infiltrate and destroy these sub-cells, we'll only penetrate so far before running out of leads, leaving the core of the Serpent Network unscathed. In the meantime, the power pieces in question—who may or may not be the ones who attacked Revenant and Spartan—will need to be stopped, and it's doubtful that even they will be any help to us if we interrogate them afterwards. The Seraph Castle Mavericks, according to what we know, didn't have any idea that Chartreuse was setting them up as his power players. They would have led us nowhere had they survived long enough to be interrogated."

            "It looks to this Huntress," Luna chimed in, "that the best course of action is to keep an eye on any groups suspected of involvement with the Serpent Network. If any start doing fishy things at the same time…"

            "We go in and clean house." Damia finished. "That's likely what Caligula will suggest to Signas."

            "And I'll take care to do the same," X said, concluding the issue. "Is there anything else before we all go off and play?"

            "Not about the attacks," Damia answered, in the tone of voice that suggested something may or may not be important. "But in regard to increased underworld activity, Intel has noticed very mild increases in radio wave communication in several cities where we know the Serpent has influence—primarily New York, Denver, Beijing and London. Also…" She blinked, clearly reading something on her personal notes for the first time. "It looks like something happened in Warsaw last night."

            "'Something' meaning what?" X asked.

            "An explosion of some sort, in a warehouse." Damia frowned. "Whatever it was it just happened, in their time zone anyway. Caligula will probably send someone to you this afternoon, X."

            "Peachy. Well if that's all—oh, duh. What about Wildcard Azarias? Do we know anything new yet?"

            "Grantham, England." Archer shrugged. "It's all we can pry out of Virgil. From the sound of things, though, Azarias hasn't escaped England yet, and we haven't found any dead bodies of kids lying around. So, things could be worse."

            "Right…okay, that's all she wrote—"

            "Actually X," Zero spoke up, reading over the last page of his memo with a curiously intense expression. "There is something."

            "What?" X asked. It was a very reluctant question, because the last 'page' of Zero's report was a sheet of looseleaf that Luna had passed him, doubtlessly the last link of a chain leading outside to someone cruel and unusual, like Alia.

            "It seems," Zero said, very seriously, "that not only is the reporter Jen Sun in this building but she has with her members of the 'Mega Man X Fanclub'." Zero set the report down and fixed his friend with the gaze of a general about to reassure his president that yes, the rebels were closing in, but no, they would not get to him. "Now X, I can have Unit 0 in action in ten seconds. The way I see it, if Delates and Tyclammel flank the communications office on either side and send Cort in guns blazing, we should be able to neutralize Sun before she gets her recording device out." Zero's perfectly straight face was not mimicked by the other commanders, who found this quite amusing even though they knew they shouldn't. "Unless, of course, she is skilled in lightsaber combat, in which case Delates could—"

            "Zero," X finally cut in, feeling in danger of smirking himself, "Are you instinctively an asshole, or did the asshole genes develop during a turbulent childhood?"

            "I want my coffee," Zero growled.

            "We're done," X said, standing and glancing about the room, as though daring someone else to raise an issue of business. "Is Unit 3 back in yet?"

            "They will be shortly," Mason replied. It was his unit's turn for night duty, and while some—namely the humans—hated this, many of the Reploids couldn't help but feel excited about potential warfare in the darkness. "The 17th is due out next, I believe."

            "That we are," X agreed, even though 'we' was hardly an accurate term. Jasper, X's second in command, did most of the training and the patrolling now, while X was increasingly buried in the more bureaucratic elements of the Hunter forces. He never thought he'd actually want to blast Mavericks to hell just for the sake of doing it, but he was dangerously nearing that point.

            Alia was waiting for him outside the room. "Get my message?" she asked, brimming with insincere ignorance.

            "No, but Zero did," X growled, handing her his briefing data.

            "Well whoda thunk that would happen."

            "I'm not talking to you right now, Judas," X said, starting back towards Unit 17's corner of the building. "You have sold out your lord."

            "You're not my lord, you're my boss, and I didn't sell you out, Jen Sun was just there all of a sudden, like Nexus when she short-warps into the canteen to rip of the pizzas."

            "Aaaannd you just betrayed Nexus to me. You're on a roll!"

            "What if I got rid of her?" Alia asked, finally appearing guilty. "Everyone gets rid of Jen Sun at one point or another. There's gotta be someone with experience in that area around here."

            "Do that," X nodded, rounding a corner and starting down the final hall to his personal office. "I do have serious work to do."

            "Of course."

            "Seriously, Alia, it's serious."

            "I understand."

            "Alia…"

            'Do you see me arguing with you?"

            "No, but I see you not getting rid of Jen Sun for me like the nice Reploid I'm sure you must be deep down inside."

            "Right, right." She blinked. "Hey, you never told me you had a fan club—"

            "Alia!"

            "Serious work, yeah, yeah, I gotcha. Oh, Caligula's in your office," she added, almost as an afterthought.

            X's spine froze. "…What? Why didn't you—"

            "You seemed so into your seriousness talk that I didn't want to interr—"

            "Go…go do something useful, will you?"

            "Okay." She left, and X composed himself before entering his office. He knew what the Intelligence Chief wanted to talk about, and X hated debates with Caligula, because Caligula was good at winning them. This kind of debate was the kind X hated to lose, because it reflected many of his core beliefs. Truth be told, the fact that he had never won one of these debates was making him wonder a little about his core beliefs.

            "Let me guess," Caligula said, even before X was fully in the room. "'Increased preemptive surveillance is a flat out betrayal of those Reploids who have avoided Sigma's promises in the hopes that the rest of the world would come to its senses.' Was that what you told him?"

            "Something like that," X muttered. It was, in fact, verbatim what he'd told Signas. "Good to see you too, by the way."

            "Charmed. A flat out betrayal, X? A flat out betrayal is termination, not surveillance."

            "One will follow the other fairly closely," X retorted, sitting at his desk. It was no different than any commander's desk. Caligula probably had a nicer one himself, being a chief. It was primarily because he thought too much that X lost debates. "Look," he resumed, trying to articulate his opinion in the same manner as he'd done with Signas, "I just don't think that things are bad enough that we need to—"

            "X, you don't do things like this when things are bad," Caligula interrupted. "You do them beforehand, so the bad shit doesn't have a chance to happen."

            "You can't at all guarantee that your security plan will improve Maverick detection in the least," X said forcefully. He did not take well to patronization.

            "And you can't guarantee that it won't." The intelligence chief leaned back in his chair, frowning at the most famous figure in his organization. "What in that proposal was so abominable that you had to crush the whole thing?"

            "I didn't 'crush' anything. I just gave my opinion."

            "You know damn well how powerful that opinion is, X. Signas relies on you and he relies on Zero, more so than anyone else in this place."

            "All the better for my position, then," X smiled slightly, reclining a little.

            Caligula blinked, a bit taken aback. "Hmph. Well, fine. You prefer to trust the good in people. I prefer to preempt the bad. Both views have their pluses, and both have also had equally disastrous results in the past. But dammit, we're Maverick Hunters. How are we supposed to hunt the Mavericks if we don't know who and where the Mavericks are?"

            "Doesn't seem to me like we had much trouble in that area before."

            "Naw, none at all, unless you ignore the perpetrators of four major wars and a nuclear attack."

            "All of whom were eventually neutralized."

            "All of whom could have been neutralized before they killed hundreds of thousands of innocent people."

            "Jeez, I know, that 'innocent until proven guilty' thing is a real pain, isn't it?"

            "X—"

            "Look," the Azure Hunter cut in. "Unprovoked restrictions from on high are one of the major reasons Reploids went Maverick in the first place. How exactly are we supposed to end Maverick activity if we encourage the replacement of old Mavericks with new ones?"

            "By providing them with a better standard of living. But that's not our job, is it?" Caligula was silent for a second. "Besides, you know who the enemy is now. We're dealing with people who are officially non-Mavericks, and who have no intention of ever joining the Maverick ranks, but they want to kill us just the same."

            "So you want to give Hunters the power to arrest any old civilian they want to?"

            "Yes." Caligula's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you honestly believe that our people will arrest civilians for the hell of it, X. If someone is picked up, then it's for a reason."

            "We're not the police, Caligula."

            "No, we're not. Chartreuse already owns the police. And, like I said, he wants us dead no matter what we consider ourselves. The government says they can handle things, but the government is full of shit and you know it. We have to defend ourselves. We can't wait for others to do it for us."

            X held his breath. "Even if this requires attacks on humans?"

            This made the intelligence officer actually laugh, and X wasn't sure if he should be chilled or not. "X, if someone is trying to kill me, I'm going to take him out whether he be human, Reploid or just a stray dog. When lives are involved, I don't like ideology interfering with practicality."

            X blinked. "Do you think I'm an ideologue, Caligula?"

            "I think you hold too tightly to certain ideals, yes. And they interfere with your practicality. Why do you think so many Mavericks have called you naïve?"

            X lowered his eyes in silent contemplation for a few seconds before answering, very calmly. "Well. I realize not everyone is as optimistic as I am about certain things. Pacifism, for example. You think pacifism is stupid?"

            "Stupid?" He frowned slightly. "No. Not stupid. Misguided, perhaps."

            "Impractical."

            "Yes. Impractical. War is a fact of life—it has always been there and always will be there."

            "I think so, too." X crossed his arms over his chest. "But you know what? When Reploids called out for rights, the humans said no. They said it wasn't practical to initiate a race of machines into a global social structure. When Sigma went apeshit, we decided the 'practical' thing to do was create a group to erase his group. Both groups still exist, by the way."

            Caligula didn't take well to patronization either. "You would rather we had allowed Sigma to commit genocide?"

            "No. But after breaking his power I, if I'd been a world leader, would have focused on the problems that drove so many Reploids into Sigma's arms in the first place and rectified them. But this required ideology—a belief that Reploids could be trusted. It was much more practical for the world to blame Reploids as a whole and appease human bigots."

            "But now you're blaming humans as a whole."

            "All humans are bigots," X said, very casually. "As are all Reploids, whether we admit it or not."

            "So what's your point?"

            "My point?" X spread his arms out. "How is this day any different than the same day ten years ago? Caligula, have we made any progress to speak of? Any whatsoever? Send me a memo if you find some, because I sure as hell don't see it. When Sigma decided to betray the Hunters, time froze. It hasn't started up again, even after a decade." His arms fell nervelessly onto his desk. "I'm sick of being practical. So no, I don't support giving the Hunters the power to wreck the future, no matter how beneficial it may be in the present."

            The intelligence chief drew a slow breath, absorbing this. "That's quite a risk you're prepared to have us all take."

            "It's a risk no one else I know has dared to suggest. I'm sick of taking the path most traveled solely because it's the one most traveled. Prove to me that we can increase surveillance and add to Hunter power without oppressing the populace and I'll recommend it to Signas, but until then…"

            Caligula absorbed this as well. Then he nodded, standing to take his leave. "Your opinion, as usual, is very thought-provoking."

            "Am I the only one who doesn't agree with you?" X dared to ask.

            The chief smiled thinly. "The only one who admits it, yes."

            Caligula started for the door. X stopped him with quiet words that he seemed to say without his own consent. "By the way…those Mavericks who called me naïve?" He paused for emphasis. "They're dead now."

            Caligula blinked. "I…didn't mean to imply—"

            "I know. Go away, I've got serious work to do."

            The intelligence chief left unoffended, knowing full well what X meant by 'serious' work. X himself put his head down on his desk, exhaling slowly. The part he hated most about dueling with Caligula was that the bastard always got him thinking. The part about the 'risk he was asking them all to take' kept ringing in his mind. What right did X have to force the rest of the Hunters to live with less protective power because he had a problem with it?

            He didn't know. What surprised him more was that he didn't care…not as much as he would have in the past, anyway.

Have I really changed that much?

__________

            "Hoo-aka!"

            The small, white bird hopped across the sand like it was riding a pogo stick, bravely separating itself from the cluster of other birds who were alternating between watching the tall, lazily dressed Hunter and poking the eyes out of a rather large fish carcass. The so-called seagull had black-tipped wings and sported a red beak. It looked directly up at the Hunter, tilting its head in mild bird-interest. "Hoo-aka!" it said again, turning away before its new friend could answer.

            It was the red beak that threw Delates. Seagulls didn't have red beaks. Few birds at all had red beaks, he thought. It had to have something to do with chemicals, he'd decided. Somehow chemicals had mutated a certain seagull into a new species of bird that emitted a duckish quack sounding very much like "Hoo-aka". Delates had originally dissolved into laughter whenever the birds spoke, but now he'd become desensitized enough that he merely grinned mightily at the sound.

            He didn't come down here every morning specifically to listen to seagull mutants quack like retarded ducks, though that was a powerful selling point. He came here because he had nothing better to do before morning training began. The problem with sleeping in the same bed as a Hunter Commander was that the commander had to get up earlier than other Hunters. Years of curious circumstances had caused him to synchronize his sleeping with the movements of the Huntress nestled in his arms—when Damia stirred, Delates stirred with her.

            Damia, however, had something to do for the hour, whereas Delates just had free time while no one else was awake. So he'd found the beach and the birds, and here he stood practically every morning, rain or shine, and just watched the ocean. He found it quite conducive to simple meditation—Hawkins had his running, Delates had his beach and his hoo-akas.

            Now the said birds were making him laugh again. A fight had broken out around the dead fish, and the strange quacking had risen to new levels. "Hoo-aka!" The bird who'd investigated Delates turned and bounced back to the fish with renewed interest. "Wak!" another bird yelped, greeting the new arrival with a harsh half-quack and spread wings. "Hoo-AAA!" the offended bird retorted with such nasal indignation that Delates's shoulders began to shake.

            "There's something wrong with your brain," a woman's voice said matter-of-factly from behind him.

            "Oh, come on!" Delates grinned, turning to drape an arm around the new arrival. This was easy, since she was a head shorter than he was. "You can't tell me it's not hilarious," he insisted, his speech broken by laughter as the birds hopped angrily at each other.

            "I'm surprised you haven't brought one home," Damia observed, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning against him, her blue eyes focused on the ocean before them. Roy, her silver monkey, was perched conspicuously on her left shoulder, intently playing with locks of her silky brown hair. The golden-furred Sigfried was again AWOL.

            "I wouldn't sleep," he responded truthfully, smiling down at her. It was amazing, he thought, this change that came over her whenever the ocean was in view. As interesting as Delates found the sea to stare at in the morning, he often got the impression Damia would like nothing more than to grow gills and slip underwater forever. Seeing as she had no aquatic capabilities, her interest in the sea was perplexing. But, Delates remembered, innate restrictions had never stopped this Huntress before.

            "I can't decide if the sea looks calm or not," she finally said, sounding unnerved.

            "It's anticipating tomorrow's eclipse," Delates quipped sagely. "It watched Mustafa's special report!"

            Damia groaned and shook her head. A Reploid named Mustafa was the System's premier weatherman, and he was a little…excitable. For the last four days all anyone had been hearing was 'PREPARE FOR THE FLOODS! THE LUNAR ECLIPSE WILL HAVE UNTOLD EFFECTS ON THE SEAS!' Damia had never really seen an eclipse before. Despite Mustafa's doomsaying, she intended to get a good look at this one.

            Wordlessly the two of them mutually decided to spend their remaining free time here together, and they walked a few steps to the "Throne". The Throne was another marvel of nature—two slabs of stone, one horizontal and one vertical—that resembled some ancient king's dais of power. Much like the Wormswood Pillars, those who saw the Throne couldn't help but stop and remark on its oddities.

            Damia winced as Roy began yanking too hard on her hair. She brushed him off her shoulder and he scampered off, chittering noisily, heading in the direction of the dead fish and the squabbling birds.

            "You own two monkeys, and you yell at me about birds," Delates chuckled, resting against the vertical stone in a seated position. Damia curled up next to him, the two of them staring back out at the waves.

            "The monkeys have their uses," Damia protested. One of the birds hopped up to Roy, eyeing him with the utmost interest. The chittering monkey did the same. "Hoo-aka!" the bird finally said disapprovingly, following up with a menacing bird-hiss. Roy threw sand in its eyes. "Wak!" the bird squawked frantically, running around as though headless. "Wak! Wak!"

            A peal of rich laughter escaped Damia's lips. "Okay, that was funny."

            "You have a talk with Roy," Delates said sternly. "I don't want him harassing my birds." They were quiet for a good minute, simply enjoying each other's company and the sound of the waves in the background. Then Delates summoned up the courage to say what he'd been meaning to say for the last twenty-four hours. "They followed up that lead from Bangor."

            "Which one…?"

            "The one leading to Azarias's pal in Vietnam." He paused, feeling awkward even though he knew she already knew what he was going to tell her. "The jungle is clean."

            Damia nodded slowly. "I got the report through Aegis."

            He looked down at her again. "You're okay…?"

            "Why wouldn't I be?" But he didn't fail to miss the way her body bristled slightly as she spoke the words.

            He hated these conversations, hated not knowing when she was okay and when she wasn't okay. But it was his job to press her, in Dr. Trask's opinion. He had to get her to talk about these things instead of letting them fester inside her. "I'm just asking, is all…"

            She exhaled a slow breath, tilting her head to meet his gaze. "I know…I know."

            "There were a lot of bad memories there."

            Damia smiled, somewhat weakly, and nodded. "But like you said…the jungle is clear. Vinh Kan base is gone…we made sure of that. It wasn't going to be another UNDINE," she said, referring to the coding station the Seraph Castle Mavericks had used to crack Hunter security firewalls. "At any rate," she added quietly, "what happened at Vinh Kan seems kinda like small potatoes now, huh?"

            Delates unconsciously tightened his embrace, once more experiencing the strange blend of emotions that always surfaced when they discussed this topic. "Yeah…I guess it does."

            No Hunter was a stranger to pain. Virtually all of them had been wounded in either training or in action, and more had been tortured than anyone cared to admit. The thing was, most of these "tortures" were brief incidents where Mavericks used what leverage they could to extract some little piece of information before the other Hunters showed up to ruin their fun. Most of these unpleasant experiences logically befell those Hunters who frequently worked alone, meaning Units 0, 8 and Aegis. Delates himself had endured the wrath of a rather large Maverick who'd snapped both his legs before Cort had executed the bastard with a shot in either eye. He'd been in a world of pain while Cort dragged him back to the HQ, but had gotten over the incident quickly enough and was doing his job efficiently again within two weeks.

            Every once in a while, though, the torture was a little more severe—the kind of torture that left scars. Damia had experienced such torture twice, though she was hardly the only one. X and Zero, Delates knew, were no strangers to awesome pain, and neither were Castle and Acrystos, two of Damia's guerillas who doubled as Aegis operatives. In every case the victims had to have someone to turn to, to help them get back on their feet. Delates had been Damia's choice both times, though for slightly different reasons.

            She seemed to be reading his mind. "Besides," she said, leaning up to kiss him. "I can think of at least one good memory from Vinh Kan."

            Even as he smiled back and returned the kiss, the usual surge of protectiveness shot through his body. "There won't be any more Vinh Kans, Damia. Not so long as I'm around."

            Something about the way he said it sent a little chill down her spine. "Don't say that, Delates…fate has a way of twisting promises like that…"

            Then, any somberness that had developed evaporated in a flash as Roy, screeching wildly, scampered away from about twenty angry seagull mutants, a storm of hoo-akas invading their eardrums and causing both Hunters to burst out with laughter.

            "What are they?" Damia wondered aloud, holding out her hand towards Roy. The outnumbered monkey raced up her arm and tried to hide himself in her hair, while a row of birds formed near the two Reploids, hoo-akaing their disapproval.

            "They're a menace," Delates answered, and the both of them got to their feet. "Let's get out of here before they break out their firearms."

            "Ugh," was all his paramour would say, starting back with him. Roy clung to her neck, chittering unpleasant monkey-condemnations back at the birds. "You stupid little furball," Damia said with a laugh, breaking her pet's hold on her throat and cradling it like an infant. "When are you going to learn?" Roy merely popped a thumb in his mouth and enjoyed his temporary refuge from the feathered menace.

            "Hoo-aka!" the birds squawked in triumph as the intruders left their beach. "Hooooo-aka!"

***

            The sun climbed high in the sky, and some paused to reflect that this time tomorrow that same sun would be blocked out by a cosmic shadow. The solar body, Apollo's golden chariot, lorded over the earth for its customary period and began to retreat towards the western horizon, spilling a reddish-gold hue onto the world below it.

            It had been a good day, so far as Alec Tremont was concerned. He'd even gotten to take Raven 13 for a spin, something that happened less frequently since he'd received his command post. It was easy for Alec to understand why his predecessor had disliked this rank, since it meant less time up in the air. Alec couldn't even begin to describe how free he felt up there, how life was just so much more livable.

            Then he came down to his hellhole and remembered how much he hated people.

            Not all people, he corrected himself as he stepped out of the jeep from Sakimoto Airfield. Just the stupid ones. And the stupidest of the stupid, he decided as he stepped into the Hunter Headquarters once more, were the fools who despised others based on issues of race. And not just because they caused serious problems, like wars, but also because they made Alec conduct investigations like this when he'd rather be playing ping-pong in the rec room.

            To get to the Research and Development labs Alec had to pass through the small secondary auditorium the Hunters used primarily to talk to the smallish gaggle of reporters who turned up most mornings to see if there was a good story in the works. The Hunters were a big seller in most papers, and everyone wanted a piece. No matter who got hurt, Alec thought with a derisive snort. While he knew deep down that freedom of information was fairly indispensable to freedom itself, it still pissed him off sometimes. In any case, the reporters almost never stuck around this long unless something major was happening, which there wasn't, and Alec was rightly surprised when a booming voice reverberated in his eardrums.   

"Mr. Tremont!"

            The voice was as big as its owner, a burly, muscular man who despite his imposing frame conveyed a cultured, urbane manner. There was also a disarming friendliness about him, a charisma that made it hard to say no to him. For a reporter, this was an impeccably useful talent.

            "What can I do for you, Mr. Duke?" Alec asked, smiling guardedly at the advancing reporter, wondering what he was still doing here. If he knew Roland Duke—and everyone knew Roland Duke—the reporter had gotten wind of controversy. Duke was phenomenal at detecting controversy. As such Alec hated talking to him, because invariably he found himself liking Duke, and this didn't befit one who distrusted reporters.

             "Nothing much, sir, nothing much," Duke said genially, shaking the pilot's hand vigorously. "Hey, is it true Jen Sun was hanging around here this morning about that anti-drug thing?"

            "You didn't wait around here to ask me about Jen Sun, Roland."

            "Still…she does realize X is a robot, right?"

            Alec laughed. Immediately he was mad at himself for it, but he laughed all the same. "I don't know what goes through her mind, nor do I feel your readers care. Why don't you just ask what you want to ask?"

            "Actually I'm gonna keep us off the record," Duke responded casually. "Scuttlebutt is, there's something going on in Warsaw."

            Alec blinked. "The guy didn't cover that this morning?"

            "CNN covered it, along with every other global news network," Duke responded easily. "They don't know who was responsible."

            "Do you?"

            "Well, I think I know who was using the warehouse. Doesn't take much of a leap of the imagination to guess that a building gone to hell in the Union was probably a den for old Kou Cao, eh?"

            Alec raised an eyebrow, somewhat amused. "Please tell me you don't think we—"

            "Oh, no!" Duke's laugh boomed throughout the corridor. "You Hunters have spread your wings, but you're not about to go bombing buildings with unconscious humans inside."

            At this the pilot frowned, asking a question despite his reservations. "Do you know how many were killed?"

            "Oh…" Duke shrugged. "Most were positioned a safe distance away from the charges that brought the place down. They did find three dead Maverick Hunters on the scene, though."

            "That's news to me," Alec said truthfully. He didn't watch the news as often as he knew he probably should. "Still, if we were going for retribution we'd have arrested the culprits publicly…we wouldn't burn their house down and leave them to suffocate."

            "Undoubtedly," Duke agreed. When he schmoozed, it really sounded genuine. Alec couldn't help but wonder if it sometimes was. "The question is, if not you…then who?"

            This prompted another laugh from the pilot. "You mean, do I know of some anti-Serpent splinter cell? I'll tell ya, I sure wish I did." He laughed again, shaking his head. "You're talking to the wrong person, Roland. I fly planes. I'm not a detective."

            "You fly planes," Duke agreed again. "Which means you and Caligula have a lot of coordinating to do. You're a link to the Intel chief, too—he's the one we want."

            Alec was suddenly rather uncomfortable, both because Duke was saying strange things and because the strange things were true and he hadn't fully realized it until now. "Why are you telling me this?"

            Duke shrugged his broad shoulders. "You should fill in for Ryoko. You're pretty good at handling reporters."

            The pilot frowned, suddenly suspicious. "The trick is not telling you people anything important."

            "That's exactly right," Duke agreed, quite candidly. "The public just wants something to amuse them for ten seconds. Ryoko gave us too much actual information, information that the public shouldn't have had yet, and her replacement is just as bad. Whoever replaces him, just make sure they don't make those mistakes." The reporter smiled, as though switching modes from serious to cordial. "That's all I wanted to say." He glanced at his watch and clapped Alec on the shoulder. "I'll catch you around, Mr. Tremont. Deadlines are a'callin'."

            Alec spent the next two seconds wondering fiercely what in the world the reporter was up to. Did he really think Alec would do a decent job handling the press, or did he think Alec would be easier to get information out of? It really was hard to tell.

            But he had more important things to worry about. The pilot continued on his way into the R&D garage, where rows of ride armors, ride chasers and scores of other transportation and battle equipment were stored, ready for action at a moment's notice. Currently slaving over one big Chimera ride armor were two Reploid technicians, one of whom seemed to have just been electrocuted.

            "Dammit!" the technician raged, his normally smooth white hair now shooting out in all directions.

            "You said use the plug on the right," his counterpart, a tall red-haired technician, replied indignantly.

            "My right," the one in white retorted. "When I said my right, I was referring to me. As far as I'm aware there is only one me so what happened?"

            "Problems, boys?" Alec interrupted breezily, drifting past them.

            "Nothing serious," they both replied, each sighing, like this was the eightieth time this had happened today, which wasn't wholly unlikely.

            "Sefus and Jarkeld oughta write a book," piped up a short green Reploid to Alec's right, "a book on how not to succeed in the mechanics business."

            "Way to motivate, Douggie," Alec clapped the R&D chief on the back. Douglas was hovering over a table on which diagrams of various weapons were spread out. "Busy day?"

            "Anything but. You finish your patrol?"

            Alec nodded. "We scoured the mean skies of Tokyo and found…zilch! The same as every day."

            Douglas chuckled. "It's aggravating, but we do what we have to. And, er, speaking of that, let's take a walk."

            Alec nodded and followed the mechanic back to his office, where Douglas closed the door behind him. "You're sure I was the only one qualified for this?" the pilot asked, determined to be annoyed.

            Douglas shrugged. "You spent the last two years flying reconnaissance. It's your job to notice things." An eyebrow rose. "Did you notice anything this time?"

            "No," Alec replied. "And I don't really expect to. This base is reasonably well grounded. It's only the best of the best. There's no room for racism here."

            At this the mechanic chuckled. "We'd all like to think that, but…we all know what's going to happen in a few months. Control of the world may soon fall into the hands of anti-Reploid extremists. If and when that happens, humans and Reploids—even the ones here—will begin to feel uncomfortable around each other." The chief's eyes narrowed. "If you see anything, Alec…the smallest scowl, a condescending glance…anything at all, let me know. A racial issue is not something we need right now."

            "I know. I'll keep you in touch."

            "Thank you."

            Alec turned to leave, anxious to end this conversation. But something stopped him long enough to turn back and ask what may or may not be an unnecessary question. "Hey, Douglas…has Roland Duke been sniffing around lately? More than usual, I mean?"

            At this the mechanic paused thoughtfully. "He has been hanging around later than usual, hasn't he?"

            "He's still here now. He stopped me on my way in here."

            "Did he now…" Douglas blinked, then frowned. "Well, he may have gotten wind that the reports are back on Moscow and Ireland, but…I don't know, it doesn't seem like there's much of a story there. The public has already lost interest." He shrugged. "Why, did he ask you something?"

            "Nothing important," Alec shook his head. "I was just asking, is all."

            "Mm. Well, a good evening to you, Commander Tremont. Fly safely."

            "Keep your boys out of trouble," Alec said, motioning to Sefus and Jarkeld, just as Sefus got a jolt of his own that shot his red hair out in an imitation of Jarkeld's. "My left!" he was yelling. "I said my left! Didn't we just have this argument?"

            "Must've slipped my mind," Jarkeld replied, far too innocently.

__________

            Unit 8 did not go on patrol. They were simply too small a team to effectively cover any distance, and besides, they had more to do in the area of preparation and intelligence gathering than any of the other units. A typical day for the guerillas featured a morning briefing from Damia—Unit 8 was let in on high security issues, since they would likely be the first ones on scene if anything happened—followed by scenario training, which usually involved situations such as hostage crises, bomb diffusion or other high stress incidents that the guerillas were responsible for stopping. They were more or less on their own for most of the afternoon, though they all spent their time either helping Caligula or warping across the globe to help investigate certain happenings.

            The unit met once more in the evening to summarize world events, and this daily meeting was now in session. Commander Damia lounged very unprofessionally on a sprawling beanbag chair, her fingers leafing through the security report that all six of her underlings held in their own paws. "You told him about this?" she asked, her eyes riveted on the highlighted sections of the report.

            "Hard not to," Castle replied from the small couch he shared with Acrystos. "We noticed it together. Kevin pondered it and took it to Caligula. The boss wasn't overly worried, but he's having some people look into it."

            "And did our dear Kevin react noticeably when Warsaw turned up on this list?" Damia lowered the paper just enough to level an eye in Castle's direction. They referred to Kevin Seitz, Caligula's chief assistant.

            Castle shrugged. "He never reacts much, does he?"

            "I don't see why he would," Acrystos put in, scanning her own report. "That warehouse exploded in Warsaw this morning. It makes sense that there would be increased message traffic there."

            "Agreed," Dantz's deep voice rumbled from across the room. His large frame occupied the entirety of an armchair, though he left one arm of the chair free for Nexus to use as her perch. The slim Huntress leaned back casually against her larger acquaintance, and glancing at the scene Damia again couldn't help but wonder if there was anything going on between those two.

            Dantz flipped to the back page of his report and continued. "It's the snippets they intercepted in Megacity 5 that worry me. These messages deal with the Hunter base there."

            "But they all refer in some ways to Hunters and Hunter bases," Deluge objected. He sat cross-legged on the floor directly across from Damia. Behind him Brant Everett, the squad medic, had stretched his lanky form out on the second couch in the room. It wasn't that Everett was hogging the couch—Deluge, for whatever strange reason, preferred the floor.

            "Yes," Dantz agreed, "but Megacity 5 just suffered a major ecoterrorist attack. Logically, if Mavericks or the Gold Serpent were involved, their message traffic should be focused on the Ellis Island attack and in rescuing their agent. That was, in fact, what Zion was hoping for when he tracked these messages—a link to Alutriel, the Maverick they suspect in the bombing."

            "So," Damia summarized, "the fact that Chartreuse is so focused on the Hunter base itself rather than the Hunters as a whole doesn't make sense."

            "Correct." Dantz pointed to a few other examples. "And it doesn't end there. Message traffic from Megacity 5 also refers to specific Hunter units and, in some cases, specific locations. Take Yates Park for example. Why were these presumed operatives talking about Yates Park in the same conversations that they mentioned specific Hunter units?"

            "The pattern repeats itself," Nexus noticed. "Look at the reports from Denver and Beijing. London, too."

            "But these could just be normal, everyday conversations," Deluge protested. "I bet you'll find similar message patterns in every city occupied by Kou Cao."

            "The problem is," Damia shook her head, "these cities had the most such message traffic. Clearly it made Caligula nervous enough to put it in the report, and like Dantz said, naming specific Hunter units and specific places doesn't seem like what Kou Cao should be doing in Megacity 5. I'd be trying to beat the Hunters in finding Alutriel, if she's even still alive."

            "I hope she is," Everett grunted. "Bitch contaminates an entire Megacity's drinking water…she oughta get the full brunt of the law."

            "Well what the hell was the Army doing storing chemicals in an underwater plant anyway?" Acrystos scoffed.

            "Conclusion: the Megacity Army is stupid. Moving on," Damia deadpanned, breaking them out of their usual routine of criticizing their fellow law enforcers. "Some of the Warsaw traffic is interesting, too. You can tell this was a Serpent base. According to some of these snippets, Chartreuse himself expressed displeasure with this one."

            "Poor him," Castle grumbled.

            "Think he's pissed enough to retaliate?" Everett thought suddenly. "You know, say, striking at New York, Denver, Beijing and London?"

            "It doesn't make sense," Dantz frowned. "I mean, I think something is up, but I can't imagine why he'd attack those cities. It just seems so…random. There's no real connection between them. Even if you throw in…" He blinked. "Hey, what's going on in Tokyo?"

            "There's nothing in here," Damia frowned, scanning the report once more. "Though you know we have more message traffic regarding Kou Cao than any of these other cities, just because our headquarters is here. I don't think we'd notice a difference anyway."

            But the mood was slightly darker. "I dunno," Everett sighed. "I just have a bad feeling all of a sudden."

            "How many times have we had bad feelings before?" Deluge tried to snap them out of their stupor. "We always read too much into these reports. We work ourselves up for something that never comes even remotely close to happening. Besides, all we have to do is fire off a warning to those cities, and they'll fire up their security measures. Hunters aren't as good as we are all around the world, but they're still fairly powerful."

            "I'll recommend as much to Cal," Damia nodded. But she was still frowning. "I just…I don't know. All this talk about assassinating Hunters…the incidents in Moscow and Ireland…and now we've got talk of specific units and specific places?"

            "We've had talk about specific units and specific places since the Seraph Castle attacks," Acrystos pointed out. "There's nothing to indicate that these threats are any more credible than all the other ones. All we can do is tell the commanders in the suspect cities to watch their backs."

            Damia nodded. Then she got lazily to her feet and stretched. "I'll talk to Caligula. The rest of you go be miscreants."

            "But don't go to any, you know, specific places," Castle added severely.

            "Especially not with any specific units," Damia matched his tone, turning to leave. It was probably nothing. She knew from experience that they were, as Deluge had suggested, probably making too big a deal out of nothing.

            For whatever reason her morning conversation with Delates came to mind. His promise that nothing would hurt her so long as he was still alive, and her response… "Fate has a way of twisting promises like that…"

            But no, she thought, she was making too big a deal out of nothing, like Deluge had said. The thought of someone attacking them on their home turf was so wild as to be out of the question.

            But then why, she wondered, do I still feel so god damned nervous?

***

"When?"

            "Give it time. We'll do it tonight."

            "Cover of darkness?"

            "Precisely. What did you learn?"

            "As paranoid as these fellas are, they sure don't worry too much about their routines."

            "You noticed that, too?"

            "Yeah. So I gather we know the location…?"

            "Find me. We'll finalize things. Be careful—the reconnaissance flights will begin soon. We can't be seen around the premises."

            "Come on, Carlos, you think I'm gonna let one of those spot me?"

            "No one 'lets' the enemy win. We're taking every precaution. This will be a dangerous one, Victor. No screw ups."

            "Right, right…hey, have you heard those birds? The ones near the target?"

            "What are you taking about?"

            "The birds, they're like…hoo-aka!"

            "…I'm not getting paid enough for this shit."

***

Downtown Tokyo

            "It's just not the same!"

            "Rykov, you say that every damn time, but it's not gonna change anything!"

            "But dammit Krysta, you…you don't understand. Vulcan, come on, you know it's true."

            "Tokyo has its fair share of pizza places, Rykov. I don't see what the big deal—"

            "Judas!" Rykov hissed, recoiling from his silver friend. "How dare you compare Tokyo pizza to New York pizza!"

            "Chicago pizza beats 'em all," Krysta chimed in, herself a native of the Windy City. "But I don't see why you have to be so gourmet about it. It's just pizza!"

            "Women!" Rykov scoffed. "No appreciation for the finer points of life."

            "Excuse me?" Krysta laughed richly, her crystalline armor catching the final rays of the setting sun. "You remember when I took you to that art museum? You almost blew half the stuff up!"

            "So did I," Vulcan admitted sheepishly.

            "And you say I have no appreciation for the finer points," Krysta finished decisively.

            "Oh God," Rykov groaned, rolling his head back. "God, God, God NO! I know you did not just use art as a way to convey 'finer points'."

            Krysta furrowed her light brown eyebrows. "And what, praytell, is wrong with art?"

            "Some of it's fine," Vulcan attempted to compromise. "It's just that a lot of the modern stuff is—"

            "Horseshit."

            "Yeah," Vulcan nodded gingerly. "I had intended to say it more…'artistically', but there you go."

            "Oh really. And I suppose you gentlemen can do better?"

            "Damn right I can," Rykov declared. "I can at least spill paint onto a wall. I don't take some chair out of a junk heap, label it 'Chair' and make up some hokey excuse as to why it's art."

            "'The chair is not just an outdated piece of furniture,'" Vulcan paraphrased, "'but rather is a caricature, or even an imprint, of its former owner.'"

            "And you know how much money that bullshitter got for 'Chair'?" Rykov growled. "He's an artist all right—a con artist!"

            "Yeah," Krysta agreed, with as patronizing a smile as she could muster. "He's really rolling in the dough. If I were you two I'd feel dumb for not thinking of it first. But then look at all those who aren't con artists. Like Brancusi—"

            "The penguin guy?!" Here Vulcan just couldn't keep quiet. "No, he wasn't a con artist, he was just lazy. He had two thumbs, Krysta, thumbs, they were white rounded rectangles with smaller rectangles at the tops, like thumbnails, and he called them two penguins."

            "It's designed to be simplistic," Krysta retorted defensively. "It's for those of us who can, you know, see the finer points."

            Rykov glowered. "Krysta, you're fired. Go home. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars."

            "I will go home and I will collect 200 dollars."

            "Playing cards again?" Rykov shook his head as a Simpsons quote came to mind. "'She has been taken over by an evil gambling monster. I call him…Gamblor!'"

            "Hey, when you're good, you're good!" Krysta grinned. "Some of the Greaseballs think they can beat us, so Xu and I are gonna hafta show 'em the ropes."

            "Who are the victims tonight?" Vulcan asked.

            "Couple'a techies. Sefus and Jarkeld. Know 'em?"

            "I've seen Jarkeld around," Vulcan replied, with amazing calm. Inside, however, he was hit by a feeling of profound nervousness. This, right here, is horseshit, he thought. Even more so than modern art. What the hell is wrong with me?

            "What about you two lugs?" she asked, stretching her arms out luxuriously behind her head.

            Vulcan and Rykov were, in fact, planning on continuing a training scenario that a friend of theirs had designed for fun, but they didn't get a chance to answer the question before a small explosion erupted behind them.

            Instantly the trio spun around, their hands drifting to their respective weapons. A store behind them had just gone kaboom, and there were some shouts coming from inside. Vulcan's beam saber came to life and he shot towards the building, Krysta close behind with her axe resting against her shoulder. Rykov converted his arm into a menacing cannon and lagged behind. He was somewhat inhibited in civilian settings, and planned to just cover his friends rather than racing in with guns blazing and endangering bystanders.

            Just before the Hunters arrived on scene, a Reploid in green and white dashed out of the store's shattered window, racing away with what looked like a thick black suitcase. A robbery. Shouts still continued from within the burning store; wordlessly Rykov smashed in what remained of the door and began to rescue the occupants. The speedier members of the posse then gave chase.

            There was an element of excitement to this, even if it was just a robbery. Patrols in Tokyo were really just formalities. No one expected Kou Cao or the Mavericks to do a whole lot in the Hunter heartland, since legions of the best Hunters were only blocks away. However, this was the exact same mindset that Sigma had manipulated two years ago when he built Seraph Castle practically right next door to Hunter HQ, previously located in Megacity 5, New York. Thus these patrols had to happen, however unlikely it was that a major battle would take place, and now that something was happening Vulcan and Krysta were dying to have a part in it.

            The enemy raced towards an intersection that led into a grassy courtyard bordered by buildings on three sides. Cars screeched to halts as the criminal and his two pursuers flew carelessly through the intersection. During this momentary confusion the green criminal jumped forward, twisted in the air and brought a pistol up to bear at Vulcan. His shot missed, but the action was critical—he'd just fired on a Hunter after potentially attacking humans. The gloves had just come off.

            But it was still preferable to catch the criminal rather than kill him. Vulcan sheathed his lightsaber and converted his left hand into a fairly standard-issue arm cannon, setting it to stun. The criminal touched down and took something out of his pocket. Vulcan and Krysta pursued him into the grassy town square area, where he thrust the object down at his feet.

            Pocket Napalm, Vulcan realized instantly. It was like a wall of fire flying at him, and it was all he could do to throw himself out of the way. Krysta gave a little cry, and after looking at her Vulcan angrily realized that she'd been slightly singed. He shot to his feet, firing two shots at the retreating green form, but he danced easily out of the way. Another Pocket Napalm—oh yes, the manufacturer had assured the Megacity Army, it would never get out of the Army ranks and into the wrong hands, never!—came flying Vulcan's way, but he dodged it again, landing hard on his left side. Unable to bring his cannon up to bear, he rolled over—a wise choice. Two lasers struck the ground where he'd been, but then the crook paused to realign his gun. Vulcan blinked, trying to see through the flames. He couldn't see Krysta. The roar of the napalm had temporarily deafened him—had she been shot? Anger welled within him again and he jumped to his feet.

            Then he stopped, still as a statue, completely and utterly paralyzed.

            It wasn't something he ever expected to be able to explain to someone who hadn't been there. It just wasn't something most people could understand. He might be able to relate it to them…picture something bad that happened to you, he might say, and look around. Does anything remind you of that bad thing? Does it look like the exact same place?

            Because this place, this courtyard with the old buildings around it and the fires burning bright and the roar of nearby traffic sounding like the whoosh of jets, this place wasn't a Tokyo courtyard. It was a war-torn circle of land in New York, and his enemy wasn't a simple crook, it was a dethroned tanker, and somewhere, somewhere among these flames, there was a body…the body of a friend…

            But the crook, whose underworld handle was simply 'Wrench', didn't see what Vulcan saw. He saw an inexplicably incapacitated Maverick Hunter, and he leveled his gun directly at him with a smile. He might get out of this after all.

            A yell from his right suddenly attracted his attention. Wrench glanced towards the sound and, correctly figuring Vulcan to be out of commission, swung his leg out hard at the advancing Krysta. For some reason she did not expect this. The Huntress staggered clumsily backward, and a second kick to her solar plexus had her laying flat on her back. "Double teamin' me, eh?" Wrench grinned. "Doesn't matter how unfair you make it, lassie. I still win."

            The moment was wearing off. Vulcan blinked slowly, pulling himself together and rushing hard at Wrench, bringing his cannon high. But it was too late, he saw—Wrench was already aiming his gun, and Krysta wasn't able to defend herself…

            The air behind Wrench shifted ever so slightly, but the robber recognized it easily enough. "What's this?" he exclaimed, glancing behind him, noting also that a rather large shadow had just washed over him.

            "Hi," Hawkins said darkly, his covert short-warp a success. "I'm here to make it more unfair."

            Wrench cried out and turned all the way around, but it was over for him. Hawkins simply smashed him in the side of the head with one of his powerful fists, connecting again under the criminal's jaw with a punch that snapped his head back and sent his unconscious body arching through the air. Other members of Unit 5 scurried up behind Hawkins to place handcuffs on the downed criminal, while Hawkins helped Krysta to her feet. "He get you?" Hawkins asked, looking her over quickly.

            "Just a little singed," Krysta replied with a sharp cough, her arms wrapped around her waist. "A few good kicks, but nothing serious…"

            Hawkins appeared unsatisfied. "Sparks," he said, summoning one of their Unit 5 comrades. "Get Krysta back to base and have Lifesaver take a look at her. The rest of you, bring in that joker for questioning." He turned to Vulcan. "Rykov sent out a distress signal, but he took care of everything. Looks like this asshole had trapped the shopkeepers in a room. They're fine, thanks to your buddy." The lieutenant commander's frown deepened. "Are you okay?"

            "I…" Well he couldn't really say no. Vulcan was pale and sweating, and though he had indeed just nearly watched one of his best friends die, it seemed to Hawkins like there was something more to the situation. "It's nothing," Vulcan said anyway, knowing how flat it sounded.

            "Like hell. Were you hit?"

            Vulcan gritted his teeth, almost afraid to turn around. But he did anyway. The flames were subsiding thanks to the efforts of his squadmates, but he could still make out the arena where two years ago he'd faced down Tetra. "Look around you," he said quietly.

            Hawkins frowned even harder. But his expression softened with remarkable speed. Most would have been completely oblivious to Vulcan's reasoning, but Hawkins had been there too, and he knew something of Vulcan's internal conflicts regarding that battle. "I see it," he assured his friend. "I see it too."

            Feeling slightly less loopy now that he wasn't the only one seeing things, Vulcan shook his head slowly. "I…couldn't move. I just locked up."

            "It happens," Hawkins said, exhaling a long breath. "There's little you can do about it. Post traumatic stress syndrome occurs in Reploids too…it's the curse of being modeled after humans."

            "But he could have hurt her," Vulcan protested, clearly unsatisfied with this explanation. "He was this close to shooting one of us, because I couldn't…I couldn't fight back! It was just like…just like that time."

            Hawkins bowed his head slightly, his long black hair partially hiding his face, which was hardened with concentration. "We all made mistakes that day," he said quietly, without looking up. "None of us expected to see a tank roll up out of nowhere. We all froze. We all panicked. Then we did everything we could. And in Derringer's case it just wasn't enough."

            Hawkins picked his head up and laid a heavy hand on his silver comrade's shoulder. "But I'll tell you this much, Vulcan. Tetra killed Derringer, and then nearly killed you, and Scylla and all the others. But we got him. This guy," he gestured to where Wrench was being carted off by Unit 5 troops, "who was he? Some punk who almost got lucky. But now he got his."

            "And next time?" Vulcan asked quietly. The fires were out. Only the red glow cast by the sunset illuminated the square, reminding Vulcan of the red glow that had filled Megacity 5's skies that night…but for a very different, very horrible reason.

            "Next time?" Hawkins's voice became piercing. "That's up to you. It's up to all of us, Vulcan, to defend our friends. 'Cause I don't care what anyone else tells you, your friends are all you got in this world…especially if you're a Hunter. Right now we're fighting a shadow war against an invisible enemy. You gotta be on the lookout, pal. And if anyone…anyone…dares to come after your friends, you gotta send them to Hell so fast even Satan's surprised to see 'em. Next time someone who looks like Tetra points a gun at Krysta, what are you gonna do? Stand there and stare?"

            Vulcan closed his eyes and felt his body straighten, almost of its own accord. He remembered Hawkins kicking Tetra to the ground and unloading his weapon at nearly point-blank range into the writhing Maverick. But he didn't shudder at the thought of so brutal a killing. Instead it seemed almost…right. Tetra had done unspeakable things, and he had paid. Hawkins had defended his friends. And what would Vulcan do when the next time came along…?"

            "I'll send them to Hell," Vulcan answered, opening his eyes slowly.

            Hawkins nodded his head slowly and silently. "But let's hope," he added, turning away from Vulcan and preparing to warp back to base, "that it doesn't have to come to that."

            "Of course," Vulcan said, so quietly that it was barely audible. Before warping home—their patrol was just about over—he cast one final glance into the darkening square, where news cameras were beginning to pile up. Vulcan didn't see any phantasmal tankers wandering among them, but his face hardened just the same. Next time, he thought, he wouldn't hesitate. He just couldn't afford to. Next time, he knew, things would be different.

            But then why, he wondered, do I still shudder when I think of that day…?

***

Zen Garden

            The flowers in the large garden were all carefully arranged to aid in meditation. All were strikingly beautiful in their own way, but none were so famous as the cluster of violet flowers in an honorary position before a fountain designed to look like a small waterfall. These flowers had traveled all the way from New York, where they'd sprung up inexplicably during a December snowstorm. A tall blonde man occupied the bench directly in front of the waterfall, and though he was alone he had confined himself to half the bench rather than stretching out to occupy the whole thing…almost as though someone were there with him.

            Zero smiled softly, his senses picking up the nighttime summer breeze that carried the scent of the irises towards him. His arm stretched out along the back of the bench as though around someone's shoulders, and his entire body seemed in a state of perfect calm. His eyes were closed gently, and had there been any passerby they may have suspected that he'd dozed off. But he was fully awake and fully alert…perhaps even more so than at any other time.

            "How is it," he wondered mentally, "that we never thought to put one of these gardens in the old base?"

            You had a garden…as I recall. A beautiful one.

            The words seemed to pour into his ears from within the depths of his own mind, yet at the same time seemed to come from the thin air next to him. His smile grew slightly. "Yes…but it was nothing like this one. Though it must have been something special…to grow flowers in the middle of December."

            It had some help.

            He laughed quietly, surrendering completely to the moment, letting the sweet ethereal voice carry him to a place free of all the complications of his everyday world. "Yes…yes it did. As did I. And what do you think? Am I doing all right?"

            Of course you are…I'm still leading you by the hand, after all.

            He laughed again, shaking his head. "Don't ever let it go. I'm still a troublemaker deep down."

            Sometimes…the world needs a troublemaker.

            "Ah…does that mean they'll need one in the near future?" He'd begun to get used to the riddles used commonly by the inhabitants of the spectral realm. "What's the future hold for me…?"

            You know I can't tell you that…even if I knew it.

            "Aw, come on…I won't tell anyone. I'll even pinky-swear it."

            Oh, you…some things won't ever change…well…the specifics elude me…

            "Me too."

            Shhh…I'm trying to prophesize.

            "Sorry."

            Well…I guess…the world is changing, Zero…

            "Good change, or bad change?"

            …Difficult to say. But you…you should be able to weather it. The others…well, it's fuzzy, where your friends are concerned.

            Zero knew that should unnerve him. He knew it should sound warning bells in his mind, but the emotions of fear and nervousness were not applicable in the world he was presently part of. "Can I save them…?"

            You can try…and you must try. Maybe you will even succeed.

            It was the 'maybe' that finally darkened the mood. Zero's arm seemed to constrict, as though holding an unseen person closer to his own body. "Things are going to heat up again." It was a fact, not a question.

            I think so.

            "…You going to help me out?"

            An almost musical laugh lightened his spirits. Of course I am. Do you think I'm about to lose you again?

            Paradoxically, even as the words formed in Zero's mind the outside world began to press in on this small bit of heaven. Zero smiled almost sadly, glancing towards his otherworldly companion. "You'll come back?"

            The reply was both tender and reassuring, the kind of voice that would inspire Zero to overcome the hardest of obstacles a Maverick could throw at him. You always ask that…you're still afraid…why?

            "I don't want to lose you either…"

            You won't…you can't. I won't let you. The voice was growing distant. I'll see you soon…when things quiet down a little. …Zero, she added, somewhat severely, don't be afraid of…Him. We beat Him once…we can beat Him again.

            He didn't reflect at all on her words, merely filing them away for future recollection. Right now his only concern was focusing whole-heartedly on the last remnants of her presence. "Until then, Iris…I'll be waiting."

            I know you will. Be careful, Zero.

            The voice faded into obscurity, and Zero felt a pang of regret that the separation was necessary. He wanted so very badly for her to really be there next to him, but even now he was paying his penance for his deeds during the Repliforce War. The difference was, he didn't mind so much now. Not when he had a spectral girlfriend at his side.

            His eyes opened slowly, and he blinked away the few tears that always gathered for some reason during these "conversations". He reclined in the bench, hearing footsteps draw near, and he called out a greeting even before his friend was visible. "Lo, X."

            So powerful was the lingering sense of presence next to Zero that X almost asked if the other half of the bench was occupied. Experiences such as this had become numerous enough that X had decided that Zero was simply haunted. "Lo, Zero," he replied, taking a seat next to his best friend. "You look like you've been sleepwalking."

            "Well, that's what happens when we run out of coffee, X."

            "You and your coffee…"

            The two of them sat in silence, staring ahead at the peaceful pool at the heart of the garden. Water trickled down from the natural fountains in a soothing rhythm, while the half-moon above them was reflected off the glassy surface of the pool. X nearly fell asleep himself.

            "Do you ever think," Zero finally said, "that the world has seemed different ever since Seraph Castle?"

            X's gaze remained riveted on the pool, as did Zero's. "Sometimes, yes. It's not like before, when we just did our best to contain the Sigma Virus. Now it's like we've set a mousetrap…and when it goes off, anything can happen."

            "Hmm." Zero knitted his fingers behind his head. "If and when Chartreuse does put another war into motion…do you think all our plans will be worth it?"

            "Do you?" X replied, smiling without much humor. "A war can be a million different things for that man…I have no idea if we'll be able to counter him effectively."

            "If we kill him off…do you think he'll pop back up again?"

            "You mean like Sigma? I thought the Virus only worked that way on him?"

            "That's what it told me…but who trusts a blob of Evil Incarnate?"

            "True."

            Silence reigned for a little longer. Then X finally spoke his mind. "Will stronger security measures put Chartreuse in check?"

            Zero began to chuckle. "You battled Caligula, didn't you?"

            "I did…and I don't know if I was right."

            "You're both right, X. Both sides of this argument have their merit. And if the world were perfect, we'd implement Caligula's policy now and rescind it when Kou Cao is destroyed."

            "But that won't happen. It'll remain in effect."

            "Yeah…because this sure as hell ain't a perfect world."

            Silence. Swirls of thin clouds passed over the moon, clouding up the image on the water.

            "You think we'll ever have a perfect world, Zero? Doppler's Utopia? General's world of equality?"

            "Sure," Zero said, grinning toothily. "When we die."

            "…Well aren't you Mr. Optimism."

            "Hah!" Zero shook his head and laughed. "X, humans and Reploids will eventually gain pseudo-equality, just like in every other racial battle in civilized nations. But just like those battles it'll take time…probably more time than a world of instant gratification is willing to wait. Maybe one of our races will become extinct before equality happens. Maybe one of us will be forced into slavery. I don't know." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "All I do know is that equality is never gonna come about while we're all shooting at each other like this."

            "Amen," X agreed, tilting his own head towards the heavens. The stars gazed right back down at him, as though issuing some form of challenge. "Will we be ready, Zero? When the dominos start falling, will we be ready to save the world again?"

            "Yeah, X…we'll be ready."

            "How do you know…?"

            Zero opened his eyes, finding himself gazing directly at the half-moon in the sky.

            "Because as usual, my friend…we simply won't have a choice."

__________

            The two men had come via the sea. They wore black wetsuits and scampered up the beach, their tracks covered by the unsettled waves caused by Mustafa's impending eclipse. One of them carried a watertight briefcase.

            They reached their target quickly, unseen by the reconnaissance droids, which they had taken care to avoid. The man with the briefcase set it down and whistled as he beheld the scenery—a natural occurrence like he'd never seen before. "How about that, amigo?"

            "Huh." Carlos left it at that, gesturing towards the briefcase. "Let's just set it and go."

            "Think they made it this way?" Victor wouldn't let it go. It wasn't every day you saw a natural occurrence like this. "Or think it just happened that way…?"

            "Of course it's manmade," Carlos said impatiently. "Nature doesn't make structures like this…not often, anyway," he added thoughtfully. "In any case the target shows up here almost daily. There's no reason to suspect he'll do otherwise tomorrow."

            "Yeah," Victor agreed, opening the case. The two of them immediately went to work, removing the steel canisters of Nexnecis gas and setting their trap. It took them all of a minute.

            "Be really fucking careful," Carlos said forcefully, dealing cautiously with the tripwire. "This thing gets nicked, we both wind up smiling stupidly at Saint Peter!"

            "You think I'm some kinda idiot?" Victor scoffed, closing the case and retreating from their trap. The sound of the nearby sea resonated in his ears. The only thing he couldn't hear was the… "Oh, man."

            "What?"

            "The birds…I was kinda hoping they'd still be hangin' around."

            "The birds?"

            "Y'know…hoo-"

            "Yeah, yeah, whatever, you fucknut! You and your god damn birds!"

            "You'd laugh too, man."

            Carlos shook his head and glanced at the sky. The recon droids were nowhere in sight. "Let's just get the hell outta here, okay? The bug is gonna want an update."

            "You sure this was all a good idea?" Victor asked as they darted back towards the open sea, preparing to close his airmask. "I mean, I don't know the guy, but I sure as hell know the unit, and it's not exactly an unimportant one—"

            "This is the Tokyo base," Carlos said impatiently. "They're all important units. Let's just disappear, all right? We were never here…this never happened."

            And then both men were gone, and they had never been there…but their act had definitely happened.

            Fifteen minutes later Magna Centipede received a flash message confirming that Carlos Sanchez and Victor Zokas had accomplished their mission. It was now only a matter of time. The Serpent operative, chuckling anxiously, placed a call to Guyver Helm, who in turn began to activate his other assassins.

            In New York, Nexnecis canisters were planted in the Yates Park forest preserve.

            In Denver, a team of gunmen peered out of their hotel room at a restaurant across the street favored by some of the younger local Hunters.

            In Beijing, two men with a Dozer missile launcher positioned it in the direction of a research barracks used by Hunter scientists.

            In London, a sniper reviewed the floor plan of Big Ben, his nest for the next morning.

            And in Tokyo, hidden by waves of water and waves of irrelevant message traffic, two unknown assassins swam away from one of the easier jobs of their careers.

***

Catskill Mountains

Megacity 5, New York

            It was cold. Horribly, oppressively cold.

            It was summer, but it was cold. She was high in the mountains, which, she thought, explained why it was so icy, but probably it was just her body overreacting that made it seem all the more frosty.

            She crawled instead of walking, dragging her battered body across the desolate rocky landscape towards a goal she didn't have, a destination she couldn't find, and safety that seemed to elude her. The ground beneath her shivering golden body was stained with blood, blood that leaked lightly but definitely from her minor but numerous wounds. Pain choked her, stopping her breath in her throat and sending her into convulsions. She slumped to the ground, weeping bitterly into the frosty dirt.

            "It's not my fault," she mumbled, in a voice close to a whimper. "It's not my fault…I didn't do it…it was her…it was all her…"

            But the exhausted Reploid knew that her pleas would do her no good. They never had. Even now they had vilified her, blaming her for that terrible explosion, and would soon find and capture her. Then she'd be returned to them, and to her…and then would come the torture, and finally a resounding silence. She could see her already, that evil woman…her scorpion's tail hovering menacingly in the air, her golden eyes glinting maliciously…

            Alutriel emitted a pathetic, defeated cry. The last of her energy evaporated and she lay immobile on the cold earth, trembling from her terror. Why, why had she been stupid enough to run…why had she dared to try and escape…no one escaped, no one ever escaped…not from Armada…

            But no, no, she couldn't do it anymore, she couldn't watch them any longer! She couldn't listen to the screams…she couldn't stand the fear in their eyes…she had to leave, before it was her turn…

            That poor man…what was his name? The man in black…destroyed and rebuilt, though never dead…tempted and enslaved by the power they offered, broken by Chartreuse and immortalized by the Warlord…all the while with longing flickers of a dead woman passing through his tortured mind.

            "Revenant…" she whispered his name, as though begging forgiveness. "I'm sorry…I tried to stop them…"

            She remembered the gunfire well. She could still see Scorpio rushing at her, her tail lancing into Alutriel's leg and injecting the venom that even now coursed through her veins, killing her slowly and agonizingly. She could hear Scorpio's missiles exploding into the gas containers, causing the leak that poisoned Megacity 5's water. And now here she was, with the entirety of the Hunters and the Megacity Army chasing her down so they could humiliate her, torment her, and finally kill her, flinging her corpse atop the pile of other "Maverick" criminals to meet similar fates.

            "Bless the Mavericks," she whispered, almost unconsciously. "I hope they come back…I hope they win…I hope…" Images of humans flew threw her mind, humans with sneering faces, all in military uniforms. "I hope the humans all die!"

            The last line was delivered with an almost heaven-shattering force. Then even her shivering subsided, and she lay motionless.

            But then…her eyes fluttered open. Something was there all of a sudden…as though her last words had summoned something nearby. She didn't know what or where, but there was something…and all of a sudden she was filled with an almost animal desire, a craving unlike anything she had ever known. She forced her weakened body towards the force calling to her, unable to describe it to herself, only knowing that she must find it.

            Then, as soon as the craving had begun, it ceased. Alutriel blinked, terribly confused. She looked around herself, noting that she'd crawled into a clearing of sorts—a great circle of flat stone. And there…what was that? She moved a little closer to an edge of the circle, and found…yes, the ground was stained with…

            "Blood," she whispered. "Reploid blood…"

            Once, a long time ago, there had been a battle here. She didn't know how she knew this, but all of a sudden the knowledge was there. She didn't so much as see them as she felt them—two mortal enemies, crossing swords in a hellish skirmish, desperately fighting for their own survival. It was impossible, however, to tell which one had triumphed.

            And then she saw it.

            It was a glistening black diamond, lying in the center of a large bloodstain—perhaps one of the combatants had lain there bleeding for some time. The gemstone, itself an unlikely occurrence in these mountains, further attracted her attention when it seemed to pulsate…a deep violet glow from within the dark, glossy surface.

            The wild craving resurfaced in Alutriel, and almost involuntarily she reached out for it. Take me, it seemed to say. I am yours.

            The instant her shaking fingers closed around the stone she let out a stunned cry, falling back to the cold earth. Her body trembled fiercely as the stone began to glow brighter, and her green eyes remained focused on the core of the diamond, almost as though she couldn't take them away. A warm glow traveled from the stone onto her hand, racing up her arm and flowing over her stricken body. A moan of relief escaped her lips and she curled up on the ground, pressing the gemstone to her chest, the world around her enveloped by a swirling black mist that seemed to her the most comforting thing in the world. Her pain was subsiding, Scorpio's venom was vanquished, and her cold body was warmed.

            Then came the voice. It was deep and powerful, yet infinitely soothing. It was one of those voices that you couldn't say no to…though for a slightly different reason. "Alutriel…is that…your name…?"

            "Who…are you?" she whispered, as though speaking to a person standing over her.

            Then Alutriel's body suddenly straightened. The girl stared back at the stone circle, where she could now better visualize the spectral combatants. A man in red armor had been thrown back through the air, his blonde ponytail trailing him like a tattered cape. A taller swordsman strode triumphantly towards him, but before he could strike his bald head was destroyed by a sniper's bullet. So detached from the world was Alutriel that she failed to recognize both famous Reploids.

            The voice resonated once more in her mind, answering her query at last. "I…am…"

            From the body of the bald swordsman came a swirling mass of black energies gravitating around a glowing red core.

            "…Gehirn."

            The Evil Energy now occupied the entirety of Alutriel's world. The enthralled Reploid experienced a jolt of rapture, suddenly feeling power unlike anything she'd ever imagined. She stared almost lovingly at the dark, skeletal face before her, extending her hand. "Help me."

            "Shhhh." It was as though the mysterious force was stroking its fingertips gently down his new host's face, soothing her into sweet slumber. "Go to sleep, my dear girl. Go to sleep…when you awaken…all shall be as it should be."

            Even as Alutriel succumbed to the dark embrace of her new ally, another presence teleported into the Catskills. But this was one that the entity had met once before.

            "Altruistic fool," Gemeines Gehirn thought, sensing the figure approaching the stone circle. "But then…where would I be…without you heroes…to blaze my trails?"

            The black diamond in Alutriel's hand sizzled with violet fire, eventually melting into a wave of energy that flowed into the sleeping girl's arm. She twitched once, and then was still. Once nestled safely inside her, the entity directed its attention at the spectral red Hunter, and its crimson core blazed with fiery anger.

            "And you…traitor! Enjoy your freedom while you can. When my…strength returns…I shall find you…and they shall give accounts of your torments in the worst pits of Hell…to scare the devils!!!"

            The laugh that followed was as otherworldly as its origin. It was a laugh that reverberated in Alutriel's subconscious mind. It was a laugh that echoed off the Catskill Mountains themselves. It was a laugh that encompassed an entire planet…a laugh that pierced the slumber of a Maverick Hunter thousands of miles away…

            …The eternal laugh of the world's deadliest Virus.

__________

            Zero's eyes flew open.

            The blonde Hunter sat bolt upright in his bed, his body bathed in a cold sweat. His arm shot out to grasp his beam saber, his eyes looking frantically for his opponent.

            But there was no opponent. There was only the darkness…

            …And the fear. The greatest fear that Zero had known in two years.

            The fear was not for himself, he realized, getting to his feet. There was a flash of light around him, and he was armored suddenly in his familiar scarlet suit. The fear was for someone else…someone was in danger…and he knew this because of…

            No…no, that wasn't possible!

            Zero tore open his curtains, looking outside at the grounds of the Hunter Headquarters. It was already morning. The sun was spilling its first rays onto the earth, and many Hunters were already up and working on their morning routines. Zero knew X would be awake, groggily compiling the information he'd need to give the morning report. But was X the one in danger? X, of all people…?

            Delates, Zero thought suddenly and for no reason. Where is Delates? Out on the beach again? The Hunter looked towards the ocean, which was wild and stormy, probably due to the impending eclipse. Would he really go out there this morning? Of course he would, Delates loves the wild seas…

            Zero turned left his room with alarming speed. His legs knew where they were going but his mind did not. He just let himself move mechanically, for lack of better term, always with the fear in the back of his mind, the dark face smirking at him from across the void, taunting his powerlessness.

            Damia, Zero thought next. Damia, lord knows how luckless YOU are! Where are you now?

            He shouldered his way past two surprised Hunters, his gait quickening all the while. A wild panic was beginning to build up within him. Archer? Mason? Or someone else…Caligula? Douglas? Signas! Would they dare go after you?

            Then a sickening feeling coursed through his veins, a feeling that started him on an all-out run, barreling through enraged comrades who settled down when they caught a glimpse of the frantic Reploid's face. There was something beyond fear in Zero's eyes.

            The crimson Hunter then, without thinking, did the worst possible thing he could do in this scenario—he took the elevator.

            The doors closed slowly and the car descended even slower. Zero was alone, but he wouldn't have cared otherwise. A bout of nausea rose within him, and his knees began to shake as the long, torturous elevator ride drew to its close.

            "It's happening," Zero whispered, his battle senses coming to life. "Whatever it is, it's happening now…oh, God…"

            Delates let out a roar of challenge, holding his arms out and laughing maniacally at the raging seas. Large waves rushed up around him, while in the back of the sky a distant thunderstorm sent bolts of lightning arcing across the sky. The wind tousled his unprotected hair, and he grinned like the sorcerer he resembled. Around him, his hoo-aka birds hovered just barely above the rushing water, quacking angrily, probably about Mustafa's blasted eclipse ruining their morning.

            "BWA HA HA!" Delates bellowed. "ECLIPSE! GIVE MY OCEAN LIFE! LIFE I TELL YOU! LIIIIIIIFE!"

            The seas responded by generating a large wall of water that came crashing down twenty feet in front of the beach, sending a rush of seawater around Delates's ankles and nearly drowning one of the hoo-akas.

            "You're crazy!" someone above the cliffs shouted down at the casually dressed Delates.

            "You're a runner," Delates retorted, saluting Hawkins with the same crazy grin he wore addressing the ocean. "Don't talk to me about crazy!"

            "Whatever you say!" Hawkins laughed, sprinting ahead with Vulcan in tow.

            "Hey Vulcan!" Delates shouted after them. "Don't let that kook push you around! Come down here with me and talk to seagulls!"

            "Leave my apprentice madman alone," Hawkins shouted back. "Go get Tyclammel to help you talk to seagulls. He's the only one as nuts as you!"

            "Ah, get outta here, ya putz!" Delates cracked his back, his grin melting into a yawn. He straightened up, looking back out at the angry seas. "WHAT?" he challenged. "YOU WANT SOME OF THIS?"

            "Hoo-aka!" responded an annoyed bird.

            Delates laughed. His morning had just been made. "Whatever you say, bird." The Hunter was not about to go back to base yet, however. Scenes like this were too good to miss. He would, however, take a seat. Zero's second-in-command approached the Throne, shaking his head as he got closer. "No friggin' way was this an act of nature," he remarked of the interlinked slabs of rock. Then he turned to sit down.

            "That guy has lost it," Vulcan declared, keeping up with Hawkins this time.

            "You say that now," Hawkins responded patronizingly. "But in a few years he'll be asking for your transfer to Unit 0, and suddenly he'll be the coolest guy in the world, and all us schmucks will mean a whole lot less to you. I know how young minds work."

            "Yeah, I know, I'm a disloyal prick." Vulcan laughed and kicked up his speed as they passed into Wormswood Forest. "What's the matter, old man? Can't keep up?"

            "Is that a race I doth sense?" Hawkins asked, his challenge in his eyes. "To the Pillars!"

            To Bob and Larry! Vulcan thought of the two trees, that amazing natural formation. Like hell, I bet Caligula planted them that way just to freak us all out. Behind him he clearly heard the sound of the nearby ocean, though due to the wild waters he couldn't hear what he really wanted to hear. "Damn," he said, disappointed.

            "What?"

            "It's…well I kinda wanted to hear those birds."

            "Not you too!" Hawkins slapped his forehead. "You and your god damned birds!" Their paces quickened. The Pillars drew near. "Enough of this talk!" Hawkins declared, pulling ahead. "Time for you to get schooled!"

            You're on!

That was what Vulcan was going to say. Only, he didn't. Because something extremely hard and agonizingly painful had just struck him in the face.

            The doors of Hunter Headquarters burst open, and the frenzied Commander Zero raced outside. Vaguely he was aware of Commander Zegmann rushing up beside him, having followed him from inside the building, but Zero was oblivious to Zegmann's queries. "Something's wrong," was all he said, looking around frantically, unsure where to go. "Something's not right…"

            Then he doubled over as though struck in the stomach. Fighting down a rush of coolant that had inexplicably decided to shoot up his throat, Zero got back to his full height, turning to look the unnerved Erich Zegmann in the eyes. Then his head turned slowly towards the beach. Zero's breath caught in his throat when he saw the scene before his eyes, but that was nothing like the feeling that resurfaced within the back of his mind.

            It was the feeling of death. Somewhere, someone he knew was dying.

            "There is nothing…you can do." The voice resonated through his mind, a smooth, seductive, hateful voice. "You have already lost…my dear Maverick Hunter!"

            Delates took his seat on the rocky Throne, three birds fluttering around him like an honor guard. He thought that was pretty neat. The Hunter nestled himself against the vertical pillar, and returned his direction to the sea, which was when his eyes suddenly got very, very wide. The next second he realized, very suddenly, that he couldn't breathe.

            A horrendous surge of pain raced down his body, and then the Hunter Delates knew no more.

            "Aaaauuuuuugh!" Vulcan groaned, clutching his bruised face angrily. It had been inevitable after all—a tree had just clotheslined him. "What is that?!" Vulcan growled, jumping to his feet. "That's such crap!"

            "Vulcan!" Hawkins called out, a few feet away, right by the Pillars. "Vulcan are you—"

            "I'm fine," Vulcan called back, about the same time he heard a snap sounded like the crack of a head against wood—that sound, after all, was still fresh in his mind. Hmph. So Hawkins had gotten smacked, too.

            Then suddenly Vulcan felt very woozy. He was aware of his tired lungs aching—must be that even Reploids ran out of breath on wet morning runs—and then there was a roar of some sort…from the beach?

            Vulcan yelped, falling to the ground. His head was on fire…had he hit himself that hard? His eyes opened in shock—what was happening? Then came the loudest scream he'd ever heard—a scream of pure, unrefined pain, one that chilled his blood until he realized that he was emitting one exactly like it.

            "Oh…oh God," he blustered, confused and suddenly very frightened. He thought quickly, turning on his communicator and calling a general Headquarters frequency. "Someone…pick up!"

            "This is Commander Zero," a voice responded, as though he'd been waiting for this call. "Who is this? Where are you?"

            "This is Vulcan," he replied, feeling what must be blood trickle down his face. "I…aaaarrrgh!" Pain washed over him once more. "Wormswood," he choked out. "Pillars…!"

            "We're coming, " Zero responded. "We're on our way!"

            But Vulcan never heard it. He never heard anything else. All he heard was gunfire, and all he saw was a ruined circle of buildings. The smoking remains of a stolen Megacity Army tank lay before him, and its former master approached Vulcan's prone form, an assault rifle in his hands, a look of joy in his eyes. Vulcan felt the wet blood of his friend Derringer soaking his body. He felt the leather of Derringer's face on the back of his neck. He saw the fear in his own eyes reflected off Tetra's optics, and the tanker leveled the rifle at his Hunter opponent, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Tetra laughed aloud. The muzzle of the rifle flashed white. Vulcan screamed.

And this time…no one came to his rescue.