The Devil Made Me Do It

by dave-d

Still a member of Mithril, Sousuke was temporarily based In Cambodia, along with the other SRT members, old and new. Kaname had been in Tasmania, doing what she could for the organization, before heading back to Tokyo to resume college. Or, that's where she should have been. Kidnapped again. In need of rescue again. Sousuke heads into battle to save her, but who would save him?

1. Chapter 1

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Author's note:

This story is not fully canon for Full Metal Panic. As for continuity, that is up to the reader. The happenings in 'What's In A Name' are referenced. But, that does not means that this story is a true sequel, or that it absolutely belongs in the 'Christmas Cake' series. It can, if you want it to.

The tale is also not entirely canon for religion. Some passages will come from the Bible; but others will be from works of literature, lesser novels, or even role-playing games. Nothing is intended to be disrespectful or blasphemous; but, some may find things to be inappropriate, even though this is a fanfiction, not a treatise or lecture. My apologies if anyone is angered or dismayed.

Also, while I listened to many types of music while conceiving the whole tale and roughing out the first chapter, I listened to a bunch of Psychobilly polishing up the first segment. That might explain a few things.

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A strong wind blew broken leaf-laden limbs across the decrepit appearing compound.

The weather left nothing to the imagination. On the back of increasing humidity, hot air had risen over the land, and cool moisture-laden air rushed in from the oceans to take its place.

The monsoon brought with it heavy rains.

By contrast, the old-appearing base was actually new, to a large degree. Huge rusting buildings, looking like giant aluminum cans cut in half and laid down lengthwise, concealed newly fabricated facilities… AS bays, machine shops, and sheds for VTOL aircraft and helicopters.

Newly constructed buildings, artificially weathered, looked no different than commercial warehouses and small factories that had once dotted the area, but held barracks, cafeterias, medical facilities, and all of the services needed to keep a small fleet of trucks and armored vehicles working in tip top order.

The one building that had been there all along, and had served the same purpose it had since its construction decades past, was Say Ruou Con Khi, or Drunk Monkey in butchered Vietnamese. The choice of the name was a curiosity, since the country was not Vietnam, but rather Cambodia. And the bar, which had been built by the Chinese when they were making inroads into the country, held drinking and near drunk soldiers, not monkeys.

Well, looking at some of the motley crew, a witness could not be faulted if he or she thought otherwise.

A majority of the men, and the much fewer ladies, wore a mismatched collection of clothing that spoke of mercenaries. A smaller number wore singular uniforms, well-pressed and in good repair. The badges on their shoulders showed a shield holding a winged sword superimposed over an image of the world. The symbol of Mithril.

"I can't believe they kept the same name," one man exclaimed, sporting a red mohawk and gold-capped teeth. He was a member of the Tundra PMC, fighters conscripted to fight along side of Mithril at less than reasonable cost. "Mithril? That carries bad luck, after all that happened."

"Huh?" A Mithril mechanic said, wearing more beer than he had managed to guzzle down his gnarled old mouth. "You read Tolkein,ain'tya? The good guys got beat up pretty bad, but-" He couldn't finish his sentence.

"But they won in the end." A free agent helicopter gunner added, nodding his head. He may be one of the only people in the world who read the Silmarillion and loved it. He even had an Eru Ilúvatar tattoo. Looking up at the ceiling, he said a short prayer. He hoped the large rusted metal rafters would hold together.

"And things could be much worse," First Lieutenant Amasart added, having done an about face, leaving Intelligence and returning to the SRT. Seeing that Mao was still Urzu 2, he was assigned Urzu 8 in place Corporal Speck. "I was at the Council meeting when someone brought the subject up."

"Like anyone here really gives a rat's ass," an extremely tall man said, his sniper rifle even longer than his lengthy legs. "We're paid to fight, not to hear about Mithril's knitting circle."

"You're paid for both, dickwad." That was a Mithril MP, who prior to joining the organization had been a champion MMA fighter. His name patch read Ivan Makhachev. When he spoke, some people listened, and the others shut the hell up. "You can visit the paymaster any time you like and give half of your stipend back."

"As I was saying, Mr. Moriarity did not take kindly to a junior member's suggestions," Amasart continued, flexing his limbs, feeling only a small residual pain from the serious injuries he had suffered in combat years back. "I will quote: 'We will NOT be renaming the organization Orichalchum. Most definitely NOT. The next person making that request will be taken outside and shot'. No one listening could tell if the man was joking. He then said: 'Definitely NOT vibranium. Most of you know what I think about Marvel. That means anyone asking for Adamantium will be busted down to short order cook or groundskeeper. And Philosopher's Stone? Do I look like a Harry Potter fanboy!'"

"Bet that put an end to things pretty quickly," an Intelligence operative put in. He had gotten on the bad side of Sir Mallory's replacement and had won an all expense paid vacation to the beautiful city of Sihanoukville.

"No," Amasart said. "We may have someone else from joining us some time soon. Possibly someone who will mop these glistening floors." That was a joke. The floors of the bar were old wooden boards, repurposed granite slabs, and dirt. "A Research assistant said 'Amrita and Vajra from Hindu Mythology are indestructible. Ikirauta in Finnic mythology is claimed to be eternal and unbreakable and cuts through granite like a knife through melted butter. Bin Steel from Chinese Mythology is-' His voice became constricted when Mr. Moriarity cracked a walnut in his hand, and then dropped the ground up pieces on the tabletop. He coughed out his final words '-Nearly… as… strong'."

There was a pause.

The lack of additional information had one young soldier acting antsy. It seemed that someone needed to up his dose of Ritalin. "And-" The recruit from the Salamandre PMC slid his chair across wood, bounced it across stone, and then walked it over dirt, stopping too closely within Amasart's orbit for the other man's liking. "And-"

"It was like a coffin door slamming shut." Amasart stood, and walked a few steps away. "Moriarity said: 'Besides, Amalgam has not chosen to change its name'."

"Since you were high up the ladder in Intel boyo, maybe you can tell us something." An older soldier, a tenured member of Mithril's PRT, twirled a dart in his fingers, and then held up a handful of well worn twenty dollar bills. "Why the hell are we in Cambodia." He tossed the dart, just missing the bullseye. Frowning he gave the money to a greasy mechanic who had just come off shift. "And if we're not training or shipping out, why can't we hit the beaches?" He sneezed and wiped his nasal drainage on a sleeve stained with marinara sauce and Cheetos dust.

Sihanoukville City hada string of beaches along its coastline and coastal marshlands bordering Ream National Park in the east. It has one navigable river, the mangrove-lined Ou Trojak Jet, running from Otres Pagoda to the sea at Otres. Several sparsely inhabited islands under Sihanoukville's administration are located near the city.

Most parts of the province were on a peninsula, which showed a hilly face with some scattered forested areas… typical wet areas for Cambodia such as rice fields and other agricultural plantations… and a relatively big mountain range, which represented the southern end of the mighty Cardamom Mountains.

"Well, this place is a great fixer upper, isn't it," a consultant to the Tactical Division quipped. "The Sihanoukville Special Economic Zone began as an overseas economic and trade cooperation zone designed to promote favorable market conditions. It started with a focus on manufacturing consumer goods with the goal of transitioning to producing machinery, photovoltaic materials, and chemicals. The SSEZ received support from China's Ministry of Commerce and the Export-Import Bank of China. A sizable industrial center, exclusively composed of Chinese companies, sprung up. But, things became unfavorable, and Chinese resources dried up. Why? In part to scammers who ran at least sixty internet investment parks in the city, and who kidnapped, imprisoned and abused their workers under modern slavery-like conditions, and also because the Chinese Tong took over a large number of casinos that had opened up in hopes of bringing in international tourists."

"Bloody Hell. Fucking Chinese," the man with the mohawk said. "Scum of the earth if you ask me." Before joining his current PMC, he had fought for the People's Liberation Army. at some point, and then had changed sides, working for the Democratic Chinese Alliance. He had been left in precarious situations by both sides and still held a grudge. "We lost good men kicking the fucking Tong out. And forwhat?Some shit ass casinos and brothels, and a couple of good Chinese restaurants." He hated the people, but loved the cuisine.

"The chemicals are useful," Amasart said in response, certain that the soldier didn't care one way or another. The other listeners might. "But there are more valuable industries in our control now. Silicon It can be monocrystalline, polycrystalline, or amorphous. Monocrystalline silicon is highly efficient and is often used in PV cells. Gallium arsenide. Absorbs more energy from sunlight than silicon, making it a common choice for solar cells Copper indium gallium di-selenide. A thin-film semiconductor with a chalcopyrite structure that has great photovoltaic properties-"

"Why thank you Mr. Science," the mohawk man said, blow snot out of one nostril. "The damn chinks can photo my erect voltaic."

"There is also cadmium telluride," Amasart continued unabashed. "A thin semiconductor layer that absorbs and converts sunlight into electricity. Perovskite. A material with high absorption coefficients and tunable bandgaps that is a promising candidate for next-generation solar cells." He banged his beer bottle against that of a buddy who walked past. "It was more than scams and organized crime that had the Chinese leaving as fast as they could, despite all of their costly efforts. It wasn't as if Cambodia wanted them to leave either."

Cambodia's history is marked by political instability, efforts at rebuilding, and the challenges of dealing with its traumatic past under previous rulers and conquerors.

Throughout the endless Cold War, the kingdom was in a continuous state of conflict. The brutal Khmer Rouge regime took power after a bloody civil war. The kingdom was then invaded, and the Khmer Rouge ousted, by its larger neighbor. The Vietnamese military continued to occupy until its own national problems caused its withdrawal. Even then, military conflict continued, with a civil war between several rebel forces against the Vietnamese-installed government in Phnom Penh, a conflict that ended with Paris Peace Agreements. With limited resources… and sandwiched between two larger and at times hostile neighbors… Cambodia had sought security under the aegis of the People's Liberation Army. As a result ,Beijing played an increasingly critical role in Cambodia's economic and military modernization. That benefitted Cambodia, but China as well.

The latter wanted to be seen as a great power.

"You guys really should learn something about the countries you fight in," the one MP asserted. "Information is as good a kit as a canteen and haversack." He gave a jaunty salute to Amasart, who he knew was well-informed, more than most.

"Affirmative," a relatively young voice said. An x-shaped scar on his face, the young A.S. pilot sat alone at a leaning table, impeccably dressed, but with a messy mop of hair. "The Chinese made good work upgrading Ream Naval base. But it was a good start, nothing more. Mithril and its wealthier allies are finishing the job."

"Sagara is correct," Amasart said, returning the salute to the MP. "The Ream Naval Base is a facility previously operated by the Royal Cambodian Navy. Some of the fighters here might have participated in joint Cambodian-United States raining and naval exercises under the Cooperation Afloat Readiness and Training program. The US-funded buildings were demolished as the base was being converted by Chinese state-owned enterprises into a major operations hub fo rthe PLA's Navy. The Royal Cambodian Armed Forces desperately wanted a modernization program, primarily driven by Cambodia's threat perceptions towards its immediate neighbors, Thailand and Vietnam. Cambodia's sense of inferiority when compared to its more powerful Southeast Asian neighbors was a powerful incentive to seek assistance from China for both general military modernization, in particular the development of its navy. Hence the work on the base."

Extensive dredging work had been undertaken around the waterside, in order to accommodate larger vessels. Specifically, efforts were made to build the base's dry dock to be roughly the same size as the dry dock at the Chinese submarine base in Qingdao, the site of the First Submarine Base, Jianggezhuang, of the Northern Theatre Navy. Given the limited range of the JL-1 strategic missile that was carried by the sole PLAN Xia-Class SSBN at the time, it made sense to build a base towards the north, putting at least a few major population centers in the Soviet Union within missile range. But, a base in Cambodia had offered additional strategic value, and a reason to fund more advanced submarines.

"But, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry," the MP added.

"Exactly," Amasart conceded. "Before Mithril defeated Amalgam's regional militia, the enemy had its eyes set on Ream, as well. They chased the Chinese out, tail between their legs, keeping ownership of their newest submarine. Rumor had it they were planning use the Chinese sub to build a boat to counter DaDanaan." He finished off his beer and waved his arm above his head, signaling the busy server. The Anchor, Angkor, and Cambodia brands were not great, but they got the job done. "And that brings us to the warning about the beaches."

"If I may," the MP said. He was responsible for base security, and for making certain that fighting forces stayed where they were supposed to be. "When Amalgam left, they did not leave in a friendly and thoughtful manner. They placed all manner of traps along attractive architectural and environmental locations. They seeded the beaches and shallow waters with PDMs" The PDM are amphibious Soviet anti-vehicle mines that can be used on or in beaches, rivers, lakes and shallow coastal waters up to five meters deep. "Bulgarian variants too, I believe. Whatever they had at hand, really, in part because they lacked the resources to take with them when they fled."

"To Hell with it all," one Nigerian combat trainer spat. A former member of the 195 Battalion at Agenebode, he was using an old beat-up dagger to carve obscene drawings on a cracked wooden table top. "No beaches. No babes." The fighters were also denied access to the city's brothels. The base was currently short on penicillin… some of the men tended to blab secrets when they were drunk and sexed up… and there still remained girls who were Chinese sympathizers, and some who were even Amalgam agents. "No gambling." He meant casinos. There were plenty of games of chance available at the forest base, in unsanctioned fashion. And, there were more opportunities at the naval base and surrounding satellite villages. "No fighting." That much was true. The men were there to guard the facilities, until a suitable Mithril force was ready for action. They would join in larger conflicts when the SRT was ready to reboard the TDD-2, or would take up waiting at key Mithril sites in the Indo-Pacific region to act in a more independent manner. "I know why Mithril is in Cambodia. Why are we sitting in a fucking forest, hugging trees all day?"

There was one group of men and women who knew exactly why they were based where they were.

The naval base, while unfinished, had still served as a transport hub for Amalgam forces. One thing being transported was Codarl Arm Slaves. They had been captured when Mithril moved in. There was one warbitten Plan-1056 prototype, a type of third generation Arm Slave operated by Amalgam under Mithril codename 'Venom. That type had been the first Lambda Driver-equipped Arm Slave in Amalgam's arsenal, developed from the Soviet Zy-98 Shadow, and had been used by Gauron in the Khanka Autonomous Region and Helmajistan. There was also one Plan-1059 Codarl-m, a refined mass production version of the Plan-1059. Better machines had been amongst the bounty, including two Codarl-i, which had arguably a minor upgrade in power and reliability compared to the original Codarl, and could be considered a stopgap design made from merging the frame of the original Codarl with available design elements from another Amalgam AS that was still undergoing development, the latter becoming the Codarl's true successor: the Plan-1065 Erigor. Three Erigor had originally thought to have been built: A single dark purple-black AS developed for Lee Fowler and his exceptional close combat skills; a white, twin horned example made for Sabina Rechnio and her specialization in electronic warfare; and a red example for Wilhelm Casper that had accommodations for his Master-Sniper abilities. The more developed Lambda Driver from the Codarl-i… capable only of being used to its full potential by expert pilots… was retained in that trio, and also in a hitherto unknown blue Erigor found in Cambodia, surviving unsuccessful destruction at the hands of retreating troops.

That latter was the crown jewel of the AS heist.

Those specific Lambda Drivers were removed from their machines. They were then modified, and returned. Those modifications followed design work provided by the A.I. that had been salvaged form ARX-Laevatein.

Bani Morauta had seen Al more as his child than his invention while he was still alive, going as far as to record a request for the Arbalest's future pilot to raise the 'toddler' in his stead should he die. Sousuke Sagara had done just that. He had raised a very bright boy, one far brighter than himself, and now even smarter than former Whispered like Teletha Testerossa and her late twin brother when they were at the height of their Sophia-given knowledge.

Al had not worked alone, helped by Mira Kudan, Nora Lemming, and a Norwegian engineer, Magnus Skogestad. Training of future pilots for LD-equipped Mithril Arm Slaves was being done by Sgt. Sagara, but not under good graces. The Blue Erigor was earmarked for Urzu-1, Belfang Clousseu. One of the Codarl-i arm slaves was reserved for Urzu-2, second Lieutenant Melissa Mao. The third unit was up for grabs. That was the reason that all remaining SRT members were present.

If one of them failed to win the cockpit of that machine, other experienced pilots from outside the SRT would be given their chance.

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"To those that are true." Kurz Weber, Urzu 6, raised his umpteenth glass of beer, and the other Urzu designates raised theirs in return. Clouseau and Mao were noticeably absent, having been sent to help with various tasks at the Mithril base being built on Tasmania. "And to those who like to screw." A sober Kurz Weber was naughty enough. A drunken Kurz Weber? "Remember everybody, this bar is like a beautiful bouncing babe. Liquor in the front, and poker in the rear."

"To those that we have lost!" Roger Sandraptor said, pushing a wobbling Weber back down into his chair. An ex-American soldier. of Navajo descent who had been injured during the raid on Merida, and currently Urzu 5 he had initially quit Mithril after recovery. Unable to deal with civilian life, he had returned. "To Gail!": He meant Gail McAllen, Urzu 1 before Clouseau.. He had been killed by Guen Bien Bo while trying to stop Gauron from escaping. Picking up a pool cue he moved to join another SRT member in a game of Cut Throat pool. "And Speck!" After having a change of heart, Corporal Speck had valiantly defended the Merida base as part of a four-man diversionary attack on one of three Behemoth ASes. When he realized that Kurz Weber needed a second attempt to snipe and disable the giant unit, Speck scaled the machine and forced its pilot to focus its Lambda Driver on his AS, resulting in him being crushed to death. The window allowed Weber to carry out a second shot on the Behemoth which successfully destroyed it.

"To Speck," Kurz said, serious for a fleeting moment.

"To Castello," Heinrich Kittel the current Urzu 3 added, even though he was merely honoring his namesake, and had not known any of the deceased former SRT members. He still wanted to fit in. First Lieutenant Castello had been killed by one of the Behemoths invading Merida when he distracted it to help Melissa get back to the island's HQ. That assault had cost the lives of many good men and women. "May he rest in peace." It being his turn, he palmed his cue and took aim at one Sandraptor's pool balls. Pocketing that ball, he continued shooting.

"To Yang Jun-Kyu," said Jack Wayne, now Urzu 12, after having previously had the call sign Urzu 7. Like Sandraptor, Wayne had returned to Mithril, but for a different reason. During M6 parachute training, he was injured by a parachute error, and a white light appeared in front of his eyes during which he heard an angelic voice say 'you wandering lamb, lay down his weapon and catch the shrimp.' In response to that account, Mao had said 'You'll be a great fisherman.' He had been, until he lost religion, and found a lengthy police record.

"Yang is not lost," Kurz said with a long belch. "He just hasn't returned yet." Jun-kyu, Urzu 9, had been an ex-South Korean Army soldier who at first had been a promising race car driver from Daegu. He gave that up after he joined the South Korean military full time, years before he had been recruited by Mithril. He had gone off to do some street racing on leave, but had never returned, and had never sent any message to command or comrade alike. "But I think Hummer is lost!"

"Fuck off, Weber." That was said in a dull monotone by first lieutenant Hummer, Urzu 4, a former Assault convoy helicopter commander. He had shown great talent as an arm slave pilot after getting in a cockpit on a whim, and had worked hard to become a candidate like the other SRT members. That is, he had shown great promise and great interest. Returning to base after playing in a poker tournament at the Casino Corona Resort in Phu Quoc on an island off the coast of Vietnam, he had become sullen and disinterested, and refused to speak a word about his adventure. He mumbled to himself "I was lost before I was found." No one heard that mysterious muttering.

"Seems that poker might be even more dangerous than those PDM mines," Julius Rebane said. The Estonian, Urzu 10 in place of Nguyen Bin Bo, had previously been a tank commander in the Soviet 21st Guards. "Right Hummer?" He frowned when Hummer made a strange face, gave him the finger, left his table, and then left the bar altogether. "I'm not just razzing on Urzu 4. I've heard from buddies in the UCP, Frontier Services Group, and Black Iron." Those were PDM groups scattered throughout the large geographic region. "People have been disappearing after large poker matches. Disappearing, found dead, or returning changed." He looked over at the swinging door Hummer had elbowed his way through.

"Same thing with car racing," Sandraptor said, handing his pool cue to Kurz. He had once taken a wild ride with Yang in a 'borrowed' drag racer at the old airport in Siem Reap. "Even if he lost his ownership slip to a victor, he wouldn't have been too embarrassed to return here. And I doubt he would still be off selling a car or cars if he had won."

"It's happened in AS matches, too.," Amasart said. "Not only to national militaries and PMCs, but even to Amalgam splinter groups, if the whispers are true."

"Jousting too," Josiah Stum remarked. From Harpers Ferry West Virginia, the former paratrooper was Urzu 11. "World Championship Jousting Association, a body dedicated to jousting as a combat sport, held a tournament in Port Elgin, Ontario. The strange and unexplained happenings there were shown on the television show Full Metal Jousting, hosted by Shawn Adams, founder of the group. "Hey!"

"Who gives a fuck about jousting," Kittel said upending a large mug of beer on Josiah's head

"And who gives a damn about Ontario, when we're fucking stuck in Cambodia." Rebane upended his half empty bottle of vodka over the same unlucky soul.

"It could be Chupacabra," Alfredo Artigas said. The Uruguayan was a former member of the anti-terrorist group Batallón de Infante ría Paracaidista number 14. He was referencing the disappearances, having heard conjecture that the creature in question might attack humans. In most people's opinion, however, the mythical El Chupacabra was renowned for attacks solely on livestock, hence the Spanish name 'the goatsucker'. "Or Sigbin." That was a creature from the Philippines similar in description to the chupacabra.

"Or it could be your mother," Kittel said throwing a half-eaten pretzel at the Uruguayan. "I don't have a mom, and that's why my dad and I shareyours. Chupacabra. Shit. Get real!" He ducked when Alfredo tossed the contents of his beer glass at him, feeling partially responsible when it drenched a young Mithril secretary who had bravely ventured into dirty den of drunken lions. He gave the other man the finger, and not just because of the stricken young woman. While it was really no blemish on the man's reputation, and no fault of his own, he had been named as a candidate for Urzu 9, with higher ups unwilling to wait forever for Yang Jun-Kyu.

"Stop wasting booze," Kurz exclaimed. "And, back to business. We drank to those we lost and those who are missing. We should also drink to those who should burn in Hell." He paused. "Not to honor them in any way. Just so we can drink more. Oh yeh!"

"Whatever, asshole," Kittel griped at the abrupt transition. "But, I'll play along. The Devil can dick Staff Sergeant Nguyen Bien Bo up his big bad bum. Or, I should say his hậu môm." The traitorous Vietnamese, former Urzu 10, had agreed to receive five million dollars US in bribe, and had cooperated with Gauron's plan to steal the TDD-1. He killed SRT team leader Captain McCullen and died with Sergeant Major Mao's knife in his neck.

"And Satan can sodomize Sergeant John Howard Danigan-" Sandraptor referenced the American traitor who had been Urzu 12, and had a background in the U.S. Airborne Forces. He was once a talented soldier that had received many decorations. "-With a Bangalore Torpedo." Peerless in terms of his skills, Danigan had the fatal flaw of being a terrible white supremacist. Because he had a radical tendency, he was dissatisfied with Mithril's way of prioritizing the lives of hostages in operations, and had also accepted a large amount of bribe money from Amalgam. Along with Bien Bo, he had helped Gauron escape. He was shot and killed by Sousuke while attempting to kill Kaname Chidori.

"And Beelzebub can-" Jack Wayne was cut off. He was going to have the Devil do something unspeakable to someone, but made two mistakes. First, Beelzebub isn't a nickname for Satan, despite passages claiming otherwise. He was the Devil's second in command, and the one who was responsible for most reported cases of demonic possession, sometimes personally, but more often by his command. Second, he was the straw that broke the camel's back, antagonizing the otherwise silent Master Machinist Charlie Krebs, a man who hated all things religious and occult with equal passion, and who had eavesdropping on the conversation. He still held a ping pong paddle in one bandaged hand.

"Enough of this demonic horseshit," Krebs said. "If everyone here would be honest they would admit there is no Great Evil. There is also-" He would have said 'No Great Good, either.' He sneezed repeatedly, having walked too close to one of a dozen large fake plants. Green in color, they were so thick with dust that they looked gray. He grumbled under his breath: "I guess the damned maid must have taken the last few decades off."

"I wouldn't be so certain of that,"heavy weapons specialist David Strathbogie said, shaking one index finger after catching what the Canadian had said. The laconic Scot suffered from vitiligo, and a terrible sense of humor. Friends and enemies alike claimed that he had killed more people with jokes than he had with dagger or grenade launcher. "Men can be evil enough on their own, but there are things that I have seen that suggest possession, or something due to spirits of some sort. If not possession, then mankind is much worse than we've made it out to be."

"How can we be any worse," Krebs retorted. "How about you buy a bumper sticker that says 'Remember The Holocaust.' "Or how about you buy a nice fixer upper in Basankusu and ask your neighbors what they think of Belgium." Estimates of up to ten million Congolese died during Belgian rule in the late 19th century, much by diseases brought from Europe, but maybe even more due to forced labor, murder and mutilation at the hands of the Anglo-Belgian India Rubber Company among others.

"If I may," Strathbogie glowered at the machinist. "I saw something… different… when I was fighting in the westernmost province of Bosnia and Herzegovina. When Catholic nuns were captured and gang-raped until they were pregnant, they were given the choice between abortion, suicide, or bearing a Serb bastard. And, there was a Muslim woman who attempted to flee down Neretvg River in a rubber raft. Not a valuable target, one would think. And yet, I can't empty the images from my mind. I remember seeing her and her children blown apart by a direct missile hit. And-" He didn't get a chance to continue.

"That sucks," Krebs said. "But it doesn't-" He too was interrupted.

"My cousin fought in that war," a transport truck driver claimed. "He and his buddies led the assault on Majevica. They lost friends on Mount Vlašić and Mount Stolice; but that was war, man. What happened next was something else. Camped outside Upper Tuzla one night, they played with a beat-up Ouija board a bunch of Croats had taken from an old Roma woman." The Roma people were akin to gypsies, and had suffered great mistreatment by all combatants, being often considered as agents of the enemy, forcefully conscripted, or expelled based on ethnic cleansing. "Before they were finished, they were attacked by something that took the form of a large black dog with evil red eyes."

"I call bullshit!" Alfredo said, looking cross. "You guys made fun of me when I mentioned Chupacabra." He felt a bit peeved that the other SRT members were content to stay silent at the moment. "Well…."

"I didn't finish making my point," Strathbogie said sourly. "There's something that brings things into a deeper perspective. I was lending a hand to peacekeepers working for the UN. We gave warnings to thousands of young adults from all over the world, who were making their way to a Festival in Medjugorje during the days that the Croats were mobilizing for a final push against the Serbs. One of the young women, a cloth-maker from the neighborhood of Tepito in Mexico City, wandered into our camp. While we watched in horror, she produced a noise unlike anything any one of us had heard before, a cough so deep that it seemed as if she might be trying to cough out her entire soul. She shuddered uncontrollably. She bent over and frothy foam poured out from her, in more volume than could possibly fit in a woman her size. No, more than in ten women. She dropped to the ground. Kicking and writhing, she shouted obscenities in more languages than we knew. I heard 'Fuck you Jesus' repeated in English, German, and French. She then started screaming louder and louder-" He paused and scanned the room.

As if by miracle, the whole room had gone silent. Everyone was staring at him, hanging on his every word. He hoped that a majority of them would believe his account.

"She screamed louder and louder," the Scot continued. "A number of priests arrived, looking exhausted. This wasn't their first call to the Festival. In perfect unison, they chanted the exorcism prayer of Pope Leo XIII. A loud expulsion of breath from the young woman was accompanied by a smell that shocked men who had walked past fields lined with bloated unburied combatants. Something had left the girl. Something that had possessed her."

"Still," Krebs held his tongue. To doubt that story would be to call the other man a liar; he had no proof to counter the other man's recollection. He felt outnumbered when soldiers and support personnel from various countries and different walks of life told supernatural sounding stories of similar ilk.

"Amen to all that," Jack Wayne interjected, now cradling a half-empty dish of beer nuts. He had picked them up off of the bar top, made from large wooden doors, hinges and doorknobs still attached. "Amen. Ameen. Tathastu. Sādhu. Take your pick. Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted. So many damned traitors," he said. "Not just Bien Bo and Danigan… and not just former SRT members. I would nominate Bruno for one of the biggest ass wipes of all time, since he stirred the pot." He was referring to Major Vincent Bruno, former Personnel Secretary for Operations Mithril. Cooperating with Gauron, he had transferred Bien Bo and Danigan to the TDD-1 before that submarine's seajacking incident

"Lest we forget that shithead, Captain Jackson," Sandraptor said. Jackson was an aide to the Supreme Commander of Mithril, but leaked information to the enemy. "He was ironically arrested by that cocksucker Kalinin, one of the biggest turncoats, whatever his motives. We all have loved ones, alive or dead."

"George Lovescock gets my vote," Kurz said. Because he couldn't escape in combat, sergeant Lovelock had no choice but to surrender to Amalgam. He joined the enemy and acted as a virtual enemy for Amalgam's training. "Bastard. Helping enemies defeat his former friends." In Namsac, when pitted against Sousuke's in an archaic Rk-92 Savage in a cutting-edge M9, he lost after a protracted battle when the younger pilot brought down a ruined temple on them both.

"Why hasn't anyone mentioned that syphilitic sack of shit, Amit?" Kittel spoke of General Mayer Amit, the former and possibly future head of Mithril Intelligence. The man had not been proven to be a sleeper agent for Amalgam, but suspicions were strong and there was growing circumstantial evidence. He was the one who cancelled Sousuke's protection of Kaname. He resisted any contact with the remnants of Mithril that had reorganized around Danaan. He had ordered Wraith and Gavin Hunter to suspend their activities. He moved his headquarters from Sydney just before Amalgam attacked.

"And we save the worst for last," Amasart said. "Mallory, that bastard Mr. Helium." Sir Edmond Mallory,a wealthy British tycoon, was a founding member of Amalgam. When he judged that it was impossible to mediate Amalgam from within, he created something to keep it in check from the outside, and that was Mithril. In other words, Amalgam and Mithril have the same founder and are closely related by nature, and Mithril's behavioral ideology of 'a transnational mercenary group for world peace' was merely an excuse. "Too bad Amalgam didn't die with him."

Mithril was destroyed by Amalgam's all-out offensive when the organizations communications were scrambled by a great solar flare that Leonard Testrossa had predicted after a deep Whispered dive into a TAROS unit. Lord Mallory lost control of the organization to that very man after a power struggle, and went into hiding, later to be found and executed by his own son, ironically the leader of Mithril.

Amalgam was then reorganized into a centralized organization by Leonard, eliminating executives opposing him or neutralizing them by creating divisions between them. The organization rapidly declined because Leonard consumed all of the organization's capabilities for his own plans without any interest in maintaining it. Amalgam then suffered a near fatal blow as its Leaders were defeated and destroyed by the remnants of Mithril.

However, everyone in the room knew all too painfully well that Amalgam had not entirely disappeared. The enemy was a hydra of sorts. Cut off one head, and two more heads appear, if the bleeding stump is not immediately cauterized. And, sad to say, there was no shortage in the world, of power-hungry men and women happy to step on others to get anything and everything they lust after.

There was currently a great divide amongst two different groups of surviving Amalgam personnel, with one group remaining a competent military-industrial complex who had managed to infiltrate a large number of major radio stations in each country, using the airwaves to win friends and influence people. The other group focused on fomenting support terrorism in conflict areas around the world. Original architects to The 5th Middle East War… the Chinese Civil War, and the Soviet Civil War… they were currently stirring up trouble Mali and Mauritania. There were also well-informed whispers of trouble in Columbia and Peru. The situation in the USA also left eyebrows raised: an incumbent president had been defeated, only to be re-elected later, despite his opponents claiming that he lead an insurrection.

"Hey!" Josiah didn't like the sour notes that were dragging down the SRT's beerfest. He wanted to lighten things up a bit. "One more group. We should drink to the one who is still a virgin." He chuckled at what he thought was his own cleverness. "Urzu 13." Al was considered to almost be an Urzu by some, if only partly in jest. He was given that fictitious number, and even had it stenciled on the side of his enclosure. "You know... he's never had..." He looked over at the near wall. A row of faded Chinese pin-up girls had seen much better days. Now, it was hard to tell what was naughty flesh, and was was opportunistic mildew.

The crickets could be heard perfectly for a few moments before the crowd shook their heads. cursed, farted, or found other ways to respond to the nonsense. Then, the traditional loud bar noises resumed.

Indeed, Al was considered to be worthy of an Urzu call tag by some, and not as a joke. The 'big brained' A.I. had imprinted on Sousuke when he first piloted the Arbalest and modeled its neural network on Sousuke's own. As a result, the A.I. refused to cooperate with any other pilot. He had also developed more and more human-like behavior in direct response to his interactions with the young Sergeant. And, his talents lay beyond serving as a key constituent to Arbalest and Laevatein. He was a crucial cog in a number of projects helmed by the Research, Intelligence, and Tactical Divisions, not to mention the Finance Division, Medical Division, and International Relations Division.

He was becoming the mythical Master of All Trades.

"Sousuke, join us!" Kurz called out, spying his comrade "We're talking about your other best friend. You know, the smarter member of your team." Wobbling, the lanky sniper stepped this way and that, more than tipsy. He was very fortunate: wearing flimsy sandals, he avoided stepping on a nail sticking out of one of the floorboards.

The brilliant A.I. had the ability to adapt to and complement the neural patterns of its pilot. Not only does this enable Sousuke to use the Lambda driver more reliably, but it also allows Al himself to learn to carry out some combat actions without Sousuke's input or even presence in the cockpit. That in turn allows for complex maneuvers otherwise impossible for most arm slaves.

"If you don't want to honor that friend, maybe we'll hijack him and put him in a moped," Kurz quipped.

"A Jet Ski," Sandraptor offered.

"A toaster oven." Kurz said, not to be outdone.

"A vibrator." That was Josiah. And that was the buzzkill.

"You know I do not drink," Sousuke remarked. In the process of chasing Kurama, he was hit with a rifle bullet in the stomach and suffered serious injuries to the intestines. With the help of Michel Raymond, a secret agent of the French intelligence department, he barely survived, but his liver and kidneys were also seriously damaged, and he was sentenced to a lifetime ban from drinking. It didn't truly matter, since Sousuke had said on many occasions that he had no intention of drinking anyway. "But thank you for the offer." He was feeling a bit despondent, gripped by the urge to be alone, but also feeling guilty at not joining in the conversations and camaraderie.

"Will I ever truly be in charge of my own life," he thought.

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Sighing, Sousuke worked at undoing a rubber band surrounding a number of envelopes with his name on them.

The letters were from those of his friends from high school he occasionally exchanged mail with, and from military personnel who had retired from Mithril.. It was the former that had him reminiscing at the moment. "I am busy," he claimed, drawing a series of raspberry sounds from his inebriated co-workers when they once again asked him to join them.

There was also a package, with a return address sporting Kaname's handwriting.

A particularly poignant memory had him returning to the beat up Laevatein after the fight with Leonard and Belial, when he was sitting in the cockpit, listening to an alarm that signaled a nuke launched by Sabina Rechnio was on its way. He had no way off the base, as the TDD-1 had already left with Kaname.

Mira Kudan had handed him a disc before they all parted ways for their missions, and he played that disc on the ARX-8s remaining operational viewscreen. It was a video made by everyone at Jindai, saying they couldn't wait for Sousuke and Kaname to return, that they'll always have a place there. Kagurazaka was pregnant, and now married to art teacher Mizuhoshi, and she thanked Sousuke and Kaname for getting them together. Sousuke had broken down and cried at that time. He could remember his words: "I don't want to die. No way. I don't want to die. I don't want it, I don't want this, I don't want it. I want to go back. I want to go back with her. I don't want to die. I want to go back."

"I think I will wait to read the letters in a quieter place." Sousuke made a face, feeling a bit sheepish. It was that damn Sagara-logic of his. It wasn't that he couldn't read in a noisy environment. It was almost as if the letters would be an extension of his friends, and he didn't think that they would want to be a seedy run down bar with him "But-"

If he continued to follow that type of logic, he might be looking for a knuckle sandwich from karma. He was intent on seeing what Kaname sent him, but what did it say that he would be willing to dragherinto a place like this. It was like an inverted version of the famous Humphrey Bogart quote: of all the places in the world you could bring me, it's into a gin joint like this!

Whispering a plea to karma to keep things secret between them, he removed the plastic layer around the package. He used his fingernail to slice apart the tape holding the folding lid closed on the vividly colored box, with artwork that was likely created by Aboriginal Tasmanians. Taking a deep breath, he opened the box. The last package she sent had been a gag gift. When he lifted the top up, a compressed spring toy sprang out. It had been shaped like a snake. His bivouac bed spread, blanket, sheet, mattress, and at least one mattress spring had been punctured by the knife he had quickly produced from his side, striking down the 'menace.' He had sworn, and then briefly said a word of thanks, glad at least that neither Mao nor Weber had seen what transpired.

There was no snake. There was no spring. There was no recording. That latter trick, from a few packages past, had been witnessed by his friends, and the word of what they saw had spread like wildfire. Just like the greeting cards that play a tune when they are opened, so had Kaname's one package. The song had been sung by children: "I'm a little teapot short and stout… Here is my handle, here is my spout… When the water's boiling, hear me shout… Tip me over, pour me out!'" That infernal song! For days, everyone that he came across put one hand on one hip like a handle and the other hand out like a spout. And those bastards at training exercises… they had their M9s assume the same pose!

But, naturally, he couldn't stay angry at Kaname. He missed her terribly. But, God willing, he would see her soon enough. When work finished at the base in Tasmania, located only 600 miles south of Mithril HQ in Sydney and providing all of the facilities that had once graced Melida Island, Mithril members would be based there, and other mercenaries would stay at camps on the Australian mainland. Once everything was settled, and Kaname had finished helping all that she could with backwards design work on Fairy Feather and Fairy Eye, she would return to college in Tokyo, and he would be allowed to stay by her side, as long as Mithril did not need his special services. Who could say how often the bell might sound, or how long he might need to stay away?

So, what had his girlfriend sent him?

"Funny," he said, managing a grin. "Very cute." It was a photograph of her, framed and signed with lipstick, apparently. She was pictured standing at a glassed-in enclosure at a zoo, a snarling Tasmanian Devil pressed up against the glass, mouth open and showing fearsome teeth. That was all meant as a joke. Before they had parted ways, he had called her the Tasmanian Devil, referring to the Looney Tunes character.

She was familiar with 'Taz' from her time in America. Portrayed as a ferocious, albeit dim-witted, carnivore with a notoriously short temper and little patience. In the short 'Ducking the Devil,'he was described as a vicious, evil-tempered brute with jaws like a steel trap. That hadn't sat well with her, even though the character is also sweet at times. His enormous appetite seems to know no bounds, as he will eat anything in his path. That especially did not go over well. Taz was best known for his speech consisting mostly of grunts, growls, and rasps as well as his ability to spin like a vortex and bite through nearly anything. Kaname had put her teeth to good use, but had not left a scar. While in motion, Taz is often depicted as a spinning tornado, drilling himself through trees or soil. The cartoon character does have one weakness: he can be calmed by almost any music. While in this calm state, he can be easily dealt with. Sousuke had tried that, but still got a smack on the head. He got a second smack when he said it all must be true, because one particular thing fit the bill. "The only music that didn't work was bagpipes," he told her. Kaname, like Taz, found those insufferable.

"I still think it fits her," Sousuke claimed to the photo. When Kaname got going, that whirling dervish had nothing on her! "What else?" He suddenly felt the blood rushing to his face and desperately tried to shield the item he had taken from the box from anyone and everyone else. It was a pair of Kanames panties. Pink. Frilly. Memorable. It was a souvenir from their first night together a couple of years back.

"And-" Sousuke almost didn't look back in the box. How could anything top that! But, curiosity killed the cat. "Why?" It was a copy of McMillan's Military Machines. She knew that he found that periodical toothsome, tepid, and too much indebted to sponsors and advertisements. He still greatly preferred Arm Slave Quarterly. Leafing through the table of contents, he understood immediately. "Ah."

There was an article on Power Slaves… essentially arm slave technology applied to civilian devices. Power Slaves were predicted to be the next big thing, not only in construction industries, but in many applications that might not seem practical at first glance. There was personal importance to his girlfriend and him. A budding entrepreneur, Kaname had put her stamp on a number of start-up companies. She was the CEO of one of the first companies to produce Power Slaves, Chidori Heavy Industries.

Needless to say, he was very proud of her.

If he was proud, why did he feel anger burning inside, a feeling that could easily be mistaken for dyspepsia. Why had the mood created by the photograph and lingerie vanished into thin air, like a vampire struck by the rays of the rising sun, leaving only dust behind?

It was not because he had read the entire article, without seeing mention of her name or her company's name. Any publicity for Power Salves was invaluable. It was not because he had read the article twice more, to make certain that he had not missed things somehow. It was because of the relationship between Kaname, her companies, and Mithril.

Mithril had not repeated Amit's action, withdrawing Sousuke's protection of Kaname. They did not have to, since the need for that had pretty much evaporated, thanks to Sophia's demise. The blue-haired girl was no longer Whispered. No Whispered remained. As such, she was no longer a target for Amalgam or anyone else yearning for the trappings of Black Technology.

There would be no new Black Technology wonders.

Projects half-finished, could be finalized fairly well, but anything that had already be completed, could not simply be created again from the same repository of future knowledge. Existing devices could be modified, perhaps even improved. But, if something fresh were to be built… say a brand new Lambda Driver… it would have to be created through reverse engineering. However, there were some things that couldn't follow that path. There was one thing in particular: Al.

Mithril had more arm slaves with Lambda Drivers now, some only at par with Arbalest, and none better than Laevatein. None of those machines had an A.I. that came close to the wonder that Al started off as, much less the miracle he was today. Because of Sousuke's relationship with that miraculous entity, he too was crucial to Mithril's operational capacity. Sure, there were more cooks in the kitchen now, but he was the only master chef.

"I'm tired of being a chess piece," Sousuke said under his breath, not realizing that he had town the journal nearly in half. He was a pilot again. He was an instructor. He was a consultant. He was not a college student. Mithril had worked to help Kaname get admitted to Tokyo University. However, they had the head of that college personally rip up his application. He had decided to hang up his piloting suit for good, and to leave the organization altogether.

He and Kaname would be alright.

He could find a civilian job, even though his very nature had exploded any attempt he had made in that direction in the past. He could get into a lesser college on his own, even though his grades at Jindai were far from spectacular. He would be eagerly accepted as an A.S. instructor at private military companies or national armed forces, if he wanted any further connection to death and destruction, if ever so slight. Failing all of that, he would be financially safe, thanks to Kaname, right? She stood to make a lot of money from her businesses, after all.

Clouseau, Mao, and other SRT members had been used as a bargaining chip by Mithril. Didn't he want to see them trained in LD workings as best they could be? Didn't he want to increase their chances of success and survival as best he could? That wasn't enough to have him sign back on, even though walking away from them would have left him feeling dirty and damned.

There had been major attempts mortgage his sense of justice, his wanting to see things in the world set right. But, he couldn't be certain that the 'new' Mithril would be any different than the 'old' Mithril, which had never been created with justice in mind in the first place. Besides, how much would Mithril really matter, if it was prone to failure should its one egg in one basket break? He was important, yes. But, he was merely human, and could die at any inopportune moment. In battle. Slipping in the shower. Choking on a fishbone.

"They even tried shame," Sousuke said with a sigh. "Did I really seem that gullible, or simple-minded?" Yes, he had felt guilty after the debacle at L'Effervescence. But not that guilty. "And then they turned the screws." It was unpleasant, dealing with implied threats, hidden just beneath the surface like mines buried on a beach. Maybe Mithril would let Sousuke pay for the damages at the French restaurant. Perhaps they would withdraw their lawyers from the rubber stamp legal cases filed by the eatery's owner and Chef Namsae. He didn't want to go broke,didhe? What good would it do him to have a criminal record?

With all that he had been through in his life, he could have dealt with any of that!

But those were not the only swords held over his head. As extortion went, those were just babies. The adult in the room was far more compelling.

With the Mallorys dead, Mithril had a serious shortage in funding. Fortunately for them, a number of wealthy individuals stepped up to the plate, happy to be of service, but also quite happy to turn a profit. There would be things that the organization could do to help their business holdings or personal lives, and most of those things would be on the up and up. Some of those elites, thankful for the role that Kaname played in saving the world from Sophia, had thrown barrels of seed money her way, allowing her to start and maintain her fledgling companies. At Mithril's insistence, those philanthropists would gladly withdraw all support. Some might even hold her financially accountable, seeing that they could very well be convinced that she had proved the vehicle through which Sophia almost succeeded in her scheming.

Seeing the writing on the wall, Sousuke had re-enlisted. He was then given an important choice. He could go back to the SRT and all that entailed, or he could choose what was waiting for him behind door number two. In this instance, the role of game show host had been given to Richard Mardukas by a very insistent Charles Moriarity. The Commander of the TDD-2 had come up with the perfect foil.

As was his wont, Mardukas had been reading the dictionary, something he often did when he was not reading history books or naval treatises. He had decided to start with the word 'bomb', given the fiasco at L'Effervescence, and prompted by the tragic mistaking of bomba, bombe, and bomb. His eyes happened upon the word 'Bombay,' and a figurative light bulb lit up above his head. There! That's it! Kismet! He chuckled a very dry chortle at a mental disclaimer: 'Bombay,' and not 'bomb bay.' He could picture himself piloting an Avro Vulcan heavy long range bomber, and dropping a certain troublesome subordinate along with a full load of twenty-one thousand pound bombs. No make that a Blue Danube, Britain's first nuclear weapon.

Bombay was the former name of Mumbai, the capitol city of the Maharashtra state of India.

It was usually one of the least sought after locations for Mithril personnel, for reason of the weather, geopolitics, and an unusual level of boredom. Little happened in that city of interest to the organization. But, Mithril had received an official backdoor request from the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation, Mumbai's ruling body. The members of the Tactical Division had originally written off the plea.

"An underground fighting establishment has taken root there," Mardukas had told himself. "Kidnapping people… attracting mercenaries and wanted criminals… forcing all to fight to the death." Indeed. Something straight out of 'The Most Dangerous Game,' the famous short story published by Richard Connell in 1924, also known to some as 'The Hounds of Zaroff.' "I wonder. Where have we heard about something like that before."

He had closed the dictionary and placed it securely back in its literary perch. He knew just who might be perfect for just such a mission, should he choose to accept it.

There was no way that Sousuke was going to go through something like that again, unless Kaname had been captured. And if for any reason Mr. Moriarity or anyone else at Mithril had purposely placed Kaname in a situation like that, it would be their turn to feel his wrath. They would lose their ace pilot, and quite possibly their lives.

An advanced arm slave with the Lambda Driver and a transcendental A.I. could do a great deal of damage before it was laid low.

Things could go to Hell in a handbasket in the blink of an eye.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sousuke pushed the empty pitcher of water away from him.

He turned his empty glass upside down. He had imbibed more than he usually might, still thirsty from his extra early morning calisthenics routine. He was not concerned about water intoxication, as he had quaffed too little to end up overhydrated. No, the result of his lovefest with H20 was far from deadly.

His bladder was overextended.

"No one will take this…." He felt some trepidation leaving his mail on the table. "Better safe than sorry…" He walked back to the table, looked this way and then that, before stuffing the panties down his camo shirt.

He began walking, his steps growing quicker by the moment. He needed to drain his lizard big time. He slid to a stop, boots losing purchase on the liquor-soaked floor. He frowned, irritated. Glancing at the doors to the bar's only two restrooms had him even more aware of his need to pee.

One door was criss-crossed with yellow police tape, placed there by someone with a twisted sense of humor, but who was leaving a clear warning just the same. The interior of that room, having still been left uncleaned for long before Mithril took control of the building, could indeed be designated as a crime scene. It would require a Hazmat suit to safely clean the mess within. It would require a full set of inoculations to visit a urinal, or a signed paper forgiving Mithril of any-or-all-harm-that-might-result to place one's derriere on a toilet seat.

It would take a full exorcism to make the bidet safe.

The other bathroom, unisex by necessity, was in fine working condition. The problem was, it had a waiting queue more than a dozen persons long. His bladder would not give him a rain check, so to speak. "A tree it will be," he said, heading for a door outside. "If any remain standing."

Cringing, he opened the door. But to his surprise, the winds had ceased, after leaving garbage strewn over the base grounds. The top of one or two dumpsters must have blown off. The rain had stopped earlier, leaving behind large puddles and eagerly flowing rivulets in the muddy ground. "What I wouldn't give for a truck filled with asphalt.' The roads and parking areas had been left untarred, making them seem less enticing to any satellites that might pass overhead.

"I need a target," Sousuke told himself, searching for a tree that was secluded from view, but not too far into the forest. He wasn't concerned about any birds that might fly past. Herons,cranes,grouse,pheasant,peafowl,pelicans,cormorants,egrets, and wild ducks posed no threat. Neither did any of the small mammals that called the woods home. It would not do good to spook elephants, wild oxen, or rhinoceroses, which wandered into camp occasionally. Worse, though greatly reduced in number by unregulated hunting, tigers, leopards, and bears could still be seen now and then. Of most concern were snakes. Four varieties of snakes were common and especially dangerous: the Indian cobra, the king cobra, the banded krait, and Russell's viper. "That tree will do."

Sousuke pulled his zipper down, facing a fully grown Afzelia xylocarpa, a native deciduous tree, 25 meters tall, its crown broad and rounded, its trunk is sturdy and thick, and its large spreading branches arising near the base. The species was listed by the International Union for Conservation of Nature as a Threatened Species. Sousuke was cognizant of that fact, but didn't think a bit of urine would constitute a crime against nature.

The pressure in his bladder decreased as the intensity of his stream grew. When he finished drenching the undeserving tree, he zipped up his fly in a quick deft manner.

"Pardon me," a melodious voice started. "I hope I haven't startled you, and I don't want me to think me a pervert, approaching you like this." As if to prove his point, the visitor had a hand over his eyes, the small crack between his fingers a personal jest.

"…" Sousuke took up a combat stance.

"But, I needed to speak to you before you rejoined your comrades." The voice became unctuous, as the man held his hands out in supplication, a smirk dancing on the edge of his lips. "This is for your ears only."

He almost made that sound as if it were a good thing.

Sousuke took a step back, trying to get a good gauge on the situation. He saw no signs of movement in his peripheral vision, so placed his focus squarely on the speaker, while at the same time he brought his right hand to his waist. There was no gun there. No combat knife. He usually went about unarmed on base, in the general sense. With few options available, he fingered his belt buckle, knowing that he could turn the leather strap into a lash if necessary.

He eyed the man. He was middle-aged in appearance. Exposed skin was ruddy. His stance was more that of a dancer than a fighter. A tall woolen cap rose from the top of his head, and a long tweed trench coat covered his body, hanging so low that there was no view of his pants cuffs or even his footwear. His hands were up inside voluminous sleeves. Looking closer at the face, he saw a long pointed nose, large full lips, and impossibly straight eyelashes above eyes with a piercing gaze. Was that something moving under the rear of the coat, near the ground? No. That must have been his imagination.

"What purpose do you have here?" Sousuke spared a quick glance behind him. He was still alone outside. "What business do you have withmespecifically." He slid a hand inside his pocket. Yes, he had the small item his pocket… a small cordless microphone he could use to communicate with Al. The A.I. could relay his words to appropriate personnel if necessary. And, should there be a full on emergency, pushing the 'emergency' button would bring the A.S. to his rescue, should time allow.

Instead of answering the question, the interloper made an observation. "You smell so strongly of blood for one so young. Blood. Battle. Destruction." He smiled, showing perfectly white teeth. "Death." He sniffed in exaggerated fashion. "You smell of Mithril. You have the scent of an Arm Slave pilot. I have smelled that exact combination of things before. You-" He was cut off.

"You have failed to answer my question," Sousuke interjected. "We are finished here."

"Please, be at ease." The man said suavely. "You have been chosen for a great purpose and-" His eyes flashed when he was interrupted again, but he maintained his cool.

"I didnotask to be chosen for anything," Sousuke walking sideways towards the bar, unwilling to turn his back to the intruder. "And you are no one to make choices forme."

"But you did make my choice for me," the man said wit a Cheshire Cat grin, without explaining himself. "And I am well with my given rights to choose what I may." He sounded haughty, fully flush with hubris. "There are few who can deny me." He nodded his head knowingly. "We will have a contest. There will be a wager. You will sign a contract."

"Negative," Sousuke asserted, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up for some reason. "I have no reason to get involved with you." He hadn't felt his skin crawl like it did, since Gauron. Not even Gates put him this much on edge. "Much less enter into any kind of deal." He pointed to the large barb-wire fence the stranger had somehow passed through nonplussed. "You are trespassing. This is a place where spies will be shot and solicitors with be imprisoned without due process. If you wait here, I will bring an MP. If you flee, I will alert the PRT, who will hunt you down."

"No," the man said with a self-satisfied sniff. "I think not. Before we get down to brass tacks, there is something you should see." His voice was filled with mirth. He was clearly enjoying himself.

"There could be nothing-" Sousuke stopped dead in his tracks. He heard something before he saw what the man was fishing out of a deep over-sized pocket. Was that a woman's voice. It almost sounded like-

"This here-" the stranger said, holding something up in the grasp of his long and pointed fingernails, "-Will be all the rage, someday. This and small portable cellular phones." He held up a large thin tablet, made of a shiny plastic or a dark lustrous metal. It had a glassy surface on one flat side. He began to walk towards Sousuke, so he could see what was displayed on the viewscreen. As he passed through a puddle, there was something the younger man ascribed to an optical illusion in the diffracted light filtering down through the forest canopy. The puddle seemed to vanish, replaced by vapor wending its way skyward. "Look here."

Sousuke made no effort to lean forward. He was still poised on the balls of his feet, deciding between fight and flight.

"Young man," the man said with a touch of impatience. "You… should…really… look… here." He pushed the device close to Sousuke's face, far enough away so that the soldier's eyes to focus on a suspenseful scene.

"That-" Sousuke felt his breath stop. "How could it-" His heart jumped up into his throat. There was a reason he had thought the faint sound he heard earlier reminded him of his beloved's voice. The image was that of Kaname. She was calling out for help.

There was a reason for her desperation. Hands bound together by chains, and the chains hanging from unseen height, Kaname was dangling in some dank-appearing and poorly lit place. It reminded Sousuke of a dungeon scene from a bad fantasy flick. The view changed, showing the floor far below her. That floor seemed to move as if it were alive, writhing. There was a reason for that, too.

Snakes.

Hundreds if not thousands of snakes crawled over one another. But, they were not just any snakes. They were some of the most deadly snakes in the world. What did it mean to be the deadliest, being the most venomous, or being the most likely to bite? It didn't matter, snakes of both delineations were there. As the view zoomed in, Sousuke could make out most of the species. There were snakes from Australia, including the Fierce Snake, the Coastal Taipan, and the Eastern Tiger Snake. There were the indigenous snakes he thought of earlier, the Indian Cobra, the Banded Krait, and Russell's Viper. There were also the Saw-scaled Vipers from Asia and India, a snake famous for having killed the most people. And what dastardly den od death could possibly be complete without a healthy heaping number of boomslangs and black mambas.

"Snakes," the stranger said fondly. "So nostalgic." He reached into his other pocket and took out an apple. "Hungry? I personally can't watch something like this without wanting a treat. No?" He took a bite out of the apple and smiled a satisfied smile. "You sure?" He held the half-eaten fruit out towards the younger man.

"How do I know that is really Kaname Chidori," Sousuke said, unable to tear his gaze from the girl. "And how do I know that is a live image."

"Proof of life," the man said. "Of course, of course." He tapped on the device. "Call out to the captive, if you care."

"Kaname!" Sousuke need not shout, his voice carried to wherever Kaname hung.

"Sousuke!" Kaname called back. "Sousuke… is that you Sousuke… I don't know where I am… I need you…."

"Kaname, how do I know that is you?" Sousuke felt as if his chest was caught in a large vice and someone was turning the crank.

"Sousuke!" Kaname snapped. "Who else would… it… be…." She ran down, understanding that Sousuke must have good reason. "I am Kaname Chidori. Former Vice President of Class 4, Jindai High School, CEO of Chidori Heavy Industries and others."

"Kaname," Sousuke began. "Anyone could present those facts. They are readily available." He spoke in a fashion sterner than he actually wanted to. "Tell me something only I would know.

Kaname tried a number of increasingly subtle and secretive offerings, shot down each time. Growing irate despite her dire circumstances, she finally called out: "Your favorite sexual position from the Kama Sutra is number seventeen, the Curled Angel." The video and sound feeds then vanished.

"Satisfied," the man said with a lusty drawl. "I mean by my captive's identity."

"But why her," Sousuke said in a rush, knowing quite well why his girlfriend would be taken. "Why me?"

"It's more than what you think," the stranger claimed, implying that Kaname was more than useful collateral to coerce her swain. "At first, I scoped you out while perusing this base. But, after learning about you, I realized something striking. You weren't just another tempting target. You were someone who thwarted me in the past. You and the girl alike."

"How could-" Sousuke was clearly puzzled. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with some kind of answer.

"First, I should correct a misnomer," the man replied. "The accident at Yamsk-11 was no accident. It was my doing." He followed that impossible sounding claim by saying: "Second, TATAROS was not Sophia's idea, it came from me… in the guise of her father. And finally, the world wouldn't have changed to what Leonard Testarossa wanted it to be, but rather to something that fit my purposes better." He lost his composure, sounding furious for a moment. "That device used up the last of the Secret Fire I had spirited away. It wouldn't have just changed the earth, but the heavens, too."

Sousuke stood silently, wondering if the other man suffered from delusions of grandeur or paranoid schizophrenia. Maybe it was a package deal.

"I could say 'Vengeance is mine'," the intruder said. "But someone else already coined that catch phrase. "But, just the same, I am not motivated by revenge. Rather, I am out for good sport, and maybe good company. So, I won't make things harsher for you. I will offer you the same contests that I have offered others in the past and will undoubtedly offer others in the future."

"So saying 'I'm sorry' won't suffice," Sousuke offered slyly, doubting it would have any effect.

"Hell no," the other man said with a laugh. "So, let's go over your choices. We could play a poker match. Omaha poker to be precise." That is a variant of Texas Hold'em Poker. Omaha is considered, by some, to be the hardest game of Poker to master. Of all of the different games of Poker, Omaha is for many the hardest to learn to play and the hardest to bluff in. "We could have a Touge match." Asian street racing is often called 'Touge' racing, which is a Japanese term referring to the practice of racing on winding mountain roads, essentially 'mountain pass' racing in English. "Your choice of cars. Or, we can have a gladiatorial match with arm slaves."

"…" Sousuke needn't say anything. His posture made it quite clear what his choice would be.

"Yes. You could be a Hoplomachus and I could be a Retiarius.," the intruder said rubbing his hands together. Not paired with his friendly neighborhood thesaurus at the moment, Sousuke could not place the reference. "Honey fried dates…meat cooked on braziers… even the earliest form of pizza," he reminisced. "The Coliseum always had the best snacks. How I miss those days."

Sousuke blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of all that. Then, remembering something he heard at the bar, he idly asked "What about a jousting match."

"Once was more than enough." Sneering, the man adjusted his headwear, which was threating to fall off to one side. "Would you like to know the wager?" He stranger licked his lips. "The Devil is in the details, after all." Hearing no reply, he continued. "If you fight… win or lose… the girl goes free. If you flee, the girl falls to her doom. If you lose, you forfeit your soul. If you win, you keep your soul. It's as simple as that. Why complicate matters." He took another item out of his pocket.

It was an hourglass, half of the sand already sitting at the bottom.

"You have this much to make up your mind-" the man said in reference to the remaining sand. He removed a large rolled up piece of parchment from inside his trench coat, and with a flick of his wrist unrolled it. "-And to sign at the dotted line." Those grains of sand were falling quickly.

"Am I allowed to read things first?" Sousuke had been schooled by Kaname about contracts.

"There is little time, after all," the man replied amicably. "And, even so… do you read Latin? No?" He read the answer on the young soldier's face. "Don't worry. It's very well written, I assure you. I have a lot of lawyers who have come to my… establishment."

"I have no pen," Sousuke responded, his mind already made up. What choice did he have? Wait? There was something else fishy. "Will you be signing, too?"

"What?!"The man seemed taken aback."You are asking me to sign, too." Shock became anger became joy, all in the span of a couple of Sousuke's heartbeats. "How rare! No one has EVER asked for that before." He stroked his beard. "Yes. As a reward, I will sign too."

Sousuke just stood staring.

"O yes. Something to write with. Here," the man reached inside his coat and removed a long quill pen, sharp nub at the end. He then jabbed the end of one of the soldier's fingers, drawing blood. "You can sign it Sousuke Sagara of course, with or without the sergeant part. Also legally acceptable are Sousuke Seagal and Isegar Sousuke." Those were other names the boy had used.

Sousuke signed the contract. He was still somewhat confused with the whole 'soul' business.

"My turn." Using the same pen, he pricked his own finger. The tip of the nib glowed red, somehow seeming more like fire than blood. Sousuke did not see, but the pen did not leave a wet red stain on the paper. Rather, the unseen signature left deep brown scorch marks.

"Well, come Hell or high water, you will need to follow through or face the consequences." The man placed the pen, parchment, and sandglass back in his coat. "It's a date, so don't be late."

"Where and when?" Sousuke asked.

"Get your fine M9 and meet me at Snake Island tomorrow," the man replied, making an assumption about the type of machine a Mithril pilot would have at his beck and call. Snake Island was a nickname for Koh Puos, located about 0.63kilometers off the coast of Sihanoukville city. "Be there at the crack of dawn."

The wind kicked up strongly again, blowing huge numbers of leaves onto Sousuke's face, briefly blocking his view. When he could see again, the man was gone.

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The entire story is roughed out, but there are action scenes to write, and the whole kit and kaboodle to knit together, so the following chapter may take an uncharacteristically long time to materialize.

Credit goes out to 'The Devil's Best Trick' by Randal Sullivan, that contributed some written passages.

And, as usual, kudos go out to Wikipedia and Google.