Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Yours Truly 2032 ❯ Thunder Rising ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

I took the helmet in my armoured hands... it felt like solidified air. My brain was throwing itself through loops trying to understand why something which looked so heavy, should be so light. I was holding a hollow eggshell in my hands, and I was terrified just on gentle squeeze too much and it would crumble into shards.

�A World of made cardboard and sugarglass or what?� I commented under my breath.

Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Cyberpunk / Mecha / Sci-fi | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 01.18.2010 | Pages: 73 | Words: 73.4K | Visits: 947 | Status: Work In Progress

Yours Truly, 2032

Yet another BubbleGum Crisis SI, in the traditional form

Bubblegum Crisis... (c) Artmic/Youmix.

I'm just borrowing this for a while, for some Fair Deal fun.

Mmmkay?

4: Thunder Rising

------>>

It was a Tuesday morning like any other. I'd slept fine... no nightmares about boomer claws ripping through my chest or anything... thank God for that.

How surreal.

My apartment was the same as I'd left it on Monday. The television chattered about some German made drilling machine excavating a new underground city, and the air-conditioning was still completely and totally FUBAR'd. There were no scars on my body, not even a red mark on my breast where the nail had gone in. The only proof I had of last night's activities was a dull ache in my chest, my shoulder was a little stiff, and a slight lethargy as my body struggled to replace the blood it had lost. Nothing I couldn't live with, it'd be gone by evening anyway. My ribs were healing up happily, and that punctured lung had long since fixed itself. Standing in front of a mirror, I poked at my breast, trying to find any evidence at all that the needle had been there.

The original shot felt like I'd been hit by a supercharged taser, and then some. But now, there was no sign of it. Poking myself gently in the chest tickled just as much on Tuesday morning, as it did on any other morning. It was only then that I realised just how close that needle had come to hitting my heart... another inch maybe, or a different angle, and it would've cut right through it. Chillingly, I realised I'd've bled out in minutes.

The thought followed me through my daily routine...

I went to work, taking the same train as always. Life carried on... the only proof I had of what I'd actually done was inside my own head. As the pains in my body began to simmer down, the Knight Sabers, Irene, the motorcycle, the whole weekend seemed as if it was nothing more than a dream. I didn't feel like I'd really done any of the things I'd remembered doing.

Even though I'd almost been killed.

I got into work early, planning on making up for lost time over the weekend. I was short on cash, to put it mildly. Might have to get creative with how I get my food this week... At least rent was covered.

“Deckard!” the voice of Kentaro Nakamura rang through the club, “You're early.”

He was down at the stage, fixing something with one of the cyberdroids. Tonight's act, Sekiria.

“Making time up!” I called down, leaning against the railings. They creaked ominously.

“Well then, I hope you had a relaxing weekend, because we got to get some stuff up down here, and we have to get it up before the bar opens.”

“Shit,” I swore to myself, flexing my shoulder. It still hurt, and it didn't look like it was going to get any better anytime soon.

The day wore on, the routines of working life ticking-over, the same as they usually did. The band was good, a bit too mid-nineties, but all right. People came, people went... there was one who was a total arsehole, and quickly lost the ability to hold his drink. Thud, he went, slumping at the bar. That'd teach the bugger for grabbing a feel.

I got home at 03:01:11

Same as always.

Body all healed up.

And that was it. The only evidence I'd ever done anything but go to work over the weekend was gone. I couldn't really believe I'd actually done something like that. The hardsuits, the hospital, the ride through the city, gunning down the boomer, the grenade... even nearly getting killed by that boomer... I really didn't feel like I'd done any of that. It just didn't seem possible. I had to go to Raven's on Sunday...

Or did I?

It was so weird. Like watching a TV show in my head, over and over again.

------>>

“He was such a creep!” Linna spat bitterly, “ I mean, sure I had to break three dates, but I had good reasons, he still shouldn't have broken up with me. Why can't he understand that I have to do things outside of our relationship?

”They never do,” I comforted, nudging a glass of red wine into her hands.

It was a better option than asking her how she would've felt if he'd stood her up three times in a row. The bar was quiet, boomers were changing the decorations for tonight's act, The Replicants were playing again.

“It's not like I didn't have a good reason,” she continued, “Even if it wasn't a reason I could tell him about, the least he could do was trust me. I mean, that's what you're supposed to do in a relationship, isn't it? Trust each other?”

I nodded.

“I am immune to love,” I grinned back, “Cybernetics relieve sex drive.”

Technically not true, I'd only switched it off. It'd be a cold day in hell before I switched it back on again.

“Don't tease,” she grumbled, “This is serious!” There were tears in her eyes. I'll bet.

“I mean... sorry... ” what did I mean, “I never have boyfriend in life.” I had a girlfriend, but that was a different life, “I never really want one. I don't know,” I shrugged.

She took a long deep breath, before swallowing a mouthful from her glass.

“Sometimes, I hate being a Knight Saber, it gets in the way of life so much. It really is a pain in the ass. Every night I plan something, every night, somebody decides to send a boomer on a rampage.”

“I doubt they do it on purpose,” I deflected.

“I know,” she snarled, before catching herself, “But... um... it's still so frustrating.”

Steer her away from the topic of her boyfriend, that was the plan.

“So why join KS in the place first?” I questioned, offering more wine out of my own pocket.

“No, I'll pay,” Linna waved it off, placing a couple of hundred on the table. “Money's tight for you, isn't it?”

I nodded. I completely forgot I had a 1.2 million yen sitting in a number-only bank account somewhere in Zurich. The dancer just sighed, clutching the glass in both hands. She stared into her reflection for a moment, before drawing a deep breath.

“That's why I joined the club,” club being a nice euphemism for the Sabers, “I wasn't making money as a dancer, and the landlord was at the door. This audition came up for a part, and I could've either gone for it, or gone to my day job. Thing was, if I didn't get the part, I wouldn't be able to make the rent. But if I got the part, I'd have no problems for the rest of the year, so I went for it.”

She took another sip, while I gave a cursory glance to be sure there were no customers around.

“Anyway, I danced my ass off, hitting each and every mark they wanted, I was the best there was, but they still said no. They just didn't want me,” she shrugged, “I was annoyed of course, because that meant I was out on my ear, no job, no home... and then.. guess who appeared?”

“Sylia?”

She nodded. Obviously. “She offered me a one-time job, saying she was impressed with my dancing skills, and that she might have a position that would put them to good use. She offered me a million yen, how could I say no?”

“This sounds familiar,” I commented with a rueful grin.

“It's how she does it,” giggled Linna, alcohol heating her features, “I did the job, and she paid me well, and I was quite happy with it, I could live comfortably for the next six months while I figured out what to do. Until she decided to offer me another, permanent job. She told me what we did, and why... and I found that I wanted to do it, so I agreed.”

“So she not only me she did to?” I wondered aloud.

Linna laughed, “It's how she recruits. NenÃ© told me she got her the same way. I don't know how she recruited Priss though, she never told anyone, and Sylia just said it's Priss' story to tell.”

“Priss complicated,” I agreed, “I still not know how she feel about me,” It was hard to put into words in English, let alone Japanese, “It not she do not like me... more... very uncomfortable.”

“It's her way with new people,” Linna repeated what I'd been told before, “She was like that with me too. Priss doesn't trust easily, but when she does, she'll never let go of you. She's really quite sweet once you get to know her. Sometimes, we have dinner together.”

I quirked a curious eyebrow.

“Not like that!” she batted my thoughts way. And if I'd actually turned on my sexuality I'd've found something alluring to it, as it was, the thought of Priss and Linna in bed together was only mildly interesting, in a factual manner. “Sometimes it's just more convenient, especially if she's short on money.” she paused. “Priss is a mystery though, the club was originally just her and Sylia, NenÃ© didn't join until 6 months after Priss, and me a few months later.”

“At least I not alone.”

“Back to me now,” Linna took another sip, the found her glass was empty. “I started in the club, because the money was good, it let me pursue my dreams, while keeping a roof over my head, but then after a few missions, I saw how much good we were actually doing for the people in the city, and I actually started to enjoy it, and how close we were all getting.”

I suddenly felt achingly lonely, and desperate to hide it.

“So,” Linna leaned forward on her steepled hands, her features forming into a chilling gaze that reminded me of Gendou Ikari, “Now that I've told you why I joined, maybe you can tell me how Sylia convinced you?”

I started back, feeling a slightly embarrassed flush heat my cheeks. My reason... well.. it seemed a bit stupid, come to think of it. Money was a fine good... but because I got hot for the hardware? Okay, so it wasn't that extreme, but something about having my own hardsuit certainly made me feel giddy. I glanced around, seeing the old newspaper man shuffling his way to the bar... he just saved my blushes.

“I have to deal with customer first,” I grinned. Linna narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me.

It was nothing more than a delaying tactic... but it gave me some time. Double Suntory, ice and peanuts... 800 yen... thank you sir and enjoy. That Brumm-Baer is really something. Not interested... damn. And Linna was scowling bloody daggers at me for making the attempt. I'm not going to get away with this, am I?

“Sorry,” I apologised a little sheepishly, “But it is embarrassing.”

“Really?” she leaned forward. Embarrassing stories were always the best.

“Sylia offered money,” I said, “I wanted go home, and she offer more than enough money. But, I making money, so money not so important for me. I want to stay safe..” how can I put it, “Afraid of death. I did first mission anyway, money too good. Em... Sylia decided to show me club equipment.”

I leaned forward, Linna's strawberry perfume tingling my nostrils and whispered.

“I wanted my own hardsuit.”

Linna started back, stunned, the expression on her face a sort of 'Is that all?' She was almost disappointed.

“Really, I thought it might have something to do with what you were before you got your prosthethics,” she needled, her eyes devilishly narrow.

I shrugged, “No secret.”

“Damn.”

We giggled.

“Hardsuits are really awesome, I still remember the first time I tried mine, it was so tight and light, it was like wearing tights over my whole body.”

“I never wear tights,” I stated.

Except for fishnet stockings once, the week before, on stage.

Linna pouted, “You have to embrace your body. There are women out there who would murder for a figure you've been given off the shelf, you know?” she wagged her finger at me. “I had to work for years to hone my body to the athletic perfection you see here.”

I see.

“It not all roses, I have problem with being machine too.”

“Oh?”

“Well,” I stood up, taking the haughty position on this, “I starve after 4 days no food. I need metal in my food. ” I gathered momentum on this one, “no drunk, I am un-person according to law. Boomer syndrome, no family, no home.”

“I see,” Linna stopped dead, while I jammed on the brakes, stunned for a second.

I shivered gently for a moment, mild guilt warring with almost antarctic loneliness. It stung deep for a moment, and I backed up, against the register at the back of the bar.

“You need a boyfriend,” she suggested sagely.

“I not interested in sex,” I stated firmly, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Sex doesn't have to come into it,” she explained, “Even just being with another person is enough. Everyone needs companionship, Meg, even if he's just someone with a shoulder to rest your head on, it's nice to have somebody there. Somebody who listens to you, who trusts you, and makes you feel wanted.”

I felt like I was the only person in the world, in the middle of the most densely populated city on the planet.

“Getting somebody should be simple enough, with a body like yours you could have anybody out.”

“But, they only want my body, not me,” I said. “All everybody sees is this,” I pointed to my chest, “And not just men either by the way. That's what they want, not me.”

I screwed my eyes shut, shaking my head to clear some seeping tears.

“It just takes time for people to get to know you. Bait with good looks, reel them in with a winning personality. Or go ask someone you're interested in out, rather than waiting for them. That way, you can choose a man for his personality, and not his looks.”

“I still don't want to,” I said, my voice small.

Being a 33-S would not make for a stable relationship, male or female.

“Your choice,” shrugged the dancer, taking another sip from her glass, “Anyway, just who would be your ideal man?”

“I never thought about it.”

“Well now's the time” she smirked.

I didn't want to think about it. Quick, just make something up... anything.

“Just someone who like me, not my body... ” I paused, and added one more caveat, “... who isn't ugly.”

“Good luck,” she snorted, “That's what every woman wants, so join the queue.”

I chuckled lightly, then had a spark of inspiration flare in my mind.

“I like nerds,” I said shyly.

It made perfect sense in my mind.

“Nerds?” blurted Linna. From the expression on her face, I could've told her I like hamsters, or midgets, or something extraordinarily weird.

“Well,” I stood up for the person I once was, “Jocks are assholes. Nerds are quiet, shy and... ”I blushed slightly, “we share common interests.”

“Like what?” queried Linna, her face lighting up.

“Sequential art and animation,” sounded so much better.

“What?”

“Anime and Manga.”

Among other nerdy things. Linna just giggled softly into her own hand, “I get it!” she announced. “You used to be a nerd yourself, so you stick with what you know. You want to go out with yourself!”

Newspaper man harrumphed.

“Please,” I begged, my eyes scanning around the otherwise empty bar. Shame flared hot throughout my body.

“It's no shame,” she laughed, “Most women look to marry their fathers anyway.”

“Besides it's true,” I crossed my arms defiantly, “Nerds are nicer and will appreciate me. Is that what everyone wants?”

Linna nodded. “I suppose it's true. If you don't get many girfriends, you'll appreciate the ones you have even more.”

I wasn't sure why I laughed at that, but I did.

“I came here to listen to Priss' new song, she said she was playing it for the first time in public tonight, how did we get onto this topic?”

I shrugged. “More Wine?”

“No, I have to drive,” she answered. “Just lemonade or something when this runs out please.”

The bar started to crowd, as more people filtered in. Wednesday night was Replicants night was a busy night. The noise level rose steadily as the evening rush hit hold, and I had to dart between customers and Linna.

“NenÃ© won't be here,” she called over to me while I dealt with some gentleman's drinks, “She's doing overtime to pay for Sunday?”

“Sunday?” back to the man involved, “3200 yen please, can you carry?”

“Club Rule 11... Penalty for any violations is Death. In this case, Death by Chocolate,” she giggled, “NenÃ©'s paying for a five star meal at the St. Regis hotel.”

I winced. The place where a cup of coffee cost more than I made in a week. “Poor NenÃ©.”

“Her own fault,” shrugged Linna.

Making change while holding conversation, thank God for being a boomer. Yes sir, that's 2600 yen for the lot and Isildore will bring it to the table. Two pints of Kirin, bottle of red wine? One moment.

“Anyway Linna, I don't think I have proper clothes,” I said as I breezed past, “Denim not thing for expensive place.”

I could do it, but I'd feel like an idiot.

“We can go shopping during the week,” suggested the Saber brightly, as I passed in the opposite direction, arms full of cold bottles “ I know this place that does good clothes, but is pretty cheap.”

“No problem,” I nodded.

Clothes shopping... never interested me before. But I needed something formal to wear... and I needed an expert opinion. Besides, spending time with Linna was nice. That'll be 1220 yen, thanks mate...

“Only free on mornings or Sunday,” I said, punching figures into the till. It told me the answers I'd had long ago.

“Sunday morning?” she questioned as I rushed past with the change

“Sunday's good,” I said, quite easily keeping up with demands.

Pints of beer, bottles, glasses, ice, water, lemonade... easy enough. Make change... another person staring at my chest... shrug, as if that'd change anytime soon. Count it out, hand it back. Next in line, some other redhead more interested in trying to score with Linna... Guinness and whatever she's having, coming right up.

I heard the distinctive crack of palm against cheek behind me. When I got back, he was gone, and Linna was steaming with anger. There was money on the table

“At least he paid for drink first,” I gave a half hearted laugh.

“Yep, pervert,” she snorted, flexing her right hand.

Justice had been served, leaving a bad taste in its victim's mouth. I watched him skulking towards a corner, and silently signalled to one of the bouncers to escort him from the premises. A little favouritism never hurt anyone.

“I love this job,” I grinned at her, gesturing smugly towards the front door, where the redhead was being tossed out on his arse.

“This boomer is assaulting me!” he screeched, drawing hundreds of eyes, “It's berserk! You see it! It's assaulting me.”

He was carried like a squealing pig. Now that's job satisfaction.

The Replicants took stage afterwards, with only a few hangers on left behind up in the bar, while the rest were ensnared by the rapture of the dance floor below.

“This is a new one we've been working on,” Priss started, ruffling that blonde wig of hers. She had a unique way of addressing each and every member of the audience personally, simultaneously. As she stood at that mike, you always felt as if you were the only person in the entire building, “It's about how, no matter how far you get knocked down, no matter how backed into a corner you are, you should never give up!”

Priss punched the air and the crowd cheered.

“This song's called Victory.”

Cheers turned to ecstatic screams as the guitars kicked in, the beat punching hard in the chest. In the corner, my laptop was hooked into the audio feed, recording a bootleg for the PirateShip.

----->>

Sunday morning, and I was waiting for the knock on the door from Linna, shopping, then a fitting for a new hardsuit, followed by a gourmet meal at someone else's expense.

Outside, basking in the morning sun, Megatokyo carried on as it always did, the binmen's strike being ended by summary dismissal of all involved, including those who passed the pickets. Their replacements were new Ebisu-made Be-66 with newly developed power boosters, the announcement of the contract being broadcast by the cast-plastic face of the machine's designer, one Miriam Yoshida, with a Cheshire-cat grin plastered on that face, set fast by layers of false-tan.

An arrogant bugger alright, it was so obvious, it was hilarious. When was it, he'd orchestrate the assault on the ADPolice building? The end of 2033, if I remembered right. There were a load of little clues to be found, the first links in the chains of future events being forged on TV, radio and in the newspapers. I only knew about it, because I knew where some of these chains would go. And then, there were the results of my presence.

“Coming soon on DHK-4, the inside story of murder and intrigue within one of GENOM's most secret programs, an interview with a victim of corporate machinations.”

An ecstatic thrill ran through my body each time that ad ran on television. I saved Irene's life!... sort of. And I'm glad I didn't have to die to do it.

The cleanup from Monday's floods marched onwards, a good chunk of the fault still being a poor man's Venice. ADPolice were investigating a collapsed building, and the remains of a firefight, while elsewhere in the city, rioting former sanitation workers had put three officers in hospital. There was a new governor being installed by the SDPC in Aldrin city, on the Moon. SDPC-IV 'Kindlinas' was being repaired after being hit by Hubble, but the problem of space debris was still being mostly ignored. The Union of Space Security and Defence was too busy sorting out the public mess after the killer doll incident to do much about it anyway.

The Knight Sabers were rarely if ever mentioned. GENOM's search engine didn't even provide any hits online for the group, and even the independent search engines only brought up a few stray websites, with the barest smattering of grainy, motion-blurred photographs, and testimony from a few ADPolice officers, office labourers and randomers from the streets who claimed their lives had been saved by the hardsuited heroes. The Sabers were practically spectres... people believed they existed, but nobody knew for sure. There were rumours of a program that had once been on the 'net, a puzzle which once solved included an invitation to join the group, but most of those were second hand. It still made me question what Sylia would've done if a man had solved it before NenÃ©...

I remembered what Tet had written in that letter, about why I was a 33-S, and came to the obvious conclusion:

She probably would've paid for the surgery. I gave a harsh laugh at the thought of it. At least they were keeping quiet, that was the main thing. Whatever they wanted me to do, I was obviously doing it well enough that they were quite happy to leave me alone.

And who was Toren Smith anyway?

The animÃ© reference was obvious, but it didn't mean anything. There were plenty of people who 'rejoiced' in being named after TV characters, by unfortunate accident or through cruelty of parent. The building manager was a former Kendo practitioner who rejoiced in the name Akane Saotome, but she grew up in former Kobe from what I'd heard, and was nearing 80. For obvious reasons, she hated Ranma Â½.

There was nothing I could find on the internet about Toren. Probably because it was just a bloody pseudonym. Tet corp had a website alright, but it wasn't all that helpful. It was run by the Carver family, and was generally regarded as an honourable corporation by the denizens of the web, holding itself to the highest standards of corporate responsibility and ethics. It was also famous for a single blood red rose in their corporate headquarters' lobby, apparently decades old.

I sat there, reading this on my laptop screen, wondering where I'd seen all this before. There was something disturbingly familiar about it, like staring at a college exam paper I hadn't quite studied enough for. Everything looked familiar, I remembered seeing it somewhere, perhaps reading about it, but for the life of me no matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn't place it. Some part of my brain had decided it would've been bloody hilarious to hide that fact from me, and watch me sweat trying to figure out what it was.

It was like my second year maths exam alright. I stared at it, wracking my brains for an answer, but nothing volunteered itself.

Nothing at all.

Not a sausage.

Maybe they erased it?

A dread chill fell over my body as I ruminated over the possibility. It wasn't a hard thing to do. It would've had to have been done already... I was three years old, with no memory of those years. They'd been replaced completely with my memories, maybe there were a few phantoms left behind after the process?

I sighed...

Another Ghost in the 'X'... I was getting bloody sick of it.

That was a good and interesting analogy a month ago, now it was just an annoying buzzword inside my head. I was the Ghost in the Machine, the sexaroid with a soul. Priss liked to call me a Ghost in the Shell, again not a bloody animÃ© reference... Priss wasn't the type to be able to tell a Motoko Kusanagi from a motorised lawnmower... she meant exactly what she said. As far as she was concerned, I was a dead person, alive only inside a machine body. And now I was talking to myself about Ghosts of memories...

A Ghost was a shadow of something that had once been alive, a spectre that didn't physically exist in any form, but could still be sensed. Data was a ghost, data didn't exist, as such... it was just a few bits flipped a certain way on a disk platter... and if the human mind could be manipulated as easily as a spreadsheet on a disk... It was illegal of course, but it could still be done. Illegality just made it expensive. The same basic techniques originally designed to program/reprogram cyberdroid biochips, as far as I understood it.

This was tiring.

I slammed the brakes on in my mind. I hated things like this...

It was a small mercy when Linna finally knocked, the doorbell having gone the way of the air conditioner. Three sharp raps on the steel door and I was freed from my own mental trap. Thank you Linna Yamazaki... I could've kissed her... I wanted to do it, to just press my moist lips up against her own and let the sparks fly, but I sullenly squelched that thought underfoot with a mental sigh. It just wouldn't work. I stamped down hard on the hollow melancholy welling up the back of my throat, and forced a plastic smile.

Door open... a can of WD-40 having silenced the hinge... “Morning!” I bubbled. I was trying to hide the tug of war going on deep inside. I was glad to be going out, but there was something empty about it... I couldn't put my finger on it at the time. I knew I considered Linna a friend, NenÃ© too, but there was something missing inside...

“Morning Meg!” answered the fitness instructor, adjusting her hair-band a little. “Ready to go?”

A sullen NenÃ© followed behind, looking like an inmate walking the final mile, or maybe a child being pulled through a sweet shop, whose parent was a fruit loving dentist.

“Morning,” she said, pursing her lips bitterly for a second.

“Come inside for tea or something?” I offered, standing aside from the doorway.

“No,” she shook her head, “ We really have to hurry, before the city begins to fill up, y'know.”

“Yup,” I nodded, and NenÃ© sighed.

“And I still don't have enough money for the meal tonight,”

“Well that's your own fault,” chided Linna.

“I know” groaned the hacker, throwing her eyes to the heavens. “Rule Number 1... but I thought it didn't matter since Sylia'd already decided,... This is going to suck,” she complained, putting her hands into her pocket.

“Then why did you come?” questioned Linna, a fiendish smirk forming on her lips.

“Because... !” blasted the police operator, before running right into a mental brick wall... “I forgot,” she finished, her voice like as small a solitary shrew in a cathedral. She twirled a few strands of pink hair around between her fingers, looking desperately like she wanted to just melt into the concrete walkway. I giggled into my hand, having picked up that little mannerism sometime over the last month.

“Don't rub it in,” she groaned to her feet, “I can't even use my club account until after I pay for this, Sylia locked it out.”

“Harsh,” winced Linna.

“Definitely... ” I concurred.

“At least it's Death by Chocolate, and not Death by... ” she paused... “How would Sylia enforce rule 11 anyway?”

I shrugged, “I do not think she would.”

“Not unless someone was a spy anyway,” giggled Linna...

A sudden crushing silence descended on the three of us, punctuated only by the distant chatter of the television behind me. We glanced between each other, the atmosphere quickly turning oppressively stale.

“Well, they'd deserve it!” declared NenÃ© to the world.

A few kids playing football in the car park below looked up for a moment, before returning to their game.

“I don't think anybody would,” I said... even the thought of it made me uncomfortable, “Everybody friends right?... So no betray friends?”

Both women nodded.

“But there are some things that are more important that friendship,” noted Linna, sighing as she leant down against the guardrail, staring the the opposing building. “Each of us probably has a weakness somewhere.”

Change the subject... for God's sake change the subject...

“Like Cheesecake,” I grinned viciously at NenÃ©

“I do not have a weakness for cheesecake!” she screeched, her face reddening beautifully.

“On the way here you were saying how you'd saved enough money to try their Greek Ice-Cream with Belgian chocolate hot fudge sundae for dessert,” accused Linna.

NenÃ© was the sacrificial lamb, for the sake of improving everyone's mood...

“Alright,” she moaned, defeat weighing down on her shoulders “But if I have to pay for it, I can at least treat myself, right?”

“Speaking of tonight, we'd better get going before the traffic gets too heavy,” Linna reminded us that we were still standing just outside my apartment. “And don't forget your handbag, Meg,” she reminded me personally.

“Not have one,” I answered with a smile, showing my empty hands before I pulled the door shut behind me.

The TV was still on... forgot about that, but I had my keys, and more importantly, my wallet. This promised to be fun.

I had to sit in the back of Linna's Scenic... not that I minded. The two other Sabers chatted to each other up front, about Linna's new boyfriend, about NenÃ©'s upcoming promotion and just how much this meal was going to cost, and how much overtime NenÃ© had to do... and would have to do to cover the bill. I really didn't feel like anything I had to say would add to to conversation... I'd never had a boyfriend, didn't work for the police, hated overtime but loved money as much as the next person, and just didn't feel like talking. Watching the city outside rush past, my thoughts kept drifting back to what Linna had said about weaknesses. That was how Sylia had convinced me to join, after all... by dangling something in front of me I couldn't resist... what would it take to force me to turn against them?

How much money?

Or even just a threat against someone I cared about?

Well, that wasn't a problem for me... Unlike NenÃ©, I didn't have any family. It occurred to me that maybe that was why Sylia seemed to prefer orphaned children, people with very few family ties to be pulled on, very few connections to anyone... nobody who could be used as leverage. I had no family here... my only friends were in the two front seats of this car... my job was disposable, my little secret identity... well... that was something I'd talked over with Sylia a while back. Sylia'd promised to protect me if that happened, and I'd trust her more than anyone trying to blackmail me.

Provided I could keep a rational head, of course.

There was one thing though... one little idea that nagged at me.

What if someone offered me a way home?

A door back to my old life, the only catch being I had to tell everything and anything about the club to the person with the key. Well, there was only one group who knew where I came from, only one group who probably had the technology to send me home. And this was the same group who wanted me to be a member of the Knight Sabers in the first place?

I had a dreadful idea why... not for information... they might want a mole to destroy the organisation, from the inside. Just plant the bomb in the building and we'll send you home... easy as pie. Betray us, and be a sex toy for the rest of your life. My eyes stared back at me, my reflection sullenly watching the world outside. Two AD Police trucks were parked outside cafÃ©, one scorched and dented.

What would I do?

At first, I thought I would jump at the chance, do anything to go home, to see my dog, my family... to have everything back the way it was, but watching the city go past, I wasn't so sure about that.

Would I betray Sylia, Priss, NenÃ© and Linna, for the sake of just getting home?

I'd be tempted... sorely tempted.

----->>

Shopping made sense, when you were the one trying clothes on anyway. It might even have been fun. Silk and satin, skirts, blouses and dresses... all were tried and tested. And NenÃ© sat through it all, wearing that same bored-to-death look I'd worn many times myself... in a past life. Maybe that was what made the difference. The gossip was... well... gossip. I started jutting in every now and then, if the conversation drifted to something I knew about, like car maintenance, comfort over fashion... always comfort... and the relative merits of certain sexual positions. That last one made two things perfectly obvious. Linna knew what she was talking about. NenÃ© didn't.

I still didn't understand the whole deal about sexy lacy lingerie, it was a pain to put on, a pain to take off, and just looked uncomfortable and pointless... considering it was underwear never to be seen by anyone. But false silk was more comfortable against sensitive skin the cheap cotton...

It was a good few hours...

I actually felt like I was there as part of a group for a while, rather than just a hanger-on showing up to make up the numbers. A small voice pointed out that this was only because they didn't know what I actually was. I squashed that thought... it was too nice being with people to worry about things like that. Just sit back in the car and enjoy it. The things you find out about people.

NenÃ© Romanova claimed to be a descended of the Russian Royal Family... If that was true, then I was the King of England.

It was mid afternoon, when Linna finally parked up outside Raven's. The shock of jumping out of a nice, cool air-conditioned car, and into the forge that was the fault nearly floored me. It kicked the breath out of my lungs, and I staggered to the shade.

Our bags were left in the car, hidden in the boot. This was not the best part of town to leave expensive clothes sitting in plain view inside a car. Either the clothes or the car would go missing.

“Afternoon, ladies,” greeted Raven, the old scientist polishing one of his projects, an old black Supra. “Sylia and Priss're downstairs.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” the three of us chorused... more or less. Different accents, different honorifics, even different languages, but the gist of it was the same.

“Oh and Meg, One thing.” he held me up for a second.

“What?”

He'd restored my bike already?

“I told you so!” he boasted, slapping me hard on the back. I glowered down at him for a second, but he stood firm and cackled like a mad scientist, before giving a thumbs up. I just sighed and smiled. With hindsight, it really should've been bloody obvious to me what was happening.

“Yeah.”

“Don't feel so bad,” he consoled, “The other two said the exact same thing when they first joined.”

“And Priss?”

The doctor exhaled, massaging his chin with his hand as he thought back.

“Sylia'd recruited her well before she told me what she was planning. You'd have to talk to Priss herself about that.”

And Priss wouldn't say a word if I asked... and I'd probably earn a thick lip to boot. I didn't see her inside the garage, so I guessed she might've been 'downstairs'. I followed Linna and NenÃ© through, each of us giving a quick “Hi,” as we passed.

“Hey,” the boy glanced up from the bare bones of his project to watch us pass.

NenÃ© smiled at him, and the air tingled with a brief flash of hormonal attraction, even if neither of the two knew it themselves yet. It was like a spark off a nine-volt battery, compared to a bolt-of-lightning that was full-on thunderstruck love... the same basic thing, only one was smaller, and harder to spot, and not likely to leave its victims frazzled and smouldering when it was done. It might flare up, given the right sort of tinder, I thought... smirking to myself.

“Just come in here,” beckoned Linna, keying the access code into that same closet in back. NenÃ© stretched and yawned as she waited.

“You sure Sylia didn't change the keycode,” she questioned.

I was more interested in the K100-shaped tarpaulin in the corner, wondering just what Raven was planning for it. I was trying desperately not to think about what exactly I was about to be doing. I was about to be fitted for a hardsuit... That thought simmered fitfully at the back of my mind, and in the pit of my stomach. I tried not be be nervous, I tried not be be excited, I tried to be as unbothered by it as possible, as if this was just a fact of life, same as for the other two women still fiddling with the keypad.

“I entered the right code,” said Linna, standing back. She gave it a perplexed stare for a moment, putting her hands on her hips. “It just isn't unlocking.”

She brushed her headband back, pulling a few stray hairs out of her eyes.

“Let me see,” NenÃ© bustled her out of the way, pressing against the otherwise unremarkable door.

Tap-tap-tap... click... Tap. She tried the keys. Frowning, she tried them again. Scowling, she stabbed at them.

“Stupid thing,” she spat.

“I've changed the locking module,” the door answered in Sylia's voice. “The new access codes haven't been set yet.”

“Why doesn't she tell us these things before we make fools of ourselves,” lamented NenÃ©, punching 0000 into the keypad.

“Some tech-genius,” needled Linna as she leant in over the shorter woman's shoulder.

NenÃ© threw her a bitter glare.

“It not obvious change,” I weighed in on her side, earning a small smile for my troubles.

The door unlocked with a click, the hacker pulling it open. Inside, were the same cleaning supplies as Saturday, a mop, a few slops buckets, and bottles of caustic cleaners marked with hazardous characters. The smell radiating out was enough to bring tears to the eyes.

“Is this really it?” I wondered aloud, giving the pair a dubious look.

“Yup,” nodded Linna, “Just follow us in and see,” she beckoned towards the open door, with a open handed gesture that reminded me of a Disneyland tour guide.

“It's really quite cool,” NenÃ© assured.

“Still look like closet,” I stated, right down to the rusty nails holding the overloaded shelves up. A few spanners hung off the wall, a pair of old light switches and some footprints in the dust on the floor, one set from a pair of boots, the other from high-heels.

Conspicuously, nothing was actually mounted on the floor… everything was hanging from the walls. Trepidation crawled across my back as my mouth ran dry.

“Just step inside, Meg, and watch,” Linna smirked at me.

“Alright,” I stepped forward, joining the two women in the closet. The door snicked shut, trapping the three of us in an inky black closet for an instant.

And I started laughing madly, braying like a donkey in that dark, cramped space.

“What's so funny?” queried NenÃ©'s puzzled voice, her hot breath close enough to tickle my ears

“Share the joke, Meg,” Linna said.

“Three woman inside closet,” I coughed out, trying to hold it it.

I was answered by a pair of exasperated sighs as a set of cold fluorescent lamps buzzed and flickered into life, bathing the closet in harsh light. The laughter died in my throat, childish excitement sending shudders through my legs, my whole body lurching upward, the floor dropping from beneath my feet. I glanced around, swallowing. NenÃ© and Linna smiled back at me, a bottle of pink liquid stacked on the shelf beside me sloshing gently. That is so cool... A secret agent lift! A bit clichÃ© for it to be a supplies closet, mind. I felt like a child being led down the stairs on Christmas morning, body prickling with anticipation as I tried to picture what was waiting for me below.

I had an image of what was underneath Lady633 in my mind, mixed with half remembered fragments of animated equipment from OVA 8. Fitted for a hardsuit... that's what Sylia told me I would be doing. I knew exactly what was going to happen... okay, I had a decent idea what was going to happen.

Somebody pinch me please.

“I'll definitely reach level 4 today,” NenÃ© affirmed to herself, gritting her teeth. “I nearly got it the last time.”

“And the time before that,” Linna finished for her. “And before that.”

“Is level 4 good?” I asked. If I remembered the episode right, normal people should be capable of level 5 out of the box... so to speak.

“Not especially, I hit Level 6 on my first try,” Linna told me with a wry smile, carefully.

“Yeah, but you're a fighter... I'm the electronic warfare specialist.” NenÃ© said, “You and Priss are the brawn, but I'm the brains.”

“And Sylia?” I questioned.

“She just supervises,” said NenÃ© as the lift juddered to a halt.

“As I hear, she saved you from a 55-c last mission, “ needled Linna as the doors opened. “Is that, true, Meg?”

I shrugged, “I was busy.” Busy either trying in vain to gun down a boomer, or lying on my back in agony with nine-inch-nails striking out of my chest... Still, I almost felt sorry for the pink-haired policewoman... almost. It was just too funny. The door clicked as it unlocked, and I opened it, taking a long, deep breath closed my eyes and stepped forward. Half expecting to open them to see the same back-room in the garage and be met by mocking laughter, I was surprised to find myself standing under cold fluorescent lights, with even colder air lapping at any exposed skin.

“Bloody hell,” I exhaled, taking a quick glance around.

No other words were necessary. Equipment lined the walls... exercise, testing, imaging, and some things I just couldn't figure out. Two hardsuits were mounted on hangers against the far wall, Priss' and Linna's... Priss' suit half dismantled with some of its armour missing. The structure beneath the armour glinted tantalisingly, cabled conduits and linear motors flowing across the underlying structure, pushing and pulling across the thighs and hips. I wanted nothing more than to run up and inspect ever last mouth-watering detail. I wanted to know how it was built, how it had been put together, how each and every piece worked and what exactly it did.

I wanted my own suit. I wanted it so badly I ached for it, deep inside. I hungered for it.

“We're here,” Linna called out over my shoulder.

“About time,” Priss' voice answered from somewhere inside. I couldn't see here anywhere.

“You're an hour late, ladies,” remarked Sylia, appearing at another doorway, “Priss has already completed her tests.”

“There was an accident on the AIC expressway, we had to wait an hour for it to clear,” explained Linna, exhaling, “Stupid highway patrol.”

It was a lie... we'd gotten hung up flitting from shop to shop trying things on to the point where we'd lost track of time, well, Linna and NenÃ© anyway, I'd been having such a good time that I'd just decided to ignore my own clock.

“I see,” said Sylia dubiously, probably not buying it, but not really too concerned about pushing it. “Well, we have to make up for lost time then, the reservation at St. Regis is for 10pm,” she smiled, adjusting the lapel on her white lab jacket. “And we'll need to be done a few hours before that.”

NenÃ© winced, clutching her handbag.

It was 15:56:34, according to my clock.

“So, how did it go?” she questioned, “Did anyone buy anything interesting?” She had a curious gleam in her eyes, that reminded me of NenÃ© anytime I'd allowed her to hack away at my laptop.

“Surprise,” I winked, giving a teasing smirk. Very surprising... considering what I normally wore. And bloody expensive to boot.

“You'll have to wait until we get to the hotel,” said Linna, “We got something really special for ourselves.”

“And NenÃ©?”

The young woman answered with a despairing frown, puppydog eyes glistening, “You know I don't have the money,” Something sparked in her mind, a light going on behind her eyes. He fist clenched tight with determination, fires of confidence building inside her stocky frame. “Double or nothing!” she declared, “If I clear level 3 today, I don't pay for anyone's meal... if I lose, I pay for two.”

Her voice resonated off of white concrete walls, melting into the buzz of the overhead lighting. Three women inhaled a deep breath.

“I'll take that bet,” Priss' sweat drenched face appeared from a doorway to some chamber to the right of the room. “Two free meals are better than one!”

She was wearing that demon's grin of hers, and a skintight bodysuit that left nothing to the imagination... literally.

“Me too!”, piped up Linna, “I know a sure thing when I see it.”

NenÃ© was appalled at the betrayal, her mouth gaping open like a fish's. “Et tu, Brutus?”

Sylia just stood there in her lab coat, considering which side to take.

“I side with NenÃ©,” I stood firm. The hacker's spirits picked up for the briefest moment.

“If you lose you pay for ours with NenÃ©!” Priss and Linna chorused immediately.

“If I win you pay me!” I cut back.

“Agreed,” they answered.

Wait... I can't afford this if I loose... I glanced down at the hacker beside me, a gentle nervous shake taking hold of her frame.

“I don't think gambling helps the team dynamic,” demurred Sylia, sounding like almost like every primary school teacher I'd ever known. “This is not a competition.”

All of us frowned like disappointed children.

“But I think you will beat Level 3 today,” she placed a light hand on the young woman's shoulder. “So I guess I'm in, same terms as Meg.”

“See!”, teased NenÃ©, suddenly overflowing with confidence. She crossed her arms defiantly, standing as tall as her 5 foot frame allowed. Her skirt seemed to billow in some imaginary breeze, conjured by her own self belief and determination. Grimly, she took one step forward. Thank Christ... my money was safe.

Linna and Priss exchanged nervous glances across the room... the ground under their feet melting away. They laughed a fatalist, gallows laugh... this was going to be expensive... for them. They would be strung up by their purse-strings tonight. Sylia's same soft smile remained unchanged.

Heh... Do not believe in yourself, NenÃ©, but believe in Sylia, who believes in you!

I didn't have the guts to say it, and nobody would've gotten the joke even if I'd been able to say it out properly in Japanese anyway, so why bother? I just sighed quietly to myself and forgot about it instead, just enjoying my own private amusement with a dumb smile on my face that nobody bothered with.

“Anyway, let's get started, shall we. Meg will have to be shown how to wear a softsuit. There's a personal one in your locker, Meg. And I've replaced yours NenÃ©, because of that problem you reported.”

She was answered by the sound of barely restrained laughter. Three guesses what NenÃ©'s problem was, I thought.

“Thank you,” she beamed, her turquoise eyes bright and wide.

Underneath, I could smell a building apprehension, radiating hot off of her with a scent a little like burnt wood, mixed with strawberry perfume. My locker was closest to the door, beneath a small keyhole surveillance camera drilled into the wall. I stared into it, barely half a centimetre across as I undressed. Nice one Mackie, nice one. No human would spot it unless they were going out of their way to search for it... I pulled the softsuit out of my locker... the right one helpfully labelled with 'use this for tests'. It was light, feeling a little like some sort of high-density elastic silk. Sheer smooth, feather light, and stretchy as a pair of latex gloves.

“Are you sure this is right size?” I held it up by the collar. It was smaller than a five year old's pyjamas.

“One size fits all,” said NenÃ©, pulling hers inside out. “Watch this Meg, it's easy to do, just mind the plumbing connections is all.”

She placed it on the sterile plastic flooring, stepping onto the feet, before slowly rolling the jet-black and mauve garment up her body. It creaked and squeaked as it slid over pale skin, stretching and snapping over her chest, before clamping tight around her neck. Mine was different though... slightly... it didn't have the same bare back as NenÃ©'s, or the others.

“Like a bloody Gimp suit,” I mumbled, tugging at it. It'd make ideal fetish-wear alright.

NenÃ© giggled, “That's what I said at first,” arching her back to emphasise her 'luscious'... in her own words... figure. Truth was, it did sort of help. Out of the box, was best described as a little bit stocky, being only about 5 foot tall but still as broad as Linna and Priss, though with the softsuit on, it seemed to distort her proportions a little, like some clever optical illusion, to make her seem a little like a shorter legged Linna Yamazaki. I gazed down into the black void inside the neck of the suit.

It still didn't look big enough.

But somehow it was, even if getting it over my chest was a bloody pain... literally. To universal joy, I only managed to get the collar halfway up and over, before it slipped out my fingers and bit down on sensitive flesh with a whip-like crack... shortly followed by an agonised yelp. Tight was an understatement... Latex gloves were tight... this thing was practically bonded to the skin.

It sucked down onto my body like a vacuum pack, drawing up inside each and every nook and cranny. I think I knew why Sylia preferred women for the Knight Sabers... I could imagine how painful... and embarrassing... this would've been if I'd been my old self. The suits really did show everything. As it was though, after a few minutes waiting for it to stretch a bit, the suit was pretty comfortable, even if I got the feeling part of it was actively trying to worm its way inside places I didn't want to think about.

I glanced back at the crystal lens of the camera. If I'd been human, I'd never have been able to spot it without searching for it. One point towards being a boomer then... I promised myself I'd tell Sylia at some stage, although a little bird on my shoulder told me she probably already knew it was there.

“Comfortable?” enquired Sylia, seeing me still soothingly rubbing my stinging chest.

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“You'll be going last, Meg, so you can watch the others and see how the simulation equipment works.”

I swallowed a lungful of air... “Still hard to believe,” I said, watching through a laminated glass window as Linna danced her way through Level 5. NenÃ© was busy helping Priss with what looked like some sort of weight training, and Linna was focusing on what looked like a D20 made of frogspawn. Transparent, cellular, and with a little spot on each facet.

“What is?”

I was going to repeat the same old spiel about me not being meant for this sort of life, never wanting this sort of life, and how it had all been a TV show 4 weeks earlier, but it was starting to seem like a waste of time even thinking about it.

“I am a Knight Saber,” I said, trying those words on for size. It still didn't feel like the fit quite right. I could've been the baby with his foot in a clown shoe. Those words were a vast responsibility, and it seemed impossible that I would fill into them.

And suddenly, I thought of my dog back home, and how he used to fit into my boot when he was a puppy, and I just felt smaller... and a little colder.

“Yes, you are Meg,” confirmed Sylia, “I assume I don't need to repeat the rules of the organisation?”

I nodded, “I remember them well enough from the show.”

“This is not a TV show, Meg,” she reminded me, her voice hardening.

“I know,” I breathed, “Same thing I tell myself regularly. It's a bloody difficult thing to forget, though. People wished they could be Knight Sabers, they wrote stories about themselves in hardsuits... some of which I read,” I felt stupidly ashamed for a moment, “I mean... this is the sort of thing that happens in those stories... almost word for word it could be right out of a page. It sounds daft to read it, and then funny... ” I sighed, running a hand through luscious hair, “... when I realise that that's exactly what's happened to me.”

“Oh.”

“I arrived in MegaTokyo, ran into Irene, ran into yourselves, nearly got killed twice, and end up joining up with the Knight Sabers to be a hero,... ” I laughed... “Sounds like every self insert fanfic I ever read.”

For the briefest of moments, Sylia looked almost confused, before the businesswoman mask fell back into place.

“And there was a time, when power-armoured sentai teams were confined to animated series, too,” she said. “I watched several when I was a girl. I used to feel the same way, when I first started fighting in a hardsuit,” her expression darkened again. “But this is not a TV show. When people die, I can't just rewind the disk and watch them stand back up. A man doesn't run out in front and yell 'cut' after each explosion to give stuntmen a chance to haul themselves out of styrofoam rubble. The dead don't walk out of shot to be replaced by bloodied mannequins.” her eyes fixed me solid, “I watched the DVD's, those animated people who seemed to die for no reason other than to demonstrate just how dangerous that Bu-55-C was, those people had families... wives, husbands, children even. Every single one of them was a real person, with hopes and fears, and when they are gone, they are gone forever, understand?”

I nodded dumbly... words catching in my throat. “I know... I've known since I got here. It's just hard to shake that feeling is all, y'know?” I exhaled a breath I'd forgotten I was holding.

“I can understand,” she said, the softness returning for a moment, “But it is something for you to remember. On a mission, in your hardsuit, if you start thinking you're invincible because you're some kind of main character, or that those people in the city don't matter because they're stock characters not even worthy of a name, then you're going to find yourself brought down to earth with a terminal bump.”

“I promise to wear a red shirt on every mission,” I reassured her, grinning caustically, hoping to pick the mood up off the floor with a bit of humour.

“This isn't funny, Meg,” she admonished.

Didn't anyone here watch the classics?

“I know... I was just trying to say I know I can die. And so can everyone else.”

“That's good,” she smiled, while I leant down against the computer consoles, reading out details of Linna's efforts down in the simulation room. She was barely breaking a sweat, while my own reflection in the mirror was already damp. “Now then, I can tell you the good news. Your hardsuit will be ready before the end of the month, the raw materials and components arrived yesterday.”

“Sweet,” I grinned back, my mood doing its best impression of Lazarus.

“I think you'd do well as a more defensive fighter, along with some more mechanical tasks that would normally have been done by Mackie in his own battlesuit. The less he's in the field, the better.”

It was perfectly clear, that she just didn't want to risk him getting hurt.

Again, I just nodded. “So stuff like blowing holes in walls and helping NenÃ© with computers occasionally?”

“A little more complicated, but that's basically it, though you'll have more weapons to hand than NenÃ©, so you should be able to handle yourself in a fight without having problems.”

In the simulation pit, Linna brought her foot down in one long, arc, striking the hologram square on.

“Got it!” she cheered, the electronic apparition dissolving away into thin air. “Bring on Level 6!”

Sylia pushed a few buttons on the control panel, “Try make level 7, Linna.”

The machine answered with a cheerful chirp, display readouts on the monitors vomiting up reams of electronic data about momentum, force, minutes of arc, orientation and a bunch of other parameters.

“I'm on a roll today,” she breathed, trying to cool her body off, “This will be easy.”

“I've been short on cash for the last week because I didn't get paid for the Gig I missed, that's why I'm losing weight, but two free meals at the St. Regis will definitely help,” Priss voice rang out.

“Only if you win the bet Priscilla!” screeched NenÃ©.

“That's Priss!” hissed Priscilla, looking like she wanted to put a dent in somebody's forehead.

Priscilla... a name for petticoats and flowers, not leathers and motor oil. I snickered into my own hand at the mental image that provided.

Linna was oblivious to everything except her simulated opponent, somersaulting out of the way of a lashing, whipping arm. She landed crisply into some kind of defence stance, arms guarding her face. The hologram took a high slash at her face, blocked easily with a swat of her arm, but opening a hole in her guard. The first blow was chased by a stabbing strike aimed directly at the opening. Linna's eyes glinted as she dropped low, before driving up with an uppercut aimed at some flashing point within the body of the projection. It jinked back, swinging around 180 with another of its unreal tentacles, aiming for the back Linna's neck. She pirouetted out of the way with a delicate precision twirl, before backing away to give herself some space to breathe.

Battle ballet. It was awesome. Her gaze sharpened as her opponent adjusted itself, computer systems taking fractions of a moment to analyse the situation and decide... It lunged forward once more, and the dance continued.

“I don't expect you to be able to match Linna on your first try,” said Sylia, drawing my attention away, “so don't worry if you can't.”

“As long as I get past level one I'm happy.”

“The average woman should be able to complete level 5 without training, and most reach level 4 on their first try.”

“NenÃ©?” I asked.

“She started at level two.”

“I see,” I said, politely.

I didn't want to laugh... not until my own performance. That's a lesson I'd learned the hard way, several times before.

“Just do what comes naturally to you, Meg.” She paused, thinking for a moment with her finger on her lips, “33-S do include self-defence programming,” she said, her voice quiet and hidden by the argument behind.

Swallowing a sudden apprehensive lump, I just answered with “I know I do,” I wished softsuits had pockets I could stick my hands into. Then I could slouch and act moody about it. “Another point in favour of the boomer.” I sighed with a mellow smile.

“You've been keeping score?” Sylia quirked an eyebrow.

“Yup,” I nodded with a grin, “Point for point, the boomer is winning.”

For the briefest of instants, I saw a flash of surprise running across her face. Just a flash, not even enough to be a glimpse. But I saw it. I'd caught her off guard.

“I always believed a person in your situation would want nothing more than to be human again. I certainly think that if my humanity was taken away, I'd want it back.”

She was wearing an almost rueful smile.

“I think some of it's programming,” I told her, “Same way a baby knows whether it's a boy or a girl, even though it doesn't know what either is yet, I know what I am. The rest... well,... ” how best to put it... “If I'm cursed, then I'm cursed with awesome. I like being what I am.”

To prove the point, I stretched my body taut, arching my back as I reached for the ceiling.

“I probably wouldn't say the same if you'd decided to treat me as a piece of property, mind, and it has its quirks, but... it's more interesting than being just human.”

I was hugging myself, arms across my chest, pushing my breasts up halfway to my chin.

“How so?” asked Sylia, her curiosity piqued.

“For one thing, I can see that camera over my locker... ” I gestured towards the black dot on the wall, checking to make sure I could still see it “... from here.”

“What camera?” asked Sylia, absolutely straight-faced.

“Oh... ”

The realisation probably dawned on herself long before me.

“Mackie,” she groaned. “I'll have to have a talk with him about this.”

Terrible things awaited that poor boy, I could see it in her eyes. Hell hath no fury like an elder sister scorned.

“That's just it,” I carried on, “My senses are sharper, but I don't notice it. Not until I remember that I'd never've been able to see that camera as a human, or feel each individual leg of some small bedbug on my skin in the morning. It's pretty cool.”

I gave have a laugh, scratching the back of my head. I could feel each individual hair brushing across the back of my neck. I lingered on that sensation, analysing it, positioning each and every single point across my shoulders. I flicked a few strands off into the air, sensing them hanging for a second, before they came to rest.

Sylia gave me a knowing look, like she understood exactly what I was saying, but I didn't know how that'd be possible. The closest way I could describe it was as the difference between an old DVD, and a brand new super-definition HGD movie. The DVD seemed crystal clear, until you watched the same scene in HGD, and realised that yes, you can see each individual hair that made up the heroine's eyebrows.

It wasn't something that normally made a difference to my life, day to day. The world was built for humans, with human senses.

Linna grunted as she jumped back from another swinging blow, the projection lunging forward, driving another elastic-like tentacle towards the dancers legs. She sprung out of the way and landed hard, her face red with exertion, sweat trailing in glistening beads down her cheeks and onto her softsuit. Her chest was heaving hard as she tried to snatch her breath back, but the simulation wasn't going to give her that chance. It surged forward one final time, striking out first at Linna's stomach. She sprang back one more, landing slightly off balance. Somehow, the hologram knew this, and it took its chance. Pressing its advantage, it took one... two... three strikes. The first the aerobics instructor jumped over, the second she ducked under, landing with her legs apart. The third, punched right between her eyes and she froze, wide-eyed and beaten.

“Damn,” she breathed, taking her weight through her hands before pushing herself upright.

Again, the console alarmed, reading out more and more data as the hologram evaporated into nothing.

“Nice work Linna, you've improved your score since the last time,” Sylia spoke into a microphone. “Level 6.8, reflex speed of 7.9, You're ahead of Priss.”

“I should be able to do better,” she answered as Asagiri scratched her ears behind us, “The difficulty just hit a brick wall. One minute I could dodge it, then it just ganged up on me.”

Pushing through the doorway out of the simulation room, she draped a fresh towel of her sweat-streaked shoulders, leaning back against the wall to catch her breath.

“The learning rate of the simulation ramps up the longer it runs,” Sylia explained, “You took too long to beat it, and the program adapted to your fighting style.”

“It didn't do that before,” she wheezed.

“You didn't get this far.”

She pushed her headband back, dragging soaked strands of hair off her face.

“It didn't even give me an opening. I'm certain of it.”

“Maybe the random number generators went to an extreme value,” theorised Sylia, “It can happen sometimes.”

Maybe with a bit of luck on my side, I'd get an extreme value in my favour? Meg Deckard at Level 6 maybe... Level 7 even? Just how good was my self defence programming? Programming wasn't technically the right word... but it was close. A computer program was a copy of a series of machine instructions, logical operations performed within a CPU, each of which added together to form some task. Inside me, the instructions were coded as chemical signals on synapses, instructions to my body on how to block, punch and kick, how to stand, how to counter, how to dodge... the same as if I'd learned the skills the old fashioned way... except these were electro-chemically inscribed by a networked computer uplink through a digital co-processor.

The best thing about programmed skills was how natural they felt, as if I'd learned them myself. The worst thing was that I only knew I had them, not how capable the program actually was, not until I actually tried it out anyway.

I was curious to see just how capable I was, but it wasn't my turn.

“Now it's time to see how well miss cyberpunk can do,” teased Linna, nudging NenÃ©'s shoulder.

“Hey Linna, don't tease the person who's kind enough to buy us dinner like that,” mocked Priss.

“Shut up!” yelled the ADP operator, eyes welling up with what I could sense were crocodile tears.

“I've set the simulator to level two to lead in, NenÃ©,” Sylia nudged everyone back to business, “That should give you a fair warm up.”

“Hey!” barked Linna, “Isn't it a conflict of interest if you're running the simulation when you've a bet on the result?”

“I have no problem,” I cut in, wearing a cheese-eater grin. Priss shot a sharp glare back to me.

“Not really,” answered Sylia. I could hear her almost rolling her eyes, wondering why she'd gotten involved. “The programs are fixed so results can be compared over time. If I changed them for the sake of winning a simple bet, it would invalidate all of NenÃ©'s results to date and corrupt the programming for her hardsuit.”

What she left unsaid, I guessed, was that paying for a meal at MegaTokyo's most expensive restaurant was small change for her, especially when considered against the effort of recovering months of work. Linna and Priss still looked dubious about it, sharing suspicious glances between themselves. NenÃ© looked like she wanted to die, like anything she'd eaten all day was about to be sprayed across Sylia's sterile floor.

“I've never tried wagyÅ« beef,” commented Linna with deliberate nonchalance, “It's always been too expensive.”

“Shut up!” yelped NenÃ©, her green eyes quivering.

I didn't think people could really do that. I could sense her whole body tensing up, her fear and confidence collapsing down around her feet. How did that Gurren Lagann quote go again… in Japanese?

Buggered if I know it.

“Good luck NenÃ©,” I offered, levering the full force of my pheromones behind it.

Then realised that it wouldn't work, since most of my body was sealed up tight inside a body-glove. At least it was the thought that counted. And a smile from a sexaroid would help. She just answered with a forlorn stare, all colour drained from her features. Help me, those eyes begged. She whimpered softly as she entered the training room.

I heard Priss whisper, “This will be quick.”

Linna nodded, humming to herself, while figuring out how much she would gain if she won on her fingers. The bet was a sure thing, of course… Sylia was only siding with NenÃ© for the sake of the girl's confidence….like all good leaders would.

It seemed awfully possible for a moment. How in the name of God would I afford a fifty-thousand yen meal? That was more than a month's rent for me. Of course, there was my Knight Sabers account, but the less I lived obviously beyond my means, the better. Nobody would ask questions about where I was getting the money if I didn't flaunt it. That's how Bugsy Malone got caught, because someone realised he had a vast fortune, which he hadn't paid taxes on.

“NenÃ©, didn't you have your ADP training day on Thursday?” Sylia asked the microphone.

A moment of silence, as Sylia allowed the implications to stew for a second, the two women's minds ruminating over them.

“I failed,” she admitted, curling up into herself, her body scrunching down into itself. Her eyes begged Sylia for remission.

“Don't fail here then,” she advised warmly.

“I don't think I can afford it,” she whined, near tears.

“Don't make bets you can't afford,” suggested Priss sardonically.

“Consider it a learning experience,” added Linna.

“Do your best, NenÃ©!” I cheered, waving through the window.

She answered with the gaze of a wrongly condemned woman facing her final sentence.

“I don't think you can afford this either, Meg,” Priss reminded me.

“I know,” I answered sourly.

“I'd like to see any of you out there understand what a buffer-overflow is, or how I use that and an open port 72 to gain administrator privileges on the ADP network to erase the evidence of our dealings,” grumbled NenÃ©, dropping into a tense imitation of Linna's easy stance.

The young woman was shivering as a gaseous sphere materialised out of thin air in front of her.

“I'm not a fighter,” she continued, “I'm the smart one. Making me fight is like making Priss do calculus.”

“Hey! I can use a calculator!” the singer blasted back, “I'd like to see madam-cyberpunk stun a rampaging boomer with a railgun hit to the optics, before following through its neck with a knuckle bomber punch!”

She was answered by the crack of Linna's palm hitting her own face, and my own hand scratching the back of my neck sympathetically. NenÃ© looked like she'd been struck by lightning.

Silence.

“….shit,” said Priss.

“Nice own-goal,” I coughed. I guess the signal from mouth to brain got cut off halfway, and the mouth decided to just go with it anyway.

“Punch first, ask questions later,” giggled Linna. “That's Priss alright.”

“Well it's not something I learned in school,” countered Priss, her face red with embarrassed anger, She was livid…fury boiling in her body, directed not at Linna, not at NenÃ©, not even at me, but right back at herself. It was written across her face. The implication I got from it was, she didn't even go.

“The test is about to start,” Sylia stamped down firmly. “Level two should be a simple lead in. Just avoid the single tracking arm and hit three targets which appear in succession. You have to finish inside of three minutes.”

NenÃ© looked up and nodded morosely, before focusing her attention on the sphere.

“Start!”

The sphere lunged forward immediately, managing to catch the ADP officer off-guard. Maybe she hadn't expected it to be so aggressive. She yelped, jumping back away from its lashing tentacle, landing clumsily on both feet. Linna and Priss expected a quick finish, NenÃ© hoped for one, and Sylia just watched with gentle curiosity. I stood there, fidgeting with my softsuit, tugging it out of places I didn't want it to go. Bloody persistent thing. A red light flickered within the sphere and NenÃ© jumped at it, throwing her whole weight behind one single punch. Strike 1, announced the computerised displays, and I exhaled a breath I'd forgotten I was holding.

The single arm whipped around again, NenÃ© catching sight of it at the last possible second. The girl ducked under, letting it pass over the back of her neck, before stepping backwards and out of reach. The sphere pushed her back further, slowly bringing its one orbiting limb back into striking position. It pressed NenÃ© back towards the wall, computerised algorithms seeking to trap the opponent against the wall. NenÃ© quickly threw a slow glance over her shoulder, noticing she was being slowly backed into a corner.

The sphere lashed out again and she ducked under, her face red already. Gingerly she crept past, keeping beneath the rotating arm. Free from the simulation's inexorable press, she bolted to safety. Another weak spot flashed red beneath the skin of the sphere, but it went ignored.

“Two minutes left, NenÃ©,” advised the leader of the Knight Sabers.

NenÃ© stood facing the spinning sphere, which had slowly begun to slip towards her once more. She was shaking gently on her feet, swallowing a mouthful of something. The sphere surged forward, building up momentum with its single limb, cracking it like a whip through the space where NenÃ© had been moments earlier. A cat-like smirk flashed across her features for an instant... before she stumbled, caught herself, then stumbled again. NenÃ© caught herself clumsily, pushing herself to the feet with her hands.

The sphere charged at her again, and again she dodged it. Not so much an elegant ballet as with Linna, as a drunken dance, they spun around each other haphazardly, NenÃ© more concerned with avoid a hit than taking strikes at the target. Her eyes were fixed wide open, staring hard into the sphere, trying to analyse and understand it.

It made one more attack, reaching for NenÃ©'s face, but she just stepped aside. The sphere's defences open, a third target flickered to life, deep inside the sphere. Composing herself, NenÃ© punched forward, striking out with a closed fist, missing with the first swing as the hologram jinked right. Glancing back over her shoulder just in time, she spotted the sphere's whipping limb swinging around for a strike.

“Got her,” Priss muttered.

NenÃ© proved her wrong, jumping back with a yelp as if she'd been burned.

“Nice one,” I smirked, sensing safety for my wallet.

With a banshee shriek, NenÃ© struck out at the point where she thought the target would be, and seemed almost surprised when she actually hit it. Two down, one to go.

“One more minute NenÃ©,” announced Sylia.

She nodded, sucking on her bottom lip as the hologram regrouped itself, reconsidering its strategy. The data streams on the monitors flickered as parameters updated and switched over, the sphere shimmering in mid air. Its arm dissolved down into a single black eye, the sphere rotating over on its back. NenÃ© watched perplexed, trying to get a measure of it. She swallowed three great heaving breaths, wiping beads of sweat off her brow with the back of her hand.

“This might be interesting,” Linna said quietly, “She's doing better than she normally does.”

I turned my attention away from the sim-room. “Really?”

She nodded, “Yeah, NenÃ© normally takes two or three attempts to beat this level, she's on a roll.”

“I might get free meals after all,” I smirked back at her.

I would've gotten them anyway, a little voice inside my mind prodded, if I'd never opened my mouth in the first place. But it wouldn't have been as fun... And I had to take NenÃ©'s side... if only to keep the balance. I mean, I used to be the unfit keyboard-jockey myself... Or himself. I really had to come up with a hard and fast way to define what I am, and who I used to be... A stunned shriek from NenÃ© drew my attention back down to the sim-room, just in time to watch the sphere make one last pile-driver swing, its one limb arcing up over the top, plunging towards NenÃ©'s head.

She wasn't going to lose on level two, was she?

Nope!

Gracelessly, she dodged it to one side, nearly overbalancing and falling flat on her face. Clumsily catching herself, she stumbled round out of the way, as the whipping arm sliced through the floor and back around to the start.

“30 Seconds,” stated Sylia.

“If she runs out of time, she has to start again.” Linna told me quietly. “Three attempts to beat the level, then she fails on a timeout. One hit, and it's an immediate auto-fail... ” a beat, “And the meal's at your expense,” she giggled, placing a gloved hand on my shoulder.

I exhaled. “I know.”

“20 seconds,” Sylia informed us.

“The more she repeats, the more tired she'll be, the less likely she'll pass Level 3,” Priss added her own two cents. “She's already missed a target anyway.”

Sphere and Saber orbited around each other as they tried to size each other up... or at least, that's what it looked like. The sphere had to attack one more time to win, NenÃ© just had to dodge for ten more seconds to get another go. Time ticked down digitally.

“10 seconds.”

NenÃ© glanced back at her for a second, as the sphere redoubled its efforts to attack, as if somehow it understood its own time was running out. Again, it tried to slam NenÃ© to the ground, the young woman jumping back away from it. Scrambling back, she tried to get back, her feet skidding on the floor.

Another weak spot flickered red on top of the revolving sphere.

9 seconds.

NenÃ© hit the floor, landing flat on her backside. “Dammit,” she squeaked. Priss and Linna edged forward like vultures circling a kill. The sphere continued to rotate, bring its arm up and around.

8 seconds.

“She's done!” gasped Linna, pushing against the glass to watch the final moments. “The pressure got her.” NenÃ©'s eyes widened with terror, the limb arcing inexorably towards her forehead.

7 seconds.

The young woman's instincts took over, lashing limb passing through the space once occupied by her head and through the floor.

“Nice one!” I cheered.

6 seconds.

The sphere continued to revolve as NenÃ© scrambled back to her feet. Shaking her head, sweat showering from her hair, she steadied herself.

“5 seconds.” Announced Sylia calmly.

Nobody breathed, three women pressing themselves against the glass. We saw NenÃ©. NenÃ© saw the target. We could see the information working its way from her eyes, through her brain, and down to her right shoulder.

She struck out closed-fisted at the target. The hologram lashed back with one final attack NenÃ© had no chance to dodge...

4 seconds, according to my own clock.

The alarm sounded, databanks dumping terabytes to the screens. Down in the sim-room, NenÃ© stood statue-still, eyes like saucers, mouth gaping open and closed like a goldfish. The sphere hung in the air like frozen smoke, its limb a few inches from the top of NenÃ©'s head. The sphere dissolved, leaving NenÃ© standing there, her face the same shade of exhausted pink as her hair.

“I did it,” she wheezed, gasping for air.

“Level two complete,” announced Sylia, “Good work NenÃ©, level 3 will start shortly.”

The ADP operator looked like she was ready to cry. No more, those green eyes pleaded.

“Wow, she did it first go,” said Priss, running her fingers through her damp hair. She stood over the terminals, inspecting the data like as if she could understand it even though she had about as much chance of figuring it out as your average Joe had of figuring out the laws of the European Union. It was just reams and reams of tangled waffle beyond all human comprehension.

“She'll be too tired to do anything at the next level though,” opined Linna, “Look at her, she's ready to collapse as it is.”

“Yeah but, less energy take for one try, than to do multiple.” I tried to say something important, “More energy for next level than if repeated second to pass.”

“True,” she nodded, “But NenÃ©'s never gotten above a score of 5 on Level three anyway... she always gets killed on her first or second attempt.”

“Shh, it's starting,” Priss hushed, as a new target shimmered into being.

This time, the target was more of an inverse egg, with a heavy, faceted shoulder. Two black spots stared back into NenÃ©'s turquoise eyes as she lowered herself down into an imitation of a martial stance.

“NenÃ©, The rules are the same as the last time. Three minutes to hit three targets. The enemy will now attack with two punching arms with a two metre reach, which you have to dodge.” Sylia told her.

“This is easy,” whispered Linna.

“Yeah, I breezed through this level first time,” added Priss.

“NenÃ©'s good at the technical computer stuff, but she's got no reflexes, her body just can't react fast enough,” the aerobics instructor gave her judgement, “But... ”

“Start!” Sylia interrupted, silence falling as three women leaned in against the glass to watch.

The hologram bolted forward, striking first with a right aimed for NenÃ©'s head. “Eek!” she squeaked, ducking right out of the way, into the path of a second jackhammer left. She crouched and rolled... a move that surprised the hell out of Priss to say the least.

“It's not a movie,” snickered Linna into her hands.

NenÃ© scrambled to her feet, struggling to put distance between her and the chasing hologram. Desperation stained her features as she dodged another strike. A target flickered on the back of the hologram, but I don't think NenÃ© even saw it.

Linna just grinned, “All this running around is giving me an appetite.”

I was loosing mine quickly. “Do not count out.”

This was going to be expensive. NenÃ© made twice the cash I did a week... and she was going to have problems paying for this. I wondered if I could get credit somewhere...

Fast approval by 10pm?

For three minutes, NenÃ© dodged, desperately keeping ahead of it. Slowly, she seemed to get the measure of its attacks, finding her feet in the simulation. She was bleeding sweat, drowning in her own exertions.

The alarm sounded once more. “Time up,” Sylia announced.

NenÃ© slouched on her feet, the last of her energy draining from her body, plashing on the floor at her feet. Her hair clung to her head, sodden with sweat, almost like a rat drowned in a vat of pink dye. She looked to her leader for relief, those eyes of hers begging for salvation.

“Two more attempts, NenÃ©,” informed Sylia, “Keep trying.”

Gentle encouragement kept her in game. I put my hands into a pair of imaginary pockets on my hips, drawing a deep breath through my teeth.

“She has to attack it now, or she'll time out,” Priss commented, quietly. Her red eyes stared down into the sim-room. “Or collapse. You can only dodge a boomer so long. Boomers don't tire, but we do.”

“Make sense,” I said.

I didn't tire in the same way as humans. Once NenÃ©'s body had run out of stored sugars, it switched to fats. When humans hit the wall after running out of glucose, they could keep going on fats, though at lower performance. I couldn't draw energy from fats at all, so when I hit the wall, I collapsed. That was it, I was done, flat on my face and with a hangover due the next morning as my electrolytes went spinning out of control while my body struggled to fuel itself.

My one big advantage, was with anaerobic exercise... even the fittest humans would only last about two minutes, my software told me, I could easily go for three times as long, maybe more if I pushed it.

“Second attempt, Start!”

I didn't know what was keeping NenÃ© going... hungry determination, or a telepathic link with her bank manager reminding her of how far in debt she would be, but she took a single deep breath, and turned to face her holographic opponent.

Priss was quietly impressed, I could sense it... not that she'd admit it of course.

At first, it looked like more of the same thing, NenÃ© being chased around by a hologram, barely able to stay in the game. Priss though, knew better.

“She's doing this on purpose.”

“Really?” Linna and I chorused.

The group's assault expert just nodded. “She's looking for its weaknesses, when and how it attacks her, how it responds to her movements, when it will attack, and when it will retreat.”

“You can see that?” I asked.

Priss nodded. “Yup.”

I got it, I could see exactly how NenÃ©'s mind was working. A cracker probes a system for vulnerabilities, scanning for ports and services that can be exploited, patiently and carefully poking and prodding, watching the systems responses, analysing and decoding them to reveal the slightest cracks which open up into the root access. Once NenÃ© had the measure of a system, nothing would stop her.

“She Hacker. That how hackers think.” I reduced it to my vocabulary.

Linna edged forward, sharing a grin with the pair of us,“I knew there was a reason she was hired.”

Sylia glanced up from her terminal for a moment, wearing that impenetrably cool smile of hers. That's exactly why she was hired, it said. Her plan only had just the one little flaw. She didn't have an infinite amount of time to probe the holograms defences, like she did some random GENOM database. Ready or not, next time out, she had to attack. It was her only chance to win.

This was going to be fun to watch.

Would NenÃ© figure out the simulation's weaknesses in time? Would fatigue overcome the young woman before victory was hers? Would I be eating for free tonight? I wondered why NenÃ© hadn't taken the same approach with level two... either it just didn't occur to her, or she didn't think it was a good idea until after she'd nearly gotten her ass handed to her with he first attempt at level 3. Then again... if I understood what I'd been told correctly, she had attempted level 3 several times, she'd just failed each time. And if she'd taken the exact same approach each time... the exact same approach had failed each and every single time...

Or maybe the idea had just been placed on the shelf in her mind labelled 'Too silly to be worth trying' until NenÃ©'d finally decided she had nothing to loose. A minute left on her second attempt, a third target flashing up. She made a quick, token attempt to tag it, taking a mental note of exactly how it answered her attack, filing it away for later use. All her effort would be rendered moot if she got tagged herself, mind.

Stay alive for another minute.

Then three minutes to score three hits.

Easy-peasey, Japanesey.

Yeah bloody right. But that's what made these things a little exciting. And a gentleman's... sort of... wager was just the spice to give it a delicious kick. The final showdown was coming, the atmosphere stretching thick and taught with tension. The air was heavy with sweat and anticipation as Sylia announced the second timeout. NenÃ© was dead on her feet. The hologram was just the same computer system it had always been, as efficient and controlled, running through the same target and tracking algorithms as always. She didn't look for relief. She didn't look at anything but the centre of the hologram, eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside the turquoise haze. The hologram hung in the air like frozen green smoke.

“This is it,” said Priss.

“Paydirt,” concurred Linna.

“For me,” I finished with a smirk.”G'wan NenÃ©!” I punched the air.

She smiled at me. The one problem with the horse Priss and Linna had backed was this: How did you cheer on a hologram? NenÃ© wasn't a horse, of course, but the metaphor held water... sort of. Did she have her plan ready? Did she have enough energy left? The young woman held her head low, shuffling her feet on the sterile floor. I could see the weight of fatigue she was carrying, dragging her down, her whole body slack with tiredness.

“NenÃ©, this is your final chance to pass,” Sylia told her. All NenÃ© could do was nod, licking her lips. She needed a drink from somewhere.

“She's too tired,” said Linna, her voice hushed. “Seriously.”

“She doesn't normally have to fight this long,” agreed Priss. “She normally looses after a few minutes. It'd be hard not to feel sorry for her when this is over.”

“Who say she going lose?” I remarked with a quick flash of a glare.

“She's too tired to win, she can barely hold up her own weight,” Priss countered, “Let alone dodge or strike.”

“Start!” from Sylia, left Priss with the last word, as silence dropped in.

I could hear NenÃ©'s wheezing, her body struggling for oxygen. Her face, hands and feet were a burning red. Her blue hair bow had fallen off sometime earlier, clammy strands of pink hair splayed across her shoulders. The hologram charged once more. For a moment, I didn't think NenÃ© was even going to move. What? Was she just giving up? I winced back from the window, feeling a pain striking deep in my distant wallet as the hologram punched for NenÃ©'s face.

She took three steps to the left, and it drafted past her ear.

“Wow,” someone breathed beside me.

NenÃ© gulped for air as it whirled around to attack again. She turned about in time to come face to face with another holographic limb. Again, she stepped aside, three steps, this time to the right. The hologram bolted past, carried forward by simulated momentum. NenÃ© stepped back towards the wall, opening up her distance to it. Again, it turned to face her, pausing as the computer systems analysed tactics.

“She's cracked it,” Priss told everyone. “Took her long enough.”

It was pretty obvious, once you stepped back and actually looked at it. When the hologram actually attacked, it only ever moved in the direction it was facing. When the hologram punched, it only ever punched in the direction it was moving. And when it punched, it wouldn't change direction until after it had pulled its limbs back into its body. And that took time... enough to keep a good distance from it, so there'd enough time to react to its next attack, or enough time to find an opening to attack back.

If it got too close, the battle would become a tiring scramble just to stay ahead of it, with no chance to fight back... exactly like NenÃ©'s first attempt at it.

“All NenÃ© must do is stay on feet to win,” I said, beaming.

“And hit her targets,” added Linna.

“And not get cocky and get tagged,” Priss threw in.

“Yeah but... ”

I hadn't the foggiest idea how to finish that one. Sylia quietly managed the controls. It didn't seem to matter to her one jot whether NenÃ© won or not... she just stood there, impassively working. My senses could read the tense excitement pouring off of Linna and Priss... even attenuated by the softsuit covering most of their bodies I could pick it up... but Sylia... Sylia just radiated that same coolly human aura as usual.

Those same analysing eyes, that same gentle smile.

The first target flickered on the crown of the hologram. NenÃ© spotted it instantly. Unaware of its weakness, the hologram charged, punching low for NenÃ©'s body. Again, NenÃ© dodged, keeping her eyes fixed dead on the flickering red spot. Turning herself on the ball of her foot, she punched out hard, throwing her entire weight into the strike, her momentum nearly carrying her whole body forwards to follow.

A chirp from the control panels announced her first hit. Two to go.

“She got it dead on,” Priss almost didn't believe it.

By my reckoning, she had about 2:10 to get the next two.

As the target pulled away to regroup, NenÃ© was shaking on her feet, her body quivering like jelly in an earthquake. The skin on her face was beginning to blanch as she swallowed hard, fighting to keep something down.

“Two more,” she was whispering, “Two more.”

I wondered if Priss and Linna weren't beginning to think they'd made a mistake. Me, I could smell the fried steak and onions already. I could taste it... feel the succulent meat dissolving on my tongue. And then I remembered how much my recollections were limited by human senses, and realised how much better it would be with my new senses. I was looking forward to the feeling of hot meat in my mouth, especially with my sexaroid senses.

My appetite instantly vanished.

Again it charged her, not punching, but aiming right for her like a bull, bulldozing her out if its way. She stumbled as she tried to get away from it... it wasn't supposed to do that...

No fair! Was written across her features.

“Two minutes,” said Sylia once more.

It turned to face, and attacked back, faster than normal, with a left-right combination trying to steer NenÃ© out of the way of one strike, and into the follow-up. NenÃ© didn't fall for it, first ducking under, then dodging in the direction of the first attack.

“Go! Go! Go!” I cheered, banging on the glass, wearing a hungry grin.

“This isn't pro-wrestling.” Sylia censured.

Linna and Priss giggled quietly. I suddenly felt like the 4 of us were schoolchildren, and Sylia was the teacher. I shrunk down back towards the wall. The target skirted around NenÃ©, probing lazily back, testing her new-found strength. It tried another quick attack... easily dodged, and the battle continued. NenÃ© was on her lasts legs, her body slouching into a worn stance. She swallowed spit, her whole body shivering.

She'd win her free meal tonight... but she'd die of exertion before she could enjoy it.

Another thirty seconds passed, attack and dodge, attack and dodge, NenÃ© content to play the same waiting game, biding her time until another opening presented itself. Another target presented itself, smack dead centre in the holograms 'chest'. NenÃ© looked like she wanted to scream her tired frustrations right at it. Of all the places it could appear, that had to be the worst. No dodging behind it and attacking the back, she had to take this one head on, stare it right in its non-existent eyes. Judging by the victorious expression shared by Priss and Linna, they'd figured as much themselves.

NenÃ© stood as firm as she could, fixing her eyes on the flashing red target. The hologram moved to attacked, charging forward with another one-two punch. NenÃ© dropped under them, landing clumsily, but still deliberately, one her back. Still focused on the target, she kicked out with a grunt, planting her foot right through it.

Nice one!

Two out of three. 1:15 left.

The hologram pulled back once more, NenÃ© rolling over prone, pushing herself up to her hands and knees. She staggered to her feet, wobbling drunkenly for a second as the hologram spun around to attack once more. NenÃ© yelped as she dropped beneath another punch, pulling herself to her feet just in time to be attacked from behind. Again, she dodged it... just.

“One minute,” warned Sylia.

Another attack, followed by another, NenÃ© barely having enough chance to get her bearings before it attacked again, and again, and again. It was grinding down the last of her energy reserves, pushing her back towards the wall. Nobody who was watching said a word.

So close, yet so far?

To lose now? NenÃ© would be gutted to say the least. To die in the last minute of her last chance? Another attack, another dodge... come on NenÃ©, I willed. Bugger the meal, I wanted her to win full stop... it'd be a gut wrenching anti-climax if she didn't. I could feel my body tightening, a sour feeling deep inside like I was watching a real-life Gainax ending.

Another one-two punch and NenÃ© was only a few feet from the far wall. Her eyes darted from side to side, her tired mind struggling to form some sort of an escape plan. Left? Right? The hologram loomed over her. It made its final attack. One left punch through the space which had been occupied by NenÃ©'s head... the second through the space that would've been occupied by NenÃ©'s head, had she gone the wrong way. She dived to he left, catching herself before she landed on her face. The hologram tried to turn and track her, but she kept ahead of it.

“Thirty seconds,” Sylia announced as the final target flickered up, the left shoulder of the hologram.

NenÃ© stopped instantly, diving in the opposite direction. The target reflected in her green eyes as she stared right through it. With one final, heaving cry, she threw herself threw at it, her whole body chasing her right fist. The consoles alarmed, dumping their data once more. NenÃ© landed on the floor with a hard slap, flat on her chest. Her body heaved as she swallowed cool air. The only sound was NenÃ©'s gasping breathing as the hologram shimmered into nothing.

“She did it,” breathed Priss, her voice disbelieving. Silence for a beat. “Damn it,” she grunted, “Now I have to pay for her meal.”

Linna just sighed, defeated, “I guess my car can do without that service,” she shrugged.

“Nice one NenÃ©!” I cheered, “You beat level Three!”

Free meal for me then... which I would've gotten anyway had I not opened my gob... Damn, I got the short end of the stick with this one.

“Good work NenÃ©,” Sylia spoke into the microphone, “Are you ready to try level 4?” She was answered by a despairing cry of pain, NenÃ© not even able to summon the strength to raise her arm. “Reflex speed 4.2, score of 10 on level three.”

She glanced down at the three of us.

“I think we should help her,” said Priss, picking up on Sylia's unspoken command.

NenÃ©'s body was shaking as we helped her out, myself and Linna steadying her by each arm, Priss gently easing her forward. She was burning hot, drenched in sweat and radiating fatigue.

“I need a drink,” she slurred, stumbling forward. “I need water.”

“You can have some tonight,” Priss reassured her gently, “You can drink as much as you want.”

NenÃ© wasn't even able to cheer, she was focusing her mind just on putting one foot in front of the other, up the stairs and out of the sim-room.

“Good work, NenÃ©,” said Sylia, smiling with uncharacteristic brightness, “You can have the rest of the day off.”

Her voice sent a chill down my spine.

“Yay,” NenÃ© answered lamely.

“You really pushed yourself hard today. I'll have Mackie bring down some sports-drinks and something to eat, if you'd like.”

NenÃ© only nodded, barely on her feet despite the three of us holding her up.

“Congratulations,” I offered awkwardly.

“Yeah, Good work NenÃ©,” Linna whispered, almost ashamed to admit it.

“Thanks,” the young woman wheezed as we helped her down onto a small couch that had been set aside. “Never again,” she gasped, “Never again.”

What could we do but hug her? It was instinct, Priss and Linna starting it, and me deciding to follow, the three of us forming a soothing circle around NenÃ©, almost protecting her. I wondered if they'd do the same for me? They may argue and tease, but they were there for each other when they were needed, to guard and protect in day to day life as much as in hardsuits.

The Japanese word for it was nakama, I think. All for one and one for all musketeer style. And I was a part of this? I could feel the others, their soothing concern for NenÃ©, their warmth, their reassurance, their comfort. My whole body relaxed into the group, bathing in NenÃ©'s ecstatic joy. She was too tired to show it, but I could feel it radiating off her, hot and sweet. I used my sexaroid abilities to help NenÃ© relax, holding her gaze with my eyes, fingers brushing soothingly against her body as I helped her lay down... enough to relax her, not get her all worked up again with no chance of 'relief'. It seemed to work. I could do it better if I had more bare skin to work with, and my software suggested a gentle kneading shoulder massage as well, but that wasn't something to do in public.

“NenÃ©, if you'd like I could have Doctor Raven drive you to my penthouse.” offered Sylia, “The guest bedroom is available, the showers, and the pool if you'd like to cool off.”

She wasn't being aloof or uncaring, she was just being... comfortably distant. I guess in the same way a ship's Captain stays a safe distance from the crew.

“No thanks,” NenÃ© smiled back at her, weakly giving her a thumbs-up, “I want to see how well Meg does first.”

“We were planning to go back to my place to get ready anyway,” Linna continued for her, “All our stuff is in my car.”

Part of the group, I thought, savouring that warm and fuzzy feeling deep inside. A reason to be a Knight Saber that didn't come machined out of steel and ceramic. I didn't have that many friends... I'd only been in Megatokyo just over a month or so... but even still, my official friend count was Linna and NenÃ©, and that was it.

It was nice to belong to something,

Sylia put an end to my thoughts. “Meg, if you'd like to step into the simulation room.”

The door was open and waiting for me. Mackie arrived with NenÃ©'s drinks. I caught Sylia glancing up at the camera as he passed, focusing his own eyes down on the bottle and glass he was carrying. There was that same little spark of attraction, but it guttered and died just as quickly as before.

I recited my favourite prayer. “Oh Lord, please don't let me fuck up.”

The little evil voice inside me reminded me of how badly I had fucked up last time I'd used it. Maybe He was too busy causing a plague in Africa, or helping a GENOM executive make more money that first night, whose to say he wasn't listening now? NenÃ© giggled as I entered a surprisingly arctic room. Despite the air con, it still smelled of sweat, determination and desperation.

My turn.

I didn't feel nervous, as such. I knew I could beat NenÃ©'s score. I knew I was programmed to do this, in case somebody decided they wanted root access without the right password, and weren't going to be nice about it.

I loved that pun.

I wasn't very keen on what it implied, but in my own opinion, it bridged my artificial nature and intended functions beautifully.

“Meg, level one is just a sandbox, where you can learn the rules of the simulation and warm up.”

Inside the sim-room, Sylia's voice seemed to boom from the walls, painfully loud. No, I wasn't nervous... not one little bit... not at all. No nerves at all. I wasn't shivering, it was just a chill from the air con. This is something I know I can do...

“The simulation will start now. Avoid contact with the hologram, except for any highlighted targets. Targets will highlight red briefly.”

There were more rules, but I'd pretty much picked them up from watching NenÃ©, and what Linna'd told me.

“Got it,” I nodded.

The hologram shimmered into view in front of me, two metres away, hovering in mid air. My body took over, relaxing into a fighting stance I didn't understand, but I knew I could use. I took a deep breath of cold air, took a quick look over my body to make sure I wasn't going to faint out of this, and went for it.

I made it to Level 5... scoring a 5.8, with a reflex speed of 6.9, only being beaten by a dirty digital trick, as some random number generator inside the computers went outside its normal range.

NenÃ© hated me for it. I guess she kind of had her hopes up that beating level 3 would keep her off the bottom for a few weeks while I got up to speed.

That took about twenty minutes all told. I was hot and sweaty, but still fresh enough to keep going with a treadmill run, and some weight testing. By the end of that, I was still on my feet, but starting to suffer, my body demanding more food, or sugary drinks to make up for lost stores. There were a few warnings, that I was getting close to the limits of what my body's energy reserves could supply, but they weren't urgent... not like last week on the stage when I'd pretty much passed out after an hour.

A bottle of Fresh C energy drink and I was fine... except for a slight headache thanks to my electrolytes going wonky again.

I peeled my own softsuit off, while Priss and Linna did their best to figure out how they were going to afford this. NenÃ© seemed to be standing a foot taller, something no-one questioned her right to do tonight. It might've been my first training day, but it was NenÃ©'s night. And she was swimming in it, soaking herself in the warm afterglow of victory.

“Meg, can I see you for a few minutes,” requested Sylia, just as I was getting my boots on.

“We'll wait in the car,” Linna told me, just as she disappeared into the closet with a giddy NenÃ©, who was babbling out a list of expensive foods.

They'd better, otherwise I'd have to walk to Linna's place.

“Catch you later.”

The door closed, leaving me alone with Sylia.

“There are some more things I need to talk to you about, things I'd rather not risk the others overhearing,” She made a specific point to hide the little black camera.

“Is this about me being a boomer?”

“No,” she shook her head, the air-conditioning sending a cold chill through my body, “If that becomes known, it can be dealt with. They trust me enough to understand why I withheld the truth.”

I wasn't so sure... this wasn't just you're regular secret identity. They might've trusted Sylia enough, but what about me?

We all have our secrets,” she smiled reassuringly, “many of which weren't shown or even hinted at in those OVA's.”

I gave a nervous laugh “But none as big as mine.”

“Perhaps not,” For an instant, her eyes took one a sinister glimmer, one which set suspicious gears turning in my mind, “If you're discovered, you're discovered. It means I take a stiff fine for not registering you, get your paperwork in order, and you start working for me as a boomer.”

Glad to see she wasn't too worried about it... yeah right. If I get caught, the least that happens is I lose my freedom. Which lead to a little question that had been bothering me.

“Why didn't you just do that in the first place? Why did you let me... um... not be property?”

Proof that my English was often as bad as my Japanese, especially when I change tack halfway.

“Because I have no need for a sexaroid,” Sylia answered with an almost playful smile. I wasn't sure whether she meant that as a joke, or not. There was a certain subtext to it alright, and if I'd been in a more mischievous mood I might've considered actually pointing out that nobody needs a sexaroid, but there were plenty of people who could do with one nonetheless.

Dirty thoughts had no place in a serious conversation. Yeah, she probably meant that straight up.

“Also, I think this option was the easiest for all concerned,” she finished, adjusting her jacket.

That probably wasn't the entire reason... with Sylia's mind I never could tell... but it was reason enough. To keep me as property would've required registration fees, licensing, food and board, and she would have had to have been responsible for my psychological and mental well-being as well... which if I was treated as a slave, would've gone through the floor.

“Thanks, I guess,” I breathed, a little disturbed by just how easily I could've been nothing more than a tool. Frakkin' toaster. I'd go stark raving mad pretty bloody quickly if people started treating me like an emotionless appliance.

Easiest option alright... she didn't have to deal with me slowly going mad, and I didn't have to deal with her trying to control me... and neither of us would have to clear up the mess afterwards.

“But, this is not why I asked you to stay behind, Meg.” Sylia dragged the conversation back to where she wanted it. “I want to ask you to do something. I want to ask you not to directly use any knowledge of Bubblegum Crisis, without my permission.”

What? I blinked. “I thought the whole point of me being here was so I could do that?”

Here, as in a member of the Knight Sabers, and still living in Megatokyo.

She nodded, “Yes. This is a real world, Meg, as I said earlier, with real consequences due to our actions.”

“I understand that, but... ”

Anri and Sylvie, what do I do if I meet them? Sho's mother? Or the fact the Gibson was rebuilding his Griffon just upstairs.

“Or inactions,” she cut me off, “If you use your knowledge to make assumptions, that 'everything will turn out okay' at the end of this episode, you breed complacency, a complacency that may well prove disastrous. Just because Mason was defeated in the OVA, or Largo for that matter, doesn't mean we are guaranteed to win if we do nothing different. Also, the 'future' as shown has already been changed. Irene lived, and if what you told me about OVA 7 is true, then there is no reason for her sister's revenge.”

That thought never even crossed my mind.

“I want you to promise me that whatever happens, you will deal with events as they come to you, as if you knew as much about the future to come as Priss, Linna or NenÃ©.”

I.e., that tomorrow will be Monday and the day after Tuesday, provided the world hasn't exploded in the meantime.

“But, isn't that sort of... ” I didn't know how to say it, even in English. It wasn't a double standard, that was too negative, “I mean, we're planning for Mason already. I am a Knight Saber so we'll”... till felt weird... “be able to surprise him, when he expects only four members. We're using the knowledge from the DVD already.”

“True, but they are my plans. I am the leader of the Knight Sabers after all, it is my job to plan for our future, so that we all survive.” She smiled warmly at me, trying to break a building tension.

“And mine to follow it, I guess.”

She was being delicate, but I picked up on what she wanted me to. She was smarter than me, she was better at contingency planning than me, and if I try and do anything myself, I might get in her way and get someone killed. I'd never even thought about the effect of Irene living.

Again, she nodded, “And I didn't hire you just because of Mason, or your knowledge, I hired you because I thought you would make a good addition to the organisation.”

Flattery... works... heh. She knew what to say to make me feel good anyway.

“So, do you promise?”

“I do,” I nodded. It wasn't like I really had a choice anyway.

And when I felt good, I was more likely to agree with her.

“Thank you, Meg.”

Trust in Sylia, and she will keep you safe. Like a sheep trusting in a shepherd? I wondered in a dark moment. Truth was, she was right... Sylia was better at the whole planning and foresight thing than I'd ever be...

I didn't really think that through though, even as Sylia said she'd see me at the hotel while I waited for the closet-lift, I was still trying to figure out exactly how Sylia saw me. Just another boomer, a sentient life form, or a human trapped in a boomer shell? Why was I even asking that question? She lets me live free, that alone answers the question. She pays me as a Knight Saber. She treats me no different than any other member of the group, no different than made sense because of my 'unique' nature anyway.

It was still hard to shake the feeling that I was hanging off a cliff of freedom, and it was only by Sylia's good will in holding onto my arm, that I didn't fall off, as untrue as it was. She could be cold at times, but she never struck me as a person who would 'own' another sentient being. There were no boomers working in The Silky Doll. The mannequins in the windows were just that... hollow plastic figurines. Sylia, as far as I knew, didn't own any boomers.

Why? When even backwater restaurants had boomer staff?

Human staff as a perception of quality? Did she hate boomers? She didn't hate me, at least she didn't seem like she did. It didn't matter whether Sylia saw me as a boomer or not, she saw me as sentient, as an intelligent being, and worthy of the same treatment as any other intelligent being. I think, possibly, she saw boomers as potential lifeforms too, even the real toasters, and she didn't want to be a slave-owner. Which wasn't exactly what I was thinking, but it was how I explained it to myself.

So why didn't she say as much earlier?... because it wasn't what she wanted to talk about... d'uh me.

Sylia only knows why Sylia does what Sylia does.

I just had to hope she never let go of me.

I passed the stripped-back shell of Gibson's Griffon on the way out. Linna's green Renault was parked out front... starter motor chattering away. NenÃ© waved from the passenger window.

The only thing worth worrying about now was 'Rare' or 'Medium'.

----->>

Linna's apartment was huge, compared to mine, with a proper living area, a proper kitchen area, a separate bathroom including a real bath and an actual bedroom with bed, wardrobe and everything. As a professional fitness and aerobics instructor, she made a good bit more than I did. Even Priss pulled in a higher salary then I did, and she didn't have to worry about monthly rent with that trailer of hers. But I'll bet she didn't have air conditioning in that old truck. Of course, I still had to find a new apartment that wasn't over an hour's journey from Lady633.

Maybe it would've been easier if I had've been Sylia's cyber-slave after all... Freedom was too much hard work sometimes. It was the same old Linux -v- Mac argument, brought to its real life roots. Of course, the only Mac's left were in a museum after Apple had switched exclusively to personal media. Linux had evolved into HCOS... Hardware Common Operating System onto which each PC vendor added their own extensions. Windows still existed, in it's 13th interation, as a HCOS graphical environment.

The lonely march of progress, something I had plenty of time to reflect one while NenÃ© luxuriated in the bath. Guess whose fault it was that we were a half-hour late for the reservation?

A fifty storey ride in a glass lift straddling the side of the hotel was both breathtaking, and terrifying, a 6-inch thick glass floor not doing much to soothe anyone's vertigo. Linna and NenÃ© were still trying to figure out what they were going to eat, while I'd pressed back against the door, watching Tinsel city display where it had gotten its name from, and trying not to guess how long it would take to hit the ground if the lift fell.

I was still surprised how well I could walk in stilettos. When the doors opened, I strolled into the restaurant, not really too bothered. The carpet was so lush, it seemed to melt beneath my feet. The smell... it was like hot roast beef, chicken, Lindbergh cheese and lobster, with added cash.

“Bloody hell.”

“Oh wow,” NenÃ© agreed with me, “I love this place!”

Her pink skirt ruffled as she bounced in her shoes.

“And it's so much better now that you're not paying,” Linna deadpanned, adjusting a strap on her evening dress. Shimmering green satin flowed across her figure, draping below her knees.

Form fitting, gold and strapless, that was the way to go. A single piece yellow number that barely made it to my knees. It demonstrated two things to me... The first, that price was often the inverse of the amount of cloth you actually got, the second that I could wear sexy clothes and not feel like running to the nearest shelter to hide from the staring eyes. It was strangely satisfying, especially that flash of jealousy from the fitness instructor beside me each time somebody took an extra few moments to stare. Sometimes, being the centre of attention was fun, a weird rush of... almost... power.

Poor NenÃ© was stuck in a white blouse and pink skirt... cute mind... especially with those sparkling green eyes of hers.

“Excuse me ladies, do you have a reservation?” enquired the maÃ®tre d'. He was elderly enough, in an evening suit that seemed too large for him, spoke with a forced French accent to his Japanese... And stared at me first, not Linna, which felt like some perverse form of victory.

Even if I was technically cheating.

“Stingray party,” answered NenÃ©

“Ah, Ms. Yamazaki, Romanoff,”... that's how he pronounced it... ” and Deckard I presume. Miss Stingray and Asagiri are waiting for you inside, if you'll follow me.”

His tone added... 'You're late and holding us up, now hurry up'.

We passed through a set of wooden doors, into a glass-walled room, looking out over the entire city. A long bar ran the length of the inside wall, which was lined with shining mirrors, and expensive spirits. Tokyo was beautiful, red navigation lights on the tops of buildings timing out our strides. The tables hugged the windows, each one dressed in the finest cream linen and glittering silverware. I never felt so perfectly out of place in my life. At one table was a sombre business party, probably greasing the wheels to some multi-billion dollar merger, another might've been a wedding. Money money money, must be funny, in a rich-man's world...

Even if I hated Abba, it was hard not to be awed by the conspicuous wealth on display.

“I feel like Porsche 924 go past 911 GT3.”

Nobody got the reference... The cheap shiny model wrapped up in an expensive badge, going past the real thing, repeatedly.

“I'm so out of place,” NenÃ© shrunk down into her blouse.

I couldn't wait to see Priss...

“Just around here ladies,” indicated the manager with his noticeboard.

Our table looked out over GENOM tower, thousands of little lights winking up its black surface. Sylia sat in an ice-white dress looking at her reflection. Priss wasn't wearing leathers... how disappointing... instead wearing a blood-red dress which was almost a mirror of Linna's.

“Well, you're here at last,” Sylia welcomed warmly.

“We would've been here sooner,” said Linna, “But somebody took too long to get ready.”

She stared down at the pink-haired woman beside her.

“Better late than never. Please, take a seat.”

She gestured towards a soft leather bench-style seat... plush and shiny, soft enough to swallow me whole. Priss was already buried in a menu... “I don't think I can afford this stuff,” she said to the vinyl-bound video-card. That wasn't my problem. The number of zeroes after each entry was mind-boggling. Who in their right mind would pay 20,000 yen for WagyÅ« beef? 30K for farm-fresh Whale? They could farm whales? My body however, demanded starch to replenish burned glucose.

Sweetlings... Sweet and Sour beef dumplings on a bed of natural rice. The perfect taste, the perfect fuel for my body. Hot meat, dripping in sauce. Oh yes, Sweetling, you are hot, aren't you? Hot, spicy and succulent...

Chomp.

Delicious.

Made all the sweeter by the fact that I wasn't paying for it.

Why was I in such a damn mischievous mood again? Good food, good wine, and that electrolyte imbalance thanks to the exercise today throwing my hormones out of whack... That, and there was something deeply satisfying about making a real human waiter spill a bottle of expensive red-wine because he was too busy staring into my eyes to watch the glass.

With Sylia in control of my life, it was nice to be able to turn the tables on other random people. I had some power at least, even if it was useless for anything but disturbing innocent randomers. The knowledge that I could go a hell of a lot further than I ever did, or ever wanted to... there was something soothing about it. It wasn't a sexual thing... one of those mental blocks again prevented it from ever being anything like that... It was just reassuring to know that despite being technically a slave, there was some measure of control I had over my own life and over others.

I wonder what would happen if I pushed it on Sylia? God knows I'd never get away with it, but I'd die laughing.

“Well,” Sylia decided to interrupt my ponderings, “Tonight, we have two occasions to celebrate.”

She took a sip from her glass, as the other women went quiet. Our leader was speaking. This was important.

“Firstly, we are welcoming a new member into our club, Meg Deckard here. Congratulations, Meg,” she raised her glass.

“Congratulations!” the others answered, clapping.

I blushed... Dear God I blushed the same colour as NenÃ©'s hair. I half hoped they would consume me with a group hug, but a table full of food was in the way. Priss though, seemed almost reluctant to say it... not even making eye contact.

“Meg will be joining us as our defence, demolitions and engineering expert.”

“Thanks,” I just about managed to squeak out.

“And our permanent designated driver!” Linna barked, gulping down the last of her wine. How many had she had?

“Unfortunately,” I sighed, matching her. Social occasions were so much nicer when you could get drunk. Even Sylia was flushed with alcohol fuelled heat, even if she held it better than anyone I knew. NenÃ© was barely sitting up... after a single glass... poor thing. Priss stared into her own reflection, contemplating something only she knew.

“Well, I think we all deserve an acceptance speech,” Sylia needled... seeming more human with a little drink taken. She was thawing out, her own natural warmth and grace radiating out from behind her melting business mask.

I couldn't get drunk and lose my inhibitions... given my thoughts about control maybe this had been a deliberate design feature. I stood up, and spoke.

“Thanks,” I said again, “It is a pleasure to to be here and meet all nice women like yourself. And... ” heroic thing to say?... ”After I help with Irene, I want to help more people, to do right like hero.”

Bullshit, I could sense someone thinking.

“Well said, Meg,” Sylia released me.

The others added their token agreement, while I dropped back onto my seat.

“The second matter. We have a new friend in the Chang group. They have their own grudge against GENOM, and the resources to provide us with backup and technical support, including specialised hardware not normally available to the public.”

“And Vision's autograph on my hardsuit forearm!” Cheered Linna.

NenÃ© just rolled her eyes and pouted, while Priss suppressed a flash of frustrated anger.

“Try shouting a little louder,” she deadpanned, “GENOM Tower is over three miles away.”

I giggled... They trusted me.

“Be that as it may, they have indicated their willingness to hire us in the future. Our performance last Monday greatly impressed them, they also have several contacts within GENOM and other corporations, and they are willing to share them and their information with us. This has been a nice little earner for us indeed.”

NenÃ© burped... “Excuse me,” she giggled.

Oh to feel that drunk... the only thing I felt was the need to go to the bathroom every 15 minutes. My body had to drain the alcohol out somehow, didn't it?

There was nothing worse than only getting the punchline of Priss' favourite boomer joke, or missing out on a good chunk of a story Linna was telling about her latest boyfriend and his 'unique' hobby. And I got weird looks from the attendant when I cleared my canines into the sink... Perfluorocarbons ruined the taste of wine, too.

But all good things had to come to an end. The bill passed with great pain for those who paid. Sylia and Priss took separate taxis home, while I settled into the driver's seat of Linna's limousine. Rather than driving each and everyone to their home, and Linna having to pick her car up from Yokohama where I lived, the three of us just stayed at Linna's overnight... with one bed for the apartments owner, and a fold out couch shared between myself and NenÃ©.

She was dead to the world with alcoholic tiredness, and I was far too sober and sensible to do anything other than sleep.

It was nice to be trusted, nice to be part of the group. And NenÃ© was lucky, in a way... very few people ever get to sleep with a sexaroid.

Even if that's quite literally exactly what she did.

That, and snore.

------->>

“Can you do 30k?” I asked the phone.

“City centre apartment, for 30 thousand, you're having a laugh mate,” it answered back. “40 a month and you've got a deal.”

Exactly what I wanted. An old trick, beloved of politicians. Offer something twice as bad as you really want, and make them scramble up to the deal and consider themselves lucky to get it.

“Deal!”

“I'll see you next Monday then Ms. Deckard; we can work out the details in my office before you move. Goodbye.”

The voice on the other end of the phone cut off, replaced by a single tone. Two weeks after the restaurant, I'd managed to find a place in an old building a ten minute walk from Hot Legs, double that from Sylia's building, and with the possibility of a view over Tokyo bay.

According to the ad in the fax-paper, it was even slightly bigger than my place at Taro. The reason it was so cheap was because the building was four decades old, had originally been built as an office block, and occasionally fell under a flight path into Tokyo airport.

It was the best I could afford.

Now back to work.

Another Wednesday, another Replicants night…. But also another afternoon with nothing at all to do except keep an eye on the same salaryman with his newspaper, run downloads of concert bootlegs off my laptop, and househunt. And considering I'd just finished the last one, it was back to checking on people complaining about compression errors at 320KB/s encoding and slow downloads at 50 megabytes a second. How spoiled they were. I remembered dial-up in 2005.

“Another beer,” said newspaper man as I walked past, back to the bar.

I was kind of disappointed he didn't look up at me… especially since I'd made specific point to try and wear something… attractive. For science, of course… or pseudoscience anyway. I wore short shorts, coupled with a low cut blouse that only had three buttons across my boobs, and a bare stomach… Well, science and the fact that the bar always got uncomfortably hot…. At least if I wore something light, I could stay cool. Waiting for me at the bar, were Megatokyo's own Crockett and Tubbs

“Afternoon,” I welcomed, feeling the first pangs of fear take hold. Just try relax and act natural…. But not obviously natural because then I'd look like I have something to hide. “What can I get you?”

“Sorry, Meg,” Daley shook his head, reaching into his pocket. Oh God no! my mind screamed. “We're here on business,” he said, stone-faced. He flashed his identification at me. AD Police Inspector Daley Wong, officer number 644359872a, Boomer Crime division.

Panic flared… I wanted to puke, I wanted to run. I wanted to hold it in just in case they weren't after me.

“What business?” I forced out.

He looked to his partner….

“Sorry, got distracted,” Leon smirked back at him, winking at me from behind his shades.

“One of these days I may get jealous,” he purred.

“Humph,” Leon shrugged, flashing his own ID at me. “We're here because of a complaint against this establishment, Miss Deckard.”

Leon the cop was terrifying. “Complaint?”

“Yeah, that your bouncers here are being used in a manner they're not licensed or designed for, and that they've used excessive force against a human being.”

“Oh…”

Thank you Jesus Christ. They're not here for me. My whole body just relaxed.

“Who made the complaint?”

“We can't say,” said Leon. “We just need to talk to the licensed owner of the boomers here, to get this squared away.”

“Mister Nakamura not here,” I told the truth, “Negotiate with landlord today. Back tomorrow.”

“Well, could you show us his licensing then? Do you have a key to his office?”

“Sure,” I nodded, locking the register. Cooperation was king…. Cooperation was unsuspicious. Cooperation would keep them from peering too deeply at me.

“Good,” He smiled reassuringly at me,

I was going to get a bollicking for this. It didn't matter anyway, I knew our licensing was right… It was just annoying. And bloody terrifying. Who'd made the report? What sort of self righteous asshat would set the police on us and why?

“I know who it was!” I declared to the world, as I fumbled with the locks on the door. “It was Daniel Morrigan. Was it?”

“No,” the pair answered quickly… much too quickly.

“He climb on stage and interfere with act.” I stated, “Ask to leave. Refuse. Escort out by bouncer same as everyone,” I crossed my arms. “He just being asshole because we no let him upstage with his sweetheart.”

“We still have to investigate, ma'am,” Leon kept it official, the badge on his jacket reflecting the light impressively. “The law is the law, I'm afraid.”

Why did he suddenly remind me of Judge Dredd with that?

“Alright,” I relented.

The office was small, barely big enough for a desk, a chair, and three large filling cabinets. Next year was the year of the paperless office! Same as this year was last year and last year was the year before that. I rifled through files, carefully reading the two men behind me, for any change… I could feel the pair of them, one broadcasting loud and proud on the testosterone channel, a picture perfect signal of masculinity, the other much cooler and almost feminine but still very male. Three guesses which was which. Nothing I couldn't have figured out just by looking at them, mind.

I scanned for any hint of suspicion, any changes to the atmosphere. Leon flared each time I moved, my own fault for wearing such revealing clothes I guess, but he controlled it well. Daley Wong on the other hand… I sensed a sudden rush of confused… discomfort from him. I guess that was to be expected. My own pheromones hooked into the deepest, most primitive parts of the human brain; underneath a person's own natural desires and preferences. So long as somebody was human and had a working sense of smell, I'd have the same effect on them regardless. If those two men didn't have the power of life and death over me, it might've even been funny, screwing with people's minds being an occasional pastime of mine and all that.

The thing is, Daley would definitely notice… from what I could tell, he had figured something out. A sickening knot of paranoia twisted in my gut. How hard would it be to connect the dots? How long would it take? I swallowed hard, focusing my mind on the task at hand. The pair where still chatting with each other, Daley needling Leon over Priss, and so on… Hurry up! My mind screamed. They were trained boomer investigators, not morons… how long before they could figure me out? I backed everything off to a minimum, but it was still there. Every moment I spent searching was one moment closer to being found out.

They weren't talking about me, they were talking about last nights dinners and Daley's new partner… and not in the police sense. Just two men getting on with a days work, working a simple complaint that normally would've been the job of a low level officer… But since Leon's sweetheart was on tonight they'd decided to take care of it. Just stay calm…. Stay calm…. And be ready to jump through the window. My hands were shaking gently as I pulled the rights files out. I clamped down hard on it. Nothing more suspicious than being nervous around the police, right? Why are you so nervous, miss? Something to hide?

“Got them,” I offered the folders, avoiding eye contact… Just in case.

“Can you copy these for us?” Leon requested, while Daley deliberately busied himself.

I did it quickly, three copies of each of the boomers' licensing documents, announcing that they were entitled to use reasonable force in the pursuance of their duties, and capable of doing so correctly by the design, along with a bunch of other legal mumbo jumbo that had to be, and probably was, in good order, or else somebody would get a court appearance and a nasty fine.

“This should be enough,” Daley told me, clutching tightly to his professionalism as he thumbed through the files. “Thank you for your time, Miss Deckard.”

“One more thing,” Leon just had to edge in with… “What time does Priss start tonight?”

“What time does it say on the schedule?” I gave the canned answer

“But what's the real time?” he winked at me through his shades.

“When Priss' friend finished,” I whispered, winking back.

I was very careful to select a pronoun to suggest that Priss' friend was male… Japanese was fun that way… she'd probably kill me for suggesting as much if she ever found out. Besides, Priss does have male friends, doesn't she?... the Batty brothers for one thing. That's all I said… Leon just drew his own conclusions. All 2 metres of him deflated down into his shoes.

“Come on, stud,” Daley placed a hand on his shoulder, “You know I still love you, don't you?” The two men shared a wry grin, and a deep bond of platonic manliness that somehow smelled like burnt wood and cherries.

“Thanks Meg,” said Leon, giving me a toothy smile. “Tell Priss I was asking for her.”

“I will.”… not. Not if I wanted to live.

They left eventually, taking their files with them. A new name was added to the permaban list, a new face uploaded to the boomers to block, and silence returned. Newspaper man finally got his drink, and the boomers downstairs were setting up the stage for The Replicants, unaware of the trouble caused in their names. I downed a can of energy drink, and did my best to forget about the police. They were gone. The police weren't going to `retire' me today, I got a new place and my hardsuit will be ready Sunday week. A good day. I adjusted the straps on my brassiere to get a bit more lift, and made sure the tip jar was in a noticeable place.

I wanted to see how much of a difference my choice of clothes made to tips. 3 Replicants concerts in my normal denim wear as a control, 3 in something a little sexier, average the results and call it science.

It'd have to do, The Replicants were moving on to another club soon enough. I was still on edge as the bar began to fill up, the usual afternoon rush filing in. The boomers finished up downstairs, donned their suits, and took their evening place at the door. There were some N-Police in the corner, drinking to a comrades future, three days before his retirement. They were daring retirony to snatch him away. A young woman was shot down in flames trying for a boyfriend... who already had a girlfriend, who herself wasn't actually attracted to him, but only using him to attract other women. That made me laugh...

I was never so glad to be freed from the human condition... I'd deliberately switched off an already simulated sex-drive. I could do it if I wanted to, or more correctly, if my supposed owner decided that he wanted a flame-haired bisexual nymphomaniac to want to. If I had still been human, still been the person I'd been before, I'd probably have blown a gasket of lust at the sight of 4 nubile young women in softsuits, tripped over my own tongue and broken my neck. I'd've been a slave to my hormones, to the desires of parts of the brain which hadn't changed since dinosaurs roamed.

Now though, I was the master...

“Um... excuse me, are you busy ma'am?” a blonde American woman interrupted that train of thought.

Duty calls. And that train of thought was on track towards a dangerous station. But I liked what I was, I thought as I got back to work... Aside from electric paranoia each time I spoke to the police... I liked being a boomer. I liked my senses. I liked my fitness. I liked my body. I liked being a piece of cyberpunk, and I liked not being driven wild by a flood of hormones from deep in my nether regions every five minutes. Clear head, clean body... I loved it. And I could make change with my digital coprocessors while thinking about that.

The tip jar jingled as she dived back into the building crowd with her drinks. No fuller than normal at 7:11:02. It seemed what Isildore had told me was just an urban legend... not quite to the point of myth busted, mind. I thought back to a conversation I'd had with Linna a few weeks earlier... about boyfriends and girlfriends, and 'companionship'. I slept with NenÃ© five days later... literally... 3 people in 2 beds, someone had to share. It was nice to be with someone... and just to be with someone... without the demands of millions of years of biology to get in the way of just lying there. I was part of the group... I was trusted... I was a Knight Saber. And that was far better than drunkenly crawling into bed beside a sozzled NenÃ©... forgetting what happened next... then waking up the next morning with an awkward feeling that would never go away every time we spoke to each other.

It was just nice to be close to another person without worrying about the spider's web of sexuality getting in the bloody way.

8 o'clock passed and still no Priss. The Replicants were here... but no Priss. Odd... Hearing my thoughts, the phone rang up behind me. Expecting the singer herself to be on the other end, I answered quickly. It was probably another boomer. And I'd probably have to fill in... again. At least I wouldn't have to change my clothes.

“Hot Legs Bar and Music club,” I answered, “Meg Deckard speaking.”

“Meg, it's Batty,” the phone answered back, “Has there been any word from Priss?”

I could hear the strain in his voice over the line.

“No,” I told him, “I thought you call was her.”

“Damn,” he growled, “She's costing us so much money from blown shows, if it wasn't for her voice she'd be gone.”

I heard him sigh.

“I think I know where Priss is,” I said. “I'll call someone.”

“Thanks.” he breathed. “If she doesn't show up in the next half hour, we'll have to figure something else out.”

I hung up...

Sylia would know where Priss was. If there was a mission, I wondered why my own pager hadn't signalled up a mission. I might not've had a hardsuit yet, but I was still being kept in the loop about things. I double checked my pager to be sure, while dialling the number for Sylia's penthouse. There were a few people waiting to be served, but this was far more important... The phone rang once, twice... I wondered why Sylia didn't install some sort of mobile phone in her hardsuit, or why very few people actually carried them anymore... three rings... This'd be so much easier if Priss had her own phone... four rings, still no answer, maybe they were on a mission and just forgot to tell me... five r...

“Stingray,” a woman's voice answered. Cool, quick, efficient.

“Hi, it's Meg at Hot Legs.”

How do I actually say this?

“Oh hello Meg, how are things?”

A polite way of asking 'Why are you calling me?”

“Grand,” I said, trying to get to the point, “I am looking for Priss. She due for concert here but no sign of her.”

The other end of the line went quiet for a moment, quiet enough to hear the scream of a saw biting into metal in the background. Somehow, I got the feeling Sylia wasn't actually in her penthouse.

“It's Sho,” she told me, “She faxed me earlier today to say she was babysitting him, and that she might be unavailable. She may have been held up.”

“Sho?” I blurted out... but that...

“Yes,” confirmed Sylia, “It means nothing, Priss has been minding him for the last six months.”

“Oh... ”

I stood dumbly for a second... Well they obviously had to have known each other from before the episode, hadn't they? In reality, it meant nothing then, just a drop of the name to ratchet up the tension.

“There are many things about that were never shown on TV, remember?”

I could almost hear a soft, wry smile on her face as she spoke.

“Yeah,” I exhaled into the speaker, before noticing the darkening expression on the faces of customers waiting at the bar, “I am talk later then, Goodbye.”

“Goodbye Meg.”

We both hung up, and I turned to get back to work. Duty calls and all that. The telephone had other ideas. It rang for a second time.

“Oh could you please serve us before you talk to your girlfriends?” someone in the crowd snarked.

“I'm trying to find Priss,” I answered back, handset in hand, “You want concert tonight?”

“We want drinks too,” the anonymous voice demanded.

I hate customers sometimes... they have such an irritating sense of entitlement that gets in the way of actually getting important things done.

“Just give me a minute.”

I didn't even try to hide my irritation, pressing the handset against my

“Hello,” I barked down the line, anger flaring hot. “Hot Legs bar and music club, Meg Deckard speaking,” Same canned line as usual.

“Ah, Meg,” the headset answered in a familiar voice, “It's Priss. I got held up. Tell the band I'll be there in an hour, Sorry about the delay.”

Click... burr... She hung up before I could answer. I sighed again, and turned to faced the angry crowd. There was a small microphone behind the bar for just such an occasion.

“We regret to inform that there will be 1 hour delay starting concert tonight due to circumstances beyond control.”

I got the response I expected, anyway. Half the club thought it was my goddamned fault, and insisted on telling me as much... Well, the customer is always right... even when they're wrong. Damn it. Sho's 'appearance' forced another question into my mind. Would my hardsuit be ready on time? That's the thing, he hadn't just appeared, he'd just come to my notice. When a battle boomer went charging through Tinsel City, then I'd know for sure. But would that be tomorrow, a fortnight's time, or sometime next month... or hopefully later.

----->>

My new place wasn't exactly what I'd expected. On the 12th floor of a 50 storey building, I think it used to be a small-time lawyer's office. One wall was made of plasterboard, the opposite a solid wall of thick glass mounted in the building's steel frame. The apartment itself was basically one room split up into three partitions by more glass walls, with electric blinds to provide some privacy. The shower/WC were facing but separated from each other by a sliding door, as seemed to be the usual practice in Japan. There was some living space, including some basic appliances, a couch, a spot on the wall to hang a TV and not much else. The bedroom barely deserved the title 'room'... it was literally just enough space for the bed, and a small wardrobe.

I think, in terms of square footage the whole apartment might actually have been a little smaller than Taro... and it still smelled like an office... dry, dusty and stale.

“Nice view,” said Linna... who was holding one box of my possessions.

“Yup,” I gave a satisfied nod, holding the other box...

Through the window wall was Tokyo bay, glittering in the afternoon sun, filled with ships and boats of all shapes and sizes. Buildings of all sorts lined the waterfront, concrete, glass and steel, throwing dark shadows and sharp reflections on the quays below. Directly opposite, across about a kilometre or so of open water, was Ota Ward, and a wharf on which the sharp eyed, or those with binoculars anyway, could pick out an old truck... with the word 'Priss' spraypainted on the side.

“How did you afford this place?” Linna questioned, stepping slowly around a low mahogany veneered plastic table.

She winced as the scream of a low flying jet passing a few hundred feet over head answered that question. Windows and doors rattled in their frames as it passed, leaving a low, rolling thunder in its wake.

“It does that sometime, when wind is blowing in wrong direction,” I said, when the roar had died down. “So say building manager. That third time today, none yesterday.”

It didn't really bother me... I'd gotten used to living under an airliner flightpath in my old like... if anything, the occasional jet overhead made this new place feel even more homely and welcoming.

“It's not something I could live with,” she said, placing the box on the table. “Especially in the middle of the night.”

I just shrugged, “Get used to it. And earplugs.” I finished that with a smirk. “Like tea or coffee?” I remembered my manners. I did have a kettle, I did have coffee... I had a 50 percent chance of getting it right.

“Nah, I have to get to work in an hour,” she refused with a smile.

I dropped my box down onto the couch. My possessions in this word could fit into a pair of 2 foot cubes... aside from the K100.

“Shame... But I have work too I guess.”

Besides, I think my new apartment was too small for a housewarming party anyway... And I had to buy a new TV.

“Goodbye, Meg,” Linna gave a soft wave as the door closed behind her.

Another passing airliner punctuated the silence that followed.

It really had once been an office. It had that same office flooring... a hard wearing grey carpet that showed the stains of its past life... I could see the outlines of cubicles and desks bleached in, with plug sockets mounted on the floor.

I could just about make out Priss' trailer sitting in the distance.

Just as Linna's mansion was bigger and better than my little shoebox, so was my little shoebox better than that trailer.

6 days until I got my hardsuit. Still no attack on Sylia's building. Don't tempt fate.

----->>

The big day rolled around.

The city was burning under a July sun, but chills still ran through my body when I got off the bus three blocks from Raven's. I'd been training every Sunday for nearly the last month, but I hadn't actually seen the suit yet... it'd been built at Lady633. The Silky Wagon was parked up outside, tink-tinking as it baked in the summer heat. The engine's fan whirred to life as I passed. Gibson's Griffon had disappeared, having been replaced by an old Nissan GTR that was missing its front end. The other Sabers were here, Priss' bike, NenÃ©'s scooter and Linna's wagon waiting for their owners in a side alley.

The garage's proprietor was working at a bench inside, behind a Honda Civic, the oily guts of a familiar looking motorcycle engine laid out in front of him.

“I'm here Doc.”

“-tor,“ he finished gruffly, “They're downstairs waiting for you,” Raven told me.

“Thanks,” I grinned giddily at him, before pausing. “How's the engine coming?”

He sucked a deep breath through his teeth, as all mechanics did before they gave a particularly expensive bill. I steeled myself for the pain to come as he started to stroke his stubbled chin thoughtfully.”

“Well,” he began, to draw the torture out, “I skimmed the head as far as it could go, but I can't get the compression ratio above 12 to 1... it needs to be at least 15 to 1 to get the best out of gasohol.”

Alcohol having a much higher knock resistance than petrol, meaning an alcohol burning engine can run later ignition and a higher compression ratio than a petrol engine, meaning improved thermodynamic efficiency, so more power, more torque and better fuel economy. And gasohol was a tenth the price of petrol.

“So... ?” I almost didn't dare ask.

“So I've ordered a turbocharger,” he smirked, “Just to boost torque mind, not overall power. 5 PSI of boost should do for 120Nm of torque, and 100kilowatts.”... wow... “But that means a new custom crankshaft, reinforced con-rods, forged pistons, reshaped combustion chambers and that's before the electronics, water and oil pumps, clutch, gearbox and a number of other things.”

“Aw shit,” I muttered. This was going to be expensive... more expensive than I'd planned on anyway. “How much?”

“At least 750 thousand,” he dropped the bomb, “It could go as high as a million. If it wasn't such an old bike, I'd say you'd be better off getting a new one.”

“Yeah,” I exhaled, sucking on my lips. My KS account would have to cover it... and I'd have to do another mission at least before it could “How long's it going to take?”

“Another three months or so. There's a lot of custom parts I have to get fabricated and tested. But it'll be real special when it's finished.”

I nodded gently. “Yeah. Can turbocharger give more than 5PSI, more than 100 horsepower?”

Curiosity demanded an answer... even if I didn't need more than 100-120 horses... even if you never used it, it was still nice to know you had power.

“Kilowatts,” he corrected, “That's about 130 horsepower. 130 kilowatts should be doable easily, over 150 for short bursts.”

I whistled... “Wow.”

“Yup,” he smirked at me through that grey pushbroom moustache, “And it will all be controllable by the old choke lever.”

He was having fun with this, I could tell.

“I just hope I can afford it when finished,” I half laughed... not quite worried, but not quite certain either. How often did KS jobs come along?

“I hope you can too, I don't work for free, haha!” he matched my laugh and I suddenly felt very nervous. “Have fun, Meg.”

“I will,” I beamed. “You too.”

His reply was lost within the scream of a drill.

Three months... just in time to be put away for winter. It didn't seem fair somehow to ride something that special on winter roads, through snow, ice and grit. Poor thing would be eaten alive before the New Year. I practically skipped to the back of the garage, passing the dismantled skeleton of my own bike mounted on a stand on the way. I was swallowing a giggle as I pressed my code into the keypad. It unlocked with a chirp and a metallic click and I stepped inside, trying to be calm and professional about this.

I'd been down here a few times. I'd seen all the Sabers in their own hardsuits before. This wasn't really that different, was it?

My heart was still in my mouth as the lift jolted down.

This was it... final... official... the accolade. 40 million yen of Sylia's own money had been sunk into the new hardsuit... more than a good Italian supercar... Bloody hell. I hope I don't break it, or accidentally trigger one of the suit's weapons and put a hole in something... or someone. Not that anybody would be daft enough to give me live ammo...

I was calmer than I expected to be anyway, aside from a few nervous chills... I was getting used to being around supertech. God forbid being a Knight Saber would ever become routine... Then again, it didn't exactly take forever for me to get used to my new apartment, or living in one of the world's largest and most densely populated cities either. The lift stopped, the door unlocking once more. I adjusted the collar on my jacket, pulled up my jeans, swallowed a gulp of near toxic air thanks to all the detergents, and pushed it open.

“Five thousand, that's the bet!” Priss' voice greeted me.

“Deal,” NenÃ© shook on it.

Sylia was just watching on with a dubious look on her face, as if she didn't approve of what'd just happened, but not enough to actually stop it. Linna was standing half naked, half into her innerwear. The exercise equipment was as it always was, and the remains of a packing crate were splintered across the floor... But no hardsuit. I was almost disappointed. I'd built myself up to expect to see it standing their in all it's shining glory, and I was greeted by Linna's firm breasts, and some wooden splinters.

“I'm here,” I announced my presence, stepping inside.

A queasy bubble rose up the back of my throat, my stomach gurgling. I swallowed it, same as always.

“Meg, we've been waiting for you,” said Sylia.

“Bus in traffic,” I explained, a little nervously.

“Well, hurry up, I want to see Meg's suit in action!” NenÃ© weighed in.

Priss snickered behind her hand, giving me a fiendish smirk. Her eyes had a savage gleam to them... It was unsettling... she was plotting something... something involving a bet with NenÃ©. For the sake of my own sanity, I didn't want to know what it was? I mean, what could go wrong with a hardsuit? I didn't dare ask.

“Meg,” Sylia grabbed my attention, “Your innerwear is in your locker, your hardsuit is down in the sim-room on its hanger. Linna will show you how to board it properly.”

I nodded, barely able to squeak out an “Okay.”

The innerwear didn't feel any different to the softsuit used for training… it still had that same tendency to work itself into private places, and the elastic around the neck was positively dangerous when you had the biggest bust in the club. The camera over my locker was gone, replaced by a white stain of polyfilla smeared in place.

This was it.

There was only one more milestone after this, and that was my first mission.

It felt like the first time I put my jacket on, ready to start up a brand-new secondhand Honda Bros I'd bought and go on my first ride. It was the `one small step one giant leap' sort of threshold to a new stage in life. Or maybe it was just giddiness about cool technology and shiny machines.

“I still remember my first time,” Linna invoked a deliberate double entendre with a vulpine smirk. “ It was so tight around my body,”

“Hah!” I barked. “Innerwear already take my virginity.”

Actually, I genuinely didn't know for sure about it, or really care.

“Hardsuit is more of the same,” she reassured me, “Just wait and see.”

More of the same? I followed the dancer down into the sim-room, while Priss and NenÃ© exchanged sinister whispers and giggles. Whatever they were doing, they were doing their damnedest to keep it from me. I didn't want to know why. I just wanted to see what was standing hunched under that white sheet beside Linna's open suit. My whole body was tingling, my lips curled up with an expectant smile. The shape beneath the sheet was vaguely humanoid, hunchbacked, but still managing to be nearly as tall as I was.

“Take it off,” said Linna.

“Yeah, we want to see what colour you chose,” NenÃ©'s voice came through the speakers.

Priss watched in silence, an expectant gleam in her eyes. She had something on her mind alright, and it wasn't my good fortune and health. I giggled, taking a firm grip of the cloth. One firm tug and it pulled free, revealing the form beneath.

“Oh wow,” I mumbled, sheets dropping at my feet. My whole body went numb as I pressed my hand against the cold metal shoulder. Liquid reflections from the brilliant white lights overhead flowed across the surface of the armour.

It wasn't a projection. It wasn't a mockup. Hanging by its back from some kind of dock, it was solid ceramic and steel, painted in a high-gloss industrial yellow with a shadow grey trim across the chest and hips. It smelled of metal, ozone and machine oil, mixed with a mint detergent. Split wide open, the toes and feet were nothing but bottomless black pits. The helmet was hung off the twin-thruster backpack, a pair of antennae stacked on top of each other, stretching back from above and below where I guessed the right ear was. Opposite them, laser engraved on a plate of shining, polished metal were the words KNIGHT SABERS in a bold black. Across a polished collar, engraved the same way was the word HARDSUIT.

The extended right arm ended in a manipulator claw, with two penny-sized silver barrels built into the palm, the left arm ending in a black glove, with some sort of knuckleguard swung back, pointing towards the elbow. Mounted just below the hips, on both sides, were empty racks, to mount a number of explosive charges.

It was mine... sort of.

“Jesus,” I said. And that was all I could say for several pregnant seconds.

It stood there, purposeful, sleek aggressive and sexy, even split in two and ready for boarding.

“Nice colour,” said Linna.

Yellow... because it suited my cowardly nature, I guess. It also matched my hair, even if nobody would ever see it inside the helmet. NenÃ© gave a thumbs up through the window, and I winked back at her. Priss was waiting, while Sylia worked.

“Just do what I do. Don't push to hard, just let everything slide naturally into place. It's easy,” Linna reassured with a warm smile.

Linna placed both hands on the open shoulders of her suit to balance herself, as she stepped over the exposed linear motor track holding both halves together. Toes pointing down, she slid one leg in, followed by the second. Wiggling a little to settle herself, she reached down to the carry handles on the hips and pulled the suit up. Both halves of the thighs sealed tight with a gaseous hiss and a muffled servo whine.

“Remember to push the magic buttons under the handles, or it'll just stay locked, and you won't be able to lift it. Now then, lean forward and arms in.”

She did so, sliding both arms down, snuggling her chest into place.

“Hands into the gloves. There's a switch in the right to seal the suit.”

Another whine, and the suit snapped her upright, clamping around her neck.

“Just drop the helmet into place, lining up the connectors, and,” she pulled her helmet down over her head, taking care to tuck a few stray strands of hair in, “done,” she finished, her voice distorted by the helmets modulation.

She flexed her manipulator a few times, steel fingers clacking as they clenched.

“Now you try,” the hardsuit said.

“Alright,” I peered down into the black voids of the legs... even with the overhead lights, I couldn't see the soles of the boots. Thick red lining reminded me of some animals gaping maw or a...

Dirty thoughts, I sniggered to myself. Support myself on the shoulders... step over the motors... point the toes and slide in. It was tight, yes... but..

“It's cold,” I winced, nearly jumping off it.

“The lining acts as a heat sink, and an impact absorber. It takes a few minutes to warm to your body temperature,” Sylia informed me, about ten seconds too late, “Just keep going.”

“Alright,” I said again.

There was no boot, as such... my foot slid down, pointing straight down all the way like a ballerina's. It wasn't even like a pair of stilettos, the foot literally pointed straight down. I slid my second leg in, bubbles of air rasping up from inside as my foot settled snugly into place. Copying Linna, I grabbed both carry handles, searching for a switch with my fingers. Got it. Push it, then pull. The suit clamped down hard around my waist and crotch, arctic gel meeting sensitive skin. I yelped with fright, cold chills shocking through my body. It was like someone had dunked me in iced water.

“Oh, that happened to me the first time,” said the hardsuit beside me, “It's sort of a tradition, I guess, to make the rookie suffer as we all did. It's funny.”

Is this what Priss had been waiting for?

Her expression hadn't changed... she still wore that same expectant smirk. What could be more terrifying that getting your most private parts compressed in a frozen gel vice? My body was shivering with the cold, with volcanic excitement and tingling apprehension. I slipped my arms down into place, chills shocking though my chest as my body nestled into place. Fingers into gloves, switches to hand. I pushed a button. Click. The suit's motors slammed me upright, body sealing tightly. Servos whirred to life, tendrils of heat fingering their way through power conduits as the suit bootstrapped itself. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at my armoured form.

“Awesome,” I gasped.

I gripped my right hand, staring in amazement at as the claw matched my movement.

“How do you feel?” enquired Sylia.

Invincible, I wanted to say. Cocooned in steel, nothing could touch me. It was a dangerous feeling, but I revelled in it. I knew I could take on anything and everything GENOM could throw at me, and walk through it unscathed. And it was so light! I could feel it compressing my body, gel lining flowing around my frame but at the same time there was no sense of wearing heavy armour at all, just an amplified tightness from the softsuit. I felt like I could pull off Bruce Lee style martial arts effortlessly... big high kicks and deft pirouettes through the air before landing gracefully like some iron ballerina. And all this was articulated by a single wobbling sound out my mouth, a little like “uhweeoo.”

“I think she likes it,” commented NenÃ© with a bubbling giggle.

Is this how battle-boomers feel every day of their... short... lives? Powerful, invulnerable.

“All seals are good, power flow is normal,” Sylia's voice was distant, all my attention focused on quantifying the strange feeling of being heavily armoured, without the 'heavy' part.

“Only thing left is the helmet, Meg,” said Linna. It was strangely alien to hear her voice coming from inside that armoured shell. With the green armour and almost insectoid helmet with its two razor antennae, it was like listening to a talking praying mantis.

“A World of made cardboard and sugarglass or what?” I commented under my breath.

“What was that?” asked the dancer beside me.

“Nothing,” I dismissed it.

It was power steering for the body, that same feeling of lightness and quick reactions, along with the same woolliness and dulling of feel, an isolation from the world. It only got worse as I pulled the helmet down over my head. My senses compressed down into a small black, sweet vinyl smelling void. I could hear nothing except my own breath, and the rising whir of ventilator fans kicking in, blowing cool, desert-dry air across my shoulders. For an instant, the darkness was pierced only by a single flashing caret, followed by a sudden rush of katakana I couldn't follow. Darkness was pierced by strobing technicolour lights, display screens flickering to life.

A moment later, I was looking at the same white wall as before, overlaid with a green wireframe picking out whatever points the suit's OS found interesting.

Linna was highlighted with a small leader, and the letters “KS-GREEN”. Sylia, NenÃ© and Priss where both singled out as humans. I had pitch, roll and attitude displays, a digital compass and map, a small targeting reticle tracking where my right arm was pointing and a simple status display.

10: STL: established: Host: Blacknight:8a2e:370:7334. Signal: 82
20: Ipconf: 2001:db8:85a3::8a2e:370:7334

30: Vent: Online. Mode:positive
40: Las: Mode: cut: Power: Offline
50: Thrust: Mode: offline: ERR 221. NoFuel.

60: A.GNS: 1759
70: S-Mine: Rack Empty.
80: Batt: 20 : 10:15 estimated remaining.
90: goto: 10

I checked it against what I'd been told was expected. Everything worked as it should.

I turned my head to look at Linna for a moment, HUD highlighting little details about her suit as she walked forward, footsteps tap-tapping across the floor. I could see the whole world frame dragging, my hardsuits' display refreshing too slow to keep up. Details I'd normally have been able to pick out, like the grain of the concrete, or every stray strand of NenÃ©'s hair were gone... blurred out of existence by image compression and a screen resolution designed for human eyes. I could see the pixels clearly.

“Knight Yellow, Knight Green, radio check?” Linna's voice boomed into my ears, painfully loud.

“Knight Green, Knight Yellow,” I answered unsteadily, “Loud and clear.”

“Meg,” Sylia spoke again, her voice tinny and distant thanks to the suits own external mics. “I'm going to release the suit from the hanger. Good luck.”

Good luck?

I felt the bolts come loose, a quick alarm sounding out to make sure I noticed. For one brief moment I was standing in a vat of slowly warming gels, my body supported by the suit. Eager to test the limits of freedom, I tried to take one step forward. Foot down and... screech! An earsplitting scream of grinding metal resonating through the suit's structure. I felt myself falling backwards before the suit's own stabilisers tried to cut in. I reached vainly out for a handhold that didn't exist, confounding the suits own gyros and making the results sickeningly inevitable.

I braced for a hard impact that never came

With a soft bump as if landing on a mattress, answered by the metallic ring of steel on concrete, I landed on my backside. The shock of the impact rippled around my body, tickling my toes and neck before reflecting back to the ground. I barely felt the hit. I could already hear the laughter as I tried to push myself up to my feet. Shame turned knots in my knots in my stomach, while Linna offered a hand to help me up.

“Bollocks!” I spat into my helmet.

“That's 5000 yen, NenÃ©,” I heard Priss' voice bluster, NenÃ© shamefully laughing into her own hand while admitting defeat. I hated Priss for it.

“Everyone falls their first time,” Linna reassured my through a private link.

I gave her a sour look, hidden by my visor. Why the hell didn't she bloody warn me?

“Try again, Meg,” said Sylia, with enforced serenity. Her voice couldn't fool me.. I'd seen her laugh too. Well, I wasn't going to fall a second time... no way... that would just be pathetic. If I was going to be a Knight Saber, then at least I was going to be half decent at it.

Linna pulled me effortlessly upright with one hand... I couldn't feel her grip. The world had become a strange video game, and I was wearing some sort of force feedback bodysuit like some enveloping Dual-Shock controller.

Shakily, I tried again... It was a little like walking on stilts... everything below the knee was one solid piece of laser-milled armour. My toes were several inches above where the toe of the boot itself was... There was that same feeling of distance even if the high-heeled design was surprisingly stable, once you got the hang of it. I heard the steel ring of my footsteps more than actually feeling them. There was no sense at all of the suit having any weight. Linna escorted me through testing exercises, slowly familiarising me with the suit's responses, as well as breaking in the suit mechanics. Sylia gave instructions, Linna demonstrated, I copied.

“I could die right now and be happy,” I said, doing jumping jacks while trying not to hit the ceiling. I really could.

“Don't,” ordered Sylia, “Your suit cost too much to build for you to die before completing a mission.”

Was that a joke? I glanced at Linna, but the hardsuit just shrugged expressionlessly. I could hear Priss laughing maniacally at something, and NenÃ© was squealing something about her wallet being violated. I felt like a real battle machine... I never wanted to take the suit off... Nothing could touch me in here, safe in my metal skin. Seeing myself in a mirror was both creepy, and strangely alluring... Most of all... of all the things I wanted to do with my brand new suit... was wear it to an animÃ© con and call it cosplay. I wanted the whole world to see me wearing it and know that I, Meg Deckard, was a Knight Saber... an armoured superhero of justice and honour.

Sylia of course, might have a few words to say about that mind... probably along the lines of 'You're fired,' followed by a gunshot.

“So, are we doing that Hare and Hounds next week?” NenÃ©'s voice enquired, the young woman herself appearing, pink with sweat, and with her hair frizzed and split.

What had she been doing with Priss?

The biker herself appeared moments later, looking oddly satisfied with herself... as if she'd just made a nice amount of money. “Only if you aren't allowed to cheat with your ECM,” she said, glaring down at the hacker.

NenÃ© puffed up like a cute, angry pufferfish, “I am entitled to use the systems in my hardsuit as I see fit. Just because you're too much of an apewoman to understand what ECM does.”

Priss turned red, “At least my I can get a boyfriend that doesn't require batteries or a network connection.”

Linna beside me just sighed, “Always the same when NenÃ© loses a bet,” she said through a private channel.

“I have had a real boyfriend!” screeched NenÃ©, staring bloody fury into Priss' eyes.

I got the feeling that everyone else knew otherwise, and were just humouring her by not making a point of it.

“Pinnochio?” Priss stabbed with a Lioness's hungry grin “Only it's not his nose that gets longer when you lie,” she twisted the blade, drinking the other woman's suffering.

“Ow,” I winced in sympathy. But, better her than me... and I knew better than to get between a Lion and a Zebra.

“It gets old with time,” Linna continued through the comm-link. “NenÃ© only ever calls her an apewoman... she's not that good at throwing insults.”

“At least I don't ride motorcycles to hide the fact that I can't get a ride anywhere else,” NenÃ© brought out her big guns.

Sylia just rolled her eyes and decided not to get involved.

“I can tell,” I said quietly, afraid they'd hear me despite the soundproofing. “What is hare and hounds anyway?”

I had some idea, of course... somebody playing the hare, being chased by others playing the hounds... but how did that work with hardsuits?

“If we're doing it, you'll see for yourself, it's real fun,” I could hear her grinning through the radio.

“So how you feel first time in hardsuit?” I asked Linna... loosing interest in the slagging match above.

The hardsuit beside me dropped into thought.

“It was terrifying,” it said softly, “At first. I had so much power at my hands. I thought about those boomeroids of all things, who'd encased their bodies in steel, and then went mad in it.” She paused, remembering what I was supposed to be... “no offence Meg,”

“None taken.” Well, I wasn't a boomeroid.

“Of course, on my first mission I got stabbed in the stomach. Hardsuits protect against lasers and bullets pretty well, but not an assassin boomer with a sharp knife, disguised as a harmless kid. This might sound weird, but it was such a relief to find I wasn't invincible, that I could still be injured.”

The hardsuit looked at me, is if waiting for me to tell her how silly she was being. I thought about it, remembering how Anri stabbed Priss, for some odd reason. I poked at my gut with the manipulator, running the steel claw across the plates, down across my crotch and hips.

“All armour has chinks in it, I guess... ”

“Well, now that I've shared mine, how about you share yours?”

That old I show you mine you show me yours thing?

“I felt like battle boomer. Strong and cold and inhuman.”

Well, not inhuman exactly...

“Battleboomer?”

Linna sounded almost shocked by the idea. I nodded inside my suit, forgetting that the helmet might not actually match the gesture.

“Even more of machine than I am, I mean.”

Stupid! I grimaced inside my helmet, realising what exactly I'd just said. Nervous thrills ran through my body as the hardsuit beside me went silent. Could I really escape with this thing if I had to? I'd certainly have the element of surprise on my side.

“Inhuman? You mean, you don't consider yourself to be human anymore?”

Her voice was soft and subdued... I got the sense she thought she was walking in a verbal minefield. There was a minefield, but it wasn't exactly herself who was walking in it.

“No,” I shook my head. I didn't want to lie, but the less I said on it the better. I could hear Linna breathing, slow, controlled into her mic.

“That's... I think that may be dangerous,” she said, speaking very carefully, and very politely.

“Well... Am what I am. Not go mad trying to cling to last of something I not have anymore. Still myself, my soul.” Still bullshitting, but I had to get out of this before I said something really dumb. “Body is not human... sort of... but still alive inside.”

“I see,” she said. The hardsuit looked at me, and then up at Priss. “That's your choice I guess, Meg. It's not one I'd want to make,” she took a breath, “I guess I can understand. It's not the right one, I mean, you sound like you gave it up so easily, as if it didn't matter to you.”

All I could do was shrug, “I just not feel human. Why pretend?. Still me, just in different shell.”

“I don't know,” she exhaled a long, worried sigh, “If I ever had to be a cyborg,” she took a nervous, uncomfortable gulp, “I'd like to think I still had that..em... spark that makes me human. ”

“I don't see difference. Body just a shell to hold mind, right?” How do I explain this? “Take 1 litre of water and put into a 1 litre jug. Then put it in a 1litre crystal vase. What has changed except the shape? It is still the same water chemically, still the same amount... nothing about it has changed except container.”

Of course I was waffling... and I was smugly satisfied with how well I was doing at it too. My actual opinion of what and who I was, beyond 'Meg Deckard, Knight Saber and sex machine,' was a lot more complex, to the point where actually thinking about it gave me headaches. I was two different people, and both were one at the same time... or something... I was I and that was good enough.

“Not unless some of it gets spilled on the way,” she remarked.

“I have... what's the word?” I didn't want to say soul even if that's the way my heart was pointing. “I have intelligence.”

“Boomers have intelligence,” said Linna, “The high quality ones, you can talk to them, they answer back, they sound intelligent, they look, feel and even smell like a real person, but it's just a copy, a facsimile of humanity turned out on a factory floor. They may be intelligent, but they're still machines, nothing more. Don't call yourself a machine, Meg, you're more than that.”

She stabbed me, right in the heart... and she didn't even know it. I wanted to throw that in her face... announce to the entire group what exactly I was and see it on her face when she realised she'd considered a machine an intelligent and human friend... how I'd fooled her and the other Sabers. But I couldn't... I could feel hot tears running down my cheeks, my body shivering. I wanted to throw up inside my helmet. Just a machine...

“Human body also machine,” I fell back to the old argument, speaking as seriously as I could,“Biochemical, all thought nothing more than electric signal between synapses... everything humans are nothing more than chemical reaction which exist solely to keep themselves going.”

“Humans have soul, have spirit.” she paused for a second, thinking about it. “Boomers don't.”

“I've a soul,” I stated with burning conviction. All pretense of bullshit be damned, I was speaking as a boomer. “I know I think, I know what I am.”

And I sounded like I was trying desperately to convince her of that.

“The soul is humanity. You say that you have a soul, if you believe you have that spark, therefore you still have your humanity.” Her tone was bright and perky, as if she'd done me a favour by convincing me I was still a human being. “Q.E.D.”

I wanted desperately too prove her wrong on that. I knew I had spirit. I knew I was a 33-S. I had once been human, but not anymore. I was a different person than that man, but still the same. I think therefore I am. I am myself, and all that sort of thing. Cogito ergo... something.

“I think a machine can be alive,” I told her. “As much as a human.”

“Well, if that's your philosophy, then how you feel makes sense I suppose,” she shrugged, “Just don't say that to Priss if you want to live.”

I could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Priss hate machines, I know,” I said. I guessed it was the reason she was so on edge around me, but I couldn't read her mind.

The hardsuit nodded, “It's more than that. NenÃ© tells me that when she got her tech-hair done, Priss wouldn't talk to her for weeks afterwards. It's something from Priss' biker gang days... I think... she places a great value on her humanity.”

“I know that.”

I remembered what the blue Saber'd said, back in the hospital with Irene a month earlier. Replace any part of your body, and you become something other than human... I suppose she could understand and accept cybernetics by necessity, but I could understand why she'd be so offended by someone voluntarily replacing a piece of their body, or giving up on their humanity entirely. Another person throwing away casually that which she most values about herself? Suddenly, Priss made a lot more sense... Why she''d been so cold and brusque at first, then why she seemed to warm just a little to me when she found out about my bike. Priss called it 'my anchor'. She thought it was something to remind me of my humanity.

Upstairs, she was yelling into NenÃ©'s face about buzzing energizer bunnies, while NenÃ© had decided to point out that the only ride Priss ever got was from Mr Kawasaki. Sylia looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh, or stop it before somebody's hair got pulled. It was infinitely more satisfying to watch those two arguing, than debating the nature of humanity and sentience... that was something Linna and I could definitely agree on. This wasn't the time or place for serious business like that... even if it still stung a little.

We got back to our exercises.

It was only when wearing a hardsuit that you could appreciate Sylia's talents... the attention to the little details. The suit's ventilation didn't roar into the ears. The HUD didn't overload the human brain with information, highlighting anything truly important, like another Saber, either in hardsuit or not. And it really flattered the female figure... partly because Sylia seemed to like to air the fashion designer within whenever possible, and partly because the suits had to be tight to the body, both to make for a smaller target, and so the gel liner could do its job properly.

And once it had had time to adapt to my body shape, and to get some heat into it from the motors and my body, it was pretty bloody comfortable.

“Meg, any malfunctions,” enquired Sylia, having used her authority as our absolute leader, along with the threat of cleaning duty, to regain control. Priss and NenÃ© watched on, with expressions like punished children.

“Negative,” I announced, chest filling with pride.

“Good,” the woman smiled, “Telemetry looks good up here. Signal strength from the innerwear is satisfactory. Pulse decoder response times are within tolerance. Basic functions are all within their normal parameters. Primary systems check out.”

“Sweet,” I gave a thumbs up back.

“The colour does suit her,” a begrudging admission growled over the intercom.

Was that a shot?

“There's a reason I chose midnight blue,” Priss said.

I had to take this opportunity...

“To hide unflattery figure,” I jibed with a savage smirk. It was what everyone else seemed to be doing, even if it was probably suicide. “I choose yellow to show my figure to world,” And just to add a final cut, I stretched to the ceiling, throwing my hardsuited figure into a sharp relief under the bright lights.

“Boomers don't care about figure, they'll just see you as a nice, obvious juicy yellow target,” she shot back with a smirk. She was smiling, but it wasn't a nice smile. “Rookie”

She just had to say it...

“That is true,” Sylia took her side... she always seemed to take Priss' side. “You may have a hardsuit Meg, but if we were to put you in the field right now, you'd just be a liability. So, once we've established the functionality of the subsystems tonight, we can begin your training tomorrow. The sooner we get you up to speed the better. It'll make our hare and hounds game next week so much more interesting.”

Her tone was cheerful, but I knew the real reason.

I had to rain on her parade, “I have work tomorrow.. I cannot skip work.”

“Night work Yes?”

Sylia was wearing that soft, victorious smile of hers. She knew something I didn't.

“Yes,” I felt a cold, clammy hand of dread weighing down on my shoulder.

“And your apartment is 20 minutes from Lady633?”

“Yes,”... Oh no...

“Can you make it to the basement under the building for 9am? Since you work in the afternoon, I think three hours a day will do fine, and still give you time to clean up before work.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” my shoulders drooped.

So that made for four hours of sleep a night... until Brian J. Mason decided to stick his nose in. Priss was loving it... everyone enjoys the suffering of the newbie, don't they?... Linna used a private link to inform me that she'd had to do the same thing, and to wish me luck. I was still running tests on my hardsuit at 11pm that night, when the other Sabers had long gone home.

Welcome to the Knight Sabers.

At least it gave me time to think about Priss, and about my conversations with Linna.

------>>

It was always hard to hear things like 'stupid boomer', or 'talking toaster', and not get tweaked by it. Then again, I had to remember that even if I was intelligent, sentient or whatever word you wanted to use for it, 99.9 percent of boomers out there weren't... underneath all the digital checks and balances, was the equivalent of a rat's brain... according to the web anyway. That was the model 9 AI used in everything from labourers, to waiters, to shop assistants, and was generally characterised as 'frustratingly stupid'... and that was the polite way of saying it.

The thing nobody dared point out, was that humans were judging boomers by human standards. It wasn't something they would really notice themselves… I could question myself about when humans had started becoming `they', but they certainly weren't `we'… I wasn't one of them.

When a computer erred, or blatantly refused to make an obvious leap of logic, smart people would understand it was limited, it would usually be forgiven its digital limitations. Accounting consultants never got it, but most intelligent users usually figured out that it was `just a computer'. It could never Do What I Mean… It would only ever Do What I Say…And people rarely mean what they say.

Cyberdroids on the other hand, could DWIM…To a point. They looked like a person, even the cheap ones crawled zombie-like up out of the depths of the uncanny valley… 2 arms, 2 legs, 2 eyes, plastic hair, a pointy nose and pouty lips through which words came… As far as the deep parts of the human brain, the parts that decide whether something is dinner, or at least suitable as a dinner ingredient, were concerned, it was a human… A really weird one nonetheless, but it fit the pattern. The top of the brain would know it wasn't human, the bottom wouldn't care. Even the deliberate seams on mannequins' faces didn't break the subconscious illusion. It was close enough… closer than a chimpanzee anyway.

And so they judged it by human standards, as an irritatingly stupid human. One with problems that may be contagious, an inferior one to be shunned. And one thing humans can hate more than computers, are `inferior' humans.

Cyberdroids were stupid... but on a human scale. No-one… except maybe the researchers who'd built them first… seemed to understand that the fact that they could be frustratingly stupid, and try to make leaps of deduction (even if they failed from time to time), put them at a level above pure computers, and that fuzzy logic toaster I'd bought. With computers decisions weren't made so much as determined in advance by somebody sitting at another computer several years before. If, else, or, 10 goto 20 and so on. Provided with something outside this... it just gives up and either crashes, or if the programmer was reasonably good at his job, throws up an error and refuses to do its job.

Even a basic boomer with programmed imperatives, when faced with a problem outside its knowledge could guess at a solution in a way a computer couldn't. And if the solution worked, the boomer would retain it. A robot worker in a cafÃ©, when faced with a differently shaped teapot that the one it had been programmed to use... it would just try and use it in the same way as the old teapot, and when that failed only realise that it hadn't worked, nothing more. It would never occur to it to change its solution

A boomer would see this new teapot, know what it is meant to do with a teapot and apply the same rules to the new teapot. If its solution worked, it would continue to apply it. If not, it would discard the solution, and generate a new one based upon its experiences with teapots. This gave the basic boomer its big advantage over a robot... a boomer could operate in the real world, with changing, chaotic stimuli, which meant it could take the place of humans doing sometimes very complex, but still menial tasks.

But it wasn't intelligent. It was, at most, instinctive. A rat at most, an ant at the very minimum.

The model 11, which I was built around, was a military design, originally intended for big-steel battleboomers with more sensors than your average battleship. Radar, infrared, microwave, thermal-optics and electromagnetics on the mid-range models even. Battle boomers had to be smart, and they had to be savage... they had to feel pure hatred. That was the big marketing point, the savagery of man's hatred contained in a body bristling with guns. Their brain design was based on that of a human's... only with substantially denser neuron counts to handle all the extra senses. The only real difference being the parts of the brain which held personality and emotion... emotions other than hatred anyway, were replaced by electronics. This left something a little below the level of a dog... but not something anyone without a deathwish would want to pet. It could learn and plan, and it could feel some emotion... but it could never 'think'.

It followed much the same patterns as the type-9's, only it was much smarter, it could leap further.

Show a type-9 that has only known open-spouted teapots a closed bottle and tell it to get the liquid inside the bottle out... without telling it how... and it would have a hard time understanding that it had to open the container first. They were programmed to ask for help when that happened. “I'm sorry, could you show me how?” and variants, had become the new “A problem has been detected and Windows has been shut down to prevent damage to your computer,”... the same groans of frustration ensued.

A battleboomer which has only known teapots, when faced with a closed bottle and told to get the liquid out would guess that it had to open the bottle first. And then probably blow the bottle to pieces. Well, the liquid was out... and that's what you'd told it to do. And for completing the mission you'd given it, it'd be rewarded with a massive rush of endorphin analogues... Because if it feels good to do something, the boomer is far more likely to do it again. Replace the exploding bottle with an exploding man, and you have a recipe for a bloodthirsty monster.

It works for humans too. Make it feel good, and a human will do it… will do it for the sake of doing it and getting that feeling. Some god-awful things have been made to feel good.

And then there was me, and some other android models. Also a model-11, mostly unrestricted and able to enjoy the full gamut of human emotion... the only difference between a sentient android, and an intelligent one were a few programming blocks built deep inside the brain that prevented the intelligent one from ever understanding what it was.

An intelligent android knows it's an android, it doesn't understand anything else, just that it is that thing that must do what its owner tells it. It is never able to question this, it just does. It can pass for human, but it's really just a simulation... and like a simulation, once you knew where to look, you could see just how fake it was.

A sentient android knows it's an android, and comprehends what that means. I could comprehend 'myself', both the boomer, and that person I had once been. I still wasn't exactly sure how to describe that, but I could still think about it... even if I wasn't that good at figuring it out. I did what Sylia told me to, because I agreed to, because I wanted to.

Why would somebody build a sexaroid with free will?

Because an android that obeyed because it knew nothing else was boring... an android that understood it was a slave and obeyed because it had no other choice but to bow to your power... what corporate executive could resist that?

Or for that matter, somebody who stayed with you, because they wanted to be with you...

No, it was probably the first.

The point though, is that the vast majority of boomers really were nothing but emulations of sentience at best. According to GENOM, 408 33-S had been built, and maybe as many again 39-S series 'Corporate secretaries', since production of sexaroids was banned. They stopped when GENOM abandoned biomimetic boomers entirely in 2030.

And that was it.

Maybe 1000 out of however many millions of cyberdroids GENOM had built. Of which less than half remain in service. Linna wasn't wrong when she said that boomers lacked the same spark of intellect as humans. Statistically, she was dead right. It did hurt at first but with mature reflection, all I was, was the exception that proved the rule, and not an exception that was obvious at first glance either.

It was nice to be special.

----->>

I watched the news for any battleboomer rampages in Tinsel city. None. A combat boomer tore chunks out of Yokohama, but that was it. 3 ADP killed before the Sabers stopped it. Every morning I got up early, got a nice breakfast from Sylia, got my three hours of training in, got dressed for work, did 12 hours of work for the price of 8, and finally got home at 3am. I was lucky to get four hours sleep out of it.

I learned how to use the laser cannon built into my suit's right arm... its dual barrels could blast a hole in a boomer's head from 100 yards, or be focused into a high powered cutting torch, which could burn through a foot of steel. Sylia called it the one-two cannon, both because of its dual function, and because it worked by firing one shot from one barrel to disrupt the target's armour, followed a hundredth of a second later by another shot, straight through the damaged armour and into the guts of the target.

On my left arm was a handguard which slammed into place like a knuckleduster, shielding the gloved hand from the knucklebombers built into it. 4 shaped charges which fired a jet of hypersonic metal into the face of whatever I decided to punch. If all four triggered at once, I could put a hole through 3 inches of armour and wreak flaming havoc on whatever was within.

And get a third degree burn in the process if I wasn't careful... ouch. It was the only real close combat weapon I had, the laser-cutter took too long to burn through.

My final weapon were the 6 S-mines mounted in racks on my hips. Good for blowing up boomers, blowing down doors, or laying remote detonated booby traps. Dangerous even to a hardsuit that got too close to the explosion.

Additionally, as a last ditch measure, I could remove the right battleglove... which allowed me to manhandle some seriously heavy weaponry... the suit could handle a Browning machine gun the way your average ADP trooper handled his rifle. Of course, I had to give up all pretense of assault capabilities to do it, but in a pinch I could carry some really heavy kit. I could hold ground with fixed booby-traps and serious firepower. Given the right hardware, and the time to prepare, I could defend as well as Priss could assault.

That was my position in the team... blow the hole on the way in, then guard it with my life because it was most likely the way out as well.

I also had the same standard equipment as the other Sabers, an ECCM suite that could handle most basic forms of radio jamming, an emergency ejection system... just in case... and a network hookup to send any intelligence back home to the base covertly. I could jump about 200 yards with the suit's thrusters helping, or up a ten story building from the ground. I could fall and hit the ground at terminal velocity, and the hardsuit would save me, jets and gel lining taking the brunt of the fall.

I spent 3 hours a day for the next 6 days learning how to use all of these abilities without killing myself or another Saber.

There was no hint of Mason doing anything.

There was a mission on Friday... I got the call up while I was at work, but Sylia specifically ordered me to stay at work... My first mission would be against Mason... I was her ace in the hole.

Hare and Hounds was fun... even if I lasted about 10 minutes before being tagged by Sylia... but not before 'killing' NenÃ©. Sylia herself was the only one who 'escaped', managing to kill all four Sabers under Priss' command on the way. The whole point of the exercise was to build teamwork, get the team used to working a member down in an emergency, and get other members used to command and control, in case Sylia herself was taken out.

It was a game of course.

One thing I took from it, apart from a few bruises thanks to an overhead girder I didn't see before jumping, was that if ever somebody went rogue in a hardsuit, it would take a lot of blood to stop them. It would probably be the end of the Knight Sabers, no matter what else happened. That thought lingered much longer than the bruises. It was disturbing to think about treason, especially since they were pretty much the only friends I had. Having a hardsuit was nice, but when I really asked myself what I liked the most, it was the simple fact that I was part of a group.

I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to turn Quisling for GENOM or whoever... I knew I'd give up any chance to go home for the Sabers. Just because I came down with the occasional bout of homesickness didn't mean that, in general I didn't like my life in Megatokyo. Sylia was also very careful to keep us happy... she knew her training was hard on me, especially considering how little sleep I was getting. She offered a healthy breakfast in the morning, tuned for a sexaroid's needs, and after training, she recommended a hot bath, herbal soaps and a starchy lunch.

She made working for her a pleasure. She always asked, she never ordered... she used that old trick beloved of all good leaders of only asking for what she knew she wouldn't be refused. She treated me like a person, even though she knew what I was.

And she prepared a nice little party for us all on the Thursday after Hare and Hounds to celebrate our victory rescuing Irene a month and a half earlier. Because on Thursday, DHK were broadcasting a documentary sponsored by the Chang group, featuring Irene Cann, and exposing the depths of the superboomer project. It was something worth taking a night off for. Good food, good company, GENOM getting a kick in the bollocks in front of millions, it was going to be a wonderful night. NenÃ© got her shift changed, Priss skipped out on a rehearsal and Linna rescheduled a date.

It was going to be a blast...

It was mid-July, and the city had been slowly broiling all day. As night fell, the clouds rolled in, reflecting the lights below, a sickly and bloated blanket over the city. Nights were hot and muggy, the atmosphere constipated with rain that just wouldn't fall. Most people had the good sense to stay indoors, air conditioners behind, TV in front, so the streets were empty. Even the homeless hid from the heat down black alleys. In a jacket and jeans, I was suffering... but it was better to boil beneath the heat than beneath the gaze of passers-by.

I guessed I was about a 5 minute walk from Lady633, with maybe 20 minutes before the program started. 5 minutes until air conditioned bliss.

The first rumble of thunder rolled along the canyon streets, rattling windows and seeming to rise up through the soles of my feet. I gazed up at the sky above, waiting for the storm to finally break. Quickly, I buttoned my jacket up, not wanting to enter the unofficial MegaTokyo wet-T-shirt championships. I passed by a hurrying office-lady in a purple suit and pencil skirt... struggling to get home before the rain. She was broadcasting 'I cheated on my husband and don't want him to know' on all wavelengths, along with undercurrents of mollified frustrations. The scent of shame mixed with post-coital radiance and the sweaty smell of sex hurriedly drowned beneath a litre or two of eau de toilette. It scalded my nostrils, hanging in the still air long after she'd escaped inside some expensive looking apartment block.

Another rumble of thunder, somehow closer. Again, I looked up to the sky.

No change.

I tracked a small swarm of ADP Fire-Bees buzzing overhead. They were in an awful hurry somewhere...

Emphasis on awful.

There was still traffic in the streets, droning past. It wasn't calm as such... a city like Megatokyo is never calm... it was normal. A car pulled up alongside, a dull beige Nissan Saloon. I thought it was just parking up for a second, I didn't actually pay it any attention until until the window rolled down.

“Excuse me miss,” called the driver... an elderly man, with thinning hair and soft, honest eyes.

Not again...

“I'm not a fucking Streetwalker!” I screeched back at him, pushing the full force of my fury through my voice. I felt the bolt of shame run through his body, and revelled in it... gotcha.

“Sorry,” he blurted, eyes panicking... “I didn't mean... ” he stuttered, desperate for any sort of escape. “I mean... ” another gasping breath, “I only want directions to Mikado hotel!”

“Oh... ” my mouth gaped open stupidly. “Sorry, don't know this part of town,” I made a quick excuse before suddenly rushing on.

He grunted and drove off ahead of me, with a sharp squeal of spinning tyres.

Well, I couldn't be blamed for making that assumption... the last five times somebody'd 'stopped for directions', their next question was 'How much for the night?'. It was bloody annoying. I put it out of my mind with a deep breath. Sirens were rising in the distance, wailing through the concrete canyons, rushing in from all around. Police in the city... that wasn't anything unusual... they seemed to be getting closer. Common sense kicked in, and I pressed forward.

Another rumble of thunder, with a kick to the chest as a chaser... The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle, a distant dread rising in the air. Something was very wrong here... I stopped and turned for a second, looking back down the street. Neon lights flickered, advertising a hundred different services. A CGI image who looked something like Lucy Liu gazed down with platonic love from the building opposite, offering a pack of tampons. Another point for the Boomer... I could... and did... disable that 'feature'.

The picture shifted, ersatz Lucy giving way to an old lady, easily 90, introducing us to her home assistant... a gentlemanly cyberdroid who could cook, clean, help her out of the bath and answer the door. A few wisps of greyish smoke were rising lazily up, maybe a kilometre or so away. I watched them curiously, wondering what was burning. Sirens were wailing, rushing towards me, they seemed to be closing in from all sides, rising all around me. Suddenly, they became tremendously loud, wailing painfully in my ears, resonating off the windows and rolling down the street. Turbine engines screamed at a high pitch, stabbing through my eardrums with sonic knives, mixing with the squeal of tortured tyres.

An ADP truck hammered past, engine roaring as it smashed through a parked car as if it was a dinky toy, followed by a second, then a third, being chased by a pair of speeding V8 interceptors. Red, white and blue lights strobed off the surrounding buildings, thousands of windows throwing epileptic reflections into the street, glinting back off the trucks in a cacophony of light and sound. Traffic parted around them like a shoal of fish escaping a charging shark, the curses of the wrecked car's owner lost in the din. A newscopter chopped through the air overhead, cameramen hanging out like `nam doorgunners shooting the action below. Another ominous rumble of thunder rose through the street… A sooty orange mushroom boiling up in the distance from some building hidden in the city lights.

Oh no, not tonight...

The same unsettling realisation slowly dawned on everyone else around me.

Nobody panicked… terror flared in the air, but nobody bolted and ran screaming. There was nobody banging at locked doors desperate to get inside, nobody bricking in windows to loot while they hand the chance… No `Oh My God' hysterics. People were afraid… I was afraid… I could feel my whole body going taut with fear… but nobody panicked. Everyone had some idea of what to do… the ADP broadcast a simple ad campaign to tell them.

1: Get indoors and STAY indoors. If caught away from home, enter the NEAREST building.
2: Do not lock your door. Locked doors do not stop rogue cyberdroids but do PREVENT escape.
3: If a cyberdroid enters your home, FLEE. If you cannot flee then HIDE within your home.
4: DO NOT threaten the cyberdroid under ANY circumstances. Remain CALM and non-threatening.
5: If a family member or work colleague is being assaulted DO NOT assist them. WAIT for the ADPolice.

How many people actually complied with them was a different matter. By rights, I should've ducked right into the SportsWorld beside me and just waited it out... but watching the trucks race away, I guessed whatever was kicking up the fuss was far enough away that it wasn't really my problem. Yet... be careful to add the yet... I'd seen so many disaster films, so many times, where the innocent bystanders ignored the perfectly obvious warnings, then die horribly just to illustrate how evil/dangerous/messy the big-bad is/was/will be.

The Silkydoll was just around the corner, maybe a few minutes away... whatever was growing flaming mushrooms was still about a mile away. It had an armoured basement, with my hardsuit. A little extra risk now, for a lot of safety later. It was the rational choice. Another blast rattled the shutters on the shopfront beside me, disturbing the birds roosting above. Fingers of fear crawled through my body, my mouth going dry.

I started running at an easy jog... just in case.

I was trying not to be too worried... just a boomer rampage... they happen every day in Megatokyo. Literally. It was just an inconvenience... a potentially deadly one... but an inconvenience nonetheless. There were as many boomers as cars in Megatokyo. More people got killed on Tokyo roads annually, than got ripped to bloody shreds by a boomer gone buggo. That's not including Police mind, but the ADP were just '3 Officers killed tonight', ten seconds on a ten minute bulletin.

No wonder the following news item was about a drop in ADP recruitment levels.

People were starting to scatter, shop-shutters rolling down. Some were running... I was running... but it was all orderly. Even the tourists knew what to do... Cyberdroids weren't just a Megatokyo phenomenon. And I probably should've worn a bra, but it was laundry day and a tank-top seemed appealing. I hadn't expected to run anywhere. Explosions rolled up behind me, rapidly gaining ground... I put all thoughts of GAINAX animÃ© out of my head and bolted for it. There was discomfort, and there was death barrelling up behind.

I chose to deal with the discomfort... it felt like my chest was tearing itself free with each step... but it was better than getting my arms torn free by a bloody minded battleboomer. Around the corner, glancing at a homeless man ducking inside an upmarket tailor's before the shutters came down. That was the rule. And it was the law. You didn't lock people out unless you weren't present on your premises. The bum was pushed out swearing, cursing the owner to a horrible death.

Or you had the money to pay the fine, and the good luck not to have the person torn to shreds at your doorway.

I kept running. Fear kept me fuelled, but I relished the chance to actually use the skills I'd gained. I wanted to break something that wasn't holographic... I wanted to be in-fucking-vulnerable in the face of the storm rolling in behind. Something else exploded, the shockwave screaming through the air, kicking harder in the chest. I could smell acrid, oily smoke tangled in the breeze, taste its bitter tang on the air. The sirens were getting closer, screaming tones mixed with a strange staccato rattle that reminded me of Halloween fireworks back home. But this was no time for homesickness. I wasn't a moron, I knew what those were... I just enjoyed deluding myself for a few more seconds...

The same jet engines were howling back up the road, booted feet chasing after them. The fire-bee's were buzzing overhead, pitch and timbre of the sirens changing as the trucks came round the corner behind. Fucking hell they were moving fast.

“Don't look back,” I grunted, breathing hard, “Just don't look back.”

I didn't want to see what was following me. I didn't want to see it. It wasn't there. Just focus on Lady633, at the end of this street. Keep breathing, keep running...

I loved being a 33-S.

As a human, I'd've been dead on my feet.

Haha, dead on my feet... what a bad choice of words. Just focus on the destination... I'd never think I'd be so desperate to get inside a lingerie shop. I prayed the door was open... it probably was... but it never hurt to ask the Almighty, even if he never listened. White lightning flickered, radiating hot on the back of my neck, illuminating the entire street for a split second. Moments later, an ear splitting crack of thunder flashed through my frame, kicking the wind out of me. Glass rained down from above, mingling with the shouted orders of some sergeant and somebody screaming in pain.

“Don't look back,” I snarled, breathing hard. “Don't... look... back!”

I looked back...

One of the trucks was burning, consumed by fire, hot and blue, nothing but a blasted shell remaining. With my senses, I could see black shapes in the cab that might once have been human. ADP officers were picking themselves up, trying to get themselves in order, another truck reversing into place. There was a scream of metal, being torn apart, the burning truck's last tortured cry.

Through the flames, I saw it, lurching forward... a black, humanoid hulk, maybe 10 feet tall... I could see the fires glinting off its lenses, smoke rising from a gun barrel. I was watching an action movie... live and in living colour. And bad special effects. It all looked digital. There wasn't enough smoke. The reflections were... off... How fucking weird. It was obvious what was going to happen to them. I think they knew it too. They turned and fired anyway, a hundred champagne corks popping to celebrate their impending demise. Why weren't they running, falling back? Why were they just standing there, shooting pointlessly at it? Why were they just standing there like lambs to be fucking slaughtered?

I wouldn't have.

Well I knew how this one ended... and it wasn't something I wanted to see. I just kept running. Better them than me. They were just shadows in the fire...

The gunfire stopped.

I heard nothing else above the roar of the fire. I didn't want to know anything else.

The greatest miracle was to burst through the front door of the Silky Doll, and hear it slam shut behind me. The shutters were down on the windows, but Sylia was still standing resolutely behind the counter in an elegant but practical orange dress, a few customers whispering between themselves, underwear in hand. I was shaking like a bloody leaf, my body still jammed on flight. Instinctively, I scanned the shop for a back entrance... another escape. It was so weird. A full blown war film was going on a hundred yards down the road, while in here, there were women shopping for underwear, the air smelled of cherry and calming panpipes were playing through a speaker overhead.

“It must be getting bad outside,” one of the women... who was the sheer definition of willowy, despite the best efforts of her powersuit... commented to her friend, another businesswoman with blonde hair, a sharp gaze and an incongruous pair of laced panties in her hands.

“The last time this happened, the police dealt with it in five minutes. It's just annoying is all,” her friend shrugged.

“Yeah,” Willow woman sighed, “But we could be in a worse place.”

She pulled a frilly bra off of a hanger, holding it up with a smirk.

“Ladies,” Sylia cut in with a single clap, “I think maybe we should move into the back of the store, just in case.”

Her voice was calm and requesting. She still smiled, as if she was offering them a chance to try some 'special' things on in the back, not normally available to general customers. Nobody argued. They were discussing lace patterns and stitching quality, while all holy hell was breaking loose outside. The shutters rattled nervously on their rails.

“It must really be getting rough outside,” Sylia said, exhaling. She returned to her post behind the register, as if she was talking about nothing more than a stiff breeze and a few millimetres of rain.

I looked back over my shoulder, past a plastic bust in the window, at the steel grey shutters, waiting for them to smash in through the windows. They rattled, but still refused to budge. My body was hot, fired up and ready to run, artificial muscles twitching... Sylia just stood there, as cool and calm as the air itself. I felt almost travel-sick, brain trying to make sense of the incongruity of inside compared to out. Like sitting still in a car, while watching the world fly past at a hundred miles an hour, two conflicting streams of information which the brain could just not reconcile, so decided that something had to be wrong. My body pulled itself tight, every muscle screaming demands to run. I was charged up like a capacitor, bloated with energy that just wanted nothing more than to vent. Sweat cascaded from my body, exploring crevices and cleavages.

“I think... ” I swallowed a calming gulp of air... “I think the episode is starting.”

“Step inside, away from the windows,” she suggested.

I glanced back again, not quite sure what I was supposed to do or say, or even how I was supposed to say it. There was no sense of urgency, no need to shout, no need to run inside. I brushed past a chromed rack loaded with luscious lingerie. I still didn't get what the point was. I knew which individual items would go together, which would be the sexiest, which would be the cutest, which would be the most elegant and ladylike, and what would be the perfect situation to wear them, except the translucent panties. Still not much I could afford.

Alright, remember why I came here. Not the GENOM exposÃ©... I ran here for two reasons. An armoured bunker, and an armoured hardsuit. I am a Knight Saber.

Knight Sabers fight boomers.

Alright... deep breath. I could feel the weight of responsibility pushing me down. I leant down against the table. Do I really want to fight that black monster solo? And anyways, I think I knew what Sylia's answer would be.

“Should I head downstairs and get ready?”

“No,” she shook her head, “It would be impossible to hide the origin of the hardsuit. Our base would be discovered, and broadcast live on television to the entire city.”

“Oh... ”

Never underestimate Sylia's ability to make you feel stupid. She was looking at a picture so much bigger than mine, I was watching a 12 inch portable, while she had the full 50 inches of widescreen worldview at her disposal.

“Mason has always suspected me as the leader of the Knight Sabers,” she said, “Regardless of the DVDs. the technology we use is difficult to hide as anything but my fathers work. He never could prove it however. He may have the power of a GENOM executive, but he is still only an executive. Even GENOM has rules against using company resources for personal vendettas.”

“They never seemed so hesitant on TV,” I countered. “They went for Irene pretty quickly.”

“They knew who she was, what she knew, and were certain that she would expose their project. They feared that she would go to the press and make exactly the sort of exposÃ© DHK are broadcasting tonight. “

Wrong again... and I got the feeling that any argument I gave had already been considered and shot down inside Sylia's mind a long time before I ever thought of it. I sighed... Sylia the chessmaster.

“So he's trying to provoke us then? Attacking to smoke us out of our burrow?” Sylia nodded. It was nice to understand, and nice to be able to demonstrate that I understood, rather than just being a child beneath her intellect. “But there's still the DVDs. Wouldn't they be proof?”

“To Mason maybe, but he is keeping his own secrets from Quincy. Secrets which, if discovered by Quincy, would lead to Mason's employment being terminated with extreme prejudice.”

Something about that brought a smile to my face. There was a lot of low hanging fruit to grab, and I wolfed it all down. More than GENOM bureaucracy saved the Sabers. Sylia had dirt on Mason, dirt that prevented him from being direct. Something crashed hard into the shutters, sending a stunned bolt of electricity up my spine. Sylia winced back, proving she was human. I glanced around, seeing a dent in the shuttering, and a crack in one of the windows beneath it.

“I thought that was a boomer for a second,” Sylia admitted, almost ashamed.

“Me too.” The air conditioning was still blowing cool. I glanced at the dent again, wondering what made it. “Deflector shields holding, Captain.”

If I listened, I could still here the staccato bark of gunfire, mixed with a strange, deep pom-pom, that reminded me of someone blowing across the mouth of a jug.

I tuned it out.

“No matter what Mason does, we cannot answer,” Sylia returned to the topic at hand,

“Sho?”

I sensed a gentle hint of... shame... I knew what she was going to say, before she said it.

“We can't.” she said.

“But,” I started... “His mother is going to... ”

“Die, I know,” Sylia cut me off. She fixed me with a hard stare. “We can't take overt action, we can't risk Mason discovering us, or the fact that we have the same information about the future he does.”

I felt horribly guilty. It made sense, that was the hell of it. Her logic was so airtight, so obvious she didn't need to explain it any further. My conscience pricked me in the side, choosing the perfect moment of weakness to attack.

What about the ADPolice officers outside being slaughtered? What's the difference between them and the mother of a boy you never met?

Fuck off, I told it.

It was right of course. She was just another person, no different from those lifeless silhouettes. But that wasn't a thought I wanted to entertain. Sylia took a deep breath, she wasn't liking it either.

“We can't save everyone, Meg,” she said, her tone softening. “We can't even try. We try to save everyone, and we will save no one. The longer we live, the longer we can fight, the more lives we save tomorrow, the more lives we can save next month, or next year. If we get ourselves killed, trying to save one person, hundreds will condemned to death with us as GENOM runs unchecked across the world.”

Sylia Stingray, always looking at the bigger picture. Together we'd just condemned someone to death.

“Shit,” I said.

“That's what the others said when I gave them the same speech,” she reassured me, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

“We have to save ourselves, before we can save others,” I summarised for me own benefit.

Sylia nodded gently. I didn't envy her, to have hundreds of these stains on her conscience. At least I could say 'I was only following orders'. Priss on the other hand... if she was standing here, I knew what she would say, she'd raise holy hell and make damn sure she did what was right by her... the rules be damned. I half-wished I was more like here... I might've been able to stand up to Sylia a little better... actually say 'no' once in a while...

“I just don't like the idea of doing nothing... I guess,” I rocked back on my heels, glancing at the door. “Can't we at least warn Priss or something? I dunno... ” I looked down at my feet, trying to arrange this right, “Tell her to keep her out of the building, or something?”

“I will,” she smiled at me. “I cannot be obvious about it, for obvious reasons, but I will try.”

She would find a way. She probably already knew how.

“Thank you.”

I bowed with gratitude, Japanese style... it seemed the right thing to do.

The whole room seemed to inhale, the air filling with stinging stars of shining glass. Sylia's hair seemed to explode into a static charged afro, her expression frozen into an incongruous electric shock. Flaming, flying panties were reflected in her eyes.

Liar Liar pants on fire. I could've laughed.

The hand of God slammed me hard down onto the counter, face first into register. Something sharp bit through my cheek, the counter's edge kicking me in the stomach. Through blurry eyes, I could see Sylia hanging in the air, looking like a golden angel with her dress billowing under her arms. Everything paused for an instant of clarity, before the room blew out again.

Sylia was thrown towards me, thudding against the counter before falling lifelessly. I was flying... actually flying... looking straight up at the ceiling. I couldn't feel pain, but I knew it was going to hurt. Oh God how I didn't want to land. Please don't hurt. My shoulder exploded in agony as I smashed through the bargain bin, landing face up in a pile of silken delicates. I cried out in pain, someone holding a gas-axe to my shoulder, burning through the core of my body.

There was no bang, no explosion, just a tinkling rain of razor sharp snow.

I wasn't panicking, my brain was still stuck somewhere around Afro-Sylia... And how beautiful the glass snow looked, each one twinkling and twirling in the air like crystal ballerinas. Beautiful silver sparks. The world outside roared into the shopfront, filling it with a scream of burning turbines, then hot sulphurous tang of burning jet fuel, singed silk, oil and the rattle of gunfire. A hundred sirens warbled, wailed and squawked.

"Oh shit," I groaned, trying to orient myself.

So much pain...

My body was desperate for cold air, panting to try and blow out the fire in my shoulder. I screwed my eyes shut, whimpering as shards of glass bit into exposed skin. Fucking hell... oh Holy fuck...

What the hell just happened?

I wanted to panic... I wanted to run, I wanted to do something other than just lying there and picking through a hundred pains inside my body all clamouring for my attention, but I couldn't. The fire was spreading through my chest. I tried to pick myself up again, but the pain was just too much to do anything but lie there and whimper through gritted teeth.

"Meg," I heard a voice. "Meg!"

"Unnghh," I groaned, gasping for air.

"Get behind the... "

What?

A cold, deathly shadow washed over me. A black void of pheromone, of emotion. I turned my head over, coming face to face with a battle-scarred matte-black armoured foot.

Slowly, I looked up, to see a body, bulky and vaguely humanoid, encased in armour plates thicker than my hands, orange hydraulic oil leaking through cracked seams, slashes of silver metal highlighting a hundred or more bullet impacts across its frame. I could see its eyes, nothing but glistening focusing lenses, hidden behind a crazed crystal shield. Sparks spat off its body, gunfire stitching a new line of dents on its surface. It raised its forearm... its right arm ending in a smoking bazooka. I felt sick, watching the ammunition feeds cycle another shell into place.

I had to warn someone... anyone...

"Watch Out!" I screamed, my voice straining as new agonies tore across my chest.

The fire from my shoulder was spreading.

"Pull back!” a woman's voice ordered.

The bazooka fired, a deep thump kicking me in the chest and raising dust from the floor. Something detonated a fraction of a second later, sending a shock through the floor, followed by a hot rush of air like someone'd opened an oven door beside my face. Hot, dry, and stinking of raw diesel oil.

Someone screamed, but they didn't do it for very long. I deliberately decided not to dwell on the implications of that. I had to save my own arse first. Thrusters snapped out of the boomer's calves and back, blued steel nozzles still steaming hot spooling up with a terrible electric whine. A sudden terror flared... I'd be incinerated if I stayed where I was... Shot to pieces if I tried to stand up... Oh fucking hell, and as I got over that, my shoulder reminded me that it was still bloody broken.

Blue lightning arced within the turbines.

Oh bugger this...

Gasping for breath, I pushed myself to my feet with my good hand, sparks of pain shooting. I grimaced, feeling dizzy, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Propping myself against a scorched rack of frilly teddies, I swayed on my feet for a second, before darting for safety behind the register. I could hear the roar building behind me, the heat baking my back... I half tripped, half dived into cover, screaming as my bad arm landed awkwardly.

Something inside popped, snapping disgustingly in my ear.

The heat became unbearable, scalding the back of my jacket. I buried my head under my good hand, in a vain attempt to protect myself. I could feel the skin on the back of my hand begin to burn, heat nipping at any exposed flesh.

Sylia was sitting under her desk, watching me... calm as anything... as if this sort of thing was an everyday occurrence for her. It was... but that didn't suck the strangeness out of her expression either. Her hair was mildly ruffled, and there were some tears in dress, but otherwise... Whatever she said to me was lost as the ceiling crushed down around out, filling the room with a horrendous crumble of falling concrete, squeal of torn steel beams and a hundred other sounds that were washed out and smothered by a suffocating grey cloud of concrete dust.

I screwed my eyes shut waited for that one final crush... the final squeeze and pop as the whole building dropped down on top of me.

It never came.

Cautiously, I opened one eye.

Sylia watched back, ghost-like, covered in dust.

“We have to get to the basement,” she repeated what she'd said moments before.

I checked myself over... everything still attached... most things announcing that fact with a hundred new pains. I coughed and spat grey phlegm onto the floor.

“I don't think I can get up,” I told her.

I didn't really want to either.

“Hurt?”

“Shoulder,” I said. “I think I broke it.”

I grunted as it bit deep, teeth chewing inside. I could taste blood in my mouth running from some gash in my cheek.

“Give me your hand,” she pushed herself to her feet, offering her left hand. Open palmed, almost a smile on her face. Follow me and I'll lead you to your salvation.

Shite, I cursed inwardly.

Well, at least I was getting used to mortal peril. What was this, time number 3? How long before it becomes routine?

“This is going to hurt,” I whimpered, offering my good arm.

I wasn't disappointed. I screamed for a second time, being dragged back to my feet in a cloud of dust. Dizzy, half stunned and barely on my feet, I took one quick look at what was left of the shopfront. Most of the front windows were just plain gone, shreds of torn cotton and silk drifting on the breeze, smouldering sparks leaving lazy smoke trails through the air like drunken fireflies. Most of what had been the ceiling was now the floor. The din of the ADPolice outside was muted by the drifting dust, flickering lights slicing through, throwing a hundred spinning shadows.

“I feel like shit,” I slurred, running fingers through dusty hair.

The firealarm went off, adding its wailing melancholy to the chaos. It was ringing inside my ears, punching against the inside of my head.

Sylia's features hardened to solid granite. “We have to get down to the hardsuit bay.”

“I don't think I can fight,” I steadied myself against a doorframe, already following her.

“We're not going to fight, we have to warn the others to stay away,” she said, her voice like liquid ice. It washed over me like a cold shower, soaking to the skin.

The sprinklers had gone off.

Following Sylia into the backroom, I could feel the building shudder as the boomer went wild, punching through the building's structure. Sylia was watching the ceiling above her, little flakes of paint dropping trails of dust. I could see it on her face... she was worried about the people up there. There was nothing that could be done, though. If you can't flee, then hide... whatever you do, don't try and help someone... those were the rules. No sense getting ourselves hurt running up there, right?

I was already fucking hurt... And as soon as I started thinking about it, the pain stabbed back into my shoulder, letting me know that yes, it was still there, and yes, I was still barely conscious. Dizzy, shivering, but still standing.

“How bad are you?” Sylia asked.

“Bad.” That's all I could say.

I could feel the bones grinding, the metal brace holding the joint cutting deep... sawing through flesh. Tears were running down my cheek. I gritted my teeth, trying to swallow it.

Repair time: Negative without assistance, my hardware told me.

The lift was down... Do not Use in FIRE printed in alarming red characters where the floor number normally was. The doors were open, so nobody would be trapped inside it, but it'd go nowhere.

“Feel able to take the stairs?”

“Barely,” I grunted, through clenched teeth “I'm not Priss.”

I often wondered just what exactly Priss was made of... her body showed scars of some serious punishment. I took another breath, focusing on just moving forward... one step, two step...

“Priss is well used to it,” said Sylia, pushing an emergency door open.

I took a few moments to rest against a wall, looking down at my feet. If I really listened hard, above the rattle of machine guns, or the juddering crash of that boomer smashing it's way through the building... I thought I could hear people screaming...

I didn't want to hear that...

Following Sylia down into a darkened stairwell, I felt the anger radiating off her... her face didn't show it, but I could certainly sense it, damped down and smouldering, ready to flare up into a full blown backdraft. It was quieter in the stairwell... but not by much. I could hear voices far above, hysterical, charging down in a flurry of footsteps. I looked up, peering around the staircases...

“People are coming down!” I shouted.

Not many, about five or six if I had to guess.

Sylia looked up, a flash of sheer horror running across her features.

“It's in the apartments,” she whispered. She caught herself moments later, her composure slamming down on it like a castle portcullis, “We have to get down.”

I stood and watched her for a second.

Sylia was scared...

“Hurry,” she barked.

Just grit your teeth and go...

We got down to the parking garage. Quiet, cool. I glanced over the cars themselves, waiting patiently for their owners, oblivious to the carnage above. Sylia's Mercedes smiled, headlights glittering like eyes with reflections from the overhead lights. It had recognised its owner, and wondered if it would go for a drive.

Tonnes of concrete crushed it flat.

I felt the hit in my stomach, followed an instant later by the crash of shattering glass, the hollow rumble of falling concrete and the pained screams of twenty car alarms dying beneath the rubble.

I heard the turbine yowl before I saw it...

“It's... it's looking for the base,” I stuttered out, peering through the concrete dust.

Mason was attacking... Mason was attacking us!

“I know,” stated Sylia. “We might have to destroy our equipment and make a run for it.”

“Oh hell... ”

That was like a kick to the stomach.

“We can take our hardsuits and escape to Raven's. We wait for the others, then decide where to go from there.”

Priss was going to blame me for this, I was sure of it. That was almost the more horrifying prospect. I glanced over to garage, flames starting to lap under some of the wrecks. A better prospect than staying here if that lot blew... With that thought, something exploded. A hot blast of air picked me up... not again, I whimpered, bracing for the pain... before dropping me half on top of Sylia. My arm went numb... stone cold numb... Was it still there? I panicked for an instant, grasping with my good hand for my shoulder...

Yes, it was. I almost wished it wasn't.

Pain returned with a bang, racing through my body. I grunted, gasping for air. What I got was a mixture of concrete and gasohol fumes, and the whine of strained servos. Two machines were fighting in the smoke, two shadows dancing around each other. A single strobe of light from above highlighted a flash of blue armour, and the letters ADP... brilliant, white... welcome. An ADP battlesuit was fighting the boomer.

“I don't think we want to stay here, Meg,” Sylia reminded me where I was... and how she was beneath me.

She was streaked with blood and dirt from a hundred little cuts and scratches, sweat pouring off her body. I rolled off of her, grunting as my shoulder flared once more. Both of us were just lying on the cold concrete.

“I don't think I can get up on my own.”

I could barely breath...

“I'll help... ” she paused, her whole body straining as it forced down some great pain. “I can stand.”

She picked herself up, slowly, shakily, supporting herself with the wall. She was panting hard, fighting back the agony in her body... I could see it... And still she was able to pull me to my feet.

“Thanks,” I said, before spitting a black gobbet of concrete dust and smoke onto the ground. “You alright?”

“Just a few bruised ribs,” she waved it off, “You're heavier than you look.”

“Sorry,” I blushed slightly, “I'll try not land on you next time.”

She didn't laugh... I did, a hacking, hoarse laugh.

“Lets go,” she said.

My first mission in a hardsuit, I thought, and it's the end of the Knight Sabers... or near enough to it. Unless a miracle intervened...

Hello God, you there?

God answered with a third blast, punching into the garage. It kicked me in the back, crushing my body against the wall. Sylia stumbled on her feet, catching herself against the doorhandle.

Sub-basement access: PRIVATE, read a small, discreet label.

It popped open, the woman lurching through it. A new stairwell, still lit... just keep going. I can worry later... just keep going. Sylia knew what she was doing. Just follow Sylia... I stopped just inside the doorframe, curiosity demanding I take a look. A shadow loomed in the smoke. I studied it, picking out the details. Boomer? The boomer's bazooka fired, the same hollow thump, followed immediately by a hard metallic crash. I watched as the shadow rushed forwards and through the space I'd been standing in moments earlier.

A K-suit slammed into the wall, crushing and splintering concrete beneath its bulk. The suit was burning, dropping limply to the ground. For a moment, it reminded me of a broken action figure thrown aside by a cruel child, blocky, limp and lifeless. It was burning in the stomach, blue armour dented and scorched, hydraulic oil leaking out. I stood there, enraptured as the boomer loomed out of the shadows, damaged but still standing. One of its arms was missing, bleeding fluids on the ground, but its machine eyes still whirled in their housing, flickering and scanning.

It looked down at its helpless foe, then right at me.

Glass lenses, cold and lifeless... studying me.

I could see my reflection... bloody and battered... staring back at me with wide, terrified eyes.

“Meg!” Sylia called... ”Meg!”

“Oh no,” I whispered, staring down into the barrel of its gun... an empty black hole that promised an instant and painless death.

That was it... I was done for...

I couldn't run. If I tried to run it would fire. I stood rooted to the spot... frozen...

It still analysed, lenses cycling over, trying to determine if I was a threat. Quietly, I raised my good arm above my head in surrender. An idea... a stupid idea... but a better one than running. Gently, slowly, I lowered myself to my knees. It was instinctive. It won't fire if I don't threaten it.

It looked down at me, kneeling... quirked its 'head' slightly, like a puppy that didn't quite understand what it was seeing. Servos flickered, sensor probes tickling the air. Under its armour, I could see hoses pulsating, cables twitching, artificial sinews tightening.

“Fuck off already,” I burred under my breath.

It turned away, satisfied I was harmless. Heavy steel feet thumped on the concrete. I sat there, frozen stiff, just watching as it turned it's back to me, searching for another target.

“Bloody hell,” I whispered.

It was bleeding, two smoking holes punched in its back. I could see the machinery inside, clicking, whirring, twisting and reforming Wounded, its stride was heavy and lethargic, feet crunching down. It turned to the downed ADP-K suit, scanning it. Blood-red hydraulic oil was pooling in a slick beneath the wreck... was it oil? The air stank of burning fuel, hot and acrid, stinging the eyes. Another fuel tank burst under the rubble with a dull crump, and a rush of heat. The sprinklers were dead, water pissing uselessly on the ground from broken pipes. Vile black smoke rose through the whole, a cool breeze rushing up behind me, fuelling the building fire.

I just knelt there, watching it inspect the wreck. The suit's machine gun was lying on the ground... it looked to me like a giant grease gun, a broad, barrel shaped body, ending in a snub, narrow muzzle. Exposed circuits on its smashed arm arced, cables twitched. It crouched down on its knees, offering its wounded arm to the weapon. Tendrils lashed out, melting into the gun's case, drawing it slowly up to the shattered stump.

My whole body was shaking as I watched it absorb the grease-gun... I couldn't stand up, I couldn't speak, I could just kneel there, cradling my wounded arm... The only reason I wasn't dead was the idle whim of a machine which concluded that a damaged sexaroid wasn't worth wasting a bullet on.

Another flash spat from the smoke, slamming into the boomer's side, another hot gust of wind washing over me, grit and smoke stinging my face and eyes. The remains of the grease-gun clattered to the ground. The boomer spun about its waist, trying to bring its bazooka to bear on its new attacker.

It failed.

Three more shots punched through its guts, sending plates of red-hot arm scything through the air. Pressing his advantage, the suit's pilot charged forward, crashing his machine hard into the battleboomer, both of them crushing the ruined suit. The pilot grabbed the boomer's gun-arm in one hand, its sensor head in the other and started to pull. Black tendrils snaked along the blue armour, one last desperate gambit by the machine, trying to take control of the K-11. Servos screamed with pain, sparks spitting from joints pushed past their design limits.

With a final, tearing wrench, followed by a bubbling jets of mandarin hydraulic oil, the head of the boomer twisted free like the stalk from an apple, followed moments later by the gun arm. The body spasmed, spurting its vital fluids across the body of the battlesuit. It shuddered, trying to stand up, before the body finally realised it was dead.

The camera lens focused on me for a brief instant... zooming in... before the lights finally went dark.

A strange silence descended, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire, and the whirr of the K-suit's joints. The suit stomped around, checking his wrecked partner first. I leant down against the wall beside me, closing my eyes and thanking God that it was done for. I could just about hear Sylia calling my name, but I didn't care.

3 times lucky. What was the custom in Japan? 4 is death?

“I'm alright,” I answered her eventually.

The heat of the blaze started to bake my body, but I was too tired to move.

“What happened?” she enquired.

Her voice was stern, but not accusing. I could see it in her eyes... she'd been afraid I'd been killed. It was nice to know someone cared.

I gestured towards the wrecked battleboomer, still smoking.

“It would've shot me if I ran,” I coughed out, “I had to kneel down, and I couldn't stand back up again,”

“I see,” she said.

She understood.

“So what now?” I asked.

“I think we should get out of here,” she said.

“Ladies,” the suit cut in with a distinct, North American twang, “Any of ya hurt at all?”

“We can walk,” Sylia answered for the pair of us.

“Well there's medical help up on the street, all courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood Advanced Police.”

He was feeling good about himself. And fair fucks to him too. The ADPolice saved the Knight Sabers, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

“Thank you,” Sylia bowed.

“No problem m'lady, it's what we're here for,” the suit returned the bow with a flourish.

I wondered what was so familiar about that for a moment, until I saw the pilot's name and callsign printed under the visor.

For some reason, I started laughing. I was alive.... and the universe had a screwy sense of humour.

“Was it something I said?” wondered the battlesuit.

----->>

The cold of the street came as a shock, after the heat inside the building. I sat in the back of an ADP truck opposite Lady633, watching the fire brigade do their job. Lady633 was trashed, and that was being kind... the boomer'd run wild, first charging straight up the rotunda above the entrance to the Silky Doll, before smashing into surrounding offices. Some of them were burning, flames licking out through shattered windows. Smoke billowed under pressure from every open window and vent, the whole building acting as a chimney for the fire in the basement, pulling black smoke up.

Hot, black tea and a blanket, that's all a boomeroid got... anyone else who'd been hurt had long left in an ambulance. Whether they were alive or not I didn't see, the paramedics treated them the same. Death wouldn't be pronounced until they arrived at the hospital.

They were alive leaving the building... that's what I tried to convince myself... nobody was killed. I didn't want to think about that.

Sylia was heaping praise on the ADPolice, thanking them for their help, being careful to level the blame at those who really deserved it. She didn't outright call it a deliberate attack on an innocent businesswoman, but it was easy enough to read beneath the lines. She was tearing shades out of GENOM, all the while being nice, polite and businesslike The networks though, would pick up on what she really meant.

On the other side, the ADP Captain was being interviewed. A one armed woman... Jeena Marceau... she did her best to dodge the questions with a terse 'No comment'. On the subject of casualties, all she said was 'too many'.

I kept thinking about the battleboomer... and why I surrendered to it. The more I thought about it, the more I understood what had happened, and the ADPolice advice. I followed the procedure. I got indoors. I fled when I had to. I tried to save my own life, and I didn't threaten the boomer. I followed the rules. I stayed alive. I wondered about some of the other people in the apartments above... before forcing myself to change track The more I thought about it that way, the more I could relate it to my old job. The more I tried to anyway. Follow the procedures, get the job done, don't get hurt. Don't follow the procedure, the results could be pretty shocking to say the least.

Of course, high-voltage electricity didn't specifically chase after you either.

Best to focus on myself. My boomer systems had kicked in, healing up the damage. The cut on my cheek was nothing but a pink slash now. My shoulder was still a mess, that'd need some help to fix, but boomeroids came almost last on the triage tree... just above boomers. Somebody'd tied it up in a sling to hold it still, and that was it. I was tired, still a little dizzy, but I could walk.

I knew who'd done it... Brian J. Mason... but I didn't feel like I could outright hate him. I was probably supposed to. I was supposed to burn for revenge, and plot a horrible death involving barbed wire and a car's ignition coil. I smiled an ugly smile at that thought, but in truth I didn't really care. Instead, I would go back to my apartment to bed, get some sleep. Hardsuit training tomorrow was obviously cancelled, but depending on how I felt, and what condition my arm was in, I'd go to work and carry on. I was alive. My friends were alive. Thank God for that.

Old bastard came through this once.

Besides, I'd chosen this life... sort of... it wasn't something that had just dropped in on me out of the blue. I wanted to be an armoured vigilante... It was my own choice, and this was just one of the consequences of that choice. I agreed to have GENOM as my enemy, and this was the result. Enemies don't just sit there and let you poke them... this wasn't a video-game set on 'easy'. Didn't mean I felt good about it of course... but I could understand it.

Everything made sense.

This would happen from time to time, it was the price of being a Knight Saber. When you tickle the dragon's tail, sometimes you'll get burned. Sylia'd told me as much.

This is my life now.

I thought I would've been crying in hysterics, or desperate to quit and get as far away from Sylia and her Sabers as possible, but actually, I wanted to keep going forward.

I still wanted to be a Knight Saber.

And anyway, this was small fry. I knew people who'd been through worse... I lived next door to a Polar War veteran who hadn't much left below the waist. Or the ADP veterans association parade a few weeks ago.

“Hey, Meg.”

Priss' voice. I looked up from my cup of tea, to see the biker approaching in her leathers, helmet hanging off her arm. “Where's Sylia?”

“Over with television,”I gestured.

She looked up, watching the press scrum for a moment. I saw an electric shudder run through her body, before she turned to face Lady633. She drew a deep breath, watching the flames, watching the water being poured on. The lights on the top floors were still shining bright, the building clinging desperately to life.

“Fucking bastards,” she snarled, “And they'll get away with it too!”

I nodded. “Trying to bait us into fighting, Sylia say. We can't answer.”

“I know,” she growled through clenched teeth, “But that doesn't mean we have to like it. I'll bet they'll offer to buy the building as well, that's how the bastards work,”

“She not sell,” I said.

“Of course she won't!” Priss half shouted, “That's not the point. Everybody knows they do it, but all GENOM has to do is outbid your insurance company, and you'll happily sign on the bottom line. Hell, half the buildings here are insured by GENOM owned companies anyway, so the bigwigs just have to lean on 'em to lower their offers a little... and they have you.”

“Real Morton's fuck in the arse, right?”

Priss might not have understood exactly what I'd said, but she got enough of the gist of it to nod approvingly.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked, still watching the building.

“Dislocated it,” I told her. “Have to show to Raven tomorrow to get fixed.”

“The wonders of technology,” she smirked back at me.

“Yeah,” I sighed, flexing my good arm for a moment.

A gleam of inspiration spark in her eyes, a savage reflection of fire and brimstone from the burning backdrop.

“Your body is biomimetic, right?” she asked with a horrible gleam in her eyes. “An imitation of a human body?”

I cautiously nodded. Where was she going with this.

“I've reset a few dislocated bones, let me take... ”

“NO!” I recoiled back into the van.

Priss laughed.

“Trust me, I know how to do it.”

“Not a chance,” I held up my good hand, wincing as another shock of pain thrilled through my body.

“I thought boomeroids could disable their pain sensors at will?”

“Well I can't!... ow... ” It bit again.

“We're on the same team, we all have to trust each other.”

Funny that, we were teammates only when she had a chance to inflict some pain on me.

“Alright... “I conceded, edging forward towards her. The rubber floor of the van tugged at my jeans, warning me not to, pulling me back, pleading with me to stay inside.

“Just let doctor Asagiri take a look. I promise it won't hurt.”

“Yes it will,” I grunted through my teeth, feeling her soft hands close on my shoulder. Lightning sparked as she took a firm grip, my body shuddering in sympathy.

“Deep breaths, we'll go on three.”

I didn't look at her. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks.

“One... ”

Breath in... hold it. Oh God why. Exhale.

“Two... ”

Breath in... hold it... exh... SNAP!

I heard it before I felt it. For a brief moment, I wondered what that sound had. It seemed so far away, almost on another planet. Then the pain finally slammed home like a wall of fire, burning through my body, exploding through my mouth. I gulped for air, swallowing hard as the second wave hit home.

“Bloody hell,” I grunted, biting down hard on my lips... hard enough to draw blood.

And then, it was gone, dropping down to a dull ache. I was shivering, gasping for air and crying hot tears, but it was gone... more or less. From a hard burn, down to a low smoulder. Hot, but bearable.

“Not so bad, eh?” said Priss.

“You said on three,” I muttered sourly, giver her daggers.

“I lied,” she laughed.

“Thanks anyway,” I added.

“No problem,” she waved it off, “We're teammates.”

I flopped back onto the van floor, watching the smoke rise into the night. What a shite day.

At least it was over.

----->>