Drunkard's Walk Forums

One would say you could've heard a pin drop, and it wouldn't be that far from accurate. From the expressions of some of those at the board room table,
they might keel over in fright at the rather loud sound of a pin dropping.

It wasn't exterior threats these men had to fear. Crey Industries' central headquarters was the personal stronghold of the Countess Crey, and possibly
could outgun several third world countries put together if its entire security detail were taken account of and still have the manpower to properly convert
said third world countries into effective and profitable factories afterwards. It'd long been considered that the principal reason that a loose cannon like
Manticore or others like him hadn't made an outright attack to get to the nasty secrets inside was that it was impregnable in the purest sense of the word.

It wasn't the grim faced bear of a man standing behind the chairman's seat that these men had to fear. Though Hopkins quite literally had the power of
life and death over them, figuratively and literally, the man was not one to hold a grudge for any affront to himself and his actions were almost always linked
to the interests of The Company. In fact, that was entirely the problem.

In the chairman's chair at the end of the table sat the woman known to the world at large as the Countess Crey. Beautiful, really, in a cold sort of way,
but that wasn't on the minds of anyone at the table. Truth be told, it was never on the minds of anyone in the room with her, given the rumors that her
acute perception was actually a meta-talent of some considerable power. But if Hopkins was a dog on a leash, the Countess was the one holding it, and everyone
at the table knew she was not pleased.

"A complete....loss," she said, and the entire table winced as one. "The resources expended to hire the squad of Protectors that recovered the
technology. The resources spent analyzing and finishing their armor. Spent properly resequencing their neural pathways. Spent fruitlessly attempting to
replicate the technology. Spent hiding the paper trail to each of them. All....a complete loss. That is what you are telling me we should look at this
as."

The board member who had voiced this opinion was probably a step away from doing something undignified in his fright, but managed to find his voice. "All
four are registered heroes now, Madame Crey. And involved in a small but increasingly growing supergroup that has ties to one of the largest and most well
established supergroups in the city. And they've been avoiding us since the fourth was stolen. We can't make up the legal fiction necessary to even
bring the Protectors into this to recover them. They know we have to keep our masks up and they're exploiting it, and they're unfortunately
right."

"Unacceptable." The single word could've been a gunshot, so many looked over at the Countess as if they expected to see her shoot the man on the
spot. "You are telling me that we cannot find them. With all the resources at our disposal, working under the very nose of Statesman and the Freedom
Phalanx, that we cannot erase four heroes that have the potential to bring everything down around us because they are
avoiding us?"

The board room slipped into quiet again as the Countess looked inwardly, thinking. "Hopkins."

"Yes, madame?"

"What is the progress on Project Hammer?"

"Contacts have been made, but given our reputation and Arachnos' tight fisted control on their so called Destined Ones, we've had few seem
genuinely interested."

"Yes, a problem. Redirect 50% of the resources to a new project, codename Scimitar."

That got looks from several of the men at the boardroom. Project Hammer had been an ambitious attempt to recruit the various supervillians Arachnos had been
busting out of the Zig on a regular basis to work for Crey, with the enticement being access to Crey's substantial technological and research base. To
slash its funding thus...."Madame, if I may ask..."

"You may."

"What would this Project Scimitar do?"

"We seized more than suits when the Protectors raided that lab, Smithers. We seized whatever was in the computers at the time. Terabytes of data. If we
cannot perfect their machinery to the degree they could, then we will adapt it. And these....Sabres....will find themselves hunted. Not by the Paragon
Protectors. We could never justify it. But by the products of Project Scimitar. Armored vigilantes with no known prior criminal record. If Longbow knows of
their origin, they may assume they've escaped through Portal Corps to chase after their arch foes. If not, they'll assume they're villains from the
Sabres' previous heroic careers outside Paragon. Either way, we have plausible deniability. If anything, they'll suspect Arachnos or any of a dozen
other groups. The technological designs will be untraceable to us. And we will. Have. Those. Rogues. Back," she
said, emphasizing each word with a tap of her pen on the table.

"Be grateful, Smithers, that you work for a company with enough vision to spot the ways out you cannot seem to think of for yourself. You might be looking
for other employment otherwise. Still, while you are more practical to run this project than training someone from scratch, I advise you not to make such
ill-considered suggestions in my presence again. You are not irreplaceable."

"Y-yes, Madame. Th-thank you."

The Countess looked over the board with an appraising eye, most seemingly more in sorts now that blame had been assigned and they were not under fire. "As
for the rest of you, full cooperation is expected. If this company goes down, you go down with it, so I want your best efforts into resolving this fiasco. Am I understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, Countess Crey" brought a tight smile to her lips as the board members filed out of the room. They included some of the most
powerful men in this city, but Crey controlled each and every one of them. These four heroes would not stand in her way any more than any of the others had.

"Hopkins?"

"Yes, madame."

"If we have another rogue prototype by his division, kill him."

"Of course, madame."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Oooh, nice! I like. And it could go *so* many ways, heh.

But, first thought?

*wince* Ooh, sorry, Smithers... my bad?

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Quote: Sofaspud wrote:

---

Oooh, nice! I like. And it could go *so* many ways, heh.




But, first thought?




*wince* Ooh, sorry, Smithers... my bad?

Well, you gotta admit. He screwed up FOUR TIMES and each one became a hero. It's a miracle she gave him one more shot to begin with.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Riot Force/Sabres of Paragon: To Spite a Giant

Four Colors 1: Silver

Four Months Earlier

Sylia looked at the young woman in front of her, who'd taken her in when
she very well could've claimed to have existential problems of her own, being as new to the world as she was, and considered her decision. She was used to
secrets. Heaven knew how many she'd had before this…her current situation just added more. But something….an utter….lack of anyone to lean on for the last
few weeks….made her want to trust someone with the truth….the real truth.

"My first memories....real, true memories, not digital engrams created to
make me seem more human, are of a small grey room, really. Of being strapped down to a table as I processed...thought through the situation. I wasn't dead,
so chances were it wasn't GENOM that'd captured me. A few glances around the room when it was empty said that the others weren't there either.
Which left the problem of escaping as my main concern. I didn't know who they were or how I'd gotten there. All I knew was…I had to get
out."

***

"…baseline neural activity is increasing….I think she's waking up," one of the scientists said.

"What? Waking up? It's too soon! The programming shouldn't be
complete yet…" Another said, nervously glancing over at her.

Sylia looked at them blankly, playing dumb. Part of her registered the fact
that there weren't any drugs, any subliminal messages playing over headphones. But they'd mentioned programming nonetheless. She'd heard rumors of
telepaths. It wasn't a surprise that possibly these men were using one to brainwash her.

"…she doesn't seem hostile. Maybe most of it's taken hold?"
the first scientist said. "Keep the upload going. I'll check it out."

***

"The term "upload" was really the first clue I had," Sylia said. "I mean, I'm not much of a software person. The bugs that Mackie
had to work out of the original operating system for the suit were mostly the result of things I just didn't consider, but I didn't think that anything
telepathic would use such a term. But for the moment, I just had to figure out how to somehow get them to let me off that chair."

***

"Is there some way I may assist you?" Sylia asked, drawing a
surprised reaction from the researcher. He looked at her warily, stepping slightly closer.

"Do you know where you are?"

Sylia looked at him blankly. "No, actually, but as you appear to be in
charge of my recovery from whatever has happened, I'd like to be of any assistance I can."

The scientist looked rather surprised by that but recouped quickly. "Er…yes. Do you remember where you are?"

"No," Sylia answered honestly.

"Do you remember your name?"

"No," she replied, somewhat less honestly.

"Maybe you should ask her if she remembers the saga next," The other
researcher smirked, getting an annoyed look from his companion. He turned back to her.

"Basically, you're a prototype serving droid that we here at Crey
Industries are developing. You were sent out on a test run and had a bit of a breakdown, so they brought you back here to have you checked out and
repaired."

***

"As well rehearsed as that story was, I could tell he was lying. You learn to do that, when you've been around the block as long as me," Sylia
said. Her voice sounded vaguely distant. "It was the other half of it, the fact that he felt perfectly natural telling me I was a machine, that surprised
me. I couldn't let that on, but….I knew I was…had been…human. Was that just a lie? Was I some copy that merely mimiced humans like Sylvie? Another's
memories in a machine?"

Ifrit nodded slightly, knowing all too well what that kind of feeling must have been like, even if she didn't recognize the name.

"Still, if I was going to get answers…"

***

Sylia concentrated on looking at her body through the variety of telling
measures that would let her know if she was injured. She almost gasped as a small HUD came up in her vision, identifying no known errors….as well as
identifying an intrusive viral overwrite that had been attempting to change her internal code. Pushing existential thoughts aside, she looked at the researcher
in front of her. "My internal diagnostics show no damage to my body….if it's all right with you, could I at least get off this table? It's
horribly cramped."

Sylia had noticed that they apparently hadn't provided any clothing for her before beginning their work, and in her experience, most scientists were a
little…starved for female companionship. Especially ones that made geeky in-jokes such as the one from the other researcher. The two exchanged glances, then
looked at the door before the first one shrugged and nodded. "Just don't go running off," he joked as he undid the straps.

"Last thing on my mind," Sylia said, glancing around, which was when she spotted the finished armor on another table.

***

"That was really what honed my situation to a razor's edge. Before, I could assume they possibly didn't know who I was. But if they didn't,
why have a replica, albeit slightly altered, of my hardsuit nearby? And if I was there, what about the other girls? Suddenly, it became more
than just escaping. I had to find if they were here as well, and if so, rescue them. Those diagnostics had also told me that their "upload" was a
reprogramming attempt, so I could certainly work out why they wanted me now. Letting that happen to any of them was something I just could not
tolerate."

***

Sylia ignored the leering glances of the second researcher as she did a mental
lookaround of the room. Remarkably, she couldn't seem to find any cameras in the room, probably for security reasons. Which implied they felt they were
safe enough here that they didn't need constant surveillance. Their first mistake. "I do have one question," she said. The researcher looked
up.

"You said I was a prototype. Are there others like me?"

"A few. They're working on them elsewhere to prepare for the release date."

"Thank you. That's all I needed to know," she said as she
brought her leg up in a spinning kick to the temple to knock him unconscious. The second researcher sprang for an alert button, but Sylia leaped forward and
caught him. If the concept of a naked woman pinning him to the ground did anything for him, he didn't have much time to contemplate it before he was also
knocked out, Sylia quickly getting up and heading for the armor. Unfortunately, that was about the time she heard alarms blaring, regretfully noting that she
probably missed a microphone somewhere. Suiting up quickly, she turned to the door as an armored figure in blue and yellow strode in. Sylia walked toward him
casually. "This lab is under attack. I was unable to subdue the one that attacked them, but they were also unable to steal the armor."

The armored figure took a moment to glance at the fallen researchers…which was all Sylia needed. Triggering the wristblade on the suit, she drove it straight
through the reflective facebowl. The man crumpled to the ground as more armored troopers rounded the corner. Sylia took a quick count. Twelve of them. This
could be trouble.

***

"Have you ever gotten into a situation where you were very much aware that it was a life or death battle? You don't really consciously fight them so
much as you just…shut down. It's them or you, and mercy is an indulgence you can't really afford," she said.

Ifrit nodded as the older woman continued, sounding more accepting of this
than she had her realization that she was a machine. "I've killed before, of necessity. And this really wasn't much different. I was a failed
product for whatever they were trying to do. If they captured me, I wouldn't get out again. I'd be overwritten or whatever they were doing to me. If
they didn't kill me first. While I wasn't really sure if I cared if I died at the moment, the fact was that the others were waiting, somewhere, for me
to find and rescue them. I didn't have the luxury of dying. Which meant they didn't have the luxury of someone unwilling to kill them."

***

Sylia tabbed through the console, ignoring the broken and bleeding bodies on the ground and trying to shake the combat fugue state she'd slipped into so
she could concentrate. Nene was always better at this, but Sylia was hardly a slouch. A few minutes of reading later, she stood up, deciding not to press her
luck as she headed out the door. And found her way blocked by more men in armored suits, these looking more akin to walking tanks than the previously bright
colored troopers from before.

"Stand down and surrender, or we will destroy you," the leader said.
Sylia cocked her head to the side.

"….no."

***

"It really was a Priss sort of thing to do, taunting them like that, but I was still coming down off what I'd found," she said. Ifrit looked at
her, clearly uncomfortable with asking what that was, but she continued.

"The computer detailed the progress of the project thus far. We were
copies that'd been stolen from another dimension….probably my home one, by this…Crey Industries. The hardsuits hadn't been finished, so they did so
themselves. They'd wanted to copy us….make more….but apparently GENOM's workmanship was too advanced for them. So they'd decided to make us into
weapons instead. I didn't know where the others were, if they'd woken up like I had. If they were still alive…" she said, looking all too
vulnerable for a moment before her composure returned before Ifrit could reach out to comfort her. "But I knew I couldn't stay there….and that I
couldn't die. They were counting on me."

***

Sylia panted, looking at the path of bloody ruin she'd carved out of the
soldiers in her way. Finding the power room had been a stroke of luck, as disconnecting it should disable most of their means of tracking her. She'd also
stolen what she could from the researchers in the facility, providing her with a small nest egg to get herself started in a civilian identity. As well as a
travel case for her armor. They'd apparently planned for her to operate on her own, and that would prove useful.

***

"After that, I got a small apartment in King's Row. It was pretty much a stepping stone while I laid low. Some investments netted me a much larger
income to work with, which allowed me to relocate to my place in Steel Canyon. I registered as a hero shortly thereafter, anonymously. They didn't seem too
surprised, really."

"The FBSA has more than a couple cases like that," Ifrit said. "But I suppose what I'm really wondering is….why are you telling me
this?"

Sylia looked up at her, and Ifrit was struck by the steel determination she could see in her eyes. "I'm going to find them. The rest of my team. But…I
don't know if I can do it alone. This group….Riot Force….that you've put together. You do good. Like we used to. And I think….I can trust you. So
I'm asking for your help. Please. We'll all leave as soon as we're together, if you're afraid of antagonizing Crey, but
please….I need your help."
Ifrit looked at her, considering. Crey was a juggernaut of
industry and under the table dealings. Making an enemy of them so early….but she found that considering turning the woman down was just something she
couldn't do. "….Of course we'll help," she said, holding out her hand. Sylia took it, both reluctantly and gratefully. "We're
teammates. That's what teammates do."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Riot Force/Sabres of Paragon: To Spite a Giant

Four Colors 2: Red

Of all the truck's myriad guards and operating crew, only a couple were
really all that nervous. The guards were alert, of course, but unaware of precisely what the cargo they were guarding actually was. The various mechanics
looking through the hardware, however, knew exactly what the restraints and various software connected to the large crate in the back of the truck was used
for, and what would happen if it failed. Especially given what Crey would do if they failed.

Despite their nervousness, however, no one noticed two women creeping along a
nearby rooftop.

"You're sure about this?" Ifrit said, looking down from the
edge. "I'd hate to bug these fine folk if they were doing something perfectly legal," she grinned. Inside her armor, Sylia smiled back, running
through combat checklists to make sure she was at maximum efficiency. Getting all green readings, she stood up. "My contact was very precise about the
timing. Ten minutes later and we'd have missed them, and her, entirely."

"Well, looks like we're right on time then," Ifrit said.
"Shall we?"

"Let's," Sylia said, leaping off as Ifrit sprung into the air, flames raining down among the surprised guards. That and the bursts of flame from
Ifrit, still hovering in the air, quickly distracted several guards as Sylia landed, providing them with little warning before the metallic blue blur slammed
into them, body armor and guns being sliced apart with equal skill. The confusion as the guards attempted to change their awareness to ground level to take out
Silicon left several wide open, and fireballs raining from the sky sent them flying into unconsciousness.

***

Smith looked out, groaning. "Our guards are down to four, and there's only two of them…."

"That's how it always goes, huh? Hope you like prison food," Sanders sighed.

Smith considered that, then frowned. "For this kind of job? We'll be
lucky if we don't get sent to the Zig itself."

"But the Zig's for super powered freaks!" Sanders blanched. The Ziggursky Federal Penitentiary hadn't earned its reputation for nothing.

"It's maximum security. Transporting an unwilling victim after kidnapping them? Crey'll wash their hands of us and we're stuck there for
sure."

"Damn it, we're fucked…." Sanders groaned, wringing his hands.

"Not just yet," Smith said, pulling out his PDA. "If I'm gonna get jailed, I figure I'm gonna try anything I have at hand to stay out of
there."

"Like wha-" Anders started to ask, before seeing what he was doing. "You maniac! What's to keep her from attacking us?!"

"Because we're a smaller threat than they are. And as is, our situation's hopeless anyway. This way, at least we can escape and Crey'll take
us back in to cover up the evidence trail."

"Or kill us," Anders pointed out glumly.

"They can do that in the Zig too. I prefer this plan. And on the off
chance she beats them, we get a promotion. I can shut her down."

Anders looked wary, then nodded, more out of desperation than anything.
"Do it."

Smith nodded, pressing the activation key as the program booted up.

Running...scorched_earth.exe…multiple targets detected….booting
up weapons…

***

Sylia barely had time to notice two techs jumping out of the truck before the
roof of it exploded outward in a blast of electricity, followed by an armored figure. Another bolt of electricity seared her retinas as it struck the cab,
setting the entire area ablaze as its gas tank went up. Blinded, Sylia missed the third bolt that slammed into her chest and knocked the wind out of her even
as her hardsuit registered an abrupt power loss. Rerouting power to make up for the lost battery life, Sylia jumped clear of the blaze, only to see a red
armored figure stride out of the fire.

"Nene?!"

Ifrit didn't hear her, only seeing an armored figure attacking her
teammate. Unfortunately, Nene noticed her as well, and the blast of flame that rippled out towards her didn't reach its target in time. Nene sprang forward
across terrain before getting right up next to her. Ifrit felt an odd pulling sensation as her flaming aura dimmed, and what little damage was present on the
red armor in front of her rapidly healed itself. Then she was dodging as the figure began throwing lightning at her. "What the hell?! Volt tanks can't
do that!" she yelled.

"It's not a Crey tank. It's one of my teammates," Sylia said
coldly through the comm. link. "They must have done something to her…"

Ifrit recalled through memories not her own similar statements from a variety
of sources involved in Crey investigations. Over the last week, Sylia'd reluctantly opened up about the women she intended to rescue, and Ifrit had begun
to get an idea for what could inspire such devotion against overwhelming odds. They were her family, as far as she felt and knew. Especially given what she
knew now about their origins and that her "brother" was probably living a dimension away with his real sister. As she dodged blast after blast of
lightning, she remembered the stories about a spritely young girl that was there for purely support reasons yet never shied from combat, trying to improve
herself despite her lack of actual talent compared to her teammates in such areas. A guileful prankster with a ready grin and infectious laugh. And all Ifrit
could see here was a killing machine controlled by Crey. And that made her angry. Which, unfortunately, meant that her flames heated to match her mood,
unconsciously.

There is a deep primal fear of fire that's ingrained in the hindbrain of
most humans and other species that live on planets with oxygen atmospheres that allow fire to burn. And, although marvels of technology, the 33-S buma series
replicates this innate human trait as well. So was it that the massive ball of flame shooting at Nene at high speed stalled her control programming for a brief
instant as she began processing the emotion of sheer panic. This slowed her reactions enough for it to hit directly, and the armor developed
by Crey, albeit more durable than that which inspired it, was still not equipped to absorb damage the likes of which Ifrit's fiery attack had inflicted on
it.

Damage estimates flickered across her HUD as Nene's control-locked mind
reeled at the burning sensations rolling up her arms and torso, the control programs flickering as the imperfect neural overrides dealt with more input than
they'd been designed to handle. Metal began to flow slightly like wax and sparks began to fly at random from the armored girl's gauntlets as the field
cohesion that kept them targetable lost control. But more noticeable to her opponents was the sheer scream of pain as the heat leaking
through the hardsuit's insulation(which, by pure luck, was able to resist melting as well) got through the constant input into Nene's cerebrum of
"kill all targets" as the hardware reinforcing it suffered technological heatstroke and shut down. Which left the young Sabre screaming in pain as
she made a beeline for a nearby fountain.

Sylia's eyes shot open in shock at the scream, and the situation parsed
out quickly to her mind….as well as the dangers of what would happen if Nene threw herself into the water with those electrical weapons damaged. Nowhere near
close enough, she activated her commlink. "Ifrit! She can't get into the water! The damage to her suit means those arcs of electricity could fry her
inside her own suit!"

Ifrit, already slightly horrified at her own loss of control, recognized the
appropriate threat and shot down like a bomb to intercept the girl. Not knowing any other way to make sure she wouldn't attack them afterwards, or even
attack Ifrit while she carried her away, Ifrit felt the arcane energies gathering around her fists. "Sorry, Nene," she said softly to herself before
slamming an energized fist square into the armored figure's face, sending her cartwheeling backwards several feet and stopping ingloriously next to a
dumpster.

Ifrit let the flames still licking about Nene's armor flow back into her
own aura as Sylia landed beside her, doing a series of checks that hinted at far more time being an impromptu medic than the woman's bearing and background
had ever suggested to Ifrit. A stream of excited energy rippled across her awareness as Sylia made a full spectrum sweep of the surrounding area for obvious
thermal sources and then worked the clasps of her teammate's helmet, pulling it off and revealing the girl's features. Ifrit didn't notice the
aspect of herself that most of MAGI would classify as "Fey" being….well….fey….and taking extra interest in the girl…Nene's….face, still blackened
from the smoke inside her suit, her hair frazzled by the heat but otherwise hanging limply around her face in the vibrant red shade that Sylia'd described.
Sylia, for her part, checked to make sure she was still breathing, before gently replacing her helmet and picking her up, her HUD already displaying the
closest hospital. "Let's go," she said. "I don't want to be around for their cleanup crews, and Ne….Net…here needs attention,
stat."

Following, Ifrit found herself turning over the stories Sylia had told her, having a face to put to the name now, as they made their way to the local
hospital.

***

"Hey, it's the firestarter that thought I'd make a good barbecue," a weak croak noted playfully from the bed.

Ifrit blinked as she walked in, looking at Nene who was now wearing a series
of bandages over her arms and showed signs of some under the hospital gown. She blushed slightly, looking down. "Uh, yeah….I'm still kinda…new to the
whole throwing fire thing. I didn't mean to hurt you that badly."

"Naw, it's okay," the young woman(the not entirely hiding as
much as it could have hospital gown made a point of showing Ifrit she couldn't think of her as a "girl" anymore) noted in return, sort of
nonchalantly waving her bandaged hand at Ifrit. "Shut the programs down by overheating the circuits. Though at least I can be aware of the fact that you
didn't fricassee me on purpose," she noted.

Sylia, leaning back against the wall to allow the two of them to talk, favored
a slight quirk of her mouth that could almost be a satisfied smile. For the first time since she'd arrived here, she'd accomplished something of
personal worth to herself. As the two girls hit it off and bonded thanks to Nene's own infectious personality, she allowed herself a slight smidgeon of
hope that, before long, all her girls would be back home. Linna…Priss… Schooling her features to motionlessness, Sylia let herself savor one of those memories,
not tainted anymore by the specter of Crey's security being as bad as GENOM's or worse when they had a "pet project" that needed to
"disappear". She also suppressed a slight laugh at the memory of Nene using a small catapult to fling mistletoe at the two of them one Christmas,
this one more brought to air by watching Nene act as she always had, even bandaged and lying in a hospital bed. That image, and that tiny piece of hope, left
Sylia feeling content and more relaxed than she had been in weeks.

It was only a half an hour later when the two girls finally got around to
trying to include Sylia in their conversations that Nene and Ifrit noticed the leader of the Knight Sabres had drifted off to sleep leaning against the wall, a
soft smile on her face.

***

Author's Afterword:

Egads, I finally finished this. When was the last post in this? JUNE? It's nearly
mid-October now. Gnrgh. At least you can expect the remaining two(possibly three) parts of this to happen relatively more quickly. I have no idea what stalled
this one, but it's done! *does happy dance*. Amusingly, there's several bits of continuity in this that
didn't exist at the time of the original story, so I guess good news/bad news, no?
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

I admit, it's the next one I'm really looking forward too. Hungover Priss at her finest!

Sylia was having dinner when the alarm sirens blared, the sky outside turning a sickly green. Despite blast shutters closing along the windows, she
continued eating at her current pace. Whatever the emergency, Sylia had no plans to rush inelegantly from a meal if it was unnecessary, especially considering
the number of heroes in the city. Sylia Stingray was many things, but unnecessarily inelegant was not one such.



Finishing her food, she set her silverware down and strode to the small internal room of her building that housed the armory. As she suited up, she noted a
blip that indicated Nene was already in the field and en route, which got a chuckle from her. The girl was enjoying being combat effective far too much. As
much as her old role had been necessary in the Knight Sabers, Sylia admitted she was rather proud to see Nene acclimating to direct combat as well as she did.
It was one of the few things she could thank Crey for.



Walking upstairs to the roof, Sylia once again considered alternative methods of exiting the building. Eventually, someone would notice her exiting here and
suspicion would mount. Tunneling underground was possible, but impractical. Perhaps some way of exiting the roof too fast to be seen? She pondered this as she
jumped off the roof , leaping to the next in a burst of recessed thrusters, headed for the disturbance.



***

"I'm tellin' ya. This job? Safest thing you could hope for in Crey," the truck driver noted to his security guard companion. "I drive
this thing through the city, drop off the container, and beat feet immediately. Heroes always have bigger problems to deal with than me, so I never get
arrested, and they can't prove I'm connected to anything. Seriously, it's the bes-" he cut off as the skies went green and sirens blared.
"Oh, come on…." He grimaced, putting the pedal to the metal as the truck accelerated towards its designated drop off point. After a while, he let out
his breath, looking over at his companion, who chuckled. "Guess the heroes are taking care of them somewhere els-"



Neither Crey employee had time to notice the Rikti bomb land directly in front of them before it detonated, the blast reaching out like an invisible boot
and kicking the truck straight in the grill, causing the vehicle to tumble end over end due to its own momentum, eventually landing at rest on its wheels…in
time for another Rikti bomb to go off and tip it over on its side.



Inside the trailer, the storage capsule being transported was mostly saved by being clamped to the floor of the vehicle. However, the person inside was not
quite as lucky. Bounced about like a marble in a test tube, even the stasis commands attempting to keep her asleep couldn't prevent Priss from waking up to
all the abuse. Eventually, it stopped, leaving her with a headache worthy of an all night bender….and then the truck tipped over, dropping her to the side
again.



"Ow! What the fuck kind of driver is…wait a minute, where the hell am I?" she wondered, looking around. She was still in her hardsuit, as
far as she could tell, but this stasis tube seemed…odd. A flash of a briefing from Sylia came to mind, about buma growth tubes. Which meant GENOM, wherever she
was. And that meant they'd made a serious mistake in leaving her in her armor. Checking her controls, she slammed an armored fist into the glass several
times to little effect. Frowning, she located the joints of the panel, aiming at them instead. This proved more successful as she saw cracks spidering out from
the area…until both gave way at once, dropping her out onto the wall of the truck as the armored glass stopped holding her in her current position.



Grumbling to herself, Priss pulled herself to her feet, punching the door open and blinking in surprise at the odd green sky.



***

Standard Rikti tactical doctrine for a bombing raid was to overwhelm the enemy with air superiority and wide area detonation munitions. Following this, the
highest threats were to be met with calculated force, taking them out with as little risk to the overall strike force as possible. However, the Rikti's
inherently cautious nature meant that whereas a human would prefer overwhelming force, the Rikti tended to consider raw numbers, trickling in a "By The
Book" amount of troops based on the number of threats visible. This had only been further increased by the loss of reliable reinforcements from the
Homeworld, leading the Rikti to put further emphasis on the survivability of their troops, even if it was at the expense of their overall tactical plans. Lost
conscripts needed combat experience to adjust to their new Rikti forms, and the raids, overseen by veteran soldiers, provided that so that the soldiers could
be properly prepared for Hro'Dtohz's master plans…whenever the Lord of War deigned to tell the rest of the Lineage of War what they were, anyway.



In the meantime, Squad Alpha-48 was being deployed to investigate a power surge that seemed to be consistent with human combatants of the power armored
variety. The area had just suffered significant damage from the bombing, and the target was stationary. With no confirmed hostiles just yet, Squad Alpha-48 had
been primarily detailed a Guardian officer and a few drones, as well as their commanding officer in his Gunner armor. As a blue form stumbled out of the
wreckage, the Rikti trained their weapons…



***



"Unidentified human: surrender!" a harsh voice barked as Priss looked over her shoulder. A series of oddly proportioned humanoids with weapons
were drawing aim on her, the closest looking like some sort of bizarre anorexic buma. However, their body language definitely said "unfriendly", and
the oddly phrased order similarly made her unwilling to abide by their given commands. Plus, if those were buma, she wouldn't want to surrender to
them, odd speech patterns or not.



And, of course, there was the little part of her that Sylia had tried to train out of her but had never quite succeeded in doing so: that part of her that
heard someone tell her to go "right" and immediately swerved to the left out of sheer contrariness.



"Who's gonna make me?"



***



Sylia was the first to see the scene that neither she nor Nene had expected to find when they followed the smoke from a crash likely caused by the bombing.
And despite all her training, for a brief moment, Sylia just froze, unable to believe what she was seeing.



In the middle of a horde of Rikti, a familiar if slightly modified blue armored form was giving the alien hordes utter hell. Armored fists and feet swung
out like hammers, cracking armor and shattering bone. A conscript tried to fall back, only for Priss to slam an armored elbow into the Headman beside her,
knocking his breath out before whirling around him, jumping towards the Rikti soldier in a single improbable bound. The Rikti opened fire, but wildly and
inaccurately, her sudden approach having rattled him. Priss wasn't so inefficient, stepping under his line of fire and knocking the blaster out of his hand
with a kick. A fist hit his solar plexus like an oncoming car, cratering the armor there before a shoulder knocked him staggering backward, a right hook
shattering his translator and mouthpiece before a powerful uppercut lifted him bodily into the air and dropped him like a sack of potatoes.



It was brutal, short, and powerful, but the fighting style was undeniably that of one of her Knight Sabers, and the scattered, broken bits of armor,
weapons, and drone pieces showed that Priss had been holding her own long enough for the Rikti to have medicomm'd out at least one full wave of their
soldiers. Shaking herself, she popped the blades on her armor, diving into the fray herself as she intercepted a group heading towards Priss's back.
"You look like you could use a little help," she noted, sounding calmer than she felt at the moment, as Priss's head whirled like a shot as
another Rikti crumpled under her barrage of violence.



"Sylia?!"



"Yes, Priss, it's me."

"What the hell's going on here?" she asked, sounding utterly baffled, and Sylia restrained a laugh at the fact that Priss, having no idea what
the situation was, had dived into a brawl without hesitation.



"We're under attack. The details aren't important, but once Nene gets here, we can probably pull back long enough for me to explain it to
you."



"Right," Priss said, and if any doubts on Nene's utility against these things was present in her mind, it didn't show in her voice.



A few seconds(and one wave of reinforcements later), a red blur bounced from a nearby rooftop, landing near Priss, as the War Walls slowly spooled back up,
the battle slowly dying down. Priss looked up as she dropped a soldier to the ground unconscious. "Just in time, Nene. We finished without you," she
smirked.



The red armored figure sniffed audibly in dismissal. "I'll have you know I've gotten a lot better at fighting while you've been locked
up."



"Well, when you're at rock bottom for skill, I guess the only direction to go is up," Priss pondered, as Nene bristled.



"Priss, Nene really has improved while you've been…away…" Sylia began to say, before Priss laughed.



"I'm sure she has, if you've had to rely on just her instead of me or Linna."



Sylia frowned, before Nene started to speak but changed her tone in an instant. "Priss, down!"



Priss ducked out of instinct, just as a Rikti energy blast went through the air where her head had been, and Nene raised her hands, crackling bolts of
ionization ripping out from her gauntlets in eye searing brightness to impact the Rikti, electrocuting the alien into unconsciousness. Priss stood up slowly
afterwards as Nene relaxed, looking at her, then back over at the Rikti behind her teleporting out in alien medicomm. Nene sniffed. "Seems someone's
lost some of their edge being locked up in a dumpster for a few months. Since the alert's done, Sylia, I'm going to get back to my date," she
noted over the private comm band, before bouncing away to a nearby roof.



Priss turned, staring at Sylia. "….when did she start throwing fucking lightning bolts?!"



Sylia nearly laughed, but repressed the instinct. "Since you've been gone. I told you she'd improved," she said, mixing in just a slight
hint of reproach in her tone.



Priss glanced back at the rapidly departing red figure, before looking back at Sylia. "….I guess so."

Sylia shook her head, not really looking forward to what was coming next. "Anyway, if you'll come with me, we can find some place to talk. I imagine
you have a few questions."



"Heh, that's for sure," she admitted, still glancing in the direction where Nene had disappeared. "Not least how clumsy little Nene's
picked up more tricks than making a computer sit up and dance…"



***

As expected, the debriefing had gone well enough until Sylia had had to explain how they'd gotten here…and the implications of such.



"Sylia, I never pegged you for having a sense of humor, but this is not fucking funny," Priss noted darkly, scowling at her



Sylia sat back in her chair, her expression an odd mixture of sympathetic and reluctant that would've stood out on the usually cool and controlled woman
to Priss had she not been as agitated as she was. "Through some unknown method, someone with access to GENOM's production facilities recreated the
four of us using -33S model buma technology. My memories stop at a certain point before I woke up here. So do Nene's, and so, I imagine, do yours. Detailed
medical scans have confirmed significant differences between myself and Nene compared to what's standard in a normal human body. That, and Crey had files
on hand at the facility I escaped from seeking a way to reverse engineer the technology that created us."



"I don't care how you put it, or how much evidence you have. I am not a fucking boomer," Priss growled. "It's not fucking
possible. I'm me. I remember who I am, where I grew up, my friends, my family. There's no way GENOM could duplicate that. No one knows all the
things that I know, not even you. I'm not some fucking boomer copy. Look for other answers, because that's not me!"



Priss stood up, Sylia rising behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. Priss hissed and jerked away, glaring daggers at the older woman.



"Priss, if you go out there without knowing who these people are and why they want us back, you're going to be putting yourself in danger. Danger
you may not walk away from. You need to believe me."



"I will, when you start talking something that makes sense. Until then, just stay the fuck away," she growled, stalking away and slamming the door
behind her with an audible bang that sounded like a gunshot.



Sylia stood there for a moment, the logical half of her running in circles trying to figure out how to convince Priss of a truth she didn't want to
believe as she let her composure recover from that tirade. Part of her noted she'd gotten too used to Priss's gradual softening towards herself and the
other Knight Sabers back home. She should've expected the tirade.



Coming up with nothing, she pulled out her phone, dialing Riot Force's base number.



***



Priss's mood didn't particularly improve as she talked down the streets of Steel Canyon. Not having her armor with her, she avoided the large clumps
of green monsters that Sylia'd identified as Trolls and the packs of powered thugs known as Outcasts. However, the further she walked, the more she stewed
about the things Sylia'd said. A boomer? Her? Yeah, right. If this Crey was anything like GENOM, she doubted anything Sylia'd found could be trusted at
face value. And GENOM monitoring their minds? Yeah, right. And next thing you knew, particle beams would be falling from the sky at total random.



So caught up in her growing anger, Priss didn't notice until a second late when a Reaper fired one of his tranquilizer darts at her. The dart struck her
in the shoulder, jerking her out of her reverie at the pain of the thing. The Reaper gave a command to the two walking cadavers with him, sending them forward
to pick her up. Priss, yanking the dart out, growled. "Whoever you weirdoes are, you picked a bad day to mess with me. But I'm grateful. I've
really wanted to punch something!"



The lead cadaver swung at her, Priss ducking the clumsy blow with practiced skill. The two of them were barely any threat to her, even unarmored, with their
lumbering attacks, but Priss hissed as a stream of corrosive vomit just missed her arm. She whirled, slamming a fist into the necrotized flesh that sent the
cadaver stumbling back with the sound of something snapping inside its torso. Priss didn't notice as she whirled a kick into the next one's leg,
knocking it off balance and simply pounding into the thing. Utterly blitzed, the cadaver didn't have time to try to attack with its vomit spray as it was
pummeled into non-functionality, and the next one didn't do much better. Priss looked up as another tranq dart hit her in the shoulder, slamming her knee
into his groin, a right cross to his face, and then following up with an overhead smash to the head that left the groaning Reaper too unconscious to realize
the pain he was in.



Looking at the blood leaking out of the Reaper's smashed nose, Priss briefly stared at it before hearing a grinding noise as one of the Cadavers'
arms sparked, the beating she'd delivered to it having ripped part of the dead skin open, revealing wires and metal inside the corpse. Priss wrinkled her
nose before continuing on. As she did, a part of her mind kept going back to the Reaper's unconscious form and the blood. Although part of her was yelling
at her that she didn't need to prove anything to anybody, Priss made her way towards the local hospital. Stepping through the doors, she sidestepped a hero
apparently in a hurry to leave the premises. The nurse gave her a sympathetic smile as Priss walked up.



"Welcome to Steel Canyon Medical Center, ma'am. How may we assist you?"

Priss considered walking away, but frowned. She'd never backed down before. She wasn't starting now. "I'd like to donate some blood,
actually."



The receptionist nodded politely. "Well, we aren't doing a drive at the moment, but if you still want to, we can set you up quickly enough. If
you'll just fill out this form and head to room B-28, a nurse should be with you shortly."



Priss nodded, heading to the room and sitting down. As she waited, she ran song lyrics through her head to keep herself distracted from the implications of
what she was doing. She was halfway through the second bridge of a new song when the nurse came in and delicately extracted a sample of her blood with a
syringe to test. Priss looked at the fluid as it was drawn, partially reassured at the fact that it was as red as anyone else's blood. However, as the
nurse left, she frowned at the fact that Sylvie'd bled red as well when… she shut off that line of thought almost immediately. The last thing she needed to
be doing was breaking important medical equipment out of frustrated anger right now.



After a decent wait, the nurse came back in, this time holding a clipboard. She looked somewhat apologetic, which was Priss's first clue before she
spoke up. "I'm sorry Miss Asagiri, but I'm afraid we have to defer you as a potential donor at this time," she said.



"Defer?" she asked.



"Well, after an analysis of your blood, we've been unable to come up with a matching recipient."



"Matching for what?" Priss asked, the hair on the back of her neck rising slightly.



"Well…any known blood type in our immediate records. Certain other hospitals deal in more exotic blood types outside the normal human genome, and we
can send your results to them to see if you match up as a donor there, but there are no recipients available currently that're compatible with your blood
makeup. This happens occasionally, usually with heroes that've undergone some sort of change to their physiology, or their children that inherit it.
I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"No…no, it's alright," Priss said, feeling slightly light-headed, and she knew it wasn't because of the blood loss. Oh god…Sylia was
telling the truth… "I'll…come back later then," she said, getting up. The nurse nodded slightly, leading Priss out of the back rooms to the
lobby, before watching with slight concern as Priss wandered out the front door. The receptionist looked at her coworker.



"What, was she a druggie or something?"

"No, but I don't think she knew she was anything but normal until just now…"



***

Considering getting ready to go out for a night's patrol, Sylia turned slightly as she heard the door of her apartment open, spotting Priss out of the
corner of her eye.



"Oh, Priss, you're bac-"

"Fuck you! Why didya have t'tell me?!" Priss snarled, throwing a sloppy punch that Sylia easily diffused with a palm to her wrist and a pivot,
sending the other woman stumbling another step but otherwise keeping her from collapsing on the floor entirely. Sylia sniffed slightly and wrinkled her nose at
the overbearing scent of fresh alcohol. Nene'd been called in for an interview with the PPD about halfway through her surveillance of Priss, so Sylia'd
had no advanced warning about Priss hitting one of the local bars.



Not that she was especially surprised.



Priss staggered forward again, eyes a mix of drunken bleariness and anger-tinged fierceness. "I coulda just gone on…bein' normal….but no. No, miss
fuckin' know-it-all haddta go'n meddle. I coulda just been like everyone else! Why couldn't you jus' leave it, Sylia?!" she yelled, before
her knees about gave way. "Why'd you have t'tell me I wasn't human? That'm just a fucking boomer….fucking thing…" she said,
the anger segueing abruptly into tears as Sylia noticed the moisture leaking down Priss's face in far more amounts than she'd ever seen Priss have
outside of that one time by the DD.



"…because you deserved to know," she said softly, feeling that last small piece of detachment she'd had left after all these years wither and
die, and not particularly mourning for it. "It would have come up eventually. Either from Crey, a medical examination, or something else. You would have
found out eventually. I thought it best that it would come from me," she said, stepping closer.



Priss jabbed at her own face angrily, wiping at her eyes as she glared at Sylia. "…damn you, Sylia….damn you….why do you have t'be right all the
fucking time? Why do we have to have this happen?" She looked as if she was about to try to punch Sylia again, before just letting a sob break through and
staggering. Sylia caught her before she fell entirely, but didn't let go, letting the other woman struggle to regain her composure in the embrace. Sylia
rested her arms around Priss's waist as neutrally comforting as she knew how, before speaking up.



"I don't know why this happened, at least in a grand cosmic reason that'd make it all alright. I'm just grateful to find you girls again. I
don't expect I could have handled it alone."

"How the fuck did you handle it?" Priss choked. "You knew from just after you woke up. You said so. How did you deal with
being…being a boomer?"



Sylia idly considered telling Priss at least part of the reason why, but decided that now wasn't the time for such a revelation with her friend so
obviously distraught. "At first, it was because I had to escape, and from there finding a place to hide. I distracted myself with the goal of finding you
girls, but the distraction didn't last. In a way, though, you're responsible for me keeping a level head."



Priss looked up at her in confusion, and Sylia pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe at her face. "I used to think like you did. That buma,
no matter how intelligent they seemed, were nothing more than highly advanced machines. Things that could pass for human. Then you met Sylvie. I admit, I had
you followed, suspicious of this new person who could so quickly sneak into your circle of friends. My sources couldn't find anything about her, and I
wanted to be sure she wasn't a trap. That was how I became aware of when the two of you became…intimate," she said cautiously.



Priss's expression almost shifted to angry again, before she deflated. "…I guess I can see why you would," she said in a voice almost too
quiet for her.



"Yes…eventually, I stopped the surveillance. I'm not my brother, after all. And it was clear that, if anything, Sylvie was just another lost soul,
that'd found someone that matched her in you. I was as shocked as you when we found out what she was, though I'd had my suspicions given reports of
escaped sexaroids. But the fact that she'd done all of that, risked and lost her life, just to protect you and her friend…Anri, I think you said her name
was…that wasn't the thoughts, the objectives of a lifeless machine. Sylvie was as much a person as you or I," she said softly.



Priss nodded, tears leaking out of her face again for a different reason this time, looking up at her. "But what's all that got to do with…."
she started to ask, before Sylia saw the slight light dawn in Priss's crimson eyes.



"Yes. We're the same as Sylvie. We have the memories of the original Knight Sabers, who may be going about their lives right now, but we're not
them. We're copies built with 33S technology. The same technology that created Sylvie. That made her a person, regardless of her origins.
You're not a thing, Priss. No more than she was. You're a person who has other people that care about you very much, and don't want to see you like
this," she said.



Priss blinked at the gentle tone, before becoming suddenly aware of their position and stepping back, slight color in her cheeks. "…yeah, I guess
you're…right. I'd just…it's hard, y'know? I only knew Sylvie was…shortly before she died. And after that, all we knew were more of GENOM's
combat boomers…"



"I understand," Sylia said, nodding. "That said, do you have any place to spend the night?" she asked. When Priss shook her head, Sylia
nodded slightly. "You can use the guest bedroom then. I wouldn't really think you're quite ready to go out among the gangs at night like this just
yet, much less find a place to stay with minimal funds," she said.



Priss looked disgusted through her obvious exhaustion as the beer and emotional exertion caught up with her. "Hey, I'm not some china doll, okay?
I'm perfectly fi-" she managed, before passing out onto the floor with a thud.



Sylia blinked, before sighing slightly and shaking her head. Bending down, she lifted Priss somewhat, grateful for the slightly above human average strength
her new body had as standard. Carrying and/or dragging her to the spare room, she laid Priss onto the bed, pulling off her somewhat dirty biking boots to keep
the linens mostly clean and putting them into a corner. She watched Priss sleep for a moment, smiling slightly to herself, before checking her watch and
realizing she had to get going. Writing a note with how to contact herself or Nene, Sylia went into the armory room, sliding into her hardsuit and heading up
to the roof to catch up with the rest of Riot Force's late night patrol. Now they just had to find Linna, and her family here would be together again.
Finally.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Nothing.

That was all they knew about Linna's current location, and as much as Sylia was keeping, had to keep a positive outlook on the situation, she was aware
that Nene was beginning to take it personally.

"I don't get it, Sylia!" she groaned as she leaned back in the computer chair. "I'm getting
plenty of hits on Crey's datanet as to where she used to be. Their data security is like, thirty years behind what I'm used to now that I have a proper
machine to set up the subroutines. But abruptly before we found Priss, she just drops off the map. Vanishes. Even Crey's up in arms about it. They think we
have her already."

Priss scowled from her seat as she watched Nene work. The fact that the problem didn't involve either smashing or any of her other various skills made her
irritable, especially since all three of them were painfully aware of the strokes of luck that'd led to the situation thus far.

"So, if Crey doesn't have her, who would have reason to take her from a classified Crey facility?" Sylia asked. It was the obvious question, but
Nene seemed to work better when she was explaining the obvious to those less in the know.

"Well, Crey's got a long list of enemies, but most of them are on the upright. Of their non-good and proper enemies, the Council might want her, but
they have their own super-soldier program that they seem just fine with. This Nemesis guy already has life-like machines that can't be detected, so
that's out. The Vahzilok and Goldbrickers might have reason to steal her, but the zombies don't know we're here and the Goldbrickers stick to the
Rogue Isles. And Arachnos might have a reason to do so, but if so, why not grab the rest of us at the same time?"

"What if somebody just pinched her on the way out of the company as a severance pay?" Priss suggested.

Nene gave her a look. "Crey isn't entirely as nasty as GENOM was, but they're not that pathetic that
someone could just waltz out of there with...a...highly classified...." she trailed off, before whirling back to her computer, the key taps forming a
sudden stacatto of rapid searches as she dug through the files.

Sylia chuckled, glancing over at Priss. "Or maybe so."

Priss just shrugged back, not entirely satisfied. "Yeah, though at least if I'm right, Linna's probably safe and not undergoing some horrible
experiments."

***

"More tea, master?" Linna asked as she bent down to fill the cup. Upon receiving a nod, she poured just so, adding a lump of sugar to it and stirring
five precise strokes to even it out as she had every other time.

When the master raised a hand up to her face, she stopped, allowing him to complete the motion without interference. He ran a finger along her cheekbones,
looking at her with the odd expression that her emotional reaction subroutines couldn't quite classify. Her predictive ones suggested a 78% chance that he
might make use of her in a recreational capacity again, however.

He chuckled, letting the hand drop and taking a sip of his tea as he leaned back in the chair. "Such an exquisitely detailed doll. To think they were
going to waste such work dissecting you. Might as well chop up the Mona Lisa while trying to learn how Da Vinci painted."

Linna had no immediate reference for the statements, but she felt a 95% certitude that the master would clarify for her if he wished her to understand. And if
not, it wasn't anything that concerned her.

***

"Got it!"

"What've you got, Nene?" Sylia asked, walking in from the mezannine.

"I've found where Linna went missing down to the minute. I had to hack their entire security camera network to find out when the blackout happened,
but whoever set it up wasn't expecting someone like me to come sniffing after his tracks. And once I had his trail, it was easy to figure out who did
it."

"Which means....who, Nene?" Sylia asked patiently, before getting a twitch from Nene of recognition.

"Sorry. Doctor Paul Summerfield, one of Crey's problem children. He's rumored to have absconded with a few things here or there from time to time,
but he's so good at it no one can nail down his methods. Well, no one aside from yours truly," Nene preened.

"You have an addresss?"

"Yeah," she said, bringing it up. "Most people would hide their ill gotten gains elsewhere, but Summerfield....nah....he's gonna keep it
right at home...."

***

So, let me see if I've got this straight," Knight of the Peace said, helmet currently under one arm as he looked over the compound, a high-end
personal estate on the outer edge of Steel Canyon. "You want to infiltrate that." Land in the reclaimed
sections of Paragon City fully considered under control in the aftermath of the Rikti War was expensive, typically belonging to corporations that wanted to
make certain their facilities were secure, or for vital portions of the city's infrastructure. Certain examples, like Terra Volta, were big enough targets
that even the best PPD efforts couldn't keep them entirely secure. But here, far from anything that the criminal element couldn't raid from less well
protected segments of the city, the city was relatively safe. Safe enough that one Doctor Paul Summerfield had decided to build his summer home. Which, for a
summer home in the safe part of town, was fairly well protected. Crey security in plainclothes patrolled the grounds as well as a large series of close circuit
cameras.

"Yes. And quietly. I firmly expect this to explode once we get inside," Silicon said, matter-of-factly. "At which point, PPD will find that a
warrant was issued for a search and potential seizure of illegal materials. No evidence will be attached, it was a pure misfile, but the search itself will
come across several incriminating items," she said.

Knight of the Peace frowned at the description. "You hacked the PPD?"

"He has one of my girls. And he is holding her as his personal property. If possible, I will follow the niceties of the law, but these identities can
vanish in an eyeblink if necessary. I will not allow him to hold her any longer." Her tones were flat and hardened, and Knight suddenly became very aware
that his younger sister(and what an odd concept that still was) had possibly not guessed at the level of dedication this woman had to her teammates when
she'd offered her assistance in locating them.

"Right....and why exactly are you telling me this? You obviously intend to go in alone," he frowned.

"I cannot assume that most groups will find our hero liscenses sufficient protection from assumption that we are not, in fact, criminals. The Legendary
are one of two such groups that presumably have access to our total story and I believe..." Hope, she didn't say out loud, but right now, it
didn't matter. "...will allow us to walk away."

"You're honestly planning to blaze through this regardless of who you go up against," he noted, not without a little awe.

"I will not leave her behind," she said softly. A ways away, the other two glanced at their leader with a
questioning. "Under any circumstances."

"....all right then. I'll do what I can....assuming you don't do any more than you say you're going to."

Silicon cocked her helmet at him, once, then shrugged. "Fair enough."

Then all three of them moved as if on some invisible signal and jumped.

***

"Primary entryway has been breached!"

"Hall A-1 forces all down, send backup!"

"Protector corp 8 reports total energy loss! Field systems are down and cryonic weapons unresponsive!"

"What the hell are these people?!"

***

"Warriors, from another world," Doctor Summerfield chuckled as he considered the imagery. "It seems that your comrades are here to rescue you
from my clutches, my dear. However futile their efforts may be."

Summerfield didn't see the almost imperceptible twitch in his latest acquisition at his statement. He was too busy looking over the three that had simply
given him the perfect excuse to acquire them for his collection. Linna's eyes crossed as her internal subroutines began tangling on the logical snarl of
his infallible opinion labeling the invaders as her "comrades" who were trying to "rescue" her from him. Summerfield, for his part, was too
busy considering the alterations he'd have to make after these three were brought down to adjust them to Linna's level.

Truthfully, that was all there was to it. What Crey wanted was, in his not-so-humble but still rather educated opinion, impossible. They wanted absolute
control over what was a remarkable, nay, miraculous piece of engineering which replicated a human mind in all its infinite eccentricities to the last neuron.
While Crey had developed reliable mind control, the most effective adjustments took weeks of hard core programming and overwriting to get results, and a
talented psion with proper experience could take them apart eventually. Crey wanted a mass produceable, quickly replenishable source of cannon fodder with the
intuitive intelligence and flexibility of a living being and the hard locked loyalty of a machine. And while his analysis, before he gave up on the idea
entirely, of this fourth one...Linna...suggested such a goal was indeed possible, the expense to produce the software and hardware necessary, as well as model
the synthetic brain through every step of development, would bankrupt the company. His method he'd used on Linna simply eliminated the calculation for
self-identification, thus imprinting her on him in a simple master-slave engram that her drastically more limited cerebral function under this masking program
was capable of understanding. Crey wanted reliable enforcers on the cheap, but like so many others over the years, they failed to understand the simple concept
of "you get what you pay for".

None of which mattered to him. He had no interest in their penny-packet battlesuits, but the dolls inside....masterpieces. He'd shove a few handy bodies
into them later and suitably have his private security detail dispose of them in a manner that would make identification impossible. After all, why would Crey
suspect him of wrecking the armor and leaving the interiors intact?

And behind him, Linna twitched again.

***

"We're almost to the interior and WHAT THE HELL IS THA-DUCK!" Nene said eloquently as all three Sabres ducked just as a gigantic metal coil
snapped about at chest height, smashing through decorative columns like the fist of an angry god.

"I must admit, I'm quite impressed. I thought this confrontation unlikely, to say the least," the vox-modded voice of what could only be the
rather narcissistic owner of the house said, emitting from the dull finish of the faceplate of a massive combat armor. One fist ended in a sinister looking
blaster cannon, while the coil from before was actually a twitching tail that glowed ominously at its tip.

"But I certainly won't pass up the opportunity. I'm a collector of rarities, you see. This armor is the last remaining piece of Doctor
Quaxitrain's work for Crey, at least until Crey can evade Arachnos's scrutiny again and begin producing them. But none will have the good doctor's
handiwork firsthand into them like this. One can almost understand why Black Scorpion tried to kill him to keep such a piece of art for himself."

The Sabres split up almost immediately, circling the armor with clear practice. The Deathstinger pivoted almost playfully before leaping forward. Sylia ducked
hammerblow from an armored fist before sidestepping a plasma blast. The tail, however, came out of nowhere, and she grunted as she was sent skidding down the
highway. Slow...too slow. Even boomers tended to limit themselves to a normal number of limbs.

Summerfield annihilated another stretch of hallway with another energy barrage that Priss weathered despite herself, before closing in on him. Two blows that
would've splintered concrete simply resounded off his armor with a heavy thud. Priss, however, blinked. "He's hollow!"

"Hollow?"

"There's not someone in that suit. That's for sure. Too much weight, not enough give!!"

"Oh my, am I given away?" the mocking voice noted, sidestepping to bring that tail around, another thunderbolt, aimed at Nene this time.....before
abruptly slumping forward and faceplanting on the floor.

Nene sniffed slightly. "This is why you don't operate defense by remote control with something I took apart and put back together when I was
six," she noted.

Priss gave the prone armor a kick, taking the head off and revealing sparking wires and circuitry, before they moved on, Sylia looking back to Nene. "So,
where to?"

"Almost there. Signal's emanating from just ahead...."

***

Summerfield was not having a good day when the door broke down and three very angry looking (if body language was any indication) women in power armor. Which
lead to a rather awkward tableau.

Doctor Summerfield was immediately in the middle of the room near his control unit. Behind him, he was aware that Linna was still standing there, waiting for
his orders. His emergency exit was immediately behind her, so perhaps throwing her to them would delay them long enough for him to escape, and call down the
whole of Crey Security in order to trap them before they got away.

Linna was still standing stock still, not quite comprehending the whole situation, as the same logical paradox from earlier was drawing more and more of her
processor cycles without the integral fuzzy logic and floating wave flux designs that her higher level functions would've used to sort it out without
problem.

Sylia was evaluating the scene for immediate tactical problems, considering the possibility of recessed weapons emplacements, and calculating the nearest Crey
response team's transit time from one of their central hubs to this area in her head, giving her an ETA on how quickly they needed to remove Linna and be
gone before the cavalry arrived.

Priss and Nene, for their part, were looking at Linna, and sharing much the same thought, though Nene was the first to actually say it.

"....Linna, what the hell are you wearing?"

Somehow, the question, linked to the voice that she recognized despite the vocal modifications of the synthesizer, caused a single snap in Linna's
processor fits, as she identified the women as her friends....and then the whole slipshod architecture that'd been holding her up came crashing down.

"What she's wearing is of no importance. Simply put, you will let me escape, or I will order her to destroy herself, which would be a waste, but I
like my freedom," Summerfield began. "So if you'd all just lower your weapons, I'll be on my wa-"

"Perverted bastard!" Linna snarled, before bringing her leg up and then back down across his head, dropping
the smug looking younger scientist in a single blow.

"Linna?" Sylia asked, worried about a potential trap.

"Hey, uh, Sylia, can we get out of here? I....really, really need to get out," she said, shivering, and not just because of the cold from the
abbreviated ensemble that might've been a maid costume had it had enough fabric to be recycled into a t-shirt to its name.

"Right, let's go."

***

"Linna?" Nene asked as they made their way quickly through the relatively clean sewer system that Sylia'd mapped out for their escape.

"Yeah, Nene?"

"Um...I don't think you meant to kick that high when you clocked him," she noted, sounding embarassed.

"...what?"

"There's nothing under that skirt," Priss clarified from the other side with her typical bluntness.

Linna went bright red from head to toe as Nene started babbling.

"....not that that's anything to be ashamed of! I mean, you look really nice if you're into that sort of cosplay fetish thing, and it's not
like you have a bad body or anythi-"

"Nene....please shut up. I don't think my brain can process you hitting on me," Linna groaned.

"....WHAT?!"

***

"They're clean away?" Knight asked as Katie looked at her gizmo and fiddled with it a touch.

"Yep, looks like."

"Time to cover their tracks then. If you'd do the honors?" he asked.

Katie grinned, before pulling out the Typhoonotron 6900 Kai EX's control unit. Sure, it'd burn out in about five minutes, but with weather control, all
you really needed was that opening spark. Of course, three weeks later when the rain had yet to let up, there'd be awkward questions, but for now, Katie
was positive this would work as she threw the switch.

"Abracadabra, alakazoo!" she said, just before the clouds immediately began swirling and then dumped the city's most torrential rainfall it'd
seen in years on top of their position.

"...you overdid it."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

*Claps* Very Nicely Done OM..too bad the Scientist didn't get more of an asskicking..he certainly deserves more...the jackass anyways looking forward to
your next bit of story

I'm not sure exactly how to put this, so I'll be blunt. That's what I'm best at, anyway.

Ops, this is a very good -- VERY good -- story... but it's by far the worst opening I've seen you put out. It feels rushed.

But the story is awesome, and Terrence is right -- that jackass got off light.

I'll dissect the parts that bugged me below.

Quote:

That was all they knew about Linna's current location, and as much as Sylia was keeping, had to keep a positive outlook on the situation, she was aware
that Nene was beginning to take it personally.

Sylia was keeping what? Her spirits up, I presume, but... I'm unsure.

Quote: "I don't get it, Sylia!" she groaned as she leaned back in the computer chair. "I'm getting
plenty of hits on Crey's datanet as to where she used to be. Their data security is like, thirty years behind what I'm used to now that I have a
proper machine to set up the subroutines. But abruptly before we found Priss, she just drops off the map. Vanishes. Even Crey's up in arms about it. They
think we have her already."

Even setting aside the use of the word 'abruptly' -- which doesn't sound like Nene to me, but that's just a personal thing --
I'm very puzzled by this last bit. "... before we found Priss, she just drops off the map." Who is 'she'? Priss? That doesn't
make sense, Priss is right there (as the next paragraph reveals).

Quote: "Well, Crey's got a long list of enemies, but most of them are on the upright. Of their non-good and proper enemies, the Council might want her, but
they have their own super-soldier program that they seem just fine with.

It took me several re-reads, and only after moving on did I realize what that sentence meant. "non-good and proper" doesn't flow
well to me. I think it means "of their enemies who aren't on the right side of the law", however you want to phrase that. Am I correct?

Quote: "I cannot assume that most groups will find our hero liscenses sufficient protection from assumption that we are not, in fact, criminals.

As a final critique, I'd like to point out a recurring typo that Just Bugs Me. It's "license", my friend, not "liscence".

All that said... as I pointed out, it's a very good story, and I like it. I think it ties up the Four Colors arc very nicely -- and helps pin down where
Linna's coming from. I haven't really had much of a handle on her before now, so I think this helps a lot.

Plus it was fun to read, and Paul Summerfield makes for an interesting, possibly recurring, villain. I mean, he's not outright stated to be dead, after
all... *evil grin*

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Quote: Sofaspud wrote:

---

Ops, this is a very good -- VERY good -- story... but it's by far the worst opening I've seen you put out. It feels rushed.

That's probably not a bad estimate. I finished this some time this morning, and if you'll check out the time stamps of the parts above,
you'll know how long this one's been sitting on the back burner. I think part of me just wanted to get it out
the door. I may revisit it and clear up a few jerky moments here and there.

Quote:

Sylia was keeping what? Her spirits up, I presume, but... I'm unsure.

The precise phrasing probably could've been split up. The implication is that Sylia is keeping a positive outlook on the whole matter. She HAS
to keep a positive outlook. However, what works well in spoken language doesn't always equate well to written works...

Quote: Even setting aside the use of the word 'abruptly' -- which doesn't sound like Nene to me, but that's just a personal thing -- I'm very
puzzled by this last bit. "... before we found Priss, she just drops off the map." Who is 'she'? Priss? That doesn't make sense, Priss
is right there (as the next paragraph reveals).

That may be a relic that would've been caught by a second re-read after 7 in the morning. As noted, the part of my brain that was on quality
control probably beat the rest of me to bed by about half an hour.

Quote: It took me several re-reads, and only after moving on did I realize what that sentence meant. "non-good and proper" doesn't flow well to me. I
think it means "of their enemies who aren't on the right side of the law", however you want to phrase that. Am I correct?

Awkward phrasing on my part, but yeah, that's the implication. Crey's non-heroic/law enforcement enemies.

Quote: All that said... as I pointed out, it's a very good story, and I like it. I think it ties up the Four Colors arc very nicely -- and helps pin down where
Linna's coming from. I haven't really had much of a handle on her before now, so I think this helps a lot.




Plus it was fun to read, and Paul Summerfield makes for an interesting, possibly recurring, villain. I mean, he's not outright stated to be dead, after
all... *evil grin*

He is recurring, in more ways than one.

Simply put, Crey does occasionaly reward ingenuity. After all, he had Linna under control for a short period of time, yes? The next time you see him in-game,
he's in charge of Project: Locke....the Revenant Hero Project, by any other name.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

The weekly news programs weren't as constrained as GENOM's old puppet broadcasters had been, but there was an undeniable edge of cover story as the
presenter came on the air.

"In other news, Doctor Paul Summerfield of Crey Biotech has recently been cleared of all charges reporting his possession of various contraband and
prohibited items due to a lack of evidence. While official court depositions are still sealed until their release to the public on Tuesday, official statements
have noted the "irregularities" involved in the PPD's involvement in the matter may have caused a more in-depth investigation into the
possibility that Doctor Summerfield was in fact the victim of an elabroate framing attempt. The Countess Crey, upon receipt of the verdict, was quoted as
saying that she was "relieved that the spirit of the law and not just the letter have been upheld in this trial, preventing the unjust incarceration of
one of Crey's model employees". Notable figures within the Freedom Phalanx failed to comment on the outcome of the trial, though Phalanx member
Manticore's long standing antipathy towards the corporation for its lax security allowing a large number of rogue operations from its own employees is a
matter of public record. However, the Shining Light, prominent member of the Paragon Protectors and widely acclaimed superheroine has gone on record as having
felt the court carried out its duties in the only way they could, given the irregularities in the procedural handling of the investigation, though she offered
no comment on her opinions on Doctor Summerfield's prospective guilt or innocence.

Up next after the break, scientists are still concerned whether recent investigations that Nemesis possessed, at one time, a weather control machine may imply
a malevolent hand in climate patterns previously thought to be the result of global warming..."

***

Paul Summerfield, for all that the large black eye he currently sported marred his otherwise perfect looks, seemed remarkably well composed for a potential
dead man. At least, he imagined that such thoughts were running through the minds of his guards. After being so publically humiliated, he had little to look
forward to other than the standard Crey "retirement package", but he was canny to Crey office politics. Only such an acumen in reading the currents
would've allowed him to flaunt both the law and Crey's private enforcement so openly for so long, after all.

And he saw far too many signs that he was still useful to assume his career and life were to end in a single simultaneous convergence in the near future.

If he had any doubts about this, the arrival of not just Hopkins, the Countess's personal enforcer, but the Countess herself certainly banished them. The
Countess Crey was above such petty displays of her displeasure in person. Hopkins was capable of such demonstrations himself, so this meant that presumably the
Countess wished to speak to him personally. He'd suspected it when Crey's top legal wranglers had tied the trial up in so much red tape and
smokescreens that Summerfield throwing himself on the court's floor and expressing his deep guilt and confession for everything he was accused of and more
probably wouldn't have got him convicted. So it was with supreme confidence that he greeted his employer, lord, and master.

"You have a flair for doing nothing by halves, it seems," the Countess noted, once the forms and proper demonstrations of obeisance were observed.
"Neither your research nor your lifestyle nor even your own fall from grace."

Summerfield chuckled, nodding at the hit. "When one has the resources of Crey at his fingertips, it would take a truly superhuman level of restraint to
not take advantage of them, unless one were crippled by cowardice of being caught. And I trust my usual security precautions helped the legal department
suitably dispose of any unwanted evidence?"

"Indeed, though they also came across some irregularities. Mainly suggesting you had a previously undisclosed tenant," the Countess noted. Her voice
suggested suspicion that Summerfield had done far more than the public and private records of Crey recorded.

"A girlfriend, but apparently her friends thought I was a poor influence and staged an intervention to prevent her from seeing me. Unfortunate, but there
are always more fish in the ocean," he said smoothly. He focused on the inherent truth of that statement, concentrated on it with laser like intensity.
Few among the Crey hierarchy had as much reason as Summerfield to suspect the rumors about the Countess being vaguely telepathic or empathic were, in fact,
true. He admitted to himself that the rumors could possibly be overblown attributions to the woman across from him's incredible ability to read people, but
he doubted it. He'd seen her correctly discern a person was lying when the subject had completely fooled Crey's best electronic lie detectors.
Summerfield, for his part, had decided that in an absence of certain guilt, he would tell sufficient amounts of the truth so as to not be lying to her. After
all, paranoia's only surprises were pleasant ones.

"...very well. Nevertheless, we cannot afford to employ you in such an open position as before, at least until the media blitz dies down," she said,
leaning back into her chair with practiced ease. "Given your remarkable expertise and the fact that you seem to have not been particularly traumatized by
your encounter with our opposition, we have decided that your talents will be best utilized overseeing Project Locke."

Summerfield permitted himself a visible reaction of surprise that he certainly felt. Project Locke was Crey's...the Countess's..most private black
books project. Even within Crey, he'd only discerned its existence through a few impossible to conceal financial transactions. Yet he was being entrusted
with it... "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with the work being done there, Countess. I'm unsure if I'll be able to adequately perform
immediately."

"There's no hurry," the Countess assured him casually. "You'll have plenty of time to acclimate yourself. The technicians have been
operating Locke in its current format for some time....but your knowledge of your late mentor's memory transference program will, of course, be able to
push it into a new level of productivity, I imagine." The Countess smiled, but the attractive gesture lost something in the transition as Summerfield
noted he'd never actually made mention of his knowledge of that program...or that he'd been keeping it in reserve as a bargaining chip if he'd ever
been disgraced. For the Countess to know...

"...of course, Countess."

The Countess gave him another predatory smile as she stood up, Hopkins an implacable mountain behind her. "I trust you'll give this your best efforts,
Doctor."

***

"How's she doing?" Ifrit asked, stepping in behind where Nene'd stepped out of her friend's hospital room for the moment.

"Okay. A little shaken up, but she took the news better than Priss or I did. Maybe because she'd had firsthand evidence," Nene said with what
attempted to be a weak laugh and came out a croak instead. "...I shouldn't be surprised this happened, y'know. GENOM wouldn't have even
bothered giving him a trial for the public consumption. He just would've vanished and come back again later. But...after what he did to her...I thought
this world was better than that," she noted softly, almost to herself. "Not the usual dirtbags. They can exist anywhere...but he got off scot clean.
Without so much as a reprimand. All because of legal razzle dazzle. I thought being a hero here meant a chance to do something...to change things for the
better while we looked for everyone...but is it just the same as back home?" she asked, looking up at Ifrit. The fae resisted the urge to look away from
the young woman with a very, very tired expression in her eyes. She'd seen far more than Ifrit had in her short life, even taking into account the memories
the fae'd inherited from Rob. But at least, there was something Ifrit could say as she put her arms around the tired girl.

"....no, no it's not. Things do change. The bad guys don't get away like this all the time. You can help people and have it stick. Today was the
exception, not the rule. Trust me."

Nene stood fairly stiffly in the embrace for a moment, emotionally hovering on the edge before she let herself relax. She honestly didn't know the young
woman that well, but Ifrit'd shown a degree of caring that was genuine enough for Nene right now. Sighing, she slumped into the hug, glancing at the door
to the hospital room as she did, and hoping.

***

"So what now?"

Sylia glanced over from the view out of the balcony of her recently purchased Steel Canyon flat. Priss was standing behind her, waiting for an answer, and
Sylia knew that the question had any of a number of meanings, all of which concerned the singer equally.

"Linna is recovering...we will do our best to support her through the process. I doubt that Doctor Summerfield will come after us again, admittedly. If
Crey is as image conscious as they seem, such an immediate reprisal would only engender further problems they'd have to clean up."

Priss nodded, but retained her position, as if expecting further exposition. Sylia remained silent, waiting, before Priss made a grunt of annoyance and spoke
again. "And what about here? What about home?"

"Well, I suppose that is the question. Certainly, we lack the resources to return at the moment."

"So we give up on it?" she asked bluntly.

"Not exactly, Priss. I noted that we lack the resources at the moment. Perhaps, in the future, that will change. We will certainly have to investigate it.
But in the meantime, we really can't do anything but wait for a break to present itself. As to what to do in the meantime...well, we could certainly fade
into the general populace to evade Crey until some future moment where we can return home."

"Bullshit," Priss chuckled. "Yeah, just live a quiet life and run from crazy super-nazis, drugged up mutants, and who knows what the fuck else
like every other schmuck? You're too much of a white knight to go along with that."

"Well, I suggested it was an option," Sylia noted, a twinkle in her eye recognizing the verbal jab. "I didn't say it was a particularly
likely one."

"So we go into the hero biz full time?"

"Well, I hardly intend to spend all my waking hours as a justice-obsessed vigilante, but I imagine it'd make a useful hobby," Sylia noted,
completely straight faced, getting an explosive snort of amusement from Priss. "It'll be more enjoyable, for certain."

"Why's that?" Priss asked, curiousity overpowering restraint given the oddly open mood Sylia seemed to be in at the moment.

"Let me ask you this, Priss. What would've happened, back home, if we'd taken down GENOM?"

"No more boomers?" Priss guessed, sounding confused.

Sylia nodded. "No more boomers, presumably. Also GENOM Electric would go out of business, shutting down power to 3/4ths of the planet. The few GENOM
efforts to reverse the ecological damage to the planet would stop, allowing the planet to slide further into an ecological collapse. The ADP and the normal
police would lose a majority of their financing, crippling their ability to respond to criminal activity and causing mass chaos as the criminal element found
itself even less oppressed than before. In short, defeating and destroying GENOM would've destroyed the world. And that's if four women who are far
from immortal were able to significantly damage a corporation who holds control over 90% of the planet at all," she finished, almost as an afterthought.
Priss's expression suggested that she hadn't considered such a thing at all in the time they'd been operating.

"Fuck. Why'd we do it then, Sylia? If it was all pointless?"

"Because it wasn't. Not there. Someone had to stand against GENOM's worst, even if all they could do was to shield others from the immediate
threat," she said. "And...I had other reasons to oppose GENOM. Less idealistic ones."

Priss nodded. "So what's that got to do with anything here?"

"Here, Priss, while we may take losses....the loaded trials and public goodwill the public shower Crey with, for example....we are the majority. We are
not four women against the world. We're part of something...bigger. And even from a less grandiose viewpoint, there's the fact that we are not alone
anymore. If you break your arm in a fight, you don't need to go out the next day because no one else can do what you can, for one," she noted, and
Priss winced at the memory. "Simply put, this world has something ours always seemed to lack. It has hope. That alone makes any mission easier to
bear....just like you girls do," she said softly.

Priss nodded, once again looking at Sylia as if wondering if she'd pinch herself and wake up from this odd dream where Sylia talked like a normal person.

Sylia chuckled, resting a hand on Priss's shoulder as she stepped in from the balcony. "Think of it as a vacation, I suppose. A chance to try things
that our old lives would've made impossible," she said, catching the odd look that Priss gave her at that last statement and settling on an enigmatic
smile. No need to give the entire game away just yet. Besides, she had that adorable look on her face where she wasn't sure if she should be irritated or
confused or some of both. And frankly, that alone was priceless enough.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."