MEGATOKYO, JAPAN - APRIL, 2033

     Priss lunged at her opponent.  He had his sword up and parried her
attack, then unsuccessfully attempted to disarm her.
     "Better," he said.  "You're starting to get a hang of this."
     "Thanks, Teach," Priss said, relaxing her guard slightly.
     Seeing the opening, Patrick lunged, running his sword through her gut.
Priss groaned, spat up blood and collapsed to her knees.
     "Don't ever let your guard down," Patrick said.
     "That... wasn't... fair..."  She sprawled out onto the mat and bled to
death.
     Patrick walked away from Priss' dead form, cleaning off the blade of
his blade and waiting for her to revive.  After a minute or so, he heard her
take a sharp breath of air.  She groaned and turned over, looking at her
bloody clothes.  "That was a God damned dirty trick!"
     "Yes, it was.  Your point?"
     Priss grimaced, but didn't say anything.  She knew what Patrick would
tell her, that not every Immortal fought clean, that many cheated, that even
the honorable ones took any opening that was presented.  And he was right.
But that didn't make her like it.
     "That's all for today," Patrick said, sheathing his katana.  "Let's get
your blood cleaned up before it dries."
     Priss nodded as Patrick tossed her a rag.  They began cleaning off the
mat and floor.  "Next time I'm bringing a spare shirt," she said as she
wiped herself off.  "There's one thing I'd like to know." 
     "What?"
     "How does Sylia know about Immortals?"
     "She saw me die."
     "What happened?"
     "It was about three years ago, she was in Boston at MIT visiting some
scientist or other..."
     "'Some scientist or other'?  You sound like me."
     Patrick laughed.  "I've never been up on science, it's real hard for me
to keep up with.  With all I've seen and had to learn, it's a wonder I don't
still think the world's flat."
     Priss looked at him sideways.  "Still?"
     "I was born in 1157, you know.  Columbus didn't sail for another three
hundred and forty years.  And I sure as hell didn't know about those monks
that rowed to America in a leaky boat, or the Vikings who went to
Newfoundland.  Back then, all I knew was my village, my wife, and how to
defend both.  Then I died."
     "And everything changed."
     "Yup.  I was called a changeling, a demon, and a witch.  Fortunately a
swordsman who had settled in our village helped my wife and I to escape.  He
was an Immortal, and became my first Teacher.  When last I saw him, he was
going by the name 'Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez.'"
     "Is he still alive?" 
     "No, he lost his head in the late 1500's defending a young Immortal
named Connor MacLeod.  Connor and I met soon afterwards and became fast
friends.  He's probably my closest friend in history aside from Ramirez, my
wife Rebecca, and my second Teacher, Yoshihiro Ammamoto.  Connor and I are
like brothers, and since both Ramirez and Ammamoto are gone...  Anyway, what
were we talking about?"
     "You and Sylia."
     "Oh yeah."  They had finished cleaning up Priss' blood, and Patrick sat
on the mat, Priss across from him, looked at her shirt, and made a slightly
disgusted face.  "She was at MIT for something and a boomer went on a
rampage.  I tried to stop it, and was successful for about twenty seconds,
but it blasted my lungs out.  Sylia told her brother to get everyone away
and stayed with me.  Well, before the ambulance came my lungs regenerated,
my chest closed up, and I revived.  Normally I could sluff an injury off by
saying I bled more than average and the wound wasn't that bad but I was
actually dead, with most of my abdomen vaporized."
     "So you told her?"
     "Not at first, no.  I tried my usual stories, but she was too good for
that, and persisted, so I really had no choice but to tell her.  Later, she
told me that she thought I had some kind of chemical or cybernetic
enhancement to my immune system, or something along those lines.  Thinking
back on it, I'm sure if it was something like that she was ready to give me
a boatload of cash for it so she could use it in the Knight Sabers."
     "Kind of ironic, isn't it?"
     "In what way?"
     "Well... she wanted what she thought was an invention, and ended up
getting it anyway."
     "You _can't_ expect Sylia to start giving you preferential treatment
because you're Immortal now."
     "She'd be stupid not to.  _You're_ the one telling me to use every
advantage I can in a fight, and I agree that it's a sound military strategy.
I can't get killed, so I should go into the most dangerous situations."
     "Priss..."
     Priss slammed her hand down on the floor, exasperated.  "Will you
_stop_ quoting me the God damned rules?"
     "I wasn't going to."
     "Then don't!"
     "I was going to ask you what you thought the other Knight Sabers would
think if the only thing they did was stand there on the sidelines cheering
you on."
     "It wouldn't make much of a difference to Nene, she's not a fighter."
     "And the others?"
     Priss paused, then sighed.  "No, you're right _again_.  Linna would
never stand for it, and Sylia would never let it get to that point."  A
beeping sound came from her watch.  Priss looked at it and said, "There's an
incident.  I've gotta go."
     Patrick nodded as Priss got up to leave.  "Be careful."
     "I always do."
     He watched her go and remembered what Sylia had said about her fighting
style.  If that was how she was careful, what would carelessness be?

     "Yokohama?" Linna said.
     "Yup," Mackie said as he drove the Knight Sabers' Ground Carrier truck
through the streets of Megatokyo while the four of them suited up.  "A
C-class boomer is tearing up Chinatown."
     "Damn it," Priss said.  "I'm getting real tired of this.  When's the
government gonna do something about this?"
     "When the government is owned by the criminal," Sylia said, "what do
you expect?"
     "What about AD Police, _Nene_?"
     "AD Police is _trying_, Priss.  But we can't get the right equip..."
     "Yeah, right.  How long are they gonna hang their hats on that excuse."
     "What's with the attitude tonight, Priss?" Linna said.
     "What attitude?"
     "Come on, ladies," Sylia interrupted them before the argument got ugly.
"We've got a job to do."
     "All right," Priss said as she put her helmet on.
     Sylia knew damn well what Linna was about to say, and she would be
lying if she didn't admit she would have agreed with her.  Priss' attitude
_was_ subtly different tonight.  Under any other set of circumstances, she'd
dismiss it as Priss feeling sick, or unusually ticked off, or tired, or just
being herself only more so.  But she couldn't shake the feeling that the
change in attitude was because she was Immortal.  Sylia sighed to herself
beneath her helmet.  "Knight Sabers, let's go."
     Mackie had dropped them off several blocks away.  They ran the
remainder of the distance.  When they got there, the boomer had torn up
several shops already, and the AD Police were proving ineffective against
it.  "All right, let's do it," Priss said, advancing and activating her
knuckle-bomber.
     "Priss, wait..." Nene said.
     But it was too late.  Priss had already closed in on the boomer, and
was about to punch it and set off a knuckle-bomb when, without turning, the
boomer picked her up and tossed her against a building like a rag doll. 
     "What the..."
     "I _tried_ to tell you," Nene said, "this boomer has advanced sensory
equipment.  It can see 360 degrees around.  Give me a few minutes to jam it." 
     "We may not have a few minutes," Sylia said, getting her weapons ready. 
     Priss got up, gripping her side.  The impact against the building had
resonated through her hardsuit and broken four ribs.  Her suit's emergency
medical system had immobilized her midsection, but Priss could already feel
the bones knitting.
     "You've been granted a great gift, Priss."  Patrick's words resounded
in her head.  "Use it wisely."
     "Hah!"  She turned off the suit's EMS and advanced again.
     "Priss, what are you _doing_?"  Linna was engaged in close combat with
the boomer but couldn't get close enough to do any real damage.
     Priss wound up again and fired a knuckle-bomber punch, and once again
failing to score.  The boomer had anticipated her attack and kicked her in
the stomach.  Priss went flying through a shop's front window.  She got up
and returned to the street.
     Sylia had seen the whole thing.  "Priss, if you're not going to fight
as part of the team, then don't fight at all."
     "Got it!" Nene exclaimed.  "The boomer's 360 vision is jammed."
     Priss either didn't hear Sylia or ignored her completely.  She advanced
once again and fired her rail gun, catching the boomer in the neck joint.
Then she armed her knuckle-bomber and wound up.  Meanwhile, Linna was
slicing part of an arm off with her mono-molecular ribbons.  Priss punched,
nearly catching Linna in the explosion. 
     "Priss, damn it, *back off*!" she said.
     "Don't get in my way, Linna."  She wound up again, to find that Linna
had grabbed her arm.
     "_What_ did you just say to me?"
     They didn't have time to argue.  The boomer was advancing on them now.
With real danger now, they instinctively assumed their roles, Nene making
sure it didn't pull any computer stunts, Sylia coordinating, Priss and Linna
doing most of the actual fighting.  Priss kicked it in the head while Linna
armed her own knuckle-bomber and punched it in the chest.  Sylia advanced
and ran her vibro blade through the hole Linna had created.  The boomer
began spurting bio-mechanical fluids and collapsed to its knees.  Priss
knuckle-bombed it once more in the head, and Linna sliced through its
midsection with her ribbons.  The boomer collapsed, destroyed, and the
Knight Sabers withdrew.
     Back in the truck, after they had removed their helmets, Priss sat back
and said, "Piece of cake."
     Linna walked over to Priss and leaned over her.  "What the hell were
you doing out there?  What right to you have to tell _me_ not to get in
_your_ way?!"
     "Listen, Linna..."
     "No, _you_ listen, Priss.  Just because you can't die doesn't make the
rest of us useless.  We're a _team_!"
     Priss looked around.  Nene was teary-eyed and silent, Mackie was at the
controls of the truck whispering "this is all we need" to himself, and
Sylia's face was, as usual, unreadable.  
     "Sylia..."
     "Linna's right, Priss.  If you can't work with us, perhaps we should go
our separate ways."
     "Are you _firing_ me?"
     "That's up to you."
     "What do you mean?"
     "I mean, if your Immortality is going to get in the way of your place
in the Knight Sabers, then we will have to go on without you.  A team is
only as strong as the weakest member, and tonight your Immortality was a
hindrance, _not_ an advantage.  If this happens again..."
     "You can't be serious!"
     "I am.  We're a team, Priss, we always have been.  You always did your
job extremely well, but tonight you stepped out of line.  I won't have it
happen again."

     "What did you expect, _really_?"
     Priss had arrived at Patrick's at the usual time for training.  When
she arrived she told him of last night's incident and the consequences
afterwards.  She looked at the floor.  "I don't know.  I didn't even realize
what I was doing until after I did it.  But the fact remains that I _am_
Immortal.  I can get away with a lot more than I used to." 
     "If that's the way you look at things."
     Priss looked up.  "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"
     "Sure you can get slammed against a building, break three ribs..."
     "Four, actually."
     "Four ribs, and be none the worse for wear afterwards.  But your
fighting skills haven't changed.  Sure, you're learning how to use a sword
now, but that doesn't make you automatically better at hand-to-hand.  Your
reactions may be quicker, but your punch is still the same.  And when you
take a fatal hit, what are the other Knight Sabers supposed to in the few
minutes you're down?  You know as well as I do that in combat, _seconds_
can make the difference between life and death.  If you're dead for several
_minutes_, the other Sabers will be without you for that amount of time.
What will happen?"
     Priss sighed.  "I'm getting real sick of this."
     "Of what?"
     "Always being wrong.  You, Sylia, Linna, Nene, even Leon..."
     It was Patrick's turn to sigh.  "That'll be all for today then."
     "What?!"
     "Until you grow up, I can't train you.  I can't train someone as
egocentric as you.  The world doesn't revolve around Priss Asagiri, and
until you learn that I can't continue."
     "Well screw you, then!" Priss said as she turned her back and left.
Who did _he_ think he was?  How did he know what she was going through?  He
didn't have to kill one friend to save the city, then watch another friend
die, _then_ have all this Immortality crap dumped onto his lap.  What did he
expect?  She was trying her best, and if her best wasn't good enough, the
hell with him.  She'd find someone else to train her, or she'd do it on her own.
     She stopped at a brick wall, screamed, and punched it, causing her
knuckles to bleed.  As she watched, the blood stopped and the wounds knitted
themselves back together, not even leaving a scar.  She looked up, noticing
that the wall was part of an old, run-down and abandoned church.  Priss had
stopped believing in God a long time ago, back when she found herself in an
orphanage for a second time.  The first was a dim memory, she was adopted by
the Asagiris at an early age, but it was still a memory, enough of one that
when she found herself back there after the Earthquake, she knew that if God
existed, his "universal love" sure didn't extend to her.  And every time
something good happened to her, it was taken away.  Her parents, her
boyfriend, Sylvie, Anri...
     And now it looked like Immortality wasn't a gift, but a curse that
would take away the last thing she believed in, the Knight Sabers.  Before
she realized it, she found herself in the church staring at the rotting
cross looking for answers.  Asking God to take this _thing_ away from her. 
     She turned swiftly and had her sword out as soon as she felt the other
Immortal nearby.  She squinted in the dimness and saw that he was unarmed.
He walked towards her, saying, "I'm not going to hurt you, even if I could.
This is Holy Ground, remember.  Not even the most evil among us would dare
violate it."
     Priss was confused.  The church was falling apart and hadn't been used
since at least the Earthquake.  "This is _still_ Holy Ground?"
     "Just because it's unused doesn't make it any less Holy, or any less of
a sanctuary."
     She lowered her sword.  "Who are you?"
     He stepped out of the shadows.  He had brown hair, blue eyes, and a
long, thin nose.  He was about Patrick's height, maybe a bit shorter, and
quite a bit leaner.  "Adam Pierson."
     "Am I supposed to recognize the name?"
     "No, but I'm a friend of Patrick's."
     "Did he send you?"
     "No, he doesn't even know I'm in Japan."
     "Why are you here?"
     "Because of you."
     Not caring about the condition of the floor, Priss sat.  Adam walked
over and sat beside her.  "You're having a tough time of it, aren't you?"
     "Yeah.  It's just not working."
     "What?"
     "Me and Patrick.  Some other stuff..."
     "Sometimes the older you get, the more rigid you get.  And sometimes
the younger you are, the less you listen."
     "But Patrick doesn't _know_.  About _anything_.  Before this all
happened, I had to kill my friend.  Then another friend died in my arms.
Then _I_ died, all within the space of a couple of days.  Does he know what
that's like?"
     "Yes, actually."
     "Well, he could have let me know."
     "Why?"
     Priss looked up.
     Adam laughed.  "Ah, the arrogance of youth.  Why _should_ he have told
you?  He doesn't exactly advertise the fact that he was forced to kill a
good friend.  Did _you_ tell him you had to kill your friend?"
     Priss was silent.
     "And again, why should you have told him?  I imagine it's not something
you advertise, either."
     "Not really, no."  She sighed again, fighting the storm of emotions
that were churning below the surface, anger at Patrick, sadness at her new
status.  And something else towards this stranger, the first Immortal she'd
met who was treating her like an equal to be respected, not a baby to be
protected.  "I just want things to go back to the way they were before.  I
want to go back to just being Priss, not Priscilla Asagiri, Immortal."
     "You can't go back."  Adam placed a hand on Priss' shoulder.  "It can
never be the same."  Through her shirt, Adam could feel how tense Priss was.
Her shoulders were taught and each nerve ending seemed to quiver.  Her back
began to shake, and that was when he realized she was crying.  She had
immediately struck him as someone who rarely opened up, and even when she
did, always kept her innermost feelings private.  But that control always
shattered, eventually, and sometimes it was easier for that control to let
go in front of a complete stranger.  Adam placed his arms around her and
held her close as sobs wracked her body.  When it was over, Priss slowly
pulled away.
     "Damn," she sniffed.  "I ca...  I'm s... sorry."
     "It's all right.  You're carrying so much tension here," he ran his
hand over her shoulder, "it's a wonder you don't explode."
     Priss backed away and took in his whole face.  "Who _are_ you?"
     "I told you.  Adam Pierson."
     Priss stared at him for a long time, then inched closer and tenderly
kissed him.  "Thank you."
     "For what?"
     "For being here, at this moment."  She leaned forward again, unable to
keep the emotions at bay.  She hadn't been physically close to anyone since
her boyfriend was murdered years ago, and was unable to control herself.
This time Adam met her half-way, eagerly accepting the kiss, and just as
eagerly returning it.

     "Wasn't that a bit drastic?" Rebecca said.
     "Maybe," Patrick said to her image on the video phone, "but what else
could I do?  I'm at the end of my rope with her, and I'm about ready to pack
it in and head for home."
     "What's stopping you?"
     "What Kowalski said.  My 'soft spot' for cubs.  I keep thinking that
maybe she will come back."
     "Maybe.  Then again..."
     "Yeah, I know."
     "Patrick, you can't win 'em all."
     "I know that better than anyone."
     "Look, maybe it just wasn't meant to be.  Maybe she's supposed to be
evil..."
     "That I can't believe.  No one's _supposed_ to be evil.  Not even the
most ruthless warlord is _supposed_ to be evil.  They become evil because of
a lack of good.  If Priss doesn't have a good role model she _will_ slip
over to the other side, and it'll be my fault."
     "What about sending her to someone."
     "_That_ will go over well.  She's already complaining about being
treated like a child, if I send her to Connor or Duncan..."
     "You could send her to Amanda.  Remember how that affected Nancy?" 
     "That was different.  Nancy and Priss couldn't be more opposite.  If
they _were_ kids, Nancy would be 'the good child' and Priss would be the one
you constantly send to her room without any supper.  No, she needs to
realize for herself what it means to be Immortal.  For now I've done all I can."
     "When are you coming home, then?"
     "I don't know.  If she makes that realization, she'll come back.  If
not..."
     "If not?"
     "I'll be the first one she challenges."

     They moved from the church into Priss' trailer and surrendered
themselves to each other.  Hours later, when it was over, they slept, curled
up in each other's arms.  Then in the late morning, a ship's horn blared
loudly in nearby Tokyo bay.  Adam's eyes snapped open. 
     "Ghods, you'd think with all the technological advances in the last
five thousand years someone would invent a horn that didn't wake people up."
He looked at the girl beside him who was now no longer asleep.
     "Five _thousand_?"
     He gasped.  "Priss...  I didn't know you were awake."
     "You've been alive for five _thousand_ years?"
     Adam nodded, his secret out in the open.  "My name is actually Methos.
I'm the oldest Immortal.  Adam Pierson is a name I started using because
there's a _lot_ of people who'd like my Quickening."
     "I can imagine."  She laughed, once, then again until she couldn't stop.  
     Methos joined in.  "What's so funny?"
     Priss controlled herself and wiped her eyes.  "Here I was thinking I
was the only one with secrets.  I barely know you and..."
     "And I know you bare."
     Priss laughed again, hysterically.
     "You know," Methos said when they calmed down.  "It's good to see you
laugh.  Judging from the lack of laugh lines on your face, it seems as if
you don't spend much time laughing."
     "I don't, actually.  My life has sucked from day one.  There's never
really been anything to laugh about.  But what about you?"
     "What do you mean?"
     "You don't look like you spend that much time laughing, either."
     Methos sighed.  "There was a girl in the last century named Alexa.  I
loved her.  She had a terminal disease when I met her.  We were only
together for about six months before she died."
     "I'm sorry.  I didn't know."
     "Like you, I've had precious little to laugh about.  Damn," he glanced
at the clock, "I've gotta be in work or there'll be hell to pay.  We make
quite a pair, don't we?  The oldest living Immortal and the youngest.  Both
truly miserable people."  He got up and began tossing his clothes on.  When
he finished, he kissed Priss on the lips and turned to leave.
     "Adam?"
     Methos turned back.
     Priss stared at him from the bed with a deadly serious look in her eye.
"I'm one of the Knight Sabers."
     Methos didn't look surprised.  "Why tell me?"
     "You trusted me with your secret.  When I asked you if you'd been alive
for five thousand years, you could have said it was an exaggeration and I
would have believed you and dropped it, but you told me.  You trusted me
enough to tell me, so I..."
     "You looked like you needed to be trusted."
     "So did you."
     "I suppose I did."  He turned and left the trailer.

     "No one's seen her since the incident," Sylia said, "but that's not
unusual."
     "Yeah but I threw her out," Patrick said to the video phone.
     "Patrick, you did all you can.  Maybe it was meant to be this way."
     "That's what my wife said, and I refuse to believe it."
     "She'll turn up, she always does."
     "Yeah, right."
     "Patrick."  
     He looked up at Sylia's image.
     "Don't blame yourself."

     "What is it, Pierson?"
     "Sir, I'd like to request... I know what you're doing and I'd like to
ask you for the lives of two Immortals."
     "_You_ want to take their heads?  Don't make me laugh."
     "I don't want their heads.  I want their lives spared.  I'll make sure
that they never oppose you."
     "What are their names?"
     "Patrick O'Brien and Priscilla Asagiri."
     "If O'Brien finds out about me he'll attempt to destroy me.  No,
Kowalski will take O'Brien's head."
     "But sir!"
     "What are these two to you?"
     Methos thought quickly, his brain switching to survival mode.  If he
angered the other Immortal enough he'd find his head rolling away from his
body within a week.  Still, he had to answer the question.  But he couldn't
tell him the entire truth about O'Brien, that he was positioning him,
against his knowledge, to be among the last, together with the MacLeods,
Constantine, and a few others.  However, he could tell him about Priss.
     "O'Brien is a good friend.  And Asagiri is my lover."
     "Asagiri is also a Knight Saber."
     "You know."
     "I've known the identities of the Knight Sabers for some time.  It
would be unwise for me to dispose of them because they have an extremely
good public image.  Even if I made it look like an accident, the media would
automatically point their fingers at _me_.  However, that and the reasons
you mentioned are not enough for me to spare them.  But because you've been
loyal to me, I will let her and her alone live.  Do not ask me for any more,
Pierson."
     Methos bowed and said, "Thank you, sir."
     He watched him leave and laughed to himself.  Pierson... METHOS.  That
dog had his little secrets which were easily uncovered.  He had thrown him a
bone, kept him on the payroll and fooled him into thinking he would spare
Asagiri's life as a favor, when her death was never seriously in his plans
to begin with.  The fool.  Obviously Methos' advanced age had made him slip. 
     He laughed to himself.

(continued...)
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