As before, all praise/blame goes to Marco de la Cruz 
<marco@chinook.physics.utoronto.ca>
	Don't worry, X-Change Students is alive and well.

HTG
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A repost of a couple of old stories, and some
new stuff. Please note: it contains considerable
violence.


                                    *

Oh, the gladness of her gladness when she's glad,
And the sadness of her sadness when she's sad,
But the gladness of her gladness
And the sadness of her sadness
Are as nothing, Charles,
To the badness of her badness when she's bad


                                    *

    gun dreams


             Wer mit Ungeheuern kampft, mag zusehn, dass er
             nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange
             in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch
             in dich hinein


             Kono me o toushite soto o miteiru kono
             watashiwa nan da?
             Kizutsuki yasukute, gouman de...
             Okubyou de, zannin na...
             koko ni hisondeiru no wa dare da?



The small girl lay in the alley, her back against the cracked
brick wall of an abandoned warehouse. Legs spread out, she was
covered with garbage and newspapers. The tattered clothes she
wore were filthy and stained with dark smudges of oil and dry
blood. The girl did not move. She did not eat nor sleep. She
was not dead, but she wasn't alive either. In the shadows of
the abandoned buildings, engulfed by darkness during the
night, she existed, and time itself seemed to ignore her
presence. A child's favourite ragdoll, thrown away and soon
forgotten. A broken angel whose memory haunted no one but
herself.

It was a night like any other of a thousand moonless nights,
the rain pouring over the city, the immense skyscrapers, the
brightly lit streets, the cars that lined up along them, the
millions people who travelled the crowded sidewalks. The water
also fell upon the soaking girl, as so many times before. But,
as always, she remained still, oblivious to her surroundings.

At the entrance of the alleyway a figure appeared, running
towards her.  Footsteps echoed throughout the walls of empty
buildings, the sound accentuated by the splashing of feet in
the various puddles on the uneven concrete street. A person
stopped a couple of metres from where she lay. Had she looked
at him, she would have seen a man in his late twenties,
wearing a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt which was once
white. The wetness of the rain and his sweat soaked the shirt
and it stuck to his body, so that his flesh give it a pink
hue. A much darker tone of red tinged his chest and the
blood-drenched metallic bat he held in his right hand.

He leaned against the wall opposite to the girl, but hadn't
noted her presence as he nervously began fumbling his
pockets. It was cumbersome for him to search his wet clothes
with just one hand, and so he rested the bat against the
wall. Raindrops trickled slowly downward over the shiny
surface, growing increasingly redder as they travelled along
its length until they formed a small pink puddle at the
base. The man finally found what he was looking for, a syringe
and a small bottle no larger than an aspirin container. He
quickly stuck the needle through the rubber cork that sealed
the jar, his fingers nervously shaking as the liquid filled
the plastic tube. Without hesitating, he yanked it out and
plunged it through the shirt deep into his chest, pressing the
piston until it was empty. He violently pulled out the needle,
the crimson on his chest mixing with the blood spurting from
the small puncture it had made, and threw the syringe away,
close to where the girl lay.

His head jerked back and hit the wall which such force that
the back of his skull cracked against the bricks. Gasping for
air, he made a wheezing sound until foam started spouting from
his mouth and nostrils.  His fingers twitched, the nails at
the tip of each turning dark purple.  His pupils dilated until
the iris had almost completely disappeared, and his eyes'
photosensitivity increased ten-fold, making the slight glow of
the city lights reflecting against the clouds seem like a
searchlight whose brightness burned a path directly into his
brain. It was then when he saw the girl, almost in front of
him.

He suddenly winced in pain as his body's muscles tensed
spontaneously. A searing sensation emanated from his
groin. The erection in his pants was becoming unbearably
painful, a rather unpleasant side-effect of the powerful
stimulant he had injected into his body. He normally relieved
himself by masturbating frantically, but the spasmodic
contractions of his fingers caused him to bury his nails deep
into his penis. By the time he climaxed his member would
usually be covered with blood and torn skin.

Grabbing the bat, he approached her. The girl didn't make a
move.

    "You are a pretty little thing, you know that?"

Slowly, he knelt in front of her, putting the bat on the floor
besides him. He leaned close to her face, saliva drooling from
his mouth and trickling down his chin from where it fell on
the girl's lap. He studied the little girl's delicate features
for a moment, and a shadow of doubt crossed his face as she
blankly stared back at him. Lounging forward, he grabbed the
neck of the tight black leather bodysuit she wore. With a
force fuelled by his hallucinogenic frenzy, he began ripping
it off her, from the neck all the way down to her crotch. He
started to lick her face and fondle her body when he suddenly
froze.

    "What the fuck? What the fucking shit ARE you?!?"

He looked at the dull metal skin that had been exposed. It was
an ash-grey colour, and the raindrops that fell upon it formed
little sphere-like shapes. He rammed his hand between her
thighs, into her crotch, searching for an entrance.

    "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What kind of boomer whore are you?!?
     Fucking little monster, I'll fucking tear you apart!!"

The pain in his crotch grew. The erection was now throbbing,
pulsating.  He stared intently at the girl with an expression
of intense disgust and hatred.

He faced skywards and opened his mouth, filling it with the
slightly acid tasting rainwater. He then rammed his mouth
against hers, gushing it with water and spit, lubricating her
dry tongue and teeth.

    "Any hole will do, bitch," he growled, nervously opening
his pants and pushing his engorged member into her small
mouth. He stood on his knees as he grabbed the girl's head and
began to jerk it back and forth, grunting which each jab of
his hips. Rain poured on the interlocking figures as he
started to increase the tempo and force of his thrusts. In
this rhythmic frenzy the back of her head began to smash
against the wall as he savagely pushed her away from him and
then to again.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and the man fell
backwards, screaming in pain as his ass hit the concrete.

The electrical discharge in her mouth had been minuscule, the
current only a couple of centiamperes, but to him it had felt
like an electric prod on his sensitive penis. The girl
remained immobile.

    "I'LL KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!"

He furiously grabbed the bat and stood in front the
girl. Lifting it over his head, the stick suddenly made a
whooshing sound as it described a wide arc in the air. The
bat's tip smashed into the girl's temple, just besides her
left eye, a solid crack reverberating throughout the deserted
alley. Her head exploded in a drizzle of water caused by the
violent lashing of her thick, black hair. Her neck twisted an
impossibly large angle, and she fell heavily sideways, making
a splash into the puddle next to her. The man was now
screaming hysterically.

    "WANT SOME MORE, BITCH!?! I'LL BASH YOUR FUCKING ROBOT
     BRAINS OUT, YOU FUCKING LITTLE MONSTER!!!"

The girl blinked.

As she slowly began to rise, the man stopped his yelling and
stepped back. He looked at the bat. Its tip was dented, the
smooth metal of the rounded surface had actually caved in by
the force of the blow. He turned towards the girl. She stood
in front him, glaring back. Although the man was strongly
built, he was not very tall. Yet the girl's head barely
reached his chest. He lifted the bat and savagely swung it
against her, his face a mask of blind fury.

This time, however, the girl lifted her left arm so rapidly it
was almost a blur. The bat crashed into her forearm with such
force that the impact caused it to noticeably bend at the
point of contact. The mechanical shock made the man let go and
the bat flew away from his hands into some dark corner of the
alley. He staggered backwards a couple of steps and looked at
the girl, who kept staring intently at him. Deep within his
brain alarms were going off, but the narcotic delirium that
now ruled his twisted mind precluded any possibility of
rational action. He clinched his fists and advanced towards
her, screaming obscenities, frothing.

He suddenly seemed to jump in the air, about half a metre off
the ground. His eyes almost burst out of their sockets, and he
fell heavily on the street, his hands clutching his groin. The
brutality of the kick had been such that his testicles had
literally exploded, showering his thighs with blood and
semen. The tip of her foot had struck the region just behind
the scrotum, sufficiently hard to rip apart his bladder.
Fragments of crushed coccyx tore through his intestines, and a
red-brownish mix of excrement, urine, and blood started to
ooze from his anus. The massive internal hemorrhaging began to
flood his bowels with blood. For a few moments he remained
silently squirming on the ground, out of breath, pelvis split
in half, his now useless legs spasmodically tensing at
irregular intervals. He began to make a low guttural sound,
which soon increased in volume and in pitch until he was
screaming in agony. In an ironic twist, the drug that flowed
through his veins not only prevented him from fainting, but
produced hyperalgesia, increasing the sensitivity of his
nervous system so that the pain he felt shot through the very
core of his being. It would take at least half an hour for him
to die in a growing pool of watery blood and diarrhea.

The girl stood motionless, a look of contempt on her face. She
slowly began to unsheathe the knife she kept concealed under
the right sleeve of her threadbare trenchcoat. Before
completely pulling out the blade, however, a glitter caught
her eye. She knelt besides the agonizing man and picked up the
shiny little object. It was a small golden plate with a
cylinder mounted on it, about the size of a matchbox. Tiny
metal spikes protruded from the cylinder's surface, and what
appeared to be a metal comb was tightly screwed next to it,
the teeth almost touching the surface. A tiny crank was also
connected to the plate. Intrigued, she slowly began to turn
the handle.

The cylinder started to rotate. A sweet and beautiful melody
floated in the air. It was so very simple, and yet a flood of
emotions, both joyful and utterly sad, began to build within
her little chest. She closed her large eyes, a hint of a smile
on her lips. She held the musical box close to her ear, and
for a moment it seemed that it wasn't just rainwater falling
down her lovely porcelain cheeks.

    Alle Menschen werden Bruder,
    Wo dein sanfter Flugel weilt

A bloodied hand grabbed her ankle. She looked down at the man,
who was now incredibly pale. He had ceased his wailing, and
was shivering uncontrollably, painfully whimpering.

    "P-Please, oh God please, help me, I b-beg you, please
     forgive me, oh fuck, please, i-it hurts, God pleeeeease..."

She kicked him in the face, shattering his jaw. He growled in
pain, vomiting out a piece of tongue engulfed in a thick, red
phlegm. Coughing a mixture of saliva, blood, and teeth, he
renewed his terrified, albeit weakened, screams of agony.

The little girl, annoyed by the inhuman noises and unbearable
stench that emanated from the man, turned away and left the
alley.

-----

A couple of kilometres away two figures were briskly walking
through the busy city streets. The man lead the way, holding
the hand of his companion, a young woman who blindly followed
after him, as she covered her eyes and forehead with her free
hand.

    "Hold on, please, just a few more minutes," said the man,
hurrying his pace, a worried, almost desperate look on his
face.

They kept moving amongst the crowd, half walking, half
running, eliciting angry looks from the people they shoved
along their way. Both were soaking wet from the rain that kept
pouring from the dark skies above. Abrupty, they a turned a
corner into one of the smaller streets that branched out from
the main avenue. Compared to the one they had just left it was
pretty much deserted, and the few people who walked along its
sidewalks were covered by heavy raincoats and umbrellas,
giving them a rather eerie appearance. This, however, did not
register at all on the man. They again turned, this time into
a deserted secondary alleyway. The woman tightened her grip of
his hand, her fingers digging into his flesh, but remained
silent.

    "Please, just a little longer..." he muttered, more to
himself than to anyone else.

He suddenly stopped in front of a small grey Honda. The girl
was now making a strange sound, as if moaning in pain, and
almost fell to her knees when they stopped. He gently placed
her against the car and pulled out a pair of keys from his
pocket. These fumbled in his hands as he tried to insert them
in the keyhole, but refused to go in.

    "Damn!"

He remembered that the lock had been busted a couple of days
ago, a botched robbery it seemed. He would have to open it
from the inside.

    "I'll open the door in a second."

She tried to nod, but it was clear that even the slightest
movement was causing her pain. He went around the car to the
driver's door. As he inserted the key into the lock, he heard
a voice behind him.

    "Good evening, Dr. Wagner"

He turned around. A man somewhat taller than himself stood a
metre or so in front of him, hands tucked in his heavy
raincoat's pockets, streams of water flowing down his cheeks
and forehead.

    "Leave us alone," he replied brusquely, and turned around
towards the car door. As he looked over the hood towards the
girl he saw a second man behind her. She was leaning against
the car, her head buried in her arms, and hadn't noticed the
presence of either of them.

    "I suggest we all go for a walk. It is a lovely night,
after all.  Besides, we are looking forward to meeting your
ladyfriend. I must congratulate you on such charming company."

    Wagner stood still for a moment, his back towards the
man. He peeked inside the car through the window. He saw the
anti-theft club laying on the floor of the passenger's
seat. Even after the attempted robbery he kept forgetting to
put it on the steering wheel. He looked down at the door
handle. The key was inserted in the lock, and he was pretty
sure he had managed to open it.

    "She is not feeling well," he slowly began to move his
hand, hiding it with his body, "but if you insist..."

He quickly grabbed the handle and pulled.

    "Galatea! Run! Gala..."

It was all he managed to do before his back exploded in
pain. The man behind him had jabbed him violently right above
his left kidney. Wagner fell forward, smashing the door shut.

Before he could react a second blow, this one directly to the
liver, rocked his whole body. He couldn't believe the
intensity of the pain that shot through his anatomy, making
him incapable of even turning around to face his attacker. His
vision was blurring, and he felt his knees falter. He leaned
against the car, trying not to fall. He looked over the
hood. The girl had jerked her head up from between her arms
when she heard him call her name. The pain she was in,
however, had obviously numbed her senses, and before she could
do anything she felt her arms being pinned behind her back. A
large gloved hand covered her mouth, her eyes suddenly opened
wide in terror.

    "No! Stop!"

A third blow to the side of his neck sent him crashing to the
ground, twisting in pain, desperately trying to protect
himself by covering his head with his arms.

    "Now, Dr. Wagner, we'd really appreciate a bit more
cooperation on your part."

A violent kick into Wagner's stomach made him cringe in agony.

The second man held the woman's arms behind her back with one
hand while covering her mouth with the other, although she
didn't seem to be trying to scream. Curiously, even though she
felt tense, she wasn't putting up much of a struggle. He
nonetheless tightened his grip, fingers digging deep into her
flesh.

Suddenly, without even the slightest effort, she broke free of
his hold and spun round.

In one swift move she grabbed the man by the throat and tore
out his windpipe. The sound of tearing metal, however, made it
clear this wasn't going to be enough to stop him. The boomer
had been caught off guard, but only for a fraction of a
second, as its primitive AI reconfigured itself to do what it
did best, and shifted to combat mode.

By the time it had prepared to retaliate, about a tenth of a
second later, its internal diagnostics detected something
terribly wrong. More precisely, they detected nothing at
all. The young woman had plunged her hand through the hole in
its neck and ripped out a fistful of wiring, together with a
couple of hydraulic hoses which were now sputtering a dark,
oily fluid. The "brain" in its head had effectively been
severed from the rest of its body. A secondary processing unit
in its stomach took control over all major movements, and
ordered an immediate counterattack. The boomer's arms remained
frozen, however, unable to move. Backup diagnostics indicated
a massive power failure, undoubtedly due to the sharp and
precise blow she had landed on its left side, below its arm,
exactly where the main power supply was located.

The secondary CPU panicked, desperately trying to re-channel
emergency power to the failing servomotors. A brutal kick
suddenly shattered a kneecap, buckling its left leg, as yet
another blow destroyed its jaw.  As the boomer fell to the
ground the system coredumped. It was "dead" before it even hit
the floor.

This, however, went unnoticed by the girl, who had already
leapt on the car's hood. The second man tried to back away but
it was already too late. She grabbed his head, her palms
tightly pressed against his cheeks, her fingers gripping his
jaw from below. With inhuman force she suddenly lifted him up,
almost ripping his head off. The man's arms flailed
frantically as he flew over her head, his feet describing an
arc in the air. She bent backward, flinging the man over the
car towards the sidewalk, where he suddenly seem to split in
two. A large metallic object erupted from the man's chest,
expulsing his heart from his body.  It was the coin deposit of
the parking meter. The man shuddered once, a reflex from the
massive trauma, and remained still, slowly sliding down the
bulky metallic container until it completely pierced his
chest. Once past it, his body quickly dropped along the thin
pole of the parking meter and hit the ground.

The girl faced her companion, a blank expression on her
face. Lying on the ground, soaked by the rain, stunned and
frightened, he looked back at her. She suddenly seemed to
regain her senses, and a look of despair crossed her face. She
buried her face in her hands, and began to bitterly sob.

Neither of them noticed the figure hidden within the shadows,
silently disappearing into the night.

-----

The combat suit the man was wearing was a light duralloy metal
frame which stood over two metres in height. "Light", however,
is a relative term, since it actually weighed over 150
kilograms. Yet he could move with much greater agility and
speed than with his clumsy biological body. A computer would
intercept the electrical signals sent to his muscles and
redirect them into a bio-optic fibre, instantly decoding and
transmitting them to the suit's servomotors. They in turn
would immediately execute the required movement, amplifying
the force of the action between 8 and 10 times if necessary,
or perhaps simply triggering one of the many weapons that were
built into the suit, be it the 30 centimetre extendible
vanadium-steel vibroblade on his right wrist, or maybe one of
the dual 9 millimetre machine guns which were mounted on each
forearm.

The suit itself was basically an exoskeleton covered with thin
sheets made of Kevlar interweaved with titanium strands. A
small plate attached to the chest indicated his rank,
personnel number and the code of the special forces unit he
belonged to. Three tiny insignias were also attached to the
plate: two of them were clearly metallic, one golden, the
other shiny silver, both securely soldered to the surface. The
third one, however, was of a much humbler material, and not
nearly as impressive. He had twice received honours for his
services, once for performing beyond the call of duty, and
another for valour. Every time brought his daughter to visit
headquarters she would always end up contemplating in awe the
intricate detail with which the small medals were made. She
always said the silver one was her favourite, and would
routinely make etchings on small plastic chips trying to
imitate the complicated pattern. He would invariably carry one
with him on missions.  He too was especially proud of his
achievements, although he knew it was the friendship of the
three men whose life he had saved which had been his true
reward.

The fact that two of those men had just been brutally killed
was probably one of the reasons he was now crouching behind a
street corner, sweat falling into his eyes and mouth, grasping
for air with every breath. He had his back pressed against the
wall of a small building, a store that had already closed for
the night. He kept glancing sideways to his left, towards were
the streets intersected.

    "Takeshi! Do you read?" He whispered into the microphone,
trying to keep his voice down, but with an urgency that turned
his words into hisses.

He listened intently for a reply. The splashing of the
raindrops on his visor filled his helmet with drum-like
thumps, and the crackle of static seemed louder than it really
was. Sweat fell down his forehead as he concentrated on the
noises that came through his earphone, but interference was
all he could hear. No response at all, nothing.

A flash of lightning startled him, and after a couple of
seconds the low frequency rumble of the thunder slightly shook
the ground. A blip registered on the motion detector. He
quickly made a half-turn, facing towards the intersection next
to him, the machine-gun in his left arm cocked, the blade on
his right fully extended. By glancing at any of the tiny
images at the bottom of his visor he was able to display a
full view of each holoscreen. An image would form in front of
his eyes displaying the appropriate information, but
nevertheless transparent so as not to block his external
view. By glancing at a certain point of the screen he could
"minimize" it once more, or select another display. The
picture he was currently looking at showed a rough map of his
surroundings within approximately a twenty metre radius. It
detected motion by measuring density variations in the
air. Although it automatically re-calibrated itself to take
into account precipitation, its capabilities were seriously
impaired. He switched to another screen, a CFD. It measured
fluctuations in capacitance and could detect the movement of
large metallic objects. The screen, however, was blank, and a
small red dot in the upper right corner indicated a system
malfunction. The WRS was also out. Thermograph worked O.K.,
but was of limited use, for it provided no long-range
capabilities. In military lingo he was "blind", he could only
see objects in his line of sight. In other words, he was a
sitting duck.

He changed the communications channel. He was now on the ADP
special band.

    "Daley, are you there?"

Once again, nothing but static.

    "What the fuck is going on?" he thought, shifting
nervously in the suit.

He ran a check on the electronics. All lights green. Yet at
least two of his sensors were busted. A glance at the blinking
chronograph confirmed his suspicions. His suit was blacked
out, delicate electronics fried by an EMP. The system
diagnostics had also burned, freezing the readout in its
current settings. Judging by the time the stopwatch had short
circuited the bastard had managed to blast his team even
before the ambush. With scanners and communications down they
had been an easy target.

Whatever the hell he was against, it was no ordinary
boomer. Its actions were more subtle and deadly than anything
he had ever encountered.  Instead of blindly destroying
everything in its path it had actually created an advantageous
tactical situation followed by a fulminating, devastating
attack. It had also been the most vicious assault he had ever
seen, as it slowly began to rip the men apart, using one of
them as a living shield. This was no rampage, it was a
cold-blooded, calculated massacre.

Still, if communications were out Takeshi might still be
alive, in the same situation as he was. They had lost contact
with the ADP about five minutes ago, he guessed, so
re-enforcements wouldn't come in for at least another ten
minutes. For once he wished they wouldn't go by the book.

"Fuck 'em" he thought, turning on the VDG before cautiously
approaching the street corner. He readied his weapons, and
stepped out of the alley.

He carefully scanned to area, slowly turning around as he
advanced down the street. A few metres ahead he spotted a
large figure on the ground.  It lay sideways, semi-submerged
in a large puddle of water, its back towards him. The number
on its arm, a bright yellow "99" indicated it was Takeshi's
ACE suit.

He wasn't moving.

As he got closer to his comrade he could discern another two
bodies about 20 metres ahead, where they had first been
attacked. Even in the dark and through the heavy rain he could
tell both men were dead, their suits squashed and twisted in
an impossible fashion, the humans within crushed and
mutilated. He saw something on the ground next to one of
them. An arm, or maybe a leg, he couldn't tell.

He got closer to Takeshi and glanced down towards him. He
seemed to be O.K., although the suit's power readings were
extremely low.

    "Takeshi!"

The man didn't respond. A concussion, perhaps, knocked him
out. Had to get him out of there. Now.

    "Takeshi!" he repeated, as he knelt next to him and turned
him on his back.

The right half of his helmet, together with his face, was
missing. His ear had been completely severed off, and his
scalp was a bloody tangle of skin and hair. He could see the
blood-stained teeth through the torn cheek, his eye party
gouged out of its socket. The expression on his face was a
deformed grimace of surprise, pain and fear. As he began to
look over the rest of his body he felt the acrid searing of
bile swell at the entrance of his stomach. All of the man's
right side had been hideously mutilated, a bloody pulp of
metal and flesh. He saw his arm barely attached to his torso
by a few muscles and skin, his splintered ribs bursting out of
his side, the crushed exoskeleton's frame burrowed into his
flesh.

He almost cried out when the left eye opened and turned
towards him. The man suddenly began to painfully stammer.

    "C-Can't breath. H-help m-me, God, I-I'm scared,
p-please..."

For a moment he froze, shocked. He could not believe a human
being in this condition could still be alive. The man began to
cough blood, and with each contraction of his chest his
splintered ribcage tore through already severely damaged
organs. Takeshi was dying, but he'd burn in hell before he
would abandon one of his men.

    "Hold on, I'll get you out of here man, just hold on"

He picked up the injured man who weakly cried in pain as he
was lifted, and held him with his right arm. Fortunately some
of the servomotors in the suit were still operational, and
Takeshi managed to put an arm around his waist. As they turned
around and headed for the intersection, Lt. Takeshi violently
exploded when a couple of dozen of 17 mm ferromolybdenum slugs
ripped through his body. The arm he was sustaining him with
had also been blown off, and both flesh and suit now ended
abruptly just above his elbow.

Ten metres ahead of him the boomer stood, smoke coming out its
cannon-arm, grinning with its shiny metallic teeth, mocking
him.

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Screaming in pain and fury he began firing, staggering
backwards, unable to maintain his balance due to the loss of
his arm. After a couple of steps he managed to regain his
footing. He kept firing blindly, the machine-gun's barrel so
hot that the raindrops began to sizzle upon contact.

As his left arm spun through the air the gun continued to
fire. The boomer's thermoblade had hit him on the shoulder and
cut through his side down to his hip. Both suit and flesh had
been neatly sliced, and the tissue that stuck to the
superheated blade immediately turned black and burned away
leaving a stench of burning meat. The boomer then gave him a
backhand blow that lifted him off the ground and sent him
flying backwards, smashing against the wall of a building near
the streetcorner.

In spite of the agony he was still conscious, and the pain he
felt was something beyond imagination. The blow he had
received had crushed the suit inwards, the twisted metal
wireframe piercing into his body like a dozen jagged
daggers. He was bleeding so badly that the puddle he was in
had already turned dark red. The boomer stood motionless,
unwilling, for some reason, to deliver the final blow.

After the deafening gunfire and screams the sound of the
falling rain once again filled the air. He looked upwards
through the shattered visor and watched the raindrops coming
towards him from the skies above. He remembered, for the last
time, the face of his daughter. As he finally began to black
out he thought he could make out her delicate features against
the night.

    "Alita"

He died as the little girl kneeling next to him stood up and
faced the boomer.

-----