AN: sigh having a hard time with this… don't know if I can carry on. To you people who are still actually interested to see how this story unfolds, I ask you all to put me on your alert lists that you may be notified upon my updates. I am dead serious. If you don't do that, I don't think it will be possible for you to catch my rare updates due to the hundreds of updates and new entries that flood the Digimon category EVERY minute or so. Do you know any other possible reasons for why this section is so damned big? I didn't think so. Oh, and regards to everybody who's been reading this so far, it's really you guys who inspire me to carry on! So, I'm going to start right now, what I should've started doing since the first chapter… answer your reviews!
Richard Nagato: Thanks for the tips you've given me thus far… I had no idea that it was the Tokyo Metropolitan Building
newbi: There's a reason for everything. Just wait for this one…
All Reviewers From past chapters: I can't say much, except, ask you to be patient with me… School is much harder than I had expected. I've already suffered from several writers blocks in the past that had me stop certain long fics completely.
Disclaimer: I've thought about it, and… well, no. Why put up another disclaimer for this chapter when one disclaimer for this fic is enough?
Memoirs, Massacres, and MegalomaniaTwenty years earlier…
It was my first field assignment with the Agency. I'd graduated as a top student of their academy and was immediately moved into the Knight division. At the time, my superiors told me that we were going to raid a passenger train carrying some kind of highly classified cargo. Knowledge of its contents was at authorization level Omega 13, a.k.a. Maximum Level Restriction. To be more precise, only the Director was allowed to know what was in it.
The operation was simple enough; we had broken in through the cargo hold and secured the goods to our Blackhawk, although seeing a military-issue helicopter hovering above the freight car most certainly caused a commotion with the passengers. That was when we received a message from HQ. Command had sent follow up orders, instructing us to use the crate's worth of nerve gas canisters that they had tech load onto the chopper on the crew and passengers on the train. I, of course, having no idea of the Agency's true being, detested.
"I don't like the sound of this, sir. Isn't it genocide to use nerve gas on these people?" I was protected by an ABSA suit at the time, which they later confiscated after I resigned, playing around with the canister I held. It was surprising how such small containers could house something that could kill so many. And I certainly wasn't going to have myself held responsible for something like this.
"We don't do this job because we like doing it, Yamaki," The Squad Commander began his lecture, "I don't like using nerve gas on these people anymore than you do, but high command has given its orders." He stopped to receive a transmission from the chopper, which was hovering just above the train, "The cargo has been secured? Good. And the rest of the canisters?" he paused to listen, "I see. Hurry up with those Timed Charges, Itsuka. The train reaches Sendai in two hours; I want it derailed in half."
"But these people are innocent!" I cried in protest, "What did they ever do to us?"
"You don't get it, do you, Yamaki?" he replied sternly, "Anybody; men, women, children, rich, poor, young, aged, crippled or not, who has witnessed any of the Agency's activities is no longer innocent. They've seen TOO much and must be silenced!"
That was when I realized, for the first time, the horrors that these people kept hidden; how unjust the Agency's policies were. Some on this train were barely a year old! How could I live with the knowledge that I had aided in the murder of who could possibly be great leaders, loyal soldiers, diligent and hardworking citizens? Alas, there was nothing I could do. We had orders, and we had to follow them…
Our team left the train on the run, us flying in the opposite direction it ran. The C4 charges would detonate in less than thirty minutes, derailing the train and most probably killing everybody who survived the gassing… if anybody did survive. It was only when I saw the team leader bring his thumb down on the gas release switch that I realized how much I felt that this job that I had taken, this 'occupation' that had befallen me, was wrong… just plain wrong. I went straight home that night, not even bothering to remove my work clothing, if you could call a tight business class suit and sunglasses work clothing.
The next morning, I got up with a bad start. My neck ached at its worst, I felt sweaty all over, and worst of all, I was in a serious need for a shower, that which I took. Living alone had its perks and pits, that was for sure. One thing was that I could do whatever I wanted at home, whenever I wanted to do it. The pit, though, was that nobody would clean up after me when I wasn't present.
I sat down in front of the TV set with a bowl of cornflakes in milk at hand, and set it on the nearby coffee table as I reached for the remote control. The first thing I saw was a live news report on the on that very train, which, an hour and a half before reaching the Sendai station, exploded and derailed from the National Railway, disrupting locomotive traffic in the sector. It appeared that our secondary mission was successful, the crumpled remains of the train causing me to rephrase that thought… it was VERY successful. Hazmat-shielded government operatives worked at the train in the background as the reporter rambled the usual 'this is a terrible tragedy' crap that they always said at the site of just about every genocidal location they were assigned to.
I could just imagine the look of anguish on the faces of the victims' relatives, and I swore, that I'd be able to tell them apart from everyone else if they went past me. I had made up my mind, then. I was going to quit the Agency before I became responsible for things worse than what was currently being shown on television…
I didn't report for work that day… or the next… or the next. Until finally they called up, asking what was wrong. When I said that nothing was wrong, and that I was just taking a well-deserved vacation, they summoned me to the Director's office. That was exactly where I wanted to go. We had a short conversation on the weather before I finally got down to business and handed him a form of resignation that I had prepared the other day. All I needed was for him to sign it.
"I understand why you want to leave the Agency behind, Yamaki. Your Squad's Leader told me everything." He signed the form, "I will let you go, but on one condition."
"Name it." I was willing to accept anything at that point, just to get out of this box.
"You are to keep everything you know about the Agency undisclosed. If we find out that you told anybody about it, and I'm sure we will if you did, you, and your witness are dead. Literally. Is that understood?"
I knew he wasn't bluffing. It was very easy for one who had just ordered the death of nearly a hundred people to have somebody who was once his own, along with another person he hadn't even met, killed. "I understand." And with that, I was off…
I decided to get a normal job, so I went to the nearest bank, Nikamura Crediting, to apply as an accountant. It was during my interview that I first laid eyes on Akira Sakamori, the bank's Vice-President and at the time, Deputy Director of NS-8. It seemed to pique his interest that I had worked for D-Tech, as though he knew that it was just a front for the Agency… or what I thought was the whole Agency at the time. I didn't know that it was a worldwide conspiracy until NS-8 had recruited me. We didn't have much of a conversation, though. He was all 'straight to business'.
I was accepted, and given a post on the 12th floor. What I didn't know at the time, was that I was carefully being monitored by NS-8's surveillance division. Every slight movement done, everything said, every breath taken, even every beat of my heart, was being recorded by their 24-hour observation system.
Finally, I was called by the President, Satoshi Nikamura, and was told everything. I was interrogated, given a shot of their nutty truth serum, and when it turned out that I wasn't the mole they thought I was, they recruited me. The rest, I'm sure you know, is history…
Chief's Office, Hypnos Division, 12th Floor – Metropolitan Center, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Friday, 1800 hours, Local Time…
"So what you're telling me is that you were in this so-called Knight Division, the Agency's special unit," Kai Takamiya concluded, reclining into the leathern 'comfy' chair that was given of him, his partner doing likewise. "If they're as good as you say they are, how in the screwed up hell are we going to take thirty of those guys down, when you say that Hypnos is incapable of AP ammunition?"
"We'll just have to call in a few favors…" Yamaki knew the Knights pretty well for someone who spent merely one day's worth with them on an actual mission. He knew them in terms that could best be described as technical. To be more exact, he knew ABSA's physical limits, he knew how much a fraction of the Agency's shopping cart was divided unto them, he knew the kind of training these people went through to get thus far.
The few things he didn't know, tactics, strategies, individual skills, were the things that frightened him the most, and the only way to take down such fear was to crush those unknown factors with another force that he estimated had an equal, or even superior level of the same variables. A fighting force capable of such would only be available to the highest military ranks in the most advanced of countries. So he called in the only favor he was certain would fit his description of such a force: The United States Military Headquarters, otherwise known as the Pentagon.
Highway 12, Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, California
Friday, 0007 hours, Local Time…
Agency Chief Director Jacob Marlon yawned as he drove down the lonely highway. It had been a rough day for everyone, especially him. Akiyama had arrived at LAX a few hours earlier, flown in from Japan as per orders to meet somebody important, namely his new partner. Then there was that unsurprising bit of info that Intel had given him, concerning Kaira's final decision. The idiot finally launched that attack! It didn't matter, though. He'd take care of that personally by the end of the week, meaning he would have to take a flight to Japan the next morning, and that he'd have to call Julia again to establish the assurance that he wasn't cheating on her. If he knew his wife, he expected that when he said he was going to Boston on a business trip, she'd think he was going to Venice just to while away non-existing spare time with its women. It was high time he told her where he was really going… and give an excuse.
Not even his own wife knew the true nature of his job. The Agency's frontal corporation, D-Tech, was supposedly an international company started in the late 1990s by some imaginary Multi-Billionaire by the name of Johnny Walker. Of course, the media could easily smell the liquor since, technically speaking, Johnny Walker was connected with Black Label, one of the top liquors worldwide. They beleaguered the Agency's headquarters all day long for a week, until finally, a bumbling operative, ordered to pose as 'Johnny Walker', stepped up to the podium… and screwed up.
Marlon's only option was to have him terminated. This got the desired effect of drawing attention towards them. It would allow them to explain themselves in what D-Tech actually did: Computer Technology. It would give them a chance to actually give the media, and hopefully everybody who was so far unaware of the Agency's existence, something false to chew on. Marlon had used $38M of the Agency's global bank account to purchase a small estate on the Californian countryside, months before D-Tech's supposed founding date under the alias of what else? Johnny Walker.
Furthermore, he made several international business transactions under the pseudonym of Johnny Walker. His job was to prove that the bastard actually existed. For this operation, the shadow man had given him access to all of the Agency's assets and just about everything needed to convince the 'innocent' fraction of the world that there was a Johnny Walker.
Of course, all that stopped when the bumbling agent was killed. They decided to make it appear that Marlon, 'Vice-President' of the company, was given the whole thing. And that was the end of it. "Mister Walker had made many powerful enemies during his career," he had said during a press conference, "It was likely that sooner or later someone would try to have him killed. Investigation, I feel, is unnecessary. It was just his time to go." That assassination went down in history as another unsolved conspiracy mystery that went with the lines of John Smith, John Lennon, and John F. Kennedy. Now, another John, John Walker, had joined the bandwagon.
It was still quite a way to his destination, and the annoying Elvis music wasn't helping him out any better than the way his shades darkened the road he saw to near-zero vision. Thump. The pearl-black Lamborghini ran over something. Road Kill, he thought as a malevolent smile found its way to his face.
He changed the station to something more modern, but unfortunately, was unprepared for the heavy metal that suddenly blared out of his speakers, causing his expression to disfigure into one of disgust. He never did like that kind of music. It was more like noise to him. The solution was simple enough that he just turned it off. Consulting the dashboard-mounted GPS of his location, he whispered to himself in a somewhat bored manner, "36 miles to go…Time is gold." The car gained more speed and ran off westward, crushing a careless brown rabbit in its wake.
Agency Weapons Testing Grounds, Mojave Desert, California
Friday, 0116 hours, Local Time…
A towering 65-foot machine that somewhat resembled Mechwarrior's Clan Masakari Omnimech™ slowly stepped forth, a compartment on its back opening to allow passage for a large cylindrical object. Upon the completion of its exodus, it tilted in the machine's forward direction until it was completely horizontal, a crackling ball of cyan energy materializing at the barrel. The ball of light grew several times its original volume and catapulted itself forward towards a marked target, a blinding beam trailing in its wake. Upon its making contact with the target, causing a violent detonation roughly a mile in radius. Nothing was left.
Standing stark naked inside the massive machine, surrounded only by a matrix of digital origin as he surveyed the damage, was Ryo Akiyama. "And that is what I call the Megadrive Destroyer," a mechanical voice rang in his ear.
"So what you're telling me is that when you Digivolve, your techniques evolve from its current state to a more powerful version?"
"Exactly," it replied, "Instead of shifting from say, Pepper Breath to Nova Blast, the champion attack would be something like from Pepper Breath to Nova Breath… although the techs don't sound as cheesy as that."
"The Agency designed your new body that way, eh? I guess we have been away from each other for too long." the Agency operative answered.
"Such is the price of our power," was all that his partner could say before another sound caught Ryo's attention. It was his comm.-link earpiece.
"Agent Akiyama," the accent was black. Not exactly ghetto, but nonetheless black, "The Chief Director has just arrived, and he wants to see you now." Finally, he was going to meet the man behind it all. He'd heard much about the Chief Director of the Agency. The man had survived Desert Storm and Somalia all that time secretly working his way up the Agency's Ranks while the United States gave him medals and awards he hardly deserved. He'd been ensuring himself a good and proper investment. When he retired from the army in 1994, He was Agency's Chief Director, and 'Vice-President' of its cover company, D-Tech.
"Time to split up."
"Sadly, yes."
Underground Bunker/Staff House, Agency Testing Grounds, Mojave Desert, California
Friday, 0130 hours, Local Time…
The door opened suddenly, causing Agency Chief Director Jacob Marlon to jerk his head from the clipboard-mounted profile he was reading, apparently trying to see who was at the door. Seeing the face just outside the room resulted with him eyeing the photo in the profile. They were exactly alike… "Ryo Akiyama, I presume? My name is Jacob Marlon, and I am the Agency's Chief Director. I'm in charge of the entire organization. All the other Directors, including your boss Kaira, who I must say is a complete imbecile, are my subordinates. But I'm sure you already know that."
"More or less," was the short and casual reply.
Marlon knew he was forgetting something, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. "So, you're the man I've been hearing so much about. Your superior speaks highly of you."
"Ah, Kaira's just kidding. I'm not as good as he thinks I am," the tamer was simply trying to be modest. Somehow, he was a little too modest for the older man to understand.
"I don't think so, Mister Akiyama," Marlon briefly scanned the profile yet again, "Your profile says that you passed your training with flying colors, outmatched every classmate you had in combat drills and broke the record for fastest movement through the obstacle course twice, the second record broken being your first record breaker."
"They never told me that… hell, they never gave me any results at all. I always felt that I was on the average."
"It's Standard Operating Procedure to keep confidential information confidential. We consider training results confidential simply because of our fear that the operatives to which their results, if ever highly significant, are disclosed, they would become overconfident and lose focus." The Agency's Chief Director stole a glance at the chair that sat in front of his desk. That, and the fact that Akiyama was still standing outside the door reminded him of exactly what he had forgotten to do earlier, "Oh, how rude of me! Come in! Sit down!" He offered Ryo some of the mints that sat in a bowl on his desk, which, out of what Marlon considered as courtesy, the younger man took one of and popped into his mouth.
"That figures," the newly reinstated Tamer answered as he sat down.
When Marlon thought that the boy was settled enough, he asked a question that probably puzzled Mister Akiyama as much as it puzzled him, "Have you ever played C & C, Mister Akiyama?"
"C & C? Which one?" Ryo wondered why a grown man with an extremely professional job like Jacob Marlon would think of such a game as C & C. It wasn't like he had a lot of spare time to play any of the so far six known titles namely the original Command and Conquer, C & C: Red Alert, C &C Tiberian Sun, C & C Red Alert 2, C & C Generals, and C & C Colony (made the last one up. After all, this takes place in 2007, just so you know. The D-Reaper incident, I presume, occurred in 2002, so correct me please if I'm wrong).
"Generals. It's the only one where you can construct multiple Super Weapons of the same kind. Apparently, those jerks at EA Games and Westwood thought that in Generals, too many Super Weapons due to too much money made the game pretty much boring, even when up against a 'Brutal Level' opponent, so they brought back the 'One Super Weapon per Faction' rule in the next game."
"Generals? Well… I did try it once. I Played United States against Several Chinese opponents at Brutal Difficulty. All it took to beat 'em was a dozen or so Particle Cannons." This statement seemed to rouse the interest of the Director, whose facial expression became one of curiosity.
"Interesting… and how did you feel when you deployed your Super Weapons?" another perhaps, personal question; another question that wasn't to be expected from a man such as Jacob Marlon who was pretty much, very realistic. That was, of course, if what Kaira had told him about the Chief Director was true.
"Well, for the record, I felt that I wanted to see more of those particle beams frying my enemies. The more particle beams I saw, the more I wanted. Why?"
"Megalomania, Mister Akiyama. It's one of those suspiciously powerful feelings hidden deep down inside our hearts; a seemingly unquenchable thirst for power that we all, more or less, have within ourselves." By this time, Marlon had put down the clipboard and took a sip of the creamed coffee in the mug that sat on his desk. Apparently not satisfied by its taste, he punched the intercom with his pointer and called on the aged secretary just outside the office. "I thought I said it clearly, Mrs. Adrickson. I wanted my coffee black," he stressed the word 'black' to make sure that she heard it right. Once the order was acknowledged and the connection cut, he turned back to his conversational partner with a face that had the statement 'Now where was I?' written all over it and started again. "One of my hobbies is to monitor the Agency's income, check our current financial goal, and increase it tenfold when I feel like doing so. Do you know what that means?"
"That you're a greedy, low-down, good-for-nothing son of a bitch who can't get enough cash in his pocket no matter how much he gets?" This was, of course, just a joke, since the manner in which the tamer stated it was far from serious. Apparently, Marlon wasn't amused at all, this being confirmed by the way in which he ignored it and got straight to his point.
"I'm a megalomaniac, Mister Akiyama. I don't know the meaning of the word 'enough'. It does not exist in my vocabulary," he paused momentarily, "Do you have any idea why I'm telling you this now?"
"No."
"I see…" The Chief Director of the Agency manipulated the shape of his lips into a thoughtful curve, "It's very simple, really. Being a megalomaniac, I have a great thirst for power. The only way to achieve that power, for me, is through the exploitation of those like myself who want more… who need more. The only difference between me and everybody else is that I already have power and want more, while they don't have so much as enough to even control their own lives. Do you know why?" He didn't give Ryo a chance to say anything before he answered his own question, "Because, my dear boy, I am in control of their lives. They're in the passenger's seat while I do all the driving. I tell them when to come to work, I tell them who to assassinate, I'd even tell them to jump off a bridge if I wanted to! But then, the third wouldn't be such a wise thing to do. It's terrible to lose a downright useful agent just because you wanted to satisfy your power-hungry ego."
"So why are you ranting about like this in front of me?" Ryo needed to understand why this guy was talking with irrelevance to his current mission. Either that, or he was in desperate need of somebody to talk to and bring the heavy burden of his personal opinions on. But why would Marlon choose him? He had that black guy. He had everybody else from the Agency to pick from. Why him? Jacob Marlon's next statements were the answer.
"Mister Akiyama, you are currently that downright useful agent, and I'm telling you, you are the last person on this planet I'd order to commit suicide. You and your partner are the only two on this planet that stand between the success of Project: Toto-Con, and its utter failure. Know this: we are leaving this facility first thing tomorrow morning along with Mechmon, and proceed directly to Japan to oversee that Project: Toto-Con goes smoothly."
The last sentence raised the teenager's eyebrow, "We, sir?"
"Yes. We. I have some personal matters to discuss with your boss, Kaira. Sort of a 'spur of the moment' kind of thing."
"Now you're making sense." The Agency's only tamer finally concluded.
"Of course."
Outside, Mrs. Adrickson brought the tray of Marlon's black coffee to the doorstep, and knocked.
Cell 16, Holding Chamber, 15th Floor of NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Friday, 1941 Hours, Local Time…
Takato Matsuki stirred and opened his eyes to see a pair of gray irises staring into his own amber ones, the sight of which caused him to jerk back. That didn't work out so well, since, his head hit the wall that stood directly behind him with a relatively loud 'bump', "Ouch!" He grasped the back of his head in attempts to drive the pain away, in the meantime examining the person who kneeled in front of his own floor-seated self. He was a past-middle-aged man wearing a business suit, had graying hair, and a beard that said 'Look! This guy hasn't shaven in days!' It was NS-8 Director Akira Sakamori.
"Sorry about that," the Director apologized, "You wouldn't wake up, so I had to shake you."
"Well you didn't have to scare me into a wall, you know," the boy answered. He noticed the walls that were different from that of the office, "What happened?"
"The Agency somehow managed to break through our security and take over. They're looking for the CD copy of their big project."
"Did you hand it over?"
Sakamori shook his head, "We don't have it, although they think we do. Even if I did have it, they'd have to kill me to get their hands on it."
"Why'd they have to kill Jeri anyway?" another voice joined the conversation, "She was my only real friend here… my only real friend at NS-8…"
That statement caused Takato to look around the oddly hygienic space, which, from the iron bars that separated it from the hall, he concluded was a prison cell of some sort. At last, the former tamer spotted another figure sitting near the closed exit, staring into the hallway, a strange relaxedness seemingly radiating from her as she twirled an expensive mechanical pen around in her fingers. It was almost as though being locked up in a holding cell didn't bother her at all. Her purple and, pretty much, bored stiff eyes told him as much. Who was this girl sitting at the door with her hair in a stiff ponytail? Was she really the one who allegedly died half a decade ago? And what was the reason that he couldn't get his eyes off hers? Why did he feel like they were drowning him in some kind of grape juice of emotion? She was bored, tired, scared, frustrated, and wanting, all at the same time.
"Rika…" now he knew why Jeri alluded to her so much all these years. The two had probably met with each other again, and gotten close, possibly because they had nobody else to get close to… He could remember what Jeri said when he and Henry had joked about how Rika was a real bitch, "Rika would kill you two if she were still around, you know," and they would just shrug her off using Rika's being 'dead' as an excuse to say such things. If only I'd known any better…
The lavender orbs turned his way to catch him staring right into them. What came out of their owner's mouth was a curt, "What?"
He found himself turning crimson as his gaze fell to the floor, "Um… nothing. Well, actually," he brought his face to her level and looked her straight in the eye, trying to sound sincere as possible, "Tell me, Rika… were you and Jeri… close?"
"Close…" the redhead replied, "You have no idea at all. We were more than just 'close' as you understand it. We shared a bond that no two sisters ever had. We did everything together…" closing her eyes, she shook her head, "Eating at the bar across the street, playing air hockey in the Recreation Room, even going through target practice together!"
"Uh…" the boy tried to start, but unfortunately, was cut off.
"We were so close that everybody else thought we were lesbians even though we weren't. We just had a lot of things in common… that was all. Nobody understood me the way she did… nobody. Even if I had I sister I'd doubt that she'd know as much as Jeri did about me."
"I can try," Takato encouraged. The reaction was unexpected… Rika Nonaka, the Legendary Digital Ice Queen, the same ice queen who, due to her frost, even the cold evil Icedevimon once tried to seduce into damnation, the same ice queen who showed none of how she felt inside, now turned toward him with wide, teary eyes, looking almost… helpless. The next moment, she had her head buried in his shoulder, the sound of her nearly silent sobbing gradually becoming pure unchecked wailing that filled him with the impression that long-concealed pains were finally being released. It was as though the event of Jeri's death had become a sledgehammer that had torn down the frozen walls she had built to forever imprison the tension and sorrow that continued to rise.
This continued for a few moments until she finally managed to calm down, looked up from her position and straight into his eyes, saying, "Thank you…" The Ice Queen was finally free, so to speak, her frozen palace crumbling away like any other frozen structure at the peak of springtime.
A voice interrupted the seemingly pure emotion of this scene… "I'd really hate to be a jerk and ruin your session of 'Getting-to-know-each-other-again-after-five-years-of-separation 101', but it's part of my sworn duty to remind you of a few things. First is the fact that we are being held captives by enemies of the network, that Yamamoto is being interrogated and most likely to blurt out that he knows nothing only to be killed, and that we have to escape if we're going to be able to do anything about the first two situations." It was Sakamori, who had just pulled out the heel of his right shoe, revealing a high-powered mini-laser. Just like in the movies, he thought as he started zapping the vent cover's bolts one by one.
The two could only watch as, removing the vent shaft's grill, he reached into his pocket, drew out an earpiece, and handed it over to Takato. "That's linked directly to mine via radio waves. Contact me if anything turns up." The boy nodded silently and placed it into his own right ear, although it was somewhat wrongly to the point that Rika had to adjust it for him. Seeing that done, the director of NS-8 climbed into the vent shaft, and closed it behind him…
Blackhawk Alpha, NS-1 Delta Force Unit, Approximately Five Miles from NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Friday, 2035 hours, Local Time…
Even at 'Stealth' level, the hum of the chopper's rotors was unbearable… or so Mitsuo Yamaki thought. The seven other Delta Force Commandos sitting with him didn't seem to mind. It appeared as though they were more concerned about keeping their rifles squeaky clean, rather than take care of their hearing… That he could tell from the way they ran their rags somewhat sentimentally over the black metal, polishing them with such delicacy that one would think each were a mother bathing her child who she had caught playing in the mud. Ever since Somalia, the military campaign from which the blockbuster movie 'Blackhawk Down' was based on, Rangers and Delta Force were required to arrange themselves into groups of 4-8 called 'stacks'. This was the most efficient grouping, as far as they saw it, and proved to be just that during the US-Iraqi war, in which less than a hundred Coalition forces were killed in total, compared to the Iraqi's losses, more than ten thousand, so far.
The operation was simple enough. Delta Team had gone ahead on foot and in a few moments, would have disabled the Agency vehicles' long-range radars after silently killing everybody guarding them (the vehicles). They would of course, give signal that their part of the job was complete. That was when everyone else would move in. Alpha Team, led by Yamaki himself, would storm into NS-8's primary via elevator, securing the elevator hall. Bravo team would then drop onto the roof and secure the stairwell. Teams Charlie and Echo would rappel into the building via north and south sides, whilst Foxtrot and Golf would do the same to the east and west sides, effectively boxing the Agency's forces in, not one sparing. The element of surprise wouldn't be a problem thanks to the dozens of police vehicles parked outside, still convinced up to now that it was a bank robbery. Surprisingly enough, though, no SWAT teams have been deployed at all…
It was hard to understand why the public was so easy to fool… The world's governments had made thousands of cover-ups to their activities and discoveries and it seemed as though they bought every one of them. There was the Lincoln Conspiracy's perpetrator, Actor John Wilkes Booth; the fact that he was but a mere pawn serving under key government figureheads of the day. Then there was the founding of Network Security, of course. Along came Roswell, its 'Weather Balloon' never being suspected to be a real live alien spacecraft. Next was the Watergate Scandal, which lead to President Richard Nixon's resignation. What was the true identity of 'Deepthroat', Watergate's mysterious informer? Was he still alive? Most probably, because the only few people who knew who he or she really was told everybody that his identity would only be revealed to the public when he died. And until now they haven't said a word. Did that mean that Deepthroat was in a retired people's home somewhere on the United State's soil? Last, but not the least, so far, was the reality that Digimon were key players on a global scale and that they were capable of annihilating all of humanity… Unfortunately, this fact had uncovered itself, and had been accepted as something the media could never explain.
These were only few of the many conspiracies that the only US government had covered up. How many more could they have kept? How many more were being covered up at the very moment? What of the other nations' governments? Did they deceive their populace the way the Americans did? Of course. Not even NS-8's existence had gone public yet. So far, everybody who wasn't aware of NS-8's existence believed that it was just a plain bank. Then of course, there were those few smart individuals who didn't exactly buy what they were given until finally, they were either terminated by 'kill teams', given this knowledge along with a vow of silence, or recruited into it all just for the heck of it.
Yamaki still couldn't believe that he was actually going on an operation with Delta Force. He had called up the Pentagon to ask for help. He didn't expect at all that the one who would answer his request was going to be NS-1's director, General Harvard 'Harvey' Kytell. The man was powerful enough in the United States Military alone, moreover his position at NS-1, the American NS Cell. He was a Five Star General, a damned Five Star General! Thus, it was only right that he had control of his own Delta Force Division, trained under NS-1's protective wing. They knew as much about the Digital World and Digimon as their director did, which was to say, a lot, and were equipped to meet the challenge of someday going up against these 'magnificent' creatures in battle, as Kytell had described them.
"Sir?" a voice addressed. Yamaki turned to see a relatively young soldier, early twenties at the most. He was staring at Yamaki rather quizzically, causing the older man to smirk.
"Yes?"
"What's a Digimon like?" he could tell that this guy was more of a thinker than a fighter.
"What's your name, sonny?" was the reply.
"Lt. Eric Dawwes, sir."
"Well, Lt. Dawwes, before I answer your question, let me ask you something." If his hunch was correct, the guy was into cerebral things and planned to get out of the Military as soon as possible.
"Go ahead, sir."
"Do you watch television?"
"Yes sir, I do."
"Do you remember the first report that concerned Digimon came out?"
The soldier scratched his cheek and looked up for a moment, obviously deep in thought. When he looked at Yamaki again, he had a confident expression on his face, convincing the older man that he did remember that report. "That would be the one with the giant pig-like… did NS-1 call it a 'deva'?" Yamaki was right. This guy was a thinker.
"That's right. A Deva. Each and every one of them was based on the Chinese Calendar. That's what Digimon are. They're nothing but imitations of the original thing. I'm sure that NS-1's archives have information on just about every one of them. Do you know any Digimon that wasn't based on a real-life concept?"
"Not really… I'm not that into Digi-Battle cards; or the real thing, for the matter."
"I see…"
The pilot's voice disturbed their conversation, "We'll be at the target building in two minutes, guys, so lock and load. I'll be letting you down a block or two from NS-8 so we won't be seen." He spoke on the intercom with the other pilots, "Okay, you guys just go up to high altitude, and leave the dirt to us."
This is it… Yamaki thought as he thrust a 30-round magazine of 5.56 AP into the chamber of his modified M4A1 with riflescope and silencer attachments, locking it into place. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they would say. Out of the Digital and into the real, as he would put in a revised version. It had been fifteen years since he had done something like this, but he could still feel that adrenaline pumping through every artery, vein, and capillary of his body, giving him enough energy to lift an oak table and use it to thwack somebody, so to speak.
The Blackhawk lowered itself over a small alley created by a pair of short buildings, probably apartments, its passengers dropping ropes upon which they rappelled to the bottom. The drop off point wasn't exactly pleasant; unnoticed garbage dumpsters reeked of rotting foods from all the groups, a rat or two scurried in the dark corners, and one could swear that he could smell a corpse decaying somewhere in all that. They weren't soldiers for nothing, though…
"Move out," was Yamaki's first order. The stack of eight proceeded out of the alley and scrambled down the street, which had been barricaded up to a block from NS-8 by local police. Hopefully, they wouldn't run into any of them. He paused as his comlink rang. "Yamaki here… Copy that, Delta leader. Job well done. Yes, were good to go and are heading your way. Your orders are to remain on standby and await further instructions. Out." This was going to be some operation…
Interrogation Room, 15th Floor of NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Friday, 2045 hours, Local Time…
Knight Commander Reiji Konosume rested the bloody torture tool on the sheet of cloth on the table, housing other insidious devices. He turned his attention to a shades-clad man in a messy business suit who seemed to be afflicted with a terrible nosebleed and said, "Well, then, Mister Yamamoto… it appears that you do know nothing about Project: Toto-con. In that case…" The ABSA-suited soldier drew his pistol and trained the silenced muzzle at Yamamoto's forehead. Just as the trigger was about to be pulled, however, a comlink's ringing broke the silence.
Konosume replaced the Berretta into its holster and tapped on the link, "What is it?"
The answer came from his second in command, Yu Tsubaka, "Sir! We're under attack!"
"What!?" the Knight Commander retorted in surprise and anger, "By who!?"
"I don't know, sir, but whoever they are, they're sure damned prepared for this," the soldier on the other line shouted, "Their rifles are loaded with AP!"
No. 12 patrolled the 13th floor of the NS-8 building on the south side next to the full-sized windows, keeping eye out for anything suspicious that was in the hallway. So far, there was nothing there. It was very astonishing how easy it was to take over NS-8. It took them less than ten minutes to bust in and round up all of their operatives, and now, they were being questioned one by one.
What he needed was a good shower when this was all over. A lot more than that… he thought. He needed a new job. Running around and shooting people all the time was starting to bore him. He wasn't the loyal type of guy everybody thought he was. Quite on the contrary, actually. He was lazy, easily bored, and downright dying to get out of the Agency. He knew of course, they'd kill him upon discovery that he told anybody of its existence. That was the unwritten, and yet most easily remembered rule: never tell anyone what you do for a living.
His plane of thought was disrupted by what he thought was the fractious noise of a lot of rope coming from behind him. He totted his AS-12 in the direction to which he spun, ready to shoot anybody who might have escaped from the 'ranches'. Nothing. The Knight scratched his head (or at least tried to, for he was coated from head to toe in ABSA armor), shrugged, and went on patrolling. He didn't even consider the possibility that the sound could have come from the outside until it was too late.
Soon enough, the sounds of his steady metallic footsteps were replaced by that of breaking of glass accompanied by the rattle of assault rifle fire. The latter, unfortunately, he was unable to hear, because the very source of its noise was aimed at his head. 5.56mm AP rounds pierced his helmet and splattered his brains all over its insides. Not long after, Echo Team of NS-1's Delta Force Division literally swung in on their nylon cables through the jagged frame, and landed onto broken glass, spreading out on command. It was time to take out the trash.
Knight Vice-Commander Yu Tsubaka emptied the contents of his AUG at the oncoming soldiers in black suits, still unidentifiable at this point. There were at least half a dozen of them, coming in from the elevator hall. He'd received reports from the other team members that more were storming in from the stairwell and sides of the building. They were completely boxed in. The only way out of this shithouse, according to the map of NS-8 that they have procured, was the synthetic Digi-Gate that lay tucked away in Storage Hangar number nine, through which they could escape into the Digital World and request their own people to pick them up. Even getting away in that manner was also hardly feasible though, since according to their mole inside Network Security, ever since the launch of the so-called Virtual Digital Nexus, all synthetic Digi-Gates within their possession had had their D-Reactors drained. In short, there was no way out.
He ducked behind a wall just as a volley of AP variation bullets from an assortment of weapons tore through one of his subordinates who took the exact same position he was in only a split second ago. He felt sorry, yet at the same time grateful, for those men who gave their lives just so he might live another few seconds in a firefight. Tsubaka literally ripped the magazine out of the Austrian rifle's chamber, tossing it away as he slapped in another one and secured it. He strafed out into the corridor, letting out potshots as he crossed the intersection into the opposite corner, others following. Some were lucky enough not to be hit by enemy fire. Others, however, weren't as blessed as them.
Whoever these guys were, they were sure good at what they were doing. Tsubaka had studied strategies applied to American Strike Teams during his time at the Agency's Academy. Strangely enough, the tactics these people used were appallingly similar to those he had seen on the projections. Could this mean that they were American? Perhaps. That was when he ran out of ammunition.
"Put down all of your weapons, and come out with your hands on your heads!" a rough voice called out. Tsubaka complied rather partially, sparing his grenade belt. No use for grenades if you can't reach them, anyway. He thought as he stepped out, hands on his head.
"That's good." Tsubaka recognized the leader of the group. He was the one in the Knight Division's Operations Log who protested against the gassing of Unit 17, bound from Tokyo to Sendai, and quit about a week later. Mitsuo Yamaki.
The man was holding an M4A1 Carbine at shoulder level, aimed at the Knight's chest. From there he could see that his persecutor's uniform donned the insignia of the United States Army, more over that Special Division they formed designated for fast action international affairs: Delta Force. That was why their tactics were similar to those used by Americans… They were Americans. Well, most of them, anyway. The least he could do was warn the others of their enemy's identity. Of course, that couldn't be done without him getting killed. To die with honor is better than to live with shame, some people said. Now that he thought of it, getting shot to death in the line of duty sounded much better than being taken prisoner by some haughty Americans.
Thinking fast, he reached for his comlink, switched it on, and blurted out enough so that his Commander would hear, "They're Delta Force, Sir! They're Americans!" The obvious reaction from the other party was a hail of AP bullets that practically tore the man apart, despite his ABSA suit.
"Come in, dammit!" was Reiji Konosume's Frustrated last attempt to get rid of the silence on the other end of his comlink. After Tsubaka's last transmission, notifying him that they were up against a Delta Force unit, they had been cut off completely. Only one conclusion could be derived from such a situation… Tsubaka was probably dead. Rest in peace… he thought as Knights No. 7 and 23 burst through the Interrogation Room's door, apparently in frantic a manner as possible.
"Sir, we've lost contact with all the other units!" No. 7 cried out, seemingly ready to cry.
"It looks like we're the only ones left…" The Knight Commander replied coolly. There was only one escape plan he had in mind, one so daring and risky that surrender sounded far more appealing. Thinking quick, he picked up the bloody shell of a man who sat in the interrogation chair, miraculously still alive even after what appeared to be dozens of torture sessions. Konosume had at least spared his life for the time being. Now, he was going to be of one final, and perhaps, even fatal, use.
"What are we going to do, sir?" No. 23 sounded somewhat panicky, although he didn't fidget around like No. 7, who looked like he could win an Olympic Gold Medal had there been a fidgeting competition for the honored global competition. For one of the Agency's most elite troopers, he sure didn't look the part, probably because he had lost his signature iron composition in the firefight against the American assailants, or perhaps the fact he had dropped his gun somewhere back in the hallway had completely trashed his already slim chance of survival.
"Arm yourselves for a possible crossfire, and meet me at Hangar No. 9. On the way, I want you two to pick up a few things that we'll be needing." He pointed at No. 7, "You stop by Hangar 3 first, and pick up a tank of Liquid Plutonium."
"What!?" Came the mentioned Knight's scared reply, "You want me to get some Nuke Water!?" Nuke Water was a common Agency term for those radioactive elements that were preserved in the liquid phase to avoid some very harsh consequences, not to mention the fact that it had been discovered in somewhere in the mid-twentieth century that liquid radioactive material was a highly efficient energy source compared to others. Most of the time, it was used as a fuel source for large machinery. Although there was the hazard of evaporation, not to mention the high probability rate of contamination due to spillage, it was relatively safe, since most samples of Nuke Water were contained in high-pressure tanks with scales reaching up to 50 kilopascals. Well, most organizations did so, anyway. The only way to get the liquid element out was by attaching a special hose-like instrument to the nozzle, beginning pumping afterward. The only problem was the fact that excrement of pressurized liquids obviously led to spraying.
"That's right, Nuke Water. Make it two tanks if you can. We'll need every single gallon we can get our hands on if we hope to optimize the Digi-Gate's D-Reactor." Although an average HazMat tank used for containing Nuke Water was the size of your average one-gallon container, the pressurization compressed the material into ten percent of its original volume, allowing up to ten gallons per tank. That was, more or less, just about all they needed to charge up the synthetic Digi-Gate's D-Reactor and generate the said portal to last for a few brief seconds before it bogged down again.
"I get it… are you thinking of getting us out with a Dimensional Jump?" No. 23 was the smarter and more logical of the two; that was certain.
"Exactly." Konsume began to drag the man across the floor toward the door, "You have your orders. Good luck."
"Sir?" No. 7 piped, "What are you gonna do with him?"
"Human shield. Best insurance ever." That was the last thing said before the door closed. The two Knights shrugged at the last statement, and went to do their work.
Ventilation System, 15th Floor of NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Friday, 2100 hours, Local Time…
NS-8 Director Akira Sakamori crawled through the network of narrow shafts responsible for NS-8's breathing. He had Virgin map them and download the schematics into his palm pilot a few years ago, although he never expected that he'd actually have any use for them. He'd heard everything the Knight's leader had said, and knew exactly where he was going. The problems were, however, that they were wearing ABSA suits, and the fact that their cowardly leader was using Yamamoto as a human shield. He cursed the thought of losing another one of his—the network's—loyal subordinates.
There had to be some way to stop them from getting away without risking Yamamoto's life… He didn't exactly know that much about this situation; such a circumstance had never befallen him before. "There's got to be a way…" His strategizing was disturbed as the comlink in his right ear chirped, "Yes?"
"Mister Sakamori?" The voice belonged to the Matsuki boy. If he were to call at such a time, it must've been important enough to stall his counseling of Nonaka after the breakdown she experienced. He didn't know if it was due to the pressure of being held captive, the pain of losing a friend you considered closer than a sister, or both. One thing for certain, though, was that if she went through traumatically triggered psychosis, he would have to send her to NS-8's psychiatric ward for therapy, which would be a waste of time and an excellent agent. He saw that in her performance.
Somehow, he felt connected to her in a way, much like a father to his daughter or some similar relationship. Not that he was really her father, chances of which were near zero to impossible. He was much older than her, for crying out loud. Besides, the only daughter he ever had had run away with his wife, an older woman, nearly thirty years ago, and that one was a blonde. 'Little Ruu', he used to call her, although her real name always slipped his mind. Up to this point, not even the intelligence section had been able to find them. It was one of the great mysteries in his life that perhaps, would never be solved. But that no longer mattered.
"Something you have to tell me?" Hopefully, the kid would understand that he wanted him to get to the point. Usually, this worked on anybody who visited him in his office, although that wasn't exactly the situation now, was it?
"Well, sir, some soldiers came here and busted us out… I think they work for—" his statement was disturbed by a muffled, "Give me that!" followed by the clatter of static for a few moments. Soon enough, reception returned with a new voice. One very familiar.
"This is Yamaki. Where the hell are you?" Sakamori was taken aback. What was Yamaki doing here? Who were these soldiers that Matsuda was talking about? More importantly, who were they working for?
"The question is: what are you doing here?" the director answered.
"I brought in the cavalry to save your worthless ass. These guys are with NS-1's Delta Force Unit as per orders from Director Harvey Kytell. The man put me in charge, since I was the one who dialed 911, so to speak." That made sense. Although the other question was how did Yamaki learn about this predicament in the first place? Could he still have contacts in the Agency? Impossible. If he did, then why would he ask for information concerning Project: Toto-Con when he could just get it from his contact? The only rational explanation was that somebody told him.
"How did you find out about our situation?"
"Let's just say that a little angel told me everything…" the Hypnos head replied, "Now where the hell are you?"
"In the vents…" Sakamori decided to let him in on his discovery, "Listen, I overheard the last of the Knights talking, they plan to escape by getting to Hangar No. 9."
"Hangar No. 9? What—" Realization hit Yamaki as hard as a falling two ton brick, if such a thing ever existed, "They're going to use the synthetic Digi-Gate? But how? That thing was drained of its power reserves!"
"That's why they're going to refill it." Was the matter-of-factly response, "What's more, they're using one of my men as a hostage!"
"Oh that's just low! Okay, so what's your plan of action?"
"Get your troops to position in front of Hangar 9, and once I get there, we break in and stop them in their tracks."
"That sounds like a stupid plan."
"Got any better ideas, Napoleon?" This name calling, of course, was sarcastic if anybody ever heard it, since Napoleon could most probably think of a much better way to stop the fleeing Knights. Of course, being a General who sent more than half a million soldiers to their deaths during his completely screwed up Russian Campaign, Napoleon would probably have had Yamamoto killed along with the other three, considering him a 'casualty'. Sakamori was definitely no Napoleon. He didn't want to take risks, although this approach alone was risky enough already.
"Alright, you win," Yamaki finally surrendered, "What are you going to do anyway? They've got a human shield! All we've got is assault armor!"
"I guess I'll have to take that chance." Sakamori said gravely.
"Alright. Anything else?"
"How's Nonaka?" at this question, there was another short burst of static, and a moment later, came a third voice… one that relieved the worried NS-8 Director of his somewhat small dilemma of fear for its owner.
"I'm fine, chief. Something bothering you?"
"No… nothing. Just glad to hear that you're alright… or are you just masquerading your true feelings inside that frozen palace of yours?" he heard the girl chuckle at that last remark. It was the first time he'd heard her laugh, even if it was just to herself. It reminded him of his own daughter, his 'Little Ruu' as he still referred to her up to date, the way she giggled when he said something that seemed funny to her. God bless her little soul, although it was hardly little anymore… she was probably in her late 30's now, having the time of her life with some bachelor she'd married, maybe having her own child... possibly even going through a midlife crisis. It was sad that his wife never gave him the chance to see his Little Ruu grow up to become a woman, or possibly even a mother.
"Now why would I do that?" Rika answered through the comlink, "You know I don't do that when you're around."
"But I'm not." He shrugged the idea off, "Anyway, just remember to stay out of harm's way, you hear me?"
"Yes sir…" with that, the connection between the two earpieces subsided.
Sakamori continued his odyssey through the vast spider's web that connected the many supposedly 'separate' rooms of NS-8. He would eventually end up at hallway 28, where the hangars rested, and kick the grill off, although that would do some substantial damage to his Italian-made shoe, which had cost him some several thousand yen. Such was the price of getting out of this labyrinth alive. Besides, he could have the shoe repairman fix it. Hopefully, the damage wouldn't be too bad.
Repairman… that reminded him of an American kid's show he saw before, 'All That'. It was a teenage gag show, and one of its skits was 'The Continuing Adventures of Repairman', with a self-induced (by the protagonist himself) echo at the –man. Simply put, when something was broken, Repairman would break into the room and hit it a few times with his wrench (or hammer, depending on how big it was), breaking it even more, and the person in distress would curse him for wrecking his or her already wrecked possession. They would also always ask him about the echo whenever he gave his name. Those shows always made him laugh, although he hardly considered himself laughable.
He could now see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. With a single kick of his trusty Italian leather shoe, the vent cover flew off its hinges and landed on the opposite wall. NS-8's director climbed out into the hallway, greeted by Yamaki's shades-clad glare, "It's about time you got here. We've been waiting for a quite a long while."
Hangar No. 9, 15th Floor of NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku Tokyo
Friday, 2120 hours, Local Time…
No. 7 had just finished loading the D-Reactor with its deadly fuel while No. 23 operated on the control panel that sat next to the ramp, which led to the currently empty ring, the actual body of the synthetic Digi-Gate. It pretty much resembled the Sci-Fi gadget known as the Stargate, an intergalactic portal discovered by archaeologists in ancient Egyptian ruins.
In the movie, the device was rigged to several US Government Supercomputers and was traversed by a team of soldier-explorers into the Abbydos Star System, where they faced off in a battle against tyrannical alien rulers accustomed to wearing snake armor and stun spears. This concept was adapted into the TV series Stargate SG-1, wherein the team, now officially called SG-1, discovered that there was an entire network of Stargates linking the universal community of planets, each one completely different from the other. Their new objective was to make contact with as many of the civilizations on the other side of the Stargate as possible.
The only difference between the two devices was the fact that there were no ancient symbols with which to align with the cursors in an infinite combination possibility of seven each, only a smooth metal ring whose inside was lined with energy projectors that tore through the delicate fabric of reality and into the realm of the digital. Konosume stood at the ramp in front of the ring, holding Yamamoto securely in a headlock. The NS-8 operative was muttering curses to himself, spitting out wads of saliva-diluted blood every now and then.
"How's it hanging over there, 23?" the Knight leader asked.
"Just a little more…" No. 23 continued tapping on the control panel, finally pushing the big red button labeled 'Activate'. "Got it!" that was when a rifle round nailed him from behind. He dropped to the ground as Delta Force Soldiers led by Yamaki and Sakamori poured in through the door.
No. 7 panicked and started firing his rifle at random, hitting two or more Delta Force troops. Yamaki's quick reflexes and sharp shooting soon silenced the jumpy Knight's hysterical firing. It was a face-off. Network Security's forces (with the exception of Yamaki, of course) on one side, and what was left of the Agency's strike team on the other. Although just about every other gun in the room besides his own was aimed at him, Knight Commander Reiji Konosume had an edge over everybody else. He had a human shield, which he wasn't afraid to kill if he head to.
"Put the gun down, Mack," Yamaki ordered, "This show's over."
"Who're you trying to fool, you insubordinate coward?" Konosume was one of the Knights assigned to mug the infamous Unit 17, which derailed shortly after the Timed C4 Charges detonated, and he could still remember Yamaki's face, along with his argument with the team leader. "Can't you see? You can't kill me without killing this guy first!" he thrust the muzzle of his berretta into the side of Yamamoto's throat, teasing everybody else. Yamaki suppressed an angered growl.
"Ha! See? All of your weapons are useless!" he had noted the slowly rising hum of the SDG's warming up ever since 23 had pushed the big button. It was substantially loud now. Everybody in the room could hear it. Soon enough, a gateway into the Digital World would open, and he would no longer need to burden himself with the near-deadweight he carried in the crook of his left arm.
Sakamori's eyes widened as he saw the energy projectors crackle with life and simultaneously release beams of pinkish nuclear powered force at a specific point in the exact center of the ring. The rays collided, causing a slight shockwave to burst outward as a tear in reality slowly began to open. "The synthetic Digi-Gate!" As the tear neared the inner perimeter of the ring, a separate set of energy projectors unleashed a wave of controlling force that kept the portal's size in check, and at least several inches smaller than the ring's own diameter.
"Well, it looks like I don't need this anymore…" the Knight Commander let go of Yamamoto as he kicked him into the crowd of soldiers, followed by a magazine's worth of potshots. The Delta force troops reacted by ducking immediately after catching the man. This brief moment he took advantage of and twisted around, diving into the tear and vanishing into the gigantic abyss of the Internet.
"After him!" Yamaki began to make a run for the still open portal when Sakamori grabbed him firmly by the arm. The artificial Digi-Gate subsided with that split second that the older man had held the Hypnos director back. By the time Yamaki managed to wrestle his arm away, the tear was gone, the sound of the synthetic Digi-Gate's cooling evident in the lowering pitch it was working.
"What are you doing!?" The younger man shouted, "He's getting away!"
"Let him," was the stoic reply.
"What!?" Yamaki retorted.
"Let him run back to his masters and tell them that we're fighting… that we won't stop until the war is won." To Yamaki, this statement was a sign that his ex-handler was once again submerged into 'Full Delphic Oracle Mode', "They'll pay dearly for this outrage. The battle is won, Yamaki, but the war is far from over. And when it finally is, when we've finally won, they'll regret ever crossing me… they'll regret ever having crossed NS-8. I swear it by Yamamoto's grave."
"I'm not dead yet, sir." Came a voice, weak from exhaustion perhaps. It was Yamamoto, being supported under the arms by two soldiers.
"That's good to hear…" Sakamori answered, "At least I won't have to arrange two funerals for next week." the director looked at the soldiers who carried his subordinate for a moment, "Please take him to the medical ward." The two nodded and carried Yamamoto off.
"Well, I've got to get back to work…" Yamaki started, "I've got lots of explaining to do."
"Wait…" the NS-8 director reached into his pocket and took out a small electronic device, white, with a little red surrounding the perimeter of the screen, "I think you should take this. It's the least I can do to thank you for what you've done."
Hypnos' chief took the gadget in his hand, studying it for a moment before realizing its identity, "This is Flamedramon's… My… D-Arc… But why?"
"I've been meaning to give that to you for some time now. I just couldn't fit in any possible meeting between us into my extremely tight schedule. Now that you've come here, I guess I won't get any better chance to hand it over. NS-8 Researchers worked for half a decade on that thing, just to get it ready for you," He handed Yamaki a blue card, "I think it would be wise for you to use that later… when we're more quieted down."
"What's in the card?" Yamaki's curiosity was now at its peak. He couldn't wait to see what would become of the card once he said the magic word and slid it through his Arc's reader. It had been a long time since he'd last done such a thing; the fact that using a D-Arc in unison with a modify card killed his partner resulted in a sort of anti-D-Arc Complex for him, not to mention the fact that he was still in the second stage of acceptance: Denial. That led to his usually bitter outlook towards Digimon and his supposed 'desire' to wipe out all those who entered the real world… with the exception of those being protected by Network Security.
This being given to him, however, was like being given a second chance… as though fate knew what he wanted and had delivered it to his doorstep. Yamaki knew that getting his Arc back had something to do with the redemption of his past, and probably greatest mistake of all: ceasing to believe in the 'magic' of Digimon. He knew there was something in that card; but just what it was, he had no idea.
"That's a surprise you'll have to unwrap later. Right now, we have to fix this place up."
Director's Office, Agency Pacific Branch, Shinjuku, Tokyo
Saturday, 0649 hours, Local Time…
Agency Pacific Director Shinji Kaira viewed the results of Konosume's debriefing. Apparently a Delta Force unit led by ex-Agency, ex-NS-8 operative, and present Hypnos Director Mitsuo Yamaki, rescued NS-8. Where the Delta Force Unit came from, though, he could only guess. This was going to be bad publicity to the other directors when the arranged meeting in a month or so at the designated location. Where exactly, he had forgotten, since he'd misplaced that e-mail somewhere in the Pacific Branch's Mainframe computer. Lucky that that NS-8 intruder hadn't gotten away with the Project: Toto-Con data disc. The gardener had found it the other day in the bushes during his routine trimming session. It was safe to assume, therefore, that until its designated launch time, which he heard had been advanced to a mere three months later, Project: Toto-Con was the best kept secret in the world.
A knock on the door brought his shades-clad eyes up from his reading material as he glanced at the closed wooden portal, replying with a formal, "Yes, come in," before he got back to his work. The oak door creaked as several sets of footsteps marched inside, I'll have to remember to get those hinges oiled, he thought with a sigh. A pair of palms crashing down on his maple desk disturbed his reading, causing him to look up at his antagonist with a rather unpleasant expression on his face saying, "Do you mind? I'm trying to do some work done—" he cut himself off in mid-sentence when he realized who he was unleashing all of his negative qualities at.
It was none other than Jacob Marlon, the Agency's Chief Director, Top Dog, President, Head Honcho, Supreme Leader, Tyrannical Ruler, and every other synonym one could think of. "Jacob!" Kaira's expression became one of surprised delight at the person he saw, "And to what reason do I owe this visit?"
"To fate, Kaira, to fate." Marlon was strangely in a very moody person today, and this could easily be proven by his somewhat pompous composure as he spoke. "Do you realize what you have just done?"
"Look, Jacob, whatever it is, I swear I didn't do it! You've got the wrong man," the Pacific Director assumed that it was his making a deal with the Shitomo Clan of the Yakuza to smuggle their products into United States waters that Marlon was referring to, although he couldn't have been any more mistaken.
Marlon, however, wasn't even done with what he was saying, "Don't you see that by sending three Knight Teams, THREE, on a suicide mission like that, you have made the greatest tactical error you could possibly ever make?"
"But I—"
"You did not even consider the possibility of outside factors such as former NS-8 operatives like Yamaki to lend a hand, did you!? Don't you ever forget that the Agency and Network Security aren't the only competitors in this game of Power Play!"
"Is that the only reason you came here?" Kaira replied defiantly, "To reprimand me?"
"No," Marlon calmed down, "That's not my reason." He paused briefly before inhaling deeply, "I came here to terminate your command of the Pacific Branch."
"W…what!?" This startled the Pacific Director greatly, not to mention disturbed him. Marlon didn't say 'relieve', he said 'terminate'. Now any normal person who would take those two words and use them in a statement that meant to remove somebody's authority would probably mark them as synonymous, but a Director of the Agency, especially one who knew Marlon quite well, would know that those two words meant two different things. If Marlon said 'relieve you of your command', consider yourself lucky, because the worst that could happen to you was losing your job and getting your life ruined by the Agency's contacts in just about every government department that had something to do in your everyday life, like say, your credit card company.
In such a case, what usually occurred was that the relieved Director's debts would pile up on his doorstep about a few dozen times the number he had originally expected. Or, perhaps, in the case of a family, they would send somebody to adulterate his wife and probably convince her to divorce with said Director and marry the planted operative, all the while not suspecting a thing.
However, if Marlon said 'terminate your command', you would consider yourself lucky only if you'd run away and hidden from the Agency the day before and stayed hidden for just about the rest of your life, because when he says 'terminate your command', he means to terminate a hell of a lot more than that. Unfortunately, for Kaira, he hadn't expected Marlon to just fly in from Los Angeles and tell him that he was being terminated.
"Aw, come on, Jacob! Don't kid me like that!"
"I'm not kidding, Kaira," Marlon said, drawing a silenced USP .45 from within his suit and aiming it at the mentioned Director's head. All Kaira could do was to tremblingly shield himself with his arms… although that would do no good at all. "Recruiting you into the Agency was the biggest mistake I had ever made in my entire life…" He pulled the trigger, sending a lethal dose of lead and gunpowder right between his target's eyes. "And I'll make sure I never make a mistake like that ever again," he muttered as he replaced the pistol into his suit's holster.
"You two," Marlon pointed at two of the agents who accompanied him to the office, "Get a body bag here on the double to dispose of this." The two nodded and went out the door, coming back soon after with the aforementioned item, which they used to get the fresh corpse down to cremation. The 'Bone Duster' as Marlon called it. "You," he looked intently at another Agency operative, "Get to the PA office and notify everybody that from this moment on, I'll be taking full and complete control over the Pacific Branch along with all its resources. Also tell them that I'll be overseeing the completion of Project: Toto-Con from hereon in." the said operative nodded and left. "And as for you," the Agency's Chief Director pertained to none other that Ryo Akiyama, who had witnessed the entire incident as though he were used to seeing co-workers kill each other, "I want you to call in all R&D teams working on Project: Toto-Con for a conference… one in which you'd be part of."
"And how exactly could I fit into some conversation about complicated scientific mumbo jumbo?" the Tamer inquired.
"You don't need to fit into the technical part," the superior replied as he set his derriere down on the comfy chair that a few minutes earlier had a dead man in it, apparently, trying to feel at home. "The reason I called on you, was because I can see that you have the potential to become what I recognize as the most powerful tamer on this planet. Because of what I see, I have reason to believe that you will do perfectly in your next assignment."
"Which is?"
"I want you to become guardian over Project: Toto-Con. It's not just some computer program as others rumor it to be. It is a living, breathing, Bio-Cyber-Digital Organism—a Digital Bio-Cyborg to put it simply—and in a month's time it's going to outgrow that Petri dish they've crammed it into. What it needs is somebody to take care of it as though it were his or her own self."
"So what do you expect me to do? Put it in a rabbit cage, give it food and water twice a day, take it out for walks?" This was, of course, another one of Ryo's ideas for a joke, which would probably sound pretty funny if this were just a fanfiction and somebody with a light sense of humor were reading it. Marlon didn't find it very funny, though.
"Actually, your job is far more simple than that. All you have to do is to find somebody to do, metaphorically speaking, all that you mentioned, and make sure that no harm comes to either."
"Why does it have to be both of them? Can't I just pick a replacement if something happens to its caretaker?"
"You won't understand why. Just pick a caretaker, and leave the rest to us. Once we give you the go signal, you have to become their Guardian Angel for the next two months. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir," Ryo had absolutely no idea of why there was so much he wouldn't understand. At the moment though, he was more concentrated on what Project: Toto-Con probably ate, drank, or even if it did such a thing. Another thing that his imagination got away with was the question to what it looked like. Most importantly, though, was the choice he had to make… who could he possibly pick out from the billions of people on the planet to take care of one of its greatest accomplishments thus far? These thoughts ran through his mind as he stepped out of the door after Marlon had dismissed him.
END MONTH ONE
AN: Well, here it is, the fourth installment. I never imagined that it would grow so long, though. To be quite frank, I expected this to reach no more than around a measly 8000 words… turns out I've written exactly 12700. Talk about big… I hope this wasn't too long for you guys out there who still read me… Okay, now to the finer points in the story… I've changed Sakamori's age to 61, for certain plot reasons that are perhaps already obvious to you out there who think in advance. It's also probably the same thing with Yamaki getting his D-Arc back along with that surprise blue card. And what's this about Ryo becoming Project: Toto-Con's Guardian Angel? Hopefully, I made that one obscure enough to keep you guessing. More importantly, why in the hell did Kai Takamiya disappear from the picture? Why was all he got for this chapter a measly reference by Yamaki as a little angel? Well, don't ask me. I don't know either. But, don't worry, he'll appear in the next one, I assure you. That is, of course, if you still want him around.
Now that part with Rika who you canon people probably consider as a MAJOR OOC scene. Well, then, put yourselves in the shoes that she put on for this fanfic for a second. You're regarded as dead by the public, including your nuclear family who you've only begun to get really close to. You miss your Digimon partner who's been gone for a third of your life like hell, and was so close to you that some people even considered you two as a possible Yuri coupling. Your job is running around the digital world, deleting threatening programs/Digimon, which is pretty much, boring, because even if you 'died', it would only be a persona that was destroyed thanks to a sentient supercomputer. The only friend from the original tamers clique who knows your still alive and has gotten very close to you until the point that you've also been considered as a possible Yuri pairing has just been killed in action a few days ago. You're now stuck in one of your own organization's detention cells with the only other person from the original tamers clique who knows you're alive, with pressure building up from all the other problems mentioned above. He tries to start a conversation with you. What would you do? It's simple analogy, my friends.
Now some of you are probably thinking, Oh boy, this is it! This is the first sign! This guy's writing a Rukato! Well, I'd hate to burst your bubble, but no, I'm not bursting your bubble, and yes, this is going to somehow Digivolve—err evolve into a Rukato fic. As for a quick glimpse into the next chapter… well, to tell you the truth I haven't even outlined chapter five yet… heh, heh. But, here's a little excerpt from a draft I've done during my 30-minute vacant period yesterday…
"Digimodify!" The Russian Tamer cried as he slid the card through the reader, "Digivolution Plug-in S!" As with all kinds of class one digivolution, Agumon was seemingly devoured by red bands of Digital Evolution. As his partner transcended to a higher level of existence, Yuri Komanov eyed their opponent. Although shrouded in the mists of the Warp Field, his enemy was evidently humanoid. Well, humanoid save for his pale complexion and red eyes, the gigantic batwings that protruded from behind him, the reptilian tail, the fact that his arms were longer than his torso, the size of his hands, which were disproportionate to his arms, and, of course, the piece de resistance, the face of the devil.
The hologram being emitted from his Red Power D-Arc told him all he needed to know, "IceDevimon… Virus Type Ice Devil Digimon at Champion Level… Its technique is Frost Claw." The NS-4 Tamer chuckled, apparently disappointed by, so to speak, what the cat dragged in. By this time, Greymon stepped into the warp field, ready to engage his opponent. "Get him, Greymon!"
AN: Okay, that was pretty much, very stupid and hanging there, but what the hell? That was all I could write down in 30 minutes, give or take. Most of you are probably thinking, what the hell is this guy doing with a Russian Tamer with an Agumon!? Is he some kind of Taichi clone? Of course not. Just so you know, Yuri Komanov is anything but a Tai clone. You'll see… You're probably wondering why the story jumps from Shinjuku, Tokyo, to Volkov Park in Moscow, but you'll see the connection soon enough. Now, as a final farewell (for this chapter, anyway), I give you a quote that came from a very good friend of mine, although for the sake of his remaining anonymous, I will have to code name him 'Rumiko' sniggers
"I don't want to be lead, I want to lead!"