Hiya! A late one, with edits to follow. Many thanks for reading and reviewing; I am most grateful. Freshly edited! =)

6

Jakarta, Indonesia, at approximately the same time-

Kane jet-packed from the damaged Peace Station to that derelict shopping centre, flying through a wild, monsoon rainstorm. The two officers followed in one of their slow and barely functional transports. A number of flashing news drones attempted to dart close and record his passage, but the Mechanic simply ordered them off. Nothing metal or electronic (besides that Tracy battle-AI) could defy his command.

Jakarta's terrain rolled past in a half-seen rush of mountains, steaming jungle, muddy brown rivers, buildings and rain. The sagging grey sky was free of traffic because Kane willed it so, and because the Typicals had warned their own kind to stay back.

His translucent environment shielding was up; a reflexive response to stormy conditions. Water in small doses was required for biological "meatware" upkeep. In larger amounts, it was nothing but trouble.

In any case, having to file no flight plan and seek no permission, the Mechanic reached his goal in scant minutes. Like a missile, he shot through mist and cloud to reach the former Grand Central Mall, in old town. That stained and rust-streaked concrete structure triggered odd sensations, as he cut airspeed. As though he'd been there before, and done something major. Irrevocable. Hunh.

Kane could sense power flowing beneath the old mall, being tapped by the vermin inside, like fleas were said to drain creatures without subsonic deterrents. Might have been a good place for a stronghold, had the city not been so very nearby.

Whatever. He altered his jetpack's angle and fuel mix reflexively, such that his course changed from fast, level flight, to a slower, more shallow descent. The rain's hammering assault changed along with his motion, becoming less violent. Wind dropped, as well, causing the cyborg's sensors to register a spike in temperature. 32.71 degrees Celsius, with a background of hissing rain, low thunder and vermin noise all competing for his attention.

Scotland was better, the cyborg decided. Easier to process. Shrugging the matter off, he arrowed straight down to the decaying commerce park's roof. Sodden birds and clattering pterosaurs scattered at his approach, warned by his ultrasound fear-broadcast, to make way for a Lord of Machines.

He landed with a slight, jarring thump, in a tense ready crouch. Scanned his surroundings in every frequency, too, because always, everywhere, there was threat of attack. Even his sisters had got to be watched, just as the Mother of Cyborgs had to watch him. Nothing present but reptiles and clamoring birds, though. Secure enough, for the moment.

Kane had come down in about three inches of feather-and-guano mucked water, his target-lock active and seeking. Now he rose, still scanning hard (though the rain interfered, somewhat). The Peace Officer transport was not far behind (23.724 klicks, and closing), broadcasting its ID like a mindless, chattering toy. He could hear its engine, and sense the two life forms within.

No matter; they could come, or not, as they chose. He'd done the "right thing". End of problem. Ignoring the whistling transport, Kane looked around himself, this time seeking an entrance to all the crime and squalor, below. Found one, then jet-packed over a grubby skylight and landed again, simply ripping the roof-access door off its corroded hinges. Metal squealed and concrete shattered, spraying detritus all over the rooftop. Kane had no use for stairs, or regular hand-operated doors, but the Typicals depended on them. He would have thrown the thing aside, but those two vermin officers were in the way. That's why he just heaved the big, rusted portal over the edge, rather than throwing it sideways. He heard it land a few seconds later, ringing and clattering all the way down.

That done, Kane went below, descending from one rusted landing to the next with short bursts of his jetpack. The officers had to run to keep up, which he found rather funny. Not as funny as the looks on their faces when he'd crashed through their station ceiling, but still worth scanning and keeping.

The humanoid scum who dwelt in the mall were smart enough to keep out of his way, shutting themselves into their wood and plastic-scrap shelters; as if that, or their pitiful weapons, could keep them safe. At the ground floor, Kane halted, and tapped his orange-brown chest armour. He'd settled to the cracked tile and rubble, beside a long-defunct central fountain, now brimming with trash. All around were the gutted remains of old stores, some with their names still written above. High overhead, that rain-hammered skylight provided some wavery, greenish illumination. All that he had to work with, as the whimpering vermin had doused all of their bulbs. His infrared scans showed them quite plainly; huddled there, hugging their illegal offspring and stolen goods.

In response to Kane's tap, his mantis drone had detached itself from his armour again. This time, at a gesture from the Mechanic, it sprouted a pair of crystalline beetle's wings. There was a picture in his mind, not terribly clear, of a locked stairwell with two very young children inside; a boy and a girl. He communicated this image to the drone and then said aloud,

"Seek."

His rumbling voice in that rustling, pent-breath quiet seemed unnaturally loud… as did the racing footsteps and panting of the two officers.

"If I killed everyone here," he remarked, without turning around, "Your clamour would waken them."

His altered drone hopped from the Mechanic's left shoulder, buzzing like a giant mosquito. It circled him once, getting accustomed to flight and adding its camera feed to his sensors. Then, feinting first at the two rushing Typicals, Mantis swooped off. Amusing, how they batted and ducked.

"What now?" panted the male peace officer, 'Captain French'. Kane decided to answer him.

"Now, I wait for the drone to locate my quarry," he replied, scratching idly at the join between flesh and machine. Fact of life; meat died, and metal replaced it, always. Eventually, you became more machine than person… but Kane was still young, and about seventy-six percent biological.

Tuning in, he heard increased rustling from one of the nearest plywood and tarp shanties, which smelt of highly spiced vermin food, and some sort of drug. Scans showed several adolescent males reaching for bars of metal and primitive firearms. Laughable. The Mechanic activated his own weapons systems, saying,

"Tell your kind that they are not hidden from me, and that if I see them, I will turn them back into dust."

At his will, bits and scraps were beginning to assemble themselves into fresh drones. Everything; metal gum wrappers, nails, cooking pans and radio sets juddered to life and took shape, forming scorpions, wasps and beetles. Inside of the shacks and boarded-up stores, Kane heard cursing and gasps as even the Typicals' weapons sprouted legs and crept off.

The female officer, 'Lieutenant Lasangah', touched her silver communication badge, setting it to loud-speak. She said, very calmly,

"Please remain still, and do not leave your shelters. You will not be harmed, if you remain where you are. This is not a raid."

Kane snorted, shaking his partly shaved head.

"Simpler, my way. Except for the smell, dead things don't make any trouble."

She actually frowned at him, cocking her kerchiefed head back to stare directly into his eyes.

"You would be lord of nothing but bones?" the blue-uniformed female demanded, small fists planted squarely on slim hips.

Kane shrugged, causing his armour and weapons to rattle.

"I will rule, because that is my destiny, Verm… Officer. Your kind scarcely matters. It is my own, and the other families, that I mean to control." Eventually.

"Why?" she asked, seeming truly puzzled. "What will such dominance win you, but hatred and constant rebellion?"

Lasangah was standing near enough to trigger a number of odd biochemical responses, and their corresponding cybernetic alarms. The Mechanic shook his head again, saying,

"You know nothing, female, and it would be pointless trying to explain myself." Except… part of him wanted her to ask? Would not thoroughly dislike such discussion? He could speak with Beech, and the Tracys' Virgil. Maybe with others, as well?

The male had been mumbling quietly into his own comm badge, which was larger, and gold. Kane could hear him ordering traffic away from the site. Wise.

Then, he received a ping from Mantis. Through its cameras, Kane could see a vaguely familiar green metal door marked: AUTH Z D PERSO LL O Y

"Target acquired," he rumbled, ending the conversation. Waste of time, speaking with vermin. They would follow or flee. Perish or live. Made no difference whatever, to Kane. Without a second glance, he triggered his jetpack and lifted back off the ground.

Officer Lasangah was becoming accustomed to the Mechanic's rudeness, his arrogance and abrupt departures. As the cyborg had said, there was no way they could stop him from doing whatever he wanted to. Not even a prolonged, mild earthquake distracted the odd machine-man from his goal.

Sherna stumbled a bit, running along beneath the once-again airborne Mechanic, and his growing horde of buzzing drones. Tough to keep her footing, when the ground underneath began heaving like a woman in labor. Muted screams and cries rose from those flimsy, shuddering lean-tos and tents. Thank God, the quake stopped at last, leaving most of those rattletrap structures intact.

The Mechanic could quite easily have outstripped and left them behind, yet he did not; flying slowly enough to be followed. All of this… the mall, the sounds and smells of terrified folk, the situation… gave rise to strong emotions in Sherna. She had been here before, under terribly different circumstances. She knew it.

From his pale face and rigid posture, Captain French sensed this, as well… but Sherna was too shy to ask his opinion. He was her superior officer and an unrelated male, besides. Except in the line of duty, she had nothing to say.

Instead, the two peace officers ran side by side, sprinting to keep up with the Mechanic (who might have taken the long route, just for the fun of watching them scramble around, hurtling obstacles).

Meanwhile, not far away, a skinny young boy stood inside of his stairwell 'home', with an upraised steel bar and a pounding heart. He might have been seven or eight. No longer remembered that, or his own last name, even. He was called Ilya, and everything in the world that still mattered was here in this small concrete space, with its green-painted stair shelves, dim lighting and wooden false floor.

It was a good home, especially before mom went away; full of clever traps, with top and bottom access blocked off. Someone was coming, though, and none of those tricks would be able to stop him. Somehow, Ilya knew this, and he was both very longing, and scared.

Hungry and nervous, the boy was also sick, carrying all the same viruses everyone else here did. Bruised, too, from near-constant fighting for food and escape. He had light hair and honey-brown eyes, and he very much wanted to cry, but didn't. Wouldn't do any good.

Shivering, Ilya heard someone thump onto the concrete floor outside his door. Somebody big, and real heavy. Under the false floor, Sissy was moving around in her safe place. Ilya could hear her, in there.

"Shh…" he hissed, feeling terror and worry clutch at his heart and snatch away breath. "Quiet, Sissy! You gotta be real good and stay quiet, now!"

The door had a shock trap on it. Only someone that knew the right codes could safely open that door. Or… they could just jerk it right out of the concrete, digging their fingers straight through the metal and ripping it shrieking out of its frame.

Ilya stumbled backward, but only a little, still keeping himself between Sissy's hiding place and… and a giant machine man in scuffed orange armour. All muscles, tattoos and weapons, he took up the whole doorway, as a tide of drones scuttled past him on floor, walls and ceiling. The Mechanic.

Shaking like a penned mouse, Ilya raised his steel bar even higher, and waited. The world had not taught him to trust, or that shelter and safety could last, much less come back for him.

"Ilya," the cyborg commanded, looking at him with hard amber eyes behind some kind of… of cyber-goggles and breath mask, that's what.

"Yes, Sir?" he whispered, making his voice not be squeaky or scared.

"You are done, here. Get her, and make ready to go."

Sissy was trying real hard to push open her door and get that rug off, like she knew who was out there, and why. Ilya let the steel bar drop, some. The Mechanic, his hero, was very large, but the boy could tell there was people behind him. Officers.

"Not going to the kid home," he protested stubbornly, because that's where they took you, and you never came back.

"No," agreed the Mechanic, as Ilya slowly pulled back the pretty-lady rug, and opened Sissy's stuffy, dark safe place. "You have no place with vermin. You belong with me."

The boy had moved himself to sort of shield Sissy, who was laughing and reaching up for him, just like always.

"Be good, okay?" he whispered, scooping her up. Her diaper was wet, again, and her yellow hair sticking in little damp wisps to her dirty small face. Her one flopping leg didn't do nothing, like always.

"Bubby!" she chortled, hugging her brother's thin neck.

"It's okay, Sis… it's okay. I got you."

Then holding all he had left in the whole, awful world, Ilya turned back to face the Mechanic. There were all of these metal bugs flitting and scrabbling into their home, some of them hopping on Sissy and Ilya. Maybe that should have scared him, but instead, it was like they were friends. Even the one with the blades and big, bulgy eyes.

Sissy squealed and laughed as they crawled on her, trying to catch the ones in the air. The Mechanic reached out with one hand and touched her grimy right shoulder, where the flowered pink tank top revealed it. Scratched her. There was a flash of something shiny, and a little tiny dot of blood, but Sis didn't cry. Instead, she stretched both hands out to the massive cyborg, writhing half out of her brother's grip.

Kane looked at the two half-blood children. As polluted as the Tracys, both of them. Like the vermin behind him, a very clear waste of his time. Nevertheless, he took the small girl from her worried sibling. She smacked at his face with popping sounds of her mouth, which he half-understood was a greeting.

Ignoring her happy affection, and those two surprised peace officers, Kane said to the boy,

"That's not a weapon."

Shifting his grip on the tiny, misshapen girl, he concentrated on Ilya's lowered steel bar, summoning parts from all over the mall and French's weak-ass sidearm. In moments, the boy held an actual rifle, responsive to his aura, alone. There was a strap, as well, so the boy could sling it for safe-carry.

"If you mean to defend yourself, you're going to need firepower."

"Yes, Sir," said the boy, beginning to smile. "Thank you."

Ilya, too, was being crawled over by mechs. A good sign. They sensed power, always. It was an uncertain thing, taking on allies. Had worked with the Tracys… but these were just children. Their frailty, and the fact that they mattered, weakened Kane. He ought to have turned them over to those two waiting officers, but did not. Instead,

"I am going into danger," he warned the boy, as the girl tucked a grubby thumb in her mouth and nestled close against him. "To come along is to risk death, or arrest."

"Yes, Sir," said Ilya, proudly shouldering his rifle. "I'm ready. We both are."

Which was how the Mechanic wound up burdening himself with two worthless, half-vermin kids… and how they once more came to be his.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The Chaos Cruiser, over lovely Kyoto, Japan. Late afternoon-

Muttering threats and murder, Havok flew lower. Her idiot brother had just been supposed to cause a distraction, not level the whole bleeding city. His second stomp had opened a giant crack in the ground, causing sirens to blare, and people to scurry for shelter. Off-shore, the ocean was surging; piling up into high, frenzied waves. Be lucky enough to find more than matchsticks and teeth, once Fuse was through, if she didn't manage to stop the great oaf.

Ornate pavilions and tall buildings rumbled and swayed all around him. The ground itself bellowed and heaved in response to her brother's prodding. He was a channeler, you see. He absorbed electrical energy and poured it into the ground, Fuse did, triggering quakes and tremors. Had an effect on his brain, all that power. Made him not quite right in the head, anymore.

Now, shouting and raging on the crumbling asphalt below, Paul was about to fall into one of his own d*mn fissures. Would've served him right, had she just let him tumble on in, but… well, family, and all that rubbish.

The Chaos Cruiser cut low past that drunkenly swaying space port, bringing the harness and line down where her brother could reach them… except that he was too busy with laughing and jeering to notice. Then, Havok's proximity sensors lit up like a holiday storefront. Whipping her head 'round to check her instruments, she saw International Rescue and the GDF, closing fast.

"D*mn-bloody-nation!" Havok snarled. She had fifteen minutes to save her brother and get the goods.