Well, here's chapter 7. Again, please take a minute out of your busy schedule to review this if you're reading. I enjoy your comments and they're the mechanism by which I improve my skills. Thanks.

It was late afternoon when the road chaser rolled up to the curb adjacent LADYS633 and stopped. Taking in the boarded up exterior of the shop level, and the generally neglected look of the place as a whole, Takashi frowned and said, "You sure this is the place, Leon?"

He nodded, and said, "Yeah, I'm sure. I spent enough time here when the investigation was still on."

"Well," she said, "If so, the kid's sure not putting much into maintenance, is he?"

Leon shrugged, and said, "He really wouldn't have to. I'm pretty sure that the lingerie shop was just a front. Oh, I'm sure it made money, but from what little I could dig up, it looks like his sister had investments spread all over hell and gone. Even if he hasn't done a damn thing but leave it to the brokers and live off the dividends, I'm pretty sure he's not hurting."

"Huh!" Ami said. "I guess that figures. You'd need a hell of a lot of capital to start up and run something like the Knight Sabers. Seemed like they were always popping up with new toys."

Pulling the road chaser up onto the curb, Leon threw it into park and exited, Takashi following suit. They moved toward the back of the building where the residential entrance was located, Leon in the lead.

At the door, Leon buzzed the intercom, and the screen lit with what was obviously the recorded image of a scowling young man with a partially chromed face and a dull red cyber eye. He said, "I'm not home right now, I've got other shit to do, so leave a message and maybe I'll get back to you if I damn well feel like it. And once you've done that, kindly leave my property." There was a beep then, but Leon had already stabbed the off button in disgust.

"Well," Takashi said, "He's a cheerful one, isn't he?"

Leon sighed, and said, "Yeah, well, you read the file. After what that cyber-bitch did to him, can you blame him?"

"No," Ami said, "I guess I can't. So what now?"

Leon frowned, and said, "You've been asking me that an awful lot lately. Don't you have any ideas?"

Ami shrugged, and said, "Well, I suppose we could go in anyway. I think it's safe to say that we've already crossed the line on this one as it is."

"Ok," Leon said doggedly, "And just how do we go about that? I suppose you're a master burglar on top of everything else?"

Ami shook her head and said, "Hell no! I'm all thumbs when it comes to shit like that. That's why I used to let Scary Larry handle all the entry stuff back in the day."

"Scary Larry?" Leon said incredulously. "Wasn't he your demo guy? The big bastard with two chromed out cyberarms?"

Ami grinned, and said, "Yeah, that's him. Best damn entry man you ever saw. Doors, walls, battle-ship plate, it didn't matter to Larry. Just meant he had to use a little more explosive, that's all."

Leon rolled his eyes and said, "Forget I asked. I think we can rule out B & E here, then. Besides, I've got another idea."

"Ok, McNichol," Ami said, "what've you got?"

"Raven's Garage. I just remembered something important about that damn place."

Puzzled, Ami said, "And that would be?"

"The old geezer left it to the Stingray kid in his will. To his sister, actually, but it devolved to him. All things considered, it was such a minor side-note to everything else that I friggin' forgot about it."

"Leon," Ami said carefully, "We were just there last night, and the place looked dead as a doornail. There wasn't even anywhere where the kid could've been hiding."

"Shit, Takashi, I'm not stupid," Leon said. "But think about this. Why the hell were the Knight Sabers hanging around down there on Christmas anyway? And the Stingrays were in his will, for Christ's sake. So they all had to be pretty thick with the old guy, right?"

Ami nodded and, still bewildered said, "Sure, I guess. So?"

"So," Leon said, "You read the old man's background. You tell me."

Ami's eyes widened suddenly, and she said, "Son of a bitch! Yeah, he used to be some kind of big name scientist! But back in the early '20's, he changed his name and dropped out! Nobody had heard anything about him for years until all this shit happened. And the shit he used to work on-"

"Cybernetics, man amplifying devices, artificial intelligence, mil-spec weaponry, you name it," Leon finished.

"Right," Ami agreed. "So that damn garage was probably a maintenance facility of some kind for the Sabers."

Leon nodded, and said, "Stands to reason. But you tell me. Did you see anything in there last night that looked like it'd ever been used to service powered armor or other mecha?"

Ami shook her head and said, "Sure as hell not." And then, comprehension again dawning on her, she said, "Not above ground anyway!"

"Yeah," Leon said, "That's just about what I was thinking. If I was gonna put together an operation like theirs, I'd bury all the important shit and put up something inconspicuous on top."

Looking back at LADYS633, Ami said, "Like a lingerie shop?"

Leon nodded, and said, "Yeah, that's possible too. Who knows what the hell's under this place? But right now I'm thinking of the garage. Somebody was there last night, at least for a little while."

Ami frowned and said, "Well, yeah, but that could've been anybody. All we saw was an old thermal print after all."

Looking at Ami over his mirrored shades, Leon said, "You still believe in coincidences, Takashi?"

She shrugged and said, "Sometimes. But not usually."

"Same here," Leon said. "And in this case, not at all. Something's going on down at that garage. I could feel it last night."

Ami snorted and said, "You getting superstitious in your old age, McNichol?"

Leon shook his head and said, "No. But I've been a cop long enough to trust a hinky feeling when I get it and so have you."

Takashi nodded slowly and said, "Maybe you've got a point, Leon. There was something not quite right down there last night."

"Exactly," Leon said. "And the longer we fart around here, the worse our chances are for finding out what."

Darkness came early in the Canyons, as it always did. The sheer fifty meter rock walls that blocked the sun's rays both morning and evening ensured that. And as the sun set, life in the Outer District, twisted and perverse as it was, slowly stirred and began to go about it's unwholesome business.

As she had the night before, Nene began her hunt at The Asshole. Tonight, she descended without fear, dressed as before, this time with the crow perched on her shoulder. As she'd thought, The Asshole's clientele remembered her, and gave her ample room as she passed. Looking about, she saw that Delilah's corpse had at least been removed, most likely to the nearest chop-shop for salvage. But the blood stains and her little piece of impromptu art remained, perhaps to be informally enshrined as part of the bar's atmosphere.

Unfortunately, that was all she found as she cast about. Though she circulated throughout the establishment, she failed to find any of the three faces she sought. Frowning, she thought for a moment, and then headed to the bar.

The barkeep was a great, burly, barrel-chested older man with salt-and-pepper black hair and a beard to match, who wore blue jeans and a 'Hell's Angels' leather jacket. Nene wasn't exactly sure who or what the Hell's Angels were, but the jacket itself looked ancient and worn. The man had no obvious cyberware or other enhancements, but there was something about him that made Nene think he might not need them. Perhaps it was his eyes, gray and hard like granite, or maybe the craggy ruggedness of his features, or maybe just those rock-hard biceps that were each as big as both her legs put together. Whatever the case, he exuded an almost elemental air of stoutness that all but told anyone but a fool that he wasn't to be trifled with.

Sidling up to the bar, Nene said, "Excuse me! Got a question!"

The bartender's head turned ponderously in her direction and in a voice like rolling marble he said, "A question? Well, we usually sell drinks around here, not answers."

Nene sighed, and decided to employ a weapon all her own rather than one of those she'd borrowed from Mackie. Sighing loudly, she put her head in her hands and did her best to look crushed. "Gosh," she said in a disillusioned tone, "And here I was hoping you'd be able to help me."

The bartender stopped wiping the counter with the dirty rag in his hand, and leaned a little closer. In his craggy voice, he said, "I did say usually. What do you want to know, little lady?"

Nene brightened immediately, aiming a radiant smile at the barkeep, and said, "Well, I'm looking for some people, actually-"

"Huh!" The barkeep interrupted. "Like you were looking for Delilah last night?"

Nene sighed again, this time for real, and said, "As a matter of a fact, yes. I'm looking for some friends of hers."

Frowning, the bartender said, "Tell you what, little lady. You tell me what this is about, and I might be able to help you. If not, then all I got for sale is drinks."

Looking down at the counter, Nene considered for a moment and then, in a hoarse whisper said, "They killed my friends. They maimed my- my boyfriend. And they raped and tortured me. They killed me too, I guess you could say. I just happen to still be walking around. And they got away with it scott-free." And then, looking up at the barkeep, she rasped, "That good enough for you?"

The bartender was silent for a moment, his stony face giving away nothing, and then he said, "Business is a little slow in here tonight, missy. Big pit fight competition going on a few blocks west of here. Those usually draw all kinds of folks, same crowd old Delilah ran with mostly. Could be just about anybody down there, I guess. So you care for a drink, or what?"

Nene smiled, gratified to find even a ray of kindness in a place like this and said, "Sorry, I'm in kind of a hurry." And, sliding a large note, also borrowed from Mackie, over the counter, she said, "Here's a tip for your trouble, though."

The barkeep made no move to take the proffered note, and said, "That's ok. No trouble. Just try to take care of yourself if you decide to take in the fights. Crowd out there can get even rougher than in here sometimes."

Truly touched now, Nene said earnestly, "Thank you," and then left.

Behind her, the barkeep sighed, and, glancing to an old, tattered photo pinned to the counter out of the patron's sight, picked up his rag and took up wiping where he'd left off. As he watched Nene exit, he glanced again to the photo, a picture of a smiling, blonde-haired girl of perhaps ten. Sighing again, he thought of what might have been if not for the Quake so many years ago.

As she emerged from below into the night-darkened streets above, the crow launched itself from her shoulder, cawing loudly as it took off in the direction the barkeep had indicated. As it flew, Nene followed on foot, leaving the bike behind. With Mackie's anti-theft system running, she had no doubt it would be there when she returned.

Running along in the crow's wake, she ducked into and out of the trash-strewn alleys and, finding a mostly intact fire escape still attached to a building, she rapidly ascended to the roof. Dilapidated as it was, it supported her weight, and she ran along it toward the next. Finding a substantial gap ahead of her, she didn't slow but instead ran all the faster and then leaped with all her might. She felt no fear as she sailed across the chasm between the two ancient buildings, and landed, still running, on the other side.

She proceeded like this for several blocks, never slowing, spanning the gaps as they came, until the crow finally fluttered down to perch on the crumbling edge of a building in front of her, overlooking a dark, dank alley below.

She stopped a few meters short of the edge, and, concentrating, took in a crow's-eye view of the scene below. In the now-familiar wavering black and white, she saw a man and two women strolling down the alley, staggering occasionally and laughing uproariously. The women were unfamiliar, bargain basement ladies of the evening, she guessed by their dress or lack thereof, but Nene recognized the man immediately. He was a light skinned, bald headed Anglo with piercing blue eyes, and he wore only a set of loose-fitting white pants and a pair of sandals. Razz.

Nene waited until they'd passed, letting them get just a little ahead of her. Stepping to the crumbling edge, arms at her sides, she let herself pitch forward toward the pavement below. Her body rotated a full turn as she fell, and she landed on her back in a heap of rubbish with a loud crash.

Razz spun around at the noise, popping both sets of claws as he turned and nearly knocked his two clinging companions to the ground in the process. As he scanned the alleyway, Nene slowly rose from the trash heap and walked toward him. The two girls gasped, and whispered something to each other, the name "Delilah!" being the only part audible to Nene as she approached. Piercing them with her gaze, she said in a dead voice, "Leave. Now. This is a private party. Just him and me."

Cringing, the two girls, likely much tougher than they looked to have survived in this neighborhood, turned and fled. Tough or not, they knew Delilah had been tougher, and she hadn't been able to stand up to the pint-sized, harlequin-faced horror in front of them.

Eyes narrowing, Razz said, "Ok, little girl, I don't know what your game is, but you just messed up a real sweet night for me. You itchin' to put me down like you put down Delilah last night? That it?"

Nene just grinned malevolently and said, "Something like that, Razz."

Cocking his head quizzically, Razz said, "That's the name. Now where'd you get it, since I sure as hell didn't give it to you?"

Stepping closer, and starting to circle slowly, Nene said mockingly, "Oh, no, your buddy Tin Man did. Don't you remember? A year ago tonight? You're the boomer. You've got the eidetic memory. Why don't you tell me?"

Zooming in on her face, ignoring the makeup and modeling only the points of identification, Razz ran a lightening fast search of his memory. It took him only a moment to pull up an image, time-stamped almost exactly a year ago. His eyes widened in momentary disbelief, and then he said, "Oh, this is bullshit! We killed that silly, cutesy little bitch and all her friends. And dead is dead. So what series are you? 23? 33, maybe? And what colossal asshole had the shitty taste to kit-bash you together?"

Nene laughed again, a hollow, sepulchral sound that raised gooseflesh even on the android's hide. "You just don't get it, do you Razz? Dead isn't dead. Not where I'm concerned. Can you say the same?"

Razz snarled, "Enough of this crap!" and slashed out at her viciously. But Nene simply turned her body to the side so that the claw strike missed by several centimeters and smiled at him. He growled and slashed again with similar results.

"Ok," he said, smiling in grudging respect. "Not bad. Now lets get serious, bitch!"

With that, he unleashed a flurry of claw strikes, punches, and kicks, all designed to push Nene back and to the side, toward one of the alley's walls. Again she managed to dodge or sidestep each and every strike, but Razz was frighteningly skilled. Obviously, he'd used the years of his freedom to study and perfect his martial arts skills, going far beyond anything he'd originally been programmed with. Nene quickly found herself on the defensive versus the rogue android, and that wasn't where she wanted to be.

Before he could corner her, Nene disengaged, somersaulting and tumbling back. Reaching over her shoulder with her right hand as she moved, springing with her left, she drew Muramasa from it's sheathe and pressed the activating stud. Performing one final back flip, she landed about four meters from Razz, the glowing, laser-edged blade held in a reversed grip along her right arm.

At the sight of the blade, Razz's eyes widened again, and then narrowed as he said, "Well, isn't that a fancy pig sticker. Sure hope you know how to use it, little girl!"

Spearing him with her gaze, Nene said in a hollow voice, "This is Muramasa, Razz. It belonged to the woman you killed last Christmas. The one whose head you spread all over a wall. I'm sure that if she'd had this then, things would've been a lot different. Since she can't be here tonight, I guess I'll just have to do."

She charged then, as Razz had expected her to. He stood his ground, gauging her every move with his mechanical precision, and noted that while definitely skilled, she was almost certainly not on a par with him. As she reached him, she slashed across with a back-handed strike meant to disembowel. But Razz was prepared for this, and parried, glissading the blow off his claws, and preparing for the immediate return-strike he knew would be coming. He blocked that with his other set of energized claws, deflecting the blade up to create an opening in her guard. Taking advantage of this, he darted in with a powerful left-handed strike that tore deeply into Nene's abdomen.

Blood spouted from the gaping wound, and with a startled grunt, Nene fell back a pace, her left arm clutching her wounded stomach. Pressing his momentary advantage, Razz moved in. Back-handing her blade aside with his left hand, he struck with the right, burying his claws to the knuckles in Nene's ribs, and then jerked them out savagely in a motion that flayed open the left side of her chest.

Blood pumping freely, Nene staggered back against the brick wall behind her and slowly slumped to the ground. Grinning wolfishly, Razz loomed over her, claws still extended menacingly as she leaned against the wall, panting and bleeding, at his feet.

Razz laughed, and said, "So, not a boomer after all, huh? I guess you must be a clone or something, then, but it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

Looking him in the eye, still panting, Nene said weakly, "I guess it doesn't, Razz. You were just too good for me. I never thought an outdated, piece of shit 23C like you could pull it off. You are a 23C, aren't you?"

Frowning, Razz said, "Yeah, but that shit isn't gonna matter either in a second." As he said this, he pulled back his right hand for a killing strike. But before it could fall, Nene's entire demeanor changed. She moved the arm she'd been clutching her torso and abdomen with, revealing smooth, white, unmarked skin where the gaping wounds had been. And as Razz's eyes widened in disbelief, smiling savagely, she said, "Oh, it matters, Razz. It matters a whole hell of a lot!"

With a growl, he struck out at her, the same kind of front punch that had spattered Sylia's skull all over the wall of Raven's Garage. But Nene was already moving, tucking and rolling between Razz's legs. His clawed fist slammed into the wall where she'd been, sinking in so deeply that it was momentarily stuck there. Behind him, Nene rolled to her feet and pirouetted to the right, Muramasa still held in a reversed grip in her hand. She spun all the way around, extending the blade as she turned, so that it's glittering tip bit just a centimeter or two into a particular place at the base of Razz's neck.

Razz collapsed like a rag doll, his body suddenly appearing almost boneless. On his face he wore a shocked expression, frozen there now that the delicate biochips that comprised his neural linkage had been cut. Bending close, Nene said in a scornful tone, "Poor Razz. Just like a little puppet with his strings cut, now. But I know you can hear me in there. I know all kinds of things about boomers like you, Razz." Pulling the long coat open to expose the shiny gold badge still pinned inside, she said, "They teach us those things at the ADP academy. Where the neural linkages are on all the standard models, stuff like that. So you see, it really did matter just what you were." And then, darkly, smiling sweetly, she added, "But what's really important is what you're about to become."

Following the same strange instincts that had carried her along so far, Nene knelt down beside Razz and laid both hands on his face, thumbs over his eyes. Closing her own eyes, she felt a connection form between herself and the paralyzed boomer. From there, it was a simple matter for her, a hacker extraordinaire in her former life, to work her will upon the shrieking consciousness that was Razz.