12
"Kim." Her friend breathed behind, but she paid it no attention as she stepped through her hotel room's door, pocketing the keycard in her pink flares. "The next time. we detour through Gaza. could you--PLEASE PUNCH IT!"
"Aw--quit bellyaching, Ron." The flush bedspread was a welcome sight for her tired, aching back as she approached it. The pale fringes shot upward, reaching for the ceiling as she flopped onto the bed, flapping down back at the sides like lifeless wings. "At least we got to the Dan Panorama in one peace!"
"Well Sadie sure as heck doesn't feel like it!" the blond capped head bobbed gently as he stumbled for the bed. "We're lucky the rounds didn't punch through her body work!"
"Her engine block's having a nice cool down in the garage, Ron." Her dry eyes batted as her forearm lay upon the very bottom of her crown. For a moment, her body left the cushy bed as her ears caught the last second of the boy's free fall onto the mattress. "She's fine."
"We'll see." the blond let out faint yawn, "the next time her engine fires up. All I want to do is sleep."
Her jaw felt like that of a dog's, as she took in a large breath of air. And she nearly fell on top of him as she sat up.
"I hear that." She nodded weakly. "But we can't. Not yet."
"*Uh*--What now?" he whined.
"We got to unpack." Her legs felt like they would tangle as she stumbled out of bed, weakly reaching for her duffel. The bag let out a whinny whiz as she drew the zipper across its curvy path, to the other side. The flap flopped back effortlessly, and she let her hand drop freely into its depths.
--But something felt odd on the tips of her fingers, something hard and synthetic, and out of her grasping range. She moved her hand towards it a bit, the heel of her palm rubbing on the cloth of her shirts as her fingers curled around the synthetic groves easily, as if it were crafted just for her.
And it took an effort to wrench the thing out of her bag, hearing it rattle just a bit as it was free of her duffel. The glint of it in the daylight nearly blinded her as her tired eyes ran over its shiny, nickel surface.
"Momma?" her brow moved into a kink as she gazed at the small revolver in her grip. The gun was identical to the one her mother clumsily handled back home, the same make, design. and even the serial number. So rapt, was she, she nearly didn't see the sheet of wrinkled, creased paper that was wrapped around the small barrel, secured by a thin rubber band.
The band contracted into a small little ball as she rolled it off, caving in no dent on the comforter. The lined sheet of loose leaf crinkled as her fingers unfolded it, eyes running over the pretty, defined curves of English script.
*Kim. * The script read easily through the creases. *I see that you found your little helper for this mission of yours. Considering how snoopy your brothers have gotten, it'd be best if this were with you. You'll need it more than we do back home, considering your destination. Just take good care of it, 'cause I'll expect it back the second you get home. Love Mom. *
"'PS:'" she read aloud. "Keep it in the closet, so you'll know where it is.' Pf--might as well."
Her other hand took the bag by the thick sling, and she hoisted it towards the closet door with a huff. The sides of the duffel caved in a bit as she dropped it on the floor, her hand twisting the brass knob and guiding the light door ajar--
And she blinked at that large, heavy rifle resting on its side in its own patch of egg-carton foam. Beside the mammoth gun's lengthy magazine well sat a small case of large rounds, sticking out of the Styrofoam like piercing, metallic stalagmites. Next to those sat a decent sized box of pistol rounds, with the word GLASER emblazoned in white.
"Closet indeed." She smirked, and the revolver flattened a few of the cones on the egg-carton foam as she set it down gently. "Thank you, Mommy."
"You say something, KP?" the boy mumbled.
"Oh. nothing." Her hair tugged at her head as it shook gently side to side. The door clicked closed as she pushed herself onto her feet. "It's nothing. Just getting acquainted with the place."
"Could you do it a little quieter, please?" he groaned. "I'm trying to sleep here."
"You could have fooled me, Ron." She chuckled softly, spinning toward the bed as she stumbled for it. "The way you're so uplifting and all."
"Anything for the fashion queen." She frowned as that weak smirk pulled at the corner of Ron's lips. "All hail the Possible dynasty of the Style File."
"Where Ron can only hope his freckled skin is in." her arms barely folded over her breasts.
"That's a low blow, Kim."
"Shut up, Mr. Head."
***
Tara kicked her legs out softly as she hunched on the bed's edge. Her ankles rolled at her whim, feeling her strings extend as they ran over the bones to their natural limits. Her knees buckled and her calves pressed through the soft quit on the foot of the bed, soles of her feet sinking gently into plush carpet briefly as her legs lifted off again.
Less than a day in the room stretched into a lifetime, sitting patiently as her man husbanded the laptop and the flashing LCD. She wasn't sure what exactly was so fascinating about it. Faces, pictures, and other whatnot had flickered on-and-off the screen briefly as new windows stretched across the bland desktop pattern of clouds.
"Everything okay, Yune?" she flopped her back onto the bed.
"Yeah." the black cap of hair dipped a bit, "just looking over some files Hershel was kind enough to declassify."
"Declassify?" Her back felt straighter than a board as she sat up quickly. "Oh--tell me tell me tell me!"
"Nothing you'd get to excited about, T." his fingers combed roughly through his hair. "Profiles, maps, memos, etcetera."
"Anything *remotely* interesting?"
"No, not really." He said. "This is work in the intelligence service. And welcome to it."
"And how would you know about that?"
"My dad was in an intelligence battalion back in his days in North Korea." He explained. "Went through some of his stuff back then. And I don't think he was too happy about it. Probably what started me on the military road to nowhere in the first place, now that I think about it."
"What a career choice." she kicked up her legs again, working her ankles.
"Found anything good to watch on TV?" he turned his head slightly. "You sound a bit bored."
"Damn straight." She let her knees buckle, and gravity overwhelmed her legs. "All those channels and nothing to watch. Unless you call that bizarre version of Sesame Street quality daytime TV."
"Did the Arab Muppets pound on the Jewish Muppets yet?" she wasn't sure, but she swore her ears caught a faint chuckle from beyond the head of hair. "Or is it vice versa?"
"*Not* funny, Yune!" she frowned. "Not one bit!"
"You know what I think, T?" he said rhetorically.
"Nope..." She shrugged in the midst of a sigh. "But I have a strange feeling you're about to tell me. Am I right?"
"It don't matter what I think when it comes to this struggle." The boy said over the soft, erratic clacking of keys. "Talks, agreements, treaties.. None of those do any good. When the bullets start flying and body counts are rising, all that crap flies straight out the window."
"Yeah, but." her eyes wondered to the sky blue pane of glass just above his head. Faintly she could see some of the flush green tress sway with their leaves fluttering as the wind rustled through, only to cease, easing back into their proper position. "Everything with a beginning has to have an end. Just like the seasons."
"To everything, there is a season." The head of hair bobbed. "A time to be born; a time to die. A time to kill; a time to heal."
"A time to hug." she smiled brightly, angling her head of center.
"A time not to hug." The boy retorted above the clacking. Her cloud nine had deflated. "A time for war--"
"And a time for peace." She pressed.
"King Solomon." He noted. "Been reading the Ecclesiastes recently, I see."
"Yep." She nodded. "And the folly of living a materialistic life. Poor guy sounded miserable."
"Everything was for nothing, he realized." The Asian said. "After his transcendental awakening, he knew his way--*man's* way wasn't the right way, and he searched his heart for answers."
"I know." She moved her body to and fro, like a pendulum swinging gently from its fulcrum. "Kind of like this Uzi person, huh?"
"More like King Saul." he chuckled. "Don't get a wise man like Solomon mixed up with that hedonistic fool! Brat can't see what's ahead of him, let alone in front of him."
"Solomon was too, if I recall right." She said. "After reading the first two chapters of Ecclesiastes."
"Well yeah." The Korean shrugged. "Difference is that he woke up. Uzi has yet to. if he does."
"True."
--From the large, solid door came a rapping, and her seat nearly hopped off the mattress in surprise. She glanced back at the Asian, and she laid eyes upon his preoccupied face for the first time of the day. The drawer in front of him gently rolled open, and her ears caught his good fingers jittering on the wood.
"Who is it?" his tan brow furrowed as the drumming of his fingers ceased--and she heard something scrape briefly.
"Kim." The voice called through the towering, thick door. "Now open up. We got stuff to do."
There was another scrape from the drawer, and something inside its sunken base clunked just before the rollers took it back. She hopped off the bed, and her legs carried her to the door, hand moving the brass handle clockwise and the door quietly glided open with a little pull.
"Kim." she angled her waist back as the redhead brushed past her quickly, "you made it."
"No duh." The wrinkled comforter gnarled greatly under the auburn's weight, its weak crevasses leading to her back in winding slits. "Barely made it past Philadelphia Road without a scratch. Damn VSA are everywhere!"
The chair let out a stifled creak as the Korean hunched. "Did they see you?"
"No." the auburn shook her head. "They shouldn't have. Yet I bet they weren't too pleased when we smashed through the fences."
"Hmm. okay."
"Where's Ron at?" the lock made a clack as she eased the huge piece of lumber shut.
"He's away." her mouth opened, and Kim let out a big, toothy yawn. "Getting a short nap with the rodent. Shouldn't be too long. So. what's new with you guys?"
"Well." gravity took over as she leaned against the orange, adjacent wall, "I've been trying to keep busy. Yune over there's been occupied with the computer, looking at files and whatnot."
"Well yeah.!" the Asian shrugged. "It's the whole reason I'm here."
"What do you got for me, Yune?" the bedsprings squeaked, and the foot of the bed squished as the redhead sat up. Her full mane of hair swished to the side just as it stopped square on her back.
"Nothing much." His head sank between his shoulders for a second shrug. "Nothing I can really use to determine an overall COA with. The only big thing I found was the complete turnover of the Temple Mount by sometime next week. What's left of it anyway, if the new bulge in the wall doesn't take the whole thing down."
"Pf.!" she shook her head. "Land-for-peace is alive and well."
"Right." Kim said dismissively, and that red hair shook side to side with indifference.
"Given what I could pry from our 'friends' at the Mossad," tan fingers gestured quotations appropriately, "the only thing we can do right now is a simple reconnaissance."
"The target?" Kim asked.
"Tonight at the hotel's ballroom, a local klezmer will perform a brief impromptu concert for the guests and tourists." He explained. "And from what I gathered, Bonnet might be attending it."
"Why on earth would he.?" she kinked her brow.
"It's his klezmer." He continued. "He founded it not too long ago, and practically shows up at every performance."
"What's he going to do?" Kim said almost laughingly, bowing her head as her shoulders moved intermittently. "Play lead singer?"
"I recall he played the tuba." The good hand rubbed at his long features tiredly, shortly before it dropped into his lap. "Not that I really know."
"So what the heck are we doing till night fall?" Kim thought aloud. "Can't sit on our hands all day, can we?"
"Nah." Yune shook his head. "I sent an email request to Hershel not too long ago, requesting one of their cobblers."
"Disguises.." The auburn nodded. "Gotcha."
"Yep." Yune nodded too. "That should shave off a few hours at least. And in fact, they're probably sending a guy over right now for you guys."
"What about us?" she stood up firmly on her legs. The Asian looked at her squarely.
"Kim and Ron are the able element of this team." He said simply. "Not us. So we don't need it."
"Oh." her side found itself against the cool wall once gravity took over again.
"Well." his good hand slapped upon his knee, "you might as well talk to T over there about what's on the tube, 'cause we can't do anything until the cobbler shows up."
"Well, there's one thing." Kim dug her hand into one of her pockets, small elbow sweeping back and forth at a natural angle briefly. Her body leaned to the opposite side, and her arm came out with a small, flat square in hand. "I'd like you to take a look at this."
Yune barely managed to catch it as it arced and tumbled through the still air, snatching it as it bounced onto and off his knee. He gazed at it simply.
"A ZIP disk, eh?" his hand twisted at the wrist as he gave it the once over. "What's on it?"
"Not sure exactly." Kim replied. "I picked up in the hospital back in Prague. Uzi had it, I'm pretty sure of it."
"Not much I can do with it." The Asian shook his head. "This laptop doesn't have a ZIP drive equipped. But I'll hang to it, just in case. Unless, of course, you'd like Hershel to take a gander--"
"Absolutely not!" Kim shook her head ferociously.
"We're a team here." Yune said. "Don't let this little grudge get the best of you, or it could cost you--or even worse--us."
"I understand that--but--" The auburn nodded.
"But you'll treat her as an equal team member." Yune narrowed his almond gaze. "No matter how annoying or pompous she gets."
"But--!"
"*No* matter how annoying or pompous she gets." He pressed, putting more deliberate stress into it.
"Eh--but." Kim's fingers strangled a piece of comforter in her vice- like grip, "fine! Have it your way."
"That's a good girl." She giggled.
The auburn twisted her body around fiercely, her whipping mane complementing the red-hot anger deep within the emerald gaze.
"SHUT UP, TARA!" Kim growled.
"Ah, ah, ah.!" she waved a disparaging finger at the irate girl brazenly. "I'm your elder now!"
"Don't push it, T." Yune frowned. "Or you may not live before dusk."
The sight of her man's frown broke her glee, guilt twisting her sinking insides gently. No matter how the rush elated her, she could always count on him to bring her crashing down to earth.
"Okay." she sighed.
"Now make up." He gestured appropriately to the redhead, who held one of the bed plush pillows in her grasp.
"Friends, KP?" she shrugged.
"Friends!" Kim's shark-like smile was only but a second, before she stumbled back into the wall, the pillow in her face.
***
The curtain of the Mediterranean night had just fallen, and Shia's hands jittered on the brass of his tuba, fumbling around on the valves as he blew a couple sour notes. Shmuck Avenue's first gig had finally arrived, hot on the heels after word had spread around concerning the murder of an American lawyer at a popular nightclub. IDF and the police had an APB out on all VSA, and he'd be a monkey's fucked uncle before they took him on his group's opening night.
But if the police and military didn't catch him, Uzi sure as hell would the second he finds him missing from evening roll call.
The sea of endless faces engulfed the floor; the colorful centerpieces blossomed from the white tables like flowers on a lily pad, with golden chandeliers as bright as the midday sun. His heart nearly gave out on him from fear. They gazed towards the klezmer as they set up--at *him* with attentive eyes, as if he was caught up in a harsh spotlight. One set of eyes calmed his apprehension--brown eyes that soothed him--as they were dotted in the middle of a girl's smiling face, skin a dark brown.
*Robin. *
"You ready to get your ass handed to you?" teased that little upstart of a lead guitarist, Mark. "Ready to kiss your lover goodbye as she walks me out of here?"
"You wish, you little prick!" he growled.
"Wishing is for the weak!" he smirked arrogantly. "Doing's for the strong!"
"You're about to get strong-*armed* in a minute!" his shaky fingers came to rest, flat on the valves.
"We'll see!" Mark worked the sling of his electric ax over his head, its petrol blue body sliding to a stop on his thin belly. "Your girl would cream herself once she gets an earful of my guitar!"
"Whatever, punk!" he dismissed.
"You're the punk, punk!" ***
The tuba player had seemed to have settled his differences with the lead guitarist, since the huge, wrap-around piece of brass waddled its way to the back of the makeshift stage. The cap of dark hair shook violently like fur on a shaking, wet dog, as the lead guitarist strolled to the microphone stand. His lips went agape--and from out his mouth came a strange sound, a deep, hollow whine that seemed to have blared from a hollowed out log. The guitarist stumbled back a step, the metal stand teetering at an angle in his grasp. Only then, Ron noticed, a player stepping back gently from the twisty, winding piece of glossy wood.
"When Yune said 'klezmer', he wasn't kidding!" he noted, and a pain burned in his eyes as he struggled to see the tools of the evening's event. Shia--the average body with the brown, curly top--was at the tuba while his antagonist took up the electric guitar; a stick of a blond took up the waxy curly fry of a didgeridoo and the shofar looked nothing more than a thick switch in the portly man's grasp. A lonely violin laid flat on the nearby stool, waiting for talented musician to draw its bow across its tight strings flawlessly.
"It's better than enjoying a meal in silence, Ron." Tara flicked the last scrap of her glistening meat into her mouth, almost as if she had forgotten about that stunning tube dress around her shapely figure. Yune was a lucky man. "No matter how. *different*--it is."
"Hey--!" he pressed his hands flat against the table. "I know a good klezmer when I hear one. Brave Old World! That's a good group! Shmuck Avenue. now that--is a stupid group!"
"Oh please, Ron." The blonde's head rolled gently along with her eyes. "Give them a chance, for Pete's sake. You haven't even heard them!"
"If Shia Bonnet's a part of it," Yune's face was flat, expressionless as a bust, "it can't be good. Believe me.."
"Can we focus please?" Kim ran a finger through her puffy hair quickly, lacing her fingers on the way down to her lap. That green, sparkling dress really brought out her eyes, he just *had* to say. "We're here on reconnaissance, not reviewing."
"Have it your way, KP." He shrugged. "Reviewers have fun shredding things to pieces."
"So Ron," Tara said, "you seem back to your normal self."
"Yeah." one of his eyebrows inched up his crown at the middle, "is that a problem?"
"No." the blonde shook her head gently. "It's just you've been so down since we've left Middleton. Anything wrong?"
"I know." Kim said simply. "He's in a little shock from seeing his homeland again. There are probably some changes he hasn't been exposed to and whatnot. Am I right, Ron? How close am I?"
"What are you talking about, Kim?" he batted it back. "Israel's pretty much how it always was--a military camp--when leaders aren't tossing pieces of holy land away like bottles of scotch at Anna Nicole Smith's birthday."
A silence overcame the group. The girl's eyes boggled, and even Yune shot him a perplexed look.
"What.?"
"Yep." Kim's boggled gaze broke as she closed them, flashing the cobbler's fine work on her auburn locks as she nodded. "Mixing metaphors like a blender. Ron's back all right."
The Korean let out a snorting laugh, his cheekbones flush through his skin while his girl giggled uncontrollably.
"I'm lost." He shook his head.
"Of course you are, Mr. Head." Kim softly chuckled. "Now let everyone settle down, the performance is about to start."
"Ladies and germs!" the lead guitarist voice boomed over the amplifiers as he choked the microphone stand single-handedly. "Or germs and gentlemen, if you'd prefer."
A lighthearted chuckle swept through the large ballroom, but he held his tongue, as did the others seated at the table. Kim set her chin atop her laced fingers, supported by her elbows on the table edge as her gaze narrowed.
"Introductions aside," the dark haired boy carried on, "we are Shmuck Avenue, and we'll be performing for you fine people this evening. Isn't that right, Shia?"
"That's gospel, Mark." The curly top smiled in fakery, just by that extra wide, toothy grin.
"Anyway, all we ask is that you sit back, relax, and enjoy the new fangled sound of Shmuck Avenue." Mark took up a classic power stance; lengthy legs wide apart like the sides of an A, fingers slipping the pick from under the strings on the fingerboard. With a loud cry, he called to the rest of the mismatched group. "A one. a two. a one--two--three--four-- !"
And erupted from the band, a mighty discord the likes of which his virgin ears hath never heard. Like a tremendous mix between. he didn't know what! It was noise--pure and simple noise. His hand quickly capped his ears, pressing into them hard. Kim grunted as she followed suit, as did Tara with a brief whine of discomfort. Yune bent at the waist, the ear on his broken arm's side pressed into the tablecloth while the good hand capped over the other.
"Make the noise stop!" cried one of the other patrons as a sea of them crashed like the Mediterranean tides onto the doors. The large pieces of wood rattled and giggled, but they couldn't be persuaded open.
"You guys SUCK!" shouted another.
"You really are SHMUCKS!" yelled one more, and the band ceased their musical assault.
"Oh!" Mark strangled the microphone stand. "Did we forget to mention that the hotel staff kindly locked us all inside? There's *no* escape for you!"
"Let us out, SHMUCKS!" Tara's fists caused the utensils and even the heavy centerpiece to clatter. "Or we'll make you!"
"So not the drama, Tara." Kim noted, her hands slowly easing off her ears. Her eyes clamped shut, face twisting in a mild pain. "Oh. ferocious headache!"
"*Ugh*--!" The Korean moaned. "Shmucks fiddle while ears burn-- *oh*!"
"No can do, cute German thing!" the dark haired punk smiled simply. "But we've got a concert to play!"
Tara's frown sank even deeper, her clenched fists trembling on the tabletop.
"I'M--NOT--GERMAN!" her yell was at the top of her lungs.
"Best if you don't--*uh*--get her people confused with--those Nazi's.." Yune moaned.
"Shut it, broken wing!"
***
The evil--EVIL group had just finished their last song, whatever it might have been. Tara couldn't have been sure; so many confusing discords powered over the lead's lyrical abilities, and the didgeridoo player dropped his curly instrument to park a cute, little Volkswagen by a side of the stage.
The ballroom had become a stained, messy shadow of its former beautiful self, as if the LA riots from the 90's had been reenacted just her. Tables were overturned; sharp pieces from the centerpieces littered the floor among the dark stains of organic whatnot on the warm orange floor. The doors sung gently by momentum, hanging by one strong hinge. Many patrons had forced a set of doors open, using chairs as makeshift battering rams as the klezmer did nothing to stop them. She would have joined them if Kim didn't talk her out of it.
The lone man at the nearby table made clattering noises with the utensils, as he banged his head against the table. The sheets of paper did little to comfort his head as he continued adamantly.
"I still don't understand why he didn't leave." She thought aloud. "The doors were wide open 20 minutes ago."
"See those papers on the table, T?" Yune pointed. "He was writing on those during the performance. Must be working for the Jerusalem Post or something."
"Right." she nodded slowly. "So why couldn't we leave again? We knew this Shia was here, so what's the big deal?"
"See if his employer shows up." Kimberly stated.
"And then what?" she asked.
"Hope he doesn't see us."
"Oh."
"Does anyone have any idea what these guys were playing?" Ron shook sense into his head. "I have no clue."
"Smooth Criminal, I assume." Yune chuckled softly. "Given how that portly guy's about to mix it up with the beetle."
"Whatever." She eased the chair back, feeling its smooth ride back on the firmly packed carpet, enough for her legs to straighten. With the soles of her wedges planted flat, her legs locked as she stood up. "I don't know about you guys, but I can't stand another minute in this place. I'm going back to my room."
"Okay." Yune nodded gently. "Just be careful of the broken glass on your way. The floor's practically a giant road spike."
"I will." She said. "There's anything I can get you guys?"
"If the kitchen's still open," Ron said with a predictable smile, "call up some snacks."
"Mm-hmm--mm-hmm!" the rodent's claws clacked on the wood, as it scampered towards the table's center. It stood up upon its hind legs, its bucked teeth poking its belly as it nodded quickly. "Hmm--cheese!"
"It's the meaning of life.." Kim stretched her arms out as she let out a deep yawn. "Will be here for a few more minutes, Tara." The auburn held her open hand out toward the blond. "Key card please."
Ron shrugged before a hand swan dived into his jacket pocket, backing out and craning at the wrist with the flat piece of magnetized plastic in hand. It made a little *clomp* as it took a belly dive onto the tablecloth. It curved slightly as she took it into her grasp, a puzzled looked on her face.
"Stay in our room till we get back." The auburn said. "If worse come to worse--which it probably won't--hide in the closet."
She cocked an eyebrow. "Closet?"
"Trust me on this, okay?"
"Okay." She nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."
"Good." Kim said. "You can go now."
She carefully turned to leave, easing her foot down on the littered carpet gently on the first step. The rear of the ballroom wasn't in nearly bad a shape as was the front, yet that didn't stop a few zealous, disgruntled patrons from their stampede.
"Oh--" Kim said, "and Tara?"
"Yeah?" she called back.
"Some snacks do sound good."
".Right." she sighed, and her eyes rolled.
***
"Shia!" Uzi growled inwardly. "You're going to get it!"
How dare that little punk run off during his post, when a potential retaliation from the IDF was at hand? If that wasn't enough to make his tense evening, his newly fitted leg was in desperate need of some grease. It made a creaking sound with every bend and flex of the hinge, a creaking that poked at his mind, egging at him as mad as when the faucet wasn't completely off.
--All of the sudden, his arm had seemingly gained quite a few pounds in just over a few seconds. His back burned with ache, and he let out a tensely held groan. Each step was a perpetual struggle, all to keep himself upright like the man he was. He was no ape, he was Uzi Drazen, the proud supreme commander of the Victims' Separatist Army, and he wasn't going to let his combat load take him down.
"*Ugh*--!" he groaned. "The steroids--! Ah. *shtup*!"
*It'll be a while before we can synthesize the proper muscle supplements. * his memory whispered--and the urge to turn his gun on himself never had burned so terribly for days.
"Get the military stuff. *UH*--before the medical equipment!" he remembered aloud. "Pf. last time I listen to Shia! GOD!"
The sheer splendor of the Dan Panorama was lost on him, as he trudged through the elaborate halls, bright lights hidden by the hood of his poncho. The folds of his sleek wrap wisped against each other as he stumbled down the corridors. He faintly felt his arm muscles pull through his terminal numbness, his flesh pinching and pulling, tugging and being tugged all in one strange, tingling sensation--and he saw a piece of the poncho drag unnaturally to the side, at the angle his left forearm was. Valleys of the folds ran straight at it, uninhibited by the pull of the earth.
*CLACK!! *
His new combat load was ready for duty, that curly top of a button man his target practice--
Someone stumbled out from the double doors on the nearby wall, nearly tripping over those platform sandals--or whatever the heck they were called. Blonde, wavy hair touched down on the back of a shapely body, female, wrapped attractively in deep blue, strapless dress.
"Whew." the blonde said in a light, girly voice, typical that of a teen. "Dang glass!"
And she turned around--and her face, so graceful and angelic in all its brilliance and yet so familiar, as if he had seen this very girl before.
*But where.? *
"Kim." Her friend breathed behind, but she paid it no attention as she stepped through her hotel room's door, pocketing the keycard in her pink flares. "The next time. we detour through Gaza. could you--PLEASE PUNCH IT!"
"Aw--quit bellyaching, Ron." The flush bedspread was a welcome sight for her tired, aching back as she approached it. The pale fringes shot upward, reaching for the ceiling as she flopped onto the bed, flapping down back at the sides like lifeless wings. "At least we got to the Dan Panorama in one peace!"
"Well Sadie sure as heck doesn't feel like it!" the blond capped head bobbed gently as he stumbled for the bed. "We're lucky the rounds didn't punch through her body work!"
"Her engine block's having a nice cool down in the garage, Ron." Her dry eyes batted as her forearm lay upon the very bottom of her crown. For a moment, her body left the cushy bed as her ears caught the last second of the boy's free fall onto the mattress. "She's fine."
"We'll see." the blond let out faint yawn, "the next time her engine fires up. All I want to do is sleep."
Her jaw felt like that of a dog's, as she took in a large breath of air. And she nearly fell on top of him as she sat up.
"I hear that." She nodded weakly. "But we can't. Not yet."
"*Uh*--What now?" he whined.
"We got to unpack." Her legs felt like they would tangle as she stumbled out of bed, weakly reaching for her duffel. The bag let out a whinny whiz as she drew the zipper across its curvy path, to the other side. The flap flopped back effortlessly, and she let her hand drop freely into its depths.
--But something felt odd on the tips of her fingers, something hard and synthetic, and out of her grasping range. She moved her hand towards it a bit, the heel of her palm rubbing on the cloth of her shirts as her fingers curled around the synthetic groves easily, as if it were crafted just for her.
And it took an effort to wrench the thing out of her bag, hearing it rattle just a bit as it was free of her duffel. The glint of it in the daylight nearly blinded her as her tired eyes ran over its shiny, nickel surface.
"Momma?" her brow moved into a kink as she gazed at the small revolver in her grip. The gun was identical to the one her mother clumsily handled back home, the same make, design. and even the serial number. So rapt, was she, she nearly didn't see the sheet of wrinkled, creased paper that was wrapped around the small barrel, secured by a thin rubber band.
The band contracted into a small little ball as she rolled it off, caving in no dent on the comforter. The lined sheet of loose leaf crinkled as her fingers unfolded it, eyes running over the pretty, defined curves of English script.
*Kim. * The script read easily through the creases. *I see that you found your little helper for this mission of yours. Considering how snoopy your brothers have gotten, it'd be best if this were with you. You'll need it more than we do back home, considering your destination. Just take good care of it, 'cause I'll expect it back the second you get home. Love Mom. *
"'PS:'" she read aloud. "Keep it in the closet, so you'll know where it is.' Pf--might as well."
Her other hand took the bag by the thick sling, and she hoisted it towards the closet door with a huff. The sides of the duffel caved in a bit as she dropped it on the floor, her hand twisting the brass knob and guiding the light door ajar--
And she blinked at that large, heavy rifle resting on its side in its own patch of egg-carton foam. Beside the mammoth gun's lengthy magazine well sat a small case of large rounds, sticking out of the Styrofoam like piercing, metallic stalagmites. Next to those sat a decent sized box of pistol rounds, with the word GLASER emblazoned in white.
"Closet indeed." She smirked, and the revolver flattened a few of the cones on the egg-carton foam as she set it down gently. "Thank you, Mommy."
"You say something, KP?" the boy mumbled.
"Oh. nothing." Her hair tugged at her head as it shook gently side to side. The door clicked closed as she pushed herself onto her feet. "It's nothing. Just getting acquainted with the place."
"Could you do it a little quieter, please?" he groaned. "I'm trying to sleep here."
"You could have fooled me, Ron." She chuckled softly, spinning toward the bed as she stumbled for it. "The way you're so uplifting and all."
"Anything for the fashion queen." She frowned as that weak smirk pulled at the corner of Ron's lips. "All hail the Possible dynasty of the Style File."
"Where Ron can only hope his freckled skin is in." her arms barely folded over her breasts.
"That's a low blow, Kim."
"Shut up, Mr. Head."
***
Tara kicked her legs out softly as she hunched on the bed's edge. Her ankles rolled at her whim, feeling her strings extend as they ran over the bones to their natural limits. Her knees buckled and her calves pressed through the soft quit on the foot of the bed, soles of her feet sinking gently into plush carpet briefly as her legs lifted off again.
Less than a day in the room stretched into a lifetime, sitting patiently as her man husbanded the laptop and the flashing LCD. She wasn't sure what exactly was so fascinating about it. Faces, pictures, and other whatnot had flickered on-and-off the screen briefly as new windows stretched across the bland desktop pattern of clouds.
"Everything okay, Yune?" she flopped her back onto the bed.
"Yeah." the black cap of hair dipped a bit, "just looking over some files Hershel was kind enough to declassify."
"Declassify?" Her back felt straighter than a board as she sat up quickly. "Oh--tell me tell me tell me!"
"Nothing you'd get to excited about, T." his fingers combed roughly through his hair. "Profiles, maps, memos, etcetera."
"Anything *remotely* interesting?"
"No, not really." He said. "This is work in the intelligence service. And welcome to it."
"And how would you know about that?"
"My dad was in an intelligence battalion back in his days in North Korea." He explained. "Went through some of his stuff back then. And I don't think he was too happy about it. Probably what started me on the military road to nowhere in the first place, now that I think about it."
"What a career choice." she kicked up her legs again, working her ankles.
"Found anything good to watch on TV?" he turned his head slightly. "You sound a bit bored."
"Damn straight." She let her knees buckle, and gravity overwhelmed her legs. "All those channels and nothing to watch. Unless you call that bizarre version of Sesame Street quality daytime TV."
"Did the Arab Muppets pound on the Jewish Muppets yet?" she wasn't sure, but she swore her ears caught a faint chuckle from beyond the head of hair. "Or is it vice versa?"
"*Not* funny, Yune!" she frowned. "Not one bit!"
"You know what I think, T?" he said rhetorically.
"Nope..." She shrugged in the midst of a sigh. "But I have a strange feeling you're about to tell me. Am I right?"
"It don't matter what I think when it comes to this struggle." The boy said over the soft, erratic clacking of keys. "Talks, agreements, treaties.. None of those do any good. When the bullets start flying and body counts are rising, all that crap flies straight out the window."
"Yeah, but." her eyes wondered to the sky blue pane of glass just above his head. Faintly she could see some of the flush green tress sway with their leaves fluttering as the wind rustled through, only to cease, easing back into their proper position. "Everything with a beginning has to have an end. Just like the seasons."
"To everything, there is a season." The head of hair bobbed. "A time to be born; a time to die. A time to kill; a time to heal."
"A time to hug." she smiled brightly, angling her head of center.
"A time not to hug." The boy retorted above the clacking. Her cloud nine had deflated. "A time for war--"
"And a time for peace." She pressed.
"King Solomon." He noted. "Been reading the Ecclesiastes recently, I see."
"Yep." She nodded. "And the folly of living a materialistic life. Poor guy sounded miserable."
"Everything was for nothing, he realized." The Asian said. "After his transcendental awakening, he knew his way--*man's* way wasn't the right way, and he searched his heart for answers."
"I know." She moved her body to and fro, like a pendulum swinging gently from its fulcrum. "Kind of like this Uzi person, huh?"
"More like King Saul." he chuckled. "Don't get a wise man like Solomon mixed up with that hedonistic fool! Brat can't see what's ahead of him, let alone in front of him."
"Solomon was too, if I recall right." She said. "After reading the first two chapters of Ecclesiastes."
"Well yeah." The Korean shrugged. "Difference is that he woke up. Uzi has yet to. if he does."
"True."
--From the large, solid door came a rapping, and her seat nearly hopped off the mattress in surprise. She glanced back at the Asian, and she laid eyes upon his preoccupied face for the first time of the day. The drawer in front of him gently rolled open, and her ears caught his good fingers jittering on the wood.
"Who is it?" his tan brow furrowed as the drumming of his fingers ceased--and she heard something scrape briefly.
"Kim." The voice called through the towering, thick door. "Now open up. We got stuff to do."
There was another scrape from the drawer, and something inside its sunken base clunked just before the rollers took it back. She hopped off the bed, and her legs carried her to the door, hand moving the brass handle clockwise and the door quietly glided open with a little pull.
"Kim." she angled her waist back as the redhead brushed past her quickly, "you made it."
"No duh." The wrinkled comforter gnarled greatly under the auburn's weight, its weak crevasses leading to her back in winding slits. "Barely made it past Philadelphia Road without a scratch. Damn VSA are everywhere!"
The chair let out a stifled creak as the Korean hunched. "Did they see you?"
"No." the auburn shook her head. "They shouldn't have. Yet I bet they weren't too pleased when we smashed through the fences."
"Hmm. okay."
"Where's Ron at?" the lock made a clack as she eased the huge piece of lumber shut.
"He's away." her mouth opened, and Kim let out a big, toothy yawn. "Getting a short nap with the rodent. Shouldn't be too long. So. what's new with you guys?"
"Well." gravity took over as she leaned against the orange, adjacent wall, "I've been trying to keep busy. Yune over there's been occupied with the computer, looking at files and whatnot."
"Well yeah.!" the Asian shrugged. "It's the whole reason I'm here."
"What do you got for me, Yune?" the bedsprings squeaked, and the foot of the bed squished as the redhead sat up. Her full mane of hair swished to the side just as it stopped square on her back.
"Nothing much." His head sank between his shoulders for a second shrug. "Nothing I can really use to determine an overall COA with. The only big thing I found was the complete turnover of the Temple Mount by sometime next week. What's left of it anyway, if the new bulge in the wall doesn't take the whole thing down."
"Pf.!" she shook her head. "Land-for-peace is alive and well."
"Right." Kim said dismissively, and that red hair shook side to side with indifference.
"Given what I could pry from our 'friends' at the Mossad," tan fingers gestured quotations appropriately, "the only thing we can do right now is a simple reconnaissance."
"The target?" Kim asked.
"Tonight at the hotel's ballroom, a local klezmer will perform a brief impromptu concert for the guests and tourists." He explained. "And from what I gathered, Bonnet might be attending it."
"Why on earth would he.?" she kinked her brow.
"It's his klezmer." He continued. "He founded it not too long ago, and practically shows up at every performance."
"What's he going to do?" Kim said almost laughingly, bowing her head as her shoulders moved intermittently. "Play lead singer?"
"I recall he played the tuba." The good hand rubbed at his long features tiredly, shortly before it dropped into his lap. "Not that I really know."
"So what the heck are we doing till night fall?" Kim thought aloud. "Can't sit on our hands all day, can we?"
"Nah." Yune shook his head. "I sent an email request to Hershel not too long ago, requesting one of their cobblers."
"Disguises.." The auburn nodded. "Gotcha."
"Yep." Yune nodded too. "That should shave off a few hours at least. And in fact, they're probably sending a guy over right now for you guys."
"What about us?" she stood up firmly on her legs. The Asian looked at her squarely.
"Kim and Ron are the able element of this team." He said simply. "Not us. So we don't need it."
"Oh." her side found itself against the cool wall once gravity took over again.
"Well." his good hand slapped upon his knee, "you might as well talk to T over there about what's on the tube, 'cause we can't do anything until the cobbler shows up."
"Well, there's one thing." Kim dug her hand into one of her pockets, small elbow sweeping back and forth at a natural angle briefly. Her body leaned to the opposite side, and her arm came out with a small, flat square in hand. "I'd like you to take a look at this."
Yune barely managed to catch it as it arced and tumbled through the still air, snatching it as it bounced onto and off his knee. He gazed at it simply.
"A ZIP disk, eh?" his hand twisted at the wrist as he gave it the once over. "What's on it?"
"Not sure exactly." Kim replied. "I picked up in the hospital back in Prague. Uzi had it, I'm pretty sure of it."
"Not much I can do with it." The Asian shook his head. "This laptop doesn't have a ZIP drive equipped. But I'll hang to it, just in case. Unless, of course, you'd like Hershel to take a gander--"
"Absolutely not!" Kim shook her head ferociously.
"We're a team here." Yune said. "Don't let this little grudge get the best of you, or it could cost you--or even worse--us."
"I understand that--but--" The auburn nodded.
"But you'll treat her as an equal team member." Yune narrowed his almond gaze. "No matter how annoying or pompous she gets."
"But--!"
"*No* matter how annoying or pompous she gets." He pressed, putting more deliberate stress into it.
"Eh--but." Kim's fingers strangled a piece of comforter in her vice- like grip, "fine! Have it your way."
"That's a good girl." She giggled.
The auburn twisted her body around fiercely, her whipping mane complementing the red-hot anger deep within the emerald gaze.
"SHUT UP, TARA!" Kim growled.
"Ah, ah, ah.!" she waved a disparaging finger at the irate girl brazenly. "I'm your elder now!"
"Don't push it, T." Yune frowned. "Or you may not live before dusk."
The sight of her man's frown broke her glee, guilt twisting her sinking insides gently. No matter how the rush elated her, she could always count on him to bring her crashing down to earth.
"Okay." she sighed.
"Now make up." He gestured appropriately to the redhead, who held one of the bed plush pillows in her grasp.
"Friends, KP?" she shrugged.
"Friends!" Kim's shark-like smile was only but a second, before she stumbled back into the wall, the pillow in her face.
***
The curtain of the Mediterranean night had just fallen, and Shia's hands jittered on the brass of his tuba, fumbling around on the valves as he blew a couple sour notes. Shmuck Avenue's first gig had finally arrived, hot on the heels after word had spread around concerning the murder of an American lawyer at a popular nightclub. IDF and the police had an APB out on all VSA, and he'd be a monkey's fucked uncle before they took him on his group's opening night.
But if the police and military didn't catch him, Uzi sure as hell would the second he finds him missing from evening roll call.
The sea of endless faces engulfed the floor; the colorful centerpieces blossomed from the white tables like flowers on a lily pad, with golden chandeliers as bright as the midday sun. His heart nearly gave out on him from fear. They gazed towards the klezmer as they set up--at *him* with attentive eyes, as if he was caught up in a harsh spotlight. One set of eyes calmed his apprehension--brown eyes that soothed him--as they were dotted in the middle of a girl's smiling face, skin a dark brown.
*Robin. *
"You ready to get your ass handed to you?" teased that little upstart of a lead guitarist, Mark. "Ready to kiss your lover goodbye as she walks me out of here?"
"You wish, you little prick!" he growled.
"Wishing is for the weak!" he smirked arrogantly. "Doing's for the strong!"
"You're about to get strong-*armed* in a minute!" his shaky fingers came to rest, flat on the valves.
"We'll see!" Mark worked the sling of his electric ax over his head, its petrol blue body sliding to a stop on his thin belly. "Your girl would cream herself once she gets an earful of my guitar!"
"Whatever, punk!" he dismissed.
"You're the punk, punk!" ***
The tuba player had seemed to have settled his differences with the lead guitarist, since the huge, wrap-around piece of brass waddled its way to the back of the makeshift stage. The cap of dark hair shook violently like fur on a shaking, wet dog, as the lead guitarist strolled to the microphone stand. His lips went agape--and from out his mouth came a strange sound, a deep, hollow whine that seemed to have blared from a hollowed out log. The guitarist stumbled back a step, the metal stand teetering at an angle in his grasp. Only then, Ron noticed, a player stepping back gently from the twisty, winding piece of glossy wood.
"When Yune said 'klezmer', he wasn't kidding!" he noted, and a pain burned in his eyes as he struggled to see the tools of the evening's event. Shia--the average body with the brown, curly top--was at the tuba while his antagonist took up the electric guitar; a stick of a blond took up the waxy curly fry of a didgeridoo and the shofar looked nothing more than a thick switch in the portly man's grasp. A lonely violin laid flat on the nearby stool, waiting for talented musician to draw its bow across its tight strings flawlessly.
"It's better than enjoying a meal in silence, Ron." Tara flicked the last scrap of her glistening meat into her mouth, almost as if she had forgotten about that stunning tube dress around her shapely figure. Yune was a lucky man. "No matter how. *different*--it is."
"Hey--!" he pressed his hands flat against the table. "I know a good klezmer when I hear one. Brave Old World! That's a good group! Shmuck Avenue. now that--is a stupid group!"
"Oh please, Ron." The blonde's head rolled gently along with her eyes. "Give them a chance, for Pete's sake. You haven't even heard them!"
"If Shia Bonnet's a part of it," Yune's face was flat, expressionless as a bust, "it can't be good. Believe me.."
"Can we focus please?" Kim ran a finger through her puffy hair quickly, lacing her fingers on the way down to her lap. That green, sparkling dress really brought out her eyes, he just *had* to say. "We're here on reconnaissance, not reviewing."
"Have it your way, KP." He shrugged. "Reviewers have fun shredding things to pieces."
"So Ron," Tara said, "you seem back to your normal self."
"Yeah." one of his eyebrows inched up his crown at the middle, "is that a problem?"
"No." the blonde shook her head gently. "It's just you've been so down since we've left Middleton. Anything wrong?"
"I know." Kim said simply. "He's in a little shock from seeing his homeland again. There are probably some changes he hasn't been exposed to and whatnot. Am I right, Ron? How close am I?"
"What are you talking about, Kim?" he batted it back. "Israel's pretty much how it always was--a military camp--when leaders aren't tossing pieces of holy land away like bottles of scotch at Anna Nicole Smith's birthday."
A silence overcame the group. The girl's eyes boggled, and even Yune shot him a perplexed look.
"What.?"
"Yep." Kim's boggled gaze broke as she closed them, flashing the cobbler's fine work on her auburn locks as she nodded. "Mixing metaphors like a blender. Ron's back all right."
The Korean let out a snorting laugh, his cheekbones flush through his skin while his girl giggled uncontrollably.
"I'm lost." He shook his head.
"Of course you are, Mr. Head." Kim softly chuckled. "Now let everyone settle down, the performance is about to start."
"Ladies and germs!" the lead guitarist voice boomed over the amplifiers as he choked the microphone stand single-handedly. "Or germs and gentlemen, if you'd prefer."
A lighthearted chuckle swept through the large ballroom, but he held his tongue, as did the others seated at the table. Kim set her chin atop her laced fingers, supported by her elbows on the table edge as her gaze narrowed.
"Introductions aside," the dark haired boy carried on, "we are Shmuck Avenue, and we'll be performing for you fine people this evening. Isn't that right, Shia?"
"That's gospel, Mark." The curly top smiled in fakery, just by that extra wide, toothy grin.
"Anyway, all we ask is that you sit back, relax, and enjoy the new fangled sound of Shmuck Avenue." Mark took up a classic power stance; lengthy legs wide apart like the sides of an A, fingers slipping the pick from under the strings on the fingerboard. With a loud cry, he called to the rest of the mismatched group. "A one. a two. a one--two--three--four-- !"
And erupted from the band, a mighty discord the likes of which his virgin ears hath never heard. Like a tremendous mix between. he didn't know what! It was noise--pure and simple noise. His hand quickly capped his ears, pressing into them hard. Kim grunted as she followed suit, as did Tara with a brief whine of discomfort. Yune bent at the waist, the ear on his broken arm's side pressed into the tablecloth while the good hand capped over the other.
"Make the noise stop!" cried one of the other patrons as a sea of them crashed like the Mediterranean tides onto the doors. The large pieces of wood rattled and giggled, but they couldn't be persuaded open.
"You guys SUCK!" shouted another.
"You really are SHMUCKS!" yelled one more, and the band ceased their musical assault.
"Oh!" Mark strangled the microphone stand. "Did we forget to mention that the hotel staff kindly locked us all inside? There's *no* escape for you!"
"Let us out, SHMUCKS!" Tara's fists caused the utensils and even the heavy centerpiece to clatter. "Or we'll make you!"
"So not the drama, Tara." Kim noted, her hands slowly easing off her ears. Her eyes clamped shut, face twisting in a mild pain. "Oh. ferocious headache!"
"*Ugh*--!" The Korean moaned. "Shmucks fiddle while ears burn-- *oh*!"
"No can do, cute German thing!" the dark haired punk smiled simply. "But we've got a concert to play!"
Tara's frown sank even deeper, her clenched fists trembling on the tabletop.
"I'M--NOT--GERMAN!" her yell was at the top of her lungs.
"Best if you don't--*uh*--get her people confused with--those Nazi's.." Yune moaned.
"Shut it, broken wing!"
***
The evil--EVIL group had just finished their last song, whatever it might have been. Tara couldn't have been sure; so many confusing discords powered over the lead's lyrical abilities, and the didgeridoo player dropped his curly instrument to park a cute, little Volkswagen by a side of the stage.
The ballroom had become a stained, messy shadow of its former beautiful self, as if the LA riots from the 90's had been reenacted just her. Tables were overturned; sharp pieces from the centerpieces littered the floor among the dark stains of organic whatnot on the warm orange floor. The doors sung gently by momentum, hanging by one strong hinge. Many patrons had forced a set of doors open, using chairs as makeshift battering rams as the klezmer did nothing to stop them. She would have joined them if Kim didn't talk her out of it.
The lone man at the nearby table made clattering noises with the utensils, as he banged his head against the table. The sheets of paper did little to comfort his head as he continued adamantly.
"I still don't understand why he didn't leave." She thought aloud. "The doors were wide open 20 minutes ago."
"See those papers on the table, T?" Yune pointed. "He was writing on those during the performance. Must be working for the Jerusalem Post or something."
"Right." she nodded slowly. "So why couldn't we leave again? We knew this Shia was here, so what's the big deal?"
"See if his employer shows up." Kimberly stated.
"And then what?" she asked.
"Hope he doesn't see us."
"Oh."
"Does anyone have any idea what these guys were playing?" Ron shook sense into his head. "I have no clue."
"Smooth Criminal, I assume." Yune chuckled softly. "Given how that portly guy's about to mix it up with the beetle."
"Whatever." She eased the chair back, feeling its smooth ride back on the firmly packed carpet, enough for her legs to straighten. With the soles of her wedges planted flat, her legs locked as she stood up. "I don't know about you guys, but I can't stand another minute in this place. I'm going back to my room."
"Okay." Yune nodded gently. "Just be careful of the broken glass on your way. The floor's practically a giant road spike."
"I will." She said. "There's anything I can get you guys?"
"If the kitchen's still open," Ron said with a predictable smile, "call up some snacks."
"Mm-hmm--mm-hmm!" the rodent's claws clacked on the wood, as it scampered towards the table's center. It stood up upon its hind legs, its bucked teeth poking its belly as it nodded quickly. "Hmm--cheese!"
"It's the meaning of life.." Kim stretched her arms out as she let out a deep yawn. "Will be here for a few more minutes, Tara." The auburn held her open hand out toward the blond. "Key card please."
Ron shrugged before a hand swan dived into his jacket pocket, backing out and craning at the wrist with the flat piece of magnetized plastic in hand. It made a little *clomp* as it took a belly dive onto the tablecloth. It curved slightly as she took it into her grasp, a puzzled looked on her face.
"Stay in our room till we get back." The auburn said. "If worse come to worse--which it probably won't--hide in the closet."
She cocked an eyebrow. "Closet?"
"Trust me on this, okay?"
"Okay." She nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."
"Good." Kim said. "You can go now."
She carefully turned to leave, easing her foot down on the littered carpet gently on the first step. The rear of the ballroom wasn't in nearly bad a shape as was the front, yet that didn't stop a few zealous, disgruntled patrons from their stampede.
"Oh--" Kim said, "and Tara?"
"Yeah?" she called back.
"Some snacks do sound good."
".Right." she sighed, and her eyes rolled.
***
"Shia!" Uzi growled inwardly. "You're going to get it!"
How dare that little punk run off during his post, when a potential retaliation from the IDF was at hand? If that wasn't enough to make his tense evening, his newly fitted leg was in desperate need of some grease. It made a creaking sound with every bend and flex of the hinge, a creaking that poked at his mind, egging at him as mad as when the faucet wasn't completely off.
--All of the sudden, his arm had seemingly gained quite a few pounds in just over a few seconds. His back burned with ache, and he let out a tensely held groan. Each step was a perpetual struggle, all to keep himself upright like the man he was. He was no ape, he was Uzi Drazen, the proud supreme commander of the Victims' Separatist Army, and he wasn't going to let his combat load take him down.
"*Ugh*--!" he groaned. "The steroids--! Ah. *shtup*!"
*It'll be a while before we can synthesize the proper muscle supplements. * his memory whispered--and the urge to turn his gun on himself never had burned so terribly for days.
"Get the military stuff. *UH*--before the medical equipment!" he remembered aloud. "Pf. last time I listen to Shia! GOD!"
The sheer splendor of the Dan Panorama was lost on him, as he trudged through the elaborate halls, bright lights hidden by the hood of his poncho. The folds of his sleek wrap wisped against each other as he stumbled down the corridors. He faintly felt his arm muscles pull through his terminal numbness, his flesh pinching and pulling, tugging and being tugged all in one strange, tingling sensation--and he saw a piece of the poncho drag unnaturally to the side, at the angle his left forearm was. Valleys of the folds ran straight at it, uninhibited by the pull of the earth.
*CLACK!! *
His new combat load was ready for duty, that curly top of a button man his target practice--
Someone stumbled out from the double doors on the nearby wall, nearly tripping over those platform sandals--or whatever the heck they were called. Blonde, wavy hair touched down on the back of a shapely body, female, wrapped attractively in deep blue, strapless dress.
"Whew." the blonde said in a light, girly voice, typical that of a teen. "Dang glass!"
And she turned around--and her face, so graceful and angelic in all its brilliance and yet so familiar, as if he had seen this very girl before.
*But where.? *