Bubble Gum Crisis
An Alternate Story of the Knight Sabers 2034
Year of the Tiger
Neo No Armour Against Fate (Section 1 of 5)
Domino Effect (Part 2 of 6)
by Shawn Hagen(1997;1999;2005)

Based on Situations and Characters crated by Suzuki Toshimichi

MegaTokyo, January 11th.

Nene balanced the load of paperwork in her arms, hurrying through the corridors of the AD Police building. With more than a little trouble, she managed to shift the load just enough to be able to check her watch. Just enough time, if she was quick.

She dropped off more than half of the files on the eleventh floor before rushing up the stairs to the twelfth. Near the southern side of the building, if a cylinder could be said to have sides, was a women's washroom that, for some reason, saw almost no use.

Nene pushed through the door, looked around then checked under the stalls to make sure no one was around. Satisfied she was alone, she went into the farthest stall, locking the door behind her.

After placing the files on the floor, she slid her laptop free of the camouflage. Reaching towards the wall she slid her fingernails into the cracks around one of the tiles, and pulled it free. She placed the piece of ceramic on top of the files then reached into the space revealed, removing a small bundle of fibre optic cables. Taking a set of leads from the laptop she slid them into the I/O splice points she had inserted a few months before.

Squatting down, being careful not to put her foot into the toilet, she placed the computer in her lap. Once she turned it on she was connected into the building's secure datanet.

There were a number of other computers in the building she could have used to access the information, but the current set up ensured much more privacy.

Normally she would have used Leon's access to check the data, but Leon was not involved in the case. Logging in she typed out the password only to be denied access. Nene shook her head. How often did she change her password anyway? she wondered. How paranoid can a person be?

Then again, for the non-entities up in pure investigations paranoia was probably just good sense. They asked the questions that were probably best not asked and they discovered the answers some people would prefer remain undiscovered. It was hard to cancel an investigation that no one knew about.

She almost used Leon's password, knowing most of the information would be in his files but then a stubborn streak rose up in her. She looked at her watch and decided she could take a bit of time.

Sliding down, deep into the computer system, she used a few of the back doors she had found and temporarily rewrote a few of the operating protocols. Shortly thereafter she logged in once again, typing in the password she had retrieved.

"Welcome Malso-keibuho(lieutenant)." Printed across the screen. Nene smiled as she copied all the information about the previous night's terrorist case onto a disk. The ADP was interested because it involved terrorists with heavy weapons, and, though no one said it aloud, it involved Genom. Sylia was interested because Genom was showing more interest in what had happened then she thought the incident warranted.

After she was finished she made a few changes to ensure that Lieutenant Malso did not realise that someone had been abusing her password, then logged off. That was the nice thing about Leon, he never really gave his computer much attention.

Nene worked quickly to undo everything she had done, pushing the ceramic tile back into place, sliding her computer back into the file stack and brushing her uniform's skirt straight. Satisfied she had left nothing suspicious showing, Nene unlocked the stall door, gathered up the paperwork and left, heading towards the elevators.

After a few more stops Nene returned to her workstation, putting the remaining files in her inbox. She pulled one of her desk drawers open, freed her laptop from the files then dropped it into the drawer. Now to work, she thought, pushing the drawer closed.

She found herself finished in surprisingly little time. It had been some time since the Knight Sabers had done anything beyond stopping the occasional rogue boomer. Getting her job done had not been a problem; in fact, now it seemed like she had actually managed to get ahead of it.

This is a first, Nene thought, pushing the completed files to the side of her desk as she checked the files on her PC to make sure she had not forgotten anything.

She leaned back in her chair for a moment before letting the chair return fully upright so she could bend down, taking her purse from under the desk.

Rifling through it Nene removed a disk from one of the inside pockets. She pushed it into the PC's drive and loaded the file into the computer.

She had set her computer to compiling a list of texts that were recommend for the central exam the night before. Then she had had it find all he differences between those texts and the ones she had read in the past. That morning she had saved all the information to use as a place to start studying.

She had made a number of notes and had put together several files worth of study notes. She would write the test in a few days and wanted to be up on everything. To cut down her study time she had gone to the original papers, staying away from texts.

It reminded her of high school in some ways. She had been in her first year of senior high school, her parents had just convinced her that it was time she got to work, time to start thinking about university. Nene had bought into it completely and had decided that year she was going to do her best, even though she had consistently received some of the highest marks in Junior High School.

Within the first three weeks she had read all her texts. That had led her to ask a lot of questions of her teachers, ones they had not been willing to answer at that time, telling her to wait until they covered it as the curriculum dictated.

Finally she had turned to the texts of the upper classes, hoping to find the answers. She found some, but she also discovered even more questions that needed answers. She had started skipping classes to visit the library, but she always made sure that she was in class for any tests.

Then she had turned to university libraries, giving up texts to go after the actual articles in the journals and periodicals stored in the library databases. Her first serious attempts at what the uncharitable might call 'illegal access of restricted material'-Nene preferred to think of it as sneaking in back doors-had been oddly enjoyable. After discovering that she enjoyed hacking, she had soon found some people at school who shared similar interests. It had been a lot more fun than tennis.

Even with the highest marks in her school her parents had not been happy. There was more to school than just getting high marks; there were also attendance records, participation in school events and other things like that, they had told her.

So Nene had tried but sitting through the classes was so boring, she had already learned it all. She had started avoiding her classes again.

Her parents had continued to push her. While she tried hard, she could not meet their all of their expectations. At seventeen she had finally run away.

And now she was living with her parents again, getting ready to write her tests and finally doing exactly what they wanted. It was funny really.

"What's this?" Naoko Ikusawa asked, leaning over Nene's shoulder.

"Just a few things," Nene said.

"Biology?" Naoko said, reading what was on the screen. "Mitochondria, vacuoles, ribosome? What's all this?"

"Doing a bit of studying," Nene told her.

"This isn't high school Nene-kun," Naoko said with mock sternness.

"Tell me about it," Nene said, pushing her chair back, stretching her legs out.

"So, are you busy tonight?"

"Why?"

"A bunch of us are going out for dinner and a movie after work, do you want to come?"

"Sure. Oh, wait. I've got some things to do. What do you say I meet you at the restaurant?"

"Okay, we'll be at Matsuo's until eight."

"Matsuo's," Nene said as she wrote the name down on a pad of paper.

"Oh, got to go," Naoko said. "Harrison-sama is giving me that stare of hers." Naoko smiled as she headed off towards her workstation.

Nene looked over her notes again, already deciding which archive sites were most likely to have the journal articles and would be the easiest to deal with.

-

Linna wiped the perspiration from her forehead then tossed the towel to the side of the studio. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, making the studio just a little too warm. She stood still for a moment, listening to the music before beginning to move to it, moving through the complex steps of the dance.

It had been a long time since she had danced with any serious intent. Mostly it had been the occasional night on the dance floor with her boy friend of the week or at Hot Legs, dancing to Priss' music. As close to dancing as one could get when pressed in on all sides by a crowd.

What she was doing now in the empty aerobics studio was completely different, however. She couldn't afford to be good, there were millions of good dancers. She had to be great. She had to be perfection and grace personified.

That was what she needed to be, but as Linna fought to keep her balance through a spin she knew she was not. She had not been for quite a while, but she was going to have to be. There was not a lot of time. The decision would come soon.

She ended the routine, dropping into a splits, placing her forehead on her knee. The sound of slow clapping made her look up, towards the door.

"A bit too much, even for the advanced classes wouldn't you say Linna-san?" Ami Shaw asked, leaning up against the door, still clapping slowly.

"Just practising," Linna told her as she swung her legs together, then got to her feet.

"For what?" Ami stopped clapping.

"Possibly an audition." Linna picked up her towel and pulled it around her neck, using the ends to wipe at her face.

"Not bad," Ami told her.

"What do you really think?" Linna asked, knowing politeness from truth.

"Well, I'm not a pro or anything but I think it was a bit loose. It lacked, I don't know, crispness"
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Linna said slowly.

"Listen, I was going to tell you that you have a class shortly but if you want I'll take it for you. I owe you one or two."

"Really?"

"No problem at all. Every extra minute of practice you get will help, right?"

"Right. Thank you very much." Linna bowed formally, truly grateful.

"No problem. Good luck." Ami left the studio.

Linna ran through a few quick, breathing exercises then let her towel drop. She began to dance once again, working to improve all the faults she had found in the last run through while at the same time looking for new ones.

-

Nene pulled her scooter into the parking space in front of LADYS633, shutting off the engine and putting down the kick stand. She took her helmet off and locked it to the scooter before removing her purse from the storage compartment.

After taking a moment to run a debit card through the parking meter she walked into the building and headed for the Silky Doll.

There were a number of customers in the store, Nene noted as she entered. Most were women looking through the store's wares. However, there were a few men who had the uncomfortable look of husbands and boyfriends dragged in against their will.

Mackie was manning the cash register, sitting behind the counter with that dreamy look of his. If he noticed Nene, he didn't pay any more attention to her than any of the other women in the store.

Turning to look through a rack of flimsy lingerie, Nene considered buying the highly impractical garment just on the off chance her parents might see it. She knew her mother's thoughts on just who garments like that were for. Smiling slightly at the thought Nene moved on, checking out a few more garments before moving to the central bins where more practical undergarments were kept.

She looked through the bins, removing several pairs of panties before heading up to the cash register. She placed the underwear on the counter.

Mackie quickly went through the pile of cotton and silk, running a scanner over the bar code price tags. Nene watched as the total was displayed on the cash register. She reached into her purse and pulled out several bills that were folded around a computer disk.

"Thank you." Mackie said as he took the bills and then handed her her change.

"Is Sylia-san around?" Nene asked softly as he put her purchases into a bag.

"Upstairs." Mackie answered just as softly.

"Is it all right if I see her?"

As he put the last pair of panties into the bag he turned to a small screen just under the counter. It showed the status of security around the building. Everything seemed clear.

"It shouldn't be a problem." Then louder, "Please come again."

Nene nodded as she picked up her bag. She turned and headed out of the store. As she exited the building she was suddenly struck by the thought that Mackie had handled most of the underwear she owned. She laughed quietly as she walked towards her scooter.

Not bothering to put her purse and bag away, Nene placed them near her feet once she was on the scooter. She unlocked her helmet, put it on, and then pushed the electric starter.

Rocking the scooter forward off the kick stand Nene headed off. Two blocks farther up she turned, circling back to LADYS633. A short time later she was pulling into the private parking lot in the back.

She parked her scooter between Sylia's BMW and a four door Mazda sedan. After shutting the scooter off she gathered up her purse and bag of underwear, then walked towards the elevator.

-

Sylia stood by the window, listening to Nene as she spoke of her problems. Part of Sylia did not want to bother with it, was actually angry at Nene for wasting her time with, what to Sylia were, petty concerns. But that was only a small part of Sylia and for the most part she was actually pleased Nene had come to her. She felt a wave of sisterly affection towards the younger woman.

There was another part of Sylia that felt guilty though. That Nene felt that she had to actually come to Sylia about this; what had her actions done to the women she considered her friends, almost family. Sylia turned as Nene finished, looking down at her. Nene looked up at her from the couch.

"What is it you want me to tell you Nene?" Sylia asked. "That you can't go to university because I need you to remain with the AD Police?" Sylia crossed the richly appointed living room and turned. "I can not and more importantly I will not," Sylia told her.

"But..."

"No," Sylia interrupted her. "As important as having a person in the AD Police was at the beginning, it is no longer necessary." Sylia walked back to the couch. "Do you want to do this?"

"Well," Nene stared down at her shoes, shifting around on the couch slightly. "I think so, but I don't want to let you down."

Is this what it has come to? Sylia thought to herself. Have I destroyed her life, making her a tool of my desires? It was not a pleasant thought.

"Nene." Sylia took a seat beside her. "Do you know how many taps you have put into the ADP computer system?"

"Around fifty," Nene said softly, not looking up.

"Fifty three to be exact. Fifteen of which we have shut down over the past year, none of those were ever found. Your leaving will not be letting me down." Sylia got to her feet. "You also have a number of friends within the organisation which gives you reason to occasionally visit."

Sylia did not see Nene wince slightly, as if struck. The idea of using her friends like that made her feel like a traitor of sorts, just like the idea of taking the test made her feel like a traitor to Sylia.

"If you do not wish to go to university that is your decision, I will not let you use the Knight Sabers to justify that choice though."

Nene didn't say anything, she was deep in thought. Sylia picked up the tea she had been drinking when Nene had come in. It was cold and a little bitter but she finished it off.

"Can you pass the juken(university entrance exam)?" Sylia put the bone china cup down on its saucer.

"Yes." Nene looked up at her, something fierce in her eyes.

Sylia had to be careful not to smile. She remembered reading Nene's Senior High School records, after she had unravelled the false identity that Nene had woven for herself. She did not doubt for a second that Nene could pass the central test, or any of the tests for any of the universities.

Once again she was glad she had not gone with her first instincts which had been to report Nene's location to the police and her parents and go with one of the others that had broken that code. As much as it would have been the right thing to do she was glad she had not done it. At the same time she could not help but to feel a little guilty.

"Then do so." Sylia walked back to the couch. "It is your decision to make."

"I guess." Nene got to her feet, still not sure what she wanted, or more to the point knowing what she wanted but not sure she should take it.

"And Nene," Sylia called to her as she was about to leave the living room. "I would appreciate it if you chose a university in Tokyo. I still need you as a member of the Knight Sabers."

"Thank you Sylia," Nene said over her shoulder, beginning to feel a little better. She left the living room. A few moments later Sylia heard her leaving.

Picking up the cup and saucer Sylia walked to her kitchen and put them into the dishwasher.

Sylia walked to the patio doors, slid them open, and stepped out onto the roof. The late afternoon sun chased away some of the cold, but Sylia still shivered. Her pool was covered, closed until the return of warmer weather.

First Linna and now Nene, Sylia thought, both finally continuing on with their lives. It was not that she was losing them, both would still be available, but it added a time constraint that Sylia never had to worry about before.

And then there was Priss; the one Knight Saber she knew she might lose at any moment. Possibly to her self destructive tendencies but most likely to the record company which finally realised what the singer offered.

Sylia could not even conceive of replacing them. When she had gathered them to her, tools of her vengeance, she had been looking for people like them. If she had to replace team members she would be looking for exact replacements. She would never find people exactly like Linna, Priss or Nene.

Perhaps we should all get on with our lives. Sylia leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms across her chest. I've killed Mason, the man directly responsible for father's death; I've destroyed Largo, his twisted incarnation. I have slowed Genom down, played balancing force to their evil many times, and even hurt them financially. I have the scars to prove it, so do my friends. How long will I continue this?

Sylia stared into nothing, lost in thought. It was much later when she was finally brought out of her reverie by the cold following in the wake of the setting sun.

-

The beeping of her alarm cut through the haze of sleep around Priss' mind. She pushed a hand out from under her covers and reached down to the floor, fumbling with the alarm until the beeping stopped. She turned over onto her back, staring up at the dingy grey ceiling of the trailer. She didn't want to get up, just moving her arm out from under the warmth of the blankets had been almost more than she had been willing to do.

Reaching above her head Priss unclipped an old watch from the headboard of the bed. It was a little after noon. Priss clipped the watch back to the railings then sat up, crouching slightly so her head did not hit the ceiling.

Turning, she slid her legs out of the bed and over the edge of the platform it rested on. Priss put her feet onto the ladder rungs, stood, then dropped to the floor.

She shivered slightly in the cool air of the trailer as she walked across the cluttered floor, stepping over the cushions that were her only other furnishing-other than the bed, a keyboard, and an empty gas can lying on its side-as she made her way to the hot water heater.

The gas came on with the overly loud hiss as it ran through the poorly constructed valves. As Priss pushed the igniter she made another promise to spend some money on herself and her comforts rather than her bike.

The cool air made her myriad of old wounds ache ever so slightly, the scar tissue making its presence felt. From the one on her leg which she had received during the Second Kanto Quake to the damage her right arm had taken from Reika's mech. Winter was reminding her of all the old wounds and hurts, a legacy of sorts and not one she was too pleased with. On the other hand, though, they were not nearly as painful as the scars on her soul.

Priss crossed the floor to the sleeping platform, opening the small door, revealing the tiny cubicle where the toilet was. She crouched down and entered, pulling the door closed.

Shortly after Priss exited the cubicle and returned to the hot water heater. She spun the tap on it, starting the hot water flowing into the steel tub. Another tap started the cold water.

Removing her night shirt she tossed it over the seat of her bike then slid into the rapidly filling tub. Using the tub without first washing always felt a bit odd to Priss, but she did not have a proper bathing set up so there was nothing she could really do.

Just one of the many joys of living as she did.

-

Shifting into a lower gear Priss leaned into the turn, her tires slipping slightly as she navigated the intersection a moment before the light changed. She shifted to a higher gear and twisted the accelerator, regaining the speed she had lost in the turn.

It was all done with automatic responses on Priss' part. Her mind was on other things other than the road. None of its was of great import-song lyrics, her personal finances and trying to remember how many more dinners Linna owed her (Not that it really mattered; she doubted Linna could remember either)-but it all ran through her mind. A few more high speed turns, a close call with one or two of the other vehicles with which she shared the road-resulting in a few curses that she hardly attention to-and she was pulling into the parking garage near Linna's apartment building.

She snagged the ticket from dispenser as she went by, hardly slowing. Turning sharply she slid her bike between two others on the ground level.

A minute later, with her helmet tucked under her arm, Priss exited the structure heading towards Linna's building.

She walked into the lobby, fishing a set of keys from her pocket and unlocking the security door. Linna had given her the keys almost a year before when they had been spending more time together. She had not asked for them back and they did save Priss the trouble of buzzing up every time she visited.

The elevator always took a bit too long for Priss' taste. Instead she pushed open the door to the stairwell and walked up them. She stepped out on the third floor, walking to Linna's door.

Her hand stopped a few centimetres from the wood. She turned her head, listening. Was that laughing? she wondered. It sounded just like Linna. Priss wondered what she was so happy about. She had to knock on the door several times before it was answered.

"Priss!" Linna cried as she opened it. "Look." She held an envelope and a piece of paper up for Priss to look at.

"What's this?" Priss took both from Linna. The envelope was marked with the logo of a private courier company. She read the letter. "An audition?"

"Yes!" Linna grabbed the envelope and letter back from Priss. She danced back several steps and spun around. "An audition!"

"Three days, is that enough time?" Priss entered the apartment, closing the door behind her. She began to work her feet out of her boots.

"It better be." Linna laughed, but there was something forced to it. Priss could see how nervous she was, no matter how she tried to hide it.

"What about dinner?" Priss asked, deciding the Linna could use something else to think about and that she was getting hungry.

"Oh, I forgot. I haven't made a thing."

"Great," Priss shook her head, smiling slightly.

"I'll take you out, I feel like celebrating," Linna said.

"Twist my arm why don't you," Priss said.

"Just let me get my purse." Linna ran deeper into the apartment, laughing.

"Ganbatte (good luck)," Priss said softly.

-

The club was nearly deserted, the few people remaining were either too drunk or too tired or both to be much of a bother. There were times when Priss just couldn't stand the adoration of her fans, especially since she was positive she had seen Leon in the audience when the lights had gone down a little.

It was unfortunate Linna had gone to practice her dance routine at the aerobics studio. Priss could usually count on her to run interference.

She sat on the stage, her legs hanging over the edge, rubbing at her hair with a towel. She had made use of the club's shower, changed into some clothes she kept there, black jeans and a red blouse. Her jacket rested in a pile on the stage beside her. When she told people that Hot Legs was her second home she was not speaking figuratively.

With the harsh lights illuminating the room, the waitresses cleaning off tables, the bouncers beginning to roust the people sleeping at tables, the club lost a lot of the magic it had when it was a shadowy place.

What a hole, Priss shook her head, tossing the towel aside. How many people had started at Hot Legs who had gone on to success of some sort? A lot she had been told. It was one of those places, a complete dump but it was a dump with history. It had been a big day in Priss' life when she had signed a contract to play one night at the club and there had been two other bands on the bill.

Now, well now she was just tired of the place.

"Excuse me, Asagiri-san?"

Priss looked up, finding herself face to face with a tall man, long black hair, held back in a ponytail, clean shaven, dark brown eyes, handsome. His black three piece suit was finely tailored. The Genom lapel pin caused Priss a moment of panic, but she quickly buried it before anything could show. If Genom were coming after her they would not bother with anything subtle, not when a sniper could easily terminate her.

"Priss," Priss picked up the glass of cola beside her and finished it off.

"Priss-san, my names Okita Oshiro." He bowed slightly before offering his business card.

Priss considered the man as she pulled one of her own, beat up, cards from her pants pocket and exchanged cards with him. Priss felt a little satisfaction as she noticed his surprise. She had learned how to do business with the corporate world.

She looked down at the card he had given to her. Okita Oshiro, just like he had said, Genom Liaison, Entertainment Industries. So some one from the tower was visiting her, things were getting interesting.

"So what can I do for you Okita?" Priss looked up from the card.

"Oshiro." He smiled. "I would like a few minutes of your time, if you would be so kind?"

"I suppose I could spare a few minutes." Priss slid off the stage, grabbing her jacket. "There's a soba place about a block away, we can talk there."

"Of course." He stepped back slightly, giving Priss room to pass then fell in beside her.

Priss wondered again if she might be in trouble but really could not see it. If Genom really wanted her and wanted to be subtle about it they could certainly do it easy enough. It would not take much to have the police bring her in on one charge or another. Then once she was alone in a cell Genom could deal with her as they willed.

"So where exactly are we going Priss-san?" He asked as they left the club, climbing the stairs to street level.

"Little 24 hour soba place, they serve a bit of everything really," Priss told him.

He didn't ask any other questions but just followed her to a very small building, sandwiched between an old warehouse and a dingy little bar-one that opened under new ownership almost monthly.

Priss walked through the doors way, pushing aside the hangings. She nodded to a tall man sitting in a dark corner near the door, then pushed by a crowd of slummers that were staring at the interior as if they were not sure they were going to stay.

"Soba, futatsu(two)," Priss said.

"Hai, hai," the old woman behind the counter said as she filled two bowls, placed them on a plastic tray and handed it to Priss.

"Coffee onegaishimasu," Oshiro said, then paid for her order and the coffee.
She left him to deal with the change and took a seat near the back of the room, putting her back to the wall, an automatic habit formed after many years.

Oshiro, almost as if sensing what she was doing moved his seat slightly-so he would not block her view of the door-before he took a seat.

"So," Priss broke her chop sticks apart. "Tell me what you want." Blunt and impolite but Priss didn't care much. She was not about to go out of her way to impress him.

"You." He took a sip of his coffee, his lip curling slightly as he tasted it. "I'm interested in signing you."

"Genom? Never. If you don't know, they hate me, and with good reason. Do you know a few of my older songs are still quoted from when ever people are looking for something bad about Genom?"

"Yes. Rather unfortunate, your earlier work lacks something, not really as mature as the stuff you play now."

"That's perhaps one of the nicer reviews I've heard, at least from any one connected to Genom. If you know that then you should also know that I'm radioactive as far as Genom is concerned."

"Let me tell you one thing." Oshiro smiled. "Genom wants money."

Genom wants power and money is just a useful way to get it, Priss thought, but did not say aloud.

"Old hurts can be forgotten." He leaned back, ignoring his coffee. Priss guessed she would have a few moments and began to eat her soba. "For the past year I've been trying to convince the old guard that you were hot, you had the potential to make rock history. Fuck, every record company in this country, even the independents, know better than to touch Priss and you still succeed. Priss is an urban legend." He shook his head.

"When I got my promotion the first thing I decided to do was get you, make both our fortunes."

"So, how do you plan to do this?" Priss asked, her mouth half full of the noodles she was eating.

"Well, do you have time to do some work in a recording studio?"

"I got demo tapes," She told him flatly.

"I know, I've played them for the old guard, trying to convince them that the stuff you do now isn't an attack against Genom. What I need now is for them to see you. All most of them know about Priss is the interview you did in '31."

"That was brutal." Priss smiled slightly, Genom had tried to launch two law suits after that. Never try to sue the poor, Priss thought to herself. Bad publicity.

"I need them to see you now, to know things have changed."

"Things haven't changed, I still hate Genom."

"Are you likely to sing about it though?" He smiled.

"Well not so openly. I mean you just can't do that much with 'Genom sucks'. It gets real tired real fast. I might allude to it with some rather clever symbolism in my songs though."

"Which is fine because few will understand it."

"And what about interviews? Me saying 'Genom sucks' in them isn't going to make anyone happy."

"No." His smile got even broader. Priss wondered if parts of him were going to start fading out. "People love it when celebs bite the hands that feed them. In the end as long as Genom is making money off you they'll not mind the occasional dig. Trust me."

Priss really wanted to toss her remaining soba into his face and walk out on him. He was making a mockery of her hatred, playing it up for publicity. She did not though. He was offering her a chance. There was no way she could give it up easily.

It was her dream, something she could always hold onto no matter what happened. Family, love, friends had all proved transitory, the dream had stayed. To give up a chance was not something Priss could bring herself to do.

"Okay, when do we do this studio thing?"

"When's good for you?" His smile had widened even more; Priss would not have thought it possible.

"Tomorrow, 2pm," She told him, wanting to see how far she could push him.

"No problem. Do you know the Sony studios, near the tower?"

"I know it." Priss knew every studio in MegaTokyo, like a gambler would know the casinos.

"That's where it will be. I'll have the old guard there to check you out."

"I could use a truck to bring me, the band, and the instruments to the studio."

"Priss san, like I said, this isn't for a demo, this is just to show some people who you are. No need for your band to be there, we have some studio musicians..."

"I'm aware what this little show is for," Priss said. "I also know that nothing is likely to come of it, but this might be a chance for the rest of my band. They haven't pissed off Genom."

"Okay, loyalty, I like that." He leaned back in his chair, obviously relaxing now that he felt that things were falling into place. "We can use that, great press."

She almost hit him-How dare he treat her like that-but she restrained herself. She might have to work with him for a short while if anything came of all this. but she didn't have to like him.

They continued talking for another thirty minutes, nothing of real importance-Priss was not really paying much attention to the conversation. She was trying to remember where she could reach the rest of her band to make sure they were ready. They might be playing with hangovers, but they would be there.

-

Thursday, January 12th, 10:32am

Priss tapped her fingers along the neck of her guitar, resisting the urge to tune it yet again. She took the pick from her mouth and brushed it along the strings, feeling it pass over the coiled metal of the lower register.

She looked over her shoulder at the rest of the band who were doing a bit of nervous work on their own instruments. Takeshi spun a drumstick on his fingers, his late night revelry seeming to have had little effect on him.

After she had left Oshiro she had gone off to search out the wayward members of her band.

Takeshi and Norio had been easy to find, she knew their habits and little foibles. Takeshi had been in a floating crap game down by warehouses near the spaceport.

Norio had been at the cat house near Hot Legs, keeping company with two young ladies. Priss had entrusted the ladies to see that he was up and ready for the studio work.

Finding Yuuko had been rather tough but Priss had played similar games with her band members before. She had listened to a few things that Yuuko had said and had made a few guesses and ended up in a cabaret near the Tower where Yuuko worked as a hostess.

Unable to resist, Priss had grabbed a darkened booth in the back, earning a few strange looks. She slipped one of the Hostesses some yen and asked her to have Yuuko come to her table. Again the strange looks but Priss didn't care, and the look on Yuuko's face was priceless.

Once she had told her bassist what was going on she had left, sure that Yuuko would show.

"Okay Priss-san, we're ready up here," Oshiro called from the booth.

She looked up at him and the others with him. The old guard, as he called them, were there, few of them actually old but all had the look of lawyers about them. These people would not know good music if it bit them, Priss thought.

The studio tech gave her a thumbs up. They would be making a recording of the session but only for showing around purposes, so Oshiro had told her.

She tapped her foot, setting the beat, hit her strings, the music began.

She held off, letting the rest of the band do a bit of showing off-maybe something good would come of it. The music swelled, she started to sing.

"Cruel, Hard, Death's cast in your eyes,
Black Lace.
Ripping and tearing and looking to die,
Black Lace.
Hard as a knife, sharp as a thought,
Death in a dress with love to be bought,
Black Lace.
Softens your looks,
Black Lace.
Hides the claws."

Priss launched into a solo, running her fingers up and down the neck of her instrument, letting the music flow from it. Any doubts she might have had about the guitar were dashed as it served her flawlessly.

"Riding Insanity like cresting a wave,
Treating your lovers like they were slaves.
A silken predator in the jungles of steel,
The brush of your lips is all I can feel,
Black Lace.
Softens your looks,
Black Lace.
Hides the claws.
Black Lace,
Leave me alone.
Black Lace,
I can't atone.
Death is your mistress, lover and slave,
Holding your lead from beyond the grave.
A rock hard predator with claws of bone,
A deadly black fear we have always known.
Black Lace,
I want you too much.
Black Lace,
What is it I clutch?
Black Lace.
You'll break my heart as you tear me apart,
Black Lace."

Priss ended the song, giving the rest of the band their chance, once again, for showing off. Then they ended it.

She wiped her brow with the sleeve of her blouse, looking up into the booth.

"Do you think we got the gig?" Norio asked in his best Ringo Star imitation, which sounded pretty funny in Japanese.

"Who knows?" Priss flipped her pick off to the side. She never used one for more than one performance. It was sort of a superstition she had.

Oshiro looked down at her from the recording booth, smiled and then exited. A few moments later he was entering the studio.

"Perfect." He was wearing his Cheshire cat smile again. "Just perfect."

"I don't know." Priss shook her head. "We were a little weak in the middle of the song, and the end could have been punched up a little. Maybe we should have gone with one of my older songs." She looked over her shoulder at Norio who just shrugged his shoulders.

"Forget about it." He moved a step closer to her. "Those dinosaurs wouldn't know good music if it bit them," he whispered. "The important part was not once did the words 'Genom sucks' show up in the lyrics. That's all that matters here."

"You know Oshiro, I'm really tempted to kick your teeth out," she said in a low voice.

"If you really want to, go ahead. Genom has a great medical plan, and I could get them replaced easily enough. Besides, you are going to make me rich so it would be worth it." He didn't seem at all bothered by her threat.

"I don't understand you."

"Don't let it worry you, no one does. I got to go, those dinosaurs will want to start crunching numbers, very boring stuff." He looked up at the booth where the men and women in suits were beginning to file out. "I'll call you to keep you updated. Don't expect any decisions for around a week. Got to go." He turned and headed for the door, exiting a second later.

"Scum," Yuuko said as she came up beside Priss.

"Scum," Priss agreed. "But scum with the ability to do things."

"PUFO? (Pack Up and Fuck Off)" Takeshi asked as he came up on her other side.

"PUFO," Priss told him as she walked over to her guitar case and packed her instrument away.

With the help of the studio techs they had all their gear packed away in a few minutes and out to the loading dock where the truck the studio had sent waited to take everything back to Hot Legs.

"Can you get everything set up for the show tonight?" Priss asked Norio.

"No problem, got some friends to help me. Promised them a night of passion with you."

Priss hit him in the stomach, not too hard but hard enough to double him over a little.

"You know I don't like jokes like that," she said in a half threatening, half-amused tone.

"I forgot," Norio gasped, having a bit of trouble getting his breath back. "You're saving your self for Mr. Sunglasses."

Priss pushed him over. He hit the concrete hard enough to get the breath knocked out of him again.

"What's up?" Yuuko asked Takeshi, she was looking over at Priss and Norio.

"Pardon?" Takeshi looked up at her. He was trying to slide his base drum into the truck. "Well, if Norio is on the ground he probably brought up Leon."

"Leon?"

"Obsessive fan of Priss', give me a hand with this," he said as the drum got jammed.

"If this guy is obsessive maybe she should call the police." Yuuko jumped into the truck and helped him get the drum in.

"Leon is the police. He's not dangerous, just annoying. I like him actually, so does Norio, that's why we bug Priss about him so often."

"Looks like that's living dangerously," she said as she watched Priss give Norio a hand up off the loading dock floor.

"It's no crime to be lazy baby but that ain't rock and roll."

"What?"

"The Knack, Serious Fun, get used to it. Norio and me just love obscure song lyrics."

"And Priss."

"I think Priss just loves being obscure."

"Okay ladies and boys, let's go." Priss called as she and Norio approached the truck.

"I'll ride in here, make sure all our stuff is treated well. Hey, seeing how tonight's our last night at Hot Legs for about a week what do you say we celebrate?" Takeshi said.

"We don't know if we have any reason to celebrate," Priss told him.

"Come on Obasan," Yuuko said in an overly cute, high voice. "Let us party."

"Well there is this Cabaret near the Tower I've heard nice things about." Priss had the satisfaction of seeing Yuuko blush.

"Cabarets suck," Norio said. "Overpriced, over watered drinks with frigid hostesses. Let's just hang at Hot Legs until someone invites us to a party."

"We can decide later. Let's just go," Takeshi, often the voice of reason, said. He stepped back into the truck and pulled the rolling door closed once Yuuko had jumped out.

Norio locked the door then pounded his fist against it twice. The truck shifted then began to pull out of the bay.

The three remaining members left the building, heading to the parking lot. It was overcast and cold, but the roads were dry. Priss pulled her leather jacket tight against the cold and reached in her pocket for her gloves.

Norio had an old, '09 Yamaha with a sidecar. He straddled the bike as Yuuko slid into the tight confines of the sidecar. Priss unlocked her helmet from her bike and put it on.

Norio and Yuuko waved to Priss as they pulled out. She lifted her hand, watched them go then dropped her hand to her side once they were out of sight.

Fishing the keys from her pocket Priss put a leg over the bike so she was straddling it. She unlocked the steering and typed the deactivation code for her alarm into the small key pad just above the gas tank.

She did not feel good, there was something missing. Success in her chosen field of mastery was almost upon her and she felt nothing like elation. What the hell is wrong with me? Priss wondered.

Turning the key to engage the electrical system Priss pressed the electric starter, listening to the engine start up. By the sounds of things she would need to get it tuned up in a few days.

Pulling in the clutch, she shifted to first, rocked it forward off the kick stand, revved the engine up and released the clutch. Accelerating smoothly she exited the parking lot, heading towards one of the southern exits out of the city.

Several minutes later she was on an elevated highway heading south west towards the outlying areas of Tokyo. She quickly reached the top speed she could safely maintain on the road under the traffic conditions, but being only in fourth gear and no where near her top speed pissed Priss off to no end.

Leaning forward over the gas tank Priss weaved between the other traffic she shared the road with, easily outpacing all the other traffic, making the trip in time few others could match, at least in a ground vehicle.

She decelerated rapidly, turning onto an off ramp, almost hitting the rear of a slow moving car. She slid around the car, almost scrapping her left leg on the guard rail, and got around it easily enough. Once clear she twisted her accelerator and left the driver behind.

As Priss continued on, the roads got worse and she had to slow down to what she felt was a crawl, down shifting to second gear. There was nothing around her but a field of rubble, remains from the quake. Many of the outlying areas of Tokyo had yet to be reconstructed, the more central areas of the city coming first.

Several times she was forced to stop her bike and push it carefully over the broken ground, twice she had to backtrack due to the severe damage to the road.

Finally she reached her goal, a small mound of burn marked rubble where once a house had been. There were a few patches of dirt where once there had been a small lawn and a flower bed.

Shutting her bike off Priss toed the kick stand down and got off. Standing, she stared at the rubble, trying to picture it as it had once been. She closed her eyes and tried to form the mental image. The best she could do was an image of it burning, the entire neighbourhood burning, in the aftermath of the quake. The image had an unfocused quality to it, as if seen through tears.

Priss wiped away a bit of moisture from the corners' of her eyes before opening them again. There was little left in the area. It had been ignored; even the squatters did not come there. It was too far from the centre of the city.

She tried to picture the house as it had been one last time but failed again.

"Whoever the bastard was who said you can't go home again was a very wise person," Priss said quietly, bitterly, to the destruction around her.

She got back on her bike, started it up and started to make her way out of the old suburban sprawl.

When she reached the outskirts she came across one of the signs, a sign that seemed to appear in more and more numbers every day.

It basically proclaimed that it was another area soon to be reclaimed by the MegaTokyo project. The name "Genom" was in huge letters.

Priss stopped in front of it, looking around to see if anyone was about. Satisfied she was not going to be interrupted by some Good Samaritan she put her kick stand down and got off her bike, leaving the engine running.

Fishing her spare keys from a jacket pocket Priss unlocked the seat and pushed it back, revealing the small storage space beneath. There were a few tools for minor repairs and a capped cylinder about the size of her hand. She took that out.

She stood in front of the sign, shaking the cylinder, listening to he tinny sound of the ball inside it made. She removed the cap and then in large, bright red letters she wrote, SUCKS, directly under the Genom name.

She capped the can, put it back with the tools, shut the seat and was on her bike, speeding away from her vandalism in moments.

A smile on her face, Priss remembered what Oshiro had told her about people liking it when celebrities bit the hands that fed them. They're going to love me then, Priss thought, shifting into lower gear as she turned sharply onto an on ramp.

-

Sharon Knight stepped out of the elevator on the lowest level of the building. Another of the unused levels. Behind her was Terrence Lecoix.

In the empty space a number of boomers, mostly C-Class-without their human disguises-but a few construction models and a Bu-12B as well, were stored. They stood, unmoving, in their places, like the terracotta warriors in some Chinese tomb.

Sharon walked over to one of the C-Class boomer and put her hand on its chest, looking up at it. "We can talk here," she told Terrence.

Terrence looked about the place, feeling a little uncomfortable. It was the boomers. While they were all shut down he often felt as if they were staring at him, as if they were really active but hiding it from him. "I've dealt with Mr. North's remains," he told her. "The necessary people within the company had been told what they need to know, and only that."

"How is security?" she asked him, not looking away from the boomer.

"Good, though a smaller facility might have been preferable."

"I like my space," Sharon told him. "Open rooms inspire me. MRAStech kept things as small as possible. I never liked that."

"You've never explained to us why you wanted to set up in Japan."

"Haven't I?"

"No."

Sharon turned about to look at Terrence. "I like it here. I like being close to the place where Stingray-hakase completed his work. It inspires me as open rooms do."

Terrence looked at her, not sure if he believed her or not. "How much longer will we be set up here? It would benefit us if we can move operations to a more secure location."

"A benefit for you, not for me. If possible I would remain here as long as I could."

"That is not an option. We are too close to Genom here."

"Are you afraid of Genom?" Sharon asked.

"I respect their abilities. If you wish to see that as being afraid, fine."

"I need a little more time to finish it all off. If we move now we might lose some of my work. Where do we go after we leave here?"

"It will depend. We have a few holdings is Japan where we might go, however, it would be better if we left Japan all together."

"I'll leave you to handle that. Nothing for at least four days though."

"I understand."

Sharon nodded, then turned back towards the boomer, putting her hand back on it.

Terrence was about to go, but stopped and looked at her. "Why do you have all these boomers here."

"They inspire me to do what needs to be done."

Terrence waited to see if she would expand on that. When it became obvious she would not he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby floor.

Sharon listened to the elevator doors close, and then the hum of the cables as the car began to rise.

"You do so inspire me," she said, looking up at the boomer.

-

Friday, January 13th 3:13am

Pure logic mixed with emotions as wakefulness came to a new soul. The mixture was chaotic. Memories came next, adding to the maelstrom of a being. Faces, many in pain or shaded with fear, some cold, one that dominated all others for a moment, a woman, blue black hair, light brown eyes, beautiful. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, another face, a man, old, steel grey hair, dangerous blue eyes, took its place.

More and more, information rushed into fill the void, facts, names, numbers, all of it chaotic at first but then slowly becoming a coherent pattern.

She woke, screaming, trying to sit up but finding herself restrained.

I won't be held, she thought, flexing her arms, breaking the locks on the leather restraints around her arms. Pushing her fingers under the band around her chest she pulled, breaking that lock. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she felt the pain in her throat from the long scream.

Pulling her knees up to her chest she snapped the locks on the bands around her ankles. She drove her feet down, rocking her torso forward, springing to her feet.

A door opened, light flooded the dark room, revealing a room that could have been in any hospital. The two men rushing in were dressed like orderlies.

Somewhere she was thinking it strange that the light had not blinded her. Yet another part of her was considering the orderlies, assigning threat priorities to them, working out vectors. She jumped from the bed.

One of the orderlies grabbed for her, she ducked under his arms, crouching. Driving up with her knees, she drove her fist up, first into his stomach, then up into his solar plexus and finally up against the bottom of his jaw. She was rewarded by a cracking sound as bone fragmented.

The second, who had been behind first, seemed less inclined to just grab her. He threw a punch at her, a haymaker she could have easily avoided. She drove her left elbow up into a jodan block, his punch was stopped by her forearm.

She hit him in the throat with a nukite strike-the spear hand was aptly named.

The door was open to her now, time to leave. She looked down at the two bodies, pleased with the effects as much as she hated to have to dirty her own hands. Always best to let others do it.

She bolted for the door even as it was filled again, another man, not as imposing as the two orderlies had been. Older, thinning blonde hair, surprise and fear in his brown eyes. For some reason he looked familiar to her but she could not dredge the memory up with thoughts of survival filling her head.

He would be easy to get by but she would probably kill him doing it.

Then the man was knocked aside as a new form filled the door way. Tall, female, again familiar but again she could not bring a name to mind. It did not matter though, she would escape, the desire filled her mind.

She came in fast, throwing a punch at the woman, and was amazed it was blocked. The woman wrapped her hand around her wrist, holding it in a gentle yet unbreakable hold.

Another punch, blocked as easy as the first, her other hand restrained just as fast as the other.

She drove a knee up but the woman twisted her leg in front of herself and the knee glanced harmlessly off thigh.

A keening wail began to raise up in her throat, that of a trapped animal. A name flashed into her head, Boomer, the threat priority changed. Yet with that name came another, D. She stopped struggling.

"D?" Her voice sounded wrong to her ears but in a way she could not understand.

"Its all right," D told her, voice perfectly even, as only a Boomer's could be in such a situation. "We have enacted the Lazarus protocol as per your orders," she said slowly.

"The Lazarus protocol?" She cocked her head slightly, remembering. "It came to that?"

"Unfortunately yes."

The Lazarus protocol, the fail safe that had allowed the bushido code to be followed without fear. The warrior who is already dead fears nothing, has thoughts only for the battle. Then the sense of wrongness came back to her.

"No!" She screamed, thrashing, trying to break the hold. "This is not the Lazarus Protocol. This is nothing like it."

"Alpha was a failure, this is Bravo," D said, holding the struggling woman as still as she could.

"Bravo?" She stopped struggling again. "No set parameters, to be decided by the administrator." She stood, unmoving, something of a lost child about her, a catatonic stupor.

"Yes." D released her hold on the smaller woman's wrists. She held out her hand. Dr. Andrews put a capped syringe across her palm. "Bravo. Things went bad twice but we learn from our mistakes." She pulled the plastic cap off the needle with her teeth and lifted up one of the woman's arms with her free hand.

"You are going to be fine." She slid the needle into her arm, just ahead of her elbow, into the vein. She pushed the plunger down, injecting a tranquilliser powerful enough to drop a rhino. "Just fine." She pulled the needle free and dropped it, catching the woman as she fell, all of her biological systems effected by a drug specifically designed with a 33-S in mind.

"Rather exciting that, ne, Andrews-sensei?"

"I don't think they would think so." He looked into the room at the orderlies.

"Get them out of here." D gathered the woman up in her arms, holding her as if she were a child, and carried her to the bed.

D placed her down. She pulled the restraining straps from under the woman and let them drop to dangle beneath the bed.

The restraints had been stupid, she thought, shaking her head. How did they expect some one to react if they woke to find themselves held down? She had been sloppy in not checking everything out. Still they had bought them a few moments. If D had been even a second later the damage might not have been so minor.

Pulling the sheets up over the sedated woman D looked own at her, wondering how things would turn out this time. Stepping back from the edge of the bed she turned and watched as the still forms of the orderlies were dragged from the room. She wondered if they were dead for a moment before dismissing such an extraneous thought.

D took Dr. Andrews by the arm and led him out of the room. She touched the dimmer switch, bringing the room lights up a little so it would not be so dark. Perhaps that would ease the shock of waking. She closed the door and typed several digits into the keypad lock.

"I don't want anyone to disturb her," D told Dr. Andrews.

"Why would anyone want to go in there after that?"

"The pheromones she was putting out might overcome people's better sense," D said, looking at him but her eyes weren't on his face.

Dr. Andrews lowered his gaze, trying to see where she was looking. He then noticed that the loose pants he wore had tented out slightly.

"Yes, I guess you are right." He pulled part of his lab coat in front of him, hiding his state of arousal as best he could.

"She..." D searched for the right word for a few seconds before giving up, "became about two hours earlier than you predicted."

"What can I say." He leaned back against the wall as what had happened began to hit him. He had almost been killed. "Playing God is an imperfect science at best."

"Yes, I suppose. I have work to do Sensei." D bowed slightly. "I will talk with you later." She turned and walked back down the hall, heading towards her office.

Andrews pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the ER. He would see what he could do for the orderlies, assuming they were still alive.

Lying in her bed, the organic part of her mind clouded by drugs, a very young woman's inorganic processors began to consider the information they had available to them. Had she actually been dreaming she would have tossed and turned, as if in the throws of a nightmare.