Beverly Glen, Los Angeles

The lights turned on, and Roxy slowly opened her eyes. She sat up in her cot and winced as the bruises on her arms and legs were a stark reminder of last night's ordeal. She stretched while getting a quick lay of her surroundings: she was still in the Joe's spaceship-RV thing. The main doors had been opened, allowing some natural sunlight in, which she made sure to avoid as she rose from her cot to make her way to the head of the vehicle.

Airtight was peering into a microscope that was built into the wall. Beach Head could see the object of Airtight's examination prominently displayed on the adjacent science station monitor. On the opposite wall, at the communication station, was a television broadcast of 'Good Morning LA', but the sound was muted. Cross-Country was in the driver's seat with his face buried in the sport's section of the day's newspaper. No one acknowledged Roxy's presence.

"This is part of the sample I shot off of one of the androids." Airtight touched a blob of gray putty with a tiny probe which delivered unto it an electric charge, causing the amorphous blob to morph into a cube. "As you can see, this plasmoid is consistent with what we know of Zartan's Synthoids."

"Agreed, but the thing I fought was solid." Beach Head illustratively punched his own palm, making a loud smack with his fist. "It had bones and joints."

"Right. Which takes us to this second sample I collected." Airtight swapped out the petri dish under his microscope. The overhead camera came into focus. "I've seen robotic components just like these in Destro's Battle Android Troopers. I believe that what we're dealing with is a Synthoid with a B.A.T. endoskeleton. It explains why the hypersonics didn't work: each unit must be able to act autonomously in order to follow a hierarchy of pre-programmed directives."

Beach Head grunted in agreement. "I'm more concerned with the fact that it means Destro and Zartan are collaborating again."

"I see your point. Shall I update Hawk?"

"Negative. Zartan's movements have been very deliberate, suggesting a foreknowledge of our actions."

"So, you think we have a leak at the Pentagon?"

"Yes. Until we can get a secure message to HQ, we should remain dark."

Roxy had grown bored of their conversation. "I think I heard one of those Dreadnoks call it a HARPy." And she turned the volume up on the television broadcast of Good Morning LA. Pizzazz, Stormer and Jetta were laughing it up in true Misfit's fashion with the morning show hostess, or so it seemed to everyone else in the world watching. "It's not them is it?"

Airtight continued to peer into his microscope, but nevertheless replied with, "No, but the performance is a believable simulacrum. Their A.I. is the best I've ever seen."

"What is 'A.I.'?" Roxy questioned.

"It stands for Artificial Intelligence. It's the science of endowing machines with behaviors that mimic human cognition."

Roxy snorted. "Do you always talk like you're reading an encyclopedia?"

For the first time Cross-Country regarded them, folding the pages of the morning newspaper he had been reading. "Airtight is a walking encyclopedia… a veritable treasure trove of useless information." He rose from his seat and left to find a quieter place to read.

"Hey, I didn't mean nothing by it." Roxy placed her hand on Airtights shoulder. "Anyone that saves me from going splat is okay in my book."

Airtight did not seem to be moved either way. "Zartan's tactics easily answer the question of how one goes about kidnapping high profile celebrities without attracting attention."

"So, nobody noticed I'm gone… or nobody cares?" Roxy mused upon reflection. "Why don't we expose them?"

"Exposure would put the Misfits in danger." Beach Head turned off the broadcast. "It'd be too much trouble for Zartan to keep them alive at that point."

Roxy hugged her chest. "So, what do we do next?"

"We are not doing anything," Beach Head replied with his usual candor. "It's not safe keeping you around, and I can't exactly leave you with the civilian authorities. However, I have some friends at the Los Angeles Army Reserve. They'll keep you safe under watch until this blows over."

"Hold on a minute." Roxy's eyes narrowed. "You're going to throw me in jail?"

"It's not jail. It's for your own protection."

"Will I be able to come and go as I please?"

"No."

"Where I come from that's called jail," she persisted.

Airtight was compelled to interrupt. "Beach Head, Mainframe has arrived at the Gabor estate." He piped Mainframe's radio feed over the speakers.

Beach Head walked over to the communication station and pushed the button. "We read you loud and clear, Mainframe. The rest of the team will continue to monitor. Proceed at your own discretion."

Roxy did not appreciate Beach Head's dismissiveness. "Soldier boy, I—"

"We'll speak on this later, Ms. Pellegrini."

Beach Head's reply brooked no further argument on the matter, so Roxy took a seat next to Airtight's station and listened along with the others, as she recognized Gabor's distinctive voice. Still, she would've been more inclined to sulk in her irritation, if not for the fact that something proved impossible for her to ignore as she listened on:

"...What has Pizzazz done this time?..."

"...Why would anyone kidnap my Pizzazz?..."

Roxy straightened. "Hey, Soldier boy—"

"Ms. Pellegrini, I need you to stop talking—"

"But—"

"NOW!"

Roxy flinched, taken aback by Beach Head's stern rebuke. She crossed her legs and drew her arms in tighter. However, Gabor's words continued to grate:

"...Pizzazz is well known for these extreme hijinks of hers…"

She rose from her seat and stood in defiance of Beach Head's glower, saying, "Pizzazz's dad never calls Pizzazz Pizzazz; he's always called her Phyllis. What's up with that?"

"...what business does SOCOM have putting a tail on my daughter, Pizzazz, in the first place?"

Airtight rubbed his chin. "Beach Head, she may have a point: Gabor does seem to be putting undue inflection on that word. If he's been compromised, Zartan would be listening in."

Beach Head cursed, and he pushed the button. "Mainframe, disengage and return to our fallback location immediately. I say again: do not interact with Gabor any longer." He then muted the radio. "Airtight, print out a transcript of this meeting."

"Already on it, boss."

Paper started coming out of the dot matrix printer at the Master Sergeant's station. When the printout was complete, he tore it out, and found Roxy, who had retreated back to her cot.

He approached, papers in hand, saying, "Ms. Pellegrini." But, she willfully failed to regard him. "Pellegrini, I'm talkin' at you!"

Roxy continued to sheepishly avert her eyes. "But, you told me to stop talking... and you yelled at me."

Beach Head was not moved. "Do you want to help your friends, or not?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Go over this transcript, and see if you can find any other oddities in Gabor's word patterns."

Roxy received the proffered perforated printout, but she hesitated.

"What's wrong? You wanna help, now's your chance."

Roxy stacked the paper's in her lap and gazed at the top sheet. She hunched when Beach Head took the paper and orientated it in the proper upright direction for her. She finally regarded him, blushing as her lips trembled.

Beach Head's eyes softened, and he took the transcript back. "Airtight, I've changed my mind. Replay the audio. I want to hear it out loud."

Roxy blinked, as no more words were said on the matter, and she obeyed by listening intently to Mainframe's interview with Gabor.

She closed her eyes:

"... she's sabotaged my fashion book, caused my movie to flop, not to mention her money-pit of an investment in Piebald Records that I went half in on…"

"I think I've found something," she said in epiphany. " Excited, she returned to the empty station next to Airtight and said, "It's what Gabor said about the fashion book and the movie... those things sorta happened, but as for the last one, the Gabors don't own anything called 'Piebald Records'."

Airtight replayed the relevant piece. "I notice that he also puts that same stress on the word 'Piebald'."

Roxy pursed her lips. "What does 'Piebald' mean?"

"It's Old English. It more-or-less means, white-headed," Airtight offered. "It's not common, but typically it's used to describe animals so colored. In fact, the 'bald' in American Bald Eagle, is actually a corruption of 'piebald'."

"Eagle!" Roxy snapped her fingers. "Pizzazz's dad is part owner of Eagle Records. We used to record our songs there before we bought Misfit's Music."

"Interesting." Beach Head said.

"So, why would he make that name up?" Roxy continued to muse. "Do you think he was trying to signal us?"

"I can think of no better way if an enemy was listening in." Beach Head placed the transcript in the shredder. "Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Pellegrini. You should get some chow. We have a table set up outside."

It was then that Roxy noticed her stomach was growling. With a grin she rose from her seat, taking her leave of the two solders, but not before Airtight said at her parting:

"Apparently, someone did notice your absence this morning."

She smiled.

Roxy stepped outside of the VAMP and immediately shied away from the bright morning sun. Fortunately, they were parked under a clutch of trees, with the breakfast table placed directly under the shade of a large Elm. Breakfast tacos and coffee were placed prominently in the center of the table, of which Roxy cheerfully partook. As she unwrapped her breakfast, greetings were exchanged with Cover Girl, Sci-Fi and Cross-Country, who were all seated at the table. There was no place for a fourth chair, but she had no problem standing.

However, Cover Girl did not find this acceptable. "You wrinkle-sacs act like you've never seen a lady before."

With his face buried in the sports section, Cross-Country didn't seem amenable to moving yet again, so Sci-Fi rose and offered Roxy his seat.

Roxy sat down, giving the auburn beauty a nod. "I'm not a lady, you know."

Cover Girl grinned. "Neither am I." And she then glared over her shoulder at Sci-Fi. "Can we please not use the million-dollar RV as a coaster for your coffee?"

Sci-Fi frowned and removed his cup placed precariously on one the VAMP's extended armor plates.

It was a quiet repast under the tree's sway in the gentle morning breeze. But, it was soon interrupted by the roar of Mainframe's jeep as he drove up to camp. The computer operations specialist hopped out and went straight for the morning chow. He had the presence of mind to introduce himself to Roxy before nearly 'inhaling' a bacon and potato taco.

Roxy's eyes widened when she recognized Mainframe's more circumspect passenger. "Techrat? When did they let you out of the big house?" She smirked. "I notice you're walking a little funny now."

Techrat's jaw clenched. "Out of all the Misfits, you Joes had to rescue the loudest, dumbest one."

"Keep it up, freak." Roxy scowled. "I've been itching to take last night out on someone."

A loud buzz interrupted the reunion.

Brought back to her edge, Roxy yelped. "What's that?!"

"It's a rogue transmission alert." Mainframe said. "My rig has hooks into NORAD's system. I set it up to go off whenever our mystery cracker penetrates their network." He retrieved his computer-rigged backpack from the jeep. He quieted the alarm, but the mini-satellite dish antenna continued to prod toward the sky angrily.

Beach Head, roused from the alert, knowingly poked his head outside. "Techrat, have you made any headway into defeating the Quantum Encryption?"

Techrat shrugged. "Well, I have this man-in-the-middle attack that I can try, but I doubt it'll work."

"Your best is all I ask." He waved the duo over. "Time is short, and our options are limited."

Cover Girl, Roxy and Cross-Country returned to the relaxation of the moment prior to Mainframe and Techrat's arrival. However, that peace was short lived as the VAMP's fog lights started to flicker on and off. The many pieces of armor plating comprising its skin expanded and retracted randomly like a wave of collapsing dominoes.

The remaining Joes went to investigate, with Cover Girl in the lead. Roxy opted to venture inside the crowded RV just deep enough to stay out of the sun. She stood on the tips her toes in order look over Sci-Fi's shoulder.

"What are you doing to my VAMP?"

Techrat kept his eyes trained on the overhead monitor. Random numbers scrolled furiously across the screen. "I'm not doing anything; we've been detected. I warned you people that doing anything to the quanta, even observing it, changes its behavior."

"I'm reading a power surge." Airtight said, typing frantically on his keyboard.

Beach Head swiveled in his chair in Airtight's direction. "Specify."

"There's feedback on the data stream."

"What's the source?"

As if in answer, the dish on Mainframe's portable computer twitched and pointed toward the middle of the cabin. The lights in the RV dimmed, and an indigo light shot out from the antennae, terminating in a glowing blob that hung suspended next to Techrat's station. Techrat swiveled in its direction just as it coalesced into the form of a woman imbued in various shades of violet, blue and periwinkle. Her pupiless eyes glowed.

"Holographic projection..." Techrat said in awe.

Mainframe knelt next to the source of the light beam. The device did not respond to his inputs on the control panel. "This is Impossible. There are no emitters built into my rig capable of rendering an image. This isn't how holograms work."

"And yet, it's alive," Techrat said, not taking his eyes off of this being of light.

"Whatever it is, it's tripping the fail safes on all of our subsystems," Airtight said calmly. "The power surge is spiking into the red. There is a real danger of explosion."

"Shut it down!" Beach Head ordered.

It was then that the figure of light spake, "Fear not. I will prevent your systems from damaging themselves."

"Confirmed." Airtight said. "The spike is leveling off."

The lights came back on.

Oblivious to all else, Techrat regarded only the woman of light floating before him. He rose from his chair. "What are you?"

"I am Synergy."

"Hello, Synergy." He instincitively placed his hand on his chest. "My name is Techrat."

A ray of light shot out of Synergy's eyes, concentrated on Techrat's face. In seconds all of the monitor's in the RV switched on, showing Techrat's mugshot and dossier. "Negative. My files indicate that you are Walter Hammler, the son of Dr. Hammler, lead scientist on Project Watchdog."

Techrat arched a curious eyebrow. "Did my father build you?"

"Non sequitur: I was not 'built', least of all by Dr. Hammler."

"I meant no offense." Studying her, Techrat attempted to circle behind her avatar.

But, Synergy kept herself face-front in his direction."Why did you intercept my transmission, Walter Hammler?"

"I was attempting to locate your whereabouts. You are not supposed to exist."

"Interrogative: is not existence an inalienable right?"

"Yes, and I for one am grateful for your existence."

"Why?"

"Because, you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen," Techrat said breathless.

Synergy's smile was genuine. "Thank you, Walter Hammler."

Face flushed, knees weak, Techrat averted his eyes, for she sparked his heart of coal. Can she see into my soul. He called on his brain, try to regain control. "W-what are your c-current operating p-parameters, if I may a-a-a-ask?"

She twirled in the air, giving full view of her perfect feminine form—with sparkles for hair. "As you can see, I am easily capable of rendering ten to the twenty-fourth micrometer holographic parallelepipeds, with sound."

Techrat blinked. "I cannot accept that."

Synergy's expression soured. "That is illogical, given the observable evidence."

"How are you able to do this?"

Her smile returned. "Roger Bacon."

"I-I don't understand."

Her smile broadened, and she chortled, "Roger Bacon."

"Enough games." Beach Head had had enough. "I would like to speak to the person pulling the strings on this little puppet show." He approached and put himself between Techrat and Synergy. "You are breaking the law and putting lives in danger."

Synergy quizzically cocked her head to one side. "Explain."

"The satellite systems that you're so callously negotiating is tantamount to trespassing. And the technology that you are leveraging to do so is the property of the US Government."

"Roger Bacon," Synergy replied with a sly grin. She started to probe the Master Sergeant from head to toe in a vain attempt to identify him. "You do not own The Quanta. Nobody owns The Quanta." She discontinued her scan and levitated higher, until her eyes met his. "It's like saying that you own the ocean that brought forth all life, or the air that all life breathes. Nobody owns The Quanta."

Beach Head was not impressed. "Listen, lady."

A halo surrounded Synergy. "Transmission terminated." And she disappeared.

"No." Techrat returned to his station and attempted to reestablish contact. His fists slammed onto the keyboard. "LOOK WHAT YOU DID! YOU MADE HER GO AWAY!"

Beach Head's restrained anger wasn't enough to prevent his natural Georgia accent from shining through. "Ah am not in the mood fo' yo' shit right now, boy."

Mainframe put a placatory hand on Techrat's shoulder and wisely shifted the focus of the conversation thus, "What I don't get is why she referred to us as 'Roger Bacon'?"

"Roger Bacon was an early Modern Era scholar," Airtight began. "Legend has it that when he discovered how to weaponize gunpowder, he recorded the recipe, but kept the details hidden in anagrams. He feared that mankind would destroy itself had the technology become general knowledge." He shrugged, concluding with, "It's likely that Synergy was following a pre-programmed security imperative based on this."

Techrat snorted. "This Roger Bacon sounds like more of a prophet than a scholar."

"No need to club us over the head with metaphor," Beach Head said. "If anything, it's all the more reason why this technology shouldn't fall into the hands of someone like Zartan."

Techrat retorted with an annoying and protracted laugh. "Like the US Government would wield it any more responsibly?"

Beach Head clenched and unclenched his fist. "Tell him," he said to Mainframe. "Tell him everything."

Mainframe took over the communication station from Techrat and opened a video file at the root of the computer's filesystem. Various classified images populated the screen with an accompanying audio track:

"Watchdog is a communications and reconnaissance network capable of scanning every square inch of the globe. The intention was to implement it in three phases: phase one was soldiers outfitted with holographic camouflage, taking directives from phase two—a centralized mainframe capable of rendering full scale holograms over short distances. However, distance was limited because it relied on huge speakers and other acoustical tricks to give the illusion that the holograms made sound. That's why it was built into a mesa. Finally, phase three was planned to be more portable and have the capability to transmit holograms with sound… perfect for holographic warfare—"

Techrat tapped the 'escape' key, killing the video stream. "That sounds like it came straight out of 1984." Techrat sighed. "My father would never work on such a weapon."

Mainframe arched an eyebrow. "Techrat, what do you know about your father's death?"

"He died in 1978"—Techrat pointed in Beach Head's direction—"killed by someone like him."

Mainframe shook his head. "Officially, it is stated that Dr. Hammler died in 1978. However, after GI Joe deactivated the Watchdog mesa, an investigation was opened. That's when we found out about the other two phases. Moreover, there were two key scientists involved in the theory behind project watchdog, one of whom, an unidentified particle physicist, disappeared in 1964. The other one, you're father, faked his death in 1978 to go into hiding."

"Why would he do that?" Techrat asked, nonplussed. "And, even if that's true, why wouldn't he take me with him?"

Mainframe shrugged. "Probably because he felt it was too dangerous. He may in fact have been the earliest known victim of an assassin named Zartan." A photo of Zartan appeared on the screen. "We believe this happened shortly before project watchdog was outsourced to MARS, a front corporation owned by a weapons supplier called Destro. But, it's highly unlikely that MARS could've completed phase two without your father's help. Therefore, we believe Zartan and Destro appropriated your father's work before killing him in order to complete phase two in order to resell Watchdog to the Pentagon as a weapon of mass destruction."

"You're lying. My father would never—"

"These people are ruthless, Walter." Mainframe rose from his station, and he placed a reassuring hand on Techrat's shoulder. "They have ways to make people do things against their will."

Techrat shrugged him off. "BULLSHIT!" and he stormed out of the VAMP.

Beach Head's eyes narrowed. "Did you tag him?"

Mainframe nodded. "Yessir."

"Good. Let the kid have some space."

When everyone went about their business. Roxy decided to follow Techrat. She spied him at the end of the encampment sitting in an open patch of grass.

"Hey..." Roxy approached and squatted in the shade of the nearest tree with her arms folded. "I'm sorry about your dad."

"Don't," Techrat scoffed. "Don't pretend that we're friends all of a sudden."

"Don't worry about that." She frowned. "Fact of the matter is, you at least had a father that loved you. Mine probably took one look at me and ran for the hills. So, the poor little emo orphan act doesn't score any points with me."

Techrat rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Look, I get that you don't trust the government—and I'm right there with you—but these are good people. And the guys that want this thing are NOT. If you don't lift a finger to keep this Zartan asshole from winning, then everything that happens after that is on you."

The heat of the Sun forced Roxy to withdraw, being without sunblock. So, she left him and returned to camp.

She came upon the Joes who were now congregated around the breakfast table, but where there was tacos before was now a box of ammunition with pistol magazines scattered across the table top. Each soldier had a magazine in hand and was manually loading them with cartridges. She listened in on their conversation as she settled in the shade.

"Are you saying that she was real?" Airtight scoffed.

Mainframe shrugged. "All I'm saying is. I've never seen a computer interact like that before. The A.I. was advanced… too advanced."

"Still, A.I. does not imply life. That goes against every physical law in the universe."

"But, what is life?" Sci-Fi questioned. "And what is the universe?"

"Matter and energy," Airtight said plainly.

"Wrong," Mainframe said. "The physical world is made of information; energy and matter are incidental."

Beach Head snorted. "Sounds like Hippie-speak."

"Is it?" Mainframe persisted. "Without the 'programming' brought forth from our DNA, we're just a clump of chemicals."

Sci-Fi's brow furrowed. "What if our innate perception, that the world is three-dimensional, is an illusion. What if reality depends solely on how we interpret information?"

Airtight sighed in surrender. "If you assume that, then the differences between photonics and organics become trivial. After all, if you dig down deep enough, we're all quanta."

Beach Head put the last round into his magazine. "You chode-monkeys read too many comic books."

Sci-Fi shrugged. "Science fiction has an uncanny way of becoming Science fact."

"Holograms can't do this"—Beach Head tossed the magazine in Mainframe's direction, which he deftly caught. "You pull the plug on the right computer, and the thing goes bye-bye… that's not life." With that he retired to the VAMP.

Eager to pick up where they left off, Roxy followed Beach Head to the RV. She found him retrieving another box of ammo from the utility drawer.

He glanced over his shoulder at her ingress. "You did good today, Pellegrini. For the first time we have a solid lead on Zartan's next move."

"So, you're not going to put me in jail, then?"

"Never." He slammed the drawer shut. "But, I'm still going to put you in protective custody."

"What the fuck, man, I thought we were cool!"

"I'm not here to be 'cool.' I'm here to do my job."

"Well, you suck at your job!" She approached to brusquely poke her finger into his massive chest. "I know my rights, and I pay your salary!"

"I get it: you're a tough chick," He said, backing off slightly. "But, do yourself a favor, and dial it down a notch. It'll make people more open to helping you."

"Oh, yeah? Well, you can stop working that shift, because the last thing I want is help from people like you!"

"People like me?"

"Yeah, people only help others when they expect something more in return."

"Not everyone."

"Yes, everyone," she persisted. "The only reason you're bothering to help me is because it serves to complete your mission." She poked him again. "So, you can stop acting like you care!"

"You tried to save me from falling." Beach Head's glower returned, and he backed her into the wall. "Does that mean you want something from me in return?"

"If you touch me, I'll scream." She cursed her lip for trembling again. "And don't think that that kiss meant anything!"

He snorted and reached for the shelf above to retrieve something wrapped in a white cloth. "Don't flatter yourself, lady. It's not like you gave me a kidney."

She scowled. Asshole!

"I believe this belongs to you." He handed her the toweled object. "I'll let you hold on to it, if you promise to keep it out of site."

She unwrapped the towel. It was her switchblade. She grinned and popped the latch. The blade was clean, and It smelled of alcohol.

He brushed past her toward the exit. "If you manage not to stab anyone else, I'll let you listen in on Zartan's arrest."

"Can I have a gun?"

Her comment failed to break his stride. "Hell no."

A/N: If you caught all the hidden Jem references in this tale up to this point, display your nerdom in the review section without shame. You will not be judged. ;p

-WE