MEGATOKYO, JAPAN - MAY, 2033

     Methos walked over to the park bench where he agreed to meet an old
friend, one who, frankly, he was surprised was still alive.  After all, he
must be close to 90, if not older.  But when the telegram came to Priss'
trailer for Adam Pierson last night, he knew that this was a meeting he
couldn't miss.
     "Hello, Joe."
     Joe Dawson nodded and signaled for Methos to sit beside him.  He did so
and looked his old friend up and down.  Aside from the lines in his face,
his hair and beard now being ice-white instead of iron gray, the glasses he
now wore, and the fact that he was sitting cross-legged and didn't have a
cane with him, Joe Dawson hadn't changed all that much.  He nodded and said,
"Adam."
     Methos appreciated the Watcher not using his proper name.  You never
knew when another Immortal would be within earshot before Buzz range and
hear the name "Methos."  "How are you, Joe?  You look great."
     "I look great for my _age_.  I look like hell otherwise, but then I've
always looked like hell, haven't I?  I'm about as good as a guy in his
mid-nineties with cybernetic legs could be.  I've been promoted to head of
Asian operations.  Megatokyo Watcher Headquarters is mine, but I still have
time to play the blues.  You?"
     "I've been here and there.  Making a living.  Have you seen Bernard?" 
     Joe briefly closed his eyes.  Bernard Willis was one of the best
Watchers who ever lived.  He watched Patrick O'Brien for over fifty years
and developed a very close friendship with him much like Joe himself had
done with Duncan MacLeod.  "Bernard passed away in his sleep about twenty
years ago, surrounded by his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren."
     "I'm sorry.  He was a good man.  I liked him."  
     "So did I."
     "How did you find me?"
     "'Adam Pierson' was discovered to be an Immortal about fifteen years
ago when a Watcher _you_ recruited in Paris in the 1990's recognized you and
saw you take a head.  I really couldn't keep you out of the database any
longer at that point.  Then, five days ago, you were sighted with Priscilla
Asagiri."
     "As efficient as ever," Methos said.
     Joe and Methos both fell silent.  Then Joe said, "What the _hell_ are
you doing?"
     "I don't follow."
     "That disk you dropped off at Inspector McNichol's."
     Methos sighed.  "You knew."
     "I suspected, but you just confirmed it for me."
     "How did you find out?"
     "I've got a new recruit who's a communications officer and computer
expert with the AD Police.  McNichol and his partner Wong are unofficially
investigating this boomer headhunter mess because it got too political for
the AD Police to handle through their usual channels.  They brought my
recruit in when they were able to decipher the perpetrator's name.  _She_
matched him up with a record in our database and is now at a bit of a
conflict of interests."
     "That still doesn't answer my question, Joe."
     "I'm getting to that.  It's the best part.  McNichol told my recruit
that he was sure he shot the delivery person twice, once in the leg, once in
the shoulder, but he kept on running, almost as if he was _used_ to that
kind of pain.  So I dove into our database and found that there's currently
sixteen Immortals in MegaTokyo.  Fourteen we had definite whereabouts on.
Patrick O'Brien was in his condo all evening, Priscilla Asagiri was playing
with her band over at Hot Legs, Annie Devlin was working late, Li Chin was
at a meeting of her anti-GENOM PAC..."
     "I was at Hot Legs that night too."
     "But not for the entire night.  No, you left after one of the opening
acts and returned just as Priss and the Replicants hit the stage.  The field
operative assigned to you lost you about a half hour after you left the
club, after taking him on a winding tour of downtown.  So there's two hours
you weren't at the club, and an hour and a half that no one saw you, which
just so happens to coincide exactly with the time the drop was made at
McNichol's apartment.  Stephen Kowalski's the only other Immortal we don't
know the whereabouts of because his Watcher has been taken off that
assignment and another hasn't been assigned yet.  And what better Immortal
to do something like this but one who knows the Watchers intimately and how
to shake them when they're on his tail.  In short, an Immortal who _was_ a
Watcher.  You."
     "OK, Joe.  You've got me.  Now what are you gonna do?"
     "Like I said, I wanna know what you're doing."
     Methos ran his hand over his face, thinking.  "You cannot let this
information out beyond this park bench.  If you do I'll be killed, just like
the four who're already dead.  AD Police will find Adam Pierson with his
chest shot up by boomers and his head lying three feet away.  Do I have your
word?"
     "Well that depends..."
     "*DO I have your word*?"
     Joe stared at Methos.  He had never seen the Immortal so shaken.  He
always thought that after living for over 5,000 years, nothing phased him,
but now he was genuinely scared.  Joe nodded.  "You have my word." 
     Methos nodded back.  "Your information about the number of Immortals in
Megatokyo is wrong.  There are seventeen.  The sixteen you mentioned and one
other."
     "Who?"
     Methos shook his head.  "I can't say.  If he even _suspected_ I let his
name out I'm as good as dead because, you see, none of us knew he was an
Immortal until after it was too late.  And I'm still good with computers, I
hacked into the Watcher database myself and found no entries on him
whatsoever.  But he wants all of us in Megatokyo either on his payroll or
destroyed."
     "Why?"
     "Paranoia.  So no one will ever challenge his power."
     "How is he defeating Immortals?  All he has to do is challenge someone
like O'Brien and the chances are he'll loose."
     "You already told me what you know about 'boomer headhunter team.'"
     Joe nodded.
     "_That's_ how he's dealing with them.  He gives the Immortal a choice.
Work for him or get their chests blasted out, then get beheaded.  If they
make the wrong choice, he meets them at someplace deserted, like a garage or
an alleyway, and deals with them.  Then he leaves the bodies for the police
to find, the MegaTokyo media is abuzz with stories of a serial killer, and
no one even thinks to look in his direction.  But he screwed up by letting
Rillio get close enough to one of his boomers to slice off a piece of
synthetic skin..."
     "Wait a minute.  We _can't_ be talking about the same guy here.  You
mean to tell me that Stephen Kowalski is power-mad and has _you_ this
scared?  He was always a punk, but I never thought he was actually
_dangerous_, and besides, he's in our database."
     "Kowalski?  No, it isn't him..."  Methos looked up at Joe wide-eyed.
"What _about_ Kowalski?"
     "Inspectors McNichol and Wong enhanced that disk of yours so much that
you can read the lips of the two men on the video.  Kowalski actually
_introduced_ himself to Smythe."
     Methos laughed.  "It all makes sense.  He calls up the Immortal with
the ultimatum, then when they refuse to give in, sends Kowalski with the
boomer muscle to back him up.  His hands are clean, and once all the
Immortals in Megatokyo are either dead or bought off, takes Kowalski's head
himself and gets all that Quickening.  Brilliant, absolutely brilliant." 
     "And you?  I take it you got this ultimatum.  What did you do?"
     "I'm a survivor, Joe.  What do you think I did?"
     Joe nodded, not needing to hear which side Methos had chosen, and
frankly, not blaming him.  Faced with the same choice, Joe wasn't sure he
would have done any differently.  Someone like O'Brien however, noble unto
the end, would rather choose death.  MacLeod would too, for that matter.
Rillio and Smythe already had.  There was just one piece of the puzzle that
Joe was unsure of.  "And your interest in Asagiri, beyond the sex?" 
     Methos sighed.  "I hate myself for this, but I simply can't tell her.
We're probably the two most opposite people in the world and yet we need
each other.  But if she found this out, she'd probably take my head." 
     Joe looked at Methos with new knowledge.  "Adam?" 
     Methos didn't turn, instead stared at the GENOM tower off in the
distance.  Joe persisted, "Are you falling in love with her?"
     "I don't think it's a question of fall_ing_, Joe.  I didn't want this,
not right now."
     "Come on, it's been almost forty years since Alexa died..."
     "Thirty-seven, actually.  Thirty- seven out of five _thousand_ years?
It may as well be thirty- seven minutes."
     "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it."
     "I'm sure you didn't."  He looked at his watch.  "I've got to get back
to work before I'm missed."
     "Adam, you still haven't told me why you gave that disk to McNichol."
     "Because I wanted the AD Police to have absolute proof that he was
doing the killings and lock him behind bars forever, or at the very least
ruin his public reputation once and for all.  But since it's Kowalski, I've
failed.  If the AD Police even arrest Kowalski, _he'll_ put the city's top
attorneys on it and he'll never see the walls of a prison cell.  Besides, a
public trial?  Kowalski will just stage his death and start over again
somewhere else, and _he'll_ find someone to take his place.  I should have
never gotten involved.  I just should have just done my job and kept out of
this."
     Joe was silent.
     "Well, I'll see you around, Joe.  Maybe."  Methos walked off, hands in
his coat pockets.
     Joe Dawson watched Methos' retreating back pondering all that he
_didn't_ say, not only the name of this mysterious power-hungry Immortal,
but everything else.  Joe was sure that he had done what he did for
Priscilla Asagiri.  For the love of a woman.  He smiled, then rose from the
park bench thinking, I guess it's true that you're never too old to do
something stupid just to impress a chick.

     Ever since she was forced out of the Knight Sabers, Priss was in a bad
mood.  Methos was able to calm her at night, but in the morning the
blackness returned.  She crashed her bike about four times, got into about
six fist fights, and yelled at a little old lady in a convenience store.
And it had only been two days.  Priss needed something to get her aggression
out before returning to Sylia or Patrick, she wasn't sure which one she'd go
to first, and scream her head off.
     But in the deepest corner of her mind, there was the suspicion that
Immortality was driving her insane.  She knew the old saying, that if you
wonder about your sanity, you're not mad, but she didn't believe it any more
than she believed in God.
     She didn't have time to think about that, though.  She felt the
presence of an Immortal nearby and she was determined to find him.  If it
was Patrick she was tempted to challenge him outright.  If it was Methos
she'd at least run him through with her sword.  That'd definitely make her
feel better.
     If it was someone she didn't know, well that was a different story.  
     She turned a corner into an empty warehouse, took her sword out, and
saw the Immortal standing at the center.  She looked Priss up and down.  She
was full-blooded Asian with long, flowing, jet-black hair, almond skin, and
black eyes.  "I am Li Chin."
     Not knowing what to do, Priss introduced herself.  "Priss Asagiri."
     "I don't want to fight you, Asagiri, but if you're determined..."
     "I'm determined to kick your ass just for _saying_ that."
     Li Chin sighed.  "Please, Asagiri, let's put our aggression aside and
walk away from this.  We don't _have_ to be enemies.  I can tell you're
confused.  I want to help you."
     "All I want is your fucking yapping HEAD!"  Priss yelled and lunged at
Li Chin who had her sword up and ready.  She crouched into a battle-ready
stance and blocked Priss' attack.  Priss attacked again and again, but Li
Chin parried each one, then kicked her in the stomach.  Priss backed away
and spat up blood.
     "You _bitch_!"  In her anger, Priss fell into her Knight Saber tactics.
She lunged at Li Chin's head as if she were a boomer.  However, Li Chin
_wasn't_, and anticipated Priss' attack.  She blocked, caught her
off-balance and sent her falling to the floor.  Priss hit hard, dropped her
sword, and got the wind knocked out of her.
     Li Chin walked over to Priss and pointed her sword at the nape of her
neck.  "_Please_, Asagiri.  I know of you, I have seen you interviewed in
the music press.  We are not that different, I am not even a century old.
And I know you have no love for GENOM.  Neither do I.  There are things
going on there that you don't know about but that I need your help with.  I
have been searching for you, and to find out you are an Immortal can only be
to both our benefits as well as mankind's.  We could work _together_, but we
have to walk away from this, or else we're doing exactly what GENOM wants.
Killing each other instead of them."
     "It'll be... a cold day... in hell... when I do what... GENOM wants."
Priss felt her sword's hilt in her hand and was surprised by how comforting
it was.  "I do what _I_ want!"  She gripped the hilt with two hands and
thrust the blade into Li Chin's stomach.  With a shocked look on her face,
Li Chin collapsed onto the warehouse floor.  Priss got up and stood, _her_
sword now at Li Chin's neck.
     "Well now," Priss said.  "It seems the tables have turned." 
     "Perhaps.  Now you have to make a choice that you'll have to live with
for perhaps _centuries_.  Kill me and gain my Quickening, or spare me and
gain an ally."
     "Ally.  Right.  Lemee tell _you_ something little miss politics, I've
been _alone_ for most of my life, and now I'm alone _again_.  So don't talk
to me about allies."  She swung her sword.
     Li Chin's head rolled away from her body and Priss grinned in triumph.
Then the Quickening burst from Li Chin's body and hit Priss with all of its
force.  Priss screamed as its energies worked its way into her pores,
through her eyes and mouth, even into her brain, the memories of Li Chin,
all the ones _she_ vanquished, and all the ones _they_ vanquished,
inundating her.  And all around her, the windows of the warehouse shattered,
the abandoned crates exploded, and the walls went up in flames.
     And still Priss screamed.
     When it was over, Priss collapsed onto the floor once again, a sweaty,
exhausted heap momentarily uncertain of who she was.  When she came back to
herself, she could have sworn she knew something about GENOM, something she
hadn't known before.  But like a dream that's forgotten in the morning, it
was gone, the certainty that it had been there in the first place was the
only proof Priss had that it even happened. 
     She got up, dusted herself off, stole one glance at Li Chin's body, and
left the warehouse as fast as she could.

     Joe Dawson emerged from the shadows of the partly-burning warehouse.
He had temporarily assigned himself to Asagiri after she left O'Brien's
tutelage.  He had seen the battle and witnessed the Quickening.  He
shouldn't have been surprised that Asagiri ended up going on a rampage and
challenged an Immortal who wanted only her friendship and help in her own
private war against GENOM.  O'Brien wouldn't be happy to find any of this
out.  No one ever wants their child to turn out bad, and older Immortals
looked upon their Students as just that, their offspring.  He walked over to
his car, got in, and started the engine.  He went over in his mind how he'd
tell O'Brien this.  Like Methos, he hadn't seen the Irelander in years.  So
what should he say?  Hello O'Brien, yes I'm still alive, Priss took a head
this afternoon and was unjustified in doing so, sorry about that ol' pal?
Somehow Joe didn't think that would go over well, but better to come right
out and say it rather than gloss up the facts.
     Before he knew it, he found himself in front of O'Brien's condo
building.  Sighing, he parked the car walked up to the front door and rang
O'Brien's bell.  The Immortal would obviously turn the camera on and see who
was there, so Joe pulled his sleeve up and showed the camera his Watcher
tattoo.  He doubted that after all these years O'Brien would even recognize
him, but he _would_ recognize the Watcher seal.

     Patrick got up when he heard the doorbell ring and went over to the
small monitor near his front door to who it was.  He couldn't make out the
face, but the man was showing the inside of his left wrist to the camera. 
     A Watcher tattoo.
     Patrick was still uneasy about the Watchers, more so since Bernard
Willis, his Watcher for most of the 20th century, passed away.  He and
Bernard were friends for years before Patrick even knew about the Watchers,
and their friendship survived that revelation.  However, dispite this, he
always thought that the Hunters, a splinter group who used the Watcher
knowledge to kill Immortals out of racial hatred, would return someday.  But
he was still loyal enough to Bernard to trust people with a Watcher tattoo
first before ascertaining if they were after his head or not.  He buzzed the
Watcher in, then waited for him to take the elevator to the 25th floor where
his unit was located.
     Still, as loyal as he was to Bernard's memory, Patrick also wasn't a
fool.  You don't get to be almost nine centuries old by being stupid.  He
took an automatic pistol out from his weapons case, checked to make sure it
was loaded, stood to one side of the entrance, and pointed it at the door,
releasing the safety catch at the same time.  He heard the elevator door
open, then footsteps out in the hall.  They were getting closer.  They
stopped at his door and the Watcher stepped inside. 
     "That's far enough.  Close the door, put your hands on top of your
head, and turn your back towards me."
     The Watcher complied.  "O'Brien..."
     Patrick poked the gun into the small of the Watcher's back and searched
his pockets and jacket.  "Shut up.  Don't say _anything_ until I tell you to."
     "What's your problem O'Brien?  Knock it off.  It's me, Joe Dawson." 
     "Dawson?"  Patrick backed up.
     Joe brought his hands down, turned, and faced Patrick.  The first time
they had met was when Patrick had first found out about the Watchers and was
forced to kill his own Student because he had kidnapped and nearly killed
Bernard.  But dispite the bitter memories that Dawson always brought with
him, Patrick actually liked him.  He didn't feel as if Joe was manipulating
him, as he did whenever he saw Methos.  Joe Dawson was the real thing.  A
good man in a world horribly lacking good men.
     Patrick extended his hand to Joe who took it.  "It's been a while," he
said when he released it.
     Joe nodded.  "Yup.  Bernard's funeral."
     "I suppose I just assumed you had passed away too.  Come in.  You look
_great_."  Patrick ushered him into the main area of the condo.  "You want a
drink?"
     Joe headed towards the open balcony.  "Scotch on the rocks.  Yeah,
cybernetic legs will do that to a guy."
     Patrick went over to the bar and poured two Scotches.  Then he followed
Joe out onto the balcony.  He handed him his drink and indicated the GENOM
tower off in the distance.  "Great view, huh?"
     "Tell me about it."
     "When I bought this place in the 1990's, I bought it for this view.  Of
course back then you could actually _see_ the ocean. The Earthquake came and
this was one of the few buildings that remained standing afterwards.  Then
that monstrosity went up."
     "So why not sell it and get a place where you don't have to stare it in
the face?  This place is gorgeous, and the Tower is something everyone has
to deal with, so I don't think the view is anything that would dissuade
people from buying it."
     "Because I decided I wouldn't move because of GENOM.  The day I do
_anything_ I don't want to because of GENOM, or any other tyrannical
organization, is the day I may as well die."
     Joe took a sip of his drink.  "Well, if it weren't for GENOM I wouldn't
be walking again.  I'd probably already be dead."
     Patrick winced to himself.  "So what brings you here, Joe?  I'm sure
it's not to hear my _brilliant_ political views." 
     "When I hit retirement age, the Watchers asked me to stay on as head of
Asian operations.  Not being the retiring type, I sold my bar to my nephews
and moved here."
     "Well, congratulations on your promotion, but don't you miss the field
work at all?  I never pictured you as a one hundred percent desk guy."
     "That's why I'm here.  When someone requests reassignment or a new
Immortal goes out on their own, if we can't get someone on them within a
day, I assign myself until we can get a permanent assignment.  Recently we
had one Watcher request reassignment, so she's gone back to America and her
assignment has been given over to another agent.  Then we needed to put
someone on a new Immortal who recently left her Teacher.  I believe you know
her."
     Patrick grimaced.  It was obvious he was talking about Priss.  "What
about her?"
     "I don't know how to say this, O'Brien, but she just took a head not an
hour ago."
     "It had to happen someday."
     "Not like this.  She felt an Immortal, Li Chin, tracked her into a
warehouse, and challenged her with no negotiation.  Li Chin even told her
that they could work together, that they didn't have to be enemies.  She did
everything except beg for her life, and Asagiri still took her head.
Nothing you taught her about honor and respect seems to have stuck."
     Patrick was silent.
     "O'Brien?"  Joe looked at him.  "She's gotta be stopped.  She'll kill
again."
     "No."  Patrick looked Joe square in the eye.  "I'm not going through
that.  Not again."
     "But if she actively goes headhunting..."
     "Let someone else kill her.  I won't."

     "Come in, Kowalski."
     Stephen Kowalski entered the room where his employer sat.  "I have news
to report."
     "I heard.  Li Chin is dead.  Congratulations."
     "_I_ didn't kill her."
     "You didn't?"
     "No.  Asagiri did."
     "Why?"
     "Apparently she got kicked out of the Knight Sabers.  At least that's
what my sources say.  She went on a rampage after that."
     He laughed.  "Good.  Perhaps Asagiri _could_ be persuaded to join us
after all."
     "What about O'Brien?"
     "Take his head first.  Then I'll approach Asagiri."
     "You don't want to contact him first and make the standard offer?"
     "In his case it would be a waste of time.  You have three days."
     Kowalski bowed and said, "Yes, sir.  It'll be done."
     He watched Kowalski leave.  Yes, Asagiri would make a fine replacement
for Kowalski.

     "You're going after O'Brien?"
     "Of course," Kowalski said.
     "Let me do it."
     "Why are you so interested in him, _Annie_?"
     She winced at that name, Annie Devlin, a name she hadn't used in nearly
forty years, but she answered him.  "Like me, O'Brien is an Irelander, but
he's a traitor to his own people.  He was _there_ at the start of the
Troubles, when the Normans who had invaded England came to Ireland and took
over our lands.  He could have stayed and prevented the English from raping
the land..."
     "_One_ man?"
     "Perhaps all we needed was one more man, but we'll never know now, will
we?"
     "Immortal or not, one man wouldn't have changed anything.  I didn't
think even _you_ were that naive."
     "But the fact remains that instead of staying to help his people,
O'Brien went to Scotland, then _England_, then China.  The older he got, the
further away he went.  He betrayed his own."
     Kowalski laughed.  "Annie, Annie, Annie.  That's all ancient history,
and it makes no difference now."
     They were on one of the sets of outside steps of their office building,
the afternoon sun big and orange as it headed towards the western horizon.
The four boomers fell into step behind Kowalski.
     "It makes plenty of difference to me," Annie said.  "I would be taking
his head for all those who were oppressed.  What would _you_ be taking it
for?  Your _pride_?"
     "I don't know about you, but that's more than enough for me."
     "But..."
     "No, Annie.  He told _me_ to take O'Brien's head."  He nodded to the
boomers who cocked their weapons.
     Annie looked at Kowalski wide-eyed.  "You would do _this_?"
     "That's up to you.  Interfere with me and _you'll_ be the one who's
head I take."
     "The hell with you then.  Take O'Brien's head."
     "Good.  I knew you'd understand."  He nodded to the boomers again who
lowered their guns, then  walked away.
     Bastard, Annie Devlin thought.  When there's no more use for him, I'll
take _his_ head.

(continued...)
(c) 1997, Mabnesswords