brave


             Wer mit Ungeheuern kampft, mag zusehn, dass er
             nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange
             in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch
             in dich hinein


             Kono me o toushite soto o miteiru kono
             watashiwa nan da?
             Kizutsuki yasukute, gouman de...
             Okubyou de, zannin na...
             koko ni hisondeiru no wa dare da?



The small girl lay in the alley, her back against the cracked
brick wall of an abandoned warehouse. Legs spread out, she was
covered with garbage and newspapers. The tattered clothes she
wore were filthy and stained with dark smudges of oil and dry
blood. The girl did not move. She did not eat nor sleep. She
was not dead, but she wasn't alive either. In the shadows of
the abandoned buildings, engulfed by darkness during the
night, she existed, and time itself seemed to ignore her
presence. A child's favourite ragdoll, thrown away and soon
forgotten. A broken angel whose memory haunted no one but
herself.

It was a night like any other of a thousand moonless nights,
the rain pouring over the city, the immense skyscrapers, the
brightly lit streets, the cars that lined up along them, the
millions people who travelled the crowded sidewalks. The water
also fell upon the soaking girl, as so many times before. But,
as always, she remained still, oblivious to her surroundings.

At the entrance of the alleyway a figure appeared, running
towards her.  Footsteps echoed throughout the walls of empty
buildings, the sound accentuated by the splashing of feet in
the various puddles on the uneven concrete street. A person
stopped a couple of metres from where she lay. Had she looked
at him, she would have seen a man in his late twenties,
wearing a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt which was once
white. The wetness of the rain and his sweat soaked the shirt
and it stuck to his body, so that his flesh give it a pink
hue. A much darker tone of red tinged his chest and the
blood-drenched metallic bat he held in his right hand.

He leaned against the wall opposite to the girl, but hadn't
noted her presence as he nervously began fumbling his
pockets. It was cumbersome for him to search his wet clothes
with just one hand, and so he rested the bat against the
wall. Raindrops trickled slowly downward over the shiny
surface, growing increasingly redder as they travelled along
its length until they formed a small pink puddle at the
base. The man finally found what he was looking for, a syringe
and a small bottle no larger than an aspirin container. He
quickly stuck the needle through the rubber cork that sealed
the jar, his fingers nervously shaking as the liquid filled
the plastic tube. Without hesitating, he yanked it out and
plunged it through the shirt deep into his chest, pressing the
piston until it was empty. He violently pulled out the needle,
the crimson on his chest mixing with the blood spurting from
the small puncture it had made, and threw the syringe away,
close to where the girl lay.

His head jerked back and hit the wall which such force that
the back of his skull cracked against the bricks. Gasping for
air, he made a wheezing sound until foam started spouting from
his mouth and nostrils.  His fingers twitched, the nails at
the tip of each turning dark purple.  His pupils dilated until
the iris had almost completely disappeared, and his eyes'
photosensitivity increased ten-fold, making the slight glow of
the city lights reflecting against the clouds seem like a
searchlight whose brightness burned a path directly into his
brain. It was then when he saw the girl, almost in front of
him.

He suddenly winced in pain as his body's muscles tensed
spontaneously. A searing sensation emanated from his
groin. The erection in his pants was becoming unbearably
painful, a rather unpleasant side-effect of the powerful
stimulant he had injected into his body. He normally relieved
himself by masturbating frantically, but the spasmodic
contractions of his fingers caused him to bury his nails deep
into his penis. By the time he climaxed his member would
usually be covered with blood and torn skin.

Grabbing the bat, he approached her. The girl didn't make a
move.

    "You are a pretty little thing, you know that?"

Slowly, he knelt in front of her, putting the bat on the floor
besides him. He leaned close to her face, saliva drooling from
his mouth and trickling down his chin from where it fell on
the girl's lap. He studied the little girl's delicate features
for a moment, and a shadow of doubt crossed his face as she
blankly stared back at him. Lounging forward, he grabbed the
neck of the tight black leather bodysuit she wore. With a
force fuelled by his hallucinogenic frenzy, he began ripping
it off her, from the neck all the way down to her crotch. He
started to lick her face and fondle her body when he suddenly
froze.

    "What the fuck? What the fucking shit ARE you?!?"

He looked at the dull metal skin that had been exposed. It was
an ash-grey colour, and the raindrops that fell upon it formed
little sphere-like shapes. He rammed his hand between her
thighs, into her crotch, searching for an entrance.

    "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What kind of boomer whore are you?!?
     Fucking little monster, I'll fucking tear you apart!!"

The pain in his crotch grew. The erection was now throbbing,
pulsating.  He stared intently at the girl with an expression
of intense disgust and hatred.

He faced skywards and opened his mouth, filling it with the
slightly acid tasting rainwater. He then rammed his mouth
against hers, gushing it with water and spit, lubricating her
dry tongue and teeth.

    "Any hole will do, bitch," he growled, nervously opening
his pants and pushing his engorged member into her small
mouth. He stood on his knees as he grabbed the girl's head and
began to jerk it back and forth, grunting which each jab of
his hips. Rain poured on the interlocking figures as he
started to increase the tempo and force of his thrusts. In
this rhythmic frenzy the back of her head began to smash
against the wall as he savagely pushed her away from him and
then to again.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and the man fell
backwards, screaming in pain as his ass hit the concrete.

The electrical discharge in her mouth had been minuscule, the
current only a couple of centiamperes, but to him it had felt
like an electric prod on his sensitive penis. The girl
remained immobile.

    "I'LL KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!"

He furiously grabbed the bat and stood in front the
girl. Lifting it over his head, the stick suddenly made a
whooshing sound as it described a wide arc in the air. The
bat's tip smashed into the girl's temple, just besides her
left eye, a solid crack reverberating throughout the deserted
alley. Her head exploded in a drizzle of water caused by the
violent lashing of her thick, black hair. Her neck twisted an
impossibly large angle, and she fell heavily sideways, making
a splash into the puddle next to her. The man was now
screaming hysterically.

    "WANT SOME MORE, BITCH!?! I'LL BASH YOUR FUCKING ROBOT
     BRAINS OUT, YOU FUCKING LITTLE MONSTER!!!"

The girl blinked.

As she slowly began to rise, the man stopped his yelling and
stepped back. He looked at the bat. Its tip was dented, the
smooth metal of the rounded surface had actually caved in by
the force of the blow. He turned towards the girl. She stood
in front him, glaring back. Although the man was strongly
built, he was not very tall. Yet the girl's head barely
reached his chest. He lifted the bat and savagely swung it
against her, his face a mask of blind fury.

This time, however, the girl lifted her left arm so rapidly it
was almost a blur. The bat crashed into her forearm with such
force that the impact caused it to noticeably bend at the
point of contact. The mechanical shock made the man let go and
the bat flew away from his hands into some dark corner of the
alley. He staggered backwards a couple of steps and looked at
the girl, who kept staring intently at him. Deep within his
brain alarms were going off, but the narcotic delirium that
now ruled his twisted mind precluded any possibility of
rational action. He clinched his fists and advanced towards
her, screaming obscenities, frothing.

He suddenly seemed to jump in the air, about half a metre off
the ground. His eyes almost burst out of their sockets, and he
fell heavily on the street, his hands clutching his groin. The
brutality of the kick had been such that his testicles had
literally exploded, showering his thighs with blood and
semen. The tip of her foot had struck the region just behind
the scrotum, sufficiently hard to rip apart his bladder.
Fragments of crushed coccyx tore through his intestines, and a
red-brownish mix of excrement, urine, and blood started to
ooze from his anus. The massive internal hemorrhaging began to
flood his bowels with blood. For a few moments he remained
silently squirming on the ground, out of breath, pelvis split
in half, his now useless legs spasmodically tensing at
irregular intervals. He began to make a low guttural sound,
which soon increased in volume and in pitch until he was
screaming in agony. In an ironic twist, the drug that flowed
through his veins not only prevented him from fainting, but
produced hyperalgesia, increasing the sensitivity of his
nervous system so that the pain he felt shot through the very
core of his being. It would take at least half an hour for him
to die in a growing pool of watery blood and diarrhea.

The girl stood motionless, a look of contempt on her face. She
slowly began to unsheathe the knife she kept concealed under
the right sleeve of her threadbare trenchcoat. Before
completely pulling out the blade, however, a glitter caught
her eye. She knelt besides the agonizing man and picked up the
shiny little object. It was a small golden plate with a
cylinder mounted on it, about the size of a matchbox. Tiny
metal spikes protruded from the cylinder's surface, and what
appeared to be a metal comb was tightly screwed next to it,
the teeth almost touching the surface. A tiny crank was also
connected to the plate. Intrigued, she slowly began to turn
the handle.

The cylinder started to rotate. A sweet and beautiful melody
floated in the air. It was so very simple, and yet a flood of
emotions, both joyful and utterly sad, began to build within
her little chest. She closed her large eyes, a hint of a smile
on her lips. She held the musical box close to her ear, and
for a moment it seemed that it wasn't just rainwater falling
down her lovely porcelain cheeks.

    Alle Menschen werden Bruder,
    Wo dein sanfter Flugel weilt

A bloodied hand grabbed her ankle. She looked down at the man,
who was now incredibly pale. He had ceased his wailing, and
was shivering uncontrollably, painfully whimpering.

    "P-Please, oh God please, help me, I b-beg you, please
     forgive me, oh fuck, please, i-it hurts, God pleeeeease..."

She kicked him in the face, shattering his jaw. He growled in
pain, vomiting out a piece of tongue engulfed in a thick, red
phlegm. Coughing a mixture of saliva, blood, and teeth, he
renewed his terrified, albeit weakened, screams of agony.

The little girl, annoyed by the inhuman noises and unbearable
stench that emanated from the man, turned away and left the
alley.

---

A couple of kilometres away two figures were briskly walking
through the busy city streets. The man lead the way, holding
the hand of his companion, a young woman who blindly followed
after him, as she covered her eyes and forehead with her free
hand.

    "Hold on, please, just a few more minutes," said the man,
hurrying his pace, a worried, almost desperate look on his
face.

They kept moving amongst the crowd, half walking, half
running, eliciting angry looks from the people they shoved
along their way. Both were soaking wet from the rain that kept
pouring from the dark skies above. Abrupty, they turned a
corner into one of the smaller streets that branched out from
the main avenue. Compared to the one they had just left it was
pretty much deserted, and the few people who walked along its
sidewalks were covered by heavy raincoats and umbrellas,
giving them a rather eerie appearance. This, however, did not
register at all on the man. They again turned, this time into
a deserted secondary alleyway. The woman tightened her grip of
his hand, her fingers digging into his flesh, but remained
silent.

    "Please, just a little longer..." he muttered, more to
himself than to anyone else.

He suddenly stopped in front of a small grey Honda. The girl
was now making a strange sound, as if moaning in pain, and
almost fell to her knees when they stopped. He gently placed
her against the car and pulled out a pair of keys from his
pocket. These fumbled in his hands as he tried to insert them
in the keyhole, but refused to go in.

    "Damn!"

He remembered that the lock had been busted a couple of days
ago, a botched robbery it seemed. He would have to open it
from the inside.

    "I'll open the door in a second."

She tried to nod, but it was clear that even the slightest
movement was causing her pain. He went around the car to the
driver's door. As he inserted the key into the lock, he heard
a voice behind him.

    "Good evening, Dr. Wagner"

He turned around. A man somewhat taller than himself stood a
metre or so in front of him, hands tucked in his heavy
raincoat's pockets, streams of water flowing down his cheeks
and forehead.

    "Leave us alone," he replied brusquely, and turned around
towards the car door. As he looked over the hood towards the
girl he saw a second man behind her. She was leaning against
the car, her head buried in her arms, and hadn't noticed the
presence of either of them.

    "I suggest we all go for a walk. It is a lovely night,
after all.  Besides, we are looking forward to meeting your
ladyfriend. I must congratulate you on such charming company."

    Wagner stood still for a moment, his back towards the
man. He peeked inside the car through the window. He saw the
anti-theft club laying on the floor of the passenger's
seat. Even after the attempted robbery he kept forgetting to
put it on the steering wheel. He looked down at the door
handle. The key was inserted in the lock, and he was pretty
sure he had managed to open it.

    "She is not feeling well," he slowly began to move his
hand, hiding it with his body, "but if you insist..."

He quickly grabbed the handle and pulled.

    "Galatea! Run! Gala..."

It was all he managed to do before his back exploded in
pain. The man behind him had jabbed him violently right above
his left kidney. Wagner fell forward, smashing the door shut.

Before he could react a second blow, this one directly to the
liver, rocked his whole body. He couldn't believe the
intensity of the pain that shot through his anatomy, making
him incapable of even turning around to face his attacker. His
vision was blurring, and he felt his knees falter. He leaned
against the car, trying not to fall. He looked over the
hood. The girl had jerked her head up from between her arms
when she heard him call her name. The pain she was in,
however, had obviously numbed her senses, and before she could
do anything she felt her arms being pinned behind her back. A
large gloved hand covered her mouth, her eyes suddenly opened
wide in terror.

    "No! Stop!"

A third blow to the side of his neck sent him crashing to the
ground, twisting in pain, desperately trying to protect
himself by covering his head with his arms.

    "Now, Dr. Wagner, we'd really appreciate a bit more
cooperation on your part."

A violent kick into Wagner's stomach made him cringe in agony.

The second man held the woman's arms behind her back with one
hand while covering her mouth with the other, although she
didn't seem to be trying to scream. Curiously, even though she
felt tense, she wasn't putting up much of a struggle. He
nonetheless tightened his grip, fingers digging deep into her
flesh.

Suddenly, without even the slightest effort, she broke free of
his hold and spun round.

In one swift move she grabbed the man by the throat and tore
out his windpipe. The sound of tearing metal, however, made it
clear this wasn't going to be enough to stop him. The boomer
had been caught off guard, but only for a fraction of a
second, as its primitive AI reconfigured itself to do what it
did best, and shifted to combat mode.

By the time it had prepared to retaliate, about a tenth of a
second later, its internal diagnostics detected something
terribly wrong. More precisely, they detected nothing at
all. The young woman had plunged her hand through the hole in
its neck and ripped out a fistful of wiring, together with a
couple of hydraulic hoses which were now sputtering a dark,
oily fluid. The "brain" in its head had effectively been
severed from the rest of its body. A secondary processing unit
in its stomach took control over all major movements, and
ordered an immediate counterattack. The boomer's arms remained
frozen, however, unable to move. Backup diagnostics indicated
a massive power failure, undoubtedly due to the sharp and
precise blow she had landed on its left side, below its arm,
exactly where the main power supply was located.

The secondary CPU panicked, desperately trying to re-channel
emergency power to the failing servomotors. A brutal kick
suddenly shattered a kneecap, buckling its left leg, as yet
another blow destroyed its jaw.  As the boomer fell to the
ground the system coredumped. It was "dead" before it even hit
the floor.

This, however, went unnoticed by the girl, who had already
leapt on the car's hood. The second man tried to back away but
it was already too late. She grabbed his head, her palms
tightly pressed against his cheeks, her fingers gripping his
jaw from below. With inhuman force she suddenly lifted him up,
almost ripping his head off. The man's arms flailed
frantically as he flew over her head, his feet describing an
arc in the air. She bent backward, flinging the man over the
car towards the sidewalk, where he suddenly seem to split in
two. A large metallic object erupted from the man's chest,
expulsing his heart from his body.  It was the coin deposit of
the parking meter. The man shuddered once, a reflex from the
massive trauma, and remained still, slowly sliding down the
bulky metallic container until it completely pierced his
chest. Once past it, his body quickly dropped along the thin
pole of the parking meter and hit the ground.

The girl faced her companion, a blank expression on her
face. Lying on the ground, soaked by the rain, stunned and
frightened, he looked back at her. She suddenly seemed to
regain her senses, and a look of despair crossed her face. She
buried her face in her hands, and began to bitterly sob.

Neither of them noticed the figure hidden within the shadows,
silently disappearing into the night.

---

The combat suit the man was wearing was a light duralloy metal
frame which stood over two metres in height. "Light", however,
is a relative term, since it actually weighed over 150
kilograms. Yet he could move with much greater agility and
speed than with his clumsy biological body. A computer would
intercept the electrical signals sent to his muscles and
redirect them into a bio-optic fibre, instantly decoding and
transmitting them to the suit's servomotors. They in turn
would immediately execute the required movement, amplifying
the force of the action between 8 and 10 times if necessary,
or perhaps simply triggering one of the many weapons that were
built into the suit, be it the 30 centimetre extendible
vanadium-steel vibroblade on his right wrist, or maybe one of
the dual 9 millimetre machine guns which were mounted on each
forearm.

The suit itself was basically an exoskeleton covered with thin
sheets made of Kevlar interweaved with titanium strands. A
small plate attached to the chest indicated his rank,
personnel number and the code of the special forces unit he
belonged to. Three tiny insignias were also attached to the
plate: two of them were clearly metallic, one golden, the
other shiny silver, both securely soldered to the surface. The
third one, however, was of a much humbler material, and not
nearly as impressive. He had twice received honours for his
services, once for performing beyond the call of duty, and
another for valour. Every time brought his daughter to visit
headquarters she would always end up contemplating in awe the
intricate detail with which the small medals were made. She
always said the silver one was her favourite, and would
routinely make etchings on small plastic chips trying to
imitate the complicated pattern. He would invariably carry one
with him on missions.  He too was especially proud of his
achievements, although he knew it was the friendship of the
three men whose life he had saved which had been his true
reward.

The fact that two of those men had just been brutally killed
was probably one of the reasons he was now crouching behind a
street corner, sweat falling into his eyes and mouth, grasping
for air with every breath. He had his back pressed against the
wall of a small building, a store that had already closed for
the night. He kept glancing sideways to his left, towards were
the streets intersected.

    "Takeshi! Do you read?" He whispered into the microphone,
trying to keep his voice down, but with an urgency that turned
his words into hisses.

He listened intently for a reply. The splashing of the
raindrops on his visor filled his helmet with drum-like
thumps, and the crackle of static seemed louder than it really
was. Sweat fell down his forehead as he concentrated on the
noises that came through his earphone, but interference was
all he could hear. No response at all, nothing.

A flash of lightning startled him, and after a couple of
seconds the low frequency rumble of the thunder slightly shook
the ground. A blip registered on the motion detector. He
quickly made a half-turn, facing towards the intersection next
to him, the machine-gun in his left arm cocked, the blade on
his right fully extended. By glancing at any of the tiny
images at the bottom of his visor he was able to display a
full view of each holoscreen. An image would form in front of
his eyes displaying the appropriate information, but
nevertheless transparent so as not to block his external
view. By glancing at a certain point of the screen he could
"minimize" it once more, or select another display. The
picture he was currently looking at showed a rough map of his
surroundings within approximately a twenty metre radius. It
detected motion by measuring density variations in the
air. Although it automatically re-calibrated itself to take
into account precipitation, its capabilities were seriously
impaired. He switched to another screen, a CFD. It measured
fluctuations in capacitance and could detect the movement of
large metallic objects. The screen, however, was blank, and a
small red dot in the upper right corner indicated a system
malfunction. The WRS was also out. Thermograph worked O.K.,
but was of limited use, for it provided no long-range
capabilities. In military lingo he was "blind", he could only
see objects in his line of sight. In other words, he was a
sitting duck.

He changed the communications channel. He was now on the ADP
special band.

    "Daley, are you there?"

Once again, nothing but static.

    "What the fuck is going on?" he thought, shifting
nervously in the suit.

He ran a check on the electronics. All lights green. Yet at
least two of his sensors were busted. A glance at the blinking
chronograph confirmed his suspicions. His suit was blacked
out, delicate electronics fried by an EMP. The system
diagnostics had also burned, freezing the readout in its
current settings. Judging by the time the stopwatch had short
circuited the bastard had managed to blast his team even
before the ambush. With scanners and communications down they
had been an easy target.

Whatever the hell he was against, it was no ordinary
boomer. Its actions were more subtle and deadly than anything
he had ever encountered.  Instead of blindly destroying
everything in its path it had actually created an advantageous
tactical situation followed by a fulminating, devastating
attack. It had also been the most vicious assault he had ever
seen, as it slowly began to rip the men apart, using one of
them as a living shield. This was no rampage, it was a
cold-blooded, calculated massacre.

Still, if communications were out Takeshi might still be
alive, in the same situation as he was. They had lost contact
with the ADP about five minutes ago, he guessed, so
re-enforcements wouldn't come in for at least another ten
minutes. For once he wished they wouldn't go by the book.

"Fuck 'em" he thought, turning on the VDG before cautiously
approaching the street corner. He readied his weapons, and
stepped out of the alley.

He carefully scanned to area, slowly turning around as he
advanced down the street. A few metres ahead he spotted a
large figure on the ground.  It lay sideways, semi-submerged
in a large puddle of water, its back towards him. The number
on its arm, a bright yellow "99" indicated it was Takeshi's
ACE suit.

He wasn't moving.

As he got closer to his comrade he could discern another two
bodies about 20 metres ahead, where they had first been
attacked. Even in the dark and through the heavy rain he could
tell both men were dead, their suits squashed and twisted in
an impossible fashion, the humans within crushed and
mutilated. He saw something on the ground next to one of
them. An arm, or maybe a leg, he couldn't tell.

He got closer to Takeshi and glanced down towards him. He
seemed to be O.K., although the suit's power readings were
extremely low.

    "Takeshi!"

The man didn't respond. A concussion, perhaps, knocked him
out. Had to get him out of there. Now.

    "Takeshi!" he repeated, as he knelt next to him and turned
him on his back.

The right half of his helmet, together with his face, was
missing. His ear had been completely severed off, and his
scalp was a bloody tangle of skin and hair. He could see the
blood-stained teeth through the torn cheek, his eye party
gouged out of its socket. The expression on his face was a
deformed grimace of surprise, pain and fear. As he began to
look over the rest of his body he felt the acrid searing of
bile swell at the entrance of his stomach. All of the man's
right side had been hideously mutilated, a bloody pulp of
metal and flesh. He saw his arm barely attached to his torso
by a few muscles and skin, his splintered ribs bursting out of
his side, the crushed exoskeleton's frame burrowed into his
flesh.

He almost cried out when the left eye opened and turned
towards him. The man suddenly began to painfully stammer.

    "C-Can't breath. H-help m-me, God, I-I'm scared,
p-please..."

For a moment he froze, shocked. He could not believe a human
being in this condition could still be alive. The man began to
cough blood, and with each contraction of his chest his
splintered ribcage tore through already severely damaged
organs. Takeshi was dying, but he'd burn in hell before he
would abandon one of his men.

    "Hold on, I'll get you out of here man, just hold on"

He picked up the injured man who weakly cried in pain as he
was lifted, and held him with his right arm. Fortunately some
of the servomotors in the suit were still operational, and
Takeshi managed to put an arm around his waist. As they turned
around and headed for the intersection, Lt. Takeshi violently
exploded when a couple of dozen of 17 mm ferromolybdenum slugs
ripped through his body. The arm he was sustaining him with
had also been blown off, and both flesh and suit now ended
abruptly just above his elbow.

Ten metres ahead of him the boomer stood, smoke coming out its
cannon-arm, grinning with its shiny metallic teeth, mocking
him.

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Screaming in pain and fury he began firing, staggering
backwards, unable to maintain his balance due to the loss of
his arm. After a couple of steps he managed to regain his
footing. He kept firing blindly, the machine-gun's barrel so
hot that the raindrops began to sizzle upon contact.

As his left arm spun through the air the gun continued to
fire. The boomer's thermoblade had hit him on the shoulder and
cut through his side down to his hip. Both suit and flesh had
been neatly sliced, and the tissue that stuck to the
superheated blade immediately turned black and burned away
leaving a stench of burning meat. The boomer then gave him a
backhand blow that lifted him off the ground and sent him
flying backwards, smashing against the wall of a building near
the streetcorner.

In spite of the agony he was still conscious, and the pain he
felt was something beyond imagination. The blow he had
received had crushed the suit inwards, the twisted metal
wireframe piercing into his body like a dozen jagged
daggers. He was bleeding so badly that the puddle he was in
had already turned dark red. The boomer stood motionless,
unwilling, for some reason, to deliver the final blow.

After the deafening gunfire and screams the sound of the
falling rain once again filled the air. He looked upwards
through the shattered visor and watched the raindrops coming
towards him from the skies above. He remembered, for the last
time, the face of his daughter. As he finally began to black
out he thought he could make out her delicate features against
the night.

    "Alita"

He died as the little girl kneeling next to him stood up and
faced the boomer.

---

The man stood in silence, completely oblivious to the rain
pouring on him. He had tucked his hands deep into his pockets,
afraid that their trembling would be noticed by the police
officers around him. His lips were tightly closed, fighting
the slightly nauseous sensation he felt in his stomach. For a
second he was afraid he would falter and his knees would give
away, but he stood firm. Not a small accomplishment for
someone who had just murdered seven men.

    "Sir, are you O.K.?"

Daley faced the young officer at his side. The man was barely
in his twenties, and the fact that he was soaked somehow made
him look even younger. Reminded him a little of how he used to
look a lifetime ago, before he began sending people to their
deaths.

    "I'm fine Kuno," he lied "just thought I'd get some fresh
air. Any signs of what destroyed the boomer?"

    "No sir, the techs are still at it."

The officer hesitated for a second, wanting to speak but not
daring.  Daley gave him a sad and weary smile.

    "Don't worry, I'll get in touch with the families."

    "I'm sorry, Sir. I'll fill you in as soon as we find
anything," he quickly replied, as he turned around and walked
back to the grisly scene a few metres behind him.

Boomer rampage, single unit, unidentified model. Send in
first-line offensive squad, two by three formation, backups at
close range. In case of failure to restrain abort attack and
regroup. Retaliate by sending in special forces. Sit tight
until further instructions or fifteen minute radio silence. He
had done everything by the book, to the letter.  What the book
didn't say was how the fuck he was supposed to sleep at night
after seeing his men torn to shreds by some fucking piece of
deranged metal and wires.

He closed his eyes and faced the sky, letting the rain fall on
his cheeks and forehead. He didn't open his mouth and drink
the water like he used to as a kid, though. It was so polluted
he might as well drink the gasoline in his car.

    "Daley! We've got something for you!"

Daley took a deep breath and headed towards the small group of
men in jumpsuits that were examining the boomer. Four powerful
lights had been positioned in the area while three technicians
carefully probed the body. He glanced at the fallen
mecha. Whatever it was that had attacked it must have been one
mean son of a bitch. The large blade that protruded from its
right forearm had been cut in two at the middle, and the
barrel of the machine-gun it wielded was also cleanly sliced
in half. The lower part of the face, the "jaw" so to speak,
had been ripped off, destroying the laser in its mouth and
shattering its "teeth". But the most impressive damage had
been done to its torso. A roughly oval hole, approximately 50
centimetres wide and about three times as high had been torn
through its chest. Even now the dark green hydraulic fluid
kept spurting out of the hoses that had been severed, and
small sparks flew between the cables as the rainwater
continued to short circuit the few live connections that were
left. He could also see some bloodstains on its arm, and, for
an instant, and in spite of it being merely a mindless
machine, he felt glad the motherfucker had got what it
deserved.

    "What is it?"

The oldest of the techs, a man in his fifties, stood up from
where the boomer lay.

    "We got the databank chip," he said, as he showed Daley a
small black metal container about the size and shape of a 9
volt battery, "I'll just send it to the lab and see what we
can do."

Daley gave him a twisted, unsavoury smile.

The datachip kept some sort of log of the boomer's actions and
system diagnostics. That was essentially all they knew. The
information was encoded with what seemed to be a randomly
changing encryption key, unbreakable by the ADP so far. They
had to send it to Genom's labs so they could decode it and
then get back some bullshit report which could be used as
fertilizer. The irony was almost funny.

    "Any ideas on what happened here?"

    "Well, whatever attacked the boomer got here after the men
were slaugh..." he paused, giving Daley a nervous glance.

    "And...?"

    "Well, uh, the damage to their suits was definitely caused
by the boomer's weaponry. The ammunition, the dents on their
armours and everything else seems to match up pretty well"

    "How can you be sure it was the boomer and not the second
attacker?"

    "I'm not. We'll still need the results from the lab, but
look here," he pointed towards the boomer's broken blade, "the
cutting capability of this knife was enhanced by heating it, a
thermoblade if you like. You can tell something was cut with
it by the smooth edges it produces. It probably went through
our ACE suits like a hot knife on butter."

    "If you look at the machine-gun's barrel, however, you'll
see it's also been severed with some sort of knife, but from
the type of cut it was definitely not at high temperature. It
wasn't vibrating, either."

    "But can you actually cut a reinforced steel barrel with a
plain sword?" asked Daley, incredulous.

    "With enough force you can do it, sure. I'd be hard
pressed to tell you what material is strong enough so that you
could make a blade out of it that wouldn't shatter upon
impact, though."

    "Now," he knelt next to the remains of the mecha's head,
"the damage here was made by a rather small object, something
the size of a fist, but I can't see any traces of an explosion
so we'll have to assume that whatever hit it was either pretty
damn strong or knew exactly where to apply the blow."

    "Knuckle bombers are out of the question then?"

The man gave Daley a wry smile.

    "I may not know what it was that made scrap out of this
thing, Daley, but it sure wasn't the Knight Sabers. I'd
thought it was pretty obvious by now."

Daley ignored the comment.

    "What about the hole in its chest? A projectile?"

    "Ah, the coup de grace. No, it was not a projectile, the
shape isn't right, nor is the damage consistent with that
theory."

    "So?"

    "I have no idea. Part of the armour's been melted, some of
it has simply been torn apart or cut through, the front seems
to have been shattered somehow, cracked like an egg. One
thing's certain, whatever it was that did this *burrowed* this
hole through the boomer. I've never seen anything like it
before, the armour is over four centimetres thick."

    "Exactly what type of boomer is this, anyway? A BU-61?"

    "Looks to me like a modified BU-65, although from what
I've seen this model is pretty much a full-blown combat
version. It has some very nasty stuff built into it. Hell,
perhaps it's a new series. I can barely wait to get this puppy
into the lab, at least before the Genom people pick it up."

Daley found the man's enthusiasm extrmely offensive, disgusting
almost, but he was still the ADP's top boomer expert, or at
least the closest they had to one.

    "Anything else? Number of attackers? Type of weaponry?"

    "There was probably more than one. What else could have
caused this much damage by itself? Unless a tank destroyer
slipped by the police barriers I can't think of anything
capable of this. Must have been some sort of attack boomer, or
a new type of hardsuit, but it doesn't make much sense..."

    "Why is that?"

    "We haven't been able to find *any* cases that didn't
belong to our men or the boomer. No indication of lasers or
missiles or flamethrowers or whatever. This was close and
personal, mano a mano. How could *anything* get close enough
to this thing to even touch it is beyond me.  I may find out
more if we manage to run a microfracture analysis at the
lab. The black box might also clear up some things."

    "Yeah, right." sneered Daley, walking away.

Daley headed towards his police car. He didn't dare look in
the direction where they had found the bodies. He knew that
even under the heavy rain the blood still hadn't washed
away. He glanced as his watch: 23:47. The next shift was still
a few of hours away. As he opened the car door he stepped on
something. Looking down he saw it was a small plastic chip
with some carvings on it. He picked it up and examined it
closely. It had obviously been made by a kid, and the pattern
reminded him of something he had seen before, but he couldn't
place it. It was pretty, though, and instead of throwing it
away he put it in his shirt's vest pocket.

He got into his car and drove towards headquarters.

He had seven phonecalls to make.

---

The young woman lay naked on the operating table, dozens of
small pads stuck to her head and body, each connected to a
wire which hung between her and one of the many apparatus that
were crammed into the small room.  Her unseeing eyes where
fixed on the lights above her, an unblinking, glassy stare. By
her side stood a rather young man, in his thirties, gently
pulling the piston of a large syringe, filling it up to a
precise doses. He carefully checked the height of the
yellowish fluid contained within the transparent plastic
container, and proceeded to plunge the needle deep into her
left eye, gently pressing down until it was empty.  The liquid
went through a thin tube that was embedded in what would be
the human equivalent of the optic nerve, directly into her
brain. As dramatic as this inoculation procedure seemed, he
had no choice. She had no real veins, at least not the type
which carried blood, and the needle would certainly break if
he tried to apply the shot anywhere else.

He glanced at the HGVS. The reading was at 200 pps. He was
walking on thin ice, using such a pulse high rate. The
slightest error could cause irreversible tissue damage, frying
her braincells and, in the best of cases, killing her. But the
morphine sulphate shots had long ceased to be effective, and
even the thioridazine/fluorazepam hydrochloride cocktails did
not provide sufficient relief. The brain itself lacks any
sensation, of course, but the small discharges which randomly
sparked across her synapses directly excited most of her pain
receptors. Only by electrically stimulating the thalamus and
periaqueductal regions could she produce enough endogenous
beta-endorphins to counteract the raw, mind-numbing pain that
consumed her.

He turned towards the computer terminal at his side. A column
of numbers appeared as it analyzed the data from the various
diagnostic systems which had begun to trace the C-14
radioactive serum that flowed within her brain. The equipment
at his disposal, most of it built by himself or stolen, was
grossly inadequate. It would take a few hours for the
information to be processed, and even then the data would
consist mainly of cryptic messages and numbers. But it worked,
and provided him with the results he so desperately needed.

He looked back at the girl, her gaze still fixed at some point
on the ceiling. Slowly, he closed her eyes, and gently began
to stroke her hair. He held her small hand, and studied it
closely, caressing it with his thumb. The skin felt real
enough, but a slight tightening of his grip quickly dispelled
the illusion of flesh, as the unyielding hardness of metal
pressed back against his fingers.

As his mind began to fill once again with doubts and remorse,
memories came flooding back, and as so many times before his
life lay before him, indeed, haunting him. How could things
have gone so wrong?

Robotics had always fascinated him. The fact that both he and
the first functional humanoid mecha had been born at the start
of the millennium had almost seemed more than than a
coincidence, at least in his mind.  Even during his youth he
had begun to study in awe the rapid evolution of humanity's
artificial companions. By the time he entered college he had
already made a few prosthesis designs of his own. It was one
particular type of robot which had caught his imagination,
however: combat boomers. Strong and fast, they were the Man's
most advanced creations. But as his knowledge of the mecha's
inner workings and capabilities deepened and expanded, so did
his increasing disenchantment.

God's creations are flimsy, weak and fragile. They quickly
waste away, rotting alive with every passing minute. Boomers
on the other hand are powerful creatures, capable in principle
of functioning for centuries, their integrity remaining
essentially undiminished. As energy and materials research
evolved their life-span would increase tenfold within a few
years. They surpassed any living organism in resilience and
strength.

But for all the progress that had been achieved, all the
technological miracles that had come to be, the boomer's
fundamental flaw remained as insurmountable as ever.

They lacked the perspicaciousness of thought.

Indeed, even the most advance AI was a misnomer. Boomers could
perform the most dauntingly complex tasks, but only after they
were carefully programmed to do so. They could walk, see,
hear, talk and even learn, but never, ever, do or create
anything on their own.

They were thought by many, including their creators, to be the
ultimate weapons, but he knew well this was not so. Man's
power lies not in his body, but in his mind. Tactical
imagination would always triumph over brute force. One must
adapt and evolve in order to survive, and to do so,
self-improvement is crucial. The most sophisticated
programming could be thwarted, the most carefully preconceived
attack defeated by skill and ingenuity.

He knew it, and many of Genom's top people soon realized that
the current state of AI was unacceptable, particularly after
the many defeats at the hands of the Knight Sabers.

The first grant he received from Genom had had a single
purpose: develop a true artificial intelligence, capable of
improvising a combat tactic under real-world fighting
conditions. Two years and a billion Yen later, the GEC-8088
had been completed. It was the most advanced positronic brain
ever developed, with over six hundred million electro-quantum
neural connections and a truly random eigenfunction generator.
Probabilistic functional analysis indicated that within a
short "learning" period the boomer would be capable of
self-awareness. Only during the first few bouts would it
follow a pre-programmed combat algorithm. Eventually, the
theory indicated, it would begin to act on its own, based in
part on previous experiences, but complementing its tactics
with "new" techniques.

After some in-lab simulations its first real-world test would
be confronting the ADP. It would turn out to be a resounding
success, with three AV's swiftly destroyed and half a dozen
officers killed. The problem, however, was that all its
actions had been consistent with its original
programming. After two more "exercises" and fifteen deaths
later it was clear that something was wrong. The boomer,
apparently, was so successful against its enemies that there
was no real need for it to "evolve". Virtual scenarios were
not of much help either. A more challenging opponent was
required, the logical choice being, of course, the Knight
Sabers. After careful planning three boomers were sent against
the vigilantes, the 8088 and two BU-56 as backups.

A single EMP later the 8088's brain, the most sophisticated
computer ever assembled, was utterly destroyed. The other two
boomers, with a more primitive and rugged processing unit,
managed to put up a semblance of a fight, but were also
thoroughly annihilated.

It turned out that the complex electronics within the
positronic brain were extremely vulnerable to ECMs. Normal
shielding was not sufficient, so they equipped it with the
most advanced pulse attenuators available.  To his dismay, he
soon found out this was not enough. An integral part of the
GEC-8088 consisted of microscopic KDP Pockels cells which
acted as modulators of the optical signals in the brain. Even
the slightest electromagnetic disturbance (including the
robot's own internally generated fields!) caused small changes
in their refraction index.  Although the cells themselves were
not damaged, a weak hysteresis effect occurred. The
susceptibility tensor of the material was thus modified
slightly, enough to disrupt the electro-optic effect and
substantially change the shape of the behaviouristic
probability eigenfunction. There was no longer any guarantee
that the boomer would be capable of achieving
self-awareness. The physics was clear, he had run into a dead
end.

Literally.

Genom's executives did not hesitate in pointing accusing
fingers at him.  Quincy himself was said to be furious over
such an obvious, and expensive, oversight. It was rather
ironic that necessity and sheer fright for his own life had
provided him with the idea which would eventually lead him to
the brink of success.

In a strange way, the solution had been there from the start,
but his pride had made him ignore it. He had to admit,
however, that, after all, Nature had had a few billion years
head-start.

The concept itself, of course, was not new, and there were indeed
many very good arguments against it. Although neural-computer
interfaces had already been developed for prosthetics and
powersuits, little was really known about the way the brain
itself worked, and its dauntingly complex electro-chemical
interaction with the human body. Furthermore, it was still
subject to all the drawbacks relating to the organics,
ranging from the need to rest, to its intrinsic vulnerability
against physical abuse. Worst of all, as flexible and
inventive as the human mind is, it remains a very inefficient
processor, its reactions to stimuli being so slow so as to
make it practically worthless in a highly-capable and very
fast body (electrical pulses within the axons, for example,
travel at a meager 100 metres per second).

One of the 8088's more unique features had been the extensive
use of diffuse cybernetic enhancements. It had been obvious
during the first stages of development that the main cognitive
processor would barely be able to fit within the mecha's
skull, and so decentralized subprocessors were built
throughout the boomer's body. Servomechanical actions and
other low level functions were then executed by the DSN under
the control of the HLCP. As research progressed the secondary
nodes became more and more integrated with the nerve net
fibre, until this "nervous system" became a single "diffused"
computer, intertwined throughout the artificial muscles and
organs of the robot.

The application of this technology to the brain itself
provided two crucial advantages. The computer, weaved into the
neuroglia and cerebrum, would be capable of providing the
dynamical resilience required to withstand violent
accelerations and the high CSF pressure within the cranium
needed for cushioning. More importantly, however, was the
secondary computing power which would complement the higher
cerebral functions. The basic idea was simple: the brain would
devise the general strategy, while the DSN would execute its
orders in the quickest and most efficient manner
possible. This semi-autonomous behaviour of the DSN still
required a tremendous amount of intense CPU activity, since it
had to carry out a continuous spatio-temporal interpolation to
achieve the actions which the brain commanded, while
maintaining a precise two-way information flow (being capable
of both orthodromic and antidromic pulse conduction) with the
CNS.

The truly complicated part, however, was the integration of
the computer with the organics. Microtechnology was
sufficiently developed to weave the NNF subprocessors across
the synapses, but not within the neurons themselves. The
solution to this problem was provided by yet another recent
discovery due to a Swedish doctor named Penord Grenter:
intelligent tracers. These were actually a weakened form of
irradiated viruses, capable of infecting certain types of
cells without damaging them, and were usually employed in
cellular exploratory scans. Not unlike Daedalus' solution to
the threading of a shell, segments of the viruses' DNA were
substituted with small segments of DSN and then introduced
into the brain. Once within the cells the viruses would
dissolve and the segments would join together by ionic
attraction, soon merging with each other throughout the
neurons, dendrites and axons. The microbots would then simply
knit the DSN mesh across the remaining neural junctions.


The first tests went spectacularly well. Although the first
few dozen monkeys quickly died of meningoencephalitis,
autopsies revealed that the neural mesh was developing as
expected. Later experiments were able to control the rejection
and infections with massive use of antibiotics and
immunosuppressants, and eventual coating of the DSN with
neurohormones embedded within an artificial myelin sheath
managed to fool the host's antibodies, at least
temporarily. The tweaking of the layout of the mesh was
practically done on a trial and error basis. In one instance,
for example, the "wiring" of the medulla oblongata, which
controls various motor, sensorial and visceral activities,
appeared initially to be quite successful. A defective
"mapping" of the spinal trigeminal tract, however, was soon
discovered to provoke what seemed to be an itch on the
monkey's face. This hadn't worried the cyberneticians much at
the beginning, but after two days the itch worsened. By the
third day the animal's constant scratching had made a bloody
pulp of his face. Twelve hours later he began ripping off his
facial hair and flesh. The primate died when he clawed out his
own eyes.

In spite of these setbacks, progress continued at an
accelerated rate (not that they had much choice). Survival
rates climbed to 70%, and performance tests were very
encouraging, with reflex timings well within a hundredth of a
second. Although the monkeys invariably showed signs of highly
aggressive and psychotic behaviour, it was decided that the
psychological "re-adjustments" be made on phase II
subjects. Tests on humans began exactly two years after the
rotund failure of the 8088.

Officer Saburo Iga had been a well-liked rookie when he joined
the ADP, which was a rather uncommon occurrence in the gritty
atmosphere amongst his more experienced colleagues. Yet he
started quite well off with his partner, and enjoyed the
dangerous challenge that working for the police
represented. Indeed, he felt proud of himself during that
first week on service.

Unluckily for him, the boomer that crushed his ribcage made
sure it was his last.

After dying for the first time, Iga became subject
NIS-A1. Other officers soon followed, their bodies destroyed
but heads intact thanks to some careful boomer
programming. Skilled and healthy people whose death drew
little attention was exactly what they needed, and the ADP
turned out to be an invaluable source of these. For once the
police morgue found itself with space to spare.

Iga died permanently soon after the operation due to their
inexperience with wiring of the cerebral cortex. Just two
failures later, however, NIS-A4 became the first human being
to have a DSN successfully weaved within her brain.

And the results were spectacular.

Ultrafast reflexes, reaction times under a millisecond, 30 g
shock resistance, enhanced stamina, highly precise kinetic
response, fear suppression. All these were but the most
obvious achievements diffuse cybernetics provided. But there
were other, more subtle effects.

The subject, it was found, was no longer fooled by Gestalten
illusions.  Corrections to subjective configurations were
automatically made by the DSN, so that visual distortions such
as the Muller-Lyer, Zollner and Hering illusions, for example,
were all rectified instantly, giving the brain an accurate
representation of physical reality at all times.  Simultaneous
perception of "figure and ground" images was readably
achieved, although this was but a particular instance of a
more general 3-D neuro-optokinetic capability which allowed
true three dimensional processing of the visual space. Instead
of fixing their attention on 2-D planes like normal humans,
DSN-enhanced subjects could actually image the full depth of
field at once. Similar gains were also apparent in auditory
and sensorial perceptions. The advantages these new
capabilities provided would revolutionize the way infantry
warfare could be carried out.

None of the tests performed so far had actually used a bodied
cyborg.  The wired brain was connected to a simulator which
created virtual scenarios. The cyber-neural unit which
connected the brain to the rest of the body was no problem,
basically a high bandwidth version of the one found in
powersuits, albeit with a few million more channels, faster
switching, and lower data transfer error tolerance. The body
itself was a slightly different matter altogether.

Not that they were lacking from where to choose. Genom was
undoubtedly the world's leader in robotics. Their boomers
represented the pinnacle of humanoid mecha technology.

Or so they thought.

Years ago, before coming to Japan to work for Genom, he had
been employed at a relatively small but cutting-edge German
manufacturer called Technisch Verkraftung. Both companies had
started at about the same time, but while Genom carried out
aggressive marketing and expansion in conjunction with boomer
development, the small group of German scientists focused on
research, and it paid off well. In 2023 they had managed to
produce a competitive humanoid combat mecha which gained
popularity throughout the european special forces. Other asian
countries and the U.S., however, preferred to purchase the
cheaper Japanese models, although the superiority of the
German units was rather well established amongst military
circles. By 2026 Genom had become by far the world's largest
boomer constructor, but the germans remained a thorn in its
side. When industrial spies informed Genom's top executives
about the completion of Verkraftung's newest model they
immediately realized its potential and set out to overtake the
company. In less than three months, mere days before the
production of the mecha, Genom acquired share majority, and
quickly proceeded to dissolve the corporation. In a
surprisingly haughty move Genom didn't even bother continuing
Verkraftung's designs, but simply cancelled all their projects
and disassembled their prototypes. Most technicians were just
fired. The most brilliant scientists, like himself,
transferred to Genom research facilities throughout the world
with top-notch salaries.

And yet, even after all these years, after the many advances
in boomer technology which he had witnessed or had helped
develop, he knew that the prototype of the Blitzkrieg Maschine
Modell-66, the last mecha ever designed by the research group
he led at Technisch Verkraftung, remained still his supreme
achievement.

He would, of course, keep the body he had in hiding until he
had managed to perfect the integration of the organics using
Genom's boomers. He had already begun the cybernetic
adaptation of the m-66, removing the high-power ruby laser in
its head for space. This prototype did not have the
self-destructing mechanism, so he didn't need to worry about
it accidentally exploding during the connection. However, in
spite of these modifications, the mecha remained a formidable
weapon. When the first Genom boomer-cyborgs turned out to be
vastly superior to their non-sentient counterparts, he knew
that he would finally be able to fulfill of his dreams.

The m-66 would yet be the ultimate fighting machine ever
designed.

But there were problems.

Even after having erased their memories, the test subjects
continued to suffer from flashbacks of past experiences. These
memories were very incoherent, and therefore had no long
lasting consequences. In dreams, however, the brain was able
to reconstruct large portions of the subject's previous
life. Sometimes these visions were completely forgotten upon
awakening. On other occasions, the dreams turned into
nightmares so profoundly shocking that adrenocorticotrophin
poisoning would turn them into comatose vegetables. These
factors, coupled with the accumulative brain damage due to the
interaction of the DSN with the surrounding tissue, invariably
began to produce serious personality disorders in those who
survived. Small quirks and eccentricities would eventually
transform into a variety of mental problems: hallucinations,
extreme paranoia, pathological megalomania, MPD,
schizophrenia, manic depression, and severe Alzheimer's were
but some of the most serious effects. Furthermore, it was
found that, in spite of the neurohormone coating, the brain
cells would start to reject the DSN after a certain period of
time, literally causing the brain tissue to destroy itself.

So far only careful electro-chemical treatment was able to
control the subject's mental illness and neural decay, but
only for unpredictable periods of time ranging from days to
months. He was sure to be close to solving these problems when
disaster struck, his life spiralling downwards into the Hell
he was currently in.

Little did he imagine that these difficulties were in fact
fundamental flaws of the wiring procedure itself. It would
take another seven centuries for cybernetics and
nanotechnology to develop sufficiently in order to create
stable matrices within the brain. Molecular nanobots working
inside the neurons would build the DSN by forming artificial
proteinaceous threads and recombining certain segments of the
cell's DNA sequence while actually rebuilding whole portions
of the cerebral cortex.  The procedure itself would remain an
extremely delicate operation, the slightest error leading to
severe complications and eventually death.  Upon success,
however, the Gehirn Umbao would be capable of producing the
most powerful and intelligent combat cyborgs ever made, beings
much more deadly than any war machine built by Man, and vastly
superior in every aspect to the humans who had created them.

He looked down at the comatose woman on the operating
table. The only trace of a once beautiful young girl was the
brain locked within the metallic shell which lay before
him. Was she still the girl he loved?  Did she know it
herself?

In his quest for artificial intelligence he wondered, as every
one of us does, about the true nature of
consciousness. Disconnecting mind and body, is, in a sense, a
fallacy. Who we are and what we are are not separate
questions, but refer to different aspects of our being.

This leads to a more perplexing and ultimately ironic chain of
thought (this statement being an irony in itself): everything
we feel or think is controlled by the complex biochemistry in
our brains and bodies, which is ultimately subject to the laws
of physics. Could it be that these natural principles which
govern our very existence are simply a sort of vast program of
cosmic proportions? Are we ourselves just puppets of Nature's
universal rules? If so, do they have a purpose?

These questions, of course, remain unanswered, as it is not
for Man to know the thoughts of God.

At least, not yet.

---

The large conference room was dark save for the circles of
light projected upon the surface of the large oak table by the
lamps aligned along its sides. There were eleven bright spots
in total, five on each side of the table, and one at the
end. Each was located in front of a chair, providing the
necessary illumination for the people who sat on them. As a
security measure there were no windows in this room. It was,
in fact, at the centre on a huge building, surrounded by
reinforced duralumin walls, electronically protected by a
sophisticated array of ECM, and physically by a dozen
carefully configured BU-55 units. It was a top-level
clearance, priority one room, located at the very heart of the
Genom tower. Twelve people, and only twelve, had access to it.
Eleven of them were currently sitting in their assigned seats,
carefully examining the holographic images which formed in
front of them. The sole figure which had no place to sit
remained standing behind the man at the end of the table, its
face obscured by the shadows.

The pictures they were viewing showed various takes of a
severely damaged boomer lying on the ground. At this reduced
projection size it looked like a toy smashed by an angry
child, its face and arm destroyed, a hole torn through its
chest. After the laser beams shut off and the images
disappeared a heavy silence fell upon the room. In spite of
the tension which could be felt among all those present, the
voice of the man sitting at the end was strangely calm, albeit
dead serious.

    "Would someone care to explain to me what happened
tonight?"

Before anybody had a chance to answer he turned towards a
rather distinguished looking man sitting near the other end of
the table who kept adjusting his glasses.

    "Dr. Shikiro?"

Dr. Shikiro looked up, a slightly bewildered expression drawn
on his face. He again pushed his glasses to the bridge of his
nose and cleared his throat.

    "Quincy-sama, these pictures we have just viewed were
taken tonight after the BU-70c was sent on its first
real-world tactical training mission. Our observers indicate
that the boomer's performance was superlative until the ADP's
special forces unit entered the scene and engaged in
combat. Details of the battle between the ASF and the combat
unit remain unknown so far, but apparently the boomer managed
to eliminate its targets as planned. It seems, however, that
after completing its offensive something went, uh, wrong."

Shikiro nervously glanced at the faces around him, staring
back. All of them, that is, except for Quincy's, who kept
looking intently at his light's reflection off the shiny
wooden surface of the desk. Shikiro nervously pushed back his
glasses and continued his account.

    "Someone or something attacked the BU-70c effectively
neutralizing it. Our initial reports indicate that a powerful
concussive blow nullified the unit's pulse laser, and both
thermoblade and supercannon were severed with a cutting
device, possibly some type of, uh, high-strength blade of
unknown composition. A large cavity in its torso indicates a
concentrated piezothermal blast, probably in conjunction with
the use of the blade. So far ADP seems to be just as confused
as, uh, we are about this. You'll find the details of what
we've found so far in the report I handed you a few minutes
ago, uh, sir."

    "Were the Knight Sabers involved?"

    "Uh, we don't think so, sir. Nobody saw them nor was there
any trace of their presence in the area. We have just received
the boomer's remains an hour ago, and have confirmed that the
damage sustained by the unit does not match the Knight Saber's
weaponry signature, sir. "

Quincy remained silent, his expression stone cold. After a
couple of uncomfortable minutes he suddenly spoke.

    "I find this report far from satisfactory regarding the
details of the events that have led to
this... setback. Perhaps, Dr. Shikiro, you would care to share
with us your findings as to the contents of the boomer's
databank chip? I'm sure it would aid us in finding out exactly
what happened out there tonight."

Shikiro shifted nervously in his seat, sweat falling down his
now pale forehead. He again pushed back his glasses.

    "I'm afraid, Quincy-sama, that we, uh, do not have the
databank chip in our, uh, possession."

Quincy's stare pierced him like a knife.

    "Sir, I believe... I'm sure Sakai-san can explain why this
is so."

Quincy gaze slowly turned to a man sitting on the other side
of the table. Chief of Security Sakai tensed as he felt the
world fall on his shoulders.

    "Mr. Sakai, would you care to explain this to me?"

In spite of the pain swelling in his stomach, Sakai managed to
conceal it admirably well.

    "Quincy-sama, it seems that the chip got somehow misplaced
during transfer. It is highly likely that it was simply stored
in the ADP's evidence cabinets instead of being sent to
us. Probably a just mistake."

Silence once again reigned. After a few moments moments Quincy
spoke in a grave voice.

    "Probably?"

Sakai's voice almost faltered.

    "One of our lab technicians thinks he signed for the
delivery of a databank chip sent from ADP headquarters, but
he's not sure. My men are working on it."

Quincy shifted heavily on his chair. He leaned forward and
placed both forearms on the table.

    "Gentlemen," he slowly began, "as you all well know, the
BU-70 series was designed for a very specific purpose. It has
taken a considerable fraction of Genom's R&D budget for the
past two years, not to mention the greatest man-power this
company's ever dedicated to a single project, second only to
our ODS. As a result we have produced what is undoubtedly the
most advanced combat superboomer ever made, the culmination of
thousands of hours of research and in-lab testing."

He paused for a moment and then continued, his voice growing
harsher as he spoke.

    "And now you sit in front of me, at this table, and tell
me that its performance was 'superlative', but then something
materialized out of nowhere and in a matter of minutes
defeated, no, make that 'utterly destroyed', our most advanced
combat boomer and then disappeared without a trace?!? And, to
make things worse, it so happens that our *only* source of
information regarding the fate of a two billion yen machine is
a fifty yen chip which was 'misplaced'?!?"

Quincy was by now shouting, both his fists clenched while his
jaw trembled in fury.

    "Gentlemen! I will *not* stand for this brazenly stupid
behaviour any longer!!"

He took a deep breath. He now spoke with in a soft but firm
manner, far more chilling than his previous outburst.

    "Dr. Shikiro. I want a fully detailed report on what
happened to the BU-70c within the next twelve hours. Anything
less I will deem unacceptable and you will personally suffer
the consequences, am I making myself clear?"

Shikiro quickly nodded, his face growing paler still.

    "Mr. Sakai. You will of course provide Dr. Shikiro with
the databank chip he will require to comply with my
orders. Failure to produce that chip will result in a most
unpleasant situation for both us. Rest assured, however, that
it *will* be much more disagreeable for you than for me, do
you understand?"

    "Yes Quincy-sama," he whispered back.

    "From the rest, I expect a full account from each and
every one of you regarding this situation. Let it be clear
that we have *all* failed, and that as Chairman of the Genom
Corporation is it my duty to get to the bottom of this most
loathsome incident. Failure to do so will *not* be tolerated!"

    "You are dismissed."

The ten people sitting at the sides of the large table got up
almost in unison and hurriedly began to leave, casting worried
and suspicious glances at each other.

    "Mr. Sakai, I will have words with you. Privately."

Sakai stopped on his tracks and slowly turned around to face
the Chairman, who was still sitting. He noticed the figure
which remained in the shadows remained immobile. When the last
person left and the heavy wooden doors of the conference room
closed he warily addressed his boss.

    "Yes, Quincy-sama?"

    "You sound tired, Mr. Sakai. I do not appreciate that."

    "My apologies, sir."

    "I read your report concerning Dr. Wagner. Your handling
of this case has been disappointing, to say the least."

    "I'm sorry, sir, I..."

    "Those words are becoming very common in your vocabulary,
Mr. Sakai.  You are walking on thin ice as it is. One more
excuse and you will be...  relieved from your duties, so think
very carefully before answering my questions, understand?"

    "Yes, sir," he replied, his shoulder muscles painfully
tensing.

    "It seems that your men managed to localize Dr. Wagner
this afternoon but the capture went askew. According to the
report he was accompanied by an unknown type of boomer
disguised as a female which killed two men, is this correct?"

    "Yes, sir, although one of them was an undercover boomer
unit, sir."

    "Of course. It says that both agents were swiftly
eliminated, even before backups could get to them."

    "Yes, sir. We were not aware that Dr. Wagner was
accompanied by a boomer, much less a combat model."

    "But you *do* know Dr. Wagner's current location, do you
not?"

    "Yes, sir. We finally managed to pinpoint his address a
few hours before our attempt to..."

    "Yes, well," Quincy interrupted, "I want full details of
where he is right now, plus all relevant information. Have it
emailed to me in the next half hour. You are no longer in
charge of Dr. Wagner's retrieval, from now on you will
concentrate solely on what happened to the BU-70."

    "You can go now," he finished, brusquely.

    "Yes, Quincy-sama," Sakai replied, turning around and
rapidly heading for the exit.

    "One more thing, Mr. Sakai."

    "Sir?"

    "The boomer which accompanied our man during the capture,
it was a BU-55, was it not?"

    "Yes, a model 'd' undercover agent, programmed for close
range fight."

    "What model was it, the one with Wagner?" Quincy suddenly
asked.

    "Unfortunately the BU-55 has but a very primitive data
gathering system, sir, although it certainly wasn't one of
ours. It is possibly one of Verkraftung's old models, probably
a unit which Wagner somehow managed to keep. We suspect an
m-46, or perhaps the m-56, we're not sure."

    "Verkraftung's designs seem to be living up to their
reputation," Quincy muttered, more to himself than to Sakai,
"Perhaps we were a bit hasty..."

Quincy remained silent for a few moments.

    "Very well. You may leave," he finally said.

Quincy eased himself on his chair, reclining back. A few
minutes after the doors had shut the figure behind him spoke
for the first time.

    "So, do you really believe that the Knight Sabers had
nothing to do with what happened to the BU-70?"

Quincy paused for a long time, apparently unaware of the
question. He finally sighed and wearily responded.

    "Stingray and the other three buffoons?"

He gazed at the ceiling, pondering. The Knight Sabers. What a
joke. Had it not been for Stingray's undeniable brilliance he
would have had them eliminated long ago. At first they had
served a purpose, field tests for new hardware. Genom's
technological level would soon rise to the same heights of
Stingray's own brainchilds, and their defeat would be
inevitable. After a couple of years, however, it became clear
that he had grossly underestimated their capabilities. He had
quickly figured out who the leader was, a fact so obvious that
it was hard to believe Stingray's daughter still thought it a
secret. Finding the identities of the other three had been
child's play for a company with the resources Genom
commanded. He could have them assassinated within the
hour. And yet...

It was an affront that these women had managed to face and
overcome all their efforts to destroy them. But the honour of
Genom, the corporation, required that they defeat the Knight
Sabers, not just the people inside the powersuits. At the
beginning this had been but a small inconvenience, a minor
setback. As time passed and the Saber's deeds gained
recognition, however, the very foundations of the company
started to crack when stock values began to falter. Who would
want to buy war machinery incapable of dealing with four
homemade hardsuits? It had been but a slight plunge in the
exchange rate after a particularly notable defeat of six high
performance units at the Knight Saber's hands.  Although the
shares soon regained their original value, the signs were
there, and he had to do something about it, the sooner the
better. The advanced AI and the new superboomer became Genom's
top priorities. The former fizzled when Wagner suddenly
decided to disappear, but the latter had been an exemplary
research programme. He had carefully supervised its
development every step of the way, and upon completion knew
that he finally had the killer he needed, the machine that
would ultimately destroy the Knight Sabers. What had happened
tonight had shaken him far more than anybody imagined, for the
implications for the company of the boomer's crushing defeat
were far more serious than anybody realized.

Quincy closed his eyes.

The Company.

He prided himself of Genom's achievements, of an industry
which revolutionized the world he lived in. He knew he was the
bad guy in this story of good against evil, the four
vigilantes which fought against the wicked creators of
monsters. Indeed, he made no excuses for his actions.
Military research still took up most of Genom's R&D budget,
and drew the bulk of attention from the media, but the dozens
of secondary programmes which had developed as a consequence
were rarely ever mentioned. Genom had practically made
advances in every single field of science: from fundamental
physics to applied biochemistry, cybernetics, medicine,
electronics, and almost every conceivable aspect of
technology.

Some people died in the process. So what?

Genom was the life support of almost thirty thousand people in
MegaTokyo alone. Every single employee who worked for Genom
made a decent living, every single one. And he knew they knew
it. Walk along the streets and look at the mendicants begging
for food, see children and women prostitute themselves for
money, watch people slowly die of hunger, disease and drug
abuse. Are they not being murdered also?

A government which kills its own citizens through corruption
and putrescence is ten thousand times worse than anything
Genom could ever be accused of, for it compounds its mockery
of human life with unyielding hypocrisy towards its own.

No, Genom was far more than than a military equipment
manufacturer. It was a living entity, a proud and powerful
being which he commanded, but which he also respected and
fought for. With the BU-70 Genom would regain its proper
stature in the eyes of the world.

    "No," he replied, in a low voice, "this was definitely not
due to the Knight Saber's interference."

He turned the chair towards the figure behind him.

    "I will immediately send you a copy of Sakai's
report. From now on you will be in charge of capturing
Dr. Wagner and the boomer which accompanies him. Use all
means, and I emphasize 'all', necessary to retrieve them
both. This mission is of critical importance, and I expect
them to be in our custody within the next few
hours. Understood?"

    "Yes, Quincy-sama."

    "Very well. I expected no less of you, Ms. Madigan."

As the young woman turned around and left the large conference
room, Quincy once again gazed at the ceiling, and then slowly
closed his eyes.

---

The little girl wandered aimlessly through the dark city
streets. She hardly noticed when she soon found herself in a
rather crowded section of the city. Even at this time of the
night, and in spite of the heavy rain, the red-light district
had just began its feverish activity.  Hookers, pimps, slags,
junkies, fixers, dealers, skin poppers, dick peddlers,
coke-heads and assorted perverts all performed their nightly
chores under flickering neon signs of cheap sleazy hotels and
porno shops. She looked wide-eyed at the badly lit window
dressings along the sidewalk, various assortments of obscene
magazines and movies, sex toys among kinky leather gear, men,
women and children displaying themselves, trying to lure
potential customers into watching a variety of shows aimed
towards a selected audience: voyeurs, sado-masochists,
pedophiles, necrophilics and, from the variety of ill-fed
animals in one of the displays, those with a taste for
bestiality.

It was business as usual in MegaTokyo's infamous Kabuki-cho
district.

As she studied with curiosity a particularly
threatening-looking spiked leather garment, she heard a scream
just behind her.

A few metres away, near the streetcorner, a beautiful young
girl, about 15 or 16, was crouching on the sidewalk. A black
sports car was parked just behind her, the passenger window
rolled down, the driver's face hidden by the shadows within
the vehicle. She held tightly to the leg of large man who was
screaming at her, while she desperately cried and sobbed, a
mix of rainwater and tears flowing down her heavily maked-up
cheeks.

    "Nooo! Please! Please!! He bad man!!! He hurt Shumira!!!"

    "Fucking little bitch! What did you think this was, a
fucking paid vacation?!? Get in the car you whore! Get in or
I'll smash your face, bitch!!"

    "Noooo! Pleeeease!!! He hurt Shumira!!! Noooo!!!"

People passed by them, completely ignoring the painful plea of
the girl as she tightened her grip around his leg, squirming
on the ground.

    "I said get IN!!! Fucking bitch!!!"

His fist fell heavily on her back, between her
shoulderblades. She squealed in pain, her face a mask of
despair and fear, but refused to let go. She renewed her
begging, a choked and painful whimper.

    "Nooooooooo!!!! Please no hit Shumira!!!! Shumira
     HURTS!!!"

The man hit her again, on the back of the neck. Her cries
stopped for a moment, as she gagged and coughed from the force
of the blow. Her screams began to turn into a wail of terror.

    "Pleeease!!! Noooooo!!!! SHUMIRA HURTS!!!!
     PLEEEEEEEEEAAAASE!!!!"

The sports car pulled away, tired of waiting for the girl to
get in. The pimp slowly took something out of his pocket.

The look of fury on his face began to turn into a hideous,
perverted grin which revealed his sickeningly yellowed teeth,
as he put on the shiny brass knuckles. Slowly lifting his
fist, he took careful aim, and savagely thrust it downwards,
directly towards the tormented girl's head.

His arm froze in midair, mere centimetres from its intended
target.

    "What the FUCK?!?"

The man looked towards the owner of the little hand which had
tightly gripped his forearm, slender fingers digging deep into
his flesh. His jaw almost dropped when he saw the small girl
at his side, just slightly taller than his waistline, glaring
at him, her lips twisted in a grimace of rage and utmost
repulsion.

    "You are dead, bitch! You hear me?!? DEAD!!"

The switchblade opened with a click, streetlights glittered on
the edge of the knife. He began to swing it at her, when
suddenly his whole body twitched spasmodically. A blast of raw
pain exploded in his arm, and the sound of cracking bones shot
through the air as blood squirted out the various needle scars
which punctured his skin.

The girl, without even the slightest effort, had tightened her
grip with such ferocity that her fingers, which had barely
managed to hold his muscular forearm a minute ago, now
completely surrounded it.

She let go as he began to howl in agony, blinded by the
intense pain that swelled from his crushed limb throughout his
entire body. He somehow managed to remained standing,
staggering backwards, away from this little girl that had
almost severed his arm with her bare hand.  Crouching, he
started to flee, half running, half limping, screaming in pain
each time he bumped into somebody as he clumsily tried to put
some distance between himself and the girl.

She began to advance after him, her expression a convoluted
mixture of fury and disgust, when a weak moan drew her
attention. The girl, Shumira, as she called herself, lay on
the wet sidewalk, curled up in a foetal position, rubbing the
the back of her neck and lightly sobbing.  The excessive
makeup she wore was smeared over her face, giving her an
almost clown-like appearance. The girl knelt down next to her,
and gently began to run her fingers through her lovely white
hair. Her previous wrath smothered by the poor girl's
suffering, she opened her mouth to say something, comfort her
somehow, but the words simply wouldn't come out.

She looked around, at the people walking beside them, ignoring
them, as if they weren't there. The rain kept pouring down,
and she noticed Shumira was shivering. She bent until their
faces were almost touching, and slowly began to whisper.

    "W-where,... where do y-you live?"

Shumira opened her eyes, and looked at her for the first
time. Her delicate lips formed a weak smile as she whispered
back.

    "Thank you."

The little girl's face lit up, and smiled back at her. As
Shumira began to get up she put her arm over the girl's
shoulders and got on her feet.  She was slightly taller than
the girl who had rescued her, and just as lean. She stood for
a moment, still dizzy from the punches she had received,
aching, but apparently unharmed. She turned towards the girl,
arms crossed, hugging herself.

    "Shumira take you to her place now, O.K.?"

Without hesitating, the little girl gave her a vigorous
nod. With that, both of them soon disappeared into the crowd,
which remained indifferent as ever to all the events that had
occurred there that night.

---

As they slowly walked through the dark streets Shumira began a
lively conversation with the girl. It was more of a monologue,
however, as the little girl spent most of the time just
nodding when Shumira asked her some cursory question which she
usually answered herself, or simply smiling back when she
laughed at her own quips.

    "Shumira likes rain, but no like to get wet. But from
Shumira's place we no get wet. Sugoi, ne?"

Shumira giggled and the girl, as always, just gave her a nod
and a reassuring smile.

    "Shumira dumb! Shumira no ask her friend's name!"

The little girl slowed down, almost stopping, wondering. What
*was* her name? She was surprised to find that she didn't
know. She was even more puzzled by the fact that she hadn't
even thought about it. She turned towards Shumira and gave her
a confused look.

    "I... don't know. I can't remember."

It was Shumira's turn to look puzzled

    "Why?"

    "Well, I-I..."

    "No matter!" Shumira interrupted, looking wide-eyed at
her, "You helped Shumira, like Onii-chan used to, and Shumira
grateful. You be Shumira's Big Sister, Nee-san!"

Shumira gave her a wide grin, proud of her wise choice of
name. The girl shrugged and decided to follow along.

    "O.K.!" she answered, cheerfully.

Suddenly, the little girl's smile turned into an expression of
alarm.

Shumira's teeth were covered with blood.

    "Shumira! Your mouth!"

Shumira quickly fastened her lips and wiped her teeth with her
tongue.  Turning around she spat a mixture of saliva and
blood. She then faced the girl, giving her a reassuring look.

    "No worry, Nee-san, Shumira fine! Just a teeny bit of
blood.  Happens sometimes. No problem, ne?"

The little girl assented half-heartedly, worried about her
companion.  Even if she had known the nature of Shumira's
affliction, and the fact that it was very easy to treat, she
still couldn't have provided her any food to prevent the
ensuing course of scurvy which had begun to ravage Shumira's
anemic frame.

Shumira, however, seemed to ignore the presage of her illness
altogether, and continued her spirited conversation with her
concerned friend.

---

The rain had by now become a light drizzle, and after a few
minutes they began to walk along some long-unused railroad
tracks. The rails were rusty and misaligned, and quite a few
crossbeams were missing. The once busy Yamanote line was now
slowly decaying, never to carry commuter filled trains again.

The railroad lay on a concrete platform which soon began to
rise above the ground. They got off the tracks and walked
alongside a large wall which formed the base. Tunnels which
had been burrowed into the structure gave way for the streets
to pass under the train. It was obvious, however, that it had
been a long time since cars had travelled these parts of the
city. Rivers of rain snaked down the sidewalk, a now useless
sewage system overflown with filth and rot, gutters inundated
under water. Block after block, piles of debris and garbage
lined the streets, remnants of what had once been apartment
buildings and shops.  The few structures that remained
standing were falling apart, deathtraps to anybody foolish
enough to venture into them. The smell of putrid flesh among
the most recent ruins was due mostly to dead animals that did
not know well enough, winos and junkies too drunken or drugged
to care.

Shumira finally stopped next to a small ladder attached to the
wall. It was only a couple of metres tall, and they both
climbed it until they reached the top, where the opening to a
small maintenance passage was located. Shumira shoved sideways
a flimsy piece of plastic-covered cardboard which hung from a
nail and functioned as a door. She got in, closely followed by
the girl. The tunnel was barely a metre high, and about three
metres deep. It was dark and very humid, but the cover over
the entrance had kept most of the water out. Shumira somehow
managed to light an old oil lamp, which filled the concrete
cave with the pungent smell of burning kerosene, but which at
least provided some illumination. What it showed, however, was
a little sad. Bundles of clothes and torn magazines strewn on
the floor, some cracked dishes, a few broken toys and tools,
crayons and various small pieces of junk. The walls were
covered with clippings, photographs from old magazines. Faded
pictures which had once been colourful images on glossy paper,
now yellowed by time and moisture: a hunchback whale leaping
out of the water, an aerial view of a cathedral in Germany, a
movie poster of "Metropolis", an impressive take of
Mt. Everest during a snowstorm, a jester dancing in the market
square, a castle in Ireland, a beautiful blue Earth as seen
from outer space, and in the middle of it all, a small
Polaroid of a young man in his twenties, smiling cheerfully at
the camera, his body cut in half by a finger that had got
between him and the lenses.

    "Nee-san likes Shumira's pictures? Cool, eh?"

The girl turned around to see Shumira vigourously rubbing her
head with a small towel. She too was dreamingly looking at the
pictures. She stood up and began to undress.

    "Nee-san should take clothes off, they're all wet!"

The girl began to unbutton her coat, but kept staring at
Shumira. Even in this badly lit cave, after all she must have
gone through, she could tell that Shumira was indeed a very
beautiful young girl. Having cleaned away the make-up her face
was radiant, a small mouth and nose under large, intensely
blue eyes which contrasted with her pearl white eyebrows and
hair. She had light brown skin and a very nice figure,
although her ribs could be clearly seen under a thin layer of
flesh.  Quite a few dark purple bruises were also visible on
her chest and thighs, and the girl felt something stir within
her, which, for a fleeting instant, turned the pupils of her
eyes into cold, black diamonds.

    "Oooooooh!" It was now Shumira's turn to look at her,
wide-eyed, an expression of marvel on her face.

The girl looked down. Through the open coat and torn leather
suit she wore, her metallic skin glistered under the pale
flame of the lamp. The plates that formed her torso traced the
smooth curves of her figure, and blended into each other
forming a complex pattern of intertwining junctions. Tiny
black orifices clustered just below each of her small, perfect
breasts. Slender, fragile looking arms and legs, so delicate
and smooth, yet capable of a functionality and power far
beyond that of any of Nature's creations. Each joint was
superbly formed: her neck, shoulders, elbows, knees, the
articulations in each of her fingers, all exquisitely designed
and constructed. Indeed, hers was a body engineered for
perfection, the ultimate achievement of a technology that was
yet to be.

    "Woooooow!" Shumira ran a finger along her shiny forearm,
"this is sooo cool!"

    "Uh, thank you," the girl replied, unsure of how to
respond, "you're a, uh, very beautiful girl, too, Shumira"

    "Shumira once saw a big fight between police and a big
meanie guy called 'bummer', and was killing a lot of people
and had skin like Nee-san's, but not as pretty!"

The girl thought silently for a moment.

    "Here!" Shumira handed her a worn, pink nightgown,
"Shumira let Nee-san use her pj's!"

Shumira herself had put on a long T-shirt riddled with holes,
and a faded picture of Sailor Moon stamped on the front. The
girl quickly finished undressing, and Shumira eyes opened even
wider when she unstrapped the sheath attached to her forearm,
the reflection of the flame dancing on the hilt of the
knife. This time, however, Shumira remained silent.

    "Shumira needs to pee. Does Nee-san need to go?"

The girl gave her a small smile and shook her head.

    "O.K.! Back in a minute!" she answered cheerfully.

Shumira left the cave and down to the street. The girl
suddenly realized she would be out by herself, alone in the
dark. With a worried look on her face she headed after
her. She was about to climb down the ladder when she heard the
faint sound of a stream of splashing water. She decided it
might be better to wait, and sat on the edge of the hole.
Although the rain had stopped the skies were still overcast,
and the night was pitch black. With almost no buildings
obstructing the view she could see far away, towards the
centre of the city. The enormous skyscrapers clustered at the
heart of MegaTokyo, forming bright needles which pierced the
heavens. Huge structures of metal, concrete and glass, symbols
of wealth and greed. But for all their grandiose proportions
they were nonetheless dwarfed by the gigantic pyramid-like
structure which rose like a titan amongst them. A monolith
which radiated a sense of power, and maybe also, fear. And yet
the little girl was somehow unimpressed. Although she didn't
know it, her eyes had once witness sights no human, not even
the ones within the Tower, could even imagine.  Entire planets
destroyed by the blinding fury of small suns, attack ships
imploding into artificial black-holes, floating cities falling
from the skies, the unified screams of half a billion people
plunging to their deaths. The fact that she did not remember
these events, however, was, perhaps, for the best.

    "Nee-san likes view from Shumira's place?"

The girl looked down to see Shumira climbing the ladder. She
sat by her side and both silently gazed at MegaTokyo's
impressive skyline. Yet soon Shumira opened her mouth wide in
a big yawn, and her eyelids began to close in spite of her
efforts to stay awake. They both crawled inside the little
cave, and Shumira cuddled on a heap on sheets and clothes.
Although there was another small pile of clothing, the girl
placed it under Shumira's head and simply lay on the bare
floor.

    "Shumira is glad Nee-san came", she said, sleepily,
"Shumira was so lonely since Onii-chan gone, Shumira was very,
very sad, but now Shumira is not lonely... anymore... now
that... Nee-san... came..."

She quickly dozed away. The girl, however, kept staring at the
ceiling, her eyebrows knitted. She lifted her hand above her
face, and carefully studied it under the light glow of the
fading flame from the lamp. What was she, really? Who was she?
She opened and closed her fist, trying to remember, attempting
to trace her memories backwards in time. A man, lying on the
street, bleeding, whimpering, a monster, razor-sharp claws,
ripping her apart, a gun, a dream. She looked at the pictures
on the wall, and for an instant, a split second, the white
blizzard covering Mt. Everest became a bright red
sandstorm. The mountain itself somehow seemed larger, a huge
mass of orange rock, its size unmatched by anything on
Earth. But the most unnerving change was the blood red sky,
tinged with brown and purple clouds, alien. She blinked and
suddenly the hellish vision was gone. She sat upright, taking
a closer look at the poster. It was simply a normal snowstorm
covering the mountain. Nothing else.

    "It must be the reflection of the flame," she thought,
unsuccessfully trying to convince herself that indeed it had
been so.

A low moan behind her made her turn around. Shumira was
stirring, trying to cover herself with a thin towel she was
sleeping on. Although the girl felt no discomfort, she could
tell the temperature had dropped somewhat. Short, weak sobs
came from where Shumira lay.

She was crying in her sleep.

She knelt next to her. Tears fell down Shumira's cheeks, and
she was trembling slightly. The little girl slowly placed her
arm a few centimetres above Shumira's body, and soon it began
to softly glow, waves of warmth emanating from the palm of her
hand. In an attempt to comfort her friend's sorrow, she softly
started to hum. The sounds she made filled the small cave, as
they emanated from her whole being, the metal shell that
shaped her body resonating in a way humans of mere flesh could
never hope to match.

Even a machine built for destruction can sometimes create
beautiful things.

As she delicately weaved the sweet and sad melody whose origin
she knew not, she closed her eyes and listened to the notes
which echoed against the walls, and, for the first and last
time ever, Pachelbel's Canon filled this dark and humid
concrete cave.

As she finished singing she caught a glimpse of the inside of
Shumira's left arm, which she had flung out from below the
flimsy towel. Five black eschars, each a few millimetres in
diameter, were imprinted on her forearm, from the wrist to the
cup of her elbow.

Cigarette burns.

Tears filled the girl's eyes. She lowered her head until the
tip of her chin almost touched her chest, and she too began to
quietly weep.

---

The two cars stopped half a block away from the small run-down
house at the far side of the dead end.

    "It's the last house on the left, next to the vacant lot."

The woman sitting besides the driver put on a small headset
and spoke through the microphone which hung close to her
mouth.

    "Unit B. Do you read?"

    "Loud and clear."

    "You take the back, we'll go through the front. We go in
on my signal."

    "Check."

The woman drew the modified 9mm SIG P210-6 from the holster
she wore.  The eight round special magazine snapped within the
butt of the pistol as she rammed it inside with the heel of
her palm. The Swiss anti-armour gun was unique, capable of
firing custom-made thorium coated Carboloy slugs which could
easily penetrate through reinforced boomer shielding.  Quincy
had been amused when he first saw it, commenting on her lack
of faith in Genom's own line of excellent handguns. She
offered to exchange the weapon, but Quincy simply gave her one
of his enigmatic grins, waving her off.

    "Let's go."

Six figures got out of the two cars and silently headed
towards the house. None of them, however, noticed the black
limousine which moments later appeared at the entrance of the
street.

---

Dr. Karl Wagner woke up from his uneasy slumber when the
computer on his desk beeped. He tiredly glanced at the CCT. It
still had couple of hours of processing time to go. He then
turned towards the terminal. The clock at the corner of the
screen showed the time. 02:57. He slowly read the single line
that had appeared.

[ten]~ > xmail!: You have new mail.  
[ten]~ >


He leaned over the keyboard, pressing a key and carefully
reading the brief message.


Date: sometime To: nobody@nowhere.b From: nobody@nowhere.a
Subject: The rhythm of music, the rhythm of fight
Parts/attachments:
   1 Shown 23 lines Text,DGP
   2 OK 179Mb Encrypted,Compressed,DGP,""
--------------------------------

---BEGIN DGP SIGNED MESSAGE---

Hi,

I picked up a rather interesting package an hour ago, a Little
Black Box. Gally might like it, especially frames
7700-9600. What do you think?

D.

---BEGIN DGP SIGNATURE--- Version: 1.1.7h
Charset: noconv
- skip 5
Comment: dgp - damn good privacy/encryption
               modified from pgp and supercrypt++

E-code: Ich bin der Geist der stets verneint
Ysrsuyt3^k*ergis!#@t%GhjoyujtK*%edi%J^Us4yS#hYE%4iQT$%r43ero46^'sg$#4t
HQBVyS$^dp6^@fe^sghrwHoCFa5QRuAQGGtAIAruot$$rdghre#A@NB7thQGuwlpliTBDK
V69kiDW44s#$8uitsdPoFfgdnre4$^%TE3dd%#QM6MPx8MdpCgVVirtPcODVaTvT+V8w==
GxcDfU43#dN$L5eNwEWQME56EF34$DSd%ET$ret42WE^U$2de%#Fwqert43%Wdfgr25#d3
---END DGP SIGNATURE---



He checked the signature. The message had indeed been sent by
"D", whoever he, or she, was.

It was funny, he thought, the way electronic communications
had changed society. A faceless exchange of ideas between
strangers. Every thought, converted into pulses of light and
instantly transmitted across half a planet. A culture of
reason. One could make an endless number of acquaintances from
anywhere in the world, perhaps even a few friends, certainly
some enemies. Deciding who was what, however, was a peril
which, if anything, had been exacerbated by the electronic
age.

He had long ago given up trying to find the identity of his
mysterious friend. His messages were untraceable, and his
computing skills far superior to his own. Indeed, that is how
they had "met" in the first place.

Soon after fleeing from Genom and going into hiding, he
realized he had forgotten to copy some important technical
data regarding the endorphin stimulation treatment. By the
time he managed to hook to the network, Genom's sysadmins had
already changed all the access codes. He then desperately
started to try to break in, knowing full well that the
administrators would be on the lookout, waiting for him to
make the slightest mistake and trace his whereabouts. At this
point Galatea's condition began to worsen, but he couldn't do
anything unless he obtained the details of the
procedure. Otherwise the consequences would surely be
fatal. Finally, after three days, he managed to log in.

The directory was empty save for one small file.


     Congratulations Dr. Wagner, you have just managed to
break into our system. Unfortunately for you, whatever it is
you are looking for has been transferred to another
location. We will, however, gladly provide you with this
information as soon as you return and continue your research
programme here at Genom.


He actually felt physically ill after reading the message, his
hands trembled over the keyboard. A moment afterwards he
received an email. He remembered having to type "mail" four
times before spelling it right, fearing the worst. The message
was brief and straightforward:


    Attached are the files you seek (encrypted, see details
below).

I'll be in touch.  D.


He reread the message three times before proceeding to put
together the encryption key, which involved telneting into
three different computers using his old Genom login access. He
then decrypted the files and checked the sophisticated
security signature. They were indeed the originals. Whoever it
was had somehow managed to crack into the system before
Genom's sysadmins had transferred the information, and had
even been able of getting his password and creating dummy
accounts to temporarily store the bits and pieces of the
encryption key. His benefactor must surely be an extremely
talented hacker of sorts.

Unless, of course, it was a trap.

He had little time to ponder about this, however, as he
immediately proceeded with the treatment. A few hours later
Galatea's condition improved, and both slept peacefully after
the nightmare they had lived for almost a week.

The next day he received a second message:


Hi,

How is she doing?  How are *you* doing?

I've been going through some of your calculations regarding
the K-Na ionic balance throughout the damaged nerves. It seems
that the magnetic field generated by...


It was soon obvious to him that his faceless benefactor (if
indeed he was such) knew what he was talking about. Some of
the corrections pointed out he had already spotted, while
others he had not even thought about.

It was clear that this was no ordinary Genom agent or
sysadmin. The points he raised were insightful, some even
brilliant, indicating a profound grasp of the subject, a
knowledge which in some aspects surpassed his own.

As the days past their electronic exchange continued, and
trust began to build. "D", save for his signature (for he
finally decided to attach a male gender to him), took pains to
keep his identity secret, and his messages untraceable. This,
far from arising suspicions, increased Wagner's
confidence. The person was obviously working for Genom, and
was undoubtedly helping him behind their backs. It was
inconceivable that he hadn't met or at least heard of such a
brilliant man while working on his research. The only thing he
could think of was that, for some reason, he too was hiding
something.

He did ask him, however, how had he managed to break into his
account and copy the files before Genom's officials had a
chance to move them.  Much to his surprise, he apologetically
responded that he had in fact been keeping track of his work
for many months. This made Wagner uneasy at first, but the
man then proceeded to show him exactly how he had done
it. Indeed, Wagner was no expert on computers, but he knew his
way around the machines. The quick lesson he received on
firewall security and system loopholes, however, resulted
almost incomprehensible to him. Yet another of the many
talents of his fascinating friend.

Wagner quickly proceeded to decode the huge file he had been
sent. After decompressing it the holographic memory on his
machine was almost down to a couple of terabytes. He
immediately realized what the "little black box" his friend
had mentioned was referring to. The boomer's data archives
were in a unique, highly specialized format. He ran the
special player he had obtained from D and intently studied the
display.

The screen showed a large view of the boomer's surroundings
and about half a dozen of smaller diagnostic windows on the
side. The colouring was false, of course, as the boomer
shifted through a wide spectrum of frequencies in order to
obtain the best possible "view", sometimes even combining
visible, infrared and up to two other wavelengths to form a
single composite image. Even in the dark and through the rain
the resulting picture was almost crystal clear.

Long before actually seeing anything, the boomer had detected
the four approaching figures. A subtle FoF signal indicated
the nature of the intruders and, surprisingly, had managed to
identify most of their hardware, including suits and
weaponry. Wagner had never seen such capability in a boomer
before.

    "... soon be within WRS range. I want..."

One of the smaller windows on the right hand corner suddenly
flashed.  The boomer had locked onto its foes' radio
frequencies and immediately engaged its ECMs.

    "What the...?"

    "Pull back! PULL BA..."

He watched in horror through the boomer's eyes as it began to
brutally decimate the men. Before they even had a chance to
aim their weapons the boomer ripped through their
formation. It pressed its cannon against one of the helmets
and fired, point blank. Both the armour and head within
exploded, showering the boomer's lenses with a fine spray of
blood. It spun around and easily disarmed the man behind it,
knocking the machine gun right out of his arms. Grabbing and
twisting his arm it placed him between its body and the other
two men, who couldn't bring themselves to fire at their
comrade.

The boomer, however, had no such compunctions. The burrowed a
hole through both man and suit with his thermoblade and
proceed to insert the cannon's nozzle through the opening,
firing through the body. Another of the men fell while the
remaining one ran for cover.

And then the boomer did something unexpected.

Slowly, almost meticulously, it began to slice arms and legs
off the man it held, blood gushing wildly from his severed
extremities. When it finished, it advanced towards the soldier
who lay agonizing on the ground, his face semidestroyed by the
bullets which had grazed it. The mecha slowly began to make a
cut from his shoulder down to his waist, carefully avoiding
any vital organs. The man whimpered in pain, too weak to even
scream, and suddenly blacked out. The boomer then turned him
on his side, pressing downwards until he heard the man's ribs
crack.

The boomer retreated into the shadows. The trap was set.

Wagner could not believe the extreme, calculated brutality he
was witnessing. Never had he seen a monster such as this, an
utterly cruel and ruthless weapon of death.

As he saw the last survivor come out in aid of his companion
he couldn't take it any longer, and momentarily closed his
eyes, listening to the screams which came through the
computer's speakers.

A few seconds later the cries ceased and he opened his eyes. A
little girl was kneeling next to the crushed ACE suit.

    "Alita"

    "God," he whispered.

The boomer, however, hesitated for an instant. Wagner saw the
various readouts flashing, furiously analyzing the information
its sensors were receiving.

They did not make sense.

The girl stood up and the boomer proceeded to immediately
attack in face of this unknown danger. Its quickest and most
reliable weapon was the high power hyperYAG pulse laser stored
in its mouth. The improved Q-switching which Genom had spent
so much in developing immediately charged the resonance
chamber, the bright spherical energy build-up at the mouth of
the tube taking place almost instantly.

The girl suddenly darted towards it. The laser fired... and
missed.

She had somehow managed to see the glow a millisecond before
the discharge, leaping into the air so as to evade the blast.

The boomer lifted its arm, its firing system frantically
attempting to pinpoint a target.

A blade flashed in front of its eyes, piercing both the
cannon's barrel and the forearm on which it was mounted. The
girl swung around, tightly clinching the hilt of the
knife. Before the boomer could react her feet smashed against
its chin, tearing apart its jaw, smashing the laser tube
through the back of its throat. The boomer desperately swung
its thermoblade, maximum power. The knives clashed in
mid-air. The boomer's sword was made of a special heat
resistant, multilayer tungsten-titanium fibre, one of the
strongest materials known to Man.

The girl's blade, however, proved to be the stronger, cleanly
cutting through the mecha's superheated edge.

The girl again leaped upwards, and disappeared.

The boomer was, in a word, dazed. It began to search for the
little girl, up and down, scanning through all frequencies.

Suddenly the camera started to vibrate, slightly shaking at
first. Soon the image was violently trembling, the diagnostic
systems madly blinking, bursts of white noise flashing across
the screen. The boomer looked down as it saw its chest turn
white hot, a hideous bulge protruding from its torso, not
unlike a large metal bubble.

A knife pierced the incandescent skin, which, like a blister,
exploded, violently spewing its innards clear across the
street.

The boomer staggered backwards, critically wounded, as the
little girl erupted from its chest. The torn articulations in
its body screeched and ruptured, making it seem as if it were
screaming, the servomotors within blowing apart, one by one,
until the massive mecha finally fell backwards, crashing to
the ground.

As the boomer's systems began to short-circuit and shut down,
it carried out the final task for which it was
programmed. With its last energy reserves it looked up towards
the little girl, and ran the most thorough scan it was capable
of with its failing electronics. She looked back at the fallen
robot for a few moments, pouting, and then calmly turned
around, heading down a street.

An instant later the camera short-circuited, and the image
faded away.

Wagner sat silently for a couple of minutes, stunned, unable
to believe what he had witnessed. A boomer with such speed and
agility, a type unlike he had ever seen. Where did it come
from? Who made it?

He then remembered D's recommendation. He quickly typed a
frame number: 7700, and noticed it was almost at the end of
the movie, as the girl walked away from the boomer. Playing
the video frame-by-frame he looked closely and noticed the
girl sheathing the knife and taking something out of her
pocket, holding it with both hands close to her head. He froze
the movie and zoomed in. He ran the picture through a high
resolution filter. The image was still grainy, and her thumb
obscured the view, but there was doubt about it. It had been a
long time since he had thought about his grandfather. After
all, it he had died almost thirty years ago, when he was still
a kid. But although the face of the old man had all but
vanished from his memories, he still remembered the pride he
took when showing him his most valued treasures, his
"die Miniatur Orchester".

And now, for the first time in many, many years, he once again
caught a glimpse of a musical box.

---

Although the bitter cold bit her delicate caramel skin,
Shumira felt happy. She always did when she was close to her
big brother, especially now that he held her hand as they
gazed at the night sky from the top of the small hill. She
stood slightly behind him and couldn't see his face, but she
felt his warmth, and watched the wind blow through his
hair. The skies were overcast, and soon it began to rain. The
hill they had been standing on was now the roof of a building,
and when she looked down to the street below she saw a
metallic monster looking back at her, grinning. Its stare
frightened her, and she tried to pull her brother away from
the roof's edge, but he kept gazing upwards, to the sky. The
monster began to smash the walls of the building, and with
each blow the whole structure trembled. She began to sob in
fear, begging her brother to get away, but he kept ignoring
her, tightly holding her by the hand.  The roof started to
crumble, and panic swelled within her. She screamed and her
brother turned around.

He looked at her, a blank expression on his pale face. He
suddenly smiled at her.

Two rows of shiny metal teeth filled his mouth.

He began to violently shiver and his grip tightened even more,
painfully crushing her hand. The skin on his face started to
rip, covering his face with the blood that poured from the
wounds. His clothes bulged and turned crimson red just before
exploding. Shreds of torn flesh fell on her arm as she
desperately tried to break free, screaming in terror. She
looked at the monster that her brother had become, a blue
metallic beast covered with gore and blood, bright red eyes
fixed onto hers.

And then its arm exploded.

She looked at her hand, the one the monster had held. It shone
like the sun, so brightly it hurt her eyes. She lifted her
other arm which was now a dull silvery-gray. Looking down at
her body she realized that she was no longer human, but had
also become a creature of metal and plastic. She could feel
her artificial eyes cry fake tears which slowly flowed down
her cold ceramic cheeks.

When she lifted her gaze she found herself alone on top of a
huge skyscraper, overlooking the seemingly infinite sea of
lights that illuminated the city below. Above it a huge
structure was floating, practically covering the skies. It was
another city which seemed to hang from the heavens
themselves. The sight was overwhelming, and she was filled
with awe by this imposing vision. Suddenly a searing flash of
pain made her falter. The ache in her back was so intense that
she fell to her knees, crouching on the floor. She could hear
her skin, or whatever it was she was made of, ripping apart,
just behind her shoulders. The pain was becoming intolerable
and she groaned in agony.  Her vision blurred, and she was
sure to faint, when it stopped.  Trembling, she got up, and
although the pain had ceased, she was afraid to discover what
had happened to her. She could feel something on her back. She
turned her head and saw what appeared to be a white veil
fluttering behind her. She turned the other way and saw
something similar clinging from her right
shoulderblade. Looking more closely she noticed a pattern
imprinted on the strange looking cape. She managed to grab it
after a couple of attempts, and upon touching it she noticed
it was not made of cloth. The pattern she saw was not weaved
on the sheet as she had thought.

The appendixes on her back were made of hundreds of delicate
white metallic feathers which formed two beautiful wings, now
brilliantly shining against the night.

She had become an angel.

A magnificent angel of metal and fire.

---

A beep at Wagner's side indicated that the terminal had
finally finished the diagnostics run. As he turned around in
his rotating chair, the door behind him exploded.

He spun around, still sitting, and looked into the barrel of
the SIG aiming at his forehead.

    "What...?"

    "Make a move, doctor, and I blow your brains out."

Wagner froze. Madigan had a way with words.

    "The woman?" she asked, without taking her eyes off him.

    "Unconscious. We have her covered," came the mechanical
reply, as the two men surrounded the operating table, machine
guns pointing at the girl's head. Madigan's lips twisted in an
unsavoury smile. An easy job, Quincy would be pleased.

    "You're coming with us, Dr. Wagner," she said, and spoke
into the microphone, "B2, we're pulling out."

Silence.

    "B2! Do you read?"

She turned around towards her backups.

    "Are you able to...?"

Before she could finish the sentence a curious thing began
happening to the man she was talking to.

His face started to melt.

The mecha's artificial skin charred and burned, blackening as
its hair exploded in flames. The cranium underneath was
already red hot, turning white. Its eyes oozed out of their
sockets, slowly slithering down its cheeks. Small drops of
liquid metal flowed down its forehead like sweat, making
little sizzling holes as they fell on the floor.

Madigan looked upwards and saw the intense blue beam coming
through the ceiling.

As the second boomer reacted, lifting its weapon, two arms
bursted out from the wall behind it, pulling it back. Before
the robot even had a chance to retaliate, its attacker covered
its face with one large, metallic hand, and sent thirty
thousand volts through its head, instantly frying its
circuitry.

Madigan pointed her weapon and quickly fired three times. The
first shot went almost all the way through the electrocuted
boomer, the bullet managing to dent its shoulder outwards from
within. The second slug hit the enemy boomer's electrified
claw, blowing away three fingers and destroying its hand. The
third bullet struck its brow, just above the right eye,
ripping off half its head, sending it staggering backwards.

Madigan spun around, aiming towards the ceiling, but it was
too late. A third boomer appeared at the entrance of the room,
firing its mouth mounted laser. She screamed in agony as the
blue pencil of light hit her in the leg, rapidly vaporizing
the tissue as it burned a small tunnel through her
thigh. Trying to overcome the unbearable pain she attempted to
point her gun towards her attacker, but the boomer simply
raised its head slightly, burning a second hole through her
shoulder.

She let go of her weapon, almost jumping backwards, trying to
get away from the searing agony of the cauterizing
laserbeam. She blindly turned away, only to run into the arms
of the boomer which had sneaked through the hole in the wall
behind her. It held her tightly by the wrist and made her turn
around by brusquely twisting her arm behind her back.

    "Hello, Ms. Madigan."

Even before she managed to focus her eyes on the owner of the
voice, the smell of her own burnt flesh suddenly registered on
her pain-flooded senses. She violently began to retch until
forcefully vomiting a gush of her semidigested dinner.

    "Nice to see you, too."

She wearily looked towards the man facing her, her pale
features dampened with sweat, contorted by the agony, acrid
bile drooling from her trembling lips down her chin.

    "Largo."

    "Payback. Time to die."

Largo held the dagger in front of her bloodshot eyes for an
instant before swiftly lifting his arm and making a wide swing
in the air.

Madigan felt something warm sliding down her legs. She looked
down to see her bowels covering her feet. The boomer let go of
her arm.

Madigan knelt on the floor. She kept repeating "Oh no, oh no,
oh no", as if she had dropped some beverage on an expensive
carpet. Trying in vain to put her intestines back into her
innards, Largo stood silently as Madigan's expression turned
increasingly desperate when her guts spilled out faster than
she could shove them back in. She began to weep, her arms
covered with blood and vomit up to the elbows, her viscera
strewn on the filthy floor. Largo simply looked on. In one
quick move he lifted the knife and struck her at the base of
the neck. A gurgling sound came out of Madigan's throat as
blood gushed out of her mouth. She attempted to pull out the
knife, but there wasn't enough strength left in her arm.
Dark, red liquid spurted out of the wound with every tug, and
soon her eyes went blank as she fell back, choking on her own
blood, her extremities spastically thrashing in the throes of
death.

Her whole body twitched in one final, orgasmic convulsion, and
then remained still.

    "Requiescat in pace," Largo whispered, his expression
devoid of any emotion, "and thanks for finding the good
doctor.". He then turned towards Wagner, who was intensely
pale. "As you can tell, I am not in the mood for games."

Largo paused for a moment and winced, closing his eyes. After
a few moments he continued, although a certain weariness had
crept into his voice.

    "Where are your research notes?"

    "Wha.. what?"

Wagner was obviously in shock. One of the boomers suddenly
advanced next to him and violently slapped him, breaking three
of his teeth. He painfully cried, filaments of bloody saliva
threading from his mouth.  The boomer then wrapped his hands
around his neck, it's thumbs firmly pressed against his jaw,
just below his right ear.

    "Doctor, I don't have much time. I ask again: where are
your research notes on the cyber-neural wiring?"

    "The computer."

Wagner gave him the directory path and decrypting
password. Largo's fingers danced on the keyboard. When he
finally managed to access the files he rapidly skimmed through
them, quickly reading with inhuman speed.

    "Tsk, tsk," he muttered, "I must say, I'm
disappointed. All this trouble, and you're *still* using the
wrong hydrocortisone dosage."

    "What?" Wagner stammered. "You... you know?"

Largo slowly turned to face him. He was grinning, a bitter and
twisted smile.

    "Of course I know, doctor Wagner. I wouldn't be here
otherwise."

    "Be here?"

Largo ignored the question, as he slowly walked towards the
operating table where the naked woman lay, still
unconscious. The boomer standing next to her stepped aside as
Largo leaned so that his face hovered a few centimetres above
hers.

    "Tell me, doctor, how old was she?"

Wagner was momentarily surprised at the question. His
expression turned sombre as he lowered his head.

    "She is eleven," he whispered.

    "You didn't do your daughter any favour by doing this to
her. She was better off dead..."

    "What do you know, you miserable son of a bitch?!?" Wagner
shot back. The boomer tightened its grip, holding him down.

    "Oh, I know everything there is to know about your little
tragedy," Largo replied, still studying the girl's
features. "She was your own little secret, the sole light in
your life, was she not?"

Wagner suddenly felt his energies drain from his body, as
tears formed in his eyes.

    "I must admit, however, you did an impressive job with
her. The forensic's report indicated various cranial fractures
and severe brain damage. It's surprising you managed to revive
her at all. I'm sure your colleagues over at Genom would love
to know about it. Then again, it's not nice being at the other
end of the microscope, is it?"

The girl slowly opened her eyes, still groggy from the heavy
dose of anaesthetics being produced within her brain. The two
boomers at her side quickly pinned her arms and head down,
although she didn't seem to be attempting to move.

    "Hello, there. Good morning."

Her eyes twitched slightly, but she remained immobile.

    "You can't speak, can you? Of course, the m-66 was an
example of engineering practicality. It was meant to be used
when all arguments had already been exhausted, ja?"

Almost imperceptibly, alarm began to spread throughout the
girl's dazed mind, but she still seemed incapable of
understanding what was happening.

    "Leave her alone! What is it that you want from us?!?"
Wagner was almost crying by now.

Largo turned around and sighed.

    "Unfortunately for both of us, there is nothing you can
give me, doctor Wagner. Your results are flawed, your work is
as worthless as mine. The damage to your daughter's brain
tissue is quickly spreading, she can barely move at all."

Largo turned towards the control panel besides him and began
to study it.

    "Still," he muttered, mostly to himself, "she might be of
some use.  Increasing the HGVS pulse rate... hmmm... yes, the
diffuse cybernetics should be able to take full
control. Reprogramming it would simply then be..."

    "NOOOOO! You'll kill her!!" Wagner screamed.

    "She's already dead," Largo coolly replied. "In any case,
the DSN has already started to take control, at least
sporadically. By letting her mind slowly rot like this she'll
suffer a lot more, I can assure you."

    "WAIT! Please wait!" Wagner pleaded, "I think I can help
you, please, don't hurt her."

Largo stepped back.

    "Well?"

    "I have a digital movie, on my computer. Let me show
you..."

Largo silently studied Wagner's frightened expression, and
gave the boomer which held him a quick nod. The mecha let go,
and Wagner turned around in his chair, nervously typing on the
keyboard.

    "Here."

Largo advanced next to Wagner, stepping over Madigan's bloody
remains, and leaned over his shoulder, looking intently at the
bright LC display.

After a few minutes Largo straightened up, pondering.

    "Now, see here..."

    "I know," Largo interrupted. "So?"

Wagner spun around.

    "Don't you see? She's *human*!"

    "Because she appears to be listening to what seems to be a
musical box? Really, I'm disappointed at you doctor. Any
boomer could be programmed to become a musician. Indeed, I
know at least one."

    "But this is a *combat* model! Have you ever seen anything
like it?  Look at her expression when she knelt next to the
fallen man, at how she looked back at the boomer! There is a
*mind* behind those eyes!"

    "Even so, how do you know she's not in the same condition
as your daughter? That movie came from a boomer databank
chip. How did you get it?"

    "Someone from Genom just sent it to me, but I don't know
who..."

    "There you are, it's probably a trap."

    "No, wait, I'm sure this is not..."

    "Do you know where that girl is?"

    "No, but, please, listen to me..."

    "I'm afraid I've had enough of you wasting my time,
Dr. Wagner."

    "What? What are you...?"

Before Wagner could finish Largo motioned to the boomer
standing behind him. The mecha simply swung its fist, smashing
it against the man's head, just behind his left ear. Wagner's
skull caved in, killing him instantly. He fell from the chair,
sploshing into the pool of blood which had drained from
Madigan's body.

Largo closed his eyes, wincing in pain. He slowly turned
around and walked towards the operating table, where the two
boomers still held the girl's arms and head. She was now
visibly alarmed and confused, trying to look around her to see
what was going on. She began to grapple with her captors,
although she was still noticeably dazed.

The boomer which had killed Wagner pinned down her feet,
although not without a struggle. Largo turned towards the
control panel on the HGVS.  Among the many switches and
buttons on its front two large dials were located. One was for
fine tuning, its scale varying from zero to nine point
nine. It was currently at two. Largo grabbed the other dial,
which was the multiplier, which ranged from X1 to X1000. It
was set at X100.

    "Hold her tight," ordered Largo.

With a quick flicker of his wrist, he turned the dial a notch
higher.

The girl suddenly tensed, her fingers and toes becoming claws
as her body went into spasms. For an instant it seemed she was
trying to scream, a quiet howl of agony. Her features then
softened as her body slowly started to go limp.

    "Don't let go of her yet, she may still go into
convulsions. The DSN should take control as soon as she goes
flat. Ten minutes should be enough, and then we pull
out. Quincy must be starting to wonder about his little
bondmaid."

Largo turned around and sat in front of Wagner's terminal. He
carefully watched the film, trying to concentrate in spite of
the growing pain behind his eyes. As the last frames of the
movie flickered in front of him, he froze the image. It showed
the little girl walking away from the fallen mecha, into a
street.

He zoomed in on the streetcorner. Without taking his eyes off
the screen he suddenly spoke.

    "Get me a map."

---

Shumira woke up, startled by her dream. She routinely had
nightmares about her brother's death, but this had been much
worse, and much more vivid. And yet the strange way it had
ended had left her more confused than anything else. But
Shumira's simple train of thought quickly diminished her
preoccupation about the events she had envisioned, and after
stretching her arms high in the air as she let out a big yawn
the dream soon became a vague memory. She looked around and
was surprised to find her friend sleeping next to her, leaning
against the wall.

She winced uncomfortably when she heard her stomach growl. She
hadn't eaten in over two days, and there was no food at all in
the small cave she lived in.

    "Nee-san," she whispered, "are you awake?"

The small girl opened her right eye to see Shumira's face mere
centimeters away from hers.

    "I am now" she whispered back, opening both eyes.

    "We go out now, eh? Get money for food, O.K.?"

    "O.K.!" replied the girl, giving her a smile. She really
did not feel hungry, she never did, but the prospect of having
breakfast did seem quite attractive.

Both girls quickly changed, picking up some tattered clothes
from the various garments strewn on the floor. The little
girl, however, made sure to put on her overcoat and hide
within it the blade she always carried. Shumira watched her as
she carefully hid the knife, but not a word did she utter.

They left the cave and were greeted by a cloudy day. The skies
were overcast, and although last night's storm had ceased it
would be only a matter of time before it would start to rain
again. As they walked along the deserted streets Shumira
pointed out some of the semi-destroyed buildings they passed
by and promptly gave an overview of their history, or at least
her version of it.

    "That was Shumira's first home after getting here."

The small building she showed the girl was in very bad
condition, the roof severely damaged, on the verge of
collapsing, the cracked stone walls covered with graffiti. The
architecture, however, was quite distinct from that of other
ruins, the entrance a large arch under an empty bell tower.

    "Shumira didn't stay there long. It is a bad place."

The girl turned towards Shumira, an inquisitive look on her
face.

    "Bad place?"

Shumira gave her a nervous glance, and lowered her voice, even
though no one was around to hear them.

    "See how the building looks funny? It is also strange
inside. When Shumira first went in it was almost empty, just
lots of benches and a creepy statue at one end. There were
also little rooms against the walls. Shumira slept in one of
those, in a big red chair."

The girl was by now almost whispering.

    "One night a noise woke up Shumira. Five guys came in with
a pretty girl, little like Nee-san. The girl was screaming
because they hit her a lot and shouted at her. It made Shumira
very scared. Especially one guy who didn't shout much but
carried a large hammer in his hand. Two guys holded the girl's
arms and legs when another one of them saw the statue, and
they threw it on the floor. The statue was very large and
scary. It had a guy hanging from his arms and feet, and he had
thorns on his head.  The guy smashed the statue into little
pieces with his large, black hammer and left only the cross."

    "The guys then took the girl's dress off and put her on
the cross, but upside down, with her hands together and her
legs apart."

Shumira glanced apprehensively towards the building, fear
swelling within her even as she spoke.

    "Shumira was almost crying, but was so scared she did not
make even a little sound. The girl kept screaming and
screaming. The guys held the girl and the guy with the hammer
took out some large nails from a bag he had. He grabbed one of
the girl's feet and started to hit a nail with the hammer
through her foot, until it was nailed to the cross. The guy
did the same to her other foot and then put her hands one over
the other and nailed them both and there was a lot of blood
and the girl screamed and screamed and Shumira was more and
more frightened."

Shumira began to tremble a bit, but seemed to be mesmerized by
the ruins as she continued her account.

    "When the girl was nailed each guy got on top of her and
between her legs and made love to her. It was the first time
Shumira saw a boy and a girl do it. But the poor girl just
screamed and screamed and screamed.  After a while they all
finished and the girl still screamed. The guy with the hammer
then took a nail and put it on her head. He hit it into her
head and the girl screamed so loud it hurt Shumira's ears. He
took another nail and put in into her head and the girl opened
her mouth very wide but did not scream anymore. He put in some
more and the girl looked like the statue upside down, with
nails instead of thorns, and a lot of blood. Shumira never saw
so much blood, and was very, very scared, but was very, very
quiet."

    "The guys left but Shumira did not move for a long, long
time. By morning the floor was covered with blood and the girl
had become white like the statue, her eyes and mouth were wide
open and had the same scary stare. Shumira got out and quickly
ran and ran and ran and never went back inside again."

Shumira looked at the girl, an expression of fright on her
face, but soon her features softened and she gave her a little
smile.

    "But that was long ago and Shumira never saw the bad guys
again. Now that Nee-san came Shumira is not afraid anymore,
Nee-san can beat the biggest meanie guy, ne?"

The little girl looked at Shumira, uncertain of what to
respond. Before she could say anything, Shumira grabbed her
arm and started to drag her down the street.

---

After a while the landscape which surrounded the girls began
to change.  A few warehouses and old buildings surfaced among
the rubble and garbage. In spite of the damage and filth, the
structures were clearly in use, and some apartments were
inhabited. A few shops were soon evident and many people could
be seen on the streets. About twenty minutes later they
reached the outskirts of the "new" MegaTokyo. The sidewalks
were now bristling with commuters, thousands of cars jamming
the streets. All around them enormous skyscrapers breached the
skies, goliaths of metal and plastic with people continuously
pouring in and out of them. They marveled at the never-ending
window displays of the shops that lined Ginza, which offered
everything a citizen of the world's most powerful economy
could ever want. From the most luxurious jewels to the
ultimate in home robotics, everything was there for the take
of those who could afford it. Shumira "ooohh"-ed and
"aaahh"-ed at almost everything she saw, but stood silently in
front of the largest and most colourful window dressing they
had come across so far. The toy store had obviously spared no
expense in constructing this lavish display, but the crowd of
people, both children and adults, which stood fascinated in
front of it, clearly proved it had been well worth the
cost. The layout was truly impressive. It showed an
exquisitely constructed miniature castle on a large, blue
lake, with dozens of towers and an aqueduct which crossed from
one of end of the maquette to the other, where a tower clock
stood. Tiny figures scurried around the large scenario: a
long-faced man running across the rooftops, a pretty girl
dressed in white on a balcony, a police inspector surrounded
by policemen on a patio. But the action was not constrained to
the building. Above the lake and over the castle more things
were happening.  There was a girl in a bright blue dress,
flying on a glider close to the surface of the water. Above
her and to the right a rather large animal, like a cross
between an owl and a bear, flew over the aqueduct on a top
with the help of his umbrella, a large grin on his face. A few
centimetres to his left a blue plane chased a beautiful red
aircraft piloted by a pig, while a cute young witch and her
cat flew past them.  Other strange looking artifacts floated
among the large cotton clouds that clothed the skies. But what
caught both girls' attention above everything else was the
second palace which crowned the scene. This castle, however,
was much lovelier than the other one. It was covered with
gardens and vines which fell from the top of its towers to its
metallic underside. Pools and fountains in which tiny fish
could be seen surrounded the building, and an enormous tree
sprouted from the centre of the castle. In one of the gardens
two children stood in front of a robot which was covered with
moss, offering them a minuscule flower which was so finely
detailed that even at this scale one could make out its
petals. But what made this structure all the more surrealistic
and astounding was that the castle, along with its towers,
gardens, pools and trees, was somehow hovering above the lake,
suspended in the air by some unknown force. Both girls gazed
at the floating castle for quite a while, ignoring the multitude
around them. The reminiscence of two dreams, one much dimmer
than the other, although equally persistent, stirred within
each of their minds. The shadows of vague memories formed and
faded away, leaving them with a sensation of loss and a bit of
sadness. An old man beside them who was also admiring the
display looked on with a melancholy not unlike the one drawn
on the girls' faces. His, however, were not memories of the
future, but of the past, of a time when a young boy's
imagination would take him high above the clouds to rescue the
girl he loved, and save the world from the tyrannical ruler of
Laputa, the castle in the sky.

---

    "Here!"

Shumira sat down, legs crossed, on the street, her back
against a wall.  She took a small white handkerchief from her
pocket, carefully unfolding it and placing it on the ground in
front of her. Inside were three necklaces, which basically
consisted of a little face hanging from a string. They were
made of small bits and pieces of leather, clumsily sewn
together, the rather disconsolate product of Shumira's many
hours of work.

    "Shumira didn't have more spares," she told her friend,
"but maybe we can charge a bit extra, ne?"

The little girl gave Shumira a small smile. The floor was less
dirty than usual, the heavy rains having cleaned away most of
the filth, but she could still detect the vague stench of
urine, the traces no doubt of one of MegaTokyo's countless
homeless who lived on the streets. It was then when
something on the wall caught her attention. Clumsily
fingerpainted with what appeared to be a discoloured brown
pigment read a caption which she did not understand.

    V tzentre kompozitzii, mesya dorozhnyj prax,
    bosaya devochka idet tuda, gde tonut v oblakax,
    ognya i smrada,
    vorota ada.

She studied at it for a few moments, puzzled. She then looked
down at Shumira, who looked back at her, enquiringly. She
glanced at the writing once more before squatting down on the
floor.

Both girls sat in silence, watching the thousands of
pedestrians walking past them. Shumira gave some passerby's a
big smile, but it was usually met with total
indifference. This however did not seem to discourage the
girl, who simply sighed and turned in search of another
potential customer.

Minutes passed, turning into hours. They had little luck, as
most people just scurried along, unaware even of their
presence. Some were simply scroungers, wandering aimlessly
through the streets, a look of recognition momentarily
reflecting in their lifeless eyes. Those who were better off
generally glanced at them but for an instant, and quickly
accelerated their pace. The little girl, however, could almost
read their expressions, a mixture of pity, embarrassment and,
in a strange way, disgust. A small but obstinate knot formed
in her stomach with every such gesture, an unpleasant
sensation she could not readily identify, but which steadily
grew within her.

    "How much for this one?"

The young woman pointed at the most colourful of the
handicrafts, a large-eyed face with a big red tongue sticking
out. Although her dress was a simple blue, rather formal
attire, her voice had a certain dignified and cool tone. Her
somewhat hard features seemed familiar to the little girl, who
watched her intently.

    "Oooooh! You chose prettiest one! Shumira will let pretty
lady have it for... uh... sixty sen!"

    "Very well, Shumira, sixty sen it is."

    "Thank you very much, pretty lady!"

The woman gave Shumira the money, and took the necklace in
return. She stood for a second, looking at the small face in
her hand. For a brief moment her expression seemed to
softened, and she shut her eyes, slowly closing her fist.

    "Are you O.K.?" asked Shumira with an apprehensive voice.

The woman opened her eyes and looked back at the concerned
girl.

    "Yes, of course..."

She seemed about to say something else, but instead just let
out a small sigh. She gave them both one last fleeting glance,
and turned away, quickly loosing herself in the crowd.

    "Shumira, did you notice anything about that woman?"

    "Yes!" the girl exultingly replied, as she gave her the
money, "Shumira made good deal! Got an extra ten sen! Take
it!"

The girl looked into Shumira's big blue eyes and took the
money, her lips forming a rather sad smile.

    "Nee-san can take better care of it, ne? Shumira dumb,
always loses everything!"

    "No Shumira, you are not dumb. Please don't say that."

Shumira didn't say anything, she just gave her an enthusiastic
nod and sat back, on the lookout for another possible buyer.

She didn't notice when her little friend besides her quickly
rubbed an eye, wiping the moisture of a tear that had begun to
form there.

---

Five hours passed and the girl was starting to seriously worry
about her friend. They hadn't managed to sell any more of the
little handicrafts, and Shumira had by then crouched against
the wall, wrapping her arms around her legs, her chin on her
knees. Her stomach growled every few minutes, and Shumira
grimaced in pain, but didn't say anything. The little girl
knew that she was suffering. Shumira was a frail, sick girl,
and for all she knew she hadn't eaten in at least a day. On
more than one occasion she noticed her wiping a small trail of
blood flowing from her nose. The sun had already gone down,
and the temperature was quickly dropping. Even if she managed
to provide some warmth by means of her torch she knew that
Shumira would be in serious danger if she didn't get some food
soon. She kept silently insulting herself for not having done
at least *something* to aid her friend, help her somehow. But
what could she do? She didn't know how to do *anything*. She
didn't know who she was, or even her name. She was in a world
she knew nothing about, alone save for this girl who was now
suffering because of her and her stupidity. And all these
heartless people, walking past them, feeling pity for the
pathetic spectacle they made, but also disgusted by the stench
of their filthy clothes and their squalid appearance. All
these miserable persons who pretended not to see them, who
didn't care if her friend was hungry and hurt and
suffering. All these despicable, cruel and worthless humans.

Fury and despair swelled within her. And hatred. Hate for this
place, this time, these people... and above all, hate towards
herself.

    "Nee-san O.K.?" asked Shumira, with a small voice.

The little girl turned and saw Shumira looking with worry at
her hand.  She looked down and noticed that she had been
grinding her fist against the ground. It had made a hole about
three centimetres deep in the solid concrete of the sidewalk.

She looked at Shumira, a look of determination on her face.

    "Shumira, I'm going to get something to eat and be right
back. Sit tight and don't go away, O.K.? I'll be back in ten
minutes."

    "But we no have enough money..."

    "Don't worry, just stay put, ne?"

    "O.K., but please no go away too long? Shumira wants to go
home."

    "I promise," she answered, giving her friend a wink as she
quickly began to run down the street. Night had fallen, and
the number of commuters had diminished drastically. The
streets, especially in this part of the city, were now almost
empty.


She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she had to get
some food somehow. Along the streets dozens and dozens of
vending machines were lined up, almost one next to the
other. They all offered a variety of items: soft drinks,
liquor, newspapers, cigarettes and transport passes, among
other things. Others sold snacks, which ranged from simple
treats to complete synthetic meals. It was in front of one of
these where the girl stopped. She began to press the scroll
button which showed her a small digitalized picture of the
plate and its corresponding price. She quickly grew
discouraged as she scanned the menu. The cheapest meal, a
ramen soup, was 7 yen. As she went on with the smaller snacks
she frowned in frustration: 2.50 yen, 3 yen, 1 yen. Finally,
she arrived to the last item on the list, a chukamanju ball
for 50 sen. The look of hope that momentarily crossed her face
quickly faded away when she saw the small red dot besides the
picture, indicating that the machine had ran out of that
particular supply.

Her expression was sombre as she stepped back and looked at
the machine.  It was a large container of metal and plastic,
about two-and-a-half metres high, maybe a metre-and-a-half
wide. Apart from the selection panel, the money and card
slots, and a trapdoor from where the food came out, its front
was a smooth, brightly coloured plastic plate. But the cover
actually curved, so that the whole machine was of a
cylindrical shape. She ran her hand over its surface. The
dispenser was obviously designed to withstand not only the
usual inclemency of the outdoors, but the more nasty type of
vandalism that plagued the streets. Two centimetres of
graffiti-proof duraglax was generally enough to discourage
even the most tenacious of hooligans. Without even realizing
it, she slowly began to open and close one of her fists.

She peered down the avenue which was mostly lit by the soft
glow of the vending machines. She darted down the street, in
search of another container which might still have some
chukamans left. Before long she reached the entrance of a
small alleyway. Even here, machines were crammed on both sides
of the narrow road. She decided that since these were not
located on the main sidewalk there would perhaps be a better
chance to find the cheap snack she was looking for. As she
entered the alley she noticed someone there.

    "Fucking piece of shit!"

She could tell from the voice she heard it was a woman, albeit
a strange looking one. She had no time to waste, however, so
she swiftly passed behind her. As she studied the large
cylinders and refrigerator-like boxes she heard her violently
kicking a machine.

    "Fuck! One fucking smoke, dammit! Piece of GODDAMN FUCKING
SHIT!!!"

The little girl finally found what she was looking for. She
let out a small squeal of delight when she found it still had
some chukamans inside. Shumira would be so happy! She quickly
fed a 50 sen coin into the slot and retrieved the small,
neatly wrapped dough ball from the tray.

    "Give me your money, please."

The girl spun around and was suddenly taken aback. The woman
was staring at her with a stoned gaze, speaking in a toneless,
husky voice. For a moment the girl stood frozen, fascinated by
the creature in front of her.

The woman was about 30 centimetres taller than she, although
her jet black leather boots added about 5 cm to her
height. She wore an equally dark, tight, lustrous plastic
dress which completely covered her body save for her head and
hands. By contrast her skin was almost white, which
conveniently provided a perfect canvas for the many tattoos
imprinted on it. The back of her hands, for example, had drawn
upon them a skeleton which perfectly mimicked the one within
her body. Each bone which formed her hand was rendered in
great detail, tracing the real one below the skin. All five
knuckles and phalanxes were sketched with amazing realism. She
could also see part of the wrist, although the sleeve of the
suit hid whatever lay up her arm. She suspected, however, that
her whole skeleton must have been tattooed on her skin. All of
it except, of course, for her head. She had obviously saved
her face for a far more shocking design, one which the girl
couldn't stop staring at.

The woman blankly looked back at her with her five eyes.

Two of them were exquisitely tattooed on the prominence of her
cheeks, just below the real ones. They were a bit larger than
the latter, and were colourfully painted in red and blue,
surrounded by long, black eyelashes. The fifth eye was on her
forehead. This one, however, was different. Although it too
was coloured, she could tell the trace was imprinted on the
skin somehow, like a scar. She suddenly realized it had been
branded there, burnt upon her flesh and painted on
afterwards. A thin metallic chain hung from inside her mouth,
attached to a ring which pierced her tongue. It arched in
front of her chin and ended in a little skull-shaped earring
which punctured her left ear. About half a dozen smaller
ornaments shaped like stars, rings and yet more skulls
perforated the thin cartilage. She had very short, black hair,
which made impossible to conceal the fact that her right ear
was missing. That she had intentionally cut it off was almost
unbelievable, for in spite of this freak transformation she
had decided to inflict upon her being, the little girl could
tell that the young woman, who was in her late twenties at
most, had been truly beautiful, once.

Still looking at her, she began to stammer.

    "But, I-I don't have any..."

The woman's fist shot out, knuckles smashing against her
cheek. No less than four bones in her hand snapped like dry
twigs, splintering through the skin, exactly were the tattoos
were drawn.

The girl's reaction was inhumanly quick. So quick that the
pain that shot through the woman's arm had not yet registered
in her mind when already the girl's left elbow had made
contact with her face. At over half the speed of sound the
blow had devastating consequences. Her cheek exploded as the
impact instantly pulverized sixteen of her teeth, and tore her
jaw from its hinges, splitting it in two at the very tip of
her chin. The chain she wore ripped through both her tongue
and earlobe, the latter easily shredding so that the links now
whipped from her mouth.  Her head spun so quickly that her
body could not manage to twist fast enough to prevent her neck
from breaking in two. By the time she started reeling
backwards she was already dead. Brusquely staggering, she
crashed into a coin-machine, violently smashing the duraglax
cover with her body. Thick plastic splinters tore through suit
and skin, slicing and embedding themselves deep within her
flesh. She somehow bounced forward, her disjointed corpse
contorting grotesquely until she finally collapsed on the
ground with a dull thud.

    "Careless of me," thought the little girl, grudgingly,
rubbing her face.

She sadly frowned when she realized she had accidentally
crushed the small chukamanju in her fist.

---

    "Nee-san!"

Shumira's face lit up when she saw her friend with her arms
full of food trays and small bags made of colourful aluminum
foils.

    "But how...?"

The little girl lay the packages in front of her friend and
offered her one which supposedly contained "a deliciously
fresh roast beef sandwich accompanied with a healthy,
vitamin-enriched vegetable salad!". Shumira took the small
aluminum tray but didn't take her eyes of the girl.

    "But, how did Nee-san get all this?"

The little girl gave her an embarrassed smile and scratched
the back of her head.

    "Etooo, the machine broke, ne, and the stuff fell out,
see, and, well, it would have spoiled anyway, ne?

Shumira looked at the dinner on her lap. She noticed a few
crimson red droplets on the top which the little girl quickly
wiped away with her forearm.

    "Uh, the paint on the machine was, uh, wet. I guess it,
uh..."

    "Thank you *so* much, Nee-san!!!" interrupted Shumira, as
she quickly opened the package and began to hungrily take big
bites out of the sandwich.

Her friend smiled, relieved. She didn't like to lie to
Shumira, and she felt a tinge of remorse for having taken the
food. But it *had* fallen out of the vending machine, and it
really hadn't been her fault. She sat down next to Shumira who
had almost finished the meal, and opened a sandwich for
herself.

    "Shumira, I've got a little present for you."

    "Mmm? Whmt 'sit?" the white-haired girl asked, politely
covering her mouth.

She handed her a small bag. Shumira swallowed hard as she took
it and slowly opened it. Her eyes turned moist as she looked
up to her friend.

    "Thank you" she whispered, as a tear ran down her cheek
and fell on the little chukamanju ball she held in her hands.

---

As they silently walked back to Shumira's "home" carrying the
food they had not eaten, the little girl began to hum a soft
tune. The night was exceptionally quiet, only a few dogs
barking in the distance and the dim howl of far away sirens.

    "Nee-san has such a pretty voice! What music is that, eh?"

She gave Shumira a somewhat puzzled look. She hadn't been
aware that she had been humming.

    "Give me your packages and take out what's in my
overcoat's left pocket."

Shumira pulled out the little musical box, and studied it,
confused.

    "Go on, turn the handle."

As the melody formed in the cool night's air Shumira let out
an exclamation of surprise and astonishment. She was
fascinated by the tiny mechanism, and the sparkling sounds it
produced. She played the brief tune again and again, sometimes
quickly, sometimes very, very slowly.

    "You can keep it if you like it."

Shumira was delighted with her new toy, but she soon stopped
playing and turned towards her friend.

    "Shumira also has a present for Nee-san!" she exclaimed,
"Not as good as Nee-san's gifts, but Nee-san likes music and
Shumira knows some cool songs!"

Very much to the little girl's amusement Shumira began to
quaver an upbeat tempo. She then started to sing, out of tune
and hesitating at first, but as she remembered the ballad and
gained confidence she began to harmonize and raise her
voice. Much to the girl's amazement Shumira began to sing in a
language she didn't understand, as she vocalized the song
phonetically word by word. Shumira was becoming so excited
that she started to clap her hands and dance as they walked,
her long white hair lashing through the air as she shook her
head. She motioned towards her friend and encouraged her to
sing along with her. By now the little girl had begun to trill
along to the melody, repeating some of the words she
heard. After a few minutes she had gotten into the music, and
soon both girls were heartily singing the unintelligible words
in unison, jumping and dancing around each other while she
deftly juggled the trays with one hand.

    "You and me we're going nowhere slowly
     and we gotta get away from the past
     There's nothin' wrong with goin' nowhere baby
     but we should be goin' nowhere fast!
     Everybody's goin' nowhere slowly
     They're only fighting for the chance to be last
     There's nothin' wrong with goin' nowhere baby
     but we should be goin' nowhere fast!"

The two little girls forgot their sorrow, and celebrated their
friendship. The future doesn't seem so bleak when you can
share it with someone who cares for you. Without realizing it,
hope began to dawn in their hearts.

Until, that is, the sound of gunshots exploded in their ears,
and Shumira's friend fell heavily to the ground.

---

Shumira's world had exploded.

She stood frozen, unable to move, watching her friend lying
immobile on the ground, surrounded by the food trays and
little packages she had been carrying. She didn't even notice
when the four figures emerged from their hiding among the
ruins that surrounded them. Two of them were armed with heavy
chains coiled around their wrists, another carried a hammer.

A large, black hammer.

Terror began to flood Shumira's mind, an overpowering fear
which froze her soul.

And yet it could not even begin to match the raw panic she
felt when she heard the cruel and hoarse voice behind her.

    "Well, well, if it isn't the bionic bitch and her retarded
friend, the cocksucking whore. I'd knew we'd find you around
here, sooner or later."

Shumira slowly turned around, trembling like a leaf, her eyes
filled with tears, and faced the man behind her. The pimp
still held the smoking Smith & Wesson 640 in his right hand,
his left arm covered by a thick cast from his hand to the
elbow. He grinned at her, his rotten teeth showing from
between his twisted lips.

    "So, this is how you pay your saviour, you little
motherfucker?"

Shumira began to feel severely nauseous as the man's grin
widened.

    "I found you dying, rotting away in this shit-hole, you
lousy whore.  I saved your worthless, good-for-nothing
ass. You think you can leave me and start selling those pieces
of shit you make? You'll just starve to death again, you
little cocksucker, and as much as would like to see that, I've
got something to settle here first with you and this fucking
bitch."

    He motioned towards the men that stood around the little
girl on the ground.

    "Let 'er rip!"

They began to brutalize her, violently smashing the thick
chains against her small body. The clashing of metal filled
the air.

Shumira began to feel dizzy, the world started to spin around
her.

    "Don't worry, bitch, I won't kill you just yet. No use in
ruining the merchandise now, is there?" he laughed.

As the men with the chains continued to maul the girl, who was
attempting to protect herself by curling her body in a foetal
position, the man with the hammer stood observing, patiently
waiting for his turn.

    "Hit her harder, man, harder!" yelled one of them.

    "Fucking bitch! My arm's getting tired!" replied the
other, who was by now soaking in sweat.

After a few minutes the owner of the hammer took out a long,
thick nail from a holster which hung from is belt. The men
stopped hitting the girl as he knelt next to her, positioning
the tip of the nail against her eye, between her fingers.

    "I've always wanted to see what happens to these robotic
fuckers when you drive one of these babies into their skull,"
he murmured, carefully aiming the hammerhead, and lifting it
high over his head.

Suddenly there came a noise, not unlike an egg cracking.

The two men looked at the Hammer-man's face, and noticed a
small red dot on his forehead. His stare was blank as a thin
stream of blood snaked between his eyes and down the side of
his nose, until it reached his chin and began to drip. As he
fell forward they saw the head of the nail sticking out from
the back of his skull.

One of the men sensed a small tug on his chain, and then felt
something against his armpit. It was the girl's foot. Before
he realized what was happening, she yanked the chain.

Hard.

Flesh and cartilage ripped apart as she tore his arm from his
torso. He staggered backwards, screaming wildly, blood gushing
from the wound.

The third man stood stupefied, unable to react, until he saw
the girl facing him.

Her fist smashed into the man's chest, just below his left
nipple. It destroyed five ribs as it plunged into his thorax
and through his lung, which collapsed like a paper bag. The
trajectory of her arm curved slightly downwards, destroying
his spleen as her knuckles exploded through his back, covered
with blood, mucus, torn skin and some lung tissue that had
been caught between her fingers. The man looked down and saw
the girl's elbow pressed against his chest, but the fact that
the rest of her extremity was within his body simply hadn't
registered in his mind yet. She then grabbed his shoulder with
her free hand and proceeded to violently yank out her arm, but
not before opening her fist and extending her fingers. As a
result the wound was now a large star-shaped hole about
fifteen centimetres in diameter.

All this had occurred in about two seconds. The man looked up
to the girl, her forearm covered with blood and small pieces
of meat that had once formed part of his internal organs, and
opened his mouth, apparently trying to say something. A
wheezing sound came out of the cavity in his chest, his
windpipe having been severed in two places. A thick phlegm of
blood spurted from his mouth as he fell to his knees, dying as
he fell.

The pimp aimed the gun and fired twice. Even if his hand
hadn't been shaking, the girl's low leap presented a
difficult, quickly moving target. Both bullets zoomed past
her. By the time his finger began to tighten on the trigger
for the third time, the girl was already upon him.

She tightly grabbed his hand, forcing his grip around the
gun's butt, placing her index finger under his so that he was
unable to fire.

    "Fucking BI... AAAAAARRRGGHHHH!!!"

Brusquely twisting his arm, she drove him to his knees, and
then pushed him backwards, until he lay flat on the floor.

    "I'LL KILL YOU BOTH, WHORE! DO YOU HEAR ME!?!

He grimaced in pain as her knee struck his chest, pinning him
down. He began to wheeze as she increased the pressure on his
torso. Soon he was completely immobilized, his left arm in a
cast under her body, the right one held in place by the steel
grip, her left leg grinding his back against the ground. She
kept glaring at him, staring into his eyes, an ice cold
expression carved on her face. With her free arm she began to
fumble his pockets. She grinned when she felt the shape of a
small case in his breastpocket. Slowly, she took it out and
carefully opened it.  Stored inside were a needle and five
small vials, each filled with a white, semi-transparent
liquid. Her delicate metallic fingers nimbly cracked open one
of the containers and held it with her little finger as she
used the other four to manipulate the syringe, filling it
halfway.  She quickly grabbed a second bottle and filled up
the plastic tube. The pimp's eyes opened wide, as she placed
her thumb on the head of the piston.

    "FUCK!!! NO!!!"

Without hesitating, she quickly stabbed him in the neck,
injecting the fluid into his jugular. She yanked out the
needle, a stream of blood spurting from the small hole it had
made.

    "FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU, BITCH!!!"

Without pausing she repeated the operation twice again, until
she had emptied the cases' content into his body, all five
doses. His eyes were bloodshot, a red stream trickling from
his nostrils and the corners of his mouth due to the massive
vasodilatation effect which had already began to damage his
mucous tissue. A wave of nausea made him gag, and his legs
started to twitch, a prelude to the convulsions resulting from
the tremendous overdose. The nightmarish delirium would soon
ensue.

    "YOU FUCKING WHORE!!! I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!!!
MOTHERFUCKER!!!"

The girl placed her hand in front of her face, her index
finger a couple of centimetres away from her mouth, making a
gesture for him to remain silent.

    "Shhhhhhh"

For an instant he thought the hallucinations had already begun
when the girl's finger suddenly lit up, glowing with a
brilliance which made his sensitive eyes hurt. He could hear a
cracking sound, and a sweet, sickening smell which he could
not recognize. The girl placed the tip of her finger on his
forearm. Her finger burrowed into the cast, melting it away.

    "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

His body went into spasms with such force that the he almost
budged the girl on top of him.

Almost.

His flesh sizzled as her finger penetrated into his skin,
burning a hole the size of a quarter. It went in about a
centimetre, and then she pulled it out, leaving a plume of
smoke behind, and the sour, nauseating stench of charred meat.

    "GOD!!! AAAHHHHHH!!! NOOOOOOO!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Again, she dug her finger into the cast, this time slightly
higher along his arm, just below where the cast ended.

    "AAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!! FUUUUUCK!!! STOP!!!!
GOD!!! STOP!!!"

He thrashed his head wildly sideways, his legs kicking blindly
into the air. She placed her finger on his elbow. This time
there was no plaster to diffuse the intensity of the plasma
jet. His wails of pain and terror swelled in a panic stricken
crescendo.

    "NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

The stench of excrement and urine combined with that of burnt
meat, as his sphincter and bladder gave away. She drove her
finger into his shoulder.

    "GOOOOOOOOODDDDD!!!!! PLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSEEEEE!!!
STOOOOOOOOP!!!!  PLEEEEEAAASSSSEEEE!!! GOOOOOODDD!!!
STOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!"

His screams were now inhuman shrieks of agony. He kept lashing
his head, this time smashing it against the ground in a
desperate attempt to knock himself unconscious. His skull
cracked, and blood began to tinge the concrete, but he did not
faint. The drug, the girl well knew, would take care of
that. She placed her finger on his face and drilled into his
cheek.

    "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

Her finger pierced the thin wall of flesh, incinerating half
his tongue.  She quickly yanked it out. Smoke came out of his
mouth, which remained open in spite of the fact that his howls
had ceased. For by now he was beyond pleading, beyond
screaming. His face was a deformed grimace of intense agony,
hardly human, so ridiculously gruesome it was almost
comical. His whole body was tense, almost rigid,
trembling. His eyes, however, were still alert, darting from
side to side, expressing unspeakable fear and pain. The girl
looked at him, and for an instant, their eyes locked. A dark
red tear began to flow down his scorched cheek. The massive
trauma, combined with the effect of the drug, had caused his
lacrimal glands to burst, flooding his tearducts with blood.

Her lovely, unforgiving features were the last thing he saw
before blindness struck.

Slowly, almost gently, she guided his right hand so that the
gun's barrel entered his mouth. She carefully pressed the
nozzle against the roof of his mouth, and unfastened her grip.

    "Dies irae"

He pulled the trigger, and small pieces of skull and brains
splattered on her face.

---

The girl slowly rose from the corpse under her, and stepped
back, wiping the gore off her face with her sleeve. Suddenly
two arms surrounded her from behind.

    "Nee-san!! Is Nee-san O.K.!? Shumira was *so* scared!"

She turned around and returned sweet little Shumira's hug.

    "I'm okay, Shumira," she responded, breaking the embrace
and holding her friend's hands, "just a bit shaken, that's
all."

    "But Nee-san, you're hurt!!" Shumira's eyes opened wide, a
look of despair on her face.

The little girl looked down at her body. Her coat and shirt
had been thoroughly shredded by the chains, but the body
underneath had only suffered scratches and some dents. The
bullets, however, had struck her on the side, one at the base
of her neck, the other on the back, and were still incrusted
into her metallic skin. She grabbed one of them with the tip
of her fingers and pulled it out. Fortunately, the S&W had
been a relatively small calibre weapon. She pulled out the
second bullet and casually threw it away.

    "Don't worry, Shumira, I'm O.K.," she told the girl,
smiling.

She looked around, at the carnage which surrounded them. Only
the man whose arm she had torn off was still moving, feebly
squirming on the ground, too debilitated to do anything but
weakly moan.

The little girl turned towards her friend, who was looking at
her with admiration and relief.

    "Listen to me, Shumira," she said, "all this violence, all
this pain and sorrow... you don't deserve this. There must be
a way... a way for you to live with dignity... to be happy..."

    "But Shumira is happy now that Nee-san is with her!"

    "I know, I know, but this place, this horrible, monstrous
city...  is no place for you. Or me."

Shumira gave her a quizzical look.

    "Maybe... maybe the Outlands," the girl looked over
Shumira's shoulder, into the distance, dreamily, "yes, far
away..."

    "The ocean!" Shumira exclaimed, exultantly.

    "The ocean?"

    "You know! Beaches and loooots and looooooots of water,"
she said, extending her arms, "Shumira has seen it in
pictures. It's pretty!"

    "And where is this 'ocean'?"

    "All around us, Nee-san! We just walk and walk and we find
ocean!"

The girl thought for a moment, looking into the distance, and
then at Shumira.

    "Shumira, would you like to go to and see the ocean
with me?"

    "Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!" the girl responded exuberantly.

    "Let's get your stuff, then, we leave in the morning!" she
said, giving her a wink.

Shumira clapped her hands and gave her friend a hug. They
picked up the food that had fallen on the ground, and
continued their journey. As they headed towards Shumira's
place the white-haired girl happily hummed along, and the
little girl smiled when she recognized the song.

    "You and me we're going nowhere slowly
     and we gotta get away from the past
     There's nothin' wrong with goin' nowhere baby
     but we should be goin' nowhere fast..."

---

After arriving to the maintenance tunnel where Shumira lived,
both girls began to go through the stuff strewn all over the
small cave. Although they had found a large nylon bag in a
corner, there was actually precious little which had any value
for them to take. The food, of course, some clothes, Shumira's
sewing kit, bits and pieces of junk, and a couple of small
toys. Only two things seemed to actually matter to Shumira,
her brother's picture and the musical box she had given her,
both of which she carefully placed in her pockets.

When they finished rummaging through the rubbish they sat in
the middle of the cave, the semi-empty bag between them.

    "This *so* exciting, Nee-san!" Shumira marveled.

The little girl gave her a sad smile. All that Shumira valued
couldn't fill a bag, and even then, most of it was worthless
by any standard but her own. She looked at herself, torn
clothes falling apart, smudged with blood and dirt, unable to
clean herself up. Shumira wasn't much better off, smelling
like sweat, the filth on her body turning her once shiny white
hair into a dull grey.

Shumira, she knew, would not survive in this place. This was
their only hope.

    "Shumira never go on trip before! When do we leave?"

    "As soon as we wake up, I guess," answered the girl,
shrugging.

    "Sugoi!" replied Shumira, letting out a big yawn.

Using the bag as a pillow both girls laid on the floor,
covering themselves with the best they could with what pieces
of cloth and blanket they didn't pack.

Both fell quickly asleep. Shumira finally managed to have a
quiet rest, as the nightmares that usually terrorized her did
come to haunt her that night. Instead, she dreamt herself
building a sand castle on a beach, next to a wide, intensely
blue ocean. She smiled in her sleep.

The little girl's slumber was, as always, dreamless.

---

    "Infrared indicates one person inside."

    "That must be the whore. It's unlikely we'll be able to
get a reading on the girl, but she's in there all right. I can
feel it."

    "How shall we proceed? Raid the cave?"

    "No, that hole is a deathtrap. We get them out first."

    "We still have the two canisters we bought for Wagner's."

    "Surround the perimeter. Fire on my order, but don't kill
them. If the girl attacks you aim to incapacitate."

    "What about 'her'?"

    "Backups"

---

The cave was silent save for the light snoring on the two
girls. Neither of them had heard the car approaching, or the
quiet footsteps which drew nearer to the entrance of the cave.

    "PSHHHFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!"

The little girl immediately woke up, even before the can
bounced against the wall inside the hole. The dark green smoke
immediately began to fill the narrow tunnel, but by then she
had already stopped breathing. The gas stung her eyes, but she
could still see. Shumira, on the other hand, did not possess
such resilience, and began to desperately scream and cry in
terror. The girl's arm shot out and wrapped around Shumira's
waist, easily lifting her off her feet as she jumped out the
cave.

The little girl quickly laid Shumira on the ground, and
immediately stood up, facing her opponents. Almost
instinctively, she instantly analyzed the situation. Six
figures stood forming a semicircle around them. Four of them
where clearly robots or cyborgs, two on each side, red eyes
fixed on her. The other two stood directly in front of her,
although further back. A man and a woman, or at least
disguised as such.

    "Neeeee-san! Shumira blind!" cried the small girl at her
side, desperately rubbing her teary eyes.

    "Don't worry Shumira," she whispered to her in a calm
voice, never taking her eyes off the figures around her,
"everything will be all right. I promise."

    "You better come quietly if you want to keep that
promise," the man said, "or we'll have to resort to something
more drastic than tear gas."

He was at least fifteen metres away. Nobody could have heard
her whispers from that distance.

No human, that is.

    "I don't know who you are, or what you want from us,
mister," she shouted, with barely controlled rage, "but you
hurt my friend, and I swear, if you don't leave now, I'll bury
you and your goons right here!"

    "My, aren't you an insolent little girl" he calmly
replied, lips forming a twisted smile. "I don't give a damn
about the tart, but if you care at all for her you'd better
shut your mouth and do as I tell you."

    "I'm warning you, I..."

    "You're warning *me*?!?" He furiously yelled back,
suddenly loosing his temper, "I only need what's in your head,
girl, the rest of you, including your friend, is disposable,
do you understand?"

The girl responded by slightly lowering her gaze, glaring back
Largo.  She could actually feel the articulations in her body
tensing, slightly flexing the small metal plates which formed
her exoskeleton, actuators ready to spring into action, the
energy furiously generating within her about to explode. Her
opponents were as yet unaware of this, however, as she stood
facing them with apparent calm save for her hostile stare.

They all remained silent. Everything was quiet save for
Shumira's gentle sobbing. The girl's cold honey eyes seemed
almost as lifeless as the red ones observing her. Each boomer
was almost twice her stature, and weighed at least three times
as much as she did. Protected by a 1.5 centimetre thick
duralumin/supertitanium armour and armed with a 3MW pulse
laser they were once part of an elite attack force created by
Genom. Largo had simply modified their AI somewhat, further
improving the original combat programming and boosting their
performance by another 20%. As Largo's personal guard they
formed a small unit, but one of unprecedented, deadly
efficiency.

She was not going to budge. This standoff couldn't last much
longer.

Largo clinched his right fist.

One of the boomers' mouth began to glow. An instant later, a
bright blue energy bubble formed, discharging a powerful laser
blast against the girl's body.

It was an instant too late.

She spun in the air, heading directly towards the boomer
*beside* the one which had fired. A split second later her
legs locked around its neck in a scissors hold. She twisted
backwards, using the mecha's body as a shield. Its neck ripped
wide open, a powerful gush of hydraulic liquid sprouting from
the severed joint.

As the robot staggered forwards, she threw the mecha's head at
the boomer who had fired, and used the decapitated boomer's
back as a springboard, violently pushing it against the other
two mecha. She hurled herself against the boomer who had first
attacked, which had stupidly smashed away the incoming
projectile with a swing of its arm, leaving its guard wide
open. Suddenly, a brutal barrage of Chi-enhanced blows send it
reeling backwards. The little girl's arms became a blur as
they violently smashed against its body, machine-gunning her
fists onto the metallic skin which began to dent and crack
under the savage, unrelenting assault. The boomer tried to
fight back, but the girl easily diverted or evaded its blows,
retaliating with an overwhelming flurry of punches and
kicks. The mecha soon discovered that its primitive combat
tactics were of little value against someone who could counter
its simple fighting style.

The girl suddenly noticed a blue glow reflecting off the
boomer's body.

She jumped up and backwards as the two laser beams blasted
through the dazed mecha. The two boomers behind her had ripped
apart their headless teammate in order to clear their line of
fire, shooting while she had her back to them.

She spun in the air, increasing her velocity of rotation by
tightly holding her arms together. It had taken her almost
five seconds to destroy the first two boomers.

She had to hurry.

She landed between the robots, momentarily disconcerting them
both. With her remaining angular momentum she swiftly twisted
around, her arm exploding in flames as it made contact with
the boomer on her right. The plasma jet instantly cut through
its armour, almost splitting its body in two at the waist. Her
hand then shot upwards towards the other boomer's face. The
heel of her palm instantly smashed the laser in its mouth,
sending the small steel-reinforced beryllium tube into its
skull, her index and middle fingers clawing its red eyes out
of their sockets.  Firmly clinching the mecha's face, she
pulled herself up and gave the other boomer a powerful kick in
the head, its body splitting in two. She fiercely clung to the
mecha's skull as it tried to entrap her in a bear hug. Before
it could wrap its powerful arms around her delicate frame,
however, she placed her feet against its wrists, preventing it
from closing the embrace. Using her whole body as a pivot, she
pulled backwards.

The manoeuvre broke both the boomer's arms, ripped off its
face, and violently send it hurling forwards, spinning in the
air. Its body smashed against the black limousine behind them,
wrecking the armoured vehicle. A moment later the girl
suddenly opened her eyes wide when she realized her
mistake. The robot's exposed cables had made contact with the
chassis, the spark instantly travelling through the frame and
into the fuel tank. The powerful explosion shook the ground, a
brilliant ball of fire which illuminated the night skies.

The shock wave immediately hit her with full force, sending
her staggering backwards, blinded by the intense flame and
heat. Still dazed by the blast, she sensed someone closing up
from behind. She spun around, trying to regain her balance. A
figure stood in front of her. A female figure.

    "Shumira?"

The brutal blow caught her directly on the temple, shattering
her skull.  The metallic cavity which formed the orbit of her
left eye collapsed, squashing the eyeball, which bursted under
the intense pressure.

The girl was, for an instant, literally blinded with pain,
until a fraction of a second later the cyberneural interface
blocked all stimuli transmission above a certain threshold.

A kick to her side almost smashed her ribcage inwards, but the
girl's body had already gone limp, so that it rolled with the
blow, sending her flying through the air. She fell heavily to
the ground, vomiting a gush of a dark brown, slightly oily
substance.

Her attacker was relentless, as she quickly approached her,
readying a potent kick to the little girl's body. This time,
however, the girl was prepared, and grabbed her opponent's
foot before it managed to make contact. Using the woman's
momentum she thrusted her leg upwards, sending her spinning
backwards. She performed a somersault and fell upright, but
not before the girl stood up and regained her footing.

The woman swiftly advanced again, her gaze a blank stare which
made her look all the more menacing. The girl immediately
counterattacked, her fist lashing out against her face. With
inhuman reflexes the woman evaded the punch, getting down on
all fours. Her leg suddenly whipped towards the little girl's
face, but she managed to divert the kick with a quick blow to
the shin. The girl jumped as the woman then tried to buckle
her knees with a sweep of her other leg. She landed and gave
her a kick on the neck with more than enough force to
decapitate any normal human being.

The woman rolled on the ground, holding her head with both her
hands. To the little girl's amazement, she quickly got up
again. A thin slab of bloodied flesh hung loosely from the
side of her neck. Underneath, the unmistakable glitter of
metal could be seen.

The m-66 once again advanced towards her, determined to finish
off its enemy. The girl prepared her defense.

The fight suddenly became a furious exchange of lightning-fast
blows and kicks, attacks and counter-attacks. The girl's
technique was obviously superior, landing most of her punches
while avoiding the mecha's vicious onslaught. The m-66 was by
now covered with blood and torn flesh. In spite of this, the
girl found herself retreating from the mecha's assault, pushed
back by her enemy's apparent immunity to even her most
powerful battering. A short jab to the girl's blind side
caught her by surprise, smashing four of her teeth.

The girl growled in fury.

Enough.

She caught the m-66's ankle in mid-air as it attempted a
roundhouse kick to her side, her hand a small star enveloped
in a white-hot cloud of superheated plasma, instantly severing
the foot. The m-66 suddenly found itself unable to maintain
its balance.

She commenced her brutal, systematic attack, repeatedly
pounding her fists against the robot's body, melting the
armour with the intense heat emanating from her right hand,
destroying the weakened armour with her left, she hit it
again.

And again.

And again.

The m-66 staggered backwards, out of control, small chunks of
flesh and twisted pieces of torn, half-melted metal flying
through the air.

Suddenly, their eyes met, and the girl stopped.

A bloody tear slowly fell down one of the woman's torn and
broken cheeks.

For a fleeting instant, she saw the fear and pain behind those
eyes, she saw the tremendous sadness and desperation, the
desolation and heartache of a life destroyed.

She saw herself.

The girl swiftly smashed the heel of her hand against the
woman's forehead, sending a powerful shockwave through her
skull, completely destroying the last remnants of her
fractured mind.

---

    "I must say, I'm impressed."

The girl slowly turned around.

A few metres away stood Largo, looking intently at the girl,
ready to act at the slightest provocation. Between his arms
Shumira's small body squirmed under the pressure of the
powerful grip with which he held her by the arm and
throat. She painfully sobbed and choked as he tightened his
hold.

    "I will not waste any more time with these games. You are
one deadly little viper, aren't you?" he gave the girl a
twisted smile, although it quickly faded as he flinched in
pain, the pressure inside his head increasing under the
stress.

    "Well, it really doesn't matter," he continued, trying to
ignore the intense neuralgia. "That little explosion of yours
is bound to attract unwanted company, sooner or later, so I'll
make this quick. You and your friend here are coming with
me. You give me any problems and she dies, understood?"

The girl's gaze slowly shifted towards Shumira. She looked
back at her, an expression of terror carved on her face. The
girl gave her a small, reassuring smile.

Her features hardened as she faced Largo and silently nodded.

    "How touching. I'm afraid, however, that for some reason I
just don't believe you. I think that you'll take the first
opportunity you get to ram that nasty blowtorch you have there
down my throat. So, do me and your friend a little favour."

    "Break your right arm."

The girl glared back at him, her mutilated stare piercing
through his eyes. Shumira began to sob uncontrollably.

    "Nooooo!!! Nee-saaaaan!!! Pleeeeease nooooo!!!"

She squealed in pain as Largo began to twist her delicate arm,
his fingers digging deep into her flesh.

    "Your arm or hers. Your choice."

Slowly the girl placed her right arm behind her back, tightly
holding the wrist with her left hand. With one powerful jerk
both her elbow and shoulder cracked, the exquisite
articulations twisting and yielding under the strain.

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Shumira screamed, a long, painful howl of utter despair which
startled Largo, who, for an instant, look took his eyes off
the little girl.

In one blinding move her left hand grabbed the knife behind
her, still hidden under her right sleeve, and hurled it
towards Largo's forehead.

Before he could react the blade struck.

And missed.

The knife embedded itself deep into his shoulder, mere
centimetres from Shumira's head. The white-haired girl,
however, didn't notice, as she furiously struggled to break
free. A gush of black, oily fluid erupted from the wound, and
Largo could feel the hydraulic pressure quickly dropping in
the arm surrounding the girl's neck.

The slippery liquid sprayed both Shumira and Largo, and with
one last powerful tug the girl was finally able to release
herself from his grip.  She staggered, reeling away from her
captor, free at last. Suddenly, the back of her foot hit a
rock, and she tripped backwards, directly on top of the
twisted remains of one of the boomers.

As she fell her head struck a deformed, chisel-like piece of
metal which protruded from the torn carcass. A dull, sickening
crack shot through the air as the back of her head smashed
against the jagged edge.

Shumira died instantly.

Everything became silent. The girl's gaze remained fixed on
Shumira's inert body. Largo too remained immobile, his stare
intent on the girl.  He could hear the faint noise of a
faraway helicopter approaching, either the ADP, or, worse,
Genom. His mind was racing. For an instant he thought he might
yet be able to defeat the girl. The injury to his arm was
minor, his offensive systems remained intact.

He prepared to advance. The girl stood still. He
froze. Something in the back of his mind had made him stop. He
looked at the mechanical corpses around him. It was a
trap. This monstrous thing was waiting for him, sensing his
intentions, ready to kill him at the slightest provocation.

He slowly began to back up. She had sustained very heavy
damage, perhaps irreparable. Her condition would only
worsen. He could still return to his hideout and prepare a new
hunt. If Genom found her, however...

Suddenly he felt himself falter as the numbing pain which
continuously assaulted his mind unexpectedly exploded within
his head. Tightly holding his skull between his hands he
staggered backwards. The girl simply stood in silence, never
taking her eye of the corpse in front of her.

He gave the girl one last glance, silently cursing her,
overwhelmed with hatred and pain. He then turned around and
swiftly disappeared into the night.

The girl ignored him completely.

---

The little girl calmly approached her friend and slowly knelt
next to her. She tenderly stroked her head and cheeks,
clearing the long white hairs from her face and closing her
large, beautiful blue eyes. She looked at her hand and noticed
it was tinged with the girl's blood. Very gently, she lifted
her finger to her face and with great delicacy traced a bright
red streak under each eye. Tear-like drops of blood trickled
down her cheeks as she bent over and gave Shumira one last
kiss on the forehead.

She could hear a helicopter a couple of kilometres away,
closing in.

She stood up, her tattered clothes stained with blood, gore
and oil, the stench of death emanating from her body, right
arm destroyed, dripping a dark brown fluid not unlike the
liquid flowing from her crushed eye and mouth. She faced
towards where Largo had fled. Slowly, she began to walk,
gradually increasing her pace, legs soon moving swiftly,
faster and faster, until they became a blur, her sleek body
cutting through the air like a knife, relentless, always
accelerating, always faster.

---

The wind shrieked in pain, bright red ground streaking under
her feet, crimson mountains around her, bleeding skies
above. Deep within her heart agony, rage and despair consumed
her, the screams in her head, over and over again, louder with
every passing moment. And yet through this demented maelstrom
her mind kept pushing her body, instantly compensating for her
loss of balance, always focused on the minute trail of black
fluid on the ground, crippled vision notwithstanding.

The chaos of the senses.

The all-consuming fury.

The screams in her mind.

And death, once again, dashed alongside her.

---

He knew the girl was after him.

He could sense it.

Largo quickly ran over the ruined city wasteland. The knife
she had thrown at him was still embedded deep inside his
shoulder, which now glistered from the oily fluid he bled. The
"nerves" in his arm had already blocked all pain receptors in
that region, but he didn't remove the blade since it would
only worsen the leakage.

The helicopter had quickly passed not far away from his
location. It was indeed a Genom aircraft, but they hadn't
spotted him. ADP police sirens howled in the distance.

He suddenly stopped besides the ruins of a small church.

A high-pitched noise shrilled behind him, rapidly increasing
in volume.

Largo spun around. Less than a two hundred metres away the
girl was racing towards him at an incredible speed. He
instantly readied himself, clinching his fists, rerouting all
available power to his muscles' servomotors, full combat
mode. Killing her would seal his fate, but it no longer
mattered. He was surprised to realize he really didn't care
about anything any longer. His lust for life and power were of
little importance now. For the first time everything was clear
and simple. Kill or be killed. No scheming, no intricate plans
or conspiracies. A fulminating blast, followed by a single
blow to her head, directly into her crushed eye, was all it
would take. He would then rip her brains out and destroy them
as surely as he would be destroying himself.

The pain in his head actually eased. He grinned at the irony.

Sixty metres from where he stood the girl suddenly jumped,
head first.  He blasted her with the powerful electromagnetic
repulsor built into his body. The invisible shock wave smashed
into her needle-like body, which now whirled like a leaf,
furiously spinning out of control.

At 300 metres per second she desperately twisted her small
frame in mid-air, but the loss of her arm and vision made it
impossible to regain control. She had lost all sense of
direction. In a fraction of a second she would violently crash
against the ground. Panic swelled within her as she began to
scream.

And then everything froze.

And she remembered.

And she knew.

At last.

Yoko.

She slowly extended her arm, her hand almost caressing the
hard surface just below her. Gently pressing the tip of her
fingers against the ground, she pushed with all the strength
she was capable of.

And suddenly time caught up with itself.

Even with his enhanced psyche Largo was barely capable of
understanding what had happened. He somehow managed to realize
that the girl had performed an impossible manoeuvre, when her
feet smashed against his body at Mach 1. The terrifying blow
ripped through his abdomen, metal against metal, shredding it
apart, an infernal clash which exploded in a firework of
sparks and hydraulic fluid.

Largo twisted like a broken doll, torso almost split in two,
gushes of dark liquid sprouting from the shattered
bodyarmour. He was projected backwards, knocked off his feet,
out of control, quickly loosing power, actually feeling the
energy draining from his system as the delicate circuits and
servomotors within him short-circuited and ceased to
function. The neural network which laced the insides of his
body automatically shut down, severing all connections between
his mind and the robotics in an attempt to prevent the ensuing
electrical feedback into his brain. Largo's existence became
silent and pitch dark when he lost contact with the external
world.

Time had lost its meaning. He was in a static limbo, a void of
light, sound and sensation. Nothingness. The brain itself is
insensible to external stimuli. For the first time in many
years he was at peace, alone in his oblivion. Even the
continuous torment in which he had been living had ceased.

He felt... safe.

Suddenly, a searing white flash of agonizing pain shattered
his very soul.

Everything that Largo knew or felt, every single thought and
memory he ever possessed was utterly vanquished, replaced by
an indescribable torment, an all-consuming fire which
cauterized every passage within his brain, an explosion of
pain so excruciatingly powerful that it tore and ravished
through his very notion of reality.

Largo went mad with pain.

Even if he had been able to see what was happening, it is
unlikely that the agony which flooded his senses would have
allowed him understand what was being done to him.

The girl was now standing above his shattered body. His torso
had been cracked open like a shell, the artificial spinal
column ripped out of his back. A myriad of cables hung between
the metallic carcass and the snake-like spine the girl held
tightly in her hand.

It was most brutally efficient torture conceivable, a
continuous electro-shock straight through the neural interface
which connected every single nerve between his brain and the
rest of his body. Every possible receptor was excited by a
current a thousand times larger than any natural sensation was
capable of. The built-in microfuses had been immediately
destroyed by the intense discharge which jumped over the
synapses. The agony was beyond imagination, greater than any
human being had ever felt. Largo was experiencing the ultimate
Hell.

She continued the electro-torture for a long time, a blank
expression on her face. The sweet smell of ozone filled the
air. Unbeknownst to her, Largo had already ceased to
exist. Although the pain still ravaged through the deepest
confines of his mind, the extensive brain damage produced by
the massive overload would leave him a comatose vegetable for
the rest of his life.

The girl, however, had other plans.

In one final pulse she raised the power a million-fold. Her
arm blazed like a star, tongues of ionic plasma cutting
through the air, a lightning blast of electricity flowing
directly into his brain. The cables quickly melted, but not
before transmitting the infernal discharge into Largo's
agonizing mind. The synapses in his brain burned away, the
neurons literally burst apart. In an orgasm of pure,
unadulterated pain, the artificial cerebrospinal fluid
instantly vaporized, destroying everything within his skull,
causing his cranium to violently explode.

The blaze extinguished and she let go of the charred remains
in her hand, silently contemplating the metallic carcass at
her feet.

Small drops began to splash against the torn body with little
thumps as it started to rain.

A couple of minutes later she turned around and aimlessly
walked away.  After a few steps, however, she fell to her
knees.

She crouched until her forehead touched the ground, and
bitterly began to weep.

---

The small girl lay in the alley, her back against the cracked
brick wall of an abandoned warehouse. Legs spread out, she was
covered with garbage and newspapers. The tattered clothes she
wore were filthy and stained with dark smudges of oil and dry
blood. The girl did not move. She did not eat nor sleep. She
was not dead, but she wasn't alive either. In the shadows of
the abandoned buildings, engulfed by darkness during the
night, she existed, and time itself seemed to ignore her
presence. A child's favourite ragdoll, thrown away and soon
forgotten. A broken angel whose memory haunted no one but
herself.


_________________________________
marco@chinook.physics.utoronto.ca
Gunnm: Broken Angel
http://128.100.80.13/marco/alita.html