This Tale centers around the era just prior to Part 1/3, therefore could, theoretically, be read before the three-part saga itself. It is not, however, imperative that this Tale is read going into the actual saga. Also, this Tale is definitely not going to be for everyone and definitely not representative of how the rest of the saga is written. This is a very ideological Tale—an 'origin' story for the character of Brock Blaskovitz, which means, you guessed it, 'communism' is the word of the Tale.

This Seppuku Tale is safe of Parts 1, 2, and 3 spoilers. This is, essentially, an episode from a hypothetical "Part 0" or "Part -1".

== Katyusha =

"Ch- Ch- Chief Commander Summer!?" A scientist took an unnecessarily deep bow. "We… were not expecting you."

With a doorway so short and a commanding figure so tall, Jody Summer—recently elected Chief Commander of the Galactic Space Federation—found herself with a dipped head just to avoid hitting her forehead. She did not come in her stunning pink and red combat-racer outfit, but rather in a brown raincoat and sunhat. The building she found herself at was in a more isolated section of Mute City's Upper City, plus, the room she faced was dark and mysterious.

The woman momentarily responded, "I admit, I was a bit anxious to witness this little project of yours myself."

Accompanied by another, but younger, scientist, the veteran nodded to her and stepped aside, "Come in, come in!" he invited.

Jody closed the door behind her without much emotion, the entire room went black, save for an open door across the room leading to a hallway. She and the two scientists entered said hallway and made their way toward yet another open door, many meters down the hall. There was a scientist to both her shoulders.

With her eyes cemented to the door far ahead, the chief commander inquired, "Latvia, was it?"

"Belarus," the scientist corrected.

"And how exactly did we go hundreds of years without making this discovery?"

The same man answered, "My guess is that the Russians forgot that they had a project in Belarus after 1991."

"1991?" Jody interrogated, eyes narrowed curiously.

With a moment of hesitation, he looked to her with a strong nod, "The year the Soviet Union collapsed." Jody's brow raised, still puzzled. "The Soviet Union collapses, Russians leave Belarus, all ongoing Russian projects in Belarus become Belarusian projects. Perhaps the Russians neglected to mention such a project to the Belarusians before walking out the door…"

Jody smirked for a second as she mulled over this theory, but ultimately closed her eyes and shook, "Well, I'll leave those details for the Lieutenant Detective. I'm not here on business."

The scientists sneaked some glances to each other in face of her statement, the more veteran scientist thus turned an almost offended look onto the chief commander.

"Then why are you here?"

"Simple curiosity. My lieutenant detective was supposed to be here right now, but something came up. As might as well have someone stop by today." The two continued to stare at her with blank expressions. Despite not being asked, Jody looked away and explained, "The Lieutenant… accidentally drank some beverages that happened to contain alcohol, and I- he did not think he was in a good state of mind to come and write up a report."

The younger scientist nodded, "Ah, I'm sorry to hear that."

Jody face palmed, "…me too…"

The next thing Jody knew, the three came down a very steep room with spiral stairs, the structure was styled similarly to a missile launch silo. It was at the very bottom and in the very center of the room where Jody came face-to-face with the object of interest. Her face hinted at the subtlest of fascination as she gazed upon a relatively large containment device, comparable to the common escape pod. The rust, dirty window, and lack of color made it clear, however, that this object was hundreds of years old.

The chief commander eyed up the iconic hammer and sickle welded into the object's base, then looked up to the glass itself. Though hard to see through the frost and dirt, the sight of a superman in military stood from within—frozen in time for centuries.

With reasonable doubt, Jody asked, "He's alive?"

"He's alive, but possibly not for long." Jody turned to him, seeking a deeper explanation. "He's been effectively frozen and hibernated by his host, but not by standards of the 2157 Ho Chi Freeze Convention."

Jody spun her hand around, one brow raised sternly, "Can you simplify it, Doctor? Where does a risk factor in?"

"Well, in simplest terms… Unlike subjects being frozen today, this man was frozen through barbaric measures—lack of common safety protocols. His host did not take safety precautions in, say, keeping blood cells frozen but clean, rather, cells have been subjected to bacteria for centuries now. As soon as he thaws, billions of cells with centuries old bacteria will resume work—said cells may not operate and maintain the body as they should."

The woman guessed with a closed eye, "So, his immune system may be dead."

"His immune system may betray him." Jody's eyelids raised. "The very cells making up his immune system should be carrying bacteria. It is imperative that once he thaws, we drain him of his bodily fluids, fill him up with modern fluids, then finally, implement modern medicine into his body. Remember, this is a human being who has not yet adapted to many of the diseases we have."

Jody nodded, "Very good, I have faith in you, gentlemen." She turned her attention back to the frozen man. "I must request that you do not let this specimen outside of the lab and that this project remain a secret until we've made certain that he does not contain any pathogen that endangers our society."

She approached the capsule and put a hand close to the glass, but not on it. Her gaze of the muscular man inside became intense. There were many questions any person would have for this man, but at the time, there were few answers to find in his current state. All Jody knew was that for whatever the reason, this young time traveler chose to freeze himself in uniform and with a red medal proudly over his chest…

:: Minsk, Belarus, USSR – 1953 ::

Faced by a massive and rowdy audience of citizenry and soldiers of the Red Army, two men stood proudly underneath a large flag of the Soviet Union—red with an iconic gold hammer and sickle in the corner. The storm of World War II in Europe passed eight years ago, yet even now, soldiers were being rewarded for their past courage. The fight against fascism was a struggle that all Soviet men and women endeared, though there were those who would go the extra mile to prove their patriotism…

A highly decorated Soviet officer stepped forth, a black case in his hand, and spoke to the crowd, "Here today, friends! We award a man of great honor, diligence, and commitment to the proletariat cause, as he prepares to embark on a glorious mission for all Soviet people!"

Standing behind the officer in a Red Army uniform and cap was a tall figure with the thickest build. His gaze upon the crowd was soulless as if silenced by a greater power. His gaze would remain froze until band music began to play.

"Brock Blaskovitz!" The Soviet superman looked down at the officer in response. "A former man of the 25th Tank Corps who drove into the heart of the Fascist Reich and brought Berlin to her knees!" The officer proceeded to pace back and forth in front of Brock. "This is a man who will never surrender! His heart is made from the same steel as his tank. The fascists grazed his land, looted his home, killed his fiancé—brought great shame and disgrace to his honor!" Brock's eyelids trembled for a moment as a mere response, trying his best to retain a professional composure. "Despite all of this suffering, he has fought hard and sacrificed all, and now, he prepares to undertake a very special mission—a milestone for the Soviet and mankind!"

He opened the case in his hands, stood before the Soviet superman, and presented him with a prestigious award. Brock locked his gaze onto the medal with expressionless delight.

"Before we send Comrade Blaskovitz off on his special mission, it is with high honor that I award him with the Hero of the Soviet Union—for taking a heroic stand against the Fascist Reich, the extreme patriotic devotion to the Soviet Union, and his unmatched service to the proletariat."

The medal, nothing more than a red ribbon and gold star, was placed underneath the man's rank insignia. There was little left for Brock to earn at this point, he had reached the peak of his endeavors and ambitions. In this shining moment, there was a feeling of pride, glory, accomplishment, as if he had just become a god of the Soviet nation. Truth be told, there was a chance of him landing a future spot as Premier of the Soviet Union one day, a chance to take over the whole show, if not General Secretary. At the very least, there existed a significant opportunity to become part of a military staff.

However, Brock had been presented with a different kind of opportunity—a special mission that is dangerous, sacrificial, and experimental. By will of country and the Iron Curtain, he would embrace the opportunity as an honor, no matter the risks…

:: Present ::

"Hello? Hello!?" a scientist asked.

Brock trembled and grunted constantly to the unknown voice of a man, one who was not speaking a Western language, not Russian. He could not see the man, however, nor could he see anything—he had been blinded by the effects of freezing and time travel. Furthermore, the thawing that took place left the Russian drenched, not a single area of his body was spared of moisture.

"Can you hear me?

In time, Brock managed to move his legs around and even gained slight visibility, all he could see, however, was a white room and door. Unknown to the man, the two scientists studied him from a window one floor up. Clear signs of life were good, but so far, no evidence existed to suggest that Brock was sane.

The younger scientist looked to his veteran companion and asked, "Is he braindead?"

"Maybe. Remember, this man was frozen through a barbaric method, for all we know, he may have been consciously dreaming for hundreds of years now." They looked down at Brock, who now started to wobble out of the capsule. "If that's the case, he's been trapped in dreamland all these years—that'd make anyone insane."

Nervous, the young scientist spoke loudly into a microphone, "Sir! Are you experiencing discomfort?"

Brock now began to hyperventilate with wide eyes as his eyesight became clearer, the white chrome-like interior of the room alone was enough to put him into a phase of deep shock.

With loud and frustrated panic, Brock said in Russian, "Where do I stand!? What are you doing to me!?"

The scientists exchanged glances, unsurprised by the spoken language, but surprised by unfamiliar wording and dialect.

"That is Russian he's speaking, correct?"

"I believe we would call that Old Russian." The veteran scientist then asked into the microphone, "Sir, do you understand our language?"

The Soviet superman finally looked up to the window with a beating heart, he faced a similar predicament of understanding the language but not the choice of wording and dialect. Still, communication could be established.

Brock replied in a broken language, "I understand you…"

About half an hour later, a compliant Blaskovitz sat at the end of a table as the younger scientist ran a strange device down the side of his head. As they expected, Brock was paranoid and frustrated through the entire process.

The veteran scientist, seated near him, explained, "Try not to panic, Mr. Blaskovitz. We're administrating immunities and implementing an enhanced learning supplement into your mind." Brock nervously raised a brow to the latter statement. "The supplement will, simply, help you grasp modern concepts a bit faster, primarily modern language and mathematics. Once you're exposed to such things, you'll catch on quickly because of it."

Brock nodded, then scrolled his eyes down to his chest. His uniform had lost much of its pigment over the centuries, his Hero of the Soviet Union medal, however, remained almost brand new.

"Twenty years have passed?" The scientists quirked their mouths in response. "It is 1973?" The shocked expression and silence of the veteran scientist led to the immediate agitation of Brock. "It is 1973? Speak, damn you!"

"U—uh… were you supposed to wake up in 1973..?"

The young scientist removed the device from Brock's head, "All finished, sir. We'll get you some lessons pulled up so that the enhanced learning can-"

Brock, in a tantrum, stood up and grabbed the veteran scientist by the face, "What year is it!? I must return to the Motherland!"

"I- It is 2198..!"

The Russian angrily threw the scientist aside with little effort, the younger scientist backed away towards an emergency switch but stopped as the room seemed to relax in those coming moments. The veteran scientist, looking past what happened, stood up with a gesture which urged calmness.

"It would seem that your host had forgotten you. You were only recently discovered and transferred here by the Galactic Space Federation."

Brock grit his teeth, "Galactic… Space Federation?" After shaking his head, the man pointed to his prestigious medal and explained, "I must return to Moscow and complete my mission."

"What mission?"

Brock tipped his cap to them and walked over to the door, intending to depart this strange place.

"Whoa, hey, wait, sir!" Both scientists got in Brock's way, blocking his escape. "You can't just leave! We're under the strict objective to conduct tests on you." Brock's eyes widened as a response. "You're a living miracle, there is a vast array of data we require from you."

The Russian pushed both men aside, "There will be no testing. I am contracted only to the Soviet Union."

Brock entered the white room with the open time capsule once more, certain of where the exit is. Just as he entered this room, the veteran scientist got in his way yet again, urging him to stop.

"Sir, the Soviet Union is no more." A shock went down Brock's spine. "The Soviet Union ceased to exist centuries ago. Russia and its neighboring regions are now autonomous states of the United Powers, which on its own is an autonomous state of the Galactic Space Federation."

"It's true," the other scientist supported while walking in.

The Russian was left staring at them in shock, as time would have it, however, a look of shock would turn into doubt. In the end, the man was left narrowing his eyes at both scientists. His menacing stare was enough to have the younger scientist looking back at another alarm switch.

"Wait a minute…" Brock pointed at the veteran scientist. "This is a ruse."

"How so?"

Brock, growing more paranoid by the minute, took more steps back toward the open time capsule. "This is not the far future, you are capitalist agents attempting to shed Soviet information from me."

"No!"

"This isn't a ruse!"

He took, even more, steps back toward the capsule, "I know it is a trick, for you imply that communism has failed while it very well has not."

The scientists exchanged glances, then had one acknowledging part of the claim with a nod, "The planet Mysteria follows a Marxist ideology."

Brock widened his eyes for a moment at the mentioning of a Marxist planet but, regardless, remained defiant of this claimed reality. Finally, the scientists walked away together but while still facing the Soviet superman.

"Alright, look. You stay right here, we're going to go bring up some evidence to put your mind to rest with."

Both men rushed into another room with clear looks of franticness. Brock was concerned now but, more than anything, he was paranoid. As much as he wanted to trust these two scientists as allies, he couldn't help but figure they were off looking for weaponry or soldiers of the west to suppress him with.

As far as he was concerned, he was a Soviet hero in a hostile land.

"Must return to Moscow…"

Brock approached the time capsule he came in, reached in, and pulled something out the scientists had failed to notice. Now facing the upward spiral staircase of this room, the Russian inserted a single drum magazine into a submachine gun—a PPSH-41. It was a 71-round magazine, so while he did have many opportunities to protect himself, he'd need to be very conservative with the ammo if a situation got dark…

No more than five minutes later, the two scientists came walking back to the room Brock was told to stay in, with them was a computer device featuring information on the distant Cold War. The sooner they could put his Soviet defense to rest, the sooner they could get to researching the man.

"Do not temper this man," the veteran scientist urged. "That incident back in the lab shows that he's rather barbaric when faced with a bad situation. I'd rather not piss him off any more than we have to."

The younger scientist chuckled, "I'm just worried about this apparent lieutenant detective the Chief Commander's sending. Our asses are cooked if the Russian gets into an altercation with a Federation official." He followed this up by biting on his thumb. "Maybe we should have tied him to a chair or something."

"Don't be foolish! We need to keep him calm and trusting, not in the mindset of a prisoner."

They entered the room with the time capsule but, once there, they were both left grunting in surprise. Brock was nowhere to be seen and nowhere to be heard.

"…uh… o—oh…"

The younger scientist, after pocketing his hands, muttered, "Suddenly tying him to a chair doesn't sound like such a bad idea, eh?"

Mute City—the Upper City, to be exact. The streets were active with hovercars, the buildings all higher than the Empire State Building that Brock once knew, different fashion, bizarre ambient music; it took Brock no time at all to concede the truth that he was no longer in the 20th century. Another sad piece of reality is that the Russian assumed he was in Moscow, Berlin, London, or even New York City—but he was in fact in future Tokyo, of all places.

The Soviet superman merged into the many, many pedestrians of the Upper City, however, he did not fit in with everyone else at all. Where everyone wore bright purples, reds, yellows, rainbows, or even suits made of plastic and metal, here there was a muscular Russian man in Soviet green, black boots, and an officer cap. He was at the very least expecting praise for his Hero of the Soviet Union medal, but as far as anyone could tell, it was just an ordinary Federation medal.

Many looked upon Brock in disgust, either seeing him as some non-Federation officer on a visit—perhaps of Magica or Mysteria. Along with the Soviet uniform, everyone took notice of the submachine gun he walked with. No one seemed to be stopping him, however.

On the topic of his weapon, soon, Brock was alerted to spot a pedestrian on the other side of the road, also carrying a firearm. A quick analysis of the streets would show that about one in every fifteen people were open carrying firearms. The obvious sign of an open carry law spelled bad news for him, a strong hint that he was no longer under a governmental system that prohibited arms.

Once at a street corner, the man jumped in surprise as a TV screen caught his eye. Clear image, full colors, perfect audio, and stunning effects practically grabbed his head and forced him to watch. The TV was here for those waiting to go through the intersection.

The F-Zero TV host continued, "… Number Seventeen, we have Antonio Guster and the Green Panther. Number Eighteen, there's Beastman and the Hyper Speeder. Number twenty, we have the great Super Arrow and the King Meteor. These ten racers made their debut, interestingly enough, years back almost in sync with each other." Brock was left gawking in a mixture of amazement and puzzlement. "Antonio Guster, of course, brought controversy into F-Zero when he was caught with a shotgun in his machine, which curiously ended up raising his popularity, according to polls."

Brock muttered aloud, "F-Zero..?"

Later that day, up in her office, Jody struck a fist over her desk, "Tell me I did not just hear that!"

Over the phone, the veteran scientist cleared his throat and explained, "He would not have been able to leave, had the front door not been left open…" Jody narrowed her eyes, identifying a subtle accusation. "But the good news is that he should be easy to track. The bad news is that he's proven to be rather… confrontational when frustrated."

Jody spun around in her chair and covered her face with great anxiety, "He is practically a caveman brought into the future! Who knows what trouble he'll cause in this modern society!"

"Yeah, see… we did call the police but, we lacked a valid reason to have the Russian arrested."

"Oh, you let me worry about that." Jody stood up and glared at the phone. "But know that from this moment on, I will be taking direct control of this special project. I will contain the Russian and conduct a personal study of him myself, locked in a room he cannot escape from!"

The scientist grunted, "B- But, Ms. Summer, you lack the qualifications to conduct studies!"

Jody narrowed her eyes, "I have the best scientists and doctors around. Good day, sir!"

She slammed the phone down and in the process accidentally pushed it off the desk. This was followed by a tiger-like growl. Then, as if she wasn't already frustrated enough…

"Yo," Seppuku greeted out of nowhere. Jody's initial response was a simple glare. "Don't say anything, because I heard everything." The Man of Darkness pounded a fist into his palm and smirked. "You need a runaway Russo taken care of…"

"Yes, I do. He can't be far."

Seppuku chuckled with a bow, "M'lady, leave the hunt to me. I'm still a little drunk, but the hunt for your Russian will be even more entertaining on foot."

Jody sat back down with crossed arms, "You best grab a beer and find a good program to watch because you'll have nothing to do with the search."

"What?" Seppuku grit his teeth. "Why?"

"Because, I want the Russian alive, not dead."

Seppuku scoffed, "Hey, I'm pretty good at capturing, too. This one time, disarmed a baddy and lassoed him right around the neck."

Jody's eyes narrowed, "…wait, you mean that one armed robber who was found lynched to a stop sign?"

"Ah, now I see your point."

"Great." Jody took a sticky note and pen out. "So, my to-do list then is to find and contain the Russian, go to Tanaka's birthday party, then penalize you again for the unethical misconduct in a case."

"Pfft." Seppuku waved her off and turned. "I came to help and you're slashing me with open claws." He walked all the way over to the elevator before turning with an inquiry. "Wait, were you serious about me grabbing a beer and-"

"Grr!" Jody shot herself up straight with an intense glare. "Alright! Grab a gun and accompany me and Stewart on the hunt, damn you!"

Seppuku smirked, "Aw yeah! That's what I'm talking about!"

That coming hour had Brock simply trying to make sense of things. He was seeing electronics beyond belief, cars that did not touch the ground, spaceships taking flight in the distance, and the most unusual clothing—rather revealing at that. The sight of such exposed female legs and torsos was both appealing and mildly disturbing to a man who, for the most part, only saw such with his long-passed fiancé.

This was not the world he envisioned living in—it was too liberal and advanced. Despite this, for some reason, every minute that went by had him accepting all of this as fairly normal. No doubt, the result of the enhanced learning stimulant the scientists implemented into his brain.

For him, the sad truth was also that with every minute that went by, the more he came to accept the possibility that the Soviet Union was no more and that he was a calf far, far away from the other cattle. The question then came to be who in this world carried on the torch of the proletariat—the world he left had many communist revolutions arising; surely, the red star had to exist somewhere…

"Hey, buddy!"

The voice was unfamiliar to Brock, yet he sensed that it was directed to him. Before he could turn around, a truly futuristic young adult wrapped an arm around the Russian—with spiky neon green hair, a music player, purple sunglasses, and a purple jacket, this as might as well have been Mr. Future himself.

The young man pointed to Brock's side, "That's a PPSH submachine gun."

Brock grunted, "Yes… it is."

"I have a replica as well back home. I have a Mosin-Nagant and MP44 as well." With low eyelids, the man whispered, "…just a friendly warning, replica weapons are prohibited on the streets. Open carry only applies to government approved firearms, y'know."

The Russian stared at the young man without expression for a few seconds, "You are a fan of the Soviet Union?"

"More of a weapon collector, I'd say." He then raised a brow and smirked. "I can tell by your suit that you're quite the fan, however. Off to a movie shoot or something?"

"I am not from around here…"

"Oh. Well." He kicked his foot back against a bus stop sign. "If you have questions, you can ask the Index Terminal. I was on my way there, actually."

Brock dropped his brows and looked up at the sign, "What is the Index Terminal?"

"Call it a child of Mother-Q, if you will. A gift to Mute City." This explanation only left Brock even more puzzled. "It's a super intelligent AI library here in the Upper City. It's like using the internet, only, more personal and with more efficient results." This raised even more questions. "You can ask it anything and you'll get your answers. Most people use it for directions and dieting information."

"It will provide answers?"

"Yes, sir."

Brock puckered his lips with a determined expression, "Good. I have questions."

"Well, tag along, buddy."

Seppuku, Jody, and Dr. Stewart were all deployed onto the streets on an undercover mission to secure this time traveling Russian. The only problem—for Seppuku—was that Jody and Stewart could search via F-Zero machine, while Seppuku had to take the mission on foot. He still claimed to have a BAC of .06 and was thus restricted by Jody from piloting. He was actually .11, but he didn't want Jody to shout at him.

The Man of Darkness found himself walking among pedestrians in the Upper City, his eyes peeled for any obvious man of interest. Jody was patrolling the area where Brock had been originally encapsulated, Stewart was patrolling the area leading to Red Canyon.

"Seppuku, report," Jody ordered through an earpiece.

"I'm seeing a lot of thick action."

"Thick… action?"

Seppuku nodded to himself, "Yeah, a ton of thick action. Streets are full of round-assed babes tonight."

A moment of silence ensued.

"Stewart, report?"

The Doctor had a more serious report to give, "I've thoroughly investigated the entire highway, no curious sightings, no crime scenes, either. Going to start searching the residential areas."

"Oh, blast…" Jody groaned.

Seppuku added, "Maybe he's in the Lower City, that's where I'd go if I were on the run."

"Don't even suggest that, Seppuku. If the Russian gets lost in the Lower City, he's out of our jurisdiction for all I care."

"Hey, Lieutenant," said Stewart. "You're the one on foot, why not stop some pedestrians and inquire-"

Just then, Seppuku stopped, "Wait!"

Far down the block and past nearly a hundred pedestrians, Seppuku could make out the sight of a towering individual in green and in a strange cap. There was no way of knowing for sure if this was the Russian they sought after, but Seppuku was told to look for 'strange' and this person fit the bill perfectly.

The problem was that, at that very moment, a city bus had come by to pick him and several others up. It was the worst time to be without the Red Dove.

Of course, the Man of Darkness wasn't about to be defeated by a mere inconvenience.

"This is Seppuku, I've located the likely target boarding a bus."

Jody grunted, "What!?"

Stewart inquired, "Where is your location?"

"No time, I've a bus to catch…"

"Wh- What do you mean 'no time!?'"

Without an explanation, Seppuku shoved a whole row of pedestrians aside and sprinted out onto the busy street. The bus departed from the street corner but a ballsy and foolish lieutenant gave chase, regardless, by first jumping onto the roof of a car. At the same time, he pulled out a handgun in preparation to force the bus to a stop.

Cars stopped and horns honked violently as Seppuku jumped from one car roof to another, using the traffic as stepping stones. As such, he proceeded to terrorize the entire highway with his rather insane car stepping stone chase of the bus.

Jody shouted, "Seppuku, what's going on!? I hear mass honking!"

Seppuku jumped onto a car, accidentally shattering its window in the process.

"Overreactions."

With the car he was on braking, Seppuku had no car in front of him to jump to. He thus jumped diagonally onto another car, the bus was three vehicles ahead of him. He jumped onto the car in front of him, again accidentally breaking a window, diagonally jumped onto another one, then jumped forward onto a final car.

With the bus now in front of him, Seppuku took a leap of faith and grabbed onto its roof. He was forced to drop his handgun onto the street so as not to fall. Somehow, despite all this, the bus failed to stop for him—even when hanging onto its rear. This led him to conclude that the bus was being robotically driven, not humanly. Nonetheless, he climbed atop the roof and got onto his knees. He now found himself surfing the bus.

"This is Seppuku," he reported. "I am on the bus; I repeat, I am on the bus."

"Good work, Lieutenant," Jody praised. "Now, kindly ask the Russian to exit the bus so that we can gather him."

Seppuku quirked his mouth and stood up with a concentration on balance, "Yeah, well, see, here's the problem. The Russian is in the bus, I'm on the bus."

"Wait, wait…" Jody quickly sighed. "You mean you're literally on top of the bus!?"

"Yeah."

"Are you crazy!? Where are you! Damn it, Stewart, get that bus pulled over before Seppuku gets himself killed!"

Seppuku chuckled, "Relax, Summer…" He then looked forward, finding an overhead intersection light coming right at him—green light. "Oh."

With no time to react, Seppuku's tall figure was hit square in the face by the intersection light, knocking him right off the bus roof and onto the car behind it. He came crashing through the car's window and left perfectly in the passenger seat, dazed and groaning.

"Wh- What the hell!?" the driver screamed.

Seppuku fell back into the passenger seat, glass all over him, gawking, and groaning.

"A- After that bus, Ca—aptain..!" a dazed lieutenant ordered.

Either way, the intersection light turned red, meaning the bus could get away.

"Who the hell are you!? You realize I'm going to sue, right!?"

Jody shouted, "Seppuku, what the hell are you doing!? Who are you talking to?"

Stewart added, "For the love of god, Seppuku, where are you!?"

"You could've killed me, you idiot! Now, who the hell is paying for this car window!?"

Seppuku growled, "Okay, everyone just… shut the hell up for a minute! I'm tired…"

Later, with the guidance of the young green-haired adult, Brock found himself entering a grand library with blue lights. He was without words, countless people filled what he believed should have been a silent place for learning, instead, it had a volume reminding him of an army mess hall. The population wasn't the only thing leaving him in awe, the bookshelves were vast and tower-like. Centuries of literature was stored here, ranging from Japan to Liberia. He, however, was not here for the books.

Abiding by the directions the young man had given him in the bus, Brock took himself away from the actual library and into a section of the building with fewer people. Before him were three large entrances, each leading to separate Index units. He had no idea how Index Terminal worked but he had questions and it, apparently, had answers.

Through one of the entrances and into a dark room, Brock looked up in horror at a daunting blue light with various connecting circuits throughout the room. The Russian gulped fearfully as he took some final steps into the room's center. That final step, the blue light brightened and greeted him with a loud electronic sound.

Easily intimidated by the computer, Brock greeted, "H- Hello?"

He turned his head left and right afterward, looking for any humans to seek help from.

The now brightly glowing computer soon echoed, "Greetings. How may Index-1 be of service?"

Brock was left gawking for a moment in dead silence, "I have questions in need of answers."

"How may Index-1 be of service?" it asked again.

The man quirked his mouth and looked down to his medal, then took a deep breath. "I must know. The Soviet Union… is it…"

Due to his hesitation, the Index answered, "The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was a Eurasian state formed in 1922 by proponents of radical left-wing-"

Brock interrupted, "I know very well of its founding." The Index ceased its definition and awaited further inquiry. "Has the Soviet Union truly seen its end?" He squinted in fear. "Has the communist dream passed?"

The Index took a moment to properly sort his two questions. "Following a series of economic disasters, a loss of communist influence in Europe, the reunification of Germany under western influence, and various radical reforms lethal to Sovietism, the state collapsed." Brock's eyes widened in horror. "The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics broke apart in 1991 and was, respectively, succeeded by the Russian Federation."

"This cannot be."

"Communism, as it were, came to be viewed as universally flawed for reasons regarding human nature and economic inabilities. It is today an ideology practiced only by the sovereign planets of Magica and Mysteria—the former planet, however, is only influenced by communistic ideals, whereas the latter is controlled by a communist party."

Brock swallowed all of this down, only muttering, "…Mysteria..?"

"Correlating the two questions, the practice of communism in Mysteria is often regarded as alien when compared to the practice of communism centuries ago on Earth. As such, many choose to identify Mysteria as a mere totalitarian state, saving an ideological label."

Brock turned away with two hands to his head, "I cannot believe what I am hearing!"

The Index added, "Mysteria and Magica, to date, are the only remaining absolute monarchies in the universe."

"I cannot believe this!" Brock walked back to the entrance, still shaking his head. "I cannot believe this…"

"Farewell, user."

"Ugh…" Seppuku groaned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can we stop for an ice cream or something? My head's pounding…"

A time later, Seppuku had been situated in the back of the White Cat with Jody continuing her patrol for Brock. Both she and Stewart were now checking around the vicinity of the bus that Seppuku pursued. Of course, Jody was greatly displeased with Seppuku's conduct on the job—but that was nothing new.

"How tall would you say he was?" asked Jody.

Seppuku shrugged, "I dunno. 6'2", maybe."

"And muscular?"

"Well, he looked like the kind of guy you'd care to have as a bouncer." Seppuku looked out the window, arms crossed. "I mean, I could probably beat him up, but… he looked pretty tough… Guy had a submachine gun though, so I wouldn't-"

Jody's eyes flashed open, "Wait, what!?" She abruptly pulled over to the curb and looked back with a glare. "Wh- What do you mean he had a submachine gun!? Are you sure?"

Seppuku put his feet up by the window and nodded, "Oh yeah. Saw the wood stock and drum magazine. The magazine had to be carrying a hundred or so bullets."

"No!" Jody barred her teeth. "I can assure you there are no drum barrel weapons permitted for open carry in Mute City. No one needs that amount of ammunition to defend themselves with."

"Eh, it's like a wise man once said; you can never have too much ammo." He quirked his mouth with a finger to his chin. "I'm pretty sure that's straight out of the Bible, actually…"

Jody brought up her communication device, "Stewart, did you catch that?"

"I did. There are not many drum magazine weapons out there unless we're talking about a machine gun. Must be something special."

Finally, Seppuku had something serious to contribute, "So why and how would a person who just thawed from deep freeze suddenly have a drum weapon? Maybe that guy I saw getting on the bus wasn't him…"

Jody resumed driving, "Don't know and don't care. All I know is that the claim of an act of illegal open carry now gives me a just reason to have the Russian arrested—either as a suspect or offender. Stewart, dispatch a criminal alert for the area, immediately."

The truth was traumatizing, acceptance of it was heartbreaking for the man of a redder time. His regret for ever taking upon this special time travel mission was greater than any other regret in his life thus far. All he could wonder now is what might have been had he stayed in his own time; perhaps he could have worked his way up the military hierarchy and prevent the Soviet Union's fall. If he oversaw the Red Army, anyone who dared lower the red Kremlin flag would've been shot. Alas, he was not there to help prevent its fall and as he had been clearly informed, the very heart and soul of communism were nearly inexistent.

All he had were memories, a uniform, a gun, and the greatest Soviet award to his chest. All in all, he now had neither a fiancé nor a country.

Washed up in exceedingly deep frustration and sorrow, Brock's aimless travel brought him up to another street corner, where he stopped to look out toward the ocean. The fact there was a visible ocean only continued to raise the question of where he was; only now did he begin to theorize if his eyes were, in fact, set upon the Pacific. In a short matter of time, he came to be convinced that he was in the land he once knew as California. The occasional Japanese alphabet featured throughout Mute City, somehow, had not yet occurred to him.

The Soviet superman, so down about the situation, was nearly dragging his PPSH-41 being him at this point. Realizing that his nation was lost, the next logical step was to find out where to stay; he lacked the money and knew no one that would keep him for free. His situation, ultimately, took him across the street to an establishment, curious to his eye.

Brock stared at the establishment's sign, baffled by the holographic racing machine above the title.

"Falcon House," he read aloud.

Laughter and conversation filled the lively café, tiled with black and white floors, decorated similarly to a 20th century American diner. Those of whom were not having a dialogue at a table with each other were instead up front at the counter, having one with the very social owner.

The rich coffee man, Bart Lemming, continued speaking with a couple, "… Which brings me to the conclusion that tennis is one of the best, being that it can be played both professionally and casually, by both children and adults."

The husband then challenged, "What about soccer and basketball?"

Bart smirked, "Soccer and basketball can have some pretty nasty collisions or even twisted body parts. That isn't to say that either is bad for children, only that tennis is the safer sport to play."

The wife inquired, "Would you say that basketball is more dangerous than F-Zero?"

"Does basketball have landmines?" His question put her question to rest quite simply. "But listen, if your child's safety is the primary concern, maybe consider golf." He crossed his arms and chuckled. "Three 'buddies' and I used to tee off in the harbors of Port Town back in the day."

The woman replied, "I'll take it they weren't actually friends of yours?"

He squinted at her, then looked up, reminiscing, "Well, one was. They were… 'business' competitors of mine. Let's just say, we had sort of a Christmas Truce every year, a game of golf."

"Sounds interesting."

Bart leaned in with a retained smirk, "The trick was finding the right harbor. You wanted to golf where the ball wouldn't threaten anyone down below, always picked the lowest harbor we could find so that lost balls hit the surface. Always put the people's safety before-"

The door's bell rang as the mighty Brock Blaskovitz made the scene, but it wasn't any rude way of entering that demanded everyone's gaze—it was his giant build, uniform, and submachine gun that raised concern. Bart was left with quivering eyes as a natural response.

The couple he was speaking with exchanged uncomfortable looks, the wife was left with petrified eyes as the Russian made his way toward the counter. Nearly in sync with each other, the couple got up and moved toward the door.

"You know, Bart, actually… we have somewhere we need to be…"

The coffee man's expression became somewhat frustrated as he looked between Brock and the couple. Soon enough, Brock seated himself at the far end stool.

"Yeah, I'll be seeing you," Bart said to the departing persons.

This couple plus two other customers left for obvious reasons, Bart couldn't be angrier about the loss of customers, but ultimately, he was alarmed by who this muscular man was. For a moment, all Bart did was stare at the Hero of the Soviet Union medal on his uniform.

"Sir, as much as I do honor a person's right to protection, I'm going to need to ask you to put away your firearm." Brock looked down at his submachine gun with a disinterested face. "This is a family friendly establishment."

Brock shot Bart a dead look, "No."

"Oh." Bart eyed up yet another retreating customer in the back considering Brock's refusal. "Okay, then…"

The coffee man did not fear the Russian's death stare, in fact, he embraced the stare as a challenge. This went on for almost ten seconds before Bart would grin with crossed arms.

"You must be new here, I don't think I've seen your face before." Brock raised a brow at him, keeping a death stare on. "Ah, I know that medal." Bart's claim finally left Brock raising his eyebrows in surprise. "That's a Soviet medal, the greatest champions of communism were awarded it."

"Why… yes. It is."

Bart winked and waved his hand, "And that uniform, if I'm not mistaking, it's of the Red Army."

Brock, slightly gawking, noted, "You know much about Soviet Russia, then?"

The coffee man looked away with a cute smirk, "Sure."

"You understand communism?"

Bart looked in the other direction, same playful look, "Su—ure… Communism and the Soviet Union are hot topics around here. We're always talking about that stuff here in the Falcon House. If I had a credit for every time someone brought up Stalin here, I'd be twice as rich."

"At last." Brock put his hands together. "So the Index was incorrect. Communism is strong."

"Sure, it is. One of Mute City's most common topics." Trying to play away from the act, Bart pointed up to one of the many F-Zero racer flags in the café. "But, whenever we're not talking about communism, we're talking about F-Zero."

The Russian looked over at the flag he was pointing towards, "Captain… Falcon? Who is he? What is F-Zero?"

"Excellent questions, sir, and I have a lot to tell you." He backed away toward the backroom door. "But first, allow me to make you a coffee…"

With Brock's permission, Bart left through the backroom door. He did so with a cunning grin on his face and threw himself against the wall. Now out of Brock's line of sight, Bart reached down for a telephone and dialed a number…

Minutes later, the White Cat police sirens came on, putting Seppuku at the edge of his seat.

"Whoa, what? Who called?"

Jody floored it, now heading down the main highway at a racing speed. "The owner of the Falcon House just called in, says he has the Russian there. Armed."

Seppuku grit his teeth, "Wait, you mean he found the Russian?"

She reached for her communication device, "Stewart, dispatch some police cruisers over to the Falcon House. Be advised, the suspect may be extremely dangerous."

The Man of Darkness got a wicked grin, "Aw yeah! Throw me a gun and let's get down to action."

"Considering the scene will be at the Falcon House, I'd rather not give you any destructive toys."

"Aw, come on. I won't destroy the place!" Jody merely looked back with low eyelids. "Oh, fine. But if you get hit, I'm picking up your weapon."

Not much later, Brock and Bart resumed their conversation, the former with a coffee to his mouth. Bart, meanwhile, kept an eye open for Jody Summer; it was imperative that he keep Brock seated until the situation could be worked out.

"Also, these F-Zero races take place on Federation colony planets as well." Brock dropped his brows in confusion as the coffee man began to list with his fingers. "Green Plant, Devil's Forest, Fire Field, Big Blue… That includes non-Federation planets like Aeropolis and Mysteria."

"Mysteria." Brock sat up straight and shook a fist. "I must reach it."

Bart's eyes expanded, "Uh, Mysteria? Oh, no, no, no. You don't want anything to do with that planet. There's human rights violations and extreme gender inequality there."

"But I do not believe in all of this," Brock defended, waving to the many skyscrapers of Mute City.

"What, success? Opportunities? Big business?"

Brock interrogated, "Has this city been built and run by the working class?"

Bart nervously grinned, "Close." Brock raised a brow in suspicion. "It is a society built by the working class, funded and ran by big business." The man closed his eyes and pointed to himself. "See, I may not come off as it, but I actually am very rich. I imagine I'll stake out as a big entrepreneur when I grow older."

A moment of silence passed until, with one swift move, Brock got onto his feet with barred teeth. "So, this is a capitalist society!"

"Uh…" Bart beamed at him. "How about another cup for the road?"

Just then, Bart and Brock were alerted by the superfast approach of the White Cat, its red and blue lights practically blinding both men. This was all it took for Brock to find a beating heart.

"Police!?" Brock grabbed his submachine gun. "Why have the police come!?"

Bart chuckled, "It… might have something to do with your firearm, champ…"

The White Cat pulled over into the Falcon House lot the same moment the Golden Fox made the scene. Brock couldn't put his finger on exactly what the police would want with him, only that law enforcers of his ideological foe had come for him. Time was limited for him; if there were likeminded people on Mysteria, he felt the need to put his all into getting there—or die trying.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Bart panicked, a submachine gun now to his face.

"Give me your car key!"

Bart quirked his mouth, "Oh, come on…"

"Hand it over!"

The coffee man had a fearless expression and pose, but he couldn't ignore the fact that an irate time traveler had a firearm to his head. Either way, he knew that a 20th century time traveler wouldn't get far in a vehicle—not when faced by the likes of Jody Summer and Dr. Stewart in fully-powered F-Zero machines.

"Here," Bart threw Brock a golden key. "Try not to wreck it, I've had it fully customized."

Jody, Stewart, and Seppuku all took cover behind their machines, two police cruisers were just arriving at that moment. The Chief Commander had a handgun trained on the café door with one hand, a megaphone with the other.

"Attention, gunman! Leave the firearm inside and step out of the establishment! We'd like to negotiate a mutually benefiting compromise!"

Seppuku cocked a revolver and aimed at the door, "Alternatively, I got six different compromises in the chamber to offer…"

Jody grunted and turned to the man, "Wh- What the-" Her eyes fluttered. "I- I thought you said you didn't have a gun!"

"I forgot I had a spare in my fedora."

The woman's expression was none to this explanation, then brought to life as the front windows of the Falcon House shattered. Everyone was forced to duck for cover—even Seppuku—as countless submachine gun shots went at the machines.

"Gah!" Jody panicked.

Seppuku grit his teeth, "Damn! That rate of fire is insane!"

With the three suppressed, Brock strafed his way over to an expensive blue and cold car while continuing to lay down fire. Suppressive fire was the last thing Brock wanted to do with only a single drum of ammo. Nonetheless, it was highly effective and got him inside the car.

Seppuku stood up with a revolver to the rear of the car, "Should I pop him?"

"No!" Jody panicked.

"Why not!?"

"Because we have him right where we want him. He-" Brock turned on the ignition and took off driving. "…knows how to drive…"

Brock was practically glued to his seat as he drove a car at a speed he couldn't comprehend, yet the learning curve behind it was very thin; hardly different from what he was used to. The problem now was that he was driving down a city he did not know and momentarily found himself pursued by much faster F-Zero machines.

Out of desperation, he smashed the driver-side window and fired out the window toward the machines.

"Summer! Get to his right!"

Jody did so out of common sense, lining the White Cat up on the right side of the car. Now Brock had no line of sight to shoot her from. The two police cruisers were doing their best to keep up with the group.

Seppuku barred his teeth and held up a revolver, "Alright, now open up the cockpit and I'll blow his head off."

"Damn you, Seppuku! The objective is to contain, not kill!"

"He's too dangerous to be left alive!"

"For once, think before you shoot, Lieutenant!" Seppuku shook his head at her, ultimately sitting back. "He's heading toward the Lower City at too fast a speed. The slope will be his downfall."

"The slope?"

At that moment, all cars and machines came onto a change in terrain, a sloped road leading straight into the Lower City. Directly at the bottom was a wall of structures; at this speed, there was no way Brock would be able to turn left or right in time.

Jody, Stewart, and the two cruisers all slowed themselves while Brock foolishly continued to go at full speed. He realized too late the mistake he had made, he tried to hit the brakes, but his speed was too great.

Brock cranked the steering wheel left, praying for a stunt of a sharp turn, but he did not get one. His car turned onto its side but continued to drive toward the wall. Finally, he collided with the building, totaling the entire right side and causing a fire.

All at a very fast pace, Brock fell out of the car with his firearm, backed himself against a wall, and faced the bright headlights of the F-Zero machines and cruisers. The whole area began to flash red and blue at that moment and unfortunately, he could hardly see any of the officers past the bright light. He had ammunition left, but one way or another, it was the end of the road for him.

Coming through the blinding lights, the silhouettes of Jody and Stewart took form. Brock, still shaking off the aftershock, couldn't decide whether to fire at the two or not. Both already had their guns on him.

"In the name of Justice and the Federation, you are under arrest!" Jody threatened.

Brock trembled and put up his weapon a slight bit, thus causing Jody and Stewart to touch their triggers. The moment only intensified as the tall figure of Seppuku came from behind the two for support.

Stewart threatened more calmly, "Put down the firearm and let's talk!" Brock grunted raised his submachine gun up all the way and shook. "Put it down!"

"Dammit, Summer, let's just shoot him down and be through with it."

Jody shouted back at the lieutenant, "He is no criminal, Lieutenant! He is simply a danger to society and must be contained until otherwise." Brock shivered and rubbed his eyes briefly. "He's not ready to embrace the future!"

"What the hell! He's got a submachine gun on us and you're saying he's not a criminal!?" Brock looked up at the tall figure. "He's rotten trash who'll contribute nothing to society. Let's put him down!"

Four police officers popped up from the cruisers, readying themselves for a fight.

Jody lashed back, "There's a time to act rationally and a time to argue, now is the time to act rationally!"

Seppuku put a finger on the trigger, "Good, we're on the same page…"

"I order you to hold your fire, Seppuku!" Jody walked past the crowd, daring to approach the Russian with intimidating eyes. "Sir, we mean you no harm if you mean us no harm. Let's agree to lower our weapons and-"

A police officer broke the negotiations with a scream, "Gang!"

"Gang?" Jody responded.

"Goons…" Seppuku muttered.

It took a moment for everyone else to realize, but during the conversation, a third party had entered the fray—from the rooftops. Brock and the Federation found themselves suddenly surrounded by rooftop guerrilla fighters, some of which came with rocket launchers.

Jody mumbled incoherence to herself before widening her eyes in a panic.

"Defensive maneuvers! Get behind the machines!"

On her order, the street was fired upon by two rockets; Jody and her two companions all got behind their F-Zero machines prior to explosions that would throw Brock back against the wall even harder. The whole street lit up with fire and smoke, pieces of the police cruisers sent flying, police officers screaming in dying agony. What followed was a firefight between the rooftop fighters and the Federation—Seppuku, Jody, and Stewart were the only ones to escape the explosions due to the anti-explosive armor of F-Zero.

Jody and Seppuku stood by each other, delivering accurate shots to every rooftop gangster they could see, Stewart did his best but lacked the masterful firearm training that the two had. They were outnumbered, heavily outgunned, and now also choking to death on smoke.

"Hey, Bat! I'm not really much for smoking, so…"

"Damn you!" Jody said to the gangsters. "We're out of options… Saddle up, boys! We're out of here!"

Jody and Stewart opened their respective machines, got in, and turned on the ignitions. Seppuku, however, kept the rooftop gangsters distracted a bit longer.

"Seppuku, what are you doing? Get in, you fool!"

Seppuku stood up straight with barred teeth, turned his head, and raised his revolver—at Brock.

"Not without a parting gift."

Brock, frozen and with a dropped gun, found himself in Seppuku's sight—a shot prepared for his head. In that final moment, Seppuku pulled the trigger on Brock but, at the same time, suddenly found a rooftop bullet going through his arm.

"Agh! Damn!"

The revolver did get a shot off before dropping, it did hit Brock, but not where Seppuku had intended. Now with a wounded arm, Seppuku jumped into the White Cat and ducked his head down. Jody slammed the cockpit window shut and turned a glare to the lieutenant.

"You realize you deserved that, right!?"

"Drive, woman!"

Just as he shouted, the White Cat and Golden Fox turned in quick retreat, leaving the dead and wounded behind—in this case, there was only a single surviving police officer left behind. The gangsters continued to fire at the fleeing F-Zero machines for as long as they could.

Brock was left standing against the wall, eyes wide, suddenly left wondering where Seppuku's bullet had gone. From his point of view, it was a perfect shot to his body.

He rubbed his forehead and found no damage, then he checked his torso, where he indeed found something—or rather, couldn't find something.

The man looked down to the ground with a soulless face, where he found a now broken Hero of the Soviet Union medal lying beside a hot and damaged revolver bullet. Now, Brock truly felt as though he had lost everything. But the party wasn't over yet…

The next thing Brock knew, he had been faced by another vehicle, again blinding him with headlights. He had no idea who had pulled up in front of him, it was not a police unit, that was for certain.

"Ugh…"

Between Brock and the approached vehicle was the surviving police officer, who crawled his way closer to the same wall as the Russian. He was in need of a medic on the account of the rockets he endured.

"Help me… Help me..!" Brock grit his teeth as the officer reached up for him. "For god's sake, call for help!"

Before Brock could say something, a huge figure came crashing down onto the street before the two—similar height and build to Brock, the silhouette stood behind the crawling officer with an intimidating pose.

The officer turned to face the silhouette, "Wha- Please, help!"

The figure took a step forward, looked down at the officer, and let out a deep-toned chuckle, "Feds need to stay off my streets..!"

"What!?" The figure then dropped down some large, thick chain and wrapped it around the officer's neck. "N- No, wait..!"

Brock merely jolted his chin up in shock as this mysterious deep-toned figure horrifically executed the man with the chain. Fearing the worst, Brock picked his submachine gun back up and threatened the figure with it.

"Heh, heh, heh..! Thatta boy… I like your enthusiasm… I like it a lot!" Brock said nothing, he turned his head a bit with a death stare of the figure. "I been watchin' you these past few minutes. You put up a fight against the Feds…" The silhouette tilted his head. "See, down here, the Federation is not king… I, am."

Brock squinted and put a finger on the trigger, ready to take out this obvious threat and man of apparent leadership.

"Things work differently down here in the Lower City. We ain't a bunch of low wage working suckers to the Federation, we all rule down here."

Brock raised a brow and lowered his weapon a bit, "Oh?"

The silhouette chuckled, "I like what I saw. You were about to die fighting Jody and her crew; that's devotion, and in my crew, devotion and strength are trust and respect. You have my respect, and fort that reason, I want you in..."

"In?"

The man threw the chain over his shoulder, "Here's the deal. I run a gang down here, a big gang, large enough to take over this whole damn city one day. It just so happens, my lieutenant got his ass blown off in the Upper City a few weeks ago, and I'm in a market for a new one…"

Brock finally lowered his submachine gun, "You want me as your new lieutenant?"

"Heh, heh… Under my wing, you'll have all the power, all the women, and all the assets you need to become the Prince of the Lower City. One day, we may control all of Mute City…"

Brock finally eased up, now rubbing his chin as well, "As lieutenant, I will lead men?"

"You can lead all the men! An entire nation of loyal soldiers of my empire! The only person you answer to is me, and most importantly, commission." He pointed his finger at the Russian. "I get sixty percent of all earnings made. You live up to that, and we'll be square, mate…"

The Russian hummed, interested in the offer. "On one condition."

"Condition?"

With a serious gaze, Brock bartered, "I wish to inspire the gang of my ideological viewpoint."

"Politics? Why? Ideology has no place or reason in my gang."

Brock quirked his mouth, "Allow me this, and you may have eighty percent commission."

A moment of silence passed before the silhouette laughed, "I won't turn down an offer like that. Whether my gang is full of pansy liberals or out of touch conservatives makes no difference to me!"

Brock took a step forward, submachine gun to his side and a handshake open, "I look forward to working with you, sir."

"Heh, heh… The name's Michael Links."

The two locked hands for a firm handshake, establishing Brock as the lieutenant of the Lower City's massive gang sensation. It was, therefore, safe to say that Brock Blaskovitz was a person Jody Summer would never be retrieving…

"But you can call me, Michael Chain…"