Chapter Ten: Leads Hope could die so incredibly fast. In the prior weeks, the fortress that the Maverick Army had occupied—known as “Seraph Castle” to them and their Hunter enemies—had been filled with hope, the hope that finally things were going to go their way. Commander Sigma had hinted of a glorious plan that, unlike the others, had been planned for a year in advance and was to be the final word in the wars. They couldn’t achieve the complete expulsion of humans from Megacity 5 as they had originally wanted to, Sigma had told them. Not yet, anyway. They first had to weaken the forces of the Maverick Hunters, an army which had grown powerful enough to intercept anything the Mavericks might have thrown at them. Chiefly, X and Zero needed to die, but they seemed to bear charmed lives. Sigma had told them to forget about these two and try for the Hunters as a whole. By destabilizing their leadership and their defense capabilities, the victory the Mavericks had craved for more than a decade would fall upon them, X and Zero be damned. That was before that idiot Sigma had decided it’d be fun to take a walk in the quarry. Storm Eagle stretched out his instruments of flight, displaying to the world his entire, massive wingspan. Anyone looking at the roof of the easternmost tower of Seraph Castle would have seen him as a phoenix of light as the moonlight reflected off his polished armor. The intimidating wings receded back into their folded position and Storm twirled his clawed hands in the glare of the moon. He’d always found it interesting how the light played off his claws. He never tired of watching the blades that were so often bloody sparkle and gleam under any kind of light. He wondered as always if his enemies saw the same thing when those claws were swooping towards their throats. He’d come up here to try to escape from the depressing realities that now wafted through Seraph Castle in place of the hope that had bubbled within it just two days prior. Sigma’s death seemed to have put everyone in a chokehold, and no one knew how to react. What would happen now? Would the Hunters find and invade their base? And more importantly, were the Mavericks going to just take this sitting down? What about revenge? Storm had grown tired of these questions from both his unit and others. The avian had found momentary solace on the roof, where the sky stretched out above him, twinkling with billions of easily seen stars and the crescent moon. It wasn’t the stars and the moon that intrigued Storm as much as the sky itself. Even in this cold, mountainous region of the world, the sky seemed the warmest place. There was peace in the sky, where Storm could fly unrestrained for as long as he wanted, which was usually a very long time. There were other bird Mavericks, sure, but none had the specific love of flight that Storm Eagle did. His counterpart, Storm Owl, did do a bit of flying, but he preferred to stay on the ground and use the air only for surveillance and attack purposes. Cyber Peacock would take to the skies, too, but he just teleported and hovered. He could care less about the freedom the sky offered. It was almost therapeutic to Storm Eagle, and he had more than once spent entire weeks flying from one area to another, never with any real destination, but collecting his thoughts. But tonight, his heart just wasn’t in it. He’d opted to just sit quietly on the roof of Seraph Castle, letting the expansive sky work its magic without his actually being in it. There was certainly a lot to think about. Immediately after Sigma fell, The Team had gathered all the Mavericks and escaped from the quarry. They’d returned with the survivors and quietly informed the top officers of what had happened. Those officers, which were Storm Eagle, Cyber Peacock, Boomer Kuwangner, Gravity Beetle, Bit, and Byte, and Revolver, had informed their troops of what had taken place and that The Team would be in charge for a little while. They were to do exactly what they told them to do in order to recover from this incident. This was fine with Storm Eagle, since he did believe that The Team knew what they were doing, but he still found it hard to trust them personally. Indeed, many of the Mavericks were having a lot of trouble trusting leadership to a group of officers that most of them had never seen before. From behind the Reploid avian, a bright flash of light exploded out of nowhere, briefly illuminating the entire rooftop. Even as the light died down, thin coils of wiry, multicolored energies were forming, crisscrossing each other, curving, and angling to form specific features, as though a picture were being drawn with each strain of energy. Another glow of light brimmed up inside the wire frame skeleton, filling it with a definite shape and figure. The entire show took about a second, and when it was over Cyber Peacock was on the roof with his comrade. Storm hadn’t even twitched. He’d grown used to his ally’s sudden appearances, and tilted his head back to acknowledge the new presence. “What’s up?” “Much too much,” Cyber replied in a distant tone, moving his lanky body towards the same place Storm sat. He didn’t quite plop down, but rather descended as though floating. “The soldiers are not handling themselves very well.” Storm shook his head slightly. “It’s a shame, you know? We were more ready for this one than any other mission I can remember. Now what?” “Now,” Cyber said with a shrug, “We wait for Sigma to return, I guess. You know he will.” Storm nodded. They both found it hard to believe that Sigma hadn’t kept a backup copy of himself laying around as usual, but still, it could take a very, very long time for the program to activate or for the “Sigma Virus” that Sigma’s program latched onto whenever it was bodiless decided to take effect. “Until then,” Cyber continued, voicing Storm’s concerns, “we just count on those three big shots to keep us alive.” “And the problem is that the troops don’t feel confident serving leaders they don’t know.” “Well…” Cyber rested his head in his hand, thinking. “Most of them have had interaction with Gredam. He led most of the training programs. It’s the other two that people don’t know that well, and that isn’t that big a deal, since Gredam seems to be the leader. “However,” the peacock said with a slight grin, “we made sure that this unfortunate incident wouldn’t set us back.” “Who’s ‘we’?” “Oh, sorry. I met with Gredam, Gravity Beetle, and Revolver earlier. Grav has the components Revolver needed for his ship, and so construction will speed along there. In the meantime, The Team has the finer points set up for the second half of our project.” A positively ghoulish grin broke out onto Cyber’s beaky face. It set Storm on edge. “With the weapons that the attack ship Gallagher will have, the Hunters will never know what hit them.” Storm blinked. “What did Revolver find for weapons?” Cyber told him. “Oh, my…that’s almost too much.” “That’s the point,” Cyber said with a snicker. “We’ll teach the Maverick Hunters not to mess with our commanders, one way or another.” The information Storm had just gained should have left the Maverick ecstatic. However, the weight of the information and the way Cyber had said it had instead allowed a hideous knot of dread to form inside Storm’s metallic innards. Though he’d later remark how pointless it was, he prayed to whatever might watch over man and machine that The Team knew what they were doing. The corner of Megacity 5’s slums nearest the bordering Catskill Mountains, which had retained their majesty throughout the decades, had always been a “nice, quiet slum”. The residents there were more of the simple poor, not those who would cause trouble. Crime was remarkably low there, and the residents had taken comfort in that, though they still got the hell out whenever they had the money to do so. Now, the peace was disturbed by swarms of Maverick Hunter soldiers and local police authorities. Another murder had taken place, and again the victim was an army man. Not only did this seem to confirm the theory that the deaths of General Thornton and Major Komanov were linked, but were hardly common murder cases. So now the slum residents were smack dab in the middle of some conspiracy, and they didn’t like that at all. The man who liked it least lived in the old apartment that doubled as a weapons shop. He’d rather liked living in the slum’s obscurity, and for good reason, as his past and current activities certainly made him eligible for attention he couldn’t survive. Old Mortar frowned gloriously as he slammed the door to his abode, retreating into his living room in the back of the apartment, and sitting down in front of his desk. Email wasn’t trusted with the kind of information he was dealing with, and the Mavericks were using a top secret faxing program to convey their messages. Mortar held up the now-printed sheet of paper and glanced carefully over the message. Malevex had kept it short and sweet, as usual. It merely said “Required papers taken. Plan continues. Report your status.” The last part was to make sure Mortar was okay, since the attack had taken place very near his home. Malevex hadn’t been required to add that, but he had anyway. Mortar turned to the fax machine and was starting to send his response when he took note of his customers. He stifled a snarl and kept an eye on them, working slowly so that he had an excuse to stay in this vantage spot. Though crime was low in the slum, that didn’t mean there was no crime to speak of. The criminals that did exist were generally petty, and they did know when to quit. Boris and Leonid, however, did not. The two Reploid thugs had crawled the slums for the whole of their forsaken lives, and Mortar would swear that the two got off simply by causing trouble. Both were moderately built and could be handled without too much trouble when it came down to violence, but they still could be troublesome for an aged Reploid like Mortar. The two had harassed the weapons dealer for a time frame going on two months now, and their last meeting had been less than pleasant. Boris had tried to distract Mortar while Leonid entered the shop, aiming to “get even” with the old Reploid. Mortar had kicked Boris’s ass thoroughly with skills retained from years past, and had chased off Leonid with similar attacks. Getting thrashed by an old fart had both shocked and humiliated the two thieves, but it had also sparked their total wrath, and the fact that they were both in his shop again and proceeding further than customers were allowed told Mortar that they were finally ready to remove that stain from their name. And his shotgun was on the other side of the room…damn. “You’re crossing the line,” Mortar said simply, hauling himself out of the chair and setting the message down on the table next to him, “Customers are to stay in the front.” “You crossed the line, too,” Boris said as he strode purposefully towards Mortar, “A long time ago.” Boris liked to think of himself as the brains behind the two-man group, but Mortar was positive that a human infant had problem solving skills that rivaled Boris’s. The old Reploid was ready for Boris’s move immediately, and pivoted to the right as he saw Boris’s fist rise, stooping and extending both legs sharply into Boris’s midsection. The thug let out a startled grunt and came at Mortar before the old soldier could pick himself off of the floor. This was fine. Mortar just swung his legs around in an arc and swept Boris’s feet out from under him. He got to his feet just as Boris fell on his ass, but before Mortar could launch another attack Leonid grabbed him from behind, thrusting a fist into Mortar’s already aching back and wrapping his arm firmly around the weapons vendor’s throat. Mortar let out a choked snarl as Boris got back to his feet, grinning victoriously. “This’ll teach you,” he snickered. But no attack came. Instead, Boris started towards the shelves where Mortar kept his merchandise. Unnerved, Mortar watched the thief rip off several items and stuff them into his pockets. Mortar grinned to himself, as Boris was inadvertently picking the least expensive items in the shop. The grin melted into horror as Boris set his sights on the table near the fax machine. He wiped the expression off his face immediately, since even if Boris got a hold of Malevex’s letter, what was in it that that thug could compute into logic? Nothing. But Boris saw the brief alarm in Mortar’s eyes and, not knowing exactly what on the table was so important, picked up all the papers he could find and added them to the contents of his bulging pockets. “Is that a submachine gun in your pocket,” Leonid quipped lamely, “Or are you just happy to-“ “Shut up, Leo,” Boris reprimanded harshly, “That was so unbelievably not funny.” Leo’s grip loosened ever so slightly as he fumed, and Mortar could have used the opportunity to break free, but he chose not to, figuring that these losers would be gone soon enough, so why start a needless brawl? “Listen up, old timer. You don’t mess with us any more, you get it? This is what happens when you try to mingle with guys like us. You’re lucky you’re an old guy, else we’d beat the hell out of ya!” What bullshit! Mortar was positive he could destroy at least one of Boris’s eye sockets with a sudden kick, even in this suspended position, but Leonid would probably strangle him to death. So he just nodded as much as Leo’s deathgrip would allow, enduring the mind numbing rhetoric. It was only immediately after Leonid threw Mortar to the other side of the room and made a break for it with Boris that Mortar realized why he couldn’t let those two live any longer. There were Maverick Hunters in this area. They were investigating a murder that was obviously linked to another one, and even though Boris wouldn’t be able to make anything of Malevex’s message, the Hunters would certainly be able to. So what was supposed to do about it?! Pulling himself together, Mortar made his way shakily back to the fax machine. It wasn’t the first time Mortar had been roughed up by robbers, but generally the robbers weren’t there with the sole purpose of beating up an old man. They’d wanted goods, plain and simple, and Mortar had been smart enough not to try and negotiate, at least until his shotgun was within range. Well, Malevex had wanted him to report his condition, right? The disgruntled and slightly nervous Maverick got to work on a reply that more or less informed his old friend that there were two thugs who needed killing, needed it good. But Cheng Yu was a step ahead of Mortar. A grizzled human of oriental descent, Cheng had lived in the slums for most of his life, and Mortar the weapons dealer had always been a thoroughly agreeable chap, and Cheng respected the guy for, if nothing else, his way of handling people he didn’t want to be around. He was not afraid to stick up for himself or his companions in the slums, and stuff like that impressed Cheng Yu. The man, who had a family of his own, resented thieves and thugs and when he had heard sounds of a slight scuffle coming from Mortar’s shop, he’d moved in to take a look. The sight of two thieves Cheng KNEW he had seen before around Mortar’s place running off with a fair deal of merchandise meant only one thing, and Cheng Yu would frankly be damned if he let someone steal from Mortar. He knew there were Hunters around here, and they had been spreading word for anyone with any information to dial 999. Using his cellular phone, one of the few luxuries of his life, Cheng dialed 999 and alerted the Hunters that some thieves had made off with a local man’s goods. Since he wasn’t sure that the Hunters would really care, he threw in a tip that it might well be linked to the assassination, even though he had absolutely no reason to assume that. As he expected, the Hunters promised that they would get right on it. Delates really could care less about some robbery, but as it provided relief from the boredom of the patrol of the assassination grounds, he chose to accompany the authorities on their sudden mission to apprehend the culprits. Delates wasn’t really sure he should even be on active duty. This was a simple assignment, granted, and even the freshly repaired Zero was using it to recover, but Delates still had a lot of things going on inside his head. Unit 0’s sniper had been fairly shocked to learn of the demise of his best friend Sol, and still hadn’t quite gotten over that shock. Part of it stemmed from the fact that the two had been drinking and plotting happily at a bar, and then roughly an hour later one of them was dead. It was too sudden. But it was still a reality, and Delates hated it. Death was something he faced every day as a soldier, but he and Sol had gotten through their trials together and had become, in effect, blood brothers. Many Hunters had these kinds of bonds, and when one died, the other was deeply troubled. Though it was too soon after the quarry battle for Delates to have had a great deal of interaction with the rest of the Unit, he knew they would be seeing a change in him. He felt sobered up, as though the world were no longer terribly inviting or adventurous. Zero had warned his men time and time again that lack of adventure led to a fairly pointless life, and so Delates really hoped that this was just a phase. However, aside from Zero himself, no one else in Delates’s unit seemed particularly open to a conversation about these things, and Delates frankly wouldn’t feel right having such a deep conversation with his commander, even though everyone in the Unit more or less felt equal to each other, Commander Zero included. But for now, maybe he could vent his frustration on some punks. The anonymous caller had placed the culprits to the east of their position, and sure enough, after some searching, they came across two indigent Reploids giddily going over some items, papers, and other prizes in the protective shadow of a back alley. Realizing that a troupe of Maverick Hunters was quite suddenly breathing down their necks, Boris and Leonid made one of the few intelligent moves of their lives: they dropped their merchandise and ran like hell. Delates sprinted after them, and when the two parted ways at a fork in the alley, Delates inadvertently picked Boris to follow, who was much faster than Leonid in a sprint. Also to the thugs’ credit, they knew the back alleys of the slum better than the Hunters ever would, and so it wasn’t a fairly long time before a frantic Boris eluded Delates’s pursuit. Maybe if Boris were a registered Maverick, or Delates had been feeling more vengeful than mournful, the Hunter might have had the fire needed to catch the thug, but frankly Delates didn’t care a great deal about the chase, since the thugs had already dropped what they had stolen. Upon rendezvousing with his allies, he learned that Leonid had also managed to escape capture. They returned to the pile of stolen goods and to his surprise, the policeman who had been going through them had a piece of paper ready for him to look at. “Looks like we may finally have found our lead,” the officer said as he handed over the faxed message. Delates read it over twice, which didn’t take very long, but while he of course didn’t know exactly what the message meant, he had his obvious suspicions. “Commander Zero will want to see this.” The commander in question was in even worse shape than Delates was. Zero had recovered easily from the wounds he’d sustained at the quarry, but the mental shock of coming face to face with Mea’s killer, someone he had accepted as already dead, was great enough that the effects were still wearing on his mind. Perhaps if he’d been able to kill the Maverick, the mental strain would have been less. However it was no use thinking of “what ifs” at this point. Zero linked his fingers behind his head and gazed offhandedly at the by now cleaned up alleyway. He’d come out here to do something while the rest of his Unit recuperated. After that he’d have to talk to them, he knew. If Delates’s reaction to the deaths of Sol and Katana was bad, he imagined the others’ would be, too. But he reminded himself that he’d want to throw in a lot of congratulations. They had killed Sigma, after all, even though the identity of the one who’d pulled the trigger was still a mystery. When he saw Delates and company returning, he walked up to meet them. Delates broke away from the others and went directly to his commander, while the others went to wrap up their other duties. “I think we might have something,” Delates said as he handed Zero the note he’d acquired from Boris and Leonid. Zero took it and read it. “It could be nothing, of course, but still…” Zero’s head came back up and he raised an eyebrow. “I’d say this is worth looking into.” The crimson plated Reploid turned to speak with one of the technicians, who had just been starting to pack up for the trip home. He grumpily unloaded some of his tools again and pointed something out for Zero. The Hunter nodded thanks and left the grumpy technician alone. “What was that about?” “When we got the call alerting us about those thieves,” Zero explained, “the first thing we did was trace it. It came from a cellular phone, so we of course have no idea where the caller is right now, but we do know approximately where the call was placed.” The Reploid did a quick scan of the area. There were actually only three Hunters still here, and one was busy filling out reports for the police based on what the investigation had turned up. So much red tape… “Come on, Delates, we’ll go check it out.” “Alone?” asked the junior Hunter, skeptically. A shrug. “You don’t think we’ll be enough?” “No, no…” A small grin appeared on Delates’s face. “What are we waiting for?” “I’m tellin’ you, man!” Leonid barked at Boris, “This is getting pretty stupid, already!” “Shut UP!” Boris barked back, trudging ahead of his companion on the road to wherever they were going, “That old bastard called those Hunters on us. You gonna let him win AGAIN?” “For God’s SAKE!” Leonid threw up his arms in exasperation. “It don’t MATTER! You’re the one who wanted to do all this, not me. No siree, I was perfectly happy sitting in my apartment and watchin’ TV, but here comes ol’ Boris, wanting to know if I wanted to go settle an old score that was ‘pretty important’. So I come, and guess what Boris didn’t tell me until there was no going back? We were goin’ after some old fart that exposed us to mild humiliation! Yeah, that’s REAL important, Boris.” “ANY embarrassment out here is deadly!” Boris all but spat, “Don’t you get that?! You saw what happened to your goddamn brother! You gonna let that happen to you, too?” He’d stuck a nerve and he knew it. Leonid grumbled obscenities, and Boris figured it would be wise for him to stay far away from his comrade for a while once they finished this job. “I don’t see the point in killin’ him.” Leonid wouldn’t back down there. “Even roughin’ him up is childish.” “Everyone knows him,” Boris insisted, “And therefore they all know us, too. They know us as bungling idiots. You know how many opportunists might come after us, with that reputation?” “So I’ll kill THEM. Not some merchant.” “Ugh, you’re far too overconfident…” Boris finally stopped walking and dug up a package from underneath a pile of trashcans. Frankly, it was the last place even Leonid would touch, so he could understand why Boris had hidden his parcel there. “Wuzzat?” “This?” Boris motioned to the wrapped package. “This is a present for Mortar. Since you refuse to kill him, we have to do SOMETHING else to remove these stains from our names, so this’ll do the trick nicely.” Leonid just stared. For the first time he could remember, he didn’t trust Boris. Boris had never been so obsessed with revenge, especially on an old guy, even if he was a strong old guy, Leonid recalled with a wince. Boris, however, didn’t seem to notice his comrade’s stare, and spun on his heel and went off towards Mortar’s shop. Leonid frowned gloriously. He should turn and walk away right then and there, he knew. Let Boris do whatever thrilled him. Mortar was certainly no friend of Leonid’s, and if Boris wanted to harass him, then more power to him. However even though Boris had more or less said that murder was out of the question now, Leonid still didn’t fully believe it. Killing Mortar would only make the people around here hate Leonid and Boris even more. It wouldn’t earn them any respect. Leonid thought briefly about his brother, crippled in a bar fight and killed by thugs a few weeks later who capitalized on his disability. Leonid could afford to be hated as long as he was feared, but he was not feared, therefore he could not afford to be hated. He started after Boris, wondering what, if anything, he was going to have to do. Neither of the two realized that they were being watched. Crouched behind a building nearby was a Reploid with sparse black armor that bore the Maverick insignia on the right, globed epaulet. In his hands he held a precision rifle with its safety off. This sniper, Diavus, was the only Maverick in the area who could respond quickly to Mortar’s earlier request for a termination squad to eliminate Boris and Leonid. He’d trailed them this far and now that he’d positively identified them, it was time to move in for the kill. He began to look for a perch. Mortar had realized the possibility of a Hunter knocking at his door, but never did he imagine that the Hunter would be Zero. The old Reploid hid the part of his shock that came from fear and freely displayed the surprise that came from the significance of the person on his doorstep. It put Zero slightly at ease, and since the last thing Mortar wanted was a tense champion Hunter in his home, this was a good thing. “Does this have anything to do with the robbery?” Mortar asked, figuring that playing dumb would only incriminate him, since if the Hunters didn’t know about the robbery, they would soon enough. “Actually, it does,” Zero nodded thanks as Mortar escorted him inside. The Hunter produced a slip of paper. It was the telegram from Malevex, as Mortar knew it would be. Zero read it aloud and waited for a facial response from Mortar, but the old Reploid gave no sign that he was disturbed by the Hunter’s possession of the note. “This was found with the goods retrieved from the criminals who burglarized your store…goods that will soon be returned to you, sir.” “Thank you,” Mortar replied, a bit impressed that a high and mighty Hunter like Zero would use “sir”. “I suppose you’re curious about the note, hmm?” “Yes.” On normal days, Zero would probably have felt a bit awkward about entering an old man’s house and interrogating him so openly, but today he just wanted to go home and go to bed, so he spoke bluntly. “The recent attacks in these slums make it important for us to know what this note could mean.” Mortar nodded. “I understand. It’s quite harmless, really. A chap from the Sub City 2 building company, Zimmerhauf, has been consorting with me recently about constructing a retreat up in the Catskills. We’re old pals, you see. He’s always been looking for a spot to take his kids on vacation, and since I have a bit of knowledge of the mountains, as well as some spare change, we began to collaborate.” Mortar began ticking off the items on the note one by one. “When he came to meet me yesterday I was out, so he took the papers he needed for the real estate closing. He left me that note to inform me, and that our plan hasn’t been cut short by some stupid lawyer. ‘Report your status’ should be obvious.” A nod. “What is this man’s name?” “David Hardig,” said Mortar, fabricating the name on the spot and with such unfaltering speech as that Zero had no idea it was a lie. “It’s worded quite crazily, I know, but Dave was in the army once. He likes to use that jargon.” Zero nodded again, turning over the information in his head. Anxious to leave though he was, he did analyze the data enough to find it acceptable except for a few details that didn’t quite settle. He puzzled over them while trying to appear as though he was recording the information in his head so Mortar wouldn’t get nervous. The problem with the story, Zero decided, was that, for one, if Mortar was out of his house yesterday at any time, and had a note like this one showing up, Zero was very interested in the Reploid’s activities. The other, more glaring problem was one that any one else might have missed entirely. Zero didn’t know why he had locked onto it, and he didn’t even know if it was a real problem. The thing was, the Zimmerhauf Company that this David Hardig supposedly worked for hadn’t constructed any domestic houses for as long as Zero could remember, and he only knew that because he’d looked into their company recently in search of Cyber Peacock’s money laundering Internet programs. Something didn’t quite measure up. Boris had started working on the gizmo a few minutes ago. He’d removed whatever he’d been carrying from its package and started attaching it to the back wall of Mortar’s store. Leonid hadn’t gotten a real good look at it, but it looked like a big wad of clay, wires, and some plastic. “Anyone coming?” Boris asked for the third time. “No,” Leonid said lazily, much more interested in whatever Boris was up to than whether or not they were being tailed, “What is that thing?” “I already said! It’s an electromagnetic scrambler. It’ll mess up everything electric in this place for weeks!” Leonid frowned. This seemed even more childish than attacking Mortar. That and he fully didn’t believe it was an electromag…whatever Boris had called it. “Look, man,” he started, “This is just gonna piss people off more at us. Drop it, and let’s go.” Boris spun around. “I’m getting tired of you, Leo. You’re way too soft. Do you WANT to end up like your brother?” He spun back to the device. “Drop it.” This time it was an order. Boris turned, more slowly this time, and fixed Leonid with an interested stare. “Excuse me? I was right? You DO want to end up like…” “Leave him out of it.” Leonid saw Boris in a different light now. He was stupid and dumb. While they weren’t the best adjectives in the world, they were the best Leonid could think of. He would not be a part of his stupid antics anymore, and if he let his happen, he would be hated anyway, because people associated him with Boris already. Time to stop all this. Diavus the sniper was more than ready to help Leonid stop all this. He was perched on the balcony of an abandoned apartment, well hidden and set up exactly how he had been trained back at Seraph Castle. Only the slight gleam of his rifle, which had been fitted with a scope, indicated that he was there, and there was nothing he could do about that. The Hunters might still be in the area, he knew, and even if they weren’t they would be as soon as they heard of more chaos in this section of the city. He had to do this quickly, quietly, and professionally. He sighted in on the taller one of the thieves that his superior, Malevex, had told him to assassinate. The tall thief, Leonid, had apparently done something to piss off Boris, because the latter was jumping around and saying bad things. Diavus relaxed his synthetic muscles and prepared to fire. Slight as the gleam of the sniper rifle was, it was enough for Delates. The Hunter, a sniper himself, knew well enough what the gleam was, and he detected it easily from his spot outside the side door of Mortar’s shop, where Zero had told him to stand watch. The spot was well out of Diavus’s line of sight, and Delates couldn’t see where the sniper was aiming, but the more he looked, the more he could make out the sniper and his rifle, and from the way it was angled, it looked like it could easily fire at the back end of the building. Delates knew there was a window there, and if the sniper could see through the window, there was a chance he could see Zero, too, and with things the way they had been lately... Delates darted around the building to where he could get a better shot at the sniper. Even as he ran his left arm was whirring and spinning, converting from a fist to a wide-barreled arm cannon, something he did not use frequently. Delates raised it towards the balcony where the sniper was nested and started shooting. Large rays of golden plasma streaked up from Reploid to Reploid, and the projectiles slammed against the apartment that served as Diavus’s nest. The sniper was caught off guard and fired one wild shot at his targets, missing both thieves completely. Diavus rocked backwards and fell into the shadows, just as another blaze of plasma exploded in a fury of sparks where his head had been. Frantic that something had happened to Mortar, whom he knew owned the shop right next to this building and whom he knew The Team would be unhappy with him for letting die, he leapt from the apartment balcony and landed with a metallic thunk on the ground. He wove around the alleyways as Delates did the same, and the two narrowly missed each other at a back alley crossroad. Diavus went through a few more alleys and arrived at the side door of the weapon shop just before Delates did. “What the hell was that?!” Leonid all but shouted, pointing to where a plasma bullet had exploded, two inches from his foot. “It’s the Hunters!” Boris growled, forgetting all about his project and withdrawing a pistol from his pocket. “That old man called the Hunters on us! We’re dead, now!” “What?” Leonid said blankly, “Slow down! Don’t jump to con—hey! I said wait!” Boris waved him off and darted towards the back entry of the shop, preparing to shoot off the lock with his pistol. Before the carnage had started, Zero had just started to ask Mortar a few questions about the parts of his story that the crimson one was having trouble believing. Mortar was answering them believably, but for some reason Zero was still curious and was about to ask another question. Then, a bunch of stuff happened. The back door of the shop shuddered and shot open with a bang that shook the whole building. A scruffy looking Reploid ran inside, a smoking pistol in his hand. Zero instinctively shifted to battle mode, his saber appearing in his hand. The enemy Reploid was shooting and screaming at the same time, like a madman. “You bastard!” he shouted, apparently at Mortar, “Had to call in the Hunters to deal with us! You won’t take me down without a fight!” It wouldn’t be a long fight, Zero was sure. He replaced his saber and converted his arm into a cannon. Mortar, on the other hand, decided that things were going to get very ugly, and made a dash for the side door. Zero wouldn’t have noticed any of the crucial things that happened next if a bigger Reploid hadn’t barged through the back door and clubbed the mad Reploid on the back of the head. The momentary lapse of gunfire allowed Zero to focus on the retreating blur that was Mortar, and he would have given chase. However, the side door opened before Mortar got to it and a Reploid in black armor charged clear into the old man, spilling them both on the ground. The new Reploid had the insignia of the Mavericks on his shoulder. “S…sorry, sir!” he stammered, getting to his feet. Then he saw Zero and wisely ran, expecting Mortar to follow, but the old Reploid had been more dazed by the collision than Diavus had anticipated, and so the Maverick fled alone. For Zero, a Maverick calling Mortar “sir” in the military fashion meant that Mortar still had a lot to talk to Zero about. But for the moment, he focused on the other two threats in the room. He raised his cannon just as he saw Boris about to fire at the dazed Mortar. Leonid jumped clear into Boris and threw his full weight into the attack. “I SAID NO KILLING, YOU JACKASS! WHAT IS WRONG WITH—“ A charged bolt of plasma that had been meant for Boris buried itself in Leonid’s chest, throwing the thief back against the wall. He choked on his own vital fluids, gazing at the gaping hole in his chest in shock. The shock broadened when he raised his eyes to see who had slain him, and then he slumped to the floor. Zero had figured both Reploids to be enemies, and so wasn’t fazed by hurting Leonid instead of Boris. Boris, however, was very good at running away, even when it meant leaving a friend’s corpse behind. He screamed something indecipherable as he ran out the back door, just as another of Zero’s shots followed him out the door. Zero swore loudly, rushing to the back of the shop. The Reploid on the floor looked pretty dead, and if he wasn’t, the coolant leaking out of his body indicated that he soon would be. Zero felt a bit funny, suddenly, as though he’d so shot the wrong person. But this one had been armed too, he realized, and no one would argue the confusion of the last few moments. In the chaos he had also noticed Delates running after the Maverick who had crashed into Mortar, and so that meant the two of them were alone for now. “Well, ‘sir’,” Zero said in a tone less cordial than he had used earlier, “I’d say you have some serious explaining to do.” Mortar groaned. He was dead meat. There really was no point in resisting, since he knew his old body wouldn’t hold out long, and Zero already had enough evidence against him. Then another thought ferreted its way into his head, and he almost smiled. Zero wanted an explanation? Well by God, he’d get it! And he’d never know what hit him. An earlier conversation with Gredam danced across his mind, justifying his new course of action. “Don’t worry if the Hunters put you into a lose/lose situation. Turn it against them by telling the truth. It’ll blow them away, and they won’t believe a word of it. Then they’ll do some investigation, confirm everything, and then there’ll be more internal chaos than you can imagine. Why haven’t we told them yet? Simple, it’d seem fabricated if we just waltzed up to them and told them. In a special situation, like an interrogation, it’d work wonders. Use it as a weapon.” The conversation had been so long ago that Mortar hadn’t even considered it, especially since he’d never counted on getting caught. Now, however, the truth did seem like an effective weapon. It wouldn’t damage the plans his comrades had in the mix at all, so why not open Pandora’s box for Zero? “All right,” he said wearily, looking up from the floor to the Hunter. “What do you want to know…?”