Note that this is a work in progress.

HTG
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Lamentation For The Lost: Part 1.

	Jan-Anders Jivarp gazed sullenly out of the Plexiglas window of
the airliner. He had a stinking hangover to start with, and being bundled
on to a flight to MegaTokyo At such short notice made him feel worse. The
seats were evidently not designed for someone of his size, and he had to
swap with some old biddy before his legs seized up altogether. Over the
internal speakers Muzak was playing, designed to soothe the anxious flyer.
A thousand odours assailed his nostrils, the pungent tang of alcoholic
drinks, the sickly aroma of various airline dishes (some things never
improve with time, he thought wryly), he could even deduce the mood of his
fellow passengers from individual pheromones. It never ceased to amaze him
how humans could say one thing, but their body betrays their true
emotions. Still it beats being bored in SF, he thought ruefully to
himself, stretching his legs into the middle of the aisle, a chance for
some action at last, to take the war to the ailing Wyrm.
	"It's a real war out there Herb! I don't know why you had to choose
MegaTokyo for our holiday!" the speaker was an overweight elderly woman in
one of the adjoining seats, whose natural hair colour appeared to be a
rather bilious shade of purple.
	"Don't worry dear! I'm sure the police will do their level best to
protect tourists like us.......just relax honey!" Her thin, nervous
husband mopped his brow and tried to return to his magazine, Jan-Anders
caught the reek of fear that he seemed to radiate like an aura.
	War....protect words that he had heard before in a similar context
but not there and not then, his gaze turned inwards as the babble of music
inside the cabin seemed to fade. When he next opened his eyes he was
standing ankle deep in viscera, trews and woollen shirt matted with his
own blood and that of others, his cloak lying tattered at his feet. His
great-klaive, wailing a song of death dripped with the remains of his
foes. Around him twisted gibbering creatures giggled hysterically as they
capered among the burning charcoal ruins of what was once a sleepy fishing
village.
	Dragon-prowed ships that once carried his kin to glory over the
seas lay as skeletal remains on the shoreline. He breathed deeply and
gagged on the foetor of rancid and roasting flesh, and the sulphurous
miasma of the Wyrm.
	"Are you OK sir?"  These words jolted him out of his waking
nightmare. He looked up suddenly, his eyes clearing.
	"I'm fine thank you!" The words came out almost as a guttural
snarl, and he felt a bit embarrassed as the hapless stewardess visibly
flinched.
	"Sorry. I'm just not used to flying at all, I always get a bit
jumpy."  he added softly, "I shouldn't take it out on you."
	"Well I'm sorry for startling you sir!" the stewardess beamed, "
Can I get you anything?"
	"Yes.....a double wodka....oh shit I mean vodka please!" There were
certain speech patterns he found difficult to break, even after spending
fifteen years in the States.
	The stewardess brought him his order with the same fixed smile,
which he did the best to return. he paid for the drink and proceeded to
down the glass in one, much to the horror of Mrs. Purple-rinse.
	"I tell you Herb," she griped, "the youth of today have no manners
whatsoever, and as for there so-called culture. Well look at him, he's got
hair longer than our Cherry's.."
	"Will you pipe down puh-leeze! He might hear you!" her husband
interrupted desperately, "Look at the size of him!"
	Jan-Anders suppressed the urge to laugh out loud, he knew what the
couple were seeing. A young man in his middle-twenties with honey blonde
hair, reaching to the small of his back, with a distinctive platinum
streak. He usually had to keep it tied back to avoid it totally obscuring
his face, which was strikingly Nordic (as well as handsome) with finely
chiselled features and high cheekbones. It seemed that he was designed to
stand out in a crowd, if you're over two metres tall, he sometimes joked,
what's the point in trying to blend in? His weight compounded the problem;
two-hundred and eighty pounds of muscle and sinew. His blue-grey eyes
seemed to burn with barely suppressed homicidal fury when enraged, which
appeared to be most of the time. He had at least toned down his dress for
the flight, a black lace-up shirt and black denims hid most of his bulk
from view while a ubiquitous leather jacket lay crumpled at his booted
feet.
	Despite the hangover (which was not being ameliorated by the
effects of another double vodka), he appeared to be lost in thought for
most of the long flight. When I was last in the world of men, he mused,
Bill Clinton was President of the States, Guns 'n' Roses were on the verge
of splitting up, and GENOM was little more than a conglomerate of Japanese
hi-tech firms.
	"We are now beginning our final approach to Narita International
Airport." an anonymous voice intoned over the internal PA." We would like
to remind passengers to refrain from smoking, and to stay seated until the
aircraft has come to a full and complete halt. Thank you for flying Japan
Air Lines, a subsidiary of GENOM Development Corporation."
	Bathed in the early morning light, the metropolis below looked
serene enough but behind the facade? Jan-Anders extracted his jacket from
where it lay stashed at his feet. There was a slight jolt followed by a
distant rumble as the airliner bit tarmac. Across the aisle, Mrs.
Purple-rinse had found something else to complain about. The airliner
slowed to walking pace and finally trundled to a halt outside a monolithic
terminal building. At some unseen cue umbilical docking hoses extruded
themselves from the walls and attached themselves to the doors in the
fuselage. After a few moments, the cabin doors opened and the stewardesses
began to usher everyone out.
	"That has to be about the worst flight I've ever been on!"  Mrs. 
Purple-rinse shrilled, "Not only was the food atrocious, but you sat us
across the aisle from that long-haired thug!"
	Jan-Anders locked gaze with the harridan and gave her his Sunday
best grin. His usual expression was one of sullen anger, so a grin for him
had the same effect as, "I'm going to rip your entrails out and scatter
them over a very wide area indeed." It had the desired effect on the
miserable crone, she blanched and bustled her hapless husband out the
plane. The stewardess mouthed a silent, "Thank you God!" before returning
to her task of helping passengers into the docking tube.
	As he stepped into it, the early morning light dazzled his eyes
momentarily, triggering the pounding headache again. Fumbling with the
inside pocket of his jacket he found what he was looking for, the trusted
Oakley's. As the bright sunlight faded to a mellow haze, so the pain eased
to a distant throb. Much better he thought to himself as he walked
purposefully toward customs
		####################################
 	"Shit! he's not here!" Priss exclaimed with a grimace, "OK! Who's 
gonna be the one who tells Sylia!"
	Linna looked up at her closest friend from the reclined seat of
her car, "Can't we wait a bit longer," she suggested desperately, "he
still might arrive."
	The two were parked outside the airport's main entrance in Linna's
compact estate. It seemed unlikely that these two should be such close
friends, even though they were both very attractive both physically and
mentally they were a study in opposites. Priss, decked out in her usual
ripped denim and leather toyed with her coifed chestnut hair distractedly.
An assortment of Band Aids covering her arms and face, gave testimony to
another concrete kissing incident on her motorbike.
	"Fat chance of that!" she snarled, "I think some moron's given us
another dead end! What prick would think that he'd be working at the
airport.  Face it Linna, Mackie's been gone for to years now, he's as good
as dead!"
	"He can't be...." Linna choked, not daring to harbour the
possibility, "He's all Sylia had left.......why did he freak like
that?.......We were only having a bit of fun!"
	Linna sat upright in the car seat, her makeup running slightly as
she cried. On hearing that there was a possible lead she had come directly
from Phoebe's health centre and was still clad in her skin-tight aerobics
outfit from the previous evening, with an oversize sweatshirt on top. Her
cropped black hair was tied in place with the usual headband, and both she
and Priss felt in urgent need of a shower and something to eat.
	"I guess it's my turn to get the coffee huh?" Priss forced a smile
to try to lighten her friends mood, "Don't do anything I wouldn't!" With
that she opened the car door and stepped out into the early morning
sunshine.
	Jan-Anders was amazed at how smoothly the passage through customs
had been, all the necessary paperwork had been cleared in advance. The
long-stay visa had been already cleared along with his permanent residence
in MegaTokyo. The Sept of the Rising Phoenix has a tight operation going
here, he thought, in another part of his mind he made a mental note to
thank Alex when they met.
	He was used to this life, He was an Anruth, a wanderer, he went
where he pleased and did what he liked. But when he got a request from an
old friend he felt honour bound to help. Especially when that request
entailed the two biggest loves in his life, fighting and music. The
hangover was easing off now, partly from the Alka-Selzer that he had
downed ten minutes previously and partly due to the continued wearing of
the shades.
	He hefted the token suitcase, and the black reinforced plastic
hardcase for his guitar and made for the exit. It was more for show than
anything else.  The rest of his equipment had arrived the day before by
somewhat more unorthodox means. To all intents and purposes he had to
appear as an exchange student, arriving early to study at MegaTokyo's
prestigious Academy for the Performing Arts. That was the reason for
Alex's personal request, he had noticed some highly puzzling and sinister
occurrences at the Academy. All Jan-Anders knew was that in order to find
out what was going on inside, the Sept needed a talented musician who was
prepared to travel and he seemed to fit the bill best.
	He was jolted out of his reverie by the screech of brakes, and the
ominous bang and tinkle of bending sheet metal and broken glass. Everyone
round him winced involuntarily, hoping that it wasn't too serious. He
caught a glimpse of a good-looking young woman in denims and a leather
jacket, with a very dated 1940's hairstyle, as she dropped the cups she
was carrying and pelted out the nearby exit.
	"A lady driver parks her car!" someone quipped, "Bet she abandoned
it three feet from the curb!!" This witticism got little response, the
terminal soon returning to its normal routine. Jan-Anders stopped to take
the elastic band out of his hair. Fucking annoying things, he thought
sourly, makes you look like some kinda art fag critic. Then hefting his
cases again he made his way through the automatic doors of the terminal.
	It was a pity that Alex couldn't meet him personally, being a
Glass Walker meant that business always came first. He had agreed to meet
him at his flat, somewhere in District Three of MegaTokyo. That's if I
ever get to the place, he thought scowling, trying to find a taxi here is
like finding a sober Fianna. As he looked up and down the road in the vain
hope of attracting a taxi's attention, his gaze alighted on a scene which
looked to him like it was going to get very interesting very shortly.
	By the looks of things, a group of four drunken students (he could
smell the reek of cheap booze a mile off) driving a sports saloon had come
to see one of their mates off. It seemed like they were trying to avoid
another vehicle, and had swerved into a parked car. Three of the students
were unharmed ,they had alcohol on their side. Unfortunately a young woman
had been in the other car, and although she didn't appear to be hurt, she
leant against the hood of the car apparently shaken. The woman that he had
seen running out of the terminal was there too and by her pugnacious
stance, seemed like she was about to take all three of them on at once.
The fourth student lay crumpled at her feet, clutching his groin and
moaning curses into the pavement.
	"Listen you piss-heads," Priss snapped, "you'll get the keys back
after those nice men in blue uniforms arrive!!"
	"Give us 'em back yer stoopid bitch!" one of them slurred in
return, "Or me an' da boyz'll have t'get nazty n'put a few new plasterz on
yer pretty little face!!"
	Priss looked at Linna in exasperation, wishing she had brought a
hardsuit instead of normal civilian clothing. Linna to her credit had
recovered enough from the shock to be ready to cause some serious hurt.
But before either party could act, a husky voice growled from one side,
	"Hey! You girls in trouble there?!"
	"Whatz yer probl..." began one of the bums, a greasy character
wearing an outsize T-shirt and jams. He stopped short when he saw who he
was addressing.
	Jan-Anders dropped the suitcase, and without pausing grabbed the
hapless student by the throat, his arm blurring faster than any eye could
follow. With a sneer of contempt he jerked him off his feet and up to his
eye level, all the while without letting go of the guitar case in his
other hand.  The helpless drunkard thrashed feebly in his vice-like grip
as he started to choke.
	"Now then," Jan-Anders whispered throatily, "you can either
apologise to these girls and wait for the police to arrive like good boys,
or you can go home in an ambulance, your choice."
	He smiled at the luckless teenager and released his grip, the body
falling in a semi-conscious heap at his feet. The other two instinctively
backed off, and looked like they were about to make a run for it, when the
uncanny silence was shattered by the wail of an airport security patrol
car.  As vehicles dived for safety, it screeched to a halt not three feet
from where they were standing. Jan-Anders sighed, sat down on his case and
propped up the guitar case alongside him, this could be a long wait.
	"Right what happened here then?!" asked the officer, as if it
weren't blatantly obvious.
	"I was parked here, minding my own business," began Linna, trying
to keep her temper, "when these morons ran into me! Just look what they
did to my car!"
	"Yeah! They also tried to leave the scene as well," added Priss
with a faint smile, "so I took their car keys.....for their own safety of
course!  Unfortunately since they're a bit bombed, they got a bit nasty so
I had to defend myself!"
	"I see Miss." said the officer, and turning to Jan-Anders, "Did you
witness these events Sir?"
	"No I didn't see the crash itself," he admitted, "but as I was
coming out, I saw three guys about to pile on this woman here. Since
nobody was gonna help, I just had to step in."
	"He nearly killed me!" whined one of the students, rubbing a livid
mark around his neck and coughing every now and then. The others looked
very crestfallen as the officers checked their ID and breathalysed them.
	"Thought you MAPA boys were rich enough t'know better," quipped one
of the officers as he finished checking the ID's, "I think you'd better
come with us." With that the other officer began reading the students'
rights, and the unlucky foursome were bundled into the back seat of the
patrol car.
	"Don't worry," one of them said to Linna and Priss, "we're just
sending for the recovery truck. We'll have you home as soon as in
possible."
	"Well in that case I've got a call to make." Linna stated as she
headed for the airport main terminal, "Back in a minute Priss!" 
 	"As for you Sir, you did well to intervene, but in future please leave
any action to us, you might've been hurt." admonished the patrolman.
	"I'll bear that in mind, thank you officer." replied Jan-Anders
mechanically.
	With that the officer returned to the patrol car. The Plexiglas
canopy swung down with a muted hiss and locked into place, then with
sirens blaring it roared into the distance, startling other sorry road
users.
	Priss looked down at the man who had stepped in on her behalf. A
taciturn, blonde maned giant with a distinctive white blaze running
through his hair, dressed virtually all in black. Even though he was
wearing a baggy lace-up shirt , she could see the musculature straining
the fabric. A pair of wrap-around mirror shades hid his eyes from view,
but he seemed genuine enough.
	"Thanks for helping," she said, slouching against the hood of
Linna's wrecked car, "by the way I'm Priss and that's Linna." She pointed
at Linna's disappearing form as she entered the building.
	"Jan-Anders Jivarp." He rose from his suitcase offering his hand,
they shook warmly.
	"Unusual name though ain't it?" mused Priss, "I mean not that I
think it's funny or anything......." She stopped, flushing slightly as she
realised that she was only digging herself deeper hole to bury herself in.
	"Not in Sweden though!" he replied with a barking laugh, "My folks
emigrated to the States when I was a kid, I grew up in San
Francisco........By the way what the hell is MAPA?!"
	"MegaTokyo Academy for the Performing Arts," Priss sneered, "it's
where all the rich kids go who want to become rock stars!"
	"No shit!" Jan-Anders exclaimed, "I'm supposed to be heading there
on an exchange scheme or something. I thought it was one of the best
places to go!"
	"Only if yer want to come out playing listener-friendly, no-balls,
cock-rock!" Priss replied contemptuously, "You don't look the kinda guy
who'd play that sort o' crap!"
	Jan-Anders patted his guitar case affectionately, "Nah! I grew up
with thrash, and by the time I was sixteen I started getting into European
bands like Heaven's Gate and Helloween, and it just got kinda more
technical from then on." He looked at Priss with a puzzled expression,
"Ain't I seen you someplace? 'Coz you look kinda familiar."
	"Well if yer into thrash you might just of heard of me," she
grinned, "I ain't too well known outside of Japan though."
	"Shit! I know, Priss and the Replicants right?! Sorry I just didn't
recognise you there at all!"
	"That's OK! You'd be surprised how many people don't!" Priss
admitted with a laugh. "So what's in the hardcase?" She asked
inquisitively.
	Jan-Anders lovingly placed the case flat on the hood of the
students' wrecked saloon and flicked open the catches. Nestling in the red
velvet cushioning was one of the most vicious looking guitars that Priss
had ever seen . It's angular reversed headstock contrasted strongly with
the elegant superstrat style body contours. The black body had four wide
tick shaped slashes airbrushed on like a hash mark, from behind these
"bars" a pair of savage yellow eyes could be made out, set over a snarling
muzzle. The same runic symbol was repeated the markers on the twenty-four
fret neck.
	"Nice piece," Priss whistled, "how does it play?"
	Before he could reply a breathless female voice called out, "Hey
Priss!  Whatcha looking at there!"
	"Just an axe Linna, nothing that would interest you!"
	"Oh! The cavalry's coming by the way," Linna wisecracked, "so who's
our heroic rescuer then?!"
	As Jan-Anders shut the case, Priss formally introduced him to her
friend. She was about the same height as Priss, but there the similarity
ended.  Linna was evidently the more feminine of the pair, despite the
fact that she undoubtably hadn't seen a shower in nearly twenty-four
hours. Not that it really bothered him, his kind much preferred a natural
human smell to the artificial chemical-laden stench that most modern
persons seemed to reek of.  Mind you, in this situation, Priss seemed to
be the most comfortable, even though both of them seemed to have had very
little sleep.
	"You two had a bad night out?" he suggested, "I don't wanna sound
rude, but the two of you look totally hammered."
	"We were due to meet someone here last night, but they didn't
show."  Priss replied, "Then this happened - things just get better and
better. Anyway, what are you hanging around here for? Ain't ya got a place
t'go to?"
	"Yeah, but tryin' to get a taxi here is like tryin' to find
rocking- horse shit!" Jan-Anders retorted dryly, "Anyway if you don't
mind, I'd like to make sure that you two are OK.......yer friend seemed to
take quite a knock."
	After a few minutes a police liveried recovery vehicle pulled up
at the scene with a sneeze of brakes. A pretty brunette leaned out of the
cabin, "Excuse me! Is there a Linna Yamazaki here?!" she inquired.
	Linna excused herself and sorted out the necessary paperwork.
Within minutes the two cars were loaded onto the back of the transporter
vehicle and Linna waved a cheery good-bye to the two, as she was taken
back to her apartment, via an accident repair shop.
	"Hey I'll tell you what," Priss said as the recovery truck faded
into the distance, "there's someone gonna pick me up in a few minutes.
I'll try and get you a lift back to yer pad if yer want, if yer want."
	"That'd be really cool," Jan-Anders replied honestly taking a slip
of paper with the address out of his wallet, "you know where this is?"
	Priss looked at it, before bursting out laughing, "Course I do!
It's virtually over the road from where my friend lives, the one who's
gonna pick me up! Hey...if yer free later on, how about I show you some
places of interest to real musicians?!"
	##########################################
	As Sylia approached the airport in the Silky Doll delivery truck,
beneath her normally serene exterior her mind was in a turmoil. First of
all another lead on Mackie had transpired to be a dead end, then Linna and
Priss had been involved in an accident which, but for the intervention of
what Linna called "A blonde hunk" might've resulted in her closest friends
being seriously injured. Since her brother's disappearance almost two
years previously in emotional circumstances, she had kept her hopes alive
for his safe return. But now despair was beginning to take its toll and
every day she seemed to find an excuse for continuing the fight. A
solitary tear coursed down her cheek as she turned off the main highway
and approached the terminal building.
	From the cab, she could see priss chatting to a tall blonde-haired
man.  >From his size and build, he could almost pass as a combat Boomer
she thought to herself, as she pulled up in the vacant parking spaces.
Priss looked in her direction and waved impishly, Sylia despite her
anguish smiled and waved back.
	"Hey my lift's arrived," Priss said, "just wait a sec, I'll see if
I can get you a ride." With that she strolled over to the lorry and yanked
open the cab door.
	"I'm sorry we didn't find Mackie," Priss said quietly as she half-
stepped into the cab, "we did the best we could, we were out all
night......"
	"Don't worry about it," Sylia's smile was strained, "you did your
best, noone can ask any more than that."
	Jan-Anders looked up from where he was perched on the suitcase and
removed his shades. Despite the distance, he could overhear the
conversation between the two women perfectly. Something wasn't right here,
and he was getting bad vibes off the woman in the truck. She was a tall,
dark-haired, elegant beauty whom he guessed to be about the same age as
himself. Everything about her, from dress to mannerisms when talking, in
his mind at least, oozed class and poise. How she knew a fiery headbanger
like Priss, let alone be good friends, was an enigma. To him however, her
cool at the moment appeared to be contrived. She's like a swan, he thought
to himself, calm and graceful on the surface, but paddling like crazy
underneath just to stay afloat. After a few moments however, Priss jumped
down from the cab and approached him.
	"You got yerself a lift Mister," she said, "d'you reckon you can
make it tonight"
	Jan-Anders pocketed his sunglasses and looked up at her through
his blonde curtain of hair, "Hey! It's not every day that a local star
offers to show you around," he quipped deadpan, "just pop round anytime!"
	"Yeah right!" Priss snorted, "I wouldn't go that far though!" She
said with a hint of a smile. Then turning on her heel she made for the
truck. Sylia watched as the stranger picked up his cases and headed for
the truck also. As she helped Priss into the cab, a shaft of late morning
sun illuminated his face , it might have been a trick of the light but for
an instant his grey-blue eyes appeared to glow a feral yellow.