The sewer grate scraped the pavement. Avdol and Tenmei retreated into its depths while Angus was knelt above, about to make his descent when a tenor voice spoke up behind him.

"Should've known you'd have a hand in this."

Seagulls flew over Quaid as he stood by a stack of crates, his sun shades keeping the judgment in his eyes hidden, though Angus suspected his stand-offish attitude was there like always. He stood up and turned to face him. The policiers had just arrived, and with Quaid always knowing the little get-away routes Angus and the gang took, it never surprised him they'd meet now after only running into each other a month ago.

"Quaid." he greeted.

"Angus."

A light, salty breeze carried through the air. Waves rushed towards the docks, crashing against them as a distant buoy gonged on the churning sea. Quaid removed his sunglasses. "Making off with crucial evidence I take it?"

"Maybe."

Quaid sighed. "I saw those two. Where's the other kid?"

"Taking care of business elsewhere," Angus half-lied, "you know how it is."

Silence descended upon the pair, creating thoughts in Angus's mind. Things like: why is he bothering to have a discussion now, when he could just as easily look the other way? It wasn't like they had a whole lot of time for chit-chat.

"You know, his face is everywhere." Quaid said. "A lot of the city folk in Skid Row aren't too keen on turning people into the police, 'cause if they did, they'd all be massive hypocrites."

Angus didn't get where this conversation was headed, and he most certainly wasn't in the mood to converse with the likes of him. "That's not entirely true. I can think of a few individuals willing to stab him in the back. Kind of how a certain someone did me once upon a time."

Quaid's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean…"

"You know good and goddamn well what I'm talking about, Quaid, don't act like you swallowed 'stupid' pills." He flicked his lighter open and lit a cigar he'd pulled out of his coat pocket.

"Everytime. Every fucking. Time. Why do you constantly have to remind me of that shit?" he snapped. "I fucked up, alright?! But that's only because they were ready to disembowel my ass! If I didn't tell them what they wanted to know, then —"

"Then Mariya would still be alive." Angus finished. "And I wouldn't have to worry about keeping the truth hidden from her kid."

"What other…!" He stopped himself, and looked around in fear that the other prefects would overhear everything. So, he lowered his voice. "What other choice did I have? You don't think I felt guilty? Shit, I joined the police force all on account of keeping your crew out of trouble! And since then, all I've ever done is regret what I did. I've been doing everything I can to apologize! What more do you want from me?!"

Angus inhaled on his cigar and released thick clouds of smoke. "Quaid, there's no apology you can give me that'll make me forgive you for what you've done."

Dejection filled Quaid's eyes. "So… the truth finally comes out. You know, you used to at least act like you cared about me and Mariya, but since you took over for the boss, you've been acting a lot like him! Everything that comes out of your mouth — everything you do — sickens me! I mean, look at the pain you caused her!"

Angus flashed him a look of warning. "Quaid…"

"Mariya did nothing but show you kindness and compassion, and you made her do the most fucked up things!"

Angus manifested Desperado in his hand and aimed it at Quaid. "Unless you don't want me to beat you within an inch of your life, you'll shut the hell up about things you don't understand!"

His hands may have raised in defense, but the evident glare in his eyes bore an unspoken hatred, clashing with Angus's equally strong gaze. Blue wire wreathed around Quaid's wrists, barbs protracting in a display of self-defense for if things were really going to get nasty.

"I see," his voice was low, solemn, "there's no convincing you… is there…" He dismissed his stand, his hands lowering to his side. His brazen show of emotions morphed into a stoic expression that puzzled Angus. "Have it your way. We're through."

"What are —"

"I'm out, Angus!" he snapped. "For years I've been constantly trapped in your shadow, pulling the strings behind closed doors because I at least give a fraction of a shit about Quiet Riot's goals. Or did … but if this is the way it's going to be between us — if all I am is a tool to you, and not a friend — then why should I go so far for you? You don't care… you can get away with anything as long as I'm taking the heat for all of you. I bet that makes you feel satisfied in some way, doesn't it? You hate me that much… I was just a kid and I was scared."

"Now, hold on —"

"No. I'm done orchestrating a web of lies for you. Do you even know how hard it's been for me trying to keep you and your boys protected from the law?! The Main Prefecture is demanding their arrests — yours especially! I'm sick of this city calling me lazy… I'm sick of the sacrifices I make going unappreciated…"

Angus's eyes leered at him. His face didn't show it, but there was a cloud of panic building in his chest. If what he heard was correct, then that could only mean that Quiet Riot was about to lose their only means of staying out of prison. As Quaid began to storm off, the feeling of an unavoidable, grim future began to set in.

"Quaid," Angus spoke, hoping his words could reach him, "you know what happens when a member tries to leave the gang."

Quaid looked back over his shoulder, catching his drift. "Keep your ass off the streets if you know what's good for you. If I see you, or Léon again… I will do what is expected of me as head prefect."


Later that night…

Eerie silence roamed the halls of the Imperial Edifice, amplifying its chilling atmosphere. Immaculately tidy rooms were vacant. The throne of the princess had gone untouched for a copious amount of time, unlike that of the Empereur's, whose cushions had lasting imprints. Multiple claw marks had been dug into the arm of his throne, accumulating deeper markings over the course of centuries.

Joliet still hadn't returned from her leisure outing. Jean-Marc had spent hours upon hours working with Stroheim to zero in on her location. Placing the camera into her positronic brain had to be the most beneficial idea they'd agreed on. Much to her safety, and the sense that they could now relax and put the thought of her rebelliously removing it aside. Until the feedback dawned a new revelation.

No signal.

Stroheim tirelessly scoured the digital expanse on his screen well into the night, hoping to chime in on her whereabouts by other means. Nothing. She was like a ghost. His fingers clicked keys, tapped and enhanced areas on the map, whatever it took to find the missing princess. Jean-Marc's intimidating presence entered the pristine laboratory, and brought an unsettling ambience with it.

His nearly-black mulberry mantle obscured much of his artificial body, dragging along the floor as he casually — and slowly — approached Stroheim's workstation. In a deep, husky voice, he asked, "Have you found anything?"

Stroheim flinched, unaware he'd entered the room. "N-no. Not yet."

"You're sure you've scanned every perimeter of the city?"

"As many as I could manage, and that's everything. It doesn't make sense, Jean-Marc." He gestured to the screens in front of him. "That device can only be removed during the surgical process. The only way I suspect she could have it tampered with is if she were to go to someone at Kuiper Enterprises. But even then, without your approval, there's nothing they can do."

Jean-Marc let out an ominous, quiet growl. "Do you think she could have gone to a third party engineer?"

Stroheim shook his head; even he didn't know. Knowing Joliet, it was highly unlikely, but there was no way to be certain. She was desperate enough to remove it herself, given the circumstances prior to its installation.

Jean-Marc's exhalation denoted undeniable frustration. An alarming thought flickered at the frontal cortex of Stroheim's automatonic mind. What if she wasn't in pursuit of removing the camera when she disappeared? What if the cause of her disappearance rested solely on the fact that a sentist group nabbed her off the street and were operating on her? It was enough to foment that fear. While plausible, he didn't want to relay that possibility to the Empereur without proof. But as Jean-Marc spoke up, he realized they were having the same thoughts.

"Even in the capital there are those that would oppose the inevitable. Why can't they see what good I'm influencing in the world?"

Stroheim couldn't bring himself to answer that question. He didn't know how to. His initial response he wanted to make was that sentism existed everywhere. And the people willing enough to dismantle androids would do it in spite of the laws put in place.

"Thanks to technological advancement," Jean-Marc resumed, "the human race has a chance at longevity. The fear of contracting diseases is a thing of the past. Think of all the places the human race is headed, Stroheim. How can anyone look at a future without suffering and death with such vehement disapproval? When this is exactly the era in time humanity has been headed for thousands of years? This precise reason alone is why my stand exists… to help further human evolution. If she is dismantled, if someone so much as sways her beliefs in me… then I will make their fragile existence a reality."

Stroheim hesitated. "What should we do now?"

Jean-Marc's expression darkened, an ominous glint in his cold eyes as they watched the screen. "I'll put out an order for the Legion's return. They may have better luck than us."

"But…! What about the war?"

"What about it…"

"Couldn't this put us at a disadvantage?"

"Does it matter?"

His words struck Stroheim bewildered.

"If the Romanians refuse to reject their humanity, then they don't deserve to join us."

Stroheim rose from his chair, baffled by what he was hearing. "So, you would just allow an invasion?! What about people in Germany?! And Austria?!"

Jean-Marc turned to face him. "As long as you and I are here, it doesn't matter how the people of the seven nations die. That's why the DTP was established."

He stared and stared at Jean-Marc. This was the man he'd known for centuries? The same man who once held fast to his own convictions, and saved millions? By now, it was no secret that being a part of the DTP was mandatory for everyone residing within the seven nations.

In the beginning, after Kuiper and Joliet's artificial bodies were made, Stroheim felt that what he'd done was a good thing. That it was hopeful to see his loved ones return as if they'd never died. But with that dead set on becoming multitudes upon multitudes of other people, that feeling of accomplishment withered away.

Now, it was something else; a conflict within himself that he feared would never be resolved.

Jean-Marc's arm reached out from the obscurity of his mantle, revealing that his body was hardly like Joliet's. It was all complex machinery, everything from the neck up being the exception visually. Lethally sharp, metal fingers curled over Stroheim's shoulder.

"There is no need to fear the pushback we're getting from Eastern Europe. No matter how long it takes, nations all around the world will eventually open their eyes. I don't care if it takes thousands of years. It will happen."

"You can't be everywhere at once, Jean-Marc. You can't keep tearing pieces of your own soul away like this, else there will be nothing left of you!" His hands firmly clamped against Jean-Marc's shoulders in a desperate attempt to get him to understand. "The nations that we are invading mean to destroy the very empire you built! You know what that means…?"

His expression remained cold. "And we have the means of putting a stop to it if need be."

No, he couldn't possibly mean what he thought he meant. The very thing he, Kuiper, Jean-Marc, and his late wife, Celina, fought so hard to keep hidden was now implied to be used the same way its past abuser did. By means of total control. This was wrong. This was all so wrong. In every wire — every servo — surged a cold, numbing fear of what was to come.

"Have you gone insane?! Letting history repeat itself?! That's your intent?!"

"My intent," Jean-Marc replied, narrowing his all but lifeless gaze at him, "is to see this through. Even if I must become the very thing I sought to destroy. When the time comes, and everyone in France is dead, we can begin to forge the future that awaits us. Now…" he swished his royal garment, and headed for the lab's exit, "...there are much more pressing matters at hand. Like finding my daughter."

Jean-Marc's lingering presence left him at a standstill, pondering on what course of action to take next. Surrounded by an assortment of computer screens, blinking lights, and lab equipment, Stroheim couldn't help but cave in to the burning need to follow through with taking extreme measures.

I'm going to regret this… I just know it…

Approaching one of the monitors, he entered a command on the projected screen by touch and dialed the numbers for Kuiper Enterprises. A quiet vwoo sound warbled as the lines danced along the lab. He half expected someone to answer it, and for the lines to materialize a hologram of the receiver. But what he didn't expect was to hear a voice crystal clear behind him. The voice that startled him was that of a woman in her early to mid forties.

"I assume there's a good reason you're trying to bother me…"

Whipping around, he saw a woman standing six feet tall, wearing a skin-tight, black catsuit. She leaned against the laboratory apparatus, its cords spilling over the floor and winding in an unknown direction. The furs of her sable coat brushed along her jawline, while her eyes glanced up from studying her diamond claws.

He stumbled over his words. "W-wh-I…You…! What makes you think I was calling for you specifically?!" Swiping a command, the call abruptly canceled.

Siouxsie scoffed.

"Would it kill you to schedule a meeting in advance?! You can't just keep barging in here uninvited."

"Oh, please," she chuckled softly, "if you of all people are phoning Kuiper Enterprises, then who better to speak to than the owner?"

Stroheim sneered. I really hate this woman…

She drummed the tips of her claw attachments along the surface of the equipment. "Now what do you want?"

Stroheim crossed his arms. "First: why are you here?"

Her lips curved into a smug smile. "Oh, you know. I was just… in the neighborhood." Her tone was almost sultry the way she said it. "Something has come to my attention as of late." She proceeded to sway her hips, her heels clacking as she slowly circled him like a vulture. "You wouldn't happen to be missing something, now, would you?"

"Like what?" he questioned, not at all a fan of her temptress mien.

Siouxsie stopped, a heel clicking against the floor. Stroheim eyed her like a hawk as she carefully pulled something out of the front of her suit. Waving out her hand gracefully, he noted something rectangular pinched between her fingers. A U-drive. But whose? He squinted at it, hoping to get a glimpse of the owner's name.

"A little hesitant to inform the general public, aren't we?"

Mistrustfully, he approached her with his hand extended and obtained the drive. There was something in the way she side-eyed him that he didn't approve of. It was almost mocking. He shot her a distasteful look before his eyes wandered to the engraved name on the U-drive. And what he saw he believed would cause his inner machinations to malfunction on the spot.

On the drive's body was the name Joliet Jousset.

"How…? Where did —"

"I found it on one of my outings." she lied.

Amidst his astonishment, there was an air about this whole thing that rubbed him the wrong way. He inserted the drive into a slot on one of his machines and pulled up a screen. Siouxsie stood by, yawning. After spending a short amount of time hacking into the drive, he finally found Joliet's balance. 300 million currents, just as it was the day she left.

Removing the drive from the computer, Stroheim had to face the facts: she did return it untampered with. He had to hand it to her: while he appreciated the good deed, his guard wouldn't dissipate entirely just yet.

"Aww, what is it, Stroheim?" she pouted mockingly. "Did you really think I, of all people, would hack into her account?"

He ignored her comment. "Is there any place you could think of that she may have gone?"

Siouxsie placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head, then her mouth clicked open. "All I can tell you is that you're wasting your precious time."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Stroheim," she sighed, "where is the one place you haven't looked?" The look she gave him said it all.

A dead weight dropped in the pit of his abdomen. "No… that's not possible…!"

"If you ask me, anything's possible. Now, about that phone call earlier…"

With the information of the princess's possible whereabouts surfacing, he bit back the need to relay any more than he had to. While he still planned to take his next course of action immediately, he'd rather not go about it in a way that would get someone as untrustworthy as Siouxsie involved. He'd settle with finding another alternative.

"It's… nothing important. Just business as usual." he fabricated. "Now if you don't mind, I need to report this to his highness immediately."

He hastily left the room, not wanting to waste any more time speaking to her. As he left Siouxsie to stand in the middle of the room, she squinted her suspectful eyes. They morphed from the color brown to a piercing yellow-green, the circular pupils becoming thin and elongated like that of a feline's. If he had looked back, even once, he would feel the cold, sharp gaze of hell itself penetrating his very soul.