Content-Type: text/plain;
	charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable

I want you men to strike a pose!

Captain Ginyuuuu!!!!!=20



As the year 2001 and part 1 of Light draws close to its conclusion,=20
I cant help but look at the stars and wonder....
Where the hell is the god damn web page???
If youve found yourself thinking along similar lines in recent weeks,
hopefully i will have a solution soon.
The Light webpage exists, in that there is a working link for it.
But because of the shit html makes you go through when trying to
post rtf text and keep line breaks and indentation, it is still delayed.
(If anyone knows any simple solutions to this problem without going =
through
and manually setting the breaks and indents, PLEASE let me know.)
So anyway, hopefully within the week youll see all of Part 1 up there.
As it is right now, it is an odd page, and is only going to get worse.

So for now, please enjoy TWIL chapter 8, stay in school, give blood,=20
and remember always:

Thats the road up ahead. And that I presume is your brave escort.


-





-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: Nov8.txt

8

  Two stories of stairwell later, Alethea and I exited the only 
door and found ourselves on the upper level of Wells' building 
again. There was another hallway and this only had one door at the 
opposite end. In contrast to the air in the basement, it was getting 
much colder here. The metal door handle was icy to the touch, so I 
wrapped my left hand up in my shirt and opened it. We both 
shivered immediately. I was greeted by the sight of huge yellow 
pipes leading from out of the walls toward a large coffin like 
structure on the floor. Similar to the lab, there appeared to be an 
abundance of unnecessary machinery here but most of the room 
was taken up by the yellow pipes. Wide red brushstroke markings I 
couldn't understand detailed the individual ring joints. This 
seemed to be the source of the cold, and while I had my racing 
jacket on, Alethea shivered in her thin white sleeveless shirt. I 
offered it to her and walked toward the junction of the humming 
tubes.

  There was no other exit leading out from this room, so 
unless he was hiding, Wells was here if he was in the place at all. 

  The coffin was really a granite box, ten feet long by four feet wide 
with only a small area of the lid exposed. The rest was covered by 
pipe openings, and a solid steel framework which looked old and 
worn. I figured that it was there to facilitate the opening of the box 
it surrounded. There was a little keypad at the top, but I was 
clueless as to the code. 

  "Any ideas?" I mumbled.

  "Yeah. Six, six, six," she replied from the doorway.
Beep, beep, beep. Nothing. Wells probably wasn't quite so 
egocentric.

  I tried to open it with a kick, but the slabs were far too 
strong. Rubber makes a disappointing inaudible clash with rock. 
Alethea was standing by a wall screen watching me when I walked 
back over to her.

  "I can't get it open. If Wells is in there, we can't get to him 
now without blowing the place up. And now I'm not even sure he 
was here to begin with."

  "So where does this leave us?"

  "Heading out as fast as possible. If the cops do finally show 
up, we don't want to be anywhere near here. Sometimes there are 
expensive security systems in these places, things we wouldn't 
have seen. We'll have to go back the way we came."

  "Thank god, I thought you'd never come around. Home 
never sounded so good." She frowned. "Do we have to see that 
body again?"

  "Well, it'll be down there, but you don't have to look." I 
sighed. "It's alright."

  Alethea put her hand on my shoulder in a gesture of 
understanding. She nodded and said, "It is, Screw. I do trust you."

  "That's good," I said. "At least there was supposed to be a 
reason for all this. Even if I shouldn't have taken you along."

  "It's okay. You made it okay."

  Going back into the stairwell, I stopped at the first landing 
to peer out a small window. The back was designed similar to the 
front and even larger. I noticed a fourth building, smaller than the 
rest behind a patch of pines toward the very rear of the grounds. 
Alethea and I peered out into the darkness, but did not see any 
other signs of life. 

  The quiet was suddenly disrupted though, when we heard a 
noise that sounded like a small popping explosion come from behind the 
evergreens. Peering closer I could see a black conversion van pull 
up from out of a shadow, and a man jump out of the passenger 
side. He ran up to the building and disappeared behind it. The van 
sat idling in a flower bed, and I could see the driver smoking a 
cigarette. With the ski-mask, I couldn't tell if he was bald. I hoped 
not. But this was my cue.

  "Come on! He's here!" I said, and ran down the stair 
holding Alethea's smaller hand. We ran through the machine lab at 
the bottom of the stairs, across the hardwood floor in the next 
room, and back up to the ground floor. I got to another window, 
but could not see the back building from ground level. I climbed 
out the same window I had used to enter and Alethea followed 
close.

  "Who's here?" she asked. "Are those the cops?"

  "No, if it was them, they would have just broken down the 
front door and stormed the place the second they could. I think one 
of these guys may be the man I'm looking for, the same man who 
killed our friend in the basement."

  "Wells?"

  "Yes."

  "What if he's armed?!"

  "Then I can plead self defense when I shoot him in the 
back."

  Slight pause. 

  "Stay low. That's the grove of trees up there."

  Alethea complained a little more, but stayed with me. I 
stopped running at the edge of the trees and listened. There wasn't 
any noise except the van's engine, so I picked through the thick 
branches for several feet until coming out at the back of the small 
building. It was made of concrete like the others, but lacked 
windows and trim. I peeked around the corner, and did not see 
anyone on the side wall. I crept up farther, and waited again. More 
nothing. There was a brick driveway set into the ground for twenty 
feet around the structure which was new. Other than that, it was 
just thick trees and bushes in every direction.

  So I darted my head around the next corner, and saw the 
van driver loading a submachine gun. He was absorbed in it, so I 
had a chance to look at the front wall of the building I was hiding 
around. It was a wide double garage door, both parts of which were 
open. I heard footsteps receding into it. A quick look revealed 
three cars. A figure was kneeling in the far corner playing with 
something. I could not see what it was.

  If Wells was here, he would probably not be the one still in 
the van. So if I could take care of the driver first and maybe hide in 
the back, I could spring on Wells when he got back in. I tip toed 
over, and crouched below the drivers side door. The window was 
open, and I could see that the man was not in fact Wells or 
Wierham. His chin and nose were the wrong shape. I took a step 
back and stood up. Grabbing my gun by the barrel, I got ready to 
hit the guy on the back of the neck. Shooting him would make too 
much noise and I didn't want another body to hide unless it was 
necessary.

  Somewhere in the garage, one of the overhead lamp bulbs 
flickered and died.

  And then the man that had been loading was firing, and it 
was all coming at me. I hit the ground hard and rolled under the 
van, realizing my mistake too late. He must have caught my back 
in the rearview mirror. I saw his feet jump out of the car, and lower 
the gun barrel to shoot me where I lay. But I passed my Beretta to 
my left hand and shot him in the shin. I felt instantly bad about 
this. He screamed and dropped his gun. I grabbed and rolled with it 
out the other side.

  The other man who I still presumed to be Wells was 
running toward me, firing his own machine gun. I ducked down on 
the other side of the van from him. He was spraying it with bullets, 
but it must have been armored because none went through. When 
he stopped to change magazines, I poked my head up, and fired a 
few of my own.

  When I stopped to hide again, I heard Alethea screaming. 
She had come out from hiding behind the trees, and was running 
toward me.

  "No! Get Back!" I shouted, and she stopped where she was. 

  I saw through the vehicle's windows that Wells was pointing his 
gun at her. Quickly I dropped the submachine gun, and fired at him 
with my Beretta. It pierced the bulletproof glass and hit him twice 
in the side. He did some of his own shouting, but did not drop the 
gun. He pulled himself into the van's open front door as I ran 
toward Alethea. With a shove I sent her back into the trees, and 
yelled "Stay put, damn it!" 

  She fell on her rear and whimpered, but stayed down. 

  "Screw!"

  "Not now!"

  Behind me the van engine started and pulled away, so I ran 
after it. The wide wheels The old brick driveway branched off to a 
path that lead farther back into the estate. I had not noticed it 
before, the opposite direction these two had come from. I tried to 
grab onto the bumper, but Wells swerved and I lost my grip. I 
stumbled and fell to my knees while the van sped up. Choking on 
exhaust, I shifted into a crouch.
 
  Pointing my gun again, I started putting bullets into the 
base of the black van. The fourth one hit home in the gas tank. 
Wells must have figured that I would do this, because he jumped 
out the door before it caught fire. A fifth blew the back wheels off 
in high arcs to either side. But through the smoke I could see 
nothing.

  So I turned left and jumped a bush. Here the main garden 
of the back lawn reached it's lowest point. Running between 
hedge-rows I couldn't have seen over with a ladder, I listened to 
hear him pushing aside branches nearby. But again the silence. He 
was moving pretty quickly for a guy who had seen the color of his 
organs not twenty four hours ago. 

  Still must be bleeding though, because there was a thin trail 
of red weaving through the green grass. I followed it through the 
bushes with my gun drawn. Perfectly trimmed. If Wells was smart, 
he would hide until I came into view and start firing like mad. His 
military issue G79 submachine gun could spit out nine rounds a 
second, while I could possibly get out two if I was fast. I listened 
for breathing, but heard none. I continued across delicate 
flowerbeds concealed in pockets of small trees.

  The taller hedges finally thinned out, and I found myself 
facing a huge circular fountain in the center of perfectly groomed 
grass. In the center was a marble statue of a nymph, spitting water 
out of her mouth and breasts. Starlight gleamed brightly off of the 
water, which rippled outward in tiny crests away from her small 
feet. It was an impressive piece, from what I could see about its 
detailed features. The sight was stunning. Someone had put a great 
amount of time into this.

  But not all the movement I saw was picturesque. On the far 
side of the fountain, I saw a spot of black fabric poke up; 
undoubtedly Well's masked head. He was smart though, as the 
fountain masonry would probably give him cover from just about 
anything. I ran up to the side of the fountain facing me and 
sprawled flat for a few breaths. I sat up and ran my eyes from left 
to right once, and saw the ski mask shuffle around the edge of the 
fountain and stop again; this time closer.

  I counted off the shots in my head, and figured that I had 
less than twelve rounds left. My arms rested calmly on the fountain 
rim while I took aim. I yelled out 'Oh no!' to try and confuse him. 
He poked his head up an inch and peered in my direction. In the 
instant before I started firing, I saw through the slit in his mask, 
and knew they were not Wells' eyes. These were unmistakably 
younger, and even more intense. This had stopped making sense. 
Burglars don't drive up in vans.  

  I stood up, and ran around the fountain, while my adversary 
did the same. We fired and fired, but he was smart enough to stay 
far enough on the opposite side, so that all that really got hit was 
the naked stone woman in the center. 

  When I was out of bullets, he had long since been, so I 
rushed him. I ran through the knee deep water as he tried to reload 
his gun. But I was faster and slammed into his midsection, taking 
us both to the ground. 

  He managed to yell 'Stop it!' before punching me in the 
face, and I hit him back of the head with the butt of my gun. 
Another shot connected to his temple, and his fight left him 
immediately. He flopped back limp on his side.

  I sat very still, breathing hard and coughing lightly. The 
bridge of my nose throbbed. I shook the man a little again to make 
sure he was really out. He was.

  I stood up, wiped my forehead, and holstered my piece. 
There was still no noise coming from the main building, or the 
road out front. The neighbors must sleep with all the windows shut 
tight. Looking down at his unconscious form, I wondered if there 
was a greater than likely chance I knew who it was. His side was 
barely bleeding from the two shots he had taken. They had only 
grazed the thin ceramic jacket.

  My stomach sank.

  "Chris?!" 

  His eyes fluttered when I splashed a handful of cold 
fountain water on his face and I sat him up against the two foot 
high concrete rim. He opened his eyes, saw me, and frowned. He 
said nothing, but rubbed the side of his head.

  "What the hell is this?? Why were you shooting at me?" I 
yelled.

  "Screw..." He said weakly as he tried to sit up, but I 
pushed him back down. "Didn't you hear me yell stop? I didn't 
know it was you until you stopped shooting."

  "What the hell are you talking about? What are you doing 
here? Do you work for Wells, too? I wouldn't have shot at you if I 
you hadn't had that damn ski mask on!" I yelled in his reluctant 
face.

  "Get away from him and turn around, you shit!" I heard the 
voice from twenty yards behind me and I slowly turned. It was 
Chris's driver, the guy I had shot in the leg. He was dragging it 
painfully, but was still coming towards us with is gun raised. 

  Chris saw him, waved his arms, and yelled, "Put the gun down. It's all 
right."

  The guy looked confused, but lowered it. And then from 
behind him, Alethea ran out of a patch of bushes. She was crying 
and wrapped her arms around me as soon she was within reach.

  "Oh god, are you alright? Is anyone dead?"

  "No-"

  "You didn't hit your head did you?! Are you hurt at all?" 
she interrupted, and checked me over with her hands.

  "It's ok!" I finally said to her. "It's just Chris Dais, an old 
cellmate. He wasn't going to shoot me." I said this last part while 
giving Chris the finger behind her back.

  Alethea whipped her head around toward Chris and glared 
at him. The look lasted a little more than a second. Then she spoke 
in a low even tone, "Screw didn't have a mask on. Why the hell 
couldn't you see it was him?" I nodded in agreement.

  Chris stared back at her. The glare they exchanged struck 
me as peculiarly prolonged as this was only the second time they 
had met each other. "It's dark out here," he said. "My eyes hadn't 
adjusted from the fluorescents in the garage."

  She scowled and turned back to me. I was about to mention 
the fact that everyone on the block must have heard those gunshots 
when Chris interrupted and said, "Come on, let's get out of here 
now. We'll take one of the cars in the garage."

  "When are you planning on explaining what the hell just 
happened here?"

  "I'll do it in the car."

  "You'll do it-"

  "I said the car! Understand? Now before this place gets 
lousy with blue uniforms, we have to get on the other side of that 
fence."

  "What about a hospital?" Alethea asked.

  "Forget it. None of us have insurance cards anyway." He 
happened to be right about me at least.

  Chris scooped up his partner in a fireman's carry and 
started to run down the brick road back the way we came. Alethea 
and I were still for a moment as we watched, and then found 
ourselves following him. We passed the remains of Chris's black 
van still burning in the road. I should have noticed it before.
 
  The cars in the garage didn't have keys but I knew a few 
hacking codes. Punching numbers into the dashboard, a new Ford 
Cobra hummed to life and in a minute we were pulling out onto the 
bricks. We took the other path and fled the grounds in a hurry with 
Chris behind the wheel. As he passed my cyc parked in the bushes 
outside, I ran out, grabbed it, and threw it in the trunk. It fit after I 
pressed down on the wheel base, compacting it into a briefcase 
sized rectangle. 

  Alethea shouted, "Hurry! There isn't anymore time!"

  And then finally we heard sirens in the distance.

		*	*	*	*

  Chris did not stop driving at full speed until we were far 
southeast of Capital Plaza, and could see the great inner ring of the 
Turbine circling the city. It's wall was about eight stories high, and 
completely black like many of the buildings in this part of the city. 
The city was constrained by the Turbine, yet protected by it. To my 
knowledge the city had never been attacked. I had never 
questioned if there was anyone outside the Outer Wall, aside from 
our own Lanz Island. Maybe anywhere in the world. I did know 
that without it there would be no racing, so I was content to not ask 
questions. The public party lines were with me on this.

  We pulled into a gas station, and while Chris filled the 
tank, his friend (whose name turned out to be Wesley Tulane) 
bandaged his leg. Neither one had spoken a word during the drive 
down, except when Chris told me to get out, and pry off the car's 
license plate. I replaced it with one lifted from an old car parked 
behind the pumps. 

  I still wanted to know why we had run into each other, but I 
said nothing as I climbed back in. Chris was not going to walk 
away without an explanation. But for now I sat in the back seat 
with Alethea, and told her to hang on for little longer.

  "You did warn me," she whispered in my ear.

  "I'm sorry I had to."

  "This kind of thing happen a lot?"

  "It used to."

  "Did he tell you where he's going?"

  I shrugged. "No." 

  "But you believed his story?"

  "Not at face value. Maybe the part about him not knowing 
it was me." Pointing at Wes in front of me, I said quietly, "He was 
the one who started shooting first, and had no idea who either of us 
were. Still, you should have stayed put. Even if you heard me 
yell."

  "But I didn't mean-"

  "It's alright, it's alright. You're absolutely right, nothing 
happened." 

  "Are you angry?"

  "Not with you."

  Chris got back in the car, and we took off again. His last 
apartment wasn't anywhere near this side of town, so we were 
either dropping tails or driving somewhere else. I suspected the 
latter, because Chris would still be in crisis mode if we were being 
followed. In the mean time I checked my gun. It was completely 
empty, and I had no more magazines. I had to frown. It was all to 
much. Wes was in the front audibly complaining about his leg and 
Chris was coldly ignoring him. Alethea was worn out, and falling 
asleep next to me, and all I could think about was the fact that it 
seemed not a single person in this god forsaken city had any idea 
what had just went on. 

  Not only tonight, but over the past week as well. It had 
occurred to me that my situation may be part of a much larger 
design that directly involved all the people whose actions I 
questioned. But I shrugged the thought off as quickly as it came. 
That was the type of conspiracy theory invented by the lazy, and in 
reality never happened to anyone. I was looking for excuses for my 
lack of knowledge and knew that just because I was in the dark, 
did not mean someone was holding me there.

  Thinking about it, I grinned mentally at the way I assured 
myself of different things. The idea that I was ignorant only 
because of the deception of others had come from the same little 
voice that dispelled the idea, and assured me I would wake up 
tomorrow and all of this would be far behind. I would make up all 
the little plots and schemes I wanted in order to try to get a hold of 
my life. When they were exposed as false, I'd construct more the 
next day. The fallacy of my past guesses did not stop me from 
making more. Blatant immaturity, I know. Because it really wasn't 
the truth I wanted, but the security of thinking I had the truth. And 
if assuming that the recent events in my life were all connected 
made me feel like I was ahead of the game for the time being, then 
the idea served its purpose. I would have more, and they would be 
equally unfounded.

  Made you feel essential, no? Ha.

  The stars could see me through my window, but they 
refused to acknowledge my existence. They were just spinning 
around losing heat, and I was spinning around just as fast. Chris 
was still paying more attention to the road behind us than in front, 
and seeming to take turns at random. I knew these roads better than 
anyone in that car and it still wasn't making sense. Nothing was 
here except empty high rises. Alethea reached over and held my 
hand.

  Then a pager went off. I didn't own one, so I wondered 
why the beeping was coming from my jacket. I dug around in my 
pocket, and pulled out the pager I had taken from Wells' trunk. 
The pager that made me question the motives of my closest friend. 

  The mini-screen displayed a number with a strange area code. 

  In the front seat, Wes heard the noise and handed me his 
phone without a word. The understanding was obviously close friends or 
family, but I had a feeling this was just going to get me into more 
trouble. I had no idea what I was going to say, but more than my 
rampant curiosity was starting to kill me. Whoever answered was 
there, part of this; involved in the answer I sought. Fuck, it could 
have been Wells himself. There wasn't any way I could let it go. I 
punched the numbers and heard ringing.

  "North Capital Plaza Police Department. Prisoner Registry 
Office. How may I help you?"

  I started, and dropped the phone. I couldn't think of 
anything to say. I was about to push the off button, when I heard 
the speaker croak, "Are you calling in response to a prisoner phone 
call?"

  I picked up the phone again and said, "Yes, I am."

  "One moment please."

  I waited many moments.

  "Are you responding to a Mr. Zigwell Cane, sir?"

  I almost dropped the phone again; caught myself.

  "Well, yeah."

  "Let me connect you."

  So Zig was in jail, huh? And he had used his phone call to 
page Wells. That didn't shine well in his favor. This either meant 
the old man was still alive, or that Zig did not know he was dead.  I 
waited a while and then heard his voice.

  "Screw! You got my page, excellent. Listen, you gotta get 
me out of here."

  "... How did you know I had Wells' pager?"

  "He told me you took it."

  That stopped me for the third time. "What?!"

  "Listen, my friend. You are going to have to trust me on 
something. Wells is not your enemy. He-"

  "Bullshit, he's not! And how the hell do you know?!"

  "It doesn't matter. You have to understand-"

  "He's made his intentions damn clear, not to mention the 
things I saw tonight! Alethea and I went to his house."

  "Jesus fucking christ. Why?? Did he let you in?"

  "No, he wasn't there."

  "So you broke in through the gate?"

  "Hey, don't you try to get moral on me. The gate was 
already open. And inside, in the basement, was a body."

  "His?" he asked slowly.

  "No, a cop's. Specifically, my god damn parole officer's."

  "Woah."

  I waited to see if that changed his tone. But Zig surprised 
me.

  "But still, when has he tried to kill *you?* Or was he just trying to 
get hold of you again? Believe me, he does not want you dead. 
And I don't think you can say he has actually tried to molest you."

  "In my book it's all the same thing. How do you know him, 
anyway?"

  "He came to me last week with an offer I couldn't refuse. I 
know I should have said something but the idea was to keep it a 
secret. It's unimportant. Needless to say he is not happy about you 
shooting him like that after he tried to catch you from falling."

  "I jumped out of the window to get away from him!"

  "Whatever. I need help." Zig was sounding serious.

  "I can see that. Why are you in jail?"

  "They caught me in a highway audit as I drove home two 
hours ago. Cops knew my car as soon as they saw it. Commissioner
Arkoff himself took me in as a suspect in the IMHR bombing."

  "..But I thought you expected that."

  "The hell I did! I told you, I didn't find out about the 
incident until after you did. I was on the other side of the city when 
it happened. The cops don't have a thing on me, though they did 
seem to know right where I lived. Who knows how; neither one of 
us is an official citizen."

  "They probably have more sophisticated means than the 
phone book."

  "No shit. I'm being deported to the Lanz Island city 
courtroom tomorrow. They're taking me down in the back of a 
cargo truck! I need you to show up there to get me. If I am cleared, 
then great. If they convict me, well, then you have to pull 
something out of your sleeve."

  "Did you do it?"

  "No, I tell you!" 

  "Then you got nothing to worry about."

  "You know that isn't true." And I did. Our government was 
famous for solving every crime, even if it meant imprisoning the 
wrong people. If evidence showed that Zig was involved in any 
possible way, he would be punished immediately. The whole 
investigation would end and the police could go back to harassing 
the public.

  "You want me to break into the Island? That's insane."

  "No it isn't. I'll call again with the info when you get there. 
Wells has planned for this contingency."

  "Wells? What has he got to do with this?"

  "Everything. He's coming to see me soon and I'll tell you 
everything I know when you come. I swear this time. My time is 
running out on this call, and the guard here is prodding me in the 
ass. Go into my apartment, and get my stuff from the closet. You 
know what I mean. Bring it with you and take the train out of the 
city tomorrow. The commuter line will take you strait to Lanz 
Island. I'll page you again there. Okay?"

  "Damn it, Zig, you better not be fucking around with me 
here! I make *no* promises. Falling into the Special Forces hive is 
the world's most reliable way to get yourself killed, and for the 
first time in years I actually have something to look forward to." 

  Alethea, who hadn't looked like she was paying attention,
glanced up at me.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in his 
sarcastically innocent tone. "One more thing. Whatever you do, 
don't say anything to Chris Dais."

  "What? Why?"

  "You can't trust him. He's a bigger part of this than you 
think. Talk to you later." His end of the line went to dial-tone.

  Then the Ford Cobra screeched to a halt, and my head 
bounced off the front seat.









Stay tuned for the concluding chapters of Part 1!




	     .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
             | Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com |
             | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
             |     Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject     |
             `---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'