Sylia groaned and came round, the first thing she felt was something soft
and woollen which covered her whole body. Then the odours crowded in,
fresh earth, bracken, flowers, leaves, wood smoke, wild animals......wild
animals!? She opened her eyes slowly and blinked in the sunlight. Looking
down at her was a huge male wolf, as it saw that she was awake, it backed
off and let her sit up. She looked around her, eyes widening in wonder if
not fear. 

	She was sitting in a forest clearing, late afternoon sunlight
dappling the bracken and ground foliage. The place smelled pure, as though
it had never really known the corrupt touch of man. Wrapped around her was
a hooded soft wool cloak in woodland shades, fastened at the shoulder with
an ornate knotwork pin. In front of her, a campfire roared merrily and
around it lay a pack of wolves seemingly unconcerned. Alarm bells sounded
in her mind, if these creatures are feral why are they not afraid of fire? 

	Three seemed to distance themselves from the others and approach
her. Instinctively she huddled further inside the cloak, feeling the
reassuring warmth of the cloth against her naked skin. Two of the three
seemed familiar enough, but she had no recollection of the third. She
could not place where she had seen them exactly, perhaps it was just the
way they behaved? 

	The lead wolf looked to be the eldest male of the three, with dark
brown fur, flecked with iron grey. Its craggy face seemed almost to tell
its life story and by the way it advanced steadily it was the alpha here.
The one on its left was taller and wiry with a short unkempt light mane.
It seemed less trustworthy then the other somehow, but there was something
in its posture that was familiar to her. The third she recognised on
sight, a huge hulking young male, with light grey fur. It seemed somehow
more noble in its bearing then the other two, a fact enhanced by its long
mane with its characteristic white blaze. Sylia was certain she was
looking at the creature from Chromium Heaven, but where had she seen
something like that before? There was a piece of the puzzle missing. 

	"Who.......what are you?" Sylia pleaded, trembling slightly. 

	"There is nothing to fear from us," the old wolf spoke, words
flowing easily from his black lips, "We are Garou, the chosen defenders of
Gaia, a race that exists between wolf and man. The Goddess giving us the
gift to change our form." 

	"Why can't my friends remember seeing you?" she asked, mind dazed
by the possibility that such a race of creatures really did exist. 

	The long haired wolf took up the story, "Many centuries ago we
thought that the best way to stop man raping Gaia was to cull him." he
said in a deep solemn voice, "Now whenever a human sees us in the wolf man
Crinos form, the night fear, the Delirium takes them, a legacy of our
arrogance. Mercifully the Veil stops them from remembering too much
afterwards, which is the reason why we have remained undetected for so
long." 

	Scattered puzzle pieces were falling into place now. These
creatures see themselves as holy warriors, protectors of Mother Earth,
Sylia thought, and now that fight has taken them against GENOM, so be it. 

	The long maned one spoke again, "We share the same dream as you
and your friends Sylia. Come, run with us, for we are truely free."
			
        Sylia gazed into its grey blue eyes, which regarded her intently.
Then smiling slightly she unfastened the pin and stood, the cloak falling
in a rumpled heap at her feet. The other wolves almost seemed to look on
approvingly as flanked by the threesome she walked confidently towards
them. Gentle breezes blew against her skin softly and closing her eyes
contentedly, she breathed in deeply the heady aromas of the forest. In the
distance some woodland bird began to chirp, and it was getting louder. 

	Sylia opened her eyes again, they eventually swam into focus and
she made out the interior of her room. Three days had elapsed since her
encounter, and this reoccurring dream would not shift. Still, she thought
ruefully, it definitely beats reliving Mackie's breakdown over and over
again. There was none of the usual lethargy after sleep, she felt awake
and lithe. Reaching over to the computer that stood at her bedside, she
typed in a combination that shut down the alarm. Instantly the bird on the
screen, which was having an apoplectic seizure by now, was dismissed (much
to its surprise) and a list of daily newspapers appeared. She selected a
reputable broadsheet and a tabloid then poured herself a coffee from the
dispenser. The others seemed to think that a Boomer was behind the carnage
and she had neither the knowledge or the heart to tell them the
truth.Apart from Nene, she had almost said something at the debriefing,
but had rapidly clammed up again. Sylia suspected that she had seen
something that night, but wasn’t telling anyone.
	
	"Hi Sylia how yer feeling?!" came a chirpy voice from the door.
Sylia smiled openly, as she recognised the owner. Nene was framed in the
doorway, clad in tight black denims, a Rik Dangerfield and the Hazzards
"White Heat" T shirt and pixy boots. Since discovering reverse enzyme
engineered foods she had managed to have her cake and eat it, Sylia
thought with a more private smile, literally. In the past two years, her
weight had only fluctuated by three or four pounds at the outside and she
was justifiably proud of the way she looked. Her new image had led to a
bit of stick at the AD police, leading to her being dubbed "The Pocket
Rocket" but according to Leon never to her face. 

	"A lot better." Sylia admitted openly, sitting on the edge of the
bed, "Thanks for keeping an eye on me, I appreciate it." 

	"NO problem!" Nene replied spiritedly, "Any word in the papers?" 

	"The ad is still in," Sylia's smile became a little wistful, "but
still no response. I'm sorry Nene but if nothing comes through in the next
two weeks, I'll ask them to remove it. There's no point in continuing it
any longer, he's gone now and I'm just going to have to accept it." 

	"But you can't give up Sylia!" Nene knelt by her friend and took
her hands in hers, "He's out there I know it, he'll come home!" 

	"I wish I had your faith Nene," the other replied sadly, "I really
do." 

    	***********************************************

	Jan Anders came round slowly, Michael' s room swam sickeningly for
a moment before coming into focus. Something heavy was still strapped to
him, he craned his neck and looked down. 

	"Oh shit!" he cursed, "Crashed with my goddamn guitar on, again'!!" 

	He sat up and examined the guitar carefully, apart from a few
finger marks it was okay. He grabbed the nearest rag and wiped the
instrument down carefully. An original Vai pattern Ibanez Universe series
is expensive nowadays, he thought, a seven stringer is even rarer. He
picked the strings to check his tuning, he grinned, it was still okay.
Looking up the neck his smile turned to a frown, it looked like he had
restrung it the previous night in an aleoholic daze. Spare lengths of
string, stuck out like needles on a porcupine. He grasped the headstock
and proceeded to tidy the mess of wires up. He had just finished the last
string when he heard the burble of water from the shower and something
else. 

	"Pull me under, pull me under, pull me under I’m not afraid.” the
voice sang, “All that I feel is honour and spite, all I can do is to set
it right...” Jan Anders sullen face split into a broad grin as he
recognised the old Dream Theater number. Wandering into the kitchen, he
grabbed himself another Alka Seltzer, guitar still strapped to him. He
waited until the shower had stopped before calling out

	"Hey I never knew you could do vocals!" he yelled. 

	"I thought you had already got a vocalist," the disembodied voice
replied, "besides you never asked!" 

	Jan Anders replayed the events of the previous evening in his
mind. What had started as an alcohol fuelled knock around jam had
developed into something much more serious, when the idea was suggested
that he reform his old progressive metal band Katabolis. Michael had said
previously that he had no family commitments, so he could devote all his
time to a serious outfit. Something didn't fit, no something was wrong,
very wrong, he had said something about having a sister that night. With a
sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he visualised
Michael's face, suddenly the pieces fitted. Without the beard and shorter
hair he would be the spitting image of Sylia Stingray. 

	He strode into the lounge and flopped into the sofa, disbelief
mirrored on his face. On the coffee table, were scraps of manuscript and
other odds and ends. Old photos of himself and his bandmates were littered
across the table, as well as some of Michael's. Grabbing them into a pile,
he began to sort through them sequentially. The feeling in his guts grew
worse as he examined the evidence in the cold light of day. There were
various group shots of himself and the Knight Sabers, plus some with an
unknown girl with dark bobbed hair and green eyes. He took a deep breath
and sighed, he really liked the kid, this was not going to be easy. 

	"Michael we gotta talk seriously'" he said firmly. 

	The door to the bathroom opened and Michael walked out, dressed in
a plain black T shirt, and matching denims, bracers covering his forearms.
Jan Anders glanced up and saw that he had shaved off the beard and
moustache, without them the resemblance was even more striking. He sat
wearily in the armchair opposite, and sighed heavily. 

	"Yeah I was wondering how long it would be before someone found
out," he said softly, "I guess I owe you an apology and an explanation.
First of all ditch the Michael shit, my real name is Mackie "
		
	"I thought so what about your surname though, I thought it was
Stengovich or somethin’?" 

	"Stengovich is my true family name, Stingray was kind of a nickname
that was given to my dad, and it stuck." Mackie suddenly looked
thoughtful, "I guess I'd better start where all this shit
happened........." 

	It transpired that in the early spring of 2033, he had met a girl
called Juliette who was a friend of Anri and Sylvie from Genaros. After
their deaths, Priss had given him the disk containing the data on curing
the 33 S blood disorder, she could not bear to have it lying around, too
much pain tied up in it she said. It was a chance meeting at one of Priss'
gigs, he had noticed her looking lost, out of place and a little forlorn. 

	"So I ended up going back to her place, where she then tried to
suck me dry!" he joked half heartedly, "I put two and two together and
figured she was a Sexaroid." 

	"Then what happened?" Jan Anders growled quietly. 

	"I snuck her into Doc. Raven's place one night and made her
free...." a faraway smile lit up his face, "things kinda got more intense
from then on in.  Problem was though I couldn't tell anyone, Priss had
lost two close friends who were 33 S , and I think Sis wouldn't have
approved at all!" 

	"So you started seeing her in secret then?" Jan Anders suggested. 

	"That's about the size of it." Mackie sighed, "Anyway this went on
for maybe two months. The rest of the guys kinda figured I was seeing
someone and took the piss, but I didn't really care, I was young, single
and in love." 

	Mackie stopped at his point and appeared reluctant to go on. Jan
Anders took off his guitar and laid it carefully aside, then turning back
to Mackie, he fixed him with a level gaze. 

	"If it hurts too much then stop, I ain't forcin' you to dredge up
shit" he said quietly. 

	"No you need to know the truth." Mackie said with quiet ferocity,
trying to keep his voice from shaking, "I saw her for about two months,
she was incredible, she made me see and feel things that I had never
dreamt possible. Then the SDPC got wind of her and sent two bounty hunters
her way." Mackie bunched his fists involuntarily as he remembered, "I
found her tied up, naked and bleeding on the bed, with some guy's cum all
over her, the bastards had raped her then shot her! Guess the clusterfucks
thought that 'coz she was a boomer they could do whatever the fuck they
wanted. I managed to get her loose but she was too badly hurt, I could do
fuck all man......except watch her die. I held her at the end....it was
all I could do." Mackie's shoulders slumped and the Garou looked on in
pity as bitter tears welled in his dark eyes. 

	"Anyway, I couldn't really tell the rest what had happened. So I
tried to get on with my job." he said with venom, "Unfortunately Priss and
the guys didn't know when to call it a day and pushed it a little bit too
far, and the rest is history. All I got left is some photos, memories and
these........" 

	He rolled up the sleeve of the T shirt exposing the tattoo which
decorated his upper arm. Then releasing the velcro fastenings he removed
the bracers exposing the ugly slash marks which adorned his forearms. 

	"Badge of failed membership to the FuTWOH club!" he joked
sardonically. 

	"FuTWOH?" Jan Anders asked curiously. 

	"Fuck This We're Outta Here"' Mackie grinned darkly, miming
slashing his wrists. 

	Jan Anders shook his head sadly, he had known Mackie for a
fortnight and he seemed a laid back, quiet but fun loving guy. Well, he
thought ruefully, it proves the proverb about still waters running deep. 

	They talked until well into the evening, discussing Jan Anders
arrival in MegaTokyo and how he had met up with Sylia, Priss and Linna.
Jan Anders took another deep breath, if Mackie had the courage to be so
honest with him, he deserved by honour the same in return. Besides Alex
had told him why Sylia was immune to the Delirium, if that were the case
then it should be the same for her brother. By the time he had finished
the story of what he was and why he was in the Academy, it was late into
the night. 

	"Let me get this right," Mackie said incredulously over a bottle of
beer and a take out pizza, "you're a shapeshifter correct? I don't wanna
sound a sceptic but it sounds a little hard to swallow......" 

	"Right," Jan Anders smiled slightly, "watch and learn......." 

	Taking off the plaid shirt he was wearing, he shut his eyes and
breathed deeply, concentrating. His right arm swelled and grew fur,
increasing muscle mass by almost fourfold, fingernails shifting to four
inch talons. He flexed the Crinos paw and held to towards Mackie. 

	"Touch it, its real Mackie," he said softly, "forget everything you
thought you knew about life, and step into my world. We could always do
with some more human allies." 

	Mackie grasped the paw in an arm wrestling hold, fingers and
talons grasping over each other in the age old bond of friendship. His
dark eyes regarded him fearlessly as the paw became a human hand once
more, the grip broke. 

	"What do you think I should do about Sis then?" he asked softly. 

	"Get back in touch first of all, if you can't face them yet," the
Garou replied, "but do it soon, you can always go back to them, they're
your pack, your family." 

	Mackie nodded in reply his jaw firming, "And what about the shit
going down at MAPA? ! " 

	"We do a little bit of snooping, tonight!" 

    	************************************************

	Alex grinned as the five gathered in his plush office. They
chatted amongst themselves as though they had never been apart. Alex knew
otherwise, he had gone through a lot of expense to get them.
	
	"So the big guy's gotten off his ass and found us a bassist then?!"
one of them asked with a wolfish grin. He was the same build as Mackie,
but with screaming ginger hair which was painstakingly braided. His strong
jaw and blazing eyes, spoke of a rage being barely held in check. Leather
trousers, boots and an old Fates Warning T shirt completed his look, a
denim overshirt lay nearby

	"Yeah! That's me." Mackie interjected, "I should also be taking
over vocal duties as well if its okay with you?" 

	"Yeah sure, Leaves me free to concentrate on my axe work"'

	Alex cleared his throat and began the meeting, "I thank you all
for being so prompt in arriving, this was really just to formally
introduce our new arrivals to their new bass player, but it seems you've
got acquainted slightly already. Before any concern s are raised he is
free of Wyrm taint, and if you read my preliminary message, immune to the
Delirium." 

	"All this and tall, dark and handsome too'" the speaker was a tall,
slender dark haired beauty. She grinned mischievously at Mackie and
winked. A cut off T shirt was tucked into ripped denims which in turn
disappeared into large combat boots. Her dark hair was long on top, but
she had undercut it at the sides and tied it back. 

	"Ja Vikky, ve all know vhat you're after......." growled a voice
humourously. The third member was some five inches smaller than the red
headed Garou but made up for it in breadth. His close cropped ash blond
hair and beard leant him a fierce aspect, but the weathered face and
rogueish smile more than made up for it. 

	"Shut yer fukkin' hole Olaf before I do........!" she mock snarled
in return. 

	Mackie looked at the banter with some amusement, Jan Anders had
told him about the tribe that Vikky came from, the Black Furies, a mainly
all female tribe who saw themselves as protectors of women and Wyld. It
was a source of some amusement, that she would have voluntarily joined an
all Get group, as the two tribes did not get on well together at the best
of times. Jan Anders had met both Vikky and the other guitarist Axel while
he was at the prestigious Berklee school of music in the US. Olaf the
drummer was a later addition, an old childhood friend from when Jan Anders
was still living in Sweden. 

	Mackie snapped out of the reverie, the band was gathered in a
small dressing room in the Hot Legs cafe. After a great deal of effort,
they had tracked down the equipment being smuggled into MAPA. The fact
that it was being held in a disused practice room and combination locked
in flightcases aroused their suspicions. Mackie had revealed a great deal
of resourcefulness by hacking into the Academy's computer net, and
locating who the equipment was destined for. It seemed that this had been
tagged as "special PA equipment" for Rik Dangerfield's forthcoming concert
at the MegaTokyo Civic Hall, as part of the Vision Trust competition. 

	"Hey you nervous kid!?" Mackie looked up, jolted from his thoughts
into the solid gaze of Axel Van Drunen, their other guitarist. His braided
ginger hair bobbed like a bead curtain as he spoke. 

	"Yeah! Just a bit," he admitted, I just hope I don't run into Priss
or the rest of the guys here!" 

	Axel nodded in silent understanding. Five weeks had elapsed since
Mackie’s fateful jam with Jan Anders, which resulted in them deciding to
reform Katabolis. The original members had jelled within hours, leaving
him feeling a little like a fifth wheel. Olaf had surprised him, in the
respect that as well as being an incredibly adept drummer, he was also a
gifted lyricist. They had been rehearsing eight original songs of which
five had been completed to the satisfaction of the original members, the
other fifteen minutes of the forty five minute minute set would be
completed by covers. The timely intervention of the holidays had been an
absolute godsend, since he was then able to concentrate a lot more on
rehearsing. 

	Axel clasped his shoulder firmly, "Look Mackie, if the crowd don't
like what we play, that's their problem!" 

	Mackie grinned, "Yeah! Yer right, what the fuck lets go and bust
some skulls huh?!" 

	Axel's wolfish grin returned, "Now that's more like it! Better
soundcheck we're on first......c'mon. " 

    	************************************************

	Alex watched them soundcheck from the haven of the mixing desk.
They had hit the Lycanthrope recording studios, mere days after Mackie had
joined them. His craggy face broadened into a smile, there were the
beginnings of something rather special here. Lycanthrope records was an
offshoot of Slater Entertainment Entreprises Ltd, and they had tried to
sign the old Katabolis in the early 90's, the problem had always been
finding a stable vocalist. He knew the songs back to front, but the
addition of Mackie on vocals had given the band a tighter sound. He had
managed to get the first hundred copies of their EP printed with just
hours to spare before the gig. The two boxes of CD's lay at his feet, the
scrolling band logo overlaying a composite image: broken machinery
bleeding oil into the parched ground, with a nearby rose withering to
death. The reverse showed a moody band picture taken in a forest. 

	There was more to it, than just their first gig, he had pulled a
few strings and had got them entered in the Vision Trust band competition.
Only newcomers, or those signed to indie labels could enter, with
2,000,000 yen going to the winner. It was also a prestigious media event,
so any chance of finding out what this equipment did would be a boon. This
gig was a warm up, opening for two of the other entrants. Priss and the
Replicants had finally got a suitable deal, and were headlining preceded
by underground punk giants VX, with Katabolis on as openers. This too had
taken a fair amount of negotiation. 

	"More kick drums'" a gruff voice bellowed from stage, the sound
engineer immediately adjusted the levels. Alex looked to see Olaf, all but
lost behind a huge array of toms and cymbals, pounding the kit, the only
part visible being a red bandana that covered his whole scalp. The rest of
the band were on too, Jan Anders and Axel clad in cut off T shirts and
denims swapped lead lines at a leisurely pace. Mackie ambled around the
stage, pumping out a few distorted bass lines, while Vikky checked the
MIDI banks on her keyboards, occasionally letting rip with a synth choir
or organ. 

	Mackie looked out at the empty club. In under an hour, there was
going to be a capacity crowd of three hundred people. He tried to
visualise what that would be like, but his mind drew a blank. Still, he
thought, its too late to back out now. 

    	************************************************

	"It's nice of you to come out with us'" Linna said as they walked
towards the club, "I would have hardly thought that this sort of music is
your style Sylia!" 

	Sylia smiled wryly as they approached the doors, "Well Priss has
entered herself in the Vision Trust competition, and from what I hear is
widely tipped to win. I wanted to find out what all the fuss is all
about."
		
        "Have you heard anything more from Mackie?" Nene asked brightly

	"Well, in his last letter he said that he was with a group of
environmentalists who were helping him get back on the right track. He
promised also that he will try to get in touch properly as soon as
possible." 

	"Great!"' Nene beamed, "I can hardly wait to s......"

	Her words were cut off by a blast of noise from the club. A high
speed frenzied buzz of harmonised chord changes, over jackhammer fast kick
drums. They proceeded past the doorman, producing passes and took up
residence at two tables. where they were soon joined by Priss, carting a
tray of drinks. 

	"Pretty good huh?" she said, handing the drinks round then flopping
into the spare seat next to Linna, "You know that big Swedish guy that
helped us at the airport, he's one of the guitar players " 

	On stage all that could be seen of Jan Anders and Axel were blurs
of hair as they headbanged in time to the snare beat. Mackiets soaring
vocals howled above the maelström while Vikky counterpointed the main
melody line. Solos were dispatched at blistering velocity, notes merging
as the leads spiralled around each other. Suddenly everything stopped,
leaving a solitary clean tone guitar to carry the melody as Mackie sang in
a soulful drawl, intermittently the other guitar and drums would erupt
with a blast beat before leaving the melody to carry on as before. With
the same precision, the song erupted back into life, hammering away before
suddenly coming to an end with a blast from Olaf's crash cymbol. 

	Mackie looked out at the crowd, heart pounding, adrenalin rushing
through every vein. Some of the punks who were there for VX looked a bit
unsure, the Priss fans seemed to appreciate was they were doing and the
people near the PA, they looked as if they had gone ten minutes inside a
washing machine. He took a deep breath and pulled the mic towards him. 

	"Shit! If yer gonna do anything at least rattle yer bones, you guys
sound fuckin' dead out there......and I shouldn't say fuck! You'd better
wake up for this one or we're goin' home! This song is about the cycle of
life of which we are only a part this one's called 'Yggsdrasil'" 

	In the meantime, both Jan Anders and Axel had swapped their
guitars. Both Ibanez 7 stringers, Axel's cloudscape graphic design
contrasting with the other's sickening multicoloured swirl pattern. Olaf
counted them in, and then they let loose with a thundering riff that would
have probably registered on the Richter scale. 

    	*********************************************

	Priss smiled privately to herself, Jan Anders was right in one
respect, he didn't play cock rock, she thought. If it were not for the
fact that she was due on stage later, she would have shown her support by
pitching into the mosh pit that had developed two songs into their set.
The blurb on the flyer had labelled them "Techno metal" and for once the
band had lived up to the hype. Nene had already gotten into the band,
probably as much for the looks of the frontmen as the music. She had spent
the last quarter of an hour after their set had ended mooning over their
vocalist and bass player. 

	"So Nene, is it going to be a full service or just a registry job?"
Prlss quipped. 

	"What? huh?!' Nene snapped out of her dream world, "Hey' No fair!
Yer just being mean to me........again!" she complained. 

	"Anyway I thought you lusted after Mr. Dangerfield, Little Miss
Pocket Rocket!! "
		
	"Stop that! You know how much I hate that name!" Nene snarled,
fists bunched. 

	 The argument was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass,
followed by scuffling and a meaty dull thud of a fist connecting solidly
with flesh. Looking up, Priss saw a large group of GENOM construction
workers, who had just floored one of her fans. His girlfriend was looking
on in horror as they began to kick his prone form. Priss stood up
bristling, fury mirrored on her face. Before she could make a move
however, a knot of mixed fans piled into the fray, armed with whatever
thay could lay hands on, or whatever they managed to sneak past the
security guards. In the ensuing scuffle, she failed to notice the stage
doors opening and a group of four emerge. 


		"Deny that your body is screaming,
       		but your heart and soul, they're bleeding.
		Just to fall asleep is a Godsend,
       		Until your demons appear once again."

		Anthrax - Black Lodge.