"Oh shit!" Mackie said, "Looks like trouble brewing'" At the moment a
group of fans from both bands were engaged in a heated debate with a group
of drunken GENOM construction workers, who seemed to be itching for
trouble. Unfortunately, the general look of glee on the faces of his
bandmates, lead him to suspect that his view was in the minority. 

	"Don't worry!" Axel snarled. "Just use yer initiative and kick the
shit outta the clusterfucks!" 

	By now the slanging match had degenerated into a full scale brawl.
A hardcore group of fans from both bands were engaging the workers in a
free for all. By the time Mackie and the Garou had joined the fray,
bodies, bottles and furniture were flying with merry abandon. The less
militant fans looked on, some lending moral support. Priss meanwhile had
snatched up one of her empty beer bottles and with a gleeful shout of,
"Every girl for herself!" had joined battle.
		
        "Priss wait!" Linna yelled, she glanced at Sylia and Nene
despairingly, then ran after her friend. 

	Axel meanwhile was brawling in the only way he knew how, brutally.
Within the first few seconds, five had fallen to a hail of blows to head
and body, and he was sizing up his sixth. Vikky was also in her element,
revealing a level of ferocity that had many of her opponents diving for
cover. Olaf had taken up residence by the bar, and was casually taking out
any opponent that came within arms length by beating their skull against
it, until they stopped moving, a couple of blows was usually enough.
Mackie had started well enough, but his lack of experience in this field
had caused problems when faced with multiple opponents

	Four burly workers grabbed a limb each and threw him out of the
fight. Jan-Anders came out of the stage-door after relieving himself, to
be confronted by a flying bottle. Instinctively he plucked it out of the
air by the neck, and brought it down on the head of the nearest target,
luckily a worker. Hardly pausing in his fluid movement he stuck the broken
end into the belly of his friend. He systematically began to eradicate the
workers, using whatever part of his body which seemed appropriate. Fists,
elbows, knees, feet and head were all used to devastating effect, if only
for the purpose of disabling the workers. Within seconds a pile of numb
bodies lay about him. He nimbly leapt over them and proceeded to size up
the next most vulnerable targets. 

	Mackie's ignominious extraction from the fight had lead to him
sailing gracefully through the air. He felt the world turn sickeningly
about him, next a heavy blow to his legs and shoulders then everything
went black. 

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

	Nene squealed with fear as the body hit both chair and table
simultaneously, it was a good job the barmaid had cleared their glasses or
he would have ended up a human pincushion. He was a tall muscular young
man, a shade under two metres in height with long dark hair. She knelt
down beside him, he was still breathing and there appeared to be no
lasting damage. He groaned and from under a curtain of dark hair a pair of
brown eyes slowly focused on her. 

	"Uh! Hi Nene," Mackie said groggily, "Yer looking better'n ever!" 

	He sat up slowly, gagging slightly as he swallowed some of his own
blood from a split lip. Shaking his head to clear the fuzziness, he hawked
to clear his throat and spat a gobbet of bloody phlegm on the floor. Nene
backed off, stunned beyond words, her mind refusing to accept the evidence
of her senses. Sylia already on her feet, noted this reaction and steadied
her friend. The pair watched dumbstruck as he clambered to his feet,
brushing tousled hair away from his face, which bore a frightening
resemblance to Sylia's. 

	"Oh.... hi Sis" he said awkwardly, then noting her shocked
reaction, "Hey a guy can change a lot in two years." he finished softly. 

	In the background, some brash punk was being played, it seemed
like VX had gone on regardless. Scoot, JD and Lucky were playing with
their usual gusto and abandon, ideal music to fight to, Mackie thought
ruefully. 

	"Hey Mackie get yer ass back in here now!" Axel's voice carried
over the din. 

	Mackie looked at the brawl, by the looks of things a few of the
workers' friends had pitched in, upsetting the odds a little. He looked at
his sister, then Nene then to the shattered debris of the table. 

	"Is this table taken?" he asked rhetorically, with a slight smile,
"No I guess not........"
		
        He picked up a piece of the table, and wrenched the leg off with
his bare hands, "Back soon I promise." With that he pitched back into the
melee, wielding the leg like a two handed sword. 

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

	Priss had been doing well, even by her standards. There was a
growing pile of bodies with bloodied noses and mouths nearby and she was
hell-bent on adding to it. Linna covered her friend desperately trying to
avoid her getting hurt and was subduing any attackers with her usual
balletic grace. Suddenly the pair of them heard Mackie's name being
yelled, the distraction was only momentary but enough for Priss to be
pinned to the bar by two attackers. 

	"Get offa me you bastards!!" she gritted. 

	"Say wonder if shets a real brunette," one of them joked coarsely,
"let's find out..." 

	The sentence was interrupted by a dull thud, the attackers eyes
rolled back in his head and he slumped to his knees then to the floor. The
other faced his attacker knife at the ready, but was felled by a jab to
the stomach with a table leg, as he doubled over Mackie used the butt end
to cosh him over the back of the head. He too fell senseless. 

	Priss gawped at Katabolis' frontman, it couldn't be! The face was
the same, but everything around it had altered almost beyond recognition.
He looked at her and smiled, it had to be Mackie, he was the only person
she knew with that goofy grin! 

	"Yo Priss! Managed to fix my bike yet?" he asked jokingly. 

	"Ha! Ha! Very funny yer big lunk!" she snapped, trying to mask her
relief, "Just when I thought....BEHIND YOU!" 

	Mackie dodged to one side as the man tried to cosh him, using the
attacker's own momentum, Mackie simply tripped him and finished the move
by braining him against the bar. 

	"Yer due on stage soon c'mon!" he said bluntly. 

	Battling their way to the stage door, he wrenched the handle open
and shoved Priss roughly inside, "Hey watch what yer doing, yer....."
Priss began, the rest of her threat was cut off from Mackie's earshot as
he shut the door behind her. 

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

	Alex watched the fight progressing with a groan, how the hell was
he to bail out those hotheads this time?! At least the young human has
shown some balls, he said to himself as he watched Mackie crack another
worker across the shoulders with a table leg. Security was doing its best
to separate the fighters and succeeding, by the looks of things they were
trying to get things under control before deciding whether to call any
backup or not. By the looks of things, there were no serious injuries, by
Get or Fury standards. Many of the workers had picked themselves up off
the floor, bar or wherever they had fallen and were heading towards the
exit, nursing injuries between mild bruising to broken limbs. They were
jeered out of the club by both sets of fans, and even by some security. He
looked about him and saw the manager was about to make a phone call, he
grinned slightly and began to chant under his breath. 

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

	Linna had to admire Jan-Anders technique, what it lacked it form
and elegance it made up for in efficacity and brutality. It seemed to be a
form of kickboxing, but all bodily surfaces appeared to be used, including
the head. She also noted that he was pulling his blows and targetting
areas that would be painful and temporarily debilitating but hardly fatal.
She winced as his elbow connected solidly with a target's solar plexus, he
doubled over and fell retching to the ground. She had only pitched in to
protect her headstrong friend and seeing the approaching security, she
thought it prudent to cut and run. So weaving through the final straggling
melees she made for her table, where Sylia and Nene stood aghast. 

	"Hey guys what's up?" she said airily, "You look like you've just
seen a ghost or something." 

	"Mackie he's here." Nene blurted out, with an effort. 
 
	"So I've heard, can't see anyone resembling him though."
	
        "You won't," Sylia said, having recovered slightly from the shock,
"he's grown up quite a bit in two years!" 

	"Yeah!? What I want to know is why he ran out on us like that!!'
Linna said sharply.
	
        "No!" Sylia's voice was low but carried an edge that did not
invite argument, "We can't risk upsetting him again. Just leave him be for
now please." she finished more softly. 

	By the bar area, the security appeared to be mopping up the last
of the brawl. Odd as it seemed the GENOM workers appeared to be on the
receiving end of the worst of the treatment, most of them being escorted
to the door in no uncertain terms. Five tall figures were bunched in a
tight knot by the bar, appearing to be locked in deep discussion. An older
man, with cropped iron-grey hair, dressed in dark grey slacks and a
polo-neck sweater approached them.
		
        "That was too close!" Alex breathed with relief as he approached
the band, "Let me know in future when you're going to pull something like
that, I can only cover so much!" 

	The Garou looked at him in silent understanding, Mackie looked a
little confused and it must have showed. 

	"A little gift I have," Alex whispered, "I just tell someone to do
something, and they do it!" 

	"Cute trick!" Mackie snorted, "Listen guys I'm really in the shit
of all the tables, in all the bars I could've landed on, I had to pick my
Sis'! What do I do!" 

	"Talk to them," Jan-Anders growled, "there's no time like the
present. Can the rest of you guys get everything packed in the truck?" 

	"No problemo!" Vikky smiled, then looking at Mackie with almost
maternal concern, "Don't worry, nobody can blame you for what you did.
Remember, they!ll be as jumpy as you are. go easy on 'em...." 

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

	Priss prepared for her set in somewhat of a daze! Christ no wonder
we couldn't find him, she thought to herself. 

	"Hey Boss you OK?" a concerned voice called. 

	She turned to see her guitarist, leaning against the doorframe, a
worried look on his usually easygoing features, his right hand gripping
the upper horn of his BC Rich Warlock. 

	"Yeah!" Priss called, "Just met someone who I haven't seen since
'33!" 

	"Really! Old flame or just a friend?" 

	"Whadda you think dipshit!" 

	He laughed and returned to the band dressing room, swigging from a
can of Special Brew. Priss breathed a sigh of relief, at least the band
had been sensible and had stayed in the dressing room while the fight was
going on. From the stage she could make out the strains of VX's latest
opus "Fuck GENOM" blaring to the assembled crowd. She had a sneaking
affection for the band, they had been on the underground circuit for years
and had helped her out when The Replicants was just a garage group. Even
though she had a deal and was finally making a decent living, she had
never forgotten the values that Scoot had drummed into her, and despite
big-money pressure to "sell-out" to a major label she had never done so.
To her, it seemed almost like betraying a friend. 

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

	In the club proper, VX were getting their fans warmed up for the
madness to come. Pogoing bodies launched themselves at each other, and
once again the club had turned into a battleground. Security and bar staff
patrolled the borders of the pit, righting wreeked furniture and generally
tidying up the mess caused by the fight. Sylia, Nene, and Linna sat at
their righted table, gazing at the huddled knot of bodies that was
Katabolis

	"Can I get you anything ladies?" a cheerful voice called. 

	Sylia looked up to see the professional smile of one of club bar
staff, notepad and pen in hand. 

	"Could I have a Bacardi, a Malibu and a Glayva for myself please."
Sylia replied, producing a credstick. 

	"Right away." the other replied, scribbling down the order. After a
couple of moments he scuttled off towards the bar, leaving them to their
thoughts and each other. 

	"Is there room for two more?!' a deep voice said softly
		
        Momentarily startled they all glanced up, Jan-Anders towered above
them, two bottles of beer in his hands, a ghost of a smile playing around
his usually brooding features. Mackie stood alongside him looking
strained, and more than a little nervous. They had taken the time to clean
themselves up after their set, but now looked slightly dishevelled with
the after effects of the brawl. Jan-Anders had changed into a clean black
vest and plaid shirt, which was now slightly blood-stained. Mackie was
applying a band-aid to a cut on his cheek, and was not making a good job
of it due to the fact that his hands were all over the place. 

	"Be my guest," Sylia replied, "if you can find any chairs that are
intact...." 

	He placed the bottles on the table, looked round and grabbed the
nearest two that appeared to be free. The rest of the Knight Sabers
shunted round to make room for them at the table, Mackie ended up
sandwiched between Nene and Jan-Anders, while he had Linna to his left. An
uneasy silence reigned over the immediate area, neither party wanting to
break the deadlock. Even the racket coming from the stage seemed to fade
into the distance. 

	"So how've you been keeping then?" Nene ventured somewhat lamely. 

	"Not too bad all in all, MAPA and the band keeps me busy."  Mackie
replied honestly, "Just a chance to do something different you know. What
about you guys?" 

        "Pretty much business as usual," Sylia replied, with deliberate
ambiguity, she was quite sure that the Garou knew what was going on but
didn't want to acknowledge the fact, "other than the fact we missed
you...." 

        "Yeah....I'm sorry....maybe I can explain some time what....." he
began awkwardly desperately trying to find the right words. 

	"Enough of that," Sylia interrupted softly, "that's in the past
now, you're back and that's all that matters..." She reached over the
table and took Mackie's hands in hers, gazing at the features that were so
like her own. The eyes still disturbed her though, there was something
inside him that still bled, a wound that refused to heal, when she had
first met Priss she had the same look, the thought of her brother going
down the same path was almost unbearable. 

	Jan-Anders sensed the change in mood and acted, he leant across to
Mackie and whispered, "It'll be okay, if you need me I'll be outside.
Excusing himself, he stood and carrying his bottle proceeded towards the
exit. Mackie needs some space, he thought, the last thing he needs is me
cramping his style. 

	Sylia glanced after his disappearing form, more pieces in the
puzzle were dropping into place. The hair was definitely the same, as was
the eye colour, even certain mannerisms were identical. From what she
remembered of him, when giving him a lift home with Priss he appeared not
to be a ready talker, but whatever he did say appeared to be weighed up in
advance, nothing superfluous, just a steady conviction. That would come
later, she thought to herself, first try and get Mackie back into the
fold. She switched all of her attention back to her brother, who was
recounting his life since he left. 

	"After bouncing my trust fund around several different places, I
had enough cash to do pretty much what I wanted. Even Nene couldn't trace
it, I musta done a good job!" Nene beamed up at him for that remark, a big
smile plastered over her pretty features, green eyes twinkling merrily. 

	"Why decide on the Academy then?" Linna asked. 

	"I stood in the wrong queue!" Mackie laughed, "Seriously I needed a
complete change, somewhere where I could find an outlet.." he petered off
reluctant to go on. 

	"Anyway I'M glad you're back!" Nene butted in, was it his
imagination or had her chair moved closer? He looked down at her and
grinned a little awkwardly, "Thanks Nene I......er..!" 

	Linna spared him his blushes, "How did you get so good in two
years? Some of those bass runs look hellishly hard to play!" 

	"Oh the Academy uses deep psych intens1ve teaching methods, its
akin to a military style mind alteration only not as nasty. All the theory
and structure can be placed in at a cerebral level. Plus being immersed in
an instrument ten hours a day non-stop means you get to practice quite a
bit. I was a bit of a problem student, due to my accelerated learning
curve, the rate I picked things like that up was a bit gross!! So I got
most of the two year course done in a maybe fourteen months, and after
that I began branching out picking up jazz, funk even some neo-classical
shit 'scuse me. Anything to stop me from soundinglike another Academy
moron." 

	Sylia noted the change in tone and responded, "What was wrong with
the teaching style. A lot of places are using similar techniques." 

	"The teaching gives you the technique sure, but it doesn't give you
any of the feeling for what you're playing! A lot of MAPA jerks sound like
they're playing on Mogadon, you know nothing there." He mimed someone
playing a guitar in a robotic fashion. 
			
        Meanwhile VX were coming to the end of their set. As the lights
came on, everyone was momentarily dazzled, and in the background piped
music from Priss' last album "Who Pulls The Strings?" was being played in
preparation for her set. The club was suddenly filled with the rumble of
conversation, which seemed quiet after the din of the PA system. The air
was thick with expectation, rumours abounded of an imminent album release,
if so she would probably air some of the new cuts that night. 

	In the light, Mackie glanced over the assembled company. His
sister and Linna had hardly changed at all, but Nene had been busy in his
absence It seemed like she had found a permanent solution to her yo-yoing
weight problem and looked great, the spray on jeans and a Priss tour
T-shirt gave testimony to that. The cropped jacket that she had been
wearing over the top, now lay draped on her seat and she seemed to be
bubbling with barely contained joy. 

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

	Backstage, Priss was running through her final checks before her
set, warming her volce up by running through a few scales. 

	"Give 'em hell Priss!" a brash voice drawled. 

	She looked round to see a large red-haired man addressing her, he
was currently engaged in the task of placing guitars in flightcases. She
recognised him as one of Katabolis guitarists, but the name eluded her
momentarily. Axel, Axel Van Drunen that was it! 

	"Thanks! Storming set by the way!" she responded truthfully. 

	"Thanks, we try our best." he said with a mock flourish. 

	"The problem fer me is, how the fuck am I going to follow it!" She
said with a chuckle. 

	"That's your problem!" Axel shot back, "But yer sure to find a
way!!" 

	Priss smiled, at least someone else in this town's got backbone,
she thought with satlsfaction. When she had first heard the rough mix of
their EP, she had had her doubts in performing with them. Usually the more
technical a band got, the more arrogant and pretentious they got as well.
Having met Jan-Anders though, he seemed to be someone who had both feet
firmly planted on the ground, so she finally relented and was now glad of
it She had spent the whole set with the rest of the Knight Sabers, but
itching to get into the mosh pit which quickly developed. 

	"Well! it!s cool that yer dug the set!" Axel continued, braided
hair shaking as he fitted his 7-string !'Cloudscape" to its case after
wiping it down lovingly, "In our books that counts fer a lot!'! He
fastened the case and stacked it with the others. Between the two
guitarists and bass player, Priss noted with a hint of awe, there were
about eighteen or so hardcases. Either they were GENOM supported, which
considering their choice of style was unlikely, or they had already got
some serious endorsements, which seemed the most likely. 

	"Two minutes until showtime Miss Asagiri!" Priss was shook out of
her thoughts by one of the club staff. She looked around, the others were
in position and ready to give it all. 

	"Lets go kill boys!" she said half in jest. 

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

	Jan-Anders leant up against the wall just outside the club, drink
in hand. He had returned a few times to refill his glass, and Mackie
seemed to be doing just fine. In some ways he felt jealous towards him,
even before the long Sleep of Heroes he had had no real family to speak
of. They were killed by Black Spiral Dancers when he was ten, in his
mind's eye he could still see the skeletal husk that was once his house
and the eerie hunting call of the Whippoorwill. He had been moved to the
States for his own safety, the first change coming a mere three years
after. He could still see the look of primal fear on the young punk's face
before his claws ripped him into fragments of bleeding meat. 

	Behind him a burst of distortion from the PA told him that Priss
was onstage. Her style was less technical and polished than theirs but
that did not matter in the slightest. Her brutal sound was unique and by
the sounds of things, faster and meaner live. Pounding drums and bass lay
beneath riffs so thick, a fan could almost surf off the distortion. Out
here though, you could make out her powerful vocals more easily, and her
barbed political allusions. She was approaching the end of her hour and a
half long set, and he was beginning to wonder where she got the energy
from. 

	"This one's a new 'un," her voice sounded a bit hoarse but still in
good shape, "I'm giving it an airing tonight to see how it goes down. So
if yer like it, go fuckin! apeshit okay! One thing I have learned, is that
many Boomers can't help being what they arein some cases they're fucked
over equally as hard as the victims. This song is about seeing the world
from their side, it's called 'Digital Dreams.'" 

	A slow powerful intro chugged into life before the song erupted at
around mach seven. It was a slamming stop-start sort of number that would
leave the fans feeling as if they had just gone ten rounds with said
Boomer. The variations in tempo and feel showed that she was maturing as a
musician, but Jan-Anders doubted whether the average fan would appreciate
that, it just sounded good. VX aired their political statements by
bludgeoning people over the head with obscenity, Priss preferred to take a
scalpel to their kidneys, some of her lyrics were blood-chilling in their
intensity of hatred. 

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

	Priss towelled herself off in her private dressing room, she did
not mind sharing dressing rooms with the band, but in situations like
this, she needed some privacy. The show had gone very well and the crowd
had shown their appreciation for her latest material. Of late her
perceptions as a songwriter had been changing, before all that had come
out of her was venomous hatred at GENOM. Now she was looking at herself,
using her music to express her own hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares,
rather than a soapbox for her own political ideals, it felt liberating. 

	Slipping into fresh underwear, she padded to her wardrobe and
rummaged around, ripped denims and a cut-off T-shirt would suffice, this
was hardly an arena tour. She was regularly filling the club out to
capacity, with the record deal and all, how long before major success? How
long before the corporate worms came crawling with billion yen deals and
the promises of everlasting fame? Her jaw set resolutely, she would never
whore herself before the altar of fame, she sang because it was in her
soul, a passion needing an outlet. Breathing deeply, adrenalin still
coursing she opened the dressing room door. An hour or so later, Priss
finally made it to the table where Mackie and the others were sitting.
Grabbing herself a beer she sat down heavily, a little off balance,
rubbing her aching wrist. Autographing shit can be such a bitch, she
thought somewhat sourly. At least she had been bought rounds by some of
the fans, and by now was more than a little inebriated. By the sounds of
the conversation Mackie had been finding out what they had been up to. A
lot can happen in two years, she thought somewhat sadly, and hets proof of
that. By now the alcohol had been flowing for a while and the group was
getting a little merry, even Sylia was loosening up. Linna was spouting
the anecdote of the time Nene got drunk at an office party and ended up
being photographed in some less than innocent poses. 

	"She's still trying to find the negatives to this day!" Linna
finished breathlessly, tears of laughter in her eyes. Nene was bristling
with pent up fury, and seemed to be considering doing something violent
and possibly terminal to Linna in the immediate future. 

	"Hey cheer up Nene!" Mackie smiled, "It could have been worse, at
least you had all your clothes on! You might have ended up as a Playboy
centrefold!" 

	"Yeah right Mackie!" Priss slurred slightly, "And you!d know all
about them huh?!" 

	Mackie ignored the taunt, he had not brought up the subject of
Juliette yet and he hoped they had forgotten by now. Some things were best
left in the dark, he thought, but the way the conversation was going, he
was going to have to tell them sooner or later. 

	"So whaddabout that girl yer wer seeing then ?!" Priss needled.
"You still going out with her or what?! C!mon what!s she like?!" 

	Mackie cringed slightly, he just hoped that the others would not
notice it. He examined the faces of his companions. Priss had a slightly
malicious grin on her face, a pale echo could be seen in Linna, Nene and
Sylia looked at him expectantly. His mind screamed at him to cut and run,
he clamped down on it, they don't know what happened, he tried to tell
himself . 

        "Dead." Mackie's voice was flat, totally emotionless, "She was
raped and murdered by two SDPC goons just before I left." 

	"Why?" Sylia's voice was little more than a whisper, "Why didn't
you tell us?!"
	
        "She was a Boomer, a friend of Sylvie's from Genaros, I knew what
you'd have said." bitterness welled up in his voice, "Two months then..."
He stared at his drink, it was easier than looking at their faces,
"Nothing left but scars." 

	The others might have been able to handle another emotional
outburst but this was a side to him that unnerved even his sister. Priss
and Linna exchanged guilty glances while the others looked on in horror. 

	"Whaddya mean scars!" Priss snapped, trying to cover her tracks,
"You haven't lived enough to ....... 

	Mackie's stare cut her short, the face was taut, pale and set but
his eyes mirrored the pain within him. He unfastened the velcro straps on
his bracers and laid his bare forearms on the table. There were two sets
of scars on each arm, one set were neat and precise, the other ragged and
gash-like. 

	"I mean scarred Priss," Mackie's voice was soft almost a whisper,
he pointed to the neat set with a mirthless smile, "had the luxury of
razor blades for those. The others, I had to use a bread knife, nearly got
the job done that time....pity the cleaner found me. Another ten minutes
and it would've been 'goodbye cruel world', well that's what the docs told
me." he concluded morbidly. 

	Priss slumped back in the chair, shocked rigid as Mackie
refastened the bracers. How could this have happened? One of her closest
friends driven to attempted suicide by her? She looked into his eyes and
saw herself mirrored there, lost, alone and more than a little confused,
trying to cope with the storm of grief, anger and guilt that raged inside.
She had opened her mouth and put her foot right in it, Mackie was treading
a thin edge at the moment, she felt it might be better if she just kept
her mouth shut. 

	"I.....I'm sorry Mackie I never knew," stammered a small voice.
Mackie felt a trembling warm hand gently press against his knee. The owner
of the hand was gazing at him steadily with solemn green eyes. His stomach
lurched as he saw Nene, snapping him out of his bleak mood, she looked
fragile and close to breaking down. 

	"So am I Nene....maybe I should've told you....oh shit what am I
going to do now!" he said desperately, voice beginning to crack. 

	"That's up to you Mackie, I can't make the decisions for you
anymore!" Sylia's voice was quavering and were those tears welling? Sylia
excused herself and headed for the exit before anyone could stop her. 

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

	Jan-Anders waited patiently outside, the rest of the band had come
to talk to him a few songs into the Priss' set, before retiring to their
temporary camp in Lycanthrope's rehearsal studios. He had ghosted in and
out a few times to get drinks and to check on his young friend, everything
seemed to be going okay. He stood with his back to the club, as though
propping it up, one raised foot flat against the outside wall, a growing
army of beer bottles was forming on the nearby dustbin lid, and was slowly
swelling in ranks. Apart from the collection of empties, there was little
evidence that he had drunk such a ferocious quantity of alcohol. He
glanced up at the orange on black haze that passed for the night sky in
MegaTokyo. Pity, he thought, a clear night like this would be good for
stargazing. A slender dagger of a moon hung in the sky, a few more weeks
and it would be full, then he could really have some fun. First he had to
wait for Mackie to emerge either with or without the others. If he decided
to return (if they allowed him) then he could return with them to his flat
(which was spitting distance from Sylia's), and if not, then Mackie was
going to need some serious consolation. These thoughts were running
through his mind when he was disturbed by the sound of stilettos clicking
on pavement, followed by the hurried inhalation of someone drawing on a
cigarette, followed by a longer exhalation. 

	Looking down, he saw the silhouette of a young woman dressed in a
tailored business suit highlighted in the sickly gleam of the neon sign.
It was Sylia, and by the way she was hugging herself with her arms, it
appeared that she was not in the most emotionally stable frames of mind.
He's probably told them everything, he thought sadly, Holy Mother of Gaia
Jan-Anders what have you got yourself into here?. He finished the bottle
he was drinking in one final gulp and set it aside with the others, he was
a modi of the Hand of Tyr, a splinter group within the Get. They saw
themselves as protectors of those who could not protect themselves, and he
was one of the most perfect killing machines that Gaia had ever created.
not a Samaritan. He was however human enough to realise that she needed
help. 

	Sylia had left the club hurriedly, trying to calm the emotional
rush that was playing merry hell with her whole system. Shock had been
rep]aced by joy which in turn had given way to horror and anguish as she
realised there was nothing she could do for Mackie. In a sudden spasm of
guilt she realised how much she had taken him for granted, despite his
supercharged hormones he had always been there to help out, and to lighten
the mood when things got grim. She had never really told him how much she
loved him, and seeing him now made that fact worse. Trying to reconcile
the lovable goofy Mackie she had known, with the lonely, embittered young
man she saw now, was difficult at best. Silent tears coursed down her
cheeks as she struggled to make sense of it all. 

	"He'll be okay Sylia, but he'll never be like before." a deep voice
said from the shadows. 

	Sylia recognised the voice and turned to see where he was, in the
shadows underneath the neon. she caught the impression of a giant of a
man, dressed in a plaid shirt and denims. 

	"Where do you fit into this Mr. Jivarp?" she asked despairingly,
trying to check herself. 

	"Cut the Mr. crap just call me Jan," he replied, "I met your
brother by accident at the Academy, and I put two and two together after
we both got drunk one night. You know how all the old stories come out
when yer ratted. I just persuaded him to get back in touch." he said
simply, it was the truth. 

	"So you and the band are the 'environmentalists' that he was
mentioning In his letters?" 

	"Yup. We didn't know how much you knew about us." he looked round
slowly, the club was still busy and would be for another two hours or so. 

	Sylia joined him on the wall, still quivering slightly and taking
long draws on her cigarette to calm herself. 

	"Trying to get cancer or something?" Jan-Anders said with a hint of
a smile. 

	"No." Sylia examined the burning tip, "We've got active filters
nowadays, removes all of the carcinogens and tar, not like the old days."
		
        There was something in his voice that was so familiar to her, a
calm ferocity that was quite soothing. A soft bass growl that was felt
rather than heard by her. More pieces were falling into place, memories of
her dreams and the events in Chromium Heaven began to interweave. 

	"What I really meant to say is, why are you here in MegaTokyo?" she
asked softly. 

	"I'm investigating MAPA, I think that GENOM is using it as a front
for something, but we won't know until they do something and that's at the
Vision Trust gig." he looked at her, trying to gauge her strength, her
will to cope with the truth, "Plus to repay a debt by eradicating the
Wreckers for an old friend." 

	If Sylia was shocked it did not show, instead the faintest of
smiles flashed across her pale features, before she had another drag.
	
	"So those dreams I've been having are...." she thought out loud. 

	"Totally true." he interrupted, "and the creature you saw in
Chromium Heaven was me." Sylia watched as he removed his shirt, and turned
his arm to the light. On his upper arm was a raised scar tattoo in shape
of a stylised T, mounted over a severed paw. Numerous minor scars crossed
his arm at various intervals, and some worryingly larger ones. Satisfied
that she had seen enough, he put his shirt back on. 

	"I never wanted to involve you, Mackie or the others in any of
this." he said softly. 

	"It was my own fault," Sylia admitted, "if it weren't for me
thinking you were a new type of Boomer, I would have never shown up at
that place at all." 

	He looked down at her and saw that her breathing had calmed, she
would be okay, he thought with mounting respect, this woman is tough. He
put a huge calloused hand gently on her shoulder. 

	"C'mon lets go back in, he'll be worried about yer." he said
quietly. 

	Sylia gave his hand a gentle squeeze before murmuring a subdued,
"Okay then."  The two walked out of the shadows of the street, into the
bright neon lit womb of the club.