http://members.aol.com/deunan/index.htm
______________________________
MegaTokyo 2033
A BubbleGum Crisis Fanfiction: Beneath a Casted Shadow
	by Deunan (Deunan@aol.com)
Note: This takes place after OVA #8
If your wondering about Mackie's apparent maturity,
I left a few hints in the story. 
_______________________________
	
	He ran a hand over the battered yellow exterior of his hardsuit.
It was one of many 'pride and joys'. He had built it himself using all the
parts he could get his hands on.  Three quarters of the systems were 
cannibalized from materials left over from the construction of the hardsuits.
The rest was built from what he salvaged in Raven's scrap yard.  The
others couldn't understand.  They could have speed and agility.  He wanted
raw power in his suit.  It was bigger and bulkier, but he could 
care less.
	It took him awhile to convince Sylia that a 'Utility' hardsuit was 
needed.  He designed it from the outset to work battlefield repairs.  The
retraceable pair of manipulator arms could effect all the most difficult 
repairs under combat conditions.  Grudgingly she accepted though his first 
time out she forced him to stick with Nene.  It wasn't like if he was in 
anymore danger than the rest of the group.  His hardsuit was the most heavily
armored, and the autobazooka could take out most boomers in one shot.
	He pursed his lips looking at the dent and score marks across the 
armor plating.  Quickly he reached for the appropriate tools.  Out of habit 
he reached for his stereo stopping in mid-motion.  Usually, he enjoyed a 
fasted paced, heart pumping, ear drum shattering rhythm when he worked.  The
more bass, the better it was.  Their wasn't any particular reason why.  It 
just seemed right.  Occasionally he'd dive into one of Priss's older songs,
but normally he delved in the hard-core metal.  At the moment, the sound of
the silent garage was what felt 'right'.
	It was rare that the garage was silent.  The sounds of air tools and 
revving engines filled the air as the smell of exhaust and engine oil
permeated the atmosphere.  He figured his change in mood was because of the
date.  Eight years to the day, his father died.  The great doctor Katsuhito 
Stingray, he thought scornfully.  The line of thought startled him, but he
couldn't blame himself.  The older he became, the more he realized how little
he truly knew of his father.  Even Raven-Hakase would avoid telling him 
anything concrete about his father.
	At the funeral he cried his eyes out.  Accepting that his father was
never coming home was the hardest thing that he had ever done.  The following
days pasted by in a daze until the package came.  It was unmarked save that
it  was addressed to his sister.  Their were no clues to its contents.  He
merely gave it her and left her alone to her privacy.  In the other room he
played with his toys or some other childish thing.  He couldn't remember
which.  Then he heard noise.
	The sound was between a muffled gasp and restrained scream.  It was
the most horrible sound he had ever heard.  He remembered the raw fear 
gripping his heart.  His pulse pounding in his ears.  He thought he lost her,
the only family he had left.  She was slumped across floor in front of the 
computer like a puppet with its strings cut.  
	He clenched his fist tightly feeling every ridge of the wrench
press into his hand.  Sylia never told him what was on the data cartridge.  
He found it empty of all data when he tried to boot it up when she wasn't
home one day.  Did it really matter to him what was on the cartridge?  It
still had already done his father's work.  He began working in a frenzy
now replacing the burnt out acuators with fresh ones trying to drive out the 
disturbing thoughts.  "Fuck," he cursed as he leapt out of the way avoiding
the downward swing of the arm.  In his rush he screwed up.  He'd have to 
replace the entire joint.
	How could he be so naive?  Until Sylia had asked for his help in 
constructing the first hardsuit, he had no idea what she was planning or
doing.  She had sacrificed so much to ensure a normal life for him.  All the
pain she went through, the secrets she kept, all the feelings she held
back...
so much of it was so that he would not have to be consumed by the revenge 
that had seized her.  Never once did she let the pain show.  For the life of
him, he couldn't pinpoint the first time he saw it.  The haunted expression
behind her eyes.  The shield of ice forming around her heart.  It happened so
slowly over time.  
	He damned himself.  He could have gone to her talk to her.  He would've
done anything if only to lessen her pain and loss.  She was his only family,
and he was loosing her piece by piece only to have it replaced by a deadman's
cold fury.  Bastard, he lay his head against the cool metal-ceramic armor of
the hardsuit.  He felt moisture begin to gather at his eyes.  His body didn't
register the pain as he rammed his fist into the hardsuit rocking the suit
slightly.
	The repairs could wait.  He gathered his jacket and bike helmet. 
Before leaving, he turned off the lights and activated the security system.
      
***
	
	The rain began to fall halfway to his destination matching his mood
totally.  Impatiently, he gunned the throttle.  The finely tuned motorcycle
roared in the night.  Sometime later he arrived.  He removed his helmet and
pulled his jacket tighter as the cool breeze picked up.  His gaze fell level
with the headstone.  It sat alone in a plot meant for two.  Maybe his mother
had known something he had not.  She was cremated; her ashes were spread in
her garden that was now destroyed in the quake.
	He had visited the grave once every year.  Alone, never once with his
sister.  Sometimes he'd cry or hold the tears back trying to be strong.  This
time was different.  "No more," he whispered towards the spirit.  "I won't 
let you take her away.  I won't allow her to destroy herself because of you."
He removed the object from his jacket.  The dermal headset was preserved 
totally.  He had rescued it from the wreckage of their apartment after the
earthquake.  The data cartridge and the computer were all destroyed or buried
under the rubble.  It was the only object that survived intact.  He merely 
grabbed it as a remembrance of their lost home.    
	In a flash of anger he snapped it in half.  Shards of plastic flew
out slashing his right palm.  He tossed the remains, splashed with droplets
of
blood, onto the grave.  He turned his back to the grave exiting the
graveyard.
He tied a handkerchief over the wound as a makeshift bandage before driving
home.      
***
	Sylia entered the penthouse shaking the droplets of rain off her
coat.  It was completely dark, the way she liked it.  The only illumination
was the dim glow of her personnel computer.  She hung her coat and looked 
across the room.  It surprised her somewhat that Mackie was there.  He was 
standing by the window looking across the massive expanse of city lost in 
thought.  It was a pose she was familar with.
	He turned and looked at her in the eye.  His gaze studied her looking
across the ageless face searching for something she had thought lost long
ago.  He looked down at his wounded hand.  "Sis....," he said softly, "can we

talk?"
			
					END