A Question of Honor

by gietzeng

Sequel to Pity the Child: In the wake of the attack on Balamb Garden, SeeD attempts to reconstruct and confront the foe who has dogged it from the shadows. Please R&R (Complete)

13. If You Want to Die in Bed

"We've got a vehicle inbound," said Drake, pointing to a blip on the monitor.

"Are we expecting any visitors?" asked Sydney, bored, not looking up from his newspaper.

"Nope."

"Just another practical joke, then," Sydney replied.  "Bets, anyone?  Teenagers called a 'blank' to deliver to us."

Voices piped up from around the gate house.

"Pizza parlor!" suggested Danglars.

"Bo-ring," Drake shot back.

"Flowers?" ventured Villefort.

The answer came in unison.  "Last month."

"Twice," Drake added.

"Religious group looking for converts?" offered Caderousse.

Sydney lowered his paper and spun in his chair to face the speaker.

"Now that," he said, smiling, "is interesting.  I've been working this job for, oh, eight years now, and no one has ever, ever, suggested that.  I would be willing to take that action."

A hand slipped inside his jacket, fishing for his wallet, and had started counting out money when Drake spoke again.

"Uh, guys?  I'm going to place a bet on 'none of the above.'"

"Hmm?" Sydney asked, distracted by the dollar signs dancing before his eyes.

"It's moving a little... briskly for any of our standard culprits."

"You got an estimate on that?" Sydney sighed, placing his wallet back in his jacket.

"Oh, say... eighty miles an hour."

Sydney sighed again.  "Well, whatever it is, let's go meet them at the gate."

The team of security guards mumbled, various degrees of profanity issuing forth from their collective mouths.  They stood and made their grudging way to the gate, weapons at the ready.

"Atten-shun!"  Sydney snapped and the guards, finally, moved as one, standing at the ready to intercept and/or greet the upcoming vehicle.  Sydney stood at the far right, in place for the driver's side window, Drake, his lieutenant, at the passenger's side.

"Big smiles, boys!" Drake quipped through clenched teeth.  "You're part of the Videlic Arms family!"

"Shut up," Sydney hissed.

The blip on the monitor had transformed to a speck on the horizon.  As the guards stood, ready at attention, it increased in size – a black van, windows tinted, still traveling at a high rate of speed.

Drake spoke first.

"I don't think it's slowing down," he murmured.  "Syd...?"

"Nothing to be worried about," Sydney smiled.  "Someone from the Republican government, no doubt.  They like to show off how busy and important they are by driving fast.  Maintain attention."

As it neared, the vehicle did, indeed, appear to slow.

"See?  Slowing down, just like everyone else."

Except, in this instance, "slowing down" amounted to a screeching halt mere inches from the guards, sending several men flying for their lives.  The rear passenger's door flew open, and a woman's voice shouted, "Now, Zell!"

Suddenly, a wiry blond man with an elaborate network of tattoos on his face vaulted out of the vehicle, a blur of elbows, knees, feet, and fists. The instant he touched ground, the van pulled away, splintering the wooden rail blocking its path before receding in the distance.

Drake hit the ground first, before he even had a chance to raise his weapon.  Sydney saw several of his friend's teeth scatter on the pavement, but the human tornado had already moved to his next victim.  Danglars took a vicious blow to the solar plexus, followed up by an open palm strike to his nose, shattering the cartilage and driving it upwards into his brain.  The fighter whirled, then, kicking out at Villefort's knee, causing him to crumple.  The martial artist slammed his elbow down on the back of the guard's neck.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Sydney remembered the gun cradled in his arms.  By the time it left his shoulders and started the long road to firing position, he realized he might as well fight while standing up to his neck in water.  In the span of a heartbeat, his opponent disabled Caderousse too – he lashed out, grabbing Caderousse's wrist and twisting it brutally.  When Caderousse fell towards his assailant, both of the warrior's arms latched onto Caderousse's neck, snapping it as well.

Finally, he whirled on Sydney, who finally had his gun ready to fire.  This stopped the man cold.  Sydney tightened down on his weapon, looking much braver than he felt.  His courage started to return, though, as he saw Drake, blood streaming from his mouth, stagger to his feet behind their attacker.

Sydney's training came back to him.  His lip start to curl in the familiar sneer as he remembered his pride, his heritage, and the rewards he would receive when he handed his employer this man's head on a platter.  Drake, slightly the worse for wear, felt it too, and Sydney could tell by the look in his friend's eye.  The sneer hardened as their enemy raised his hands over his head, straight up in the air.

And smiled.  At the sight of that wolfish grin, with its too-prominent incisors, Sydney knew, more than ever, that he had fallen in far, far over his head.

One of the martial artist's legs kicked up, striking Sydney's gun and sending it spinning in the air.  A hand darted backwards, spiking into Drake's windpipe with enough force that the larynx would eventually expand and result in a slow death by asphyxiation.

As that hand returned from its foray, the warrior's opposite elbow collided with Sydney's nose.  Sydney grabbed his face in pain, falling to one knee in his agony.  He realized his mistake an instant too late.

Sydney looked up to find himself staring down the barrel of his own gun.

"Hands on your head," the man said.  The only words he'd spoken since sweeping through the guard station like a maelstrom.

Sydney rose to his feet, slowly.  "Plea... please," he stammered, holding his hands in front of him.

"On your head," the tattooed man repeated.

"I... I have a family."  Speech came to him only with difficulty.  The coppery taste of blood ran heavy in his mouth, throttling his words.  He started to reach for his wallet.  "I have... a little girl."

"On.  Your.  Head."  The wolf fangs flashed again, not in amusement this time.

Sydney's hand reached inside his jacket pocket.  "I... want to show you..."

"Last chance.  Hands on your head.  I will shoot you."

"Here, see?"  Sydney grasped the wallet and pulled it forth, hoping he could buy his life with talk of his family.

Suddenly, Sydney's world turned white.  No pain at first, just the shock.  As if the entire universe exploded, and he stood at the epicenter of it all.  He felt his head strike the ground like a crack of thunder, but still, mercifully, he felt no pain.

The man in front of him started to recede, slowly at first, then with a frightening speed, as if some unseen conveyor belt whisked him away.  Sydney saw his gun strike the ground.  He heard footsteps and realized that no conveyor belt had carried his murderer away, only Sydney's own failing vision.

As his eyelids started to flutter closed, something brushed his hand, and he knew it by touch.  Leather.  His wallet, falling out of his jacket and spilling open on the sidewalk.  He tried to see it, to take in one last glimpse of his daughter, but his muscles fought him for every instant of control.

Instead of his daughter's picture, Sydney took to his grave the image of the man depressing the button to lower the cement barriers.

Over the throbbing sound of his steadily weakening pulse, he heard the man speak once more.

"Gate under control.  I'm on my way to meet you."

*          *

"Okay, men," Karsh barked as the door opened before him.  "Off your sorry asses.  We're getting the call."

"The call?" Dagny chirped, slapping her cards facedown on the table.  "Hot damn!"

"The call?" asked Tivrusky.  "What does that mean?"

"It means we're getting the call," Creon supplied.  "'bout damn time something happened around here.  'sbeen, like, three months."

"Can we finish this hand?"  Jago's voice came as more of a whine than anything else.

"No," Karsh spat back, clearly not in the mood for dissent.  "I just got off the phone with my boss.  We only get the call when Gate Team screws up.  That means the chief will be pissed off.  But right now, she's only pissed off at them.  I don't want her pissed off at me.  You really don't want her pissed off at me."

"But look how much money she's won!" Jago again, petulant and sullen as he pointed to the enormous pile of poker chips in front of Dagny.  "I was just about to get it all back."

She shook her head.  "No, you weren't.  You didn't glance at your chips.  You always glance at your chips when you have a good hand."

Jago huffed in indignation.  Dagny shrugged.  "Creon's nostrils flare on a good hand, and Dog Meat over here," she jerked a thumb to Tivrusky, "always tries to make a bad hand look good by fiddling with chips.  'Planning the attack' and all that." 

As one, the other three players groaned and threw their cards down.  Dagny raked in the chips as Creon gathered the cards again and started shuffling.

"The call!" Karsh bellowed, still standing in the door fuming.  "She's waiting, and I'm not going to take the rap because you morons are having this conversation for the millionth time."

"Right!" Dagny exclaimed, pounding the table and leaping to her feet.  "'When the call comes down, we don't delay!'"

Jago stood, pushing his chair away from the table and puffing out his chest.  "'She gives the call, and we're on our way!'"

"'We'll brave all dangers, great and small!'" Creon supplied.

The three turned their eyes to Karsh, beating his head against the frame of the door.  He stopped for a moment and muttered under his breath, "Because we're always ready, when we get..."

All eyes turned to Tivrusky.  "The call?"

"Now can we go?" Karsh asked as they filed out of the room.

"I still don't know what that means!" Tivrusky pointed out, scurrying after the group.

As they passed through the necessary security doors on their way to the parking garage, Jago dropped behind to talk to Tivrusky.

"Gate Team is supposed to make periodic reports.  Situation normal, and so forth.  No one trying to storm the building, and so forth.  And once every six months or so, Gate Team forgets to check in.  Which is when we get..."

"The call... and so forth?"

"Precisely.  We drive down to the gate, make sure everything's okay, drive back, and park our – what was Karsh's phrase? – 'sorry asses' back in our poker chairs for another six months until the whole thing happens again.  Thus do we pass our humdrum little lives."

"We get paid for this?" Tivrusky asked.

"Well," Creon called back, "if anyone does try to storm the building, and manages to overcome Gate Team, we – Dispatch Team – form the second line of defense."

"Shut it," Karsh growled.  "Get in.  I'm driving."

The team had arrived at their vehicle.  A six-wheeled assault transport, precision crafted for a maximum of speed and maneuverability, while not sacrificing anything in armor or weaponry.

"The latest and greatest from Videlic Arms' mechanized warfare specialists," Creon rhapsodized as he took the front passenger seat.  He slid out a small console and began typing in the various access codes.  "She's a thing of beauty."

Dispatch Team took up their various positions as the monstrosity rolled out of the garage, heading towards the gate.

"Buckle up, Dog Meat," Jago said.

Tivrusky's hand slipped to the side, fishing for a seatbelt, but came up empty.  The others – save Karsh – laughed.

"No seatbelts?"  Tivrusky asked.

"It's just a prototype," Dagny explained.  "But no big deal.  We drive to the gate, drive back, and celebrate with a pizza.  Nothing simpler."

"Interesting," Creon said.  "We do indeed have something heading this way.  Very quickly."

Karsh rolled the options around in his head for a moment.  All the years he'd worked Dispatch, they'd never faced a serious threat.  He felt fairly confident that this, too, had an easy explanation.  Still, given the hell he'd catch from his boss if he screwed up, he decided to chance it.

"Weapons."

"Hot damn!" Dagny clapped her hands once and worked on readying the main turret.

"I'm getting it on visual," Karsh said.

"That means he looked through the windshield," Jago murmured to Tivrusky.

"You trying to raise Gate Team?" Karsh asked.

Jago nodded.  "Nothing."

"I don't like this.  How's the turret coming?"

"It's a little..."  Dagny frowned, biting her lower lip in thought.

"A little?  A little what?"

"Glitchy," Jago supplied.

"Glitchy!" Karsh screamed.  "What the hell do you mean, 'glitchy!'  This thing cost more than my hometown!  Fix it!  Fix it!"

"Since you put it that way," Dagny muttered.

"Uh, sir?" Creon said.  "They don't appear to be slowing down.  I think they're accelerating."

"Radio the base," Karsh ordered, swallowing deeply.  "Get the boss on the line."

"Already tried," Creon said.  "Can't.  Something's blocking the signal."

"Out of curiosity," Tivrusky ventured.  "What sort of collision protection does this... thing... have?"

Silence.

"None," Karsh said.  "None whatsoever."

"None?" Tivrusky's eyes widened in horror.

"'Coming in a later model,'" Creon muttered.

"That's it!" Jago screamed.  "We're gonna die.  We're all gonna die.  Crushed to death in a big, twisted wreck of metal.  That's great.  That's just great."

"Calm yourself, Jago," Dagny purred.  "We've still got the weapons systems.  We'll just blast them to shreds."

"Uh, yeah," Tivrusky said, chewing on a fingernail.  "Great idea.  How's that coming, anyway?"

"All set!" she grinned.  "Now we just need... the firing codes."

"Codes?" Tivrusky's eyebrows shot up.

"Codes," she confirmed.  "The firing codes."

"The firing codes," Jago sighed.

"The firing codes."  Creon smacked his forehead.

"Oh, come on!" Tivrusky shouted.  "You have them, right?  I mean, surely we aren't that incompetent, right?"

"Shut up!" Karsh retorted.  "Of course I have them!"

And therein lay the crux of the problem.  Karsh had the firing codes memorized, but no one else did.

"Okay," he said, setting the cruise control and taking a deep breath.  "Creon, get ready to take the wheel.  I'm going back."

"We don't have time for that!" Creon yelped.  "They're heading right for us!"

Karsh looked ahead, and saw that his subordinate had not exaggerated.  The oncoming vehicle, a black van, rushed towards them with frightening speed.  The driver – a nondescript man with close-cropped hair, grinned gleefully at Karsh, and waved at him.  Then, he lowered his hand, pantomiming the pressing of a pedal.  His van accelerated accordingly.  The blonde woman in the passenger seat smiled with grim satisfaction.

"They wouldn't," Dagny breathed.

"I bet they would," Jago nodded.

"Swerve!"  Tivrusky screamed.  "Swerve!  Swerve!"

"Uh..." Karsh seemed stunned, unable to come to a decision.

Creon slammed his fist on the console.  "Do it!"

Finally, Karsh wrenched the wheel to the left with all his might.  Their assault vehicle jerked to the side as the black van rocketed past.  All five watched in horror at what happened next.

The rear doors of the van swung open, held in that position by a tall blond man and a short brunette.  Kneeling between them was a third man, balancing a massive tube on his shoulder.  In one terrible instant, Karsh knew the man held a rocket launcher.  The future started to look very grim indeed.

"Holy shit," Creon muttered, one trembling hand pointing to some protruding objects next to the man.  "Tank-busters."

Karsh's spirit fell.  Tank busters.  Each missile, eighteen inches long and weighing in at eight pounds, could shatter five solid inches of concrete.

"Smoke if you got 'em," Dagny said.

The rocket launcher jerked, and a shrieking sound broke the air, like the howling of a thousand sirens.  The assault vehicle erupted in fire, and the van continued towards the building.

*          *

Click.  Click.  Click.

"Move the two to the three," Aki muttered, "move the jack to the queen.  Get rid of the ace."

She sighed.  Despite the likelihood that she'd win her fifth straight game of Solitaire in a row, she couldn't help but wish she could transfer to a more interesting department.  Working the front desk had precious little to recommend it, aside from, "plenty of time to think."

"Something's going on," Shaami said as she sat down at the desk, just returning from lunch.

"Oh?" asked Aki, thoroughly doubtful.

"I overheard two security guys talking on my way back.  The gate team didn't report in on time, so they called out Dispatch Team to find out why."

Aki looked over at her coworker.  "It's nothing.  Happens every six months or so.  Gate Team starts talking sports, or decides to order a pizza and they forget to radio in.  Security dispatches a car to investigate, Gate Team gets chewed out, and we get memos detailing the security protocols and reminding us to all do our part."

"Oh," Shaami replied, disappointed.

"Don't worry.  You'll get your share of excitement around here.  Sometimes a squirrel wanders into the minefield or a bird gets taken out by the sentry guns."

"That's it?  I never thought working here could be so... mundane."

"Well," Aki shrugged, "there's always the company picnic."

Suddenly, the doors exploded inward, admitting a team of individuals in dark, commando-style outfits.  All wore dark sunglasses, and all had guns trained on the two women at the desk.

"Hands!" snapped a blonde woman in front of the group.  Aki and Shaami blinked, too stunned to move.  "Hands!" the woman ordered again.  Aki complied, but Shaami didn't move.

"Do what they say," Aki said, speaking out of the corner of her mouth.

Shaami nodded, but suddenly lurched to one side, reaching for the alarm.  A tall blond man with a scar running down his face vaulted over the desk and grabbed the young girl, slamming her head forcibly against its hard surface.

"Try it again and I swear I'll spray your brains all over the desk," he snarled, jamming the gun into the base of her skull.

"Restrain her," commanded a short brunette.  Then, to Aki, "Stay smart or you're next."

With one hand, the man targeting Shaami bound her hands with a thick plastic cord.  The gun never wavered.

"Odine's lab," the blonde woman snapped.  "Where is it?"

"Wha- what?" Shaami sputtered.

"She said, 'Odine's lab,'" the blond man hissed.  "Don't make us ask again."  The hammer on his pistol clicked as punctuation.

"We don't have access!" exclaimed Aki.  Eyes – and guns – focused on her.  "But I can get you into the secure area.  Just... don't shoot us."

The blonde nodded.  "No tricks.  We're not screwing around."

"No tricks," Aki nodded.  "I promise."

"Irvine," the woman ordered, pointing to Shaami, "subdue her and wait for Zell to catch up.  You know what to do."

The man with the gun let Shaami up, and, as she stood up, she watched as her friend led the group down the hallway towards the secure area.  One man remained behind, and as he turned to Shaami, he removed his sunglasses.

"Hi," he said, smiling at her.  Instead of mocking her, though, he had genuine warmth in his eyes, mixed with a trace of pity.  Shaami didn't respond.  "What's your name?" he asked.

"Sh... Shaami," she said.

"Shaami.  That's a nice name.  I'm Irvine.  What was it you were diving for so desperately?"

"The alarm button," she replied.

He shook his head, sadly.  "You shouldn't have done that," Irvine said.  "You might have been able to go with your friend.  Now, though, I've got to put you out of commission, and that won't be pleasant."

"You're... you're going to kill me?"

"No.  I'm just going to knock you out, but it still won't be pleasant."

He reached for a collapsible tactical baton hanging from his belt and extended it with a flick of his wrist.  Then, from a pocket of his vest, he removed a glowing crystal encased in a metal assembly and placed it on the desk.

"That... that's an energy crystal," Shaami said.  "Like for pulse ammo."

He smiled broadly, clearly pleased.  "Hey, that's not bad!  Did you just pick that up from working around here?"

"I studied at Galbadia Garden," she replied, sitting back down in her chair.  "Even if you don't want to be a soldier, you pick things up."

He opened a panel on the baton's handle, exposing a cord, which he pulled out and plugged into the crystal's casing.  He looked up at Shaami.  "Galbadia Garden's a nice place.  What'd you study?"

"History."

"Did you ever take one of Maechan's courses?"

She nodded.  "He was my advisor.  Fascinating guy.  If you can stay awake."

He laughed.  "That's for sure."  Then, shifting gears, "Well, we'd better get underway.  You're going to want to lie down on the floor."

"Why?"

"This thing," he waved the baton, "is going to knock you unconscious.  If you're sitting like that, you could hit your head on the way down."

"What is that, anyway?" she asked.

"Officially, it's the SD-341 tactical stun baton.  More colloquially called the Bug Zapper."

"Why do you call it that?"

"You ever watch a bug fly into one of those blue lights?"  Shaami nodded.  "That's roughly what it does to people."  He paused to let Shaami absorb this.  "It delivers a shock strong enough to totally overwhelm your nervous system.  It's like a taser, only much, much stronger.  If you were a behemoth, say, you could expect to be up and around in fifteen to twenty seconds.  It renders the average person, however, unconscious for around an hour.  Now, lie down."

Shaami stretched out on the floor, face down, since she still had her hands bound behind her back.

"Would you be more comfortable if I undid your restraints?" Irvine asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Do you promise to behave?  I mean, I have to do this either way, but we can at least be civilized about it."

"I won't try anything," she said.

She heard a snip, and then her restraints fell away.  She rolled over to see Irvine depositing a set of wire cutters back in one of his pockets.

"Okay," he nodded.  Then, he looked over the desk for a moment, searching.  "Here."  He handed her a pencil.  "Bite down on this.  It'll help keep you from swallowing your tongue."

She dutifully bit down on the pencil, resting her arms at her sides.  Irvine stood up and reached for the Bug Zapper.  He knelt down beside her, depressing a button with his thumb.  Shaami thought she could hear the device drawing power from the crystal.

"Have you...?  I mean..." she asked, forcing her words around the pencil.

"Yes," he replied, anticipating the question.

"Does it hurt?"

The sad look crossed his face again.  "More than you can possibly imagine.  But it'll be over quickly."

"Do you have to do this?  I won't..."

"I do."

"But I was just doing my job!" she pleaded.

"And I wish I could tell you I'm just doing mine," he answered, shaking his head.  "But the truth is that this is much more important than that.  Now, are you ready?"

"I guess," Shaami closed her eyes in resignation.

"I'm going to do this through your shirt," he explained.  "It could ruin the shirt, but it's less likely to leave a burn mark."

She opened her eyes again.  "You're not like them, are you?" she asked.  "Your friends."

He laughed ruefully.  "The truth is... I'm exactly like them."

Shaami blinked, and in that instant, he pressed the baton into her side.

He had not lied.  Shaami felt as if he'd set every nerve in her body on fire.  She wanted to open her mouth to scream, but the pain overcame her.  No muscle in her body could respond.  Her mind whirled entirely without direction.  Random thoughts started to pop into her head.  Images, sounds, smells, things she'd forgotten combined with wild hallucinations of things that had never happened.

Then, nothing.

Irvine stood up, releasing the button and collapsing the gun.  As he unclipped the crystal, he heard Zell's voice from the doorway.

"You have such a way with the ladies, cowboy."

Irvine turned, replacing the baton on his belt.  "That thing hurts enough without me being all menacing about it."

"True enough," Zell shrugged.

"How'd the gate go?"

Zell grinned, eyes glittering.  "Could not have been more fun.  Five against one, though."

Irvine snorted, donning his sunglasses once more.  "Poor guys.  C'mon, let's catch up to the group."

Each man touched a button on the frame of his glasses.  Suddenly, they could see glowing neon shoeprints on the floor of the lobby, leading down the hallway, marking the path their comrades had taken.  They followed the path toward the secure area.

*          *

"I'm going out," Rufus said, striding past his secretary.  "Hold all my calls.  Only page me if it's important."

"How will I know?" Dominique asked.

Rufus turned and fixed her with a cold glare.  "If he calls, it's important.  Anything else can wait."

"Yes, sir," she replied, shrinking under the weight of his gaze.  Rufus felt a small tingle at her reaction.  He never tired of making his underlings squirm, and as president of Videlic Arms – hand picked for the position by his employer – he had plenty of opportunities to do just that.

Not fully satisfied, he pressed further.  "Any other questions?" he asked, baring his teeth slightly and adding a distinct sneer to his voice.

"No, sir," she said.

"Good.  Now see to it I'm not disturbed."  He proceeded to walk away from her before whirling once more.  "And don't wear that perfume again.  It's cheap, and the smell nauseates me."

The perfume didn't bother him in the slightest, and he knew it cost significantly more than she could afford on her meager salary.  She crumpled in her chair, and Rufus had to fight to suppress a smile.

"Well?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she said, unable to raise her eyes to look at him.

"Good," he repeated, turning his back on her and proceeding down the labyrinthine corridors of Videlic's executive wing.

As he walked, he came across one of the receptionists from the front desk, with a group of dark-suited military types closely behind her.  None looked particularly pleased to see him.

"Aki," he called out, turning around to face her.  "Where are you going?"

She whirled, startled, and gasped a little at the sound of her name.  "Me?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear.  "I, uh, I'm just... taking these people to the secure area.  They have an appointment with Big Man."

"Really?" he cocked his head.  "That's rather curious, because I have no knowledge of any such appointment."

A blond woman stepped forward, closing in on Rufus.  She stood too close to him and, for once, he felt like the one under the microscope as she surveyed his face.  Because of her sunglasses, he couldn't see her eyes, but he could feel their weight studying him, probing for weaknesses.

"Let me let you in on a little secret," she hissed.  Then, leaning in close enough that he could feel her breath on his face, "We have something in common.  Do you know what that might be?"

Rufus shook his head.

"We work for the same person.  Now, do you want to get out of the way?"

Rufus' eyes narrowed.

"Be that as it may, no appointments with Big Man are to take place without my direct knowledge.  Our employer gave me that instruction specifically."

She scoffed.  "And you think, somehow, that he needs – or has the time -- to keep you informed of every decision he makes?"

"Well..." Rufus started, but she silenced him immediately.

"There are two ways we can do this.  One is that you get out of our way and let us do our job.  The other is for you to delay us while you get him on the phone, preventing us from completing our mission and forcing us to cool our heels until he has the free time – and the inclination – to receive a call from the likes of you.  I don't have to tell you how little patience he has for being needlessly disturbed, do I?"  Her voice dripped with icy contempt.

He set his jaw, determined not to give in to her threats.  She slowly shifted her weight, resting one hand on her hip.  The other traveled up with obvious menace, reaching for her sunglasses.  Intense dread gripped Rufus' heart, and he knew he couldn't face this woman's cold hatred.

Rufus nodded his assent and the group resumed their progress.  He burned with humiliation at his own cowardice.

"Aki," he called after them.  The group stopped and turned to face him.  "My office.  First thing tomorrow.  No excuses."

Worry clouded her brow as her whirled, striding purposefully away from the group.  He tried to take satisfaction in thought of the browbeating he'd give the girl in the morning, but even this could not assuage the burning mixture of rage, indignation, humiliation, and shame within him.

*          *

"'Big Man?'" asked one of the women behind her.

"Yes," Aki nodded, still guiding her captors to the secure area.  "It's Odine's code name.  He was dissatisfied with code names assigned to him in Esthar, so he insisted on choosing his own."

"Figures," said one of the men.

They walked on in silence until they reached the elevator leading down to Videlic's restricted zone.

"This is as far as I can take you," Aki said.  "I don't have the codes to open the doors."

"Let us worry about that," answered the brunette, removing her sunglasses.  Her eyes flickered to the blonde, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Aki," said the tall woman, "we have to make a little trip to the restroom."

Aki nodded mutely, knowing she had no choice.  Once more, they headed down the hallways, soon crossing paths with two more members of the assault team.  Aki recognized one of them as the man who had stayed behind with Shaami.  She turned to look as they passed.

"How did they find us?" she asked.

"Eyes front," snapped the blonde.

Aki complied, but she had already seen the brunette fitting some sort of device over the keypad controlling access to the elevator.  Suddenly, Aki found herself wondering if she'd seen too much.

"Here we are," she said when they reached the bathroom.

"Inside," ordered her captor.

A mounting sense of dread overcame Aki as they entered the bathroom and the blonde started checking the stalls, assuring herself of their emptiness.

She pointed to a stall at the end.  "Take a seat," she said, shoving Aki towards the toilet.

"Why?" Aki asked.

"Because I'll shoot you if you don't.  Sit down."

Eager to avoid that eventuality, Aki took a seat on the toilet, shutting her eyes as the reality of her situation closed in around her.  When she opened them again, the blonde had already started uncoiling a length of cord – the same material with which the invaders had restrained Shaami at the front desk.  The cord wrapped tightly around Aki's body, binding her to the toilet and forcing her to sit up straight, arms hanging uselessly at her sides.

"Why are you doing this?" Aki sobbed, finally overcome from the weight of the day's events.

"From outside the stall, it will look like you're just taking a bathroom break," the woman replied, her voice clipped and distant.  She seemed oblivious to Aki's distress or, at the least, disinterested in it.

"That's not what I meant," Aki cried.  "This, us, all of it.  Why are you here?"

The blonde's hand snapped downward swiftly, and, suddenly, she held a baton.  Aki neither saw the woman reach for it or extend it.

"That would be telling," the blonde replied, jamming the device into Aki's side.

Aki endured an eternity of blinding agony, then, nothing.

--

AN:  Once more, let me apologize for the delay.  The excuse this time is the same as before – poor health, exams, and tragedy in the family, except greater doses of all three.  Also, even more than last time, I took wrong turns in the writing of this chapter.  What you have now is fully the fourth incarnation of this particular scene, but it wound up being something I'm actually proud of, and I think the story as a whole will be better off as a result.

Even so, once I had the story back on track, my computer decided to abandon me.  We have a turbulent relationship at the best of times, and these are not the best of times.  So the delay grew ever longer.

Furthermore, this is only the first section of the chapter.  Because of its length and the time since the last update, I'll publish this section now and supply the next part (already six pages long) when it is completed.

Thank you, again, for your patience.  If you are reading this story, and enjoying it, let me know, because nothing gets me motivated to write like the thought of people actually waiting on the next chapter.  The guilt builds up and... well, you can see the result.