mfrose@montego.umcc.umich.edu (Martin Rose) Thunder Force log, Standard date August 3rd, 2321. I was starting to get that feeling again -- it always comes around the general time frame of my birthday. It's not my own birthday that's the problem, though, but those of my late brothers; we were all born in the same calendar month. I've never really admitted to anyone that I miss my family a great deal. Sure, when you've lived with them for a while they seem annoying, but ... it was a basic comfort I took so much for granted. We defolded in Earthspace a couple days ago. It was the first time I'd seen my homeworld in over three centuries. The lot of us did the Tourist Thing for a while. I went off alone to Michigan, to see what there was of my family to find. Turns out there was quite a bit to be found. My ancestral family is still around, and in no small numbers -- but, naturally, I was presumed dead after the Neo-Worcester incident, and my given name may be commonly knowable, but it's pretty much fallen into disuse. So, I'm basically an outsider to my own relatives. I didn't bother introducing myself. Eiko and Riko decided to track me down after a little while. I'm glad they did -- they caught me as I was visiting Mom and Dad's grave. They put aside their differences for the occasion. The combined support they gave me was more than welcome. Anyway, after that, we came back to the Indignation. We'd received a call while I was out. Nothing complicated; just another pirate run out in the boondocks. We're folding over there in a few minutes. Well, not 'we'. They. Over duly-noted strong objections by most of the group, who think I'm in no mood to go running off alone, I'm leaving Riko in charge for this run. Me, I'm taking a little time out -- flying Batwing to New Japan. I'm going to visit a friend. I wonder if I'll find him. It's a big planet. Wrong Side of the Ocean in association with Smalltime Writers, International presents a tale of Undocumented Features H A M M E R T I M E : D A Y S O F T H U N D E R THE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH by Martin "PCHammer" Rose Martin walked silently along the forested mountainside. Considering the amount of dried foliage on the ground, this was no mean feat, but, thanks to the rigorous training of a Predator of the Ripperfang clan, it was as easy for him as riding a bicycle. The rhythmic rustle of dead leaves one would expect was eerily absent. He'd been circling the planet of New Japan for a day and a half, asking around at the spaceports. Coming up empty there, he started looking around in more secluded areas (which is where he should have started in the first place, he duh'd to himself). He paused and looked around, checking his bearings. Nothing in sight. That's okay, he told himself ... sight is only what you make of it. He transformed, making a faint buzzing-crunching sound as he did so. Once in his Rotofoil mode, he invoked his "edges" view and rotated slowly in place. The forest around him was now a collection of glowing lines, the outlines of trees, leaves, branches and shrubbery. All the lines were either green, yellow, or some combination of the two. It made for quite a confusing sight, and definitely would have been useless for any attempt to navigate through the woodlands. It had other uses, though. For instance, there was that sharp, bluish outline that came slowly into his field of view. Metal. Jackpot. Martin transformed again, returning to his human form, and continued on his silent way toward the object he'd sighted. He was wearing an unmarked navy-blue jacket, black denim jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt. The shirt bore a large Thunder Force sigil, which was presently obscured by the jacket. At last, he came to a clearing in the woods. He stepped into the open sunlight and looked over his objective -- a lonely Hyper-Valkyrie, in the peculiar squatting stand of Gerwalk mode, bearing WDF symbols, electric blue and black edging, and the image of an eight-ball. He orbited it slowly, hands in his pockets. The wild grass had grown in around its "feet", healing the patch of ground that had been charred by its landing -- it hadn't been moved in a long time. The afternoon sun glinted off of its clear canopy as Martin walked by. He idly regarded a collection of small symbols painted beside the cockpit -- an iconic record of one of the most impressive kill lists in the entire Wedge Defense Force. Of course, he also noticed how clean it was, particularly for a neglected piece of equipment -- which meant that it wasn't neglected, at all. Martin checked his shoes; they seemed clean enough. With a flick of his ankle, he sailed through the air, landing soundlessly just behind the transparent blister atop the fuselage. He knelt down and looked into the cockpit, reading what he could from the mostly-dormant instrument panel. Fuel cells nearly full, all systems green and functional. Ready to go on a moment's notice. He sighed, wondering, for just a moment, how he'd feel if he were being hunted by someone who'd once loved him. This was quickly replaced by a silent prayer that he'd never have to find out. He stood upright, scanning the clearing. He was still alone. He considered leaving a note to let the plane's owner know he'd been there, but decided against it. With another hop, he boosted himself into the lightly-clouded blue sky. He transformed to Rotofoil-Chopper mode, hovered for a moment, and banked away, leaving the fighter just as he'd found it. After all, its owner would need it, sooner or later. Take care of yourself, Ben. Mega-Tokyo was, in all likelihood, one of the worst places to be if a person was seeking complete physical isolation. The megatropolis's average population density was easily among the top ten for the entire United Galactica. An unceasing swarm of people were on every street, in every building, at nearly every hour of the day or night. It was an endless bustle of activity, whether working, playing, struggling, or just living. None of these facts bothered Martin in the least -- he could isolate himself in the middle of a crowd of thousands. After all, he mused as he strolled absently down a busy street, that was just about how he'd spent his first month aboard the Wayward Son. The Son. His biological family no longer knew who he was -- the Wedge Defense Force had been the closest thing he had to a family for nearly three centuries. Now, even that was gone. All that remained was a small group which had somehow sought him out as a rallying point. Did he pity himself for his situation? Maybe. Experience, however, had repeatedly taught him that he was far from the most pitiable creature in the cosmos. Every time he'd tried to convince himself that he was, he would immediately be proven wrong. He walked the thoroughfares of Mega-Tokyo for hours, waiting for just such an occasion. It didn't seem to be coming. He kept walking anyway. It was now past midnight. (A small display seemed to flicker into existence in a corner of his mind as he wondered what time it was, informing him that it was 00:27 in the local time zone. His continuously-increasing cyberhuman abilities were starting to compensate for his poor sense of time.) He was still walking, but he was now in an urban residential neighborhood. Apartment buildings and closed-up shopfronts lined the sidewalks, standing in rigid formation like a platoon just out of boot camp. He didn't see them. His eyes were fixed forward, and his mind was somewhere else entirely. He didn't even notice that he was the only person in sight. He pulled himself to a halt, turning his head to one side. Footfalls. Light and rapid. Running, stumbling. Gasping breaths. High-pitched ... possibly female, probably a child. More running feet. Heavier. Sounds like ... three, maybe four pair. A chase. Someone's in trouble. I'm needed. He took a breath and faced the sound's direction of origin, preparing for whatever may come. The girl collided with a large plasteel waste bin, capsizing it and nearly falling. She managed to twist herself to bring another foot down, though, keeping her balance at the cost of an iota of speed, which she quickly regained. She swatted a lock of her long, wavy red hair out of her eyes and kept running, her torn, half-length skirt flying about her legs in a hurricane of panic. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl! she grated to herself. You could have just told a policeman, but noooooo, you had to look into it yourself and be Miss Junior Sleuth. Miss Junior KLUTZ is more like it! Now they've seen you, and you can run all you want, but you'll never get away! Shut up and run, she replied. There was a sudden jerk at her left arm -- the material of the sleeve of her sweater had caught in a hinged gap in the side of a dumpster. When she'd received it at her last birthday, she thought the slightly too long sleeves, which she could adjust so that her fingertips just peeked out the cuffs, were a cute touch. Now, she grumbled at the inconvenience and yanked it free, ripping the soft material and returning to her escape. The steps of her pursuers rang in her ears. They're getting closer! Oh, God, someone help me! I'm so tired... At last, the alleyway came to an end, and she emerged into the stark, artificial light of the street. She slid on the smooth soles of her shoes as she scurried around the corner, banking a sharp left turn and breaking into a full run once more. She was three blocks from home. A tiny voice of despair whispered that she'd never make it, but she kept running anyway. That's when she first spied him. She'd never seen him before. At least, not in person -- something about him looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place it, and lacked the time and inclination to try. He was tall -- no, he was HUGE -- over two meters. (Wow!) Somewhat thin, with a jacket, some sort of T-shirt under that, black jeans, and short, brown hair. He looked like he didn't know he was in trouble. "Mister!" she shouted between gasping breaths. "Run! They're coming!" He didn't run. He crouched down, catching her by the arms as she tried to herd him away. His grip was gentle, but she could feel the strength behind it as she struggled to free herself. "Hey, hey, slow down, little lady!" He spoke calmly, quietly soothing her panicked spirit. "Who's coming?" She faltered in a quick search for words. She quickly decided she must have been quite a sight -- hair tossed carelessly, torn sweater barely hanging onto her shoulders, skirt almost ripped in two up one side. It was a little embarrassing to think about. The sound of running feet and voices from the alley became the sound of running feet and voices on the sidewalk. She whirled with a gasp. Too late! The four punks had caught up with her. She shrank back against the stranger. She felt a hand on her head. When she turned to look, she saw a pair of determined, unyielding eyes regarding the men, if the term could be correctly applied to her hunters. "Stay close to me," he whispered before rising to his full height. She moved cautiously around him, hiding behind his legs. She didn't notice that he spoke the same language as she, though he was obviously a foreigner. "Hey, hey, hey!" one of the hoods opened. "Looks like we'll get t'have a little fun before the main event!" She decided she didn't want to know what that was supposed to mean. "I don't suppose I should bother asking what you want with the girl," the stranger said with undisguised contempt. "'I don't suppose' it really matters," a second hoodlum replied mockingly. "'I don't suppose' you'll live long enough to care," finished the first. With a flick of his wrist, he was holding a monoblade. He walked forward without a worry in the world, since the stranger had assumed no fighting stance. The girl clung tightly to her new companion's leg. She wanted to run, but she knew she'd never get away if she tried. Besides, her terror had her rooted to the spot. The punk was so close, she could read the serial number etched into the side of his knife. Shiro stopped, regarding the stranger with more than just a little distaste. He had to look up to meet the stranger's eyes, since he himself just barely topped a meter and a half. It didn't faze him; the stranger was lean, almost wiry, while he was bulky and muscular. This foreigner had no threatening posture, while he knew all the best fighting techniques of the street gangs. And his hands were fast, with the usual cyberenhancements augmenting his trained reflexes -- par for the course, if you want to be In. The stranger had one thing that clearly marked him as Out: what could be seen of his T-shirt clearly showed something resembling a WDF logo. Shiro snorted. A Wedgie. A dreamer, or a loser, though it didn't matter which. He was dead either way. The girl made a short cry as, without preamble, he thrust his blade forward. It didn't reach its target. The unbelievably strong hand on his wrist saw to that. Suddenly feeling very helpless, Shiro gritted his teeth as the pressure around his arm gradually increased. He spat every expletive he could think of as his hand loosened and the monoblade fell to the pavement with a brief clatter. "That was quite rude," the stranger stated in a deep voice filled with dark menace. "You should be kind to children, and respect your elders." Shiro's tortured growl became a loud yelp as the hand gave a quick squeeze, snapping the bones in his forearm. There was no visible effort in the stranger's face; he continued looking down on him with the same contemptuous glare as before. With deliberate movements, the stranger picked him up by the throat and threw him into the midst of his gang, ten meters back. He hit the concrete hard, knocking his head and filling his vision with a thousand points of light. The girl gasped and took a step away from her protector. She had two reasons; firstly, she knew he might need a little freedom of movement to fight, and secondly, he scared her. A second of the punks clenched his fists and charged forward, cyberspurs extending from the backs of his hands as he ran. He leaped onto the stranger, ready to disembowel him. With a quick song of sliding metal, the stranger abruptly grew swords from the backsides of his arms. He swatted his attacker with the flat of one blade, throwing him off-target. The other blade whistled through the air, neatly removing one of the assailant's hands. His leg came up before the punk had even landed, kicking him in a screaming arc all the way back to his cohorts. "Take a hike, Wolverine." She stared in wide-eyed wonder. Swords from his sleeves? Could it be ... ? The punk in the rear whipped out a pulse pistol. "Bad mistake, asshole. Your last mistake." He aimed and fired. Again. And again. And again. Every shot was deflected by one of the stranger's swords. The seventh shot attempted to go past him, directly at the girl; as a reward for the attempt, it was returned to its point of origin, fragmenting the pistol's barrel and tearing through its wielder's hand with shards of steel. The swords sang out once more as they returned to their hiding place. "Go away," the man commanded. "You annoy me." The foursome limped back into the alley, assisting each other as best they could. "You'll regret this, fucker!" the sole uninjured member shouted. "I doubt that." And they were gone. Martin sighed and looked backward, expecting to find only the retreating back of the one he'd chosen to protect. Instead, he found her gazing up at him with sparkling emerald eyes. He blinked with surprise. She can't even be ten yet ... heck, she looks closer to seven ... and she's not afraid of me? He slowly dropped to his knees, holding out his arms to see how she'd react. Wordlessly, she stepped toward him, reached forward, and carefully opened the front of his jacket, blinking with wonder at the image it had concealed. He smiled brightly at her. "Surprised?" She just stared at his chest. "It's really you," she whispered. He nodded. She spoke softly as she traced her finger along the crooked outline of the stylized yellow thunderbolt, superimposed over the time-worn WDF symbol. "I hear about you on the news ... every so often. I'm your biggest fan. I never thought ... I never dreamed..." He cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't know we had a fan club." She giggled. "Well, it's not official. I'm the only member." "Guess that makes you the president." She nodded, now smiling brightly at him with uncontrolled admiration. "Mm-hm! I have a scrapbook of every newspaper story about you. It's really neat! I had to go through a news database to find the one about your Funkotron case, but I found it!" His eyebrows rose. "Wow. That's persistence." She grinned. "My mother likes you, too. She says she's glad I've found a good role-model. She says there aren't enough heroes these days." She sighed. "She gets a little worried, though, when I say I want to be a policewoman when I grow up, because it's a dangerous job ... she thinks I should be an aerobics instructor, or run a 'lawn-juray' shop--" the French loan-word came out a little awkwardly "--or 'be something normal', as she says." She realized there was something there she didn't know, looked up at him and asked, point-blank, with all the innocence of youth, "What's 'lawn-juray'?" Martin cleared his throat to disguise the slight coloring of his face. "Um ... I don't think I'm the right person to ask. So, now that I know all this about you," he said quickly to change the subject, "what's your name?" Her face lit up at the question. He could almost hear her thoughts: Wow, he asked me my name! He LIKES me! (Which was true, actually. He found her cute, friendly, and remarkably intelligent for her age, and not just because she was his fan, either.) "I'm Nene! Nene Romanova." He smiled at her, putting a hand on her head and ruffling her hair just a bit. "Well, Neee-ne," he said, speaking her name in a sing-song fashion, "don't you think you're out a little late? Your mom and dad will worry about you." She started hemming and hawing, just as he'd expected. "Well, they ... don't know I'm out," she said meekly, clasping her hands behind her back. "And why don't they know you're out?" He wondered, for a moment, how much like his late father he sounded. "Because ... I snuck out." Her eyes examined something terribly important by her feet. "And why did you sneak out?" "Um ... because I was following this lead, you see..." "'Lead'?" She finally found the courage to look at him again. "Well, yeah, I heard these guys talking earlier today, you know, and they were talking about some kind of planning meeting tonight. They're not exactly debate-team material, so what else could they be planning, right? So I tried to be sneaky and quiet and find out what they were up to, only--" Martin sighed. "Why didn't you tell a police officer, Nene? The police are here for that, you know." She looked up with frustration. "Because I only had a couple little hints! A word or two here, a look over the shoulder there -- police can't act on that! Police need a search warrant -- how can they get one with no solid tips?" She looked around suspiciously, then whispered conspiratorially to him. "The kids are members of a world-wide gang. They've been getting away with all sorts of things, and they can't arrest the leaders. They don't have enough proof to make them stand trial." Gadzooks! Martin thought. This girl has a good understanding of due process, for her age. She will _definitely_ make a good policewoman -- if she lives that long. "Nene, criminal investigation is no place for little girls! Or little boys, for that matter. This isn't a game!" He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You're playing with your life!" She sighed, exasperated. "But who else would do it?" she whined; then, checking her tone, she resumed her previous whisper. "Besides, I overheard them talking tonight. Their boss was there, and he said he wants the Security Commissioner 'rubbed out'." She nudged him for each syllable of the last phrase in a you-know-what-that-means fashion. Martin paled. "And they know you heard them?" She nodded solemnly to him. Here comes that sinking feeling, Martin noted. After picking up the dropped monoblade and stuffing it in one of his jacket pockets -- it was a switchblade-style knife, and retracted easily -- he wrapped his hands around Nene's tiny waist and lifted her, cradling her in his arms as she hugged herself to him. "Let's get you home, Nene. You'll be safe there." I hope. Her parents were a bit reluctant to believe who he was, at first. Of course, when he demonstrated a quick transformation for them, they were utterly dumbfounded. Nene giggled with delight when he returned to human form in his Darkwing costume. She was all but walking on air around him, and all three adults (if you count Martin as one, that is) could readily see how she doted on him. Martin, for his part, was feeling more than just a little uneasy under her blatant hero-worship, but resigned himself to live with it, for the time being. They put little Nene to bed. Martin gave her a comm-pin in the shape of the Thunder Force logo ("If any of those goons gives you trouble again, just call me, okay?"), and a kiss on the forehead. With that completed, he returned to the living room, where her parents waited expectantly. "Sir, Ma'am ... I'm afraid I have some disturbing news for you." He took a deep breath and seated himself. "Tonight, if what she told me is true -- and she seems quite honest -- your daughter has overheard a planned murder conspiracy against New Japan's Security Commissioner." They looked at each other with grave concern. "Are you serious?" the mother asked hesitantly. The color and style of her hair reminded Martin of Noriko, but her eyes were a pale blue. "Deadly serious, I'm afraid. She was also discovered." The mother gasped. "Was she hurt?" the father queried. His thinning scarlet hair and lively green eyes served only to accent the worry on his face. "No, she didn't say anything about that. But the gang knows what she looks like." He paused, making certain they grasped the implications of what he'd told them. "She may be in danger." The parents sat a while in silence. "What can we do?" the father asked at last. Martin stood. "I'd recommend getting the police involved in this, as soon as you can. See if you can arrange for some kind of watch on Nene at all times, and keep an eye out for suspicious characters who look like they're not doing anything in particular. As for me, I'll be around town for a while. That pin I gave her wasn't just for show -- when she calls, I'll be there. You can count on it." They smiled, reassured by his resolve to protect her. After an exchange of farewell pleasantries and helping initiate a call to the police, Martin was once again walking the streets of Mega-Tokyo. The dumpster stood, immobile and uncaring, with a small piece of soft sweater caught in one of its hinged seams. Martin noted its presence and moved on. The trash bin lay on its side, its pungent contents strewn on the ground. Martin observed the layout of the scattered garbage. It was knocked over, then kicked aside afterward. He stepped over it and moved on. He walked silently, as one with the shadows. His eyes carefully followed the faint patterns on the ground. Four sets of footprints with large shoes, and one set with small ones. Nene's. Skid marks indicated that she'd turned a corner in her flight. He followed the trail. The trail ended, or, rather, began at a closed doorway. Martin placed a hand against it, closed his eyes, and listened. Nobody's home. He tried the knob. It gave easily, and the door swung open with a gentle creak that made the hair on his neck stand on end. I HATE that. The interior was as black as the Lovely Angels' CVR armor. He quickly produced a handlamp and swept the room with its beam, muttering "NBC Mystery Movie" from sheer force of habit. One of the two doorways leading inward was open. He followed it. The hallway left very few options. If she'd actually made it this far without being detected, Martin admitted, she was definitely more than just a pretty face. Either that, or these goons were exceptionally sloppy. Another doorway had a short bit of nail protruding from its frame. This nail was currently decorated with a long, thin strip of material. Martin recognized it -- the same material as Nene's skirt. He pushed the door open and walked through it. The room was completely barren, save for a slightly-cracked door leading even further inward. The wall behind the door bore a large dent where the knob had been slammed into it; this, apparently, was where the chase began. He swept the beam of his lamp around the floor, and noticed one last detail -- a button from Nene's sweater. Apart from that, these last two rooms were empty, visually cleared of litter and evidence. Martin began walking around the inside room, watching the floor with his handlamp. The room itself was dominated by a large, heavy conference table, and the several chairs gathered around it. Come on, come on, let's have something in here. Even I don't clean up THIS neurotically. There must-- His lips formed a slow smile. "There you are," he whispered, bending down and pulling at a small fleck of white that had caught his eye. It was part of a small sheet of paper, mostly concealed underneath the massive table. Standing erect, he snapped the half-sheet to attention and examined it. Impressions on its surface indicated it had been written on indirectly, perhaps with one or two sheets on top of it. And it bore what looked like a corporate letterhead. Fisk-Ishikawa. The "i" in Fisk was dotted with what appeared to be a faceted diamond. Martin sighed. Nothing beyond the circumstantial. He began to turn to leave when he heard the sound of slow, cautious footsteps outside in the alley. So, the police have come, after all. He went to greet them. "FREEZE!" "Calm yourself, Corporal." With a nervous glance at his superior, the officer lowered his pistol, switching its safety catch back on. Martin removed his hat with a nod and a slight smile, stepped forward and offered his hand. "Your men are well-trained, Detective..." The police detective, a medium-build New Japanese native wearing an open trenchcoat and a Dick Tracy hat, accepted Martin's offered hand. "That's quite a compliment, coming from an Autobot. I'm Lieutenant Katsuhiro Zenigata. I apologize if your welcome was less than cordial." "Lieutenant Zenigata." I wish the universe would stop doing this, he didn't say aloud. "No apology is necessary under the circumstances. >From what I've seen of this town, a little paranoia can be a healthy thing." "Thank you, PCHammer." Martin waved a hand. "Please ... don't kill yourself trying to address me properly. 'Hammer' will do." "Very well, Hammer. You should call me Katsu, then." Katsu looked at his men. "I take it you've already looked the place over." Martin nodded sagely as three officers hustled past him, flashlights cutting into the gloom. Three more went through the door he hadn't yet investigated. "Nothing to find from the way I came, really. Just a few confirmations of the Romanova girl's story -- bits of her clothing and the like -- and this." He handed the letterhead to him. The detective looked it over, shaking his head. "Fisk. It always comes down to Fisk." "I don't suppose you could spare a little time to tell me what this is all about," Martin opened. "After all, I'm new in town." "So I'd guess. By the way, what'd you do to that girl, anyway? We almost had to pry this location out of her with a crowbar. She only talks about you." Martin sheepishly scratched at the back of his head. "I hope it's just a phase she's going through. Did you leave someone behind to keep an eye on them?" Katsu nodded. "Two undercover men will watch their building at all times, and another will specifically look after the girl." "That sounds good. She's bright, crafty, observant ... someday, she could be bucking for your job." Katsu smiled. "I hope I'll still be working when that day comes. She'll certainly get a positive reference from me. Oh, she mentioned that you captured a weapon from one of the assailants." Martin snapped his fingers. "That's right, I almost forgot! She doesn't miss a trick. And neither do you, I should add." His hand vanished into his cape, returning with a handkerchief-swathed grip on a monoswitchblade. "Here you go." One of Zenigata's men was instantly beside them and accepted the weapon with a white-gloved hand, dropping it in a clear, plastic evidence bag. "Did you pick up the, ah, souvenirs I left in the street?" The lieutenant nodded. "You must be everything the grapevine says about you to be able to take off that punk's hand without injury. The 'spurs were made this year -- that guy was state-of-the-art." Martin shrugged. "His body, maybe. But no amount of tech can make up for basic stupidity." "Sir." Katsu turned to face the three officers who'd gone past Martin earlier. They saluted him sharply, carrying plastic bags containing the items Martin had noticed earlier. "The Thunder Force leader was correct, sir. They cleaned the place out quite thoroughly before they left." The other three also returned at this time, and indicated they had come up equally dry. "Prints?" "Wiped clean. Sorry, sir." The detective cursed under his breath. "Thank you, Sergeant." He returned his attention to Martin. "Well, Hammer, if you'll accompany us to the station, we can fill you in on what ails this city." "Thank you, Lieutenant." "What did I tell you?" "Katsu. Sorry." Lieutenant Zenigata had a fully-enclosed office in Mega-Tokyo's high- rise police headquarters, rather than a cubicle out on the main floor, which offered a break from the constant noise of telephones and keyboards. Two of the walls were completely occupied by large windows, one facing in and the other offering a view of the outside. From the fifteenth floor, however, the view was still dominated by the surrounding buildings. From the thirtieth floor and up, as Katsu had told Martin, you could see above most of the rooftops, and could easily pick out the tallest, most massive structure in the city -- GENOM Tower, the mega-corporation's planetary headquarters. Martin said nothing. GENOM wasn't his problem. Not anymore. "Ah, here we go." Katsu pulled a rather thick file folder from one of the cabinets in his office. He dropped it on his desk and sat in the chair behind it; Martin pulled up the office's other seat, which had no wheels or swivels, but, at least, was well-padded. "I see this is a hobby of yours." The detective grunted. "Not hobby; job. I specialize in criminal organizations, and this is the biggest we've got." He flipped up the top of the folder and began shuffling through its contents. "The new heads of the Yakuza?" "I wish. This new organization makes the Yakuza look like Tiki's Little Neighborhood." Martin shuddered. 'Tiki', an overly cute Salusianesque marionette, was the modern-day equivalent of the 20th century's greatest scourge, 'Barney the Dinosaur'. "There goes the planet." "And here you are." Katsu uncovered a photograph, and handed it to Martin. It was an obvious enough picture of two people, probably taken during some high-society gathering. The woman was obviously of Japanese descent, tall, sleek and slender, but not quite so much so as the Righteous Indignation's chief engineer, Nadia Davion. The pale crimson gown she wore left no doubt that she was not at all ashamed of her figure. Her face carried an unconcerned, regal beauty, accented just enough to highlight her features, and her ebony hair was gathered stylishly atop her head. She was not smiling. "The woman is Ishikawa Ginrei," Katsu explained. "She's the daughter of a powerful industrialist, and descended from a samurai bloodline, ironically enough. Don't be fooled by her looks. They called her the Dragon of New Japan, even before the Earther entered the picture. She's cold, cunning and ruthless -- perfect for her job." Martin nodded, then examined her companion. The man was enormous -- Martin guessed him to be nearly his own height. "Thin" was not the first word to come to mind when looking at him. "Bucket" seemed more appropriate, as in "Better get me a", but his stomach did not sag, as one would expect from such a mass amount of flab; in fact, his entire torso was roughly equal in circumference at all points. His white suit fit him rather sharply, and his thick, dark eyebrows stood in stark contrast to his completely bald scalp. One hand held a thick, smoking cigar; the other bore a ring with a large diamond. His gaze seemed to pierce right out of the page. He wasn't smiling, either, and looked like nothing could make him want to. "The man is Wilson Fisk. He's Ishikawa's match in every respect, from all reports. Just as she's supposed to be deadly in the martial arts, you mustn't count him out, either -- that bulk is solid muscle. His history shows him to be a self-made man, the builder of his own criminal empire on Earth -- starting out in North America, then expanding over the entire globe. He's known as the Kingpin." Martin whimpered silently. When does the hurting stop?... "They consolidated their operations five years ago, easily wiping the Yakuza and just about all other native gangs completely off the map. According to the headlines," he added, displaying a newspaper clipping as evidence, "there was a similar elimination in Earth's crime syndicates around that time, as well. Ever since, crime on both worlds has gone like clockwork; we have our hands full 24 hours a day, and we can't keep up. Allegedly, they're looking into expanding their operations onto the Salusian homeworld, and beyond. Syndicates throughout the Quadrant are trying to pull themselves together, but they won't be able to iron out their differences in time. They're scared silly." "Can't blame them, can you?" "Not a bit." Martin looked over the photo again. The future rulers of an underworld empire, perhaps as large as the United Galactica itself. And the UG's deteriorating state could easily make the two of them the more powerful governors, if they succeeded. Once again, by no fault of his own, he was exactly where he was needed. "With that kind of power ... why would they bother with one Security Commissioner? They seem to just walk all over the law as it is." "'Seem to' is the right choice of words. Our new Commissioner was appointed just a year ago, and he's been dogging their heels from day one. He works together with President Haggar, who's stuck closely to the law-and-order platform that got him elected. It's no secret that our last President was just a puppet of Fisk-Ishikawa, which is why they got away with so much. Thanks to a lot of hard work, and some good luck, we may finally have a crack at cleaning up this place." Martin handed the picture back to Katsu, who returned it to the folder. "I don't suppose I could speak to the Commissioner or the President myself." The lieutenant stood and walked across the room, returning the folder to its place. "Actually, I'm sure they'd both be honored to meet you. Your little friend isn't the only one who considers you to be something of a legend." Martin groaned. "Don't say that. A Legend is a driver's license picture of Truth -- not a very good likeness." Katsu laughed, already stepping through the doorway. "Come on, the New Japan Security HQ isn't far. I think Perry may be in his office." Martin rose (yes, yes, I know) and followed, already getting that familiar I-really-don't-want-to-know-the-answer-to-this-question-do-I feeling. "'Perry'?" "Mason." Get me out of heeeeere... The lock on the hotel room door snapped to attention, and the door slid open easily. The room's lone occupant walked in. "Lights," he announced in a tired voice. At Martin's spoken command, the room was quickly flooded with soft light from an overhead fixture and a couple table lamps. The door slid shut behind him, and he surveyed his temporary home. It was a fairly typical affair, as hotel rooms went. Just the equivalent of a large bedroom with a shower, toilet and closet in an attached room. He wouldn't even be using the closet -- his transformational abilities guaranteed that he never needed to carry a change of clothes. Even his closet back aboard the Righteous Indignation was empty. He walked to the room's second most important feature: the window. Inspecting it visually, he quickly determined how to open it. Then, to make sure he was right, he did so. The glass pane slid smoothly to one side, allowing entry to the sounds of the city. He smiled. The last time he was in a room with non-openable windows, he got an emergency call and had to smash through. That jacked up the room fees quite a bit, and it was a false alarm, to boot -- Danilia'd set off a distress beacon while fishing for change. He slid the window shut and pulled the drapes over it. Walking toward a large empty spot in the room, he transformed (another requirement he had for hotel rooms was enough space to transform in) to Rotofoil and back, changed into a set of light pajamas. With that completed, he dumped himself on the bed. "Lights out," he muttered, and the room was dark. He closed his eyes and thought about the past couple hours, since, this being an unfamiliar bed and all, he knew he'd never actually get to sleep. All things considered, the situation was going rather well. Most of the people he'd met tonight already recognized him. He had to admit, Thunder Force was gaining quite a reputation. He hoped it wouldn't exceed them. Security Commissioner Mason was, as Martin had feared, a former defense attorney with an astonishingly good track record. That served to fuel his passion for justice all the more; having worked in defense for so long, he was acutely aware of how important concrete evidence and irrefutable proof were for a successful conviction. What he'd gathered against Fisk-Ishikawa so far, in close collaboration with his counterpart on Earth and President Haggar, who'd also been introduced to Martin, was taking shape into a truly solid case that could completely shut down most, or even all, judge willing, of the syndicate's known fronts. Assuming, of course, he lived to take it to court. He'd seemed somewhat reluctant to listen to the alleged hearsay of a seven-year-old girl, but having a three-hundred-year-old Autobot to collaborate the story proved quite helpful. He promised to take more precautions until something more concrete could be brought to light. In the meantime, the police watch on the Romanovas would continue. Speaking of which, Martin reminded himself forcefully, you'd better get some sleep if you expect to help keep an eye on little Nene during the day tomorrow. (Sorry, it's not tomorrow ... it's this morning, only a few hours from now.) With an impetus like that, how could he refuse? Zonk. Nene walked warily down the street, hugging her bookbag to herself. Her eyes looked carefully around her, taking in the scene as thoroughly as possible. They'd start to slide shut every so often, but she snapped them back open when she noticed it. She wasn't going to let her guard down just because she didn't get enough sleep last night. She nervously fingered at her blouse. Her gaze fell onto the small Thunder Force pin that was mounted high on her lapel. It bolstered her confidence a little, but only just. After all, she was only one girl. How much attention could someone like him spare for her? She tried to stifle a yawn, but it escaped anyway. "Neee-neee!" Nene gasped as her head whirled to face the source of the loud call. Her alarm was poorly-justified, though, and she sighed with a hand on her heart once she'd confirmed that. "Hi, Usagi." A girl, with long, blond hair, done into a pair of waist-length tails originating near the top of her head as two small, tight balls of hair, hopped up beside Nene, carrying her own bookbag by the handle. "Good morning, Nene! Wow, you look tired. Get your math homework done?" Nene nodded. "Yeah. It was easy." Usagi gave her a quizzical look. "Only for you! I was having a terrible time with it! Until I called Sho and got his help, that is." She sighed happily. "He's so smart. And cute, too." Nene smiled. "Maybe you should give up math and become a professional boy-watcher." "Well, math is harder than relationships! Besides, at least I'm watching boys my own age," Usagi teased, whirling around Nene as they walked, "unlike SOME people." She nudged Nene with an elbow, winking at her. "I'll bet you were up late thinking about that guy I caught you watching yesterday." Nene glared at her. "I was not!" Usagi giggled. "Getting touchy! I was right!" She skipped beside her irritated friend, singing, "Ne-ne's got a cru-ush! Ne-ne's got a cru-ush!" Nene dropped her head into her hand. "Give it a rest. Besides, Leon's six grades higher--" "HA!" Usagi grinned, pointing an accusing finger at Nene's nose. "You went to the trouble to find out his name! You DO have a crush on him!" Nene waved the finger away from her face. "I'd hardly call it trouble. Every girl in his grade knows him." Usagi's grin vaporized into a look of surprise, which grew into a sly smile. "Oh, I see," she said as coyly as an eight-year-old could. "You just don't think you have a chance with him, then." She tsked. "Becoming a realist so early in life. So sad," she sighed, mimicking a mournful pose. Nene groaned. She knew there was no way to dissuade Usagi from her theory, untrue though it may be. Leon McNichol _was_ cute, though, in a six-years-older-than-her kind of way. And she suddenly realized they weren't alone anymore. There was a man sitting on the bench by the street, in front of the school's entrance. He was dressed in a slightly battered-looking coat and dark slacks, with a brown fedora down over his eyes, obscuring his face. He was right in their path. Usagi could feel Nene tensing as one of her hands moved over her lapel pin. Where'd she get that, anyway? She didn't have it yesterday. "What's wrong, Nene?" Nene didn't hear her. Her walk slowed to a nervous shuffle as she kept her eyes riveted on the stranger, ready to tap, scream and run on a moment's notice. The stranger took a hand out of his coat pocket, using his index finger to push the hat up as he lifted his head to look at her. He smiled faintly, winking one of his hazel eyes and turning his collar slightly to reveal a pin identical to hers. She relaxed herself, releasing a deep, relieved breath. They nodded to each other, and Nene resumed walking, her former tension replaced by cheerful reassurance. He said he'd watch out for me, didn't he? That's the last time I'll ever doubt him. Usagi walked alongside her, looking from her to him and back again, wondering if she was missing something important. "Nene ... that guy's WAY too old for you." Hammer shook with stifled laughter as Nene rolled her eyes. Shiro made an irritated noise and rolled his head toward the window, away from his broken arm. He was told that the organization wasn't willing to foot the bill to get the entire forearm replaced, so he would have to wait for it to heal the usual way. Even with the modern medical techniques available at their private hospital, that still meant he'd be spending a couple weeks out of action. Being off-line that long grated on him, particularly knowing that the asshole who'd put him here the first place was still out there laughing at him. Foreign bastard. Give him a second chance and he'd show the fucker his own backside, and he'd do the little redheaded rugrat, too. Respect your elders, my ass. He's not that much older than I am. The schedule for any of that was all wrong with his situation, too. Timetables were being pushed forward, and it'd all be over before he was even out. Word came through their inside contact that Commissioner Mason and President Haggar were on to them, because of the girl. He knew he'd get plenty of shit for letting her get away. She wouldn't have even been believed if she hadn't befriended some guy everyone was calling 'Pee-see-hammer'. What the hell kind of name is that? How do you spell that, anyway? He snorted another breath through his nose. If only he could get another chance at that bastard... The door to his room swung open. The reflection on the window garnered his attention, and he turned his head back to face it. He was, to understate severely, quite surprised to find that he was being visited by the very Dragon of New Japan herself. She stalked into his room, pacing a slow path to the foot of his bed. She was wearing a flamboyant crimson overcoat which, despite its thickness, clung to her figure rather well. Her ebony hair was mostly pulled back into a tight bun on her head, and her face bore an unreadable expression. Her cat-like eyes never left him for a moment, and he felt naked under their relentless scrutiny. Not that he would have minded being naked in a room with her, mind you -- as long as she was, too, and they were alone -- but she was accompanied by two men with business suits and sunglasses and three in white hospital uniforms. "I understand," she said after a very long, uncomfortable silence, "that you were among those assigned to bring back the girl." Shiro swallowed a dry lump in his throat. Every bad feeling he'd had in his life paled in comparison to what he felt right now. "Yeah," he croaked. Her eyes narrowed. "You will address me with respect," she hissed, "or die." A cold trickle of sweat rolled down the side of his head. Oh, shit, I'm really in for it now. "I ... I beg forgiveness, Milady." She smirked. "Better. You can never expect to rise above the common street dogs if you have no manners." "Y-yes, Milady." He wondered why he wasn't dead already. "I also understand," she said coldly, picking up where she'd left off previously, "that you desire revenge against the one who came to the girl's aid and put you where you are now." His mouth formed a smile before he could stop himself. "Yes, Milady." He hoped he didn't sound _too_ eager. She seemed to pick up on his tone anyway. "He has angered you greatly. Excellent. Such determination deserves a just reward." She clapped her hands twice, the sound muffled by the black gloves she was wearing. The men in the white uniforms stepped forward immediately. Shiro felt something cold against his neck. There was a sharp sensation, accompanied by a brief hiss. He tried to piece together a respectful protest, but his vision, as well as his mind, began to cloud in moments. He looked up toward the Dragon, who smiled as she walked toward him. "When you awaken," she cooed, "you will have the power to carry out your desires." He tried to reach up toward her, but everything was moving in slow motion to him, and his limbs wouldn't budge. He felt his bed begin to move, and heard the quiet rattle of plastic wheels on the sterile, tiled floor. Somewhere, in the fading dimness, he heard voices. "Hammer will pay dearly for trifling where he is not wanted. Is there anything more on the girl?" "We have a name now, Milady: Nene Romanova." "Excellent. Perhaps Miss Romanova's schoolmates could help her learn a valuable lesson in obedience." "Very good, Milady." He felt sharp, cloth-swaddled fingertips brush his hair away from his forehead. He felt the cool rush of air against his face and arms. And then, he felt nothing at all. The final bell rang, signaling the end of the day. For Nene, it didn't come a moment too soon. She'd been stifling yawns all day, and could really use a nap before tackling the day's homework. It was the closest she'd ever come to falling asleep in class, and she hadn't escaped the teacher's notice, either. The harsh snap of the meterstick against her desk still rang in her ears. "So," Usagi teased from the seat next to hers, "are you in for another busy night?" "Go away," Nene groaned. Usagi's incessant teasing was another thing she'd had to deal with all day. She tried to ignore it as she transferred the books she'd need from her desk to her bookbag. "Oooo, trying to brush off her best friend. She must have it baaaaad." "When I get home," Nene grated, "I'm going to _sleep_, _eat_, do my _homework_, and then _sleep_ some more. What you seem to _think_ I'll be doing is none of my concern." Usagi gave her a mock pout, which Nene ignored completely. "Fine. Just take all you can handle, and don't share any with your friends. See if I care." Quickly slipping into an impish grin, she hopped to her feet and fairly skipped out the door, blond tails flying behind her. Alone at last, Nene dropped her head to the desk and heaved a great sigh. Why me? It was another couple of minutes before she was actually on her feet and on her way. As she stepped out into the empty hallway, she could already hear the loud whir of the floor polishing machine from the stairwell -- the custodian was starting early today. She loped down a flight of stairs to the ground level (where the whirring was loudest) and trudged toward the main exit, glad to be done with this particularly boring day. "Hey, kid." Nene gasped at the gruff call, and her head whirled to face its source as her feet froze in place. There, in a nearby doorway, were two boys, much older and taller than herself, leaning against the sides of the recessed doorway. They were dressed for school, wearing the basic boys' school uniform, but their demeanor suggested that schoolwork was definitely not on their minds at the moment. "Yes?" "We hear you've been makin' trouble." The one on the right was speaking; his hair was styled into a flat-top. Nene swallowed. "Trouble? I'm not in any trouble." "Oh, yeah, you are." Nene's eyes darted toward the wide-open exit. Two more boys stepped out in front of it, standing with their arms folded. She chanced a glance behind herself as well, and found yet another duo closing that route, entering from opposite sides of an intersecting hallway. Trapped! "You see, there are things that people like to keep between each other and not tell anyone else," Flat-top chided. "If someone who isn't supposed to know it hears it, they shouldn't go telling other people about it. It's bad manners." Nene reached up slowly, pressing her fingers on her lapel pin and holding them there, making it look like a nervous gesture. "I ... I don't know what you mean." "Oh, you poor little girl." The two boys in the doorway pushed themselves upright and walked toward her. Footsteps to either side of her told her the other four were advancing, as well. "Didn't your mother ever teach you good behavior? It's not nice to spread secrets around." Nene stepped backward, soon finding herself pinned against the wall. "I-I still don't see--" "Stop playing stupid, you little bitch," the other one, who wore a red band over his left sleeve, finally said. The two of them were now towering over her. "The Dragon doesn't like people who aren't honest." Nene swallowed a little harder, feeling very, very small under their shadow. "D-- ... Dragon?!" Flat-top offered a smile Nene immediately disliked, rubbing his right knuckle into his left hand. "A lot of people are unhappy about how much you talk. Maybe y-- ... Hey! HEY!" All eyes turned toward another figure who had just entered the hall from behind the two farthest inside the building. He was a tall, gawky offworlder with brown, tousled hair, dressed head-to-toe in rumpled coveralls and moving to an unheard beat from the headphones on his ears. The only reason anyone noticed him was that he was presently guiding a very noisy floor polisher in front of himself, making even loud conversation impossible. "HEY, CAN'T YOU DO THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE?" shouted Flat-top, obviously irritated. The custodian, walking with his eyes nearly closed, brushed past the two closest to him, whistling a hint of a tune that Nene almost thought she recognized; Flat-top was blocking her view, though, and she couldn't see his face. He didn't seem to hear a word anyone was saying. "HEY!" Flat-top was bellowing at the top of his lungs as the janitor began to march past him. This seemed to make the man pause, and he shut off his polisher. The blaring music from his headphones was audible now, and he took them off, too. "You say something?" he asked in a thick offworld accent. "Look, old man, just take your stupid scrub brush and beat it." He shook his head. "Afraid I can't do that, youngster. How will the floors get clean if I don't take care of them?" Seeing what she thought was an opening, Nene tried to dash for the door, but was instantly caught in Red Band's grip. "You stay put, you stupid brat." "Let me go! You're hurting me!" She tugged futilely against his grasp. He gave her arm an unkind twist, and she shrieked in pain. "We'll fix you right now if you don't shut up, bitch." "Hey, what do you think you're doing to that poor girl?" "Stay out of this, old man." "I can't stand by and let you pick on that poor child! You!" He jabbed at Red Band with his index finger. "You let her go!" Flat-top grabbed the chivalrous custodian roughly by the chest of his coveralls. "I SAID stay OUT of this, bastard!" He locked stares with the man, who just looked back at him. He got the unfamiliar feeling that he was making a rather large error. "You should be kind to children," the man said coldly, his thick accent suddenly becoming a distant memory, "and respect your elders." Before he really knew what was happening, Flat-top found himself flying away from the man, who'd cast him aside like a straw dummy. His brief flight ended when he ran into the two boys from the inside hallway, bowling them over. "Fucker!" Red Band released the girl, who remained rooted to the spot, and threw himself at the new enemy. His reward for his courage and skill was a rapid trip to La-La Land, as he was immediately ushered to the floor, head first. Hard. "You like throwing your weight around, don't you?" the man asked the remaining five. "You like making people afraid of you. Especially if they can't fight back." The five of them, definitely the unobservant type, took fighting stances, each producing a vibroswitchblade. "We'll teach you what it means to fight!" The janitor folded his arms, stood in the center of the hallway and tapped his foot impatiently. "I'm waaaaitiiiing," he sang tauntingly. That did it. They ran whooping toward him, knives humming through the air, three in front of him and two behind. Nene shut and covered her eyes and winced at the ensuing cacophony of shouting and thumping. When all was quiet once more, she opened them again, peeking comically through her fingers. As she'd expected, only one person remained upright. Well, there was another, but only because he was being held up by the hand wrapped around his ankles. Hammer looked his catch over. "Too small," he complained. "I'll have to throw it back." The catch, who Nene recognized as Flat-top, looked significantly worse for wear. "Who are you?" he croaked. Before Hammer could reply, another voice did it for him. "He is the terror that flaps in the night," Nene said as ominously as she could. "He is the sword that will slay the Dragon, the bowling ball that will topple the Kingpin! He is--" "A-HEM." She stopped abruptly, then smiled sheepishly up at Martin's look of mock annoyance, her emerald eyes sparkling with gratitude. "Sorry." "It's okay this time." He swung his handload over, catching him by the collar and hissing into his face. "Your bosses know who I am ... and they fear me. You fear me, too, don't you?" The kid nodded dumbly. "That's a healthy attitude. It'll keep you alive longer. I noticed you seem to do all the speaking for this little gang of yours." He gave the nearby heap of unconscious (alleged) humanity an unkind kick, and it emitted a collective groan in response. "So I want you to do a little speaking for me. Ready to take some messages?" He nodded again. "Good. Tell your bosses that they're fooling no one but themselves. Tell them the Hammer says their days are numbered. And tell everyone you know that anything they try against anyone named Romanova will be taken, by me, as a personal insult ... and I don't _like_ being insulted. It makes me very unpleasant." He pulled the kid just a hair closer. "Got that?" He nodded a third time. "Thanks. You're a sport." He gave the boy a congenial pat on the cheek, then dropped him onto his pile of friends. He then turned his attentions to the small redhead nearby, crouching down on the balls of his feet. "You okay?" She smiled back at him. "Thanks to you." "Sorry if I made you worry." "It's okay ... I knew you'd keep your promise." She sighed. "Think you could carry me home?" He did the lift-and-cradle thing with her again, standing to his full height. "Wouldn't you rather ride?" "Nah," she said tiredly, resting against him and closing her eyes. "I want something warm right now. And walk slow, please. I could use the sleep." "This could be construed as an abuse of privilege, you know," he warned with a smile. "Yes, I know," she yawned. "But I also know you'll only do what's best for me." Her voice lowered to a mumble as she allowed herself to slip away in his comforting embrace. After phoning her parents to let them know she'd be home a little late, and asking the police to clean up the mess he'd left behind, he did as she'd asked. "Mr. Fisk is here, Milady." Ginrei looked up from her desktop computer's flip-up display and nodded her silent approval. The servant bowed deeply in acknowledgment, retreating through the enormous, ornate carved doors to show her guest in. The office was furnished like a throne room from a glorified vision of ancient Japan, with lush tapestries, delicate artifacts, suits of samurai armor, abundant plant life, and even a small brook running along one side. The glass ceiling far above would flood the room with light during the daytime; it was nighttime now, so the lighting was artificial, but remarkably tasteful. At the head of the room, immediately before a tall, clear wall of solid polyglass, sat Ishikawa Ginrei herself, dressed in a ravishing green, gold and white vested gown, her chair and desk standing where one would expect a golden throne for New Japan's dark shogun. She considered herself a supreme modern warlord, having conquered all her adversaries in the battlefields of the underworld by strategy, skill and force. The doors opened once more, and she rose from her seat, walking around her desk to greet a fellow conqueror and gingerly pushing her desktop display into its flat, closed position from sheer force of habit. He walked boldly, massive arms swinging confidently around his bulky frame, clothed in his trademark white suit. He was a somewhat coarser warrior than she, by her reckoning; where she prided herself in her deceptively demure tact and adherence to Japanese traditions, he strode boldly, afraid of nothing and damn proud of it. Still, even he knew when he was a guest, and he stopped at the foot of the tall dais of her desk, where she stood patiently. As he bowed with respect, his voice boomed softly, "Madame Ishikawa." She smiled, toying with her hair, black as midnight and cascading down her back. Coarse though he may have been, he was still a charmer, and the traditional ideal of the unification of two warring families appealed to her in this context. "Please, Wilson ... you, and you alone, may call me Ginrei." "I was not certain we were alone." "We are." He continued forward, pacing up the ten steps to stand beside her, though, with their feet at the same level, he loomed over her like a shining monolith. "The girl remains at large," he stated. His American bluntness, which she'd thought she was finally getting used to, startled her for a moment. She recovered quickly. "Miss Romanova has been dealt with." "No, she has not." He looked impassively through the windows behind the desk, over the twinkling lights of Neo-Tokyo. She regarded him coldly. "I sent agents to put her in line." "They were rather soundly beaten." Her eyes widened. "How do you know this?" "They took advantage of their phone call to notify one of our offices." Ginrei's gaze fell to the enormous diamond on his finger. "I see. The girl has a bodyguard." Wilson nodded. "Not just any bodyguard, Ginrei. The group you sent claims he identified himself as 'the Hammer'." She scowled. "Hammer again ... what is he doing in New Japan? Thunder Force is fighting a pirate blockade near the border of Salusian space even as we speak." Her eyes narrowed, a possibility forming in her mind. "Unless that's _precisely_ why he's come here ... if those Elasi fools have double-crossed us..." He leaned down on one hand, looking directly at Ginrei. "Why he is here is no longer important. He's protecting the girl, he knows what we're working toward, and he's challenging our domination. It's either him or us, now." Her ruby lips twisted into a fiendish smile. "How heroic ... a fight to the end. I've made arrangements for a little surprise for him, when the time comes." Fisk lifted himself to his full height, once again scanning the evening skyline. He knew what she had in mind, and it didn't sit well with him -- but this was her home domain. "To be relying on such a contingency so soon, after all our preparation..." "The careful warrior prepares for every possibility, Wilson. Even the unthinkable must be anticipated. And Hammer has proven quite adept at doing the unthinkable." She lifted a bauble from her desk, a beautiful golden statuette of a dragon, and studied it with her hands. "Continue your plans to remove the director, Wilson. Hammer will find that the tail of the Dragon may succeed where tooth and claw do not." It was Day Four, and Nene was growing a little weary of her continuous state of Protective Custody. The knowledge that the police were almost constantly watching her was more a discomfort than otherwise; she was getting quite good at spotting their undercover folk as she tried going about the business of being a third-grade girl. Seeing them just about everywhere she went was annoying. One of the side benefits of noticing the undercover cops was also noticing the other eyes that followed her from time to time. Though they hadn't tried anything since that afternoon at her school, she knew they were still around, watching and waiting, as if listening for a snap of the Dragon's fingers as the signal to pounce. For whatever reason, the signal never came. Frankly, the only person she _hadn't_ seen was Hammer. She knew enough not to let it bother her, though. If he didn't want to be seen, he wouldn't be, until she called for him. She gently brushed a fleck of lint from her commpin and smiled a private smile. There was a second reason for the smile, of course; she'd just succeeded in eluding her protectors. She all but skipped through the mall, trying not to laugh aloud at the certain frustration of the two cops who'd tried to follow her. She'd lost them somewhere on the other end of the complex, ducking through an elaborate sequence of shops to keep them on their toes, and she was now engaged in furiously relaxed window-shopping. She would just stay out of sight until it was time to rendezvous with her parents, which she would determine with her own little wristchron. Not a Rolex by any means, but it kept the time well enough for her purposes, and bore a group picture of Thunder Force on the face -- she'd saved a depressing number of box-tops to get it. The mall itself was a marvelous place, a lovely, sprawling six-story temple of consumer excess just outside the northeastern city limits of Mega-Tokyo. It had a sea breeze that kept the air around it cool and clean, and a clear, glassy roof that allowed the dwindling rays of the early evening sun to shine on the upper two levels. She wasn't on the upper two levels, of course, since she had no great love of squinting. (Mustn't strain my pretty young eyes unduly, she chuckled inwardly.) Besides, the third floor had more than enough of the shops she wanted to check out. She stopped to browse through a software store, told the ever-helpful clerk that she was beyond help (greeted by a typical look of surprise, followed by an all-too-predictable "oh my, how cute" response), and meandered through the racks of games for the Sega machines. She took a promising-looking box from the shelf and examined it. It was the third Thunder Force edition of the ever-popular Street Fighter series, and she grinned an elfin little grin as she pored over the screen shots on the back. The picture of a match with Danilia judo-tossing Dund made her laugh. She made a mental note to pester her parents about an advance on her allowance. From there, she continued on to a shoe store. She peered doubtfully at one of the newer items, wondering just what type of person would want a pair of shoes that would play the Tiki theme, note-by-note, with each step. As if to answer her question, a girl from her class tromped by with her parents, taking her steps with a careful rhythm so as to try to match the tempo of that very song, producing a note with each footfall. Nene groaned and tried to look like she'd never seen that girl before in her life. From there it was only a few paces to a trend-follower's fashion outlet. The sheer size of the Tiki-licensed section made her roll her eyes, as she realized that every piece of clothing, both visible and hidden, could have a Tiki logo on it. This included a wide line of accessories, toy jewelry and the like, and T-shirts with Tiki slogans on them. She didn't even honor the Tiki panties with so much as a scrutinizing glance. Another, somewhat smaller section of the store, on the side opposite the Tiki area but still up front, caught her attention easily. She knew Hammer must have had some kind of say in what items Thunder Force would endorse; still, she thought, a set of TF undies would be cool, in a silly sort of way. There were none to be had, though, and only obvious forms of outerwear could bear the insignia. She was slightly startled at the price tag on the charm bracelet, until she realized that it was made from real silver. She took a jacket from its hangar on a nearby rack, a replica of the Thunder Force uniform jacket in her size, and pulled it onto herself, turning to look in the mirror. She smiled at the image for a moment, whirling like an out-of-practice fashion model, but considered it again as her smile faded. Someone was entering the store. She could see him in the mirror; a fairly muscular guy, probably high-school age or slightly over, and probably a member of the Dragon's gang, judging by his dress and the way he seemed to be looking for security measures. He scanned past her, but kept going, walking deeper into the store; either he didn't notice her, or he wasn't after her. She put the jacket back on its hangar, trying not to make any sudden moves, and turned to face the entrance. Two more punk kids were strolling in, just like the first. They also did nothing unusual as they looked at her, but they moved toward the sales register island in the center of the store from different directions as the first one made like he was interested in Tikiwear, across the main central aisle from her. Trouble. Big, big trouble. She began to move her hand toward her commpin, but paused. Should I call him? He gave me this to help against the gang, right? Well, yeah, but he said if they came after _me_, not if I happened to be a robbery witness, after all, I've seen plenty of trouble so far in my little life. But I know he wouldn't want me to just stand by and do nothing... "EVERYBODY DOWN! NOW!" Well, that settles that, Nene thought as one of the punks by the register pulled a weapon from his jacket and started firing in every direction, his shots eerily quiet but no less lethal. Her quick dive to avoid making a target of herself resulted in her colliding with a junior mannequin, and both of them tumbled to the floor. A shriek behind her made her whirl just in time to see another kid in her section, maybe a year or two older than her, fall in a spray of red. 'This isn't a game! You're playing with your life!' Those words meant a lot more now than they did when Hammer'd first spoken them. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the body. The other punk by the register, the first to enter the store, was on the clerks in a flash. He slashed at the nearest one menacingly with a shiny, humming weapon -- a vibroblade, Nene deduced -- and she went down with nasty cuts on her arms. He grabbed the other frightened young lady by the shirt, pulled her up to him in a cruel parody of an embrace, and held the flat of the knife to her throat, causing her whimper to gurgle slightly. "Open it!" he commanded. She complied, quickly disabling the security around the main daytime cash store. He threw her aside once she was finished, banging her head loudly against the edge of the counter. He began jamming the creds into his bag. "Freeze it, you two! You're under arrest!" Nene sighed with relief as two mall cops, a man and a woman, stood at opposite sides of the front of the store, their guns drawn and ready. The two punks began to straighten up slowly, but the one toting a gun of his own still held it. "Drop the gun!" the woman shouted. "NOW!" About then, Nene remembered the one who'd stopped to look at Tiki items. She looked in his direction; she didn't see him there. "LOOK OUT--" Even as Nene uttered the warning, she was too late. The third punk leaped from his hiding place, cyberspurs already extended from the back of his right hand, and pounced on the female guard, impaling her in the chest. She shrieked as he tore downward through her jacket, shirt and flesh, and fell, curling into a ball of blood and pain. "Hitomi!" the male guard shouted, and the distraction cost him his life. He went down with a startled whimper as three bloody holes pecked through his stomach and chest, lying less than a meter from Nene. Nene was now officially frightened. The punks resumed emptying the cash box, hurrying to avoid any further delays. If she just sat still and did nothing, they'd leave her alone and she wouldn't die ... God knows she didn't want to die... Instead, of course, her mind seized upon a plan. It was risky, and foolish, and impossible, and just plain stupid, but she couldn't sit by and let this happen. "Okay, let's GO!" The punk with the bag jumped to his feet and vaulted the counter as the other two scattered. The one with the 'spurs was already long gone as the one with the pistol raced past her, hopping over the body of the guard he'd felled, his foot slapping the floor right next to her. Nene braced herself. The leader was coming her way. He was jumping over the guard... NOW! With a hard push, Nene forced the felled mannequin out into the punk's path. His jump had been a bit too showy, and his foot, not expecting to meet the white-tiled walkway again for another twenty centimeters or so, landed squarely on the dummy's head, which rolled out from underneath. The foot went sailing out from under him, and he didn't even have time to curse before he was flat on his back, knocking his head hard on the floor. In all of this, he lost his grip on the bag, and it flew out in front of him. Nene jumped up, dashed over the punk (placing a gratuitous footfall on his crotch), scooped up the bag, and ran. Yes, she immediately realized, this was a VERY stupid plan. "YEEow! What the-- FUCKIN'-- GET BACK HERE!" The punk scrambled to his feet and gave chase. "HEEELLLP!" Nene wailed plaintively into her commpin as she darted through the crowd, a forest of pants and skirts that kept her from getting away, but also kept her pursuer from getting close enough. She pushed past, dodged around, and ducked under more pairs of legs than she wanted to think about, inciting some rather surprised and alarmed cries in her wake, which became even louder and more abusive as her pursuer charged through behind her, knocking several of the people completely off-balance. "Hey! Stop'er, dumbass!" "Stop who?" The shout and its reply made Nene realize she was charging toward the gun-toting thug, who'd been wandering through the crowd as if nothing happened. She gave him a hard kick in the shin as she ran past. "OW!" He grabbed at his bruised leg, hopping to remain on his feet (or, in this case, foot). "Stupid little bitch!" "Forget your damn leg, she got the haul!" "She WHAT?!" A glance behind her after another few seconds of flight confirmed what Nene'd feared; she was now being chased by two rather than one. The other punk had his gun drawn, and the crowd couldn't seem to decide whether to cower or part before him. She let them make up their own minds, and continued running, skipping back and forth. Just then, something seemed to go right. An elevator was open and waiting, some distance in front of her. Whispering a few thankful words to who-or-whatever was looking out for her, she dashed toward it. Her thanks turned to pleading when the doors began to close. "Stop'er!" With a final burst of speed, she slipped through the doors without triggering the sensor that would have opened them again. She whirled, slapped the "6" button, and collapsed into a fit of gasping against the door. She could hear the muffled pounding and curses of her pursuers, and would have laughed if she'd had the breath to do so. She worked to calm her frantic heartbeat as the elevator made its merry way to the top floor, and decided that, when the revolution came, elevator music would be the first thing to go. Far too soon, the car reached the sixth floor. With a soft, electronic chime, the doors opened. And Nene flattened herself against the rear wall of the elevator at the sight of the large, hulking boy before her. She hadn't counted on them being able to call for help. She and the brute locked stares for a long moment. He grinned. Nene swallowed and tensed. With a yell, he leaped forward, grabbing at her. With a scream, Nene dove and rolled forward, under his legs. She caught one of his ankles accidentally with her foot, and a desperate tug pulled him off of his already-precarious balance. His head made a loud bang against the elevator's far wall. Grabbing the sack, which she'd dropped beside the door, she fairly flew out of the elevator as the doors began to close. She was a few steps away when a couple sounds gained her attention: firstly, the sound of the brute's hand stopping the doors, making them reopen, albeit ponderously, and secondly, the sounds of running feet from the nearby stairway. Not waiting for either to yield its inevitable result, she ran. Her head was spinning with fatigue, her heart was pounding in her ears, and her breath came in yelps, but she knew she couldn't give up as she once more charged and thrashed through the crowd. Somehow, she could still hear the voices behind her, their feet drumming the ground like an unholy thunder. Where is he?! Her head whirled to face a sharp howl next to her, where a man fell to the ground, clutching at his now-reddened leg. Oh my God, they're shooting into the crowd! I have to get away from here! She bolted to the side, into one of the outcropping lounge areas, small islands of rest among the infinite sea of walkways. She glanced behind herself, needlessly verifying that she was still being followed, and scaring herself witless with the sight of the gun-toting kid drawing a bead on her. She sprang onto one of the benches, vaulted over it, and was in mid-air when she realized that she'd made a minor miscalculation. The bench she'd chosen was situated with its back to the guardwall. She now had an unobstructed view of the ground floor. Forty meters away. Straight down. WHAT AM I *DOING*?!? Nene shrieked a long, loud note as she fell, eyes as wide as dinner plates at first, then squeezed shut, as if not watching her impact would make it any less painful. The crowd, yelling and darting around in a frenzy below her, was coming closer, closer, oh God I don't want to die, damn it Hammer you'd better HURRY... "OOF!" ..... Not to complain, but ... shouldn't that have hurt more? Wherever I am, it feels suspiciously like being held in someone's arms. Am I dead? The voices of the crowd surrounded her. No, I can't be dead, she decided; death would be a lot quieter. As it was, her ears were smothered in a blanket of "look at that"s, "lucky kid"s, "nearly got killed"s, "amazing!"s and "good thing"s. And through it all, the rising, increasingly grateful murmur of a single name. She opened her eyes and looked on the smiling face of her savior. "There are safer ways to get down from the top floor, Nene," Hammer stated. She stared at him for a time, emerald eyes shimmering in wonder, before grabbing his violet jacket and hugging him tightly, first laughing, then crying in the security and comfort of her hero's embrace. He rocked her back and forth as her voice choked and babbled. "Oh Hammer it's so good to see you I was so scared they were after me I was gonna die oh God I was so scared I thought you wouldn't come..." He put a hand to her face, and she looked up at him. "I'm sorry I scared you like that ... are you going to be okay?" His fingers wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I ... I will." She fell against him again. "Now." Other running feet came to visit them -- the alarmed shouts of her bodyguards, the startled cries of her parents -- but she didn't really pay attention to them. His voice soothed her, its deep, gentle sound resonating through his body and humming pleasantly against hers, as one of his hands smoothed her tousled hair. "Aw, SHIT!" Nene didn't need to open her eyes to know that her former pursuers had finally caught up with her. They were probably hoping to simply remove the money from her dead, limp hand. They weren't counting on having to deal with this. Hammer barely moved at all. He merely straightened one arm, pointing it at the lead punk. A muffled BLAM announced the firing of his grappling cable, and said punk had barely taken a step when he found his legs bound tight. He hit the floor hard as Nene's undercover bodyguards dashed after his compatriots, and he was immediately surrounded by security officers. Nene smiled. Her stupid plan _had_ worked, after all. Not quite the way she'd intended, but in this case, she'd take what she could get. Dr. Evanston Tym tapped the butt end of a datapad pen, one of several he kept around the lab, since he would always lose track of just one or two, against a noteworthy piece of information on his still-updating pad as he strolled from one of his laboratory's status displays to another. His thin lips formed a tight line -- his latest patient was coming along exactly as he should. Which, to Dr. Tym's estimation, couldn't be a good thing. Dr. Tym was one of the galaxy's current leaders in the fields of robotics and organic-cybernetic interface research and practice. As such, he was not an overly athletic man, by any standard; short in stature, rather weak in build, with a hawkly nose, curiously sunken eyes and shallow cheeks framed by a moustacheless beard and a head of unruly, thinning black hair. It made him look like a bad artist's rendition of the historical United States president, Abraham Lincoln, albeit in a loose-fitting lab coat, rumpled shirt, unkempt necktie and baggy trousers. Fortunately, his contemporaries were not great students of ancient history, and he was spared any comments on that subject. His work was, as he once liked to put it, "the Human Body Shop". His efforts had mostly gone into the field of replacement and enhancement of organic body parts, a field which would have long ago been called bionics. Whereas most cyberlimb work strove to make the replacements stronger, quicker, and more durable than their original counterparts, Dr. Tym had focused on making his work seem more "real" to the wearer -- most of his patients would have long since forgotten they even had an artificial limb, if the loss of the original weren't so psychologically jarring at the time. He was a great scientist, and a fine physician. Unfortunately, he was not a good accountant. He had consistently undercharged for his work, because, in his single-mindedness, he had completely forgotten just how much each one had cost. No hospital would keep him on after a few of these incidents, due to the amount of money that would be sunk into his operating expenses with no chance of being recovered. His attempt to run a practice on his own wiped him out after just one operation. This was how Ginrei Ishikawa had found him -- a brilliant and capable man, tragically destitute because his work was expensive and he just couldn't keep books. She took him out of that and convinced him to work for her. (She didn't have to sweet-talk him at all -- at that point, he would have done anything to avoid a job which involved the phrase, "Would you like fries with that?") He hated his work, now. He spent his days watching street punk after street punk have their own, perfectly healthy limbs removed, replacing them with special Swiss-Army limbs that contained more weapons than a professional assassin's closet. Cybernetics, by his reckoning, was a tool of necessity and reconstruction, not a breeding ground for new ways to kill. They were only children, for God's sake! What she had him doing was unethical, immoral, unthinkable! But one must work if one expects to eat. "Good afternoon, Doctor." And speaking of eating, here was the woman who'd made him chew up his very soul. He stopped for a moment in his tracks, whirled to face the Dragon, and bowed curtly to her, droning, "Good afternoon, Milady." He then went directly back to what he'd been doing before. Ginrei ignored his display of controlled hatred, having long since grown accustomed to it. She'd forced the man to compromise every principle he could possibly hold dear, taking open pride in the knowledge that he could do nothing about it. Despite that fact, he never tried to rebel against her authority, and he still did excellent work. For that, at least, he had her respect. She stalked forward to stand in front of an enormous window in the center of the lab's dominant wall, nearly totally black due to the darkness on its other side; it was specially polarized to prevent it from becoming reflective under those conditions, as most any other glass-like material would. A few dim lights did shine within the solitary chamber, though, illuminating a poorly-defined form of dull, cold metal, connected to what seemed like a hundred umbilical cables, and with no more than three small indicator lights visible and blinking slowly. "Is the body complete, Doctor?" she asked after a long moment's contemplation. "Yes, Milady," he replied, staring at one of the status displays. "Is he activated, then? Can he hear us?" "At present, no," Dr. Tym replied, satisfied with his readouts and walking to stand just out of the Dragon's physical reach. "I still have him in hibernation, to minimize the inescapable damage." "Surely he'll need some time to adjust to the new form," she suggested coldly, "if he's to make effective use of it against Hammer." "That, Milady, is the _last_ thing that should happen." Dr. Tym tried to restrain his anger, but found he could not. "I've done all I can to program the new reflex and motor control patterns into his wetware. When he awakens, he'll know more about how to use this new form than he ever knew about his own flesh and blood! But if he spends one minute more than is absolutely necessary _conscious_ within that hulking, inhuman monstrosity of a robot shell, he's going to develop a case of cyberpsychosis so severe that he'll go _violently_ insane, without a snowball's chance in HELL of recovering, even if he's installed back into his original body!" Her eyes turned to regard him with sharp menace, but he wasn't about to back down. They glared at each other in a long, tense silence, disturbed only by the faint background noise of the lab itself. "Very well," Ginrei conceded at last. "He shall remain off-line until the moment he is needed." She lifted a black-gloved finger and continued emphatically, "But if _anything_ goes even slightly amiss in his operation..." "I accept full responsibility, Milady," he interrupted. "He _will_ do his best, when the time comes. You have my word." After another long, cold look, the Dragon whirled on her heel, her tight scarlet overcoat snapping faintly with the movement. Her heels rapped sharply on the floor's hard tile as she marched back out the way she'd come. Dr. Tym stared numbly at her back, even after the door had closed behind her. Then, he returned his gaze to the figure behind the dark glass. To him, it seemed to glare accusingly back at him. "Dear God," he muttered, not for the first time, "what have I become." Nene entered her classroom humming a song from one of her Clay Pigeons albums. She'd been listening to their music nearly constantly for the past three days, using it as background music while she did her homework, and then just singing or humming along with it when she was done. Her parents kept her inside most of the time, fearing for her safety. In truth, she felt safe everywhere she went, because she knew who was watching out for her. She'd also been keeping a close watch on the news concerning the ongoing crusade against the Fisk-Ishikawa syndicate. She was slightly surprised when her family had received notice, just last night, that she was to testify in a preliminary hearing as a witness for the prosecution. She surprised the attorney who'd called by asking what she thought was a rather basic and obvious question concerning the admissibility of her testimony in a court of law. At length, she received her answer; despite precedents that may discredit her validity, mostly relating to her age, they felt what she had to contribute was sufficiently damaging to the defense to warrant its inclusion. Still, as she made her way to her seat, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. She sat down just as the start-of-class bell rang. She sighed; she'd have to wait for a break in the lecture to move her books from her bag to her desk. She looked into it anyway, to take a quick stock of the materials she'd left overnight. Her eyes immediately fell upon a long, white envelope, with her name typed on its face. There was also a heart drawn in red crayon, right next to the additional words "Do Not Open Until Lunchtime". She groaned. She'd been on the receiving end of a relentless stream of curiosity and rumors from her classmates, particularly concerning just why she was being protected by a celebrity like the Thunder Force leader. The last thing she wanted was a secret admirer. "Nene!" Startled, Nene looked up from her desk. "Y-yes, Miss Ayumi?" "I asked you if you know where Usagi has gone to." Usagi? Nene looked beside her, and, sure enough, Usagi's desk was vacant. Of course, she realized to herself, _that_'s what seems wrong! You didn't have Usagi pestering you about your love life this morning! Well, at least _some_thing's going right today. She looked back to the teacher and shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't, Miss Ayumi." Miss Ayumi looked thoughtful for a moment. "Her mother didn't call, or leave any messages at the office ... ah, well." Shaking her head, she made a mark in her attendance book. "Unexcused absence for Usagi Moone. *tsk* There goes her perfect record..." Nene's selfish smugness turned to concern. Though she may have been a mischievous young delinquent at the age of eight, Usagi never, _never_ skipped class -- perfect attendance was her sole claim to sainthood. She took the envelope out of her desk and fingered it idly. Perhaps the answer was in there... She set the mysterious envelope back where it had been, returning her attention to the front of the room. Lunchtime, Nene soon determined, was never so far away as when you were anxiously waiting for it. She took her Thunder Force lunchbox and the envelope out into the schoolyard, walked around to the side of the building, and sat on the grass under the tree where she and Usagi had been eating lunch and sharing stories since they'd met in first grade. Much as she hated to admit it, Nene was actually starting to miss Usagi's constant pestering. The lunchbox took low priority, of course. The envelope was far more important. She wedged her finger under the unpasted part of the flap and began to tear it open. She became aware of the soft whoosh of an idling hovercar engine. A sidelong glance through the schoolyard fence allowed her to see a large, black sedan. The windows were darkened, preventing her from seeing into it, but the front windows slid downward as if to accommodate her. She saw the driver, an imposing fellow with dark glasses, short, black hair and a dark suit jacket. His head turned, and, behind the shades, she knew he was looking at her. She pushed her finger along the inside of the top edge of the envelope, slowly ripping it open, suddenly feeling very uneasy about what she'd find within. She pried her fingers into the paper prison, immediately feeling its contents. A single, smooth, stiff sheet, with a glossy, almost waxy feel on one side -- a photograph. There was also a small slip of normal paper near one end of the photo, held in place by a paper clip. She lifted it out and examined it. The image was that of Usagi, looking frightened out of her wits; redness in her wide young eyes evidenced that she'd been crying. The background of the picture wasn't any place Nene recognized, with bland, unremarkable walls that could belong to a large number of places. The note was quite succinct. [Go with the driver and she'll be safe. Tell no one.] Nene's face paled as her pulse pounded in her ears. She lifted her gaze and saw the man in the hoversedan again, watching her with no readable expression. She now noticed that he was wearing what looked to be some kind of tiny earpiece. Probably to keep in touch with his higher-ups, she told herself. One peep out of me and... Oh, Usagi ... what have I gotten you into? Snatching up the envelope and completely forgetting her lunchbox, Nene bolted to the tree's blind side and flattened her back against its thick trunk. Once there, she tapped her commpin. "Hammer!" she hissed, afraid that, even here, she might be heard. "Come in!" "I'm here, Nene," his voice responded after an eternal moment, clear, calm and quiet. "What's wrong?" She closed her eyes, sighing with the slight relief provided by his reassuring voice. "Bad news. Remember that girl I hang out with, Usagi? The one with the blond tails?" "Yes." "They've kidnapped her." He paused. "That's bad." "They left a note in my desk -- there's a guy here in a sedan who I'm supposed to go with. Looks like a real creep. He can't see me right now, but he's waiting for me." Silence. "Please ... what do I do?" She heard him sigh, then say something quick and harsh in a language she didn't recognize. "I should have seen this coming ... I'm afraid you'll have to go with him, Nene." She swallowed nervously. "I was afraid you'd say that." "First, though, move your commpin someplace where it's hidden, but still secure." "Okay..." Her hands carefully removed the small pin from her lapel. She looked herself over for someplace to hide it. A small stroke of inspiration flashed a smile across her face, and she pinned it to the inside of her sleeve cuff, close to her wristchron. That way, the chron would throw them off if they scanned her for metal. "Got it," she announced to her wrist. "Good girl." His voice was slightly muted by the pin's new location. "I've told the police not to try to stop you from leaving. While you're with them, keep this in mind: don't _be_ afraid, just _act_ afraid. Get it?" She nodded. "I understand." "Welcome to undercover work, Nene. Good luck. If you need me, I'll be there." "I know. Thanks." She twisted her cuff inside-out and gave the pin a quick kiss. "Nene out." She walked back out from behind the tree, taking uneven steps and wiping at her eyes, trying to look as if she'd just had a good angst session instead of a teleconference. She fumblingly collected her lunchbox as she looked at the driver, who smiled a tight, smug smile she instantly hated. She strolled toward the gate, looking around all the while, acting as best she could like a nervous little girl trying to act casual. It was a lot more natural than she'd've liked. The car followed her around the building, turned the corner, and stopped at the gate. Nene stepped forward, meekly approaching the vehicle, both hands gripping tightly to the handle of her lunchbox, with the envelope, photo and note wedged under her right thumb. The rear door on her side clicked and opened with no visible assistance. She entered, assuming a penitent pose as she sat on the far-too-large seat, and the door automatically shut behind her. She set the lunchbox and papers beside herself, folded her hands in her lap and, for the second time this week, felt very, very small. "Smart kid," the driver said with an audible smirk as he accelerated into the street. "You just do what you're told, little girl, and everything'll be just fine." Nene's eyes bored into the back of his head, firing 600 icy daggers per second. You'll get what's coming to you, you creep. Just you wait. "Okay, Hammer, she's in the car. Now can you tell me why we didn't stop her?" Lieutenant Zenigata, who'd replaced the sergeant formerly assigned to watch Miss Romanova at school, was rather unhappy with the current turn of events. "Because the syndicate's kidnapped one of her friends," Martin replied quietly, watching the incredibly mundane-looking sedan enter the flow of traffic. It was nearly indistinguishable from any other such vehicle in seconds. "So? We comb the city, find her, and bring her back. We can't endanger our star witness now, when it's all coming to a head!" Martin looked at Katsuhiro. "And if the operation doesn't go right? What then? Usagi dies." He turned his head to face back out the window of their stakeout post. "I don't want that on Nene's conscience." "Hammer, the probability--" "Is there, Katsu. Nothing ever goes completely to plan. And the risk run by charging into that scenario blindly is very, very great, especially for her." He paused. "This way, at least there's a chance. Check on Usagi's parents while I'm gone, would you?" "Wait," Katsu said as Martin headed for the door. "Where are you going?" He turned and smiled. "To follow them, of course. You didn't think I was going to just let them _take_ her, did you?" "But..." Katsu stammered, his eyes darting back out the window. "But it's long gone already! How will y--" That was the moment when his mind remembered the commpin planted on Nene's person. "Ahhh, I see. You can trace that signal?" Martin's smile turned to a grin. "As though I could see it. Nene, Usagi and I will see you later, Katsu, though I can't say how much later." With that, he closed the door behind himself. Katsu heard the distinctive sound of his transformation, followed by the soft, fading whupping of a helicopter flying off. He wondered how to word the communique to HQ so as not to give away what was going on. Whatever Hammer was up to, he'd definitely need the element of surprise. "Miss Romanova has arrived, Milady." Ginrei tried not to look overly smug as she rose from her seat, pacing around to stand before her desk. "Excellent. Please, have her escorted in." The servant bowed and retreated through the doors, which swung more fully open behind him. Through them marched a slightly odd-looking trio: two dark-haired men, wearing black suits, sunglasses and expressionless faces, flanking a rather small girl with brilliant red hair, wearing a tidy school uniform with a non-regulation scarf about her collar, in some indeterminable state between frightened and angry. The men matched pace with the girl, who clasped both her hands around the handle of a lunchbox decorated with a large, colorful Thunder Force insignia. The three of them halted at the foot of the raised deskthrone. Ginrei nodded to the men. "Well done. You may leave us." "Yes, Milady." They bowed, whirled sharply, and marched out much more swiftly than they'd marched in. The doors thundered shut behind them. Nene fixed Ginrei with a silent stare, her emerald eyes as cold and fierce as any elementary-schoolgirl's had ever been. The Dragon smiled down at her controlled, impotent rage. "So, at last I meet the troublesome Miss Nene Romanova. Come, child." She beckoned for Nene to approach her; swallowing a lump in her throat, the little girl did so, silently deciding that ten simple stair-steps had never seemed quite so frightening before. When she'd reached the plateau of the dais, Ginrei leaned forward, hands over her knees, in the most condescending pose imaginable. "Have you nothing to say for yourself, my dear?" she sang. Nene's glare remained constant. "Show me Usagi." The Dragon sighed, shaking her head slowly with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, her lovely face displaying a pained expression. "My child, my child, where are your manners? Have you no respect for your elders?" "Only the ones who deserve it. Show me Usagi." "Such poor etiquette," Ginrei chided quietly, straightening to her full height and looking haughtily down at the impudent girl before her. "You'll never accomplish anything with such an ... unhealthy attitude." Nene ground her teeth, fixed a gaze of pure evil on a potted plant to one side of the room, and grumbled, "Please, I would like to see my friend, Usagi..." Ginrei regarded her with mocking impatience. Nene forced herself not to spit as she added, "...Milady." Ginrei now allowed herself to look very smug, and she patted Nene atop her head, a gesture which quickly earned her the girl's undying hatred. "There," she sang, "that's _much_ better." Ginrei looked back toward her desk, turning the computer to face herself. Quickly tapping in her access ID and password with one hand, she confirmed that her other guest was waiting outside her office. Satisfied, she rested a finger on her intercom button. "Wilson, you may bring the girl, now." One of the huge double doors opened with a loud click, and Nene turned to face it. The opening was soon filled by an immense, bald man in a very white suit, wearing a diamond ring on one finger. She instantly recognized him as Wilson Fisk, or, as most called him, the Kingpin. He wasn't who she was looking for. Before him, however, was a small, blond, very frightened girl, dressed in a school uniform nearly identical to her own -- minus the scarf, of course. Where the Kingpin's stride was bold and confident, this girl's was skittish and uncertain, but his hand on her shoulder kept her moving forward as the door boomed shut behind them. "Nene!" Usagi pulled free of the Kingpin's grip and ran toward her friend. Nene let go of the lunchbox with one hand as she turned and hopped down the stairs. "Usagi!" Usagi made a bee-line for Nene, colliding with her not far from the base of the dais in a shamelessly terrified embrace. "OhNeneI'mso- scaredIdidn'tthinkI'dseeyouagainImissMomandDadwhatareyoudoinghereanyway- thesepeoplearescaryIwannagohome!" she blurted through her tears, nearly too fast to follow. She buried her face in Nene's deep violet scarf. Nene'd bought it near the beginning of the school year, while shopping with her mother, due to its near-perfect match to Hammer's distinctive costume. Nene quietly returned her friend's fearful hug, never once letting her eyes off the Kingpin as he approached. He walked up to the girls unhurriedly; after all, they weren't going anywhere. Rather than take the Dragon's approach of talking down to her, he regarded the young redhead from his full, imposing height. "We meet again," he stated flatly. She didn't reply. "You've caused us a good deal of trouble, young lady." That didn't sound so much like an admonishment as a statement of fact. "Well, now you have me," Nene said, fear and anger still evident in her voice. "Let Usagi go." A cold shiver ran down her spine at the sound of Ginrei's chuckle. She was very nearby, having come down from her dais to join the happy reunion. "Ah, the innocence of youth," the woman sighed. "I'm afraid the two of you will have to remain here for a while," Wilson replied, almost by way of explanation. "There is much to be done -- and no one must know of it, or of our involvement in it." "I ... I won't tell," Usagi sniffled, lifting her head from Nene's shoulder to beg for the Dragon's mercy. "Oh, but you might," Ginrei purred. "People can be very persuasive. I should know. It's a risk we just can't afford to take." She leaned down again, brushing a lock of Usagi's light yellow hair away from her eyes. "You're a bright little girl ... you understand, don't you?" Nene's eyes widened, then narrowed. Oh, I understand, all right, she didn't say aloud. You won't let us go. At least, not alive. Hammer stood on a rooftop less than a block from the Ishikawa skyscraper, the flapping of his cape in the wind the only sound he made. He'd overheard the entire conversation, just as he was hearing what they were saying now. As he regarded the tower, he could feel the location of the commpin in his mind, its image as clear as a bright red dot in his vision. They were many, many levels up, nearly on top of the building, in what he guessed to be Ginrei Ishikawa's very office. It was brazen of them to take her here, but also clever as Satan himself -- an act of cavalier confidence, which, he was loath to admit, was quite well justified. From what he'd seen before and could see now, the place was actually an upscale, midtown fortress. Three city-blocks on a side and over 200 stories tall, constantly guarded, armored behind a deceptive layer of glass and steel, corridors likely bristling with automated defenses ... a burglar's nightmare. He needed little more than an energy scan to know that the ceiling and all windows were alarmed and booby-trapped; that's why he wasn't inside the building right now. The men standing watch at the entryways -- there were two waiting at every entrance to the building, and another two nearby -- were obviously cybered to a rather high degree. They must spend their entire lunch break polishing all that chrome, he joked to himself, failing to muster a laugh. Within their trendy castle, Fisk and Ishikawa were king and queen, undisputed rulers with nothing to fear. That, of course, would have to change. The conversation stopped as the Dragon ordered them taken elsewhere to "wait", though she didn't specify what they were waiting for. The sounds he received as the commpin began moving again told him that the two girls were being kept together. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, he mused; the pairing was probably due to the guards' unwillingness to put up with any more of Usagi's crying. She was still whimpering, but Nene was quietly consoling her, telling her everything would be okay soon. Her confidence in him brought a smile to his face. "I won't disappoint you, Nene," he whispered. Katsuhiro wasn't overly surprised when his pocket-phone twittered for his attention. He pulled it out, opened it, and droned, "Zenigata." "Good news and bad news, Katsu." His attention quickly turned fully to the voice over the phone. The school was a whirlwind of inactivity now, anyway. "Ah, Hammer. Good news first." "She's arrived at the syndicate safehouse, and is presently with her friend." "Great ... where's that?" "That's the bad news. They're in Ishikawa Tower, a few floors shy of the top." Katsu paused, letting this sink in. "I see." "I'm sure you understand that a large extraction team is out of the question. There's no way you could scale about two hundred stories of urban skyscraper without being detected." "How about a roof landing?" "I get the distinct feeling that they're very prepared for such an attempt. You could make a hobby of watching the building defenses zap pigeons like an oversized bug-lamp." "Great. So she's not coming out." "Oh, I never said _that_. I just said _you_ couldn't do it." "You're crazy, Hammer." "It's what everyone loves about me. By the way, how about the Moones?" "They're at the station. Seems they were about to file a missing- persons report on little Usagi when I started calling around." "Good. Two less complications to worry about." "What should I tell the higher-ups?" "Tell them not to even think about trying to move in yet -- more manpower will only make this scenario worse. Oh, and tell the Romanovas not to worry. Talk to you later. Hammer out." Katsu closed his phone slowly, wishing there was something he could do beyond just staying out of the way. A large truck, bearing the bold red words "LIVE CRAB" on its sides, backed into Loading Dock 4, the northernmost loading dock on Ishikawa Tower's east side. It was immediately flanked by two pairs of guards who eyed it with little more than bemusement. "Looks like another dinner for the Big Shots upstairs," one of them noted aloud, adjusting his cap to give his long, blond hair some air. "Wish I could afford crab." His partner, a slightly shorter fellow with shorter, darker hair, chuckled. "If I had that kind of money, crab would be the _last_ thing on my mind." The blond smiled wickedly. "Coming from you, I believe that." He watched the driver of the truck, who was presently showing her ID and delivery authorization. Workmen came from inside the dock, opened the back of the truck, and unloaded its contents -- eight large, heavy crates, each bearing the same words as the truck. The workers were audibly wishing that live crabs could be shipped without filled aquariums to carry them. "Saaay, that driver's cute. Think she'd be interested in--" "No." "Oh, why not?" "Because you have the character depth of a microwafer, Null-Set. Besides, she's leaving already." Sure enough, she'd started her vehicle and was pulling away from the loading dock. She got lucky and found an opening into the heavy traffic around the Tower, and pulled out, gunning her engine for all the push it could muster. "Ahh, shit. So much for my grand designs..." As the guards returned to their posts and the dock's wide door began to lower itself with a noisy hum and rattle, the blond paused, noticing that there was a damp trail from one of the crates. He shrugged and followed his partner; after all, a leaky tank was none of his concern. Less than a minute after he was gone, the door clattered shut. Soon after that, though, the top of the very crate he'd wondered about hinged upward, and something which should most assuredly be his concern climbed out, dripping wet. Hammer scowled as he looked himself over. He'd transformed into a sort of Purple Ninja costume, minus the mask, before secreting himself aboard the delivery truck. He most assuredly hadn't counted on having to hide in a water tank, but it wasn't a problem; he could hold his breath for a few hours, if he had to. He just didn't like how the costume felt when it was completely soaked through. He reached behind himself, pulling off a crab which had latched onto his backside, and tossed it back into the tank, closing the lid of the crate. Then, with a quiet sound of transformation, he changed forms twice, going first to Rotofoil, then emerging in his Darkwing guise, clean and dry. Hammer smirked, whispered a quiet thank-you to the utterly clueless crabs, gathered his cape around himself with a slight flutter, and merged with the shadows. "How long have you been here, Usagi?" She sniffled. "S-since ... last night..." Nene gave her friend a quick embrace. "Shhh, shhh ... come on, cheer up! It'll be okay." "Re-- *snif* Really?" "Really." Usagi started to speak again, but a faint growling sound made her nearly jump into Nene's arms. "Yaaah! Nene! What's THAT!?" Nene smiled at Usagi, looking slightly embarrassed. "My stomach." Usagi blinked, realization slowly creeping in around the general fear that had surrounded her throughout this entire ordeal. Once it had made its way clear through, though, she actually giggled. "Missed lunch?" "Yeah. Good thing I brought it with me." Nene opened her lunchbox. "Spent your lunch period watching Leon again?" Nene groaned. Maybe she was better off when Usagi was paralyzed with panic. The plastic bag she'd wrapped her peanut-butter sandwich in crinkled lightly as she removed it, balled it, and placed it back in her lunchbox, barely aware of her habitual litter-free practices. Just as she was wrapping her mouth around the bread, though, she stopped. There was something faintly familiar-looking on the far side of their large, darkened room. Taking a slow bite from her sandwich, Nene rose to her feet and walked carefully toward it. "Nene?" "Ffhh..." came Nene's attempt to utter a "sshh" with a mouth full of white bread, raspberry jam, and peanut butter. The little redhead continued across the room, intently looking at the hint of reflected light she'd barely noticed before. She smiled as the object she'd thought she'd seen came close enough to see despite the gloom. A network terminal. The screen seemed to have a faint non-light of its own, as if it were on, but displaying black. Nene reached forward carefully and gave the backspace key a gentle tap. In response, the screen blinked instantly to life, displaying a classic "login:" prompt and an impatient, blinking cursor. "Oh-ho-ho-hooo, funtime," she grinned quietly, slipping into the seat in front of it as she took another bite. The peanut butter adhered to the roof of her mouth in a manner she would have found thoroughly annoying if she weren't as distracted as she was now. Hammer sank into a doorway, vanishing from sight just as a group of businessfolk turned the corner, strolling down the hallway. They were discussing something involving market shares, public image, and nanotech research. He silently listened to them babble, but there was nothing even remotely incriminating in their conversation -- apparently, equal amounts of legal and not-really-legal work went on within Ishikawa's walls. None of the people in this particular gaggle were likely even aware that a pair of schoolgirls were being held hostage less than two hundred floors above them. When they were past, he re-emerged and continued. He'd been fortunate so far, he mused to himself as he strode briskly, the lower edge of his cape fluttering behind him. He'd actually found a staircase that wasn't littered with security cameras and alarm tripwires -- why the stairwell was unbugged and the elevator shaft was crawling with security, he had no idea -- but it only took him twenty stories up before reaching its terminus. He was presently looking for another way up. The bright lighting of the corridors didn't please him much, either. It's difficult to skulk through the shadows when the shadows are few and far between. It spoke well of the Tower's maintenance staff, that a building of such an immense size could remain so well-lit everywhere, but that knowledge did nothing to aid his task. The doorway to another stairwell was waiting at the end of the second hallway he entered. He marched up to it. Peering through the narrow slit of a window, he could see that this one went up as well as down. This was a refreshing change. He began to twist the doorknob. Whoa, whoa, hold it. He relaxed his grip on the knob, took a step back, and transformed. He switched to an edges view and looked through the door again. His caution was well-rewarded -- a security camera, mounted up in the near corner, was patiently scanning the landing right at the door's opening. He returned to human mode and sighed. Whirling with a brisk snap of his cloak, he strode back down the hall, looking for some other solution. Maybe I should have stayed in the crab tank, he thought glumly. It was about then that he heard a peculiar tickle in his ear -- the familiar three-tone he'd associated with a specific commpin. "Hammer!" Nene hissed into her wrist. "Hammer, are you there?" "Who are you talking to?" Usagi queried. She was standing behind and to one side of Nene, trying to make some sort of sense of what her classmate was doing. "Shh!" Nene cautioned, a little more harshly than she should have. She resumed her call. "Hammer!" "I'm here, Nene." The soft, masculine sound from Nene's wrist would have startled Usagi if she wasn't already getting used to so many other completely weird things. "Where are you?" "Right now, about twenty floors up. I'm having a little trouble finding a way to get higher without alerting building security -- I'll need some time to get to you." "Nene, who is that?" Nene smiled back at Usagi. "A good friend of mine." She blinked back. "That voice is too deep for Leon." Nene's smile turned to a frustrated scowl. "Can't you give that a rest for just a minute here? Hammer's trying to rescue us." Usagi looked confused for a moment, then gasped with surprise, as her mind made the connection she'd been missing. "'Hammer'? You mean -- _PC_Hammer? _THE_ PCHammer!?" "Well, we aren't available in stores yet," Nene's wrist replied with an audible smirk. Usagi blanched while Nene stifled a laugh, glad to see someone else behind the eight-ball for once. The little blonde took Nene's forearm in her hands and spoke nervously into her wrist. "Um ... h-hi, PCHammer, I ... uh ... I'm Usagi M-Moone ... pleased to ... um, like ... meet you..." Nene completely lost her composure at this point, breaking into a subdued belly-laugh with her free hand clapped firmly over her mouth. "Good to meet you, too, Usagi," the wrist replied. "Hopefully, we'll be able to meet in person before the end of the day. Nene, if you called to ask if I'm coming yet..." "I know, I know," Nene stated, her laughter abating. "Actually, I was calling to ask if you needed any help." "What kind of help?" "Well," she said smugly, "it seems our hosts were kind enough to hand me and Usagi the top-level security ID for the compound before locking us in a room with a terminal." A pause. "You're kidding." "Have I lied to you yet?" "Well ... no, now that you bring it up." Nene chuckled. "I almost can't believe they'd do this. I mean, she typed in her password right in front of my face! Like the fact that it doesn't display could keep me from watching her fingers. And then locking us in with a computer -- do they expect us to play Minesweeper to pass the time or something?" "Maybe they were expecting a pair of ordinary third-graders." Nene made a motion as if cracking her knuckles, but produced no sound. "I'll teach 'em to underestimate _me_," she grinned cruelly, curling her fingers into typing position. the voice in Hammer's mind said, he replied, his lips moving involuntarily while no actual sound came from his throat. This was one of his oldest 'tricks', one which he'd had since the day he was rebuilt -- the ability to project the "sound" of his thoughts across sub- and realspace radio communications bands. She sighed. Martin backtracked to the door to the stairway he'd rejected just a minute ago. It was only a few steps away; he'd frozen in his tracks when he heard Nene's call. He heard the rapid rattle of a keyboard as her fingers flew. He grinned. Hammer pushed the door open and walked through, closing it carefully behind himself. He turned to the security cam and gave it a thumbs-up. Nene replied. Fooling security cameras was easy. That was a good thing, since there turned out to be many, many cameras to fool. This task began getting more difficult when they were out of the nondescript, all- identical-looking stairwells and in the hallways between them. One of the building's more annoying features was the lack of a single set of stairs going any more than twenty floors up at one shot, so choosing paths between them became a bit of a task. Nene found herself taking an enormous role in the process, and eagerly accepted the challenges presented to her. She searched a bit, locating floor-by-floor diagrams of the building and the inter-floor connections. She brought them up on her display and shuffled them as rapidly as she could, trying to stay a step ahead of Hammer to warn him of cameras and alarms and advise him on his route. This all went well until he'd reached the one-hundredth floor. That's where they started posting armed patrols. Hammer bided his time behind a corner. He'd been rather fortunate that neither of the guards was looking his way when he'd walked into plain view of the both of them. He'd nearly made a sound as he jerked himself back around the corner. Martin sighed, rubbing his knuckle into his opposing palm. Nene's voice was agitated -- apparently, she was so intent on the task of getting Hammer past his current obstacle that she'd laxed in what she felt was her obligation to check his back. Actually, Hammer should have noticed it himself; whoever was coming was pushing a none-too-quiet cart in front of them. He glanced quickly behind himself, spied an open doorway, and dove into it, pulling the door shut behind himself. That reflex certainly saved him from a grievous, noisy blunder, as his grip on the doorknob kept him from crashing into the janitorial supplies that filled the oversized closet he'd selected as his hiding place. Well, well, he thought to himself. Isn't this convenient. Even ... yup, a set of uniform coveralls. Add a building ID, and I'd be all set... The cart, which possessed one misbalanced wheel that was the cause of its faint rattling sound, came to a halt directly in front of the door. Hammer judged his options in a split-second, and found none. The door opened, and the custodian -- or perhaps that should be custodienne, as she was a tall, rather lovely woman with short, bright blond hair, combed straight and not quite reaching her shoulders -- reached in for one of the long-handled squeegees, not even looking in to notice the violet-suited arm that her hand reached first. "What--" That was all she had time to say before she all but flew into the closet. The guards looked up hopefully as the rattling janitor's cart turned a corner and came into view. Unfortunately, their expectations were poorly-met; they'd been hoping that the pretty young custodian (whom the both of them had been unsuccessfully trying to hit on for the past two weeks) was making another of her required rounds, and this new fellow with short, thick hair was, by comparison, a major disappointment. His height was certainly nothing to sneeze at, though. "Guess we'll never know," one of them, who was standing, said quietly to his seated partner, who nodded. "Afternoon," the man said as he paused at the guard station. "Hard to tell in here," the standing guard said. "What happened to the girl who usually runs this route?" "Oh, she came down with something." (Sudden unconsciousness, his sense of humor elaborated.) "I'm subbing until she gets better." The guards smiled. So long as she'd be back, they were happy. "Okay. Let's see your pass." The new guy blinked. "Pass?" "Yeah, that thing clipped to your pocket there. You _are_ new here." "Oh, that. Yeah, they called me in from a temp agency." He took it off and handed it to the nearer guard, who handed it to the seated guard, who flashed it in front of a scanner. The scanner produced a happy ping just as the first guard was handing it back to him. "All set. Need any help with directions?" "Thanks, but I've already got that covered. Laters." The tall fellow wandered off, his cart rattling before him, as the guards returned to their previous state of utter boredom. If they'd bothered to look at the screen of the ID scanner, they would have likely found something wrong with its claim that his name was Mary Blue. It'd only remained that way for a moment, though, before the "Mary" changed to "Mark". "That was close," Nene commented with a sigh to her wrist. "Good thing they didn't bother to look at the ID screen -- I almost didn't notice it." "Can't be helped," Hammer's voice replied. "Unless we can get our hands on a magstrip writer, we'll be doing this a lot. At least it's not a picture ID." "We may not get away with it much more, either," Nene retorted. "That strip holds a lot of data about her, including physical stuff -- height, weight, hair, eyes, stuff like that. If they're watching the screen before I can change it, they've got you." "Oh, fun. This'll definitely be short-lived. Any secret passageways in this place?" Nene shook her head. "Nope, sorry. I've looked through the normal hallways, service 'n' freight hallways, elevator shafts, even the air ducts. It's all rigged with cameras, touchpads, motion sensors or some combination. I think even the roaches need passcards around here." "Lovely. Time to knock some skulls together. Just the attention I was hoping to avoid." Usagi grinned. "We won't mind, honest..." "You will when the Dragon hears about it and decides you aren't worth the trouble to keep." Usagi's grin vanished, and she swallowed hard. "Um ... well, don't hurry on our account..." Nene snarfed as quietly as she could at her companion's sudden change of heart, and the blonde turned away from the screen to try to hide her embarrassment. The commpin sighed. "At least I can use an elevator without forcing the doors, now. Is there any limit on how high I'm allowed to go with this passcard?" Nene's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Hmm ... upper floor limit for Mary Blue: none. Guess that means you could take an elevator all the way up to the main office, if you'd like." Hammer's voice chuckled sardonically. "Lucky me for waylaying a Most Trusted Janitor. Let's hope the elevator doesn't check my weight. Have you figured out which floor you're on yet?" "Got it covered. We're on level 197, near the south center of the complex. I suppose finding us won't be a problem once you're on the same floor, will it?" "Not really." "Nene..." Usagi said in a quiet voice. "Just a second, Usagi." Nene studied the displayed map of Hammer's current floor. "Hmm ... there's an elevator not far from you. Take a right at the next hallway. I'll have it ready and waiting for you when you get there." Her fingers danced rapidly again, ordering the elevator car into motion. "Good thinking. The sooner we get this over with, the better." "Um, Nene..." Usagi said again, tugging lightly at her friend's sleeve. "Just a second, Usagi." Nene quickly switched to the map of the her floor. "You'll be turning right when you get here, just so you know. I could give you detailed directions, but the layout isn't complicated at all, and I don't see any regular guard posts or patrols listed." "It'll be nice to have something simple for a change. Stick close to Usagi until I get there. I see the elevator now, and I can hear it on its way up -- good work, Nene." "Thanks." "See you soon. Hammer out." Nene lowered her wrist and turned to face Usagi, who, she noted, looked a bit frazzled. "Okay, what is it, Usagi?" In response, the little blonde just pointed mutely. Nene turned, following the finger's path, and quickly discovered what was troubling her friend. The door to their room was open. And there was a tall, slender silhouette in it. "First, you start spreading my secrets around the city," the Dragon's soft, familiar voice cooed. "Then, you refuse to address me with the basic respect I deserve; and now, you abuse my hospitality. Your parents have certainly been negligent in your upbringing, my dears." It was now Nene's turn to swallow hard. "We're in trouble, aren't we?" Usagi whimpered. "Yeah, I'd say so," Nene replied, not in the mood to point out how glaringly obvious that statement was. The elevators in this building, Hammer realized, were the most rapid he'd been in since visiting the World Trade Center in New York City, back when he was a boy on Earth. The digital floor-number indicator twiddled its digits at a rate of nearly two per second at its peak velocity. Still, that meant he had about a minute to wait until he'd reached Nene's floor. He closed his eyes and "watched" the signal from her commpin getting closer to him, seeming to move downward as he shot up through the building. The pin seemed to be moving on its level, as well; apparently, she'd moved away from the dataterm in her room and was nervously pacing her room. Actually, her pacing seemed rather hesitant ... she'd stopped now. And now she was running. The pin's location swung wildly back and forth, roughly sketching a path that first went away from, then darted past her previous location. Martin's brow furrowed. Either she was in a very large room, or something had just gone very wrong. The floor numbers were slowing down as he opened his eyes, and his heightened hearing readily made out the noise of several armed men and women gathering at some point above him, preparing their weapons and moving into position. He quickly shoved the janitor's cart to one end of the large freight elevator, eyes darting about to visually gauge the space he had within. It was most definitely the latter. Every weapon in the crowd of guards, who numbered nearly a dozen, was ready to fire and trained on the elevator as its soft chime sounded, and its doors began to part. The deep, scraping whoosh of their opening traced out a long, tense moment for the entire group. Once it was fully open, they discovered... ...a cart of cleaning supplies. With a hand signal to hold fire, the group's leader poked his head into the door and looked around. There was nothing more to be seen, of course, since the doors opened flush with the inner walls of the elevator itself, but he had to be sure. He also glanced up, peering directly at the elevator's escape hatch. It was tightly closed. The guards' battle-readiness dissolved into confusion as the doors slowly closed themselves, and the elevator, bored with the current goings-on, started its trek back down to the more civilized levels. The group leader's befuddled moment ended as his headset's earpiece muttered for his attention. "Group Bravo," he reported to his throat mike, seemingly speaking to the air. "Just a cleaning cart. No sign of the target. ... Right." He returned his attention to his team. "Okay, let's move it, people! We've got every elevator in the building headed for this floor, and no way to tell which one he's in! Ivory, take the Green squad and head for Shaft 6! Red squad, you're with me!" The group broke in two, with half of its members following the initial leader, and the other half led by a dark-haired woman. Soon, the once-crowded corridor was deserted and quiet. A faint screech broke the silence as the elevator shaft doors shuddered and parted slightly. Fingertips appeared through the opening, and, with a submissive whine, the doors opened more fully. Hammer stepped into the corridor, gave his hat a quick tug to straighten it, and furled his cape about himself with a needlessly dramatic flourish. Very clever, Nene, he said silently. Calling multiple elevators up as decoys to cover my arrival. I owe you a hot-fudge sundae. Just make sure you're able to collect it. With a brisk stride, he started toward the commpin's location, which, he hoped, was still also hers. Eiji peered into another of the unlit rooms, his hand tight around the grip of his pulse pistol. He didn't really know why he'd even bothered to take the weapon out of its holster; perhaps out of some bizarre notion that a third-grade girl would need to be subdued by lethal force. He didn't bother flipping on the lights, as the light spilling in from the hallway gave him enough of a view into the gloom. He swung the door all the way open until its knob hit the inside wall, and, satisfied that no one was hiding behind it, moved on. It's not as if she even has anything to use as a weapon, he tried to coax himself as he moved to the next room, keeping his senses as open as he could manage. She threw her lunchbox at the Lady, and hadn't been carrying anything else. Of course, another side of him noted, some of these rooms are offices, and you never know what kinds of nasty things a creative mind can do with office supplies. An unbent paper clip could put your eye out, a pair of scissors make a great stabbing weapon, and don't even think about what can be done with a staple puller. Oh, get real, he tried to reason. This is just a kid! She wouldn't be that cruel. Remember when _you_ were a kid? came the reply. He held his gun tighter. A smallish sound made him pause from the room he was about to check. He froze and strained his ears to listen. Yes, there it was again -- it was like someone very small, panting for breath, and was from a little further down the hall. Cradling his pistol in both hands, he crept down the corridor. He passed another room on his left, but that wasn't the source of the faint noise. He continued, every muscle tensed to hear the quiet sobs of his young prey. There. The next room on the right. That's where she is. He slowly leaned into the open doorway, keeping his weapon ready. A typical office desk, large and probably heavy, two typical office chairs, one wheeled and one not, a tall mirror in one corner, no carpeting (which was peculiar, but no reason for concern), and shelves filled with books and loose paper were all he found. His eyes saw no sign of her, but she was there. As he moved fully into the portal, her breath stopped with a sudden gasp -- his shadow, long and obvious, had given his presence away. Her reaction had given away hers. He slipped his gun into its holster, careful not to make any sudden moves, and, with a rapid motion, slammed the door fully open. "YOWWW!" she squealed, as a pair of soft thumps announced to him that she was pinned behind the door. "Got you now!" he crowed softly. Letting the door swing back until it stopped at his foot, he reached around and grabbed at the first thing he could feel, soft and skinny, probably her arm. He pulled it out into the open, where he could see, and saw that was exactly what he'd found. "Oww, let me go!" The girl struggled uselessly against his harsh grip and superior strength, her bright red hair tossing frantically as she tried to free herself. "Now, now, be a good little girl," he chided to her as she continued to squirm. "It's all the trouble you give us that-- hold still, dammit!" He grabbed her arms with both hands and shook her roughly, which brought an end to her struggles, and she looked fearfully up at him with wide, green eyes. Somewhere within his strictly-business demeanor, he finally noticed just how cute she was. "There, that's better. Now just come with me, and there won't be any more trouble." "No, no," she whined to him, "don't take me to her, please!" "Stop it!" he barked, giving her another quick shake. "Don't make me hurt you." She looked up to him, eyes shimmering on the verge of tears. "And don't try that crying routine on me, either, because it won't work," he lied. "Now we're going back to the Lady, and you're going to behave, got it?" Her glance fell down to the floor. "Got it?" he repeated more firmly, shaking her again. "Excuse me..." a voice rumbled quietly beside him. Startled, Eiji's head snapped to face the hallway, and he froze at the sight of the violet comic-book escapee that greeted him there. "...did you ever dance with the devil by the pale moonlight?" he completed. Eiji's trance broke as he made a grab for his gun, which, he immediately discovered, was missing. "Looking for this?" the stranger said quietly, his cape parting smoothly down the middle, revealing a hand carrying his pulse pistol. He held it for a moment before squeezing it tighter, and it twisted, stretched and deformed to the point of uselessness and beyond. He tossed it into the room, where it bounced across the floor with an inconsequential clatter. Eiji's grip on the girl went limp, and she inched away from him as the newcomer stepped closer and loomed over him, the impenetrable shadow under his hat making his eyes seem to glow with a hypnotic light of their own. The two locked stares for what seemed like a very long time. With a sudden lunge, the stranger barked, "*SEGA!*" Eiji yelped, tried to jump backwards, tripped over the small girl who'd been waiting behind him on her hands and knees, and hit the floor hard with a loud "oof". He only saw stars for a moment. The view he had of his tall, ominous captor from lying on the floor made him wish they'd stayed with him for a while. After tightly hog-tying the subdued guard, Hammer reached down and took Nene by the hand, lifting her from the floor, where she seemed on the verge of giggling herself to death. "Come on, it wasn't _that_ funny." "Yes it was!" she managed between breaths. He opened his mouth to contradict her, paused, reconsidered, and then smiled. "Okay, maybe it was." He waited patiently for her laughter to subside. "I take it Usagi wasn't able to follow you." Nene's smile vanished immediately, replaced by a look of sorrow as her gaze dropped. "When Ishikawa came for us, we tried to run ... I got past by throwing my lunchbox at her, but Usagi was caught. She sent the guards after me, so I tried to hide, but..." Her eyes looked up into his. "You told us to stay together, and I let you down..." He dropped to one knee, laying a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't let me down. If you tried to stay with her, you'd both still be the Dragon's captives ... and where would that leave you, hm?" She smiled as he rose to his full height, once again furling his cape around himself. "We'll get her back ... they can't hope to win against--" he abruptly shifted his voice to a deep, eerie one, which he liked to call his Business Voice -- "the Terror That Flaps in the Night." Swapping back to a friendlier tone, he continued, "And, of course, his loyal, trusted side ... kick...," but his voice trailed off as he noticed her reaction. The move had been calculated to make Nene laugh again, but instead, it seemed to put her in a surprisingly pensive mood. She folded one arm around her chest, holding her opposite elbow as she curled her hand over her mouth. Hammer blinked down at her. "What?" "I don't know..." Nene said quietly, almost as if she thought what she was about to say was high-order blasphemy. "Something's missing." He looked surprised. "What do you mean?" "I'm not sure. The voice is a terrific effect, and it's a great costume, but ... it needs something." She idly tapped an index finger on her temple as she considered him carefully, deep in thought. A smile grew across her elfin young face as an idea struck her. She held up one hand in a classic One Moment Please gesture, and unwound the long violet scarf from around her neck with the other. Dragging the room's other chair -- the one that lacked wheels -- over next to Hammer, she climbed up onto it, looped the scarf around his neck, folded it together, knotted it neatly behind his head, and then adjusted it so that it obscured about half of his face, leaving his nose uncovered. She hopped down, took a few quick steps away, and reviewed her handiwork. She appeared quite pleased with herself. "There," she said with finality. "Now you look a _lot_ scarier." A floor-to-ceiling mirror was mounted on the wall near one corner of the room, and Hammer strode over to stand in front of it. He blinked at the image he found looking back at him -- a fusion of the Darkwing disguise with its parody-source, one of Gryphon's old, discarded guises, The Shadow. The end result, he had to agree, was a marked improvement. "This," he stated quietly, "I like." The little redhead beamed with pride. "But right now," he added, turning to face her, "we need to find Usagi." Nene's smiling face turned all-business. "That shouldn't be hard. She'll be in Ishikawa's office, on the top floor. Getting her away from her is the real problem -- I don't suppose we could convince her to just hand Usagi to us." "Probably not," Hammer muttered. Then, slowly, both he and Nene began to turn, until they were both looking directly at the bound-and- gagged guard lying on the floor. You could almost see the light bulbs winking on over their heads. "Nene," Hammer intoned, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?" "I think so, Hammer," she replied thoughtfully, "but the nearest ice cream parlor is two hundred floors below us." He blinked twice at her innocent smile, then sagged his shoulders with resignation as she giggled triumphantly. He'd walked right into that one. "Come on, Nene," Hammer grumbled, slipping back into his Business Voice as he straightened himself. "Let's get dangerous." "This has all gone as wrong as it possibly could, Ginrei," the Kingpin noted gruffly. One of his massive hands was clenched behind his back as he stood at one side of the Dragon's desk, considering the dazzling New Japan sunset through her enormous windows and wondering if it was somehow symbolic of this, the apparent twilight of his career. The other held a thick cigar, with a wisp of white smoke casually leaking from its tip. "Commissioner Mason is safer than ever, the star witness against us has been snatched from our grasp ... even our Elasi compatriots have been routed. All our work is crumbling before us." Ginrei Ishikawa wanted to snap at the statement, but dared not break her calm facade. She remained seemingly impassive, her fingertips absently tracing one of the white pattern edges on the shoulder collar of Usagi's sailor blouse. The tiny blonde had long since given up crying for Lent, even though it wasn't Lent anyway, but still had to fight back the urge to wince and leap away from the Dragon's touch. She was seated beside her, on a small cleared space on her desk. "Have patience, Wilson. My guards will find Miss Romanova." "Or Hammer will, which I consider far more likely. Your soldiers are no match for him." "That much, I will grant you," she replied after a moment. "But he will not leave ... not so long as our other guest is here with us." He turned toward her, eyebrow cocked questioningly. "Surely you can't intend to challenge him yourself." Ginrei chuckled for a brief time, but before she could reply, her office's immense doors emitted a loud clack and swung open. Her indignant reaction at being interrupted without so much as a knock was turned to a confident smile by what she found entering her office -- two uniformed guards, flanking a familiar young schoolgirl, frightened, yet angry, with intelligent green eyes and brilliant red hair. Usagi's heart fell. "Nene, no..." Ginrei rose to her feet. "Excellent, excellent!" she clapped. "You've found the girl before she could escape. Well done!" Her face turned stern as she continued, "Normally, I would have you relieved of duty for this unannounced intrusion, but, for this occasion, I shall excuse you." Usagi took to her feet as well, slipping down from her desktop perch. "Thank you, Milady," the guards recited, bowing in perfect unison. Ginrei's glance went down to the small girl beside her, her wide, blue eyes shimmering with an unspoken question. Turning more fully toward her, Ginrei said, "Do you wish to ask me something, Miss Moone?" "I..." Usagi's young mind fumbled and raced to assemble a simple question, teetering somewhere on the verge of panic. "Can ... may I ... go see Nene ... my friend ... um ... Milady ... please?" The Dragon smiled. There was hope for this younger generation, after all. With a regal nod, she replied, "Yes, child, by all means. Go, greet your wayward friend." Her eyes followed Usagi's hurried, bouncing path down the dais to the floor, then across the carpeted walkway, stopping about halfway to the door by hurling herself around Nene. The sniffling, frightened sounds of each greeting the other quietly dominated the room. It was while watching the two of them reuniting that she noticed something amiss with the taller of the two guards. Her eyes narrowed. "Guard, explain yourself." The shorter one blinked. "Milady?" "No, your partner. Guard, why are you unarmed?" The shorter guard's head whirled to face the other, whose face remained calm. "I am never unarmed, Milady," his deep voice replied. "Why do you not carry your weapon?" The Dragon's finger stabbed into the air, indicating his empty holster. The Kingpin was now facing him as well, his thick brows low in a suspicious glare. The tall guard did not flinch. "I need no weapon, Milady." A glance and a nod from the Dragon were all the prompt the shorter guard needed. In a flash, his gun was out of its holster and trained on the taller fellow. "Don't move, impostor," he warned. He heard a quick ringing sound -- the sound of metal sliding on metal, like an unsheathing sword. Not waiting to see what kind of knife the stranger would draw on him, he pulled the trigger on his sidearm. The shot went completely off toward the door as the flat of a blade extending from the back of the intruder's arm swatted his weapon with such force as to drive it from his hand. He yowled and gathered the hand to himself as he listened to the thud and rustle of his gun striking the wall, losing itself in the foliage that lined the back of the office. The sword returned to its sleeve, as if satisfied that its duty was fulfilled. Nene watched this with an assured smile. Usagi, by contrast, looked like she was about to become the youngest heart attack victim on record. Ginrei and Wilson stared ineffectually -- Fisk cool and impassive, Ishikawa filled with outrage -- as the tall intruder lifted the guard by the front of his shirt and tossed him up beside them, where he landed, head first, on her desk. They didn't bother watching him tumble into her chair, pushing it backward until it slammed noisily against the thick glass wall behind them. "I _am_ a weapon," the newcomer continued as if never interrupted, "Milady." "You," Ginrei hissed, as close to losing control of her temper as Wilson had ever seen. "How dare you invade my palace like this! Such impudence -- impersonating one of my guards and mocking me to my face! Who are you?" "You mean, you haven't determined it yourself?" the stranger queried. He sprang into the air, and an odd sound, a sort of buzzing crunch, accompanied him as his body impossibly folded itself into a sleek, violet wedge-shaped vehicle. At the apex of the leap, the vehicle began transforming again, and when it landed in front of the two girls, human once more, the crime lords found themselves staring at the very person they'd expected, and the last they'd hoped to see. "I am the terror," Hammer's voice rumbled from every direction as his cape settled around him, "that flaps in the night. I am the final curtain on your criminal charade. I am ... the Hammer." Nene whistled appreciatively. "Nice one," she noted quietly. Usagi was having a little trouble dealing with this. Ginrei actually seemed calmed by the dark avenger's presence. "So, Hammer. At long last ... I was beginning to think that you'd actually had sense enough to stay out of my affairs." "Sorry to disappoint you, Madame Ishikawa," he replied, bowing in a courtly manner. "I'm afraid my obligation to protect young Nene, here, was the primary cause for this ... intrusion." The Dragon chuckled, almost good-naturedly, as she leaned back onto the edge of her desk. "Why, dear Hammer! Did you truly believe I would allow her to come to harm?" "'Allow' wasn't the word I'd considered in that context." "(Stay alert,)" Hammer's voice whispered from Nene's commpin; he'd told her to give it her closest attention. "(She's about to spring her trap.)" Nene nodded to herself, having also noticed Ginrei's hand inching toward a tiny contact pad on her desktop. Ginrei heaved a great sigh of tested patience. "It grieves me that you'd feel that way," her voice lilted. Her ring finger quietly came to rest on the pad while she was speaking, and Hammer's enhanced hearing detected the slow, quiet sliding of a large door somewhere behind him -- the way his feet were vibrating, he determined it must have been in the floor itself. "(Behind us,)" the commpin hissed. Nene whipped her head around to look, and Usagi turned to join her. An immense lump of sculpted metal was rapidly rising from a wide trapdoor in the floor, its dull, gray surface only gleaming faintly in the fading light of day, slowly being overcome by the office's interior lights. The part that had emerged first, a sort of forward-edged wedge- shaped protrusion with a rounded cap on top, only vaguely resembled a head when it could be seen in context with the broader "torso" that followed it, particularly since it seemed to have no eyes. The oddities didn't end there -- Nene was visibly startled to discover that it possessed not two arms, but four. At its full height, the monster was obviously taller, looked more powerful, and seemed far more menacing than their guardian, even after Nene's makeover. Three small lights flickered on the surface of what would be its belly, brightening to a steady glow, and Nene realized it had just come on-line. Usagi whimpered, transfixed by the sight. "But," Ginrei continued all the while, not missing a beat, "if this is the way it's to be between us, then I'm afraid you've left me no choice but to remove you by force. It's the only proper thing to do, I'm sure you understand." Standing fully up from her desk, Ginrei struck a commanding pose, pointed at Hammer and shouted, "Shiro! KILL HIM!" Hammer whirled and snapped "Move!" at the girls before balking at the sight of what he had to face. Nene, fortunately, still possessed sufficient wits to operate her feet, dragging Usagi with her as she rushed off toward the nearest wall. The robot growled, a guttural, metallically-distorted noise, as it began tromping forward. Its footfalls boomed through the chamber, punctuating the hiss and whine of the intricate interplay of hydraulics and servomotors in its legs. Its arms swung purposefully as its torso swayed slightly to the left and right, vise-like hands snapping open and shut with alarming speed and force. Hammer began backing toward the dais, watching it advance, estimating its size to be roughly half again his own height -- though perhaps a bit more -- and maybe ten or fifteen times his body mass, at the minimum. Okay, he told himself. Just a big war-machine. I can deal with this. A panel opened on its left shoulder and an autocannon emerged, initially aimed to the side, but quickly rotating to face forward. This, on the other hand, could be a problem. The cannon belched loudly, hurling fifty slugs in the space of two seconds. Hammer darted to one side, well out of their path, and they tore a messy hole through both his cape and the stairway up to Ishikawa's desk. "BE CAREFUL, YOU OAF!" Ginrei shrieked, having nearly jumped up onto her desk; off to one side, all but forgotten, Nene and Usagi huddled with their hands over their ears, watching fearfully. Hammer only had a moment to wonder why she was treating the robot like any other lackey before he had to duck and roll out of the cannon's path. One of the potted plants tumbled in a spray of dirt and shredded flora, splashing into the artificial brook in front of it. Again the robot's weapon roared in fury, and he leaped out of harm's way, sending another shrub to that great greenhouse in the sky. He landed on the opposite side of the machine and whirled to face it, hoping it couldn't turn quickly enough to keep up with him. The good news was, it couldn't. The bad news was, its cannon could. No sooner had he found his footing than he had to leap to the side again. Obviously, a more direct approach was required. One of his armswords sprang from the back of his right sleeve. He paused for a moment as the cannon fixed its aim on him, then vaulted up and over the robot again as it fired. He twisted through the air, carefully aiming his sword at the mechanoid's shoulder. "Blade," he snapped. Whirling orange shivs of energy appeared on the back of his sword, racing down its length and then flying onward. Two of them glanced off the sloping armor of its chest and made thin slits in the floor; the next three found their mark, slicing into the autocannon. Hammer touched down and turned, standing in front of Ishikawa's dais and pulling his armsword back into its sheath. The robot growled and turned to face him, the remains of the cannon buzzing in an unhealthy manner as it spun and aimed. With a roar not unlike a battle-cry, it commanded the weapon to fire. The roar turned into a howl of shock as the autocannon exploded, nearly throwing the robot onto its side as its fragments scattered around the room. Nene and Usagi screamed and huddled a bit more closely at the heat and force of the explosion, but were unscathed; Fisk sidestepped a large, twisted chuck of debris, which smashed through the window behind him, and everyone's ears popped as the office's air pressure quickly equalized with the early-evening air. Hammer watched as the robot wobbled precariously on one foot, the smoke from its shoulder curling a peculiar path into the air. It staggered and twisted itself, making small "whoa-oa" noises as its arms flapped to keep it upright. After a few long moments, it finally settled back onto both feet, and, with another bellow of rage, it began stomping toward him, arms forward and ready to tear him limb from limb. All its fearsome posturing did it no good, of course, because Hammer now knew its weakness. With a muffled BLAM, his left arm spat a grappling cable; its clawed end magnetically stuck itself to the robot's closer leg, just above its ankle. As it lifted its opposite leg to take its next step, he raced around its side, keeping the cable tight all the while. The mechanoid seemed to pause in the inception of that next step as Hammer became a violet blur, racing in several quick laps around it. Nene, who'd risen back to her feet after the cannon was destroyed, blinked with astonishment as Hammer came to a halt to one side of the monster. "Shiro" (if that really was the robot's name) was now teetering comically on one foot, its other foot tied firmly to its opposing ankle. The trapped leg continued to hiss and whine, shifting slightly back and forth, trying to free itself and regain its footing, and its four arms were now spread out, flailing occasionally to maintain its balance. Its menacing growl had changed to a baffled whimper. Hammer calmly walked up behind the mechanoid, looking almost pensive. He glanced over toward Nene and pointed at it, as if to ask what she wanted him to do with it. She shrugged; what would a third-grade girl do with an eleven-foot-tall, half-ton robot? A broad, mischievous smile spread across his face; Nene could see it in the curl of his eyes, even if his lips were concealed by her scarf. He cocked his middle finger behind his thumb and reached forward, holding that hand less than an inch from the robot's back. "He wouldn't," Nene chuckled quietly. Hammer's finger abruptly sprang loose, smiting the mechanoid in the back. It struck with a loud PANG, lurching the robot forward; its frustrated grumbling rose to a startled squeal as it found itself falling forward with no means of stopping. "TIMMMM-BERRRRR!" he announced loudly. Shiro crashed to the floor, making a great deal of noise and an enormous, ragged hole as it became halfway embedded in the carpeting and wood tile. Its arms flapped helplessly for another moment before dropping limp, and the robot lay still. "He would," Usagi noted, rather hoping to wake up from this bizarre dream sometime soon. "He did," Nene giggled. Ginrei blinked with what had to be a tremendous effort, since her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "Impossible," she whispered, slouching against her desk. Hammer made a show of clapping some imaginary dust from his hands. (There was no dust to be had anywhere in the office; the place was immaculately tidy, save for the recently-added mess.) "No," he replied nonchalantly, "just highly unlikely." With a shrug of his shoulders, his cape settled about him once more; save for the slight swiss-cheesing near the bottom of his cloak, the cannon's sole damage to his person, he was unscathed. He marched forward, tromping right over Shiro's inert metal form (an internal "panic button" had shut the robot down after its humiliating defeat), and stopped at the foot of the dais. Glaring to one side of the desk high above, his gaze fixed on the Kingpin, and his voice once more rumbled from every direction. "Mr. Fisk ... you will surrender quietly, I trust." His thick eyebrows were knotted low in obvious displeasure, but Wilson Fisk nodded affirmatively. "Thank you." Hammer's eyes turned, and Ginrei shuddered under their scrutiny. "As for _you_," he hissed, letting the sentence hang. She gasped as he leaped forward, taking the full ten steps with a single hop. Her stare followed him from his effortless launch to his inhumanly smooth touchdown, mesmerized by the faint glow of his eyes like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Ginrei swallowed hard and looked up at him, trying to contain her fear, and not succeeding in the slightest. "So ... wh-what would you do with me, then?" She tried to step back, but only succeeded in pushing herself against her desk. She saw the corners of his eyes seem to curl slightly, but his scarf concealed the cause of that -- was it a scowl of rage, or a cold, mirthless smile? "Ginrei Ishikawa," his voice growled. "You have plotted to take the life of a just and honest man. In the course of doing so, you have spent an entire week threatening the life of a girl in the joy of her youth, taunting her, worrying her needlessly when she should have been playing and enjoying her budding life. Against her will, you removed her and her best friend from their rightful education, causing her needless anguish and frightening her parents with her absence." He gathered the front of her vest with one hand, pulled her closer (and completely off her feet) and added, just a little more intensely, "That was _extremely_ rude." Ginrei was so busy being afraid that she didn't even see the irony of that statement. "A-and ... what is your j-judgment? Will you ... will you kill me?" Without warning, he leaped from the dais, still holding her by the collar of her vest, which proved far sturdier than it would have seemed otherwise. Ginrei cried out in surprise, punctuating with a final "oof!" when they landed on the floor. Hammer's burning eyes turned to pierce hers once more, and she wondered what terrors he had in store. "Your behavior toward these two young girls has been uncouth, ill- mannered, and _inexcusable_." His grasp on her relocated to the back of her collar as he spun her around; then, abruptly, she was freed from his grasp, and his hands carefully smoothed out her vest. "But rather than inflict any sort of retribution upon you," he continued, "I'd prefer you to make amends yourself." Looking down, Ginrei found herself face-to-face with little Nene Romanova, who smiled brightly back at her, and Usagi Moone, who seemed more baffled than ever by the goings-on. Hammer pointed down at the girls and issued his command: "You will now ... APOLOGIZE." Ginrei blinked. Indignant, she whirled on the dark avenger. "_What_?!" "I didn't stutter," he growled. Ginrei's retort died somewhere between her brain and her throat, as the force of his voice, combined with the faint glow of his eyes under the shadow of his slouch hat, rather quickly reminded her just who was in charge of this situation. She glanced down toward the girls, then toward Hammer, then toward the girls again, then back toward Hammer. "If ... if I refuse?" she stammered. "Oh, that would be _bad_," he rumbled in a voice that all but grinned on its own. Ginrei continued to glance around, looking for some sort of option that could save her dignity, but knowing there was no such thing -- not so long as HE was there. "Go on," he said encouragingly, in a deep mockery of her own smug taunt from earlier that day. "And say it like you mean it ... or you'll have to do it over." Nene folded her arms over her chest, her foot impatiently tapping the carpet. "I'm waaaaitiiiing," she sang softly. Resigned to her fate, Ginrei faced the two girls and drew a breath. "Hammer!" The call distracted Martin from his silent, satisfied vigil, watching Ginrei Ishikawa and Wilson Fisk being led, with no struggle, into the police van. The Dragon had already made her threats to him to avenge the "unspeakable humiliation" he'd put her through, swearing that she would have her revenge, if not by her own hands, then by those of her children or her children's children. He'd brushed it off rather flippantly, since he knew she didn't have any children yet (and seemed unlikely to do so), which had incensed her all the more, at the time. Now, with the police and the newsfolk all around, Ginrei was the picture of calm. The Kingpin, by contrast, just glowered as he was marched off -- no threats, no posturing, just a silent, if unhappy, admission of defeat. For that much, at least, he had Hammer's respect. The voyage out of the office complex had taken a little time, since Hammer'd paused to wrap up a couple loose ends. One of them came in the form of a short scientist who identified himself as Dr. Tym; he quite startled Hammer with the revelation that the defunct war-robot had a human brain inside it. The Doctor seemed relieved that it had seen no more than two minutes of actual on-line time before shutting down in what amounted to mortified embarrassment. The other delay was taken care of fairly quickly by a stop at the 100th floor, where Hammer recovered and untied a mildly cheesed Mary Blue. He now turned to find Lieutenant Zenigata leading the Romanovas, along with two other parently-looking people he didn't recognize. "MOM! DAD!" Usagi bolted from her place beside Hammer and Nene, dashed across the open space provided by the small police blockade, and threw herself into the embraces of the pair of dark-haired adults following Katsu -- the Moones, apparently, though Martin wondered where Usagi got her brilliant blond hair if those were her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Romanova, meanwhile, rushed past Katsuhiro to similarly greet Nene, falling to their knees as she happily accepted their welcome. "Hi! Mom, Dad, gosh, I missed you so much!" "Nene, we were so worried about you when they told us you'd been taken from the school!" "Are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?" Nene laughed. "I'm okay, I'm okay! It was scary, but I wasn't afraid. I knew Hammer would come for me." She turned, craning her neck to smile up at Martin. "He'd never let me down." Martin's smile turned sheepish. "Well, just make sure that courage of yours doesn't flag after tonight, Nene. In a couple days, you're going to have to face the scariest things of all." He bent down slightly, and, in a low voice with a stage-whispering hand, he explained, "_Lawyers._" Nene, of course, giggled. Mr. Romanova stood and spoke. "Hammer, I must confess that I had my doubts about you, when Lieutenant Zenigata called and told us you'd let little Nene be captured by Ishikawa's gang." "Doubts?" Mrs. Romanova added, still holding her daughter. "I was scared to death! Poor Nene and Usagi in the hands of those monsters!" Mr. Romanova nodded. "However, I can see now that her faith in you was more than well-justified." He bowed deeply, then extended a hand. "Thank you, Hammer, for saving my daughter." Martin smiled, returning the bow and accepting the hand with a firm shake. "You're quite welcome, Mr. Romanova. And, might I add, you are the father of an exceptional young girl -- she proved extremely helpful in her own rescue." "Oh, go on," Nene said, blushing. The elder Romanovas glanced at each other, not sure what to make of that comment. Before they could ask about it, though, their attention was caught by a commotion of pointing and startled murmurs from the crowd behind the police line, and, indeed, from several of the officers present. Everyone turned, looking skyward. Martin and Nene smiled at the sight. A sleek, silvery form descended from the sky. It seemed, by all appearances, to be a late 20th century Terran groundcar -- a DeLorean, to be precise, right down to the "DMC" logo on the forward grille. Its wheels swiveled from their perpendicular, downward-pointing positions to the more conventional sideways positions, and it landed with a light bounce, a perfect four-point touchdown. The whine of its flight engine died down, and the gull-wing doors, another distinguishing feature of the DeLorean, lifted open. Two people stepped out; from the car's left, a young-looking medium fellow of Chinese descent, seemingly just into his college years, and from its right, an even younger-looking, smaller woman with fluffy, intensely red hair. Both wore Thunder Force uniform jackets. "See what I mean, Eiko?" the man said. "All you have to do is look for signs of big trouble, and chances are he's right in the middle of it." "Yeah, he's a magnet for that sort of thing," Eiko chuckled. Martin grinned. "So are you two gonna insult me all night, or are you gonna say hello?" "Great Scott, Marty!" the man bellowed in a Christopher Lloydish voice as he and the woman strode forward. "No need to get your transistors in an uproar, we're coming already!" Eiko reached him first, hopping up into his embrace, forcing him to step back to keep his balance as they collided. "We missed you, Diggy." "I missed you, too, Little One," he replied quietly. Pearson looked at the Romanovas. "I see you've made some new enemies while we weren't around to stop you." Hammer put Eiko down on her feet. "Actually, I did, but they've already left in a police van. I'd like you two to meet Alexei and Lucia Romanova ... and their daughter, Nene." The Romanovas nodded, bowed slightly, and smiled, unsure of what to say beyond the basic greeting. Doc's eyebrow arched at the name, and Martin saw what looked like a smile of recognition on his face, but didn't think much of it -- this was Doc's first visit to New Japan, after all. "Hi there!" Eiko immediately bent down to smile at the little girl. "You're Nene?" Nene nodded, her face beaming with an ear-to-ear smile. "Mm-hmm! And you're Eiko Magami! That's 'Doc' Mui with you, right?" Eiko blinked, surprised. "Uh ... yeah, that's us, all right! But ... how'd--" "Oh, I'm sorry," Martin interrupted. "I forgot to mention -- Nene, here, is the President of the Thunder Force Fan Club, New Japan branch." Pearson also bent down, crowding Eiko a little to one side; Nene'd grabbed his attention by correctly pronouncing his name on the first try. "We've got a fan club, now?" His head shook in a 'somehow, that figures' fashion. "First the action figures, then the licensed video games, and now the fan clubs." He counted them off on his fingers, dangerously close to Rant Mode. "Hammer, are you sure you won't reconsider that lip gloss contract?" he joked. "Forget it," Martin said immediately, folding his arms. "No lip gloss, no underwear, no insurance endorsements, and absolutely _no_ magic-card games. You can only push me so far, Doc." "Well, yeah," the doctor mumbled, "you're just a _tad_ bigger than I am. TSR's still miffed over that, y'know." "Hey, their loss is Fleer's gain. Trading cards are okay; magic cards, forget it. By the way, what took you guys so long? I thought that pirate run was supposed to be a simple job." "Well, no one mentioned the Elasi factor, did they?" a pretty voice commented through Eiko, Pearson and Nene's commpins. Martin blinked, looking a little surprised as he spoke into the air, simultaneously transmitting his voice over the commpins' frequency. "Elasi? I thought this had nothing to do with Elasi. Oh, and hi, Riko." "Hi, Marty. Actually, it turned out that 'little blockade' was a front for a major Elasi operation. We had to pull reinforcements from three planets to drive them off." "Ouch. Did you figure out the purpose of the operation?" "Yes, we did," a new voice announced over the commpins. "Hi, Thom. You know, we're wasting a lot of time with greetings." "You're the one who feels he has to say 'hi' to everyone. Anyway, from what we've gathered, the Elasi were preparing to fulfill some sort of agreement they'd reached with the Fisk-Ishikawa crime syndicate. It seems they were going to assist that syndicate in their next move onto the Salusian throneworld." "Wait, wait, hold the phone." Martin waved his hands, quite ignoring the fact that Thom couldn't see him. "Did you say 'Fisk-Ishikawa'?" "That's right." "You _knew_ about that group?" "Have for quite some time." "You were aware of what they were planning?" "It's been all over the underworld grapevine for months." Martin's hands curled into frustrated fists. "Jumping Jiminy Christmas, I just got done tossing both Fisk _and_ Ishikawa in jail! Why didn't you SAY something to me??" "Well, they never ran across us before, and you didn't ask." "Silly!" Noriko interjected. Martin groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes and dragging it down his face, trying to ignore the fact that everyone was laughing at him. Eiko's laughter died as she blinked at him. "Where'd that come from?" she queried, indicating the scarf around Martin's throat. "Hm?" He glanced down. "Oh, this was Nene's idea. She thought I'd look more intimidating with my mouth covered. I think she's right, really." He pushed it up into position, furled his cape around himself, and rumbled, "Booga booga." Nene sighed. "Yeah, I gave up my favorite scarf _and_ lost my favorite lunchbox in this ordeal. We'd better get some kind of damages from those creeps to make up for it." Martin looked down at her for a moment, and offered a smile. "Don't worry -- I'm sure we'll work something out after the concert." The girl's eyes widened at that final word. "C-- ... _Concert_?" "Of course! You and Usagi -- and your parents, of course -- will just have to be our front-row guests at the Clay Pigeons victory concert the day after tomorrow." He looked up at the Romanovas and Moones, the latter having joined the small crowd around the Hero Du Jour, as much from curiosity as gratitude. "If that's all right with you, that is. I mean, being their parents and all that." Nene whirled and looked up at her parents with pleading eyes. "Oh, Daddy, can we go? Please, _pleeease_?" "I'll do all my homework without being yelled at, I promise!" Usagi added, bargaining with her own mother and father. Alexei chuckled, patting his daughter on the head. "Okay, okay! I've always wanted to go to a Clay Pigeons concert, actually, but I've never been close enough to a Thunder Force operation before." "And now," Doc added with an irreverent half-smile, "you've been _too_ close." "I'll say," Mr. Moone concurred quietly, adjusting his glasses. The concert was, to put it mildly, a roaringly successful event. Nene's face had blushed nearly as red as her hair when the group, and Martin in particular, performed the Def Leppard classic, "I Wanna Be Your Hero," directly to her; she looked about ready to die on the spot when he pulled her and Usagi up onto the stage. They giggled themselves silly, they tried to follow Noriko through one of her dance routines, they were each presented with a Gizmonics jumpsuit (in the proper size) and one of Pearson's seemingly infinite supply of fishing hats, pulled from thin air, as usual. In short, a great time was had by all. The trial began the very next day. Martin sat with Nene in the courtroom, and she fell asleep leaning on his side, providing the press with an unmistakable photo op. The image of that moment made its way to both the evening news and the next morning's newspaper. She was called to testify on the third day of the proceedings, and did quite well for herself, not even flinching in the face of what nearly turned into a hostile cross-examination. When she was finally allowed to step down, she had every right to be proud of herself, and Martin told her so. Unfortunately, duty called soon enough, and Thunder Force had to leave. Nene tried to return the commpin, but Martin told her to keep it, with his promise that, when she needed him, he'd be there. With warm hugs and farewells all around, the group returned to the Righteous Indignation and the Tarawa and prepared to go. Minus Martin, who said he had one last errand to run. Batwing's engines howled eerily as it streaked low above the treetops of a vast, familiar forest, leaves and branches thrashing in its wake. Its transponder was turned off, and all stealth measures were presently engaged; where it was going, it wanted no one to follow. In the cockpit, Hammer idly watched the landscape race past him. He knew roughly where to look to find his quarry, but hadn't committed the exact location to memory. Still, he was certain he'd find it soon. In fact, there it was now. Batwing's main thrust went dark as its retro-boosters flared briefly, and the VTOL-thrust came to life as well. A clearing opened in the forest below, like an improbable hole in an ocean of trees. The black plane slowed and came to a halt just above tree-level, eclipsing the only object in the clearing: a Valkyrie starfighter. With a quiet hiss drowned out by the nearly-as-quiet sound of its engines, Batwing's canopy slid forward. Hammer pulled himself out of his seat, stepped toward the front of the cockpit, and hopped down, falling between the forward edges of the plane's wings. He landed gently, right behind the transparent blister of Eight-Ball One's canopy. He looked around, scanning the clearing. It was empty, as before, save for himself and the fighter beneath him. His hands vanished into his cape for a moment. When they emerged, one was holding a newspaper clipping and a photograph; the other, a notepad and a razor-point pen. He sat down on the Valk's fuselage, put everything but the pad and pen into his lap, took the pen in his right hand, and scribbled briefly on the pad. He scanned the finished note, and nodded with finality. He capped the pen, tore the top sheet from the pad, and put the pad and pen back into his cape. His hand seemed to fish around inside the cape for a moment; when it re-emerged, it was holding a heavy-duty refrigerator magnet with the Thunder Force insignia on one face. Collecting the note, clipping and photo together into a thin stack, he held the entire collection against the side of the fuselage, just below the canopy. With a satisfied snap, he let the magnet affix itself to the plane, near the top-center of the note. Hammer smiled knowingly to himself and leaped into the sky. Within moments, Batwing was once again streaking off across the forest; when it was a safe distance away, the ebony plane angled up and shot skyward, and beyond. A slight breeze flowed through the clearing, causing the note to rustle in its place, as if impatient to be found and read: G - Hope you're okay. If you ever tire of the hermit's life, keep an eye out for this girl, Nene. She's bright, but she's going to get in heaps of trouble when she grows up -- I can feel it in my bones. 'Til all are one, - H -- The High Diggy-Hoek of Chihuahua-Wala Land (or Martin Rose, if you must) --------------------------- mfrose@umcc.umich.edu --------------------------- Truth is stranger than Fiction ---------------- Stupid is a boundless concept The Limbaugh Institute for Advanced Conservative Studies: Ann Arbor Division