The Big Switch

by dave-d

Kaname visits a medical center with secret facilities, to help research the origin of the Whispers. No good deed goes unpunished. Who will be the hero this time? The answer is not as simple as it might seem.

20. Chapter 20

Can you take more melee and mindful miniseries? I guess we will find out.

BTW: forewarned is forearmed. The next chapter has a bit of redundancy built in. Blame my muse, not me.

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ON THE STREETS OF TOKYO

There was a mixed mood on the lead bus.

"Freakin' traffic," the bus driver said. Things were deadlocked in front of him. A number of other buses carrying mascots and camera crews were behind him. "I'd like to get as far away as possible."

That buses driver, along with the drivers from the other vehicles, had arrived late on the scene, after getting together at an underground dog fight, filling up with beer, and emptying their pockets with their bets. So what if the boys and girls in the mascots suit had to wait?! The drivers had been paid in full, up front. But, their tardiness had put them in a situation of high anxiety, no one knowing how far the fighting might spread.

It had started as a all on slugfest between gals and guys, and had devolved into explosions, fires, and stampedes. And if that hadn't been enough to break their buzz, an Arm Slave fell from the sky and things became way too exciting, in the worst possible way. Those mascots who ran off to shelter in the school were on their own. Those entertainers who made it onto the buses earned their seats. As they fought to gain entry, the scene looked like something out of a circus with clowns and a little car.

"It could be a damn invasion," the driver speculated. Who could be sure that someone wasn't trying to invade the islands? "Tokyo is the last freaking place I want to be." He had considered abandoning the bus to its fate, and taking a cab. In the traffic, they were practically parked in Fuchū, a city in the western Tokyo area, a half mile short of the Chūō Expressway. "But, if some enemy didn't kill me, my wife would. I have to keep this job."

The yellow, white, and green used 1994 model Hino Selega buses sold to the telethon runners by Rama DTD Ltd were not the most expensive buses on the market, nor were they the roomiest or the most comfortable. The passengers were packed like Vienna Sausages in a tin, still wearing their mascot suits, having needed to quickly escape the melee that had broken out on the athletic field.

They had gotten out just in time, wondering at the sounds of explosions, and the increasing number of first responder type of vehicles. When the military trucks began showing up in significant numbers, someone had turned on the new LED television set that had been installed on the well-worn bus. The news feed they saw had everyone reaching for their cell phones and tablets to watch on them too, changing channels to see different footage. At first, everyone stared in shocked silence. Then when things really struck home, they began speaking in a rush, offering discourse every time they saw something mascot-related, or some particularly flashy or devastating bit of Arm Slave action caught their interest or imagination.

"That…." Giant chick Bari-san said, sounding stricken. "That was Kitanyan. I mean, Soemu." He was just torn apart."

"Yeh," feisty otter Chi-tan said harshly. It should have been Ja-Bo or Konyudo-kun" Those two mascots finished second and third at the mascot Grand Prix, which had been won by the kappa-costumed Kaparu. That they were even that close in the voting was the result of cheating. They were voted for by municipal workers multiple times apiece, using different voting IDs.

"You shouldn't wish ill on anyone," big green Kaparu said. "Besides… as long as they are alive… they have to deal with the shame…"

Most of the passengers said a quick prayer for Soemu Tomioka and Yoshinobu Saitou. Some chanted in quiet voices, speaking words of hope for Kantaro Mori and Hirosi Tachikawa. They neglected to chant for Tamon Suzuki.

"Gloomy Bear… that Hiroshi guy… what a stud!" Bowl-headed dog Sanomaru 's actor offered. "But he's only going to make himself a bigger target, that way!"

"I know someone who won't," Pear fairy Funassyi opined. "Tamon. I'm a big Aggretsuko fan, and he is besmirching Retsuko's honor!"

"At least he's still alive," Hawaiian turtle Honuppi snapped back. He was an off-again on-again buddy of the coarse and opinionated Tamon "I bet you'd run from those robo-bitches, too." O-en shiteru karane! I believe in you, buddy!"

"Gloomy… noooo-ooo-oo-o…." Samurai cat Hikonyan 's operator held her breath. She said another quick prayer for Hiroshi, hoping that they hadn't seen the last of him. "Ki o tsukete." Take care!

"That-" The head of the telethon froze. He had hoped to sign up that bear. That mascot could bring in big bucks in his projected combat league, especially with all of the TV coverage That he was soaking up now. "Find the fucking bear. Some camera man, focus on the fucking bear." He gave the TV image of Lucas a rude gesture, placing your thumbnail between your index finger and middle finger, this is said to resemble a clitoris, a very rude gesture in japan. "Kuso kurae!" Eat shit!

"Kimi nara dekiru yo!" You can do it! "Sugoi na." Amazing "Kyo wa honto-ni ganbattane." You did your best out there today. "Hokori ni omou yo." I was so proud of you! Everybody was calling out words of encouragement for the man in the mechanical ursine.

There was practically an ōendan at the back of the bus, a cheering squad from the telethon, something similar to a cheerleading squad in the United States, but capable of making big noise with taiko drums; blowing horns and other items; waving flags and banners; and yelling through plastic megaphones.

"Soooseeji soooseeji soooseeji soooseeji soooseeji soooseeji soooseeji!"

Sousejei is sausage in Japanese. They were all calling out for Sousei-jin, after one of the camera crews had caught sight of his shot with the Carl Gustaf recoilless rifle. Their call of alarm soon followed, as he came under fire.

"What the hell is that orange A.S. doing now?" Big boobed bird Paiko asked. "It looks like something out of a science fiction flick."

"Every damn Arm Slave looks like something out of a sci-fi fil," Watermelon King Jumbal III claimed. "I still don't get how a piece of military equipment can look like that… and our stupid bus looks like this…."

"It's big money," large cow Wassachi offered.

"No," Jimmy Hattori disagreed. "It's gotta be aliens. You bet. Aliens." That remark started a quick argument over the possible existence of extraterrestrials.

"What's that orange Arm Slave doing now?" Rabbit-deer Fukka-chan gasped, watching the orange A.S. It was forming those balls of force again, only on the left side this time. But, there was no sling. Instead, the balls rolled down a glistening grove, until they were passing through a wide flare at the end of the machine's arm, only to be flung with great panache. The shots curved, making it more and more difficult for the white Arm Slave to dodge.

"That reminds me of jai alai," huge lamb Gingiskan No Jin-kun said.

"What?" Toilet-headed Benki-Shiroishi asked.

"Jai alai,"Gingiskan said again. "Often called the "fastest sport in the world. Somebody must have heard of. jai alai!"

"Do you mean that sport … the one that has men with weird basket hands whipping rock-hard balls against a granite wall-" Tangerine-shaped Waka-P offered. "-Trying to make their opponent miss the return while avoiding being hit with the speeding bullet themselves?" Her cable subscription gave her access to everything.

"Right!" Gingiskan said, giving the other mascot a thumbs up. " It's a game that requires a combination of skill, speed, and acrobatics. It originated as a handball game in the Basque area of Spain's Pyrenees Mountains over four centuries ago. Games were played on Sundays and holidays in small villages at the local church, hence the name jai alai which means 'merry festival' in Basque. Players would use the open-air church courtyard and the walls of the church as the fronton or arena. Games moved to indoor frontonsnear the end of the eighteenth century. Around the late 1800's a Basque farmer got the idea that if they put a cesta, or basket, on their hands, they could hurl the ball a lot faster and a lot harder."

"Shit." Chi-tan swore. "It sound like we've tuned into the fucking History Channel.

"No," Barisan countered. "Some of us aren't afraid to learn things!"

"Some of us don't look like we're being groomed by Colonel Sanders," Chi-tan grumped. "I wonder… will you be regular, or extra crispy."

A number of other mascots had to break up a scuffle after that. The bus driver threatened to kick any malcontents off of the idling bus.

Eyes still glued to her i-Pad, Funassayi said "Please continue. It kinda makes things seem more real now, hearing about something…; you know, old… and more human." The sight of two battling mechas seemed so un-real.

"Thepelota," Gingiskan, began. He ignored Chi-tan, who mockingly called him Ghengis Khan. "The jai alai ball is the fastest, hardest ball in sports. It has been clocked at speeds up to one hundred eighty eight miles per hour and is as hard as a rock. The ball is about three-quarters the size of a baseball and is constructed of hand wound Brazilian rubber which is wrapped in thread and covered by two hardened goat skin covers. Each ball is made by hand and costs about ten thousand Yen. The cover must be replaced every fifteen minutes of play because it splits after hitting the fronton wall at high velocities. Because of the pelota's hardness and velocity, jai alai is an extremely dangerous sport that has killed several players."

"Heh heh heh," Chi-tan chuckled. Now, he was interested.

"Asshole," Paiko said.

"The cestaon a player's hand-" Gingiskan continued. "-Is made of reeds found in the Pyrenees Mountains and is custom made for each jai alai player. The hand is inserted into a leather glove and held in place by a wrap-around tie called a cinta. Cestas are hand woven and it takes over fourteen hours of labor to make just one. They're not cheap, either. Each cesta costs over ten thousand Yen, too. Players own several and must constantly repair and replace them from the wear and tear of play. The cestas put the real spin on the game-quite literally. Throwing and catching a straight ball with them would be relatively easy, but players are able to put enormous spin on the balls which makes them less predictable and harder to hold onto."

"Cool!" Benki-Shiroishi said."

"Yup," flowery Chihana-san said. "Wouldn't want to be hit in the wrinkle purse with one of those!"

"The canchaisa large three walled court the game is played on," Gingiskan noted. "There is no standard size for a cancha, but the court is typically about 176 feet long… double the size of a basketball court… and 40 feet wide. Spectators sit on the open right side to watch the game and are protected from stray balls by a screen. Because all canchas have a wall on the players' left side, all jai alai players must wear their cestas on their right hand."

"So lefties are out of luck," Sanomaru said.

"I sure hope the guy in the white A.S. isn't a lefty!" Jimmy Hattori offered.

"What makes you think he's the good guy?" Waka-P asked. He thought that the orange Arm Slave was pretty spiffy.

"What makes you think she's a he?!" Funassyui put in.

"A girl pilot?" The bus driver scoffed. "Give me a break!" He then blew the horn several times. Traffic was moving again, but the driver in front of him seemed to forget where the gas pedal was. "Chikushô!"

Gingiskan explained how gambling on jai alai was a big thing. Before he finished his spiel, Hanuppi couldn't hold his tongue any longer. He was smart, too. He had something he wanted to mention. No, was compelled to say. It just came spewing out of his turtle mouth: "Jai-Alai is a Predacon from the 'Beast Wars: Uprising' portion of the Generation 1, the longest-running family in the Transformers canon."

You could hear a pin drop.

Someone in the back of the bus did drop a plastic megaphone. It rolled under the back seat of the bus.

Hanuppi misinterpreted shock for awe. "Jai-Alai is a ninja-like member of the Minions of Unicron. She relies on shuriken disks to quickly and quietly eliminate her foes, and hates leaving any job unfinished. Jai-Alai was an elite enforcer for Cryotek, leader of the Minions of Unicron. The Minions had lost a great deal of territory and influence to Megatron's Darksyders over the years, but Cryotek finally pinpointed the upstart's base of operations. Jai-Alai joined her leader in infiltrating the Builder mansion, only to find Megatron was waiting for them. The trap was sprung with a series of Dropkick drones disguised as statues, and Cryotek's enforcers were quickly wiped out."

"Gah." Barisan countered. "Forget what I said earlier."

"My brain hurts," Paiko admitted.

Braaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaap

*cough* *cough*" Hikonyan exclaimed: "Who farted?"

"Pig!" Paiko called out.

"It wasn't me," Coroton, the spherical pig mascot of Maebashi City in Gunma Prefecture cried foul.

"I just hope none of that-" Chihana-san pointed at the TV screen. "-Is a plot by the government."

"How-" Waka-P was befuddled by that comment.

"You know," Chihana-san replied. "This country's national mascot obsession has left it positively overrun. There are now so many that people are losing track of which mascot is which, as well as the products, teams, programs, organizations and social movements they were created to represent in the first place."

"That right!" Wasaacchi agreed. "It's gotten to the point where the Japanese government has actually had to start cracking down with mascot population control." That caused a lot of wordless exclamations of agreement and dread. "That's spurred on public outcry and intense debate over which mascots should have their lives spared."

"Do you think the government staged an A.S. fight to stamp us out?" Bari-san said in a strangled voice.

"Baka!" Multiple people shouted that mascot down. Someone had obvious been watching too many talk shows about the Deep State.

"It's not like there are secret organizations out there-" Kaparu stated. "-Fighting for the fate of the world!"

"Ninety-nine bottle of beer on the wall," Fukka-chan wanted to change the subject and break the mood. "Ninety-nine bottle of beer. Take one down and pass it around… ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall."

"Ninety-eight bottle of beer on the wall…." Jumbal III picked up the ball and ran with it.

"Are we there yet?" Melon Bear asked in a high-pitched whine.

"Fucking mascots," the bus driver griped.

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THE NEIGHBORHOOD COMMUNITY CENTER PARKING LOT

Gloomy Bear was running, listing to one side

It was miraculous, that the small mecha could move at all, after that meteoric rise and fall. It was even more amazing, that the pilot was alive to marvel at it, after that big orange nutcracker had sent him flying with some kind of flitty kick.

His head filled with stars and singing birds, Hiroshi hadn't been able to remember anything about parabolas, but his body did now. Propelled by the power of whopping artificial muscles, he had soared high over the wreckage, seeing the standing areas of the city as an amazing panorama, the way a bird would see, if it were blessed… or cursed… with human eyes. He could see as far as the harbor, but unlike a bird, had no desire to visit the Toyosu Fish Market, looking for scraps of Bluefin Tuna or Horse Mackerel.

No. After the briefest moment of wonder, he all too correctly realized his predicament. Many stories above the ground… soaring through the air with his big pink arms out like the wings of a tern or seagull… he would soon learn one of the salient points about the force of gravity: it isn't the fall that kills you… it's hitting the ground. He saw his wife's face in his mind, followed by different memories of his daughter.

This is what he gets, trying to be a hero!

Hero doesn't pay the rent… cover his daughter's hospital bills… or put money away for a good University. Hero doesn't keep his wife warm at night, or lift the weight that she carries on her two shapely shoulders.

He said a very brief prayer. He wondered if he should savor the few seconds he had left, or simply close his eyes and count to ten, the sudden impact erasing all concerns from his life, and washing the stain of his life off of an uncaring world. No. No, and no again! He was not a quitter. He would face his coming death like a man… or at least like a man dressed in a large cute and creepy bear suit. He had time for a quick chuckle. He was flying face first towards a huge billboard that the music school had erected roadside at the edge of a parking lot.. So many people had complained that it was an eyesore, that it went against city tradition. But, the cute girl sitting at the Grand piano, wearing her school uniform and smiling like an angel as she tickled the ivories, had helped enrollment skyrocket.

Everyone seemed to want their daughter to be that happy… to be that well placed on the path to success. He wished his daughter the same boon. Just the same, he didn't want to meet that girl, literally. Then again, maybe he did! He was able to change his posture while sailing downward, plunging on the final arc of his flight. The loose sides of his costume, loosened by all of his activity, worked like a poor man's wingsuit. Claws fully extended, he looked like a teddy bear pretending to be a pterodactyl.

"This is going to hurt!"

Hiroshi wished that he had put an airbag in the suit. No! An operable jet engine, able to hover. The wood might give more than rock or cement, but it still wasn't a marshmallow or cotton ball. He held his claws straight out from his body. They were not shock absorbers in even the slightest way, but they were best suited to take the brunt of first impact. His arms, attached to his hands, which in turn were attached to those claws, would suffer shortly thereafter.

BOM-MMMMMMM-MMMMM-MMMM-MMM-MM-M RIPPPP-PPP-PP-P

As it turned out, because of cost, and because the billboard was meant as a short-lived advertisement, given neighborhood traditions and sentiment, wood and metal had been used in a sturdy frame, but the rest was made up of a taut fabric covered with the thinnest layers of plaster and paint. While not purely elastic, it still gave to some degree upon impact, softening the blow enough to save his exoskeleton and his life, with relative minor injury.

Ripppppppp-ppppppp-pppppp-ppppp-pppp-ppp-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p- p

A second after the suit met the back surface of the painting, and his face met the inside of the metal basket that made up Gloomy's exoskeleton skull, the extended claws were slicing downward through the fabric, leaving long tears, as if Wolverine were using his iconic weapons as an express elevator down.

Chink chink shish shish

The claws struck the bottom of the frame, and then slid free. Hiroshi felt like he was in freefall, for all of two seconds. He landed hard on his back, cracking his head against the rear of the metal basket. His tongue lolled out, a tooth nestled briefly at its tip, before escaping. Groggy, he could soon tell that a number of other teeth were loose. There was a taste of blood in his mouth. One eye was swelling shut. His chest hurt, as if he had fractured and broken ribs on both sides, but mostly on the left. His back ached, as did his forehead, cheek, shoulders, and countless other patches on his body. But now, his most noticeable feeling wasn't pain. He had to pee. He had to pee so bad, laying there on his back, strapped into his suit. He had to pee more than he ever had before.

"I told myshelf," he said. "Many twimesh. Put in a Twexash cathwesher." He had been trying to say Texas catheter. It would have been simple enough to add one on, and have a tube from it lead to a large plastic Foley bag. That would have been a godsend on many long mascot job, especially the ones that paid in beer or sake. But, he kept forgetting, on purpose. He thought he would feel as if everyone would have X-ray eyes and see if he did that, and that somehow he wouldn't be a real man who could hold his water with the best of them. Sighing, he resigned himself. He relaxed his urinary sphincter and defiled his battered and torn suit.

"Well, at leasst your ousht of the twee," he told himself, hurting when he laughed. He had played the role of Dr. Grant in Jurassic park in one memorable scene, when the paleontologist had replied to Tim, who had said 'Well… we're back… in the tree again'.

"I was never in any fucking tree," a voice said. "Are you crazy or something. The bastard would see me up there. And look what happened to all of the other fucking trees!" It was Tamom. He had his back firmly against a cement bulwark at the base of the billboard. He still cradled the RPG30 in his lap. "And what's with you. You sound like you got a dick in your mouth or something!" He sniffed and made a face. "Did you piss yourself?"

Hiroshi pointed upward with Gloomy's claws. The track of his descent was obvious. The other mascot must have had his eyes closed in his little hiding place, when he had performed his once-in-a-lifetime death defying act. "Lesh shee you twy t-t-that." It was tough to say t's. "Why you shtill have t-t-that." He tapped one metal claw against the body tube of the rocket-propelled grenade.

"Hey, I ain't no cheat!" The voice from inside Retsuko claimed in a huff. "I'm getting paid for this. I'm still doing my job. I can't do anything if I die, like those other clowns. You know… if the right opportunity comes… maybe… just maybe I can make a difference." By the sound of it, it seemed as if nothing would be 'the right time.'

"Ssshure," was all that Hiroshi offered in reply. He moved his arms and legs, moving Gloomy's limbs in turn. He could stand the suit. In the internal light from the intact LEDs, he could see that the exoskeleton was dinged and dented in places, and there was a slight bend or two; but, things were mostly intact. He took shorts steps forward and back… turned this way and that… bent over and touched Gloomy's toes… and did a few short hops and jumps. Things were a slight bit off, but he was certain that he could adjust.

Should he sit things out, now? He had done more than enough to earn his pay. And, if he had at one time thought of all of this as a job interview, maybe he was deciding that his current job was good enough, or that he really would take that shady bastard's offer of employment. He imagined nebulous floating heads above him, with his wife's and daughter's faces looking down at him. He expected them to say 'That's it. You did a man's job. It's enough. You're no good dead to us.' They didn't. His imagination had supplied them with a different script. 'What are you waiting for,' the wife face said. 'Hurry up, Daddy' the daughter face said, dimples and all.

"Thish might nosh be th-the- besh place to hide," Hiroshi told Tamon. "I musht have dwan a losht of at-t-t-t-enshion."

"Hell," the other mascot said, sounding upset that he had to make another decision. "Well… you know… good luck and everything."

"Th-th-anksh." Hiroshi headed in one direction, while Tamon headed in another. The former headed towards the sound of battle. The latter headed to where they had left the UTVs. The sight of a large red panda in a kimono, dragging an unused RPG30, was just as funny in its own way, as anything ever illustrated in Aggretsuko.

"What the hell is that orange A.S. doing now?" Hiroshi heard as Tamon headed out of earshot. "It looks like something out of that sucky second 'Pacific Rim' movie."

The orange A.S. It was forming those balls of force again, only on the left side this time. But, there was no sling. Instead. The balls rolled down a glistening grove, until they were passing through a wide flare at the end of the machine's arm, only to be flung with great panache. The shots curved, making it difficult for the white Arm Slave to dodge.

"You can do it girl!" Hiroshi shouted. "But don't do that!"

Arbalest made a sudden powerful motion, a last ditch effort, so to speak.. It jumped the way a diver did off of a diving board, stretching its body flat, heading head first down into the impact crater situated over the underground rail line. That was all he could see at that distance. For all he knew, the ground may have collapsed again, and the girl and the machine may be on their way to North or South China. Wait! There they are! The white Arm Slave had jumped out, and was standing at the edge of the crater.

"Is that all you can do?" A voice came over Hiroshi's com-set, which he had linked to the ARX-7s frequency, using the codes that Kaname Chidori had given him. That must be the pilot of the other A.S., a young man judging by the timbre of his voice. He spoke to Kaname. "Run? Duck? Flop around like some baby harp seal, just before it gets bludgeoned by a commercial sealer?"

"Arbalesh." Hiroshi radioed. "Arbalesh, this is Hiroshi in Gloomy Bearsh." His words were somewhat slurred, and his voice was a bit weak.

"This is Sa-"The girl replied. "This is Arbalest. I read you."

"Don't worry," the young man said slyly. "I have good use for your pelt."

"Pelt, Sergeant?" A voice said. Was that an artificial intelligence, some type of mechanical brain?

"Never mind," the girl said sharply. "It is not a concept for virgins." She made a noise as if clearing her throat. It couldn't be too pleasant, dealing with a foul-mouth prick like the orange machine's pilot. Hiroshi would like to skin that guy alive and toss him an ant's nest!

"Arbalest, what is your status?" Hiroshi asked. "I have taken on heavy damage; but Gloomy and I can still fight."

"My Lambda…." Sousuke started. "My defensive shields are down… and have been spot since being over-stressed… and I am out of ammunition. Thinking optimistically, I stand a chance if I regain shields and the offensive moves that come with them, and I can find a way to remove the source of those force bullets."

"The world resists me and I resist the world!" That young bastard said smugly. "Tremble, Chidori. Beg me to stop. What can a girl possibly do?" There was laughter. "They are useful holes, and nothing more!"

"I really don't like thish guy," Hiroshi said in a voice so still, that it bristled with unimaginable hatred and anger. He felt a strong surge of pain, and wished that he had an Arm-Slave sized bottle of Extra Strength Excedrin. "I teach my daughter to stay away from guys like that bozo." In his battle-narrowed perspective, he saw the man and his orange machine as a predator, as a possible threat to the child that he loved. Children in general meant a great deal to him. That's what made the Gloomy Bear touring worthwhile, in addition to the money that it brought in for his family.

"Ho?" The young cretin huffed. "Hah! At least you have a pair."

"What-" Hiroshi looked around. The A.S. couldn't see him yet, could it? He was partially concealed from the view of the two combatants. What was that? Movement. Something small, having a great deal of difficulty with the transformed terrain. "It's a kitten," he reported, forcing his voice to sound more normal, if slow and painfully enunciated, literally. "I think I saw the same one back on Jindai High School grounds." He was pretty sure that he had. But, things had been rather frantic then. Scanning the surrounds, he caught sight of something else, something even more worrisome. "Oh no!" It was not something else. It was someone else.

"Heh heh heh. You too!" The youthful asshole sounded gleeful.

"There's a small boy chasing after the cat," Hiroshi said. A moment later, he growled and said "That orange bastard is pointing his hand at the boy. Cowardly cretin!" Should he rush out and grab the child, bounding away to safety? No. If that Gatling gun opened up, they might both be torn to ribbons. The pilot might not feel compelled to hurt the boy. Maybe he was just up to mental chess or checkers.

"Let's see if fucking Chidori has motherly instincts," the enemy pilot said for dramatic effect, an ever-so-obvious emotional ploy.

"I don't want to sound heartless," The girl's voice said to Hiroshi, the other person excluded from that link, by the clean sound of the background. "But… while I have saved innocents before… it has only been when it would not put a greater number of lives at risk."

"You-" Hiroshi bit back his first reply. He had to stay calm. He had to think, not react. The girl was not the enemy. "I understand. I don't like it. I hate it. But I understand. If you can maneuver into a point of advantage-" He continued, his voice thick with emotion. "-We could coordinate an attack. If that's impossible, I can move in on my own, if you serve as a distraction. These claws may not be adamantium; but, their alloy is top secret, just the same. I'm pretty certain that I can inflict serious damage. Your call."

Unless Arm Slaves of that generation were made of some kind of unobtainium, Gloomy's claws should be harder. The relatively small amount of alloy making up those wicked accessories could buy a large apartment complex or two, should he sell them on the Black Market or Dark Web. He couldn't risk that. He had built them from futuristic military property that he had 'forgotten' to hand in when he was unceremoniously let go, after sneaking his booty back into the research lab after his credentials had been revoked. He had felt like they owed him something, leaving him and his family in the lurch like that! He would do his family little good, imprisoned.

What could he say? He was a rebel!

"I would direct you to the remaining antenna," Kaname Chidori offered. "That is the priority target that I mentioned earlier. Strike it when its vulnerable… and not when it might obliterate you… and your impact upon this fight would be the greatest it could possibly be."

"Gotcha," Hiroshi said. "Gotta go! Gloomy on patrol!" Buoyed by his hatred, and by his general sense of justice, he sounded as if he were truly alive, surfing a huge wave of adrenalin. He could help!

Buoyed by his hatred, and by his general sense of justice, he felt truly alive, surfing a huge wave of adrenalin. But, there was more to it than that, of course. Deep inside, possibly because his ancestors were warriors, he had the soul of a samurai, and was an avid watcher of samurai and ninja films, from the worst to the best. He would apply lessons from the ancient Samurai.

You Must Have Ambitious Goals. All achievement starts with goals, and Musashi emphasized that you should be ambitious in setting them. Ambitious goals will help you focus your energies, abilities, and actions to maximum effort.

"What could be more ambitious than taking on that monster," he murmured.

Incredible Results Are The By-Product Of Incredible Discipline.MiyamotoMusashi's accomplishments make it crystal clear that achieving incredible results requires incredible discipline… knowledge that can be applied to any endeavor. Results, be it in the gym… in the mascot business… or in battle… are the result of consistent effort.

"I will not waver," he whispered. "I will not act foolishly." He might have felt somewhat perturbed, learning the first name of the young man he had gifted with his hatred.

Learn From Your Opponents. It was hisability to observe, learn and adapt nearly instantly that made it possible for Musashi to become an unbeatable swordsman without having a tutor. The obvious lesson here: Study your opponents and competitors carefully. Know their strengths and their weaknesses precisely. Learn from them, adapt your approach to take advantage of their weaknesses, and then defeat them before they realize you have changed your tactics.

"I promise," Hiroshi said. If he was lucky, he could move in undetected, strike fast and hard, and then retreat untouched. But, what was the chance of that? It was as if he was a flea sizing up an elephant.

Pay Big Attention To Small Things.One of the more popular axioms of the Samurai reminded them to treat great things casually and small things seriously… as if their life depended on these details, as it often did.

"Ditto," Hiroshi breathed louder this time. He didn't have to be respectful. He wasn't in the presence of a sensei. He would pay immense attention to detail as the smaller things don't always take care of themselves. He gave Gloomy's systems a quick check… took his own pulse… and began plotting out possible paths of action.

Use Your Mind As A Weapon.Musashi repeatedly said that it was far better to defeat your opponent with your mind than with a weapon…meaning that it was better to first 'strike' with the mind to weaken or virtually disarm an opponent and then, if necessary, use your sword to finish the job.

"There are many ways to get into your opponent's head and weaken them before the battle begins," Hiroshi said. "If Kaname Chidori doesn't attack along those lines, then I will find a way."

Don't Become Too Rigid In Your Approach. Harness The Power Of Silence. Prepare In Advance For Everything.

Hiroshi would do those, whispered: "Hachiman."

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RUINS OF SAISHOJI SHRINE

Mr. Magnesium was in a jovial mood, again

His fury at the antenna's destruction had turned to mirth, seeing that he was such a mercurial soul. For a moment, everything had gone black. Now, it was as if a grand and glorious light shined in his conceited eyes. While he was one to hold a grudge until the Crack of Doom, his emotions could fly faster than a toupee in a fan factory.

As the force ball became larger and larger, he moved the transformed left A.S. arm this way and that, coming acquainted with the difference torques involved in the possible movements.

"I'm really going to enjoy this!" He pictured himself dressed n a suave white uniform, with a number on the back and a smaller version of that number on his left chest area. He'd only participated in gambling on jai alai after some modelling shows in Miami and Barcelona; but, he had always wished that he could strap on a cesta and step out onto an ancient field under a shining and scorching sun.

Being world champion of jai alai was, until recently, like being stickball king of The Bronx or downhill skiing champ of western Kansas. The sporting fraternity was inclined to think of jai alai as a gimmick… when they were inclined to think of the game at all… a mere excuse to get two dollars down at night when the horses were in bed. But while nobody was looking, the game achieved a measure of international prominence. Miyamoto was a big fan. Hence the challenge he had thrown at the engineers: add a cesta to Lucas, even though it already had a sling. Leave run of the mill weapons for the yokels and clodhoppers.

"This will be much more graceful than the sling. And hopefully a lot more rewarding." The pompous pilot proffered.

Yes, the different movement needed to throw the ball now would fit well with sleek and strong ballet moves. Not only that, but he resultant throws would be less accurate, but oh so much more fun. He could put a good bit of English on the balls now, and make them curve, sink, rise, or fly in unpredictable arcs and straights.

"Let's see how much longer you can run, stupid girl." Speaking that to himself, Miyamoto reared the A.S. back, and then swung the arm forward in a strong sweeping motion. The force bullet flew fiercely, leaving a trail of sparks as it tore the molecules of the air apart. "Ah! So close! But it looks like that leg is dragging some." He tossed his head back as far as the headrest would allow, and let out a loud laugh. "That means it's only a matter of time!"

The first ball had swooped in like a hawk dropping down on a dove. In jai alai, a team scores a point if an opposing player under or over serves; fails to catch the ball on the fly or after one bounce; holds or juggles the ball; hurls the ball out of bounds; or interferes with a player attempting to catch and hurl the ball. So, the score was Chidori one, Bokuden Zero. That wasn't a problem. He had added a new rule. Sudden death was his victory, no matter how many points that little tramp had.

"The rules of this game are much simpler," Mr. Magnesium said. "It's just win… place… or show…" He shrugged and sighed. "That shot won't help me get what I want." The next force ball just missed Arbalest. He would only 'place', if that kept up. Placing meant thatg things ended up in some kind of a tie, both Arm Slaves surviving, and his chance at revenge and retribution thrown in the crapper. Showing would mean doing enough to defeat the ARX-7, but with some inconvenient thing taking away his chance to destroy the girl and her ride. Winning? Now that was the good stuff. Winning meant that the girl dies. Winning big means that the girl dies, and the ARX-7 ends up in the scrap heap as a bonus.

Naturally, he always played to win. Winning fair and square, or good bit off plumb.

"I'll change things up a tad," he said, typing in a couple of commands, and adjusting a touch screen slider. He increased the magnitude of the force generated by the left arm's wave guide while swinging the giant appendage in a greater arc before releasing the next bullet. Inertia dampers kicked in just before the release. "Churruca guide my ball!" 'Churruca' was Francisco Maria Churruca Iriondo Azpiazu Alcorta, the world champion of jai alai.

This ball was right on target! But… unfortunately… the enemy machine was able to operate its Lambda Driver again. The ball did grievous damage to the shield; but, it had no effect on the A.S. itself.

"Damn," an irate Magnesium spat out sharply, hand twitching. A functioning shield around his prey meant that he would need to input more energy in each projectile, He didn't know how much longer he could manage his Lambda Driver, seeing that the palladium reactor was attached to a safety timer, showing up on one viewscreen as an hour glass. The sand was more than half spent. He added a few new adjustments. He had to be less flighty and flippant. He narrowed his eyes. When the next projectile was ready, he joyfully called out: "Suck on this!"

Every ball brought an electric thrill for him. This one was no exception.

Would it it the target? Would it hurt his adversary? Would he get payback for the day's earlier slights, and by association pay down some more against all of his life's torments, going back to his mother, who still showed up as a cold-eyed gargoyle in his dreams. This wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination. It didn't help that this was his first time using the Arm Slave's newest addition. But, up until now he had seemed to be blessed by Lakshmi, Benten, Shai, and Fortuna, goddesses of Luck all.

In jai alai, a player must begin when he is a stripling… must play the game for six or eight hours a day… and must bring himself to a peak of physical conditioning before he has a vestige of a prayer of becoming a professional. Anyone who has ever played tennis can take a crack at racquets or squash or badminton or table tennis without looking too much the fool. The girl would die. There was no way that he was going to come out looking like the fool!

"Attempting to throw a jai alai ball around without any experience-" The pilot said, trying to stamp out a growing swell of frustration. "-Is equivalent to sitting down to a mah-jong game with your Chinese laundryman." He went to run a hand through his hair, forgetting he had pilot's helmet on. "But, taking shots at a crippled player cures a lot of ills."

Each attack built upon the one before, bringing a rush of adrenalin and a heightened sensation of expectation. There was an itch he just had to scratch. There was a red string of Fate that he just had to cut. "How about a Miami special?" There had been an excellent player named Isidoro who specialized in a 'Manolete' shot. Just as Manolete… a historic and world-famous Spanish matador… used to pass the bull while looking somewhere else, Isidoro would catch the ball on the short hop and slam it back to the front wall while staring at a little old lady in the third row. Thousands would cheer, and the opponent would feel a whammy creeping over him.

Mr. Magnesium pointed his finger at where Arbalest was, but through the ball sidearm to where the A.S. would be.

The third ball shot forth and moved in a way that Physics just can't explain. Was it an illusion, somehow? Or did the ball truly bob and weave as it rose on a slight incline, screaming towards Arblaest's back as it turned and ran, leaving a vacuum the way that a lightning strike does. That one ought to destroy the shied and cause Kaname Chidori's reactor to overload, or whimper and blow out like a weak candle flame.

"NO ONE DOES THAT!"

Miyamoto cursed in three tongues, forgetting what the actual swear words meant. Arbalest had jumped, as if it were diving into a pool. It did a fucking belly flop! It fell into the crater that his arriving impact had caused. Less than a handful of seconds after the ball passed over its head, the Arm Slave made leaped out, a weak jump powered by one good leg. "What's next? Is that goddamn girl going to lay down and play dead?!"

"Sir," Lucas intoned. "I believe you should pay attention to the surroundings." A blip was showing up on one of the movement sensors.

"Why?" Mr. Magnesium replied, sounding more than a bit sour. "There's nothing here that can really hurt me!" He included Arbalest in that estimation, along with the remaining mascots. They were no better than the puling pukes in the JSDF, who were still hanging back outside of the battle scene. What were they waiting for, a useless Type 96 or three? The other late pilot had already embarrassed any number of those. Shit, an M9 could break ECS unexpectedly, and he would still consider the match more than even in his favor!

"The movement is unpredictable," Lucas continued. "Camera replay shows the pink bear again."

"What are you," Mr. Magnesium said in a scalding tone. "My fucking mother? No, my mother never cared enough about me to nag. And I don't have a fucking wife!" He shook his head in a scornful way. "What can a teabagger of a teddy bear do?" He hadn't seen how Gloomy Bear had taken a number of Groupies apart like they were made of tinfoil.

He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and tugged at one ear. He worked to control his breathing. He needed to stop thinking of the A.I. as a less than ideal manservant. No one could ever replace the original Lucas. He shouldn't resent the current namesakes, neither the computer system nor the Arm Slave itself. Indeed, if he was the hero, then they would be his Chariot and his Helper. Yes, the A.I. was his Morpheus… his Samwise Gangee…his Gerney Halleck… but fell a tiny bit short of being his Obi Wan Kenobi.

Furthermore, if he was the hero, he needed to cherish and protect the supernatural offerings that he had been gifted with. Some silly sot in a sausage suit had stolen one treasure, the Arm Slave's right antenna. He would have to make do with the other. That remaining apparatus was his very own One Ring… Dumbo's feather… and Excalibur. It was the equivalent Willow's magic acorns… or his Sith father's lightsaber. No. Scratch that last one. He didn't want anything to do with that selfish uncaring piece of shit!

He reconnected the visual and audio connection, immediately taking joy in his opponent's worried look. "Is that all you can do?" He spoke to Kaname. "Run? Duck? Flop around like some baby harp seal, just before it gets bludgeoned by a commercial sealer?"

Each spring, the Canadian government gives commercial sealers the green light to shoot and bludgeon to death hundreds of thousands of baby harpseals. Canada banned the killing of whitecoat seal pups; but, they can still be killed after they lose their iconic white fur at just a few weeks of age. Most harp seals are killed when they are three weeks to three months of age. The Canadian government recognizes that young harp seals provide the most valuable pelts. Al was quiet for a while, bit his board lights were flashing at a greater pace. "Don't worry. I have a good use for your pelt."

Miyamoto was referring to his opponent's nether region. He took great offense at her being a young woman. No woman ever fought his advances, without paying some kind of price, whether they were made in rutting romance… in one-sided lascivious lust… or in brazen and beauteous battle.

"Perhaps we should close the gap," Lucas suggested. "There would be less time for the opposing computer to judge speed and trajectory."

"What would be the sport in that?!" Miyamoto snorted. Part of him thought the suggestion wise, seeing that there wasn't a limitless supply of energy. But, the sportsman in him vetoed the idea. Besides, in jai alai, front-court play can be downright homicidal. Erdoza, a famous player once slammed the ball into the front wall at close range; the rebound knocked out all his front teeth. Another player, Carlos de Anda, was beaned in the head; he was taken to the hospital and operated on to relieve pressure on his brain. Men whose name he had forgotten had died.

The pilot typed in a different set of commands, and then made adjustment to the wave guides again. His intent was clear. The next force ball would be something different. It would be larger, more amorphous, covering a much larger target area. He could use this shot to handicap the white A.S., before following up with a kill shot. "The world resists me and I resist the world!" He was playing the part of Grendel, thinking his opponent to be less than a man, and himself to be something more than human. He was enraged now. There would be no Beowulf. Nothing would stop him. "Tremble, Chidori. Beg me to stop. What can a girl possibly do?" Miyamoto laughed. "They are useful holes, and nothing more!"

Yes, his words fell on Kaname Chiodi ears. But, as someone else had a connection with the ARX-7's radio at the moment, that someone else heard the words as well. Those words, and the next.

"Ho?" Something caught Mr. Magnesium's attention. It was a small kitten. It had scrambled out into the wreckage, and was having a hard time navigating the broken ground. It stopped to look at the orange A.S. and hissed, arching its little back. "Hah! At least you have a pair." He chuckled. Then, he caught sight of something else, something that had him scheming. "Heh heh heh. You too!" A small boy had been running behind the kitten. He had stopped at the edge of the wreckage, hand at his mouth, when he caught sight of the Arm Slaves. He'd wobbled on those little legs of his, when the Orange machine crouched some, and held its hand in his direction. Still, he took a couple more steps towards the young cat, before he stopped, weak with fright. "Let's see if fucking Chidori has motherly instincts." He wasn't above a filthy grimy game of death. If a threat to the child would sucker that girl in, it would be a fruitful gambit.

If the boy was lucky, he'd live. If he was unlucky, he might well die. He was young, as he himself once had been. Perhaps he had cheerful friends, loving parents. He should hate the little runt, then. Or, perhaps he too had a tragic life, with a puny cat as his only soulmate. In a quick motion, he could relieve the little prince of that tragic destiny. "You may not be as strong as I was," he said, pondering. "You might not have a Lucas, like I once had."

He had made another critical and potentially fatal faux pa. He would see the results, soon enough. But, he had also managed to impede his own attack. His mind aflush with previously banished boyhood memories, he could not concentrate cleanly enough to form another force bullet.

For Buddhists, the Rose ceremony is an important one, a rite almost as important as the Ceremony for the Birth of Buddha. It nourishes the understanding love and gratitude for one's parents. He had been dragged to one such ceremony by a girl long since forgotten, thinking something to do with roses might eventually get him laid, if the girl was a hopeless romantic. The opening words had driven him into a rage, and he had left the rose-filled room unceremoniously: "Today the community has gathered to celebrate the Rose Ceremony. Please listen with a serene mind. The work of a father is like a great mountain. The loyalty and love of a mother are like clear clean spring water. We come together today to remember our parents who have given us to birth. Keep your father and mother in mind before the Buddha, Dharma, and the Sangha, and light up your awareness of love, gratitude, and happiness."

Just the same, that bullshit had given him the insight to his own happy place. His mantra borrowed from the general framework. "I would like to have my father crushed by a great mountain. I would love to have my mother drown in clear clean spring water. I will keep my parents in mind before Death and before Famine." Those were two of the Four Riders of the Apocalypse. They would do for his parents. He repeated his mantra again and again, keeping a keen eye on Arbalest.

The other two members of the foursome were meant for him. He would welcome them here today, in another of his coming-of-age parties:

"There's room for two more at the table…" he said. "…War and Conquest."

There was nothing wrong with a threesome.

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EDGE OF TOHO JOSHICHUGAKKU KOTO SCHOOL REMNANTS

Sousuke brought Arbalest to a halt.

He felt as if he had a heavy lump in his stomach, seeing that other Arm Slave's arm change shape. There was an intact antenna on that side. The changes could be a harbinger of change, or something fell.

"I don't like this, pal." He said to the A.I. "I have a very bad feeling. Keep your eyes sharp. You know what I mean,"

"Feelings," Al said by way of response. "By that you mean Emotions. I have no such things. It is debatable whether or not they would be useful if I did. They are motivators, and I require no motivation. From an evolutionary standpoint, emotions are the agents of change and reaction, but I did not crawl out from the primordial ooze; I was created. Disgust is a quick, nasty response that humans experience when they encounter something that might make one sick. I will suffer no illness. Anger quickly transitions a man or woman from a placid state to one where he or she is ready to fight; fear prompt some people to flee from dangerous situations. That, I admit might be helpful; but, the final decision would still rest in human hands. Sadness, on the other hand, can generate the resolve needed to change the direction of one's life. Emotions can also motivate one to continue what we're doing; the experience of joy is reportedly a pleasurable one, and one would be motivated to continue carrying out the behavior that led to the emotion. I am curious. Do you take joy in battle. Do you find victory pleasurable?"

Arbalest was piloted in a zig zagging fashion, changing speed randomly, and choosing directions seemingly at whim.

"I-" Sousuke closed 'his' eyes and waited for the unexpected verbal squall to blow over. If the engineers did not reverse this temporary verbosity, he would at least ask them to put in a limiter, something that kept a word count. Still, out of a sense of courtesy, he answered the question. "Maybe at some level" he said, without any sense of guilt or shame. "That was the world I found myself in as a child, not one of Cub Scout meetings and birthday parties. But, to be frank, I have never been in touch with my emotions. I-" He revived an old doubt he carried around his neck in place of an Albatross. "I may be more Golem than man."

"Golem," Al said. "In Jewish folklore, a golem is an animated anthropomorphic being that is magically created entirely from inanimate matter… usually clay or mud… the golem is a highly mutable metaphor with seemingly limitless symbolism. It can be victim or villain…Jew or non-Jew… man or woman…or sometimes both." Al was silent for a moment. He understood what a sore subject was. His pilot had schooled him on that subject a number of times. "Over the centuries that metaphor has been used to connote war, community, isolation, hope and despair." There was another pause. Panel lights changed their patterns of blinking and glowing. "I heard correctly, did I not, Sergeant. You said 'golem', and not 'Gollum', correct?"

Sousuke did not answer. If the new weapon was as powerful as that sling had been… and just as accurate… he wanted to be the one to dictate distance. He had to conjecture what traps and travails it might offer, and then come up with possible salves and solutions. It had been a long time since he had to fight an almost purely Defensive fight. Those were usually delaying actions. Luckily, there was little to no rust to knock off.

Having not be told to be quiet, the A.I. returned to its prior subject. "Coupled their ability to empathize with others, emotions also serve to maintain social bonds amongst humans. Our bond does not require emotions. Those feelings also serve as social signal, allowing humans to interact with others' needs in mind rather than their own, which is the basis of society. I exist outside of societal bounds."

"I meant keep a close lookout-" Sousuke replied, remembering what had started the latest oral onslaught. "-Even though you don't actually have eyes. Well… uh…" He ran down. Arbalest did indeed have internal and external eye-equivalents.

"You were going to describe what I could scan," Al replied. "Regardless, do not become overly concerned with your timing. I estimate another thirty seconds to one minute before the next projectile can form. The intervals may even expand, if the enemy's Lambda Driver capacity begins to waver."

"Understood." Sousuke tried to press his lips tight together. Someone needed to limit his word count, too! But, he couldn't help himself. "The weapon may be uber-powerful, but it is inaccurate, and its rate of fire is low. I don't see why he chooses to keep using it even if he is out of ammunition. With Lambda Driver superiority, he could simply take us down, the way we took down our opponents in Hong Kong. Maybe he thinks we keep playing possum. Just the same, I hope he doesn't have anything else in that magic bag of his."

"Magic bag?" Al asked, before pausing. "You said bag, not lamp." There was another pause. "Are you saying he is like Felix the Cat?"

"What?" Sousuke didn't see a connection.

"Felix the Cat was a fictional character," the A.I. stated. "He aired in a cartoon in the 50s. He had a magic bag that could turn into almost anything."

"That-" Sousuke was about to berate Al again, but was stopped by a memory. One day, walking into the Officer's restroom by mistake, weary after little sleep, he had seen Commander Mardukas brushing his teeth in yellow pajamas. The clothing was decorated by upright black cats, each holding some kind of luggage covered with small black'x''s. Was that somehow related?

"There is a recording of the theme song." Al played the recording he sourced from You Tube: 'Felix the cat… the wonderful wonderful cat… whenever he gets in a fix…he reaches into his bag of tricks…."

"Enough." Sousuke said.

Another ball was forming.

"We do not have a Baggie," the A.I. remarked. "No. That is incorrect. You might. I do not." The silence lasted longer this time. The lights all went dark. When they came back on, the computer asked: "Is that machine better than me?"

"That answer will have to wait!"

The next ball was rolling down the enemy's arm.

"Lambda Driver function is green," Al said.

Finally some good news!

"Got it!" Sousuke gripped the control levers tightly, focusing his inner mind as 'his' outer body went rigid. He had better be quick enough. He had better be exact enough. He had better hope that there was no way to get those blasted balls to home in on a target! "Shield up!"

"By your command. Confirmed," Al said. "Power holding. Fluctuations minimal." It held speech as its synthetic muscle equivalents kicked into full gear, jerking its body out of harm's way with not a second to spare. "Sizeable shield loss. Efficacy at sixty percent"

"It's a Codarl derivative, for crying out loud," Sousuke said, almost sounding as if the heavens were breaking the rules, somehow. "Their Lambda Drivers never work this consistently. Or this powerfully." Up to now, none of them had shown the tenacity and strength level that Arbalest's shields had shown. But, it was the mantra of the strong man. He should always suspect that someday a stronger man than him might show up. It served no purpose to ever think in a conceited fashion, or feel unbeatable. A stronger man, or an enormously better Arm Slave. "Maybe it is indeed a better machine."

"Then-" Al was interrupted.

"But, the importance of that truth would only go so far," Sousuke said. "There is a saying that you should keep in mind: It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." That quote came from Mark Twain.

"It would not be so bad, being the underdog." The A.I. stated.

"Huh?" Sousuke wondered how the mechanical mind thought, if thinking was the correct concept.

"In British and American culture, underdogs are highly regarded," Al noted. "This harkens to core Judeo-Christian parables such as the story of David and Goliath and also ancient British legends such as Robin Hood and King Arthur, and reflects the ideal behind the American dream, where someone who is poor and or weak can use hard work to achieve victory. Underdogs are most valorized in sporting culture, both in real events, such as the Miracle on Ice, and in popular culture depictions of sports, where the trope is omnipresent. The idea is so common that even when teams are evenly matched, spectators and commentators are drawn to establishing one side as the underdog."

"I think it would be best to exclude David and Goliath for the duration of this conflict," Sousuke said in a deadpan drawl. "For damn sure!" He decided to keep the computer quiet for a while. Thinking back to Math class, he said: "Pal… solve this… zeta (s) equals zero… where zeta (s) equals one plus one-half to the s plus one third to the s plus one fourth to the s and so forth and so on. The hypothesis asserts that all interesting solutions of the equation lie on a certain vertical straight line." That was the Riemann hypothesis. It has been checked for the first ten trillion solutions. However, it still remained unsolved.

If Al couldn't solve it, maybe many of his multiple task would be tied up for a tad. And, should he solve it… he would be rich from the prize money. Well, Mithril would be. As if it didn't have access to enough money! Smiling, Sousuke began running systems checks and thinking of combat solutions that he could glean from combat history.

"That is the Riemann hypothesis," the A.I. said soon enough, after a quick search. "I do not have enough computing power to solve that." After a pause, it resumed its exploration of the underdog topic. "This fact may hold promise," it claimed. "In some stories, the Fool is often an underdog if they are the main character. There are several distinct, although overlapping categories of fool as a stock character in creative works and folklore: simpleton fool, clever fool, and serendipitous fool. The apparent ineptitude leads to people underestimating their true abilities. They are able to win either through luck or hidden wisdom against a more powerful, establishment villain voice. WARNING. Projectile detected."

Yet another force bullet was on the fly.

"The common thread is fool," Sousuke noted. "I am not a fool. Kaname Chidori is not a fool. You yourself are not a fool." As he said that, he felt foolish. No, neglectful. He had been distracted. A tiny bit only, for sure. But, sometimes the slightest lack of battlefield clarity was enough to end things. The ball that the orange A.S. had just tossed was moving in a seemingly impossible manner, one which made its part difficult to judge. But, maybe being distracted was a godsend. Thinking quickly, he came up with a solution he normally would never use. Yes, he truly despised talking during battle; but, maybe his motormouth was a gift from a Guardian Angel. An angel named Kaname Chidori.

"EXTREME WARNING," Al said. "I cannot judge trajectory."

"Me either," Sousuke said through clenched teeth, as he ran as fast as the mismatched legs allowed. He had to do something that a human soldier might have had to do in one of the Great Wars… throw himself into a trench or a fox hole. He would worry about getting out safely, later. First order of business was to stay in one piece.

"IMPACT IMMINENT," the A.I. put out in its usually neutral voice at a louder volume.

"Now!" Sousuke put Arblaest in sudden powerful motion, hoping a leg didn't outright fail. He jumped the way a diver did off of a diving board, stretching the ARX-7's body flat, sailing head first down into the impact crater. They struck hard; but, the energy ball flew overhead, impacting who knows where on who knows what. "We have to get out!" If the enemy could close the distance swiftly… or if more of those Arastols existed and were thrown into the fray… the battle… and his life… might end soon. "Up!" Swinging both A.S. arms upward and pushing as best as its legs allowed, he cleared the hole and stood at its lip, in a heightened sense of wariness.

Sousuke had left the visual and audio connection open.

"Is that all you can do?" Mr. Magnesium spoke. "Run? Duck? Flop around like some baby harp seal, just before it gets bludgeoned by a commercial sealer?"

"Arbalesh." That was a different voice. Someone else had gained access, but on a private channel projected only to the speakers inside the pilot helmet. "Arbalesh, this is Hiroshi in Gloomy Bearsh." The words were somewhat slurred, and the voice was a bit weak. The way Sousuke set up the connection, the mascot had full access to Mr. Magnesium's words.

"This is Sa-" Sousuke almost said 'Sagara.' "This is Arbalest. I read you."

"Don't worry," Mr. Magnesium said slyly. "I have good use for your pelt."

"Pelt, Sergeant?" Al asked.

"Never mind," Sousuke said sharply. "It is not a concept for virgins." He cleared his throat. It wasn't necessarily in his wheelhouse, either. He considered himself proper, despite the constant exposure to Mao and Weber. And, hewas still a sexual non-combatant. The young girls in the KGB training rooms had their virginity taken away early, as they were trained to be sexual weapons. The boys were trained so narrowly and so relentlessly, that they didn't have any concept of man and woman, except where tactical advantages might accrue. That had certainly warped his early concepts of socialization; but, his experiences in Mithril had helped him turn the corner and begin to make normal adjustments.

"Arbalest, what is your status?" Hiroshi asked. "I have taken on heavy damage; but Gloomy and I can still fight."

"My Lambda…." Sousuke started. "My defensive shields are down… and have been spot since being over-stressed… and I am out of ammunition. Thinking optimistically, I stand a chance if I regain shields and the offensive moves that come with them, and I can find a way to remove the source of those force bullets."

"The world resists me and I resist the world!" Mr. Magnesium said smugly. "Tremble, Chidori. Beg me to stop. What can a girl possibly do?" There was laughter. "They are useful holes, and nothing more!"

"I really don't like thish guy," Hiroshi said in a voice so still, that it bristled with unimaginable hatred and anger. He was also obviously in great pain. "I teach my daughter to stay away from guys like that bozo." In his battle-narrowed perspective, he saw the man and his orange machine as a predator, as a possible threat to the child that he loved. Children in general meant a great deal to him. That's what made the Gloomy Bear touring worthwhile, in addition to the money that it brought in for his family.

"Ho?" Mr. Magnesium blurted. "Hah! At least you have a pair," Souske had no idea what the enemy was talking about, but Gloomy's operator did.

"It's a kitten," Hiroshi reported, forcing his voice to sound more normal, if slow and painfully enunciated, literally. "I think I saw the same one back on Jindai High School grounds." There was a pause, and then a great sound of inrushing breath. "Oh no!" He had caught sight of something else. No, someone else.

"Heh heh heh. You too!" Mr. Magnesium sounded gleeful.

"There's a small boy chasing after the cat," Hiroshi said. A moment later, he growled and said "That orange bastard is pointing his hand at the boy. Cowardly cretin!"

"Let's see if fucking Chidori has motherly instincts," the enemy pilot said for dramatic effect, an ever-so-obvious emotional ploy.

"I don't want to sound heartless," Sousuke told Hiroshi. "But… while I have saved innocents before… it has only been when it would not put a greater number of lives at risk." He felt craven; but, not only did he have to make his own position clear, but he also needed to impose his priorities on the other man.

"You-" Hiroshi bit back his first reply. "I understand. I don't like it. I hate it. But I understand. If you can maneuver into a point of advantage-" He continued, his voice thick with emotion. "-We could coordinate an attack. If that's impossible, I can move in on my own, if you serve as a distraction. These claws may not be adamantium; but, their alloy is top secret, just the same. I'm pretty certain that I can inflict serious damage. Your call."

"I would direct you to the remaining antenna," Sousuke offered. "That is the priority target that I mentioned earlier. Strike it when its vulnerable… and not when it might obliterate you… and your impact upon this fight would be the greatest it could possibly be."

"Gotcha," Hiroshi said. "Gotta go! Gloomy on patrol!" Buoyed by his hatred, and by his general sense of justice, he sounded as if he were truly alive, surfing a huge wave of adrenalin. He could help!

"It is good to have an ally," Al noted. "Also… it might prove useful to act foolish… even if you are not a fool."

"Explain," Sousuke ordered, somehwat intrigued. He wa often one to used subterfuge in battle, but not in his personal appearance or speech. Kaname Chidori sometimes felt otherwise, but her error was understandable.

"A continued search for the word underdog brought other data," the A.I. said. "Underdog was an American animated television series that ran from October 3, 1964, to 1973. The protagonist… an anthropomorphic dog superhero… had an alter-ego, like you. You pretend to be a student. Underdog pretended to be harmless silly-appearing Shoe Shine Boy. When villains threatened, Shoeshine Boy ducked into a telephone booth, where he transformed into the caped and costumed hero, destroying the booth in the process… also analogous to you… when his superpowers were activated. Underdog almost always spoke in rhyme. For example: When help is needed… I am not slow… It's hip-hip-hip… and away I go. Similarly…like you… the canine hero usually caused collateral damage. Whenever someone complained about the damage, Underdog replied: I am a hero who never fails… I cannot be bothered with such details."

"I am not going to say that," Sousuke harumphed the way that Kaname would. "I'm a Specialist!" Gloomy was quick. He searched a number of screens; but, he saw no sight of him. "Enough useless errata," he demanded. He should have stopped there. He would initially regret speaking further. "I do not see the fascination with cartoon characters. What's next, Bugs Bunny?"

"That would be apropos," Al responded. "Seeing your current garb. Also, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and the Loony Tunes menagerie were all in skits pertaining to war. The Gremlin character would prove very useful, if we could convince it to cause the enemy craft to cease working."

"We'll leave gremlins… along with aliens… to the people at the laboratory," Sousuke said, making a face. "Wait." He had almost looked a gift horse in the mouth. There had indeed been a lot of errata. It hadn't, however, been all useless. He took his inspiration from Shoe Shine Boy. From that character, and from a more iconic animal character. He had been remiss, having forgotten something crucial. "You spoke too much; but, there was some wheat in all that chaff. Foolish, but not a fool." He had an idea. In retrospect, his attack on the enemy's pride during PE class had been foolish. But, the lessons he learned from those actions might be fruitful, now. Maybe he could play into the man's faulty view of the world, where a woman is a flighty and feeble thing.

"Do you have an idea?" Al queried. "Is there something that we can do. Do I possess a weapon I have been kept unaware of? We haven't been directly fighting for a time, now."

"You possess weapons that I forgot about," Sousuke admitted. "I have deliveries to make. I don't know if the presence of a functioning Lambda Driver field will destroy them passively if the field moves over them… passes through them… or pushes them aside. If the enemy actively targets them, they would be vulnerable. That's why… like one of the sources of my inspiration… I have to keep my intentions secret."

"Them?" Al asked. "Destroy what? Sergeant, what was the inspiration?"

"I will give you a clue," Sousuke said. "Here comes Peter Cottontail… Hopping' down the bunny trail… Hippity, hoppity… Easter's on its way…Bringing' every girl and boy… Baskets full of Easter joy."

Sousuke Sagara, Sergeant of Mithril, was not a frivolous young man. When it came to military operations, he did not do things that were superfluous, since a single stray action could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Well, there is a first time for everything. Not certain why he did it… or why he had even even considered it for that matter… he put the bunny head back on.

"The Easter Bunny," the A.I. said. "But… your intensions are not obvious." There was a pause. "Perhaps they are not logical."

"Logical is not always the answer, pal." Sousuke wondered if it was cruel or even potentially harmful to tell a machine that. "That's exactly why my plan might work."

"I see," Al said. Unable to unravel the mystery any further, he revealed his mental notes. "Sergeant. You are a rabbit again. Will you be saying 'What's up, Doc?"

Sousuke ignored the computer, not even bothering to question whether or not that last question had been an attempt at a joke. He had to keep his mind on his task. The first thing he had to do, was tricky. He had to get Mr. Magnesium to focus on Arbalest, not on the surroundings. But, he had to make certain he focused on the A.S. proper, but not on what the A.S. was doing.

He would have to act as if he were desperate. He would have to act like his courage was spent, as if his spirit had been completely broken. He would have to act as if the only thing on his mind was survival.

He would have to pilot precisely, and artfully, while appearing to do neither. His 'deliveries' needed to be placed where they were both potentially effective and actually undetected.

It was time to claw his way back into this fight.

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CENTER OF TOHO GAKUENDAIGAKU CAMPUS

There was destruction all around him.

Miyamoto scrolled through various view screens, at high and low power, while keeping one camera focused on the sobbing boy.

He saw collapsed apartment buildings… different schools with large chunks fallen in, or huge furrows passing through them… shrines that weren't looking very shriney anymore. Looking up, he saw numerous News helicopters, and almost wished that he had added the anti-armor/anti-air missile package in place of the Ascent gear. Outside of the damage areas, he could swear that nearly every police car in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police's garage must be parked at dramatic angles on every street within view. Flashing lights painted the sides of building, even where he couldn't spy the automobiles.

"So-" Kaname Chidori's voice came through loud and clear. "We see your true colors, once again. Big machine. Small man."

"Big machine, bigger man!" Mr. Magnesium said by reflex. "You know it. What I don't know is if I make you sweat… or get you wet." He laughed. "You can't help yourself. Probably both."

"You laugh at your own jokes," the girl's voice claimed. "Because no one else will. I have to admit… I was scared… but there really wasn't anything to be frightened of. You can put street trash in the Taj Mahal and he is still street trash. As long as you do the thinking, and not your A.I., I have absolutely nothing to worry about. Eventually you will see your own shadow and run."

"I would not say those things if I were you!" Miyamoto had begun to seethe with rage again. "When next you see my shadow, I will be standing over you, preparing the killing blow. You will be begging for mercy, the way a poor and ugly whore begs for a fuck. I have nothing to fear from you!"

"Baka!" Kaname Chidori's voice said sharply. "You must be more scared of me than you were of the first and only girl who ever wanted to kiss you, your mother. When she gave you a bath, you were so scared to let her see your little pee pee. When she cut your hair, you were scared to tell her you wanted to grow it long, so you could pretend to be a girl, and the younger boys would stop teasing you."

"I… would… not… say… those… things… if… I… were… you…." Mr. Magnesium bit off each and every word, his vision going crimson, his breaths coming in spasmodic surges. He wondered why the other Arm Slave threw a small slab of asphalt away from Lucas.

"Is that why you were picking on a little boy?" The girl's voice practically dripped with disgust. "Because he reminded you of your tormentors? Because you couldn't you couldn't hide behind your mother's skirt, since she didn't think you worthy of even touching that skirt? Wait. Where did he go?" That last was said in sing song.

Sure enough, the boy had run off, finally frightened into movement by the flying fragments of blacktop.

"I… WOULD… NOT… SAY… THOSE… THINGS… IF… I… WERE… YOU…."

Miyamoto pushed a mute button when Lucas started to speak. He caught sight of his biomedical readout. Readings were off of the chart. So what! He was like Shishio Makoto. The better he fought, the hotter he got. He was not about to let a girl go all Himura on him. This would be more like Shishio facing off against Kaoru or Megumi. Yahiko at the very most.

"I know what you are," Kaname Chidori's voice said, fanning the flames. Ironically, she said "You are a Snowflake." Sousuke had heard that term and others from a Millennial mechanic stationed on Merida Island. He never guessed that the terms would ever come in useful.

Snowflake is a 2010s derogatory slang term for a person, implying that they have an inflated sense of uniqueness, an unwarranted sense of entitlement, or are overly-emotional, easily offended, and unable to deal with opposing opinions. It is popularly believed, but not proven, that each actual snowflake has a unique structure.

"Yes, it seems to fit," the girl continued. "You are a fragile as a snowflake. Unless… maybe… you are a Broflake, instead."

Broflake describes a commonly seen stereotype of the quintessentially conservative, heterosexual, white male, who despite all his privileges and advantages in life, is easily sensitive to any criticism or mockery. Unable to see outside of his own perspective, he takes everything personally, even when it's not about him specifically. Fragile like a snowflake, but with the mentality of a 'bro,' he denies or ignores reality and the very real struggles of other genders, races, and sexual identities."

"Bastard!" Mr. Magnesium said under his breath, slamming a toggle switch instead of pushing it, almost snapping it off. He was speaking to Lucas, who had actually overcome the muting, and had tried to speak again, before being 'double-muted'.

"Or maybe you are a…." The girl's voice stopped, followed by a pregnant pause. "Closet Incel. One who always goes against his own desires trying to hide the truth from others and mainly himself-"

Incel is a portmanteau of 'involuntary celibates', who are members of an online subculture who define themselves as unable to find a romantic or sexual partner despite desiring one, a state they describe as inceldom. Discussions in incel forums are often characterized by resentment, misanthropy, self-pity, self-loathing, misogyny, racism, a sense of entitlement to sex, and the endorsement of violence against sexually active people Some people think of the subculture as part of the online male supremacist ecosystem and include them in their list of hate groups.

"-Unless the truth you are hiding is that you are MGTOW!" Kaname Chidori's voice was filled with derision. The word had been pronounced mag-tow, rhyming with cow.

MGTOW stands for 'Men Going Their Own Way', an anti-feminist, mostly online community advocating for men to separate themselves from a society they see as harmful to men, and particularly to eschew heterosexual marriage and cohabitation. The community comprises websites and social media presences as part of what is more broadly termed the manosphere. MGTOWs posit that feminism has made women dangerous to men, and that male self-preservation requires dissociating completely from women, holding that modern women have been 'brainwashed' by feminism to believe 'they are right no matter what.' A woman will 'ride the cock carousel' with as many men as possible, most of whom will mistreat her and valorize her feminist claims of victimhood. When women do decide to settle for a man, he will be a passive 'beta-type,' whom she will boss around and target for his 'utility value'… financial assets and stability. The 'beta' may be aware of the risks of marriage, but still tries to hold out for a 'Disney-ending.' However, divorce proceedings will inevitably sway in a woman's favor, due to institutionalized female privilege. Some people see Japan's herbivore men serving as role models for MGTOW.

I WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THOSE THINGS IF I WAS FUCKING YOU

Miyamoto's shout hurt his own ears and caused a squealing bit of feedback on the communications line.

"No… not if I was fucking you… if I were you…."

The pilot tried hard to bring his rage under control. With some success.

"In any case," the girl continued rubbing salt in the wound. "It's clear that you are some kind of Soy Boy!"

Soy Boy is slang used to describe males who completely and utterly lack all necessary masculine qualities. This pathetic state is usually achieved by an over-indulgence of emasculating products and/or ideologies. The origin of the term derives from the negative effects that soy consumption has been proven to have on the male physique and libido. The average soy boy is a feminist, nonathletic, has never been in a fight, will probably marry the first girl that has sex with him, and likely reduces all his arguments to labeling the opposition as 'Nazis'.

"You're just trying to make me angry," Mr. Magnesium said. "You think that you can put me off of my game." He guffawed. "I admit, I have a bit of a temper. A rage issue. But that is nothing new. You are not the first one to fall into this trap." He began concentrating. He could feel the energies more clearly, now. Soon. Soon he would be ready to throw another ball. All thoughts of the little boy and his own boyhood had fled his mind. That idiot girl's plan had backfired.

She had fine-tuned his mind.

"Right," Sousuke replied. "Like at the school. When I got the better of you, you blew your top, like a huge concrete cover blowing off of a Minuteman silo before launch. But then… at what should have been the point of your greatest strength… you went wee wee weeee-eee-ee-e, all of the way home."

"I was under orders," Miyamoto claimed calmly. He didn't say that he had been ordered to leave the school and students alone.

"I have heard soldiers say that many times," the girl began. "Before they retreated in fear and cowardice. But, you are good at dodging, are you not? Dodging? I have remembered another character that fits you. Another one played by Ben Stiller, by coincidence. White Goodman. In 'Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story."

For some reason, Mr. Magnesium thought he heard the girl make an aside, saying 'No, your mentioning underdogs had nothing to do with it."

"That-" Miyamoto couldn't get a word in.

"I can send you a strip-o-gram on your birthday. A man!" Sousuke laughed. "You can impress me with your best lines. 'We are the Globo Gym Cobras… and we will… we will… rock you!' 'Nobody makes me bleed my own blood!' Please say if for me. 'This is it, La Loser. Are you ready for the hurricane'." He actual did a good imitation of White's voice. In the same voice he said "Or… or… 'You're going down like a sweet muffin'. Even better, say 'I was under orders. You're just trying to make me angry. You are not the first to fall into this trap'. It's just too rich. You two are twin brothers from different mothers."

"You-" Mr. Magnesium had never completely realized that with him, there actually was useful anger, and useless anger, and that one could turn into the other at the drop of a hat. The 'useful' had gone 'useless' again.

"And, I hate to say it… especially since you keep claiming that you are a male model… but you do look fat in your A.S. suit." Sousuke saw the man's eyes widen, affronted, before they narrowed, incensed. "A couple more bon bons, and you are going to look like White at the end of the movie. You remember. Super morbid obese, rubbing pizza over his half naked body, while he stuffed himself with fried chicken and ice cream." He laughed again for effect. "Fuck you, Chuck Norris!"

"Shut up!" Mr. Magnesium slammed his hand down so hard on the control console, that he dislocated two fingers. The pain was sudden and intense. It acted like a switch, turning the useless anger into useful anger. If his brain was a net, his anger was a ping pong ball. It was a miracle that he wasn't mentally exhausted, now.

"But good old Ben did you one better," Sousuke said. "In 'Mystery Men'. He played Mister Furious, whose power comes from his boundless rage. You don't have to say this. You are living it." He imitated the movie character. "Rage… taking over…." He forced more uproarious laughter.

"Funny," Mr. Magnesium said, his voice icy calm and even. "I've seen that movie too." There was the sense of danger in his voice, like the blips on a seismometer before a volcano erupts. "You should have been more circumspect. You should not have ascribed me the hero's name." He bit those words off. Instruments that sniff SO2, CO2 and other gases also can signal changes in the volcano. Those machines would be sounding alarms now. "Remember the final fight with Casanova Frankenstein. Remember what Roy said then?" Roy was Mr. Furious's real name. "'No. No. No. Rage really taking over'. You do remember what happened next, don't you, Frankie?"

Roy had said 'Frak-you later, Frankenpuss' after he had just thrown Casanova Frankenstein into his Psycho-frakulator, a device which lethally bent reality. A strange cousin to the Lambda Driver, if you will.

With a quick and unsuspected sequence of ballet run-up moves, Miyamoto closed the distance between Lucas and the ARX-7 quicker than his opponent could possible expect. He also had a new bullet forming, the largest one yet, designed to cover the greatest surface area yet. This one was not destined to destroy with sheer force, but rather to cling in a prolonged fashion, eating away at force shield and structural armor alike. Playing the wise ass, he called out "La Loser… are you ready for the hurricane." He let fly. "You're going down like a sweet muffin."

The glowing force projectile started off small and round, but soon began expanding at a frightful rate, sending out questing pseudopods of energy, like an ameba, as it seemed to dart across the distance between the two ASes,

Miyamoto's anger flared again, even hotter if possible, when he overheard Kaname Chidori's commentary, likely to her A.I.:

"What the hell! It's like the Space Amoeba from 'The Immunity Syndrome.' What's next, the Planet Killer from 'The Doomsday Machine'?"

"It could be worse," the machine voice said in reply.

"How?" Kaname Chidori said. "Move! Now!" There was a grunt of pain as the girl must have bitten her tongue or banged her head. She had piloted Arbalest in remarkable fashion, throwing it flat out on its side and pivoting impossibly around one extended arm. But it had been only half effective. The A.S.'s body remained intact. The energy clung to the ARX-7s'shrinking force shield, gnawing away at its meal.

"As I said, it could be worse," the machine resumed, not able to read the moment. "It could have been a Tribble." There was no time for anyone there to appreciate the magnitude of what had just happened. Having researched humor, much the way that its pilot had before, the A.I. had purposefully told a joke, even though its appreciation of humor was no proven to be no better than Data's or Spock's.

"M-O-T-H-E-R-F-U-C-K-!-!-!"

Mr. Magnesium's temples throbbed after that outcry. If there was one thing that he hated more than his mother and father… and more than any of the girls who he had forced to recognize his magnificence… it was Trekkies! But, seeing how Arbalest was very slowly getting up from a prone and vulnerable position, he decided to go with the flow. It was alright, if he did so in evil villainous mockery!

"It looks like your time playing at being an Arm Slave pilot is finally over, Miss Chidori." He blew her a kiss goodbye. "Unless somebody can beam you up!"

"Shield is down," Arbalest's voice told all who were tuned in. "Lambda Driver is off."

"Perfect," Mr. Magnesium said, dialing up another force bullet. This one would form much faster. It would be weaker and use up a lot more power, but that wouldn't matter if it were the kill shot! "Even if you can dodge a wrench… and you can dodge traffic… you won't be able to dodge this ball!

He smiled.

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CENTER OF TOHO GAKUENDAIGAKU CAMPUS

Hiroshi whispered "Hachiman."

Hachiman was the god of war, once worshipped by many warriors, many of whom referred to the deity as the God of the Eight Banners.

Gloomy's pilot wished that such a god might exist, since he could use all of the help that he could get. It seemed like an overly dramatic thing to do, entering the fray against an Arm Slave, even though he and his powered suit were not one of the main combatants. It was quite possible, that this might be his last act in life, a life he had dedicated to his little treasure. But, that ominous orange machine could cause the death of many daughters, of many of the people that those daughters loved most in their lives.

He did a double take.

Were those doves that had just taken wing, flapping skyward after resting a bit on the rubble that was once the assembly room of the Elementary school? Doves were Hachiman's symbol. "Never mind," he grumped. They were flying like pigeons. He cursed under his breath, until he remembered that pigeons are the sign of Divinity at work. "I guess you guys help those who help themselves, right? That probably mean you ignore those who rush into things without proper preparation."

He stepped behind a crumbled wall, certain that he wouldn't be seen there. Hopefully the big orange bastard wasn't using any kind of infrared imaging on the whole battleground. He went through a systems check yet again, not wanting to be surprised by some malfunction or weakness when he was on the move. He checked all pneumatic systems, happy with the hydraulic pressure. No serious leaks! Muscle strength was down, but he dialed in the auxiliary strands, and they made up the difference and then some. Too much strength and too much speed would sap his power too quickly. He didn't have all that much battery charge left, and his miniaturized salt reactor would go critical if he pushed it too far.

That was another pilfered technology, a small walking nuclear bomb, controlled of course.

Gloomy Bear moved each limb, as Hiroshi tested each joint, large and small. He sliced a tossed brick cleanly in half. He did the same thing to a thick metal pipe. The claws were still hella-sharp. He quickly did some calculations in his head, and then ran through a list of vocabulary words he had read in a magazine a few days ago. It only made sense to check his own systems too, after all. He seemed mentally fit. Physically? He had no serious handicaps, lucky to be in a powered exoskeleton. He couldn't see anything but a red haze out of his nearly shut eye, but his unobstructed eye saw fine. He had no one in his corner to cut him. But that was alright… there were no judges or referees.

He whispered the name of his daughter.

Let's work out that cramp!" Hiroshi felt tightness in one leg. By coincidence, Gloomy's same leg had some pieces of metal that were rubbing against one another now. He moved the powered suit from a stroll to a jog to a run. "Let's be prepared. Let's find our limits." His steps… his strength in jumping… the exact placement of his landings… the most precise movements… everything was crucial. He knew exactly what he was wagering in the coming gamble. He was throwing the dice, with everything on the line, in a play that Cho-han playing bakuto and yakusa would shy away from.

Hiroshi hadn't been listening to the audio feed from Arbalest, even though he could still hear what Sagara heard. For some reason he heard one snippet: "No. No. No. Rage really taking over. You do remember what happened next, don't you, Frankie?" He almost made a piloting error. What the fuck? Was that sick bastard in the enemy machine talking Dodgeball, now? What next?

"I'm betting on Chō," he said, sighting the orange A.S. and approaching it from behind, leaping great distances with each purposeful stride. The dice game is a simple one. The total of two rolled dice would be even… Chō… or odd… Han. He would either live… or die. There was no strategy to the gambling game. There was no trick to his attack. He would get in fast and strike hard, succeeding wonderfully or failing miserably. If he failed and had a second chance, then he would take it. He heard another sally, silly in word, but ominous in intent: "La Loser… are you ready for the hurricane." Followed by "You're going down like a sweet muffin."

"Geez!" He bit his lip. "Pay attention!" He would need to see every opportunity that came to light. He would need to act quickly, with great precision. Trying to keep focused on his target, he couldn't help but notice the fierce flung ball. The glowing projectile started off small and round, but soon began expanding at a frightful rate, sending out questing pseudopods of energy, like an ameba, as it seemed to dart across the distance between the two ASes,

The girl piloted Arbalest in remarkable fashion, throwing it flat out on its side and pivoting impossibly around one extended arm. But it had been only half effective. The A.S.'s body remained intact. The energy clung to the ARX-7s'shrinking force shield, gnawing away at its meal. He focused on exchange between pilots again.

"Shield is down," the machine voice told all who were tuned in. "Lambda Driver is off."

"Perfect," Mr. Magnesium said, dialing up another force bullet.

Hearing the girl and the young man, Hiroshi threw his figurative dice under the bowl of battle. Soon enough, the bowl would be lifted, and he would find out if he hit his mark, or if his mark hit him. He leaped and landed upon the ankle flare of the A.S., immediately bounding upward again, pushing off of the inner portion of the right elbow joint. He had gotten this close, so one thing was certain, the machine did not have any form of force shield up, either because it didn't see a need for one at that time in the battle… it had power shunted to the antenna apparatus… or the device responsible for the protective layer was no longer operating. Regardless, his trajectory should carry him right between the antenna and the stub of the missing antenna, like a football between the uprights.

It did!

But, he was moving too quickly and too much to the center. He was going to miss and streak past. Cursing, he struck the claws of one paw out. They snagged on the barrel of the Gatling gun. Swinging around, he took swipes at that weapon, reducing it to falling and bouncing barrels. He then sprang at his target again, aiming for the dead center of the stalk, dragging claws slowing his speed and allowing him to pivot precisely. Scrabbling with his feet to gain traction, he kicked one bear heel strong against the highest point of the enemy, causing a set of bottom claws to extrude. He quite expected a giant hand to reach up and swat him away like a bug.

The globe at the tip of the antenna had begun to glow.

"Shit!" Hiroshi saw that thing as a bug zapper. He didn't want to end up charred and smoking, falling to the ground. He pushed hard, took a giant step, and swung for the fences with his good claw. He hit, slicing a large piece of metal out of the antenna. "Huzzah!" It was still intact. He felt a tingle, as if he was touching a charged-up Van Der Graaf generator. "Come on!" He swung again like a lumberjack, aiming at the place he had cut before. He struck many times in three blinks of an eye.

Shing Shing Shing Shing Shing Swanggg-gg-g THWOMP Shissss-sss-ss-sh zink

"Winner winner chicken dinner!" Hiroshi had done it. All five claws had broken off, but not before the job was done. The remaining antenna had been severed. A fountain of sparks erupted beneath him as he took one more step, intending to jump to the ground.

The huge orange hand had been brought up in a slapping motion, but Miyamoto had been too late. Before he even knew the result of the unexpected assault, the pilot had struck the attacker, his swat turning into a grab. At the last instant, he saw pink and deduced who the damn bug was. He had flicked that flea far away once, and the blood-sucking bastard had come back to bite at him again.

He would crush the life out of it.

"Gahhhh-hhh-hh-h!" Hiroshi felt his motion slowing, and things grew instantly dark. He didn't have time to realize what had happened before the design of his suit saved his bacon. The exoskeleton was strong enough to withstand the initial vice grip grasp, and the fabric of the costume slipped against the inner framework's smooth metal. For that moment in time, Gloomy Bear was like a water snake, those silly slick water-filled toys that slide out of a child's grip when he or she closes his or her hands on it.

"Damn it all to hell!" That voice came over loud and clear on Gloomy's audio feed. The A.S. pilot was staring at a pink bear costume that had slid off of the underlying skeleton, the way that a snake might stare at the tail that broke off of the lizard it had bitten, allowing the meal to escape and grow a new tail. The voice grew in volume, and exploded in anger, when another voice spoke up. "Sir, the left antenna is gone" was immediately followed by "F-U-C-K-!-!-!"

Hiroshi had the powered framework tuck in like a ball and rolled into his impact with the ground. He wobbled sideways for a while until the gyroscopic balancing system brought him upright in time. He saw the A.S. spinning in his direction, sunlight shining off the razor-sharp edge of a giant hooked blade. The arm began to swing downward.

FFFFFFWWWW-WWW-WW-W-A-NNNN-NNN-NN-N-N-GGGG-GGG-GG-G

That sound echoed across ten city blocks, as if a huge hammer had struck and even larger bell. Unbeknownst to Hiroshi or Mr. Magnesium, Arbalest had gotten off a strike. No, it was not a last reserve shot from the 57mm. With Arbalest rising up on its knees, Sousuke had used the ARX-7s hand to grip a large piece of cement and tangled steel… the remnants of a school stairwell… and fling it sidearm with everything the downed A.S. had. It had been a last gasp effort to hit the antenna. There was no antenna left to hit. It had crashed into the back of Lucas just the same.

"THAT'S EEEEE-EEEE-EEE-EE-E-N-U-FFFFF-FFFF-FFF-FF-F-!"

It sounded as if the orange Arm Slave pilot was going ballistic. The moment of respite had been fleeting, but Hiroshi made the most of it. With the covering gone, his craft looked a lot like a bear-shaped Terminator built from metal rods and bars. He zigged at just the right moment. The orange A.S. had kicked a large chunk of dislodged masonry in his direction. It passed so close, that he could see a child's chalk drawing decorating the bricks. He zagged, as the impromptu projectile bounced, rolled, and then split into many smaller fragments. At first, his mind thought only of escape. But, as his conscious thoughts returned, he tried to think of another way he could be useful. The claws on Gloomy's hands were either gone or useless. The ones on his one foot were bent and causing him to run with an awkward gait. Other than serving as a decoy, he had nothing left.

Wrong.

He remembered something. He had not come to the landing zone empty-handed. He had brought along the Spike ATGM. It would be sitting where he left it, just over that brick wall!

The Israeli-designed Spike missile is widely becoming the primary medium infantry anti-tank asset for most of Europe and was used by many nations beyond that continent. It was also under serious consideration for use by the U.S. Army and the British Joint Rapid Reaction Force. Spike is a fire-and-forget missile with lock-on before launch and automatic self-guidance. The missile is equipped with an imaging infrared seeker and uses a tandem warhead consisting of two shaped charges: a precursor warhead to detonate any explosive reactive armor, and a primary warhead to penetrate the underlying armor

Hiroshi wasn't paranoid. He had good reason to look back the way he had come. He sighed a long sigh of relief, punctuated with a gasp, feeling a sharp pain in his ribs when he twisted.

Fortunately, the orange A.S. was no longer looking in his direction.

"You're up," he said to the girl. He was the bit player, although one who had struck a telling blow. Kaname Chidori, whose name he had sworn to keep secret, would carry the fight, or lose it.

It was like he had just slapped the hand of his partner in a tag-team pro-wrestling match.

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EDGE OF THE KOSAIJI TEMPLE

There was a loud shout.

Sousuke had called out victoriously, even though it had been Gloomy who had made the successful attack.

"And they say lightning never strikes the same place twice," he added. First the incredibly lucky shot from the recoilless rifle, and now an amazing action sequence that any anime would be proud to call its own!

"Why do you say that?" Al asked. Of course, the idiom means 'Something that's very extraordinary and unlikely to happen will never happen to the same person twice'. The A.I. was in the process of scanning through multiple articles that said that not only could lightning strike multiple times during a given lightning flash, as researchers seen on more than one occasion, but also that lightning from different storms can strike the same location separated by days, months or years.

"That-" Sousuke didn't want to have to deal with another verbal barrage, after being lucky enough to escape the jai alai barrage relatively unscathed up until that point. "That's because after lightning strikes, the place won't be the same anymore." That was a bullshit answer; but, it was the best that he could do.

'-" There was no response. Instead, the A.I. revisited a prior topic. "Sergeant, was that a deus ex machina? We were immobile. Our shield was down. The enemy likely would not have missed."

"No," Sousuke said. "An attack from us may have succeeded if Gloomy's had not. Deus ex Machina are used to resolve a situation portrayed as unsolvable or hopeless. Things had not reached that level yet."

"I-" Al stopped after a single word. No doubt he was analyzing the true meaning of unsolvable and hopeless, and how they would apply to the past few minutes. Because he could multi-task, he also took note of what the ARX-7's hands and arms were doing. Sousuke was directing those appendages to remove grenades from the 'belt', and to toss them at desired locations. "Deus ex Machina are external to the characters and their choices throughout the story. The solution comes from a character with small or non-existent influence on the plot until that point, or from random chance from nature or karma."

"Right. Now we will-" Sousuke was cut off.

"The concept of desu ex machina eventually came back into vogue during the early years of the film industry thanks to The Hays Code." Al noted. "Villains, and anyone else who didn't toe the moral line, were absolutely not allowed to get away with their crimes. But, more often than not, the villains were much more interesting than the heroes. The solution was to let the bad guys be awesome for the duration of the movie, and then drop a bridge on them in the last five minutes. Something like that."

"That had to do with movies and with fiction." Sousuke sounded sour. "This is not fiction. Like I was saying-"

"But what if there is a God, and God is writing the script." Al was growing philosophical. "He may have written Himself into a corner. Then again… if God is perfect, he should never write himself into a corner-"

"SHUT UP!"

There was no time for a machine to start questioning the meaning of life! Not with things as hairy as they had been. Also, the whole thing with Al Junior was still disconcerting. He didn't like the concept of Deus est machima in real life. It was okay in sci-fi books and movies. 'God is the machine' type plot lines had A.I. growing super powerful, and playing God. In some stories, the machine 'God' helps humanity. But, most writers end up with mankind being enslaved or destroyed.

In his case, the A.I. was just smart enough to be a royal pain in the ass!

The A.I. was not offended. It simply found its next question. "Sergeant, why are you throwing away the grenades?" It was unaware of the set-up, as its systems were not used in the priming of the weapons. A true child of technology, Sousuke had set things up through apps on his smart-phone. "There have been no explosions."

"I'm setting up an Easter Egg Hunt for our guest," Sousuke replied. "Hippity, hoppity."

"An egg hunt is a game during which decorated eggs or Easter eggs are hidden for children to find," Al read off of Wikipedia. "Real hard-boiled eggs, which are typically dyed or painted, artificial eggs made of plastic filled with chocolate or candies, or foil-wrapped egg-shaped chocolates of various sizes are hidden in various places. The game is often played outdoors, but can also be played indoors. The children typically collect the eggs in a basket. When the hunt is over, prizes may be given out for various achievements, such as the largest number of eggs collected, for the largest or smallest egg, for the most eggs of a specific color. Eggs are placed with varying degree of concealment, to accommodate children of varying ages and development levels. In South German folk traditions it was customary to add extra obstacles to the game by placing them into hard-to reach places among nettles or thorns."

"Indeed," Sousuke said. "In this case, the 'eggs' have been programmed to ignore us, as they can read a signal I am transmitting. Any other mobile object larger than armored car passing by them will set off the explosive. Hopefully, without any shielding from the Lambda Driver. Even so, if the eggs are not destroyed by a pushing field… and can somehow get inside a field before they explode… such a field may not prevent success."

"That sounds more like an egg fight where-" Al had been accessing multiple search engines. Again.

"SHUT… UP…." Sousuke snapped. "Just… shut… it…." He wondered how many pet owners would get rid of their prized Macaw if the bird didn't just repeat things, but instead kept talking and talking and talking.

"Sergeant… query." The A.I. began. "There is a medical kit on board. Does it contain tranquilizers?" The machine did not correctly interpret the growling sound it heard in response. "Are there medical remedies for Premenstrual Syndrome, in case-"

"The engineer who gave you a tune up," Sousuke said. "I'm going to steal some of Sergeant Major Mao's favorite beer and hide it in his locker. I'll then leave an anonymous note telling her where to find the beer."

"That does not compute," Al replied. "The engineer is an ally."

For some reason, hearing a robotic brain say 'That does not compute' had Sousuke thinking of Lost In Space, the charming TV series, not the horrendous movie. He almost expected to have Arbalest wave its arms, and have Al say 'Danger Will Robinson.' Thinking of that Robot, he felt a bit guilty yelling at Al, even though the computer had no feelings. The Robot… just like the Tin Woodsman… had a good 'heart,' so to speak, even if they didn't actually have that organ.

"Sorry for yelling," Sousuke said. "And I know what you are going to say. I don't have any need to apologize. I do. I just do. Leave it at that." He had an inkling what some parents must feel like with overly inquisitive children, if there really is such a thing, and with those whose children's actions stretch their patience well beyond the breaking point. But, he realized that a parent should still act like the adult, no matter what happens.

"The orange Arm Slave is now running towards our position, Sergeant." Al showed the location of the two machines on a screen. "I would have a more accurate representation if we had airborne drones, like the enemy once did." There was a pause. "Shouldn't we be running too, so that our intentions are not discovered before they come to fruition? Wouldn't it be better to keep a greater separation, while our Lambda Driver is down, and his is operational?"

Sousuke had shot down Lucas's drones early in the fight. There could be no subterfuge or surprise with things like those buzzing around. Ho wcome Amalgam made use of such advanced strategies while Mithril sort of dragged their feet? That was a sore subject in general terms. Why did Mithril have one Lambda Driver, while the other guys had them seeming falling out of trees?

"Those are good questions, pal." Sousuke had considered those elements, but was more concerned about doing a credible job. Now was no time to be sloppy. Grenade placement was an art in this situation, and you can't rush art. Not only did he want to inflict maximum possible damage, he wanted to keep the enemy guessing, especially when that enemy seemed to be emotionally labile. "But, my answer is this: slow and steady wins the race."

"Sergeant?" The loquacious A.I. asked a very brief question.

"Later… after the battle is over… access Aesop," Sousuke said. "One of his fables was titled 'The Tortoise and the Hare'. In that story, a hare makes fun of a tortoise for being slow. The tortoise then challenges the hare to a race. Amused by the idea, the hare accepts, believing there is no way he could possibly lose to a sluggish turtle. With the course set and ready to go, the race begins and the hare quickly darts down the path, leaving his fellow green contender in the dust."

"But, in this case you are the hare…." Al started. "No. I misrepresented you. You are merely dressed as a hare. I apologize."

Sousuke's eyes went wide. Was the A.I. truly feeling regret or shame, or was it adapting, trying to assimilate social norms? Was it merely a pint-sized supercomputer playing the parrot? Either way, the response was interesting. But, being the practical person he was, he still wasn't certain if different was better, when life was on the line, and his calculations in the art of war could be thrown off by unexpected things.

"It's not long before the hare builds a strong lead," Sousuke continued, without chiding the A.I. or telling it that there really was no need to apologize. "Being so far ahead, he believes that the tortoise will never catch up. In fact, the hare feels so confident of the lead he has that he decides to take a nap! Meanwhile, the tortoise continues plodding along, running at a slow and steady pace until he eventually catches up and even passes the napping hare. Shortly after, the hare wakes up only to see the tortoise moments away from finishing the race. He desperately tries to catch up by running as fast as he can, but it's too late, the tortoise crosses the finish line and wins the whole thing. That's pretty much the story. The tortoise ran all the way to the finish, and even though he was slow, he was persistent. Thus, it's believed that the moral of the story is 'slow and steady wins the race'."

"I see," Al said. "That is for your benefit, but also the enemy's detriment, am I correct? It is a long-standing truth throughout history that patience often goes against human instincts. Cato the Elder once said that 'Of human virtues, patience is most great'. The enemy's patience wavers. Perhaps he has been the one who has been overconfident."

"Affirmative," Sousuke said. "Also, some animals predatory instincts kick in strongest when another animal runs and is seen as prey. When the chips are down, Mr. Magnesium may become a mindless animal, without the inherent instincts that a good predator possesses."

"I will not ask about chips being down." Al said. He would find it himself. After the battle.

"Thank you," Sousuke said.

"Sergeant, before Hong Kong, we had a problem." The A.I. said.

"Yes," Sousuke replied. "But to be honest, it wasn't really our problem. It was my problem. But, like I told you before, our problem is gone."

"So is our Lambda Driver." Al stated. "But the enemy still has one." There was a pause. "Can he have a problem, too."

"Ah." Sousuke actually smiled. It was as if Al was his bright son, who had brought home an A-plus on his big essay. "Maybe he can. Maybe we can help." He had tried psych methods to get Miyamoto off of his game. What if he could find some way by luck or by design to drive a mental wedge between him and his Lambda Driver, or him and his own A.I.?

*B-O-O-M*

There was a loud explosion. The rear-view monitor showed a huge cloud of smoke and flying soil. The orange A.S. could then be seen running out of that cloud, a sooty scorch mark on one leg. The enemy picked up speed, changing course to match Arbalest's new change in direction, still moving with a dancer's grace.

Sometimes big motions are a bad practice.

*B-O-O-M*

"And so it begins," Sousuke said.

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Yes. Another long battle chapter. But, you can feel relieved. There's another chapter of battle next; but, it's shorter.