Here we go again! More fun and mayhem awaits!
* * * * * * * * * *
Before I say anything else, a brief and personal note to those who read
my fanfic:
I apologize for the delay and how long this took to come out. I had
originally intended to write out the entirety of Part 7, rather than
posting it in sections (Part 7a, Part 7b, etc.) However, the huge task
before me was fairly difficult to overcome. I decided, after taking so
long, to just revert to my former method of posting. I also decided to
make the sections smaller; apparantly, several readers have E-mail
accounts that cannot receive 306K files.
Again, my sincere apologies. Thank you for your patience, and continued
support and readership.
Curtiss Nelson
* * * * * * * * * *
Now, on with the 'fic:
Welcome once more to another installment of Night Sabers. When last
we left off, in Part 6, our hero, Mackie, had met with both the Black Hand
and Sabbat in MegaTokyo, acquiring the loyalty of the Black Hand as
well as a number of smuggled weapons. One of these, a prototype Fuel-
Air-Explosive, is detonated at Kamazake Imports, a promise and
message of future violence to the supernatural forces of MegaTokyo.
Mackie's relationship with both Nene and Priss deepens, as Sylia begins
her own interplay with a mysterious E-mail ghost calling himself "Resu".
This "Resu" offers dangerous answers to a confused Sylia. Haunted by
half-remembered dreams, Sylia agrees to a meeting with "Resu".
Meanwhile, Leon McNichol, "Captain ADP", is assigned to investigate
the bombing of Kamazake Imports, an investigation which leads to
Ishikawa's Jack Off, meeting place of the Sabbat. Night falls as Mackie
begins to awaken, steeled to carry out the twelve assassinations
demanded by the Sabbat. At the same time, Sylia prepares to meet
Resu, Nene and Priss begin to work out their inner turmoils, and Linna
conducts her business while oddly disturbed by the memories of her
mysterious father. All the while, dark forces begin to bear on
MegaTokyo, as a mysterious visitor from Seattle arrives...
And before anything gets started, I would like to thank:
The Apprentice
for pre-reading, as well as all the other unnamed individuals who sent in
C+C, or even just requests. Thank you for reading.
Second, some cameo and cultural notes:
-When Leon is joking about what the disaster Daley has mentioned
might be, he suggests "parasitic plant monsters" and "psychic warriors
fighting at Tokyo Tower." These are references to Blue Seed and X,
respectively (Med.)
-(Cultural note) When Nene is pondering her future with Mackie, she
mentions the "old-maid" age of 28-30. In Japanese culture, the primary
duty of a woman is as a housewife. Women are employed as lower paid
assembly worker or as ornamental secretaries called "Office Ladies", no
matter what their degree or education might be. This is gradually
changing, but there is still tremendous pressure for a woman to be
married and having children by the age of 30 at the latest.
-(Cultural note) When Nene mentions Mackie is a good catch because
she will get no "damn mother-in-law" in the deal, this a reference to the
near-tyrannical power the mother of the son held over the new wife.
Though times have changed a great deal, parents in Japan still have the
ability to order a divorce despite the wishes of their children.
-During the dream sequence where Frederick and Goratrix fight, the
spells like Venom, Guns'n'Roses, and Megadeath are all spells from the
anime series Bastard!, themselves the names of popular heavy metal
bands (Med/Hard).
-(Cultural note) When Sylia expresses concern over the tying of her
kimono, there is a reason for that. In traditional Japanese views, one of
the symbols of the beauty of a woman was her kimono and the elegance
of it. Thus, to disinguish between noblewomen and rich prostitutes,
prostitutes were forced to tie their obi in front of the waist, rather than
the small of the back as a proper lady would, much like the prostitutes of
Europe were forced to wear bells. Thus, Sylia shows respectable
concern over how her kimono is tied.
-(Cultural note) When, in the dream, Sylia stands on the glass, she sees
a red string tied around her finger connecting her to the second shade.
In Japanese culture, this is a sign of love.
-(Cultural note) When meeting across a river for the first time, Japanese
hearth wisdom holds that this is a sign of a bad relationship will result.
-(Cultural note) Sakura (cherry blossom) petals are the Japanese symbol
for life. Unlike the West, most Asian cultures hold that life is full of
both pleasure and pain. Mortal life and beauty are fleeting and
ephemereal, like the sakura petal which flowers only for a brief period.
Thus, the sakura is a classic symbol of the samurai.
-(Cultural note-European) Roses are a considered the most noble of
flowers. This follows the European (Western) belief in a divine
heiarchy: God stood over the humans, humans over the natural world.
In each group there was an additional heirarchy: Kings over nobles,
nobles over commoners, etc. Roses were the "kings" of flowers.
-The reference to a "simsense" virtual reality is a reference to the
addictive electronic drug in the RPG Shadowrun, though it is assumed
that in the BGC world, something similiar exists (Med.)
-One of the proposals Ubz-Talk mentions to Frederick Gustovich von
Ruthaven is the "Jenny Iniative 8675-309", which is a reference to the
80's song 8675309 Jenny (Med/Hard).
-When Frederick is talking to Ubz-Talk, a significant chunk of his
dialogue directly mimics that of Darth Vader or the Emperor from the
Star Wars saga (Easy/Med).
-Frederick stops to admire a painting when musing about how all the
other Tremere are searching for the source of his unusual power. This
is an inside Otaku joke, as the painting is "Volundo's Throne", the
source of all magical power in the series Shamanic Princess (Med/Hard)
-When Frederick is pondering the evil of vampiric existence, he
mentions "Sadistic Desire", "Silent Jealousy", "Joker", "X", "Desperate
Angel", "Weekend", "Celebration", and "Endless Rain", all songs from
one of my favorite J-pop groups, X-Japan (Med/Hard)
-The computer system Sylia uses is JLT-CLA. Like all the computer
systems in Night Sabers, this one is also named after a soft drink, in this
case Jolt Cola (Easy).
-The identity that Sylia "borrows" is Mizuky Segawa, from BioBooster
Armor Guyver, the brother of Tetsuro and would-be love interest of Sho
Fukamachi (Med).
-Sylia also "borrows" Mizuky's SIN, or System-Identification-Number,
from Shadowrun (Med/Hard)
-When Leon is in the car talking to Daley, he mentions his odd dreams,
where he is a green alien fighting with vegetables against the freezer,
and one where he is a running from a tigress-demon. These are
references to DBZ and UY, with Piccolo and Ataru, both voice acted by
the same voice actor as Leon McNichol, Furukawa Toshio. (Easy/Med)
-The Genom representatives at the scene of the crime are Reinhart and
Kircheis, who are from Legend of the Galactic Heroes, and Pan who is
from Dragon Ball GT (Med/Hard).
-The two officers from the USSD are Deunan and Briarerous, who are
both from Appleseed, by Masamune Shirow (Easy/Med)
-They also mention their commanding officer, Major Makoto Kusanagi,
who is from Ghost in the Shell, also by Shirow. (Med)
For those who have missed the earlier parts of Night Sabers, you can
either E-mail me at curtiss@seattleu.edu or stop by Jusenkyo Guide's
Fanfic page, which has been gracious enough to post the earlier parts.
Stop by; the address is www.geocities.com/Tokyo/6549 and Night Sabers is
in the BGC section, along with a multitude of other excellent 'fics!
The obligatory cautionary notification of miminal age requirement into
this purview of creative expression called fiction: The material found
herein is of a more mature and serious nature, thus is not suitable for
those most blessed by the innocence and exhuberance of more tender years.
The discourse and open allusions may be inappropriate for people meeting
any of the above criteria. In more simple speech, those under 18 years of
age, or those who could not find at least two grammatical errors in the
above text, should READ NO FURTHER! Thank you for your time.
Hey, I'm not kidding here! It is DARK!
Last, please be aware this is a rough draft, and contains numerous
spelling and grammatical errors. I will correct them later, I promise.
Night Sabers
A BGC/WoD:VTM Crossover/Fusion
Written by Me
"Life is a disease: sexually transmitted and ultimately fatal"
-Unknown
"_Who_ is it really that puts questions to us here? _What_ in us really
wants 'truth'?"
-Friedrich Nietzsche, "Beyond Good & Evil"
"All is revealed in the totality of Time. The only downside is that the
All always seems to be revealed in the last few moments; the ones that
make all the difference."
-Prince Janus of Seattle, Councilor of the Conclave
"Murderer? Well, that's a harsh word. I prefer to think of myself as a
'mortality technician.'"
-Pete DiBiasio, Black Hand Remover
"All creatures are bewildered at birth by the delusion of opposing
dualities that arise from desire and hatred. But when they cease from
evil and act with virtue, they devote themselves to me, firm in their
vows, freed from the delusion of duality. Trusting me, men strive for
freedom from old age and death; they know the infinite spirit, its inner
self and all its action. Men who know me as its inner being, inner
divinity; and inner sacrifice have disciplined their reason; they know me
at the time of death."
-Lord Krishna to Arjuna, "Bhagavad-Gita: The Seventh
Teaching."
"Revenge is the ending of wrath, the beginning of peace. Only in
vengeance can peace exist."
-Assamite proverb
"God kills indiscriminately, and so too shall we."
-Lestat, "Interview with the Vampire"
And now,
Part 7: "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down"
He dreamt.
In the darkness.
Far from the light.
He fell.
Into the blackness.
Falling from the light.
Which grew fainter with each scream of the others.
He knew he was dreaming, of course. He had had this
particular dream several times in his childhood. He could still remember
the first time, when he had flushed his older sister's pet goldfish down
the toilet, because she had briefly been paying more attention to the
fish than himself. She had been his more immediate parental unit,
despite the ephemereal presence of his oft absent father that lingered
about. Having no mother tended to do that to a young child.
The darkness was growing stronger, all about, as the point of
light above slowly began to grow dimmer. When he had been a child,
his greatest goal had been to fly up that light. He had flapped his wings
and arms, desperately trying to swim up to the light. But it was futile.
Yet still he tried.
The second time... or was it the third vision of this dream?
Funny how his genetically engineered and nanotech enhanced intellect
with perfect memory never seemed to work in these dreams. Yes, the
other time.
The silent screams of the others continued, unabated, like the
crash of waves on the shore, felt, not heard.
He had been in a brief stint in a high school when he was
eleven, though his skill and brilliance made him more suitable to study
in a college. It was that critical point, when he was trying to decide
what to do with his life.
What to do.
He had been vacilating between an engineer, like his father, or
a doctor, like his uncle. He had gone to high school to think and
experience life. His sister had approved. Tutors and computer
education could only be taken so far before they became completely
redundant and useless. Even with Gamma-series AI's, there was only so
much. He had been naive. So naive.
They all had.
So it hadn't been too surprising when trouble had arisen. He
had been a fairly isolated youth. He had little understand of the delicate
interplays that existed in societies. Between the elder and younger
generations. The teachers and the students. Boys and girls. The
students. It was the last two that had confused him.
Male and female. Such an odd concept to him. He had not
known. But he had learned. Oh, how he had learned. Just as he had
learned, in pain and anger, that brothers were not always brothers.
Yes, the brotherhoods. The gangs, for lack of a better term,
that permeated the Japanese school system, and many countries across
the world. He had not ever known how important it was to have a social
life. What it was to even have one. His sister and Doctor Raven had
been his world. Thus he did not understand the concept of outsiders
and belonging to a group. Why, when the heirarchy was established,
one never questioned the leader. Why, when he was so much more
intelligent, he was scorned because of his age. He had centuries of
experience compared to most of those hormone-driven _children_.
Though that would come later for him as well.
So much experience, worth so little. As it was with his first,
true contact with a human female.
Hikaru Gosenkugi had been the oldest and thus the leader of
the science club. He had seen Gosenkugi for what he was from the
start: not as smart as himself, with an overactive imagination and
underactive courage. He had endured him for three days before he had
cut him down.
Had it been pride, as the "Lord" of his group had accused, that
had brought him to this fate?
And then Gosenkugi had struck. Hurt him. Humiliated him. In
front of everyone. It was tough enough being a eleven year old in a
group of elder teenagers. Harder still being a scrawny weakling, with a
famous father who was to many, infamous.
Hatred blossomed within his heart, twisting, the last strains of
the song of peace and harmony shattering in the screech of raging
emotions.
Indeed. He had returned home, the laughter of his classmates
still ringing in his ears. Harrying him, like hounds yapping at his heels,
like the cries of a baby demanding to be fed, like the memory of once
having bought a Chia Pet, he had felt their lashes of scorn on his fragile
ego and tender heart. And thus it had come.
It was not *his* fault. It has *their* fault. All their fault. But
even now, he knew this was a lie.
He had not returned to school, staying up all night so as to
make them pay. Especially that Hikaru Gosenkugi. He had to make him
pay, even more than the others. Suffer. Like he had. So he had turned
to his true friends. His computers and machines.
What had happened to his "true" friends?
It is said that with computers can move mountains and burn
the skies. Not true, of course, but they can help you acquire the money
to buy a nuclear demolition charge, blow *up* the mountain, and then
have construction company of boomers move the pieces somewhere
else. Or highjack an orbital sattelite weapons platform, and play with
people and cities like a sadistic child playing with a magnifying glass
and ants.
Oh, yes, what?
He had had this same dream the night before, gripping him like
an anaconda. A terrible feeling had come, deep rising from within,
almost like he knew the armageddon of his conscience and sin had
come. It was a rebirth of his evil with the fish, only worse, an alien
resurrection within himself. Like a twister buffeting his conscience, a
volcano of anger seething. Godzilla rampaging within the boundaries of
his soul.
Nothing.
Nothing could have prepared him for what had happened the
next morning. The guilt that had slammed into him, suffocating him. He
had run, straight to the computer, desperately trying to fix what he had
done. But the javelin, once cast, could not be called back.
Emptiness.
Emptiness is what he had felt when he had seen Gosenkugi
last. A queasy upset in his stomach that none of Genom's Happy
Tummy (tm) pills could ever cure. Hikaru had changed. He now had
bags forever under his eyes, which his parents had also developed.
The once proud leader of the science club had transfered to a new
school, now lacking his former courage, and having gained a tendency
to flinch whenever anyone approached him. He had even taken up
occult studies, of all things.
He had done this.
His sister had never truly learned what had happened. She
was always busy trying to keep the household together, pay the bills,
manage the money, and take care of him. But she had taken the time to
hold him as he cried his eyes out, holding him as he shook and trembled
with grief.
Now he had no one.
(But why this dream now?) he wondered, falling back. And
suddenly, the dream WAS.
The light was almost gone, now more a memory than
something he could see. Or feel. Or hear. Only the cries of the others
falling reached him.
It was coming. The impact. He knew it. And suddenly, he
wanted to go back. To the warmth. To friendship. To brotherhood. To
love.
He struck the banal end of the fall, and he screamed, and
screamed, and screamed, and screamed, as his arms and legs shattered
to the point that to the point only memory could call them arms or legs.
He slammed into the bottom, with a finality that shattered his precious
sign of favor, rending his mighty pinions from the scapula and back.
He lay there, alone. No longer could he hear or feel his
brothers. Even those that had made the journey with him.
He needed to be whole! Perfect! Once again!
He healed himself reforming his broken body, but felt fear as if
for the first time in his existence. He could not remember. He could not
remember as he had once been. The memory was phantoms. He had no
light to see! To see in the mirror of reality what he was!
But he did heal, and knew new pain as his form rippled,
changed, adopting new guise.
It was then he knew the immensity of what he had done. It
pressed on him as he knew horror beyond horror. Terror eternal.
He did not scream. Just lay there in his horror and regret that
twisted him until-
* * * * * * * *
Mackie awoke.
He lay, not moving, his eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling.
He was drained, though if he had been a living creature, he
would be gasping for breath. As it was, he just lay there.
(Wow), Mackie thought. (I haven't had _that_ dream in quite a
while. Not since; no, not since-)
Since the night of his Embrace. Even now, fingers of memories
played a song of fear and violation up and down his spine as the song
of pain summoned by that event sent shivers through him. Yes, during
his Embrace, he had relived that dream.
Gradually, Mackie became aware of a not entirely unpleasant
warmth present by his side, with generated a rythmic pulsation. With
each pulse, a sound reached his ears. Breathing.
Mackie's focus snapped into being as his arm flashed out of
the covers, grabbing the sword by his bedside, the plastic and wire grip
that had been attached to the ancient weapon feeling reassuring. His
other hand grabbed for the scabbard as he prepared to draw and strike-
-the red-haired woman, laying beside him. Her body was
curled slightly about his frame, her clothes rumpled and her hair
frumpled. The slight pout of her lips and the cute outfit she wore made
her look adorable. Mackie flushed slightly with desire. Especially since
his vantage point gave him an excellent view of the cleavage. True,
Nene wasn't very large breasted, but the brassiere she was wearing was
doing an admirable job of making up for Nature's deficiencies; nay,
improving on Nature's bounty! It was-
Mackie stopped as something obscured his vision, and he felt
a brief surge of annoyance before he realize that it was the descending
sword, which he had drawn. (Whoops!) he thought as he pulled it back,
blushing a little more furiously. He had almost hurt Nene!
With a practiced motion, Mackie sheathed his sword, the effort
only slightly spoiled by the look backwards to ensure the sword
received properly. Edging it down to the side of the bed, he turned back
to Nene, fighting back a memory that was not his, of leaning his rapier
on the bedpost of his ornate room in his castle in Madrid, the poniard
under his pillow. The Link was back.
He hated it at times, that others were looking through his eyes
occasionally. The voyeuristic vampires that shared the Link. He was
well aware that a number of them were exactly that; voyeurs who used
the Link to feel young again. Or safely journey beyond their stale
existences, through the proxy of another.
But then he reminded himself he would never know this, as he
looked down at the sleeping mortal, the rise and fall of her chest. His
supernaturally keen senses could hear with brilliant clarity every
whisper along her throat, each gasp and inhalation. He leaned forward
to sniff her, to smell Nene, that mixed scent of sweat, perfume, and
whatever it was that made her uniquely Nene. A deeper inhalation on
his part once more sent his mind spinning backwards in time. The
sounds, the smells brought his memory back to that night. The warmth.
The clumsiness and giggles of two young lovers exploring themselves.
He relived that moment in his perfect mind, meticulously
created by the stringent efforts of his father. Though he hated his
father as much as he loved him, this one gift, both blessing and curse,
was one that redeemed him. Mackie stayed looking at her for a long
moment.
Finally, he reached forward one finger to brush her cheek ever
lightly, and started when she frowned and withdrew from the contact.
Even though he knew it was silly, he felt hurt that she would withdraw
from him. He hestitantly stroked the side of face, only to see her again
withdraw, the warm skin pulling away. Why....
Of course! His flesh was the temperature of a corpse, like
stone, that carried the heat of the surrounding area. And his ritual for
assuming mortal activities ceased with the sunrise or sunset of each
day. That made it clear.
Mackie leaned back as he closed his eyes briefly, bringing his
hands together in a mundra gesture as, in the back of his throat, he
murmurred the arcane words of power. The power began to build.
It was odd. Though he had used the myth of the vampire
prodigy to hide the power the Blood-Shadow Link provided him, he did
in fact find it easy to learn certain disciplines. Perhaps it was a side
effect of his potent generation. Perhaps it was an effect of his father's
enhancements on his children. But his skill was in fact considerable.
Especially in the Thaumaturgy he now practiced. Maybe it was from
being the son of a mage.
At last the energies built, and with a release like a slight
orgasm, he siezed up, then relaxed. His heart now beat, his temperature
was now human, he breathed air. He was human. At least, in
appearance and feel now.
Again he reached out to touch her, hand cusping the side of
her face. She smiled slightly in her sleep, turning her face towards his,
and her body lurched forward. Several strands of hair moved into her
mouth and she chewed on them as she moaned, gradually coming to
wakefulness. He looked forward to that. They would talk, go out
tonight-
Tonight! Shit! How could he be so stupid! Fuck! Mackie's
eyes widened as he berated himself hotly. Tonight was the big
operation. He had to meet Rene and Thomas, and do the job. He didn't
have time to play with some mortal tart. He had to-
Wait a minute! Mortal tart? This was Nene, his beloved.
What the hell was he doing thinking of her like that? But it was true.
He couldn't just run off and have fun with her tonight.
He looked down again at the young woman beside him,
brushing some wayward strands from her face. She seemed to be a
rather deep sleeper. His fingers, with a featherlight touch, touched her
hair, down to her neck. She swallowed slightly, her throat convulsing,
and his eyes traced the motion, down to her neck. Down to the sound
of the softly churning life fluid pumping through the organic tubes.
Hearing every heartbeat, every breath. The smell of the skin. The heat
of the flesh. The pressure began to mount in Mackie's jaw as he leaned
forward...
(Stop it, you fool!) screamed the voice of one of his mentors,
the phantom sound reverberating in his mind, and Mackie startled.
Man, he was loosing it. To even _think_ of feeding on Nene
or any of his friends...
(What is it?) he thought to himself, clutching his head. (Why
does the thought of feeding on Nene or any my friends leaving such
an... ache and pain in my mind?) There was something, something
important that he couldn't quite reach. Something beyond his memory.
In his memory? He did not know.
At that time, he felt a more pronounced shifting beside him, as
Nene stretched and her eyelids began to move. Reacting quickly,
Mackie brought his face close to hers.
Nene's eyes blinked twice as she yawned slightly, and Mackie
felt himself fall in love with her all over again. None-the-less, he steeled
himself to do what needed to be done.
Nene focussed her eyes after awakening, feeling the heaviness
of all who oversleep. As her eyes blinked and her eyelashes whipped
away the last vestiages of sleep, she yawned before a face drifted into
view. She almost pulled back, before she realized who it was, and
drifted in closer, for a quick kiss that turned longer than expected.
Mackie felt Nene's soft lips carress his lightly, then with
greater vigor as the meaty probiscus of her tongue began to barge
insistently at the gates of his teeth. Her body began to move closer to
him, as both of her arms seemed to gain sudden strength as they looped
around his neck, squeezing like a boa constrictor. For an instant, he lost
himself in the sensations.
Regretfully, he pulled himself away, despite Nene's little pout
of protest. As he looked in her eyes, he could see a mischeivous little
twinkle, and the smoky sparks of desire flaring.
So it was with even greater desire that Mackie stared her right
in the eyes, and Dominated her with wavering resolve, commanding,
"Go back to sleep, Nene." He darted forward to give her a quick kiss on
the mouth, then her forehead.
With a sigh and wiggle, Nene's arms became slack, her body
relaxing as she once more dug at the covers and pillows. Mackie gently
dissengaged her arms and laid her down more comfortably, his hands
roamed briefly, finding everything as he remembered. With a slightly
hentai grin, he quit his actions, and pulled the covers up to her neck.
With one last carress, he turned away, only pausing to grab a single
strand of Nene's hair, laying on the pillow. With a brief twirl in his
fingers, and a sniff, Mackie stuffed it in the pocket of the pants he
intended to wear tonight.
Setting his mind to task at hand, Mackie allowed himself to
relive the mental katas designed by Lord Marcus, which allowed a
follower of the Path of Power and the Inner Voice to set themselves to
accomplishing their goals. The mind mantras ran over and over again,
until finally, he reached the hardness he desired. The expunging of
personal feelings as a controlling factor, leaving them only as
background motivation. The hardening of logic, balanced with
intuition. The mastery of self and others. To truly be a vampire. To be
the ultimate predator.
His mental journey complete, Mackie looked down at the large
duffel bag he had. Large enough to hold his sword, and the other items
he would need. He checked to make sure he had everything, before
turning to the clothes he had selected. He was wearing NuTek
spidersilk underarmor, and some nice clothes; a button-up white shirt
with a minimal of frills, a pair of black slacks that hid the paper-thin knife
strapped to the back of his calve, and his SWAT Trainer II shoes by
Nike. The usual garrote wire, leather jacket, gloves, and pistol
completed his ensamble.
Mackie turned to see how he looked, only to see the other side
of his room. Mentally chastising himself for his momentary lapse of
focus, Mackie turned away from the mirror. Looking over at the woman
on the bed in the mirror, Mackie went to his dresser, removed some
stationary, and wrote out a quick note to her.
Finishing, he checked the time on his watch. Nearly 1900
hours. The sun should be well down. He headed for the elevator down
to the storefront.
* * * * * * * *
Sylia sat, quietly sipping a cup of coffee. She truly preferred
tea, but the caffenine in tea also brought on a lethargy that would be
inadvisable for this evening. Even so, she wished she could think more
clearly. Recently, she had felt a... shifting in her emotions. It was
almost as if her body and feelings were at war. It was no where near her
cycle, so it had to be something else. Perhaps that unusual bio-field
rhythm she had noticed in both Nene and herself. And, she suspected,
Linna and Priss.
(Or it could just be stress), she thought wryly to herself. Her
brother was her only remaining family. Thus, she had a more than a
protective relation with him. She knew it was silly, but having served as
a mother figure to him for so long, she still found herself worrying about
him. He was a man, but still a boy. At least, she had thought so...
He had changed. Changed in ways she would never had
wanted. He had become harder. Crueler. Harsher. More analytical.
More inhuman.
More like herself.
Which was more than enough cause to worry. Not much could
make her worry, but this was one of those things. It made her hands
sweat, and her heart flutter. She knew full well what she was capable of.
Because she knew what she could and had done. The evil and the
good. And if another like her, engineered by her father to be "superior",
developed the callous disregard for human beings her father's
"enhancements" tended to bring about, she would have to... no, best
not to think of that. At least, not yet.
(You will have to kill him), IT said to her.
Sylia ignored the delusion, as she usually did. No, she would
not kill him. If she could get a real chance to talk to him, sway him, she
would be able to bring him back to common sense.
Thus she lay in wait, the huntress having set her snare.
Having Nene stay over was a stroke of good fortune and slight
manipulation. Of all the things that had changed, Nene still seemed to
be on the top of his priorities. She had been rather surprised that
Mackie had stayed asleep all day. Especially given how insistent and
persuasive Nene could be at times. She knew that nothing had
happened between them, beyond rest. Mackie was not the only member
of the family with a voyeuristic bent. Indeed, she knew it was even
more important to monitor the progress and behavior of her subject.
She had a reasonable approximation of a expected behavior, her control.
But the experimental determinent had not matched a hypothesis of
continued attitude and progressive maturity. To be sure, physical and
emotional trauma could have profound variance on the mental process,
but not to the level demostrated. Perhaps the subject, Mackie, had
experienced a bad rehabilitation? That would provide for an
environmental explanation, with a Pavlovian negative reinforcement for
trust and emotion creating the retardation, but still; the test subject
profile more accurately reflected signs of deliberate destruction of
conscience, alienation from humanity, and sadistic tendencies. Subjects
exposure to extreme forms of hentai material might explain the latter, but
not the former two. On top of which-
Sylia slammed the brakes on her wayward thoughts, drawing
herself to the here and now. She had discovered early on that she could
never allow the intellect to rule. If so, it inevitably drew conclusions on
morality and conscience that violated the basic tenets of human society.
It tended to _quantify_, rather than _qualify_. Thus, the most heinous
of actions seemed perfectly acceptable. She had discovered that when
she had acted on her mental calculations, and had- no, don't think about
that. She had to concentrate on the matter at hand.
Mackie. Mackie. Mackie. What was she to do about her
brother? Once more, Sylia went over her plan. What words to use.
What key points to address. She had to make this perfect. Given the
way he was, he would try to run away, or blow it off. (She could not
allow that), Sylia vowed.
Down the hallway, she heard a door open, then close softly.
Not Nene. Nene would be trying to wake Mackie, perhaps even engage
in some "personal" discussion before she went to work. That left only
one option, of course. It was Mackie, the only one who would use
stealth to exit the room.
He crept out of the room, apparantly trying to avoid her as well
as Nene. He was deliberately sneaking about. She put down her cup to
the saucer, the sound clacking in the silence. Mackie, just entering the
living room, froze like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming
car. There was a sudden glimpse of shock in his eyes, and for the
briefest of instances, Sylia could have sworn she saw them as being
entirely _grey_. But in that instant, a coldness entered his eyes, as he
smoothly rose to his full height, which gave advantage to him. He was
dressed in clothes that looked like a mismatch of survival gear and
social wear. If anything, his clothes looked like Urban Casual (TM). He
had a black sports duffel slung over one shoulder. All these things
added to his presence. He loomed at her from all the way across the
room, intimidating her with a familiarity that was almost frigthening in
how casual it was. For Mackie, it was almost like a jacket he was used
to wearing. None-the-less, his voice was warm, almost cheerful. Sylia
could hear the coldness behind his voice.
"Hey older sister. Good evening", Mackie addressed her.
Sylia looked at him for a long few seconds, hoping to
intimidate her oft-embarressed younger brother into blurting something
out. But Mackie played it cool, frosty in his eyes, behind the warm
smile.
Sylia straightened herself in her seat, pushing her cup forward.
"Mackie, we need to talk."
"Sure, sis. I just gotta go talk to some people first." His eyes
would not meet hers, even as his head bowed a little.
(Ah!) Sylia commented to herself, noticing the little cues her
brother was sending. He was not quite as adept at hiding things as he
pretended. She had more skill than him. Still, it annoyed her that he was
trying to avoid the issue.
"Please, Mackie. You just returned to MegaTokyo. I just want
to sit and talk."
(And dig my secrets out), Mackie's hurt eyes told her, and
Sylia knew that her ruse had failed. Wrong tactic, bad situation. Time
to switch tracks and regroup. Mackie said, "Sorry, but I do have things
to do."
"Like what?" the motherly aspect of her nature blurted out.
(Control, control! Remember your self-control!) she admonished
herself. He was just making her angry, being so evasive.
"Like my own affairs. Things I promised to do for some friends
of mine", Mackie answered her. How dare he take that tone with her!
She would be blunt. "Mackie, you've changed. I want to know
what happened. I want to help you. Can you start with telling me what
really happened in Sweden?"
"Not now Sis, not now", Mackie brushed her off, his tone of
voice almost cheerful.
Sylia knew red brushed lightly across her cheeks at that. How
dare he be such an insolent little prick? Here she was, trying to help
him- Sylia cut that thought off savagely. She had to remain in control.
"Mackie, ni-san", she slowly stood, "I am your sister. I love
you." She measured her words along with her pace, as she advanced
towards him. "I will love you no matter what you have done." She
stood before him. "I am no saint. Neither are you, now. But that does
not mean..."
Her voice trailed off as she saw the look in his eyes; openly
shocked, yet beneath it was a lurking, smug, contempt. Like he was
amused with her, but she was beneath his consideration.
"Sorry, _sis_. I appreciate this heart to heart, but I really don't
have time. You see, I-" His lips almost twitched in a smile.
That was IT! She had enough of his evasions, of his lies! She
was eldest in this household! She had raised him! Cared for him! He
OWED her that much at least! And he sat their- just! THE NERVE!
SHE WOULD!!!
Unknown to Sylia, her face was turning into an unhealthy
shade of red. The muscle across her body were flaring to life, and an
ugly flood of emotions was igniting across her brain. All this Mackie
saw as well, and a smirk nearly erupted.
But there was something else, something most significant that
Mackie had missed. Not that he could sense it normally. Only if he
called on a certain power of the Blood-Shadow Link, a power that he
was completely unaware of, would he become aware of the changes in
his sister. For inside Sylia, something was coming to life.
Sylia glared at Mackie, in part analyzing him, and in part willing
that he just _tell_ her. Already, she could feel her blood pounding in
her ears, a sign she was truly focussed. Like when she worked on the
hardsuits, to upgrade them.
Mackie should not be so resistant.
He should tell her the truth.
He *would* tell her the truth.
Reaching out, she grabbed a part of Mackie's essence in a way
she did not fully understand.
She would MAKE HIM!
"You will tell me the truth!" Sylia hissed out harshly, eyes
blazing. She reached, and.... "twisted", for lack of a better word.
- - - - - - - -
Mackie languidly watched his sister harrange and fought to
avoid laughing in her face. Stupid mortal arrogance. He-
Then he felt a tingling grab his head, and a slight ringing in his
ears.
(Oh, well), Mackie shrugged it off. He was-
"I am a vampire, descended from Caine, the Third Mortal and
First Murderer. In November of 2034, I became undead-"
Mackie went beyond cold. If someone had dipped him in
liquid nitrogen, it would only warm him up. There was no way he was
saying this, NO FUCKING WAY!
"-and a member of the clan of Shadows. I am a member of the
Sabbat-"
Oh shut up, why wouldn't his lips stop moving and couldn't he shut
up! Mackie knew his eyes were open wide in shock. Still, he could not
stop the torrent of words.
"-and of the dread Black Hand, which I have served as an
assassin and commander-"
This couldn't be happening, it couldn't!
"-even in this city. I am not human any more. I am a killer."
Mackie felt frozen in place, his entire face slack, as he saw the
fury in the face of his sister slowly dwindle down into a pensive and
thoughtful frown. Mackie felt and heard his heart beat like the drum of
the executioner's pace, like in Paris, in the terror of Rospierre, in the-
His mind froze as his sister's eyes narrowed on him. He felt a sudden
urge, to speak, to lie, to quiet her, to Dominate her into forgetting, but
something held his tongue in his mouth. Sylia's mouth tightened.
*SLAP*
Mackie's head spun to the side, his ears ringing, and his hand
went to his reddening cheek. He suddenly became aware of the hot
breath, warm flecks of spittle tasting of coffee, and scorching words
being thrown at him.
"-one minute think this is funny, you have another thing
coming Mackie Stingray. We will talk about this later, do you hear me?
Now GET OUT OF HERE!!!" Sylia did a fair impression of a banshee,
tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and from the set in her mouth,
Mackie knew she wasn't kidding.
Hand to face, shocked to his core, Mackie managed to stumble
away, the strap on the duffel bag slipping from his shoulder. The bag
struck the furniture as he moved about, the metal 'twanging' revealing
the sword inside, but he did not care. Nothing mattered, except for
escaping those eyes that were burning holes in his back. It took him
three attempts with the doorknob to open the way into the hall.
Once through, Mackie slammed his back into the wall, ignoring
the sudden glowing of his skin as the members of the Link began to
clamour for attention, asking question after question about what had
just occurred. Mackie just stood there, his entire body trembling. He
could feel the microscopic pinpoints of blood sweat beading on his
face.
How could it have happened. How could he have spoke so...
_openly_?
(Always keep in motion, and in awareness), the words of Lord
Marcus and Lord Alexandre spoke to him, from one of those of the Link,
trying to get his attention.
(Yes), Mackie gulped down air, (yes, motion, awareness). This
was just a minor setback. There was nothing he could do about the
past. He had to stay in motion. He had to stay collected. Next in line
was the meeting with the Black Hand. He had to stay focussed. Yes, in
focus. Deal with one thing at a time, keeping all other problems within
his awareness.
Mackie blinked once, taking a deep breath. When he opened
his eyes, he was calm. In control. His face a mask, whichever features
he chose to wear. Despite what he might feel beneath. Never let them
see any weakness. Never be weak yourself.
Yet as he headed down the elevator, out on the streets, he kept
running the situation over and over in his head. How had she done it?
Had he done it? Had someone else forced him to blurt out those things.
No, it must have been his sister. And that was frightening in and of
itself.
For there was only one type of supernatural being who could
force him to tell the truth. Well, not actually force him.
She would have bent reality for him to tell the truth.
And that meant his sister, Sylia Stingray, could wield True
Magick.
Sylia Stingray was a Mage.
His world rapidly falling apart, Mackie hurried into the night,
until he was swallowed by shadows.
* * * * * * * *
"Mmmhhh?" came the sound of a young woman awakening.
For Nene, it was as though someone had suddenly flipped on a
light switch. Rather than gradual awareness, Nene found herself awake,
as though every nerve crawling through the myriad pathways and
portions of her body had decided to shake hands, and agree to be at
work on time today. Nene was suddenly aware that her skin was a little
damp, making the clothes she was wearing feel uncomfortable. At first,
Nene thought the air-conditioning in her apartment had gone bad again,
then she realized that the covers currently enswirling her were in fact
causing the rise in her body temperature. She could feel and hear the
silent hissing of the air vents blowing around her.
So Nene blinked and yawned, opening her eyes to look about
her. She was in an only slightly familiar room; Mackie's room. Looking
about in sudden concern, she discovered the owner of the room was
not present, either. Breathing a sigh that was partly of relief, and partly
of regret, Nene sat up in the bed, and took stock of her situation. It was
well into lack of daylight, judging from her watch. In addition, it was
almost time for her to go to work. She had the 2nd late shift tonight,
from 1800 to 0200 hours. The worst shift, as it was, because it always
seemed that the boomers and humans decided to become wild after the
light in the sky became entirely artificial. Nene knew she could look
forward to getting sweaty and short-tempered with a dozen other ADP
controllers, listening to the screams and pleas for backup or medical
support, which there simply was not enough of. The new support for
the ADP had brought some bright people on board, as well as some new
equipment. But it was never enough.
(The trials of a public servant never end), Nene thought to
herself, as she sat up, and then swung her legs over the bedside,
standing. With a stretch, she was once again acquainted with what she
was wearing, and looked down with a flush. Had she really been so
forward? Hmmm.... Nene did a quick check of her apparel. Nothing
seemed to be out of place. Mackie didn't even try anything. The
thought both disappointed and pleased her.
A quick look around told her that Mackie was probably gone.
None of his stuff was evident. (Why did he have a sword anyway?) she
wondered. Was he on some martial artist kick? The thought of Mackie
doing martial arts almost made her break out laughing. The laughter
choked off as Nene remembered how Mackie had changed. _Now_ he
had the physique to actually perform martial arts. She gave a sigh of a
different sort, before she looked down at herself. With a shake of her
head, Nene headed to the showers in the Stingray home, stopping as she
noticed what seemed to be a letter on the dresser.
With a little trepidition, and eagerness, Nene unfolded the letter
that had her name written on it, in Mackie's handwriting. Fearfully
looking at the writing within, Nene read.
Nene,
I am sorry I do not say this in person, as there is something I
must do tonight. Still, I must ask you: will you go out with me
tomorrow night? I have made reservations at any number of
locations. And though I go, know that you rest forever within my
mind and heart.
I love you,
Mackie
With a smile wide enough to light the room, Nene grinned her
pleasure at the empty room, clutching the paper to her chest, before she
carefully folded it and set it aside for when she finished her shower.
Nene allowed herself a few minutes to fantasize what she might do with
Mackie tomorrow, and what she might do to him when they got back.
Giggling, Nene turned and left the room to the halls of the building.
She had been here frequently. So much that the building
seemed like her second home. Ever since Mackie had had his accident
in Europe, she had come here. Waiting for a call from Mackie or any
kind of news. In the process, she had become really close to Sylia. If
someone had asked her if, as little as a year ago, that she felt that Sylia
was like a sister to her, she would have thought the speaker crazy. But
now... yes, she was like a sister. They had been through a lot, together.
Which was how that she knew that Sylia was in a mood. Sylia
tended to present an image of an ice queen. That was primarily because
of the difficulties she faced in the still male-dominated business world,
especially hard in her native Japan. Sylia had developed as a defense.
After all, Nene didn't mind being thought of as extremely cute. It got her
a lot of free stuff, and attention. More importantly, it was fun to pull off
the little deceptions and trickery. So many guys thought she was cute
and sexy, and only a few realized how intelligent she was. Nene knew
that Sylia had a more difficult time. People expected Sylia to be smart,
being the daughter of Dr. Stingray, and her imposing beauty either
unnerved insecure men, or had overconfident and sexist males tending
to stare in the vicinity of her legs or chest, rather than listen to her
words or ideas. Thus, rather than being the calm and sweet young
woman Nene knew dwelled beneath the ice, the outside world saw the
cold and impersonal Sylia most knew. Only around the other Knight
Sabers and Dr. Raven did Sylia show some more of her true personality.
And only around Mackie, and now Nene, did her true self emerge. But
never did Nene feel Sylia really loosen up. It was almost as if Sylia
feared letting go of her self-control. If she had to guess, Nene would
finger some childhood trauma, maybe the death of her father. She could
never get Sylia or Mackie to mention their mother. Indeed, Nene could
not find any records of the woman who had born both Sylia and
Mackie. As soon as it was mentioned in their presence, that logical
mindset descended. Both of the Stingray siblings had it, to a certain
extent. It was inhuman, in a way. Probably because of their father.
But it was this familiarity with Sylia that allowed Nene to sense,
like a fieldmouse can smell the rain, that Sylia was silently raging. Some
people might throw things around. Others reacted vengefully. Sylia
was of the other type, that quietly stewed while attempting to keep an
impassive mask. Normally, Nene would go right over and confront her,
wear her down with cuteness or small talk, then get her to talk about it.
Sylia kept too much surpressed emotion locked up inside her heart. Too
much emotion just fed the vicious cycle. Nene knew that, from personal
experience. That is why she had run away from home.
So Nene carefully skirted Sylia as Nene removed her skirt and
blouse. She gathered her clothes as she continued, stepping into the
large walk-in bathroom shower, feeling a little built-up tension release
when she realized with certainty that only herself and Sylia were
present. She stepped into the shower as she lathered up and rinsed
quickly. Too long a shower, or too hot, and her skin would suffer. On
top of which, she didn't have much time.
Toweling off, and wrapping both her hair and body, Nene
headed to the guest room that had in many respects become "her"
room. Padding over in the slippers she had brought from her apartment,
Nene entered the guest room, and began to prepare herself for work. In
under twenty minutes, Nene had her hair combed, her uniform set, and
her purse in order, with the letter placed carefully within.
Sylia should be calmed down by now. Unlike many hot-
tempered people, Sylia took a considerable to burn off her anger. And
for her, it never truly went away. She just submerged a tiny fragment of
that anger into the collective hatred that pitted her soul. But she should
be reasonably approachable by now. Not much danger-
Nene shook her head. When did she become so calculating?
Sure, she knew when to approach Sylia and talk, but- Why now, like
this?
Clutching her head, feeling her body more acutely as she
breathed deeply, Nene wondered if she had caught some kind of bug.
Recently, yes recently, she had been feeling quite... odd. Her emotions
were more languid, less quick and not as flighty. And she had become
more calm and level-headed at times, but then in a short while, she was
trying to get with Mackie possessed of a hunger that could only be
sated one way.
No, that wasn't important right now! She had to get to work
and talk to Sylia. First things first.
Hesitantly, she entered the living room, only to find Sylia
sitting primly on a cushion on the couch, talking in her "business"
voice to someone on the phone. With a nod of her head, Sylia
acknowledged Nene and gave a slight smile of greeting.
Damn. Sylia was doing business. No chance for a talk right
now. Nene would just have to wait until later. When Sylia was like this,
there was little that could derail her.
Nene smiled in turn, waved, and then mouthed out 'I gotta get
to work; see you tomorrow or later tonight!'.
Sylia nodded as she listened to the person on the phone,
"Reasonable prices are what I expect. Can you do what I asked of
you?" At the same time, Sylia scribbled out a note in her elegant
caligraphy.
-Nene, I will be out at a meeting tonight. Mackie left earlier. I
think both he and I would appreciate it if you stayed over
tonight, so we could talk tomorrow?-
Nene flushed as she read the note, then quickly scribbled a
message of her own, before turning to leave.
-Listening in, naughty Sylia?-
Sylia's face assumed the controlled mask of her ice queen
persona, but even that could not disguise the brilliant flush of red
across her cheeks, nor the fact she lowered her eyes, which gave Nene
all the answer she needed.
Sylia and Mackie were alike in more than just intellect and
blood.
"Bye-bye, ecchi onne-san!" Nene called over her shoulder with
a sound somewhere between a giggle and a laugh, skipping a little as
she headed for the elevator.
* * * * * * * *
ADP Headquarters, recently rennovated due to a Boomer
attack by the terrorist Miriam Yoshida and then the boomers in the Boomer
Revelation, was, as usual, looking like the insect-hive that had been
kicked. Not more than five minutes passed before a car screamed out of
the ADP Vehicle Garage, or a helicopter rose from the expanded helicopter
pads. It was a place of lights and motion, with noise and people passing
all about.
Nene would be impressed if she was one of the tour groups
even now entering the building. She was a little late, but that happened
every now and then. Despite the busy traffic of personnel, Nene's
experienced eye determined that tonight was only a little more busy
than usual. Absently saluting the door guard as she smiled brightly at
her, Nene passed through the bustling main enterance, and rode a
packed elevator all the way to the Operator's section in the
Communication floor.
Waving her way toward her terminal, she gave a sunny smile
to Naoko and Wilma, then sat down. Before her posterior even touched
the chair, her supervisor, Yuki, loomed before her.
"It is about time you showed up, Ms. Romanova. Here is your
case load. You will be working with Detective MacLeod tonight, when
not open for other calls." With a frown, Yuki slapped a folder down on
Nene's station, then spun and stormed off, somewhat comical as Yuki
was not much taller than Nene herself.
Nene's brow knitted in puzzlement. Yuki was usually one of
the most cheerful people in the office, always trying hard to be nice and
get everyone to work together. Yet just then, she had been almost...
hostile. Why in the world would she be hostile?
Hesitantly looking about, Nene noticed that most of her fellow
workers were carefully avoiding her eyes, yet when they did look at her,
almost pure venom filled their gazes. Her spirit faltering, Nene took one
last look about, hurt at how she was being shunned, then lowered her
eyes to her folder.
Hmmm... first file was MacLeod's search into the theft of
boomer parts. About what she had been expecting. MacLeod was a
loner by nature, so Nene did not expect much trouble from him. She had
helped him twice in earlier investigations, and the lacodonic man had
always given her proper credit, and not been two demanding.
The second was a vehicle theft of- wait, that couldn't be right!
Who in their right mind would want to steal three Gulf and Bradley
hydro-carbon fuel trucks?
Putting that aside in her mind, Nene looked at the last file, and
like a last minute saving move in a game of Tetris, everything fell into
place. The answer as to why everyone was being so mean to her. The
third file was a request for her assistance in the investigation of the
Kamazake Bombing, under Inspector McNichol's Special Investigations
Unit.
Nene knew, with little doubt, that most of the single,
unattached women in the Controller's office harbored the secret fantasy
of marrying the richest, most famous catch in the immediate vicinity.
Inspector Leon McNichol.
And Nene knew that most of them thought that she and Leon
had a more than professional relationship. She had heard the talk and
gossip in the bathroom, even some veiled probes handed her in water-
cooler talk. Despite her protestations otherwise, most of them had
harbored suspicions that Nene had "her hooks" in Leon, and refused to
believe her claims that she had a boyfriend, no matter what she said or
how much she explained that he was injured and out of the country.
Nene giggled a little, then quieted as she saw all the spiteful
eyes go towards her. They probably thought she was entertaining
thoughts of her imminent reunion with Leon. Nene, of course, knew
Leon knew about her being a Knight Saber and hoped to utilize her
hacking talents, something she couldn't offer as an excuse to the others.
But now she had something better.
That was why she giggled, as she patted her purse and the
digital camera laying within. At last, she could show them she wasn't
lying. And when they saw HER man, dressed only in boxer shorts and
looking very fine and yummy on the rumbled bed, then she would be
vindicated!
So Nene giggled on, even as she put on her headset and
warmed up her computer. They would be swooning with jealousy!
Yuki's voice raised and spoke out sternly.
"Wilma! We've got another ganger running a stolen car!
Track him!"
"Nene, we've got a vehicle explosion at the Genom Finances
Building, with deaths and injuries! Get on with coordinating it, GIRL!"
"Suzy, I want to hear what you are doing on the those reports
coming out of the Nerima district! And don't tell me that it isn't boomers
jumping from roof to roof! Get serious!"
Still smiling, Nene went to work.
* * * * * * * *
With a hiss of air passing her teeth, Sylia sighed and replaced
the mobile telephone in its carrier, the plastic of the outer casing warm
and hard in her smooth hand. She allowed some of her muscles to relax
and then she let herself lay back slightly, into the firm softness of the
new leather couch. The material became pliant support, even as the
cushion she was sitting on shifted a little. Adjusting her position, Sylia
closed her eyes to focus, trying to find a center, to think, to answer the
question: What to do now?
That was the question echoing behind her eyes, twisting her
gut, forcing her to try to think, think, think! Of what she should do now.
She had gone over and over in her mind the list of the preparations she
had made, and those she intended to make. Those possibilities that
even now she considered, weighing every possible advantage. Those
choices she wanted to make, yet did not make because she could not.
Those options she wanted to take, yet dare not risk. The story of her
life.
Being a mercenary was no where near as glamorous as many
movies would portray the profession. Even with the occasional income
from the jobs they took, the job of being leader of a group of
mercenaries was more a matter of constantly revising their Table of
Organization and Equipment, trying to squeeze every yen out of
everything. Even all the other profits she made could only provide a
fraction of the money necessary; too much "floating" funds could
endanger everything.
Even worse was the fact of being a vigilante. Despite their
frequently heroic actions, it did not change the fact that Sylia and her
fellow Knight Sabers were criminals, violating the law. In Japan, being
_unconventional_ criminals made it even worse. Despite the moderate
popularity they enjoyed, Sylia was well aware that there were those in
the police who would arrest or kill them on general principle. And
despite it all, being a vigilante was to be a hunted woman, always aware
that the next moment, one could be arrested or worse. Priss and Nene
never really seemed to realize that; perhaps Linna did a little more, but
only Sylia truly new what it was to aware, and to make contingencies.
Breathing evenly, Sylia mentally went over the preparations
she had made in addition to her usual precautions. She had faced some
difficult decisions in the little time she had. To be sure, the meeting was
unlikely to be hostile; Resu was in many ways risking as much as she
was, but one could never be too sure. Experience and life had taught
Sylia to follow the Boy Scout motto: Always be prepared.
She would be going to the meeting. There was little that she
could do to deal with the situation now, but Sylia had set several
processes into motion that should provide a small safety net should she
take a wrong step on the perilous tightrope of her future life, and fall
into the unexplainable reaches of unknown consequences and the dark
abyss of potential problems.
She had initiated a long term investigation of Genom's upper
levels. Though it was doubtful that the identity of this Resu would be
revealed, knowledge of the players in the politics of Genom's inner circle
would be extremely useful in determining how to apply whatever
leverage she may gain over Resu. The investigation was not very
difficult to begin; it was already ongoing, and had been for some time.
Genom was a source of much speculation and investigation by
hundreds of interested parties. Sylia had merely chipped in some funds
to be privy to what some investigators had discovered.
Her second move involving outside help had been to contact
the people she had just been on the phone with. The agency was called
the "Watchful Eye Detective Agency", and was mainly used by
suspicious wives, husbands, and lovers to check on their significant
others, and insure they were not fooling around. It was also used by
those same people to blackmail others with the photos and information
the agency collected.
Sylia had decided to contact them because of their reputation
for being honest in their dealings, and their willingness to take "blind"
assignments; jobs that gave vague descriptions. In this case, Sylia had
requested that the location where the restuarant was located be kept
under observation. Sylia knew she had to balance everything carefully.
If she gave _too_ much information, it could endanger herself, and the
meeting. Too little would have the detective drifting without focus.
Thus, Sylia had detailed the entire block be watched for anything
unusual, and for the observation to be very discrete. This left it very
likely that little of the information would be truly valuable, but if she
were abducted in the middle of the street, or even drugged and led to a
vehicle as though drunk, the detective would catch it, and the file would
be sent to those she had detailed.
That, of course, was a standard; a booby-trap assembly she
always had at the ready: if she was ever killed or unable to access the
computer and send a confirmation code to several computers across the
world, those computers would time-release several files and initiate a
number of transfers. Sylia had only had time to create a precise and
accurate report in the event that she might be compromised. It wasn't
very kind, or even comforting, but it would provide sufficient facts for
Mackie and the other KS to be aware of what had transpired.
Standing up, Sylia walked with customary efficiency to various
portions of the building, including the garage and one of her security
vaults. Casually entering the fourteen ten digit combination lines to the
80cm thick safe, Sylia began to go over what she knew about Resu.
Resu was undoubtably an alias, but also likely to have some
meaning to the being called Resu, either because of something personal,
or some obscure reference. That was a simple, and easy, analysis. It
was also probably correct.
Sylia stepped back as the security system arround and within
the vault went through their security checks, then finished the last two
and a half lines of combination to unlock the vault. Resu was likely
male. Though it was a frequent sport for online chatters to pretend to
be of the opposite gender, Sylia did not believe this was the case with
Resu. Though Resu had never explicitly stated he was male, Sylia had
picked up on the various masculine terminology and speech patterns that
tended to dominate when Resu spoke. This could, of course, be yet
another deception or mind game by Resu, but Sylia doubted it.
Assume, but do not make concrete, that Resu is male.
The poly-carbon door of the massive edifice opened slowly,
the considerable bulk moving slowly out. Sylia merely waited while she
continued her mental dialogue. It was almost assured Resu wanted
something. It could be a new pawn in his game, a new challenge,
perhaps even a partner, friend, or lover. Perhaps all those things at
once. Yet it was clear, if what Resu told her about the secrecy of these
"clans", he was taking an aweful risk in enlightening her. This meant he
wanted something from her. Sylia set great store in the proverb
something for something, nothing for nothing.
Sylia grabbed the simple, wafer thin electrical device, which
resembled nothing more than a plastic bankcard. She then resealed the
vault, and continued on her hunt for the necessary possessions. Yet
Resu's revelations also indicated he wanted something from _her_, not
the Knight Sabers. Which was interesting in and of itself, as it was
possible, if not likely, that Resu knew who the Knight Sabers actually
were.
Sylia went to her wardrobe, picking out the clothes best suited
for the task at hand. After a few moments deliberation, she discarded
four of the six outfits as being unsuitable, then relied on her fashion
sense to select the russet outfit. Yet even if she did in fact have Resu
pegged correctly, that begged the question as to what were the answers
she was truly seeking. She knew, with a certainty that bordered on the
near fanatical, that Resu had the answers she was looking for. Knew
them very well. But just as obviously, he was skirting the issue, very
unwilling to reveal the secrets for fear... that Sylia might reveal them to
the world at large? That is what he seemed to be implying with his talk
of grand conspiracies. Sylia doubted that part, at least. Conspiracies
that numbered over three participants tended not to be conspiracies for
very long. It was doubtful that a conspiracy as large as Resu hinted at
could exist for long. Yet running on that assumption, Sylia knew she
had to go to this meeting. In the style and tradition of fraterneties and
organizations everywhere, Sylia knew Resu was regarding this meeting
as a test, to see how curious and brave she really was. A pre-qualifying
initiation of sorts.
Sylia sighed, looking down at the various items she had
selected in her sojourn about the expanse of her domicile. It wasn't
much, but it would have to be enough for tonight, damn Resu for not
giving her enough time to prepare for him. Which was probably
intentional on his part. Glancing at a time clock, Sylia gritted her teeth
and began to pick up her pace. She walked over to the computer
terminal as she started to undress, typing in the her request to one of
her computer researchers in MegaTokyo. He confirmed her request,
and began to run a search, promising five to ten minutes. Sylia ordered
for it to be done in five.
Sliding down the last of her clothing, the panties, Sylia
punched the lot of them up, and tossed them down the laundry chute.
She stepped into the shower, brisky rubbing herself down until the skin
began to turn pink, so as to remove any excess skin for securities sake.
A harsh brushing of her hair and gentle lathering of head and body with
a rinse completed the cycle, even though Sylia now felt struck by an
urge to have a nice, long soak in the furo. Pushing it away, Sylia
toweled off and entered the living room, quietly drying herself off as she
read the computer report.
The resturant that Resu was suggesting, the Ginawa Soy Bar,
was partial owned by the Kazuma Corporation, a family run business of
former Yakuza turned straight. The head of the family was Kazuma
Kuwabara, and his calm and beautiful wife Yukina. Glancing at the
considerable pictures of Yukina, Sylia reminded herself to have a talk
with Mr. Nigel Kirkland, and his obsession with blue-haired women.
Seemed respectable, with a slight warning that it was protected by
former Yakuza. Located near ADP headquarters, it served as a familiar
food joint to a few off-duty officers. There was a brief record of the
propriator, one Urameshi Yuusuke, having been a juvenile delinquent,
though his wife, Keiko had no such record. The MegaTokyo Gourmet
Review gave the restaurant a three out of five stars, a decent rating.
Three blocks from ADP HQ, little traffic; it seemed ideal.
Sylia glanced at her clothes, and after a moment of hesitation,
decided under, not over, pulling up the underwear before rolling up the
stockings and attaching them to the garter belt. All the while, she
reviewed the print-out, a detailed map of the area, calculating the
possible escape routes and avenues of access. With her other section
of mind, Sylia selected the forward fastening bra, as in a street fight or
grab attempt, they tended to be easier to release than the backwards
fastening kind. All the while, she trusted in her perfect memory to get
the details of the map memorized.
The Davidson 9 mini-pistol was a discrete form of feminine
protection, an very thin and compact weapon no larger than the palm of
the hand. It was a specially created weapon, using polymer compounds
that made it difficult to detect with casual sensors, but easily identifiable
to most dedicated systems; it was a concealable weapon for self-
defense, not assassination. Nestled within the internal ammunition cell
was three very small shells, the bullets themselves no larger than B.B.'s.
Each of these B.B.'s was a chemical compound surrounded by a duralex
sheath. Given the limited propellant, the rounds had no more range than
about 10 meters and were very inaccurate, with little likelyhood of
penetrating more than medium armored clothing at the closest ranges.
Then again, that was not the purpose of the weapon. Davidson
engineers had done research, and determined that women who raped
were typically forced prone, and their legs forced apart. Thus, the
female armed with a Davidson mini-pistol could push the activation
switch, pull the trigger, and strike either the exposed hands or face of
her assailant, thus allowing escape or further attacks on the attacker. A
number of ammunition types were available, from sleep agents to DNA
taggers to lethal doses of a variety of poisons. Most women tended to
chose the Irhniman compound, which targetted the hormone estrogen.
The hormone interacted with the compound and rendered it inert. Since
males had nowhere near the amount of estrogen in a female, the
Irhniman compound was not absorbed or cancelled, the effects of the
compound ravaged the body, causing rapid muscle deterioration. In
females, it typically made them a bit woozy and weak; in men, it crippled
them. It was an ideal warhead for the Davidson 9, in case of a misfire,
and had very concentrated potency.
The Davidson 9 that Sylia was strapping to the inside of her
thigh with the paper-thin holster carried a different package. The
Australian black snake was one of the deadliest creatures in the world; a
drop of it's venom could kill ten men, and it was so strong, the victim
was usually dead before they realized it. Thus, it was ideal for Sylia's
purposes, whether it was used on enemies, or more likely herself. She
just never hoped she had to use it.
That taken care of, Sylia took a brief walk about, accustoming
herself to the feel of the pistol pressed into her inside thighs as they
moved against each other, checking the mirror to ensure the positioning
was right, and the weapon secure.
Satisfied, Sylia turned to her dress, a russet that shimmered
into a deep purple in a certain light. It was a designer, as almost all of
her clothing was. Relatively thin, made out of a sleek and smooth
material, in looked more like a formal party dress except for the fact it
covered from neck to ankle in a fairly conservative cut. It wasn't quite a
tube stocking, but the alterations in the fabric were cut to the cloth and
deliberately constructed so as to not give any handholds. The material
itself also assisted in this, being very slick and fairly close to the skin,
yet thick enough so as to be difficult to tear. The dress was made of a
fire-proof plastic-spidersilk armor weave, able to stop a .38 with little
difficulty. More importantly, it was waterproof and puncture proof, so
as to prevent any chemical interference in her judgement, or stop the
use of a syringe filled with diluted atrophine to simulate drunken stopor.
It was a compromise of sorts, as Sylia also hoped to use visual
psychological warfare on her intended prey; if Resu truly was male, the
cut was appealing enough to attract the eye to her well toned body and
curves. The dress was also of a traditional style, almost like a kimono,
with slits on each side barely up to the knee, permitting only small and
proper steps. Of course, Sylia knew that, in an emergency, she would
have to move much faster, which is why the slit up each side of the
dress actually went up to just before her hip, modesty be damned. The
dress had micro-stitches up the slit, almost invisible but to the most
careful scrutiny. Sheer force would not allow the tearing of those
stitches; only a catalyst would destroy the chemical in the fabric of the
thread used in those stitches. And thus the gloves.
The gloves were similar to the dress; lightweight, ladylike
enough to be acceptable, but well-armored and tough. They also hid a
small pocket of chemical in the fingertips of the gloves, with tiny
permeable ports allowing the expulsion of the liquid in slight doses.
Pressure from the fingers forced the liquid out, though this only
happened when the packets containing the chemicals were broken,
accomplished by a hard pressure on the fingertips, typically done by
clenching the fist tightly enough to pop the tiny plastic bags. The
gloves insulated the wielder from the chemical. Unlike most of what
Sylia was wearing, these gloves were deliberately designed for
assassination. But Sylia did not intend to kill anyone. Rather, she used
the gloves to carry the catalyst necessary to removed the stitches on
the side slits of her dress, so as to allow access to the gun she had
hidden, or be able to run with the full length of her legs. Yet would they
be enough? Sylia did not know. This entire setup could be a trap, and
her instincts could be wrong. Feminine intuition could not compensate
for her lack of solid information. She just wished that she could tell
someone, have backup, but she couldn't.
Involving the Knight Sabers was out of the question. This
wasn't something involving the Knight Sabers; it was a personal matter,
pursued of her own accord, in violation of Knight Sabers Rule #3, with
the possibility that she was breaking rules #2, #7, and #8, which
technically meant she should be subject to rule #11, but then again, no
one but herself was aware of the events that would transpire tonight.
Sylia knew that, but this was personal. It was not a Knight Sabers affair,
and had to do with herself and her brother. No, this needed to be done
alone.
The lady's cloak she had selected was more like a short
trenchcoat, barely hanging down past the terminus of her posterior.
The deep blue cloak was moderately thick, and somewhat warm, but
more than that, it protected her modesty and her body, as the material
could easily absorb most small arms fire and leave her only a bruise as a
parting gift. It covered her back, the only area that her eyes could not.
A common accessory, it was a little out of style, but still acceptable. It
would suffice. Of course, Sylia would much rather have a living person
guard her back, but that was out of the question.
Fargo was a natural enough first choice, but Sylia had her
reservations using him. He was too overprotective of her, as well as
personally interested in her, and that made for a bad combination. In
addition, he was a fairly well-known personage in underworld circles,
and if Resu caught wind of his involvement, he might call off the
meeting. He claimed that he would not bring others; if Fargo began to
snoop around Resu, as he probably would, Resu would most likely
realize it, as Sylia severely doubted that Resu, being of the upper
echelons of Genom, had multiple connections in the criminal
underworld. On a more personal note, Sylia had her own concerns
about Fargo. Earlier, when she was younger, she had heard hints of
some grand conspiracy like the one Resu suggested, she had confided
her suspicions in Fargo. He had answered her concerns, but in
retrospect, he seemed evasive, almost manipulative of her. Given that
this conspiracy may be true, Fargo's comments were more like
deflection, which implied he was a part of the conspiracy, which implied
he might know as much as Resu, which implied he might use the
information against Resu, thus destroying her chance to get information
from Resu, which implied.... that she was getting way too paranoid.
Taking a deep breath to calm and collect herself, Sylia looked
in the mirror and adjusted her appearance. A little make-up here and
there highlighted her features without being too obvious; Sylia was one
of those rare and fortunate women who needed little make-up, if any, to
enhance themselves. The hairpins may be a little over the top, but the
lacquered sticks did at least something for that tiny cascade of hair
growing out the back of her head; Sylia had started to grow her hair a
little long, and was at that awkward stage between shoulder length, and
short. Of course, the hairpins also contained a locator, a microphone to
record the conversation, and a scrambler to avoid having her words
from being recorded. They did seem a touch... unfashionable, but that
was unavoidable. Sighing, Sylia turned to the table.
She couldn't hire outside help for much the same reasons as
she could not employ Fargo. Professionals, real professionals, were a
rare commodity, and people in high places tended to notice when their
services were no longer available. Given that Resu would most likely be
aware of this, and put two and two together and get four, she could not
rely on outsiders. In addition, there were very few professionals should
could trust, or truly kept assignments confidential. Even then, there
was the possibility of- no, no, no excuses; simply stated she could not
bring outsiders into this. So she was right back to where she was.
The purse was a Hiroko, very nice, and large enough to hold
her cell phone, the taser weapon for personal protection, the wadded
bills of cash she had for emergencies, and the selection of personal
identification and creditcards, along with the small device nestled on the
inside. It was a potent little receiver, that could tell distances; if
removed from more than a meter and 30 centimeters from Sylia, the
device would initiate a five second countdown, then release a chemical
to activate the thermite laced into the purse, before igniting it. The
thermite was slow thermite, not explosive, but it would generate enough
heat to utterly destroy anything in purse. The corresponding
transmitter was about the size of a small button, and securely nestled in
the pair of panties that Sylia was wearing.
Then there was the last item, for if she could not get to the
pistol, or avoid capture, there was that last item. Sylia had hid the
device in the vault located within the building, primarily because the
device could not transmit through all the iridium lining a portion of the
vault. It used a new kind of transmission system, one so advanced and
using deliberately artificially synthesized materials so as to be
unreproducable. Sylia had no clue as to even the medium it used to
transmit. All she knew was that it worked. So very carefully, Sylia
opened the device that resembled nothing more than a bankcard, and
gingerly handled it.
The very thin device held only three simple squares, one blue,
one green, and one red, laying there in perfectly symetrical order on the
backdrop of the gold card. Though it looked harmless, almost fragile,
Sylia knew the monomolecular armor that was the gold plating was very,
very tough, and that those three buttons held the power of heaven's
fury. For the little gold card was one of USSD's next generation Black
Boxes.
Sylia had discovered it almost by accident, and the device was
pretty useless. The transmission method was completely brand new,
and the device was tamper-proof, activating even if slowed down in
near-zero degrees Kelvin. It was also kind of pointless to enter the
correct ten button sequence, as it simply instantaneously activated an
overhead next-generation cloaked USSD satelite weapon, and fired a
narrow-focus projection on the location of the 2nd Edition Black Box, or
the BB2E as they were now being called. No one knew when they had
come been produced, or even why, let alone what the strange energy
emission the new satelite weapons fired even was. All Sylia knew was
that it was viable, and if worse came to worst, she possessed a way to
guarantee her death, as well as her attacker's.
Closing the BB2E, Sylia slipped it in her purse, activating the
receiver in the purse, gave herself one last look in the mirror, before she
asked herself the last question and concern she faced: why? Why was
she doing this, when she could have been patient and forced Mackie to
tell her? Or just pressure Fargo into telling her? Or use blackmail when
she eventually discovered who Resu actually was? Yet even as she
looked into her own brown eyes, she knew the answer.
She needed to know. She thirsted for the truth, the knowledge,
the answer. It shocked her slightly at how much she felt that. For if
Resu was correct, and she was missing out on such a grand
masquerade, she had to find out about it, becoming a player in this
hidden great game. Sylia knew, even as her heart beat faster, her palms
became sweaty, even as she swallowed reflexively, and a tremor she
could not quite quiet flashed through her body, she could admit to her
own eyes that she _wanted_ this. She felt... _called_ to this. And
somehow she knew in some illogical sense, that destiny itself was
forcing her hand to take this course of action.
And somehow, she knew Resu himself knew this.
Dropping her eyes to her purse, Sylia slung it over one
shoulder, set herself, and then exitted the room, turning out the lights,
leaving her secure home behind to travel to an uncertain meeting with a
unknown stranger.
To be continued in Part 7b
Part 7b should be released relatively soon (fingers crossed).
Please E-mail all comments and/or criticism to curtiss@seattleu.edu
Thank your for your time.