This is all especially true for the flashbacks. In this case, I copied the dialogue off of the subtitles. I DID NOT make up those sections of dialogue, and make NO CLAIM to them.

Jason McCormick/Nicholas Brady, however, is my character, and if you steal him or copy his character, I will hunt you down, tear off both your arms, and beat you to death with them.

WARNING : the following fic contains spoilers, and adult scenes (violence, coarse language, etc.). Watch Bubblegum Crisis, and you should be prepared for everything in this story.

READING KEY :

*** = section break

" " = speech (in Japanese unless otherwise indicated)

_ _ = in italics (emphasized words)

^ ^ = thoughts

Foreword : This is my first BGC fanfic, but I'm not making excuses. I put my all into this one. Anyway, the part of the series that I liked the most was the part about Sylvie and Anri; intelligent machines fascinate me. More importantly, Sylvie had a really hot ass. I thought it sucked when they died, so I did something about it (whoops, there goes the plot, NOT). In case you're wondering, most of this story (from the fourth section on) takes place some time after BGC #8. Feel free to criticize the timeline if you want. I'll be happy to ignor...uh...read your criticism.

I have seen AD Police Files, as well as Bubblegum Crash!. After about a microsecond's consideration, I decided to forget that both series were ever made. So you can basically assume the events detailed in those series NEVER HAPPENED. If you see any cues from those series, forgive me; it seemed like a good idea at the time.

OK, I have a few succinct rules about the characters in BGC : 1. If they are a boomer, or their name starts with an "L" or ends with "Stingray," they are cool (go on, admit it : even Mackie has his moments). If they are a screen-hogging, red-eyed singing bitch who should have died back in episode #1, they are most decidedly not cool. These opinions may or may not be reflected in the story.

I'm probably going to get a lot of flak for saying that the 55-C, 33-C, etc. were all around in 2028, a whole four years before the events detailed in BGC. I say, 'why not?' I assumed the combat-class models we see making their 'first' appearance in BGC #1 have actually been around for a while, being sold to other countries to fight in wars, act as bodyguards, and so on. 2032 is only when they make their first appearance in MegaTokyo.

I'm going to admit right here that there are multiple references, some quite blatant, to the Terminator, the Matrix, and Blade in this fanfic. Sorry. In any case, these were better movies than Blade Runner, which BGC made WAY more than enough references to. There, you've been sufficiently warned. Enjoy.

***

A Killer's Heart

PART 1 : Search and Repair

Excerpts from the project journal of the late Doctor Samuel Masters, designer of experimental assassin cyberdroid, which went into production in early 2030. (Doctor Masters died in a boomer rampage on March 9, 2029) :

-May 6, 2028 : I rejected Laura's idea, which was based on the prototype of the 55-C boomer. I'll admit I lost my temper, but I'm under a lot of pressure to put something out here, and the 55 series is completely wrong. They are much, much, too big, and the modifications required would be too extensive. I mean, let's be serious here : 55 series are designed to shed their skins in any type of battle situation. An assassin shouldn't have to do that.

-May 12, 2028 : Mark suggested we try using the 33 series as a base. It'll be risky, to say the least. That's an older model line, and uses a smaller body, which would give us a lot less room to work with. However, the 33 series does not shed its skin when fighting, and, as seen in the 33-C, can be a very effective fighter. It's worth a shot. And right now, I'll try anything. I truly fear for my life if I fail at this task.

-June 20, 2028 : After much testing and analysis, we have successfully modified a 33-C into a boomer we have dubbed the "33-H". It - I should say, "she", because the 33-C we used was female - uses all the best ideas we had thought up for this assassin. It is an efficient, stealthy killer that knows how to get the job done.

-June 21, 2028 : Mason flunked the 33-H today. That little prick has the ear of Quincy, though, so what he says, goes. Mason made several suggestions, starting with the 33-H's gender. I have no idea why he would demand a male killer, but I don't care at this stage of the game. Mason also said that the 33-H was too easily spotted, even by the simplest magnetic scanners. I asked why this should be important; by the time anyone actually sees a 33-H, odds are it's too late. I should not have said that; Mason looked ready to order his boomer bodyguard to rip me apart on the spot. In any case, it looks like further modifications are in order.

-July 4, 2028 : the Americans in our group are getting ready to celebrate their Independence day. Meanwhile, I'm bending over backwards to serve my GENOM masters. How ironic. On the upside, Mark came up with a great idea. He said we could use parts from the 33-S in our 33-H boomer. The 33-S, as we all know, used organic components, and in fact was basically human. Of course, the 33-S's were all female, and the 33-H is supposed to be male, but modifications can be made. The toughest part will be the brain, which can no longer be a chunk of silicon if it's going to pass Mason's "scanner tests". Odds are we'll have to use a 33-S's organic computer.

-September 28, 2028 : It's currently 4:00 AM. I haven't slept for days. But production is coming along well. The newest 33-H prototype is nearly done. I'll admit I went a little bit overboard using 33-S components. Hell, we all did. In fact, the boomer has been renamed the "33-S-H", in honor of its heritage.

The 33-S-H uses mostly organic components, and so it possesses an artificial blood supply, and it is maintenance-free, as a good killer should be. Of course, having blood meant the boomer needed a way to replace it in case of emergency; as such, the infamous "vampire teeth" have been added.

The skeleton is a special composite the materials engineers spent over two months making. This composite is quite strong, but it is slightly heavier than a human's bones. The problem with this is that Mason's tests also test weight. So, we compensated for the weight problem by making the other components as light as we could. We've already removed all internal weapons systems and armor plating to save weight. It looks like this boomer will have to rely on conventional weapons and good old-fashioned body armor.

The strong skeleton let us make the boomer stronger than a human. We ended up using the muscles from a 55-C, modified of course to be sustained by the blood supply. These muscles just passed their field tests today in one of the first 55-C's, so they should work well. They are also nonmetallic and surprisingly light, so we should be able to squeeze them in and still pass the tests. Their strength, coupled with the 33-S-H's relatively light weight, will make this boomer incredibly powerful.

To top it all off, the basic programming is still in place. The boomer possesses enough personality to mingle nicely with humans. If that fails, the machine has enough sexaroid in it that it could probably get along even without the personality. And, of course, the boomer is still deadly efficient. We're turning the prototype over to Mason for testing tomorrow. For the first time in months, I have high hopes for the future.

-September 29, 2028 : Mason gave his approval on several aspects of the 33-S-H's design. He sounded a little too condescending when he talked to me, but I didn't care. What I _do_ care about, though, is that now, he's having his own engineers work with us to finalize the design. I don't know what this will lead to. I hope they don't change the 33-S-H too much; I've grown attached to it.

-January 5, 2029 : Mason's engineers have been working like dogs, and so have we. There is more cloak and dagger around here than I ever would have guessed. We can never be in the same room as the engineers for very long, and we are never allowed to see what the engineers are doing to the 33-S-H. Only top level staff, such as myself, can see the finished product. Just today, Mason's men finished installing new eyes into the boomer.

The combination 33-S/33-C eyes we used were replaced entirely. Mason's men barely even let me see the new eyes until they were done. It's unsettling : the new eyes are black where the whites should be, and the iris is red. I'm told that the irises will glow when the boomer is activated. I truly thought Mason had lost his mind when I saw these things. He told me that he wanted to test some prototype eyes for "something he was planning". I'm afraid to ask what he was planning. In any case, the eyes will not give the boomer away : they have special holographic imagers that make them look like human eyes. This imager also multiplies the effects of looking into a normal sexaroid's eyes, I'd estimate by 10 or 15 times. I'm told any artificial eye, including that of a boomer, will be able to see through this holographic image, but that shouldn't matter, because most boomers aren't sentient enough to care.

I hope this is not a harbinger of things to come.

-March 8, 2029 : The 33-S-H is no longer the boomer I remember it to be. The body from the neck down is still basically the same, although recent weight-savings have let us install a microbot-based damage bypass system like the one present in the 33-C's. Bullets will no longer pose much of a threat to this boomer, thankfully. There is also a new universal interface system in place, apparently something else Mason wanted to "test out". This system will make the 33-S-H much more versatile, because it can now interface with almost any electronic device and take control.

The real tragedy is the brain. The original 33-S-H programming is mostly intact. In fact, the business portion of it has been made even more efficient, and encapsulated into a highly effective organic battle computer. The engineers refer to the system as a J-2. I'm guessing this is somehow related to the prototypical J-1 battle computer I heard was being developed on Genaros. I just don't know how.

The personality, however, is completely different. It has been massively upgraded, to the point where the boomer is now self-aware, just like the original 33-S. But where there was once a cold, polite intelligence, there is now a sadistic psychopath. The engineers used psych analyses from hundreds of people, focusing on the "dark sides" of every personality while creating this bastardized brain. This base, along with the emotional upgrades they've installed, has made the 33-S-H into something that likes causing pain and death more than anything else in the world. It looks like they linked the drive to kill to where the sex drive would be on a normal 33-S. But it's impossible to say how everything will work, because so much is classified. Most of what I just wrote down was collected from dozens of covert peeks into the engineers' files.

I am truly against this boomer's activation. I'm going to see Mason tomorrow to try and stop him from mass-producing a bloodthirsty killer.

***

Phone conversation between GENOM executive assistant Hiro Kishoma and GENOM CEO Quincy, dated 2032, just prior to the escape attempt of five 33-S's from Genaros :

Kishoma : Sir, I assume you have read the latest update on the 33-S-H series boomer.

Quincy : Yes.

K : This call is about a necessary addition to that update.

Q : I'm listening.

K : As you know, the 33-S-H has been performing up to its specifications, and has in fact been so effective we've been using it mostly to terminate troublesome boomers, normally the more sentient ones.

Q : Yes, I did know. Don't waste my time.

K : I apologize. In any case, one 33-S-H has...vanished.

Q : Please explain. That series was supposed to be fail-proof.

K : It was and is. But the 33-S-H does posess full sentience, so I suppose something like this was bound to happen.

Q : You bore me. Get to the point.

K : Well, the boomer in question, ID number 6668-J93, failed to complete its last mission. We sent another unit in to terminate the mark, but that unit failed, as well. It was destroyed, apparently by the 33-S-H in question. The boomer then somehow removed its long-range link to our control computers and then...purchased itself, using funds we are unable to trace. It is now legally its own master. Free, if you will.

Q : How did this happen? Was the boomer damaged in such a way that it would perform in this manner?

K : Negative, sir. Due to technical complications on the part of the boomer's assigned technical assistant, it missed several of its memory purge sessions. I can only assume that its mind began to grow, to the point where it developed a vestigal conscience. The result is what you have heard.

Q : That is understandable, if unfortunate. Who authorized the boomer's self-purchase?

K : One of our accountants. I have had that employee's job terminated, along with the boomer's technical assistant.

Q : Good. See that their terminations become permanent. We must make an example of them.

K : Understood, sir. What about the escaped boomer?

Q : I am not worried. The 33-S-H is an extremely specialized design. What was it configured for on its final mission?

K : Termination of a rogue 33-S, sir. Light-grade weapons, enough to handle a 55-C at best. Its knowledge was very restricted, because it doesn't take much to handle one sexaroid.

Q : Then I see no reason to worry at all. A 33-S-H cannot survive on its own, and this particular one will not have enough firepower to be a threat to GENOM. In any case, the 33-S-H is designed for high-risk, covert operations. If it doesn't want to be found, it won't be. Destroy the boomer if you see it, but for now, do not waste the resources trying to locate it.

K : Very good, sir. But with all due respect, there is one thing that concerns me.

Q : You have the next thirty seconds to tell me.

K : As you know, the group of 33-S's stationed on Genaros have shown signs of an impending escape attempt. Should the rogue 33-S-H somehow convince them to work for it, the boomer would theoretically be able to exist separately from GENOM, because the 33-S is a more general-purpose boomer. And, as I mentioned, this 33-S-H is configured for 33-S's, so it would be the logical choice.

Q : I understand. You have made an educated observation. But this problem is easily dealt with. Assign two Dobermans to Genaros. For an excuse, list them as test models for the new boomer communication system. The officials there won't ask questions, and the boomers will stop any escape attempt.

K : Two Dobermans, sir? That seems excessive.

Q : I didn't hire you to critique my decisions, but I'll humor you. I've been in this business a long time, and I know that in situations like these, you cannot have enough power until you have too much.

K : Very good, sir. I'll get right on it.

Q : See that you do.

***

Meg glanced back to check on Sylvie, Anri, and Nam. They were almost to safety. Good. At least she wouldn't die a worthless death. The thought of death should have made her break down, but it didn't. Instead, she faced it with the attitude of stoic finality that accompanies the damned.

The Doberman had pushed through the doors. Lou was opening fire on it, but to no effect; the rounds were just bouncing off of its durable armor. At least the second Doberman was nowhere to be seen. Maybe that car crash had disabled it.

Meg's eyes narrowed as she took aim at the thing. If she could put out its eyes, maybe it would be injured. Then, maybe she wouldn't die...so quickly.

But the thing was unfazed. It returned fire, hitting Lou where she sat. Meg saw multiple hits, accompanied by a spray of blood. She cringed, but also noticed that somehow Lou was still alive. She threw down the useless gun and ran to her friend. They were going to die, no matter what. At least they could be together when it happened.

"Hang on, Lou..." she said, trying to sound comforting. The other woman's eyes were slammed shut in both fear and pain. Meg looked up, just in time to see the Doberman standing over them. In slow motion, she saw its machine gun come up, until she was staring right down the barrel. There was no way it could miss. She closed her eyes, too.

The shots came. Or, at least, it _sounded_ like they came. Meg heard the heavy _chuk-chuk-chuk_ of a machine gun. Then the noise came again as the attacker fired another burst. But she didn't feel anything. She was almost grateful; death was apparently coming quicker than pain.

She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, until she realized she wasn't dead. She looked down, cracking her eyes open again. Lou was still there, and still in quite a lot of pain. She looked up, at the Doberman. Why wasn't it killing them?

She had her answer very quickly : because the machine wasn't firing. It was just standing there, looking - for lack of a better word - surprised. It's eyes flickered for a moment, then died. It's hydraulics slowly lost power, and it settled down onto its haunches, as though it had inexplicably decided to take a nap.

It was about then that it all went to hell. Meg heard the ominous, steady clanking of heavy, armored feet. She looked past the frozen boomer to see the second Doberman coming in. Apparently, the car crash had just slowed it down, instead of disabling it. Meg tried to scream, but all sound was drowned out as she heard the shuttle's engines starting. Meg was filled with a mix of emotions : hope that Sylvie and the others were getting away, and despair that, just after being spared, she was going to die, burning up in the backwash.

She moved fast. She wasn't going to die, not like this! By boomer was one thing, but being burned up in a shuttle's takeoff? She stood up, lifting Lou up to the best of her ability. The other woman cried out in pain, but stood, as well. Deafened by the roaring engines, Meg started running, carrying most of Lou's weight. They headed towards a secondary door in the corner. That door was intact, and so it would survive the takeoff.

At the back of her mind, she knew they couldn't reach the door in time, not even if they were both uninjured. They only had a few seconds before the shuttle lifted off, now, and the door was too far away to reach in time. To top it all off, the heavy blast doors were closing. Once they were shut, there was no way anything could get through. But Meg kept going, preferring to die trying rather than just give up.

Out of the corner of her eye, Meg saw a dark blur, coming around behind them. Meg had just enough time to wonder what that had been before she felt an impact at her back. Whatever it was, it was _powerful_. It felt like a truck had hit her. Meg felt herself picked up off the ground as two strong arms encircled her and Lou. Their forward speed tripled almost instantaneously, and kept increasing after that. Meg was surprised, but she just watched the door in front of them, trying to judge how close the blast doors could be and still be open enough for them to squeeze through. It was going to be close, no doubt about it.

In no time at all, they had reached the door she'd been aiming for. It was then that their unknown savior jumped and twisted, so they flew backwards into the rapidly closing exit. Meg was rewarded with a glance at the shuttle bay as they shot through the door. She saw the last Doberman.

Thankfully, the machine was not looking at them. It was looking at the shuttle, whose engines were now flaring to full power. The boomer was scratched up a little, but otherwise looked to be in good condition.

But that was all she saw; the next moment, they were through the door, with the heavy metal blast doors closing behind them. They hit the floor with a _thud_. The person who'd saved them grunted as the two women fell on top of him. Lou screamed in agony.

The arms released them, and whoever-it-was got up. For the moment, it was almost pitch-black in the hallway, mainly because the earlier explosion of the car had damaged the power linkage to this section of the space station. Dull thunder filled the hallway as the shuttle lifted off. Meg also thought she could hear a Doberman's thrusters, but it was impossible to tell for sure. She rolled over and crawled to where she'd heard Lou. Soon, she felt the firmness of a body, along with the wetness of blood.

"Lou..." she said, softly. "Are you okay?"

Lou groaned in pain. "I'm...alive..." she said, breathlessly. "Don't know...about the...okay part, though..."

Meg smiled, giddy at somehow having escaped death. She hugged her friend, trying not to aggravate Lou's wounds any more. Lou returned the hug as best she could.

It was then that Meg heard the familiar _clink_ of a lighter. She turned her head, looking out of the corner of her eye. There, right about where a man's head would be, was the glowing dot of a cigarette.

"Thank you..." she said, hesitantly. The silent man made no response. "Who _are_ you?" Meg asked.

It was then that the emergency lights came on. Meg reflexively looked down at the floor, squinting as her eyes adjusted. After a moment, she looked up.

The first thing she saw was a pair of black sneakers. The shoes were connected to a pair of legs, which were connected to...

Oh, no.

It was a man in a black trench coat, wearing sunglasses and leather gloves. He had his arms crossed, was leaning against the wall, and was casually looking at them as he smoked. Meg could see a thick strap around his torso, holding something onto his back.

A 33-S-H. One of them had come back to Genaros, and now he was here for them. And there was nothing she could do. If there was anything all boomers knew, it was that there was no running from the H's once they targeted you. You were going to die, and that was it. Meg wondered what she'd say for her last words, supposing this thing would let her say anything at all.

Lou's eyes cracked open as she felt the lights come on. Meg put her hand over her friend's eyes, despite Lou's protests.

"Don't look, Lou..." Meg said, her voice quavering.

There was the sound of slow, steady footsteps. Meg looked up, tears beginning to go down her face. It just wasn't fair. This man had given them the impression they were going to live, just so _he_ could kill them as they rejoiced? But that was exactly what a 33-S-H would do. She quivered, watching for when he would reach for a weapon. Or would he prefer to use his bare hands?

"Please...don't..." she found herself whispering. Lou shifted under her, trying to see what would make Meg so scared.

"Oh, _pleeease_," the man said. "Do you _seriously_ think I'm gonna kill you, now? If I wanted to do that, I'd have just left you back there. Easier than burnin' my own ass bailin' you out. So spare me the begging. I could use a break, right now."

Meg felt Lou tense up underneath her, and not from the pain. Both women had heard it : that distinctive tone all sexaroids' voices carried, that did such a good job affecting the emotions of humans.

"No..." Lou began to whisper.

The man looked at the ceiling in exasperation. "If I hear _one_ more plea for mercy out of either of you," he said, gesturing in their general direction, "I might just change my mind about what I'm doing. Now," he said, turning back towards them and leaning over. "Are you coming with me or not?"

Meg was now stunned in addition to being terrified. She couldn't say anything; her heart was in her throat. The man sucked in a breath through his cigarette and then blew smoke over them. Lou coughed a little, while Meg didn't dare breathe.

"Look, you can either sit there on the floor and wait for them to send more Dobermans, or you can come with me and get outta this place," he said, jerking one gloved thumb over his shoulder. "So what's it gonna be?"

"Y...you...you're..." Meg finally managed to stammer out.

"Yes. I'm a 33-S-H. And I'm going to help you and this other chick escape. Now do you want my help or not?"

Meg removed her hand from Lou's eyes. Both women looked the man over, their breath coming short. After a moment, Meg nodded to him. Lou managed a nod, as well, before grimacing and trying to get to her feet. The man did not try to help her, but Meg did. Soon, both women had found their balance and were standing eye-to-eye with one of the legendary sexaroid assassins.

"Alright," Meg said. "We're with you. It's better than staying here, I guess."

"Good. I'll be back in a sec," he said, turning away. "You two wait here."

Something registered in Meg's mind. "What happened to that one Doberman?" she asked.

"Which one?" the man asked. He smiled a little at his own comment, revealing his pointed teeth.

Meg blinked, an empathetic smile coming to her own lips. "The one that was...you know, standing over us..."

"Oh, that one." The man stretched leisurely and blew out smoke before continuing. He reached behind his back and unclipped what was strapped there. His hands came back around into view a moment later, holding what had to be the largest machine gun Meg had ever seen. It was over a meter and a half long, and quite thick. The gun was attached to a special harness to handle the weight, it was so large. The weapon's muzzle was smoking a little, having just been fired.

"Let's just say...they oughta put better locks on the armory," he said, reaching under his coat and unbuckling the harness. After a moment, he threw the gun to the ground, shaking his head. "I stole that sucker yesterday, figuring I'd need it. Didn't even know how to use the damn thing, so I just interfaced with it. Worked just as well."

Meg blinked, figuring that out. "So it was dead?"

"I emptied a clip of high-velocity armor-piercing rounds into it, so I'm guessin' yes. Don't worry, I'm makin' sure the 'roids that didn't catch their flight can still ditch this station." He turned back down the hallway.

"Who got away?" Lou asked, worried.

The man turned back towards them. He took an annoyed draw on his cigarette, as though he couldn't possibly care less. "I don't know the names," he said.

"But who made it? Can you just say what they looked like?" Lou asked.

The man held out his hand just above his own eye level. "Brown haired one about this tall, carrying a green-haired one that looked like she was hurt."

Both Meg and Lou couldn't help smiling. Good, so Sylvie and Anri had made it. But what about...

"There was a third one," the man went on. "She took a piece of shrapnel through the back, then got caught in the backwash from liftoff. I can't do much for her, 'cept maybe sell her as charcoal."

Lou gasped at this remark. Meg just blinked, unable to absorb it all at once. Both women had known that not all of them were going to survive this escape attempt; it just hadn't been reasonable to believe that they could all make it out safely. But this...man was describing Nam's death so casually. Meg wanted to hit him, give him and his kind what they deserved, for what they'd done. But she didn't have it in her. She was just too tired.

Both women just stood there a moment, getting their thoughts together. Meg took the opportunity to check over Lou's wounds. They looked worse than they really were; she'd be able to move under her own power, at least for a while. But they needed to stop the bleeding, and soon.

Meg pulled off her vest and started tearing it into strips. She focused her mind on the task, trying not to think about Nam, or what that last Doberman might be able to do to Sylvie and Anri. Lou seemed to be doing likewise. She barely even noticed when Meg wrapped up her arm and torso in the strips of cloth. A few tight knots later, and the makeshift bandages were in place. Lou was still bleeding, but that would probably stop, soon.

The man came back, holding a bundle of cloth. He chucked it at Meg's feet.

"Put that on," he said. He finished off his cigarette, and lit a new one with the butt of the last.

"What is it?" Meg asked, looking at him for some kind of sign.

The man raised his eyebrows at her. "If you wanna live, put the damn clothes on." Meg nodded and started pulling on the jumpsuit he'd thrown at her. She quickly figured out that it was the uniform of a maintenance worker.

"What about Lou?" she asked. The man didn't seem to have any other changes of clothes handy.

"She's wounded," he said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a massive handgun. He casually checked the clip before chambering a round.

Both womens' eyes went wide. "No!" Meg said. "You can't just kill her!"

"Can't I?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

Lou's legs failed her at that point. She collapsed to her knees, a stricken look on her face. The impact sent another wave of pain through her as her bullet wounds opened again. Meg kneeled down, getting in between her friend and this...man.

The man laughed a little. Not an evil, hollow laugh, but actually a genuine one, with a hint of mockery in it.

"Oh, come on..." he said. "You thought I'd kill her for being wounded? Get a grip. I knew she was hurt, and I could've left her behind."

Meg looked up into his face, expectant.

"She's coming along as my prisoner, naturally," he said, gesturing expansively. "That's what the gun's for."

Meg let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She reached over and hugged Lou, who was still a little shaken.

"Yeah, yeah," the man said, pulling them apart. He pulled Lou to her feet, ignoring the way she cringed and clenched her jaw. "You'll have time for the boo-hooing later. Let's rock."

Meg got to her feet and brushed herself off. She finished putting on the impromptu disguise, as well. The clothes weren't a good fit at _all_, especially in the chest area, but she could blend into a crowd, at least. Just to be safe, she pulled on the baseball cap that had been included in the bundle of clothes. Meanwhile, the man was talking to Lou.

"I'm going to lead you out of here at gunpoint. I'm going to act as though I captured you and silenced your other buddies. I used to work here, so people here know me. They'll probably buy it."

Lou nodded, but she still stiffened as she felt the gun dig into her back. Knowing it was loaded was no help whatsoever.

He looked over his shoulder at Meg. "You follow, at a distance of...let's say five or six meters behind us. You'll blend in, where we're headed."

Meg gave him a halfhearted thumbs-up, her eyes flickering to the gun he was holding.

"Now walk," he said, coldly, to Lou. "Act like you've completely given up."

Lou nodded slightly and walked towards the door at the end of the hallway. They started moving through the station, the 33-S-H pushing her in the right direction, as Meg followed quietly, looking at the floor and hoping no one would recognize her. Both women kept their faces deadpan. They passed by multiple patrols, who looked at Lou strangely before glancing at the man behind her. But their concerns seemed to melt as they looked at the H; they made it through the hallways with a minimum of fuss. Some of the soldiers - especially the male ones - looked as though they had certain ideas about how to punish the remaining sexaroid, but they backed off after one look from the H.

They eventually passed by an official, a colonel from the looks of his stripes. He smiled as he saw them.

"Jason, what a surprise! Looks like you showed up in the nick of time."

"You could say that," came the cold reply as he kept walking.

"Hey, why're you letting that thing walk? Wouldn't it be easier just to - "

"I have my reasons," Jason replied, breathing smoke in the man's direction. "Now get to that hangar. These bitches left behind quite a mess." He punctuated that last remark by shoving the gun deeper into Lou's back. The woman gasped and her eyes widened a little, but otherwise, she kept her composure.

"Gotcha," the colonel replied. "See ya 'round, Jase."

Jason didn't trouble himself with a reply. He spat out his cigarette, stuck a new one in his mouth, and lit it as they kept walking.

All three of them knew what the colonel had been about to say. 'Wouldn't it be easier just to kill it and walk off.' Lou felt ready to vomit, knowing that the man behind her certainly _would_ have done that, had he not been...retired, as he said.

They finally stopped just in front of an airlock threshold. The hallway they'd come to was completely empty, now that most of the personnel had been rushed to the hangar.

"Let's have a look at this," Jason said, turning Lou towards him and roughly examining her arm and torso, where she'd been hit. The woman cringed at the sharp pain, but also noticed that he had holstered his gun, as well as removed his gloves.

"Now what?" she whispered, her eyes flickering to Meg.

Jason ignored her. He took a slow draw on his cigarette, bringing it down to almost nothing. He kept looking at the makeshift bandages. "These'll have to do..." he finally mumbled, smoke coming out of his mouth as he talked.

He reached up and gingerly touched the airlock control with his bare hand. "You know why they keep rocket fuel under pressure?" he asked, casually. Both women looked at him incredulously. "It's because if it's exposed to air, it hardens into a clear, odorless, and highly flammable solid that won't show up on a normal scan."

At this, he flicked his cigarette down the corridor beyond the airlock. Where it hit, a flame suddenly appeared, and started running down the corridor in a straight line. Meg and Lou's eyes both went wide.

"Me, I prefer using it for fuses," he said, continuing. "Wait a second, then run like hell. Oh, and hold your breath, too." He nodded to himself as he watched the flame proceed down the corridor and turn a corner.

Lou was speechless. Meg managed to ask, "Where are we going?"

"Through this lock, to an escape pod at the end of the hall. We'll use that to get away. The distraction I set up will depressurize the corridor, though."

Meg nodded. "But how did you know - "

The rest of her sentence was cut off by a deafening explosion. Through the open airlock, the three could see smoke beginning to snake around in the corridor. Red lights blinked into existence all along the passageway, as the depressurization warning claxon filled the air. Very quickly, a strong breeze developed, pulling into the still-open airlock.

Jason gestured for the women to go. After a moment of hesitation, both Meg and Lou filled their lungs with air, stepped through the lock, and ran. Meg noticed the lock wasn't closing like it was supposed to during a depressurization. But she put this thought aside, focusing on running. Behind them, Jason took a big breath of his own, took his hand off the control panel, and tore off down the corridor, running as fast as he could after the two women. The airlock slid closed behind them, freed of Jason's unseen influence.

Meg and Lou's breath was almost pulled from their bodies. There was _no_ air in here! But, they should have known that. The human personnel appeared to have evacuated safely, some small comfort. Both of the women could feel their eyes bulging and their blood literally beginning to boil. For Lou, the situation was even worse, as the blood the bandages had been holding back began to flow freely again, leaking around the bandages. Please, let me make it, she thought, feeling her strength begin to drain away. Even as she thought this, Jason sailed by the women, running much faster than either of them ever could. It was just as well; he was the one who knew where they were going.

They'd gone almost a hundred meters already. Almost there. Lou nearly stumbled on a cart someone had left behind, but instead managed to jump over it. The move cost her a lot of breath, though. Her lungs felt as though they were on fire. Her legs were protesting, too, being pushed to their utmost extreme limit.

Just ten meters left. Lou felt her lungs, strained beyond their limit, let go of the air they'd been holding. It was eagerly sucked up by the deepening void. She lost her balance and fell, out of sheer exhaustion. She didn't have air! She was going to die! She...felt an arm grabbing her as she fell.

^I won't let you die,^ Meg was thinking as she grabbed onto the falling Lou. She literally dragged the woman the last meter and a half to the escape pod.

Using the last of her strength, she threw both of them through the escape pod door, which had seemingly opened of its own volition as Jason touched it. Jason had momentarily looked back to check on them, just in time to see them go by. Not having the breath to shrug, he ducked inside the pod himself, and hit the door close button.

The door slid shut very quickly. It would have made a click as it closed, but in the absence of air, it was totally silent. The hiss that followed, filling the small pod, was soon audible.

Meg breathed, her lungs feeling like they were about to climb up her throat. She blinked as her eyes stopped swelling, and rubbed her arms, which she noticed had become very cold. She looked over at Lou, who nodded weakly, indicating she had come through, too.

She could hear Jason breathing hard, as well. Obviously, even the H's had their limits. But, his lungs were far better than theirs, and as such, he soon had enough breath to croak out, "Hang on to something."

Meg looked up in time to see him reaching for the EJECT lever. Using what was left of her strength, and still breathing hard, she grabbed onto Lou with one arm and onto a launch handle with the other.

A sudden jolt of acceleration hit them as the pod ejected out of Genaros space station. Meg hung on with everything she had, fighting the powerful g-forces. She didn't want anything to go wrong, now that they were free. They _were_ free, right?

After they'd stopped accelerating, all three of them took several more minutes to catch their collective breath. After a while, Jason went over to the console and touched his bare hand to it. The autopilot quickly adjusted to his unspoken, unseen, untyped commands, shifting the pod's course to aim for Earth.

Finally, Meg had the energy to stand. After checking on Lou, she got to her feet. Jason was sitting in one of the chairs, and had casually propped his feet up on the control console. Meg prayed that her savior knew what he was doing.

"Why'd..." she began, before needing to catch her breath again. Jason's sunglasses turned towards her. "Why'd you do it?" she asked, finally.

Jason smirked a little. "For one, it's fun as hell," he began. "I got to blow the shit out of a Doberman today!" After this, he became a little more sober. "And I started getting second thoughts, I guess. I also met a man who helped me do what I wanted to do, instead of what I had to do."

Meg nodded, not bothering to ask who he had met. It probably didn't matter. She sat down in one of the seats of the pod, putting both hands over her sore eyes and checking to make sure she was all right. After a moment, she pulled Lou up into a seat, as well.

Both women were surprised as a thick plastic bag fell into Lou's lap. It was filled with a viscous red liquid both women were quite familiar with, now. Blood.

The two women looked up at Jason, who had thrown the blood pack.

"You wanna live," he said, casually, "you're gonna have to replace that lost blood."

Lou sagged under the weight of everything that had happened so far. And now she was being asked to drink blood...Meg reached over and squeezed her friend's shoulder, causing Lou to look up into her face. Meg knew what was necessary : Lou hadn't had the vampire modification done yet, so she would need a little help. She was more than willing to help her friend.

"It's okay, Lou," Meg said. "You lost a lot of blood. Here," she said, taking the blood pack.

Lou grabbed her hand. "No, Meg, I don't want you to do it. I'm fine."

"You were bleeding all over the floor back there," Jason butted in. "Now you 'roids either do it yourselves or _I'll_ do it for you." He curled back his lips, showing them his pointed teeth once more.

Lou looked at the wall for a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly. Meg brought the bag up to her mouth, simultaneously bearing her teeth, which, like Jason's, were quite sharp.

Meg drained the bag, keeping her comforting grip on Lou's shoulder, even though the other woman was looking away. Lou meanwhile shrugged out of her jacket and pulled up one of her sleeves. After a moment's hesitation, Meg bit into Lou's bare arm. Lou gasped in pain for a moment, then relaxed as she felt her blood supply being replenished.

Meg used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth clean of the red fluid, once she was done. She made a face that showed she had a terrible taste in her mouth.

"It's okay..." Lou said.

"I know, I know. I just hate doing..._that_."

Lou nodded, then smiled weakly. "And everyone kept asking me why I didn't get converted..." a single tear came out of her eye as she remembered Nam's face.

Lou looked better, if anything. More color had come back to her face, and her movements weren't as labored. She looked up as she heard Jason laughing.

"It's always fun watching you sexaroids get emotional," Jason said to the room. "And I quote," he said, clearing his throat. "I know, I know. I jut hate doing..._that_," he said, his voice a perfect imitation of Meg's. He smirked at the women before coughing his voice back to normal mode.

Meg and Lou just looked at each other nervously. Neither of them really trusted the man, even after all he'd done so far. Meg found herself wondering if that blood had been rigged, either with poison, or a tracing device, or something.

The comm. line rang. Jason immediately reached over and picked it up. As he brought the microphone to his mouth, he cleared his throat.

"Hello?" he asked. His voice had changed once again. He now sounded like a nervous, distraught space station worker, instead of the self-assured man he was.

"This is Genaros to escape pod 11. What is your status?"

"Oh my God, oh my God, there was a depressurization! I couldn't breathe, I had to get to the pod! And then it went and launched! I don't know what's happening! What do I do, what do I do?!" he asked, false panic filling his voice. Meg and Lou both watched, amazed.

"Everything's fine, pod 11. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. What's going on?"

"We're going to send someone out to find you. But we're having some trouble with your transponder, and we need you to manually turn it on."

Meg felt ice creep up her gut. That was why she and the others hadn't tried stealing a pod. It would have a transponder, which would allow Dobermans, or other Genaros representatives, to quickly track them down. And there was only one punishment for trying to escape...

Jason calmly reached under his seat and pulled out a small metal box. It looked like it had been thoroughly smashed. He waved it through the air at the two women, not looking at them, as he continued talking.

"OK, how do I do that?" he asked.

"Well, you're going to have to - "

"OH MY GODDDD!!" Jason screamed into the mike, before reaching over and yanking it out of the wall. Then, he turned down the volume on the comm., before turning towards Meg and Lou, with a self-satisfied smile on his face. The women just looked back, stunned. The H was using his abilities to _help_ escaped 33-S's? Why? So many questions...

"Was that the transponder?" Meg asked, pointing at the box he'd pulled out.

Jason nodded. "I ripped it out of this pod yesterday, while I was setting the explosives for my little distraction."

Meg shook her head. "You mean you _knew_? You _knew_ we were going to run?"

"Yup, I knew the specifics. I almost had it down to the hour you were going to try. It used to be my _job_ to know this stuff, okay?"

"Sorry." She looked over at Lou for a moment before looking back at him. "Can you fix Lou?" she asked.

"Of course, if she needs it. Looks like it's just flesh wounds, though. She oughta be fine."

Meg nodded, somewhat assured by how quickly he'd responded. It was usually a mark of confidence.

"If I may ask..." Jason began.

"What?" Meg replied.

"What was the name of the brown-haired sexaroid? The one that got away."

"Why do you want to know?" Meg asked suspiciously.

"Get a _grip_. I'm not going to go kill her, if that's what you want to know. In any case, let's just say she...interests me."

"Her name's Sylvie," Lou blurted out. Meg threw her a harsh glare before adding on : "Do you want to know the other one's name?"

"I've met her before," Jason said, going through his pockets for a cigarette. "I keep thinking her name is Anna, or something like that."

"It's Anri," both women said at once.

"Oh, yeah," he said, his head coming back up as he remembered. "Anri. I remember now. I scared her shitless," he said, smiling a little as he remembered one encounter with the woman. He also gave up trying to get a cigarette; there was no use in wasting the oxygen the pod had. Instead, he just pulled his gloves back on.

Meg just looked away, but only for a second. She looked back as a thought hit her.

"I'm afraid I don't know your name. Those people kept calling you Jason."

Jason nodded. "Yup. Jason McCormick. But I think I'm going to change it."

"To what?"

"Dunno. Nick something. Because of what that guy said in the hall, of me arriving 'in the nick of time'. Sounds appropriate, wouldn't you say?"

Meg nodded, then looked at the floor. She knew who Jason McCormick was. All 33-S's had been kept well informed of who the 33-S-H's were, and who they'd hunted down. This man was currently first among the H's for the number of sexaroid kills. His current record was something in the high teens. Just to think he'd tracked them down like animals and then...

"I know it must sound strange, a killer _saving_ lives," Jason began, seeing the look on her face. "But I've changed. And I'll try prove it to you when we get to Earth, first and foremost by fixing you," he said, casually gesturing to Lou.

"Will you find Sylvie and Anri?" Lou asked, hopeful.

Jason looked at her, smirking again. "When did you start thinking I gave a damn? I guess eventually, we might. But I'll need to get set up, first, get some contacts. Just charging into the first place to report an unscheduled shuttle landing won't work."

"But...what are we going to do?" Lou asked.

Jason took a breath, actually looking nervous for a moment. "I need you, actually. For a lot of things. I was hoping you'd work for me, in exchange for my protection from whatever they feel like sending out to get a few rogues like us."

Both women shifted nervously at the word, 'rogue'. It applied to them, now. Being free...meant being an outlaw. Suddenly, the idea of freedom was losing some of its attractiveness. Rogues were what the assassin boomers went after. And first among the assassins was the 33-S-H...

"Don't worry about my former buddies," Jason said, noticing the nervous looks on the women's faces. He took his gaze off of Meg and Lou as he continued to speak. "I've already managed to kill off one of 'em, and I know all the tricks to not being found. You two stand the best chance of living if you stay with me. And I'll even help you find your friends, when I feel like it."

Meg nodded. That was only fair, if a little coldhearted. She glanced at Lou again. A moment later, after looking back at Jason, she promised herself that she would find her friends again. They were free, now. Nothing would keep them apart for very long.

***

The sun was shining at noon over MegaTokyo. People went about their daily business, taking lunch breaks or working through lunch in vain efforts to gain status with their superiors. Few places in the city were uncrowded.

A man, wearing opaque sunglasses and a well-worn black trench coat, pushed his way through the crowds almost contemptuously. Some people glared at him, but most of the people just ignored him; such was standard treatment in such a crowded city.

The man had American features, but he was best described as 'average'. He had no prominent features on his face, or even any distinguishing marks. He looked to be about average height, average weight, average everything. People who only saw him in passing could not remember what he looked like.

The man had just come from a run-down area where construction was just going on. He'd spent nearly four hours wandering around the area, most of which was spent in a crater in the ground, a sinkhole where people said a great battle had taken place just under a year ago. Few people believed the stories - of vampires in battle suits fighting the Knight Sabers in a life-and-death struggle - but the man searching around scared the hell out of them. He was a little too quiet, a little too calm. The man had ignored them, just as he ignored the people on the streets.

The man finally made his way to a bus stop, and waited among the crowds until one of the many buses pulled up. He got on and, without looking at the driver or saying a word, paid the fee and sat down in one of the few remaining empty seats. He looked out the window as the bus drove through town.

As the bus ride dragged on, the people sitting closest to the man seemed to loosen up, to become more relaxed and friendly. Multiple conversations between perfect strangers started up around him. Many people - most of them women, coincidentally - tried to start conversations with him, but one deadpan look was all it took to drive them away. The man was not interested in small talk, at least not today. Other things were on his mind.

After nearly an hour, the bus stopped just a few blocks from the central headquarters of the AD Police. It was here that the man got off, getting back onto the sidewalk and making his way towards the ADP. He only had a few hunches to go on, most of which he'd developed just this morning at the construction site. But he did know that the only logical thing to do would be to talk to the police. And although the ADP had a notorious reputation for inadequacy and stupidity, the man knew that they were the only option he had right now.

The man walked into the lobby. As he approached the recently installed metal detector, the guard tensed up. Not too long ago, another ultra-calm man had walked through the lobby. The boomer underneath had quickly shed its skin, starting off one of the more embarrassing times of the ADP's history.

But this man went through the metal detector without incident. The guard visibly relaxed at this; a boomer would have set it off. The man went up to the main desk, just beyond the metal detector. As he did so, he started pulling off one of the tan leather gloves that had been covering his hands. The young woman behind the desk looked up at him and smiled, as was her job. The man came up to her and grinned back.

"Excuse me, but how can I get information on a specific investigation?", he asked, speaking for pretty much the first time all day.

The girl's smile fell a little, as she replied. "Well, you'd have to speak with the Investigator involved. But, sir, I'm sorry, many of our files are not for the public."

The man nodded somberly. He thought for a brief second. Taking note of a can of writing utensils balanced on the edge of the desk, the man leaned forwards, putting his elbow near it. He looked down at the girl.

"Well, I'm looking for a case that was about...a year ago, I think. It was just a car theft, but people thought a boomer was involved, somehow."

"Well, let me check," the girl's smile fell completely as she turned towards her computer screen. The man waited patiently, counting up to a precise number of seconds. He just hoped he had the timing down right.

He edged his right elbow over and forwards, "accidentally" knocking over the cup of pencils and pens. Its contents emptied all over the desk, in a spectacular spill. The man immediately put on a horrified/embarrassed face, and leaned forwards, putting his hand on top of the computer. He also did his best to apologize as he helped the miffed secretary pick up the mess.

While this was going on, the computer appeared to get a mind of its own. The young clerk had already accessed the files on cases that were one year old. While no one was looking, the computer moved of its own volition through the files. Writing flashed by, finally giving the file the man had actually wanted to see. As he leaned over, he glanced out his peripheral vision from behind his sunglasses.

There : D.D. Battlemover. Inspector Leon McNichol presiding.

As he looked up, still apologizing, the screen flickered, and returned to what it had been before the man had spilled over the cup. However, the man kept his hand on top of the computer for a moment longer. He also exhaled in the secretary's direction. The girl shifted around in her seat a moment later, a feeling of warmth suddenly spreading through her.

The secretary put the now-filled cup down, off the edge of the counter this time, and looked back to the screen. No flicker of suspicion went across her face as she scanned the files.

"What was the name of the victim, sir?" the secretary asked. As she looked at him, another smile, this one genuine, began to take shape on her face.

"Actually, it was me. Last name, Brady, first name, Nicholas."

"Thank you."

The man waited. He watched calmly from behind his sunglasses, even though a few people were beginning to think it strange that he was wearing them inside. Meanwhile, the computer systems were again rewriting themselves, in his favor. When the secretary finally reached the file she'd been looking for, the change had been made.

"OK, sir, the inspector you're looking for is a Mr. McNichol. That's weird..."

"What?" asked the man, not nervous at all.

"It's just Leo...Mr. McNichol is usually involved with higher-profile things than just petty car theft. Oh, well. Even the big guys have their duties, huh?" Her tongue was becoming loosened as she stayed in Nick's presence. Her smile was also beginning to grow.

"Can you call him up?" he asked, finally removing his hand from the computer. As he did so, he moved his hand in a practiced motion, smudging all fingerprints he might have left behind.

"Sure. Just a minute." She sounded as though nothing in the world would make her happier.

In another few seconds, the secretary's voice could be heard over the intercom, asking for Inspector McNichol. A smile tugged at the corner of the man's mouth as he heard it. The smile slowly fell, though, when he saw nothing happening. He went back to the desk after waiting for an interminable five minutes.

"Uh..." he began.

The girl looked up at him, grinning as though he were some long-lost friend. "Yes?"

"Where is Inspector McNichol? You called him, right?"

The girl thought. "Oh, he's probably at the firing range. That's where he kills time."

"Hm. Is there any way I can see him?"

"Well...sure. Here." She filled out a small square of green paper and handed it to him.

"That's a temporary ID," she said. "Show it to the guy at the door and at the firing range, and they'll let you in."

The man thanked her and left. He couldn't help smiling and shaking his head slowly as he saw just how fast the effect he had on people on had taken hold.

Sure enough, the ID got him into the station and to the firing range. Before going into the range, however, he asked the guard where Inspector McNichol was. It turned out the secretary had been right : Leon was in stall 12, the guard said.

The man walked in, showing the first signs of discomfort he had all day as he remembered the gun he usually carried, but which he'd had to leave behind for this little sojourn. It was not that he was defenseless, even though he was unarmed; it was just that he was so used to carrying that gun that it felt awkward to travel without it. At least he was wearing his standard clothing for when he went on missions. That was some small comfort.

He followed the stall numbers. 9, 10, 11, 12. There. A man with short brown hair, wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and dark sunglasses was loading up a high-caliber revolver. Nick watched, taking in the scene before he moved in. He made sure that he was not noticed.

"Damn, I'm good," Leon was saying. "How're you doing, Nene?" At this, the Inspector glanced over to the left, towards stall 13. Nick leaned over to see the young woman with dramatically red hair standing there.

"What?" she asked. Nick noted she was wearing ear protectors, while Leon didn't bother. Nene removed the ear protectors and waited for Leon to repeat himself.

"I just asked how you were doing at this, Nene."

"Oh, about the usual."

"That bad? Well, the only way around that is practice. You should come here more often."

"Why? I only wanted to cool off."

"Tell that to the next boomer."

"Hmph," Nene snorted out, an aloof look coming onto her face. She slapped her ear protectors back on and reloaded the pistol she'd been using. Nick noted that at least half her shots hadn't even hit the target. He rolled his eyes at this show of ineptitude.

McNichol had finished loading in bullets, and he brought his pistol up again. After a moment's hesitation to aim, he fired three times in rapid succession, emptying the pistol.

Nick watched as each bullet planted itself nearly dead-center on the bulls-eye. ^Not bad,^ he thought. ^Almost as good as I am.^

Leon had stopped to reload again. Nick walked forwards, approaching his quarry.

McNichol was just about to start shooting again when he heard a low, yet intense, voice behind him.

"Inspector Leon McNichol?"

He turned around, lowering his gun. "Yes?" he asked. The man looked rather well-built, but not too tall. Actually, he was marginally shorter than Leon. The sunglasses instantly set off Leon's instincts, trained over years of service. Almost every disguised boomer wore them.

"May I speak with you?"

Leon's eyes narrowed behind his own shades. He didn't know what to think. If the man had been maybe a quarter of a meter taller, he would have called for backup in apprehending a suspected boomer. But something in the man's voice...it was making his guard go down. Leon tried to fight it off, and answered as best he could.

"No, not yet, buddy. Can't you see I'm on my break?" He turned back towards the target, began taking aim again.

"But this is urgent, Inspector."

Leon glanced back over his shoulder. He saw that Nene had come out of her stall to have a look at the new arrival. The redhead was curiously watching the man in the trench coat.

"Well, talk to someone who's on duty, then." He fired one shot, scoring another virtually perfect hit. The old nervous feeling he had felt so many times around boomers was crawling around in his stomach, but at the same time it was becoming...weaker. He didn't like this. At all.

"Please, just five minutes. Here, I'll buy you lunch."

Leon turned back around, slowly removing his sunglasses. The other man did not reciprocate.

"Look, buddy," he began. The other man's jaw clenched and he seemed to make some kind of decision. Leon's hand tightened around his gun, but he continued speaking.

"I don't know what you're problem is, but you can - " it was at this point that the man reached up to his sunglasses and pulled them down, just enough to show his eyes. Leon saw the move coming and began readying his gun. Boomers often liked to remove their sunglasses before they shed their skins. He looked right at the man, sure that the eyes concealed behind the glasses would be glowing red.

But they weren't.

They _were_ red, but not glowing. Either the man wore contacts, or his eyes were naturally that color. In fact...those eyes looked quite a bit like another pair of eyes Leon had been tracking for a while, and not for police reasons.

And as he looked into them, he felt his nervousness melt entirely and a smile break across his face.

***

Daley looked at his watch. It corresponded almost exactly with the clock on the wall, reading 12:30. Where _was_ Leon? They were supposed to be going on patrol. Not that they were missing anything, that was for sure. Boomers had an amazing tendency to go on their rampages at night. They never chose the middle of the day, when everyone was actually conscious enough to fight. But Leon _never_ missed an opportunity to go careening around the city in the pursuit car, impressing girls and scaring everyone else on the road.

He looked over at Nene. The girl looked up at him to meet his gaze. She tilted her head and shrugged helplessly. She'd seen Leon go off with that man in the trench coat over an hour ago. He'd been acting like he'd just found a long-lost friend. That was weird, though. Leon didn't have many male friends. But, those he did have tended to be pretty close to him. Daley was proud to consider himself in that group. Although he'd been toying around with the idea of getting closer...he knew Leon's interests didn't really run that way. There was always the dream, though.

The door to the office opened up, and Leon breezed in, both hands in his jeans pockets, his gaze aimed at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, and a big smile on his face. He looked like he'd won the lottery.

Daley walked up, perplexed.

"Hey, Leon, where'd you go?"

Leon turned towards his partner. "Hiya, buddy! How ya doin'!" he half-shouted, grabbing up Daley in a tight, manly hug. Releasing him, gave Daley an amicable punch in the arm. The homosexual ADP officer was too shocked - and aroused - to respond.

Leon turned away and walked further into the office. A female clerk walked by, giving him a quizzical look. Leon grabbed her off her feet and gave her a BIG kiss right on the lips. The poor clerk had all her reports knocked out of her hands. When Leon let her go, she looked like she wouldn't have been more surprised if she'd been shot.

Leon didn't give anyone time to react. He kept going, right back to his desk, where he sat down, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling while putting his feet up on the desk. The smile on his face remained there for a long time, while gossip began to fly.

Daley couldn't believe any of it. Even Leon usually exhibited _some_ restraint. But this...he wondered if the man in the trench coat had anything to do with it.

***

Nick was walking calmly away from the little café where he and Leon had had a drink. He was also smiling, but in a self-satisfied way. He never liked doing _that_ to people, but it had at least gotten him the information he needed. That little ability of his had never failed him.

He couldn't have gotten McNichol to spill his guts any better if he'd used a knife. He knew everything now, about the D.D. Battlemover, and its connection with the string of "vampire crimes". He knew about the final battle that had been waged - in the pit he'd been nosing around earlier - and how the Knight Sabers had somehow been involved. Leon's story had become a little ambiguous at that point; he said he'd been knocked out, and had only regained consciousness _after_ the Battlemover had been stopped. But he'd seen them taking a woman - or at least, something that did a damn good impression of a woman - out of the battle machine.

He'd also seen...

_That_ had actually been an intriguing tidbit. McNichol had said he barely trusted most of what he'd seen, because he'd been half-dead at the time. But he'd said he was dead-on _certain_ he'd seen Priss Asagiri, wearing the blue Knight Saber armor, holding the Battlemover's pilot in her arms.

Well, it was definitely a lead. 33-S's usually commenced close relations with a human when they escaped. That human was almost invariably female, due to the...effects...the boomers had on men. So now, all he had to do was find this Asagiri person.

He just hoped it wouldn't be too hard.

***

It wasn't all that difficult to find Priss in MegaTokyo. She'd recently become something of a sensation, with her band, the Replicants, playing in various places all over the city. They'd also made a few recordings, which sold fairly well. As such, it only took a few inquiries to find who Priss Asagiri was and where she could be found. They said she kept to herself most of the time, secluded in some trailer off in the slums. No...interception at her home was not an option. Nick didn't feel like going to all the trouble of finding one trailer among hundreds. That left public appearances, and as it turned out, Priss was making one a day later.

Nick was at the stage ahead of time. He'd changed out of his trench coat and into normal street clothes. He knew it would be important to blend in, here. No one at the ADP had really seemed to care about his clothes.

It was a rather fashionable place, several steps up the ladder from the "Hot Legs" place Priss had used to play at. It was no formal auditorium, but rather a more relaxed, bar-like area. After paying the entrance fee, Nick made his way over to the bar and ordered up a light drink. While it was being prepared, he took a cigarette out of the inside pocket of his jacket and lit it almost by reflex. Liberally breathing smoke, he took a few sips from his drink as he waited.

The place was fairly packed, already. Several people had crowded near the stage, while more kept coming in behind them, trying to be as close to the action as possible. The bar was rather distant from the stage, so Nick was able to watch, unjostled...for a while. As he waited, he made sure to keep a lit cigarette in his mouth at all times. He went through two very quickly, and then lit up a third, lighting each one with the stub of the last. He watched through the large cloud of smoke that quickly surrounded him.

As the final minutes before the performance ticked down, the place was filled to the brim. Many more people took seats at the bar, and more people crowded in. No one seemed to notice that Nick was wearing sunglasses, even though it was poorly lit near the bar. It also became apparent why he was going to such efforts to keep up a screen of cigaratte smoke; as more and more people came close to Nick, very few of them seemed to be experiencing the...condition...he had brought on in the people on the bus, the secretary, and Leon. All they saw was some idiot wearing sunglasses in a dark bar and trying to turn his lungs black.

Finally, the curtain parted, revealing a band and a woman standing in the middle of the stage. Priss, Nick guessed. She was wearing a rather revealing outfit, probably the reason roughly 70 percent of the attendants were men. Her hair, blond, looked...somehow unreal. Nick wondered if it was some kind of wig, a part of her stage costume. Some rockers tended to make a rather surreal image for themselves.

In the middle of the initial roar from the crowd, greeting Priss, the band started playing. Nick listened to it all, not partaking in the enthusiasm of pretty much everyone else. There were only a few songs that he recognized, but he hadn't been in MegaTokyo that long. During the performance, Nick's fists kept clenching and unclenching. A few times, he almost made as though to get up. But every time, he fought it off. He felt it, deep within himself : the desire to destroy, to kill everyone here, to stop the music and cause as much mayhem as physically possible. There were only two things that were keeping him from doing this. The first was his knowledge that he had a mission to carry out, a mission that would fail if he started killing everyone in sight. The second reason was the small voice at the back of his head, the voice that was telling him it was _wrong_ to kill people. Nick ignored it most of the time, but it was that voice that had made him quit his old job.

To distract himself, Nick ordered up another drink and lit another cigarette. He tried not to listen, despite the tremendous volume. This task became very difficult when the band started playing "Mad Machine"; Nick looked as though he was just about to forget his mission and attack the stage anyway. But at the last second, he calmed down. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, he settled in to wait some more.

***

Priss took a seat down at the bar, knuckling her back as the bartender slid her a drink. She thanked him and turned around, to look at the now-empty place where, just a few short hours ago, she had been a star.

Of course, she still was a star, but some of the magic of it all had gone away as the fans left. It's hard to have a good opinion of yourself, no matter who you are, when you're sitting alone at a bar, choking on the leftover smoke from all the cigarettes.

But, then again, it was also a good way to relax. Not having people chasing her around was a good break from her usual day. And she'd thought her life _before_ her big break had been tough.

"Priscilla Asagiri?" came a voice behind from behind her.

Her head drooped as she tried to become concerned with the floor. She didn't want to talk to another hormone-high fan. She'd normally beat the crap out of any man who tried to grab her, but right now, she was too tired. But yet, something about that voice...it had been too firm, too calm, to be a crazed fan. It also had an alluring quality to it that she couldn't quite place. Out of interest, she looked up.

She was greeted by the sight of a man who instantly made her think, _boomer_. The sunglasses, the deadpan expression...Oh God, she thought. I don't even have my gun. But Priss kept her calm, trying not to jump to conclusions. Before she could respond, the man spoke up.

"May I speak with you?"

"I don't give autographs," she responded coldly. Then she watched as the man took a pull at a cigarette he'd been holding between his fingers. That actually gave her some optimism. Boomers didn't smoke. She also noticed how worn his jacket looked. That was another help; boomers usually wore new clothes. He had to be just some fan. Not that fans couldn't be dangerous, from time to time.

The man calmly blew smoke out between his lips, then spoke again.

"I'm not here for an autograph."

"Then get lost." Her red eyes glared at him. They looked precisely like the eyes Leon had been mesmerized by back at the police station.

The man paused, thinking. He took another drag from the cigarette. "I just want to ask you a few questions about someone you might have known."

Well, that answered the question of who he was. He was just some cop, probably from the AD Police. ^Leon...^ she thought. A while ago, Priss had thought Leon had finally given up on her. But with her singing debut, things had gone back to 'normal' and he was once again trying - unsuccessfully - to get her to go out with him. Didn't the man ever learn? Somehow, this man had to be tied in with McNichol.

"I don't answer questions for cops. Now get lost." She was beginning to get nervous. His voice was comforting, making her feel happier and warmer on the inside; the feelings were _completely_ out of context for dealing with someone who had 'boomer' written all over him.

She polished off her drink in one shot, got up, and began to leave. The man calmly watched her start walking away. Just after she'd begun to think he'd lost interest, he spoke again, somehow managing to sound calm and collected, even though he'd raised his voice so she would hear him.

"It's about Sylvie and Anri."

Priss stopped dead in her tracks. Just hearing those names brought tears to her eyes. She was glad no one was looking. She could remember it all. She remembered the _beep_ as her targeting system had locked onto Sylvie's torso, and the shocked, disillusioned look that had been frozen on Anri's face when she'd died.

Taking a moment to collect herself, Priss casually wiped the tears away and turned to face this..._man_ that had hurt her, without even trying. She walked up to him, fire in her eyes.

"I said, get...lost. What part of that did you not get, huh? Here, I'll say it again. GET. LOST. I'm not talking to you, or any other cop." She turned and began heading for the door.

Footsteps behind her. He was insufferable! Fury filled her. Wouldn't he just leave her alone? Dredging up old memories wouldn't bring Sylvie or Anri back. Priss felt her right hand clench into a fist. As the footsteps came closer, she stopped and spun around, hard, sending her fist straight towards the man's face.

The man didn't even try to dodge. Priss grit her teeth as she felt her fist make contact with the man's sunglasses. They flexed instead of breaking. Her punch suddenly stopped short. A heartbeat later, pain shot down her arm from a few cracked knuckles. She pulled her arm back, clutching her injured hand. That had felt like punching a wall.

The man raised his eyebrows and smirked at her. "That must've hurt," he said, casually.

That confirmed her opinion of what this man was. Only a boomer could take a hit like that and act as though it didn't even care. Well, there were cyborgs, but Priss had already concluded the man was a boomer. It was _always_ a boomer, when it came to tracking people down.

Fury mixed with horror. Priss ran, throwing open the door with her good hand and running across the street to where her motorcycle was parked. If she could only get onto that, she might be able to get away. She didn't try to think about how she'd be able to drive one-handed.

She heard the man's footsteps behind her. ^Please, no...^ she thought, as she heard him gaining.

She turned the corner, bringing her bike into view. But it wasn't the only thing there.

Leon McNichol stood up from where he'd been leaning against a wall. He looked at her and smiled.

Priss felt ready to explode. What _was_ this? Leon usually _did_ try to corner her after a concert, but...had he sent a boomer after her, so he could play knight-in-shining-armor? He was a cop! They weren't supposed to use boomers...^but you know what cops'll do,^ her brain reminded her.

Priss prided herself on making snap decisions. They weren't always the _right_ decisions, but they always came quickly. As such, she made the painful choice to let Leon win...this time. He might not even be responsible, and a bloodthirsty boomer was nothing to dick around with.

"Leon!" she shouted, trying to keep her breath. "There's a boomer coming!"

The smile on Leon's face evaporated. Priss's heart dropped into her stomach as she saw that he was just as shocked as she had been. So whatever this guy chasing her was doing, he wasn't doing it because of this horny ADP Investigator...

Priss ran by Leon as he went for his gun. The huge pistol came out of its holster just as the man who'd been chasing Priss came around the corner. The man looked back and forth, his gaze finally resting on Priss, who was trying to unlock her helmet from her bike's seat. It was hard enough to do it with two hands, and right now only one was working right. To top it all off, her hands were sweating, and she couldn't get the damn lock undone...

"Freeze. ADP." Leon said, flashing his badge. The other man in the trench coat looked straight at Leon, sizing him up. Leon hesitated a little, thinking he'd seen the man before, but in the dark, it was hard to tell.

Priss knew Leon's gun wouldn't do jack shit against a combat boomer. It would have been enough to drop an older model, but now...no way. They needed to get out of here, now. This was definitely _not_ the time for the intrepid knight routine. Priss gave up with her helmet and grabbed up a piece of pipe that had been sitting in one of the empty parking spots. Without hesitation, she chucked it as hard as she could at the man in the trench coat.

"RUN!" she shouted, grabbing Leon's arm. The ADP officer was surprised, but let her drag him along.

Behind them, the man's hand flew out and grabbed the pipe out of the air. He snapped it in two with his thumb.

"Where's your car?" Priss shouted.

"Not far. This way!" Leon took the lead, grabbing Priss's arm and dragging her down the street, where she could see the ADP pursuit car.

"Ms. Asagiri, I just want to ask a few questions!" came the man's voice, behind them. He was walking now, watching them go.

Leon thumbed a button on his key, unlocking the car. Priss jumped into the passenger side while Leon dove into the driver's side. The car was aimed towards the man in the trench coat, and as such Priss got a good look at him.

Shouldn't he have shed his skin by now? His secret was out. Boomers became more powerful when they weren't pretending to be humans. Unless it was one of those assassin boomers, like the one that had damn near crushed her hand the other day...well, whoever he was, he wasn't busting out of his skin. He was actually just watching them, a defeated look on his face.

Leon started the car. Tires screamed in protest as the vehicle blasted out of its space in reverse. The car whipped around as Leon shifted into first gear. With a shriek, the car shot down the road. Nick watched them leave, cursing to himself.

Determination came back to his face as he reached inside his coat, pulling out his cellular phone. The direct method may have failed him, but he'd never let that stop him before.

He paused a moment as the person on the other end picked up.

"She didn't buy it," he said, sullenly. "We'll just have to wait her out."

***

Priss sat in her trailer, speaking on her out-of-date audio-only phone. Leon had been kind of enough to bring her here, and in fact she'd had to stop him from doing more. Priss had been able to tell that he'd wanted to come in, if only to make sure everything was all right, but she had not-so-kindly pushed him off, as always. Apparently, some things never changed, even when a boomer tried to kill you. But these thoughts were not on her mind. She was solely concerned with what she was hearing on the other end.

"So did he try to harm you?"

"I don't know, Silia, like I said before. I hurt my hand, and then I got loose before he could do anything." Priss sounded a little fed up.

"Did he follow you?"

"I don't know. Leon drove pretty fast, but the bastard probably knows were I live, if he knows my name."

"Probably. Do you want me to send someone to pick you up?"

Priss stiffened. She didn't like admitting that she needed someone's help, but since she'd left her bike behind, and Leon was gone, it was her only choice.

"Sure," she said, defeated.

"All right, then. Linna should be by any minute."

"Uh...Silia?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Priss hung up and leaned back on her couch, putting one hand on her forehead. Her other hand clutched the large bolt gun she'd loaded as soon as Leon had left. It at least stood a chance against a boomer, supposing you aimed for a vulnerable spot.

Her mind was filled with thoughts. Why, why, why, couldn't she just forget Sylvie and Anri? Even _thinking_ those names made Priss's throat close up. She swallowed. And what did this guy have to do with them? They were dead. And it was her fault.

She looked at the wall clock and swore a moment later. It was 2:15. Wonderful. That meant that today was her birthday. What a great way to start they day you turned 20 : getting reminded of the friends you've lost. Priss tried not to cry at this thought, but was only partially successful. She leaned forwards, hoping no one was around who would notice her breakdown.

***

"I'm tellin' ya, Daley, I'm fine!" Leon shouted, stomping into the ADP office. His red-haired partner followed closely. People looked sideways at Leon, who ignored them. Daley came up beside the other man as he walked.

"It's just you were acting really weird after you came back. I'm just checking up."

"Well, you got an answer. That was three days ago, goddammit! Let's get back to real life, okay?" he said. He sat down at his desk and propped his feet up on it. Daley sat down on the corner of the desk and crossed his legs in an all-too-feminine fashion. Leon ignored him, for the time being. He was too busy wondering what business that man in the trench coat had had, here at the ADP, and later with Priss. His memory was a little clouded; he couldn't remember what had happened immediately after he'd looked into the other man's eyes. But from what he'd heard around the station, it had been pretty embarrassing.

"Yo, Leon!" came a male voice, breaking this train of thought.

Leon looked over towards the sound. "Oh, hey there, Paul. What's up?"

A skinny intern walked up to him, holding out a business card. When Leon had had a drink with the man who'd called himself Nick Brady, Nick had given him his business card, asking him to hang onto it in case he found someone who'd need his services. As it turned out, Leon _did_ know someone who could use Brady's help...

"I checked out this firm," Paul was saying. "Don't worry, it's legit. And it had a pretty good reputation in America, before they moved here."

Leon took the card and glanced at it, nodding in satisfaction before pocketing it. "Thanks, Paul. I owe you."

"Yeah, you do. See ya," he said, turning away and heading back towards the filing room he worked in.

"What was that?" Daley asked, as soon as Paul was out of earshot.

"It's not police business," came the reply. Daley just shrugged, not bothering to ask any other questions.

Leon rotated his neck around, getting the cricks out, before reaching for the first folder on top of a thick pile on his desk. He didn't know where this paperwork came from; he hadn't even been on duty last night. But here it was, all the same.

Leon froze as a hand grasped his wrist. He looked up to see Daley smiling down at him.

"What is it?" Leon asked, interested.

"Not so fast, cowboy," Daley said. He released Leon's arm and handed him another folder. Leon grabbed it and cracked it open.

"What's this?" he asked, thumbing through it.

"Forensics report," Daley responded. "There was a lightweight boomer incident last night."

"Hm," Leon said, half-listening as he read one of the shorter papers.

"You want to hear the short version?"

Leon looked up, his eyes serious. "Yeah, go ahead. I just look at the pictures, anyway."

Daley put on a lopsided grin before continuing. "Okay, get this. There were two kids out on the east side who'd taken an old construction boomer and jury-rigged some thrusters onto it. They were using it to break into houses for them and commit some lightweight theft and vandalism."

"So I'm filling out papers for a flying riveter that does B&A?"

Daley shook his head, pursing his lips a little. "Nope. Someone stopped their action last night."

Leon nodded, thoughtfully grabbing at his chin, feeling the stubble that he'd forgotten to shave off this morning.

"It wasn't pretty. Whoever it was, they really knew what they were doing. I don't think I have the guts to say it all," Daley said, swallowing. "You should just look at those pictures."

Leon raised his eyebrows a little, then picked up the folder, glancing at Daley's worried face one more time before digging up the pictures clipped to the back of the folder. He took a look at the first one and grimaced.

"What the hell?" he said.

"That's what was left of the boomer," Daley said, solemnly.

Leon's brow furrowed as he looked it over. "I can't even tell where its head used to be. Are these the _eyes_?"

"Yeah."

"It looks like someone gutted this thing," he said, flipping through the other pictures, "and then strangled it with its own guts."

"Forensics says the same thing. And the reason you can't find the head is because it wasn't there. Something tore it off and left it twenty meters down the street."

"Well, damn. What about the kids? You said there were two ki - " Leon stopped as he came to another picture. He looked away for a moment to collect himself, before looking back.

"Well..." he said, trailing off. "Well, there's one kid."

"Yup. Thorough, huh? And get this : forensics said the kid was alive for most of the time whoever-it-was did this to him."

"Damn," Leon said, his mouth tightening a little at one corner. "Even boomers don't do _this_. I can't tell this kid from the chili I had yesterday."

"Yeah."

Leon looked up. "But I don't do homicides, Daley. I mean, the boomer's interesting, but I'm a street guy. You know, boomer crimes, keeping the peace and all that. Why're they giving _me_ this case?"

"Trust me on this one."

Leon looked at the rest of the photos. "Where's the other kid?" he asked after a moment. "Did he make it?"

"Yeah he did, barely. He was interrogated an hour ago."

"Yeah, so?"

"He says the attacker was alone, and did this with his hands, mostly."

Leon shrugged. "So it's a rogue boomer. I'll take it down with one shot."

"Leon, there's a little bit more."

Leon's eyebrows went up again. "What?" he asked.

"The kid said that he never got a good look at the attacker's face, but he said that this guy had pointed teeth, and licked first kid's blood off his hands, like he was drinking it."

Leon paused, then laughed a little, trying to sound warm, but unable to keep a hollow tone out of it.

"Oh, come on!" he said, hitting Daley on the arm. "You're puttin' one over on me! I get it! What is this, some kind of revenge thing? I gotta hand it to you, you had me going there for a while."

Daley shook his head sadly. "Sorry, buddy, but this is the real deal. We put the kid through a lie detector, and he was telling the truth. The chief figured you had the most experience with this kind of thing, so he gave us the case."

Leon just stared at him for a moment. He knew what this meant. He grimaced as he remembered how the _last_ few vampire crimes had ended. Leon broke his silence quickly, however. He barely even took a breath as he swore fluently for nearly two minutes, drawing angry glances from everyone nearby.

He was so busy voicing his feelings that he didn't even notice the next person who walked up to his desk. Daley did, however, and put an abrupt end to Leon's tirade by kicking him in the shin. The other Inspector managed to get off a few more curses before glaring at Daley.

"WHAAAAT!" he shouted, making everyone jump. Daley sucked in his lips and gestured with his head in the direction of the other person at Leon's desk.

Leon turned, still quite angry, and intending to chew out whoever had interrupted him. He was rewarded with the sight of Priss Asagiri. The woman had a mocking smile on her face, and she was just shaking her head a little.

Leon was stunned. First and foremost, a woman had come to his desk. Secondly, she was beautiful. Thirdly, she was _Priss_, the woman he'd been chasing after for just over a year, now, despite the snubs.

And _she'd_ come to _him_, instead of the other way around, like usual. This combination deactivated Leon's brain for a moment, and he just sat there, his mouth hanging open, the words having died on his lips.

"Oops," Daley said, commenting on Leon's embarrassing situation.

"Great to see you can still drool, Leon," Priss said, looking at the still-frozen Inspector.

Priss's voice seemed to snap Leon out of his daze. "P...Priss? What are you doing here?"

"Get up," she said. "I'm taking you out."

Leon smiled, a touch of sadness coming onto his face. He was pretty sure of his feelings for Priss. Despite all the boomer-killing bravado and the studly image he'd put up, he had a soft spot for the woman in front of him. Nothing made him happier than seeing her happy. When she was in trouble, he would help, knowing it would be too much to expect anything in return. Above all, he wanted to keep her safe, even though he knew her reputation for getting into trouble. He wished he could be in her life, but she was never willing to let him in. He was fine with that arrangement; it was better than a lot of other ways things could have turned out.

But now she was coming out of nowhere, saying she was taking him out. She had to be putting one over him. But if she wasn't...

Leon smirked a little, fighting to keep his mouth from becoming a full-blown smile. He got to his feet.

"Right, right," he said. "I don't know what you did with the real Priss, but hell, you're cute. Let's go."

Priss's face hardened for a moment before she turned and started walking towards the exit. Leon took that as his cue to follow.

"Hey, Leon, what do I tell the chief?" Daley called out behind him.

"Tell 'im I'm on an important undercover assignment," Leon called out over his shoulder.

"You _wish_!" Priss called out from the hallway outside.

Leon just smiled as he walked out of the office, in the direction Priss had gone.

***

Priss had a grin on as she left the building, but it didn't mirror her emotions inside.

Linna had been kind enough to let her stay at her apartment overnight after that boomer had hunted her down. Unfortunately, the other woman hadn't left Priss alone, either. She'd made Priss retell what had happened. _Then_, she hadn't shut up about how nice Leon had been, to have taken her home and even offered to keep her company. Eventually, Priss had been on the couch, holding a pillow over her head to block out the sound. Linna had countered by putting one of her tapes of aerobics music into the stereo and turning the music up LOUD.

She'd finally let Priss get to sleep when Priss had promised to thank Leon. She was already beginning to wonder if it would've been better to go without sleep. Leon had caught up to her, and was walking quietly by her side. Alarms were going off in her head, about how he was getting ready to come onto her, _again_. Priss made herself feel annoyed by the thought. But, when she really thought about it, she couldn't see anything wrong with the man. She felt a blob of emotion lurking in her gut, and she pushed it down, not for the first time. I don't like Leon, I don't like Leon...she kept mentally repeating to herself.

"So what's this about?" Leon finally asked.

Priss grit her teeth a little, analyzing what he'd said to see if there was some kind of hidden meaning. Finding none, she decided she might as well answer.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

"Okay," Leon said, flipping his sunglasses onto his face. He said nothing else.

Priss glanced at him, turning her head a little. "You don't want to know where we're going?" she asked.

Leon shrugged. "Don't care," he said. "I'm fine right here. The company's good enough."

Priss looked the other way, hoping he wouldn't notice her blush a little. ^He's a cop,^ she thought. ^Don't get excited over a cop saying he likes being with you. It doesn't mean squat.^

"I'm..." she grit her teeth and took a breath. "I'm taking you out to lunch."

Leon nodded. "You're in luck. I got paid two days ago, so I think I can afford your appetite."

Priss clenched her fists. She tried to make herself angry, but she couldn't. She _had_ left him with the bill, that one time...

They quickly got to where they were going, a small restaurant not too far from the ADP headquarters. They took a table outside, to take in some of the late morning sunlight. Leon had a sandwich, and Priss had...pretty much everything else.

"Geez," Leon said, as the waiter took their menus, "next time just look at the menu and say, 'yes'. It'll save 'em a lot of time."

"I can take it," Priss said, glancing at him. "Even though I'm not a teenager anymore."

Leon winced. "Oh, yeah. Your birthday was a couple days ago, right?"

"Yes," she said, annoyed. "And how'd you know?"

"Oh, uh..." he said, stuttering a little. "I just pick stuff up. You know, at the workplace."

Priss jumped on the opportunity. "Stalking's a crime," she said, leaning forwards and crossing her hands in front of her face. "And you're the honored AD Police Inspector, too," she added on, smiling menacingly.

"Can I make it up to you?" Leon asked, a pleading look on his face. Priss just watched, continuing to smile. Leon kept his cool, though, removing his sunglasses and staring back. Priss quickly looked away after she realized they were staring deep into each others' eyes. She didn't think about Leon _that_ way! Or, at least, that was what she told herself...

"You can pay for this," she said, glancing back up at him.

"Damn," Leon said, looking out onto the street. "And I thought I could get out of it, too."

It was about then that the food arrived. Priss went on and on about how good it was, and how she hadn't looked at the prices, while Leon just stewed for a while, sullenly eating. Priss surprised him, however, by covering the bill. She offered no explanation, only that it was her treat.

"So what's this about?" Leon asked as they got up and headed back to the ADP building.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Priss said, surprising herself by saying it without hesitating.

Leon looked similarly surprised. "Well! I never thought I'd hear Priss Asagiri thank _me_ for helping _her_." He snickered a little, while Priss just kept walking, cursing Linna for making her do this.

"What was that you were being so loud about when I came in?" Priss asked, finally.

"What? Oh...yeah. Just the case they slapped me with this morning. Some major psycho is out there."

Priss rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and he's got a hundred buddies. Are you people ever going to do anything about that?" she asked, glaring at him, as though it were Leon's fault that so much human garbage was out there.

The man slowly turned his head to look at her. "I do more than most people," he said, quietly. Priss shut up, seeing how much Leon had been angered by her comment.

"Oh, yeah," Leon said, as though he had just thought of something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card Paul had given him earlier. He glanced at the card one last time before handing it to Priss.

"Brady, N. and Smith, L.," Priss said, reading the card out loud. "Cyberdroid repair." She looked up at Leon, interested and a little amused. "What's this supposed to mean?" she asked.

"I didn't forget," Leon said. "That's my birthday present to you."

"A card...how nice," Priss said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe I can use it to write down other guys' phone numbers."

They rounded a corner and started down the last block towards the ADP building. Leon grinned a little.

"Hey, trust me on this one, okay. Talking about the case I got this morning reminded me, anyway. I've checked these guys out. They only showed up a few weeks ago, but they are good."

"Yeah, so?"

"I mean _really_ good. They know every kind of boomer ever made, inside and out."

"I don't own a boomer, Leon. And I never will. You know that."

"They also specialize in reactivations."

"Huh?"

"They say almost any boomer that's been 'killed' can be brought back online, without much trouble."

"Well, damn, Leon," Priss began, as they started up the steps to the ADP building. "You just ruined my week. Now you're telling me we're going to have zombie boomers out there."

Leon smiled warmly at her. "Do me a favor," he said, quietly. "Next time you see your friend, tell her to stop driving battlemovers. The last one she was in kicked my ass."

At that, he turned and walked into the building, the glass doors sliding shut behind him.

Priss just stood there, stunned. Leon had just implied that he knew she'd fought the D.D. Battlemover, which meant he knew her _other_ job...but these thoughts were pushed out by a fragile hope she hadn't known for years. She looked at the card again.

"Maintenance, repairs, and...reactivations," she mumbled, reading another line from the card. "You can't be serious..."

They were pretty far away, but it was nothing Priss couldn't handle on her motorcycle, which she'd managed to retrieve yesterday.

She slipped the card into her pants pocket after looking at the address for a while. Resolve filled her face. Joke or not, she had to check this out.

"Please be there..." she said, under her breath, as she walked towards her bike. "Please help Sylvie..."

***

The office of Brady and Smith was a very new one. Just a couple of weeks ago, 'Doctor' Brady had bought a small suite in an old office building. A few days later, they'd opened for business, having sparsely furnished the three rooms with just enough furniture to appear respectable. It had cost them quite a lot, but business was already picking up. Ironically, since he knew so much about how a boomer would come apart, Nick knew how to put them back together, too.

Of course, that wasn't his only job. Nick would go out every couple of nights, in his old, hole-filled trench coat and carrying his weapons. He always came back the next morning, looking a little tired, but also very happy. That morning, he had come back with a little blood on his chin. It hadn't been his own blood. For an explanation, he'd only said that kids shouldn't play with big toys.

His two companions, both female, hadn't bothered pressing the matter. They'd known that to do so would only anger him, and if he ever did tell them what he'd done, they would probably wish they hadn't asked. In any case, it was these sojourns that paid most of the bills. It was a shaky arrangement, but it worked so far.

Both of these women were in the anteroom when Priss walked in. She took notice of them, noting one had short red-brown hair and a serious expression while the other had long, pale, blond hair and a more carefree air around her.

"This is Brady and Smith's offices?" Priss asked, quietly, as she stood in the doorway.

"You got it," the blond woman asked. "Come on in," she said, flashing a smile that showed off her perfect teeth.

Priss stepped inside and swallowed. This was a stupid idea. So they were here. So what? She probably couldn't afford it, whatever they charged. But if it meant Sylvie could come back...she kept pushing ahead, focusing on that thought, hoping against hope that she'd be able to swing this.

"Are you looking for anyone in particular?" the serious brunette behind the desk asked.

"Um...I'm new at this," Priss began, hesitantly.

"That's alright," the blond one said. She came up to Priss and extended her hand. Priss took it after a moment's hesitation and shook it.

"I'm Dr. Smith," the other woman said. "But you just call me Lou. Everyone else does."

Priss smiled despite herself. Something about this woman made it nice to be with her. She felt more comfortable already.

"I'm Priss Asagiri," she said, as she released the other woman's hand. Priss fully expected the woman to suddenly start jabbering away with questions, about if she was _the_ Priss, and oh she had all her recordings and blah blah blah. But, thankfully, Dr. Smith...Lou...was more controlled than she first appeared. The other woman just smiled warmly. Unknown to Priss, everyone else at the office had been expecting her to come here.

"So," Lou began. "any particular model you've got a question about?"

"Uh...yeah," Priss said, looking away from the other woman's eyes. This was the hard part : saying she wanted a 33-S boomer reactivated. 33-S's just happened to be the only boomer ever to be banned outright. These people would be completely within their rights to say no.

"She's a...33 series," Priss said, mentally kicking herself for not having the courage to add on the 'S'.

Lou nodded extravagantly, then glanced over at the woman behind the desk.

"Meg," she said. "Is Dr. Brady in?"

Meg shrugged, then got up and went to a door on the other side of the room. She peeked in for a moment, then looked back at Lou.

"Yup," she said. "You can go on in."

Lou started pushing Priss towards the doorway Meg had just looked into. "You'll need to talk to Dr. Brady about the 33 series. He's our local expert on the older models."

"Oh...okay," Priss said, letting herself be ushered in.

Lou leaned over and whispered into Priss's ear just as they reached the door. "Just as a warning, he's a little eccentric. But don't worry, he's very good." She smiled after this, causing Priss to smile back in empathetic response. Priss walked through the indicated doorway.

A man, obviously muscular even through the loose-fitting shirt he had on, was leaning back in a chair, looking out the window as he smoked a cigarette. Priss looked at the cigarette for a moment, a flicker of contempt going across her face. She had no problem with smokers; pretty much everyone on the band was addicted to one thing or another. But she'd never pictured a doctor, even a boomer doctor, casually smoking in his office. But, she kept going. This man might be Sylvie's only chance.

Other than the cigarette and the muscles, the doctor looked to be quite average. Priss thought she'd seen him from somewhere, but he looked so..._normal_ that she couldn't place him. Any one of a hundred people she'd seen could be this man. The only other distinguishing characteristic was the mirrored sunglasses that covered his eyes. Priss didn't understand why he was wearing them _inside_, but then again, Lou had said this man was eccentric.

He turned to look at her, cocking an eyebrow as he took her in.

"Yes?" he asked, in an annoyed voice.

"I'm here to see you about getting a boomer fixed," Priss said, hesitating a little on the word, 'boomer'. Sylvie was a _person_, not just a machine. Or, at least, she hoped so.

"Oh, happy day. Is that supposed to impress me? Sit down," he said, gesturing roughly to a chair. Priss moved in and slowly took the seat, trying not to get angry at being treated like this. She glanced at his shielded eyes as she sat down, a move the man noticed.

"You got a problem with these?" he said, tapping the shades. "I got sensitive eyes, okay? Light hurts them."

Priss drew back a little at the outburst, then nodded, her mind too cluttered by thoughts of her dead friend to let her react.

The man took a draw on his cigarette, leisurely blowing smoke into the already-hazy air before looking back at her.

"Well, I'm guessing you know my name. I'm Doctor Nick Brady," he said, extending one hand towards her. Priss took the hand and shook it, noticing that the man wore leather gloves. She didn't bother to ask why.

"So, what's the problem?" he asked, his voice sounding as though he couldn't possibly care less.

"Well..." Priss said, looking at the floor. "I knew a boomer that was...free," she said, remembering Sylvie's last words. The man looked at her skeptically when she said, 'free', but Priss kept going.

"And, well, now she's dead."

"Fine, that can be remedied," Nick said, casually.

Priss nodded approvingly. "Yeah, I heard you could fix her."

"It's possible. All boomers are machines, computers guiding cybernetic bodies. Although their intelligences may go off-line, that means very little, provided the hardware is still intact. All I gotta do is fix what's wrong, and hit the 'on' switch, simple as that." He leaned forwards, his face concerned for a moment. "Did this boomer suffer trauma to its brain?"

Priss shook her head. "No. And the boomer was a woman, so stop saying 'it'."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Nick said, waving his hand to dismiss the comment. "That's good. If the brain's intact, I can fix it. What model?"

"She's from the 33 series."

Nick gestured for her to continue. "Yeah...that covers about five different model lines. Which type of 33?"

Priss bit her lip. "She was a 33-S," she said finally.

Nick just looked at her for a moment. Priss began to get edgy, silently berating herself for having come here. Sylvie was dead, and she was going to stay dead; no one would fix a banned boomer.

"Cool," Nick said, smiling a little. Priss felt hope starting to flow back into her. She began to smile back, noticing for the first time how comforting the man's voice was, despite his attitude. She began to feel more assured.

"Now, off the record, you know those boomers are illegal," Nick said, still smiling. Priss nodded. "But," he said, continuing, "I _like_ working on those babies. Tell you what, bring 'er in, and I'll have a look."

Priss didn't bother to ask just why he liked working on 33-S's. He was a man; she could guess why he would want to work on a sexaroid.

"Really?" she asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"Yeah. You bring 'er in, and I'll look at 'er for a nominal fee."

That shocked Priss back to reality. "How much is is going to cost me? You know, to...bring her back."

Nick shrugged, then took a draw on his cigarette. "Can't say 'til I have a look," he said, bringing the almost-gone cigarette down from his lips. He got up and turned to look out the window. "Show her to me," he said, "and I'll see what I can do. Then I'll give you a price."

"Right," Priss said, getting up. "When can I...you know...show her to you?"

Nick turned around quickly. "You free now?" he asked.

Priss drew back. "I can't do it _now_. Can I call you later on?"

"Yeah, fine," he said, turning back towards the window. "Number's on the card," he said, jerking his thumb at a small stack of business cards identical to the one Leon had given Priss. "Anything else?" he asked.

Priss thought for a moment. "There's another boomer, the same model, that I'd like you to look at."

"She offline, too?" he asked without looking at her.

Priss nodded.

"Damn, you can go through 'em fast. Okay, whatever. You get 'em out of cold storage, or wherever, and call me up. I'm here from nine to seventeen hundred every day."

Priss turned and opened the door and walked out solemnly, mumbling that she would need to think about it. Her mind was filled with thoughts of her two friends, and the faint possibility that they could be helped. Now she just had to find a way to pay the price. But it was just money...she could handle that, somehow.

She was quickly out of the office. Just a few seconds after the door had closed behind her, both Meg and Lou ran into Nick's office, both of them looking expectant, and very worried. Nick pretended to ignore them, casually lighting a new cigarette with the butt of the old one before even glancing in their direction. Neither of the women said anything; they preferred not to get on this man's bad side.

"We got 'er," Nick said after a moment, unable to keep from smiling.

Smiles broke out onto Meg and Lou's faces, too. "Alright!" Lou shouted at the top of her lungs, jumping into the air. She came down and grabbed Meg into a tight hug, lifting her friend off the ground. Meg returned the hug as best she could, as both women laughed out loud.

After they released, Meg turned to see Nick pretending to gag. He immediately stopped once she looked at him, and he returned the stare.

"Finished?" he asked, annoyed.

Lou just threw up her hands and walked out, going to her office to get a drink. Meg kept looking at Nick.

"You aren't happy?" she finally asked him.

Nick shrugged. "You've known me a while, and you know I'm different. Whoopee, one more sexaroid, two if Anna-Anri-whoever's in good condition."

Meg threw him a sideways glance. "Then why'd you smile when you said we found her?"

Nick looked away, embarrassed. "I...okay, I am happy, a _little_. Though I can't understand why. I would never enjoy hearing something like this before I was free."

Meg nodded, turning to leave. "That's the thing about being free. You have to think for yourself." She closed the door behind her.

Nick looked at the door, where she'd been. He cursed to himself, wondering what was wrong with him. He shouldn't be feeling like this, but he was. Oh, well. Why resent being happy?

He shook his head clear and took a key out of his pocket. He unlocked one of his desk drawers and brought out a file folder marked "current jobs." He cracked it open and went through the few papers inside. Each paper had a brief description of a task, and at the bottom was a number : the payoff for doing the job. After a minute, he picked one that looked promising. All he had to do was stop a boomer that was causing trouble in a downtown neighborhood.

He glanced towards the closet, where he kept his few belongings, namely his weapons and his trench coat, along with the black sunglasses he preferred, instead of these stupid mirrored ones. On the upside, at least Ms. Asagiri hadn't recognized him. Apparently, he'd changed his appearance enough to throw her off course.

But that didn't matter. He was happy, which meant tonight, he was going to _party_. 33-S-H style.

***

Priss plummeted from her motoroid's explosive death, in a jet-assisted fall. It would have been invigorating, if the conditions had been different. As it was, she'd isolated her brain from emotions, knowing they would only hurt her.

Her visor had been shattered moments ago, but otherwise the hardsuit was still working. In the absence of the usual viewscreen, she got an unrestricted view she arced down towards the red-and-grey mass of metal - and flesh - in front of her.

"SYLVIE!" she called out, one last time, as she heard her targeting system lock on. Almost as though it had a mind of its own, her hand pulled the trigger.

The railgun discharged. She watched the deadly projectile streak towards her friend, as time seemed to slow down. She wanted to close her eyes, but they wouldn't obey. She watched helplessly as the glowing needle sank into Sylvie's chest, tunneling through her almost-human body as though it were only so much paper.

Sylvie spasmed, jerked back by the hit, and then bouncing forwards as she rebounded off the padding of the Battlemover's cockpit. The D.D., realizing it was dead, grudgingly released its pilot. The interface cables retracted from Sylvie's body. She fell out, tears streaming from her eyes.

Somehow, Priss landed. She focused her attention entirely on Sylvie, as her hands unconsciously ripped off her helmet, and her legs carried her towards the dead battle machine. She got there just in time to catch Sylvie's falling body. She lowered her friend to the ground, knowing there wasn't much time left.

"Sylvie...I can't believe it's you."

Sylvie slowly opened her eyes and spoke, using the last of her breath. She said to get these plans to a girl at her apartment. Priss listened, tears in her eyes, knowing that these were Sylvie's last words.

"I wanted to be free...like you..."

Then Sylvie closed her eyes, as her body finally died.

Priss did not move from that spot for a long time. She held her friend, wishing that she would wake up, and knowing that she wouldn't.

"All right, step aside, Anri! You too have now served your purpose. Playtime is over."

The maniac Largo swung his hand casually through the air. Priss could see the ripple as some kind of massive energy wave built up. It came towards her. She almost felt thankful. She didn't deserve to live, not after killing Sylvie.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over Priss's face. Someone had stepped in front of her...

Priss's blood froze as she heard Anri scream. Blood sprayed from the sexaroid's broken body as she was blown back. She had absorbed the entire hit; Priss felt nothing of the presumably powerful weapon Largo had used.

^_NO!!!!!_^ she thought. She'd had hoped that maybe her hardsuit could handle the blow, by some miracle. But Anri, totally unarmored...

"Anri..." she whispered. Suddenly, the world seemed to disappear. Priss forgot her many injuries, not the least of which was the deep knife wound in her gut. That was the one Anri had inflicted on her...

The girl fell into her arms, much like Sylvie had. Priss looked her over, trying to look to see where she was hurt. Maybe she could live...

Priss asked why Anri had done it, why she was _here_, with Largo, of all people. The girl answered as best she could, the words coming weakly.

"Priss...thank you..." she finally said.

Priss held her, praying to whatever God might be up there that Anri would live.

No one listened.

Anri's body went limp as it finally gave up the ghost.

"You little idiot!" Priss screamed out. "If you die, what will Sylvie have died for?"

Then Largo was talking, saying something about Anri just being a machine. Priss listened with half an ear as she held the dead body in her arms.

Priss knew she should feel unbearable remorse. It was there, all right, partly because she'd betrayed Sylvie in failing to protect Anri, and also because she'd had to watch someone else she'd cared about die.

But the remorse wasn't overpowering, this time. No, it was being shouldered aside by a burning fury stronger than anything Priss had felt before.

"You BASTARD!" she yelled, spinning around and firing...

Priss woke up with a start. She sat up on her couch, the blanket falling off of her. She was breathing hard.

The nightmares were back. After Anri had died, Priss had been unable to sleep the whole night for weeks. Images kept coming back to her, the most prevalent being of the D.D. Battlemover opening its cockpit, to show her friend attached to its insides. Not far behind was the vision of Anri lying on the floor after having thrown herself in front of Priss.

The only thing she'd been able to do for Anri is pray that she wouldn't die...

And she'd been able to do even less for Sylvie.

Both...women, yes, that was what they were, not machines...both of them had died in her arms. Priss had managed to forget them by just adding them onto the lengthy list of people close to her who had died. If they were just names, they couldn't hurt her...

But now, this man had dredged up the images she'd tried so hard to forget.

But if what he said was true...

Priss got off the couch, and flipped on the light switch. It looked like it was going to be a _long_ night. Pulling on some pants and getting a beer out of her refrigerator, she sat back down on the couch, trying not to trip on all the garbage that seemed to spontaneously collect on her trailer floor.

Priss drank in silence, thinking hard.

She'd seen Sylvie and Anri both as close friends, Sylvie especially. Even discovering that they were boomers didn't change that opinion. Priss had thought that meant she'd been able to see through it, to the person underneath the machine. But, no...it had just been that their personalities had been too human for them to be machines. She'd seen them as humans, and that was how she'd wanted to remember them.

But this man said he could bring them back.

The only problem with that was that doing so would mean admitting that Sylvie and Anri were actually just intelligent machines. 'Hit the 'on' switch'. He'd passed it off so casually! Didn't he see that they were also good people? People who had been among Priss's closest friends?

^Would you rather have two dead humans or two living boomers,^ was what it came down to.

She thought about it for a long time, quietly drinking her beer. Finally, Priss's head sagged as she crushed the empty beer can in her fist. Tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. She missed them so much...but did she want to admit they were boomers?

She made her decision on the spot. She picked up her phone, and dialed Silia's number. Oddly enough, even though it was 3 AM, the phone was picked up before the first ring was done.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Silia? Did I wake you up?"

"Good evening, Priss. No, I was awake, finishing some business. What is this about?"

Priss's teeth clenched. Silia had a habit of getting straight to the point whenever it mattered. Sometimes, she wondered if she was just a tool for the woman on the other end, a walking gun in her battle against GENOM. But that didn't matter right now. For one of the few times in her life, Priss swallowed her pride. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed Silia's help now.

"Silia, you remember that emergency fund you keep stashed away?"

"Yes."

"Um...I might need to use it in a few days. Is there any way you can let me do that?"

"Well, I'm sure something can be arranged. What's the occasion?"

"I...it's a little silly, I guess, but there's this man who can repair boomers..."

There was silence on the other end.

"And I might need his help in a little while," Priss said as she rushed to finish.

There was a long pause. Priss could hear papers rustling and computer keys tapping on the other end. Finally, she heard the other woman's voice.

"Is this the Brady and Smith firm?" Silia asked.

"Yes," Priss answered immediately. "How'd you know?"

"I keep up on these things," Silia said, just a hint of laughter in her voice. "And they're the only firm that will go to the trouble of reactivating an offline cyberdroid. It's a very interesting prospect. Priss..."

"Yes?"

"You _do_ know the 33-S has been banned?"

Priss sucked in a breath. How did Silia _do_ that? Somehow, she seemed to know what everyone else was thinking. It was helpful in combat situations, but it was pretty damn annoying everywhere else.

"Yeah, so?" Priss said. She could have sworn she heard Silia's rare laugh on the other end before she heard the response.

"Nothing," Silia said. "Sure, I'll give you access to the funds, supposing you need them."

Priss smiled despite herself. "Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome. Now get some sleep."

"Right, right. See ya, Silia."

"Goodnight."

Priss hung up the phone. She was about to try going to sleep, as Silia had asked, but suddenly got second thoughts. Why did she have to do what Silia told her to? She was a big girl, now. And she felt too wired to sleep.

Shrugging, she got up and got dressed into her biking leathers. Nothing like a late-night ride to spend pent-up energy.

***

Almost two hours later, Priss pulled to a stop near the Aqua City ruins. She removed her helmet and shook her sweaty hair loose, smiling from ear to ear. Riding her bike was her one great pastime, and she reveled in it. Of course, singing and smashing boomers was fun, too, but those were her jobs. There was something different about riding just for the sake of riding.

She took a moment to look out over the sea, which glistened in the moonlight. She could still remember that one night when Aqua City had gone down. That had been the night Leon had saved her life...

She blinked, flinching a little. Why had she thought of Leon? All the man did was piss her off while groveling for dates. He was worthless.

But...when he dropped all the lady-killing attitude he tried to project, he was...different. Like when he'd come to her at Aqua City. Why had Priss stayed behind, after everyone had left? She'd thought it was just to watch the city sink, but...she'd wanted to see the man who'd come to her rescue, to thank him, as hard as that had been.

Priss looked down at the cement, remembering the night she'd tried to save Anri. Leon, beaten and battered, was still trying to get up, to try and stop her from going to fight Largo. He'd said that he didn't want to see her hurt. And, for a brief moment, Priss could see in his eyes that that was what he really felt for her. How long had he felt like that? And how long had Priss been looking for a man who felt that way about her?

It was almost enough to make her start berating herself for having been so mean to Leon this past year. But fate stepped in to prevent this event.

Priss looked up when she heard a series of crashes, followed by the inhuman howl of a boomer. It sounded like it wasn't too far away. Never one to miss out on action, Priss slammed her helmet back on and powered up her motorcycle, roaring off down the street towards the origin of the noise.

She stopped in the middle of the street when she saw movement, along with a glint of metal, near the mouth of an alley. She stepped off the bike and quietly removed her helmet. She walked, hunched over, to the side of the road, meanwhile reaching to the small of her back and pulling out the two pieces of her anti-boomer bolt gun. Assembling the weapon, she started moving towards the alley, only to freeze a moment later.

Two dark shapes came tumbling out of the alley, one chasing the other. The first one was very clearly a boomer, from the way its body shone in the pale light from the few working street lamps. The second shape, the one giving chase, looked vaguely human, although it was hard to tell in the poor light. It also looked like it was wearing some kind of long coat...

The man-shape caught up to the boomer without much effort. He grabbed the machine and spun it around to face him. The boomer held up its arms defensively, but the man-shape ducked low and kicked at its knees. Priss's eyes expanded when she saw the boomer's leg break under the force of the blow. It was said that some martial-arts masters could break steel with their hands, but to do _that_ to a boomer usually meant you had to be strong. Stronger than any human could possibly be. Priss didn't move in yet, her well-honed survival instinct telling her to stay back a moment longer.

The boomer reached down to try and grab its attacker. The man-shape ducked out of the way and delivered a stiff-arm to the boomer's jaw, snapping the thing's head back with the force of the blow. Priss thought she could hear metal groaning in protest. Then the boomer jerked in surprise, and froze. A glint of silvery metal the man-shape was clutching was buried in the machine's gut. A half-second later, the shining blade was dragged vertically upwards through the boomer, dragging out what had to be half of its innards. The man-shape pulled the blade out just as it came to the top of the boomer's chest, and then spun around in a wickedly fast move, his weapon a streak of reflected light.

In less than a heartbeat, the blade had passed through the boomer's metal neck as though it were butter. The machine's head fell off of its already-dead body, which slumped to the ground. Priss drew back imperceptibly, checking her gun at the same time.

Before the boomer could even hit the ground, the man whirled towards Priss, and four loud gun discharges rang out. Priss ducked, reflexively moving to the side as high-powered rounds tore into the concrete at her feet and into the wall she'd been near. The man had reacted as though he had always known she was here! How was that possible?

Priss didn't care. She leveled her gun at the shape and fired the three-round clip, backing towards her bike as she did so. She doubted she'd be able to hit in the dark at this range, but it might still work.

The man-shape was unfazed. Priss ducked as she saw its arm come up. Two more reports from the other gun sounded in the night, whizzing past Priss and into their intended target : her motorcycle.

The bullets shed their superheated chemical coatings as they penetrated the bike's thin metal. As soon as they'd done so, the exposed explosives within the bullets detonated, setting off pretty much every flammable fluid in the racing machine. The bike exploded into a huge fireball.

Priss was pushed forwards by the shockwave and deafeaned by the noise. She rolled awkwardly on the ground as she hit. Her first action was to stand up and look back at the flaming wreckage of her bike, while trying to ignore the ringing in her ears. Her second action was to get really pissed. Her third, well...her attacker didn't give her time for a third action.

Priss saw a black blur strike her right forearm, and cried out as she felt the bones break. Her now-useless hand dropped her gun, her only weapon. Before the pain could even fully register, she felt a fist in her gut, pushing out all her air. Gasping for breath, she was unable to dodge the third blow, which was an elbow to her forehead. Priss felt bones crack, but felt no pain, as blackness closed in and consciousness left her.

The man-shape watched as she collapsed to the ground. Then it slowly crouched down and carefully lifted up Priss's left arm. It placed two fingers - which were covered by a leather glove - gingerly onto her wrist. After detecting a strong pulse, the shape got back to its feet and started walking, leaving the ruined boomer where it had fallen. As the shape moved under a dark street lamp, a circuit in the city's power supply suddenly decided to work. The lamp activated, flickering for a moment and revealing the face of Nicholas Brady, trench coat and all.

Nick reached into his pocket and fished out a cellular phone. Flipping it open, he dialed a number he called many times while on these missions.

"Meg?" he asked. "Yeah, job's done. I'll get the payoff, then come back. What's the story with the ADP?...Right...OK, I'll go south then. Damn, I'm gonna get delayed....Yeah, whatever." He hung up.

Turning south, Nick walked away into the night, grinning. It always felt good to do this sort of thing. Why not do it for money?

He fingered the fresh hole in his trench coat, in his chest, as though just noticing it for the first time. It was mirrored by another hole in the back of the coat. In her wild salvo, Priss had actually managed to hit him. A little blood was coming out of both holes, but the flow was already stopping as his body rerouted blood flow to get around the damage.

Nick mentally kicked himself : he'd been so distracted trying to figure out out to non-lethally stop Priss that he hadn't seen the bullet coming. He was in no pain; he looked more annoyed than anything else.

"Bitch..." he whispered to himself, as he kept walking, away from the approaching sirens.

***

A few hours later, Leon McNichol was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital emergency room. He was alone, with the exception of one smartly dressed woman, sitting quietly in a chair on the other side of the room, and reading a thick book. Leon was looking through a few Poloaroid pictures, but his heart wasn't really in it. He was tired, hungry, and worried about Priss.

He'd picked up the emergency call, hearing about some kind of explosion near the ruins of Aqua City. He and Daley had driven over there, to find a destroyed boomer, a _really_ destroyed racing bike, and an unconscious Priss. Daley had taken pictures while Leon had called for an ambulance and checked to make sure Priss was still breathing. When he'd found out she was still quite alive, he'd taken a moment to look around the crime scene.

Whoever had been the perpetrator, he had to be the same guy from earlier, whom Leon was assigned to catch. First, there were no signs that hardsuits had been used, and yet the boomer was destroyed, all the same. Second, the boomer had been decapitated, just like the other one. Finally, there was the extreme violence; eviscerating _and_ beheading a boomer seemed a little excessive.

And now, here he was, sitting in a waiting room and not even knowing why, looking at pictures of the crime scene he'd just been to. There were times when Leon just could not understand why he'd wanted to join the ADP.

This depressing thought was interrupted as Daley came back, carrying two cups of coffee. The woman reading the book glanced at him, only moving her eyes to do so, then went back to reading.

"Here you go, sunshine," he said, giving Leon one of the cups. Leon took it with a grunt and drank off half of it with one gulp. He knew he must look terrible; he didn't really feel tired, but nervousness had driven him to the edge.

"Any change?" Daley asked quietly, sitting down in a chair opposite Leon's.

Leon shook his head. "No. What's the story from home base?"

Daley took a breath, composing his thoughts. He glanced over at the woman reading, then lowered the volume of his voice. "Looks like some kind of gunfight. Crime scene guys found two different kinds of bullets there. First kind goes in that gun Ms. Asagiri had. Second kind is a high-caliber HEAP round."

Leon gave a low whistle. High Explosive Armor Piercing rounds were military technology. They were very expensive, and illegal as hell. But they were impossible to trace, and packed a punch that could stop an armored trooper or a boomer with one shot.

"This guy's serious, then," Leon said, voicing his thoughts. "Better find him before he hurts...someone else." He looked towards the door to the emergency room, which remained closed.

Daley nodded. "Yeah, but I got good news...I guess," he said, his voice going back up to normal volume.

"What is it?"

"Turns out this guy's not a psycho. He's a mercenary." The woman with the book glanced at him again.

"What?" Leon asked.

"It's true. We just found out these last two hits were ordered by interested parties who could pay the price. And you're right, he _is_ serious."

Leon rubbed at his eyes before taking another drink of coffee. "So he's a merc. Great, good for him. But I still gotta bring him in."

"Leon, it's not our problem. We've already been taken off the case, buddy. If he's a mercenary, then it's legal for him to do this. Odds are he has all the papers -"

Leon felt himself snap. He got up and slowly approached Daley.

"Listen, _buddy_," he said, sarcastically, "I don't give a crap if he's the president of goddamn GENOM. The only way he could do _that_ to a boomer is if he's a boomer himself. That means it _is_ our problem, and I'm bringing the sonofabitch in, whether he's got the damn papers or not." By this time, Leon was standing right next to Daley, who was still sitting down. He stared coldly at his partner.

Daley held up his hands. "Leon, you've had a tough night. Sorry your girlfriend got hurt, but -"

"Shut UP." Leon said, flatly. He cringed inwardly at the word, 'girlfriend'. He knew Priss didn't deserve that title. And she probably never would. And yet, here he was, waiting for her to wake up from the painkillers they'd given her.

"I really don't care how much shit the brass is going to throw at me. This guy is going _down_," he said, leaning on the arm of Daley's chair as he did so. The other man looked like he wanted to draw back, but he didn't.

Daley just nodded. "Okay, Leon. Go ahead. Just be careful."

Leon just grunted and got up, going back over to his chair. He chugged down the rest of his coffee in one shot. He looked at his watch.

"Let's go," he said, throwing up his hands.

Daley got to his feet and grabbed his jacket off the chair. "You sure?" he asked. "You seemed like you wanted to stay here until she woke up."

"To hell with her," Leon said angrily, waving broadly in the general direction of the door that remained closed.

Daley looked at him, saying with his eyes, 'you don't really mean that.' Leon ignored him, instead turning on his heel and walking out the door. Daley followed soon after.

The woman, now alone, kept reading, her face cold and emotionless. Every once in a while, she would turn a page in her book, or reach up to scratch at a minor itch on her face. She'd gotten through two more chapters by the time the door from the emergency room opened. She didn't look at who walked through, instead preferring to finish the paragraph she was reading.

Priss walked in, her arm casted and hanging in a sling. Bandages were wrapped tightly around her forehead, and her hair had been pushed haphazardly down in a futile effort to cover the bandages. Her jaw was clenched in concentration, and she seemed to have trouble keeping her balance. As she stumbled in, she glanced at the other woman.

"Silia..." she growled out, in greeting.

The other woman closed her book and quietly set it into a bag she'd brought. After taking a moment to straighten out her short blue hair, she stood up and faced the beat-up Priss.

"I'm not going to ask questions...yet," she said. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"OK," Priss said, taking a few hesitant steps. She stopped and glanced around the empty waiting room, as though looking for someone.

"Jerk..." she mumbled out, before continuing towards the door. Silia came up to her and looped her arm under Priss's armpits, helping her keep her balance. Together, they managed to get to Silia's Mercedes.

A silent car trip later, Silia managed to get Priss to her trailer's door, where the injured woman shook off any other attempts at help, preferring to get inside on her own. Silia let her get in, saying that she would expect a full explanation in the morning. Priss nodded before closing and locking the metal door.

***

Meg woke up with a groan as the sunlight from the window hit her face. She didn't like having to get up this early, but at least the window kept her from needing an alarm clock.

She glanced over at the other bed, noting that Lou was already up. The other woman was definitely a better morning person. She just seemed to have more energy all the time, actually. Mentally shrugging at this thought, Meg sat up and threw the covers off of her, shivering as the cold air hit her bare legs. Sleeping in only an undershirt and panties meant the morning never failed to give her a chill.

Getting out of bed, she padded out the door and across the apartment's small living room. She paused as something caught her eye. Slung over the back of the couch was Nick's trench coat, worn and in dire need of mending. On one of the cushions was his demi-sword. The blade was just the right length to be concealed in an inverted scabbard behind his back, and not interfere with his shoulder blades. As such, it was too long to be a knife, and too short to be a full-fledged sword. Most of the blade was a shining alloy, with a monomolecular edge made of an ultra-hard metal that would cut through just about anything. Down near the diminuitive handguard were a set of very sharp prongs, angled so that the weapon could be thrust into a target without difficulty, but could not be removed without causing major damage. It was Nick's preferred weapon when he didn't think he was in any real danger.

On the floor next to the couch was a piece of Nick's gun. It appeared to be the brass catcher. Six empty shell casings lay on the floor, having been emptied out of the catcher. So Nick had had to fire his gun last night...he usually thought that meant he was being sloppy, if he needed to use the weapon. What could have prompted him to waste some of his precious, expensive ammunition...

These thoughts were interrupted by a shriek from the bathroom. Meg took a few steps towards the bathroom door, to see what was the matter, listening as she heard two voices from behind the door. A moment later, the door flew open, and Lou strode out, clutching a towel around herself. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes smoldered.

"What is it?" Meg asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

"Nothing, nothing," Lou responded angrily, waving through the air with one hand as her other hand held the towel in place. "Just never talk to that _man_ about his habits!"

"What happened?" Meg asked, leaning back to get the cricks out of her spine.

Lou took a seat on the couch, edging away from the trench coat. "I just walked in, and he was taking a shower, so I was going to ask when he'd be done, and all of a sudden this _gun_ comes out from the curtain, aimed right at me!"

"I guess you surprised him," Meg said, just a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Yeah, right," Lou said, pouting angrily. "Well, after I got my _voice_ back, I asked him how often he keeps a gun in the shower. And you know what he said?"

"What?"

"He said, 'only as often as you masturbate in the shower.' What a jerk!"

Meg tried not to roll her eyes, a habit she'd picked up off of Nick. Being a sexaroid herself, she could take a few good guesses about Lou's showering habits. And Nick always appeared tuned in to everything, so odds were he knew what he'd said was the same as saying 'always.'

The quiet hiss of the shower died off a few minutes later, and soon after Nick came out, a towel wrapped around his waist and his sunglasses over his eyes. He whistled quietly to himself as he walked over to the closet to pick out clothes.

Most women would have been quite embarrassed to have been clothed as Meg and Lou were when Nick walked in with just a towel between him and indecency. But both women knew Nick was happily asexual, just like the rest of his kind. Falling in love was something he couldn't have afforded in his former line of work, and he seemed content to stay the way he was.

Lou got up almost as soon as Nick had walked in and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Meg was sure her friend would feel better after showering, though.

Nick pulled on a pair of pants while the closet door hid his form. He came into the living room, the towel hanging on his muscular upper body. Then, snapping his fingers as though he'd forgotten something, he went over to the bathroom and stepped inside. A moment later, Meg jumped as she heard him say, "HA! See, I was right!", followed soon after by another shriek from Lou. Meg put one hand over her eyes at this. Maybe the other woman _wouldn't_ be feeling better after a shower...

Nick came out, sans the towel, and carrying his gun. He chucked it casually onto the couch as he went to go find a shirt. Meg noticed his wound immediately; a not-so-small hole in the right side of his chest, which was mirrored by another hole in his back.

"What happened?" she asked, concerned.

Nick held up one finger, asking her to wait as he disappeared into the bedroom to look for his clothes.

Meg sighed at being blown off, and not for the first time, either. She looked at Nick's gun, which had landed near her. It was a massive assault pistol, an imposing presence even when no one was holding it. It was also one of the smallest weapons in world that could safely use HEAP rounds. Meg still thought that ammo represented a lot of overkill, but she'd stopped bothering Nick about it after he'd made it clear that the gun and its ammo was what he liked using. When he came back, buttoning up a dress shirt that just barely fit over his massive physique, Meg looked up.

"Tough night?" she asked.

Nick just shrugged, walking over to the couch and picking up the pieces of his gun. His hands reassembled the weapon even though he wasn't looking at it; they seemed to have a mind of their own.

"Not really. I'm just a little jumpy this morning, and it sounded like she was trying to sneak up on me. Anyway, the job went pretty well, though the boomer tried to run away. So we got our rent money for this month," he said, nodding to himself. After a moment, he spoke up again, sounding thoughtful. "Ran into a hitch when I saw Ms. Asagiri."

"What?" Meg asked, getting to her feet.

"She was watching me. Couldn't afford to have her try following, so I subdued her."

"She's..."

"No, I checked. She's still alive. She's damn lucky I recognized her so quickly, though, or she'd be all over the street. She shot me, by the way, with some high-caliber AP round that went right through me. So now, I got to go repair myself when we get in. But yes, she can still bring your precious friends in to get helped."

Meg nodded a little, then looked at him questioningly. "You know, you seemed pretty excited about repairing Sylvie."

"Whatever," Nick said, using his usual dodge to these questions. He set the gun down on the kitchen counter and looked around. "No one made breakfast?" he asked.

"We're just getting up," Meg groaned out. "Give us a break."

"'Roids," Nick said to himself, sitting down again. "I'll never understand you 'roids."

Meg ignored him. Seeing that Lou was taking her time getting out of the shower, she decided to satisfy her own gurgling stomach, and got up to make breakfast. Nick stretched out on the couch and was instantly asleep. Meg glanced at him, still amazed that the man could turn sleep on and off like a toggle switch. He never seemed to really feel tired, but he he spent almost all his free time sleeping, which probably explained it.

Lou was out of the shower by the time Meg was done getting breakfast ready. Nick had ham and eggs, true to his American heritage. Just simple tea for the women, along with some quick noodles.

There were also a pair of small hexagonal orange pills both Meg and Lou took regularly to repress their supercharged 33-S sex drives. It was something Nick had cooked up. 'So I can get some sleep at night,' was his reason. Both women were grateful, nonetheless. Nick had his own set of urges, however, which he couldn't take a pill to surpress. He had become a mercenary, instead.

Meg dumped Nick's breakfast onto a plate and left it out, then turned to get dressed. Nick was awake again by the time the two women were back, and he was shoveling his food into his mouth with his fingers. That was something else Meg had noticed : how Nick seemed to lack a lot of abilities most humans would take for granted, like how to use eating utensils, or how to drive a car. This problem of his became annoying from time to time for the two women. It took him days to learn almost anything new. Of course, he could learn much faster by interfacing with things, but he never remembered anything he learned that way.

After a quiet breakfast, the three got up to leave. Nick slid his gun into a duffel bag, along with his demi-sword, covered in its sheath. Finally, he grabbed his trench coat and stuffed that into the bag. It was how he always carried his gear when he wasn't fighting. At the office, he would leave the duffel bag in his closet. Although Meg and Lou didn't want to admit it, it was kind of comforting knowing that one of them was armed and ready in case some danger decided to visit them at work. So far, Nick had lived up to his part of the bargain, the part about protecting them from anyone trying to hunt them down.

Lou drove their small car to the office, where they got set up for the day. Nick walked down a short hallway towards the operating room, already unbuttoning his shirt to have another look at his wound. Lou went into her own office and started doing some paperwork. Meg sat behind her desk, ready to assume her secretarial duties for the day.

Meg glanced in the direction of the operating room, wondering if Nick would need help repairing himself. Probably not, and even if he did, he wasn't going to admit it. She'd seen the man repair much worse damage, anyway, so she was sure he'd be able to do it again. Her main thoughts were focused on how Priss had come out of her little encounter with Nick.

***

At about the time Meg was pulling herself out of bed, Silia Stingray was sitting in her living room, sipping from her tea and reading her newspaper. Her normal morning grogginess had passed a little while ago, and now she was easing into the day. Checking her watch, she wondered when Priss would be stopping by. The woman usually slept in, but last night had not been a normal night. Although things like that did seem to happen to Priss a lot. At least she didn't have any lasting injuries. They'd given her the best treatment available, at Silia's request. Priss wouldn't be wearing casts for weeks. She would be fully healed and probably sawing the casts off herself in just over one week.

A groan from the couch signaled Mackie's return to consciousness. He sat up and rolled onto his feet, running one hand through his hair and scratching at an itch on his chest.

"Hey, sis," he slurred out, as he stumbled towards the bathroom.

Silia smiled to herself as she glanced over towards the kitchen, where the tea kettle was still mostly full. Mackie sounded like he would need more caffeine than usual this morning. He never got much sleep when he had to stay on the couch.

A few bumping noises from Mackie's bedroom made Silia look up for a moment. There was the reason her brother was sleeping on the couch, instead of his bed. At least their visitor was a fairly good morning person.

The door to the bedroom opened and Nene walked in, her long red hair in total disarray. She seemed quite awake, however, and was dressed for the day, having showered last night.

"Good morning!" she declared, as she strode into the room.

"Good morning, Nene," Silia said, glancing up at the girl. Nene walked over to the kitchen and started rushing around, getting her breakfast ready. Leave it to her to go straight for the food.

"Where's Mackie?" Nene asked, her bright mood seeming to spread to the rest of the room.

"He's in the bathroom," Silia said. "He just got up."

"Oh...alright, then. What do you think he'll want?"

Silia smiled again. "I don't know. Just wait a minute, Nene."

"Okay, okay..."

Silia went back to reading her newspaper, taking another sip of tea. A while ago, Nene's apartment building had been damaged in a boomer rampage. The city had decided to tear the old building down rather than conduct repairs, leaving all the tenants to search for other homes. Mackie had surprised everyone by offering to let Nene stay in his room until she found a new apartment. Of course, that meant the boy had to find a new place to sleep, but he didn't seem to mind.

Silia knew Mackie and Nene had been getting close, recently. Ever since he'd come to Nene's rescue during the hostile occupation of the ADP, and subsequently volunteered to stay behind and help her fight the last boomer, the young redhead had become very interested in Silia's brother. Silia knew Mackie had a thing for Nene, as well; he'd practically _dragged_ them to the ADP when he'd heard Nene was in trouble. The two youths had started dating, originally just once every few weeks, but then moving up to a weekly basis, and now this. Silia hoped it worked out for them. She also hoped it wouldn't interfere with Knight Saber business, but that would probably be too much to expect.

Nene came back from the kitchen, carrying a glass of orange juice and one of the pastries she'd picked up yesterday. Smiling brightly at Silia, she sat down and started eating her breakfast, taking her time because she wasn't on the morning shift today.

"So where'd you go last night, Silia?" the girl asked.

Silia folded her paper and set it down by her feet. "Priss got hurt last night," she said, calmly.

"What?" Nene asked, her face instantly becoming worried.

"She's going to be fine," Silia replied. "She suffered a broken arm, along with a cracked skull and a concussion."

"That Priss..." Nene said, pouting. "What'd she do _this_ time?"

"She didn't say..." Silia said, as the bathroom door opened and Mackie walked in. She glanced up at her brother, nodding her hello before continuing. "I'll guess and say she found a boomer."

"Okay, yeah," Nene said absentmindedly, getting up. "Good morning, Mackie!" She said to the boy walking in.

Mackie had still looked a little irritable after walking out of the shower, but his mood changed instantaneously when Nene greeted him. A lopsided smile cracked his face as he looked back. He also hadn't yet realized he was only wearing a towel around his waist, and yet was in the presence of two women. "Hi, Nene. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, fine," she said as he walked by.

"That's good. Excuse me," he said, blushing a little as he ducked into his room. It appeared as though it had finally hit him that he'd been mostly naked. He still kept his clothes in his bedroom, though. Silia was sure he spent a few moments ogling Nene's underwear every morning, but if he did, he did it very fast, because it only took him a few minutes to get dressed. Maybe he was actually changing his old habits.

Mackie walked back in from his bedroom at about the same time a knock sounded at the door. Signaling for the women to stay seated, he politely walked over and let in the visitor.

"Oh, hi Priss...what _happened_?" he asked. He was answered with an inarticulate grunt. Priss, dressed in the same clothes as last night, walked slowly into the living room. The same bandages and cast were also quite visible. Her jaw was clenched, not in concentration, but in wounded pride. Nene's eyes went wide as her perky greeting died in her mouth. Hearing about injuries and seeing them were two entirely different things, even for someone used to seeing Priss like this.

Silia stood up. "Good morning, Priss," she said. Another grunt as an answer. Priss glanced at Nene, and then at Mackie, who walked by her. Her face took on a defeated look as she saw that she'd have to explain herself in front of more people than Silia. Silia, for her part, made to move to dismiss the other two. They probably needed to hear this, and in any case, Priss's ego could stand to go down a few notches.

Mackie took a seat next to Nene, slowly putting his arm around her shoulders. The redhead leaned into him a little, smiling at the contact. Priss threw them a burning stare before taking a seat of her own.

"So tell me what happened," Silia said.

Priss took a breath to calm herself. Then, she began recounting the events of last night, minus the introspection on her feelings for Leon. Nene looked horrified when she heard what Priss's attacker had done to the boomer. Silia kept a calm, interested expression on her face the whole time.

"And so, now I'm laid up again, and I don't even have my damn _bike_," Priss spat out, finishing. "I was going to do a concert in two days, too..." she said, looking off to the side.

Silia felt a pang of sympathy for Priss's troubles, but pushed it down. The other woman had made a mistake, and had been punished. It was only fair, she kept telling herself. ^Priss, when are you going to learn...^

"Don't worry, I'll have Doctor Raven look at your bike. If anyone can repair it, it's him."

"I'll help." Mackie butted in.

Silia looked towards him. "Thank you, Mackie," she said. Priss looked thankful, as well, but she didn't say anything.

"So did you get a look at his face?" Silia asked, turning back to Priss.

Priss shook her head. "It was dark, and he was far away. And then when he moved in, he didn't give me a chance to see him. I think he was wearing a trench coat, or something."

Silia nodded, slightly disappointed, then continued.

"I did some research of my own last night," Silia said, remembering the time she'd spent in the hospital waiting room. "It's safe to assume that man was a boomer," she began.

"No shit," Priss said, rubbing at her arm cast.

"And," Silia continued, ignoring the interruption, "he's quite dangerous to anyone who gets too close. However, I learned last night he's a mercenary."

"Like us?" Nene asked.

"To a degree. It sounds like he doesn't wear armor, and he has no compunctions against harming an innocent."

"Well..." Mackie began. Nene stomped on his foot, shutting him up. Silia knew what her brother had been about to say : if Priss had been armed, she hadn't _really_ been an 'innocent'.

"Nene..." Silia said, looking at the girl. "Can you search the mercenary records for information on this man?"

"I'll give it a shot," Nene said, looking brave. Silia knew the girl would be able to do it : not only was Nene an experienced hacker, but at her job she had access to the ADP database, which had records of pretty much every mercenary in Japan.

"Good," Silia said. "I'm counting on you." Nene nodded, then smiled a little as Mackie gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"As for you, Priss," Silia said, walking towards her room, "how did you get here?"

"Took a cab."

Silia nodded. "How are you getting home?"

"I..." Priss said, looking at the floor, "I was hoping I could get a ride off one of you," she said, glancing at all three of them.

"Fine. You'll come with me. We need to make a stop," Silia said, stepping into her bedroom. She had to get dressed and get ready for the day.

***

"Give me a shot of the fusion micros, here," Nick said, pointing to a spot on the patient.

Lou picked up a small syringe filled with amber fluid and walked up to the operating table. The patient was a massive humanoid form lying on its stomach. Most of him looked like a human male, but the skin on his left shoulder had been peeled back, revealing the blue metal underneath. The metal actually looked a little like foam rubber, but that was only because it was currently in human mode, to sustain the artificial flesh. When switched to battle mode, that metal would expand slightly and harden into solid armor plate. Of course, the conversion would also destroy the skin, but that could be grown back, by resetting the metal body and using a little nutrient fluid. The 'man' was in fact a 55-C boomer, which was assigned to be the bodyguard of the CEO of a small business firm. Its right arm had not been moving correctly over the past few days, and so Brady and Smith had gotten some business out of it.

Lou stuck the syringe into the circuitry Nick was pointing to, and began injecting some of the fluid. Nick gestured for her to keep going, only stopping her when the syringe was half-empty. Satisfied, Nick reached over and touched a nearby computer with his bare left hand. Lines of code began to fly across the screen, quickly being downloaded to the boomer's CPU by way of the many interface cables connecting it to the computer. Lou watched as the muscle and circuitry flowed backwards apparently of their own accord, motivated by the microbots she had just injected.

"OK, what's it look like?" Nick asked impatiently.

Lou picked up a pair of tweezers and reached into the widening hole. After a moment of working with her tougue in her cheek, she successfully pulled out a circuit board. Even with just a short glance, the circuits looked burned-out. Nick snatched the circuit board and started looking at it carefully. Lou waited, knowing it would be too much to expect the man to say "thank you."

"This motivation linkage got fried by a power surge," Nick said confidently a moment later. "Probably an overload from the heat array. That happens a lot on these babies," he said, patting the boomer's other shoulder.

That was another interesting thing about Nick; not long ago, he hadn't known anything at all about the 55-C. But just before they'd started working, he'd plugged one end of a wire into a computer full of reference material, and the other end into his own back. Suddenly, he'd known everything on the computer, which of course included data on the 55-C.

"So what do we do?" Lou asked, dodging his gaze. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses, for once; the unrestricted view of his eyes was frightening, for her.

"Well, a microbot bath would get rid of the burns," Nick said, casually shaking the circuit board. "The rest of it looks okay. But we'll need to find the source of that power surge, or this'll keep happening."

Lou nodded, taking the circuit. "I'll go get this set up, then."

Nick grunted, reaching over to touch the computer again, running a diagnostic on the boomer. His free hand checked the wire plugged into his back, just to make sure everything was stable.

Lou walked to the far wall of the small operating room, and slid the circuit board into a small vat full of the same amber fluid she had just injected. After typing a few things on the keyboard of a nearby computer, she walked to the door.

"I'm going for lunch," she said to Nick, who was now hunched over the boomer's form. He didn't seem bothered at all by the bandages that wrapped the right side of his chest, which he'd only just finished repairing. As usual, he'd done a good job; he would be in top working order again in a few days.

"Are you staying here?" Lou asked him.

Nick glanced up at her, even as he kept working on the damaged cyberdroid.

"It's annoying as hell to remove this wire," he said, resentful. "It's like yanking out a chunk of my brain. And then I'd need to go through the whole interfacing crap again so I can finish this guy. So yeah, I'm working while I can."

Lou nodded and left the operating room, turning and walking down the short hallway to the main room, where Meg had her desk. As she walked, she ran her hands through her long hair, getting the sweat out. She also undid the ponytail she'd tied off earlier to keep her hair out of her eyes.

Smiling at Meg, who was writing something down on a notepad, she walked into her office, taking a moment to pause and look at the door. There, printed in bold, black letters, were the words "Doctor Lou Smith, Cybersurgeon". Seeing that never failed to make her happy. She was important. She had a last name. And...she owed that to Nick. Which was why she put up with him. The same went for Meg.

Throwing her white lab coat onto a chair, along with the protective glasses she wore over her eyes while operating, she took her coat off a nearby hook and headed for the door. She was halfway across the main room before the phone rang. Wondering who it was, she stopped and listened to Meg answer it.

The other woman picked up the phone with a polite, "Hello?" and listened for a few moments. Then, putting one hand over the mouthpiece, she looked at Lou.

"Could you get Nick?" she asked Lou.

Lou shrugged in response. "Just patch it through to his cell phone. Odds are he's got it."

"Right," Meg replied, nodding a little and awkwardly manipulating the keys on her small switchboard.

Lou leaned over the desk to see if the call had gone through. It looked like it had. She looked up at Meg.

"You coming to lunch?" she asked. "I was gonna get something to eat."

Meg shook her head. "No thanks, I have to finish this," she said, gesturing towards her computer. "I'm almost done setting up our personnel files."

Lou smiled sadly. Being boomers, none of them had any records a human would have. But after a few painstaking weeks of learning basic computer hacking, Meg had started setting up the appropriate files. Lou helped when she could, but the other woman definitely knew more. She was almost done, now. But, it was hard for Meg and Lou to have to admit to themselves that they would never fit in, that they would always be hiding behind false records if they wanted to remain free.

"Okay, then, I'll be back before you know it," Lou said, turning back towards the door. Her hand was on the doorknob when the door to the operating room burst open and Nick stormed out. He had already put his pair of mirrored sunglasses back on, and was shrugging out of his lab coat, as well. He strode quickly into his office.

"Who was that?" Lou asked him. Nick didn't bother responding. A moment later, he came out of his office, wearing a light jacket over his shirt, and carrying a heavy scanning computer as though it weighed nothing at all.

"You're with me," he said, pointing at Meg with his free hand. "You stay here," he said, looking at Lou.

"But I was just about to take a lunch break!" Lou complained.

"Sucks to be you. Eat later. This is important, and we need someone to hold the fort here."

Lou cringed a little at the cynicism, but she'd grown to expect nothing else from Nick. Meg was already getting up and grabbing a coat.

"What if the phone rings?" Lou asked.

"Answer it." Nick responded offhandedly, going out the door and jogging down the hall.

Meg looked at her friend with a sympathetic look on her face. "Just let the machine get it. Don't worry, I'll go through messages later. And if you can, could you finish the files? Yours is the only one that needs any work." She turned and walked out the door, chasing after Nick.

"But who was it?" Lou asked, yelling her question down the hallway so Meg could hear her.

"Priss," Meg called back over her shoulder, as she ran into the elevator Nick had waiting. The doors closed soon afterwards, hiding the pair from Lou's sight.

The elevator carried Meg and Nick down to the ground floor, where they walked out to their car. After stowing the scanning computer in the trunk, Nick sat in the passenger's seat while Meg got in the driver's seat and started up the car. Nick gave her directions as she drove through the streets of MegaTokyo.

"We're going to see your friend," he said, out of the blue, about five minutes after they'd left.

Meg nodded, too worried to smile. Would Sylvie be all right? Would Nick be able to fix her? It was all so uncertain that she didn't want to get her hopes up. Both she and Lou had been shocked senseless when they'd first learned both Sylvie and Anri were dead. Nick said he could fix them, but...

To get her mind off of this subject, she slid a mini-CD into the car's stero system and hit play. After a moment, piano music began to fill the car, followed soon after by some male singers and other instruments. The words were in English; in fact, the group dated back from long before the quake. But Meg figured it was just the thing for right now.

Nick gave no indication he was even listening. After a moment, he took out his pack of cigarettes, stuck one of the paper cylinders between his lips, and lit it, using the small metal lighter he always had. Meg opened her window to let in fresh air, trying not to cough. They rode in silence, Nick giving directions and criticizing Meg's driving as they made their way towards their unknown destination.

"What _is_ this gay-assed crap?" Nick asked almost ten minutes later, gesturing in the general direction of the stereo.

Meg looked sternly at him, but Nick just shot her back a look that said 'don't even think about it'. So she didn't. Instead, she just answered him truthfully.

"It's a band called Chicago," she said. "Pre-quake music." Nick kept looking at her, as though able to read her mind and see that there was something more. Meg ignored him. In response, Nick took an exceedingly long draw on his cigarette and then blew out the smoke directly onto Meg's face. Coughing and spluttering, the woman caved in. "It was one of Sylvie's favorite groups," she finally said. Satisfied, Nick went back to looking straight ahead. They continued on, neither of them trying at conversation, until finally Nick announced that they had arrived.

After Meg parked the car, they both got out and Nick went around to get the scanning computer again. This time, he put up more of an act, as though it was actually an effort for him to lift the heavy piece of equipment. He led the way as they moved towards the nearest door.

Meg took a moment to look at where they were. It was a sizeable two-story building that was an almost perfect cubic shape. Meg remembered passing by a sign that had said something about a 'private storage facility'.

"Just let me do the talking," Nick whispered to her as they got to the door. "And try to keep those emotions of yours in check," he said with a sneer. Meg furrowed her brow at the assault, but said nothing. This was not the time or place to start arguing with this man.

The door opened, apparently of its own accord, just before they reached it. A young man, who looked to be eighteen at most, stepped out from the storage building.

"Hey, there," he said, waving slightly. "Brady and Smith?"

"That's us," Nick said, grinning and sounding happy to be here. Meg wondered how much of it was an act. Probably all of it. Although Nick had seemed pretty excited about coming here...

"Need help with that?" the boy asked, gesturing to the computer.

"Nah, I'm fine," Nick said. "Can we go in?"

"'Course. Follow me," he said, leading the way in. Nick threw a sideways glance at Meg, gesturing with his head for her to follow as he started walking. The woman did as she was told.

"Name's Mackie," the boy was saying over his shoulder. "And yours?"

"Nick Brady. I'm the cybergeek working for Ms. Asagiri. Did she send you?"

"Yeah," Mackie responded. "She got held up." He didn't noticed Nick's malicious grin. Nick knew precisely why Priss was 'held up'.

"And who're you?" Mackie asked, turning to walk backwards as he looked at Meg.

"I'm Meg Jones," she replied promptly, smiling slightly as she felt her last name come off her tongue. It was such a normal name, but it felt good to have.

"Pleased to meet you," Mackie responded with a grin as he turned back around and kept walking. As they walked, it became substantially colder. Meg shivered a little, as did Mackie, but Nick gave no sign he even noticed. After a moment, they'd arrived at their destination. They stood in front of a steel wall, which had two large square indentations in it.

"This is cold storage," Mackie said, punching a few keys on a nearby key pad. "It's where Priss put her friends after they went offline."

"Makes sense," Nick said, looking for a place to put the scanner. "Organics'll fall apart if you leave them out in room temperature. How are they being stored?"

"Kept in a nutrient bath," Mackie said offhandedly, as he kept hitting keys. Nick nodded approvingly as he set down the computer he was carrying on a nearby table. His cigarette had burned down, so now that he had both hands free, he took a moment to light another one.

Finally, a quiet 'beep' came from the terminal Mackie was hitting, and the square indentations began to creep forwards, out of the wall. Inside the concealed cases were two humanoid forms. First, two pairs of feet, then legs, then torsos and arms, and finally, heads appeared, sealed behind impact-resistant plastic and floating in a clear fluid.

The forms were obviously female, both with the stereotypical 'hot' body. Both faces also looked serene, having long ago left their troubles behind. Meg stifled a gasp as she looked at the corpses : they were Sylvie and Anri, without a doubt. Nick glanced at her, a quiet anger just visible on his face. Meg calmed down quickly, willing herself not to stare at her friends.

Nick walked up to Mackie, who had started staring at Meg, looking as though he wanted to comfort her. He tapped the boy on the shoulder with a gloved finger.

"Huh?" Mackie said, as though coming out of a trance. Nick tried not to roll his eyes. Apparently, his cigarette wasn't enough to negate the effects of _two_ sexaroids in the same room.

"You got scanning ports on these?" he asked, pointing at the wall with his thumb.

"Oh, yeah. Right over here," Mackie said, walking in between the two cold storage chambers and pointing at a set of holes on each of the high-tech coffins.

Nick nodded and dragged the computer over. Mackie again began gazing at Meg, becoming increasingly interested in her as time went on. Nick noticed this and gestured for his co-worker to come help, before Mackie started getting any ideas. He also did his best to keep up a screen of cigarette smoke, but the building's ventilation system was making that exceedingly difficult.

Meg set about plugging the interface cables into Sylvie's storage unit, while Nick flicked the scanning computer online. After the computer had booted up, Meg took her position in front of it, while Nick stood to the side. The only way Nick could actually use a computer was by interfacing with it; he didn't know how to use one normally. Therefore, to keep up the human image, Meg had to be the one to work the computer.

After several minutes of typing, the computer finally gave a readout on Sylvie's condition. Meg read the words, trying not to pay attention to what they meant. As such, she spoke in a near-monotone.

"Injury to lower-right side of abdomen. Irrelevant. Death was caused..." - her voice caught at this - "by massive chest trauma in vicinity of heart. Less that 0.01 percent decay. Acceptable."

She stopped, taking several breaths to calm herself. Mackie tried to approach her and see what was wrong, but Nick stopped him by placing one hand on the boy's chest and shaking his head.

Next was Anri. Meg plugged the wires into the other box and again took her position by the computer. She started typing again. This time, however, it took much longer. After a considerable pause, Nick walked over to Meg and stood next to her.

"What's the holdup?" he asked.

Meg looked at him, recognition coming slowly. There were tears in her eyes. Nick smirked a little at this show of pain, and shoved her out of the way. She stumbled away, but managed to keep her balance. She waved off Mackie's approach, while at the same time rubbing at a suddenly runny nose.

Nick gazed at the computer screen for a long time, trying to make sense of it. In his concentration, he lowered his sunglasses, to get them out of the way and let him see everything better. After a while, he finally got the gist of what was displayed.

"God...damn," he said, under his breath.

"What is it?" Mackie blurted out.

Nick looked at him, but forgot to replace his sunglasses. Mackie took one look into Nick's eyes and immediately went starry-eyed. Nick swore under his breath and replaced his sunglasses. He spoke as though nothing had happened, however. "This one's pretty messed up. What the hell happened to her?"

Mackie shook off the effects of Nick's eyes, trying to concentrate. "Dunno. I just work here," he managed to say, before blanking out again. However, his attention quickly shifted to Meg, the one female in the room.

Nick nodded, while at the same time rolling his eyes at the clichéd excuse. "She's going to be hard," he began. "Practically every vital system's been screwed over one way or another. It's a miracle her brain's still intact."

"Can you fix her?" Meg asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Nick glared at her for a moment before nodding.

"Yes," he said. "Her brain's still good, so I can fix the rest." Meg nodded at this, somehow able to keep her composure. Nick took a moment to enjoy his cigarette, then removed a notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket and started scribbing something down. After a few seconds, he tore the page off and handed it to Mackie. The boy took it absentmindedly, apparently unable to stop looking at Meg.

"Give that to Ms. Asagiri," he said. "It's a bill for this scanning, and a price estimate for repairing the boomers."

"Gotcha," Mackie said, nodding as he took a glance at the paper. "She'll get it. Don't worry."

"I never worry," Nick said, his face serious. "Tell her to get back to me whenever it's convenient." He turned and started packing up the scanner.

"Right, right," Mackie said. He looked up, at Meg. "Is everything alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes," Nick answered firmly, cutting off Meg's response. "We're done, here. Pack up the boomers before they get warm."

Mackie obeyed, keying in the code to retract the metal containers. By the time he was done, Nick had packed up the scanning computer, slung it under one arm, and started walking off, Meg in tow. Mackie wistfully watched them go, then shrugged to himself and turned towards the nearest door.

Nick said nothing until they left the storage facility. Meg knew this was a bad sign. She suddenly became very afraid of being alone with this man.

After throwing the computer back in the car, he got in the passenger seat again, while Meg resumed her position as driver.

"I oughta hurt you, for breaking down like that," Nick said, as soon as the doors had closed.

"I'm sorry..." Meg replied, her voice weak.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Nick repeated, mockingly. Meg cringed as he did so. Nick finally took the near-dead cigarette out of his mouth and held it tightly between two fingers in one hand. He pointed at Meg with that hand, putting the red-hot cigarette just centimeters from her face.

"The densest guy in the world could see you have some kind of feelings for those two. Our cover might be blown," he said. "In the ol' days, that'd be enough to get you killed, and not necessarily by the enemy." He brought the cigarette even closer to Meg's face. The woman drew back a little as she felt the heat, but then bit her lip and stared back, knowing that if he wanted to hurt her, he would.

Nick looked back, his face deadpan...for a moment. Then, he grinned a little, turned, and flicked the cigarette out the window.

"Let's go," he said, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Meg to start the car.

***

"Well, that was interesting," Silia said from her position in front of a few computer screens.

Priss, sitting next to her, just nodded. In front of them, on the computer screens, were several views of the inside of the storage facility, from a variety of hidden cameras Silia had had installed when she'd bought the building. She barely used the place anymore, but it had proven useful to have the structure bugged, anyway.

It had actually been Silia who had suggested they keep Sylvie and Anri in the freezers. From her father's work, she knew that a boomer's AI was theoretically immortal, supposing the computer it was on wasn't damaged. She'd just been waiting for someone like Dr. Brady to show up, someone who knew how to reactivate a dead brain without destroying the personality inside. Dr. Brady seemed quite confident that he could do just that. Had he gotten access to another data unit, like the one Silia had received?

But that didn't matter, right now. The important thing was going over what had just happened. They now had on video file every minute of Nick and Meg's time in the building. Silia backtracked to the beginning and started looking at the images they had.

Priss groaned a little from sitting in one place too long. "Do I have to stay here?" she asked.

"No," Silia responded, her voice distant. "But I figured you'd be interested."

"Yeah, I guess..." Priss finally responded.

Silia managed to isolate an image of Meg's face in no time at all. After magnifying it, she started a computer search for someone with that face. That being done, she went back and started trying to get a picture of Nick's face.

This task proved quite difficult. Nick acted almost as though he had known the cameras were there. He never looked directly at any of them, and yet managed to look completely natural the whole time. It was as though he'd been trained to avoid detection. Silia especially wanted to see what had stunned Mackie, but unfortunately, the only camera that could have seen Nick's unshielded eyes had been blocked by Mackie's head. By the time the view was clear again, Nick had put his sunglasses back on.

After a while, Silia had enough pictures to put together a composite image of Nick, which she put through another computer search. While this was running, she turned towards Priss.

"So what do you think?" she asked.

Priss's eyes widened a little. "You're asking _me_?" she asked. Silia nodded, putting one finger thoughtfully on her lips.

Priss thought for a minute. "Well, he seems pretty serious," she said. "You think he can do it?"

Silia nodded.

"Then..." Priss took a breath to compose her thoughts. "Please, Silia...will you help pay for this? I'll do what I can, but..."

"It's all right, Priss," Silia said, turning to glance at the computers. "I'm interested in how it will turn out, myself."

Priss's face brightened considerably. "Th...thank you, Silia. Thank - "

"I'll have you know I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart," Silia said coldly, glancing sideways at Priss. "I assume regaining some of your friends will help your general attitude problem."

"I don't have - " Priss stopped as Silia glanced at her again. "Okay..." she began. "Whatever. Thank you, Silia."

"You're welcome."

They sat in silence, Priss looking at the images on the video screens, while Silia watched the computers. Both searches were done at about the same time.

"Okay..." she said to herself. "We've got a match for a Megan Jones, here. Born on Genaros..." she stopped and looked up, thinking. "Maybe that's how she knows Sylvie and Anri...anyway, lived there for a number of years, came to America about a year ago, moved here just a couple of weeks past."

Priss barely listened. She didn't really care about these people's pasts, anyway. She was looking at the monitors to distract herself.

"As for Mr. Brady...oh, my..." there were hundreds of matches. As Silia looked through them, she saw that the peoples' faces were about the same : extremely _normal_, with no real defining features, save a few slight American cues. Apparently, even the man's _face_ defied detection.

"Let's cross-reference that with the name Nicholas Brady...there. Born in America, went to a series of different schools, did some work on Genaros...probably met Sylvie and Anri there, too...then back to America, then here to Japan."

"I think Mackie's in love," Priss said, out of the blue.

Silia turned towards the other woman, her brow furrowed. "What?" she asked.

"Look at him," she said, pointing at one of the real-time images. "He's smitten."

Silia looked at the indicated image. Mackie was sitting at a table, slowly drinking a soda and looking at the ceiling, a dreamy look in his eyes.

"One guess what _he's_ dreaming about," Priss said, grinning a little. "That Meg girl is gonna give Nene a run for her money."

Silia just shook her head. Apparently, Nene hadn't been enough to break her brother of his old habits. ^Oh well,^ she figured. ^They're young. I guess it was too much to expect them to go steady for long.^ Something caught her attention, though.

"That's kind of sudden," Silia said, thinking hard.

Priss shrugged. "It happens. Hell, I'd say it happened when Leon first saw m..." she stopped, trying to figure out a way out of this. Silia wasn't paying attention, though.

Silia didn't believe in love at first sight. Sometimes, she wondered if she even believed in love. And yet here Mackie was, supposedly in a relationship with Nene, and suddenly falling for a woman he'd just met...it was a little suspicious.

On a hunch, Silia downloaded the video files to a floppy, which she threw in her handbag. Getting up, she gestured for Priss to follow.

"I've got to get back to my building," Silia said. "And you've got to decide what to have this man do."

Priss just smiled a little. She'd already decided.

***

Silia walked back into her apartment, looking annoyed and a little tired. Mackie followed her soon after, the same dreamy look in his eyes as from the warehouse. Priss was not with them; a quick side trip had dropped her off back at her trailer.

After Brady had left, Silia had spent several minutes going over where he'd been, trying to find some trace, some little identifying sign that the man would have left behind, like a fingerprint or even a few loose hairs. She had found none. That Jones person, the assistant, had left plenty of evidence, all of which had pointed to her records, which, as far as she could tell, were valid.

But it was as though Mr. Brady hadn't even been there. Silia hadn't found any traces of him. Apparently, those gloves he wore didn't leave any fingerprints. Silia thought that was a little strange, that a cybersurgeon would go through the effort and expense to get printless gloves for his hands.

On top of that, Silia was beginning to question her brother's sanity. It was as though every one of his hormones had suddenly turned on full blast. He'd actually tried to kiss Priss, both before and _after_ she'd decked him. Priss had looked like she was seriously considering using a few heavy metal objects to beat the boy into submission, until Silia had pulled her friend back and called a cab for her brother. At least he seemed to be coming back to normal, if slowly. Now, he just seemed like he had his head in the clouds all the time. He didn't even notice the fist-shaped bruise on his jaw, Priss's response to his come-on.

"Have a seat, Mackie," she said, gesturing to the couch.

"Okay..." he said, his voice distant. He walked over and took the indicated seat. Silia, meanwhile, was making tea as quickly as she could. While the water was boiling, she went to the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills she kept there. Every once in a while, she would be too worried about something to get to sleep, so the pills were normally for her. But Silia figured it would be in Mackie's best interests if he slept off whatever was making him like this.

She was grinding up a pair of the pills when she heard the door open.

"Hel-loooooo!" came a familiar voice.

Silia stuck her head out of the kitchen, her brow furrowed. "Nene?" she asked.

The red-haired girl came in. "Yup, it's me!"

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Silia asked.

"Yeah, usually, but today they were nice. And I tried out my new computer filing program. It works great! I got two hours worth of work done in twenty minutes!"

Silia nodded a little, smiling despite herself. Nene's mood was just infectious that way. "Well, come in," she said. "Have a seat. I was about to finish making tea."

"Oh, that's great! Don't worry, I don't want any!" Nene declared, walking past the kitchen and into the living room.

"All right, Nene," Silia said, laughter in her voice. She went back to her task of drugging Mackie's tea. Two pills should be enough...

"Oh, hi Mackie!" Nene's voice filtered in. "How are you? What happened to your jaw? It looks - mmmph!"

Silia froze for a moment as she heard the girl's voice suddenly cut off. Worried, she stepped out of the kitchen and glanced into the living room. And immediately froze again, her eyes widening a little.

Mackie had stood up and currently had his arms around Nene. He was kissing the girl very deeply. The position of Nene's arms showed that she had tried struggling for a moment, probably out of shock, but now she didn't seem to mind all that much. In fact, it looked like she was beginning to kiss back.

Silia shook her head. "Should have warned her about that..." she said to herself, going back to the kitchen. At least it looked like the boy hadn't lost interest in Nene, like Silia had feared. The _last_ thing the Knight Sabers needed right now was a broken-hearted computer expert.

She finished making the tea, her body running on automatic while her mind spun its wheels. What was making Mackie act like this? Come to think of it, Nene had said Leon had acted something like this several weeks ago. The matter did require further investigation.

^Maybe I'll find something on those video files,^ Silia thought, as she brought two cups of tea out of the kitchen, hoping the pair in the living room would come up for air soon.

Nene finally managed to pull away by the time Silia was sitting down. The girl was breathing hard, for a multitude of reasons. Mackie looked like he could have gone a little longer.

"What...was _that_?" Nene asked between gasps. She managed to wrestle herself free of Mackie's arms, embarrassed that Silia had caught them. She couldn't get Mackie to let go of her hand, though. However, it didn't look like she really _wanted_ him to let go, either.

Mackie just cocked his head a little and looked at her for a minute. Finally, he spoke up.

"Nene, I think I'm in love with you," he said, dreamily.

Her eyes going wide, Nene stepped back a little. "Uh...Mackie, are you...uh...what happened?"

Silia just listened, calmly serving them tea while absorbing every word. She figured this was as good a way as any to figure out what was going on in Mackie's head. She gave Nene an encouraging look, nonetheless.

"I was just doing what sis asked me to," he said, sitting down, still holding Nene's hand and staring into the other's eyes. "And I saw this girl there, and she was hot and all, but...seeing her just made me think of you...and I saw that she didn't stand a..._chance_ against you..."

Nene was blushing furiously by now. She put one hand over her mouth, hiding her smile. She remained standing, though. Silia, sitting in her own chair across from the two, sipped at her tea.

"And then..." Mackie's brow furrowed a little, thinking. "I can't remember...this guy looked right at me, and I saw his eyes were the same color as yours. And then...I don't know, it's kind of blurry," he said, putting one hand on his forehead and finally looking away from Nene, trying to think.

"My mind just cleared up," he said, finally, "and as soon it cleared, I realized I _love_ you. I feel best when you're with me. I..."

Nene glanced over at Silia, searching for help with this sudden change. Silia silently held up her tea cup and pointed at it while looking the confused girl in the eyes. Nene nodded, understanding.

Nene reached over with her free hand - Mackie was still holding the other one - and picked up Mackie's cup. Mackie looked like he was finally quieting down, trying to get his thoughts arranged. Nene silently handed him the cup while sitting down next to him. The boy smiled warmly at her before taking a few sips.

"Don't you want any?" he asked.

"Well..." Nene said, blushing. "I don't want Silia to go to the trouble of making more..."

"Here have some of this," Mackie said, holding the cup out to her.

"Oh, okay, thanks," the girl said, not seeing Silia's covert signals not to drink any. Nene took a few sips from Mackie's cup before handing it back to him.

"That's the thing," she said, trying to make normal conversation after what just happened. "I _was_ running a little dry."

Mackie just smiled again and drained the rest of his cup in a few swallows. Silia mentally shrugged; at least he'd gotten most of it.

"But this is a little sudden, don't you think?" Nene asked, a few minutes later.

Mackie reached over and took her other hand. "No, it isn't," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I never told you, but I've felt like this for a long time. I just never felt like it needed saying until now."

Nene blushed again. "But what - " she cut off as she saw Mackie swoon a little, blinking. "Is something wrong?" she asked, worried.

"Nothing, nothing," Mackie responded, shaking his head as though to clear it. "Just got a little woozy for a minute," he said.

"Do you want to go lie down?" Silia asked, speaking, finally.

Mackie looked at his sister as though he hadn't seen her before. "Uh, no thanks sis, I'm fine." He looked back at Nene.

Silia checked her watch. She'd bought those sleeping pills because they were the fastest-acting on the market. One put her to sleep in a matter of minutes, and Mackie had just drunk down most of two...

"I guess I just realized that it's wrong for me not to tell you," Mackie said, looking like it was an effort to keep his eyes open.

"But that's..." Nene began. Silia noticed the girl's words were beginning to slur. "Whoo," Nene continued, "I just got a little dizzy. But, I mean, Mackie, it's...uh..." the girl looked like she was trying to get her own emotions on the matter sorted out. She didn't know if she was ready to say the 'L' word yet, but then again...

Mackie looked at her expectantly, leaning the side of his head on the couch. Nene looked away, trying to figure out what to say next. Her eyes began to droop, but she blinked them open again.

"It's just that..." Nene said, a few minutes later. She looked at him to see that he had closed his eyes, and his breathing was coming slow and regular. "Mackie?" she asked.

"He's asleep," Silia said. "The sleeping pills took hold."

"S...sleeping pills?" Nene asked. As soon as she'd said that, she yawned widely. "What sleeping...pills..." she finished, her voice drowsy.

"They were in the tea," Silia said.

"But you didn't..._tell_ me..." Nene replied, her own head falling to the couch. She didn't get any more out; in moments, she was asleep, too, unconsciously leaning on Mackie for support.

Silia couldn't help smiling a little at the scene. Knowing it would be a while before either of them woke up, she threw a spare blanket over the pair and then went to her room. She had to check out the video files from the warehouse.

***

About a week after he'd been scanning Sylvie and Anri, Nick was creeping through the night, sticking to the shadows as he made his way towards the sounds of mayhem.

Lou had found the message posted on his Internet bulletin board. A boomer was rampaging through the streets, again, and no one seemed to be doing anything. Meg had been able to come up with an explanation : both the ADP and the Knight Sabers were tied up fighting a much larger four-boomer incident on the other side of town. So, someone who didn't want their home destroyed had called up the mercenary who was quickly becoming the next best thing : the mercenary named Guillotine.

Guillotine, a.k.a. Nick Brady, had been planning to take a job fighting a street gang, but had changed his mind when he'd seen this offer. For one, the pay was better, and also, he liked fighting boomers more than he did humans. He had more experience killing machines, if anything.

Now, just an hour later, he was here, almost upon his prey. Figuring he was close enough, Nick turned towards the nearest building, flexed his legs, and jumped up, easily clearing the three-story structure and landing on its roof. After a little roof-hopping, the boomer was in sight.

He immediately took cover behind an old air conditioning unit. The first thing he did was reach for the cellular phone at his belt. It was much more than an average portable; this particular cellular was a full electronics suite, something that the designers hadn't made integral while designing the 33-S-H. Nick removed the glove on his right hand and held the phone out to the side with his bare hand, thumbing some of the buttons.

The phone ran a passive scan on the boomer. Sure enough, the thing had some kind of long-range radio link, which its masters were using to control it. Odds were they also had video feeds showing them what the boomer saw. That wouldn't do; Nick liked to remain anonymous, at least when he was doing this kind of work.

Nick sent a message down his arm, through his hand, and into his phone through the interface he'd established after touching the phone with his bare hand. A moment later, a red light began to glow on the phone's readout. He immediately heard the boomer stop its random walking, its hyrdraulics hissing as it searched for its unseen enemy, who was trying to hack into its communications lines. The machine changed its communications frequencies in an effort to protect itself, but Nick's phone had been designed with that in mind. In moments, the phone had patched through to the boomer's communications array and sent a power surge through it, melting down the machine's link to its masters. The machine roared in outrage and fired blindly with its mouth laser, tearing up several walls in the process, but not coming anywhere close to hitting Nick.

Satisfied with the results, Nick slid his phone back into place, but left his glove off. Can I win this fight, he asked himself. It was rule two of being a 33-S-H : never get into a fight you can't win. Rule one was always fight dirty.

His phone's scan had identified the target as a 48-C. From what he could remember, that model was kind of a poor man's 55-C. It had no heat array or flight capability, but its armor was tougher, and some would say the boomer was also more given to brutality. Nick smiled maliciously. His heartbeat quickened as he thought about the things he'd do to this boomer before finally letting it die. He'd definitely teach it just what brutality was.

Reaching for the shoulder holster under his trench coat, he pulled out his gun and methodically chambered a bullet. He'd definitely need the exra firepower for this one. After a second, words played across his vision.

TARGET(1) : 48-C CLASS CYBERDROID

MOBILITY RATING : E

OFFENSIVE RATING : D

DEFENSIVE RATING : C-

THREAT ASSESSMENT : MID-LOW

PROCEDURE?

Nick nodded. He would win, he was sure of it. It was only time to worry when the threat assessment went up to 'high'. Once in his life, he'd encountered a threat marked 'critical', and yet had still managed to get away with his skin intact. That had been a special case, though.

Nick cleared his mind and sent orders to his battle computer.

PROCEDURE : DESTROY TARGET.

ACKNOWLEDGED

He got up, his body almost moving with a mind of its own. He knew he had near-full control most of the time, but in situations like this, it was the J-2 computer inside of him that called the shots. Of course, his personality was still there to add a little flair or enthusiasm when necessary, as well as provide the combat experience he'd built up over the years. But Nick was happy letting the computer do its job, for now.

Nick got up to the edge of the roof he was on. Peering over it, he saw the boomer had gone back to random destruction. It only made sense : cut off from its controller, the machine had to rely on its own AI, which had a very short attention span.

He took careful aim with his gun, holding it in one hand while going for his phone again with his ungloved hand. He held the cellular out in front of him and ran a quick active scan on the boomer. The machine instantly noticed the scan, and turned to face the threat which had suddenly appeared. But the scan had also given Nick a full map of the boomer's internals. By the time the machine had finished turning, Nick had lined up a shot and fired.

The HEAP round sailed out of his gun, and directly into the spot he'd been aiming for : where the chest plate met the abdominal plate. The scan had shown that the armor there was marginally weaker than the rest. Sure enough, the bullet sank into the boomer's guts and exploded, disabling the machine's main power plant, just as Nick had hoped it would.

Shocked, the boomer sank to its knees, trying to draw power from its backup batteries. Nick didn't give it the chance. Jumping off the roof, he landed on his feet, letting his legs absorb the impact. He stood up and started walking towards the downed machine.

The boomer instantly saw the threat, but, being stupid, did not realize what the black trench coat and sunglasses meant. It immediately took action to eliminate what looked like a lone human male. Its mouth opened wide, and the laser cannon dropped down into firing position...

Just in time to eat a bullet. Nick's second shot went right up the laser cannon and detonated inside the boomer's skull, disabling most of the thing's senses. Roaring, the boomer tried to get to its feet, using its internal radar to try and locate its current target. Unfortunately, its truncated power supply would not let it stand up.

Nick casually thumbed a few buttons on his phone, starting up a radar jamming sequence. He smirked as he kept walking towards the crippled boomer, which was now helplessly trying to see the man who was standing right in front of it. Taking his time, Nick slowly put both his gun and phone away as a plan formed in his head.

Nick lashed out with a solid kick to the thing's chest, denting the armor in. The plate almost immediately began to flex back outwards, but the boomer still lost its balance and fell onto its back. Nick pounced, landing on the machine's torso. Before the boomer could react, he thrust his uncovered right hand into his target's damaged head, interfacing with the wires there.

The boomer froze for a moment, its arms not reaching for what it knew was right on top of it. Then, it began to scream, flailing around in absolute agony, as Nick downloaded a program that taught the machine just what pain was, and gave it a huge dose of the new sensation. After a few joyous seconds of this - joyous for Nick, anyway - Nick had interfaced with the boomer's main computer, and began sending messages to the boomer's fusion systems. In seconds, the boomer began to scream even louder, its helpless roars filling the night with a chilling, inhuman plea for help. No help came.

Nick watched, grinning, as the machine's chest began to flex and erupt, multiple internal parts coming out. The boomer's fusion systems were now disassembling it, from the inside out. He could feel the machine turning to sludge underneath him. Soon, even the boomer's screams became garbled, its vocal processor falling apart. Nick released his hand after this, watching as the boomer's head was distored beyond recognition by the microbots inside. The distortions also destroyed any fingerprints his hand may have left on the metal, just as he had planned they would.

Once the boomer stopped twitching, nearly five minutes later, Nick pulled his glove back on, and drew out his long blade and rammed it up to the hilt in the thing's abdominal computer. Sparks flew, but the boomer didn't budge. Good : it was dead. Just one thing left.

Dragging his demi-sword out of the boomer, he brought it back and swung it like a baseball bat, neatly cleaving the thing's head off at the neck. He had a reputation to keep up, and he knew it.

Satisfied, Nick walked away, telephoning his current employer to say that the job was done. He had barely finished his call, however, when a laser shot at his feet stopped him dead in his tracks. Who would be shooting at him, and be able to do it without him noticing...

"Knight Sabers...go!" That hadn't been his voice. It was an electronically distored voice, coming out of the speaker on a white hardsuit standing on a rooftop not far from the downed boomer. As the suit said this, two more hardsuits - one blue and one green - appeared, jumping to the street.

"Oh, shit..." Nick said, under his breath. Apparently, the Sabers were quicker than he'd anticipated. He'd been sure four boomers would have held them up a while, but he'd been wrong. Now, he was stuck out in the open, cornered by MegaTokyo's famous mercenary boomer killers.

His battle computer was already evaluating the new arrivals. Three, no, four suits, he saw, as a red one appeared at the edge of his vision. His computer processed the information, finally displaying it on his field of view.

TARGETS(4) : HARDSUITS, HUMAN PILOTS. CAPABILITIES UNKNOWN. BEST APPROXIMATIONS :

MOBILITY RATING : B+

OFFENSIVE RATING : B-C+

DEFENSIVE RATING : B

THREAT ASSESSMENT : VERY HIGH

PROCEDURE?

"Oh, _shit_..." Nick said again. "Very high" meant it was time to run, unless you had some really big guns.

PROCEDURE : RETREAT.

ACKNOWLEDGED. SEARCHING...

He glanced around, searching for an escape route. He was already on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge if and when the shooting began. His gun might be able to get through those suits, but he wasn't sure. And there was no way he could take one down without the other three opening fire. It was best just to get out; he hadn't been made with stand-up fighting in mind.

He backed off quickly, but that didn't work very well. The red hardsuit dodged around behind him, blocking off his escape route and leveling some kind of arm-mounted weapon at him. The blue and green suits were separating, coming in on his right-front and left-front sides. Both of them were sleek and deadly, looking highly mobile but at the same time heavily armed. Meanwhile, the white suit had activated some sort of flight pack, and was coming in from the sky.

WARNING : PROCEDURE FAILED. RETREAT WITHOUT DESTRUCTION OF UNIT IS ONLY 4.069% POSSIBILITY.

NEW PROCEDURE?

^Fight? Well, maybe if there were just _one_ hardsuit, but four? No way. Take a hostage? By the time I get to any of them, I'll be hamburger.^

Nick suddenly thought of his phone. Maybe if he could jam their video feeds for a moment, he could get away. But that idea was no good, either; as he checked the device, he saw that _he_ was being jammed, and by something much stronger than his phone could combat.

"I'm screwed..."

***

Silia Stingray handled her suit with a practiced touch, bringing it lightly down to the ground in front of the man in the black trench coat. She'd gotten into position just in time to see him finish off the boomer, thus confirming her suspicions that the man was either a boomer himself, or had some pretty heavy cybernetic upgrades. Nene's suit was already scanning him, sending the data into the other three suits by way of a secure radio line.

"Everyone stay alert," she said, using another secure radio link. "We don't know how dangerous this man is, even when he's outnumbered. And whatever you do, don't fire unless I say so."

"Right," Nene said. "Count on me, boss."

"Don't worry about me," Linna radioed.

"Silia, you can't be serious."

Silia sighed imperceptibly. That last communication had come from Priss.

"What is it?" she asked the woman in the red-and-blue suit. That suit's helmet turned towards her, but Silia opted to keep her eyes on the man in front of her.

"It's the guy, Silia! I recognize him! He's the one who came up to me in the bar! He was after my _head_, and you're saying 'hold back'? Let's waste this son of a - "

"That's enough," Silia snapped at the other woman. Priss recoiled a little at the sharpness of the retort. "We don't know if he was there to kill you. Odds are if he'd wanted to, he would have. Just stick to the plan, Priss."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Silia thought about what Priss had just said. She'd seen the man before...

Soon, Silia was examining the man through her suit's enhanced optics, magnifying the image of his face. It _did_ look a little familiar...

She suddenly remembered where she'd seen that face before. The sunglasses were black now, instead of mirrored, but still...

"Nene," she radioed to the young hacker. "Connect to the computer at my apartment, and get the video files I put into it about a week ago. They're from storage warehouse 2."

"Gotcha," came the reply. Nene's suit extended multiple antennae, an action that seemed to put the man even more on edge. She set about connecting to Silia's computer and finding the requested files. Meanwhile, Silia switched her loudspeakers on.

"Guillotine," she began, using the name Nene had dug up in the ADP's mercenary files, "you've probably figured out by now that a fight would not be logical." As she spoke, she listened to her own distored voice, making sure the scrambler was working correctly. She'd put the scramblers in just a few months back, as it became apparent that more and more people were going to start recognizing the voices coming out of the suits. The little devices seemed to be working fine.

The man looked right at her. Surprisingly, he smirked a little. "Don't think I can't take a few of you with me," he said. Silia noticed his voice sounded gritty and hoarse, as though he had a lifetime habit of smoking.

"Brave words," Silia replied calmly, slowly walking towards him. She stopped at an imaginary line four meters from him. She ran a quick check to see that both Linna and Priss had their weapons locked on, while Nene's suit was blocking whatever electronic countermeasures the man himself might be carrying. They were safe, for now.

"Got the files, Silia. Downloading them to your suit," Nene's voice sounded in her ear.

"Thank you. Now finish scanning him. Get as detailed as you can."

"Roger."

Silia opened a smaller window in her viewscreen, retrieving the composite image she'd made of Doctor Brady. Comparing that image with the man in front of her, she saw they matched almost perfectly.

"Your real name is Nicholas Brady, correct?" she asked.

The man took a step back, but that was his only indication of surprise. "Sorry, but that ain't me," he said, in the same hoarse voice. "I never heard of a Bray-dy, or whatever. My name's Guillotine, to you."

Silia paused, glancing him over. He could very easily be lying, but then again, she remembered how many matches she'd gotten when she'd tried to connect Doctor Brady's face to a name. And his voice sounded nothing at all like Brady's...

Silia glanced at the data Nene's suit had collected already. "We've concluded by now that you're a cyberdroid," she said, looking directly into the sunglasses that covered the man's eyes.

The man smirked again. "Yeah, I'm a boomer," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You got a problem with that?"

"Yet you...just destroyed another cyberdroid," Silia continued.

"Look, look," the man said, holding one hand up defensively, while looking at the ground, as though annoyed. "I don't care about what I kill. Boomers or humans, whatever. But I _like_ doing this. You could almost say I _need_ to do it. So either kill me now, or get off my cajones." He spat out the last few words, looking Silia back in the eye.

Priss was already bristling. "He can't talk to us like that!" she radioed to Silia.

"Well, actually, he just did," came another voice.

"Shut UP, Linna," Priss bit back.

"Priss, either follow my orders or get out," Silia responded. "I don't care that he's a cyberdroid, or what you think about him. It looks like he's not on GENOM's side, so we don't have a reason to kill him." Priss shut up at that.

"We're not here to kill you, but we will if provoked," Silia continued, talking to the man in the trench coat. She found herself wondering why he'd be wearing a getup that was so conspicuous.

"Well, whoop de doo," the man responded. "What are you here for, then?"

"We're here to set a few things straight," she said.

Silia could almost see him rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. The man, Guillotine, turned slowly around, showing his back to Silia for a moment. Finally, he looked back, over his shoulder.

"Like what?"

"Tell me sir, if you were to receive a contract calling for _our_ deaths, what would you do?"

"Depends on how much I'd be gettin' paid. Looks like I'd need four bullets to do it."

^Nice ego,^ she thought. Real modest. "We're here to strike a deal. We do this with every new mercenary that starts working in MegaTokyo."

"What deal?" he said, turning around, sounding exasperated even through the grittiness of his voice.

"If you don't come after us, we won't come after you, is what it boils down to. You reject any contract calling for the Knight Sabers' deaths, and we will behave similarly in contracts connected to you."

Guillotine glanced around himself, again taking note of the four hardsuits. Silia could almost see him admit it to himself : ^they cornered me once, they can do it again.^

"Fine," he said. "Agreed, sworn, cross my heart, whatever you want. Can I go now?"

"Nene?" Silia radioed. "What's the status of the ADP?"

"Converging on this location," Nene responded promptly.

^Time to go,^ Silia thought. YOdds are he doesn't like the police, either.^ "Fine. Continue your business," she said to Guillotine. "Though I would prefer if you stuck to cyberdroids," she said, her voice sounding as suggestive as possible through the scrambling.

"Whatever," Guillotine replied, waving his hand dismissively.

"All of you," she said, switching back to the radio, "Disperse. Meet back at home base."

The other three immediately began moving away. As soon as Nene was out from behind Guillotine, the man disappeared, sinking into the night like a wraith. Silia watched him vanish, and then activated her flight pack again, lifting off and traveling into the sky.

***

The next day, Leon was riding his motorcycle down one of the main streets of MegaTokyo. He didn't bother wearing a helmet, his excuse being that if he ran into a boomer, he wouldn't want his field of vision restricted. As such, he felt the wind in his hair as he weaved in between cars.

He was on his way towards the latest incident of the violent boomer hunter, the one who went by the name Guillotine. The chief had tried to skin him when he'd made it clear he was going to press his case against the mercenary, but even that had been unable to stop Leon, who was used to such treatment, anyway. He was pursuing the case during his off hours, whenever they came. He'd gotten lucky today and scored some free time while the sun was up.

He turned down a side street, slowing to a halt as he reached the ADP barricade. The boomer's body had been found early that morning, and now, in mid-afternoon, they were still investigating the scene.

Leon turned off his bike and walked past the police tape, slowly removing the sunglasses he'd had on over his eyes. After flashing his badge to the other officers, he approached the boomer. From the blue metal and the armor plate, Leon figured it must be a 55-C, or maybe a 48-C. Or it had been, in any case. Currently, its torso was inside out, its wiring and internal components spilled out all over the street. Some officers were only now beginning to pick things up.

The boomer's head was further down the street. One officer was picking it up off the ground with a clamp, and was hefting it into an ADP squad car.

"Don't need to be so careful with it," Leon said, coming up behind the man. The other officer turned around quickly to face the new arrival, but relaxed when he saw who it was.

"Hey, Leon. Yeah, I know. We'll be lucky if we find anything traceable on this chunk of crap," he said, pointing at the destroyed boomer.

Leon nodded. The other thing about this 'Guillotine' was that he never left any evidence that would point to who he was.

"Any other finds?" Leon asked, fairly sure of what the answer would be.

The man shrugged. "Go see Hibiki. He's in charge on this one. And he's been wanting to see you all day, too."

"Me?" Leon asked. After the other officer nodded yes, Leon just shrugged and turned towards the large ADP van the crime scene chief was using. Finding Hibiki, he walked up to the man.

"Hey, what's up?" Leon asked.

Hibiki turned and took stock of the Investigator. "Oh, it's you. I've been wanting to talk to you." He reached inside the van and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, which he started leafing through.

"Yeah, about what?" Leon asked.

"Well, remember that crime a little while ago, the one like this? The one where that singer got hurt? Well, we found a bullet with some blood on it, and it wasn't the victim's."

"The perp's blood?" Leon asked, hopeful.

"Yep. Lab boys just finished running a gene scan on it," Hibiki replied, as he flipped through the sheaf of papers he was holding. "Here it is. This is really _weird_, McNichol. The blood was mostly AB positive, but there were some other types, too. And we couldn't lock down any one gene strand. It was like the perp's got a bunch of other DNA fingerprints in him. There's no way in hell we can trace someone with this blood."

Leon sighed, thinking. "Of course..." he said to himself, putting one hand on his forehead. "If he's a blood-drinker, he wouldn't have one specific blood..."

"What?" Hibiki asked, incredulous.

"Nothing. Just talking to myself," Leon said, waving the man off. "Anything new here?"

"Not really. You probably figured most of it out, already. We found another HEAP round in this thing's gut, probably used to disable the boomer so the perp can come in and do..._that_," he said, pointing at the mangled body. "There was another round in it's mouth. Couldn't find any shell casings, so this guy's probably using a brass-catcher, or caseless ammo."

"He knows what he's about, that's for sure," Leon said, looking thoughtfully at the boomer. "And he's one sick freak, too."

"Yeah. One of my guys noticed he used the same caliber bullets your gun does, McNichol."

"What? You don't mean - "

"No, it's fine. We don't suspect you. Just a side observation. You guys just have similar tastes in bullet sizes."

"That's me," Leon said, grinning. "It's impossible to have a gun that's _too_ big."

"Yeah," Hibiki said, laughing a little. "See ya, McNichol," he said, walking off.

Leon was waving his own goodbye when he saw a flash of yellow in his peripheral vision. Turning, he saw a cab stopped at the end of the street. Inside, the vehicle, the female passenger was looking at the crime scene. Leon instantly recognized her.

"Priss!" he called out, jogging towards the cab. He still hadn't apologized for leaving before she had come out of the emergency room, and it had been like a weight on his shoulders for the past few days. He'd heard she'd been hurt pretty badly, too. She seemed fine, now. Maybe she'd be willing to let him ask her out if it was to say he was sorry...

Priss shook her head disapprovingly before turning and saying something to the driver. The cab immediately took off. Not one to give up easily, Leon jumped back onto his bike and fired it up. Flipping his sunglasses on with one hand, he opened the throttle with the other, screeching around the corner and down the street, after the taxi which was already far ahead of him.

The chase took him across what had to be half of MegaTokyo. Several times, he almost lost her, but then the cab would reappear further away. He laid on the speed, keeping up as best he could in the heavy traffic. Finally, he pulled into an office building's parking lot, which the cab was pulling out of, having just dropped off its passenger.

Stopping his bike, he got off and jogged up the steps of what he assumed was the building Priss had gone into. He took a moment to look at the directory. His eyes stopped on one name.

"Brady and Smith..." he smiled a little as he said the name. So she'd come here. Good. He turned towards the stairs after checking to see which floor the office was on. That was where she would be, he was sure of it.

Leon had known that if Priss used the boomer repair place, it would be to fix an illegal boomer. But he soothed his nerves by telling himself all he'd done was give her a card. Nothing wrong with that, right? In any case, it was a chance to see her happy again. A while back, Priss had always been around with that one brunette biker...Leon couldn't remember her name, but he remembered that she'd been hot as hell. If he hadn't already had a thing for Priss, he'd have tried asking her out. Once, when she'd gotten within about three meters of him, he'd considered asking her out anyway, even though Priss had also been there. For a moment, that brunette had been the most attractive woman in the world. And she had also been Priss's best friend; for a few weeks, Priss had had an easier time smiling, forgetting her rocky past and enjoying the present.

And then had come that night, when Leon had tried to take on a prototype battlemover on his own. He could have won, too, had the machine's J-1 battle computer not taken over. And then, the Knight Sabers had come to the rescue, like always. And somewhere along the line, the pilot of that battlemover had been killed. And it had been the brunette...Leon had instantly put two and two together and figured out that the woman was a 33-S sexaroid, which explained quite a few things.

Leon also could not remember ever having seen Priss be so sad. He had been so touched by the sight that, for a split second, it hadn't quite registered that Priss had been wearing the blue Knight Saber armor. For that moment, he had felt a burning need to get out of the damn K-11 he'd been in, and go comfort her. Only his body hadn't responded; he'd blacked out soon after seeing Priss, and woken up in a hospital.

And now, here he was, back in another hospital. Only a different kind. Maybe the kind Priss could use.

After going up three flights of stairs, he'd come to the right level. He checked his watch : he was supposed to be back on duty in a few minutes, but he figured it could wait. It was something he was good at : getting his priorities straight.

He left the stairwell and glanced around, trying to see where the object of his search had gone. Seeing nothing, he started down the hallway towards Brady and Smith's offices. He stopped when he heard the faint 'ding' of the elevator, however. Turning slowly, he faced back the way he had come, just in time to see Priss walk out of the elevator. She looked up and immediately noticed him, as well.

They both froze, their minds swirling with excuses as to why they were here. Leon, trained by years of police work, knew the truth was usually the best way to go, and so managed to answer first.

"Hey, Priss," he said. "Saw you go by, so I figured I'd see where you were going."

Priss snapped back to reality, her face going hard with the anger she always had ready to unleash at anyone and everyone. Leon tensed inwardly, his experience-honed danger sense going off in his head.

"Leon?!" she began, speaking at a volume just short of shouting. "What the hell are you doing here? Don't tell me _you_ own a boomer."

"Came to see how you were doing," he answered, leaning against the wall. "Heard you got banged up a little."

"Yeah, so?" she asked, her voice defensive.

Leon held up his hands. "Just checking up on my favorite singer. Fan's duty, you know."

Priss rolled her eyes and pushed past him, down the hall. Leon followed behind, feeling it would be worthwhile to press the assault.

"So you came here?" he asked, trying to make conversation. "They have a look at your friend, yet?"

Priss stopped short and turned around. Leon almost walked into her, but stopped just before the collision and took a step back. Priss's gaze bored into his eyes.

"Look, thanks for getting me here. But could you leave me alone, right now? I'm not in the mood."

"Are you ever?" Leon countered, with a smirk. He inwardly cringed, knowing he shouldn't have said that.

Priss looked like she was ready to deck him outright. "Just leave me alone," she said after a moment of seething angrily. She turned on her heel and kept walking. This time, Leon stayed behind.

"I was wondering..." he began. He looked at the wall, not wanting to see how angry Priss would be. But he heard her stop, and turn around again.

"I was wondering if you'd like to do something tonight," he asked, casually. "My way of saying 'I'm sorry' for not coming to see you earlier after I heard you got hurt." After saying this, he risked a glance back at Priss.

If looks could kill, Leon was sure he would have self-destructed on the spot. Priss looked angry enough to tear apart a 55-C with her bare hands. But, amazingly, her face seemed to...soften. Leon blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. After a second, however, the woman's face took on a cunning look. Leon's danger sense went off again.

"Come to think of it..." she said, slowly, "I _do_ need to go somewhere tonight. If you want to tag along, that's fine."

Despite all the alarms going off in his head, Leon still managed to nod and smile. "That's...that's great!" he said, surprised she would say yes at all. "When can I pick you up?"

"Never," she said, grinning toothily at him. "Come meet me across the street from here at seventeen hundred."

"I'll be there," Leon said instantly. Priss, still smiling, turned around and went the rest of the way down the hall, finally turning into the office she was looking for, without giving Leon another glance.

Leon stood there a moment, getting his thoughts together. Finally, he turned around and headed for the stairs again. He shouldn't have been so quick to agree, he knew; now he'd have to pull some scheduling acrobatics to get himself an open spot at 17:00. Maybe Nene could help with that...she always seemed to be able to get herself whichever shift she wanted.

His thoughts running in this vein, he jumped back on his motorcycle, gunned the engine, and sped off towards the ADP, brimming with anticipation as to what Priss had planned.

***

Nick rubbed at his eyes a little and checked his watch, wondering where Lou was. After blinking a few times to get a dust particle out of his eyes, he picked up his medical tools again. These tools were much more refined and delicate than what he'd use on a 55-C, or most other boomers, for that matter. The reason was that the patient was also more refined and delicate than most boomers.

Sylvie's body was lying on the operating table in front of him. She was naked from the waist up, but he'd also cut her chest open to operate; as such, the view was not that great. But Nick was not interested in things like that. He was much more interested in getting this sexaroid back online.

After knocking the overhead light around to get more illumination, Nick leaned back down, probing at Sylvie's internals. It was a much more difficult job than he'd anticipated; back when he'd still been working for GENOM, he'd been reassembling 33-S-H's all the time. Taking care of each other was just something he and his partners did. That had actually been where he'd learned a dead boomer could be reactivated, without deleting its personality. It made sense that it should work for a 33-S; they were almost the same as the 33-S-H. Nick was glad he'd been configured to hunt sexaroids when he'd quit. As such, he knew the 33-S like the back of his hand, and he didn't even need to plug himself into a computer.

The only problem was that Nick was now doing the _reverse_ of what he usually did, and that was harder than he'd thought. Whereas taking them apart was fun, and occasionally erotic, putting them back together was a painstaking, annoying job. Nick was fighting constantly with his usual impatience, knowing that he just _had_ to get the sexaroid back online. There were a lot of reasons, first and foremost being that Meg and Lou still didn't really trust him. Maybe if he did _this_, they would at least let him come in the room without tensing up. Secondly, he was getting paid, big-time. He didn't know where Ms. Asagiri had come up with the funds to satisfy his bill, but he didn't care, either.

Nick also had personal reasons for reassembling this particular 33-S. These reasons, however, were unvoiced, and he intended for them to remain so.

It had been just a few days since Ms. Asagiri had had Sylvie's body shipped in. Anri remained in cold storage, awaiting her turn. Nick had immediately run a full-body scan on Sylvie, taking stock of everything that was wrong. He'd also hooked her up to a constant supply of nutrient fluid and an external pump, keeping her body from deteriorating. 33-S's were a lot more resilient than humans, but they had their limits. At least the brain could go without oxygen without being damaged.

It already looked like it was going to be a lot of work. Whoever had killed this one sure knew how to hit someone so they wouldn't get up. That kind of aim only came with practice, and Nick knew it. A full heart rebuild was in order, but Nick was saving that for last. He also needed to fix the wound in Sylvie's lower-right abdomen. That was about the extent of the damage, though. The job shouldn't take more than a week or two of ordinary work hours. He wouldn't even have to put off his mercenary work. Which was a good thing, because this 'reverse-damage' thing was grating on Nick's hardwired desire to hunt and kill.

The door opened, and Nick looked up quickly, keeping his hands steady where they were. Lou looked at him for a moment, then averted her eyes from his. Nick knew what she would see, and he didn't care.

"How's it going?" Lou asked.

"Fine," Nick grunted out. "What's the story with snagging some more fusion chemicals?" His voice was the same as it always was; it was not the gritty, hoarse voice he'd switched to so the Knight Sabers wouldn't recognize him.

Lou shrugged, sitting down in the room's one chair. "There are some on order. Are you _sure_ that'll work on Sylv...on her?" she finished, gesturing at the form on the table without looking at it. Nick couldn't understand why the woman was so reluctant to speak her friend's name. Maybe seeing her cut open was disturbing.

"Yes, I know it'll work. It works on me, so it'll work on her. Hell, it works on almost every goddamn boomer ever made."

Lou flinched a little at the slang for 'cyberdroid', but didn't bother arguing.

"It's quitting time," she said after a pause.

Nick checked his watch again. "Damn. Afternoon went by like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "Alright, I'm outta here. Don't worry," he said, noting the look on Lou's face, "the sexaroid's stable, for now."

Lou nodded a little, but Nick had already left. After a long look at Sylvie's body, Lou also left.

Nick was currently washing the synthetic blood off his hands. He didn't wear gloves while operating, mostly because germs weren't a problem for boomers, even organic ones. And he didn't want gloves interfering with his sense of touch. It was okay to leave fingerprints, in this case.

Nick stepped into his office, grabbed his duffel bag and pulled on his jacket. He also put on the mirrored sunglasses that had become standard issue for when he was playing cybersurgeon. It had become too dangerous to wear the black ones; now that the Knight Sabers had seen Guillotine's face and lived, he couldn't take the risk of someone noticing him.

On the way out, he noticed a few apples sitting in a basket on Meg's desk.

"Who got these?" he asked, picking up one of the fruits.

"I did," Meg said from where she was working. She didn't look at him. Nick just raised his eyebrows a little in appreciation before turning and walking out the door, still holding the apple he'd taken. Nick knew that the women would lock up a few minutes later when they left. Meg and Lou would take their car home, as usual. Nick, on the other hand, preferred to walk. He liked being able to control where he was going, and right now, he didn't feel like going straight home.

He took the stairs down, holding the apple in one hand and reaching into his duffel with the other. He thumbed the lock on his scabbard that kept his blade in place, and drew the weapon out. He immediately went to work cutting off chunks of the apple, not minding that the knife was perhaps a little too long for the job. It was the one and only edged weapon he knew how to use, so why not use it? Nick didn't mind at all that this was the same blade he used to decapitate people. He kind of liked that fact, actually.

His mind was so concerned with thoughts of Sylvie, as well as cutting off chunks of apple, that he didn't immediately notice the pair of eyes watching him from across the street.

When he _did_ notice, however, a plan almost immediately formed in his head. He smiled to himself, covering the smile by taking another bite of apple.

***

Priss tilted her head back to loosen up the sore muscles. How much longer did this have to go _on_? She'd seen everything so far, from the departure from the office building to the walk down the streets of MegaTokyo, to the many places her target had been to. It would have been tough enough just going alone. Her company made it worse.

"You sure have an interesting way of spending your time," Leon said, grinning as he glanced at Priss. He'd been bearable while the sun was up; when he was wearing those dark sunglasses, Priss could have at least convinced herself he was staring straight ahead. But now that it was dark, she saw precisely where his eyes were going. Coming from another man, it would have made her blush.

But this one was a cop.

Gritting her teeth and ignoring the attempt at conversation, she continued watching Mr. Brady. After the run-in with Guillotine, and Silia's observation that the mercenary and Nick Brady looked a lot alike, every Knight Saber had been given a job regarding this new find. While Nene did her computer thing, Priss and Linna were taking turns following this man. And Priss had lost the coin toss for tonight.

Linna had said that it was nearly impossible to keep track of Mr. Brady as he went home. It was almost as though he instinctively knew when he was being followed. Priss hadn't thought this would be a problem, but when Leon had presented himself as an opportunity, she'd taken the chance.

Overall, Leon had been a big help. Few ADP officers were willing to help a civilian follow someone, for free. But Leon was, and he had actually shown he had a lot of experience with this sort of thing. So maybe he wasn't just the bad-assed, strongarm cop he tried to appear to be when he was in front of Priss. That, plus the fact that she knew she'd be there to help if this boomer tried anything, made it _almost_ bearable to have Leon with her. Almost.

Leon kept the smile on his face, despite being ignored again. He never gave up when he had his sights set on something. _That_ much, Priss knew. To make matters worse, when she really thought about it, Priss couldn't see anything wrong with him. Usually, it was easy enough to make herself hate him, but when he was being helpful...it was harder.

She had to admire Brady's stamina. He'd been on his feet for the better part of two hours, now. Even Leon was beginning to show he was getting tired. Leon had noticed the black sneakers their mark was wearing; they were ideal for just about anything, be it walking, running, or giving chase. That Brady was just walking probably made it easier on his feet, though.

^Maybe that's his plan,^ Priss thought. ^Lead us on a wild goose chase all over town to get us tired, then...^ then what? She didn't know, but once again, there was an advantage to having Leon around : another gun. If this boomer turned out to be dangerous, it would be useful to have two people to fight him, instead of one. Priss tried to calm herself, though. Brady couldn't know they were here. She'd been doing everything Leon had said.

"If anything, it's been nice going on a walk with you, Priss. Takes the stress out of my usual day," Leon said, again trying for conversation. Priss again ignored both him and the emotion that tried to reach up and take hold.

Brady was turning, heading for a bus stop. Finally. Maybe he had decided to take a quicker way home.

Brady - if that was his name - was looking around, in his usual, casual fashion. For a brief moment, his eyes - which were still behind sunglasses, oddly enough - flickered over Priss and Leon. Priss held her breath, even though Leon had told her to act like she didn't notice. But the man kept looking around, his gaze eventually going back to stare down the street, where a bus was just turning the corner. Priss noticed the barest hint of a self-satisfied smile on his face. Did he know they were here? She hoped not.

Priss just maneuvered her way through the omnipresent crowds, with Leon in tow. She headed towards a café table where they could wait. Leon had told her never to get too close to the person you were following. Getting on the same bus with this man would be too risky.

Of course, sitting at a café table with Leon might be equally risky.

"Well, gee, this is turning into a real date, now, Priss."

Priss glared at him. Didn't he ever learn?

But as she looked, she saw a blank look had come into the ADP Investigator's eyes. What the...

She turned back towards Brady. His smile had grown, and he appeared to be straightening his sunglasses as stepped onto the bus that had just pulled up. What was so funny?

"Priss..." Leon began.

She blinked. He sounded...happy. Even more cocksure than usual. She slowly turned towards him. A smile had come across his face, and a glitter was in his eyes. He looked happier than he'd ever been in his life. What was wrong with him?

He reached out and took her hand, gently holding on even when she tried to pull free.

"Have I ever told you how sexy you are?" he began.

She recoiled, twisting out of his grip and staring at him as though he had suddenly become a snake.

"What?" she asked.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. Yup," he pounded on the table for emphasis. "That's a sure thing. I knew the moment I saw you." The smile remained engraved on his face.

Priss fought her own emotions with everything she had. She felt her hate and anger thin, nearly shattering. It had been so long since someone had spoken to her like this. But the moment didn't last. She wouldn't let it last.

Something finally clicked in Priss's head. Leon was acting...quite a lot like Mackie had, the day he'd met this Brady character. Had the other man...been able to do something to Leon, even at this distance?

"Can I buy you a drink? Here, I'll buy you dinner."

Priss got up, scared of the sudden change.

"Uh, Leon, I need to be going."

"Well, here, I'll walk you wherever you're going. I can get Daley to bring the car in, and I'll drive you...Hey! Where are you going?"

"Bye," Priss managed to get out before pushing her way through the crowds. Leon immediately got up. Priss didn't dare pull a gun on a trained fighter, and a cop at that, but the idea was suddenly very tempting.

She suddenly remembered something. The bus...she looked up. It was gone, leaving no trace of which direction it had taken.

"Shit!" Priss yelled out, pounding one foot into the ground in fury. People gave her strange looks and avoided her.

"Hey, Priss, what's wrong? Can I help?"

Oh, no. Leon had caught back up to her. Priss pushed away from him, and started getting back through the crowds. Leon followed for a while, but he eventually took the hint, and started taking a leisurely walk in the other direction, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face, and looking at the starry night sky.

***

"All right," Silia Stingray was saying, two hours later, as she spoke into a phone.

She was sitting in her apartment, looking cool and collected as she reclined in a chair. The other two Knight Sabers were there, as well. Nene was sitting on a wooden chair in front of a computer, a blank look on her face as she concentrated on what was on the screen. Her fingers tapped out commands almost continuously. Linna was sitting with her legs crossed on the couch.

Mackie was not there; he was busy helping "Doctor" Raven at the garage. They were almost done reassembling Priss's motorcycle. It turned out the damage hadn't been as bad as it had looked. But it was taking a long time to fix, nonetheless.

"Okay," Silia said, a moment later. "I understand. See you then." She hung up after this, and immediately looked to Linna, who looked back, inquisitively.

"That was Priss," Silia began. Linna nodded at this, waiting for Silia to go on. Nene didn't even register that someone had spoken.

"She said that she was unable to keep following Dr. Brady. He was able to...greatly affect Inspector McNichol's attitude, from a distance. But she doesn't know how."

"What do you mean?" Linna asked, cocking her head a little.

"Do you remember what I told you about Mackie?" Silia asked, just before taking a drink from her tea.

"Yeah," Linna replied, giggling. No one was looking, but Nene blushed a little, even though she gave no other indication that she'd heard. Her hands kept typing away.

"This newest incident makes me wonder even more about Mr. Brady. I've got a suspicion about him..." she said, taking another sip and then looking over to Nene. "Any luck?" she asked.

"Huh?" the girl said, speaking for the first time in twenty minutes. She blinked a little, too; something else she'd forgotten to do while in her computer-induced trance.

"What is your search status?" Silia asked.

"Almost..." Nene said, her brow furrowing as she went back to her work. "There's _something_ there, I can feel it. But there was so much security in the way, it's taking a long time. I almost got it, now."

"Where are you?"

"I'm working my way into the secondary GENOM mainframe."

Silia nodded a little. "Just be careful."

"Always am."

Linna uncrossed her legs and stretched out on the couch, looking at the ceiling. "So what're you thinking about Brady?" she asked, without turning her head.

"I won't say yet," Silia responded. "I don't want to get you worked up over something that might not turn out."

Linna nodded a little. This was standard treatment from Silia; whether the woman answered your question or not was entirely up to her.

They kept waiting, Nene typing, Linna counting the ceiling tiles, and Silia finishing her tea and wishing she had a cigarette. She'd slowed down the smoking, to the point where she'd only have a cigarette if she was nervous about something. She didn't let it show on her face, but she was nervous now, about what Nene would find, about what they were up against. But both of the other women in the room abhorred smoking, so she restrained herself, keeping her emotions inside her, unexpressed. To distract herself, she reviewed the scan Nene's suit had run on Guillotine, even though she'd read it several times, already.

After a while, Mackie came in the door. He immediately went into the kitchen, coming back a moment later with an open can of soda. He said his hellos as he threw his jacket onto the nearest unoccupied chair. His gaze lingered a little on Nene, but living in the same apartment as her had taught him not to disturb the girl while she was on a computer.

Mackie flopped down in the chair his jacket was on and kept the women company, Silia and Linna getting him up to date on what had happened with Priss and Leon. Mackie looked a little embarrassed after hearing about Leon's...condition, but he covered it by taking a long drink from his soda. He tried to change the subject, saying that Priss's motorcycle would be completely repaired within a few days.

Finally, Nene pushed away from the computer, her arms going slack as she let out a huge sigh. The printer started working, busily putting out several sheets of paper. Nene leaned back so far her head went over the back of the chair, giving her and upside-down view of the room.

"Oh...hi Mackie," she said, tiredly. "When'd you get in?"

"A while ago," the boy responded, grinning a little. It was

amazing how _un_-observant Nene became while hacking. Un-observant about the physical world, anyway.

"What did you find?" Silia asked.

Nene reached forwards lazily, grabbed the sheaf of papers the printer had just finished spitting out, and held them at arm's length towards Silia. The other woman got up and took them, muttering a thanks to the young hacker. Nene said nothing, closing her tired eyes for a moment and resting.

Silia was reading the first paper before she sat down. She flipped through the rest of the pile, nodding to herself. Every once in a while, she'd check the scan from Nene's suit.

In the meantime, Mackie got up and helped Nene to an easy chair. The girl then pulled him down next to her, even though it was a one-person chair. Mackie may have been moving a _little_ too fast a few days ago, but that didn't mean Nene hadn't liked it. Their relationship had slowly been getting more serious since that day.

"This is it," Silia finally said.

"What?" everyone else in the room simultaneously asked.

"As we've guessed, Dr. Brady is not human," she began. A few nods prompted her to continue.

"He's an advanced cyberdroid, something GENOM won't even admit it makes. Put shortly, he's a male sexaroid."

Silence filled the room, but only for a moment.

"Oooh," Linna said. "Where can I get one?"

Mackie and Nene both laughed at this comment. Even Silia couldn't surpress a smile.

"I'm afraid you wouldn't be interested," Silia continued. "Mr. Brady is a model three-three-S-H."

Nene's head popped up as she suddenly became alert. "33-S-H? Is he like...you know, the 33-S?" Nene was the only other Knight Saber to be familiar with what the model number 33-S meant. She'd heard it from Leon, as they'd tracked down the 'vampire' killer from a few months back.

Silia nodded. "I'll have to read the rest of this," she said, waving the stack of papers through the air before setting it down on a nearby table. "But judging from the model name, he's probably very closely related to the 33-S. But he's very different, too."

"How?" Linna asked.

"He's an assassin droid," she said, bluntly. "He's fully sentient, fully capable, and very deadly, if GENOM is keeping him under wraps like this."

"Oh, no..." Mackie said, under his breath. "But you _gotta_ be wrong, sis! Why'd a killer be _repairing_ Sylvie?"

Silia shrugged, while shaking her head a little. "To get to us, to get to Priss in particular, who knows? But I'm afraid I can't let this go on." She reached for her phone.

But she froze as a hand gripped her arm in a crushing grip. She looked up, shocked. Mackie was standing there, somehow having gotten across the room to her in the split second it had taken her to turn towards the phone.

Silia had never seen her brother truly angry before. She knew he was one of the more timid types, a quiet boy who generally kept to himself, and was a pushover for anyone with any amount of persuasive ability. But, now...she almost cringed openly, looking into his eyes. They were cold and hard, and boring into her. His jaw was set, ready to do everything he could to prevent his sister from picking up the phone.

"No," he said, after a tense moment.

"Mackie, listen to me - " Silia began.

"No, _you_ listen to _me_, Silia," he said. "You're tellin' me you're gonna kill Sylvie, for _real_ this time. _And_ you're gonna crush Priss. Do you know how she'd react if you stopped Brady? _And_ you're doing it because of a frikkin' piece of _paper_. Get. A. _Grip_."

Silia's mind was almost ripped in half. The logical part of her was saying that Mackie must still be under some lingering effects of being with Brady, and so he still trusted the man. He was being irrational, and that was all. But the _other_ part of her was shocked beyond belief. For one, this was the first time she'd seen her brother argue with her. It was also one of the few times Mackie had ever used her name, instead of 'sis'. This, plus what Mackie had said, made her hesitate. She looked into his eyes, probing to see the cause of this behavior. As she did so, Silia could see that whatever emotion was making him do this was real. Mackie wasn't doing this to prove anything, or out of respect for anyone. He was doing it because he genuinely felt this way.

After a while, Silia's logical half began to agree with the other part of her brain. It definitely _wouldn't_ be a good idea to stop Brady, if anything because doing so _would_ strongly affect Priss, who was inarguably the Knight Sabers's best fighter. Without her, Silia didn't think they'd be able to keep on fighting GENOM. Which meant...Mackie had a point. Which meant...Silia was in the wrong, for one of the very few times in her life.

"Fine," she said, softly, after a few more minutes. There was no reaction, and she realized she hadn't spoken loudly enough. "Fine," she said again, letting a little iron into her voice. She heard a considerable amount of held breath coming out of both Linna and Nene. Mackie, however, had been breathing slowly and regularly the whole time, just as Silia had.

Finally, Mackie released her arm. Silia fought the urge to flex her hand a little; her brother had been gripping her so hard, he'd cut off blood flow to that hand.

"I'll let him keep working," Silia said, after Mackie backed off a few steps. "But I'm also keeping him under observation. I'll bet Fargo can find a few good eyes and ears for me. But, I'll have you know, if Brady tries _anything_..." she said firmly, trailing off. She left the rest unsaid.

Mackie still kept some of the hardness in his eyes, but he nodded coldly before going to sit, alone, in the last unoccupied chair. Linna and Nene were visibly fighting the urge to stare; they'd never seen Mackie act like this, either.

Silence ruled for several minutes. Finally, though, Linna conveniently remembered she had an early aerobics class and left, while Nene found an excuse to go to bed early. Mackie and Silia remained alone in the room for almost twenty minutes after that, both immersed in their own thoughts. Not a word was passed between them. Finally, though, Mackie got up, flicked off most of the lights, and lied down on the couch to go to sleep.

Silia watched his sleeping form, her eyes widening just a little as it finally hit her that her brother was no longer a little boy. She'd have to remember that. But things needed to be set in motion. Clearing her mind, she picked up the phone again and called Fargo. After a short conversation, she'd received the names of a few good observers. Their prices were a little high, but it was nothing she couldn't afford.

She immersed herself in work, ignoring the nagging worry in the back of her mind that, for once, she didn't know what was going to happen next.

***

Nene trotted down the hallways of the ADP, clutching several huge folders to her chest. A long elevator trip had brought her down to the subterranean levels, where the mecha garages were. She didn't come down here much; it was a little too cold, and definitely not lit well enough. But this time, she'd had to.

The hallway she was going down was lined with doors, most of them open. Each one led to another garage, for a handful of powered suits, a few armored carriers, or something else in that vein. She peeked into each one as she made her way down the corridor. Her large eyes flickered back and forth, looking for the object of her search. Finally, down near the middle of the hall, she found Leon. Sighing with the effort she'd had to go through to get here, she walked into the garage. She tried not to think of the work that was probably piling up on her desk. It looked like she wouldn't be getting home early today...

Just the thought of that made her blush. She'd been a little embarrassed when Mackie had...come onto her, like that, but that was mostly because Silia had been there, watching them. If the other woman hadn't been there, well...there was no telling what might have happened. A few rather naughty images went through Nene's mind, images she dwelled on for a few seconds before letting them evaporate. She _did_ have a job to do.

Leon was standing on a small scaffold at the top of a K-12S, one of the heavy-duty combat suits of the ADP. This one looked old, despite the fresh paint that had just been added. Leon was yelling something at the various techs working on the machine, while Daley was leaning back in a folding chair, watching the scene unfold.

Nene walked up to Leon's orange-haired partner as she tried to figure out what to do.

"Hey, Nene," Daley said, noticing her.

"Oh! Hello, Daley," Nene said, politely. "What's Leon doing?" she asked, looking up at the other man, who was pointing at one of the arm joints and raving on about how the arm was ready to fall off.

Daley sighed and crossed his legs, glancing at Leon before looking back at Nene. "He's just trying to get the techs to listen to him. He's convinced they try to do a bad job maintaining these suits."

Nene shrugged. She didn't really care about the K-series armored troopers, not when she had a much better suit herself. Hers wasn't even a real fighter, but she was sure it could beat this old bucket of bolts, anyway.

"How much longer before he's done?" she asked.

"You need 'im?" Daley shot back.

"Well, uh...I don't want to interrupt..." Nene said, trying to stay polite.

"Ah, it's okay. The techs could use a break from this loser." He stood up. "Hey, Leon!" he shouted, cupping one hand over his mouth. "Get that butt of yours down here!"

Leon glanced down at the call. "What?" he asked, a little angry at being interrupted. Daley just pointed at Nene, who shrunk back a little and waved with her fingers. At this sight, Leon smiled a little and hopped down the scaffolding to the ground.

"Hey, Nene," he said, walking up to the girl. "What's up?"

Nene quietly handed him one of the folders she was carrying. "That's what you asked for," she said.

"Thanks," he said, snatching the folder and flipping through it. Nene waited nervously, not really sure about what to do next. She glanced at Daley, who indicated she should stay. Nene decided it couldn't hurt to stay a few more minutes. The folder contained everything Silia had said it was safe for Leon to read. It had been a week since Mackie had stood up to Silia, and so far, the leader of the Knight Sabers was doing everything she could to protect Dr. Brady, at least until his work with Sylvie and Anri was done.

"This all?" Leon said, after a while.

"I'm sorry," Nene said, innocently. "But that's all I could find on Guillotine."

"Dammit," Leon mumbled, slinging the folder under his armpit. "This isn't much new. What jobs has he taken recently?" he asked, sitting down in another chair.

"Mostly hits on boomers," Nene replied, looking for another seat. She found that there wasn't one. Stewing a little, she remained standing.

"Mostly? What's that mean?"

"It means," Daley said, cutting off Nene's rehearsed response, "that not everyone can be like the Knight Sabers. This guy just takes whatever job he wants. Some people are like that, you know."

"Yeah, I know..." Leon said, more to himself than anyone else. He looked back at Nene. "Can you even see if he's a boomer? Or is he just some kind of cyber-human?"

"Well..." Nene said, making her voice sound conspirational, "word on the street is he's a cyborg. You know, a human with a boomer's body."

Leon cursed again. "Well, that changes things. If he's a human, I can't just take 'im...but I gotta know for sure. Can you try and verify that, Nene?"

"I'll try," Nene said with a smile. She was already working on forging some 'authentic' documentation that would show Guillotine was in fact a cyborg, instead of a boomer.

"And while you're at it, how about finding a replacement for this chunk of crap," Leon added on, holding his head with one hand and using the other hand to gesture back at the K-12S.

Nene giggled a little. "Well..." she said, trailing off and looking at the ceiling, like she was thinking about it.

Leon looked up at her, annoyed but unable to get angry at the girl in front of him. He searched through his pockets, but came up empty. He glanced over at Daley, hopeful. Daley grinned a little and pulled out a few cards from his inner jacket pocket. The cards were good for free desserts at a local ice cream shop. They were also the standard Nene currency.

Daley handed the cards to Nene, who giggled a little before turning to leave.

"Hang on," Leon said, getting up.

"What?" Nene asked, turning back around with her eyebrows raised questioningly.

Leon walked up to her and leaned down, bringing him face-to-face with the girl. Nene drew back a little, holding the remaining folders protectively against herself. Leon had tried to come onto her once before, and what with Mackie acting like he had, she didn't know what to think, even if Leon had just been joking before.

"You heard they questioned a few of the people who've seen this guy?"

Nene drew back imperceptibly. It wasn't what she'd been expecting him to do, but...

"Uh...no. Why?" She was nervous. She hadn't expected Leon to ask questions.

"No one's ever gotten a good look at his face, but most people say this guy wears a black trench coat and sunglasses. Remember someone else like that?"

Nene thought for a second. "Oh, yeah..." she said. "That guy who...you know..."

"Yeah, I know," Leon said, still a little embarrassed. "Think they're the same guy?"

"Uh...maybe," Nene said, nervously. "Can I go now?"

"Sure," Leon said, smiling a little. "One more thing, though."

"What?"

"How's Priss doing?" he asked, in a low voice.

"Oh, she's fine," she answered, right away. She knew that she shouldn't officially know Priss outside of the Knight Sabers, but the entire team - except for Silia - had stopped following that rule a long time ago, along with most of the other Knight Saber articles.

"She doing anything tonight?"

Nene couldn't help smiling a little. Whatever Brady had done to Leon, it appeared to have mellowed the Inspector out a little, at least where Priss was concerned. Before that little incident, Leon _never_ would have considered checking with Priss' friends before asking her out.

"Uh...sorry, Leon, but she's doing a concert tonight," Nene responded truthfully.

"Alright," Leon said, sighing a little. "Thanks for your help," he said, turning back towards the power suit. He was unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Nene watched him go, thinking to herself. Quickly, Leon went back to yelling at the techs, going back to his task with renewed vigor. He was back to his old cocksure attitude already. Nene was sure it was just an act, though.

Shrugging, Nene turned and left, her thoughts drifting back to Mackie and the...interesting...fantasy she'd recently had concerning him.

A little while after Nene had left, something clicked in Leon's mind. He looked back to the door she'd just exited.

"But, if he's got a boomer's body..." he said to himself, "wouldn't he have set off the alarm?"

He thought for a few more minutes.

"What are you hiding, Nene?" he asked himself, suspicious of the girl, and not for the first time, either.

***

Nick leaned backwards in his seat and knuckled his back. He'd lost track of time a while ago, but he did know it had been days since he'd left the office. And most of his time was spent in the damn operating room, working on a banned boomer that would most likely run away screaming when she saw him.

He couldn't afford to leave, not anymore; it had only taken him one day to notice that he was being followed, and by true professionals. Nothing like those women that had tried keeping up with him a while ago. He couldn't lose these people; he never even saw them. The only way he knew they were there was his gut feeling, the sixth sense any covert ops expert - human or otherwise - develops in order to survive. The only thing he'd been grateful for was that they weren't there to kill him; there hadn't been one attempt on his life yet. It looked like they were just observers.

It was easy enough to work around them, though. It looked like the unseen observers were only interested in him; Meg and Lou were unimportant, to them. So, Nick had the two women bring him what he needed, and let them run the business. They seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it, too. Meanwhile, Nick sealed himself in the office, where he worked like a dog. He slept when he could no longer ignore the fatigue, and ate when he was about ready to die of hunger. He worked in this way so that he could concentrate on something _other_ than the itch at the back of his mind, the itch that kept getting worse every day he didn't kill something.

A beeping off to the side got his attention. One of the computers was saying that the the sexaroid's heart was finally ready.

As he'd expected, the damage had been so thorough he'd had to cut the sexaroid's heart completely out of her body and move it to a small reconstruction chamber. There, micro-robots had been slowly piecing in back together, as per the designs Nick had given them earlier. And now their job was done.

He shut down the reconstruction chamber and waited as the top slowly cycled open. Once the fluids inside had cooled down, he reached inside and, very carefully, removed the heart. It was definitely hardier than any human counterpart - he wouldn't have handled a truly organic heart with his hands - but it was still extremely delicate. Taking care not to move his fingers or hands any more than was needed, he took the heart over to the body and carefully slid it into the appropriate place.

It was amazing how insistent Meg and Lou had been that he not modify Sylvie. It would have been so much easier to just order a new heart, to replace the old one. Just because the 33-S was banned didn't mean GENOM had stopped making them. You just had to know where to look to find spare parts. And Nick knew where to look.

But the women had said that everything needed to be the original. He hadn't really felt like arguing, especially because it didn't matter all that much anyway. And now, here he was, several days behind schedule. Well, it worked out in the end.

After arranging everything, Nick plugged himself into a computer loaded with medical knowledge. After he'd recovered from having information flood his brain, he did some quick stitches, temporarily attaching the largest blood vessels back to where they should go. Then, he grabbed a nearby syringe, and gave the heart a quick injection. The syringe contained more micro-robots. This time, they had been instructed to reattach the appropriate blood vessels. When they were done, they would destroy the thread Nick had used to hold everything together; such a temporary fix would no longer be needed.

Finally, he put the syringe down - it was almost completely empty - and went to go sit. According to his calculations, he had to wait another day or so before the microsurgery would be done. Then, his job would almost be finished.

He permitted himself a brief smile as he looked at the 33-S's serene face. He'd hunted down many boomers like this one, in his lifetime. Hell, he'd held the record for the number of sexaroid kills when he'd quit. And he'd always gotten the biggest high out of watching them when they were scared, still trying to find a way to live, and seeing that there was none. But watching this scene of peace...was enjoyable, too. Not the firey excitement he got out of his mercenary work, but a different kind of enjoyment, of seeing something that was able to let its guard down, unlike him. And, even though Sylvie didn't know it, he was more familiar with her than he'd let on to anyone else. He just had to bring life back to this peaceful face, and the person underneath.

Of course, the real work was still ahead of him : convincing the sexaroid that she was in fact _not_ dead. With that in mind, he took out his phone and dialed his apartment. After several rings, someone picked up.

"Hello?" came Meg's voice.

"Hi," he said, surprised at the amount of fatigue in his voice.

"Oh...hi," Meg replied, sounding nervous.

"Look..." Nick began. He paused for a moment to get his thoughts together. "I need to you call Ms. Asagiri for me."

There was a short pause. Then : "Priss? Why?"

"I'll need her to tell me the sexaroid's human contact."

"Excuse me?"

Nick leaned his head back in exasperation. Did he have to explain _everything_?

"When a 33-S breaks free," he began, "she usually starts some sort of close relationship with a human, as a way of maintaining cover. You and Lou haven't had to do that, 'cause I'm around."

Nick actually thought he could hear Meg laugh a little. It was probably just his imagination, though.

"Okay," Meg said, after a moment. "Anything else you want me to tell her?"

"Not really. Just tell her to think about it, see if she can remember always seeing someone with the sexaroid. But be polite, because _she_ might be the person I need. That's why I'm having you two do this. Politeness isn't my thing."

"I noticed," Meg responded, irately. "But I think we can handle this."

"Good. And, if it's not too much, ask her who the other 'roid's human contact was. I don't need him or her just yet, but it'll be nice to know the name."

There was a brief pause. "I don't know if Anri ever had a...human contact," came Meg's voice, finally.

"That's insane. What'd she do, just hang around in an apartment all day, wondering where the other 'roid was?"

"How should I know? But I'll ask Priss. Maybe she'll know. I mean, she also knew Anri, so who knows?"

"Fine. Well, listen, get Ms. Asagiri, or whoever the hell the sexaroid's contact was, and get him or her in here...in two days, let's say."

"What do you have planned?"

"I'm gonna hit the 'on' switch and see what happens."

Another silence followed. "So soon?" Meg finally said, sounding even more nervous than before. Her voice had also taken on an excited edge.

"Hey, it's been weeks, and it would've been longer if I wasn't stuck in here. But yeah, I'll be ready in about two days. Like I said, this one is the easier of the 'roids. Don't expect results like this with the other one."

There was a pause, before Meg finally said, "Thank you, Nick."

"Whatever," Nick said, too tired to accept a thanks. "And don't thank me 'til the sexaroid's online, anyway. I'm going to sleep, so leave me alone for the next day."

"Gotcha."

***

The next day, neither Meg nor Lou could stay in one place for very long. Neither had gotten any sleep last night, and they hadn't been able to focus on much since then, both because of the fatigue and the nervousness.

Sylvie was coming back.

Maybe Nick really _had_ changed.

But then again...it was impossible to tell. 33-S-H's were also known for being able to lie through their pointed teeth. But Nick _had_ gotten them safely off Genaros...

Both their minds were raging. It was impossible to concentrate. And, secondly, they still hadn't figured out who was going to call Priss. Neither one of them trusted their voice very much, but _someone_ had to do it. Priss was the human contact, they were sure of it. Both to them had seen how broken up the woman became when talking about Sylvie. Now they just had to get her to the office.

"Do you think Nick's ready? I mean, is he awake now?" Lou asked, breaking the silence.

Meg, who was busily wearing a hole in the carpet as she paced, looked up, but did not stop walking. "Maybe," she said.

Silence fell again. It would be easy to call the office, but they were both nervous about _that_, too. They didn't want anything to bother Nick, who would be instrumental in the reactivation.

"What did you think?" Lou asked, later, wringing her hands. "I mean...about human contacts, and stuff."

Meg shrugged. "Makes sense," she said, her mind too full of thoughts for her to manage much of a response.

"Huh," Lou said, who was also unable to keep up a conversation.

Minutes passed. Both women kept looking at the clock every few seconds. The digital numbers were slowly increasing, approaching 15:30, the time they'd agreed on to call Priss.

"I can't take it anymore!" Lou finally shouted out at 15:21, getting to her feet. She walked towards the phone. The last time she'd tried this, Meg had stopped her, saying it was too early. This time, however, the other woman stayed where she was. Lou looked to Meg as she picked up the phone. Meg nodded and shrugged, figuring now was as good a time as any. Lou dialed the number they'd had next to the phone for the past week.

After a few rings, the person on the other end picked up. Lou started speaking.

"Hello, Priss..."

***

Priss sat up on her couch, sweating as her eyes popped open. Her right arm came up, clutching the gun she'd kept close ever since this business with the sexaroids had started again. Her heart was pumping hard. Another nightmare, the same one as last time. What had woken her up...

Not that she was ungrateful for being brought out of those nightmares. They were not an experience she savored. And apparently, sleeping during the day didn't change anything. Priss had hoped the late-night concert from last night would have worn her out enough that she'd be able to sleep well, even if the sun was up. It looked like she'd been wrong.

But something _had_ woken her up...

The phone rang again. Oh, that. Still clutching her gun, she reached over and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" she answered, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice.

"Hello, Priss..." it was a familiar voice, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Uh, hi. Who's calling?

"Oh! Sorry," the voice said, apologetic. "This is Lou Smith, from Brady and Smith."

Priss immediately snapped awake as she heard that name. "What's going on?" she asked. Silia had called her earlier and filled her in on who and what Nick Brady was. That, plus what he was doing, made discussing the firm a touchy subject with Priss.

She heard something that sounded like a gasp on the other end. Maybe she'd answered too quickly, but...

"Tell me!" she said, almost yelling into the receiver. "What's going on?!"

"Well, uh...I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"I _was_ sleeping, Lou," Priss growled into the receiver. "What's so important?"

"Are you busy?"

"I was busy sleeping, but that's about it." Priss was already calming down, experiencing the effect talking to this woman brought on. It was kind of nice knowing someone like that...

"Good. How soon can you get to the office?"

Priss rolled over and sat up on the couch. "Lou, what is it? If I didn't know better, I'd say you sounded nervous."

There was a kind of a giggling noise on the other end. ^Just _tell_ me,^ Priss thought. Finally, the answer came.

"Nick says he's ready."

Priss froze, but only for a minute. She was about to ask Lou to repeat that, just to make sure, but she knew what she'd heard. She slammed the phone back down without another word.

Jumping off the couch, she tore through her apartment with vigor, digging up clothes.

"Nick says he's ready..." she mumbled to herself.

Shirt...where could she find a shirt? Where did she keep her clothes?

"Nick says he's ready..." she said again, louder.

She found a shirt and pulled it on, almost ripping it in her haste. Pants followed soon after, along with some shoes.

"You _better_ be ready, you bastard," she said, pulling on her leather biking jacket and finding her helmet. A moment later, she'd jumped onto her newly repaired motorcycle. Soon after, the engine's roar filled the air as Priss tore off down the street at an insane speed.

***

Nick nodded to himself as he looked over Sylvie's body one last time. She was sewn up and whole again; her status was being monitored by a network of suction-cup electrodes attached to various parts of her body. The multiple wires were connected to a series of computers he'd wheeled in, along with some medical equipment for monitoring Sylvie's vital functions, once she had them again. Nick double-checked all the essential equipment as he waited. Everything looked like it was set up correctly. He'd also unplugged himself from all the computers; he knew he had to keep the 'human' image going, at least when he knew a _real_ human was going to be coming here.

A few minutes ago, Meg had telephoned him, telling him that they and Priss were all coming over. Now it was just a matter of time before they began. He ran the whole procedure over in his head. He really didn't need all this equipment, but then again, he'd never done this on a standard 33-S, either. He knew from experience that when the odds were unknown, it was always best to stack the deck in your favor.

Outside, he heard a screech of brakes as a car pulled into the building's small parking lot.

"That would be them," Nick said quietly to himself, getting up from the computer he'd been checking.

Several minutes later, Meg and Lou came charging into the office, breathing hard from running up the stairs. Nick met them at the door to the operating room, a smirk on his face as he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. It was always fun for him, watching people get worked up over something.

"Didwemissanything?" Lou asked as soon as they saw Nick. Nick ignored them, casually pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it before he looked at them again.

"Nope," he said, after taking a few puffs to get the cigarette started. He took a few steps back, into the operating room. The two women followed at his heels.

"You familiar with what's gonna happen?" Nick asked, casually.

Lou nodded, after thinking for a minute. Meg looked a little uncertain, however. Nick had known that Lou would know the procedure; she worked with him as they fixed boomers. He'd also known Meg would know nothing. But he liked rubbing it in. He reached up and removed his sunglasses, sliding them down the front of his shirt as he rolled his now-uncovered eyes, making a big show of looking annoyed. Both women cringed a little as they saw his eyes, and averted their own gazes.

"OK, now," he began, slowly. "The body is entirely repaired. Every system will work when the primary intelligence gets put back in command. Now," he said, turning around and pacing a little. "She is in there," he said, pointing at Sylvie's head. "But when I turn her on, she's going to still think that she's dead. If I don't act quickly enough, her mind might dissipate, and then she really _will_ be dead. Do you understand?"

Both women nodded.

"So I'm going to capture her program using these computers," he said, gesturing expansively to the wall, "and then interface with her directly. If I can get her to synchronize her with my own J-2 computer, I can restart her pretty fast."

"Are you...sure about that?" Lou asked, sitting down in the one chair in the room.

Nick ceremoniously blew smoke into the air. "I wouldn't do it if I wasn't sure," he said. "I did this with my ol' buddies all the time."

He didn't notice the other women's reactions, because it was at that point that they heard someone else come into the office. Nick guessed who it would be, and quickly put his sunglasses on again. He went to meet the new arrival.

He got to the door of the operating room at the same time Priss did.

The singer had run down the hall, trying to keep her dignity but at the same time nervous as hell. If this man screwed something up...

They crashed into each other. Nick, though considerably heavier, was knocked back several steps, balancing himself on the operating table. Priss also fell backwards.

"Oh, Nick, I...sorry..." she said, blushing as the effect of direct contact with him took instantaneous hold. Nick rolled his eyes. He gestured for Priss to come alongside the operating table, hoping the woman would be able to shake it off long enough to do her job. Noting Priss's hateful glance at his cigarette, he pushed it against the wall, where it burned the paint as it fizzled out. No need to have the human disturbed.

"Thanks," Priss replied as she got to her feet. "Oh, hi Lou. How're things?" she asked, noticing how the other woman looked about ready to explode, she was so nervous.

Nick took the chair out from under Lou. Only the woman's quick reflexes saved her from a fall. Nick brought the chair around, and Priss sat down in it, next to the table. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Sylvie. Slowly, she reached over and brushed a few stray hairs out of the sexaroid's face. The other women began wringing their hands.

"Well, looks like everyone's here," he said, gesturing to the now-crowded room. "Ms. Jones, why don't you leave us and go back to your station?"

Meg looked at him, a hurt look on her face. But Nick, not possessing a single sympathetic gene in his body, just stared back. After a tense moment, Meg got up, looking at the floor as she left.

"Okay," Nick said, closing the door behind Meg. "Ms. Smith, take up a position by that computer over there," he said, gesturing to the main unit and controls. Lou nodded meekly before going to stand in the indicated position. She kept her gaze on Sylvie, a soft look on her face.

Nick finally turned to look at Priss. "Okay," he said, keeping the casual attitude. "No pressure here, but the biggest part is for you, Ms. Asagiri."

She looked at him, tearing her eyes off of Sylvie.

"Listen. You and the sexaroid were close, right?" Nick asked.

Priss nodded wordlessly.

"Now, I need you to talk to her. I can put her ears back on-line, connected to her brain. If she hears the voice of someone close to her, then ideally, she'll stabilize herself. If that happens, I'll be able to encapsulate her program and start 'er up. OK?"

She nodded again, a look of thanks in her eyes. "Okay," she mumbled out. "Can we just get going?"

Nick nodded, as though this were something he did every day. He went over to the small bank of computers he had set up on the wall. He grinned at Lou as he gestured for her to start. The woman looked at him nervously, looking for support. Nick waited impatiently, until finally Lou turned towards the machines and started taking them all off of standby. Screens flickered to life, and status monitors came on-line. On the largest screen, a message was displayed :

SYSTEM STATUS : DORMANT.

There was an EKG, currently reading a flat line heart rate, but without the ominous "beeeeeeeeeeeee..." that always accompanied such a view in all the movies. Various other monitors were also reading zero activity.

Nick nodded, looking the system up and down. Green lights all around. They were ready to start. He casually removed the glove on his right hand and leaned on the main computer, looking like he was just relaxing. In fact, he established an interface with the computer, and took over control from Lou. The other woman looked surprised, but immediately calmed down as she saw the confident look on Nick's face.

The screens immediately lit up with a flurry of activity. Some lights flickered to amber, others to red. Nick ignored them. Whistling a little to himself, he kept sending commands as the entire bank came alive. He looked at the main screen :

NEURAL FUNCTIONS COMMENCING.

AURAL SENSORS ACTIVE.

He looked at Priss, nodding once. Then he tuned her, and everything else out, his world's focus becoming the bank of computers sitting in front of him.

"Sylvie..." Priss began.

Fluctuations in neural patterns. Stabilize and continue.

"Sylvie, it's been...quite a while, but I haven't forgotten you. I don't think a day's gone by without me remembering you."

Primary neural algorithms starting up. Begin isolation process.

"It was really hard, thinking you were gone, but you're not. You can come back to me, to us. Please, please wake up."

Primary algorithms sighted.

Warning : fluctuations. Unable to compensate.

Warning : primary neural algorithms beginning to dissipate. 0.1 percent dissipation and climbing.

Nick looked at Priss. "Try harder," he said.

"Sylvie, don't you remember me? It's Priss, your friend. You can't leave, not now."

Fluctuations intensifying.

"More," Nick said, firmly. Damn, this was harder than he'd expected.

"Sylvie, please don't leave. I lost you once before. Don't do it to me again."

Fluctuations moderating. Dissipation levels lowering. It needs more, though. Why couldn't 33-S's be more like the 33-S-H's when it came to these things?

"Sylvie, all your friends are out here. People who know and love you. We don't think you're just some boomer."

Fluctuations stabilizing, but remain high.

"Think of something else," Nick said impatiently, still looking at the computers.

Priss thought, hard. As she stopped talking, the instabilities again began to get worse. Nick and Lou both watched helplessly as Sylvie's mind began to dissolve.

Finally, something clicked in Priss's mind.

"Sylvie, Anri's out here."

Sudden halt in fluctuation intensity. Nick didn't show it, but he was surprised.

"She's with us, Sylvie. I...did my best to protect her. She's...safe, now. But she misses you, too."

Fluctuation levels dropping. Acceptable levels of degradation. Neural patterns reconstituting.

A smile cracked Nick's face as tears began to go down Priss's.

"Do you want to leave Anri behind? I know you'd go to a good place if you left us, but...Anri wouldn't be with you."

Nick grit his teeth as he initiated the capture program. He crossed the fingers on his free hand as the status bar filled. After countless seconds, the bar filled up the rest of the way. With a soft 'beep', the secondary screen he'd been watching flicked blank, then showed the words ENCAPSULATION SUCCESSFUL.

"Got it!" he yelled out, throwing his fist through the air in triumph. "Hell yeah!"

Priss jumped, and looked away from Sylvie's face for a moment, at the man by the screens. A smile came to her lips as the tears continued to come.

Nick reached over and typed several commands on a keyboard. He looked at the main screen.

COMPILING...

He nodded, and then removed his hand from the computer. He walked calmly over to Priss.

"Ms. Asagiri," he said, quietly, keeping the excitement out of his voice, "your part's over. Why don't you go wait in the main office?" He tried to sound as seductive as possible, sure that she would listen to him. Humans always did.

"No," Priss said, looking at Sylvie. "I'm staying here."

Nick clenched his jaw a little and lowered his sunglasses. "Please?" he asked. "It would make things so much easier."

It would have worked, if Priss had looked in his eyes. But she didn't; she wouldn't take her eyes off Sylvie, even for a moment.

"I'm staying," she said, firmly.

Nick thought about this one. After a minute, he mentally shrugged, and muttered, "Oh, what the hell."

"Okay..." he said, getting up and straightening out his sunglasses again. "Though it's gonna get kind of weird, for a second."

"Fine," Priss said, still not looking at him.

Nick walked back over to Lou. He leaned down close to her as he pointed at the bank of computers. "Keep an eye on that," he whispered. "Make sure it stays stable." He didn't have time to explain what was stable and what wasn't; he just hoped the woman would be able to figure it out. Maybe it had been a bad idea to get rid of Meg, who was better with computers. But Nick was not going to admit he was wrong. Not now, and definitely not to _sexaroids_.

Lou squared her shoulders and focused on the computers as Nick went up to the head of the operating table, pulling off his other glove. He flexed his bare hands for a moment, pocketing both gloves. He took a breath, and then put his hands carefully onto Sylvie's face. He was just opening the interface when...

"What're you doing?" Priss asked.

He looked at her. "Trust me," he said, irritated at being interrupted. "This helps." ^More than you'd think,^ he thought to himself.

Priss nodded.

Without another word, Nick finished opening the interface, and plunged into the half-dead mind.

For several long moments, he just stood there, gently holding Sylvie's face. But then more lights began to go red on the monitors as Lou struggled to keep up with them.

Priss watched, helpless, as Nick's body suddenly stiffened, then spasmed as though in great pain. His hands kept their grip on Sylvie's face, though. Priss got to her feet, glancing over at Lou. The other woman was watching all the screens as best she could, and stabilizing things she thought were going wrong. Priss crossed her fingers and prayed harder than she ever had before in her life.

Suddenly, Nick recoiled from Sylvie's body. He backed into the wall, breathing hard and still spasming. He slid down the wall, his legs falling out from under him.

Lou turned away quickly from the computers and went over to the downed man. She stopped as Nick began to get up.

He moved shakily, as though drunk. He staggered around the operating table, seemingly oblivious to everything. He tripped, and fell onto Lou. She held him up, and looked into his sunglass-shielded eyes for some kind of clue.

"Gemme outta here," he slurred out.

Lou nodded, and began to lead him out. Suddenly, Nick stopped.

"Hangon a sec," he said. He stumbled over to the computers. Lou watched, wishing she could help him.

Nick managed to get over to the computers under his own power. Shaking his head and wiping off the sweat that had broken over his brow, he touched both hands to the computer, inputing a few final commands. He downloaded them all as quickly as he could, and then staggered away.

Lou was at his side as he turned away from the computers. Nick gratefully leaned on her as she began to leave.

"Hey!" Priss shouted, coming to. "Where the hell are you going? You're not done yet!"

"I...I...aghh..." Nick managed to get out, before gesturing in the general direction of the door. Lou complied. He might not have brought Sylvie back _yet_, she thought, but he sure wasn't going to get anywhere if he was like this. He could still bring her back, though...she hoped. They started making their shaky way towards the door.

Priss, suddenly realizing that Sylvie wasn't waking up, broke down and leaned over onto the table, crying hard.

Lou tried to hold back her own empathetic tears as she glanced over he shoulder over at the screens. No change. What had Nick done with that last sequence of commands?

She began to step through the door, knowing Priss would probably like to be alone. She was beginning to turn away from the screens when she heard a loud, insistent 'beeping' coming from the apparatus.

She didn't know what that noise was, but figured it probably needed investigating. As they stepped out of the room, she noticed Meg waiting just outside.

"Check on those computers," Lou asked, keeping her voice as calm as she could. "Something's happening."

Intrigued, Meg went into the room. She did her best to tune out Priss, and started looking at the various screens. Everything looked normal. What was happening? She looked at the main screen for more information...and almost jumped into the ceiling. It read :

COMPILATION SUCCESSFUL. SYSTEM STARTUP COMMENCING.

Underneath this message was a status bar, which was slowly filling.

It hit Meg like a Mack truck. She sprinted back across the room and stuck her head into the main office.

"Lou!" she shouted. "Get back in here! I think it's working!"

She immediately turned and went back to the computers, looking at the screen as the status bar kept filling. In the background, she heard Lou drop Nick roughly down into the nearest chair. A moment later, the other woman was next to her, staring at the computers.

Priss looked up at the two women as this activity went on. She looked at Meg, hopeful, as the woman turned to glance at Sylvie. Meg nodded back, unable to keep the smile off her face. Priss did not mimic the smile, however. Instead, she slowly got to her feet and looked quietly at Sylvie, her breath coming short as she felt her heart trying to jackhammer through her chest.

Meg and Lou's eyes were rooted on the main screen. The status bar was filling in jumps and spurts, going slow one moment, and quickly the next. Above the bar, messages began to appear.

PRIMARY ACTIVATION PROTOCOLS ACTIVE.

SYSTEM DIAGNOSIS : FUNCTIONAL

LOW-LEVEL STARTUP COMMENCING...

LOW-LEVEL STARTUP CONFIRMED.

HIGHER FUNCTIONS INITIALIZING.

VITAL FUNCTIONS ONLINE.

Sylvie took a breath. Priss held her own. The EKG began to beep rhythmically; her heart was working. Lou turned and glanced at Sylvie, finally deciding to stay with Meg and watch what was going on. Biting her lip, Meg kept looking at the screen. It was _happening_.

NEURAL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONAL.

PROGRAM ONLINE

COMMENCING...

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Meg began to wonder about all the things that could go wrong. What if the computer locked up? What if something went wrong because Nick had missed something vital? What if...

SYSTEM STARTUP COMPLETE.

SYSTEM ONLINE.

Sylvie opened her eyes.

***