THE KING OF FIGHTERS 2001: The Fall Of NESTS Chapter 15: Wayward, a king of fighters fanfic

Chapter 15: Wayward

"If you're going to kill me, get it over with."

Andro spat the words through broken teeth, blood bubbling from his lips and dribbling down his chin. Strapped to the cold metal of the torture chair, he was held in place by heavy steel restraints at the hands, feet and neck. Wiry muscles strained against them with all his remaining might, but the solid contraption failed to budge even an inch.

Completely unable to move, Andro was literally aflame with hate, his eyes flaring like pits to hell. The white-coated scientist, standing inches away, took an involuntary step back. He'd heard this man had scalped a careless guard who'd ventured too close.

With his teeth.

Just watching Andro, the labrat believed it with all his heart.

"Getting impatient, aren't we?"

White teeth gleamed in the darkness, just outside the perfect circle of light bathing the chair. Metallic blades clinked together, as Andro's tormentor shifted, obviously amused by the proceedings. All the while, he had controlled everything, watching as his minions carried out his orders.

"Don't worry. We're in no hurry. In fact..."

The gloating interrogator stepped forward into the light. His red tongue played over his thin lips like a moist serpent, even as Andro trembled with the need to throttle him.

"...This is only the beginning."

The smallest of gestures, and the quivering scientist scurried away. Thousands of volts coursed through the metal framework of the chair, filling the air with smell of roasting meat. Andro thrashed, fighting his restraints, twitching to the awful force of the current. Blood dribbled from his mouth as his teeth shattered one by one, smashing on each other from the force of his spasmodic movement.

Another gesture, and the shock treatment ceased. Just for a moment.

"I have you now, Alistair Andrew Gill. I don't need the rest of the Awakened, don't need that fool Ignis to order me around. No matter how long it takes, I will break you."

Andro looked up. Already, his wounds were healing, fuelled by a white-hot core of internal strength. A new row of teeth ratcheted in position, pushing out the shattered fragments. Even his bleeding gums sealed over, reknitting themselves with a surgeon's precision.

"Therefore, I intend to destroy your mind, and leave your body a vegetable—Alive, but unable to think, to act, to move. Until we reprogram you, that is."

"I...will enjoy... killing you," he managed, between ragged gasps for air. He leaned forward, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of his tormentor's face. It was so maddeningly familiar…

Step. Polished boots scraped across the floor, tapping out a staccato tune. Once again, there was that sound of clinking metal, as many, many razor-sharp blades struck against each other.

The bastard took his time, take great care to lean backwards slightly, so that the legs emerged first, followed by the torso, and lastly, the head. Whoever this joker was, he was trying to make a dramatic entrance, like the way people do in the movies.

Silence.

"You." For the first time in his life, Andro couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Me," Zero agreed. Almost dismissively, he turned away, signalling to his underlings.

"I shall close my eyes for a minute. Do as much damage to him as possible…But leave the tongue. I want to hear his screams."

************

It was much later. Pain had happened.

Andro tried to make it go away. His sides ached, blue-black bruises slowly turning a shade of yellow: Gingerly, the assassin turned his head, feeling tooth chips grind below his jaws. Another sickening wave of nausea rolled over him, sending s throat tightening with the effort of not throwing up.

Still clad in his torn, blood-caked clothes, he took stock. All his blades, every quasi-magical device and even his visor had been taken...They'd taken everything, the bastards. Andro felt the loss acutely, like the pain of an amputated limb. That hurt more than anything else, in a way.

Was he enjoying this? Not the pain, of course…He'd pass on the pain. In fact, he'd passed out on the pain. But there was the small part of him he heard every day, the part that wanted to hurtl after the killing had already achieved it's purpose.

Mr. Demon, he called it. As apt a name as any. Pain brought him out, pain and hate. Andro had killed men with his bare hands, mad with anger and terror and tasting, deep inside, the infinite hate of Mr. Demon…And it was sniffing the air.

Andro awoke in an interrogation chamber. Somehow, even before he opened his eyes, he knew it was an interrogation room. There was some intangible element to the room, something that suggested pain and answers and harsh light and thin people talking with bad German accents. Of course, that last might have been the result of too many bad American WWII propaganda movies, but he had the right to be bitter.

"So you're finally awake."

How many times is that line used? The hero is laid cold, and awakens in bizarre, and their questioner immediately comments on how long they've been out. Usually right before brandishing the whips and hot pokers.

He couldn't move. Andro had been manacled down to a flat metal slab, the cold surface uncomfortably chill against his back. Both his hands and feet had been fastened to the table, with the careful application of several pounds of solid steel. Zero's voice piped down from a microphone mounted far, far above, sounding smug and slightly amused.

It took all of Andro's strength to form his right hand into the hand gesture for "Bite me, Mr. Peon.". Somehow, he managed it, aiming the signal at the only visible camera in the room. There was a dry, metallic chuckle in acknowledgement, followed by sudden silence as the microphone shut off.

Good. He hated that bastard.

Andro tugged vainly at his bindings, trying to loosen just one wrist. It was a wasted effort: Someone up there knew what they'd been doing when they fashioned these restraints. He simply couldn't get enough leverage to free his damned arms. Cursing, he tried again-

-That's when he noticed the needles. A thin stream of blood trickled down his face, as his frantic motions caused the many, many needles stuck in him to shift. Andro tilted his head to the side, glancing at the six or seven needles embedded in his sides and his arms. IV drips, intravenous needles, mini-ECCGs, you name it, it had been hooked up to him. A small portion of his scalp had been shaved, where some kind of magnetic clamp had been attached.

Very deliberately, Andro emptied his mind. All right…He couldn't do anything. Or at least, Andro couldn't do anything to get himself out of this situation. There was only one door, placed on the far side of the room. From his vantage point, he spotted a winking green reader, waiting for the appropriate code.

That was his way out. Now all he had to do was to wait.

************

Reiko Nagisa, magical girl extraordinary, was not having a good day. Lunch tray in hand, she shuffled towards the prisoner's ward, slow steps betraying her hesitation. Of all days, why did today have to be her turn? It always seemed to be her bad luck to have to handle the 'special' captives whenever they arrived.

She had good reason to be nervous. As a magical girl, she'd been one of the Awakened personnel assigned to guard the Cartel Team when they'd been brought in. What a nightmare that was!

The big guy had gone berserk on the first day, a rampaging behemoth bent on destruction. He'd had a nice, homicidal run of it too: By the time Yiming had gone down, he'd been hit with enough tranquilizer to neutralize a third world country. And the Stand-wielder…Alvin had been nice and quiet for the first few days, keeping to himself.

On the third day, he throttled a guard to death, stole his gun, and went on a killing spree. Wielding two handguns Chow-Yun-Fat style, Alvin had stalked the corridors, killing anything he'd met. Seven dead mages and one containment squad later, he ran out of ammunition, and placidly surrendered. They had found him sitting at the end of a bloodstained passage, with the words 'ASCENSION NOW 'scrawled in brilliant red letters on the walls.

The two girls had…Reiko's mind shied away from that thought. It was just too much: No one should've been able to do so much damage with a hairpin. It simply wasn't right.

She realised that she'd been standing at the door for a long time now, staring blankly into empty space. Taking a deep breath, Reiko adjusted her outfit, smoothening down her miniskirt.

Now, your average defender of the light and destroyer of demons has just crested puberty, usually with an impossible body frame and an amazing complexion…Not to mention the body and face of that annoying high school cheerleader who was the most popular girl in school and crushed your fragile ego many a time you worked up the nerve to talk to her.

Of course, they tended to lose mental acuity: No sane person would've willingly walked into the same room as a severely pissed Andro, restrained or not. It simply wasn't conducive to a long life. Which is why they'd chosen Reiko, in the first place.

************

Once again, this scene has been repeated many, many times…It's kinda clichéd, if you think about it. Your typical, pure-hearted, fluff-brained anime ditz meets a dark, brooding hero, often in the midst of a crisis of faith. She helps him regain his confidence, and he goes on to fulfil his 'destiny;. And of course, by the end of the series, they're well and truly 'attached'. Happy ending, hearts-and-flowers stuff as the credits roll.

Right?

Now, let's take a step back, and look at the situation from another angle. Or, to be specific, let's look at Andro.

See the name of the chapter? It's not 'The Saved' or 'Andro Redeemed' or anything like that. It's 'The Wayward', the title often conferred on members of that lost creed. One of those psychopathic, often Bible-spouting, walking horrors, with twisted powers and an infinite capacity for violence.

Andro's a particularly violent one, even as psychopaths go. In the last few hours, he's been captured, tortured and savagely beaten several times, and is very angry about his current situation.

Have we mentioned that he resents his captors? Good.

No way is this going to work out. Instead, there's going to be violence, and an incredible amount of bloodshed. And, it's all about to begin as soon as Andro gets his hands free…

Is it just me, or has it suddenly gone cold in here?

************

The door slid open, receding noiselessly into the ceiling. Andro started: Had he actually dozed off? God, what was wrong with him?

Anyway, it didn't particularly matter. He'd been expecting a necromantic horror, perhaps a small army of the goons he'd seen to escort him to his final resting place. In fact, Andro had expected pain, agony and a whole new level of suffering, intersected by insults casting doubts on his simian ancestry.

He had not expected a cute seventeen-year old in a miniskirt and a purple hairdo.

Now, the aforementioned girl bustled into the room like a miniature whirlwind, cheerful as only an airhead could be. She set down a tray she'd been carrying on a medical table, (The cutting implements, so close and yet so far. Damn.) before pulling up a chair next to Andro's slab.

"Mr. Andro?" A prissy and superior voice, with just enough saccharine sweetness to grate on his nerves. Andro started to imagine what her vocal cords would look like, independent of her throat.

"Yeah?" He tugged again, without much hope this time.

"Please, Mr. Andro. There's no need to continue with this foolish act. My name's Reiko Nag- Wait, I mean…Sailor Reiko Nagisa, and I'm here to welcome you-"

"Wait." Sailor? What kinda title was that? More carefully now, Andro took in the outfit, the odd hairstyle, the perpetually happy demeanour, the high-pitched voice…

…And the heart-tipped wand that rested in a holster.

"You're no magician…You're a mahou shoujo "

Unperturbed, Reiko fiddled with her chair, ignoring the venom that filled Andro's voice. All of Andro's bad, bad memories started flooding back. Sweet Merciful Lord, not again, Andro fervently prayed. Not twice in once lifetime.

"Now, there's no need to state the obvious, Mr. Andro. As I said, I'm here to welcome you into the fold, and save your soul from the self-created demons that intend to consume it."

A bright, cheerful smile.

Oh, I hate you very much right now, God.

"'Welcome me into the fold?'"

Andro sounded like he couldn't quite believe it. He'd sounded like that once before, when a gang at our school tried to shake him down for cash and phrased their 'request' just wrong. The muscle right under his left eye started jumping like crazy.

Reiko nodded happily, smiling cheerily.

"Yes! Don't worry, Andro, that whole fateless business won't cause you anymore problems once you join the forces

of Good!"

"The same... Good…That nuked a city that happened to be in the way? The same side that tortured me for three hours?"

"Why, of course. What better way to serve our Purpose?"

"What benefits?"

"Why, you'll be able to dish out TRUE justice to whole HORDES of evil creepy things, and help nice Mr. Ignis take over the wor-"

Andro tuned her out. This had to be some kind of joke…Maybe the old good-cop/bad-cop routine? They couldn't possibly expect him to take it seriously. Then again, they knew he knew that they didn't expect him to take it seriously, which meant that this offer actually was genuine-

-No.

The sensible thing would be to give up. He knew it. And then –probably- they would let him loose, end the torture. Andro was under no illusions of his ability to resist: Everyone cracked in the end, given sufficient time and pressure. There was no such thing as a man of iron…He was merely delaying the inevitable.

But Zero would have won. Oh, yes. People like Zero or Ignis always came back, especially when they thought they'd found a weakness. Granting them a victory would be the worse possible thing he could ever do.

The girl was still smiling her cheerful smile. Here and now, more than anything else, Andro wanted to see the end of that grin. Reiko watched him with her equivalent of a penetrating gaze; Namely, a dreamy stare. Personally, he wondered what thoughts were running through her head.

(Actually, Reiko's exact thoughts were: "***Sigh*** Look at that tortured expression…It's soooo bishonen." But what Andro didn't know wasn't about to hurt him.)

"Hmm…" Andro pretended to consider it. "…I'm considering it."

"Really? You ARE?!"

Like hell. But once again, she didn't have to know that.

(For some reason, Andro couldn't shake the image of raw meat thrown into a pool full of sharks.)

"'Course, I'll need some reassurance that I won't get my brain wiped the moment I agree-"

"That's the sort of attitude that I'm here to fight! I'm here to bring hope to all of you!" She laid a free hand on Andro 's

shoulder. "No matter how bad it looks, you should never give up hope! Especially with a Warrior of Love and Justice on your side!"

Andro counted the exclamation marks, and concluded he was dealing with a psycho.

"….Fine…"

Yup, this is the part where the magical girl decides that it's up to her to bring the hero to the side of good/to the path of light, as he's her destiny. Of course, nothing can change someone if he doesn't want to be changed, particularly in Andro's case. Many have tried, quite literally giving their lives in doing so, when Andro got his hands on them. One tried with an overpowered taser. Nothing really worked.

Then Andro launched his brilliant escape ploy.

"By the way…Uh…"

Damn, there was just no delicate way to put it.

"These manacles are starting to kinda chafe. Could you loosen them…Just for a moment?"

He tried a winning smile. Unfortunately, it looked more like a crocodile's grin, revealing far too many teeth. Reiko shuddered, and shied slightly away, gripped by a sudden sense of self-preservation. In reply, Andro sniffed in disdain. He raised his head, making the restraints that enclosed him look like an unnecessary barbarism.

"I thought we might talk for a while first, Mr. Andro."

"A session of soul-searching, is that it?"

Reiko fidgeted, tugging at her outfit again. She forced herself to stop- She was not preening for him, damnit!

"Something like that."

Even with a comfortable distance of several feet between them, Reiko already felt the effects of Andro's palpable personal force, a literal aura of command. It was hard not to agree with whatever he said- It simply seemed the perfectly right thing to do.

"This is really humiliating…Reiko. Please help me."

"I…I can't. I'm not supposed to do that."

"Call the guard, then." Andro's voice was soft and warm now. "If I attempt anything untoward, you can have me maced and beaten before they strap me back down."

Reiko knew the drill. Zero had personally assured her that a chemical spray, combined with a stiff stick, was the most effective method in 'persuading' the Awakened. She'd hated the man from that very moment…A true warrior of Love and Justice never had to resort to cruelty!!

…Or at least, that was the idea…

"…I'm not going to do that, Mr. Andro."

"How humane, Miss. Reiko." There was a glint of merriment in Andro's pale eyes.

"Cruelty is not- No, it's never necessary."

"Not even if I try to kill you."

"I don't believe you'll do that."

"Then unlock the manacles, Miss. Reiko."

The magical girl blew a noisy stream of air through her nose, thinking. All the while, Andro kept watching her, eyes fixed firmly on hers. Blushing slightly, Reiko looked away, biting her lower lip. You could almost smell the shoujo potential a mile away. And you could definitely see the cherry blossoms-

Andro let disappointment slip onto his face, a gradual process.

"That enlightened manner of yours is really nothing more than a sham, isn't it, Miss? For all your protestations, you're still scared to death of me…Just like all the others…"

"Nonsense!! Now, could we talk about something else."

The assassin laughed, a deep and rolling laugh, a sound like music. "Of course." He shifted gracefully, trying to get himself comfortable. "What would you like to know?"

Reiko picked up a notepad, balanced it on her knee.

"Oh, whatever comes to mind. Your name, perhaps?"

"You know that."

"I meant your full name."

"Andro is the only name I have ever known."

(Ohhh, mysterious too, Reiko thought. I kinda like that.)

"Alright…Exactly how old are you, Mr. Andro?"

"I've no idea."

Extraordinary, she thought. He's negated his entire personality. Whoever 'Andro' is, he's been invented from whole cloth.

"Are there large segments of your past which you don't remember?"

The prisoner's eyes blinked lazily. "I know what I know," he said. "Which, I suppose, is what I need to know at the present. And some things…"

Their eyes met again, a longer, almost involuntary gaze. This time, Reiko went completely red in the face, fiddling aimlessly with her notepad. God, was she blushing?

"I…I see…"

"Reiko?"

"Yes?"

"The manacles," he said softly.

"I've told you. I can't…"

"Please." Andro looked down at the horrid device despairingly. "A little dignity."

Reiko's mouth twitched. She'd always hated restraints…In other institutions, she'd seen the look on the faces of those tied down for days on end, degraded beyond hope by their helplessness. Almost angrily, she picked up her handphone.

"Send in an orderly."

Within minutes, a man in white hospital scrubs entered the room, standing unobtrusively by the door. With a nod from Reiko, he strode forward, producing a key from his pocket. Carefully, trying to stay out of Andro's potential reach, he unfastened the restraints, taking a careful step back.

"Ah, much better." Andro shrugged free, rubbed his chafed wrists. He stretched his long fingers, and looked at them. They flexed once, checking that everything was still functional. "Thank you, Miss Reiko."

Then, in one convulsive motion, he lunged forward, literally ripping the wires right from his skin, and snagged the orderly's collar. Before the man could utter a sound of protest, Andro brought his head slamming down against the sharp metal edge of the slab. There was a wet, splattering sound, flesh, bone and then brain matter fragmented under the incredible blow.

The orderly gurgled, eyes bulging. Blood poured out from the horizontal wound across his forehead, where flecks of messy grey brain tissue oozed.

Andro's nostrils flared. He held on for a moment, savouring the sight of the warm, dying object at the end of it.

At that very moment, Reiko knew her life was over.

"…You lied."

"I did?" Andro tilted his head to one side, throttling into a slow walk. He didn't even seem to notice the needles that tore free, or the incredible amount of injury he caused himself. Andro's hands clenched into claws, streamers of shadowstuff turning each finger into a cutting scalpel. Blood dripped from them, a steady drip-drip-drip.

"I do that sometimes. Not often, but it happens. Now, come, come. It's time to die."

Somehow, Reiko got her wand into her hand.

"BEGONE, THING OF EVIL!!!"

She triggered it once. Magic spewed forth, a sudden blast of pink force. Andro blocked it, shook it off, and kept walking.

"Begone, thing of good."

He dashed forward, a sudden rush. Fingers dug into Reiko's flowing hair with an implacable grip.

She screamed. It was almost pretty, the high, sweet sound of it, but of such short duration that it sounded like a laugh. Because, just as the screen left her throat, Andro took her head in his elongated hands and twisted it, his eyes half-closed in bliss. There was a small, satisfying crunch, as her small cervical vertebrae snapped.

Head bent at an impossible angle, Reiko went limp.

Calmly, Andro let the dead body drop to the floor. He simply stepped out from the now-unlocked door, an avatar of slaughter incarnate. Somewhere far away, the general alarm started to ring: Red light bathed the corridors in a hellish glow, contrasting oddly with the black blood spattered on his hands. Almost absently, Andro left his hands the way they were…He far preferred their new, savage aspect.

Whistling a merry tune to himself, Andro started down the corridors, armed and dangerous.

Death followed in his wake.

************

The guards were dead, but Andro wasn't.

And now, the ingrate was trying to destroy Zero's plans, and it was no longer a game or an experiment. He had to die, in pain and misery. How had he dared to consider such a thing? He should be on his knees, a worthless supplicant begging for mercy, how dare he?

Zero watched Andro walk away, felt his urge for destruction. The youth's perfidy was useless, of course. There was no way out not already covered by extermination squads. He could order Andro's annihilation with a minimum of effort, simply issuing the order over the communications network, but it was the thought that had so infuriated Zero.

The man gathered himself, drawing his power in. He knew that Andro was now armed: He'd removed knives and other bladed weapons from the fallen. Zero didn't object, knowing that the weapons would give Andro hope. For a victory to be complete, the victor had to take everything. He would take Andro's hope, then his sanity, and finally his life.

It was time to expand his boundaries, Zero decided. Time to put the fear of God into Mr. Alistair Andrew Gill.

He picked up the phone, dialled a certain number.

"Krizalid? Retrieve the prisoner."

************

A true embodiment of violent death, Andro stalked the corridors like some urban legend. He didn't torture his opponents: He didn't toy with them. No, with the red haze of his own fury distorting his vision, he killed. And killed. And killed some more.

Dead bodies lined the sides of the walls, still bleeding out the last few drops of their lives. Covered in clotted blood, somewhat resembling a cut-rate Rambo, Andro now sported a bandoleer of nasty little knives, confiscated from an unfortunate soldier that'd happened to be in the way. He'd lost track of the deaths after number twelve: It was all one glorious blur of violence to him now.

There was the sound of scurrying feet somewhere far ahead, as those who could still walk fled for their lives. This corner had been a particularly vicious little skirmish, with little room for gunfire. More often than not, the bad guys got in their own way, literally crowding each other in their desperate assault.

Andro sped up, taking larger strides now. He wasn't getting out of this alive, he knew. All that mattered was how large a body count he racked up before they got him.

Up ahead, two silver-masked kamen swirled their black capes majestically, top hats and canes at the ready.

"You shall not pass," They intoned, already preparing scourge-spells. Andro leapt, jacknifed in midair. A razor-edged petunia sliced off the tip of his right ear, followed by a 'Super Taurus Charge', whatever the hell that was. In return, the knife tore out one's throat, more bodily-fluid redecoration. Andro dodged another petunia, caught the third-

-And flung it right back.

It was a good throw. The bishonen never knew what hit him, as the flower plunged right into his eye, metal petals digging right into his brain. If that didn't kill him, the solid palm-thrust to the nose did, another new spear into his brain.

Prising a lion-headed cane from cold, dead fingers, Andro retrieved his bloodied knife, ignoring his bleeding ear. He rose, turned…

The surviving kamen looked around for backup, realised he wasn't getting any.

You killed Reiko-san," he proclaimed in a deep, yet somehow nervous voice. "And Meimi-chan and Atsuko-san and...anyway, you must be punished!"

Andro disembowelled him, a long cut straight up from stomach to neck. The arterial spray spattered Andro with gore, right before he completed the slash.

As the Bible puts it, 'And the dirt came out.'

Gurgling, trying to hold his intestines back in, the kamen toppled. Andro literally pirouetted with almost ballistic precision, neatly slicing the top off his head off with the other knife.

Then the presence intruded on his mind.

Call it the sixth sense. Call it intuition.

Whatever it was, Andro sensed the hidden door slide open to his right, even before his ears registered the noise. A huge form filled the doorway, sporting a truly impressive suit of powered armour. The assassin looked up. And up. And up.

Cold blue eyes glared at him, icy to the core. Barely visible, a shock of white hair stood up like a banner, somewhere above an entire landscape's worth of metal. Actually 'glare' is the wrong word...What's the facial equivalent of a scream?

Without thinking, Andro struck. The stained blade tore through armour like Swiss cheese, ramming solidly into the man's shoulder. Still staring with that intense glare, Krizalid merely took a single step back, unperturbed. Slowly, deliberately, making sure that Andro could watch it, he reached up and pulled the knife out.

He smiled. The flesh melded seamlessly, flowing like water.

A second later, Krizalid held up the blade, crumpled like a ball of tin foil, and gently tossed it in Andro's direction.

Bad, this is very bad, Andro thought numbly. He was backing away now, becoming more and more convinced that this was not going to end well.

The fist hit his jaw with all the impact of a frozen ham fired from a cannon. Andro's jaw shattered instantly under that incredible impact, his entire set of lower teeth taking flight. Krizalid's steel-toed boot hit his groin with incredible force, sending Andro three metres into the air.

Andro hit the ground hard, in more pain than he'd ever felt in his life. He didn't even try to move; Just remembering to breath was already an effort. The newcomer waited for him to begin the slow, torturous crawl back to his feet, his expression amused now.

All right. The bastard was asking for it.

"ARMY OF ONE!!!"

A small army of Andros charged their foe, face set in hate-twisted grimaces. All blades and empty eyes, they simply rolled over Krizalid like a wave, swarming with by dint of their sheer numbers. Fists pummelled and knives stabbed, ants trying to bring down a giant.

Flame sliced the air. Screaming their soundless shrieks, the copies fell away, incinerated by searing gouts of thermonuclear fire. Their flaming bodies fell away, disintegrating before they hit the ground.

He saw through the illusion.

Krizalid punched straight out, snagging the real Andro. Futilely, the assassin kicked, trying to free himself. Blades cut twin furrows down Krizalid's arms, planing away more armour.

He was laughing now, ignoring Andro's faltering assault. The mocking laughter cored into Andro's very soul, gripping his heart in icy talons of dread.

"Just my kind of scum."

Then Krizalid smashed him into the floor, head-first.

Oblivion.

************

The first thing Andro noticed about the room was that it was obviously painted by someone with an unhealthy fetish for white. Of course, this made some sense once he realized he was in a hospital, but it was a little jarring at first.

It was the gown that really tipped him off, once he'd thrown the covers from his bed. The smell of disinfectant, and the plastic privacy curtains hanging from the ceiling confirmed his suspicions.

So, what was he doing in a hospital anyway?

Last he remembered, Andro'd been in the kind of predicament a few stitches doesn't usually doesn't cure too well. Obviously he'd missed something down the line here.

"Can you hear me, Alistair?"

Andro whipped around to find a man with a bushy beard and obvious toupee sitting by the bedside, a thick notebook held firmly in his hands. He looked incredibly nervous, fighting to keep a serene expression on his face.

"Can you understand me? My name is Dr. Freud. Can you say that?"

Silence.

"What?"

The man smiled, a look of relief flooding his features.

"That's all right, Alistair. I suppose you must be feeling... well, I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, but it's very important to stay calm and bear with us."

"Calm? Sure, I can do calm. Tell me what's going on."

Andro countered his smile with his own, a terrifying grin that reminded one of a crocodile's maw. Unbidden, the black rage welled up like a rising tide, the familiar red haze of hate obscuring his vision. With an effort of will, Andro forced it back down.

"Answers, yes... Well, to start with, you're in the Singapore Institute of Mental Health. You've... I don't know how to tell you this but... you've been mentally unstable for a very long time."

A black hole opened in the pit of his stomach.

Zero. Zero had said he'd crush Andro's mind.

"I... see."

Freud stroked his beard nervously.

"I'm glad you're taking this... so well, Alistair. I can see how this would be rather startling information for you..."

"How long?"

"Ah..."

"How long have I been here?"

"Ten... ten years."

"…Ten…?"

Andro looked down at his hands; they didn't look ten years older.

"Yes, you were brought here as a child and-"

Freud made a sound like a doggy chew-toy, as Andro's fists closed round his tie. Brutally, Andro hauled him forward, tugging on the strip of fabric. Kill him, the monster inside urged, sending Andro's fingers twitching in anticipation.

"Ack…Alistair... please."

Time to wring the truth out of Dr. Quackers.

"Dr. Freud," Andro spoke, a rising fury infusing each word with undeniable conviction. "Don't bullshit me, you ignorant fucker. Cut the charade and play real nice…Or, I might go and do something really not 'calm'."

He punctuated the sentence with a sharp twist, ignoring the doctor's frantic clawing.

"Listen... to me... I can... help you..."

"Good."

Andro loosened his grip, slightly.

"You're still not... *wheeeze* cured. Residue... *wheeeze* delusion."

"That's not what I want to hear."

"It's the truth. You must..."

"You need to work a little harder on that 'truth' thing."

Andro swung out of the bed, prompting Freud to take a step back.

"Do you believe in Jesus, Doctor? I sure hope so..."

"Please, Alistair. I know you can distinguish reality from fantasy, you just have to listen-"

"Listen to this!"

That did it. Andro's fists closed round Freud's's throat again, patience falling into the fires of Hell.

"I'm in hell, you understand?! Real hell! Real pain, constantly, everyday for eternity! Zero-!"

"There is no Zero!"

With surprising strength Freud shoved the assassin away. Andro never saw where he took the gun from.

"He doesn't exist! None of them exist! It's not real! All lies! LIES!!!"

And he said Andro was crazy. Very slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, Andro nodded. Freud panted for awhile before the red tinge finally left his skin, leaving a blotchy spots in their wake. Embarrassed, he stuck the gun in his coat pocket and sat back down.

"I'm... very sorry. I... I lost my temper."

"That's...That's…okay...Doc." He eyed the bulge in the doctor's pocket, considering whether to make a grab for it.

"Will you hear me out? Will you at least listen?"

Silence. It's not a good idea to argue with someone who's carrying a gun.

Evidently, the good doctor took that as a 'yes.' Freud smiled and bent down to pick up his notebook from the floor.

"You see this book?" he asked, holding it out.

"For twenty years the _only_ thing you've done, besides the usual physical necessities, is write in this book. That was it, you never spoke, never gave any indication of noticing the world around you. Today," he paused to open the back cover, revealing a page covered in tiny black scrawl, "you finished it. And now, well, here you are."

He closed the book and looked expectantly at Andro.

"This…This is…"

"Here," Freud said. He opened the diary again, handing it over.

"This might refresh your memory."

Mutely, Andro began reading.

************

Block left high, low right, strike right high, right low, left high-almost got through-block overhead, step to the left, start the cut low, bring it up, and OH, it's beautiful, he thumps to the ground at your feet, spilling red, red liquid out onto the dark asphalt...

All too easy. And over too soon.

You spin round, transfigured into a thing of terror by the lurid red light. The next squad backs away, vainly trying to avoid total and utter annihilation. Dark blood splatters in an obscurely decorative pattern as you leap to kill again, stabbingstabbingstabbingstabbing more chaos death pain murder-

************

Andro didn't know quite how to respond to that. He'd had his thoughts read before, but this was the first time someone did it literally. Not that those were his exact thoughts at the time, mind you. He had been thinking of most of that stuff…But Andro had also been thinking about those chip packets he'd discarded. Still, it was a pretty creepy experience.

"Did you see that, Doc?"

Freud nodded, shifting the chair closer. Briefly, an idea flashed in Andro's head. Grab his arm, pull him to you, get his gun-

Too late. The doctor had already sat back down.

The experience got even creepier when Andro started flipping through the pages of the notebook. Each one was covered in his handwriting, neatly printed letters covering the white paper like leprosy. Stopping somewhere near the middle, Andro read another passage…

************

Ryan chokes once, and appears to stop breathing. You can see Zero advancing. All hope's lost, Andro!

A miracle. That's what you need. A miracle.

Let's face it. That isn't going to happen.

So, it comes right down to cold, hard logic. Either escape and let Ryan die or rush out there in a blaze of tragic heroism and die with him. The answer to that little equation is obvious, if not pretty. One dead is better than two, after all. But of course, it issn't quite that easy.

You can't do that. Just turn your back and let them kill him? No way.

So, you took the only other option left to you.

You shoot him in the head. Then, you escape.

************

"Now see," Andro said, "that's wrong. Ogion saved us that time. Hell, it doesn't even make any sense. If I killed Ryan then, how could he fight later? Besides, I never use a gun."

"There are quite a lot of inconsistencies, actually," Freud replied.

"For instance, there's one part where you claim that a friend of yours gets his glasses broken, but after that..."

Andro ignored him, and looked down at his hands. They were shaking.

He wasn't falling for any of this tripe, was he? Of course not. It was obviously a trick. The fact that they'd gotten a part wrong was proof of that.

Of course, it could've been right, if Ogion hadn't shown up.

He shook the thought out of his head. He wasn't going to get anywhere this way. But-

Just one more bit. Andro just wanted to see how else they screwed up.

************

Andro was in constant motion, climbing, running, leaping. He'd climbed to the rooftops, taking advantage of a convenient ladder to ascend. Far below, the last few squads swarmed round the base of the building, buzzing impotently like an entire hive of wingless bees. Their guns spat random tracers straight up, trying and failing to bring down the fleeing assassin.

Alistair was feeling pretty proud of himself. After a bit of fancy footwork, he'd left most of his attackers in the dust, right before he found a way up the building. Even better, he'd hauled the ladder up after him. No way they were getting to him from there, at least. All he had to worry about was the chopper overhead...

-Wait a minute. A helicopter? Here?

A mechanical locust of death, the assault chopper hovered just above the rooftops. Laden down with a wide variety of weaponry, it remained out of Andro's range, waiting for a target lock.

A group of killers, clad in the uniform of the SWAT, rappelled down from above. They blazed away as they went, filling the air with the angry hum of bullets. Andro almost missed the next jump, misjudging the distance. Frantically, his fingers scrabbled for a purchase on smooth rock. By the skin of his teeth, hanging on by his fingernails, Andro hauled himself up, biting back a scream of agony.

***KA-BLAM***

Whether by accident or by malicious design, a bullet caught Andro in the hand. Bones shattered, crumpling the appendage like a wet paper bag. There was an incredible amount of blood and pain, once more slicking the bricks with red fluid.

Andro lost his grip. Stubbornly, slowly slipping back down, Andro clutched the edge with his good hand, face twisted in a rictus of agony. He would NOT give in! Not after all this! No way they would triumph over-

-The second bullet, deliberately aimed, blew his right hand apart.

Andro fell.

Terror gave way to ice-cold dread, a sickening pit of liquid mercury in his stomach. Strength gone, hands clawing at empty air, Andro fell, fell, fell-

He crashed through a hail of assorted debris on the way down, tearing through weak tin roofs, hanging laundry, a wide variety of garbage, before finally crunching into the unyielding ground. He lay there, wretchedly twisted, bones shattered. His heart flailed weakly in his chest, and his breathing began to slow.

He was dying.

And for the first time, for a long, terrible, mindless moment, all he felt was-

-Not rage. Not fury.

Sheer, bowel-tightening panic.

************

Okay, now this thing was pissing Andro off.

He threw the book down hard and watched bounce on the floor, pages fanning in the air until it landed back down again, open.

"It lied again. It didn't happen like that."

Great. Now he getting emotional about this. That was bad. That was what they wanted. They knew he'd get like this. Get stupid, listen to them.

Who were they again?

"Alistair..."

"Huh? Oh, sorry Dr. Freud."

"Lim."

"What?"

"My name is Dr. Lim, not Freud."

"Oh."

"That's okay, Alistair." Lim picked the book back off the floor.

"It didn't happen like that. God, I never ever thought that way in my life. And who wrote that crap in third person?"

Lim said nothing.

"It... didn't happen."

"_None_ of it happened, Alistair."

When Alistair looked up at Lim, he looked clear, far clearer than a second ago. He always thought that his vision was twenty-twenty, but it must've been a bit off, because nothing looked this clear before then.

"The book does lie," he said. "It's _all_ lies. _None_ of it ever happened. You've been here the whole time. You never killed anyone in your life."

"I have to go," Alistair realized suddenly. "I have...to... get…out."

"Your friends are fine, Alistair. Nothing bad ever happened to anyone."

Nothing...

He was right. What had Alistair been thinking? The Awakened, girls with magic powers; that was crazy.

"But Alistair, I need to ask a favour from you. The key to your condition... I'm convinced it lies in that book. But we can't read the earlier parts... It's the handwriting, you see? We... I need you to read it. Can you do that?"

Yeah. Yeah, he could do that.

************

Blood trickles from between Chan's fingers, as he struggles to support Ryan.

"Andro…He's bleeding like there's no tomorrow."

"If this goes on, he not gonna have a tomorrow. Why're you complaining? We're carrying him, after all."

You continue your desperate run, for many long minutes. Behind you, you hear explosions, and various rumbling noises. A blast of black light follows, one that washed over both of you harmlessly. Instinctively, you flinch. Risking a look back, you saw that the area right behind is now in ruins, as if a demolition crew has recently moved through. Even as you watched, unnatural fire strikes the far wall, burning on the solid stone. A ball of something strikes the ground with a wet, squelching noise, and melting into the ground.

Shuddering, you run even faster-

************

Alistair looked up from the handsome, leather-bound book on the podium and saw a room full of people staring back at him. There were maybe fifty of them, seated in folding chairs arranged in what might've passed off for a semi-circle, a look of attention on each of their faces.

"Do you need a glass of water, Mr. Gill?" asked Dr. Lim. He sat in a chair more or less next to him, facing the audience like Alistair did.

"No. I... I'm fine,"

"Cold feet, eh?" he whispered. "Don't worry, I can tell you that everyone's damn impressed by your work. Not _one_ of them has left so far."

Alistair smiled back weakly and looked down at the crisp, black typeset.

"'Try an earlier part," he said.

************

"We were able to read that one."

Alistair nodded and peeled back a handful of pages.

************

"No, that's not far back enough."

************

No. Farther.

************

Most people-

************

Farther.

************

"You guys su-"

************

Farther.

************

They dove-

************

…Farther…

************

It was a typically bright day in Tokyo Stadium-

************

FARTHER.

************

She was dead. I'd killed her. Bang bang, just like that. She was...what, eleven?

Easy there, Andro.

But there was blood, everywhere. All over the alley, all over my shoes, all over my socks and her forehead with the big gaping hole and she'd jerked around like a wind-up toy on its back and she made sounds and

Andro...

She was just a little kid! I fucking killed a little kid! I blew her brains right out! I

ANDRO!!!

They were going to kill me. There were cops hiding, right behind the corner. They wanted to kill me. Just waiting for me to twitch

Shut up!!!

I...

Look, Andro, no one's going to kill you. The cops don't give a shit about these kids, you know that. And even if they did, you're not going to get caught. You know why? Because you're going to make sure there aren't any witnesses. Because you're going to wipe the blood off your shoes and burn the rag. Because you're going to act like a goddamn professional which is what you are now, okay?

But... she was eleven...

Remember her eyes? The way she looked at you when she shot those nasty little burning fireballs from her hands? That wasn't a self-defence look, buddy. Good thing you had that cop's gun in your hand, or she would've killed you too.

Like... I was a bug or something.

Yeah, just like that. Now get moving before somebody sees you.

************

Alistair's heart nearly exploded, when he felt the hand clamp down on his shoulder. But it was only Lim. Good old Dr. Lim.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. This still isn't far back enough yet."

************

"Quack quack quack waaaaaak!"

The cartoon duck fell to the bottom of the screen, where that annoying dog picked it up and showed it off like _he'd_ done anything besides snitch. Alistair thought about shooting him for a bit, but then he flushed another one out real fast. Smart poochy.

"Quack quack quack waaaaaak!"

He liked this game a lot. Besides the dog, that was. Too bad that didn't count for much in school. Ugh, that reminded Alistair, Mom would probably show up soon and start getting on his case about studying.

"Quack quack quack waaaaaak!"

Ah, well. Pretending to read a math textbook for three or four hours wasn't really so bad. Better than the stack of projects still waiting somewhere inside his schoolbag, a festering pile of overdue assignments and homework-

"Quack quack quack quack quack!"

Darn it! He missed!

"Hee hee hee hee hee!"

Shut up, dog.

*Click-clack*

Oh great, Dad was home. He'd definitely have to stop playing now. Dad didn't want him to do anything fun. No worries about that…Alistair never did anything exciting. All he did was science projects…Sometimes.

Alistair darkened the monitor screen, obscuring the game-in-progress. Dad showed up just when he turned

the little knob, heavy footsteps scrapping on the carpet. He turned around and- It wasn't Dad after all.

It was some guy wearing this stupid little hat, and a long coat that extended all the way to the floor. Alistair had never seen him before…Was he a member of the police or something?

"Andro," he said. He sounded kinda like James Bond.

"Yeah, mister?"

"Oh, for the love of…Andro, you're _not_ a kid."

He was right. What the hell was he doing?

Andro got up and took a look around the room. Blue shag carpet, yellowish- whitish walls, a cheap wooden table with the computer on it and that goddamn couch with the broken springs. He'd never even seen this damn place before…Where was he? Vaguely, Andro rubbed his forehead, disorientated. A splitting headache was coming on, bow waves of agony reverberating through his skull.

So this was what, a meticulously crafted set? Not likely. Even the most obsessed designer would probably miss that stain on the ceiling.

A dream? Maybe. Maybe not.

That thought seemed incredibly hard to hold onto, drifting away like spiderwebs on the wind. Andro felt his mind fragmenting, like the time he'd been falling-

"Oh, God. Requiem."

"Ah." He dropped the English accent. "Now that's the Andro I know. Or at least, the one Chan knows. By the way, how did you guess?"

Andro sighed, and sat down on the coach. Fatigue was catching up with him: He couldn't seem to focus on anything for long. Normally, he would've felt fear at the mere thought of the Stand's presence…Now, all Andro could muster up was a half-hearted resignation. The noise of blood throbbing through the veins in his head grew uncomfortably loud, a ball-peen hammer smashing onto a glass table again and again and-

"Who else could it be?"

Another disturbing thought crystallized with painful clarity, a sudden shock

"Wait. When I hit the floor…I died, didn't I."
"…"

"I distinctively remember dying. The impact couldn't have been anything else."

Nightmarish images flitted through the recesses of what Andro had left for a brain: An assassin, fighting, killing dying- Requiem scowled and leaned against the doorframe.

"Don't go blaming me," he said. "I didn't have anything to do with this."

The pain was unbearable now, a red-hot needle of sheer vindictiveness boring into Andro's skull. Invisible tendrils, strong and clean, grasped at his mind, pressing into the grooves, squeezing the plump bits.

"Sure you didn't...Mr Demon."

Puzzlement.

"Who? What does this have to do with anything?"

"Never mind. Go on."

Requiem shook his head.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

"Yeah, I must be going senile in my old age. Better speak up, I think I lost my hearing aid."

"ZERO. You still know who that is? Or are you too far gone already?"

A light bulb above Andro's head made a valiant effort to turn itself on before it graciously accepted the death of its filament.

"Maybe."

"Try a little harder, will you?"

There was something. The word "Zero" stuck out of his brain like the tag on a pillowcase, but no matter how much Andro tugged on it, nothing was pulling loose. Finally, he gave up on it, and started to just claw slapdash through his grey matter, pulling up anything he could find and throwing it in a big pile on the floor. Nothing but useless trivia and

hollow memories.

Cars, ice cream flavors, old TV jingles, traumatizing instances of childhood incontinence, computer games, golf lessons, guitar lessons, TV shows, old dates, dead friends-

A shadow, like a skyscraper with shoulders.

"Wait..." Andro waved a hand at Requiem, and kneaded his forehead with the other.

"Big guy, right?"

"Well 'guy' isn't exactly the word I'd use, but 'big', yes. Big, practically unstoppable, no sense of tact... getting anything yet?"

"Um, sorta..." Andro lied. "What about him?"

"Didn't he say something to you? I think it was along the lines of,

'THEREFORE,

Soldiers looking like Swiss cheese meets fillet mignon.

I INTEND

Kula smiling, something nasty in her eyes.

TO DESTROY YOUR MIND,

A voice like rakes on concrete.

AND LEAVE

The magical girl dead.

YOUR BODY

Alvin, dead. Somehow, he knew.

A VEGETABLE

Yiming dead, hacked to pieces.

ALIVE

Control. Over everything.

BUT UNABLE TO THINK,

Fire pain evil.

TO ACT-

Blood.

TO MOVE.

"Fuck."

The shadow was illuminated now. And the light was coming from where it's head should have been.

Requiem smiled, and tipped his hat in mock salute.

"It sounds like your excellent powers of deduction have triumphed again," he said.

"Anyhow, as I don't doubt you've already guessed, Zero has been doing exactly what he said he would. He played the tune, and you danced perfectly. As it stands now, you're just a few pirouettes away from becoming the international staring and drooling champion of the world."

And he had to be cute about it too. Andro did his best not to let the pain show when the couch's springs gave him their rusty welcome. He could barely hear his own words now, vision contracting to a slitted tunnel,

"But it's a damn good thing my best buddy WORLD-EATER REQUIEM came to the rescue just in time, huh?"

See? Even in agony, he made a point of being pleasant.

"I have my own agenda for helping you, of course."

"Sure you do. You people always do. It's just that it tends not to spell anything real nice for me in the end, y'know?"

Andro carefully removed myself from the Torture Couch and slid to the floor.

"Frankly, I think I'm better off with the all-powerful bringer of brain damage. At least he's honest."

Requiem knelt down, sticking his face a few centimetres closer than psychologically comfortable. His breath smelled of rancid meat, impossibly sharp canines seemingly too large to fit into his mouth.

"Just what do you think is going to happen?" he asked. "After Zero destroys you, I mean. Do you think it'll end there? Everything hunky-dory? Not on what little remains of your life. He's going for the kill this time, Zero is. As soon as you go down, people like me will be the first up against the wall. Your mindless corpse gets reprogrammed, and you'll serve NESTS as a zombified hitman."

"How unfortunate for you," Andro sneered. "Get behind me, Satan. Run back to Chan, if you want. Why aren't you with him right? Why the hell are you here?"

Silence. Requiem drew back. He actually looked…Sheepish.

"Well, that's a bit hard to explain. See, Chan summoned me to fight, the way he always did. Then something snapped. I went free. Of course, a Stand can't survive without a wielder…Not for long, anyway."

"That doesn't explain why you're in my mind."

"You called me. Just after you hit the ground, I dove in, and-"

Requiem shrugged.

"Ah."

Andro didn't understand a single word.

"Don't get me wrong, Andro. I don't like you. But I like dying even less. So here's my proposal: I let you know how you can get out of this with your synapses intact, and you... ah, 'forget' about any problems I may have caused you in the past."

He smiled, all candy and sunshine.

"Like trying to drive me insane, just now?"

"Yep."

"I'll think about it."

Requiem got up and looked down at Andro. The smile left his face, his eyes like frozen marbles now.

"You won't have very much time for that."

Hooo boy.

Andro studied his thumbs. Looked like he was in a real pickle this time. Trusting Requiem would be beyond stupid. Even if you ignored the fact that he was simply a fragment of evil incarnate, there was the fact that he used to be Chan, which just threw any claims of honesty out the window. The alternative, of course, wasn't much prettier.

Sometimes, Andro really missed the days when he could solve problems by knifing people.

"Okay," Andro said, "Let's hear what you got."

"I'd be delighted."

He offered his hand, took it away, and shrugged when Andro got up by himself.

"Truth be told, you've had the power to save yourself all along."

"So I never really needed you then?"

"Too late to renege now." Requiem chuckled. He was really enjoying this.

"Anyhow, your problem is that you haven't been realizing your full potential. You are not Awakened. You thought you were, but you didn't truly identify yourself with what you are. You still see yourself as 'Andro'. 'Andro' with unbelievable powers perhaps, but Andro, nevertheless. "

"Maybe that's because I am Andro?"

"No, you're not. Look, I'm sure you've already fingered your human brain as a drawback to your powers, but what you must realize is that the drawback only exists within your own mind. You think that because your power is incarnate as your body, that it is something separate from you. That is something that must be controlled by the mind. But your Awakened soul is just as much you as your mind is. Until you realise that, you will never attain the powers that could-should be yours."

"So you're saying…What, exactly? I should let you do the walking?"

"In a manner of speaking." He smiled again. "Look, what we have to do is to get you to convince yourself of what you can do, which it limitless. Start by closing your eyes."

Andro closed them.

"Now, breathe deeply..."

"This is going to be like one of those 'meditation exercises', isn't it?"

"Sort of."

"I hate those."

"I know. Concentrate on your breath..."

"Requiem?"

"Yes?" Did Andro detect a hint of impatience in that voice?

"If you're lying to me, I'll make sure your death is very, very painful."

"I'll bear that in mind. Now breathe already! Yes, very good. Now I want you to pay attention to your body. To every minor ache, every itch, anything it's feeling..."

Requiem's voice droned on and on. Most of his commands were exactly like those stupid meditation exercises. Although they went a lot slower than he did. Eventually, Andro just stopped trying to keep up with him and did followed

whatever he could.

It began subtly at first, a warping of the surroundings. Andro could feel a sense of shifting, of motion somewhere else in the room. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids suddenly seemed to weigh a million tons. Disorientated, Andro concentrated on trying to keep his feet, something that suddenly seemed impossibly difficult.

He couldn't remember when he'd sat back down on the floor, but he was there now. It was getting very difficult to make out what Requiem was saying anymore. His voice had grown too loud: It reverberated in Andro's ears like an army of tiny super-balls.

The air began to warp and shimmer. The hairs on Andro's skin rose, fell, and rose again. Every finger, every limb twitched once in succession, like a computer running a system check.

He was nowhere now, a small speck whirling in an endless void. There was no up, no down, no time. The walls of the room crumbled, toppling over like drunken members of a human pyramid.

Blink.

************

Andro could see it all now, the intricate tapestry of the world's magic. It spread out for infinity, a spinning galaxy of countless stars. Souls swam that trackless void, wispy ethereal forms twisting round the glowing strands of power. There was no beginning, no end to the wondrous pattern: He could only use meaningless words like vast, overwhelming…

-And then it all snapped into place, as the universal truth slammed into his brain.

Reality was a lie, a thin façade thrown over humanity's eyes. It was a self-woven shroud of illusion, comforting sanity against both the abyss of eternity and the ever-darkening night of oblivion.

The truth was magic.

The grid surged up to meet Andro at incredible speed, stars elongating to needle-thin points of light. Abruptly, he realised it wasn't the universe that was rising: It was he who was falling. Panicked, Andro tried to fly, to teleport, to wake from a dream and be somewhere else.

His fall stopped.

Hanging in emptiness, Andro drifted, hearing the voice of the universe boring into his mind.

What do you want?

Welcome to the story of Andro's life, deputy. Strap yourself in…It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

What did he want? Well, they asked, after all.

"I'm sick of stories where the good guys win," Andro spoke. The words resonated, sending vibrations of power running along the strings.

"I'm sick of hearing about how the right people always get killed, because they don't. I'm sick of the lies about happy

endings. There are no last-minute rescues, or kind strangers who'll lend a hand, or good women who don't want anything

from you. That's nothing but smoke and mirrors. Those are lies, and I'm sick to death of lies."

The strands glowed red-hot now, the malevolent glow of an evil star.

He paused.

"I want a new kind of story. I want a story that works out like real life, not this…This fucked-up anime world."

Silence. Andro could feel the eyes of the universe watching him, waiting for his final decision.

"I want to be on the winning side. Hell, I want to be the winning side, a minority of one. But most of all…"

He grinned, viciously.

"I want payback."

************

Chaos.

Painfiredeathkillkillbastardsthereissounds laughing that like him the fire walks sorry into a shape that has a hat that "asshole" Requiem! Fucker that bastard fucking. Tongue lots of teeth pitchfork That am fucker! That "void" Remain in "Stabilize him" her eyes in light the shape forcing it fire to "Going on?" look something in head. Fleshy amoeba pitchfork thing "Stop" across and eyes scattered melted the surface drifting screams "don't" bleeds stuck Paint legs "Yes!" like stars "Okay." edge is a there on Thing is "already" fire eyes drifting apart hand is over there what-

And suddenly, it was all over.

Very, very slowly, Andro opened his eyes. He rose to his feet slowly, deliberately, as if fearful of shattering the world around him. Something was different- The assassin could feel it in his very bones, a startling revelation. Everything seemed bright and beautiful in its uniqueness, their auras resonating in calm harmony. The spirit wind whispered secrets to him, like-

-Minds. They were all minds. They spoke to him. Oracles, perhaps, or merely a village of loudmouths. But all were alive in him, a crowd. In their midst, one voice spoke clearer, sharper than all the rest. A thing's voice, oozing infinite evil, glacial slow and smug.

The voice of Requiem.

So. Requiem had kept his promise. Andro had Awakened- But not as a magician. He had come into his power as something darker, a warrior tainted from conception both by word and the will.

What was the word for a deviant?

Wayward?

As good a name as any.

Andro straightened. He felt light-headed, yet somehow full…Burgeoning. There were essences within him, the duality of natures that came to all Stand-wielders. Andro sensed Requiem in his head, and Mr. Demon in his heart, two demons working against each other in competition. He felt the flow of power from the endless ocean of souls, and the hundred thousand words of magic.

The place was crowded, now. Anywhere was crowded now, Andro knew, with the clamour that would echo forever through his mind. Still, he wanted to leave, to get a breath of fresh air. It was a strange concept, walking away from your own thoughts.

Stranger still, Andro managed it. He made a space within himself, a place where nothing and no-one could reach.

Without a glance back, he walked in and closed the door behind him.

Space folded into a little origami bird. Time ran backwards. Calendar pages whipped forwards, then backwards.

Funny green lights swirled around while cheesy music played and a 'now loading' indicator flashed. Reality ran off and cried in

a corner after some bully took its lunch money...

Click.

************

Agent Stevens watched the video screens, smiling tightly.

"Alpha waves are in synch," he stated. "What do you say, Tomoko? Fifty says we can break him in an hour."

Tomoko walked around the assassin strapped to the table. His entire head enclosed in an elaborate VR rig, Andro was functionally catatonic, blind to the world.

Somewhere in his own mind, Andro watched them, laughing silently.

"I don't know," Tomoko stated. "We'll see. He'll snap sooner or later…Then we'll turn him over to Zero. Wonder what they want with the mindless body?"

A sigh.

"Ours not to reason why."

They didn't know. They couldn't, the poor bastards. All he had to do was to wait, oh yes, wait for the right moment.

"Stevens, take a look at this," Tomoko said, frowning at the monitor.

"What? It's all normal. And it looks like it took less than an hour. Fifty, wasn't it?"

Then there would truly be hell to pay.

"But the readings. They spiked for a moment before they fell."

"So? You've been working too hard. We got him, didn't we?"

Until then…

Tomoko smiled, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You're right…I'm just tired. Let's start up the paperwork, and get out of here. Dinner's on you tonight."

…It was time to play along.

The lab door swung shut silently, aided by efficient servos. Only the prisoner remained, still seemingly unconscious.

Seated there, alone in the shadowed, silent hall, Andro contemplated his dark and bloody future.

He smiled.

(Sorry to take so long for this chapter…Initially, the first draft of 'The Wayward' was way too violent. Several pre-readers almost turned nauseous when checking it. So, this version has been toned down slightly, while hopefully retaining the spirit of this chapter. Now, it's back to the main group…See you again next time. And until then, please R&R. Bye!)