IRIA: Rogue

An "IRIA: Zeiram the Animation" Fan Fiction

and "IRIA: Silent Sonata" Side-Story

Based on the story and characters of Tetsurō Amino and Keita Amemiya

*Part One - Audiobook Download Link at the bottom of the page*

— Part One —

He was feeling quite proud of himself—not arrogant or coy, an idea he quickly dismissed, but genuinely pleased. Delighted even. He had every reason to be despite that his stature and professionalism would have begged otherwise. After all, he had earned this moment.

As he strode down the long, ornately decorated corridor of the Mycian branch of Administration Headquarters, his heels clicked rhythmically against the smooth, polished marble floor. Each confident step, one right after another, carried the energy of triumph, his stride purposeful and bold. Gren, once a long-time apprentice within the mercenary factions, had finally arrived at his calling.

The euphoric exuberance coursing through him far surpassed any adrenaline rush he had ever felt out in the field. No previous mission or simulation, no matter how intense or exhilarating, could compare to the high he was experiencing now. Yet, even as he basked in this newfound elation, he couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had brought him here.

Each job he had taken over the years—every chase, every confrontation, every hard-earned victory...and every kill—had shaped him into the man he was today. None of those experiences could be dismissed, even in this moment of triumph. They were the foundation of his success, the steps that had led to this singular moment.

To what he had finally become, only moments before this march through the hallowed halls of Administration.

Gren's dark eyes trailed down to his hip, catching a brief glimpse of his straight, pale green hair reflected in the mirrored floor panels. With a gloved hand, he reached into a small, concealed compartment nestled between the folds of his flowing blue cloak and the snug crimson body armor beneath. From the hidden pocket, he withdrew a small, intricately adorned blue box.

He held the box up to eye level, its smooth, glossy surface glinting under the corridor's lights. With a deft flick of his wrist, he popped the latch open with his thumb.

A warm smile softened his sharp features as he gazed at the contents within. Inside, resting on a tiny red cushion crafted from fine satin, lay a blue pendant. The pendant—shaped like a smooth, flat magatama—sparkled with multiple diamonds encrusted along its lower, annular tail. Beneath it, sewn directly into the satin pillow, was an ornamented patch. The appliqué bore a registration number embroidered in thick silver thread in Mycian-basic script, shimmering faintly as he passed under each overhead light above him.

Gren's eyes lingered on the number, tracing it over and over with his gloved thumb as he had countless times since the box had been placed in his hands moments ago. With each glance, the warm smile on his lips began to morph into the sly simper that had become his signature during countless escapades with his peers. Satisfied, he let out an amused chortle and flipped the compact case into the air with his thumb, clasping it shut with his hand in one fluid motion as it descended.

His brow furrowed in focused determination as if staring keenly into his future, that coy smirk still firmly in place. With a burst of energy, his free hand reached behind his ear, his fingers snapping sharply. The motion sent his long, decorative hair beads—adorned in blue and orange trim—flying backward in a flash of color, the beads catching the light as they settled back into place.

Gren, the apprentice title cast aside, was now a Hunter.

Off in the distance, the newly appointed Hunter Gren spotted a group of Ghomvack sentries stationed within Administration conversing jovially. The troupe stood beneath the vast rotunda that crowned the building's grand lobby, a testament to Administration's opulence as well as it's professional leanings towards form over function. At their center was a tall, dark-skinned man with a cleanly shaved, bald head save for a tied-back ponytail jutting upwards from his crown, adorned with traditional wrappings and a few dangling hair beads of Ghomvack regulation. His white uniform and armor, subtly more refined in craftsmanship than those of his plainly dressed subordinates, spoke to the command and authority of the man within.

As Gren entered the rotunda, his eyes caught the three small red dots marking the man's forehead—a distinctive sign of rank among the Ghomvack.

The dark man glanced over the shoulder of one of his seconds, his sharp eyes settling on Gren as he approached. A gentle smile graced his chiseled face upon recognizing the Hunter. With a nod of approval upon turning his attention back to the conversation at hand, he acknowledged the sentry's inaudible report. The host of guards gave their superior a swift salute before pivoting away to resume their patrols and leaving the imposing man to train his full assiduity to Gren.

Standing tall, his hands clasped behind his back, the man's thin mustache shifted slightly with the curve of his lips as he spoke in a deep, measured tone.

"Well...?"

Gren raised his gloved hand from beneath his cloak as he continued his approach, revealing the small blue compact box. Twisting it between his fingers with nimble ease, he flashed a cocky smirk.

"Easy enough, Bob," Gren answered.

Bob, usually stoic and phlegmatic, couldn't help but stifle a soft chuckle as Gren approached, nor could he hide the pride behind his eyes. As Gren finally closed the gap between them, Bob allowed one hand to reach back around his body to pat Gren's armored shoulder, offering the pauldron beneath a gentle grasp and a paternal-like tug.

"It would seem you no longer have to call me 'sir,'" he remarked warmly.

Gren laughed with a slight cant of his head. "As if I ever did, right?"

Bob had been Gren's instructor since his first days in the ranks. A humble yet firm man, Bob had always been a steadying presence for the young Hunter, professionally and, more personally, as a mentor. While not a Hunter himself, it was common for high-ranking members of Ghomvack Security like Bob to instruct apprentices, guiding them in the ways of the Hunter through organizational sponsorship and teaching them the protocols of the trade, both the written and the unwritten. The hope of Bob's outfit, so frequently mired in turmoil between Myce's hardened political factions and corporate interests, could be used as a recruitment tool to bolster the Ghomvack's numbers, though many—like Gren—chose the path of a freelance Hunter instead.

This was no loss to the Ghomvack, Gren knew. The organization maintained a strong working relationship with Hunters, leveraging their expertise for various contracts. As Administration's direct line of defense, Ghomvack sentinels frequently collaborated with mercenaries and bounty hunters, fostering a mutually beneficial partnership rather than conscription.

To Gren, however, Bob was more than just a guide. He was a friend—a painfully honest one at times, but compassionate to a fault.

Gren tucked the box back deep into the folds of his cloak, tilting his head to the side with a sly smile.

"So, does this mean the streak of hack jobs you've been throwing my way is finally over?" Gren added sarcastically.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Bob shook his head, his smile unwavering. "I match the job with the talent. Trust me—your docket will be full." His tone shifted abruptly as his expression suddenly grew earnest. "There are other things to be concerned with now—more than before. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, but the little things like making sure the items on that schedule will still be there when the time comes?"

Gren understood what his old friend was implying. Bounty jumpers. The type of sort who swooped in to steal contracts and abduct contacts just as soon as all the heavy lifting was long since done. Though the stakes of a fledgling Hunter's limited parcels were a paupers wage and less enticing compared to the Kem to be earned by the fully-licensed, Gren had experienced his fair share of run-ins with their kind in his time as an apprentice—one particularly spiky-haired scoundrel came to mind. The extra Kem that came with higher-paying jobs was sure to attract the vultures, and the new Hunter knew he had to stay sharp.

Now that Gren was finally vetted in the mercenary ranks, the hazards were even higher, with bigger contracts and larger payouts sure to follow under Bob's continued guidance. He'd worked tirelessly to earn his status, becoming the top apprentice in the trade—a title Bob had always maintained with pride of his pupil. Though other apprentices were also up for licensing, Bob's unwavering faith in Gren's abilities had always set him apart from the pack.

Still, Gren kept his mentor's lessons close. He wouldn't let those claims of grandeur inflate his ego.

"So..." Bob's expression tempered again as he folded his arms over his white-armored chest. "Where are you off to now?" he asked, the tone almost patriarchal, as if addressing a wayward teenager. "You aren't wanting to get to work immediately, I gather?"

"Nah," Gren said with a casual sway of his head. "I think it's time I took a break for a few days. Besides, I'm heading out to Batabitajira tomorrow morning," Gren struggled to keep the jerky tightening of his throat from Bob's view behind the ruffled collar of his outer garment.

"You know," Gren stammered. "...to see that friend I told you about?"

Bob straightened slightly as he peered curiously at his former apprentice down the length of his nose, his thin brow knitting together as he let out a heavy sigh.

"You're not planning on bringing that girl back this time, are you?" he asked of his former apprentice firmly.

"That girl..." Gren repeated softly, the words lingering in the air like an echo that wouldn't fade. His thoughts drifted to her—the young girl, alone in the abandoned village of Batabitajira, his home. Or at least, what was left of it in the wake of Myce City's meteoric rise….

"I'm amazed you still allow her to live there all by herself," Bob remarked as if he could sense Gren's thoughts idling, his words adding weight to Gren's already conflicted ruminations. "Is it still a ghost town?"

Gren shook his head with a pernicious snort of discontent. "I'm sure by now, even the ghosts are looking to move up..." Gren felt his gaze slowly stare beyond his mentor, unfocused as he tried to gather himself. "She's managed pretty well," he said, half-convincing himself. "She likes it there. After all, it's home. She gets so attached to things that I doubt anything would rip her away from that place." Gren let his eyes fall to the floor beneath him, the heel of his boot unconsciously shuffling against the tile as that trademark confidence he had earlier suddenly began to wane.

"Well..." the young Hunter added timorously, "...aside from one thing."

Bob's brow furrowed, his voice taking on a stern, almost fatherly timbre. "And that is?"

Gren uncharacteristically hesitated, a brief pause so that he didn't end up stumbling over his words. With a quick glance upward to his mentor's glowering gaze, Gren could tell Bob already knew the answer to his own question.

He had hoped to convince her to come with him to the city, where she could stay with him permanently. Yet he knew the only way to persuade her would be to promise her something she'd expressed countless times—something she wanted more than anything: to be just like him.

To be just like her "big brother."

Gren quickly decided to postpone their discussion with a dismissive wave of one of his gloved hands that cut through the uneasy tension suddenly overshadowing their celebration.

"How about we talk about this later?" he asked as the former apprentice gathered himself, mustering back into a swagger with that demure grin of his. "Maybe over a drink...?"

Bob exhaled slowly and straightened himself, the enmity relevant in his posture ebbing. Gren knew this was a conversation they would eventually have to confront. But Bob, ever the pragmatic council of his young headstrong ward, wasn't one to let serious matters overshadow a moment of jubilation.

With a nod, Bob turned his attention to a large holo-array hanging above a nearby receptionist's desk on the opposite side of the rotunda. Gren followed his gaze, noting the time displayed: 1535 Standard.

Bob turned back to Gren. "There's a small bar in the Jankar Business District, right on the corner near the Ghomvack outpost. 'Should be suitable for a meager celebration." His warm smile returned to meet his apprentice, dampening the lines of his austere expression. "Unfortunately, I have some work to attend to at the moment. How about around seventeen-hundred?"

Gren nodded in agreement. "Seventeen-hundred," he repeated.

"Until then," Bob said, bowing slightly as he stepped around Gren, giving him another reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed him by. Gren's gaze followed the dark-skinned man, lingering until Bob was no more than a shadow at the edge of his vision.

With the presence of his instructor fading, the weight of everything around Gren suddenly seemed so much heavier. The celebration, the girl, the promise—it all churned in his mind into a muted yet nascent storm that his psyche was not prepared for. Gren's eyes dropped to the mirrored floor beneath him again, his dark eyes locking onto his own reflection. He moved his hand to the side of his chest, feeling the sharp corners of the small jeweled box tucked away within his cloak. His sobering gaze, so different than the one he had when he first received this bobble—this honor—his reward, met the glare of its duplicate, staring back up at him with so many new and unspoken questions that had developed over a simple thought that knifed away at his exuberance.

Just like big brother... The phrase echoed in his thoughts as if in a voice that wasn't even his. It was hers...

"Gren!" Bob's deep voice called out from across the atrium, pulling the new Hunter's attention from his reverie. Gren turned to see Bob holding an elevator door open, ready to step inside. Their eyes met, and Gren felt an unexpected warmth radiating from his mentor's familiar smile that washed his thoughts clean if only for a moment.

"She'll be in good hands," Bob said with a subtle nod, his delivery reassuring and calm.

Gren blinked in surprise at Bob's retort, his jaw slacking a bit and left agape.

Bob, holding his free hand up to his face, waved a single finger of a modest salute with a twist of his wrist.

"Trust me."

Gren's gloved hand drifted to the back of his head, scratching at his thick crop of pale green hair. A sheepish and young smile crept onto his face as he nodded in acknowledgment. Whatever doubts he had, Bob's ever-elusive approval—even if unspoken—eased some of the tension gnawing at him. Mimicking his friend's gesture, he returned the salutation with a quiet certainty.

Bob chuckled softly as though amused by Gren's puckish response, then stepped fully into the elevator. With the tap of a few buttons on the inner console of the lift, Bob looked back to his erstwhile apprentice.

"Congratulations, Gren," he added as the sliding doors slowly shut closed.

Part One - Audiobook File Download Link:

d-r-i-v-e.g-o-o-g-l-e.c-o-m/file/d/1R2QFJbKtaVb9vB1eg_nzP2NcHnokerop/view

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