AN: Wow, I finally managed to finish the first chapter to get started with this. Just so you know, Taberuni Pan, if I remember my Japanese correctly, literally means 'to eat bread'. I just figured that a black suit guy with an appetite for Guilmon rolls sounded intriguing. This segment is mostly going to be filled with dialogue, although there will be some action. Anyways, after the long wait, here we are: The second chapter! One more thing: can somebody correct me about Kotemon's statistics? I really don't know what he is simply because I don't own a single Digi Battle Card and the fact that DMW 3 doesn't identify Kotemon at all except that h comes with the balanced pack.
Disclaimer would be in the first chapter. I know, I'm a lazy guy.
Introductions and RetributionsDirector's Office, Agency Headquarters Main Compound, Washington D.C.
Thursday, 0125 hours, Local Time (Washington's Time Zone is 14 hours behind that of Tokyo)…
Deputy Director Marc Rolling stomped into his boss' dark office, noting the mysterious man who stood behind the Director, hidden in the shadows. "Him again?"
Director Jacob Marlon ignored his subordinate's comment about the 'Shadow Man' and, elbows on the desk, entwined his fingers into each other. The reason that the person standing behind him was called 'Shadow Man', was mainly because of two things: One, nobody knew who he really was, and Two, obviously because his favorite spot in the Director's Office always shrouded his upper body from view. "So, what do you have to say?"
"We have just confirmed Kaira's credibility," the black American replied, and added, "Akiyama's report was clear enough."
"I see…" Marlon's eyebrows creased over his wire-framed sunglasses. What had just occurred 16 hours ago was jeopardizing the Agency's goal at the moment. He was sure that the Shadow Man was going to say something, and waited for it. The face concealed in the darkness remained quiet. "So you're telling me that Network Security had managed to get a copy of Project: Toto-Con."
"Well, yes…" Rolling managed to stutter, "And no."
"What the hell are you talking about? Clarify that."
"Well, sir, Eye-Net did manage to confirm a download of all our files concerning Project: Toto-Con from the Pacific Branch's mainframe terminal. The problem is that we don't know what happened to the infiltrator after she fell off the roof."
"She?" Marlon's eyebrow cocked upward in surprisingly similar fashion to that of Hugo Weaving.
"Yes sir. A girl of at least 17." Rolling stated matter-of-factly, "Apparently, Akiyama knew her."
"So you're telling me that Network Security now recruits juvenile crack heads to do their dirty work for them?"
"Not just juveniles, sir. Tamers, and Former tamers. Our mole reports that Network Security has at least three operatives who used to have Digimon Partners in each of their branches." Why were they doing such things? What did the executive twelve have on their twisted minds that had them recruiting Tamers? What were the advantages? What was the point?
"Tamers and Ex-Tamers, huh? Network Security must think that they can utilize the residue power born by these people and their connections with the Digital World—" The Director cut himself off in mid sentence, "Wasn't Agent Akiyama a Tamer too? What did the tests make out?"
"Nothing, sir. Besides his background as a Tamer, Ryo Akiyama is completely normal."
"Uh huh… well then forget about that topic. As of now, the entire Agency is on code red. In other words, we're assuming that Network Security has gotten their hands on that copy of Project: Toto-Con. Which is exactly why I want its development schedule shortened to a fourth of its original duration."
"Did… did I just get that right?" Rolling's expression became that of surprise, "You want the schedule for Project: Toto-Con shortened by that degree?"
"Yes. That is also why I want two additional development teams assigned to this. By this time after three months, I want Project: Toto-Con to be tested and ready for deployment. Is that clear?"
"I understand," with that, the Deputy Director of the Agency left the room, leaving Marlon alone with the Shadow Man to discuss the matters at hand.
Finally, the man whose face was hidden from sight parted his lips, an extremely nasal voice coming forth, "Kaira is the worst director you could probably find on this planet, you know that? Launching a counterattack would only provoke Network Security to bring the entirety of its weight down on us. It's like starting a war with them."
"Don't worry," Marlon replied smoothly, "I know how Kaira thinks. He has two options: either to launch a full scale attack or to simply infiltrate its networks and eliminate every last trace of Project: Toto-Con from their server…" he paused shortly, taking in the gravity of the situation. Which choice was Kaira going with? He knew from experience that he was obviously opting for the former. "If he's going through with it," he mumbled to himself, "He'd have to use at least a couple of Knight Strike Teams."
Just as the name implied, Knight Strike Teams were groups of 10 of the Agency's most elite field operatives, armed for a tooth and nail encounter with the most advanced portable arms that money could buy, and armored from head to toe literally, in ABSA (Anti-Ballistics Steel Alloy) Suits. These, when put on, caused one to closely resemble a knight, but more importantly, it could deflect any impact force short of an RPG detonation. That of course included HE grenades and those cutesy 40mm ones launched from grenade guns. Each suit had its own life support system, and an oxygen supply to boot, that could last for days, a week at most, without being refilled. Taken together with the suits' extremely tensile plating, along with their advanced training and weaponry, the Knight Strike Teams' efficiency was incredibly high and was second only to somebody smart enough to understand that at the velocity at which they turned, chopper rotors could cleave an ABSA-clad person in two.
"He is a fool, Marlon, imprudent and untimely. You know that by experience. Remember upgrading the D-Reaper into an invincible force that even Network Security couldn't handle? Well, by our labs' estimates, NS could've taken it down within a few hours time provided they were allowed to do so. We were lucky that the United Nations had them stand down during the entire crisis. I get the unshakable feeling that somehow he is going to be the death of us all… the death of The Agency. And you do, of course, understand the implications of this…"
"Believe me, I am fully aware," Marlon answered in a somewhat disgruntled disposition, "In any case, if he does launch that counterattack, be it ending in success or in disaster, I'll personally see to it that it will be the last operation that he'd organize in this agency. You can count on that."
"Good."
Another thought came to mind, one that housed significance to him, "Akiyama is the only Tamer we have under us, while Network Security has at least thirty-six! What do you want to do?"
"It's time we put our own experimental Digital Life Form to the test. Whilst most of Network Security's Tamers no longer have their partners, we can reacquaint Akiyama to the meaning of Partnership. I suggest that you revive Project: Mechmon and introduce it to its new owner." At this, he chuckled.
"Uh-huh. And why so?"
"If you should remember, Akiyama personally requested us to recover his Monodramon from the network," the Shadow Man paused, a tense aura of immense danger and threat building up, "And in essence, we did. After which we integrated its Digi-Core into the empty shell that was Project: Mechmon. We can therefore conclude that the ideal partner for Project: Mechmon is none other than Akiyama, since its soul itself belonged to his original partner. Think of it as a Digimon's reincarnation."
"I see." Truth be told, Marlon was not really as in charge of The Agency as what most of his subordinates thought he was. He was merely a puppet director, a puppet whose puppeteer was none other than the mysterious Shadow Man.
He picked up a glass of water that rested on Marlon's desk and downed all of its contents.
"I really hate it when you do that."
"Who wanted your opinion?" the dark figure pulled a handkerchief from his unseen left breast pocket and wiped his mouth. "Anything else to discuss before I leave? I have an appointment at the United Nations in eight hours you see, and I haven't gotten that much sleep yet."
"Network Security is in control of certain programs that it uses to safeguard the Virgin OS against anything that might bypass its hundreds of firewalls. What are they?"
Once again, the man reached into his breast pocket and drew out a small round object, which he placed in his mouth and chewed. Marlon could only assume that it was a gumball, "The Guardian Algorithm is their premier Network Monitoring program. Its composing code was discovered by Franck Schwartz, an NS-3 programmer, around the same time of the abandonment of Project: AL and was further developed by Network Security R&D teams around the world. Now, if it wasn't for D-Reaper, which you recall, Mister Marlon, destroyed over half of the network in its time, they would have at least three million of these bastards running around the internet and shooting down any threat to their creators right now. Thankfully, their number has greatly dwindled due to D-Reaper's occupation and is, at maximum, 6000… barely enough to guard Network Security's wide borders. Plus the fact that some of these aging programs go renegade every now and then, requiring them to pull the plugs on them one at a time. Then again, Project: Toto-Con, upon its completion, is supposed to help us bypass all of these problems and gain direct control of the situation." He spat the wad of gum into the desk-side trash bin and headed out for the office's rear door, which was also obscured from view because of the shadows, "Now if you'll excuse me, Mister Marlon, I have an important meeting to attend."
The door shut, leaving Marlon alone in the dark to think it over for himself. "Guardian Algorithm… sounds like something out of a cheap sci-fi novel." He punched the intercom, "Miss Slovack, I'll be going home now."
An eerily cheerful female voice came through in reply, "Of course, Mister Marlon. Anything I can bring you before you leave?"
"Uh. No thanks." The Director of the Agency stood up, went for his coat on the rack, and, putting it on, closed the door behind him.
Lobby, Nikamura Crediting, Shinjuku District, Tokyo
Thursday, 1538 hours, Local Time…
Takato Matsuki sat on one of the large bank's waiting benches, unsure of what to do. To his left was an old lady in an antiquated purple and pink dress set, hat included, who sat with a leash in her hand, her black Scottish terrier sniffing around the former tamer's feet. To his right sat the kind of person you expected to see at home at a corporate office's desk: a young man in a business suit with an attaché case at his feet, chatting on a modernly modeled cell phone to someone named Nobura about the current prices of his stocks and bonds. The continuous babbling and snuffling was beginning to make him feel awkwardly out of place.
Finally, the lady stood up and, supporting herself with an oak cane, slowly walked over to the nearest counter, terrier following with its tongue stuck out. At least one distraction was gone. Takato was having a hard time remembering the other instructions that fat, bread eating man in black gave him. All he could remember clearly was that he was told to come to this bank should he decide to work for the government. His gaze fell upon the uniformed guard at the mouth to the elevator hall that was reading the latest tabloid. That was when the man's voice echoed through his mind, "If you do decide to go, talk to the guard at the elevator hall and tell him who you are."
He rose from the bench with his backpack slung over his right shoulder, the businessman still chattering on behind him, walked over to the guard, and, with a degree of uncertainty, spoke, "Uh, hi. I'm Takato Matsuki, and—"
He needn't say anymore, for the guard, not bothering to look up from his reading material, cut him off in mid-sentence, "You're late. Yamamoto has been waiting for you. Take elevator six to the thirteenth floor."
"Wait… Yamamoto?" his eyebrow rose in confusion, "I thought it was—"
"Pan?" the guard once again interrupted him, eyes still glued to his informative sheets, "Oh, no, he's on leave. Yamamoto was the one who originally had the idea to call you here. He merely had Pan do an errand for him since your school was on the route to his flat. Now take elevator six to the thirteenth floor."
"Uh. Thanks." Takato glanced through the elevator hall, each one numbered accordingly. Upon reaching the elevator labeled six, what he saw caused him to turn back to the guard and ask him, but once more was stopped in his tracks.
"Don't mind the 'Out of Order' sign. It's just to keep morons from getting into the 'wrong' elevator." It was like the guard knew what he thought before he thought it. Was he psychic? Or was it because his thinking was too obvious? Whatever the reason, the guard certainly gave great advice.
"Wrong elevator?"
The guard's temper reaching its boiling point was clearly displayed by the manner with which he rolled his newspaper and practically screamed into Takato's face, not caring whether he made a scene or not, "It's the only elevator that goes up to floors thirteen to twenty. Now stop asking stupid questions and go, go, go!"
"Alright! Alright!" the former tamer yelled back, "I got it already! Jeez." He turned away and walked to the only elevator in the hall, the sign 'Out of Order' hanging just above the doors. Pushing the elevator call key, Takato wondered what awaited him on the thirteenth floor after he took a trip on an elevator that was allegedly out of order. He also wondered what all this secrecy was for.
Being so deep in thought, he practically jumped backward as the elevator doors parted, revealing a neatly dressed young man in black, tinted wire-framed sunglasses concealing his eyes from view, nicely combed brown hair topping his head. "Good afternoon, Mister Matsuki. So glad you could make it. For a moment there, I was worried that you weren't coming at all!"
"Um… are you… Yamamoto?" Takato asked as he cautiously stepped inside and stood beside the man, carefully looking him over as if to get an overview picture.
The elevator's doors shut; boxing the two men in together as it began its arduous journey, thirteen stories up, "Yep, that's me. Special Agent Hiroshi Yamamoto. I work for the government."
"Uh, which branch of the government?" the first and most likely candidate sprang into his mind, "Hypnos?"
"Oh, no! Of course not!" Yamamoto blurted out casually, waving his hands in a gesture of renouncement, "I'm with the department that monitors and polices all activity within the Digital World, including that of Digimon. We've been around long before Hypnos."
"How long exactly?" asked the gold-brown-haired adolescent.
"You want an exact figure?" The agent took out a Marlboro from his pocket, along with a Zippo, and placing the tip into his mouth, lighted it, releasing the first puff of smoke upon exhaling orally as he placed the silver lighter back into its place.
Takato, noticing the sign 'No Smoking', spoke up, "E… excuse me. Mister Yamamoto? Shouldn't you be refraining from smoking in the elevator?" He always wondered about what happened to government workers who didn't obey the rules.
"What?" that was when he also noticed the 'No Smoking' sign. "Oh…" Yamamoto calmly grasped the stick of tobacco with his right index and middle fingers, and flung it out of his mouth onto the floor, where he extinguished its embers with a stomp and a twist from the sole of his finely polished leather shoe. "Now where was I?" he took a tube of breath freshener from his breast pocket and, as with most people who have breath freshener, sprayed a minute amount into his mouth. "Oh, yeah, an exact figure. Before I do tell you, though… any last minute guesses?"
"Sorry. I'm stumped."
"June 26th, 1945. Can you tell me of any important historical event that happened on this date, kid? I mean, besides it being the date we were founded?"
"Haven't got a clue," the tamer modestly admitted, "I suck at history. Got a very low average there, if you ask me." Why else would he try to complete his history assignment during lunchtime?
"Try the signing of the UN Charter." Yamamoto casually replied.
"No kidding!?" what mysterious forces ran the universe and led to such strange coincidences? Why did they favor such things? Takato could only guess.
"Yep. June 26th, 1945, the exact same day that the UN charter was signed, and so were we founded. Truth be told, Mister Matsuki, it was the UN that started us. We have twelve branches in six continents, two in each. All of them are equal in authority, and are governed by a ruling panel consisting of the branches' directors: The Executive Twelve."
"Sounds big. Are… you funded by the UN too?" by this time, the elevator was almost past the 12th floor, very close to its destination.
"Yeah, more or less." The sound of a bell rang out, followed by the parting of the doors, revealing a lobby as busy as the one on the ground floor. The only difference was that most of the people here wore black… for obvious reasons. Stepping out of the cramped space and offering the young man a hand, Yamamoto said the first formal greeting he had for some time now, "Welcome to NS-8, Mister Matsuki."
Director's Office, 14th Floor - NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Thursday, 1545 hours, Local Time…
NS-8 Director Akira Sakamori reclined into his chair, calmly addressing the man on the other side of the connection. Sakamori was, to put it simply, getting old. At his age of 61, his graying hairline had receded substantially, giving the effect that his forehead was larger than it really was. The same went for the wrinkles on his face that made him appear more fragile than he really was. A gruff beard filled up the space on his chin, giving the impression that he hadn't shaved in a while. Tired eyes gazed at the monitor of his personal terminal, ignoring the webcam that spied at his figure from atop, transmitting his very face to the man he was talking to. "I don't blame you for leaving NS-8, Yamaki. And I'm also very sorry for what happened to Flamedramon, but know this: I am not responsible for his death. It was your decision to use that program card even with a 6 percent chance of succeeding."
"Don't talk to me as if you're still my handler, old man." Yamaki curtly replied, "Or are you suffering from a midlife crisis now?" In the past five years, Yamaki's general appearance didn't change at all, except for a few minor differences such as the fact that his hair was cut shorter than before. "Even after all this time you still consider what happened to Flamedramon as death. You of all people should know that Digimon are nothing but computer programs!"
"My dear Yamaki," NS-8's director spoke with a tinge of what could be considered as pity, "If you must know, during the fifteen years since you left us, we have learned enough about Digimon to be able to conclude that they are indeed living creatures. The most common traits of a living creature are both present in Digimon, namely the ability to procreate, and the possession of a DNA chain. Now you might say that this is all a load of bull, and that what we consider as a Digimon's DNA chain is nothing but a string of data. But before you do, consider this: real world creatures' DNA chains are, simply put, nothing but a chain of acids and bases, strings of data that are meant to show their traits…" his voice trailed off as a somber expression materialized on his face. "You know, now that I think of it, it looks like the only reason you refuse to believe what is undoubtedly true is that if you do acknowledge it, you will also be admitting that it is you who are responsible for Flamedramon's death. In a sense, you killed your own partner."
That was the last straw… "DAMMIT, SAKAMORI! Why don't you just shut up and let me talk for once!?" the chief of Hypnos Pacific exploded, his breathing heavy and erratic. "I didn't call you up to get insulted. I called you because my superiors want to ask you an important question."
"What?" Sakamori asked quizzically.
"My superiors know that you've sent someone to infiltrate The Agency's network last night to retrieve information about a so-called Project: Toto-Con, and they want to know what's going on. What is Project: Toto-Con and what is it capable of doing?"
"Well…"
"Well what?" Yamaki's patience was already worn out, and was far from recovery.
"We don't know." Sakamori answered bluntly, "Our operative was eliminated before she could get out of the building. She was practically shot off the roof. We're lucky even to have been able to recover the body, for crying out loud! Funeral services will be held next week. Would you care to attend?"
"Why should I?"
"Because, Yamaki, our late operative was a very close friend of one of your acquaintances." The aging man took a sip from a nearby cup of coffee on his desk. "And that acquaintance of yours, is Takato Matsuki, a former tamer."
Yamaki remained silent…
"Well, if there's nothing more we have to discuss, I assume that you're going to adjourn this meeting…" the government officer calmly stated, "Unless of course, there's anything else you have to say, that is."
"Well, no." Hypnos' leader bowed his head briefly, a sign of respect, as he cut the link, ending the conversation.
Sakamori placed his elbows on the desk, fingers knotting in a gesture of worry… worry for Yamaki. Fifteen years ago he had so much potential to go the distance. If only he hadn't used that modify card, then Flamedramon would've lived. If only he had taken his advice. If only… if only… Why didn't you listen, Yamaki? You could've done so much more for the good of the network… of the human race.
A digitized female voice disturbed his plane of thought, "Mister Sakamori, Agent Yamamoto is waiting outside your office with an unidentified person. Apparently, he wants to speak to you about something."
"I don't need a sentient supercomputer to tell me that, but thanks anyway, Virgin," he answered nonchalantly, "Let them in." The office's transparent door slid open of its own free will; to the will of the Virtual Digital Nexus—Virgin—rather, and in stepped two figures. The taller of the two, a young man in his mid-twenties, had combed copper hair, a black suit, and much better grooming than the shorter one, a teenager with a rather unattended dirt blonde mane and reddish eyes dressed in a somewhat loose light blue shirt, khaki pants, and green/white rubber shoes, a backpack slung over his right shoulder. The director eyed the latter more carefully, searching for that one thing that confirmed his guess of identity… the one thing that wasn't there… a pair of yellow goggles, although, even without, the outfit alone was enough to confirm his suspicions. Well, well, well… speak of the devil. Nonaka does have a nick for this guy… unless of course she can't risk endangering the other in our line of work. I'll have to remember to keep surveillance on both of them.
"Mister Sakamori," Yamamoto started, "I would like to introduce you to our new recruit, and my new partner, mister—"
"Takato Matsuki," Sakamori cut him off, "I've heard very much about you. How does it feel to become one with your partner to create an extremely powerful Digimon capable of defeating even one of the Four Sovereigns? Not to mention defeating that goddamned D-Reaper we created long ago?"
Takato's eyes widened in surprise, "YOU created the D-Reaper!?"
"Well, yes," the director sounded very calm indeed and didn't seem to worry at all, "It was in the early days of the network, around the time when information was beginning to crowd it too much—obsolete information if you will. You are of course aware of what this organization's directives are."
"Well, I was told that you were founded by the United Nations to safeguard the network," the tamer didn't see the connection though, between the network's safety and creating something that almost destroyed both worlds, "But I don't see how the D-Reaper… I mean it almost destroyed the Real World as well as the Digital!"
"That's the thing. We were afraid that too much information would overload the network's still fragile bandwidth causing it to crash, so, utilizing the latest technology at the time, we created a program that deleted all network roaming data chains inferior to it." Sakamori paused as if to give time for the youth to absorb what he had just said, "However, we did experience a problem, namely, upon completing its specified task of deleting fifty percent of the net's contents, it did not stop and consumed another twenty-five before we could deactivate it. You have to understand of course, that since we did not possess the technology to delete it, the only thing we were able to do was to put it on hibernation in the deepest portion of the network possible."
"Then what caused it to reawaken?" the young boy said this with a hint of anger in his voice. Of course, who wouldn't be angry at the person who's creation almost caused the apocalypse as one would know it?
"We don't know." He answered blankly, "The rest of Network Security believes that Digital Evolution triggered its competitive system and thus caused it to evolve along with them, but I have a hunch that someone was behind all of it."
"What do you mean?"
This time it was Yamamoto's turn to speak, "Mister Sakamori believes that the one responsible for the D-Reaper's revival is a mysterious organization known only as The Agency, which we've been monitoring for the past twenty-five years, whose motives up to this time are still unknown. Very little is known about it by any intelligence organization at this point, and even the UN is starting to worry. They are also into thinking that the reason we don't find out anything about it is because it probably has moles in every single intelligence and security organization on the face of the earth, including our own. We don't know where it started, we don't know how long its been in operation, we don't know how big it is, but one thing's for sure, if it has any objectives, none of them can be good. We can tell, however, that one of their earlier exploits was convincing John Wilkes Booth to murder US President Abraham Lincoln. Beyond that is the great beyond and we can't see through it."
"That's how old they are? Unbelievable."
"We have reason to believe that they are much older." Sakamori added, "This is the very Agency that your friend, Jeri Katou, gave her life to help stall from its ultimate goal." He noticed the slight head shake that Yamamoto did, signaling that he hadn't told Takato the bad news yet. He was, however, a little too late.
"W… what do you mean?" Takato felt butterflies begin to hatch within his stomach. I didn't hear that right, he kept telling himself, I didn't. "Jeri? But didn't she work at a bank?"
"When you saw this building from the outside for the first time, Mister Matsuki," NS-8's director stated, "What did it look like to you?"
That was when it hit him. The building was a bank… probably a front at the most, but it certainly looked like a genuine bank. And he did assume that Jeri didn't go to school today because of the bank. And it looked like he was right.
"We want you to help finish what she helped start, Mister Matsuki. We need you to help us fight the good fight, to protect those missing partners of yours until we get a chance to locate them, to help protect those still unborn Digimon that might someday become other children's partners. This isn't a matter of duty, Mister Matsuki. This is a mater of ethics. We need you to join us."
"I… I'm sorry…" Takato managed to stutter, "I… I think I'm going to need time to think about this. Please excuse me…" with a slight bow in gesture of respect, he turned around and went for the door, which slid open and close with his passing.
Yamamoto looked at his supervisor and raised an eyebrow as if asking, "Should I go after him, or what?"
Sakamori, accustomed to facial talk done by his subordinate, answered him like he was making some sort of Delphic Oracle's prediction, "No. Let him go. He'll come back, I'm sure of it… out of his own free will."
East Sector, Level 3, Digital World
Thursday, 1606 hours, Shinjuku-Tokyo Time…
Green. That would be the first thought to come to mind when one saw the place. It was filled with trees that stretched out into horizons of all directions. Although the sight of a black gargantuan monster that rampaged in a clearing of this usually peaceful area of the network did screw up the pre-conceived and pre-thought idea of having a picnic here with your family and Digimon partner while you counted the seconds just for entertainment as your partner ate everything your mother would offer him or her.
'SkullMammothmon, Vaccine Type Ghost Digimon at Mega Level. It's technique is Spiral Bone Crusher.' These statistics were being projected into a hologram by Special Agent Rika Nonaka's wrist-strapped gadget as she loaded her high caliber rifle in preparation of what was to come. She sat on the highest branch belonging to one of the more altitude-gifted trees in the area, reading the status report given by her device. Its current state? Program 003: Digivice/D-Arc program. All of Network Security's operatives had one of these: MUDs or Multiple Utility Devices. The original version had five functions. The latest had several thousand. She, however, preferred the one with just 10.
Namely a grappling gun with a range of up to 150 meters, for climbing up those steep cliffs, a high-powered flashlight, for night ops, Digivice/D-Arc for Wild One identification (although she'd had enough experience with Digi-Battle Cards to be able to identify them of her own accord). Her Digivice program had a card reader attached, and was exclusive to Tamer operatives only. It was also equipped with a DSP Launcher, Data Cutter, Beam shield, and four other miscellaneous functions that she didn't even bother to check. She wondered how Yamamoto was going to handle that goggle-head once he found out about Jeri.
Girl, she thought to herself, Whatever his reaction would be, it can't be good at all. She peered through the rifle's scope, taking good aim of the behemoth's left eye, when suddenly, from out of nowhere, came the roar of a voice, "HOT HEAD!" A second at most had elapsed since this was uttered when a small creature dressed in what appeared to be a Kendo training outfit armed with what looked like a flaming Bokken Kendo Sword fell out of what she would consider a very high place and thwacked the beast on the head, irritating it.
The mammoth-impersonating data chunk thrashed at the creature with its trunk, most probably a foolish Digimon greedy for loadable data going desperate. Impmon was like that once. That was when they were pitted against that large horse-like deva. Of course, that mattered no longer. The point was, greedy or not, this guy was pretty good, since he had avoided the swing with relative ease. She aimed the Arc in its direction, the ensuing reaction informing her of its identity, "Kotemon," she mumbled as the hologram came into view, "Data Type Reptile Digimon at Rookie Level. It's technique is Hot Head." She paused at the revelation, "Heard that the only way one of these guys' full potential could be achieved was when he had a partner… does that mean—"
Her unspoken question was answered just as quickly when a young somebody, around the age of being prepubescent, stepped out of the foliage and into the clearing, about 30 or so feet away from the dueling duo. She was sure she had seen that person somewhere before but just couldn't place her finger on it. The NS-8 operative couldn't tell the person's gender mainly of two reasons: Number one: If he were a boy, then he was probably very lazy to get a haircut since his lavender hair that matched Rika's eyes, tied up in a ponytail, went down his back, stopping just a few inches short of his waist. This do was paired with amber optics that made him look like her complete reciprocal. She also figured that he had a soft, gentle personality, opposite to that of hers.
Number two: If she were a girl, then she had a very masculine sense of fashion, since she was wearing an outdoor suit similar to that which Ryo had worn in the Digital world, except that it was darker and less dull than his. A purple scarf dangled around her neck, waving in the wind as she stared at the fighting, eyes focused on Kotemon's every move. Strapped to her right wrist was an MUD that Rika had deduced, from its 'newer' look, to be of a more advanced model compared to hers.
She still had doubts about the person's sexuality until finally a voice came forth from 'his' (Rika assumed the person to be male) mouth. Its pitch was still light due to the fact that 'he' hadn't gone through puberty yet, but it was definitely male, "Hit the weak points, Kotemon!"
The small bamboo sword-wielding creature called back irately, "It doesn't have any weak points!"
"Then we'll just have to make some," he mumbled to himself. "Digivice Program: Activate," he said, placing his MUD-clad wrist in front of himself. The tool immediately phase-shifted into the all too familiar form of a D-Arc, the digitized voice acknowledging the said transformation. He smirked the way a killer did when he had his victim huddled into a corner, cowering as he prepared to make the brutal murder. He flicked open a pack on his belt with his left hand, probably for Digi-Battle Cards, Rika had guessed, and fished out what was unmistakably a blue card that triggered the Matrix Evolution process.
He's never going to beat a Mega Level opponent with that! She leaped off the branch, rifle slung over her shoulder, all the way down to the ground at least a dozen feet below and walked over to the clearing stopping just beside him. It was too late for her to stop him from using the card though.
Placing the Arc in a position where the card reader was exposed to oncoming card, "Digimodify!" he cried out as he slid the card through the reader, "Matrix Evolution! Activate!"
MATRIX EVOLUTION…
"Kotemon Matrix Digivolve to…" At that precise moment, time slowed down as a white mesh of pure information, data figures, slowly began to wrap around the little swordsman in elliptic bands, encasing it within an egg-shaped chamber of digital evolution. Its details and colors were ripped off little by little, leaving behind a white-lined wire frame that held the general shape of the original, as new detailed portions attached themselves to it. When that long moment was finally over, what stood in the place of the dwarf sword-armed Digimon was a large, pale-skinned one, somewhat resembling a catfish with a sword for a mustache, its arms ending in scythe-like appendages. It had a long blue mane that went down its back complemented by a matching tail. "Kyukimon!"
Her curiosity piqued once again, Rika had her Digivice identify the creature that called itself Kyukimon, 'Kyukimon, Data Type Reptile Digimon at Ultimate Level. Its technique is Blade Twister.' The guy's exotic choice for a partner proves that he's some kind of hotshot. She decided to just watch the situation for the time being, seeing as there was no point in helping a guy who dressed like he didn't want any help. Besides, it looked like he was so engrossed with the fight that he probably didn't even know she was standing right there beside him.
It moved at unholy speeds, seemingly almost teleporting from 30 feet away right to the raging beast's side and slashing the bone armor with one of its scythe-like arms… that hardly did any good though since lab tests proved that Skull Mammothmon's bony hide could deflect a 150mm anti-tank round and then some. It disappeared as it retreated, materializing in what was its original position only a moment before. This manner of fighting reminded her of Renamon, especially the incredible agility.
"It's not working, Kai!" Kyukimon shouted at its tamer as it bolted to attack again, this time managing to nick the portion around its adversary's eye, which irritated it even more.
The boy, referred to by his partner as Kai, flicked his deck open again, fishing out a card Rika hadn't seen in her entire life as she stared at him with an 'I told you so' look on her face even though she did not exactly tell him. This he either ignored, or was completely unaware of as he slid the card through his Arc's reader, "Digimodify! Activate NS Edition Program Card: GOLIATH!"
She'd never heard of an NS Edition Program Card before, although she was by this time sure as to what N and S stood for. She watched the boy's partner, and realized that its size was increasing to the point that it was at least three times as large as it originally was. It was still, however, still small compared to the titan that was Skull Mammothmon. "Program Card: Goliath is exclusive only to Network Security Operatives," she wasn't sure if he was talking to her or if he was just mumbling to himself. "Triples all of your partner's statistics, tripling its size as a sign that it works. Side effect present triples their instinct's intensity, thus heightening their desire to inflict pain on their opponents, for the duration of the program of course."
Although it was hard to make out, she was sure that she saw a maniacal smile on Kyukimon's face as it kneed the massive beast by the abdomen, breaking through its armor and causing it to howl in pain. It wasn't finished yet, however, for as the monstrosity attempted to swing its trunk as a means of self-defense, it dodged to one side and retaliated a split-second later as it cleaved off a part well in excess of half its length. "Finish him, Kyukimon."
"You kidding me!?" his partner retorted, "I'm having so much fun!"
The look on the boy's face when he heard that told Rika everything she needed to know. He was serious, and Kyukimon was dead wrong if he thought that he could make this guy laugh, "Finish him now, Kyukimon, or else you don't want to know what I have in store for you."
The Digimon knew that his partner wasn't kidding, and of course, let its common sense give its instinct a good kick in the rear with a boot. "Alright, already! Sheesh!" it spread its arms wide, as if to embrace someone and focused its awareness solely on the elephantine figure that writhed on the ground with a broken ribcage and decapitated trunk. Slowly it converted the energy from its adrenaline into the will to succeed, pushing reality to the limit as it swiftly brought its scythed arms together, causing a powerful hurricane that brought dozens of crescent blades flashing around within it. "BLADE TWISTER!" the powerful gales of the tornado flung the many cutting edges at Kyukimon's target, neatly slicing through several critical portions of its body the way a shopping channel knife would just glide through a block of cheese with zero resistance. Upon the force's subsiding, the enemy burst into tiny fragments of data, which the catfish like Digimon immediately absorbed.
The battle was over and it had begun reverting to its Rookie form when Rika Nonaka realized just who her mysteriously reciprocated boy was, "I know you! You're Kai Takamiya, second runner up of the National Championship! You supposedly disappeared three years ago!" she took the time that he turned to face her to get some air. "You were only seven years old back then when we fought…"
"It's truly a great pleasure and honor to be remembered by the legendary Digimon Ice Queen," he answered with a sense of sarcasm and humor.
"That's Digimon Queen to you, buster." The older tamer corrected. "Is this where you've been all this time? Running around the Digital World all day long and doing errands for Network Security?"
"I don't exactly work for Network Security," he flicked another belt pouch open, fished out a couple of gumballs, and, offering one to Rika, which she politely declined, popped the other into his mouth, "I'm a freelance operative. Been going in and out of Digi-World using Digi-Gate synthesizer, MUD program number 17, for the past three years while staying in a rundown apartment with my buddy, Kotemon."
"And to think I never see you at work." She said.
"And I don't think you ever will either," the purple-haired boy replied, "I receive my orders via email from Sakamori and jump directly into the Digital World using my MUD's Digi-Gate synthesizer. No time for Virgin, you see. Too much hassle involved there."
"Uh-huh…" her attention was focused on the growth-deprived Digimon that now sat on the ground, legs crossed, apparently deep into some kind of meditation.
"Oh, yeah. This is my buddy, Kotemon. Kotemon, this is Rika Nonaka. You know, the first runner up for the Digi-Battle Card National Championship some time ago that I told you about? She's allegedly dead, but that's to keep the media from asking her for the reason she works at a bank."
"Greetings…" it said in an almost subconscious tone, "I sense that something is missing in your life. Do you have a partner?"
"Yeah, I have one," she answered. If I only knew where she was at this moment… Virgin told me that she had searched 18 000 of the nearly 100 000 Renamon population in this world and yet she's still nowhere to be seen… "I just don't know where she is…"
"I see…" it opened its eyes and stood up, "I must say, it was nice meeting you, and I feel sorry that you cannot locate your partner." It whispered something to its tamer, who nodded as it did so.
"Well," Kai started, "We really must be on our way. Nice meeting with you again, 'your majesty'." The two turned to leave and in another moment, disappeared into the thick foliage leaving Agent Rika Nonaka to log out and give her typewritten report on what had ensued.
Location Unknown
Time Unknown
You open your eyes, confused. The last thing you remember was nothingness. To put it simply, you do not remember a thing and conclude that you came into existence only at this moment. Scanning the surrounding area, you can make out that wherever you are in, it must be some kind of long hallway, neither end visible, obscurity stretching out ad infinitum. There seemed to be no light, although you could see very clearly. "Standing around isn't gonna get me out of here," you say as you start to walk down in the direction that faced you upon your awakening.
In the darkness you could make out distorted shapes that were frighteningly jagged, even monstrous, seemingly just waiting for you to allow yourself to be consumed by their horrible being. Judging from the wooden doors that lined your path on which were posted brass plaques with names that could not be read, you were in some kind of office building; an office building which at the moment, was your entire universe. You passed through the hallway, whistling a cheerful tune that your mother taught you when you were younger as you checked your watch, which seemed to be broken as well. Whoever she was, you assume that she must've been a very loving mother since, although you could not remember much about her, you could easily recall the tune that she taught you. How am I going to get out of here? You wonder as, out of pure unchecked boredom, you start knocking on the doors you passed.
As you continue down the eerie corridor, your grip on your imagination's leash begins to loosen, and you start to see things in the darkness ahead that was so thick that you thought if you had a knife, you could cut a hole right through it. They were visions that you forgot as soon as you no longer saw them. Although you could recall that they were visions of your forgotten past, shown to you by your sub conscience just to taunt you about how you no longer remembered your friends, your family, your identity, and your life. That was when you realized that you didn't even know your name anymore. You merely referred to yourself as 'me' or 'I' whenever you thought about or said anything.
It had only been a few minutes since you had begun to walk, but you could swear to God, whoever or whatever that was, that it seemed like almost an eternity since you started. The visions continued to emerge from the darkness, ranging from scenes that ended in a moment, to scenes that dragged on to at least give you a good idea of who you were before fading away and wiping it from your memory once again. Now you were beginning to hear sounds like those that went bump in the night and sounds that were similar to echoing voices.
There was this particular voice that didn't seem to leave you alone, even though every time the echo died out you would forget what it said. The texture remained in your mind, though, rough, somewhat babyish in its accent and pronunciation of words, and pretty much naïve. This voice that kept reoccurring, you thought, must be, or must've been a very important person in your forgotten past, refusing to be disowned by your memory.
Your thoughts were disturbed by a chillingly familiar sound: a high-pitched scream coming from further down the hallway. How much farther you didn't know, but it was definitely close. Very close. The voice seemed very familiar, the thought of which drove an icy spear up your spine for the possibility that the owner was someone very dear to you and was in grave danger. Your slow, nearly crawling walk almost immediately became a rush in the voice's originating direction when the implications of that idea sank in.
As with your past experience, the hallway didn't seem to end. Instead it continued to go on… and on… and on… Finally, you saw an end not far away, two figures standing near it. One was a young woman, average in height, russet hair going down to her shoulder, her back to the wall, an expression of pure terror practically bolted tight onto her pale face and golden eyes. The other was a mysterious man in a black suit, eyes hidden by thin wire-framed sunglasses; his face devoid of any emotion… but most importantly of him was that he had a silenced sidearm trained at her heart, finger slowly applying pressure to the trigger.
You quickened your pace, eager and desperate to stop him from killing her at all costs, even if that cost was congruent to your short, anonymous life. Yet, as though conspiring with the mysterious man, the walkway stretched by yet another infinitum, prolonging your attempt to tackle the man in attempts to take the gun from his hand. Not only the hallway was working against you, but so was your own body. Your stamina had weakened greatly for the past few moments, and you had slowed down to a crawl. Even so, you still pushed on, denying the fact that it was hopeless, nay, impossible, to get there in time.
You at last resigned to your fate as you saw the man's arm recoil three times, slowly, arduously, and painfully, each one preceded by a spark from the silenced weapon's tip. Out of three points on her chest exploded crimson flowers, her body jerking into the wall with each one blossoming. Her limp form slumped to the floor as the man raised his weapon vertically, smoke rising from its barrel's mouth. You didn't know where the name came from, but somehow you felt that it was the right name to say at the moment, as though your sub conscience had finally cracked under pressure and told you to be sure that it was the right thing for once. "JERI!" your voice trailed off as your vision blurred and resulted in blackness.
Matsuki Residence, Shinjuku District, Tokyo
Friday, 0030 hours, Local Time…
Takato Matsuki exploded from under the covers, screaming her name as beads of perspiration ran down his pale, terrified face. It was all a dream… a dream that was so real that it could've happened. That was when he remembered the events that had occurred within the past day. Jeri was dead. That dream could've been how it happened. Sakamori, NS-8's head had said that she was killed during an infiltration operation; that she had died fighting, fighting for the greater good of the network and that of mankind itself. He checked the alarm clock beside his bed, "Twelve thirty A.M. God…"
Sakamori said that he wasn't the one who recommended him for recruitment into NS-8. Then who was? Neither he nor that Yamamoto character would say anything. He claimed that the one who recommended him had more things on his or her mind besides getting Jeri replaced. But who could've it been? Many candidates ran through his mind, none making sense at all.
That was when he made up his mind. He was going to join NS-8. He wasn't just going to give Jeri's death justice… he was going to finish what she had started. He was going to fight the good fight the way she did and make her proud. That would be what she would've wanted if she were still alive. And he was going to get at it first thing after school tomorrow, "Don't worry, Jeri," he whispered, his voice very grave, "I'll do the best I can for the network. You can count on it."
Basement Parking Level 1, Nikamura Crediting, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Friday, 1647 hours, Local Time…
At least half a dozen or so unmarked black trucks roared down the concrete ramp as a 'bank robbery' ensued on the main floor, the main diversion for security to intercept. These weren't SWAT Team trucks, however. These belonged to the Agency's Pacific Branch, under the administration of Director Shinji Kaira. Kaira knew how Network Security worked. When a situation occurred that affected their banking front, then they handled it the way any good bank would. That meant most of the security guards were on the first floor in a firefight with a gang of hoodlums that had been hypnotized to go in there and practically get killed in the crossfire.
The sound of vehicular doors sliding open was followed by the succeeding thumps of compound alloy making contact with the cement floor. Kaira had sent three Knight Strike Teams to get the job done, and he wasn't taking any chances. The Knight Team members' armaments were assorted, from 5.56 M-4 and M-16 assault rifles, to 12-gauge AS-12 automatic shotguns, to 9mm MP5A5 SMGs, to the highly praised Armee Universal Gewher (AUG), an Austrian 5.56mm rifle that NATO forces bragged so much about being able to have. But of course, the reason the Agency was in possession of this was obviously the fact that they also had connections inside NATO, and just about every counterintelligence agency on the planet, screwing around with the information received.
When the KGB wanted the identities of the American spies in their Motherland, the Agency's moles in their counterintelligence made it look like several of their most loyal operatives were actually double agents. When the US wanted to know about Usama Bin Laden's whereabouts using CIA operatives, the Agency's contacts there gave the location of a harmless pig farmer, after striking a deal with the Terrorist leader to keep his knowledge of them secret in exchange for his concealment. The bigwigs at Langley must've figured out his connections with the Agency on their own, though, since they think that every bad thing that happened to America was caused by them, including the earlier September 11 attack on the World Trade Center. They were wrong. The Agency wasn't just responsible for every bad thing that happened to the United States, but every bad thing that happened all over the world.
It had originally begun as a renegade legion under the command of Roman Centurion Maximus Liverius that had secretly conspired against the empire, aiding the Angles and Saxons with information about Roman troop movements and such. Thus, the first bad thing they ever did, was to greatly help with the fall of the Roman Empire. When the Anglo-Saxon alliance had taken over Britain, the said legion had stayed there until the time of British colonization, when their descendants spread their influence around the world to North America, Africa, India, Mainland Europe, Australia, New Zealand, and other continents and countries. Some migrants to Spain and Portugal went with the expeditions of Ferdinand Magellan and other explorers, thus ensuring their grasp on South America and Mexico.
Migrants to other parts of Eurasia settled in Russia and China, establishing connections into the Soviet Union and the orient. German operatives during the time of Hitler's conquest extended their reach into the middle east, thus securing just about the entire planet besides the Pacific sector. It was operatives in the late nineteenth century that started the Agency's roots in Japan, which, during WWII, conquered much of the Pacific, thus ensuring a firm grip on the last part of the world that was free of their influence. By the time of the United Nations' founding, every participating country and even those outside had Agency operatives running around in them. The small and fragile planet known as Earth was now in the palm of their hands.
"Okay, people, put your socks on and secure the building!" the overall leader shouted, loading and readying his AUG, "Nobody gets in or out unless I say so! Now move!"
The group of thirty armored men fanned out, covering every nook and cranny of the cramped parking space as they neared the basement entrance, passing another one of those Tabloid-type guards who left you alone if you did the same. The main corridor on the other side was protected by an advanced laser sensor system that created several layers of grids that proceeded 60 feet down the length of the hallway, so that even the best spy could not get through without a 100 % chance of tripping the system and bringing dozens of security agents down on him.
The only time this impenetrable wall of motion detectors was shut down was at 4:50 PM daily for about a few precious seconds for pass code alteration by a security operative at a control panel at an intersection at the end of the hallway. If the system were deactivated and a new pass code was not entered within five seconds, the system would wait another ten before reactivating with a random pass code whose identity is sent to the director's personal terminal and to that of the security room's. The grids would reactivate one by one starting from the entrance to the hall up to a few feet from the panel. In short, when the guard killed the lasers, they would kill him, and have a measly 15 seconds to run 60 feet down a hallway and into the safe zone before the lasers came up again.
The ringleader was in front of the first grid, peering into his AUG's scope when the security guard came through via the perpendicular corridor and began to type the deactivation number, "Right on time," he said, aiming for the guard's head. He would pull the trigger as soon as the grid went down. And that did happen. "Move it! Move! Move! MOVE!" They scrambled down the hallway in triple file, racing against the clock that indicated 14 seconds, the ones in front more confident that they'd make it than those in the back.
The clock read 8, and the ones in front were only halfway there. Why did ABSA Suits have to be so heavy? Thought the team leader as he made the slowest and longest run in his entire life. Five seconds and he was almost there, "Split up into the fork!" upon reaching the safe zone, he immediately bolted for the one on the left, the hallway to the security room, as he slung the AUG over his shoulder and drew a silenced Berretta. There was one more guard in the security room, and he would see to it personally that he ended up in the body count. Time was up, and the first grid had already reactivated, the activation of the second one, only a one second interval away. The last in line barely managed to make a dive into the safe zone before the last grid suddenly flared to life exactly where he had been standing only a second earlier. He crashed into the corpse of the guard and hit his head on the wall, the shock knocking him out cold.
"Somebody had better keep an eye on him till he wakes up," a Carbine armed trooper said.
"Then if you're so concerned about him, why don't you do it?" retorted another, carrying an MP5.
"Well then if you're so anxious to get away from me, then why don't you watch him?" the Rifleman snapped back, equally as frustrated.
"That's enough!" shouted the commander as he came back down the hall, reloading his pistol after he emptied the entire clip on a guard with a tough build, "Both of you watch him until he wakes up. The rest of you, follow me."
"Yes, sir," the two replied, their voices the kind that could just about turn into whines the very next second.
"Something wrong, sir?" his second in command, armed with an AS-12, asked with concern.
"I was just wondering. Is it possible for us to take over this place? Even if the Agency is worldwide, and even if we do have moles in Network Security, they still stay ahead of us. What if they know about this attack and make it look too easy for us?"
"You underestimate your own abilities, sir," the right hand man replied, "You can get us through even if this is a setup. From the way I see it, NS-8 is ours."
Director's Office, 14th Floor of NS-8 Headquarters a.k.a. Nikamura Crediting, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Friday, 1653 hours, Local Time…
"You do, of course understand the implications of this occupation you are about to undertake, don't you, Mister Matsuki?" Akira Sakamori placed his elbows on his desk, fingers knitting into a mesh, "And that you aren't joining us just to avenge Jeri Katou's death, yes?"
Takato Matsuki sat on the chair in front of the aging Director's desk, eyeing him sternly, "Yes, I do."
"Excellent, then. Your training begins tomorrow. We'll put you through a one-month training period, at which point you will graduate with the rank of Junior Agent. That's when the real deal begins. You get the drift?"
The former tamer merely nodded.
"Good. Then it is with great pleasure that I assign you to your handler and new partner, Hiroshi Yamamoto." The Director said, facing the mentioned agent, "I trust that you will cooperate with him as much as you cooperated with Katou and even more."
"You can count on me, sir."
At that precise moment, a young woman, around the same age as Takato, walked in, the door sliding open and shut as she did. Her hair, tied up in a stiff ponytail, was the color of a fresh, well washed, carrot, and the hue of her eyes resembling that of a Lavender blossom in the spring. These characteristics along with the tomboyish fashion sense that she had and the aloof expression on her face reminded Takato of a certain ghost from the past who had supposedly drowned when the taxi she was riding fell off a bridge and into the river that it spanned.
"Good afternoon, sir," she addressed Sakamori in a somewhat indifferent tone of voice, and turned to the new recruit, "Same to you, goggle-head."
Goggle-head… this insult turned teaser turned haunting ghostly memory had resurfaced in the back of his mind. There was no doubt about it… either he was seeing a ghost that matured physically with age, or Rika Nonaka's death was just an elaborate cover up by NS-8 to keep everybody who ever gave a damn about her out of her hair. She probably had requested the procedure personally. Was she the one who requested his recruitment? Why did she do it? What was her motive? His mind's rambling was disturbed by a digitized female voice, "Mister Sakamori, I think we have a problem."
Takato turned to the source of the voice and was surprised to see Sakamori talking to his PC, "What kind of problem, Virgin?" The tamer stared at the sight for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Yamamoto, and then to who he assumed was really Rika, with an "Am I just hearing things or is this really going on" expression etched onto his face. Yamamoto nodded.
"Virtual Digital Nexus, Virgin for short," the woman stated, "It's—she's Network Security's primary operating program. She does most of the Digital World work that our programmers can't," she paused shortly, noting the question "Are you really her" that was nailed to his face, "And in case you're wondering, yes. I am Rika Nonaka."
That statement cleared all doubt about her identity to him, but still posed more questions.
"We are under attack, Mister Sakamori," Virgin's voice, although digitized, clearly expressed her worry in the trembling tone she used say it. "And I don't know who."
"It's clearly the Agency planning to retaliate on what we did to them last Wednesday night," NS-8's Director stated the obvious, "How many are there?"
"About thirty troops, Mister Sakamori, state of the art weaponry and…" she paused for a moment, analyzing the composition of the strange armor that they wore, "Advanced full body ABSA Suits. It's like they're planning to tear the building down."
"Let's hope they don't plan to do just that. Activate the PA system, please," a red light appeared on the lower right side of his screen, labeled: 'Public Address System Online'. When he spoke, he spoke like a flight attendant, all cheery and creepy at once, "Attention, all operatives. It appears that we have a security breach to handle, so please arm yourselves with any small arms you can find and proceed to the nearest panic room calmly. A security team will take care of the intruders." Even though he had said that, he wasn't so sure about that. Security teams were armed with light machineguns at the most, and weren't exactly equipped with missile launchers.
That was when the digitized female voice spoke up again, "Mister Sakamori, Cargo Elevators 7, 9, 12, and 3 have just arrived on NS-8 lobby level. Guess who's inside." That was it. Sakamori knew that there was too little time to get everyone into a panic room. The enemy was already here and he had just finished making the public address. People would die, and there was nothing he could do about it. The only thing plausible enough to work was to settle for the last line of defense at the first moment of attack.
"Virgin, can you activate the emergency lockdown system?" he asked, somewhat unsure that he could save those who were still in the lobby.
"Give me ten seconds and they won't be able to get any further than the lobby." That was when the gas began to pour into the office through the vents. At first, nobody minded the weak hissing of the ventilation as they excreted a barely visible yellow-green liquid aerosol, but when everybody stared coughing from difficulty in breathing.
"What the hell!?" Yamamoto managed to say through a series of coughs, "Gas!"
"Virgin!" Sakamori shouted, "Identify the substance!" there was no reply, "VIRGIN! ANSWER ME!"
"Sir…" came the computer's voice, scrambled in a way, "Someone has tapped into my network connection with NS-8 and is jamming it. I will completely lose control of the building in approximately one—" the screen blanked out, the only remaining sign that it was active a message written in bold red Arial letters: SIGNAL LOST.
"Damn!" Sakamori cursed as his vision began to blur. They were using knock out gas. The bastards… It was the last thing he managed to think of before his consciousness failed him.
Rika had cupped her mouth with her right hand, although that hardly did anything to help. She tried to reach for the sliding office door and open it, but unfortunately, she wasn't aware that Virgin had lost signal and found out about it the hard way. She tried to yank it open with the handle, but it just wouldn't budge. She refused to resign to her hopeless fate and continued pull, fighting the nausea she was experiencing with every last ounce of willpower that she had remaining. Her strength was completely gone as she slumped onto the glass panel.
Takato was clueless about what was happening. All he knew was that he was getting sleepy. The images around him became distorted. Sakamori and his desk became an eel with a knife in its back, wriggling. Rika's arms were longer than her body and hung limply as she swayed. Yamamoto had collapsed onto the floor and melted into a puddle of goo. That was when everything went black totally.
To be continued…
AN: Hope that wasn't a little too long for you. Truth be told, this was the longest piece of literature, or single document, if you will, (if you could call it that) that I've ever written in my entire life. Should you want to find out what happens next, or to tell me what you think, then please drop a review. If you skipped parts of this because you thought it was too long, then please double back and read those that you didn't earlier, because it won't make any sense without it. The next chapter won't be coming out until August, seeing that I have a lot of school work to attend to, not to mention an essay writing contest to just try winning. Thanks for reading.