MEGATOKYO, JAPAN - MAY 2033

     Sylia looked across the empty parking lot and spied the lone car.  She
walked over to it, opened the door, slid into the passenger seat, and closed
it.  The windows immediately went black.  When they had reached the desired
tint, the dome light came on.
     "Sorry about this, Sylia."
     "Fargo," Sylia said.  "An empty parking lot in the middle of nowhere in
a car with windows tinted so dark that they're opaque.  This is paranoid
even for you."
     "The information I'm about to give you justifies the precautions.
Unfortunately it isn't a paying job."
     Sylia reached for the door.  "Goodbye, Fargo.  Let me know when you
have something worthwhile."
     "_Don't_ open that door unless you want to throw your life away."
     The edge in Fargo's usually ultra-calm voice caused her to stop.  "I'm
listening."
     Fargo handed Sylia an envelope.  "These are pictures of a top-secret
GENOM laboratory."
     Sylia opened the envelope and studied the pictures.  The first one was
of three people.  Kate Madigan, she recognized.  The other two were
strangers, though the fat one looked vaguely familiar.  The second showed
them surrounding a large open case.  She saw a yellow human-shaped form
inside the case, which she assumed was a boomer.  The third was an
enlargement of the contents of the case.  It's sleekness spoke  volumes to
her.  It was no boomer.
     "This is a hardsuit, isn't it?"
     Fargo nodded.  "That's right.  GENOM has officially discontinued work
on powered suit development, but unofficially has been slowly advancing this
for two and a half years now, ever since _you_ started activity.  Since the
death of Mason, they accelerated development.  Since last month, they
accelerated its development even more.  The result is what you see here.
Code-named Matilda, it's GENOM's first hardsuit, designed _specifically_ to
fight the Knight Sabers.  The people in the photographs are Kate Madigan,
Stephen Kowalski, and Dr. Sho Kawachi."
     "_Kawachi_?"  Sylia was actually taken aback.  She hadn't heard
Kawachi's name in years.
     Fargo lit a cigarette and handed it to Sylia.  "The same Kawachi who
was assumed dead in the same 'accident' as your father.  Apparently GENOM
got their claws into him afterwards and had him independently develop Matilda." 
     "How much weaponry does it have?"  
     "The only weapons I know for sure are a knuckle bomber, a railgun, and
a vibro-blade."
     "I can see how Madigan and Kawachi fit into this.  But what about this
Kowalski person?"
     "He is the boomer headhunter.  He has been eliminating GENOM opposition
and making it look like a serial killer.  And he's acting on the direct
orders of Quincy.  _He_ will pilot Matilda."
     Sylia took a long drag on the cigarette.  "So Quincy has ordered our
deaths?"
     "Not all of yours.  Just the blue Saber's, and an Irish-American named
Patrick O'Brien."
     Priss _and_ Patrick?  Sylia sighed inwardly.  Why would Quincy order
Priss and Patrick's deaths?  Unless... no, that was to horrid a thought to
even _consider_.  It had to be something else.  "Thank you for  the
information, Fargo.  When will Kowalski strike?"
     "Soon.  Within a day or two.  He has three combat boomers with him, and
will undoubtedly use them as bait.  Sylia, be careful."
     Sylia nodded and got out of the car.
     Fargo glanced at his watch, its face covering the inside of his left
wrist, concealing the Watcher tattoo.  He'd give Sylia five minutes, then
leave this place himself.

     Leon approached the trailer that proudly displayed the words
"REPLICANTS" across the rear and "THE PRISS" on the side.  He had been
standing there for what seemed like ages, wrestling with his conscience.  If
he warned Priss about the GENOM hardsuit, there was absolutely no turning
back.  She would know, without a doubt, that he knew she was a Knight Saber,
and their relationship, what little of one there was, would forever change.
When they fought Largo together, he had been vague enough that Priss could
have ignored it, or thought he had meant something else.  But if he knocked
on her door and said "GENOM has a hardsuit that's comparable to yours" there
would be no more room for vagueness.
     But dispite the seemingly one-sided attraction, Priss _was_ his friend,
after all.  And he hoped she felt at least friendship for him.  And if GENOM
killed her and he did nothing, he would never forgive himself.  He  made his
decision and knocked on her door.

     Methos looked up, startled, at the sound of the knock on the door of
Priss' trailer.  It wasn't an Immortal, he would have sensed them. 
     Maybe it was GENOM?
     He may as well answer the door, if it _were_ GENOM, by answering it, he
could say he was searching a known Knight Saber's home.  If they broke in,
he'd be accused of... oh _hell_, there's a difference between being careful
and being paranoid.  Quincy already knew he and Priss were lovers.  Just
answer the damn door.
     Barefoot, he walked over and opened the door.
     What the _hell_?
     Leon McNichol stood on the stairs, looking a bit dumbfounded.  "Wh...
who are _you_?"
     "Um, ahem...  Priss' boyfriend."
     But Leon instantly recognized the voice.  "You're _him_!"
     "I don't know what you're talking about."
     Leon lowered his voice.  "I think you should let me in, or else I'll
blab about you being an AD Police informer at full volume."
     Methos shrugged, survival instinct kicking in again.  "Come in, then."
     Leon closed the door behind him.  "Who are you?"
     "Just someone who doesn’t like certain things and has had enough.  How
did you know I was here?  Did you follow me?"
     "No.  Priss is a friend of mine.  I wanted to warn her."
     "About the GENOM suit?"
     Leon nodded.
     "Stay out of it now Inspector.  You've done your part and done it well.
In fact, you've done more than your share.  Just let everything happen
naturally.  If you interfere, Priss _will_ die, but if you don't, there is a
chance she'll survive."
     "What're you talking about?"
     "There's things going on here that you'll never be able to completely
understand, much less change.  Go back to AD Police headquarters.  Everyone
who needs to will be warned _long_ in advance of the GENOM suit, and you've
got enough information that if and when Quincy begins to fall, you can get
him.  Just have faith."

     "I'm worried," Nene said.  "Sylia should be here."
     "She'll be here," Linna said.
     Priss was, for once, silent.  She looked across the room at Patrick,
who stared out the window at the city.  Over the last month, she felt she
had learned how to read his moods rather well, but tonight he was
unfathomable.  Was he thinking of how he was going to, in his mind, break
the Rules?  
     Patrick was thinking those very thoughts.  To him, fighting Kowalski
with assistance by the Knight Sabers was worse than Kowalski using boomers
to do his bidding.  The Rules specifically stated that Immortals couldn't
use mortals in battles, but they didn't say anything about boomers.  But
that wasn't what bothered him so much.  Not that long ago, he would have
looked on the Knight Sabers involvement as evening the playing field.  In
fact, when Ammamoto died, if Patrick had been there, he would have killed
McKinley, the mortal who shot him and enabled VonHoffer to take his head,
before he had a chance to let any shots off.  Was that so different from
Priss saving his life?  When did he grow so rigid?
     The answer was obvious.  He hadn't faced anything quite like this since
Ammamoto had died.  And if Patrick _had_ saved him, Ammamoto would have done
the same thing Patrick did to Priss.  Blinded by honor, he proudly walked to
his death without a second thought.  And now that Patrick had his
Quickening, he had become just as blinded.  So perhaps this operation was
exactly what he needed to shake him out of it. 
     At that moment, Sylia entered.  "Ladies, we have a problem." 
     Patrick turned, looking at Sylia.  She was her usual icy calm self, but
she _did_ look rather tense, as if something horrible had been revealed to
her.  "Do you want me to leave?"
     "No Patrick.  Have a seat.  This involves you and Priss more than any
of the rest of us."
     Patrick nodded and sat in the middle of the couch between Priss and
Linna.  Nene sat on a chair beside the couch with Mackie on the arm, and
Sylia sat across from all of them.   
     She took out a legal sized envelope and opened it.  Then she spread out
three pictures on the coffee table.  "This was taken by an unknown informant
within GENOM.  It seems that they've secretly developed their own hardsuit."
     "_What_?" all three Knight Sabers said in unison.  Patrick, however,
wasn't at all surprised.  He had seen this coming since last night, only he
didn't think GENOM would already have a prototype hardsuit ready and waiting. 
     Sylia continued, "The three people in these pictures are GENOM head of
security Kate Madigan, the scientist who developed it, Dr. Sho Kawachi, and
Stephen Kowalski, the pilot and the one responsible for  the boomer
headhunter crimes."
     "_That_ figures," Priss said.
     "What do you mean?"
     "Um, I, er..."
     "Priss, whatever you did, I'm sure you had a good reason."
     "Well... Patrick and this Kowalski had a run-in last night, and Nene
told me that he was the boomer headhunter.  I put two and two together and
met Patrick at the place where the duel was gonna take place." 
     "I see.  You took your new hardsuit?"
     Priss nodded.  "Sylia, I'm sorry, but I wasn't gonna allow another
friend to die if I could prevent it."  She looked up, expecting Sylia to get
angry and fire her again.  This time she promised herself she’d take her
punishment like an adult. 
     But Sylia didn't get angry.  Instead she smiled slightly and said, "I
understand.  Maybe I would have done the same in your position." 
     Patrick was staring at Priss openly now.  He hadn't realized until that
moment that he had gained her friendship, not an easy thing to accomplish.
But there was no one incident that he could point to and say, "this is where
everything became right."  Dispite the meeting on Holy Ground, dispite the
happenings of the previous night, he still felt that Priss was keeping him
at arms length.  But now, Patrick felt good, really good, about her being
his Student, and realized that perhaps he had been wrong about her all this
time.
     Sylia was speaking again.  She was relieved that the possibility of
Quincy's Immortality had gotten slightly more remote, that perhaps the only
reason for any of this was simple ego.  "Whatever the reason, Quincy has
ordered Kowalski to kill both of you in the next day or two, so we have to
plan.  The GENOM hardsuit is definitely outfitted with a vibro-blade,
knuckle bomber, and railgun.  It probably has a lot more in its arsenal."
     "A vibro-blade?" Patrick said.
     Sylia nodded.
     Patrick sighed, squeezing himself out of Ammamoto's rigidity.  "Then
you'll have to outfit Priss' suit with a vibro-blade as well." 
     Priss looked at Patrick with a questioning look in her eyes. 
     "You heard me, Priss.  We've gotta level the playing field.  If
Kowalski's planning on fighting you in a hardsuit, what chance do you have
outside of yours?"
     Mackie looked at Nene, noticing her silence.  "You OK?"
     "Hmm?  Me?  Oh, yeah."  The truth was she _wasn't_ OK.  Joe's words
came back to her.  He told her (though not in so many words) that in no way
was she to tell Priss that Quincy was an Immortal, because that would
violate the Watcher golden rule.  Priss would have to find out on her own.
As much as Nene wanted to tell Priss, she was already violating several
Watcher rules just by being here and participating in an Immortal battle.
She honestly didn't know if she could do this.
     "Now," Sylia said, "let's plan our offense."
     "First things first," Patrick said.  "I think you should know about
Kowalski and I.  We met first in the 70's, and again in the 90's.  The first
meeting he tried to shoot me, but I stuck a sword in his gut and told him to
go away."
     "And the second meeting?" Linna asked.

BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES - APRIL, 1997

     Wet, cold, and angry.
     Dispite the calm, peaceful, winter which mirrored the mood of the
O'Brien Beacon Hill townhouse since Patrick had defeated his arch-enemy
Kurdt VonHoffer, April had turned wet, cold, and angry.
     A mood that fit Patrick O'Brien perfectly.
     Not only had Roger Clemens left the Red Sox for the apparently greener
pastures of Toronto, not only did both the Bruins and the Celtics absolutely
blow it this year, not only did the Patriots lose the Super Bowl, but
Patrick had to pay a boatload of cash to the IRS this year.  His investments
were up, the dojo turned an actual profit, Rebecca had sold quite a few
paintings, his "ward," Nancy Peters, could no longer be considered a
dependent and a tax deduction, and he was a beneficiary of Ammamoto's
estate.  All things that had conspired against him this April.
     Wet, cold, and angry.
     It was things like this that tempted him to rent a native American
costume, steal a boat, and dump tea, baseballs, basketballs, hockey pucks,
and any other sports equipment he could find into the harbor along with his
accountant and several IRS employees.
     Problem was, _this_ time he'd definitely get arrested. 
     And so he did the only thing he could do.  He walked in the rain to
Post Office Square to mail his rather extensive tax return.  He opened the
door of the local branch and saw the line extending to the door.  Groaning,
he checked his watch.  4:15 on April 15th.  Geeze.  Five minutes passed,
then ten.  The line hadn't moved one bit.  Patrick, having had enough,
stepped out of line and just dropped the damn thing in the mailbox outside.
It had postage, after all.  He had foolishly wanted to insure it got inside
the post office.  
     Ha.  What a joke.  At 4:15, now 4:27, on April 15th.  Right.  If the
post office lost it, then fuck 'em.  He had enough cash stashed away that if
the IRS penalized him he'd just pay the damn fine and be done with it.
Annoying, yes, but better than standing in a ghods damned line in the ghods
damned post office for the next ghods damned hour.  He opened his umbrella
and began walking home.
     Once on Beacon Street, he crossed over to the Boston Common and
listened.  Nope, Bernard wasn't at his usual spot playing his saxophone.
Not surprisingly.  Who in their right mind would walk through the Common on
a crappy day like this, much less sit on a park bench playing a sax?  No,
Bernard was probably in the nearby subway station. 
     He was about to cross back when he felt the presence of the other
Immortal nearby.  It had been nearly eight months since he had taken
VonHoffer's head, and he hadn't faced another Immortal in that time, but he
always kept himself on the alert.  Not only did he have a reputation, and
people loved to test themselves on a reputation, but he vowed that he'd
never take himself out of the Game again.  The last time that happened, his
reentry stressed the relationship he had been in to the breaking point and
beyond.
     He stopped and listened, but all he heard was the late afternoon
traffic and the rain splattering against the umbrella. 
     And then footsteps approaching.
     He turned in the direction of the footsteps and saw the other Immortal
walking towards him  He smirked.  "Kowalski."
     "O'Brien.  Nice to see you again."
     "I wish I could say the same.  You don't look any different from the
last time we met."
     "The last time we met, you embarrassed me."
     "The last time we met, you shot me and tried to take my head, but I
recovered a bit too fast for you and ran you through, but spared you."
     "And then you smugly offered to Teach me.  As if your so much _better_
than me."
     Patrick shrugged.  "If you were as good as me, why did you need a gun?"
     "You... No, I won't become your Student, but I will have your head.
Prepare yourself, Irelander."  He turned and walked off.
     "Terrific."
     Wet, cold, and angry.
     Just like April.

     The next day dried out and warmed up.  Bernard was back in the Common.
Patrick approached his park bench and dropped several dollar bills into the
sax case.
     "Morning, Bernard."
     "Morning, Patrick.  How's life treating you."
     Patrick sat beside him.  "Could be better.  Could be worse."
     "Someone in town?"
     "Yeah.  Stephen Kowalski."
     "Ah."
     "Can you tell me anything about him?"
     "Not much that you don't already know.  He's a punk kid who couldn't
deal with authority."
     "Who was his Teacher?"
     "Marcus Constantine found him.  As for Teaching him, it's the usual
story with these guys.  They don't like being treated like a child, so they
decide they'll do it all on their own.  They leave without even being
trained in sword craft, pack a couple of guns, and blast their way through
the Game until someone anticipates them and takes their head."
     Patrick nodded.  "He tried that on me twenty years ago."
     "I know.  I was there."
     "Oh yeah.  That's right."  Sometimes Patrick forgot that Bernard had
been Watching him for over thirty-five years now.  "Is there anything else
you can give me?"
     "Nope.  Except that he's staying at the Marriott."
     Patrick smiled.  "Thanks.  That's another I owe you."

     He parked his car in the lot under the Marriott and placed his sword
underneath his coat.  As he walked towards the elevator, he felt the
presence of the other Immortal nearby.  The elevator doors opened, and he
and Kowalski were face-to-face.
     Kowalski jumped, startled.
     Patrick grinned, wolfishly.  "Fancy meeting you here."  He punched him
in the stomach.
     Kowalski doubled over.  "God damned sonova bitch!"
     "Well, well," Patrick said.  "What should I do now, hmm?"
     But Kowalski was fast.  He had a knife out from his pocket and thrust
it into Patrick's shoulder.  Patrick yelped in pain and backed away,
gripping the knife.  Kowalski ran out of the elevator and into the garage.
Patrick removed the knife from his shoulder, took his sword out, and
followed.  He was in the main part of the garage when he saw the car coming
at him.  Typical, he thought.  Unfortunately Kowalski was driving too fast,
and Patrick couldn't dodge out of the way in time.  Patrick prepared himself
for the shock.  The car slammed into him, Patrick was swept off of the floor
and into the air.  He came down flat on his back, breaking at least two ribs
and his left arm.  However, he still hung onto his sword in his right hand.
Kowalski came over to him then, his own sword ready.  He raised it to
deliver the blow, but Patrick had his katana up and blocked it.  Slowly,
feeling his arm knitting itself back together, he got to his feet, then
struck Kowalski with a left hook.  Then, gripping him by the hair, he walked
him over to a cement pillar and slammed his head against it, once...
twice... three times... four.  Letting go, he let Kowalski drop onto the
floor in a groaning heap of pain.
     Patrick chuckled.  "A gun, a knife, _and_ a car.  That's three strikes,
Kowalski."
     "Fuck you..." Kowalski groaned.
     "You seem to have run out of ideas, aside from bombs, which you'll
probably be arrested for since my neighbors live rather close and you'd kill
them too.  Anything you can come up with I'm ready for, you stupid little
shit.  But you know what, I’m gonna pitch one more to you.  Get out of
Boston _now_ and change your ways, because the next time I see you, I _will_
take your head."

MEGATOKYO, JAPAN - MAY 2033

     "If things weren't so serious, that'd actually be a funny story," Linna
said.
     "That's just it," Patrick said.  "Never, in my wildest dreams, did I
think that he'd become a GENOM tool.  I thought he’d be long gone by now.
How do they know about us?" 
     Nene looked up, startled.  Fortunately everyone but Priss was looking
at Patrick.  She wanted, _really_ wanted, to tell them all about Quincy.
She held back, feeling sick and dirty about it, but she didn't tell them,
her oath intact.
     For now.
     Priss was staring off in the distance, unhearing.  Something from Li
Chin's Quickening, some vital piece of information, had bubbled to the
surface.  But it was gone before she could grasp it.
     "Priss?"
     "Huh?" she looked at Patrick.
     "What's wrong?"
     "Nothing.  Nothing at all."
     "GENOM has huge amounts of information," Sylia said, "and a vast
intelligence network.  I'm sure that they came across information regarding
Immortals quite easily." 
     "The Watchers?"
     Nene looked about again at Patrick's remark, but once more, no one was
looking at her.
     "Watchers?" Linna said.
     "Yeah, they observe and record our lives.  Kinda like a secret society
of mad biographers."
     Sylia nodded.  "That has to be the reason."
     "Then why are they killing us?" Priss said.
     "Eliminating the opposition," Linna said.
     "Exactly," Sylia said.  "Why have someone oppose you forever?  Get rid
of them now before they become too public.  Segawa was a teacher, and if he
held anti-GENOM sentiments, that would carry over into his lessons.  If he
affected even one child every year, the impact would be astounding over
decades, and we all know that many of GENOM's plans are long-term.  Heismann
was a GENOM scientist, and perhaps she wanted out.  Rillio could bring the
fight back to the United States, and Smythe had been publicly denouncing
GENOM since the Earthquake.  Patrick, you have no love for GENOM, either,
and they obviously know it.  And Priss, you came to Patrick's rescue _and_
are a Knight Saber."
     "It just seems a bit too coincidental." Priss said.
     "Perhaps.  But the other possibility is too horrible to even think about."
     "And what's that?"
     "That Chairman Quincy could be an Immortal."
     Nene couldn't stand it anymore.  She couldn't... she just couldn't...
     But she _had_ to remain loyal.  Observe and record.  Do _not_
interfere.  She _had_ to.  She _mustn’t_ tell them.
     Priss looked up, another moment of clarity coming and going.  After it
passed she said, "You can't be _serious_!"
     "It makes sense," Linna said.
     "I have no solid proof either way," said Sylia, "but we must assume the
worst."
     "If Quincy _is_ an Immortal," Patrick said, "then I'll have to
infiltrate the GENOM tower and take him out."
     "Is that wise?" Linna said.
     "No," Sylia said.  "Not now.  If GENOM was to fall, the entire world
would sink into economic chaos."
     "I'm not talking about taking the entire organization out," Patrick
said.  "I'm talking about beheading one man.  Granted he is the head, but
the Game is on-going.  Don't you think he has some kind of contingency plan?
Quincy may be an evil fuck, but he's no dummy.  I can't imagine that someone
as intelligent as him wouldn't have a vice-chairman ready to take his place
and carry on."
     "The power struggle would go on for far too long."
     "What are you scared of, Sylia?" Patrick said coldly.
     All eyes locked on Patrick and Sylia.
     "Excuse me?"
     "What are you scared of?  Are you afraid to face a world where you'll
be unnecessary?  Or are you upset that you or one of your Knight Sabers
can't kill Quincy?  It is very possible that he’s hundreds, even thousands,
of years old and be the most powerful Immortal on the planet.  And if that's
the case, Priss wouldn't stand a chance against him anytime in the near
future, so I would logically be the only one.  Is that what's upset you?  Or
is it a bit of both?"
     "I asked you here because I thought you could be valuable to this
operation.  Perhaps I was mistaken."  She turned to open the door. 
     "_Sylia_!" Patrick said.
     Startled, she turned back.
     "You talked about Priss being a liability to the Knight Sabers because
of her Immortality.  But the _real_ liability here is _you_.  Do you _want_
GENOM to rule the world forever?  Is _that_ what your father would have wanted?"
     "Of course not..."
     "Then _what_ is the problem?"
     Sylia was silent.
     "I'll tell you what the problem is.  You've got a bad case of 'Batman
syndrome.'  You cry out for revenge for the crimes committed against you,
and I think you deserve it.  But somewhere along the line you've set
yourself up to make yourself obsolete.  If GENOM fell, what would there be
for the Knight Sabers to do?  Priss would probably concentrate on her
singing, or maybe travel the world like other young Immortals.  Linna and
Nene both have their lives as well, and would find enough to keep them busy.
But what about you?  What would _you_ do if the Knight Sabers broke up?"
     Sylia was silent.
     "I'm sorry to have had to say that, but I couldn't keep silent any
more.  Please do us all a favor and think about what I said."
     She nodded, hating Patrick for pointing out her weaknesses, hating
herself more for having them.

(continued…)
(c) 1997 Mabnesswords