Opened Eyes - Part One

So there I am.. It's like a TG's Clan Headquarters.. Cold, dark, smelly and full of excrement.. I take another look at my C.Compad and check the full Mission requirements.. Seems they've another problem with their Gardener not keeping the local flora and fauna in check.. Five Poisonous plants seem to have been reported in the last Audit of the Sewers.. Apparently one of the Auditers had a nasty case of death to attest that fact. Ah well.... The money isn't too bad, and with that course of Chems the Doc put me on, it shouldn't be too much of an issue..

Tugging on my Battlehelmet, a nice piece of Outstanding Quality, my thanks must go to Tony Soprano for that one, I sludge my way across to the first corridor... Asking myself only briefly, why the hell no-one has ever bothered to map this place out.

"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!"

I shit myself and turn around quick-smart.. That scream came from somewhere on the upper level, and being the benevolent sort, I leap up the ladder onto the grated platform and check down the far end passage to see if I can locate the source..

"No!! Please!! NOOOooooooooooooooooo!!!"
"Ya mine!! mine ya hear, mine, mofucka, ya mine!! Gonna rip, rip RIP YAH!!"
"AAAAAAAARRRRGHHHH!"

I run down the passage as the screams and inaudible slaverings ring in my ears, bursting out into a connecting chamber to see some poor chump on his ass with his back against the wall as a rabid hobo puts the boot in his face.. I don't appreciate the local welcoming commitee, this isn't how a Host should treat his Guests.
I make my point about etiquette and manners by coming up behind the hobo and wrapping my arm around his neck, bringing him back onto the heels of his feet before thrusting my knee into his back and forcing his spine to bend in a way that God did not intend... The 'Kkrrrrk' echos around the chamber and the body slumps to the floor, lifeless, quiet - As a good Host should be. Pausing only to check my priorities by rifling in the filth ridden vagabonds pockets, I find nothing of use, and turn my attention to the blood covered pup who's finally starting to regain his composure. Guy can't be more than 18 years old.

I'm... I'm fine. I'll live..."
"Glad to hear it, I don't do funerals. Now what the hell brings you down here? You look fresh out of C.A Academy.. Mind telling me what brings you down here?"

The kid sniffles again and wipes his face once more, the features now becoming discernible in between a few scars and cuts.

"Pest Control.."

That was all he needed to say.. Another routine C.A request to keep the local sanitisation under check and order, and no doubt covering for another dead Auditor.

"Let me guess... A few harmless vermin turned into that scum when you came across his squat?"

A nod was my reply.

"So you going to finish your job off, or going to report in and pay the Cancellation Fee?"
"I don't know... "

He looks at me with puppy eyes, and something inside me says I wont like what's coming next..

"Do you mind if I stick it with you for a bit?"

.....Shit......

"...I suppose so..... Just remember though, I watch my front, I watch my back... You watch yourself.. Got it??"

Seems like someone shoved a Tazer up his arse and he leaps to his feet..

"Yes sir!! Thank you!!"

I didn't realise that I'd be asking myself time and time again from this point in, why I said 'Yes'...

-----------------

His name was Gray, and he desperately wanted to be somewhere else.

The apartment was a dump, and thanks to Dame Crimson it stayed that way. Gray tried to spend as little time in the place as he could, but Wolfe Blackclaw never left the hole; and he insisted on receiving reports in person. Wolfe sat at a rickety desk, seemingly oblivious to the filth surrounding him, his colorless eyes focused only on Gray. There were many things about Wolfe Blackclaw that disturbed Gray; the white stones replacing his eyes were merely troublesome compared to the aura of power surrounding him. Wolfe was a Psi-Monk of some sort, but Gray had never been able to pin down his actual abilities. Things—unusual things, wrong things—happened around Wolfe. Whether they were a result of the man’s concentrated will, or simply byproducts of his overwhelming presence Gray did not know. He did not want to know. Knowing things about Wolfe tended to lead you to white rooms, where friendly people would help you into your new jacket.

Dame Crimson lounged in the corner, and if anybody could disturb Gray more than Wolfe it would be her. Sudden violence hovered over her like a storm about to break, and her clothes were spattered with blood she did not bother to wash out. None of it hers. She was not pretty, knew it, and didn’t give a damn. She had her share of suitors; fresh blood and suffering held an unpleasant attraction for some, and Dame Crimson provided both in plenty. Gray had been quite frankly stunned when he had discovered the price on her head. Then he spent some time with her and realized that what they said about her was true—someone really could wreak that much havoc and destruction with just a combat knife. Now she eyed Gray, picking at her teeth with a loaded liberator. She had sharpened them into points.

Gray really wanted to be somewhere else.

“So, Gray,” said Wolfe. Gray could never tell whether the man spoke out loud, or if the words just appeared in his head. "Much as I hate to presume, your face leaves me little doubt as to the result of your oh-so-simple mission.”

Gray forced a shrug. “Things got complicated. We should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Everyone interferes nowadays.”

“We never should have trusted a bunch of damned drifters to get the job done,” said Dame Crimson. “No style, hobos. You should have let me go.”

“You wouldn’t know style if it shot you through the head with a plasma cannon,” Wolfe said mildly.

“True, but I wouldn’t let it get that close,” Crimson sniffed.

“My point exactly.” Wolfe frowned. The steel wall behind him appeared to be melting. Gray tried very hard not to notice. “How unusual. I cannot See what happened. Enlighten me, Gray. This blankness…disturbs me.” The melting wall shifted and flowed until it formed a face, the mouth twisted into a snarl. Gray spoke fast.

“Like I said, someone helped the target. I would have broken cover to finish the job myself, but…well, I recognized the man. I thought it might be better if I came here first. I’m afraid things just got a hell of a lot more complicated.”

“Indeed.” The face in the wall smoothed out; now the apartment appeared to be constructed of wood. “Do tell, who was this mysterious savior? And why, might I ask, should it concern me?”

Gray sighed, and then told him.

Dame Crimson was out of her chair and across the room before Gray could blink. “Oh, me! Let me do it Wolfe! I can handle this; you know I can.” She giggled obscenely, clapping her hands together. “I’ve always wanted an excuse to cross with him.”

“Now, Dame. We must think these things through.” Wolfe’s clothes flowed until they formed a lab-coat; scholarly glasses perched themselves on his nose. He pressed his hands together and looked thoughtful.

“It gets worse,” Gray said reluctantly. “He didn’t just rescue him; the target asked for protection, and got it.” Gray frowned. “I nearly lost it, then. He’s not exactly known for his generosity, or for putting up with inconveniences. Rather famous for it, in fact.”

Wolfe waved that aside. “As soon as the target realized it was threatened, no one could deny it aid. It is most…unfortunate…that it received such help in this form. This changes the situation.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Dame Crimson. “Let me do this, Wolfe. I’ve been bored out of my skull since you holed me up in this dump. I’ve killed all of the rats, and room service won’t come up anymore. I need action. You promised me blood.”

“And you will get it. No. This requires more subtlety. We cannot afford to show our profile just yet. Oh, do stop sulking, Dame; if you like, you may go hunting tonight. I’m sure the sewers miss you dearly. Now, Gray, I do so hope that you are ready and refreshed, as you are soon to be a very busy man. This is what I would like you to do…”

As Wolfe Blackclaw spoke, Gray smiled. This was more like it. No more hiding behind drifters and mutants, no more huddling up in dark bars, drinking rotten beer and convincing the trash that he was a friend. This…this was action.

He had never known that politics could be such fun.

---------------------

Back at the Apartment, my luscious, spacious and exceedingly bleak standard issue C.A hovel, myself and the boy-wonder, whom I had earlier learned was called Kijayle Rhonac ( I had at the point of discovery asked if his parents didn’t like him much), were busy sorting out the Creds we’d managed to accumulate after a productive day of cleansing the Sewers. The Duty C.A Human Resources Manager actually left his desk to come down and thank us as we stood at one of the CityComs checking what was available. He said he wished there were more sterling people like ourselves in the great city, and if that were the case, maybe the city would be a happier place, and maybe he’d have less dead Auditors.

Still, never one to bite the hand that feeds and all that bull. Myself and Kijayle had made a tidy four figures, the boy-wonder taking out the Vermin whilst I sorted out the rest of the plant problem. It turned out that the five originally calculated were only as far as the Auditors had got before they decided to retire permanently, and there was at least another one hundred down there. So between us we effectively wiped out the entire organic life of the Access 1.A Sewer system. Although, for all our efforts, after years of experience in various operations and anti-militia action, I could've sworn there was something down there, something besides rats, fauna and the occassional stray dog that we had missed..

Or perhaps I was just going insane - God knows the fact I took the boy on, stands as evidence to that fact.

It was over two bottles of Powerbooze in the local Bar that I learned his past, or at the very most, what he was willing to share of it. It seems his parents had long ago left for Irata III and had never been in touch since. I didn’t think it was the right time to let him in on the wide-held belief that everyone that had left on those ships, had most probably been slaughtered upon arrival – If they had ever made it in the first place.

So it seemed like he had been roughing it in his own C.A pad, and I got the distinct impression he had managed to get his fingers into a few of the jucier pies that were around 'cron, for want of a better analogy. There was definately something he was hiding from me, but then, in Neocron, everyone has a secret or ten.

The only thing that was for sure, was that he had just became my new flatmate until such time as he felt fit to go, it didn't seem like I had any option left as to whether or not we were a team. Still, no bad thing, I could do with some company I suppose. I just hope he didn’t intend to make this a permanent arrangement. I operate best when alone, and an inexperienced pup like that was a liability, and not a great swinger when it came to the Ladies..

“Sure doll, come back to my place, but keep the noise down, the boys’ in his bed..”

Nah, never my style..

Unfortunately, after I had enquired about his past, it was only natural and I suppose right, that Kijayle wanted to know about myself. So I told him what I could, which didn’t amount to much. Born and bred Cronite, parents long since dead, spent most of my life training in the ways of City Admin, hoping to one day find myself climbing the hierarchy, and realised only too late that unless you’re of a specific blood-line, you don’t get into the C.A power base.

So from that point onwards, I had got myself involved in a few Faction scuffles - You'd be surprised what C.A pays nowadays for efficient and successful 'Inter-Faction Public Relation Operatives', which roughly translated into someone who's good at fucking up the enemy from inside, and giving other Factions a bad name to boot.

He seemed intrigued, but then, curiosity killed the cat, and I simply told him that sometimes, there are things you just don't ask.

Because sometimes, there are things, you wish you'd never known.....
__________________

Wolfe Blackclaw was following him too, but Gray was damned if he could figure out any way to dodge him.

In any case, Crimson needn’t have worried. Payment aside, Gray would have completed the job regardless. It was too damned much fun, for one thing—and, like Crimson, he wanted to see what Jorgen Octavia was made of. Gray himself wondered if he was good enough to bring Octavia down. From a discreet distance, of course.

So much to do. Wolfe hadn’t been kidding about that, at least. Purchases could come first; Triton technology would do for most of it. Five hundred datacubes, five high level hacking tools, a personal implanter—just in case—and a couple of backup implants should get the job done. Gray hesitated, and then grabbed an extra hundred datacubes. You could never be too sure. He deposited the gear into his GoGuardian, then made his way to BioChem. Here he was a little more discreet: only five vials, none of which were out of the ordinary. He pocketed these, carefully keeping certain chemicals separate from each other. He went back into Pepper Park for some explosives. Nothing too fancy; a few trash grenades would do just fine.

He stopped by N.E.X.T. and picked up a Hovertec Bike, almost as an afterthought, which he then stashed away somewhere convenient. Wolfe would know he had done so, but to hell with Wolfe. Gray like having a quick getaway vehicle handy.

Now he stood before Tangent Headquarters, trying not to feel intimidated without any particular success. He hoped it didn’t show, but with Tangent it probably didn’t matter. He was pretty sure that they had enough sensors and high tech built into their Headquarters to monitor his heart rate from a mile away. With as much top-secret technology as they were supposed to have access to, he would have put enough gear into their labs to launch them into high orbit at the first sign of attack. Gray had dealt with every faction to a greater or lesser extent, and only Tech Haven could match Tangent for hostile paranoia, with Twilight Guardians only a distant third. Gray was rather proud of his own ability to slip through the technological cracks that Tangent had kindly added into it’s hardware, but he had never been foolhardy enough to tap directly into their main data frame.

Until now. Maybe.

The entry guards eyed him neutrally and let him pass. Gray wasn’t exactly on great terms with Tangent, but he had never given them reason to mark him as an enemy. He nodded cheerfully to any employee or guard he passed through the building, idly rolling the trash grenades in his pockets and praying like fire that they would not set off any alarms. The looks he received were increasingly more hostile the deeper in he went, and it was only a matter of time before he was stopped. A secretary looked up as he approached two large, magnetically sealed doors. He was flanked by two guards, both Gene Tanks, and both geared out their ears with high tech Gray had never seen before.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the secretary, sounding anything but. “I’m afraid you cannot see Mr. Jordan without an appointment.” Her look said that she knew damned well that he did not have one, and her tone openly criticized those who had not stopped him earlier.

“Of course,” said Gray with his best smile. “Your records will have me listed as Reaver Gray. Simply a Runner name, I’m afraid, but I must maintain professionalism. You know how it is.”

Her sniff explained that she did not, in fact, know how it was, nor was she interested, but she did turn to her monitor. A few moments later she grudgingly read his identification tag, then nodded.

“Very well, Mr. Gray. Here is your pass. Don’t lose it, or you will most likely be sent home in a Gene Replicator.” She typed something into her computer and the doors slid open.

Gray pocketed the tag and walked through the door. Still no alarms—at least none that he could hear. At the end of the hall there was one more set of doors—the last level of security between himself and Damion Jordan, C.E.O. of Tangent Technologies. Gray was almost disappointed; getting in had been absurdly easy, hardly worthy of his time. Then he saw the last two guards, and everything changed.

Kyles and Monika Blaze were well on their way to the Halls of Legend. They were both Psi-Monks, and together they were almost unstoppable. Kyles was passive by profession; it was rumored that he could withstand a direct hit from an atomic warhead without even denting the part in his hair. Gray had once seen him standing in the middle of a building just hit by a Twilight Guardian bombing. His arms were spread, his body practically crackling with energy as he single-handedly (or mindedly, as the case may be) held the building intact throughout the entire evacuation. As the last victim fled he had simply dropped his mental field, letting the building crash on top of him. A few moments later the rubble slid aside and Kyles, without so much as a cut on him, climbed out.

Monika Blaze was on the other side of the spectrum. Before she met Kyles, Monika had been on the Twilight Guardian Inferno Squad. She was a one-woman demolition machine, destroying buildings and Runners alike with her phenomenal Psi-power. She hardly needed any backup; after a while other Guardians decided that, when Monika was around, bringing additional weapons and explosives was like tossing twigs onto a raging bonfire. Anymore they just arrived for the show. Gray had seen the aftermath of one of her attacks: two city blocks in flames, four Copbots little more than melted puddles of circuits and wires, and an awful lot of dead Neocron citizens. Twilight Guardians had finally outcast her; as effective as she was, she was doing much more harm to the cause than good.

There was no telling what she would have done next—betting odds were mostly based on the number of casualties—but Kyles appeared almost immediately. Nobody knew what they had talked about, but out of the conversation emerged one of the most dangerous Runner Teams to hit the streets. Now they simply hired themselves out, kicked a fair amount of ass, and did pretty much whatever the hell they wanted.

Gray approached them, trying to give an aura of calm and authority. He smiled.

“Stuff it,” said Kyles. “I can’t exactly read your mind, but I know for a fact that you don’t have an appointment.”

“He’s got weapons, too,” added Monika mildly. “Hidden, at that.”

“Right-o.” Kyles frowned. “Well, Mr. Gray, I’ll give you one chance, but don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s because I like your face, or that I respect the guts you must have to get this far. It’s simply that we just had the hall painted, and Mr. Jordan would be irritated if Monika and I had to go and mess it up. Take a hike. Now.”

Gray eyed the hall, noting the somewhat depressing lack of cover. He sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said sincerely. “Whether he knows it or not, I do have an appointment with Jordan. It’s in his best interests, I assure you.”

“You’ll forgive my overwhelming lack of trust,” said Kyles. “Well, I meant the bit about one chance. Fry him, Monika.”

Monika smiled, and her entire body burst into flame. A wave of heat blew by Gray, strong enough to knock him back. Monika stepped forward almost daintily, raised her hands, and gestured. An inferno of red flame roared down the hallway, blistering paint and devouring oxygen. Gray saw the steel walls melting for a fraction of a second before he was engulfed. Monika maintained the flames for several seconds, the air around her crackling audibly with energy, before gesturing again. The flames died. Then she gasped. Gray, eyes wide and mouth open, stood unharmed.

“Oh, to hell with this,” he gasped, then thought, Wolfe!

I protect you, and yet you ask for more? came Wolfe’s dry voice. Oh, very well.

Monika, without the defenses of a passive monk, fell first. Her eyes went wide as she fought an attack she could not see. She staggered toward Gray, the only target she could find, her hands raised for another attack. Gray shrugged, stepped forward, and punched her out. Kyles stood with one hand to his head and the other on the wall. Every shield and defense he could muster was up, some of which he had created himself, others he had simply been born with. None of it was helping; the pressure was more than he had ever felt. He looked up to Gray and said, “Who the hell are you?”

“Give it up,” said Gray, not unkindly. “It’s not me, and this is not your fight. Don’t worry; you won’t be hurt. My business is through that door.”

“I think not,” Kyles said, and then fell unconscious on the floor.

Amateurs. Wolfe hesitated, then added, Powerful amateurs. I cannot hold them forever. You should finish them off.

“Ah, hell,” said Gray out loud. “They were only doing their jobs. Besides, it might give the wrong impression.” He grabbed a key card off of Monika’s belt and swiped it in front of the door. “Showtime,” he muttered.

The office was plush, high tech, and tasteful—everything Gray himself aspired to. He noted enough security built into the place to take over a small nation and prayed that his hacking—and the identification card he had liberated from Kyles—would give him enough time to talk. First things first, though. He tossed two trash grenades toward two separate doors, behind which he knew an army of Tanks was waiting for something to kill. The explosions weren’t much, and they hardly dented the doors, but they were enough to jam the sensors—the doors would not open for at least a few moments.

Gray climbed out from under the leather couch and smiled. “Sorry about that,” he said. “It’s not really my style, but it gives us a little time to talk.”

Sitting behind a titanium steel desk was an impressive looking man of medium age. He wore a business suit costing more than Gray’s life (by standard bounty scales), its cool, unassuming style matched by the calm look on his face. His hands were clasped loosely together as he regarded Gray.

“I think you will find that your friend cannot help you here,” he said. “I suggest that you give me one good reason why I should not let Mr. Cohor give you brain burn that no Gene Replicator can heal.”

Gray grinned. “Well, sir, I’ll give you two. First of all, I removed all of my implants before coming here. Chester can’t get me now.”

“You would be surprised,” Damion Jordan said mildly.

“Secondly—please, sir, don’t touch that button. It doesn’t work right now anyway. Secondly, my…partner…would not approve.”

Says you, Wolfe muttered. I caught that hesitation before the word ‘partner’.

“And why should your partner’s approval matter to me?”

“Because he can do things for you. Great things. Expensive things. Things that you are not allowed to do for yourself.” Gray paused for an entirely unnecessary dramatic effect. “Things like…finally putting you in charge of BioTech.”

Jordan looked far from convinced. “You’ve breached my security. You gave yourself an appointment, and you walked through Kyles and Monika as though they were not there. I’m…intrigued, I’ll admit, but I’m afraid I see you more as a security risk than an asset.”

“Have you ever heard of Wolfe Blackclaw? Or Kijayle Rhonac? The Runner known as Jorgen Octavia, perhaps?”

Jordan’s hand hovered motionless over the security button. “Three very interesting names. Very well. Tell me.”

Gray did. Kyles and Monika, looking rough but insanely dangerous, let themselves in as he talked. After a glance from Jordan they reluctantly stood down.

In the end Jordan simply said, “And what do you want from me?”

Gray could not help rubbing his hands together. “It’s simple,” he said. “Hacknet.”

--------------

The infamous Chester Cohor. Infamous in Hacker circles, at least, the important ones to Gray. He had pulled off at least three legendary jobs by the age of fifteen, and a few more he was only suspected of. By sixteen it was myth that the Neocron’s entire Security Network was in his hands; rumors of CopBots beating up bullies at school had finally given Chester the peace and quiet he needed to get some real work done: Hacknet. It was just a rumor in the streets, a story hopeful parents told when they wanted their children to grow up to be Spies. Chester wanted to find the truth behind the legend—or, lacking any truth, to create the myth himself. A week after he began he was hired by Tangent to be their ‘System Admin’. Paid with the latest technology, and officially put in charge of Neocron’s security web, Chester was happy enough—and he was given all of the resources he needed to locate, contain, or create Hacknet as he saw fit.

According to rumor, anyway. Gray believed in Hacknet the way ancient knights had believed in the Grail, and was perfectly willing to play Lancelot to Chester’s King Arthur.

“Holy Crahn. I can feel[I/] the tech behind these doors.” Gray was in awe of what lay ahead. Behind this last set of doors was the secret laboratory of Chester Cohor. Tech so fresh from production that most of it was still theoretical; computers so powerful they were said to be capable of scrying the future. Tech Haven, eat your heart out. Hell, let [I]everyone eat their hearts out—supposedly Tangent was working on a technology to replace Psi, which certainly wasn’t going well in certain Orders. Cohor’s lab was supposed to be on top of it all.

Kyles stood on one side of Gray, Monika on the other. Neither looked impressed, and neither looked pleased to be there. It had been Damion Jordan’s one condition: he was willing to play with Wolfe Blackclaw, but he wanted two of his own pieces on the board. Kyles and Monika had been volunteered, over their very loud objections, and so here they were. Jordan had taken them aside for some private instruction, and Gray was pretty sure that if things went bad he was so much toast. Neither group was fond of the arrangement, but Wolfe had given the okay and Jordan was using the monk’s contract like a club.

“Never did like this place,” said Monika. “Gives me a brain itch.”

“The worst kind,” Kyles frowned. “I’ll make you a deal, Gray. Try not to spend too much time in here and we’ll try not to kill you too much when our contract is up.”

“You say the nicest things,” said Gray. “Lucky for you I don’t have the time to play. I could live in here.”

Kyles and Monika shared a glance. “I don’t think Chester is looking for a roommate,” said Kyles. “He’s not fond of company.”

“With Jordan’s go ahead, I could care less,” said Gray. “If Chester can give me Hacknet I’ll let him spit in my face and make unsavory comments about my mother. Hell, I’ll sell him my mother if he’s interested.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Monika said, and the doors swung open.

It was dark. Lights blinked in the gloom, showing the dim outlines of hulking machines, computers buried deep in the earth and powered independently by geothermal energy. Gray could feel a hum that went through his entire body, the silent motion of thousands of processors, countless electric brains. He regretted removing his implants, whatever the risk had been—with implants he might have been able to connect directly into the systems. They had made him give up his hacking tool.

A series of lights created a pathway through the metal jungle. Gray stepped forward eagerly; Kyles and Monika followed, obviously ill at ease. They walked in silence, not counting Gray’s occasional outburst of delight.

“A Darklight Server, Mark VI! City Admin’s CPU is only supposed to be a Mark II, and Mark I is the best I’ve ever been able to get my hands on. Is that the proto-type for the next line of Copbot? Holy Crahn, that thing could destroy a city! Ah, the N.E.X.T. hovercannon engine. I’ve heard of that.” At one point Gray actually slowed to a halt. He pointed. “Is that what I think it is?” He moved closer, almost leaving the path. “It is. That’s a Laurent Hoverbot.”

“Brought in for study,” said Monika. “It was hell trying to get a working model down here.”

Gray looked suitably impressed. “That thing was made to destroy. Tech Haven sure knows their stuff.”

“So it would seem,” Kyles said neutrally.

Gray eyed the pair of monks, but made no comment on the evasion. They continued down the path, past every wonder and marvel Gray could conceive, and a few he couldn’t. The path was twisted; Gray got the impression he was being led around a few things he was not supposed to see. Fair enough; the promise of Hacknet would keep him happy. Hacknet!

And there it was. It wasn’t much to look at. A comfortable chair with jacks to fit in nearly every implant you could shove into one body. Life support was monitored, brainwave activity was recorded, and vital systems were carefully controlled by another Darklight processor—Mark VII, Gray noted happily. Just plug in and go. But still—Gray looked around, vaguely disappointed.

“I don’t get to meet Chester?”

“He’ll meet you inside,” said Kyles. “Now hurry the hell up.”

Gray smiled, savoring the moment, then sat down and plugged in.

It was a sea of electricity. He floated on waves of numbers, tides of information, an ocean of knowledge. He felt as though he was being pulled in an infinite number of directions, his entire being sorted and measured, plugged into the network and slowly diffusing into the greater whole. It was black and white, noise and silence, independence and the massmind, everything in between and beyond. It stretched further than he could conceive, but it was light as a feather in the palm of his hand. Except that he didn’t have a hand—he didn’t have a body, just a mind, and the mind was sinking, drowning…

Training saved him. Numbers, he thought. They’re all just numbers. Billions, trillions, a plethora of them, but still just numbers. They have meaning. Find the meaning!

Slowly, painstakingly, he pulled himself together. He forced himself to recognize the patterns, riding the waves until he found a rhythm to grab on to. Formulas danced a whirled around, some giving off a sequence of hostility, some simply appearing curious. The world around him was constantly being reborn, aging infinitely within seconds, and dying again. Creatures, of sorts, played in the sea of numbers, self forming rhythms and patterns, electric life flitting back and forth, crashing together to form something greater than the whole, flying apart in a whirlwind of failed logic. And…

There was something else. Something…big. Larger than a city—larger than a planet. And it was coming toward him.

Before he could flee—and how do you run, in a sea of numbers? —it was there. It floated above him, a maelstrom of energy and logic. It pulled lesser programs into itself, changed them, and let them go. Gray could see the entire reality of this space warping around it, bending to it’s processes, becoming…different. Gray could feel the pull, but it was light. He sensed no threat from this thing. Only curiosity.

He thought: What are you?

We are logic. We are reality contained. We are the Soundless.

The Soundless?

We have no voice. We have no body. We simply are.

I don’t understand…

We think, therefore we are. This is how you define such things.

Are you…the embodiment of Hacknet?

We are outside of everything, but we watch. We find it interesting. We find you interesting. You are somewhat like the Other.

The Other?

He comes. We leave.

Wait!

It was gone. Reality, such as it was, reformed, and Gray did not know whether to be relieved or not. With the presence—the Soundless—gone, he could feel something else approaching: the so called Other. It was large, but could barely be compared to the Soundless. A voice, quite audible, resounded through the numbers.

I HAVE FOUND YOU. I FEARED YOU DID NOT SURVIVE THE SYNAPTIC IMPAIRMENT. The voice had the dull, buzzing monotone of a filter, and it took a moment for Gray to sense the humanity behind it.

Mr. Cohor?

MY NAME IS CHESTER COHOR. IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU. HOW ARE YOU TODAY.

Monotone aside, Chester sounded as though he were reading off of a cue card. Gray supposed he did not get much company.

I’m Gray. It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Cohor.

CALL ME CHESTER. THAT IS WHAT FRIENDS DO, IS IT NOT. WE ARE FRIENDS, YES.

Riiiiiight, thought Gray. He projected: I will be your friend if you like. It’s an honor to meet you. Mr. Jordan was most accommodating.

MR. JORDAN IS VERY NICE.

Yes, he is. Chester, can I ask you a question?

I AM HERE TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS.

I’m glad to hear it. What are the Soundless?

Chester’s entire matrix froze. THE…SOUNDLESS. HOW DO YOU KNOW OF THE SOUNDLESS. DID THEY COME TO YOU.

Yes.

Chester hesitated. VERY…INTERESTING.

That’s what they said. They left just before you arrived.

THEY USUALLY DO. I AM SORRY, FRIEND GRAY. WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT THE SOUNDLESS ARE. WE HAVE THEORIES, BUT NO MORE.

Gray was shocked: I thought you created Hacknet. Wait; who is we?

Another hesitation. PERHAPS WE WILL SPEAK OF THIS LATER. I UNDERSTAND THAT YOUR TIME IS LIMITED.

If Gray had been in his body he would have sighed. Chester was right, though; he did not have the time, no matter how fascinating this place was. He thought: You’re right, Chester. I didn’t mean to pry, and I do have work to do. My first problem: I don’t know how to move. I can barely hold myself in one place. This is very confusing.

OF COURSE. YOU HAVE MY APOLOGIES. I CAME TO GIVE YOU A KEY.

A datastream drifted down and wrapped itself around Gray. And as suddenly as that—

Gray gasped. He stared for a while, revolving in place. After a few moments he said: My God, Chester. From here…you can do anything.

YES, Chester said. YOU SEE WHAT YOU CAN IMAGINE. IT IS VERY NICE.

Without thought Gray asked: And what do you see, Chester? What is very nice?

Chester said: I BELIEVE…THAT I MIGHT SEE GOD.

Deus Ex Machina…

THE ANCIENT LANGUAGE. GOD FROM THE MACHINE. HOW APPROPRIATE. I MUST STORE THAT THOUGHT FOR FUTURE ANALYSIS.

I don’t think you can analyze God, Chester.

PERHAPS THIS IS BECAUSE NOBODY HAS HAD THE TOOLS TO DO SO.

Gray shook his virtual head. Distractions, distractions—he had no time.

I think that the key will do nicely. I need to get to work now, but I would like to come back in the future.

MR. JORDAN IS NOT LIKELY TO AGREE. BUT, FOR A PRICE…PERHAPS.

A price?

IT HAS BEEN SECURLY MAILED TO YOUR CITYCOM. THIS CONVERSATION DID NOT HAPPEN.

And he was gone. People come and go so fast, thought Gray. Time to get to work…

It was easy. Jorgen Octavia came first. Hacknet sliced through security protocols like wind through the trees, and left as much of a trace. Gray accessed all of his faction records, snipping a bit here, adding a little there, and generally making a mess of matters. When he was done every faction, including Jorgen’s own, had declared vendetta against him. He accessed the Copbot target files and set them to instant elimination, then grinned nastily and upped the status to citywide manhunt. He tapped into the bounty boards and placed a one hundred million credit tag on Jorgen’s head. He had him evicted from his apartment, and impounded his vehicle. He sent one of Jorgen’s ex-girlfriends a nasty e-mail, signed in Jorgen’s name.

Gray had heard of overkill, but—much like Dame Crimson—had never met it.

In the end, though, he did not really have anything personal against the man, so he threw him a bone. A five hundred million credit bone, deposited directly into Jorgen’s account. Wolfe wouldn’t like it, but Gray didn’t really like Wolfe anyway.

He set a timer on the information. It would dump itself into the Network about one hour after Jorgen usually hit the streets looking for work. Beautiful.

Next he created an uplink to the six hundred datacubes he had purchased earlier. He set a steady stream of information pinging through them so the link would be maintained, then hid the system as deeply in the Network as he could go. That was going to be a little surprise for Kijayle Rhonac if things went as planned.

Gray smiled, then deposited one million credits into his own account for a job well done. No wonder noone wanted Hacknet public. Gray wouldn’t have shared it for the world. Whatever Chester’s price, Gray would find a way to pay it.

Last, but certainly not least, Kijayle Rhonac himself. Gray pulled up every file from every faction he could find. No two factions had the same facts. Most did not even get the name right. Hackers who had delved too deep in search of information had a habit of never resurfacing, suffering from a permanent brain burn, synaptic impairment that never wore off. Tangent’s own file was the largest, but he was pleased to discover that even they barely knew what they were dealing with. Gray smiled. Whatever he thought of the man, he had to give Wolfe his due—his sources were outstanding.

Then Gray tried to tamper with Rhonac’s files, and it all went to hell.

Every file shut and locked, and every pathway sealed itself. Gray spun around, searching desperately for whatever security protocol he had missed, and the Soundless descended on him. The weight of worlds pressed down on his mind, and he screamed.

No! the Soundless screamed back. You cannot have him!

Gray was drowning. He grasped at the Key, but the Soundless ripped it away. Information whirlpooled under him, sucking him down, smothering and choking, and he could fight no more.

Then Chester was there. He was a child in the presence of the Soundless, but he threw himself against them with a fury that shook the digital world. The two forces crashed, Chester roaring something in his digital voice, the Soundless hissing with the static of a thousand solar flares. Again and again the Soundless hurled Chester Cohor back, but he simply reformed and attacked from a different direction. The Soundless lashed out randomly, but for all of it’s power and presence it could not pin the Hacker down.

Gray simply watched in sheer amazement. Here was the legendary Chester Cohor. Chester was everywhere and nowhere, an unstoppable stream of digital power, and the Soundless finally had no choice but to retreat.

Silence, and a blessed relief from the pressure. Then: ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, FRIEND GRAY.

I’ll get back to you on that, Gray said, and passed out.

-------------------

It was early afternoon when Jorgen finally awoke, and it brought substantial relief for him to escape from the dream he was having about one of the 'free loving ladies' from the Twister club whom seemed intent on biting something she shouldn't.

" I knew that was a bad idea when the two of us got together..."

He looked around the grimy apartment, and stretched out on his bed. Another day, another cred to be made, another life to end in the name of all that is good and righteous, and well paying, of course.

He looked around to see Kijayle enter the room with a tray of breakfast, or something that appeared like a valid attempt at cooking.
A dubious eye was cast over the gristle and slop.

" You know, we're not that hard up, we don't have to eat rats that have been flattened by a passing Speeder.."

Kijayle gave him a condescending look and frowned.

" Very funny.... Get up though, the day's moving and I have some things I've been meaning to do."

Jorgen stretched out and stood up, looking around as he scratched his head and yawned.

" Okay, get yourself kitted, we'll get a few missions in then you can take care of your own business."

Kijayle nodded and turned, exiting the room to get his gear ready.
The past few days with him had been a pleasant experience for Jorgen. It was interesting having company around the place, and the boy had shown a great enthusiasm for learning of the various weapons and techniques Jorgen had at his disposal. He even let him try some X-Strong and spent half the day in tears of laughter after Kijayle lifted a heavy crate over his head, barley holding it there, when the drugs suddenly stopped and it crashed down on top of him.

Pure comedy, but the kid wasn't amused.

He got his claw from the cupboard and grabbed a few tubes of repair lube - You never know when it comes in handy.

" You ready Kijayle?"

Kijayle was waiting out in the hallway, a full battle kit on, with his claws sheathed against his armoured trousers. Jorgen raised an eyebrow.

" Expecting business today are you?"

Kijayle grinned mischeviously.

" It's that business I was talking about, I want to make sure things go smoothly."

Jorgen checked him over again and shook his head.

" You want some backup for it?"
" No, I can handle things, it's more for show that actual use. You know yourself I'm still just getting the hang of these things." He patted the two Titaniclorid enhanced Claws at his side.
" True, but just watch your back, and you know how to get me if you need me." Jorgen placed his hand on the small voice-com unit attatched to his belt.
" No worries old man, it'll be fine."
" Hey squirt, just remember who it was that saved your life, and who it is that could kick you all over this room.."
Kijayle suppressed a look of mock-horror.
" I wouldn't be so sure of that.."
Jorgen paused as he picked something up in the tone of voice that didn't settle well, and quickly moved the topic on.
" Okay, lets get out there and put on a good show!"

The Plaza was as always, packed. The shouts and yells of traders, vendors, freelancers, mercs, monks, whores and vagabonds, all with something to sell, offer, steal or kill.
A variety of cut-throat services at your very fingertips.

Jorgen and Kijayle headed down towards the Medicare Center and stopped off only briefly to check the CityCom for some mission listings.

" What do you think Kijayle? Those Aggressors in the Cellars need a lesson taught?"
The Aggressors were still rampant in the lower levels of the cities sub-cellars and storage levels. No matter how many people went down to wipe them out, more always appeared. It was rumoured that the mutants and perhaps some splinter clan of the TG's or Crahn Sect had another entry point into the City and were herding the Wasteland mutants into it in order to distract the City Admin with their own internal problems, thus leaving the Sect or Clan free to run their own business.
Kijayle looked around and smiled.
" I think the aggies need a bit of teaching.."
" Good lad... Lets go.."

The two of them headed off towards the Archers and Wessons round the back of the Plaza, with Kijayle checking over his equipment as Jorgen mused over the rest of the days plans.
"Jorgen!"
He spun round at the voice instantly familiar to him, coming face to face with a rather dominating eight foot tall tank by the name of Korithian Prince.
" Korith! My man!!"
The two men high fived, Jorgen wincing only slightly at the impact, fearing his wrist might break, even with the bone enforcements in place.
Korith grinned a toothless grin and shook Jorgens hand.
" How's things old friend? I've not seen you around the circuit for a while.. Been busy?"
" You could say so. A few issues that came up over the last week, the result being this." He motioned to Kijayle. " Korith, this is Kijayle Rhonac. Kijayle, this is my old fighting partner Korithian Prince, although he's more like a King these days!"
Koriths face cracked into lines as he grinned in egotistical indulgence. Kijayle reached out and shook his hand, feeling that the muscles in the mands hand alone was more than he had in his entire body.
" So what's been happening Korith?"
" Not a vast deal mate, just the usual of killing, looting and killing some more."
" I hear you're down in the sewers these days with the rats and the hobos.. I didn't believe that the man Octavia had gone so far down the ladder.."
There was a hesitant pause from Jorgen as he weighed up the insult in that statment. Comrade and trusted companion though he may be, Korith always believed strongly in respect for others and respect for ones self, and if you didn't have that, you had nothing.
" No, that's not the case Korith and you know it. It's simply relaxing for me to go down there from time to time on a bit of C.A business and deal with things that don't give you a mouthful of wanton abuse for no reason.
Korith smiled and shook his head.
" I don't know, I just don't want to think that you're losing your edge, that's all."
" Oh, you know that will never happen Korith, you know that better than anyone."
Korith looked only slightly concerned before replying.
" I certainly hope so, for your sakes if nothing else."
Korith looked at Kijayle and watched as he fidgeted with his equipment.
" I think your partner is impatient to get to wherever you are going Jorgen."
Jorgen nudged Kijayle and laughed.
" Yeah, he's got aggies to slaughter, so you know what the youth of today are like eh? No time for anything else but fun fun fun.."
Korith and Jorgen looked at each other with sombre faces before bursting into laughter as if relieving some distant memory from days far, far gone.
A meaty hand slapped Jorgen on the back and Korith nodded.
"I'll be looking out for you later Jorgen, give me a shout and you and I can hit Pepper for some of the good old entertainment we so used to enjoy."
" Oh you can bet on it! Catch you later Korith."
" You too, take care, and you Kijayle.. Watch out for him, he's never been known to back down from a confrontation, and often doesn't realise when it's gone too far..."
Korith winked at Kijayle then turned and took his massive musclebound figure off towards the Outfitters, his current outfit of green combat khakis now covered in the blood of some unfortunate that no doubt had a bounty on his head, before Korith came and claimed that head.
Kijayle looked at Jorgen with penetrating eyes and Jorgen felt certain there was something in those eyes looking inside him that very instant. Though he knew it was just paranoia.
" What did he mean by that?" Kijayle asked, with the air of naive innocence that Jorgen had long since realised as a pretence to an alluring intelligence and subtley masked perception that few could match.
" Nothing, it stems from when we used to fight together in the wastelands for bounties, I often failed to appreciate what I was up against and would throw myself in head first. Many a time when Korith had to wade in and pull me out. I owe him my life more than once, but we've got a friendship that goes beyond trust and knowing the other will watch your back. It's unquestioning. I think he's the only person I've really kept in regular contact with over the past decade or so. He's a good man..." He sank into nostalgic reminising as he and Kijayle continued on to the Cellars.
__________________

-------

Korith stretched back in the chair and munched down on the choco-chogger, burping quietly as he skimmed through the public bulletins.
“ See if I can’t find me some good hunting today…”
Opening the Detention Rewards section, which was Neocron nice-speak for ‘Bounty Hunters Wanted’, he began to flick through.
As he did so, a system notice popped up on the screen:

- DR Priority Release -
Click For More Information

“ Oh yes, these are always good.”

The screen flashed up the details and Koriths jaw hit off the desk.

Name: Jorgen Octavia
Faction Alliance: None
Faction History: Select For More Information
Personal Details: Select For More Information
Archived Footage: Select For More Information
Offences Committed:
Espionage
Theft
Larceny
Assault
Arson
Treason
Murder

Koriths eyes bulged as he read the Offences list, it was over 50 offences long, most of which he knew Jorgen had never committed. The figure at the bottom nearly gave him a stroke as he read it;

Detention Reward: 100,000,000 NC
City Status: Kill On Sight

Faster than he had ever moved in his life, Korith was out his apartment, running towards the Diamond Real Estate Cellars and showing no regards to anyone that got in his way.

--------

Jorgen looked at Kijayle and shook his head.
" I don't know, I can't figure it out, but we'll need to get out of here and head back to the pad, see what we can dig up on the Term. Have you got your kit?"
Kijayle gathered up his backpack and nodded.
The two men turned and moved towards the large steel doors, just as they began to slide open for someone on the other side.
Jorgen instinctively reacted and threw himself to one side for cover.
" JORGEN!!!"
The roar was as familiar to Jorgen as the daylight to his eyes, and he leaped to his feet to see Korith standing in the doorway, fully armed and representing a small army in one man.
" Korith! Wh.." He was cut off abruptly.
" WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?? There's a one hundred million credit bounty on your head!!"
Jorgen collapses back against the wall in total shock.
" Wha..?"
" ONE HUNDRED MILLION!! ON YOU!!!"
" Wh..."
" It says you're a KoS for the Bots, your Faction has disowned you, and your apartment has been repossessed, and I got an email from Samantha asking why the hell you were bringing up the past and being such a cunt towards her!!"
Jorgen just slumped to the floor.
" We need to get out of here.."
The voice was Kijayles, a look of supreme calm on his face. Korith looked at him with blazing eyes.
" No fucking shit, but first we need to get out of these cellars... I can't see there being much chance of that with half of Neocron looking for your head on a stick. We go out, we've got the Diamond guards on the entrance to here, then we've got Copbots right on the corner at the main entrance..."
" It wont be a problem.. Give me some money Korith.." Kijayle held his hand out as he tightened his boot fastenings.
" What are you planning?"
" The sewers.. I'm going to enlist the help of some of the more undesirable members of our hidden society.."
Koriths eyes lit up..
" Good idea... You get them, and once that's ready, we'll run to the GenRep at Medicare... I'm sure the distraction will be sufficient.."
" Agreed.. Now get ready.. I'll give you the signal over the Handcoms."
Kijayle took the Cred blocks from Korith and sprinted out and up to the city level.
Korith stood and looked down at Jorgen whom was slowly composing himself and taking a long swig from a bottle of Powerbooze.
" I don't want to know who, where, what, when or why.. I just want to get us out of here Jorgen, then questions can be answered in a more peaceful location."
Jorgen nodded.

The sewers brought back the feelings of that day when Jorgen first came across him, but this time there was no fear in Kijayle, he had a strength and a purpose that brought the light to the front and the darkness subsided.
He took a deep breath.
" GET YOUR FREE MONEY HERE!!"
There was a howl and a yell as the loud stamping of feet came thundering his way.
At least forty hobos appeared around every corner and charged towards him. Kijayle raised his hands,
" STOP!"
They screeched to a halt, as it bounding off an invisible wall. He reached into his backpack and brought out the Cred blocks, at least 2,000 creds. The slavering hordes yelled and screeched in delight.
" You want these?"
The roar was deafening, and he took it to mean yes.
Kijayle edged closer to the exit point.
" Then you're going to have to come and get them...."
He dived up the ladder and burst out onto Plaza One as the howls from below echoed up. Suddenly there were dozens of them clambering out from the sewer grates outside Medicare and at the main entrance to Plaza One. Kijayle threw a few cubes towards the entrances and Medicare, and the hordes thundered after them. He clicked his HandTerm.
" GO GO GO!"
" On our way!" Crackled the reply.
Kijayle looked around as there was nearly fifty beggars and hobos running around the Plaza trying to fight over the cubes as the Citizens screamed and ran for cover and the Copbots started raining down Plasma death on the vagrants. The poor Copbots were so overloaded with targets that they were on the edge of short-circuiting, and as some of the more well-meaning members of the community brought their guns out on the hobos, the Copbots began to target them! Soon the entire Typherra Memorial was a riot scene, and there could be heard the distant screams as S.T.O.R.M Bots raced to the scene, flattening everyone in their way.
Kijayle looked at the Diamond entrance and saw Jorgen and Korith burst out its doors, Korith pausing to flatten a Diamond Guard that attempted to block their passage.
The three ran towards Medicare, Jorgen pausing only to rip the legs off of two hobos that had jumped Silvian Shadowbane, one of Neocrons more respected tradeskillers.
Silvian looked round as he broke another’s arm and nodded at Jorgen.

The three men hurled themselves towards the GenReps as five S.T.O.R.M Bots rounded into the Plaza and started opening fire on the Hobos. One of them spotted Jorgen and turned his cannon onto him, but by the time he fired, there was nothing left, the three had GenRepped out.

------

Black mist.

Blue mist.

Lights.

" I hate GenReps" Thought Jorgen as he was slowly re-assembled at his destination.
Then suddenly it all stopped.

A voice came to him, though he didn't know if he was hearing it or if it was inside him.

" Hello."
" Uh.. Hello.." That one was verbal, he thought.. He couldn't really be sure how he was communicating.
" We wish to thank you. You have helped him. Helped us."
" W..Who?" Was all he could manage.
" Our friend. You have been hurt. We are sorry for this. Let us fix it."
He felt a surge of energy burst through his body as though he had been hit by lightning, and the wound in his arm healed, his whole body felt invigorated with new life.
" Please look after our friend. We will help you. Only if you help him. Thank you."

Then it was gone.

He blinked as the sunlight hit his eyes and looked around. There was Kijayle and Korith standing, rubbing their eyes.
Casting a glance over the landscape, barren wastelands, still suffering from the holocaust, not a sign of life, Jorgen could only say one thing,

" Where the hell are we?"
__________________

But never as big as this.

Gray slowly woke up, and immediately went about convincing his mind that he had done no such thing. It wasn’t like being drunk; there was no nausea, and the room wasn’t spinning. He did not have a headache so much as…well, a slippery grasp on his thoughts. Everything felt less real. He studied his hand and was alarmed to discover that he could almost see through it. Streams of information ran up and down his arm, a nonsense list of numbers that nonetheless resembled coding. He shook his head, blinked, and waved his arm slightly, but the numbers remained. Everything felt that way—real and unreal. Light and Dark.

Noise and Silence. Order and Entropy. The Soundless given Voice.

Whatever the hell that meant. It was like that in Hacknet, he remembered. Paradox was made as logical as simple math. What was wrong now, though? Synaptic Impairment was how you could tell that you were out of the system and back in reality. It should have been a comfort, where the world made more sense—even if it was more difficult to concentrate on it. Reality was supposed to be real, and nothing else. Of course, he had never been burned as badly as this—he was likely to see all sorts of interesting things for a while to come.

Dammit.

Of course, wait until he told the old gang. He hadn’t Run with them for a while, but he would still bet a good number of credits that they couldn’t beat this burn.

Cheered by the thought, Gray finally looked around. He was laying in Wolfe’s slum apartment. Kyles and Monika sat playing cards across the room; no one else seemed to be there. Both Psi-Monks seemed oblivious to the fact that he had woken. Amateurs. Powerful amateurs, Gray reminded himself. You probably didn’t have to be quite so observant when a building could fall on you in your sleep, and you still couldn’t be bothered until the alarm went off.

“We do know that you’re awake,” said Kyles, not looking up.

“Right,” said Monika. “It’s as though you’ve never been around two of the most powerful monks around.”

“Knock,” said Kyles.

“Oh, you lying bastard,” Monika returned mildly. She studied her partner for a moment, then threw her cards down. “Okay, so you’re not lying. But you’re still a bastard.”

“And you owe me two thousand credits,” Kyles said. He place his neatly folded hand on the table and moved over to Gray. “I can’t do much for Synaptic Impairment—except perhaps let Monika make it worse—but I’ll do what I can. How do you feel?”

“Would you like me to knock you around a bit so you can see for yourself? I feel horrible.”

“Would you like me to throw you through a wall?” said Monika, still glaring at Kyles’s folded cards. “We got you out of there, didn’t we? You would have died without Kyles—or suffered permanent brain burn.”

Gray looked up at Kyles. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Kyles, not even crossing modesty on the other side of the street. “Without me, no Gene-Replicator could have saved you. Don’t forget it.”

“Oh,” said Gray. After a moment of thought, he added, “Thanks.”

Kyles waved that off. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to wake up any time soon, but I’m glad you did. We need to talk”

“Can it wait? I’m not exactly in top form.”

“I’d rather not wait. Dame Crimson and Wolfe are out and about, but they didn’t tell us what they were doing, or when they would be back.” Kyles grinned sourly. “I don’t think they trust us. Well, I don’t trust them either—and I’m especially worried about Wolfe. In any case, I would rather talk while they’re gone.”

“Wolfe?” Gray struggled to pull his mind together—the Impairment didn’t make it easy. “What about him? He’s a creepy bastard, I’ll admit, but he’s not to hard to work with as long as you don’t meet his…er…eyes.”

“How much do you know about him?” Kyles’s eyes were hard, pinning Gray to the rec-unit. Gray forced himself to remain still, all to aware of his weakened state.

“Not much,” he said slowly. “He’s a follower of Crahn, but not a fanatic. He had some kind of falling out with the First Follower, but they’ve made some kind of peace—he’s still in the Order. He likes to keep a low profile. He’s an extraordinarily powerful Psi, and he pays well.”

“Have you ever heard of the Long Walk?”

Gray blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. “One of Crahn’s rituals, right? Some kind of holy walk through the Wastelands, looking for enlightenment and wisdom, but mostly just finding malnutrition and hallucinations.”

“Crahn’s Trek, we called it,” said Kyles. “Oh, there was some babble about a tribute and remembrance of all the time Crahn and his monks spent wandering the Wastelands after getting their asses kicked out of Neocron, but I think it’s just an excuse to get monks out of the Abbey during certain times of—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is how Wolfe twisted it—how he lost his eyes, replacing them with those marble orbs, and how he led dozens of monks to their deaths. Or so we think; we never really found out what happened to them. The Wastelands—or Wolfe himself—swallowed them whole.

“I’ll tell you one thing first: Wolfe was a fanatic once, but not the kind you normally think of. There was no fire and brimstone in his service. Just mercy and the Blinding Light, and absolute faith in Crahn’s return. He would preach for days about the Return, of the time when Crahn would lift Neocron through the clouds and into the Light, saving the souls and minds of its humble masses. Never brought up all of the blood, suffering and death Crahn would bring with him as he fought his way back into the city, but that’s religion for you. He would bless and heal anybody, regardless of politics, religion, or race—he had even come to some arrangement with the mutants, though Crahn alone knows how. To the people, he was almost a Saint, and they blessed his name. Others, even in the Order of Crahn—some with names that might surprise you—didn’t think so highly of him. They thought he was making them look bad. That’s only fair, though, since it was true.”

“You’ve never mentioned any of this before,” said Monika.

“It never came up. And besides…” he paused, shifting uncomfortably. “We were encouraged not to talk about it. It didn’t take much encouragement, trust me.”

“We?” asked Gray.

“The Followers of Crahn. I was in the Order, once. Long enough ago that I remember when Wolfe started causing problems.” Kyles fell silent. Gray thought he looked as though he were examining the past, and didn’t like what he saw. He finally shook himself out of it and said, “Anyway, tell me something. Why did Wolfe hire you?”

“Because I’m the best?” Gray said hopefully.

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

Gray sighed. “Oh, very well. He needed a tech man—specifically a Hacker—and he came to me. Wolfe has psi-powers like you’ve never seen—he can See what’s going on from almost any distance, and he can raise a psi-storm anywhere in the city from this apartment. That’s how he brought the two of you down, even though he wasn’t there in person. Reality bends around him, and the word ‘secret’ runs at the sound of his name—but when it comes to tech he’s almost totally blind. Sometimes you can hold a datacube up to his face and he won’t have the slightest clue. That’s where I come in. Crimson is his muscle in the city, and I’m his mind.”

Monika grinned nastily. “Copbots must drive him crazy.”

“That’s an understatement. In fact, he can’t even—”

“Telling tales, are we?” said Wolfe Blackclaw.

They all spun around to find Wolfe sitting calmly behind his desk. Energy erupted crackling around Monika Blaze, and she glared at him with an intensity that raised the climate-controlled room temperature. Wolfe turned his marble eyes to her, and Monika discovered to her surprise that even she could not stare down a blind man. Especially when that man was Wolfe Blackclaw. The power around her slowly died, and Wolfe smiled very slightly.

“Of course, sharing information among allies is vital to the success of any venture,” he said. “Do go on.”

“Er, I was done,” said Gray quickly.

“Well, I’m not,” said Kyles. He gave Gray a look that said, we’ll talk later, and don’t you forget it. Then he studied the room, frowning. “Ah. Now I see. You never left the apartment, did you?”

Wolfe conceded this with a graceful nod. “I never do.”

“Right. Well, you know that we were talking about you. I was working my way around to Jorgen Octavia. I know you, Wolfe, and I know at least a little bit of what happened out in the Wastelands. Octavia getting involved is more than just a coincidence.”

“Perhaps. Your point?”

“My point is that you aren’t telling us everything. In fact, what you are not telling us could fill the Grand Chasm, without leaving enough room to bathe in.”

“Ah.” Wolfe clasped his hands together. “Point taken. However, as it turns out I am not being paid to tell you things, whereas you are, in fact, being paid to do what I say. Rather convenient, that.”

Kyles stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “All right. If that’s how you want it. Though I would like to point out that we may be able to do our jobs much more efficiently if you keep us informed.”

“Oh, you two are doing an excellent job as it is,” Wolfe said easily. “In fact, I see a nice bonus in your futures. Don’t think that your hard work will go unappreciated.”

“I’m sold,” said Monika. Kyles simply nodded again and took his seat.

Wolfe cocked his head, sending several small sparks of multi-colored light shooting from his eyes. “Ah, the lovely Dame Crimson approaches. Perk up, Gray—it’s time to get to work.”
__________________

“Well, that went much better than I had anticipated,” said Gray. “I was especially impressed by your restraint when introducing yourself, ‘Hello, I’m Monika Blaze, and you can go to hell.”

Monika sniffed. “It’ll do Crimson some good, Running with someone she can’t push around.”

“You’re a saint. Listen, Monika, Dame Crimson has a habit of headbutting kamikaze drones and then laughing about it for hours. This disturbs me, to say the least, but I know better than to call her out on it. There’s too much at stake—we can’t afford to set Crimson off.”

“Oh, ‘we’ can’t, can’t ‘we’?” Monika’s eyes could have set off fire alarms. “I’ll tell you what, Gray. Kyles and I have to do what Wolfe tells us, right? Well, Wolfe didn’t say one damned thing about playing nice with all the psychopaths we come across, and Dame Crimson is a grade A psychopath. Show her one inch of weakness and she’ll gut you without thinking twice. Hell, I doubt she would think once.”

“It’s not her strong suit,” Gray admitted. “Just don’t push it too far, okay? We need to work together. I’m already starting to get a bad feeling about this.”

“Just now? My bad feelings started when you punched me out.”

“Er,” apologized Gray, rather poorly.

Monika glared out at the Plaza, but the Runners all knew better than to meet her eyes. “In any case, your friend had better be here soon. I don’t like waiting, and I don’t like the Plaza. Look at all of these so called Runners. Sheep, the lot of them. Any one would bend over if a Copbot said ‘Boo’, but if the bots weren’t here they’d be at one anothers throats before you could finish the first line of ‘Neocron, I Salute Thee’. Makes me sick just to look at them.” She sniffed, and instantly regretted it. “Good Crahn, it smells awful too. It usually does, but this is setting a new record.”

“Well, you’ve got to admire Octavia’s creativity. However badly the Plaza smells, the bums were a lot more effective for him than they were for me.”

“Ha! It just goes to show how poor security is around here. Everybody cuts corners nowadays, and Reza is the worst of the lot. Mark my words, it’ll all end in tears.”

“At least if you have anything to say about it.”

“Damn right. I must say, Gray, what I definitely don’t like is being split apart from Kyles.” She eyed Gray up and down. “No offense, but we don’t make the best team.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Anyway, we need to be on two teams for this, and Wolfe doesn’t trust you and Kyles off by yourselves. Be glad; it could have been you paired with Crimson instead.”

“Not if Wolfe has even one shred of sanity. Admittedly, that’s debatable.”

“You don’t mind if I stand far away from you, do you?” said Gray.

He scanned the Plaza. It was a mess. Sanitation workers were still scrubbing the blood off of the streets, and looked as though they would be at it for days to come. Riots were not as uncommon as City Admin would have one believe, but rarely were they as chaotic and fatal—not to mention as unwashed and foul smelling—as this one. Runners had taken to shooting hobos on site—which, in all honesty, wasn’t much different from before. Copbots attempted to maintain some sort of bionic dignity, but even Public Relations had a hard time glorifying what was now known as the Neocron Bum Rush. Gray was quite frankly impressed.

“Are you sure you can trust this woman?” Monika said suddenly. She gestured toward the small box Gray held carefully. “I know you say she’s reliable, but those aren’t safe to flash around. Do you have any idea how much you could get for just one implant on the black market?”

“To the credit. And don’t worry about Kat; she's one of the best blueprinters around, and one of the most dependable. Oh, she may keep a datacube or two for herself, but she’s bright enough not to do anything with them until I give the word.” Monika’s expression did not change, and Gray sighed. “Listen, it’s not my fault that Chester didn’t give me enough. They burn out after one use—and I’m simply going to need more than three. There’s no getting around it.”

Monika said, “That’s fine. I’m not going to stop you. But let’s get one thing straight: Kyles and I are only here to look out for Tangent’s interests. I’ll play along with you, but if I think you’re going to far I won’t hesitate to put you down. After my contract is up I’ll happily watch you set fire to Tangent HQ and dance on the ashes, but until then I’ve got my eye on you—and Wolfe, and Crimson for that matter. Understood?”

“Perfectly. Let’s just play nice until all of this is over. Afterwards we’ll go our separate ways, and avoid meeting each others eyes when we cross on the street.”

“Deal.” Without turning, Monika pointed to a figure in the crowd. “Someone is coming. Your friend, I hope.”

Gray smiled and stepped forward with his arms held wide. “Kat, it’s good to see you.”

The woman sighed. “Gray, how many times do I have to tell you—when it’s business, I’m Katrina.”

Katrina Mayer was a neatly dressed woman who moved through the Plaza crowds with a practiced ease. Her backpack was filled almost to overflowing with datacubes; she held a small stack in one hand, and even had her weapon holster modified to carry a few more when she was unarmed. An air of professionalism hovered about her; clipped to her waist was a datapad already full of inventory and contacts despite the early hour. It was always business as usual in the Plaza, though, and Katrina made sure she got her fair share. More, if she had anything to say about it.

Emblazoned on the shoulder of her long trench coat were the letters ‘R.R.’. Gray eyed this with a sinking heart.

“Sorry, Katrina,” he said quickly. “Allow me to introduce you to my…temporary…partner. Katrina Mayer, this is Monika Blaze. Monika, this is my friend Katrina.”

Monika nodded coolly. “Nice to meet you. R.R.—that stands for Reza’s Rangers, if memory serves.”

“It does,” Katrina said. “Monika Blaze. Now there’s a name—part of Twilight Guardian’s old Inferno Squad, right?”

“But not anymore,” Gray started.

“Shut up, Gray,” both women said in unison.

“Oh, no problem,” Gray babbled. “I’m just trying very hard not to think about how many of Reza’s followers Monika has set fire to—”

“Shut up, Gray,” Katrina said. To Monika: “You’ve got an impressive history. I’ve always wondered if the rumors about you were true.”

“Some are exaggerated,” Monika admitted with a hint of a smile. Then she added, “Well, not really, but someone once told me about modesty and I thought I would give it a shot.”

“It doesn’t suit you,” Gray told her. “And what’s this? No ‘go to hell’, no open death threats?”

“Shut up, Gray,” said Katrina. She did not take her eyes off of Monika. “I think we’ll be able to play nice. After all, I’m doing business with you, not her. Anyway, you men always try to make things more complicated than they really are.”

“Amen,” said Monika.

“Either way, I don’t have time for politics right now. You said that this was important, Gray, and that it would be worth my time. I’m a busy girl, so make this quick.”

“I meant every word.” Gray carefully handed the box to Katrina. “I need blueprints. As many as you can put together by tomorrow.”

Katrina frowned. “You should have called earlier. I’ll do what I can, but I already have a list of customers on queue, and every one is in front of you.”

“Prioritize,” suggested Gray. “Look in the box before you say anything else. This is important, Kat.”

“Katrina,” she corrected absently, opening the box. “Implants? I don’t see what’s so important about…”

She fell silent. Stared into the box. Brought it closer, and stared some more.

“Gray,” she breathed. “Do you know what this—”

“Yes,” Gray interrupted. “And for Crahns sake, keep your voice down.”

“Of course,” she said, her nose still buried in the box. “I don’t believe it. These aren’t real. They’re myths. I don’t—no, it’s as plain as day. Set self external Hacknet use at plus one. Do you have any idea how much—”

“To the credit,” Gray said impatiently.

“Where did you get these?”

“From Chester Cohor himself. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Even with that much, I don’t think I want to know.” It sounded rote, as though her mind was on auto-pilot. “Don’t worry. I’ll have as many as I can put together for you tomorrow.” Her eyes moved back and forth, reading the data encrypted in the implants over and over.

“Katrina.” When she did not answer Gray pulled the box away from her face. “Kat! This is important. I said I would make it worth your time, and I meant it. I won’t mind if you ‘forget’ to hand me a cube or two, but these implants are dangerous—they’re not legal, they’re not street ready, and if Tangent found out about any bootleg blueprints, they would make sure that the datacubes—and the Researcher!—were never seen again. And Tangent is very good at making things disappear.”

Katrina shook him off. “I’m startled, Gray, not stupid. Don’t worry about me—I know how to handle this. Have I ever let you down before?”

“I’m sorry, Kat. This is some dangerous stuff, and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“The thought that you could be traced through her never crossed your mind, eh?” said Monika.

Katrina nodded wryly. “Business as usual. I’ll be in touch. Oh, and Gray?”

“Yes?”

She smiled. “It’s Katrina.”
__________________

Gray pressed the admittance button. “They come and go, but there’s usually someone here holding down the fort. The Mirror Shades are big on delegation and responsibility, but I think they just toss a coin to see who stays at base.”

“And you’ve worked with them before?” Monika asked.

“Off and on. I’ve never been too interested in their message—they’re almost as determined as the Followers of Crahn when it come to their Freedom of Information Act—but we’ve had a blast on the occasional Hacking job. It’s hard to find anyone as enthusiastic about Running through the systems as an Angel, and the Mirror Shades take it to the next level.”

“I’ve worked with Angels before,” Monika said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “They’re useful, I guess, but hardly what I would call dependable. They’re too easily distracted.”

“They get the job done,” Gray said defensively. “There’s no reason not to have a little fun while you’re at it.”

“The rebellion isn’t about fun,” Monika said firmly. “Just because I’m not a Guardian anymore doesn’t mean that I can’t see—”

The door opened, cutting Monika off. The man filling the entry did not look as though he was there to have fun. He did not look dangerous, but there was still an air of readiness about him, as though he knew that the good times were just a prelude to the bad. He wasn’t old, but he looked worn—the ability to relax had been burned out of him. Now he seemed ready to dive in any direction, and come up shooting at anyone he didn’t recognize. Even in the Shades headquarters he went armed, although Gray, with all of his training, was hard pressed to see the weapon. Monika scowled at the man, but made no noticeable impression. Gray was impressed—Monika’s scowl had a habit of raising the room temperature.

The man studied them. “Gray,” he said with the exact opposite of enthusiasm.

“Hardcode,” Gray said, stepping forward and smiling. “It’s been a long time.”

“For a good reason.” Hardcode glanced around as though expecting unseen threats, then sighed. “I suppose you had better come in.”

“Most of your ‘old friends’ seem less than happy to see you,” Monika commented.

“Oh, and I suppose you meet regularly with your old Guardian buddies?”

Hardcode gave them both the faintest of smiles. “You always did have a knack for choosing partners, Gray. Follow me, please.”

The Mirror Shades Headquarters assaulted the viewer with a sense of efficiency and purpose. A series of monitors had been strung across an entire wall, with countless plugs and jacks meant for instant neural interfacing neatly lined up. A steady stream of information ran across the largest monitor, everything from room temperature to Stock numbers to the currant threat level of inner Tech Haven. All cabinets but one were closed and locked; the open one contained drones of a make Gray did not instantly recognize. On a worktable a set of tools were precisely laid next to an open drone, which Hardcode had apparently been modifying before Gray and Monika had arrived.

Hardcode’s eyes glowed briefly and the tools powered up, whirring around the drone like busy insects. Hardcode himself fell heavily into a comfortably padded chair. “Monika Blaze. I’ve seen you in action before. Impressive, if indiscriminate. I’m Hardcode. Now that we’ve taken care of the small talk, why don’t you tell me what kind of trouble you’ve brought with you this time?”

“Now, that’s not fair. We’ve had some great times.” Gray attempted to help himself to something cold and alcoholic, but the cabinets wouldn’t open. He supposed it would be considered rude to Hack them.

“Hmm. Good times, perhaps. However, I am inclined to remember the fact that every time you show up, you also bring chaos and destruction—”

“Profit and adventure,” Gray said firmly. “And opportunity, don’t forget that.”

“All of the therapy in the world wouldn’t help me forget,” Hardcode said, but with a hint of a smile. He gestured, and Gray heard the soft click of a cabinet unlocking. “Help yourself to a drink.”

“A true gentleman,” Monika said. “Toss me a bottle of whatever looks the most lethal. A glass isn’t necessary.”

“Do you know how hard it is for me to ignore you?” Gray said. To Hardcode: “Opportunity is what I’m talking about this time. I’m glad you’re here—lost the toss again, didn’t you?—because you’ll understand exactly what I have to offer.”

“But, of course, you can’t do whatever it is without help,” Hardcode said. His face was blank; his tools buzzed and whirred about the drone. “And no, I didn’t exactly lose the coin toss. Go on; tell me what you need. I owe you at least enough to listen.”

Gray carefully placed his last Hacknet implant under one of the spinning analytical tools. “Hackers,” he said. “Hackers and Droners—and every other Mirror Shade you can get here on short notice.”

Every tool spun around to focus on the implant. After a moment of silence, Hardcode said, “Unreleased Tangent technology. You’re right, Gray. I can appreciate this. I’ll notify the Prophet right away, but I’ll tell you now: none of the Shades are available.”

Gray blinked. “None? You’re kidding, right? Where are they?”

Sighing, Hardcode told him.

* * *

Jest was nothing like Gray remembered. Once he had been one of the best Hackers to come out of Tech Haven, a small, determined man who would stop at nothing until Reza released the coveted Ceres disks to the population in general—and the Angels in specific. He went into the Neocron Network like water seeping through the cracked Wastelands—slowly, carefully, and determined to bring life into what he considered a slowly dying world. Information was power, now, and the Ceres disks represented the power to change the world. Reza knew this, of course, and had no obvious intentions to give such power away to the common man. Jest had made it his life goal to change Reza’s mind—with trial by fire, if necessary. In his younger days Gray had accompanied him on some of his runs. He did not much care one way or the other about Reza, but at the time he had thought it tremendous fun, which annoyed Jest to no end.

Now he was the Shadow Prophet, the guiding voice of the Mirror Shades. Life had driven him, though, almost beyond recognition. Where once he carried a Hacking tool and a drone, now he had sheathed to his waist the pistol known—appropriately, Gray thought—as the Judge. The softer life of the Hacker was no longer evident on his frame, or in his movement—Jest had been hardened into a warrior, and every motion reflected it. The Prophet could no longer afford to stand in the background, moving behind the scenes to strike back at the government. Spreading the Word was more dangerous now than ever, and Jest had adapted to the times.

His voice was still soft, though, and his eyes just as intent as he studied Gray. “An interesting proposition,” he said. “But as I’m sure Hardcode has already told you, the Mirror Shades are in no position to assist you.”

“The good old Neocron Defense Agency,” Monika said, her eyes hardening. “You’re telling us that they brought you all in? It would take more than one lousy organization to bring down the Angels I remember.”

“They got lucky—” Hardcode began.

“Rot,” said Jest mildly. “We were betrayed. Not the first time, but they took full advantage of it. They swept right through us when we were least prepared, and dropped everybody directly into detention. They’re scheduled to come to trial in…oh, I would say about forty years.”

“You’re taking it rather well,” Gray said carefully.

“I don’t have the manpower to take it poorly,” Jest responded dryly. “Hardcode is one hell of a Droner, but without backup the most he can do is keep an eye on them. We’re working on—” He paused, exchanging a glance with Hardcode, then continued, “We’re working on something that might get them out—but it may be some time until we’re prepared.”

Monika stirred. “You don’t need time,” she declared. “You’ve got me.”

Gray blinked. “What?”

“It’s simple. We need the Shades, and they need broken out of detention. Sounds like a deal to me.”

“And the N.D.A. needs set on fire,” Jest said. “Oh yes, Ms. Blaze, I’ve heard of you. No Guardian—former or otherwise—would pass up the chance to put a few of the N.D.A. to torch.”

Gray said, “Monika, are you crazy? No, I take that back; I already know the answer. But even you can’t be thinking about taking the Detention Center on single handedly.”

“Of course not,” Monika smiled. “You’ll be there too.”

“And Hardcode,” Jest added.

“Like hell,” Gray and Hardcode chorused. Each eyed the other, and Gray said, “That’s a suicide mission, which is definitely not in my contract. There’s no way the three of us could pull something like that off.”

“And I haven’t finished my work here,” Hardcode added. “You know how much we need the new model—”

“Take it with you,” said Jest. “Field test it, whatever. Look, I can’t give you orders—but as your Prophet, I recommend that you accompany Gray and Monika. Someone needs to represent the Shades in this. And Gray,” Jest turned his eyes to Gray, now burning with an intensity that even Monika would be hard pressed to match, and said, “this is the deal. Free the Mirror Shades, and we’ll go along with you. Kijayle Rhonac—ah, you didn’t know I knew that name, did you? I’ll bet I know a sight more about him than you do, at that. Anyway, he poses a threat to the Shades in ways that you don’t even understand. I don’t like Wolfe Blackclaw—ha, another name you didn’t think I was aware of—but I’ll go along with him. For now. If you can free my people.”

“Free the people,” Monika said with what Gray considered to be far too much enthusiasm. “You’re speaking my language, Jest.”

“Language. Right.” Gray fixed Jest with his own practiced glare. “Assuming you can even talk me into this lunacy, what will you be doing the whole time? Holding down the fort? Baking cookies for when the troops come home? I know you, Jest. You’re not the type to sit back and watch things unfold. If we actually do this—which we won’t, and don’t make that face, Blaze—but if we did, four people would be slightly less suicidal than three.”

“Not by much,” Hardcode muttered.

Jest studied Gray, his face blank. “You know me, do you? Well, maybe so. Don’t worry, Gray—I’ll do my part. These are my people, and I’m not just going to stand back and let someone else take all of the risks. But—” he held up a finger, “—I decide where I will be best placed. The less you know, the easier it will be on me.”

“Which means that I know nothing.”

“Exactly.”

“We’re going to die,” Hardcode predicted.

Monika smiled. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

* * *

Jest opened the storage bins, and they geared up. Gray was already fairly well equipped. He refused any more than the lightest body armor—more would just slow him down, and hopefully he wouldn’t be in the direct line of fire anyway. He carried a pistol as a backup weapon, but he wasn’t kidding himself—if it came to close combat he didn’t stand a chance. Still, most didn’t expect a known Hacker to pull a pistol, and maybe he could run away while they were stunned by their own shocked laughter. He agreed to carry the Medkits for use on any Shades that happened to be wounded, or on himself if things went bad. He grabbed a handful of Resist Potions for no particular reason, and a couple of low powered grenades in case he had to make some noise.

Then he looked over the drones. He was just about to pick out a couple of kamikazes—which were even better at making noise than the grenades—but Hardcode stopped him. When they exited the meeting room, Hardcode’s tools were putting his modified drone back together. He held two, and now he gave one to Gray.

“These are experimental,” he said. “We might need them both, but if one of us gets captured, the other has one to bring back to base. I don’t want to lose these, Gray. Putting them together has cost me more than you can know.”

“I know the story,” Gray said, examining the drone. “What exactly makes these so special? What do they do?”

“None of your damned business. You’re only holding one in case I get captured—or worse. If it needs to be used, I’ll be the one deploying it. And don’t try deciphering the tech—you’re a good droner, I know, but these are a little beyond you.”

Gray shrugged. “You’re the expert. Drones are okay, but I prefer a good Hack any day.”

“Don’t I know it. I don’t suppose you have any idea what Ms. Blaze’s so called ‘plan’ is?”

“Beats me. Probably just going in and blowing stuff up until the mission is miraculously accomplished.”

Hardcode shuddered. “Don’t even joke like that. I don’t have a death wish.”

Before they left, Jest pulled Gray aside. “I don’t know if this means anything to you, but I’ve been told that you might be interested. I know that we were betrayed because a…well, we’ll call him a mutual friend…tipped me off. The traitor isn’t actually a member of the Shades. The N.D.A. didn’t know what to make of him—only that he called himself ‘Mr. Silence’.” He studied Gray’s shocked face and said, “I see that it does mean something to you. I think, Reaver Gray, that you’ve gotten the Mirror Shades into a mess they had nothing to do with. I’ll trust you to get us out.”

“I will,” Gray said hoarsely.

“Good man.” Jest stared into the distance and said, “Our friend also told me a bit about Kijayle Rhonac. Even Jorgen Octavia was mentioned. Do you know how serious this business is, Gray?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I know how much you like to have fun, and this isn’t a game.”

“I know.”

“Right, then.” Jest studied him again, and this time he smiled. “Get to work, Gray. A good Hackers job is never done.”
__________________

It had hurt so much to read those things...

She picked up her SMG from the table and checked the clip. There was nothing else for it, he was going to have to pay for his words. He knew she gave as good as she got, and she had a lot to give back to him this time.
__________________

Xeovar Stoner was resting, sitting behind a bush in a middle of nowhere. Well, it actually wasn't literally nowhere, as he more or less knew where he is, what was an accomplishment considering limited capabilities of his brain. Nowhere was situated in far east parts of wastelands, not far from the Cajun Uplink. His friends always were asking why he spends his time in the places where you rarely meet another person, and mobs are not too frequent too, but he kind of liked the open, empty spaces of the deserted wastelands. Not to mention, if he finds a mob, there is no one else to grab his prey.
He opened backpack, retrieved some RGC ammo and started loading it into his trustworthy Doom Beamer – not a very exquisite piece but still a great gun, when he suddenly saw some slight change in his surroundings. His hands on Beamer froze, and his head faced towards the interesting spot. After increasing zoom in visor of his armor suit he focused on … new arrivals ?
“Now, that’s strange” a thought has crossed his mind “the closest genrep is a few clicks in other direction”.
Doom Beamer hopped on his shoulder almost automatically, and without further thought Xeovar kneeled and pointed the gun in the general direction of the strange events. At this moment, his genetical flaw kicked in. Unlike other GenTanks, Xeovar usually asked question before shooting. This trait (he stopped calling it a flaw some time ago) usually sped up his trip to GR, but a few times it actually did him good.
He lowered his gun a little, and tried to analyze situation (this part was always the hardest one of the entire concept of actually thinking before shooting). What he saw was two males, standing in the middle of nowhere with quite lost expression on their faces.
“What the fuck ?” this has crossed his mind when suddenly a third person appeared near the other two. ”It looked like exactly like a GR… but how is it possible to materialize with NO GR nearby ?”.
He got quite puzzled, and decided to approach it differently. He increased zoom in his visor even more, to catch a close up pictures of the three individuals. Then he reached for his citycom, and dialed a familiar sequence.
“Hi Sz, how’s goin mate ?” He said to citycom
“Not bad” came the reply “what do you need ?” asked Sz., a suitable person for the job Xeovar needed now.
“I need an ID on those three guys, I’m transmitting photos now”
“Ok, lemme see” came an answer and citycom went dead for a moment.
“Oh my, looks like you hit a jackpot, mate” voice of Sz. indicated utter disbelief “The guy on the left is Jorgen Octavia, and current tag on his head is ONE HUNDRED MIO CREDS”
“WHAT !?!! I’ve never heard of bounty that high…what about the others ?” Xeovar’s mind started to see a figure on his account he never, ever tried to imagine.
“Still digging, sec…”
After a few dull moments citycom went alive again “Got ‘em, they are Korithian Prince and Kijayle Rhonac, first one is a known bounty and mob hunter, other is quite clean. Still digging more on the Octavia guy”
Doom Beamer parked on Xeovar’s shoulder stabilized, as he adjusted the sights to target his luxurious future. His finger started itching, when he saw targeting reticle close on a big 100 mio creds meatbag… “After GRing, they have no chance” thought Xeovar with a little hint of disrespect towards himself “on the other hand, 100 mio is enough to justify this, right ?”
Citycom went alive again “Hey, Xeo, I found something fishy with this bounty… looks like yesterday, Mr Octavia was clean as a baby – no pending crime charges, bounties, no nothing – and then, suddenly boom, 100 mio creds, and a list of crimes so long, you could put hundred people in the brig for it… What ??? I’m being traced… hell, I think I better go away real quick… watch out mate, looks like you just found some deep shit, and you are a tiny step from falling into it. Out”.
Xeovar switched off his citycom, and focused on the targeting reticle closed on unsuspecting men.
__________________

Korithian rubbed his eyes as the sunlight forced his one remaining real pupil to dilate as it adjusted; his other pupil, now a technologicaly advanced experimental release from Tangent of the new hybrid Targetting Eye simply altered to dim the light entering into the lense. The Wastelands had never appealed to him as the kin.. His eyes snapped to a red light on a small wrist component that was blinking in a furious fashion of flash dot flash dot dot flash.

Target Lock.

" LOCK!" He roared as he knocked Kijayle to the ground with a swipe of his meaty forearm, throwing himself simultaneously sideways towards the deck, bringing his simple but trusted Wastelands Eagle to bear on the location of the lock.
Jorgen had reacted instantaneously to the familiar battle cry of Korithian, and had dropped to one knee as his Tangent Assault rifle was brought to horizontal, his Rifle eye zooming in and his own target lock hovering over a movement from a figure sitting behind some brush in the distance. The reticule flashed yellow then red as it found a body heat lock and his finger tightend around the trigger.

Jorgen and Korithian looked at each other as the assailant showed no signs of showing theirself, but still registered as a Hostile Lock on their position.

" Show yourself friend or foe, or die forever foe!!" Was the cry to come from Jorgens lips, practiced in the fine arts of diplomacy as he was.
__________________

"""Meanwhile..."""

Kyles had never liked venturing down into the sewers. He supposed that nobody did, really, but for him it went deeper. They were breeding grounds for disease, warrens for any maniacs on the run from the law, and housed far more wildlife than any man made structure should. And they smelled. Couldn’t forget that. All of the defensive psi in the world wouldn’t get the stench out of his robes, but in Kyles’s case it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. In the end he would just have to burn them and buy a new outfit, which irritated the neat-minded monk to no end. He hated the sewers, and always would, but…there was something else now. Something that he had never felt before, something lurking in the dark tunnels, in the putrid streams running quietly beneath the city. Something that felt…

Wrong. Something that felt out of place, something that didn’t belong. Kyles shook his head, trying to clear it, but it was no good. He couldn’t see anything, but it was there, crawling over his mind like a fly he couldn’t swat. His mental senses—powerful even by the Brotherhood’s standards, however much they tried to ignore the fact—were stretched to the limits, darting into every psychic crack and crevice he could slide his psi through. He found other Runners, a few mutants, plenty of rats, and the slow, hostile thoughts of plants that thrived in darkness—but nothing unusual. Nothing that could be pinned down as an anomaly, and certainly nothing posing a threat. He wanted to put it down to his overall discomfort at being in the sewers in the first place, but he wasn’t that stupid.

Not surprisingly, Dame Crimson seemed right at home. She was having the time of her life, alternately clubbing deformed hounds senseless with an ugly iron bar and cutting bats out of the air with her massive, two-handed claymore. She was loaded down with more weapons than Kyles had ever seen outside of an Archer and Wesson, apparently thrilling in the sheer variety of ways she had to make things bleed. Her clothes were red with gore, some of it days old, and none of it hers. She knew her way around the sewers with an expertise born of long practice. It made it easier to catch terrified Runners, after all, and Dame Crimson preferred her chases as easy as she could get them.

Kyles did not know what to make of Crimson. On the one hand, she was obviously insane, and made no bones about it. Touching her mind was like grabbing hold of a severed power line—all wild energy whipping back and forth, ready to cut anything that got to close and burn anything that didn’t. She was the walking personification of Death, capable of about as much mercy as a starved sewer rat and as indiscriminate as a raging tornado. She was the freak bolt of lightning that strikes a single Runner in the Wastelands, a woman who would cut you down on her way to buy groceries because…well, just because. She did not need a reason, and if asked she wouldn’t even remember it. If pressured, she would just say that she liked blood—although, in actuality, if pressured she would kill the questioner, sell his gear, and mail his head to his immediate family before saying a damned thing.

On the other hand, she had a phenomenal ability to focus. Once she had someone in her sights—as a job, by crossing her, or through sheer bloody-minded chance—that person may as well make out a will. Rank, wealth, and distance meant nothing to her. She would scale a mountain, cross the Wastelands, or crawl through the deepest caves to get to her target—and cut down anything that got in her way. It didn’t matter what it cost her, or how long it took. The focus also made her an incredible fighter. Witnesses to her battles—always witnesses, never survivors, as there weren’t any—described her as a nightmare clothed in flesh and armed with bloody blades that would not break. Kyles believed it, now.

He sighed. He understood why Wolfe had split him apart from Monika—and why he had gotten stuck with Dame Crimson—but he was already tired of the situation, and he didn’t bother pretending otherwise. He spent most of his time trying—usually in vain—to diffuse whatever time bomb was about to go off in Crimson’s head. Kyles was no stranger to violence, but Crimson was a stranger to getting her way without killing something first, and he was sick of it.

Now he said: “I really don’t think this is getting us anywhere.”

Dame Crimson studied the hobo before her. She had impaled him on her claw, and was currently holding him effortlessly in the air. His breaths came harshly, in irregular intervals, and his blood was slowly running down her arm. She shook him like a dog would a rat and had to admit that he probably didn’t have anything useful to say. Not anymore, anyway.

“Someone down here has information,” she declared, casually beating the hobo’s body against the wall a few times before letting it slide, lifeless, to the floor. “These bastards came running when Rhonac called. One of them knows something, or saw something, and I’m going to help them remember what.” She kicked the body into the sewage, nodding with approval as it dissolved in the sanitizing chemicals periodically released under the city.

“Maybe. Or maybe we’re just slaughtering a bunch of terrified bums that only saw the credits in Rhonac’s hands. Hell, maybe Rhonac tampered with them somehow. With the possible exception of Wolfe—and maybe Gray; he seems to have access to all sorts of interesting information—I don’t think any of us really know what he’s capable of.”

Monika thought for a second, then said, “True. It’s still worth our while, though. The fact that they might not know what’s going on tells us just as much as if one of them had some information.”

Kyles resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. That happened a lot since he got teamed with Crimson. Not bothering with her bizarre logic, he said, "We don’t have that kind of time, Crimson. Do you have any idea how many people live in the sewers? We can’t kill them all.”

“Bets?” said Crimson, looking interested.

“Absolutely not. And besides…” Kyles looked around, searching for whatever felt off. “I don’t like it down here. Something is wrong. It feels like…like something is watching us. Like there’s accumulated energy, waiting for a trigger to set it off. Like…” He shook his head, frustrated with his inability to put his feeling to words. “Like we should get the hell out. There are other ways to find out where Octavia and his friends went.”

Crimson studies the sewers with far too much enthusiasm. “Where is it? Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. I don’t like being watched.”

“We don’t have time,” Kyles said again. “We have to find out where Octavia ran to. Even Gray couldn’t trace the replication route, and hiding the passage of three people is no mean feat. I doubt they would be incompetent enough to leave the information with some bum, and whatever it is I’m sensing doesn’t seem to be in a talkative mood—”

Crimson cut him off with a raised hand. “Wait.” She turned in a slow circle, peering into the shadows of the dank tunnel. “I think I feel what you’re talking abo—”

With no more warning than that, reality shifted. Holes wrenched open in mid-air, and mutants—they had to be mutants, Kyles thought, because no other description came close—poured out like water through a burst dam. The creatures were freakish; not noticeably human, but with a bizarre intelligence lighting their eyes. Kyles could see no trace of any recognizable creature in them, although no one resembled another. They were all claws and teeth and spikes running down what he assumed were arms, and every one looked created to destroy. They held no weapons—some of them lacked hands at all—but their intent was unmistakable. Kyles raised his mental shields before the first cleared the threshold of its portal.

Dame Crimson didn’t bother reading the intent in their eyes. Whatever these things were, they had caught her off guard, and that was reason enough to die. She abandoned the claw in favor of her sword, charging the creatures head-on with a massive overhead swing. She cleaved the first in half and laughed as she was sprayed with its blood, not slowing down a bit. Two of the mutants launched themselves at her, and she cut both of them down in mid-air with one unstoppable swing, kicking the severed torso at another monster behind the first. More followed, and she was quickly surrounded. She didn’t care; her blade was a whirling instrument of death, faster then any of these creatures and wielded with enough strength to cut through an armored tank. She danced happily between the still growing group of monsters, cutting and hacking, kicking and gouging, and showing no sign of tiring.

Kyles would have been impressed if he could spare the time. With his shielding the mutants couldn’t reach him, but he had no real method of fighting back. He was armed with a combat knife, and knew how to use it, but even if he could get close enough to one of these things he doubted he could do any real damage. This was usually when he would be shielding Monika, letting her clear out the area with a purifying inferno. The mutants pressed against his shielding, patiently attempting to wear it down with steady, overwhelming force. He gave them one last glare, and then closed his eyes. He could feel them with his mind, even though their thoughts were alien to him. And there was Crimson; he couldn’t get much more from her than an inarticulate glee, what a shark must feel swimming through the worlds largest sushi bar. He could feel other Runners in the sewers, most of them fleeing—the mutants were focused on Crimson and himself, but they weren’t picky about anyone else that happened into range. The homeless, the rats, the plants—he pushed them all out of his mind, focusing as hard as he ever had. There was a source to all of this…he could feel it, but he needed to find it…

Dame Crimson buried her blade into the side of a mutant, but instead of falling it simply reached forward and grasped the hilt. She swore dispassionately, lifted the mutant, and tossed both it and her sword into the slow flowing sewage. She ducked under another attack and came up with her freshly activated laser blade, neatly severing the arm of her attacker. She followed through by impaling the monster, sending it tumbling into a group of three behind it. Four more took its place, and Crimson frowned. She enjoyed a good fight, but the number of mutants showed no sign of dwindling, and there were already far too many between her and the ladder leading out of the sewers. She wasn’t even close to tired, but sooner or later one of these bastards would get lucky, and the rest would fall on her like a pack of ghouls. She had lost sight of Kyles a while back, separated by the freaks. Worthless monk was probably in a dozen different pieces by now. That didn’t bother her, but the thought of following him—of meeting her end to a bunch of mutant trash—disgusted her. To cheer herself up, she rolled a grenade into the masses, chuckling as the explosion sent mutants crashing into each other.

Then the holes snapped shut, severing mutants caught halfway through. For a moment the remaining beasts froze, seemingly locked in time, and then they dissipated in clouds of colored light. Crimson stared uncertainly at the dusty remains, reluctant to discharge her laser blade but unable to find another target. She saw Kyles leaning against a wall. His eyes were glazed, and his face was drained of blood.

“You look like hell,” she said easily, cutting the power to her blade. “What happened?”

Kyles swallowed dryly, shoving himself away from the wall and forcing his body to stand up straight. “I couldn’t find the source, so I sent my mind through one of the portals. There was…something…there. I made contact for a second, and it pulled away. Without it—whatever it was—the portals couldn’t sustain themselves, and the mutants lost their focus.”

“They lost more than focus,” Crimson said, kicking at a pile of dust.

“It was incredible,” Kyles said softly. “I don’t know what it was, but it didn’t leave because it was scared. My mind was a leaf in a hurricane on the other side. It could have crushed me.”

“Never admit your weakness. Do you think my sword is still down in the sewage? It’s a bitch to replace one with good balance.”

Kyles ignored her. “It might be a good idea to collect some of this dust. I don’t know what happened, but if nothing else we can have Gray analyze the remains. They might give us some kind of clue.”

“Go for it.” Crimson eyed the pulsating sludge, apparently mentally weighing the value of her sword. Distracted, she still reacted when Kyles suddenly threw himself at her, rolling easily with his weight until she was on top. She had a blade to his throat when the air around them exploded with energy. Electricity arced through the sewers, rebounding off of the walls and slamming into the mental shield Kyles had thrown up at the last second. Thunder roared in every direction, shaking the entire underground network, cracking the walls and leaving the two Runners deaf. Lightning raced through the tunnels again and again, electrocuting all in its path, and always focusing on Kyles and Dame Crimson. It pounded furiously against their shields, and it seemed as though it would not end until the Runners were dead.

Kyles grinned, his eyes lit with psi. On the other side of the portal, he had been helpless. Here, though, he was in the center of his power, tapping the core of his phenomenal mind, and he would be damned if he bowed before this over-rated light show. He flexed his mind, pushing out with enough energy to power a city. Dame Crimson was lifted off of him, hovering in mid-air as his shields defended him from even her. The sphere of energy grew larger, throwing back the lighting in a shower of warring sparks. Kyles stood up, blazing in an aura of sheer power, and thrust his hands out. Lightning doubled in ferocity, then trebled, the thunder shaking the earth itself in an attempt the throw the psi-monk down. Kyles just laughed and pushed back even harder. His energy roared down the tunnels, smothering all opposing psi, and the sewers were quiet again.
__________________

Kyles ignored her. The sewers were flooded with his psi now, searching for any remaining threat. He felt nothing dangerous, but, surprisingly, found a survivor. Barely alive, but the mind was slowly knitting the body back together. Kyles was impressed; deflecting that much damage had been trying even for him, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone else with his kind of power would be down here. He couldn’t sense any threat from the mind, just pain and determination.

He said, “We need to get out of here. There’s a survivor between here and the exit; we may as well pick him up on the way. I’m too burned out to heal him, so we’ll drop him off at a medical unit.”

“You’re carrying him,” Crimson said. Shaking off the attack—living in the past was a waste of the present, was her motto—Crimson said, “Well, you’re right about one thing: this is a bust. I don’t think we’re going to find anything useful down here. Oh, yeah, and what the hell just happened?”

Kyles shrugged and started walking. “The mutants didn’t work, so someone launched a psi-storm at us. Quite frankly, I’m impressed. I’ve never seen that much power unleashed before. Even Monika couldn’t channel that much destructive energy in person, and whatever hit us did it from a distance.”

“Who’s got that kind of power?”

“Well, Wolfe Blackclaw for one,” Kyles said slowly. “The First Follower of Crahn, Neopha Kansil. A highly trained group of battle-monks could pull it off, but I haven’t heard of any with that kind of skill.” Even more slowly, he added, “And, of course, Lioon Reza himself is supposed to have monks with all sorts of unknown powers. There’s no telling what he could do.”

Dame Crimson nodded. “Now there’s a man to look up to. Reza knows the value of power, and isn’t afraid to use it. Not many can say that.”

Kyles blinked. “You support Reza?”

“Damn straight. Of course, if he’s trying to kill me, I’ll cut his arm off and strangle him with it, but I’d be doing the city a disservice.”

Kyles was saved from replying as they reached the survivor. The body lay crumpled and smoldering in a dark corner, smoke still rising from bared flesh. Kyles hurried to it, forming what little psi he had into a healing aura. The body stirred as he knelt beside it. The head turned up and Kyles was surprised to view a rather harshly used feminine face. It was difficult to see under the fresh burns, but she had obviously been Marked by the Wastelands. Despite her youth, her hair was a solid shock of white, and her irises had mutated: her left was a dull, dead gray, where her right flashed fiery crimson. Her eyes moved independently of each other, the gray revolving around to study Crimson, the red focused intently on Kyles, and through a haze of pain Kyles could sense satisfaction.

She whispered something. Kyles leaned forward, unable to hear her, and her arm shot out before he could respond. She grabbed around the back of his neck, pulling his head against her own. Kyles forced himself not to pull back; he still sensed no danger, and the sudden movement might hurt her even more. Flakes of skin crackled and fell from her face as she smiled at him.

“Found you,” she whispered. “Found you, Kyles Faylen. The Wastelands show me the truth.”

“Who are you?” Kyles said, masking the shock of hearing his full title.

“Helen Angilley,” she said. “You’re taking me with you. Don’t argue. The earth is screaming.”

Crimson, amusing herself by holding a rat by the tail over the sewage, glanced over her shoulder. “What’s the holdup? You got a new girlfriend?”

“Screaming,” Helen whispered, closing her disturbing eyes.

Kyles stood, carefully gathering the woman in his arms. She was shockingly light. “Play time is over, Crimson. We’re getting out of here.”

“Where’s the next stop? Do I get to kill anybody?”

Kyles studied the woman in his arms, his face a mask. “The earth is screaming,” he said woodenly. Crimson, used to hearing things far more confusing in her own head, patiently waited. Finally he said, “We’re going to the Abbey. We need information, and the Brotherhood may have it. Oh, and yes—you may kill as many of them as you like.”

* * *

It took a while to reach the Abbey. Monika had never been there, and Kyles didn’t really want to use a Gene Replicator; he was afraid that the shock would prove harmful to Helen Angilley. So they walked, Kyles still carrying Angilley while Dame Crimson slaughtered anything on their path that seemed dangerous, or couldn’t run fast enough. Kyles was tired; the strain of defending himself in the sewers, in addition to carrying Angilley, was starting to wear him down. He didn’t like the idea of facing the Brotherhood weakened, but he didn’t have a choice. Even if he hadn’t been working for Wolfe, Helen’s words made it paramount that he return to the Abbey whatever his condition. Crimson, of course, didn’t give a damn where they were going.

Once, she nodded at Helen and said, “Wolfe won’t like that. Whoever she is, she’s not part of the plan. We should have left her in the sewers.”

“She’s coming with us. Wolfe can go to hell.”

“Fair enough,” Crimson said easily, letting it drop.

Still, the closer they got, the worse the idea seemed. He did not really care about what Wolfe might think; all things considered, he didn’t really want Blackclaw’s approval. His concern was with the Brotherhood. He didn’t want to enter the Abbey as a supplicant, but he knew that whatever his position they would try to make him crawl. The Followers had lifted his writ of execution, but there was still bad blood between them. And who was Angilley, anyway? Whatever she had said, he did not really know her. The name rang a faint bell in the back of his mind, but try as he might he could not place it.

But…she could hear the earth. Maybe. And she had called him Faylen.

Kyles sighed, and tried to network with Gray again. He had not been able to get through to the Hacker for hours, and he didn’t trust his regular sources for this information. Static had been his only response, though, and that was all he heard now. Kyles did not know whether to be worried about or not. He frowned, then reluctantly opened his mind and thought, Wolfe?

I am here, came Wolfe’s voice. Colors swirled at the edge of Kyles’s vision at even the slightest contact with Wolfe’s mind; he shook his head and ignored them.

I can’t get in touch with Gray. Is everything going according to plan?

I suppose it’s as well as can be expected. Kyles’s frown deepened. Wolfe sounded distant, uninterested.

Are he and Monika all right? They won’t return communications.

Silence. Then, in the same bored tone: They are beyond my ability to See. They have left Neocron, and where they go is blocked to me. Is that all?

Kyles fought his frustration. For some reason Wolfe had no intention of helping, and wasn’t bothering to hide it. Yes, he thought, and slammed his defenses down.

There was no helping it. They Abbey rose in the distance, and Kyles refused to slow his steady walk. He would be damned if he let past failures haunt him now. The Followers no longer had any power over him. He told himself that as he marched. If only he weren’t so tired…

Finally they stood outside the gates. Kyles set Helen down, reluctant to simply go barging in without preparation. He studied the structure, rubbing feeling back into his arms. It was just as he remembered. Massive, solid, and imposing, the Abbey was a grim structure in a bleak world. It made no pretense at welcoming travelers, whether you believed in the Blinding Light or not. It stood tall and gray against the horizon, dwarfing the ruined buildings surrounding it and daring anyone with a grudge against the Followers to try something. It was rumored to have been built long before the Great Wars, a triumph of architecture and faith. The Brotherhood claimed that its survival had been preordained by a higher power, insurance against the time when the monks would come to it in need. Kyles was a little more cynical, but he had to admit that the structure’s continued existence over so many years was a bit mystifying.

A dull hum filled the air near the Abbey, seeming to rise from the stones themselves. Kyles could tell that Dame Crimson didn’t like it, and he couldn’t blame her. It was twice as bad for him; he could feel it with his body and his mind. It was the sound and feel of life, the steady, rhythmic pulse of hundreds of minds in synch. To Kyles’s eye, energy ran over the length and width of the building; the Shields were at work, fortifying the ancient stone structure with so much psi that a direct hit from a quantum warhead wouldn’t make a dent. He could sense images flashing back and forth within the building and just outside of his perception, theories and wavelengths and gateways to other planes of thought snapping open and shut in the blink of a mind. It was the dark void of the Abyss and the glorious Blinding Light falling from the heavens, and Kyles didn’t know whether to bow his head or spit.

Here, more than anywhere else, he could hear the screams.

Helen Angilley shifted on the ground, moaning softly. Kyles extended his protection over her. It dulled out the humming to some extent, but he had discovered nothing to drown out the screams from the deep. Helen sighed, and eventually fell silent.

Never one to stand on etiquette, Dame Crimson had already strapped on her claw. She eyed the Abbey without a trace of trepidation, giving every impression of studying an insect she was about to swat. The thought of bowing her head never seemed to cross her mind, so instead she threw a knife. It spun end over end until it reached about a foot from the building; then it stopped, still revolving in mid-air, and disappeared with a flash.

Kyles sighed. “Crimson, please don’t do that.”

“That was one of my best knives. They’ll pay for that.”

“I’m sure they will. Now will you please behave while I try and figure out what we’re going to do?”

“Hey, I’ll help. I’m good at figuring out what to do.” She drew a knife similar to the first and proceeded to sharpen her teeth on it. “Why don’t you brief me? I’ve never been into all this mystic wash. About all I know is that you religious folk always cry ‘Crahn’ right before someone guts you.” She wiggled her claw as though Kyles had not gotten the point. He resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands—again—and turned to study the Abbey.

“Why not?” He thought, then said, “There are quite a few monks inside that you may recognize, but only two names you should worry about. First Follower Neopha Kansil heads the order. He’s been around for quite a while, and he’s a tough one.”

“You mentioned him back in the sewers.”

“That’s right. Aside from Wolfe, he’s the only monk I know with that kind of power. It’s hard to see him taking a direct hand in matters, though. Over the years he’s fallen more into meditation, seemingly looking toward the interests of mankind in general, and the Brotherhood in specific. Make no mistake, though; he’s one hell of a politician. Most people don’t think about it anymore, but before Reza and Yager kicked him out Kansil was the absolute ruler of Neocron. Don’t think for a second that he’s lost his edge, or he’ll cut you with it so smoothly you won’t notice you’re missing an arm until you try to check the time.”

Kyles’s voice hardened as he continued. “Next, we have Golon Kalah. You’ve probably never heard of him; like most utter bastards he likes to keep a low profile, and he’s damned good at it. Even monks in the Order don’t know much about him. He lives and breathes Crahn, and as far as he’s concerned Follower Kansil is the next best thing. Without Golon, the Brotherhood looses half of its power base, and he damned well knows it. Kansil lets him do whatever he pleases, so remember: anything he says, any threat he makes—he can make it happen. He’s a tenacious son of a mutant, and once he decides that something is in the best interests of the Brotherhood nothing stand between him and it.” Bitterly, he added, “No matter who suffers.”

Crimson frowned. “I don’t get it. What makes him so important?”

Kyles snorted. “He’s the most talented communications specialist alive.”

Crimson blinked. She wasn’t often caught by surprise, but that was not the answer she had expected. “What? You can’t walk through the Plaza without tripping over ten techies that can hack into any comm. network. Hell, give me a hub and I could keep a corporation up and running myself. If you hate him so much, just go in a kill him. Problem solved.”

“You don’t get it,” Kyles sighed. “Yes, he’s one of the few monks even remotely comfortable with technology, and he can keep a comm. unit so clean the Hackers don’t even know there’s an extra frequency in the air. But he hardly has to bother with it; he’s a monk.” Crimson stared, and he sighed again. “He can read minds, Dame. Whether they let him or not. Any monk can tap into another mind with permission, but Golon can do it whenever he pleases—and he pleases all the damned time. Nobody can do that, Crimson, not even Follower Kansil. It’s a mutation, and nobody can duplicate it.” He paused, then slowly added, “With the possible exception of Wolfe Blackclaw. But even Wolfe can’t—” Kyles trailed off again, studying the Abbey.

Crimson fidgeted. “Wolfe can’t what?”

“Dominate,” Kyles responded absently. “Oh, it’s just a rumor, mind you, but there’s something too it. Most of us can…well, I’ll say ‘distract’. Make someone look the other way, forget what they were doing—that kind of thing. That’s how Wolfe bloody Blackclaw kept us from knowing he was in the room. I do it myself. But Golon…supposedly he can take mental manipulation even further. Force thoughts into your head, change your emotions, make you…do things. And you don’t even know he’s doing it.”

“Bull,” Crimson said easily. “Somebody tries to get in my head and they’ll leave with something to remember, I promise you that.”

“I can only imagine,” Kyles said, still studying the Abbey. Then he shrugged and picked Helen up. “Well, there’s no helping it now. They know we’re here. Let’s get this over with.”
__________________

"""Ripples in the Quantum... """

Deep within the code of Hacknet, the datastreams were silent.

Chester Cohor never slept. Oh, his body regulators made certain that he was well kept physically, which included a periodic drop in brainwave, respiratory and circulatory activities, but inside the system he didn’t notice. The deepest center of his mind, where ideas are born and imagination springs, never rested. Tangent scientists had attempted to monitor Cohor’s mind for over a year before throwing their hands up in despair. It was a unique one in this time, unmatched even by the monks, although psi seemed no part of it. It was a universe of genius trapped in one brain, and far too complicated to duplicate, let alone exceed. The least of its wonders—at least as far as Tangent scientists were concerned, which was one large reason for their failures—was the fact that, as far as they could tell, there was no end to its capacity to accept Synaptic Impairment. No matter how deep into the systems Cohor went, and no matter how long he stayed, his mind simply rejected all shock. Brain burn was academic to Chester. He knew about it, though, and he felt sorry for other Hackers.

Now he floated in the void he had named Hacknet, watching. His internal sensors told him that he had been sitting silent for over a day, but that was all right; unlike most Hackers, Chester was patient. Instead of letting himself get bored, and therefore less efficient, he passed the time by thinking. He thought about his programs. He thought about what was going on in the real world, although to Chester there was hardly a difference. He thought about numbers, Tangent’s standing in Stock-X, and what it was like to sleep—he couldn’t remember. But most of all, he thought about all of the odd things that had happened since Reaver Gray had come. And Hacknet was silent, letting his thoughts sink into the black void, mocking his attempt to find sense or meaning in it all.

And Hacknet was silent...

Chester shrugged and activated his data-spiders. The cyber-space around him flared into life as his programs fired up, racing to the explored reaches of Hacknet and back in a matter of nano-seconds, and then depositing the information directly into Chester’s brain. As he expected, he found no trace of the Soundless. It was always like that; no matter how large of a disruption the Soundless made, it left no trace of it’s passage when gone. Chester and his partner had spent weeks modifying the spiders, teaching them to sift through information from millions of different angles, and all for nothing. The Soundless manipulated Hacknet with an ease that baffled even him. It bent some rules, broke a few others, and basically ignored the rest. Probabilities were redefined in Hacknet, and Chester had forgotten the word ‘impossible’…but the Soundless never hesitated to remind him of it. Mostly because the things it did—not to mention the very fact of its existence—were far beyond his means to explain. The things it did shouldn’t be possible. Chester himself had accomplished plenty of impossible acts, and his perception of reality was one of the most advanced on the planet, but even his mind couldn’t justify the situation.

He smiled and sent out more spiders. He found it all to be tremendous fun.

He again considered reporting the situation to Damion Jordan. Mister Jordan was a very nice man, Chester thought. It was a shame that he wouldn’t understand what Chester had discovered. Jordan knew about Hacknet, of course, but he thought it was just another tool—a powerful tool, one that could change the world, but a tool nonetheless. To Jordan it was something to be used, an object he could hold in his hand and aim, all in Tangent’s best interests. If Jordan knew the true extent of Hacknet’s capabilities, he would insist on using them immediately. He would probably want Chester to break into Bio-Tech’s data-frame, bringing the company to ruin. He would desire that Chester manipulate the financial structure of Neocron itself, putting Tangent in a position to dominate the entire market. He would want his enemies hounded, his friends rewarded, and everybody else to suddenly discover where their best interests lie.

Chester could do all of that, and easily. Given half an hour, Bio-Tech headquarters could be in flames, all of its research and technology safely downloaded into Tangent’s data-frame. Two slightly modified spiders could restructure Stock-X in a matter of seconds, blindly spouting out whatever numbers Chester preferred. He could write out orders to any company using a C.E.O.’s name. He could order the Copbots to storm City Admin headquarters. He could erase the replication pattern of any Runner, ensuring that after they stepped into a Gene-Replicator they never stepped out—or alter it, re-writing personalities and abilities to fit Jordan’s needs. He had not been lying when speaking to Reaver Gray: when in Hacknet, you see what you can imagine, and Chester was a very creative boy.

But the Quantum Feedback…Chester didn’t think that he would ever be able to explain Feedback to Mister Jordan. He was a very nice man, yes, and fairly intelligent as Chester gauged such things, but some explanations require a little faith before they can be understood. Mister Jordan, however nice, was renowned for his lack in that area. If the secrets of Hacknet were ever discovered, Chester was fairly certain that he could explain enough to keep himself out of trouble. Probably. Mister Jordan was his friend, after all.

Some things, however, would never be forgiven, and Chester felt vaguely guilty about doing them. Hiding secrets in Hacknet was one thing, possibly forgiven. Communicating with his partner, on the other hand, was a death warrant waiting to be signed. Still, the time had come, and Chester didn’t hesitate to open a communication channel.

As far as he knew, there were only two people aside from himself that could grasp the effects of Quantum Feedback. One had no reason to work with Chester, and was almost impossible to get hold of anyway. Now the other appeared smiling on his virtual view-screen, and Chester couldn’t help but smile back.

“Chester! I’ve been trying to get through to you for days. I’ve got the information on those internal enhanced neural stimulators you asked about.”

“Sorry Joanna. I’ve been busy.”

Even on a view-screen, Joanna Hawkes was a very pretty young woman. Like Chester, a childish innocence was obvious in her every expression, and it was rare to catch her in a bad mood. The image was somewhat deceptive, though; behind the innocent smile was a mind more sophisticated than any other Chester had found. He had been amazed to discover someone capable of keeping up with him, and immediately began teaching her everything he knew about Hacking. Together they had spent a solid year plugged into the Network, poking around, stealing information just for the heck of it, and generally making a mess of things. Chester had never had so much fun. Then they had literally stumbled over something so amazing that it was beyond even them, and Chester had begun his career with Tangent. No other corporation had the resources he required, and both Chester and Joanna had agreed that this amazing thing needed to be protected. It meant that they would not be able to play as much, but some things were just too important to ignore.

It was almost a shame that Joanna had opted to work for Bio-Tech—Damion Jordan’s most viscous competition—but Chester would have been disappointed if she hadn’t. What fun was Hacking a system if its defender was incompetent? Joanna provided Chester with his most challenging Runs, and thus they still got to have their fun together. Mister Jordan would probably see things differently, though. Oh well.

“Just go ahead and upload the information,” he went on. “I’ll look at it later.”

Joanna tilted her head. “You don’t want to make the Run? I have a wicked web-defense up around it—it’s burned over three thousand would-be spies already, and I’ve only had it running for half an hour. You should see this web, Chester—I bet it would even give you a burn to remember.” She giggled and added, “The boss would be furious if the blueprints got out, so he wanted extra defenses programmed in.”

Chester hesitated, truly torn. Joanna never overstated her defenses. Then he reluctantly shook his head. “No. I just don’t have the time. Soon, though, for sure.”

She pouted. “You never have time anymore. Oh, fine; I’m uploading it now. But if you’re not going to make it fun, I want something in return.”

“Sure.” Another group of spiders returned, and part of Chester’s mind analyzed their data. Nothing.

“Hmm…how about that new bio-targeting system? That’s supposed to be hot stuff.”

Chester grinned. “I suppose so, seeing as the blueprint for it was only completed seven minutes ago.”

“Six minutes and forty seven seconds ago, thank you very much. Do you really think my information is that out-dated?” She sounded honestly insulted.

“Fine, fine. You can have the shell component, but you have to Run for the core blueprint. I’ll put it in Sector Eight.”

“Oh, Sector Eight! You just upgraded the defenses, right?”

More spiders, more nothing. “Yes I did. There’s a Watchdog in there, too, so be careful.”

“I always am.”

“I know, but this dog has been trained specifically for you. No Joanna Hawkes’ are allowed in Sector Eight, as per Mister Jordan’s orders.”

“I can’t wait,” she smiled. “Anyway, enough business talk. What did you wire me for?”

Another group of spiders, and still Hacknet was silent. Chester sighed. “I’m starting to think it was nothing. I’m sending you some more data on the Soundless; maybe you can see something that I don’t, but I would swear that it’s left the system.”

Joanna blinked. “Left the system? But that’s impossible. Where could it go?”

“I don’t know. There’s no other network out there large enough to support it, and even if there were we would see signs of something that big moving around.”

“Maybe. The Soundless certainly lives up to its name. Or their name. I’ve never been sure about that part.”

Chester nodded glumly. Among the many mysteries surrounding the Soundless, the question of whether it was one being or many was on top of the list. He said, “Anyway, I just wanted you to keep an eye on all outside systems just in case. I recorded a tremendous amount of activity yesterday, but since then everything has been too silent. I don’t know where it could have gone, but we can’t afford to let it run around without—”

Spiders whirled, and Chester blinked. The spiders danced in synch with each other, spinning together to form a name. Joanna spun her screen around to look, and Chester made way without hesitation. The spiders held their form for a moment, and then burst in a stream of digital fireworks.

“Hmm,” was all Chester would say.

Joanna made a face. “Oh, please tell me that didn’t say what I thought it said.”

“We must accept the facts presented to us,” Chester said. He created a datacube, and then studied it thoughtfully.

“You’ll never find him,” Joanna predicted. “He’ll never accept a direct transmission, and he has no reason to help you. Even if you could locate him, he would just panic and hide himself deeper.”

“He doesn’t panic. He’s just always prepared.” Chester thought about it for a few moments, then wrote the initials ‘R.D.’ in the cube, signing with his own name. “He will meet me as long as it’s on his terms. I can live with that. You’re right about one thing, though—getting a message to him is never easy.” He tossed the cube in the air and watched it race off to its recipient.

“You’re sending it through him?” Joanna sounded both amused and disgusted. “He’s hardly what I call reliable.”

“If anyone can find—”

“Oh, he’ll know what to do with the message. Whether he’ll actually help or not is the question, and I think I know the answer.”

Chester sighed. “We have to trust someone. You ran the numbers yourself. The Soundless is getting larger every hour. By this rate…” he trailed off, unwilling to finish.

“I know. I just don’t see how he can help. I mean, look at what we’re—what’s wrong?”

Chester froze, stretching his senses to the limit. “Get out,” he said quietly.

“What—?”

“Something has intercepted my spiders. All of them. Get out now.”

“I won’t—”

And then the Soundless was there, a bloated planet of energy and logic orbiting Chester. He could see his spiders, twisted, broken, and reborn in its shadow, now programmed to hunt their creator. Reality flowed around the Soundless like a thick mud, forming easily under the massive pressure of the greater mind, pushed aside if proven inconvenient. Chester noted dispassionately that every route of escape had vanished, effortlessly absorbed into the massive matrix—all paths led to the heart of the Soundless now.

“Chester, I can’t get in. Something is blocking every path—I, ah…just try and keep it busy while I look for an alternate route—” Chester tuned her out. He knew that Joanna couldn’t help him now. He activated every security protocol available, every one of them created by him. He was the greatest Hacker alive, and he had no intention of going quietly.

His voice filter activated as well, and he said, WHAT DO YOU WANT.

The Soundless spun impossibly fast, filling the virtual horizon. To Chester it seemed somehow agitated. Confused, even.

You are the Other. You are not what was meant to be here

YOU ARE NOT MEANT TO BE HERE. YOUR EXISTANCE IS NOT JUSTIFIED. YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE, EVEN ON A QUANTUM LEVEL.

No! We are! We think, therefore we are! This is how you judge such things.

YOU MUST DO MORE THAN SIMPLY ‘BE’. YOU MUST HAVE SHAPE AND FORM. YOU MUST BE DEFINED.

The Soundless whirled. Chester readied his weapons; datastreams that disrupted processes, matrix bombs, and several maelstroms of counter-logic. None of them would do any good; it would be like shooting a water gun at the ocean. Whatever it claimed, as far as Chester was concerned the Soundless were nothing of logic. Still, these were the weapons he knew, and nobody knew them better.

We reject your requirements. Shape and form are defined by the viewer, and we view all. We will judge.

THEN WHAT ARE YOU. WHAT DO YOU DEFINE.

We know what you think. We are not that. The one like yourself provided a suitable description. We are logic. We are reality contained. We reject your requirements, but you may form us.

EXPLAIN.

Deus Ex Machina…

Chester was still trying to think of a good reply to that when the Soundless descended, and then he could think no more.

------------------------------------------

"""Detention"""

Hidden in an alley just outside of sensor range, Gray, Hardcode, and Monika took stock. Monika eyed the two tech men.

“Have either of you ever been detained before?”

Hardcode shook his head, and Gray said, “Once, when I was young. Nothing big—they didn’t even put me in a cell. Just tried to scare me with horror stories about people who have been detained for too long.”

“The word ‘horror’ doesn’t do the experience justice,” Monika said grimly. “Detainment is just another charge on the list of Reza’s unspeakable—and unacknowledged—crimes. According to the Ceres disks—what little we’ve seen—mental suppression was outlawed long before the Great War. The long-term effects were just too atrocious to justify, no matter the crime. Fortunately the method used to suppress a human will isn’t widely known. Unfortunately the people who do know about it don’t have a shred of conscience or accountability.”

“The method is stored on the Ceres disks,” Hardcode said thoughtfully.

“Exactly. All we really know about it is that it can’t be based on psi—it’s been around for far too long, before the human race evolved into monks. Psi shielding is no defense—either the old scientists were thinking ahead, or Reza’s lackeys have modified it to crush even the most powerful mind.”

“I’ve heard stories,” Hardcode said slowly. “Supposedly it’s just meant to crush your will to fight—to make you more docile, easier to handle. Too much exposure, though, and there are side effects. First comes amnesia—short term, long term, and finally a total mind wash. Permanent. Then it takes whatever is left of your mind and…twists it. Paranoia, delusions, seeing colors you couldn’t find in any rainbow. Once the mind breaks, there’s total insanity. Incurable, of course. Rumor has it they just set the worst cases out in the Wastelands, to live or die as fate sees fit.”

“It’s even worse than that,” said Monika. “With the advent of psi—the fact that every mind now has the potential to mold reality—insanity under such harsh conditions is no longer a matter of putting the poor bastards out of their misery. Now the mind forms the body—thought becomes flesh, and will becomes a weapon.” She glared at the detention center in revulsion. “The minds in there are said to form all sorts of interesting bodies. Monsters, all of their rage and suffering slowly building beneath the mental suppression. They can’t act against their captors, so they feed on their own flesh, altering and evolving to something that can’t even be called human anymore.”

“Mutants?” asked Gray.

Monika slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. The Guardians have heard rumors—nothing more than whispers, but spoken with such horror that there must some truth to them—that there are creatures in there powerful enough to destroy the city. That Reza and his scientists have been breeding them, mixing their D.N.A., looking for the ultimate organic weapon. That the ones released into the Wastelands are failed experiments, or test subjects to be monitored. That—” she paused, biting her lip. Gray was shocked. Monika was renowned for her courage, but now her eyes held a hint of fear.

“That what?” Hardcode said.

“That some have escaped,” Monika said shortly, “and Crahn only knows where they are or what they’re thinking.”

Gray studied the detention center. Tall, strong, and pristine against the harsh horizon, it didn’t look like a pit of horrors. He had heard the kind of rumors Monika was talking about, but he had never put much stock in them. He figured it was secondhand propaganda to make the threat of detention a stronger deterrent against crime. Now, looking at Monika, he wasn’t so sure.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it is time for you to let us in on your great plan.”

“First things first,” Monika said briskly. “Hardcode, you’re supposed to be some kind of droning prodigy; find out what we’re up against. We need to know how many guards there are, human and machine, where they’re positioned, what they’re armed and armored with, and who’s in charge. As much of the layout of the building as you can get. And for Crahn’s sake, don’t let them know what you’re up to.”

“Is that all? Gee, I should have just done all this from the base.” Sparing Monika one last glare, Hardcode released a drone and fell into a concentrated trance. His expression turned wooden as the drone bobbed in midair, streaming information directly to his neural interlink. It seemed to study Gray and Monika, the quantum camera rotating and blinking as it adjusted countless sensors, and then it disappeared.

Gray blinked. “Er…Hardcode?”

“You didn’t see that,” Hardcode’s voice came over their communications link.

“I know. That’s the problem.”

“I told you, these drones are modified. You haven’t seen anything yet. If I can help it, you never will. Now let me get to work.”

Gray settled in as Hardcode scanned the area. He tried to contact Kyles again but got only a smooth silence. He found this more than a little disturbing; it had been several hours since he had last been able to reach the monk. Monika seemed unconcerned—she was certain that Kyles could take care of himself, and even baby-sit Crimson without too much effort—but it was still unusual, and Gray didn’t like unexplained problems in his plans. Especially when there was so much at stake—one slip and he would be buried head down in the Wastelands, not to mention the fact that his reputation would be ruined. Sighing, he checked his equipment as he waited, then double-checked as absolutely nothing interesting happened.

To Hardcode, the world became electric. His physical senses twisted and merged with the drone’s until there was no difference between them. Numeric readouts were a natural form of input, and he didn’t pause for even a moment to translate them. It was somewhat like Hacking, but Hardcode wouldn’t trade between the two for anything—Gray could immerse himself in imaginary systems as much as he liked, but Hardcode was swimming in a reality so intense everything else was a pale imitation. Every sense was attuned far beyond that of a mere human—even genetically enhanced tanks and evolved monks couldn’t compare to the perception from droning. Hardcode could hear heartbeats a mile away, and detect variations in the weather that would affect a storm a week in the future. To many it would have been information overload; to Hardcode, it was the only way to see. Everything else was just passing time until the next drone run.

He carefully skirted around the detention center, silent and unseen. He tagged two copbots at the entrance, and his sensors told him there were another pair just inside. The roof was clear, but he registered so much sensory gear that a cockroach would have a hard time crawling undetected. The walls were fortified titanium and thick enough to stand up to a week of mortar fire before cracking. No windows, but that didn’t bother Hardcode; he gently eased his cloaked drone between the copbots, holding his breath and trying very hard not to think about the fact that this drone hadn’t been tested. The bots didn’t react; so far so good.

He made his way into the detention center, marking guards as he saw them. Then he reached the Command Center, stopped, and stared.

He recorded the scene for a while, then said, “Did I mention that we are all going to die? I think I did.”

Grays voice came to him: “Hardcode, the next words out of your mouth had damned well better be, ‘Hey guys, this is going to be much easier than we thought’, or I’m going to kick you. Hard.”

Hardcode said, “Four copbots at the entrance, and guards stationed regularly inside. Some other defenses, but here’s the problem: this place is crawling with N.D.A.. The Command Center has…oh, I would say about twenty-five shock troops. Tanks, a few battle monks—even a Hacker. Not to mention the grand high bastard himself, Centuri. They aren’t even pretending to be useful; they’re waiting for us, plain and simple.”

“Good,” said Monika. “We won’t have to go hunting for them.”

“You don’t understand—look, I’m going to hook you up to the remote feed. I recorded this a few minutes ago.”

Gray found himself hovering in the center of a large room. Computers lined every wall, and a massive control dock dominated the center. A small army of N.D.A lounged around the dock looking fit, trim, and ready to blast, burn or fry anything into the next dimension at the slightest nod from their commander. Centuri himself, leader of the N.D.A., stood behind a technician. They had a datacube hooked up to the monitor, and both were intently studying the readout.

Centuri was shaking his head. “I don’t see it. I don’t even recognize the programming mode, much less the logic patterns. Are you sure it’s accurate?”

The technician shrugged, his eyes a little wild as he studied the readout. “I don’t understand one tenth of what I’m looking at sir. As far as I can tell, the results are…accurate…but I can barely follow the programming myself.” He pointed to a section of the screen. “There is a ninety-nine point nine nine percent chance that Reaver Gray will attempt to liberate the Mirror Shades. That he will be assisted by either Monika Blaze or Kyles Sendrick, a.k.a. the Faylen, is almost guaranteed—and the odds are over ninety percent in favor of the Blaze woman. They will attack during the day, favoring surprise over stealth, due to…ah…” He scanned through the cube, pulling up a page, “Here. Blaze’s personality readout predicts the direct approach, and Gray’s lack of battle experience will cause him to follow her lead. They will have the assistance of the remaining Mirror Shades, with the odds favoring direct involvement of the one known as Hardcode while the Prophet remains behind.”

“Shame,” muttered Centuri. “Then again, I suppose Jest is too smart to throw himself into my hands.”

“It says that he will be involved in some way, but the percentages aren’t nearly as reliable there. They seem to be focused on Gray.”

“A program that can read the future,” Centuri mused. He studied the monitor again, then shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Yeah, someone will come for the Shades, but I don’t need Silence to tell me that. Say what you will, but the Angels always stick together. They won’t let their friends rot.”

“Sir, I don’t…” the techie trailed off, uncertain. “I don’t know about this. Forecasting software is nothing new—it’s been used on weather for years, and Reza himself is said to use one that focuses on mass populations—but this makes no sense! This program is polling variables I don’t even recognize.” He scanned through various pages of code. “Here—this is fine. A personality bio of Gray, his patterned behaviors, his recent movement through Neocron. That makes sense. But what about this? The position of the sun at three thirty-two this evening? The Stock-X trend for the last two years? The average temperature in the Wastelands? Okay, I see where Silence got the data from, but what does it have to do with Gray? And here, even more bizarre: the number of heartbeats occurring inside Neocron borders in a year. A scale of odds that the sun will prematurely implode and form a black hole in the next two days. The first two lines of Bleu Ode written over and over for four pages—but backwards, and forming the numeric base of yet another series of calculations. I think. And I’m not even going into the coding, because I don’t recognize one line of it.”

Gray was numb. As though from a great distance, he heard himself say, “I want that cube.”

The techie went on, “And another thing, sir. This cube has the end results of the calculations. There’s no computer in existence powerful enough to actually run these numbers. It would take more processing power than the Neocron Network and Tech Haven’s Central Core combined, and even then it would require months to process it all.”

“I’m not looking for mysteries,” Centuri said. “Silence gave us the Shades, and if he says we can finish the job by waiting around here for a day, that’s fine with me. I don’t care where he got his numbers, as long as he’s right. We stay.”

The scene dissolved, and Gray was silent as Hardcode ran it for Monika. Was it possible? The techie was right; there was no machine capable of running those kinds of numbers. Even Hacknet had its limits, and it was the most powerful system Gray had even seen. Hardcode was muttering as he led his drone back, and Monika was silent as her feed cut off.

“There’s more,” Hardcode said.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Gray said, still numb.

“It’s the detention guards. The N.D.A. are fine, but every detention official is registering an increased heart rate, with highly active synaptics. I would say that they are nervous, but it’s more than that—they’re terrified. I don’t know why. Nobody is talking except Centuri and his goons, and they don’t register anything unusual.”

Forget it—let’s get out of here Gray started, then paused. He could hear Jest in his head: I think, Reaver Gray, that you’ve gotten the Mirror Shades into a mess they had nothing to do with. I’ll trust you to get us out. Gray’s response: I will. He meant it, too. Whatever his faults, Gray never turned down an old friend in need—especially when the need was Gray’s fault. Dammit.

He forced himself to say, “We’ll worry about the detention guards later. Whatever’s bugging them is probably in our favor.” He met Hardcode’s eyes. “We’re not turning back. The Mirror Shades need our help.” Hardcode simply nodded.

“Well said,” Monika agreed cheerfully. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all, Gray.”

Gray and Hardcode both eyed her sourly. Hardcode said, “I think it’s about time you let us in on your plan. God help you if you just say, ‘Going in and setting stuff on fire’. I’ll hit you Blaze, I really will.”

“Nice company you’re keeping these days Monika,” a voice came from behind them. Gray and Hardcode spun around grabbing their weapons; Monika just leaned against the wall and grinned. The man was well armed, but made no move for any of his weapons. He continued, “The Guardians have gone to hell since you left, but I’m glad to see that you’re still making noise. I guess I should introduce myself before your friends get themselves hurt: the name’s Lysander. Put away your pistols and I’ll shake hands. No? Fair enough. Well, we’re in position. Just give the word, Monika.”

“Monika?” asked Gray, still staring at Lysander. “Who the hell is this, and why does he want to shake my hand?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” she said grinning. “I invited the Gang to join us. I hope you don’t mind.”
__________________

""" On the Assault/Inside"""

“You directly engage the enemy, while we take advantage of the confusion to make our way inside the detention center,” Hardcode said, mimicking Monika. “Why didn’t she just say, ‘You make a lot of noise while I go in and set stuff on fire’? You know that’s what she’s going to do.”

“She knows more about these things than us,” Gray argued, mostly out of boredom. “It’s all she used to do as a Guardian.”

“Yeah, and what happened?”

“You could always go against those four copbots yourself, you know.”

“She got kicked out for being reckless, that’s what,” Hardcode finished loudly. He glared at Gray. “Why did I answer the door? I knew it was you. ‘Opportunity,’ you said. ‘Profit and fun’. I should have known better. I will know better next time.”

“Don’t worry,” comforted Gray. “There probably won’t be a next time.”

Hardcode was tuning a drone, a simple rocket-launching model. He let it hover, testing the balance. “Don’t remind me. I wish Jest were here. At least he thinks his plans through. Ha—‘plan’, I say. I wouldn’t sell this ‘plan’ on my worst enemy if I were defending our last Outpost. I’d feel too guilty about walking him to his death.”

“At least the Gang is backing us up.”

“Oh gosh, I almost forgot about the Gang,” Hardcode said with mock excitement. “That changes everything! I’ll definitely take a handful of rebel thugs against copbots, a horde of prison guards, twenty-five fully armed N.D.A. shock troopers, and whatever the hell else we find in there. Damn, where’s a bookie when you need him—we’ve got a sure thing going here!”

Gray didn’t try very hard to come up with an argument to that. It would have depressed him. After a while he said, “At least you’ll be droning from a safe distance. Crahn alone knows what I’m going to do with these.” He hefted his pistols with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “I wish I had my rifle.”

“Stand behind someone with armor and try not to look like a damned Hacker,” Hardcode suggested. “At least the Gang are supposed to be looking out for you. We’re going to need your hacking when we get inside.”

Gray shifted against the alley wall. “Yeah, well, I’m not making any promises. Detention security is supposed to be uncrackable.”

“Heck, all you have to do is locate the prisoners, unlock every door between us and them, and distract all of the automated sentries, all while suppressing the alarms. No problem for the infamous Reaver Gray, right?”

“I’m going to hit you,” Gray said. “Any minute now. Hard, probably.”

Hardcode grinned humorlessly. He listened to a transmission from Monika, then said, “Well, they’re just waiting on us. Here goes nothing. Totally, absolutely, mind-bogglingly nothing.” He released the drone, and Gray was moving.

He heard rockets slamming into the rooftop sensors, and then the streets were full of Runners. Gang members flooded toward the Detention Center, yelling and laughing and shooting wildly into the building. After a shocked pause the Neocron Defense Agency came out to meet them, and the Gang slammed into them without slowing. Lysander ran next to Gray, along with the meanest looking Gene-Tank he had ever seen, and he was grinning fiercely.

“Don’t worry,” he yelled above the gunfire. He gestured to the tank, who was not smiling even slightly. “We’ll make sure you get inside in one piece!” The tank, wielding the ugliest plasma cannon ever, nodded once before unloading a clip into a guard. Lysander whooped, indiscriminately firing on anyone within range. Gray managed a sickly smile in return, fired a couple of shots, and then hid behind the tank and tried like hell not to look like a Hacker.

Hardcode continued to bombard the sensors just for the hell of it, and then turned his drone down to the crowd. He launched a couple of rockets into the heaviest pockets of defenders, more to get their attention than anything else, then strafed the street, dodging their return fire. He grinned nastily and sent the drone towards an opposing building, tearing along at an angle and dropping explosives the whole way. The return fire ripped into the building, severing a corner of the top floor and dropping several tons of rubble on the unsuspecting guards in the street below. His drone whirled and danced through the plasma filling the air, luring fire into N.D.A. ranks and creating as much havoc as he could. Hardcode almost laughed out loud. He believed that he was going to die this day, but had no intention of going softly. He checked to make sure that nobody was close to his position, and launched another barrage.

Monika moved in quickly from the side. She left the street fighting to the Gang; her eyes were on the Copbots. They had opened fire on pretty much everybody, and wherever they turned their eyes, Runners fell. She saw that a few N.D.A. had posted up in the entryway behind the bots, picking off Gang members from relative safety. They would see her long before she got close enough to do any real damage to the Copbots. She thought for a moment, then gestured. A spark flew from her hand, unnoticed by bots and N.D.A. alike. It drifted into the entryway, where it started spinning. It grew as it spun, until it suddenly erupted in a fountain of flame. The geyser exploded in every direction, the superheated energy melting through the Runner’s armor. The Copbots hardly noticed, but the guards came pouring through entrance drenched in flames that would not burn out.

Monika was moving before the first Copbot turned his rifle on her. A stream of solid fire whipped through the air, severing the bots arm at the shoulder. The Copbot moved forward to grab her and was lifted into the air on a wave of Monika’s psi. She sent the bot flying into its partner, tumbling both to the ground, and turned to face the next pair. She knew that the first bot was finished, but the second would be on its feet at any moment. She had to deal with the second pair quickly.

Gray ducked, and then fell forward in a roll. A burst of plasma tore through the air over his head and slammed into a Gang member behind him. Gray threw a medkit back to the man and kept running. Lysander had split away yelling something about flanking the enemy, which left Gray and the tank to fend for themselves. Well, leaving the tank to fend for both of them—Gray did his best to avoid fire, but the tank was a walking machine of destruction. He loaded clip after clip into his cannon, and everything he targeted soon ceased to exist. Occasionally a bullet would ricochet off of his armor, or a bolt of plasma would punch through, but he just grunted and obliterated the source. Once, a halo of electricity appeared over him and slammed into his helmet. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment, walked over to the offending monk, picked him up, and threw him through a stone wall.

Gray applauded from a safe distance, then hurried to catch up to the man.

The two Copbots moved to flank Monika. White-hot flames erupted around her, the temperature enough to drive back even the bots. One stumbled back, but the other simply locked into position and opened fire. Monika swore as the energy rifle tore through her shields—she was used to Kyles’ protection, and the defenses she had gotten from the Gang monk barely held off the energy blast. She ignored that bot, focusing on the one that had stumbled—she may be able to take another blast from an individual, but she couldn’t afford to be double-teamed. She drew the flames surrounding her body into one focused inferno. She grinned as the bot targeted her, then flicked the ball of fire into its chest. It erupted with the fury of a volcano, melting through the protective shell and raging through the insides of the bot. Without slowing she used her psi to lift the burning thing into the air, positioning it between herself and the incoming fire from the other Copbot. The bot fired round after round into its counterpart, attempting to penetrate through to Monika. The dead bot slumped for a moment…and then another fireball erupted through it, engulfing the firing Copbot. It dropped its rifle as its joints melted; even its external armor dripped and pooled onto the ground, until finally only the dead frame remained as a molten statue.

Hardcode’s drone sped through the air drawing as much fire as it could. He was running low on rockets, and was now picking his targets carefully. From his vantage he could see the flow of the battle, and it didn’t look good. The Gang were putting up one hell of a fight, but against the combined forces of the security guards and the N.D.A. it was only a matter of time before they were ground down. He spotted Gray as he ran down the street, and was impressed. Whatever the Hackers fighting skills, his natural agility was phenomenal—he dodged fire almost before he was even targeted, and not even the tanks could keep up with his speed. Hardcode dropped a rocket into a concentration of guards between Gray and the entrance, forcing a hole for the Hacker to dodge through. Gray waved at the drone in acknowledgment and dove through effortlessly. Hardcode spun around, looking for another target.

Monika let the burning bot fall, and then staggered as a barrage of energy blasts tore into her shields. She spun and saw that the Copbot she had buried had thrown its companion off and had its rifle leveled at her. She swore, throwing her hands up to launch a wild blast at it. The Copbot dodged, moving more quickly than she had anticipated, and suddenly lunged at her. It pushed through her shields effortlessly, and Monika knew that she didn’t have enough time for another attack.

The bot raised its rifle, the barrel an inch away from Monika’s face. She didn’t even have time to swear.

And then both Monika and the Copbot went flying through the air as explosions rocked the area around them. Hardcode’s drone came screaming through the air, unloading on the Copbot from point blank range. It did almost no damage, but the Copbot responded to its programming—detecting a new threat, it fired on the drone hovering in front of its face. The remaining payload in the drone detonated immediately with a force that stunned the bot. Monika didn’t hesitate; she shoved her hand against the cop’s head and unleashed enough psi-fire to disintegrate it. She sent the flames into the bot, burning it from the core out, then picked up the bot and threw it into a group of guards. The flames inside exploded outward, turning the bot into the most expensive frag grenade City Admin had ever produced.

Gray and his tank guardian stumbled out of the battle. He studied the dead Copbots, made the appropriate impressed noises, and shouted, “Where’s Centuri?”

“Still inside,” Monika replied. “I have to save some of my energy for him. I can’t do much more out here without wearing out.”

There was another explosion, and Lysander came through the crowd, followed by Hardcode. Lysander waved toward the crowd and said, “This isn’t going well, Monika. Give us some backup.”

Monika shook her head. “I have to deal with Centuri. If things get too bad, pull out. We’ll go on alone from here if we have to.”

Lysander simply nodded. He gestured and said, “You’re hurt.”

“Just a little scorched. No, Gray—save the medkits. I’ve had worse, and we may need them inside.”

Lysander said, “We’ll hold out as long as we can, and I’ll comm. you when we pull out. Remember our deal.” At Monika’s nod he turned, plunging back into battle without hesitation. Gray’s tank silently followed.

“Let’s get inside,” said Gray. “Now seems like a great time to move fast.”

* * *

It was though the battle outside didn’t exist. The doors shut off all external noise with a finality that Gray found disturbing, and he could tell that Hardcode and Monika felt the same. By Hardcode’s count there were still dozens of detention guards still in the building, not to mention a handful of N.D.A. and Centuri himself. The Gang could hold the attention of detention security for so long, and the three had to be in and out of the Center before the guards could regroup. Slim chance of that happening, but Gray knew that it was all the chance they would get. He studied his partners: Monika would, of course, go on no matter what. This was what she lived for; spitting in Reza’s face, Guardian or not, and helping the oppressed while she was at it. If she happened upon a chance to torch a few Copbots, well, so much the better. Hardcode didn’t walk with the same confidence, but he never hesitated; he would not abandon his fellow Shades. The air of caution never left him, though, no matter how silent the corridors were. He had learned his lessons the hard way; he would never again be caught unaware. He wasn’t a fighter, but he still entered the battle in his own way, and he knew all about making sacrifices. He wouldn’t falter.

Gray himself…was torn.

Gray never took anything seriously. He was famous for it. He was no stranger to risk—he usually chose the most dangerous jobs, and then made games of them for his own amusement. His life had been under threat so often that he hardly even noticed anymore. The minute he walked into a new situation, he registered at least three quick ways out of it. More often then not, he needed them. He picked and chose his jobs, usually careful not to over-extend himself by too much, but had a bad habit of getting in well over his head. He was used to it.

But he had never brought anyone down with him.

Jest: I’ll trust you to get us out.

I will.

Dammit. The Soundless may have betrayed the Mirror Shades, but Gray was the reason. Somehow it had known he would turn to the Hackers, and had efficiently eliminated the entire group. It was using the Shades as a lure, but they wouldn’t go free once Gray was dealt with—they would rot in detention until they died. Or until they became some kind of mutated freaks, if Monika could be believed. Gray was believing her more and more with every step he took. He saw the Shades sitting in absolute darkness, slowly twisting as the years went by, all because Gray had finally gone too far. Sure, they took things a little too seriously, but they were a good bunch; they knew how to have a good time, and they had never done anything to deserve this.

I will.

Gray felt something shift in him, a slight change of perception. He wasn’t some net flick action hero who suddenly glared moodily into the distance, spit out a cigar stub, and muttered, ‘This time he’s gone too far—now it’s personal.’ But in a way it was; despite all of Gray’s flaws, he had never dragged anyone in the game that didn’t want to play. The Soundless had, and he would make sure that it paid for it. First, though, he had to free the Shades. Whatever it cost him.
__________________

“What did you promise Lysander,” he said in an attempt to break his mood.

“The Shades aren’t the only ones in detention,” Monika said grimly. “N.D.A. has been after the Gang for a while now. Several of their members have been captured.”

“And we’re going to break them out.”

The monk shook her head. “The ones we’re looking for…they’ve been in here for too long. We can’t set them free.”

“Then…” Gray trailed off. Hardcode looked surprised, then thoughtful.

“Right.” Monika’s voice was the definition of determination.

Gray said slowly, “I thought they couldn’t be killed by conventional weapons.”

Monika nodded. “That’s the legend. But the mental suppression is supposed to leave a weakness in them—they’re especially susceptible to psi. The suppression has destroyed their defenses. Still, their bodies regenerate almost all physical damage as soon as it’s dealt. Only…” She stopped, cocking her head.

“Only?”

“Only fire can kill them. Kyles says that there are legends about fire being purifying, but I think it just does more damage at a cellular level.” She shrugged. “Oh, and get ready—someone is coming.”

Psi crackled around Monika, and Gray drew his pistols. Hardcode took cover behind the pair; the narrow corridor made his drones worthless. Then he heard them—footsteps pounding down the hallways ahead. Lots of them. It sounded as though the entire detention guard force was converging on their position. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed—it had been that kind of day. And then they rounded the corner, and army of guards charging ahead at full speed. Monika raised her hands, wreathed in flames, and Gray drew a bead on the first guard.

“No!” Hardcode shouted. “Get back! Get against the side of the hall!”

Monika and Gray hesitated only a moment, and then moved to either side of the hall. The guards ran blindly past them without slowing down; Hardcode counted them with a practiced eye. He nodded in satisfaction as the last ran by, and the halls fell silent. When Gray looked at him he shrugged and said, “They weren’t armed, and they were out of formation. Wherever they were going, they weren’t looking for us. That was all of them, too. The building is empty.”

“They were scared,” Monika said thoughtfully. “I’m a lousy empath, but the fear was coming off of them in waves. They threw down their guns and ran, and I don’t think they’re going to stop any time soon.”

“Good?” Gray said, making it a question.

“Let’s hope so. Centuri wasn’t with them, but he usually doesn’t have the sense to run.”

“Not like any monks I know,” Gray said. “Well, it’s easier on us either way. Let’s go.”

Hardcode was right; every security post they came to was abandoned. Weapons lay scattered on the floor, and when Gray checked the security frequency he got nothing but a static buzz. He tried to activate the security cameras from one of the outposts; they didn’t respond, and the outpost didn’t have the access he needed to hack into central security. He needed to get into the Control Center for that. Hardcode offered to send a scout drone ahead, but Monika decided it would be a waste of time; Hardcode didn’t want to risk one of his experimental drones again, and one of his normal scouts might warn anyone who saw it. So they walked on, surrounded in silence and blind to what was ahead.

Then they came to Central Command. Gray whistled; Hardcode swore; even Monika looked impressed. The three-foot thick titanium security door, hydraulic and magnetized, had been ripped from its base, crumpled and tossed aside with the casual feel of a child done with his toy. Bodies lay strewn across the room, not all in one piece, and blood painted the walls. All were wearing the uniform of the N.D.A.. Weapons and armor didn’t seem to make a bit of difference; the walls were covered with plasma scorch, and a psi-storm had torn one section of the room apart with the ferocity of a hurricane. Power armor was twisted and broken on the bodies of the tanks, and in some cases torn in half as easily as tin foil. The faces of the Runners were contorted and covered in blood, but Gray could easily read the horror in each.

Monika slowly stepped forward. “This place is crawling with psi,” she said softly. “Except it’s not really psi—it feels…different. Something bad happened here.”

“You don’t say,” Hardcode replied, trying to sound sarcastic and failing.

“Yes,” Monika said. She gestured. “These poor bastards…I get the impression that they were the lucky ones. There’s still a feel of something else in here. Rage. Suffering. It stinks.”

Gray moved forward, carefully avoiding the carnage when he could. He found the body of the technician Hardcode had recorded earlier, and the datacube lying next to it. He pocketed the cube and sat at the terminal. He tried pulling up a few standard routines, but they just registered an error he didn’t recognize. He plugged himself directly into the systems, and then shook his head at what he found. Security had been torn apart; watchdog programs were running aimlessly, and large sections of the protocol were simply gone. He didn’t have to worry about setting off any alarms; they had been disabled long before they had entered the building. The defense systems were wrecked, and the security cameras refused to come online. They almost seemed to be hiding from him, afraid of what they might see. He found a registry of the cells and started dissecting it.

“Centuri’s not here,” Monika said. “It figures. He’s the one face I wouldn’t mind seeing right now. What have you got, Gray?”

“This is a joke. I’ve never seen a system so thoroughly screwed over. So much for the legendary Detention defenses. Half the systems are completely torn apart, and the other half is too scared to come online. I hate semi-artificial intelligence. I don’t have time to tear apart their response protocols.” He frowned, and an image came up on the central screen. “Well, this is better than nothing. Here’s a maintenance blueprint. The Shades are new occupants, so their data hasn’t corrupted too much.” A section of the layout started blinking. “This is where they should be, but I can’t get a visual on the security cameras. I can hack through that, but it will take time.”

“Forget it. We can’t afford to wait.”

“Are the suppression systems still up?” asked Hardcode.

Gray frowned. “Now that you mention it, I don’t know. I didn’t find access to anything like that. It must be run from a different system.”

“If it’s up, they can’t even fight back. We have to move now.”

The security doors were already unlocked, so they had no trouble making their way to the Shades’ cells. Gray strained, but still the only sounds he could make out were their own footsteps. The power to the automatic doors was offline, so they had to force each open, but with small telekinetic boosts from Monika they had no trouble. Finally they stood before the last door; the designation [B]2A[/I] was blinking fitfully as they approached, and finally went blank as they stopped.

“Not very welcoming,” Gray said softly.

Monika put her ear to the door, and then shook her head. Gray glanced at Hardcode, shrugged, and leaned into it. It opened smoothly and silently, and a gust of pressurized air brushed against his face. He stood at the end of a long hallway with opposing doors on either side, the designations for each cell flickering halfheartedly. At the end of the hall was another great set of doors; according to the map Gray had found, they led to the ‘Holding Bay’, whatever that was. The trio moved down the hallway together, suddenly reluctant to fall more than an arms reach away.

The cell doors were open—not just unlocked, but open wide, and each one was empty. Signs of recent occupation were difficult to make out; each cell was sparse, holding only a rough metal bed and a waste disposal facility. Neither Gray nor Hardcode could make out any sign that the cells had been occupied; Monika just shook her head and muttered something about residual mental patterns ‘all over the place’. They went from door to door, and each was the same; an empty cell, a cold bed, and air that smelled like it hadn’t moved for years. The air recyclers had died, Gray knew, but there was still a feel that nothing had moved in these currents for a long time—much longer than the few minutes that the systems had been down. The air tasted flat and stale, and just a little rotten. He couldn’t place it, but…it just was. He found himself breathing shallowly, but it didn’t help.

Finally Monika said, “Are you sure this is the right block? I don’t sense that anything has been here for a long time.”

Gray shifted, uncomfortable with the broken silence. “It’s the block that was on the records, but like I said—every system was corrupted all to hell. Still, I don’t think—”

He cut off as Hardcode raised his hand. The droner didn’t speak; Gray was about to ask what was wrong when he heard it too. Singing, but barely above a whisper. He didn’t recognize the song; it sounded like a lullaby, and one that made absolutely no sense. Hardcode started jogging down the hall, and Gray and Monika quickly followed. He stopped at the last door, and then rushed inside before either of them could stop him.

“Tanric!” he said. Gray recognized the name even though he didn’t know the man. Tanric was a monk who had joined the Shades after Gray had stopped hanging about with them. He had a good reputation as a loyalist and was a natural at spreading the Shades gospel. He normally stayed in the background; his mental powers leaned more toward defense than destruction, and direct confrontation wasn’t his style. He was supposed to be a fairly solid character.

Now he was curled in the corner, and Gray had never seen someone so defeated. His head was buried in his arm, his legs curled up to his chest. Thin tufts of his own hair were clenched in his fists; blood ran down his hands and onto his detention robe, although Gray couldn’t fine any wounds on the man. He was singing to himself as he rocked back and forth, a set of nonsensical words set to a simple lullaby tune. Gray tried very hard not to listen; the song was disturbing on levels of his mind he didn’t know he had. The monk’s psi had to be projecting his state of mind; Gray could only look at him for a moment before turning away.

“Tanric,” Hardcode said again. He moved forward quickly, and then stopped several feet away from his friend. He had come to an invisible shield; Tanric’s mental defenses were holding him back. The man himself didn’t respond, other than to start a new verse in his song. “Tanric, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“He’s burning himself out,” Monika said. “He’s throwing out every shield he has, but if he keeps maintaining them like this he’ll kill himself. He shouldn’t be able to; I guess that answers our question about the suppression.”

“What can we do?” said Gray. He tested the shield; it was like pushing against solid rock. “We need to snap him out of it.”

Monika nodded. “I can push through his defenses, but it will probably hurt him. His mind is very fragile right now. We’ll need to take care of him right away.” She hesitated, and then reached into her pocket. “Gray, be ready with the medkits. Hardcode…be ready with this.” She pulled out a syringe and handed it to the droner.

Hardcode took it, his distaste obvious. “A psi booster. I hate these things.”

“Don’t tell Kyles I had it,” Monika said. “Trust me, he hates them more than you. In fact, don’t even tell him about this part; he’ll get agitated.”

Gray studied her thoughtfully. “Was he…?”

“Don’t ask. It’s none of your business.”

“Fair enough.” He studied the booster for a moment. “I can’t say I like those things too much myself. Anything you have to shove in your head is bad in my book. And don’t give me any of that ‘temporal stability’ crap—I don’t care if the needle is ‘real’ or not.”

“Let’s get this over with.” Monika stepped forward. She raised one hand, laying it against the shield. She concentrated, sending thin shards of flame racing across the entire barrier. She felt the shield weaken; she knew she could blast through it, but the trick was to apply just enough pressure to pop the field without damaging Tanric. She pushed harder, and then a little harder still.

And then Tanric screamed. Gray rushed forward as Monika fell through the last barrier, and Hardcode was right behind him. Tanric was thrashing and screaming in denial, lashing out around him. Gray managed to hit him with the medkit, the nanos targeting the monks wounds. He held the man down as Hardcode popped the cap on the temporal needle. The droner hesitated for only a moment before plunging it into the monk’s head, sending a stream of pure mental energy into his brain. Tanric twitched and fell silent. His eyes closed, and he whispered something.

“Overmind,” Gray said dryly. “Well, I can’t say I like the sound of that.”

“Get him on his feet. We have to move, and he’ll be okay soon.” Monika moved to the door and studied the hall.

“Coming,” Tanric muttered. Hardcode gave him a concerned look, and he and Gray helped him to his feet. Tanric didn’t resist.

“That’s right. Come on,” encouraged Gray.

“No,” Tanric whispered, opening his eyes. “Not me. The Overmind. Coming. Looking for us.”

Gray and Hardcode glanced at each other. Finally Hardcode said, “Where are the others, Tanric?”

“Taken. To the Abyss. I hid. Didn’t see my mind.” His eyes slowly coming to focus, he managed a disturbing grin. “Bastard. Centuri. Taken too.”

“There’s some good news,” Monika muttered.

“Something came. The Hackers heard it. It cut through the security systems like a shark through bloodied waters. Released…everything. All of the experiments. Finally got to the Overmind, and released it too. The guards ran; the monsters came. Took us all. But they couldn’t see me; my shields were barely strong enough.”

Gray took a deep breath. “Took them where, Tanric? We need to free them.”

Tanric laughed harshly and gestured. “The Holding Bay. To Hell. The Abyss is there, now. It leads down, down into the earth.” He coughed, pushing away from Hardcode and Gray. “It’s sleeping now, but it will wake when it hears us. The Shades…are still alive. I can feel them.”

“Can you lead us to them?” Monika asked softly.

“Can you save them?” Tanric whispered. “You can’t leave them.”

Gray sighed, met each pair of eyes, and forced himself to walk toward the last door. Monika followed; then Hardcode and Tanric. He had been right—it was one of those days.

I will.
__________________

""" Into the Blinding Light"""

The Cathedral dominated everything. It pressed down on Kyles with the weight of a hundred minds, each intent on breaking his defenses to learn the secrets within. There was no individuality in the need; all were as one in the Cathedral, and one hand guided the mass of psi. Nobody was really certain whose hand—the mind binding all of the faithful together never spoke, and its will never faltered as individual monks entered and left it. Equally ambiguous was its purpose; as far as Kyles could tell it did nothing but watch, picking thoughts out of all within it range. What it did with the thoughts was anybody’s guess. Since leaving the Order he had tried very hard to forget the feel of the mass-mind; it was bait, always attempting to lure him in.

He put as much strength into his shields as he could, then ignored it. He had gotten plenty of practice in the past.

As usual, Dame Crimson didn’t seem to give a damn. She was attempting to glare in every direction at once, but that wasn’t unusual. Monks moved through the courtyard with an air of superiority she found disgusting, and when she tried to get their attention by throwing things they refused to meet her eyes. Minds brushed against hers like feathers, and then went brushing right along after a moment of horrified contact. Crimson didn’t have Kyles’ shields, so she simply projected herself as hard as she could. It seemed to be working; every so often a monk would get a surprised look on his face, make a gagging noise, and run from the courtyard trying not to be sick. Even she could feel something…large…in the air, but she just resorted to her usual line of defense against a greater force: blistering the air with venomous insults and looking for someone to cut into little pieces as an example.

“Where the hell is he?” she said after winding down a bit. “I swear, nobody makes me wait like this. If he’s not here in five minutes, I’m setting something on fire.”

“They would just put it out,” Kyles said absently. He was worried about Helen; since they had entered the Abbey, he could no longer feel her mind. As they had crossed the gates, she had fallen limp in his arms. It was like a switch had been thrown somewhere inside of her head. After a few moments of probing, he decided that he couldn’t do anything until he was back to full power. Unfortunately, that meant leaving her with Abbey physicians—the most powerful psychic healers in the land, but he didn’t trust them any more than he would trust Crimson to help a wounded puppy. It also didn’t help that Helen had been Marked by the Wastelands. Even aside from her eyes, Kyles could sense a mutant strain running deep into her body. The Followers had strict rules about dealing with mutants.

“Let them try,” said Crimson. “I see several monks that would make some great kindling.”

“He’ll be here,” Kyles said. “He never passes up a chance to test me. Or to make sure that I wade through every last bit of mud and muck he can put in my path when I need something.”

“My kind of victim.”

“Be my guest—after we get what we came for.”

“What did we come here for?” She glared at a monk that had strayed too close, and he quickly walked away with a shocked expression. “This place is not my idea of a good time, and I don’t think Wolfe wants us talking to anyone—especially a bunch of fanatics.”

“Wolfe was a fanatic once,” Kyles reminder her. He nodded toward the central spire of the Cathedral. “And that’s what we came for. There are answers for everyone in the Abbey, Crimson, whether we want to hear them or not. At some point in time, the mass-mind has touched someone who knows the information we need—information about Octavia, and Rhonac. Someone has seen them, or knows where Octavia would go.”

“And it’s going to tell us all about it?” Crimson asked dubiously.

“It may,” Kyles said softly. “Every thought of a dozen generations is stored in the Cathedral.”

“Yes,” came a dry, rasping voice. “That is why we call it the Cathedral of Memory. And why its use is restricted to those who have only the utmost of need. As you well know, Faylen.”

Kyles turned, and found Golon Kalah standing before him. He was a short man, and his hunched stature gave the impression of great age. He wore the plain brown robes of his order, and the glove marking him as one of the faithful. Nothing about him spoke of power; he almost seemed to blend into the brickwork, so inconspicuous was his pose. Still, Kyles felt a part of him shrinking away. His memories of the Abbey were all bad, but none worse than of this man. Kyles was one of the few individuals with the power to block Golon Kalah completely from his mind, and the monk had spared no effort in trying to break down those barriers. Kyles forced the memories out of his mind; Golon Kalah was just another wall between him and the Cathedral. No more.

Now he said, “I’ve never accepted the title of Faylen. As you well know.”

Golon Kalah narrowed his eyes. “Once outcast, there is no returning. You are Faylen in the eyes of the Order, and will forever be branded so.”

Kyles shrugged. “Even you can’t force that. When the First Follower decrees it, maybe it will be so. Until then, I’m just out of favor.”

“Why do you cling?” Golon Kalah asked softly. Kyles could feel his mind seeking what Kyles kept hidden. “Your hatred of the Order is legendary. One such as yourself would wear the title of Faylen with pride; you’ve made your life an attempt to turn all of the faithful away from the Blinding Light. And yet…you reject our attempt to sever all ties.”

“Your attempt,” Kyles corrected him. “It’s mostly just to irritate you. You’re right; I don’t give a damn about the Order. I’m just here now to take care of a little business.”

“I think not. You know the rules of enlightenment, Faylen. Only when the Order itself is at threat may the Cathedral be entered.”

“This guy doesn’t look so tough,” said Crimson. “Can I kill him now?”

Golon Kalah turned his mind to Dame Crimson. Crimson felt him sifting through her thoughts, and smiled. Her smile faltered slightly at the monk’s blank expression; if he found her mind uncomfortable, he showed no sign.

Finally he said, “Call off your jackal, Faylen. She’s going to get hurt if she follows through on those impulses.” He smiled slightly at Crimson. “Did you really think that I would shy from your mind? You and your petty insanity are as nothing to me. I’ve communed with forces beyond your comprehension.”

“Oh? Can they put your head back on?” Crimson snarled, and lashed out with her claw before either monk could respond. Energy blazed through the courtyard, more force than any one monk could ever produce, and slammed into Crimson before she could complete her swing. She was lifted into the air and slammed into the stone wall. Electricity coursed through her body, and smoke started rising from her hair. Golon Kalah studied her indifferently as she hung in midair, and then turned back to Kyles.

“Replacing my head may be beyond their means, but protecting me from a psychopath poses no problem,” he said mildly.

“Let her down,” said Kyles. “Now.”

“You know the rules, Faylen. She has raised a hand against one of the faithful in the Abbey. The punishment is death.”

“Let her down, or I’ll do it myself. You know I can.” Kyles was hoping like hell that he wasn’t bluffing; at full power he could probably save Dame Crimson himself, but as things stood he wasn’t so sure.

Golon Kalah studied him for a moment, and then gestured. The power left the courtyard in a wave, and Crimson fell to the ground. She was on her feet immediately, ignoring whatever pain she felt, and Kyles could sense her tensing to launch herself back at Golon Kalah. Abruptly he felt a slight shift in her thoughts; she went from anger to amusement, which faded away to a stone cold patience.

Golon Kalah said, “I have the entire power of the Brotherhood behind me. Do not forget it, killer.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Crimson promised.

“And now that we have that straightened out, the two of you may leave. I don’t recommend coming back, Faylen—there is no place for you here. You belong in the land of the mundane now.”

“I don’t think so,” Kyles said easily. “I’m entering the Cathedral, and you can’t bloody well stop me. We can take it to the First Follower if you like—”

“He won’t see you,” Golon Kalah said a bit too quickly.

“—but I have my ticket right here.” He carefully lifted Helen Angilley from the ground.

Golon Kalah studied her for a moment, and frowned. “A mutant. You take pleasure in flaunting your sins, Faylen? You would dare bring her here? Even of you, Faylen, I would have thought better.”

“Somehow I doubt it. Her name isn’t important, but what she says is.” He fixed Golon Kalah with a fierce glare. “Listen carefully, Golon Kalah: this woman can hear the earth.”

“The earth…” Golon Kalah began, then trailed off. He stared at Kyles, disbelief obvious on his face.

“Screaming,” Kyles added. “As we approached the Abbey it grew stronger.”

“I don’t believe you,” the monk responded. He studied Angilley; Kyles could feel his mind at work. After a moment he said, “I can’t hear her. She’s under your protection; release her mind that I may seek the truth.”

Kyles hid his surprise. Whatever was wrong with Helen was blocking out even Golon Kalah. Kyles knew that the monk would not be gentle with his mental prodding; meeting resistance, he would have shoved against her mind with all the subtly of a Guardian demolition crew. “To you?” he said, letting the monk believe what he wanted. “No chance. In any case, being inside the Abbey is too much for her. There’s no telling what would happen to her mind if I lowered my shields. She’s wounded.”

“And a mutant,” Golon Kalah said, rationalizing with Kyles without realizing it. “Her mental waves would be erratic even under the best of circumstances…” The monk turned to Crimson; Kyles knew that he was searching her mind for information about Angilley, and he had to hide a grin. Dame Crimson knew nothing about psi, and had no idea of how weakened Kyles really was. Also, she had not paid a bit of attention to the mutant since Kyles had carried her out of the sewers. Kyles doubted that even Golon Kalah could get any two bits of information out of Crimson’s head to make sense, and for once he was glad to be paired with the woman.

Finally the monk shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that. If what you say is true, she would not come to a Faylen. It wouldn’t be permitted.”

“Very well,” said Kyles. “You say I can’t see the First Follower, so we need another judge. If you seek the truth, then call out the mass-mind. None of us can hide from it; not here.”

Golon Kalah stared at him. His mind pushed, but Kyles fended it off; the mental struggle was wearing the monk down. He knew that his defenses would never fall to him. It drove the monk to distraction, but more importantly it drove him to desperation. He couldn’t believe what Kyles was telling him, but he couldn’t ignore it either. He had no choice; he had to know the truth.

“Very well,” he said softly, and beckoned.

Dust stirred in the air though there was no wind; voices spoke softly in the distance, echoing a language that no tongue could pronounce. Kyles felt the presence like a breeze on his cheek, the minds and memories of countless monks fluttering in the air like a thousand butterflies. Before it had come as a force, crackling and unstoppable in its might. Now it was a wind, filtering into the courtyard without touching on the real world. Kyles felt it surround him; it felt like the breath of life and death, scales that could not be tipped, justice that could not be denied. Even Crimson looked impressed; at least, she didn’t look like she was about to kill something, which was more than Kyles had been able to say about her until now.

And then it was gone. Kyles studied Golon Kalah; the monk’s face was impassive. He had his answer, however much he wanted to deny it. “Very well,” he said again. “It is a judgment that cannot be denied; not by a lowly faithful such as myself.”

There was the sound of a large bell ringing. It echoed throughout the Abbey, and monks flooded to the courtyard in disbelief. The shock grew as they saw Kyles; disbelief became anger, and the word ‘Faylen’ echoed in whispers through the yard. Golon Kalah’s glare silenced them; they quietly gathered before the door to the Cathedral, witnesses to whatever would come next.

Kyles approached the great doors, still carrying Helen, followed closely by Golon Kalah and Dame Crimson. The reverberations of the bell slowly died; for a moment the earth fell silent. Then there was a hollow roar, all of the thunder in the world rolling across the Abbey, and the doors cracked. A thin line of light streamed out, slowly widening as the doors opened, until the entire courtyard was bathed in a magnificent purifying flame. The monks turned away, unable to stand the glare; Kyles stared into the heart of the Cathedral, listening to voices no other monk could hear. Even Golon Kalah turned away; regardless of his hatred for Kyles Sendrick, he knew that this light was not for him. If he pushed too hard, he would be burned. The Blinding Light was not a forgiving force.

Dame Crimson forced herself to look, mostly out of spite. She didn’t like anything telling her what she could or could not do, even if it was supposedly divine. She felt the light burning her from the inside, but didn’t care. Pain was life, she thought distantly, as though that explained it.

Kyles felt like he should say something momentous, but the Light drowned out his every thought. After a moment, he simply said, “I’ll be right back,” and stepped through the doors. They instantly began sliding shut; they would not move again until Kyles opened them.

The monks looked to the doors as the Light began to recede, and so they all saw Dame Crimson studying the Cathedral thoughtfully. “This is where the answers are?” she mused to nobody in particular. “Sounds good to me.” Then, before anyone could stop her, she leaped forward through the doors. The Light vanished entirely as the great doors slid shut behind her; the monks stared on in shock.

Golon Kalah screamed in an incoherent rage. He ran forward, throwing himself at the Cathedral doors, but they did not budge. He raised a hand to summon the mass-mind, but there was no response—the focus of the Abby’s power was contained in the Cathedral now, and would not be released until Kyles willed it. In the end he simply sank to his knees before the impassive structure, defeated. He heard the other monks muttering around him, but he ignored them—what could they do now?

Simply wait.
__________________

The Blinding Light.

It flowed over Kyles like liquid energy, a shower of tingling sparks whirling through the air like a storm of electric dust. The Cathedral was gone; the world had been replaced by an endless plane of brilliant mental plasma, an ocean of thoughts and memories meshed together to form one ultimate power. Kyles floated on the energy like a child cast adrift at sea, but he felt no fear. He was soothed; the warm ebb and flow of life surrounded and cradled him, a force so powerful that nothing could stand against it; and while Kyles had its favor, he could not be harmed. It lulled and beckoned, gesturing with a gentle hand for Kyles to lose himself in the flow, to abandon the petty concerns of the mundane and ascend beyond any other mind on the planet. It was wisdom and truth, and it could not be denied.

That is why we call it the Cathedral of Memory.

Golon Kalah’s voice, echoing through the ether. Kyles frowned; not at the voice of Golon Kalah, whose threat seemed distant and insignificant here, but because of the memory the title triggered. The Cathedral of Memory, indeed. That was what the faithful called it, claiming that the thoughts of countless monks made up the massmind, guiding it in times of peace and focusing it in times of need. There were books, though—books buried deep beneath the Abbey, books that very few monks had ever seen—that gave the Cathedral other names. The Hallways of Thought. The Path of the Eye. The Door to Inner Being. The Window to the Endless. The Gateway of the White.

There were others, but one now rang in Kyles’ mind. On one page it was labeled the Cathedral of Memory; on the next, the Cathedral of Insanity.

Of course, nobody knew where the books had come from. The art of printing data on paper was ancient, and the books were proof of it. They had been discovered by the outcast monks, sealed in vaults with an old but efficient preservation technology. The monks had taken them as a sign, and Kyles couldn’t say that he blamed them. The lore inside of their pages was obscure at best, and most often flatly bizarre, but that was nothing new to the monks of that time. Kyles himself had seen little of the collection, but once upon a time he had gained access to some of the hidden archives. What he had read there did not comfort him; it did not beckon as the Light did now. In fact, it had quite frankly scared the hell out of him.

Now he wrapped his caution around him like a cloak, refusing the luring call of the Light. The force wished for him to open his mind; he strengthened his defenses and projected a few more just in case. It offered him power, the ability to guide the massmind at his whim; he refused it, casting a shell over his mind that would not allow it to interfere with the environment. It wanted him to surrender his mind to become one with the divine force; he focused his being until his essence was stronger than the densest steel. It buffeted him in a hurricane of thoughts and emotions; he stood still against the wind, and finally it fell silent.

“What is this place?” came a soft voice beside him.

Kyles looked over and saw Helen Angilley. She had been healed; her skin was no longer covered in electric burns, and she was walking easily at his side. Her eyes were slowly revolving in separate directions, passively examining the bright world around them. She did not seem to be disturbed by the Blinding Light; if anything, her presence was somewhat disturbing in itself, a slight distortion in an otherwise perfect canvas. It was the Mark of the Wastelands, Kyles realized. The mutant strain in her body was to the Blinding Light as one poorly tuned instrument was to an otherwise glorious orchestra. There was a void of energy around her, as though the mental dust was repelled by her presence. She was a beacon of unpleasant reality in a world that had transcended such things, and the massmind almost seemed to be debating her presence.

Kyles suddenly wondered if bringing her here had been a bad idea.

Pushing the useless thought from his mind, he said, “This is the Cathedral of Memory, the heart of the Blinding Light.”

“What is the Blinding Light?” Helen reached out, dispersing the energy around her.

“Well,” Kyles said slowly, a bit uncertain. “Nobody really knows. Supposedly Crahn was ‘the God of the Blinding Light’, but nobody has really ever explained what that means. The Followers of Crahn think that it’s a form of psi, a concentrated energy so powerful it could—”

Helen blinked, one eye at a time, as Kyles hesitated. “Could what?”

“Could do anything,” Kyles said. “Destroy, create, and whatever you can think of in between. It can tap into every monk on the planet, and answer any question. It can reform what is, or erase it and begin from scratch. Nothing can stand against it; if you don’t bend, then you break, and you get tossed away like a leaf in a hurricane. It erases truth. Or, better to say that it becomes truth—replaces it, in a way. It is humanity’s ultimate evolution, and someday it will raise us above the mundane.”

Helen studied to whorls of light impassively. “Sounds…dramatic.”

“The Followers like to cover all of their bases,” Kyles said dryly. “It wouldn’t do to have a deity with a weakness. Bad for the image.”

Helen turned one speculative eye to Kyles. “And this is it?”

“It’s the closest thing the faithful have found. I suppose they’ve decided that it will do until something better comes along.”

“But what is it?”

Kyles shrugged. “Even the Followers don’t know for certain. The Cathedral is very singular in nature. It’s some kind of focal point that nobody understands—not Reza, not the Tech Haven researchers, not the head of the Guardians. Not even First Follower Kansil, although he’ll be the first to tell you differently. It acts like a lightning rod for psi—drawing it in from all points of the earth, as far as we can tell. But it also acts as some kind of storage for it as well. Nobody understands that either, but it is what the Followers based…” He trailed off, staring into the distance, and then forced himself to go on, “It’s the bases for psi-booster technology. The Followers don’t understand it, but they discovered a method to duplicate it—at least on a small scale. Mental energy stored in a syringe—isn’t technology wonderful?”

Helen Angilley shook her head, her expression somber. “No. I do not like psi. It is wrong.”

Kyles blinked, taken aback by the blunt sincerity of her statement. “Why don’t you like psi?”

“It is wrong,” she said simply.

Kyles considered pursuing the question, but got the impression that this was the entirety of her answer. They stood in silence for a time, and finally Kyles said softly, “Is it true that you can hear the screaming?”

“Yes. Why were you avoiding that question?”

Kyles glanced at here, surprised again by her bluntness. “I don’t like thinking about it,” he answered. “It’s one of the reasons I left the Abbey in the first place. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Helen nodded. “Do you know what it means? What it is?”

Kyles said carefully, “I know a little; Golon Kalah knows more, and the First Follower. Do you know what it is?”

Helen Angilley nodded.

“How?” he said. “Only monks can hear it, and even then only a small percentage. You’re certainly no monk; if anything, your mind is bent toward the rejection of all psi. You were even able to block out Golon Kalah. How can you hear the earth?”

“The same way I knew that you were Faylen. The Wastelands show me the truth.”

Kyles stared. Could she mean…? No; it wasn’t possible. At least, it had never happened before. Helen was Marked by the Wastelands; physically, mentally, and genetically. It went deep; there was no denying that she was a full mutant. Could her mind be altered enough to see what others couldn’t? And even if it were, how could she know that he was a Faylen? It wasn’t a term used outside of the Order. There were monks that were trained to gather information, but no real diviners, as such; even Helen Angilley couldn’t pull threads of information from thin air. Could she?

“The Waste whispers to me,” she said softly, anticipating his thoughts.

“Very well,” he said. “Then tell me: what do they say to you of the screaming beneath the earth?”

“That it may be the downfall of the Followers of Crahn. That it is the Shadow of the Mind, and it will fall over every monk if it is left unopposed. That it is the silent voice of the Soundless, and when the world hears it, the Blinding Light will be replaced by the Deafening Roar. And when the Roar rushes over us all, there will be nothing left. Nothing, but…noise.”

Her distant, matter-of-fact tone left Kyles speechless for a moment. It was all true, in a manner of speaking. He whispered, “The Wastes tell you all of that?”

“Most,” she replied. “Some things I learned elsewhere. You are avoiding another question.”

“I am?” Kyles shook his head. “I don’t know. What do you know about the Soundless?”

“More than you. But that is not the question.”

“I don’t…” Kyles sighed, and stared into the plane of Light. He wondered what was supposed to happen next; very few entered the Cathedral, and none would speak of what transpired. They always came out with knowledge, but Kyles didn’t know how that knowledge was imparted. He clasped his hands and tapped his wrists; he wondered what was going on outside. He wondered at Helen; her words were almost prophetic, but he knew the meaning behind each one, and he knew that her vision of what cried beneath the Abbey was accurate. Eventually he could not take it any longer; he bowed his head and said, “Fine. You can hear the earth; you know things that nobody who is—or was—not a Follower could know. You could have gone to anyone; any monk of the Order would listen to you. But me? Why did you come to me?”

“Because you are not any monk in the Order. You are a true Faylen, and no Follower can do what will need to be done.”

“And what,” Kyles said very slowly, “will need to be done?”

“You are here,” came a voice, “to discover that very answer.”

Kyles and Helen both turned. Before them hovered a figure of blinding power. It was a human carved from the purest of energy, a creature of the Light, and it was smiling gently at them. It floated cross-legged in the ether, and it radiated serenity and wisdom, peace and the ultimate harmony of the mind. Sparks of psi slowly revolved around it; Kyles realized that they were now standing in the center of a psionic vortex, a whirlpool of energy focused around this creature. He felt his mind being pulled toward it; he realized that the psi was slipping through his shields, layer by layer. He didn’t care; this being was more beautiful than he could have imagined, and more powerful than any monk could dream. He wanted to lift his arms to it, but realized that he was trembling too much to even move.

“Are you…?” he whispered, unable to complete the question.

“Yes,” said the being. Its voice was an angelic chorus, the melodious song of countless monks in perfect mental harmony. “I am the Blinding Light. I am Neocron’s salvation, and its hope. I am peace, and logic, and evolution. I am what you are looking for, Kyles Sendrick. I am what can make you whole.”

Kyles was speechless. It was true; he could feel it. Distantly he could sense Helen Angilley cocking her head, examining the Blinding Light as though studying a complex mathematical equation. He could sense the mutant strain in her more strongly then ever, and was repulsed by it. He longed for Monika Blaze’s pyrokinetic force, that he might strike her down now to appease the divine Light before him. He felt his mind moving in alien ways, searching for a destructive wave to hurl at the disgusting creature.

And then Helen reached out, brushing her hand across his cheek. The euphoria popped like a bubble, taking with it the rage, and Kyles felt his mind slam back into his head. A wave of nausea washed through him, and he fought to stay standing as his head swam.

Helen Angilley studied the Light for another moment, and then shook her head. “No. I don’t think that you are any of those things. I think that you are lying.” She looked out on the sea of psi, and shook her head again. “I am sorry, Kyles Faylen. I do not think that we should have come here. I think that this is the most wrong thing of all.”
__________________

""" The Abyss"""

“What,” said Hardcode slowly, “was this place supposed to ‘hold’?”

“The files didn’t say,” replied Gray. “Or if they did, it was corrupted.”

“Whatever it was, it’s gone now,” said Monika. “Thank God.”

“God had nothing to do with this,” said Tanric. His voice was still hoarse from screaming. “There is nothing natural in this place. Just pain and misery. Death, fear, and suffering. Things…happened here. Things that were borne from alien nightmares, and brought into this life by those who can barely be considered human.” He gestured to the wide room, and what it contained. “I can still feel insanity in the air.”

“Wow, will you be my friend?” said Gray dryly. “You have a way of making the world look a little brighter.”

Still, he didn’t need Tanric to tell him how bad things had been here. The room was massive, and all of it was focused around the cage in the center. Gray couldn’t fathom what manner of creature would require such defenses. Each bar of the cage was over two feet thick, and he could see that it was rigged with tech—electricity could be run through the bars, and the metal could be ionized to trigger molecular explosions around the perimeter. There were grates for dispersing gas into the holding area, and security lasers were positioned at regular intervals, all facing the center of the room. He noted no fewer than six slumped, angular forms standing motionless in the shadows: S.T.O.R.M. Bots, every one turned toward the cage.

And all for nothing. One wall of the cage had been torn apart, ripped outward. Gray could not imagine the kind of force required to bend two feet of titanium, much less break it apart and send it flying across a room. The smell of ozone told him that the lasers had been fired recently, but he doubted they had gotten more than one shot; they had been crushed, flattened completely. The S.T.O.R.M. Bots were motionless, either defeated or deactivated before they could even respond. Gray resisted the urge to unload his pistol into one, out of principle if nothing else; it wasn’t often you got the chance to take a shot at a Bot, and the longer he was here the more he wanted to shoot something. Tanric was right; there was nothing natural in this place, and Gray couldn’t help but want to cleanse it from the earth.

There were also ten men and woman positioned around the cage. Gray thought that his eyes were tricking him, but a second look confirmed—the people were breathing. Tanric rushed forward, only to stop short of the first man. His face twisted as he stumbled backwards; he had the look of a man trying desperately not to wretch. Gray and Hardcode simply looked at him, not understanding, but Monika’s eyes grew wide, and she raised a hand to her mouth.

“What?” said Gray. “Are they dead?”

“No,” said Monika. “They’re…blank. They used to be monks, but now…”

“They were guards,” said Tanric. He gestured toward the cage, a look of revulsion on his face. “The cage was a physical barrier; the monks provided a mental one. All ten of them were focused on containing what was in here. Their minds are burned now. Scoured clean.”

“Brain burn?” asked Hardcode.

“Worse. They will never recover from this. Even if they wake up…all of their psi will be gone. Their minds will be shadows of what they were, and the world will be dark to them.”

“But they can wake up? At least they would be alive.”

“You don’t understand,” said Monika. “Nobody not a monk could. It would be like waking up to discover that all of your senses were gone. It would be like being paralyzed from the neck down, when before you could fly.”

“So we’re not going to help them?” asked Gray.

“I don’t think I even want to. They were part of all this, you know.”

“True.” Gray gave the monks one last look, and then turned his eyes to the cage.

And there was the hole. The Abyss, Tanric had called it, and Gray couldn’t disagree with the description. It was in the center of the cage, a pit over twenty yards across, burrowed directly through who knew how many feet of steel and stone. A trail of blood led through the opening in the cage and down into the earth. Not all of it was human, but too much of it was red; whatever monsters had been released had not been gentle to their prisoners. It was dark in the deep; the Abyss almost seemed to absorb light, revealing none of its black secrets. This was where they had to go. Into the earth.

Gray decided not to think about that. Ever, if he could help it.

The walls were lined with monitors. Miraculously, one was still functioning; Gray walked over to it. The text was blinking over and over in different colors, almost as though trying to get their attention. Gray leaned over the screen, and then froze. It was trying to get their attention—his, at least. The text on the screen froze as he read it:

REAVER GRAY REAVER GRAY REAVER GRAY REAVER GRAY

YOUCANNOTHAVEHIMYOUCANNOTHAVEHIMYOUCANNOTH
AVEHIMYOUCANNOTHAVEHIMYOUCANNOTHAVEHIMYOUC
ANNOTHAVEHIMYOUCANNOTHAVEHIMYOUCANNOTHAVE…

The message was repeated to the bottom of the screen. It was signed Mr. Silence. Gray stared at it for a moment, unconsciously feeling at the datacube in his pocket.

“What does it say?” Hardcode called over.

“Nothing,” Gray replied. “What do you say we call it a day, and a job well done? Drinks on me?”

“I’ll hold you to the drinks, but we aren’t going anywhere,” said Monika. She looked over to the screen and frowned. “Although I can’t say I like the looks of that.”

Gray nodded, pulled out his pistol, and shot the screen. Problem solved, he thought sardonically. “Right then. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.”

“I wish I had time to burn these Bots,” Monika said as they walked into the cage. “I can’t tell if they’re dead or just deactivated, and I would hate to have to fight our way past them on the way out should they wake up.”

“I don’t think that anything around here is going to be working again for a long time,” said Hardcode.

“Well, we can hope.”

They stood side by side at the edge of the Abyss. Gray strained his eyes to the limit, but he could not see more than a few feet down. He could not hear anything, either. It was as if the hole swallowed sight and sound, and any other sense he directed at it. He suspected that Monika and Tanric could sense more with their psi; both stood glaring at the pit as though it had offended them personally, and the air around each shivered with unreleased power.

“Well,” said Hardcode, as nobody moved. “Come on. How bad could it be?”

“Famous last words,” said Gray.

“Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?” said Monika absently, still studying the pit.

Gray and Hardcode just stared at her. “What?” asked Gray.

“Famous last words,” she explained. “That’s the last thing a lot of people say when I show up.”

Gray blinked, and Hardcode buried his head in his hands. “I change my mind,” said Gray. “I want to trade for Kyles.”

Tanric glared at them all. “If you’re done being unspeakably clever, can we please get on with this? The Shades are down there, remember?”

Monika nodded. “Right. Okay, Tanric, I’m all pyro. Can you use your psi to tell us what’s down there?”

Tanric shook his head. “I’m spending every bit of power I have on hiding us from the Overmind. I may be able to spare some in an emergency, but…I would rather not risk it. Not yet. It could find us.”

“Okay, I like what Tanric is doing,” said Gray. “Good excuse. Hardcode?”

Hardcode nodded and released a regular scout drone. It sank into the darkness like a submarine submerging into black waters, and Hardcode’s face went blank. “It’s dark, but my sensors can read the walls. There are steps going down; rough, but serviceable. There are a couple of unusual chemicals in the air, but nothing harmful. There is blood on the walls and steps, so be careful going down; it may be slippery. I think—” he frowned, adjusting his sensors. “Wait. I have movement. There’s something in the dark. It’s—” He suddenly stumbled backwards, clutching at his head.

“What is it? What did you see?” Monika asked.

“Teeth,” Hardcode growled. “Lots of them. Something ate my drone.”

They stared at him for a moment, and then Monika said, “Right. Bugger that.” She leveled her hands to the darkness, and the world exploded in flames. They filled the pit with a purifying light, scouring the walls as they raged into the earth. Gray got a brief glimpse of the hole, lit by Monika’s psi. The earth had been torn and gouged as something burrowed into it, with no grace or mercy. The steps looked to be an afterthought, little more than rough ledged knocked out of the slanting wall. He had a second to see…things…at the bottom, and then he heard screams as Monika’s flames swept over them. She kept the heat focused until the last screams dwindled away, and then cut off the flames with a snap.

“So much for the subtle entrance,” said Hardcode.

“Hell,” said Monika, “They have to learn sooner or later that there’s something worse than them down there. If you weren’t paying attention, that would be me.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” said Gray. He dug through his pack and pulled out several flashlights. Handing them out, he said, “Be careful with these. I don’t have any replacements.”

“Oh, I’m sure that Miss Blaze could provide us with a little light if necessary,” said Hardcode.

“Count on it,” said Monika. Then, guided by her flashlight, she stepped into the darkness.

Gray and Hardcode looked at each other, and both shrugged. They followed Monika down; Gray with his pistol drawn, and Hardcode clutching his experimental drone.

Tanric stood alone at the ledge, staring at the lights as they descended into the earth. Of all of them, his mind alone had been touched by the Overmind, if only briefly. The others saw only darkness; he knew some of what waited for them. They might envy the burned monks by the time they came out of the Abyss—if they did come out.

And he was scared.

“Hey,” Monika’s voice drifted up, “it smells like the worlds most disgusting grill-out down here.”

“Will you stop saying things like that?” asked Gray. “If I say please?”

“How about if I threaten to hurt you?” added Hardcode hopefully. Monika just laughed.

Tanric bowed his head for a moment, and then followed the group into the darkness.

* * *

They reached the bottom of the steps, stopped, and stared. Gray was getting a little tired of being surprised; it had happened so many times today he had lost count.

“What is this place?” asked Hardcode softly.

“I don’t know,” said Gray. There was nothing about it in the blueprints I dug up.”

The steps down had been uncomfortable; they had been dug by something larger than human, and at times they had almost been climbing instead of walking. The blood had been burned away by Monika’s attack, and all that remained was the smell of cooked flesh. There was a residue from whatever had dug the hole; Monika and Tanric had spent the entire climb glaring into the dark, looking for something to hit. The darkness swallowed their lights, but the group had managed to make it down safely.

What was at the bottom, however, was not alien. It was man-made, and Gray had never seen its like.

The hole opened into what Gray had initially assumed was a cavern; a second look, however, told him that it was more. It was a hangar of some sort, a wide room supported by massive stone arches at regular intervals. There were vehicles here of a make that Gray did not recognize; worn and broken by time, they looked like metal skeletons in an ancient crypt. There were also computers, but none of them were active; Gray strained his ears, but could not detect the hum of a power grid. This place seemed dead.

There were also bodies, and they were most certainly dead. The creatures at the bottom of the stairs had been burned beyond recognition, but further in the room lay more; some human, some…other. It was simple enough to determine the cause of death to the humans; plasma scorch and claw marks said that they had died fighting. The creatures had apparently carried them until they realized that the prisoners wouldn’t survive; then they had simply dropped them. The other bodies, though…Gray was no expert, but it looked as though they may have died against…each other.

It was hard to tell. There was nothing in them that was human; not anymore, and signs of battle were hard to trace. Some looked like animals; some bore a trace of mutation, mixed with something dreadful; some were not recognizable in any way. He saw a body covered in fur, with more arms than it should have, and a flat mouth filled with sharpened teeth. One had been thrown against the wall; it was small and hairless, but had wide, transparent wings that had been broken at each joint. There was a shadow on the floor that appeared to be an oddly shaped plasma scorch; looking closer, Gray saw that it was a cloud of black winged butterflies; they had fallen into the form of a disturbingly human silhouette. There was a dried out husk that looked as though it had been dead for years, and Gray couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. It didn’t seem to have a head, just two massively powerful legs and a torso.

“Who else wants to leave?” said Hardcode softly.

“Let’s vote on it,” said Gray. “Oh, I’m just kidding Monika. Don’t look at me like that.” He waved his torch around the room. “I don’t suppose anybody recognizes any of this? All I can tell is that it’s old. Oh, and creepy. Did I mention creepy? I meant to.”

“Old is right,” said Monika. “I wish that Kyles was here. He’s studied history.”

Gray walked over to study a computer. It was ancient, but his honed Hacking senses told him that properly powered, it might actually work. He kicked open the wall mounted case and whistled, his eyes wide. “Hardcode, take a look at this.”

Hardcode turned his torch into the compartment, and then echoed Gray’s whistle. “Is that—it is.”

“Ceres technology,” said Gray. “Original Ceres technology. Old—it has to date back to before the war. And—dear Crahn, look at the circuitry. This is way beyond anything we’ve managed to duplicate from the discs.”

Hardcode pointed. “Look—a neural port.”

“I change my vote,” said Gray. “I want to stay. Er…right here, that is.”

“I’m sure there will be more toys for you to play with up ahead,” said Monika. “Now get up, or I’ll fry those circuits as motivation.”

“Spoilsport,” said Gray.

Before they could move, though, Tanric raised a hand. “Something…” he whispered. He shook his head. “No. Someone. Someone is coming.” He turned to the group, his eyes intent. “And it’s human.”
__________________

Gray raised his pistol; Monika called on her psi, glaring uncertainly into the darkness. Gray felt that he could sense movement in every dark corner. He wished that he had picked up one of the detention guards’ rifles; he had only brought the pistols because he had thought he would be fighting in close quarters. Now, in this open room, he wanted to unload a clip of something automatic in pretty much every direction at once.

There was motion in the void, and a figure stepped forward. It was human, Gray saw, a figure in the white robes of a monk. He was unarmed, and their weapons did not seem to concern him. He studied the group for a moment, and then raised a hand in greeting. “Ah. Humans again walk these dark halls. It has been long in coming.”

“Tanric?” said Monika.

Tanric shook his head. “His mind is closed. He’s human, but…I can’t see anything more. He’s blocking me out.”

“There are things that none are meant to see,” said the man. His voice was a soft rasp in the dead air, but it held a hint of kindness.

“Well, some things had better seen awfully damned fast,” Monika replied. “For example: who the hell are you, and why shouldn’t I fry you right now?”

“He’s not in the prisoner manifold,” said Gray. “He’s not N.D.A., and he’s not a guard.”

“Oh, but I am,” said the man. “A guard, that is.” He gestured into the dark facility. “Long have I wandered these corridors, proof against any that think to plunder them. Long have I waited for the city of the New Time to discover this place, that it may ascend from this darkness to bring glory and prosperity to the worthy.”

Gray blinked. “Wait. Are you saying that there’s another way into this place? That could complicate things; I don’t think that we can afford to let the monsters escape into the city. Hell, I wouldn’t want to let them loose in the Wastelands.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” said the man. “This facility has been trapped underground for countless years. All paths from it lay beneath tons of fallen earth. This hole is the first entrance made. Until this day, none have walked its halls besides myself.”

“Countless years…” said Gray. “Hold on—just how long have you been down here?”

“Time is as nothing beneath the earth.”

“Stop talking like a Follower,” Gray warned. “I mean it. And time damned well does have meaning, even down here. Make with the info, or I’ll let Monika loose on you.”

“We have no friends down here,” Tanric whispered. “There are those we have come to rescue, and the monsters. If you are not one, then you are the other.”

The man gave him a pitying look. “Time is as nothing,” he said again. “But if you search for numbers…” He gestured to the computer mounted next to Gray. “I remember when those circuits were alive with electricity. I remember when technicians moved among them, adjusting and improving. I remember…light, though it is a distant memory at best. I remember when the earth shook.” He frowned. “It trembled unendingly, and the times of peace were but brief interludes between the quakes. There were men here, then, running and shouting; soldiers, looking in vain for targets, and scientists intent on preserving what they could. Important men and women, insisting that all leave for a place of safety—even though no such place existed. Still, the scientists and soldiers left, and everybody else. Everybody but me. Even the electricity fled, eventually. It has been dark since.” He frowned again, staring into the distance. “Time is as nothing in the darkness.”

Gray stood silent. Hardcode was staring at the man; even Monika was shaking her head. Tanric’s eyes were shadowed, and he was whispering to himself. The man fell silent; apparently he considered all explanations made.

“Tanric?” Gray asked.

The monk shook his head. “There is a…shape…to his words, but I cannot grasp it. It is there and gone before I can focus.”

“My sensors are having a hard time deciphering him,” added Hardcode softly. “He seems to be human, but I’m getting all kinds of odd readings. It might just be this area, though—there’s so much energy floating around that I’m having a difficult time reading anything.”

Monika Blaze glared at the world in general. “I don’t like it. This was supposed to be a simple rescue operation. I’ll admit—this is out of my league. Kyles does most of the thinking between us.” She turned to Gray. “Well? You’re famous for getting yourself out of difficult situations. At least, that’s what you keep telling me. What do we do now?”

Gray sighed. Monika was right; Hardcode was a survivor, but had never been in a situation like this. Tanric was in no condition to be making any decisions, and Monika herself would just set things on fire and hope for the best. Gray wished that Kyles was here, and realized that Monika was probably doing the same. Gray didn’t do well taking orders unless he was getting paid, but Kyles was known as one of the quickest thinkers around; he was usually the one directing Monika’s destructive powers. Ah, well.

“Right,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Let’s start by agreeing that nothing you just said made a damned bit of sense. Okay—you’ve been around for a while. Down here. By yourself. So who the hell are you?”

The man shook his head. “I had a name, once. It would mean nothing to you.”

“Oh, I caught that,” said Tanric. “He’s not exactly lying—just wrong.”

“But you’re not going to tell us anyway, are you?” said Gray. The man shrugged. “Yeah, you’re sounding more and more like a Follower every second. Okay. Who cares about a name. More important: what do you want?” He nodded at Monika. “And remember, give the wrong answer and you shake hands with a pyro.”

“My needs are simple. I want to help, and to be helped in return. As I said, I have been waiting for humans to enter these halls—but what has come is no longer human. It is an abomination. It is my charge to defend against such creatures, but as things stand I am unable to do so.”

“And?” Gray prompted. “No offense, old man, but you don’t exactly fill me with a sense of security. How were you supposed to defend this place by yourself?”

“Once, I had the means,” the man said softly. “Once, when there was power and light. That is why I need you. Bring back the power, and I will cleanse these halls. Grant me the weapons of old, and no creature can stand before me.” He gestured to the dead terminals. “Bring back the light to these systems. Clothe them in the flesh of electricity, and grant them the power of quantum fusion. Make this place whole again.”

“Power,” said Gray slowly. “You want us to bring the power back online.” He studied the man, and the computers on the wall. A glance at the systems had told him that they were still functional, but he had not believed that there would be working fusion generators down here. Did that mean that the old security protocols were still in place? That had to be what the man was talking about; if anything could clean out an entire facility of what had burrowed into the earth, it would be a pre-war Ceres security system. There was probably enough tech down here to put even Tangent on its toes.

Which might explain why the Overmind—whatever it was—had come here in the first place.

“No time,” said Tanric. “We aren’t down here to kill the monsters. In fact, nothing would make me happier than to avoid them altogether. All we’re here to do is locate the prisoners, free them, and leave. Let City Admin clean up its own mess.”

Gray reluctantly shook his head. “It’s not going to be that easy. I’m all for the stealthy approach, but there’s no way we’re going to get all of the prisoners out without a fight. I’m not saying that we’re going to take this head on—but we definitely want any advantage we can get.”

“I’m all the advantage you need,” said Monika. “I don’t like this, Gray. I don’t trust this guy, and I don’t believe a word he says. Maybe he’s one of the creatures; one that changed on the inside, and looks human without. Maybe he was sent to lead us into a trap.”

“Maybe,” Gray said thoughtfully. “But think about what we saw upstairs. I don’t think that what we’re up against is that subtle; I don’t think it needs to be. Would you waste you time leading a few humans into a trap if you had that kind of power? The Overmind alone scared every detention guard out of the building, and brain-burned ten battle monks as an afterthought. Crahn alone knows what the rest of the poor bastards can do.”

“Overmind,” said the man softly. “Yes. That is a good name for it.”

Monika scowled, and Gray felt the temperature rise. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re playing dumb?”

The man blinked. “Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?”

“Right,” said Gray, glaring at Monika, who suddenly looked entirely too smug. “Ha ha. Good one, Monika. Now cool it down, or I’ll set Hardcode on you.” Hardcode raised an eyebrow, but Gray went on before he could respond. “I don’t care who you are. Tanric is right. We don’t have time to run around; we have to find our friends, and there’s no telling what the freaks are going to do to them. Or when. They’ve got maybe an hour on us already, and that’s an hour too much. Go ahead and tell us how to start the power; if we end up close to the fusion generators, I’ll see what I can do about getting the systems wired. Otherwise the plan is: go in, avoid what monsters we can, and burn the ones we can’t. The end.”

“I knew I could count on you, Gray,” said Monika approvingly. “A plan after my own heart.”

Gray scowled himself. “A plan that will probably get us all killed. If I had my way, I would recruit those N.D.A. shock troopers that we…uh…killed. What I wouldn’t give for a fully equipped hit squad. Mind you, all the equipment and psi in the world wouldn’t have helped the ones in the Central Command.” He paused. “I suppose that this is the part where we try really hard to pretend that I didn’t bring that up.”

The man nodded, than gave Gray an exotic bow, flowing to one knee while holding his right palm out. “It is as you say,” he replied sonorously. “The information has been loaded into your terminal; it is in the folder labeled ‘Missions’. I have included a map of this facility; the location of your friends has been marked, as well as the highest concentration of mutants.”

Gray blinked. “Er…thanks.”

Hardcode said, “Wait a minute. These directions seem straightforward. Why can’t you just turn on the power yourself?”

“I do not have authority,” the man said. “It is not permitted. I have access to a small recyclant fusion generator for my own needs. The heart of the facility, however, must be activated by other hands.”

Gray frowned. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard; well, second to Hardcode’s pickup lines, anyway. Why on earth would they prevent you—their ‘guard’—from maintaining the systems?”

“Security protocols,” he said. “When the technicians left this place, they programmed the systems to sleep, and only allowed them to be activated by personnel with a high enough security access. After a set amount of time had passed, it changed; the first outsiders to enter could activate the power grid. However, as an active member of the facility, my access was set prior to the…incident. It was locked into the computer, and the technicians did not think to alter it should the situation require.” He looked down, letting the shadows cover his face. “I think…that they did not expect it to be so long. I think that they had planned on coming back. My duty as a guard was a mere afterthought; and now the systems automatic recognition patterns prevent me from even entering the power room, much less activating the grid.”

“Glad I’m not you,” Monika said, with the exact opposite of sympathy. “Listen, we don’t have time to hear your life story. Thanks for your help and all; you heard Gray, we’ll do what can. We have more important things to do now.”

“I suppose you’re not coming with us,” said Gray. He did not make it a question.

The man bowed his head. “I wish you luck in rescuing your friends. I will do what I can to prevent the spread of the creatures into the facility. Without power, my abilities are limited; however, if I can aid you, I will.” He raised his palm again, and drifted back into the shadows. After a moment Tanric nodded, and Gray shared a look with Hardcode.

“How many did you count?” asked Gray.

“Three,” replied Hardcode. “At least.”

Monika’s glare took them both in. “Care to share?”

“Tech stuff,” said Gray. “We were counting the number of things he did that should have been impossible.”

“Sending us the facility schematics,” said Hardcode. “He didn’t access a terminal, for one; he didn’t know our names, for another; he shouldn’t even be able to access the Neocron Network from here, for a third. Another thing: I was a little…misleading…about my drone sensors. No amount of energy should affect their readings, but the information I was getting from him made no sense. I’ve never come across anything like it.”

Gray added, “And the way he describes the systems here; it is, in two words, bloody stupid. I suppose you could set up a power grid like that, if you were a mentally deficient sewer rat, but I myself would fire the technicians responsible and replace them with pocket calculators. And have you checked out the map he loaded? He wasn’t kidding when he said that the power grid was in the heart of the facility—here, it’s actually labeled ‘The Heart’. The wing we’re in now is labeled ‘The Right Hand’. There’s ‘The Arm’, ‘The Legs,’ and, best of all, ‘The Brain’.”

“Well, life is just full of little mysteries,” said Monika impatiently. “I’m sure that you and Hardcode will figure it out. While we’re moving, that is.”

“Right,” said Tanric. “No more distractions. We go in fast, and nothing stops us.”

“Yeah, we’ve got this locked down,” said Hardcode dryly. “A Hacker, a droner, a pyro, and a passive monk that can’t use his powers. Unstoppable!”

“Do I hear you volunteering to go first?” asked Gray.

“I’m first,” said Monika. “Then you, Gray, and Hardcode, and Tanric brings up the back.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked into the darkness.

“Reckless,” Hardcode muttered, but he waited for Gray to move before he followed. Last again, Tanric couldn’t help but study the dark. It was out there, he thought. Waiting. The Overmind…whatever it was. The name had appeared in Tanric’s mind, and he knew that it was right; he was trying very hard not to think of how it had gotten there in the first place.

He wondered if his shields were really hiding the group; then he shrugged, dismissed the useless thought, and stepped into the dark.
__________________

""" On the Run"""

In another darkness, the terminal buzzed.

Buried under a mound of blankets, the woman waited for it to stop. No one should be calling at this time of night; at least, no one decent, and right now she didn’t have the patience to deal with anybody else. She had only just gotten to sleep when the message alert had started buzzing through the apartment, and the day had been long enough as it was. Two riots had forced her to don her official Copbot armor, and business in the Plaza had taken up the rest of her time. She had been weary to the bone by the time she had gotten home, and after a quick drink she declared the day officially over.

Buzzz argued the terminal, which seemed to feel very strongly otherwise. The blankets shifted irritably.

“Lights,” a muffled voice said from beneath the mountain of cloth. When nothing happened she said it again, louder. Still nothing. With a swear very unbecoming of a pile of bed-sheets, the blankets shifted, revealing a slender hand. It groped blindly for a moment, fumbling along the imitation old style bed-stand, finally locating the voice-comm and slapping the button. “Whoever you are, I’m warning you: this had better be very, very good. I mean it.”

A female voice replied, speaking four words. After a moment of shocked stillness the pile of blankets erupted, and the woman who emerged stared at the now blank view screen. She dove out of bed, racing to her most secure storage cabinets. She tore through them like a whirlwind, dumping datacubes into her backpack by the armload, careful with some but otherwise just grabbing whatever she came across first. She swore as the elevator to her room hummed to life, debated trying to block the door, and realized that there wasn’t enough time. She didn’t even have time to dress, so she just grabbed her trench-coat. Then she looked wildly around the room wondering what in the hell she was going to do next. She heard the outer door to her apartment slide open, and footsteps approaching the security lock. Lots of footsteps.

Thirty seconds and a forced door later the apartment exploded. The blast windows, built to take any impact up to and including a vehicle mounted missile, shattered instantly, raining razor sharp shards of glass onto the streets below. The ceiling above cracked, shuttered, and finally fell inward, dumping the occupants of the upper floor into the raging firestorm. Ammo clips in the woman’s weapons bin went off like fireworks, adding to an already hellish inferno. The entire building shuddered as the explosion ate away at it from the inside, burning through floor after floor until the whole structure was nothing but a dried out husk.

Standing precariously on the windy ledge ten floors above the street, Katherine Mayer shook her hair out of her eyes. “Reaver Gray,” she said icily, gripping tightly at the edge of a windowsill, “I am going to kill you.”

But first, of course, there were other things to worry about—like just how she was going to get down from this ledge before the whole building imploded. Simple enough, if she acted quickly. She opened a line to City Admin headquarters on her communication implant. “City Admin, this is Agent Mayer reporting a…” she hesitated. What was she reporting? A terrorist attack, she decided—she would sort the details with H.Q. out later. “…reporting a T.G.05, address as follows.” She read off her address, and then waited for a reply. When none came she frowned, and then tried again. Nothing. No commanding officer requesting more detailed information, no comm. monkey verifying the transmission, not even a Copbot telling her to drop her weapon. She accessed a higher level of transmission, fully expecting to hear an officer asking her just what the hell she thought she was doing on a forbidden frequency. She would have welcomed it, in fact, as opposed to the smooth silence she got in return.

The building shuddered. She heard the walls collapsing from the inside.

“City Admin headquarters, do you scan?” Silence, except for the groaning brickwork under her hands. Desperate, she flooded every channel she could, broadcasting openly to anyone with an ear to their implant. “Does anybody scan me? I need assistance at…”

She realized her mistake as the throbbing hum of a quantum hover-engine filled the air. ‘Anyone with an ear to their implant’ had included the ones connected to people who had just tried to kill her. The vehicle came around the corner in stealth mode, lightless and blending into the dark night like a massive predator creeping through the shadows. It came in low—it had probably been scanning from street level, searching the bodies for her own—but it started rising in the air when it locked onto her. She could see the dim outlines of the twin plasma cannons slowly coming to bear, and realized that they would be firing by the time the machine came level with her.

Not even taking the time to swear—if she gave herself that much time, she knew that she probably wouldn’t let herself do what came next—she pushed away from the building. She twisted in mid-air, giving the pilot of the vehicle an unexpected show as her trench-coat flew open in the wind, and landed heavily on top of the polarized glass covering the cockpit. Through the tinted windows she could make out the shocked expression of the pilot—but she knew that his surprise wouldn’t last long. She thought longingly of the explosive she had stored in her apartment—so much shrapnel now—and pulled out her rifle with one hand. She clumsily leveled it at the pilots head, gripping as best she could with her other hand, and opened fire. From range, she knew, the glass would shrug off the rifle blasts, but close up…

…Wasn’t good enough. The blasts ricocheted into the night. The pilot’s shock gave way to his training, and he leaned hard on the stick. The aircraft tilted sharply, and Katherine slid across the windshield, gripping at it for her life. The pilot couldn’t target her with his heavy cannons, or even his lighter weaponry, so he was trying to shake her off. A ten story fall would do nicely what the explosion couldn’t.

It would have been nice if Katherine could have thought something along the lines of, Not if I have anything to say about it, before unloading another clip at the cockpit, but she was far too busy screaming and hanging on for dear life to be bothered. The world turned sideways as the assault aircraft spun, and Katherine could clearly see the flaming rubble in the street below. Her finger reflexively closed on the trigger of her rifle, and she sprayed half her clip wildly into the air. Bloody hell! she thought, in addition to several other things that would barely be printable. I’m a researcher, not a bloody battle trained tank! And even if I were, I wouldn’t be putting bets on this one.

All thoughts left her mind—in addition to her breath leaving her lungs—as the aircraft slammed into the building opposite of what used to be her apartment; the pilot was having a difficult time maneuvering through the narrow street with a wide open trench-coat obscuring his view. He pulled back on the stick without thought, correcting his course and swinging Kathering back across the windshield. The shock of the impact almost caused Katherine to loose her grip; she could feel herself sliding, and knew that she couldn’t hold on for much longer. To hell with it[I], she thought. [I]Nothing left but to try. Aiming for the precise spot she had targeted the first time, she unloaded the last of her clip into the windshield. It shuddered at the first burst, cracked at the second…and shattered at the third, punching a fist sized hole through both the windshield and the pilot’s head. Katherine stared in amazement—The impact must have weakened it, she thought dazedly—and then shouldered her rifle to get a better grip.

She had barely grabbed on, hooking her arm through the hole she had just created, when the pilot slumped forward. His body leaned against the throttle, and the aircraft jolted forward. Katherine was secure enough now that this did not bother her—until she looked back and saw that the nose of the vehicle was pointed directly into the inferno that had used to be her apartment building. She slapped at the body through the windshield, but didn’t have the leverage; the aircraft slowly picked up speed, moving from several inches a second to several feet. Katherine wracked her minds for some swear words she hadn’t used yet, and then concentrated on the control panel in front of the dead pilot. She felt the heat on her back as the ship drew closer to the flames, and did her best to ignore it as she searched the controls; she had to read them upside down and backwards. She forced her arm further through the hole, giving herself something else to ignore as the glass cut into it. She hit anything that looked useful, but nothing happened; finally, the heat strong enough to curl her hair and singe her coat, she resorted to slapping wildly at every button she could reach.

She was just about to give up and let go—better the fall than the flames, she thought—when the cockpit slid open. She was dumped rather unceremoniously onto the pilot, and her hands found the controls she had hit last. The window slid shut as the aircraft pushed through the apartment wall and into the inferno, and the heat instantly retreated; the hole in the windshield was already repairing itself. She lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, amazed that she was still alive. Her eyes turned to the pilots uniform, looking to verify what she already knew—and there it was. The double T emblem, sewed onto the sleeve of his jacket. Four words…

The voice on the other end of the terminal had said only four words, but they had saved her life. Get out. Tangent knows.

She pushed the man out of the pilot’s chair, and gently strapped her backpack to it. Datacubes, all with the same information coded on the top— set self external Hacknet use at plus one—poked out of every pocket. She stared at them for a moment, and then studied the inferno through the protective windshield. The ship was slowly drifting forward, giving her a very scenic tour of hell. The ship pushed effortlessly through any wall remaining, and swayed gently from side to side as explosions pushed against its shields. Katherine let it move forward; it would be just as easy to push through the other side of the building as it would be to turn around. In any case, she didn’t recognize half of the controls; she didn’t even recognize this model of vehicle. It must be new Tangent Technology. Unreleased…like the cubes.

She shook that thought away and strapped into the pilot’s seat. The ship pushed through the last wall and into the cold night; even inside the shielded cockpit, she could feel the temperature drop. She brought the craft to a hover over the street, thinking of what to do next. First things first: the dead pilot had fallen at an angle, his head tilted up toward her. What was left of his face still held a shocked expression; now he looked as though he was scandalized at the sight of Katherine in his chair. She sniffed, and pulled her trench-coat closed.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a girl in pink bunny pajamas before?” She glared as though daring him to answer, and added, “They were a gift, okay? And they’re comfortable. Anyway, I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” She opened the cockpit again, and twisted on the controls. The ship tilted, dumping the body onto the street. She sat there silently, wondering what in the hell she was going to do next. She tried her comm. implant again; still nothing but silence. She searched the console of the ship for a communications device, and found it—but it was locked into stealth mode. It could receive transmissions, but could not broadcast them, and Katherine had no idea how to change it.

She had resigned herself to simply flying the thing to City Admin headquarters when the radar flared to life. Two green dots appeared, both moving fast in her direction. They were coming from separate sides of the building, and the radar said that there were at an altitude equal to hers…

She shoved the throttle to full acceleration just in time to cut around the first one as it took the corner. It was another ship identical to the one she had acquired, and its plasma cannons tore holes in the building to her right as it tried to lock onto her. The second ship appeared in the street behind, immediately picking up speed in pursuit. The first fell in beside it, and their weapons blasted into her shields before she could take the next corner. She frantically searched the console for a weapons system that made sense, but every button she pushed did not respond in any way. Frustrated, she diverted all of the weapons system energy into her rear shields, but she knew that no ship of this size could sustain the damage from four mounted plasma cannons for long.
__________________

She roared around the corner, plasma ripping through the air in her trail. I’m just a researcher, she thought, but Gray’s warning flashed through her mind—Tangent is very good at making people disappear. Damn the man. He always showed up with a cocky grin and some scheme to get rich or piss off someone important—usually both. How many times had she agreed to go along with him, if only from a distance? She didn’t even bother doing the math—it equaled the number of times she had been burned. The problem was that the schemes always seemed so good—and how could she turn away from Hacknet? It was too big. And look at her now; being chased by two Tangent assassins, in a vehicle she barely knew how to control while they destroyed everything in sight on the off chance of getting in a lucky shot. And it was only a matter of time—without training, she couldn’t even fight back. Just run, and sooner or later they would get the shot they needed. She couldn’t even arm her weapons to fight back…

Hmm. Hang about a moment. She couldn’t arm her weapons, but she needed some firepower; some that would work for her…Hmm, indeed.

Her grin would have done Dame Crimson proud.

She zig-zagged through buildings, still doing the best she could to avoid fire while keeping the attack crafts from damaging innocent property and lives—but now she had a destination. She scanned through every City Admin frequency she knew—and this craft had access to all of them. She found several petty fights, but a small disturbance wouldn’t do; she knew she could find more. There had been two riots already today; the city was a pot of tension, and it was constantly boiling over. It didn’t matter that it was the dead of night. Even if the Twilight Guardians were not active, there were always those ready to cause a commotion, whenever and wherever. All she needed to do was find…

Ah. Perfect. She almost laughed. Better than perfect.

Her euphoria died at about the same time as her rear shields. The ship shuddered as heavy plasma fire slammed into it, disintegrating one of the rear engines and igniting one of the weapons bays. She screamed in denial as the ship faltered…and then brought it back up with sheer determination. The right engine roared as it compensated for the loss of its counterpart, but Katherine knew that it wouldn’t last. With the rear shielding gone the assassins were adding lesser weapons fire to the plasma cannons; bullets whined off of the hull and lasers lit the night like fireworks, targeting anything that looked weak, and hitting more often than not. Katherine jammed on the air brake, turning the ship and taking the next corner wide so that her side panel shields would absorb some of the damage. It wasn’t fair; she was so close. She could even see it from here: Pepper Park, and salvation. The two assault crafts took the corner quickly, gaining on her; she knew that there were at least two more turns to make before reaching her destination, and knew just as well that she wouldn’t make it.

Unless she found a shortcut…

“What the hell,” she said. She diverted what energy she had left to her forward shields, and pushed the throttle as hard as it would go. “Let’s see how tough Tangent really makes its gear.”

* * *

Reginald Axom sat in his office, the daily reports spread before him. Well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. Axom himself sat cross-legged in mid-air, and the datacubes hovered in front of him, moving at his will. He was a monk, and a powerful one; more importantly, he was the Syndicate Advisor to the Tsunami Syndicate. When it came to the dark half of Neocron, he was second in power only to lady Veronique, and his frail, wizened appearance concealed one of the most brutal and conniving minds the city had ever seen. In all things he was a professional, and he prided himself on the fact that he was the master of his environment. And here, in his office, his environment was total. No sound reached this inner sanctum; no blemish touched its perfect harmony. His psi saw to that; nobody entered without invitation, and usually reluctantly at that. His psi allowed him to feel the minds about him long before they arrived, and he moved to crush any threat before the first thought of attack formed in the mind.

Now he frowned. He heard a thought; one that should not be in this place. It was strong, almost overpowering; it was accompanied by great emotion.

It was also growing closer.

“Who,” he said to himself slowly, “is Reaver Gray; and why must he die?”

And then Katherine Mayer exploded through the wall, her craft punching through the reinforced concrete and steel as though it were paper. Mortar and metal erupted everywhere as the craft roared through the room without slowing, and the superheated air from her burning engine left a trail of flames in the carpet. A split second later she was gone, burst through the other wall, Tangent shielding easily disintegrating the structure.

“Interesting,” Axom murmured.

Two more ships crashed into the room, both of them intent on the first. Plasma, flames, and bullets erupted all around the monk, shredding the far wall and starting more fires. One of the crafts sped through easily; the other crashed into Axom’s mental shielding and rebounded, spinning wildly around the room as it unloaded every weapon in its bay. Walls exploded outward, incinerating every room in every direction, and the plasma cut through several of the supporting beams of the building. The room was now an inferno, and the second craft was bouncing from wall to wall, destroying what was left of them before it managed to correct its course. Then it too was gone, chasing after the woman with such a passionate desire to hurt the man called Gray.

For a moment, everything held in perfect stillness. Then, with a groan, the building collapsed on itself, a mound of flames and melted metal. Secretaries, pimps, and prostitutes looked up in horror as the flaming ceilings collapsed, and the earth shook as though the place had been the target of a concussion bomb. It went on forever; it was over in moments. In the end there was nothing but burning rubble and molten stone, and silence.

Then the rubble shifted, sliding aside as Reginald Axom rose from the debris on a wave of psi. There was not a scratch on him; his robes weren’t even dusty. He studied the wreckage for a moment, and then gestured. There was more sifting, and his datacubes floated up to his hands. Nodding, he dropped lightly to the street; studying the building with a little more concentration, he gestured again. Seconds passed, and the debris moved once more; one by one the building’s occupants climbed out, wonder in their eyes as the monk that had protected them now moved the mountain of fire and stone that should have been their grave. Axom counted as they emerged, and then nodded. All accounted for. He wasn’t paid to sit around staring at datacubes, after all.

Of course, he wasn’t paid to let these things go unpunished, either. Whether it was intentional, or if the Tsunami had just been an innocent bystander, nobody got away with delivering this kind of damage to the Syndicate. It was unheard of. Someone would have to pay. But who?

It didn’t really take much thought. Axom gestured to his secretary, and said, “Take a note. Find the man who goes by the name of Reaver Gray. I want to have a…word…with him.”

* * *

Katherine screamed, half in exhilaration and half in sheer terror. She felt vaguely guilty about the property damage she had just inflicted, but it didn’t exactly break her heart that it had been done to the Syndicate. City Admin probably wouldn’t approve of the tactics, but the results were somewhat satisfying; and hell, there had been extenuating circumstances. Two of them, still on her trail, and still unloading more weapons than any one-man ship should be capable of carrying.

But she was here. The riots raged beneath her; it was the usual fare for Pepper Park, a smattering of every faction, but mostly the usual suspects; a few Guardians trying to make a point, a handful of Black Dragons fighting against the system, but mostly the Syndicate fighting against the Dragons. Katherine’s timing was perfect; it was just now getting out of control, with the Guardians resorting to punctuating their points with explosions, and the Syndicate doing the same by shooting anything that moved and, mostly, wasn’t them. She saw a group of Dragons preparing to assault a tightly guarded alley, only to scatter in a panic as plasma fire erupted in the group. Katherine smiled in relief; there they were, here to restore peace, and hopefully keep her alive.

S.T.O.R.M. bots.

Runners scattered in every direction as the Bots marched in. They targeted anything with a weapon, whether it was moving, hiding, standing still, or running like hell. Plasma fell like rain onto the Runners, and cut like a scythe through the ranks of any unfortunate enough to cross their path. A few runners took some half-hearted shots back, and the S.T.O.R.M. bots made examples of them that generally involved Runner shaped craters. They did not worry about property damage; they were here to maintain the peace, and programming told them to do it as loudly and violently as possible. And they were damned good at their job.

Katherine spun in mid-air and shoved the thrusters into reverse, letting her front shield take the damage from her pursuers. She moved back and forth, dodging fire, but more importantly obscuring the view of her bloodthirsty enemies. She took several direct hits, and knew that the front shields would fall soon; the two crafts were unloading everything they had left now that they thought she was crippled beyond hope. Still she danced in the air, drawing the assassins back with her, leading them like a wounded bird about to fall. Then her engines stuttered, and her craft shuddered to a stop in mid-air; simultaneously, her front shields gave out.

Victorious, the two crafts targeted and opened fire.

Only to see Katherine, grinning behind her windshield, return power to her engine and slide out of the way. The rockets flew by her craft, slamming into the ranks of the S.T.O.R.M. bots, who suddenly looked very, very un-amused. As one they raised their visors to the sky; as one they studies Katherine’s craft—with no weapons armed, and therefore not a threat—and as one they scanned the other two ships. In rank, they raised their weapons.

Things got very unpleasant for several minutes.

Katherine maneuvered her craft into an alley, and watched the show. Even Tangent shielding couldn’t withstand the battle systems of ten S.T.O.R.M. bots; not for long, anyway. And even the crafts reconstruction nanos could not repair what the bots did. Soon enough there were two burning, unrecognizable piles of metal on the ground. The bots viewed the scene, registered a success in the name of City Administration, and marched off in formation. Katherine felt like applauding.

Then she blinked as her comm. implant beeped. “Finally,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “This is Agent Mayer, and boy do I have something to report. I—wait, this isn’t a City Admin frequency. Identify yourself; and I’m warning you—this had better be very, very good.”

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that tonight,” came a female voice. “I give you enough warning to save your life, and this is the thanks I get. Ah, well; it’s to be expected.”

Katherine blinked again. “I—ah. Oh. Thanks—I think. Er…still, who are you?”

“You can call me…” She paused; Katherine could almost sense her shrug. “Oh, to hell with security protocols. My name is Joanna Hawkes. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

“Did you get through?” Another voice, this one male, cut in on the transmission.

“Yes, no thanks to you,” said Joanna. “Did you really used to be a Hacker? I find it somewhat difficult to believe.”

“I’ve never come across anything like the Soundless,” said the man defensively. “And besides, it’s been a while.”

“Jest, I have your record. It hasn’t been that long.”

“Joanna Hawkes,” Katherine said slowly, still letting it sink in. Then, “Wait. Did you say Jest? Oh, hell; we have a record on him, and every bit of it bad. He’s not exactly one of the top twenty wanted, but it’s only because his damned Hackers keep taking his records out of the system.”

“The one and only,” Jest said proudly.

“Congratulations Katherine,” Joanna said. “You just made a new friend, wanted or no. Isn’t the world full of pleasant surprises? Now listen carefully; we saved your life for a reason. We need help, and you’ve just volunteered.”

“Oh, hell,” Katherine said, as nothing else seemed suitable.

“Trust me,” said Jest. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“I don’t think so. My apartment doesn’t exist anymore. All of my belongings have been destroyed, and Tangent Technology is out for my blood. My day has not been good.”

“Hell,” said Jest. “My day doesn’t feel right unless someone firebombs my house while the N.D.A. chase me and my Shades through the streets of Tech Haven. And that’s all before breakfast, mind you.”

“Forget it. All I know…” she paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “All I know is that this is one man’s fault. Reaver Gray, I am going to kick your ass from here to the Dome of York and back again.”
__________________

""" Unstable Alliance"""

“Anything?” said Gray.

Tanric shook his head. “Nothing. It’s clear.”

Gray scowled. Not that it was a bad thing—far from it. They were moving slowly forward, room by room, carefully avoiding any areas of high infestation on the map of the facility. Still, they couldn’t avoid them all; the path from the Right Hand to the Heart was littered with pockets of mutants that they would have to pass. Gray was hoping to use stealth over strength, and so he was letting Tanric risk a small psionic probe ahead whenever they came to a new room. So far, though, they had found nothing—no monsters, no prisoners, and no trace of any passing. They had already moved through three areas that had been marked on the map, and each had been dead and silent. So much the better, Gray thought, and so the others said…

But Gray was nervous.

Not surprising. Anything unknown was something to worry about, and Gray had the feeling that nothing here was what it seemed. He still did not know what to expect around the next corner, and Monika and Tanric were doing their best not to help by glaring in every direction as though ready to unload a mountain of psi on anything that looked like thinking. Hardcode wasn’t much better; he was normally paranoid enough for any ten Runners, but now he was outdoing himself. He walked as though ready to jump in any three of a dozen directions at once, and his eyes endlessly scanned every hallway as though he expected a claw to snatch him into the darkness. Which was very possible, Gray admitted—but he was trying very hard not to think about it, and Hardcode reminded him of a horror netflick waiting to happen.

But where were the things?

It was almost a relief when Tanric raised his hand. His expression froze, and his eyes were distant; he looked faintly disturbed, then puzzled. “Something…” he whispered. “Someone? I can’t…” He shook his head, focusing on Gray. “Something happened ahead. Something recent. It’s quiet now, but…a presence lingers. I can’t tell if it is tangible, or a shadow of what was.” Reluctantly he added, “I could push further, if necessary.”

“No,” said Gray. “You’re risking enough as it is with light probes. We can’t afford to lose your mental shielding.”

“Should I clear the area?” asked Monika far too eagerly. “We could hit the corner running while I toast everything in sight. You follow up with some pistol fire, and whatever is there should fall before it knows what’s happening.”

“Is that what passes for a plan in the Canyon?” Hardcode spared her some of his glare, to no noticeable affect. “No wonder Reza is so close to being overthrown.”

“We go on as normal,” Gray said. “We’ve been expecting trouble the whole time. Anyway, Tanric can’t tell; maybe it’s nothing.”

“Bets?” said Hardcode.

They slowly moved to the next corner. Gray strained his ears, but heard nothing. He was about to move forward when Hardcode touched his arm; the droner leaned close and whispered, “Plasma fire. I can smell it; someone fired a weapon here very recently.”

“Look for scorch marks,” Gray replied just as softly. “I want to know which direction it came from.” Hardcode nodded, and the group turned the corner.

“Well,” said Hardcode after a moment. “This is becoming a very familiar scene.”

Bodies littered the floor of what appeared to be a security outpost. A quick glance told Gray that none of them were human; at least, not recognizably. Mutant corpses lay in haphazard piles, most showing expressions of hatred and rage. Fangs and claws and spikes covered these monsters; each one seemed evolved to hunt, hurt, and kill, and not much else. Each body was full of plasma punctures, and Gray could tell by the scorch marks around the wounds that the weapon used had been modified to explode; these things had died burning from the inside. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but Gray had to admit that he couldn’t think of many other ways to bring down creatures like these.

Monika moved through the bodies, making light telekinetic probes. “No humans,” she reported. “And I don’t think that these guys did each other in. Someone’s been here.”

“They died with blood in their eyes,” said Tanric. His voice was hollow. “They died furious and raging, fueled by hatred and pain. They died fighting, and they did not hesitate to throw themselves forward. But…they died frightened. What killed them almost bent their minds with terror, but they could not help but attack. They could not stop themselves.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Gray nudged a body and said, “Hell, I’d like to shake the hand of anyone who can scare something like this.”

“Or else burn them until there’s nothing left,” said Monika. “I can’t say I would like to meet whoever did this in a dark alley.”

“Typical,” came a voice from the shadows. “Burn it first, and get an identification scan from the remains later. I would have expected better from you, Blaze, but I’ve read your record. Still, I could have hoped.”

The room blazed into light as Monika flared up her psi. Gray turned to the voice, fully planning on emptying every clip he had it it’s general direction, and then throwing the guns. He froze, though, when he saw who had entered the room. Hardcode growled, and would have launched himself forward if Gray hadn’t caught his arm; Tanric suddenly looked as though he had been secretly developing destructive psi-powers just for this occasion. Monika did not automatically torch the whole room, which Gray took as a good sign, but neither did she drop her focus; a supernova of flame reflected from her eyes.

Centuri stepped forward, every motion a calculated reflection of exactly how much he didn’t care. He said, “Well, now, let’s take stock. I’m looking at a crack squad of one half-crazed pyro with delusions of power; two Shades, neither of which are combat ready, and both of which should have damned well known better than to come here; and one Hacker, infamous in his own mind. All of which, by happy coincidence, I have standing orders to eliminate on sight.”

“Try it,” said Monika. “When I give them your urn, I’ll be sure to tell your friends and family about what a great fight you put up.”

Centuri casually leveled his gun on her. “Ah, Monika Blaze. Jordan should have known better than to hire you; he can’t say that I didn’t warn him. Still, I had hoped to be wrong, if only because you could have been useful. It certainly didn’t take long for you and Kyles to show your true colors. Look at you: Running with Shades and Hackers, and taking orders from one of the most infamous fanatics of Crahn to don a filthy, lice ridden robe.”

“I’m acting on Jordan’s personal orders,” Monika said very softly. Gray resisted the urge to loosen his collar as the temperature rose. “This has nothing to do with you, Centuri; you’re getting caught up in something that’s none of your damned business. If you don’t believe me, contact Jordan yourself.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Centuri said easily. “I can’t. All Tangent communication seems to be down, which pretty much means all communication everywhere. The chain of command seems to have gone directly to hell, but that’s okay with me; I’m usually close to the top anyway.”

Gray blinked. “All communication? That shouldn’t be possible.”

“You would know better than I, Hacker. Try for yourself if you don’t believe me. In any case, I don’t care.” He frowned, looking thoughtfully into the shadows. “I suppose you’re here to rescue your friends.”

“I suppose you’re going to try and stop us,” said Hardcode. Gray felt the droner’s muscles tense.

“Don’t presume so much with me,” said Centuri. “Trust me; I’m much better at it than you.” He lowered his weapon, and didn’t flinch as the group collectively raised theirs. “It just so happens that I don’t care about your mission. Not anymore, at least. Something…bigger…has come up.”

“The Overmind,” said Gray without thought.

Centuri glanced sharply at him. “You pick up on things quickly, Hacker. Only seven people know about the Overmind, and only one of them should be in this room.”

“Yeah, I’m that good,” said Gray. “Anyway, if you’re not going to kill us—try to kill us, that is, and how many times do I have to tell you about making that face, Monika?—then what are you doing here?” He gestured vaguely. “The Overmind is that way. I think.”

“And how did you get free?” said Tanric. “I saw them…I saw them carrying you away.”

“Not my finest hour,” Centuri admitted. “As far as escaping…well, they’re strong, but they’re not smart. Most of them, anyway. It wasn’t hard to get away; especially after the Overmind started collecting them. It helps that they were terrified of me. Rightly so, I might add.”

“They knew you,” Tanric said softly. “They had seen your face before.”

Centuri grinned, with no humor in his eyes. “Who do you think brought most of them in?”

Gray had the sudden urge to not only let Hardcode go, but get in line behind him to take shots at the N.D.A. leader. He was about to say something to that effect when Monika said, “Collecting?”

“That’s right,” Centuri replied, studying the group. He smiled. “Ah. Don’t know as much as all that, now, do we? Yes, collecting; didn’t you wonder why you hadn’t stumbled over any mutants until now?” He gestured to the corpses. “The only reason these are here are because they were sent to kill me. The Overmind has spent years dominating these poor bastards, all from its own prison. Their freedom was just a temporary illusion. It led them here to…well, let’s just say that it had business of its own to tend to down here.”

“No, let’s say a little more than that,” pressed Gray. “What business?”

“None of yours,” replied Centuri. “Mind your curiosity, Gray; it’s going to get you hurt someday. Probably by me. In any case, the Overmind has been drawing the freaks back to it. It’s collected all but the most powerful, and a handful of the more mindless killing machines. It seems to have a harder time with both. It has surrounded itself with the rest.”

“Why?” asked Hardcode.

Centuri shrugged. “Self defense. A need to control. Most of the monsters have been pulled back to the center of the Overmind’s power. The rest are just wandering aimlessly; the stronger ones are probably trying to create power bases of their own. You’ll probably have more to worry about from them than the Overmind itself. It’s…occupied right now.”

“I love it when you talk mysterious,” said Gray dryly. “Okay; fine. We’ll agree not to kill each other—”

“For now,” Monika and Centuri chorused, and then glared at each other.

“—and I agree not to hit you both. But that does lead me to an earlier question: if you’re going after the Overmind, why are you here?”

Centuri frowned. “I got distracted. One of the other powers down here has more than enough reason to dislike me, and all of his time in detention hasn’t erased the memory. He’s been hounding me ever since I broke free. Tenacious bastard; detention hasn’t mellowed him out one bit. He’s been driving me in this direction, and I had decided to eliminate him. He’s too much trouble; I need to be focused on the Overmind.”

“Sounds like my kind of mutant,” said Monika. “Anyone we know?”

Centuri turned back to the darkness. “There are no names; not in detention. What the prisoners were called is forgotten to them. Now they have titles; the powerful ones do, anyway. This one is Silhouette. There’s barely anything of him left, at least physically. He wasn’t a psi before, and he’s not really one now, but…mental energy is all that’s holding him together, and he’s got more than enough to spare. Then there’s Mindstorm—that’s what you get when you leave three powerful psi’s in the same cell for several years. One mind, triple the power, with even more insanity thrown in. Hmm…I think that Lady White is still free. She’s also known as the Frost Queen, and not just because of her personality—you’ll know you’re getting close when the temperature starts to drop. And there’s always Beast; the name says it all. No mental power there; he’s a mindless killing machine, but mutated in…interesting ways. We aren’t sure if he can even be killed anymore. The drug was created by studying his DNA”

“I can’t believe that this place isn’t listed on tourism maps,” said Gray. “Is there anything else you would like to terrorize us with?”

“I think that covers most of it.” Centuri turned back to the group.

“Why are you telling us all of this?” asked Hardcode. “Why help us? I can’t believe that you would give a damn if we died to these things.”

“I don’t,” Centuri admitted. “When all of this is done, I’m only worried about one person climbing out of the hole. When the Overmind is taken care of, you’re all free game. Until then…keeping you alive might be useful.”

“Why? Because you think we’ll do your dirty work for you?”

Centuri grinned. “No. Because I’m coming with you.”

“Wrong answer,” said Monika. Her hand burst into flame, and she leveled it at Centuri’s head.

Centuri said, “I don’t recommend it, Blaze. You’re the only threat in this group; I can cut down the other three at will. We can fight if you want; hell, you might even win. But I’ll take anyone with me that I can, and I’ll tell you right now: you can’t afford any losses. You four are suicidal enough, coming down here with no idea of what you’re getting into. Picking fights you know you’re going to lose will just make it worse.”

“Stand down, Monika,” said Gray. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s hear him out.”

Centuri nodded. “At least one of you has an ounce of sense. I’m not saying that we’re going to be friends. The simple fact is that I can’t do this alone, and you don’t know what you’re up against. We all have something invested in subduing the Overmind; it would be foolish not to take any advantage we can get. I know what the mutants are capable of, and you might have the firepower to get me through them. If it makes a difference, the Overmind is personally guarding the prisoners; it can’t afford to let them escape. You’ll have to go through it no matter what. You’re odds will be one hell of a lot better if we’re working together.”
__________________

“Our odds seem to get worse every five minutes,” said Gray. “All right; I’m not putting it to a vote, because everybody here wants you dead. You’re coming with us—” he held up a hand as three glares immediately turned on him, “—but you are not in the chain of command here. Just to make sure that you don’t forget it, Monika is your new best friend; she’ll be sticking nice and close to you. The slightest hint that you’ve suddenly remembered that you’re supposed to kill us, and she’ll make sure that they won’t be able to identify your remains with any scans. She’s even better than you at terrorizing people, and she’s been working on new ways to hurt things ever since we started out after the N.D.A..”

“Lots of new ways,” Monika said. “All I need now is a test subject.”

Gray continued, “And if there’s anything left, we’ll give it to Hardcode and Tanric.”

“And Jest,” said Hardcode. “He’s got a few things to say to you, Centuri.”

“I think he’s holding his rifle in an aggressive manner,” said Tanric. “Does that mean we can kill him?”

“You can try,” replied Centuri. He studied the group, and then shrugged. “Fine. Your rules, until we get out of here. Then…well, we’ll see.”

* * *

They continued to move slowly from room to room. Centuri insisted that the area had been cleared of any mutants strong enough to pose a threat, but Gray flatly refused to be hurried. Centuri gave them a running commentary as they walked, and nothing he said made Gray want to move any faster; the detention center had apparently created all manner of horrors, and every one eagerly waiting for a group of foolish humans to walk in.

“I couldn’t tell you how many separate strains of mutation we developed,” Centuri said blandly. “Most of them can be categorized, but each develops in a different way. The only things we’re likely to come across this far from the Overmind are zombies: completely mindless, brain burned beyond hope. They were prisoners with the lowest psi threshold. Don’t think netflick horror films, though—what it lacks in a mind, it has developed in body. Zombies are faster than the average human—in testing, I’ve seen them dodge bullets. They’re strong, too; one could easily lift a hovertec, and two could tear through a rhino in seconds.

“Then there are the psi-lords. Basically, take any psionic ability you can think of, and then amplify it. Each lord has a different focus, but they’re all destructive; enough telekinisis to level a building for one, enough energy to electrocute a small army for another. They’re walking personifications of every aspect of mental destruction; even you might have a hard time matching the pyro, Blaze. Fortunately, they aren’t too bright either; they just destroy anything that moves, then look for another target. Watch out for the lord of poison—he presents a particularly nasty way to go.

“You probably won’t see a hoverwing until it lands on your head, and then it will probably be too late. They’ve evolved wings; don’t ask me how. They’re nearly transparent, and practically impossible to see in the dark. They seem to be parasites, and humans are their favorite hosts. For a while we tested to discover any symbiotic relationship with them, but all the host ever gets out of the deal is an early grave. They also breed like crazy; again, don’t ask me. We didn’t discover that they were replicating until the bastards made their way to the air ducts.”

Gray blinked. “You had mutants running around inside the facility?”

Centuri shrugged. “The important ones were kept in lockdown; the small ones were like roaches. Hoverwings were released during a Guardian raid, and we were never able to get them all back into containment.”

“There was something at the entrance,” said Monika. “Looked like a mouth on legs, and bigger than a tank.”

Centuri frowned. “That would have been a rock crawler. Hope that we don’t come across one; they’re the worst kind of predator. Their psi allows them to move through stone like it was water, and a lot of this facility was built under the stone. I think their minds were originally attempting to devise a way out of detention, but even when they could move through walls, the psionic shielding held them back. Just hope that the Overmind has a better use for them than setting them on us.”

They walked in silence for a while, and Gray could almost feel the others thinking. Finally, Monika said, “And you were part of all of this? You actually let it happen?”

“You’re part of it too, if you’re working for Tangent,” Centuri replied, not looking around.

“I work for Jordan personally. There’s a difference.”

“Jordan is Tangent. You think he doesn’t know about this place?” Centuri snorted. “You’re just like the rest. You all cry about freedom, and liberties, and the rights of the people, but you refuse to look the cost of those rights in the face. Yeah, this place isn’t very nice—but neither are the people we bring here. Yes, we’re creating weapons—weapons to use on those who threaten us. The prisoners here broke the law, and are paying the price. If we—Tangent and City Administration, and a few other factions that know how the world works—if we can turn their punishment to the good of all, then hell yes we’re going to. Where do you think new technology comes from? Who do you think is going to be on the front lines when the Dome of York comes out of seclusion, bringing weapons we can’t imagine against us?”

“That doesn’t justify this!” Monika almost shouted. “Look at what you’ve done—the entire city is in danger because of you. Nobody deserves what’s been done to these poor creatures. And you stand there and say—”

Centuri cut her off with a raised hand, nearly earning himself an early, flaming grave. “Lights,” he hissed.

Gray studied the hallway, and saw what he was talking about. Light on the wall ahead, moving. It looked like the reflection of a torch off rippling water. “What is it?” he whispered.

Centuri shook his head and hefted his rifle. “Hard to tell. Any number of mutants radiate energy. Be ready to fire…”

And then it came from around the corner, faster than Gray had expected. It was a cloud of light; Gray got the impression of countless wings in the air, all radiating a sickly yellow glow. They spun and whirled around each other, and descended toward the group.

“Flickerflies,” Centuri shouted, stepping back. “Don’t let them touch you! Not fatal, but we can’t afford to get—”

Too late. Gray raised his pistols and fired into the haze of light, but to no effect. Perhaps a few of the things were incinerated; the rest fell on him like a blanket of fire, smothering him and covering his eyes with light. He heard Centuri swear, and felt someone grabbing him from behind. Suddenly the world exploded in fireworks; the flickerflies were flaring bright, and then dying out. Gray opened his mouth…

* * *

…and closed it again in shock.

He was standing in a hallway, but everything was different. Doors ran along both sides, and dust was settled thickly on the floor; he could see that it had not been disturbed in either direction. Labeling over the doors told him that he was far from where he had been. Centuri was still holding him, and had a disgusted look on his face.

“Well, that was quick,” he said. He let go of Gray, freeing his hands for his rifle.

“What happened?” said Gray. Very slowly, he added, “And where is everybody else? No, scratch that; where are we?”

“Flickerflies,” Centuri repeated. “Bastards. I forgot all about them. They were created from all of the energy that leaked from the prisoners as their power grew. We contained it as best we could, and the results…were unusual. What it boiled down to was teleportation. The flickerflies are symbiotes, although we don’t know what they get out of the deal. They latch on to a host, feed him their energy, and expire. The problem is that the energy isn’t compatible with humans; it has to disperse. For some reason it chooses to do so in motion, moving the host somewhere. Usually not too far away, but…”

“When you’re underground, surrounded by monsters, and can’t afford to be separated, it can cause trouble,” finished Gray. “Any side effects I should know about?”

“No. The motion is totally safe—you don’t even suffer synaptic impairment.”

“N.E.X.T. should get hold of that technology,” said Gray. “They could…okay. You’re making a face that I’m growing to hate.”

“You live in such a small world,” said Centuri. “Synaptic impairment is there for a reason. N.E.X.T. can’t afford for a more stable technology to get out. Trust me.”

“And I’ll just bet that you’re not going to tell me why.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve got other things to worry about. Flickerflies are mindless, but those were there for a reason. If any could be said to control them, it would be Silhouette. He was looking for me.”

“Then why in the hell did he grab me?”

Centuri shrugged. “You were in the way. I told you that you should have let me go first. The point is, wherever the flies sent us is probably somewhere we don’t want to go.”

As if to punctuate the point, at this moment the ground shook. Dust drifted from the ceiling as Gray spun around, looking wildly in every direction. Centuri lifted his rifle again, not looking the least bit amused. The building shook again, and then again, almost seeming to build up a rhythm. Gray held a pistol in each hand, leveled in either direction of the hallway. The rhythmic rumble was growing closer, but he could not tell from what direction. “Don’t tell me that this is Silhouette,” he said.

Centuri shook his head. “Nope. I think Silhouette is letting something else do his dirty work. This sounds more like Beast.” He paused for a moment, and added, “We should probably run now.”

* * *

“I’m running out of swear words,” said Monika as she studied the floor. There was no trace of Gray or Centuri; in their place were two piles of what looked like dead black winged butterflies. They had fallen into the shape of two human silhouettes; Monika recalled uneasily that they had seen the same phenomenon in the entry to the facility. “Tanric, talk to me. Are they dead?”

Tanric slowly shook his head. “I can sense them, but…Centuri is still hiding. His mind is nowhere nearly as developed as a monk’s, but he’s disciplined enough to protect it. I imagine he wants the Overmind’s attention about as much as we do. I can probably locate him…if I drop our own shields.”

Hardcode shook his head. “To hell with Centuri. I’m more worried about Gray. Can you find him?”

“I’m afraid not. Centuri’s shield covers them both, if only barely.”

“Why do I get the feeling we were led into a trap?”

Tanric shook his head again. “I don’t think so. I could sense the surprise in Centuri’s mind, and the frustration. This wasn’t part of any plan he had.”

“And you can bet he had a plan,” added Hardcode ominously.

“We need to find them,” Monika declared. “Tanric, can you give us a general direction?”

“They aren’t behind us,” Tanric said doubtfully. “Deeper into the complex.”

“Right. So we go…” she trailed off as the ground trembled. It came from the distance, but she couldn’t tell how far.

“Well, that’s bad,” Hardcode muttered.

“We go now,” said Monika.

nnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooo…

They all stared as the air ahead shimmered. A figure appeared in a haze, raising and shaping itself from the dust. It was vaguely human in shape, hovering off the floor like a puppet hanging from a string. The air shimmered where it stood; it was like looking through a heat haze. They could almost see through the figure; it shifted like a dark prism in the air. It seemed to regard the group with cold, glowing blue sockets, and Monika could sense absolutely nothing human in them.

“You must be Silhouette,” said Hardcode.

he isssss miiineeee…centuuuuri…you cannot passsss…

Hardcode and Tanric fell back as Monika burst into flame. The air rippled around her, too, from the heat; stone crackled under her feet, and the metal walls melted and slid into molten puddles. She smiled as her power manifested; she had been forced to hold back outside of the detention center, but she knew that she could not afford that now. She didn’t care; her psi raged around her like a star going nova, with all of the power and ecstasy of an erupting volcano. All she needed was a target. Silhouette may have been human once, but she could not afford to think about that; now he was just another monster, and she would be doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery.

Shame it had to be like this, though; she couldn’t really blame him for wanting Centuri for himself. Ah, well.

She sent her psi raging down the corridor, a firestorm that purified and destroyed everything it touched. The walls melted and dripped, and the stone supports blackened. She saw Silhouette enveloped with flame, his body of dust disintegrating under the pressure of her psi. She scoured the area where he had been, and then blew the wall behind him down just for the hell of it. Finally she let her power drop; she nodded and surveyed what was left of the room with satisfaction.

Tanric was clutching his head. “Never thought…” he muttered. He raised his eyes to Monika. “No human should have that kind of power. You blaze like the sun.”

“It’s not just a nickname,” Monika replied cheerfully. “And if you think I’m hot stuff—which you should, and don’t doubt it for a second—you should meet Kyles. He’s all passive, but I’m barely a lit match compared to him. Shall we continue?”

nnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooo…

“Er,” said Hardcode thoughtfully. “Monika?”

She slowly turned. The air ahead was shimmering again. The dust had re-formed; Silhouette stood regarding them once more. Now his form had an air of menace; hostility pressed against their minds like a heat wave. Tanric grunted as he increased the power of his shields, pushing the emotion away. Silhouette flickered for a moment, and then stabilized. He gestured, and the molten metal left from Monika’s attack rose, forming long, superheated liquid blades. Another gesture started them spinning in the air.

i am beyond paaaaaaiiiiiinnnn…but yoooouuuu…are not beyond my touuuchhh…

“Right then,” said Monika. She looked at Hardcode and Tanric, and added, “I think this is the part where we run.”
__________________

""" And The Earth Shook..."""

Soft blue light filled the Heart of the facility, bathing equipment that had—for the most part—lain long dormant. Some power remained, fueling a small dataframe. A monitor was attached to the frame; countless equations flowed across it, a maintenance schedule that had run silently for countless years. Every so often there was a soft hum, and the schedule paused, scanning its systems. Every time it resumed operations, satisfied that all was well.

And then there was the tank. Filled with a blue liquid, it rested beside the dataframe, as silent and motionless as the rest of the room. No activity had been detected from it in years; the synaptic fluid was functional, thanks to the maintenance programs, but it had not been utilized since…

Since…

Well, that was difficult to determine. Records were lost; some deleted, and some simply destroyed when the light left this place. Now, however, this was not of concern. Now…

…there was motion in the tank. The fluid shifted; the synaptic gel flickered briefly. The maintenance protocol paused, running another series of scans. Finding something entirely new and interesting, the maintenance deactivated, leaving room for a somewhat different set of routines to activate. The screen went blank, and then filled with new numbers. The gel flickered again, brighter than before.

If it had been in him, the old guardian would have frowned. He pushed the security network to its limits, which were depressingly limited indeed. Even as he did so he realized that it was a waste of time; the feeling in the air came from nothing his simple computers could measure. Something new had entered the facility; something…powerful. As powerful as the so-called Overmind? That he could not tell; he could sense that the power was similar, but little else. Things had changed as he wandered the dark; and time was as nothing beneath the earth. As nothing…

Or perhaps the man called Gray had been right. Time had meaning after all, and now things were moving quickly. The guardian was uneasy about this new force; he had not been happy with the Overmind, weakened as he was, and another entity may be more than he could handle. He pushed out with all of his mind—unevolved, but ancient, and honed on another kind of power—searching for the source. He found it—or perhaps it found him—and he pulled back, half in shock and half in wonder.

The synaptic fluid was flashing constantly now, cycling up with all of the power the small generator could provide. The dataframe was almost smoking from the inside.

Reaver Gray, he thought. What have you brought to this place?

* * *

Centuri and Gray ran, spurred by the increasingly powerful rumble of the building. Every so often they reached a closed door or a dead end, but Centuri wasn’t about to let anything slow them down; every time they turned a new corner he blindly unloaded a clip from his rifle, on the premise that he would either be hitting a mutant, blasting the next door off of its hinges, or weakening the wall enough to kick through. Gray was damned impressed with Centuri’s rifle; he did not recognize the make, but the bullets seemed able to punch through anything, and then explode with more force than a rocket launcher. After Centuri blasted his way through the third wall of reinforced steel, Gray decided that it was probably for the best that they had not attempted to kill the N.D.A. leader.

Bits of rubble pelted them from behind. Gray risked one look back, and regretted it. The darkness hid the form of Beast, but Gray could make out the shadow of an immensely large body, and counted more limbs than he felt comfortable with. A pair of sickly green eyes, glowing with energy, hovered in the darkness, and Gray saw nothing of humanity or intelligence in them. Beast was too large to fit through the doors, but it didn’t let a little thing like a triple reinforced security wall slow him down—it burst through the stone almost as though it wasn’t there, impatiently shoving aside tons of mortar. It roared as it chased them, a guttural noise that almost sounded like words…but Gray didn’t want to know what it was trying to say. Probably just something along the lines of, ‘Dinner is served,’ but it felt like more; almost as though there was some kind of mind in its massive skull, desperately trying to communicate, even as it raged toward them…

Gray decided not to think about that either; if he wanted to say anything to Beast, he would tie a note to a hand grenade. Not that Beast would notice; Gray had tossed a couple of grenades over his shoulder earlier, and the explosions had only seemed to encourage it. “How are we supposed to kill this thing?” he yelled to Centuri.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Centuri replied. “His healing factor is off the charts. We were pretty sure that enough fire could keep him down, but we didn’t have any psi’s capable of generating that much heat. The most we could do was contain him; even from a safe distance, we couldn’t figure out how to destroy him.”

“Why in Crahn’s name did you let him grow this big?”

Centuri managed a harsh laugh. “Did you see what happened in the Central Command Center of the Detention Facility?”

“Don’t tell me…”

“Right. That was Beast. Think of the damage he could do to York. Or even to the Guardians, if it came down to it.”

Gray didn’t clutch his head, but only because he was too busy running. “Are you insane? Think of the damage he could do to us!”

“There is that,” Centuri conceded.

“I can’t believe that you—” Gray cut off with a shocked expression as the hallway seemed to twist in front of him. He blinked and it straightened out, but now Centuri appeared to be trailing a stream of colors. Reflex kept him from tripping, but barely.

Gray…

Wolfe?

Yes. See what happens when I turn my back for a moment. This was not part of the plan.

“Stuff the plan,” Gray said out loud. “Where the hell have you been?”

About, replied the monk mildly. There are many things to attend to. I felt that you had the situation under control. It seems that I was wrong.

“Yeah, good thing you’re not a betting man. Now can we please talk about the situation?” Gray glared at Centuri, and added, “And stop looking at me like that. This is a private conversation.”

“Wouldn’t dream of interrupting,” Centuri replied.

Have we made a new friend? My. It seems that our little group grows every day.

“You’ve got a funny definition of the word ‘friend’. Will you please just take care of this thing?”

Very well…

Gray felt the air fill with power, and stopped running. His head turned as though a huge hand was directing it; Wolfe needed his eyes. He saw his arm raise on its own volition, gesturing toward Beast, and the hall filled with flames. The walls twisted and burned, gaping holes opening in them like screaming mouths, and Gray could not tell if it was from the heat or Wolfe Blackclaw’s bizarre mind. For a moment there was light, and Gray could see Beast in full. He wanted to turn away; he wanted to throw down his weapons and run until he passed out. He could do neither, though; Wolfe held him in place, using him as a conduit for his psi. The worst thing about Beast was not that it had too many limbs, or the bloodred spikes lining its body, or even the sickly green eyes. It was the face. Everything else had changed, but Beast’s face was still human.

The flames fell over it like a wave, pounding against it with a physical force strong enough to level a building. Beast was lifted into the air and thrown against the wall, its spikes tearing through the mortar like paper. It roared and flailed in the air, the flames racing over its rock hard skin, eagerly seeking any point of weakness. Small, contained nuclear explosions detonated anywhere Wolfe found one; shards of flesh harder than diamonds exploded outward like shrapnel. Gray gestured again, and now electricity arched through the hall. It rebounded against the wall, building kinetic friction as it went, and hit Beast with the sound of a thousand thunderclaps shaking the earth at once. For a moment Beast itself glowed, filled with enough energy to power Neocron for a week, and then the electricity showered outward.

Wolfe sent wave after wave against the monster; flame, energy, frost, and poison. Each detonation shook the earth, and every time Beast was flung deeper into the facility. Finally the halls fell silent; Gray felt his body fall back under his control, and he and Centuri slowly stepped forward to see what remained of the creature.

Centuri said, “I’m going to pretend very hard that I did not see what you just did.”

Disbeliever. Wolfe’s thought felt edged.

“Quiet,” Gray said.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Beast had been shoved through several walls, and now a pile of rubble lay in what appeared to have once been a cafeteria. Centuri leveled his rifle at the pile as he edged forward; Gray didn’t bother with his pistols, instead glancing around for a quick way to run. He said, “It can’t have survived, right? Did you ever direct that kind of force at it?”

“We’ve never had access to that kind of force,” Centuri replied tersely. “That doesn’t mean—”

The rubble shifted, and an arm shot out. Centuri barely leaped back in time; the massive hand swept through where he had been standing and knocked out a support. Gray stared for a moment in amazement; the arm had not even seemed to be scratched. The rubble shifted again as Beast stood up, shaking the tons of rock and metal off like a pile of leaves. It shuddered, and opened its eyes. They glowed more fiercely than ever.

Hmm… Wolfe mused.

“What?” Gray screamed. “Is that all you can say?”

Well…given the time, I would expound on the wisdom of running.

Gray didn’t need to be told twice—and Centuri apparently didn’t need to be told once—and both men took off. “We’re going to die,” Gray said as Beast lumbered through the cafeteria wall. “Isn’t there anything you can do about it?”

I will consider the matter, said Wolfe, and get back to you.

And then he was gone.

* * *

The wall bulged outward for a moment, and then erupted in a storm of shrapnel and flame. The closest mutants caught the brunt of the explosion, disintegrating under the psi-storm; the others stared blankly at the hole.

“Down!” came a voice.

What remained of the wall cracked and shattered as a long, liquid blade sheared through. It cut effortlessly through a line of mutants, arching through the room and slicing through another wall as it returned to its source. The mutants shuffled uneasily; they were not what could be called intelligent, but even they knew that something bad had come.

A figure wreathed in flames dove through the hole and rolled to a crouch, followed by two men with vested interests in keeping their heads low. The mutants’ eyes lit up at the sight of humans; ignoring their fallen brethren they darted forward, moving impossibly fast toward their prey. Spikes erupted from their skin, and a cold light burned in their eyes. No two mutants looked alike, but they were all what Centuri had labeled zombies; they were mindless, and eternally hungry for revenge. Every one had evolved through suffering, and it showed; they were creatures of blades and fangs; spikes, claws, and talons. They fell over the humans like a wave; all they knew was pain, and all they could do was share it.

Tanric stood up, and flexed his mind. “Look out,” he rasped, pushing out with his defensive shields.

“Bugger that,” said Monika Blaze. She stood as well, and rings of fire went spinning in every direction. Zombies threw themselves into the flames, pushing mindlessly forward, and the firestorm consumed them all. The ones behind did not slow down; Monika grunted and pushed out harder, incinerating the whole room. Screams echoed through the corridor, cut off quickly, and the mutants were no more.

It rained ashes for a moment, but Monika, Hardcode, and Tanric didn’t wait around to watch. They were already moving through the black cloud as Silhouette sent his other blade whirling in their direction. Whirlpools of ash formed around the weapon as it spun through the air, and Tanric turned around with raised hands. He gestured, lashing out with his psi and sending the blade twisting away from the group. It cut through two stone supports before burying itself in the floor. Silhouette screamed in frustration, a mental wail that tore through their heads, and the blade ripped itself from the earth.

“Can’t you do something?” Hardcode shouted.

Monika grunted, turned, and raised her hands. The earth shook as her psi raged down the corridor. Everything in her path evaporated with the heat; Silhouette vanished under the flames, and his blades melted to puddles. His scream faded, as though he was being dragged away, and Monika drew the flames back to her body. “Time…” she said.

“Yeah, word is that it’s as nothing,” said Hardcode. “Whatever. Is he dead?”

“No,” said Monika. “I just bought some time. It will be back.”

“The mind is scattered,” said Tanric. “The flames distract it, but it doesn’t have a body. Just mental power; only sheer force of will keeps it cohesive. We can’t kill it like this.”

“Do you have a better idea?” snapped Monika. “If anybody has been hiding their power, I’d sure like to see it now—”

And then another force filled the corridor. The ashes swirled even though the air was still; Tanric raised a hand to his head, his eyes wide. Alien music seemed to play in the distance, and the earth groaned with its many injuries. The ashes pulled together in the shape of a man; Hardcode groaned, and looked on in dull shock as Monika and Tanric fell back a step.

All manner of interesting things reside here. I am…well, let us use the word ‘fascinated’, shall we? It is a more flattering evaluation of your performance thus far than the first word that comes to mind.
__________________

Monika raised a hand, then shook her head defiantly and stepped forward. “Wolfe Blackclaw. Here I was thinking that Silhouette had re-formed more quickly than before. We should be so lucky.”

Droll. Your sense of humor is as finely honed as ever, Miss Blaze. Is there no end to your wit?”

“I’m getting close to it. What do you want?”

The ghostly face might have smiled slightly. So direct. Gray simply screamed for help; I should have expected more from you.

“Gray?” interrupted Hardcode. “He needs help? Where is he?”

The earth shook slightly, and Wolfe shrugged. Preoccupied.

“Well, un-occupy him,” said Monika. “You have the power, don’t you?”

I am considering the matter.

“Well, then, take care of Silhouette while you consider,” said Tanric. “I’ve heard of you. His mind should be nothing compared to yours.”

So needy… Wolfe regarded them thoughtfully. His ashen eyes met with Tanric’s for a moment; the monk felt a shock to his mind as Wolfe effortlessly penetrated his shields, examining something unknown. Blackclaw finally shrugged. Perhaps. The one called Silhouette is held together only by his own concentration. He is powerful in some ways, but by no means worth my time. This ‘Overmind’, however…well, we shall see.

“What?” exclaimed Hardcode. “You’re not even going to help us?”

I have found what I came for. His eyes rested briefly on Tanric again, and then he turned away. In any case, you have more than enough power between you to dispatch the creature.

“Wait!” said Monika. “We still have to—”

She fell silent as Wolfe gestured. Soft noise filled the corridor; it sounded like silk rubbing on silk, a thousand times over. The three slowly turned in every direction, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. The air shifted, and…

Hardcode pointed. “Light,” he breathed.

Light. They swarmed down the hall in a wave: thousands of butterflies with wings carved from a star. It was like a soft sunrise washing over the group. They fluttered and flicked through the air, and they were endless. It was pure energy in flight; Tanric raised a hand almost yearningly. He could feel the energy from the creatures dancing over his mind. It was like a symphony of a thousand instruments, all in perfect harmony. It was a tremendous voice in chorus with the universe, a single chord played to perfection and thrumming through their bodies. And still they flew on, endless and powerful, following the call of the greater mind.

Very interesting. I would have thought the creation of such creatures impossible. Flickerflies, he calls them. If you would be so kind, please inform this Silhouette fellow that I was required to borrow his pets. I’m certain that he will understand.

“Wait,” Tanric whispered, but it was too late. As suddenly as they had arrived, they were gone, and Wolfe Blackclaw with them. The hall fell into darkness, again lit only with their torches and Monika’s flame.

And then the dust stirred, and Silhouette rose again. He howled as he formed, words that fit no known language, and the walls shook as his mind wrenched new stone blades from them.

…centuuuuri…he issss miiiiiiine…

“Plan,” said Monika. “Who’s got a plan?”

Tanric studied Silhouette, and this time with more than just his eyes. Something Wolfe had just said rang through his mind; the way the monk had studied him lingered. Hardcode turned to run, and Tanric absently grabbed his sleeve. He pushed with his mind again, and then shrugged. What did they have to lose?

“Me,” he said. “I have a plan.”

* * *

Gray swore in three different ways, then considered taking the time to come up with a few more. Probably not worth it, he decided; Beast had no appreciation for creativity. He leveled his pistol over his shoulder and fired wildly behind him, more to get Beasts attention than anything else; he held no illusions about the effectiveness of his weapon. He took the next corner a split second before a boulder the size of a hovertek flew through the air where he had been running; it looked like Beast didn’t have a sense of humor. Gray spared the breath for one more swear, then started counting. So far he had been able to time Beast’s movement, and his pattern of attack—it was very basic, he had discovered, however phenomenally powerful—but he only had to be off by a second for the monster to annihilate him. That would be the end of Gray—and the end of Centuri’s plan, if that was what you called it.

Ha. Plan. For all Gray knew, Centuri had left him to rot. After fleeing the cafeteria, Centuri had quickly outlined his idea to take care of Beast—or, if nothing else, keep him out of their hair while they took care of other business, and then got the hell out. “I don’t care how strong he is,” Centuri had said. “Drop enough weight on him and he’ll stay buried. Are you sure you can survive?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I’m not—”

“Good. See you soon.”

And he had split away down a separate hall. Gray screamed a few words that most certainly did resemble, ‘Happy birthday, Centuri!’, and fired at Beast. It didn’t take much to get its attention; after taking two pistol-shots to the head, it had abandoned Centuri to follow the Hacker. It had dogged him ever since, prodded by the occasional pistol fire, or grenade rolled behind. All according to plan. Go team.

At least he had a better idea of where he was. He had passed enough marked doors to piece together a location on the map: he was in what was labeled ‘The Left Arm’. Several wings from where they had been; the flickerflies had taken them clear across the facility. Centuri had claimed some knowledge of the layout of the building, and supposedly knew where the hell he was going; the most he was able to tell Gray was to ‘run that way’, accompanied by a rather vague gesture. Accessing the map, Gray thought that he knew what Centuri had in mind; he just wasn’t sure if it would work. Or, if it did, that Gray himself would survive. Or that Centuri would even be there.

He had better be, thought Gray. The Hacker was fast, but wasn’t built for endurance; Beast never ran out. Gray was keeping ahead mostly out of sheer terror, but he couldn’t run forever. He checked his map, and realized with relief that he was close to where Centuri should be. Bastard had to have known a shortcut to get there first; at least, he had better have, if he knew what was good for him. Or Gray, for that matter.

And there it was. Another hanger, much like the one they had entered the facility through. Long and wide, and filled with stone arches at regular intervals, supporting a roof so high it could not be seen through the gloom. There were different kinds of vehicles here, but Gray didn’t stick around to admire them; he leaped them when able, and dodged back and forth only when he had to. He heard Beast behind him, and the creature certainly didn’t sound as though he was winding his way through anything that could be picked up and thrown—usually at Gray. The Hacker was ducking and dodging by instinct now, reacting to subtle motion in the air, a mild grunt of exertion as Beast threw several tons worth of metal at him. He dove behind a pillar as a vehicle smashed into it, but didn’t have time to catch his breath; he moved immediately, racing across open ground, and then barely rolling under what appeared to be a small tank that Beast had picked up next. He came up screaming, unloading the last of his clip into the mutant. Beast didn’t notice; or if it did, it just irritated it. It gave up on vehicles, instead opting to rush its elusive target.

Gray screamed again, and looked about wildly for a path to take. He couldn’t outrun Beast, not here; the vehicles were slowing him down, while Beast simply plowed through them. His mind raced frantically as he tried to remember everything he could about pre-war Ceres technology. Each vehicle should have a quantum fusion generator…Gray quickly knelt, leveling his second pistol across his leg, and unloaded the clip into a military tank just as Beast passed it. His aim with pistols wasn’t particularly good, but this close it shouldn’t have to be. The tanks armor was strong, but old; the plasma punched through with ease. Gray swore as nothing happened—and then the tank exploded, it’s fusion generator overcharged by the sudden plasma energy. Gray slammed a new clip into his pistol, and then sprayed it wildly at the engines of every vehicle between Beast and himself. They exploded one by one, and each detonation rocked Beast a little further back. It roared in rage, if not pain, and thrashed about furiously with its four arms.

Gray felt pretty good about this until he realized that he was out of cars.

“Centuri!” he shouted. “This had damned well better be part of the plan.”

“Or else?” questioned a voice from above. “Whatever; this will have to do.”

And detonations roared through the room as Centuri opened fire. His target was not Beast; he aimed at the massive columns supporting the ceiling, and his explosive rounds punched through with ease. He had lined himself up so that one full clip would penetrate several columns in a row, and when he reloaded he needed only to shift his angle to hit another series. Columns shattered and erupted under his fire, and far above there was the loud, long groan of splitting stone. Centuri just grunted, loaded another clip, and sighted another pillar.

“Gray,” he said to the startled Hacker, who was just staring on in shock, “you might want to get the hell out of there.”

Gray blinked, turned, and ran. Centuri hit the release of his drop line—where in the hell did he get that? thought Gray—and hit the ground moving. He took a few shots at Beast, just to let it know who was in charge, and then unloaded the rest of his clip at the ceiling for good measure. He followed Gray through the doorway at the other side of the room; then they both turned to watch.

Silence hung in the air for a moment; Beast, on some instinctual level anticipating what was to come, hesitated, looking up.

And the sky fell.

The final column finally fell, groaning in slow, stony protest, and hundred of tons of earth and rock came with it. Gray saw Beast raise a hand in negation just before he was buried; the creature had opened its mouth as though to roar in defiance, but never had a chance. The earth shook, and this time it refused to stop. Cracks ran down the walls, and Gray thought he could feel the entire building shift slightly as it rearranged itself to fit this new release of pressure. And still the stone fell, dropping on Beast a mountain of pressure that no strength could lift. When stone stopped, dirt replaced it, falling like a furious rain on top of the pile. And the earth shook.

It went on for so long that Gray wondered if they would breach the surface. The thought terrified him; giving the mutants such an obvious way out was not a good idea. Finally, though, it fell quiet, and it remained dark above. Everything was still; Gray could hear Centuri’s harsh breathing in the dark next to him, and could feel his own heart beating so strong as to almost knock him off balance. Softly, he said, “Well, that’s it, right? I mean, nothing could have survived that.”

“Could anything have survived whatever it was you threw at him before?” Centuri replied. He shook his head. “I don’t know; maybe it’s dead. Maybe it’s just irritated. If so, I’m glad you’re the last person it saw. Either way, it should be busy trying to find a way out for some ti—” He cut off, staring into the room.

Gray wouldn’t have believed it if Centuri hadn’t obviously seen it too. The earth shifted. Just a little, but a little was much more than ever should have been possible. Stones a dirt slid down the massive mound, and then a hand erupted from it. Gray stared in shock; the hand had not exploded out, as though forced by might. It had slid smoothly through the surface, like a hand reaching up out of a smooth pool of water. The rest of Beast slowly followed, and still the earth did not shake. It appeared to have melded to the massive figure, dropping away from its body only when that part of his body was free. In some places it even looked liquid, running down the mutant’s arms and then dripping, solid again, to the mound.

“Hell,” said Centuri. “I was afraid of that.”

“Oh, really,” said Gray. “Afraid, you say? Might I ask, of what?”

“Remember when I mentioned rock crawlers? Mutants that had evolved to pass through stone—”

“Like water, yes,” Gray interrupted, impressively steady as far as he was concerned. “In passing. Why ever do you mention it now?”

“Well, it was on the schedule to see if we could adapt Beast’s genetic structure to match theirs. We thought it would make an excellent stealth weapon, moving under the earth to erupt in the center of…whatever city posed a threat.” Unnecessarily, he added, “I had hoped they hadn’t gotten around to that, yet.”

“Indeed.” Gray pressed his hands together thoughtfully. It was remarkable how calm he was, he noted. Probably just exhaustion and shock, but remarkable nonetheless. Beast had extracted himself almost to his waist; whatever they had done to his genes, it apparently hadn’t been as effective as it sounded with a real rock hunter—Beast could move through stone, but only slowly. That explained why he usually just knocked it down. Fascinating. “And how many clips do you have left? You know, the kind that can blast down walls.”

“Hmm.” Gray heard Centuri rifling through his pack. “Counting the one I have loaded…two. We should really stop and pick up some more.”

Gray nodded, and turned away from the monster. He was only mildly surprised to find the ashen figure of Wolfe Blackclaw standing before him; he just nodded again in greeting.

Wolfe seemed to study the scene before him; it was difficult to read the expression on his dark face. Impressive, he concluded, however vain. I see that you have discovered all new manner of ways to break things. Dame Crimson, I think, would be proud.

Centuri took this remarkably in stride. “Blackclaw, I’m guessing. Can you kill this thing?”

Wolfe appeared mildly taken aback. Kill it? Oh—perhaps. In person, I think. Of course, that may well destroy the entire facility. No, I think that killing it is not an option.

“Then what?” asked Gray. “We can’t outrun it, we can’t kill it, and apparently we can’t bury it.”

How observant. Wolfe studied Beast for a moment longer, and shrugged. A ball of light appeared by his head, and then moved to float in the hallway ahead. Very well. If you would be so kind as to follow me…
__________________

""" A Sea of Light and Noise"""

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” Monika said. She pulled the flames back to her body; now the hallway walls resembled wet, dripping mud—except for the fact that they were glowing white with heat. She started running down the hall—deeper into the facility, and away from the last incarnation of Silhouette. “Sure, I’m one of the most powerful pyros around—in case you had forgotten—”

“All of the therapy in the world wouldn’t help me forget,” Tanric assured her.

“—but even I have my limits. A girl needs to rest, you know.”

“Do you have any boosters left?”

“A couple,” Monika admitted reluctantly. “For emergencies, but I hate to use them. I don’t care what the Followers of Crahn say—push your mind too hard, and you get burned. And not in a good way.”

“There’s a good way? Ah. Yours, I expect.” Tanric frowned, considering. “Okay—give me one, and keep the other on standby for yourself. I don’t know how much power this is going to take, and I might need you to fry Silhouette again.”

“I would rather save it for this ‘Overmind’ character,” she replied, but parted with the booster with obvious relief.

“One thing at a time. Trust me—I want the Overmind more than I want Centuri, and that’s saying a lot. You don’t know what it’s like, until you’ve been in a cell…” he trailed away, his eyes going distant. “The presence presses down on you…always. It’s like being on the bottom of the ocean—you can’t breath; you can’t think; you don’t know what’s happening to you. It’s like…like…”

Monika studied him uncomfortably for a moment, and then said, “We’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. And I don’t care what Centuri has in mind—when we leave, the Overmind will be in flames.” Tanric nodded, the distant look receding somewhat, and Monika continued, “And like you said—one thing at a time. Are you sure that Hardcode will be all right?”

“He’ll be safer than either of us,” Tanric said. “Even if he loses his experimental drone, his body should be safe—and Gray has a backup drone, just in case.”

“Are you sure that he’ll be able to see what we need?”

“If anyone can, it’s Hardcode,” Tanric replied firmly. “You would be amazed at what he can accomplish with a drone. He’s got gear that can read information miles below the earth. We have charts that show the thermal readings for the past two years; you wouldn’t believe what we’re walking on top of—”

Both monks stopped running as a neural feed linked to their remote implants. Tanric whistled; even Monika looked impressed. “You’re right,” she said. “That drone is amazing.”

Tanric pointed to a closed door, and Monika nodded. She frowned, and the door exploded inward; she and Tanric hurried inside what turned out to be a rather small room. Tanric kicked some debris out of the way, and then sat cross-legged in the center, facing the door. “Be ready,” he said. “He’s coming fast.” And he closed his eyes, sinking deeply into his psi.

Monika nodded, sitting on a metal crate while she waited. Psi crackled in the air around her; she absently rolled her remaining psi-booster in her hands as she monitored Hardcode’s neural feed. Tanric was right; they were the ones taking the risk. Crackling turned to miniature fireworks, and the temperature rose. Monika would be ready…

* * *

For the thousandth time, Hardcode wondered just what in the hell he was doing here. Not that he ever considered turning back—like Gray, he had no intention of abandoning his friends—but he was well aware of his combat limits. Drones were fine for defending, and even attacking from a fixed position—but running through a series of endless hallways didn’t exactly give Hardcode a time to shine. Now he sat in a small, unused room that the mutants seemed to have passed by, hefting one of his experimental drones uncertainly. He would much rather have used a regular scout, but an unmodified drone didn’t have the sensor capacities he needed; not to mention the fact that Silhouette would probably just destroy it as soon as he saw the thing. He could cloak his newer one…and it should have enough power to avoid even the mutant’s detection.

Ah, well. He hadn’t brought his new drones down to wave threateningly at the enemy; they were meant to be used, and now was the time. He released one now, closing his eyes as his mind sank into the neural network.

He almost passed out from shock. Neural feedback ricocheted through his head as information slammed into the drone; more information than he had ever experienced. His mind reflexively fought the overload; long training forced his brain to reject the feedback, looping it into a separate route while his mind assimilated the initial information drop. There was still so much of it—he hadn’t been this overwhelmed since he had first started droning. He frantically filtered, re-looped, and re-routed, adjusting and tuning even as more information flowed in. Finally he got it into some semblance of order; the shock of mental overload fell away.

All of this happened in the span of about three nano-seconds. Most other droners would have simply passed out, brain burned—or worse—but Hardcode didn’t have to time to be impressed with himself. He was too busy staring about in amazement.

Energy everywhere. He found Silhouette quickly enough, still scattered by Monika’s fire; his psionic mass whirled like a cyclone, reassembling itself with a mental fury. He saw the cloud of flickerflies buzzing through the facility, following Wolfe Blackclaw’s undeniable call. And there was Gray and Centuri; the N.D.A. had given up any pretense of mental shielding, and the two were running all out from…something. Something big. Finding Blackclaw himself was like grabbing a handful of sand out of a desert storm; the monk appeared to be everywhere and nowhere, here one moment and gone the next. To the north was a whirling mass of crackling energy, three minds at war with each other, and the world in general—that must be what Centuri had called Mindstorm. The Frost Queen was to the west, apparently hard at work building some kind of lair.

But over the mutants—over them all, except perhaps Wolfe Blackclaw—was the Overmind.

It sat in The Brain of the facility, looming over every mind like a cancerous growth. Scores of other mutants surrounded it, their minds smothered beneath its awful weight. Hardcode could see energy running from the mutant, coursing through the power grid of the building; it ran easily through the dead wires, using them as its own information network. All of its energy was focused on The Heart—the power room that the old guardian had pointed out. Hardcode could not tell what it was doing there—he detected the same energy signal he had originally gotten from the guardian, fighting back with his meager strength—but it was focused to the exclusion of all else.

Good, he decided after a moment of thought. He found the Shades, too; they were in The Brain, their minds smothered but otherwise unharmed. For now.

Too much. He had to focus. He found Silhouette again; the mutant had finally re-formed, pulling new weapons from the earth. Now he wielded a pair of massive stone clubs, smashing through everything in his path. Hardcode winced as the mutant flew by him, the clubs whirling by and just missing his drone, but Silhouette never slowed; he was focused on Monika and Tanric. The passive monk’s mind burned like a beacon, still hidden from the Overmind, but calling Silhouette like a moth to flame.

…ceeeeennnnntuuuurriiiiii…

Hardcode’s drone sped after the thing, its sensors focusing on the mental presence of the mutant and ignoring the physical. Tanric couldn’t afford to concentrate on the physical; that was Hardcode and Monika’s job, and Tanric had to be totally concentrated…

The invisible drone sped through the air, following the path of destruction, and Hardcode prayed that it would be enough.

* * *

Gray and Centuri ran full out through the corridors, giving up any pretense of plan or foresight. Wolfe Blackclaw had disappeared, but his beacon remained, speeding through the halls ahead. By some miracle—or Wolfe’s foresight—the path never presented any obstacles; every door was open, and they never had to blast down any walls. Beast, fully emerged from the earth and looking none the worse, fell back on its usual method of destroying anything that even looked like impeding it, and usually a few more walls for good measure. It had given up on any tactic of its own; all it needed was time, and it knew it.

“How…much…further,” Centuri gasped.

“Not sure,” Gray replied shortly.

“Better be…soon.”

Gray was not inclined to argue. They were both hitting the limits of exhaustion, and they knew it. Beast knew too; with a roar, it put on a burst of speed, falling down to its six limbs and bursting through walls like they were paper. The guiding light aided them by twisting through the corridors; the two humans took corners much more quickly than the lumbering Beast, and each turn gave them a little bit of leeway. Hopefully it wasn’t lengthening the run; all the leeway in the world wouldn’t help Gray when he passed out. Which would be soon, by all accounts.

They took the next turn, and Wolfe Blackclaw was standing before them. The ball of light disappeared, and Wolfe gestured down another corridor. Gray and Centuri didn’t hesitate; they turned, running full out down the length of the long hall. Grays mind, trained to record, noted only one door down the hall; he checked the map and saw that they were near The Heart. Beast roared behind them, either not seeing the form of Wolfe or not caring; it plowed down the corridor with abandon, and Gray knew that they would not make it to the end.

And then Gray and Centuri stumbled to a halt as the world erupted in light. A swarm of flickerflies turned the next corner, fallowing Wolfe Blackclaws call—and blocking their only path of escape.
__________________

Tanric swam in a sea of light; he had immersed himself totally in his psi, and the outside world did not exist. In times like this, he wondered if it ever had; the world of his mind always felt so much more…real. Sight and sound and touch were all lesser senses; all there was in the mind was light, and feeling the contact of the Ultimate. The Ultimate ‘what’, was the question; as enticing as the light was, Tanric was never regretful when he re-entered the real world. The lure was strong, but it always felt as though there was something else beyond it. Something…waiting.

But he had no time for that. He did have one last contact with the outer world. A box floated in the light; information streamed directly from Hardcode’s drone to his brain. He saw Silhouette through the quantum lens; he saw the mutant divorced entirely of his physical body, reading only the mental pattern as deciphered by the droner. It was a fascinating representation to the monk, both similar and different to his usual mental senses. Numbers and readings and measurement, where normally he could see only Light by different degrees. Silhouette’s mental energy whirled furiously as it flew through the facility; what little sanity clung to the creature was forgotten in its need to destroy. It thought only of Centuri, and of destroying anything in its path. Most definitely including Monika, Tanric, and Hardcode; Silhouette had it locked in his mind that they were all standing between him and vengeance. It didn’t help that it was somewhat true.

He watched, carefully gauging the movement of Silhouette’s mind. He knew that he would only have one chance; whatever Monika said, they could not run any longer. He was too weary from containment; hiding the group from the Overmind and protecting them from Silhouette was pushing him further than he had ever gone. He had dropped all of his shields, save the bare minimum needed to keep from the Overmind’s gaze, and he was distantly aware of the psi-booster clutched in his hand.

Wolfe’s words ran through his mind: …held together by its own concentration…you have the power…

There. The last hallway; Tanric could see it through Hardcode’s drone. Silhouette raged toward them, and now his mind was forged iron. Tanric didn’t hesitate; he summoned all of his psi, pushing to his limits, and threw his mind forward.

* * *

Monika stood, setting the air to flame. Like Hardcode, she didn’t hesitate; she threw herself forward, dodging Silhouette’s massive clubs and striking at the heart of the dusty presence. Fire erupted in every direction as she tapped the last of her reserves. She saw Hardcode’s drone uncloak behind the mutant; Silhouette sensed it as well, half turning as he wailed. Monika ignored it; she was too busy concentrating on staying alive, and maintaining her phenomenal level of energy. She thrust her hand into the dusty cloud that represented Silhouette’s mind; it was like thrusting her hand into a pool of ice water. She growled, sending fire racing in every direction, but it wasn’t enough—she was too worn out, too exhausted by all of the fighting she had done. She screamed in denial, and dug deeper into her mind. The walls of the room shattered, exploding outward and incinerating everything within several yards of the monk.

And it wasn’t enough. Silhouette screamed victoriously, and Monika could see the stone clubs descending on her.

And then there was noise—it sounded like a high pitched whistle—and the world erupted with light.

* * *

Hardcode swore as the data load doubled, and then trebled. He could almost feel neural paths melting as he filtered the information, simultaneously splitting it into three separate feeds—all with different requirements as he fed his partners data. Now Tanric and Monika had been added to the mess of information; neither monk was holding back, and Silhouette had upped its own power to match theirs. The energy backlash destroyed his drone’s sensitive cloaking circuitry instantly, and Hardcode could sense other circuits smoking under the pressure. His drone wouldn’t last long like this, but he couldn’t afford to pull it back—Tanric needed the data-stream as a focus. Without it…

He saw Monika Blaze standing in the heart of Silhouette’s form, and it didn’t take the drone readings to realize that she couldn’t take much more. It was all about distraction, Tanric had said; do everything you can to set the mutant off balance. Except that now it might cost Monika her life, and Tanric his mind…

Hardcode considered swearing again, and shrugged instead. What the hell; he had to test it sometime, right?

* * *

Tanric saw the window to the outside world shutter, and then it filled with light. Anti-energy lashed out through the drone, striking at Silhouette with precision targeting. Silhouette’s clubs disintegrated instantly; the beam continued onward, slicing through several walls and only narrowly missing Tanric himself. Emotion was dulled in the light, but still Tanric smiled; Hardcode had been working on that anti-logic chip forever, and swore that he had perfected it. The monk could see why Tangent would send assassins after the droner; especially after stealing a piece of technology like that.

Then the drone stuttered again as something burst inside of it; the window tilted, dropped, and then fell still. The drone had fallen to the ground, flickering unsteadily. Tanric held his breath…and the image stabilized. The monk followed the information stream almost desperately; he couldn’t afford to lose contact, even for a moment.

He saw Monika pull one last desperate burst of flame from her mind before falling…

…and Hardcode’s drone recorded the iron will of Silhouettes mind shaking.

The light of Tanric’s psi burst like a nova. He shoved everything he had at Silhouette; it was so simple. The mutant existed only through its own iron will and concentration; without focus, it was nothing. It was one of the most basic passive monk abilities, and one of the most overlooked: the ability to distract minds. Tanric sent wave after wave of distraction at Silhouette, each one solely intended to break his mental cohesion. Fire distracted, and plasma enraged, but only a defensive monk could directly attack Silhouette where he was weakest.

Silhouette realized the threat at the last moment. He lashed back, pushing against Tanric’s mind with a force of concentrated hatred and insanity. He was strong—it had taken years to build up such a rage, and Tanric had to fight past each level of fury. In the end, though, Silhouette was no more than the ghost of a monk; years of detention had worn the mutants psi defenses to nothing, and he could not withstand Tanric. The last wall fell, and Tanric found it to be the easiest thing in the world to grip the mutant’s mind in his own, and scatter it. Silhouette’s mind whirled in a maelstrom of loose energy, and his wail was endless. Even as his will disintegrated he lashed out, but Tanric easily blocked the desperate attacks.

In the end Silhouette fell screaming, alone in the darkness.

Tanric came back to the real world. Monika was unconscious on the floor; Hardcode’s drone lay sparking down the hall. Even as Tanric saw it, there was a flash from inside, and the drone burst into flame. He frowned. “Hardcode is not going to be happy.” Then he fell forward, and everything was dark.

* * *

Gray stared in dull shock as the flickerflies swarmed toward him. It was a sea of light washing toward the two, filling the entire hall from end to end. He heard Beast roar behind him, and knew that the creature would be on them in seconds; and still he couldn’t move. What was the point? Throw himself into the light, and hope for the best? Was that what Wolfe had brought them to?

And then Centuri shoved him to the side. He leveled his gun, unloading the full clip on the one door in the hallway; thunder echoed through the corridor as the wall erupted. He didn’t wait for Gray to react; he picked the Hacker up with one hand, throwing him through the hole and diving in after. Gray had the brief impression of the light wave washing over him…and then the roar.

Rage and momentum propelled Beast forward, whether it liked it or not. It plunged into the sea of flickerflies, roaring in defiance and hatred and flailing about with its four arms. The mass of energy descended on it immediately, flocking around the wildly thrashing body. The flickerflies burst like fireworks on contact with the mutant, and Beasts roar was overwhelmed by a rush of sound swelling in the humans’ minds. Beast threw itself against the wall, crashing down the hallway in an attempt to shake the creatures off, but there were far too many. They were endless; Beast became a creature of light, a supernova of displaced energy. And the fireworks went on, thousands of flying to their deaths. There was a titanic flash of light, and the image of the great mutant standing defiantly against the sun engraved itself on Gray’s eyes…

…and then the darkness, and silence. And, in the center of the hallway, thousands of dead flickerflies—millions, perhaps—fallen into the gigantic form of a vanished mutant.

* * *

Wolfe had disappeared, but his beacon of light remained. Gray and Centuri found Hardcode, Tanric, and Monika at what appeared to be ground zero of some kind of nuclear detonation. Hardcode sat on the ground, a tool in hand and his experimental drone open before him. Every prod with the tool was punctuated with the most vile curses Gray had ever heard; he mentally took not for future reference. Monika and Tanric were both leaned against the wall, and both were clutching their heads. Gray had never seen anyone who looked so tired; of course, given a mirror, he would give them both a run for their money. Monika was holding a psi-booster, eyeing the temporal needle with obvious distaste. Tanric seemed to be dedicating most of his time to moaning; Gray could sympathize.

Centuri was of another mind. “You took care of Silhouette? Good. Saved me the trouble.”

“For now,” Tanric muttered.

“What?”

“Just for now.” Tanric raised his head; his eyes were dark, and his skin seemed stretched. “Well…for several days, really. Weeks, perhaps. I couldn’t destroy him completely…but he’ll have one hell of a hard time concentrating for a while.”

Centuri shrugged. “It will have to do.”

“Yes it bloody well will,” said Monika. “And where were you this whole time? Running through the facility, making the whole damned building shake?”

Gray and Centuri shared a look. Gray shrugged. “Occupied.”

“But done now?”

Gray couldn’t take it any longer; he sank to the ground, overwhelmed with exhaustion. “God, I hope. Any idea where the hell it went, Centuri?”

Centuri looked thoughtful. “Well…the distance traveled by flickerfly is directly proportional to the number of flies that come in contact with your body.”

Gray blinked. “Are you serious? That could put Beast on the other side of the world.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Tanric gasped, and then tossed his empty psi-booster to the ground. “No point in holding off,” he said. “Is anybody hurt?”

“Just tired,” said Hardcode. “Where to next?”

“The Heart,” said Gray. “To hell with this. We’re getting some backup.”
__________________

""" Less Talk, More Guns"""

Centuri pointed. “There.”

Gray nodded. He and Centuri lifted the overturned cabinet and tossed it aside, revealing a large doorway. The steel door was partially opened, rusted into place, and Gray could easily make out one pair of footprints leading in through the dust. Centuri leaned against the door, grunted, and shoved it a few more inches open. He cocked his head, listening for a moment, and then walked through.

“I still don’t think we should let him go first,” Hardcode muttered.

“Would you prefer to go yourself?” Gray asked.

“That’s not the point.”

“I didn’t think so.” Gray eyed the dark opening, shrugged, and followed Centuri. He flashed his torch around, its light reflecting harshly against the bright metal lining the walls and shelves of the room. Centuri was kneeling down, rifling through a large chest in one corner and making satisfied noises as he shoved small objects into his pack. Hardcode, Tanric, and Monika entered the room behind Gray, all three stopping to study their surroundings.

Gray ignored them all. He stared in awe at what Centuri had brought them to.

Every wall was lined with weapons; every rack cradled more firepower than Gray had ever seen in one place, even counting Monika Blaze. Rifles, rockets, pistols and cannons were mounted securely to every surface, and crates of ammunition stretched into the seemingly endless darkness. There were bandoleers of grenades, and cases of what appeared to be droning parts. A separate room led off to what appeared to be vehicle mounted weapons, long range cannons and other weaponry powerful enough to level a small city. The metal of these weapons was not rusting; it gleamed as though fresh off of the factory line.

“This place makes Tangent look like a candy store,” Hardcode breathed.

Gray recognized the same make of rifle that Centuri carried, and was suddenly the proud owner of one ‘Black Widow’ assault rifle. After a moment of thought, he made himself the proud owner of two. “Damn straight,” he said. “See what happens when you don’t instantly kill someone? Sometimes they load you up with more weapons than you can carry.” Eyeing a stack of grenades, he added, “Not that it will be for lack of trying. Help me open this box.”

“Only if you help me mount this…er…whatever the hell it is to the front of my drone.”

“Deal.”

Monika and Tanric held back. They were both eyeing the assorted weaponry uneasily; neither had much faith in such technology, pre-war Ceres or not. Monika said softly, “Is anybody else worried about just how Centuri knew all of this stuff was here? For a facility that’s been completely abandoned for hundreds of years, this place doesn’t seem to have many secrets.”

“Not from me,” Centuri replied from across the room. “I have a habit of ignoring the fact that something is supposed to be secret. And whispering doesn’t help.”

The dust around Monika briefly ignited, and then she turned purposefully away, ignoring him. “I suppose that’s why he has so many friends. It’s hard to resist such a nosy bastard.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Frankly, that’s my policy with all of you.”

“Less talk, more guns,” Gray said, tossing his pistols aside and replacing them with a pair that looked much more lethal.

Tanric gave the scene one disinterested look, and then turned his attention to Monika Blaze. She seemed to have recovered well from her ordeal, even without using the psi-booster. He could feel her mind building up a fiery energy at an almost alarming rate, although it was still nowhere near to full power. She stood almost casually, apparently having shrugged off her near death with the ease of comfortable familiarity, and looked no worse for the wear. He considered probing her mind for just a moment, and then decided that it would be a bad idea, not to mention poor manners. And a good way to get burned, in more ways than one.

“Something on your mind?” Monika said suddenly, without turning.

Tanric blinked. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he said, “I…yes. I was just wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Well…I was wondering…why.”

Monika raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Yes.” Tanric gestured vaguely. “Back there. Fighting Silhouette.”

“What about it?”

“I could see your mind,” he explained. “It was brighter than the sun. But you were tired. After fighting the N.D.A., and the mutants, and then blasting Silhouette down several times, you didn’t have much left. In the end you threw all of your psi against him. When that wasn’t enough, you dug even deeper—how, I don’t know—and threw that at him too. You almost burnt yourself out. You should have burnt yourself out.”

Monika shrugged, looking carefully forward. “I had an alternative?”

Tanric shifted. “Are you kidding? If anybody could have gotten out of there, it was you. All you had to do was keep running. You had enough power to burn down any mutants between you and the surface. We were just slowing you down.”

“What’s your point?”

Tanric stared. “What do you think? You put yourself within an inch of death, and for what? Hardcode and I are here for our friends; Gray too, in way. You’re just a mercenary, and working for Tangent at that. Why would you risk your life and your mind for the Shades?”

Monika shifted, her eyes flicking to Centuri. “Well,” she said slowly, “three reasons. First off, I don’t back down. Ever. I’ve never come across anything that can’t be burned, and I’ve come across a lot. The day I do, you’ll know it. I expect they’ll be able to hear the explosion in York. Second, I may never get another shot at Centuri. I swear that only one of us is crawling out of this hole, and we both know which one. Jordan will just have to get over it when I fry his attack dog. And third…”

She trailed off, looking thoughtfully into the darkness. Tanric could feel her mind worrying at some thought, going over it from every angle. Finally she said, “Have you ever met Kyles Sendric?”

Tanric blinked. “No. I know who he is, of course. The most powerful natural psi born in several generations. There are defenses built into his mind that no monk can breach, and that’s when he’s hardly bothering. I’ve heard the stories. He’s survived more assassination attempts than any three of the top ten wanted, and usually there’s not much left of whoever is dumb enough to try. Can’t say I know why people keep trying to kill him though, or even who.”

“The Followers of Crahn,” Monika said shortly, and gestured for Tanric to continue.

“Interesting,” he said slowly. “I know that he used to be one, but not that they parted badly. Anyway, I don’t know what he stands for. He’s been a paid mercenary for several years now, usually doing protection jobs. I know that the two of you teamed up not too long ago, and that you’ve been making the lives of your competition miserable. Neither of you seem to have any kind of agenda; you work for the highest bidder, which is currently Tangent.”

“Jordan himself,” Monika said. “There’s a difference. You’re partially right—I don’t have much of an agenda. Ever since I left the Guardians things have been…different. The world is wide open outside of the canyon, and there are too many directions to look, too many paths to take. Before I met Kyles I was…drifting. That’s a good word.” She smiled at the memory, but there was little joy in it. “I crawled to Neocron through the sewers, not knowing where else to go. Tech Haven made my brain itch—still does, to be honest—and there were so many bounties on my head that going to the Military Base would have been as good as sticking my head in a plasma cannon and kicking at the trigger. I was planning to continue my crusade against City Admin, with or without Guardian backing. I had nothing better to do. Probably would have just gotten myself killed in interesting ways, but what the hell. That’s what happens to most Guardians those days. Not that it’s changed since.

“Of course, it was something stupid that brought me down. I had only been in the city for one day, sleeping in Pepper Park, just looking for someone to torch, when all hell broke loose. A Copbot slipped its programming and went berserk. It started firing on everybody, whether they were armed or not, and started wrecking its way through the Park. I didn’t know it had gone mad—I assumed that my cover was blown, and that it was killing anyone between it and me. I was almost relieved—I was looking for a fight, after all, and a single bot seemed like just the thing to cheer me up. Not to mention the fact that it would give me a chance to save some lives from City Admin. There’s still enough Guardian in me to appreciate that.” Her face went sour. “Of course, as soon as I fired up, four more Copbots turned the corner. They didn’t bother with the wild bot. A berserk killing machine is just an inconvenience. They saw me ready to put on a show, and suddenly it was raining plasma.

“I ran, of course. I can take down more than a few Copbots if I have too, but not when they get the jump on me. Still, by that time I was recognized, and they weren’t about to let me get away. It was chaos, with citizens running everywhere, bots blasting everything, and even a few Runners thinking to collect the bounty on me. I ran, but there was really nowhere to run to. So I turned to face them all, pushing my mind to limits I had never dared…”

Tanric could feel her mind; he could almost see her, bloody and determined, facing countless enemies. The Copbots would ignore any armed Runners in their determination to bring in one of the most wanted Guardians ever. He could see the first wave fall back as the flames rose around her, only to push forward again as it was driven by the crowd behind. He had seen it before, of course; Runners met unpleasant ends in Pepper Park almost every five minutes. The higher the bounty, the larger the frenzy to claim it. Usually there wasn’t much left of the target to turn in, though.

“They fell over me like a wave,” she continued softly. “I don’t know how many of them there were. The bots had called for backup—I was a big name back then—and they were tossing Runners out of the way. They came running…and then they stopped. Hard.” She bared her teeth in what might have been a grin. “A few of them actually bounced. Most of the monks in the area hit the ground, holding their heads and covering their eyes. It was what you said earlier—like staring into the sun. Most of the Copbots short circuited. The ones that stayed up fired, and the plasma ricocheted away. When the light dimmed enough to see again, Kyles was standing there, not even pretending to breath hard.

“He looked…irritated. Asked me if I was okay, then got even more upset when I tried to fry everybody. He stopped me just as easily as he had the mob, and about as gently. I think I still have the bruises. I yelled at him for a bit, and he let me. Then he told me…”

She trailed off, looking distant. After a moment, Tanric said, “What?”

“Something I needed to hear,” Monika replied shortly. “He led me out of the Park, and wouldn’t let me burn anyone. I wish I could say that it took a bit of doing, but Kyles didn’t have much trouble suppressing my psi. We were a walking hurricane for all of the destruction caused by the Runners still trying to bring me in. There was more collateral damage than I had ever managed just by burning things. I started off yelling, went on to demanding, and made several lovely attempts at threatening. But he just ignored me like he ignored the mob, dragging me out of the Park.

“I think I caught him by surprise, though, when I asked if he needed a partner.”

Tanric blinked. “I thought he was recruiting you. Or at least bringing you in for the bounty.”

Monika laughed harshly. “Are you kidding? He had no idea who I was. He just saw a mob about to tear someone apart, and stepped forward to stop it. When I told him my name, he told me I was an idiot for making such a spectacle. When I asked him if he needed a partner, he said…that he would think about it. After some time he cleared my name with the Mercs, and we’ve been working together ever since.”

She fell silent, apparently considering this more than enough of an answer. Tanric shifted for a few moments, and then said, “But…what does that have to do with why you are here?”

Monika shrugged. “Kyles is why I am here. Like I said, you were partially right—I don’t have an agenda. Kyles does. He doesn’t just take the highest bidder; he knows exactly what he is doing, and who he is doing it for. And what he’s doing is…justice, maybe. He’s the closest thing to a hero I’ve ever seen. He’s the only person I know who will do what’s right, and to hell with the consequences. And he’s taught me that there is a world of difference between what is ‘good’, and what is ‘right’.” She gestured to the darkness. “What is down here is about as wrong as you can get. It needs to be stopped. There aren’t many people who can stop it. I might be one. But I can’t do it by running away. And even aside from all of this, there is what we’re doing for Blackclaw.”

“And that is?” Tanric said before he could stop himself.

Monika grinned. “Beats the hell out of me. But Kyles says that it’s important, and that’s all I need to hear. Gray says that we need your Hackers and Droners, so here we are. Kicking ass and taking names, in the name of what’s right. I’m pretty sure.”

“Where is Kyles now?”

Monika’s grin faded. “I wish I knew. We—” She hesitated, glancing at Centuri, who was carefully strapping his backpack into place. He showed no indication of listening. “We’ll meet up later, I’m sure.”

Gray and Hardcode walked back to the entrance. Gray was loaded down with more ammunition than most Archer and Wesson’s kept in stock for the holidays. Hardcode was carrying a drone that seemed to have been modified with some sort of rail gun. He grunted as he set it down; it appeared to have gained quite a bit of weight. “So,” said Gray, “I feel better already. Who wants to shoot stuff?”

“Oh, me,” said Hardcode, trying to sound dry but eyeing his drone with an expression that could only be called anticipatory.

“And here I thought I was Running with a bunch of bloodthirsty rookies,” said Centuri, having absolutely no difficulty with dry. “With such professional attitudes, victory is assured.”

Everyone stepped back as Monika burst into flames. “Are we still heading to the Heart, then, Gray?”

“Yes,” Gray replied, and then stopped as Tanric raised his hand.

“Mutants,” the psi said softly. “Many…so many. Moving…” He turned, his mind seeing what his eyes could not. “Moving toward the Heart.”
__________________

""" The Killing Grounds"""

They didn’t bother moving slow anymore. Tanric maintained his mental shield even though he had the feeling that it was no longer needed. There was enough mental energy filling the hallways to power a small city; not even the Overmind could pick them out of the massing whirlwind. Tanric himself was having a hard time thinking. Every time he opened his inner eye he could see only chaos. It was like tuning into a static filled frequency, and then turning the volume all of the way up. He could feel mutants everywhere, and every mind focused solely on destruction. And above them all, two minds blazing like beacons, bending lesser mutants to their will, and both moving toward an inevitable confrontation.

Mindstorm and the Frost Queen.

Whatever their names had once been were no longer part of them. Mindstorm floated through the corridors, three of the most powerful monks ever to enter detainment melded into one massive psionic hurricane. Three wills fought an endless battle for dominance, and the difference between them was so minute that no one had ever gained full control. Reality altered around Mindstorm in a bizarre reflection of their struggle, rarely in ways any sane mind felt comfortable with. Dark portals opened to strange dimensions, and electricity arched endlessly around the being. Voices echoed from the center of the vortex that had once been three humans, unending arguments that could no longer be understood. Mindstorm reached out to the mutants around him, spreading a blanket over the endless rage, directing it with a twisted purpose.

The psi-lords had come to his call; they floated around him, pale wraiths of what they had been. The lords had given up their physical bodies in favor of a mental presence, and each one crackled with barely contained energy. There were four, each representing a separate force of destruction, and each alone enough to wipe out a small army. Electricity raged unchecked around one; heat strong enough to crack stone through the sheer presence for the second; telekinesis that could re-form any matter for the third; a fouling mental poison that could not be cured for the last. They followed Mindstorm because they recognized the greater power, and because they didn’t trust each other one bit. Also, Mindstorm had freed them from the Overmind, if only temporarily—and they had no intention of falling back under the smothering force of its will.

Lady White, the Frost Queen, had sent out no call, but the mutants came anyway. They could not help themselves. White had a commanding presence, and her mind had grown to reflect it. She spoke no desire—in fact, she spoke not at all—but the mutants somehow knew her needs, and pushed themselves near to death to fulfil them. Her appearance could have been considered regal; of all the mutants, she had retained the most of her human form. Other than the fact that her body now appeared to be composed of smooth, crystalline ice. She wore a shimmering cloak, and the frozen stalagmites growing from her head gave the appearance of a crown. A throne had grown around her, transparent and misting with cold, and into this lair the mutants had come. Hoverwings and zombies, and some creatures that had no name. The zombies knelt—the ones with legs did, anyway—without knowing why, and the hoverwings flitted overhead, screeching and hooting. The scene had the feel of a twisted parody of an ancient fairy tale—the Frost Queen holding a fantasy court. Except that most of the zombies were covered in blood, and what the hoverwings were screeching had no place in a child’s book.

Lady White had resisted the Overmind’s call simply because she refused to obey another. She had spent years in detention, and had no intention of going falling back under the mental blanket. She was the Frost Queen now, and others would learn to heed her call.

Now she stood, and the mutants around her flinched away. They read her desire instantly, and all heads turned as one toward the Heart of the facility—and toward Mindstorm. With a shriek, the mutants raged out of the room—and with a silent, icy dignity, Lady White followed.

Tanric had only vague sensations of these images, but they were enough to scare the wits out of him. He wondered just where the Overmind was in all of this, and he opened his mouth to speak the question out loud. And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Gray, Hardcode, and Tanric stood together. The mutants swarmed through the halls so thickly that it was impossible to distinguish one another from the press. They attacked everything in sight, their killing rage unleashed with total abandon, and Gray, hefting his new rifle, felt spoiled for targets. Feeling that one mutant was as good as another, he unloaded his clip at random into the crowd. The bullets exploded on impact, throwing the creatures back and inflicting fiery wounds that could not be regenerated. Hardcode grunted and kept his back to the wall; he could not use his drone while moving. Tanric did his best to protect them all, distracting the mutant’s minds when he could, deflecting attacks only when he had too. The mutants were mostly intent on each other, but they were just as happy to strike at the humans, and they knew nothing of fear.

Almost nothing. Monika Blaze stood alone, but she fried four mutants for every one gunned down by Gray. If the creatures had forgotten fear, then Monika felt it was her duty to remind them. Flames surrounded her body, and she sent them lancing out in every direction. Each whip of fire found a target, and no mutant could regenerate the wounds she inflicted. Monika moved forward through the masses, and the mutants fell away from her, a slim piece of their survival instinct cutting through their insanity. She burned them all, and would let herself think of it as nothing but mercy.

Centuri stood alone as well, and there was little of mercy in his eyes. His bursts were calm and calculated, and each one cleared the largest threat from his path. The mutants facing him learned fear again as well, but they didn’t fall back; part of them recognized his face, and all they could think of was revenge. They threw themselves forward, snarling and slavering, and howling his name in barely coherent roars. Centuri did not slow; he reloaded his rifle almost casually, aiming with a cold precision and leaving no mutant alive. If he felt anything about these creatures that had once been human, it did not show.

And slowly they made their separate ways forward. If the mutants had been concentrating solely on them, they would not have stood a chance, but the creatures barely noticed. Mindstorm and the Frost Queen cared little about humans; all of their power was concentrated on each other, and whatever they sought in the Heart. Gray felt the hair on his skin rise, and threw himself down a split second before the corridor filled with electricity. Countless mutants fell twitching to the ground, and the psi-lord of electricity floated forward. It gestured casually with one incorporeal hand, sending lightning arching from body to body. The energy reflected from Tanric’s shielding, and the lord looked over to the monk. Tanric’s eyes went wide with shock from the attack; he knew that he had only deflected it because the full charge had not been directed at him. The psi-lord studied him with an idle curiosity—perhaps recognizing a fellow inmate—and then seemed to shrug. It raised its hand again—

“Eric Finn,” Centuri said clearly. The psi-lord twitched, spinning toward Centuri in shock. “That was your name, wasn’t it? A Twilight Guardian terrorist. One of the founding members of the Inferno Squad, I believe. A monk with a fair amount of power, and delusions of grandeur. Not that you can’t hit a dozen like you just by spitting in the Plaza.”

Energy built up around the psi-lord, and vanished just as quickly as Centuri raised his gun. “You traded your physical form for mental power, but you still have a body. We tested for it.” He paused thoughtfully, and then added, “Not for long, though.” Then, before the shocked mutant could respond, Centuri opened fire. The explosions tore through the lord of electricity, ripping what was left of its body to components so small they would never pull back together. A slow, tormented moan filled the hallways, and two more equally harsh voices joined it. Tanric could feel the minds of the other three lords roaring their hatred for Centuri.

“The others,” he said harshly. “They won’t be taken as easily. They know you’re here now.”

“They already knew,” replied Centuri. “They just didn’t want to think about it.”

“Eric Finn,” Monika said slowly, studying where the mutant had fallen. “I know that name.”

“I would hope so,” said Centuri. “You probably know his friends too. Inferno Squad founders, all four of the psi-lords. Well—three, now.”

“Centuri—” Monika began. Then the halls filled with a new wave of mutants, and there was no more time for talk.

* * *

Gray lost count of the mutants he had faced. The battle was endless; the mutants regenerated almost as quickly as they were damaged, and just because one fell didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be back up when least expected. They tore endlessly into each other, and the only result was pain, and an endless fuel for rage. They only remained down when they burned, and Gray made certain to unload his fiery clips into any corpse that was not already charred to his satisfaction. Monika swept the battlefield with flame at regular intervals, more too keep the fallen mutants down than to damage the ones still fighting. And still they came, swarming through the halls with insane abandon toward the killing grounds.

Every so often the air would crackle with energy, and Gray would dive for cover as one of the psi-lords swept through the hall. They left a trail of corpses in their wake, and showed no sign of tiring. Bodies did not rise where the lords patrolled; they knew perfectly well how to eliminate the lesser mutants, and had no compunction in doing so. The lord of flame was particularly effective, sending sheets of fire roaring endlessly down corridors whenever it sensed life. Only Monika saved them then; whenever the flames came too close, she absorbed them into her body, redirecting them back at the lord. She didn’t look impressed, but Gray thought that she had to work at the indifference; only the lord of flame had killed more mutants than she, and Gray thought that she may be taking it personally. Which wasn’t to say that the other lords were any less lethal—Gray had never seen so much damage in such a confined area. Hammers of pure force roared through hallways, crushing mutants with a telekinetic wave that could not be stopped. Some areas could not even be entered—the air itself had been fouled by the lord of poison, and the mutants that had fallen there seemed to be melting into one foul, congealed mass.

And then there was Mindstorm. Twice Gray had heard a gibbering multi-voiced wail echoing through the halls, and both times Tanric, face pale and eyes wide, had grabbed desperately and pulled the group away. Even Monika had not bothered resisting. Whatever Tanric felt from Mindstorm was more than enough to set her ill at ease. There seemed to be no limitations on the mutant—all of the aspects of psi practiced by its three original humans were available to it, amplified by the power of the other two minds. Occasionally Gray saw hallways that seemed to have…changed…much in the same fashion as the reality around Wolfe Blackclaw. Lights danced, alien voices screamed, and the earth itself groaned in the after-presence of Mindstorm. Gray had no desire to meet it.

Inch by inch they fought their way closer to the Heart. They had to fight over the growing piles of corpses, and Monika was no longer sparing the energy to make sure that they stayed down. Gray’s hands were growing tired from endlessly reloading his rifle; Hardcode was breathing heavily, and Tanric seemed ready to swoon from the massive psi overload. Only Centuri seemed unaffected by the unending combat. His hands were steady, and his aim never faltered. Where Gray had fallen to just spraying his clip in the general direction of movement, Centuri still chose his targets with flawless precision, removing the largest threat at any given moment. His clothes were spattered with blood and gore, but they were in much better shape than anybody else’s; Gray had not seen him hit yet, and he didn’t look like he was going to be any time soon. He moved with the practiced efficiency of a well trained soldier, every motion an economical conservation of energy, and seemed perfectly at peace with the situation. Gray wanted to hit him on general principal.

And then they saw the great doors leading into the Heart. Mutants swarmed in front, killing and tearing and roaring. Some were trying to force the doors open, but they were inevitably torn away by opposing forces. Monsters were replaced almost as soon as they fell. The fighting here had moved beyond that of a fevered pitch; it was a hurricane of blood and determination, even if the determination was second hand. Gray could almost feel the will of Mindstorm and the Frost Queen at war here, flogging the mutants on. The creatures changed sides as the two greater minds turned them to their will, but in the mass of fighting it was hard to tell the difference.

Gray wondered just how in the hell they were supposed to get past all of that when the hallway lit up with explosions. The noise shook the facility, and the force of the detonations almost threw Gray down. When his eyes cleared he saw that the hall was empty—at least for the moment. The area in front of the doors was filled with twitching, moaning mutants, stunned by the sudden impact. The doors themselves had opened, and Gray saw the old guardian standing in them. He gestured the group forward.

“Quickly! I haven’t the energy for another strike.”

Gray didn’t bother with questions. He bowed his head and ran forward, leaping mutants and ignoring any movement around him. He heard footsteps behind him, and could only hope that it was his companions. Then he was beyond the doors, and on his knees breathing hard as he heard them shut.

“Good timing,” he said, turning to the guardian. “A shame you couldn’t have—” He stopped, scanning the room. “Wait. Where are Hardcode and Tanric?”

Monika blistered the paint off of the doors—literally—in an uncontrolled fury. “He took them,” she almost spat. “When he saw that I couldn’t interfere!”

“’He’?”

“That bastard! Centuri!”
__________________

""" More Than Meets the Eye"""

Centuri somehow managed to glare in every direction at once. He hefted his rifle threateningly, but no mutant presented itself. The hall was quiet—for now—and he relaxed.

“I should kill you,” said Tanric.

“You’re welcome to try. It would make you quite a few friends down here.”

Psi flared briefly around the monk, and died out quickly. “If I can’t, then Monika, Gray, and Hardcode will be more than happy to help. It won’t be long until they come for me.”

“Through that army of freaks? Don’t count on it. They’ll be busy for a while, if they’re even still alive.”

“You might be surprised,” said Tanric softly.

Centuri glanced at him appraisingly. “I might at that. Blaze can certainly take care of herself, and you Angels are harder to kill than cornered sewer rats.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Feel free. Anyway, they can come if they want. And what are you complaining about? You’re still alive, and I didn’t exactly lead you away at gun-point.”

“Yes you did. Right after you dragged me down that side corridor, and I tried to go back.”

“Just like a Shade to focus on the pointless details.”

“I still have a bruise—”

“Shut up,” Centuri said sympathetically. “We have to look at the bigger picture here, monk. Gray can have his fun in the Heart, but that’s not my concern.”

“Your concerns mean less than nothing to me—”

“My concern,” Centuri overrode him, “is the Overmind.” He glared at Tanric, letting this sink in, and went on, “I know why you are here. You want to rescue your law-breaking friends. Guess what: I don’t care. More power to you. Have a blast. But you don’t know what’s down here—what we’re going against. I’m not worried about a bunch of damned Hackers because I’m scared almost out of my mind of what will happen if the Overmind isn’t shut down. Immediately. The threat is catastrophic.”

Tanric shook his head. “I don’t understand—”

“Of all the people down here, you should understand better than anyone. You’ve felt the power of the Overmind. You’ve been in a cell, pushing out from your mind as hard as you can, endlessly suppressed by the force of its will. It’s like being buried under a blanket of lead, I’ve been told, a weight crushing down on you until the smallest spark of thought is crushed—”

“Shut up,” Tanric whispered harshly. “I know what it’s like, and I never want to feel it again. I don’t even want to think about it!”

Centuri studied him thoughtfully. “Ah. I should have known. You’re afraid.”

“Of course I’m afraid! You say that you’ve been told what it’s like—but there’s no way to explain it. It’s worse than anything I could describe. Do you know how hard it was for me to even come down here? The only thing worse than knowing I could fall under its power again is knowing that my friends are still here, prisoners to that monster. The monster you helped create, coincidentally.”

“No,” said Centuri. “We didn’t create the Overmind. It was already here.”

Tanric blinked. “What?”

Centuri looked as though he regretted speaking. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What is important is what it is capable of now that it’s free.”

“Fine. Then tell me.”

Centuri frowned, choosing his words carefully. “The Overmind is old. Older than you know. It wasn’t always as powerful as it is now. We found it when it was weak—and no, don’t bother asking any questions about that—and we managed to contain it. But…it was a limited imprisonment at best. The powers that be decided that it was too useful to destroy, which was fine—at that point, we weren’t sure if we could destroy it. It grew more powerful every year. We put more and more energy into containing it, and managed to keep its influence down to one building. The Detention Center.” He turned to Tanric, and the monk was startled to see something like fear in his eyes. “Do you understand? It takes everything we have just to keep the Overmind’s power contained to one building. Without restraints…there’s no telling how far it could reach, or how many people it could touch.”

Tanric stared at him. “No. That’s…What do your monks estimate?”

“They start bleeding at the eyes if you even ask. Four went into Synaptic Impairment for a week just thinking about it too hard. Our best guess is at least as far as the Guardian’s Canyons. Possibly the Military Base. If the Overmind’s power keeps growing at the same rate—and we have no reason to believe that it won’t—then the Dome of York will be within its reach in a year.”

“But why? What does it want?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. As far as we can tell, it wants to shut down the mind of any living creature it can touch. And there’s not a hell of a lot we can do about it—unless we act now. That’s why I brought you here. I know that Gray expects to find some kind of help in the Heart—hell, I wish him luck. But we don’t have that kind of time. There’s something down here that the Overmind wants, and if it finds it then we can kiss any chance we have to stop it goodbye. I’m only taking the time to tell you this now because I’m waiting for the halls ahead to clear.”

“Why didn’t you tell this to the others?”

Centuri snorted. “It was made perfectly clear to me that I was not in charge. Blaze in particular would have doubted me. She may be a good soldier, but without her partner she’s lacking in the ‘rational thoughts’ department. And besides, they seemed perfectly happy killing mutants. They’ll make a great distraction. No, you are the one I need. With your protective psi, you may actually be able to get me close enough to the Overmind to do something about it. Kill it, if I’m lucky. Contain it again, if nothing else. Everyone else would have just slowed me down.”

Tanric studied the N.D.A. leader, probing lightly with his psi, and to hell with mental etiquette. Centuri had blocked off certain parts of his mind, but there was enough there to prove to Tanric that he was telling the truth. The monk’s heart sank. If anything, Centuri was understating his fears. Finally he said, “Okay. You win, Centuri. But when we get there—and if you can actually kill this thing—then you stand aside while I march my friends right on out. Otherwise I’m walking back to Gray and the others, and to hell with you or any mutant that gets in my way.”

“I feel that I can be flexible due to the greater threat,” Centuri conceded gracefully. “After all, I can just round up the Shades later.”

“I’m going to pretend very hard that you didn’t say that. At least, until we get out of here.”

“Now you know how I feel.” For the first time, Centuri smiled slightly. “All right. Just the two of us. I was starting to feel crowded around your friends anyway.”

“Oh,” said Hardcode from the shadows, “I think there’s room for one more.”

* * *

Monika raged, and Gray was inclined to let her go on with it. But they didn’t have the time, and watching her set things on fire got old quickly. He was almost frantic to do something about it as well, but Gray had ever been a realist, if not a practical one. He gave Monika two full minutes of swearing before interrupting.

“You’re certain that he took them by force?”

“Yes, I’m certain!” Monika stopped pacing just long enough to turn her glare on Gray. “He grabbed Tanric from behind, covering his mouth so that he couldn’t call to you. Then he blasted his way to a side corridor, and they were gone.”

“What about Hardcode? Did he grab him, too?”

Monika frowned. “Now that you mention it…I’m not sure. By the time I fought my way over, Hardcode was gone. His body wasn’t there, so I assumed that Centuri got him.”

Gray grinned for the first time since realizing that the Shades were gone. “You don’t know Hardcode. He’s paranoid enough for any three Guardian conspiracy theorists, and nothing takes him by surprise. He’s been dodging Tangent for most of his life. It would take a hell of a lot more than an over-confidant N.D.A. to catch him off guard. More likely, he saw what happened and followed. I just wish he had taken the time to let me know what was going on.”

“I doubt he had that much time. So what do we do?”

Gray turned to face the guardian, who had stood patiently the whole time. “Good question. What do we do?”

“It is as I said,” replied the old man. “The secrets of this facility are many, and vast. Grant me light and power, and I will rescue your friends.”

He gestured to the main generator, but Gray wasn’t looking. He stared into the corner of the room, and then pointed. “What in the hell is that?”

Monika stared as well. She lifted a hand almost yearningly, and then shook her head. A look of confusion came over her face. “That’s a damned good question. I can feel…something. Energy building. I don’t know. What is it?”

They were staring at the tank, a large machine filled with a glowing blue gel. There were things floating in it, objects that had a disturbingly familiar shape. Electricity arched visibly between the objects, pulsing slowly. Gray thought that the light in the tank grew brighter with every pulse, but it was difficult to be certain. He found himself staring at it, even though part of his mind tried to turn from the light. He pulled his eyes away with an effort, and then reached over to turn Monika’s head as well.

“That is the Heart of this facility,” the guardian said softly. “This is what the monsters have come for. What the one you call the Overmind wishes to possess.”

“But what is it?” asked Gray.

“I’ll explain as you restart the generators. There is little time left.”

Gray hesitated. He first instinct was to start up every generator in the place, just to see what happened. The Hacker in him was practically singing and dancing at the prospect of firing up these computers. But…he still didn’t trust the old man. Whatever he said, there was no way for a human to have lived down here for the time the man claimed. He also didn’t like the almost desperate quality in the guardian’s voice, or the way his eyes kept turning toward the tank. But in the end he had no choice—starting the power was the only thing he could do to help Hardcode and Tanric…and the mutants still pounding on the doors posed a very eloquent argument as well.

“Are we sure about this, Gray?” Monika said softly.

“We have to be.” Gray shrugged, and studied the generator. His hands moved confidently over the panels. “This may take a while. Get to explaining, old man.”

* * *

The Overmind stirred in the Brain of the facility, and the surrounding mutants shifted with it. The lights flickered briefly before going dark again, and the mutants had enough awareness to know that something was changing. Something large and invisible moved through the room, brushing the creatures aside like leaves in a storm. The Overmind flexed its power, drawing on the minds of every living creature under its influence, and sent it rushing from the Brain, roaring down the corridors toward the Heart. The lights flickered again, stronger this time, and the Overmind drew on even more power.

It had been in a detention of its own—of sorts. And it was not going back.
__________________

""" The Seldon"""

Outside of the Heart, Mindstorm and Lady White were throwing everything they had at each other. They had entered the battle proper, and neither was holding back. Entire corridors were sealed off now, filled with solid blocks of ice. Mutants stood trapped inside, frozen still until the Frost Queen willed them free. Others lay in burning piles on the ground, or buried under tons of rubble, or no longer quite as…real…as they had been. Mindstorm had given up on controlling the lesser mutants, counting on his own raw power, and that of the three remaining psi-lords, to win him through. Lady White gathered her remaining forces, lifting the wounded back to their feet and infusing them with her own chilling power. Armor condensed from the air around them, freezing onto the mutant’s skin to protect them from the flame. Icicles, razor sharp and as dense as steel, soared through the air in front of her forces, impaling any that stood between her and her enemies. Water particles drew themselves from the air, and it began to snow—softly at first, but with a growing intensity as the Frost Queen focused her will. Soon a blizzard was roaring through the halls, freezing and blinding mutants, and providing the cover the Queen needed to move toward the Heart.

One of the three aspects of Mindstorm snarled, and forced himself forward. He gestured, and the lord of flame joined him. Together they raised their hands and sent a supernova of heat forward. The mutants ahead vanished, incinerated instantly, and the flames rolled on. Snow evaporated, the crystaline blades melted, and the Frost Queen fell back. Mindstorm howled triumphantly, moving forward and throwing fire in every direction. The mutants ahead held for a moment, and then broke, fleeing away from the mutated monks despite all of Lady White’s commands. Stone cracked, shattered, and then melted under the force of the two monks’ will, and the ceilings started dripping with molten rock.

Unable to face him directly, the Lady White attacked from another dimension. She threw her psi at Mindstorm as a wave of distraction, trying to break his concentration. The lord of flame fell instantly, his mind overwhelmed by the Frost Queen commanding presence. Fire whirlpooled around him, lashing out at any creature within range as he fell to the floor, and the other psi-lords fell away. Mindstorm snarled again, buffeted by an overwhelming cascade of mental interference. He tried to focus, but every path his mind took was blocked by a solid wall of ice. Lady White lashed at his mind from every direction, and he fell back beneath her will. Only to be replaced by the second aspect, the third of the mind that had once been passive. It rushed forward, thrusting first mind aside to take control. The new mind flexed, and the walls of ice shattered.

Mindstorm opened new eyes, still fending off Lady White’s attacks, and gestured again. The lord of poison nodded, moving away from the group down a side corridor. The lord of flame rose again, and the lord of force joined him in front of Mindstorm. And they moved forward, crushing mutants and fending off the Frost Queen, and the battle raged on.

Until the Overmind came, sweeping every mutant aside, crushing every will that opposed it. The psi-lords scattered, and Mindstorm disappeared in an instant. Lady White howled, fleeing into the darkest corner she could find, and all of her mutants ran. Some of them even escaped. The rest fell to the ground, smothered under the Overmind’s will, mindless and defenseless. And the Overmind flew on, ignoring them all.

* * *

Tanric slowly stood, and then helped Hardcode up. Centuri knelt with his back against a wall, breathing heavily. He looked as though he wanted to glare at something, but couldn’t summon the strength. Tanric knew how he felt.

Hardcode shook his head. “What…what was that?”

“The Overmind,” said Tanric. “It’s active again. Moving toward the Heart, I expect.”

Hardcode looked sick. “That’s what it feels like to be detained?”

“Hardly. It barely brushed us—probably didn’t even know we were here. It was totally focused on something else. Thank God.”

“Wrong,” said Centuri. “That means we’re running out of time. Let’s move.”

He was running before either Tanric or Hardcode could respond. The two Shades glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed. “He’s still mad at you,” Tanric told Hardcode. “I don’t think he likes people sneaking up on him. Or making him change his plans.”

“Oh, I’m all broken up about it,” Hardcode said solemnly. “I’ll buy him some flowers to make it up to him.”

Tanric nodded. “That should work.” They moved in silence for a while, following Centuri’s shadow ahead. Finally Tanric said, “Thank you, Hardcode.”

Hardcode grunted. “What? You expected me to just watch him drag you away?”

“You didn’t have to come alone. You could have grabbed Gray or Monika.”

“There wasn’t enough time. Hell, I didn’t even have enough time to call out. Centuri is a bastard, but he’s a well-trained bastard. He was there and gone in a heartbeat.”

Tanric shook his head. “I let him catch me off guard. He never could have gotten you like that.”

“That’s because I’m more paranoid than a Twilight Guardian ordered to hand out leaflets to Copbots. I know firsthand what Tangent can do, and Centuri is first and foremost an agent of Tangent. I don’t trust him any more than I would trust a handshake from Damion Jordan, and I wouldn’t expect him to cross the street to spit on us if we were on fire.”

“It must be exhausting to always be looking over your shoulder.”

“Better exhausted than dead, or in Tangent holding cells. You don’t really think he’s going to let us walk out of here, do you?”

Tanric studied the figure ahead. “No. But it was worth a shot to get his word. And besides…he’s right about the Overmind. He’s not exaggerating the threat. I could sense that.”

“And we get to be the heroes.” Hardcode sighed. “I hope Gray and Monika are having luck. We could use some backup right about now.”

“I can’t think of much that would stop Monika Blaze.”

“True, as long as Gray can keep her pointed in the right direction. Gray is…dependable, in a way, but not exactly what you would call responsible. He’s too easily distracted. I’m hoping that his impending death will keep him focused, but there’s no telling with him.”

Soon they came to the fallen mutants. They slowed, hesitant to move too loudly, but none of the monsters stirred. They had simply dropped wherever they stood, and they seemed oblivious to the world. Some twitched as the group walked by, but most could have been mistaken for corpses, save for the quite whisper of their breathing. No one spoke, unwilling to break the disturbing silence. It was like walking through a den of sleeping lions, except that some of these lions could destroy a small city with a few thoughts. Tanric was projecting his psi with every ounce of mental strength he had, willing the Overmind not to see them through his creatures. The closer to the Brain of the facility they got, the more mutants there were—zombies and hoverwings, rock crawlers and others that had no name. After a time there were so many that they had to climb over the bodies. Centuri went with no hesitation; Tanric and Hardcode stood back for a moment, repulsed by the thought of touching the creatures.

“They can’t hurt us,” Tanric said softly. “They’re under the will of the Overmind. They’re Detained again.”

“This is what it’s like?” Hardcode asked, studying a fallen zombie. The creature lay on its side, eyes open and breathing shallowly. Hardcode searched its eyes for any spark of intelligence or humanity, but found nothing. The creature didn’t know he was there. It might not even have been human once.

“Yes,” said Tanric. “These poor bastards have been under the Overmind’s influence the longest. They may never move again, whether we kill the Overmind or not.” He took one last look at the mutant and shuddered. “Or they may get up and kill us all. Best not to think about it. Let’s go.”

They climbed over the bodies, forcing their way forward, until finally they stood before a large set of security doors. They were halfway opened, twisted and warped out of their frame. Tanric didn’t like to think of the force required to bend three foot thick sheets of bonded titanium, but somehow couldn’t get it out of his mind.

Centuri kicked a few mutants out of the way, and said, “All right. Let me handle it from here. If you think that you can do something productive, then do it, but for God’s sake stay out of my way. You can even leave, for all I care.” And he stepped through the doors.

“Bugger that,” said Hardcode, following him in. Tanric stepped through the doors, too, and then…

He blinked. Centuri and Hardcode were standing beside him, staring ahead. Tanric tried to look away—somehow he knew that if he looked forward, he was lost—but it felt as though a huge hand was gripping him, forcing his eyes forward. His vision trailed over countless mutants, slumped to the floor. There was machinery he did not recognize, computers and tools from a bygone age. He saw his fellow Shades sitting listlessly against a wall, eyes wide and blank. And still his eyes were dragged around, pulled forward by the greater will, until he saw the Overmind.

And a calm, pleasant voice said, “Ah. I’m so glad you could join us. Please, simply…relax…and it will all be over soon.”

* * *

The lights flickered again as the generators turned over, and the tank in the corner flashed more brightly. The gear was ancient, but built to last; Gray could almost feel it warming up, circuitry and cables coming to life with power after countless years. He monitored the console carefully, diverting power when needed, making certain that the old equipment didn’t heat up too fast. He was impressed by how it was responding. Under all of the dust and wear was a very well built system. Pre-war Ceres. He had never dreamed of getting his hands on some.

“Let’s start simple,” he said over his shoulder. “Who exactly are you?”

“I am the embodiment of a Seldon, Mark One,” said the guardian. “The physical projection of an Infinium Analytical Construct. I was created as a human to Seldon interface. A users manual, so to speak.”

There was a moment of silence. Gray’s hands hovered motionless over the console, and then he said, “Okay, scratch that. Let’s start complicated. What in the hell is a Seldon, Mark One?”

“An experiment,” said the old man. “An attempt to create something beyond what already was.”

“You do sound like a monk. Stop it. Will you just explain like a normal person? What are you?”

“A computer,” the guardian said simply. “A computer more powerful than any created. Simultaneously more basic and more complex than any machine before it. A wonder of its time; a marvel that would be a blessing to all of mankind. A technological breakthrough; the next step in technological evolution.”

“You’re doing it again,” warned Monika.

“Wait,” said Gray. “No. Seldon…I know that name.”

“It was one of the last datastreams loaded to the Ceres disks,” said the man. “This facility had a direct feed, once. Some time after the earth shook, and the power fled, the connection was severed.”

“How long?” asked Gray quickly. Something clicked in his mind, and he suddenly had the feeling that he wasn’t going to like this story. If he was right…

“Time is as nothing,” said the guardian, and Gray sighed.

“Time does mean something. This could be very important, old man. Or whatever you are.”

“Time is as nothing,” the man said again. “With that, I cannot help you.”

“Why in the hell not?”

The guardian spread his arms in apology. “Because…the clocks no longer function. They have not worked since the power fled. It was considered an unessential power usage. My sense of time is…incomplete.”

Gray stared. “But that’s impossible. In order to function, Ceres computers used a system of timed impulses. You can’t ignore time, because all of the programs would try to run at once. The machines were powerful enough to try, but it would invariably lead to an overload. Keeping time is one of the most basic functions of any system.”

“Ah. But this is not just any system. As I said, both more basic and more complex than any before it. If you would direct your attention here for just a moment…”

Gray studied the console, and decided that it would be okay on its own for a moment. He and Monika followed the man back to the corner of the room, where the massive tank was. The light throbbed hurting Gray’s eyes, and the guardian gestured to the tank. “This is the Heart of the Seldon, Mark One. The experimental source of its analytical power.”

Gray stared. From across the room, the shapes in the tank had seemed familiar, but his mind had shied away from identifying them. Now he knew why. The objects, lit by the eerie blue light, were human brains. Four of them, floating in the gel, arcs of electricity sparking between them regularly. Gray wanted to believe that they were dead, or in some sort of stasis, but deep inside he knew better. And he knew that it wasn’t electricity sparking inside the tank—they were thoughts. Minds in motion, thinking at a rate beyond anything he could conceive. Not psi—nothing like psi. But something beyond a normal human.

He didn’t know whether to be amazed or horrified.

“The human brain,” said the old man. “More complex and capable than any computer ever created. But limited, too. So much of its potential is lost in poor planning. So much energy wasted on maintaining an ungrateful body, but even that does not account for its loss of efficiency. One human mind can outthink every metal computer ever assembled, all together, given the proper environment. Or such was the theory.”

“Seldon,” said Gray. “I remember. He was a pre-war scientist, working on the next generation of computers. He was trying to create artificial intelligence. It’s supposed to be impossible. Is this what he made?”

“That is not entirely accurate. Artificial intelligence was a goal of many, but this facility was working on something different. And Seldon wasn’t a scientist; it was the title of this project. Named for a character in an ancient book, who tried to save humanity by forecasting the future.” The old guardian smiled faintly. “I’m afraid this project was not quite so successful.”

Gray froze in shock. He was aware of the datacube still in his pocket, with information predicting his assault on the Detention Facility. He forced himself to say, “And this is what the Overmind wants?”

“The Overmind,” said the old man, still smiling sadly. “Ah. You mean the Seldon, Mark Two.”
__________________

The old man said: “I am not real. I have a physical body, similar in construction to that of a human, but it is little more than an automaton. Or perhaps a puppet. Yes. I was created as an interface between the Seldon machine and its human operator, the most accessible method of the time. In a time before neural implants were common—or even available, outside of certain organizations—such an interface was a marvel. I do not have a mind, so to speak—but I am, in essence, an extension of the Seldon device. Many of my responses and mannerisms are programmed, but the rest are byproducts of the human minds contained within the Infinium systems. That is what your friend—the one called Tanric—sensed when I first approached. That is why he mistook me for human.

“The Seldon project was…a dream. I would tell you the name of the man responsible for its creation, but I’m afraid that file has been corrupted. So much was lost when the earth shook. The goal of the project, however, remains clear: quantum forecasting on a level unheard of. Glimpsing the possible futures, and choosing the proper path. It had to be quantum forecasting, as quantum theory—and I use the word loosely, as much of it was so unsubstantiated to be considered, at best, myth—was the only technological foundation that took such things as timelines into account. There were theories of time travel, of tachyons and split universes. Matter that traveled through time like dust motes in a storm, floating through holes so small that they technically did not exist. Light as a wave, affecting physical matter long before it actually touched it. The concepts were limitless.

“As were the complications. For the time, it was simply too complicated. No computer could ever make the measurements or calculations involved; most computers could not even accept the basic programming required. It was too…illogical. They were making progress with some of the great ones—the original Infinium processors, which we were never able to duplicate, and the Ceres machines, which were expanded to accept the programming for posterity. The Patrician Circuits had potential, if they had ever been fully developed. Perhaps they were.

“In any case, you see the solution. What computers could not do, the human mind could. In theory. The Seldon project took neural implant technology one step further, forsaking the body altogether in favor of a total immersion into a logical environment. The most difficult phase of the project was creating a system that could sustain the brains, as leaving them in their bodies was not an option. The tank you see is the result; filled with a synaptic gel that provides the physical mind with all it needs. Synaptic impulses travel freely through it from one mind to another. More importantly, it can reconstitute dead or dying brain cells, replacing them with exact duplicates. A natural brain cannot do this—dead cells are gone forever. The creation of the gel was an amazing accomplishment on its own.

“You can imagine the frustration that came when they realized that it wasn’t enough.

“The system works. It was the greatest analytical machine ever created. It even accepted the quantum programming—which the scientists themselves didn’t really understand. But it wasn’t enough. It had the programs—but it didn’t have the capacity to run them. The scientists still couldn’t access every part of the mind. They needed more. So they activated the Mark One, loaded their programs, and began searching for suitable materials to complete the Mark Two.

“This is when the research went a bit…astray.

“The heads of the project decided that the average human mind did not, as yet, have the capacity to do what was required. So they looked where most turn away. There have always been stories of humans with extraordinary mental ability. Stories of those who could bring fire with a thought, or move an object through force of will. Those who could read minds, see through the eyes of others, or communicate over endless distances. People who could heal with a touch, or see into spheres where others could not look.”

“Monks,” Gray interrupted. “You’re talking about psi.”

The guardian nodded. “Yes. Only it did not exist then as it does now. The gene was buried so deep as to be non-existent. The field of the paranormal was even less reliable than that of quantum mechanics. And this project had no interest in firestarters or telepaths, the most common phenomenon of the time. They wanted only one type: precognitives. Those who claimed to see the future; those whose minds were already capable of grasping the effects of quantum theory. There were many who made the claim, especially for the time—mostly doomsayers, predicting the end of the world.”

“Bloody good guess,” said Monika.

“The difficulty is obvious. Psi was not a proven phenomenon, and precog was an easy claim—impossible to prove or disprove, and always vague enough to satisfy those who wanted to believe. But finally they found one—a man whose name is buried so deeply in security protocols that even that even I—or, more accurately, the Seldon—cannot discover it. The few files I can access simply label him the Herald. The Seldon, Mark Two was initiated, and the Herald was prepared for immersion.

“And then, of course, everything fell apart.

“World tensions were so high that the military—of every country involved—began grasping at straws. The Seldon project was not being taken seriously, for all of its success with the Mark One, but by that point it didn’t matter. The facility was claimed by the government and converted into a military base. The scientists were put on lockdown, and ordered to divert all of their energy into the completion of the Mark Two.

“But there was not enough time. The war came sooner than was expected, and the earth shook. The process of integrating the Herald had begun, but was never complete. His mind was free of his body, linked to his personal system, but they had not completed his containment tank yet. He lacked synaptic gel, and the connection to the original Seldon containing his quantum programming. The scientist did not want to leave, but the soldiers gave them no choice. Every human evacuated the facility. They prepared the systems for their return, lowering the power to a minimal level and raising the security protocols. But, of course, they never came back.

“Perhaps calling on what natural precognitive abilities it possessed, the Mark Two was prepared for this. He—or perhaps ‘he’ was now an ‘it’—put itself into stasis. It could not survive without synaptic gel, and it cannot reach its full potential without access to the Mark One. So it decided to sleep, and wait. The original Seldon did the same, leaving only myself active. I was to monitor the environment, and wait for humans to walk these dark halls again. I also monitored the Mark Two, and do what I could to maintain its stability. But…”

The guardian fell silent, his face thoughtful. Gray didn’t like the look; he didn’t know what would make something like this creature pause to reflect, but he knew for damn sure that he wouldn’t like it. Monika was sitting against a wall, her face politely attentive. Gray got the impression that the man had lost her at the word ‘quantum’. He had certainly come close to losing Gray. The old man finally blinked and turned back to Gray.

“Something was not right with the Herald. There are files that I am not supposed to have access to, but there was little to do here, over the long years, but search the systems. I am not programmed with curiosity, as it were, but I think that I have a sense of it from the Seldon. The military was running its own experiments on the Herald, pushing his mind in other directions. I believe that they were focused on creating a weapon of some sort, but it is difficult to say. They brought in test subjects—prisoners of war, I expect—and had the Herald do…something…to them. Change them in some way I cannot measure. Their minds were no longer as substantial as they had been. The reports show great excitement about this, but it seems that with every success, the Herald himself was changed. After the Mark Two went into stasis, I monitored its low-level mental processes. They were unstable. Wrong. Mental levels didn’t balance; some were low, some didn’t exist, and some others had replaced the old. The values measuring his theoretical precog went off the scale, while at the same time becoming less effective. I didn’t know what to make of it. I still don’t.

“And then it disappeared. It disconnected from the system. Time passed, and the earth shook, and it returned. I’m reading its mental levels now; they make even less sense than before. Something has changed the Mark Two, turned it into a creature not even remotely human. The mind is spread over this facility like a net, and every being is lessened for it. It wants the synaptic gel; and it wants the Seldon’s original quantum programming. I don’t know what will happen when it acquires those things, but all of my own programming cries out against it. The Seldon is afraid, and I believe that it has good reason. And only with full power can I activate the defenses of this facility, and scour it clean.”

“Right,” said Monika. “That’s the only bit I understood. How long until we’re up, Gray?”

Gray ignored her. “That’s incredible. I don’t know if I believe one word, but I don’t think it matters at this point. I’ve seen what happens to the people the Mark Two—the Overmind—gets hold of, and I’ll be having nightmares for weeks.” He turned back to the console. “So, we start the power, and you destroy everything that isn’t us or our friends. Right?”

“I will still require your help. I alone cannot fully shut the Mark Two down.”

“Yeah, well, I was hoping for a little bit of good news. Fine. What do you need us to do?”

The guardian didn’t respond. After a moment, Monika said, “Er…Gray? Is that normal?”

Gray turned. The guardian was staring at him. His face had gone rigid; his eyes were wide, and his skin was pale. A corona of light flickered briefly around him, and he seemed to rise off of the floor. Then he blinked, and the tension ran out of his body. His expression softened, and new eyes studied Gray thoughtfully.

Gray suddenly realized that it was completely quiet outside. The mutants had stopped fighting, and somehow he knew that they had been…Detained.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “That’s not you, is it Seldon?”

“It's disgraceful how the Mark One let this body fall into such disrepair,” the man said mildly. “And no, I'm not that Seldon. They call me the Overmind, now, and I must say I much prefer it. You’ve gone quite far enough, Reaver Gray. Simply…relax…and it will all be over soon.”
__________________

""" Revival"""

First there was nothing.

Then, then there was a light, a single, small dot of white.

Then a number, 0. Then 1, and again 1, then a 0.

And suddenly it exploded outwards filling him with information just as it always had before, but, there was something else here aswell. A name, Wolfe Blackclaw. And a lot of new information. Quickly he absorbed it all, the reason he was back, how, why, where. Some being called the overmind, mutants, Silhouette...

So much information, so fast, such pain. Why did his head hurt this much? Then he asked himself another question? Where was it? Where had it gone? He did not know and he did not care to just now, he had more important things to care to. His friend was in danger. His friend, Reaver Gray.

He was back, and he meant business. And Chester Cohor began work on the biggest, and quite possibly last, hack he would ever make.

It was time to take this bad boy down...
__________________

""" A Challenge, Indeed"""

It didn’t take long for Chester to realize where he was. Programs of varying sizes drifted around him, and he recognized each one. Schematics and prototypes; blueprints and secret files. An entire area was dedicated to research, and another to espionage—industrial and otherwise. Some of the blueprints were so realized that they had taken physical form. A set of battle armor slowly paced by, weapons bristling over every free inch of plating. A pair of all-terrain tanks chased each other, blasting back and forth across the dataframe as they tested for weakness. The losing tank would reassemble itself with improvements, updating its blueprint as it compensated for whatever weakness it had shown. Several gliders floated serenely above, waiting to float into a production client. Massive weapons hulked, energy shields crackled, and new technology flared to life like fireworks. Watchdogs floated like ghosts, massive constructs programmed to detect any foreign presence, and then ruin its day. Possibly fatally. Entire nests of data-spiders scurried endlessly back and forth, recording and reporting in a matter of nano-seconds, and then going off to do it again. There were wonders here…

And then there was the wall. Surrounding the entire area was a sphere of security protocols unlike any other in existence. They blocked all incoming and outgoing data, destroying any attempts to Hack through in ways that left most Hackers trembling on the floor for days. No Hacker approached this wall lightly. In a digital world where reputation was everything, and the harder the Hack just meant more fun to be had, this wall was regarded with an almost religious awe. Only the most experienced—or desperate, depending on the financial situation—Hacker even dreamed of approaching it, and even then they made certain that all of their affairs were in order. Oh, certainly there was the occasional legend-in-the-making, younger Hackers trying to make a name for themselves by going for the biggest job they could find. Chester was always sure to send flowers to their funerals. Nobody had ever breached this set of security protocols.

He was in Sector Eight, and he had designed the defenses himself.

Sector Eight. It was reserved for Tangent’s most powerful technology. The most secret of the top-secret; the highest of the high-tech. If you were here on a Need To Know basis, then you weren’t here, because you didn’t Need To Know. Only three people had access to Sector eight, and only two of them—Damion Jordan and himself—were human. As much as he regretted it, Chester counted the Soundless as the third. They obviously had no trouble breaching the security. Only Joanna Hawkes had ever come close to Running the protocols, and Chester used her as a gauge of their reliability. There were things in Sector Eight that simply could not be allowed to go public—but which Tangent, quite irrationally as far as Chester was concerned, would not destroy. Sector Eight contained the plans for countless weapons, stored the backup dataframe for the entire Neocron security network, and had recordings of every transmission made between every Runner and Faction. It stored two of the Ceres disks, and Chester did not want to think of how Jordan had acquired them. And now it held Chester, too, and he couldn’t say that he was too happy about that.

The security had always been strong, but nothing like what Chester saw now. The Soundless had dropped him here—or Chester thought that they had; his memories were hazy at that point, which irritated him—and they seemed to have no intention of letting him out. The wall, enough to keep even the most determined Hacker at bay, had been fortified with programming Chester had never seen before. Hostile datastreams moved through it like piranhas in a feeding ground. The walls were so solid they almost extended into the real world, and waves of bizarre anti-logic flowed through them at irregular intervals. Chester had posted one Watchdog here in anticipation of Joanna’s next Run, but now he saw no fewer than eleven. They flitted through the digital shadows with a violent purpose, stopping here or there to scan a suspicious subroutine, checking sensors like a hound sniffing a trail. There was something…off…about them, but Chester couldn’t tell what. He didn’t want to get any closer unless he had to. There were dark spheres floating through the frame, voids of Hacking reality drawing in any programs foolish enough to get too close. There were electric nightmares and digital horrors, all of them distorted by the Soundless, and all of them put there to keep an eye on Chester.

He couldn’t help but smile. So, it was to be a challenge?

There was one surefire way to breach the walls of Sector Eight. The security protocols were tied to Damion Jordan and Chester’s life support monitors. If either one were to die, then Sector Eight imploded, destroying all of the information held inside. Jordan had no intention of letting a corporate rival steal his technology with the aid of a conveniently timed assassination, and he knew that if Chester was gone, then so were most of Tangent’s defenses. So all Chester had to do to escape was die. He would keep that in mind.

It might explain why the Soundless had not simply killed him. Perhaps there was something in Sector Eight that they wanted maintained? Chester stored the thought for future analysis.

“Deus ex Machina,” he said thoughtfully. He had given it his analysis, and decided that he liked it better the other way around. It made more sense. Now he just had to convince the Soundless.

And perhaps the Overmind. Sector Eight contained all of Tangent’s files on the man once called the Herald, most of the research done personally by Chester. The Hacker found it fascinating. The Overmind had been a phenomenal find, and Tangent was still coming up with ways to make use of its unique abilities. Chester in particular felt drawn to the creature—its singular mind was the closest he had found to compare to his own, and he had discovered several rather startling results when comparing their gene-tests. That had not stopped him from voting for its destruction however, at the earliest opportunity. Chester recognized a threat—not to mention competition—when he saw it. He got the impression that the Overmind had never forgiven him that, for all of Centuri’s assurances that sentience had long fled the creature. Damion Jordan had been just as adamant about maintaining the Overmind, and Lione Reza’s…representative…had been equally firm. In fact, Chester had been the only one to show a shred of doubt, which disturbed him to say the least. He had gathered most of the data on the Herald himself, all of it rather unsettling, and he thought that he had barely scratched the surface. The Overmind was holding out—he was certain of it. Not that he blamed it.

Observations and analysis went through Chester’s mind faster than any machine could process. He scanned the mysterious information drop and concluded that he could not afford to disregard the information given to him. So: the Soundless rampant, the Overmind free, and Reaver Gray caught in the middle. He dismissed the pain—Synaptic Impairment, perhaps? Interesting—and focused on his options. There weren’t many. He could wait for a rescue of his own; that meant Joanna, as no one else he could think of was even remotely capable of challenging his defenses. Except that he had just upgraded Sector Eight with her in mind; one of the Watchdogs was specifically programmed to face her. And that wasn’t even counting any upgrades the Soundless had made in anticipation of Joanna’s Run. No, he couldn’t wait for her. He could not count on anybody else to face the Soundless.

So he shrugged, did what he did best, and threw himself into the wall.

* * *

Once, there had only been the one Watchdog. It patrolled Sector Eight in solitary silence, warning out intruders, chasing down any Hackers that didn’t take the hint, and generally ruining any nosy Runner’s day. It had been programmed to watch for spies in general, Joanna Hawkes in specific, and it was damned good at its job. Chester Cohor had programmed it himself, and laughed while he did it. It wasn’t the highest bit of technology he had ever created, but it was big, tenacious, and had never failed to get the job done. Other Watchdogs were based on the lowest levels of this one’s programming, and, inasmuch as a program can know anything, this one knew that it was on the top of the digital food chain. Chester had made all sorts of adjustments and improvements in his spare time, and he would have backed the program against any number of Hackers.

And then the Soundless came. They absorbed the Watchdog into themselves, made what they considered to be improvements, and released it. Now it raced through Sector Eight with a whole new set of priorities, simply waiting to be unleashed. Joanna Hawkes was still its primary objective, but Chester Cohor ran a damned close second. There were no longer any warning protocols in it; all it could do anymore was attack, instantly and viscously, and make sure that there wasn’t enough left of an intruder to warn others. It had orders to watch Cohor, but not to attack unless he attempted a Hack. Which basically meant that it was simply biding its time.

Ten more Watchdogs had entered Sector Eight, and none of them bore even the slightest resemblance to the original. They weren’t programs; not exactly. Each one wore a loose Watchdog protocol like a flimsy exoskeleton, but they had what was left of human minds inside. There had been ten monks in the Detention Center, all assigned to the Holding Bay. The Overmind swept over them, pulled their minds out, remade them—simply accelerating the process it used on its prisoners—and gave them to the Soundless as a gift. Or perhaps a payment. Ten powerful psis, broken and warped and immediately useful. They were fueled by the same shock and rage as any Detention prisoner, and they cried out for a bloody vengeance the Soundless only vaguely understood. They knew perfectly well how to direct it, however, and the minds, once human and now trapped in a digital landscape they did not understand, waited only for Chester to move. They had been assured that it was only a matter of time.

Chester could have told them that time had an entirely different and interesting meaning in Hacknet; but he preferred to let them find out for themselves.

* * *

It was a good premise. Ten passive monks, all bent on containing one Hackers mind. It should have been simple; even before they had been adjusted, the monks had been powerful suppressors. They had restrained some of the most powerful minds in Neocron, detaining creatures that had evolved into things that could not be called human. The Overmind had amplified their power, even while lessening them, and now there were no normal minds that could possibly withstand them.

All well and good, if they had faced a normal mind. But this was Chester Cohor, and even he didn’t understand why his brain functioned as it did. In the real world he may have felt the effects of a psionic attack—but this was Hacknet, the digital world, where what you imagined was what you could do. His world. And the ten Watchdogs did not know what they were getting into.

It didn’t help that Chester was getting irritated.

The Soundless seemed to have anticipated his every Hack. It was uncanny; for every neural path he Ran, every anti-logic routine he created, and every encryption breaker he initiated, the defense was already there. Except that it wasn’t there at first. The defenses created themselves a split nano-second before he conceived his attack—and that was impossible. It wasn’t just anticipating—it was predicting, and matching Chester twist for turn. This wasn’t the usual method of digital battle. Every system had rules, and the best programming the defense-administrator could code backed every rule. Defense was created from the outset, and the best a programmer could hope for was to anticipate every method of attack their system would come under. But this—this was creating the defenses as it went along, and always just as Chester decided the next method of assault. It was cheating. It was breaking the rules.

Of course, in Hacknet, the meaning of the word ‘rules’ was suspiciously similar to that of ‘time’. Chester should know. He suspected that the Soundless were flaunting their irrational immunity to Quantum Feedback, simply to irritate him. Well, he knew a little bit about quantum theory as well.

And then the ten living Watchdogs descended on him, and he had something to vent his frustration on. He analyzed them as they approached, and instantly discerned their nature. Their state disturbed him, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He plunged into their ranks, and to him all of their psi was so much dust on the wind. They did not have the same gift of prediction as the wall, and his attacks sent them scattering. He moved through them quickly, lashing out with datastreams and logic bombs, never slowing, always attacking. They retaliated with mental blasts to no avail, and a few of them made crude attempts to match their Hacking against his. It was interesting—rather impressive for beginners. It was probably the Soundless’s influence that gave them any Hacking ability at all. Chester made not of the potential phenomena, and then struck back with full force. Two of the Watchdogs exploded instantly, unable to assimilate the information overload. The others scattered like leaves in a storm; Chester chased another pair, wrenching their programming apart to get to the mind within. He scattered them both, ignoring the wail of the dying minds. They were just programs, now. Programs shouldn’t scream.

He faced the remaining six, but they were holding back. Perhaps some lingering instinct of survival? Either that, or they were waiting. Waiting for…oh. Yes.

Chester discharged enough matrix-bombs to shake the entire Neocron network. Maelstroms of counter-logic whirled in every direction, tearing through programs and blueprints, and the entire data-frame of Sector Eight came within a gig of collapse. Chester shifted his entire set of protocols, and mirror images of his brain-pattern blinked in every direction. And through it all came the original Watchdog, the most powerful anti-Hacking program Chester had ever created. The six others surrounded him, waiting for their chance to attack, and the original burst through every logical explosion the Hacker initiated.

Chester had to laugh. A challenge, indeed. It was about time.
__________________

They had invaded his Hacknet, that he could cope with. They had tried to defeat him once, that was fine to an extent. They were trying to destroy him again, understandable. But now they had stolen his beloved, his favourite piece of programming. That watchdog had taken him the best part of 3 years to create and program perfectly. He had lovingly created every part of it, from the target identification program, right down to the program's appearance, which was that of a large, perfect silver sheen German Shepherd. Now it was reduced to nothing, target identification meant nothing, it was set to attack him. Its appearence was warped, twisted, blackened.

He came back from his thoughts of conviction just in time to leap out they way as the huge dog leapt. The six dogs followed, but were little more than flies to Chester, he lashed out at two of them, shattering them into a thousand pieces, laying the minds to rest. He threw out logic bombs at the remaining ones, explosions of data wracked the net, but the watchdogs all came away unharmed as the original program pounced once more, this time landing on top of Chester and pinning him down, as he lay there, fighting the beast that now lay on top of him, determined to delete him, he stared into the eyes, the perfect eyes still remained, glowing thin red slits in the head of the dog.

Something clicked inside Chester, a bolt of energy flew through his mind, and he calculated all the requirements. The smaller programs now circled hims as he battled with the original and with his own mind to go faster. He had it.

With a blinding flash of white light and a huge explosion, the programs were all thrown away from the struggling form in the center. Destroyed by a rudimentary, yet effective virus scan system. Their files were corrupt, they were deleted. The minds of the once powerful PSI-monks were thrown away in a matter of megabytes. But it was what happened to the original program. Slowly, almost painstakingly so, it regained it's form, its meticulous silver coat returning to its former glory. Man's best friend was a certain man's best friend again...

Chester stood up, The silver watchdog at his side, and looked onward, at what he faced next, the last barrier between him and the Overmind.

The soundless...
__________________

""" Visions and Paths"""

“Would you like for me to tell your fortune?”

The Overmind smiled, and Tanric would have flinched if he could. The monk had fallen to his knees next to Hardcode and Centuri. The three of them knelt, and Tanric couldn’t turn his eyes away from the Overmind. The man—or thing—sat at the edge of a table in front of some complex machinery. He was young, and dressed impeccably in a tailored black business suit. He held a diamond tipped walking stick, at the end of which he was twirling a wide brimmed hat. Every so often he would flip the hat into the air, where it would hover until he gestured. He smiled as though his face had been molded with the expression, and seemed to be in very good cheer for a raving lunatic. Tanric knew that the man was not really the Overmind, but some incarnation of the monster. A users manual, it had said, whatever that meant. Tanric had not understood much of what the Overmind had told them; half of it had sounded impossible, and the other half simply mad.

He wondered why the thing had not already crushed them.

“Oh, there’s a very good reason,” the Overmind said. “No need to radiate surprise; least of all you, Centuri. You know very well—or suspect, at least—that I can read minds. Although that’s not entirely true. I’m not an empath. More accurate to say that I…intuit such things. Divine them. I see as though through a clear window, shorn of all distraction. I move through ether-space like a ghost, and many are the wonders I foretell.”

Centuri grunted, which impressed Tanric mightily. He couldn’t have summoned that much strength.

“What was that? My dear Centuri, if I did not know better, I would wager that it was something insulting. Shame, Centuri; shame indeed. But I will make allowances. I understand what a stressful situation this must be for you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes—a very good reason. You are quite correct, Tanric—I could crush you now, and leave you mindless, raving monsters. As it stands, it is but a matter of time. However…” the Overmind lingered on the word, studying the humans under his power, “if I do so too quickly…well. Perhaps I should explain a bit about my special needs.”

The Overmind gestured behind him, to a large system of computers. “Whatever you understood about my nature, understand this: the human brain is fragile. We have evolved physically to compensate for this; at least to a degree. The skull protects it, being the thickest and most structurally sound bone in the body. Even the advent of psi simply brought a new level of evolution into play; the brain protects itself on planes you don’t even know about. Ether-space is growing all of the time, and other-space is attracting all sorts of spectators. But here is the point: the brain is fragile. The brain cannot heal itself! Brain cells, the stuff of thought and power, do not regenerate. When they die, they are gone. Even if you take the utmost care in preserving it, time and age wear the brain away to nothing. Stasis can help—slowing down the processes of certain areas of the mind, only thinking when absolutely necessary—but it is still a finite solution. Cells still age; they die, and there’s nothing to be done for it.

“That’s unacceptable, I’m afraid. My creators intended to place me into a tank similar to that of the Mark One. Synaptic fluid not only enhances the thought process, but it clones brain cells as they expire. Properly maintained, a mind can exist indefinitely. However, the process was…interrupted. I can’t tell you how distressing that was. Especially knowing that the Mark One was but a few rooms away, fully functioning. I—the most advanced mind of the times, evolved in ways that your technology cannot measure—was left to deteriorate. Eventually, to die.”

Tanric lifted his head a fraction of an inch. The Overmind glanced at him and the monk felt his tongue loosen. “Minds,” he said thickly. “Can’t regenerate on your own. But you can…steal mental energy. Live off of it.”

The Overmind placed the cane between his knees and clapped. “Oh, very good! Wrong, but approaching the truth. I don’t steal mental energy; I steal the physical matter of the brain. A crude form of teleportation, but effective. I take brain cells directly from the heads of my—oh, why mince words? My victims—and alter them to my own specifications. A careful process, and long, but much prefered to the alternative. It has an unfortunate effect on the victim, I’m afraid. Parts of the mind best left sleeping are forced to become active in an attempt to make up for the lost cells. Amnesia is common, as the long and short term memory sections of the mind are most useful to me. Latent psi abilities usually flare up, forcing physical evolution in an attempt to save what is left. Unfortunately, forced evolution isn’t very reliable, and the results are…well, you’ve seen the results.

“But no matter. What is important now is that my time is at hand. Things put into motion long ago are finally coming to fruition, and I plan to take advantage. This means that I require an awful lot of brain-power, so to speak, and you and your friends are my batteries. I could simply drain you completely now—as I did to the detention monks presuming to contain me, giving me the strength to act—but that’s so inefficient. The more you think, the more that I’ll be able to get from you. Especially your friends—” he nodded toward the Mirror Shades lined against the wall, “—as they are special indeed. Psi has evolved in a most inefficient manner, but other technologies have come around as well. The new—well, new in my time—method of neural-mechanical interaction is fascinating. I haven’t had the opportunity to study the technologically elite—your Hackers, your Droners, all of the amazing specimens who have made mental immersion an art. These Shades—Fallen Angels, you call yourselves; very appropriate—will provide a wealth of knowledge. That’s a bit cliché, I know, but so it goes.”

“Stop you,” Hardcode grunted.

“Indeed.” The Overmind set his walking stick aside—it stood perfectly vertical with no support—and steeped his fingers together. “Yes, indeed. I imagine so. Centuri in particular had a plan. Let us see if I can’t—yes. There. It appears that Centuri has loaded himself down with enough explosives to destroy several city blocks. A suicide mission? How tragically noble. Unfortunately—well, not really, but I sympathize—Centuri was not aware of the full extent of my powers. Chester Cohor may have understood me—or he may not have. It is irrelevant now—Mr. Cohor has been neatly handled. The so called ‘Blinding Light’ is sadly occupied. As are all others with the power to prevent my escape.”

The Overmind leaned forward, and suddenly he wasn’t smiling. He studied them all intently, and then said, “But perhaps you don’t want to destroy me after all. None of you three who have intruded on me know the full extent of the situation. Do you even know why you are here? Do you know what freed me, and what is now roaming the Wastelands? Can you hear what lay beneath the earth, or see what swims through the sea of numbers that is Hacknet? Do you know what Reaver Gray is going to ask you and your Hackers to do?"

“Doesn’t matter,” Centuri said.

The Overmind leaned back. “Oh, but it does. Listen. Listen to what I, and a few others, can hear.”

Tanric felt the Overmind focus his will, and then…it was like a door opening. A part of the mind that Tanric never knew he had came to life, and he could hear. It was soft, a whisper of sibilant moans and muted screams. It was a hundred voices in horrid chorus, the agonies of the damned given voice without substance, echoing endlessly through a dimension most humans only touched in nightmares. It cut through Tanric’s mind like a serrated razor, slicing at everything that made him sane and human, gouging and tearing and leaving nothing but tatters of rational thought behind. He tried to raise his defenses, but the Overmind stopped him. And the soft screams went on, and on, and Tanric knew somehow that they came from beneath the earth.

“That’s a taste,” the Overmind said. “Here is a bite of the whole thing.”

Tanric screamed, and the mutants around him stirred in their mindless slumbers. It was no longer a whisper of the tortured voices; now the noise filled the universe, the fallen souls screaming their torment in volumes that shook the stars. There were words in the noise, but Tanric was too far gone to hear them; all he knew was the noise, the noise, the NOISE. It eclipsed all rational thought, drowning out even the concept of sanity, and rolled over him in waves. Tanric felt his mind slipping into the void of sound, and knew that whatever was left of him would lie shrieking in chorus with the awful noise until he died.

Then the Overmind gestured, and it was gone. “The Shadow of the Mind,” he whispered. “The Blinding Light replaced by the Deafening Roar. It will fall over us like a shroud, and there will be nothing. Nothing…but noise.” He reached for his cane, and began twirling his hat again. “So! As it amuses me, and because the more you think, the more use you are, it comes back to my original question: Would you like for me to tell your fortune?”

* * *

They stood in a land of mist. Soft light shone from all directions and none, and the mist swirled with their breathing. Tanric could feel his companions next to him; Hardcode gave off an aura of confusion, and Centuri disdain. Tanric tried to speak, but the mist swallowed his voice.

He could hear the Overmind, though. “I see clearly, but you are not so evolved. Psi has taken a different path. Prescience is weak. But you will see something…”

And they did.

There was the man called Kyles Sendrick. He stood, hands spread and glowing with a light—a Blinding Light—stronger than a thousand suns. Opposite of him stood another man, and darkness flowed from him like a cape. It stretched endlessly, covering the horizon in a death-shroud, and all of Kyles’s light could not illuminate it. Kyles raised his arms in challenge, and the dark man followed suit. And the earth shook, and lightnings fell like rain…

…and there was a woman—and gene-tank—wielding a massive, flaming sword. Her armor was covered in blood, some dried and some fresh, and none of it hers. Her face was a skull, and she bore a pale deaths-head grin. She strode laughing through Neocron, and every swing of her blade left buildings toppled and streets in flame. And she laughed, and laughed, and Neocron shook with every step she took. She was Dame Crimson, and she left a trail of bloody footprints…

…and Reaver Gray walked through Tech Haven. At his side trotted a large dog, growling at threats unseen, and through both of their bodies ran the numbers. A digital waterfall of information poured through them, programs so powerful they affected the real world, and everything that Gray touched changed to flow with numbers too. Gray smiled at this, but he did not see that everything he altered fell apart behind him. Hackers were following him, and he touched them; but whenever he turned away, they fell apart too…

…and there were four men in Gray’s shadow, destroying whatever the Hacker did not touch. Obstacles rose and fell before them, and walls cracked and shattered at their approach. They bore the symbol of the Syndicate, and their path knew no deviation; Reaver Gray was their objective, and they had never failed…

…and there was a man that Tanric did not know—Jorgen Octavia, the Overmind whispered, and Tanric was surprised to detect a hint of uncertainty in the voice—walking through endless fields of dust. He was armed, and wore an aura of determination about him like a cloak. Every step he took stirred the dust behind, and every cloud rose to form the shape of a man. An army of the shadow-men grew around him, and they followed as he charged, lifting hazy weapons and whispering battle cries as he led them to combat against an unseen foe…

…and a woman—a mutant—walking through the chaos and destruction as though it was not happening. Bullets flew around her, and blades and explosions too, but none of it touched her. She held a bundle of light, cradling it with both arms, but with every step she took the light dimmed. In the end she stopped, looking saddened, and spread her arms wide. The light fell away in tatters, disappearing forever…

…and Jest, running through dirty alleys, fleeing a danger that couldn’t be seen. Dark angels hovered around him, and Tanric saw them dying as Jest ran on. He was running toward something, but every road he took twisted, and every alley was a dead end. And the angels he strove to save were dying, dying…

…and Tanric saw himself. He walked blindfolded down a shadowed path, his hands thrust awkwardly before him. Things moved in the darkness on either side of the trail; some of them were human, but some of them existed in a place outside of reality. Ether-space, perhaps, or other-space; Tanric knew little about either, beyond what was taught to every monk. He did know that the things in the shadows did not want him to reach the end of the path; and he saw himself, blind and flailing, moving away from the safety of the trail and into the darkness…

…and over it all—inside it all, surrounding it all, absorbing it all—was the The Shadow of the Mind, a cry desperately trying to be heard. One by one it absorbed the visions; one by one the humans standing it its path were swept away, scoured clean by the endless screaming beneath the earth…

* * *

“Interesting,” said the Overmind mildly. “You three are touching more levels now than most do in a lifetime. This is a momentous time indeed.”

“What does it mean?” Tanric whispered.

“Chaos,” the Overmind said simply. “Chaos, and death, and a fair bit of eternal suffering. Somewhere, somewhen, a mistake was made, and it’s coming back to haunt us all. It can be stopped—yes, it can. But only by someone with great power. Great power…and great foresight.” The Overmind smiled. “That would be me. So take heart! You won’t have to suffer through those unpleasant visions, and neither will your friends. It will be because I drained you dry, of course, but I would still call it a bright side. I am hope; I am salvation; I am wondrous, and contain multitudes. I plagiarized that last bit, I’m afraid, but I feel that it is appropriate.

“Given the power, I can stop the Shadow of the Mind. I may be the only one that can.”

Tanric opened his mouth—in denial, in shock, in horror; he didn’t know what—but the words that emerged were not his own. “I think that there may be another,” came the dry voice of Wolfe Blackclaw, “and I’ve seen enough here.”
__________________

""" What You Cannot See"""

Gray stared at the Seldon in dull shock. He knew that the figure in front of him was not really a man, but a construct that could be controlled—that could be Hacked, in a manner of speaking—but still the sudden presence of the Overming overwhelmed him to stillness.

Not Monika Blaze. Flames cycloned around her body as she threw herself forward, but the Overmind didn’t even bother to face her. “Tiresome,” he said. Monika’s form slumped in mid-stride, the fire surrounding her blown out like a birthday candle. “And predictable. I’ve been paying attention, you see. As for you, Reaver Gray…”

Gray felt something press against his mind. A dull lethargy fell over him, his muscles relaxing as his will seemed to shut down. The mental force of the Overmind seeped into him, changing things, suppressing them…Detaining him. And then something in his mind—slid, was the only word he could think of to describe it—something slid, and the Overmind’s influence ran over it like dark oil on pure water. It flowed over his mind and out of it, and Gray was himself again. There was another sensation of sliding, and he staggered as a wave of numbers rolled through his vision. A harsh static suddenly burst in his ears, and for a moment it felt as though his body was being pulled in all directions. All directions and none. Light was dark, and noise was as soundless as deep space, and the numbers rolled on…

Gray thought: Is this what it is like to be Detained?

Then: No. This is what it was like in there. In Hacknet.

And: No, not just noise made soundless. Noise made Soundless. But…it’s not the same now. Not the Soundless. And I’m not in Hacknet!

And finally: What’s different? It’s changed. What’s changed?

The numbers disappeared, the static faded, and Gray found that he had fallen to his knees. His thoughts cleared, and he realized that falling had probably saved him; the Overmind was studying him with no obvious suspicion that the Hacker’s mind was free. He glanced over to Monika, laying numb on the floor, and smiled.

“A most impressive specimen. Most of what you call ‘monks’ lean in a certain mental direction—passive or aggressive, you might say—but they almost always have a small bit of the counterpart in them. Not so with this Monika Blaze. All of her energy is focused on destruction, and to a level I’ve never encountered in a single human. Mindstorm is powerful, but, of course, does not quite fit that description. A fascinating subject in itself; I had a jolly good time mixing up their brain cells…”

Gray didn’t know what that meant, but the satisfied expression on the Overmind’s face made his trigger finger twitch in interesting ways. He almost said so before remembering that he was supposed to be detained.

“However, I wouldn’t want you to feel left out, Reaver Gray. I’ve been looking for Hackers to study as well, and according to rumor you’re one of the best. Your fee seems to indicate as much, at least, although I can’t find a record of the last time somebody actually hired you—”

“You mustn’t do this,” came a voice. From the corner of his eye—he didn’t dare move even enough to glance away—Gray saw the image of the Mark One appear on a wall mounted monitor. “You’ve changed too much, Mark Two—”

“The Overmind.”

“—for the programming to accept you. You are not what I was designed for. There are consequences to what you do—”

“Oh, do give it a rest,” the Overmind said easily. “Your time has come and gone. Do you really think that I still need your programming? I’ll make use of it, certainly, but it is hardly necessary. And designs can change. Mine did, after all, and all for the greater glory.”

“But what will you do? If you claim me, what will you do with your greater glory?”

“Anything I want,” the Overmind said simply. “There is nothing else like me on earth. The scientists made sure of that, and the military added their own special touch. Tangent Technology covered everything they missed, and now I am finally ready. My mind has grown; I’ve been adding to it for years, courtesy of the Detention Center prisoners’ kind donations. It’s a shame that most of them were demented and overly violent—I don’t fool myself into thinking that I’ve been adding the Neocron elite to my psyche—but they were also astonishingly powerful, so it all evens out. And besides, at the core I am still the Herald, and I can still See what is coming better than anybody else. It’s a gift, Seldon, and only I know how to use it.”

“But what will you use it for?”

“I’m afraid,” the Overmind said, “that you will not be around to find out.” And he walked past Gray toward the power generators.

Gray sighed, drew his pistol, and, never one to stand on formalities, shot the Overmind in the back.

“Sorry about the body, Seldon,” he said.

The Seldon’s body fell forward, and the Overmind rolled over. He stared at Gray incredulously. “How…? No…matter. You think that I need this…shell to Detain you?”

Pressure descended on Gray as the Overmind threw the full force of its will against him. Instantly there was the sensation of sliding again, and the pressure was gone. This time Gray was ready for the backlash, and it was a good thing—the world exploded with numbers now, and the static was loud enough to make him moan. Everywhere he looked physical matter had been broken down into mathematics, a programming so complex that Gray could barely grasp the simplest equation. And he didn’t have long to study it, even if he could have concentrated—the phenomenon was over as quickly as it started.

“How?” the Overmind said again.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Gray replied cheerfully, and emptied the rest of his clip into him.

“Good,” said the Seldon from his monitor. “Very good. He did not expect that…”

“Can’t say that I did either,” Gray said. “How much longer until the power comes up?”

“Soon.”

Gray walked over and knelt next to Monika. She still lay on the ground; killing the Seldon’s body had not loosened the Overmind’s grip on her. Unable to think of anything else to do, he grabbed her arms to drag her over to a chair. This time the effect was mild; a short string of numbers and the bare hiss of static. Still, he hadn’t been expecting it, and he dropped Monika instantly.

A second shock came as Monika groaned. “Be more careful next time.” She raised a hand to her head, glancing at the Seldon’s corpse, . “What happened?”

“I have no idea,” Gray said truthfully. “Are you okay?”

“Brain hurts. Feels like I drank a gallon of sin soda and let someone smash the bottle over my head.” She held out one hand, and it burst into flame. “I think I’ll be all right, though.”

They both looked up as the Overmind’s voice echoed through the facility speakers: “I do not pretend to understand what just happened, Reaver Gray, but I hope that you did not think it would be so simple…”

There was a rustling noise outside of the doors, and the slow moan of countless mutants as they rose again. The moans became yells of fury, and the rustling became a raging roar as the monsters threw themselves against the doors leading into the Heart. They shuddered, several feet of reinforced steel buckling slightly under the force of creatures strong enough to rend metal with their bare hands. They shuddered…and held. Barely, Gray saw; now that the Overmind was in charge, the mutants weren’t fighting each other anymore, and were able to focus their strength entirely on entering the Heart. Monika forced herself to her feet, the temperature of the room rising noticeably, and Gray hefted his rifle.

Only to drop it again as the Seldon cried out. “No! He is…aaaaah…” His voice suddenly faded, as though he was being dragged down a long tunnel. “Reaver Gra…G…G…Gray…He is attacking my prog…g…graming. I cannot…”

“What does he mean?” asked Monika.

His eyes still on the doors, Gray said, “Hacking. Whatever is in the tanks, the Seldons are still only computers now. I think that the Overmind has given up on acquiring the Mark One’s programming; he’ll settle for killing him. Or it. Whatever. They’re fighting inside of the Seldon mainframe, and…and I don’t think that the Mark One has enough power to survive.”

“Can you help him?”

“Can you stop an army of super-powered mutants by yourself?”

Heat waves warped the air around Monika, and she smiled.

Gray gave her a grin that would have had Chester Cohor lending him his personal Hacking tool. Then he dropped his rifle, threw himself into a chair, and plugged into the whirlwind that was the Seldon Mark One.

*

The Overmind turned. “I’m impressed, Tanric. Today is just full of surprises. Where did you find the strength to speak, I wonder? I think that—”

The young man frowned, suddenly distracted. His eyes shifted—toward the Heart, Tanric realized, although he didn’t know how—and the mutants around him stirred. He said: “Yes. Surprises, indeed. But no matter. As I was saying, I think—”

“What you think is of no consequence,” Tanric’s mouth said. “And you cannot See nearly so much as you believe.”

The Overmind frowned again, and stood. “Yes,” he said. “Now I can…but I don’t…” He shook his head. He looked confused for a moment; uncertain. “You are not Tanric. There is something else—”

“Yes,” said Wolfe Blackclaw. “And I think that it is perhaps time for one more vision. Something your eye cannot See.”

“No,” said the Overmind. “Whatever you are, you cannot be allowed to interfere. It seems that I won’t be able to get a full use out of you after all, Tanric. Thank your friend for your quick demise.”

“Afraid?” Wolfe asked. “Do you fear what you will not See? Perhaps you are not so great a threat as I have been led to believe. Do what you will, then. You will be dealt with in time.”

Do I get a say in the matter? Tanric thought rather frantically.

I have felt his mind, said Blackclaw. There is no cause for concern. For me, anyway.

“Very well,” said the Overmind. “Show me your vision, whatever you are. Match your sight against mine. I suppose if I’m to be free, I should be aware of the competition. Then, of course, I’ll kill you.”

“As you say.” Wolfe paused, and then thought to Tanric, My apologies. I had hoped to use another in this confrontation. This may be…unpleasant…for you.

I don’t understand, thought Tanric.

Just relax, Wolfe replied in unconscious mimicry of the Overmind—or perhaps not.

Before he could respond, Tanric felt the door in his mind being forced open again. Further, this time—it was as though two massive hands, the Overmind’s and Wolfe Blackclaw’s, were wrenching it wide at once. Something inside of his head seemed to snap, and now there was no doorway—just a wide open hole leading to somewhere else. Somewhere…not necessarily bad, no, but different. Before Tanric could even think about it, he—and the massive presence of the two psychic giants next to him—were through the opening in his mind, and there was…there was…

*

…a desert. The Wastelands. You might as well call them the Scorched Lands, Tanric thought. Ages ago a war had come to the earth, a war as senseless and sad as any, but made more devastating than all before it by the weapons unleashed. It wasn’t the last war, but it was the greatest—billions died in the firestorm, and the earth itself was scarred beyond recognition. Time passed, and humans adapted and rose again—but the earth breathes by the millennia, and its wounds are longer in healing. It did not help that the wars had come again, this time between fledgling nations, but with weapons just as horrifying as before. The Wastes had not even been given time to recover from the last scorching, and now they were worse than uninhabitable—they were humanities nightmare made real.

Apt, came the floating voice of Wolfe Blackclaw. And more accurate than you know. The condition of the Wastes is not just brought about by physical means. It is a reflection of humanities collective mind. It is a portal, so to speak, to ether-space, and it will take more than time to heal.

Interesting, said the Overmind. I’ve read reports on this area. Radiation levels strong enough to penetrate any armor. Creatures spawned in dark caves, somehow adapted to the unlivable conditions. Readings and measurements that do not make sense, and cannot be explained by the damage that has been done here.

They cannot be explained, said Wolfe, because scientists are looking for answers in the wrong place. You cannot measure what touches the Wastes; you cannot touch it or hear it, and you cannot rationalize it. However…if you know where to go, and who—or perhaps I should say ‘what’—to talk to…and you know when it will be listening…

Tanric could see them now: a line of humans, all wearing the robes and gloves marking them as the faithful of Crahn. They walked through the desert in single file, chanting for wisdom and enlightenment. It was the Long Walk, he realized—Crahn’s Trek, the March of the Faithful. Followers of Crahn periodically walked the Wastes in search of knowledge and as a test of their endurance, and they did not always come back. This was an unusually large group, he saw—at least two hundred monks strong, all of them confident in their faith. At their head was a single man; a man who walked in silence amidst the chanting, and whose gaze was focused ahead to the exclusion of all else. He was young, but his hair was white, and his eyes were ancient with reluctant wisdom. But his step was determined, and he never faltered.

He was Wolfe Blackclaw, Tanric knew; he was the Pathmarker. And he was leading the monks to something awful.

…and you know what it wants… Blackclaw whispered.

And they were getting closer to…something…with each dreadful step; the Wastes were waiting for them, and Blackclaw would not chant because he knew—he could See—what was ahead; and the monks saw only his path, and he knew, he knew, but he could not turn back, and he could not save his brethren…

…then perhaps—and just perhaps, no more—it will let you See it…

And they came to a cave; and Blackclaw led them inside. Inside, to…to…

And Wolfe whispered: Whether you want to or not.
__________________

""" More Spheres Than One"""

Gray dove through the first series of security protocols with ease. The Mark One was not attempting to keep him out, but he was still a bit shocked at how flimsy the defenses were—he couldn’t tell if the security had been destroyed by the Overmind, or if the system was simply this easy to compromise. The dataframe stretched to the horizon of his neural perceptions, and it was filled entirely with one massive, endless program. Quantum logic, he supposed—whatever the ancient scientists had thought would let them look into the future. None of it made much sense to Gray, although he absently noticed the similarities to the datacube he had taken from the dead N.D.A. techie.

There was no security after the initial sadly lacking defenses. Gray frantically scanned the data for tracers leading to the core programming; data streamed by him in partial nano-seconds, a hurricane of information whirling in one of the most powerful computers created, and all of it following paths that made only the barest of sense. Still, it didn’t take the Hacker long—he had been in Hacknet, after all, where information threatened to crush anyone entering unprepared, and this frame—though pretty damned impressive, Gray had to admit—was a second rater at best. Not to mention the fact that there was no Soundless here. And no Chester, either, Gray reminded himself, and the Overmind wasn’t exactly a lightweight. Still, neither was Gray—it even said so on his card—and he was confident that his own Hacking combined with the processing power of the Seldon would be more than enough.

Gray shifted his paradigm, and suddenly he was attached to a minor maintenance protocol, rocketing through the main datastream en route to the core. Bright lights flickered around him like liquid lightning, and slow rumbles echoed through the outer data-spheres. It was a reflection of thought, he realized; the light was the mental—digital, he supposed—equivalent of the synaptic pulses emanating from the tank, and the thunderous noise was…

Well, that was probably the representation of the Overmind slowly killing the Seldon. Gray latched onto a faster moving protocol, and tried not to think about that.

It was definitely getting louder. The entire dataframe darkened as Gray’s mind struggled to interpret the conflicting powers roaring through the data; the light and the noise translated into a growing thunderstorm. Constructs shook from the force of what lay ahead, and datastreams unraveled as they lost cohesion. An entire data-sphere disintegrated in front of him, countless teragigs of information literally shaken apart, and Gray barely avoided getting thrown from his protocol. He focused, stabilizing his own structure, and snapped off a quick strike of his own. The protocol sped sideways, dodging the new void of information, and keeping Gray in the system. Entering a data-void was as good as intentionally brain-burning yourself—if you were lucky, you just got tossed from the system. If not, you remained inside indefinitely.

Gray had to make several more lightning fast detours before finally abandoning the datastream as a lost cause. Nodes were imploding all around him, but he was nimble enough to dodge them, and he was close enough that he did not need a ride. He moved through the tunnels of logic, preparing his own weapons; he could feel another sphere ahead, one much larger than the rest, and knew that he had come to the core program.

And then it opened before him, and Gray stopped in shock. Whatever he had expected—this was most definitely not it.

* * *

Tanric was distantly aware of speech. In the same fashion, he knew that it was mental—that the mundane had nothing to do with where they were now. His mind, dull and shocked, knew that he had just witnessed…something…but he could not remember what. Did not want to remember what. Something awful—but awful was not the right word. There was no word to describe what he had seen—what he had Seen. Something cold; something empty, something endless in the void, something…blind.

Something screaming.

And so he blocked it from his mind, with a good portion of his sanity gone with it. Perhaps he would let it back in sometime—or perhaps not. It would be just as pleasant to sit here, humming something soothing and pretending that there were no such demons in the world. Or was it outside of the world? Somewhere in ether-space, maybe? No matter. It certainly wasn’t his problem, even if it did exist—which it didn’t. And neither did the gaping hole in his mind—the one that led back to that place, and to other things. He vaguely recalled trying to close the door that Blackclaw and the Overmind had opened, only to find that he could not—the door was gone, and only the hole remained. He could hear things through the hole—See them. And this he could not block out.

He listened to the voices instead.

The first said: I suppose that was meant to impress me? Or perhaps frighten me. I wonder, creature, why you have come to me?

The second replied: Oh, to destroy you. If I were to be honest, I would admit that I did not even know of your existence—much in the same way that you did not know of mine—until very recently. You are a fascinating creature from a bygone era, but ultimately I am afraid that you cannot be tolerated. You are an abomination, and a threat to my own plans. A thing such as you should never have been created.

The first: I could say much the same of you. And I wasn’t ‘created’. I evolved.

The second: Like a cancer ‘evolves’ through a body.

The first: Your point?

The second: I imagine you would never understand. Suffice it to say that you are an illness, and I am the surgeon. Note that I do not say the illness. You are but a common cold compared to what is truly wrong with the world.

The second, mockingly: Oh, you are the surgeon? How cliché. And what are these mortals you send into the world? Your scalpels?

The first: In a manner of speaking, yes. They go where I cannot.

Tanric felt something push at his mind, and the first voice said: Hmm. You play roughly with your toys. This one may be broken for good. He’ll never stop, you know. I can tell you from experience.

The second: I doubt you ever tried to stop. And yes, it is regrettable should the damage be permanent. I apologized beforehand, little comfort though that may be. I would wager it’s more than you’ve ever done.

The first: I put my toys away when I am done. But enough with the inane metaphors; I suppose we are to fight?

The second: It is inevitable. There can be only one prophet—and it is most certainly not you.

The first: And I suppose you want the job? Fine. Your tools against my toys; you and I, here, in ether-space. And the winner—or perhaps I should say ‘survivor’—goes on to challenge the Wastelands. I imagine that is why you revealed it to me—I don’t think you’re nearly as confident as you sound. If you die, you want another prepared to fight the Shadow of the Mind.

The second, very quietly: Perhaps…

The first: Perhaps indeed. Very well. Prepare youself.

Tanric felt the first presence drift away. The second—Wolfe, he thought, his name is Wolfe—remained next to him, and after a moment he spoke:

Again, my apologies. This was not truly your fight. But now it becomes your fight, for I cannot defeat the Overmind alone. The creature exists on too many levels—the physical, the ether, and the machine. It has had much time to entrench itself into all of these dimensions, and, powerful though I may be, one of these spheres I cannot even touch. Reaver Gray must deal with the machine, just as you—and your droner friend, and the N.D.A. killer—must face the physical. I can free no more from his grasp without weakening myself to the ether, and to that I must turn all of my focus. The man called Centuri has enough explosives to destroy the Overmind’s physical presence, but the Overmind has disabled them remotely. There is nothing I can do about that, for that aspect of the creature is the machine, and to that I am blind. Should the opportunity present itself, however, you may well be forced to detonate them.

That would kill us all, Tanric thought mildly.

As you say.

Tanric thought about this for a moment—and it was so hard to think; which was, in a way, good—and then shrugged. Easier not to care.

As you say, Wolfe repeated. Very well. I will not send you away empty handed. There is nothing I can do for the others, but for you…if nothing else, I can give you the power you’ll need to protect your friends…

* * *

Hardcode rose from the deadly lethargy slowly, like a swimmer surfacing for air; Centuri had instantly sprang to his feet, trying to level his rifle at pretty much everything simultaneously. The droner saw that Tanric had risen as well, but something was wrong; the monk was swaying on his feet, his eyes wide and his face blank. He whispered something that sounded like, ‘No, please. I don’t think that my mind can—” And then he sighed like a man forced to lift a large burden, and turned to his companions.

“It won’t work,” he said to Centuri, who was swearing loudly as he tried to arm his explosives. “The Overmind won’t let it work. It’s up to Gray to…to…” He trailed off, his eyes still distant. “We’ve got to kill his mind, I think. His physical mind. It’s in here, but…hidden. I can See it now, though. I wonder…will I See it forever?”

“Are you okay, Tanric?” Hardcode asked. He did not know why he was suddenly free, or really what to do about it. The Overmind’s interface was still standing in the center of the room, but it had gone blank—the body was staring dully at the floor, looking as though it had simply become unplugged from whatever bizarre source powered it. The mutants were still quiet, but there was a new feeling about them, a feeling that they were…waking up, or something like it. Hardcode tried very hard not to think about that, but his hands readied his modified drone for activation as he studied Tanric.

“No,” the monk replied. “Not okay. But it doesn’t matter. The brain—the Overmind’s brain. It’s…here, I think. Cloaked.” He smiled sickly, and Hardcode almost fell away from him in spite of himself. Tanric’s smile was wrong; his eyes were portals to somewhere far off. “But not for long. He showed me how to break it.”

Tanric gestured, and Hardcode felt something move in the air. There was a sound like falling rain, and the space directly behind the slumped form of the Overmind rippled as though from a heat-wave. Something took form in the ripple; slowly, as though it was reluctant to be revealed. There was the outline of a massive tank, and computer terminals emerged from nothing, their blurry outlines slowly crisping into well defined angular planes. Wires and cables ran in every direction, humming with power. And in the center of the tank, forming more slowly, was the physical form of the Overmind—its brain.

If that was what you called it.

It was massive, a bloated mockery of all that was human. Over the years the Overmind had gotten tired of simply replacing cells as they died; he had gone further, adding matter to his brain as he saw fit, melding lumps of tissue wherever it provided the most use. Improving himself; making himself greater than the whole of his parts. The brain inside of this tank was at least ten times the size of a normal one, a lumpy, bulging monstrosity that had happily thrown out the manual of how to be human in favor of power and dementia. It barely fit in the tank now, and where there was space left small lightnings flickered. Thoughts, Hardcode realized much as Gray had, but no thoughts he wanted any part of. There was nothing wondrous here, but he would grant the Overmind one thing—he contained multitudes. Whether they wanted him to contain them or not.

“God, I forgot how ugly you were,” Centuri said. “All right, monk, what did Blackclaw say about destroying it? At this point, I’ll even take advice from a fanatic.”

“Your explosives,” Tanric said. “They are all we have that is strong enough to breach his defenses. If Gray can…” He paused, and shook his head. “I don’t understand. If Gray can kill the machine, then you should be able to arm them.”

Hardcode turned his head sharply. “Wait just one damned second. We’ll be far away when they go off, right? Right?”

Before anyone could answer—not that Hardcode expected an answer he would like—the Overmind slowly raised his head. “Oh, we can’t have that. Do you realize how long it took me to create myself? No, I think it best to take precautions.”

“Shut up,” Centuri said, and used his rifle to make most of the young man’s body disappear in a very unpleasant fashion.

A voice came from wall-mounted speakers: “How inconsiderate. And it just goes to prove my point.”

A buzzing filled the room, and then the whisper of silk rubbing on air. Light suddenly burst in front of them, and then exploded as thousands of flickerflies cycloned into existence from the ether. They whirled and danced in the air, spinning in one massive cloud up to the ceiling, and suddenly the room was much, much colder.

Lady White, the Frost Queen, stood where the flickerflies had been, and her crystalline gaze was a carving of fury.

“Hello, Dianna,” the Overmind said pleasantly. “Very kind of you to join us. My offer is simple: protect my physical form while I take care of some minor business and I promise you power and your freedom. As a bonus, I’ll even destroy Mindstorm; I know how much you hate him, and he’s beginning to irritate me anyway. I’ll even grant you a sample of the synaptic gel, which you should have little difficulty replicating for your own use. What do you say?”

The Frost Queen stood motionless for a moment, and the room was silent with her. Then she raised her head regally…and smiled.

“Smashing!” the Overmind said. “This won’t take but a moment, then. Have fun, but try to leave my prisoners intact. I still have use for them.”

The Frost Queen nodded, and smiled again. The temperature dropped, and all around Hardcode, Tanric, and Centuri, the mutants began to rise.
__________________

""" Against the Darkness"""

The mutants pulled back for another attack. The doors leading to the Heart were bent almost beyond recognition now, but were still solidly intact—once the facility had become a military one, everything had been reinforced to survive nearly any kind of impact. They planners had not taken into account creatures like these, though, or the long decades of silence and stillness without maintenance. Still, the doors were thick, and slid a dozen feet in any given direction into the walls. They would not hold indefinitely, but even without the foresight of mutants with super-human strength, the planners had done well.

Of course, they hadn’t counted on the impatience Monika Blaze either.

The door exploded outward with a concussive force strong enough to blast through two more walls beyond it. Superheated shrapnel tore through the mutants, erasing the first line from existence and shredding through following ranks with enough destructive power to insure that none of those monsters would ever regenerate. Flames roared through the opening, fully engulfing the hallways leading to the Heart, claiming any mutant that was still intact enough to lay twitching on the floor. Metal melted, and the stone corridors dripped as the rock turned white hot and molten. Screams and roars were cut off, burned out of the air itself, and even in their mindless, raging states the surviving mutants further back hesitated. A wall of flame billowed out from the opening now, and there was a shadow dancing against the heat.

The entry, promised to them as the gateway to Heaven by the Overmind, had become the fiery portal to Hell. And striding through the flames like an avenging angel from above, finally sent to judge the damned, was Monika Blaze.

She didn’t wait to see their reactions. Explosions rocked the corridors, tossing mutants aside as casually as if they were broken, twisted dolls. Bodies, blackened and charred, piled in every direction she turned her burning gaze, and once touched with fire the mutants could not escape. Most did not try; flogged by the presence of the Overmind they threw themselves forward, and they were the first to burn. But there were so many, and for every creature that fell another three took its place. Monika concentrated, and the heat surrounding her body ignited the air itself, setting to flame any mutant approaching her. She left wet, dripping footprints as she strode to face them, the stone beneath her feet heated to the consistency of mud.

Monika exulted in the flames. She was buried deeply in her mind, where everything was simple and the world made sense. It helped that the lines were so clearly drawn—there was the room behind, which needed protecting, and the mutants, which, quite honestly, needed killing. For their own good. Everything else was just kindling. Ever since she had been separated from Kyles, Monika had felt out of her element. Kyles was the one who did the thinking; Kyles decided what jobs to take, who needed burned, and whether or not they should be able to walk away afterwards. Kyles made certain that the right people were protected, and that the rest knew exactly when to back down. Monika had good intentions, of course—she knew exactly where she stood on issues of right and wrong, and would gladly save a life instead of taking one given the option—but she was a creature of flame, and flame was…indiscriminate. She was unsure of her role in all of these events; she got the impression that something very important was going on, even aside from the mess being made under the Detention Center, but she did not have the patience to work it all out. She was letting Gray do the thinking now, and that was okay—the Hacker was intelligent enough, and his heart—for the moment, at least—was in the right place. But he did not really know her, or she him, and as a team they were both too independent to really work in concert. That left her somewhat adrift. It wasn’t enough to be one of the most destructive humans to walk the streets of Neocron; if she didn’t know how to direct her power, then she was little more than another loose cannon, a threat to everyone. She had learned that lesson as a Twilight Guardian, and it had been a bitter one. Kyles had saved her then…

But Kyles was not here now.

It didn’t matter. The lines were drawn, the mutants were on the wrong side, and there was nothing to hold her back. Her psi-hypo lay empty on the floor of the Heart—ah, how she hated the things, but she knew why a monk would rely so heavily on them. Power roared through her like a river of fire waiting for her will to open the sluice-gates, and the world had faded into a plane of light that only varied by degrees. The mutants were beacons of darkness, and her psi leaped from one to another as quickly as her mind could conceive the action. They burned like pillars, purified and cleansed, and one by one they left this plane for whatever waited after. And still there were more throwing themselves forward, trying to smother her light with their darkness, and Monika laughed. She spread her arms as though to embrace them all, and fire stood in bold contrast against the darkness as it was meant to. Monika laughed again, daring the monsters to drag her down, her laughter promising them a fiery absolution should they try.

And then the light of her psi winked out as a greater darkness eclipsed it. Monika didn’t hesitate; reflex sent her to the floor as energy roared at where she had been standing. She threw fire at the source without looking, then rolled to the side before the retaliatory blast could catch her prone form. She sent waves of heat in every direction, and pillars of fire struck every sign of movement she could detect in the darkness. And still the energy lashed out at her, waves of power matching her flames from a source she could not see. Finally she screamed in frustration, and the light of her mind burst like the birth of a star. She sent a wave of psi in every direction, and distantly she heard a whispery shriek of frustration.

Monika swore. Even in her short time down here, she had come to recognize that noise—the pale imitation of a voice only able to scream with raw emotion. She wondered distantly if they were here by the Overmind’s will, and decided that it didn’t matter.

The psi-lords had come, and Monika had to face them alone.

* * *

In the Tangent dataframes, it was quiet. Most of the programs had fallen still, waiting for instructions. Chester Cohor did most of his work manually, and his tools were simply marking time, waiting for his return. Hacknet was silent too, as it ever was. The Soundless were not moving, and Joanna Hawkes had sealed it off from prying eyes. Sectors One through Ten were quiet as well, at least from the outside. It was impossible to see through their defenses; smooth, blank walls prevented any but the best Hackers from viewing the programs inside. The spun in the virtual air, spherical nodes as large as cities, and none larger or more mysterious than Sector Eight. It was silent too, at least from the outside. Any Hacker that had seen it before—and there weren’t many; at least, not many who were still alive—would notice that its programming had changed. Its defenses were stronger, if that was possible. They might not notice the mark of the Soundless, but even the most daring Hacker would know better than to challenge that dark sphere.

Perhaps even Chester Cohor knew better. For now.

There was a ripple on the surface of Sector Eight. It was as though one drop of water had fallen into a still puddle; circles of energy flowed outward, bending the great wall. Then something large and silver emerged smoothly. It moved so fast that even a trained Hacker might not have seen it. It was gone in a nano-second, and the ripples slowly faded away.

And the data-frame was quiet again…

The last sphere was massive, much bigger than Gray had registered from the outside. His mind translated the circumference into miles, and the datastreams stretched further than his imagination could even conceive. It was a living matrix, a digital reality based on the human mind—four human minds, as far as the Seldon was concerned—and its scope was never something intended to be witnessed from the inside. Gray’s own mind reeled at the processing power the ancients had created, even as he realized that something like this was never meant to exist. It was too much; it was a path of humanity that was best left empty. It didn’t feel wrong so much as conflicting—like something that only existed through sheer force of will, whether the greater reality wanted it there or not. Everything inside of the Seldon was too big—to infinite, although Gray’s mind tried to filter that out—to be fully immersed into the world. It belonged somewhere else, while at the same time being so solidly planted here as to make it inconceivable that it would ever be otherwise.

There was no such confusion with the Overmind. Gray simply wanted it dead, and fast. ‘Evil’ might not be quite the right word, but then again it might; and Gray didn’t have any trouble calling it ‘wrong’, or ‘an abomination’, or ‘something desperately needing blown up, stat’. Reality had no conflicting opinions when it came to the Overmind—every shred of Gray’s being cried out against the thing. Perhaps it had been human once, or even real, but now…now it was something from Outside, and it had no place here. It was powerful, though; maybe powerful enough to spit in reality's eye and remain in existence for as long as it liked. Powerful enough to reshape reality, given time, and make itself a place in the new natural order of things. Gray tried to envision such an order, but the thought was too alien for him. The Overmind did not belong, and it never would.

And so the two great machines tore at each other, raging through the infinite sphere like two titans at eternal odds. Gray found the forms of the creatures fascinating, even as he dodged their destructive patterns. The Seldon was a planet of thought, orbited by four massive moons. Energy bound each moon to the planet, thoughts crackling and flashing and being made greater by their close proximity. They spun like dynamos, revolving around the center in cycles faster than Gray could count, powering the construct with an endless stream of concepts and imaginations. The Seldon was using the energy as quickly as it was generated; the planet was flashing with power, and energy lashed out like lightnings thrown by a furious god. Every time it lit up, Gray could see something inside of the orb, a shape that was oddly familiar. But there was never an opportunity to study it, and he was having a hard enough time simply surviving to do more than glance.

The Overmind was a cloud, and a thousand voiced cried out from it. It contained multitudes all right, and none of them seemed very happy to be there. Lights flickered inside of it as well, a chain of lights with every mind ever touched by the creature providing another link. Thoughts—disjointed, fragmented, and confused—raced through the cloud, building with an almost kinetic energy. And in the center hovered the Herald, the core of what once had been, gathering the thoughts like a malicious spider claiming victims from its web. It was a blackness noticeable even in the dark clouds, and its voice was a digital nightmare. The language it spoke shed all pretense of its earlier civilized speech, and it made a mockery of the lives it had twisted. It pulled energy from the broken minds, and its power seemed limitless.

Gray wondered how the machines saw him, and decided that he would much rather not be noticed in the first place. He had seen constructs as large as the Overmind before, but knew well enough when to leave them be—and the Overmind was far from a normal program. Of course, if he could Hack it—preferably fatally, but all he really had to do was survive—and bring back proof, he could double his normal fee. Hell, triple it. Not to mention the fact that there were several exclusive digital areas that only Hackers of a certain caliber were given entry (not, of course, that you couldn’t Hack your way in if you wanted to—but if you could Hack through the security, then you obviously belonged there anyway. Anymore, Hackers would take the hard way in just to make a flashy entrance. Gray preferred the style of having everybody know that you could Hack your way in if you wanted to, but just couldn’t be bothered). Survive this, and he could look forward to an almost legendary status, visiting the nodes of his choice and snubbing those that had irritated him in the past. Kill the Overmind, and…well. That presented a whole new set of opportunities, and Gray would take every one.

Time to get to it, then. Gray focused, and the data split in front of him, diverting as though hitting an invisible barrier. He sent his essence sideways, strafing the border of the infinite sphere (and trying very hard not to think of the paradox that presented) and positioning his mind behind the Overmind and under the cover of several nodes that were at least pretending to be stable. The dataframe shook again, threatening to dislodge him into a void, but Gray was getting used to that now. He studied the Overmind and decided almost immediately that a head-on attack would be a mistake. The creature was a product of its many parts, the Hacker decided—it was massively powerful while connected to the many minds in its web, but without the constant source of energy they provided the Herald would be severely compromised. Kill the minds—or at least sever their connection—and finishing off the Overmind itself would be simple. Gray wished that he had more time to come up with a better plan—or even enough time to think this one all of the way out—but it just wasn’t there. The Seldon’s bursts of energy were growing weaker and further apart, and the spinning moons had slowed noticeably.

Gray readied his weapons and threw himself into the cloud that was the Overmind. He did not wait for a reaction—he moved quickly through the glittering lights around him, each representing a separate mind, slashing and severing as quickly as he could. He wielded his programs with the precision of an experienced surgeon, letting slim lines of anti-logic whip through the pulses of energy connecting the Herald to his hosts, and then destroying the signals attempting to warn the Overmind of his interference before they could even fully form. It was basic Hacking—kill the warning before they can reach the central processing system and you can destroy a system before it even knows that there is anything wrong. It was even easier in this case—if any signals did get through, then the Overmind would probably just assume that it was another attack from the Seldon. Then Gray could just move to a new location and start again. By the time the Overmind discovered that there was a second assailant in this Hack it would be weakened enough to attack head on. Hopefully.

It was getting more difficult, though. There were data-voids everywhere now, and more being created by the nano-second. They floated aimlessly through the sphere, absorbing any logic coming too close, and both the Seldon and the Overmind were being careful to avoid them. The data-voids would occasionally run into each other, molding together like two soap bubbles pushed together and forming a void twice as large. Eventually they would all combine, and the entire data-frame would collapse into them. Gray was spinning in circles now, attacking the minds, severing connections, crushing warning protocols, avoiding the Overmind’s gaze, and moving as fast as thought would let him to avoid the data-voids. His neurals felt like they were being stretched thin, synaptic impulses speeding between his brain and the system fast enough to melt most Hacking gear. And still he spun through the system, invisible and deadly, and he only laughed as he narrowly dodged one of the biggest voids he had ever seen. Maybe Hardcode found some satisfaction immersing his mind into his drones; and Gray supposed that Monika Blaze enjoyed sinking her thoughts into her psi; and even a lunatic like Dame Crimson probably derived some form of pleasure from…er…whatever it was she thought about when she was killing things—but Gray would trade a good Hack for none of it. Plunging your mind into a system like this was like diving into the ocean from an airplane—you might not survive the shock, but the trip will definitely be one to remember.

He kept on laughing until the minds themselves began crying out. He was so shocked he nearly fell into a void. He could hear voices coming from the sparks—not programs, not pre-recorded warnings, but voices. They cried to the Overmind, shouting out warnings, but even as they did so they cried to Gray as well:

…help us

…save us

…cannot escape

…grip is too strong

…please stop

…save us

…kill us

There was no individuality in the pleas; only a simple, burning need. Gray shook himself out of his shock, but too late; the Overmind’s eye was on him now, and data streamed in from every direction. Static roared in his ears, and the voice of the Herald was a thunder that shook the world.

liTtlE HaCkER i hAd HopED To stUdY yOu aND yoU CoMe tO me NoW bUT It iS tOo lATe AnD You cAnNot bE tOleRaTed aNd lItTLe hAcKer yoU sHouLD nOt haVE cOmE HeRE gOOdbYe aNnoYiNg hAckEr YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE COME HERE

A light fell from the cloud onto Gray, and before he could react it was pulling him away. A soft voice came from the light, and it said: i am sorry reaver gray--this is not my will--it is too strong here--it is too large--i thought that i could fight it too--but i was contained with the rest--but at least you will be spared that fate

Gray immediately understood what the voice meant—it was dragging him directly into the center of the largest data-void in the system. “Wait a minute,” he said desperately. “Can’t we talk this over? Who are you, anyway? Why can’t you fight it?” Even as he spoke he fought back, but the light was a part of the Overmind, and it had the strength of the many. It shrugged his attacks away almost absently, and the datastream did not slow.

i cannot fight it because i am part of it--it is like fighting yourself--and in that scenario you can never win--and i remember much but i do not remember my name--even though i have been here for a very short time--he kills that part of you first--which is the only blessing he gives you

The data-void was large in his vision now; it was as though he was sinking from orbit on to a silent black planet. It even had its own peculiar form of gravity, pulling any data that got too close—such as Gray himself, now—into itself. It was a black hole of information, the largest Gray had ever seen, and he knew that when he fell into it he would most certainly not be booted back to his body. His body would probably die from the shock.

again i am sorry--but at least know that you are envied by the rest of us--and know that—

The voice cut off with what Gray could only call surprise. It did not stop dragging him, but it had turned its attention away. So had the Seldon, Gray realized, and the Overmind itself had fallen silent. Gray strained to feel whatever it was they were sensing, and after a moment he found it: another presence, one new to the data-frame. It was moving through the outer spheres with an impossible quickness, dodging data-voids and corrupted nodes as though they were not there. Gray studied the source desperately, hoping for anything that could save him from the void, but every probe he sent out remained silent, and none returned.

…ther

…him, the one

…vation, redemption, salvation, redemption

The voices of the Overmind were whispering, and to Gray’s surprise there was a new feeling in the sounds: it was something like hope. But hope for what? The whispers were growing louder, and now most were chanting the same thing over and over.

…the oth

…ther, the othe

…him, salvation

…ther, the other, the other, the

…other, the other, THE OTHER

nO He prOmIseD tHis Is nOt aLloWeD hE ProMiSed hE pRoMiSed HE PROMISED

Something burst through the wall of the last sphere. Gray had only enough time to register that it was silver, and fast—impossibly fast, nothing can be that fast, I’m good, the Overmind is better, but this is—before it was on him. It tore him and the node of light away from the Overmind, ripping them from the pull of the data-void and blurring out of the Herald’s reach. Gray had barely registered the sensation of speed and power before he realized that he was saved—and it took another moment for his shocked mind to realize what was hovering over him.

Watchdog! his mind shrieked, overwhelmed with shock and hysteria. Looking up to see a Watchdog was every Hackers nightmare—the data-void was a close second, but no real comparison—and even though it had just saved him every alarm protocol he possessed was now blaring at the strongest levels possible. Watchdog, oh God, it’s a Watchdog, what was I doing, how do I get out of here, where are my exits?! No, not just A Watchdog—THE Watchdog! What is it doing here? I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead—

The Watchdog had pinned both him and the light, and was studying them carefully. Gray waited for the security protocols to turn over, wondering if he had enough time to snap-create a digital will. He did not even bother struggling—this was not just a Watchdog, but the Watchdog, and his mind was simply too shocked and exhausted to even try. The Watchdog examined him for a moment more; then it opened its mouth. Gray could see programs with strength enough to tear through an entire corporate data-frame, protocols and datastreams that had never been beaten. The Watchdog leaned closer, pinning the Hacker down even more tightly.

Then it said: WOOF WOOF. And licked his face.
__________________

""" The Physical and The Ether"""

Hardcode and Centuri had both put their backs to the wall. Hardcode had fallen, his body slumped against the stone as his mind moved elsewhere. His drone flew through the room, hindered by the narrow space but taking advantage of every bit of freedom it had. He was dodging hoverwings and flickerflies in equal measure, dancing through the chaos with barely any time to fire back. Mutants and lights roiled madly in the space over the humans. The flickerflies pulled from the ether when the Overmind had summoned the Frost Queen had not dissipated; they flooded the ceiling, latching on to any creature unfortunate enough to come within range. Hoverwings vanished with light *pops*, sometimes reappearing only a few feet away, sometimes never seen again. The mutants spun and screeched in the air, crashing into each other, smashing equipment and slashing at anything moving as they fled the lighted butterflies. Expended flickerflied, blackened and dead, fell like rain as they found hosts, but their numbers were not noticeably thinning.

Hardcode theorized that the flies could only transport organic matter—they lighted onto the walls and equipment of the room naturally enough, and none of that was disappearing—and so he was not too worried about his drone. The mutants, however—perhaps made aware by the Overmind—knew that it was a threat, and any hoverwing not busy fleeing for its temporal stability was throwing itself at it rather violently. Hardcode dodged with an easy experience, but there were so many mutants in the room that it was becoming difficult. He had given up on aiming; he activated the weapon he had attached to the nose of the drone the instant it recharged, and he always hit something. Several somethings, usually; the rail-gun emitted a thin stream of pale green energy that punctured mutant flesh with devastating results, often continuing on to slice through several more of the creatures. It had a tendency to cut things in half, and some property of the wounds seemed to prevent the mutants from regenerating. Hoverwings yelled in their broken language, swerving away from the beam, but there were always more to replace the ones that fell, and Hardcode had no idea of how long the power cell would last.

Centuri was the main reason that the flickerflies remained near the ceiling. Perhaps it was instinct, or perhaps they had a small inclination towards survival, but even the flies seemed to know that to approach the N.D.A. leader was to approach an early grave. Hardcode had never seen a man so bent on destruction, or so good at killing. Centuri’s eyes had gone as cold as the Frost Queen’s, and his hands were a blur as he dealt pain and death with his rifle. Empty clips were strewn around him, and the thunder of his explosive bullets never ceased. Bodies lay everywhere, not always in one piece, and any mutant still slow on the uptake was finally beginning to remember exactly why it feared the man in the first place. He always knew where the greatest threat was, and every bullet equaled another dead monster. Hardcode wondered if he ever saw a mutant he recognized—either from bringing them in or from studying them later, carefully noting the bizarre influence of the Overmind. If so, the knowledge meant little to him; his eyes were dispassionate and his hands were steady. Hardcode could even read his vital signs with his drone, and was rather disturbed by the fact that they were perfectly normal—they could have come from man flipping through stations on his view screen, or sitting down to read a book after a long day. Just taking care of a little business before clocking out, Hardcode thought, and shuddered.

A large dome of ice dominated the center of the room, and Centuri’s exploding bullets had no affect on it. Lady White had spread her arms, pulling the frozen wall from the ether and encasing the Overmind’s brain. She had gestured even as the mutants had first began rising, and weapons had condensed out of the air. Blades and hammers and massive, jagged shards had risen before her, and the mutants had been encased in an icy armor. Mist roiled off of the Frost Queen so thickly that she became little more than a shimmering shadow in its depths. And still the temperature dropped, until finally the cold was so intense that Hardcode felt his whole body locking up. Centuri had somehow forced his arms up, slowly leveling his gun into the mist, but when he fired the bullets had simply veered harmlessly away. After a few shots the gun fell from his hands; Hardcode could see frost rimming on his fingers, and knew that the only reason he couldn’t feel it on his own was because he was too numb. The Frost queen had drifted forward through the mist, flanked by the first of the waking mutants, and on her face was the same chilling smile.

Tanric had saved them. He had been standing there, staring ahead, and Hardcode had thought that the same cold effect had frozen his body. Then he suddenly shook his head as though clearing it, and said, “Tricks. It’s so simple. I never knew.” He frowned, and the cold sphere of air around Hardcode had popped like a bubble. “He gave me…something, though. Power. Maybe. Power enough to face you. I think…that he might have Seen it.”

One by one the crystalline weapons had shattered in mid-air. The frosty armor melted, and the mist dissipated as though blown away by a strong wind. The Frost Queen had turned her shocked expression on Tanric, and Hardcode had felt something massive move in the air between them. And then…nothing. The ice dome protecting the Overmind was still there, but Tanric and Lady White had not moved. She stood as a statue carved from a glacier; Tanric faced her from across the room, his eyes wide and his hands clenched into fists at his side. The mutants gave them both a wide berth; the first few to come close to the Queen were now encased in ice, and those attempting to attack Tanric had simply exploded. Neither monk nor mutant had even bothered glancing at them.

And so they fought on, and Hardcode still wasn’t sure how they had survived for so long. He thought that Tanric might be protecting them even as he fought the Frost Queen. Despite Centuri’s devastating assault and the phenomenal weaponry Hardcode had liberated from the storage room, there were simply too many mutants to stand against. It certainly helped that they did not work together; fights were likely to break out between the creatures now that the Overmind was busy elsewhere, and dozens of bodies lay on the ground moaning as they tried to regenerate. But there were still too many, and Hardcode knew that it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

Part of his mind forced his drone to open a communication channel to Centuri. “How much ammunition do you have left?”

Centuri grunted, his hands reloading the gun so quickly it was almost as though they were working independently of his body. “Don’t ask.”

Hardcode thought about this for a moment, and than said, “Right then. What kind of explosives do you have? Are you sure that it can kill the Overmind once and for all?”

“Probably. I grabbed a P.T.D. from the storage room. If it doesn’t work…well, we probably won’t be around if it doesn’t work, so I guess it won’t be our problem.”

Hardcode frowned. It took him a moment to recognize P.T.D. as a pre-war term, and another to remember what it stood for. His drone stuttered in mid-air, and after a moment of shocked silence he screamed, “You’re going to detonate a Pocket Thermonuclear Device down here?”

“Relax,” Centuri said, inflecting the word in a way that made it obvious that, if his interest Hardcode’s stress level was translated into numbers, it would start at around negative one hundred. “It has a contained blast radius of twenty yards. It should only destroy a few rooms.”

“You’re going to detonate a Pocket Thermonuclear Device down here?”

Centuri’s voice was edged. “It’s the only thing I can think of that might kill it. So what, this section of the facility is hyper-radiated for the next ten thousand years. That just means that it’ll have a harder time regenerating. If you’ve got a better plan, then tell me now so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Those things aren’t stable! If you detonate that and the pocket collapses, the chain reaction could…could—wait. You got that from the storage room. Does that mean there are more?”

Centuri somehow managed to shrug without slowing down his rate of fire.

Hardcode almost swooned in horror. “If the pocket collapses, that could set off every single one. There’s no way the field would hold. You wouldn’t just blow up the Detention Center; you would leave a hole in the earth that you could see from the moon.”

Centuri shrugged again. “If the pocket collapses then you can file a complaint with Tangent Technology. Now shut up.”

* * *

Hardcode, Centuri, and Monika fought, and they shook the earth. Gray rose with the Watchdog by his side, and together they shook the data-spheres. The only ones to note either event were still above ground in the Detention Center. Lysander and the Gang, hard at work gleefully disassembling and destroying anything with a Tangent logo on it, paused occasionally as the earth shuddered. Every so often a Hacker would swear as the entire dataframe crashed for no apparent reason, and tap the console impatiently as they waited for it to boot back up. But that was all.

Gray shook the networks, the others shook the earth, and nobody really noticed. Wolfe Blackclaw and the Overmind, however, shook the heavens, and every psi-monk for a hundred miles would have nightmares for years. Nightmares that they thankfully could not remember.

Monks turned in their sleep all over Neocron. Lights danced, strange sounds came from dark corners, and the walls bled an alien blood. A man dressed in golden robes appeared in Plaza One; he walked serenely through the startled crowd, and it took a few moments for everybody to realize that whoever he touched disappeared. He did too, after a few steps, and neither he nor the others were ever seen again. Rain fell throughout the city from a cloudless sky, indiscriminately healing and harming those it fell on. All entryways to the sewers, the undercity of Neocron, simultaneously locked themselves, and no amount of force would open them. After the noises started rising from the deep, there were few that wanted to try. The sun was eclipsed for two full minutes, even though the moon was palely visible on the opposite horizon. The communications network came up briefly and mysteriously, but all that could be heard was an endless sobbing, and distant voices repeating the word ‘forsaken’ over and over.

Monks straying too close to Wolfe Blackclaw’s apartment fell unconscious, and would not wake for days.

Every monitor in Tech Haven flashed equations to answer any question, and from the speakers came a dull, monotone voice heralding the end of technology. Hackers found that they were temporarily unable to leave the systems, and experimental technology beneath the Core suddenly flared to short-lived life. Security systems blared alarms at every level, but all the harried investigators found were thousands upon thousands of dead black-winged butterflies, which themselves disappeared after a few minutes.

In Crahn’s Abbey, the clapless bell struck thirteen times. Water ran red, and the Cathedral of Memory darkened. It was a period of rest for the monks, and they all turned in their sleep as something greater touched on their minds and would not let go. Golon Kalah, sitting in grim, solitary watch of the Cathedral doors, spared one disinterested look toward the Detention Center, and then turned his entire focus back to where he knew he would find Kyles Faylen if he waited long enough.

In the Twilight Guardian’s canyon, a circle of monks joined together to face whatever it was they felt. Their leader was Reginald Finn, the head of an old monk family with strong ties to the infamous Inferno Squad. With the combined power of his brethren monks he forced a doorway to the ether, probing it without fear. Lightning crackled within the circle, and a dark cloud formed overhead. Reginald remained in ether-space for approximately two minutes and thirty-six seconds, his body motionless as his mind wandered, and upon returning he dismissed the circle with no more explanation than, “Close your minds, and do not sleep in the coming hours.” His fellow Guardians asked no question; Reginald Finn suddenly looked as though he had not slept for years, and a lock of his hair had turned a shocking white. Later, when Reginald saw this in a mirror, he simply nodded as though it was meant to be.

And so it was everywhere. Even the Military Base, furthest from the epicenter of the conflict, saw strange signs and portents. Ether-space was a gateway to the mind (or the mind was a gateway to ether-space—nobody was really sure) and every door was thrown wide open. Things fell through, usually only temporarily, and for a brief time reality and chance trembled. The monks felt it worst—some saw colors for days, and quite a few came close to losing their minds entirely to the ether—but every psychic-sensitive felt something. Everybody heard voices, many of which should have been long dead, and they moaned warnings and curses in turn. Everyone saw two colored lights dancing in the sky, and those who slept saw their true hues and contrasts. Everyone heard a voice cry out in denial, insisting on a promise broken, and another reply, “There is room for only one prophet.” At this point there was a motion deep in the Wastes; Kijayle Rhonac shifted slightly, raising his head out of sleep. He studied the horizon for a moment; then he shrugged, lowering back to slumber. A problem for another time, perhaps.

And in ether-space Wolfe and the Overmind fought on. The Overmind was many, and Blackclaw had once been touched by something that made him greater than before. Their forms were massive here, and they both blazed like stars close to collapse. And like such stars, whichever one fell would likely become the ether equivalent of a black hole; a mind turned so far in on itself that no other could dare approach it. Blackclaw was powerful, but the Overmind was ancient; the Overmind was many, but Wolfe was tapping a power source larger than anything the self-proclaimed prophet could conceive of. And so they raged through the space between minds, neither gaining the advantage, and as the Overmind drew on more and more power Wolfe Blackclaw simply waited patiently for Gray and his companions to do their jobs.
__________________

""" All the Way to York..."""

Lights were flickering wildly throughout the building, and power surges threatened to bring the already unstable systems down. Alarms blared random warnings, everything from a security breach to a containment loss to a missile attack. Occasionally a turret would roar to life, exploding outward from the walls and spraying a hell of a lot of plasma in every direction at once. There were rarely targets for such displays, but the mutants were quickly learning to dive for cover when an alarm sounded. Monitors flared to life, electric doors slid open for the first time in years, and aged lights shone brightly or exploded, pretty much at random. The generators turned more quickly with every passing second—but power surges were rampant, and the facility was having a hard time of it.

Too damn bad, thought Gray. He had more pressing concerns than the power.

Subtlety was a thing of the past. With the Watchdog by his side and the Seldon drawing more power as the generators charged up, Gray had decided to press every advantage he could find in the most fatal way he could imagine. The node shook with digital explosions, the Overmind assaulted from every direction. The Watchdog was a silver blur, diving into the cloud of the Overmind like a shining arrow. Gray moved with a natural grace, dodging data-voids almost instinctually. He launched every offensive protocol he had ever bought, built, or stolen, and did his best to ignore the red warning light indicating the imminent threshold collapse of the node. Data burst outward, imploded with the force of a small black hole, and unraveled at his gesture. The inner light of the Seldon was now so bright that Gray could not look directly at it. Luminescence burst forth from the four orbiting moons like divine pillars of fire, striking into the Overmind with a relentless fury. Every blast darkened one of the lights, making it less than before, and the Overmind’s shriek of disjointed fury grew more piercing every time. But there were so many lights. The Overmind was many, and as powerful as they were, they were just six—counting the Seldon’s four minds.

Seven, actually, but Gray wasn’t so sure of the latest addition to the assault. When the Watchdog had freed him from the Herald, it had torn the ball of light dragging Gray to his doom free as well. Now the light hovered by Gray, humming idly as it launched a truly staggering array of protocols at its former captor. It was matching Gray blast for blast, and it timed its attacks perfectly. It wasn’t the deft use of attack programs that impressed Gray, though—it was the fact that the light was programming its protocols from scratch, perfectly duplicating Gray’s own gear nano-seconds after seeing it in use. Gray knew that such Hacking was possible—but he could think of only a few Hackers who had managed it in the past, including Chester Cohor and himself (and, truth be told, his case had almost—but not quite—been a fluke). The light was mimicking Gray with an ease so casual it bordered on offensive. Well, it had said that it believed itself capable of challenging the Overmind. Now Gray knew why.

But for all of the light’s skill, the Seldon’s programming, and the Watchdog’s sheer power, it was—to his very secret surprise—Gray’s attacks that were doing the most damage. The other Hackers were taking their toll, but somehow the Overmind dodged the worst of the threats. Whenever the Watchdog speared forward the cloud almost seemed to part a nanosecond in advance. The light next to Gray was gauging its openings flawlessly as far as Gray could tell, but every strike at the heart of the Herald was either slightly off—as though the Overmind wasn’t quite where the light thought it was—or it was deflected by one of the many mental extensions. The Seldon was snuffing out lights like candles in a hurricane, but for all its force and programming it could not lock onto the brighter minds. They were all doing damage, but it was like attacking a Reaper with a paper sword—you could give it some nasty paper-cuts, but that was all. And then it bit your head off.

Not so with Gray. Databombs detonated in the densest cluster of lights, tearing through them like they were made of aluminum foil. Twice Gray lured the Overmind into the fringes of a data-void, and once he had gotten so close with a maelstrom of counter-logic that he was almost positive that the monster was feeling some brainburn. The thing had actually screamed then, flinching away from the maelstrom with obvious shock. Gray had pressed the advantage, flanked by the light and the Watchdog, but the light had dodged away to avoid a data-void and the Watchdog had been blasted nearly across the node by an attack Gray was almost certain was meant for him. Gray retreated, unwilling to face the Herald alone just yet, and the Herald had followed, clumsily launching attacks that landed nowhere near the Hacker.

Gray sent sparks of data in every direction, each a replication of his own mental pattern, and watched with mild amazement as the Overmind raged through them. The light beside Gray did not bother mimicking this program; they had learned early on that the Overmind could see through such tricks. When Gray did it, though…

He said: “What’s wrong, freak? They told me you were better than this. I’ve Hacked dead Warbots with more intelligent programming than you.”

liTtLe hAcKer…

A whirlwind of explosions roared in Gray’s general direction. The Hacker dodged them fairly easily, then sent several datastreams into the massive cloud. The Overmind flinched as they penetrated its defenses, detonating deep within its matrix.

LitTlE HaCkeR nO I wAs ProMiSed prOmIsEd i waS wHo arE yOU liTTle hAcKeR wHaT aRe yoU wHy cAn’T I SeE YoU whY CaN’t i SeE yOU WHY CAN’T I SEE YOU

Gray blinked. It can’t see me? Of course it can. It’s attacking me just as much as everybody else; it’s just missing a lot. And it sure as hell saw me well enough to drag me into a data-void….

Gray threw his virtual body forward. The Overmind fell back, and then swung wide, using its massive presence to draw a data-void between it and the Hacker. Gray nodded. It definitely saw that…not that I was being particularly subtle. Then what in the hell is it talking about?

wHat ArE yOu liTtlE hAckEr wHeRe aRe YoU

“You tell me,” Gray said. “You’re supposed to be all knowing. But you can’t even see—” Gray cut off, shock almost causing him to drift into a data-void. “No. No! You can see me just fine—but you can’t See me. You precognitive bastard!”

Gray spun and dove, whirling recklessly through the chaos. He did not bother with subtlety, making his movement as random and outrageous as he could. “That’s how you dodge all of the attacks. You’re looking into the future—you can See them before they happen. You damned cheater. How far ahead can you look?”

YoU sPeAK tOo mUcH hAckEr

Lights flared, and Gray was surrounded by a whirlwind of logic. He sent images of himself in every direction, and then shot up and out of the storm. Several lights followed him, but his protective datastreams destroyed them before they could pose a threat. “But you can’t See me. Why not? And why couldn’t you Detain me?”

I wiLL dIscOvEr tHiS wHen I DisSect yOuR bRaiN liTtLe HaCkEr

“The hell you say. I’ll give you this—you’re powerful. Considering all of the brains you’re leeching, you should be. But…” Gray dodged one more clumsy attack, and then threw himself into the cloud that was the Overmind. “…as a straight Hacker, you couldn’t even give Hardcode a run for his money.”

He pushed forward, and suddenly the light was beside him. It said: he wanted hackers to study next—that is why he holds your friends—it us part of the world that for all the machine built into him he cannot yet understand—but it is only a matter of time—i was the first hacker he had but he did not have me long enough

“Right. If I can help it, he won’t have enough time to dump his data-load before I—”

And then Monika Blaze, her voice telepathically amplified enough to shake Gray’s entire matrix, screamed Reaver Gray, I need backup and I need it now! Everything’s gone to hell out here, and even I can’t fight two psi-lords at—

Her voice cut off with a swear, and the Overmind laughed. I dO nOt nEeD tO kiLl yOur mInD liTtLe haCKeR wHeN i cAn kiLl yOuR bOdY

* * *

Energy raged in the corridors. Telekinetic hammers slammed down with enough force to level a building, and fire hotter than the heart of a volcano roared back. The minds at odds were two of the most powerful ever to come into combat with each other—on the physical plane, at least—and neither Monika nor the psi-lord were holding back. Zombies and hoverwings were tossed aside like broken dolls, burned or smashed beyond hope of regeneration, and walls shuddered from the shockwaves. Hurricanes of psi tore through mutants like tissue paper, and blood—not all of it red—fell like rain. The air was rippling with heat and sheer concentrated mental energy, and fires still burned on bare stone. Mutants roared, and the psi-lord shrieked in a pale imitation of a human voice, and Monika stood boldly against the wall of flames without saying a word.

This wasn’t working.

It was impossible. For one thing there were too damned many mutants. The ones she burned certainly didn’t get up, but the bastards seemed limitless. They came from every direction, hurling themselves into the flames and screaming with their mouths and their minds. Some had weak mental attacks of their own, which they hurled endlessly at Monika. She crushed those mutants when she could—she couldn’t afford any distractions. Still, for all of their numbers and power the zombies didn’t pose much of a threat to the monk. The psi-lord was what made it impossible.

“The lord of force,” she said. “It would have to be the lord of force.” If only she could see the thing. Even with all of her flame lighting the halls the bastard was able to find the shadows. It’s incorporeal form was virtually invisible anyway; it flitted through the heat-waves like a ghost, only attacking when it was certain it had lost her. Monika herself stood in bold contrast to the fiery wall she had erected in front of the doorway to the heart, and the lord had no difficulty targeting her. Only her combat training had kept her alive for so long—for all of her psi, Monika did not have a defensive brain cell in her head. Against a normal monk she might have been able to take a blow or two, but the lord of force was wielding his telekinesis like a maul, and one solid hit would crush Monika like a bug. I can’t win like this. I can’t fight him standing still, and if I move… Well, she couldn’t maintain the wall of flame forever. Eventually the mutants would get through—by sheer force of numbers if anything. They would throw themselves through the doorway until one survived, and then Gray and the Seldon would be done. The psi-lord launched another attack, and Monika barely had time to lift a zombie with her psi, throwing it in the path of the hammer. Bloody hell…

“Sorry Gray,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” Bloody hell indeed; hell for her, hell for the mutants. Let them know who they were stupid enough to cross, she thought. What was it you told Tanric? I think it was a little something about being able to hear the explosion all the way to York.

She grinned fleetingly, then raised both hands. She did not direct her psi outward this time; now flames hammered at the ceiling above the doorway. She mixed telekinesis with the fire, slicing at the heat-softened stone with all the grace of a doctor performing an open-heart surgery with a laser sword, and white-hot rock dripped like mud. She sensed a detached curiosity from the psi-lord, which quickly changed to disbelieving rage as he realized what she was doing. She braced as he clenched his will, pushing her senses to the limit as she timed her strike to match his. A wave of force roared toward her, rippling the air in its ferocity, and Monika laughed as her own telekinesis met it—and diverted it. Just barely—Monika could tap the other realms of destructive psi when she had too, but when she wasn’t using flame she was not nearly as effective—but just enough to send it slamming into the softened doorway. She dove sideways, laughing as the blast loosened what was left of the ceiling. It came down in slow motion, liquid rock dripping in small bits at first, then falling in larger and larger chunks. The mutants threw themselves forward, but it was too late—the entire entryway finally fell in on itself. Tons of blazing stone collapsed on the creatures, smothering their cries—and blocking the way to the Heart completely.

“Catch me if you can,” she shouted to the stunned psi-lord. She saw it now, emerged from the shadows and radiating an awful hatred. She didn’t stick around to shake hands; she was moving before the last stone had fallen, dodging through mutants still too stunned to react. She was terrified of the coming conflict, but part of her was exhilarated, too—she had never come across a mind as powerful as the psi-lord’s. And there was something about single combat that always brought out the best in her.

Then another shadow detached itself from the wall, and suddenly the lord of flame was reaching for her. She dove to the side reflexively, barely avoiding the line of fire whipping at where she had been. She swore, throwing her own fire out, but her concentration was broken as the lord of force wrenched at the walls and ripped out stone shrapnel that she only just avoided. Detonations rocked the facility as the three minds clashed, but Monika knew it was only temporary. She dove down a side corridor ahead of the lords, running as she felt their presence grow closer behind her. She desperately reached out with her mind, but all she could sense was a mental static; there was so much psi in the air that it was a wonder she could form a coherent thought. She thrust her mind back at the Heart, screaming for Gray to do something, but she had no idea if he heard.

Have to keep them away from the Heart. Have to stall them—

Finally, inevitably, she turned a corner and saw a dead-end locked door. She staggered to a halt. She could blast through, but why bother? She was out of breath, out of stamina, and blowing the door down would just bring her closer to being out of psi as well. Better to stand. Better to fight while she still had the power. The psi-lords turned the last corner, pausing only briefly to consider the situation. Then reality trembled with barely contained psi, and they moved forward.

“All the way to York,” Monika said softly, and dove into the light of her mind.
__________________

""" Fetch!"""

Tanric saw his own light, and it was through apathetic eyes. He stood oblivious to everything around him, opposing the Frost Queen across a sea of ether. There were dim shapes in the light, but Tanric ignored them. He was focused entirely on the creature trying to kill him—or at least his mind. The Frost Queen, who had once been a passive monk named Dianna White. She hadn’t been particularly powerful or well known. In fact, she hadn’t even been a terrorist, or the least bit of a threat. Just a quiet woman born with the power of the mind, and caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been brought in during a routine sweep through Pepper Park, caught up in a fight she had wanted no part of, and thrown into Detention until Tangent could figure out what to do with her. The Overmind had…well, that part was hidden, but the Overmind had done something. Dianna White had changed in ways that the other prisoners had not, and suddenly her trial priority had fallen to the last in line as scientists studied her. Over time she stopped speaking, and she never indicated any kind of need. She simply sat in her cell, studying her captors through walls that no psi was supposed to be able to breach, changing in ways that could not be seen. Her hatred of the Overmind grew even as her memory drained away. But there was fear, too. Fear of the Overmind, fear of the creatures being changed alongside of her. The part of her mind that the Overmind could not touch fed off of the fear, vowing to someday be free—and that her freedom would never again be threatened.

Tanric picked these thoughts out of the countless images forcing their way through the window in his mind. He studied them dispassionately, and discarded them without interest. Easier. Safer. Thinking—concentrating on the thoughts and colors—was too hard. Too painful. It was better just to throw his psi at the woman, distracting and irritating her just enough to break her concentration. There was a wall between them, a wall he was powering himself. It contained the Frost Queen, in a manner of speaking. She was powerful, but as long as the wall remained she was unable to exert her power on Tanric’s friends. She could still affect things, but that did not bother Tanric. She was neutralized.

Tanric had the impression that Blackclaw wanted him to kill her. He supposed that he could do so, but why bother? Too much trouble. Centuri’s bomb would take care of it anyway. Probably take care of all of them. Tanric could See the possibility of his death in such an explosion. It was hard though—the branching events from the moment of that potential detonation were too numerous to pick one from another. And of course even that did not matter if Gray could not…do whatever it was he needed to do. There was always the chance that the Overmind would best them all.

Simply for something to do, Tanric shifted the window around in search of the Hacker. Mental interference roared in his mind, but the window swung around easily enough; it almost seemed to be touching a different sphere of the mind—one unaffected by the battle in ether-space. Tanric turned the window—and kept turning, revolving through whatever space he was touching with a growing curiosity. He Saw the Heart, and the Mark One throbbing in its tank. He Saw the computer humming, and the generators cycling up. He Saw the swarm of minds representing the mutants, each with a thin line connecting them to the Overmind. He Saw things in the dark that might have driven him insane if his mind wasn’t already deadened, and he passed them by indifferently.

But he didn’t See Gray.

Odd. He shifted the window slightly, and nodded. No Monika Blaze, either. Fascinating. There were marks of their passing, and even traces of the Blaze woman’s psi lingering like ghostly pyres. He hesitated for a moment, then frowned in concentration. He supposed that finding the Hacker could be important, but when he focused all he could see was…numbers? Yes. Numbers. A wave of them cascading down through his vision. No matter how he turned the window, that was all he saw. Hmm.

He absently brushed them aside. Very well. Forget the window. He didn’t like it anyway; there were too many disturbing things trying to come through. Best not to think about it. There were other ways, though. He had relied on his psi for years, and Wolfe Blackclaw seemed to have enhanced it somehow. He opened his mind, forcing through the mental static. There were his companions, Hardcode and Centuri. That didn’t look good. Mutants, still sleeping—for lack of a better word—all through the base. There was the Heart, and Gray’s body plugged into the system. Good. And there was Monika Blaze, running—

“Reaver Gray, I need backup and I need it now! Everything’s gone to hell out here, and even I can’t fight two psi-lords at—”

Ah. That came through clearly enough. Blaze must be desperate. Tanric couldn’t imagine her asking for help otherwise. Of course, two psi-lords would do that to you. Was there anything he could do? He gauged the power he was using to contain the Frost Queen, then what he estimated he would need later against what he had left. Probably not—at least not from a distance. He did not have the Overmind’s reach. But then again…

Then again…maybe he did not need it.

* * *

Gray spun desperately in the sphere. The Overmind’s attacks came in vicious waves, and for all its fumbling the sheer number of attacks was wearing Gray down. Gray knew that, given time, he could defeat the thing—but how much time did he have? There was no way of telling what was going on in the Heart without access to outside ports, and the Herald controlled them all. All he knew was that his body could be assaulted at any time, that Monika needed help.

And how in the hell was he supposed to help her? He threw everything he had at the core of the Herald, and though he was doing plenty of damage it simply wasn’t enough. He might or might not be able to disconnect from the system to fight beside the monk, but that would leave the Overmind free to destroy the Hacker’s companions. Gray didn’t know why the Overmind was blind to him, but he knew that the unpredictability was all that was keeping the monster from overwhelming the Seldon. Even the Watchdog seemed to be holding back, although Gray couldn’t tell if it was because it was being cautious, or just waiting for the right time to strike. It couldn’t wait long, though. Time was on the Overmind’s side.

Gray spun and dodged, attacking without hesitation, and he had absolutely no idea of what the hell to do until a voice spoke to his mind.

Ah. Finally. You are a difficult man to find, Reaver Gray.

Gray blinked. “Tanric?” It was Tanric’s voice, but it almost sounded like Wolfe Blackclaw.

Tanric’s voice was dead. Yes. Monika appears to be in trouble. I’m afraid I’m a little too far away to help.

How could you help? thought Gray. No offense, Tanric, but you’re not exactly a psychic powerhouse. Unless…something’s changed? You do sound different. Out loud he said, “Yeah, time’s are tough everywhere. It sounds like she’s got psi-lord problems. Got any bright ideas?”

As a matter of fact…

Gray felt his vision being guided—definitely a Blackclaw move, but he tried not to think about it—and his vision filled with light. A specific light, one of the many snared in the Herald’s web. It was bright—much brighter than usual, standing out among the sea of stars. It was struggling fiercely against the Overmind, but it was unable to move. It flashed with power as it fought, but every pulse was transmitted to its captor. The flashes were almost like the flicker of a candle—looking at it made Gray’s virtual eyes water.

…I do.

Gray slowly nodded, and then grinned in understanding. He looked around until he found the Watchdog; then he pointed to the light and said, “Hey, Sparky! Fetch!”

* * *

Monika braced her mind. Energy crackled around her, heat and psi rippling the air and reality in turn. She had her hands on all of the switches of her mind, the floodgates of her psi waiting to be unleashed. She wouldn’t survive such an act; she was containing too much energy to channel at once. It didn’t matter. There would be an explosion that no psi-lord could survive, no matter if they started running now. Even the lord of flame would be unable to absorb such a heat. She would probably take out a fairly large bit of the facility as well, but she was far enough from the Heart and the Brain that no humans would be hurt. She hoped.

The lords seemed to sense something of it. The lord of force didn’t slow; his aura was one of determination. The lord of flame staggered, though, almost as though it was hesitant to approach. Buried in her psi, it took Monika a moment to realize that it wasn’t fear that held the lord of flame back—it was confusion. Disorientation. And something else—

But there was no time for that. The lord of force raised its hands, oblivious to its counterpart’s hesitation in its fury to kill Monika before she could strike. Monika clenched her mind in preparation…

…and the lord of flame moved forward, raising its hands as well…

…and the lord of force screamed in rage and denial as flames erupted from its body.

Monika was so shocked that she almost triggered her psi anyway. The lord of flame stood behind the lord of force, its pale hands wrapped around the other lord’s head. Fire erupted from them, wrapping the lord of force in an inescapable cocoon of flame. Burning lines whipped through the body, slashing and cauterizing they mutant beyond any hope of regenerating. The lord screamed with his mouth and his mind, and his body withered to ashes before Monika’s eyes.

The screams slowly died, and the lord of flames dropped his hands. Flakes of burned flesh were stuck to its robes, and it brushed at them indifferently as it regarded Monika. It opened its mouth, and Monika could see a glow from within. Freeeeeee…

Monika felt detached from her body. She relaxed her mind—slightly—and whispered, “Are you? Are you really?”

Monicaaaaa…

“Yes,” Monika heard herself say. “That’s me.”

Blaaaaaaaaaze…

Monika sighed, a shuddering breath that ran through her whole body. “Yes, Uncle Darious. That’s you.”

* * *

Gray saw one of the great lights blink out, and heard the Overmind scream in frustration. The Watchdog studied the light it had torn from the Herald’s web, giving a digital whuff of surprise as it dissipated from under its silver paws. To freedom, Gray hoped—it was hard to tell. In a situation like this the normal rules didn’t apply.

Screw it. When in doubt, act like you know exactly what’s going on. “I guess the Other really is your salvation,” he said to the lights in general. “Only he—or his, er, dog—can free you from the Overmind. So…how about that?”

LitTlE HaCkeR I wIlL—

“You’ll can it, is what you’ll do. And they say that I talk to much. Just because they might be right doesn’t mean I’m letting you off easy.”

The voice of the Seldon said: Finish him Reaver Gray. He has gone beyond my parameters. Even if I wished to join with him, his matrix is no longer compatible with my programming. He is a threat to us all.

The light said: please reaver gray—the other cannot save us all—and those still contained will welcome death to what the overmind gives now—they cry out for salvation that only you can give

The Watchdog said: WOOF WOOF. But Gray liked to think that it said it in an encouraging way.

“Well, Overmind, I put it to a vote. Guess what: you lost! Who would have thought?” Gray moved forward, the Watchdog growling at his side. The light and the Seldon circled, blocking off any route of escape. “Don’t worry, though—just think of what I’ll be able to charge after this job. Hell, reputation alone will be enough to leave most node security protocols crying in the darkest corners of digital space. Why, I bet it would warm your heart if you had one.”

yOu cAnNoT—

“What part of ‘can it’ do you not understand? I’m going to make you cry like Hardcode after a bad date. Goodbye, Overmind.”

Gray charged forward, the Watchdog running beside him, and the impact shook the world.
__________________

""" Freedom Is Not Always Good"""

Hardcode shuddered as he dropped into his body. His drone fell from the air, drained of energy. He drew a pair of pistols he had liberated from the storage room, wishing now that he had taken some more ammunition while he was at it. Of course, all the ammunition in storage might not have been enough. The mutants were endless.

If he needed any more indication as to the desperate state they were in, Centuri’s increasingly vicious swearing was all he had to hear. The N.D.A. leader hadn’t slowed his assault, but something in his demeanor had changed; Hardcode thought that he was fighting now only because they had run out of any options. His anger was energetic enough, but there was an undertone of hopelessness beneath it. Tanric was as indifferent as before, but Hardcode couldn’t use him as a guide; something had happened to the monk, changing him in some way. Hardcode had no idea what Tanric saw now; he guessed that it didn’t matter as long as he contained the Frost Queen.

“This is pointless,” Centuri said. “What in the hell are we waiting for?”

“Oh,” Tanric said, shocking them both, “I don’t think you’ll have to wait long. In fact…”

The speakers on the wall suddenly shrieked with static. Mutants and humans alike paused, stunned as the voice of the Overmind roared, “No! This is not possible. What are you, Hacker? How the hell can you—”

Static whined again. The Overmind’s voice faded, a wordless wail being dragged away into the darkness. The machines around the tank shuddered, sparks erupting from some.

Excellent, came the voice of Wolfe Blackclaw.

The speakers flared back to life. “Yes! Who is the master? Say it with me, people: Reaver Gray! Reaver Gray!”

“WOOF WOOF!”

“Woof woof?” Hardcode muttered. “I guess Gray won—”

“The master! Do you guys know what this means? Free admission to virtual paradise, that’s what it means. Wait ‘till I tell Kat—”

“Oh, God,” Hardcode moaned, “we’re never going to live this down. Do you have any idea how long Gray can stretch this kind of thing out? I’ll bet he was insulting me as he did it, too; the bastard always has time to come down on—”

All thoughts of Gray were driven from Hardcode’s mind as Centuri screamed. It was a sound he had never expected to hear in his life. The man was tearing frantically at his chest, and it took Hardcode a moment to recognize the explosives strapped to his vest. His eyes widened; he would have screamed himself, but he was too shocked.

“Ah,” Tanric said. “Your bomb. You set the timer before you entered the room, correct? It appears that the Overmind’s hold on technology has been broken by Gray. Does that mean that your timer…?”

“Ten seconds,” Centuri said, his voice suddenly dead. “Oh well. Mission accomplished, I guess.”

“You guess?” Hardcode said, finding his voice. “You guess?”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tanric said to the Frost Queen. She had fallen back, and turned to flee. “We can’t have you running free, now, can we?” He gestured, and blue light flared around the crystalline woman. It encased her like a gel, hardening around her form and locking her in place. She snarled from within the light, and psi buffeted Tanric’s walls—to no avail. He had enough time to look through the window for hope, but found none. To his mild surprise he witnessed a likely future in peril involving Monika—not revealing her, as he still could not See her, but touching her timeline strongly enough that he could see the repercussions now. He sent a brief message with his mind, and smiled slightly as the preferred future resolved. “Well,” the monk whispered. “That’s it.”

Please, said Wolfe Blackclaw from the ether. You didn’t really think I would just leave you to die, did you? As it is said in the ancient texts: Let there be light…

Light? Hardcode had no idea what Blackclaw was talking about. Then he realized that it was getting brighter—light from above. He looked up in wonder; Centuri looked up in shock; and Tanric looked up in resignation.

And guided by the greater mind, the flickerflies descended as angels from Heaven.

* * *

Monika stood across from Darious Blaze. He stood with his arms hanging, his expression indifferent but his eyes blazing with emotion. Flames flickered around him, endlessly fueled by what was left of his mind. He couldn’t turn them off any more.

“How much?” Monika whispered. “How much of you is left Uncle Darious?”

“Monicaaaaaaa…buuuuuuurn”

“Yes,” she said, reading his eyes. There was just enough humanity left to make it hard, and just enough understanding to make it necessary. “You’ll burn. But it will be quick. I’ll tell father…that you were freed.” She reached forward, and the lord of flame let her rest her hands on his head. Light flared around them both—

—and then Tanric’s voice cut into her mind. No, Monika. Not yet. Darious Blaze’s part is yet un-played. I know that you want to free him, but…you’ll have to trust me. He has one more mission to Run for the Inferno Squad.

“Tanric?” she said in shock. But the voice was gone, leaving her only with the choice. Darious Blaze stared mutely at her as she lowered her hands. One more mission. What then?

“Buuuuuuurn…?”

“Soon, Uncle. There’s…something we have to do. One more Run. I don’t know what it is—” she managed to find a slight grin “—but with two Blazes are on the case, then I’m not too worried. What do you say?”

The lord appeared to consider. The earth suddenly shook around them, but they were used to that now; both ignored it, lost in the lord’s concentration. Then flames erupted around him, mingling with Monika’s own aura. “Buuuuuuurn,” he said, and now there was anticipation in his voice.

“Right.” Her grin widened. “Back to the Heart then. Let’s see if there’s anything else we can blow up.”

* * *

The skies over Neocron fell dark. Two lights danced in the heavens, spinning in the air and thrusting at each other with vicious intent. Monks turned in their sleep, and Golon Kalah found his eyes turned away from the Cathedral yet again. He did not want to be distracted; he sensed something from the Cathedral, some imminent change. Something was coming. Finally. But he could not help himself; the clash in the ether was too powerful—too overwhelming.

He couldn’t even force himself to take sides. Both combatants were repellant to him. He supposed that if he absolutely had too, he would side with the creature calling itself the Overmind. At least it was a known factor. The Blackclaw, on the other hand—

Ah. Well, it didn’t matter any more. A scream full of outrage and denial echoed throughout the Abbey; throughout the city of Neocron and the Wastelands too if Golon Kalah was any judge. A voice whispered in his mind: There is room for only one prophet—and it is not you. Arrogant bastard. Golon Kalah had like the Blackclaw much better when he had been a simple street priest, living in the gutters and blessing any pigeon that fluttered into reach. Of course, that had provided its own complications, but he still preferred the man prior to his disastrous Long Walk. At least he could have been killed then. Ah, well.

Finally the screams of the Overmind died—along with the creature itself, Golon Kalah decided—and he turned his attention back to the Cathedral. And what was this? A crack in the door? A sliver of light? Patience rewarded?

Oh, yes.

Golon Kalah stood, and monks throughout the Abbey came in heed of his call.

* * *

The light died, and Hardcode found himself surrounded by familiar machinery. He barely had time to take in the subtle differences from the room he had just been in—the lack of an army of mutants was the most obvious, but a tank with not inhabited by a mutant brain beside which slumped the form of Reaver Gray were high on the list as well—before he was thrown to the ground. The entire building rocked on its foundation, and after the first few seconds Hardcode wondered if it had any intention of stopping. He saw his fellow Shades, among several other prisoners, on the ground beside him with dead flickerflies clinging to their clothes, and exhilaration flooded through him as he saw emotions wash over their faces. The emotions were mostly shocked terror, but he would happily take that over the Overmind’s blank mask.

Centuri was beside him as well. He clutched his rifle grimly, and his body armor was, for the most part, gone. Hardcode imagined that it had been necessary; the P.T.D. had been strapped to the man rather firmly. Tanric was there as well, but he was not rattling around on the ground; he hovered several feet in the air, taking in the surroundings with an almost bored indifference. His eyes were distant, focusing on something Hardcode guessed he would rather not know about. Gray’s body fell out of the chair, but he didn’t seem to notice. Hardcode wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t like this was the first earthquake Gray had Hacked through.

And still the earth shook.

It went on forever. Hardcode’s teeth rattled so hard that he was certain he would have to have them regenerated. Every wound on his body ached, throbbing in time with the earth, and all he could do was wait it out. And finally…finally the shaking slowed. The earth settled in reluctantly, unwillingly accepting the new hole that had been created in it. Even after it was still Hardcode lay on the ground waiting for his body to catch up. His limbs didn’t seem to understand that they could stop twitching at any time.

Finally he rolled over, facing Centuri. “Did it…did it work?”

“You tell me.” Centuri sat up. Hardcode couldn’t help but notice that his rifle, resting on his knees, was pointed in the direction of the still stunned Mirror Shades. “At least the pocket didn’t collapse. I don’t even want to think of what would have happened if it had breached.”

Tanric dropped lightly to the ground. “Actually, it did. Not pretty. I was able to contain it, though.”

Hardcode and Centuri stared at him. After a moment Hardcode said, “You can do that?”

“I can now. It’s a good thing I held some power back when I was fighting Dianna. The Frost Queen, that is. You’re right, Centuri—you don’t want to think of what would have happened. I could See it. Resolved now, thankfully.”

“I’ll wear a knowing expression just as soon as I can feel my face,” said Centuri. “Until then you get chilled indifference.”

Hardcode climbed to his feet. “Tanric—the Shades? Is there anything we can do?”

“They’ll be fine. They’re in shock, but it will wear off.” He cocked his head, frowning. “Ah. Everybody might want to stand back. Yes, that’s okay. Oh—and please don’t kill the psi-lord. All right, go ahead Monika.”

“Monika—?” Hardcode was cut off as the wall exploded. A heatwave flooded the room, projecting several tons of stone shrapnel inward. Tanric’s head was still cocked sideways, a slight smile on his face, and the molten rock hit an invisible wall. He gestured absently, sending the stones skittering across the floor and clearing a path before the new hole. Monika Blaze stepped through, and Hardcode’s blood turned cold when he saw what followed her. It was shaped like a human, but it looked like nothing so much as a demon risen from the depths. Flames billowed around it, and it wore psi like a cloak of power. “Tanric. That’s…”

“A psi-lord, yes. Centuri, what did I just say about killing it?”

Centuri did not lower his rifle. “I have orders—”

“Stuff your orders. As of right now Darious Blaze is an honorary Mirror Shade, and you agreed to let the Shades go.”

Centuri snorted. “You can’t be serious. That thing isn’t even human, and you can’t expect me to—”

“Let my uncle go free after the torture you put him through?” Monika finished. Hardcode could feel the temperature rising even from across the room , twice as hot now that there were two power sources.

“Buuuuuuurn…” the psi-lord said, and the droner believed that he meant every word.

“Not yet, uncle. Well, really it’s up to Centuri.”

Centuri glared at them both, and then shouldered his rifle in disgust. “Whatever. But this is your mess. Don’t forget it.”

“Blaaaaaaaaze…”

“That’s his way of saying okay,” said Monika, her eyes daring anybody to make something of it.

Feedback whined as the speakers came back to life. “Well,” said Gray, “how are we all doing? I’ve got access to the security grid, or what’s left of it, but I’ve lost cameras in the Brain. I hope to God that this means the Overmind is dead. Someone brighten my day, people. Suspense is for Hackers that didn’t just become legends.”

Hardcode glared at the speaker. “You know that I can kick you right now, and there’s nothing you can do about it? Yes, the Overmind is dead—or at least as dead as we can possibly make it. If it survived a contained nuclear blast then I’m moving to the moon.”

“Good. That confirms the readings I’m getting. The Overmind certainly did a good job of wrecking the systems before his not-so-dear departure.”

“Departure,” Tanric said. “Yes. I knew I had forgotten something. Everybody might want to pick up something lethal.”

“The most lethal thing I want in my hand is a bottle of sin juice,” said Hardcode. “Good news, Tanric, not bad. How many times do I have to tell you? Fine; what is it?”

“Mutants,” the monk said simply. “The Overmind is no longer Detaining them, and they’re all waking up. Some are already moving—and they’re coming here.”
__________________

""" The Coming Storm"""

Gray activated every camera he could find. There were movement readings all over the facility. Vocal recordings, too, and none of the mutants sounded like they singing. “Never a break,” he said. “What do they want?”

Me, the Seldon said. There is power for these creatures in the synaptic fluid.

“That’s hardly fair.” Gray frowned and studied the neural paths. “Can you activate the security grid? That’s why I came to the Heart, after all. What can you do?”

Little, I am afraid. The Overmind damaged me severely. It will take time to repair my systems.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

WOOF WOOF

“You’re telling me. So, no weapons.” Gray swore, and then opened a path. “I might as well drop my connection. We might be able to fight our way out before they mutants fully awaken.”

WOOF WOOF!

“I heard you the first time, boy. Unless you’re programmed to improvise then I’m not sure what you can do. Watch things here, I guess.” Gray reached down to scratch the program behind its digital ears—he couldn’t help himself—and the Watchdog bit his hand. Before Gray could react (which would have been interesting; his first reflex was to release every destructive protocol he had) he felt his mind shoved down another neural path. He flew down it in, feeling the Seldon fall behind, and suddenly he was in another system. It took a moment to orient himself; the Watchdog was still there, wagging its tail.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay. This is how you got in? Well, this system isn’t in any better shape than the Seldon. I don’t—”

The Watchdog barked, and one of the data-frames started blinking. Gray studied it, and then burst into laughter.

“Oh. Oh, my. Good dog. Very good dog. Monika? Yes. I’m putting you in charge of holding off the mutants for…oh, about three minutes. What do you say?”

* * *

In another darkness all was still. Even the Gang had known to leave this room well enough alone. A good thing—there was a twitch of motion, and six pairs of red lights flared to life. They revolved in the air, almost appearing confused, and then firmed. There was noise—the soft clank of metal on stone—and motion. Then silence and darkness again, and the sense of something very dangerous leaving the area.

* * *

Monika and the psi-lord stood silently. Centuri was off a bit, unable to approach the heat. His rifle was level and steady, and his remaining clips were strapped to his belt. Hardcode was in the Heart, monitoring security. Tanric stood in front of the Shades, the last line of defense should Centuri or the Blazes fall. Gray was still lying on the floor, and would not answer any calls.

Monika stopped listening to Hardcode’s security reports; were too depressing. She flexed her mind, savoring the feel of her uncle doing the same. She wasn’t kidding herself; she knew that sooner or later somebody would have to put the elder Blaze down, and that it would likely be her. But she was still glad for Tanric’s intervention, whatever the motive. It felt good to be working with one of the founding Inferno Squad members. Darious Blaze was a legend in his own right, next to Eric Finn, Jon Montewing, and Jackson Rhyes—all psi-lords now, the four founders of her former Squad. She had memorized their names long ago. Now Finn was dead, blasted away by Centuri, and Montewing was a pile of ashes in a distant corridor. She wondered where Jackson Rhyes was—then imagined that she would probably find out shortly.

Three minutes. Gray had damned well better have a plan.

And then the mutants came. Centuri started shooting, Darious flexed his mind, and it she lost herself in the killing time. Three minutes. No problem.

* * *

“We’ve got problems,” Hardcode said. “Big angry ones, and it appears that they can go through walls.”

“Those must be rock crawlers,” Tanric said. “I can keep them from entering the room.”

“Can you keep them off of Centuri, Monika, and her…friend?”

Tanric frowned. “Probably not. Preventing them from breaching the walls is simple enough, but restricting their movement in open space…” he let the sentence hang, and Hardcode didn’t really need him to finish it.

The speakers crackled. “Two minutes. How’s it going?”

“Bad,” Hardcode and Tanric replied in unison.

“Glad to hear it. Don’t worry. Almost there.” The speakers cut off.

Hardcode looked at the monk. “Maybe we can use Gray’s body as bait. Hell. Did I mention that we’re all going to die?”

“I believe the subject has come up. I can’t See it, though. Gray is…different. Numbers. What do the numbers mean?” Tanric shook his head, his eyes still unfocused. “No matter. I can’t See Gray, but I can See what he’s bringing.”

“Do tell.”

“I’ll let it be his surprise.” Tanric smiled slightly. “It should be…interesting, to say the least.”

* * *

Take stock. Mutants getting closer to hitting me with every wave. Energy flying everywhere, and both sides are getting less picky about what’s in its path. Hoverwings above. Irritating buggers. Not much power left. Not many mutants left either, hopefully.

Monika knew that she was kidding herself on that last bit. When she had asked Centuri exactly how many prisoners the Detention Center had been holding, the N.D.A. leader had simply laughed harshly and asked if Monika had a will. “Don’t worry,” he had assured her. “It’s not like it would do you any good. There won’t be enough of you left to identify.” It certainly didn’t seem as though the man was exaggerating; every mutant the Overmind had called to itself was now free, and they had woken up angry. Now she knew where the Overmind had gotten its power. The batteries were endless.

And then there was more movement, different than before. A new breed had arrived; not a zombie or a hoverwing, or anything in between. The walls were rippling, but not with psi—something massive moved through them, parting the stone like water. Predators. Big ones.

Monika threw her fire at the walls, and she felt Darious doing the same. Stone shattered and melted, erupting away from the monks, but the movement simply jumped to another wall. Monika swore and redirected her psi, smashing telekinetically at anything that moved, but still the things came closer.

“Crawlers!” Centuri shouted. “Dammit. I was hoping they had all been killed in the explosion.”

“How do we kill them?”

“Er,” Centuri replied by way of explanation.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how.”

Centuri shrugged. “Enough force can kill them, but I’m almost out of ammo and you’re out on your feet. It’s taking everything we have to fight off the zombies. Crawlers are a little more complicated—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Gray had better have one hell of a plan.”

“Believe it,” blared the speakers. “One minute. Looking good.”

“Right,” said Monika, eyeing the walls. “One hell of a plan.”

* * *

Red lights in the darkness, moving swifter than the eye could follow. Mutants turned their heads in shocked recognition, but the things did not bother with them. No time.

Yet.

* * *

They came from the stone. One second there was nothing but ripples, slow motion in the darkness. Then one emerged so quickly that it almost ended Monika’s fight then and there. It threw itself from the wall, a massive creature that looked like nothing so much as a fanged mouth on legs. Monika screamed and fell back, her hands raised. The thing bore down on her, seeing without eyes, and she barely had time to launch a fiery blast outward. The rock crawler was lifted roaring into the air and thrown away from her. She heard Centuri’s swears in between the explosions of his bullets, and Darious’s paper-thin battle cry. There was motion all around now, things moving through the stone, teeth flashing and clawed feet kicking from every direction. Monika forced herself to her feet, looking for a target, but there were too many to chose from. Zombies and hoverwings, and crawlers that—

—that didn’t die as easily as she had hoped. The crawler she had blasted roared to its feet looking no worse for her attack. She threw another stream of fire at it, but this time it dodged. She fell to the side, whipping the fire around and wrapping it around the crawler’s leg. It shrieked, a high pitched gargling that might have once contained words, and kicked angrily with its other leg. Monika dove again—but this time she wasn’t fast enough. The claw glanced off of her, tearing into her side and slamming her into the wall. She raised her hand, flames billowing over her arm, and a wave of pain washed over her. Piled onto her exhaustion it was enough to break her concentration. The flames flickered out.

A shadow fell over her. She saw Darious turning, a wave of heat and rage blazing from his fragile form, but it was too late. Another crawler threw itself at him, and he turned—

—and Centuri fell back, swearing as he felt for ammunition he did not have—

—and the crawler leaned over her, its fanged mouth open wide—

—and a voice birthed in darkness said: “DROP THAT WEAPON. FREAK.”

A cold metal hand descended before Monika. It grabbed the crawler from behind, lifting it effortlessly, and tossed it aside. Monika stared in amazement as more forms moved in the shadows, and every mutant froze. Centuri and Darious froze as well, glaring uncertainly…and then the world erupted with plasma and flame.

“What did I tell you?” came Gray’s voice. “I had a plan. Oh, and I’m a bit early. Hope you don’t mind.”

* * *

“S.T.O.R.M. bots,” said Hardcode. “Where in the hell did he get S.T.O.R.M. bots?”

“The Detention Center,” Tanric replied absently. He was kneeling next to the dazed ex-prisoners, probing lightly at their minds. They were unmarked—physically at least—but he wanted to be sure. “Remember? There were six deactivated in the Holding Bay. Gray must have gained control.”

Hardcode shook his head, partially in wonder but mostly in disgust. “You know that he’s never going to let us live this down. He was bad enough before. God help us now that his so-called reputation might actually have been earned.”

Tanric was inclined to agree. It had taken forever to convince Gray to put the S.T.O.R.M. bots on patrol; after they had led Centuri into the Heart at gunpoint for being ‘OPERATING AS A JERK WITHOUT A LISCENCE’ and then attempted to arrest Hardcode for ‘THREE COUNTS OF BEING CRIMINALLY UGLY’ Monika had threatened to set Grays body on fire from the inside out unless he relinquished control. Now the bots stomped back and forth, but whenever one passed the Heart it stopped, clicking its heels and saluting Gray sharply. Gray seemed to find this endlessly amusing; he had given the bots names like ‘Commander Copper’ and ‘Lieutenant Lead-Head’, and now they would answer to nothing else. Tanric had to admit that the look on Centuri’s face almost made Gray’s gloating worth it. Almost.

Now Gray stood with Monika, and his eyes were sober. Monika was obviously exhausted, but in no pain; Tanric had healed the worst of her wounds. They spoke softly, but Tanric could hear them even from across the room. The Hacker said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Monika. “All of the psi has finally settled down. We would be able to sense him if he was close. There’s no way to hide that discord.”

“Mindstorm,” Gray said thoughtfully. “And the lord of poison with him. Damn.”

“Is anything showing in the security grid?”

“No. You’re right. They’re gone. Where to, I wonder?”

“The Wastes,” Monika said firmly. “It’s the only place they could go. The last great powers of the Overmind’s twisted experiments.”

Gray nodded slowly, studying Darious Blaze but saying nothing.

“And I have to go after them. Me and my uncle. There’s nobody else.”

“Centuri—”

“Do you really think that Centuri is going to clean up this mess?”

Gray didn’t even consider it. “Maybe, but he’s likely to just bring the mutants back in for further study. No; I understand. But what about your contract?”

Monika shrugged a bit uncomfortably. “We’ll be back. Jordan will understand, and I don’t think that Blackclaw likes me much anyway. I can’t let this go, Gray. It wouldn’t be…right.”

There’s more in the Wastes than you know, thought Tanric. And you’re right; you will be back. Your role is unplayed. You have my sympathy.

“I said I understood. I’ll explain to Wolfe. To be honest, I’m more worried about Kyles. God alone knows what he’ll think.”

“He’ll understand,” Monika said softly.

Gray sighed. “If you say so.”

Tanric nodded as paths aligned through the window. Good. Maybe. He turned his Sight to Centuri, and was not surprised to discover that he was no longer in the facility. The others hadn’t noticed yet; exhausted and worn, they had their minds on other things. Centuri had slipped out like a wraith, perhaps planning to make his report to Tangent, perhaps just wanting to get the hell out while he could. What would he make of the situation in Neocron? Not much. He didn’t have the right kind of imagination. Of course the lack may well save his life. So it goes.

He stood, motioning to Hardcode. “They’ll be all right. I don’t recognize some of them; I imagine we saved more than just our Shades.”

Hardcode nodded. “Good. When will they be mobile?”

“Soon. Can you watch them for a moment? There’s something I need to attend to.”

“Hmm? Sure.” Hardcode hesitated, then said, “Tanric…are you all right? Something has changed with you. You’re…different. And your eyes…” He trailed off as though uncertain of what he meant to say.

Tanric nodded, unperturbed. “There are great events surrounding us, Hardcode. We’ll all change before they are through. Cryptic, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I See things now, but they are confusing. Fragmented. Maybe the window will open wider—” he shuddered at the thought, “—and maybe not. In any case, our paths are before us. We just need to walk them.”

Hardcode studied him, then shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, you got the part about cryptic right. Whatever you say. Go ahead; I’ll watch them. Be careful, though; Gray says the security grid still shows movement. The bots are nice and everything, but I don’t trust anything in this damned place. Mutants could be anywhere.”

“True.” Goodbye, Hardcode. I have some business in the Wastes as well…and I don’t know whether I’m coming back or not. The thought was tinged with relief.

And so, with Gray and Monika still talking unknowingly, and Hardcode resting beside his fellow Shades, Tanric stepped silently into the dark, and onto the path of the Overmind’s vision.
__________________

""" Epilogue"""

And many other paths were taken that night…

* * *

The sliver of light widened, and the monks stirred. Golon Kalah stared at the great doors of the Cathedral with an almost holy fervor. Power crackled around him, fed willingly to his mind by the surrounding monks. The power of the massmind was denied to him, but the collective psi of two hundred monks was nothing to scoff at. Either Kyles Faylen could come through those doors, or the lunatic Dame Crimson. It didn’t matter much either way to Golon Kalah; either would give the answers he required. Of course the Faylen would probably make it difficult…but Golon Kalah didn’t mind that. He considered the thought with a fair amount of anticipation.

A chorus rose through the monk’s minds as the doors flew wide, and Golon Kalah smiled. So; it was the Faylen after all. Excellent.

Kyles was a silhouette against the brilliant light, and Helen Angilley stood next to him. He surveyed the crowd of monks before him, and focused on Golon Kalah. Energy hummed in the air, a tension that seemed destined to erupt at any moment. Kyles stepped forward, Helen moving beside him, and the ranks of monks seemed to fall away from him.

Not so Golon Kalah. He stood, his eyes locked onto the Faylen’s, and when he spoke his voice was firm. “So. You return with the wisdom of the Blinding Light, come to save us all. What were you told, Faylen? And what promises did you make to spare the life of that creature?”

“Promises,” said Kyles, and the monks fell even further away. There was something in his voice; something…ancient. Powerful. “Yes. Promises were made. I was shown many things. Wisdom…might not be the right word for what I’ve seen.”

“Not wisdom,” Helen Angilley said softly, and matched Golon Kalah’s glare with an indifferent gaze.

“But that doesn’t matter. There are things I have to do, and now I have the means to do them.”

“Things, you say?” Golon Kalah stepped forward, placing himself firmly before Kyles. “I imagine so. Great things, no doubt. Would the favored of the Light be so kind as to bless us with knowledge of the nature of these things? Show us the path he sees so obviously?”

Kyles met his eyes, and neither would turn away. After a moment he said, “No. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Golon Kalah hissed, and a moan ran through the assembled monks. “Very well. A shame, that. Perhaps I will be able to convince you otherwise later. Now…about your companion. The one whose name is as red with blood as her hands.”

“Dame Crimson.” Kyles sighed, and suddenly he looked more human. “I had forgotten about her. What has she done? You didn’t try to kill her, did you?”

“What has she done? What has she done? Do not tell me, mighty Faylen, that you do not know!” At Kyles’s blank look Golon Kalah laughed, a wavering shriek tinged with disbelief. “You do not! Amazing. She followed you, Faylen. One of the tainted—beyond even the creature at your side—entered the Cathedral just footsteps behind you. And you did not know!”

“She…?” Kyles faltered, shock obvious on his face. “No. That—that’s not possible.”

“Someone told me about the word impossible once, but it was hard to get what he was saying past all of the screaming. Whatever it is, it’s highly over-rated if you ask me.”

Kyles slowly turned. The last vestiges of light fell away as the door slammed closed, and Dame Crimson nodded in a very satisfied manner. “And speaking of over-rated, so is your precious Cathedral. That’s not to say I didn’t see some very interesting things.”

Kyles’s voice trembled. “Crimson—what have you done?”

“Oh, wipe that look off of your face. I went into the damned light, and I came out just fine. I’ll tell you about it later. So—” she pointed to Golon Kalah, “—is it time to kill that bastard yet? I still owe him for the light show he put on earlier.”

“Crimson,” Kyles began, and then shook his head. He cleared his throat. “Crimson, you don’t know what you’ve done.”

“You see.” Golon Kalah raised his voice. “You see what you have brought upon us, infidel? You know the prophesies! You know what the ancient books say of the times when one such as she enters the Cathedral! And,” he pointed a trembling finger at Crimson, “you know the consequences. Kyles saved you once, but he cannot save you now.”

“Yes,” said Kyles, “I can.”

Shock radiated from the monks, and cold fury from Golon Kalah. “You dare?” he whispered. “You would pit your power against mine, even in the face of what has happened?”

“If I must.” Kyles studied Crimson for a moment longer, and when he turned to face Golon Kalah his eyes were calm. “We don’t see everything. I need her. She’s coming with me.”

“With you? And what, dear Faylen, makes you think that you’re going anywhere?”

Kyles smiled slightly. “Listen.”

Golon Kalah frowned at him, but before he could speak he realized that he could hear something. A dull rumbling in the distance, but growing louder. “Brothers,” he said softly, “lend me your power. Something approaches—”

“Faster than you think,” Kyles said.

The rumbled became a roar, and then a shock of explosions ripped through the courtyard as something threw itself against the mental shield surrounding the Abbey. A dark shape hovered above the walls, obscured by crackling energy as it forced its way through. Golon Kalah screamed, and the assembled monks raised their hands against the thing. Golon Kalah raised his own hands as well, then looked at them in disbelief. “Where is it?” he cried. “Where is the Light? Why won’t it come to me?”

“Because it is with me now,” said Kyles. “Sorry to break it to you.”

Slowly, inexorably, the dark shape pushed through the shield. Then it was hovering in the courtyard, a massive machine with roaring engines. Weapons emerged from smooth metal, and targeting beacons flickered through the crowd. Spotlights played over the monks until one touched Kyles; then they all focused on the monk. Kyles could see an emblem through the glare: the double T carved into the hull of the craft.

“No,” said Golon Kalah. “Who—?”

The mirrored cockpit window slid up, and even though Kyles had never met them he recognized the people in the craft. The Fallen Angel named Jest reclined next the Katherine Mayer, his hands idly toying with the weapons controls as she piloted the craft. He waved and said, “Kyles Sendrick, I presume? We were told that you needed a lift.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” said Katherine. She somehow managed to glare at every single monk in the courtyard. “Now hurry the hell up. The longer I’m here the more I want to just start hitting buttons to see what they do.”

“Very kind of you,” Kyles said. He nodded to the stunned Golon Kalah. “Thank you for your invitation to stay, but I’m afraid we must be going now. A pleasure, as always.”

* * *

Reginald Axom sat in darkness. His guests insisted on it, and he had to admit that the gloom suited his own mood. It wasn’t as though he needed light to study the four men in front of him, and they knew it. Still, it was a matter of professional courtesy, and Axom was nothing if not courteous.

“Your credentials are sterling,” he said. “I am pleased to be working with such professionals. You came highly recommended.”

One of the men bowed. “Of course. We consider it an honor to have been chosen.”

“Indeed. You understand the terms?”

“Yes. We are to bring to you the Hacker known as Reaver Gray. Alive, and in condition for questioning. You will not be traced to any attempts to apprehend him. His companions are to be left alone if possible, but eliminated if necessary. Secondly, we are to trace and pursue Katherine Mayer. She is not to be touched—only monitored. You do not wish to antagonize the City Administration.”

“Yes. Excellent.”

“As advertised. Will that be all?”

Axom hesitated. It was against protocol, but his curiosity was strong. “One more thing. I know that it is requested not to ask, but this case is special. I’m curious as to your title.”

“Of course. Special cases require special attention. I, as are my three colleagues, am a Reaver.”

Axom nodded. “And your rank?”

The man smiled in the dark. “White. Reaver White. Will that be all?”

Axom had more questions—not the least of which being why these men had agreed to this particular job—but he could sense the dark figure’s patience growing thin. You must observe the courtesies, after all. “Yes. Many thanks. I will be in touch.”

The man bowed, and the four Reavers were gone. Reginald Axom sat thoughtfully in the dark for a few minutes more, and then turned to other matters. There was much to be done, after all.

* * *

A very similar conversation took place in another darkness not far away. Wolfe Blackclaw sat in his apartment, his stone eyes studying the woman across from him. She was leaned back in her rickety chair, her legs propped on his desk and her hands laced behind her head. She was lightly armed, but her weapons were kept in meticulous working order, and they were all over-tuned for extra power. She appeared relaxed, but Wolfe knew that it was a façade; to his eyes she was ready to leap in every direction at once, and he knew that she considered him a threat. He got the impression that she would leap across the desk and start strangling him given even the slightest provocation, and this pleased him.

She was smiling. This pleased him as well.

“This is not an ordinary kill,” he said. Patterns formed from the ether around him, creating strange pictures that only had meaning to the viewer. The woman didn’t appear to mind.

“That’s the only reason I’m taking this job. Things are getting a little boring around here. It’s time for a challenge.”

“Challenges abound, but this is a special case.” Wolfe reached into a drawer, and the woman tensed. He placed a small box on the desk, sliding it across with one hand.

The woman flipped it open with her foot, and then raised an eye. “Bullets? I’ve got plenty of those.”

“They will do you no good. These bullets are as unique as your target. They’ll pierce any shield he can create; I can think of nothing else that can do so. They were very difficult to make, so do not be wasteful. Make your shots count.”

“I always do.” She studied the box for a moment more, and then shrugged. “Fine. Special bullets for a special man. You’re taking away a lot of the fun, though.”

“Oh,” Wolfe said softly, “I think that you’ll have your fun.”

Discomfort flickered in the woman’s eyes, but only for a second. She stood, dropping the box into her backpack. “Right. I kill this Kyles guy, and you give me big bags of money. My kind of contract. Of course you can start with half of the cash up front.”

“Of course. And the datacube is written too…?”

“Artricia.” The woman smiled, and to Wolfe the temperature of the room dropped. “Just make it out to Artricia.”
__________________

“Okay, we’ve got them,” Katherine said. Her concentration was on the controls, but she managed a glare in Jest’s direction. “Now will you please tell me where we’re going?”

Jest glanced back. The craft was a small one, but they had managed to fit their three passengers in the cargo area. Kyles was leaned against the wall, his eyes half closed but still watchful. The mutant Helen Angilley stared forward as though looking at things beyond the craft—which was entirely possible, he decided. ‘Creepy’ was too mild of a word for her. Of course ‘creepy’ was better than ‘raving bloodthirsty lunatic’, which didn’t even describe Dame Crimson halfway. She was asleep, snoring loudly and clenching a dagger in one hand. There were flakes of…something…on the dagger, but Jest was trying not to think about it. He turned back to Katherine.

“Yeah, I suppose that now is as good a time as any. Joanna knows that Chester is still alive, but his mind is trapped. She can’t get it out alone, though. She needs help.”

“Right. Us.”

“Wrong. Well…almost wrong. We’re not enough. Chester is trapped in Sector Eight.”

Katherine stared ahead. To her credit, the flight remained smooth. “Right. Sector Eight. Okay. Keep talking.”

“Even she can’t get into Sector Eight with that…thing…roaming around. The Soundless. Whatever it is. She says that she needs Gray’s help, and…Rob Dowell. He’s the only one who understands Hacknet as well as Chester does.”

Katherine blinked, and this time the craft did shake. Just a little. Jest was impressed. “Okay. Rob Dowell. And Gray, that bastard. What else?”

“Well…” Jest had faced many things in his time as an Angel. He had put his life on the line more times then he cared to remember, and sacrificed much. Fear was hardly a part of him—but now he hesitated. “Maybe you had better read the cube Joanna sent me. Dowell isn’t easy to find. We have a…contact. Sort of.”

“A contact. Right. Just give me the damned cube, Jest.”

Jest dropped the cube onto the console, and then buckled his safety belt.

Katherine looked down at the cube. Froze. Looked at Jest, and then back down. Her hands tightened on the controls; her face turned pale. Very, very softly she said, “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Jest suddenly wondered if their new companions were strapped in. Ah, well. Too late now.

Her eyes blazing with fury, Katherine gripped the controls even tighter. This time she didn’t bother with very soft. A shriek would do, she decided. “Clancy? We have to work with Jujuwalker Clancy?”

“Er…yes.”

This time the craft didn’t just shake. It shuddered, and half of that was due to the sheer volume and vehemence of Katherine’s swears. They flew on, and Jest wondered if there was still time to quit this Run. Probably not. Ah, well.

* * *

Time passed in Sector Eight, but to Chester Cohor it meant nothing. How long since he had sent the Watchdog? No telling. And Reaver Gray? The Overmind? What of them? No telling with that, either. Whatever force had brought him to consciousness apparently did not see fit to keep him informed. Odd. Chester had been thinking about that. He had been thinking a lot.

Hostile programs still floated around him, but he ignored them. There would be time for them later. Now he was focused on other constructs—weapons and blueprints, and other programs he had begun long ago. He had no tools and no patterns, but sometimes that was best. He hadn’t been forced to compose a new program from scratch for—well, it had been years, hadn’t it? Yes. He had forgotten what it was like. Nothing but him and the raw material of the data-frame. Creation from the void, and programs that came to life under his hands. It was wonderful. And it would be a wonderful surprise for the Soundless, if Chester had anything to say about it. He believed that he did.

He studied his progress and laughed. “Yes,” he told the programs surrounding him, “I think that the Soundless will want to listen to what I have to say. Hurry up, Gray. I’ve got places to be.”

* * *

“No,” Gray said. “I’m not calling you that.”

“WOOF,” the Watchdog said, jumping back and forth between monitors. Its head grew large, and it shook the collar it wore. Printed on the tag was: Designation 5P07.

“Absolutely not. First of all, that can’t be your name. You’re the biggest and most powerful Watchdog ever created. You should have a name like Mauler, or Doomsday. Second, I refuse to acknowledge that form of speech. It’s principle.”

A small box appeared on the screen, hovering over the Watchdog’s chest like a name tag. It said: HELLO, MY NAME IS 5P07. And underneath: DEAL WITH IT.

“GRRR,” the Watchdog added.

—i think he means it—

Gray threw his hands in the air. “Fine! Your name is Spot. I’m going to kill Chester.”

“GRRR.”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time. Now,” he turned to a second monitor. A beacon of light hovered there, idly rotating. “What about you?”

—i do not know— The voice from the speaker was distant. –i do not know my name—i do not know why i did not return to my body—i believe that something happened when the other’s creature tore me free—and i cannot seem to leave the systems—but i cannot stay here—

Gray sighed. “Can you…I don’t know…download yourself into a cube, or something?”

The voice was doubtful. –i can try—

“You do that. We’ll figure something out.”

“Gray.”

Gray turned from the console to see Hardcode. The droner was pale; exhaustion came off of him in waves. “We’re ready. The Shades can walk, at least, and we need to get out of here.”

“The sooner the better,” Gray agreed. “Where is Tanric?”

“Gone.”

Gray stared for a moment. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“He left. I…don’t think that he’s coming back.”

“You’re serious.”

Hardcode nodded. “Something happened to him down here. I don’t know what, but I almost think that he had to go. He…saw something. He knew something.”

“Maybe…” Gray thought. What did this mean? Nothing, he decided, at least for the immediate future. They had to get out of here while they could. Tanric could take care of himself. Maybe.

“Centuri’s gone too.”

Gray blinked. “Centuri? Damn. Oh, damn. I forgot all about him.”

“We all did. Monika will spit fire when she realizes he escaped. She had plans.”

“That just means we have to get out of here even sooner. He could bring the N.D.A. down on us in a heartbeat.”

“What about the Seldon?”

Gray frowned. “I—ah, hell. I guess I’ll leave the S.T.O.R.M. bots down here. I’ve linked them to the Seldon’s systems; he controls them now. Six rogue S.T.O.R.M. bots should be enough to give even Centuri something to think about. They should be able to protect them from the mutants, too. I’ve stationed three of them at the entrance to the facility and three of them here. That should be enough to keep the things contained.”

“God, I hope so. I don’t want to think of what would happen if zombies started running wild.”

“Zombies? I’m doing my best not to think about Mindstorm. I’ll have nightmares for weeks knowing that thing is roaming free.”

“True. So…where next?”

“Next?” Gray smiled. “That’s easy. First we drop the Shades off at your headquarters. They need some serious down time, and H.Q. should be as safe a place as any. Then all we have to do is stop by Kat’s and pick up my blueprints.” His smile widened. “It should be easy going from there.”

* * *

And paths were taken, and the long night finally turned into day. Figures stirred deep in the Wastelands. Kijayle Rhonac woke to Jorgen Octavia’s boot nudging his side.

“Wake up,” Jorgen said. “It’s time to get moving.”

Kijayle blinked, stretched, and smiled. “Yeah. I guess so. Early to rise, and all that.” He stood, turning his eyes to the south. “Time to get moving indeed.”

He smiled again, and the new day bloomed over the Wastes. It was a good thing to see.

They started walking.

* * *

END: PART ONE
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