The airport always ran, though the terminals shut down at midnight for a three hour cleaning and bomb defusing cycle. As a result, for those three hours, the flight control staff had absolutely nothing to do, and so they were doing what they wanted to do, namely sit around and do absolutely nothing worthwhile. Two of the three-person ‘graveyard shift’ were awake, and they were alternately tossing paper wads into the garbage can in one corner of the tower, while the third one was asleep, leaning back in his chair and snoring loudly enough to rattle the windows.

One of the two people threw a paper wad into the can, bouncing the lump of material around for a few seconds before it finally landed inside the can. "Three points. That puts me up to what, now?"

The response was an upraised middle finger. "About three hundred to one-fifty. By the way, do you see anything on your scanner over there? I thought I caught a blip of something big moving this way, but I’m not too sure."

The person who had just finished wadding another piece of paper into a ball looked at a radar scanner next to her left shoulder. "Nothing at all on this one. You sure that hunk of junk’s working? It was probably installed back in World War Two."

The person who had seen the blip shrugged, thumping the side of the radar display with one hand as he neatly threw a ball of paper into the can. " Eh. Must’ve been my imagination. So, what are you going to do when the shift’s over? I have a hot date lined up with a mattress, and I can’t wait."

"Dunno, Jim. Maybe I’ll wake Ted up and jump his bones until Eight, bit I think I’ll listen to that CD that was put out by that new singer."

Jim smiled. "Oh, which one? I can think of a half-dozen singers, and almost all of them suck."

Melissa responded by grinning. "No, this one’s actually amazing. She’s that sensation that seemed to drop out of nowhere six months ago down at the Friendly Bludgeon. Calls herself the Angel of Redemption. Damn good music if you ask me."

Jim shook his head for a second, then glanced at the radar screen again. "Huh. Isn’t she the one that’s sitting on the top position on almost all the radio stations in the city? I heard a rumour that she doesn’t let herself get filmed or interviewed because she doesn’t care for the fame, or for the money from the CDs."

Melissa nodded. "Yeah, I heard that too. Also, there’s an official notice that all proceeds from the CDs go to charities and medical research. Apparently, when one of the executives screamed about it, she threatened to drop him off of the top floor of the building. Looks like she got her wish after all."

Jim nodded, listening as Melissa pulled out a CD player and plugged in, humming to herself as she listened to the fifteen songs on the CD. However, his attention was drawn outside, as he thought he saw something out near the three helicopter hangars. "Hey, look out near the chopper hangars. I think something’s moving near there."

Melissa pulled one earphone out of its place, looking up at Jim. "Huh? You say something?"

"I said, I think something’s moving near the chopper hangars. Turn on the lamps over there."

Melissa nodded, flicking the half-dozen lamp switches that turned on the halogen floodlamps, which bathed the entire area around the tower and the hangars with a glaring blue-white light. "Hey, you’re right. There is something there. Give me the binox. They’re right next to Ted. By the way, isn’t it standard procedure to shut down the chopper flights at Eight PM?"

Jim nodded, tossing the binoculars over to Melissa. "Yeah, that’s right. I wonder what incompetent will get his ass torn up by his boss because he left a hangar open."

Melissa looked through the binoculars at the hangars, and frowned. "Yep, one’s open. Looks like someone’s moving around in there, but I can’t quite tell if it’s just a trick of the light."

Just then the radar pinged loudly, telling everyone that it had picked up something either really big, or extremely close. "Hey, what the? There aren’t any flights scheduled to land until Three AM, and we haven’t heard anything through that window you always leave half-open. Must be a bird sitting in the dish. Just look at the size of the return every time we send out a ping."

Jim sighed and picked up a long stick, poking Ted in the shoulder until Ted woke up. "Hey, Ted, your radar system has a big, fat bird sitting in the dish. Care to go out there and kill it before a plane lands on us?"

Ted nodded, and, grabbing the stick, he easily stood to his full height, stepping out onto the metal catwalk that surrounded the tower. Through the window, Jim listened as Ted walked along to the short ladder that would put him on top of the tower, but as he walked along, he banged the stick on the aluminum side of the building, all the while talking to himself.

Up on top of the tower, all that was heard was some dull clangs as Ted’s heavy boots clunked themselves along the top, to where the radar sat. There was a muffled curse, and then Ted tossed something off of the top of the tower, clearing the radar. "Some wiseass fuck just put up a cinder block in the radar dish! This will take me all fucking night to fix!"

Jim chuckled, noticing Ted beginning to climb back down to the tower’s catwalk, but stopped and gaped as, with a sudden, strangled cry Ted was yanked back up to the tower’s roof. "Holy shit! Melissa, hit the fucking button! It’s right beside you!"

Just as Melissa punched the silent alarm, she heard a squishy tearing noise, like someone had punched a knife through a piece of gristle. Then, with a screech of metal, something smashed through the roof of the tower, plunging the room into darkness as the lights flickered and died. Within the darkness, something moved, and with a wet ‘splorp’, much like a noise Melissa heard when she had run over a cat with her car a few years ago, something fell into the middle of the tower.

Jim had fumbled for a flashlight, and when he turned it on, the first thing that caught his eye was the slowly-expanding pool of blood in the middle of the room. The next thing he saw was a heap of cloth, from which two large holes were still squirting blood. The first hole was low in the abdomen, and it looked like it had punched all the way through. The second however, had ruined Ted’s face. There was a four-inch wide crater in his face where his nose had once been, an it was obvious he was dead, as his brain was dribbling out of his ears in a lumpy greyish-red stew.

Cursing, Jim ran over to the fire alarm, yanked it down, and grabbed the AK-74 assault rifle that had been placed in the tower to prevent any hostile takeovers. Yanking the bolt back, he listened carefully, hearing the dull buzz of the fire alarm, and Melissa’s sobbing, but then he heard something that was not normal. A faint crackling noise made Jim turn his head, muzzle of the gun leading, only to be met full in the face by an explosion of glass shards, which sliced at him like a hail of razored steel.

Ignoring the small wounds covering his body, Jim noticed something moving within the confines of the shattered window, and pulled the trigger of the gun. The result was an earsplitting roar and a series of strobe-like flashes as the gun fired, spitting out 7.62 millimetre cartridges at a rate of three per second. However, in the midst of the flashes from the gun, he saw Melissa, transfixed by the blasts of light as something wrapped itself around her neck.

Whatever it was didn’t pause for the fire from the gun as Jim tracked the gun across the room, each bullet hitting something. Between two strobes from the gun, Jim heard a dull cracking noise, and in the next strobe, he saw Melissa’s head pop across the room, spraying blood everywhere. The next thing he knew was feeling something push against his spine, and then he lost feeling in his legs. Looking down, he saw something poking out of his shirtfront, but it took him almost two seconds before he recognised the object as part of his spinal column.

Gasping, Jim coughed out a gout of blood, and then felt nothing as the spike moved, yanking upwards in a spray of arterial fluids.

–Meridiana International Airport, 2:30 AM–

The four police cars had been joined by an unmarked jeep and three ambulances, two of which were just pulling away, with their emergency lights turned off. The engine that had been called in because of the fire alarm had left a long time ago, many of the firefighters swearing off of horror movies for the rest of their lives. The huge man leaning against the jeep had rarely seen things that could disgust him, with the worst example being the remains of three young girls that had been viciously murdered by a child molester. That had been when he had been a beat cop, and he had climbed the ranks in order to prevent something like that ever happening again.

Enrique frowned, folding his massive arms over his chest, and he stared down at the beat cop that had discovered the scene. "So, you’re telling me that forensics has given the place a once-over, before anyone else could get there and examine the corpses, which is actually a good thing, but the initial impression is a crime of passion? That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve hear in a long time. The only thing that gets close is Manny trying to explain himself out of trouble for running a pickpocketing ring."

The beat cop looked unimpressed. "I could care less you know. Right now I should be in the squad room, trading bad jokes with my buddies as I get ready to go home to my wife and kids. I only tell you what they told me, and they obviously don’t think I’m very high on the need-to-know list. Hell, that didn’t look like any crime of passion to me when I saw it. Looked like one guy had been slammed through the roof of the tower, and he was in relatively good shape. The other guy had a slash running from the middle of his stomach up to his collarbone, and his blood was all over the place.

The really messy one was the girl. Looked like she had taken thirty rounds from the assault rifle we found up there, and her head was on the opposite side of the room. The sad part is that she was listening to some damn good music."

Enrique shook his head, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I understand. Felt like that when I was a beat man myself. By the way, what type of music was the girl listening to? Might help the investigation and all."

The beat cop nodded, leaning back on his own squad car. "That new one popular with the teenager scene. My daughter absolutely loves it. The person who did it is called ‘Angel of Redemption’, whatever that means."

Enrique grinned. "Hey, I didn’t see a CD player on the girl’s body. Evidence?"

The cop shook his head. "Missing. Only reason why I guess that she was listening to music at time of death was that she still had one earphone attached to her head, and the CD case was sitting on the desk next to a busted Doppler array."

"Hmm. Well, I’m going up to harass forensics for a little while. Maybe I can pick out something that they missed."

The beat cop nodded, then climbed into his car. "Go right ahead. Just don’t blame me when they chew your head off."

Enrique grinned and started up the rickety outside staircase to the top of the tower. It took him three minutes to get to the top, and he slowly walked around the catwalk first, making sure that the forensics hadn’t missed anything outside of the actual crime scene. It took him almost twenty minutes, looking carefully at everything that seemed to be remotely suspicious, and was rewarded when he discovered some sort of goo on the edge of the window that had shattered. "Hey, anyone have an evidence bag? I found something that might be useful."

A forensics officer walked over to the goo, looked at it carefully with a flashlight, and put a sample in a plastic bag, which was then sealed tightly. "Thanks. Looks like it might be residue from whatever smashed through the window. By the way, when we got up here, it looked like the lights near the chopper hangars had been activated. We sent over a few guys in blue to secure the area, but haven’t heard anything from them in almost twenty minutes. Could you go over there and check it out for us?"

Enrique nodded, and climbed back down to the ground. He walked over to the hangar, noticing that, even though the lights were on outside the hangar, almost no light penetrated deeply enough into the large building for him to see anything. Pulling his gun, a Glock 18 Semi-automatic, Enrique slowly reached the edge of the darkness, and, in the dim light, he slapped the internal light switch to turn on the rows of flourescent lamps that covered the roof of the building.

As the lamps flickered on, Enrique’s eyes widened at the hideous sight he found. All three beat cops had been brutalized, and all three were decidedly dead. Two had absorbed something to their chests, leaving gaping holes all the way through. The third one was simply scattered over about thirty square feet, leaving only a charred spot on the floor from whatever had hit him.

There was no trace of what had killed the three cops, though whatever had done so had obviously used some weapons that could best be described as tank-killers. Enrique radioed for backup, letting the forensics take over the examination, and decided to get to the precinct so he could start on the investigation. The first thing he did upon arriving at the station house was put on a pot of coffee. The second thing he did was examine all known files of beings that could do what he had seen.

Ten minutes and one cup of coffee later, Enrique had a possible match. The APB for the nocturnal hunter called The Knife went out less than two minutes after he had the match.

Twenty-one men and women were clustered around a single table, each looking at identical dossiers. The stamp across the front of each folder was labelled ‘Top Secret’, with a second label stating ‘Project Alpha’ just beneath the first. Finally, after each person had the chance to finish reading, a young-looking man stood up and started speaking.

"People, the files you are currently looking at is all the information on the wayward agent ‘Alpha One’. Your objective is to capture her, and, if that fails, to kill her. Also, you are ordered to find and kill Doctor Anthony Zacharias. His information is in the second dossier, which has been supplied to your commanding officer and his executive officer."

The response was a general groan of dismay, followed by three people spitting on the table. "Great. Not only do we have to go up against the legendary ‘Fort Knox of the South’, but we have to try and capture the one person that knows more about the combat armour than anyone else in the known world." The speaker, a heavy-set man who looked like his nose had been broken by a small building landing on it, turned and leaned against a nearby crate.

"I knew her when she worked for us, and if she even kept one-sixth of her skills, she’s going to leave us in the fight for our lives. She’s the one who broke my beak when she left the company, and that was when she had only figured out two-thirds of her armour’s abilities. Just be glad she doesn’t like using her suit’s chameleon mode. That would turn this place into more of a bug hunt than it already is."

The original speaker nodded. "Fine. Be that as it may, these orders come from the top of the heap. The CEO himself has decided to take direct charge in this operation and his orders are clear. As I said, we’re supposed to capture or kill Alpha One. If you think you’re too outmatched to do so, I’d happily call in another squad to back up the wimps. I can do that, just so you know."

The commander of the team, a tall man who looked like he had been pounded with the ugly stick, shook his head. "No, that won’t be necessary. Now, are there any questions about the operation?"

There was a unanimous shaking of heads, followed by a slightly amused chuckle. "Good. Now, please turn to the fourth page in the dossier. There, you will find a list of all the known weapons our target has. Memorize it. You had best be careful when you see each of these weapons, as they’re most likely a precursor to something worse on the list."

One of the squad members, reading through the short list snorted derisively. "Like what? The only thing that could hurt us in the new combat armour is an Avenger Gatling gun from an A-10."

Everyone around the table chuckled, amused by the statement. "You wish. Your armour is tough, but not that tough. If you get hit by a 30 millimetre slug, you’re not gonna get up unless it hits your hand. Finally, never, repeat, never get into close combat with her. She could give someone like King Arthur lessons on how to use a sword, and she probably has one as well. She’s also vicious knife-fighter, and knows more about human anatomy than some doctors do. Even though our armour will stop something from punching through, such as a bullet, it’s less effective against a slashing attack."

One of the younger squad members, a woman called Ivanova, chimed in, looking around at the group. "Geez, you’re making her sound like the be-all and end-all of this squad."

The response was not one she was hoping for. "She just could be. She was the first, and if her personal code says anything about her, she’ll probably be the last. She would rather die than go back to the company, and she’ll do her best to try and make sure that most of us also don’t go anywhere except in a pine box. I won’t be surprised if we come out of this with fifty percent losses."

The commander, grimacing, looked at the speaker and shook his head. "Well, you just chucked a wrench into the works. So, instead of dwelling on what you said, why don’t you tell us why we should trust these gauss pistols? The rifle took off my original XO’s head when it misfired, and we liked him a lot."

The response was thoughtful, as if the person was trying to speak his mind without getting himself killed. "Sorry about that. Look, the scientists have tinkered, tooled, and configured the pistols to such a degree that it’s virtually impossible for these thing to screw up. Now, let’s say that the crate next to Bellinger is a hostile, about to wrap a garotte around his neck."

The man pulled his own gauss pistol and aimed it at the crate. As he squeezed the trigger, the pistol made a noise like a miniature thunderclap, and the crate, instead of having a hole punched through it, was sent, in an array of splinters, into the far wall, leaving the sheet metal pincushioned by the remnants of the container.

"Now, if that was a person, he or she would have a hole in them almost identical in size to that produced by an 88 shell. This is caused by the fact that each slug is moving at Mach 12, and produces a localized plasma explosion at the impact point because of the properties of energy."

The commander snorted, looking like he’d rather trust the back-up weapons. "Right. Say that in terms that a person can understand, instead of spouting off more scientific gobbledygook."

"Fine. Basically, the slug this gun fires moves so fast that when it hits something, it explodes. The leftover energy from the shot sends the target flying backwards, usually with a hole right through him or her."

The commander nodded. "All right. Now, what in hell were you doing at the airport at two AM? Our mission does not include killing civvies, and we shouldn’t expose ourselves until at least one part of our mission is complete."

"Classified information gathering."

"Bullshit. The news reports are all over, and the only thing you’ve managed to do is close the airport for a day or two. Still, with the airport closed, we know that she has one less escape route open to her. Now, what the hell did you go there for?"

The response was flippant. "I told you. Information gathering. That, and for the purpose that you’ve just explained. To disable an escape avenue. I think it works fairly well, don’t you?"

The commander shook his head. "No, I don’t. I think you’ve managed to screw up, but at least you’ve managed to keep from exposing our plans. Now, we have thirty-six hours before we attempt the capture of Alpha One. However, in twelve hours, I want Beta team to go and kill Doctor Zacharias. Finally, I want a volunteer team of five members for surveillance of the known areas the subjects frequent. Come back to me in ten minutes with assignments and ideas. Dismissed."

The commander then looked at the young man. "You, however are a special case. You’re sticking to my right side like flies to honey. Got it?"

The response was glum. "Yes sir."

Dr. Zack had awakened at Seven in the morning, and after his usual morning ablutions and breakfast, he went downstairs into his lab. The first thing he did was check the prototype sustenance generation unit that had sprawled out onto three worktables, wondering how much space the completed generator will take up. When he finished making sure that the notoriously temperamental machine was still in working order, Dr. Zack then whooped in joy when he noticed that the distillation chamber was almost completely full of the familiar glowing green liquid, instead of the botched batches, which he had no wish to recollect.

"All right! This is a great start to the day, and if the rest of the day turns out like this, then everyone who has to use sustenance will be ecstatic."

Dr. Zack put a mental damper on his enthusiasm however when he thought of his neighbour. "This won’t do much to help Sara though. Hmm, I wonder if the research I completed a few years ago can help her out. Maybe then she won’t have to avoid everything with an EM signature." Dr. Zack walked around the unwieldy machine, and booted up his computer.

As the system finished starting up, he quickly activated an oft-used program which produced a 3-D image of one of his custom designs for nanomachinery. "This one could be useful, especially because it has the program transferral interface already installed. Let’s see... all I have to do is supply the right algorithm to make the next upgrade produce EM shielding instead of everything else. Heh. This program might be more difficult than I thought, so I guess I’ll have to get some professional help. Erin knows a lot about programming, but I don’t think she has much experience with the size constraints imposed on nano-programming."

Dr. Zack stretched, looking at the 3-D representation of what could possibly save Sara’s life if he managed to do the right things with the program. "What the heck, she’ll probably produce something that’s half the size of what I could do, and most likely in less time as well. Well, I’d better call her soon, and she’d better like the idea of raiding my pantry again."

Dr. Zack smiled at the mental image of Erin being forced to wake up to the insistent ringing of her phone, then took action to thoughts and dialled her number. The phone rang at least six times before Erin answered. "Mrrrghhh."

Dr. Zack grinned, deciding to sound irrepressibly happy, just to tweak Erin’s tail a bit. "Hello Erin. How are you this fine morning?"

The response was definitely one he expected, as a muttered curse followed before she spoke again."What the hell are you doing, calling me at such an ungodly hour? It’s only ten to nine, and I’d rather sleep until noon."

Dr. Zack chuckled, mentally viewing Erin covered in the heap she called a bed. "Waking you up for tomorrow. After all, you do have to suffer through my class first, so I want to insure that the school intern survives the first hour and a half."

Erin snorted, and her voice cleared up. "Gee thanks. Cut to the chase before I cut the line."

Dr. Zack smiled, shaking his head. "Fine. I would like you over here so I can mooch off of your programming expertise. And because I’ve always believed in a fair trade, you can go after the junk food supplies I always have floating about in the kitchen."

Erin instantly perked up, as the mention of food was enough incentive for her. "Free food? All right, I’m in. Let me get myself in order, and I’ll be over in about twenty minutes. Hey, wait a minute. Tony, are you watching the TV? There’s a news report going on about some rather grisly murders at the airport. Apparently, the graveyard shift at the port ended up dead. Looks like the two guys there had virtually been turned inside out, and the woman had her head popped off and absorbed about thirty bullets. Probably looks like Swiss cheese. Looks like three cops also caught the bad end of a deal as well. Pretty messy."

Dr. Zack grimaced, wondering if he was going to be called up because of his expertise with the ‘paranormal’ effects of the city. "Thanks for the synopsis. I’ll catch it on the news at noon. Maybe we’ll get lucky and have finished this bit as well."

"Okay. See ya soon. Ciao!"

Dr. Zack hung up, then started whistling a tune he remembered from his childhood as he went back upstairs to wait for the cybernetically enhanced teen. Just as he got to his living room on the way to the kitchen, his eyes fell on the folder Reba had given him last night. "Maybe I should take a look at this. After all, it might have some interesting tidbits in it."

He flipped the folder to the most recent entry and stopped dead in his tracks. Rereading the short passage, Dr. Zack felt something he couldn’t describe fall over him. "My god. Sara’s debility is not just caused by her disease running rampant, but something worse. This is just horrendous."

Dr. Zack mentally tried to figure out all the ramifications, but ended up with the only one that made any sense. "Huh. Looks like Sara has a seventy percent chance of survival, even if her nanotechnology goes through a major overhaul and repair. From the listings here, it looks like her internal toxins have gone through the roof, and the internal damage being caused by the accumulated toxins is beginning to overwhelm her system. I think that if we hook her up to a dialysis machine and filter out all her blood, it might just keep her alive long enough for the next upgrade to take place, and then she should improve quickly."

At that moment, the doorbell rang and Erin bounded into Dr. Zack’s house, looking like the cat had just eaten the canary. She instantly got into the cupboard loaded with junk food, and soon appeared in front of the good doctor, arms loaded with bags of chips and holding a bottle of pop by her teeth. "Well, it seems you’re going to rot your teeth out of your head by the time you’re twenty-five. How are you doing Erin?"

"PrtygdTny. Hreyu?"

"Huh? Here, lemme hold that." Dr. Zack collected the bottle of pop from Erin so she could speak coherently, and she repeated her last statement.

"Pretty good Tony. And no, my teeth won’t rot that badly. After all, I haven’t suffered from any zit swarms, even after invading your pantries. So, why’d you get me out of bed so early, other than to clear out the backlog of junk food?"

"Well, I want you to help me with some extremely advanced programming, and if we can pull it off, your favourite teacher will actually look human again."

"Really. Pass the Salt and Vinegar chips while I think about this." Erin emptied the jumbo-sized bag of chips in just under three minutes, allowing Dr. Zack to wonder how her metabolism could deal with such an influx of chemicals.

Erin chewed on her lower lip for a second, then brightened up. "Hmm... Well, if Sara returns to looking like she’s alive, and gets her sense of humour back, I’m all for it. After all, class has been getting kinda dull ever since Sara filled Lucas’ coat pockets with KY jelly."

Dr. Zack grinned. "She was the one who did that? I heard him howling like one of those damned monkeys in the jungle, and thought that he had run out of luck and blown his foot off with one of those chemical mixes he created in the lab."

Erin laughed, knowing that she was privy to a secret that not many others were. No such luck. Sara’s masterminded all the torture Lucas has gone through for the last six months. Well, let’s take a look at the program you want to play with."

Erin ran into the basement, heedless of the risk she was taking, and leaving a path of potato chips behind her. Dr. Zack sighed slightly and followed Erin, wondering how he was going to clean up the trail of chips she had left behind.

–Sara’s House, 10:53 AM–

Sara woke up, deciding not to move for at least twenty minutes as her eyes focussed. Finally, she stood up, and looked across the room at the painting of the lesbian gardener. Sighing to herself, she decided to get a start on the day, and so she walked downstairs, planning on having breakfast. She didn’t even think about trying to change her nightclothes to her more casual clothes, but still checked that the purple belt she now wore constantly was nestled snugly around her waist.

"Maybe I should check the news, but I have about an hour to wait before it’s on. Hell, I think I’ll just check out that folder Reba gave me last night."

Sara groaned slightly as she walked over to the small table where she had tossed the folder last night, and slowly rotated her shoulders as she flipped to the first page of non-medical gobbledegook. "What the hell? This thing says that my little plague, despite still being on the defensive, has mutated slightly, and is beginning to attack my vital organs. Also, there seems to be an extremely large amount of natural toxins floating about in my bloodstream, but that doesn’t make any sense."

Sara thought for a few seconds, thinking about all the rotten luck she had been going through for the last six months. "My nanomachines should automatically purge those toxins, but they aren’t. Dammit! I forgot! The primary program is to repair the damage done to me by the disease, so the nanomachines are focussing on that instead of the toxic soup that my brain’s currently living on. No wonder my mind’s been feeling fuzzy for the last few weeks."

Sara swore quietly, then walked over to her laptop. Turning on the small computer, she logged onto the net and activated a small program that instantly opened up a webpage that was virtually unchanged from almost six years ago. Sara selected the login system, and typed in an address that she hadn’t touched in the same amount of time. "SelinaSpecOps001@GenCore.com. What a useless login. Nothing ever came in through the company that was remotely useful.

Sara then tapped in the password that she still remembered, hoping that the red tape had prevented the company from severing her password completely. "Alpha1/Omega0. Beginning and end, and knowing my luck, I’ll be around for both."

As the system connected to the secretive part of the company’s site, Sara knew she was literally sending out an electronic beacon the size of the CN tower. She let the site upload totally, then dug into a database file system labelled ‘Specialty Equipment, Level 7 clearance required.’ Sara managed to cut through the security clearance, and found several files that instantly sent alarms jangling inside her head.

"Okay, lemme see. Gauss Weapon Mass Production? Okay, that’s scary. I’m gonna grab all the files about that subject, as well as give them a little friend of their own to deal with. Maybe I’ll crash their mainframes. What else is in there? Well, Tony would find this interesting. That’s on the download selection. Hello, what’s this? Reactive Combat Armour research notes, schematics, and miscellaneous information? This will help both of us. That’s another bit to collect."

Sara downloaded all the files that she had mentally flagged, and stashed them in a folder which she then sealed with a basic encryption program. Sara went back to the online files, and dug around for a little while longer. She soon found something which was downloaded without question for later perusal, and then, as her computer started to beep at her, Sara quickly uploaded a worm virus into Gen Core’s server farms. Just as the upload completed itself, her computer shut down, disconnecting itself from the internet as it did so. "What the fuck? This is screwy. I bet someone pressed a panic button, but too late. I hope they enjoy the virus I just gave them."

Sara restarted her computer, and after doing a thorough scan of the hard drive, she opened her E-mail system, thanking the foresight of gathering Tony’s ‘net address from him a few weeks ago. Sara sent him the information on the Gauss Weapons, the Armour, and the file on her original nanomachinery program, which could greatly assist Dr. Zack’s research. After the files had been sent, Sara turned off her laptop, went upstairs, and got dressed so she could go outside and get some air.

By the time she had gotten dressed for the day, it was almost noon, so instead of watching the news as she had planned, she walked out into the park, deciding to buy a glass of iced tea as she began to watch a group of children playing in the park. Smiling as she sat down on a nearby bench, sipping at her frosty drink, Sara absently caught a mis-thrown frisbee as it passed over her head, slinging it back to the three children who were playing with it. "Huh. Once you get the technique, I guess it’s impossible to forget it."

Occasionally distracted by the joyful cries and playful antics of the kids, Sara let her thoughts roam freely for the first time in almost a year, and she remembered almost everything good that had happened to her since she had moved to Meridiana. However, Sara was interrupted by a rather familiar voice, followed by the clear tones of a teenager’s laughter. Looking up, she saw Tony walking down one of the park’s paths towards the bench where she was sitting. And right beside the good doctor was Sara’s headache of the week: Erin Cheng. Waiting for the two to get closer, Sara silently raised an eyebrow as a third person joined the small group. Sara’s other eyebrow joined the first in an attempt to hide in her hairline when she recognised the third person as CyberSix.

*Okay then. It seems that either my friends are going to pull a prank on me, or they want to give me something.* Sara finished off her drink, then stood up and dusted off her jeans. She then walked over to the group, which somehow didn’t notice her arrival, and, feeling slightly cheerful, she quietly placed her hands on Erin’s shoulders.

"Boo. Before you gut me Erin, notice the fact that we’re surrounded by onlookers, and the prison won’t cater to your needs."

Erin nearly jumped out of her skin at Sara’s grinning announcement, and spun to face her. "Hiii Sara. We were just talking about you."

Sara laughed as she expertly moved one hand, neatly removing the eight inch long carving knife Erin had secreted in a shirtsleeve. "I noticed. So, how are you three doing?"

Erin blushed as Sara waved the knife under her nose, before placing the knife in Erin’s hand. "Well Zack and I have been up since about Eight in the morning, doing... something."

Sara grinned, and let the teenager go. "Really Erin, I’m surprised at you. Why don’t you give Tony his carving knife back?"

Dr. Zack took a closer look at the knife, and nearly blew his stack."Hey! Erin, how many times have I told you to not take my knives? It’s getting to the point where I have to go to the antique stores to replenish my silverware after you’ve visited. You’re worse than Hazel."

Six sighed, looking at Erin like a parent would at a misbehaving child. "Erin, you’re a headache beyond belief."

Erin’s blush deepened, but she handed over the knife. "Thanks for that endorsement. Here’s your knife Zack." She then walked off, waving at the group. "Well, I’m going for a burger and some fries. I’ll see ya later."

"Kids." All three of the adults said the same thing simultaneously, glanced at each other for a few seconds, and collapsed into gales of laughter. All three soon calmed down, mirth still sparkling in their eyes.

Sara gasped for air, leaning against a tree, but she was still the first to speak."That’s the reason why I’ll never have children."

Six grinned and helped Sara stand up straight."Really. I’m not telling what my plans are in the future."

Sara nodded, mirth still twinkling in her eyes. "Well, considering your plans with Lucas, they may be interesting."

Six pretended to look shocked, but her eyes were also laughing."HEY! I don’t pry into your personal life, so why do you pry into mine?"

Sara laughed. "Cyb, you haven’t pried into my personal life because I don’t have one. Anyhow, I sent you an E-mail, Tony. You’ll find it... umm... interesting."

Tony, grinning from ear to ear, nodded, and gestured in the direction Erin had ran off in. "Okay. Look, why don’t we have some lunch? You’re probably skin and bones underneath that coat you always wear, and I have only had a bag of chips since Eight-Thirty."

Sara nodded, feeling a lot better than she had. "All right. C’mon, my treat." The three friends headed towards the Café Erin had gone to, meeting back up with the teen in a few moments.

"Well, your arm is back in working order, but I don’t recommend you going after someone who could do that to you." The techno in charge of the infirmary finished cutting away the plaster cast surrounding M-17's arm, and inspected the two scars where the bones had broken the skin.

M-17's response was typical, and one the techno secretly regretted every time she heard it. "Sorry, but I’m going to kill that bitch if it’s the last thing I do."

The techno sighed, shaking her head. "Your funeral. If you need anything, I’ll patch you together."

M-17 shrugged, then walked out of the small room after putting her shirt back on. "That fucking bitch was lucky. She managed to knock me down, and I broke my arm on the way down. She just added insult to injury by pushing the bones through my skin when she landed on my arm. Of course, she was just getting sadistic when she ripped up my knee again. This crap keeps up, and I’ll have to wear a knee brace just like Jess does."

M-17, still annoyed on how her last fight had ended, turned and looked down the hallway she was striding down. Seeing nothing, the vindictive girl kicked one of the many ornamental statuettes off of its pedestal, and, while the small object was tumbling in midair, she sent it flying down the hallway with a second kick. The result was a pained shout as the shaped stone bounced off the back of José’s head, sending him sprawling onto the carpet. "OW!!! Who the bloody hell threw that at me?"

M-17 ducked into a conveniently open room as José stormed past, looking like he was going to shred the next person to cross his path. M-17 waited for a few minutes, listening as the far door slammed. She then looked around the room and just stared at the stacks of heavy weapons lining the walls. "This is amazing. And it looks like I found your hiding place Jess."

M-17 walked over to the nearest weapon, and lifted the old and ugly rifle, gauging its weight at about twenty-five pounds. "Wow! This thing looks like it can fire twenty rounds from one magazine, and the baby scope will give it better accuracy. Still I wonder what the hell it is."

Right behind M-17, a form stood up from behind a desk, flicking on a light switch as it did so. "So, you like playing with something that I’ve been restoring since I came out of the tank?"

M-17 nodded, checking the action on the gun. "Hi Jess. This is an amazing piece of work. What is it?"

Jess sighed as she walked over to a small desk, buried in pistol parts and bullet casings. "Cute. It’s a BAR that was captured from a Canadian military unit near the end of the Second War."

M-17 screwed her face up into something approximating thoughtfulness, but gave up. "BAR?"

Jess responded as she gently put a heap of pistol parts into a tub of cleaning solution, preparing to clean and rebuild another weapon. "Browning Automatic Rifle. That monster was almost as nasty as an MG42, though the rate of fire is only five rounds a second compared to the 42's twenty per second. However, the BAR is more portable, and has something called adaptive cartridge technology, which allowed it to use either long or short bullets, in either magazine or belt-fed varieties. It could use a 20-round magazine of .50 cal short bullets, or fire .50 cal long slugs from a belt. I never figured out how they created the ACT that the thing uses, but this is the only one we have that is in full working order. Wanna try it out?"

M-17 giggled, looking like a schoolgirl with a new doll. "Damn right I do! How much ammo do you put through this thing?"

Jess smiled, gently wiping the solution off of the smaller parts of the pistol as she thought for a second. "About a hundred rounds a week of both types. I’ve gotten so proficient with it, I can put a one-second burst in the ten-circle on a target at a hundred yards."

M-17 grinned, carrying the big gun easily one-handed. "Heh. When we go hunting for that bitch, why don’t we take this baby along for support? It’ll be more accurate than those dumbassed lumps with rocket launchers."

Jess nodded, cleaning the frame and action of the pistol. "Fine. You can play with it, and I’ll get to play sharpshooter. I’ve always been a better shot than you have. We’ll be able to see how many civvies we can mow down in an hour."

"I’m all for it, but how about tomorrow? Today, I just want to get a feel for this thing."

Jess nodded, leaning over and opening a drawer packed with ammunition boxes and loaded magazines for a variety of weapons. Pulling out five magazines, Jess then closed the drawer and placed the five mags on the table next to her. "Well, I’d like to finish putting together this Colt Python, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll go down to the firing range. Care to warm up my rifle while you’re down there? It’s in the black case by the door."

M-17 nodded, picking up the five magazines Jess had pulled out of the drawer. "Thanks. By the way, what do you think that python can do to our favourite target?"

Jess thought for a second, gently inserting the trigger’s action in the big handgun. "Probably knock her about a hell of a lot more than those twin Uzis you used last time did. Still, she has the edge in close-range guns, considering her twin Desert Eagles. Now those are a pair of guns I’d like to get my hands on."

M-17 grinned. "Well, as soon as we kill her, that won’t be a problem, will it?"

Sara looked through the file on her computer, and rubbed her eyes with her right hand. Sighing slightly, she scrolled up to the top of the document and reread it for the sixth time in a row. "Damn. Gauss pistols and rifles have some interesting properties, but I definitely don’t want to be on the receiving end of one. Now, the fact that they produce EM fields strong enough to interfere with my internals is bad enough, but getting hit by a spike moving at Mach 12 would definitely put a crimp in my lifestyle."

Sara groaned slightly, then closed the file. "Remind me to never, ever try to escape from these assholes again."

"How’s that Sara? I thought you like being free."

"Erin, how many times do I have to tell you to knock before entering? Come here and take a look at this." Erin walked over to Sara, who noticed that her friend was dressed in her fighting clothes. Sara reopened the file on the gauss weapons schematics, and scrolled down to the first diagram.

Erin whistled, thinking about the properties of such a weapon, not to mention the power drain of firing one continuously. "Wow. That is complex and nasty. What’s the top speed for the slugs?"

Sara grimaced. "Mach 12. I’m not sure, but that could punch through about three feet of battleship plate without slowing down too much. Either that or the material will flash-heat into a concentrated plasma bolt, which would be much worse."

Erin frowned. "Plasma bolts? Never heard of those."

Sara grimaced as she recalled the first theories about the concept of using superheated matter as a weapon. "They are extremely theoretical. I talked to an old classmate of mine who was working on the idea of magnetic levitation for trains, and a Gauss weapon uses the same basic principle as one of those trains. A plasma bolt occurs when something like an iron spike accelerates past normal thresholds, allowing air friction to vaporize the metal. Whatever’s left when it hits something would be heated to about fifty thousand degrees at the impact point."

Erin whistled, mentally converting the ratio of potential energy to kinetic in order to create a blast of the magnitude Sara was talking about. Sara continued after a short pause. "The heat would cause the natural moisture in the substance to vaporize, and the resultant expansion would blast a hole right through whatever got hit. Naturally, such a hole would be about the same size as my chest, so if a normal person gets hit, you can easily bury him or her in a plastic baggie."

Erin stuck her tongue out at the computer screen. "Gross. So, if someone like Six got hit, she’d be dead or seriously wounded in one shot?"

Sara shook her head. "Dunno. Hopefully, I’d never find out as well. So, what brings you to my not-so humble abode?"

Erin smiled. "Other than being shown something that would give most sane people nightmares, nothing much. Mainly, I wanted to see whether or not you’re still in one piece. You did watch that piece over the news about the murders at the airport?"

Sara nodded, looking concerned. "Yeah. I know that style of attack. The attacker used the mass-production version of my Combat Armour. Naturally, because the cops don’t know any better, they’ve decided to blame me, so I get to dodge the fuzz as well as a goon squad for a while."

Erin smiled slightly, neatly tapping Sara on the shoulder. "Where’s your armour then?"

Sara grinned back, sweeping her hair back and away from her face."Around my waist, as always. Why don’t you go hunting for a while? I’ll be stuck on researching this stuff all night."

Erin frowned, but perked up fairly quickly. "Dammit. Well, do you have any pop in the fridge?"

Sara nodded, thinking about the six litres of pop she had stashed in the back room above the dryer. "Yeah. I still have that bottle of whiskey that I used to disinfect my wounds in there as well."

Erin grimaced, deciding to let the standing joke continue. "I won’t even think about touching that one. I’ll see you around." Erin walked into the kitchen, liberated the full bottle of pop from its confines, and walked out onto the back porch before jumping west into the park. Sara watched her go, wondering if she was ever that carefree.

The team had once again reassembled at the table, listening to the final briefing before taking their assignments. "Now, listen up girls! Playtime is officially over. We are going to split up into two groups. Wilson, you’re going to take Beta squad and try to apprehend Dr. Zacharias. He lives on the east side of the park, and his home is the only walled building in a five-block radius. If you can’t find it, you deserve to be shot. Alpha squad and myself will attempt to apprehend Alpha One."

Wilson, the big man with the broken nose, nodded. "Yes sir. I’ll let you take first pick of the weapons, as you have the tough mission ahead of you."

The commander grinned, a sight that would chill most men’s souls. "Damn right I do. Now, the volunteers form Alpha, please lean forwards."

Three men and two women leaned onto the table, planting their elbows almost simultaneously. The commander nodded his approval. "Good. Now, you five are going on an extended reconnaissance mission. I want you five to ensure that the subject remains in our sights at all times. The most common locations where the subject has been documented are in the park in front of her home, the local high school, a café near the school, and a nightclub roughly halfway between her house and the school."

One of the volunteers looked up, gesturing for permission to speak. After receiving a nod, she spoke. "Sir? I understand the park, the school, and the café, but why go into a nightclub? It doesn’t seem like her."

The commander shook his head. "She is not normal. As an extension to fighting, she also excels in music. She believes that the melodies of music are identical to the motion of combat, and so she melded the two. She might have gained a profit from her music as well, as the local newspapers have all been raving about a new artist that showed up just over six months ago."

He then looked at the two squads under his command, and nodded. "Well, any questions?"

There were none, so he dismissed the squads. Silently, the twenty people scattered, checking their gear as they did so. Soon, the only people standing around the table were the commander, Wilson, and the young man who had been assigned to them from the CEO.

The young man spoke first. "Well, they won’t die from stupid mistakes, that’s to say the least."

The commander looked at the young man and grinned. "That they won’t. And do you want to know why?"

The man nodded, leaving himself open for the retaliation. "Because Alpha One trained each and every one of us to be the best we could possibly be. Not only that, but I personally saw her kick someone into the ground until they were the new poster boy for reconstructive surgery, just because they were leaving themselves open to enemy fire."

The young man grimaced, looking over at Wilson, who spoke. "Yeah, I learned my lesson. By the way, make sure to never tick her off. If she gets angry, all the legions of Hell and all the hosts of Heaven won’t stop her from beating you to death with your windpipe."

The young man sat down in the offered chair, looking up at the two older men. "Fine. You win. If she resists, make sure that there isn’t enough left of her to bury in a matchbox."

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