****
     Bert knew there was a savage, snarling grin etched into
his face behind his helmet visor, but at the moment, he
didn't really care.  There was a howling exultation singing
in his blood at the moment, all of the pain, anger and
frustration he'd suffered fusing into one driving urge:
destroy.  He couldn't strike back at something intangible,
like the reasons Nene had declared for leaving him, and
Hollister wasn't available to slowly pulverize for having
initiated some of what had been done to him, but the killer
biomechanoid in front of him right now was very real, and
was quite willing to oblige his craving for a fight.
     His forearm snapped up, knocking the boomer's strike at
his head aside, and his own answering blow was deftly
parried as well.  The air became alive with a flickering
series of strikes, blocks, counter-strikes, kicks, and
contorted dodges as the silver-clad Knight Saber took out
his frustrations in the whirl of hand-to-hand combat.  There
were no doubts tormenting him here, no remorse-laden
memories; here, it was either kill or be killed, with life
hanging precariously in the balance.  It was a wildly
exhilarating feeling, fed mostly by adrenaline.
     The world rocked crazily as the boomer slipped a punch
inside his guard, snapping his helmet back on his neck,
sending a blazing spike of agony searing into his skull.  As
he tried to recover, he felt the numbing impacts of several
more, rapid-fire punches, and felt the jarring shock of his
impact with the rubble-strewn street a moment later.  As he
desperately fought to get to his feet, SkyKnight suddenly
heard a rising whine and crackle come from his armoured foe.
     The silver hardsuit sprang up from the pavement,
whipping his body around in a contorted movement, moving
aside just enough that the blindingly-bright green energy
bolt that the boomer spat at him missed, instead blasting a
hole through a distant building.
     Instantly, SkyKnight blurred across the gap separating
himself from the crimson biomechanoid, smashing into it with
renewed fury.  Again, the two combatants pounded at each
other, testing who had the best hand-to-hand ability.  After
a moment of violent sparring, the biomechanoid again
demonstrated that it had the upper hand, spinning with one
of his punches, and using the momentum generated as it came
around to again knock the silver-and-blue battlesuit
sprawling to the ground with a blistering roundhouse right.
     Bert's breath whoosed agonizingly out of his lungs as
the red combat machine leaped forward, spinning in mid-air
while he tried to straighten up, and connected with a solid
kick to his stomach.  He flew backwards down the street,
skidding along the rough road in a shower of sparks and a
clanging bang.  Bright spots flickered and flashed
tauntingly in his vision as he fought for some air.
     The air around him turned bright green suddenly; pain
flashed through every bone in his body as he felt the slam
of multiple particle bolts, and again he hit the pavement,
landing in a smoldering, scorched heap.  Blackness swam at
the edges of his vision as he groggily tried to summon up
the energy to move.  In the back of his mind, anger and the
driving urge to get up and kill the boomer pestering him
pulsed and ebbed.  Fear began scraping at him as he saw the
boomer's eyes flare yellowly; twin, rotary cannons popped
out of its shoulders, targeting him.
                            ****
     Wind whistled shrilly past her as Sylia shot through
the air, her flight pack straining, trying desperately to
reach SkyKnight's location.  Below her, the brightly lit
streets flashed past in rushing, kaleidoscopic blur.  The
din of the active city could be dimly heard from her lofty
position, the inhabitants of the sprawling megalopolis
uncaringly carrying on business as usual.
     Over her comm systems, the ADP dispatcher and on-scene
cops continued to unknowingly give her an almost blow-by-
blow description of the fight that was going on.  The
description was not helping to keep her calm; from the
sounds of things, Bert was getting pounded into the dirt.
She mentally swore at him for his angry, reckless charging
off into the night, while at the same time, part of her mind
kept hoping she'd be able to get there before he was
seriously hurt.
     The white hardsuit swiftly banked over some buildings,
getting closer to its destination, as the sounds of
explosions began to thunder in the distance, the blasts
sending tendrils of probing smoke into the air.
                            ****
     Bert flipped over onto his side, narrowly avoiding the
stream of hot metal slugs that churned the asphalt into a
shattered mess.  The volley of high-speed death tracked
after him remorselessly as he scrabbled away, diving
desperately to avoid another salvo.  His frantic dive
brought him behind the dubious protection of one of the few
intact cars left abandoned by the side of the street; an
instant later, a hailstorm of high-density projectiles
turned the luckless vehicle into a pile of shredded metal
resembling a tin sieve.
     There was a shattering blaze of orange-white light, and
a billowing cloud of flames and smoke engulfed the wreckage
a moment later as the car's fuel ignited.  The shockwave
from the detonation knocked the battered hardsuit over, but
he forced himself to roll upright quickly, alert for the
next attack.  He moved warily, suddenly realizing that the
boomer had stopped firing; the pall of smoke and flames was
temporarily masking him from the killer machine.
     He took a quick second to take stock of his situation;
his power levels were fine, his armour was showing cracks
and burns from all the punishment it had suffered, and he'd
lost the launcher on his left shoulder.  So far, although
he'd taken an incredible pounding, no systems had decided to
malfunction on him.  The factor working against him now was
his own stamina.  He was rapidly getting tired now, and it
didn't matter how enraged he felt, anger couldn't drive him
past a certain point.  That point had now been reached.
     A semblance of reason returned, cooling his mood
somewhat, although the driving urge to smash and destroy the
boomer out there still throbbed at the back of his mind.
Somehow, he had to gain the upper hand long enough to at
least cripple the boomer; crippled, it would be much easier
to fight, and he was dimly realizing that he could use
whatever advantages he could get right now.
     He took a deep breath, wincing as his side, gashed the
night before, decided to complain.  He could feel a warm
wetness around the slash; getting into a fight before it had
really had a chance to heal had reopened the wound, and the
dull pain was slowly sapping what reserves he had left.
Coupled with the soreness that had resulted from getting
hammered on by the boomer, he knew he had to finish the
fight quickly.
     SkyKnight glanced around, then ran two quick steps,
diving headfirst out into the street in a forward
somersaulting roll.  No sooner did his hardsuited body clear
the concealing smoke around him, then the scream of high-
velocity projectiles cut through the air, and depleted
uranium slugs began hungrily probing the air around him.  He
hit the pavement with a bang, rolled over and up to his
feet, and then dodged sideways on his jets.  As he dodged,
the deadly spray of projectiles from the boomer stopped, and
the firing mechanisms of its shoulder miniguns could be
heard whirring in futility; the boomer had depleted its
ammunition.
     The boomer snarled viciously, and began running at a
frightening rate of speed towards him as he stood there,
blades sliding out from its forearms.  SkyKnight's glance
flashed down; stooping swiftly, he clamped his gauntlets
onto a manhole cover in the street, and heaved.  The boomer
was rapidly closing the gap between them as the thick metal
disk tore free.  Gripping the disk like a frisbee, the
silver hardsuit whipped the plate at the running boomer,
skipping it off the street between them.
     The heavy metal disk clanged loudly as it struck the
roadway in a shower of sparks.  The force of the throw
SkyKnight had made caused it to continue on, becoming
airborne again, where it struck right at the knee level of
the running biomechanoid.  The crimson boomer, not expecting
an indirect attack, had its feet knocked out from under it;
it hit the street facefirst, and started to shove itself
upright again almost immediately.
     The silver-and-blue garbed battlesuit sprang high into
the air on his jets, flipping forwards and twisting around
in midair, landing behind the rising boomer.  The boomer
started to whirl towards him, but the silver Knight Saber
leaped on it, wrapping an armoured arm around the combat
machine's neck, while ramming his other gauntleted fist into
the small of the biomechanoid's back, trying to bend it over
backwards far enough that it couldn't get enough leverage to
fight.
     Unfortunately for him, the boomer was a lot taller than
he was, even taking his hardsuit into consideration; the
crimson combat machine began to thrash around, shaking him
off, roaring defiantly at the same time.  SkyKnight gritted
his teeth, and fired the guns on the arm he had pressed into
the boomer's back, cranking the power feed to his lasers as
much as he dared.
      Blindingly bright red light filled the air around the
two combatants, as twin particle-laser beams tore through
the boomer's midsection; the shockwave from the explosion
flung the silver-garbed hardsuit backwards from his
opponent.  The boomer's armouring hadn't been sufficient
protection against his beam weapons when fired from point-
blank range, and it was now seriously hurt.
     Oily black fluid dripped from the gaping crater in the
boomer's torso as the killer machine turned towards him, and
wiring sizzled and spat from within the hole.  The boomer's
eyes flickered erratically, and it weaved a bit on its feet.
SkyKnight smiled grimly to himself as he surveyed his
handiwork, and popped his swordblades into extension.  In
response, the boomer's own edged weapons again snapped into
play.
     Drawing upon his determination, Bert gathered himself
for one last attack; he knew he wasn't going to last for
another one.  His breathing was coming in gasps, and he felt
desperately tired.  Whatever he did now, it would have to be
decisive and final; he had to kill it with one shot.
     With perfect synchronization, Knight Saber and
biomechanoid leaped through the air, aiming at each other
with their swordblades.  SkyKnight knew that if he parried
the boomer's incoming weapon, he'd never get another chance;
even wounded, the boomer was still matching his speed and
reaction times.  That left one option open.
     He didn't parry it.
                            ****
     Sylia crested the top of a low office building, just in
time to see SkyKnight and the crimson biomechanoid he was
engaged with throw themselves at each other.  As she lunged
forward, flight pack straining, already knowing she was too
late to intervene, she saw SkyKnight's swordblade punch
through the front of the boomer's skull casing, and emerge
out the back in a spray of armour shards.  She also saw the
boomer's weapon rip through his hardsuit, at the top of his
left shoulder.
     The two foes dropped to the pavement, the silver-garbed
hardsuit landing on top of the dead biomechanoid.  An
instant after they collapsed in a clanging heap, she landed
a few feet away from them, an awful feeling hitting her in
the pit of the stomach.  She could see blood all over the
shoulder of Bert's hardsuit, staining the scorched and
gouged armour plating, but it was impossible to tell just
how badly he'd been hurt.  In the distance, she could hear
orders being shouted by the scattered ADP officers, and it
sounded like they were drawing nearer to them.
     As she cautiously approached the tangled heap of
hardsuit and boomer, SkyKnight stirred, and shoved himself
off of the dead biomechanoid, armour plating grinding
against plating.  His feet touched the pavement, and then
his knees buckled.  Sylia stepped over to him, grabbing him
by his uninjured arm to give him some support.  The silver
hardsuit spasmed, then seemed to catch himself after a split
second or so.  Sylia sighed in relief to herself; for one
brief instant, it had felt like he hadn't recognized her,
and was about to attack.
     "How badly are you hurt?" she asked him, looking him
over.  He didn't look good; every inch of his hardsuit was
streaked with dirt and soot, and scored with cracks, gashes,
and scratches.  The most obvious injury was the large tear
through his shoulder, where his armour had been damaged the
night before.  Apparently cutting diagonally across the
muscles atop his shoulder, it looked deep, and very ugly;
blood was slowly welling from the wound, dripping steadily
down his armour.  "Can you hold together long enough to get
home again?"  She decided to save the lecture for later,
when she was sure he wasn't going to pass out on her.
     "I'm fine; I'll make it," he replied in a level,
neutral tone.  "What are you doing here?"
     "Making sure you don't kill yourself," she told him,
equally as evenly.  "We can discuss this later; we're
leaving."
     "HALT!!  You're under arrest!!"  an amplified voice
bellowed from behind them.  Sylia turned slightly, and could
see at least two ADP K-17s with a score of troopers in body
armour slowly advancing on them, weapons at the ready.  She
took a quick glance around SkyKnight's shoulder, and could
see an identical formation advancing from the other
direction.
     "Oh, great, it's the comedy relief," she heard him say.
SkyKnight's helmet came up a bit, and the red eyeslot in his
faceplate began to brighten as he straightened up, standing
at his full height.  "Don't they ever get tired of this?"
     "They're doing their jobs," Syla reminded him, a trifle
sharply.  "Just like we do ours, only with a few changes.
Now let's get out of here."  The silver-blue battlesuit
didn't budge when she tugged at his arm.  "Did you hear me?"
     "I heard you," he answered calmly, his voice suddenly
picking up a hint of something else.  "Just a minute."
     "NOW, mister!" she ordered imperiously.  "You are
leaving now, and that's final!"
     There was a moment or so of silence, during which Sylia
could tell he was regarding her; she had the sudden,
unsettling sense that he was assessing her, trying to
determine just how far she was willing to go in order to
enforce her order.  The feeling passed as he sighed, his
flight wings swinging up and locking into their extended
positions while the whine of his flight jets began to
increase.  She made her own quick pre-flight preparations
and began to get ready to take off.
     "Don't try it!!" the amplified voice of one of the
approaching ADP officers warned.  "We don't want to have to
shoot, but we will!"
     "I've had it with them," SkyKnight declared flatly.  "I
think they need to cool off a bit."
     Before Sylia could stop him, the silver-and-blue
battlesuit stepped forwards a pace, and his right arm
snapped up to point in the general direction of the ADP
troopers; some yelled and pointed, preparing to scatter
while some tried aiming at him.  Before anyone could get a
weapon lined up on him, a bright red energy bolt seared
through the air, blasting off one of the side lugs of a fire
hydrant, just as the troopers were marching past it.
     Instantly, a roaring torrent of foaming white water
gushed from the hydrant main, flattening and washing away
the surprised cops, flushing them back down the street.  The
K-17s were also surprised, one of them slipping and sliding
on the suddenly slick pavement to fall over with a
resounding clang, while the other masterfully stayed
upright, being shoved at by the surging column of water.
Water ran down the street in both directions in waves,
making the footing suddenly very hazardous.
     SkyKnight turned sharply, and another crimson energy
beam seared through the air; again, a hydrant burst,
spraying heavy streams of water across the hapless cops,
forcing them back.  The heavy force from the pressurized
water stream flattened the K-17s; they hit the pavement with
clattering crashes, and floundered around in the water,
unable to get back up.  Further down the street, drenched
troopers were picking themselves up from the ground, and
trying to recover their weapons.
     "I always said they were all wet," SkyKnight remarked,
humour and pain in his voice as his helmet tilted to look at
his leader.  Water continued to gush from the shattered
hydrants, and a smoky mist of water droplets began to form
in the area.
     "Home.  NOW," she told him through clenched teeth,
trying with limited success to hold onto her temper.  He
sighed again, and nodded wearily, resisting the sudden urge
to say "Yes, Mother".  She was mad enough as it was, and
there was a limit as to how much he was willing to tempt
fate.
     A moment later, the bloody and battered silver hardsuit
launched skywards, followed by
   Sylia's white hardsuited shape.  The frustrated ADP
officers watched helplessly for a moment or so, then turned
to the task of cleaning up the devastated street.
                            ****
     "Well, I hope you're bloody happy now," Sylia told him
angrily, pacing back and forth across the confines of the
room.  She was still clad in her softsuit, and had thrown a
lab coat over top of it to help keep out the chill from the
infirmary air-conditioning.  "Except for almost killing
yourself, that little stunt didn't do anything for you.  At
the very least, I doubt it improved your reputation any."
     "My reputation can't get much worse than it already is,
in some circles, anyway," Bert replied.  For a fleeting
moment, there was a faint trace of bitterness in his voice,
then it disappeared.  "And as a matter of fact, it was
useful:  I feel somewhat better for having done it."  He
shifted around where he was sitting on the examination
table, holding a blood-soaked towel over the rip across his
shoulder.  He'd removed his softsuit top, revealing his
reopened wound from the night before; a blood-soaked gauze
pad was temporarily taped over it.  He looked a little pale,
winced whenever he moved, and periodically he was starting
to fade out into unconsciousness, his eyes starting to sag
shut.  It was a combination of blood loss from his injuries
and general exhaustion; Sylia was keeping him awake until
she could get him treated.
     "You feel better because you went out and got yourself
royally beat up?!"
     "That's not what I meant," he replied, shaking his head
wearily.  "I meant more that I feel a lot better for having
been able to blow off some steam.  Okay, maybe losing my
temper and brawling with an uprated boomer wasn't the best
method to use," he winced, his eyes squeezing shut for a
moment as an incautious movement jolted his left arm.
"Especially since I managed to get mauled worse than before,
but it definitely helped.  I feel a lot more relaxed now
than I did earlier."
     "That's fatigue," she snorted, "not relaxation.  You're
almost out on your feet now."
     "True," he admitted faintly, then fell silent.  He
tried sitting up straighter, trying to look more alert, but
it didn't work very well; inside of a minute, he was
slumping again.  "When's our doctor making his house call?"
     "He'll be here shortly," she answered, glancing at the
clock, concealing again her worry at how he looked.   She'd
described his injuries to her uncle, and he'd said it would
take a few minutes to get there; he didn't think they'd need
any more medical supplies than what they already had on
hand, so he'd been going to come right over.  The minutes
now seemed to be ticking by slow enough to be considered
hours, and it was driving her up the wall.  Silence
stretched for a few moments, broken only by the faint hum of
the air conditioning.
     "May I ask you something?" Sylia spoke up quietly.
Bert's greenish-brown eyes lifted, meeting her brown ones;
she could see he knew what was coming next.  He nodded
wordlessly, letting his head hang afterwards.  It was
becoming a real effort for him to stay awake.
     "What are you going to do about Nene?"
     "What the hell can I do?!" he snapped, lifting his
head, the angry hurt that had sent him off into the night in
the first place, reappearing in his eyes.  "She won't talk
to me; I tried that earlier in the day, and that was just
over some stupid, thoughtless remark I made.  Now she thinks
I'm a killer, or damn close to one, so I doubt she's going
to talk to me any more willingly."
     "Aren't you going to at least try?" she asked quietly,
an entreating tone entering her voice.  He was silent a
moment, suddenly looking drawn and tired.
     "I'm going to try," he conceded, swallowing.  "I still
love her, but...what she said...hurt, a lot.  I'm..."  He
suddenly scrubbed at his watering eyes with the back of his
hand, releasing the clenched grip he had on the bloody pad
on his shoulder for a moment.  "She's blaming me for
changing, and it wasn't my fault that I changed," he said
painfully, voice sounding choked.  "She's acting like I
wanted to become a hypertense combat monger; I didn't, and I
still don't, but....but it's happening to me anyway."  He
sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.  Sylia reached out to
steady him as he swayed on the table, noting that there was
no reflexive response to being touched from him this time.
     "I'm the first one to admit I enjoy the occasional
fight," he continued, opening his eyes and looking over at
her.  "But it's the competitive aspect more than anything; I
don't...didn't get any particular kick out of destroying
things."
     "And you do now?"
     "Somewhat," he admitted with a sigh.  "At least, I did
tonight for a brief while.  I guess it was kind of
cathartic; I've never gone looking for a fight just for the
hell of it before.  Cutting loose like that was great stress
relief; exercise just doesn't seem to have that effect.
Well, not as much of an effect, anyway."
     "We'll have to set up some kind of a target range
then," she noted dryly.  "Blowing off steam in public like
that is not a good idea, especially since I doubt that you
endeared yourself to the ADP any in the process."
     "That's tough," he said, his tone briefly becoming
flinty.  "If they're going to take hands in the game, then
they'd better be able to pay the ante."
     Before Sylia could ask just what he'd meant by that
remark, the door to the infirmary opened, and the tall, lean
figure of the Knight Sabers' `family physician' briskly
stepped through, a medical kit in one hand, and a carrying
case of some kind in the other.  Sylia immediately relieved
him of the case, setting it down on a nearby counter.  The
old man sighed in relief, then looked over at Bert, his gaze
sharpening as he noticed the condition of his patient.
     "Picking fights again, were we?" he asked dryly,
shaking his head.  The white-haired old man glanced sidelong
at Sylia as he dropped his kit onto the table end, popping
the lid open.  His eyes slid sideways towards the blood-
smeared, red-headed young man seated on the exam table, then
back to hers;  Sylia understood his unspoken question, and
shook her head slightly; there was no need for Bert to know
that they knew each other any further than a working
relationship, and that meant no names were to be used.  Her
uncle nodded briefly in understanding.
     "I'm going to need your help, Ma'am," the old man
stated, fishing a packet containing some latex gloves from
his case and tossing them to Sylia.  "An extra pair of hands
for this would be a help."
     "Certainly, I'd be happy to assist," she replied
neutrally as he tore open a second package and donned his
own gloves.  Her uncle went over to the medical supplies
locker, opened it, and after a quick glance at the contents,
began pulling out various sterile-wrapped packets and
packages.  Sylia took them as he handed them to her, neatly
arraying them on the wall counter.
     The two of them turned to the sagging young man on the
examination table; he was almost out cold from tiredness and
blood loss.  Sylia felt a momentary chill as she looked at
him, but her uncle appeared unfazed as he whipped out an
array of hypodermics, pads, suturing needles, and other
surgical paraphernalia out of his case, and then perused his
selections from the medical locker for a moment, picking out
a couple of items.
     The old doctor stepped over to Bert, and gently eased
his hand from the clamped grip it had on the bloody towel
plastered over his shoulder, dropping his arm back to his
side.  The doctor gingerly lifted the sopping piece of cloth
away, and dropped it into the plastic-lined garbage pail
nearby.  He then unwrapped an antiseptic pad, and gently
sponged away at the wound until he could see the damage.
The wound started bleeding a bit again, a thick upwelling of
dark crimson.
     "Hmmm....some ripping and tearing of the muscles
involved, but it missed the collarbone, it seems.  Another
inch lower or deeper, and he'd have had worse problems,"
Sylia's uncle quietly reported.  "All in all, it could have
been much worse."  He checked Bert's pulse, and said `Hmmm'
again, twitching his mustache as he mentally assessed his
patient's condition.
     "His pulse is lower than normal, but not dangerously
so," he finally judged.  "I don't think he'll need a
transfusion, but I brought a couple of bags up with me, just
in case."  Sylia nodded quietly, dividing her gaze between
her uncle and her injured friend.  The old medico
straightned up, sighing.
     "Well, Ma'am, if you'll hand me that syringe there,
we'll get started," he directed her.  She nodded wordlessly
again, and handed him the indicated hypodermic.  He checked
it for air bubbles, and then gently injected his patient
with it.  The red-headed young man didn't even twitch when
he felt the needle slide into his arm.
     "We almost don't need anaesthetic," her uncle noted.
"He's almost totally out of it now."
     "Go ahead," Bert mumbled groggily, his eyes just barely
open.  "Couldn't possibly hurt worse than anything else I've
had to endure today."  He fell silent for a moment, then
added drowsily, "At least these wounds will eventually
heal."  The old man's eyebrows hit his hairline in surprise
at the words, and he glanced at Sylia questioningly.  She
shook her head, indicating that it wasn't the time or the
place to discuss it, not when one of her friends was slowly
bleeding all over the place.  He nodded, then turned back to
the task at hand.
     "Now then, if you'll just hand me that packet
there...no not that one, the other one!  Off to your
right...."

THE NEXT DAY....

     Leon strode through the bewildering maze of desks in
the ADP offices, irritably adjusting the sling his burned
arm was resting in.  The tall inspector did not look to be
in a pleasant mood; a glowering scowl had replaced his usual
jovial and easygoing temperament, and it made most people
give him a wide berth.  Most people.
     "Leon!" a young woman's voice hailed him from the
direction of the secretarial area.  As he turned slightly to
see a young woman with short brown hair charging towards
him.  She was wearing the usual ADP uniform blouse, skirt,
and a green hairband.  Inwardly, Leon groaned as Naoko came
up to him, curiosity alive in her bright blue eyes.
     "What are you doing in today?" she asked.  "We heard
you got injured, and were supposed to be having a few days
off.  Did the chief call you in?  You really look beat;
maybe you should take it easy for a while...."
     "Naoko," Leon sighed, holding up a hand to cut her off;
she'd keep chattering away at him unless he thought of
something to get rid of her, fast.  She was a nice enough
girl, but she was the worst person in the department when it
came to gossip, and he just didn't have the energy to humour
her today.  "I just came in to check a couple of things and
then I'm leaving again," he informed the young woman.
"That's all."
     "Right," she said dryly, looking at him with a knowing
glance.  "Then why do you look like you're brooding on
something unpleasant?  Case not going the way you want?"
     "That's really none of your business," he replied, a
bit sharply as his lousy mood prodded him.  Naoko blinked in
surprise, artfully looking hurt.
     "Well you didn't have to snap at me," she said in a
wounded tone.  "Geez, you're as bad as Nene this morning."
Leon's irritation vanished for a moment, curiosity and
concern replacing it.
     "What's with Nene?" he inquired.  "She looked ill
enough yesterday that I thought she'd have stayed home
today."
     "Nope.  She came in today, but she's been really
miserable all morning, and she's snapping at everything.
You know what I think?"  The young woman's voice lowered
conspiratorially, and she looked around as if expecting
spies to be lurking nearby.  "I think she had an argument
with her boyfriend," she told him.  "He normally drops her
off at the front of the building, but she arrived by herself
this morning, and she won't answer any questions about it."
     "Oh, really?" Leon answered absently, his mind turning
the information around, examining it.  It would explain a
few things about Nene's behaviour, but there were still a
few unanswered puzzles.  "I'm sure they'll work things out."
     "I'm not so sure," the brown-haired young woman replied
dubiously, shaking her head. "She's never been this upset
before...."
     "NAOKO!!!"  an irritated yell cut across the office,
coming from a harried sergeant at his desk.  "Would you quit
shooting the breeze with McNichol, and get me that bloody
report like I asked you to ten minutes ago?!"
     "Oops!  Gotta run!  Bye!"  With a cheery wave, the
young woman sped off into the depths of the offices in
pursuit of her file.  Leon slowly continued his own journey
into the ADP offices, a thoughtful look in his blue eyes as
he tried again to reconcile the fragments of information he
had so far into some kind of recognizable picture.  He gave
up as he reached the Chief's office; it was just too mixed
up to sort out right now.  He paused, sighed, braced
himself, and then knocked on the door.  A moment later, he
opened it, and stepped through.
     "You're supposed to be at home recuperating," Chief
Ichinohei reprimanded him as he stepped into her office.
     "Nice to see you too, Chief," he replied.  She flushed
a bit, then quickly managed to look irritated with him
again.
     "All right, what is it this time?" she asked, sighing.
Leon couldn't keep a smirk from forming at her tone; she
sounded like she was waiting for the building to collapse
around them.
     "Nothing, really," he replied easily.  "I just came in
to tell you that I'm going to add a couple of weeks of my
vacation time onto my `sick leave' as you called it."  He
couldn't help looking a little sour over that remark; the
Chief had rather peremptorily told him that he was off for a
week until his arm had healed.  After some thought on the
matter, Leon had decided that a vacation wouldn't hurt,
either; it had been so bloody long since he'd had some time
off that he couldn't quite remember the last time it had
been.
     "You could have phoned that in," Hitomi noted quietly,
sitting back in her chair.  Clear aquamarine eyes gazed at
him from across the large desk, evaluating him.  "What did
you really want to talk about?"  A wry smirk tugged at
Leon's mouth; she didn't miss much when it came to assessing
a situation.
     "I also wanted to go on record as saying that SkyKnight
saved my life last night," he informed her.  "I wouldn't be
sitting here right now if he hadn't shown up."  A very
fleeting glimpse of irritation showed on the Chief's face.
     "Noted," she said coolly.  "I trust you also heard what
happened after he killed the boomer?"  Leon nodded, and
decided not to bother mentioning that he'd laughed his head
off when he'd heard about the silver Knight Saber's method
for dealing with the situation.
     "Considering what he did before, I'd say he was
downright nice about it," Leon pointed out.  "He could have
done a lot more than just shoot fire hydrants off."  There
was no mistaking the irritation on the Chief's face now.
     "I know that!" she snapped.  She wasn't pleased over
the fact that SkyKnight had made the ADP look like bumbling
incompetents the night before, and it had been gnawing at
her all morning.  "That doesn't change the fact that we have
our orders."
     "Just where did these `orders' come from?"  Leon asked.
"We never really got all that worked up about the Knight
Sabers before; why the sudden urge to catch them now?"  The
red-headed woman across the desk from him spread her hands
helplessly, looking towards the ceiling in exasperation.
     "I know as much as you do," she told him.  "The
commands came from higher up, that's all I know.  I'm not
entirely in disagreement with the orders, however; we can't
just let armed vigilantes run loose."
     "Fine.  Whatever you say," Leon replied disgustedly,
letting the matter drop.  The woman was bloody intractable
on the subject of law and order, and didn't seem to be able
to recognize the need for flexibility at times.  The
prevailing mood among most of the officers, even with
SkyKnight's recent violent behaviour, was that the Knight
Sabers should be left alone.  However, orders were still
orders, and that was why he needed some more time off.
Lately he'd begun to question just what he was doing with
himself, and why; he needed some time to think.
     Besides, taking some time off would also allow him to
poke around a bit and see if he could solve some of the
puzzling questions that had been dogging him lately.
                            ****
     Nene worked through the stack of reports in front of
her mechanically, one part of her mind performing her usual
work duties with the ingrained ease of long familiarity.  At
the same time, the other part of her mind was churning with
a raging mix of hurt and anger.  Her long red hair looked a
little messy, and her normally clear emerald-green eyes were
bloodshot with dark circles under them.  Even her uniform,
usually clean and neatly-pressed, looked a little rumpled.
     She hadn't slept well during the night; her cubbyhole
apartment had seemed cold and unfamiliar, and she'd kept
waking up from some pretty horrific nightmares, most of them
featuring a twisted mixture of Hollister and a hulking, red
boomer.  Each time she'd woken up crying, she'd expected
Bert to show up and offer some solace, and then she'd
remembered why he wasn't there.
     Instantly, her anger at what he'd said to her had
surged back again, giving her something else to concentrate
on other than the nightmares.  After a while, she'd managed
to fall asleep again, kept company by her collection of
stuffed animals, but the process had continually repeated
itself through the night.  Morning had found her tired and
disheveled; mentally, she felt like she'd been in a
marathon, and her body didn't feel much better.  It had been
an effort to come in to work, but she'd forced herself to do
it, mostly so she wouldn't sit at home and dwell on what had
happened the night before.
     She still couldn't believe how much he'd changed; he'd
gone from someone fairly jovial and easy-going to a cold,
withdrawn combat machine.  First he'd made hurtful remarks
about her, and topping that off, he hadn't even seen fit to
tell her about his attacking the ADP!  She'd had to find
that out for herself at work.  He was turning into somebody
cold and remorseless, who didn't scruple to use violence
anymore, and she didn't want to be around him if that was
going to happen.  She wanted the `Knight-in-Shining-Armour'
that she'd fallen in love with originally to come back, but
it didn't look like that was going to happen.
     The very remote voice of her conscience pointed out
that she was overreacting.  It wasn't really his fault for
what had happened to him; it had been a change that had been
an inadvertent effect of everything he'd gone through with
his kidnappers.  It was going to take time for him to
recover.  She didn't listen; if he'd listened to HER in the
first place, then he wouldn't have been captured and
tortured, and she wouldn't have been shot trying to get
Hollister.  It was all his fault; if he wasn't so wrapped up
in trying to live up to some dumb image all the time...
     The door to the Chief's office banged closed, startling
her from her work.  As she looked up, she saw Leon standing
in front of the door.  He looked preoccupied with something,
absently running his hand through his brown thatch of hair.
His right arm was in a sling, and she knew why that was;
she'd heard about the night's events when she'd gotten into
work.  Her lips tightened angrily as she also remembered
hearing about SkyKnight's rather public humiliation of the
officers who'd been at the scene.  More evidence he'd
changed: he'd always left the ADP strictly alone before,
treating them with courtesy, at least, if nothing else.
     As she quietly fumed over that one, Leon's glance fell
on her, and he started walking towards her desk.  She
experienced a brief, irrational surge of panic, then clamped
down on it.  She didn't know why Leon could be coming over
to see her; she'd already gotten him his case-related
information a while back.  She tried to keep calm and keep
working as he approached, but it was a sham effort.
     "Hi, Nene," he greeted her quietly, a concerned look in
his clear blue eyes.  There was also a hint of rabid
curiosity which he couldn't quite hide.  "Feeling better
today?"
     "I feel fine," she replied, forcing a smile onto her
face and trying to make her voice sound light and cheery.
"Why?"
     "Well, you didn't look all that good yesterday," Leon
said slowly, watching her, "and Naoko said you'd been out-of-
sorts all morning."  Nene couldn't stop herself from looking
sour at his words; God, she wished Naoko would just shut up
sometimes!  She opened her mouth to answer Leon, when her
phone rang.  Smiling apologetically at the tall inspector,
she picked up the receiver.
     "Hello, Nene Romanova speaking," she said into the
mouthpiece as cheerfully as she could manage; it was fast
becoming a strain trying to appear as upbeat as she had in
the past.  She briefly hoped  that she'd be able to make it
through the rest of the day without cracking.
     "Hi, Nene," Bert's voice replied.  "Can we talk for a
few minutes?"  He sounded uncertain and uncomfortable about
something, but she didn't really give a damn what it was; as
soon as she heard his voice, her anger at him for the other
day irrationally surged back.
     "You've got nothing to say that I want to hear right
now," she informed him icily.  "Good-bye!"  She banged the
receiver down forcefully, hanging up as he tried to say
something.  Her eyes burned as she fought to keep sudden
tears from blurring her vision, and she scrubbed a sleeve
across her face.
     "Nene?" Leon's voice intruded on her whirling thoughts.
"Are you okay?"  She looked up at him to see concern written
all over him.  She flushed a bit, suddenly angry at him for
witnessing her discomfiture.  She stood up, pushing back
from the desk.
     "I'm fine," she told him tightly, supressing the urge
to break down then and there.  "It's nothing, really."  She
walked away from her desk, heading towards the washrooms,
feeling Leon's gaze on her back like a laser beam.  She
ignored it, and the covert, curious gazes from a few other
people around the office.  She managed to hold herself
together until she got into a stall in the washrooms.  The
tide of emotions that had been wearing at her all morning
finally eroded her restraint, and she burst out crying from
the mix of anger and hurt that still bubbled through her.
It was some time before she was able to pull herself
together enough to go back to her desk.
                            ****
     Bert stared blankly at the dead phone receiver in his
hand, his mind still numbed from the abrupt termination of
his phone call.  He sat like that for a few minutes, unable
to assemble anything resembling coherent thought in the
whirling tide of emotion that churned through him.  The
predominant feeling was pained anguish; after Nene had
called him a killer the night before, he'd felt like someone
had stabbed him through the heart.  Now it felt like the
knife was being twisted and ground around, reaming out the
hole.
     His face twisting in a bitter, hurt expression, he
slammed the phone back down, and sagged back into the couch.
His battered body screamed at him from the movement,
shooting fiery pains along his nerves; he was feeling every
scrape and bruise he'd accumulated the night before, and his
slashed shoulder was the worst.  He carefully reached over
with his uninjured arm and adjusted the sling that was
holding his left arm more-or-less immobile while his
shoulder healed, trying to make the arm feel a bit more
comfortable.  The pain receded slightly as he sat there
quietly.  The physical pain, however, was a minor annoyance
compared to the feeling of empty loss that was rolling
through him.
     After several minutes of sitting disconsolately, he
reached over to the nearby coffee table, and picked up his
mug, carefully sipping at the steaming hot chocolate inside
of it.  When he was finished, he set the mug back over on
the table, and tried to stand up.
     Instantly, liquid fire seemed to race through his
veins, as the physical toll of everything he'd forced
himself to do lately slammed home.  He flopped bonelessly
back to the couch, gasping, and trying to gather at least
some of the shattered remnants of his vigour, enough so that
he could do something and not have to dwell on what had
happened to him.  It didn't work; his body flat out refused
to cooperate with him.  For a moment, he wasn't sure whether
to laugh or cry.
     Sighing disgustedly, he settled himself deeper into his
couch, propped his feet up, and lay back on the cushions.
He wished he could've at least reached the kitchen table;
the bottle of painkillers sitting there would come in
awfully handy right now...
     After a few moments, the heartsore and bone-weary,
battered young man fell asleep.
                            ****
     "Interesting," Quincy rumbled, his icy blue eyes
unrevealing as he looked at Madigan.  GENOM's C.E.O. looked
as craggy-faced and impassive as he always had, seated
behind his massive oak desk, wearing a light grey suit.  His
hands were folded in front of himself on the desktop.  An
iceberg would have exhibited more emotion than he was
currently expressing.  "What other unusual events have you
uncovered?"
     "A few weeks ago, an old abandoned industrial complex
was destroyed in a large explosion," Madigan reported
crisply, shuffling through the file folder she held in front
of her.  She was standing in front of Quincy's desk making
her report, coolly immaculate in a dark blue business suit.
"There wasn't much left, but the indications are that it was
another hidden research facility, possibly linked to our
mysterious `friends'.  The explosion centered on the
facility's power generators."
     "Is there any indication of the Knight Sabers being
involved?"
     "None that I can ascertain," the lavender-haired exec
replied.  "There was very little evidence left at the
factory explosion to examine, and we lacked any reliable
reports from our usual sources for that time period.  It
appears to be a chance happening."
     "Unlikely," Quincy judged.  "Someone going to that much
trouble to conceal themselves would have guarded against
such an occurrence."  He paused for a moment, his gaze
turning abstracted as he considered the possibilities.
Madigan shifted slightly, and his gaze snapped attentively
back to her.  "Were there any other strange events of note?"
     "None of that type," she responded.  "But they were
unusual enough to be considered."
     "Elaborate," he ordered curiously.  "Unusual in what
way?"
     "The first incident was an armed car chase, about a
week prior to the factory explosion," she informed him.
"Two armed and armoured cars were reported to be chasing a
red pickup truck.  One car was wrecked, the other got away,
and the red truck vanished into thin air.  The occupants of
the wrecked car also escaped."
     "A kidnapping attempt?"
     "Perhaps," she replied.  "I was unable to obtain enough
information to say for sure.  What is certain is that all of
the vehicles involved had been heavily modified, well beyond
the means of most people.  Certain covert agencies might be
able to field equipment as advanced as these vehicles
apparently were, but checking with our contacts in those
agencies proved useless."
     "Hmmm," Quincy mused.  "Intriguing.  However, it would
appear to be a futile line of inquiry."  Madigan nodded, and
continued.
     "The second incident occurred after the factory
explosion.  A high-profile mercenary `extraction' team, one
we have employed ourselves in the past, was captured by the
ADP."
     "What?!" Quincy, for once, appeared openly surprised.
He leaned forwards, gaze intent.  "And how did they
accomplish that?"
     "It was handed to them on a platter," Madigan said
dryly.  "They found the entire team stuffed into their
operations van.  All of the soldiers were very seriously
injured; some are still recovering in hospital even now."
She shuffled through her report folder until she came to the
page she was after, and then handed it across to Quincy.  He
took it, and scanned it quickly, skimming through the
synopsis of the statements from the imprisoned mercenaries.
His face became intent when he reached the description of
the creature that the mercs claimed had assailed them.
     "We have no boomers matching those descriptions," he
stated, looking over at her.  She nodded.
     "They appear to have encountered a hardsuit," she
replied.  "An independent operative, though, and not one of
the Knight Sabers.  Whoever it was, he had no compunctions
about using deadly force; some of the survivors are crippled
for life."
     "Have our operations been compromised by this?" he
inquired, a steely glint appearing in his eyes.  "This
report says that the leader was confessing and asking for
`police protection'.  He may mention the occasions where we
have hired him."
     "Highly unlikely, now," she replied dryly.  "He has
been eliminated as a liability."  Assassin boomers were such
handy things to have around.
     "Excellent," Quincy smiled darkly, leaning back in his
chair.  He looked thoughtful for a moment, gazing off into
space.
     "Continue your investigations," he ordered her a moment
later.  "In addition, I want as much detail as you can get
on that last incident, and on this lone hardsuit."  He
smiled again thinly.  "Who knows?  We may uncover more than
we bargained for."  Madigan bowed respectfully to him, and
left his office, closing the massive doors behind her
quietly.  As the doors closed, Quincy swiveled his chair to
face the bay window overlooking the sprawling metropolis
that lay at the feet of the GENOM ziggurat.  As he gazed
over his domain, a sinister smile of satisfaction crawled
across his face.

THREE DAYS LATER....

     "Hi, Linna," Sylvie greeted the black-haired young
woman as she entered Sylia's living room.  "How are you
doing?"  The young, dark-brown haired woman shed the heavy
jacket she was wearing over her usual bike suit, and
unwrapped a scarf from around her neck;  the weather had
turned cold lately, and she'd found out that the extra
insulation was needed if she wanted to keep speeding around
the city on her bike.  Without the added clothing, the wind
chill became vicious very quickly.
     "Hmm? Oh, fine.  Couldn't be better," came the groggy
reply.  The normally energetic dance and aerobics instructor
was just barely awake, and was slumped in one of Sylia's
easy chairs, her head hanging over the back.  Periodically,
she yawned hugely.
     "Don't go and get all excited on us now," Priss noted
dryly,  removing her own jacket and scarf, walking in behind
Sylvie and looking around.  Across from where Linna was
sprawled, Anri flashed them a shy smile of greeting.  Neatly
dressed in a light-coloured blouse and skirt, the greenish-
haired young woman was sipping quietly at a glass of orange
juice, waiting.  Faint noises from the kitchen indicated
that Sylia was putting something together.
     "It's not my fault the director's had us doing
everything over and over and over again," came the sleepy
reply.  "I've gone over some of the routines with the other
dancers so bloody often now, I could do them in my sleep."
     "Well, well, well," Priss drawled, a sly grin forming.
"So you've finally found out what it's like for the rest of
us to go through one of your workouts."
     "Watch it, Priss," Linna warned, opening her eyes long
enough to give her an irritated, blue-eyed glare.  "I'm
still not through with you yet, so I'd watch it with the
smart remarks."  Her head sagged back to the chair cushion a
moment later; Priss grinned again, but didn't comment.  Anri
giggled a bit, then resumed sitting quietly.
     "So what's this about?" the brown-haired singer asked,
walking over to the coffee table area and flopping into one
of the couches.  "It's a little early for our usual meeting,
but Sylia insisted we get here ahead of time.  What's up?"
     "Beats me," Linna replied, shrugging slightly, still
looking like she was going to doze off any minute.  "I'm as
much in the dark as you are."  Sylvie swapped a grin with
Priss over Linna's condition, then selected a chair next to
Anri, and gracefully sat down to wait.
     As if that had been a signal, Sylia emerged from her
kitchen with a tray holding several mugs, a teapot, and a
carafe of juice.  She was neatly dressed, as always, but her
usual calm features bore a faintly worried look.  She nodded
greetings to everyone, setting the tray down on the coffee
table, then sat down in her accustomed chair.
     "Help yourselves," she invited, gesturing towards the
beverage tray.  Smoothing her skirt down, she took a deep
breath, looking around at the assembled women.  "Thank you
all for arriving a bit early tonight," she said quietly.  "I
know it's unusual, but I wanted to make sure everyone knew
what was going on before," she hesitated, then sighed and
continued, "before Nene or Bert get here, if they're coming
at all."  Her last statement grabbed everyone's attention,
even rousing Linna from her exhausted slump.
     "What's that supposed to mean?  What happened?" Linna
asked, then noted Sylia's unusually grave expression.  "Uh-
oh, this is bad news, I take it?"
     "That's one way to put it," Sylia replied.  She quickly
outlined what had happened between the red-headed couple a
few nights ago, including the aftermath.  Uncomfortable and
somewhat shocked silence fell over the room when she was
done.
     "That's....not good," Priss observed awkwardly.  "I
can't believe that Nene would say something like that;
that's not like her."
     "Well she hasn't been herself for some time now, has
she?" Sylia said tiredly.  "They're both hurt and upset now,
and I wanted everyone to be warned."
     "They'll work it out," Linna commented confidently.
"They've worked arguments out before."
     "Normally, I'd agree with you," Sylia noted.  "But this
time, there are a few differences..."
     The sound of Sylia's front door slamming forestalled
further conversation, as everyone exchanged an
uncomfortable, worried glance.  A few moments later, Nene's
slender, red-haired shape rounded the corner from the
apartment foyer.  The young ADP officer looked worn and
tired, and there were dark smudges under her eyes.  She gave
a wan smile to everyone by way of greeting, then sat down on
the other couch, next to Anri, and poured herself a cup of
tea.  She settled back into the couch, sipping her drink.
So far, she hadn't met anyone's eyes, and it appeared as if
she was going to stick to that policy.  An awkward silence
cloaked the room.
     The door banged open and closed again, and the sounds
of someone awkwardly fumbling off their shoes could be
heard.  After a few moments, a tall young man with an unruly
thatch of red hiar came striding into the living room,
adjusting the sling that secured his left arm to his side.
Wearing a dark blue track suit, Bert looked about the same
as he usually did, except that his face was totally devoid
of any expression whatsoever; it was like looking at a
robot.  His gaze swept the assembled women, and he nodded a
greeting, but nothing else.
     When his gaze fell on Nene, there was a faint twitch
from his jaw muscles as if he'd clenched his teeth, and
something flashed in his eyes too quickly for those watching
to identify.
Priss was willing to swear that the temperature of the air
around Nene dropped several degrees when his gaze passed
over the young, red-headed woman.  From the corner of her
eye, Priss watched Nene's lips tighten as an angry light
flared in her green eyes, then vanished as an icy cool mask
seemed to settle into place.  Again, an uncomfortably thick
silence seemed to drop over everything like a shroud.
     Bert didn't give any indication of anything as he
stopped next to the coffee table, just long enough to pour
himself a cup of tea and dose it with cream and sugar.  He
was also refusing to meet anyone's gaze, and didn't appear
to notice the definite chill emanating from Nene's end of
the room, or the faint hint of concern in Priss's eyes.
Picking up his mug, he stepped out and away from the
couches, walking over to stare out the bay window at the
city.  After a few moments, it became clear that he intended
to stay in that position for the duration of the meeting.
He stood stolidly, sipping from his mug, staring out the
window at the blackness of the night beyond.
     "Well," Sylia finally spoke up, taking a deep breath
and mentally steeling herself for some kind of an explosion.
"Thank you all for coming.  We've got a few things to
discuss, but I don't think that it will take very long."