MEGATOKYO, JAPAN - APRIL, 2033

     "Priss and I had a long talk about her status with the Knight Sabers,"
Patrick said as he stared out the window of his downtown MegaTokyo condo at
the GENOM Tower looming in the distance, like some mutated pyramid, or the
Devil’s idea of Mt. Fuji. 
     "Oh?" Sylia said.
     "I remember the way the world was before GENOM.  There was crime, yes,
much of it senseless, but people didn't have to worry about a random machine
suddenly going mad on its own and killing dozens of people.  Sure, back in,
say, the 1990’s, there were random acts of terrorism, insane people opening
up with automatic weapons on trains full of people, and gang warfare, but
these things were the exception, _not_ the rule.  Now..."
Patrick broke off from his reverie, not knowing how Sylia would react to
what he was about to say. 
     He didn't have to worry.  She answered him herself.  "Now it's
different.  The tools that were supposed to help us can turn on us."  
     "That's what's so terrifying.  Back in the Industrial Revolution, a lot
of workers thought they'd loose their jobs to mechanization.  And accidents
could and did happen.  But it never crossed anyone's mind that a textile
machine would go on a rampage, or a steam engine suddenly attack innocent
people."
     "None of which was what my father intended when he invented the boomer.
He intended for people to work alongside them, freeing mankind from both
dangerous and menial jobs."
     "Your father was a true visionary, Sylia."
     "You knew him?"
     "Not as well as I wanted.  I'm not much of a scientist.  But I did hear
him speak at MIT the year before..."  Patrick turned around then.  He caught
himself too late from nearly blurting out "before he was murdered."  "I'm
sorry, Sylia.  I didn't want to bring back any painful memories.  Believe
me, I know how painful memories can be." 
     "My father was murdered by Brian J. Mason.  Mason has paid for his
crime.  It's a simple fact." 
     "Aren't you a little _young_ to be that cynical?"
     Sylia smiled, or smiled as much as she allowed herself.  "Aren't you a
little _old_ to wonder why?"
     "Touché."  Patrick could tell she was hiding something about Mason,
though he respected her privacy and didn't pry.  "You want a drink?"
     "Coffee will be fine."
     Patrick smiled and said, "I had a pot all set.  Immortals aren't free
from addiction, you know."  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned
with two cups of steaming coffee.  "Caffeine.  My one and only vice.  Even
caused me to dress up like an Indian and help dump tea overboard once."
     "Indian?"
     "Sorry, native American.  I've spent so much time in the States that
old habits die hard."
     "Ah, yes.  The Boston Tea Party.  I suppose you rode that horse and
warned your fellow colonists?"
     "No, that was my friend Paul.  But I _did_ help light the lanterns." 
     Sylia sipped her coffee.  "What were we talking about before this trip
down your rather long memory lane?"
     "Sorry, I get like that sometimes.  What I was about to say was that
before GENOM, the world wasn't in the grip of one corporation or one man.
Now, mankind is in the stranglehold of GENOM and Chairman Quincy.  And until
Quincy dies and GENOM looses a lot of its economic base, someone needs to
keep them in check."
     "Someone like the Knight Sabers."
     Patrick nodded.  "And Priss is a valuable part of your team."
     Sylia sat and crossed her legs.  "Patrick, I won't lie to you.  Priss'
condition makes me uneasy."
     Patrick sat next to her.  "You make it sound like she's got a terminal
contagious illness.  Immortals are just as human as you are.  The only
difference is that we can't have children and you have to work _hard_ at
keeping us dead."
     "That's what I'm uneasy about.  You've never seen Priss in a fight.
She's always skated the fine line between death and life, like she has a
death wish."
     "If you're worried about her taking too many chances because she can't
get hurt, let me assure you that an injury to her will hurt just as much as
the same injury to you, including something life-threatening.  The only
difference is that our wounds heal rapidly, and death is temporary." 
     "And that's exactly it.  Priss _always_ took too many unnecessary
risks.  If she goes into combat knowing that any injury she sustains won't
be permanent..."  Sylia paused and closed her eyes, betraying very little
emotion.  "I'm just afraid she'll get out of control."
     Patrick didn't voice what was in his thoughts.  Priss was conflict
itself.  That with training she'd be one of the best, he had absolutely no
doubt.  She had so much raw fighting ability plus her Knight Saber training,
that she hadn't needed the usual Martial Arts lessons, instead Patrick was
able to immediately begin teaching her sword craft.  But he had no idea
which path she'd take.  He'd trained many Immortals who would be considered
"good," and one that had been, at the end of his sad life, considered
"evil."  There was never any doubt that the good ones, Gussepi Dillio,
Kagero of the Koga Ninja, Brian Donsworth, Nancy Peters, would turn out as
good as they did.  And in the back of his mind, he always knew that Samuel
Leonard would turn out bad, though he never would have guessed at how he
would meet his end.   
     But Priss had just as much potential for evil as for good.  To drive
her away now might send her over the edge. 
     "Sylia, I can't speak for how she'll act as a Knight Saber, or even how
she'll act as an Immortal.  But _please_, let her remain.  You have no idea
how much it means to her."
     "Actually, I do."
     "Then what’s the problem?  _You’re_ afraid that because of her
Immortality, Priss will go over the edge as a Knight Saber.  _I_ think
without being a Knight Saber, she’ll go over the edge as an Immortal."
     "So what you’re saying is, somehow being a Knight Saber has stabilized
her."
     "That’s exactly it."
     Sylia nodded.  "All right, she can remain for now.  I'd better not
regret this."
     "I think we’d regret it more if she’s out."

     "AAAHHH!!!"  She lunged at her opponent, swinging her weapon.  Her
opponent easily deflected the blow and disarmed her.  She stomped off the
mat.  "Damnit!"
     "You're not gonna learn anything like that!" Patrick said. 
     "And how the hell do you _expect_ me to learn?!" Priss said.  "I'm sick
of being cooped up here, I'm sick of not being able to leave, and I'm sick
of not _knowing_!"  She sat on the bench along the wall of the workout room. 
     The workout area was small, no where near the size of the dojo that
Patrick owned and operated in Boston that he had "inherited" from his
"father," in actuality his previous identity.  But this workout area was
plenty for what they currently needed.  There was more than enough space to
train with swords.
     "If its any consolation, I talked to Sylia.  She'll let you back into
the Knight Sabers on the condition that you don't run too many risks.  I'm
speaking from experience when I say that combat is _quite_ different when
you know that the worst that can happen to you is a very temporary death.
You screw up and take too many chances, you suddenly find your entire life
being thrown into the spotlight.  And you have to make a decision."
     "What?"
     "Do you tell the other two Knight Sabers about you Immortality?"
     "It's kinda obvious, isn't it?  Three days ago I was a sorry mess,
almost dead.  Then I _did_ die.  So now I'm supposed to show up with no
broken collarbone, no shattered arm, no knife wound in my abdomen, no back
injuries..."
     "It's up to you, Priss.  Can you trust them?"
     "I've trusted Nene and Linna with my life.  I think I can trust them
with this."
     Patrick nodded, not mentioning the fact that she seemed to have assumed
that Sylia trusted him completely and unknowingly blew the cover of the
other two Knight Sabers.  "Ok.  I guess you can begin your life again.  But
I want you here _every_ morning to train, understand?" 
     "Yes sir, Teach!"
     "Well?  Go on, get the hell out of here!"

     He turned from his car, sword-in-hand, to face the Immortal he felt
behind him.  Terrific, he thought, a parking garage.  Boy is _this_ a cliché. 
     "Are you Richard Smythe?" the other Immortal said.
     "That's right," he said.
     "I am Stephen Kowalski."
     "I don't know you, Kowalski, so why don't we walk away from this.  I
have no fight with you."
     "That's good, I'm glad you don't want to fight me."  Kowalski nodded
and the four boomers approached, weapons ready.
     Smythe looked at the boomers, eyes wide in shock.  "What is this?"  
     "It's called bending the Rules."  He nodded again and the boomers
opened fire.
     Smythe felt each bullet rip through his chest.  He collapsed onto the
floor of the garage.  When they had finished their work, the boomers quickly
walked towards a nearby truck and got inside the trailer.  Kowalski stood
over him, grinning in triumph.  He swung his sword and delivered the fatal blow.
     The Quickening exploded from Smythe's body, shattering car windows and
headlights, exploding engines, its energies arching from one car to the
next, a whirlwind storm of energies.  Kowalski stood in its center,
screaming in delight as Richard Smythe's life-force entered his body.  When
it was done, he collapsed on the ground, exhausted.  He caught his breath
and returned to his truck. 

     Priss sped her motorcycle down the concrete chasms of Megatokyo’s
streets, ecstatic.  Life was good.  She could continue to be herself, unlike
a lot of Immortals the Teach had told her about who had to assume new
identities after meeting their first death.  She would be young forever, and
could do whatever she wanted without fear of killing herself.  Finally,
_finally_, life was treating Priscilla S. Asagiri good for a change.  She
had already been to Hot Legs and told the manager that she was still alive
and planning on showing up to her own gig.  When he tried to question her
about her whereabouts for the last three days, she told him to go screw, the
fact that she'd be there tonight was all that he should be concerned with.
She joyfully looked at the police cars behind her who wanted her to pull
over for speeding.  She turned in her seat and flipped them the American
bird, yelling "FUCK YOU!!"  Turning back around, she saw the roadblock up
ahead.  Run it, or stop?  Run it, yeah! 
     But Patrick's words came back to her.  "You screw up and take too many
chances, you suddenly find your entire life being thrown into the
spotlight."  Sighing, she slowed the bike down and stopped. 

     AD Police officer Nene Romanova was on her way to deliver a report to
Leon at the scene of a recent incident when her cruiser's radar picked up a
biker going seventy kilometers over the speed limit.  Choking back her tears
and putting thoughts of Priss, and all the times she caught her speeding,
out of her mind, she stopped the car and set up her small roadblock,
focusing on her duty.  Waving the lighted stop sign, she spotted the biker
as he slowed down, but not before it looked as if he was thinking about
running the block.  As the bike approached, Nene saw that it was a woman. 
     "Let me see your license, miss," Nene said, her hand outstretched.  "Do
you realize you were going seventy kilometers over the limit?  Do you know
how dangerous that is?"
     Beneath her helmet, Priss froze.  She should have run Nene's road
block, but how was she to know that Nene, of all people, would catch her yet
again?  Slowly, she reached into her pocket and did the only thing she could.  
     She gave Nene her license.
     Nene looked at the name and gasped.
     Priss removed her helmet.  "It's me, Nene."
     Nene's eyes filled with tears.  "Pr... Priss?  It _is_ you isn't it?"
     At that moment, the two regular Police cruisers pulled over.  "This one
giving you any trouble?" one of the officers said.
     Nene whipped her head around.  "No, absolutely not!  Y... You guys can
leave!"
     Slightly shocked by her outburst, the two cruisers pulled away. 
     Nene turned back to Priss.  "What... how..?"
     "It's a long story."
     "But you were almost dead!  You shouldn't be riding around like that,
you should be in the hospital...  Priss, you didn't have cybernetic
augmentation done, did you?" 
     Priss looked up, shocked.  "Of course not!  What do you take me for?
There's no way I'd let _anyone_ put boomer parts into me." 
     "Then how..?  I know for a fact that your arm was broken."
     Priss could only sit there on the idling bike.  She had no idea how to
approach this.  It was true that she intended on telling Nene and Linna, but
she wanted to tell them both at the same time.  Running into Nene like this
was the most horrid thing she could imagine.  Now, she'd have to go to
Linna's job and tell her.  "Look, Nene.  I'm not dead.  In fact I've never
been better.  Can you come to Sylia's tonight?"  Nene nodded.  "Good.  I'll
letcha know everything then."  She put her helmet on, gunned the engine and
prepared to ride off.
     "Oh, Priss?"
     She turned and looked at Nene.
     "You forgot something."  She handed Priss her license and a slip of paper.
     "A _ticket_?!"
     Nene giggled and ran back to the car.  "Have a nice day!"  She got in
and pulled away.
     Priss grumbled as she watched Nene drive off.  Then the absolute
absurdity of the situation sank in and she began to laugh.  Things were
going to be OK.

     "Just when you think this town couldn't get any weirder, it does." Leon
McNichol said, bending over the body of the second beheading in three days.
"Boomers again?"
     "Yup," Daily said.  "The lucky recipient this time is a British
immigrant named Richard Smythe."   
     "I've heard of this guy.  Didn't he move to Japan in ‘24, the year
before the Earthquake?" 
     "That's him.  He donated generously to a _lot_ of relief organizations.
But he could afford it.  Sources say his most recently calculated net worth
was about a quarter that of Chairman Quincy's." 
     Leon whistled.  Anyone who was worth a visible fraction of GENOM's CEO
was worth a lot.  That kind of money would have bought a lot of political
favors in the last century, even in the last decade. 
     "Leon!" came a high-pitched female voice.  Leon turned and saw Nene
racing across the garage.  "Here's the report you wanted." 
     Leon looked through the autopsy of Frederic Rillio, the first victim.
"This is too damn strange."
     "What?" Daily said.
     "According to the medical examiner, Rillio had no medical history.  Not
even health insurance."
     "That's impossible."
     "See for yourself."  He handed the file to his partner.
     "This is weird," Daily said.  "No organ deterioration, no scars beyond
a few superficial ones, even the wounds from the boomers would have
instantly killed any other man."
     Leon turned to Nene.  "I don't suppose _you_ came up with anything?"
     Nene was silent, staring off into space.
     "Nene?"
     "Hmm?"
     "Something distracting you that we should know about?"
     "What?  Oh, no...  What were you saying?"
     "I asked if you had come up with anything on Rillio."
     "Oh... Um, no, but I did come up with several similar crimes,
especially in the last century."
     Leon's interest was fully on Nene now.  She leafed through her notes.
"The earliest I was able to come up with was in the 1980’s in New York City.
In a one week period, five men were beheaded.  An antique dealer, Russell
Nash, was brought in for questioning but was released.  Then his name came
up again in connection with two beheadings in 1995.  In Boston there were
five between May of 1994 and May of 1995.  Patrick O'Brien, a Martial Arts
teacher and former history professor, was brought in for questioning several
times.  There have also been similar cases in Seacouver, Paris, London..."
     "We get the picture," Daily said.
     But Leon differed.  He told Nene to continue.
     "In each case, the murder weapon was a sword, and in each case the
victim had a lack of organ deterioration, scars, or wounds."
     "Nene, what exactly are you saying?" Leon said.
     Nene looked at the mutilated corpse, not thinking of the crime or the
perpetrator, but of Priss’ miraculous recovery.  "I don't exactly know yet,
but I think it's safe to say there's a lot more going on here than we know."

     Priss parked her bike outside of Phobes's Aerobics Center where Linna
worked as an instructor.  She didn't know exactly how to go about this.  She
didn't like working out in front of people, preferring instead to either
work out alone, one-on-one, or with the other Knight Sabers.  She looked at
her watch, noon.  Perhaps Linna would either be going to or returning from
lunch sometime soon.  Or maybe she was on a later shift today.  She locked
her bike and went inside and up the stairs.  
     "Can I help you?" said the woman at the front desk.
     "Is Linna Yamazaki working today?"
     "No, Linna's been out sick for the last three days.  Can someone else
help you?"
     "Damn.  No thanks."  She turned, left and went downstairs.  She
unlocked her bike and started it up.  Three days ago was the battle with
Largo when Priss had met her first death.  Linna being out sick could only
mean...
     She skidded to a stop in front of a video phone booth, dialed her
credit access code and Linna's number.  After four rings, Linna's cheerful
face came on the screen.
     "Hi, this is Linna Yamazaki.  I can't make it to the phone right now,
so leave a message."
     "Damn."  Priss hung up the phone.  She couldn't leave Linna a message
like "I'm not dead," on the answering machine.  She had to tell her
face-to-face.  She dialed her credit number again and then the number of the
Silky Doll lingerie shop.
     "Silky Doll, can I help you?" Sylia said on the screen.
     "I need to make a special order," Priss said.  That was their latest
code for "I _really_ need to talk to you."
     "Please hold."
     The screen changed to a video catalog of some of Silky Doll's
inventory.  A few minutes later, Sylia reappeared, this time her image was
slightly off-focus.  The fuzziness meant she was on a secure line in her
apartment.
     "Do you know where Linna is?" Priss said.
     "I haven't seen her since we fought Largo.  Why?"
     "Because I ran into Nene accidentally, and I wanted Linna to know I'm
still alive before she finds out from someone else.  I was planning on
telling them both what happened tonight."  
     "I understand.  When you died, Linna took it rather hard.  She all but
resigned that night.  I didn't want to try and find her until after
everything had been settled."
     "Shit.  She's not answering her phone if she's even there." 
     "I'll send Mackie out..."
     "No, Sylia.  I want to do this.  I _have_ to do this."  Priss hung up
the phone, and the full implications of Immortality hit her right then.
Sylia had said "when you died," not "when we thought you were dying."  Until
then, she hadn’t _really_ believed any of it.  But now the truth about what
had happened to her, what seemed to be destined to happen to her, came home.
     "Holy shit," she whispered to herself.

     "Hi, babe," Patrick said to Rebecca's image on the vidphone.
     "How's things going?" Rebecca said.
     "I'm not sure," he sighed.
     "Why not?"
     "There's certain... things... about her life that I can't really
discuss on an open line like this.  But besides that, I don't think I've
seen anyone who sat so close to the middle of the fence, and could go to
either side at any second." 
     Rebecca understood.  "What's she like?" 
     "She's had a rough life.  She lost her adopted parents in the
earthquake, and spent a lot of time in an orphanage.  She ran away and took
to the streets, and fell in with a motorcycle gang.  Then her boyfriend was
killed, and AD Police ruled it an accident." 
     "Wow.  She told you this?"
     "No, I'm not supposed to know.  Sylia told me so that I could
understand her.  She's hot-headed, disrespectful, crass, crude, and has no
respect for the Rules."
     "But...  I can hear that unspoken but."
     "She's also loyal, passionate, and kind, dispite herself.  And
injustice infuriates her."
     "Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."
     "No kidding."
     "Is it like Sam?"
     Patrick closed his eyes.  "No, we knew that something was wrong with
Sam from the very beginning, though we didn't want to admit it.  Priss isn’t
mentally unbalanced, she's just very, very angry."
     "And sometimes that can be worse."
     "Exactly."
     "My schedule should clear in about a week.  I can fly over."
     "Not just yet.  I don't want her meeting all sorts of older Immortals
right now, even you.  This is _way_ too delicate."
     "I understand."
     "I'll call ya tomorrow."
     "Ok.  Love ya."
     "Love you too."
     Patrick hung up the phone and pointed the remote at the TV.  There was
some kind of music news program on.  The female anchor was saying, "...and
the underground rock community can breathe a sigh of relief today.  Priss
Asagiri, lead singer of Priss and the Replicants has been sighted going into
Hot Legs, where she'll be performing with her band tonight.  Priss has been
missing for the last three days and it was unknown whether she was even
still in Megatokyo.  Not even her bandmates knew where she had gone off to,
though they admitted that Priss going missing was nothing new, she had never
been gone this long.  In other news..." 
     Somehow Patrick wasn't surprised at finding out Priss was in a band.  

     "...Priss has been missing for the last three days and it was unknown
whether she was even still in MegaTokyo.  Not even her bandmates knew where
she had gone off to..."
     "What the..?"  Linna looked up from her packing at the TV.  Since Priss
had died, nothing had been the same.  Suddenly the Knight Sabers fight
didn't look so noble.  And no amount of money could compensate for the loss
of her friend.  Though Sylia was right, the Knight Sabers needed four
members working as a team to succeed, Linna didn't think she wanted to be
part of that team any longer.  All she wanted to do was get out of Megatokyo
for a while.
     But this...?  Priss sighted?  They had to be mistaken.
     There was a knock at the door.  Then another.
     "Go away, Sylia."
     Another knock.
     "I mean it.  I'm not changing my mind."
     Another knock.
     "All right.  All right."  She opened the door, expecting Sylia to be
standing in the hallway, instead saw Priss.
     Linna turned white.  "Oh my God."
     "Hi."
     "Pr...Priss?  Is it you?  Is it _really_ you?"
     "Can I come in?"
     "Um... of course."  Linna stood aside and let Priss enter.  She closed
the door.  "Priss, how..."
     Priss sat down.  If she thought telling Nene was tough, Linna was even
harder.  She sighed and said, "Obviously I'm alive and without any
cybernetic augmentation."  
     Linna sat beside her.  "Then how...  Priss you were almost dead."
     "I _was_ dead."
     "_What_?"
     "I died fighting Largo.  Now I’m back."
     "Priss, you’re not making any sense..."
     Priss sighed.  "Look, can you come to Sylia's tonight before my gig?
I'll explain everything then."
     "I guess so.  Sure."
     Priss paused, looking at her hands in her lap.  "Linna, I just wanted
to say I'm sorry."
     "For what?"
     "For not letting you know earlier."
     "Hey, it's OK.  I'm just glad you're still around, and whatever
happened to you, I’m sure it’s something we can all work with."

     "Thanks for coming," Priss said as she sat on the chair across from the
couch that Linna and Nene were sitting on.  Sylia simply stood in the corner
of the room with a cigarette in her hand.  "You can't imagine how hard this
is.  I am...  I..."
     "It's OK, Priss," Linna said.
     "Sure, we're all friends here," Nene said.
     "That's why this is so hard," Priss said.  You guys are the only family
I've got.  OK, I'll just come out with it.  The other night when I
supposedly almost died?  The reason why I'm still here, and the reason why
all my wounds are all healed is because..." Priss lowered her voice, "I
can't die."
     "What?" Linna said.
     "I didn't hear you, Priss," Nene said.
     "Damnit, I _can't_ die!  I'm Immortal!"
     Nene and Linna were silent.
     "There, I've said it," Priss said.  "My secret."
     "How... how long have you known?" Linna said.  "How old _are_ you?" 
     "No older than you, and I've only known for a few days.  Like I told
you, Linna, Largo did kill me.  I died, then woke up again with all my
wounds healed.  Sylia introduced me to this guy who's also Immortal and he's
helping me out, seeing me through it.  He's almost nine hundred years old,
but doesn’t look any older than thirty-three."  
     "Nine hundred..." Nene whispered
     Linna didn't know what to think, whether to believe Priss or not.  Here
she was saying that she can't die, when their lives were put on the line
every night.  But it did explain a lot.  Not only how she could be alive
after the Largo incident, but other things as well, like how she fights the
way she does, how she can take insane amounts of pain and walk away none the
worse for wear.  But how would that affect the Knight Sabers when one of
them could now take a nuclear blast in the chest and walk away?  Would Priss
get more careless?  Or would she become overprotective of the other three? 
     Nene broke her out of her reverie.  "Wow, Priss!  You mean you'll be
young and beautiful _forever_?"
     "I didn't ask for this, Nene, and I want it even less."
     "Yeah, but think of it!  Living forever, being young...  It's so..."
she folded her hands together and brought them up next to her face with a
far-off dreamy look in her eye, "_romantic_!" 
     Priss grimaced.  "Gimee a break, Nene.  Not even _you_ would want this."
     "Is there something you're not telling us?" Linna asked.     
     Priss shrugged.  There was something she was holding back.  The Game
and all of its implications.  The sword fights, the Prize, beheadings,
Quickenings, all of it.  But somehow she just couldn't bring herself to tell
them.  She thought back on what Patrick had told her about the Quickening,
the energy released after an Immortal is beheaded and is absorbed by the
victorious Immortal.  It sounded like absorbing another’s soul, and she told
Patrick that.  He had answered that it was, in a way. It was all the
defeated Immortal's power, strength, energy... and memories.  The initial
onslaught of the defeated Immortal's memories could be terrifying, but
afterwards could be swept aside, left in the subconscious.  She knew she
wasn't ready for any of this.
     "Priss?"
     She looked up and saw Linna staring at her.
     "It's all right, if there's something you don't want to tell us, we'll
understand."
     Priss nodded.  "Look, I know this is hard for both of you, so if you
want me to quit..."
     "Quit?!" Nene exclaimed.
     "Don't be silly," Linna said.  "I was wondering how you would perform
in combat knowing you can't get hurt, but I would never want you to quit." 
     "We're the Knight Sabers," Nene said.
     "Yeah, nothing can change that.  No matter how long you'll outlive us,
you'll _always_ be a Knight Saber.  And if something happens to Sylia, Nene,
and I, there will always be you."
     Priss smiled, sadly, not wanting to tell her friends that the chances
of her dying before them were still very high.  "Thanks.  And by the way
Linna, my combat techniques won't change, 'cause I _can_ get hurt, just as
much as you.  It just heals faster, that's all."
     From the corner, Sylia smiled to herself.

(continued...)
(c)1997 Mabnesswords