Guardian Algorithm

by Fizzy 13

1st in my NS Series: Set 5 years after D-Reaper, Takato is recruited by a covert government organization known only as NS-8 and on the first day, wonders why Rika works there, when she allegedly died in an accident 5 years ago. Chapter 8 Uploaded!

7. CHAPTER 7

AN: What!? Only two reviews!? Oh, well… at least I got some… The time is now: 6:59 AM Pacific Standard Time… I am currently watching this interesting movie about a dead cop who was reanimated (although he's still rotting) and is now hunting down the guy who was responsible for killing him (namely the morgue director) as he races against the clock of decay (12 hours since he was brought back). The title is Dead Heat, and it's pretty unique… talk about a whole new genre 'Crazy Cop Adventures'. Here, you got Zombie Cops (Dead Heat), Russian Cops in Chicago (Red Heat), more random cops in random situations (movies whose titles involve a word that rhymes with 'Ed' and the word 'Heat') and more… maybe even trigger-happy cops who do nothing but shoot the crap out of things (Lead Heat)? Kinda reminded me of Universal Soldier or something, you know, bringing the dead back to life for god-knows-what purposes. Of course, Universal Soldiers didn't rot in 12 hours… could you imagine? The crazy Chinatown guy even brought back all the meat inside his butcher shop… Imagine having to fight with zombie roast pigs, zombie dressed chickens, zombie chicken liver, and even… ZOMBIE BEEF FROM THE MEAT LOCKER! Care to guess what was used to kill them? I'll give you a clue… the slicker guy from 'I know what you did last summer' mainly used this. That's right… they used a MEAT HOOK to kill the damned thing, which still acted like a bull even though it had no head, no hooves, was cut open straight down the middle, had all its innards taken out… you get the picture. It was actually pretty funny, seeing a you fighting for your life (although technically he didn't have any left) with something that usually turned up inside an average hamburger… Best one? Disembodied bloodthirsty liver… Imagine THAT.

Anyways… before I get too far off topic…

Newbi: You think Boris' Lopmon is Suzie's Lopmon? Where the hell did you get that idea? And the two old coots who literally ran blindly into each other at the supermarket? Yeah, they pretty much DO love each other… damn… they even got this little scene at home… erm… better not spoil that.

Fallen Angel X: Some people consider fallen angels as evil. I think they're cool, though… thanks for the compliment too, although I hardly consider this anywhere near the best entries in the section.

Disclaimer: Yep, I am STILL going through that phase in my life… the time right now is 7:55 PM Pacific Standard Time (yes, that's right, there's been a gap). I have just seen another goddamned episode of Frontier around more or less, an hour or so ago… and I never realized how purrs seductively attractive Kazemon really is. Of course, I still feel that I WILL see those hallucinations tonight… In fact, I'm actually starting to like them… they bring out my sadistic side… In any case, those are merely hallucinations I have of some crappy shows I have no ownership of whatsoever. Got that? Good.

Too Close to Home

Nonaka Residence, Western Shinjuku, Tokyo

Wednesday, 2016 Hours, Local Time…

          Peculiar… Rumiko Nonaka eyed the dark blue Exalta that was parked just next to the compound's front gate somewhat suspiciously, wondering who in the world could possibly be visiting at this hour. Could it have been another one of her contractors just waiting to get her face and/or body on another one of their confounded magazines? It was only now that she realized how tiring a profession modeling actually was. Sure, all one had to do during the actual 'day job' was to literally stand or sit, frozen and trying to look prettier than you really were, with the occasional walking down the aisle of a fashion show. It was the countless meetings with who wanted your picture and how much he was offering that really burnt you out.

Perhaps it was that American guy, 'What was his name again?' who was there, trying to schedule a day for an interview and some shots to be done for Time. 'Life as a Goddess', the article was inaccurately to be entitled, since, as far as she could tell, the one she was living right now was hardly fit for one. An even more curious sight greeted her as she passed the promenade and into the dining room. Her mother was sitting at the table, sipping tea, although that wasn't unusual, but the fact that she was humming an old lullaby that the 'goddess' could vaguely remember from her childhood days.

          "Mother?"

          Seiko Nonaka turned to see her daughter looking at her with a somewhat 'Have you gone nuts?' expression on her face as she held up her duffle bag's worth of modeling clothes that had been used for the day. She mentally kicked herself for forgetting the fact that it was her maternal duty to help the supermodel carry her burdening luggage to her room as she stood up and practically wrestled the thing away and began to walk in said room's general direction, still humming that specific tune as the two proceeded.

          "You're feeling quite cheerful tonight… did you finally find that diary that you've been missing for so long?" Not that her mother's diary really had any significance in her life, but she was, after all, guessing why she was in such a good mood.

          "I found that old thing a long time ago."

          If that was the case, then the diary couldn't have been the reason. She strained in thought once again as she traversed the walkway, in pursuit of her dear mother. That was when it came back to her. What about the owner of that dark blue Exalta? Perhaps this still unseen visitor was the cause of this sudden state of amity that her mother was currently in. "That reminds me… whose car is that one outside? Is it another one of my contractors?"

          "What?" the aging brunette slid the door of her daughter's room open, bringing the heavy bag inside and landing it open on the bed, preparing to unpack. "Oh… that car." She brought out one of the more stately dresses from within the wardrobe and ran her finger across the fine material, checking whether it had been worn or not. Sadly, the 'fuchsia' piece of attire, as the fashion designer described the color, had not been used for the day. Of course, the main theme, she had heard, was about the summer, and alas, not springtime.

          "Well, who owns it?" Rumiko proceeded to her closet and began to change into something more household friendly. "If it's one of my contractors who's visiting, you should at least tell me…" Another obvious idea struck her in the head. Dark, flashy car outside, her mother in a pretty much carefree and extremely comforted mood, the somewhat unnerving aura of an unseen third person inside the house, you do the math. "Or have you found another shot at love? You know how much I detest remarriage. That, besides the fact that you aren't even divorced with father… wherever he is…" she added with a sense of uncertainty.

          "How can you say that, Ruu?" Seiko had just finished hanging that 'fuchsia' dress in the closet and was currently examining a highly transparent silken garb that probably left nothing to the imagination. "You know how much I love your father. That's why…" She pictured her dear daughter wearing such a 'fashionable' abomination at a fashion demo. How could she possibly put up with such attire? And to think that majority of her contractor fashion designers gave her at least two pieces from their new fad lines as parting gifts for when their contracts ended. "That's why I couldn't help but bring him here…"

          "Are you telling me that that car outside is father's? And that you brought him here?" Why was she finding that statement hard to believe? Of course, her mother had separated from him in the first place, bringing hapless little her in her exodus far from her father's house and company. From what she could remember of that fateful night, her parents were having a bitter conversation about how much time one should devote to his job and how much time should be devoted to his family. It ended in some swearing and the next thing she knew, all of her belongings were packed into boxes by the next morning, and they had moved into this seemingly haunted little compound that didn't have the comforts of concrete walls and oak doors. She had grown to love… or appreciate at least… this humble abode, and frankly, she couldn't care any less if the place was actually made of some material far more fragile than paper and wood, since it was home. "After what you did? Why? I thought he was too preoccupied with his job." She added with somewhat bitter sarcasm.

          "I was only thinking for the good of our family!" Seiko reacted in defense, almost tearing up a green party dress in evident irritation as she straightened it out. Akira was going too far that time. How important could his job possibly be? He was a bank accountant. It wasn't like he had the most pressing profession in the world. Sure, the President of the United States could be excused of that. It was so pressing, in fact, that the first family had to live inside the White House for the next four or so years. "But now that I think about it…" she trailed off as her daughter began to speak once more.

          "How did you meet father today?" she helped her mother with the last of her wardrobe, separating the used from the unused. It came to her as a complete surprise. It wasn't like her mother was doing anything at all in attempts to find her father. In fact, it was quite the other way around.

          "Well, I had a little accident at the supermarket while shopping that involved hitting someone else's cart, you see… and… well, that someone was your father." It was quite a coincidence and extremely ironic that the two had been going into the same building for the past three decades or so and yet they only met again that afternoon. "I had no idea whatsoever that he was shopping at the same place the whole time!"

          "Well that's just great…" Rumiko mumbled. "I spent every penny of my income that I could spare, for at least 15 years, sacrificing as little money as possible to give you an easier time, into resources that could help me find him, without any success whatsoever, and here you are, telling me that you ran into each other at the supermarket just like that!" It was time to release the growing tension. She might as well do it by complaining. "The only goddamned reason I stopped funding my search was because… was because…" a tear traveled down her cheek as she rested her face in her gladly accepting hand. She sat, silent, on the covers of the bed, until finally, a single word left her mouth, "Rika…"

          Seiko placed a reassuring hand on her daughter's shoulder. "It's alright, dear… it wasn't your fault." Who could possibly blame anybody? It was a dark and cloudy day, quite stormy, actually. Rain poured like there was no tomorrow, and for a certain young Tamer, there certainly wasn't. There wasn't a thing that anybody could do. Fate had wrenched Rumiko's growing daughter from her like candy from a poor, defenseless baby. Most of Rika's 'associates', as she preferred to call them, actually believed fate had killed her. Fate, however, had taken not her life, but the control of her destiny, rather, and said that it had more 'little great' things for her to accomplish.

          "Oh, mother… I just miss her so much!" Seiko had not been surprised one bit by her daughter, who, instead of making do with her reassuring hand, engulfed her in a powerful hug that only a devastated individual in need of counseling could possibly make. Strong and loving mother as she was, she couldn't help but feel her daughter's anguish at their tragic loss. Neither of them knew, however, that this loss was actually a gain for the continued safety of the world they loved so much. Indeed, she saw her granddaughter as two people: a cold, shut, and isolated individual driven only by the fact that she was doing something, and a warm (get the polarity of this?), fun-loving, and social person who went on with her life in the service of friendship. Most of this she had Renamon to thank for, wherever slab of the Digital World she was hanging around just about now.

          "I'm sorry," a voice interrupted. "Am I disturbing anything?" Akira Sakamori appeared in the doorway, a well-to-do roll of tissue paper in his left hand, mobile phone in his right. His eyes were focused on the blonde sitting on the bed next to his wife, how lovely she was, despite the fact that she was crying her eyes out for some reason.

          Seiko looked up to see him and smiled rather thoughtfully, "Honey," she patted her daughter's back, "Look who's here…"

          The supermodel weakly brought her head up from its facedown position and turned to face the entrance to the room, where she was greeted with a sight for sore eyes, probably because when she recognized him, it made her want to cry even more. "Father!" she stood up and left her mother's embrace, wrapping her arms around Sakamori's torso as she buried her face into his suit, allowing her tears to stain the expensive material. "I'm so sorry!" How many years had she been away from him? More than three decades, she guessed. How many opportunities did she come across and throw away just because he wasn't there to see her success or failure and smile for either? Dozens, maybe even hundreds… What responsibilities had been given her that she failed to accomplish? So far, only one, yet it was the only responsibility he had commissioned her with.

It was on the night before she was taken by force, after her parents' fought. He went into her room and had a little conversation, sure that the argument had led to something terrible, "Remember, my little Ruu… take care of your mother, okay? Take care of our family." At the time, she had no idea what that meant, but as she matured and learned, those words had engraved themselves into her mind like a chisel through wood. Sadly, she wasn't there for Rika when it happened. She had failed.

          "What are you talking about, dear?" the NS-8 Director asked compassionately, "What are you sorry for?"

          "I've failed, father! I've failed to take care of our family!" she was pounding her fists into his chest involuntarily now, out of frustration on herself for being so foolish

          "No you haven't, Ruu… You've taken great care of our family. You're living a happy life, your mother's living a happy life, and now we're together again, one big, happy family." Of course, he knew what she was talking about, but still, secrecy was needed to ensure the security of the net. If ever the two found out about Rika's true standing, he doubted that they'd ever be able to forgive him.

          "You don't understand, father!" Rumiko had calmed down somewhat, although she was still sobbing, "I wasn't there for her when she needed me the most! I… I couldn't protect my daughter!"

          "What? Your daughter?"

          "You've been a grandfather for over eighteen years, Akira…" Seiko interjected. "I guess it was just fate that you were unable to meet her. She died in a car accident over five years ago."

          "I… see… my little Ruu's daughter…" his eyes were downcast, 'evident' that he was disappointed upon hearing about it. "Tell me… what was she like?" So was the beginning of another night's worth of quality time of this little family, time that was capable of doing what three decades' worth of separation could never hope to do: rekindle old fires of love for each other. Sakamori found out more about the redhead who worked for him in one night than he ever did while talking to her personally. As the clock ticked and time went by, he realized it was too late to cook dinner, so they decided to eat outside, instead.

Club Uleslovik, Moscow

Wednesday, 1913 Hours, Local Time

          "As you all know, the reason I brought you here today is of the utmost importance." Jacob Marlon stood at the head of the rectangular table where at least ten other men sat, guarded heavily by at least a dozen Agency Operatives. "It is our annual conference designated to checking out all Agency Offices' status. We will begin with the Mid-Eastern Office. Mister Al-Deev?"

          An Arabic man, Syrian, actually, stood and took to the projection screen at the head of the table, signaling one of the agents to switch a projector on (how typical). The image of a line graph appeared on the white material, clearly showing a positive slope. "In the last six months, the Agency's Middle Eastern Office has distributed over 80 Million US Dollars' worth of weapons and supplies to terror cells such as the Brotherhood of Jai-qul, Krish-Mekhal Allegiance, the Corps of Itus Mahahmir, and the Huran Frontier, in exchange for total arms support. That alone, is impressive enough. We have also catered to the needs of bio-terrorists such as the Nurem Clan with instructions to attack important government facilities of the United States command in order to shake up the administration and assure our founder's ascension into power."

          "Excellent… is there anything else you have to say, Mister Al-Deev?" Marlon look as though he wanted to wring every last bit of information from the man there was. Who could blame him, though? It was, after all, an annual meeting, thus, only once a year to meet.

          "Of course… I have also managed to increase our oil production rate by 37 percent… We should have quite an income revolution in my sector within the next few months." Omar Ben Gazarra Al-Deev was relatively new to the Agency's Board of Directors; plucked out of the Al Quida Network just as the United States began its assault on Afghanistan and began arresting suspected terrorist leaders. He was one of them. Fortunately enough, Marlon knew the man's capabilities to lead, and he hadn't been mistaken at all. He was far more competent than the former Middle Eastern Director, and perhaps, even surpassed Usama Bin Laden's charisma and skills. Better yet, the man was humble, and far from being a fanatic, and thus, was easy to handle in terms of diplomatic discussion. He was, however, nothing less than a sleeping lion, and would not hesitate to attack once provoked. "Our expected net profit this year would most likely be triple that of Director Lik Ma'al Harrani in his last year… I am still enraged by the fact that the United States was able to capture him in spite of his unequalled craftiness and ingenuity."

          "Very impressive, Mister Al-Deev… I believe we have just found somebody whose craftiness surpasses even his." The other men at the table laughed at this subtle joke. "I think we've seen enough of the Middle East for now, though, don't you think?" the other Directors nodded. "Very well, Mister Al-Deev… I leave those countries in your very capable hands. What about you, Mister Skatakov? Is there anything you have to share with us tonight? Any news? Good news?"

          A person with a rather stocky build, which was almost signature to all Russian men, grunted somewhat agitatedly. "News, do I have? Yes… far from good news, however." Skatakov mumbled some rather unintelligible curses under his breath. He would swear on Dmittri's grave that the foolishness of his bodyguards during that infamous predawn period would not go unpunished, ensure that those fools got what was coming to them. "My Deputy Director is dead…"

          "That is bad news indeed… from what your reports stated, Mister Klevyorodov had so much potential. He would've made an excellent substitute for you and an eventual replacement. It's sad he had to die at such an early age. Had he been smarter in choosing his…" Marlon just realized that he knew nothing whatsoever of Klevyorodov's death, "Why did he die in the first place?"

          Skatakov's frown deepened, "I think that is a story I prefer not to tell, Jacob. It is plain foolishness…" indeed, how could he admit that his deputy director died of a stray bullet? How humiliating would that be? Such a tale would bring great shame to my Office's reputation…

          "It's your call, Mister Skatakov," Marlon said in a rather sympathetic manner. Just because he was the head of a massive organized ring of crime, that didn't mean he was heartless. The other Directors were his friends… some of them, actually. He smirked at the thought of shooting Kaira in the head. "In that case, then, just give me your annual report in text some other time. We have more pressing matters to attend to." He cleared his throat to call attention to the other ten who seemed to be getting just a little bit too comfortable with the snacks that were provided of them. "And now, for the biggest report of all. Gentlemen, four years ago, the United States launched an all-out attack on the already tense Hussein administration in Iraq. Using their unrivaled military technologies, the Coalition, headed by the Americans, usurped several billion dollars' worth of oil fields and are now using them to further their own capitalist regime." The others at the table began mumble in agreement. Marlon was correct. Although America had given Iraq its independence some two or so years earlier, the oil fields remained their property. D-Tech itself had more than a dozen Iraqi oil wells under their control, mostly managed by Director Al-Deev. "Now what do you think makes the American War Machine go round? What is it that makes these hotshots so hot?"

          An aging Asian stood up, fist connecting with the table in absolute certainty, "Their relentless pursuit of conquering the global economy, hence feeding their boundless desire for wealth just a little more every time, until there are no natural resources remaining!" Unbeknownst to anybody in the room, a tiny camera in one of the corners of the ceiling silently observed their every move, and listened to their every word. This device in turn, transmitted its audio-visual feed to a certain dirt-haired NS-8 operative sitting on the roof of the next building, monitoring the entire conversation through his watch as though he were watching a TV show. He chuckled at the somewhat cheesy statement. All that was left to be said was to label the Americans as a bunch of power-hungry capitalist dogs.

          "That's Tsing Gao Lieang," Yamamoto's voice passed out of his earpiece and into his nervous system, "A former Class AAA General of the PRA and Chairman of D-Tech Asia. We believe he runs the Agency's Chinese Office, and he most likely does." He was in his place, of course, in an inconspicuous black truck in an alley less than a block away, monitoring the conversation himself. The extra monitors allowed him to see through the three other micro cams from Sazaki's device, which were used to keep an eye on the alley's entrance, and two heavily guarded areas. The NS-4 agents were scouting around the block, making sure that no member of the Agency's security detail 'wandered' into their operation.

          "Sure looks like a tiger," Matsuki replied, referring of course, to the Chinese (although all Asian nations are included) 'Tigers'. "I wonder what's next…"

          Lieang sat down again, confident that he made his point. Marlon, on the other hand, didn't seem the least bit impressed. He looked to the ceiling as if beseeching God for inspiration, noticing a blinking red light in one of the darker corners. Squinting to distinguish the light's source he could make out a camera. It was rather small for a regular security camera, and it almost struck him as to the fact that it was of similar design to the Agency's Microscopic Spy Camera, the "Nano Sight". That's not right… they weren't supposed to be recording this meeting. They never did, anyway. It then hit him like a ton of bricks. Someone else has been monitoring their activities… and that was undesirable. He motioned for one of the guards to track down where its transmissions were going, remaining almost 'normal' in terms of stance, hence, Takato being completely unaware of the operation being compromised.

The former reached into his pocket, dialing a few 'special' keys on his mobile, the purpose of which, was to be unveiled later. Right now, though, he had more important things to take care of rather than worrying about how they were being spied on. Besides, once they were able to triangulate the little monster's position, he would be dead in a matter of moments. "Well, that's true, Mister Lieang, but I was talking more about the backbone of their military, the Crusader Battle Tank. It's the fastest armored vehicle of its weight class, and yet this speed is paired with superior armor and quite a punch from its 150mm cannon, making it the most powerful frontline tank on the planet."

          A European fellow stood up from his place at the table, his blonde ponytail swaying slightly as his heartless blue eyes met with Marlon's sunglasses. "Are you suggesting that we develop a new frontline weapon that is somehow superior to the Crusader?" He smiled at the possible prospects. Imagine, a frontline tank far more powerful than the most advanced American ground vehicle in existence. "If so, then I consider it a personal challenge to design and build it."

          "Slow down, Mister MacLeod… let me finish." Marlon took another look at that camera, glaring at whoever was watching them at the moment, before getting his line of thinking back, "Mister MacLeod is correct in guessing the nature of my announcement, although I am already two steps ahead of him." He signaled the projector's content to be switched, a power point presentation springing forth to life in front of the room. It opened up with a somewhat large photograph of some kind of bipedal machine. "I know what you're thinking, and no, this is not a prop for the latest sci-fi movie that Hollywood is working on, it's much bigger than some low budget robot film." this statement elicited some laughs. "It's a real McCoy this time around. Gentlemen, allow me to present the future of frontline warfare: the Combat Machine, although I prefer calling it Commac, just for increased convenience and the fact that it sounds cooler…"

          "So you already have some active units?" MacLeod was, in fact, Scottish, last living member of the long extinct Clan MacLeod, or at least, Clan MacLeod before they started to intermarry. He was pure, and alone in the world of half-breeds. "Interesting…"

          "Oh, we sure do… we have around 20 or so fully functional Commacs at the Pacific branch." He took another glance at the camera, which this time, caught Takato's eye. "So now I post a challenge. I have here, a bunch of CDs, each containing complete information concerning Project Commac. Each of you can have one. The first office to design an entire variety of different Commac Models based on the original, and to actually demonstrate one of each for my eyes to see wins the prize."

          "Which would be?" MacLeod seemed to be the only one interested. Well why wouldn't he? His family had been interested in weapons for over eight and a half hundred years... They had come up with ideas centuries ahead of their time, almost equal to Leonardo Da Vinci's ornithopter (or artificial bird) and his other device, somewhat like a helicopter, although why they hadn't put those ideas into effect was probably because several of his clan mates considered such as ludicrous. Typical Clan mentality… he scoffed their foolishness. Everybody has a goddamned say in the project. That's why it failed in the first place.

          "That will have to wait until later." Yet again he 'flipped' the presentation onto its next page, showing a rather detailed diagram and cross section of a Commac Unit and began explaining its design and structure. It was basically coated with a hybrid 'Guardarium' alloy, a mixture of mega titanium, steel, and some unidentifiable protective materials that weren't even natural. This protected its delicate insides along with the internal VR interface that allowed the pilot to work the machinery while remaining in the safety of isolation from the outside world, pretty much similar to the command interface of the 'Rex' prototype in the highly acclaimed spy game, 'Metal Gear Solid', one of the best recorded in the late 90's. One of its many differences from said weapon was that its Guardarium plating was more specifically Mk III, strengthened two times over to ensure absolute impregnability against all forms of anti-tank weaponry and ballistics, unlike Rex, whose armor crumbled like cardboard when hit with a High Energy Anti-Tank (HEAT) Round. That is to say, as what Dr. Hal (forgot his real name) Emerich, Otacon, or whatever he was called, said, since, having invented Rex, knew it from the inside out. This time, he smiled blatantly at the camera with a look in his eye that said, 'I know you're watching me…'

          That was definitely a sign for Takato that he was overstaying his welcome. He shut off his watch and connected to all three other frequencies. "I've been compromised… I'm betting the Agency's already got a team searching for me…"

          "Copy that, Matsuki." It was Hiakiim. "I'm proceeding to your location, ETA two minutes or less."

          Takato reset his watch, knowing Yamamoto already had a copy or two in the truck and stood up, only to look right into the muzzle of a silenced P-229 sidearm. Looking further up the weapon, he could make out that the person holding it was none other than that man in black who kept on glaring at the camera and always seemed to know that he was watching but didn't mind at all. The Tamer prepared to make a run for it, but decided not to. After all, he did have a gun trained at him at point blank range. "That's a good boy," he said, a very toothy and somewhat frightening grin finding its way to his face. His eyebrow went up for some strange reason, which, he gave out in his next statement. "Wait a minute…" the man in black pondered the matter in his head as he took a closer look at Takato's face, "I know you! You're one of those Tamers who messed up the Reaper!" He flicked the safety off his P-229, shining its flashlight directly into the poor boy's eyes, "What was your name again?" He stopped to think once more, although his attention never left the tamer who was standing, hands on his head. "It was Takato, wasn't it? Takato Matsuki?"

          The aforementioned persona could only gulp. He was compromised by the very same man who was allegedly inside the club, lecturing the other Agency Directors concerning the, as far as he could tell, terrifying potential of Project Commac. So much for my first operation… Maybe this is what happened to Jeri… this was how she… died. They caught her red-handed and shot her on the spot! The way he saw it, there was only one out of two ways out of this. Either this man shot him dead on the spot, like what he assumed to have happened to Jeri, or, at least one of the NS-4 agents who were supposed to be with him on this assignment found out about this predicament he was in and helped him out of it.

          "Oh, how rude of me!" the man smiled as he adjusted his sunglasses, giving Takato the impression that he was Agent Smith from the Matrix Movie, who could duplicate himself by thrusting his hand into other programs… or people… and turning them into clones of himself. Suspicious of this same topic, Takato set his watch to the camera inside the club and took a glance. His eyes widened as he saw the very same man still giving details on how Project Commac worked. This is impossible! Yet it was happening. He was in two places at once. Perhaps he was Agent Smith?

 "My name is Jacob Marlon, and I run the Agency… and maybe even the whole world once I manage to take control of it. Now that introductions are done, though, I should focus more on eliminating the threat of your presence at this important Agency meeting." 'Marlon', if he really was Marlon, that is, brought the silenced weapon's muzzle up to the Tamer's chest, which thankfully, unbeknownst to the Agency Chief Director, was lined with bullet proof material. He hesitated for a moment, the sound of a thoughtful 'hmm' escaping his nose as he reconsidered his options, and aimed at Takato's head instead as he began to pull the trigger, Takato closing his eyes in anticipation.

          A shot rang out through the cold winter night, followed almost immediately by the sound of a bullet embedding itself into flesh. Strange… Takato thought. That was the loudest silent weapon he'd ever heard. Another strange occurrence was the fact that he could still think. Had he been shot in the head, he wouldn't even have known he was dead. Did the bullet hit him elsewhere? No pain… although he did suddenly feel some heavy weight collapse onto his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see that he was holding a dead Jacob Marlon in his arms. "So it wasn't his gun after all." The Tamer looked further away and noticed a figure slowly walk up to him. It was Karya, holding a pistol at arms length, barrel smoking in wake of ignition from firing.

          "He's dead. I made sure of that." she helped Takato push the dead weight off and took him by the wrist. "More agents are coming this way, so we'd better move now. Yamamoto and Yuri are just downstairs in the truck." Too stunned to say anything, the boy merely nodded and allowed the younger girl to pull him towards the stairwell. In the meantime, the corpse of who identified himself as Jacob Marlon, even though Jacob Marlon was still in the club, slowly disintegrated into countless particles of data that the howling wind and settling snow scattered throughout the immediate area.

Wong Residence, Beijing

Thursday, 0036 Hours, Local Time

          It is said that the worst form of trouble was the kind that was a little too close to home. Well in this case, Henry Wong would find himself in that exact form of trouble. The phone had rung at least a fifth time before the agitated boy stepped out of the shower and headed for the living room where the ringing was coming from, grabbing a towel on the way. (AN: You ever notice that in this fic, Henry's always taking a shower whenever he's at home?) "Who could it possibly be at this hour?" He'd stayed up late on his computer yet again, surfing for random things, chatting with friends online, while Suzie slumbered. Terriermon was left with no choice but to keep her company until she dozed off. His sister was still a major pain in the ass after all this time. Lucky for him, Terriermon was back.

          Now the problem with being fresh out of the shower while answering a cordless phone, was that you never knew what effects the water might have on you. Take, for example, the possibility of getting an electric shock. Of course, Henry knew more, since, as he picked the receiver up, it slipped out of his grasp and onto the floor. Fortunately, it was carpeted so heavily that you could drop a glass on it and it still wouldn't break. The Tamer wiped his hands on his towel and picked up the still ringing receiver, "Wong residence, Henry speaking…"

          He didn't expect to hear the voice that answered, "Good evening, Mister Wong. May I ask how you are doing?"

          Xing… Why would this guy want to call in the middle of the night? Perhaps it had something to do with his evil organization that was just about ready to kidnap his father and force him and other scientists to construct a diabolical weapon of mass destruction somewhere in the Himalayas. Well, maybe it was easier to learn his motives if he asked? "I'm terribly sorry, Mister Xing, but my dad's asleep. I'm afraid you'll have to call back tomorrow."

          "Oh, I'm afraid you're terribly mistaken, Mister Wong," Xing let a hearty chuckle escape through the receiver. "I didn't call up to talk to your father, I called up so I could talk to you."

          "Now why would a high-profile executive like you wanna talk to an average, middle-class kid like me?" This was, of course, the kind of situation that would ultimately arouse Henry's suspicions and hopefully answer some questions that Conspiracy Theory never did. It was something like being plunged into the mysterious world upon which the said reality show tried ever so valiantly and in great effort to investigate. Things like aliens, shows like Alias, and others based on government conspiracies came to mind.

          "Have you been considering my offer, Mister Wong? I'm sure that on a technical scale you would love to see our facilities." The only way to get conversation right, was to make the boy comfortable. He would have to discuss the topic cleverly until he would be able to weave his way into what he wanted. He didn't want to frighten the seemingly already paranoid Henry, and would first see how much he knew.

          "Maybe," Henry knew there was something fishy going on, and he could smell it. Or perhaps it was just some of the leftover fish that had been left, for some obscure reason, in the dining room, and not placed in the refrigerator. That's it… "Pardon me if I sound rude, Mister Xing, sir, but is it alright if you go straight to the point of why you called me in the first place? I was in the middle of my shower, and I think I'm starting to get dirty again."

          Xing smiled wryly on his end of the phone. "Of course. Tell me, Mister Wong. What do you know about the Network Security Act signed in 1945?" That was straightforward enough. Hopefully, the boy would know of what he was talking about. It all began in those wee days when computers were used in WWII. After the Allies' victory and the founding of the United Nations, all seemed to go well, except on making the policy on the UN's first priority at the time. What in the name of St. Machiavelli (no, Machiavelli wasn't a saint either) were they going to do about those gigantic computers that were rotting away in warehouses after their use was at its highest peak? The answer was simple enough. Create some sort of long distance connection between them in order to achieve something for the greater good of humanity. Of course, the greater good needed something to protect it, and thus, the act was signed, making official, the founding of Network Security.

          "What about it? The UN decided to connect the WWII super computers in a manner of an extremely primitive form of the Internet and founded an agency dedicated to protecting those computers and that connection, which was extremely delicate at the time. Said agency was disbanded in 1969 due to budget cuts from the UN and the increasing tension from the cold war. Am I right?" Where was this guy going to? It appeared as though he was leading to something, but just what that something was, he had no idea.

          "Partly. There's more going on behind the mask that faces the public, Mister Wong, a lot more than you think." Xing had found his foundational statement. If that didn't get Henry thinking in that direction, nothing would. "What if I told you that Network Security was only disbanded to the public, but in reality, was still functioning completely, only on a covert level?"

          "Then I'd say you sound just like one of the many contributors to the growing conspiracies on Conspiracy Theory, Mister Xing. What exactly are you telling me?" This was definitely going to be one of the strangest experiences of his life, talking to a mysterious sixty-something corporate executive about computers in the middle of the night, almost naked, just after moving into a new abode.

          "You know, Mister Wong, Conspiracy Theory isn't always that accurate about many things. Sometimes, they're right, other times, the whole conspiracy's a joke. Like, what's with bigfoot, anyway? Everybody, even the government, knows he's just a guy in a furry suit. Aliens, on the other hand… that's something Roswell pretty much explains for itself. Something tells me that there is indeed something out there that lives, Mister Wong. Like Digimon. You, as a Tamer, have been given something most people abhor, a great responsibility. That responsibility is not only protecting our world from Negative Digital Elements that slip through from the other side, but protecting it from Negative Elements on this side as well."

          "Where are you getting to, old man?"

          "I'm saying we need your help, Mister Wong. The Digital World is in greater turmoil than it was in the days you remember. And we need every helping hand we can get to aid in putting a stop to it. Vast sections have been destroyed, massive unnatural terraforming has occurred, entire stories have been cleared plain out of existence. Digimon are still actively entering our world and wreaking wanton havoc, Mister Wong, and as you heard, that's the least of our problems."

          "Who… are you?" Clearly, this man knew more about the Digital World than perhaps even the entirety of Hypnos' databanks. Out of curiosity, he'd hacked into them before, and all he ever saw was a seemingly endless string of code that even he, with his knowledge of computers, could barely understand. Henry had assumed, however, that this string of data stood for the foundational structure of the Digital World itself. If that was the case, then the only thing that Hypnos could actually monitor with proper accuracy would be its topography. No wonder so many Wild Ones had managed to slip in over the years. Their technology was incapable of detecting them long before they even attempt to cross over. But how could someone like Xing know more than what Hypnos could provide? They used state of the art technology that was practically the next generation of computer-enhanced defense. Unless, of course, whoever this man worked for had access to even more superior technology than what was available at the fabled towers. If that was indeed the situation, then they would probably be using what could be considered as the 'Next Gen's Next Gen'.

          "Let's just say that I'm one of those contributors to Conspiracy Theory who isn't doing a Hoax. Use your brain, Mister Wong. Our Intel indicates that among the many Tamers out there, you are the one who exercises it the most. Don't play 'Clueless in Seattle' with me. I know that you already get the idea by now."

          "That's 'Sleepless in Seattle'," Henry answered with a sense of confidence, "And if you're thinking that I'm thinking that you are somehow connected to Network Security, then you just answered the 10 million dollar question without even having to tell me."

          "That's what I like about you, Mister Wong. You're ever the wiser. What else can you tell about me? If you can figure out what's really going on, I'll save you the trouble of having to endure another five minutes of nakedness."

          Henry's eyes widened. How did he know? All he said was that he was in the middle of the shower. Henry was a fast dresser, and would probably be able to put some clothing on by the third ring. The only problem was that he didn't want his parents, or his siblings, to wake up in the middle of the night over an unanswered telephone that continued to ring. The Tamer suddenly garnered the distinct and eerie feeling that somehow, he was being watched. "How did—"

          "Let's just say that my intelligence network rivals that of the CIA. Now, Mister Wong, were you saying something?"

          "Judging from the fact that you can see me – or rather, probably have agents standing by and informing you of my state, I'd say you've got a very high position in an organization that has access to intelligence methodology. Probably the head of some sort of special division – no, wait. I see… it's all coming together now. Lotus Technologies isn't what it seems, is it? It's all just a frontal organization, right? You're really the head of a Network Security Division! And you want me to join you!"

          "You got every last detail, Mister Wong… just as I knew you would. So what do you say?"

          "I don't know… convince me that I'm doing the right thing, and I'll consider my options."

          "Alright then. Meet me outside Lotus Technologies Headquarters tomorrow morning. We'll have a little chat. The map has already been provided and has been sent to your mailbox via secure line. Good night." With that, the call ended, leaving a stunned Henry Wong to assess his situation and think it over. Could it all have been a dream? Or did he really just have a conversation with the head of a mythical agency? He checked the caller ID device for any solid proof. Surprisingly enough, the call wasn't registered on the electronic gadget. With a sense of doubt, he proceeded to his room and turned his computer on.

Room 728, Niroku Apartments, Shinjuku, Tokyo

Thursday, 0328 Hours, Local Time

          "Goddamned alarm…" A hand shot out from beneath the sheets and groped for the digital timepiece that rested on the nearby coffee table. Funny… it wasn't there. What's more, the ringing heard by the agitated person was hardly what he recalled his alarm clock sounded like. Then there was the fact that it seemed to beep faster than a few moments ago, momentum increasing to the point that it sounded like a single sound. The hand continued to probe the surface of the table, finally grasping some object. Hypnos Director Mitsuo Yamaki then brought the said object up to his face, in order that he might examine just what it was.

          "What the… the Arc?" and so, it was in fact, the crimson D-Arc that was causing the racket, the very Arc he hadn't used in over fifteen years. He could still remember that day when he had been foolish enough to take Veemon's advice and have him armor digivolve using that card with a digi-egg of courage on it. What resulted was a fiasco of an operation that ended with a necessary evil that involved Flamedramon dying in order for everybody else to get out alive. He should've taken Sakamori's advice that day and skipped that operation. To think Veemon was planning for them to have some quality time together back then.

          Of course, that was all in the past. Why Sakamori gave his Arc back after nearly two decades of confiscation was a complete mystery. Even now when it started acting up again, holographic display showing some kind of message. "Warning: Catalyst not found. Unable to engage re-initialization process… Re-initialization? What's going on here?" The way he understood it, the Arc was re-initializing, meaning a reset in the system and perhaps rebooting several factors that led to a brand new partnership. Could it be? Was Veemon - the Arc - giving him a second chance?

          Yamaki didn't exactly live alone, these days, and shared his room (and bed) with some person from work, who had apparently moved in because she was a bit strapped for cash. Riley stirred by his side. "Chief, you mind telling my why you're up at…" she checked the digital alarm clock, which just happened to be on the table beside her side of the bed, "3:30 in the morning?" Sure, she slept in his room and on his bed, but it didn't go any farther than that. That was when she saw the cause of the noise that had awakened her earlier, "The Arc?"

          "Riley, do you have any idea of what I could possibly use as a catalyst for a system re-initialization?" that was a pretty straightforward question that certainly gave no hint that they shared any relationship whatsoever besides the one between a leader and subordinate during work. "This thing's practically dying for one." The Arc continued to beep off, and he was dead certain that it wasn't going to stop any time soon; more specifically, until he found that catalyst.

          "How should I know about catalysts for a D-Arc's re-initialization?" she retorted in a rather dozy manner as sleep continued to claw at her from the very spot on which she was lying on. "I'm just a technician…" That last part she mumbled didn't quite register in Yamaki's brain as he continued to think, despite all the noise (which was thankfully absorbed by sound-proofed walls to prevent the wrath of angry neighbors), calmly pondering about just what exactly that catalyst was supposed to be. (AN: pardon me, just a random musing, but to those MSTers who apply the 'all your base' joke to lines/statements with terrible grammar, I salute you! Someone set up us the bomb!)

          Looking to his right, he was amazed to see that Riley had dozed off quite well despite the fact that the Arc was still blaring out at the world with repetitive beeps. The most logical scene in his life that had something to do with the catalyst flashed by, making it look as obvious as it already did. What's in the card? His own voice never sounded so nonchalant, even though it was all in his head. That's a surprise you'll have to unwrap later… that would be Sakamori, giving him a few hints on what the card was. The card… And so it hit him like a ton of bricks, causing him to cry out loud, defying the continuous beeping of the Arc, "The card!"

          The Hypnos Director scrambled out of bed and went for the drawer of that same table, practically ripping it open as he frantically searched (in his boxers) for that damned blue card. At last he found it and held it up triumphantly as he proceeded to the bathroom, card in one hand, Arc in the other. It was an awkward place to digi-modify something, moreover an awkward time and situation, since he lacked both the partner and opponent for the job. He slid the card through the reader without saying so much as a weak "Digi-modify". Card went through reader, and the beeping stopped. Thank God… the display's message had changed. "Catalyst confirmed and authenticated. Please stand by for re-initialization and data reformatting…"

          Yamaki's eyebrow shot up at the statement in question. He needed time to think about what this thing was trying to tell him. So, as all bathroom thinkers went, he placed the Arc on the sink's edge as he sat on the toilet, with the cover on, of course, and made like that 'Thinker' statue. Re-initialization, he understood, but data reformatting? What data was this thing talking about? As he could recall, that day, a few renegade Guardian Algorithms were wreaking havoc in the West Sector, Ebonwomon's jurisdiction.

Technically, he was in those days before Virgin's creation and thus, helped maintain order by making dimensional jumps via Synthetic Digi-Gates within NS-8's primary. His team was under heavy fire from those damned things that moved like they were those Agent programs from out of the Matrix. In retrospect, he supposed that Guardian Algorithms were the ones who inspired the Wachowskis to do the Men In Black getup for System Agents in the first place. They did serve the same purpose after all. The Arc began to glow and shake in the sink, although Yamaki hardly noticed it since he was busy musing about his past.

Flamedramon had charged in at them full force with his Flame Rocket attack just in tandem with a glitch in the Network Equilibrium System that warped the digital space time matter fabric, resulting in the said dragon digimon to become… highly flammable and, despite his elemental property, suicidal in the sense that he became vulnerable to fire. Flamedramon exploded, effectively scattering his data, the Guardian Algorithms exploded, scattering theirs as well, and were all picked up by an NS-8 Recovery Stream for recycling. It then dawned on him that Recovery Streams picked up scattered data for recycling, and the only way a D-Arc could possibly engage a data reformat was if it contained some data itself. That means… Veemon was inside his Arc all this time and he didn't even know it.

          As he looked to his left, and the direction of the sink, he was surprised to see a blue, spunky-looking dragon with a horn on his nose, complemented by a 'V' mark on his forehead, sitting in the sink, Arc in hand, staring back at the Hypnos Director. "Veemon?" who else could it have been? He didn't know any other digimon who had a goofy grin on his face whenever they looked at each other. All the others either looked dangerous, like wild ones, devas, and that Digimon Queen's fox, annoying, like that Wong kid's Terriermon and that freaky little marshmallow thing that had something to do with digivolution, or just plain stupid, like Matsuda's Guilmon.

          Veemon didn't quite recognize who was talking to him, although he was sure he'd seen the guy somewhere before. Vague images of his past life flashed through his mind… Where… where… where… That look… those sunglasses (yes, Yamaki, for some reason, is wearing sunglasses indoors)… that hair… Could it be? "Mitzy?"

          Only one person – digimon, rather, ever called him by that awkward, yet heart-warming (yeah right…) nickname. "It is you, Veemon…" Yamaki managed a smirk.

          "How long has it been?" Judging from the guy's face, grown-up features, and the place they were hanging around in, Veemon couldn't help but think that he had missed at least a decade of his partner's life, and partners weren't supposed to do that. Partners were Holmes and Watson, David and Jonathan, Salt and Pepper, friends to the very end, inseparable! He had failed his duty. Maybe this resurrection was a second chance to prove himself worthy of being Yamaki's partner? It then hit him of as to why he died in the first place. Note to self: NEVER attempt a Flame Rocket attack while the digital world's space time matter continuum is screwed up for some unknown reason.

          "Fifteen years, Veemon…"

          "Fifteen years!? That's almost half your life!" the dragon eyed the floor, the intense guilt on his face blatantly showing like a blemish on a rotten tomato, "Which I missed entirely thanks to that digital life-death limbo I was put in…I'm so sorry…"

          "Don't be… it was my fault." It wasn't characteristically like Yamaki to take the blame for anything. Veemon knew him as the type of guy who threw a blame away since he didn't like the idea of anybody feeling guilty for something… or denying his fault in a very annoyed manner.

          "Heh… sure it was…" Veemon sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes as he did, "And while you're at it, mind getting me a Big Mac Value Meal? I'm starving…" Yamaki frowned considerably at the remark. "Kidding…"

          "Why don't I show you around? The changes to the city aren't much, but maybe you should see the new innovations of the 21st century." Great so now he was going to give his partner a tour of the wonders of modern computers. How intriguing. "Just keep quiet, alright? It's four o'clock in the morning."

          That statement raised an eyebrow, "It's four o'clock in the morning?" Veemon's eyes settled on the lump under the covers of his partner's bed, which just happened to be rising and falling, giving him the impression that somebody was sleeping in the bed, hence, they were far from alone in the apartment. "So you're married now? Who's the lucky girl?"

          "It's not what it looks, Vee…" How was he going to explain a woman in her twenties sleeping in his bed to his partner? Roommates? Then he'd think the moral system was becoming sloppy… Sister? He knows everything about my family life… Cousin? Last reason still applied. Truth? Of course he'd probably say we had a working relationship or something. Well, it was worth a shot. "Riley just works for me."

          "Sure she does…" the dragon rolled his eyes yet again, "And I bet she works on you every night, doesn't she?"

          "Pervert." Veemon couldn't help but chuckle. Why was Mitzy keeping the fact that he was sleeping with somebody from his own partner when it was already so obvious? His thoughts were interrupted as a hand came down on his shoulder. Yamaki was dressed up and ready to go… wherever he was going. "How's about we grab some sushi at a Seven-Eleven? For old time's sake… my treat."

          "You mean it?" a grumble from his stomach betrayed Veemon's thoughts, more specifically, how hungry he was.

          "Of course…" When was the last time they went out like this, anyway? A long time ago. "You sound like you need some, anyway…" he added. "C'mon," he hand led the dragon to the open door, closing it on the way out.

          Yamaki fumbled for his keys to lock the place down. After all, it wouldn't be nice to come home after an early morning entrée just to see that you've been burglarized under your nose. "What about your girl?"

          The Hypnos Director slipped the key in and turned it, checking the doorknob after pulling the metallic strip out. "I told you already, she's not my girl!"

          "Right…" Veemon rolled his eyes yet again as they began to walk down the hallway towards the elevator. This was going to be a very interesting night out indeed.

          She was running. That was all she could tell at the moment, besides the fact that she knew who she was running from. Men in black, dozens of them, followed closely from behind, shouting and taking potshots at her every now and then. Dim lights lit a darkened lobby, potted plants twisted into hideous monstrosities that were seen only in Disney movies where the "scared little girl" character who was being chased by goons ran into a dark forest. Tiles on the floor kept a glassy look, reflecting every last bit of fear she felt like arrows to her soul. Plastic chairs broke off their support beams and grew legs, dancing in a cancan-like fashion, but not so much as though they were even noticed by the people involved in the chase. The place was so surreal, but she knew where she was. Tokyo International Airport.

          She could see the light of the exit, oh so beautiful. She continued running, so close to freedom. The fact that she was slowing down considerably didn't help. This is bad… The worst was still yet to come, however, as the light was blocked by a sheet of more men in black who seemingly came out of nowhere and stood in the doorframe, guns drawn and trained at her.

          Highly pressurized gunshots were heard. She could swear she saw those bullets head straight for her, slow as snails, yet did nothing. There were too many to dodge. She continued to stare as she kept her slow pace towards the door. Impact. An intense throbbing in her chest made itself known to existence, her nerves burning as she continued. Second impact. If, she had an excuse for why her head beat with pain instead of exploding right then and there, she would've used it immediately. She didn't. Several more penetrated her being, although she no longer felt them.

          It was when the last bullet entered her that the floor split apart, darkness swallowing her like a drowning mariner as she fell into the never-ending abyss that awaited beneath. Her last conceivable thoughts were summed up in one word, "DAMMIT!"

Residential Unit 1709, 17th Floor - NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku Tokyo

Thursday, 0519 Hours, Local Time

          Rika Nonaka woke with a start. Another dream. This time, the pain was so real that she could still feel it. Wait a minute… she could still feel it! Her breathing was labored, as though she were suffering from an asthmatic attack. Her head felt like it would crack open any second. Her chest continued to throb the same way it did in her dream. "What's… happening to me?" The pains started the day before, almost immediately after she finished her physical. At first they were slight and localized, but as the day progressed, they grew worse, and spread through out her upper torso and the back of her head. She'd been hauled up in her room ever since.

          She stood up, proceeded to the bathroom sink, and opened the cupboard, grabbing a bottle of aspirins. If her chest pains weren't going away, she should at least try to alleviate the relentless throbbing of her head. The screw cap went off, and a few white tablets fell into her hand. Coupled with a drinking glass' worth of tap water, they went down her throat with little to no resistance whatsoever.

          It was only when she closed the cupboard and peered into the mirror that she garnered the distinct feeling that she was being watched. Sure, Virgin was watching every room inside NS-8, but besides her presence, the redhead could sense that of another, more perverse sentience within her immediate vicinity. "Virgin?"

          "Yes, Agent Nonaka?" the Virtual Digital Nexus replied in her usual cheery, computerized tone. It was hard to explain being in more than one place at a time, as well as simultaneously talking to more than one person. On an average, Virgin conversed with at least half of NS-8's populace at any given time. That was one advantage of having multiple consciousnesses to boot, the primary always sticking to the directors. They all shared the same memories, personalities, and opinions, but it was the primary consciousness that always made the big decisions herewith.

          "Is there anybody else inside the room?" Rika asked with a hint of pained effort in her voice. Her head wasn't getting any better, and her chest just got worse.

          A slight pause before the digital sentience could answer, "Thermal, Optical, Sonic, Digital, and Biological sensors don't register anything, Agent Nonaka. There's no one in the room besides us. Is something wrong? Your breathing seems to be labored." As with every other Network Security Operative, Rika's physical condition was being monitored by Virgin's biological scanner.

          "No duh, Sherlock…" Nonaka mumbled as she continued to stare into the mirror. It was almost as though the girl on the other side of the glass had a life of her own, seemingly ready to reach through the reflective portal and choke her counterpart on this side… a thought that sent a chill up the Digimon Queen's spine. "Just a little pain here and there… I must be stressed out. Nothing a little rest wouldn't help."

          "Of course. I was about to suggest the same thing."

          The NS-8 Operative fell on her bed face first. It wasn't as crowded as a bunk, but not exactly a queen sized bed, either. Just right for an average lonely person's taste in sleeping furniture. "Tell them not to disturb me unless it's something very important."

          "Noted. Anything else?"

          "Not really…" Nonaka muttered into her pillow, implying that she definitely didn't want to be disturbed. Even as Virgin decided to completely leave her alone and shut off the cameras in the room, Rika remained conscious of the presence that still lingered somewhere dangerously close to her. It was then that she sensed a thought not of her own cross her mind.

          Friendrika finally knowing I here. That very nice. Now me getting to know friendrika very personal.

          "What the?" That was her voice, in her head, without her articulate grammar. Something was not right with the world.

          What the what? Me no understanding what friendrika saying… It was like she was talking – thinking to herself in the way a person monologues, with the exception being she didn't know what the other character she was playing was going to say next.

          "I must be going nuts… I could almost swear I'm hearing voices in my head." she still couldn't believe it. She definitely needed to go to Sazaki for a psychiatric evaluation before further notice.

          You not nut, friendrika… you hearing me quite right. We stick together like glue for looooooooong time. A sharp pain speared through her chest, even worse than the previous aches. Friendrika not want to get rid of me. Me too important to be gotten rid of. It was almost as if this voice was using the pain to prove it was real, manipulating it to keep control over her, much like a master and slave.

          "What the hell… are you?" this presence… why was it even here in the first place?

          Me not sure, but maybe friendrika could answer that for me. Right? Another wave of pain shot through her upper torso, seemingly having a life of its own as her mind was clouded by the image of an unearthly creature clawing its way out of her body, leaving a bloody mess surrounding her corpse as the former scuttled off to wreak havoc inside NS-8. This idea was, of course, spawned from watching too many B-Grade sci-fi/horror movies over the past week, like 'The Virtually Indestructible Brain-Eating Brain From the Planet Kookamunga', or 'The Hideous Chest-Bursting Creature From the Bottom of Squealer's Lake', and flicks with even worse titles.

          "I'm guessing you're some kind of alien life form…" although it was only a hunch, what else could it possibly be? It wasn't like humans were capable of creating such a thing as sentience – Okay, with the exception of digimon and Virgin… but what kind of creature could be so cruel? Gods knew but maybe it was some kind of split personality of hers. In the case of multiple personality disorders, though, one persona could not possibly be conscious at the same time as the other, except in rare cases, which turned up only so often that even top of the line psychiatrists didn't know how to handle such situations.

          Or it could've been something else. She knew about the ADR that mimicked Jeri, recalling even having encountered it at least once or twice during the Reaper's onslaught. What she was mixed-up with right now was most probably something similar to that. But how was that possible? D-Reaper was down in hibernation… wasn't it? And if, indeed, she was messing up with an ADR, then it should at least have a syntax level of an adult. "You're an Agent D-Reaper… right?" This came out prematurely, since she still hadn't really decided on that yet.

          D-Reaper is nothing compared to me. Friendrika should come to understand that. As if that wasn't enough, 'she' decided to 'convince' 'her' 'friend' by sending another agonizing jolt through the nerves within the area of Nonaka's chest. I representative of far greater power than friendrika can possibly imagine.

          "I guess I was wrong… What do you want from me, anyway?" whatever reason for making contact with her it had, it couldn't possibly be good, since it was acting like a real bitch… not to mention a sadistic control freak determined to break its defenseless prey.

          Like I say earlier, friendrika… you and me… we stick together like glue for loooooong time. But for now, I let you think over what I just said. With that last chilling statement, the voice's invisible embodiment was no longer present. The pain in her chest and the throbbing in her head subsided. Most evident of all, however, was the fact that she no longer felt the perverted sensation of being watched.

          This looks like something I'm going to have to keep to myself. It then struck her as to the fact that she still didn't know what to call the mysterious sentience… It was, in a sense, an inner demon, something she must handle by herself, hence the secrecy. Sensibly enough, when shorted into an acronym, inner demon became Id, intense internal desires that need to be literally chained to prevent them from taking over your will and reducing you to a greedy, perverted, and basically negative person. Then Id it is… with this in mind, Rika finally drifted off into the sleep that she needed.

Briefing Room, 14th Floor - NS-8 Headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo

Thursday, 1627 Hours, Local Time

          "Look, I'm sorry about mentioning Renamon—" Takato Matsuki covered his mouth as his conversational partner flinched at the mentioned name. "I mean, you-know-who, but… well, you know… since the Tamers have been getting their partners back one by one and all…" He had previously received an email from Kenta, who was now living somewhere in Hokkaido, about how Marine Angemon had suddenly appeared inside his bathtub while he was in the middle of a bubbly-wubbly… uh… cleansing exercise. This was shortly followed by one from Kazu, who now dwelled in the Entertainment District of Asuka, that a Hagurumon practically destroyed the stereo set the latter had popped out of during a late night rave party being held by the former at his place.

So the Digimon Queen still didn't have her partner back. What else was new? Well, there was the fact that he had just seen a human being die in front of his eyes, and the idea of meeting someone who could be an alternate version of Hikari Kamiya, who he still happened to have a crush on after all these years. Lucky a bastard as he was in meeting a clone of the girl of his dreams, sadly, she was already taken. "Oh well… hey, what happened to the Pan-Digital Something?"

          "You mean Sakamori didn't tell you?" Rika raised an eyebrow at how uninformed he was. NS-8 was a high standard-bearing NS Cell and their supposedly updated data networks met one of those standards. He was going to be a problem. "Whole thing was some kind of setup. I'll go into the details later. Right now though—" She sighed in weariness as she reclined into her chair, closing her eyes just as Director Pan stepped into the room, a folder's worth of papers in one hand, half-eaten Guilmon Roll in the other.

          "Now's not the time to be taking naps, Agent Nonaka," he turned his attention to Takato, who was just about to rest his head on the makeshift nest his arms had made on the briefing room's table, just in front of his touch screen terminal. "And I hope you're not going to do what I think you're going to do, Agent Matsuki… it's not good to be sleeping on the job, you know." He took another raucous bite out of the digimon-shaped pastry as Takato snapped back into attention. "Much better." The rather bloated bearded deputy director sat at the head. "We're going to wait for a while for the rest of the crew to arrive. And Agent Matsuki?"

          "Yes sir?" He'd heard that Sakamori was spending the rest of week off with his family, leaving the fat, bread-eating guy in charge. Funny how he never talked about them… It was even funnier how Rika's mother had called his parents that morning, saying they were going to spend the weekend in Hawaii with 'a long lost relative'. The million-dollar question then was, 'did both events have anything to do with each other?'

Ever since the whole D-Reaper incident, the primary Tamers' families had decided to 'get to know' each other more and ended up as good friends… It was typical and so in-tune with the saying that said, "Crises bring out the best in all of man." Of course, this involved people getting to know each other more as they helped each other out during some kind of big time crisis. He'd learned as much from watching all those 'natural disaster' movies. Some guys are just so lucky to have control of their own schedule… the Tamer cringed at that last word. As far as he could tell, he had no control whatsoever over his schedule.

          "Would you mind asking your parents to ready and deliver another extra large package of Guilmon Rolls for tomorrow? I think this is the last one…" Pan was the only exception to his family bakery's 'no-more-mon' policy, which stated that they no longer made Guilmon rolls for sale. Since Pan had a 'Bottomless Government Issue Credit Card', however, he was lucky enough to be given pardon from the stated policy, making him… Well, Takato didn't know what that exemption made him, except… fatter.

          "Yes, sir…"

          Pan tossed the last piece of the creatively crafted piece of bread into his pie hole as he sat down, aligning the papers in his other hand by shaking them into place a little. "While we're waiting, I suppose I should give you an update on what's going on, eh?" Both teens nodded. "Alright. Agent Matsuki, the information you and Yamamoto retrieved was just what we needed to find out a few things concerning the Agency's Directors. I appreciate the sacrifices you made to do so." It was then that Yamamoto stepped into the room, followed by a rather sleepy Sazaki, who apparently, hadn't rested for another six hours after she heard what happened. "Sit down, you two." NS-8's deputy director waited until they were seated before he continued, "Surprising thing is, half of the Agency's Directors were hiding in plain sight, the place where we'd least expect them to be."

          "Yeah…" Sazaki added a little insight to the apparently one-sided conversation, "Who'd have thought that Jacob Marlon, the guy who looks like the dude from the Matrix, was actually the Agency's Chief?"

          "True, but more disturbing is the idea that there's still the mystery of who the 'founder' that Omar Ben Gazarra Al-Deev had mentioned." Pan reminded, "In any case, here are the profiles on some of the Agency's office Directors…" He placed one of his papers on the scanner, high-speed connection doing its job quite well. The image of an Asian man nearing senior citizenship age came forth. "For those of you who don't already know him, this is Tsing Gao Lieang, a former general of the People's Republic Army who decided he could make more money off owning a D-Tech office in China. Born in Guangzhou on October 12, 1946, this guy has warmonger written all over him and frequently purchases weapons of mass destruction from brokers on the global black market."

          "To think the Chinese already have enough problems with their population and leftover influence from Russia," Rika shook her head, "Now they have this nut to deal with too?"

          "Let NS-7 handle that, Agent Nonaka." Pan switched to the next profile sheet. This time, a middle-aged Arabic man appeared, "Omar Ben Gazarra Al-Deev. Born Al Qusayr, Syria on February 16, 1956, he's on the US's Top 50 Most Wanted Terrorists List for being an Al Quida Leader and threatening to bomb American Embassies in the Middle East. Obviously, he's in charge of the Agency's Middle Eastern Office, which, has yet to be located."

          "Terrorists… don't we have enough of them already?" Yamamoto commented rather harshly. "Maybe we should try doing something about it…"

          "Jurisdiction, Agent Yamamoto… Remember that." the deputy director placed yet another one on the scanner. A blond European with a rather callous air about him came into view. A ponytail went down the back of his neck, complimented by his cold green eyes. "This is Cameron MacLeod, CEO and Chairman of Xabercom, one of D-Tech's closest corporate allies. Apparently, he's inherited the entire company from his father, Lucas MacLeod, who inherited it from his father… you kids get the idea. Historical records indicate that Xabercom goes back to the renaissance period, when the founder, also named Cameron MacLeod, set it up in London as a weapons research and development guild. This evolved into the multinational weapon sales conglomerate that's now into development of the Ion Particle Weaponry that's so popular in sci-fi videogames these days." Pan shook his head at the absurdity of the said genre, "MacLeod was born in Scotland, 1969… that's all the records have on him. No family besides his father, who nobody has ever seen him with, no wife, no second degree relatives, no primary, secondary, and college education… hell, the bastard doesn't even have insurance, which is pretty strange for an extremely rich person! It's like reading a near-blank sheet of paper!"

          "Must be a really private kinda guy…" Takato mumbled.

          Pan switched profiles again, another European fellow appearing on screen. "Vladimir Skatakov. Director of the KGB… not much to say here. Born in Leningrad, June 27, 1957. Russian Office's director and a real pen pusher… but enough about him. It's time for the big cheese…" The piece of bond was replaced by the last one they had, "This is Jacob Marlon, the Agency's 'Big Kahuna' who was born in Boise, Idaho on September 16, 1954. Studied Business management in the Ivy League in 1974 and joined the army a couple of years later. Ended up as the commander of a Delta Force unit for a few years and retired to go full-time with D-Tech in 1994, where he landed as CEO a couple of years later when its former President, Johnny Walker, was assassinated." Paper was removed from the scanner. "There are around five more, but we're still trying to identify them. So in the meantime, I suppose I'll just give you all an update on what our next step is."

          The NS-8 deputy director brought out a CD and placed it into his terminal's ROM. "Just sit back and enjoy the show…" it was the recording of the meeting, part specially noted was concerning Project: Commac. "If we were to continue this video any more, it would take too long to understand, so I'll just cut to the chase. Every Agency Director eventually declined Marlon's offer with the exception of MacLeod, who now has possession of the Commac Project's Schematics. From what they've shown us thus far, if these things get out into the global black market, the whole balance of military power as we know it could be flipped upside down. Intelligence Section indicates that MacLeod has returned to London and is currently utilizing Xabercom's resources to develop an even more advanced version of Marlon's already destructive Commac."

          Yamamoto interjected once again, "Pardon me, sir, but isn't it NS-3's job to take care of that?" this was of course, a veiled retort at that 'jurisdiction' thing Pan had mentioned earlier.

          "True, but von Felnickstein is well aware of our contribution to this data." Schubert von Felnickstein has been NS-3's Director since Network Security's founding in 1945 and was the last active (if not living) member of the first generation of the Executive Twelve. Gods knew why he was still capable of commanding an organization as large as that since he was at least 50 when the UN was founded. Even stranger was the fact that he always remained in perfect health, which was uncanny for a man of his speculated age. Some say it was because of his healthy eating habits… others say it was because he was a major shareholder for Nutrilite. "Because of NS-8's helping reveal the existence of this project, NS-3 is willing to share the spoils of their operation with us." he casually pointed at Rika, who raised an eyebrow at him, "Nonaka, you are to join a tactical unit assembled by von Felnickstein to infiltrate and get the discs containing Project Commac's data. You leave for Munich in one hour."

          "Munich? Now hold on one second here… Munich? As in Germany?" The Digimon Queen always wanted to see the place. She'd heard much about Germany from her bedroom conversations with Virgin, and from what she was told, it was a sight to be seen indeed. It was somewhat a dream come true, if one looked at it from that perspective.

          "That's right… Germany." Pan fixed his papers and brought out a Three Musketeers Bar, nibbling on the chocolate covered caramel and nougat treat. There was nothing like it. Sure, bread was his favorite, but that didn't mean there wasn't any room for other foods, of course.

          "Do I get some time off for a tour of the place?" Nonaka half-joked, even though she meant what she was saying.

          Pan almost choked on his chocolate bar. The Digimon Queen asking for some time off to tour a place!? Impossible… He didn't baby her like what his boss was doing. That wasn't a good thing to do to a subordinate. They'd eventually get spoiled… like this one. It was then when the bread eater figured out her joke and realized it wasn't funny. The answer came in a bland and stoic statement, "No."

To Be Continued…

          "So I tells him," Ironheart continued in his ridiculous Texan accent, "To get his stinkin' boots off mah ass and stick 'em up someone else's!" The trio of fighter pilots started chuckling somewhat annoyingly, that was until a rude beeping sound on Ironheart's console disturbed their conversation. Cutting the chatter, he turned to see what was going on, although his ears had already told him all he needed to know. Visual contact had merely established more problems, as he, in a panic, brought the radio back on, for a more serious reason than congenial babble, "LASER LOCK! BREAK! BREAK!" This exclamation, however, seemed a moment too late as Ironheart's voice was drowned, that very second, in both a sudden burst of static, and the thundering roar of his F-117 igniting into a ball of fire care of a high powered laser that seemed to come from somewhere on the ground.

          "Jesus H. Christ!" Bogey Hunter did the most logical thing and made 180 degrees in order to buy him time to find out just what exactly shot his friend down. He made another smooth turnaround over the canopy of buildings, getting just what he wanted to see in view of his infrared sensors. What had turned up next utterly shocked him even more. He was staring at something straight out of his favorite game from the 'Blow Some Shit to Hell With a Giant Robot' genre, Mechwarrior. "Mad Cat…" he mumbled to himself as he armed his missiles, knowing very well that the Kepler would give permission to return fire anyway.

          Foxtrail, however, was ignorant enough to follow SOP and radio the massive aircraft carrier for support, "Mayday! Mayday! This is Bravo-Zero-Three to Tango-Oscar-Niner reporting Code Lightsaber! Repeat: Code Lightsaber! We are under attack by hostiles with laser weaponry! Request permission to engage!"

          The voice that came back through the radio was calm, as though they knew what was going on all along, "Copy that, Bravo-Zero-Three. Permission granted. Just stay frosty out there, you hear? Friendlies are en route to your vector, ETA two minutes." That statement, however, didn't seem to reassure the pilot at all as he armed his own missiles and took lock on the strange machine that loomed overhead.

On a bench several rooftops away, Ryo Akiyama reclined, eyes glued to a pair of infrared binoculars, apparently having nothing better to do than watch this little spectacle he had set up thanks to the Agency's knowledge of the United States' Military system, as well as the said superpower's overseas activities. It was time to show them just what he and his buddy were capable of doing, even when put up against the only United States military aircraft that hadn't been shot down ever since it first came into service… until now. F-117 Nighthawk indeed… he thought as he increased the magnification level to what he considered a comfortable view, "Showtime, partner…"

AN: You think that was crazy? Try this scene…

          "You have no right to criticize what he died for!" With that, the girl redoubled her efforts and charged full force at the man, who was far more than ready to begin parrying stoke after stroke of her saber. The deadly dance of enraged proportions carried on with the man on his defensive. She slashed, he parried, and vice versa. Any spectator would've deduced it to be no more than a stalemate, a deadlock, a log jam. They were going nowhere fast.

          Slash – an innocent cardboard box sitting in the way was carved in two.

          Parry – this caused quite a dent in the man's katana.

          Slash – the man dodged as saber cut deep into a wooden support beam and came out again, ready to strike once more

          Parry – the man stumbled on a stool that was behind him but stood up with regained composure almost immediately, blocking the next incoming attack.

          Slash – the girl yelled as she managed to cut her adversary by the torso, although it was but a flesh wound.

          Parry – sparks flew as the saber's edge scraped against his sword's own.

          He knew he shouldn't have underestimated her. Rage does wonders for the body… It was either that, or the intense adrenaline rush that resulted from it. Time to do a little morale degradation… Slash, "Why waste his time and talents on a weakling such as yourself?" Parry, "He was foolish enough to think that you were capable of surviving on your own once taught properly." Slash, "He might've been correct in factoring your adrenaline into a battle but…" Parry, "Oh, hell, let's just end this!"

          The swordfight continued without another word as she began to gain the upper hand, constantly driving him back towards a brick wall, hitting everything that fell into the path of her saber whenever he managed to dodge, causing friction-based sparks to fly. If he didn't do something fast, he was going to lose his head to this little slut… and he could never let that happen. Too much was at stake for such an allowance. He thought fast and began to search for the right moment; the point where she was most vulnerable; the split second just after she swung that sword. THERE! His hands moved, swift and sure, guiding his blade from a parry to a thrust that went straight into her.

The girl's eyes widened in realization as cold steel entered her being, sharp, precise, and powerful. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the numbing pain spread like noxious fumes throughout her body. Pale brown, neck length locks that should have been flying forward simply hung next to her face, suspended and bent awkwardly in an obtuse angle. The blade's tip, and pretty much of the rest of it exited her torso through her back, smeared a bright living crimson with her own blood.

Saber was dropped as she fell to her knees, staring wearily and somewhat defiantly at the man who smirked dirtily as he twisted his wrist, embedded blade following suit. She couldn't scream for the pain, the pain, was too intense, too much. Her universe currently had two centers: her adversary's hating face, and the unexplainably sickening sensation caused by the weapon that, by physical standards, was still within her.

Slowly, he withdrew. She could feel the battle-dented edge scrape against her internal organs, dealing more damage than what had already been accomplished. As soon as its presence left her body, she clutched at the graciously large run-through wound in her abdomen. It stung like hell. The man swerved the blade into what looked like a beheading position, and finally spoke after minutes of silence. "I suppose the best way to disarm your enemy is to run him through. The natural reaction for somebody who's been run through is to get down, either on all fours or his knees, depending on their pain tolerance. I'm surprised you're part of the latter group. We might be capable of living forever, but we can still feel pain. And as much fun as this battle has been, I'm afraid we've reached the point where I have to remind you, my dear Ms. Kamiya, that there can be only one." Final speech said, he swung his trusted blade down at her neck… producing the expected results.

AN: Ah, finally! I'm done! Stayed up all night writing that last scene… let's see… time: 8:29 AM. Very early. Hopefully, this would satisfy. I seriously don't know what to do now, with school coming up within the next three weeks. It's unbelievable how summer can just slip by you like that! Time to say goodbye to High School, I guess… even though I have ten more months to go. Oh, well, expect another update some time this year. Hopefully, I can get it done before the second semester. In the meantime, watch out for updates to Vector. I just might post one up to greet my goddamned school year hello. As always, this is Fizzy 13, asking you to review!!!