Clean Fall Chapter 11, an el tigre fanfic

Author's Note: Hey everybody! That's right, I'm still alive! Can you believe it? Times have been rough, I tell you what… but I'm resolved to at least try to write again. And I'm going to. I have ideas still rolling around in my head (for trade, if you happen to have chocolate), and I need to free them, get them out into the world! So that is exactly what I'll do.

Chapter 11, The Alliance Crumbles

International News Network Special Report

"Good morning, I'm Ashton Wilson. Fires are still burning in Miracle City after a successful terrorist plot to destroy several areas of the once bustling metropolis left the world completely baffled. Miracle City authorities, still struggling hard to keep their home under control, have been pushed to the brink by these latest attacks. Fortunately, this does not mean that there is no hope; new businesses are attempting to save the wounded city by pouring fresh capital into ailing businesses. This economic bid of humanitarianism is being spear-headed by Maximum Enterprises, who's CEO, Greg Stylex, is joining us on satellite from his European headquarters in Paris. How are you this morning, Greg?"

"Good morning Ashton, it's great to be on INN. But I'm sad to say that I'm not at all well."

"Oh? Care to share what's on your mind?"

"Gladly. First and foremost, I'm appalled by the concept of terrorism. It's senseless, damning… can I say that?"

"Heh, no, but I do think we all agree with you…"

"Sorry, Ashton, but it's just so outrageous. Miracle City, which attracted my business with its bustling ports and booming business sector, has long had problems with crime; maybe even more so than many other cities out there. But something like this is abhorrent. No one will benefit from sending Miracle City back to the Stone Age."

"Good stuff, Greg. Thanks for your time. We all pray for Miracle City, who is in dire need of a miracle now…"

M's Command Center, Monday, 5:59 AM

"We all pray for Miracle City, who is in dire need of a miracle now…"

It was not the television which produced the noise in the nearly pitch black room, but the clock radio which sat on the nightstand next to Maxim's one creature comfort: his bed. It quietly relayed the INN report, funneling news directly into M's sleeping mind. Even at rest he continued this absurd pursuit. He quietly breathed into his pillow, neither smiling nor frowning as he dreamed away. He snapped awake when a knock on the closed door came, followed by a question. Both sounds cut through the stifling warm gloom of the room.

"Sir," a voice came through the wood, "are you awake?"

"Enter."

The door opened slowly, and Agent Geoffrey, the only agent to have been named thus far, entered the dark space and stood tall and still, waiting for acknowledgement. But it seemed that his commander… had fallen back to sleep.

"Sir?"

"Wh-at?"

"You asked someone to inform you when Dr. Koreyama was finished with the prototypes."

"… And?"

"Wha…? Sir, the prototypes are finished," Agent Geoffrey responded in a confused tone. "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, how much sleep have you been getting of late?"

There was quiet now. Only the radio, still channeling the distant news broadcast, cut through the silence. There was a click, and soon even the broadcast was gone from the room. Agent Geoffrey, knowing better but still fearing the worst, swallowed hard, waiting for a response.

"Not enough," M finally replied, "now, agent, would you mind terribly having the cook prepare me some food? I'm damn tired, but more importantly, I'm damn hungry."

Geoffrey nodded, turned and left. Left alone on his soft bed in the dark room, M almost slipped back into sleep. It took no small amount of discipline to just move his arms to push his chest up off the mattress, and after mustering it he immediately regretted not just going back to sleep. But if he didn't get moving, what was the world to do? It wasn't like it could run itself, after all; wars, petty crime, resource hoarding, famines left unrelieved, oppression left unstopped… if M was the villain, and he wasn't causing this madness, then who was to blame for this? Not under his watch… he always told himself that. Everyday.

A half hour passes

He was showered. He was dressed. He was ready to take on another day. He was still damn hungry. Waiting in his control room, he idly tapped his fingers against the desk, watching the open door, watching the agents coming and going beyond it. Where in the hell was his food?! No. Thinking about it won't help anything. In a bid to ignore his hunger, M turned to his computers. Maybe watching the conversation between Greg Stylex and the INN anchor would put a better idea of how things were going in his head. And no sooner did M begin typing to find the interview was he interrupted by… his breakfast.

"Sir."

"What?!"

"… Sorry sir. We didn't mean to get your breakfast ready this late."

"Oh," M eyed the cook tiredly, still strained by the absence of adequate sleep. "You… brought me my food yourself."

"Yes sir…"

"… Why?"

Sartana's Lair, 6:04 AM

They sat across from one another, each staring at the other; it was impossible to say why, because neither would blink. In silence they sat, not once wavering from this contest of wills. But patience, which comes with age, always wins out in the end; exhausted by the eerie silence and eager for anything else, Django spoke.

"Fine, you win."

"Yes! I always win! Maybe one day you'll best me, Djangie," Sartana added cutely to her taunt, "but now, the day is mine."

"That's great, Nana, but I wanted to talk about your plan again."

"We'll talk about it later, Django. I told you already," she said with what was possibly a frown, "we have to wait for the girl. We won't have a chance at taking him unless the girl is out of the way."

"Is she really that much of threat? We could kill her if she is, you know? It would be much easier."

"And much less satisfying."

Django accepted that; reckless murder, no matter how random, was rarely as enjoyable as the smoky bitterness of deception. It was, hands down, one of his favorite flavors. Right up there with the sour-sweetness of unrequited love. Kicking a loose piece of gold, Django turned and headed to a flight of stairs at the back of the prison. The darkness, permeated by slowly thickening beams of sunlight pouring through injuries in the building's structure brought peace to his already too ancient bones. The life of a skeleton, one must remember, is not measured in human life-spans. And time really doesn't work the same way in the beyond. Climbing to the top… that always cleared his mind too. Arriving at the rooftop just in time to see the golden sun climb above the hideous skyline of the human city? … That was just something he couldn't miss. And once he saw the sun, he smiled an evil smile.

Command Center Training Room, 7:12 AM

"As you can see, the prototypes are much faster and more resilient thanks to recommendations from your man."

"Now now, doctor," M replied, with a vicious smile, "it's your programming that's going to make them shine on the battlefield. But have you considered a test yet?"

"Oh yes," Dr. Koreyama replied, smiling almost as evilly, "a local hero of some renown. He and his son have proven to be impressive specimens. We shall test these against the two of them."

"Excellent, doctor. Your payments will continue so long as there is profit in your research. I'm sorry, but I have to cut this meeting short. Take care, won't you? And inform me when the final test is complete."

"Will do."

The feed went dead, and M closed the window that had cluttered up the screen so he could continue his work on it undistracted. Not that he wanted to work now as he leaned back into his chair, smiling fiercely. The idea of these new weapons just made him… giddy is the word, though he'd never be caught saying it. Upon checking the time, he remembered something critical. Today was the day he and another had long been waiting for. And by long, of course, we mean a couple of days. He pushed down on a button connected to a box connected to a wire, which was connected to something out of sight. He spoke to the box as he held the switch down.

"Could someone see if my dear Ms. Cuervo is feeling well? If she is, send her down. One man can never run the world."

He started looking over his overloaded work space, lifting up items as he searched for one thing in particular. Madness… how could someone who claims to be in control lack the organization to keep papers important to a coup d'est grace in an obvious place? Having no luck finding the file in question in the first minute, M pushed down on the button a second time.

"Actually, don't check up on her until 7:30… yes, that would be better. 7:30."

Zoe's Chamber, 7:12 AM

Zoe hadn't really slept in the past 36 hours. Not in any recuperative way, anyhow. And it would be slightly insane to expect her to, considering her actions. She wasn't sad, she wasn't guilty… at least, she didn't feel like she was either of those things. Pacing back and forth in her suit, every now and then she would pause to look at her helmet, grinding her teeth as she looked over the M and thought about what it meant to her now. The feeling manifested in three words.

"You disgust me…"

"You only have yourself to blame."

"That's not true," Zoe whispered, turning her eyes to the floor. "It's all his fault."

"Not likely."

She started to grind her teeth again. Surely it had to be. He ruined her life, practically forced her into this. This road of cruelty… he put her here.

"No he didn't. You had every opportunity to change. Admit it."

"No."

"Admit that deep down…"

"No!"

"You wanted this."

Zoe took her helmet in her hands and squeezed it, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes so tight she began to cry. The cold metal of her head gear did not yield, despite how much she just wanted to crush it out of being; maybe if she couldn't see what she had become for him, she would feel better.

"He didn't love you like you hoped he would… big deal. A sane person wouldn't have had a melt down."

"… He strung me along."

"No he didn't."

She started to sob without shedding tears, eventually dropping the helmet back on the table so she could plant her hands firmly upon the same piece of furniture. Every day… every day it was this mental battle. And every day she found herself becoming more and more what M wanted her to be: his legacy. But today, her battle was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Black Cuervo. M wants you in his control room at 7:30 AM for a special mission. Don't be late."

Her eyelids snapped open, and her mouth twisted into a wrathful expression. What was it now? Murder all the children in an orphanage? Burn down a hospital? Kick a puppy? The man always had a special mission for her, it seemed. But… at least when she was out, she could just fly around. She loved being in the air.

"Cuervo?"

"I'll be there. Now leave."

The Control Room, 7:30 AM

He sat patiently, staring at screens which had yet to be turned on. More unsettling was how he did nothing as he sat… no tapping, no thumb-twiddling, barely any breathing. This completely juxtaposed his activities just thirty minutes ago, where even the slightest failure in his defenses would result in seared lungs and a lack of skin. Finally, the moment came when the door was tiredly dragged open, and light filled the dark space. It was cut off not long after, and Cuervo stepped slowly into the center. When she was met with quiet, she wondered if maybe something was wrong… even worried about that.

"M?"

"You're troubled, Zoe. Care to share why?"

"… What are you talking about?"

"You can't fool me, Zoe. I see with more than just my eyes," he said calmly before swiveling in his chair. "Now please, let me help you bear the load."

This was… uncharacteristic of him. And for a moment, Zoe almost laughed. Bear the load? M? People like him were not great at listening unless it was to their advantage. Maybe that was the game here.

"Don't toy with me, M."

"Fine, I'll guess what the problem is. Is it about… a boy?"

"You had a mission for me?"

"Is it… a boy named Manny?"

The sound of crinkling rubber met M's ears as Zoe clenched her fists, and she started to grind her teeth once more. M drummed his fingers against one another, thinking hard, calculating his every move. Keeping in mind what he pondered early that morning, he came to a simple conclusion.

"I've been working you pretty hard, Zoe," he said coldly, "would you like some time off?"

"I don't need your pity. What I need is for you to be serious for once."

"I don't get you, Zoe… one day you're playful, the next you're bitter and uncontainable. Is it that I had you destroy innocent lives?"

He immediately regretted saying that, though he made no effort to show it. Of course it was that; terrorism is filthy. That's why he physically had no part of it. No number of showers can wash off that vile stink. Sensing that nothing he was saying would make her "feel better," M moved on to what he knew best.

"Alright, your mission. Today's an easy one. I need someone fast and pretty to take this file," he said as he thumbed through the papers stuck in the folder, "to Sartana of the Dead. It has a few… details she might be interested in. Now, seeing as you are my fastest and prettiest lieutenant-."

"Just give me the damn file!"

"… Feisty today."

He stood from his seat and casually approached her, file in hand. Cuervo, expecting him to just hand her the file, was caught severely off guard when his hand took her by the chin. And this… really disturbed her. Too confused, or frightened, or possibly both to pull away just yet, Black Cuervo just stared into the darkness in front of her.

"Just keep at the grind, Zoe," he whispered as he let go of her chain and handed her the file, "and soon, he'll be gone from your mind. You'll have peace."

She left very quickly, more than a little scared by him. And sensing this in her, M smiled again, returning to his seat and picking up his phone. He called up Nikolai, hoping for one thing to be ready today…

Sartana's Lair, 8:04 AM

She strummed casually, hummed low, and waited patiently. What more was there to do when you're dead? Sartana had learned long ago that a guitar wasn't just a means to channel the horrifying power of the hereafter; it was a great tool to communicate messages in a non-static way, using pleasant sounds to help carry the message deep into the listeners' subconscious. And in knowing this, and expressing this, Sartana smiled in the least menacing way possible for an animated skeleton. Though they weren't perfect, the musical notes filled the air of the central atrium of the prison, distorted by the probably cursed loot that littered the floor. And then came another sound, equally distorting, and as the seconds passed increasingly more. Black Cuervo slowly lowered herself into the atrium through a hole in the ceiling, clutching a manila folder filled with papers she didn't care to look at. As her boots touched the floor, Sartana ceased her movements, not even looking up at the young lady as she searched the room for any sign of a threat.

"Looking for something, child?" As her icy voice sliced the air apart, Sartana tilted her head, just barely revealing the piercing red points of light that served as her eyes. "You have a lost look about you."

"Sartana…"

Sartana stood slowly, setting her guitar against the side of her throne in the process. Putting one bony foot in front of the other in a noisy procession, she approached Cuervo, eventually stopping but an arm's length away. There she stood silently, smiling down at the scared girl. It was unnerving.

"You have something for me, child?"

"M sent this for you."

"Ah yes, your commander," the skeleton replied as she took the folder, "and my ally. Though, the more I look at it, he's more of a crutch for Django and myself… and more of a master for you. Tell me… what's it like being his servant girl?"

Cuervo frowned, but didn't look away from Sartana's red eyes. It didn't matter who it was, or frankly what it was; nobody mocked Black Cuervo.

"The pay is good, and the second he's dead, I get his empire."

"Unless he kills you first, Aves."

That was a stunning revelation, really. And it only made sense now that it was coming from someone else. Maybe Zoe was only in M's good graces because Black Cuervo was a rare, reliable resource for him. But what would happen the second that resource was exhausted? Surely she would be…

"Not so satisfying, thinking about it, is it Aves?"

"You know nothing, you old bag of bones."

"I know without looking that things were better before he showed up, child!"

Black Cuervo backed up as Sartana shook her clawed hand at her menacingly, and then looked at the skeleton puzzlingly as she thought about the implications of that statement. Better? Better how? The villains had more sway now than ever. Well, except maybe that time when all the heroes in the city were sealed in the Miracle City convention center. That was a good day… Sartana continued to speak.

"The status quo has been destroyed. And it's only a matter of time before we are destroyed as well."

"Wait a minute," Cuervo replied quietly, "didn't you try to kill all the villains in Miracle City once?"

"Ho ho, yes," Sartana replied mirthfully, waving her hand in a dismissing fashion, "but this is different. Something else entirely."

"Ah-ha. I'll be going now, Sartana."

As she turned to leave, crouching down for a jump to make flying easier, Sartana placed a hand on her shoulder. Comfort was not one of things that Sartana was particularly good at; it simply wasn't in her nature. Also, it's a difficult thing to communicate when you're dead.

"Going where? Back to being a slave? Back to having no hope?"

"…"

"Black Cuervo… M will visit me tonight. And tonight, I will strike him down forever. It's likely that it won't be easy. And it's likely that he will call for help in some way, or ask you to come along. What I need from you, if you want to be free again… is to not help him."

"… I can't do that. In fact, I should tell him right now about this treachery."

There was a moment where both of the villains knew what would and what wouldn't happen; a moment of understanding each other. Zoe, not Black Cuervo, nodded in agreement with Sartana of the Dead before storming off noisily into the sky.

Suarez Residence, 9:54 AM

There was the sound of sirens in the distance; what else was new? The world was burning to the ground, so of course there would be sirens in the distance. Frankly, Frida was surprised that there weren't sirens right outside. As she finished squaring away everything in the guest room as her mother asked, Frida sighed, hearing a different sound now: car doors slamming shut just outside the house. Walking slowly down the stairs and approaching the front door, she girded her loins and steeled her resolve. The end had come at last. She turned the knob, pulled on the door and…

"Frida!"

There were two of them, and they struck with such strength and speed that the girl really stood no chance. What defense was there from twin sisters who haven't seen you in six months, but desperately wanted to? It wasn't long until Frida was up off the ground, caught in the embrace of her older sisters.

"Hello Anit- ow, ow, my hair! Hi Nikita… how was the trip?"

"Awful. Needless to say," Nikita began, only to have her sentence picked up by her sister.

"There weren't any planes flying after the attack. Trains were running though. The airline reimbursed us, and we used the money to buy train tickets."

"Which is why we're a day late," Nikita finished, pushing her sister playfully.

"Ah," Frida sighed, hoping for something else to talk about soon. Nobody knew it, but without Manny around, she was waning again. And Anita and Nikita were certainly not qualified to deal with that sort of sadness.

Japan, Middle of the Night

Something big was happening. Disaster big; the irony is that this disastrous event was localized to a small area: a warehouse. There were sixteen dead; six local thugs, moving "products" in large crates, and ten police officers responding to an anonymous tip that the warehouse was being used to hide drugs. Now the local authorities numbering in the hundreds had locked down the warehouse perimeter, carefully plotting out their next move. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long for the exact back-up they needed. Captain Yoshime, who had taken control of the front line, had witnessed the arrival of the much needed aid, and bowed in deep respect.

"The Seventh Samurai… we are so glad you could make it."

"Thank you captain," he replied with a deep bow of his own. He stood tall then, and looked at the warehouse with a hardened gaze. "Tell me about the enemy."

"They struck from the shadows, killing both the criminals inside and the tactical unit sent in to apprehend them," Yoshime began, walking to the very front of the police barricade, "not all of our officers were immediately slain. One managed to radio out some critical information."

"Is it the Ninja Monster Clan?"

"I'm afraid not. The officer relayed that they were mechanical, and equipped with weapons you might be familiar with."

"Interesting… don't worry captain. I'll be the tip of the spear. Once the line has been broken, I'll send the all clear. I hate leaving mop up to you fine officers, but if these machines are as deadly as you say…"

"I understand," Yoshime stated coolly, he himself not wanting to lose any other good officers to whatever lay within, "good luck, Samurai."

The Seventh Samurai passed between the gaps in the police blockade, making his way hastily to the warehouse door, still open from when the tactical squad entered. He passed from the dark of the night into the dark of death haunted building, immediately picking up a sense of dread. But as a battle-hardened hero, he chose to ignore that feeling; it simply meant that his self-preservation mechanism was working, nothing else. Drawing his sword, he grew closer to the center of the room, pausing periodically whenever he would stumble upon the body of a dead officer. The first was killed by gun fire, which was typical in the Samurai's experience. But as he drew closer to the epicenter, the wounds became more mysterious. Tears in flesh, crushing injuries, shuriken… the last body he found had been cut down by sword. Finally, the Seventh Samurai found something very, very peculiar: seven identical baskets in a row, basking in the moonlight pouring through a window on the far wall.

"… What is this…?"

He immediately regretted speaking as the "baskets" opened up into the thin frames of the mechanical monsters. All seven possessed their own specific weapons, and though the samurai was assured that the slain officers had indeed made direct hits on the machines as per the final radio report, they bore no damage. He backed up a step as the center machine slowly advanced, drawing a black katana from some unseen location. Acting on instinct, the Samurai changed his stance and slashed at the robot, gasping as the blade slid across the machine's surface rather than through it.

Sartana's Lair, Sundown

A pair of black SUVs came to a stop at the front gate of the dilapidated prison, and the first out of the second vehicle was M. He paused to stare at the structure, and was soon joined by his most well trained agents and his lieutenant, who had thought long and hard about Sartana's offer. Cuervo did not betray her feelings, though, and stood tall with an expression of stoic command. M detected this confidence, and smiled.

"Feeling better, Cuervo?"

"Much."

"Excellent," he replied quietly, cracking his neck with quick little movements, "ready to go in again?"

"No."

"… No?"

"I figure that I'm your best chance in terms of back-up in case it's a trap. If it is a trap, and we both go in..."

"Very good. You are learning something. I'm so proud," he said in an almost cute fashion. With a sigh, he approached the gate and pushed it open. "Make sure the truck gets here on time. I don't want any foul ups here."

Immediately upon entering the unhallowed grounds, M was aware of the eyes upon him, though this was to be expected. The last time he was here, there was no security, which was because there was no Sartana to form the ranks. Now that she walked the earth once more, why shouldn't there be defenses in place? And frankly, was he himself any different? M reached the doors, and pushed them open to enter. It was… darker than he remembered. The only light, for some reason, seemed to come through the door; strange, because he knew for a fact that there were holes in the ceiling. And when the door was shut, and the light snuffed out completely, he knew exactly what was happening.

"A trap…"

"Very astute, my mortal friend."

The dim artificial lights flickered on, revealing rows of skeleton banditos along walkways and on the floor, reinforced by their vicious mistress. M did not smile, did not, in fact, express any emotion.

"So you're finally cashing in your threat, Sartana…"

"I told you this would happen," she said, holding back a cackle. She stood from her throne and embraced her guitar, readying herself for combat. "But frankly, I think you put it best: what did you expect of war?"

"It comes to this then. My will against yours."

"Enough talk!"

Django, who hid in the shadows, revealed his position with that shout, as well as with the aggressive rush he made against the guard rail high up on the walkway on which he stood. Unlike his grandmami, he wanted the action to begin. But… why?

"Agreed," Sartana chimed, "banditos, destroy him!"

All at once they advanced, leaping from their positions and charging fast. The attack continued even as M crushed one bandito after another, pounding entire lines into dust, trying his best to compensate for being pushed back to the wall by sheer numbers. He was losing, and he did not like it.

"This betrayal won't do you any good, Sartana! I'll still-," he was cut off by a blow to the gut, and then a blow to the face, sending him to the floor. He didn't stay their long, regaining lost ground with a sweeping kick. This bought him the time he needed to climb back to his feet and start the fight again. "I'll still win! I always win!"

Outside, far across the prison grounds, Black Cuervo stood waiting, smiling quietly. At this stage no one could hear the bedlam, so what were they to think? She knew though that sooner or later this would get ugly. Though inside, one wouldn't think that. M had crushed enough of Sartana's minions to force her to change tactics.

"Enough! Clear the way! I want to kill this man myself!"

Her call had the banditos out of the way in no time, save for one, who was in the air in M's clutches. He crushed this one at the rib cage with a tight squeeze of his hands and forearms. With the way clear, he stared down at Sartana, bleeding from several cuts along his face as well as a tear in his lip. The rush was working… just not well enough. Without wasting another second, he charged at her. Sartana's response was striking her strings; from the headstock came a bolt of green nether energy, threatening the life of the target. He stopped in a split second, focused, and thrust his hand toward the beam. Blue flame met green lightning, and the attack, with a thunderous crack, was sent to the wall, tearing through a bandito in the process. This noise got the attention of M's agents, who drew their weapons and approached the gate. They were stopped by Black Cuervo.

"Just wait, you idiots. He has it under control. And even if he doesn't," she said coldly, crossing her arms, "what do you think guns will do here?"

Despite the sound of a second blast, followed shortly by a third, the agents had to acquiesce to this logic. If M couldn't defeat Sartana, there was really little hope for them. But… wasn't Cuervo his back-up? Inside, control of the situation had rapidly gone to Sartana, who with each attack had M closer to the wall. She finally pushed him to his knees when he failed to completely redirect an attack, absorbing some of the shock himself. Burned out and wounded, he panted, suffering from a pain he was unfamiliar with. Sartana stood over him, cackling madly.

"Tell me, M," she shouted violently, "what was that about always winning?"

He looked up at her, angry, but still reserved, as if he knew something… the sound of scattering coins caught Sartana's attention, though she didn't turn to see what had happened. Django, watching all this transpire from high above the floor, approached the dueling villains, stopping when he had his grandmami at an angle, and M directly in his line of sight. The failing mortal turned his attention to Django.

"It would seem that I… have failed," he said quietly, "and I will perish because of that failure, I suppose."

"That you will M," Sartana said quietly, pointing the headstock at his head for the kill, "that you will…"

Something then happened that was entirely unexpected… for Sartana. The sound of a guitar being struck, the sound of a blast of violent nether energy, and the sound of her scream as her bones flew about and her guitar fell to the floor. Sartana's skull bounced twice, then stopped in a pile of coins. Though this sort of trauma would leave a skeleton bandito useless, Sartana of the Dead had much more working for her. She assessed the situation immediately.

"D-django! What is this?!"

"Sorry, nana," he said with a wicked smile, "but the times have changed."

M stood smoothly, apparently unhindered by his injuries. He knitted his fingers together and cracked his knuckles before taking to stretching his arms. Django approached his grandmother's skull and lifted it in his hands.

"Django, when your father hears about this-!"

"He won't be hearing about it, nana. You won't be going back to the underworld just yet."

1st Miracle City Bank, recently acquired

"She'll be contained in the vault. If my thinking is correct, as long both her bones and her guitar remain intact, and separated, she will not be a threat."

Agents carried a pair of large containers, aided by bank security, asked to stay late to help with extremely sensitive materials by their new employer. The vault, a huge steel mechanism, was pulled open by a pair of security guards as the agents hauled the two sealed containers into the vault. Therein rested two long safes, which lay horizontally across the vault floor, slightly larger than the containers themselves.

"With Sartana contained, all control of the skeleton banditos will be redirected to Django, who I quickly curried favor with. The young have always been my specialty, it seems."

The agents placed the smaller containers into the reinforced steel safes, which were then sealed shut, safeguarded with three locks each: a digital keypad, a standard mechanical dial-lock, and a key-lock, fitted to a single key in the whole of the world. The agents and security guards filed out of the vault, which was quickly closed and sealed for the night, guarding all of the money, the gold, the stocks and bonds, and now the secret prize of M's coup within.

"I don't fear reprisal, because I'm ultimately making the world a better place. Those criminals which don't side with me, and submit themselves to M, are consumed by its fury. Miracle City, Paris, Tokyo, Beijing, London, Moscow… they are all the same. Some of them just don't know it yet."

The agents then climbed back into their respective vehicles, driving off into the night. The truck which bore Sartana to this location, upon moving, revealed a billboard which had been erected next to the bank: 1st Miracle City Bank, a new division of Maximum Enterprises.

Japan, the Warehouse

"The old order has failed, in every possible way. It is weak. And that makes it very, very easy to wash away. My success is not due to my power, or my intelligence, or my association, though those things do a great deal to aid me. No, my victory is assured by the weakness of the old order."

The Seventh Samurai quickly lost control of the battle when he entered the warehouse and encountered the prototype Ultrabots. They were designed for one purpose: assassinating super heroes. The Samurai was not yet dead; his son, Toshiro, had intervened before that could happen. He was reinforced soon after he himself started to lose the battle by a second tactical police team. Missing an arm and being filled with bullet holes and razor sharp throwing stars, the Cyber Sumo was barely in any condition to move, much less fight. Bearing his wounded father, Toshiro, on the advice of the tactical team, escaped the building before the officers were wiped out. The Ultrabots gave pursuit.

"I have new weapons. New soldiers. They will be unstoppable."

The Ultrabots, having left the innards of the warehouse, engaged the police barricade. Fire and explosions filled the area as one car after another was destroyed, as the engines of death tore their way through the lines and toward the darkness that would permit their retreat. Their mission was done.

"All that I have to do is make sure my every target falls, my every foe perishes, and my every battle is a victory. Frankly, that won't be too hard."

Airfield outside of Miracle City

"Scary times, eh Maldin?"

"Very scary, captain…"

"You know what I like during scary times, Maldin?"

"Cerveza!"

"Cerveza! Yeah, want one?"

"You know it, captain!"

Being a polite and industrious worker, Maldin had opened the door to the air hangar which served as the smugglers' home when they weren't running drugs. He entered slowly, shouting when he saw something he wished he hadn't and gurgling as he fell to the ground. The captain, knowing the sound of death, rushed in behind his best worker, gasping when he saw a group of men in black. One sat in the captain's favorite chair, pointing a gun equipped with a silencer at the man who had recently smuggled something other than drugs to places unknown.

"Who the hell are you?" The captain, trying to remain strong in the face of this unscheduled adversity, pointed a finger as he asked this.

"Captain… we understand that you ferried an old man and his grandson out of the country recently. Care to discuss this?"

Author's Note: OMG. OMG. Was that chapter good for you? It was good for me! And what was with that last section? Any guesses?!