Drunkard's Walk Forums

Author's Note: Yes, I know there's another thread that already has Sabre related stuff, but I'm an anal-retentive
detail maniac, and messing up the timeline of that thread's events by sticking short stories that're a little too long to be snippets in it would drive
me up a wall. So, yeah. On the offhand, nothing keeping you other Sabre players from using it. =)

***

Sylia looked up as her HUD dinged, the latest false Nemesis machine dropping to the ground with a satisfying thud, its retinue of Nemesis Army soldiers
scattering in the face of their figurehead being disposed of like so much automated garbage. Eyeing over at it, Sylia let her shield systems cool down for a
moment as she brought up the message.

Attn: Registered Hero 'Silicon Sabre'

It is my great pleasure to offer you an invitation into the Freedom Phalanx Reserves, in recognition of your heroism,
dedication, and drive to make Paragon City a safer place for all its residents. Please drop by the Freedom Phalanx headquarters at any time, should you desire
to join.

Marcus Cole

Statesman

Sylia looked at the message for a moment, then frowned. This was going to be an interesting situation. Given what Nene'd uncovered regarding the PPD's
growing attention on their organization, it'd only cast them in further suspicion. Who would refuse an offer to join the Freedom Phalanx reserves? The
official group itself, possibly, but the reserves was an honorary position...

Sylia cut off her train of thought as she ducked a blast of lightning moving too slow for her to even think about letting it hit her. A quick series of
commands activated the isolated command circuit for the Ouroborus portal she was still analyzing, saving her considerable time leaving the Shadow Shard as she
simply stepped outside the timestream, materializing in the headquarters of the mysterious Menders for a moment before stepping through again to Independence
Port. She hopped rooftop to rooftop as usual, before landing in front of the rather non-impressive headquarters of the Freedom Phalanx. Given most of them were
out and about the various zones most of the time, and with the advent of Longbow as the premier keepers of super-powered villians after they were captured,
perhaps the elaborate underground base like in old Baumtown was no longer necessary.

Stepping into the sleek welcoming area, Sylia took notice of the miniature statue of Atlas standing amidst a fountain. Sleek, minimalist, yet attractive. She
made a point to consult who did their interior as she walked up to the receptionist, who smiled as if expecting her.

"Is Statesman in?" she asked politely, getting a nod in return.

"He'll see you on the roof if you'd like."

"Thank you," she said, walking past the receptionist's desk and into an elevator.

***

Five minutes later, Sylia made a mental note to find whoever concocted that elevator muzak and make certain they never worked another day in their life, as a
mercy to the human race. Stepping out onto the roof, she looked around at the same minimalist stone and steel architecture that'd dominated the interior of
the base as well. Practical, she imagined, as it could be replaced easily if damaged, unlike elaborate trees that could take years to regrow. Then she turned a
corner and saw him.

Sylia Stingray was not what one would consider....man-crazy. She was involved and had no intention of breaking that off any time in the forseeable future.
Still, she did feel her breath catch for a moment as she was confronted with the Statesman, hero of Paragon City and one of the most powerful men in the world.
He practically radiated trustworthiness and resolve, with an edge of world-weariness that Sylia found strangely familiar...and attractive. Putting such
thoughts aside with an amused glance at the more instinctual part of her brain, Sylia slipped into business mode again, stepping forward before stopping in
front of him and nodding respectfully. "It's an honor to speak with you, sir."

Statesman returned the nod in kind, holding out his hand, which Sylia shook. "I could say the same. I present the Hero of the City awards often, but you
shot into our awareness very quickly, even for someone reaching that height."

"I do the best I can," Silicon said, both accepting his praise and avoiding praising herself in the same smooth motion.

"Indeed, which is why we could certainly use you. We're willing to let anyone who wants to try out take a test ride with the Phalanx to see if
they'd work well with us. Some work out, some don't. And then there are ones like you who stand out even without looking to join a prestigous
supergroup with a big name."

"With respects, I like to think Riot Force has made a name for itself."

"Indeed you have. And I'm not asking you to leave them. Just to...be on call, as one of the Phalanx, in case of an overarching threat. If you ever
want to become a full time member, there's certainly ways that can work as well."

"Perhaps....I have a notable worry, however."

Statesman looked at her curiously. "What would that be?"

Silicon looked at him for a moment, feigning hesitancy, before speaking up. "The secret identity policy. I'm aware you require even the lowest leveled
heroes to make their identities and pasts open to the public, and I don't know that I can do that."

Statesman chuckled. "You're not the first to say that. But trust me when I say the benefits far outweigh the disadvantages. People get to know who you
are, not just the mask, and the lack of being a faceless vigilante makes them more willing to trust you."

"Perhaps....but there really is one other thing that worries me about this plan," she said.

"What would that be?"

"Can you control the economy, sir?"

Statesman looked at her with an odd expression. "No, of course not. Nobody can, really. It'd be illegal if you could."

Silicon leaned back ever so slightly in a way several employees of Sylia Stingray would recognize as "you're about to get lectured on how stupid you
just were" embodied in pure body language. "So, theoretically, if I were to reveal my identity, you could give no assurances that, say, the Crey
Corporation, whom I've made several enemies within their upper echelons to say the least, would not render any and all of my business holdings into either
flaming rubble or financial ruin out of spite, putting hundreds of employees out of jobs, because I took off this helmet?"

"...that's a rather drastic expecta-"

"That is the truth, sir. You say your open door policy about the Phalanx's identities and backgrounds is to foster trust with the people and the
world. Perhaps it does. It also makes you vulnerable unless you have nothing to lose by going public. I only give out my identity to those who I trust. I could
trust you. I do not trust this entire city. That kind of blind trust, unearned, is what put my father in an early grave and had his life's work corrupted
into weapons that claimed thousands of lives. So, yes, if you wish to say I have trust issues, I will admit this minor character flaw. But I will not expose
those who depend on me, or those I care about, to unfair endangerment for idealism, sir. Which is why I cannot in good
conscience accept this invitation."

Statesman looked at her for a moment, face an expressionless mask. "I suppose I can't change your mind?"

"Not really," Silicon said, getting up. "It's a great honor, being asked, but I simply can't cooperate with what you want from me.
I'm sorry to have to refuse."

Statesman looked at her for a moment, then thumbed a control in his belt. "It's perfectly understandable. See Sarah on your way out, would you?
Perhaps she can give you something for your time spent here."

I doubt it. "Perhaps. I'll be sure to ask her."

Stepping back into the elevator, Sylia's mind was already running damage control scenarios in her head. She stepped out, almost walking past the
receptionist before she cleared her throat, catching Sylia's attention. She stopped, looking over at her. "Yes?"

"I heard what happened on the roof and....well, I thought you might want this.

Sylia looked down at the object handed to her, a small star with golden wings in a presentation box. She blinked, looking up at the receptionist, who smiled
knowingly.

"Not everyone can be a part of the Freedom Phalanx, for their own reasons. That doesn't mean you don't deserve the honor, even if only in private.
Obviously, you can't tell anyone but....well, I imagine he's figured you're used to keeping secrets."

Sylia looked at it, before closing the box and slipping it into a storage compartment in her armor. "Thank you."

"No. Thank you, for being the kind of hero we need more of, Silicon Sabre."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Sylia Stingray looked through her mail, having had a majority of the junkmail already sorted by the small automation she'd had built for such a purpose. A
horribly mundane use for a "dumb" minor AI, but she was the one that'd built it, so no one was really going to complain. Perhaps when she could
afford to sell them for less than $500 per unit...

Sorting through bills for the various businesses she owned directly, rather than merely just controlling a majority stock share, she set them down next to her
office computer, before brightening at the letter on the bottom, adressed from the United States Patent and Trademark Office. Browsing through, she let a
satisified smile creep across her face as she read it.

"..are happy to inform you that your application for the trademark of "GENOM Corporation" has been cleared. Please retain the following
paperwork for your records...."

***

Nene looked as a few pop-up windows appeared on her desktop, before sighing and turning off her headphones. Admittedly the instrumental solo in "Objects
in the Rear View Mirror" was long enough she could probably finish these calls without it, but it was the principle of the matter. Pulling up her headset,
she logged onto the police scanner system, and pressed record.

"All units, be on the lookout. Operative Lo Pan of Arachnos has recently been broken out of jail. Suspect is considered super-powered and extremely
dangerous." Pausing the recording, she switched to a new file, then pressed record again. "All units, Archon Maurillo was behind yesterday's
heist by the Council. He is believed to still be within the city limits, and a warrant has been issued for the arrest of him and his conspirators."

Watching the popups disappear, Nene removed her headset, closed down the radio mainframe, and continued poking about the PPD's mainframe, humming along to
her music until someone not quite too politely tapped on her shoulder. She looked up, unamused, as the latest busybody newbie staff member frowned at her,
obviously waiting for Nene to take off her headphones. Pausing her music again, she looked up at her. "Can I help you?"

"Not really, but I'd think the PPD could use your help instead of you goofing off at your workstation on paid time," she frowned.

Nene's eyebrow....twitched.

Two desks away, several of her coworkers exchanged money on just how badly the new girl was going to get dressed down and whether or not she'd end up
transfering out of the department by the end of the week.

"Well, I'd say I do plenty of work," she said, minimizing her latest attempt to beat a level in Fantastic Contraption and bringing up the various
programs running behind her browser and music. "This little wonder monitors every potential breakout point in town, and alerts me if anyone escapes, which
I relay to the police radio. This one gets information from various people keeping an eye out for specific heists and such. This one cross-logs those with
active cases being pursued by registered heroes and recommends potential link up numbers to make the job easier. This database calculates every day off request
in the PPD, arranges them so that no one is shortchanged on available help, and grants any and all days off if possible. I programmed it over my lunch break,
and it's been adopted by every PPD precinct in the city. And on top of that, I handle payroll because I can do basic algebra. Did you manage that by the
time you got out of high school? Or are you here for clerical filing because you can claim to be a cop when you're a glorified secretary, Miss
Sanders?"

The retort about to come up died in Karen Sanders' mouth as she suddenly realized this young woman knew exactly who she was.

Nene smiled at the look of realization and dread. "So, if you're done critiquing my work, maybe you can do yours, hmm?"

There was a slight rumble of snickers from around the office as Sanders looked around, realized she was outnumbered, and beat a quick retreat.

Nene sniffed, stood up and took a bow to light applause from the surrounding officers and dispatchers, then put her headphones back on and went back to trying
to avoid a minor avalanche of orange balls while rolling over them to the goal area.

***

Priss resisted the urge to sigh as the professor continued lecturing, pointing to various items on the board with a laser pointer. Everything he was saying was
in the textbook, which she'd actually read before coming to class, as if the professor didn't expect anyone in this class would actually do the
homework he assigned. Opening her notebook, she began sketching down the various notes she imagined would be on the pop quiz, drifting off as her long night on
the streets caught up with her.

"Miss Asagiri!"

Priss jerked awake with a start, realizing she'd dozed off entirely. "Uh....yes, professor?"

"If you pull over a suspect and ask them various biographical data in the course of an investigation, is it permissable in court if you failed to read
them the Miranda Warning?"

Priss blinked, before shaking her head. "No. The Miranda Warning only applies to testimony that can incriminate them. Information that verifies their
identity can be refused to be provided, but a reading of their rights isn't necessary before you inquire about it."

The professor blinked once, quickly, before smiling slightly. "Very good, Miss Asagiri. Mister Corben!" he said, moving along to the next apparently
dozing off student.

The class continued along fairly normally, until eventually it ended and Priss shuffled her books into her backpack and got up.

"Remember, your internships are coming up in two weeks! Be sure to get your applications in for the position you wish to intern under, or they may fill
up!" the professor said as the various students filed out.

***

Linna stumbled out of bed, looking at the clock. 3:30 PM. She'd overslept again. But....it was just....too damn hard to get out of bed. She stumbled into
the bathroom, showering and doing various other upkeep on autopilot, before walking out to grab the mail. A letter caught her eye, and she opened it hopefully,
before her eyes scanned over "we regret to inform you..." and she crumpled it up angrily, tossing it at the garbage can. Moving into the cleared
space she'd planned to use for warmups, she moved through the motions her mind knew as well as a lover's body. Continuing in strong, swift motions at
first, moving through the katas with practiced ease. Until she got to the more elaborate ones. Kicks and spins that she remembered doing flawlessly....but
couldn't. The kicks went too high, and one roundhouse nearly dumped her on her back by overcompensation. Like always. A shuddering sigh escaped her lips as
she picked herself off the floor. The phone rang, and she looked over at it, before recognizing the number and heading back to the bedroom. She didn't even
hear as the answering machine picked up.

"Linna? Linna, it's Nene. Hey, I know you weren't feeling too well last week, but you think maybe we could hang out sometime tomorrow? I've
got the day off, and I haven't seen you around in a long while....I guess you're busy or something though. Call me back if you get this message,
okay?"

The answering machine clicks off on Nene's worried tones, and the apartment once again falls into silence.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Quote:Or are you here for clerical filing because you can claim to be a cop when you're a glorified secretary, Miss Sanders?"

Ooooooh, burn.

Mmm. I'm getting worried about Linna.

Nice work, Op.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Quote: Bob Schroeck wrote:

---

Mmm. I'm getting worried about Linna.

It's mostly an instory response to the fact that I neglected most of my characters when I decided to make Alice my first 50. That said, I've been
playing her a bit this week, and I'm writing a short now that helps her pull herself together again.

Pros and Cons

She slammed the door to her apartment, the rush of air following it tearing off another charred piece of her sleeve. She growled under her breath as she moved into the kitchen, her satchel containing the last of the paperwork she'd ever get from that office.

She'd thought she would be safe working secretarial. After all, she'd done it before for Largo, surely a simple bioengineering firm would have any trouble, right? No one would want to attack a company that was trying to reduce pollution and restore the environment, right?

Apparently, she thought sourly, the Devoured want to be the only ones fighting for a green Earth.

She left her satchel on the counter, and moved into her bedroom. Not bothering with the buttons on her ruined business suit, she merely plucked at the burns in it until it fell to pieces. "That... damned... HERO!" she yelled as she fell onto her bed. The Devoured had held her and several of her co-workers hostage, for unknown reasons. They had been... 'saved'... by a puffed-up hero who seemed to be permanently on fire. he had ricocheted in, searing the walls and floors, beaten down the Devoured while close enough for his aura to scorch the walls behind her, then afterwards, had obviously expected her to *thank* him for nearly killing her with his own powers.

She knew that several of her former co-workers had to be treated for smoke inhalation, third degree burns, and at least one for broken bones when they tried to get away from their fiery 'savior'. She shook her head and sighed, "Even I could have done better than that..."

Shock silenced her for a few moments at that traitorous thought. She had given up 'heroing'. She had locked away the hardsuit, and gotten settled with a nice, peaceful job. She didn't want to be fighting for her life, hiding behind the armor, hoping that she'd be able to make it past the next battle, the next mission, the next day.

But, her mind supplied, You wouldn't hurt those in need of saving, would you?

No, she thought again, but sever psychological damage can be harder to overcome... if I let it harm innocents.

She'd just been a Hero long enough to build up a small nest egg, enough to see her through to a 'real' job. The 'real' job that she'd just been fired from, actually. The company itself was going bankrupt, due to damages from the Devoured and that... 'Hero'. So now she was out of a job. With rent still due. And her little nest egg gone.

She glanced at the storage closet.

"No, Anri... You can't go back to that life..." she told herself. It was hard, though. She did keep track of the other Sabres that were active in Paragon. She might have never seen their faces, but she knew them from her few interactions with them, and from the notes she got from Riot 6.1.

She glanced at the closet again.

It would be easy, really. Go out, break up a few gang sites. Collect her share of the salvage. Pay off the rent and get another suit to replace the one that the idiot burned. Start all over in the business world... until it happened again.

No company could be safe from villains in this city. The only way to stop them...

She slowly got up and moved to the storage closet. Opened the door. Sighed once more, and hit the power up sequence for her hardsuit.

Mirage Sabre would be on the streets again tonight.

Even as she twitched out of the way of the first bullets, fear rippled through Dance Sabres body. Any of her friends, her sisters really, would consider the
Lost nothing. A risk perhaps, but one easily handled. Even Nene, once the weakest of the original team (physically at least), had the combat skills to brush
off the mutated homeless.

But not Linna. Not the woman that was once the best fighter in the Knight Sabres. She couldn't fight as well as any of them anymore. As she'd finally
explained to Priss and Nene a few days before, it wasn't for the reasons the others had suspected. Her early days in this world, her mind trapped in
patterns that made her a willing slave to one of Creys mad scientists? She was fine with that. It wasn't really her that it happened to (One day while
putting up with afternoon television, she'd worked it all out in a way that made perfect sense to her and made the nightmares go away).

It was her body that was the problem. The designers in Crey weren't accurate to her memories, making for ever so tiny differences that added up to a
frustrating series of problems. She was reminded of this as she nailed a Scrounger with a snap kick. He stumbled away with a broken jaw, but Dance found
herself off balance, and was unable to recover as fast as she would have liked. Another newly initiated lost came at her with a fire ax, and she dodged his
swings before breaking his leg with a low kick, then spinning and slamming her foot into his stomach, sending him flying into a pile of boxes.

She didn't have time to catch her breath however, as the noise brought more Lost into the hallway, including a Headman. As the giant pulled his Rikti rifle
from over his shoulder, she moved into the group of Scroungers, hoping to use them as cover. Here, her body betrayed her again, as she overreached in an
attempt to disarm one of them, leaving herself open to a a baseball bat. It splintered against her armor, but she stumbled, and as a result left herself open
to the Headman, who opened fire.

Linna gasped as the energy bolt hit her dead on, knocking her off her feet. For a moment, she was gripped by a sudden, overwhelming terror, certain that the
blast had gone through her armor. There was no thought of the Medicomm system pulling her to safety. As she fell, it was as if the world shifted, and the
brightly lit warehouse became a dark rooftop in MegaTokyo, the Lost became the hulking robots known as Bumas... and it all came back to her.

She rolled as she landed, firing the suits thrusters to get herself back on her feet faster, then charged the Headman. The brutes eyes widened as he fired
again, only to have her leapt over the energy bolt. Flipping in midair, she brought her armored gauntlet down on the Headmans forearm, getting a scream from
the mutant, before she lashed out with a series of kicks. There was no hesitation or doubt this time, and for whatever reason, it seemed to work. As the large
Lost dropped, she nailed a Scrounger with another kick, before backhanding another. The last mutant standing came at her with a fire ax. Smoothly, she stepped
into the swing, grabbed the handle and twisted, driving her elbow into the mans ribcage. He made a gasping noise as several ribs cracked and he lost his grip
on the ax.

The Sabre tossed the weapon away, making certain the Lost was out of the fight. A moment later, she turned to deal with even more of the mutants that had come
at the sound of gunfire and screams.

***

That afternoon, she sat in the cafeteria of the Steel Canyon branch of Paragon University, retelling the event to Priss, who was showing considerable interest
in Linnas plight, now that she'd gotten sick of waiting for the green Sabre to open up and had, in typical Priss style, come and confronted her head on.

"So, what changed?" Priss asked, looking at Linna over her beer.

"I don't know," she admitted, looking frustrated. "You don't just learn to compensate for the little errors instantly. One moment I was
putting too much power into my attacks and overbalancing, the next, I was virtually flawless."

"Still flawless?" the musician wondered. That got an even more annoyed response from her friend.

"No, it's back to the screwups. No mater how hard I try to do it-" she stopped as Priss chuckled. "And what is so funny?"

"I've got the answer to your problem," she smirked. "You're trying to adjust for your body, because you remember it differently.
You're thinking every single move, every kick and punch... Stop over thinking and just do it."

The look on Linnas face would keep Priss amused for days. After a moment, she recovered enough to reply "You think the problem is I'm thinking too
much?"

"Do you normally put effort into thinking about how much effort to put into every punch, how far to stretch and bend?" Priss asked. "You're
an artist Linna, but you've been focusing too much on the details that you're getting lost in them."

"And you're so sure of this how?" Linna wondered.

Priss smirked. "I needed to work out how to play a guitar again," she said, before downing her beer. Linna blinked at her, obviously getting the
message, but having no idea how to reply.

***

Makes perfect sense to me. Thats how -my- Linna works at least, as in no time to stop and think about it. Of course she is about to have to deal with learning
she is just a failed copy-of-a-copy, so ya. Neither have perfect luck. We should get those two together some time.
---

The Master said: "It is all in vain! I have never yet seen a man who can perceive his own faults and bring the charge home against himself."

>Analects: Book V, Chaper XXVI

PARAGON CITY

8:52 PM

SCIMITAR ACQUISITIONS TEAM ALPHA-9-BRAVO

ACQ. SUBJECT: 582-54-545 "BLOODHOUND"

BRIEFING:

UNDER DIRECTOR, ACQUISITION TEAMS ARE TO BEGIN COVERTLY ACQUIRING RAW MATERIALS AS DICTATED BY PROJECT LEAD. CURRENT HYPOTHESES SUGGEST POSSIBLE USE OF ORGANIC
CPU IN PLACE OF X-FACTOR ARTIFICIAL, BASED ON INFORMATION GAINED FROM MALTA "PROJECT: WIDE-AWAKE".

GIVEN ADVANCES IN COERCIVE METHODS, ACQUISITIONS ARE AUTHORIZED TO SEIZE SUBJECTS FROM SUBVERSIVES LIST DELTA, PROVIDED A NOTICE LEVEL OF 6 OR LOWER. MHCS ARE
TO BE AVOIDED AT ALL COSTS. SECRECY LEVEL ALPHA.

END OF BRIEFING.

****

Lisa Vanette was not having a good night.

Ever since Vivian Tucker, the Shining Light, had joined the Paragon Protectors, Lisa had been notably suspicious of the group which claimed "only
funding" from the megacorporation known primarily by its most common sobriquet: Crey. As a former informant of Vivian's, she'd expected to be
called on afterwards, even if only because Shiney was a sentimental sort, for tips about the various crime bosses. A bit of the romantic in her even suspected
Shiney might use her to break whatever big scoop she was pursuing inside Crey's pet supergroup, given the woman's notable suspicions about the
organization due to its connections with the corporation that she and Lisa shared all-but-confirmed paranoia about.

But it never came.

The Shining Light and the Paragon Protectors went about their jobs as Crey's PR arm, but never threatening Crey operations directly. Lisa, suspicious, had
contacted Vivian's husband...or tried to. Finding out he was in protective custody after a kidnapping attempt by rogue Crey elements confirmed for Lisa
what she already suspected: Shiney'd been turned somehow.

Going into Brickstown, so close to the eco-hazard known as Crey's Folly and Crey's private back yard, had been risky. Her uncle Todo would've
killed her if he found out about it, given Bricks' reputation not only for Crey, but its proximity to Ziggursky Federal Penitentary. But Lisa was on the
tail of a scoop and wouldn't be denied. Hiding her name(and thus her connection to her uncle), she'd followed leads, using what few contacts she had
with other heros to bring along muscle when she needed it. A few dozen....hundred....beaten up Crey later, and she was heading for a facility publically
acknowledged to be the Protectors' headquarters...but which was owned through seven layers of shell organizations by Crey, and had just had a huge shipment
of "something" delivered there.

Which was when the Crey strike team, consisting of several men and women in black suits looking like government agents had intercepted her. She'd
sacrificed her camera to distract them, but even though they weren't shooting at her, Lisa could hear them following still. And frankly, she wasn't in
the best of shape compared to what Crey probably required of its thug squads.

These thoughts and a glance back at the pursuing agents distracted Lisa for a critical moment as the blue and yellow shape of a Crey Protector stepped out in
front of her. Lisa, running for her life, impacted his armored form at high speed with a solid thud. Dazed, she fell backwards, only to see one of Crey's
smocked scientists step out behind him.

"Yes, this will do," he said, putting an injector of some kind against her neck. Lisa had two seconds to feel absolute terror at the concept of Crey
bringing her in before the blackness took her.

***

Stockton bent back up, nodding at the security agents running up. "Stanford here caught her. Good work, people. We can cross Bloodhound here off our list
of troublemakers....and soon enough, she'll be an asset instead of a liability."

Lisa's limp form was picked up by one of the agents and settled into the back of a black van that pulled up, Stockton climbing in with Stanford as the
various other security agents faded into the scenery and the van drove away. A homeless man noticed it happen, and curled back up in his raggedy blanket. There
wasn't anything to be gotten from trying to stop Crey goons.

***

Lisa woke up several times over the next few hours, at least partially. Drugged as she was, she didn't feel the Crey scientists further sedate her, her
hair being shaved off, or the feeling as the lines were marked along her cranium in preparation. At some point, she dropped off entirely, which was to her
benefit. She wasn't awake when the surgeons began their work, nor did she see an identical body to her own wheeled in beside her, almost normal except for
the removed top of the cranium, which revealed an emty skull with a metal interior...

***

Lisa groaned as she came to, trying to ignore the splitting headache she'd had. Unlike most, she remembered exactly where she'd been before the
drugging, which meant the flashes of subliminals flooding her vision and hearing were expected. Again, unlike most, she had been told how they worked, and how
to avoid them. Shiney had told her about it once, when she feared Crey attempting to subvert her contacts on her. Further investigation had netted the
information that half the drug cocktail they'd used to knock her out had been a suggestive mix meant to disorient her and leave her open to the
brainwashing. The brainwashing was based on a disoriented person being too caught up in trying to understand what it was saying to notice the subliminals
sliding into their mind, leaving them weakened before Crey telepaths did the final mop up work that made someone a Crey slave. Her family, her memories, her
sense of self were her best defenses, and Lisa clung to them through the hurricane of images and sounds like a drowning woman to a solid rock. Concentrating,
Lisa thought of her parents, her uncle. The cop that her uncle'd bullied into taking her along with him on his rounds when she'd needed a way to show
off her journalistic skills to her professors. Leon McNichol, she thought to herself. That was his name. Kinda cute, but if she'd been interested in him
despite the age difference, his attitude that he was God's gift to women certainly put her off him. She could appreciate a little ego. It was the roaming
eye that lost his appeal with it....

Eventually, the images stopped and Lisa did her best impression of unconciousness as the Crey medic came in to check on their little project. Seeing that the
full upload was done, the medic loosened her restraints as he tapped her on the shoulder. Lisa pretended to wake up groggily. "Where am I?"

"You collapsed on the street, ma'am. We're doing our best to determine if you picked up any of the Vahzilok wasting disease that was spread about
where you were."

Lisa mentally snorted. A credible lie, but one she could play along with. "Is that what that...weird gas was?"

"Possibly. We think you're going to be alright, but you need to stay here for the moment, okay?"

"Yeah...okay..."

"Good girl. I'll be back in a bit with a few more tests to perform on you."

As he left, Lisa stood up, feeling off balance for some reason as she looked around. The room must've been made impromptu. It was hardly a cell with all
the things spread about....including a gleaming gunmetal gray battle armor. Lisa stared at it as pieces clicked through her mind.

The armor was a dime a dozen...unless you were like Lisa and curious about the mysterious branch of the supergroup Riot Force 6.1 known as the Knight Sabres.
Almost all anonymously registered(Allison Harker, Demolition Sabre, was the sole exception to Lisa's knowledge), they were a rapidly expanding group.
Conspiracy websites all over the net linked them with Crey for some reason, but this was Lisa's first real proof that Crey had a connection with their
armor designs. Furthermore, given her abduction and attempted brainwashing, Lisa could begin to piece together the progression. The Sabres were women abducted
off the streets, brainwashed, and put into these armors given increased speculation about the Protectors. Clearly a few had escaped Crey control, given their
attack patterns, but others might still be controlled, or even villians, if the rumors about "Scimitars" in the Rogue Isles were true. With this in
mind, Lisa explored the armor, not bothering with the cameras as she ran hands over it...and the armor itself opened up along invisible seams, as if inviting
her in. Deciding "what the hell?" Lisa did so, the armor closing around her as she let the collar pieces clamp still around her neck, a flexmetal
that remarkably allowed her full range of motion while protecting her neck from snapping should someone hit her. Slipping the helmet on, Lisa took a step
forward as she heard a claxon blare.

Searching through the controls, Lisa saw what seemed to be weapons as she looked towards the door. Pointing her hands towards the door, not knowing what
they'd do, she triggered them, and staggered as a vibrating shockwave of sound shot forward, hitting the door like a truck and sending it flying off its
hinges.

***

A floor below, Chief Stanford looked up as he heard a rending tear of metal. He had a brief moment to curse before the reinforced door flying off the balcony
above hit him head on, burying him beneath it. Only his Protector armor kept him from being crushed instantly.

***

The rest of the escape was primarily uneventful, thanks in fact to things Lisa didn't consider until afterwards. She was able to hear footsteps a great
deal further away than she should have. The brief moments of panic as she wondered if they could hear her as well subsided as she realized the differences in
her perception and the Crey agents'. However, it wasn't until she realized that she could hear their voices from hundreds of feet away if she
concentrated that she realized it must be the suit. It made...some kind of sense. She could fire bolts of coherent sound as a weapon. So presumably it was also
more receptive? Like a two-way microphone? Maybe. However, getting out of the facility, Lisa's thoughts turned towards what to do next. She could go home,
for one, but Crey obviously would know who she was, and that she'd stolen the suit. But then, she could take a wild guess why they'd come after her.
Perhaps letting the suit sit in a closet and backing off on a couple of her investigations...she could justify it as having a close shave with her contacts.
They'd understand. And Crey would think she was scared off the streets.

That said, Lisa's credentials wouldn't go unused. After all, thanks to Crey, she'd stumbled across possibly the biggest score she knew of. She
could find out the identities of the Knight Sabres. Their origins, their goals...all of it. All because Crey'd
decided to try to turn her into one. Come to think of it....she toggled on the suit's internal internet browser, sighing as she realized she'd have to
struggle with CreyFishing again. That was the first thing that was going to go when she got around to customizing the internal settings. Downloading another
browser quickly to counfound any Crey monitoring, Lisa accessed her private server, calling up her notes about various potential stories...and gravitated over
to an ongoing investigation by the PPD's PSI division....who'd just gotten a new transfer by the name of Leon McNichol. And they were investigating the
Sabres as well.

Well, well, well....this might just work out.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Nene giggled as she practically skipped into the apartment. "I did it, I did it..." she sing-songed to herself. Ifrit looked up from her book, a
curious look on her face."It took a bit, and I almost botched it, but I did it," Nene grinned, dropping onto the couch and kissing her girlfriend.

Ifrit returned the kiss, as expected. "Really?" she said. "What was that?"

"Sylvie and Linna have officially had their first kiss," came the reply. "And their second," she added a moment later with an even wider
smile. Ifrit raised an eyebrow, now very curious. "Well,we were tailing Crey, and came across some stuff..." she frowned slightly, "that
I'll tell you and the rest of the Sabres about later. But anyway, afterward... it kinda came out that Linna, Swift, was a copy. A 33-S like me."

The fey nodded. It was expected of all the Sabres really, or they were something similar like Anthy, but it wasn't something that they just sprung on the
new girls. "She didn't take it well I guess," she commented.

"Mmm. She kinda freaked out but I talked her down, more or less... She started saying that everything she had was copied from my Linna, seemed headed for
an emotional breakdown... and while I was saying that wasn't true, Sylvie declared that she didn't love Dance Sabre, she loved her, and kissed her. Big
time," she said.

"Ah, our solution to the identity issues," Ifrit said with a knowing smile, remembering Nenes early days (And her own, for that matter).

"Yeah," Nene smiled, looping her arms over Ifrits shoulders. "It doesn't matter who I'm copied off of, because I know one person that
wants the copy, not the original." Ifrit giggled softly, as Nenes gaze wandered down slightly, pausing on Ifrits chest. And not for the usual reasons. The
large t-shirt her lover was wearing had a red silhouette of Net Sabre, the words 'I

The apartment was quiet, with only the soft whir of the air conditioner and the gentle bubbling of the fish tank serving as evidence that it was even occupied.
From outside the sigh of traffic could be faintly heard, along with voices from neighboring apartments, muffled and indistinct but serving to highlight the
emptiness of this home.

The phone rang, shattering the silence. After a time, the ringing stopped, and the counter next to the handset went up a digit to seventeen. Silence resumed,
broken only by a harsh, wet, grinding noise from the aquarium as a large batch of scum was sucked in by the filter. The fish bobbing gently on the surface of
the water appeared to take no notice. Soon enough the grinding ceased and all was quiet again.

The lock clicked, followed by the door opening slowly. As it swung, it shoved aside a minor avalanche of envelopes, flyers, a magazine, and a polite reminder
from the landlord about overdue rent, all piled beneath the mail slot.

Two men entered the apartment, moving with surprising speed and stealth. They wore dark business attire and sunglasses, which they did not remove even in the
dim shadows of the apartment. A third figure came through the door, this one female, but dressed in the same sort of clothing as the first two. They shut the
door and stood silently for a moment, examining the particulars of the room they stood in. Then they shared a glance and a silent nod and set to work.

One of the men vanished into the bedroom, where faint rustling noises served to mark his activity. The other produced a large garbage sack from his pockets
and began scooping up the accumulated bits of mail, rifling through them as he worked and setting aside a select few. The woman, for her part, crossed the
room to the fish tank and scooped out the dead fish, dropping them into a ziplock baggie. From the small pack hanging off her shoulder she produced a similar
bag, this one filled with water and living fish that were a perfect match for the ones she'd just removed from the tank.

They swept through the apartment, not speaking, not missing a single detail. The phone messages were listened to, erased, and two of them re-recorded; the
fridge was emptied of perished items, which were replaced by not-quite-fresh duplicates. They cleaned, then applied a carefully-measured layer of dust -- just
a couple days worth -- to all exposed surfaces. They responded to some of the mail, threw some in the trash, and left a couple on the coffee table, as if
opened and read and tossed aside.

Then, as if by prearranged signal, they all reached the end of their tasks at the same time. Sharing one final glance, they nodded and left. The lock clicked
softly behind them as they shut the door.

The apartment was silent, except for the gentle sigh of the air conditioner, and the quiet bubble of the aquarium, where brightly-colored fish nibbled on
floating flakes of food and ignored the outside world.

* * * * *

"Welcome back, miss Naoko!"

Startled by the effusive greeting, Naoko jumped, whanging her head lightly against the inside of the trunk. "Ow!" she commented, rubbing the back of
her skull and wincing. She turned and regarded the speaker fondly.

The landlord, an older man with a bushy mustache and eyebrows that challenged it for size, beamed at her. "And how did your vacation go?" he
continued, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He noticed what she was doing and bounded forward. "Here, now, let me help you with that."

Naoko smiled and nodded. "Thank you!" She watched as he manhandled her luggage -- what would have been called a steamer trunk, in older days,
except this one was sleek and modern -- out of the back of the cab and set it on the curb. As the cab pulled away, she turned to the older man.

"I -think- it went pretty well," she remarked wryly, putting one hand to her forehead. "I don't remember much past the third -- or was it
fourth? -- Long Island."

He laughed, a big hearty chuckle. "Oh, that sounds like it was a perfect vacation, then!" He winked. "Let me carry this up for you, hmm?
After a vacation like that, sounds like you could use -- a vacation!" He laughed again at his own wit.

Naoko grinned. "No argument here! I had to lug it through the airport." She winced in remembered effort, and he chuckled. She nodded at the
stairs. "I'll just go up and unlock the door."

As he puffed his way up the short flight, trunk balanced on his shoulder, the landlord commented, "Must've picked up a load of souvenirs, huh? Ye
only left with one suitcase! Hah!"

A mischevious grin flitted across Naoko's features before she composed herself. "You could say that, yes." She unlocked the door and flung it
wide, stepping back to let her landlord deposit his burden in the middle of the living room.

"Now then, miss Naoko," he wheezed, straightening up after unshouldering the load. "Your friend was a little late on rent, but when he did make
the payment for you, he paid for next month too." He smiled at her. "Nice looking guy, very professional. The missus wants to know if you
two..." he trailed off, looking sheepish. "Well! None of my business, and none of hers either, come to that. I'll be off now. Just come knock
if you need anything, understand?"

Naoko smiled and nodded. "I will. Thank you so much."

He grinned, white teeth flashing amidst the mustache. "A pleasure." He left, whistling a cheerful tune to himself, and Naoko smiled fondly at his
departing back before closing the door.

The smile changed to a fierce grin as soon as the door latched shut. Naoko whirled and picked up the trunk, easily lifting the weight that had staggered the
landlord -- a big, strong man used to handling heavy loads. She carried it into her bedroom and set it on end in the wardrobe, which stood conveniently open
and empty. As it settled, something clicked underneath, a sound so faint that anyone else would never have noticed it..

Naoko stepped back and held her breath, watching.

The trunk, to all outside observation merely a metallic case with handles meant for transporting large quantities of luggage, shivered. Hairline cracks formed
and expanded as the trunk telescoped outwards in both height and width, rapidly growing to fill the wardrobe. A series of clicks sounded as hidden catches
locked into place. In the space of ten seconds, it was over.

Naoko let out a long breath, and smiled. She stepped forward slowly and laid her palm against the smooth metal surface. For a moment, nothing happened. Then
a faint glow outlined her hand, and a soft chime sounded. Without further noise, the metal wall divided smoothly down the center and opened outwards,
revealing a set of armor nestled in a support cradle.

Naoko laughed delightedly. With quick motions she shed her clothing and stepped nude into the wardrobe, sliding first one leg, then the other, into the armor.
She leaned back and felt the smooth, padded interior mold itself around her as the suit snapped shut. The helmet descended over her head, sealing itself into
place at her neck before the pads inflated to hold it steady on her head. The semi-transparent faceplate was blank, revealing only her bedroom. She took a
deep breath.

"Blaze Sabre... activate!"

Light flooded her eyes, both startling and soothing at the same time, as the suit came alive. Readouts flickered and stabilized as the diagnostics checked
out. The faceplate shimmered and became reflective on the outside, while on the inside it became more clear as the holographic display began enhancing her
already-excellent vision. Cool jets of air bathed her skin as the power cells warmed up and activated the environmental systems. With a clunk that she felt
more than heard, the support arms released her and withdrew, leaving her standing steady on her own -- her armor's -- two feet.

Letters marched across her display.

>> INITIAL ACTIVATION SEQUENCE COMPLETE

>> OPERATOR RECOGNIZED: CI-12-N 'NAOKO'

>>

>> PRIMARY TARGET: McNICHOL, LEON A.

>>

>> DIRECTIVES:

>> - MAINTAIN COVER IDENTITY

>> - ASSESS SUITABILITY INDEX OF TARGET FOR ACQUISITION

>> - UPON SIGNAL 'PROMETHEUS', ACQUIRE OR TERMINATE TARGET AS NECESSARY

>>

>> SECONDARY DIRECTIVES:

>> - INFILTRATE AND MONITOR RIOT FORCE/KNIGHT SABRES -- TAKE NO ACTION UNLESS OTHERWISE DIRECTED

>> - IDENTIFY AND REPORT TARGETS OF OPPORTUNITY

Naoko read through her instructions three times with cool and calculating eyes. In the background, through her neuro-link to the suit, a data transfer sent
detailed information directly to her mind; she was aware of it in the same way a driver of a car is aware of traffic around them without directly seeing it.
She nodded and cleared the display, then ejected a tiny data solid from the interface port. She caught it as it fell in one armored hand and held it up. It
contained everything she'd just been given, all her instructions and datafiles and photos of her target and everything needed to decrypt them. Without
this chip, her suit was just a suit -- sophisticated and cutting-edge, but in no way any more incriminating than any other high-tech suit of armor.

With a slight smile on her face under the visor, Blaze Sabre ignited her flame projectors and reduced the data solid to ashes in an instant.

* * * * *

"Naoko!"

"Hmm?" Naoko looked up from her desk, where it appeared she'd spent most of the morning organizing the clutter that had cropped up in her
absence. Her inquisitive look changed to one of surprise and delight as she recognized her friend and coworker Nene Romanova. "Nene!" she chirped
happily.

"Where have you BEEN?" Nene demanded, a scowl and a smile competing for dominance on her face. "You just -- POOF -- vanished!"

Naoko frowned. "Nene Romanova, did you forget about my vacation?" She put one hand on her hip and shook a finger at Nene. "I told you that
time off tracker thingy of yours was going to cause a problem someday." She looked at her desk in something approaching despair. "Looks like you
weren't the only one," she added morosely. "Someone's been using my desk as a dumping ground for old files while I was gone."

Nene frowned. "I don't remember any vacation request..." she said slowly. "Nobody else did either."

Naoko shrugged. "I filled out all the paperwork and had it approved." She rummaged around in a drawer, tried a second, and finally found what she
was looking for in a third. "Here!"

Nene took the proferred slip and looked at it. A vacation request, signed and approved by the department head over six months ago. All legit. Except she
didn't remember a single bit of it, and hadn't Naoko been talking about how she wouldn't be able to afford a vacation this year not that long ago?

She brushed it aside as she realized her friend was still talking. "What was that?" she asked. "I was, um, thinking."

"I -said-," Naoko replied with a hint of annoyance in her voice, "would you like to go get some lunch today? My treat this time." She
smiled. "I know this great Italian place nearby."

Nene brightened. "Lunch? Sure!"

"Okay then! Bye for now, Nene!" As Nene continued on her way, still puzzling over Naoko's sudden reappearance, she passed Detective Watanabe
going the other way. The man walked as though there was background music to his life, a sort of personal soundtrack, his Afro bobbing gently to the beat only
he could hear. He nodded cordially at her as he passed, and she suppressed a grin, stopping just outside the office to listen.

"Heyyy! Babe! You're back! How's my favorite dispatcher?"

"Beat it, Watanabe."

Nene giggled and ducked into the elevator. Naoko was back!

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

"What the heck is that noise?" one of the guards muttered at the sounds of battle outside the building. The Crey Protector on duty moved to one of
the covered windows and moved the blinds for a quick look.

"Just some heroes fighting Nemesis," he replied. "No big deal."

"Could always blast all of them," one of the other guards commented. "Merely doing our civic duty, what a shame we hit the heroes too."

The Protector turned, regretting that his disgusted glare was muted considerably by the full face helmet. "Newbie, in case you've forgotten, this
place doesn't legally exist. We don't make heroes take a second look at it."

"I was just saying-"

"Newbie, shut up," the Protector snapped. God, he was looking forward to getting back into the RWZ and Venice. Anything was better then dealing with
the new recruits.

Any further thoughts were cut off by the wall behind him exploding inwards, the massive form of a Fake Nemesis crushing him to the floor. The rest of the
guards all looked at him for a moment, too surprised to move. "Get up tin-can!" ordered an irritated female voice. "I'm not done with you
yet!" The guards blinked at the purple haired catgirl appearing in the new doorway. Purrfect Archer paused, looking at the Crey goons. "Huh..."

Next to her, Purrfect Scrapper leaned in. "Oh hai!" she smiled. "Whatcha doin' here in this dark, obviously abandoned building?"

"Evil, I'll bet," Archer replied. "Secret evil that they don't put on those cheesy tv ads."

"I hate those ads," Scrapper said.

"Yeah, me too. You guys mind if we find the evil and beat it up?"

"Don't just stand there you idiots!" the Protector yelled as he tried to get out from under the Nemesis. "Shoot them!"

***

Two floors below, a scientist looked up from his work as the building shook from explosions. "What's going on?" he asked the Agent on duty, who
had a hand up against her ear, listening to radio chatter.

"Heroes just entered the building," she reported. "They've been identified as Legendary." As the three researchers looked at each
other, she took her sidearm out, a serious look on her face. "Prep for evacuation, Delta protocol." With that said, she moved to the door, hit the
open button, and had just enough time to notice the studs on the blue armored gauntlet before it connected with her face with enough force to actually flip her
over and out of the way.

"Everyone behave and you won't get hurt," Street Sabre ordered as she stepped into the room. One of the research assistants responded by pulling
out his cyro pistol and firing off a shot at her. She raised her arm and blocked it, coating her fist and forearm in a block of ice. Before the others could go
for their weapons however, Lady of the Peace stepped into the room behind the Sabre, flames launching from her arms. The other two scientists went down fast as
Street marched up to her attacker and grabbed him by the apron. "Now, what'd I tell you?" she growled, shattering the ice with his face.

"Nice," Lady chuckled.

"I warned him, didn't I?" Street replied, shaking the last of the ice off as Net Sabre came in. "Where's the others?"

"Some power suits were coming this way," she answered, heading over to a glass vat mounted on the wall. "Yep... One 33-S growth tank, Crey
style," she said, pulling a cable from her gauntlet and plugging it into a USB port on the computer attached to the vat. "Now then, let's see if
the intel was right," she said, beginning to type.

Lady walked up to the vat, trying to see through the murky green liquid. "And if Silicon's source was wrong?"

"Then this poor girl isn't fully grown and is either a blank slate or incapable of surviving on her own, or she's fully programmed and we're
too late," her lover replied. There was a crash from outside, and a Juggernaut flew past the open door.

"... I'm gonna go help them," Street said.

"Yeah, go get your violence fix," Net teased. "It must be nice to enjoy the simple things." Street smacked her over the helmet as she went
to the door. Lady rolled her eyes, moving over to look at the Sabre suit in the corner. This one was an orange and grey mix, with heavy cables on the chest and
arms.

"Looks like a new design," she commented, unhooking it and fetching the helmet.

"According to this, they were going to register... Typhoon Sabre as a double-rad defender," Net replied, before pumping a fist in the air. "Yes!
Perfect timing on our part. Stable mind, all set for Crey brainwashing!"

"Then get her out and lets go," Lady ordered. "The catgirls won't keep the majority of their attention forever." There was another
explosion from above that sounded like one of Alices exploding arrows.

Nets hands moved across the keyboard, giving the required passwords and usernames. After a moment, the vat began to drain, the liquids beginning to drop
rapidly.

"All done out there," Dance Sabre said as she, Street and Silicon all stepped into the room. "This one good?"

"We got to her just in time," Net said, a grin in her voice, before jerking in surprise as the fluid level dropped below the new Bumas face. The
short black hair, the face... both were instantly recognizable to the four original Sabres.

"...Mackie?" Silicon whispered, moving towards the vat slightly, stunned by the sight of her little brother, who she'd long since assumed
she'd never see again, even with Crey developing a habit of basing their Scimitars off people from her original life. Lady of the Peace blinked, placing
the name and working the rest out quickly.

Then the liquids dropped below chest height, and all five women stared.

"That's..." Dance managed.

"Pretty good sized ones," Street responded, taking a long look at the breasts of the girl in the tank.

"Oh, the little pervert is gonna love this," Net grumbled. Her girlfriend nudged her in the stomach. "Ow. I stand by my comment."

Silicon pulled herself back to reality as the vat opened. Quickly, she moved over and checked her sister(?). "She's pretty out of it. We'll have
to carry her," she said, pulling off her cape and wrapping it around the smaller girl.

"Hold this," Lady said to Street, dumping the new hardsuit in her arms and going to the door to clear a path if needed.

The blue Sabre grumbled, balancing the weight, before opening a private channel to Silicon. "Sylia, are you..."

"I don't know Priss," she admitted softly. "I've got Mackie back, but... how is he... she going to handle this? He was always the normal
one."

"We'll work it out. Heck, have Ifrit talk to her. She's been there." The original Sabre nodded slightly, conceeding the point.

"You're... stealing Crey... property... stop or I use violence," the agent on the floor mumbled. Dance kicked her in the face, putting her out
again.

"Alice," Lady said, tapping her earpiece.

"Yeah mum?"

"We're on our way up. What's it like up there?"

"Calming down actually. They got the message after Sammy started sharpening her claws on their armor."

The fey snickered as they headed for the elevator.

***

"Well, no mention of any attack on a Crey facility," Ifrit said as she walked into the medbay. "Officially anyway. But given what we got out of
there, they don't want the exposure this time."

"This time," Sylia said softly, watching the sleeping form on the bed. "That won't last."

"Mmm," Riot Forces founder agreed. "Where's the others?"

"Nene's at work, Linna had a job interview, and Priss is getting me food," she replied. "Said I had to eat." She sighed. "I almost
feel like I'll throw up if I tried." She ran a hand through her hair. "I never thought I'd see him again. Whoever Crey stole us from made
copies of the original four, and it makes sense for them to have Sylvie and Anri, given they were likely behind that fiasco as well... but Mackie? He was our
support. The one that was outside the battle, checking the radio, keeping us updated, helping with repairs. Compared to us, he was... normal. Even if he did
hack the cameras for a peek on occasion," she said with a faint laugh.

Ifrit smiled softly as Sylia sighed. "Now... they've put his mind in a frame like that. They probably never thought about what he was before. Just
another weapon to be reprogrammed and aimed at the Countesses enemies," she said bitterly. She was silent for a long moment, before speaking again.
"How did you handle it?"

The Fey shrugged slightly. "Easier then I expected," she admitted. "Which would freak Rob right out if he ever knew. But from the moment I was
created, I knew I wasn't him entirely. I had a purpose, a function. It helped me get started... Nene helped the rest of the way," she added with a
slight smile. "Knowing she loved me for who I was did a wonderful job of getting rid of the other issues."

Before Sylia could respond, Mackie moved slightly, beginning to stir. "And I better leave you to it," she said softly, patting her on the shoulder.
"I'll be in the workshop if you need me," she added, moving out of the room.

Sylia nodded absently, moving up to the bedside. "Mackie?" she said softly.

"Mmmm... Sis?" came the soft reply.

"It's me. How do you feel?"

"Awful... weird dreams...what's goin' on?" she mumbled, opening her eyes. "... And where are we?" she added. "This isn't
our medbay..."

"No, it isn't," she admitted as Mackie sat up and shook her head, forcing herself awake. "Mackie, this may not make much sense at first
but... We're not quite who we think we are." The younger girl gave her an odd look. "Someone that learned our identities managed to copy us, as
part of a plan to publicly discredit the Knight Sabers."

"Clones?" Mackie said, sounding dubious. "But you can't copy memories onto a human brain."

Actually, there were ways that GENOM hadn't known of, but that wasn't the point right now. "No, not a human brain," she admitted, pausing as
Mackie sat up straight.

"Sis... Why do I have a Heads Up Display?" she asked in a voice of worried understanding.

"Because they found a way to... work around that limitation," she said softly.

There was a thump as Mackies head dropped against the pillow. "Bumas," she said softly. "We're Bumas."

"Yes," Sylia answered.

Laughing quietly, Mackie closed her eyes. "Dads ghost must be loving this," she muttered. "His creations 'merged' into one," she
said bitterly. She lay there for a moment, eyes closed. "Anything else I should know?"

"A few," she said softly. "The body you're in now... is a 33-S, and it... follows the usual rule for that model." Mackies eyes snapped
open, she looked at her sister for a long moment, pulled the bedsheet up and looked. She stared for a moment, then let the sheet fall and dropped against the
pillow again.

"This is so messed up..." she groaned.

***

Nene was suspicious.

This was a common state of mind for her, though usually it a friendly sort of suspicion, directed at friends or coworkers who she thought might harbor a secret
she'd like to know. It didn't really matter what the secret was, or if she could DO anything with it; she just liked knowing. That was what had
driven her to become one of the top hackers in the world. If it was known by somebody, chances were Nene Romanova could find out whatever it was. And she
liked it that way.

But not this time. And that was frustrating her to no end.

What made it worse was that it was *Sylia* who was keeping the secret! The leader of the Knight Sabres, who trusted Nene with her life on a daily basis,
wasn't sharing this one.

The problem was simple, on the face of it. It had started with an innocent -- or so Nene had thought -- question.

"Sylia," Nene asked quietly, as a newly-joined Sabre bounded away on her first mission for the Knight Sabres, "how do you know who to trust? I
mean... any of these could be a spy for GEN-- I mean, for Crey. But you're just inviting them to join up with us, having me upgrade their suits, giving
them access to the Riot Force base... and we don't know half of them!" Nene frowned. "Some of them aren't even people we knew back, uh,
then. You know what I mean."

Sylia nodded, the light reflecting off her facebowl. "I do, Nene. And I understand your concern. But I know what I'm doing."

"But HOW?" Nene persisted. "The only restriction I see you placing on them is that they have a hero license, and you KNOW how easy it is to do
THAT!" She snorted. "You have better background checks for your employees at the Silky Doll."

"I'm sorry, Nene," Sylia said. "You'll just have to trust me."

Well, Nene thought, I *do* trust her... but maybe I should see what I can find out anyway. After all, she nodded to herself, if I *can't* figure it out,
then it's gotta be safe -- but if I can, then Sylia will need to be more careful!

Pleased with her rationalization, Nene made her farewells and headed off to go to work.

* * * * *

"Are you sure this isn't too, um, revealing?" A young woman stood uncomfortably in the doorway to a fitting room, worried eyes fixed on Sylia
even as her hands kept the drapes in a concealing position. A flash of bare leg and shoulder peeked out. Sylia smiled reassuringly and approached.

"You certainly have nothing to worry about, if you don't mind me saying so," she said. "However, if you're uncomfortable in it, then it
won't have the right effect. And the effect is what it's all about, isn't it?"

The woman giggled lightly. "I - I guess so."

"Perhaps a slightly longer cut is in order," Sylia mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I can have it ready in one hour. Will that be
acceptable?"

"Oh, thank you so much. I love it, I do, it's just...."

"Shh. Don't worry about it." The gentle orchestral music in the background swelled briefly, signaling the entry of another customer. Sylia
glanced at the door, then returned to the customer at hand.

"I'll have the alterations made immediately," she said. "You are welcome to relax in the lounge, if you'd prefer to wait. Or shall we
set an appointment for another fitting?"

"I'll come back," the woman said from behind the curtain, where a zipper could be heard. "One hour, you said?"

"I may not be available myself," Sylia noted, "but I'll make sure that it's ready for you, and any of my associates will be glad to
assist you."

"Thank you!" The woman emerged, cheeks flushed from lingering nervousness and embarassment, and laughed. "You're the best!"

Sylia smiled at her. "You're too kind." She took the sheer, slinky garment and carefully placed it in a bag, jotting quick notes on the label
before handing it off to one of her assistants. The customer left. Sylia blew a sigh and shook her head, squared her shoulders, and crossed the large,
richly-appointed and elegantly-furnished room to where the new customer -- a young, determined-looking, brown-haired woman -- sat, ramrod-stiff, in a deeply
cushioned highback chair, a cup of tea steaming gently at her elbow.

"Miss Stingray, I'm sorry to intrude," she said as Sylia approached. "I felt it necessary to come down in person, to apologize." She
stood and regarded Sylia steadily. "We've had some unforeseen changes arise, and I'm afraid your shipment will not be ready as originally
scheduled."

Sylia raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That will complicate matters. I have several... new developments, that were counting on those items being ready."

"I know, and I am truly sorry."

Sylia waved a hand. "Don't worry about it, I'll make do." She eyed the other woman. "Are these changes permanent, do you think? Will
I need to make other arrangements to get these materials?"

A worried expression, quickly smoothed over. "I'm... not sure. I can guarantee you at least one more delivery. Beyond that, I can't say.
Things are in flux at the moment, and nobody is quite certain when it will return to normal." She paused and frowned. "In fact, a ... new product
line appears to be in development. I don't know when I'll have details, or if it's even something you'll be interested in. They're
keeping it very quiet."

Sylia nodded. "Well, then. When can I expect that delivery?"

"The day after tomorrow, earlier if possible. I'll handle it personally."

"Very good." Sylia cocked her head slightly and smiled at the other woman. "And what about your personal project? Will it be ready for
display soon?"

This time it was a fierce, prideful grin. "Oh, yes. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. In fact..." and here she leaned forward
conspiratorially. "In fact, I'd be extremely grateful if you, Miss Stingray, would allow me to put it on display with your organization.
Anonymously, of course. There are certain proprieties to be observed, after all."

Sylia returned the grin. "I do believe, Miss Chang, that I can arrange that." She shrugged. "My... business partners will have to be in the
loop, of course, but you can rely on their discretion."

A sharp glance. "You are certain?"

Sylia nodded. "Oh yes. You may trust these as you do me. My junior associates, well, that's up to you. But my partners can best be of service if
they know." Sylia's lips quirked in a wry smile. "One of them, in fact, would know soon enough whether we told her or not. She's...
persistent, like that."

"I'll keep that in mind." She bent and retrieved a briefcase from beside her seat. "A pleasure doing business with you, as usual.
I'll send that shipment by special courier, as soon as it's ready."

* * * * *

Irene Chang gave a friendly wave to Scott, the security guard, and the two faceless Power Tanks flanking the doors to her department. Scott nodded and smiled
-- "Afternoon, Miss Wong," -- and one of the tanks returned the wave listlessly. She carded through the doors with a double beep and continued on to
her workstation, dropping heavily into her swivel chair and blowing a deep sigh.

"Long day, huh, Irene?" Norman, an older man with thinning grey hair and thick glasses, and the sort of coworker that could be counted on to do
their job, do it well, and do nothing else -- ambitionless, in one sense; harmless, in another -- raised his head above the partition seperating their desks.

"It will be," she responded. "Especially if we don't get that efficiency factor up."

"Paul had some thoughts on that," the older man said, frowning. "I don't think I agree, but he's stubborn. And without Dr. Smythe
around to rein him in..." He shrugged. "Well, you know how he is."

Irene nodded. Paul was easily the most stubborn, opinionated, and antagonistic member of the team. He respected no authority save his own; the former project
lead, Robin Smythe, had kept him in check through a frenzied application of her own indomitable will and threats to Paul's paycheck, often both in the same
hour. But Paul was *also* a genius, and regularly had blinding flashes of insight that solved problems the whole team had been stumped on. If he got on the
right track... Irene didn't want to think about it. "Does he have numbers to back him up?"

"Not yet. He's running a simulation now." Norman frowned. "He shut down your simulation to get his own running." He shrugged.
"I told him it was a bad idea, but...."

She nodded absently as she called up her task list and began making notes. The project map appeared before her in the holographic display, a number of items
flashing red or yellow, several glowing steady green, and one blinking a furious purple -- her aborted simulation run, complaining to the world at large that
it hadn't been treated fairly.

This, Irene thought, is going to be damn tricky to pull off. Out loud, she said, "How far along is he on his test model?"

"Forty percent, as of an hour ago."

Damn! Irene kept her face calm through sheer will. "Excellent! He might be on the right track after all...." And damn him to Hell if he is, she
finished silently.

Norman frowned and shook his head. "No, no, we went over this last week, remember? You and Dr. Smythe ran the tests... this approach suffers from matrix
degeneration starting at seventy percent utilization, and just gets worse after! Paul's insisting it'll work, but it's the same method you tested.
He didn't change a thing!"

Irene winced to herself. It hadn't been her best work, but Robin was -- had been, by now -- the smartest project lead she'd worked under, and Irene
had had no time to prepare. Her sabotage had been quick, dirty, and strictly one-shot; if Paul was running the same model again with no changes...

... well, he'd get the same results Irene herself had several months ago: a fully-programmable replicant brain with no degradation at high usage levels.
The current crop was flawed; among other things, they tended to break down, sometimes catastrophically, when subjected to heavy load -- such as engram
implantation. Irene knew she was walking a fine line, but as long as nothing better came along the corporation would continue the project, even with the
flaws, since the product represented such a leap ahead of current technology in many ways.

As far as she knew, Irene was the only one who knew that the flaws were intentional... and she needed to keep it that way.

She spared a glance for Norman, who peered at her with a worried expression. The older man didn't like things being out of the ordinary; he was capable
and competent but did not react well to changes. She smiled at him. "I'm sure Paul must have changed SOMETHING, Norm. He's not stupid, he's
just... difficult. He probably just didn't want to explain himself. You know, just in case it doesn't work out."

Norman nodded slowly. "Yes... yes, you're probably right."

"I'm sure I am," she replied. "Tell you what. I'll go see how he's doing. Meanwhile, we've got the analysis back on that
latest batch, and someone needs to go through it and see if there's anything useful. Why don't you work on that?"

Norman nodded again. "Right. I'll just go do that." He sat back down and in short order was absorbed in a ream of documentation that, had it
been printed, would have been as thick as a phone book. Irene left him muttering to himself and headed for the testing chamber.

* * * * *

"Don't try to stop me, Wong," Paul warned as Irene entered the dark testing room. It was octoganal in shape, with a central area behind thick
transparent armor, currently retracted; ringing that were control panels and readouts, with four equidistant workstations lining the outer walls. The room was
bathed in a cold blue light as a complicated hologram writhed and twisted in the air in the center of the room.

"I wasn't coming to stop you, Paul," Irene replied, keeping firm rein on her temper. It paid off as Paul relaxed infinitesimally.

"Well, alright then," he grumbled. "That old coot kept butting in, I figured you were here for more of the same." He glanced at her, eyes
narrowed in suspicion. "So what brings you down?"

"You aborted my run. I wanted to know why."

Paul glowered at her. "Your run was a waste of time and resources. Physical enhancements can come later; right now the real priority is getting a useful
brain for these things."

"Dr. Smythe authorized my run personally. I filled out the proper requisitions and scheduled the time."

"Well, she's not here any more, is she?" Paul snorted. "You know what your problem is, Wong?" He glanced at the hologram and tapped
a few keys, causing no noticeable change, though he nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Your problem is that you dont have any vision. All you see is
your little piece of the pie." He glared at the hologram, a fierce pride that startled her with its vehemence. "You don't see the *potential*
here."

"And you do, is that it?"

He laughed. "Get off your high horse. I see more than you, yeah. Both of us see more than that old coot hiding behind his terminal." He spun and
raised a finger. "And you see more than I gave you credit for."

Irene took a step back, startled. "What do you mean?"

A snort. "Don't play innocent, Wong. I'm willing to ignore your little... trick. Seeing as how it's going to catapult me to project lead,
that is." He smirked at her. "Nice try, by the way. I'd never have thought you were ambitious enough to make a move yourself, but you did.
I'd congratulate you, but as usual, you didn't have the guts to finish the move, to go to the logical conclusion." He cocked his head.
"Why? Afraid of the responsibility? Hopkins himself would have made you project lead, if not department head, had you given him a working replicant
brain."

Irene went white. "How... how did you --?"

Paul waved a hand. "It was easy, once I started working on the brain model. Let's face it, that was a pretty ugly hack. I'm surprised Robin
fell for it herself, but she always had a soft spot for you." He grinned again. "I think I'll keep you around when I'm in charge. You do
good work, even if you don't have the imagination."

A cheerful ding from the terminal interrupted the tableau. Paul glanced at it, then smiled again. He looked at Irene. "Beautiful, isn't it? But
then, you've seen it before."

Irene looked past him, at the now-completed holographic representation of a replicant brain matrix. It spun slowly in place, complete down to the last detail.
At the bottom of the projection field readouts scrolled by, indicating a stable memory implant had taken place. Simulated brain activity was increasing, and
as she watched it shot past the previous benchmark and came to rest in the upper nineties. And stayed there.

"I'll give you until tomorrow to think about it," Paul said as he dumped the simulation to a data module and wiped the test system clean.
"And I've already trashed the original sources, before you get any ideas," he added. "Your only chance is to support my claim on the
discovery, or resign. You can take me to lunch tomorrow and give me your answer."

Whistling cheerfully to himself, Paul brushed past Irene and left, pausing only long enough to flick off the lights on his way out.

* * * * *

"Nice choice," Paul stated the following day as they were led to their table. The high booths, lush greenery, and trickling waterfall all served as
visual and auditory screens; except for the live band playing at the far end, they might have been alone in the restaurant once they were seated.

Irene leaned forward as soon as they had placed their orders. "Paul, listen. You wanted to know why I hadn't turned in my research -- yes, MY
research, damn you -- myself?" She fixed him with a steely glare. "It's because I"m not an idiot."

"Care to explain that? Or is this where you try to change my mind with a sob story of some sort, about how Crey's business practices mean it
shouldn't have power like this, or something equally lame?" He regarded her steadily. "I'd figured you were smarter than that. You're
already in deep, babe, bit late to be growing a sense of moral outrage now, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid, Paul, thank you. But you're being dumb. Think, man! What happens if you give that model, or even a
working prototype, to our department head?"

"Jackpot time!"

"No, dummy! You go into involuntary retirement, the department head gets a promotion, and Norm and I get shuffled into the new regime." She sat
back and crossed her arms. "For a genius, you're pretty dumb."

He frowned at her, his eyebrows coming together in thought. "You may have a point..." he began, and paused as their orders arrived. When the
waitress had gone, he continued. "Even if you're right, though, that doesn't stop me from jumping past Smithers and going right to Hopkins
himself."

"Who'll have your head turned inside out to make sure you're not hiding something from him." She nodded. "Good plan. Glad you're
such a smart guy, Paul; I'd have gotten myself in trouble for sure if you weren't along to handle things."

"Watch it, Wong. You don't have anything to bargain with right now. I could just tell them about the sabotage. Sure, it's not as big a win for
me, but it's more stable. I'm not greedy."

Irene blinked and paled. "I... hadn't thought of that," she said in a small, quiet voice. "What... what do you think we should do
then?"

She watched him smirk at her use of 'we', and smiled to herself. Gotcha.

"Well, 'we' should finish lunch first," he said triumphantly. "And then... I think we can safely blame the sabotage on Robin.
She's gone anyway, nobody will know the difference. Except for us." He patted his shirt pocket confidentially. "And I'll just hang on to
the proof as insurance for your good behavior."

"Well..." she said slowly, as if reluctant.

"I'll even make you my assistant," he said. "Once I've got project lead, I'll need someone I can ... trust."

"And I suppose you've got a dozen copies of that stashed all over by now, all set to expose me if I ever cross you?" she asked, watching his face
carefully. There! A fast, hidden flicker; if she hadn't been waiting for it, expecting it, she'd never have caught it.

The idiot only had the one copy!

"That's right," Paul said smoothly, and she had to admire the steadiness in his voice. "So, we have a deal?"

"I guess I don't have much of a choice," she admitted grudgingly, fiddling with her ring.

"No need to be so down about it," Paul said. "I'll make sure you get a fair cut."

"Pardon me, sir." Irene and Paul looked up, then up some more. A large man dressed in a severe black suit, wearing sunglasses and a radio in one
ear, stood at their booth.

"Shit!" Paul exclaimed. He tried to scoot back, but a hand like a vice clamped onto his shoulder and stopped him in place. The agent dug around in
his jacket and produced a phone, which he handed to Irene. She nodded and stood, stopping only long enough to dip two fingers into Paul's shirt pocket and
withdraw the data module.

"I=Irene?!" Paul stammered. "What's going on here?" Irene ignored him and left the room. Paul's next shout was cut short by the
crackle of a stungun. "CREY SECURITY!" she heard the agent bellow. "EVERYONE STAY BACK!"

The phone rang. Irene opened it as she stepped out into the bright sunshine.

"Did you get it?"

Irene sighed. "Yes, Reika."

A warm chuckle. "Did I not tell you that sometimes the direct way is best?"

"Yes, you did. I'll keep it in mind next time."

"I can't save you every time, you know."

Irene looked out over the city and took her time responding. "I have friends here, now. They'll help me."

"Well... we'll see." Her sister's voice turned businesslike. "Make sure you send back that field test data."

Irene nodded, even though Reika couldn't see her. "Don't worry, I'll make sure it gets a good workout."

"Be well, sister."

"I love you too. Bye!"

She closed the phone and turned it over, admiring the Chang Group logo worked in to the smooth plastic. Then she yanked off the antenna and tossed both pieces
into a nearby ashtray, where it landed amidst used cigarette butts and chewing gum. A momment later the phone burst into bright, smokeless flame, burning to
ashes in seconds.

* * * * *

The phone rang. Nene finished zapping the last monster and jotted a quick note to the developers -- her suit did not shoot lightning bolts out of the chest
area, and she was going to be very upset at SOMEONE if that particular feature made it into the release version -- then tapped a few keys to shut down the
audio stream. Then she picked up the call.

"This is Nene."

"Miss Romanova, your special order is ready."

"Hi, Sylia!" Nene giggled. "What time?"

"Seven, if possible."

"I'll be there."

* * * * *

That night, Silicon Sabre and Net Sabre stood side-by-side on top of one of the taller remnants in the Boomtown zone, watching a group of Council dispute
territory with Clockwork. The Council appeared to be winning, but from their vantage point the Sabres could see a group of Clocks assembling a larger version
of themselves in preparation for a counterattack.

"So what are we doing, Sylia?" Nene said.

"Welcoming a new member."

"Again?" Nene chuckled. "Well, who is she?"

"You'll see."

Hidden behind her facebowl, Nene stuck her tongue out at Sylia. Then she frowned. Her suits sensors were picking up something, but whatever it was was faint
and hard to pin down. If she wasn't so intimately familiar with every aspect of her suit's systems, she'd have chalked it up to air currents or
sensor twitch.

"Sylia!" she hissed on their shared channel. "I think there's something out there..."

"You can come out now," Sylia said over the external speakers by way of response -- and, Nene noted in shock, without the voice modulator. For a
moment, there was no response.

Then a patch of air five feet from them shimmered and parted like a curtain, revealing a black suit of armor much like a Sabre suit, with faintly-glowing green
traces forming intricate patterns on the legs and chest.

"Well," the newcomer said in a tone of mild disgust, "that's one system we'll need to upgrade."

"What's going on here?" Nene said, also switching to external speakers (though she left her voxmod on).

Sylia surprised her yet again, by reaching up and unlocking, then removing, her helmet. She stood and regarded the black-and-green suit calmly.

With what might have been a chuckle, the newcomer reached up and undid her catches -- Nene noted that the helmet attached very differnetly than the standard
Sabre method -- and removed her own helmet, revealing a young woman who was more on the cute side of the scale than the pretty one. She had thick brown hair,
wide eyes, and a wry grin.

"Well, Miss Stingray, what do you think?" The newcomer spun in place lightly, showing off her armor.

"It's very much like what you described, but there are significant differences as well."

"Excuse me?" Nene put in. "What. Is going. On?"

Sylia turned to face her. "You asked me not that long ago how I knew who we could and could not trust when new Sabres showed up."

Nene nodded.

Sylia indicated the newcomer. "She is how."

Nene looked between them for a moment. "I *knew* you had a secret, Sylia! I just knew it!" She turned. "Well, then. Hi! I'm Nene!
Nene Romanova." She removed her helmet and struck a pose. "Ta da!"

"Nene, may I introduce miss Irene Chang, our ally and a researcher with Crey's biotech division."

"WHAAAT?"

Irene chuckled and raised a hand. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid." She ran a hand through her hair. "How do you stand being cooped up in
a helmet all the time? I've only had mine on for half an hour and already I need a shower." She wrinkled her nose. "Anyway. Yes. I work for
Crey. I'm one of the scientists working on .. the Scimitar project."

Nene frowned at her, and Irene hurriedly continued.

"I've been sabotaging it from within for months now, ever since I was assigned and found out what they're up to." She shivered.
"It's... not good. You see the ones that, by Crey's definition, fail. The rogues. I see them *all*." She sighed and looked at the ground.
"Anyway. It wasn't hard figuring out who a couple of you were -- no offense, but if you'd wanted to stay hidden you wouldn't have used the
same names as -- oh, never mind, I'm getting sidetracked. What I meant to say is, I've been feeding Sylia lists of known Scimitars since I first made
contact with her. That, Nene, is how she knows who to trust."

"So, wait," Nene said slowly. "You're telling me that ... *you* made us?"

Irene shook her head. "No, no! Not you -- not the Original Four, as we call them. You. Whatever." She smiled. "I came on board shortly
after that whole debacle. I know *how* you were made, but we can't replicate it perfectly. Hence all the," and here she winced,
"failures."

"Irene has long wanted to take a more active role," Sylia put in. "I suspect that there have been recent developments making that a more
attractive option?"

Irene nodded. "You're sharp. Yes. Simply put, I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. Sooner or later, I'm going to get
caught." She grimaced. "Sooner, if yesterday was any indication." At their puzzled looks, she waved a hand. "Internal corporate
politics, don't worry about it. Point is, I may need to leave Crey soon... and if -- no, when -- I do that, I'll need protection." Her face grew
hard and grim. "I'd rather stay here than return home, as well. Here I can at least exact some small bit of revenge."

Nene's eyes widened. "Chang! The Chang Group!" She grew thoughtful. "I thought the whole family had died..."

Irene shook her head. "Not quite... but close enough." She indicated her armor. "This is the prototype of a suit meant to compete with the
Crey Tank line. We were, um, inspired, you could say, by how well you ladies handle yourselves against them. This, the 'Genki', or Dark Devil, is the
stealth model. Aside from being the only one ready for field-testing, it's also the best choice for the position I find myself in."

Nene nodded. "You're really going out on a limb, here."

"Yes. But Sylia has convinced me I can trust you, and ... not to put too fine a point on it, but it should be obvious you can trust me." She smiled
wryly. "After all, if I were going to, I could have turned you, Sylia, Priss, and Linna in already."

Nene gasped, while Sylia merely nodded.

"So that's my story. Please don't spread it about, Nene; I'm uncomfortable enough with the Original Four knowing, I don't need others
knowing as well. Not if I'm to do any good, or survive." She chuckled. "Crey has eyes and ears everywhere, it's said."

"Not in the Sabres."

"Yeah!"

"Which is why I'm here. Oh! I almost forgot." Irene produced two data chips and handed them to Sylia. "One is the usual list, updated as
of yesterday afternoon. The other..." She grew pensive. "The other I hope you never have to use. Just promise me you will destroy it before you
let it leave your hands?"

Sylia nodded firmly. "I promise."

"Well then!" Irene struggled back into her helmet. "You two care to show me the ropes before I have to, ugh, go back to work tomorrow?"

Nene grinned. "Sounds like a plan!"

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

*blinks*

Crey's gotten a little rougher since Mag scarpered with the Cryo Tank prototype..
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Possibly because he scarpered with them.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

It was, Sachie had to admit to herself, not the most...boring job interview she'd ever taken.

Of course, years upon years of punishing training to be the epitome of social grace, delicacy, poise, and sensuality(only the last of which Sachie had any real
belief had been worth honing to the degree her former teachers insisted on) gave her a slightly skewed impression of what "boring" consisted of.

If it weren't for Crey being cheapskates, she wouldn't be here, admittedly, but Sacchan was entirely too well trained by her clan to think that added
complications outweighed the advantadges that contract had given her. The first of which was the advanced set of powered armor and the hero liscense that went
with it that allowed Sachie essentially free rein within the entirety of Paragon City but the obviously marked Hazard Zones for which she wasn't cleared
yet. The latter were only a matter of time, all things considered, and the PPD had no reason to suspect or investigate one Mace Sabre having a privately held
identity not on her paperwork. Many more of the Knight Sabres she purportedly belonged to did as well, and those had checked out fine.

The second advantadge was that, since they'd breached their contract with her, Sachie had been perfectly within her "rights" as Rogue Isles law
saw them to utterly trash and ransack the Crey branch that'd crossed her by planning to quitely "rub her out" when the testing of their new armor
was done. As such, she'd acquired powered armor, credentials, her fee, and had only had to do a minimum of work to acquire the previous three, after which
point, no witnesses were around to identify her in her new identity.

Which brought her back to the present, and the intriguing woman sitting across from her. Despite her enjoyment of open combat, direct personality, and curt
verbal manner, Sachie Hanagawa was no dullard, or she wouldn't have survived her clan's displeasure with her lack of capability(and eventually gained
its grudging acceptance of her methods, if not approval, to boot). As such, while she nodded and engaged in monosyllables as the woman talked, she was
privately taking stock of the inherent contradiction that would've made any Hanagawa clan teacher gush with pride had they been the one to teach her.

Sylia Stingray was a dark haired neo-aristocrat as far as the public knew, possessing a large and growing collection of financial holdings both in Paragon City
and abroad, a brilliant fashion designer equally skilled at both gowns and intimates, and a small time philanthropist who regularly donated to such causes as
the cure research for the Trolls and Lost gangs.

Those who dug a little deeper found yet more layers. Shadow funds that even Sachie's contacts couldn't directly trace with absolute accuracy indicated
that this woman might or might not be one of the cadre of private financiers behind the security agency-slash-mercenary army known as Wyvern, Manticore's
private strike force within the Rogue Isles. Further complicating it was the fact that she owned a not-inconsiderable share in Crey Industries total stock,
allowing her a minority seat on the board of investors that she never publically appeared in, and with rumors that she might potentially have an influence in
the company's board of directors, were she ever to press the issue, to rival the Countess herself.

But none of Sachie's contacts had ever given the remotest impression of her connection to the "heroic" mercenary unit known as the Knight Sabres,
and Sachie'd been completely unaware of the connection until Miss Stingray had politely, but with an undercurrent of iron beneath the straightforward
phrasing, requested Sachie's presence under one of her Paragon aliases shortly after she'd begun openly operating as Mace Sabre. The fact that
Sachie's cover story and fake identity had been pierced so quickly when she'd strayed into the Sabres' territory was certainly impressive, and the
various layers that'd shown themselves when Sachie'd done a quick background check were more impressive still, but until she'd sat down with the
woman, Sachie'd been notably expecting another boring power broker whose power mostly lay with influence and those loyal to her rather than the woman
herself.

Which couldn't be further from the truth. Sylia Stingray had never come into the knowledge of the Hanagawa, or any of their rival clans, before a few years
ago, but her ability to mask herself as a harmless aristocrat could've fit any of them. Her clothes, while expensive looking, were both non-restricting and
probably capable of being taken apart in an emergency to give her full range of motion. Her hands, though delicate looking and free of obvious callouses
didn't bother with lengthy painted nails that could be a liability in a fist fight. Her knuckles, similarly, bore almost invisible signs of wear and tear
that could only have come from direct fighting. Her musclulature was lean and hard, but semi-loose blouses and suitcoats focused the attention of the viewer on
exterior appearances and her attractive appearance, distracting one from the steel fist beneath a very elaborate velvet glove. And despite an occasionally
absent minded temperment seen in public, Sachie knew from looking at her eyes that Miss Sylia Stingray, proprietor of the Silky Doll, had a mind with
quicksilver reaction speed and the steel grip of a bear trap. In fact, if she hadn't been trained since birth to do the same thing, she might've missed
the telltales entirely. This woman wasn't to be dismissed off hand at all, which made this little interview very interesting.

"So, I imagine that what it comes down to is how much it will cost to keep your activities within a range that my operation can tolerate," Sylia said
pleasantly. "Your reputation precedes you, so little things like no assassinations while utilizing the attire of a publically known Sabre and, of course,
not accepting any contracts on my own girls would be necessary."

"Hn," Sachie grunted. "That'll be expensive."

Sylia made her an offer. Sachie carefully kept from goggling.

"I'm not that big a price gouger..."

Sylia smiled. "I know. This is so you'll ensure a lack of conflict of interest by similarly making such a promise on behalf of your two...associates
as well. Best if you never have to worry about which side of the contract you're loyal to. Prevents....ugly situations."

Again, Sachie noted not to underestimate the woman, as only someone well connected with the isles would've known about Inari and Misao, and her choice of
emphasis also implied she knew precisely why Sachie would've felt conflicted about such things. She made a note to find out who'd squealed about that
tidbit and advise them of the folly of such loose lips when she got back to the Isles.

"'Kay. One question."

"What's that?"

"Which one are you?" Sachie asked, in a direct query that would've made her former teachers blanch and possibly commit ritual seppuku for any
student of theirs ever doing something so blatant in public....or so Sachie liked to think. Such spiteful yet satisfying thoughts kept her warm on long cold
nights on assignment.

Sylia just cracked an artfully reserved quirk of her lips that might possibly have been a smile. "Well, if you've figured out that much already, I
could hardly spoil the fun of discovery for you now, could I? I guess you'll have to stick around long enough to find out if you care to discharge your
curiousity," she noted.

Sachie grunted again, standing up as Sylia similarly slid smoothly to her feet, extending a hand. Sachie glanced at it for a moment, then shook it firmly,
noting with satisfaction that the grip was as rock hard as she'd expected when she put pressure into it.

As she left, however, she couldn't help but wonder at the odd vocal tone that'd crept into Sylia's voice with that last sentence. There was a
double meaning there, but damned if she could figure it out at the moment. Hn. She was patient. She'd figure it out eventually.

***

"You sure this is a good idea, Sylia?" Priss noted, stepping into the room in her armor from where she'd been waiting behind a retractable wall
in case things went south.

Sylia smiled softly, considering the look in the white haired woman's eyes before she'd left. Curiousity, and perhaps not just as to what identity was
truly hers. Maybe something more?

"Some might've said the same about bringing you in back in the beginning, Priss. But I like to think I'm getting closer to that diamond I saw in
the rough all those years ago. One merely has to be patient."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

...Ops, you are awesome.
===========

===============================================
"V, did you do something foolish?"
"Yes, and it was glorious."

... What he said. (Applauds)

"Keep up, Aiko!" Nanami called after her, the yellow armored woman darting through a closing door and hitting the control on the other side to open
it for her companions before trashing it when the remaining three got through and sealing the door shut. The four girls continued through the facility as
Nanami cursed that they'd been armed so deeply inside the facility. They still had another four rooms to go before the final blast gate, and ten minutes,
probably, before the authorization to seal it came down.

All these things in mind, Nanami practically threw Keiko through the next door as she tried to speed her up, praying as much as someone born without the
concept of it could that they'd make it in time.

***

"Do you know how I came to become head developer of this project, Miss Wong?" Project Lead and General Director Giacamo Rizonno asked as he adjusted
his gloves again, watching the flight of the four armored figures from the central security checkpoint where he and his assitant had rushed upon the news of
another breakout.

"You replaced Director Kinsey when he lost a fully combat capable and presumably conditioned pair of Scimitars last month, as well as a captured piece of
Nemesis hardware," Irene Wong answered, desperately hoping her discomfort with this situation didn't show.

"Indeed. You see, Director Kinsey was a stingy bastard, and didn't believe in throwing away components. Thus, he attempted to capture escaping
hardware without damaging it. It was this weakness that led to such escapes as what led to his removal," Rizonno noted, continuing to adjust his gloves.
"He didn't have the right mindset to write off unsalvageable components as such." He leaned over one monitor worker's shoulder. "Release
a tank. Full power authorized."

Irene resisted the paling she knew was coming. These four were barely combat trained. Against a full power authorization Power Tank?

Giacamo glanced at her. "When debugging a malfunctioning computer, you don't engage in stinginess, Miss Wong. If a component is irrevocably damaged,
you toss it out and make a new one," he noted, looking back at the monitors. "We've never successfully reprogrammed a rogue. Not once. Thus, the
fault is clearly terminal, and must be replaced entirely."

A speaker came online as an image was shown of the Power Tank making his way towards where the blast doors were finally slowly sealing. "Agent Michaels is
in the field, Director."

"Excellent," Giacamo nodded. "Agent Michaels. This is Director Rizonno. The four escaping pieces of hardware are defective." Irene did pale
this time as she saw where he was going. "Destroy the heads. Try to save the rest undamaged."

"Yes, sir," the speaker noted, as Irene stared at the screens and silently willed the escapees to run faster.

***

Nanami glanced up as she heard the grinding noise that indicated the blast doors finally beginning to close. Through the upcoming doorway, she could see the
wheels turning, slowing bringing the massive pieces of battleplate into place and sealing them in with Crey security.

She came seconds away from death as a concentrated burst of plasma shot across the doorway as they exited it. The sniper shot took Yuuko off at the neck, the
rest of her tumbling to the side like a puppet with its strings cut and collapsing in a heap. Keiko let a cry of grief slip from her lips before Nanami
savagely jerked her forward, grabbing Aiko as well. "We can't stop! If we stop, we're dead! She'd want us to get out of here, so keep
moving!" she growled, drawing her weapons as Keiko prepared her own katana and Aiko looked back, clearly looking for something to grab with her own
gravity projectors to keep it from taking out another one of them.

The doors were shutting faster as gravity and their massive weight aided in the process, but Nanami paled as a gunmetal and red form leapt from the spot where
it'd taken out Yuuko, landing in front of them. Energy crackled around the Power Tank's hands, and a blast of explosive energy ripped across the floor.
Nanami and Keiko were quick enough to jump it, but Aiko wasn't so lucky, tripping and skidding to her shoulder. Nanami glanced back and turned as she
realized the other girl was still alive, running back as Keiko took a ready stance and dived at the tank with a thoughtless lack of caution that was inspired
by mixed rage at the murderer of her friend and protecting the two remaining as Nanami pulled Aiko to her feet.

The fight was a mismatch, Keiko armed with a similarly durable weapon that she'd only used in a handful of training sims against the Power Tank defended by
the heaviest armor Crey produced and armed with the full discretional power supply that Crey outfitted its private security troops with but only allowed the
Countess's personal bodyguard to utilize. Keiko dodged a pair of blows surrounded in crackling plasma as she moved up to slice under the armor's
armpit, drawing sparks and a growl of irritation from the tank. She sidestepped him, bringing the blade up again to slash across his chest when he abruptly
switched from melee to ranged power generation, the high powered blast coming at her with less than a split second to react.

To her credit, she did as her training had driven her to do, bringing the blade around in an arc to parry the explosive plasma unloaded at her at close range.
Unfortunately, all this accomplished was that the upper third of her sword was vaporized a second before the blast took her head and the upper portion of her
collar and shoulders off, propelling her corpse several feet backwards from the concussive impact.

The tank turned to see the remaining two already running for the exit, now a mere twenty feet from closing. Squaring himself, he broke into a run after them,
before grunting as a bolt of pure force hit him in the chest, slowing his progress as a variety of items vanished from around him, before appearing in mid air
and flying directly at his face. He energized his gauntlets as he beat the wreckage aside, steps slowing as he seemed to gain wait, before unloading another
plasma burst into the latest piece and detonating it, the concussion driving the others off target and disturbing the concentration of his attacker. He leapt
forward towards the pink armored figure as the yellow one turned in time to see his approach.

Nanami had all of a split second to realize both she and Aiko were already dead before she grunted in pain as a sledgehammer blow caught her in the chest,
propelling her through the closing blast doors as they slammed closed, and sealing Aiko in with their pursuer....and the rest of Crey security as well, as
they'd have critical minutes to get out alternate entrances to pursue her...

***

Inside, Aiko stared defiance at the tank even if he couldn't see her face, the last low power blast having disabled her suit's systems after the power
feedback from overclocking them to produce the effects that'd gotten Nanami out alive. She looked up at him before he took her by the throat and lifted her
into the air.

"That was pretty cute, you little bitch..."

"Go...to...hell...." she spat, copying a phrase she'd only heard one of her trainers mention to his coworker a few days earlier. She didn't
know what it meant, but it seemed appropriate.

"I'm gonna enjoy this, bitch," he growled, energy coallescing about his fist as he drew it back.

***

Nanami winced as she saw a fist sized dent appear in the armor plate of the door behind her, ignoring the stinging in her eyes or the choked off sobs she
couldn't restrain as she ran....and ran and ran and ran....

She didn't even notice as she exited the facility into free air for the first time. She ran. She ran and grieved because she knew that her final remaining
friend would not have survived the fury of her captors at her escape when it carried so much risk for their superiors that would flow downhill onto them.

***

Irene made it to the nearest restroom before she felt the bile rise in her throat, and managed to lock the stall door behind her before her stomach rebelled
and she unloaded her lunch into the toilet bowl. She heaved again, and then again, and then a couple times after there was nothing left to come out, before
finally sagging against the stall wall and pushing the button to cause the toilet to flush.

She'd known, intellectually, that the rogues...the Sabres...were hunted. It was standard corporate policy, and she'd seen the recovery teams go out and
come back in, usually empty handed. She'd developed scrambler protocols to throw them off the trail, in fact, to activate in the Rogues' suits to
prevent Crey from tracking them.

From the sounds of things, she wasn't alone in that reaction to the director's brutal change of priorities. Again, intellectually, she understood it.
Rogues could be lethal for project leads, as several "replaced" ones demonstrated. And to Crey, trashed Rogues were less dangerous than live, escaped
ones....

Irene, however, thought differently. She'd talked with some of the Sabres. With the Original Four they were based off of. These weren't just machines,
they were people. This was even more insane than the Protector project, and that was merely artificially implanting
powers.

There was a standing order to reduce the workload and send folks home early when Irene got back to her workstation, an expression of "care" for
anyone disturbed by seeing three young women's lives snuffed out in front of them. Irene just shut hers down with standard security procedures and made her
way home. Listless waves were exchanged with coworkers, and she actively shuddered as she walked between the two Power Tank guards outside.

Rather than go back to her apartment, Irene hailed a taxi, heading for her family's old home. A quick exchange of additional pay and request to "keep
subtle" meant Crey's generic tracking wouldn't trace her back to the Chang villa.

Kou, her sister's loyal bodyguard, let her in immediately. She vaguely heard him talking into his radio, probably having noticed the state she was in, but
Irene didn't care. She walked through the halls, quickly finding her sister waiting for her in the inner garden. The sound of the deer-scare gently going
'doink' in the background as it filled with water relaxed her for a moment as she leaned against Reika, the elder Chang not saying anything as she
embraced her sister, letting Irene cry softly on her shoulder for a long moment that she didn't have the presence of mind to measure. She didn't speak
again until Irene's shoulders stopped trembling, letting her gain her composure. "What happened?"

"I....y-you know the project I work on...why I do it?"

"To help those girls escape, if you can."

"I didn't manage to help three today. They...they died, Reika. It was awful. They just....killed them in front of us. There wasn't any question of
recapturing or reprogramming them. The tank just..just..." She stopped, unable to say anymore withour risking her stomach rebelling again. "I
couldn't help them at all..."

Reika considered, wheels turning in her mind as she held her sister comfortingly. "....perhaps...it's time you did more," she noted, finally
accepting that this request wouldn't be the selfish endangering of her younger sister she'd worried it was when it'd first occurred to her...

Irene looked up at her sister, eyes still red. "What could I do?"

Reika's eyes were hard, a hardness that Irene remembered when a young girl of sixteen had taken over the Chang family and its assorted holdings in the face
of a "convenient" tip off of Tsoo gangsters to where their parents had been only days after a merger had been sealed that would deprive Crey
Industries of a valuable technical source in battle armor development, the company already bloodied by the theft of their initial Cryo-Tank prototype a month
earlier. "You can help me with a private project....I call it Project Oni..."

***

"Director Rizonno," Hopkins rumbled as the man in question stepped into the room, somewhat nervous, but not as terrified as the last time the
Countess's private enforcer had done this.

"Mr. Hopkins," he nodded respectfully, taking the offered chair. "I must admit my fault in the recent escape. I should've detailed more
security to apprehend the defects before the one escaped."

Hopkins actually chuckled. "Director, you've done better than any of your predecessors in preventing three escapes in progress. You have nothing to
fear."

Giacamo relaxed slightly as Hopkins nodded, leaning forward. "In fact, you're being promoted for your initiative. You'll be moving to our Nerva
office within the week..."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Quote:the company already bloodied by the theft of their initial Cryo-Tank prototype a month earlier.

Wat
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Yeah, Mag stole the cryo-tank prototype _years_ earlier, possibly decades. Bad Ops! Did Not Do The Research! *grin*

Edit: gah, post and preview, the banes of my existence.

As I was going to say...

Unless you're referring to an event long in the past, which is possible given the structure of the paragraph. But it doesn't read that way to me
initially. I think that's what you're trying to do, you just need to separate it out from the flow of current events somehow.

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

Yeah. Reika Chang's a bit older and wiser here (my own notes suggest 30-ish), and as noted, she took over the company at 16.

Therefore, Mag's theft of the tank prototype was about a little under 20 years ago.

Unless that's TOO long ago, in which case that just means Reika's younger than what I assumed. :lol

I've always assumed that Mag had at least a decade, maybe more, under his belt as a cape before "present day".
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Per Mag's Hideously Outdated
Virtueverse Page, he was 'Several Years' (call it four) caping, after which he put it away for 'several years' (call it 'as
needed') before picking it back up..

Still, the timeframe kinda jumped at me.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

It was over.

Beaten, her clothing torn and hair messed, manic eyes glaring back at her from behind cracked glasses, the Countess Crey....Julianne Thompson....was
nonetheless no longer capable of presenting any resistance to the team of heroes that'd come together to bring her down. Edge Sabre let a shuddering breath
go through her as she looked at her from behind the reflective faceplate of her armor.

There were shouts as PPD SWAT and other units combed the caves, picking up the dozens of unconscious Crey Security troops that'd tried desperately to fend
off the oncoming onslaught, and Neko glanced at the armored figure standing over the Countess, ornate Cimerorean sword still gripped tightly in one hand. She
glanced at her, and waited, as the others went to clear out the small remaining patches of resistance.

The Countess considered her options as she stared up at the faceless armored figure that was now standing in front of her. Her brilliant mind let nothing slip,
and reports came to mind of this one. Edge Sabre, formerly Scimitar 3920, who'd operated several missions for Crey Security before she'd been present
for the recovery of one of Nemesis's automatons for study. When the automaton had been scheduled for disposal, Scimitar 3920 had gone rogue, defeating the
security forces present and escaping with both the automaton and a second Scimitar that'd been sent to delay her.

And now, as the armored figure removed her helmet and the Countess looked into those ice cold blue eyes, framed by the most odd pink hair, she felt, for one of
the first times in her life, real fear. Crey had hunted these women. Hounded them. Pursued them, hurt them, and in some cases, killed them. And now, without
the protection of her lawyers or her corporation or her money, she found herself at the mercy of one of these women, and by the look of the sword in her hand,
she had very little problem with ending a life. And when she raised the sword, the Countess realized the catwoman standing behind her wasn't going to stop
her. She closed her eyes in fear, waiting for the cold stabbing pain of the battle steel going through her chest....before she heard a sharp crunch beside her
and opened her eyes, looking at where the sword was impaled in solid rock three inches deep an inch beside her.

Neko let a breath out behind Utena as she went down to one knee beside the Countess, eyes cold and laser like with intent. "We aren't afraid of you
anymore," she said softly, so no one else could hear. "We used to be. We ran for our lives from your troops, lived in fear of your discovering our
names and ruining our lives, and we cowered and ran. But no more. You may get out of this. You may escape justice again this time. I don't know. But it
doesn't matter. The Knight Sabres don't live in fear of Crey. There're many of us, and we're strong, and we have the power and the allies to
fight you openly if need be. So take that knowledge with you to prison, you mind controlling bitch. Because we'll be watching," she said, before
standing up and leaving the frozen woman behind, staring at her back as Utena put her helmet back on.

***

"Please, she's my daughter...."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but she's refused all visitors. Including you. I can't let you in to see her."

"I don't understand..."

The conversation trailed off as it went away from the precinct cell where the Countess Crey sat, hidden in plain sight lest Crey forces attempt a rescue. She
sat, and she brooded, and she thought of the irony of what had finally brought her down. Her mother's own love for her, her desire to find her even after
she'd thrown her name away in a rage and become Clarissa Van Dorn, the Countess Crey....had never wavered. Never stopped. And her need for closure had
recruited the heroes that had defeated her. Had locked her up in this infernal box.

Quietly, she laughed to herself, a bitter, half-sobbing sound that lacked any mirth.

Where had she gone wrong? Her plans had been meant to save the world....to make it a better place. But she'd tried to topple the wrong man, and wound up in
prison for her trouble. She'd gotten out, but no one trusted Julianne Thompson, political activist and extremist borderline-terrorist. None of the heroes
had. And City Hall had hardly trusted her either. So she'd decided to put her gifts to better use. Clarissa Van Dorn had been a mindless dilletante. No one
would've mourned the loss of one more parasite on the human species. And with her name and connections, Julianne had risen phoenix-like to become the
Countess Crey. Under her direction, Crey would've eventually brought order to the world. Eliminated corruption. Its armored troops would've been the
armies that smashed bastions of tyranny such as Arachnos, however much Lord Recluse thought her subservient to his aims. And in the end, she would've saved
the world.

And now? Now she was looking at a prison term. Her secrets exposed. Her power in ruins. And all because she'd never made that last, cold decision to cut
ties with her former life. It would've been so simple. She wouldn't have even needed to die. But she couldn't.

She knew her board of directors. They'd disavow her. Sharks smelling blood in the water. They'd cut her out of the loop, and Crey would go on without
her. Become a bastion of corruption like all the others she'd fought.

No.

She would not let that happen. Her plans would not be used to make things
worse. She. Would. Not. LET. THEM.

And it was then that she considered her Omega plan, the one designed to clear her name even in such circumstances. And so she fiddled with an earring she'd
been left, which transmitted a tiny signal to the one person she knew would see her free no matter the cost...

***

"In other news, the recent arrest of Countess Crey has been overturned in light of new evidence, implicating a genetic clone used to smear Countess
Clarissa Van Dorn Crey of illegal activities. Several board members of Crey Industries have been indicted in the wake of the Countess's return to her
corporation, with a variety of files being made public indicting them not only in the cloning of the Countess but also the Revenant Hero Project and a variety
of illegal operations. The Countess has gone on the record as being horrified with what has been done in her name in recent months and that Crey Biotech and
Crey Industries proper will make massive reparations to those harmed by rogue elements of the company...."

The TV shut off as the various board members looked over at the click-click-clicking of a pair of stilletto heals walking over the expensive wood floor to the
board table itself. Several seats were empty, as the news broadcast had said, and the remaining members looked up at the striking woman advancing on them,
flanked on one side by a massive, unsmiling bulk of muscle wearing dark glasses that hid his eyes.

The Countess Crey sat down in her chair and looked about the room.

"By now, I'm sure many of you have wondered about the truth of my recent arrest. The truth is this. Such plans were in place to prevent my capture.
The three of your number that were removed were also the most inept. But I have "proof" on hand to make each and every one of you a sacrifice to
Crey's good name if you even think of trying to use the details of my past against me, and you will not get such a
marvellous eleventh hour stay of conviction like I did."

Her eyes swept across the room, getting nods from each and every one before she smiled, the expression being fit to shame Mako.

"Very well then, gentlemen. Let's get down to business."

***

The unmarked car pulled up a few blocks away from the door as an armored figure stepped out, grey metal covering every inch of her distinctly impressive
figure. She bent down as the car window opened.

"Are you sure about this, madame?"

"Yes, H-...Anthony. This is the only way. And if I'm sure of anything, it's that she won't pass up this opportunity, no matter what her
feelings."

"...very well, madame."

"And if I don't check in in an hour, you can call in the firepower to rescue me."

"...very good, madame," the bearded man in the driver's seat said with a slight smile. "An hour then."

As the car drove off, the armored figure walked over to the door of the large storefront bearing the name "The Silky Doll", her armor shedding its
grey coloring in a shifting of colors for a brilliant white as she rang the bell.

There was a brief moment of hesitation before the door creeped open. "Enter."

She did, before walking in and facing an aristocratic looking woman in an elegant evening robe. Even caught in the middle of the night, Sylia Stingray looked
as stunning as most women could only dream of. Behind her, another woman in a ratty t-shirt and shorts watched the situation suspiciously.

"I have to admit, you've chosen a rather direct way of contacting me. It might be a bit of a security risk."

"With respect, Miss Stingray, Crey already knows who you are, and no one else knows, so you're as safe as you
can get."

The younger woman stiffened as Sylia's eyes narrowed. "Your armor shows who you want to become, but you'll understand if I don't trust you
right off the bat because you know more than the average escapee."

"Of course. Let me introduce myself," the armored woman said, reaching up and undoing the clasps of her helmet. She pulled it off before pulling out
a pair of glasses from a storage capsule on her belt and putting them on.

Behind her, Priss stiffened, even as Sylia's own eyes widened at the sight of the short, dark hair, and the aristocratic features anyone with a television
would've seen at least once. But she'd hardly expected to see them here.

"My name is Julianne Thompson, Miss Stingray," the woman said. "...and I'm in dire need of your assistance."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Wait... wait... WHAT??

It was an annoyingly cold night in Paragon City. The War Walls were, as usual, causing interesting atmospheric disruptions that kept the rain and snow away,
but it wasn't doing much for the temperature itself.



In Steel Canyon, about two hundred meters from the Silky Doll, a generic blue car was parked, lights off. In the drivers seat, the bulky form of Anthony
Hopkins sat, patiently waiting to see what would happen. In his mind, he was going over the information he had on the building, its design, believed defences,
and the abilities of the three women that lived in the upper floors, along with any that may be in the area to respond if he stormed the building.



He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a knuckle rapping gently on his window. Not displaying any outward surprise, he rolled it down slightly
and looked at the remarkably tall catwoman standing there. "Coffee?" Neko Romanova asked, holding up a large ceramic cup.



"Thank you," he said, taking it from her. "How long have you been watching?" He asked Purrfect Shield.



"After she took off the helmet, I did a speed recon," Neko replied, going around the other side of the car and hopping in. "However this
turns out, it's rude to leave you out in the cold," she said, offering him a donut.



"Hardly cold in this car, but thank you," he said as she adjusted the seat.



"I need to check if we're letting this part out to any of the others," she mused. "If so, Ifrit owes me a hundred dollars."



"For?" Anthony asked, honestly curious.



"Oh, I had a suspicion that there were people we wouldn't like in Crey that knew more then they let on and kept it secret for their own benefit.
Mind you, I didn't think it was QUITE so high," Neko admitted with a smirk.



"Miss Stingray never changed her name," Countess Crey's bodyguard replied. "We aren't stupid."



That got a chuckle from the catwoman. "That information on the originals was kept from the Scimitar project lead. Clever." She looked at the box
of donuts she'd brought, and chose one with strawberry icing.



"Compartmentalization was always factored in."



"Given how many compartments we checked, I'm impressed," Neko said in an impressed tone. "We honestly believed that you initially had no
way to translate the memory patterns, and by the time you might have, we'd been hunting." There was a moment of silence as they drank their coffee,
then she spoke up again. "So... I'll ask the expected question and get your answer for the usual politics."



"And that question being?"



"Is that the real Juliane-slash-Clarissa in there?"



"As far as I'm concerned," Hopkins replied honestly.



Neko smiled slightly. Whatever else she thought of the Countesses bodyguard, such loyalty earned her respect. "So, when did you meet her?"



"Shortly after she took over the company. I think I was the only one that ever figured out that Clarissa Van Dorn was a fake."



"Well, everyone else was much too interested in their own agenda," she said. "So many of those there, so many grabbing at
opportunity."



"I take it you have an opinion on that."



"An opinion on what?"



"On her reasons," he clarified.



Looking down at her coffee for a moment, the teacher turned warrior considered that. "Her reasons were pretty good actually," she said at last.
"Same reason people pick up swords and bows, or unleash impressive powers..."



"Not quite the reasons I meant." Neko glanced over at him. " I was thinking ofthe reasons she had for taking alternative methods."



"I was heading up to that actually. They're part of the same chain. Those... Her actions I can't agree with, but the reasons were
understandable." She sighed, sipping her coffee. "Afterwards, her reasons, her final goal... That's where the problems begin."



"Indeed," he noted, nodding for her to continue.



"Things such as the Protectors, the Scimitars, deals with the likes of Malta, Arachnos and Nemesis..."



"Fascinating how the Protectors get such strong reactions because they're flesh and bone, isn't it?" Anthony mused.



"It's not the Protectors themselves I have issues with, it's the nature of their creation," she said honestly. "That action, and the
purpose you used them for, tainted any legacy you intended to create. The murder of heroes, the editing of minds and identities... Trying to create Order
through such measures has always had a traditional response." For a moment, her mind wandered back, to bloody stained snow and the bodies of those used as
targets of a madmans power lust. And they'd been allied with him. Her first years as a mentor in the field had shown her the world was hardly the black and
white you were taught at the Academy.



"Mm. You have to admit, super powered robots that just happened to not be sentient would've gone by without half as much notice. An interesting
standard."



She chuckled, coming back to the present. "This is true. Very true. People tend to place emphasis on the flesh... and it doesn't doesn't help
that the Protectors are sentient, their minds programmed." Although that was true of everyone, just not always in such a... mechanical way. "And
let's be honest Anthony, you know the average moral standard of Crey security. I tend to find them selling company drugs, company firearms, and mugging
people. No matter what the intentions at the top, when the lower ranks are so infested with corruption, your goals become unworkable."



"Indeed. Convenient, of course, that such things happen in Brickstown...the first place any hero goes when they need to shake down Crey thugs," he
noted with a hint of wry humor.



She snorted. "Oh, very nice."



"I doubt you find such pithy wastes of corporate time in Founder's, for instance."



Neko looked over him, amused smile forming. "Are you smirking?" she chuckled.



"If you've seen my file, you know I never, ever smile. It's considered physically impossible," he noted, utterly deadpan.



The catwoman laughed outright at that. "And the toxins in the cola that time? And CreyComps subliminal messages?"



"Slightly more extreme than most heroes would choose, but you have to admit, had they worked, the end situation might not have been as bad as you
thought....at least, within the Countess's lifetime, anyway."



She raised an eyebrow.



"Legacies are interesting things. Of course, to ones such as you, I imagine it's less so. We're unaware if you have a natural
lifespan."



There was a slight shrug as she took another mouthful of coffee. "I tend to watch legacies," she admitted. Watched them form, and watched them
die. "Which means I do tend to think about the long term, even if I am acting more directly lately."



He finished his coffee and handed back the cup. "Mmm. So how do you see this situation panning out then?



"Crey is worryingly unstable," she said. "Far too many elements have embraced the more criminal sides eagerly and are willing to break away
for personal gain, they're drawing attention away from other threats out there, and frankly, you're setting up another Arachnos and Nemesis. People
with ambitions and the more flexible morals to do what they believe is right, surrounded by those with just dark ambition. If something was to happen to the
people keeping it in check... Actually, make that when something happens," she added



"Interesting view, given where she is right now, and who might be running the company."



Neko paused, looking at the Doll. Once upon a time, there'd been a bar on that spot. Phoenix Archer had always talked the bartender into a saucer of
beer for her feline friend. "Time takes everyone Anthony," she said softly.



"Which leaves the question of what you plan to do."



Her moment of memory faded away. "I plan to finish my coffee and get back to work. You believe in what you're doing, I believe in what I'm
doing." She shrugged. "It's the way of the world, and only the future will show the outcome. Well, and Silos, but I don't trust the
bastard."



"I don't trust anyone that claims to alter time," Hopkins scowled



"I don't trust anyone that has Nemmys hairstyle," she replied with a smirk. She downed the rest of the coffee and climbed out of the car,
leaving the rest of the donuts. "Take care of her Anthony," she said softly.



"I'd hardly be doing anything else."



"Sadly, that's a rare trait these days," she said, walking towards the Doll. As she came up to the front door, a white armor stepped out,
shifting as Neko watched to something more akin to green with blue highlights. "So, what do we call you?" the catwoman asked with a wry smile.



"Ransom Sabre," she said simply.



"Welcome to the madness," Purrfect Shield chuckled, stepping inside.



"I doubt it's too much more complicated."



"She has no idea," Neko said to Sylia with a wry smile, noting the irritated scowl on Priss's face. "So, what'd she say?"



"She's not in charge of the company. Someone else is. And the fact that she has the possibility of bringing her down means she has to hide in the
last place someone would look for her.



"So, who's in charge?" the taller woman wondered.



"The Countess Crey," Sylia chuckled. Priss snorted in dark amusement as Neko raised an eyebrow. "You saw the news reports?"



"The Countess was released on evidence of Crey executives using the Revenant Hero project for a false Crey," she said, having put it together
already.



"And the Countess Crey continues running her corporation while one shows up on our doorstep, looking to hide from her....which one is which, however,
is harder to discern."



"Well, it might not hurt to look into if they cloned Hopkins too. As far as he's concerned, that was the real one. And loyalty like that isn't
easily fooled."



"Video of the boardroom shows Hopkins where he's always been. At her side."



"Charming," she chuckled as she took a seat. "So, the eternal games gets more confusing."