Author's Note:

Here we are finally . . . chapter twenty-two. Chapter two-two. Double two. Reverse it and it's the same thing--yes, it is indeed a palindrome. Why are you looking at me like that? No, I didn't just drink a frappuccino. No, I didn't just revive my college habit of eating pizza rolls and Tostitos cheese dip. Okay, so I'm a bad liar.

Anyway! You asked for it, and here it is. Well, some of it at least. No one asked for Zaizen to reprise his role as asshole of the year, but I'm afraid he just does what he wants most of the time 'cause he thinks he's Mr. Big Man of the STN-J. But, if you asked for angst, you will get it--shitloads of it. And I mean really big time. Here comes the dumptruck right now. Beep, beep, beep. Call the poopsmith. (Can you believe all it takes is a little caffeine and a few salty snacks to make me act like this?) And if you wanted to know what Zaizen was holding over Amon, get ready to find out. And if you asked why Michael didn't have a dream in the dream sequence chapter (this one's for you, lizalou42), then be careful what you wish for because it's probably not what you expected. If anyone is thoroughly confused by the dream, I will explain at the end of the chapter exactly what kind of crack I was smokin'. Note the numbers (since I can't get the asterisks to work!).
If anyone thinks I'm insane and should be locked up in a padded cell, then tell Costco to stop stocking flats of frap' because frappuccino is my addiction. Otherwise, enjoy!

Chapter 22

All My Sins

"Dum de dum dum. Doo dee doo."

Blinking rapidly as he waited for his eyesight to adjust to the bright light above him, Michael attempted to make sense of the strange sounds around him. He thought he recognized several sound effects from Gundam Wing, but it was the nonsensical humming which truly disturbed him. Rolling on his side with a groan, Michael found himself facing a wall of circuitry riddled with flashing lights and spinning dials. A fan hummed on one end of the wall, though it was housed in a metal box that made it almost looked like a . . . computer fan. And the wall of circuitry actually kind of looked like an enormous motherboard. He could just make out the processor in the distance--it was at least as big as he was. What was going on? Where was he?

He almost rolled right over the circular hole in the middle of the platform he was laying on when he turned his head and caught sight of the short, chubby creature leaning over him. Large googly eyes regarded him curiously from behind silver goggles. "Hmm," the creature uttered in a strangely Ewok-like voice. It shivered slightly as it looked at him, its thick florescent pink fur quivering with the action. "You are the Michael," the creature cooed suddenly in awe. "You are the Master of the machine!"

"The machine . . ." Michael repeated, completely confused. "You mean the computer?"

"Yes, oh Master," the creature replied, bowing its head--which was in fact pretty much its entire body; Michael didn't see a neck anywhere, or legs for that matter. "The user of the machine. Your spells protect us from the evil spirit Badubada."

"Badubada," Michael echoed wonderingly. How had this strange creature known the password for his most precious locked files? "What are you, anyway?"

"I am a dumpling, of course." 1 Puffing itself up, it continued proudly, "I am one of the many servants of the great machine." Pointing to what looked like an oversized gerbil wheel, the so-called dumpling exclaimed, "It's my job to provide the power to open the great gate into the outer world. Would you like to see it, Master?" Before Michael had a chance to reply, the creature had waddled over to the wheel and began scurrying feverishly on it, turning the enormous gears hanging above them. A high pitched whirring noise roared to life, and suddenly the floor beneath Michael began to move toward a large opening expanding at the front end of the platform.

A moment later, Michael found himself in the STN-J, though he was miniaturized in comparison to the office around him. Looking back at where he had come from, he recognized his computer and realized the platform he was sitting on was in fact the drawer of the CD-ROM. "What the hell?"

"Michael," a booming voice thundered, and Michael looked up to see a giant Amon towering over him. "Michael, wake up," Amon said, his voice distorting as the entire space around them morphed and twisted in front of Michael's eyes.

"Michael!" Amon said again, but this time his voice was its usual quiet tone and came from somewhere very near.

Struggling to focus his blurry vision on the dark shape crouched over him, Michael realized with a start that he had been dreaming and attempted to sit up, grasping Amon's arm and pulling on it for leverage. "Amon," he rasped, his throat dry as if he had slept for hours with his mouth hanging open. "What happened?" As his eyes finally came into focus, he found himself sitting in the middle of the office, his chair overturned on the floor next to him. He felt tears sting his eyes when he looked up to find his computer a black and charred mess on his desk, embers still glowing faintly in its ruined carcass. "No!" he whispered faintly. "Not Priscilla!"2 The frown on Amon's face deepened when Michael attempted to crawl to his feet and examine the wreckage on his desk. Amon held him back effortlessly, forcing him to sit down on the empty chair at Robin's workstation. Frustration forced a growl out of Michaels throat, but he found himself feeling grateful to be sitting a moment later when an intense wave of nausea washed over him. Looking at Amon urgently, he explained mournfully, "She was my friend."

Amon only seemed annoyed. "Michael, I need you to focus for a minute. I see the burns on your face, but do you have any other injuries?"

Surprised, Michael reached up to feel the raw skin on his cheek, touching it gingerly as he tried to remember where the burn had come from. "I . . . I don't know." Amon pulled the arm Michael had lifted closer to examine it, and Michael noticed the blistered skin on his forearm for the first time, amazed that he couldn't feel the pain. He must have been in shock.

"What do you remember, Michael?" Amon asked insistently as he looked up again, watching Michael carefully and still holding his arm with a firm grip.

What am I supposed to remember? Michael wondered absently. His gaze wandered around the room as his mind cast about for an answer. His eyes widened when he noticed the bloody rips in Amon's left sleeve. How had that happened? He answered his own question suddenly. The hunt. Heat sears across my face. I raise my arm to block it but the flame burns into my skin. No! Robin, stop! Michael blinked, jerking out of the grip of the memory with a start. "Robin. She--she did this." Stunned by the realization, he looked down at the burn on his arm. Why?

"I don't think these burns are severe enough to require a doctor's attention," Amon said softly, his grey eyes still focused warily on Michael. "But you can't bandage them yourself." He stood up slowly, releasing Michael's arm.

"Where are you going?" Michael inquired timidly. He suddenly found he didn't want to be alone.

"I'm going to get the first aid kit. I'll be right back," Amon assured him before sweeping out of the room.

Michael stared blankly at the floor when Amon was gone, still in shock. Robin had attacked him. She had attacked him, and she had destroyed Priscilla.

His head snapped up suddenly. Priscilla was destroyed. That meant--

"Amon!" he cried, sitting up straighter. "The kill switch isn't working anymore. The cameras are back on!" The hunter did not reply; he must have been out of earshot.

The elevator dinged quietly and the doors whooshed open. Michael felt his pulse accelerate at the noise. Footsteps clapped angrily into the office, and Michael dropped his gaze. The footsteps came to a stop a few paces away, familiar, well-polished shoes just within the bounds of Michael's peripheral vision. "Boss . . ."

------

Robin was feeling slightly light-headed when she finally parked her Vespa in the STN-J parking lot. She knew it probably hadn't been the wisest decision to come here on her own--especially after Amon had expressly forbid her to come--but she couldn't help feeling as if this was something she needed to do. She did not want to even consider the possibility that her feelings were not her own, that they were simply an illusion created by Beatrice to use her again. Being controlled once was bad enough. Worrying whether or not the control was completely gone was far worse. No, she would rather believe the pull she felt was nothing more than the need to know Michael was all right, and to know he could forgive her for hurting him--that was, if he could forgive her.

Yet there was more to the feeling than that. It felt almost like a premonition of something. A warning of danger. Dismissing the inexplicable feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach, Robin stepped into the elevator and forced herself to take a deep breath. For no reason she could think of, her heart was thudding in her chest by the time the doors opened again on the fifth floor. Why did she feel so afraid? Why did she feel as if something was terribly wrong?

Tentatively, she crossed the hall and paused just outside the office, hesitating at the hollow thud of an object hitting flesh followed by a soft whimper of pain. Her heart pounding in her ears, Robin peeked into the office slowly, straining to make out the shadowy figure looming over the dark shapes of the workstations at the center of the room. Another figure was huddled on the ground below it, the dim light from the moon framed in a window the only lumination in the space.

"Answer my question, Michael," Zaizen's voice demanded coldly. The faint light illuminated the angry planes of his face as he turned his head slightly, glaring down at the shape cowering below him. "I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not in the mood to play games. There's no point in trying to hide anything from me. It's easy to deduce where your burns came from. Robin used her craft on you, didn't she? You know what that means, don't you, Michael? It means she's losing control over her powers--she's becoming a witch."3

"No," Michael managed hoarsely between coughs, his voice panicked. "No, that's not how it happened!"

Robin tensed as she watched Zaizen crouch down in front of Michael, burning with the desire to use her craft to defend the hacker despite Zaizen's accusations about her lack of control, but she found the orbo still in her system prevented her from bringing her power to the surface. Zaizen grabbed Michael by the front of his shirt, raising his face to eye level. "I warned you," Zaizen said emotionlessly. "I warned all of you. But you failed to listen. You deliberately defied my orders as if you doubted my sincerity. But you don't doubt anymore, do you, Michael?" He landed a punch in Michael's midsection, eliciting another muffled cry of pain before releasing him and merely looking down at Michael's prone form for a few long moments before stating crisply, "I will only ask you this question one more time. Where is Amon?"

Seconds ticked by slowly in which Michael's shaky gasps for air were the only sound. Robin entered the room as silently as she could, staying hidden in the shadows as she approached them slowly. Standing leisurely, Zaizen took a few steps back and swung his leg back in preparation for a kick. "No!" Robin cried before she could even think about the consequences of making her presence known. She wasn't even aware of crossing the rest of the space between them as she suddenly found herself between Zaizen and Michael, shielding the hacker's injured body with her own. Zaizen's foot landed squarely in her back and pain enveloped her, drawing tears to her eyes.

"Well, if it isn't the little fire-witch herself," Zaizen snarled. "Have you come to use your craft against me as well?"

"Robin!" Michael managed weakly, slurring slightly. The dim light reflected off of his glasses as he strained his neck to look up at her. "What are you doing?! You shouldn't be here!"

"Why not?" Zaizen interrupted. "Don't you want to see her get hurt as you have been hurt, Michael? She attacked you, after all. You trusted her as a friend and she betrayed you. But you can't trust witches, Michael, and that's exactly what she is. A witch."

Another blow landed across Robin's back and tossed her against a nearby desk. She hit the metal hard enough to make the room spin as black spots danced across her vision. She realized obscurely that she was close to blacking out.

"Robin!" Michael cried despairingly, his eyes wide as he looked up at her, attempting to rise to his knees and failing miserably.

"You touch her again and you'll have a bullet in your back," a familiar voice snapped from across the room. Robin squinted through the haze swimming across her vision to see Zaizen turn and face the dark figure standing near the entrance of the briefing room with a gun pointed at him.

"Where have you been, Amon? Planning more tricks to keep me distracted?" Zaizen asked quietly with a bitter twist of a smile. "You know, there was a time when you would have been the last person I'd have expected to betray me. Even now, I can't help but feel a little amazed by your nerve. After all, you have the most to lose of them all. You should have known better than to allow yourself to get so attached to such a foolish girl." The last words, though directed at Amon, were spoken with his gaze focused on Robin.

A shot rang out, missing Zaizen by inches. "I wasn't bluffing," Amon stated coldly. "Back away from her now, or I will kill you."

"Even knowing the consequences?" Zaizen sent a contemptuous look at Amon. "You know me well enough to realize I have failsafes in place. Is it not enough that you need me for your orbo supply? That resource would disappear with my death, Amon, and you would eventually become what you most fear: a witch, just like your dear mother. I saved you from that fate once. Would you risk it happening again?" Robin struggled to see Amon through her cloudy vision, but his face was a mask.

"I can live without the orbo," Amon replied quietly, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "I can learn to control my powers."

"My, my, haven't we changed our tune?" Zaizen replied in a haughty tone. "You really are in deep, aren't you Amon? You've started to believe you have a choice. But, you've underestimated me. I do have failsafes in place, and my death will set things in motion--things you don't want to happen." He paused and looked away for a moment, a wicked gleam in his eyes when he returned his gaze to Amon. "Simone had an accident today.4 Did you know?"

Robin's vision had fully cleared just in time for her to see Amon's demeanor change suddenly and swiftly. At the mention of the name, his body had tensed considerably and his face had tightened with fear, but it was the look in his eyes that made her blood run cold; she had never seen such a look of intense horror on his face before. "What did you say?" he gasped in a strangled voice, and Robin returned her attention quickly to Zaizen.

"Don't even attempt to deny the truth, Amon," Zaizen replied, approaching Amon slowly. "I know all about Simone. I know how you've been trying to hide her existence from me."

Robin's stomach twisted into a knot as she listened to the Director's words, watching the agony in Amon's defeated expression and feeling doubts writhing inside of her. Who was this Simone, and why was she so important to Amon? Was she a relative--or perhaps she was a lover? Could Simone be the real reason Amon had denied her so fiercely? But that didn't make sense; he was dating Touko.

Shoving her frantic questions aside, she focused again on Zaizen. He was now standing within arm's reach of Amon with his chest against the barrel of Amon's gun. "I know about Simone," he repeated softly, "and I know you well enough to know what her death would do to you. She had an accident today . . . broke her leg. She'll recover from it--but she won't live beyond tomorrow if you pull that trigger."

Robin watched in terror as Amon crumbled before her eyes. Amon had always been so impervious; the realization that some things were too much for even him to bear made her feel as if the entire world had just lurched violently upside-down. She heard Amon's gun clatter to the floor, and bit her lower lip to hold back the tears filling her eyes. Amon made a soft sound of anguish, his shoulders slumping before he looked back up at Zaizen through scattered locks of hair with pure hatred burning in his dark eyes.

Taking a step closer, Zaizen gripped Amon's chin in one hand and growled, "You've worked for me long enough to know the price of disloyalty, Amon. When I give you an order, you follow it--or you pay the consequences. Those are the only options you have." His voice dropping to a whisper, he added, "The next time you betray me, Amon, Simone will be the consequence."

Releasing him, Zaizen glanced back at Robin, smirking sourly. "Get what pleasure you can from the girl. You won't be touching Touko again. I'm through being generous." With those last cutting words, Zaizen headed for the elevator, straightening his jacket and smoothing back his hair.

Amon made no move to stop him.

------

Zaizen knew. How the bastard had found out, Amon didn't have a clue. But all that really mattered was that he knew, and that now she was in danger--in danger because of a father she didn't even know.

He barely knew anything about her. All he knew was her name . . . Simone. Her mother had been French. He'd met her during his training as a hunter with Solomon--before his powers manifested themselves and nearly took him over entirely. Before Zaizen had found him and used him as one of the first test subjects for orbo. Before he became Zaizen's slave. He wasn't even sure if he'd loved her. He had never allowed himself to get too close to anyone, but something in him changed when he learned he was going to be a father. Something in him became vulnerable.

Then, shortly before Simone's birth, he had felt his powers awakening. He knew what his fate would be once his powers asserted themselves. He knew what they had done to his mother. When Simone's mother died during childbirth, he knew what he had to do. He gave her up for adoption and tried to disappear, searching for the will to take his own life before he took someone else's and became a witch. Zaizen found him first. And now Zaizen had found her.

Air burned into his lungs suddenly as his body remembered its need to breathe. Hot tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, but he held them back with the strength of his anger, struggling to repress the uncontrollable tremors twitching through his muscles. Bright green eyes, vivid even in the darkness greeted him when he lifted his gaze. Blood veiled half of her face, leaking from a cut on her forehead, and he felt his trembling intensify. Robin. He had told her not to come, yet somehow he'd known all along she would find a way to come regardless. If only she had listened to him. If only Hattori hadn't moved the first aid kit, causing him to take so long searching for it. If only he had heard Zaizen's voice before the bastard hurt her or Michael. If "if only"s were tears, he could drown the world with them.

Stiffly, he crossed the room to Robin, inquiring in a hollow voice, "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," she answered firmly, looking at him as if she wasn't so sure he could say the same about himself.

"Michael?" He knelt down next to where the hacker was curled up into a fetal ball, rocking ever so slightly. He had looked bad when Amon had first arrived at the office. Now, he looked as if he had been through a war. "Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No," Michael answered darkly. "He wouldn't want me to leave the building anyway."

"To hell with what he wants."

"How can you say that right now?" Michael snapped back at him, his expression twisted by anger and pain as he forced himself into a sitting position.

"Michael," Amon whispered, feeling more helpless than he had ever felt in his life. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. So am I." Pushing himself to his feet and using a nearby desk for support, Michael shrugged off Amon's offer to help him.

"Michael!" Robin cried, biting her lower lip as she watched Michael stumble away.

Glancing at her coldly, Michael whispered, "Just leave me alone."

Amon watched Michael leave the room with barely controlled rage, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Still unable to stop his body from shaking as if he were in Antarctica without a coat, he found the nearest chair and sank down into it, burying his head in his hands and clenching his fingers into his hair to keep himself under control. He wanted nothing more than to break something right now--perhaps a whole slew of something's--but he didn't trust himself to keep from accidentally hurting someone else in the process. So, he turned in on himself and closed off the rest of the world, forgetting for the moment that he was not alone. He sat like that for what felt like hours, angry tears falling silently through his fingers to his knees and the floor below. He felt as if he had physically disconnected from his body as he drowned himself in self-loathing, anger and torment, unaware of his surroundings and unaware of the silent presence only a few steps away.

When he finally came back to himself, he felt warmth pressing against his knees and the top of his head, fingertips gently tracing soothing circles over his scalp and down his neck to his shoulders. The position reminded him chillingly of his dream, but he quickly banished the memory from his mind, slowly allowing himself to accept the comfort being so generously offered. The soft whisper of chanted words fell to his ears, though he was unable to make sense of them. It was only after a few minutes of listening and relaxing in the tentative embrace that he realized the words were Latin, and they were a prayer. She was praying for him, most likely for Michael and for Karasuma, and maybe even for herself as well.

And she was praying for his child. He wasn't sure where the thought had come from, yet he knew almost certainly that it was true. She didn't even know Simone was his child, but he could almost guarantee Robin was praying for her even without knowing who she was or what she meant to him. Fresh pain shot through him, and he found himself gasping for breath, his hands, which had fallen to his lap, were suddenly resting on her hips as if he were trying to gain stability from merely touching her.

The praying paused, as did her hands' movements. "Amon?"

He needed to push her away. He needed to gather his wits, stop crying like a baby and escape her touch. Sitting here like this . . . so close to her . . . was dangerous. His body did not obey him. He found one of his hands sliding around her slender waist, pulling her closer as he slowly raised his head, nuzzling her stomach gently as he lifted his gaze to look up at her. She winced when he tightened his grip on her, and he pulled away from her swiftly as he remembered she was injured. What am I thinking? "I'm sorry, Robin," he breathed.

Her fingers were slowly tracing his hairline and threading through his hair, fingertips just barely grazing his cheeks as she looked down at him sadly. He found himself shivering in response and swallowing hard. "We need to leave," he murmured, remembering the surveillance cameras suddenly and realizing Zaizen could be watching them right now.

"What about Michael?" She murmured as he gently pushed her away from him enough for him to stand, though she had not stepped far enough back to prevent their bodies from touching once he was on his feet. He nearly groaned in frustration at her unconscious action; he was drowning in far too many emotions at the moment to deal with this familiar torture.

"I don't think he will accept any help from anyone right now," Amon murmured. "Or at least not from either of us." He sidestepped her touch nimbly, but allowed her to take his hand when she reached for it. Her hand felt so fragile and small in his own, and anger burned in him again at his failure to protect her. He had failed in that task too many times in the last few hours to count. Scooping up his gun without pausing as he made his way to the elevator, he put it away swiftly and struggled with the insane wish that it contained something other than orbo so he could use it on himself. Robin followed him without complaint, though he knew his fast pace could not have been easy for her. Realizing this, he slowed slightly and sighed when the elevator doors closed behind them.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Doujima's number with one hand, feeling Robin's clutching grip on his other hand and reluctant to break it. The phone rang several times before Doujima answered. "Amon?" Her voice was a compromise between panic and dread. "Listen, don't freak out or anything, but--"

"You lost Robin. I know." He didn't bother to hide the disapproval in his voice.

"She's with you?" Doujima asked hopefully.

"Yes. How is Karasuma?"

"She'll be fine. The doctor wants to keep her in the hospital overnight but she should be able to go home tomorrow. Did you want to talk to her? She's awake."

"Put her on," he replied with a sigh, unsure why he was indulging Doujima's attempt to avoid dealing with his anger.

"Amon?" Karasuma's voice asked after a few rustling sounds. She sounded exhausted.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've felt better . . . How is Michael?"

"Not so good." Amon paused, considering whether or not to worry her further. "Zaizen knows about our deception."

"What did he do?" Karasuma demanded angrily, her weary voice gaining strength.

Amon didn't reply directly, knowing she would understand the answer by his omission. "Michael will recover, though I was going to ask Doujima or Sakaki to come check on him later."

Then she asked a question which surprised him. "Did he hurt you, Amon?"

Emotion choked his throat for a moment, and he found himself squeezing Robin's hand hard enough to make her look up at him in surprise. "Not really," he replied, though he knew she would easily see through his lie. Not physically anyway.

"Amon," Karasuma said solemnly, as if just coming to a realization, "Doujima said Robin was with you."

"Yes," he replied quietly.

"Oh God . . ." Karasuma breathed.

"She'll be all right," he said reassuringly, attempting to reassure himself at the same time. They were standing in front of his car now, but he couldn't unlock the door with both of his hands occupied, so he simply stood there with Robin glued to his side. "I'm taking her home now." He almost yelped when he felt Robin's free hand fishing around in his coat pocket. Her brows were creased in concentration as she searched and he almost dropped the phone when her hand got a little too close to a sensitive area. Then, to his relief, she smiled faintly as she pulled out his keys and turned to unlock the door.

" . . . and I'll tell Doujima to check in on Michael," Karasuma was saying when he was able to return his attention to the conversation. "Just worry about yourself and Robin right now, okay?"

"I will. Take care of yourself." he managed before he hung up, his voice a little ragged. He had a feeling Karasuma had noticed the strain in his voice, though she surely had a different understanding of the reason.

Robin had collapsed in the front seat of his car, her eyes half-closed as her head lolled against the headrest. Her hand was still firmly entwined with his own though. Gently, he disentangled their fingers and lifted her feet into the car, turning her to sit properly in the seat before closing the door. He found the keys already resting in the ignition slot when he slid into the car next to her, and he paused a moment before starting the car, looking at her as she wriggled slightly in her seat to get more comfortable. Tenderly, he brushed a hand over her cheek, realizing how beautiful she looked to him, even with her hair tangled and blood caked on one side of her face.

As he looked at her, he realized he had been fighting a losing battle against his emotions all along. His confession of love when he had been in the throes of delirium had not been merely a creation of his feverish mind; it was real. He didn't know where they would go from here--he didn't even know what was right or wrong anymore. All he knew was that this fragile girl sitting next to him had claimed his heart in spite of every effort he had made to stop her. And he was growing tired of fighting.

-------

1 If you look dumpling up in the American Heritage College dictionary, you will find that definition three reads as follows: "A short chubby creature." This bit of vocabulary trivia is what spawned a crazy bout of imagination which resulted in the creation of an entire race of tiny little dumplings who live inside one's computer and make it work--or not work as the case may be. Blue screen of death? Fatal exception? Kernel panic? Blame the dumplings. Needless to say, I couldn't help throwing them into my story.

2 Priscilla is the name of the somewhat sentient computer on a sci-fi miniseries I watched when I was a kid called Earth Star Voyager. I recorded it and watched it over and over and over . . . My mom eventually confiscated the tape and recorded over it, I think, but I watched it so much I still remember a lot of it. Anyway, I'm glad I could work in a little homage to it. As for the way in which Michael mourns for his computer--I have to admit the Red vs. Blue influence again.

3 "And what do we do with witches? Burn them!!!!!" Sorry, couldn't help a little Monty Python quote there.

4 Nikita fans will recognize this name as the name of Michael's dead wife. I took it completely out of context and used it here just because I couldn't help the irony. Actually, the idea for Amon to have a daughter he was hiding came from a Nikita episode as well. Do I ever have a completely original idea? Yes. I've had one or two . . . But maybe I'm just easily influenced. At least I admit it, I guess. :)

So, what did everyone think of Amon's reasons for putting up with Zaizen's shit? Don't worry, I will explain more in the next chapter since I kept it fairly vague, at least as far as his powers go. They explained so little about his past in the series, I felt fairly comfortable about coming up with my own version--and we're already AU anyway. I'm really bad about torturing characters. Hope I didn't go too far, though I suppose that's all a matter of opinion. And, if anyone's interested, the title of this chapter is the name of a song by Mandalay. It's a cool song, once you get past the fact--if you're a mac user--that the chord repeated a number of times in the beginning sounds exactly like the sound macintosh computers make when they boot up.

To AngelD: Thanks, but I'm curious what parts seemed to drag on. I know I'm wordy at times, but I'm just curious which parts you found boring so I can improve.

To Seashah: I'm glad it was exciting--after you've been working on something for a while it's hard to tell. Yeah, I thought it was about time Doujima showed signs of liking Sakaki too.

To Inuki: It's good to get a review from you again. I know I didn't fulfill your request for skin, but just wait until next chapter.

To KiReI AyUmI: Do you feel sorry for Amon now? He may be stupid at times, but at least he has some angsty excuses, huh?

To Jcgamer: Thank you! As soon as I get through some more of the games on my "to play" list, I'll check out Chaos Legion. Can't wait until DMC3.

To Imo: Thanks. I don't want it to end either. Can you tell?

To AnimeReviewer790: Thanks for all the wow's! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

To Pomegranate Queen: I know exactly what you mean. I'm having fun too. Mostly the connection between Dante and Robin is the "innate Robin-ness" which I have played up in this fic. But I don't know . . . there may be more. It's another one of those secrets I'm keeping from myself.

To Tiger of the Wind1: Good job. Somebody had to discipline those kids.

To Sakura Rain: Did you get what you wanted? If not, the next chapter should satisfy you. :)

To bravedragon: Thank you! I didn't take as long to update. But I'm still evil.

To Beautiful Witch Hunter Robin: Thanks. I'm working on it.

To Dark Mistress Meli: I didn't take quite so long to update this time. . . don't hurt me. Jk :)

To Ellie: It is indeed my first posted fanfic. Do you really want to read my original story? I'm reworking parts of it (because I'm never satisfied--I'm such a perfectionist) but I'd be interested in having new people read it eventually. It has truly evil villains and my characterization of Amon is similar in many ways to a character (or two) in my original story . . . Duncan syndrome again. Anyway, thanks for reading and I'm glad I could interest another person in DMC.

To Pyrosa: Now you have your answer about Zaizen. Yeah, Amon hasn't been doing much to help his karma. I didn't think the violence was too bad, but I've also read a lot of Laurell K Hamilton and I'm afraid it may have made me a bit overly accepting of it since her books can get rather gorey at times. I got Doujima's "stuck on stupid" line from a former coworker of mine. It always cracks me up.

To AVAAntares: I wasn't sure whether or not to use the green orb, but then I just decided, what the hell. Thanks for the info on the Doujima-kun confusion. Who said Dante didn't watch Highlander? :) He just doesn't want to admit it. Oh, and I feel stupid about the Harry deal. I wonder if I got the idea his name was actually Harry from the fansub I watched or if I just assumed. Either way, it's good to know, though I'm kind of disappointed because I enjoyed calling him Harry--it reminded me of Joe from Highlander somehow.

To yukari youkai: Mmm . . . chocolate. Thank you! You are too kind. I'm blushing again.

To Amon's Angel of the Darkness: So, I updated. And I gave you a little AxR. I haven't gotten a chance to read your fics, but I haven't had a lot of time to read lately. I'm working on it.

To Roseblade22: Zaizen just became more bastardly. Amon didn't kill him, but someone might have to before this is all over. Like me. BWHAHAHAHA. We'll just have to see . . .