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.

21. Chapter 21

Another chapter of battle? Aren't A.S. battles in the FMP canon over relatively quickly? Well, if you took out all of the thoughts and exposition, this would go a lot more quickly, too! But, for me, where's the fun in that?! Writing for me is about the journey, not the destination. And, after taking a long vacation away from FanFics, I owe my muse a lot of favors….

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CENTER OF TOHO GAKUENDAIGAKU SENGAWA CAMPUS

The helmet ricocheted off of the front viewscreen.

It then bounced off of the leading edge of the control console, and lay spinning on the scant floor space.

Like aircraft pilots who crack up, jai alai players are rushed back into action as soon as they are ambulatory, to reduce the chance of a permanent phobia. There has never been a quitter in the pro game or one who permitted cowardice to shade his play. One might conclude that all such tendencies to be chicken would long since have been bred out of the players in the frontons of the Basque country, else they would not be playing professionally at all.

Miyamoto was not a jai alai player. He simply fashioned himself to be cut from the same cloth. He was not a quitter. No cowardice would shade his play. He would never chicken out. That wasn't his problem. Phobias were no concern.

That's not to say he didn't have more than his share of troublesome mental tendencies.

Competition awoke the demon within him. He had a pathologic need to win. Fear of defeat spawned anger. Any hint of humiliation triggered cravings for blood. Signs of confrontation or defiance fanned those flames. When women were added to the equation, the flame became a bonfire.

"A fucking bear!" In the rear viewscreen, Gloomy Bear's figure could be seen speeding from view. "A fucking pink bear." He cursed a particularly foul oath. Not because of the bear, but because he didn't have something else that he could throw. Seeing that one screen was flashing red, he switched off the mute function. "Why didn't you warn me of that attack!" How he hated that bear! Not only had it taken the last remaining antenna, it had also led a large number of his Groupies into defeat like a decoy duck or the Pied Piper, before they could accomplish anything tryly useful. "But… unlike the girl… despite the disadvantage between his machine against mine… he took it down my throat". Wait, he thought. Change those words! They did not sound quite right between men.

He could accept that crippling attack more readily, because it had come from a man.

"My vocal system was blanked," Lucas replied. "And… if you recall… previously, I did recommend a sense of increased awareness."

"You did not recommend it strongly enough," Mr. Magnesium said, projecting his own guilt upon Lucas. "And you did not make any effort to dodge that rock!" That too was a false accusation, as the A.I. was not programmed to usurp control of body movement short of imminent demise. "A fucking rock!" His anger level grew in leaps and bounds.

Today, he had been shot at, knifed, and fought with Lambda Driver force… but, it was a chunk of broken building that took things to next level and removed one more vestige of calm and clear thought. More childhood trauma was to blame. When he was younger, other children called him 'queer' and worse names, because he did ballet. A group of them had thrown rocks as they mocked him. Thrown to hurt. And they had hurt. Hurt, and caused him to bleed. Seeing his own blood on his hands had caused a great chill to come over him. Afterwards, he had run to Lucas, who cradled him like a mother would, and then taught him the reins to revenge, the way that a father would.

That crass and cowardly girl hadto be made to pay for that indignation.

Something caught his eye again. This time he forced himself to focus on it. "Why the hell is that screen flashing red?"

"The Palladium reactor had gone into a state of parasitic flux," Lucas replied.

"Speak in people talk, next time!" Miyamoto responded with increased heat.

"Yes, sir." Lucas said. On the main view screen, he brought up a schematic, shifting forward view of the A.S. and tracking graph of Arbalest to smaller screens. "Black Technology provided a means to utilize the beta decay of certain Palladium isotopes to form an electric circuit between the isotopes. Electrons project outward from the core and gamma rays project inward from the outer toroid. Massive electrostatic potential develops as a result, and the electron movement plays a major role in the generation of enormous voltage and current. That functions ceases when the Palladium is completely consumed.

"You point is?" Mr. Magnesium scratched the back of his head and sighed. He had a bad case of helmet hair.

"Our reactor has a second element," Lucas continued. "Another gift of Black Technology. That second-gen element undergoes gamma ray-mediated beta decay like Palladium does. During usual usage, the two elements work in tandem, complimenting one another. When the system is put under unusual strain… for example, in the creation of numerous force projectiles… the synergy becomes dysergy. The Lambda Driver will cease being robust and running in routine fashion. It may fail entirely. Electrostatic forces may escape confinement and degrade my functioning, and yours."

"Fuck!" Miyamoto spat. "Now you tell me!"

"The head engineer… the one who stopped logging in… he told you," Lucas said, unable to be accusatory. He had no idea that the aforementioned man had met an unfortunate 'accident.' "Fortunately, he also suggested a possible cure."

"Don't keep me waiting," the pilot grumped.

"It involves something akin to cadence braking." Lucas said.

"Huh?" Mr. Magnesium fought down his growing irritation. "Braking? You mean, stop using the Lambda Driver?" Damn! That would be a major blow job, if Arbalest managed to get its Lambda Driver stabilized again.

"Negative," Lucas replied. "Cadence braking or stutter braking is a driving technique that involves pumping the brake pedal and is used to allow a car to both steer and brake on a slippery surface. It is used to effect an emergency stop where traction is limited to reduce the effect of skidding from road wheels locking up under braking. For most drivers of modern cars, it has been entirely superseded by ABS; however it is still a valuable skill for drivers of non-ABS equipped vehicles such as classic cars or economy cars."

"Pretend that I don't understand a fucking thing that you just said," Miyamoto said sourly.

"Constant or strong usage of the Lambda Driver will worsen the dysergy and cause critical systems failure.," Lucas said. "However… rapid and repeated use… for short bursts… will bring back greater levels of synergy, and thus allow prolonged and powerful usage again." There was a pause. "As long as we do not exhaust our fuel supply."

"Rapid… repeated….: Mr. Magnesium frowned. "Short bursts… how?" He had to puzzle that out; but, the more his anger and irritation grew, the less synergy he would have between the different factions of his mind. "That problem needs to be solved, first."

"Sir?" Lucas knew from intonation that the pilot was referring to another issue.

"My negative reactions have been cycling stronger and more frequently," Miyamoto noted. 'This has happened before. The Psy-… the people I spoke with called it kindling, or sensitization. I have become increasing sensitive to triggers. Like the reactor, the parts of my mind suffer dysergy. That has pushed both my mental and physical endurance to the brink. Aside from over-reaction to stimuli, I suffer racing thoughts… impulsivity… and reckless behavior." Psychiatrists had also mentioned unrealistic confidence… poor judgement… delusions of grandeur… and delusions… even psychosis. He had rejected their claims. He knew himself better than they did. He did not need their counselling, or their drugs. "But there is no way I can do cadence thinking!" He needed something that could work without much thought.

He knew that inner discipline keeps the new breed of jai alai player from letting his emotions show on the court. In the old days certain players would flail their cestas on the floor and pound the wall and shout 'Dios!' after blowing a shot. But managers discouraged that. 'It gets too much like the way wrestlers act…' some would say, "…And that's the last image in the world we need.' Nowadays a player will miss a shot, smile sportingly while the crowd screams, 'Bruta! bruta!' and hurry to the privacy of the players' room to exact revenge on himself. But, he was not a jai alai player. And, he was an overstuffed storehouse of accumulated anger. His heart and mind were filled with giant barrels of black powder, and his temper was a bottomless box of red-tipped matches. His spirit and will kept getting buffeted by the explosions, and he needed water to throw on the wick

"There may be another avenue to explore," Lucas remarked. "I have initiated a self-stabilizing procedure. I am bombarding the reaction chamber with radio frequency waves, and creating fluctuations in temperature. This will prevent magnetic islands… bubble-like structures that form in the plasma… from forming and triggering disruptive events that halt fusion reactions. That will aid in the stabilization."

"Radio frequency waves…" Miyamoto's eyes went wide. Bombardment! Radio! He thought of something. A memory. One that posited a possible solution. "I was once bombarded by radio… and at different temperatures." Indeed, he had been. His love of music began and ended with Classical music, because of its association with ballet. He could also tolerate opera, but that was about it. While he had been on the island, and was fighting matches in gladiatorial type training, the pit bosses at the arena always played music at the matches.

But not civilized music!

They played rock. But not just any rock! They had a hard on for heavy metal and all of its bastard children. That had given him headaches, and a hatred for those songs. But, the anger he had felt proved useful. It wasn't explosive and self-destructive fire. It was heat that tempered steel and allowed him to grind his edges razor sharp. In that state, insults and physical pain did not make his fury yo-yo, and confrontation did not trigger disruptive thoughts that befouled his planning and scheming. The music hurt his brain; but, he ended up being the one doing the hurting in the ring.

"Do you wish for me to turn the waves on you rather than the chamber?" Lucas accessed medical texts, coming to an alarming conclusion.

"No, that would be kinder." Mr. Magnesium quipped. "Access iTunes. Build a play list from…." He stopped to think. What genre? Nu metal? Hell, no! That would be the end of him. Death Metal? No, too cliché. Power metal? No, too fast, not enough mental grip. Right! He knew the obvious answer. "…The following Thrash Metal bands: Annihilator… Dark Angel… Exhorder… Forbidden… Kreator… Lȧȧz Rockit… Nuclear Assault…." He continued with the list for a minute or so longer while tracking Arbalest. "Play the songs now. Jukebox fashion."

"Initiating your command," Lucas said. A song began playing at a reasonable volume level. It was "Most Dangerous Game" by Lȧȧz Rockit:

On a journey to another land
The hunters sailed into the night
Telling tales of a mystery
The warm mist blackened out the light
A pirate
A madman
So evil no one had seen
And lived to tell
As the shore drew near the silence broke
A sound the hunter knew so well
So well
The chosen
Had Fallen
To water
One place to go
One mystery

He swam on to the isle
With a sense of destiny
Deja'vu filled his mind
With a kind of lunacy
A castle on a cliff
Where shadows seemed to be alive
He held on to his heart
And wondered if he would survive

He's got to play the most
Dangerous game
His time to play the most
Dangerous game

The aggression was palpable, and the tempo fast, but not too speedy. There were quick percussive beats and low-register guitar riffs, overlaid with shredding-style lead lead work. There was singing, and it was by no means operatic. Why did the civilized world allow something like that to even exist? As far as he was concerned, Tipper Gore should be enshrined right next to Joan of Arc! That, despite the fact that her actions had been just a drop in a bucket, and had ultimately failed.

Metal still lived!

"I remember…." Miyamoto thought back to the island. The matches. The feelings. The exhilaration. "I can see it…." He flexed his fingers, as if using former control levers. "And… I can do this!"

"Very good, Sir." The A.I. said.

"Now, for that blasted bitch." Mr. Magnesium laughed. He would literally make her a blasted bitch, when the opportunity arose. "She's running, but she has not left the area. It would have been simple for her to run down the street, and she hasn't. It would have been simple to have put more distance between us, but she did not do that either. She must be afraid of hurting the crowds… the high price of being the good guy… or she does not one the Japanese savages to appropriate Arbalest. Or, it could be a delaying game. Maybe she expects the Mithril Cavalry to show up and save her from the Indians." The orange A.S. began advancing straight towards its white opponent.

"There could be another explanation," Lucas offered. "Sousuke Sagara… or, Kaname Chidori if she has been Arbalest's pilot all along… does not have a reputation for running or cowardice. My research reveals there is something called Feminine Wiles. It requires technique, creativity, and a lot of self-confidence in order to use it effectively in the non-combat world. It can have a powerful influence over any man."

"Nonsense," Miyamoto crowed. "That's bullshit. I know all about that stuff, and I am immune. "I've seen plenty a rube fall for that kind of shit. Tramps can play a stupid man and exploit the weakness that comes from him allowing his little head to override his big head. I turn that kind of crap around. I manipulate women. They do not manipulate me. Woman strut and slink about, as if they are cats and men are mice at their command. I am not a mouse. I am a fox, and Kaname Chidori will be the rabbit." He thought that a perfect pairing, seeing that Lucas the A.S. was orange like a fox, and Arbalest was white like a rabbit.

Foxes had nothing to fear from rabbits.

"You may also wish to consider time," Lucas added. He showed Miyamoto a digital readout that was recording the time of the battle so far. "This is not like some anime, where the combatants are the only ones in the continuum. In time, others will likely become players in this contest."

"Right!" Miyamoto replied. "I may be crazy like a fox… but I am not crazy." He had been too caught up in the game. This was an unsanctioned raid, so there was no help coming for him. His cronies had set small fires around the world to draw Mithril in, but that organization would not be distracted forever. If his Lamba Driver remained undependable, the local yokels in the national militia could do him grievous harm. "There are other ways to get my vengeance."

Yes. In fact, killing Kaname Chidori… who had mocked him as her supposed twin, Ayame… might not even be the best plan. He could hire assassins to kill the real Ayame Chidori. Or, he could simply have the younger girl abducted and sold to a Middle Eastern brothel. He knew by experience that girls were auctioned off on the Dark Web.

Her sister would love to see a live video feed, right?

"Summon Chaziqiel," Mr. Magnesium commanded. "Circling pattern… high altitude… full ECS and stealth functions… ready to swoop in at a moment's notice." Yes, not only was the enormous aircraft his way out, but it was also another useful tool for revenge. He could look up Kaname Chidori's home address and send one of the full-sized drones on a Kamikaze mission. To the school, too. Or, he could drop a large amount of explosive ordinance on targets that would cause her great anguish. "Okay. Here's how we do it. Five song limit. After the fifth song, we will prepare for pick up."

"As you wish, Sir." Lucas said. "Does that hold true if you a winning an unfinished battle?"

"Yes," Miyamoto said. "But I reserve the right to change my mind, of course." He nodded his head, satisfied with his thinking. "And I have figured out how we will pump the brakes. Override the light linked to the proximity alarm." A lot of good that did him during the last surprise attack. "Light it up on for a dozen drum beats, and then off for three dozen. Rinse and repeat." He would trigger use of the Lambda Driver every time that the light came on, and cease his mental activity when the light dimmed. "Let's go!" He started off at a good military jog, hook knives held at a suitable angle.

"I recommend caution," Lucas put in. "Up until now, it has been the smallest of enemies that have done us the most damage. Small things can be dangerous. For example, fleas may be tiny, but they can carry disease and-"

"Fuck the small things," Miyamoto said. "Some are dead. The first one who injured us ran off. The second one is running too, worse for wear. And dear Retsuko is too busy soiling herself. Now that I am getting more serious, nothing can get in my way." He began forming wispy domes of force when the light was lit, and then willed them out of existence when the light went dark.

"But sir, if you think small things don't matter, think of the last game you lost by one point." Lucas said.

"What does that even fucking mean?" Mr. Magnesium snapped. "You are not a fucking fortune cookie! You are beginning to sound like a fucking mother. You know what I think about mothers. Besides, you are just a fucking machine. Don't start thinking that you know better than men do." He felt his anger beginning to rise sharply again. "What level is the music set at?"

"Two, sir." Lucas answered.

"Then set it to four!" Miyamoto demanded, knowing what musical hell awaited him. The next song came on. It was 'Enjoy the Violence' by the 90s band Massacra. The vocals are quite brutal, almost feral in a way, and are more than a bit hard to swallow for those who don't adore death metal:

I'm the dictates of your guilty conscience
You must comply to my evil influence

You'd like to throw your boss out of the window
Show no mercy and cut him up with a chainsaw

You can't bear this rep bothering your wife
So rip him open with a carving knife
You wonder how to kill your enemy
Smash his head until it's gravy

You take pleasure
In using violence
It's in your nature
Psychopathic sense

Psychological conflict
You're under my influence
You can't repress your instinct
I incite you to violence

Enjoy
The violence

I control your inward rage
You can't suppress your anger
I possess you, I'm your cage
You feel an urge to murder

The young pilot steered Lucas along the path of least resistance, making certain he did not pass too close to teetering structures, or pass by hidey-holes where the JSDF could situate fire teams.

Better safe than sorry.

His elegant ballet-like movements covered a lot of ground. He wondered what the watching crowd must think of his grace and skill. That would change soon, he was certain. He had to find a suitable way to put the girl off of her guard… demean her… and establish control. He could apply lessons learned from mercenaries on the island; but, many of those tricks might work on a human opponent, not a mechanical one: The Eye Gouge. Elbow Strikes to the back of the neck. The Long Knee and the Up Knee. The Throat Punch. Stomps to the groin and knees. Ax Stomps to wherever. Nutcracker Neck Hold. And the underappreciated Fishhook.

There must be some physical way to gain an unsurmountable advantage and finish things promptly! Promptly, but not perfunctorily!

*B-O-O-M*

"What the hell!" Mr. Magnesium felt his pilot seat move abruptly as an explosion jostled his A.S., causing him to bruise his human hip. "Lucas… that explosion… was it a fougasse?" A fougosse is a simple weapon, almost like a cross between a mine and a mortar. One fills a hollow in the ground with explosive and projectiles and sets it to explode. "Or a landmine?" Arbalest's pilot had set up that Claymore-like device earlier. "Some form of IED?"

"Unknown, sir." Lucas said. "We have taken concussive damage to the right ankle joint and penetrating injury to the right upper leg."

"Dammit!" Miyamoto wished he had kept track of Arbalest's exact course. He took a different angle and began closing the distance even more.

*B-O-O-M*

"This is really starting to piss me off!" Miyamoto shouted. "Can't you detect those fucking things in advance? Of course you can't." No sense asking for the impossible. "Shit!" What could he do? He could retreat back to where he started, and then take a long circuitous route; but, his self-imposed time limit would rear its ugly head.

"Let's try this!" Mr. Magnesium said, "Brains over brawn!" Instead of running at ground level, he would make use of Lucas's balance and agility. He began leaping from pinnacle to peak, and from peak to crest. This way he would be sure to avoid-

*B-O-O-M*

"This is getting fucking ridiculous," Miyamoto wailed. "What in God's name is going on?" Wait. Over there. Under that overhanging ledge of concrete. That ovoid shape. Was that a grenade?! That fucking girl! He wanted to say 'fight like a man', but bit his tongue. If little tricks like this was all that she had left, he would weather the storm and make her pay.

"We have received more damage to the right leg, sir." Lucas said. "I would say that we have gone from F0 to F1." The A.I. had applied the Fujita scale for rating tornado intensity to describing damage levels. F0 is 'light damage'. F1 is 'moderate damage'. F2 is 'significant damage'. F3 is 'severe damage'. F4 is 'devastating damage'. F5 is 'incredible damage'. "I will remind you, we will no longer be operable after F4, and could suffer major system failures after F3."

"Dammit… dammit… dammit…. dammit…." Miyamoto was feeling that volcanic feeling again. "Turn the music up to 6!" He might have trouble hearing Lucas that way; but, he could direct the A.I. to print his words on the front view screen, using it as a HUD. Or. He could use headphones. He ran forward even quicker than before. That was a gamble. He could trigger more than one device in quick succession, causing more damage. Or, if he moved through an area quickly enough, he might run past the zone of damage thrown off by any given grenade. "Hah! We're in range!" He placed an aiming graticule on the image of Arbalest. He activated the Gatling gun, intending to empty the magazine, doing severe damage to the naked machine.

Nothing happened.

He pulled the trigger again and again. He didn't feel a vibration. He didn't hear the faint buzzing sound. No pieces of metal were flying off the back or waist of his adversary. "What in Apollo's name is going on?" Apollo was Greek god of medicine, music, and poetry, and had once been called 'The Dancer'.

There was a big red 'X' situated over the Gatling Gun icon on his touch screen. Moving the angles of rear cameras, he looked over the back of the Arm Slave. The gun was in a great mess! At least, the few remaining scraps were. It must have been that syphilitic sack of shit, that puling pink plaything.

"Let's try something inventive," Miyamoto said. It was risky, hearing what he had heard about the reactor. "Just like a Sherman Hedgehog." The 'Hedgehog' and 'Rhinoceros' tanks were the American nickname for Allied tanks fitted with 'tusks', or hedgerow cutting devices, during World War II. In. the summer of 1944, during the Battle of Normandy, Allied forces… particularly the Americans… had become bogged down fighting the Germans in the Normandy bocage. That landscape of thick banked hedges proved difficult for tanks to breach. In an effort to restore battlefield mobility, various devices were invented to allow tanks to navigate the terrain, with a slight degree of success. "That would be easier than forming a Crab." A mine flail is a vehicle-mounted device that makes a safe path through a mine-field by deliberately detonating land mines in front of the vehicle that carried it. They were first used by the British on the Sherman Mine Exploder T2 Flail, called 'The Crab' by the Brits. The mine flail consists of a number of heavy chains ending in fist-sized steel balls that are attached to a horizontal, rapidly rotating rotor mounted on two arms in front of the vehicle. The rotor's rotation makes the flails spin wildly and violently pound the ground. The force of a flail strike above a buried mine mimics the weight of a person or vehicle and causes the mine to detonate, but in a safe manner that does little damage to the flails or the vehicle.

Extensions of force preceded Lucas as he ran. But, they passed through matter, rather than pushing it. That was just as well. If they could be made more solid by his thoughts, they probably would have impeded or even stopped forward movement.

In any case, his thoughtful and industrious actions did nothing to prevent the next explosion.

*B-O-O-M*

"Motherfuck!" Mityamoto called out in frustration. "Look out!" He saw a small object, mistakenly thinking it was another grenade. How he wished that he had kept the Groupies in reserve! Or that he had some aerial drones left! But, none of that would do him any good at that given moment, seeing that he had avoided the object the way an automobile driver avoids a squirrel sitting in the middle of the road, and had tripped over a fire hydrant. Lucas went sprawling, kicking up a small mountain of dirt and broken gravestones as the A.S. plowed forward, sliding head-first on its side. Miyamoto banged his head hard.

Something strange happened.

He didn't notice the intense pain. He had bitten his tongue severely. He may have loosened a tooth or too. The restraining buckle had struck his groin the way that a male pilot should never be struck. He had bent one finger further back than it should be bent. That was all swept away by the mental aura that enveloped him. He knew that feeling. It was just like his Whispered episodes. But, this wasn't the type that gave him technological knowledge… this was the type that gave him precognition.

"I-" Miyamoto directed Lucas to pick himself up. He hadn't been down long, and Arbalest hadn't made a mad dash to attack. "I should-" The thoughts were swirling together, forming fleeting images and vague hints, and then taking them away "That would also-" The vision cleared, the way that a stirred up pool of water does. Right! No more ballet moves. The answer was Mixed Martial Arts. And, by using the Lambda Driver force briefly with each strike, he could continue pumping the brakes. "First, a little misdirection."

His movements and attacks wouldn't be pretty now. They would be dirty. Hands on. Brutal. So would his mental and emotional attacks on his opponent. Most Ice Queens still had a warm spot in their heart for something.

First, he had to put the girl off of her game, and hopefully draw her in. If his plan worked, it worked. If it didn't, he would simply man up and march right in. He put on a set of headphones. They would cancel the noise somewhat when someone spoke through the com-set. He established audio again. "I forgot you were an athlete," he said. "I thought you played softball, not cross country. All you seem to do is run. Your reputation seems to be a sham."

There was no reply.

"It's okay," Mr. Magnesium said. "I actually prefer a woman who's quiet. Seen and not heard." He chuckled. "You know what the perfect woman is, don't you? Toothless… quiet… and at midnight, she turns into a roast beef sandwich!"

Again, there was no response.

"As you can hear, I'm rocking!" Miyamoto felt a bit queasy, actually. But, by pretending to be the rough sort who jammed to Metal, he might set the girl on edge. "And… I think I'm about to rock that building over there…." Lucas held an arm up and pointed. The sign outside read Chofu Shiritsu Tobu Nursery. It was a squat two story concrete edifice, surrounded by small bland two-to-four story apartment buildings. "Think of how many toddlers I can rock to sleep…." He began walking Lucas in that direction. "Here… let's share. Lucas… turn up the volume to eight."

If the girl was going to listen to him, she would get to hear the music in all of its glory.

"But sir," Lucas said. "Accepted standards for recommended permissible exposure time for continuous time weighted average noise, according to NIOSH and CDC, 2002. For every three decibels over eighty-five decibels, the permissible exposure time before possible damage can occur is cut in half. For reference, eighty-five decibels is the sound level of traffic. Ninety-five decibels is a lawn mower. One-hundred-fifteen decibels is a rock concert. One-hundred-twenty-five decibels is a jackhammer. We are at One-hundred-twenty. Permissable exposure time before any damage occurs is eight hours for eighty-five decibels; thirty minutes for ninety-seven decibels; and thirty seconds for one-hundred-fifteen decibels. The humancochlea is fragile: it needs to be protected. Among the risk factors, the greatest is intense noise. Exposure to high noise levels irreversibly destroys human sensory cells and produces deafness and tinnitus. At birth, a human cochlea contains less than fifteen thousand hair cells, a very limited capital compared to the millions of sensory cells in the retina. And those cochlear cells, once they are killed, do not regenerate! You are willingly walking into anauditory minefield."

"I just walked through a fucking minefield minefield and I'm still going," Mr. Magnesium said, feeling a bit testy. "So. Level eight. And, let's share it with everyone. Put on the external speakers. All of them. Full volume. "Hellooooo-oooo-ooo-oo-o Tokyoooo-ooo-oo-o…."

I'm the dictates of your guilty conscience

You must not comply to my evil influence

Your neighbour is always fucking you around

Put your fingers in his eyes and scratch them out

You hate the collector and the income tax

Keep your money and cut him to pieces with an axe

You've had enough of cops and parking tickets

Take your gun and riddle them with bullets

Prompted my brutal force

You commit crimes in cold blood

With no feeling of remorse

You're always thirsting for some more

Miyamoto began high-stepping Lucas. He was really feeling it now, that growing sense of inevitability, like when he fought a total noob in the arena. He really didn't hate children. Nevertheless, he thought of an old joke. Maybe Kaname Chidori would like to hear it. "Miss Chidori, here's a question for you. If olive oil is made from olives, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, what is baby oil made from?" He waited a moment, and hearing no reply said. "I think we're about to find out! You've seen those pictures in National Geographic, I bet… you know… the ones where the women have their skirts up as they stand in big wooden vats, stepping on grapes."

BAM!

Something struck Lucas from behind. But, there wasn't much of a shock, and the A.I. didn't raise any damage warnings. What had just happened?

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

It was grave markers. Grave markers and large pieces of cornice and roof material. The damn girl was throwing rocks again. But, that wouldn't work now. He had his anger right where he wanted it! He'd given her a chance. Because she didn't have the guts to face him, there'd be a lot of broken babies, pouting papas, and moaning mothers.

"Oh… Kaname dearest…." Mr. Magnesium said sweetly. "Do you know what one of the most popular flavors of baby food is? Squash!" He snickered. "And, anything mashed." He piloted Lucas towards a parking lot dotted with idling cars, each filled with parents waiting to pickup their children, or strapping their children into car seats, if they had already checked them out at the front desk.

*B-O-O-M* *B-O-O-M* *B-O-O-M*

Three grenades went off in quick order. Sharpnel peppered surrounding buildings, and stung a number of spectators. This wasn't like watching from the safety of the couch, where the greatest danger was choking on a popcorn kernel or shooting milk out of a nostril or two!

The orange A.S. leaned over to one side, but righted itself, gyroscopes screaming. Fire suppression extinguishers went off in the right leg, and some of the noxious vapor made its way past torn seals and into the cockpit area.

"Turn the fucking fan on!" Miyamoto coughed. His eyes were watering. "How could that be! I tested her! The girl is not Whispered." There was no way that Kaname Chidori could have foreseen his decision to attack the Nursery. Had that girl simply covered all of her bases? How could she have? Grenades don't grow on trees! Was she that clever, or was it just a lucky guess?

"Damage level has progressed to F2," Lucas noted. "If you do close in fighting, I strongly recommend that you protect the area of damage. A good strike could raise things up another level."

"Bollocks," Lucas spat. "I don't have time for this." He would have to charge in, like an angry bull. No. Chances are, that idiot girl would expect that. What could he do, then? Ah. Maybe. Yes. He always had been good at juggling, having been taught by circus professionals who were friends of the original Lucas. "Maybe I can spare a little bit more." He piloted the A.S. down into the parking lot, laughing when he saw the crowd's reaction. Some idiot policemen there actually firing pistols and automatic rifles. Morons! He took a deep bow, and then had Lucas give them all the finger.

There were cars of all varieties parked in the lot. One marked area was only for Kei cars, the Japanese vehicle category for the smallest highway-legal passenger cars. There was a Red-brown Toyota Pixis Space; a Sky blue Honda's N-one; and a black Suzuki Wagon R.

They would do.

"Find three matching balls," Mr. Magnesium said, recounting past lessons, his ears ringing. "Hold two balls in your dominant hand and one ball in your other hand." He swept up the Toyota, and then grabbed the Honda and Suzuki with one hand, by pinching them together some. The faces in the viewscreen looked like they must be screaming, but he wouldn't be able to hear anything on the outside of the A.S. short of the Mother of All Bombs. "Stand with your elbows bent ninety degrees and your palms facing up." Whoa! Some ilk of soldier just fired a small man-portable ATGM! He leaned to one side, and it flew past, just over one shoulder.

The stakes were growing higher!

"Toss one of the paired-up balls into the air gently." Lucas threw the Honda upwards. "Throw the ball in your opposite hand into the air immediately after." Up went the Suzuki. "Toss the last ball that's left in your dominant hand into the air." And so the Toyota joined the game.

"Catch the balls in the order you threw them." He caught the car he threw first, then the second car, and then the last car. "That'll work!" He began juggling in earnest, at least by intent, as the motor vehicles did not go very high at all. Lucas only had so much strength. He laughed when he saw one man trying to climb out a window, leaving his child behind. He stopped laughing when he caught sight of a pair of soldiers aiming a large tripod-mounted missile launcher at him. He had been pretty good with a Hacky Sack, too. He tipped one larger parked car up with his left foot, let it fall onto the top of that foot, and then flung it towards the two men, with gruesome accuracy. "And now the main attraction. I hope you can catch, baby doll." He tossed the Toyota over high over his shoulder. To catch it, Arbalest would have to move in closer.

The car flipped end over end, clipped a tree, and began tumbling to one side. With a bounding leap, the ARX-7 landed, braced its legs, and held two cupped hands out. The A.S. caught that car, and gently placed it on the ground.

"Next!" Lucas hefted the Suzuki, higher and closer too him. "Careful, I put some spin on that one." The car cleared a tree. It too was caught, and safely laid away. "This one is for heroes, only!" He turned around and threw the car football style, but threw at an incredibly sharp angle, not that far off from vertical. "Wait for ittttt-tttt-ttt-tt-t…." But, he didn't wait. It was at that very instant that he made his move. He sent Lucas running full speed ahead, even though the A.I. called out warning that additional damage would be at F3 with the right leg dealing with that much torque.

Arbalest caught the third car, unable to keep from crushing it some. Then, as it faced a rushing foe, it tossed the car aside with less care than before, with the subsequent result being a car resting on its side, windows broken.

"You do this because you know you can't defeat me!" Kaname Chidori's voice came through the headphones. "Sure, you may be able to kill me. But a baby with a hammer can kill a sleeping parent. So what! You can't defeat me. You don't have any balls. You threw them all at me and missed. La Loser!"

It was Mr. Magnesium's turn to stay silent, closing ground quickly. It looked as if the white A.S. was going to stand its ground this time.

Perfect!

"This is not a show of manliness," the girl said. "This is a sign of true impotence. You have no trouble threatening innocents, because your parents must have stolen your innocence. Were you treated like garbage? Thrown out like the trash?"

The two machines collided, Arbalest making a last second move to gain an advantage in leverage. The move was neither a surprise, nor was it effective.

Without warning, a mortar shells fell earthward, exploding close to Arbalest, and even closer to one of the stricken cars. More soldiers must have arrived: a significant feat considering the total length of the fight so far and the distance of the barracks from the fight. And, someone with binoculars must be doing a good job spotting, as the barrage ceased after two more shells exploded.

Shrapnel shredded some trampled bushes surrounding one captive automobile. No one wanted to be written up for civilian deaths.

"You can't hurt me with words, or with your machine," Mr. Magnesium claimed. "You might as well stab at the air with a sword. You should chosen to fight someone who can be hurt. I live a charmed life, one which cannot be taken from me by a woman. Of this I am quite certain. I saw that truth in a vison." He had indeed, in a blurry Whispered trance.

"Really?" Kaname Chidori's voice said. "Your charmed life will do you no good. You see… I have a secret… I'm not really a girl. I'm a guy whose mind has been transferred into a girl's brain. In body I am the Class Rep, but in mind I take out the garbage." She laughed. "And if I put my real body's manhood down on the table, I know that it will dwarf yours. And you do too, right. That's why you have to cheat." Of course, fighting with an advantage in battle wasn't cheating. But, that stung just the same.

"Hah hah," Miyamoto said. "So very funny." He began activating the Lambda Driver, wanting to form a massive pushing blow, one that would knock the enemy to the ground and disable it in one stroke. His memory of what Lucas warned him about didn't stay his hand. His latest Whispered precognition did. To defeat the girl, he needed a new style of attack.

Mixed Martial Arts …MMA… is a full-contact combat sport that allows striking and grappling, either standing or on the ground, using techniques from various combat sports and martial arts. In Ancient Greece, there was a sport called pankration, which featured a combination of grappling and striking skills similar to those found in modern MMA. All strikes and holds were allowed, with the exception of biting and gouging, which were banned. The fighters, called pankratiasts, fought until someone could not continue or signaled submission by raising their index finger; there were no rounds. Pankration was later passed on to the Romans. In Ancient China, combat sport appeared in the form of Leitai, a no-holds-barred mixed combat sport that combined Chinese martial arts, boxing and wrestling. There is evidence of similar mixed combat sports in Ancient Egypt, India and Japan.

Victory in an MMA match is normally gained either by the judges' decision after an allotted amount of time has elapsed, a stoppage by the referee or the fight doctor… due to an injury… a submission… by a competitor's cornerman throwing in the towel… or by knockout. Mr. Magnesium wasn't a member of UFC or Pride. His victory would come when the girl was dead. Two songs down. Lucas next played 'Angel of Death' by Slayer:

Auschwitz, the meaning of pain
The way that I want you to die
Slow death, immense decay
Showers that cleanse you of your life

Forced in
Like cattle
You run
Stripped of
Your life's worth

Arbalest was advancing now, knife in hand. Maybe that girl thought this was going to be a knife fight. What good would a knife do her, even if she were trained in Kali Eskrima… a Filipino martial art with weapon-based fighting…Paranza Corta…the main Italian knife fighting system built around stilletos… or Pencak Silata… a collective term for many indigenous martial arts from The Malay Archipelago in Southeast Asia and something Miyamoto had enjoyed in 'The Raid 2.' No, he didn't care if she had trained in Systema Spetsnaz… created for Russian Special Forces based on traditional self-defense methods… or since she's Japanese… Tantojutsu. When Samurai entered the chaos of the battlefield and got up close and personal, their katana swords weren't as effective, which is where the tanto knife comes into play. He would normally enjoy countering blade with blade, skill with skill. But, he had his vision, and he wanted an even deeper visceral thrill. He would use his weapons to keep her off guard; but, he would use Lucas's body as a battering ram… a wrecking ball… as a hammer who shows a nail who is boss!

Human mice, for the angel of death
Four hundred thousand more to die

Angel of death
Monarch to the kingdom of the dead
Sadistic, surgeon of demise
Sadist of the noblest blood

Destroying, without mercy
To benefit the Aryan race

Surgery, with no anesthesia
Fell the knife pierce you intensely
Inferior, no use to mankind
Strapped down screaming out to die

This would be unique. This would be him. This would be a testament to originality. In Arm Slave battles, who tried to use fighting moves? Whose machine was nimble enough? What pilot was courageous enough to deviate from the norm, with life on the line?

This was his time to shine.

"I am going to fuck your pretty face up, Kaname Chidori," Mr. Magnesium said in a happy drawl, a voice that would have done credit to any Hyde or Moriarty. "I'm going to fuck it up so much, that your Daddy is going to send you even further away from him than this shithole country. Or maybe he'll leave you here, to horrify a country that hadn't been horrified enough by two nuclear bombs and all of those fucking Pokemon. No. Wait. I keep forgetting. You'll be dead. I'll be doing him a big favor!"

As it turned out, the girl truly did have spunk after all. Like certain animals, she could tell where her prey was wounded, and went for the injured area with Arbalest's dagger. Not only that, but she was quick on her feet. She tore a long I-beam out from crumbled brick and plaster, and made efforts to bludgeon Lucas, only to have her attacks blocked or redirected, with little damage to his Arm Slave. But, there had been more to that attack; she had steered him towards jagged pieces of metal projected out from the ground, remnants of who knows what.

"You can't be a student of history!" Miyamoto called out. "What do women know of war!" She must be clever, then. Presupposing that his Lambda Driver might be active, she had almost caused him to take damage to the one area where his barrier wouldn't protect him… the bottom of Lucas's feet. In the annals of battle, that was not a new trick. Caltrops and spiked boards were thrown at the feet of war elephants to make them lame in different places during different eras.

Angel of death
Monarch to the kingdom of the dead
Infamous butcher,
Angel of death

Pumped with fluid, inside your brain
Pressure in your skull begins pushing through your eyes
Burning flesh, drips away

Miyamoto nibbled on his lower lip. That damn girl was innovative; she could create on the fly. He had to be on constant look out for more tricks and traps. She attempted to goad him into piloting Lucas across a leaf strewn cluster of tatami mats dislodged from a small collapsed home. They had been kicked so that they covered a deep koi pool. Moments after that, she had grabbed hold of his machine's left wrist, and pulled him behind a deadfall, a teetering wall of a collapsed three-story office building. He managed to pull free just as the wall fell, suffering a few shallow gouges and nothing more.

Test of heat burns your skin, your mind starts to boil
Frigid cold, cracks your limbs

How long can you last
In this frozen water burial?
Sewn together, joining heads

"Here I come!" When Miyamoto and Lucas were a short distance of Arbalest, he sprinted forward and deflected a dagger strike. "Arm bar!" Yes, he sounded like a bad anime or video game, but that was fine. It would make this even more fun. He directed the A.S. to put pressure on the ARX-7's elbow joint by attempting to bend it the way it does not naturally bend. It didn't have much effect. He then moved the body of both machines, trying to situate himself so that the opponent's arm is between his knees, enabling him to use his hips to intensify the pressure.

What next? Why not go alphabetically!

"Axe kick." After dodging a sweeping blade, he raised one A.S. leg straight in the air and brought it straight down, like the motion of an axe. The heel of that mechanical foot hit Arbalest's knife hand; but, it did not knock the weapon free.

"Too close!" A small missile just missed Lucas's head and Arbalests' waist, before splashing into another fish pond.

Just a matter of time

til you rip yourselves apart
Millions laid out in their

Crowded tombs
Sickening ways to achieve
The holocaust
Seas of blood, bury life

"I'll save 'Ground and Pound' for last," Mr. Magnesium told himself quietly, licking his bloody lips. So, how about Hammer fist!" Lucas enacted a fierce strike, bringing the bottom of his closed fist into contact with his opponent with speed and force. The pilot laughed. Arbalest's knees had buckled a bit! He was winning! "Hook!" He giggled, bringing both hook knives flashing inches before his opponent's 'face,' before implementing the Hook he had in mind. That was a punch where a fighter cocks his arm at a ninety-degree angle in front of his body, with the force coming from the side rather than straight on or from underneath. The impact caused Arbalest to sway, but not enough to lose balance or provide an enticing opening.

His subsequent 'Jab'… a straight punch…. was followed quickly by a 'Leg Kick',,, one he landed on Arbalest's left leg. He repeated that a number of times in succession before the ARX-7 spun away. Multiple leg kicks can cause accumulated damage and fatigue and disrupt an opponent's balance. He would use a 'Leg Lock' or 'Mount' when the time finally called for it, and a 'Rear Naked Choke', if that would help him bring the other A.S. down to the ground on its back. He would prefer a Mount to 'Side Control', a position where a he could immobilize his white opponent by lying perpendicularly across it, who was on her back or side, controlling the head and hips.

He frowned, but only for a moment, when Arbalest struck out sharply with the butt of its 57mm, striking one hook blade and sending it spinning into the ground next to a sooty baby doll and other contents from a damaged home.

No matter.

"Warning-" Lucas began. His sensors had captured a pertinent image and he had translated it into conscious mechanical thought. But, his call came too late.

*B-O-O-M*

That strike with the gun had served two purposes. It had disabled one close combat weapon, and it had distracted him from a motion that was noticed only after the move was complete. The ARX-7 had reached down and plucked the last grenade off of a belt at its waist.

"Damage to left leg, sir." The A.I. said. What a relief. Any more damage to the right leg might put him at a severe disadvantage. "No noticeable drop in mobility." That was very fortunate, indeed. No moss grew on Arbalest! To borrow from a movie franchise, it was acting fast and furious.

Smell your death as it burns
Deep inside of you

Abacinate, eyes that bleed
Praying for the end of
Your wide awake nightmare

Immediately after dropping the live grenade, the white A.S. had pulled a telephone pole out of the ground, cement root dripping gravel, and transformer spitting sparks before bursting into flame. The great trimmed length of tree came swinging in, leg level, electrical wires stringing out behind it. Lucas tried to leap over the weapon; but, its action was only partially successful. The strike hit the lower left leg, causing Lucas to trip and fall to his hands and knees.

This was bad!

"I have to do it," Miyamoto called out. He was at too much risk, down in a prone position. Just as he began standing up, he put up a force barrier, just in time to block a tomahawk blow from the huge staff. Watching as splintered wood flew everywhere, he took up the stance he wanted, a proper distance from his foe now. That had put a greater strain on the Arm Slave's reactor than he had wanted. But, by this time, he must have stabilized things somewhat with his efforts. "

"Spinning Back-Fist." Lucas closed the gap and used a punch where the Arm Slave started out facing the ARX-7, and then spun around quickly with one fist outstretched, using the momentum generated from the spin to put force behind the resulting contact, which occurred when the spin comes full circle. He followed that with that attack's cousin. "Spinning Back-Kick." The orange A.S. managed to land a fierce kick executed in a manner similar to the preceding spinning back-fist. "Oh ho! I have an answer for that!" That blasted girl had tried a takedown attempt. "Sprawl." He caused Lucas to jump back, drop his hips, and then drive his weight into the opponent. He had hoped to push Arbalest down, as the green lines on the bar graph indicating artificial muscle strength had tuned from green lines to yellow ones. He could only hope that his adversary was suffering even worse wear and tear. That attack had been a no go. It didn't matter. There was something else that he had been wanting to do all along.

It would mean he had to abandon the Dictionary approach.

First, however, he had to weather a shit storm, so to speak. Kaname Chidori had used her Arm Slaves hand like the bucket on a large bucket-and-scoop tractor… gathered up a palm full of muddy soil and septic tank contents… and had flung it on the front of Lucas. A number of cameras were obscured totaly, and a few others were partly slimed.

"Dirty fucking trick!" Mr, Magnesium was not making a pun. "But I'm no pushover!" He had seen a broken fire hydrant near the edge of the highway, without realizing that he had been the cause of its damage. It was fountaining water high in the air, at strong pressure. He ran quickly to that water source and cleansed his viewing apparatus, before returning to the fray, duckling a thrown porcelain toilet and the remnants of a wood and stone bathing tub. He ran close to Arbalest, just outside of arm reach, and slid to a stop.

Lucas back-pedaled quickly, without telegraphing the move. Then, with enough distance, he moved up and threatened a front kick. "Supermannnn-nnn-nn-n!" Lucas drew its kicking leg back quickly, while simultaneously throwing a punch with the same side fist. The force of the kick was transferred to the punch, and the supporting foot left the ground. "Yes! Yes yes yesyesyes!" That had been a resounding success. Arbalest stumbled backwards, almost losing balance on bunches and bits of wreckage littering the fight floor. "Screw the 'Sweep'," Mr. Magnesium called out. He was only jumping one entry in his mind's list. "Swinging For The Fences." He threw a series of attacks, as if he were fighting in the last seconds of a timed fight. "Uppercut!" He had jumped the queue again, and his attack was barely deflected.

Wings of pain, reach out for you
His face of death staring down,
Your blood running cold

Injecting cells, dying eyes
Feeding on the screams of
The mutants hes creating
Pathetic harmless victims
Left to die
Rancid angel of death
Flying free

Angel of death

"Sir," Lucas intoned. "If the readings are correct, I believe that you have successfully resurrected the reactor. Full Lambda Driver functions should be available for a modicum of time. I recommend that you use it wisely.

Now it was time.

"I think I'll take things to the next and last level." Miyamoto smiled as sweat dripped down into one eye, stinging. "Sweep!" That was a move where a competitor who has an opponent in the guard takes away the opponent's balance, turns him over, and ends up on top, frequently in the mount. Sweeps are dependent upon the sweeper's ability to remove all of the opponent's supports on one side, by making it impossible for the opponent to 'base out' with a hand or a foot. Arbalest managed to keep upright with a series of countermoves. "Then you leave me no other choice," the pilot said with a smile. He had used this move in fights, with laughing girls who wanted it, and crying girls who didn't. "Takedown! Ooo-oo-oh yeh!" In that method for getting an opponent on the ground and getting on top of him, a move borrowed heavily from wrestling, he chose to shoot in and grab a leg behind a knee. "There are no 'Tap Outs'!"

WHAM!

With Arbalest on its back, and Lucas straddling it, Mr. Magnesium had Lucas begin raining blow after blow on the Arm Slaves chest. He would turn that girl into scrambled eggs! If not her body, at least her brain. If he cracked the chest cavity and pulled it open, he would find the chewy treat on the inside. He would slowly squeeze the bitch in Lucas's hand, until her eyes went blank, and her blood ran between the A.S.'s fingers.

"Not good enough!" Mr. Magnesium cried out, his fun delayed momentarily. Arbalest had managed to grab both of Lucas's wrists. There was some danger there. The bar graph from the wrist 'muscles' was teetering on the edge of red. If they failed and Arbalest's muscles did not, then the opponent could literally snap Lucas's hands off at the wrist. "Dammit!" He didn't want to risk that. Catching his breath, he needed to start thinking about time now. As long as his Lambda Driver held up, he could withstand even a full out assault from any indigenous A.S. forces that might make an appearance; but, something like that would put his escape at risk. He pushed a button he had programmed for BAT-recall. It was a wise decision, seeing that he had not been tracking the Plan-1102's position, and had no idea how long it would take for pick-up.

"Lucas!" Mr. Magnesium called out. "Turn it up to 10! That's a fucking order!"

Monarch to the kingdom of the dead
Infamous butcher,
Angel of death

Angel of death

Azrael was the Angel of Death in Judaism. Malak Almawt was the equivalent in Islam. The Christian Bible gave no name to that being, who was neither Grim Reaper nor Shinigami. But, the young pilot knew its name: Lucas. More precisely: Lucas II.

"Parting will be such fucking sorrow!" Mr. Magnesium paused in his actions. Looking around briefly as the two machines struggled to gain some advantage with their hands, he noticed just how large a crowd had grown. Countless cretins filled the front row seats. There were police, firefighters, and members of various armed forces, all sitting back, none offering any support whatsoever, as if this were one of the kaiju movies where both monsters were the bad guys, and they hoped that the two battling behemoths would take each other out. Idiots. Cowards. Were they out of anti-tank weapons, or had their nutsacks fallen off?

Behind them, showing more curiosity than common sense, was another mass of onlookers, who should have been home getting dinner ready or on their way to pick up food or the kids. Miyamoto turned on the external speakers, and had Lucas pass along his words only, not the morbid and maudlin music. "I know that you've told me if you ever caught me cheating, you wouldn't kill me, because you love our children and they need a dad. But you would beat me up, because you know where all of my sports injuries are." That was a paraphrased quote he had once read from Angelina Jolie, made about Billy Bob Thornton. "You can call this cheating too, even though it's not the same kind."

That ought to make a spicy show for the crowd.

Mr. Magnesium had come up with a plan that was simple in conception, but might prove difficult in execution. He had the physics of it down, and he had an image of it engraved in the back of his mind. He formed a blanket of Lambda Driver force over Arbalest's body, holding it firm in place, with no recourse. As long as the Palladium Reactor did its job, there would be no escape. The ARX-7 could self-destruct, to no effect. If its Lambda Driver function returned, there was no room for it to grab hold of him or push him away, as he now lay flat on top of it. "Will you people have the courtesy to give us some privacy. We're going to screw now!" He used one elbow to push Lucas up. He held the other arm at the ready, hook point pointed at Arbalest's body.

This force field was uni-directional. Nothing could reach in, but he could reach out. The knife would score deeply, cutting through metal, and possibly flesh. Cut into pieces, or crushed to a pulp, Kaname's choices were not enviable.

"Sir," Lucas said. "A coded message came in from one of your shadow operatives." The JASDF had an estimated 50,324 personnel operated 777 aircraft, approximately 373 of them fighter aircraft. Apparently they had gotten something armed and ready to fly. "Two Mitsubishi F-2 multirole fighters are on the tarmac at Misawa Air Base." That type of jet was derived from the General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon. "3rd Tactical Fighter Squadron. Northern Air Defense Force." The base is used by the Japan Air Self-Defense Force and the United States Air Force and is located in Misawa, Aomori, in the northern part of the island of Honshū , four hundred twenty five miles north of Tokyo.

Miyamoto heard that, but it only partially registered on his mind. Likewise, he had not heard the girl's last comments; but, he did catch one thing, and it made him grin like an idiot. "I hope we will not live out a quote from T.S. Eliot," the A.I. had said to Kaname Chidori, quoting from 'The Hollow Men.' "This is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper."

"There's plenty of time for me to finish her off," Miyamoto said triumphantly. "Yes. There's still time. Frailty, thy name is woman." This was just delicious! "Today was my oyster!"

His emotions had been spiking all day, but they had been on a constant upsweep for quite some time. At that instant, they had begun to crescendo, sky's the limit. Nothing could top this. Nothing could take this victory away from him. He was the Prince of Evil. He was not listening, despite the roar that drowned out his hearing and set his brain aflame. Sepultura's 'Stronger Than Hate' had begun playing:

I shall redeem myself from the clutches that grasp at my inner self
No tomorrow will ease my oppression
My streak of hate leads my way

Look at me
My feelings turn
Stronger than hate
I can't decide on which way to turn
My choices are few and far between
A lifetime of remorse

"Fiery the angels fell; deep thunder rolled around their shores; burning with the fires of Orc." Mr. Magnesium spoke like a veteran actor in a play, or the conductor giving the prologue at an opera. He quoted Roy Batty from 'Bladerunner', remarkably not yet realizing that the music had been shut off forcibly in its entirety. The line in the movie was a deliberate misquote of William Blake's America A Prophecy : 'Fiery the angels rose, and as they rose deep thunder roll'd Around their shores: indignant burning with the fires of Orc."

At that moment, he felt like a Fallen Angel… and it felt damned good. He could just have easily used another of the replicant's lines: "You better get it up. Or I'm gonna have to kill ya."

He began the move that would do just that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

SANEATSU PARK

"How very poetic," a voice said, heard by the occupants of both Arm Slaves, which were still linked audibly. "After such vile and profane noise."

Both Sousuke and Miyamoto recognized the voice, which was coming through Lucas's com set.

It belonged to Leonard Testarossa.

A number of things happened to Lucas in quick succession. The force shield went down, as the Lambda Driver shut itself off. Lucas had all of his higher functions snuffed out. All power to the orange A.S. was cut-off, as an outside source accessed a small device hidden within the crippled A.S. during construction.

"Well then, Miyamoto Bokuden… once known as Mister Magnesium…." The way that was said, was as if some big eraser was wiping away that name written in erasable ink on a Dry Erase blackboard. "You were given a clear and concise warning, were you not?" Leonard didn't seem perturbed at all. Not a single feather seemed ruffled. The surface of a still loch could not be as still. "Common sense is not so common after all, so it seems."

"You already know the answer," Miyamoto replied. He was in shock, but the surprise was giving rise to righteous anger. He tried to switch the music back on, but he was locked out.

"Of course, dullard," Leonard said. "But, your kind of impudence… do you think that it's cool?"

"I don't need to disobey selfish orders to be cool," the former Mr. Magnesium claimed. He began checking dials and readouts, but almost everything had gone black. No. wait. Now it was everything. Everything except a certain button that only he and a deceased engineer knew about. "It comes with the territory."

"I see," Leonard said with a sigh. "Undeserved arrogance. I hate that kind of thing."

"Who are you to blabber on about arrogance?" Miyamoto said indignantly. "You're a pretty boy like me; but, I earned what I have. You had everything handed to you."

"You are truly deluded," Leonard replied. "How pathetic. You are obstinate, but you are weak. You court fury, but you leave obedience at the altar. That's even worse. Now, it will be interesting to see, will you swap rage out for panic."

"Has the bleach you use on your hair soaked into your brain?" Miyamoto knew this was the wrong tact, but he had no control of his emotions now. Besides, once Leonard Tesarossa set his dogs on someone, that someone was doomed. And, in his case, the man was taking a personal interest. "What are you talking about?" He was typing away feverishly on a keyboard. "What you are doing now will make you a public joke."

"I have put an end to your extracurricular activities," Leonard said, with no hint of emotion. "You've made quite a bit of a mess of these schools and the adjoining buildings. You have trampled holy temples, ancient shrines, and blessed graveyard. But, they will all be returned to the way they once were, soon enough."

"What are you cackling about," the young pilot asked. "You are a strutting peacock. And I mean that in the most literal of ways!" He continued with his typing, trying to remember crucial and critical codes and phrases. "You stopped me when I was about to kill Sousuke Sagara, the anointed one. You prevented me from killing Arbalest, the savior of Mithril." He lied. If he told the truth about Kaname Chidori sitting in the pilot seat, Leonard might bring more resources to bear, making certain that his death was beyond a certainty. 'Note to myself,' he mouthed. 'Stop being so fucking confrontational. We need subtle manipulation here.'

The override process was systematically setting up a programming panacea that had a fighter's chance at reversing the shut down; but, there was no way to surmise how much of the A.I. could be salvaged. It would take some time. One wrong keystroke could send him back to the beginning. He couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. This was Black Jack. He had a Ten down and Seven showing. The dealer had a Ten showing and a Jack visible up his sleeve. He had to take another card. He pushed all of his chips to the center of the table.

"Neither of those things that you mentioned are a concern to me," Leonard remarked. "Arbalest is no match for my Belial. Sagara is no match for me. But, he can still be useful to me. He can finish you as you wait helplessly. Ironic, is it not?"

"But I was winning!" Miyamoto said with some heat. His pent-up psychology was rushing in, like water pouring forth from a broken hydroelectric dam. "I was winning." If he had realized how much his whine sounded like Trelaine in the Star Trek episode 'The Squire of Gothos,' he would have stumbled mentally, at risk for psychic and programming fails at the most inopportune time.

"Nothing can come of nothing," Leonard quoted.

"I would have won, honest," Miyamoto said, his voice cracking. "You had no right to stop me."

"Do you truly think so?" Leonard asked. "As flies to wanton boys are, those like you are to the gods," Leonard said smoothly. "We kill those like you for sport."

"I WOULD HAVE… IWOULD HAVE… I WOULD HAVE…." Miyamoto wasn't trying to sound as childish as he did. He was faced with a dreadful situation. There was a painful parallel. Playing professional jai alai has lost its sheen, and the fast-paced game, once an attraction to aspiring athletes and thousands of fans across the country, is flirting with extinction. The players were worth more dead than alive, so to speak, as there is value to the arenas that they play in.

"Howl howl howl," Leonard intoned perfectly. "Things grow worse for you. So petulant and immature. Any victory you had in life must have come against the feeble and the incompetent. I can understand why Amalgam may feel like it needs your family's resources. But I… like that family… have long since determined that we do not need you. You sealed your doom when you committed a crime against Amalgam. We do not want Mithril snooping around where they do not belong. We want our victory over them to be sudden and devastating sideshow."

"F-A-M-I-L-Y-!-!-!" Miyamoto pushed out so hard with both hands, that he actually cracked the rubber on one control stick, when he clenched his hands around them to keep his unconscious movement from doing damage to the keyboard. He saw red. He had to maintain some semblance of sanity. He needed to play Leonard, while the unsuspected fool took pleasure from playing him. He needed the angelic young man to fall for his devilish plan. There was something drastic that the other man could do that was reversible. "My family is nothing more than nouveau riche trash. Empty heads and stuffed shirts. They never truly needed me. Their mistakes will some day be their undoing, as will yours. You never should have stopped me. The future will prove me right."

"You are an idiot," Leonard opined. "Full of sound and fury, nothing more."

"But-" Miyamoto began. Here it comes. The uppercut that the champ never saw coming. Time to throw caution to the wind. "-As bad as my mother was… I should think that your mother was far worse, right? I mean… from the rumors that I heard…"

"Don't screw with me," Leonard spat out, the tranquil lake now awash with ripples and small waves. "Stop screwing with me!" The small waves ran into one another, becoming large waves. "What do you know?!" The pitch and meter of the man's speech changed rapidly.. "You are not worth the dust that the rude wind blows in your face." The large waves were swallowed up by the tsunami that blew right past them.

"My goodness," Miyamoto said to himself, too shocked to smile and savor the situation.

"I should have done this in the first place, to make certain that no one can collect that garish orange machine and its second-rate technology." Leonard sounded as if he had blown a gasket. There followed a short silence, and then a sudden sea change. The speaker sounded serene again, after he resumed speaking. "I thought it would be amusing to have that supposed secret aircraft of yours bomb you and that A.S. into a twisted inseparable tangle. However, if it is as incompetent as you, it might miss. So, I will succinctly set a simple but certain solution in motion."

"Amalgam needs me," Miyamoto claimed, feeling craven at making a plea. "I still have a head full of secret science. My Arm Slave has few rivals. Not every pilot can do what I can. It's like the early days of jai alai in America, where Carnival-like pamphlets at the time trumpeted jai alai as the Game of Dodging Death, accessible only to the breed of athlete that might possess the combined endurance of a championship prize fighter… the training of a thoroughbred… and the cannon arm of a major league baseball pitcher. During one early performance, Babe Ruth put on a cesta and tried to throw. He reportedly could not hit the front wall."

"As one should expect," Leonard said in parting. "You do not have the maturity to know sometimes silence is more powerful than having the last word."

"Fuck you!" Miyamoto cursed. "You stuck up little princess!"

The communication link between Leonard and Lucas went dead.

Lucas called out "Eleven."

It was a countdown. It was the -Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card that he so badly needed. That is, it would be if he could finish setting up the shell program that he needed to shut down the sequence of backward counting before Zero and his swan dive down into Hell. He didn't catch an engineer's joke. That countdown went f-r-o-m eleven.

Leonard missed his chance to kill him with certainty. He hoped to make the man pay for that oversight. But, that would take a lot of luck and supreme skill at skulking in the shadows. No doubt he was still under surveillance. Death could still come riding in on its boney steed to claim him soon enough, even if he was successful.

"Ten."

Miyamoto typed like a madman. He had once learned programming so that he could do the most he possibly could with his photographic efforts. Those lessons, added to the dastardly things he learned to do with Photo Shop and hijacked images, served him well now.

"Nine."

Lucas the A.I. was locked out. The computer was also greatly diminished, a state that would probably be permanent. If things had been otherwise, the computer would have been of great assistance. To be safe, he checked the exit. It was locked from the outside source. He began sweating some, and intensified his efforts. He should have thought to have the engineers put in a simple failsafe: an 'Open the Damn Door' back door subroutine.

"Eight."

He would stop the countdown! He would kill Kaname Chidori and make Leonard Testarossa upset! And then he would make use of his blasted family's darkest and dirtiest resources to kill him, too!

"Seven."

"Shit!" Why did some ass wipe decide to cut cost by using bargain basement equipment?! Two adjacent keys on the keyboard were now stuck in the down position. He had no tools within reach, and nothing small enough for his needs in the cockpit, regardless. His fingernails might be perfectly manicured, but they were not long enough to pry the buttons upward, or drag them up through friction if he thrust them down in.

"Six."

Fingernails?

Well, that might work. It was gross, and it might hurt like stink, but what else could he do? Not fingernails… toenail. He felt as if the world outside him went completely still, frozen in time. He pulled off a boot, and then a sock. He grabbed the nail of his big toe, one he had accidentally pulled out in the past. He pulled strongly and continuously. With vigor born from desperation, he rocked and twisted, pushed and pulled.

"Five."

Twisting hard as he winced, trying not to look down at the dripping blood, he moved the dislodged nail back and forth, lessening its attachment to the mangled nail bed more and more.

It came loose.

"Four."

"Leonard, you conceited cunt!" Miyamoto crowed. "Who's the arrogant one, huh? Who's the immature one, you prick?" He laughed. "You fucking took things for granted, you taint." He dropped the nail! But, the blood helped stick it to his finger, so it didn't fall away. Sweating heavily now, he jammed the nail in between the obstinate keys. He pulled up and it slipped back out.

"Three,"

"Jackass!" He had left the nail slick with blood. There was no time for such stupid mistakes! He wiped the nail off on the fabric of his A.S. suit's arm, and jammed it back in again, almost bending it during the attempt. He pulled up again.

The keys came free.

"Two."

"Please don't stick," the former Mr. Magnesium begged as he began typing again. All that he needed to do was finish his work and hit 'Enter.' He spoke as he typed the last bit. "Override 7734 Magnesium rules."

*ENTER*

"Just like in those fucking movies!" Miyamoto said, wiping the sweat away. "Two seconds. Two… fucking… seconds…." He froze. "Wait-" He swallowed hard. He hoped that this wasn't going to end up like some films, where the hero or villain thought that he had been saved, only to have something or someone else resume the countdown, like in 'The Fifth Element.'

"Countdown terminated," Lucsas said.

"We came! We saw! We kicked his ass!" The young pilot would have danced a jig, if he was not seated, and if no one from the ballet world could catch sight of him. "Zuul be praised." He smiled. "And in case you ask, the answer is yes… I am a god!"

A number of lesser systems had booted up. Ones with a medium level of complexity were just beginning to restart. The most complex functions might not return without a complete overhaul.

The Arm Slaves's arms were barely movable now, as if a family of elephants precariously perched on each one. The muscle systems were being checked strand by strand, barely usable during the diagnostic procedures.

"G-O-D-A-M-M-I-T-!-!-!"

Miyamoto had shouted at the top of his lungs.

He couldn't kill that bitch if he couldn't move his arms. He should have just used the force field as a knife or a gun or a hammer and killed her outright, instead of going for the more visceral and satisfying approach. He didn't have time to wait for things to be up and running again. Who knows what artillery shell… missile… laser beam… or exploding penguin might be at Leonard's beck and call. He had a victory. A Pyrrhic victory, maybe, but a victory just the same. But, he wanted to finish the war! After snuffing out that stupid student, he could further his revenge once he was back aboard the Bat.

He was one of the people who liked to watch the world burn.

He went through the necessary procedures for releasing his remaining balloon. The button he had programmed for 'Bat Recall' still worked, thankfully. The blinking pattern of lights that followed the pushing of that button signaled that Chazaquiel was on its way to him now. The JASDF fighter-bombers would be of no concern if they arrived. He wouldn't have anything to worry from air superiority fighters, either, once he was back onboard. That also went for any American aircraft that might intrude on his personal space. There was no surface to air missile in the world that could touch the Bat in full ECS stealth mode.

Lucas's legs had recovered quickest. He could stand up straight slowly, which he proceeded to do, in order to release the balloon without getting the spool fouled as the wire rolled upward. He released the balloon, hoping that nothing had been dislodged or bent during combat.

The balloon went up as well as could be hoped!

The seconds ticked away for what seemed like an eternity. He had no idea how much time had passed. And, glory be, the A.S.'s arms finally became functional again. Since he had to wait for the Bat anyway, he still had time to cut that girl into ribbons. Ready to ram the hook blade home, he was bitten by the unexpected once again.

"That fucking Bat had better not pull me up just as the blade is going down!" He smiled. "See… Leonard… I told you I was going to win!"

BWAMMMMMM-MMMMM-MMMM-MMM-MM-M WHOOOO-OOO-OOSH

Crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle scrackle crackle crackle crackle crackle

It felt as if the Arm Slave had been struck by a hammer the size of Tokyo Bay! The left leg had been totally destroyed. Flames spread all over Lucas's right leg, flowing into the joint cavities of the hip as the A.S. fell hard on its front.. A growing black trail of smoke rose skyward from the prone machine, content to move slowly, and let the balloon win the race.

Miyamoto sprawled unconscious in his pilot's seat.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD

It almost looked like a crazed club scene, at the other end of the pathway.

Lights were shining this way and that, red spinning off of police cars and fire trucks, and blue flashing off of ambulances. Blinkers tossed intermittent patches of yellow here and there. Trucks lights parked at different angles shot out long beams of white. If things lasted long enough, some forward thinker would turn on a pair of huge searchlights he had trucked in. Sets of shooting and smoking flares were out, marking areas as off limits to civilians.

There was a military man by the look of it, who was gesticulating this way and that, speaking through megaphone. He almost seemed like a DJ. The workers moving up and down in their tasks could be the dancers.

The Arm Slave battle had already lasted longer than most ever did.

That might explain why no one was in a rush to stop the fight. They thought that it would end any second. Most preferred to clean up the mess, or at most confine the conflict. A line of soldiers had advanced halfway up the path, but were prone now, rifles out, and watching through binoculars. Helicopters darted about like hummingbirds, but they were news copters, not military or police.

"Between a fucking rock-" Tamon Suzuki said to himself. "- And a fucking hard place." If he walked down the path, he would probably be detained, especially since someone must have seen him toting around the RPG30. If he headed back the other way, he might end up like Kitanyan or Black Banchou, if any more of those metal wenches were showing off their legs, or if that orange motherfucker decided to do some pest control. He could try to sneak off to one of the sides, but it was hard to do the ninja routine dressed in a big red panda costume!.

He stood there staring for a while, and the world just seemed content to stare back.

"I can say that the stupid ass bear held a gun at me-" The mascot actor continued. "-And fucking forced me to come. Yeh. That's it. I was kidnapped threatened with terrible things. Who's to say differently?" That pink doofus was probably dead by now.

"You're still alive… good…." That voice belonged to Hiroshi, who just showed up.

"M-M-M-M-" Tamon was caught off guard. What was that thing? Another kind of killer robot? "Motherfuck!" He started to run towards the police. His mind was too frazzled to realize that the newcomer had spoken.

"Hey!" Hiroshi reached out to grab Retsuko with Gloomy's paw. After he closed the with a vice grip, the arm went dead, the last muscle strand finally giving out. He didn't laugh, even though the frightened mascot looked rather comical, running in place. "It's me… Hiroshi… Gloomy Bear… settle down…."

"Don't fucking scare me like that, for Christ's fucking sake!" Tamon stopped running. "Let me fucking go."

"Hold on," Hiroshi said. He used the suits other hand to open the first, just before it too went down. "I got here just in time." The glow on the internal panel lights were going off one by one. He pulled down hard on a cord which caused locking mechanisms to unlock. Grunting in pain when he pushed, he opened the front of the suit in clamshell fashion.

"Man," Tamon said, looking the other mascot actor over. "You look beat up pretty bad. You're damn lucky you got out alive." He did a body builder's pose. "Me… I don't have a single scratch on me. That way, I don't have to spend any of my earnings on medical bills…."

"Great!" Hiroshi said, clapping his hands, and immediately regretting the act. He winced. "I need some helping hands. I doubt they-" He pointed at the soldiers, who were up and advancing again. "-Will do me any favors."

"Huh?" Tamon sounded wary. "Why are you telling me that?"

"Because you and I are going to grab my ATGM, and high tail it back into the action." Hiroshi began scanning the ground where he had left the Spike. The area was covered with broken trees and dirt that had been kicked up by explosions and the arrival of the orange Arm Slave. Was the weapon still visible. Was it still in working order?

"Oh no," Tamon said, holding his hands up in front of him and shaking the panda's head. "Ohhhhh-hhhh-hhh-hh-h no. Not me. No way. You want to a hero, go ahead. But leave me out of it."

"I thought you were a soldier once," Hiroshi said, feeling indignant. "Weren't you tasked with saving lives?"

"Yup," Tamon said. "Was. Story of my life. Was going to be a dentist like Momma wanted. Got kicked out for cheating. Was going to be a soldier; but turns out I was a lover, not a fighter, and I got kicked out again. It's not much, but I like what I got. I sure as shit don't want to be kicked out of life."

"And you don't mind if the whole world sees you as a coward?" Hiroshi pointed up at the circling whirlybirds. "They've probably filmed everything you've done… and haven't done…."

"Fuck'em," Tamon said. "Let'em. I don't fucking care. I'm going to be laying on a Caribbean beach somewhere, while my money is collecting ten-percent!"

"Money," Hiroshi said in a contemplative way. "Hmmm. How would you like my share. Simple job. Over and done with realllll-llll-lll-ll-l quick. Give you a story to tell all of the pretty girls at the bar."

"Sure!" Tamon blurted out, before even hearing the deal. "I mean… what is this job?" He looked out over the battle field. Things were not going well for the girl and her white A.S. "Rescue mission? There probably ain't gonna be anything to rescue by the look of it. I sure as shit don't want to be swept away by all that!"

"We won't," Hiroshi claimed. "We're going to take charge. The tide doesn't control a ship, the sailor does! All you have to do is drive me there. I'll do the rest."

"Don't look now, bubs." Tamon said. "But I think your little mechanical toy is all broke. What are you going to do, walk up and kick that thing in its big orange plums?"

"I brought a weapon," Hirposhi said. "And yours is over there." He pointed to the RPG30, ten yards behind them. "I'll look for the Spike, while you fire up one of the UTV's. There's an opening through this wall now, and once we pass through it, we can drive around the periphery of the wreckage."

"What kind of idiot do you take me for?" Tamon had Retsuko's hands on her hips now.

"Why," Hiroshi replied. "Is there more than one type? How about this. How about a rich idiot?"

"Well…." Tamon wavered. The Force was strong in that one. "Okay. I'll see if I can drive the thing like this." He was holding an internal debate. He was leaning towards taking the UTV and driving into the loving arms of the authorities. When he passed by the broken brick wall, and headed over to the RTX-X900 he called out: "There's weapons over here." Shit. Why did he say that? Sure enough, the other man came over in a hurry, grimacing as he walked.

"Wow!" Hiroshi picked up the Shmel. He looked it over. Someone had already loaded it. He also saw a discarded Carl Gustaf, and a dropped munition. He didn't know how to load and prep that, so the Russian weapon it was. "I don't know the name, but I'm liking the game. This will do. I'll climb on back." He jumped on the rear platform of the nearest UTV. "Fire it up. Let's roll!"

The RPO-A Shmel… known in Russian as the Rocket-propelled Infantry Flamethrower-A Bumblebee… is a man-portable disposable rocket launcher, although it is classified as a flamethrower by its manufacturer KBP. Each weapon contains a single rocket, of which there are three varieties. The basic rocket is the RPO-A, which has a thermobaric warhead and is designed for attacking soft targets under moderate cover. The RPO-Z is the incendiary warhead designed to spread fire and ignite targets. There is a smoke-producing warhead, the RPO-D. This weapon was none of those. The Shmel-M, reloadable, is a next-generation version of the RPO-A Shmel with dramatically increased range and blast yield. This was the Amalgam derivative, the Shmel-MA, and it was far more effective.

"I-" Tamon wobbled this way and that, looking as if he were about to keel over. "I think I've suffered a concussion. Could even be a stroke. Wouldn't want to die of one of those. Maybe I should seek medical assistance."

"I'll do a quick field Neurology exam." Hiroshi put the weapon down on the Kubota. "Okay. First, make a fist and put it under your… her… chin. Good…." He couldn't believe that the other guy did what he said. "Now. Move your knee up to there." He tapped on Retsuko's right knee and right shoulder. "You're doing great!" He then kicked the mascot's right foot as hard as he could, driving its fist hard into its chin. "You passed!"

"You son of a bitch!" Tamon thumbed Retsuko's nose with her hand, and then held both hands up like a boxer. "Fuck! That hurts!" Hiroshi had poked fingers into both of the red panda eye slots. "Wise guy, huh?"

"Time is money," Hiroshi said, putting an emphasis on the last word. "And… speaking of money…." There. That word again. The effect was near magical. "If you want your money… plus my money… all the money…" He pointed out at Arbalest. "You better hope she lives. That's the goose that lays the golden eggs. Right?"

"Shiiiiii-iiiii-iiii-iii-ii-it-tttt-ttt-tt-t." Tamon hung his head. "That's true." He had kind of forgotten about that part. "Well, what are you waiting for. There's a damsel in distress. The whole world is watching. This is our time to shine. We'll get that orange bully to say uncle. Let me at him. I'll murderize him. Nyuck nyuck nyuck."

They were off. No one in their right mind would mistake Tamon and Hiroshi for Timon and Puumba, or any other paring from buddy movies or road flicks. This definitely bore no resemblance to 'Easy Rider' or 'Thelma and Louise.' 'Pee-wee's Big Adventure' or 'Dumb and Dumber,' maybe.

Minutes later, the two men were driving along at good speed, Hiroshi holding on for life, foot through the strap of the Shmel, and RPG30 slung from one aching shoulder. When Tamon ran over a large swell, he was airborne for a few moments. The Arm Slaves were growing bigger by the instant, as they sped along parallel to an empty street, all traffic diverted. He barely caught sight of the onlookers on the other side of the avenue, as they were little more than blurs.

"My money!" Tamon shouted out, one hand slipping from the wheel. The UTV swerved this way and that. The quick little scene looked like something out of the Keystone Cops, as Hiroshi swung this way and that, weapons bouncing around, his body and ATGMs at impossible angles. "He's kicking the shit out of her!"

"Eyes… on… the… road…" Hiroshi shouted not long after that, coughing as the swinging strap of the RPG30 choked his neck. That idiot driver had turned to wave at the crowd when someone yelled out "You go, Retsuko!" He shouted back "I will try my best to get it done. I have the power of Death Metal and Anime on my side."

After that, things were indeed a blur for the beaten and battered Hirsoshi, until the UTV slid hard sideways to a stop, almost flipping over. They were as close to the ASes as the altered topography would allow. They might have done all their heroics for nothing. As it turned out, the orange Arm Slave had pinned the white one down. There didn't seem to be much hope of an escape for that girl, now.

"We'll have to hoof it, then." Hiroshi said. He put the RPG30 down and hopped off of the vehicle. "Hurry. By the look of that flickering light, the shield is covering the white machine and not the orange one. We might be able to do some damage." He had been told by the girl where the most vulnerable areas were. If there was an open area of damage at the waist of the machine, a shot might damage the power source. Any other areas of damage would be next best.

"Good plan," Tamon said. "You go ahead. I'll guard our ride. Some of those rowdies look like they might try and steal it." He pointed over to a group of elderly women with walkers… a blind man with his seeing eye dog… and a legless boy in a wheelchair.

"-" Hiroshi bit off his initial retort. "You do that. I knew that you were a real man. I knew that you didn't care about all… that… money…." He coughed. That would plant a seed. "If something happens to me… or my shot misses… you're all that we have left."

"You betcha," Tamon said. He had Retsuko salute Hiroshi. "Go get'em, Tiger!" He shrugged. "I mean… Bear…."

By the time Hiroshi got a clear view of the action, the orange machine… which had been unmoving a while… began to stand up. A hatch opened on the large box on its back. He could hear a loud hissing noise, as if there was large cobra somewhere. A folded balloon in the box flipped out, attached to a thick cable. That balloon began filling rapidly with some sort of lighter-than-air gas.

"Where-" He said. He noticed a large number of points of damage on both legs of the orange A.S. There was a particularly inviting one at the top of the left leg, near the hip joint. "There's my bitch…." Now he had to figure the weapon out, lickety split. He didn't pay attention to the quickly rising balloon. He winced when he heard a shout.

Someone else had.

"Not on my watch!" Tamon said. "Get your dirty paws off of my money!" He fired the rocket propelled grenade. But, like a cat distracted by a moving toy, he had targeted the balloon. Only he knew why.

The projectile missed.

"No pressure," Hiroshi said to himself, knowing that the Shmel was there only shot now, so to speak. The weapon's sight and a pistol grip were near the front of the tube. A large domelike covering was present just inside of the mouth of the tube. So, guessing the way to point things was a piece of cake. There was a trigger. There was a safety, which he clicked off. He put the weapon on his shoulder and sighted the injured area on the Arm Slave. He had to hurry. The A.S. was moving an arm… an arm with a huge hook blade. About fifty meters from his prey, he called out: "Fire in the hole!" A long cylindrical trail of smoke showed the path of the munition. He jumped behind a tall and thick Stone Lantern at the edge of a Shinto shrine.

BWAMMMMMM-MMMMM-MMMM-MMM-MM-M WHOOOO-OOO-OOSH

A bright flash of flame heralded the massive burning djinn of a conflagration that followed. The blast of the standard 90 mm Shmel-M munition is equivalent in power to 152 mm high explosive artillery shell, or equivalent to six kilograms of TNT. This percussive blast was many times that. In addition, the warhead created a fireball with a radius of twenty meters and a casualty radius around one hundred fifty meters. The blast of the Shmel-MA did to Lucas what Sousuke's shot had done to those trees. His load had been an 'M' rocket, not 'MA' like Hiroshi's. The front row of spectators were afflicted with second degree and third degree burns, after the blast wave knocked them down like ten pins. The furthest of the onlookers were lucky to escape with first degree burns.

Crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle scrackle crackle crackle crackle crackle

The blast had nearly blown the left leg off of Lucas completely. Fire licked at the surface of the target's right leg, and then flowed like a living elemental thing into the gaping wound, as the A.S. was sent down face first. Smoke boiled out from the leg joint and rose upwards into the sky, which was clearing some now, giant shafts of light illuminating the area, as if Hachiman had been watching and was showing his approval.

The blast wave struck so hard, that the ornate top of the lantern actually rocked and almost fell on Hiroshi, who had stared in awe as a wave of burning air had blown past him on either side of the lantern base. The heat he felt have him saying a prayer for Kaname Chidori and anyone else in the general vicinity.

"We should have brought some marshmallows," Tamon said, walking up a short while later, the tips of Retsuko's ears smoking and her tail looking like it had been roasted. He felt like he deserved a fair share of the victory. His belly rumbled. It was a victory, wasn't it?

Hiroshi pumped his fist, feeling an intense feeling of satisfaction and success. Unarmed now, he began to back away from the scene, feeling conflicted. Was the girl okay? Did she need his assistance? The balloon, making a fluttering noise as it was buffeted by strong wind gusts, caught his attention briefly.

What was that all about.

It didn't matter. Nothing could be more dramatic than everything that had just happened.

Right?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

SANEATSU PARK

Enough power returned, so that the dim lighting became bright again.

The terrible sound of whining servos, working against a blanketing force that wouldn't give way, suddenly ceased. An acrid odor born from overstrained diodes and capacitors wafted around the cockpit; but that, was no concern now. Air handlers could now vent that smell outside.

"We had no recourse before that intervention," Sousuke said, still rattled in a good way after turn of events. "There should have been no way to escape that!" He was relieved, but not exactly ecstatic. Camera systems were regaining focus, and he still had only a vague idea what the enemy was doing, if anything. "Now that was a deus ex machina!"

It truly had been.

Who could possibly have guessed that Leonard Testarossa would intervene when he did, and the way that he had?

"I fail to see why you revisit that subject," Al remarked, shocking the bejesus out of his pilot. "We find ourselves in a situation fraught with peril and uncertainty. There is no room for looking backwards. We must move forward."

"-" Sousuke had no response for that one hundred eighty degree turnabout. Had that been sarcasm? Tunnel vision? A reset in the A.I.'s thought process? "Why can't we move, pal?" He moved the control levers. Nothing happened.

"The stress and strain were so great, that all muscle strands have temporarily shut down," Al reported. "Also... we took so much physical abuse... that some of the more sensitive circuits have decreased their functions, or have stopped working. I am looking for alternative pathways."

"Shut down? During battle?!" Sousuke was incredulous. "What idiot programmed that in?"

"Unknown," the computer replied.

"I mean, what purpose could it possibly serve, with death on the line?" Sousuke shook his head. That head hurt a great deal, as did much of Kaname's body. Both 'he' and Al would need a full diagnostic when this was done. But, there would be no justice. He would get an earful about damage to the A.S., and an earful for damage to Kaname. The A.I. would get off like a bandit!

"Unknown," Al answered.

"Did they think that the enemy would politely wait while we regained function?" Sousuke flicked a number of switches on and off. That didn't do anything to speed the recovery process up. Each strand was being assessed, tested, and put back online, or had been sent to the back of the queue to be retested again.

"Unknown," the A.I. said. "I will save you the trouble of asking the follow-up question. Unknown."

"-" Again Sousuke blinked rapidly in disbelief. That must be sarcasm, right?! There were some moods and nuances that a machine did not need to imitate or assimilate! He ran his hand this way and that over a small ball-mouse type of device, swiveling the outside cameras.

The orange A.S. was not moving. But, until its strength and mobility returned, Arbalest could not take advantage of the situation.

"Dammit!" Sousuke smacked a hand hard down on the control console, chipping one of Kaname's fingernails. As he watched one particular screen, the number of green lights was increasing rapidly, but were far outnumbered by the yellow and the red. He took time to call in to Da Danaan and gave them a full rundown. In return, they filled them in on their situation. All land-based threats had been deemed red herrings; or, if real, had been snuffed out. The drone attack had been neutralized without significant damage or any casualties. F35s were fueling, and were being fitted with a concealed bomb load, stealth abilities necessary in Japanese airspace.

A pair would arrive on scene within fifteen to twenty minutes.

"Sergeant," Al said. "Have we just taken out a new lease on life?" The A.I. had just happened upon that phrase during its latest foray into the internet.

"Affirmative," Sousuke answered.

"Then-" The A.I. continued. "-Without questioning your judgment, why didn't we go so far as to purchase a new life? Leases can be revoked, can they not?"

"-" If this kept up, Sousuke would need a speech therapist. "You figure it out, chatter box!" He was hot under the collar, frustrated from sitting there helpless, while the enemy may even be in a worse state of readiness and therefor vulnerable… or in a better state, and once again a huge threat.. He could kill Mr. Magnesium now with nothing more than one of the ARX-7's bare hands now.

If only they could move!

"Chatterbox?" Al asked. "Searching. 'Chatterbox' is a 1977 American comedy film about a woman with a talking vagina. The film stars Candice Rialson as a hairdresser who discovers her vagina has the power of speech after it derisively comments on a lover's performance. Her talking vagina has a mind of its own, which includes a desire to sing; they wind up exploited by her psychiatrist, who launches her on a career in show business." There was a pause. "Sergeant… why that appellation? Does Miss Chidori's body have a vagina that can speak?"

"I'll… let… you… ask… her… that…." Sousuke said. The A.I. was worse than a talkative two year old. Then again, if Al did that, the computer would not be the one to bear the brunt of the blue-haired barrage. "No." He had a very evil thought. "When we are safe back aboard the TDD-1, ask Captain Testarossa that. She should know."

No doubt she would have the garrulous machine reprogrammed.

"Duly noted," Al replied, not suspecting anything.

"Even an M6 would serve now," Sousuke said to himself, thinking about their situation now. But, should he wish for a troop of those to appear? They might well attack Arbalest as well as the other Arm Slave. The current circumstance was dicey enough. Japan should not be allowed to gain access to either advanced A.S.

Time passed. Sousuke thought about calling the lab again, to reassure the watchers. But, he didn't know what to say. He couldn't claim an impending victory or a draw, and he couldn't promise that he could not still be defeated. For the first time since the battle began, he thought back to the dilemma that awaited him, should he leave the battle victorious and alive. Was it too late to get his own body back? If there was, had Kaname and the team at the laboratory been able to arrange for safe and successful transfer?

"Sergeant, we have movement." Al said. "Let me clarify. The enemy is moving. We are close to being able to move ourselves."

Sousuke watched a monitor as the orange Arm Slave stood up. He could not get a full view, unable to see above the waist of the other machine at that distance and angle.

"Shit!" Sousike swore. The other A.S. had turned to face them. There was no trace of Lambda Driver force; but, that wouldn't be necessary for Mr. Magnesium's triumph. That remaining hook blade. The belly cutter. One strong fist. Any of those could spell their doom.

"Arm functions have returned," the A.I. reported. "Leg function ramping up quickly. Lambda Driver is still down."

"There's no other choice." Sousuke moved one control lever, twisting and pulling back one arm. Arbalest's arm nearest the enemy was the only thing that could reach. He would grab the leg he saw, and either pull himself up to where he could grapple, or trip his opponent. "Get ready to grip tight pal!" Arbalest began reaching for the orange machine's ankle

BWAMMMMMM-MMMMM-MMMM-MMM-MM-M WHOOOO-OOO-OOSH

Sousuke felt the pressure before he saw the bright light, before flame blinded all of the cameras for a moment, and the wave of heat blew past Arbalest. Laying flat on the ground, the ARX-7 took a relatively minimal blow itself. The true danger followed soon thereafter

Crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle crackle

The light was replaced by a fiery glow. The glow was accompanied by an intense wave of heat. Only one kind of weapon could do this. A thermobaric one. "I wonder if someone repurposed my weapon," he asked himself. He swallowed hard. Temperature gauges were spiking dangerously high. He reached out to check the cabin wall. Big mistake. It was rather hot to the touch.

"Outer skin still intact," Al reported. "There will be a lot of blistering, however. It looks like I will need to be buffed and shined when we return home." There was a pause. "We will not know if any joints are fused until we attempt movement. The surge in temperature may have prompted development of hot spots in the reactor. I am checking to distinguish bright spots caused by direct heat flux from random readings caused by high-energy radio-frequency reflections."

They could be in dire shape.

But, barring some Black Technology miracle, the enemy machine should be in a much worse state. The young soldier hoped that the explosion signaled an end to the orange A.S., or at least its driver.

What kills people in thermobaric explosion is the pressure wave, and more importantly, the subsequent vacuum, which ruptures the lungs. If the fuel deflagrates but does not detonate, victims will be severely burned and will probably also inhale the burning fuel. Moreover, the effect of a Fuel Air Explosion detonation within confined spaces is immense. Those near the ignition point are obliterated. Those at the fringe are likely to suffer many internal, and thus invisible injuries, including burst eardrums and crushed inner ear organs, severe concussions, ruptured lungs and internal organs, and possibly blindness.' But, inside of the orange monster, the pilot may have been significantly shielded.

These are not the weapons of civilized human beings.

"I would normally would never use that against a human being," Sousuke claimed. "Not the way that the Russians and Syrians do. But, if it's my life or theirs…." There are some people who think that use of that class of weapons should be classified a War Crime, since they cause superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering. He wondered if someone outside of Mithril might want his head after this and his prior tree torching. No. It was more than that.

He wondered if someone within Mithril would.

Against inanimate objects, the fuel in thermobaric munitions can rapidly diffuse into tunnels, caves or bunkers, producing considerably high heat effect for habitants and/or ammunition. It could possibly enter joint spaces or external metallic wounds of an enemy Arm Slave. If he was really lucky, it might enter the air-handling system, or at least make it inoperative. Amalgam had developed new energetic materials with enhanced-blast properties, including shock resistant energetic nanoparticles. That gave the initial explosion significant penetrative power.

But, new generation Arm Slaves could probably keep their occupants safe, even if they themselves were destined for a scrap heap.

No doubt the enemy was off his game, to say the least. Now would be a good time for Arbalest to act. Sousuke had the A.S. grab hold of the opponent's remaining leg, still feeling somewhat disoriented himself. It had certainly been a day of surprises and shocks. Why should it stop now? There was a strong jolt and he felt Arbalest shudder. It wasn't a brief motion, the type one might expect if the enemy was trying to kick him off of its leg. This was constant movement, as if he and his machine were being dragged along a certain vector.

"Gyroscopic readings indicate that we are ten-degrees off vertical," Al declared. "Our legs are not fully functional… I am not standing. Warning. Warning, Sergeant. My feet are no longer on the ground. Awaiting order to release hold."

"I see," Sousuke replied, swiveling one camera downward. The distance from the ground was increasing at a precipitous rate. "It feels as if we are in flight." He opened his mouth to order release. He closed it without speaking further.

"Not plane, nor bird, nor even frog…." The A.I. said. "It's just little old me… Under Dog."

"Shit," Sousuke swore, slapping a hand against Kaname's forehead.

What else could he have said?

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Well, that's pretty much the A.S. battle. Can you guess what comes next?

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Note:

While writing parts of this chapter, I was listening to a Thrash mix tape: Destruction… Exodus… Slayer… Death Angel… Vio-lence… Metallica… Sodom… Testament… Anthrax… Nuclear Assault… Xentrix… Megadeth… Kreator… Overkill… Sepultura… Annihilator… and Forbidden. And after that I put on Vivaldi's Flute Concerto No. 3 in D, P. 155 'Il Cardellino'; Bassoon Concerto in B flat, 'La Notte'; Concerto in D major for Oboes & Strings; and Concerto in C major for 2 Oboes, 2 Clarinets, and strings. And then, in honor of Leonard, it was 70s Progressive Rock, something somewhat pompous… fascinating… and destined to fade away. How could I not start off with Pink Floyd's 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond' and 'Time'?

Maybe that explains some things….