46

Kimberly's bleeding was bad, her shirt with the pink heart was like a tie-dye job gone horribly awry. Her nail file had made like a blade, ripping a ragged line down the pink chest and the redder belly. Certainly the girl would have Tara's head for it. Dignity still wrapped tightly around the auburn's chest, hiding and cupping those perky breasts by a gray sports bra while Robin tied those bloody rags around the belly. It wasn't sterile by far, but it was better than nothing.

"Just hold on." She coached nearby. "I bet you can hear me, Kim. Everything's going to be okay, but please hang on! Keep fighting! We nearly lost you once, and we're not letting it happen again."

"I have a certain feeling that she will be fine." Robin said through clenched teeth, hands straining with the ragged bloody square knot on Kim's wound. "But hemostatic medication would truly help her. If we only had some around."

"I've checked Sadie, but there's hardly nothing in there." She replied. "Just some band-aids and first-aid cream. What I wouldn't give for a field medic's kit right now."

"Do what you can for her, ladies." Mr. Chairman grunted painfully. Despite his affiliation, he seemed to be a pretty decent guy, patient with temperance regardless of what ailed him. "Though I must say that these bullets are getting the better of me."

"We understand, Sir." Robin's hands clasped over the knot, and her head dropped between her cream, rearing shoulders as she put her weight on. "But I must keep the pressure upon this wound. This bleeding simply will not stop. Tara, is it possible for you to help the Chairman?"

"Right." She nodded. "I'll do what I can."

Mr. Abd-al-Latif had taken quite comfortably to the firm carpet, pressed on his belly, soiling his suit where the slick patches didn't reach. He looked at her while she trotted for him. The brown eye tired and weathered yet brimming with placidness, the kind of temperance that the region was in dire need of. There was hope for peace after all.

"Hello, Mr. Chairman." She smiled as she took a knee beside him. "I'm Tara Stark, if you hadn't already guessed."

"Hello,Ms. Stark." He smirked weakly back. "I'm Chairman Habib Abd-al-Latif - or Habib Abdul-Latif if Abd-al is too odd for your tongue. You will forgive me if I am not more pleasant. Bullet wounds are quite painful, especially if you were to let them be."

"I understand." She said. "And that's why I'm here."

"Good." The Chairman replied. "These rounds are really getting on my nerves. Being shot is one thing. Becoming a paraplegic is a whole other story. Often I would miss my legs."

"Don't worry, Mr. Chairman." With her thin file in hand, she took the cuff of one of his pants' legs into the other. She slipped the pointy file inside through the leg's cuff. She strained, her muscles flexed - and the straight rip through the cloth caused them to ease. She parted the cloth all the way up to the back of his knee before she took to the other. "Gangrene's not settling in on my watch. I'll guaren-damn-tee it."

The tanned calves were shades darker than the rest of his legs, tissue swollen, protruding a few inches out around two blood-caked dots punched right into the meat. Bleeding seemed to be light, lighter than what she thought it was, fresh crimson peeking at her from deep inside little cracks in the nasty crust like lava.

"Bleeding's not even a trickle." She noted aloud. "The rounds don't seem to have touched any major arteries. I think I can dig them out."

"'Dig'?" the gentle eye blinked. "What do you mean 'dig'?"

"Figure it out, Mr. Chairman." Only now did she realize how handy a nail file could really be. Its sharp tip found favor in her eyes as she moved it for the closest puncture wound. "Just let me do my thing unless you want a visit from Uncle Fester."

"You have an uncle named Fester?" the man replied quizzically. "America's full of funny sorts of people."

"From my time with them, Mr. Chairman," Robin graciously replied for her, "I have a strong feeling that you should not take it literally. Nothing is as what it seems to be in their slang. I have found that out the harder way."

"She's right." She nodded. "Just relax. It'll be over before you know it."

"I doubt it." He sighed. "I have been shot before, and it is hardly over that quick. You Americans rely too much on expedient processes and ready-made equipment, if you ask me."

She frowned. The pointy tip of her file dropped just a bit closer to the wound.

"Actually, I didn't ask you at all." She turned purposefully away. "In fact, I - HOLY SHIT! THE MAJOR!"

That gentle eye shot open. Frozen limbs beside were instantly thawed, revived, pushing the Chairman up to a half arch. His shaking head helped his eyes dart around the sanctuary, looking for any malignant presence apart from his own. She did it; her hasty plan worked perfectly. The pointy tip of that file pierced into the edge of the crusty dot just a little bit easier.

"-OW! -" Mr. Chairman yelped. "-CHARRA ALAIK, ANASI! -"

"I have no idea what you said," she shrugged amusingly, "but I bet it wasn't nice!"

"Ha…!" Robin sniggered softly. "That is because it was not, Tara. I may not be fluent, but I know enough Arabic to know what that means."

"What does it mean?" she asked, probing her file around a little more rigorously. The Chairman groaned. Something was there, all right. She could feel it, feel it in her fingers when the tip tapped against something hard and smooth, too smooth and too close to the skin for bone. It couldn't be bone, the way it flanged out underneath the file's tip. "Do I want to know?"

"No, I do not believe you do." The girl replied. "Crude and nasty indeed."

"Thought as much." She shrugged. "Just remember, Mr. Chairman: those who cure can too make ill."

"Super." He moaned. "Just my luck."

"Hey, in order to yank these suckers out, I have to stick you." The Chairman growled back when she surged a little more pressure on the file. The projectile wiggled against it with the flexibility of a loose tooth, and hopefully it would come out as easily. Mr. Abdul-Latif surely wasn't a little kid anymore; he looked to be about in his mid-60s. "So I stick you."

"Goody!" he groaned. "Like my days in the security forces all over again."

"Hold on, you big baby." Her tongue gave her lips a fresh coat of saliva. With a little twitch, she drove the tip past the round. Her file became a crowbar, the thin sliver in her hands arced to her torque. The crusty dot pulsed with every yank, a bony piece angled away from her a little more each time. "I almost got - there!"

A mushroom was in bloom on Mr. Chairman's leg. It must have belonged to a poisonous group of fungi, certainly would be deadly if it had taken root in a vulnerable place on the man's body. Her fingers taking it by the twisted, solid cap, she uprooted it with a firm tug. It rattled on the carpet like a marble when she flicked it away.

"There goes one." She noted.

"Praise Allah for that." The man breathed. "Could you be a help and yank that other one out?"

His crimson flowed into that ragged cavity, pooling closer to the lopsided brim with every beat of the old man's heart. It over flowed, trickling up his foreleg to the back of the knee when she tore the ripped cloth straight off. She folded the cloth over. Doubling its thickness just like Yune had shown her, and a black dot deepened on the cloth when she tied it around his calf.

"That should do it." Her nails picked the file off the carpet and into her fingers. "I'm moving on to the second leg."

She yanked the second torn piece jaggedly off the rest of his suit, doubling the cloth over for later. Mr. Chairman let out another yelp when she stabbed that bloody file into brim of the second dot.

"You utterly -love- surgery, don't you." Mr. Chairman whined.

"I do what I have to, Sir." She shrugged, the file probing around his flesh. "I don't really like the sight of blood, but I carry on anyway."

"Could have had me fooled, young one." The man moaned. "To think I thought all you American women were simply a bunch of sadists."

"Funny," her tongue swathed her lips again, "some American men do! It's probably why some marry people of different countries. I know a high school senior who's engaged to a Welshwoman."

"A gentleman slummer?" he asked.

"Please, he's too good for that." She shook her head. "A xenophobe and misunderstood at times, but probably one of the more genuine people you'll ever meet."

"Interesting…." He replied. "From PATV and al-Jazeera, you looked like a country of regular Mandingos."

She gave her file a little twist. Mr. Abdul-Latif growled painfully.

"Talking bad about your nurse's country, Mr. Chairman?" She frowned. "Never wise."

"I was not implying that America is!" He exclaimed. "But one would not know it on my side of the fence. Always bantering that Israel is the enemy and that America is the Great Satan, it is clear why young children grow up longing to be -shahid-."

"'-Shahid-'?" she blinked.

"Martyr, if you like." He said. "But after my predecessor's passing, I wish to change that. Hardliners will scoff, of course, but it is time that we wake up from our delirium. Israel and America are not the real enemies. They were not, they are not, and hopefully they will never be. Instead, they have tried to help us, and we like brats have turned around and threw it in their faces.

"Jews and Muslims used to be somewhat friends. We have both suffered Christendom at its worst, and we still do not use the cross in our arithmetic. But now, in the 21st century, we have adopted the Christians' archaic ways and persecuted both the Jew and the Christian. We have become no better than murderers, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands. It all came to a bloody head in Beslan."

"I know." She nodded somberly. "Those poor children…. They'll probably hate school for the rest of their lives."

"Yes, our murderous sons and daughters are the direct result of our twisted culture." He shook his head. "Beslan was when it hit me, and this -intifada-. We cannot continue this fight. By constantly playing the victims, so rabid for revenge, we've killed our souls! And now one of the Jews has thrown all restraint to winds by trying to kill us all. Allah, have mercy on us!"

"It's not over till it's over, Mr. Chairman." Her file's quest for the projectile was a success. Already she had the tip past the round, ready to pry. "Two people are out there right now, trying to stop him. Two against one, I'd say he's pretty much done for."

"I hope you are right—!" the Chairman reply was cut off by her yank. "OW!"

"Sorry!"

A bony protrusion angled out of the dot, blood oozing from the point tip like lava in a volcano. Her file bent to her will, arcing with every pull. It wasn't long till that protrusion blossomed into another ugly mushroom, and another piece of scrap when she tugged it out of the poor man's leg. Easily she tied her doubled-over cloth around the limb, and a dot deepened on the makeshift bandage.

"All done." She wiped her file against her hip-huggers. Of course it would stain, but that simply didn't matter right now. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Of course it was!" Mr. Chairman rolled to his backside. Walking over to the fallen lanky man, she took the initiative, taking his boots into her hands and dragging him close to the old man's legs. One by one, she placed the crook of his legs atop the cadaver. The second lieutenant was a good one, after all. "Gunshot wounds are never fun."

"Isn't that the truth." She agreed, feeling the edge of her foot tingle. "I got shot on the foot about a month ago. Thankfully the bullet just grazed it, but it still packed a punch."

"Ouch." He replied blindly, his head angled up, tired eyes transfixed on his legs. "But I must say, your medical techniques were great! Where on earth did a girl like you learn to do this?"

Her shoulders were pulled back as the backs of her hands rested against her butt.

"My boyfriend." She smiled warmly.

"I see…." Mr. Chairman nodded. "America's truly is a frightening country."

"Having second thoughts already?" she angled her head inquisitively.

"No, of course not." He replied. "But did you have to rip my suit? It is Armani! It took me many months to save up for it."

"Couldn't you have paid for it out of your predecessor's deep pockets?" she asked. "He was just behind the Queen of England as one of the world's richest people."

"No, I would rather not soil myself further using that dirty money." He shook his head solemnly. "That money belongs to my people. Europe and America have pooled their resources for our betterment, but my idiot predecessor took it all for himself and his yes-men. Not once did he share his bank accounts or codes with anyone - a double-edged sword, really. The funds are probably lost forever to us, but at least the terrorists won't get their bloody hands on it."

"Likewise, his prissy trophy wife will not get it either…" Robin nodded, "I hope."

"If Drazen succeeds in his plan, it will not matter anymore." Mr. Chairman said soberly. "Money is quite worthless on a nuclear-baked planetoid. Millions and billions will die, even at the far corners of the earth, and the stolen money and Unknown's Legacy will go up with the first blast."

"Unknown's Legacy?" she blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Yes, indeed." Robin said. "What or whom are you speaking of, Mr. Chairman?"

"Unknown's Legacy." He said again. "You have not heard about The Unknown?"

"No." she shook her head. "Why should I've heard of something that's not even known to begin with?"

"I agree." Robin said. "I have no idea what you are talking about either."

"Of course." Mr. Chairman said. "I am not surprised that you do not know whom I am speaking of. In fact, only recently have I heard about it, and even then it was in passing. The stupid ex-chairman trying to haul it all for himself! Probably it is why he ordered those recent attacks.

"During the last Great War, as you know, blueprints and tactics were drawn for ways to defeat the Axis and reestablish peace across the world. The soldiers of the allies put these plans into action along with several influential resistance groups, the French Resistance and the Black Hand as you may have heard."

"Yes," she nodded, "World War 2 wasn't just one man's war, it was everybody's war. My grandfather left for America during the -Anschluss-, even fought against his homeland. He's Austrian, you see."

"True." The man continued. "But during the war, a travesty in one fellow's homeland brought him into serious action. He was a special fellow, credited by helping the allies defeat the Axis as well as suggesting the reestablishment of the Jewish homeland. Of course, you would not find this in a history book. Hell - even I am not sure about it, but with Uzziel Drazen running about, you cannot deny the possibility.

"The 'legends' - if you will - state that a miner's son was forced into action when his hometown was destroyed by the Nazis, retaliation for 'The Hangman's' demise. The men shot where they unwillingly stood while the woman and children hauled of to the nearest death camp. The buildings he grew up with were gone, leveled to the ground."

"A miner's son?" Robin shot him a curious look. "'The Hangman?' Mr. Chairman, are you speaking of the tragedy of Lidiche?"

"The very same." He nodded back. "Hatred burned violently in the young man's heart, swearing to his god that those who did it would pay dearly. That hatred fueled him to take on the Axis, eventually leading to its inevitable defeat. Hiroshima and Nagasaki: the last real victory your country ever had. The war was over. With Zionism at its peak and the Nazi atrocities brought to light, it was time for the Jews to reestablish their home. That idea swelled in many, but it also too swelled in the young man. He believed it like religion. It was probably why he pushed Ben-Gurion in the first place."

"This 'young man' was The Unknown?" she asked.

"Yes." He said. "Possibly one of the greatest warriors Israel's ever known, next to Lichtenfeld himself."

"Drazen?" she blinked.

He shrugged.

"I was thinking of the -other- Lichtenfeld, but I guess that is possible. He was a warrior indeed, but his resentment of Lidiche only fueled with rage. He could not get over it. Wrath consumed his soul, and with the arrogant resolve of the USSR drove him mad. He threatened to nuke Moscow off the face of the earth and nearly succeeded. Someone had thankfully stopped him."

"Who was that?" Robin asked.

"I do not know." He replied. "The records are lost to the wind just as The Unknown's birth name. The only thing we can be sure of was his opponent's name was 'Nancy'—"

For the first time since they had stormed in, Kim finally spoke.

"Na… na…?" the auburn breathed. "Nana…?"

Her makeshift clogs took the lead, rushing her over to the fallen girl. She took a knee beside her. The skin around the bloody knot may have been white as snow; her peachy disposition gradually was coming back to her. Into her own, she took Kimberly's closest hand, giving it a squeeze. Cold definitely, but it wasn't as icy, sort of like fresh water.

"Kim!" she exclaimed. "Kim! You're still alive!"

"She is indeed, my friend." Robin eased herself off the knot. "The bleeding has stopped for now, but I must insist you not jostle her in the least. A sudden move could tear the scab open again."

Kim's eyes batted, blinking some sense back into her head. Gently her head rocked on the carpet, hearing her locks shift and rub against each other and the carpet.

"Where… am - I…?" the auburn groaned. "Am I dead…?"

"No." She shook her head vigorously. "No, no, no - far from it! You're alive, Kim. You're still alive! Just stay awake. Don't go to sleep on us!"

"Drazen!" Kim snapped. The girl tried to sit herself up, but a dark hand on the forehead kept her down. "Where's…?"

"Outside." Robin replied. "Ronald and Yune are handling him as we speak. Please, calm yourself down. Do not stress your—!"

"DRUGS!" Kim shook her head furiously. The grasp on Tara's hand became a tight vice.

"No, Kim." She said. "No drugs for you. We don't have any, and you're too weak even if we did."

"No…." the girl breathed. "Don't understand—! Don't - LET him take - drugs! Too… STRONG!"

The dark girl pleaded. "Kimberly, please calm yourself—!"

"No…!" Kim writhed and struggled futilely against them. The girl's sudden weakness wasn't much of a bad thing after all. "NO! I can't…! No - time…."

"Kimberly, through thick or thin, there's always going to be enough time!" She yelled sternly. "If you're worried about Drazen, the boys can handle it. Now you get a grip on yourself or we'll be forced to restrain you! Got it?"

"Can't do this…!" Kim whined. "No time—! The NUKE!"

She gasped. Mr. Chairman cursed again in his native tongue.

"She is hysterical!" Robin dismissed. "Her fight maybe over, but there is still a fight waging in her head. I do not know how much longer I can keep a hold on her."

"No, she's not." Mr. Chairman replied. "I had completely forgotten about that!"

She turned her head for him, shooting him a look.

"What do you mean, Mr. Chairman?" her lids parted wider all on their own. "There really IS a nuke on site?"

"I am afraid so, ladies." He pulled himself up to a sit. Kim's death-grip eased, her hand slipping out of her own. "I am sorry. I should have told you sooner, but the pain was overwhelming."

"He's serious about destroying this place?" she shrieked.

"Apparently so," the Chairman nodded, "but not in the way you would typically think."

"Typically think?" her eyes crossed. "What's to think about? He plans to murder thousands of people!"

"No, not the thousands he would like." He shook his head. "He plans to leave them for the war to come. The blast radius of the device is only a couple hundred yards at best - an ERW. Have you ever have heard of a neutron bomb?"

"What is the difference?" Robin asked. "They sound the same to I."

"This weapon was designed to reduce collateral damage by exposing the opposition to lethal amounts of intense radiation within a localized area." He explained. "Organic material such as plants, animals, and humans will dissolve instantly within the vapor zone while the surrounding structures like buildings will be irradiated. The blast can be up to a couple to several hundred yards, depending upon the amount of red mercury."

"What would that do?" she asked. "Certainly we'd be dead, but this sanctuary and the mosques would remain. Drazen's everything would be for nothing."

"Not exactly, Tara." Robin shook her head. "It would not be that simple. Drazen is not like that. He knows what he is doing."

"True." Mr. Chairman agreed. "The Noble Sanctuary would remain, but the radiation would contaminate the Temple Mount for decades. Looking at it from afar, not being able to lay eyes upon the Noble Rock: Drazen's final mockery. It would be the blackest smudge on our history. It would scorn the Muslim world, blinded by rage, driving them to the sword and the AK. The world will surely fall."

Mr. Abdul-Latif cried not though it would certainly be understandable. He simply let out a sigh, defeat thick in the tired breath. Dreams, hope, and progress shattered like stained glass. If anyone tried to glue it back together, they'd cut themselves deeply. Everything was for nothing, chasing the wind the entire time.

"Wait—" Kim coughed. "Wait…. Don't give up! It's not over yet."

"I know." She nodded back. "But what're we going to do? I've done what I can, but we're out of moves!"

"It seems all we can do is wait, Tara." Robin eased gently off Kimberly. Her dark hand was gone, hidden by the cream of her sweats and the peachy skin of Kim's hand. Dark digits curled around the back of the peachy hand, and carefully she hoisted the auburn up to a sit. "Wait and pray. I would go away to the Western Wall, but alas, I have forgotten my talis."

"Not to mention the gates of Hell opened up right outside." She smirked weakly.

"The bomb." Kim breathed. "I know where it is…."

"You do?" She batted her eyes incredulously.

"We both do, ladies." Mr. Abdul-Latif replied. "It is defiling the Noble Rock as we speak, soiling it inside the comfort of a woodland-print backpack. You cannot miss it, really, though it is hard to see it through the fencing."

"And just when were you going to spill that?" she folded her arms crossly. "Hmm…?"

"I was in pain, remember." He shrugged. "And she was unconscious."

"Oh yeah." She let them fall to her sides.

"Forget about it, Tara." Robin said. "Now that we know where it is, what are we going to do with it?"

"Get it out of here, for one." Kim said. "We at least have to try. But I don't know what Drazen did to it, like install a proximity trigger."

"Booby traps." Robin said. "Even if it does not, this is still a holy place. It is bad enough that we are in here, but I would rather not desecrate it further."

"Forget about that, ma'am." The Chairman replied. "While your civility is admirable, do you honestly believe that respecting this stone would make but a shred of difference today? Do not worry about it. If we survive today, I will order the Waqf to drop the matter should any case arise."

Kim took in a deep breath, letting it sit before her lungs squeezed it out.

"Looks like it's up to you, Tara—"

Her eyes boggled.

"Huh?"

"You heard me, Tara." Kim said. "I'm still too weak. Mr. Chairman's been shot, and Robin's tending to my wounds. Besides, what else have you got to do?"

"Live!" she yelped. "That's what I got to do! I've never touched a bomb before, let alone a nuclear one!"

"I won't have you dismantle it, T." Kim shook her head. "That's not possible - not even for me! But we at least need you to take a look. Maybe we can figure something out from there."

Kim's hand slipped into her pocket. A thick, flat bulge fattened… then deflated on her leg when her hand came back out, her funky, clunky PDA in hand. It made like a Frisbee, spinning for her swiftly. It would have clunked her right on the crown if she didn't have the sense to catch it a moment before.

"This thing again." She gave it the once-over. It looked the same as always, high-resolution screen above four directional pads encircling a singular red nub. "No Webmaster this time?"

"Forget about that." Kim dismissed. "It's been set to its scanning function. Just hold it away from the target at arm's length and push the red button. The Kimmunicator will do the rest. When it's done, it should give you an x-ray image and an analysis."

"Okay." She reluctantly pocketed it, snug as a bug in her hip-huggers. "But if this thing goes off, I don't want to hear any bitching in the hereafter! Got it?"

"All right," Kim smirked faintly back, "we'll do our best."

XXX

Drazen was cornered literally.

It seemed to be over mere minutes from when it began. Metal-head's bulky, cumbersome back was to the low wall, his body slumping against it. That black -tubular- chest heaved. The loose tubes that pierced his limbs tapped and scraped against others with each haggard breath. Amazing, simply amazing! Who'd have thought that Monkey Kung-Fu would actually work!

Yune was at a knee, knuckles drained of his trademark tan as they pressed against the ground for support, sucking in some well-deserved breath. Sure, Ron could have managed on his own if he'd have to, but it wouldn't have been over this quickly if it were not for the Korean, Hapkido and all. Drazen had gotten in some hits, blows as serious as an elbow to the cheek, but even his reputed wizardry in -Krav Maga- lasted him only for so long.

"No…!" Uzi pushed himself away from the wall, stumbling like a drunk. "It's not over yet…! Things can't end this way! I am -Dajjal-, and I SAY THEY WON'T! YOU HEAR ME, BOYS?"

"Aw - do us a favor and shut the fuck up, Drazen!" he whined back. "How long are you going to keep this up, HUH? It's over - JUST ACCEPT IT!"

"Now," Yune interjected, "you can take off that ridiculous outfit and come with us or you can go with the Palestinians! It's your last choice, Uzi. Be sure to make it a good one."

"NEVER!" the metal head's nasty face twisted into a hideous mask of fury. "Death is art - MY ART! It is my destiny!"

"I don't think you really believe that." He shook his head. "You just want the easy way out, not have to suffer the consequences of your despicable actions. How easy it is just to simply run away from every mess you yourself had left for others to clean up."

"You little shit…!" the metal-head predictably seethed.

"We're not the shits, Uzziel." He retorted pointedly, the exclamation mark a simple point of his finger. "You are! You're just a murderous coward like Bin-Laden, and that's the only way this region will ever remember you—!"

"HOW DARE YOU!" Drazen stomped his foot. "To nihilism devotees - I'M A MOTHER-FUCKING PATRIOT!"

Drazen's good eye darted to the corner. His .44-caliber eagle sat on its flank on the ground nearby, suckling on a brass grub no further than a yard away. The punk made like Superman, diving for the bird of prey. Ron brought up his pistol at eyelevel, finger taking up all the slack a hair trigger could offer—!

BLAM! -

There was the thunderous clap, the pistol bucking against his palm before it let out a smoky wisp of breath. Embers sparked fleetingly on the ground, the round ricocheting at the eagle's ass with a -ZING-, and the eagle promptly skittered away. Drazen got only a fist full of rocks on his way down.

"-DRECK! -" The metal-head cursed, gracing the ancient stone with a hammer fist, trembling with… he didn't know what. It quivered like a leaf in the breeze. "Oh…!"

"You're going to feel like -dreck- in a minute, Drazen." Yune warned. "Give up!

Drazen pushed himself back up to weak feet by a shaky arm. That quivering hand shot to his face, trembling on his strange flesh while his feet stumbled him any which way possible. Sparkling luster was dimming on that hazel orb.

"Oh…." Drazen moaned through loose lips. "My - HEAD!"

"What?" He dropped the revolver to 45 degrees.

"Motion sick—!" Uzi's words squeezed through a tightening throat. His wavering stumble jostled him closer to the southern wall, -dangerously- closer. "Too much—! Can't… control!"

"Is he faking?" he asked.

"Can't take the risk either way!" Yune exclaimed. "Uzziel, stand still! We'll get you help, just don't—!"

Uzziel's thumb slipped and slid over a glossy red button in the palm, yet the metal-head had not the strength to push it down. His uncontrollable stumbling moved him precariously backwards, practically teetering on the edge of sudden death's nasty precipice. Ron knew well what a fall off the southeastern section meant, that undulated slope with the dappling rocks—

—Uzi's leg got caught on the wall in the middle of a back-step. —

—And Ron could see it for himself. Gravity yanked at Uzi through that cumbersome load-bearing vest, pulling at him by the sloshing tanks! Drazen's whole body was but a black smear as it vanished behind the wall. The metal-head let out a horrible wail - and an abrupt, soft explosion from below silenced him completely!

His stomach churned, intestines worming into knots as he rushed over to the wall. Yune quickly took the lead and nearly joined Drazen if his feet didn't grind him to a sudden halt. The flat mat of black hair loomed over the precipice slowly. A shake of the mat and a sigh thick with disgusted exasperation told him all he needed to hear.

"Drazen, Drazen, Drazen…!" Yune bowed his head. "Why…?"

He had caught up to him just then. Yune wiped his brow with the back of a hand, the shaking of his head spiteful in sheer defeat. Why, he knew - or at least thought he did. Placing the ball of a foot just behind the absolute edge, he leaned himself over the wall.

He wasn't missing anything at all. If he did, then it would be something he was better off passing up. He cringed disgustedly.

"-Oy! -" Victory's taste soured in his mouth. "What a mess!"

After that spill, Drazen had to be dead. Spooning a bloodied rock at the peak, the punk's final pose left a real something to be desired within him. The body was there; the blood was there, those pale green tanks seemed a little more empty - but... that was it. Where was the victory? Where was jubilation's soothing caress? Did it too die along with Uzziel, Alexander maybe? Despite the flames lapping behind him, all he felt was… cold.

Slick, wet cold that trailed down every inch of my being just like rain. Just like Alexander's final battle all over again. -

"-Blah…! -" His little buddy sounded like he wanted to vomit.

"You little fucker!" Yune seethed bitterly. "I should have just grabbed you and HAULED YOUR ASS IN! You were faking that shit, WEREN'T YOU?"

"Don't know." He shrugged back. "Did he or not?"

Yune's growl hit him more like a moan; hit him like a firm tap to the forehead.

"Not now, Ronald." Yune took back his hand with a frown.

"I know, I know." He nodded. "But let's get back. We've wasted enough time with Uzi. We still got his little present to take care of before it goes off!"

"Yeah, you're right." Yune folded his arms. "Drazen may have gotten off easy, but there's no time to stew over it."

"Yeah," he blinked, "that's what I just said!"

"Come on, Ron." The Asian pushed himself away from the edge. "Let's get back to the sanctuary. I bet that's where he hid the device."

"He - huh!" His little buddy replied for him. "You got it!"