Waves lapped against the docks, where the everyday dockworker labored intensively, unloading the shipment that had just arrived during the night. The tall buildings in the distance were masked by the dense fog rising up off of the water that morning, as a bell buoydonged somewhere on the ocean's surface. Red pulsing lights pierced the fog from on high, serving as a beacon for incoming watercrafts. The AI's on the docks exchanged words to one another about work related matters, carrying on with their jobs despite the intrusive thickness. By now, they were used to it.

The fog drifted, granting a sliver — a peek — of the warehouse stationed not too far from there. Those working the docks knew to keep their distance from this particular place if they wanted to avoid regrettable confrontations. Not only was the warehouse abandoned, and in awful condition, but it had become the site infamous for drug trafficking, non-stop partying, and violence. Around every corner, there was at least one Motorhead gangster trudging around aimlessly. Some lazily carried an alcoholic drink around, while others just loitered about, smoking and running their mouths.

This morning was no different than most mornings. The warehouse had been left in a disgusting mess the night after the gang threw a rager. Due to the heavy consumption of alcohol, people were passed out wherever they were standing or sitting last. Lying on a table, amidst filth and grime, was a wine bottle with cigarette butts soaking in what liquid remained at the bottom. Next to that were three virtual simulation goggles, empty beer cans, food wrappers, and dried blood stains. Light from a broken window shined down on half-eaten candy bars as a fly buzzed around Tiny Dancer's nose. He couldn't be more unaware of it landing on him if he tried. Too busy dreaming about god knows what.

A loud clank echoed throughout the warehouse. It was the door. Dress shoes slowly clacked on the concrete floor, a cane tapping it as the person in question sauntered in. Gangsters slept soundly without a clue as to who entered Geil's domain. The footsteps stopped. Wearing his usual tailcoat with fraying cuffs, and spikey shoulder pads, was none other than Edguy, Geil's right-hand man. The tailcoat was tattered with a poorly executed stitching job done by him and him alone.

Despite looking like he'd shopped his clothes straight from a dumpster, Edguy was convinced that his shit smelled equally as lovely as a bed of roses. And these lowlives were going to respect him, goddammit. Edguy noted the snoring waste of space lying by one of the graffitied columns. The fly just wouldn't leave Tiny Dancer alone. It buzzed relentlessly around his face, then his jacket. Edguy's stomach churned as he regarded the mess these layabouts had made once again in his absence. Worthless scum.

He poked his cane to Tiny Dancer's shoulder a few times. Tiny Dancer groaned at the pain, rustling from a lying position. The second time, Edguy jabbed the cane into his arm harder, making his anger flare. "Motherfucker…!" he growled. Through his sleepy eyes, he looked up at Edguy, who was straightening his coat and brushing dust off of it.

"Ugh! How can you stand to live in such filth?" he commented. "Where's Geil?"

Tiny Dancer rubbed his eye and yawned, speaking in a groggy voice. "Fuck my head hurts. How should I know where the boss is, asshole? I'm trying to sleep here." The same fly from before zizzed past his corneas, coming to a hover over his cheek. Scowling, Tiny Dancer readied his hand for assault and gave his face a good hard slap, missing the fly entirely.

What an ignoramus. Edguy rolled his eyes and started for the stairs to the upper floor, while Tiny Dancer continued to swat the fly away from his face. As he walked along the metal catwalk, he passed by crates, boxes, and heavy equipment. He walked under metal beams until he came to an industrial shutter door. Swiping a keycard, it rattled open, allowing him entrance into a dark room. Everything was pitch black with the exception of a small ray of light illuminating the face of the person staring at a computer screen. Edguy especially found it disturbing how he'd faintly smile now and again at it. He watched him as he dragged the screen off of the device entirely, watching it in front of his face as if he was sitting too close to a television.

Bright white ovals radiated under his finger tips, slowly fading away as he removed his second right hand from the screen and made swiping gestures. Pages on the screen moved to the left, bringing up another page full of writing and circle-shaped images of younger people.

Edguy breathed in, about to speak, when the ominous person cut him off in a croaky baritone voice. "Whaddaya want?"

Smirking, Edguy responded. "I came to inform you that the shipment you requested should arrive sometime this afternoon."

"Good. Now get the hell out of here."

Edguy's smarmy smile fell to a sneer. Well, he was certainly feeling like his usual self. "Must you always have it so dark in here, boss?" He shuddered at the very fact he called him by such a word. "It isn't very good for your eyes to stare at a screen in all this darkness, you know. Doesn't it cause the least little bit of strain?"

"In case you didn't notice, Edguy, I'm busy. And I believe I told you to get the hell out."

"There's something else I thought you should know."

Geil uttered a low growl.

"It seems our plan to frame the stand users of Quiet Riot isn't quite going as expected." He approached his boss's desk, placing his gloved fingers over the screen and dragging it aside so that nothing would obstruct their eye contact. Taking a seat in front of the desk, he leaned his elbows onto it, propping his chin in his hands.

"Give it time," Geil said, "it's only been seventeen hours. Come to think of it, there is one thing I want to ask you."

"And that is?"

Geil pulled up a command tab on the floating screen and typed with his cybernetic fingers. A dim red light illuminated the room expanding on his sinister demeanor all the more. The tab pixelated down into the desk, disappearing from sight. He entwined his fingers and stared straight into Edguy's soul, the red beam of his cybernetic eye coming into focus. Why did he always have to give him such an evil look? "What I want to know," he said, "is how the new kid's doing after his initiation."

"Oh, him." Well, that's certainly a topic I wasn't expecting him to touch on. "He's rather obsessed with that portable he carries around with him everywhere."

"It's funny you mention that," Geil said, bringing his double-sided screen back up, "I was beginning to get concerned. Wouldn't want some double-crossing Quiet Riot spy leaking information to Angus, now would we?"

Edguy's heart skipped a beat. Was that really what the new kid was up to? Thoughts erratically sprang through his mind. Shit! What if he's caught wind of the plan to frame the stand users of Quiet Riot? I wouldn't put it past him. Not after our last spy got busted three weeks ago. Damn, it was such a fine plan, too. And I've got three excellent creations to show for his sacrifice. Collecting their DNA was such a pain in the ass for this operation. And it'll be over my dead body that I don't gain the advantage over these vile gangs.

He stared down at the desk, riled up by his current thinking process. These three clones show great potential that even Geil himself couldn't rival if he wanted to. Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, the spitting image of Léon Polnareff with the ability to manipulate his very being into metal. The likes of which he can melt and bend to his will. My stand, PATHGOD, has proven its unpredictability before, but for this creation…Lady Luck smiles upon me. "Can you be certain he's a spy?" Edguy asked.

Geil cackled. "Why do you think I'm studying this screen so hard? See for yourself. I've been tracking his internet history, his application activity, everything. Even his private messages. Whatever this snot-nosed kid is doing, I can pull it up with a simple command just like that ." He snapped his human fingers for emphasis."

Edguy's mouth parted as surprise filled his eyes. There was truly nothing suspicious going on in his digital life, or at least that's how Geil was acting. But something peculiar did grasp his attention. "Wait, open this tab here." he requested.

Geil's expression lost its mirth as he did so, bringing to light something Edguy found to be particularly interesting. The corner of his mouth quirked as he read the boy's private messages to himself. Well, isn't that ironic. Going over the messages, he'd come to find out that the new Motorhead recruit had a crush on a girl living on the very street Motorhead was trying to claim just yesterday. Apparently, he was in the same school program as her, chatting her up every chance he got. A name caught his eye. It was the same surname as Léon's. Sherry Polnareff, the username read. Their conversations were mundane — boring — but Edguy wondered if this could possibly be a door to new opportunities. Dastardly ones at that.

"Intriguing." he mused. "Relieving, isn't it? Knowing the boy isn't going behind your back."

"Yeah. Now about this shipment," Geil said, putting a pin in the subject, "I want you to send Canneberge and a squad down to the docks for unloading. But listen. I want you to understand what I'm telling you: this is an arsenal of high-grade military weaponry. I paid the arms dealer a fuckton just to get them shipped over here, so don't fuck this up."

Edguy couldn't look more unfazed by his attempt at hammering fear into him. Geil's debriefing was always nothing short of intimidating to most people, but he'd heard it enough by now he let it roll off his back, like water on a duck's feathers. Not to say he was intimidating to him when he first associated himself with Motorhead. Geil was just another grain of sand waiting to be stepped on, just like everyone else in Edguy's eyes. Nobody mattered, least of all Geil.

"Oh, quit your worrying already, will you?" Edguy leaned against the back of his chair, propping his black boots on Geil's desk. Geil looked at him with displeasure, a growl rumbling in his throat. "It's not like Quiet Riot will come Sunday-driving up to the waterfront and take them from under our noses."

Geil harrumphed at that statement. "You don't know Léon and Angus like I do. Léon's far from being the yellow-bellied loser he used to be in collége ."

"Hmm, yes, yes. A likely story. One I'm sure you can indulge me in some other time. But for now, let's just focus on what's important, shall we? I will assemble a team to accompany Canneberge to the waterfront. Meanwhile," he rose from his seat and sauntered for the door as he spoke, "I have a prior engagement."

"I'm telling you, Edguy." Geil warned. Edguy turned his head, not quite fully looking back at him. "I've lost nearly all my stand users in the past few months to these assholes. Fuck this up, there won't be a single shadow for you to hide in. 'Cause if it's one thing I know, it's the darkness." His cybernetic eye beamed up at him, adding to his ominous appearance.

Edguy smiled. "Why, Geil, you wouldn't be threatening me, now would you?"

"It's not a threat," he assured, "it's a guarantee."

Leaving the warehouse, Edguy caught a whiff of fresh air tinged with a salty scent. It was one of his favorite things about being near the waterfront. Well, his only favorite thing. He strolled through the lot where he passed by other Motorhead gangsters, who were loitering around. They glanced in his direction as he moseyed along, then shortly after returned to their usual conversations. A few were horse-assing at the main gate, laughing up a storm. Edguy didn't see what was so funny. Probably something distasteful if he had to guess. The one in question that was laughing so hard was the same gang member that had taken the video of Léon just last night during his fight with Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

"Hey, hey! Edguy!" he called to him. Edguy's lip contorted as he leaned away from the boisterous thug on his left. "That was a balleriffic fight last night, am I right?"

Edguy blinked. "A what? "

"You know, that droid of yours! We were just talking about it. Man, that's the first time I suppose any of us have seen it in action. Not counting yesterday's mass shooting. How'd you program it to do all that stuff anyway?"

Edguy looked off with half-lidded eyes and a jutted chin. ""

The thug exchanged glances with his friend behind him, who was leaning against a crate. He shrugged at the man speaking to Edguy. "Well," he continued, "I got some footage that I thought you might like to see." He brought out his cell and scrolled through his videos, stopping on one of them. Holding it up, with his hand cupping over it to block out the sun, Edguy squinted at it. Watching Léon in the midst of action with Red Jumpsuit Apparatus barely evoked a reaction out of him at all. The least it got was an arched brow.

"So, yeah!" the gangster said, pocketing his phone after the video ended. "How did you pull that off?" Rolling his eyes, Edguy shoved passed him. "H-hey! Salaud grossier! Je te parle! Ahhh, casse-toi. Didn't like talking to you either, asshole." His buddies snickered on the sidelines as Edguy departed the lot and made his way up Boulevard de Rêves Brisés, fuming.

"Motorhead needs to hurry up and fall off the face of the earth already." Heat boiled in his stomach as his pace picked up. Nothing was going as planned. Fearing his efforts were all for naught only cultivated more anger. "A droid? My stand's creations? Pfft! As if PATHGOD is anything like Stroheim Robotics. Baise ces chiennes sans cerveaus! Fuck rich people!"

.

.

During the late 2000s, World War 3 caused a massive global recession, setting people back by hundreds of years. The Era of Information collapsed, people retaliated against their governments, each other, and their leaders. When the war ended, three steadfast friends rose up from the aftermath and made a pact to use their gifts to rebuild a functional society. A system the people could rely on. A system looking out for their best interests. Rhett Speedwagon, a British spy rescued from the Russians by the French Legion.

Grouped alongside him and several others was a brilliant German scientist named Ludwig von Stroheim. A man that, unbeknownst to him yet, would be the enemy's greatest tool in building advanced weaponry, the likes of which the world had never seen before. Teaming up with Jean-Marc Jousset, a French legionnaire, the three set off on an adventure of their own to take down the Russian president, and put an end to Russia's tyrannical oppression once and for all.

After the Russian Empire collapsed, and its influences with it, The Legion had discovered a dark secret. Franz Josef Island — an archipelago located north of Russia and consisting of over 190 islands. Lands uninhabited by indigenous people, but teeming with polar wildlife. It was here the military made the discovery of an ancient tomb buried far below sea level. Walls with foreign etchings and strange glyphs surrounded the legionnaires who dared to explore its depths; who dared to unearth the mystery the Russian military had been hiding for years. An underground laboratory where at the heart of abandoned equipment, and broken stasis chambers, was a mystifying object.

An ornate, solid white sceptre with a blinding crystal turning in the center of the crescent at the top, seemingly on its own accord. Speedwagon located the records in the lab, going over every section and leaving no pages unturned. From that day on, he hid its contents from Jean-Marc and Stroheim. All that could be extrapolated was that the tomb in question originated from something extraterrestrial, as the glyphs and writing bore no similarity to ancient texts, which spurred the question: if the islands were uninhabited by man, then how did a tomb appear there out of nothing? The bigger question: what the hell was the sceptre, and what was the Russian military trying to do with it?

.

.

3994, five years ago...

I was a pencil pusher at Stroheim Robotics when I double-crossed the CEO of the company, Balthier Laurent. Though before that, I managed to schmooze my way into his good graces, attending extravagant parties and what have you. Everyone in the office that knew of me kept their distance as if I were a sweeping pestilence. I can't fault them. After all, I didframe the people I feared would snatch a promotion — my promotion — by slipping controlled substances into their cubicles and/or cars; that eventually got them fired from the company, and tarnished their reputations indefinitely.

As Edguy would type at his desk with dark circles under his eyes, two women stood feet away gossiping, stupidly unaware that their voices carried into his cubicle. "I find it really strange that she lost her job just after those other employees."

"Yeah," the other woman concurred, "I've never known her to do drugs. If you ask me, Monsieur Monstre planted them on her. I mean, come on. The guy looks like a drug dealer."

"Best to stay away from him if you want to keep your job."

What can I say? Having good connections had its perks. If I wanted to get close to the chief executive, I had to take extreme measures. It didn't take long for the higher ups to praise me for my hard work. Soon, Balthier and I became "close" friends. Which, admittedly, had its benefits. He began to confide in me about information based purely on speculation and rumors. But those rumors were based on truths that I'd read in a highly classified report. Hence why I took up the job at Stroheim Robotics Inc. in the first place.

Balthier poured Edguy his scotch, sliding the shot glass towards him. "This stays between just me and you, d'accord? "

Edguy flashed him an insincere grin. " Mais oui, mon ami. After all…we are friends, are we not? You can trust me."

"Well, I'm sure you've heard all about the tell-tale madman ruling with an iron fist. Ha. Literally." Edguy's eyes shifted around, searching for the meaning behind his statement. "I mean Stroheim, genius. He's only the oldest android in the biz."

"Ah, the founder. What about him? Surely you didn't pull me into your office just to discuss that raving lunatic."

Smiling deviously, Balthier leaned over his desk, whispering. "I believe the rumors are true, Edguy. There's only so many conspiracies floating around about what could be down there. Whatever it is, I bet it's worth a fortune. What say you and I pay a little visit?"

Breaking into one of Stroheim's labs? The idea was tempting to Edguy. "What's in it for me?"

"I'll raise your pay significantly, even throw in a promotion. Anything you want. Name your price."

Edguy spared a moment to think. "All of the above. And while you're at it, how about a paid vacation?"

Balthier chuckled. " Tu as une affaire ." They sealed the deal with a firm handshake.

So we made our way into the factory. What I uncovered that night would remain burned into my memory forever. As the CEO of the company, my accomplice had security clearance for every floor. Every floor except the lower levels, which we gained access to by means of infiltrating the main control room. From there, we located the panel that would open the restricted area and made our way deeper. Finally, we'd arrived. And what I found fit everything I read in Speedwagon's journal.

Lying there, in a spacious room with an ominous, faint, dark green glow along the shadowed walls, was a strange sceptre. The gem pulsated a hot white light. Cables were spread along the floor, connecting to multiple apparatuses here and there. Pipes, chords, command panels, and large computers were in almost every corner of the room. At the center was a large, square, metallic table. It was immaculate, having a faint green luster due to the lights faintly lighting the walls and ceiling.

Edguy's eyes fixated on the sceptre, unable to pull away. Je ne crois pas ce…c'est vraiment ici!

" Alors," Balthier spoke breathily, taking a step forward, " c'est ce que le vieillard gardé caché …" As he approached the table, he reached a hand out to grab the sceptre as if he was in a trance. Balthier was mere inches from touching it when he heard a hammer click. His fingers twitched. Fear glazed over Balthier's round, wide eyes as Edguy stood behind him pointing a gun barrel to the back of his head.

" Trés bien, Balthier."

"What?!"

"Oh, come on now, don't play coy. You had it out for me, we both know it's true. Go on, it's alright to admit what you've done wrong."

Balthier bit his lip, taking a moment to respond. "I-I-I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Alright, have it your way." With Edguy pressing the gun gently to his head, Balthier looked around worriedly with quickened breath.

"Wait! H-how did you figure it out?"

Edguy chuckled as he relaxed his hold on the gun. "Let's start with the parties, shall we? The whole time you and I were buddies , I couldn't recall a single time you actually had a drink or a bite to eat. Not once. In fact, in the past few years, I haven't seen you consume diddly squat."

"What does that have to do with anything?!" Balthier snarled. He flinched when he felt the tip of the barrel press harder against the back of his skull.

"You asked how I figured it out, now shut up and let me do the explaining, d'accord ?"

Balthier's voice quivered. "Okay, okay!"

"What's more," he continued, "androids have a distinct scent. The artificial skin, for starters, carries a faint coppery odor. Standing close to you the night the office threw a Christmas party, it was all I could smell. Then there was something else. The thin lines in your face are a dead giveaway. You're the CEO of Stroheim Robotics because that was the reason Stroheim created you in the first place. All this time, he entrusted you to run his company and now you want to stab him in the back?" Edguy brought up his fingernails to inspect them while he kept the gun to Balthier's head.

"So what if I'm an android?" he fired back. "What's it to you?"

"Hmph. Nothing. Just something I picked up. But there's something else." He held up an index finger. "The reason Stroheim didn't grant you security clearance to the isolated chamber was because he didn't fully trust you. I mean, you are a greedy bastard. Like, helloooo! You run a corporation that's been finding new ways to screw the lower class for centuries. A lot of those ideas belonging to you as a matter of fact."

"What is your point?"

Edguy snickered. "Typically, it's the corporate bozo in charge of a multi-billion dollar company the people shouldn't trust — yet here I am, your beeeest friend , with a gun to the back of your head. Tell me something, Monsieur Laurent, you didn't bring me along for the thrills and spills, did you? You were going to pin all the blame on me, while you would make off with this thing and tell the public some fabricated story about what a hero you are for catching me in the act. Woohoo, good for you! Meanwhile, I was using you, not just for the money, but to access information that I found back at Speedwagon Enterprises before the Emperor had it shut down."

" Sale enculé…! Who the hell are you?!"

Edguy's aura darkened. "Who am I, you ask? Why, I'm just a stray boy in the shade."

A silhouette strode through the dark of the lab, coming closer behind Edguy. As he withdrew the handgun from Balthier's head, he once again inspected the bed of his fingernails and let the rest fall into place. Balthier slowly turned his head with widened eyes. What he saw standing before him in that moment was none other than himself, staring blankly at him with crimson colored irises, a perfect contrast to his green ones.

"You could even say I'm a meddler. And look where it's got me."

Balthier grit his teeth, placing his palms on the table as he staggered back. "What're you going to do with this thing?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

For a moment both stared each other down. Any minute that fool would crack, and lay all his secrets out for the world to see. "You don't even know what it does, do you?" Balthier retorted.

" Au contraire, mon frère. I know so much more than you could possibly imagine." A thin, almost invisible string pulled snug from the gun to a black, four-fingered hand. The hand had dingy, gray cufflinks with frayed fibers around the edges, and silver straw protruding from both ends. The straw went up to the middle of its forearms, where the elbows jutted to a curved swirl. The rest of Edguy's stand was a charcoal gray color. Its other hand was a pair of scissors, which it used to snip the fine string in two.

As it did so, the gun in Edguy's hand fell to ash on the metal floor, right at Balthier's feet. "Can't say I have use for that anymore." he quipped. The clone then pulled a gun identical to the one Edguy was holding, and aimed between Balthier's eyes.

"No, please!" he shrieked, shielding his face with his hand as if the sun were shining directly in his eyes. "You can't kill me! This company will go under if you —"

POW

Balthier Laurent's body fell limply on the tabletop behind him. His green eyes flickered until they settled on a shade of gray, appearing lifeless and vacant. The bullet hull chinked on the floor, landing next to Edguy's shoe. "Whoops. Finger slipped."

Placing the murder weapon in Balthier's hand, the clone left its own fingerprints on the gun, which was an exact replica of his. Nobody would ever suspect he was killed by anyone. This was just another way for Edguy to place himself on a higher pedestal, where he could gloat about what a mastermind he was. Typical. Now that the most annoying part was out of the way, he could make off with his prize.

He grabbed the sceptre, springing a deafening alarm. The faint green illumination from the ceiling lights turned a searing red. Doors to the other rooms automatically locked. The table shifted, turning upright and sliding down into the floor. Appearing in the center of the room, where the table was prior, was a square opening that dropped approximately ten feet. Balthier's body had slid off of the disappearing metal table and into the pool of molten lava below.

Gawking at the spectacle, Edguy hummed. "And to think: that could've been me."

Within seconds, the floor began to slowly retract, making the opening wider. Edguy stepped away, as did Balthier's mindless clone. The roaring sirens pierced his eardrums. God damn, how he wanted someone to shut it off. He'd do it himself, but he was much too busy scanning the room for a possible exit. The doors definitely wouldn't do.

"Agh, Stroheim…you murderous cunt."

Glancing to the corner of the ceiling, Edguy spotted a vent. Determination twinkled in his eye as he climbed up onto the soon-to-be-gone equipment and examined the size of the vent. "Bit small, isn't it? Ah, well. Not to worry, Edguy." he assured himself. "I'll just have PATHGOD connect one of its finger strings to a sharp object."

PATHGOD sent commands along the string and into the head of the Balthier clone. The clone spelunked through a drawer as its master ordered. The ever disappearing floor drew nearer, as heavy equipment and computers toppled into the lava cistern. Every bit of information on Stroheim's computers was now erased forever. Not that it mattered to Edguy. He got what he came for. The clone tossed up an oval-handled knife with a short blade. PATHGOD's string attached to it and took on the ever sluggish process to duplicate it. Edguy stared in disbelief, annoyed and clapping a hand over his brow.

"Grrr, I don't have time for this! PATHGOD!"

PATHGOD canceled its cloning process by snipping the string from the knife, and dropping it into the lava. It rammed its scissors through the tin, tearing it open for Edguy to climb in. He strained, pulling himself through the ruptured exit; he was doubly certain to keep an eye on the sharp edges as he slipped through. God forbid he cut himself on the damn thing. The clone hugged the wall, looking blankly up at the ventilation duct, where Edguy waved back with a smug smile plastered across his face.

"No hard feelings." he said.

PATHGOD severed the string to the clone. Before it could dissolve fully, its remaining body parts were consumed in the hellfire that at last covered the entire circumference of Stroheim's lab. There was nothing of value remaining. No files, no data, zip. Edguy cackled, kicking his feet like a girl with a crush as he clutched the sceptre to his chest.

"What a goddamn disaster!" he cried joyously. "YEEEEAAAHH!"

PATHGOD drifted through the duct, as if to look at the prize tightly grasped in its user's hands. "Whaddaya say we get the hell out of here?" Edguy then started crawling. Where he'd pop up next, he didn't know. What did it matter anyway? He was home free. Well…almost.

.

.

Sirens blared from a high pitch to a low one as Edguy hurried along the concrete. He'd long left the vent and took to the waterways as a means to lose the authorities and their armed automatons. Not that it did him a bit of good, they were in hot pursuit. "He went this way!" he heard a voice echo up the tunnel. Hearing the other voices mixed with it, he spun around, growling in annoyance. Like an immature brat, he stuck out his tongue and blew raspberries at his far-off pursuers.

As he neared the end of the tunnel, he glimpsed the night sky and raced towards the exit. But as he got closer, the water only got louder. Rushing to the edge, he took a good look below. The roaring water helped some to block out the sirens, but what he really wanted was peace and quiet, dammit.

" Haut le mains ." Gun hammers clicked. Orb-shaped bots ejected projectiles from their bodies, ready to fire on command. Feigning a disingenuous smile, Edguy lifted his hands in the air, the sceptre still grasped in one hand.

"Drop it." one of the officers ordered.

Edguy sighed, smiling at the sky. "As you wish." Closing his eyes, he took a whiff of cool, crisp air and willingly fell forward. The authorities darted for the edge to perceive any signs of him resurfacing. So far, nothing. As Edguy plunged down into the reservoir, he had lost the sceptre. In a panic, he twisted and turned, doing his best to peer through the dark, murky waters for any hint of remarkable light. His lungs were giving in. Edguy was never the best at holding his breath underwater for more than 30 seconds.

Swimming to the surface, he gasped for air. The sound of motors on the nearby road startled him from trying to scour beyond the glimmer on the water. " Merde! " He smacked the water in frustration and begrudgingly booked it from there and through the small forest. Goddammit! I was this close. THISclose! FUUUUCKKK!

Nearly two hours passed. Whilst Edguy cautiously waited in the brush, he overheard a faint conversation between the imperial forces and Ludwig von Stroheim. He'd come up to them, frantically waving his hands and urging them to heed his words. Something about them not knowing what they're dealing with. In the midst of him arguing with the Legionnaires, the sceptre was fully recovered from the reservoir. And Edguy bore witness to the whole thing. What he found out at that very moment, however, was that the artifact was being moved to a special location. Listening in, he didn't miss a beat. Where they were moving it to would be undoubtedly impossible to infiltrate.

The capital.

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Present day, 3999

Non-stand users are so amusing to me. Droids…puh! He briskly walked along the cracked road, going past storage sheds as his mind lingered in the past. There can be no denying. This entire ordeal sprang up in my life because I was meant to unveil that mystery. Me! I was! Had I never left my destitute life on the streets and clawed my way to the top, I'd have never worked for Speedwagon Enterprises. I'd have never put so much effort into screwing those bastards over at Stroheim Robotics just so I could finally get some money into a bank account. No child deserves to live a life hungry all the time, nor longing for a good, hot soak in a bathtub. These are biological needs, dammit!

If I have to live the life of a dishonest man to get what I deserve, then so be it. Edguy stopped walking, and placed his hands over his cane in front of him. A slight gust of wind cooled his face, carrying his golden hair on the breeze. A chain link fence rattled to his right. Turning to look, he tilted his head back and quirked a wry smile. Red Jumpsuit Apparatus was standing there along with Tenmei and Avdol's doppelgangers. Three pairs of red eyes stared emotionless at their creator — at PATHGOD, who hovered by Edguy's side. With a glowing blue aura, turned to face them.

"It won't be much longer," he promised the troublesome trio, "soon both of the gangs in Paris will destroy each other with my help. And, as the upstanding citizen myself, I will provide evidence that it was in fact moi that cleaned up this god forsaken shit city! I mean, fuck, who needs cyborg billionaires and gang violence?! Once I've accomplished that, I'll just kiss the Emperor's ass and boooom! Mission Speedwagon Conspiracy is a go. Everything will fall into its rightful place. Hahaha, trust me. I know exactly what I'm doing."

Edguy held something between two fingers in the sunlight. Storing up to 300 million euros was a banking drive with an engraved name reading: Joliet Jousset.